The Black Snake

“Damn it,” Remus snarled, slamming his hand against the steering wheel with a loud thud that echoed in the enclosed space of the car. Regulus’s jaw clenched as he stared at the abandoned road ahead. They still had a couple miles to go before they’d reach Barty and Evan’s apartment.

Regulus glanced over at the others, their eyes already sweeping the abandoned road ahead—as if something would jump out of the shadows at them. Silence had fallen over them like a thick blanket, only broken by the sound of Regulus opening his door—the creak of the hinges sounding unnaturally loud in the oppressive quiet. 

There was no point in staying in the car now. 

The cool, damp air slapped his face as he stepped outside. His heart thudded heavily against his ribs, a cold sense of unease snaking into his bones like an old friend he hadn’t seen in years. Maybe it was. Regulus has always had a good intuition. Sharp instincts that screamed at him now. But for once, he hoped it was merely paranoia—just leftover fear from the chaos at the bridge not too long ago.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Sirius whirled on him, eyes blazing as his voice cut through the silence like a whip. “Regulus, don’t just—”

Regulus slammed his door shut with a harsh thud, silencing his older brother. Perhaps he enjoyed the small, muffled scream of frustration that left Sirius’s lips. Perhaps not. Did Regulus allow himself a small smirk either way? Absolutely.

The rain had just barely let up, allowing Regulus to stay dry—well, as dry as he could with smashed windows—despite the water still clinging to every surface it could. The sky, however, was still dark. Heavy clouds rolled overhead as the sun slowly dipped behind the jagged skyline of buildings. The dim light barely cut through the gloom, making the shadows seem alive, creeping closer with every passing second.

Regulus’s eyes flicked to the car when a sharp, acrid scent hit his nose—gasoline. He could see black streaks mixing with puddles of water on the road behind them. His gaze landed on a bullet hole not too far from where he had been sitting. If it had been a few inches to the left, he would have been shot. His stomach twisted at the thought, but he refused to dwell on it. 

“We’ll have to go on foot,” Regulus said, turning to Remus as the others stepped out. 

“Fucking military can suck my dick,” Remus muttered darkly, crouching down to inspect the bullet holes that peppered the side of the car. He ran a finger over one of them, lips pressed into a thin line. His shoulders tensed and the veins in his neck stood out as he knelt there in the fading light that cast a warm glow on his face—highlighting the scar on his chin from one of Lyall Lupin’s episodes.

James and Sirius came around the side of the car, James hefting one of the duffle bags over his shoulder—the other three were still in the trunk. Sirius gripped his lacrosse stick, knuckles turning white around the handle. Remus let out a heavy sigh, standing and popping the trunk. He split the remaining bags with James before slamming it shut.

“Stick together,” Remus ordered, his tone low but firm. His gaze swept over them, lingering a little longer on Regulus, as if silently asking if he was okay. Or maybe he was just worried Regulus would run off without them. He wouldn’t of course, at least, not without Remus. 

And they already were sticking together, though Regulus felt the familiar rise of irritation in his chest. He hated the lack of space, every inch he couldn’t put between him, Sirius, and James. He would rather be anywhere else, but there was no escaping it. He’d just have to endure it.

Spitefully. 

Barty and Evan will make all of this so much easier, although they might enjoy messing with them a little too much…

The group fell into step, moving in eerie silence. Regulus has always preferred the quiet but now he’s not so sure. Each footfall sounded too loud, echoing in the empty streets. Regulus kept his eyes forward, scanning the road for any signs of movement. His instincts were still on edge, every nerve in his body coiled tight like a spring. Every shadow felt like a threat. It was too quiet. Something didn’t feel right, like they had gotten off too easy.

It was starting to piss him off. Couldn’t he just take a moment to relax? There was nothing in sight. No other survivors, no animals, no soldiers, no more rioting citizens, no walkers. No threats. Yet the gnawing feeling in his gut wouldn’t leave him alone.

