Anakephalaiosis

Regulus’s heart pounded in his chest, his robes billowing as he moved. His hands trembled. How had this happened? When could it?
How? How?

James Potter—what did Regulus really know about him?

Men like him have so much to say but never stay. They move, jump, and crash through life and emerge unscathed, no matter the consequences. Regulus tried to recall; all he could remember was Potter pulling on his chain, talking to people the way Regulus talked to himself.

“Is that enough? Would you like more?” Dorcas pulled on Regulus’s cashmere long sleeves, making him stumble a little.

Regulus nodded, his fingers tightening around the cup. He looked at her and gave her a small smile.

“Let me know if you need anything. I will be with Mare,” Dorcas pointed at the angry-looking Gryffindor before wincing. “Just flag me down; I will come to you.”

The air was thick with warmth and the faint tang of spilt alcohol. Laughter and shouting blended with the upbeat rhythm of the music, filling the crowded Hufflepuff common room with a chaotic energy that made Regulus’s head thrum.

Everybody was here. It had been a week since Slytherin defeated Gryffindor, but that didn’t matter to anyone right now. Everyone from grades five to seven were having fun as the year ended.

He’d never been to a party like this before, aside from the occasional ones his mother dragged him to. He felt like he’d been plopped into it, unsure of what he was supposed to do with his body.

Regulus scanned the room, his eyes landing on Sirius at the far end, his body close to a Mudblood. He looked wild, his hair longer than ever, brushing against his shoulder blades. Grass in his hand, he twirled the girl around, swinging in time with the music. He looked like he belonged here like he always belonged everywhere. Regulus wondered if he’d ever feel that way—or if he even wanted to.

“Anyone want something that will actually get them drunk?” Potter yelled as he walked in, his shirt tight and open, a bottle in hand. Everybody turned to look at him, their faces lighting up and cheering as he got crushed by every house except Slytherin.

People stood up to talk to him, pulling on the yellow satin shirt Regulus saw him wearing when the Gryffindor was heading home for Christmas. His hair was pushed up, showing more of his face, a smile on his lips as he greeted people who patted his back. The dip in his cheek widened as he waved at his housemates.

“Isn’t he just insufferable?”

Regulus shifted his head to the right and looked up at Tristram Smith, the Hufflepuff captain, who was already smiling down at him.

His hair was blonde and just as yellow as his jumper. Tall and lean, he could be beautiful if it weren’t for his broken nose, but he was handsome enough.

“Sorry?” Regulus shoved himself into the corner Dorcas had tried to pull him out of.

“Potter,” Smith cocked his head toward the Gryffindor. “You’d think he walked in with nectar from the gods.”

Regulus laughed softly, his hand on his lips. That encouraged the man to lean down with his arms crossed. He reminded Regulus of Potter on the field, shouting at his team, but less intimidating, more open and practiced—not perfected.

“No, honestly,” Smith shook his head. “I like the guy, but dear god, does he get insufferable sometimes.”

“Is it because they won against you?” Pretty badly too, but Regulus wasn’t going to say that.

Smith whistled, his mouth turning in the corner as he nodded sheepishly. “Maybe.”

Regulus nodded, taking another sip of the alcohol Alice had given him. It hurt to drink it, but it was rude not to.

“But to tell you the truth,” Smith leaned in close to Regulus, “everybody was sorta happy you lot won. I mean, knocking the Gryffindors down a peg.”

Regulus looked behind the seventh-grader, his eyes landing on Potter. The alpha’s sleeves were pushed up, exposing his forearms—strong, tan, and utterly relaxed. in a way that drew everyone’s attention—unruly and magnetic. It fascinated Regulus, fascinated Sirius, who tried to replicate it with unrefined, sharp edges.

“I wonder what is so special about them,” Regulus said offhandedly. what, in the name of Godric, he was talking about.

“About who?” Smith smiled.

“Wild people… they seem…” Regulus trailed off.

“Wild like your brother?” Smith’s eyebrows furrowed slightly.

Regulus hesitated, his mind flickering to Sirius’s carefree grin and James’s unrestrained laugh.

“I don’t know. Maybe? I want to know them or understand them.”

“What does it matter?” Smith waved a hand. “You’re young, still finding your way. No need to envy them.”

