another master
“How old are you Kreacher?” James asked suddenly, turning to the elf that was scrubbing at a suspicious maroon stain on the carpet in the dining room.
The old elf paused to peer up at him, “Kreacher is not knowing, but he is being very old.”
“Well, how long have you been in this house?”
He shrugged, “It is being a very long time.”
James wasn’t sure what to do with that, “Like are we talking years? Decades?” Then belatedly, he added, “...Centuries?”
“If James is wanting to use the typical time scale, then yes,” he said breezily while James was having a hard time picking his jaw up off the floor.
Centuries? Bloody hell. How old was his own house elf? He couldn’t believe wizards haven’t already been looking into this. Perhaps he should send in a request for this to be added to the Hogwarts curriculum because he surely would have paid attention to this.
“Alright…” he finally replied, “Well, what do you know about dragons?’
“I am knowing many things about dragons. I am knowing Master Regulus is having a nephew named dragon,” he said.
Sometimes Kreacher said things that took so much time to unpack that James didn’t bother going into it, but now he was forced to.
“Before we get into what you know about dragons, what do you mean his nephew is named dragon?”
Kreacher sighed deeply, “Master Regulus’ cousin, Narcissa, who is being married to Lucius Malfoy, is having a son.”
He was reminded of Draco then, Evan telling him how much Regulus would’ve loved him had he been around to see him. Though it raised another question, “How do you know about that?” because for all James knew, Kreacher never left the house.
Kreacher vanished the rag he had been using, and then the mess, and James wondered why he had even bothered scrubbing it before Kreacher started walking and James was forced to abandon the thought and follow him.
They walked up the stairs and into a drawing room that James had never before been in. He didn’t take it upon himself to stray too far from his usual rooms because one run in with a magical artefact that caused you to hallucinate your darkest fears in a random billiards room was enough for him though there didn’t seem to be any of those in here.
The room was actually pleasant enough with open windows and well-maintained furniture though the main focus was clearly on the walls. A sprawling cloth tapestry covered up the entirety of the walls, starting by the doorway that he entered from and wrapping around all of the walls, making it just short of the length of the room, as if purposefully leaving space.
He turned to his right immediately and saw a crude depiction of a man and woman by the names Arche Black and Agathe Selwyn , the years under their names indicating they lived and married sometime around the 16th century.
Immediately he was enthralled, his eyes glued to the branches that connected each generation of Black family members. Some were married to other Blacks while peppered in were notable purebloods like the Greengrasses, Notts, and Prewetts. He even saw a Potter or two here and there, though he didn't fancy looking into that too much.
Almost all purebloods could trace their origins back a few centuries but to see it all drawn out like this was something else entirely.
He even came across a few burn marks of those who had been removed and his mouth soured as he knew what was to come.
He made it to the end where of course, Sirius’ image was burned off while Regulus’ remained.
“Kreacher looked at Master Regulus’ image. The tapestry is being autonomous, it is changing itself whenever the family is changing. When it is saying that Master Regulus is still living, Kreacher is thinking maybe the magic being in the tapestry is gone but then young Draco is being born and Kreacher was not knowing what happened.”
Sure enough, under Narcissa was the image of a little cherub-faced child named Draco Malfoy, born at the start of the month before Harry. James had inadvertently followed pureblood traditions of having children young but it seemed Narcissa and Malfoy had just been doing their ‘duties.’
“Wow,” was all he could say. He was in disbelief but that was the nature of old magics like this, they were inexplicable and awe-inducing and confusing all at once. He lifted a hand to run it over the image of Regulus and the silky fabric was reminiscent of his hair.
“Now why is James wanting to know about dragons,” he asked, coming up next to him.
“Okay so I’m going to ask you something and I do not need you mocking me or anything like that okay? We’re just a little desperate right now as you well know and I want to check every avenue,” he prefaced and Kreacher nodded, indicating for him to continue. “Have you ever heard of a dragon called Azrythar?
Kreacher’s eyes narrowed as though physically looking into the past, “Kreacher is hearing of such a dragon once but it is being a long time ago.” He was on the move then, looking at the tapestry as he walked until he abruptly stopped and pointed upwards, “Altair Black. He is being after that dragon many years ago.”
