On Begged and Borrowed Time

--

Late April, 1977

In Regulus' dreams, James comes and finds him.

James begs him to stop, to come back, to love him.

Let me go, Regulus wants to spit with a voice full of venom. Let me go, Regulus tries to plead with weary exhaustion. He can never speak in his dreams, though. He just stands there, watching James plead and cry and beg him to take away his pain, unable to do anything.

In his dreams, James touches his face and asks him if he wants to try again.

In his dreams, James refuses to leave, even when Regulus is cold and unreachable.

Each morning, Regulus wakes up shaking, the ghost of James' name on his lips. Still, each night, he takes a Sleeping Draught instead of a Dreamless Sleep just for the chance to hear James' voice again.

His own mind, holding his past and his secrets and desires, feels more like a seance these days, demanding he bring back the dead despite the cost to his own heart.

—

The common room is surprisingly cosy tonight. The dim, flickering green light from the lake casts a dreamlike hue over the room. Nearby, the fireplace crackles merrily, its flames flickering and casting dancing shadows in contrast to the decor. The room hums with low murmurs of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter.

They’ve been back at school for a couple of weeks now, and aside from his little riff with Sirius when they first got back, things have been—well, fine, honestly. Rumours are swirling, sure, but no one has bothered him. It's given him time to focus on his training with Dumbledore and continue his private potion lessons with Slughorn. He feels focused. He might not be sleeping very much, and he might be relying on potions a little too heavily, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. It’s fine.

Tonight, Regulus sits between Barty and Evan, lazily watching the crowd. On the floor, Dorcas and Pandora chat animatedly about the upcoming Quidditch match, and Regulus enjoys half-listening to them. Their voices are a bright counterpoint to the room’s otherwise subdued atmosphere and it feels grounding to Regulus for some reason. Not too far away at one of the tables, Avery and Nott are engaged in a quiet game of wizard’s chess, their pieces moving across the board with focused intensity. Some first years are giggling loudly in the corner, but it doesn’t bother him, surprisingly. It all feels rather normal. Nice, even. Regulus knows it’s not, but it feels like it, so he’s going to pretend that it is. He’s taking a moment to breathe, alright? He’s relaxing. Kind of.

In a different corner, Mulciber lounges in a leather armchair, his eyes fixed intently on a letter. His usual arrogant smirk is replaced by a clearly troubled frown. Barty is slumped against Regulus on the sofa, idly toying with a goblet of butterbeer, his gaze occasionally drifting toward Mulciber.

When Regulus notices this, his eyes flicker back to Mulciber, latching onto the older boy. He studies him, curious what his expression is because of. Apparently, Barty is wondering the same thing because he speaks soon after.

“What’s got your knickers in a twist, Mulciber?” Barty asks.

“It’s nothing,” Mulciber shakes his head, not looking up.

“C’mon, share with the class,” Barty urges. Regulus glances down at him and almost asks him to cut the shit, but he’s curious himself. He looks at Mulciber and nods, encouraging him to continue.

“I just—I can’t believe how bad it is,” Mulciber says, looking up. His voice strained. “My mum wrote that the Parkinsons are absolutely shattered. Their only son is dead, and it’s breaking them apart. Mrs. Parkinson can’t get out of bed, and Mr. Parkinson has become a shadow of his former self. The whole family is in pieces. Or the two of them, I guess. There’s no one else.”

Regulus’ heart pounds as he hears the word “death” from Mulciber’s pained voice. The mention of the Parkinson family's loss hits him like a physical blow, and he struggles to control his breathing as the room seems to close in on him. His hands tremble, and he curls them into tight fists, willing himself to calm down.

“I know this stuff happens in situations like this,” Mulciber continues. He looks at Barty and Regulus and all that Regulus can see is his grief. “But Percy? He was one of the good ones. He never deserved to die. His parents don’t deserve this. I just don’t fucking get it—he was good.”