“I won’t call it envy,” Regulus pulled on the lid of his cup, wondering why Smith would think that’s what he meant, “just… curiosity.”

Smith laughed loudly, making other people stare at them. Regulus felt his cheeks burn.

“You’re sweet,” Smith said suddenly, his tone light but his gaze lingering as if he’d discovered something.

“Huh?” 

“I mean, you’re sweet. People’ve got you misunderstood,” Smith said with a twinkle in his eye.

Sweet. The word hovered between them, foreign and unwelcome. Regulus blinked, as though trying to make sense of it. Sweet? That wasn’t him. Regulus tried to think of what he is, how is and came empty handed. The thought burned in his chest, and he wasn’t sure if it was embarrassment or resentment.

“Alright… thank you,” Regulus nodded, his fingers curling tighter around the cup.

He didn’t know what else to say. Misunderstood? The word felt foreign, almost laughable. Regulus doubted anyone thought about him long enough to misunderstand anything at all. Most of the time, Regulus felt like he existed in a blip where he flushed in and out of existence, that people forgot about him when he wasn’t in front of them. That’s how he felt about most people.

“Awkward and sweet,” Smith almost cooed, and Regulus flushed completely. “Who would have thought?”

Regulus felt a shiver that made him look back at the group behind Smith. His breath slowed when he saw Potter looking at him, his gaze steady, cutting through the crowd. The casual lean against the table felt deliberate. Regulus thought about looking away, but something in Potter’s eyes held him there. It felt threatening or grounding.

“Who taught you to fly like that?” Smith asked, his voice rising a little as Regulus dragged his eyes back to him. Hazel eyes shimmered, and lips red from the alcohol curved into a small smile. “You’re amazing.”

“My uncle,” Regulus replied, his body tingling faintly from the alcohol. “He convinced my mother to let me play.”

“She must trust him a lot, convincing her to let you play. We’re lucky for it, though. Watching you fly—” he paused, his smile lingering. “It’s something else.”

Regulus felt the weight of Potter’s eyes intensify. His own grey eyes locked briefly with Potter’s, who had yet to look away. The black of his pupils seemed to capture Regulus, pinning him in place.
Potter was burning him down with his gaze, the heat of it turning Regulus into liquid. He found himself leaning against the wall, helpless under the scrutiny. The boy’s tanned skin gleamed faintly in the low light as he tilted his head to the left, the gesture almost lazy but impossible to ignore.

A cold hand landed on Regulus’s cheek, snapping his attention back. Smith’s blue eyes were soft and light as they gazed into his, the older boy leaning down slightly, his body brushing against Regulus’s side.

Then, without warning, Smith’s lips touched the corner of Regulus’s mouth, soft and lingering.

The kiss was unexpected, startling Regulus. His eyes on Potter as Smith deepened the kiss. Regulus’s eyes fluttered shut, and he leaned into it instead of recoiling. Unconsciously, with the aftertaste of Potter’s gaze still burning in his mind, Regulus kissed Smith back. His thoughts flashed to a golden necklace against sunlit skin—fragments of memory or imagination he couldn’t place.

Regulus felt high on the attention he was receiving. The warmth of the body against his was nice, welcoming even, as a hand landed on his waist, pulling him closer. The Hufflepuff’s other hand gripped the back of Regulus’s head gently, holding him in place as the kiss deepened.

It felt inappropriate, almost shameful, but his mind kept playing flashes of gold against brown, of fleeting moments that made him feel less afraid and more alive.

In the trembling haze where pleasure and rebellion bled together, he swore he felt eyes on him—silent witnesses framed in gilt and disapproval. It should ruin him, but there was a desperate itch that wanted to know what it felt like to belong somewhere, to someone.

“Regulus,” Smith whispered, his breath warm against his cheek. He pulled back slightly, scanning Regulus’s face. “Do you want to leave?”

Regulus stared back at him, searching his face. The hazel eyes felt wrong. The blonde hair did too. But maybe this was the way—the way to quiet the humming in his chest and let his curiosity simmer into something manageable.

Slowly, Regulus nodded.

“Alright, come on.” Smith tugged on his hand lightly, his freckled fingers wrapping around Regulus’s wrist.