Altair Black was born in 1832 and died in 1857, making him only 25 when he died. He was married to Cassandra Greengrass who was born in 1834 and died in 1857 as well. They were survived by a single daughter named Rhea.
“What happened to them?” James asked worriedly, wondering what the story was there.
Kreacher looked sad as he spoke, he really truly cared for each member of this family that he served so dutifully.
“Master Altair Black was being the heir to this house. He was being arranged to marry Cassandra and Altair was loving her very much. They were being engaged at 19 and being married at 20 and they were wanting a baby but Cassandra was being sick. She was having a blood curse, cursing the female daughters of her fathers line to die once they are having an heir. Altair was being distraught and he is finding out about the dragon who is bestowing miracles to wizards and he is wanting to save his Cassandra. He was being leaving to find the dragon but he was not knowing that Cassandra was pregnant. He is never coming back and she, after having the baby, is being so upset that she killed herself because she said she cannot be living without Altair,” he finished.
The grim story made a chill run down his spine but his nerves felt like they were on fire, flames steadily pumping in his veins, flames almost as hot as violet dragon fire.
“But she lived? She survived childbirth?” he asked nervously, needing that verbal confirmation
“Well yes but-.”
“So the dragon is real then ? Altair’s wish came true?” Nervous energy thrummed in him, his heart beating a wild horses-rhythm.
“There is no way of knowing,” Kreacher cautioned and he suddenly looked like he was regretting telling him the story but it was too late now.
“There’s no way to get around blood curses like that but she lived, Altair wished her to survive and he did.”
“Altair died James,” the elf repeated louder again.
“Yes but she lived, don’t you see Kreacher?”
“Kreacher thinks James is knowing he mustn’t be making deals with dark creatures.”
“Okay fine, even if I don’t make a deal- this is a dragon with flames that burn hotter than any other fire. It destroys anything and everything. We can destroy the horcrux that way!”
He watched as understanding washed over Kreacher but it was quickly doused, “No James.” He shook his head, his tone suddenly icy.
He couldn’t understand why the elf wasn’t as fired up as he was, “Kreacher you can’t be serious, this is proof that that dragon is real. If I can just find it then-.”
“ No. James is not finding this dragon - he will not be going and getting himself killed. Kreacher will not be watching another master die! ”
Both of them froze, their eyes widening as they stared at each other and Kreacher snapped his fingers, disappearing while James was left to stare at the spot he just vacated.
James searched the entire house for him and couldn’t find him anywhere.
____________
“Okay so, the Prongs Special is…” and James went on to demonstrate what exactly went into his ‘special drink.’
By the end, Marc was eagerly gulping down his drink, showering it with enthusiastic praise. “This is amazing!” he declared, before catching sight of Regulus and narrowing his eyes. “Why do you look like that?”
“Like what?” Regulus asked cautiously.
“Like you’ve just stepped in shite and tracked it around your living room?,” Marc explained colourfully.
“I do not,” Regulus shot back, defensive.
Marc’s expression turned smug. “Oh, really? Then why aren’t you drinking yours?”
James’s gaze flicked to Regulus, suddenly noticing the untouched drink sitting conspicuously far from him. “Wait… you’ve barely had a sip,” he said, his tone shifting to one of playful disappointment. “Do you not like it?”
“No, no, of course I do!” Regulus said quickly, grabbing the cup and taking an exaggerated gulp. James had to give him credit—he almost masked the cringe that followed.
Marc started laughing, “Oh my god, you hate it.”
“It’s just a little… sweet, okay?” Regulus admitted, grimacing slightly.
“It’s okay love, I’ll survive and clearly the customers are loving it,” he winked.
“We’ll just have to officially add it to the menu then won’t we?” Marc said and he disappeared for a moment, escaping to somewhere in the back and coming back with a sheet of paper and a black marker.
“Did you take that from my office?” Regulus asked then, “Wait, how'd you even get in there, the door is locked?”
Marc just waved his hand and said over his shoulder, “You know a lot happened here before you started coming in daily, you needn’t worry yourself too much.”
