I Love You Most

After Regulus sees his maman off, piles of fresh fruit and bread packed neatly into a small wicker basket, smile that is only half fake tugged at his lips, along with the classic, predictable words:

“I love you, dear.”

“I love you more.”

“I love you most,”

Regulus leaps away from the windowsill and goes straight to his wardrobe, where the man still resides in an unpeaceful slumber, awaiting my brother’s wrath like a sitting duck. This time, he isn’t scared. He’s determined. He has a fixed, cold expression on his face. Nothing is going to stop him from doing what he needs to do. I’m so proud. My little brother has kidnapped a fugitive. 

Carefully, after taking in a singular deep breath, he moves sharply towards the handle of the wardrobe and removes the chair from under it. Aware of what’s coming, Regulus zips out of the way as James’ bodyweight forces the door open and he falls to the floor, face planting with a slap. It looks painful, but Regulus only rolls his eyes. Honestly, it’s a miracle the poor man hasn’t woken up already. Regulus picks up the chair instead of dragging it, placing it in the point of the room where the golden light from the window hits the best.

Now what he does drag, however, is James Potter. He grips his wrists and hauls him over to the chair. He struggles slightly to get him sitting on it because of his limp form and the added weight of his muscles. Fugitive safely slumped in the chair, Regulus snatches the rope from where he had dumped it on the floor, knowing that he would need it now. He binds the man tightly to the wooden bars so that he believes there is no hope of him being able to escape. 

Bartemius scrambles up the chair leg, over James’ thigh and up his chest until he’s sitting rather proudly on top of his shoulder, as if he was the one who knocked him out and strung him in tight twists of rope. Briefly, Regulus seems to wonder if he’s genuinely okay, considering how long he’s been out like a candle, but the thought surpasses him quickly as he bends down to get a closer look at his sleeping features. Frowning, he pulls back to look him up and down once more.

Well, it’s going to be rather difficult to get any answers out of him if he doesn’t wake up. Nervousness flutters like bat wings in his stomach as he bites his nails, trying to get the cogs in his brain to start turning. Failing to think up a course of action, he doesn’t protest when Bartemius takes matters into his own… hands? Would that be the right word? I don’t know. Chameleons are confusing. 

Proceeding with caution isn’t something that comes naturally to the lizard, so he abruptly starts whacking James in the face with his tail. Regulus rolls his eyes so hard they probably hurt. When all else fails, Bartemius decides that it’s a good idea to stick his stupidly long tongue inside the fugitive’s ear.

What the actual fuck?

“Ew, Bartemius!” Regulus exclaims, but he curses when he realises that, against all odds, his reptile’s slimy tongue is the thing that somehow manages to wake up the sleeping fugitive. With a steady stream of shockingly colourful words that makes me grin with pride, Regulus eventually situates himself with the frying pan pointing threateningly at James’ face.

So, James awakens to a wet tickling sensation in his left ear. Totally normal.

He has just enough room to shift his head around, so when he finally opens his eyes, he automatically turns towards the small weight on his shoulder, and is forced to do a double take when he realises that it’s a literal chameleon. Mind failing to comprehend absolutely anything else, he asks himself, not realising there’s another person in the room with him:

“Did that thing just stick its tongue in my ear?”

“His name is Bartemius.”

That almost gives James a heart attack. Heart suddenly beating wildly, he jumps out of his skin, realising that all his limbs are restricted by rope that reminds him far too well of the noose that he thought he had escaped. He struggles against his bonds and swivels his head to find the source of the words, all the while wondering if the royal guard has finally caught up to him, and he feels a genuine spike of fear prod at his heart strings for the first time in a while. 

When he sees that a frying pan is being pointed at him, he sighs in relief, before that relief is immediately replaced by twisting confusion. Why the fuck is a frying pan being pointed at him as if it’s a weapon? Ah, little does he know that cookware can be really quite potent if one puts their mind to it.

“Wh- wha-”

“Struggling will get you nowhere,” Regulus threatens forcefully, bringing his deadly weapon even closer.

Heart almost splintering his ribcage, James takes his first good look at the wielder of the frying pan, and the beat inside his chest proceeds to reach a rather unhealthy pace, although for an entirely different reason. What can I say? My brother has those Black family genetics. 

“Why the fuck are you here, and how did you find me? Who even are you?”

My brother is also struggling for pretty much the same reason as James. There’s no denying that the fugitive is smoking. (Don’t worry, Remus. I promise my loyalties haven’t changed!)

