Like Calls to Like

I: Regulus

10 March

The Little Palace

Regulus knew that at some eventual point, he’d inevitably have to join a group of Death Eaters on a mission. That being said, he hadn’t expected it to come so soon.

As the youngest Death Eater to date, a Grisha-in-training taking more classes at the Little Palace than most full time students and an active Second Army soldier who patrols a northern village five days a week, he’d expected to be left alone. It’s been three months since his Unbreakable Vow, three months since he was ordered into the field by Albus Dumbledore, he thought- hoped Lord Voldemort would give him a little leeway and keep him out of Death Eater missions for the most part. 

He thought he grew out of naivety when Sirius ran away, when he was crowned heir- before that, even, as he never perceived the world with the same rose-coloured innocence most children did. Apparently not.

Bellatrix had been the one to tell him, nearly the moment he and Narcissa had returned from their last patrol of the week. He’d been expecting a weekend full of cramming an inhuman amount of studying between tests, quizzes and assignments for his various classes but he was sorely mistaken when Bellatrix had skipped up to him and pulled him aside, whispering with psychotic glee to meet her in the hut near the Etheralki summoning grounds with his Death Eater mask and kefta after dark.

Which led him to now, alone in the camped, cold, stone cutout that was more like a cave than a hut, used by Baghra, Voldemort’s grandmother and the original Shadow Summoner, long ago to personally train Etheralki in the days of Alina Starkov. He sat on the floor, dressed in his kefta and mask set in his lap. An empty bag that had been used to smuggle his ‘uniform’ - because while it wasn’t entirely uncommon to see a Grisha roaming the grounds after hours when they shouldn’t (they’ve all done it, it was practically a rite of passage), seeing someone with a strange mask and a forbidden kefta certainly was - lay beside him. 

While his cousin hadn’t given him a specific time frame, Regulus began to doubt whether they’d left without him as the distant bell tower chimed with every passing hour. It certainly wouldn’t be the worst thing. He’d further prolong witnessing, causing , various atrocities on innocent people, if the stories he’s heard and the haunted look Narcissa seemed to hold in her eye since her first mission two weeks prior were anything to go by. But to be late to his first mission - or to be late at all, really - was a mistake Voldemort wouldn’t stand for, that his parents wouldn’t stand for (Blacks were never late). It would be downright shameful for something so small to be the cause of his fall from grace, the reason he was collared and shackled because while Regulus may be good enough at Heartrending to mask his true Corporalki calling, Voldemort has more than enough talented soldiers at his disposal to deal with incompetence. Or maybe it would be a blessing in disguise. In trying to turn him into a servant, Voldemort would be forced to realize Regulus can no longer Tailor at a near enough level to contribute to the cause in any way shape or form so he’d most likely be murdered. At least then he’d be free of the chains of life in a way he wouldn’t feel guilty about leaving Narcissa.

That being said, the thought of dying to Voldemort made Regulus scoff. No. To die to Voldemort is to give in, to lose this little game they’ve been playing of waiting- waiting for Regulus to stumble, waiting for a plausible reason for Voldemort to strike with the poise and precision of his pet snake - and Regulus would rather win than be free. 

Was that slightly- no, severely - unhealthy? Without a doubt. But health was the least of his worries these days. He had patrol routes to walk, school to study for and an increasing amount of Death Eater responsibilities to focus on, so what if he’s a little less than sane? Bellatrix only held onto weak fragments of her sanity nowadays and look at how well she’s been doing. 

Stones shifted outside the cave. Heavy combat boots trampling over gravel pebbles, sending them scattering. The sound only grew louder as the individual trekked closer to the cave and Regulus leaped to his feet, guard raising. He could recognize the footfall of any Black and there was no way in hell those footfalls were Bellatrix, who made only the slightest of sounds when she moved. He slipped the mask over his face - because coming across a random person in strange attire was better than coming across Regulus Black and he’d have to kill the unsuspecting Grisha without hesitation. Fuck, he’d probably have to anyway. Bellatrix could tell him what to do with the body when she arrived. He slipped into a carved gouge in the stone, a space that might’ve been used as shelving once upon a time, out of view of the door. He made his breaths shallow, sat as still as possible and waited. 

