The Interruption
James Potter wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he was feeling directionless. Everyone around him seemed to have a purpose, a plan, a direction. Sirius had his inheritance which gave him time to focus on music and art and everything that he loved. Remus had his tutoring center with Lily, the one they purchased together after university. Peter worked out of his parents' bakery and was planning to take it over when they retired. Mary had her flower shop that Marlene started to work at when her last job fell through, and Dorcas - Marlene’s girlfriend – was a successful detective. But James was just James.
He was technically training to take over his father’s company in a few years, but his heart wasn’t in it, not like everyone else’s was in their work. It was a passionless plan. Everyone else genuinely enjoyed their work. But James had grown to dread the day he’d be handed the company.
Directionless.
He didn’t want to work every day until he died. He didn’t want to be stuck in that cycle.
James knew what he didn’t want, but he had no idea what he wanted.
Well, yes, he did, but that was impossible.
That boy had disappeared years ago. James didn’t want him to be dead, but there was no other explanation. He would’ve told James. He would’ve. So he must have disappeared and died. James had never told anyone about him, so there was no one he could talk to. He'd grown familiar – fond, even – of the grief weighing heavily in his chest.
He’d never fallen in love with anyone since. Like maybe, if James kept his heart true to him, he would find his way back. Like maybe, if James didn’t move on, the universe would listen to his desire and bring him home.
So, yes, James had something he wanted, it just wasn’t something that was ever going to come back to him.
But it wasn’t like James wasn’t busy and spent all his time moping.
No, he had a pretty full calendar. He went to his parents' house twice a week for dinner, and at least one of those times, Sirius and Remus would come along. He hung out with his friends at least once a week as well – they usually all kept Friday evenings clear so they could keep schedule conflicts as minimal as possible. He went to meetings with his dad for the company, keeping notes diligently in a notebook Mary got him. He had season tickets for the England football team, and he went during the season whenever he could, often dragging his friends along despite their protests.
He was staying busy, truly.
It was easiest to stay busy. It meant he didn’t have to slow down and think too much about his life. He also just genuinely enjoyed surrounding himself with people. James was an extrovert through and through, though he did have moments where it all became so overwhelming, and he needed a break from it all. Not that he ever told anyone. He would just disappear for a while and claim he was chatting it up with someone in the back.
He blasted music in his flat, never content to sit in silence with his thoughts. He called his friends and parents whenever he could. He was always in motion, constantly moving in an effort to stay distracted. Half-completed projects littered his place - legos he never quite finished, books stuck at the 75% mark, notebooks filled halfway until he grew tired of them.
But everything was fine. James was doing great. He had loving parents and amazing friends and a flat he adored. He wasn’t struggling for money, and he never had to worry if he would be able to pay the bills. His life was good. Really good.
He just couldn’t help but want more.
James was always hungry for the world. He grew up teeming with motivation and desires, overflowing with an incessant and burning ambition. And his ambition was quite literally burning – like a candle. The wax hot wax stung his fingertips as the wick grew shorter and shorter, threatening to melt him completely and leave him with nothing. But Regulus Black calmed the flame before it could ruin him, something he was endlessly grateful for yet oddly miffed about at the same time.
When James finally got to know Regulus – as in, got to really know him, more than just as a name and as a face – he was finally content to sit still. That same hunger was there, that same desire, but it was smaller, more direct. All he hungered for was Regulus. Not everything and anything, not for the world to chase after him as he so devotedly chased after it, but for Regulus and Regulus only.
Without Regulus, James would’ve been burnt out and destroyed in a self-induced frenzy.
But now there was no one to tend to the flame of his being, and he was left cold and shivering, the need to stay in motion revived with a newfound urgency.
Directionless.
Tonight, James’ parents invited him over for dinner like they did every week. James knew better than to invite Sirius and Remus tonight. Today was Walburga and Orion’s funeral, and Sirius would need some alone time to process everything before he would be willing to come over with him. James was happy to give him the space. He'd make sure to call in the morning, though, so he could hear about everything.
The Blacks were an insane group of people, and James loved hearing their family gossip whenever Sirius was willing to dish it out. There was just so much going on with all of them at any given moment, and all of it was unhinged or downright disturbing. What could he say? He liked keeping up with his old neighbors.
James was fairly certain he knew more about the Blacks than the tabloids did, something that thrilled him. It was like being in on an inside joke.
One fact he knew for certain none of the tabloids did that he was aware of was the powers of the children. Sirius told him when they were sixteen, and Regulus confirmed his own power for James when they were seventeen.
It was James who named Sirius’ dog form Padfoot. He'd been upset to hear that no one had thought to name the dog, so he took it upon himself to find the perfect name. Regulus always did think it was stupid. But he had an unwilling smile tugging at his lips whenever he said it, so James used the nickname more and more.
