Velvet Bond

End of may 1977,

Regulus turned his head and looked at James as he was consumed by the flames. He had that look on his face—the one that meant trouble, the same one Regulus had seen a few hours ago when James was with Lily. So really, it could only mean a few things. He already knew. He had been cast aside.
“Lily,” he said, voice dry as parchment.

Because, of course. Of course James had to choose her. He was not a stupid, he could see everything on her that he was not.
Regulus could feel the words curdling on his tongue, bitter and biting. He had seen this ending a mile away, had felt it creeping up on him like a slow, inevitable tide. James Potter and Lily Evans, a story so obvious it could have written itself.

He should have expected it. He had expected it.

And yet, there was something sharp in his chest, something splintering in a way he hadn’t quite prepared for.
Regulus didn’t flinch, didn’t let his expression shift, but the words still left his mouth before he could stop them.

“Right. I should have known you’d come to rub it in.” He tilted his head, a smirk curling at his lips, too sharp to be anything but defensive. “Come to tell me how she said yes, how it was always meant to be her?”

It wasn’t unreasonable. James had spent years orbiting Lily like the sun rose and set in her eyes. Regulus had never fooled himself into thinking that would change.

James furrowed his brows, blinking like Regulus had just spoken in a foreign language.

“I- what?”

Regulus let out a short, humorless laugh. “You don’t have to explain. I’m not an idiot, Potter. It was always her. You chased her for years. So just say whatever it is you came to say and-”

“No, no, Reg. We’re not exclusive,” James interrupted, voice steady.

Regulus froze.
His mouth opened, but no words came out. Because- what?

James wasn’t confirming it. Wasn’t standing there looking smug and insufferable, telling Regulus how he and Lily were finally together, how he’d grown up and realized she was the only thing he ever wanted.

He wasn’t saying her name at all.

“We talked about that in general,” James continued, like he wasn’t detonating a bomb in the middle of Regulus’ already crumbling sense of reality. “And also regarding you.”

Regulus’ stomach twisted violently, something hot and unbearable curling up his spine.
This wasn’t how this conversation was supposed to go.
He should have been prepared for this moment. He had been prepared. He was supposed to be standing here, perfectly composed, making some dry remark before turning away and walking off like it didn’t matter.

But instead—
Instead, James was still looking at him. Not at Lily. At him.

And then James took a deep breath, and Regulus felt his pulse hammer against his ribs in warning.
“I don’t want you to get over me. She doesn't either."

Regulus inhaled sharply, head suddenly light.

I want to kiss you. I am not willing to lose you. I think about it with you. I don’t want you to get over me. I want you, you and Lily. Both.
How the fuck was he supposed to prepare for a sentence like that?

Half of his life had been built around words that cut him open, words that haunted him long after they were said. He had four new ones to add to the list.

“You don’t have to say anything tonight,” James continued, still looking at him like he meant it, like he wasn’t about to take it back. “I’ll wait, but I want you to know where I stand.”

Regulus clenched his fists, every instinct in him screaming to run.

James had always been too much. Too trusting. Too good. And now he was looking at Regulus like he wasn’t a mistake waiting to happen.
“We like you, Regulus. And right now, I really want to kiss you.”
James didn't move, didn't put any of his words into action. Just sat there, waiting for Regulus to react or run away or do whatever. Didn't lean in for the kiss he claimed he wanted, didn't force Regulus to make a decision now.

Regulus let out a short, sharp laugh, barely recognizing the sound of it.
"James" Regulus said, helpless and helplessly, wanting to make a decision.
James, his James, was still looking right at him. Seeing him.
He wanted. Wanted to kiss Neil. Wanted to know more about what I like you meant. Wanted, wanted, wanted.
“You’re a fucking idiot,” he muttered, shaking his head.

James didn’t move. Didn’t react. Didn’t push.
“Yeah,” he agreed, and it should have been funny, but it wasn’t.

It wasn’t.

Regulus wanted. Fuck, he wanted.

Then it hit him like a fucking truck: he could. He could kiss James now. It was up to him. Only him.

Regulus was nothing if not a fool- shooting for the moon again and again, no matter how many times he ended up riddled with bullets instead.
"I want to kiss you too." He whispered, hoping it was loud enough for James to hear, but he got the confirmation soon enough.

A brilliant smile lit up James’ face, a dizzying mix of excitement and surprise. He dropped his hands and sat on them (fuck).
“Yes, Regulus, fuck, yes,” he said, a little breathless.

Regulus leaned forward and buried one hand in James’ soft hair. It wasn’t the first time he’d touched it, but from the way the situation changed it might as well have been. He pulled James closer until their noses almost touched and got lost in the honey brown of James’ eyes. Fuck- He was so incredibly beautiful.
Regulus didn't deserve any of this.
But he tried to bury that voice deep into his mind, deep, deep, deep, because he couldn't ruin that moment, he wanted it engraved into his mind, into his brain.

Because James had asked Regulus to kiss him.
So Regulus did. And did it again, and again.

Their hands intertwined as if they had always been meant to, and in an instant, the world shrank to that shared breath, to that kiss that erupted between them with the passion of those who know they never want to let go. Regulus, usually distant and cold like a stone beneath the winter sky, melted in the warmth of James' presence like the first ray of sunlight on a snow-covered meadow, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

And Regulus would carry that kiss with him always, as if it were the heartbeat of his very being, pulsing quietly beneath the surface, a secret woven into the fabric of his soul, forever the quiet engine driving him forward.

