unfound and unmarked
“Gods, the things I would do for a healing draught right now,” James whined as he proceeded to cough up his lungs.
“I know,” Lily frowned sympathetically, wiping a cool flannel across his forehead and stroking his hair back. She said she’d stay with him for the day but he could see the crease in her brow and the way she worried her lip above him every time she thought his eyes were closed.
He gently pushed her hand away and sat higher up on the pillows behind him, “I’ll be fine, go or else you’ll be late,” he urged. “I made a lunch for you last night, it’s in the fridge now.”
Lily had picked up a few more students to tutor—friends of Madam Gauthier and her granddaughter’s circle—which made her even busier in her day-to-day routine and meant she spent less time at home so James did whatever he could to help make her life a bit easier as she adjusted. He was starting to see a shadow of what her life might have been like if she hadn’t had magic and lived a simple Muggle life- he had to admit it suited her well.
“You did?” she smiled. She went in for a hug but made a face and slowly moved back, “I’ll thank you later, I don’t want whatever it is you have.”
He laughed and blew her an air kiss goodbye as she excitedly gathered her things and left in a hurry.
When he heard the front door slam shut, he was convinced Lily had put some sort of amplification charm on it because it was ten times louder to his ears and Harry’s punctuating cry did not help the pounding in his head.
He groaned as he stood up with the walls spinning and his body aching and feeling three decades older than it should, and went to go change Harry before coming up with something for breakfast for the two of them.
His nose was running, throat was scratchy, and he had no idea what god he had pissed off to make him feel this way. He managed to put butter on a piece of slightly burnt toast and called it a day because even that served to make him feel a bit nauseous.
“If I just had a healing draught,” he muttered to himself as he scooped a spoonful of some orange coloured mush into Harry’s mouth. Harry just babbled happily in response.
As the day wore on, he felt worse and worse and perhaps it was mania, or just general idiocy, but he decided he would take the quickest of trips to Place Cachée.
He spent a good ten minutes justifying it to himself. Technically, no one there knew about the prophecy or that he was a target so realistically, it should’ve been…fine. If any death eaters were present and somehow had a photograph of him, well, he’d just have to hope for the best.
If Lily knew about this, she’d probably rip him a new one, but she was off for the day, and he was never good at being left to his own devices anyways.
He went to his wardrobe and chose a large, bulky sweater—definitely one of Remus's old ones he’d never given back. Though it was short in length, it made up for it in width, hanging loosely over his broad shoulders and making him appear a bit larger than he actually was. For trousers, he grabbed a pair of wide-leg denim he'd bought by mistake, unsure of sizes when he first moved here. He had told Lily he'd returned them, but in truth, he'd been too lazy to bother, leaving them abandoned in the corner of his closet. Finally, he threw on a cap, tucking all of his hair underneath. When he looked in the mirror, he still obviously looked like himself but it was sort of a ‘hiding in plain sight’ game, or so he thought.
Then, moving on to Harry, he dressed him up as usual really, a pair of blue pyjama trousers and a spotted yellow top with a giraffe on it.
James then carefully placed Harry into a baby carrier, securing him snugly against his chest. Harry had always been a small child, making it easy to carry him close which was now a necessity as James didn’t want to risk anything happening and them being too far apart. Harry was, as usual, content to be near him, tugging at James' chin and gnawing on the edge of the carrier. Smiling, he pressed a quick kiss to his forehead before heading out.
Thankfully, Place Cachée had multiple entrances so he quickly hopped into a taxi and tapped to a place on the map that he knew was close to one of them. The man asked him something that he, via his handy dictionary he had been studying religiously, knew had something to do with the price of the ride and he just smiled and gave him a thumbs up, pleased that he was somewhat picking up the language.
He settled in his seat, desperately trying not to get sick at the feeling of sitting in the back.
He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to the feeling of being in a car. Whenever he had gone in one before, it was either Mary’s open-roofed buggy or Sirius’ bike, so the open air combined with the feeling of being with a friend made it exhilarating but now he just felt a bit nauseous.