The shadows stretched across the ground, growing longer as the last rays of sunlight slipped away, casting everything in a dim, eerie twilight. Every corner, every alley felt like it was hiding something— waiting for them to let their guard down.

His muscles ached from the tension, and his limbs felt stiff as they moved. His fingers twitched, itching for the comfort of his knife. But nothing would quell the growing— unfounded and unwelcome —dread inside him.

They moved slowly, deliberately, each of them trying to minimise the sounds they made. But no matter how careful they were, it wouldn’t shake the feeling that something was lurking, watching their every step. Regulus kept his gaze forward, refusing to let the unease show on his face. But..

He should say something. If he’s right, the others should be ready. So his lips parted, preparing to speak—

That’s when it happened. 

A blur of motion erupted from the alley, too close before Regulus even saw it. A walker—filthy, bloody, its eyes vacant and clothes torn revealing wounds that would never heal—lunged at him, hands outstretched. It crashed into him, slamming him to the ground before he could draw his knife.

Regulus gasped as the air was driven from his lungs, the world spinning as he hit the wet asphalt. His hands shot up, gripping the walker's wrists, muscles straining as it snapped its jaws inches from his face. The foul stench of its breath hit him, rotten and sickening with blood dripping out like drool onto Regulus’s face. His heart pounded in his ears, drowning out everything but the walker’s snarling for a moment. Was this it? His arms trembled, struggling to hold the thing back as its weight bore down on him.

Was this how he died?

He gritted his teeth, pushing with everything he had, but the walker was bigger than him and relentless—its teeth gnashing just above his skin. He could feel its cold, clammy flesh against his hands, the sickly strength behind it. It took everything Regulus had just to keep its hands from tearing into him, from ripping him open. He could hear his blood rushing in his ears.

“Regulus!” Sirius’s voice cut through the growls, but Regulus could only see the walker’s dead, ravenous eyes pinned on him. A sharp thwack rang out as Sirius jammed his lacrosse stick between the walker’s jaws, pushing it back just enough to keep its teeth away from Regulus’s skin. But the thing kept coming, the stick barely keeping it from sinking into Regulus’s throat, pushing so hard Regulus was surprised its teeth didn’t break.

“Siri,” Regulus rasped, not fully realising he even spoke.

“Hold on!” Sirius’s voice cracked, taut with desperation, and Regulus could see the strain in his brother’s arms, the stick trembling under the pressure. Sirius couldn’t hold it off for long.

The walker thrashed harder, its arms pushing down against Regulus’s, fingers brushing the skin of his throat. Regulus could feel his grip slipping, the muscles in his arms burning from the effort of keeping it at bay. Every breath came in short, shallow bursts, fear tightening around his chest like a vice.

Regulus’s mind screamed at him to move, to do something, but his body was locked in a battle it couldn’t win. His fingers dug into the walker’s wrists—he could feel the bite wound on its arm. The blood, the emptiness, a gaping hole surrounded by torn flesh just beneath his nails. Its dry, knotted hair dangled down into Regulus’s face. 

His breath came in ragged bursts, each one shallow, panicked. The sound of his own pulse thundered in his ears, drowning out everything else. His legs kicked uselessly against the ground as he bucked his hips, trying to shove the walker off, but it was too heavy, too close.

Regulus can’t move.

Regulus can’t breathe. 

Regulus is going to die.

And then, just as the walker pushed the bar of the lacrosse stick into Regulus’s cheek, as if it could eat him through it, Regulus was pulled back. He yelped as he was yanked into warm arms. Like being pulled out from underwater. 

Safe.

Warmth enveloped him—a stark contrast to the cold, relentless death he’d just been battling—and for a brief second, he clung to the sensation. He could feel his heart hammering against his chest as strong arms wrapped around him, pulling him away from the brink.

It didn’t get him.

It was only when his hands finally released their death grip on the walker’s wrists that his mind finally caught up with the situation. He saw Remus, plunging the knife Regulus had given him into the thing’s eye socket. 

Safe.  