Regulus’s lashes fluttered. Something in him compelled him to look back, to glance over Smith’s shoulder as he was being led toward the door. His gaze fell on Potter again.

Potter was dancing with a boy about Regulus’s size. They moved together, the boy practically glowing with excitement as Potter’s hands rested comfortably on his waist. The haze that had wrapped around Regulus’s mind shattered. His eyes widened slightly as he watched Potter laugh, his head tilting back for a moment before leaning close to the boy again.

Smith pulled him gently toward the door, but Regulus’s steps faltered. He looked down at the freckled hand holding his and felt a deep disinterest wash over him.

“Regulus?” Smith stopped, turning back to him with confusion in his eyes.

“No.” Regulus shook his head, pulling his hand free completely.

“What?” Smith’s voice carried a hint of hurt, but Regulus was already stepping back.

“No,” he repeated softly, turning away and walking back into the crowd. Disappointment bled through him, making his movements sluggish.

Maybe Smith was calling after him—he couldn’t be sure. The sound of the party felt distant, muted, like he was underwater.

Regulus’s mind churned as he walked aimlessly, his chest tightening with a confusion he couldn’t name. He wasn’t sure if the curiosity he felt was worth exploring. He never knew what people wanted from him, but he always knew what his family wanted. His mother and father made their expectations clear.

Going through with what Smith wanted wasn’t that, and Regulus couldn’t shake the thought that he was better off not knowing.

Someone is calling his name, but Regulus can’t find it in himself to care. He needs to get to a place where he can hide and figure out where the boy came from. How did he get here? It’s not time yet—there’s supposed to be time.

He runs, the sound of his footsteps loud as the silencing charm he tries to cast fails for the third time. The baby isn’t even making any noise—it’s silent, trembling in his arms.

He stumbles as he takes a sharp left. Regulus hears people behind him, but their voices grow quieter. A door appears magically in front of him, half-obscured by a veil of white cloud that coils around its edges. The mist moves unnaturally, as though drawn to the wood, curling into the intricate carvings.

Without question Regulus grabs the doorknob, its surface cold and damp against his palm. The weight of it feels both nonexistent and solid, the atoms seemingly breaking and intertwining as he moves it to open.

The door flings itself open, startling him. The entrance is pitch black, a void that seems to breathe as fog spills from its edges, curling into the hall behind him. Regulus hesitates, the cold dampness of the air clinging to his skin. The fog presses inward, muffling the sound of approaching footsteps until they’re distant echoes.

The nervousness within Regulus fades as he looks down at the child and sees him staring back, his grey eyes wide and reflective, like mirrors catching the dim glow of the lamps. 

He steadies himself, a solidified feeling rushing through him as he steps forward. His skin feels tight, compressed, and his lungs heave for air. For a moment, Regulus is overwhelmed by an impending sense of doom, but it washes away as quickly as it came.

“Are you alright?” Regulus whispers, adjusting the baby in his arms. He watches the boy shake his head and point at his stomach.

Regulus blinks, finally noticing how the boy’s magic writhes in distress, an invisible pressure sending him into a panic.

“Right… of course,” Regulus mutters. Closing his eyes, he focuses on his own magic. It swells in response, his core simmering as it begins wrapping around the boy in careful, slow-motion layers. He’s unfamiliar with this motion of calming, relying only on what he’s observed: the way mothers in crowded stores soothe their children, their magic instinctively reaching out to coat them in comfort.

The boy sighs, his trembling subsiding. His little lungs begin to steady, inhaling and exhaling in a slow rhythm.

Tentatively, Regulus pushes more of his magic outward, feeling the calmness wash over him as well. The headache he hadn’t even realized he was carrying fades. The lump in his throat begins to ease. He steadily quells the pulsing distress radiating from the child’s small, pure magical core.

There’s no resistance as he touches its surface—only a natural, automatic attempt to seek shelter in Regulus’s magic. It feels familiar as it nestles into the radiance of the boy’s core, wrapping it in protective care.

Digging deeper, Regulus takes a sharp breath, startled by the strength of the child’s magic. It blazes like an eclipsed sun, its light veiled by Dark magic. He hums softly, tracing a finger to the child’s belly button. Reaching underneath, he presses against it with determined care.