When they arrived, he paid the man and stepped out into the suburb they had found themselves in. The road was lined with townhomes on either side and he almost thought he had gotten it wrong they he saw the slight shift in light in between two houses where there was a small alley.
When he got closer, he watched a grey cat slink between overflowing bins, its wide yellow eyes watching him intently. Harry reached out for it, “Cat!” he kept saying and James had to affirm that yes it was a cat before the feline shifted into a full sized woman, smirking at them and walking off jauntily.
Harry promptly burst into tears while James hushed him and pulled out his wand to tap at the bricks on the wall. He felt a bit rusty with his magic, if such a thing was even possible, and while he wasn’t actually casting anything, he still missed the warmth of the wood in his hand.
Once he had finished the melodic series of taps, the bricks shifted into a doorway that he passed through easily and the moment he stepped out onto the other side, it was as though his blood sang and all his sickly symptoms washed away.
It was bustling with life- patrons walking and eating ice cream, magical toys dancing in store fronts, men and women dressed in the eccentric ways they tended to in cloaks and pointed hats. There were even people flying above the street on brooms, hooting as they flew by and rustled newspapers. He missed all of his old comforts and his stomach roared when he passed by a bakery just as fresh treacle tarts were being pulled out of the oven.
He followed the street signs to an apothecary and found a small vine-covered storefront with a simple ‘ L’apothicaire ’ sign written in gold foiled letters. He pushed open the glass door and stepped into a sparsely populated shop.
To the left were jars of ingredients and to the right were premade potions lined up neatly on shelves with placards indicating what each one was.
He turned right and mournfully walked past the ones that would be incredibly helpful but unnecessary and went straight to the healing potions. He quickly grabbed a handful that helped with various symptoms like cough, fever, and runny nose as well as some pepper-ups. He also made sure to get some pain relieving potions that he knew helped with Lily’s monthly cycle, a pain she was sure to notify him about every time they came round. He finished with a few sleeping draughts and headed to the counter to complete his purchase.
At the register was a girl that looked far too young to be working but she happily began scanning all of the items as she hummed a little tune. When she looked up and saw Harry staring sideways at her, she grinned to reveal a gummy smile with quite a few missing teeth.
He pulled out his pouch of coins and began pulling out the actual and correct amount- a surprisingly rare occurrence these days.
“Merci beaucoup,” he smiled.
“Welcome!” the girl waved and he had to hide the awkwardness that he felt at his obvious trip in accent. Whenever he attempted to speak French, the other person would always switch to English, trying to make things easier for him—but it only made him feel more embarrassed. Still, it gave him even more motivation to keep learning.
He was making his way back to the portal when he passed by a newspaper stand and he quickly grabbed and paid for an English version of The Prophet . He skimmed through it, catching himself up on everything that has happened and didn’t find anything incredibly interesting beyond the usual propaganda dropped in among some vaguely-real news. He’d kill for a copy of The Quibbler because despite its unusual drabble, Xeno at least focused on printing real news between it all.
He tossed it in a bin a moment later and made his way back to where he had come in from, tapping the bricks in the same order, and coming back out between the plain houses, dodging a family clearly on their way in for a fun day out.
He grabbed a taxi and headed home, settling Harry down for a nap just as Lily returned. Quickly downing several phials of the multicoloured potions, he slipped out again before she could ask where he’d been and made his way back to the café, falling into his usual routine.
He exhaled deeply as the cooling menthol and honey blend instantly soothed his cough and sore throat with each step he took. He’d probably need another dose later but even this was sufficient to help him feel better- muggle medicines just didn’t compare to magical ones.
As he stepped into the cafe, a familiar warmth greeted him, the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the faint scent of baked goods. The door chimed softly behind him, and the low murmur of conversations enveloped the cosy space, blocking out the raucous noises of the city. It was a bit busy now, people getting a little pick me up on their way home from work and when he looked to the front, he caught Marc, wiping down the counter.
“James,” he smiled up at him, putting aside the rag and leaning over towards him.
“Sorry for making it a bit late today but I was craving a cuppa,” he smiled tiredly.
