guilt and horror
Regulus’s body tensed immediately, his free hand gripping the edge of the chair as his head tipped back slightly. His eyes fluttered shut, and James watched as his brow furrowed, his lips parting like he was on the edge of speaking—but no words came out.
The room was utterly silent save for the faint hum of magic in the air. James could only guess at what Regulus was seeing, what fragmented memories Mayfield was sifting through and he didn’t dare interrupt. His own breathing felt shallow as if he was under the Healer’s wand, his chest tightening with the sheer vulnerability of the moment.
Then, Regulus flinched, a sharp, involuntary jolt that made James instinctively lean forward. He almost said something but Healer Mayfield’s steady hand lifted in a subtle gesture to stop him. She stayed focused, her wand moving with delicate precision while navigating the fragile web of Regulus’s mind.
Regulus’s breathing grew heavier, his chest rising and falling in uneven rhythm. His grip on his hand tightened to the point of pain, but James didn’t pull away. He stayed rooted, his thumb brushing soothingly against Regulus’s knuckles, grounding them both.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity but couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, Mayfield lowered her wand and stepped back. The magical hum in the air dissipated, leaving behind a strange stillness that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.
Regulus sagged forward, his free hand rubbing at his temple as though trying to smooth away the ache left behind. “What... what did you see?” he croaked to Mayfield, his voice rough and hesitant.
Healer Mayfield’s lips pressed into a thin line as she leaned back against her desk, her expression unreadable. “Flashes,” she said carefully. “Pieces of memories. Some vivid, others fragmented… I’ll need time to process them properly, but—”
“But?” Regulus prompted, his tone sharper now, tinged with frustration. James couldn’t begin to imagine what he was going through- what it must be like, and he hated it. He hated feeling powerless.
“But I believe we’re dealing with more than just standard memory suppression. This is something deliberate, something powerful.” She paused, her gaze flicking to James before returning to Regulus. “Have you encountered any... cursed objects or strong magical artefacts in your past?”
Regulus blinked at her, his face a blank canvas. “I—no. I don’t think so.”
James’s stomach twisted, guilt gnawing at his resolve. He knew exactly what she was hinting at but he didn’t think it was right to tell her his side of the story- what he was involved in, though it wasn’t as though Regulus’ previous ‘allegiances’ were a secret.
Mayfield sighed, her professional mask slipping just enough to reveal a flicker of sympathy.
“We’ll keep working on this. Memory suppression this severe isn’t easy to unravel, but it’s not impossible. I’ll prepare a regimen for you—potions, guided recall sessions—but it will take time, Regulus. You need to be patient.”
His jaw tightened, but he nodded. “Okay.” His grip on James’s hand eased.
“Good.” Mayfield glanced at James, her expression expectant. “A word?”
James hesitated, glancing at Regulus. “I’ll just be a moment.”
Regulus released his hand reluctantly, his gaze lingering as if searching for reassurance.
Outside the office, Mayfield closed the door and turned to James, her voice low. “This is serious James- I mean his mind is practically a minefield, littered with holes and potential trigger sites. It’s tied to something significant but we both need to know what we’re dealing with if I’m going to help him.”
James ran a hand through his hair, “It’s... complicated I know. But- Just—give me time to get him ready for it.”
Mayfield studied him for a long moment, then nodded. “Time, yes. But not too much. Whatever’s locking his memories away is putting a strain on him, James. He doesn’t have forever.”
The words hit harder than James expected, the weight of them settling squarely on his chest.
He nodded once, tightly. “I understand.”
When he stepped back into the room, Regulus was staring out the window, his expression distant. But the moment James entered, his gaze shifted, softening slightly.
“Well?” Regulus asked.
“Well,” James said with a faint smile, “we’ve got a plan.”
Regulus didn’t smile back, but he nodded. “Good.”
It wasn’t much, but it was enough. For now.
____________
They stepped out of St. Mungo’s into the bustling chaos of Muggle London, the sharp contrast between worlds grounding them in the present.
