staring into a nightmare
“Any changes?” James asked once the mediwitch swung by Regulus’ room again.
She paused, consulted her chart nervously, then peered up at him through her glasses, “Unfortunately no,” she frowned before perking up, “But! We have increased the temperature of his room by four degrees and increased the incline on his bed by 0.2 cm, both of which are magically proven to increase the chances of him waking up!”
James let out a slow breath. Thank the gods for Muggles—if science were left to wizards, everyone would be dead already.
“Right…that’s good,” he tried to smile and she dashed off to the next room, likely to give some even more false information to some very vulnerable people.
James dejectedly turned back to Regulus looking small and fragile beneath the sterile white sheets. A faint smile ghosted his lips as he combed his fingers through the soft strands of Regulus’ hair, lingering over the small patch of white as it sifted through the sea of raven.
“I suppose this is it huh?” he said ruefully, emotion already building and lodging itself firmly in his chest. He continued this placating motion, his fingers brushing through his hair, down his temple, across the crest of his cheeks. “I spent so long wishing for you back that I almost didn’t know what to do with myself when I had you. Magic is funny that way…the way we can make everyday miracles happen yet when they actually do happen, it’s… unfathomable .”
He studied Regulus’ face, committing it to memory. The sharp angles of his jaw, the dusting of freckles over his nose, the tiny imperfections that, to James, had never been flaws.
He realized then that he wasn’t scared and he thought about Regulus—the boy who had walked into the cave all those years ago and hoped he hadn’t been scared then either. They were two sides of the same coin, or perhaps they were the same side, together in all that they do, their actions the same separated only by time.
For a moment, he decided to speak freely, like he was talking to the old Regulus again.
“And I hope you knew that I loved you—” his voice broke, and he had to force himself to keep going, “so much.”
His fingers curled against the sheets.
“I will always regret not seeing you before you left. For lying in the home of a traitor while you slipped through my fingers. If I had seen you… I wonder if I could have changed your mind. But then again, you were always so stubborn. Probably about as stubborn as I am now.”
His hand trembled as he smoothed a strand of hair away from Regulus’ face.
“I suppose it’s time I go tie up your loose ends,” he joked, trying and failing to sound lighthearted.
Leaning down, he pressed a lingering kiss to Regulus’ forehead, letting his lips rest there for a heartbeat longer than necessary before straightening.
He took a deep breath before walking right out of his room.
He didn’t look back.
Because if he did, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to leave at all.
____________
“I wanted to thank you Kreacher…for everything you’ve done for me. You let me into Grimmauld, helped me when you didn’t have to, nursed me back to health on more than one occasion,” he huffed. “ Thank you.”
Kreacher lowered his gaze to his hands, gnarled fingers twisting together. Praise had never sat well with him, least of all gratitude—probably because he had never truly received it before but James just needed to say it. He needed him to know that, for once in his life, his efforts were seen.
The old elf shifted, ears twitching. “Kreacher is… grateful that Master James is giving him thanks.”
“I’m not—”
“Kreacher is choosing his Master now. He is choosing James Potter.”
James felt his throat tighten as he shook his head, “I’ll just free you.”
“Kreacher will still be serving James,” he countered, like it was an undeniable truth.
James let out a shaky breath, pressing his lips together in something between a laugh and a sigh. “Well at least you won’t have to serve me for much longer.”
Kreacher didn’t respond. He only moved to grab the leather bag he insisted on preparing for him ahead of time. It had food, some supplies, the locket- the essentials. He then summoned a heavy black cloak from somewhere upstairs with a snap of his fingers.
James caught it as it settled over his shoulders. His fingers skimmed the silver trim, where a name had been embroidered in careful script:
Sirius O. Black.
James swallowed hard. It had to be one of the last things Sirius had made for him before leaving this house behind and yet, somehow, it still fit him. It was reassuring, in a way. Like he’d have Sirius with him.
They always went on adventures together so it only made sense that they embarked on this together as well.
“Kreacher,” James started, voice quieter now, “at these Order meetings… I know they don’t all see you as I do. But I beg you—look out for them as you have for me. You know more than they do, more than they realize. And honestly?” He huffed a small, fond laugh. “They’re not half as smart as they think they are.”
Kreacher sniffed, frowning as if the very idea offended him.
James’ smile faded just slightly. “At least look out for Sirius then. Please.”