“Looks to me like you need some tea today,” he chirped knowingly.
“Do you know all your customers this well or is it just me?” he laughed.
“Just you mon cheri ,” he winked and laughed to himself as he turned to the kettle and flipped it on. “Well of course there’s Linda who always gets a chai latte, and Philip who gets black coffee, and Celeste who-.”
“Okay I get it, I’m not special,” James jibed.
“Why don’t you come around this counter and I’ll show you how special you are?” he waggled his eyebrows humorously.
“Be careful what you wish for because I just might.” James loved this easy banter between them, feeling familiar sparks of friendship flying between them.
“Oh no, that would be so terrible,” he said sarcastically, holding his hands up while a smile played along his lips.
James paid him the correct amount and Marc continued, “Well after I get your drink, I’m afraid I’ll have to run out but you’re welcome to stay, my boss is here so you’re not entirely alone,” he grinned.
“Oh no, guess I’ll have to jump him instead,” he shrugged before snickering and turning away.
He pulled The Iliad from the shelf, relieved to find it still in the same spot since he hadn’t taken it with him last time he was here.
Settling into his usual seat, he was ready to unwind with a book and a cuppa after the day he had but as he pulled open the cover, a sensation like a stone dropping into a still pool struck him.
He looked up and found nothing amiss so he merely turned back to his book, shifting in his spot and blaming the feeling on his earlier illness.
_________
James was so engrossed in his book that when someone asked him, “Did you find everything okay?” He jumped a bit. He blinked as he looked up, his vision swimming slightly.
As he held the page, he wondered if this might be Reggie, Marc’s boss. Plastering on a smile, he turned toward the figure, his gaze slowly travelling upward—only to lock onto a face he recognized from a dream—from a memory from long ago.
The man looked down at him in slight confusion but James felt like his heart had stopped. The book slipped from his grasp as his hand went slack, slamming to the floor with a thud, and he almost keeled over for how lightheaded he suddenly felt.
He kneeled down to reach the book and he held it out to him, their hands only an inch apart, and up close the man was even more frightening. His molten silver eyes roved over his face, waiting in silence.
James, mouth agape, eyed the cupid’s bow dipped between his plush upper lip, the constellation of freckles adorning the bridge of his straight nose, and the small scar that marked his right cheekbone. His hand twitched, resisting the urge to reach out and touch him.
The face he had seen every expression on- anger, love, sadness, fear, and rarest of all- happiness, looked down at him with one he had never seen before- complete and utter indifference.
“Are you okay?” he now asked, head tilting in a move so characteristic James had to resist the urge to laugh…or vomit.
It was Regulus.
If James only knew one thing with certainty- it was Regulus, but at the same time, it was impossible. Regulus was dead. Somewhere in the world, his corpse lay, unfound and unmarked, and most importantly, irrevocably dead…wasn’t it?
So why was he standing here in a cafe in Paris, asking him if he was okay?
“Reg?” he choked out.
“Yes?” he replied, a bit bewildered, holding a hand out. “Is something wrong?” His hand grazed his shoulder lightly and the point of contact seared as if he had been burned. James hastily jerked out of his reach, falling off the cushion he was situated on.
Gooseflesh erupted across his arms and the hair on the back his neck stood on end as if the temperature in the shop had dropped and time caught up to him faster than he could adjust. He shot up to his feet, narrowly missing the man kneeling in front of him.
“I’m so- I’m sorry-,” he gasped, one hand to his chest. He could hardly stand to look at him, only sighting his black hair before turning away.
He couldn’t speak further so he ran out of the shop, tripping and stumbling over his feet and it was only when he had made it down the street and away from the glowing amber lights of the shop did he finally stop, leaning against a brick wall and breathing down hungry gulps of air.
He knew it couldn’t have been him but even seeing his doppleganger was too much for him to handle. He’d moved on and he couldn’t be forced back into the past now- not after everything he had already been through.
People passing by began to shoot him concerned looks, as if he were having a breakdown, so he quickly pulled himself together. He couldn’t go home—not now—so he wandered aimlessly, wearing out both his shoes and the pavement, dragging his grief like a physical weight behind him. It felt almost tangible, and he didn’t stop until he reached the Seine.
