Chapter 4
James sat down with a middle aged woman named Arabella. He held the woman’s wrinkled hands in his, steadying both of their heart rates and relaxing her emotions and muscles. It was boring work, really, and James eventually got jittery. He may have sped through it, just a little, but Arabella was none the wiser.
Eventually, he woke Arabella up and she kissed his hand, thanking him.
“Go,” he said in his most solemn voice as she stood up, “Be at peace.”
Arabella kissed his forehead now, with tears in her eyes, “Thank you!”
James smiled, “Yes, of course,” he said.
Arabella walked out of there only fifteen minutes early.
There was a knock on his door right afterwards. James sighed as he got up to get it.
“Who is it?” he called, looking through the peephole, it was Mary.
He opened the door for her and invited him to sit down, pulling off his red and black kefta that signified he was a heartrender. He was wearing a loosely buttoned red shirt and black pants under it.
“Saints, I hate this thing,” he said as he threw it across the room.
“Why?”
“It itches like hell, it’s not made right,” he told her. The kefta was Kerch made, not Ravkan. A fabrikator had been nowhere near it. This kefta was a costume more than a uniform, which probably would have felt wrong even if it wasn’t incredibly uncomfortable.
Mary sighed as James sat down across from her, kicking off his shoes, “Was that Figg, the merch?”
“Yep,” he said.
“Her wife died a month ago, and then her cat two weeks later. Her businesses have been a wreck since, do your visits mean we can expect a turnaround?”
“Probably, she’s been here every day for a week now.”
“Mm, that’s good. So you can make her feel better, change chemicals in the body or whatever, but could you change her thoughts? Make her forget about her wife and cat?”
“You mean changing her thoughts? Altering the pathways in the brain?” he asked, “No, that’s insane.”
“Isn’t the brain just another organ?”
“Well, yeah, but it's the most complex one. The precision required to change the brain like that…no grisha could do it. There’s too many risks and variables.”
“So you treat the symptoms, not the cause.”
“Exactly. I’m just helping her avoid the grief, and if she keeps using me as her solution, she’ll never get over it,” he said, shaking his head in mock sadness.
“Does that mean you’ll send her away eventually with advice to find herself a new wife and kitten?”
“No, I think it's best to let Arabella grieve in her own way. But what are you really here for, Mary? I have another client in,” he checked his watch, “forty five minutes.”
“They can wait,” Mary told her, “What do you know about felix felicis?”
James shrugged, “I’ve heard rumors, but they sound like nonsense to me.”
Other than the Council of Tides and most indentures, pretty much all the grisha in Ketterdam knew each other and exchanged information, eager to stay out of the sights of slavers and the Ravkan government.
“Squallors flying? Tidemakers turning to mist?” he asked in disbelief.
“Fabrikators making gold from lead,” Mary added, dropping a block of gold on the table.
James picked it up and examined it, “You could’ve gotten this anywhere.”
“It’s real, James, and if you’re still the good grisha soldier I know you are, you’ll be pretty interested to know what it does to you guys.”
He tossed the gold between his hands, frowning, “Tell me.”
Mary started talking about Lupin’s offer, the felix felicis, the addictiveness of it and the powers it gives, what the corporalnik did to Weasley’s men, Bartemius Crouch, and the theft of Ravkan military documents.
“What does the merchant council want to do with Crouch, exactly?”
“Send him to Novyi Zem, I don’t know the specifics after that.”
James thought about this, turning the gold over at an alarming speed. If this was true, then a part of him argued not to let him live, to let the secret of felix felicis die with him. He tried to shut that part of him up, there was a reason he was doing this nonsense instead of making a ton of money as a mercenary. He was a soldier, but the majority of his work was as a spy, he didn’t particularly enjoy violence and murder. But if he wished to return to Ravka one day, rejoin his people, how could he do that knowing he let the creator of this substance that could topple a government, cause wars, turn grisha into nothing more than addicted weapons, continue to live and have the power to create it again.
“You’re aware that letting him live is certifiably insane?”
“Perhaps, but that’s not the job.”
“This isn’t just about money.”
“It’s always about money, James.”
James sighed, he tried to think of a good retort, but Mary beat him to it.
“Look, we are going to retrieve Crouch from Azkaban either way, but we need a heartrender and I want it to be you.”
“If he’s in Azkaban then he’s as good as dead.”
