No Greater Sin

When James wakes up the next morning, Remus isn’t in his bed. Peter and Sirius are snoring contentedly. 

James sits up, clapping a hand over his mouth to stifle a cry of pain. Right. He forgot. He lifts his shirt, swallowing thickly at the bandages wrapping his ribcage. They’re thick, but already a small patch of red is starting to show through. 

He climbs out of bed slowly, wishing for all the world he could go to Madam Pomfrey for a pain potion. He settles on another leaf of dittany to chew as he grabs the map. 

He finds Remus’s name in the prefect's bathroom. Probably having a bath, but it isn’t like James hasn’t seen him naked before. Besides, they really need to talk. 

When he opens the door, he’s greeted by a plume of lavender steam. He coughs and pushes through it. He finds Remus alone in the bath, head resting back against the rim of the large tub. 

“Moony,” He starts, and Remus lurches up and whips his head around. 

“Merlin, James, you scared me. What- you can’t be in here. This is a perfect’s bath.”

“I’m basically a prefect.”

“No you’re not.” 

“By association-”

Remus rolls his eyes. “I’m naked, James. At least get out so I can put on some pants.”

James laughs. “Hey, after last night we’re even now. Well, I guess you don’t have to walk through the castle in only your underwear, but…”

At that, Remus’s face falls. James watches him carefully. “Moony?”

“It’s just-” He takes a shuddering breath, and more steam rises. Something heavy clings to the corners of the room. “I’m sorry James. I’m so, so sorry, I fucked up and I never meant for anyone to get hurt, and-”

“Hey, hey,” James moves quickly, kneeling next to the tub, water staining his knees. “It’s not your fault. I don’t blame you. Nobody blames you.” 

“No, you don’t understand, I was so angry -” 

“It wasn’t you, though, was it?” 

“But I should’ve told you, I should’ve warned you about it.”

James pauses. “About what?”

Remus looks miserable. “Why I needed that book, what I was doing in the library with Regulus. I shouldn’t have blamed it all on that stupid curse.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean there are things I could’ve told you but didn’t.” 

James clears his throat. “You can tell me now.”

When Remus looks up at him, there are tears in his eyes. The sight hits James like a brick. He’s never, not once in his life, seen Remus cry. Sometimes, when he first watched Remus turn during the full moon, a tear or two would slip down his cheek. But that was from pure physical pain, desperation, nothing like this. This was different. Somehow, this was more… authentic. 

It scared him. 

“Remus?”

“I think I’m changing, James. For good. I can feel it. I know you see it too. It’s taking longer and longer each moon to turn. I mean this time, the moon was practically gone by the time I shifted back again.” He closes his eyes briefly, and James wants to hug him desperately. “I’m getting angrier, too, during the month. It’s like part of the wolf stays with me. And when I do change, I mean… you saw what happened last. Hell, you felt what happened. I can’t control anything.”

James takes a deep breath. “So the book, the library…”

“I was doing research. I wanted to know if this happens to other… people like me.” The words come out with a certain hesitation. 

“And?”

Remus wipes a hand over his face. “It does.” Something inside James sinks.

“We can figure it out.” James huffs. “I don’t think, I mean… I haven’t noticed a difference. Why didn’t you tell us sooner? Or Sirius, when he asked?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Remus-”

“‘Cause you’re all going to be scared of me now,” Remus snaps, his eyes flicking up. When he’s frustrated, his accent comes out strong. “I know if I told Sirius, he’d never look me in the eye again. And I can’t- I can’t take that.”

Something in his tone catches on that little curious part of James that always ignites when it comes to Sirius and Remus. There’s something different there, he knows, but not something he can place. 

“I don’t think he’ll care about that. I mean, if anything, it’ll just make him want to find a… cure… faster.” James trails off the end of his sentence, the weight of the situation finally piling itself on his shoulders.

Another cure. Another person he cares about sick with no certain way out. Another secret to keep. 

He sits down heavily, trousers soaked now too. He takes a deep breath, but it shakes on the inhale. He needs to get out of this cloying steam, this oppressive heat that makes it hard to breathe. He wonders if panic has always smelled like lavender. 

