Chapter 28
James
James casts a cleaning spell on the maple-syrup spotted counter and whisks the pans and pots into their appropriate cabinets.
As Remus and Sirius exit the flat, he gives Remus a good luck nod. He knows what they’re going to discuss, and he knows it likely won’t go well.
James and Remus talked it over the other day; Sirius can’t just mope around the house all day anymore. It’s driving James crazy, it’s driving Remus crazy, it’s probably driving Regulus crazy, and it’s definitely driving Sirius crazy. On top of that, the Order needs him. The war is only getting worse, and allies are disappearing at alarming rates. They need everyone they can get. This is why Remus is luring Sirius out to the coffee shop: to gently broach the subject of Sirius getting back to his usual routine. It’s also to get something in his system besides alcohol, but that’s an entirely different subject, one James isn’t sure how to handle. If the roles were switched and Sirius were in Regulus’s position, James would probably be drinking himself into oblivion, too.
James clears up the last of the mess and wanders into the living room. Regulus is there, sitting on the couch and staring at the wall.
Not wanting to startle him, James knocks gently on the doorframe.
Regulus doesn’t react. He must be in one of his catatonic moods. With a sad little sigh, James walks further into the room. He intends to grab a book and sit in a chair, but his curious nature takes over.
He steps toward Regulus, watching for any sign that Regulus sees him.
Nothing.
He walks right through Regulus’s line of sight.
Not a single movement.
He walks by again, closer this time.
Regulus doesn’t flinch.
James stands directly in front of Regulus and drops down into a deep squat, arms stretched forward and legs at ninety degrees, bringing himself to eye level with Regulus. He stands back up.
Regulus showed no sign of registering the strange sight, but there’s something in his eyes. He doesn’t look so empty and blank as he used to. He’s there.
Testing his theory, James launches into a cheesy disco finger-point dance move, wiggling his hips side to side with the arm. For good measure, he hums a bit of an ABBA tune and throws in a couple Funky Monkey arms too. He’s enjoying himself so much, before he knows it he’s gyrating and leaping about the room to his own made-up version of the song, shouting lyrics at the top of his lungs and shimmying like his life depends on it. He gets so into it, in fact, that he doesn’t even notice until halfway through his rendition of “Dum Dum Diddle” that Regulus is no longer staring at the wall, but instead has picked up a pillow and is pressing his face into it.
Got him.
James laughs and begins to dance harder, shout-singing louder until he’s certain the neighbors are wondering what’s going on in here.
“Dance with me, Reg!” James shouts to the sky in a moment of crazy euphoria. “Dance with me!”
Regulus, of course, does not dance with him, but James isn’t disappointed. The exasperated expression Regulus wears as he lifts his head from the pillow is enough. One side of Regulus’s mouth is quirked in a tiny smile as his hand rubs across a forming crease in the middle of his forehead.
It’s kind of adorable.
James reaches out a hand, offering to pull Regulus off the couch and into the chaos he’s creating. “Dance!” he gleefully shouts.
For half a second, Regulus looks like he might. His hand twitches ever so slightly, his eyes gleam with something akin to eagerness.
For half a second, Regulus looks real again.
For half a second.
Regulus
Regulus wishes with every bone in his body that James would stop wiggling his hips like that. He wishes that James would stop flexing his ab muscles like that. And yet, he also hopes that James will never stop.
Regulus can’t remember what he was thinking about a minute ago. He can’t even remember if he was thinking. But he’s certainly thinking now. He’s thinking about how smooth James’s voice sounds, even though he only knows half the words. He’s thinking about how James’s hair is flopping and shaking as much as his butt is. He’s thinking about how nice it would be to put his hands in James’s and let him twirl him around the room.
And then James extends his arm.
“Dance!” he cries.
The overwhelming urge to join surges through Regulus. For half a second, Regulus wants to, he believes he could. He could dance, and sing, and be as free and easy as James Potter. But in the moment between when the thought enters his brain and his body reacts, common sense kicks in.