“The merchant council doesn’t think so. They wouldn’t go through all this trouble or offer this kind of reward if they thought he’d been neutralized. Lupin was definitely worried, and he says their intelligence is good. But if it’s not us, he’ll hire someone else to try to break into Azkaban, and I think it should be us.”
“Azkaban, huh,” James asked, finally catching on, “This isn’t just about me being a heartrender, is it?”
Mary sighed, “I need someone who knows Azkaban inside and out.”
“You scheming bastard,” James exclaimed, “After all the times I came to you, begging you to help him? But now that you finally need something –”
“Lucius Malfoy is not running a charity.”
“You mean you’re not running a charity, Mary. If you wanted to help him, you know you could have.”
“I don’t do something for nothing, James,” she snapped.
James had nothing to say to that. His cheeks were already too hot for his comfort because of being yelled at.
“But I do need him out, now. And I know you want that, too.”
“Even when you do break him out, he’ll never agree to help you.”
“Why not? He’s just another person driven by greed, pride, and pain. You would know.”
“Regulus is motivated by honor and nothing else, something you can’t bribe or bully.”
“Maybe that was true a year ago, but Azkaban changes a person, especially considering how he got there.”
James’s chest tightened, “I know he’ll want revenge.”
“Yes, but wanting something is different from needing something. Leverage is all about knowing the difference.”
James took a deep breath. He still didn’t agree with kidnapping Crouch for the merchant council, but he’d cross that bridge when he came to it. Right now, freeing Regulus was all that mattered to him.
“Ok, I’ll help you.”
Mary smirked, she knew that James couldn’t answer any differently. “Meet me at Fifth Harbor at midnight.”
~~~~~~
When he got to Fifth Harbor, Mary gave James a navy silk cape and the weeping mask of the bereaved widow. Subtle. Mary and Alastor were both wearing orange silk capes and had madmen’s masks. Sirius was there as well with the Gray Imp’s horned mask and gray costume. Some of the classic masks of the Komedie Brute that the kerch found so funny, all they needed was a stage.
“What’s the point of this?” he asked skeptically.
“Just get in the boat,” said Mary.
He did as he was told and boarded the boat, which Alastor was rowing towards Terrenjel, one of Kerch’s smallest islands that was closest to Hellgate – where Regulus was. The water was enshrouded in thick fog that smelt of tar, machinery, and the rotting of dead bodies from where they dumped people who couldn’t afford to be buried in the city.
Through the mists, he could make out boats with other people in Komedie Brute costumes on them. This must be part of their disguise to get in there, James assumed.
Once their boat reached the rocky shores, two men came forward to pull them onto solid ground. Even through the veil, he could make out the skull and snake tattoos on their forearms. Death Eaters.
Death Eaters were the other main gang in Ketterdam, run by Tom Riddle. A ton of assholes, if you asked for James’s professional, totally unbiased opinion.
After he had spent his first week unsuccessfully giving his testimony for Regulus’s freedom from Hellgate, he was dumped on First Harbor with just enough money for a ticket back to Ravka. Tom Riddle had also sent his men there, because news of new grisha, especially a corporalnik, hitting the streets traveled fast. James was brought back to the Emerald Manor where Tom tried his hardest to convince him to join the Death Eaters, already lining him up with a job at the Leaky Cauldron. Between his desperate need of cash and his fear of slavers, he would have said yes. But that night, Lily had crawled through his window and offered him a proposal from Mary MacDonald.
James might spend the rest of his life wondering how Lily had managed to scale six stories of a rain soaked building, but there she was with an even more favorable offer from the Phoenixes than what Tom was offering. On top of that, Mary had known exactly who to send to get through to him – a Ravkan girl who was only a few months younger than James himself. She might not have grown up with his Suli proverbs and culture or been trained by the Second Army, but it was as close to home as James was going to get, and that was something he really needed.
“What can you tell me about Lucius Malfoy,” he had asked Inej.
“Not much, actually. He doesn’t do much, and he’s not much better or worse than most of the bosses in the barrel.”
“And Mary?”
“A liar and a thief and utterly without conscience, but she’d never renege on a deal.”
“She freed you from the Menagerie?”
“You could say that. None of Snape’s girls ever pay off their contracts, he makes sure of that, but Mary convinced Lucius Malfoy to pay off my indenture. Now I just have to repay him, but it’s better this way. I would have died at the Menagerie.”