Even now, whenever he used the name the only thing that he could picture was Regulus’ smile. The way his lips curled up and revealed his slightly crooked front teeth, something he hated but James adored. The way the dimples under the corners of his lips appeared. The way he tried to bite down on his lower lip to keep from smiling only for it to almost never work, not with James, at least. He was never quite able to hide his joy from James.
James missed him so much.
“James!” his mum, Effie, called from the kitchen. “¡La cena está lista!”
“I’ll be down in a minute,” he called back, lifting his eyes from the boxes in front of him. He was in the process of sorting through the old things Effie had boxed up for him before he moved out of his old room. He left the scattered mess on his bed – though he’d moved out and had been moved out for years now, his parents kept his room for him. Though the decorations were toned down and the furniture had changed ever so slightly, it was still undeniably his, and no one else ever stayed there. It was the same with Sirius’ room.
James put his old pair of glasses back – really, what was he supposed to do with that now that he’d outgrown the prescription? – and stood up, popping his thumb. He went across the hall to quickly wash his hands before heading downstairs.
The smell of his mum’s cooking washed over him the second he got downstairs. When James was growing up, Effie was constantly baking or cooking. She always said the language of love was food, and though James lacked culinary skills, he didn’t lack tastebuds, so he was inclined to agree. Even years later, you could always find Effie in her beloved kitchen.
One year for Christmas, James got her an empty recipe book, and she’d been diligently writing down her recipes in it ever since.
When James walked into the kitchen, Effie fixed him with a warm smile.
“This smells good,” he complimented, leaning to kiss her on the cheek.
“It better,” Effie said, clucking her tongue as she shook her head. “Do you know how long this took to make, mi sol?”
“Too long?”
“Too long,” she agreed.
James’ father Monty laughed loudly at the comment as he entered the kitchen. “Don’t complain, corazón,” Monty adoringly teased. “You love it.” As he spoke, he moved across the kitchen, reaching his arms out to wrap his wife in them.
“You better hope I love it,” Effie snapped in the same tone, waving him off with her spatula as if she might hit him, which made both James and Monty grin. She frowned in an attempt to look threatening, but even with a makeshift weapon in her hand, Effie was incapable of looking anything but loving and happy.
James and Monty helped carry the bowls and platters over to the table. They were a little hot to the touch, so James hurried to put them down while Monty chuckled at his struggle.
Effie made them hold hands and pray over the meal, a habit from her childhood she was never quite able to break despite not following religion very closely. Per usual, Monty and James kept their eyes open, and the former sent the latter a wink in the middle of the prayer. Monty hadn’t grown up religious; Effie had, though she’d strayed away from it by the time she was sixteen. They never forced James into anything as he was growing up – religion, sports, nothing of the sort. He was raised surrounded by question marks and gentle encouragements to pursue anything he pleased, and he was filled with the understanding that they would support him through it all.
“Amen,” Effie concluded.
Monty and James echoed the sentiment, smiling serenely at her.
“Vamos a comer,” Monty declared, picking up his fork. Effie fixed her husband with a pleased look, her eyes soft with love in a way James always found endearing.
Logically, James knew love existed because he loved people so fiercely. But he also knew love – true, deep, and limitless love – existed because he witnessed it every morning at breakfast, heard it in every word his parents exchanged, and saw it in their synched movements. Fleamont and Euphemia Potter breathed at the same time, and their hearts beat to the same rhythm; James knew this was true because he could see their chests rising and falling in tandem and he could feel their pulses jumping beneath their skin to the tick of the same metronome whenever he was curled up in their arms.
Effie and Monty were everything James wanted to be, everything James had at one point in time. Everything he would never have again.
His smile turned a little sad, and a familiar ache settled between his ribs, slotting into the empty space Regulus left when he disappeared. Effie didn’t miss the change. She swallowed her bite and gestured at James with her fork, frowning with concern as she directed the conversation towards something that would distract him. “Is Sirius doing alright?”
Discussing Sirius was always the best way to pull James from a funk. The two of them had a raw and unbreakable connection, and any mention of the other boy was enough to make James smile at the thought of his black-haired, impulsive best friend.
“I hope so,” James answered. “But I’m not sure. He called me briefly, but I was busy so I couldn’t talk to him for too long. All I know is there were already insults flying a couple of hours in, and Bellatrix apparently got into it real hard with Andy before Sirius stepped in.”
“How is he coping with their deaths?” Monty asked.
James let out a puff of air. That was a really loaded question. Sirius swung so wildly between emotions, going from catatonic and shell-shocked to guiltlessly thrilled to immediately worrying that excitement made him an awful person. Or at least, that’s what Remus told him was happening. From Sirius’ account, everything was fine, and he was taking the news much better than he took the news about Regulus or even Cygnus. Although, Sirius’ perspective on himself was never to be completely trusted. He was either overly critical or criminally unaware of himself, and James believed the latter was what was happening currently. “This time is better,” James finally said, trusting his parents to understand the weight of the words.
As expected, they did. They knew Sirius just as well as James did, having practically raised him after Sirius ran away at sixteen. They were there through all his ups and downs, always there to help James hold him together.