James laughed at the puzzled look on Regulus’ face as he probably wondered how soon he could get the locks changed while Marc was bent over the counter, scribbling on the paper. When he straightened, he grabbed a piece of tape and hoisted himself to stand up on the counter.
He was already tall enough but now he was towering over the shop and everyone inside quieted to stare, open-mouthed at him, as he balanced himself precariously on the outer edge of the counter to tape the paper that said ‘The Prongs Special’ with a corresponding price next to it at the bottom of the wooden board.
He hoped off to check his handiwork and nodded to himself while James got to sanitising the counter.
“There we go,” he said and dusted off his hands as he joined them behind the counter again.
As this had all been going on, someone had walked in and watched what Marc had been doing the entire time. They were tall and lithe, James thought they were about Remus’ height with shaggy black hair and warm brown eyes. They smiled as they walked up to the counter, showing off bright white teeth and when they spoke, it was with an Italian lilt, smooth as they asked, “What’s the Prongs Special?”
James and Regulus both turned expectantly toward Marc, waiting for him to answer. But Marc didn’t say a word. He simply stood there, staring, his mouth slightly agape. James frowned, momentarily concerned, until he noticed a telltale blush creeping up Marc’s neck and blooming across his cheeks.
Ah. So that’s what this was.
Marc had a crush.
And considering how Marc so often inserted himself into James and Regulus’ relationship, it only seemed fair for James to return the favor.
With a grin, James stepped forward, clapping Marc on the shoulder with a little more force than necessary. “The Prongs Special,” he began theatrically, “is our exclusive, house-made drink—truly one of a kind. But Marc here is the real expert.” He nudged Marc toward the counter. “Go on, mate. Why don’t you explain what it is?”
Marc stumbled slightly under the push, wide-eyed and clearly flustered, while the newcomer tilted their head, watching him with an amused smile.
Once Marc had finished and they decided to go for it, James asked, “Name?”
“Bellamy,” they answered.
“And is that for here or takeaway?”
Bellamy’s eyes flickered back to Marc, roving over his face once more before shyly deciding, “For here please.”
“Perfect,” James said, ringing them up and once they sat down at a table near the back, he whirled around to Marc who looked like he wanted to melt into the floor.
He looked up at James and jabbed a finger at him, “Don’t you dare start now.”
“This is going to be amazing.”
____________
James stared at the paper in front of him
1. Ask him to destroy the horcrux.
2. Tell me how to destroy the horcrux and I’ll do it myself.
3. Ask him what happened to Regulus’ memories and if they can be restored.
4. Ask him how to destroy Voldemort or for him to do it himself…somehow.
5. Get burnt to a crisp and then I won’t have to deal with any of this anymore.
He scratched out that last point though it was just as likely to happen as anything else. He tossed aside the pen, longing for the days of when he could frustratedly snap a quill or feel the satisfying crumple of parchment under his hands when he’d ball it up and toss it away. Paper and pen just didn’t have the same gravitas.
That same wild hope about the dragon’s existence coursed through him, though he wasn’t sure what an appropriate request even was, given that he was still in the precarious business of granting wishes—like some genie Muggles believed in.
He came to the realisation, belatedly, that he was doing exactly what Regulus did and some of his lingering resentment faded away because now he knew it was like seeing a potential solution to a problem and knowing that the only price to pay for it would be your life.
Regulus had believed Kreacher would destroy the horcrux and end everything. It hadn’t gone as planned, but that didn’t make his resolve any less valid. And now, James stood on the edge of his own precipice, staring at the possibility of erasing Voldemort’s shadow from their lives. He couldn’t imagine turning back, couldn’t fathom stepping away and looking for some other purpose.
Because this was it.
If Voldemort were gone, his family could return to the Wizarding World. Regulus could recover his memories. Most importantly, Harry would be safe.
James glanced down at Harry, who was sitting on the floor by his feet, pushing toy cars in loops and making quiet engine noises. The thought of freeing Harry from the bounty on his head, from the constant threat, filled James with a resolve so fierce it hurt.
He had so much to live for… but if it came to it, he had just as much to die for.
Gods, never could he have imagined such a life for himself.
“Why are you crying beta?” his mum asked, swiping the tears that kept slipping from his eyes. Her hand was soft and warm against his wet cheek.