With a gentle pulse, he increases his own magic. The eclipse resists, strong and stubborn, but behind it, he can see the flames of the child’s magic—bright and powerful—dancing against the dark.

Regulus halts when the boy lets out a small whine of pain. A flicker of doubt brushes him as he looks down at the child. He knows he can’t succeed without causing more harm. Instead, he settles for a temporary solution, covering the eclipsed core with his own magic and nestling it carefully into the orbit of radiance.

“There we are,” Regulus murmurs, his voice low and soothing. His head reels slightly as if Dumbledore himself had used Legilimency on him, leaving them both drained.

The baby sighs in relief, his head dropping against Regulus’s collarbone. The omega looks down before looking up, scanning his surroundings.

Tunnels stretch endlessly in every direction, their darkened paths barely illuminated by faint, flickering lamps. A cold white fog seeps through the cracks, curling around Regulus’s ankles and swallowing the floor in a ghostly shroud. It seems to pulse with life, twisting the maze into a confusing, otherworldly expanse. Regulus’s breath hitches, visible in the clammy air. Confounded, he looks around, his lips parting slightly as he gazes at the infinite maze.

“Gratias tibi,” he whispers, grazing his fingers against the walls. The soft breath of the baby next to his ear is the only sound in the eerie silence.

He takes a deep breath, his hand fumbling in his leather bag as he searches.

“Uhm,” Regulus adjusts the baby in his arms pulling out the fae jar.

“Wow.” The baby’s eyes widen, and he points at the jar with a chubby finger. “Cookie!”

“No,” Regulus says firmly, The jar hums faintly in his hand, the fae’s glittering forms flitting chaotically, their sharp eyes cutting through the dim light. He struggles to open the jar as the baby reaches for it with determined hands.

“Stop it,” Regulus hisses, the click of the opener falling to the ground.

“Cookies!” the baby whines, squirming in Regulus’s arms, reaching for the glowing fae coming out of the jar.

“Stop it,” Regulus repeats, grabbing the baby as he bounces. The fae swarm angrily around them, their tiny eyes glaring into his.

“No huh,” the baby says, trying to mimic the fairies’ terrifying faces but failing completely.

Regulus sighs, pulling the baby closer to his chest as the mist creeps higher, its damp chill brushing against his wrists. The fae darts around them, their glow barely cutting through the thickening haze. He stares at them, their faces twisted in fury as they swarm. “Tobbco,” he offers firmly, his voice steady but hushed in the heavy air.

“Give me!” the baby exclaims instead, lunging with surprising speed. His small fist cuts through the fog, closing around a fae mid-flight. Its golden light flickers desperately in the mist.

“Let her go!” Regulus wheezes, frantically prying the baby’s fingers open to release the furious fae. The fae writhes, her glowing wings beating frantically, her tiny form thrashing in defiance.

“My cookie, Mama!” the baby protests, his grey eyes shining with mischief and frustration.

Regulus bats the faes attacking him, trying to take a glowing body squirming in the baby’s small fist. As he bats the other fairies away, his gaze shifts to the child—the oversized black jumper swallowing his tiny frame, his curly hair brushing his ears, and the determined glint in his grey eyes as he lifts the fae to his lips, ignoring Regulus’s shouts to stop.

Another realization strikes him: This child—this beautiful, impossible child—is going to eat the fae and plunge Regulus into unpayable debt. But more than that, this child—this boy—is Harry. Regulus didn’t know him, yet somehow, he loves him all the same.

“Harry, don’t eat her!” Regulus screams, his voice echoing through the fog-drenched tunnel.

The circles in James’s head are spinning. His head feels like it’s about to fall off. There’s a small voice in the back of his mind screaming, “What the fuck” over and over again.

Regulus running off, the fucking kid, Sirius looking like he wants to smash James’s head in and slurp on his brain matter as an afterthought of vengeance.

The dots are nowhere near each other. Nothing is making sense, and yet it makes so much. Does James want to impregnate Regulus fucking Black? He doesn’t think so. The concept of breeding someone is palpable. James is a young man; he gets hard at the idea of a hot, warm hole and putting a baby inside someone, just like any other alpha growing into his limbs.