At this, he didn’t argue. He didn’t promise either, but his silence felt like enough.
James hesitated only a moment before kneeling, arms outstretched. Kreacher blinked up at him, flabbergasted and stiff as a board. James didn’t wait—he just pulled him in, wrapping his arms around the old, haggard elf and holding him close.
It took a long moment, but eventually, Kreacher lifted a single hand and placed it over James’ back. A poor excuse for an embrace—but an embrace nonetheless.
James held on for just a second longer before pulling away. He gave a final nod. Kreacher only bowed his head.
Then he turned and made to leave but he hesitated at the sight of the staircase and lifted his wand. With a silent flick, the line of grotesque, rotting elf heads vanished from the walls, as if they had never been there at all.
He wished he had done that sooner.
He walked through the main floor, eyeing the paintings and tapestries, all the dark corners that had since been sweeped and the floorboards that shone beneath him. The sconces in the receiving room were lit and the drapes were open to let some sunlight in.
Grimmauld looked alive again, alive like Regulus, and so he felt a sense of relief as he walked out the front door and the apparition border.
He had one more place to go.
____________
The tree above him swayed gently in the sun-warmed breeze.
“Hi, Mum, Dad,” James whispered, lowering himself to his knees before their headstones. Time had worn them down, dulling their once-pristine surface, and he found himself wondering where the years had gone and how they had passed so quickly.
His gaze drifted to the empty space beside his mother’s grave, imagining himself there.
“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” He forced a small, lopsided smile. “I’ve been living in Paris for a bit now. I know, very posh of me, but what can I say? I’m getting a taste of the finer things in life.” He let out a short laugh, brittle and empty, and shook his head. “Alright, maybe not finer. Just… different.”
The humor faded as quickly as it had come. His hands clenched in the grass at his sides, tearing at the blades absentmindedly.
“I imagine I’ll be seeing you soon.” The words left him softly, without fear, only certainty. “I’m going off on a mission now, you see. One that’s ninety-nine percent likely to kill me… but just as likely to save Harry, Lily, Reg—everyone we love. Seems like a fair trade-off, yeah?”
Heavy silence met him. The wind stirred, carrying the scent of earth and wildflowers to him like a gift.
“I miss you two so much. I wish you could see Harry now, he’s got this wild hair like mine but eyes as green as Lily’s though they’re hidden behind a pair of little specs, it’s the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. He’s shy and small but gods has he got grit, he has the makings to be a Seeker in the future. Or maybe he’s a squib and he’ll stay in the muggle world- it wouldn’t matter to me a bit, he can do no wrong in my eyes.”
He huffed, shaking his head. “I wonder if that’s how you felt about me. Maybe if I’d known, I wouldn’t have been such a menace at Hogwarts but, y’know…” He grinned, just for a second, picturing his mother’s exasperated sigh and his father’s bark of laughter.
James kept talking, filling the quiet with stories of his life, his plans and the numerous flaws in them—knowing exactly how his mum and dad would scold, tease, or comfort him in return. And when there was nothing left to say—when he knew he was only stalling—he sighed deeply.
Slowly, he rose to his feet and brushed the dirt off his trousers, righting his cloak. He kissed his fingers and pressed them against each headstone, lingering as if they could press back.
Shouldering his bag, he took a deep, grounding breath—the scent of sun-warmed grass filling his lungs, the wind threading through his hair, the warmth of the afternoon pressing against his skin.
And with a steady turn on his heel, he apparated away.
First to the edge of France.
Then, to Switzerland.
____________
The weather was mild but the air was crisp and fresh, almost burning his nostrils that had gotten so used to the smoggy streets of Paris. The sky above stretched vast and impossibly blue, dotted with clouds so perfectly shaped they looked painted on.
The village was as small as it had looked on the map he’d studied at Grimmauld Place. Quaint stone cottages with slanted roofs clustered together, their chimneys curling ribbons of smoke into the cold mountain air. A narrow road wound through the heart of it, leading him to an inn at the very edge of town.
The moment he stepped inside, warmth wrapped around him. A crackling fire bathed the lobby in gold, illuminating dark wooden beams and fur pelts draped over chairs. His stomach twisted as his gaze snagged on the stag’s head mounted above the hearth. He forced himself to look away, trying not to think of Prongs like that.