“I don’t want to go, I don’t want to leave you,” he whimpered.
“This is a good thing, you’ll finally get to practice all of your magic and you’ll make so many new friends, you’ve always wanted more friends haven’t you?” she asked gently.
James was sitting right on his bum beside his mum as she was tending to her garden. As he looked at her, basking in the early morning sun, surrounded by the flowers so reminiscent of her perfume, he thought of how much he’d miss her when he went to school and that resulted in the blubbering mess he was now.
“But I want you to be there too, what if I miss you,” he asked.
“Then you can send me a letter, and I’ll send you three in return,” she smiled and he laughed a bit at that.
“I’m scared to grow up,” he frowned, realising that his days of play would be over. He would be off to school where he’d have to wear a uniform and do homework and all the other things he enjoyed…except quidditch because he was actually really looking forward to that.
“Guess what love?”
“What?”
“You have no choice but to,” she said plainly.
“Mum, that's not making me feel better,” he pouted and she laughed.
She joined him right on the ground, clearly tired of crouching, and smoothed out her skirt. “James, growing up is what makes life so special, would you really want to be a kid forever?”
He flung his arms out wide, “Yes!”
“Then you would never get to practice magic, or be a professional quidditch player, or get married and have kids, and of course, you’ll still have a bedtime, and I’ll keep forcing you to eat your vegetables, need I continue?”
He rolled his eyes dramatically and flopped backward, mumbling a long and suffering, “ No. ”
His mum leaned back as well, balancing on her elbows as she looked up at the sky with him, “Now c'mon, What shapes do you see in the clouds?”
He started pointing out dragons and bunnies and ships but when he asked her, she was simply looking down at him with a small smile on her face.
“What?”
“I just love you my boy,” she kissed him on the cheek and resumed her gardening while James quietly watched, enthralled, equally in love with his mum but not saying it.
He regretted not saying it back
He looked down at Harry now with that same sort of wonder and felt like his mind had been made up for him.
____________
He came to realise that Lily was more or less correct the next time he visited Grimmauld.
Kreacher was dusting off the portraits on the second floor when he arrived and wasn’t able to disappear in time and was then forced to face him for the first time since calling James his master which still boggled his mind anytime he thought about it.
“James,” Kreacher said, thankfully not saying the ‘master’ part out loud.
“Kreacher,” James greeted. “It’s nice to see you again after our last conversation was cut short.”
He didn’t think it was possible but the ef suddenly looked chagrined and James didn’t want to worry him any further, he was speaking from the heart after all- they’d have time to figure out their relationship dynamics at a later time.
“But it’s okay, I actually came by to see if you would help me with something…”
He looked happy for the change in conversation and set his feather-tipped brush aside, “What is it being?”
“Did Altair keep any journals or research? About that dragon or the time before he went off in search of it?” he asked tentatively.
Kreacher was as expected, upset, and clearly wanted to protest but surprisingly he didn’t. He just nodded glumly and started walking down the hallway, up some stairs, then another set of stairs until finally reaching the top floor of the house and walking till they reached a little door on the ceiling. Kreacher waved his hand and it opened to let a staircase materialise leading up to it.
Kreacher walked up and came back down a few minutes later, levitating a small leather briefcase behind him.
The front was embossed with A. Cerelius Black and the leather still looked immaculate as though freshly polished.
“This is being everything he had,” Kreacher said, sending it over to land in his outstretched hands.
“Thank you Kreacher, this is- it’s perfect,” he said enthusiastically but the look on his face sank his heart a bit. “What?”
Kreacher looked up at him, old and tired, “Kreacher was not stopping Master Regulus in time and he is now watching James going down that same path. Kreacher is giving up trying to save you.”
He walked back down the stairs alone and for some reason, watching him walk away instead of apparating hurt more.
Looking back at the briefcase in his hands, he steeled himself, and just walked back into Regulus’ room to look into it, not wanting to go down all those stairs or run into Kreacher again.
He popped the tabs open and saw yellowed parchment scattered among long-since dry ink pots and decrepit quills. There were no books thankfully, but there were some pages with jagged edges that led him to believe that Altair tore them out from books.