He looks Regulus up and down, drinking his captor in. At first he’s wide-eyed and shocked, but then he corrects himself and his expression melts into a fiery, undeniably James smirk.

“I know not who you are,” he speaks poetically, “nor how I came to find you, but may I just say… ahem… hi.”

Regulus frowns.

“The name’s Potter. James Potter. And I wish for you to know that I feel absolutely blessed to be in the presence of a star like you.”

Regulus’ breath pauses in his throat, ears ringing with static, “How the fuck did you know that I’m named after a star?”

“... What?”

“Tell me,” Regulus’ voice takes on a deeply threatening, gravelly tone, “before I make you wish you were never born.”

James, who’s been threatened plenty of times during his miserable life, merely choses to flash him one of his blinding grins, “Darling, I already wish that every day.”

Regulus, admittedly, is stumped by that. His expression is one that reads: What the fuck? Why am I feeling sorry for this man that probably wants to kill me? Oh, my poor, innocent brother. Who’s going to tell him that he’s not sympathising, but empathising? 

“Oh,” he chokes, “well, I- I’m… sor- Wait, no. I will not be manipulated.” *Insert insanely attractive image of me breaking the 4th wall and looking directly at the audience in a very Deadpool-esque fashion. “Tell me who you are.”

“I already did,” he replies lightly, “I’m James Potter.”

“O- oh,” poor Reg. He’s really struggling with this whole interrogation thing. “Well, tell me what you’re doing here. Who else knows my location?”

“Look, gorgeous-”

“Regulus.” 

“Re- wait, like the lost pr- whatever. Regulus. I was in a bit of a situation, you see. I was just minding my own business, gallivanting through the forest, I fell down a cliff, found your tower-”

“You fell down a cliff?”

“Yes, pay attention. Anyway, I found your tower, and I climbed up it… wait… where the fuck is my satchel?” James’ voice becomes slightly panicky as he realises the missing item.

“I’ve hidden it somewhere you’ll never find it,” he tells him proudly, crossing his arms with the frying pan still in one hand.

James forces out a single huff of laughter, “No. No no no. You don’t seem to understand. You see, that satchel-”

“Has a rather expensive piece of bling in it that I assume you’ve stolen?”

James’ mouth shuts so forcefully that his teeth audibly clack together. Secretly, he’d actually forgotten about the crown for a brief moment. That piece of bling wasn’t what he was going to say at all, but… well, yes, it is true. He has stolen it. Frowning, he looks around (getting jumpscared by the chameleon he forgot is on his shoulder along the way) because surely it can’t be hidden that well, and his eyes close in on a rather lovely looking ceramic pot.

“It’s in that pot, isn’t it,” he smirks, pleased with his amazing detective skills. It’s not a question.

A crack emerges in Regulus’ cold demeanour. Annoyance? Surprise? Whatever it is, he hides it away immediately and then proceeds to bring the frying pan back down over James, knocking him out once again. Literally, how is he not dead from all that weight being slammed into his head?

Bartemius assists Regulus in finding a new, more hidden spot to place the satchel. He scuttles along the floor as Regulus searches among shelves and high up places. Eventually, the two find a loose floorboard- a rather incredible stroke of luck- and stash the satchel away, completely out of sight.

James returns to the light of day with a chameleon’s tongue in his ear for the second time in his life.

“Will you tell your lizard to cut that out?” He complains, frustrated and disgusted, nuzzling his ear against his shoulder to try and rid himself of the wet crawling sensation.

“He’s a chameleon,” Regulus corrects bluntly.

“Same difference.”

“Not really, but whatever. Now your satchel is really hidden where you’ll never find it, so you're going to answer my questions if you ever want to see it again.”

James returns him with a flat, unimpressed look, still not entirely convinced that he’s going to struggle massively to locate his prized possession. 

“Now, tell me what you’re doing here. Are you here to- to-”

Regulus flounders over his words, unsure of what exactly to say, but the small glint of fear for what sinister thing he still suspects James to be guilty of plotting is genuine. James notices this, and decides that he’s going to be kind.

Sighing, he says, “I was being chased. I saw this tower and I climbed up it to escape. End of story, okay?”

“And you’re not lying to me?” Regulus narrows his eyes into snake-like slits of suspicion.

“Regulus, you’ve tied me up, threatened me with a frying pan, and let you lizard- fine, chameleon stick its tongue in my ear. Honestly, I think you’re quite insane and I would like to be released from whatever the fuck this is as soon as possible. So tell me, why would I lie to you right now?”

