Part I
Part I
James doesn’t like being angry. It’s a shocking sensation to him; instead of his blood boiling it turns into a slick sludge struggling to pave its way through his veins, and he just feels heavy in a way that’s unlike any other emotion he’s ever experienced. He doesn’t like being angry because when he’s angry he’s just mostly sad.
His mother once told him that when you’re angry, you’re just hurt, and maybe that’s true. If it is, James just wants to stop hurting. He wants to stop being angry.
He doesn’t even like the word: angry. It sits harsh on his tongue, coating each sentence so much that he has to mind his words, carefully choose what to say. He has to keep up that facade of being happy, that nothing is wrong and nothing could ever be wrong, because that’s what everyone expects of him.
He can’t be angry, and isn’t that unfair? Everyone else is. So why can’t he?
He wants to shout, how could you? Wants to scream it from his rooftop and make certain that he hears.
He should have known Peter was a rat the minute they learned how to be animagi .
But he can’t be angry.
He has his son to think of now.
***
The first thing he does when the war starts - and like, really starts, with battles and missions and half of his friends going into hiding just so they won’t be killed in some cruel, inhumane way that seems to be the Death Eaters’ M.O. - is marry Regulus.
They say their vows fully aware of how young they are, and that, if they had the chance, they would have done this much later. It would be in all the society pages: Potter Heir Marries Heir of House Black with a picture of them kissing at the altar sprawled across the page. It would be a grand thing, with both of their families coming from all over (minus, of course, most of Regulus’ family), and months and months of preparation. Regulus and James would likely drive each other spare just planning the damn thing, but they would return to bed at the end of a long day tasting cakes and arguing over which flavour to pick knowing they wouldn’t change it for the world.
Instead, it’s a rushed bonding in the garden of their small cottage in Godric’s Hollow, with only Sirius, Remus and Pandora as witnesses. Sirius had cast a spell so the willow hanging over their garden gate was limned with small lights that dripped and spilled over the wall and cast a warm glow over the place. Remus had gone and bought a knockoff Colin the Caterpillar from the Tesco Express down the way and that was their wedding cake. Pandora had snuck into the Rosier family wine cellar and smuggled over some elf wine and they all got smashed and danced until they collapsed in breathless giggles.
James adored it.
He loved the way he could feel the pulsing beat of Regulus’ magic intertwined with his own, the way it felt knowing that this was it. This was the person he would spend the rest of his life with. When it came down to it, and he was standing under the willow with Regulus’ hands resting warm in James’ own, exchanging rings that had been in James’ family for generations, he couldn’t bring himself to regret a thing. It’s perfect for how intimate it is, with only their closest family there to celebrate with them.
James’ only regret, he thinks as he lays under his husband in the hazy afterglow of their wedding night, Regulus tracing aimless patterns into James’ skin, is that Peter couldn’t be there with them.
***
J -
There’s a rat in the Order. Voldemort’s spy.
Go to R & S. Take H. I’ll let you know when it’s safe to return.
R.A.B
***
“Right,” Remus says with a huffed breath, standing. “I’ll put the kettle on.”
James is sitting on their sofa, clutching Harry to his chest like he’s the only thing keeping him together. He hears the kettle start to go, the hushed rumble echoing the white noise that’s been playing in his mind since he received Regulus’ letter. “He could have meant someone else,” he says weakly. “Just because Reg said ‘rat’ doesn’t mean he was talking about Pete.”
“Since when does Regulus use slang like that,” Sirius scoffs, his scowl thunderous. He didn't scowl so much when they were younger, James thinks sadly, resting his chin on his son’s downy head.
The kettle’s rumble strengthens to a roar, and soon enough Remus comes with three steaming mugs in hand. They’d memorised how each of them takes their tea in first year, and it was the first time James had realised they were true friends. Peter takes his black, with half of a sugar.
“Did he give any other details?” Remus asks, perching on the arm of the chair Sirius is slouched in, clutching his mug like a vice. If James didn’t know him so well, he’d wonder how Remus is so calm. How he can sit there and sip his tea and ask questions like everything is normal, like one of their best friends didn’t betray them and put all of their lives in danger.
But James did know Remus.
