Covered In You

“How's one to know?
I'd live and die for moments that we stole
On begged and borrowed time
So tell me to run
Or dare to sit and watch what we'll become
And drink my husband's wine”

“You found me,” Regulus stops. Eyes drawn to James, standing at the door to his home of solitude and safety in the woods. James Potter is standing at the door to the run down cottage that he’s using as a safe house. He’s here. He’s found him. But, he can’t be here. Not now. Not with the prophecy looming over their heads. It’s not safe. “How?”

“Sirius,” says James, a slight smile on his face, messy hair falling over his forehead. “He told me how to find you. Are you gonna invite me in?”

Regulus cocks his head to the side and laughs. James is glowing. The light of the setting sun is at his back creating a pearlescent glow around him. James’ sun-drenched figure is so bright that Regulus squints. Regulus moves to the door frame and extends his hand to James, pulling him through the threshold and into the old cabin. A beam of light shines through a shattered window cutting diagonally across their faces as Regulus runs two fingers down James’ cheek. James moves closer bridging the gap between their bodies and bringing their lips together. Their lips fight for dominance, drawn together over and over like magnets pulling back together as soon as they come apart. “I’m sorry I had to leave,” Regulus, says. “I just wanted to keep you safe.” James touches his forehead against Regulus’ and closes his eyes.

“James,” Regulus says slowly as they finally pull apart. “What are you doing here?”

“I needed to see that you were alright with my own eyes,” he says. “Sirius said you’d come if the wards triggered, but I needed to see for myself.”

“Why?”

“Dammit, Reg. It’s always been you.” At that Regulus laughs again, but this time it’s harsh.

“I doubt that,” he scoffs.

“Regulus -“ James sighs. “We don’t have much time, please don’t-“

“Right,” Regulus says, pulling away from James. “That’s the thing about illicit affairs, James. You’ve always gotta go back to the person you’re actually with.”

“What?” James questions moving towards Regulus, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“I know about Lily… the baby… and I get it you deserve that family, and your happiness, but-“

“Reg, it’s not what you think. I am having a baby with Lily. And I do love her, I’d die for her. She’s my family. But, it’s always been you. She knows that, understands it more than anyone. We didn’t plan for this and we’re together, but,” James runs his hand through his hair causing the back to stand up. “We want to be good parents and we want our son to know he has two parents that are in this thing together. I’m gonna be there for her.”

“Oh,” Regulus says, coming back to James.

“She knows I’m here.”

“Oh.”

“She’s in love with someone else.”

“Oh.” Regulus thinks. It suddenly clicks for him. Snape. Snape’s reaction to the prophecy being about Lily.

And, before Regulus can stop it their lips are back on one another. The magnetic pull forcing them back together. Bodies crashing, and tongues mixing as they fall into place at last. They touch and grab feeling each others skin for the first time in so long. Regulus’ fingers trace James’ skin leaving behind tingling bursts of fire. Like sparklers on his skin. James’ hands trace the bulge in Regulus’ trousers eliciting a gasp from the man before him. With shaking hands he unbuttons Regulus’ pants, stumbling and struggling to get the button to release. Regulus pulls him up, and undoes the button himself, letting his pants slide to the floor before untucking James’ shirt and removing his pants for him swiftly and quickly. Regulus kisses James again and then gently pushes him down to his knees. James pulls Regulus’ boxers down releasing him and quickly taking in all of Regulus, feeling him completely on his tongue and in his mouth. Regulus’ hands grasp James unruly hair as his hips thrust pushing himself in and out of James mouth, watching as James strokes his member. They come together, Regulus down James throat, with sighs. Standing to meet Regulus gaze, James rubs his hand across his cheek as Regulus strokes his thumb under James chin cleaning himself off of his mouth.

The men redress themselves and collapse together on the cottage floor embracing one another. The feel of Regulus in James arms is all heat. James clears his throat, trying to encourage himself to leave the warmth that is Regulus.

“You have to go,” says Regulus, ever perceptive to James emotions.

“Yes,” says James looking down at Regulus sadly. Like he’s about to break his heart all over. “But, Reg, Lily and I are in trouble. We have to hide. Voldemort is after us, and the baby, and we have to flee. But, I’m guessing you already know that?”

