Velvet Bond

The moment Regulus’ fingers brushed the ring, the world recoiled.

A violent pulse of magic erupted from the box, striking through him like lightning, tearing him away from the Horcrux before he even had time to react. A force like a thousand hands grasping at his chest sent him hurtling backward, his body slamming against the stone wall with a sickening thud.
Pain exploded through his ribs. The breath was knocked out of him, stars bursting behind his eyelids as he collapsed to the floor, dust rising in a suffocating cloud around him.

“Regulus!”

"Oh Slytherin Salazar, Regulus-"

Footsteps rushed toward him, but the ringing in his ears made everything sound distant, like they were calling him from behind a closed door.
Then-James was there, kneeling beside him, hands gripping his arms, shaking him slightly. “Reg, talk to me. Come on-”

Regulus blinked, dazed, his mind still spinning, trying to make sense of what had happened. "Regulus, fuck-" this one was Remus?
His head lolled forward, fingers twitching, lungs struggling to pull in air. His body felt like it had been set on fire from the inside out, every nerve screaming in agony. It was like something inside him had been torn open, raw magic crackling under his skin, threatening to consume him whole.

Through the haze, he felt another set of hands—Remus—hovering near his shoulder, his voice sharp with urgency. “Don’t move him yet, James—he hit the wall hard. We should check for a concussion.” Regulus let out a ragged breath, forcing his body to cooperate, forcing himself to lift his head. But fuck- it was so hard-
“Regulus, can you talk?” The words barely registered, muffled by the ringing in his ears, the pounding in his skull. He tried to force his lips to move, to shape a response, but his throat felt like sandpaper, raw and tight.
James’ grip on him tightened, his voice low, almost desperate. “Reg—come on, say something.”

No. No, it’s hard, it’s so hard, James. Fuck you and your stupid—whatever—

Finally—finally—Regulus managed to pry his eyes open, the world swimming back into focus. And there was James, his face hovering inches from his own, his breath uneven, his expression drawn tight with worry.
His eyes were searching Regulus’, desperate, like he was afraid of what he’d find there.

And Regulus hated that look.

Hated the way it made his chest ache, the way it cracked something inside him, something raw and unspoken. “You look like shit, Potter.”
Hated that James was still like this- still James, still the boy who cared too much, still the boy who would throw himself between Regulus and anything that tried to hurt him., his parents, his house, Voldemort himself.
It made something tighten in his chest- something old, something dangerous, something he had buried a long time ago.
Something that could make him hope-

No.

NO.

He was just destroying himself. Again.
Now James was with Lily.
Now James had a life, a future, a son.
Now James was someone else’s to love.

So Regulus should stop overlaying the past onto the present. But how could he? How? When James still looked at him like that?
Like he still mattered? Like this wasn’t just duty, or guilt, or old promises?

James let out a breath—half a laugh, half a frustrated exhale—but he didn’t move away. If anything, his grip on Regulus tightened, fingers pressing into his arms like he was making sure he was here. “Yeah, well, you look worse,” James muttered, but his voice was too tight, too full of something that wasn’t just annoyance. “You scared the hell out of me, Black.”

Regulus tried to roll his eyes, but even that felt like too much effort. His head throbbed, his ribs ached, and there was a strange, lingering cold in his veins, like the Horcrux had left something behind. Like a shadow curling in his bloodstream. He pushed past it, forced himself to focus on James—on the heat of his hands, the solid weight of him, the realness of him.
“Did I?” Regulus murmured, voice hoarse, teasing but not quite.

James’ jaw clenched, and for a moment, something flashed in his eyes—something raw and unsaid, something that hurt.

Regulus didn’t let himself look too closely at it. Instead, he let his head tip back against the stone, exhaling through his nose. “Well. That’s one way to make sure you’re still paying attention.” He didn’t know what had come over him, saying those words out loud, just like that—so exposed, so vulnerable, so pathetic. But now they were out there, irreversible, hanging between them like a taut thread, ready to snap.

James groaned, dropping his head forward for a second, his forehead nearly bumping against Regulus’ shoulder. “Merlin, you are insufferable. And you probably have a fucking concussion. Idiot.”