Fuck. 

He can’t do this. He can’t. Not this too. 

Not Remus. 

Not his father. 

What if he can’t save anyone? 

No, it’s ok, he can balance this. He can make room for this too. He’ll figure it out, maybe he’ll visit Dumbledore. Ask him to start looking for a way to stop whatever’s happening to Remus. At least slow it down. He has to agree, right?

“James?” Remus is watching him with wide concerned eyes. 

“I’m… fine. I’m ok. In your research, did it say anything about a time frame? Or what’s happening?”

Remus gives him a cautious look. “I need to get dressed first. This is not a conversation to be had while I’m in the bath. Kindly get out, just for a second?”

“Great. Yeah. I’ll be in the… stall.” He turns and stands, wincing slightly. He seats himself on a closed toilet lid, resting his head against the wall, suddenly too tired to keep it up. They have probably thirty minutes before breakfast.

After a minute, Remus sits down on the toilet across from him, sweater on, hair still wet from his bath. “The books said I have a while. There are cures, probably, but I don’t know what yet. I still have more to learn. I think, I mean as far as I know, I’ll just turn one moon and not turn back.”

Don’t worry , James thinks. I’ll save you too. I just need more time. He presses a hand to his forehead, closing his eyes. “Ok.”

“Now it’s your turn. What’s going on?”

The words press against his throat, begging to be let out. He swallows thickly. 

“Prongs.”

“My dad’s sick.” The only other time he’s said the words out loud was that night to Regulus, he realizes. They don’t taste any better the second time around. 

“Shit. What- I mean, what happened? What is it? How bad is it?”

“Dragon pox. He only has a few months, so you’re winning in that regard. They think it was an attack, somehow. I haven’t been allowed to visit him, yet. Hopefully they’ll figure something out by Christmas break.” James kicks the bottom of the door restlessly.

Remus doesn’t apologize, or console him, or anything. Just watches. “You haven’t told Sirius.”

James’s lack of response is condemning enough. 

“James…”

“I know.”

“He deserves to know.”

“I know.”

“He’s his father too.”

“He was mine first.” It comes out before James even has the chance to think about what he’s saying. Remus stares at him, not angry, just patient. James hangs his head. “Sorry. That’s not fair. I’ll tell him. I just… couldn’t. Not with Alphard.”

It’s an easy excuse, and he grabs it with both hands. He doesn’t tell Remus the real, much darker, much more selfish reason. The one that comes with nothing but a trail of guilt.

“Oh, I shouldn’t have told you,” Remus starts suddenly. “You shouldn’t have to worry about me too.”

“Too late for that. And don't worry, I’m always a little worried about you.” He lets out a small laugh. “I’m glad you told me. I’d rather know.”

“Hm.”

“But Moony- can you not mention the thing with my dad to Sirius? I’ll tell him. I just- I should do it.”

Remus sighs. “Ok, James, you tell him. I have my own secrets to share with Sirius anyway.” He gestures at himself vaguely. “But do tell him, please.”

“...I will.” James finds himself missing Regulus and his quiet understanding. He can feel Remus’s disapproval emanating off him.

“Don’t worry, Moony. We’ll sort you out.” James says, and Remus only nods. 

“I know I can't stop you from trying.”

They stand up together, leaving a cloud of lavender steam behind them as they walk out. 

—-

When James walks into the Come and Go room next, Regulus is waiting for him. He’s frowning, which inevitably makes James smile. 

“Hey,” He says, taking another bundle of bread pudding out of his pocket, putting it on the table. He always feels so useless; at least when he brings snacks he’s contributing something. 

“You’re late. Again.”

“Yes, but I’ve brought food. Again.”

“Mm.”

James walks closer. “Any inspiring ideas since I’ve seen you last?”

“Oh, you mean since the other night? When I found you wandering the halls, practically naked and bleeding out?”

James snaps his mouth shut. Shit. He forgot about that. His side gives a twinge as if it remembers it’s supposed to be in pain. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t even try.”

