Regulus spends a lot time thinking.
And regretting.
And blaming. Pointing fingers. Feeling shame. Naming names. Expect the only name to name is his own.
And hating himself for what he did. Not being able to look himself in the eye. Not being able to believe he had to guts to do what he did. Then believing. Then not. Then again, not being able understand how he could do that.
He covered every mirror. Ignored every shiny surface. Looked away from the things he used to love. Hid from the world because the sun was too bright and his eyes hurt looking at it.
A lot of time has been spent pacing, wandering, walking. Running, floating, falling.
And picking himself back up. And continuing, flowing, moving.
He never used to under how someone could be so restless that sitting still could be painful. He does now. He’s itching to move. Basically scratching at himself to move. He goes on walks where he leaves when the sun is warm and bright, but comes home when the moon is half waxed and white. He paces around his room until he causes creaks in the floorboard. He runs until he feels his lungs are on fire.
He writes. Kind of mindlessly. Writes whatever comes to his head. Scribbles it down in his usual neat manner. Dotting his I’s and crossing his T’s. About what if’s. About what could have been. About fantasies and make believe.
Well, Regulus spends a lot of time on that. Wondering.
Wondering what could have happened if he listened. If he stayed. If he never did what he did. If he never told James. If he never left James. If he stayed in those arms, with those eyes, by that warmth. Wondering how much of a fool he was for leaving.
He already knew that. He didn’t need to fool himself over that one.
Who could give up the warmth of James Potter? Who could leave him? How could he dared to hurt him?
He thinks about James a lot. He just… thinks.
Has he changed? Has he got a haircut? Has he grown a beard? Does he still shave because the voice in the back of head which sounds exactly like Regulus tells him too? Has he got new glasses? Has his eye sight changed? Got worse? Somehow got better? Has he left Hogwarts? What did he get on his NEWTS? Did he does as good as Regulus always knew he would? What has he done, because at this point he would have? Has he got a job? Is he everything he dreamed of being?
Does he miss him? Did he grieve? Does he mourn? Was he able to move on? Did he make a little grave stone for him under some tree with a vase of flowers and a message? Does he think of him on his birthday? Or every Monday night, when they’d go on walks together because they could get away with it as James was head boy? Does he still look for Regulus in the sky? Or has he lost the love for star gazing all together and closes the blinds at night?
Does he care what happened to him?
Of course he would. James has a heart bigger than life. He cared too much. He always did. Regulus always knew James would care about the things he should and shouldn’t. It’s in James bones to care. James wouldn’t be the same after Kreacher gave him the letter. He’d lose his sparkle in his eyes and the glow in his skin. He’d let go to the belief that everything will be okay. That everything will work out. Because it can’t. Because if this couldn’t work out, what could? Because no amount of James’ love was enough to make Regulus stay. For him to just promise, tell him hell stay with him, stay in the innocence that everything can just be fine, yet that was broken and smashed into unrepairable pieces. Too sharp for James to touch without getting cut.
He’d still try though.
He remembers their last conversation. The tears. The betrayal. The heartbreak. James begged him to stay. Actually begged. Clung to him as if he held on enough, Regulus would. Regulus would change his mind on his plan and stay. Regulus would change his mind and pick him.
‘Choose me’ is what James had said. ‘Just… stay here and pick me reg, please’, through big, thick tears.
‘You don’t have to be this hero Reg, this isn’t your job to do alone… please Reg, just… don’t leave me,’
‘If not me, who? Who would it be, James?’
‘I’ll never forgive you if you leave Reg, I mean it. I’ll never get over it, you know that… never’ is the last thing James said to him.
‘You will… I know you will’ is what Regulus replied with. He now regrets that he hadn’t said more.
He wishes now he told James he loved him. That there’s no one in this world that he’d ever love over him. That there’s no one else he’d pick. That, in this entire world, in entire universe, he’d ever pick over him. That James is his sun, planet, moon and every star in the constellation. That there’s no one he’ll miss like him. That if he was ever a good person, it was because of him. Because any ounce of good Regulus had, ever in his lifetime, it was because he was lucky enough to have his hand held by James Potter.