Sirius, James knew, was incredibly grateful for their support. But James selfishly thought that he would never be as grateful as James himself was. Though James loved every version of Sirius and always would, there was something special about watching his best friend bloom under the gentle care of Effie and Monty. He was endlessly happy his parents had agreed to take Sirius in without a second thought because, without that, he would have never met the new, carefree, and endlessly loved version of Sirius that existed with James today. It's a different kind of gratitude, James thought. So maybe thankfulness couldn’t be measured, and maybe that selfish thought that James benefitted more was bred from a place of heavy concern and bone-deep care, but there was no denying the fact that James would never stop thanking his parents for bringing out the version of Sirius James so loved today.
They knew him because they built him up; they knew him because they helped him mold into himself. Which meant they understood exactly what James meant by “this time is better”.
In response, all Effie said was “I hope it brings him comfort, even if it sounds strange to say.”
“I don’t think it’s strange to be glad someone died,” Monty commented slowly.
“You don’t?” James asked curiously. He'd never heard his father say something like that, and he was interested to hear where this was going. Though Monty talked a lot, known to go long-winded rants about anything and everything, he rarely paused to think as he did so. His monologues – and they were truly monologues, if someone didn’t attempt to cut in – were entirely stream of consciousness, lacking refinement and proper thought because he tended to do his best thinking out loud. But this sounded like something Monty had rolled over in his mind for a while now.
“No, I don’t,” Monty said, shaking his head. “I, for one, am glad Walburga and Orion are dead and that they’ve finally joined Cygnus. I would’ve killed those bastards myself for what they did to Sirius and all the others if I’d been given the chance. I’d tell Sirius this myself, which is the only reason I’m saying it now. I can find solace in knowing they’re dead, and I can also be a good person. Those two things can go hand in hand.”
“That’s exactly how I feel,” James breathed out, comforted that his father had a similar thought process to him. Monty was a guiding light for James, and the confirmation that he was in the right for thinking like this calmed his nerves. “I just hope Sirius sees it that way as well.”
“All you have to do is be there for him, James,” Effie reminded him. “You can’t tell him what to think, but you can be there and assure him of the truth.”
This was a familiar conversation, anaphoric. James felt like he was just going around and around again like he was somehow back in his sixteen-year-old bones, body sore from a football game instead of a deep-seated sadness. Maybe this time he could have everything he wanted. Maybe this time he could do better.
The sharp knock on the door did nothing to tear him from this reverie. Instead, it displaced him even further. He was always sixteen.
“I’ll get the door,” Effie murmured to the room, a terrifying echo from the night Sirius first ran away.
"No, I will," James said. "Stay here and eat, Mum."
James was sixteen again. He was tripping through time, balancing cautiously on the timeline everyone insisted life was lived in, wheeling dangerously towards the genuine void that time truly is. It isn’t continuous, time; it is something to hop over, to duck through, to jump rope with. Time folds in on itself constantly, breaking and bending and warping.
Now, James was caught in one of the folds, simultaneously the James he’d once been and the James he would always and forevermore be.
It was terribly confusing.
And that confusing warp of time, the fluid ebbing and flowing against his body like the push and pull of the sea, was probably the reason James barely blinked at the sight at hand:
Sirius Black, tired and rumpled, dried blood crusted on his chin and staining his shirt; Regulus Black, not so much tired but rather drained, splatters of blood across his face like russet red freckles. Both boys breathed in synch, haggard and hitched and laborious.
In a second, it would all come rushing back to James. But for a minute, nothing felt out of sorts. This had always happened, and this would always happen. Nothing was out of the ordinary here – it was perfectly normal for boys to rise from the dead, for blood to be spilled in the wake of a revival, for Sirius to have thought to bring Regulus here.
And then, in the next moment, everything slipped out of place.
Regulus Black was the same boy he’d been when he’d disappeared. His sharp cheekbones contoured the planes of his face just like they always used to. His dark eyebrows arched over piercing gray eyes, round and framed by thick eyelashes that James always marveled at. His artfully carved nose led to hypnotically pouted lips led to a sharp chin he always kept raised, ready to defend himself or make a harsh quip should the need arise. And he looked painfully, devastatingly young. Like he hadn’t aged a day since James lost him. And he looked painfully, devastatingly beautiful. Like he hadn’t changed one bit since James lost him.
Something was wrong.
Boys just don’t rise from the dead. James knew that, rationally.
And boys just don’t rise from the dead looking the same age they were when they died.
James was broken. The world was broken. Time slipped from his fingertips in a dreamlike fluidity. And it all made sense. It was a dream. It had to be. There was no other logical explanation for it.
“Who is it, James?” Monty called from the dining room.
James couldn’t speak. It was like his tongue had swelled up in his mouth. His lips were numb, unable to move. His throat was tight.