“I’m sorry, mate,” Barty says, quietly. “I didn’t realise the two of you were so close.”

“I’ve known him since I was a kid,” Mulciber explains, looking down at the letter again. “Not just from Hogwarts—before that. We grew up together. He was like my older brother.”

“I need to get out of here,” Regulus mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. He roughly untangles himself from Barty and rises quickly. He walks quickly toward the door, unable to focus on where he’s going. The door slams behind him as he exits, his breaths coming in harsh, uneven bursts.

In the dimly lit corridor outside, Regulus paces, trying to escape the crushing weight of his remorse. Why now? Why is this the time that his stupid, stupid brain decides to process what he’s done? His breaths come in ragged bursts, and he feels a wave of panic rising within him. He thought he would die before he had to come to terms with his actions. He wanted to die before then. 

The sound of footsteps approaching makes him look up, and he sees Barty following him, concern etched on his face.

“Regulus, what’s going on? Come back inside—” Barty starts, but Regulus cuts him off with a sharp, pained cry.

“Just fuck off, Barty!” Regulus snaps, his voice cracking with emotion. He jerks his arm away from Barty’s grasp, his face flushed and eyes shining dangerously. “Leave me alone! You don’t get it. You have no idea what this is like!”

“You’re right, I don’t,” Barty admits, his voice surprisingly gentle. “Talk to me about it, Reg. Let’s go back in. We can go to the dorm room.”

Regulus flinches away from Barty’s kindness like he’s been struck. He killed someone. He’s a murderer and still, Barty stands there, acting like Regulus is the victim, comforting him. It makes him feel disgusting and he feels the distinct need to curl up on himself and just—disappear.

“Don’t follow me.”

Without waiting for a response, Regulus storms off down the corridor, his footsteps echoing with each hurried stride. The weight of his guilt seems to press down on him, making each step a struggle.

As he rounds a corner, he distantly hears voices from the common room. Snape’s voice cuts through the murmur, asking, “What’s wrong with him?”

Barty’s sharp response follows, filled with irritation. “Fuck off, Snape. It’s none of your business.”

The sound of Barty’s voice fades as Regulus continues down the corridor. Without meaning to, Regulus finds himself on the seventh floor of the castle. He stares at the door to the Room of Requirement. It seems to stare back at him.

Once he’s inside, he sees that the bed sheets are still crumpled from the last time he was here with James. Nothing has changed.

Regulus sits down on the bed, his face in his hands, and cries.

Regulus isn’t sure exactly how long he cries. It could have been minutes or hours, he really doesn’t know. He still sits on the bed slouched over, staring unseeing at his hands and the burns all over them. Another harsh reminder of what he can’t escape. Suddenly, the door creaks open behind him. He turns, and to his shock, James steps into the room looking unsure of himself. Regulus freezes, a cold wave of anxiety washing over him. He stares at James, his mouth opening and closing as if to speak but no words come out. James doesn’t speak either.

“How did you find me?” Regulus finally manages to ask, his voice barely above a whisper. The sight of James, here of all places after what he’s done, fills him with a sick, churning feeling in his stomach.

James shifts uneasily, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I… I still check the map for your name,” he admits sheepishly, his voice soft. “I know it’s ridiculous, but I couldn’t stop myself when I saw you disappear in here.”

Regulus feels a pang of nausea and doesn’t respond. His fists clench at his sides, the muscles in his jaw tightening as he tries to keep his emotions in check. James steps closer, his eyes searching Regulus’s face with a mixture of apprehension and hope.

“Can I sit down?” James asks quietly. For a moment, Regulus is completely still, his heart the only thing responding to James’ question. Eventually, he reluctantly nods, feeling his resolve slipping. James takes a seat beside him, his expression vulnerable.

“I’ve missed you,” James says, his voice barely above a murmur. “I got the cloak on my birthday. Thank you for it. I really appreciate it.”