Regulus’ lips curled, just slightly. “And yet, here you are.”

James sighed, exasperated. But he didn’t let go.

Regulus swallowed, his throat dry. “I’m fine, James.”

James exhaled shakily, his grip on Regulus’ arms not loosening. “Yeah, well, you don’t look fine.”

Regulus forced a smirk, his voice coming out cool, unaffected, thanks to years and years of practice. “Worried about me, Potter?”

James’ jaw tensed, something flashing in his expression, too quick for Regulus to catch. “Shut up.” And then his brow furrowed so tightly it looked almost painful. “What the hell was that?”

Regulus swallowed, his throat raw. “Protections.” His voice came out as little more than a rasp, his head still pounding from the fall.

James exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, no shit, Black. But that wasn’t just some normal repelling spell- that thing threw you across the room.”

Regulus gritted his teeth, pushing himself upright, ignoring the way his body screamed in protest. “I noticed.”

James muttered something under his breath, putting his hands on Regulus’ arms once again, as if he wasn’t entirely sure Regulus wouldn’t just crumple again. Then, grudgingly, James' hands fell away.
Regulus ignored the way his skin still felt warm where James had touched him. Ignored the part of him that wanted James to hold on just a little longer.

It didn’t matter.

It couldn’t matter.

So Regulus just ignored him, turning his head toward Remus, who had already shifted his focus to the box, his wand moving over it in slow, careful circles. The room was silent, thick with lingering magic, but the moment Remus’ spell settled over the ring—
His entire body tensed.

Regulus watched as his expression twisted, his lips pressing into a thin, grim line. His wand hand lowered, and when he turned back to face them, his eyes were dark with understanding. Remus’ fingers traced the air in front of the box, his wand moving in slow, precise circles as he muttered under his breath. The glow of the spell barely lasted a second before it fizzled out, swallowed whole by whatever ancient magic still clung to the object.

A faint crackling noise followed, like static in the air—like something old and unseen had been disturbed. He frowned. “It’s rejecting interference.”

James, standing just a step behind, let out a frustrated breath, running both hands through his hair as he took a step closer. “So it’s not just cursed—it’s something worse I guess? Can we suppress it?”

Regulus exhaled slowly, rolling his aching shoulder, the impact of being thrown across the room still lingering in his bones. He had suspected as much—of course he had.

If the diary was fighting back, this one was fighting harder.
It had to be. This was no ordinary object—this had belonged to his family, to his ancestors. It was a Black heirloom before it was ever a Horcrux, a relic that had carried the weight of power, blood, and history long before Voldemort had sunk his claws into it.

That made it different.

That made it worse.

Regulus clenched his fists at his sides. He should have known.

Remus glanced at him, then back at the ring, his gaze calculating. “It’s bound to something.”

Regulus nodded. “To Voldemort.”

James narrowed his eyes, jaw tightening. “Right—because everything he touches has to be a bloody nightmare.”

Remus didn’t laugh. His eyes stayed locked on the ring, his expression tense, careful, sharp. “It’s not just a protective curse. This isn’t something meant to keep people away.” He exhaled sharply, his fingers tapping against the handle of his wand.

“It’s something meant to take.”

James blinked, his usual frustration giving way to something colder, quieter. “Take what?”

Remus hesitated. His brow furrowed, lips pressing together like he didn’t want to say it aloud. Then—his voice dropped. “Life.”
The word hung between them, heavier than the air in the room, heavier than the dust in their lungs.
Regulus stilled, staring at the ring, at the way it sat in its case, deceptively simple, deceptively quiet.

Of course. Of course.

The magic thrumming from the Horcrux wasn’t just a warning, wasn’t just a punishment for those who tried to take what didn’t belong to them—

It was a demand.

A ritual.

A sacrifice.

Of course Voldemort wouldn’t leave something as crucial as this unprotected. He wouldn’t just make it difficult to take—he would make it lethal.

Regulus felt sick.

James let out a harsh breath, dragging a hand through his hair, his movements sharp, nervous, restless.

“Brilliant. Love that. Not- not bad at all,” he muttered, pacing a short, agitated line in front of the altar. “So it only works with Tom Riddle’s blood? Fucking hell. This- this keeps getting worse and worse. Are we fucked?”