“Hello there, welcome to Muotathal,” the man behind the front desk greeted.
James nodded, stepping forward to check in. He kept it brief, kept his voice even, but as he slid his room key across the counter, the man hesitated.
“Not many visitors come to Hölloch this time of year.” His voice was casual, but there was something else there—something cautious. “So I have to ask you, what brings you over here?”
James tilted his head. “The caves, of course. Isn’t that why most people come?”
The man’s thick white eyebrows inched toward his hairline. “The Hölloch caves? At this time of year? ”
James blinked. “...Yeah?”
The man whistled softly, shaking his head. “I wish you luck, sir. The caves aren’t a place to be right now. Most travelers know to stay away.”
James leaned against the counter, feigning nonchalance. “Why’s that?”
The man’s blue eyes flickered toward the dim corners of the inn, as if expecting someone—or something—to be listening. His voice lowered.
“You haven’t heard the stories?”
James said nothing. He just waited.
The innkeeper exhaled through his nose. “The creatures in the caves are active this time of year. The old stories say you must wait until winter, when He is dormant, if you want to venture inside. If He sees you before you see Him...” He hesitated, as if debating whether to continue. “Well, let’s just say few have ever made it back out.”
Great.
James forced a smirk, ignoring the way his stomach clenched. “Well, I’ll be sure to be quick then.”
The man didn’t laugh.
___________
His room was small, the bed creaking beneath him as he dropped onto it, exhaling sharply. The weight of exhaustion should have settled into his bones, but he only felt restless.
Reaching into his pack, he pulled out Altair’s work on Azrythar. He sifted through it with the same scrutiny he had the last ten times, combing through vague accounts, fragmented myths, and general information on dragons. But nothing—nothing—told him what it was actually like to face one.
He sighed and leaned back, stretching his legs out. I should be home right now.
He could almost see it: the café, warm and familiar, his hands busy making drinks before wandering over to Regulus’ office—where he’d inevitably end up lingering for an extra couple of hours as he worked. He wanted to try, and fail, to get Harry to eat his vegetables before giving in and playing games with him instead. He wanted to sit on the balcony beside Lily, watching the city lights while she absentmindedly chewed on whatever new snack she was fixated on this week.
For so long he thought of his ‘old life’ as his life before the war and now it had shifted, like that had all just been a dream and now that he had woken up, he couldn’t go back to sleep again and revisit it.
He would take anything to get back to that but he had a feeling that life had been torn to shreds, irreparably gone.
Pulling out a small stack of photos, he smiled to himself as he gazed upon his friends and family, letting the time pass as the sun set over the town, setting the rolling green hills ablaze in a wash of golden light.
Night settled swiftly after that and he took a Restful Sleep potion, courtesy of Kreacher, before settling in for the night knowing his nerves would prevent him from falling asleep on his own and would cause him all sorts of trouble tomorrow when he needed his mind to be at its sharpest.
He pulled the covers up and stared out at the crack in the drapes as he tried to fall asleep.
In the silence, a low rumbling echoed from outside his window.
For a moment, he wondered if he had imagined it.
____________
Fingertips danced across his skin in an indescribable pattern as sunlight streaked in through the open windows.
He blinked once, twice, before waking up, immediately being met with Regulus’ wide eyes staring back up at him, cradled in the circle of his arms.
“Good morning,” he murmured.
James responded with a whine, frowning as he tightened his arms, pulling Regulus impossibly closer.
“Can I ask you to reconsider staying at school for the holiday?” he groaned, his voice still heavy with sleep.
Regulus sighed. “You’re free to ask my mum. You won’t make it out of the conversation alive but you’re welcome to try.” He punctuated the words with an open-mouthed kiss to James’ collarbone, lips warm, breath soft.
He groaned, tipping his head back against the pillow. “Reg, I don’t want you to go, I—” He moved to sit up, but Regulus stopped him with gentle hands, pressing him back down.
“Please don’t make this harder than it has to be,” he whispered. A plea.
James stilled and Regulus exhaled slowly, tension bleeding from his shoulders.
“The train doesn’t leave for three hours. We have time now.” His fingers trailed lightly down James’ arm before stopping over his ribs. “And it’s not like I won’t be coming back. They can’t kill their heir, now can they?”
James hated when Regulus made jokes like that, they hit their mark a little too easily, the words slightly barbed enough to hurt.
