a trade
James’ heart pounded a frantic rhythm in his chest. His racing blood roared in his ears, drowning out everything else. He forced his eyes open, knowing—dreading—what he would see.
A dragon towered over him, impossibly massive, its mere presence suffocating. From where James knelt, it looked even bigger—more like a force of nature than a living thing.
Its scales were as black as the night sky, each one the size of James himself, layering over powerful muscle like armor no weapon could ever pierce. He followed the creature’s form until he made the mistake of looking at its face and a wave of dread washed over him.
Azrythar.
The name rang in his mind the instant their gazes met, though the dragon had not spoken it. He didn’t even need to, his presence was enough.
Azrythar’s golden eyes were sharp, slitted, and intelligent. Steam curled from his nostrils, cloying heat thick in the air, and a low, clicking sound rumbled from the back of his throat—a noise that sent a chill straight through James.
Ancient and powerful magic rolled off of him in slow, deliberate waves, pressing against James’ skin, creeping into his bones, testing him. It wasn’t an attack, not yet—but it was close. It was a warning.
Then, a voice.
“Human."
The gravelly voice sounded inside James’ mind, deep and powerful, shaking him to his very bones.
“Stand,” he ordered.
The weight of that single command nearly sent James collapsing forward, but he forced himself up, legs trembling beneath him. He didn’t want to know what would happen if he failed to comply quickly enough.
Azrythar watched, unblinking. The silence dragged on, heavy and expectant while James felt sweat dripping down his back.
Then, finally, he spoke again.
“What is your name?”
The question was almost strange in its simplicity. A creature this powerful asking something so ordinary was practically funny and James might’ve laughed if his life wasn’t on the line.
“J-James,” he stammered, his voice unsteady.
Steam hissed from Azrythar’s nostrils again, almost like laughter.
“James…” The dragon tilted his massive head, considering.
“James Shafiq,” he clarified quickly, the weight of that pause making his skin prickle.
Azrythar exhaled slowly, his eyes narrowing, “You smell putrid, James Shafiq.”
James stiffened. He hadn’t done anything to make himself smell bad—aside from sweating in terror and repeatedly falling into dirt on his way here—but now that it was pointed out, he suddenly felt self-conscious.
The dragon lowered his head, bringing them almost eye-level, and James started shaking all over again. Then, the dragon’s gaze flicked to something behind him.
James followed his line of sight and landed on his bag.
The horcrux.
A chill slithered down his spine.
Moving slowly, James walked over, reaching into the bag with hands that barely felt like his own. The velvet pouch was soft beneath his fingers, almost mocking in how unassuming it was. He pulled it free and let the locket fall into his palm-.
The reaction was instant.
Azrythar’s lips curled in disgust, his head rearing back as if the very sight of it offended him.
“Disgusting,” he spat. A rumble rolled through his chest like distant thunder, his tone already dark with accusation. “Humans. Always meddling with forces beyond their grasp. You think yourself worthy of power, James Shafiq?”
“No! No, of course not.” James held the locket away from himself, as if putting distance between them would somehow prove his innocence, “It’s not mine.”
“Yes, I can see that,” Azrythar said, his stare piercing. “Your soul is alarmingly… intact.”
“...Thank you?” James muttered, unsure if that was a compliment.
Azrythar didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he continued studying James, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “You turned from what was given. Few reject what they most desire. Why?”
James swallowed. He was feeling slightly less afraid now that he hadn’t been incinerated on sight, but his mind was still racing. One wrong answer, and that could change very quickly.
“You… you made Peter appear,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I thought that was just my fever.”
Azrythar shifted, lowering onto his haunches for the first time. Even crouched, he was massive. His barbed tail flicked once, curling around his front paws.
“I offer something to all who seek me,” he said. “Something they desire. Some accept. Others continue their pursuit. You, who continued, were given entry. It is clear you still wish for more.”
James’ breath came too fast, too shallow. “But… I don’t wish to be friends with Peter,” he muttered. The memory of his touch still burned on his skin, something unwelcome and wrong. “He offered to stay with me but I—I hate him. I would never-.”
Azrythar’s molten gaze burned into him.
“I do not like liars.”
The words struck like a blow, final and inarguable.
James stiffened, heart hammering against his ribs. He didn’t dare look away.
“I’m not lying,” he said, strangely defensive before he backed down, putting a stopper on his overflowing emotions. “He…he betrayed me and my family.”
“And yet when I looked in your soul, I saw him…surely he hadn’t simply wandered in,” Azrythar countered.
His throat tightened. “I’m not lying,” he repeated, though it sounded weak even to his own ears.
