Bad Idea
“What?”
Regulus looks far too confused for James' taste. It's a simple request, really. Maybe not as simple to fulfill, but still he thinks he worded it clearly enough. Maybe he should try again.
“I need you to find a cure for dragon pox.”
And now Regulus is just staring at him with that indiscernible look of his. “I can’t do that.”
James frowns. “Can’t you try?” He’s doing his best to keep it together. He can feel more tears, somehow, hesitating behind his lashes.
The news this morning hit him in the chest, sluggish and ugly and cloying. He's been trying to push past it, to breathe through it, all day. It isn’t working.
The first thing he did was run to Mcgonangal, practically on his knees begging her to let him visit his father. He’d desperately pleaded with her as she’d sat there and waited for him to calm down. When she could get a word in, she’d told him it was too dangerous. He wouldn’t be able to visit until his father was appropriately confined. He’d left after that.
Next he went to the owlery, where he sent out a reply to his mother’s letter. He asked where his father was now, where she was going to say, if there was any hope at all. He didn’t ask why she hadn’t told Sirius.
And then… he’d disappeared. He’d fled into the woods and spent the day as a stag, enjoying the way his anigmi form muted his emotions. They weren't gone, not completely, they were just- softer. Easier to handle.
When he’d returned from the woods, he’d known what he was going to do. He had a plan. He’d fished out his map and cloak and slipped off to find Regulus Black.
Here, on the quidditch pitch, Regulus sinks down in front of him. He’s studying James carefully. “Not to sound like a broken record, but why me?”
It’s James’ turn to be confused. Why him? Who else? “You’re the best at potions in your year, and actually- probably the whole school. I’m thinking if we combine my excellent research abilities and your potionering skills we can figure something out.”
“And why us, Potter?” (James really wishes Regulus would just use his first name.) “Why would we, two students, be able to produce a cure to a disease that has stumped all of the world's experts?”
Something wells up and breaks inside James, and another tear trails down his cheek. He really fucking wants to stop crying. “Because we have to, Reg. What else is there? I can’t just- just wait it out. I have to do something. I have to fix this.”
“Get Evans, or Lupin, or… someone else.”
“You think I want it to be you? They aren't as good. Plain and simple. Please, Regulus. Humor me. Just try.”
Regulus stands up and starts pacing. He’s rubbing his shoulder absentmindedly. “You can’t ask this of me, Potter. You have no idea-”
“All I know is my father is dying. I know that I’m going to do everything I can to save him.”
“What makes you think I’d agree to it? What's in it for me?”
“He’s Sirius’s father too.”
Regulus stops and turns to him, glaring again. He’s so… sharp. James misses the pity in his eyes moments earlier. “He is not Sirius’s father. Orion-”
“You said it yourself, Reg. He’s not their son. He’s Fleamont and Effie’s son. And now we need to save my- our- father.”
“So why aren't you telling him his father is sick?”
Maybe that’s a fair point. Maybe James is simply the worst person ever. But he just doesn’t have the energy required to help Sirius through this. Hell, he’s struggling to get through it himself. He loves Sirius. He’ll always be there for him, always. But right now, with this, James needs a second to breathe. He needs to get his own emotions under control before he begins to deal with Sirius’s.
It's a weak excuse, but it’s the one he clings to.
“I… can’t. Not right now. I need more time. You need to give me, give him, more time.”
Regulus stops pacing and stares at him. James can’t read his expression.
“Reg, please.” James stands up too.
“I… I can’t…” But there’s a hesitation there.
“So don’t do it for me. Don’t do it for Sirius. Do it for all the innocent people you’ve killed.”
He sees the words hit Regulus like a bullet, sending him stumbling back. He watches the way his eyes widen, the quickening of his breath. Maybe that was a mistake. “... excuse me?”
“Not you specifically. Your family. Your side. Voldemort.”
Regulus blinks a few times at him, taking deep breaths. “My side.”
“Yeah. I mean like… all those attacks? All those muggles? Even the other day, those ten muggles on that street corner, I saw how upset they made you-”
“Stop.” Regulus turns around, not facing him. James takes a step closer to him. He can’t see his face.