Regulus looks away for a moment before his steely grey eyes meet James’ this time with no more emotion behind them. “You’re right. You have to. To keep yourself safe. And this,” he motions between the two of them, “can never happen again.”

“Regulus we’re planning to use a Fidelius Charm, and Sirius can tell you-“

“No, James. The only thing that matters is that you’re safe. Voldemort will kill you if he finds you. Don’t underestimate him.” Regulus stands and begins to pace. James rises to follow him.

“So you do know about the prophecy, then?”

“Yes,” Regulus says, his voice cold. “You can’t let him find you.”

“We’ll have a secret keeper,” says James, “someone we trust-“

“You can’t trust the people around you,” says Regulus thinking of Peter and wondering if his other friends would betray him as easily. Would Remus give him up? Would Sirius betray his best friend? Will his brother protect them like Regulus wants to? “Don’t trust anyone. Not even me. Not anymore.”

“I’ll find my way back to you,” James says reaching back out to hold Regulus’ hand. Regulus pulls away. “When this is over. Don’t turn it off Regulus. Let me find you, let me feel your magic.” He turns to leave, but makes his way back quickly to Regulus for one last kiss. It’s agonizing touching his lips to James’ this time unknowing if he will ever hold the man again. Their lips linger close, barely touching. “Goodbye Regulus,” James says, into his mouth, and then he’s gone.

“I’ll fix this,” Regulus whispers to the open door. “I’ll save you James.”

—

ONE MONTH LATER

Voldemort is dying. Maybe. When Regulus looks at him now he doesn’t see a man anymore, but rather a shell. He’s not sure what it is about him but the person before him looks weak as if he’d blow over from a single breath. He walks slowly and carefully towards Regulus, every step like a whisper. His frame is fragile, the sharpness of his bones poke through at his cheeks, collar, and wrists. As makes his way to Regulus, who is sitting in an arm chair in one of the many living areas at Grimmauld, his footsteps don’t make a sound. His light body barely rattles the ground at his feet. The curtains are drawn tight, dust specks float across the tiny beam of light sneaking through. Candelabras light the room, casting eerie shadows and creating phantoms within the room. Regulus looks up from his book and stands as the Dark Lord approaches him. He smiles wickedly at Regulus, his teeth fractured and fragmented, falling apart in his mouth. They take their seats. Regulus brings up his occlumency walls and looks directly into Voldemort’s eyes.

“Thank you for meeting with me today, Regulus. I have need of your services.”

“Anything, My Lord,” Regulus says bowing his head low.

“I may have a job for your house elf in the days to come. I have an item I need to move and keep safe. Can I trust your help in this?”

“Of course. When you need him, Kreacher is yours.” Regulus says, immediately regretting putting his house elf in the hands of the monster before him for any task. Anger bubbles in Regulus stomach at the thought of losing one more thing to this shell man before him.

“Very good,” says Voldemort, placing a bony, grey hand under his chin. “Things may change very soon and I am glad to have such a reliable servant on my side.”

“What things, my Lord?” Regulus asks, lacking the restraint he so often uses in Voldemort’s presence, due to his rising anger at the wizard.

“It’s of no matter to you, but know things will soon sway in our direction,” Voldemort replies dismissively with a wave of his hand.

Regulus, tired of following absentmindedly, boldly questions, “My Lord, are you sure your trust is laid on the right people? I question certain … allies.”

“Such as?” Voldemort fixes his stare on Regulus.

“Well, for one, Pettigrew.”

Voldemort blanches, “Pettigrew is nothing to bother with.”

“I am merely suggesting his allegiance may not be entirely with you-“

“You dare question my trust when it comes to allegiances?” Voldemort rages.

“Not at all,” replies Regulus, mask indifferent, while smirking on the inside. He can feel he’s struck a nerve and dares to keep pushing. Dares to claw and scratch. He doesn’t really have anything left to lose. Voldemort has already taken it from him. “You look unwell, My Lord, is there anything I can get you?”

Voldemorts red eyes shine, dark as blood, and widen. “I am better than I have ever been. I who have gone further than any other magically in this life. I who have done what no other has done to obtain immortal-“ He stops, as if regretting his words, his blunder in front someone not entirely trustworthy. “I am well, Regulus.”