The thing about Remus is that he has this talent for keeping his cool. It was a side effect of the wolf, he’d explained once when they were still in school. If he didn’t keep his temper, and instead exposed the rage that simmers under his skin, he’d never stop. He’d become the monster the Ministry has always said werewolves are. So Remus keeps his temper in check.
Even still, James could see how angry he was. It is easy to tell once you know what to look for. His hands tremble ever so slightly, his knuckles white from how tightly he’s holding his mug. His teeth are clenched, his jaw tense, his eyes narrowed just enough that a stranger would mistake it for the wry tilt to his gaze. James is no stranger, and so he can tell.
James shakes his head. “Just said to stay with you until it’s safe.”
“Fuck!” Sirius shouts, slamming his fist on the unoccupied arm of his chair. He sends James an apologetic look when Harry startles and starts to fuss. “Fuck,” he repeats, quieter now as Harry starts to settle once more. “I don’t get it. Why would Pete do this?”
And isn’t that the million dollar question, James thinks bitterly.
***
Harry’s a bit of a shock, when he happens. One of the side effects of Regulus’ potions was that they limited his fertility, but there wasn’t enough information to know exactly how much. James hadn’t minded, when his husband had told him. If it turned out the potions made it so that Regulus couldn’t have kids, there were other ways of building a family. What mattered most is that Regulus is healthy and happy.
So it makes it all the more terrifying when Regulus shakes James awake in the middle of the night and tells him they needed to go to St. Mungo’s because he’s bleeding more than he ever has before.
If he’s honest, James can’t remember much of that trip. He was terrified, trembling at the thought that he might lose his husband before they had even been married for a year. This was it.
It was a balm, then, when they discovered nothing was wrong, just that the foetus in Regulus was reacting negatively to his testosterone potions, and if they wanted to keep it, he needed to stop taking the potions immediately.
Regulus cries when they get home, overwhelmed, and James is just relieved. He holds his not-dying husband to his chest, gently now they know there is more than just one life within his strong body, and breathes. They’re going to be a family, he thinks, and then he pauses.
Regulus does want a family, is the thing. He wants the white picket fence, the gaggle of children running around the garden, the whole lot. He wants a house full of love and laughter and not a moment of silence, like it was when he and Sirius were children.
But did Regulus want to carry those children himself?
James wouldn’t mind either way; Regulus’ body was his to do with as he pleased, and he would rather Regulus be happy with his body than have a child they hadn’t even planned for. Besides, the timing’s a bit shit, with the war and all, and so really it might put years back onto James’ life if they just got rid of it and tried again once the war was over.
But then James looks at Regulus tucked in his arms and aches, ever-so-slightly.
“What do you want to do,” he finally asks, and Regulus lifts his head from James’ chest with a questioning look on his face.
“What do you mean?”
James rests a gentle hand on his husband’s abdomen, right over where the foetus currently lay, and it seems to dawn on Regulus.
“Oh,” Regulus murmurs.
“I just - I want you to be comfortable, and if a baby will cause you dysphoria or make you uncomfortable in any way then maybe it’s not the best idea to have one. Also, there’s a whole war happening so the timing’s kinda shitty anyway and it’s your body and-”
“James, stop,” Regulus interrupts. “Breathe.”
James takes a deep breath.
“Good,” Regulus says, gentle, soothing. “It’s okay. You’re right, the timing is terrible. But there will never be a ‘good’ time for this to happen. If we think of it like that, there will always be something in the way.”
“Yeah, but -”
“And secondly,” Regulus cuts James off again, just as gently, imploringly, “I’m okay with this. I’m not saying it won’t be difficult or that I know how I will react to the changes to my body, but I want this. I want this with you.”
James swallows, his vision blurring. “Seriously?” he chokes, and Regulus nods, reaches up to brush the tears from James’ cheeks.
“Seriously,” he says, then smiles brightly. “We’re gonna be parents.”
***
“When’s the last time you saw him?” Sirius asks much later, after James has put Harry down for the night and Remus stepped out for a smoke and it’s only the two of them.
He knows Sirius is asking about Regulus, off somewhere out of reach, putting himself in harm’s way just so that his family will be safe.
“I don’t want you to be Dumbledore’s pawn,” he had said the day he left, and it had filled James with a type of fear and anger he hadn’t ever felt before.