Regulus can’t dance. Regulus can’t be light and airy. Regulus can’t quite explain how or why he knows this, but he knows it. He’s not that kind of person, not like James is. Not like Sirius, or Remus, or any of their friends. They are big, and beautiful, and real, and Regulus is not.
He grips the pillow tighter in his lap and looks away. Instantly, the weight of his own thoughts come crashing down on him. He remembers why he hates being alive so much. Why he hates himself so much. Why he hates the world. He remembers how achingly desolate everything is, and everything is awful again.
Good. That’s how it should be. That’s how it’s always been. It feels right, somehow.
A moment later, a slightly sweaty James plops down on the couch next to him, still grinning from his antics.
“Oh man.” James sighs, “I needed that.” He pushes the runaway hairs out of his face and leans back onto the couch.
Regulus tries not to look at him. It’s hard, though. It’s like James’s eyes are two little magnets, dragging Regulus’s own to meet them.
“You know,” James says teasingly, “for a second there, I thought you might actually dance with me.”
He turns his head to look at Regulus, “Would have been nice of you had, this apartment could do with a bit more cheer.”
Regulus feels a tug of guilt in his chest.
James must realize what he said because he quickly sits upright and waves his arms as he backtracks, “Not that you aren’t cheerful! You’re a goddamn bundle of daffodils! It’s just, well, things are hard.” James shrugs lamely.
Regulus raises an eyebrow. A goddamn bundle of daffodils? There’s a phrase that’s never been used to describe a Black.
James sighs and leans side onto the couch, propping his elbow on the back of the couch and leaning his head on his hand. He stays like that for a moment, just watching.
Regulus feels the walls in his brain going up. He feels all emotion draining from his face. Shut it down. Keep it out. Keep it safe.
James frowns a little. The frown looks so wrong on his features that Regulus wishes he could reach out and push it back into a smile.
“It’s not easy, is it?” James muses after another moment of observation.
Regulus tries to keep his face blank.
James continues on, “Change, I mean. Change isn’t easy.” He’s watching Regulus with searching eyes.
It makes Regulus want to squirm, but he can’t. He can’t do anything but stare right back at James, blocking his gentle warmth with his own dark coldness.
James seems undeterred.
“You think one change or another will solve all your problems, that it’ll fix everything and you’ll be happy again. But it’s not like that. It’s not that simple.”
James rolls back over so he’s slumped into the couch, his head resting on the back cushion and eyes looking at the ceiling.
Regulus doesn’t really know what the point is here, but he hates seeing James look this tired.
“Take Sirius, for example.” James explains, “When he came to live with me and my parents a couple years ago, I thought there. That’s it. He’s safe now, he’s okay. His mother can never hurt him ever again. But that’s not true. Obviously, that’s not true. Just because he was in a different house with better parents and a new brother, doesn’t mean everything was better. We tried to ignore it, tried to convince ourselves he was fine, but he wasn’t. He was angry and wild and hurt. He basically tried to kill someone, for god’s sake!” James throws his arms up helplessly.
This is news to Regulus. He knew his brother was devious, but he didn’t realize the Black madness ran in him, too. It’s kind of impressive.
“Even now,” James adds softly, rolling his head to look back at Regulus. “I thought he was over it—or not over it, that’s not quite right-- but I thought he made peace with it. And then the other day…” James trails off a bit, trying to find the words.
Regulus waits, letting him gather his thoughts.
“Well, it’s clear that Sirius isn’t okay with it yet. He’s still angry. And he should be, I mean, your family members are right pricks and what your parents did to you is unforgivable,”
Regulus tries not to flinch at the word.
“What I’m saying is, it’s okay that you aren’t happy yet. It’s okay that you’re not ready to be. Just because you left, just because you’re here, and your safe, and you’ve got people looking out for you, doesn’t mean everything is alright.”
Regulus finally tears his eyes away from James Potter. He feels a burning sensation behind his eyes. He can’t look at him. He can’t let James see him. He’s supposed to be invisible.
The couch shifts a bit as James shuffles around on the cushion. A long silence hangs in the air. It’s the longest Regulus has ever heard James leave a room silent. It’s so long, in fact, that Regulus starts to wonder if James left the room. He turns his head back.