James chewed on the end of his quill, staring at the blank parchment in front of him like it might magically write itself if he waited long enough.

This was stupid.
Like- stupid, stupid.

Stupid, reckless, probably dangerous—but he needed an excuse. Something normal, something that didn’t sound like I need to see you because I think about you too much or I want to hear your voice again because I don’t know when that became a problem.

It had to be something practical. Logical. A reason that made sense.
James scowled at the page.

Regulus,

He paused, then scratched it out. Too direct. Too obvious.
Maybe he could start with a question. Something about the Horcruxes- though the thought made his stomach churn.

Or maybe he could ask him about what Barty had meant the other night, He probably hasn’t slept since it happened . The words hadn’t left James’ mind since. Since what happened?

He pressed the quill to the page again, writing without thinking.
What did Barty mean the other night?
There. That was normal. That was just war business. Just a question. Just something he needed to know.

It had nothing to do with the way his stomach twisted whenever Regulus left him waiting again for the next time, or the way he kept catching himself searching for him in crowded rooms, or the fact that- He wasn’t making any sense.
Really. He had been fine without Regulus for years, had moved on, was perfectly capable of living his life without him. Yet here he was. He’d seen Regulus only three times in the past three years, but fuck- his feelings came rushing back as if he were a teenager experiencing his first crush. It was insane, maddening, overwhelming- drowning him in a tidal wave of confusion and- god, infuriating.
James couldn’t comprehend Regulus anymore.
He couldn’t even begin to understand him, and that alone was so destabilizing that James had no idea how to even process it.

And then there was the fact that Regulus had betrayed him- them- everyone.
So he should just toss that damn letter in the bin and forget. Forget everything.
Fuck off- but what if Regulus had saved them?
He was the traitor first. He had turned his back on everything they believed in, everything they had built together. He had thrown it all away, shattered whatever they once shared. He-

James was so focused on the letter in front of him that he didn’t hear her enter.

“Tell me I’m not the last person to find out about this.”
James nearly fell out of his chair.
He scrambled to cover the parchment with his arm, but it was too late.
“Bloody hell, Evans-” He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. “You trying to give me a heart attack?”

Lily Evans was already leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, green eyes sharp and knowing.
She ignored him, nodding toward the half-written letter on the desk.
“So. Writing to Regulus, are we?” She tilted her head. “Go on,” she said, voice far too casual. “I’d love to hear this explanation.”

James hesitated. He had no idea how she felt about this. Regulus had once been important to her- he knew that. But it had been years, and James wasn’t exactly keen on getting hexed over it.

James opened his mouth. Closed it.
He cleared his throat. “Uh. Yeah.”

Lily tilted her head. “And when exactly were you planning to mention this to me?”

James groaned, rubbing his face, then swallowed. “Lily- ti's- it's complicated-"

“Oh, is it?” she shot back, voice sickly sweet. “And here I thought I was an important part of this little friend group. Turns out, I’m just the last to know everything.”

James sighed. He was so not winning this one.

“No, really, please. I’m dying to know what possible reason you have for sending heartfelt correspondence to someone who, last time I checked, was a Death Eater.”

James winced, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I would have told you sooner, but I’ve been a little busy trying to break the news to Sirius without him losing his damn mind.”

Lily scoffed. “Right. Because telling me was such an impossible task.”

James shot her a look before rubbing his face. “It’s not just that Regulus is-It’s—Merlin, where do I even start?”

“No, no, don’t stop now, Potter.” Lily smiled, but it wasn’t a nice one. “Please, enlighten me. What exactly are you writing to Regulus Black about? Politics? The weather? Perhaps a dramatic confession of undying love?”

James clenched his jaw. “He’s helping us, Lily.”
That stopped her.
She blinked, thrown off for a fraction of a second before she recovered. “Helping us? You mean actively betraying the people he’s fought for?”

James exhaled. “Yes.”
Lily’s smile vanished.

And just like that, the teasing was gone.
She looked at him for a long moment, and James felt the shift.
This wasn’t just confusion anymore.

This was hurt.

“…You’re serious,” she said, but there was no disbelief in her voice. Only something tired.

James hesitated. “Yeah.”

Lily inhaled sharply, stepping back. “And you didn’t tell me.”

James clenched his fists. “I wanted to. But—”

“But what, James?” Lily’s voice cracked, and that was somehow worse than the sarcasm. “You didn’t think I deserved to know? That I wouldn’t care?”

“Of course you care,” James said immediately. “That’s—That’s exactly why I didn’t tell you.”

Lily let out a short, bitter laugh. “Oh. Right. Because I wouldn’t understand.”

“No,” James said, frustrated. “Because you would. Because I know what he meant to you, and I-”

“Don’t,” Lily cut in. “Don’t talk like you know what I feel about Regulus.”

James shut his mouth.

Lily looked away, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.
There was silence for a moment.
Then-

“Is he okay?”

James blinked. “What?”

Lily exhaled, like she hated asking. “Regulus. Is he… okay?*”

James hesitated. “He’s alive.”

Lily let out another laugh, quiet this time. “That’s something, at least.”

James studied her carefully. “You’re not surprised.”

Lily gave him a look. “James. He’s Regulus. Of course he was going to throw himself into something impossible and nearly get himself killed doing it.”