Because James could have picked anyone and yet he picked him. The introverted, pessimistic, borderline selfish guy over someone who could have been his sun.
And yet James was his ever glowing warmth.
Regulus would always pick James. Maybe, James would understand now. Maybe he never will. Maybe he wouldn’t want to know. Maybe he never needed to know. Maybe some part of James understood, even if he didn’t want to. The biggest part of his plan was returning to James. He was doing this for James.
It was his endgame. He’d come back and beg and plead and pray James would hear him out. Just to give me the one chance James, please I can explain I just need you to listen.
But after three years of being ‘dead’, a part of Regulus knew James would never hear him out. Hell, he wouldn’t. If James faked his death for three years, Regulus wouldn’t give him his time of day. He wishes James would, though. Maybe that makes him selfish. For James to hear that he survived the cave. That he’s still trying to break the horcrux, but now Voldemort doesn’t have it anymore, at least. That he’s been living in the north of France. That he got a job in some hotel. That he purposely chose to go under the name ‘Damien Beausoleil’. The last name specifically because that’s what he called him, and there’s no way Regulus would forget an ounce of what he felt for him. That he’s been learning and living. That he’s been thinking, regretting, wondering, blaming. Been thinking of him. And Sirius. And all his friends. That he’s been dying to talk to him. To see those hazel eyes, and that untamed, black hair and that smile. To know what he did was worth it.
Because he promised James to make it out alive, and hell he did.
He wondered if James ever moved on. Regulus begged him to. To not let what he did to him, or his death, or this heartbreak to bury him in pity of darkness. To go find someone who’ll love him more than he ever could. Who could hold their hand now they weren’t there.
He hopes James did. He hopes James found love again.
He knows James will have questions. He just doesn’t know how to answer them.
Why did you do it? Because I had to. Because I needed to save you.
How could you do it? I don’t know how. I just did.
How did you survive? For the first time in his life, Kreacher didn’t listen to my order to leave. He saved my life.
After all this time, were you ever going to come back? Yes. I always was. I will always return to you.
Did it work? Yes. Voldemort doesn’t have it anymore, I just need to figure out how to destroy it.
Was it worth it? Yes.
After all this time, all this growing and learning, it was.
He just hopes he’s become enough.
-•-
He doesn’t know what to do when he returns to London. He isn’t sure where to go. Who to go to. What to do now he’s actually back.
No one prepares you to reintegrate into life after being dead for three years.
He made quite the life for himself out in France. He became fluent in French, and worked as a receptionist at some fancy hotel. He fit the part. He knew how to talk to posh, obnoxiously rich people who are far too out of touch with real life. He was organised enough to be able to work out schedules. He didn’t hesitate under pressure and wasn’t afraid to speak his mind.
In all truth, he didn’t need a job. Frankly, he didn’t want one. He could have lived off the money he still had from when his uncle died and left him money in his will. It was just something to do, because surprisingly being dead is really boring. He just needed something to get him out the bed in the morning. Having a job and a nagging boss became quite the motivator. He doesn’t even like the hotel he worked at, it was just first place which had an opening and he jumped for it.
He bought a house out in the country side, a half an hour bus ride to work and back. Became a regular at a café, to the point where they knew his order before he was able to speak. A black coffee and some type of muffin that they had. He never learnt the flavour.
He filled the house with nick nacks he found around the village he settled in. Books, pieces of art, flowers, pretty stones he found by the stream near his house. He’d do that at Hogwarts. He’d find really pretty stones on the coast line of the black lake and keep them in the drawer of his bedside table. He only started that because of James though.
He didn’t make any friends. His co-workers were nice enough, but he didn’t have it in him to make friends he planned on abandoning again. He’d rather them not like him. It was easier that way. He spent a lot of his time alone anyway.
He got used to his company. He got comfortable in it. To the feel of his heart and the sound of his breathing. Some would call that lonely, and sure they could be right in that. It did get pretty lonely after a while. Sitting around with his thoughts being his only source of company. It did definitely get dark after a while. Maybe that’s why he decided to come back now. His one constant thought being James.
He hadn’t heard from James since he left. Which, is understandable. As James thinks Regulus is dead.