The Grisha walked in. Regulus heard them pause and presumably look around before descending the stairs. He squinted to be able to discern the embroidery pattern to be one of a Tidemaker, the colour of the stitching unidentifiable even without his colour blindness thanks to the heavy tint of the nightvision insert in his mask. She abruptly stopped moving in the center of the room, staring at Regulus’ abandoned duffle bag left forgotten in the middle of the floor and Regulus mentally swore at himself. 

His hands shook as he thought about what he might have to do to ensure this Tidemaker didn’t go blabbing about what she saw tonight. He imagined the blood, a sticky coating of dark gray on his hands, the stench of iron on his tongue. He could practically hear the sounds of her struggle as he choked her, the heaving as she tried to throw him off and fill her lungs, the cracking of her skull as he hit her over the head with whatever loose stone he could find, her agonized shrieks (muffled as to not alert the residents of the Little Palace). He sure as hell couldn’t rely on just his Heartrending because when (if) they found the body, the cause of death would be clear and the pool of seven different types of Grisha that could be held accountable would dwindle to just one. 

The Tidemaker fell into a cautious stance as she began to scan the room. The second her back was turned to him, Regulus swallowed his fear and pounced. 

The Tidemaker whipped around just in time for her to be tackled to the ground. He clasped his hands tightly around her neck, pressing hard on her voice box, stopping both sound and air from travelling through her lungs. Usually, he’d throw most of his weight onto her hips to keep them pinned to the floor but because he was dealing with a Summoner and not, say, a Fabricator, he stomped harshly on her wrist, rendering it useless and therefore, making her unable to drown him in a cascade of water. She threw her head back in a soundless scream and Regulus used the distraction to properly pin her to the floor. Her uninjured hand frantically clawed and anything she could reach- his side, his arms (which were thankfully protected by his kefta ), his hands, his neck. Regulus fought through the instinct to jerk back and pressed harder on her throat. Her complexion rapidly changed shades and her frantic thrashing grew sluggish. Her eyes fluttered closed, she grew limp and just before she passed out, a hand yanked on his shoulder and ripped him off her. 

The Tidemaker heaved heavy breaths as Regulus whirled around, coming face to face with Bellatrix, a proud, manic grin upon her face. “Great job, kiddo! You could use more practice to get the job done quicker but overall, great show! Unfortunately, she’s with us and we do need her alive and conscious for tonight’s mission but I’m loving the energy. Keep it up and tonight’ll go perfect!” 

Praise from Bellatrix of all people made Regulus’ stomach churn. Their relationship was more of a tough love, though if any outsider were to hear him say that, they’d call him brainwashed and delusional for even putting ‘their relationship’ and ‘love’ in the same sentence. Rather than compliment him on his grades or accomplishments, Bellatrix would always compare him to herself, despite their age and skill level difference. She’d tell him how she did it better, how he needed to improve himself or go boasting to some other pathetic, lower individual if praise is what he was looking for and to come back when he was perfect. In a strange way, her demeaning responses always encouraged him to do better, and it reflected in his performance. Her way of pushing him beyond his limits was similar to the way Walburga or Orion would react but with his parents, he could always do better. With Bellatrix, she had attainable expectations, even if it took literal years to reach that point. She rewarded him in some way or another, even if that was just not bullying him for a dinner party. Back when she still had shreds of her sanity, she spent time with him and actually enjoyed it. She taught him little things, party tricks and dangerous games (their shared favourite was the knife game: how fast could you stab the gaps between your fingers without severing them?). 

Bellatrix’s straight up, unearned praise made his skin crawl. All it took to unlock a gentler side of her, if that was even the right word for it, was attempted murder? He didn’t want to think about what else she might do if he actually killed someone. 

A dark hunch settled in his gut. He didn’t think it would be too long before he got an answer to that question. 

“Get up,” Bellatrix said coldly, kicking the Tidemaker in her side when she didn’t rise fast enough. “We have to leave now if we want to get there in time and you still have to change.” 

“My- my hand’s broken.” the Tidemaker said between gritted teeth. 

Bellatrix wrinkled her nose before she slipped her mask on. “Figure it out.”

“I thought you said I was only here for damage control. I can’t do that if I can’t summon, and I can’t summon with a broken hand.” 

“You’re proving to be more of a hindrance than an asset,” Bellatrix hissed dangerously. “You’ll be healed on the way but that won’t happen if we’re late and if you make us miss our ride, you’ll have wished I let my cousin kill you right here.” 