James exhaled. “Yeah.”

Lily shook her head, rubbing at her temple. “I don’t-I don’t even know how to process this right now.”

James hesitated. “Lily-”

“No,” she cut him off. “Just- Just let me be pissed for a second, okay?”

James nodded.
Another silence stretched between them.

Then-

“Do you still love him?”

James’ breath caught.
He looked up, startled, but Lily’s expression was unreadable.
James swallowed. “Lily-”

“James.”

He hesitated.

Then, finally-
“…I don’t know. I didn't think about him since a lot. I- I- or well, maybe I never stopped. But Lily- he- he betrayed us he- I don't know, but I can't just forget and live happily. He has broken my trust. My heart with it.”

Lily let out a breath. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

James ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t want you to find out like this.i'm sorry Lily, I know that's it's shocking considering-”

“How exactly were you planning on telling me?” Lily arched an eyebrow.
She smirked, shaking her head. “God, I should’ve known.”

James frowned. “What?”

Lily gestured at him. “You and your stupid, noble heart. I swear, if someone asked you to walk through fire, you’d already be running.”

James rolled his eyes. “That’s rich coming from you.”

Lily huffed a laugh. “Yeah. I guess it is.”

There was a pause.

Then, Lily sighed. “Alright.”

James tensed. “Alright?”

“Yes, alright.” She gave him a look. “He’s an idiot, but he’s our idiot.”

James exhaled, the tension in his chest finally unraveling.
James shot her a look before leaning back in his chair. “It’s not just that Regulus is- Lily. It’s- Merlin, where do I even start?” He exhaled sharply. “He saved Harry.”

Lily’s expression shifted immediately, something sharper behind those green eyes. “Are- are you sure? That it was him?” Because James knew the weight of those words. He understood that, to everyone else, it might have seemed like a Death Eater choosing the right path, but to them, it was something entirely different- it was a reunion. Someone who had been lost, now returned. A loved one. A truly loved one.

“Harry and Remus,” James continued. “The attack, he saved even us if you count. And Remus- he got him out of there. If he hadn’t been there…” He trailed off, unwilling to finish that sentence.

Lily’s arms tightened across her chest, her mind racing. “And- and then what? He just decided to show up and play hero?” James knew. Lily was just too smart to not know that something happened.

James hesitated. “He’s been working against You-Know-Who for a long time, Lily. Hunting down something called Horcruxes- dark magic, really bad stuff. Apparently, they’re the reason that bastard can't die.”

Lily frowned, stepping closer. “Horcruxes?”

James nodded. “Yeah. Basically, they’re objects that contain pieces of his soul. You destroy them, you destroy him. That’s why he didn’t die. He had… backups.” His stomach twisted at the thought. “Regulus has been researching them, and now we know that Voldemort is from—”

Before he could finish, the door slammed open.
Remus burst in, grinning, his face alight with excitement.

“I found something,” he announced, completely ignoring James’ exasperated groan. “About the Gaunt family, the one your mother was talking about during new years Eve.”

James blinked. “What?”

Lily straightened. “The Gaunts?”

Remus nodded, practically buzzing with energy. “Euphemia mentioned them and it stuck with me, when I was asking about old pureblood families. And then she said they were practically extinct, but they used to be important, tied to the Peverells and all that.” He glanced between them.

James frowned, still catching up. “Yes. My mother said that. You-Know-Who is from that family. He's a Gaunt.”

Remus nodded. “But it's not his surname. Because it comes from his mother, Merope Gaunt- and she was the last of the line.”

Lily exhaled. “She died right after giving birth. I remember someone telling this to me, maybe-" she stopped, looking at the ceiling. "Maybe it was Regulus, whenever he talked about his family tree or something like that." Remus looked straight at her. It was a “no comment” topic ever since Sirius had returned home. They had both tried to avoid it, but as the hours dragged on, the silence between them grew heavier. The topic that had been left unspoken loomed over them, and with Regulus’ presence now so crucial, it felt harder to ignore.

James leaned forward, ignoring that for now. “And if Voldemort’s been using objects that meant something to him-”

“Then at least one of his Horcruxes has to be connected to his past,” Lily finished, her voice quieter now. "So to the Gaunt's family. Where did they live? Maybe something related to his mother? Some- don't know- diary? Ring? Necklace? What else could it be? It must be something little and manageable, something meaningful."

A silence settled over them, heavy with realization.
James glanced at the letter still sitting on his desk, his mind whirling. For the first time, he wasn’t just writing to Regulus for answers.

He was writing because they needed him.

The diary felt so wrong in his hands.

Regulus ran his fingers along the worn leather cover, his touch careful, measured. The ink on the pages moved in a way ink shouldn’t- too smooth, too alive, bleeding into the parchment like a whisper from something that shouldn’t exist. Every so often, words flickered into being, only to disappear the moment he tried to grasp them.

He exhaled slowly, dragging his gaze across the slanted handwriting, searching for something—anything—that could give him the answers he needed.

What did you do, Riddle?

He already knew this book was a Horcrux. Knew what it was, what it contained. A piece of a man who run crazy long ago. A sliver of Voldemort’s soul, anchored to ink and paper, filled with all the knowledge and ambition of the boy he had once been. Filled with his teenager memories, of a past made of ambition and sacrifice.

But there was something else here.

Something missing.

Something off.