The words hang in the air, but Regulus remains silent, his heart heavy with conflicting emotions. Trust James to find light in that—Regulus didn’t get him a present. Didn’t even write him a note. He just returned something he had taken so he could properly complete a raid and torture a woman in front of her family. James's voice falters slightly, and he tries to make small talk. “How was your break? I mean, I know you went back to Grimmauld, so—”

James trails off, realising the question is pointless, and to be honest, a little bit insensitive, not that Regulus really cares about that part. Regulus’ lack of response only deepens the silence between them. His thoughts race, torn. He wants so desperately to just—let go. He wants James to hold him again and tell him he’s going to be okay, even if it’s not true. His guilt and his knowledge of what could happen to James acts as a physical barrier, keeping the two of them separate.

Finally, James breaks the silence again, his voice filled with concern. “Are you okay? You’ve been crying.”

Regulus’ eyes dart away, the lump in his throat making it hard to speak. James’ earnest gaze is almost too much to bear. “I can’t tell you,” Regulus says quietly, his voice breaking. 

“Regulus, you need to talk to someone,” James insists, leaning forward. “I won’t judge you, ever.”

Regulus shakes his head briskly. The tears in his eyes threaten to fall and he blinks quickly. He can’t look at James. He doesn’t deserve to. 

“Reg, love, it’s me,” James argues, weakly. “You can tell me anything. It won’t change anything, I promise.”

Regulus’ control slips. He lets out a bitter, hollow laugh. “Oh, really? You want to know? You want to know what’s wrong with me? What isn’t wrong with me would probably be a better question to ask, James. The list is much shorter.” 

James blinks, clearly taken aback by the venom in Regulus’ voice. It makes Regulus’ chest tighten, but he keeps going. “Or do you want to hear about my break? I got engaged, not sure if you saw that. Don’t worry—you’re not invited to the wedding. Oh—I tortured animals under Bellatrix’s watchful eye.”

James’ face goes pale, shock and concern mixing in his eyes. “Regulus—”

Regulus cuts him off, “That’s not all, don’t worry. It was a very productive holiday, I assure you. I spent Easter at the attack where your father was almost killed. Oh yeah, I almost forgot—I met Voldemort, did you hear?”

James is still, watching Regulus with wide eyes. It gives Regulus a strange sense of vindication, finally shocking and disgusting him like this. It’s what he’s been waiting for—for James to realise that Regulus isn’t good like he thinks he is.

“And,” Regulus whispers, his voice cracking, “I killed Percy Parkinson.”

James’ shock is palpable, but his concern for Regulus is even more so. It’s coming off of him in waves, and his hands twitch at his sides like he wants to touch him. “Regulus, I—”

Regulus looks at James, the disgust in his eyes evident. “You’re so worried about me, it’s pathetic. If it were anyone else, you’d hate them for what I’ve done. You should hate me.”

James shakes his head, his expression pained. “Regulus, other people aren’t you. They aren’t under the same circumstances.”

The words cut through Regulus like a blade, and he can no longer hold back. The dam that he’s worked so hard to build in order to hold his emotions breaks, and he bursts into tears. “I don’t know what to do,” he sobs, slumping in on himself as he wraps his arms around his middle. “I don’t know how to live with this. I don’t want to live like this.”

James’ face softens further, if that’s even possible. Regulus meets his eyes and they’re filled with so many emotions that he can’t keep track of them all. James reaches out, his hand tentative. “Regulus, you don’t have to do this by yourself. I’m here, no matter what. Remember?”

Regulus collapses into James’ arms, his sobs uncontrollable. James’ arms immediately wrap around him, holding him tighter than he ever has before. Regulus clings to him and cries. Deep, painful, and guttural sobs wrack his body. James just holds him tighter.

“There’s something wrong with me,” Regulus cries. He digs his nails into James’ back, afraid he’s going to try and get up and leave. “I don’t even feel bad about killing him, James. I killed him and—and I didn’t feel anything.”

“Love,” James strokes Regulus’ hair. “What do you think this is now? You think you don’t feel anything, even with all of this?”