James didn’t leave. He’s still sitting there, swiveled around so his back is against the couch armrest and his knees are pulled in tight to his chest. He’s still looking at Regulus, studying him intently.
When their eyes meet, James speaks again. “Can I tell you something?” he asks.
James’s eyes are so sincere and earnest that Regulus can’t help but nod a little. Regulus would let James tell him anything. He’d listen to James for days.
James bites his bottom lip a bit before continuing. “I—I’m scared.” He admits.
He looks smaller than James Potter has ever looked in his life. Almost as small as Regulus. It’s wrong, so wrong, and yet, it almost feels good, in a way-- to see the smaller, quieter core beneath the bright shiny exterior.
What on earth could Potter have to be afraid of?
“It’s-- it’s this war.” James goes on. “I know you know all about it. I know your parents are on the other side of it from me, Remus, and Sirius, but surely you know the toll it’s taking. Your side lost people too.”
Regulus flinches a bit at “your side”. He isn’t sure what side he’s on, but right now he wants to be on whatever side has James Potter. That’s the winning side.
James rubs little circles into his ankle as he continues, “It’s just, I can’t see an end to it. It’s like what I was saying about change, even if we kill You-Know-Who, it doesn’t end there. Just because we win the war—the Order’s side, I mean-- there’s been so much death, destruction, and division. One change won’t end the fighting. There will still be people who are mad and hurting and scared, and they’re going to do crazy, reckless things, just like Sirius did. There are still going to be supporters on the other side who want revenge. So how does it end? When does it get better?”
Regulus wants to tell James it will get better immediately, that the world will just fix itself and everyone will be happy and on the same team again. But Regulus knows that isn’t true. Even at sixteen, Regulus knows that isn’t true.
James sighs again, “I want to fix it, I want to keep everyone from being angry and scared and reckless, but I can’t. I want to be there for them, but I’m angry too. I’m scared too, and I, I…” James trails off for a second, as if debating telling Regulus whatever terrible secret he’s mulling over.
Regulus silently wills him to, to reveal every secret he has so Regulus can tell him that the secrets are safe with him. That James is still big, and bold, and beautiful, no matter what.
James takes a deep breath before continuing. He says the next bit all in a rush, like he has to get it out of his mouth before his brain kicks in and stops him. “I have this sinking feeling, deep in my gut, that things are going to get a lot worse before they get better, and that no matter what I do, no matter how I try to protect them, in the end, I won’t be able to do anything useful at all. That I will give every piece of me that I have left, and it won’t do one lick of good.”
The words hang limply in the air. Full of a desolate hopelessness Regulus is only too familiar with.
And more than anything, Regulus wants to open his mouth and tell James that he’s wrong, that he’s doing a great job, that he is making a difference. He wants to tell James that he is the kindest, noblest, most generous person in the world, and he has done more good in his eighteen years than any adult Regulus knows.
But Regulus can’t speak. He can’t say anything at all.
James sighs and rubs a hand across his forehead. “Sorry, I don’t know what’s got me in such a dark mood. Must be the lack of sleep. I—I probably shouldn’t have told you all that. It’s not really your problem.” His face reddens a bit.
No, Regulus wants to say. Tell me, tell me all of your problems. I’ll take them too. They’ll be our problems. Together.
But Regulus can’t talk. He wants to, though. For the first time in weeks, Regulus wants to talk. But he can’t. He’s not sure how. It’s like his brain and his mouth aren’t connected anymore. He can’t get the words to go from his brain to his throat to his tongue to his lips.
So instead, he reaches out a hand and puts it on James’s knee.
James looks surprised but doesn’t pull away. He puts his own hand on top of Regulus’s and smiles.
“Thanks, Reg.” he says, squeezing the hand ever so slightly. “You’re a good listener.”
The moment is so sincere, so delicate, so real. Two people comforting each other in the middle of disaster, not telling each other it will be okay, but that they aren’t alone. That they are still here, and they are still real, and it isn’t over. It’s beautiful.
Regulus nearly vomits.