Regulus had read every account he could find of Tom Riddle’s years at Hogwarts, every scrap of information hidden in the archives of the library, every whispered rumor passed between those old enough to remember him. He had memorized the story. The official story.

A brilliant, charming boy. A prodigy. The pride of Slytherin House.
And the one who had found the truth behind the Chamber of Secrets. Where was it?

Regulus’ fingers tightened slightly on the edges of the diary as his mind turned back to that day in Slughorn’s office, last month, when he first heard about how crazy Riddle had been and how many Horcruxes he had made. And before that, when Regulus first discovered them while reading in a section of the Restricted Section.

“Dark magic, my boy. The darkest. You must understand—splitting one’s soul, it’s unnatural. Unthinkable.”

“Then why do it?” Regulus had asked, his voice careful, controlled.

Slughorn had sighed, shaking his head. “Because it grants a form of immortality, at a terrible, terrible price. But not many would dare attempt such a thing. You see, creating even one Horcrux is an abomination. It is said that to willingly destroy a part of your own soul is a crime against magic itself.”

One Horcrux was an abomination.
And Tom Riddle had made more than one.
Regulus exhaled, flipping another page. He had expected the diary to feel powerful, but this- it was like holding something half-alive. A part of Voldemort still lingered here, watching, waiting.

And that was what bothered him.
It was a weapon. Something Regulus could use to understand more, to see the past, to- to know things. Writing in that diary almost made him believe in another reality, and Regulus knew all too well how dangerous that game was. Because he could believe it, he could fall under its influence, he could- he could- fuck- he could become his puppet. He could lose his mind in that diary.

And that brought him back to the question that had been gnawing at him ever since he had first looked into the Chamber of Secrets.

Myrtle Warren.

A Muggle-born. A girl no one had cared about.

Tom Riddle had been a rising star at Hogwarts. He had been clever, admired, destined for greatness. And yet, despite everything- despite his hatred for Muggle-borns, despite his ambition, despite the fact that he had never cared for anyone but himself- he had still gone out of his way to investigate her death.
He had framed Hagrid for it. Had made sure the school knew it had been the work of the monster lurking in the Chamber.

But why?
Why had Myrtle’s death mattered enough for him to tie his fate to it? Who did really kill her? Was it Riddle? Was he already a mad mass murderer? Why Hagrid? Why didn't everyone question it?

Regulus frowned, flipping through another page, searching for something- anything- that would explain it.

“Reg, are you planning to stare that thing to death, or are we actually going to do something useful today?” Regulus blinked, dragged abruptly from his thoughts.

Barty.

Standing near the desk, arms crossed, expression pulled into something exasperated and unimpressed, he was done with Regulus' behavior and he couldn't really blame him, he had been a completely dick to Bart in the past days, hiding with his misery and avoiding him- but he couldn't- he really couldn't face anything related to the past few days and meeting his brother.

Regulus sighed, shutting the diary. When Barty was like this—picky and moody—there was nothing to do but face him. “You have the patience of a child.”

Barty smirked. “And you have the attention span of a Ravenclaw.” He leaned against the desk, cocking his head slightly. “Come on, Regulus. You’ve been at this for hours. If there were any grand revelations hidden in that little murder book, you’d have found them by now.”

Regulus turned slightly, fingers tapping against the cover. “There’s something I’m missing.”

Barty groaned. “Oh, for Merlin’s- Regulus, you’re always missing something. You get stuck on these little details that don’t matter and spiral into some grand theory that-shockingly- never actually helps us kill Voldemort.” He gestured to the diary with a wave of his hand. “Let me guess, you’re obsessing over some insignificant nonsense instead of focusing on the part where we need to destroy that thing?”

Regulus narrowed his eyes. “Insignificant nonsense?”

“Yes,” Barty said flatly. “Whatever ridiculous theory you’re chasing right now- what is it this time?”

Regulus exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair. “Tom Riddle was a man obsessed with power. With purity. With control. And yet, he tied himself to the death of a Muggle-born girl.”

Barty raised an eyebrow, scoffing. “…Okay?”

Regulus studied him. “Doesn’t that strike you as strange?”

Barty scoffed. “What, that Voldemort killed someone? No, Regulus, that doesn’t strike me as strange.”

Regulus rolled his eyes. “Not that he killed her. That he cared enough to make sure everyone knew how she died. That he didn’t just let it be another nameless accident, another tragedy buried under history.” He gestured to the diary. “This isn’t just a Horcrux. It’s meant to be used.”

Barty let out a sharp, irritated sigh. “And? What are you hoping to find, Reg? Some hidden truth about Voldemort’s childhood trauma? Oh no, the Dark Lord had a sad little orphan life- should we all start crying now?” He stepped closer, voice sharp. “What actually matters is how we kill the bastard, not whatever sentimental bullshit you’re looking for in that diary.”

Regulus raised an eyebrow, voice dangerously cool. “You think this is about sentiment?”

“I think this is about you wasting time,” Barty snapped. “While you’re sitting here playing detective, I’ve been finding actual answers.”
Barty snapped the book shut with a sharp thud, tossing it onto the desk between them with an air of finality. His movements were sharp, precise, controlled- but his voice, when he spoke, was laced with frustration.
“There. Basilisk venom,” he said, the words clipped, edged with irritation. “It’s one of the only known substances that can destroy a Horcrux. I didn't find anything else, and I've read a lot of books.”

