Wrong
Pandora shuts her book and glares at him. “Stop talking,” She hisses.
Regulus looks up, indignant. “I’m not!”
She shushes him. “You were going to.”
He was. “I was not.”
“Well, we’re talking now. What is it?”
He gives up. “I was going to ask if you thought there was any way I could test out of astronomy. It’s just taking up time.”
“Mmm. Probably. Maybe.”
Regulus prefers studying with Pandora. As a Ravenclaw, she respects when he needs to be quiet and focus. She actually prefers it- as opposed to Barty or Dorcas who love to make conversation. Sometimes they invite Evan to their little study group, but often he declines. It’s just as well: Regulus and Pandora get along fine.
He reaches over and slides Hogwarts: A History across the table towards him, flipping it open. He’s been looking for a while now, searching for any mention of the potions lab that magically appeared in the wall. So far, he’s found nothing.
He skims the section titled “Secret Rooms” one last time, then promptly gives up. He shoves the book away from him and switches over to a potions book on cures. It’s a little on the nose, maybe, but Regulus still knows basically shit about healing potions and really needs to study before he sees James again.
Pandora sends him a look. She taps on the cover of Hogwarts: A History with one brightly colored nail. “What are you looking for?”
“Hm?” He glances up and meets her eyes. Her lashes are so blonde they're almost white. She blinks at him.
“You’ve been through this book about three times and you read for maybe 5 seconds each. What do you want to know?”
“I- um.” It’s Dora. He wouldn’t consider telling anyone else this, but she probably wouldn’t think twice. Honestly, she might be able to help. “The other day, I was walking, and a door just appeared in the wall. It had a- um, potions lab in it. It’s interesting because I was just thinking about how I needed-”
“You needed one. Right.” She laughs, and then immediately stifles it behind her hand after a look from Madam Pince. “You mean the Come and Go room.”
“What?”
“The house-elves told me, but I found it too. I was thinking about how desperately I wanted a nap, and the door appeared. It gave me a lovely bed. I haven’t seen it again, but I’m sure I could If I needed to.”
“So… what? The room only appears when there’s something you need?”
Pandora twirls a lock of her hair around her finger. “Yes. Or want, maybe.”
“Hm.”
He can feel her studying him. “You’re worried.”
“What?”
“About something. More than usual. It’s like the train, I can tell- somethings off.” She waves her hands vaguely.
“Nothing's off. I’m not worried.”
“Yes, you are. And you aren't going to tell me. But do look out for yourself, Reg.”
He wishes his friends would stop saying stuff like that.
“Naturally.” There’s something about Pandora that brings out the softness in Regulus, his underbelly. He’s half convinced she has the power to make anyone do anything simply because they don’t want to upset her.
She nods at him, then opens her book again. “Ask Slughorn. About testing out of Astronomy. He’ll help you out. Though think twice, Reg. The stars make great conversation if you choose to listen.”
Regulus watches her read for a moment, silent. He wonders what world she belongs in. He’s certain it isn’t this one.
After a second, he goes back to the book in front of him.
---
The next time Dumbledore asks to meet him, Regulus starts to really dislike the man. The staircase to his office takes too long, and the hippogriff guarding the doorway gives him a dirty look as he passes.
When he sits, Dumbledore leans across his desk, lacing his long white fingers together delicately. “Mr. Black.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Thank you for finding the time to meet with me.”
“Of course, Sir.”
“Are you planning on going home for Christmas?”
The question catches him so off guard Regulus has to take time to think of his answer. “...Yes, sir.” Where else would he go?
“Hm.” Dumbledore leans back and studies him. Regulus wants him to stop looking at him like that. He straightens his back, squares his shoulders.
From a drawer in his desk, Dumbledore pulls out a letter. It’s folded, but the dark black seal has been broken. The breath catches in Regulus’s throat. He can vaguely make it out- but he’s sure either way. That’s the Black family crest, the Black family seal. That’s a letter from his mother.
Except- he never received that one. Dumbledore must’ve intercepted it. His hands jump in his lap, but there’s nothing he can do. He stares, waits, for something. Anything. Any indication of what Dumbledore now knows. The silence stretches, and the waters rise. Regulus tries not to choke.
“I do apologize, Mr. Black, for going through your mail, but desperate times call for desperate measures.”
Regulus waits. He’s too terrified to be angry, at least for now.
“This letter says something about a meeting over break. You’re expected to attend. You’re also supposed to bring back a ‘progress report’. May I ask what your mother intends with these requests?”
Fuck.
No, he can handle this. It’s fine. He’s smart enough.