Azrythar didn’t move. He remained locked onto James, boring into him, peeling back his defenses layer by layer. Then, without warning, James staggered.
It was as if the ground beneath him had shifted—not physically, but in some strange, disorienting way. The air thickened, pressing in on him, making his head spin. The locket in his palm pulsed. He gasped, fingers going numb as a rush of something dark and cold clawed its way up his body.
A voice from behind him whispered into his ear—soft, familiar.
"Jamie..."
His breath hitched but he refused to turn around, he couldn’t possibly face her and remain standing.
"My sweet sweet boy.”
James squeezed his eyes shut. No, he reminded himself, this wasn’t real.
He forced himself to open his eyes and meet the dragon’s gaze, even as his entire body screamed at him to turn away. “This is-” He inhaled sharply, trying to steady himself. “This is a test.”
Azrythar’s head tilted, the clicking sound returning. “Is it?”
James’ grip on the locket tightened. “You conjured her up, she’s not real.”
A slow exhale of hot air, “I am doing nothing but watching, human.”
James’ heartbeat thundered in his ears. His fingers trembled around the locket, but he didn’t let go. He wouldn’t let go.
The whisper came again, right at his ear.
"Do you miss me? I miss you.”
His breath hitched. He could almost feel his mother standing behind him, her dark brown hair curling towards her hip, the smile lines crinkling by her mouth, the vibrancy of her eyes against the grey in her hair. A hand gripped his arm and he looked down and saw her familiar gold rings twinkling on her hand.
"No," James spat, stepping forward, breaking the illusion’s hold. His hands curled into fists, the locket still clutched tight. His voice shook, but his resolve didn’t. “I don’t miss you,” the words burned like acid on his tongue but he refused to give in to another fantasy.
The whisper faded, dissolving into the charged air.
Azrythar hummed, watching. Then, finally, he spoke again.
“Interesting.”
James swallowed hard, trying to steady his breath. “So what? You just—bring back people’s ghosts and see how they react?”
“I do not summon ghosts. Only what already lingers within you.” Azrythar’s tail flicked, slow and deliberate. “You came here seeking something, James Shafiq. But desire is a fickle thing. You may think you know what you want, but beneath that—beneath the surface—lies something deeper.”
James hesitated. His entire body still felt wound too tight, like a string stretched too thin, ready to snap. “And what do you think I really want?”
The dragon watched him for a long, unbearable moment.
Then—“You tell me.”
James opened his mouth—then shut it.
He wasn’t sure he had an answer.
Azrythar shifted, his body moving with the slow, effortless grace of something that had lived for eons. “The ones who break are the ones who do not know themselves.”
The words made something cold settle in James’ stomach.
He had survived war. Had faced death more times than he could count. And yet, standing before this dragon, he had never felt more exposed.
Azrythar lowered his head again, until his snout was mere inches from James. “I do not believe you know yourself, James Shafiq. That is why you are afraid.”
James clenched his jaw. “I’m not afraid.”
The dragon huffed, a low, rumbling sound that felt far too much like amusement.
“Then tell me,” Azrythar said, slow and deliberate. “If you could have anything—one thing, above all else—what would it be?”
James froze.
Because for all his preparation, for all his reasons for coming here—he suddenly wasn’t sure he knew the answer.
James could still feel the ghost of Peter and his mum’s voice in his mind, but he shoved it down, locking it away like he had a thousand times before.
He licked his lips, throat dry. “That’s a loaded question,” he said, forcing his voice to stay even.
Azrythar didn’t blink. “Then unburden it.”
James exhaled sharply through his nose. “That’s not how it works.”
“Is it not?”
The dragon shifted, his massive body curling inward, his tail wrapping around his front paws once more. He was waiting. Not pressing, not demanding—but waiting.
James realized, with a sinking feeling, that there would be no moving forward unless he answered.
His fingers flexed at his sides. He tried to think—to sort through the reasons he’d come, the wishes he’d considered—but every time he reached for one, it slipped through his grasp.
What did most people want for? Revenge? Power?
He thought of the war. The bodies. The loss.
And then, before he could stop himself, he was speaking.
“I want to stop running.”
Azrythar’s pupils narrowed to razor-thin slits. “From what?”
James clenched his jaw. “You tell me.”
A rumbling sound built in the dragon’s chest, something just shy of a laugh. “Deflection. A familiar human trick.”
James bristled. “Not a trick. Just… I don’t know.” He forcefully ran a hand through his hair, fingers shaking slightly. “Maybe I don’t know how to answer.”
Azrythar inhaled, and for a moment, James felt as though the dragon was breathing through him—siphoning through his thoughts, his doubts, his fears, weighing him like a set of scales.