He decided to distract himself with the feel of Regulus, warm and malleable under his fingers like putty, the thick comforter of the bed shielding them from the world, cocooning them in this Room.
“I’ll miss you,” James whispered against the shell of his ear instead, needing to get the words out somehow.
“I’ll be right,” he tapped his tattoo of his star, “here.” He grinned and it was an uncharacteristic smile, bright and careless, but maybe that was the magic of mornings like these—where the outside world didn’t exist, where they could pretend, even for a moment, that things were simple.
They lay like that for a little while longer before regretfully dragging themselves out of bed, showering together before slowly dressing eachother back up. Regulus slipped out of the room first and James tarried for a minute longer before escaping only to find him still in the corridor facing Barty.
Barty’s gaze flicked toward James, sharp and amused. “Fancy seeing you here.” He tilted his head. “Where exactly did you come from, by the way?”
“I- er was under my Invisibility cloak,” he stammered, staring at Regulus who looked like he wanted to bash his head into the wall.
Barty sniffed, “Where is it then?”
He laughed awkwardly, “Well…it’s invisible so…” And he tapped the air above his shoulder indicating that it was draped over it.
He cast a suspicious brown eye at him, “You didn’t happen to come from the same place as he did you?” A jaunty finger pointed right at Regulus.
James slowly turned to Regulus like he hadn’t seen him there until now, “Nope.”
“Well I just find it interesting that the two of you happened to materialise from the same place. This school isn’t that big.”
“It’s pretty big,” James retorted.
“Okay can we go,” Regulus frowned, tugging on Barty’s arm.
Barty raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. Because I find it highly unlikely that you-”
Regulus had apparently heard enough. He flicked his wand, and Barty’s mouth snapped shut as he dragged him away toward the Slytherin dorms, whispering something harshly into his ear.
As they rounded the corner, Regulus threw one last grin over his shoulder.
James didn’t know it then, but it would be the last time he saw him smile like that.
After the holiday, everything had changed.
Regulus wouldn’t look at him. Wouldn’t speak. Barty and Evan cast pitying glances at James across the Great Hall, and he didn’t know why—only that something had broken.
If only they had stayed in the Room of Requirement.
____________
James woke early, forcing down a scant breakfast of buttered toast at the inn before setting out toward the Holloch visitor center. The air was crisp and the sky was a deep bruised blue, casting elongated shadows across the empty streets. He pulled his cloak tighter around himself, warding off the morning chill.
His pack, prepared meticulously by Kreacher, rested against his back. His wand was tucked securely at his side. He wasn’t sure what else he might need for what lay ahead, but having those two things brought him a small measure of comfort.
The visitor center was small and cramped, with only three other people milling about, just as the innkeeper had said. The only way into the caves was by guided tour, so he had booked ahead, planning to slip away once they were deep enough inside.
Their tour guide, a young man named Alf, sprung out from somewhere in the back, flying into an upbeat and quick explanation of their tour, finishing up with a, “And if you didn’t catch any of that, that’s alright, we’ll figure it out as we go!”
They headed off in under a minute, making the short trek toward the mouth of the caves.
He wondered, briefly, what Lily was doing right now.
She believed him when he said that he and Regulus were heading to the countryside to one of the Blacks’ holiday homes. It was the only way he could explain both of their absences and why she might not be able to reach him by phone. The guilt sat heavy in his gut but he quickly shoved the thought aside. Now wasn’t the time.
They followed the grassy unassuming trail up to the soaring limestone mountains that housed the caves. The jagged cliffs were beige and dotted with randomly placed forest outcroppings, splashes of green marring its’ otherwise light surface. As they approached, they turned around a bend and James would have missed the opening to the mouth of the caves had the guide not pointed it out.
The opening itself was relatively unassuming, more so a small yawning mouth than the cavernous entrance he had expected. The tourists around him began snapping photos. One man bent down to collect a sample of dirt, tucking it carefully into a small tube—some kind of scientist, James assumed.
Alf rummaged in a nearby box, pulling out helmets and red, plasticky jumpsuits. “Suit up,” he instructed. “This is to protect you and the cave.”
As James zipped himself in, a cold gust of air surged from within the cavern, curling around them. Alf merely raised his brows, his expression wry in a You got yourself into this, good luck look.