“What about you, then?” James had argued, hushed so as not to wake Harry.
Regulus had just blinked slowly, the small downturn to his lips the only thing that revealed he wasn’t happy about it, either. “I’d rather it be me than you,” he said, and continued before James could interject. “Besides, it wouldn’t be out of character for me to take the mark. I’ve got the Black legacy to prove it.”
“You also have your son,” James said, his voice cracking.
Regulus’ gaze shuttered as soon as James mentioned Harry. “I’m doing this for him, Jamie, and for you.” he whispered. “Can’t you see? I don’t want him to have to grow up with a war going on, and I sure as shit don’t want to keep you hidden away just so you won’t get killed for shacking up with me. I’m not going to do that to you.”
He didn’t even give James time to respond. He just said his piece and gave James a swift kiss and apparated away, off to fight a war that wasn’t his to begin with. It was the last time they had seen each other.
James can’t think about it too deeply. The thought of Regulus out there, without any sort of backup or protection made James feel sick, although enough time had passed for the anger to mostly fade.
The sad thing is James understands: Regulus feels the need to protect his family the only way he knows how, and if they have to be apart for it, he’s happy to pay the price. James only wishes that Regulus had talked to him about it, instead of bringing it up moments before he left. It’s the kind of thing James is sure they will have to go to counselling for when the war is over, Regulus’ need to do everything by himself, and James’ lingering abandonment issues as a result.
James sighs. “The day he left.”
Sirius turns to him, shock written plain on his face. “Are you serious?”
James resisted making the obvious joke. “Don’t worry,” he says instead. “We had a fight about it before he went.”
“Fuck,” Sirius whispers, and James just nods.
“Yeah,” he says, craving a smoke, craving an out. He doesn’t want to talk about this, doesn’t want to remember that stupid fight and the sound of Regulus apparating out of their flat. “Said he didn’t want me to be Dumbledore’s pawn.”
Sirius scoffs. “So he took your place?”
James nods again, sullen.
Sirius sighs. “Well,” he says, reaching a lazy arm over the back of the sofa, around James’ shoulders. “You can’t say he doesn’t love you.”
James pretends he’s not whining when he says, “I know that.”
And he does. It’s just that sometimes, in the deepest recesses of his mind, he wishes that Regulus wasn’t so extreme with the way he showed he cared. He wishes that Regulus could be soft, sometimes, even if it was only a secret kept between the pair of them. But then if Regulus did that, if he was soft in that way, he wouldn’t be the Regulus James fell in love with.
So, no, James wasn’t mad at him because he took James’ place in the war. He’s mad because Regulus sacrificed himself to do it.
***
Peter didn’t know about Regulus, or the wedding, or Harry. James hates it, how they’ve drifted apart since they’ve left school, but he supposes it’s only natural. This is what happens when you grow up: you forget to call your friend one day, and then a year has passed and you’ve gotten married and had a kid.
He expresses his grief over it two days after Harry is born.
James is so happy, so filled with love that he bursts with it. He didn’t know he could love someone this much, didn’t think he had the capacity for it. But he looks at his son, who looks like an old man in miniature, all wrinkly and still a little splotchy from birth, and thinks that he would do it a million times over to experience this.
He loves watching Regulus with Harry, too, has gained a whole new respect for his husband, a new love for him entirely different from the one he felt when they had gotten married. This is the man who’s given him a family of his own, the man who looks at their son each morning with all of the wonder and awe reserved for fine art, and then looks at James proudly as if to say, look, I’ve made this .
Remus and Sirius were there for the birth, of course. They mostly served to keep James calm, prevent him from driving Regulus spare in his worry. Sirius was the first one to hold Harry after James, and teared up when Regulus had asked if they’d be Harry’s godfathers, like that was even a question.
But, two days after Harry’s birth, sometime in the wee hours of the morning when Harry’s woken up squalling for a bottle, and James and Regulus blearily stumble their way to the kitchen, it hits him.
Peter wasn’t there.
Regulus is pressing the nipple of the bottle to Harry’s rosebud lips, and his son latches, and James watches them, and Peter isn’t there.