“The meeting is in referral to my tutor. My mother wants me to get better in French, especially literature. The progress report is… on my brother.” He has to bite out the words. “She hasn’t seen him in a while, asked me to keep track of how he’s doing.” It’s hard; lying without actually being able to read the letter. All that could be proven wrong in an instant, and Regulus would lose any shred of control he still has on the situation.
He closes his hand under the table. Digs into his skin. Fist. Nails. Calm.
“Mr. Black, as I stated before, these are desperate times. All information pertaining to Lord Voldemort would be extremely-”
“I’m sorry Sir. I don’t know anything.” Fist, nails, calm.
“Mr. Black. After the recent attacks on Beauxbatons, we really need to know what his next move is. It would be crucial to have someone on the inside, someone to tell us-”
“I’m sorry sir.” If Dumbledore was intercepting his letters, he’d need to be more careful. He can’t stop writing to his mother, that would only make things ten times worse for him when he gets home. He needs to find a way to let her know, tell her it’s no longer safe… he should’ve been on the lookout, that’s what she’d say. He should have been smart enough to encrypt all his letters, hide all her mail.
“There’s something else, Mr. Black.” Dumbledore leans back in his chair, and Regulus imagines stabbing him through the heart. It’d feel good. “I’ve noticed you’ve been absent from the common room lately. A lot more than previous years.”
What. The. Fuck.
“You watch the common room?”
“I have the house elves report any unusual behavior. During these times, it's pertinent that I make sure everyone is staying safe.”
Regulus just stares at him.
“My point is, Mr. Black, if there’s anything you need to tell me, I’m here. If you feel like you’re being pressured to do something you-”
Regulus stands up sharply, the chair screeching back a little more than he intends it to. “Sorry, Sir, but I just remembered I have a meeting with Slughorn I’ve nearly forgotten about. We’ll have to continue this conversation later.”
“Mr. Black-”
Regulus turns and walks out before he can finish.
---
“You’re angry.”
It's the first thing James says to him when he walks in.
“I’m not.”
“You are.” James crosses to his side of the table.
Regulus sighs. “Dumbledore.”
James nods sagely. “Ah.” A pause. “What’d Dumbledore do?”
“Did you know he has the house elves watching us? Well, not us, actually, because I’m pretty sure he just keeps an eye on Slytherin. God knows Gryffindors can do no wrong-”
“He’s watching you?”
Regulus nods. “Intercepted my letters too.”
James furrows his brows. “Wait, really? Reg, that's awful. Can we do something? I can go ask him to-”
"Potter. No."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
Regulus looks away. James grins. “Lucky for you, I brought us some bread pudding.”
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a little napkin, neatly folded into a square. He looks up at Regulus, triumphant.
Regulus stares at him, incredulous. “... Bread pudding? Like from dinner?”
“I went to the kitchens. The house elves helped me wrap it up.” He unfolds it carefully, presenting the pudding, cut into squares, to Regulus.
“Potter, this is not a picnic.”
“It’ll make you feel better. Besides, we need nutrition for healthy functioning brains.”
Regulus has to shove down the flush creeping up his neck at that. It’ll make you feel better.
Regulus swallows. “I don’t think your brain can function. Ever.”
James just grins and hands him a chunk of bread pudding. “Just eat, then we can talk potion cures.” Regulus glares at him.
When James turns to pull out a book from his bag, Regulus takes a bite. It’s good.
“Hey, about the other day, in the hallway,” James starts, “Where were you coming from?”
“Does it matter?”
“I guess not, but… I was just, I don’t know, I’ve seen you on that hallway three times now, and one of them you were very injured.”
“I was not very injured.”
“You collapsed at my feet.”
“That is not how that happened, first of all, and second of all, I’m fine now.”
James rubs his forehead. “That’s not my point.”
“It doesn’t matter. Leave it.”
“Fine. Also… ah… I’m sorry about what Sirius said. About Alphard.”
I’m going to tell him that you’re a coward and a traitor, and he’ll die ashamed.
Regulus can’t bring himself to meet James’s eyes. It’s work to keep his face neutral. “I don’t care what he said.”
“It was a shitty thing to say, though, either way. He’s just hurting a lot right now, what with Alphard and …everything.”
Everything. Regulus stays quiet.
James sighs, and hands him another piece of pudding. “You both are so bloody dramatic,” he mumbles, sinking down and biting into his own.
“I was thinking,” Regulus says when they’ve finished the pudding. They’re sitting on the floor, cross legged. “We have an issue.”
“Besides the incurable part of our little plan?”