Then, “You do.”
James swallowed.
The locket in his palm was heavy.
Azrythar’s gaze flicked to it, “You carry something foul,” he redirected.
James almost laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Yeah. No kidding.” He stared down at the amber housed within the silver locket. He had stared at it so many times that he had every engraving memorised.
“Yet you have not abandoned it.”
James’ grip tightened.
That was true, wasn’t it? He could have left it behind, could have let someone else deal with it. But he didn’t. He wouldn’t.
Azrythar’s voice was a slow, deliberate coil wrapping around him. “Why?”
James’s throat tightened.
Because it was his burden to bear? Because no one else would? Because he had to finish what Regulus started?
Or was it something deeper?
“Because it’s a piece of him,” he admitted, voice quieter now. “And if I destroy it—” He exhaled. “Then he’s really gone.”
Azrythar did not react immediately. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, but no less powerful.
“Do you wish for him to remain?”
James shook his head. “No.” A pause. “But I wish… it had been different.”
“That is not a wish I can grant,” he replied and if James didn’t know better, he thought the dragon might have sounded sympathetic.
James let out a breath. “Didn’t think so.”
Azrythar watched him for another long, assessing moment. Then, something shifted.
The heat in the air lessened—not by much, but enough that James could finally breathe again.
The dragon lifted his head, “You have not broken.” He said it like the answer to some unspoken question.
James blinked, “Was that ever an option?”
A slow flick of Azrythar’s tail, “Always.”
James exhaled. He was exhausted. His body ached, his mind felt like it had been dragged through fire and he just wanted to go home.
The dragon tilted his head, golden eyes still sharp, still measuring. “Then speak your true wish, James Shafiq.”
James hesitated, but only for a moment.
“I want to know what happened to Regulus Black,” he finally said. “I want to know why he doesn’t remember anything.” And when he said it, his heart seemed to settle a bit and he knew he chose correctly because it all came back to Regulus, it always inevitably did.
Azrythar was silent.
Then, slowly, he breathed, steam curling from his nostrils like smoke rising from an ancient hearth. “Regulus Black,” he repeated, voice layered with something James couldn’t quite name. “A soul not yet claimed, yet not quite whole.”
James’s breath caught. “You know what happened to him.”
The dragon tilted his head as he tapped a single claw against the ground, “I know many things. But knowledge is not freely given.”
James felt his stomach twist. He had known there would be a price—there always was.
“What do you want?” he asked, voice steadier than he felt.
Azrythar watched him for a long, agonizing moment. Then, finally: “A trade.”
James clenched his fists. “What kind of trade?”
The dragon shifted, his massive form moving like the earth itself turning. “You carry something that should not exist.” His gaze flicked downward—straight to the locket still clutched in James’ fingers. “A fragment of a soul, severed from its whole. That is my price.”
James’s grip tightened instinctively. He had carried the locket for so long, had fought to keep it from the wrong hands. Giving it up—giving anything related to Voldemort up—felt like a risk.
Azrythar let out a low, rumbling sound. “You hesitate.”
James licked his lips. “You’re not going to use it for anything, are you?”
The dragon’s pupils thinned to slits, a flicker of something ancient and unreadable passing over them, “I do not deal in such corruptions. It will be destroyed.”
James let out a slow breath. Destroyed.
He looked down at the locket in his palm. The metal was cool against his skin, deceptively harmless. But he knew better. He had felt its influence—subtle, insidious. If Azrythar could rid the world of it, then it was a price worth paying.
He would inadvertently have two of his wishes granted if he could get the answers he needed about Regulus and get rid of this damned horcrux.
He straightened his shoulders, steadied his chin, “Fine.”
Azrythar’s chest rumbled in satisfaction, “Then speak your wish once more.”
James’ fingers loosened around the locket, but he didn’t drop it just yet. “I wish to know what happened to Regulus Black. I want to know why he can’t remember anything.”
A silence stretched between them, charged and heavy.
Then, Azrythar moved.
It was not an attack, nor a strike, but something else entirely. The air trembled as the dragon extended one massive clawed hand toward James. Before James could react, the locket was yanked from his grasp—not by force, not by claws, but by an unseen pull, as though the very air itself had taken it.
It clattered to the ground to his right and the dragon stood up to his full height and James barely had a moment to process the heat building in the air, the scent of ash growing before he reared his head back and spewed fire hotter than any natural sort of flame.
Violet flames spewed from his throat as he roared and James turned away but he couldn’t ignore the burning pain that scalded his exposed skin.
The locket cracked.
Then shattered.
A horrible, distant scream echoed through the space—a sound that clawed at James’ very bones before being swallowed by the silence.