Regulus doesn’t know what to say to that, so he doesn’t respond. He just holds onto James, shaky breathes leaving him as he does. 

“You’re going to be okay,” James whispers. Regulus screws his eyes shut, silent tears streaming down his face. “I’m going to make sure of it, Regulus. I’m here for you through this.”

The words slice through Regulus, and he stiffens. The comfort that should be reassuring instead stings like the burns on his hands. With a sudden surge of clarity, he pushes James away and rises, the movement sharp and deliberate. His face is wet with tears, but his voice is cold and resolute.

“That’s not going to happen,” Regulus says, his tone fierce. “You need to stay as far away from me as possible.”

James’ eyes widen in hurt and confusion. “What? Regulus, I—”

“No,” Regulus interrupts, his voice cold. “You don’t understand. It’s not safe for you to be around me.”

James stands as well, anger flashing across his face. “Why? I’m not afraid of the danger. You act like you're the only one who can put yourself at risk. Guess what, Regulus? That’s not true. There are so many people who care about you—who want to help you,”

Regulus’ anger flares, and his voice rises, “You don’t get it! You think you can just waltz in here and fix everything? I’m trying to keep you safe!”

James takes a step closer, his voice sharper than Regulus has heard before. “Do you really think pushing me away will protect me? I want to be here, by your side, not hiding from the danger. You can’t be the only one protecting people. Someone needs to protect you too, Regulus.”

Regulus’ frustration grows. “It’s not just about wanting to be here. It’s about reality, James. Voldemort, my parents, Lucius, the people around them—they know who you are because of me.”

James’ brow furrows in confusion beneath his glasses. “What are you talking about? How could they know?”

Regulus breathes heavily. “When I met Voldemort, he mentioned you by name. He threatened me with you.”

James’ eyes widen with fear. “He knows who I am? He—he said my name?”

“Of course he does!” Regulus’ voice cracks with desperation. “Everyone who could possibly want to hurt you knows who you are because I lived with you for months and spent time with you in this castle in front of everyone, and everything gets back to my family! It doesn’t matter that they don’t know we were together. They know I cared about you, and that you’re on the other side of the war!”

James stands in stunned silence, looking unsure. “I… I didn’t know.”

“Exactly!” Regulus says, his voice rising in frustration again. “You don’t know anything! That’s why I have to push you away! I can’t bear the thought of you being in danger because of me. I’m doing all of this so you won’t be in danger—I don’t know how many fucking times I have to tell you that for you to get it through your thick skull!”

James’ face hardens, his eyes flashing with determination. “I don’t care about the danger, Regulus. I’m not going to let you push me away again. Not when I’ve seen you like this. I’m here, and I want to stay here.”

“You can’t just decide that. It’s not up to you. I’m trying to protect you, and you’re not making it any easier by insisting on being here and doing this!”

James’ voice rises, raw and intense. “None of this is worth it if you’re going to be like this! I want to be with you, Regulus. I want to help you. You’re breaking under the pressure of all this and I can’t stand to watch that from the sidelines anymore!”

Regulus’ anger matches James’s, his voice sharp and accusatory. “You think you understand what’s at stake? I’m doing this for you! Are you even listening to what I’m saying? I’m trying to keep you safe!”

James’ eyes lock onto Regulus’s, pain in his expression. “I don’t want to live if it means you’re destroyed in the process. I’d rather face whatever comes if it means being with you.”

Regulus’ breath hitches, the intensity of the argument leaving him reeling. The brutal honesty in James’s words cuts through his defences, leaving him feeling more exposed and vulnerable than ever before, like a raw nerve. James Potter isn’t someone who just—doesn’t want to live. Yet, here he is, telling Regulus the opposite. The room seems to close in around them.

Regulus and James stand facing each other in the dimly lit Room of Requirement, a place that holds some of Regulus’ most precious and protected memories. Their argument hangs in the air, unspoken and charged, every word and silence between them crackling like uncontrolled magic.