The Tidemaker gulped and scrambled to change out of her kefta , face scrunched in pain throughout the entire process. Bellatrix ignored her and dragged her hand along the wall, stopping to press in a loose stone. The walls screeched with the agonizing sound of stone scraping against stone as a doorway appeared and revealed a dark hallway to seemingly nowhere. 

“Do I get to know where we’re going?” Regulus dared to ask as Bellatrix stepped through, leading the way. Regulus admired the ancient mechanism of the doorway, noting the few additions that were clearly done by a recent Durast. 

Bellatrix lifted her mask to throw a grin over her shoulder. “Be patient, Reggie. I can’t tell you now or that ruins all the fun!” 

The answer turned out to be a small, eastern Ravkan village a few hours' travel outside of Os Alta. There were no more than sixteen houses, a small pub, one general store and a school house the size of Regulus’ bedroom back at Number 12. 

They’d met up with a few other Death Eaters. An Inferni (Igor Karkaroff), a Healer (Thorfin Rowle), and three other Heartrenders (Abraxas Malfoy, Amycus Carrow and Rodolphus). Regulus despised the majority of their team, the only exceptions being Rodolphus and Bellatrix. Although she made him uneasy, having his cousin with him on his first ever mission helped quell a slight bit of his nerves. However, the way Rodolphus and Bellatrix didn’t argue at all, not even a single glare exchanged between the two, caused his anxiety to swell and cancel out whatever assurance Bellatrix’s presence caused. 

Bellatrix, who was essentially the Captain of this mission, had given him two orders: be quiet until the chaos began, and stick by her side. She gave more in-depth instructions to everyone else, given Regulus seemed to be the only inexperienced DE on the team. They infiltrated the village first- Karkaroff and the Tidemaker as a team, the three Heartrenders on their own and Rowle instructed to stay behind and wait to be called in if someone needed medical assistance. Rodolphus didn’t say a word to Regulus before he left, only giving him a pitying look and a pat on the shoulder for good luck. 

Bellatrix slipped into the village after them and Regulus followed robotically behind her, his heart in his throat and booming in his ear. He felt disconnected from his body as he moved subconsciously, trailing behind his cousin as she led him deeper into the centre of the village, unlike the other members of their invasion who stuck to the outskirts. She stopped at a large house, quite possibly the largest one and waited. Regulus was oblivious as to what but his hands trembled all the same, sweat gathering in his palms because to matter what it was, it could not be good. 

The town was silent, desolate, a void of all sound. It was largely swathed in shadows, only a few streetlights casting small circles of light onto the stone tiling of the road. The birds had all gone to sleep, and not even the nighttime crickets dared disturb the stifling quiet. There was nothing but Regulus’ shaky breaths and his own heartbeat to break the thick blanket of silence.

That was, until the screaming began. 

It started as one: an ear-piercing, skull-splitting shriek of unbridled torment that threatened to throw Regulus back into the chains of his memories: Sirius in the drawing room, Sirius in the living room, Sirius in the dining room, Sirius in Orion’s office, Sirius in the ballroom with his blood boiling before he left. 

One became two, became four, became ten- all different voices joining to create one horrifying choir of agony. The smell of smoke wafted up his nose and the streets lit up as houses and buildings were used as kindling for a devastating inferno. 

Regulus wanted to rip off his ears, claw out his brain and stuff his head with cotton- anything to get rid of the noise. He wanted to fall to the floor and curl into a ball because maybe if he made himself small enough, he could disappear entirely. 

But Bellatrix was moving and Regulus hurried after her. She kicked in the door of the house and sent the family - a mother, a father and two sons -  who were clearly just about to come through it door themselves, scrambling backwards. She turned to Regulus and pointed at the back of the house. He obeyed her silent command with surprising speed and efficiency for someone who felt like they might vomit and blackout at any given moment, moving behind the innocent family to stand guard at their back door, effectively trapping them inside their own home where Regulus suspected they would never leave again. 

The mother wrapped herself around her children, her back to Regulus as she looked over her shoulder, using herself as a body shield and relying on her husband to protect them from Bellatrix. 