He jerks it, calls it a day, and moves the fuck on. Has he ever in his lifetime looked at Regulus Black and thought, “Hmm, it’s probably tight and warm—perfect for my offspring”?

No. He has never. He’s lived his life by principles: don’t eat too fast, help your friends (if they don’t piss you off), say thank you to your mom for her cooking, don’t get into any more fights because you need to grow up, and don’t swim in unknown water—aka, don’t fuck your best friend’s brother.

James is trying this thing where he’s honorable—more palatable, less arrogant. He’d say it’s working out so far. He hasn’t made Lily pissed off by shoving Snape into a cabinet in the name of broken promises and friendships.

To put being honorable aside… would he fuck Regulus? Shapeless is what he’d call the boy. Dressed like a little conservative cunt most of the time, everything about him is just so loose and uptight at the same time. Nothing shows anything—except when he lifts his hands, and his wrists show. Thin, delicate, and so white.

James always wants to break them. Put them between his palms and bend them until they snap. That’s something he tries not to think about—being honorable and all.

The jaw-aching idea of being good. The most divine form of yourself. A concentration of good, a force of light—dick hole wet, hard, smacking, and fucking.

Staring at Sirius’s tense back—his best friend, his brother, and the person he cares about most—James knows he wouldn’t do something like that to him. Dick hole wet, hard, fucking his younger brother, that is. Before James is dishonorable, he is loyal. And he is loyal to Sirius. He wouldn’t do something like that without telling him.

If the kid is James’s kid, then he did it with Sirius’s full agreement and knowledge. Maybe after relentlessly wearing Sirius down, but he wouldn’t have done anything to make Sirius feel betrayed.

Because there’s something about a family member fucking your friend—it doesn’t have to be as complicated as what Sirius has with his brother. Or maybe it’s not so much complicated as it is nothingness for someone to feel betrayed about sibling-best-friend fucking.

The spinning in James’s head gets worse, his breath shorter by the second—the fucking of best-friend brothers and family. Complicated in the sense of, “That’s fucking disgusting. That’s my family, and you’re my friend. Why are you touching my family?”

It’s disrespectful. So James wouldn’t disrespect Sirius. But Sirius is mad, and that pisses him off too. It’s not like any of this makes any sense. None of this has happened. Everything is jumbled, and no one is talking about how time isn’t where it’s supposed to be.

James and Sirius mad at something together? Amazing. They’ll give that something a piece of their thoughts. James and Sirius mad at each other? They will throw Peter in the trash and Remus out the window.

By the third angry huff that leaves Sirius’s lips, James wants to give him something to truly be mad about.

“Do you think he liked me? Will like me? Wherever the baby came from—did he travel time?” James pants as the group follows Sirius inside a fucking mountain with magic stairs carved into it.

“Does it look like that’s something I want to think about right now?” Sirius laughs dryly and turns to glare at James. James swears his hair is getting bigger and bigger with his anger. He can feel Sirius’s magic somehow, as soon as they step inside the dark door.

“Well, you’ll just have to, mate,” James snaps, his jaw clenched, refusing to let Sirius’s anger overshadow his own.

“Yeah? I have to accept the fact that you had a kid with my little brother?! My old dark-magic creep of a brother! Might I add—my brother!” Sirius hisses, shoving James in the chest.

“There are a lot of things we don’t know,” Remus interrupts, his hand on James’s chest while the other reaches for Sirius’s arm. James notices the way they both tense as they touch each other and rolls his eyes. The mating dance between them is overcooked and boring at this point.

“I’m not apologizing for something I didn’t do,” James laughs in Sirius’s face and watches as Sirius grows a little less sane. “And unlike you, I don’t actually care about him. I’m trying to understand what the fuck is going on and if I have anything to do with it. So stop pretending like you don’t care about the creep brother of yours, since you immediately knew where he was running off to.”

“You should fucking apologize,” Sirius jumps closer, only to be pushed back by a struggling Remus. “And you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“Sure,” James bristles and nods. “Like how I also don’t know that you want to bugger Moony. Any more bollocks you want to spew?”

Remus and Sirius both blink rapidly at James, shock coloring their faces before Sirius quickly closes off. “I don’t want to bugger Remus.”