Honestly, fair enough.

Regulus’ frown lines deepen. He brings his frying pan up closer to James’ face, where Barty hops onto it so that he can look him directly in the eye. The chameleon looks him up and down once, threatening fire blazing in his reptilian eyes, and James squirms under the scrutiny. I mean to be fair, so would you. I’m willing to bet quite a decent amount of money that being threatened by a literal reptile probably isn’t on your bucket list.

Eventually, Regulus lowers his hand and Bartemius scuttles to the floor.

“Fine,” he says. “I have a proposition for you. Want to hear it?”

Truth be told, James Potter is a skilled and experienced thief with ridiculous amounts of stolen money on his hands. He could’ve gotten out of these bonds ages ago if he had truly wanted to. My guess is that he’s secretly rather enjoying himself. It’s not every day you get threatened with cookware.

Deciding to humour Reg a bit more, he says, “By all means. Tell me your proposition.”

“It wasn’t actually a question,” no, of course it wasn’t. “You would’ve been hearing this whether you like it or not anyway. Tomorrow evening, eight o’clock sharp, lights will be released into the sky.”

“Uh huh…”

“You’re going to take me to see them, or you can say adios to your precious satchel.”

James huffs, “Yeah, you see, I would totally, absolutely love to go on a little lantern-lit date with a fine specimen such as yourself, and rejecting isn’t something that I tend to do often, but unfortunately the kingdom and I aren’t exactly sympatico at the moment, so…”

“Date? Keep fucking dreaming. I just want- wait, what did you call them?”

“What? The lanterns?”

“Lanterns,” Regulus breathes out deeply, considering why his maman would have lied to him about something as mundane as that. To protect him? Keep him safe? Honestly, by this point, it’s just laughable.

After Regulus has been zoned out for a good minute or so, James decides that it’s the right time to pull him back into reality.

“Uhhh… pretty boy? You good there?”

“I’m fine,” he snaps, “and don’t call me that. Now, something brought you here to me. Fate, destiny, whatever the fuck you want to call it-”

“An angry guard.”

“-but make no mistake, I will never trust somebody like you. However, I will allow you to take me to these lanterns and then see me safely back home.”

“A horrible decision, really.”

“Shut up. Are you in or out?”

“Out,” he replies instantly, beginning to get bored with this back and forth thing they have going on. Obviously he only speaks for himself. I happen to be finding this quite entertaining. 

“Fine,” Regulus shrugs, “I’ll just throw you out of this tower and I can keep your satchel for myself.”

James sighs. He knows for a fact that he can take Regulus in a fight easily, but he can’t deny that he’s just absolutely intrigued by the strange boy standing in front of him, so he makes the decision to agree and probably maybe get captured by the royal guard and hanged along the way. Nothing to worry about, really. Where’s the adventure if it’s all simple fun and games? 

“So if I take you to see the lanterns, then bring you back home, then you will give me my satchel back and we go our separate ways?”

“Yes,” Regulus confirms.

“Shame,” he winks, “I could’ve done without that last part.”

Regulus rolls his eyes, “So what do you say, James Potter?”

“I say yes.”

Regulus’ hard expression melts, lips cracking into a wide grin. Shit. When was the last time he genuinely grinned? It must’ve been years since he’s actually felt this happy. My heart swells for my younger brother. Maybe, just maybe, while he’s out on his little escapade with the fugitive, he could find his way home to me. 

“Now, I’d appreciate it if you’d let me out of these ropes?”

“Yes, right. Of course.”

James allows Regulus to untie and unravel the knots instead of just doing it himself so as not to lose his trust. Regulus eagerly does his job, excitement blooming in the chambers of his heart. He brings the rope over to the windowsill, where he’ll tie it to the pulley system that’s installed and abseil down onto the waiting grass, the sweet soil calling out his name, freedom written for him in the wind. 

James climbs up from his seat, stretching out his muscles which have long-since fallen asleep with a groan. Ignoring the pins and needles beginning to rain down on his feet and arms, he shuffles towards Regulus, who is staring wistfully out of the window.

“I, uh, I need my arrows.”

“What?” Regulus turns to face him, frowning.

“I said I need my arrows. You know, to get down.”

Regulus shakes his head, “I’ll just lower you down with this,” he jerks his head towards the rope strewn on the floor at his feet. 

James looks genuinely appalled at the suggestion, “You’ll what?”

“I’ll lower you down,” he replies with an eye roll.