The snarling slowed, its movements becoming jerky, before coming to a stop as the knife re-entered its eyes with violent precision. Remus twisted the knife with a final, brutal push, blood and pus oozing from the thing’s eye as it finally slumped to the ground, dead for good.

It didn’t get him.

Regulus’s heart slowly returned to a normal pace as he fought to catch his breath. He sagged against him, too shaken to care about how he relaxed in his arms. He could still feel James’ breath hot on his neck, his heart hammering just as fast as his own. James feels safe. That’s stupid. James is..

Maybe it was just the fear and adrenaline from almost dying.

“Are you okay?” Remus’s voice was low, rough with emotion, but his eyes were searching Regulus’s face, his hand still clutching the knife as if it was a lifeline. Maybe it is.

Regulus swallowed hard, his throat dry. He tried to speak, but his voice caught, and all he could do was nod, trembling in a way that had nothing to do with the cold—still thrumming with leftover terror, but he masked it with a sharp breath and a glance over his shoulder.

Sirius was frozen. His knuckles turning white as his hands gripping the bloodied lacrosse stick, his face pale as he stared at Regulus. Regulus didn’t know what to do. What to say. What to think. Maybe Sirius doesn’t either.

“Guys,” James' voice sounded shaky. “We have to go, now.”

Regulus saw their eyes turn, where James’ head was facing—he could feel his chin against him—and couldn’t help but look. The sight did nothing to ease his mind. Nor did the sounds.

There were more walkers coming. More than any of them were prepared for, although, not as many as what were at the bridge. A small mercy.

They aren’t safe yet.

Regulus’s legs felt like jelly but there was no time to stop. They had to run. James was already pulling him along, Sirius following closely behind as Remus ran ahead and started trying doors. 

It didn’t get him. But it almost did. Regulus should’ve known better than to ignore his instincts. When have they ever been wrong?

~•~

James’ heart pounded in his chest as he watched the scene unfold in front of him. Regulus, pinned beneath the walker. And Sirius, James could see the raw, desperate look on his face as he fought to save his brother. Everything was moving too fast, yet somehow time felt like it had slowed to a crawl. His fingers tightened around the bags as his brain caught up with the sight. Too slow.

James can’t even do anything. He doesn’t have a weapon. What is he supposed to do here? How is he ever going to protect Harry if he can’t even protect Regulus? His heart pounded. He can’t do anything but watch—it was like a nightmare he couldn’t wake up from. James was never the type of person to stand by and watch. 

He won’t start anytime soon. He had to help him. Regulus’s body was still pinned beneath the walker. James could see the panic in those pale eyes, the tension in his small frame, and something in him—something visceral —wanted to fix it.

So, he rushed forward. He could feel Remus—fierce, determined Remus, but also shaken from seeing his best friend—next to him, hear their footsteps pounding in sync. When he finally got close enough, James reached down, grabbing Regulus’s arms and yanking him back. He could feel the smallest of  tremors in Regulus’s body, his chest still heaving from the effort, and for a second, James just held him. Tight. Not tight enough.

He let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding when Remus finally buried the knife into the walker’s skull. Relief washed over him, but his body still thrummed with adrenaline. James has never seen Regulus like this. He’s never afraid. He’s always.. collected. Even back at the bridge, like Remus was.

Maybe he’s just good at hiding it.

Then he heard the moans. Low, guttural, and getting louder with each passing second.

“Guys, we have to go,” James said, his voice unsteady as the gravity of the situation hit him full force. His eyes flicked to the shadows, where more walkers were beginning to shamble out. “Now.”

The tension in his muscles wasn’t letting up, his mind focused on survival. They didn’t have time to waste. He felt Regulus lean against him for a second longer, almost too short for him to even notice it, and then he was pulling him to his feet. They had to move, and James wouldn’t let him fall behind. Not after what happened.

He’d bloody carry him if he had to.

The sounds of the walkers grew louder—groans, feet dragging against the asphalt—and panic curled tight in his chest. They weren’t ready for another fight like this. Too many of them, not enough weapons, too exposed. 