“You could still die with the Phoenixes,” James pointed out rather cynically.
“I could, but at least I’d die on my feet and with a knife in my hand.”
The conviction in Lily’s voice, and her mere camaraderie, had been enough to convince James. As dawn broke, they wrapped up their conversation and snuck out of the Emerald Manor together, where James made his deal to join the Phoenixes and work at the House of the White Rose.
And that’s what he had done for a little over a year now. A year, working towards this one moment. Mary handed the Death Eater in front of them a stack of galleons. He counted it twice over, then let them pass through.
They followed torches through a winding path towards the two black towers that were Hellgate. As they neared one of them, James saw that a door was being held open for them by another Death Eater. They walked into a surprisingly clean kitchen that smelled strongly of vinegar and sage, then a dark and weirdly fancy entrance hall that he thought would lead them to the cells, but instead led them to a torch lit tunnel that connected to the second tower.
This tower was even bleaker than the first, the smell of sweat and waste even thicker in the air. They followed the Death Eater down a dark spiral. To make matters worse, there was no banister to stop their fall, so James did the sensible thing and stayed as close to the wall as he possibly could. Between the descending spiral, the fear of falling, and the knowledge that Regulus was somewhere in this building made his heart race.
“Where are we?” he whispered to Mary. They were passing through damp and cramped stone tunnels now. Iron bars were fitted to carved out caves.
“The old prison, they left it standing when they built the new one in the other tower. It’s still used to house the worst prisoners.”
A chill went through James’s spine and he shifted his shoulders uncomfortably. Ahead of them, he could hear some sort of chanting, and as they walked further they could see light pour in from staggered archways on their left side. He could see the ends of a boisterous crowd in there, the hellshow.
James had heard whispers of it, but he didn’t want to believe something like it actually existed. But as usual, the universe liked to prove his optimism and faith in humanity wrong.
“If you need to leave,” the guard told them, “the guard will call for your escort. Nobody leaves without a guide, understood?”
“Of course,” Mary said, “wouldn’t dream of it.” Sirius, James, and Alastor nodded along.
“Enjoy, then,” the Death Eater told them with a creepy smile and pointed the way inside.
The four of them walked onto a jagged stone ledge that looked down into a shallow amphitheater, the floor of which was red and damp from blood. The ceiling of the prison had either been removed or caved in, so James could see up to the cloudy night sky. There wasn’t a star in sight. Around him, masked and veiled spectators were crowding towards the edges while roaring, clapping, and stomping their feet in anticipation.
In the mouth of the cave, an elderly man in shackles stood next to a big wooden wheel with carvings of animals on it. There was a younger man next to him in a black button up that was the texture of shiny snakeskin and emerald pants.
“Spin the wheel!” shouted the younger man.
The man in shackles did so, and the wheel landed on a carving that James couldn’t quite make out, even with his glasses, but the crowd started cheering. A guard unlocked his shackles before taking himself and the younger man onto a rope ladder that brought them up to safety.
The prisoner cast his shackles into the sand and grabbed a sad looking knife from the pile of blood encrusted weapons. He backed as far away from the mouth of the cave as possible.
There was a click as the iron bars lifted and a dark grayish-green reptile crawled forwards. It was enormous, with neon yellow, slitted eyes. As it slithered forward slowly, the snake opened its mouth to reveal a white foaming substance dripping from razor sharp fangs.
“What is that?” he asked.
“A basilisk,” answered Sirius. “They’re one of the most poisonous snakes on the planet.”
“Of course,” he sighed. “It’s moving awfully slow.”
“It sure is,” Sirus said.
And then the prisoner lunged forward with his knife, and the basilisk moved backwards so fast that James could hardly see it. It was suddenly on the other side of the arena. The prisoner swerved to face it and lunge at it again, but the snake zoomed around him and snapped. Suddenly, the prisoner was on the ground with the snake on top of him, poison dripping from its fangs and onto the prisoner’s skin and leaving trails of smoke.
The prisoner was screaming in pain with the poison, and James had to turn away. Eventually the screaming stopped, though, and the guards poked the basilisk back through the mouth of the cave with long spears. The basilisk had seemed to be satisfied and showed no signs of the quick, venom spitting snake it had been only a few seconds ago.