Regulus arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. Then, voice dripping with sarcasm, he said, “Perfect. And where exactly do you suggest we find a Basilisk?”

Barty scoffed, throwing his hands up. “I don’t bloody know, Regulus. Maybe next to your sense of urgency, since that seems to have disappeared as well.”

Regulus exhaled slowly through his nose, fingers digging into the edge of the desk as he willed himself not to snap. “I don’t have time for your dramatics, Barty.”

“Oh, but you have time to sit here obsessing over some dead girl?” Barty shot back, eyes flashing. “Time to lose yourself in theories that won’t get us anywhere? Time to ignore the actual solutions because they’re not good enough for your precious, overcomplicated brain?” He let out a bitter laugh. “At least I’m trying to get us somewhere. Unlike you.”

Regulus turned sharply, his expression darkening. His voice, when he spoke, was cold, controlled- but not nearly as indifferent as he wanted it to be. He knew Barty was looking for a reason to argue- he’d been at it for days.
And maybe, just maybe, it was a little bit his fault. Regulus had ignored him for days. After seeing his brother- saying all those things- he’d been so fucking embarrassed and… he couldn’t face anything. Why didn’t Barty stop him? Fucking hell… he made a joke out of himself. A literally joke.
Probably Sirius went home to laugh about him and his stupidity with his werewolf boyfriend and- and James.
Poor little Reggie- so lost, so unguarded, so desperate, so weak, ouch he missed his brother, what a sick twist of fate, right?.

And Barty? He just watched.

Regulus knew he was being an absolute prick- he was the one who had decided to get drunk in the middle of the day, after all. But still- he felt so fucking ashamed of himself that he needed to put it on someone else.

Barty, obviously.

He was the only one standing in front of him right now, not Sirius, not James not everyone else. “What the hell is your problem Barty?” He feigned nonchalance.

Barty scoffed, tilting his head, mockery flashing in his gaze. “Oh, I don’t know, Regulus. Maybe the fact that you’ve been ignoring me for days? Maybe the fact that you’re acting like I don’t exist?” His voice dropped lower, sharper. “What’s your problem?” Here they were, about to argue. It had been a long time since the last one.

Regulus exhaled harshly, his patience fracturing with every second. “You really want to know?”

Barty gestured wildly. “Oh, please, enlighten me.”

Regulus turned to face him fully now, voice calm, measured, but too controlled, like he was holding something back. “Because you let myself be vulnerable in front of my brother.”

Barty stilled.
Just for a second.

Then, his lips curled into something between amusement and resentment. “Oh, I let yourself?” He let out a barking laugh, one that had no humor in it. “That’s funny. Because I seem to remember you being the one spilling your guts to him. I don’t recall holding a wand to your head.”

Regulus’ throat felt tight, but his voice stayed even. “You should have stopped me.”

Barty’s expression hardened, something sharp and unreadable flickering behind his eyes. And when he spoke, his voice was quiet, but deadly certain.
“You didn’t want to be stopped. You actually wanted to say all of that. No one can stop you when you put your mind into something.”

And Regulus scoffed. Bullshit.
Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. He was so drunk he could barely stand, if Barty wanted he could have stopped him.
And then- silence.

Not the comfortable kind. Not the kind they knew, the kind that existed in the spaces between them, in shared glances and unspoken words.
His breath was sharp, controlled, but Regulus could see it—the way his fingers twitched at his sides, the way his stance shifted, like he was holding something back. Like the words sitting on his tongue were too sharp, too dangerous to let slip all at once.

But then, suddenly, Barty let out a short, bitter laugh, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe they were actually having this conversation.
“You think this is about me?” he said, voice low, edged with something close to anger, but not quite. “You think I should have stopped you? Like you’re some helpless little idiot who doesn’t know what he’s doing?” His lips curled. “Spare me, Regulus.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes. “You could have-”

“I could have what?” Barty cut in sharply, stepping forward. “Physically dragged you away? Covered your mouth? Hexed you unconscious before you got too emotional in front of your precious brother?” His voice was dangerously low, sharp as a knife’s edge. “Would that have made you feel better, Regulus? If I had forced you to shut up? If I had stripped you of the choice you so willingly made?”

Regulus’ jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away.

Barty scoffed, shaking his head. “You act like you had no control over it. Like I pushed you into it. But the truth is- you wanted it. You wanted to say those things. You wanted to let him in, even if just for a second.” His gaze burned into Regulus’. “So don’t you dare stand here and act like it was my fault.”

Regulus inhaled slowly, steadying himself. His voice, when he spoke, was cold, controlled. “I wasn’t ready for it.” He wasn't ready to see the sparkle of hope in his brother's eyes. He wasn't. He'll never be. And maybe he won't get to see it.

Barty stilled, his expression flickering for just a moment.

Then his lips curled into something sharp, something bitter. “Well, that’s too bad, isn’t it?” he said, voice mocking but empty underneath. “Because it already happened. And now you’re doing what you always do- pulling away, shutting down, pretending it meant nothing.”

Regulus’ fingers twitched at his sides.

“I should have stopped you?” Barty continued, taking another step closer, invading his space now. “You think that’s what you needed? Someone to hold you back? Or maybe-” his voice dipped lower, into something almost mocking, almost dangerous- “maybe what you really wanted was someone to let you go.”

Regulus stiffened, breath catching for just a fraction of a second.

Barty smirked, but there was no amusement in it. “Hit a nerve, did I?”