The late-autumn sun stretched golden fingers across the streets, and James clung to the fleeting brightness of the day, determined to help Regulus escape the shadows of his thoughts.
“You don’t have to keep doing this, you know.” Regulus’s voice broke through the quiet between them. He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his coat, pulling away from James, who realised only then how natural it had felt to have their hands intertwined. The absence was jarring.
“Do what?” James asked carefully, glancing at him.
Regulus’s face hardened, his expression a sharp contrast to the soft, hesitant man James had been trying to coax back to life. “This,” he bit out, gesturing vaguely between them. “Coming with me. Holding my hand. Playing the saviour. I get it—we were something once. But I don’t remember, so you can stop feeling obligated to… to coddle me.” His words cut, each one sharper than the last, and the lightness James had tried so hard to preserve cracked under their weight.
For a moment, James stood frozen, searching Regulus’s face for something softer beneath the venom. It felt worlds away from the last time they’d wandered these streets together—before everything had fallen apart.
“James, how are we supposed to even get there,” Regulus sighed exasperated but still going along with him willingly, his eyes alight with mischief in sneaking away from Hogsmeade with him.
“The same way all wizards get around of course- the Knight Bus!” he grinned, his smile widening even further at the look of utter despair on Regulus’ face.
“We will die if we get on that rolling death trap.”
James didn’t listen, instead raising his wand on the side of the street and a breath later, the dilapidated purple bus came rolling and creaking down the street.
A middle-aged man popped his head out, “You coming on or what? We haven’t got all day,” he groused, throwing his arm up and ushering them inside.
“Bloody hell, is his boss Kreacher or what?” Regulus mumbled, stepping up and into the bus.
The interior was lined with beds and mismatched chairs and other seating options that looked more like they belonged anywhere else than in a bus.
Regulus settled primly in a green wingback chair near the back while James sat on a wooden bench, his bum already hurting. Some of the beds were occupied by suspicious looking witches and wizards while a couple birds flitted around the roof giving the entire place the ambiance of a nightmare.
He barely settled in before the bus lurched forward at full speed, the mouldy little skull hanging off the rearview mirror yelling a moment later, “Prepare yourselves!”
Regulus’ hands were clamped to the arm of the chair, bracing himself, but he turned to him and said, “If this bus doesn’t kill you first, I will.”
“Oh come on, it’s kind of fun,” he smiled and he was going to learn over to kiss him when they were suddenly brought closer and a look out the window showed the driver, a goggle-eyed old man in the front, weaving between traffic, shrinking and stretching the bus at will.
When the bus hit a particularly sharp turn, sending them careening out of their chairs, a large man who must be at least a quarter giant, only shifted his arm under his head, continuing to drool without a care in the world.
At one point, James was sure they were somehow driving over water because bright orange life vests burst from a container somewhere above them though he couldn’t be sure because everything outside was just a blur.
They stopped for a moment and they both watched, waiting to see who would board, but it was just a fat bullfrog that hopped its way over to a stool perched in the corner.
A few minutes later, the man from the front stood up and said, “Well we’re here, get out now will you?” Again with that air that they were somehow inconveniencing him.
They made their way to the British Museum, the tall Colosseum-like building standing imperiously before them. James turned to see Regulus’ eyes widen, all his earlier complaints gone as he grabbed his hand and whisked them up to steps to get inside.
They walked through Greece and Rome to the Middle East to Sudan and Nigeria. Admiring statues that have deteriorated and weathered throughout the years and ancient pottery and art created by long-gone hands.
The museum held an air of calm and quiet contemplation. No one gave any mind to each other or even their own problems because there was so much to admire that everything else seemed insignificant.
How important could relationship troubles or financial issues be when faced with the entirety of humanity all around them? Ancient humans were forced to hunt for sustenance or use leaves and herbs to treat diseases without knowing that they were incurable and yet- humankind persisted.
