Chapter 8
“Here, Professor,” James says, gesturing towards the door that Dumbledore can likely sense is heavily warded. James takes in the look of interest of Dumbledore’s face. It’s a slightly nauseating expression, one that James isn’t entirely comfortable with. Almost eager, like James has provided him with an opportunity to do… something.
He pushes down his doubts, stepping towards the door and sliding a palm over the runes engraved into the wood. At his touch, the runes glow gold. After a moment, the door swings open.
“Wicked,” Sirius breathes.
“Blood-specific access, I presume?” Dumbledore asks with an arched expression. James nods mutely, feeling slightly put-out. Dumbledore has always taken an uncanny interest in the manor and its inner workings, especially the wards, and it makes James slightly uncomfortable.
Dumbledore enters the room calmly, the others close behind him. James comes in last, closing the door with a wave of his wand.
Much like the Room of Requirement back at Hogwarts, the dueling room is much larger than it would initially appear given the house’s outside structure. It could easily house three or four separate dueling clubs, with room to spare. It’s furnished with tapestries and several torches on the walls, casting the room in a warm glow.
Dumbledore claps his hands together jovially. “While we wait for Mr. Black to retrieve the horcruxes, I’ve been meaning to ask you, my dear boy: how have you been coping with the loss of your parents? I can’t imagine it would be easy, especially not while living in the very house they raised you in.”
James goes perfectly still. The fog that consumed him for weeks after his parent’s deaths seems to touch the corners of his visions again. “It hasn’t been easy, Professor.” He croaks out. “But life goes on.”
Dumbledore’s lips twitch downwards, as if he’s trying to look sympathetic, but it comes across as disappointment. James is aware of Sirius stiffening beside him, and knows that the grief must also be crashing over him as well. He forces down his own feelings of loss—he has to look after Sirius and Remus and, by extension, Regulus. This is no time to wallow in his grief.
He places a comforting hand on Sirius's shoulder. “How are you holding up, mate?” They haven’t talked about it much since it happened. They’re always together, of course, but that seems like the one topic he couldn’t talk about with Sirius. It feels a bit impersonal to have this conversation in front of Dumbledore, given that the older man had brought it up first, but James has always been dedicated to his friends.
Sirius gives him a pained smile. “Alright, given the circumstances.” James nods, knowing what he means, and he leaves it there.
A moment later, the door swings open, revealing Regulus. He’s holding a horcrux in each hand and looks fairly angry, though James can’t tell if it’s because of the horcruxes’ dark magic affecting him or another reason. Then again, Regulus isn’t exactly known for always having a sunny disposition—if it were Peter, it would be more surprising, but Regulus’s anger is surprisingly easy to incur. James would know. The thought of him being the subject of Regulus’s wrath makes him smile, surprisingly. James doesn’t want to unpack that.
Dumbledore flicks his wand, and the horcruxes fly out of Regulus’s hands before he can react. James feels a spark of annoyance in his chest at the blatant disregard Dumbledore has at Regulus’s efforts, but Regulus simply rolls his eyes and closes the door behind him, muttering something under his breath that James doesn’t quite catch.
“Mr. Lupin, if you would please take charge of the countermeasures to ensure the fiendfyre doesn’t get out of hand.” Dumbledore tilts his head pleasantly at Remus, who nods, though he looks a bit unsure. James doesn’t understand why—if any of them would be able to do it, it would be Remus. Dumbledore’s faith in Remus’s abilities aren’t misplaced: Remus’s NEWT scores are proof of that.
“Of course, Professor.”
The other three boys look on as Remus casts a few protective charms on the room and then focuses back on Dumbledore. He’s staring intently at the horcruxes, floating a few feet away from their group at eye level.
At Remus’s nod, Dumbledore doesn’t hesitate. He raises his wand levelly, casting the spell complete with some of the most intricate wand movements James has ever seen. “Fiendfyre,” Dumbledore says coldly.
Instantly, a torrent of fire pours out of the tip of Dumbledore’s wand, consuming the horcruxes within seconds. The burned husks of the items drop to the carpet-padded floor of the room, but the fiendfyre continues, aiming towards one of the nearer tapestries.