And then, just like that, it was gone.
James let out a shaky breath, his heartbeat slamming against his ribs. His skin was burnt red along his arms and neck but adrenaline pumped through him at the thought of the horcrux being destroyed. It almost didn’t even feel real but the mark of ash along the ground was proof enough.
A hysterical sort of unbelieving smile pulled at James’ lips.
Azrythar exhaled one last plume of steam. “The debt is paid.”
James quickly recovered, “And my wish?”
He tsked, “You smell of desperation, James Shafiq.”
James bristled, but before he could snap back, Azrythar exhaled, and the weight of his breath alone sent a shiver through the air, “You seek something lost. Or rather… something taken.”
His chest tightened as his nails dug little crescents into his palms, “Tell me what happened to him.”
Azrythar let out a slow breath, the scent of embers thick in the air. “Your Regulus Black entered a place that does not forget. And so, it took from him.”
James went still. His thoughts raced, pieces snapping together.
“The cave,” he breathed. “The potion in the basin.”
Azrythar inclined his massive head like he was impressed. “Yes. The cursed waters are not meant to kill, not in body. They do not simply torment the mind. They take. They keep.” His voice seemed to sink into the very air, pressing against James like an unseen force. “He paid the price to remove that which should never have left.”
James’s breath hitched. The locket. The Horcrux.
Regulus had taken something from the cave. And in return, it had taken from him.
The revelation sent a chill through him. It explained everything—Regulus’s vacant moments, the way his gaze lingered as if reaching for something he couldn’t grasp. His memories weren’t gone. They were trapped.
James swallowed hard, “Can he get them back?”
“That depends.”
James clenched his jaw. “On what?”
A slow, amused exhale, “On whether you are willing to face the darkness that devoured him.”
Azrythar’s tail flicked, the sharp tip dragging across the stone with a sound like steel on glass. “Knowledge is not given freely, James Shafiq. It is earned. It is bled for.” He urged. “You wish to face the cave. You wish to reclaim what was stolen. But tell me, human—do you truly understand what that means?”
James swallowed, standing his ground, “I don’t care what it means. I just need to know what I have to do to fix him.” First the tormenting memories of Peter and his mum, then the trade, it felt like a never ending game but James knew he needed to check himself because Azrythar held all the answers so there was no way out but through.
He let out a low, rumbling chuckle, deep enough that James felt it in his ribs. “Brave words. But bravery alone does not make one worthy.”
Without warning, the dragon moved.
It was not the slow, deliberate shifting James had come to expect- it was fast, terrifyingly so. A blur of black scales, the rush of wind, and then James was flying.
No- falling.
The ground beneath his feet was gone. His stomach lurched as he tumbled backward, and before he could even register what had happened, his back hit something hard. Pain burst through him. His vision blurred, breath knocked clean from his lungs. He gasped, trying to push himself up, but the second he moved, something slammed down in front of him.
A claw.
Azrythar had moved him. Not with magic, not with fire, but with a single, effortless strike of his tail. And now, his enormous talons were planted inches from James’s skull, pinning him in place.
The dragon loomed over him, golden eyes burning like the heart of a forge.
“You are weak.”
James gritted his teeth, pushing against the force pinning him down. He barely moved an inch.
“You are fragile.”
Azrythar leaned in, his breath hot, the air crackling with restrained power.
“And yet, you would walk into the mouth of a beast that has already consumed the one you love?”
James’s pulse pounded in his ears. He refused to look away, “I will,” he grit out and spit out a mouthful of blood.
Azrythar exhaled sharply and lifted his claw, retreating.
James barely had time to react before the cavern blurred, the air bending around him, and suddenly he was not in the caves anymore.
__________
James landed upright in dark water.
It lapped at his ankles, rising higher with every passing second. He looked around him and saw nothing but cavernous dark walls and above him was a single skylight but there were no stars in the endless black sky. A watery grey light barely illuminated the cave, stretching odd shadows around him.
He knew this was the cave Regulus was in years prior and nausea overtook him. He had to bend over, hands bracing on his knees to breathe easier.
And that’s when he saw them.
Inferi, pale and wrong, started slowly crawling out of the water like spiders. Their faces were hollow and gaunt like they’d been given the Kiss. Their mouths gaped open, whispering something he couldn’t decipher.
His breath hitched.
No. It wasn’t real. Azrythar was testing him again.
Then- he heard it.
A voice, low and familiar, sung into his ears, “James.”
His stomach dropped but his head still snapped towards the sound.
It was Regulus.