Regulus’ misses James. He’s missed him since the second he ended his last conversation with him. He’s missed him since he survived the cave. He missed him when he bought a cottage he knew James would have loved. A cottage he’d kill to buy with James, for James. To share the small blue and white kitchen. To have James' clothes inter mixed with his in the laundry basket. To see all of James' coconut scented toiletries lined up next to his in the bath room. To see James everyday. For James to be his still.
Regulus can’t stop himself from missing James. It’s all he knows. It’s this constant ache. Like an ache no pain potion will touch. It keeps him up at night, just stirring with the undying wish that James was next to him. Just breathing. Existing.
Regulus always got the best sleep with James. The nights where he was tangled up in James’ limbs, where he could smell the last of James’ after shave and his conditioner because his nose was in his messy curls. Listening to James breathing because there wasn’t anything else as calming at that. Soaking in the warmth of James’ skin. Wondering time and time again how he could live without this.
Living without James was the hardest. It was painfully lonely. An acheful coldness which no amount of jumpers could fix, because none of them were his. It’s like his life has lost its focus without James. Everything was so clear with James. Just so obvious with him. So clear. He knew what to do, when to do, how to do it and why he was going to do. Everything was easier with James. He was just so simple. He smiled because he was happy. He told Regulus that he loved him because Regulus had laughed at his joke and James loved it when Regulus laughed. He cried because he was worn out and tired, and he should have gone to sleep an hour ago but didn’t. So, tears slipped out because James was sensitive whilst being sleepy. He got annoyed because he didn’t get the grade he thought he was going to get on an transfiguration essay. He was simple. He was the simplest part of Regulus’ life. Regulus never thought he’d live without James. Life without James was death. And a part of him is surprised he survived for three years without him. How he kept moving. Flowing. Picking himself back up after falling down again and again and again. James taught him a lot. How to know when he should take the punches or roll with them. How to listen to himself, become so aline with his own body that he could actually be able to heal from his past. How there is worth within himself. How if you tread the thin line between life and death, you’ll be dead long before you’re reaped.
James was a good teacher, because Regulus is still learning three years on.
Maybe that’s what makes being in England so daunting. Proving it was worth it. Showing that James had an everlasting impact on him.
Coming back to the place you were kicked whilst you were already down is hard. You’re taught not to let your past haunt you. To not believe in ghosts when they surround you in your room. To look past the darkness in the tunnel and focus on the glowing light at the end.
But that’s hard to do whilst standing in the hallway which is caked in your blood and tears.
Nothings changed. Yet everything has. The portrait of his mother is gone, replaced by nothing. The patch is as empty and hallow as she was. The house is still dark with grief. Rich with terror. Audible screams still echo the halls, and visible pools of blood still circle Regulus' feet.
This house is the epitome of death.
But, there’s been life here, Regulus can tell.
His parents actually died whilst he was playing died in France. He found out through the olive vine which is wizard newspapers. With him ‘dead’ and his parents six feet under, the house must have gone to Sirius. He must of had a party celebrating his parents death because this place is really lived in.
There’s leftover mugs of different sizes and designs and different stages of use. Couches have been moved or replaced, blankets have been left behind, worn in patches of wood where people must have stood for ages just pacing. There are still plates in the sink. There’s still this lingering feeling of sorrow.
The war only ended a few weeks ago. Regulus doesn’t know how it was won. The war waged on behind closed eyes as Regulus handed out keys to crappy hotel rooms. He didn’t pay attention, then and now. He should care, people have died, blood was shed, sacrifices were made so they could be safe from Voldemort. But he doesn’t. He had a small play in the huge game of the war. So small that no one notices it. The chess piece was barely moved. It still sits there, lingering in dust. But it was moved, and that should mean something, right?
He wonders around the house. Looks in the cupboards he used to hide in. Trace hands over the paths on the tapestry and debates burning it. He doesn’t. He tiptoes up the stairs, muscle memory to avoid the creaky ones.
And stands in the doorway of his bedroom.