It’s so strange: Peter’s been there for almost every milestone in James’ life, always quick to provide quiet, gentle commentary. He’s the kind of genius you wouldn’t expect, and his soft face got him out of many detentions during their time at Hogwarts, because he looked so innocent, how could he ever pull something off like that?
James had always pictured the four of them, the Marauders, lasting forever. Peter would stand with him at his wedding, watch their children grow up and teach them how to get away with things. But that never happened.
Peter doesn’t even know James had a son, let alone that he’s married.
James doesn’t even realise he’s crying until Regulus looks at him and gasps.
“Darling,” Regulus coos, gentle so as not to startle their son. It’s the nickname he saves for when they’re truly alone, when no one is there to mistake Regulus for being any kind of soft. He only allows himself to be like that, to truly relax, around James, and it makes something inside James’ chest come alight each time. “What’s wrong?”
James’ breath hitches. “I - Peter’s not here.”
Regulus’ gaze softens, and he sighs. “I know.”
“He was supposed to be here,” James croaks. “He - He was supposed to meet Harry.”
“I know, darling,” Regulus murmurs. “I’m sorry.”
James scoffs, wipes the tears from his cheeks. “Why? It’s not your fault he’s not here.” And it wasn’t.
When James and Regulus went into hiding at the beginning of the war, it was James’ idea to make Peter their Secret Keeper. It seemed obvious: everyone would expect Sirius and Remus to know where James was because he seemed closest to them. No one would suspect Peter.
Initially, when James made the suggestion, Regulus had frowned. “Don’t you think that’s too obvious,” he had asked. “You’re right; you seem closest to Sirius and Remus, so no one would expect Peter to be our Secret Keeper. Any strategist worth their salt would notice that.”
“Okay, but who would take the time to think of it that way?”
Regulus didn’t say anything, but they were both thinking it: Voldemort would.
But the thing is they haven’t heard from Peter in months. Almost immediately after they went into hiding, he seemed to have fallen off the face of the earth. It felt a bit like betrayal.
James says as much to Regulus, who sighs and moves into his space. He hands Harry to James and wraps them both in his arms, and if James tucks his head into the crook of Regulus’ neck and cries, grieving something he doesn’t even know if he lost, then there was no one else to see it.
***
The next Order meeting James attends is a tense affair. Naturally, Peter isn’t there, which is probably for the best. James doesn’t know what he’d do if he saw him.
He’s mostly gotten over the shock of it, he thinks. He’s not sure if he’ll ever trust another person the same way ever again, save for those who he knows inside and out, but he thinks he can live with that.
It’d make Regulus sad, though.
James sits down at the long table in Sirius and Remus’ dining room, staring listlessly at the woodgrain as the others start to shuffle in. Remus is somewhere upstairs, surrounded by silencing charms and Notice-me-Nots, the wards thick enough it will take them half an hour to take them down at the end of all this, watching Harry. Sirius is downstairs playing the not-so gracious host, fluttering about like it was a high-society party rather than a war room meeting.
Naturally, Dumbledore sits at the head of the table, his half-moon glasses gleaming in the dim light of the chandelier, a beatific smile on his face. James hates him, the man who took Regulus from him, who is using Regulus as a pawn in this sick power struggle between himself and Voldemort.
James wonders if Dumbledore feels remorse for the families he’s split apart, for turning his once star pupils into soldiers.
The rest of the Order files in, followed by Sirius, who plunks down in the chair next to James and rests a graceful arm across the back of James’ chair. “Right,” he calls, his voice booming over the chatter that fills the room. “Shall we get started?”
The room falls silent, solemnity filling the air, and Dumbledore clears his throat. “Yes, let’s begin. Thank you, Sirius, for hosting,” he says, and James frowns. Like Sirius had a choice in hosting the meetings in the first place.
Sirius affects a bow. “Always a pleasure.”
Dumbledore coughs. “Right,” he murmurs, pushing up his glasses and procuring a piece of parchment from seemingly nowhere. “There’s been a development on the warfront. One of my spies has discovered that Voldemort has made a series of Horcruxes, which, for those who do not know, are the splintered pieces of one’s soul forced into objects. These objects are notoriously difficult to destroy, and have been hidden until now.”