Crossing the threshold felt like slipping into a different realm as James looked up and around him. The rock was smooth in some places while jagged in others, sticking out at them as though it was trying to puncture them. Stalactites grew downwards from the ceiling, a feature he only noticed when he bumped his helmet right into one as he was more focused on his feet, trying not to lose his footing on the soaked rocks.
All the light from outside faded away the deeper they ventured, the mouth of the cave nothing more than a mere pinprick of light behind him. The darkness felt almost suffocating, pressing in all around them like a living thing.
James kept darting his eyes from side to side, half-expecting to find something looking right back at him with equal curiosity.
The only sound was the dripping of water from somewhere around them and James nearly jumped out of his skin when something gripped his arm viciously but it was only one of his fellow cave-travelers who apologised profusely for grabbing onto him as they tripped.
They all turned the lights on their helmets on and it gave him a sense of calm to at least be able to see this much but James was sure he’d pull his wand out with a Lumos once he was on his own because he was just as likely to be taken out by the dragon as by slipping on a wet stone and bashing his head in.
The longer they walked, the more his fingers twitched at his sides. Alf’s voice had faded into background noise, his explanations droning on while James’ pulse beat faster, a rising crescendo in his chest.
The walls were moist under his hands as James ghosted his fingers over them, looking for any sign of escape from the narrow path they were currently on. Surely they weren’t going to run right into the dragon so there had to be some alternate trail but he was, up until now, coming up blank.
They paused at a small circular cavern where stalagmites grew up from the floor and Alf fell into a very long-winded explanation of the science behind them when suddenly, a gust of hot smoke-singed air rushed down from above them, pressing down on them with almost unbearable intensity for a moment before being cleared away by the naturally occurring breeze in the tunnels. He wrinkled his nose as he recognised the foul scent of sulphur.
“What- heh- what was that?” one of the men asked as he clutched his camera closer to his chest, his wife wrapping her arm around his arm tight.
Alf adjusted his helmet, unbothered. “Well, most of the caves remain unexplored, so we can’t be entirely sure, but it’s likely hydrothermal or volcanic vents,” he explained, his tone reassuring.
James knew better- they were getting closer.
A prickling sensation crawled up the back of his neck as his forehead broke out into a cold sweat and he struggled to wipe it off with a trembling arm.
He couldn’t remember ever having been more nervous and he was starting to wonder what he was even doing here in the first place. He should’ve gone back to Dumbledore, stayed at Grimmauld for an Order meeting and strolled right in, he should’ve mastered that damned Fiendfyre spell no matter how impossible it was supposed to be. He remembered how brave he had felt before coming here but that was when this had all been a mere hypothetical and now that reality was setting in, he wasn’t sure how much of that bravado had been feigned even if only to himself.
Had Regulus woken up? The idea of him waking up thinking that he had abandoned him struck him as too painful to think about.
He didn’t even know what he would ask Azrythar when he finally found him. Every option had its own risks, its own consequences. He had decided to wait and see what felt right in the moment, but now, standing here, doubt clawed at him.
His thoughts spiraled, roaring in his ears, nearly swallowing him whole—
Then, his fingers brushed against something.
His hand had drifted from the wall, only to slam back against it again when he stumbled upon it—an opening.
He turned and spotted a rough-hewn arch in the wall. It was narrow, just wide enough to accommodate him, and James felt like he needed to make his escape now while he still could so he reached up and flicked the light on his helmet off and once their group was far away enough, he slipped away on light feet and it was like he had never been there at all.
Shucking that ridiculous jumpsuit off, he pulled his wand out and used a powerful Lumos to guide him, allowing him to see the musty and dank corridor more clearly now.
He cast a strong mapping spell, one that would allow him to see, at the very least, his immediate vicinity. Slowly a map unfurled in front of him, hovering at eye level and he could see a handful of trails branching out from the one he was on now. He saw one ending at a dead-end but he couldn’t quite see the endings of the others, making them all equally plausible.
Taking a deep breath, he weighed his options, and went towards the one on the far right thinking that if he were an ancient thousand-year old dragon, he’d want to hide as deep into the caves as possible rather than picking the easiest and closest route to the main path.
He trekked onward.
About an hour passed in bated silence, the only sound his own apprehensive footfalls against the slicked stones. The air felt even heavier here, thick with the scent of nature and causing a cold sweat to break out on the back of his neck. It felt a bit like the way one felt while getting over a bad illness- surviving but still a bit shaky and uncomfortable.