It’s untouched. A preserved piece of art from trapped, miserable eighteen year old him. Soulless and empty and cold and forgotten. He doesn’t forget how to sit in the window, feet dangling out the edge, so he could watch the clouds pass in the night sky. Or where he carefully hid Polaroids of him and James, of him and Pandora. Of him and Sirius.
Sirius took it the day Regulus got into the Slytherin quidditch team. None of his friends thought he’d be good enough. All supported him openly but he’d heard them say they didn’t think he was good enough but were just trying to be supportive. He made it, of course. And Sirius hugged him so tight he can still remember it. He took a pic of him in his kit with him and gave it to him.
He never had the guts to throw it away.
His bed is in the same place, tucked up against the wall. The same covers still hug his mattress. His clock is still broken on his bedside table. The same books are on his shelf. The same clothes are still in the hamper. The same rug covers the cold hardwood floor. The curtain was still tied open.
Nothing has been changed.
Maybe his parents did care. Maybe they did miss him and left his room the same just in case he returned. Maybe he did matter.
Or maybe they didn’t see if it was worth it. Maybe they didn't even care.
But they’re the dead ones, what would they know?
He wonders whose been here. Who’s passed these halls? Who’s ran up these stairs? Who’s shared these rooms?
What’s the story here?
Kreacher is still here. Wondering around in this desolate house. What has Kreacher been doing?
He was so excited to see Regulus again. It’s sad honestly. Three years. All alone. Sirius probably never bothered to visit.
Sirius probably never cared.
Except he did.
Because this was the Order of Phoenix headquarters for the entire war. Kreacher told him. He wouldn’t tell him anything else.
Saying he doesn’t want to ‘recount a story which would go against miss's wishes’.
Always the same. Always different Kreacher, but always the same.
He spent two days just searching. He couldn’t find anything on his friends whereabouts. Nothing. No address, no number, no scrap of evidence that they still exist. No evidence that they ever existed.
None of them, not even Pandora.
He heard through Kreacher after his two day search that Dorcas was dead. Murdered by Voldemort himself. Regulus threw up when he heard. Dorcas… dead? No.
He never thought any of his friends could die. Is that naïve? Yes. Extremely. Painfully naïve. But he just… assumed? Presumed that they’d just be fine. That if he did what he did, they’d be fine. Which was stupid in hindsight, because how could replacing a horcrux with a fake save anyone’s one instantly? It couldn’t. Realistically, it wouldn’t.
But Dorcas has been dead for four months and Regulus didn’t know. He never got to say goodbye. Or apologise for leaving. Or just… hear her voice one last time. He can barely remember the thick northern accent which made her hard to understand.
This was a mistake. He should have come back the second he left. He should have never left. He could have done more from here. He could protected her. He could have saved her.
Instead, he was handing out keys to crappy hotel rooms.
He spends a week searching phone books to find James’ number. There’s thousands of James Potter’s in the phone book, and not a single one are his James. He calls and calls and leaves messages and calls some more. People call back and it isn’t James. People awkwardly ask who this is and it isn’t James. He calls until it be rude to call and comes back to it the next morning. Until he runs out of James Potter’s to call and just sits in his defeat.
It was the same with each call, praying it was him. But, he might just be calling just to hear James scream. Why would a wizard have their number in a muggle phone book anyway?
However, he found something else in Sirius’ room. Something genuinely useful to him. He avoided the room entirely, not wanting to even step foot into the room. Not wanting to give Sirius the time of day. He, he… he feels childish now for avoiding his room for a week. Like if he ignored it enough, it would go away and that problem would disappear.
It would sprout legs and attach itself to another house.
Which… was a very stupid wish. Especially when he found something so useful inside when he finally stepped in.
An diary. Full of stupid little stories from 1979 where Sirius was learning how to use muggle public transport and little doodles of Remus when Sirius was probably meant to be listening to something important.
Dotted throughout all that nonsense was an address.
Studio 49d Crowned Lane, Camden, London NW1 6TH. -Remus’ new loft.
That's... something.
This could be a total waste of time. He could get there and he isn’t home. Or he’s moved. Or he died in the war and Regulus is turning up to a desolate home. Or he’s going to hate Regulus for what he did and slam the door in his face, sickened by the mere sight of him. Together and in one piece, not six feet under.
