There Is No Before

CHAPTER TWO – There Is No Rescue Mission 

“What I mean to say is, the more you remember, the more you’ve lost.”  

― Emily St. John Mandel, Station Eleven 

REGULUS  

Everyone remembers where they were when the virus hit and the world ended.  

Regulus Black was on a school trip.  

He doesn’t think anyone on that bus survived aside from him.  

He remembers the driver coughing, growing sicker and sicker, until he had to pull into a layby on the motorway and disappeared into the bushes. He never came back. Regulus, at the time, was sixteen and didn’t care about much. He cared about his studies, about the piano, his art, and his plays. He cared about his brother despite their many arguments, but that was it. 

The rising panic of his fellow students, he didn’t care about. He didn’t care when the teacher started to cough too, when some people began to cry. He sat in his seat, music in his ears, his book in his lap, humming underneath his breath.  

A few kids coughed around him, but nothing to note. Regulus often thinks about how lucky he was not to contract the virus then and there. One of the few immune, he supposed.  

The cars started to crash, screams and shouting, and that was when he started to care.  

Regulus remembers the glow of the fire from the crash next to them reflecting off the window and the yells from the other students. What he tries to forget is the children who fell to the ground one by one, gripping their throats desperately for air. He wants to forget the sight of teenagers losing hope in their eyes as they screamed for their parents. Parents who couldn’t come and hold their dying kids. Parents who probably died back home not knowing if their babies were safe.  

They weren’t. 

Regulus can't forget the girl next to him, grasping his shoulder. Her eyes red, her breathing halted.  

Somehow, he got off the bus. Banging against the window, smashing it with his entire body until the glass shattered. He rolled out, cut and bruised.  

The rest is a blur.  

There is no before.   

He begged for his life more times than he could count. Please, please, he would scream. Regulus often hoped his tears would cure the monsters in front of him and turn them human again.  

There is no before, they would echo, like robots.  

Soon, Regulus stopped begging and started running. A knife in his hands and blood staining his clothes. 

Now, he paces the living room of his new home, his hands aching for the gun he chucked to the floor so carelessly. No blood, but it haunted.  

“Regulus, what the fuck?” He hears Barty shout, following him inside.  

He can’t breathe. He can’t speak.  

James Potter.  

There is no before.  

But James Potter is from before. 

“Regulus!”  

He can’t breathe.  

His hands shake, the room spins, and James Potter’s face dances around his vision like a kaleidoscope. He follows him around like an apparition, clinging to him like a shadow, a nightmare come to life. Regulus can’t do this. He can’t face this, he can’t- 

“Honey, you need to breathe. Okay? I’m here, I’m right here.” 

Around him, something weighs him down, holds and cradles him. The fragments of James’ face start to fade, and he can see the old cottage he has grown used to.  

“That’s it, you’re doing so well.”  

The voice is more recognisable, as gentle as windchimes. He takes a deep breath in, gulping down oxygen like its water, and the blandness of reality comes back to him. Regulus shuts his eyes, relishes in the darkness, and opens them. No more James Potter.  

“What the fuck is happening right now,” Barty sighs.  

“Shut up Barty, your voice is enough to send me spiralling again,” he snaps.  

“He’s back.” 

That’s Pandora’s voice. She’s standing next to him, holding his hands. The harshness of her face that came so easily earlier is gone, replaced with a motherly worry. Regulus squeezes her hand in appreciation before letting it go. 

There was a time when there was no Barty. There was no Pandora. There was no Evan. Only Regulus and the cold winds of the first winter.  

He remembers the shivering nights when the sun never seemed to rise, forever set, not wanting to look upon a world that unravelled overnight. Regulus was only a child, yet he felt so grown up before that. Before, he would roll his eyes when people babied him, pinched his cheeks, ruffled his hair. But when faced with survival in the rubble of humanity, he wanted someone to save him.  

But, come the summer, he came to the realisation. The realisation that hardened his edges and made him carry the knife.  

There is no rescue mission.  

There is no one to save them.  

“Regulus, what happened out there? It looked like...” 

“Like what?” He keeps snapping because he doesn’t know what else to do.  

Pandora frowns, “It looks like you knew him.” 

“I don’t,” he says too quickly.  

“Regulus...do you?” 

His mind unwillingly flashes to before, to ten years ago, to a stage and lights, to riding bikes after school, to a beating heart that beated a little faster. He thinks of a spring night with apple juice and straws, a late-night conversation that bore his soul a little too much, never to be that exposed again. 