“I don’t think that happened. Pretty sure you’re imagining things.”

“I see that you’re alive and well, so my idiot brother did something right. Or- was it Lupin? He seems a bit more competent.”

“I have no idea-“

“James.”

Oh. 

James. 

James. James James James James.

Something warm blooms in his chest. “I’m fine.” He relents. “They patched me up.”

“What happened? Do I want to know?”

“Probably not.” James holds Regulus' strong gaze. It’s a bit of a struggle. 

“You’re not going to tell me.” It’s a statement, not a question.

James says nothing. 

Regulus is stubborn. “You were practically leaving a trail of blood down the hall.”

“So what happened to you, Reg?” James starts, and Regulus’s eyes flash. “When you fell out of that bathroom with a broken ankle. What happened then? Why are you always on the second floor late at night?” 

They lock eyes, both silent. Something’s pulled taught between them, and then it snaps.  

Regulus shakes his head, breaking the silence. “I still don’t know how we’re going to do this. I don’t think it’s possible.”

Ah. The potion, his father. Reality crashes back into place. 

At least once every meeting, Regulus feels the need to re-enforce that sentiment. James has learned to block him out. He ignores him, for his own sanity. 

James peers into the cauldron boiling on the table. They’d mixed the ingredients last time, and Regulus had taken one look and declared they’d need to let it boil for at least a week. They keep meeting, because things need to be added and the potion needs to be stirred.

“What if we just turn up the heat? Won’t it finish faster?” To James’ chagrin, it’s a genuine question.

Regulus turns to him, incredulous. “That is so unbelievably idiotic I don’t even know where to start.”

Regulus apparently does know where to start, because he goes off on a tangent about boiling points and rates of precipitation. James watches him talk, not really listening.

He grabs a piece of bread pudding and offers another to Regulus, who takes it without slowing down.

It’s funny, on some level. How easy it is, this rhythm they’ve fallen into. Conversation among enemies.

But James doesn’t let himself see it that way. No enemy would agree to help him like this. Dedicate this much time and effort. James itches to return the favor. He has no idea how. 

“Come help me crush these bloom berries.” Regulus slides the bowl towards him and James jumps in, eager to be of some assistance. 

James picks up a knife, trying to mimic Regulus’s swift movements. He watches his long fingers quickly flip the blade to the flat side and drag them across the berry while pushing down, crushing them. James does his best to copy him, resulting in a squirt of purple berry juice across his chin. He wipes it off, frowning. Regulus bites his cheek, obviously trying not to laugh. James' chest lights up. He tries again, and gets it right this time. 

“It’s our match this weekend.” James starts, still carefully focused on the berries.

“Oh, I know.” Regulus smirks. “I wouldn’t forget.”

“Right, right. Of course. You’re gonna destroy us, and all that.” 

“Naturally.”

“Mmm. I’ll let our beaters know to look out for you specifically. With their talent, you’d be lucky to get through the match still on your broom.” 

“If that’s what you need to tell yourself.”

James grins at him. “I guess we’ll see if you make it out alive, yeah? Let’s just start with that.”

“Oh, so you’re putting a hit on me now?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

“Ah, you admit that I’d need to be killed in order for you to win.”

“Well-“

“Not to mention, you’re still shit at potions.” 

James furrows his brow. “What does that have to do with quidditch?”

Regulus looks up at him, smiling sarcastically. There’s a flash of teeth. “You can’t kill me, you need me.”

James has to take a breath. “I think you’re giving yourself a bit too much credit there. I’ve already made like half this potion.”

“What are these bloom berries going to do?”

It’s a test, one that James immediately fails. “Uh…”

“Precisely.” Regulus resumes his crushing, and James can’t help but laugh. 

He watches him for a minute, forgetting about his berries. He knows now- how he’ll repay him. Though it won’t be enough. It won’t even come close. But… “I can talk to Sirius, if you’d like. You could come to my house for Christmas break, or something. If you don’t want to go back.” 

Regulus’s hands still on the knife. “What?”

“I just mean- I could talk to him. I know my Mum would be fine with it, and at the end of the day… I don’t know.”