Or Sirius will open the door and beat the shit out of him for breathing air in the same vicinity of him because he hasn’t seen him in three year and the last thing Regulus ever said to him was ‘if you’re reading this, it means I'm dead’ in a letter he made Kreacher give him, because he’d be damned if he died without Sirius knowing.
Or James will be there. Visiting a friend. Celebrating the end of the war. Open the door, so that his friend doesn’t have to and see Regulus. Standing in the doorway like a wet dog, and just… do what? Scream. Cry. Shout. Hug him. Push him away. Shut the door like no one was there and he was hearing thing.
Just stand and stare in pure shock that all the grieving was for nothing. That Regulus spent all that time giving all keys to crappy hotel rooms whilst he spent losing his mind of grief that he lost his first love. Thinking he didn’t fight hard enough for him to stay. Thinking he wasn’t enough to make Regulus stay.
Regulus knew what he did was cruel. Leaving all his loved one behind to go on a suicide mission. A suicide mission he survived but still didn’t return to. Let them fight the war whilst he gave keys to crappy hotel rooms and casually learn French in a cottage was cruel. Selfish even.
But the whole returning part was always so distant to Regulus it almost felt like it wasn’t ever going to happen. It was always such a ‘what if’, that it never became a ‘when’ in Regulus’ head. It never felt like it was going to happen. It was this massive dream out of reach because it was never real for him.
You ever have those dreams which are so realistic that you spend a couple days debating whether if you just relived a memory you had or was just a scarily accurate dream? Yeah, that was the dream of returning to James. Always a dream, never actually reality.
But now he’s sitting in a black cab on the way to Remus’ loft so he can find James. Because, at this point he is nothing but desperate. Desperate enough that he’ll turn up at Remus’ loft even if it gets his butt kicked or feelings hurt.
Islington and Camden are a lot closer than Regulus realised. He’s never actually been to Camden. He hasn’t been to much of muggle London. Stupid abusive parents with their stupid obsessive restrictions.
The only issue that posed was that he didn’t have as much time as he liked to prepare what he was going to say to Remus if he actually opened the door and kept it open long enough to say something.
How do you re-enter someone’s life after death?
‘Hey, yeah I’m alive… actually I was never dead, sorry for that, just wondering where is your best friend, you know just want to say hi?’
Yeah. That won’t go down well.
Does he apologise? To Remus? Did Remus ever care enough where he’d want one? Does he need one? Should he save his apology for James?
The taxi is silent. Regulus hates silence. A lot can happen in silence. Hatred spreads in silence. Resentment grows off of silence. Love can get lost in silence. Love can fester and grow in silence. People lose their mind to silence. Silence could be your greatest friend or your deadliest enemy.
Regulus can’t tell what silence is to him. Whether the silence spent with James was everything he wanted it to be, or the silence where he tried to gauge whether Sirius was still breathing was why he always needed to be listening to something.
He didn’t have anything to say to the cab driver and clearly he didn’t either. He people watches instead. Watches a teen walk their dog. A couple hold hands and share a cigarette. A man on a run. An old lady waiting at a zebra crossing to cross so they could get to the bus stop on the other side, a tartan trolley on her side. A mother with a cheerful toddler on her hip. Life. People live, not knowing the whole world which exists without their knowledge. People move, and don’t care about the opportunities they’re leaving behind. People wait, patiently waiting for the world to stop for them.
Life goes on, life moves, flows, lives. Whether you want it to or not. There’s no pause button on life. Friends move, parents die, war breaks and wins. Stuff happens without your knowledge if you’re not there to live it.
Fake death doesn’t stay permanent and now Regulus is well and alive, standing out a loft, scared to knock. As if it’s the scariest thing he's ever done. Like he wasn’t prepared to betray the darkest wizard, threatening to steal something important from. Ready to get himself killed to help in the tiniest way possible. Without anything to prove of himself, he’s now standing outside Remus’ loft, and he… just stands there.
Stands there and thinks. Stands there and suffocates. Stands there and stares at the red door which faces him. And thinks about how in a lifetime of planning every little thing, how didn’t he plan this?