Regulus as he remembered him at eighteen years old- his hair longer, his face more haunted. He was standing just beyond the Inferi, half-submerged in the water. His face was blank and unfocused. His lips parted, but his voice barely rose above the whispers.
“James,” he repeated.
Something was wrong. James took a step forward to reach him but he only turned away and began walking deeper into the water.
His breath caught. No.
The Inferi shifted. They were moving now, drawn to him, cutting off the path forward.
James clenched his fists- this was it. The test.
Azrythar wanted to see if he would break.
James bared his teeth. Not a chance in hell.
He surged forward.
The Inferi lunged.
The cold hit him like a shockwave, but James did not stop.
Regulus was walking deeper, disappearing into the abyss, and James refused to lose him again.
He shoved forward, wading through the freezing black water, but the Inferi were faster. Their hands—too many, too cold—latched onto his arms, his legs, his shoulders, their grip like a vise, determined to pull him under and keep him there.
James thrashed, his breath coming in sharp gasps as he fought against their grip. Their fingers clawed at his skin, but he tore free, staggering forward. His blood coloured the water.
Regulus was barely a shadow in the distance now, his form flickering like a dying flame.
"Regulus!" James shouted, his voice hoarse.
He didn’t turn around.
James pushed harder, but the water dragged at him, rising past his waist now, cold and suffocating. The Inferi swarmed, moving unnaturally fast.
A hand caught his wrist and his entire body seized. He turned and was faced with one of the Inferi whose decaying teeth snapped in his face.
He ripped his hand away, but the water was too high now. It clung to him like tar, pulling, dragging.
Panic surged through him. No. He was not losing him.
James forced himself forward, arms tearing through the water. Inferi clung to him, clawing at his legs, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop.
And then—
Regulus turned.
His eyes, dull and empty, flickered with something familiar. A question. A memory half-formed.
James reached out. “Regulus, take my hand.”
For a moment—just a moment—Regulus hesitated.
And then, the water swallowed him whole.
James screamed.
He lunged forward, plunging into the depths, the darkness closing in, the cold sinking into his bones—
And then he was back.
James crashed onto solid stone, gasping, his body trembling from the sudden change. His lungs burned. The cavern spun around him.
A slow, deep exhale.
Azrythar loomed over him, bright eyes gleaming with something unreadable.
"You did not hesitate."
James coughed, pushing himself upright. His heart was still hammering against his ribs, “He needed me,” he said like it was obvious. All of the wounds he’d sustained were gone, he was fine.
Azrythar hummed, low and thoughtful. Then, he smiled.
Or at least, James thought it was a smile.
"Then perhaps you are not as weak as I thought."
James swallowed, forcing himself to steady his breath. “Do I pass your test, then?”
Azrythar regarded him in silence for a long moment. Then, finally—
"You do."
James’s breath hitched. Relief crashed through him, but he forced himself to stay composed.
Azrythar’s head dipped slightly. “You wish to reclaim what was taken? Then listen well, human.” His voice coiled through James’ mind like fire and smoke. "The cave does not give back freely. You must take what it has claimed. And to do that—"
He tilted his long neck, his scales clinking against one another.
"You must go back."
James’ breath came sharp and unsteady. Go back? His body screamed against the very thought of it.
Azrythar watched him, unblinking. “The cave did not merely steal from him, James Shafiq. It consumed. Regulus entered that place, and in doing so, left a part of himself behind. His memories are still there, trapped in the dark, held by the very magic that cursed him.”
James swallowed hard. His fingers curled into fists. “Then why hasn’t he gone back to get them?”
Azrythar’s tail flicked, his massive claws scraping against stone. “Because he does not remember they were stolen.”
The words landed like a blow.
Of course.
If Regulus didn’t remember, then how could he ever know to seek out what was lost? He was caught in the loop of his own forgetting, cursed to never question what was missing.
James exhaled shakily. “And I can break that?”
Azrythar regarded him for a long moment before he said, simply, “If you survive.”
James forced himself to meet the dragon’s gaze. “Then tell me how.”
Azrythar hummed lowly, the sound reverberating through the air. “There is a place within the cave, past the waters, past the dead—a chamber carved into the stone, where the magic pools. That is where his memories remain. But be warned, human.”
The air shifted.
James felt it before he saw it—the cavern darkened, shadows stretching, magic pulsing in slow, deliberate waves.
Azrythar’s voice was softer now, yet somehow, it shook the walls.
“The cave does not take kindly to thieves. And it will not give up what it has claimed without a fight.”
James’ stomach twisted, but he forced the fear back. “I don’t care what it takes.”
Azrythar let out a low, rumbling chuckle. “Good.”
And with a flick of his tail—James was falling again.