“You can’t be… is that an actual suggestion?”

Of course. Of course it is. “Yes?”

“James, I can’t… I can’t do that.”

“Yes you-“

“No, I can’t.”

“Sirius managed it.”

Regulus’s eyes harden. “Contrary to what everyone seems to believe, I am not Sirius.”

He’s right. 

“So you want to go back? I thought you said they were killing you.”

Alright, maybe the wrong thing to say. James’ having an off day, apparently. Regulus’s face shuts down, another wall up. James curses himself. 

Regulus stares at the bowl in front of him, picking the knife back up. “I have to go back.”

“But do you want to?”

Regulus’s eyes are hard, focused on the small purple berries. Crush. Crush. Crush. “I have to go back.” 

“Reg-”

“You can’t save everyone, Potter.” He picks up the cutting board, dumping the crushed berries and their juices into the cauldron. A plum of purple steam goes up, and Regulus waves it away before stirring. 

“Ok.” James says finally, watching him through the mist.

Regulus looks up. “Ok?”

“I won’t try to save you.”

Something flickers across Regulus’s face. He looks down. “Ok.”

It’s like he said. 

James has always been a good liar. 

---

For the first time, Regulus doesn’t spend all of his time in the Chamber on top of the statue's head. He’s standing on the floor, the Basilisk about 15 feet away. He wants to try something new. 

Can I go into the mouth? Regulus asks cautiously. His proximity to the snake is sending his pulse skyrocketing. From this angle, he gets a nice view of its long dripping fangs. 

The Basilisk seems to think for a second. Carefully . It responds finally. Regulus lets out a sigh.

Thank you. I’ll be respectful. He’s learned what keywords work best.

Gingerly, Regulus crouches slightly and steps into the tunnel that is the mouth. It smells like snake, and the floor once again crunches under Regulus’s feet. 

Bones.

He doesn’t look down. 

Instead he lights his wand, holding it out in front of him. The tunnel stretches for a ways, but he can see where it opens up. That must be where the Basilisk sleeps and spends its time. He can feel the Basilisk behind him, hear it slither. It’s following, blocking his way out. Regulus clings to the idea that it won’t attack, but being so close to it with nowhere to go isn’t helping things. 

Finally, finally, he steps into a cavern. It’s large, but just large enough for the Basilisk to comfortably curl up. Regulus notices some discarded snake skins here and there, and thousands more rat bones. He looks around. Sees a door. 

A door? 

Solid and wooden, it’s ornate handle wrapped with a snake. A human door.

He crosses to it, and the Basilisk hisses threateningly. Regulus stops, turns. Can I go in? 

The Basilisk flicks its tail uncomfortably, not unlike a distressed cat, Regulus thinks. He turns back to the door. There's another snake, a tiny one, right on the top of the brass doorknob. Shaped into an S. Slytherin.
Was this your master’s old room?

Yes. 

Regulus aches to throw the door open. But he knows, at least in this case, it’s better to ask for permission than forgiveness .

Can I go in? He repeats.

Don’t ask me. The Basilisk says from behind him. 

Regulus takes a step forward. He feels a bit stupid, but he addresses the snakes on the door. Can I enter? 

The snakes come to life, slithering and winding around the doorknob. He thinks of those that guard Grimmauld Place.
What’s our secret? They hiss in unison. What do we hide?

Regulus turns to the Basilisk, at a loss. The Basilisk just tips its head, saying nothing. Waiting. This is up to Regulus. 

What do we hide? The snakes ask again. 

What was worth tucking way back here, in the bowels of the castle, as far from people as you could get? What did Slytherin want to protect so bad? What was so desperately sacred?

Regulus thinks back to an early conversation with the Basilisk. “What did your master want that he couldn’t have? ” 

Something tight burns in his stomach. Something all too familiar, all too consuming. A flash of chocolate eyes and glasses. He swallows. The sun.  