James merely laughs, “I’m way too heavy for you.”

Regulus scoffs, “Please. I do this with my mother every single day.”

“Your mother. Right. And where exactly has she been throughout this whole ordeal?”

“Away.”

“Away?”

“Away.”

“Right… Well either way, I’d much rather get myself safely down, thanks.”

“Your arrows are in your satchel,” Regulus takes a step closer towards James, wielding the frying pan threateningly. “If you really want them…”

“Okay, okay!” he flinches back as the crazy boy in front of him lifts the heavy weapon towards his face, dangerously close to doing more damage. “Fine, fuck, you’re persistent.”

“I know.”

A single beat of silence, then Regulus begins to explain to him how this is going to work, only to be rebuked when James tells him he already knows what he’s doing. His main concern here is Regulus himself. 

Once James is sitting not so calmly on the windowsill, looking down at the earth below him, rope secured around himself, he turns to his captor.

“Can I ask…”

“Make it quick.”

“Why are you so excited about this? Has your mother never taken you to see the lanterns before?”

Regulus’ expression darkens, and James instantly gets the gut feeling that he’s made a mistake. Well, he would be correct.

“I’ve never even left the tower before,” he says, and then refuses to elaborate, much to James’ annoyance.

This time while James is on his way down a great height, he does in fact feel the rope burns, unlike when he was mere metres away from snagging the splendid Crown of Arcturus. He ponders this as he goes, and eventually reaches his conclusion as he simultaneously reaches the ground. He realises that it’s all about fear. Fear, and willingness to actually do what’s been asked of you.

When he was mid-heist, he was buzzing with a swarm of excitement, not a care in the world, about to make a fuck ton of money. Now, he’s been kidnapped by a skinny boy who talks to a chameleon and hasn’t been allowed to get onto the solid floor of his own accord. He’s been forced to place his trust in the person who literally threatened him with a fucking frying pan multiple times. 

Speaking of said frying pan, it still struggles for breath, clutched roughly in my brother’s strangling fist, knuckles white. He’s about to disobey his mother. For the first time ever. I wish I were there so that I could tell him that it isn’t a sin to want to live your life. He’s doing what he needs, and that’s all that matters. If Apollonia really cared for him, not caring about the magic power that he possesses, but actually for him, she would understand that.

His heart is beating wildly. He can almost taste the freedom in the warm breeze, just within his grasp. All he needs to do is reach out, and it’s his. It’s his for as long as three days.

He looks out at the trees and the stream down below him, listens to the waterfall rushing behind the tower, feels the air on his pale skin. He’s about to feel the sun soaking into his pores. About to have the space to run as far and hard as he wishes. About to be free. 

Three days.

He looks behind his shoulder, into his tower for one last glance before he becomes a man. His eye catches on the painting he had presented to Apollonia in the futile hope that she might let him do what he’s about to do now, despite her selfish answer. He runs over the brush strokes that form his and his mother’s figures gazing up at the lanterns, thinking about how long it had taken him to complete and how she had just placed it aside as if it wasn’t worth half his soul. How absurd it is- in that painting, he’s with his mother. Now, the situation is about to come true, only Apollonia’s place has been substituted with a known and apparently dangerous fugitive. 

What would she say? The weight of Regulus’ gaze reads.

Well, in all honesty, she’d probably go into a fit of devastating rage. But Regulus, who still somehow seems to perceive her as his faithful mother, is thinking that she would have a heart attack. Scream and cry at her supposedly loyal son’s deceit.

With a deep breath, Regulus places the rope into position and lowers himself down ever so slowly, Bartemius safely secured to his belt. 

And so, he’s begun his descent into his new life.

Three days.

Half way down, the doubts begin to seep into his veins, dark and cruel. 

These are a mere few of the thoughts that race through his mind: What if this is the wrong decision? What if maman finds out? What if the rope snaps? Wait, no, that’s completely irrational. But still… What if Barty falls? No, he’s okay. Okay, Regulus, it’s all okay. You have nothing to be afraid of! Stop overthinking this… 

And then his hands begin to shake, and tears well up in his eyes, and a lump forms in his throat like he’s tried to swallow a piece of apple but hasn’t chewed it properly.

The tears never fall. James catches him before they can.

“Regulus!” He calls dutifully, wracked with concern. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he lies, whimpering.

James hadn’t even heard what he said, yet he goes based on body language alone. It’s clear that the boy above him is terrified. Kindness in his worn-down and fraying heart, he uses his expertise in thievery to talk Regulus through his descent, fear dissolving with every inch that brings him closer towards the ground.