Wake up, James commanded himself. This was a crueler dream than he’d ever had before, mostly because it felt so real. He could feel the breeze from outside tugging at his curls, kissing his skin with the cold promise of spring on the horizon. He could still taste his mom’s cooking on his tongue. He could still feel the faint stinging of his fingertips from the hot plates he’d handled. Dreams had never been this three-dimensional before. Dreams would never be this three-dimensional again.
“You’re not dreaming,” Regulus suddenly snapped, cracking James from his trance. Though the words were harsh, an underlying gentleness betrayed Regulus’ regret at breaking the news to him this way. But from the looks of it, they had no other choice. A sharp pang in James’ chest struck him between the ribs when he realized Regulus still knew him well enough to guess his thoughts. It was like it was still second nature for him to understand James in such a way.
“James,” Sirius snapped in the same tone, though his was underlined with urgency and desperation, “will you let us inside? Regulus is bleeding.”
“Oh, fuck, yeah,” James stumbled, tugging the door open more.
The two stumbled in, their feet dragging from exhaustion. James watched them carefully, fretfully, like a guardian angel with no true way to interfere.
How was Regulus alive right now?
The question burned in his mind, going around and around again until it blurred into something incoherent and morphed into only a feeling of pure confusion.
It was like the world had been pulled from beneath his feet and he was left scrambling to find footing. Everything he knew about his own existence was suddenly wrong. Because Regulus wasn’t dead, he was alive and bleeding, the ruby red dripping down his arm concrete proof that his heart was beating beneath his chest. Because Regulus and Sirius were together, not arguing, not yet, and somehow still alive despite being left at the mercy of each other. Because Sirius had thought to bring Regulus here, a redo of the mistake he’d made eight years ago, an attempt to smooth over the wrinkle in their past.
“Did you know he’d be here?” James heard Regulus hiss, the venom in his voice directed at Sirius despite the other boy misunderstanding the target for his cruelty.
“No, I didn’t know for sure,” Sirius snapped back. “Why? Do you have a fucking problem with it?”
Whatever Regulus' response was got lost in Effie’s gasp when she came to investigate what was holding James up at the door. “Are you boys alright?” she hurriedly demanded.
James took a deep breath before following after the other boys, walking in just in time to watch Effie rush to them. She took Sirius' face in her hands and gently probed at the smooth skin of his cheeks and jaw, checking if the blood on his chin had come from his nose or his mouth. “It’s not mine,” he quickly reassured her, which did not have the intended calming effect. Instead, she seemed more worried about the implication behind those words. James, too, grew concerned. He knew there'd been a fight between the Blacks earlier this morning - had one happened again? It looked too fresh to be left over. And Sirius said Regulus was bleeding.
“Did you break your nose?” Monty asked, joining them as well. His gaze lingered over Regulus, and he looked at James for clarification with his lips parted as if he was about to ask a question. With James being taller than Regulus, Monty was able to see him shake his head over the top of the other boy's head. Monty quickly dropped it at the cue, snapping his mouth shut.
“He says it’s not his,” Effie assured Monty, still turning Sirius’ face side to side in her hands. “And you?” she asked, finally releasing Sirius so she could turn to the other boy.
Regulus backed up as Effie reached towards him, stumbling into James who quickly put a hand on his arm to steady him. Regulus sucked in a breath like the touch had burned him, and James quickly withdrew his hand; it’d truly just been instinct, and guilt coursed through him. He had no way of knowing how Regulus felt right now. He didn’t want to make him even more uncomfortable than he already was.
Effie stopped reaching when she realized Regulus had backed away from her, the concerned line between her brows growing deeper.
James slipped past Regulus, pressing himself up against the wall to avoid touching him, and went over to stand by Sirius. They were always a united front, especially for things like this. Though James wasn’t exactly sure what this was.
“Regulus is bleeding,” Sirius informed Effie.
Regulus shot Sirius a betrayed glare, mouth twisted with indignation at being outed.
James turned and moved his mouth close to Sirius’ ear, murmuring, “What the fuck is going on?”
“I’ll tell you when Regulus isn’t losing any more blood,” the other boy assured him.
“It’s really fine,” Regulus assured Effie. “Do you have a sewing needle and some thread? That’s all I’ll need. Sirius didn’t have to bring me here. I don’t want to inconvenience you.”
“You’re doing nothing of the sort,” Effie said gently. She reached for Regulus' hands, content when he didn’t immediately pull away, and squeezed them gently. Slowly, she tugged him forward, walking backward. “Monty, grab my sewing basket, won’t you, dear?” she asked as she guided Regulus towards the living room.
The sleeve of his shirt did nothing to hide the growing red stain. His blood dripped down his arm and into his hand, but Effie didn’t blink as the russet red blood smeared over her own skin. She just kept a firm grip on Regulus as she pulled him over to the couch, encouraging him to sit.
Sirius and James followed closely, the former chewing at his lower lip and the latter staring blankly at Regulus, not sure what to think.
He was here and he was bleeding, but he was here.
He’s here.