James shakes his head and scoffs. “Whatever.” He pushes past Sirius and Remus, continuing to walk up the stairs with his wand in front of him to light up the area.

James glances back at Peter, who’s dragging his feet more than usual. His wandlight flickers erratically, making him look like a shadow slipping through the dark. “Peter keep up” 

“Think Dumbledore and McGonagall lost us?” Peter quips, his voice light but edged with unease coming far behind him.

“Probably,” Remus whispers, drawing his attention. 

James’s hand twitches at Remus's voice, the urge to apologize to Remus, thrown out of the window once again, but that would mean apologizing to Sirius. So, he bites his tongue and keeps walking.

They ascend the narrow, dirt-built stairs, each step uneven and slick with moisture. The air is heavy with dampness, clinging to their skin like an unwelcome second layer. James runs the Quidditch field every morning and night, does sit-ups before breakfast and after dinner. What he means is that he’s fucking fit, but he’s not fit enough to ascend an uneven, dirt-built staircase where it’s hot, dark, and humid for what seems like hours now.

“I think I’m going to die,” James breathes out, sliding his back against the dirty wall. He raises his wand up and looks at Sirius and Remus. “Shit, Moony.”

“It’s—fine,” Remus’s words break from how out of breath he is. His face is red and sweaty, his scarred hand on his chest as he plops down the stairs, breathing in and out sharply, his hand slightly shaking.

“It’s fine,” James repeats in disbelief. “Sure, my friend, whatever you say.”

Remus’s next sharp inhale sounds a lot like a "fuck you."

“I think we’re going to lose our moon,” Sirius sits beside James, opposite Remus. James bites back a wince as he realizes that it’s probably his fault.

“No,” Remus exhales. “I just need a break.”

James takes off his gold necklace, clicking the tip of his wand against the gold once and watching as it transforms into a cup. Sirius’s wand is already on the rim of it, pouring water.

“Here,” James reaches toward Remus, shaking the cup lightly for him to take.

“No—you drink,” Remus says in a raspy voice.

“Remus,” James says in exasperation. “Drink the fucking water.”

Remus flushes at James’s tone before taking the cup, bringing it to his lips and slurping it, water dripping down his neck. He glances at Sirius and watches as the alpha’s eyes track the water droplets.

“Merlin,” he hisses and nudges Sirius, effectively snapping him out of it.

“Stop,” Sirius hisses back.

You’re a disaster,” James hisses. “You’d think you’re a virgin, not someone who’s shagged half the school.” 

Sirius glares at James. “It’s not the same,” he whispers.

“What are you two talking about?” Remus says, the corner of his mouth tight in the dark as he thrusts the cup toward James.

James can see jealousy coursing through him, far more obvious than normal. He can feel it radiating against him. James swallows and wonders where in the world Sirius has taken them. He wants to get the fuck out of this tunnel—everybody’s emotions are so high, and he feels too in tune.

“Don’t worry about it,” James grunts, standing up before calling out for Peter as Sirius refills the cup again. His eyebrows furrow when he doesn’t hear Peter scurrying.

“Wormtail!” James calls again and looks behind them, blinking when he can’t find Peter’s wand flash in the dark. “Shit.”

“Peter?” Remus calls, his voice sharp as he glances down the stairs. “Where the hell is he?”

Sirius groans, throwing his head back before taking a look around. Quickly, Sirius drinks the water and hands it back to James. “Just had to disappear.”

Without a second word, Sirius sends his Patronus out, a massive grim dog circling itself, half of its body disappearing into the wall as it does so.

Sirius talks to the dog. “Oi, Pete, where the fuck did you go off to?”

Padfoot stands in front of Sirius for a while before the long-haired boy huffs.

“Well? Off you go now.”

Sirius’s Patronus woofs once, its shadowy form dissolving into the staircase.

“I’m sure… shit,” Remus groans as he stands, his knees cracking. “I’m so fucking old.”

“You’re like the youngest out of all of us,” James points out.

“I’m only a day younger than you,” Remus cracks his neck.

“Stop doing that. What if you crack your neck and die?” Sirius tries to be nonchalant, grabbing Remus’s neck and holding it tightly.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Remus whispers.