Remus and Dumbledore turn their combined efforts to the remaining flames, muttering a chant in unison that sucks the flames back into their wands, leaving an unsettling vortex of cold that prickles against James’s skin. Though he tries to stifle the thought, he remembers his mother and how deeply she hated the cold.
The moment that the fiendfyre is gone, however, another problem arises. James watches in horrified entrancement as a blue specter rises from the scorched horcruxes on the ground, solidifying into the shape of an unfamiliar blonde boy.
He looks about their age, twenty at the most, but James doesn’t recognize him. The boy shoots Dumbledore a grin, but there’s no warmth in the gesture.
“Hello, Albus.” The words are raspy, somewhat ghostlike. Dumbledore’s expression is almost afraid before he schools it into stoicism.
“Hello.” Dumbledore tilts his head. “May I help you?” The words are almost a taunt.
The boy’s expression turns livid, and James watches in horror as he throws himself at Dumbledore with an animal howl, wrapping long fingers around the older man’s neck. Dumbledore doesn’t react. The moment that the ghost boy’s fingers connect with Dumbledore’s skin, he disappears in a huff of mist.
“Well, then,” Dumbledore says, dusting his hands off calmly as he turns back to the watching boys. “Thank you for your help in disposing of these two horcruxes, gentlemen.”
“Professor, who was that?” Remus asks, a small furrow between his brows. “It seemed like you recognized him.”
Dumbledore fixes him with a stern glance, looking almost irritated that Remus noticed. “Not quite, Mr. Lupin, but that is a story for another day. Forgive me—I do have other commitments to attend to.”
Without another word, he brushes past the four boys, exiting the room calmly. James listens to his footsteps recede into the distance, exchanging a surprised glance with Remus who looks a bit affronted at the dismissal.
“Well, that was illuminating,” Sirius tries, but the joke falls flat. “Is he gone?”
James reaches out and claps him on the back in a display of camaraderie. “He just left,” he answers, feeling a familiar nudge in the back of his mind from the wards that lets him know someone has just disapparated from the grounds. “Probably went back to Hogwarts.”
Remus grimaces. “Let’s get out of here.”
James doesn’t need to be told twice.
– - – - –
Regulus finds James outside. He almost doesn’t notice—walking out of the kitchen after grabbing a quick snack, he passes an open window. He approaches it, planning on keeping the late-spring chill out of the house, when he notices a small scuff mark on the window ledge.
Like a shoe.
He sticks out his head, unsurprised to see there’s a small drop leading down to a balcony. He’s slightly more surprised to see James sitting cross-legged on said balcony, looking out at the steadily dipping sun.
“Potter,” he calls out. James doesn’t turn his head. Regulus debates, unsure whether or not he should be left alone, then decides against it. A lonely Potter isn’t one who should be left to his own devices.
He somewhat awkwardly stuffs himself out the window, turning as he does so that he lands on his feet with the drop. The landing is a bit painful, sending jolts of discomfort up through his ankles, but he turns back towards James without paying much attention to his aching legs.
“Bit of a drop,” Regulus comments, and James lets out a small huff of laughter. Regulus notices that his knuckles are bruised. Interesting.
“Tell me, Potter, what is the purpose of this secret rendezvous? If you wanted to get me alone, you could have just asked,” he says drily.
James’s lips twitch upwards. “Is that so? Merlin, if I had known how easy it would be to get an audience with the mysterious and elusive Regulus Black I would have done it back at Hogwarts.”
“Don’t change the subject,” Regulus says lightly. “What’s brought you out here?”
James tips his head back so he’s leaning against the manor’s outer wall. He lets out a pensive hum, his eyes still trained on the sunset as it melts into liquid gold. “Why do you want to know?” He finally asks, and Regulus doesn’t miss the undercurrent of suspicion in his tone.
“Call it curiosity,” Regulus responds easily. “It’s about Dumbledore, isn’t it?”
“No,” James snaps, almost on instinct. He blinks. “Sorry.”
Regulus guesses he’s struck a nerve. “I’m going to take that as a yes, actually.” He tries to recall the entire interaction with Dumbledore: could it have been the destruction of the horcruxes themselves, or Dumbledore’s slightly dubious actions? Regulus doesn’t really think it’s the latter, given that James has always eaten straight out of Dumbledore’s palm, and he shouldn’t let his personal bias against the headmaster cloud his judgment.