James wouldn’t be able to do anything. Every muscle in his body burned with frustration. He’d dragged Regulus out of harm’s way, but the danger wasn’t over yet. They’re coming. It’s getting too dark.

His grip tightened on Regulus’s arm—like if he held on tight enough, he could physically anchor him to life—as he tugged him along. Remus was already ahead, trying doors, Sirius was close behind, keeping his brother in his sights as James and Regulus followed.

What if they don’t find shelter soon?  

Move.

The walkers are slow, but that won’t mean much if they get surrounded. They wouldn’t be able to fight their way out of this. James wouldn’t be able to.

What if they couldn’t find Harry and Lily?  

Run.

Remus’s frustration was palpable as he struggled with door after door. James' mind raced with the beat of his heart. They needed a place, somewhere safe—somewhere they could regroup and hide until the horde left. If they even would leave. 

What if this is where they all die?   

Don’t think.

James’ heart seized at the thought. He’d never find his son if he let them get surrounded here. Sirius would never be able to patch things up with Regulus. Remus would never see his lover and his best friend reconcile. Remus and Sirius would never get to the next step in their relationship. James would never see Harry grow older. He’d never.. James can’t afford to lose any of them.

Just keep moving. 

Too many of them. 

They’re too close.

His eyes darted to the side, heart jumping in his throat as Remus finally found a door that gave way. “In here!” James was pulling Regulus over before the words left Remus’s mouth, his voice urgent as he pushed the door wide, ushering them all inside before slamming it shut behind them. The air inside was thick, heavy with the stale odour of alcohol, sweat, and something sour—like old spilt beer that had soaked into the floorboards long ago.

James felt the adrenaline slowly seep out of his veins, leaving behind a raw, gnawing sensation as they stumbled into what looks like an old bar—it had clearly seen better days. Rows of dark wooden tables were  scattered haphazardly, some overturned, chairs broken and splintered like remnants of an abandoned party. The long wooden counter at the far end was chipped and worn, the varnish peeling away, revealing the raw, scarred wood beneath. Bottles of liquor, mostly half-empty or broken, lined the shelves behind the bar.

Regulus is alive. He can feel him, the perfect balance between warm and cold. Sirius and Remus are alive. He can see them, uninjured, still perfectly healthy. James is alive. His hands were trembling, still clammy with anxiety induced sweat, and his heart hadn’t quite settled back to a normal rhythm. James could cry from the relief that just washed over him, but it was quickly followed by something more complicated—something like guilt. For not being fast enough. For not doing more. For feeling more fear than he expected for Regulus.

Maybe it was for Sirius.

In the back corner, James’ eyes were drawn to an axe-throwing area. Wooden targets, worn and gouged from years of use, leaned crookedly against the walls. Several small hatchets were embedded in the wood, their blades dulled from repeated throws. Something in James' mind clicked—he doesn’t have a weapon, he needs one. But he looked away as Regulus jerked out of his arms. He reluctantly let go, watching as the younger man pulled away, shaken but steady on his feet. 

“Regulus,” Sirius rushed forward, grabbing his chin and turning his head as he looked for any wounds.

Regulus bristled, pushing him off as he growled, “Let go of me.” 

James’ chest tightened again.

“Don’t be daft,” Sirius snapped, grabbing his arm and lifting the sleeve. “We have to make sure you’re not hurt. That you’re not—”

“I’m not.” He briefly met Sirius’s eyes before pulling away again. “Just a couple scrapes.”

“You could be! What if you just haven’t noticed the pain because of the adrenaline? Just let me check!”

“Remus can check.” He glared at Sirius.

“Are you fucking kidding me? You just won’t let me? I’m your brother!”

“Oh, so now you care,” Regulus rolled his eyes but his voice didn’t have the usual effect it did, the usual bite. If James didn’t know any better, he’d think it was pain in his voice. Maybe he doesn’t know better.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sirius yelled.

“Guys, now is not the time for yelling,” Remus cut in, eyes locked on the windows where he had just pulled the blinds down. The only source of illumination was coming from a few weak beams of moonlight filtering through. Outside, the groans of walkers were muffled, but still far too loud for comfort. James could even see the silhouette of some.