And isn’t bleeding just another way to prove you’re alive? Isn't that just a bright red promise to the world that your heart still beats and your arteries still contract and your veins are still flowing with scarlet? Regulus told James that once when they were seventeen.
“It’s just a scratch,” he reassured James, tugging the material of his shorts back down to cover up his knee. It'd ridden up when they sat down, curling up together on a park bench, and James had softly pointed it out, concerned. The dim light of dusk and the lingering sunset illuminated them. The park was mostly empty save for a young mother and her daughter, the girl’s shriek of laughter a faded sound in the distance.
“Does it hurt?” James asked, pulling the hem of Regulus’ shorts back to reveal it once more. The scratch looked angry. It was red around the edges, and it covered nearly half of his kneecap. Regulus said he’d tripped and fell, but James wondered if he was pushed and just didn’t want him to worry. Or maybe he'd gotten it in a fight. James wasn't privy to the actions of the Black Academy, and he didn't like Regulus holding something like this back.
Regulus shrugged. “It bled a lot, at first, but it wasn’t worrisome. Bleeding is just a way to prove you’re still alive, right? Like, I’m here, and I exist because I can bleed. It hurt a little, but it was dull – just another reminder, I suppose.”
“I can think of other ways to prove you’re alive,” James leveled with him. “Loving. You love because you live. You are loved because you live. Why do you have to measure existence in pain, Reg? Why can’t life be proven by your capacity for love?”
“Because love is less common than pain,” Regulus reasoned.
James leaned over and pressed a quick, gentle kiss to the broken skin of Regulus' knee. “I love you, estrellita.”
“You are singular in that,” Regulus said, huffing.
James hummed. “No, I don’t think I am. I think you’ll find love is more common than pain. Especially when you invite it in.”
“Maybe you’re all the love I need,” Regulus said, looking away. James leaned in to press his lips to the soft skin behind Regulus’ ear, smiling into his skin as the other boy shivered beneath the touch. He kissed him there again, just as sweet and chaste, before dropping his head to rest against Regulus’ shoulder. Regulus reached up to card a hand through James’ curls, his nails scratching lightly at James' scalp. It felt nice. The entire night felt nice.
“You’re everything, Reg,” James whispered softly. “Eres mi estrella.”
“If you keep saying that I might start to believe you,” Regulus said, turning into James and shifting his legs to hide the scrape.
“Good.”
“You’re not going to let him stitch himself up, right?” Sirius' sharp demanding tone ripped James from his memories, bringing him from the warmth of the past into the frigidness of the present.
Monty, having found the sewing kit, handed it over to Effie, placing it on her lap before running off to grab the first aid kit.
“I’ll let him do whatever makes him feel most comfortable,” Effie said to Sirius, flashing a small smile at Regulus. “But I would prefer to do this for you, mijo.”
“Fine,” Regulus said quietly, presenting Effie with his forearm. The vulnerability in his face made it even more obvious that this was the same boy James had somehow outgrown and outlived. The same boy who’d left him behind just to turn around and have James be the one who’d done the leaving without ever having meant to. But what could a boy who was chained to the continuity of time ever expect from a boy who could move through it seamlessly?
As one, James and Sirius sunk into the couch across from Effie and Regulus, both sitting on the edge of the cushions. Sirius wrung his hands together, simultaneously distant and sharply aware of what was going on.
Something had happened. It was evident by the blood, but Sirus’ behavior was more than enough to suggest that something more than just a physical fight had occurred. There'd been a shift. James couldn’t tell if Sirius was quite aware of what that shift was, though. He seemed lost. And protective.
Monty came back with the kit as Effie began to roll up Regulus’ sleeve, exposing a deep line cut into his forearm, the wound straight and precise. She didn’t make a noise at the sight, but her eyes widened ever so slightly.
“Who did that?” James asked breathlessly.
A piercing look from Regulus prompted Sirius to simply shake his head, silent.
“This is a deep wound, Regulus,” Effie said. “Are you sure you don’t want to go to a professional? I could take you to a doctor. You wouldn’t have to pay for it, I promise, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“No doctors,” Regulus insisted.
“Alright,” Effie said, nodding. She pressed her lips together tightly as she assessed the wound, gently rotating Regulus’ arm so she could get a good look at it. “I have to clean it before I do anything else. It’s going to sting.”
“That’s fine.”
Monty crouched, knees cracking as he did so, and handed Effie the antiseptic bottle. She took it from him, hands shaking ever so slightly, something James only noticed because he knew she was less steady when she was nervous, so he'd been looking for it, subconsciously needing her to be undisturbed in order to be collected himself. But it was rare to see Euphemia Potter like this, and that threw him off even more. She was the steady one, the rock James clung to whenever he was adrift in the ocean. And she was nervous to be doing this. It made sense, of course. For everything James and Sirius had asked of her over the years, nothing was quite like this.