“His name is James Potter. He was my brother’s best friend.” 

Silence.  

He knows what they’re thinking. Lucky. Fortunate. There is no before, you never find anyone from before. Before and now are different, like separate entities. And yet, the past and now have clashed. He knows Pandora wished for it. They all did.  

Aside from him  

And yet, he gets it.  

But he doesn’t want it.  

Lucky, fortunate, the wrong person.   

They’re thinking it, but they don’t say it.  

------------------ 

They’ve reconvened in the living room, all of them, guns back where they belong, and James Potter not anywhere near them. 

“Where are they?” He asks, not because he cares, but because he doesn’t want to see him.  

Evan points to the backdoor, “The garden. He refuses to go anywhere. Is he going to be a problem?”  

Regulus sighs and falls back onto the sofa. James Potter wasn’t one to cause issues. “No.” 

They’re all exchanging glances, and it’s bothering him.  

He tries to catch Pandora’s eye, but she’s staring ahead. 

Pandora Lovegood found him in year five. She was the first person he came across to have kind eyes. It caught him so off guard he forgot to shoot. They stared at one another across the riverbank, one covered in the blood of his last encounter, the other not yet tarnished by survival. 

A widow who lived with the regrets of her past. 

She told Regulus she always waited for the end of the world, feared it was the consequence of their own hubris. Humans got too cocky; they were always going to be their own downfall.  

Time was a slippery thing, and she felt it on her tongue when she was born. She married young, at eighteen, to a man she knew she'd always love, even when he died soon after. For some odd, divine reason, she knew time couldn’t be wasted.  

So, when the end of the world finally arrived, she was prepared. She had loved as best she could in the time she had and waited for death to find her.  

It never did.  

She had made five years without killing, safe on her little farm in the middle of nowhere. Not a single intruder found their way there. 

Then, there was Regulus. Accidentally stumbling into her land.  

“Are you hungry?” She had said.  

After that, he spent six months in the peace of her home, sleeping in a real bed and shedding the horrors he supressed. She saw something in him that day, and he wondered how much further he would have descended into insanity if she hadn’t caught him.  

He ponders if he brought the blood to her door sometimes. Would she still be in that cottage if he hadn’t come knocking?  

“We should let him stay,” she says.  

He wants to throw up. 

“No.” 

Barty looks confused, “Why not? Isn’t this like, amazing? You’ve found someone.” 

Regulus shakes his head. “I’m not who I was before. Neither is he. It’s been ten years. We’re practically strangers.” 

“Well, he’s not leaving. Not until he sees you. Made a right fucking show of it,” Evan says rather bored, looking down at his nails.  

“Then. Shoot. Him.” 

“Babe, you couldn’t shoot him before, I don’t think you’ll do it now.” 

“Then you do it.”  

The men level him looks of exasperation. “Oh, you be happy with us killing him, would you?” 

“Yes.” 

“Regulus, stop lying to yourself.” 

“You know what, fuck you.” 

“Yeah, fuck you too!” 

Regulus stands up, ready to throw a punch just because he feels like it, and Barty is on the same page because he gets up too, hand reared back. Evan sighs, grabbing hold of him while Pandora steps in between, looking very unimpressed.  

“We’re not animals, put your fists away.” 

“He’s being a prick!” Barty yells, but his fist does go back to his side. Evan pats his shoulder.  

Regulus rolls his eyes, “You’re being an idiot.” 

“You’ve found someone from your past, someone you know, do you know how bloody lucky you are? And instead of being happy about it, you want to shoot him!” 

Evan, always the more understanding one, says, “I kind of get it. We’ve mourned all these people already. It’s like someone coming back from the dead. Someone you’ve already moved on from.” 

“But he’s not dead. He’s sat in the garden waiting for you.” 

Regulus scoffs, “James Potter has never waited for me, not before, and not now. He tolerated me at most.” 

“What is it you always say, there is no before? Why the fuck does it matter how he was then?” 

Pandora interrupts their rising anger again. “We’re not getting anywhere like this. Here’s what I propose. We let them camp here for a few nights. Regulus, you don’t need to interact with him, you don’t even need to see him. But out of a gesture of goodwill, we let them rest.” 

Barty goes to interject, but she raises her hand to him. “It’s up to Regulus what he does. He knows our views. But it’s his decision.” 