The crowd booed as the basilisk exited the arena, and even more as the prisoner’s remains were removed.
“Why are they complaining?” James asked in disgust, “Isn’t this what they wanted?”
“They wanted a fight, they wanted him to last longer,” answered Sirius in almost equal disgust.
“Wait,” James said, a horrible idea coming to him, “Regulus doesn’t fight in the arena, does he?”
“We’re not here for the ambiance,” said Mary.
Saints, he really wanted to slap Mary right now.
“You do know that I could wiggle my fingers and you’d be wetting your pants right now?”
“Yes, but I quite like these trousers, and you know damn well that if you mess with any of my organs Regulus will never see the light of day again.”
James’s jaw tensed. He folded his arms.
“James –” Sirius murmured.
“What?” he whisper shouted back.
“It’s all going to work out, just try to trust Mary and let her do what she does best. You know how she is, being angry at her for being ruthless is like being angry at a stove for being hot.”
“I know,” James ground out, that didn’t mean he had to like it.
He didn’t really like anything at the moment, everything was coming in a haze of anger and anticipation as he watched the next two prisoners fight other violent beasts.
Then Regulus came out of the mouth of the cave. All the time the James had spent trying to steady himself, telling himself that it’d be okay, that he was a grisha soldier, that he had seen worse, that he was prepared did nothing for him now. It felt like the air had been sucked from his lungs as he looked down at the face he had spent every second of the last year thinking of. The base features of his face – his high cheekbones, his straight nose, the long eyelashes that framed his clear blue eyes, eyes that were now looking around at the crowd with nothing but hatred and fury. Mary was right, he had changed.
When he had first met Regulus Black in a moonlit Kaelish wood, he had been struck by the other boy’s beauty. It had seemed unfair, this boy who looked like he was carved by Sankt Gerasim, the patron saint of artists, himself, here to capture and kill James for the unspeakable crime of existing. Regulus had been a member of the druskelle, the fjerdan witch hunters who spent their lives hunting and capturing grisha to face “trials” and then execution. That somehow didn’t change the fact that Regulus had always looked like the personification of starlight to James.
Now, there was no metaphorical silver glow around him. Regulus looked like what he always had been: a killer. His skin was somehow even paler than before underneath all the dirt and grime. He had lost some weight from the year of malnutrition, which just meant that his muscles stood out in a rough and scrawny way. The worst part was his hair, which had once been a shiny, inky black and wavy around his ears, was now shaved off and clearly not well. His head was covered in uneven strips of stubble and razor cuts.
Even with all that, Regulus was still the most beautiful person James had ever seen.
James wasn’t the only person who was struggling to breath in Regulus’s entrance, Sirius was behind him, looking from Mary to Regulus and breathing rapidly.
“You…he’s…” Sirius couldn’t quite find the words.
“What?” asked Mary indifferently.
“That’s…is that my brother?” Sirius all but shouted.
James whirled around, “Excuse me?”
“My…my brother, his name…I thought it was just a coincidence, I thought he died,” Sirius rambled, but he said the last word with so much heartbreak that James’s heart broke into a million more pieces.
Mary was saying nothing, just watching as Regulus spun the wheel with so much force that it nearly came off its stand. Sirius had latched his hand onto James’s shoulder at some point and was not letting go, his nails digging into James’s skin.
“No,” Sirius gasped helplessly.
James looked at him, puzzled. He really needed a new prescription.
“Mary,” Sirius said, moving from James to Mary, actually reaching out and grabbing her arm, making Mary visibly tense.
“You have to stop this, you have to get him out of there,” he pleaded, “he…he can’t.”
Sirius’s tears were audible now.
“Let go of me, Sirius,” said Mary, her voice showing no compassion.
Sirius took a deep breath, dropping his hand and begging, “Please.”
Mary’s mask seemed to drop for a second, her eyes showing a hints of compassion before she blinked it away and steadied herself. “If Regulus survives this, I promise you I will get him out of here tonight.”
“You…you don’t get it,” Sirius said helplessly, his head hanging in defeat as the guard unchained Regulus and quickly climbed up the ladder. Then the wolves came through the mouth of the cave.
James understood now. Wolves were sacred to all Fjerdans, but especially to the druskelle. They specially bred them to be partners to the druskelle in battle from the time they were pups, each one paired with its own druskelle as their friend and protecter. James had never asked Regulus about his wolf, something he regretted often.