The man in question stepped defensively in front of his family. “Who the hell do you think-” 

Bellatrix lifted her hands and squeezed one into a fist. The man choked and keeled over, spasming for a moment as blood poured out of his mouth before he suddenly grew still. The younger brother screeched and the older one slapped a hand over his mouth as he swallowed a sob.

Bellatrix took off her mask and hooked it on her belt, frowning at the corpse and nudging its head with her boot. “Well, that was disappointing. That usually elicits more of a reaction.” 

“Please,” the woman pleaded. “Don’t hurt my boys. I’ll do anything. Kill me but please, don’t hurt my boys.” 

Bellatrix stared at her for a moment before shrugging. “Sure.” 

The woman’s shoulders sagged. “Thank you, thank you so much. I-” 

A grin blossomed on Bellatrix’s face. “Reggie could use the practice. That’s the whole reason he’s here, anyways.” 

The woman’s face fell. “No! Please- please!”

Bellatrix grabbed the woman by her hair and pried her away from her sons. The woman screamed and fought in her grasp. Chunks of hair fell from the woman’s head as she desperately tried to reach her children, shouting “my boys! Don’t hurt my boys!” the whole way. Bellatrix grit her teeth and eventually grew bored with her struggling. She kicked her stomach, sending the woman flying on her ass and pressed her whole weight onto her thighs. The woman shrieked at a near glass-breaking level as her femurs were snapped cleanly in half and even still, she attempted to drag herself forwards towards her children. Bellatrix grabbed each of the woman’s arms until they popped and stayed bent in angles limbs should never be able to achieve. She dropped the woman onto the floor carelessly and she sobbed, unable to do anything but watch. 

Bellatrix sighed happily. “Now that is what you call a reaction. Much more entertaining, and the show will only improve from here,” she giggled and clapped her hands excitedly. “Come, come, Reggie. It’s time you learn the Cruciatus.” 

His brain processed her words at the speed of molasses, every syllable dripping into his comprehension at a terribly slow pace. When they did register, settling in his stomach like cold stones, his mouth ran dry. 

“Are- are you sure, Bella?” Regulus asked, his voice rough as he fought to disguise his fear, not only at what he’s witnessed but at what he might be capable of with his cousin’s demanding encouragement. “I wouldn’t want to steal all your fun.”

“Aww, that’s sweet of you,” Bellatrix said. “But I’ve done this plenty of times and I can always do it to her when you’re done,” she jerked her head at the crumpled figure of the mother. “But the Dark Lord specifically requested I teach you tonight and we wouldn’t want to disappoint him.” 

Of course he did. Of course Lord Voldemort himself personally ensured Regulus was able to perform this deadly curse. It was the perfect, ultimate test to see if he was truly worthy of staying as a Heartrender within the Death Eater ranks. If Regulus failed, not only would his parents pulverize him, they’d leave enough pieces behind to push him down to his knees and reduce his Heartrender, House of Black, top-of-the-food-chain status to crumbled ashes. 

Regulus dragged his feet as he forced himself forward. He stood next to Bellatrix and made direct eye contact with the older brother. Brother One met his gaze head on with a determined glint, protecting Brother Two in a tight hug. Brother Two completely buried himself in Brother One’s chest, back turned to Regulus with the utmost trust in his older sibling, relying on him to protect him from danger, from Regulus. Brother Two looked around Regulus’ age, and Brother One couldn’t be older than seventeen. 

It struck Regulus with the power of a battleship that they reminded him of him and Sirius. 

Him and Sirius if they had kept the bond that they had before James Potter ruined everything. Him and Sirius if they had a father that would’ve tried to protect them if a threat bursted down their front door. Him and Sirius if they had a mother that fought with everything she had to get to them, to protect them. Him and Sirius if Sirius was still around. Him and Sirius if the Saints hadn’t used them as their own personal punching bag and destroyed their lives. Him and Sirius if Sirius still loved him, still cared about what happened to him, still tried to protect him from everything. Him and Sirius if he still trusted his big brother to be with him through thick and thin, through everything the world threw at them. Him and Sirius if Regulus had held himself to his own standards. 

Regulus’ chest stuttered on his next inhale and a tsunami of tears threatened to break down the dam of his walls. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t cast the Cruciatus on anybody, much less a version of him and his brother if they had had a better, perfect life. He can’t. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t. 

The way Brother One was looking at him said he knew it, too. That he wasn’t afraid of what Regulus would supposedly do to him, because he knew he didn’t have the guts to do it. 