Regulus swallowed down the heat rising in his chest, forcing his expression into something blank, unreadable. His voice, when it came, was flat. “You’re being ridiculous.”

Barty let out another humorless laugh, stepping back, running a hand through his hair. “And you’re being a coward.”

Regulus exhaled slowly, forcing his voice into something calm. “We still need to find the venom.”

Barty scoffed, looking at him like he wanted to say so much more-like he wanted to push, keep pushing, until Regulus finally cracked.

But instead, he just rolled his eyes. “Right. Because that’s what’s really important right now.”
Barty’s expression darkened, his eyes narrowing into slits as he took another step closer, towering over Regulus. “You think I’m being ridiculous? You think I’m the one who’s out of line?” His voice rose, rough with anger now, the sharp edge of his words biting into the air between them. “Tell me, Regulus, how do you stop yourself from feeling something when it hits you? How do you shut it out? How do you pretend it’s not there?”

Regulus flinched, but he didn’t back away. “It’s not like that,” he muttered, the words almost lost in the tension, but Barty’s ears caught them nonetheless.

Barty’s lips curled into a bitter sneer. “Don’t try to pretend you don’t feel it. You’re not fooling anyone, least of all me. You wanted it, Regulus. You wanted to say those things to Sirius, even though you hate yourself for it. You let him see a piece of you that you don’t want to give up. And now you’re sitting here, pretending you don’t care. But I know you do. I can see it in the way you’re standing here, looking at me like you want me to stop.” He scoffed, hands clenched by his sides. “But I won’t stop. Because you need to hear this. You’re just too damn proud to admit that he mattered to you. That he still matters.”

Regulus stiffened, his fists trembling at his sides. He didn’t want to hear this. He didn’t want to hear the words Barty was throwing at him, the ones that were too close to the truth for comfort.

“You’re being a complete arsehole, Barty,” Regulus hissed, his voice low but sharp. His jaw clenched, but his gaze remained fixed on the other man. “Don’t you dare tell me I miss Sirius. I don’t. I don’t.”

Barty’s eyes glinted with a dangerous mixture of frustration and something else—something almost like pity. He took a slow step forward, invading Regulus’ space with calculated precision, eyes never leaving his face. “You’re lying,” he said, his voice thick with conviction. “You wanted him, Regulus. You followed him around like a damn puppy when you were a child, you threw yourself into whatever scraps of affection he gave you. He was the one who kept pulling you back, even when you tried to shut him out. You didn’t want to be the one to let go. You couldn’t. That’s why you’re still standing here, pretending that you’ve got it all under control. But you don’t. You’re just hiding from it.”

Regulus felt his chest tighten, his pulse quickening as the anger started to bubble to the surface. He wasn’t sure if he could control it much longer, but his voice came out hard, cold. “No, Barty. I didn’t want any of it. Not anymore. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

Barty let out a bitter laugh, the sound harsh and devoid of any humor. “It matters, Regulus. It always mattered. And you’re lying to yourself if you think it doesn’t. You’re still here, doing this- fighting me, fighting your own feelings, all because you care.” He took another step forward, closing the distance between them until there was nothing but a breath separating them. “You care so much, you’re willing to destroy yourself rather than admit it. And I hate watching you do this. I hate it more than I hate Sirius. Because I absolutely hate him—he made a wreck of you for nothing, just because he wanted to escape that house. I despise him, but I love you more. And if this is what your heart truly wants… I’ll- I’ll accept it. ”

And it was nice- seeing how Barty cared about him, seeing how much he was worried about Regulus. But right now Regulus felt trapped. He could feel Barty's words pressing in on him, thick and suffocating, crawling under his skin like something alive. His fingers curled around the edges of the book, too tight, too tense, as if gripping onto it could somehow anchor him, keep him from feeling.

But Barty wouldn’t let it drop.
He never did.
He was still standing there, watching, waiting, his expression pulled into something sharp, something irritated- like he knew Regulus was trying to pretend this hadn’t happened, and he refused to let it go.

And the worst part? He was right.

Regulus felt the anger building, rising like a tide inside his chest, hot and unbearable. He knew this pattern, knew how it always went- Barty pushed, Regulus resisted. Barty taunted, Regulus ignored. Barty wanted something from him, and Regulus refused to give it.

But this time—this time, he could feel himself cracking.

“No,” he said suddenly, voice low, dangerous. He slammed the book shut with a thud, lifting his gaze to meet Barty’s with something cold and cutting in his expression. “No, I don’t have time for this.”

Barty raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “For what, exactly?”

“For this,” Regulus hissed, gesturing sharply between them, as if that could somehow explain the mess they had just made of this conversation. “For your ridiculous attempts to psychoanalyze me. For your endless need to push and push until I break. For-” He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to keep his voice steady. “For whatever the hell this is supposed to be.”

Barty’s eyes narrowed, something flashing behind them- something dangerous, frustrated. “Oh, so now you don’t have time for it?” He let out a short, mocking laugh. “Now you’re too busy, too important, too caught up in your precious mission to deal with actual emotions?”

Regulus clenched his jaw. “I am trying to focus on what actually matters.”

Barty’s lips curled. “No, you’re trying to run.”

Regulus snapped.

“I am not-” His voice rose, sharper than before, his pulse pounding in his ears. His breathing came faster, more ragged, and he hated it, hated that he was losing control over something so stupid. Over something that shouldn’t matter.