Regulus didn’t react. Didn’t flinch. He had already known what had to be done.

Had already accepted it, the moment he stepped into this house.
So instead, he straightened, brushing the dust from his robes, and spoke—his voice calm and even, his gaze fixed on the ring, steady and resolute.

Could he die? Yes.

Would it be worth it? Also yes.

At least it wouldn’t be James or Remus. Harry would still have a father and Sirius his fucking-fantastic boyfriend. So a win is a win. Right?
And at least he had a better chance than they did at breaking the curse—considering he shared a connection with Voldemort himself.
There was no point in arguing about it.

“I know how to break it.”

James’ head snapped toward him immediately, golden eyes burning, wide with something raw, something close to panic.

“You—what?”

Regulus turned toward the box, his gaze cool and unwavering. “I said, I know how to break it.”

James swore, stepping closer, his whole body tense, unwilling to accept what Regulus was implying. “Oh, fuck me. This is some shit you're going to pull out from your magic mind?”

Remus studied him carefully, his gaze too knowing, too perceptive. “And what’s the price?”

Regulus inhaled slowly, pushing back the nausea curling in his stomach, forcing himself to stay composed.

Then, voice quiet, controlled—“Blood.”

Silence.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop, the walls pressing in around them, the very air holding its breath.

Regulus didn’t blink. Didn’t move.

He had already decided.

Remus exhaled, voice barely above a whisper. “Alright—but you’re not talking about simple blood, right?”

James’ entire body locked, every muscle tensing, his breath uneven. “You mean—”

Regulus nodded. “It requires the blood of a pureblood descendant.”

James swore again. Louder this time. “Of course it does. Because why would Voldemort ever make this easy?” Regulus could hear the anger beneath his words. The sharp, bitter frustration, the helplessness that James hated feeling, hated admitting to. But there was nothing to be done about it.

It had to be him.

Regulus lifted his chin. “This ring was his family’s, wasn’t it? The Gaunts were an old pureblood line. Blood magic is the foundation of our world—it’s in the spells we cast, the oaths we make, the protections we use.” His voice was level, explaining something he had known all his life, something that James had always refused to acknowledge. “This kind of magic is ancient. It won’t yield unless it’s given something in return.”

James shook his head, his breath coming faster, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “Then we’ll find another way.”

“There is no other way.”

James’ nostrils flared, his frustration boiling over. “There’s always another way, Regulus!”

Regulus’ jaw tightened, his expression unmoving. “Not this time.”

James let out a sharp, furious breath, stepping closer, his hands twitching like he wanted to grab him, shake him, make him understand.

Regulus didn’t let himself look at him. Didn’t let himself acknowledge the fact that James was afraid for him.
That James—who had spent his entire life throwing himself in front of danger for the people he loved—was realizing, for the first time, that he couldn’t stop this.

He wasn’t allowed to. Regulus wouldn’t let him.

Remus, who had been silent for too long, finally spoke. His voice was quiet. Steady. Firm. Final. “How much blood?”

Regulus hesitated. Then, voice low, he answered- “Enough. Some? A drop? I don't know.”

James exhaled sharply, looking seconds away from putting his fist through a wall. “That’s not a fucking answer, Regulus.” Regulus, no Reg or Reggie. James was getting antsy.

Regulus lifted his chin slightly, his gaze steady, cold, unyielding. “It doesn’t matter. I’m going to do it.”

James’ expression hardened instantly, his entire body tensing, like a wire pulled too tight, ready to snap. “The hell you are.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes, shoulders squared, every inch of him bracing for a fight. “It has to be done.”

James let out a sharp breath through his teeth, hands curling into fists at his sides, his knuckles white with the force of holding himself back. “Not by you.”

Regulus exhaled sharply, turning to face him fully now, his posture shifting—defensive, rigid, coiled like a spring. His voice dropped lower, something dangerous threading through it, edged with frustration, something James couldn’t quite place.“And who else is going to do it, Potter?”

James’ jaw ticked, his fingers twitching at his sides. His whole stance was tight, vibrating with something too close to fear, too close to rage. His breathing had quickened, his shoulders locked, his entire body screaming protest. James did not back down. Of course, he didn’t. “Anyone but you. I'll do it. I can do it.”