Regulus’ chest heaves with the weight of his emotions, his heart pounding in his ears. James’s eyes, filled with a fierce mix of determination and vulnerability, hold Regulus’s gaze.

For a moment, time seems to stretch and distort, the world outside of them—all of the danger, and threats, and crimes, and petty insults fading away. The silence thickens, and neither of them move, their breaths coming in shallow, uneven gasps. The anger and desperation that have driven them apart melt into a different, more desperate kind of need. They’re closer than Regulus realised.

Regulus’s eyes drift to James’s lips, feeling a longing that has been suppressed under the lock and key of Occlumency for months surfacing with sharp clarity. James seems to feel it too because his gaze drops to Regulus’s mouth, his own lips slightly parted. Regulus glances back up, meeting James’ hazel eyes, and oh—

Oh, he misses James so much. He wants him so badly. He yearns for him.

Without a word, they surge forward, their lips crashing together. Regulus isn’t even sure who initiates it, but he doesn’t stop it. He doesn’t think he could, even if he wanted to. It’s not soft and sweet—it’s urgent and desperate, their time spent apart coming to a peak between their lips.

Regulus has been living in a suspended state of pain and numbness for months. He didn’t know if he’d ever be able to feel something good again, but this—this is so good. James is so good.

James’ lips are warm and move roughly against his own. It’s such a stark contrast to the cold isolation he’s felt that he wonders why he ever thought it was a good idea to leave James in the first place. The pain of separation, his guilt, and every other shitty thing he’s done to survive these past few months seem to dissolve as James kisses him harder.

And James touches Regulus and his hands are warm, so warm, like the sun and suddenly Regulus feels less like a comet burnt up and more like a star twinkling. James touches Regulus, places his lips to his skin, and it's been so long, and Regulus sighs, and he feels less war-torn. He feels like peace. 

James’ arms move around Regulus instinctively, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. Regulus chases his mouth with his own, desperate for more. He wants more—he wants all of James. He wants to consume him and he wants James to do the same in return. He doesn’t want it to end.

When they finally break apart, their foreheads rest together, their breaths mingling. Regulus’s eyes are closed, his face flushed, his heart racing. 

“I’ve missed this,” James murmurs as he tucks a curl behind Regulus’ ear. His voice is a low, trembling whisper.

Regulus’ voice is barely audible when he responds. “So have I.”

After a few moments, James pulls back slightly, his eyes searching Regulus’s face with a hint of playful relief.

“So,” James says with a half-smile, trying to lighten the mood despite the gravity of their situation, “are we back together now?”

Regulus hesitates, his mind racing through the myriad reasons why they shouldn’t be. The guilt, the danger, the complex web of their lives all because of Regulus and a stupid prophecy—all of it floods his thoughts. He opens his mouth to speak but closes it again, struggling to find the right words.

“I… I don’t know,” he finally admits, his voice barely a whisper. “I want to be, but I don’t know if I can bring myself to do it.”

James’s face falls slightly, disappointment flickering in his eyes. “We don’t have to be how we were before. I just can’t stand not speaking to you at all and not knowing what’s going on.”

Regulus nods quietly, feeling a pang of regret for the hurt he’s causing. It’s one thing for him to hurt on his own, but James doesn’t need to feel that pain. He’s not built for it the way that Regulus is. 

James shifts the topic, his voice softer but still filled with concern. “Come, sit with me. Tell me more about your time back at Grimmauld, for real this time. How was it?”

Regulus takes a deep breath, trying to steady his thoughts. He thinks back to his time spent at home. “At first, it wasn’t bad. Narcissa and Kreacher were there, and they—they’re not bad. Even my parents weren’t as harsh as usual. They didn’t hurt me, not like they could have. Mother used Legilimency on me, but they didn't—nothing else happened.”

James listens intently, though the muscle in his jaw jumps. “And then?”