Effie cradled Regulus’ forearm gently, her warm brown skin making his already pale arm look impossibly paler. He didn’t even have the faint freckles he used to have decorating his arms. Wherever Regulus was for these past years, the sun hadn’t followed.
She held the bottle up and sprayed it. Once. Twice. Five times, until the clear solution dripped down his arm, following the same path the blood did, diluting it to a pink instead of a red. Regulus gritted his teeth together, sucking in a sharp breath through his nose at the sting of the antiseptic.
Like a dagger to the chest, James felt his pain like it was his own.
Effie used a towel Monty handed her to pat the wound dry, pressing it into the cut to soak up the blood. She held it tight for a minute, then took it off and repeated the cleaning process once more. Regulus didn’t grimace as much, which she must have taken to be a good sign because she didn’t spray it again.
Then came the hard part.
Monty tried to thread the needle (sterilized and fresh, so it would be sharper), but his eyesight wasn’t great. He handed it to Sirius, who fared much better and managed to get the thread through on the first try. The only thread they had that would be strong enough was white, so the blood would easily show.
James shuddered, imagining the feel of the thread sliding through his skin and tugging harshly to hold the wound together. He'd gotten stitches once, but they were professionally done and he was numbed up, but even then, he’d nearly thrown up at the sight. It was a stupid injury from childhood – he'd been trying to open a box with a new pocketknife Monty got him but managed to slice right into the meat of his palm, right where his thumb connected to his wrist. The nurses had been kind, at least. James knew Sirius had gotten stitches several times, one of the times under the care of the Potters, but he wasn’t so certain who or where he’d gotten them from. Regulus had gotten stitched together three times total, and he had a faint white scar only an inch long curving out from his septum from where one round of stitches had failed to properly heal the wound. Again, James wasn’t so sure if it had been a doctor or Walburga with a hope and a dream who’d fixed him up. There would be no medical professional here tonight, so that seemed to be the theme for the two boys.
Effie took the needle from Sirius.
“Pinch the cut together,” she directed Monty, who quickly did as he was told.
As Effie was about to pierce his skin, Regulus looked up, fixing Sirius and James with an expression of panic and pain. James’ heart clenched.
He slipped from the couch and moved to sit by Regulus, offering out his palm. “Squeeze it, if you want,” he offered. An olive branch. An anchor in the harrowing storm of whatever the fuck was happening. When Regulus took his hand, everything boiled down to the realization that yes, Regulus was in fact here and not just a hallucination.
When Effie pushed the needle in, Regulus squeezed James’ hand harshly, nearly crushing the bones. James winced but said nothing, looking away from the scene in front of him that was causing Regulus such pain.
Instead, he looked at Sirius, trusting the other to convey anything important James needed to know through his facial expressions. He watched as Sirius worried at his lower lip, and he watched as Sirius closed his eyes tightly for a brief moment to settle himself, and he watched as Sirius deflated when it was done.
Regulus relaxed his grip slowly and feeling came back to James’ hand just as gradually. He flexed his fingers to work blood back through them.
And somehow, impossibly, the job was still not quite done.
Effie placed butterfly bandages over the edges of the cut, further keeping the wound together. She then took a roll of gauze and wrapped his forearm with it. Small pinpricks of blood peppered the white bandage, but it wasn’t anything worrisome, not compared to before.
“There,” Effie said, patting the back of Regulus’ hand. “I won’t ask questions. I don’t expect to know everything. But I want to make sure you understand that you can come to me with any problems you are having. I will never, ever involve anyone who you don’t want to be involved in your business. No doctors, no investigators, nothing of the sort. Now, let’s wrap this in cellophane so you can take a nice shower before dinner. I’ll leave some of James or Sirius’ old clothes out for you.”
Effie gently pulled Regulus to his feet, and the two of them disappeared around the corner as she brought him over to the kitchen.
Monty stood slowly, knees cracking once more. “I’m too old for this,” he muttered, glancing over at Sirius to make sure the joke cut through his shock.
It did.
“You’re withering away in front of us,” Sirius teased.
“Practically dust,” Monty agreed, shaking his head. He patted James on the head before following his wife into the kitchen.
James rose from his place on the floor, moving to join Sirius on the couch once more. They were silent, side by side, just taking comfort in each other’s company and the press of their knees together. James and Sirius never needed to talk – they were more than content to just sit with each other, so aware of how one another functioned that they never needed to ask questions.
“Who cut him?” James asked once more. He was surprisingly calm, all things considered. Maybe his brain had broken the second his reality had shattered. He was starting to think that might have been the case.
“Crazy motherfucker did that to himself,” Sirius murmured, voice low so no one else would hear. Suddenly, his voice grew thick from unshed tears as he said, “I don’t know, James. Something isn’t right. There was a fucking tracker. The soldiers, I guess – I'm not sure what they were – found him because they were tracking him, and he figured it out, so he cut his arm open right then and there. He flushed the pill-sized thing down the sink. I'm so confused, James.”
There was a lot to unpack there, some of which he knew Sirius wasn’t in the right place to mull over at the moment.