Because it didn’t matter.

It shouldn’t matter.

Barty. Sirius. That damn conversation.

He should be stronger than this.
He should be able to push it down, bury it deep, smother it under logic and reason and control, the way he always had.

But it wasn’t working.

Not with Barty standing there, challenging him, daring him to feel something he didn’t want to acknowledge.

Regulus inhaled sharply, his hands trembling slightly before he forced them to still. “I don’t-” He gritted his teeth, dragging a hand through his hair. “I don’t have the luxury of caring about things that don’t help us survive.”

Barty laughed. Loud, sharp, utterly humorless. “Right. There it is.” His voice dripped with mockery, but beneath it was something real, something raw. “Regulus Black, always so noble, always so self-sacrificing, always ready to throw himself into the flames for the greater cause.” He took a step closer, his voice lowering into something almost cruel. “And yet, the second something doesn’t go your way, the second you feel something you don’t know what to do with, you shut down. You sabotage yourself.”

Regulus froze.

Barty’s expression twisted into something sharp, something furious. “And for what?” he demanded. “So you can keep playing the perfect little soldier? So you can keep proving yourself to a family that isn’t even here anymore?”

Regulus’ blood went cold.

Barty saw the reaction, and he pushed further.

“Because that’s what this is, isn’t it?” he pressed, his voice no longer mocking, no longer teasing- just angry. “You think I don’t see it? You think I don’t know?” He let out a harsh breath, shaking his head. “You’re still trying to be their Regulus. The one they would have wanted.”

Regulus felt something crack inside him. A deep, splintering fracture he couldn’t mend.
No. No, he wasn’t. He wasn’t.

He—he was free from them. He had severed the chains, hadn’t he? He had killed his father. He had locked his mother away. He had ripped himself from their grasp, torn himself from their legacy.

He—

He—

He wasn’t.

…Wasn’t he?

Then why did his father’s voice still live inside his head, sharp as a blade, whispering that he was weak, that he should have been more like Sirius, that he was nothing—a spare, a disappointment, a ghost before he was even dead?

But he was free now. He was out. He was—

His mother’s screams still rattled in his skull, drowning him, telling him he was useless, a failure. That he had let his emotions consume him, that he had allowed himself to feel when he should have been strong.

Too sentimental. Too pathetic.

Still just a child.

Barty was still speaking, voice heated, cutting. “It’s pathetic, Regulus. You’re free. You got out. But you’re still living like they’re watching, like they’re going to crawl out of the damn grave and scold you for not being perfect.”
Regulus’ hands curled into fists. His nails dug into his palms, his entire body coiled tight with tension, with something dangerous, uncontrollable, unfamiliar.

Because Barty was right.
And he hated him for it. But maybe Regulus hated himself more. Because Barty was right, and was just speaking facts. Facts he didn't want to hear. Because apparently Regulus was a fucking coward.
He hated that he could see it so clearly, hated that he could put it into words, hated that he was standing there, looking at him like he was pathetic, like he was weak, like he was something broken that needed to be fixed.

The anger inside him flared- hot, overwhelming, impossible to ignore.

Barty noticed.
Of course he noticed.
Because Barty always noticed.

And he didn’t back down.

“Go on, then,” Barty challenged, voice quieter now, but no less cutting. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

Regulus opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Because he couldn’t. Not with his best friend, who apparently knew him more than anyone else.Barty wasn’t wrong.
"Come on, Regulus. Show me I'm wrong."

The silence between them wasn’t just heavy- it was unstable. Like a thread pulled too tight, straining under the weight of everything unsaid.
Regulus’ breathing was sharp, uneven, the anger rolling through him in waves—hot, unbearable. His nails dug into his palms, his entire body coiled like a storm about to break.

And Barty?
Barty was waiting for it.

He stood there, chin lifted, eyes burning with challenge, daring Regulus to snap, to lash out, to do something instead of standing there like a perfect little Black family ghost, haunting himself more than anyone else ever could.

And Regulus did snap.
“What the actual fuck do you want from me, Barty?” he hissed, voice low, dangerous.

Barty scoffed, mocking, pushing forward, invading his space. “Oh, finally, a reaction. Look at that. Miracles do happen.”

Regulus clenched his jaw. “I swear to Merlin-”

“What?” Barty cut in sharply. “You’ll hex me? Curse me? You won’t. Because that would mean actually doing something.”

Regulus let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “You are so fucking insufferable.”

“And you are so fucking repressed,” Barty shot back. “Honestly, Reg, it’s exhausting just looking at you.”

Regulus took a step forward, closing the distance between them, his voice dangerously quiet now. “You think you know everything about me.”

“I know enough.” Barty’s voice was acid, cutting through the space between them like a knife. “I know you’d rather burn yourself alive than admit you actually feel things.”

Regulus’ breathing hitched, but Barty wasn’t done.

“I know you’re so fucking terrified of wanting something for yourself that you’d rather push it away before it can be taken from you.” His voice dropped even lower, sharper, like he was stripping Regulus down to bone and nerve, like he was reaching into the places no one else dared to touch.
“And I know,” Barty said, eyes gleaming, “that you’ll never admit I’m right—because if you did, you wouldn’t know how to put yourself back together.”

Regulus saw red.

“Fuck. You. I hate you so much- do you hear me? I hate you!” Regulus was being a child, fuck he hated being like this, lost.