Regulus scoffed, sharp and bitter, shaking his head like James was the one being unreasonable. “You don’t even-" Even what, Regulus? "Qualify?” But it sounded uncertain even to his own ears. "I'm the best shot you have right now." He continued.

James’ nostrils flared, his frustration boiling over, his fingers flexing like he wanted to grab him, shake him, make him understand. “That’s not the fucking point, Regulus.”

Regulus’ lips curled, but it wasn’t a smirk, wasn’t amusement—it was something closer to a snarl, something teetering on the edge of anger, exhaustion, defiance.“Then what is?” he snapped, voice low, sharp, unwavering, eyes burning with something James hadn’t seen in years—something that made his stomach twist painfully.

James stepped closer, his boots scraping against the stone, his breath hot and uneven, his face now inches from Regulus’ own. “The point is that I’m not letting you do this,” James hissed, voice cutting like a blade.

Regulus laughed, a short, cold sound, hollow and sharp like shattered glass. “Letting me?” His voice was mocking, biting, full of something that shouldn’t hurt but did. “Do I look like I need your fucking permission?”

James bristled, his entire frame going rigid, his breath shaky, uneven. “Oh, for the love of- I'm not saying that you- oh Salazar- Reg, this is insane. Simply insane! And you're just a bloody stubborn idiot!”

Regulus’ hands twitched at his sides, his body buzzing with tension, every muscle screaming at him to stay cold, stay distant, stay in control—but James was too close, too loud, too much.

James, who still looked at him like he mattered.
James, who still tried to protect him, even when Regulus didn’t deserve it.
James, who had loved him once, who had held him like he was something worth saving—

And who had let him go just as easily.

Regulus tilted his head. “Insane, or necessary? You know it is. Think about Harry or—”

Lily.

But he was a coward and he couldn’t bring himself to say her name out loud, because the fragile illusion between them—the closeness, the feigned concern James held for him—would shatter. It always did. Always.
The moment Lily was mentioned, James’ attention slipped away, drawn to her like a force of nature—to her eyes, her laughter, the mere thought of her. And it was fine. Fine.

But if he was going to die, he wanted to be selfish just once. Just this once.
He wanted James’ attention all to himself.

James let out a harsh breath, his hands twitching like he was resisting the urge to grab him, to shake him. “You always do this.”

Regulus’ eyes flashed, his brows drawing together in confusion, not understanding. “Do what, Potter?”

“Throw yourself into the fire and call it strategy,” James hissed. “Like your life is a fucking bargaining chip you get to use whenever you see fit.”

Regulus’ chest tightened.
For a moment—for just a fleeting, stolen second—something twisted and almost thrilled inside him. Because despite everything, despite the war, despite their history, despite the wreckage they had left in their wake, James still cared. It wasn’t just anger, wasn’t just frustration—it was fear. A raw, unguarded terror laced in James' voice, in the way his breath came sharper, in the way his hands curled into fists like he wanted to shake some sense into him.

But Regulus was fierce, and he had put his mind on it. So he exhaled calmly, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve. “Because maybe it is. If I don’t do it, we don’t get the ring.” And we have to get his damn ring for fuck's sake.

James clenched his jaw. “You're lying. We’ll find another way.”

Regulus smirked. “That’s optimistic of you.”
Regulus had spent years convincing himself that James had long since stopped feeling anything for him. That the fire between them had burned out, leaving only the cold ash of resentment. But here he was, spitting fury, acting like Regulus’ life meant something. And God, it was pathetic, how much that affected him. How much he wanted to reach out, to say there you are, I thought I lost you.

But he didn’t. Because he always did this—read too much into James, let himself believe there was still something left to salvage. James had Lily. And Regulus was just hurting himself more, making himself believe something that there was not.

So instead, he swallowed it down, straightened his spine, and smirked. “Oh, come on, Potter. Don’t tell me you’d miss me.”

James let out a frustrated groan, pacing a few steps away, shaking his head like he wanted to throw something.

Remus, who had been watching their exchange silently, finally spoke. His voice was quiet, but firm. “If we do this,” he said carefully, “we do it right. No unnecessary risks.” His gaze flickered toward Regulus. “No recklessness.”