“Yes, My Lord.” Voldemort gets up to leave and Regulus follows, noticing a slight limp, a lean to the left side. What has he done to reach this state of neglect? Regulus wonders. Regulus bows as Voldemort exits with a slight glare in his direction and a swish of his long cloak. He may have pushed too far, and will probably pay for his indiscretions but he doesn’t care. He’s gained more crucial information in this one meeting with Voldemort than he has in his entire time as a Death Eater. As soon as he’s sure he’s alone he apparates to another wing of Grimmauld, just outside of the library. He enters the dark, barely used room. Dust covers the books and ladders in thick blankets. The walls are lined with heavy, ancient tomes that haven’t been touched in decades.

“Kreacher,” Regulus calls. He casts a scourgify at a table in front of him releasing the dust and grime of years neglect.

“Master Regulus,” the elf says bowing as he appears in front of Reg. “How may I be of service to you.”

“Kreacher, I’d like you to bring me every book we have on dark magic in this library, especially those that pertain to objects of great importance.”

“Yes, Master Regulus,” Kreacher bows once more.

“And Kreacher,” says Regulus beckoning the elf closer to him. “I may have given your time to the Dark Lord for an unknown task in the future. I am sorry.”

“It would be an honor to be of service to the Dark Lord.”

“Kreacher, I need you to keep up your strength and be vigilant. I need to know what he’s up to. Okay? Can you do that? Can you be sure to report back to me whatever he asks of you?”

“Yes, master, anything.”

“Good. Now the books please. I have much to research.”

—

Barty, Mulciber and Avery stand in the alleyway between two abandoned muggle apartment complexes. The alleyway is dimly lit, save for the tips of their wands sending off a faint white hue around them. They walk slowly, footsteps echoing in the empty alley, looking for a sign of movement. To his left and right, Barty watches as Avery and Mulciber are taken down by a silent stupefy and he turns grinning maniacally to find a wand pointed directly at his chest.

“Meadowes,” Barty drawls.

“Should have know Voldemort would send you to do his dirty work, Crouch,” coos Dorcas Meadowes, taunting the man in front of her. “You found me. Now what?”

“You’re mistaken, my task was only to find you. You’re fate is in the hands of the Dark Lord.” Barty lifts his wand, readying himself for a fight. Dorcas casts first, but Barty is quick, throwing up a shield charm as he ducks behind a dumpster. “Tsk tsk, Meadowes. Let’s play fair now,” he calls out.

“As if you’ve ever,” Dorcas snarls, casting back at Barty, “played fair. Seeing as you’re Voldemort’s right hand assassin.” She casts a “Bombarda” at the brick building behind Barty and it explodes around him sending debris flying outwards. Barty’s laugh echoes as he emerges, forehead bleeding where a brick fell on him. He fires rapidly, but Dorcas’ shield charm is quick. She’s a brilliant fighter, smart and agile, and Barty struggles to keep up with her rapid fire of spells. She aims a stinging hex at him, and meets her mark and Barty falls to his knees clutching his stomach. He doubles over the pain from the hex taking his breath away. Regaining his composure he casts “Crucio” at Dorcas, which she dodges, easily. Barty takes the opportunity to apparate behind her in the alley to catch her by surprise, but she’s ready with another stinging hex, this time to Barty’s arm. He growls, clutching the burning spot.

“Were you playing fair when you killed Marlene?” Dorcas stutters. Her voice breaks, and her guard drops just enough for Barty’s slicing hex to cut through her calf. She stumbles, blood pouring from her wound as Barty rounds on her. He smirks, thinking about Marlene Macdonald. Sure, he’d been the one to cast the Avada, but it had been Pettigrew’s intel that led them to her and Voldemorts orders. So, who’d really been to blame? Barty, the caster of the curse that did it, Peter, the friend who’d betrayed her, or Voldemort for leading the charge?

“Oh Meadowes,” Barty laughs. “If you only knew. I have to say I’m rather disappointed in you as a former Slytherin.” He walks to her, standing just in front of her and kneels down grabbing her braids and pulling her head up to meet his.

