The Exit
Nov 1, 1981
Regulus Black sits at a dingy table in the dark and musty kitchen of Grimmauld Place. The house is quiet.
A mug of lukewarm tea sits half-drunk next to pale hands adorned with silver rings that shake over crumpled newspapers. Ink bleeds from salted tears and the corner of a moving image plays over and over.
His body shakes, but no sound comes from a mouth that quivers.
Regulus stands and throws the mug at the wall, its pale blue porcelain shattering into tiny pieces as he feels his heart do the same. Tea splashes against the floor, the table and stains the aged wood like a dark tattoo.
James. His James. Dead.
JAMES AND LILY POTTER MURDERED BY HE WHO MUST NOT BE NAMED. BETRAYED BY CHILDHOOD FRIEND, PETER PETTIGREW. SURVIVED BY THEIR SON HARRY.
The article headline flashes behind his closed lids as he falls to the ground, sobs wracking his body. He can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t feel anything, but pain. He thinks this is what dying feels like. Not the countless Crucios at the end of his mother’s wand, not the Inferi pulling him under in a dark, cold cave as he’s drowning, not even Voldemort’s violent attack into his mind. James Potter is gone and Regulus feels like he’s dying.
5 Years Later
Regulus holds on to the small hand of a dark, messy haired boy. A boy with a smile like the sun and green eyes that are large with curiosity as they walk through Muggle London. It’s a crisp autumn morning and Regulus feels the warmth of the sun on his pale cheek as he raises his head to look for his brother. He’s meeting Sirius and Lupin at a favorite park in North London to drop Harry back off with his godfather and legal guardian. Floo or Apparition would have been easier, but Regulus prefers to walk and Harry needs to get some energy out. At five years old he is small and gangly and so full of energy and joy that it takes Regulus’ breath away at times. He’s protective over his nephew.
“Reggie, over here.” Regulus hears his brother’s voice and lets go of Harry’s hand as the boy sprints towards his dads. Sirius squats down, his tight black jeans making Regulus roll his eyes and opens his arms wide for Harry to burrow in. He’s laughing and pecking Harry’s head with kisses that are followed by giggles while Remus Lupin looks down at the two with an overwhelming amount of fondness.
Remus says something quietly and Harry runs off to the playground leaving the three men to stand watch.
“How are you Reg?” Sirius asks, his voice low and soft. It’s almost the anniversary of the Potter’s murder and they all feel the loss still years later. Regulus shrugs, but doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to, with Sirius. His brother understands him. Always has. Even when they hated each other.
It's been almost 5 years since James and Lily’s death, but no amount of time can make the loss of James hurt less. Regulus knows he needs to move on. He sees the worried looks that pass between Sirius and Remus when they think he’s not watching. He knows when he gets an owl from Molly Weasley for a dinner invite that it’s her checking to make sure he’s still eating. When Narcissa stops by with Draco unannounced, because “Draco misses his Uncle Reggie,” which happens more frequently than he thinks the five year old actually does. He appreciates every gesture even when he can’t seem to find the words.
Right now Regulus just wants to go home and lay down and remember. He’s always thinking of James, but he doesn’t allow himself to cry anymore. He’s done that. He’s fallen apart. He’s screamed and broken and cursed, but that still didn’t bring James back.
Regulus doesn’t stay much longer, instead he allows Harry to hug his legs with a small smile, nods at his brother and Lupin and then Apparates home.
Grimmauld Place is no longer the dark and haunted place that it was in his childhood. After the war, him and Sirius spent countless hours removing dark artifacts, burning hate spewing portraits and scrubbing blood-stained floors and in its place stood a habitable if not somewhat shabby townhome that housed the Black brothers and their werewolf friend. Those first few months were filled with silences so loud- a ghostly Regulus shutting himself in his room for days at a time surrounded by silencing charms and bottles of firewhiskey. A revenge filled Sirius muttering about Pettigrew, his hair matted and dirty, the worst his hair had ever looked, followed by a solemn Lupin whose sad golden eyes followed Sirius in every move.
They grieve and heal together. Slowly at first. Regulus leaving his room for a cup of tea or a smoke. Sirius following him out to the back patio to share a cigarette. James always hated kissing Regulus after he smoked. Lupin starts to cook more and forces meals down the brothers’ throats so he knows they aren’t withering away. He’s good that way, Remus. He takes care of Sirius and by extension Regulus because he doesn’t know how else to help. James and Lily were his friends, but James was everything to Sirius. And even more to Regulus.
They start sitting together at dinner and then breakfast. Then reading in the library. They share tears and laughs and memories. They go through old pictures. Sirius has a lot from his muggle camera obsessed days and they flip through them sniffling occasionally. One of James and Sirius on their brooms in their Quidditch uniforms, taken by Lupin. James is laughing and the picture is a bit blurry around the edges, but Regulus feels his stomach drop at the sight of James’ smile. So golden and pure. Another picture shows James holding a butterbeer talking with Lily and Regulus feels a jealous stab in his chest at the red head instantly followed by guilt because she’s dead and he feels foolish. Sirius digs up the only picture he has of James and Regulus together- one that James had stored in his things. It’s a few months into their relationship and Lupin snaps a picture sneakily while they sit together in the Gryffindor common room late one Friday. The boys sit next to each other on a too small loveseat, Regulus practically in James’ lap. James has an arm loosely wrapped around his waist and Regulus is leaning back his eyes half shut, a smirk on his lips. James is whispering something into his ear while laughing. This small scene plays over and over and Regulus hangs it next to his bed so he can fall asleep watching James Potter fall in love with him all over again. He wishes he could remember what James was saying to him in this frozen memory. Probably something inappropriate he now thinks.
Regulus climbs the stairs to his bedroom and sighs as he looks at the hall of empty rooms. After Sirius and Remus moved out to get their own place with Harry, he thinks the house is too big, too empty, too quiet now for one man. He traces a hand over his favorite painting—a night sky filled with stars, with a golden sun peeking from the bottom, its rays spread over the twinkling stars. He bought it specifically because it reminded him of James. He chases anything that reminds him of the sun.
His room glows with afternoon light as he climbs in his bed and draws his blanket over his shoulders. He rolls until he’s able to see James whispering in his ear in a moment captured forever and aches to hear the sound of his warm laugh, feel the touch of his hands, his smiling lips against his own. The last thing he thinks before sleep overtakes him is that loving James Potter was the bravest thing he’s ever done.