The snakes hiss, then turn and wind away. The door clicks, and Regulus reaches for the knob. Turns it slowly, hundreds of years of dust beneath his fingers. Behind him, the Basilisk stays silent. When he pushes the door open, the room behind it is dark. Regulus sends out a light spell, and an oil lamp and multiple candles all flicker then light in unison. He blinks, then looks around.
Everything’s covered in a thick layer of dust. There’s a bed in the corner with an ornate headboard. A desk against the wall, a chair, a basic rug. A bookshelf, bursting at the seams with titles. Pages liter the ground around the desk. All the furniture is outdated, severely so. 

On the far wall, a piano rests with its lid closed.

Regulus’s chest feels tight. This is big, bigger than him. Something great. Something huge. The weight of his discovery, of history , presses down on him. 

He turns to look at the Basilisk. It’s wonderful. 

I can smell him. For the first time, there’s emotion behind the Basilisk’s words. I haven’t smelt him in so long. 

To Regulus’s shock, a single wet tear slips out of the Basilisk’s swollen shut eye. It runs down its cheek and lands with a quiet drip on the floor. Regulus sucks in a breath. The Basilisk ducks its head. Thank you, little prince. 

And it’s just them, boy and snake, alone in a dark cave, the voices of the past circling them silently. 

When Regulus does turn and starts to explore, it’s the desk he goes to first. When he pulls open the drawer, he finds a journal. He brushes the dust off it and coughs. When he opens it, a letter falls out. He slips it into his pocket. He’ll read it later. 

The journal is written in tiny dark script, scribbles about potions and the castle. Regulus sets it on top of the desk. There was so much to read, to learn, but he had time. Just not right now. He should really be getting to bed soon, and besides, he’d be back.
He does look over the bookshelf before he goes. It’s work to pull himself away. It’s filled with books titled New Potion Techniques , and The Art of Non-Defensive Battle Spells . Dark magic. Something inside him hums, and he longs to reach out and touch. To read. 

He doesn’t.

With one last glance around, Regulus steps out of the room, closing the door. The Basilisk ducks its head slightly. You’re leaving. 

I’m sorry. I’ll be back. There’s a lot here for me to learn.

Why do you go, then? There’s a bitterness to its tone, one Regulus doesn’t expect. 

I have to. People don’t know I come. 

The Basilisk shakes its head. More secrets to hide down here. 

Like the sun?

Like Gryffindor.  

Regulus blinks. Gryffindor- he was Slyther- your master’s- secret? He was the sun?

He was his sun. 

…Oh. 

Sometimes, there’s really not much more to say. 

---

When Regulus unfolds the letter that night, tucked in his bed, he doesn’t know what to expect. Maybe a letter to Gryffindor, or the other founders, or something in that sense.
It wasn’t. 

Mother, 

I apologize for the late reply. Tensions at the school have been growing, and I fear the side I am representing may succumb soon. The others believe that this should be a place for everyone. I am trying to do what you told me, but they are resistant. Specifically Godric, though I suspect he will always be an issue one way or another. I don’t know how to change his, or any of their, minds. I have been careful, like you told me. I have a back up- something to take my place if I do need to go. She’s ready, and beautiful. You would love her, Mother. One day, she will succeed where I have failed and complete the task you gave me. But for now, she grows. 

I do not yet know if you will receive this letter while I am still at Hogwarts. Things are moving quickly. The way I see it, I may have to be out by the end of the week. I am sorry, Mother. I tried to do more.

Regards, 

Salazar

Regulus refolds the letter, reeling. “She’s ready”-  meaning the Basilisk. Was the Basilisk female? Regulus hadn’t asked. He probably should’ve. He’s had so much time. 

Not enough. 

Christmas break also meant sending James home with the first version of their potion. (Another thing he’d have to be careful to hide from the Dark Lord.) Regulus doesn’t let himself think about their recent conversation, James’s offer. He learned his lesson a long time ago. He was always going to be in that house, walking those halls. Sirius might’ve gotten out, but that wasn’t Regulus’s fate.

He was condemned.

And yet.

When James had agreed not to save him, something inside of Regulus wanted to beg him to take the words back. To keep going. To make an effort, when no one else will. 

When he himself can’t. 

Please.

Please.

Keep trying, James. 

Please.