“As am I disappointed in you, Barty.” She says without breaking eye contact, her deep brown eyes boring into him. “Do you really think this is the life Evan would have wanted for you? And what of Pandora? Who’s caring for her, the last Rosier?” Barty snarls at hearing the name, angered at her audacity to speak it to him. He slams her head into the hard gravel ground knocking her out. He levitates her bleeding body, readying himself to apparate back to the Dark Lord with his capture. It takes everything within him not to think about Evan. Not to think about what he’s lost. Not to think about just how disappointed Evan might be if he were still here.

—

The musty Black library has become Regulus home in the weeks since Voldemort’s slip up. As Regulus researches, he allows his walls to crumble hoping to let James’ magic in. He wants to call to him, to show him somehow through his frantic researching that he’s trying to help. That not all is lost, that he’s going to find a way out. He needs James’ glowing magic to seep into his soul, the light touching every fiber of his cracked interior in order to keep going. Especially because, as he researches, he realizes, he doesn’t even really know what he’s looking for.

When Regulus doesn’t have to be seen for appearances , meetings or missions he’s in the library. He keeps a low profile normally, barely interacting with other Death Eaters, so his absence thankfully goes unnoticed. Kreacher, dutifully, brings him his meals though Regulus doesn’t much feel like eating.

Today, Barty leans against a shelf, keeping Regulus company as he researches. “It’s been weeks, Reggie boy, how are you going to know when you find it?”

“I’ll just know,” Regulus replies not looking up. He’s pouring over yet another battered looking tome on dark magick rituals searching, hoping, for a key word to pop out at him. “I’ll just know. There’s something going on with him. His done something to make himself less of a whole human. For power. I know it. I just have to find out what it is.”

“Your funeral,” drawls Barty, squeezing Regulus’ shoulder and looking at him sadly. He moves to exit. “I have to go, Mulciber got himself in a spot of trouble with the bar maid at the Leaky, needs some help. Prat. Be careful Reg.”

Regulus looks up from his research for the first time, “I have to fix this Barty. For James.”

“I know,” says Barty, shaking his head as he walks out of the library. Regulus can feel him re-secure the wards before he leaves.

Regulus shoves the book he’s searching to the side, and lets his head fall on the table. He rakes his hands through his hair and sighs loudly. Sitting up and rubbing his eyes he grabs another ominous looking black book and opens it. He searches it for nearly a half-hour before his eyes fall on a word that he’s never seen written before, but remembers hearing muttered. Whispered quietly, as if the word itself were poison, in conversation his father had about ancient dark wizards. He’d never heard the word since, but it was there in small print, hidden in an ancient book in his library. Horcrux. He runs his fingers over the glossy words on the page, curious.

Regulus starts as he feels the vibrations of his wards. Someone has entered his private cottage.

—

Sirius was summoned by owl to St. Mungo’s by Dumbledore. The note had simply said “come urgently.” There was no explanation, no time frame and no further instructions. Assuming the worst and prepared for a secret mission for the Order, Sirius armed himself with his wand, left a note for Remus and made his way to the apparition point. The day was sunny and warm, but Sirius still felt chilled at the urgent call to the hospital. He feared who he’d meet, or whether he’d have to fight. He braces himself for battle as he apparates to the Order’s designated meeting spot at St. Mungo’s.

Albus Dumbledore stands with his back towards Sirius, long silver hair flowing over deep purple robes as he stares out a window in an abandoned office. The Order members use the office for meetings and starting points should they need to intervene or fight at Mungo’s. Sirius clears his throat and the old man turns, eyes twinkling, hands behind his back.

“Sirius, thank you for your quick response time,” Dumbledore says calmly, not hinting in the slightest at the situation. “If you’ll follow me please.” He walks briskly past Sirius, robes billowing past as he makes his way out the door. Sirius stares after him confused for a moment, but follows, nonetheless.

“What is happening?” Sirius asks.

“You’ll see,” responds Albus, rounding a corner into a busy hallway of the hospital. Healers in bright green robes bustle past quickly making their way from room to room. Patients walk with walkers or are wheeled through the narrow hallway causing Sirius to side step his way around them in order to not get hit. They reach a door, patient room number 813, and Dumbledore stops gesturing for Sirius to enter. Sirius, thinks briefly, that he shouldn’t be so trusting, but his curiosity gets the better of him. He reaches for the handle, feeling the wards push towards him as if the room itself doesn’t want him to enter. Something precious and important must be behind this door for such heavy wards. He steps inside and his ears are instantly met with the wailing of an infant.