“Alright, Reggie. Do the older one, it’ll be more fun to watch the baby of the family be left defenseless. What you want to do is focus on his brain.” 

Regulus held up his hands. They were shaking, visibly rattling to the point where he could barely make the simple Heartrending gesture. 

Bellatrix gripped his bicep, her nails almost sharp enough to be felt through the protective fabrics of his kefta. “ Focus, Regulus.” 

Regulus’ chest heaved as he forced himself to take a steadying breath and narrowed in on his target. He could practically see through Brother One’s skull and discern all the details of the body’s most precious organ.

“Got it.” Regulus said, and his voice quivered. 

“Pop quiz for you. What are the pain receptors of the body?” 

Regulus thought for a moment, the tidal waves of fear coursing through his veins mudding up the immense amount of information he’s stored in his brain on short notice for his classes due to his increasingly busy schedule. “Nociceptors?” 

“Right. And where do they send signals?” 

“The spinal cord, which elicits a reflexive reaction.” 

Bellatrix hummed. “True, but where else?” 

Regulus wrapped his brain before it dawned on him. “The thalamus, the part of the brain responsible for collecting sensory input (aside from smell) information for interpretation.” 

Bellatrix beamed. “Correct! Now, I want you to focus on those nociceptive cells within the thalamus and I want you to forcibly stimulate them. That’ll cause pain stimulation for no apparent reason and boom, there you have the Cruciatus. The more you stimulate those cells, the worse the pain will get. Don’t worry about making it as agonizing as possible, we just need to make sure you can do it.” 

Regulus sifted through Brother One’s brain and prayed to anyone but the Saints that he’d be unable to find what Bellatrix was talking about. 

Even he knew it was pointless. 

Once he’d found the cells, they blinked neon in his head, unmistakable. It was so incredibly easy it threw him off guard for a moment. All he had to do was reach out, force his power through those minuscule little cells and watch- watch as pain overtook his brother’s lookalike, watch as he twitched and writhed on the floor, a carbon copy of every awful punishment Sirius endured except this time, it was Regulus at fault. In a way, he always was. Sirius had acted out as much as he did to draw attention away from Regulus, from his faults, to take the full weight of their parents’ disappointment and anger on his shoulders. Every lash of a belt, every swipe of a dagger, every slap of his mother’s cool, ringed hand was Regulus’ fault, if indirectly. This time, it’d be him pulling the trigger but it had always been him holding the gun. 

The house grew hotter. Smoke poured in through every available crevice and Regulus watched the back wall be engulfed in flames. The living members of the family began to cough and Bellatrix slipped her mask back on, the built-in gas mask feature protecting her lungs. Her hand dipped into her sleeve and a dagger fell into her awaiting palm. She pressed the blade to the back of his neck, the sharp point of the metal pressing through the first layer of skin. She leaned forward, gripping his shoulder with her free hand and whispering into his ear, “We are not leaving until you get this. You can either kill these stupid fucking muggles, or you stand here, burning until you pass out and then we’ll bring you before the Dark Lord and you can tell him how you’ve failed.” 

“You- you don’t- have to,” the mother coughed. Her tears wore heavy tracks on her cheeks and her eyes were bloodshot but even still, with four broken limbs and lungs full of carbon dioxide, she fought for the safety of her children. “I can see through your black coat and silver mask by your hesitation alone that you have humanity, morals, despite all you’ve been taught. Please, I beg you to listen to them, listen to your heart instead of the demons on your shoulders. You don’t have to do this. Spare my boys.” 

Bellatrix dug her knife deeper. “Don’t listen to her! She thinks she knows you, doubts your capabilities. Look at her, willing to resort to begging and offering her own life for her sons while here you are, in the middle of a raid while your mother sits back at Grimmauld on her day off, sipping tea and plotting on what mission she can send you on next. How unfair is that? Why do they get to have a happy home life while you have this?” Blood slid under his collars and began to trickle down his spine. “They get to have a normal life, go to school, make friends, and don't have to worry about what might happen to them if they come home with a 90% while you’ve done nothing but survive. You are a Black, survival is what you do best,” the whole house groaned as a part of the ceiling caved in just a room over. “So survive!”

She pushed the dagger deeper, dangerously so. It wasn’t close enough to do any serious, lasting damage but almost so, enough to send fear cascading over him and pushing him into motion. 