--------------- 

Barty and Evan came together, a duo of destruction that they stumbled across in year six.  

His memories of them are burning fire and crumbling buildings. They were caught in the flames, set alight by people who had lost their sanity. Regulus remembers smoke, a distant signal for help. Pandora had been adamant to go check it out. 

“If there are people there who can be saved, shouldn’t we save them?” 

Regulus had never lived by such a notion before. He lived in a place where it was killed, or be killed, survival of the fittest. Pandora hadn’t seen the damage he had; she hadn’t witnessed the fall of humanity, how swift they were when it came to betraying one another. He wanted to tell her she was being naive, but the hope in her eyes wasn’t dead yet, and Regulus wasn’t going to be the one to do it.  

Barty and Evan arrived into their lives covered in soot and ash, surviving the falling debris. Evan’s leg was broken, something that Regulus thought would kill him.  

Barty thought so, too.  

They helped them out and for the next few weeks, prepared for Evan Rosier’s death.  

They made him comfortable, and Pandora tried to fix the leg as best she could. But it was the fever that worried them.  

Regulus didn’t know Evan then, all he knew was that he was unlucky enough to be caught up in the fire and that he was not cruel. He grew to know Barty well in those few weeks, mostly through his grief, which had already found home in his bones. Barty was erratic. At night he would sob, and in the mornings, he would scream in anger.  

He won’t ever forget the last bad night, the night they thought he would die, when Barty held him close and whispered forgotten prayers of a religion that died with the virus.  

But somehow, when the sun rose, so did Evan. His fever was gone, and there was colour in his cheeks.  

Evan Rosier now sits in their temporary room, reading an old book he found, the light filtering through the aged drapes, a soft smile on his face – and Barty Crouch watches. Like he’s scared he’ll disappear into the sunbeams and be nothing but dust motes floating through existence. Regulus wonders what it’s like to care so deeply for someone like that now.  

He cares for them. For Pandora, for Barty, for Evan, but he’s never been foolish. He knows they could leave at any point, that the world could rip them from him. Barty has never shown himself that same level of restraint. He adores the very ground Evan walks on, and if that ground were to stop feeling his footsteps, Barty would probably follow.  

“What are you reading?” Barty asks.  

Evan doesn’t look up, “Little Women.” 

And that’s it. Barty nods, and continues to watch.  

Regulus sinks back into his little corner, the one by the window, so when the others sleep, he can look into the night sky and see what he's lost. They never ask why he likes to see the stars so often, but if they did, Regulus wouldn’t say. He wouldn’t say that it was the only time he could say goodnight to his father, even if he had never home before. He wouldn’t say that it was the only time he could tell his cousins he was safe. He wouldn’t say that it was the only time he wished for his brother, just like before.  

Regulus keeps them to himself and carries them in his silence.  

------------

When they all fall asleep that night, Regulus gets up.  

Despite himself, he’s curious.  

He tiptoes down the steps, minding every creak he’s grown to know and lingers by the living room door.  

There are no candles lit, but the moonlight crawls out from the door. He can hear muffled voices. And somewhere mixed in there is James Potter.  

If he closes his eyes, it’s like before.  

It feels like when he was nine and stood in front of Sirius’ closed door, listening to him and his new friends giggling together, wondering when he was shut out on the other side. He knocked, but there was no answer.  

It feels like being eleven and listening to Sirius, and James talk about their crushes at school while he pressed an ear to the door. It feels like being fifteen and hearing James talk to Sirius about his girlfriend and feeling unbridled anger at the fact James just got everything so easy.  

He sounds different now. Older. The youthful energy that used to be laced in every word he spoke no longer existed.  

Regulus presses a hand to the door, a faint urge to push it open. He thinks back to the times he opened Sirius’, only to be met with a glare.  

His hand falls away, and he walks into the kitchen. His book is still on the counter, worn and used, the only thing to remain with him from before. He strokes the faded cover, calm rushing over him.  

“So, you really don’t want to see him.” 

Regulus whips around and is met with the redhead who was with James. Her arms are crossed over her chest, and her hip is resting against the counter. Immediately, he’s on guard. “Excuse me?” 

“Sorry I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Lily Evans. And you?”  

He narrows his eyes, “Regulus.” 

“Like the star?” 

“Like the star.” 

“Right. Well, Regulus, I think you’re being a nob.” 

He blinks in surprise slightly but doesn’t show the shock on his face. “How so?” 

