Worst
The only thought running through James’s head was no. No, no, no, no, NO! And then–I need a drink. I can’t do this sober.
He said he was ending it because it would be better for him, because he could protect James from the inside.
Well you know what, Regulus? Killing Marlene isn’t tough love, no matter which way you look at it.
Regulus was dead to James.
The Daily Prophet glares up at him from the table, announcing “McKinnons Dead, Murdered in Home”, and in the corner of the picture of their lovely, destroyed cottage, a lurking figure in a silver mask. A figure he would recognize in any outfit, in any lighting, a figure he spent months looking at nothing but, and now, a figure that murdered one of his best friends.
Fuck you, Regulus.
He didn’t want to believe it. Not his Regulus, his Regulus wasn’t a murderer. But again, his Regulus chose the Death Eaters over him, so he wasn’t really his Regulus anymore anyway.
It’s not even 8 a.m. yet when James takes his first swig of firewhisky. He drinks straight from the bottle, and he’s barely taken another swig before the newspaper is burning from its place on the table. James dumps some of his firewhisky on it, allowing the wood table to catch with it, just to feel the blaze. He slides to the floor and stares into the flames wondering how someone so good could have done something so evil.
It’s noon by the time James stands up again. Or rather, attempts to stand. He had just finished his third bottle of firewhisky, and the fire had been out for over an hour as he wobbles upright.
The sight of the burnt table reignites his rage, and before he has a chance to think, the firewhisky bottle is sailing across the room and slamming into the kitchen wall.
“REGULUS,” James screams at the ceiling, clamoring over to the shattered glass that now litters the floors. James doesn’t know what he’s planning on doing until he gets there, as he picks up the shards with his bare hands, letting them dig into his hands and staining the clear glass red with blood. He falls to his knees. “I HATE YOU!”
To think that James spent the last few months worrying about Regulus, whether he was even alive, hoping, hoping that just maybe someday Regulus would return to him. “I hate you,” James repeats in a broken whisper. “I would’ve done anything for you Reg.”
And he would have. Regulus said he was doing this to protect James and James believed him. James let him go. He didn’t believe it when Sirius ranted about his brother, how awful he was, how much he believed their parents’ ideals and how badly he wanted to be a Death Eater, because Sirius was wrong. Sirius was blocked out from those hidden parts of Regulus that only James got to see, and his Regulus wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t.
But he killed Marlene.
James takes a deep breath. “I always thought you were good, Regulus. Better than your family, better than your friends. But you, you’re the worst of them. You’re the worst.”
If only he could hear Regulus’s sharp intake of breath at the observation, see his stony stare and pursed lips, his hands balling into fists underneath his sleeves. If only Regulus were here, everything would be okay.
No. No. If Regulus were here, James would kill him.
“Fuck you,” James hisses at empty air, as if his anger could reach Regulus by sheer force of will. “Fuck you and your friends, your Death Eater buddies. Fuck the wizarding world. Fuck this. Fuck everything.”
James tightens his grip on the glass before dropping it completely and standing back up. He props himself against the wall, gives himself one last angry shout, and then does his best to pull himself together. Regulus doesn’t deserve to be mourned. Regulus doesn’t deserve anything from James.