“Besides that. What happens when you go back for Christmas break? With Sirius?” It took a minute for Regulus to realize that little hang-up. In his head, Sirius still lives in Grimmauld Place. In his head, he’ll be there with him when he goes back.
James’s face darkens a bit, and he looks down. “I know. I know. I need to tell him by then. I just, I don’t know how. I can’t… I can’t.”
“You’ll get over it. When you talk to him.”
“I’ll tell him by break. I will.” At Regulus’s look, James laughs. The sound sends shivers through his body. James continues. “And I won’t mention you. At all. I promise.”
Regulus nods, just once. “Let's get this over with by break then. Not the cure. I still don’t think that’s possible. But the first step, the muscle barrier, let’s have that done so you can take it home and somehow get him to try it.”
James nods, then jumps to his feet and claps. Regulus flinches and glares at him. “Let's do then! Up, up, we’ve got a disease to cure!”
Regulus gets to his feet. God, he hates him.
---
When he visits the Basilisk next, he checks to make sure no elves are following before he slips into the bathroom.
He’s brought his violin with him, partly because it’s been too long and partly because he wants to hear what the acoustics sound like in the chamber.
He settles himself on top of the statue's head, and looks down at the Basilisk. I’m going to play some music, he says. He’s found it helps to warn the snake in advance.
Music?
Yes. Regulus lifts the violin out of its case and tightens the bow, gliding the box of rosin down it only once before lifting the instrument under his chin.
When he starts to play, the basilisk flinches back. Regulus doesn’t stop, his fingers moving swiftly over the strings. The sound shudders off the walls, bouncing and spiraling in a haunting echo. It’s beautiful.
Whenever Regulus plays, the rest of the world melts back a bit. It’s still there, on the edges of his mind, waiting to be let in; but it’s gentle. With the violin tucked under his chin, Regulus is calm. It's like when he flies, alone and high up, soaring through the wet cold air. It's soft.
Sometimes, though, he’ll hit a note slightly off. Just a bit, just the wrong angle of his bow, and he's back in his living room, tears running down his face as his mother smacks his wrist and demands he do it again. Sirius looks up at him helplessly from the piano, entirely useless. There was nothing to be done. So Regulus would play, over and over while his mother watched. It was hard to be calm then.
When Regulus lowers the violin, the Basilisk is silent for a moment. You should do that more often.
You liked it?
My master used to play.
Ah. He played the violin?
No. The piano.
Regulus looks down at the snake, violin resting in his lap. My brother played piano.
Was he good?
Regulus smiles slightly, though the Basilisk can’t see. Yeah.
He was always jealous of how easily music came to Sirius. He never seemed to struggle as much as Regulus did. He was always dismissed to dinner first- though he’d do his best to sneak a roll out for Regulus when he was done. Regulus was jealous of Sirius’s instrument, too- the piano was all flat spaces and smooth surfaces. It sounded gentle; it was gentle. The violin was sharp and dangerous. Strings that dig in, all rough edges and metal shards. When Sirius was done, his fingers would be clean and smooth. Regulus would have to bundle his in kitchen towels to stop the bleeding. It never seemed fair.
Walburga would tell him that if he practiced more, he’d grow calluses. It’d hurt less. And it was true, the pads of his fingers grew thick and rough with practice.
It didn’t take long to discover that even calluses can be cut through after enough time.
Where did your master get a piano? In all of Regulus’s time down here, he’d never seen a piano tucked anywhere.
I heard it. It was perfect.
But- nevermind. If the Basilisk didn’t answer a question the first time, it was rare to get anything out of him the second.
Where is your brother?
He’s here. He’s a student. A Gryffindor.
To his surprise, the Basilisk doesn’t react.
Gryffindors. Nobel. Brave. I liked him.
Regulus straightens, his heart starting to pick up its pace. Who, Gryffindor? You met Godric Gryffindor?
I didn’t mind him.
But- the actual Gryffindor, he knew you were down here?
Yes. The Basilisk flickers its pointed tongue.
Regulus sits back, slightly out of breath. It made no sense. If Gryffindor knew this beast was down here, specifically to kill muggleborns, how- why didn’t he do anything? Kill it? Turn in Slytherin?
Why was he down here?
You want to know so much. I do not know the answers to all things.
“Merde,” Regulus hisses through gritted teeth, wanting to punch something. He puts his violin back in its case instead. How can one snake be so unhelpful? I have to go, he tells the Basilisk.
He’s been sneaking out after his friends fall asleep, finding it easier than having to constantly make up excuses. It does mean he gets no rest himself, but he’s willing to live with that consequence. As much as he wants to keep talking about this, it’s practically morning.