Regulus lifted a brow. “Define reckless.”

Remus sighed. “Not bleeding out on the floor, for starters.”

James muttered, “Great, that’s the new bar for success. Not bleeding out.”

Regulus smirked. “High standards.”

James turned toward him, dead serious. “I mean it, Reg.”

Regulus held his gaze, something unreadable flickering in his eyes.

Then, finally, he exhaled. He was ready.

And he lifted the knife.

The blade was sharp, its edge glowing faintly with enchantments, humming with magic that had been woven into the metal long before any of them had been born. A weapon of sacrifice. A tool of old, blood-bound rituals.

Regulus knew perfectly what he was doing.
He had seen similar spells before—studied the old Black family grimoires, the texts that spoke of ancestral blood magic, the kind that had been forgotten or forbidden.
Voldemort had crafted this curse with intent. A ritual-bound protection woven into the very core of the Horcrux.

Regulus inhaled, pressing the tip of the blade against the center of his palm. He barely registered the sting of the cut, the way the skin split beneath the enchanted metal. The pain was irrelevant. His blood welled dark and red, pooling along the edges of the blade before dripping down onto the stone altar beneath the box. How much? How much? How much? He cut- just enough, not enough to bleed out on the floor, but he didn’t think it was necessary.

Just a drop.

And in the end- a single drop was all it took.

Because the reaction was instantaneous.

The blood hit the surface with a sound that wasn’t quite natural, wasn’t quite real—like something in the air had shifted, like the house itself had turned to watch. The silence was almost deafening, and Regulus didn’t know why.
Maybe it was the way James and Remus watched him, their gazes heavy with concern. Maybe it was the frantic hammering of his own heart against his ribs. Or maybe- maybe- it was the echo of his blood as it fell.

A deep rumbling filled the room, slow and crawling, vibrating through the floor beneath them. The very walls seemed to pulse, breathing in tandem with the spell.

And then—

The ring moved.

It lifted from its box in a slow, unnatural ascent, hovering above the stone, its golden band catching the dim light, the cracked gemstone dark as an abyss.
The magic around it coiled and twisted, like a beast awakening from a long sleep, reaching outward, searching—

And then it found him.

Regulus’ breath hitched as something sharp and cold wrapped around his wrist- no, not just his wrist, his veins, his bones.

No-

The Horcrux wasn’t just accepting the offering.

It was taking him, too.

A black corruption surged up his arm, burning through his skin like poison, crawling up toward his shoulder, toward his throat. In that instant, Regulus felt himself being pulled into an all-consuming darkness, as if the void itself were beckoning him home.

Shadows churned and coalesced into a chaotic vortex around him, blurring the boundaries between self and oblivion. Amidst the swirling gloom, a sinister, all-too-familiar smile emerged- the cold, malignant grin of Voldemort, its cruel amusement promising eternal damnation. Each heartbeat dragged him deeper into the abyss, leaving him unsure if he could ever claw his way back to the light.

Regulus tried to move, to pull back, but his body was locked in place, his lungs seizing, his vision blurring- please, please, please, I don't want this.

And then- strong, steady arms yanked him back from the brink.
James’s grip was fierce, shaking him violently as his whispered plea, “Regulus, Regulus, Regulus” echoed like a lifeline through the chaos, anchoring him to a reality he desperately fought to retain. "Regulus, come back. Reg, I'm here-"

Regulus snapped his eyes open as the hands grabbed him.

A rough, urgent yank sent him crashing backward, tearing him away from the altar, breaking the magic’s hold before it could take root completely.
The impact sent them both to the floor, the world tilting as Regulus felt himself collide with something solid—

James.
It was him.
His James.
James, James, James-

James’ arms were around him, holding him too tightly, his breath hot and fast against Regulus’ temple.

And then, from somewhere just beyond them- “Finite Incantatem!” Remus. Thank god for Remus. A pulse of magic rippled through the room, slamming into the corruption still twisting along Regulus’ skin.

For one awful second, the black tendrils resisted, digging deeper, trying to hold on—But then they snapped, dissolving into nothing, vanishing as the spell broke apart.
Regulus gasped, his body jerking violently, his vision whiting out as the last of the curse burned away from his veins.