He finally stopped on hour two to rest his feet that had begun aching after all of the uneven stones and other outcroppings he hadn’t managed to avoid. He laid against the wall, stretched out his legs, and stared at his red Converse, wondering why he didn’t prepare better for this.
Opening his pack, he found a bit of food on top and took out a pack of biscuits, smirking to himself at Kreacher’s thoughtfulness and got to eating, casting a little ball of light to hover in front of him to leave his wand in his lap lest a breeze blow it away.
Another deep rumbling shook the cave, sending small rocks skittering off the sides of the walls and the floor to vibrate beneath him and his stomach flip-flopped. The food went to ash in his mouth and he tucked his head between his bent knees, begging himself not to lose it now.
He got up, shouldered his pack, and kept walking.
____________
He was beginning to feel uncomfortably feverish now, his skin erupting in gooseflesh despite the chill and he constantly felt like there was something in his eyes, having to furiously blink and scrub at his eyes to clear his vision. The smell was no less bothersome, a sour scent that never lessened despite how long he had been walking through it.
He paused for a moment to lean against the wall as another shiver ran through him when he heard,
“Hello? Is there someone there?”
He gasped and turned around, wand already aloft. He initially thought it may have been Alf coming after him but he was faced with a man. He looked young, maybe James’ age, but the roundness of his cheeks and the stark, wide-eyed terror on his face made him seem younger. His blonde hair was bright, almost luminous in the dim light, and his dark blue eyes flicked to James’s wand—first with anxiety, then with a sharp exhale of relief.
The man let out a shaky laugh and pulled his own wand from his pocket.
James sagged, pressing his free hand over his racing heart. "You do realize sneaking up on someone in a dark and scary cave is a terrible idea, right?"
The man swiped a hand through his tousled hair, cheeks ruddy. "Well, I did call out to you."
"You could’ve used Lumos instead of wandering around in the dark like a madman."
He blinked, as if the thought had only just occurred to him. "Huh. You’re right." He turned his wand in his palm, casting the spell with a small chuckle. "Didn’t even think of that."
James huffed out a laugh, resting his weight back against the cool stone. Having someone else here made everything feel more tangible and less like a fevered hallucination. It was the first moment of clarity he’d had in a while, some of the mental fog finally lifting.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“James, you?” he replied.
“Patrick,” he smiled shyly.
“Why are you here?”
He seemed to weigh his words as he crossed his arms over each other, “I read about the dragon in a book, a journal my gran used to keep. I just wanted to see if it was real I guess.”
“So you came out all this way on a whim? ”
He shrugged with a toothy grin, “I made it this far, seems like good luck to me.”
James couldn’t help but laugh, “Amazing.”
“You?”
“A bit of the same maybe but I also have a wish, I can only hope it’ll get granted.”
Patrick nodded, “Well if you don’t mind, we can go along together? Help each other out?”
“I’d like that,” James replied and took out a sandwich that had been packed in his bag and he didn’t hesitate to extend one towards Patrick, “Want one?” He didn’t even have a pack with him.
He stepped forward—and promptly tripped over his own feet, pitching toward James. He barely caught himself, hands fumbling against James’ arms before he righted himself, flushing. "Sorry! Sorry, I—"
James clapped him on the shoulder. "It’s alright, mate."
Patrick ducked his head, sheepishly accepting the sandwich. They set off together, their twin beams of light bouncing across the damp stone as their footsteps echoed.
A buzzing sound filled James’ ears. He scrubbed at his face again, a persistent itch crawling over his skin. "Do you feel weird, too?" he asked.
“Nope,” he shook his head.
James was about to go on but suddenly he heard something, it sounded like a woman’s voice speaking to him but he couldn’t quite make it out. This time he knew Patrick heard it too because he looked at him with wide eyes. They both froze.
Then he felt a brush along his shoulder with the same voice, like a ghost whispering to him while it flew past.
Patrick’s hand latched around James’ shoulder as he mirrored his fear but he abruptly let go, “Sorry, sorry.”
But then his own eyes trailed down and he had to stifle a scream.
Two skeletons lay side by side, intertwined with each other as whoever the bones belonged to had latched on to each other as they faced their death. The bones were licked clean looking pristine and the clothes they were wearing seemed at least a hundred years too old, all old and thick fabrics that were now dusty and torn in places.