A sob worked its way out of Regulus’ throat as Brother One began to shriek. He let go of his younger brother and flung himself backwards, gripping his head tight enough for strands to fall out in his hands, desperate but futile in his struggle for the pain, unlike any injury he’s ever experienced, to stop. He even sounded like Sirius, the pitch and tone of agony nearly identical. If Regulus squinted hard enough, he could see the emerald waistcoat Sirius had donned the night he ran away. He could make out long, curly, black hair and silver jewelry, sharp facial features and the defiant gleam his eyes always held.

And even yet, he didn’t stop. With a hallucination of his brother in front of him, as clear as his nightmares, Regulus didn’t stop. He didn’t let up his ministrations until after Brother One had crashed into flames and set himself on fire. The screams continued long after Regulus and let his hands fall until he eventually fell silent. 

The mother was wailing her sorrow while Brother Two was no longer able to produce a sound, crying so hard he was incapable of noise, his shoulders shaking as he curled into a ball. Regulus had been there more than a few times over the past three months and he fought the urge to say “boys don’t cry.”

Bellatrix slipped her knife away and patted him on the shoulder. “Great first attempt! Went on longer than I was expecting for how much I had to hype you up but overall, good job, Reggie! We’ll improve your speed and intensity with practice but we need to get out of this house before it fully collapses. You take care of the kid, I’ve been dying to shut this bitch up.” 

Brother Two’s head shot up as he registered Bellatrix’s words but Regulus already had his hands raised and he was dead before their eyes could meet. A quick, painless death, the least he could do for the trauma he’d already caused. The squeals and screams of whatever vile horror his cousin was concocting on that poor woman filled his ears as he rushed out of the house. He ripped his mask off and promptly vomited what little contents his stomach contained into the garden. 

By the time Bellatrix was done, Regulus had cleaned himself up and was sitting numbly on the porch step. He tailed Bellatrix for the rest of the mission, the rest of what they did - what he did - a blank spot in his memory. He thought that maybe Rodolphus had tried to talk to him once they’d reconvened in front of the burning village, but he didn’t answer, Rodolphus’ words falling on deaf ears. 

He didn’t speak for two days. He focused on his studies as much as he could, grappling with the fact that he was supposed to act like nothing happened while a pair of eyes, so similar to his brother’s Regulus had begun to think that maybe they were Sirius’ afterall, haunted him with only the split second of betrayal that kid had been able to portray. 

II: James

27 March

The True Sea

James had been looking forward to his birthday. The concept of celebrating just a singular person was always something that had intrigued him and he did his very best to spruce up his crew’s life on their special day, pushing everything to the nines. Naturally, because he put up such a big fuss for everyone else, all his friends reciprocate the favour with the desperation of a man proving a point. Usually, James would shrug them all off the best he could, slip between the gaps and sneak off to do some work, contributing to the day somehow, despite everyone ensuring he didn’t lift a finger. As kind as the gesture is, James liked to be busy. He liked to do odd jobs around his ship, so having his crew watch him like hawks was ever so slightly annoying but he’d easily trade his vexation for the light, comedic comradery that always came with them banding together to guarantee he actually takes a break. 

However, this time around, he was actually anticipating the day of relaxation. He’d still make a show of struggling (they’d ask him what was wrong if he didn’t and he didn’t have the patience or emotional capacity to delve into that box of horrors even on his own time) but it was going to be so nice. Twenty-four hours where he didn’t have to worry how much funds he had to work with, the quantity and quality of their supplies, where they were going to be stop next or when and where they were going to intercept the next slaver or Fjerdan ship (because even though they mostly just fucked around in the middle of the sea, he did have a legal obligation to carry out his privateer duties of raiding enemy ships if he wanted to keep his license). Twenty-four hours where he could just sit back, kick his feet up and turn off his brain, shrug off the weight of his Captain’s coat for at least a little while. A break is exactly what he needs, to decompress and right his bearings. 

Every fragment of hopeful anticipation was shattered when Marlene busted down the door of his cabin at the crest of dawn, looking stressed and pale. 

“Effie.” Was all she said between gasping breaths before she took off, just as quickly and abruptly as she’d entered. 

James must’ve set a world record for how quickly he shot out of bed, barely taking the time to throw his coat over his night clothes and tearing down the hallway towards his parents’ cabin. 