The Blacks sure were into research.
James sat and read for hours, feeling more like he was reading a fairytale than actual research made by a man more than a century ago and when he was done, he felt empty.
All of his excitement and enthusiasm from before was gone because it was all suddenly real. Everything here made sense and whether or not Altair found the dragon or died from pneumonia in some alleyway, the fact was that he needed to go and at least try his hand in finding the creature.
Altair claimed that Azrythar lives in the Holloch caves in Switzerland which were some of the largest caves in the world. Muggles explored them as much as they could but apparently there was a passage within the walls inaccessible to them, and anyone who didn’t know where to look, where he resided.
He was described to be one of the oldest dragons in the world, ancient and powerful, a relic from the time when magic was still drawn from nature and spirits.
A question that nagged at James’ mind was why the dragon would ‘grant wishes’ anyways- surely it had better things to do but he came to find out that Azrythar found humans interesting in the same way the gods did. They were play toys, weak creatures moulded from clay with big hearts and if one was brave enough to face him, then he would grant them a wish, whatever that truly meant.
There was page after page chronicling Altair’s despair at finding out his wife had fallen ill and how none of the treatments offered by Healers were working. In his looping and elegant script, James could feel how he felt by proxy and desperately wished their story had a happier ending.
He finished by locking everything back up in the briefcase and stowing it away under Regulus’ bed and walking out of the house unimpeded.
He ran into an old man on the street and pretended to inspect the garden until he turned the corner and then apparated away with a quiet pop.
____________
In coming upon the realisation that he could be walking straight towards his imminent death, he needed to get his ducks in a row.
That included seeing Evan Rosier again and telling him the truth about Regulus.
His letter was basic and straight to the point:
Meet me at Sips in London by St. Mungo’s at 11AM.
It’s urgent. If you’re busy, cancel your plans.
J.S.
And when Evan responded with a simple ‘Ok,’ he told Regulus about it.
“I’m actually excited for this,” Regulus said with a nervous grin as they made their way to the back alley of his building, “Being that I actually remember a lot about him.”
“That’s good,” James replied, “I’m excited for you both to see eachother again, like old times.”
They used his portkey to travel there and landed in the receiving area of St. Mungo’s, quickly turning around and walking out of the front door to head towards Sips- a nondescript coffee shop just around the corner.
Regulus walked towards and inside the coffee shop with the scrutinizing eye of a business owner, comparing this place and his own shop, eyeing the decor and menu.
They huddled into a booth, sitting next to each other, and waited. It was only 11:03 so they had time but when it started to near 11:30, they both got a bit worried.
“Are you sure he said he was coming?” Regulus asked nervously.
“I think ‘Ok’ is a pretty universal sign of yes,” he replied, drumming his fingers on the table.
By the time an hour passed, they were fixing up to leave but the bell above the door chimed and they looked up to see a disheveled looking Evan, anxiously fixing his hair as his eyes scanned the cafe, pausing once they met his, then slowly sliding over to Regulus, widening as he rushed over.
He dropped into the seat across from them, his expression tight. There were no tears or gasping—yet—but his voice was sharp as he said, “What the hell am I looking at right now?” It was almost identical to how he’d reacted when he’d seen James at the bar.
James huffed a laugh, “Evan, I think you know by now that if I’m asking to meet, it’s to drop some sort of bomb on you.”
“Yeah but not a Regulus -sized bomb,” he said tersely. His bright blue eyes warily darted over to Regulus,“So where the fuck have you been?”
James could see it then- the hurt, the betrayal, the anger simmering beneath this cool facade he had put up. He recognised it because it was the same look painted on his face whenever he caught sight of himself at Grimmauld after he’d gone down a particularly long spiral about Regulus and the choices he made before dying.
Regulus stayed silent, his wide-eyed gaze fixed on Evan.
“You died and came back, and now you’re just going to sit there staring at me like everything’s fine? You don’t get to do that, Regulus!” his voice cracked, but his fury surged on. “I don’t care what the fuck you’ve been through—pulling that kind of shit is—”
“Evan,” James cut in, raising a hand, “just let me explain—”
“No, James. I don’t give a damn if you forgave him,” Evan interrupted, glaring. “I get why you dragged me here now, but you know how we all were after he—” His voice faltered for just a second. “I’m glad he’s alive, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to—”
“Evan,” James said firmly, standing up. “Let’s go talk outside. For a minute.”