Regulus’ face darkens as he continues. “Narcissa’s idiot husband Lucius Malfoy was at the house constantly.  He came into my room one afternoon and accused me of being gay. He said he knew that I was with someone I shouldn’t have been at Hogwarts.”

James’ eyes widen in shock. There’s a flicker of fear there too. Regulus wonders if it’s for himself or Regulus. “What did he say?”

Regulus scoffs, annoyance rising as he remembers the conversation. “A lot of things. He called me a defective heir because I’m gay. He told me I can have a man on the side, but I still need to marry and carry on the Black family line. It’s clear that he doesn’t trust me, but he’ll tolerate me because Narcissa insists on it.”

James’ arm tightens around Regulus, his breathing tight. Regulus can’t help but lean into his touch. “That’s—That’s awful. There’s nothing wrong with you, especially not because of that. You know that, right?”

“It’s not a big deal,” Regulus says, his voice heavy with resignation. “That’s the least of my worries right now.”

“What else happened? I mean, you don’t have to tell me but—”

“Bellatrix made me kill a rabbit and a dog as part of my training with the Unforgivable Curses,” Regulus interrupts, his eyes fixed on a spot on the floor. Best to just get it over at this point. He feels like he owes James that, at least. “She said it was best to practice on live subjects to master it. Supposedly they weren’t real—just transfigured, but I don’t know if I believe her. She might have lied to try to make it easier for me. She cares about me in her own weird way.”

James’s expression shifts to one of quiet horror, but he remains silent, squeezing Regulus’s shoulder in a gesture of support. 

“Also, I just have to say this. I need you to understand,” Regulus continues, turning to look at James sharply. “The betrothal between me and Pandora isn’t real. I doubt you thought it was, but… In case you didn’t know, I don’t love her, and she doesn’t love me. I don’t want it. It was most likely Lucius’s idea, and my parents are eager to secure allies.”

James listens quietly. He nods slowly, clearly absorbing the information. Regulus wants to make him feel better, but doesn’t know how. “I see.”

Regulus’ gaze drifts, lost in thought. “I’m sorry if you read the article in the Prophet. I know how it must have looked, if you thought it was real.”

James’ face softens, a faint smile touching his lips despite the sadness in his eyes. “I was upset when I saw it, or I don’t know, maybe shocked.  Sirius and Remus assured me it couldn’t be genuine. They reminded me that you’re gay. For me.”

Regulus huffs out a weak laugh, tinged with relief and melancholy. He tries to picture the conversation in his head. He can practically hear Sirius saying that. “They did, did they? I guess they can still read me to filth.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry by the way, for what Remus said to you before you left for break. He told me and Sirius about it. I hope it didn’t make things harder for you.”

Regulus shrugs. He thinks back to that conversation with Lupin and how close he had come to unravelling right there. He still feels a rush of anger because of it, but the truth is he understands. He’d likely do the same if it were for James or one of his friends.

“There’s something else you need to know,” Regulus begins, his tone heavy. “During the Easter raid, Bellatrix made it clear that I needed to kill Percy Parkinson to secure my position with Voldemort among the Death Eaters. Percy was set to become the youngest Death Eater and Voldemort’s prodigy, or something ridiculous like that.”

James listens intently, his expression troubled, but he remains silent. Regulus continues, nervously.

“I didn’t want to do it, not really. But Bellatrix was adamant. She said it would solidify my standing and help me get closer to Voldemort. Obviously, I knew this meant getting closer to fulfilling the prophecy.” Regulus’s eyes close momentarily, as if trying to shut out the memory. “I knew she was right, even if it was wrong.”

That heavy silence hangs between them again. Regulus’s hands clench into fists at his sides. “When I got to the raid and saw your dad there—” His voice catches, and he swallows hard. “I felt so guilty. I thought I might mess it up, but I couldn’t go to him. I had to kill Percy, so I did. It wasn’t just some freak accident—I planned on doing it. I strategized, considered multiple ways to do it. I murdered him.”