All those days planned down to the second, how has this slipped away from his control?
Does he knock? There’s a bell, does he ring the bell?
He’s empty handed, should he brought something? What would he brought? Flowers? No, Remus isn’t in mourning. Alcohol? Remus definitely drinks, and will definitely need it. He should have brought alcohol.
What does he say? Short and simple? Or a pure panic messy explanation? Should he let Remus speak first? Remus might not want to speak, so that could be an issue.
He should knock. He’s stood here for ten minutes now. Yeah, he should knock.
He knocks. His uncertainty seeps into his knock. And he just… waits.
Regulus has always been an anxious person. The kind of anxiety where you can read it off his body, and it makes you nervous. His leg would jolt, and Dorcas would put a steady hand on it because oh merlin Regulus stop.
Regulus listens for movement. Sign of life. Evidence that someone lives there. He’d use a sensor charm but there’s a muggle in the corridor painting their front door green.
Regulus has always been impatient. So he knocks again. Louder and with purpose this time. He can almost hear Sirius telling him he needs to put himself out there to be heard echo through his ears.
He can hear shuffling after this one. The sound of worn slippers on hard wood floors. The grumble of muffled cursing getting louder… and louder… and louder….
And the front door is open. Remus is tall, Regulus always knew that. Lanky legs and even lankier arms.
But he feels tiny in comparison to Remus towering over him.
Remus just stares at him. With an unreadable face and unreadable body. Stared at him in disbelief? Confusion? Numb shock? Hurt? Anger? Rage? Nothing? Does he care at all?
Regulus can’t tell.
“Hi…” what? You’ve been dead for three years and you start with hi? Regulus just stares back and hopes Remus has something better to reply with.
Remus just stares. So deep in thought, it give Regulus time to properly look at him. He’s a mess. That’s all he can think. A worn out jumper with far too many holes to be worn outside isn’t hiding his exhausted posture. He hasn’t shaved it seemingly a week, a mousy brown stubble shadowing his jaw as he runs his hand over his mouth in shock.
“Regulus?” Is what eventually comes.
“Hi Remus,”
“What the actual fuck are you doing….” He trails off, at a complete loss for words.
“Here?”
“Alive! What the fuck are you doing alive Regulus!” He’s mad. Oh he’s pissed. Regulus can only imagine he deserves that.
“…I survived the cave,”
“I can fucking tell…”
They stand in silence. Regulus doesn’t ask to come in, Remus doesn’t let him in. Regulus doesn’t ask if he’s okay, neither does Remus. Things were never this tough with Remus. They’d click and just talk. They wouldn’t buffer and stand in silence, both unequally unsure about each other presence.
Regulus is just hoping he isn’t making a massive mistake in being here. This feels like a mistake. He should have just hunted James down. A tracking charm. Hunted down Dumbledore, he’d known where James is. James was in the order, and dumbledore ran it. He'd definitely know where he is.
Regulus should leave. just leave, as fast he physically could. This is just a huge, catastrophic mist-
“Do you want to come in? My place is a mess but you here for a reason, right?” Remus just asks.
“Yeah… of course,” Regulus just slides past Remus, looking into the open plan mess. Regulus is never one to judge on mess, especially a mess curated throughout and after a war. So he just ignores it and turns back to Remus who’s closing the front door and turning back to him.
“You’ve got questions, don’t you?” His voice shy with shame.
“Yes, Regulus I have questions. You don’t get to play dead through three years with no explanation,”
They cover the topic of why.
‘I knew the second I joined I shouldn’t have. I was so trapped within my house, I never had the choice, it was that or death… and I guess I made that choice eventually. Whilst there, I learnt about the cave and spent four months trying to figure out where it was, and how to actually do what I wanted to do. Which was steal the locket horcrux and replace it with a fake. It might seem meaningless then or now even, but if hasn’t got it, then he can’t use it, right?’
Then how.