This has to be one of the most confusing nights of his life.
It doesn’t get better.
---
The full moon never gets easier. Not for Remus, not for anyone.
At least he no longer wakes up alone and covered in blood.
James squeezes his eyes shut as Remus screams again, hunched over on the floor of the shack. The sound never fails to tear into him, ripping through his ribs to his heart.
“Wormtail, I think it's time,” Sirius says, just as Remus looks up at them and growls “Change! Now!”
The three of them morph into their animagi forms. It’s always smooth for them. It’s so much worse for Remus. James has to duck his head, blinking his deer eyes shut. Even as a stag, James can’t bring himself to watch as his friend’s skin splits open and the monster appears.
After, when the moon has vanished and they’ve made it back to the shack, something's not quite right. Remus is still not himself, still too tall and too large and much too dangerous. It’s been too long.
James huffs out air and turns his head to look at Padfoot, who flicks his tail back and forth nervously. Wormtail squeaks a bit from the ground. They’ve all gathered back in the shack, because logically, this should be done by now. The wolf snarls at them, playful attitude of an hour ago long gone.
Then Moony takes a few steps towards Padfoot, who's hackles go up instantly. James can’t think beyond
Bad.
Not right.
Somethings wrong
Fix this.
He canters forwards, huffing again. Wormtail skitters away between his legs to the back of the shack.
The wolf growls again at Padfoot, who takes a catious step back, tail tucked between his legs. Suddenly, before any of them have time to de-escalate the situation, the wolf lunges. Claws out, teeth bared.
Not right. Fix.
Fix.
Fix.
Protect.
James moves quick, too quick, in front of Padfoot. He feels the claws tear into his side, feels the rip of flesh. He twists his head, knocking the wolf away with his antlers. There’s blood matting his hair, he can feel its warmth, but the adrenaline blocks the pain. He stumbles away towards Padfoot, who whimpers and gently nudges him with his wet nose. When he looks back, the wolf is on the ground, skin shrinking and reshaping.
Remus lays on his side, bruised and slightly bloody. Unconscious, but stirring.
Ouch.
Now it hurts. James stumbles again, but he’s not as stable as a stag. Next to him, Padfoot is changing, and Peter is already pulling on a shirt, looking panicked. James can’t tell why.
Sirius grabs James’s head between his hands, eyes wide. “Change, James. You need to change.”
Change?
Human, he remembers through the haze of pain. Now. And between Sirius’s hands, he focuses his energy and feels his skin begin to shift shape.
“Fuck,” He groans. Sirius is kneeling, James in his arms. It bloody hurts, but it’s fine. He’s going to be fine. He will.
He’s just in his pants, because they prefer to leave their trousers and shirts off before they change in case they get ripped. He can feel blood on his skin, but his main focus is Remus. “Moony-”
“Shh, he’s fine, Pete’s got him.” Sirius’s hands are hovering over James’ abdomen, as if he doesn’t know what to do. “Bloody hell Prongs, you’re a fucking idiot.”
“James?” Remus’s voice, breaking and croaky.
“I’m fine, Moons. I’m- ugh. I’m fine.” James has to squeeze his eyes shut against the pain.
“James? What happened? What did I do?” He sounds more terrified than James has ever heard him.
“Nothing, Remus. Don’t worry.” He tries to sound reassuring, but judging by Remus’s broken gasp, he guesses he doesn’t manage it very well.
Sirius mutters a spell. “The bleeding’s stopped, thank fuck, so lets just get him back to the castle and we can clean him up.”
He gets to his feet, leaning down and pulling James up by his underarm. James has to try not to cry out, biting his lip till it bleeds. The taste of blood on his tongue seems fitting, somehow.
Remus and Pete get to their feet. While Peter is supporting Remus, it’s only slight. Remus looks ok. James lets out a breath.
He slings an arm over Sirius, taking a hesitant step. Fire shoots up his side and he nearly doubles over.
“Ok, Ok, you’re fine. Jesus, Prongs, you’re the one supposed to be taking care of me when I’m injured. Not the other way around.”
James grins and then winces. “Guess it was your turn.”
The trip back to the castle is awful. Once they get inside, they have a quick whispered argument about where to go.
“Madam Pomfrey's, now.” Remus glares at him, and James does his best not to shrink back under the force of it.
“No. She’s going to ask questions, and there’s literally no logical explanation for this. On a full moon, too. She’ll know, Remus. I won’t.”
“James, I don’t care what she’ll find out. You need actual medical help. You’re bleeding over your pants.”