“There has to be something, Regulus. I need there to be something. I can’t just watch him… I mean.” He tries to put as much as he can into the words. All his desperation into a few sentences. “Save someone, for once. Instead of hurting them. Just one person. Save one person.”
The pitch is silent, save the rustle of the fabric on the stands. The world holds its breath.
When Regulus speaks, his voice cracks slightly. “I can’t promise it’ll work.”
And, oh. How those words crash into him, relief and hope flooding through him till he’s choking on it. It’s a lifeline- it feels like salvation.
It’s right then and there that James decides he’ll never be able to actually hate Regulus. Not even a little bit. Not now. Not after this.
James’s breath punches out of him and he instinctively clutches his chest. “You’ll do it?”
“I may be good at potions, but not that good. Dragon Pox is incurable. It always will be.”
“But-”
“But I’ll try.”
And James wants to cry again, and hug him, or thank him, or… something. He’s not sure yet.
“Thank you. Thank you. I mean- wow. I didn’t think you’d agree.” He feels sick to his stomach with relief, doubling over a bit. He might be going a bit overboard, but right now he doesn’t care.
Regulus frowns. “Me neither.”
“Do you have any ideas? When can we start? What should I look into first?”
“Potter- I need you to know. This isn’t going to work. It’s not. You need to understand that. Also, I still hate you. This changes nothing.” It changes everything, James wants to scream. He keeps it in.
“I don’t care.”
Regulus sighs. “Of course you don’t.”
“So, again, when can we start?”
Regulus starts pacing again. “We need a room, or a place for a potions lab. We’ll need to work on it during the school year, so that rules out my basement back at Grimmauld- '' He cuts himself off with a look at James, but continues. “We need to figure out why it’s incurable first. And what cures people have tried that’ve failed. It’s going to be a lot of research.”
He has a gleam in his eye, and James finds himself unable to look away.
“As far as the potions go- we need materials, supplies. I’m sure we can manage, Slughorn’s practically wrapped around my finger. Maybe some variation of a Pepperup potion, but that’s not nearly strong enough and Bicorn horn is nearly impossible to find in large quantities…” As Regulus talks, his cheek begins to flicker again. After a second, the glamour drops, and James can see the bruise in the moonlight. Regulus glances up, seeming to remember that James is watching him. He looks away, flushing slightly. “Sorry. For rambling.”
“Don’t even think about it.” James is grinning. “Sounds like you know where to start. I’ll go to the library as soon as possible, maybe even tonight-”
“No.” Regulus’s voice is not as sharp as it should be. “You need sleep. I mean- I- if you want to be helpful you need a functioning brain. Well, as functioning as your brain can get. And I’m sure you’re exhausted after… today. Go to bed, Potter. We’ll talk later.”
“Tomorrow?”
Regulus rolls his eyes. “Tomorrow.”
James smiles. “Good night Reg.”
“Regulus.”
“Reg.” James corrects, turning to go. Before he can, Regulus calls his name.
“Potter- don’t tell Sirius I’m helping you with this. I- If, or when, this doesn't work- he’ll blame me. And I know I hate him. I know… but. I don't- just please, don’t tell him.”
James considers, staring at Regulus. He should tell Sirius. He knows he should. He should be a good best friend. A good brother. But the way Regulus is looking at him, a tiny bit of genuine fear peaking through his perfect mask, James decides he can wait. He’ll do anything to keep Regulus on his side. To save his father. And honestly- it’s not like he has much of a choice. If he disagrees, he has no doubt Regulus will just curse him like he cursed Remus.
So he nods, just once. Immediately more guilt pools in his stomach, but he brushes it off. He’ll deal with it later.
For the first time all day, he has hope.
---
When James makes it back to the common room that night, he’s greeted by the sight of all three marauders waiting for him. Sirius is seated cross legged on his bunk, hands fiddling nervously. Peter is laying across his bed, on arm thrown up over his eyes. Remus is reading, leaning up against his trunk. They all shoot to their feet as soon as James enters.