“It is about Dumbledore,” James blurts out, surprising Regulus. “How’d you know?”
Regulus waves it off, unwilling to get into the finer details of his mistrust for the senior wizard. “Lucky guess. Do you… want to talk about it?” He says this part hesitantly: Regulus is known for many things, but emotional vulnerability is not one of them.
James squints slightly. “Not really.”
Regulus shrugs. “Okay.”
“Wow, you’re shit at this ‘comforting a friend’ business,” James says with the raise of an eyebrow. “Didn’t you have to attend one-on-one social-emotional wellness courses with Slughorn and McGonagall back in third year because you didn’t know how to comfort Rosier when his mum was hospitalized?”
Regulus wrinkles his nose. “I wasn’t aware I was supposed to be comforting you.” He very calmly moves past the fact that James considers them friends, or at least that James thinks that Regulus considers him a friend. “And how the fuckdid you hear about that? Nobody outside of my year was supposed to find out.”
“I’m impressed, Reggie.” James fixes him with a smile that looks almost like a wince. “You’ve effectively distracted me from my woes.”
“That doesn’t answer my question,” Regulus glowers. “In fact, you haven’t answered a single question of mine since I so graciously jumped down half a story in order to ensure you were alright.”
James nods serenely. “Unfortunate.”
“Prick,” Regulus retorts. James’s smile is almost real this time, blinding nonetheless. Regulus decides right then and there that he hates those stupid dimples.
“So you’ve come down here to insult me, is that it?” James’s tone is lighthearted; Regulus rolls his eyes.
“Maybe if you had slightly thicker skin, that wouldn’t be an issue.” He retorts, and maybe it’s worth it to see the way James’s eyes crinkle at the corners when he laughs.
They slip into silence, but it’s comfortable and devoid of tension. Regulus is content to sit here and watch anything other than the rise and fall of James’s chest, and James seems equally comfortable.
The last dredges of the sun slip down below the horizon, casting everything in inky blue. Finally, James breaks the silence between them.
“Dumbledore mentioned my parents for the first time since they— since they passed away. And the moment he said it I felt like I was drowning.”
Regulus immediately feels out of his depth. James wasn’t wrong when he teased Regulus for his interpersonal skills not being necessarily up to par. And Regulus has never really been a good one for the topic of parents, for obvious reasons.
“Oh,” he says, and doesn’t say anything after.
James surprises him by laughing. “You really are shit at comforting people, Black. Can’t say I blame you, though.”
“I’m… sorry.” Regulus forces the words out. Emotional vulnerability is not his strong suit, but he’s fairly sure that’s what you’re supposed to say to someone when their parents die.
“Me too,” James says with an exhale. “Godric, I really miss them.”
Regulus shifts closer slightly, unsure of what to do. “They seemed like very kind people. I was always grateful to them for taking in Sirius, even if I couldn’t express it.”
James gives Regulus a soft smile. “They always held out hope that you’d join us eventually.”
Regulus is silent, then, uncomfortably aware of the strain between them. Technically, he did join them eventually, but Monty and Euphemia Potter weren’t there to see it.
“I always wanted to,” Regulus says softly.
James releases a trapped breath. “Merlin, I’m glad you came. You have no idea how worried we were about you.”
“Because of the letter?” Regulus asks.
James shakes his head. “Before that. This entire time, the minute Sirius was out and safe—we were worried about you.”
“I never joined the Death Eaters. Not actually. Not in spirit,” Regulus forces out in a rush.
“We knew your friend Evan had joined, but we—especially Sirius—were hoping you’d somehow managed to avoid it.” James gives him a wry smile. “I suppose we deluded ourselves into thinking it was possible. One look at your mother and I know exactly how much say in the matter she gave you.”
Regulus’s mouth is dry. “I joined out of my own volition. I overheard them at dinner one night. They were talking about forcing us to join, and I knew they were going to hurt us. Evan specifically, because his dad is… horrifically cruel. I had to do it.”
James looks pensive, and Regulus braces himself for the rebuke– that doesn’t come. “I get it,” he says after a pause. “You were looking out for your mate—I probably would have done the same if it was one of my friends.”
Further surprising Regulus, James pushes himself up off the wall and extends a hand to help up Regulus. “I don’t know about you, but I’m fucking starved.”