James glances down. Sirius’s spell had only lasted so long, it seemed. James still didn’t quite have the time to put on trousers, or a shirt for that matter, and now the side of his pants are starting to turn red. He reaches up and clamps a hand over the smarting wound. It’s not that deep, he thinks. He hopes. But shit, does it hurt.
“I’ll be fine. I won’t sacrifice your safety for mine, Remus.”
“You already tried that, you bloody idiot, and look what that got you. Please James, I need you to be ok.”
James glanced at Pete and Sirius. “Guys, help.”
“Ok, well, standing here about to bleed out on the floor isn’t a great option. But Moony, I think Prongs is right. We can’t risk it. He’ll be ok. We have spells, and towels.”
“Thanks, Pads.”
Remus’s glare intensifies. “Pete?”
“Ah- I’m kind of with James and Sirius on this one, Remus. I’m sorry, but she’ll know we were with you. It's like Pads said, we can’t risk it.”
“Traitor,” Remus hisses, but sighs. “Fine, but if you die from this Prongs, I will literally kill you.”
“I think you already tried that one, mate.” James coughs, taking a step.
Remus’s eyes widen, and James laughs. “Sorry, sorry. Too soon.”
They start to move, taking the staircase one step at a time. Once they reach the second floor James needs a break. “Can I have my shirt back? Or my trousers?”
“Do you want to bleed over them?” Pete hisses. Remus has been uncharacteristically quiet since the first floor argument.
“No. Fine. I’ll just keep going like this then.”
“Don’t worry, Prongsy, you have the muscles to make the bloodied look work.”
“Great, thanks. I’m sure the portraits are appreciating this.”
“Oh, we are!” An old woman titers over her martini glass. The man one painting over grumply shushes her, previously fast asleep. James winks.
They keep moving, James’s arm still slung over Sirius’s shoulder.
Footsteps echo down the hallway in front of them. They freeze, sharing panicked glances. The cloak is bundled with James’s clothes in Pete’s arms, and it’s far too late anyway.
Someone rounds the corner, wand lit.
Sirius swears softly under his breath. James swallows.
Regulus.
Shit. James’s first thought is that he’s almost naked. He flushes, though he doubts anyone can tell. He mentally berates himself a second later. That is not the most pressing issue here. He’s also half covered in blood.
His second thought is this floor. Again.
Regulus freezes, eyes wide and face white. He stares at James, taking him in quickly.
“What-”
“Keep moving, Reg, we don’t have time for this.” Sirius moves forward, forcing James to take another step.
Regulus takes a step closer, and is that…? No, surely not. Surely the great Regulus Black doesn’t look concerned right now.
But there it is, in the slight pinch of his eyebrows, the tilt of his chin. James mentally fills a note to tease him about this later.
“Sirius, what the fuck-”
“I told you to fuck off.”
“Sirius, just keep going,” Peter mutters.
Regulus glances between them, looking for all the world like someone at a loss for what to do. His cheeks have turned a decidedly bright shade of pink.
“Regulus, don’t worry about it. I’m fine.” James says. He tries to sound formal, professional. Just talking to a classmate. He tries not to let his voice sound too reassuring.
Regulus locks eyes with him, and James finds himself struck by the intensity of his gaze.
“Trust me Prongs, he’s not worried about you. He’s just looking to stir up trouble.” Sirius says, taking another step with James.
“So are you,” Peter almost growls. “So please, can we get a move on before James bleeds out in this hallway?”
“Fine,” Sirius mutters. “Reg, crawl back to the dungeons. If you say a word about this, just remember I know your weak spots.”
“Padfoot-”
“Ok, I’m going.” He starts to walk again, and James groans in pain.
Regulus sends him a look. “Sirius, use dittany. Whatever spell you already tried for the bleeding obviously failed.”
Sirius mutters something under his breath about unhelpful little brothers. “Fuck off.”
Regulus glares at him but doesn’t say anything else, hesitantly letting them pass. James can feel his eyes on them as they walk away.
Once they’re out of sight, Sirius mutters “Don’t you see? He’s on the second floor again, way past curfew. I swear to Godrick, he’s up to something.”
For once, James can’t disagree.
---
They make it back to the common room in one piece. James collapses on his bed and Remus runs to grab wet rags.
Peter pulls out dittany from Remus’s bedside table, where they keep it for emergencies. Carefully and methodically, with spell work, plants, and water, they clean him up and fashion a make-shift bandage.
Remus still hasn’t said a word, but by the time they’re done James is too exhausted to check in about it. He’d do it tomorrow, he tells himself. First, he’d just like a bit of sleep.
When he closes his eyes, his dreams are filled with claws and fur and sharp grey eyes.