“Where the fuck have you been?” Remus asks at the same time as Sirius throws himself at James, wrapping him in a hug. “You just disappeared for an entire day- took the map too so we couldn’t bloody check-”
James laughs. “Moony, I’m fine. I’m sorry. I had to visit Mcgonagall after breakfast about a class shift, and then I kind of got lost in the forbidden forest.”
“Why were you in the forest?” Peter crosses his arms.
“Kettleburn assigned me this stupid thing on mushrooms- it's like 3 pages long. Apparently it’s because I turned in the last assignment late, the one on pixies. Anyway, I decided I should use a weekend to do it because going into the forest after dark does not sound fun. I should’ve let you guys know. It totally slipped my mind.”
James has always been a good liar. People often suspect the opposite when it comes to him: he’s so charming and open they lower their defenses. But the ease in which a perfectly crafted little piece of fiction slips off his tongue is sometimes a little alarming, even to him.
And people trust him. They always do.
Which is why, although a little suspiciously, Sirius, Remus and Peter all nod and eventually go back to their beds.
James goes to wash his face and brush his teeth, thoughts swirling like the water in the sink.
Regulus had agreed. Which- thank fuck . James didn’t have a backup plan. He’d meant it when he’d said that he wished he didn’t have to ask him. Secretly conspiring with his best friend's little brother behind his back didn’t look good, and anyway. James was supposed to hate Regulus.
He shakes his head. No. He’s done with that. He’d already decided, back on the Quidditch Pitch. He doesn’t hate him. Hates what he stands for, maybe. Hates his family. But Regulus? After tonight especially- James definitely does not hate Regulus.
The letter is still in his pocket. He can feel its outline against his skin. He wants to rip it apart, burn it, incinerate it.
He’s blocking that part out, though. That negativity. He’s done what he does best- devoted himself entirely to hope. Regulus told him to be realistic, but it’s far too late for that. James is in this now. Fully.
His father would live because James and Regulus would make sure of it. They had to.
Still, even after he rinses under the tap, washes his face and crawls into bed, James just can’t seem to fall asleep.
---
Regulus lays in bed, wide awake. He’s made a mistake. Shit, shit, shit , he’s made a mistake. He fucked up, royally.
What was he thinking? Curing Dragon Pox? The wizarding world’s only incurable disease? Not a chance. And for Fleamont Potter? A prominent member of the Sacred 28’s rival house? Regulus rolls over and groans into his pillow.
And lest he forget- he’s just signed himself up to spend a large amount of time alone with James fucking Potter.
And his stupid fucking smile.
Shit , he mutters out loud. At first he thinks it was French before he realizes it was parseltongue. He mentally berates himself. He’s been spending too much time with that stupid snake.
As much as he tries to regret his decision; he can already feel the gears in his mind turning, ingredients and reactions and modifications swarming him. He can think of a few things he’d like to try, more than a few, and maybe…
He rolls out of bed, moving to his desk to grab his journal and quill. He casts lumos and sets his wand sticking up in the quill holder, a makeshift lamp. He starts to scribble, losing himself to potions. He’s not good at healing remedies. The potions he has to make are a lot less… kind. He doesn’t know much beyond your basic Pepperup potion, but that was for the common cold. This would have to be a bit more serious.
Suddenly, someone’s standing over him from behind. Regulus flinches and whips around to see Barty cocking a brow at him. Regulus shuts his journal.
“You’re up late.” Barty’s tone isn’t accusatory.
“Finishing up charms homework.”
“Right.” Barty flops down on Regulus’ bed behind them. “Did you hear? The Dark Lord is calling a huge meeting over christmas break. Everyone’s going- even me and Evan.”
Regulus has, in fact, heard. He received a letter from his parents last sunday, reminding him to make considerable progress with the Basilisk so he could bring back good news to the Dark Lord. He’s not excited.
“I mean, you go to these things all the time, right Reg? What should I know? Is it interesting? I imagine it can be quite boring.” Barty is whispering, albeit poorly.