“James Potter is one of the best people I’ve ever met. And you knew him before the virus, but you don’t want to talk to him?” 

He grips the counter behind him hard, “Listen, I don’t want a lecture from someone I don’t know. We all grieve differently.” 

“But he’s not dead!” 

“He was! He was to me. He was dead, and I grieved him, and I don’t want to go back there. I’m done mourning the people from before. I’ve moved on from that.” 

She holds her hands up, “I’m not saying it isn’t hard, alright? I get that it was probably jarring. If I saw someone I knew, I don’t know what I do. But I know I wouldn’t let them go.” 

“We weren’t that important in one another lives then anyway. I was just his best friend's younger brother, nothing more, nothing less.” 

She raises an eyebrow, “Really?” 

“Yes.” 

“I don’t believe you.” 

“Why is that?” 

She’s quiet for a moment, and her eyes flicker down to his book. “Nice book.” 

He feels protective of it and pushes it out of her view. “It’s a play.” 

“What play?” 

“Why do you care?” 

“Humour me.” 

“It’s Romeo and Juliet.” 

Her eyes light up like she knows something he doesn’t. Lily looks him up and down, assessing him before a content smile settles on her lips. She doesn’t say anything more on the topic, and so they just stand there in the kitchen, moonlight seeping through the drawn blinds, shimmering on the tiles and dancing around their bare ankles. Regulus belatedly realises he hasn’t got his gun, but Lily doesn’t have hers either.  

“Do you know what happened to him?” 

“To who?” 

“Your brother.” 

“No.” 

She nods. He looks away.  

“I had a sister.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“It’s alright. Have you mourned him too, your brother?” 

“I try.” 

“I don’t think I’ll ever heal the hole left inside of me after my sister died.” 

He thinks about the black hole inside of him, eating away at him, the one that appeared when he realised he was all alone and that his big brother wasn’t coming to save him. He never thinks about Sirius because it’s so hard. To filled with regrets, wonderings, and thoughts that turn darker. A relationship that was always taut. Never any time to turn into something different. Always the same: harsh, unbalanced, and filled with unspoken words.  

Regulus Black loved Sirius, but he will never know if his brother knew that.  

He will never know if he was loved in return.  

And he will have to live with that rotten question for the rest of his life.  

“I don’t think I will either,” He admits softly because secrets are best shared when the shadows can come and collect them. 

“Me and Petunia didn’t always get along, but I wanted to die for her. If only to hug her one last time. I would have happily died doing that.” 

Regulus looks at Lily again and sees past the hard exterior she came into the room with. “You saw her die?” 

“I heard her. The coughs.” 

“That’s...awful.” 

She shrugs, “No one died well, did they? And the survivors haven’t lived well. It’s all awful. But what we do have, we can live with happily. Please consider talking to him. That’s all I ask.” 

Regulus knows he won’t but says he will anyway. If only to please her and to end the conversation.  

---------------- 

They found the cottage a few years after Evan and Barty.  

It had been left by an older woman, Elsie Price. She had written a note left on the table, which politely asked that whoever found her home treated it well, and found peace and safety in a place she always cared for. There was a key under the mat. Wherever Elsie Price went, they will never know. They found photographs of her scattered around, a joyful woman with a big family.  

They respected her wishes. They dusted, kept it clean and lived in it like a home without the lights and electricity to go with it. Her candles are getting shorter and her plentiful stock of tins lower by the day. Her things were always handled with the uttermost care. 

The piano was never used.  

Regulus dusted it often but never pressed down on a key. The sound would remind me of a time when he could play without fear about the world ending before coughs haunted him, and he dreamt of dying children reaching out for help.  

Pandora loved the cottage, naturally. It reminded her of her old home, the one she built with her husband. Before, it was covered in blood and became a coffin for strangers.  

Regulus isn’t keen on sticking to one place for too long, however, the others were tired. And Elise Price left them a sanctuary, and for as long as they can, they’ll protect it.  

No one ever came across them.  

Until James Fucking Potter.  

He sits in the room alone and watches as James Potter exits the cottage into their garden. He looks around at the overgrown rose bushes, running his hand over the thorns like he doesn’t care about getting cut. Regulus watches from behind the window, from behind the glass pane that mutes all the colours that make James Potter, real but not real enough. He watches as James lets out a heavy sigh – and sits down.  

Surrounded by wildflowers and simmering sunlight.  