“Who’s dealing with them?” Marlene McKinnon asks from her seat near the end of the far side of the table. She’s got a new scar on her cheek, raised and red. It serves as a stark reminder that she’s one of the Order’s most brutal enforcers, usually off hunting Death Eaters. It’s rare that she attends an Order meeting, but each time she does, it’s a bit of a relief. She’s one of the few who are confident enough - and important enough - she can actually mouth off to Dumbledore.
“The same spy who discovered the Horcruxes has been handling them, but I plan on putting together a task force to continue this mission,” Dumbledore says, ever-so calm.
“Why?” Marlene presses, and James watches Dumbledore’s face.
Albus Dumbledore, for all that he puts on the calm academic mask, is only a man. James thinks he forgets that sometimes, that even the most stoic of men have their tells. So James notices when Dumbledore glances at him and Sirius, so briefly anyone else could pass it for a trick of the light, but James knows.
Dumbledore has always known about his and Regulus’ relationship, from the moment they started flirting while they were still in school. He doesn’t know the exact details of anything - he knows they live together, but doesn’t know about their marriage or Harry. It was why Regulus took his place as Dumbledore’s spy, why Dumbledore didn’t only glance at Sirius before speaking.
“My operatives and I, as you know, have scheduled owls once a week. I haven’t heard from this particular spy in three weeks, and all my owls keep returning.”
Marlene nods, satisfied, but all James can see is that glance his and Sirius’ way, and he knows, with sinking certainty, that Regulus is the missing spy.
James’ ears fill with static.
He’d know if Regulus was dead. They were bonded: their magic was tied together for the rest of their lives, he would know if Regulus was dead. And James can feel Regulus’ magic still pulsing next to his, so James knows he’s alive.
But where was he?
***
One night, when they had first gotten together, Regulus had turned to James, his head tilted, and calmly said, “You’re a lot less cheerful than you seem.”
It’d torn something in James wide open, that singular observation.
He’d known, of course, that Regulus was good at reading people. Sirius was as well, and James had always figured it was a side effect of being raised in that house of theirs, where the slightest misstep could result in extreme punishments. The difference, though, between the two was that Sirius never called him out on it.
James had laughed awkwardly, unmoored. “I don’t know what you mean,” he had said, feeling distinctly flayed open as Regulus peered at him through long lashes.
“It’s not a bad thing,” Regulus pointed out, and all James could think was that he wasn’t so sure about that. He’s always been the happy one, the one who is good for a laugh or to cheer someone up. He’s not sure what he’d do without that purpose.
James didn’t say anything, so Regulus continued, “You don’t have to be cheerful with me.”
And that was the thing about Regulus: he had this reputation for being all hard edges, the one with a heart of stone. He stalked through the halls with his head held high and his dumbass friends flanked behind him like henchmen, and when the three of them passed it was almost like being in the presence of royalty: you had the distinct urge to look away, but also you wanted to look just so you could catch a glimpse of him. He played along with Walburga and Orion Black’s expectations of him, pretended he thought the same way as they did, but it was all an act.
When Regulus was alone with those he loved, those he truly cared about, the hard edges blunted enough to bruise rather than cut. He wasn’t sweet, per se; he never minced his words, never did or said anything he didn’t want to do. He was painfully real in a way James wasn’t, and it seemed like he had finally noticed.
James finally sighed, and looked away from his boyfriend’s knowing gaze. They were in the come-and-go room, the room having morphed into a cosy den lined with plump pillows and thick blankets. The fireplace in the wall crackled softly, casting a warm glow across the room and long shadows in the corners where the light didn’t reach.
He didn’t know what to say. How do you say that sometimes you don’t feel real, that sometimes it’s just easier to be the happy-go-lucky one, the one who’s always up for a joke or a good time. It’s easier than admitting there’s anything wrong with him, that he feels like sometimes there’s this gaping hole in his chest that no matter what he does, he can never seem to fill it.
“You don’t have to say anything, either,” Regulus murmurs, and James turns his gaze to his boyfriend once more.
So James didn’t say anything. Instead, he clutched Regulus close to his chest and tucked his nose into his boyfriend’s hair, and let the tears that had been building up for ages finally fall.
***
James doesn’t notice when the meeting finishes, doesn’t notice everyone shuffling out of the house, doesn’t feel the wards go back up. He feels almost glued to his seat, like if he moves something will shift and he will have to face the terrible knowledge swirling in his brain, that his husband is missing.