James watches the odd intimacy between his best friends—Remus, flushed and awkward, and Sirius, overly tactile and oblivious. It’s moments like these that make James wonder how he ended up as the sane one. Shaking his head, James turns the goblet back into a necklace.

“Right then,” James whispers to himself, locking the necklace back into place. “We have a missing friend and the missing mother of my missing apparent child.”

Sirius jerks away from Remus, his foot unsteady before righting himself.

“You don’t know that,” Remus mumbles, looking rejected and, in James's opinion, neglected. “I mean, how? Do you actually think it’s time travel?”

“Finding Regulus first, asking questions later,” James says, taking the lead and pushing past the should-be couple.

“Regulus,” Sirius whispers to himself.

“What was that?” James turns, looking down at Sirius now that he’s a step ahead.

“I said Regulus,” Sirius sneers, though his voice falters, a shadow of something unspoken flashing across his face. “He’s Regulus now huh?”

“Yes, Regulus,” James says, mimicking Sirius’s tone in an exaggerated, high-pitched voice. “Calling him Black would just be weird at this point.”

James didn’t like the way Sirius’s words lingered in his head. Regulus. He’s Regulus now. It felt personal, a sharp edge to something James hadn’t thought twice about. The way tears rolled down his pale face, the kid in his lap.

“Um, Peter,” Remus injects before Sirius can add anything. “He’s still gone, and Padfoot came back.”

James looks down at the glowing dog and sighs.

“Right, right,” Sirius mumbles. “It’s sad, truly, but I’m not walking down.”

“Um, I don’t think I can—” Remus starts.

“I will,” James interrupts with a sigh. He looks around, taking in the damp, dark staircase and the dirt surrounding them, then glances down the dark pathway he’ll have to traverse again. “I’ll go. I’ll make sure he didn’t fall or something. There’s nowhere else to go, really. He should be fine—probably turned into Wormtail,” James scratches the back of his neck, “somewhere Padfoot couldn’t find him.”

“We’ll just head up. If you don’t find him after a while, send us Prongs. We’ll come down and look together. Regulus knows his way around this mountain; Peter doesn’t,” Sirius says.

“Merlin, I really hope he’s not far off,” Remus mutters, sighing heavily. “I don’t think I can manage going up and down again.”

“Me too,” James says, wiping sweat from his forehead. “If that makes you feel less guilty.”

Remus glances at James’s muscles, taking in the sweat on his forehead and body. “It does, actually.”

“Good. See ya, lads.” James turns, heading down. He stops when Sirius calls out his name. “Yes?”

Sirius glances at James, his jaw tight on his symmetrical face. “Whatever is happening—it doesn’t matter. Not now.”

James stares at Sirius, nodding back at him. They stiffly look at each other before James sighs, leaning forward and dragging Sirius down to his level to give him a side hug. Sirius doesn’t like hugs, but he tolerates this one.

“I know I’m a bastard sometimes, but this isn’t one of those times,” James says, pulling Sirius’s collar to make him understand.

“Yeah,” Sirius says with a forced laugh, his hand landing heavily on James’s back. The tension in his jaw and the quick glance away suggest there’s more he isn’t saying. “I know you.”

Sirius has a hard look on his face, his dark eyes searching James’s expression, the complicated way his face contorts. James knows Sirius can read his mind. He wants to ask him if he’s missing something—a puzzle Sirius knows but isn’t willing to share, but James can see how Sirius closes off and knows better than to press.

“Fuck off then,” Sirius says, pushing James’s shoulder. With a huff, James pushes him back, quickly taking a few steps down to avoid being thrown down the stairs by Sirius.

“Dick!” Sirius screams after him.

Remus holds Sirius’s shoulder, glancing at James with a mix of concern and something unspoken. “Just send Prongs, alright?” he says, his voice steady but strained. 

James caught Remus' eyes on him, his expression tight. It wasn’t quite judgment, but there was something wary in his gaze. James shakes it off. He can’t handle any more layers of complication right now

Find Wormtail first. Then Regulus. Then—everything else.

James licks his teeth and taps his wand against his wet temple. “Don’t worry. I’ll find Wormy and come back.”

The acrid smell of earth and mildew clogs James's  nostrils, mixing with the metallic tang of damp stone and his sweat, Each step creaks faintly as though warning James to turn back, but the darkness ahead seems to pull him in deeper. James takes a deep breath, trying to push down the unease he feels.