“You don’t want to talk to him?” Evan asks, appearing in the room.  

He’s calmer than Barty, softer. He rests on the edge of the bed, and Regulus knows it’s because his leg hurts a bit.  

“I don’t,” Regulus replies, even while he still watches him.  

“Why? And don’t give me your angry answer. I’m not Barty.” 

“He’s from my past, and I don’t like to think about the past. It hurts too much.” 

“I understand that. But I think you need to push past it. It’s a miracle to have found what you have.” 

He lets out a strong exhale, “I wish you guys would stop saying that. James Potter was my brother’s best friend. Not mine.” 

“But he knew your life. He knew your brother. He knew you before all of this.” 

“Yeah, when I was a nerdy sixteen-year-old who rolled his eyes at him whenever he tried to speak to me.” 

“So not much has changed then?”  

“Fuck you.” 

“I’m just saying. I think you should. I think that you’ll regret it if he leaves, and you never said anything to him.” 

Regulus watches James. He says nothing.  

------------------ 

None of them knew about Sirius before James appeared.  

He never spoke about him.  

Sometimes, they had conversations that started to stray to their lost loved ones, and Regulus always listened but never spoke.  

Pandora told them many tales about Xenophilius, an eclectic man who lived on the moors. He sounded like the most peculiar man, and yet Regulus couldn’t ever imagine anyone better suited for Pandora. She said she met him in the deep winter, under a crystalised wisteria tree, through the gems of the icicles. That wisteria tree was at the bottom of her farm, and she visited it often. It’s where his grave was, and Regulus had been. He looked at the grey marble and the dying flowers and thought about how hard grief must be when it wasn’t ripped from you in an apocalypse. 

She wore her wedding ring still, silver gleaming under moonlight.  

Barty was an only child, and did not get along with his father. But he missed him. Or the idea of him, at least.  

Evan had a sister, and he never said her name, but they knew she existed. She had the same golden hair as he did, the same freckles on her cheeks and the same eyes. Like twins, but not quite. She was older, nurturing, and too kind to die, as he says.  

They only asked once about Regulus.  

“Any siblings you miss?” Evan had asked after crying about six months after they first met.  

Regulus thought of Sirius. “No.” 

He was a good liar.  

--------- 

“They’ll be leaving tomorrow,” Barty says as he climbs over the bed, ruffling Regulus’ hair, who shoves him away.  

“Okay.” 

“Potter is a laugh, isn’t he?”  

Regulus freezes, but tries to pretend he didn’t. He continues to read. “You spoke to him?” 

“What, just because you won’t doesn’t mean we can’t. It’s been a while since I’ve last spoken to someone new.” 

He glares at him, “Yes, because the last interaction went so well, didn’t it?” 

“The Death Eaters are twats. I wasn’t scared of them.” 

He thinks back to that night, when there was only a fire between them, and the Death Eaters. A small group from London who had begun their travels to recruit more followers for their absurd leader, Tom Riddle. Regulus had done well to stir clear of them thus far, but Barty always liked the drama, the danger.  

Regulus would very much like to forget that night. The hungry glint in their eyes, which matched their knives, the way they laughed manically, how their smiles faded when they said they weren’t interested in joining their so-called ‘dark lord’.  

That night ended bloody, and he can still hear their shouts from the valley.  

You’ll regret this.   

“ You should be Barty, most of them are insane.” 

“So am I.” 

“Fucking clearly. Stop talking to James.” 

“No.” 

“No?” He raises an eyebrow, shutting his book slowly.  

Evan, who is trying to sleep, groans. “Where is Pandora?” 

“You’re not the boss of me.” 

“You’re such a little fucking shit-” 

“Please, stop.” Evan tries again.  

“And you’re a spoilt little rich boy-” 

“Rich? Where are my riches, Barty?” 

“Up your ass is where they are. You can take the boy out of private school-” 

“I never went to fucking private school-” 

“Sure act like it!” 

“Boys!” Pandora scowls, having finally found them. Evan literally sighs in relief, shutting his eyes again.  

“Sorry,” they both mumble.  

“We have guests.” 

Barty rolls his eyes now, tumbling into bed beside Evan and spooning him in typical Barty fashion. When Regulus watches them, he can’t help but be fond. They can act as much as they want that it’s platonic, but he sees the way Evan blushes and the way Barty makes sure he’s all tucked in.  