He gripped the icy handrails and focused on the churning black currents of the water and now that he had stopped, now that he couldn’t occupy himself with the thought of moving one foot in front of the other, he started to cry.
The streets were deserted; it was late, with all the shops long closed for the night leaving only the moon hanging low in the sky above him, standing witness to the chaos of his night.
He looked up and saw that it was a full moon tonight and the thought suddenly struck him- Remus would be shifting tonight. He used to be so attuned to the moon cycles, tracking them daily so he always knew how Remus would feel that day but he’d lost in the habit these last few months. Guilt seeped thickly into his veins as he realised he’d only have Sirius with him tonight- their pack losing half of its’ members seemingly overnight.
And for once, James felt completely and utterly alone, forced to be reminded of his friends and family at any turn but unable to go back to see any of them.
He sat on a bench, dropped his head into his hands, and cried. It wasn’t a delicate or graceful thing but rather a heartbreaking and gut wrenching sight as someone reached into him and tore his battered soul to shreds. The box inside him that held his darkest and most cherished memories had burst open, and he was finally beginning to grieve not just for Regulus—something he hadn’t allowed himself to do for the past three years—but also for his mum and dad, his friends, and his old life.
For so long, he maintained his facade of being okay- that he could roll with the punches, but Lily was right- he was just avoiding reality. He never grieved all those he lost but now he felt each one with excruciating vividity, as if it was only now happening.
He was so accurately aware of himself right now: each thump of his heart sending blood rushing to his numb extremities, his fingers tingling like they had been burned, and his feet thumping against the ground. Through it all, the stillness of the night wrapped around him like a shroud, reminding him further still of his loneliness.
He stayed like that for a long time before he gingerly sat up again and slowly breathed in and out, the cold air burning his aching lungs but he savoured it all the same. His thoughts had run so wild that now his mind was blissfully empty, like the void left behind after a star’s explosion—a gaping black hole in its wake.
The walk back home was humbling as he came down from that emotional high. He took a looping way back home, getting lost on random side streets and alleyways, a path similar to the way his thoughts were winding around themselves, trying to find some semblance of sense.
___________
If that actually had somehow been Regulus- if he somehow hadn’t died and had been carrying on in France, would he have just been able to look James right in the face and not have any sort of reaction? Even when Regulus claimed to hate him, his emotions would betray his true feelings on his face. If James had suddenly appeared, would he not have said something? Done something?
When he got back to the flat, he had thoroughly convinced himself that it was not Regulus and he greeted Lily the same as always but instead of going to his room, he turned to the nursery to see Harry, needing his comfort now more than ever.
Often, Harry turned to James and Lily for reassurance as his parents, but sometimes James needed the soothing presence of his son. Holding Harry, hearing his soft coos and seeing his sleepy smiles provided a fleeting relief from the ache in his chest. He sat in the cushioned rocking chair set in the corner of the room and gently rocked them, back and forth, slow enough that Harry stayed asleep but enough so that he was self-soothing too.
He was glad to be alone at the moment as he just couldn’t bring himself to talk to Lily about any of this.
He claimed he could talk about Regulus if he wanted to but he just simply didn’t want to but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. He couldn’t bear to think about Regulus let alone talk about him for longer than about five minutes. Guilt and despair weighed him down so heavily that it became a physical pain that only ceased with sleep or distraction.
Regulus was his soul, not a part or only even half, but he was his whole being and he didn’t understand how he could go on with life without him. While Harry and his friends might help fill the void left by Regulus, it never felt quite right; there were always small cracks where his essence slipped through.
After he died and found himself with Lily some time later, James thought he could make it work. He loved Lily, and his denial convinced him it would be perfect—that he’d eventually forget about Regulus. But deep down, he knew it was a lie. Guilt weighed on him, knowing Lily deserved more than the shattered remnants of his heart.
He eventually fell asleep, rocking back and forth with Harry, trying and failing to push the events of today out of his mind.