He doesn’t notice when Sirius goes upstairs and takes the wards down, only realises that any time has passed when he hears the clock on the wall chime the next hour and footsteps coming down the stairs. James hears the hushed cadence of Sirius’ voice as he explains everything to Remus, distantly registers Remus stepping closer and closer until Harry is surreptitiously shoved in James’ face.
“Right, enough wallowing,” Sirius demands as James grabs hold of his son, but James doesn’t pay his best friend any mind.
Harry was a month old when Regulus left. He still looked a bit squashed, his features not fully developed. When Regulus last saw Harry, he had bleary blue eyes like all newborns do. He hadn’t learned how to smile yet, and it filled James’ heart with a heavy sort of sadness that his husband didn’t know what their son’s smile looked like. Regulus didn’t know that Harry had his eyes.
Harry is six months old now.
“Do you think he remembers Reg,” James murmurs, and he hears Sirius choke on air behind him.
“Oh, Prongs,” Remus croaks.
“I mean it,” James continues. “They barely had a month together. Who’s to say Harry still remembers him?”
“Of course he remembers, Prongs. Don’t be stupid; Reg is his dad,” Sirius finally says, leaving no room for discussion or disagreement.
James finally looks at Sirius and Remus, standing at his side, watching him with eyes full of concern. “I don’t know what to do.” His voice cracks, and he can feel the tears rising like a tide, helpless to stop them.
Sirius looks vaguely alarmed at the sight, and Remus looks resigned, and James remembers that he hasn’t quite broken down like this around them.
He’s always felt the need to keep it together around his friends; their issues always surpassed his by far and so it was the least he could do to stay strong for them. He was always the shoulder to cry on, the one to go to for a quick laugh or a rude joke to keep the sadness at bay.
Regulus was the one James went to when he needed to deal with his feelings, and now Regulus was missing.
“I don’t know what to do,” James brokenly repeats. “Tell me what to do.”
“Isn’t it obvious,” Sirius asks, his voice lined with steel the way it only ever was when he knew not to react to something. “We go and find him.”
James sniffles, hastily wiping the tears from his eyes. “Really?”
“It’s not that simple, Pads, and you know it,” Remus sighs, vaguely chastising, glancing at Harry.
James looks down at Harry, who’s watching the three of them with wide, innocent eyes. Regulus’ eyes.
James deflates.
At the end of the day, his priority was always going to be his son. As much as he wanted to find his husband, as lost as he felt without Regulus, as terrified as he was that Regulus wouldn’t come back from his lonely fight, James knew that Regulus would never forgive him if James left Harry to find him.
James just wishes it wasn’t this hard.
“I -” he starts, sucks in a breath. “I need to get out for a minute. I need to leave.” He looks at Sirius and Remus, desperate. “I need to go.”
“Mate,” Sirius says gently, his expression filled with sorrow. “You can’t. You’re in hiding, remember?”
“Fuck that!” James shouts, causing Harry to startle and cry. “Fuck,” he murmurs, rocking his son. “I’m sorry, Haz, I…”
“I’ll take him,” Remus murmurs, gently pulling the squalling infant from James’ arms and James’ watches, helpless as he turns and walks out of the room and up the stairs.
James looks at Sirius helplessly, and Sirius shrugs. “It’s probably for the best.” He looks at James, shrewd, then finally sighs and sits down next to him. “Look, I know you like to pretend that everything’s fine and you’re fine and the sun shines out your ass, but, James, have you actually taken the time to sit down and process everything?”
James stares at Sirius blankly. Had he really known this whole time?
James supposes the question must show on his face because Sirius scoffs and murmurs, “I’ve known you for ten years, Prongs. You might be able to fool yourself into believing I don’t see you, but I do. I always have.”
Sirius’ words tear through him like knives, and James can’t tell why he’s so surprised. It’s like when you see the blade press into your skin: you know it will hurt, but the dull ache that sets in is shocking all the same.
He feels new tears well up like blood, and still James doesn’t say anything.
Sirius sits down next to him - slowly, like he’s trying not to spook an animal - and wraps an arm around James’ shoulders. “I don’t know why you’ve always hid from us,” he murmurs gently.