James turned to Regulus, how his black hair brushed his porcelain cheek, how his lips curved and sloped towards a freckle on his side. He admired Regulus the way he did a statue and knew then that he would’ve done the same for him.
He would fight off wild beasts and hunt to the ends of the Earth should Regulus succumb to any such ailment. He would traverse oceans and sacrifice to the gods and even whittle little statues with a knife if it would make Regulus feel better.
Humans suffered and toiled for the sake of other humans and their offspring.
James would’ve done it all just for Regulus.
“I don’t do it out of obligation,” James said, his voice steady but gentle. “I… want to help.”
“I’m not going to be someone else’s burden.” Regulus frowned, his words sharp but brittle, the kind of defence that crumbled under its own weight.
“You’re not a burden. Why would you say that?” James asked.
Regulus scoffed, a bitter sound that held years of hurt. “It’s all anyone’s ever said. My whole life. It must be true.” His voice faltered, and then, as if regretting his vulnerability, he turned fully away, his eyes avoiding James’s entirely.
James paused, the weight of Regulus’s words settling in the space between them. For the first time, he saw it plainly—the raw, unmoored look in Regulus’s eyes. A man adrift, searching for an anchor.
“What did you see when Mayfield went through your memories?” James asked softly. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it?”
Regulus stopped walking. The side street they were on now was quiet, deserted except for the wind that whispered through it, brushing hair into their faces. James stopped too, standing still beside him, waiting.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. They stood like statues, caught in some frozen moment.
Then Regulus broke the silence. “Who is Voldemort?”
James choked on air. “What?”
It was such an absurd question for a wizard to ask—like asking if they knew what magic was. Voldemort was more than infamous; he was omnipresent, the shadow that hung over their world, even now that the idea of someone not knowing who he was was incomprehensible.
“When Mayfield was going through my memories,” Regulus began, his voice distant, like he wasn’t entirely sure he should be saying this, “she stopped on one. My mother—or at least, I think it was her—said she hoped I’d be of use to Voldemort since I was worthless to her. She made it sound like she was selling me off. Who is he?”
James felt the ground shift beneath him. He thought he’d have more time for this. Time for Regulus to ask simple questions like Who’s Evan? Or maybe even, So, is treacle tart really my favourite dessert? Instead, they were here, face-to-face with the darkest truth of their world.
But Regulus wasn’t finished.
“And another thing,” Regulus said, his voice trembling. “When we kissed at the café—I wanted to see if it was like the memory I remembered while you were gone. We were by some lake, and it was night, and we kissed. We knew each other, but…” He faltered, looking away like the words were costing him everything. “If I felt for you then the way I do now, why did you leave? Why did you leave me?”
James’s breath caught. The conversation had flipped entirely, from Voldemort to him, as though they were one and the same.
“For all I know,” Regulus said, his voice cracking, “you’ll do it again.”
James wanted to stop time. To pause and sort through everything—through the pain, the confusion etched into Regulus’s face. How could he explain the tangled web of the last twenty-three years? Even the last three felt impossible to condense into words.
“I didn’t leave you, Regulus,” James said at last, his voice raw with honesty.
Regulus laughed bitterly, hollow and sharp. “Clearly you did! You went off, had a kid, built a life, while I was—God knows where, getting my memories wiped? And now everyone thinks I’m dead. I don’t even know who I am anymore! You said you’d be honest, but all I feel is confusion. I just want…” He stopped, chest heaving as he struggled to pull the words together. “I just want it all to make sense.”
This version of Regulus was certainly more open about his thoughts than the last one.
“Come with me,” James said suddenly, right as the idea popped into his mind, holding out his hand. It wasn’t just an offer—it was a plea.
Regulus hesitated, but then, despite everything, he reached out. His cold fingers slid into James’, a hesitant but undeniable trust bridging the gap between them.
James turned on his heel, his heart pounding as he realised where they were going. He had never planned to bring Regulus here—not so soon, not like this.