James’ face pales, the shock evident in his eyes. He doesn’t say anything. His silence eats at Regulus and suddenly he’s scared that he’s said something that has finally pushed James over the edge. He wouldn’t blame him if it did, but it scares him anyway. 

Regulus’ eyes search James’s face, hoping for some kind of understanding or forgiveness. He can feel the guilt and pain on his face, but he doesn’t say anything else. He just waits in agonizing anticipation for James’s response.

James clears his throat, frowning slightly. “My dad—he’s fine. A few scratches, but he’s fine. He wouldn’t have wanted you to blow your cover for him if he knew about what you were doing. He would want you to be safe.”

Regulus' heart twists, thinking of Monty and Effie and all of the kindness they’ve extended to him. How disappointed—no disgusted, they must be with him now, if they know any of it.

“As for Percy,” James continues, “I mean, I’m not going to lie, Regulus, it’s awful. Like, really fucking awful. I mean—he was so young. But he was going to be a Death Eater. If you hadn’t killed him, he likely would have killed people himself, either then or later. I won’t try and tell you it’s fine because I know you don’t want me to say that, but I—I don’t know. It’s not your fault that you have to do those kinds of things.”

Regulus’ eyes flutter shut. He doesn’t know what he wanted James to say, but somehow his honesty is comforting. It is awful. He was forced into it, mostly. The reminder doesn’t sound so insincere coming from James.

“Your parents,” Regulus begins, quietly, “Do they—do they know what I’ve done?”

“No, they don’t,” James shakes his head. “They’re worried about you, though, They wrote me, asking what they should do since you were going back home. I told them not to do anything. It stopped them, for now. You know mum though, she might not listen.”

Regulus nods, nauseous again. He thinks of how he revealed his fond memories of Effie to his mother during her Legilemency attack. It had seemed smart then, but now he just fears for her safety. He can’t bring himself to tell James about that.

“Why did you meet Voldemort?” James asks, his voice low and hesitant. “Did you… did you get the Dark Mark?”

Regulus grimaces, a pained expression crossing his face. “No, not yet.”

James’ eyes widen slightly. “Not yet? What do you mean?”

Regulus’ voice is heavy when he responds. “I’m scheduled to get the Mark in the summer. All these raids and meeting him, its been a part of my initiation. I sufficiently proved myself over break, according to him. He’ll give me the Mark when I return from school at the end of term.”

James’ face contorts with shock and anger. “No, that can’t happen. Dumbledore won’t let it. We’ll find a way to stop it.”

Regulus shakes his head, his tone bitter. “I think that’s exactly what Dumbledore wants. To have me marked. It’s just another strategic move to him, I can’t blame him either.”

“You can’t honestly believe that, Reg. He has to be trying to protect you in some way.”

Regulus looks at James, who still believes in the good of so many people. Regulus hates himself for being the person to take that away from him. 

“Nothing has changed, James. He trains me, but he doesn’t extend any real help. He just wants me to play my part in ending the war, no matter what it takes.”

James’ silence is filled with unspoken anger and frustration. The weight of Regulus’s words hangs heavily in the air. He doesn’t understand how James could possibly want him, knowing all of this.

“Regulus,” James says finally, his voice strained,, “We have to find another way. We have to. I won’t stand by and watch this happen to you.”

“I think I have to do it,” Regulus says slowly, his voice low and heavy. “I think I have to get the Mark to end this war.”

 “Why would you think that?”

Regulus takes a deep breath, struggling to articulate everything that led him to this point. He told James some things, but never all of it. There’s still so much he doesn’t know. “Do you remember the pocket watch Pandora gave me for Christmas?” James nods, confused. “It isn’t just a pocket watch. It’s enchanted with runic magic. It helps me make decisions about my task. It told me that I’d make progress if I followed this path—if I got the Dark Mark.”

James’s brow furrows in concern. “Has it told you to do other things? Other dangerous things?”