“I didn’t want to -” James cuts himself off, considering, for a moment, what he’s trying to say. “Your feelings seemed more important.” He shrugs. “It wasn’t like I didn’t have anyone to talk to; I talked to my parents when they were alive, and then Regulus was always there. But now…”
“He isn’t,” Sirius finishes, his eyes full of solemn understanding. “I’m sorry if I ever contributed to that,” he continues. “You don’t deserve to feel alone.”
“I don’t!” James is quick to reassure. “It’s just that your problems always seemed bigger than mine, and I just wanted to support you. I’ve - I’ve always just wanted to be there for you.”
Sirius sighs. “Yeah, but, James, there’s two of us. It’s kinda fucked if it’s all about me all of the time.”
James huffs. “Goddamn it, Pads,” he mutters, half-bitter. “I thought I was supposed to be the smart one.”
Sirius barks out a laugh, and James grins through the tears trailing down his face. “Nah, mate,” Sirius says, “That’s Remus.”
***
There’s a knock at their door. It wakes James and Regulus up, it’s so early, but the knocking is hurried, loudly echoing through their flat in quick succession.
James takes one look at Regulus, sleep-ruffled and frowning, and sighs. He kisses Regulus’ cheek before getting out of bed and rushing for the door before the noise wakes Harry up, only mildly irritated that he’s been roused from his sleep. He is, after all, a new parent, and both he and Regulus need as much sleep as they can get these days.
James makes his way to the front door, hearing the shuffling of Regulus rolling out of bed and going to make sure Harry’s still asleep. He’ll cast the standard wards to make sure their unexpected guest remains unaware of Harry’s existence and join James in the entryway once he’s done.
For now, though, James is on his own.
James opens the door, and is immediately filled with dread.
“Mr. Potter, hello,” Dumbledore greets, his half-moon glasses glinting in the fluorescent light of the hallway. “May I come in?”
James sucks in a breath. “Sure,” he says on an exhale. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting guests. Can I get you anything?”
“No need,” Dumbledore says, his sharp eyes scanning the room. “I don’t plan on staying long.”
It’s then that Regulus steps into the entryway, his eyes widening as soon as he spots their former headmaster. He recovers quickly, old social instincts kicking in as his face falls into the famed Black mask and he greets, “Dumbledore.”
Dumbledore nods. “Regulus.”
James sighs. “Let’s move to the sofa, shall we?”
It’s awkward as they shuffle into the living room and sit down. Regulus perches on the edge of his seat, wary. He’s never liked Dumbledore, and James, for once, is inclined to agree. It was Dumbledore who forced them into hiding for some nebulous reason only he knew. It was Dumbledore who enlisted their friends - their family - into his army when they were only teenagers, too naive to understand exactly what they were getting into. It was hard not to hate Dumbledore for that, to not place the blame of the loss of their childhoods on him.
The trouble is that James can’t exactly regret it. This was, after all, the reason he was married, the reason Harry exists.
Dumbledore clears his throat, and Regulus scowls.
“I’ve made sure I wasn’t followed,” Dumbledore starts, “but I need your help with something.” He looks at James when he says this, and James feels a pit form in his stomach.
Regulus scoffs. “First, you want James in hiding, and now you want his help?”
Dumbledore levels his gaze at Regulus who stares back unflinchingly. “Yes. It requires a delicate touch.”
“What is it?” James asks, and Dumbledore turns his gaze to James once more.
“I need someone to help me find Voldemort’s Horcruxes and destroy them.”
Regulus sucks in a breath, quick and sharp and setting James on alert immediately. “No,” he interjects before Dumbledore can go into any detail. “No. I’ll do it. I’m not in hiding. I’ll do it.”
“Mr. Black, I really think James -”
“You think James what?” Regulus interrupts, his tone deadly. “I’m the heir to House Black. I can easily infiltrate the Death Eaters’ ranks to find information, and no one will bat an eye because my parents help to fund the Dark Lord’s regime. And, again, James is in hiding. You’re a fool if you think the Death Eaters will idly stand by and watch as someone they’re supposed to be hunting walks into one of their meetings like a lamb to the slaughter.”