Inside he found Lily and Marlene pouring their power and energy into his mother, hunched over her lax and limp form in her bed. Monty sat at her side, exactly as Euphemia had when their roles had been reversed around a year ago, holding one of her hands in his, a grim look on his face. 

“What happened?” James demanded as he swept into the room. It happened. Again. How could he be so unbelievably, stupidly oblivious as to not notice when one of his parents, arguably the most important people in his life, falls ill for the second time?  

He thought he learned. He thought he learned not to be so self absorbed, to not fixate on his own ‘issues’ to the point where he blocked out other’s problems. He thought he’d taught himself that there were other people around, people with bigger problems than him, people who needed his help as opposed to him ignoring them for his own ‘needs.’

Clearly, he thought wrong.

His mother was struggling, has been for a while by the looks of it, and James has been anxiously anticipating a day off. Talk about selfishness. 

“I don’t know,” Lily said. She leaned out of Effie’s space and exhaled an anxious breath, tugging on her braid. “I’ve done a diagnostic at least three times and nothing comes up.” 

“She’s fatigued,” Marlene mumbled. “Sweaty, migraines, elevated heart rate and blood pressure, muscle tension (specifically of the deltoids), dilated pupils, slight fever and restricted breathing. So many signs but there’s no reason for them. Her heart and all her vital organs are fine, her bones are okay, everything is healthy and working correctly. I’d suggest lack of Small Science practice but Effie’s otkazat’sya so that’s out of the question.” 

“You- you won’t be able to- do anything.” Effie managed between wheezes, scrunching her eyes up tight.

“What do you mean?” Marlene asked sharply, eyes narrowed at the implication that her and Lily’s capabilities wouldn’t be enough.

Monty shook his head. “Stupid. Why have you done this to yourself?” 

“Mum,” James started slowly, cautiously. “What did you do?” 

Effie cracked her eyes open to give Monty a fierce, meaningful glare, which he promptly ignored. “Many years ago now, the two of us were backed into a tricky spot and instead of talking through it with me and coming up with a sensible solution, she decided the only way out of it was merzost.”

Lily gasped and Marlene fell into a nearby arm chair, slouching down and rubbing her temples. James gripped the doorframe tighter, knuckles paling. He’s well aware of the power, the damage, the devastation merzost can cause. It’s the kind of thing you need to know if you plan on collecting and trading in rare, highly sought after items. He doesn’t fuck with merzost if he can help it (the two-way mirrors being the only exception), because even after it’s taken what it wants, a negative air clouds around it’s possessors and nothing good ever comes from it. “Tell me you didn’t.” 

Effie stayed pointedly silent. 

“Since then, Effie’s dealt with chronic pain and fallen into bits of illness before. Nothing quite this severe but I know- we both know well enough there’s nothing to stop it. She’ll get better again,” Monty swallowed thickly and squeezed Effie’s hand. Her hand twitched weakly in response. “She always has before. She will this time, too. She has too.” 

He sounded like he was trying to convince himself along with them. 

James remembers instances from before. Days in which he couldn’t go into his parents’ cabin because his mother was sick and didn’t want to be overwhelmed with visitors or it would make it worse. Those were his father’s words, and he realizes now that it was all a cover up. His mother didn’t have a cough or a bout of illness like James had always believed, as that had been what he was told, but instead, his mother suffered from inexplicable, incurable symptoms as a result of dealing with darkness for only the Saints know why. His parents were lying to him.

How ironic. James has been lying to everyone for a while now. He has no leg to stand on, no reason to be upset. That would just make him a hypocrite, on top of everything else. 

James dragged a hand down his face. “Okay. What do we do? How can we speed this up or make this better or something? There has to be something, right?” 

Monty winced. “If I knew, son, I would’ve already told you. The best thing we can do, the only thing we can do, is wait it out. Shift around time tables to cover the gaps your mother and I’s absence will leave in the schedules and be patient.” 

What a shitty start to his birthday. 

If it were normal, if his mother wasn’t ill, he would’ve been bombarded with hugs. Monty would’ve messed up his curls, making them even more unruly than usual. He’d wake to the smell of lemon squares, a delicacy they could only afford to have once a year. Effie would smile bright, eyes crinkling at the corners when she laughed and held the tray out of reach, chastising him for trying to eat them before having a meal of sustenance. Monty would reach behind her, swipe two off the tray and give him one, grinning cheekily all the while because “It’s his birthday! Surely we can make an exception for today, right?”