There were three wolves in front of Regulus now, each one snarling and chasing each other towards him. At the very last second, Regulus hit one of them away, rolling over to grab a bloody knife. He was so tense, so reluctant. His blue eyes were pleading with the wolves as if trying to have a silent negotiation. It didn’t work, the wolf on the right of him lunged. Regulus spun away and embedded his knife into the wolf. It yelped, and he shuddered at the sound, freezing for a fatal moment. The third wolf came back and bit into Regulus’s shoulder, his face contorting in pain. He rolled anyways, bringing the wolf with him and throwing it off balance long enough to release his shoulder. Regulus grabbed the wolf’s jaw and wrenched it apart until there was a sickening crack. The audience erupted in cheering.
Pain and misery was written plainly on Regulus’s face as he knelt over the wolf. Sirius was breathing heavily as well, he had audibly winced when the wolf was killed. The first wolf had recovered and was circling around him, and James desperately wanted to shout at Regulus to move, but his lips were moving subtly, probably whispering some sort of druskelle prayer.
By the time Regulus dove away, the first wolf was back and digging its teeth into his side. For a moment, he did nothing, and James was terrified for a moment that Regulus would simply let the wolf kill him, but he shifted over a few millimeters and reached his arm out to grab the shackles that had been on his wrists only a minute or two ago.
He tied the shackles around the neck of the wolf on top of him and pulled back, effectively cutting off the poor animal’s airway. His lips were moving the same way they had been when he killed the other wolf. The wolf’s limbs jerked a few times, then its eyes rolled back, and with one last dreadful whine, the animal stopped moving. It lay there, dead, against Regulus’s chest for a few moments, his face buried in the wolf’s neck.
Then the crowd started cheering louder than ever. Regulus was hauled to his feet by a guard, laying the wolf down gently as he stood with tears streaking his dirt-stained face. All the rage that was in his eyes before had been winked out like a flame under water. He was just a cold mask of nothingness and defeat, even though he had won.
The guard took the shackles from the wolf’s neck and put them back on Regulus, leading him away. The crowd continued to roar as he left the arena, chanting “More! More! More!”
Sirius was as still as James had ever seen him, but he could feel the silent sobs that Sirius was trying to hide.
“Where are they taking him?” he asked Mary, his voice shaking.
“To a cell to sleep off his injuries.”
“What about his injuries?”
“They have medics. We’ll wait until he’s alone.”
I could heal him, James thought. Yeah, physically maybe, answered another part of him, rich with mocking, you certainly did a number on the rest of him, though.
James grew increasingly restless as the next fight went on, he tried to calm himself down, but nothing worked. Sirius was still silently crying next to him, and James reached out to offer a steadying hand. Sirius took it.
Finally, Mary told him, “Ready, James? Knock the guard out.”
James nodded, and the four of them followed Mary back to the archway.
“Would you like your escort?” the guard asked.
“No, I had a question, actually,” Mary said, “About your mother, and whether the rumors are true.”
James felt the guard’s pulse sky rocket. Mary could never let things be easy, could she?
“What did you say?” the guard ground out, then James got ahold of his pulse and lowered it. “I…you don’t…” the guard mumbled as his eyes drooped and he fell forwards.
Alastor caught him and Lily wrapped him up in the cloak that Mary had been wearing only seconds before. Mary was wearing a guards uniform underneath.
“Nice uniform,” James told her as Lily slid Mary’s madman’s mask onto the guard.
“Thank you,” was all Mary said as she beckoned them down the passageway.
After they walked for a short period of time, Mary held up a hand for them to stop. A medic was emerging from a cell ahead of them, accompanied by guards. “He’ll sleep through the night,” the medic was saying, “Make sure he drinks something in the morning and check his pupils. I had to give him a powerful sleeping draught.”
Once the men walked away, they followed Mary forwards again towards the door the guards and medic had just left. It was a thick and rusted iron door with one narrow slot for the prisoner’s meals. Mary stepped forward and began to pick the lock, which she did in a few heartbeats. Lily pulled out a small glowing sphere to light the way as Mary opened the door.