Regulus sat frozen at James’s side, his face pale in the wake of Evan’s anger.
Evan didn’t even reply, just rolled his eyes and stood up with a huff, rocking the table as he went.
James, after giving Regulus a sympathetic look, got up to follow after him, meeting him outside the front door and then pulling him away from the windows for extra privacy. He threw up a wandless silencing and Notice-Me-Not charm and whirled on him, “What the hell was that Rosier?” he said through the clenched teeth.
“What the fuck James? You didn’t think to, oh I dunno, give me a heads up first?” he threw back. For the first time, he showed a more reasonable emotion, leaning against the brick wall of the building, tilting his head back to stare up at the sky. “Why is he just sitting there like that?”
James explained then, wishing he could get a quill to transcribe the story one time and just make copies to hand out to whoever needed them because he was practically running out of air telling this story so many times.
By the time he was done, Evan had fully sagged against the wall, a single leg kicked behind him keeping him propped up.
“Well that’s great, his first impression of me is me being an absolute dick,” he sighed, shaking his head.
“He’ll understand,” James smiled, then asked, “Also, are you okay? You just seem a bit…” he trailed off but he thought high-strung, anxious, and fidgety all worked.
He scrubbed his hand over his face, “Yeah sorry, I just- I got into it with Barty before coming here, it’s why I was late in the first place.”
“What happened?”
Evan breathed a long-suffering sigh, “Barty has always been very…eccentric,” he said, clearly choosing his words very carefully. “This war, the losses we faced, the tragedy we see on the daily, has affected us all differently. I, for example, shut down, I use occlumency or try to detach myself from whatever’s happening, it’s how I preserve what’s left of my sanity. Barty, on the other hand, leaned into it. He’s… ‘off his rocker’ so to speak.”
“He’s always reminded me a bit of Sirius,” he breathed and Evan nodded with a noncommittal sound, clearly not wanting to talk about this anymore. Then he continued, “And Evan, there’s something else…”
His eyebrows crowded together, “What?”
“I’m going to be leaving soon on some business and…well, I’ll just say it- I don’t know if I’ll be coming back. I told you about Regulus today because if I don’t make it back, I need you to look after him. Lily and Pandora know but nobody else, I’ll leave it up to you to decide what you want to do moving forward but for now, it’s just them.”
“James, what are you talking about? Going where for what?” he asked, straightening up.
“I don’t have all the details yet but I just need to know that Regulus will be looked after. He can handle his own, he has for years, but now that he knows about the wizarding world and everything else, well, it would make me feel a lot better knowing he has some familiar faces behind his back,” he explained, tamping down the emotional part of him that was screaming.
“Does he know?” Evan asked seriously.
He shook his head and Evan’s face dropped.
They ended up going back inside the café, the conversation settling into something more civil.
The door to the café then opened with a quiet chime, but the atmosphere shifted instantly. Two men in black robes stepped inside, their hoods pulled low to obscure their faces, leaving only their mouths visible. The air seemed to grow colder, the casual chatter around them faltering into uneasy silence.
Time seemed to stretch as everything happened all at once-
The men moved as if the world itself had bent to their will, their wands flashing in a single, seamless motion as they raised them, pointing them outward.
“Down!” Evan roared, tearing himself free from the booth with a force that sent the table skidding.
Spells erupted from their wands, scorching the air and slamming into the café walls with explosive bursts. Shouts and screams merged into a symphony of panic as chunks of plaster rained from above.
James lunged across the booth, his arm wrapping protectively around Regulus just as a child’s shrill, terrified wail sliced through the chaos, sharp and gut-wrenching.
The world seemed to freeze for a moment, the walls groaning before splintering outward in a deafening roar. Glass exploded in a storm of jagged fragments, and the ceiling cracked, collapsing in pieces as a choking cloud of dust and debris enveloped the room.
For a single, dreadful moment, the chaos hung suspended, raw and unrelenting.
Then, everything fell.