‘Kreacher disobeyed me for the first time ever, hasn’t done it since and probably won’t ever again. That’s how I survived, because well … I knew then and now, if he stuck to the order of leave, I’d be long dead. I don’t know how I worked up the guts to leave. I still don't know how I worked up the guts to do what I did, or come back. I wish I had an answer, but I don’t. I guess I wanted to prove something of myself, to prove I could do something which made an impact or difference, I guess…’
Then back to why.
‘You don’t get to go up against the darkest wizard, betray them and waltz back in unharmed. If I came back so soon, he’d have killed me. Simply enough, and then all I did, said, proved myself to be would have be would have been for nothing. Which, yes, definitely makes me selfish. You guys fought a war and I worked in a muggle hotel, but it had to mean something. I couldn’t come back to James empty handed.’
Then when.
‘I always needed to come back. I was always going to come back. But I… never knew when that was going to be. Coming back from death was a lot harder than i planed. The longer I went on living there, the harder coming back came. But I was always going to come back, I promised James I’d make it out, I guess I broke that…’
And then the questions trailed off. Remus completely stumped. Either having nothing else to ask or there isn’t anything else he wants to know.
Expect from one.
“Where are you here? At my place?” His voice just sounded exhausted.
“I need to know where James is, an address, number… hell at this point I’ll take coordinates,”
Regulus runs his clammy hands down his trousers, “I’ve spent all week trying to find something, I’ve tried everything but nothing is coming up,”
Something… changed in Remus’ face.
It’s small. It’s so small. Regulus almost missed it.
Regulus couldn’t name it. There isn’t a word for the change. There isn’t a description for the change. There isn’t anything about the change.
Regulus didn’t like the change. It wasn’t a happy change, an excited change. No it was empty and lifeless. Soulless.
Remus looks away from Regulus. Like the knowledge he bares is too heavy to even think about.
“Remus, what?”
Nothing.
“Remus… what’s wrong?”
Remus digs his face into his palms and stays there.
“Remus… where’s James?”
Remus looks back at him, tears in his eyes. This was a mistake. Three years were too long weren’t they? Something terrible has happened hasn’t it? Remus never bets around the bush. He’s open and honest. He says what he means and means what he says. If he hasn’t told him yet… what does that mean for him?
“Remus! Where is he?”
“Regulus…”
-•-
James loved divination.
He found it fascinating. He loved it, even if he was shit at it. Even if it was never right. Even if it predicted the worst. James loved divination.
Regulus thought it was a load of bullshit. It meant nothing. Never did. None of the predictions he ever made through crystal balls or tarot cards or tea leaves ever actually happened.
When he saw a supposed a massive win was going to come his way, Ravenclaw beat Slytherin in the next quidditch games, making them lose their chance on playing Gryffindor in the finals.
When he did the tea leaves, and he got falcon, nothing happened from it. It meant nothing. No enemies emerged from it and his pre-existing enemies didn’t do anything after.
Whilst doing fire-omens, the smoke looked like two people hugging. The professor at the time said it meant a bonding of a broken connection. But when the deeply broken connection is with your brother… it never fixed it.
But that always him. He had the back luck. The unfortunate readings which never came true. He just chalked that to it being him.
What really hit the nail into the coffin was a palm reading he did on James. He had to practice for an exam coming up, and he loved looking and having an excuse to touch James’ hands.
He was practicing reading the life line, and the stupid text book told him that James had a small life line.
What a load of nonsense.
James? Dying young?
Bullshit.
There was no way James was dying young. No way.
James was a person who deserved to live. To have a life full of love and warmth and happiness. The same warmth and love and care he gave to others. Regulus would be damned if he had anything else.
So he buried the thought so deep down that he almost forgot about it. His tossed it away. Blamed it on his shit divination skills and ignored it completely.
It only emerged when he was staring at the gravestone for James Potter.
When Remus told him the truth, he threw up. He… Remus had to be lying. There was no way James was dead.
No way.
Right?
Wrong.
James, did, in fact move on.
Remus went on for ages how hard Regulus’ ‘death’ was for James. How it completely ruined him. It took weeks, months for James to even seem like himself again.
In the words of Remus ‘it was like a light died in James’ eyes, and it never came back… ever’.