The world blurred, faded, tilted— And then he collapsed.

"Regulus! Regulus what's up? Reg- Reg please- please open your eyes-" Shaking Bones and Shattered Voices
His body hit the ground hard, his limbs too heavy, too numb to catch himself.

He was shaking, every muscle quivering uncontrollably, his breath coming in sharp, shallow bursts. The pain was searing, a deep, marrow-deep ache that spread through his bones, through his ribs, curling tight in his chest like he had been torn apart and stitched back together wrong.

A hand grabbed his shoulder, firm and grounding. Then another—warmer, steadier, rougher.

And a voice, too close, too raw, too terrified. “Don’t you dare.”

Regulus’ eyelids fluttered, his head rolling slightly to the side, the weight of exhaustion dragging him down, down, down—

James’ hands tightened on him, shaking him slightly, his breath ragged. “Don’t you fucking dare die on me, Black.”

Regulus forced himself to breathe, forcing his lungs to obey, to pull in the sharp, cold air. His vision swam, but he could still see James above him, his face drawn tight, his eyes wide with something that looked far too much like fear. Regulus swallowed, his throat dry. His voice came out weak, but calm. “I’m not dead, Potter.”

James let out a breathless, shaky laugh, his hands still gripping him too tightly. “Yeah, well, you sure as hell look like you’re trying.”

Regulus’ lips twitched, but the exhaustion pulled at him, dragging him further into the haze, the world around him slipping in and out of focus.
James exhaled through his nose, shifting his grip, moving closer, his forehead nearly touching Regulus’ own.

For a moment, Regulus thought it was over.

The pain was dulling, the weight of exhaustion pulling at him, making everything feel distant, like he was floating just above his body, separate from it. He could still feel James’ hands anchoring him, could still hear his shaky breathing, the way his fingers curled against Regulus’ robes like he was trying to physically keep him here.

It was almost—almost—comforting.

Then—

Agony.

Like flames beneath his skin, like something was crawling through his veins, digging deep into his bones and setting them alight.
Regulus’ entire body seized, his back arching violently as a choked, guttural scream tore from his throat.

The pain was instantaneous, overwhelming, unbearable—

It wasn’t just the initial curse.

It was still inside him, still spreading, still trying to claim him.

“Regulus!”

James’ grip tightened, but he was losing control, his hands slipping as Regulus convulsed, his limbs jerking violently against the stone floor.

Everything burned.

Every nerve in his body felt flayed open, every breath came in ragged gasps, his throat raw with the force of the scream that wouldn’t stop.

“I don’t know what to do!” James’ voice broke, something desperate, frantic bleeding into the edges. His hands hovered—helpless, shaking, moving from Regulus’ shoulders to his chest to his face, trying to find something, anything to ground him.
“Fuck—Remus! I don't- I- I can't-”

Regulus could barely hear him over the roaring in his head, over the way his own body felt like it was being ripped apart from the inside.

It was too much, too much, too much—

And then—

A new voice.

Sharp, demanding.

“What the hell is going on?” The voice cut through the chaos, snapping the air like a whip, commanding attention.

Regulus barely registered the sound of footsteps, the sudden presence looming behind them, but James’ head snapped up immediately, his breath still coming in short, panicked bursts.

“He’s— I don’t—” James’ voice failed him, his throat working like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t.

Regulus clawed at James’ arm, his nails digging into the fabric of his robes, his body trembling violently. His lips parted, gasping for air, but when he tried to speak—

All that came out was a shattered, broken whisper. “Everything burns.”

James looked terrified.

He had fought in battles, had faced Death Eaters and war and bloodshed, but this—this was different.

This was Regulus.

This was something he didn’t know how to fight.

And James Potter had always known how to fight.

His hands shook, still trying to hold Regulus down, his mind spinning, grasping at half-formed plans, at spells he had never needed to use before.

Then—

Another set of hands was on him. Pulling him back, pushing him out of the way, kneeling down where he had just been. No, no, no, I have to stay

And a voice, closer now, clearer, colder.

“Move, James. Before you get him killed.”