“Dora, we’re not hosting, this isn’t our house. They won’t mind shouting as long as we’re not stabbing them.” 

She kisses his cheek, “Let me pretend.” 

Her candle is placed beside him so he can continue reading as the night darkens. He thanks her quietly.

------------ 

Regulus, unfortunately, does finally speak to James Potter.  

Not willingly, but it happens nonetheless.  

He's in the garden when the moon is out, and he can see his family clearly. His gun rests by his waist, even if all that accompanies him is roses and thorns. There's a nice breeze in the air, autumn well and truly here, and he mourns all the green trees that will wilt, always scared he may never see the flowers bloom again. Who knows when their last summer is, when their last harvest may be?  

Regulus plucks a red rose, petals a little worn. He wonders if Elsie would have asked them to tend to the garden if she had more time in her letter. 

There’s a snap behind him, and like clockwork, he turns and pulls out his gun.  

But it’s just James Potter, trying to sneak inside.  

They both stand there, wide eyes and frozen, one with a gun pointed at the other's chest. Regulus doesn’t immediately lower it, thinking about what kind of life it would be if he shot, and James Potter’s heartbeat no longer haunted him. If he moved his finger, it could all be over. 

Foolishly, James doesn't look scared. 

Regulus lowers the gun.  

“Sorry, I wasn’t trying to bother you. I didn’t realise anyone was out here. Promise.” 

He nods, using all his willpower to not observe every detail of the man, every change the past decade has brought upon them. Regulus has to turn back around.  

Because if he doesn’t, he’ll realise that the seventeen-year-old James who used to tug on his collar when they passed each other in the hallway doesn’t exist anymore. James who would try to help him with his homework even when Regulus persisted that he was fine. James, the annoying popular boy who was best friends with his brother, never so once as looked at Regulus as anything more than the kid who just couldn’t keep up.  

This James Potter has a decade on him. A stranger.  

“You’ve changed.” 

“I’ve grown up. Time does that.” 

“I could never imagine you grown up; you were always so small.” 

He rolls his eyes, “You’re still the same though. Finding yourself in places you’re not wanted.” 

The man laughs quietly, “And you’re still trying to push people away before they can even get close.” 

This. This is why he can’t do it.  

He didn’t need a reminder of what he was before. Wasting his years being angry at the world that hadn’t even begun showing him its wrath.  

“Go away, James. I can’t do this.” 

There's silence.  

Then.  

“Fine. I’ll go because I respect your choices. But I’m so happy you’re alive, Regulus. Even if I don’t know you, the current version of you, I knew you once. I knew you before, and before did happen. No matter how hard you try to erase it. I want to stay, to get to know you again. But if you can’t do that, then fine. I’ll continue to look for your brother.” 

Regulus spins around. “What?” 

“What?” 

“Sirius. You’re looking for Sirius? You have to be joking.” 

“Nope. I’ll look for him for as long as I have to.” 

“He’s dead, James.” 

“Did you see him? Did you see him die?” 

“No, but he was at the airport. There is no way he survived!” 

Even as he says it, he knows there are parts of that story missing, little snippets of hope he’s buried deep.  

James's face hardens under the moon, and Regulus is taken aback by how much older he looks. “You’re alive. I had no evidence you were, and yet you are. Sirius could be too.” 

“You’re insane. It’s going to kill you, finding him.” 

“We all have to die some way.” 

He is speechless. James Potter is many things, charismatic, bubbly, and always smiling, but he is not stupid.  

Or at least, he wasn’t. James got good grades, sometimes the highest in the class much to his chagrin. It was why he was as beloved as he was hated.  

But here he stands, pretending there is any hope left.  

Stupid. 

James shines under the pale light, the stars twinkling down on him like they were meant to. It reminds him of when they stood in front of each other before the end, when there was only them, a stage, and a script burnt into the back of their brains. A time that felt much too out of reach. When spotlights shone like stars and, they borrowed words. 

Regulus gulps, “Well, good luck to you.” 

“You don’t want to join me?”  

“No. I’m not in the business of searching for ghosts.” 

James smiles, but it’s sad. “Think about it?” 

“I said no.” 

“Reg,” he says his name so softly, and that name hasn’t been used since before. That was a name reserved for his brother’s annoying mouth and his best friends' undeterred enthusiasm. James takes a step forward, and he takes a bigger step back.  

“Just because it’s the end of the world, let’s not pretend we were ever friends.” 