“But he—”

“I’ll check on him, Padfoot. Just… not right now, okay?”

Sirius’s face fell but he eventually nodded, looking back at the windows. Remus looked torn as he pulled Regulus to the side. James looked away as Regulus lifted his shirt so Remus could check for wounds, moving to Sirius’s side instead. Whose eyes remained locked on the other two. James knows Sirius. As well as he knows himself, perhaps better. So he can tell without a doubt that the emotion shining through his eyes right now, is jealousy.

But he can also tell that he doesn’t want to talk about it, at least not with him, not right now. Evidently, the only person he does want to talk with about it is the one person who doesn’t want to talk about it.

Then he saw shock in Sirius’s eyes and he quietly stuttered, “He.. But I, I stopped them. He was the favourite, they didn’t..”

The scars.

Sirius didn’t know?

James swallowed hard, unable to stop himself from turning to look at them as a mix of emotions ran through him. Regulus was already sliding his shirt back on. James felt the relief flood through his body once again as he glimpsed it mirrored in Remus. And he watched, eyes flicking back and forth between the brothers. James couldn’t help the anger igniting in his veins, Sirius had always believed Regulus had it easy, hadn’t he? But even James could see the pain he was hiding, hidden behind that icy exterior. Maybe Sirius should’ve known better.

Guilt. Sirius didn’t know. He had his own problems. He had every right to do what he did. Remus wrapped his arms around Regulus and hugged him lightly. Sirius’s jaw clenched. He’s jealous, but also grateful his brother has Remus. Regulus didn’t return the hug but he lifted his hand and held Remus’s shirt in his fist as his head pressed against Remus’s chest. Sadness. James looked away. Sirius did too.

The tension between the two brothers felt like a wound James could see but couldn’t heal. He wishes he could. Wishes they could. Maybe they can, eventually, there’s still time. They’re still alive.

— — —

They were still trapped inside roughly two hours later. The bulk of the horde had wandered off, but enough walkers lingered outside to make any escape risky. James glanced toward the wall where the hatchets remained embedded again. He could do something with one of those—if he needed to. He could pull one free but the truth was he had no idea how to properly wield one.

His gaze shifted to the others. Sirius sat on the floor against the far wall, arms crossed and legs outstretched. Every now and then, his eyes darted toward Regulus, flickering with an expression that James couldn’t quite decipher—though in his experience, Sirius’s silence usually spoke volumes. Remus was next to him now, head resting against Sirius’s shoulder, whispering something that James couldn’t hear but could guess was meant to keep his friend calm.

Regulus, however, sat alone in one of the booths, idly twirling a knife between his slender fingers. His movements were effortless, precise. He didn’t even need to look at the blade as it spun in his grasp, the silver edge catching the dim light every now and then. James swallowed, unable to tear his eyes away.

That skill… it unnerved him, yet he couldn’t deny how easily the sight drew him in. The way Regulus had handled those knives back at the apartment, the way he spoke—quick, decisive, deadly —played over in his mind. And now, watching him toy with the blade so casually, James couldn’t help but wonder if there was something else there. And a ridiculous, unshakable thought took root in his brain. 

Did James have a thing for that?

For the sharp control, the lethal grace with which Regulus moved? For his skill with a knife? Maybe even just the blades?..Maybe for the danger itself? It lodged in his mind, like a splinter he couldn’t shake loose, growing in intensity the longer he watched.

He pulled his eyes away, with great effort, forcing himself to breathe. Clearing his throat, James stepped over to the wall and brushed his fingers against the wooden handle of one of the hatchets. He wrapped his hand around it, pulling it free of the target. It was heavier than he expected, but there was a strange, grounding satisfaction in the weight of it. He flexed his grip. Maybe it was a good thing they came here. Maybe this is what he needs. So that next time, he can actually do something.