It wasn’t boring. It could never be boring. It was terrifying. Regulus doesn’t say that, though. He’s pretty sure the Dark Lord’s snake can sense fear, and he doesn’t want Barty’s hand bitten off 5 minutes into his first meeting. “Do not speak. Not unless you are spoken to, which I imagine you won’t be. Don’t look the Dark Lord in the eyes, unless he addresses you directly. Even then, be cautious.” Regulus turns around in his chair to face Barty, because he needs him to understand this. “Do not be brave, Barty. Do not be bold.”
Barty’s face twists slightly. “Do I look like a bloody Gryffindor to you?”
Regulus just shakes his head and turns back around. He should probably tell Barty and Evan about the Basilisk. Merlin, they don’t even know he’s a parselmouth. It doesn’t matter, he thinks. They’d find out at the meeting.
“Oh. The Dark Lord’s snake. Don’t look her in the eye either.”
He hears Barty scoff. “No snake. Got it.” He most definitely didn’t get it.
Regulus just closes his eyes and sighs.
---
What are you doing? I hear writing. The Basilisk was curled on the floor of the chamber, large head resting on its tail.
I’m just thinking, Regulus says, jotting down another note about Jewelweed in his journal. He’d successfully avoided James the whole day. Which he should probably feel bad about, but definitely doesn’t.
About the sun?
No. Stop it with that. About potions.
You brew potions?
…Yes. Regulus flips the page in his journal. He’d long ago stopped leaving items of clothing around the chamber. The Basilisk had learned his scent thoroughly.
My master-
Regulus snaps the journal shut, glaring at the snake. Salazar? Merlin, you can just say his name, you know. He’s dead.
My master liked potions.
Regulus softens slightly. Did he brew them down here?
So yes, maybe Regulus had considered making a potions lab in the chamber. It had been quickly ruled out, for a number of glaringly obvious reasons.
The Basilisk doesn’t respond, forked tongue flickering quickly. Regulus tries again.
When did you first meet your master?
At birth. In this chamber. So Slytherin had created this monster.
Ah. Right. What- erm. What happened to him?
He… left. He used to visit me, often. And then he- didn’t.
That must’ve been when the 3 other founders forced him to leave. Regulus frowns, opening the journal again and doodling a small snake in the corner of the page. Was he kind? What was he asking? Was Slytherin kind? Of course not.
But the snake just hisses softly. To me.
Regulus nods before he remembers the Basilisk can’t see him. Did he say anything to you before he went?
Why so many questions, Little Prince?
Just wondering.
He told me one day my purpose would be fulfilled. I’d rid the school of filth.
Mudbloods.
The Basilisk doesn’t even flinch. Yes.
You were born in this chamber? Have you been nowhere else?
Once, I went up. In the pipes. After another set me loose.
Regulus sits fully up, staring at the snake. This feels critical. Voldemort?
I don’t know a Voldemort. Oh, right. Regulus had taught the snake about him just the other day.
Who, then?
He called himself Tom Riddle.
Regulus didn’t know that name. Another Heir of Slytherin, maybe? What happened?
I only killed once. One girl. The boy was not happy with me. He wanted more. The Basilisk turns its head, and Regulus' stomach sinks at the thick lacerations, long ago scared over, set deep on the Basilisks' dark cheek.
Regulus says nothing, staring for a moment. After a second, the Basilisk lets its head rest again.
When Slytherin was forced out, did he-
But before he can finish, the Basilisk surges up quickly, lunging at him with it’s wide mouth open. Regulus has time only to throw himself against the back wall. The snake snaps its jaw shut inches from his face, hissing.
My master was not forced to leave. He could never be forced to do anything. He left because they all turned against him, spineless pigs- The Basilisk slowly retreats, lowering itself back down to the chamber floor. Calming itself down. I may not be able to kill you, Little Prince, but I can still make you hurt. I have before. I will again. Do not insult my master.
Regulus tries to take deep breaths, hands still clenched and shaking. He shuts his eyes briefly, his heart still pounding.
I’m sorry. Regulus is willing to forgo his pride if he needs to.
When Regulus finally clambers out of the shaft that night and tries to head back to his room, he doesn’t get very far.
James finds him first.