____________
He didn’t go to the cafe for a couple of days after that, instead choosing to stay home and explore all the many channels the television had to offer him. He found himself spending hours watching various drama programs, starting somewhere in the middle of these shows and then ending the day completely obsessed with the storyline.
When he wasn’t watching the tele, he was learning French, working through books made for children to try and learn.He also enlisted Lily's help, and though she often spoke to him like a child, he didn't mind much—she was a good teacher, very McGonagall-esque.
He felt bad at having disappeared on Marc after near daily interaction for seemingly no reason at all but the idea of going to the Cafe still made him uncomfortable. He didn’t want to have to see the owner of the cafe, who he resolutely thought of only as ‘Reggie’ not ‘Regulus,’ who seemed to pop-in quite often but he was starting to seriously miss Marc’s lattes.
He got up off the sofa and stretched, thinking about what to do with the rest of his day and he ultimately decided to head into the storage closet at the back of the flat and unpack some of the leftover stuff that survived the cottage exploding courtesy of Dumbledore swooping in before Aurors could clean out the house.
They hadn’t gotten to the nonessential boxes since coming here and he had to admit, he was in no rush to unpack everything as it just made the fact that they were gone so much more real but he was in need of a distraction so to to the closet he went.
He pulled out the first cardboard box and opened it to find it stuffed with clothing. Inside were winter coats and robes, which he set aside, knowing that he and Lily would soon need them as winter approached in France. The next box contained dishes and cutlery, but he quickly shoved it back in; they already had everything they needed.
He went to pull out another one but when he did, a smaller box balanced atop it fell on top of him, sending them both crashing to the floor. He set his glasses to rights and rubbed the side of his head, grumbling, as he eyed the offending object.
He sighed deeply upon seeing the familiar small black wooden box, adorned with silver engravings along its sides. Pulling it closer, James ran his finger over the familiar divots he had carved himself, each one a reminder of his past. He remembered this box being tucked away in the Study of the cottage and he had no idea how Dumbledore even found it, much less that he sent it to him.
He readjusted so he was sitting cross legged now and set the box across from him. He didn’t want to open it but as if of their own volition, his hands smoothed over the lid to rest in the centre of the lock and it popped open, the magic imbued within it recognising his touch.
At the very top was a stack of polaroid images that he cringed to look at and he almost shut the box again but instead he pulled back the leather strap and flipped over the picture that was on top, his hands already beginning to shake.
It was a photo of Regulus sitting on the shore of the Black Lake, gazing out as the sun dipped behind the castle, casting the landscape in shades of gold and burnt orange. Though it was just his silhouette, James was captivated by the details: the way his fingers brushed the sand, the stray hairs by his ears, the way he rested his chin on his knees. He remembered how Regulus had turned at the sound of the camera clicking, chiding him for wasting film on such a pointless shot—but James loved it.
The next photo made him smile. Regulus was holding the camera at himself, but his face was turned in shock and confusion as he stared at James—or rather, Prongs—chewing on some leaves from a tree. Regulus had always loved his Animagus form, finding it both hilarious and one of the most impressive things James had ever accomplished.
James appreciated these moments when Regulus loosened up—taking funny pictures or pulling faces for the camera. It reminded him that Regulus wasn’t always so cold, and that beneath it all, he was still younger than the weight of his years made him seem.
The third Polaroid showed Pandora, Regulus, Barty, and Evan together in the Library. Barty had fallen asleep on the table, while Pandora had charmed her wand to doodle all over his arms and hands. Evan was focused on his parchment, writing some essay, and Regulus, looking sleepy, quietly observed the scene—his finished essay rolled up beside him.
James hadn’t spent much time with their small group, knowing it would attract attention from others due to their houses but the Library was a neutral ground, everyone just trying to finish their coursework. On top of that, Regulus always appreciated his visits, constantly worried about how James and his friends would get along so that evening, James sat down with them, even snapping a photo to capture the moment.
There were more memories of him and Regulus—pictures of them tangled together in bed in the Room of Requirement, moments of bliss captured between bouts of pleasure. Candid shots of Regulus during their walks in the Forest or Hogsmeade, and some taken by Regulus’ perfect hands, each image a testament to their shared joy.