But it was time.
Place Cachée awaited.
____________
“And so, the day before Christmas, Sirius left your home to come live with me.”
Regulus listened intently, his expression one of enraptured awe, like someone caught up in the pages of a particularly compelling novel. Detached as he was from most of it, the emotional weight didn’t quite land for him the way it did for James. Still, James could see that it affected him—shadows flickering across his eyes, small furrows appearing in his brow.
He hadn’t planned to explain everything this way, not while walking the cobblestone streets of the Wizarding World. But it had to be done. He needed to lay the foundation, to give Regulus the plot points of his story before Healer Mayfield’s treatment filled in the details. James could provide the broad strokes—why Sirius wasn’t there, why their family had fractured, why their paths had diverged. But he couldn’t explain Regulus’s childhood in the Black household, couldn’t describe the scars on his arm or the darkness of Voldemort’s influence.
Those things weren’t quite his to tell.
He stopped the story with Sirius’s departure though, because Regulus had already ventured far enough down memory road for one day. And besides, the magic around them—the vibrant shops, the warmth of enchanted lanterns lighting the streets—was almost intoxicating. James wanted this world to be associated with good memories, not just painful revelations.
They spent the rest of the day wandering in and out of shops, Regulus questioning everything with a mix of curiosity and scepticism, and James answering every inquiry with the patience of someone who had been waiting years for this moment. By the time they ended up outside a small, cosy restaurant, both of them were ravenous, having neglected food entirely today in the rush of discovery.
As they stood there, Regulus finally broke the silence.
“I’m sorry for everything I said earlier,” he murmured. “It was unfair.”
“You don’t have to apologise—”
“No, I do.” Regulus looked down, his voice soft but firm. “It’s just… I like you, James. And I’m scared. I’ve brought so much baggage with me, and you’ve turned my life around in ways I can’t even explain. I don’t want to ruin this. I know we were together before, but… I don’t want that to be the only reason you’re here.”
“Look, I don’t care what you remember or what you don’t. You could tell me tomorrow that every trace of us before is gone and it wouldn’t matter. I like you. This you. The one who stumbles over his words when he’s flustered. The one who’s so damn brave, even when he doesn’t see it. The one standing in front of me now, doubting that he’s good enough, when he’s everything I could want.”
James reached out, his fingers brushing against Regulus’s cheek before trailing down to clasp his hand. “I’m not here because of old memories, Regulus. I’m here because of who you are now. And I’ll stay—not because I feel like I have to, but because I want to.”
Regulus blinked, his lips twitching into a small, tentative smile that grew as reassurance seeped into him, softening his posture. Then, as though pulled by some invisible force, he leaned forward and kissed James.
All the hesitation that had been between them dissolved. Regulus reached up on his toes, pulling James closer, fingers gripping his coat to keep him there. James barely had a moment to react before he melted into it, his hands sliding to cradle Regulus’s face as though he was something precious.,
The world around them blurred, melted away entirely, until all that remained was this moment.
And for James, it was as if a long-scattered puzzle had begun to piece itself together. His world, chaotic and fragmented for so long, shifted into alignment.
This, here, now—this made sense.
This, he could work with.
____________
A few days later, he apparated to London to get working on his slash Regulus’ work as per usual when he made one simple change to his routine.
Instead of heading straight to Grimmauld Place, he apparated to an apparition point near a bakery, intending to pick up pastries for himself and Lily. It was a simple indulgence, hardly worth considering, but it served as a sharp reminder that the Wizarding World continued on in his absence.
The moment he landed, he found himself in a queue. Flummoxed on why, he leaned sideways to peer up the line.
Two tall gruff men in dark robes stood at its head, their faces cold and hard.
“Name?” they asked the old woman standing in front of him, her pointed hat leaning precariously on her head.
“Glinda Wormholt,” she answered, her voice weak and shaky. She looked almost too old to even be apparating.