“Oi, Pete!” James yells as he descends. “How bloody hard is it to walk the stairs, mate? Honestly, thick as shit.”

Silence fills the air, broken only by the sound of water trickling somewhere in the distance. The absence of Sirius’s grumbling or Remus’s labored breathing irritates him.

Reaching into his pocket, James pulls out his wand and conjures a compass, sprinkling it with a strand of Peter’s hair. Just as he places the hair atop the compass, his eyebrows knit together in confusion—the needle spins erratically, refusing to settle on magnetic north. He shakes it, then vanishes the malfunctioning compass and summons a new one.

“What’s going on?” James mutters, frowning as he adjusts the compass to true north. Instead of steadying, the needle spins faster, almost violently. His stomach churns as he places Peter’s hair back in his pocket and tries Sirius’s and Remus’s hairs instead. The same thing happens 

Sweat dampens his palms as realization sets in. “Where are we?” he murmurs, his voice barely audible as his stomach drops. His brain pieces together the fragments of information, and dread settles in. “Shit!”

Remus isn’t a day younger than James no fucking way they aren’t a day apart—Different months. Different everything and nobody corrected him. Not Sirius, not Peter. Not even James. Because somehow, in this place-wherever, whenever they are-Remus is wrong.

James bolts up the stairs, the spinning compass clutched tightly in his sweaty hand. His voice echoes sharply against the damp stone walls. “ Sirius! Remus! Oi! We need to get out of here! The mountain’s electromagnetic field—it’s throwing the compass off! Fuck This place isn’t stable—we could—“ They could what? What is he trying to say?

Only silence answers him. The sound of trickling water grows louder, reverberating through the stone walls. Panic builds in his chest as he speeds up, the questions pounding in his mind. 

What the fuck is happening? Where the hell are they? How does someone disappear in a narrow mountain? His pulse quickens as the questions swirl, each one worse than the last. What if they don’t make it out? What if they’re already— He cuts the thought off, swallowing hard. And Regulus. And the kid. No answers. No time.

“Shit,” James hisses as his foot slips. His stomach lurches, and he grabs at the wall for support, but his fingers close around nothingness. His eyes widen as he realizes there’s no wall, only empty air that he falls into.

His stomach drops, panic surging as his hands flail into empty air. A sharp gasp escapes his lips, the weightlessness consuming him entirely. The ground rushes up with brutal inevitability, and he lands hard, pain exploding through his shoulder as the impact reverberates up his spine.

“Fuck the gods and the fucking dicks of the world—and all the mothers of the gods, and their mothers, and the dickhead who created this fucking life and put me in it,” James screams in pain, sitting on his knees. His hand clamps over his dislocated shoulder, nausea roiling in his gut as pain shoots through him.

“Sirius!” James yells, his face grim. Bracing himself, he grips his bicep and thrusts his shoulder forward. A guttural shout tears from his throat as white-hot pain blooms behind his eyes. Black spots dance in his vision, forcing him to kneel down, panting.

“Fucking hell, where are you, Sirius?” James whispers, his voice cracking. giving into the pain.

“James?” Sirius’s voice cracks, barely more than a whisper. His gaze darts to Remus, who looks back at him with a confused frown. “Did you hear that? I swear I heard James calling.”

Remus furrows his brow, his expression confused. “No? It’s dead silent.”

“Uhm,” Sirius hums, his unease growing. “Except for your breathing.”

“Piss off,” Remus laughs, though there’s no real bite to it. “Not everyone is as fit as you and James.”

“That, and the whole chronic disease thing you got,” Sirius points out matter-of-factly, a pleased smile tugging at his lips. 

His gaze lingers on Remus’s face, catching the faint flush that creeps up his neck, the way his lips part slightly in embarrassment. Sirius swallows hard, his heart racing. He wants to drown in that flush, to drink in every bit of Remus’s.

Sirius jerks his head forward, breaking away from the warmth of Remus’s flushed face. The pounding in his chest now uncomfortable, a strange rhythm that has nothing to do with the stairs stretching endlessly ahead. The unease twists in his chest, growing heavier with every step as the ground behind them seems to fade into shadow.