James was quieter. He kept to himself more. He would disappear on walks and wouldn’t return until the middle of the night. His laugh was softer, his smile was quieter. He… wasn’t him anymore. Like Regulus’ death took something with him. Left apart of James in the cave and never went back for it.
He got with Lily a year after his ‘death’. Remus said he started to feel like himself more with Lily. Even just by a little bit.
The light never returned though. the light stayed out. Remus went on and on about how he missed it. How much of James left with that light. That light was the essence of James. How when people needed it the most, when James needed it the most, it was gone with no return.
They had a kid, by complete and total accident.
Harry. With Lily’s eyes and James’ everything else.
The poor baby, as it turns out, was apart of a prophecy. About him taking down the Dark Lord. Destined to be the person to bring the Dark Lord. Powerful enough to be the person to kill him.
James and Lily’s son.
James is a dad. Well, was a dad. James was a dad.
James would’ve been an amazing dad.
James spent the last two months in hiding. Locked away from the world in hopes to keep his child safe. Two months locked away from friends because it meant his kid had a chance of being safe. He scarified his last two months for his son.
Not like it mattered. Not like it means anything now.
They had a secret keeper. Someone who knew the location of James and Lily, in case of emergency. According to Dumbledore, someone had to know.
So it was Sirius.
Sirius. His best friend. The closest thing James had to a brother. The only person to know James’ secret.
He put so much trust in him. All that trust. The location of his wife. His child. Him. His location. His entire life, was in Sirius, lap. He give all that trust to Sirius… because he’d never betray him. Sirius stuck by his side through everything, he’s the perfect choice.
And yet, look how well that worked out for James. Six feet under whilst Sirius is rotting in the cell in Azkaban.
Regulus is furious with himself. It’s all he can think as he sits by James’ grave. Pure, unadulterated self hatred.
How could have he been so… so outlandishly stupid. To think there would be someone waiting for him on the other side. That he deserved that after hiding for so long.
Regulus should have known. He’s a fool not to. He should have known he couldn’t have been that lucky. That his fate for life had been decided for him the second he left.
God’s playing with him constantly, and he’s playing the losing game.
He just assumed that James was always going to be safe.
That he’d be able to come back in time and save him. Save him in the way he saved him. Wrap strong arms around him and shield him from the harshness of the world. That not matter what happened to James, he could stop it.
Because that’s what James deserved. He deserved everything then a little bit more. Regulus would be damned to shield any bit of love from him. To not give him everything he would ever deserve.
He failed him. Regulus can’t forgive himself for the way he failed James.
He left. Then died. And took pieces of James with him to die in the cave along side him.
But then didn’t die and never returned. Those parts of James did. Drowned and suffocated, left behind and buried deep beneath the ground.
Rather, he handed out crappy keys to even crappier hotel rooms in the middle of no where France.
Instead of returning to the warmest bed he ever had.
Rather he let James die without ever seeing him again. He let James die without knowing the truth.
James died thinking he’d be able to see Regulus on the other side one last time.
James died without the light in his eyes because Regulus was selfish enough to steal that with him when he left.
James died at the hands of the person Regulus was trying to save him from.
Regulus failed James.
He was so scared that he’d come back, with all this growth and change, that it just go to waste. James wouldn’t see it, rather the kid who thought he was doing the best he could and hurting people in his path.
He made so much change which only James would have been able to seen. He wanted to be able to show all this change to James and have him be proud. To look into those hazel eyes and tell them ‘I’ve changed… I’ve learnt because you taught me,’.
Three years of pacing, wandering, walking. Running, floating, falling.
Picking himself up and brushing his knees. Finding himself stable on two feet and keep on moving. Never stop moving. Never stop learning. Never stop thinking.
If James isn’t here to see it, was it even worth it?
Is anything worth it if James isn’t here to see it?
Is life worth living if James isn’t breathing next to him?
Can anything be worth it if James isn’t doing it?
It couldn’t. It isn’t.
He stares at the grave stone ahead of him and just stares. Hoping if he stares enough, it’ll change.
Like he had the magic to revive the dead.
If he could, he would.
But he can’t.
He’ll never be able to return to James. Come back to those hands, those eyes and that smile.
He can never return home. Not when it’s six feet under.