“Destination?” the man replied, his aggressive tone at odds with her meekness,
“I’m- I’m going to St. Mungo’s for my Healer appointment.” She pulled out a wrinkled piece of parchment that the other man snatched, smoothing it out and analysing it.
After a tense pause, he jerked his head and let her pass.
James’ stomach clenched. Death Eaters. They must have begun patrolling Apparition points. He couldn’t turn around; the alley’s charm made Apparating away impossible, and the men blocked the only other exit. Panic prickled at his skin as he stepped forward.
“Name?” the taller man barked.
“Who are you?” James shot back, his tone sharp as he decided to go for a hostile approach.
“I’m asking you what your name is- that’s all you need to know Sir,” he bit out and up close James could see him more clearly. He had close cut brown hair with beady little eyes that scrutinised his every feature. His partner was no better with long blonde hair tied in a tight bun at the back of his head, his face cleanly shaven and eyes narrow with suspicion.
“I’ll need to see some identification,” James shot back, folding his arms.
“I’ll only ask you one more time, name?” he hissed.
James remained silent.
The two men exchanged a look before the blond one lunged forward, gripping James’s arm.
Panic flared. “Let go of me!” James snapped, trying and failing to reach for his wand. He was shoved hard against the brick wall as his arms were twisted behind his back. He struggled to break free as his face scratched against the stone.
His heart rate racketed up then, all previous bravado gone, leaving desperate panic in its' wake.
“I’m afraid we’ll have to take you in,” he grunted, his breath hot and menacing at his ear.
Then, summoning up all of his strength and training from years before, James lurched backwards, slamming his head back into the man holding him hostage.
He yelped in surprise, staggering backwards and James turned just in time to see blood start pouring out of his very crooked nose. He growled in anger as he straightened his wand and his partner was no slower, already advancing towards him.
James instantly lashed out, “Incarcerous!”
The other man who advanced quickly slapped away the spell but the bleeding one didn’t manage to catch up in time as ropes sprung from the ground and wrapped around his extremities, tightening and pulling him to the ground. He fought against them which only made them stronger, leaving him trapped in an awkward position on the floor.
It was only a momentary victory because the other one roared. A flash of purple light shot toward James, shattering his shield spell and striking the wall behind him. The stone hissed, oozing green slime.
They circled each other, at a standstill, waiting for the other to make the first move.
James thought about Harry and Lily and Regulus and everyone else waiting for him. These, what he presumed were death eaters, wouldn’t be able to take him, not now, not ever. He had evaded these slimy bastards once before and he’d do it again.
“Accio!” James shouted and again, he evaded it, slicing through the spell as though it were just silk, gone in the wind. The Death Eater smirked for a bit, like he was duelling a child and it grated against his nerves.
He shot a curse, red this time, and it zipped towards him like a bullet. He didn’t have time to shield himself and it struck his arm, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. James gritted his teeth to stop a shout from clawing its way through his throat as his arm screamed in pain. He looked down and saw his flesh charring, black and smoking, and he almost vomited right there.
The Death Eater looked self-satisfied, a sick smirk twisting on his lips, “It didn’t have to be this way, but I’ll tell you one thing- I already know exactly who you are now.”
“Yeah, and who’s that you bastard?” he spat.
“Why you’re famous ain’t ya James Potter,” he grinned and James’ heart stopped. The man on the floor started laughing maniacally.
Their fight devolved then as a bombardment of spells were thrown between the two of them, green and red and purple blending together in a medley of fireworks above them, sulphur-smelling smoke hanging heavy between them.
James wasn’t sure what happened then but he was an animal cornered, and he broke out with the first curse he could think of-
“Crucio!”
The man instantly crumpled to the floor in agony, his limbs contorting oddly as he shouted in pain. James dropped his wand a moment later as he stared, horrified, at the man clawing at the ground, begging for release. The reality of what he’d done hit him like a thunderclap.
He had cast an Unforgivable.
His breath came in shallow gasps as he staggered back.