But Barty only smirked. “There he is. I want to know how much you hate me Regulus. So how much? Please- please just let yourself feel this. It's okay if you hate me, it's okay. Because at least I know you're feeling something. Are you able to do that?”

Regulus moved, his hand jerking forward, and for half a second, it wasn’t clear if he was about to shove Barty or actually hex him-

Then-

A sharp knock against the window.

Both of them froze.

Regulus turned his head sharply, pulse still pounding, only to see a black owl tapping at the glass, a letter clutched in its talons.

Barty let out an irritated breath, stepping back, muttering something unintelligible under his breath as Regulus waved his wand, flicking the window open with more force than necessary. The owl fluttered in, landed on the desk, and promptly dropped the letter onto the pile of books before taking off again.

Silence.

The tension was still thick, still suffocating, but now—now there was something new, something intrusive breaking through it.

Regulus reached for the letter with measured slowness, still feeling the heat of the argument under his skin. He turned it over, fingers brushing against the wax seal, and then-

Barty scoffed. Loudly.

“Oh, fuck off, Potter.”

Regulus blinked, snapping his gaze back up. “What?”

Barty gestured at the letter like it had personally offended him. “I’d recognize that stupidly neat handwriting anywhere.” His mouth curled in disgust. “What the hell does your Gryffindor boyfriend want?”

Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaling through his teeth. “I don’t have the energy to unpack how many things are wrong with that sentence.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t have the energy to unpack whatever the fuck is going on with you lately,” Barty shot back. “But here we are.”

“Here we are,” Regulus repeated dryly, flicking the letter open, scanning the words-

Then-

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, what now?”

Evan Rosier had entered the room.
His exasperation was immediate, thick in his voice, as he leaned against the doorframe with the long-suffering look of a man who had seen this coming from a mile away.

Regulus sighed deeply, rubbing his temple. “Not now, Evan.”

“Oh, no, now is the perfect time,” Evan said, crossing his arms, gaze flicking between the two of them. “Because I’ve been listening to you two argue for the past ten minutes, and I’d just like to formally announce that I am so incredibly done with both of you.”

Barty huffed. “Then leave.”

“Oh, I would,” Evan said, raising an eyebrow. “But apparently, I can’t, because my two best friends are incapable of basic communication and have resorted to their usual brand of ‘I hate you but I refuse to let you go’ dramatics.”

Regulus shot him a look. “If you’re done, then leave.”

“No, I think I’ll stay, actually,” Evan said airily. “Because someone clearly needs to remind you both that you are not, in fact, twelve years old, and that screaming at each other like children is, shockingly, not going to fix whatever weird, repressed nonsense is going on here.”

Regulus let out another slow, measured breath. “Evan-”

“No, no,” Evan interrupted, lifting a hand. “I’m enjoying this. Please, continue. Barty, maybe throw another wildly personal insult while you’re at it. Regulus, feel free to stare broodingly into the distance like you’re composing some tragic opera about your suffering. I’ll wait.”

Regulus stared at him. “Are you done?”

Evan considered. Then, with great dramatics, sighed and rubbed his temples. “No, because you two are still stupid.”

Barty rolled his eyes. “If you’re just here to be annoying, love, kindly fuck off.”

Evan ignored him completely. Instead, he fixed his gaze back on Regulus. “What does Potter want?”

Regulus exhaled sharply, then finally, finally, looked back at the letter in his hands.

And froze.
His expression shifted-barely- but Evan caught it immediately.

“What?” Evan demanded. “What does it say?”

Regulus didn’t answer right away. His grip on the parchment tightened, his mind working too fast, trying to make sense of it. Because it made so fucking sense.

Barty narrowed his eyes. “Reg?” Regulus arched an eyebrow, too aware of the way both of them were looking at him now, waiting for an answer. Regulus just watched, trying to piece together the words on the paper and the sharp edges of his argument with Barty from before. They couldn’t do this separately. They couldn’t do this while being angry at each other. So, somehow, he had to fix this. The rest—his emotions, his running, the way everything inside him felt trapped and suffocating—well, he’d deal with that later.

“Come on, let me see— you tragic shit,” Barty said over his shoulder, and Regulus smirked. This was a peace offering—subtle, unspoken, but unmistakable. He knew Barty well enough to recognize it, to see the way his sharp edges softened just slightly, the way his words, though casual, held a quiet truce.

“Nah-ah.” Regulus pulled the letter out of his reach, grinning playfully. “First, I wanted- needed to tell you something.” Barty froze, tension settling in his shoulders as he waited patiently.
“I care about you too, you stupid git. Even though you piss me off so much.” Barty laughed, the sound sharp and familiar, and Evan smiled as he watched them, something knowing in his gaze. Regulus rolled his eyes, but the tension in his shoulders eased—just a little.

“Oh, fuck off, Black. Let me see that damn letter.”

“It’s about the Horcruxes,” Regulus explained them,as Barty put a hand on his shoulder. The argument was forgotten, already a distant memory. That was how it had always been with Barty and him- they’d have the fiercest rows at Hogwarts, only to fall back in their routine as if nothing had ever happened.
Their friendship always came first. They were brutally honest with each other- Barty, a raging fire, erupting in screams and fists; Regulus, cold as ice, silencing with nothing but a glance and an unspoken chill.
"James, Lily and Remus have a clue about the next one." And just like that, they were together once more.