Patience, waiting, sitting around and doing nothing. His downfall. One thing he can never do. James bit the inside of his cheek. “Alright. I’ll see what I can do.” 

“There’s really nothing?” Lily asked, wringing her fingers together. 

James couldn’t imagine how they felt, his Healers. That’s twice now they’ve been faced with a problem in their area of expertise and have been utterly useless. 

Monty smiled. “You two have done the best you can, and that’s all we could ask for. Thank you.” 

Marlene nodded curtly. She was out of her seat quickly and out the door faster, knocking shoulders with James as she slipped past him. Lily followed her out and patted James on the bicep, giving him a small, comforting smile. 

“James?” 

James looked over his shoulder, having just been about to leave himself. He has a lot to do, if he wants to ensure The Marauder can carry on smoothly. “Yeah?” 

“It would be better to keep people on the other side of the door. I may not mind the attention when I’m vulnerable but your mother is a different story.” 

“I will.” 

As the day pushed on, two things became abundantly clear. 

One: the comforting, empathetic, delightful presence of Euphemia Potter clearly played a large role in ship morale. With her incapacitated, the ship was gloomy. Everyone did as their job, carried out their duties with the efficiency that comes with an overabundance of practice, but it was done with a lot less enthusiasm. The usual taunting banter that was called across the deck was absent, a stifling barrier of melancholic silence weighing heavily in its place. Joy seemed impossible, a distant memory, and nerves were the only thing they knew. 

Realistically, James knew his mother had touched a lot of people. She had an aura that lured in the cautious, the unsure, the uncertain and had a way of transforming it into confidence, safety, security. With her in bad sorts, all the work she’d put into working the petals of his crewmates open, allowing their true personality to blossom despite their worries, seemed for nothing as people drew back into themselves. Things grew stiff, people closed off. Marlene didn’t talk to anyone, didn’t trust anyone. Alice fell back into a hollow state (not nearly as bad as before but reminiscent of how she used to be and James couldn’t ignore the way his guilt dragon snarled). Sirius kept every crew member under a sharp, watchful eye and James could taste how he was itching for a fight. Remus refused even the touch of Lily and Mary seemed anxious to even breathe the same air as everyone else. Lily was all sad-eyed and Arthur kept looking down at his hands, expecting to see someone else’s in their place. The Prewetts had formed a little circle, confiding in each other for comfort, safety and survival. Peter wouldn’t meet anyone’s gaze and rushed to complete even the smallest of tasks. Frank pushed himself harder, to do better despite the grey energy of the crew, like he was trying to prove something. 

James tried his best to remain the helpful, calm Captain. He made sure everyone had what they needed, made sure they knew if they needed a break they could take one, if they needed to talk he was here. He kept them on track and trugging smoothly through the sea, even through his own anxiety.

Two: everyone forgot his birthday. 

It was such a stupid, self-centered thing to think and his gut churned with disgust and self-loathing. His mother was fighting for her life just below deck and one of the only things on his mind was the fact that his birthday, which should be the least of all worries, was forgotten. 

It was just- he put so much effort, time and energy into making sure each crew felt special, appreciated and recognized whenever their days rolled around. He thought of Remus’, only seventeen days before, and how they’d spent the day along the Zemini coast line and while he didn’t expect anything like that (James doesn’t really remember most of it, if he’s honest), a birthday wish would be nice. 

Disappointment weighs heavy in his gut and James wanted to vomit it up. He usually doesn’t give a fuck about his birthday, closer to dreading it than anticipating it. It was a cruel irony that the one time he was actually a little bit excited for it, there was nothing to show for him surviving yet another year. 

His skin tingled with an itch he’d grown well acquainted with over the past few months. He longed to sate it, fingers twitching with the need to lock himself in his cabin and drown in the addictive drag of metal, the sting of splitting skin, the sticky dripping of his well deserved, self-inflicted pain. He didn’t. Couldn’t. Not yet. He’d do it after night fell, when most of his crew retreated to their hammocks and his presence wasn’t as required. For now, he’d silently wallow in his greedy, indulgent, shameful dejection and wait.