“I… I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice hollow, but his words fell on deaf ears as the man lay gasping.
However, they couldn’t wait here forever, so James approached him, ready to end this confrontation for good but the look of fear on his face twisted James’s stomach.
This is what they see in you now. A monster.
He raised his wand with shaking hands, muttering an Obliviate that left both men slumped in a daze.
With one last look, he finally staggered away, his arm throbbing and mind racing.
He couldn’t shake the thought- What’s the difference between me and them now?
No answer came.
If only he could just obliviate himself.
____________
James apparated directly into Grimmauld Place, staggering as he landed.
His arm, now a horrifying mess of decayed flesh and blackened skin, oozed a foul stench that made his stomach churn. The pain was unbearable, but even that paled next to the crushing weight of what he had just done.
The dark, oppressive halls of the house pressed down on him and he made it as far as the foyer before his legs gave out, and he collapsed onto the cold floor.
His breath came in shallow gasps as he buried his face in his hands. He wanted to scream, to rage, to rip apart the timeline that had led him here.
James's thoughts spiralled. He wanted to undo it all—not just today, but everything. He wanted to go back to that Halloween night in 1981, to never open the door to Peter. To never let any of it happen. And his arm just fucking hurt and he didn’t know what to do and why the fuck did the locket kill Regulus and everything compounded on itself, roiling and twisting in his gut making him sick.
He barely noticed Kreacher at his side until the elf’s small hand rested on his arm.
James looked up, his vision blurred with tears. Kreacher said nothing, his large eyes instead fixed on his wound.
The old elf ran a hand lightly over the ruined flesh, murmuring something low and ancient and smoke stopped billowing from the wound as the decay slowed. He patted it once before he snapped his fingers and a healing kit landed beside him. He crouched down beside him so that he was level with his arm and got to work, cleaning and dressing the wound.
While he worked, he stayed silent, not saying a single word to him. All James could do was wonder why he was even doing this for him? It wasn’t as though the elf owed him any sort of care or help.
“How do you know how to do this?” James croaked, his voice breaking. Tears still streaked down his face, unbidden and unstoppable.
“Master Regulus was hurting himself many times,” Kreacher replied solemnly, “Kreacher is helping him many times.”
James closed his eyes, the guilt tightening like a vice.
“This curse,” Kreacher continued, “will be killing James if Kreacher is not helping. It is eating his flesh.”
The elf finished wrapping the wound with layers of gauze and handed James a phial of thick purple potion. He drank it without hesitation, shivering violently as the potion took effect, cooling the feverish heat in his body.
His chest throbbed, a dull pain he only just realised, “My chest hurts,” he broke out.
Kreacher reached forward, resting a hand over the spot between his ribs and closed his eyes, sensing for something. When his eyes opened again, he looked confused, and James really worried then- what if this was beyond his scope? He couldn’t possibly go to St. Mungo’s like this and it wasn’t like a muggle hospital would know what to-.
“Come,” the elf ordered and James couldn’t refuse. Standing on shaky legs, he followed Kreacher deeper into the house and when they started walking up the stairs, he felt even more lost. He half expected Kreacher to lead him right out the front door.
They walked down the corridor to Regulus’ room and when James looked down at his feet, he noticed the floor shimmered and wondered if he had hit his head on something too but then Kreacher stepped onto it and he realised- Kreacher laid down an additional charm to protect the floor and all the papers’ he’d laid out there.
“Kreacher was not wanting to disturb James’ work,” he said as if reading his mind.
He stepped into the room and tugged back the dark green covers on Regulus' bed, disrupting the pristine order of the space. Then, with a firm grip on James' fingers, he guided him over and urged him to lie down.
“But I- I don’t want to ruin- this is Regulus’ bed-,” he didn’t want to get in it, feeling like it was some sort of sacrilege, especially to Kreacher who practically lived and breathed this room like it was the beating heart of this house.