To the naked eye, Dumbledore doesn’t even blink at Regulus’ speech, doesn’t have any sort of reaction other than peering at Regulus through his glasses. But James had spent many days in Dumbledore’s office, many near-expulsions waiting with baited breath as Dumbledore made the Marauders sit and wait for their punishments. James knew to look for the slight purse of the old man’s lips, the way his eyes barely tightened at the corners.
It must be a Black thing, to be able to successfully needle through his carefully constructed defences and enrage Albus Dumbledore.
James feels his own anger surging as well, feels it begin its heavy course through his veins in response to Regulus’ speech. As much as he loves Regulus’ need to protect him, protect their little family, he is not something innocent. He understands that maybe Regulus is better suited for this task, but it stings to have the chance to get out of this damned safehouse taken from him, even if it might be for his own good.
James can tell what is best for himself, thank you very much.
“I assure you, Mister Black, that is not my intention,” Dumbledore calmly states.
Regulus rolls his eyes. “Right. And why is James in hiding in the first place?”
“I cannot say.”
Regulus rolls his eyes. “Right.”
“Can I ask,’ James interjects, and he feels the weight of both sets of eyes on him as he continues, “How long will this mission take?”
Dumbledore sighs, and at once he looks old in a way he never has before, like each year of his life has taken something from him. “It is impossible to say. It will only last as long as it takes for the task to be completed.”
“Oh,” James murmurs, stunned.
So he doesn’t know how long Regulus will be gone.
Fuck.
***
Eventually, they decide that Remus will go search for Regulus and maybe, once he finds him, help to search for and destroy the Horcruxes. They don’t tell Dumbledore. If James is honest, he’s lost his faith in the old man nearly just as much as he’s lost his faith in the good of wizardkind. It makes him sad, in a way, like because he no longer trusts his mentor, he’s lost the last bits of his childhood.
He’s jealous, too. Jealous that Remus gets to be the one to find Regulus and bring him home, jealous that Remus and Sirius had actually discussed who would leave and when, even though James hadn’t been privy to that conversation.
Sirius is distraught, naturally. He and Remus have hardly been apart since they were in school, and James isn’t sure they know how to function without the other - or at least the assurance that the other is coming home at the end of the day. It’s another thing James is bitter about.
And the thing is that James hates feeling this way. He hates the fact he has to fake sympathy whenever Sirius complains about missing Remus because all James can think about is missing Regulus. He hates feeling like he’s a bad friend because he’s jealous that Sirius and Remus actually fucking communicated before deciding that Remus would leave to find Regulus.
But truthfully, at the end of it all, James is just sad.
He misses Regulus like he’s lost a limb, and he’s terrified that something has happened to Regulus. He wishes Harry knew his father as a person who was present in his day-to-day life and not as a character in the stories James tells him before bed. Because when James looks at Harry as he’s telling those stories, he’s not sure if he can see recognition in those baby-soft wide eyes, eyes that Harry inherited from Regulus.
He’s sad as says goodbye to Remus at the door, with Harry in his arms. “Say ‘Bye Moony,’” James tells his son, waving Harry’s hand with his own.
Harry babbles, and James watches as a soft smile blooms across Remus’ face. “Bye, Haz,” he says, before turning to Sirius.
It’s funny: most people who know Sirius would expect the usual dramatics at the sight of his partner leaving on some long journey with no end in sight. They’d expect him to cry and throw his arms around his Moony and beg him to never leave.
But James knows Sirius in a way few others do, and so he watches as Sirius stands stoically by the door, watching Remus with hardened eyes, steeling himself for when Remus actually leaves. At the end of the day, James knows that Sirius will always return to his upbringing, to that infamous British stiff upper lip that the Black family has perfected over the centuries, calm and collected.
They all know it’s a mask, but neither James nor Remus can bring themselves to call Sirius out on it. If that’s what he needs to get through this, then James and Remus will pretend along with him.
“Bye, Moony,” Sirius says casually, like he would any other day. “Bring me a present when you get back, yeah?”
Remus wraps Sirius in his long arms, and just as James turns away - he doesn’t need to see this, not when he knows what is going to happen - James hears Remus respond: “Always.”
James is upstairs putting Harry down for his nap when he hears the front door shut. Moments later, he hears the door to Sirius and Remus’ room slam closed as well.