“I thought there was no before? What does it matter about back then?”  

“Oh, fuck off. We’re not special just because this happened. It’s as if things were normal. You would have gone off to uni with Sirius, seen me a few times over the breaks, and that be it. We wouldn’t have been involved in each other’s lives. We were completely different people passing by.” 

James doesn’t seem to like this and crosses his arms over his chest, “Maybe not. We still both did the school play, didn’t we? Not so different.” 

He shakes his head, “No, you did it to boost your university application. I did it because I cared about the arts.” 

“I also cared about the arts!” 

“You cared about the spotlight being on you! For that one play!” 

“I enjoyed doing that play! I was a great Romeo!” 

“You were average at best.” 

“Pretty sure I got a standing ovation actually.” 

“Yeah, because you were James Potter, not because you were any good.” 

James smiles, happily this time. It puts him on edge. “See, don’t you miss this? We know each other.” 

“We knew each other.” 

The garden is quiet, watching, and the roses bleed. He grips the gun harder in his hand, and his skin feels sweaty. James watches him, but finally moves away. 

“Right. We’re leaving tomorrow if you change your mind.” 

“I won’t. Goodbye, James.” 

-------------- 

James Potter isn’t leaving.  

Pandora informs him of this the next morning, when they should be going.  

Peter, the unknown third, is ill.  

There isn’t any reason to fear illness again, the virus that wiped out humanity self-destructed. It ate through everyone who came across it and killed them off within days if not hours. Those it didn’t touch, those who were immune, escaped it. And once it destroyed all it touched, it died with them. Chaos for weeks, before nothing. No more coughing other than the common cold.  

It was buried with the loved ones it killed.  

So Peter, luckily, is not infected, just a bit poorly. 

Fine.  

So, they’re staying a bit longer.  

“He’s a big boy; he can survive.” Regulus moans when he finds this out.  

Evan pats his shoulder, “I know you want them gone, but come on. We can let them stay a little longer.” 

“And eat more of our supplies?”  

“They have their own.” 

“Whatever,” He grumbles, sinking into the bed.  

“We’re actually going to have dinner with them tonight. Well, beans from a can.” 

“Why the hell would you do that?”  

“It’s not every day you come across new people. Nice new people at that.” 

Regulus tries to stay away from it. He doesn’t want to have dinner with James Potter, and he doesn’t want to see him again. But he listens. From the top of the steps, where he’s alone with no candles to keep him company. And he listens to them talk. The idle chatter, the laughs and chuckles, the normality of it if he closes his eyes.  

Eventually, he tip-toes down. He isn’t armed, for once, and is quite hungry.  

When he opens the door, he’s met with expectant stares.  

There are candles everywhere, on top of stacks of books, shelves, the table, casting everyone in a warm glow despite the night being heavy on their shoulders. Lily Evans is sitting on the armchair Evan usually occupies, eating from her tin and giving him a knowing look. Peter, who he hasn’t met, is curled into the corner of the sofa, looking a little pale.  

James sits next to him, and Regulus doesn’t meet his eyes.  

He navigates through all the legs and flames and settles in by Barty. He passes him a tin that had been waiting for him. Like they knew he would cave. 

No one says anything for a few minutes.  

“What were you guys talking about?” He asks to fill the silence, looking down at his tin.  

“Where we all were when it happened,” Peter tells him. 

A safe topic. Something they all have in common. 

“Right. Where were you then?” He only says this to be polite, and he doesn’t actually care much about where this Peter was when it all went down, but he rather not sit in uncomfortable silence. 

“I was literally just shopping after school, looking for some new shoes. Had to hide in a Primark for a few days.” 

He grimaces, “Can’t imagine anywhere worse.” 

“Primark was never once a pleasant retail experience; I swear I got a headache every time I came out of that shop,” Barty yells. Lily points at him in agreement, “Yes! I used to call it the Primark Headache because it was so unique.” 

Pandora tilts her head, “I have never been in Primark. Too much of a country girl for that.”  

“Count your bloody blessings. If there’s one thing we can be grateful for, it’s the fall of Primark,” Lily laughs because if you don’t laugh and make jokes, you think about it too much.  

Barty points his spoon at Peter, “At least you were somewhere near supplies and stuff. I was in the middle of nowhere for a football competition.” 

“I was at home,” Lily says and doesn’t elaborate. He’s assuming from what he knows already that she was the only person to leave that home alive.  