It was clean, which James thanked the saints for as he looked around. There were a pile of matted blankets, two buckets, and Regulus himself, sleeping with his back to the wall. In the dim light that Lily provided, he could see that Regulus’s face was beginning to swell. Some kind of ointment had been haphazardly smeared over his wounds that bathed the cell in an clean herbal scent.
Sirius and James both moved towards him, but Mary stopped them.
“Stop,” she said, “Let Lily assess the damage.”
“But -” they both objected.
“James, I need you to work on Alastor. Sirius, you can watch Lily.”
Alastor stepped forwards and removed his mask and costume. He wore prison issue pants and his black hair was shaved. He was also roughly the same height and build as Regulus, and they both had blue eyes.
“Are you kidding me?” he exclaimed as he wheeled around to face Mary, “You want Alastor to take Regulus’s place?”
“Well he’s not here to sightsee, are you Alastor?” replied Mary.
Alastor shook his head.
“We need you to reproduce Regulus’s injuries. Lily, give us the rundown?”
“Bruised knuckles, chipped tooth, two broken ribs. The third and fourth on the left.”
Sirius winced as each injury was listed.
“His left or your left?”
“His left.”
“This isn’t going to work. I can replicate the injuries, but I’m not a good enough tailor to make Alastor actually look like Regulus!”
“Just do it, James. Trust me.”
“I wouldn’t trust you to tie my shoes without stealing the laces, Mary.”
“Tonight, Regulus Black, or should I say Alastor, will appear to have contracted the lupine strain of firepox, carried by wolves and dogs. Tomorrow morning, when the guards discover him to be so covered in pustules that he is unrecognizable, they will quarantine him for a month to see if he survives the fever and wait out the contagion. Get it?”
“Yes, but no matter what I do to make him look like he has firepox, I can’t give him a permanent fever.”
“I have a contact in the infirmary who will ensure he stays sick enough, just get to work.”
James sighed, but he started on Alastor.
“Shall I start with the easiest or the hardest part?”
“Get it over with,” Alastor grunted.
James furrowed his brows and quickly drew his hand across Alastor’s ribs, leading to a sharp crack and Alastor doubling over in pain.
“Good job, Moody,” said Mary from her corner, “Taking it like a champion! Do his knuckles and face next.”
James spread bruises and cuts around Alastor’s arms, face, and chest. Now it was really time for the hard part, he had only ever seen firepox in the textbooks of the Little Palace, where he was trained.
He started slowly, swelling and cracking the skin around Alastor’s face and chest and originating near the bite marks. Alastor was wincing in pain as he did so, clearly stifling cries.
“Why would you agree this this,” he asked as he worked.
“The money was good,” Alastor replied, trying to chuckle through the pain.
Why did anyone do anything in Ketterdam, James wondered, sighing.
“I assume that all this chatter means you’re finished,” said Mary.
James quickly got back to work and finished the last few pustules.
“Ok,” Mary said, “Now you can work on Regulus.”
James all but rushed over to Regulus. His hands automatically went towards the sharp but bruised line of Regulus’s jaw.
“Don’t worry about his face, James. I need him mobile, not pretty. Heal him enough to get him up and walking, but not enough to be able to get the jump on us.”
He’s always pretty, James thought, but his hands traveled to Regulus’s ribs, his chest, all of his wounds but some of the bruising. He told himself to pretend it was just another body, another one of the injured Phoenixes who Mary would bring to him to patch up when he didn’t want to bring them to a legitimate medic.
He finished, touching Regulus’s shoulder gently.
“Regulus,” James said softly, then repeated with more force in his voice, reaching out to stroke his face. “Regulus.”
He was achingly aware of everyone surrounding them, all the eyes in the room that were trained on the two of them, Sirius’s incessantly bouncing leg. Nevertheless, James pressed a kiss down onto Regulus’s temple.
“James?” Regulus whispered, his voice raw and scratchy but still so lovely.
Tears welled up in his eyes, “Oh saints,” he breathed his voice breaking with relief, “Regulus.”
Now Regulus’s eyes opened. They were groggy and hazy with water. “James,” he repeated, the hint of a smile on his face. He reached his hand up, his knuckle tracing James’s own cheekbone and hitting the edge of his glasses before cupping his face.
“Shhh,” James whispered, “We’re here to get you out.”
Before he could blink, Regulus’s hand were on his shoulders and pinning him to the ground.
“James,” he growled.
Then Regulus closed his hand’s around James’s throat.