It takes a moment for Sirius’ eyes to adjust. James is standing above a bassinet trying (and failing) to change the diaper of a screaming baby with violent, black, messy hair. A flushed Lily lays in a hospital bed next to him, one hand on her forehead, the other on her belly, laughing hysterically at James’ struggling figure.

“James, please, I’m going to tear a stitch,” she giggles. “Just put on his nappy.”

“I’m trying Lils,” James says holding both of Harry’s tiny legs in the air. “He’s so squirmy.”

“It’s no wonder really you never made seeker,” Sirius says, leaning against the door frame and watching the new parents.

“Sirius!” Lily exclaims. “Come! In! Oh! I’m so glad you’re here! I’m glad we convinced Dumbledore to bring you by.”

Sirius makes his way to Lily and hugs her. Moving to James, who’s finally managed to secure Harry’s diaper and lift him out of the bassinet, he places a hand on his shoulder.
“Congrats, mate, well done.”

James holds Harry out for Sirius to take, and he does gladly and without hesitation. The small boy in his arms is beautiful, looking up at him with James’ face. “He’s your twin, Jamie,” Sirius says, “but, his eyes. He’s got your eyes Lily.”

“He’s perfect,” sighs Lily. The three enjoy each others company, Sirius not letting go of Harry for one second. He swells with pride at the small boy in his arms, holding him tightly, protective instincts washing over him.

“James,” says Sirius. James looks up. “You should make Pete your secret keeper. Not me.”
James holds his stare, confused. “If they come after you, I’m the first person they’ll go to. And I wouldn’t tell, I swear it but if they kill me, then it’s over. And you know I’d die for you anyways but I’m not the right choice. Make it Peter.”

“Okay,” says James.

When it’s time to leave, Sirius reluctantly hands Harry back to Lily, and hugs James. He doesn’t know when he will see them again, but he knows they’ll be safe. He knows he’s keeping them safe. For Harry’s sake.

Sirius apparates away from the hospital and instead of heading home to Remus, he stops at Regulus’ cottage. The sky above is darkening.
Clouds rumble around him foreshadowing a brewing storm as he waits for Regulus to arrive. He does as the first droplets hit the ground, quickly turning into a downpour.

“Sirius?” Regulus says, confused by the intrusion into his cottage. He rolls up his sleeves and casts a drying charm on his rain soaked clothes.

“They had Harry,” Sirius says smile huge reaching across his face. “The baby, he’s born.”

“That’s great,” says Regulus, looking down. He’s not really sure why Sirius is here or why it matters. He needs to get back to his research for any of it to matter. “Is that all?”

Sirius draws his brows together. “Aren’t you happy?”

“Sure,” says Regulus straight faced. “Is there anything else?”

“Um, yeah,” Sirius rubs his hand on the back of his neck. “I also asked them not to make me secret keeper.”

“…you what?”

“Yeah, I think I’d be too much of a target and obvious choice.”

“You’re right,” Regulus says, disappointment growing thick on his tongue. “You’re the wrong choice.”

“Reg?” Sirius says, clearly hurt.

“How could you not protect them?” Regulus spits out.

“Me?” Laughs Sirius. “I’m not the one who runs around with Death Eaters hiding in the shadows like a coward. Creeping around in Diagon Alley doing Merlin knows what!”

“You should go,” says Regulus, turning his back to Sirius.

“Yeah,” scoffs Sirius. “I’m gone.” Regulus hears the crack of apparition before he turns back around to the empty cottage. He feels into the pockets of his robe suddenly reminded of the package hidden there since the day he saw Sirius and Remus in Diagon Alley. He takes it out and makes his way to the overgrown yard of the cottage, rain pouring down around him. With some quick wandwork he landscapes a small patch of grass, sprouting up roses all around and small bench on one end. He lays the package down in the sopping wet grass, unwraps it and enlarges it with an “Engorgio”. He takes a seat on the bench tears coming thick, as head in his hands he sits before the headstone he’d created for Evan Rosier, who’s body was never recovered.