James finally speaks up, “And where were you Reg?”  

Bus. Road. Screams. Coughs. Children. Dying.  

“School trip.” 

He doesn't ask James back, because he never wanted to be asked in the first place.  

After a while, they share more survival stories because it’s much easier than reminiscing on how much easier it used to be before. All those tainted memories of a time that was never theirs to have, a world that was getting ready to disappear before they knew it.  

“Regulus was going to shoot me when he first met me,” Pandora tells the group offhanded. Evan snickers, like he always does, and Regulus shoots her a glare.  

“That’s like social etiquette now Pandora.” 

“I punched Peter and almost slit James’ throat when I first met them. It happens.” 

“Me and Pete met after grabbing for the same bag of crisps.” 

“That’s oddly wholesome,” Barty observes. 

“Is it?” 

“Yeah, me and Barty met after being kidnapped by a group of insane cannibalistic teenagers who I’m pretty sure were going to use us as their dessert that night. Barty got us out, though.” 

The others blinked. Peter is brave enough to ask, “Did you say cannibalistic-,” 

“Dare anyone to beat that meet cute!” Barty looks triumphant.  

 It carries on like that. With silly questions and stories, and Regulus avoids anything to do with James Potter in any way that he can.  

------------- 

When it comes, Regulus stays upstairs. He reads Romeo and Juliet, ignoring what's right in front of him, and takes constant glances outside the window for the moment James Potter and his makeshift crew finally leave.  

He ignored his friend’s stares, their worries and concerns. They don’t know that he’s spoken to James Potter, they don’t know that he can’t stop thinking about things he left behind ages ago. They know nothing because he stays quiet. Regulus is quite happy for him to go.  

“Their bags are packed. They’re leaving.” Barty says dramatically, collapsing against the wall.  

“I should hope so if they don’t want to outstay their welcome.”  

“I’ll never understand you, Regulus,” Barty tells him, and he knows that the man means it.  

He can hear the shuffling downstairs, the occasional murmur. Regulus can’t help but wonder how much longer James Potter will live. He’s got this far.  

He is turning the page, re-reading the same line over and over again, when Pandora finds him ten minutes later, out of breath and hair a mess. She had been gathering some supplies in the town below with Evan. But she looks shocked, her cheeks painted red and her eyes wide.  

“We need to go.” 

Regulus stands up, and Barty furrows his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”  

“There are a few Death Eaters nearby. Not the ones we met before, but I can’t be sure. Don’t know if they saw me and Evan or not, but we had to run away. With Evan’s leg, we couldn’t be quick, so I have no idea if they followed us. We need to go.” 

Without needing to be told twice, they begin to pack their things. The essentials. Food, maps, and the little trinkets they refuse to leave behind. Regulus will not leave without his play.  

Evan holds on to a little turtle figurine made of shells, which he’ll rub his thumb over if he ever struggles to sleep. Pandora has her wedding ring. Barty often fiddles with a pocket watch that he always keeps working somehow.  

Those are the essentials.  

Their footsteps rushing down the stairs echo throughout the house. They know the drill; they have been planning this.  

What Regulus does not account for, is the three extra bodies in the living room, who are very unaware of their current predicament.  

“They’re still here?” He asks briefly as he fills his bag with the canned goods.  

James wanders into the kitchen, his friends right behind him. “What’s going on?”  

“Death Eaters nearby, no longer safe to be here,” Pandora explains.  

“So you’re leaving?”  

“Yes.” 

“Let us come with you,” James says, because of course he does.  

“No.”  

“Reg-” 

“I said fucking no James!” 

He doesn’t stop to see the other man’s reaction because they don’t have time. Regulus takes one last journey through the house, checking for anything missed and tries to ignore the pain in his chest at leaving. This was the closest to home he’s ever gotten since. Sometimes, more than before.  

The key presses into his palm. Regulus is at the front door, and he locks it. For Elsie.  

“You know they’ll just break it down, right?” Evan tells him softly, having waited for him at the end of the hall.  

“Yeah. But we found it locked. We leave it locked.” 

This is just how it is. This is why you don’t get attached. Because eventually, you have to leave, you have to go, and usually, it’s because you’re forced to. This was never their home, no matter how much they wanted it to be. Home doesn’t exist anymore.  

They leave through the back door, in the overgrown garden, through the bushes. He doesn’t look back for James, only feels for his gun. He doesn’t look back at the cottage either.