“We’ll talk to him,” he promised. “We’ll figure it out, Pads.”
“Okay,” Sirius whispered, ever so trusting of James.
“Come on,” James encouraged. “Let’s wash you up. You’re covered in blood. Mum can take care of Regulus for now, so you don’t have to worry about him.”
Sirius allowed James to herd him up the stairs and into his bathroom. He grabbed a towel from the closet for him, as well as a change of clothes from Sirius’ closet while the water warmed up. He put everything inside the bathroom before slipping out so Sirius could shower and then he headed towards his room, immediately reaching for the red dial phone on his nightstand.
James dialed the number from memory, holding the phone up to his ear as he sat on the edge of his bed. It took two rings before Remus picked the phone up.
“Is he with you?” he immediately asked.
“Yeah, he’s here, Rem,” James assured him. “We’re at my parents' house. Him and. . . and Regulus are here.” As he spoke, James began throwing the stuff scattered across his bed back into the box, making room. He was hasty with it, but he couldn't find it in himself to worry that something might break.
Remus blew out his breath and it crackled in James’ ear. “Good, so you know about that.”
“When did that happen?”
“I don’t know,” Remus said, and James imagined he was shrugging. “I got a call before the funeral started, though, when Sirius told me. So sometimes around then. I guess he looks—”
“Eighteen,” James finished. “Like he hasn’t aged a day.”
Remus paused. “I’m sure that’s difficult for you, James.”
The words sent a chill through his spine. He'd never told anyone. He'd never told anyone. But what else could those words possibly mean? Could Remus have known? Did that mean Sirius knew?
“Yeah, they’re difficult together,” James said a beat too late, trying to move the conversation away from where he feared it was veering towards.
Remus took the bait, and James nearly sagged with relief. “I’d imagine,” he murmured. Maybe that’s what he’d meant all along. Maybe there was no implication behind those words, and maybe James hadn’t ruined everything by accidentally telling someone when Regulus was always so insistent they stayed quiet about their relationship. “Where’s Sirius right now?” Remus continued.
“The shower,” James answered, dragging his hand down his face, suddenly exhausted despite it not even being six yet. He was still hungry, too, his dinner having been interrupted before he could properly get his fill. “He showed up bloody. Both him and Regulus.”
“What?” Remus demanded, voice sharp over the phone. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“Because I’m waiting for an explanation myself. Sirius wasn’t hurt, so I can’t even begin to imagine what happened. But Regulus sliced his forearm open purposefully, I guess? Sirius said something about a tracker. I’m not sure. I need to talk to them when they’re not covered in someone or something else’s blood.”
“You better tell me, James, or I swear to God, I’ll knock on your door and get the answers myself. I’ll be worried sick until I’m sure everything’s alright.”
“I get it,” James assured him, “because that’s exactly how I feel right now. You could come over, but I’m not so sure Regulus would appreciate it. He seems flighty right now. Barely even wanted my mum to help him out.”
“I’ll give them space,” Remus murmured. “But I’ll be there first thing in the morning. Don’t let Sirius leave; make him spend the night.”
“Okay.”
“Tell Sirius to call me before he goes to bed.”
“Make sure you sleep, Rem,” James told the boy on the other end.
“I will when I’ve heard he’s okay from his own mouth.”
“Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Bye, James,” Remus said, hanging up the phone.
James hung the phone up, staring at the faint shine of his reflection in the ruby-red paint. He took a deep breath, holding the air in his lungs for a minute before blowing it out.
His door swung open without a knock, and then Sirius was standing in the doorway, his hair wet and dripping onto the faded fabric of his old shirt. He pushed the door back closed then padded across the room and flopped onto James’ comforter, curling up at the foot of the bed like the dog he could so easily shift into.
“That was fast,” James commented lightly.
Sirius shrugged. “Didn’t feel like wasting time there. Regulus always took quick showers. I need to interrogate the son of a bitch the second he’s done.”
“Can I talk to him with you?”
“Yeah,” Sirius said. “But wait. What the hell did you ever do to him that made him mad you were here? As if this isn’t literally your parents’ home. Did you do something?” Sirius’ eyes flashed dangerously like he was willing to forgo years upon years of kinship if James had dared to hurt Regulus somehow.
“I don’t know,” James said honestly. He'd done nothing but love Regulus. And then Regulus disappeared on him. James hadn’t done anything wrong at all, not that he was aware of, besides loving the boy with a penchant for leaving.
“It’s weird,” Sirius agreed. “You’ve never really talked to him, even.”
Oh, and how wrong that was.
James, who didn’t like lying, swallowed harshly and simply nodded, not trusting his ability to lie out loud.
Sirius, too caught up in his confusions regarding Regulus, forged on. “He’s been weird since he showed up. I just need him to talk to me. I want to understand. I want to help, too, if I can. Something – someone, I think – is after him.”
Something in James’ chest ached – a new ache, not grief or loss, but concern.