“Gods,” Patrick whispered.
“Let’s keep going,” James broke out feeling like the stupidest man in the world.
____________
James was stopping almost every thirty minutes now, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Patrick, entirely unaffected, halted with him every time, fussing over him—offering water, food, dabbing his forehead with a cloth. It was near overbearing, but James supposed Patrick just needed to do something. There was a desperation in his attentiveness, a quiet need to please.
James wanted to go back.
"You can't!" Patrick’s voice was urgent, and James didn’t realise he'd spoken the thought aloud.
"I—" The walls spun around him. It felt like they hadn’t moved at all. The same dark corridor. The same winding path. The only proof that time had passed was the slow, gnawing ache in his body and the hollowness in his stomach. " I need to go back. "
"No, no, stay here," Patrick pleaded, his hands gripping James’ shoulders tight. "Just stay here with me."
James barely registered being pulled down, Patrick guiding him gently to the floor. His hands cupped James’ face as he leaned in incredibly close.
Then the tunnel erupted in light.
Blue and violet streaks bloomed across the walls, pulsing like veins in a living thing. The glow flickered in and out, making everything shift— move —like the cave itself was breathing. The luminescent light cast shadows over Patrick’s face, turning his expression unreadable.
James blinked hard, trying to focus.
"Just stay with me, James," Patrick cooed, pulling him close. He was warm—so warm—and James couldn’t help but lean into him, letting his body melt against the comfort.
Patrick pressed his forehead against James’ temple. "I’m sorry, okay?"
He kept repeating it, over and over, and James couldn’t figure out why—until, suddenly, he did.
A sick sense of recognition slammed into him.
James pulled back, heart hammering, and looked into Patrick’s face—only to see Peter staring back at him.
His breath caught. "Pete? "
“James,” he smiled, seeming relieved as though he were just waiting for James to recognise him.
He looked young. Younger than before. The glamour over his features melted away, and suddenly, James wasn’t looking at a grown man anymore—he was staring at an eleven-year-old boy .
James reached up, dazed, fingers barely brushing Peter’s cheek. "How are you— "
He couldn’t finish the question. His body felt wrong , twisted in a way he could barely register, his limbs heavy, sluggish.
Peter cupped his face again, eyes bright with something desperate. "I’m here now, James. We can stay here together. You forgive me, right? I’ve apologized."
" Peter— "James struggled to speak, his tongue thick, his head wrong. "This isn’t— "
"But it is !" Peter’s voice turned pleading, insistent. "It’d be so easy. Come on, we’ll have fun together, just like we always did."
James felt like he was being pulled under, hypnotized by Peter’s growing pupils, by the way they swallowed everything, endless black voids.
The veins along the walls expanded, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. The whispers returned—but they weren’t passing him this time. They were surrounding him, wrapping around his limbs, his throat, his mind.
He felt trapped in a sensory nightmare.
Then, suddenly—
Peter’s eyes weren’t eyes anymore. They were black like Regulus’s hair. Black like Sirius’ nails. Black like Lily’s favorite licorice. Black like Harry’s favourite toy car.
A sob wrenched itself out of James’ throat.
With a cry of agony, he forced himself to move , tearing away from Peter’s grasp, stumbling back against the wall as he raised his wand.
Peter started to cry.
James didn’t even realize he was crying, too.
"You’re not real," he whispered into the hum of the cave.
Peter’s lips trembled. "You’ll wish you stayed with me."
Then, just like that, he was gone. Dissolving into nothing.
James crumpled forward, forehead pressing into the cool, packed earth beneath him. His breath shuddered through him.
Then— rumbling.
Only this time, it didn’t stop. It grew louder, rising to a deafening roar, shaking his bones, rattling his skull. James lifted his head, wand light flickering against the shifting stone as the cave walls moved around him.
The path behind him closed, sealed off by a newly formed wall.
In front of him, three new tunnels split open like gaping maws of darkness.
The sound was unbearable. James clamped his hands over his ears, squeezed his eyes shut—
And screamed.
When the noise finally died down, he lowered his hands slowly, keeping his eyes closed.
Then— click.
A low, chittering noise.
A hiss.
Hot, rancid breath hit his face like a slap.
James opened his eyes—
And found himself staring into a nightmare.