When- if- Regulus returns to the palace with this fugitive in tow, I should need to clear him of all charges. I’ll appoint him Royal Protector. Is that a thing? I have no idea, but I’d make it a thing, just for him. Just for the man who saved my brother from drowning in his own suffering. 

Two metres from the ground, James praises him- Yes! Well done, that was so good. You were so good. 

A single metre from the ground, all falls silent as the weight of what Regulus is doing finally crashes down. He pauses, and Regulus thinks about what’s going to happen. Really thinks about it. But not about his mother, oh, no. She’s been long forgotten, the evil bitch. He thinks about what it’s going to feel like to have his feet on solid ground. Imagines proper dirt jammed in his fingernails. Not dirt like limescale and dust, but foresty dirt, owned by the great outdoors. Fantasises about ripping his boots off and dipping his toes into the fresh, crisp water of a running stream. An actual running stream, holy shit. 

With one long, deep breath, he extends his legs out, booted toes so fucking close…

And then he’s done it.

He’s out of the tower.

In the real world, not just the childish fantasies he locked away in his head. Everything is real. 

Three days.

The whole Earth seems to stop turning. The entire world goes still with trepidation. Everything. Everything pauses for this. Just for this. This one epic moment. 

For a beat or two or three- it doesn’t matter, because time has blocked its flow like a humongous dam- Regulus stands frozen, utterly astounded by what he’s done. There are no birds chirping, no pounding of the waterfall, no winds. The only sound to be heard is Regulus' breathing. 

And then all the thrum of life returns. Regulus, unable to contain his wonder, is gripped by the possibilities that the outside world offers. With a laugh, a breathless, awed laugh, his knees drop downwards, colliding with the grass.

Grass.

Regulus tentatively places his hand against the ground and wiggles his fingers. He can feel the blades in between them. Could probably count each shard underneath his palm if he tried. He wants to. With a squeal of delight, he spreads his body out over the soft, tickly turf, finally licking at his freedom like a cat nuzzles its catnip. 

“Is it everything you dreamed it would be?” James asks, smiling softly, unable to prevent the boy’s happiness from soaking into his veins.

“Yes, fuck, yes,” Regulus rolls, laughing, 

He lies on the floor like a starfish, staring up at the crystal blue sky, grinning. He flicks his eyes over to the sun, and winces at its radiance. But he doesn’t let the wateriness of his eyes prevent him from admiring it for too long. James steps in front of it, and its golden rays fan out like a halo anointing him, drenching Regulus in cool shadows.

“Don’t stare for too long,” he explains fondly. “It could hurt your eyes.”

“I don’t care.”

Regulus rolls his head contentedly to the side, where he notices a fuzzy bee leaving the beautiful purple-splattered petals of a flower close by. Instantly lighting up even further, he leaps away from the ground, James stumbling backwards, in pursuit of the bee and its pollen-sprinkled legs. 

James laughs, “Be careful not to let it sting you.”

“Shut up,” Regulus replies, the buzzing of the creature’s wings hypnotising him as he chases after it like a small child. 

Bartemius, the poor terrified chameleon, races away from the insect and crawls up James’ leg, who shakes him off with a frown. Understandably, he doesn’t trust that lizard. Barty lies dejectedly on the floor by his feet, staring after Regulus who has now abandoned the bee to go after a gorgeous butterfly with dollops of gold and pink and purple and blue spotted all over its white canvas wings. 

Regulus is having the time of his fucking life. 

Twisting and turning and bubbling with sheer joy, Regulus bounds after the winged creature, only to stop in his tracks when something cold and wet breaches the leather of his boots. Butterfly forgotten, he looks down, and his heart seems to stop for just a few seconds. He watches, jaw loose, as ribbons of icy water flow over his covered feet, softening the material.

He releases a sharp huff of breath as he reaches down to rip the boots from his feet, then frees his toes from their socks. Finally, finally, he puts his bare feet down, and the water bites into his skin roughly, laughing. It’s cold. So, so cold, and it burns. But Regulus won’t get out. He refuses to.

Blood retreats from the frosty area, warming his heart. My heart. He’s finally free. My brother has finally won his freedom. 

He can feel how it flows and bends around his toes. He drops to his knees right into the centre of the stream with a splash, drenching his trousers, and places just the palms of his hands on the surface, watching as the water laps at his skin, then he presses them in fully, right up to his wrists, and he shivers. 

Free.

Three days.