“Let’s ask him,” James murmured.
As if on cue, a faint knock came on the door.
“Yeah?” Sirius called.
Regulus opened the door cautiously. He was dressed in one of James’ old shirts, the hemline landing halfway down his thighs. Large sweatpants that also used to belong to James pooled around his ankles, and he’d rolled them up to keep them from dragging on the door. His hair was towel-dried and curly, falling into his eyes.
He looked self-conscious, and his eyes widened when he saw James.
“I thought this was Sirius’ room,” he said tonelessly.
“Well, I’m in here, so. Come here,” Sirius said.
Cautiously, Regulus came forward, brandishing his forearm. “I can’t get the cellophane off,” he mumbled. “Mrs. Potter taped it up too well.”
Sirius gently pried the plastic off, careful not to disrupt the bandages and gauze underneath. The three of them were silent while he worked. Regulus purposefully avoided James’ eyes.
When the plastic wrap was off, Regulus turned around, making to leave, but Sirius grabbed his wrist. “You have to explain some things, Reggie. Je veux t'aider.”
Regulus paused.
“Please,” James said, despite not understanding the rapid French.
And that’s what got him to turn around.
“Fine,” he said, arms crossed. “But one condition.”
“Anything,” Sirius said quickly.
“You have to believe me.”
“Of course, we’ll believe you,” James breathed out.
Regulus looked at him sharply. Then, slowly, he lowered himself to the ground, looping his arms around his legs and propping his chin on his knees. He nodded when he was ready, fixing them both with an empty gaze, his walls built up high around him.
“Whenever you’re ready,” Sirius prompted.
Regulus sucked in a breath, fortifying himself. “When I disappeared, it was an accident. I hadn’t meant to do it. I went to the future.”
James’ eyes widened. The future?
And, oh, it’d been an accident.
He hadn’t meant to leave. He hadn’t meant to leave. That was just devastating to James. Years of heartache, all because of a simple accident that might’ve never happened if something had changed about that day. He wanted to cry. He wanted to laugh. Maybe both at once.
An accident.
It'd been an accident that had torn everything James loved away from him. How fucking cruel.
“Do you know what I found?” Regulus asked in a broken whisper, eyes startlingly blank. “When I went to the future, do you know what I saw?”
Sirius and James shook their heads.
And then Regulus uttered the most terrifying word James had ever heard: “Nothing.”
“Nothing?” Sirius and James demanded at the same time, leaning forward.
“Nothing,” Regulus repeated. “Everything was ruined. Buildings had collapsed and were just rubble by the time I got there. The sky was orange. Dust choked me. And there was nobody there. I was all alone. It was so silent. All the music was gone."
“What the fuck happened?” Sirius demanded.
Regulus looked up at him, face void of emotions as if he’d been asking that question for a long time. “The world ends in ten days,” he said, each word like a nail in James’ coffin. “I have ten days to figure out the answer to that very question.”
"You're fucking kidding."
"I'm not," Regulus said, shaking his head.
"No, you have to be taking the piss right now," Sirius insisted. "Ten days? Ten days and you didn't think to say anything?"
"What would I have said, Sirius?" Regulus snapped. "You promised you'd believe me. You said you would. This is why I didn't want to tell you. I knew you'd freak out and try and pretend nothing was happening."
"Jesus, Reg, I believe you," Sirius said angrily. "You just didn't think to say anything sooner?"
"Do we really have ten days before everyone dies?" James asked, his voice steady somehow.
Regulus nodded, the sadness he'd been holding finally breaking through once he looked at James. "I'm going to fix it," he promised. "I've been trying to figure out how to fix it for years now. I'm going to do something."
"Years?" Sirius repeated. "How long were you there?"
Regulus stayed silent.
"Shit, Reggie, are you sure? I mean, going to the future might've fucked with your head. Cygnus and Orion were always cautious of pushing you to use your powers; they made it sound like some really weird things could happen if you weren't properly prepared. Are you sure there was no one else there?" Sirius asked.
"If you're going to believe me, fucking commit to it," Regulus snarled.
"We're not doubting you," James quickly assured him, pointedly ignoring Sirius' incredulous look that suggested otherwise. "He's just in shock. Can you blame him? It's a lot to understand."
"Whatever."
"Boys!" Monty called up the stairs.
"Dinner must be reheated," James muttered.
"I'm not hungry," Regulus said, shaking his head. He stood up, hooking one ankle around his calf and popping it, a habit he'd carried with him ever since James knew him. "I'm going to bed. Tell Mrs. Potter 'thank you' for me."
"Reg," Sirius said, making him stop in his tracks. "We'll figure it out, okay? We can solve it together."
"The end of the world isn't a puzzle or a game," Regulus snapped. "I've been looking at it like that for years now to no avail. I have to find a different way."
"Then we will, Regulus," James insisted. "You're not alone anymore."
Regulus didn't reply. He just slipped through the doorway and disappeared down the hall, leaving James once again.