He set them aside and turned his attention to the stack of tickets they had collected from countless bus rides, concerts, and films in Muggle cities. Each one representing a stolen moment away from school and, during holidays, from home.
His heart ached to see his past with Regulus boxed up so simply when it had been so all-consuming.
Aside from that was an annotated book all in Regulus’ hand, some articles of clothing, and a few notes he had written to him while at school.
After staring at the box long enough to feel like a mere husk, he closed the lid but instead of shoving it back in the closet, he carried it back to his room, wanting to keep it safe. It didn’t feel right to let it sit there and rot for gods knew how long, especially as he worked on reconciling his past.
He spent the following night sleepless as memories from the box seeped up through the bed into his consciousness and tormented him.
__________
The following day, head held high, he made his way to the cafe.
James had had a stern talk with himself, grounding himself in reality and washing away the previous nights’ melancholy.
He had started to pave the way towards acceptance of his past and there was no need to see Regulus in the faces of passerbyers. He simply needed a nice drink from his favourite cafe before going for an afternoon stroll while Lily took Harry for a train ride around the city because they both seemed to enjoy that.
Dressed in his usual outfit, but with a thick coat over top, he made his way to Le Soleil d’Or, which he finally managed to translate as ‘The Golden Sun’, smiling at street vendors and small children, and feeling like maybe he might just be okay again.
When he made it to the cafe, he took a deep breath before walking in and just like usual, Marc was behind the counter. “James! I was starting to get worried. I don’t have your phone number and you haven’t come in quite some time- I thought I’d scared you off,” Marc smiled warmly, head cocked and his hand on his hip.
“I’ve just been feeling a bit ill for the last week but I’m better now,” he said before sighing deeply and tilting his head back to peruse the menu though they both knew that Marc would pick something for him.
“I was also starting to wonder whether it was my boss that had scared you off,” Marc continued, looking at him suspiciously. “He told me that when he asked if your drink was okay, you ran out of the shop. Between us, it was quite a hit to his ego.”
Foot tapping against the floor, James replied, “It just so happens that I got nauseous and I promptly ran out the cafe and got sick in the alleyway,” he smiled as though chagrined but really he was just hoping Marc would buy it.
He wrinkled his nose as he started making a drink, pulling out a clear glass cup for him instead of the usual mug. “I’m sure he’d feel better hearing that, I certainly felt for him. It’s hard when the sight of you makes a handsome man flee the scene.”
James laughed and shook his head and Marc continued, “Those were his words not mine.”
That was a surprise considering how he’d acted and he was about to reply but a woman then entered the queue behind him so he moved aside and went to the bookshelf instead so as to not hold her up.
When he reached the bookshelf, he almost overlooked the man who had been haunting him for the past week, blending into the crowded café during this peak time of day.
James pulled out a book and glanced at the inside cover before deciding against it and searching for something else. He had nearly finished The Iliad with only about 50 pages left, and he was itching to complete it, but he couldn't find it now as he searched the shelf. He was certain he was looking in the right spot, despite all the alphabetical nonsense.
“She has it,” a voice by his side said and that's when he looked up and their eyes connected.
This time, James did not flee the scene nor did he break down in hysterics. He simply asked, “What?”
He gestured with a black lacquered finger to a young woman eating a sandwich, holding the book he was looking for in one hand.
He nodded with understanding then turned back to him. “You’re Reggie, yes?” he asked, trying to dig for something .
The man before him was and wasn’t Regulus. James didn’t know what the hell to do because now that he was in a calmer state of mind, he could see that this was Regulus . Every facial feature down to the last freckle was him. His frame was the same and when James’ eyes drifted down to his ring finger, he saw a godsdamned silver band. The coincidences couldn’t have just been coincidences anymore.
“Yes, I’m the one you fleed in terror from a week ago,” he replied awkwardly, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets.