James looked back at Regulus. He was still playing with his knife, though now his attention had shifted to Sirius, a brief, unreadable look passing on his face. There’s so much.. history there. So much anger, so much pain. But maybe there really is a chance they could still work things out. For now, though, Remus is right, this is not the time for a yelling match.

James cleared his throat again and took a step toward Regulus, the hatchet still in his hand. “Reg,” he said, trying to sound casual, “think you could show me how to use one of these?”

Regulus gave him a sideways glance, the knife stilling in his hand. For a moment, James thought he might refuse, but after a beat, Regulus nodded and stood, his movements as fluid as ever.

“Suppose a hatchet’s not much different from a knife,” Regulus said, his voice even as he closed the distance between them. “You will just have to get used to it.”

James found his pulse quickening as he approached, an uneasy mix of anticipation gathering in his chest. When Regulus was close enough, he lifted his knife, turning it in his hand.

“Think of it as an extension of your arm.” He flipped the knife so the blade pointed forward. “This is called a hammer grip. You’ll want to hold your hatchet like this, but lighter when you’re throwing. It’s good for stabbing and in your case, hacking. Your aim will get better with practice.”

James’ stomach clenched at the thought but he pushed it away, nodding as his grip tightened on the handle. He watched as Regulus demonstrated, his movements smooth and precise. James felt a shiver run down his spine when the cold metal lightly brushed against his skin, showing him where and how to aim. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, a thrum of adrenaline and something else he refused to name running through him.

James hummed absentmindedly as Regulus shifted his grip again, his fingers brushing lightly over James’ hand. “I’m not giving you one of my knives, but you should still know how to use one. This is how I prefer to hold mine—reverse grip, edge out. Better for slashing.”

James felt his breath hitch as the blade glided across his throat, the touch feather-light but enough to set his nerves alight. Fuck. This is.. What the fuck is wrong with James? It’s wrong. So fucking wrong.

“But you can still stab, like this.” Regulus murmured, pressing the tip of his blade into the fabric of James’ shirt, just above his chest. 

“Potter? Are you listening?” James barely heard him, biting his lip as he watched—too focused on the sharpness of the blade, the proximity of Regulus, the quiet intensity of the moment. His throat was dry when he responded.

“Yeah,” he managed, though his voice came out hoarse. “I’m listening.”

Regulus raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Show me.”

James blinked. “What?”

“Show me you learned something. How about the hammer grip,” he repeated, sheathing his knife, “yes, like that but a little lower, good, now show me how you’d use it.”

“What,” James exclaimed, his eyes widening. “No, I can’t do that. What if I hurt you?”

“You won’t,” Regulus rolled his eyes. “Now, I need to know if you actually learned anything. And we don’t have training dummies for you to use, so, do what I did and show me where and how you’d aim if you needed to.”

“But I—”

“James.” James jolted. He didn’t call him Potter. “Come on, you won’t hurt me. You wouldn’t. And I certainly wouldn’t let you.”

James swallowed hard and, with trembling hands, obeyed. He mimicked Regulus’s earlier movements, anxiously glancing at Regulus’s eyes each time the hatchet got too close to his skin. His nerves were on edge, every fibre of his being screaming at him to stop, but Regulus remained steady, his expression calm, almost… amused.

“Bon garçon.” Regulus said after a few moments, sending a shiver through James. “Now, when you want to throw, no, hold it lower. Firm, but light. Not that light. Better. Throw as you extend your arm, no, don’t try that one yet, too loud.”

“Right,” James nodded, trying to focus on the instruction, though his heart was still pounding in his chest. He speaks again when it becomes clear Regulus is done teaching. “So, uh, you come here often?”

Regulus paused, tilting his head slightly as if confused by the sudden question. Then recognition flickered in his eyes. “Was that supposed to be funny?”

James winced. “Was it.. not?”

“No,” Regulus replied flatly. 

James grimaced, glancing briefly at Sirius. His friend’s gaze was locked on them, watching with an intensity that made James’ skin prickle. It’s fine. Everything is fine. Though the cold chill running down his spine said otherwise.