Regulus nods, fidgeting with his sleeves. “Yes. It has. The burns on my hands—” He holds them up to show James, revealing the numerous scars and burns that crisscross his skin. “—they’re from the watch. When the runes are activated, the watch burns hot to the touch.”

James’ face pales in horror as he stares at Regulus’ hands. “Why don’t you heal them?”

Regulus looks away, ashamed. He keeps his voice steady. “The burns are a reminder of everything I’ve done and have to do. Sometimes the pain helps keep me focused on what I need to do.”

James’ voice is weak when he replies, “Reg, you don’t have to suffer like this.”

Regulus shakes his head firmly. “No, don’t argue. This is part of it. I need to remember why I’m doing this, even if it’s painful. I need something to keep me tethered when I’m so far away with all the Occlumency. I can’t give it up.”

James is silent for a moment, his eyes searching Regulus’s face with a blend of anger and sadness. Eventually he sighs, maybe realising that Regulus won’t give in. “Why did you meet Voldemort if it wasn’t about the Mark?”

“Because I was the last person who saw Percy alive. Voldemort wanted to question me about it,” Regulus explains, not meeting his eyes.

 “And did he—?”

“No, he doesn’t know I killed him. Or, if he does, he didn’t do anything about it. He questioned my loyalty though. That’s when he threatened me with your safety. And Sirius’.”

James swallows harshly, his Adam's Apple bobbing nervously. “What’s he like?”

Regulus hesitates, remembering what it was like to step into the room with him. “He’s cold. Inhuman. I’ve never experienced anything like it before.”

James’ eyes lock onto Regulus’s, filled with a mix of fear and determination. “We need to do something. We can’t let this continue. You can’t keep doing this—”

Regulus cuts him off gently. “I know. I’m doing everything I can. But I need to keep pushing through this, even if it’s hard. I can feel things getting closer, falling into place.”

James frowns and he looks so pained that it makes Regulus want to whimper in pain himself. He hates what he’s doing to the people he loves, but there’s no other way. He knows this. They know it too, he thinks.

“This is only the beginning,” Regulus says quietly, his voice riddled with painstaking honesty. “It’s only going to get worse from here.”

James nods. He takes Regulus’ hands in his own with a gentleness he doesn’t feel deserving of. “I’ll be here with you, however you let me. So will Sirius and Remus, if you want them to be.”

Regulus doesn’t acknowledge James’s words, his gaze distant and troubled. He doesn’t know what to do. He wishes he could conjure up his Occlumency walls and walk away now, leaving James with words harsh enough to convince him to stay away—but he can’t. He’s not strong enough right now.

James takes a deep breath, clearly exhausted. “Will you stay here with me tonight?”

Regulus hesitates and he knows his reluctance is clear on his face. James’s voice softens, bordering on pleading. “Please, Regulus.”

With a sigh, Regulus gives in, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “I’ll lie with you,” he says quietly, “but I doubt I’ll fall asleep. I don’t have a Sleeping Draught with me.”

James’ concern deepens, his eyes searching Regulus. Regulus looks away, ashamed. “You don’t have one? Have you been—”

Regulus nods, his tone clipped in an attempt to stop the conversation there. “I’ll be awake for a while, but I’ll stay with you.”

James sighs, clearly relieved, as he moves to sit down on the bed, patting the spot next to him. Regulus joins him hesitantly, the tension in his body evident as he lies down. James wraps an arm around him, pulling him close. It doesn’t take long for Regulus to melt into his arms.

“I love you, Regulus,” James whispers into his hair. “No matter what you do.”

Regulus squeezes James tighter, hoping that’s enough for James to hear what he’s not saying and make him understand.

Gradually, the rhythmic rise and fall of James’ breathing, along with his fingers carding through his hair, soothes Regulus enough that he relaxes. He feels his eyes growing heavy, sleep and safety calling out to him. 

He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He doesn’t know how long he can do it either. All he can think as he falls asleep is that he’s glad James came and found him.