It was as if he was being pranked. He didn’t know whether or not to call him out on this, to interrogate him on why the fuck he was alive, or to just shake him until whatever fake amnesia he was experiencing wore off but he didn’t do any of it. He merely stared dumbfounded.
He started to look uncomfortable so James ploughed on, “I apologise for that, you just er- looked like an old friend of mine.”
He looked puzzled but shrugged anyway, “I suppose I just have one of those faces.”
Awkward silence pulled taut between them so James continued, “Well is Reggie short for something?” It was just like his and Regulus’ early conversations when James desperately wanted to talk to him but couldn’t think of anything interesting enough to say.
“Regulus, it’s a star in-”
“In the Leo constellation,” he finished a bit dazedly.
Regulus looked impressed, “I’m surprised you know that. Not many people do but it makes for a horrific name so I go by Reggie more often than not.”
Well there goes his theory of him not being Regulus.
“Your English is quite good for a native,” he commented though his tone suggested it was a question, taking the conversation for a turn and forgetting his whole cool and calm facade. He had automatically slipped into Auror mode as Regulus proved a confusing and complex suspect.
“Well I’m from London but my family is French so I learned both languages growing up” he answered easily.
“Oh you’re from London? So am I, what school did you go to?” He pressed before realising he didn’t actually know of any schools in London.
After the initial shock of seeing Regulus again wore off, James was forced to dig for answers because clearly something wasn’t right . He saw it in the way he even held himself - this was not the Regulus he knew and he would assume it was Polyjuice if it weren’t for the fact that Regulus’ hair wouldn’t have been viable after so many years.
He was in a much clearer state of mind now and he pushed the emotional part of him into that box because he simply didn’t have time for that right now.
“Er…not sure it was quite some time ago,” he coughed and winced.
“Are you okay?” it was his turn to ask.
Regulus rubbed his temple, “Yep, I just get migraines sometimes.”
Alarm bells rang in James’ head but before he could press further Marc called him up and as if suddenly realising the interrogation he had just subjected Regulus to, he hastily apologised and escaped, leaving him standing there in pain.
Okay so it was Regulus, his Regulus, and yet he didn’t seem to have any of his memories because he couldn’t remember what school he’d gone to- there was only one wizards went to in Europe, or who his parents were- no one could forget the terror that was the Black family.
No one was that good of an actor and James wanted to start screaming because everything he thought he knew about the world was suddenly being flipped on its head and he had no way of surviving it.
He sat down in his usual spot and stared at the threads in the carpet as he got lost in thought.
He glanced up and saw Regulus serving another customer and he couldn’t fathom what sort of life he was living. Worst of all, there was no one he could talk to about this- no one who would understand.
He didn’t want to bring this up to Lily because firstly, she might not even believe him. Second of all, she was just starting to carve out a life for herself here and he didn’t want to pull her back with him into the past over something that even he didn’t understand. On top of that, he always felt guilty about how everything after Regulus went down, how he’d pursued her in some form of a convoluted rebound- it was just all wrong.
But James was never good at simply stewing over a problem himself and the longer he thought, the more he started questioning everything he previously thought to be true.
When Marc looked over, he forgot he was actually supposed to be drinking the drink he was given so he took a great swig of it and smiled, turning back to a book he had pulled at random, frowning at it as though incredibly concentrated.
After about two hours of thinking and struggling with the urge to get up and scream, he calmly gathered himself and said goodbye to Marc, ignoring Regulus on his way out.
He had come up with a plan of action on the walk home so by the time he got back to the flat, he went straight to the closet, grabbed some extra blank parchment, and sat at the table, pen already in hand.
The sensation of pen on parchment was a bit gauche and he didn’t quite like it but it didn’t matter because what he was about to do was break about ten different rules they had made for themselves but he’d already broken one by going to Place Cachee and as a Marauder, it was practically his job to bend and break the rules so, steeling himself, he started to write.
Once completed, before he could think better of it, he walked down to the magical post office tucked inside a muggle office, attached his note to an owl, and sent it away, hoping that the person he wrote to might help provide some clarification because he was the only other person he could think of that was as close to Regulus as he was- if such a thing was even possible.