“James is needing to rest,” Kreacher interrupted firmly. “When Master Regulus is being upset after being bad, he is liking resting. Kreacher is knowing what James needs.”
James suddenly realised that Kreacher must be missing having someone to attend to.
For so long he’s been without purpose or reason, forced to haunt the walls of this home with no human interaction beyond the screeching portrait of Walburga. He’s practically been forgotten about and now that he has someone to take care of- someone to look after- he was sure to complete his duty to the fullest.
James swallowed thickly, a fresh wave of emotion crashing over him. Kreacher wasn’t just helping him—he was recreating the rituals he must have performed for Regulus countless times before, offering the same care he once gave to his master.
He felt like an imposter.
The bed was soft, enveloping him in a warmth that felt almost like an embrace. It made him ache for his mother, for a simpler time when someone else could shoulder his burdens. He cried again, the tears now spilling freely against the sheets as exhaustion and guilt crushed him.
Kreacher drew the drapes closed with a swift tug, snapped his fingers to light the candles scattered around the room, and summoned a set of potion phials. With uncharacteristic gentleness, he handed them to James, then busied himself fluffing pillows, smoothing and re-smoothing the sheets, and placing a glass of water on the bedside table.
One of the potions must have been Dreamless Sleep, as he already felt his eyelids growing heavier and his mind turning hazy, thoughts and vision alike dissolving into a blur.
Though he was awake just long enough to see Kreacher staring into the room at him from the bedroom door, gazing at him as though he weren’t looking at the nuisance that kept dropping by asking intrusive questions, but the boy he had cared for and raised his entire life.
The faint sound of the door clicking shut barely registered before sleep claimed him entirely.
____________
When James woke, the sky outside Regulus’s room was a deep indigo, the moon casting pale light across the scattered papers and rumpled bedding. His heart sank, panic spurring him upright. The world tilted briefly as the blood rushed from his head, but he forced himself to move, ignoring the protests from his aching body and bandaged arm.
He bolted out of the house, nearly stumbling as he Apparated back to his flat. It wasn’t until he landed on the steps outside his building and began climbing that he pulled his phone from his pocket.
12:43 AM.
He’d missed the entire day.
When he got home, he didn’t see Lily waiting up for him, hiding in the living room in the dark like she had been a while ago. The flat was instead completely silent save for the faint hum of the refrigerator.
He saw faint golden light spilling from her bedroom and gently pushed her door open.
Lily was slumped awkwardly against her pillows, her hair a fiery tangle spilling over her shoulder and a book lay abandoned, face down, in her lap. Harry lay beside her, snuggled against her arm, his tiny body sprawled in peaceful oblivion as drool glistened at the corner of his mouth.
James’s shoulders sagged. The sight was both endearing and grounding, a sharp contrast to the chaos of his day.
Quietly, he stepped in, his movements careful as he picked the book up from her lap, smoothing the creased pages and marking her spot before setting it aside. He adjusted the blankets around her, his hands lingering for just a moment, brushing a stray curl from her face. She stirred slightly, her nose wrinkling, but mercifully didn’t wake.
Harry was next and James scooped him up with practised ease, the weight of his son a familiar and comforting anchor. He held him close for a moment, breathing in his soft scent before carrying him to his crib. After slipping Harry into his nightclothes, James laid him gently in his bed and his lips parted with a soft sigh, his tiny hands curling into fists as he settled back into sleep.
James stayed where he was, sinking to the floor beside him. His arm throbbed, his body ached, but none of it mattered as he watched Harry sleep.
The way his son’s small chest rose and fell with each steady breath, the way his face twitched with fleeting expressions even in the deepest sleep—it was enough to quiet his racing mind, if only for a little while.
Harry was perfect. Unblemished by the war and its horrors, untouched by the darkness James had allowed to consume him today. You’re everything, James thought, resting his head back against the wall.
He would deal with everything else later—the guilt, the horror, the curse on his arm.
Here, in this moment in their little sanctuary, James could find a moment’s peace.