Chapter 2
August 15th, 1979
Part I Dorcas
There is this terrible period after the discovery of Peter’s betrayal where Dorcas walks into work every day with a stuttering heart. Teeth clenched and bearing it all like an infected wound. A rusty sword twisting and twisting and twisting.
She goes in, and they piece together what information he could have had access to. Their souls might as well have been laid bare to him. Peter could have eaten them whole.
This isn’t even her job. But she’s the best they’ve got, and she knows how to get to him.
She’s there when they find out he knew the address to Marlene’s family. Something Marlene hadn’t told her, probably because it was risky. But she doesn’t even think she would have been all that mad, it was just Peter after all.
She’s there when the plan to poison James’ family is laid out in front of her. She’s there when they find out almost every planned attack of theirs for the past two years had been known, picked apart and foiled.
It’s worse when he starts confessing.
The Prewett twins, he’d said, were targeted because of their ability to curate demolitions strong enough to take out whole safe houses of theirs. Very few had known that the Order’s source for them was the twins.
Edgar Bones had found out about him, so Peter had to protect himself. She relays the news to his wife personally.
It’s better, Holly said. Having closure is better.
Dorcas hates it. Telling people their answers. It leaves a bitter taste in her mouth, because she will never have closure for this. Every weekend, she looked into this man’s eyes when he came over for dinner in her house. Brought dessert. Sat with her fiancé, gossiping about their friends, drinking, finally getting a break from all their fucking stress. Now, she looks into that same face. That same blue in his eyes. And she still doesn’t see the monster.
At home, Marlene doesn’t ask about her day, or how work was. If they’re any closer to salvaging the ruins of this betrayal.
Dorcas doesn’t tell her that it might already be too late. That Peter might have killed them all.
⬺
It’s nearly midnight when there’s a knock on her front door. She’s in bed, bonnet on and reading glasses perched on her nose. Marlene has been working nights, so she’s home alone and a bit wary of who it could be. She opens the door to see Remus standing there, backpack over one shoulder and hair a mess like he’d just woken up from a nap.
“What do you want?” she complains, “I was really looking forward to a night in without a crisis.”
“I didn’t know you wore glasses,” he says instead, a sly but uneasy smile on his face.
“They’re new,” she adjusts them, stepping out of the way so he can come in.
“They look good,” he responds, dropping his backpack on the countertop in her kitchen. “Unfortunately I’m not here to give you compliments.”
“That would be too easy. Water?”
“Please.”
She grabs a purple speckled mug Pandora made last summer for her and Marlene as an engagement present, and fills it at the sink.
“What’s this about then?” she asks, handing it to him.
Remus takes a sip before answering. “I know there’s been…a lot going on. But I think–well, Regulus thinks–”
“Regulus?” she interrupts him, confused. She hasn’t spoken to Regulus since her sixth year.
“Yeah, Regulus. Has Kingsley not–oh, fuck.” Remus sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, you’ve been working so closely with him, interrogating Peter, I thought he’d have let you know. Regulus asked him to.”
“Let me know what?” She demands.
He fiddles with his sleeve nervously, “Regulus has been working with the Order. He’s the one who figured everything out about Peter.” To his credit, she knows he tried to say it delicately. But it doesn’t stop her from being angry.
“How long?”
“Since we were in school.”
“Since we were–” she pinches the bridge of her nose. She needs to sit down, and all but falls into one of the kitchen chairs.
“I know it’s a lot to take in, I didn’t believe it at first either.”
“Remus, he has the fucking mark.”
“I know. I know he does, but he’s been–I came here to talk to you because he found something.”
“What do you mean he found something?” Dorcas cries, still struggling to wrap her head around this. How could you trust him? She wants to tear the words into him. After everything the past few weeks, how could you ever dare to.
“Dorcas. He can explain every–”
“I don’t believe you.” She cuts him off sharply.
“Dorcas, we can win the war,” he pleads. “We need your help, but this…it’s the only way.”
She takes a long, shaky breath. It’s not fair. “What did he find.”
“Do you know anything about Horcruxes?”
⬺
The next morning she’s knocking on the door of a blue country house in the middle of nowhere. To her shock one messy haired, drowsy James Potter opens the door.
“Dorcas?”
“Sorry, Remus gave me this address, did I–”
“Let her in,” a voice from inside calls. Dorcas hasn’t heard that posh drawl years. Something in her chest pangs, and she takes a shaky breath as James steps to the side. And there he is, sitting on the couch with equally messy hair and wrinkled clothes that her Regulus would have been caught dead in.
“So it’s true.” Dorcas narrows her eyes. “I didn’t believe him, you know.”
Regulus grimaces, “I am sorry, Dorcas. I’m sorry it had to be like this.”
She wants to say it doesn’t matter that he’s sorry. That it hurt her. But they don’t have time for apologies, not if what Remus told her is true.
“I hear we have a challenge on our hands,” she moves further into the house. It’s a lovely place really. Impersonal, like all the Order's safe houses. But the kitchen has a small pile of dishes and a tea kettle on the stove making it look at least a little lived in. “What’s the–”
“Not now,” Regulus cuts her off. She looks up in confusion and he discreetly nods to James. Ah, he’s still keeping secrets.
“I’ll give you guys some space to talk,” James says, scratching his head. He’s quick to gather his coat and boots, stopping to kiss Regulus on the cheek and wave a shy goodbye to her.
When they’re alone, Regulus pulls out a notebook.
“He’s made three of them. Maybe four.”
Right to business it seems.
“That’s not possible,” Dorcas shakes her head. “Only one person has been rumoured to have made one and she’s never been proven to exist.”
“Then this is the proof,” Regulus says gravely. He places the open notebook on the kitchen table for her to see. Through the mess of handwriting she’s able to make out four different objects–a book, a crown, a necklace, and a cup; methods of torture indicating different outcomes of success, and incantations that she’s never even heard of.
“I don’t understand what I’m looking at,” she turns the page, and there’s notes on each object. Memories that might be imbued within them; protections they’re under, and even dates of creation for the first three. The cup on the other hand just has possibilities. Theories.
“You haven’t asked me how I know.”
“How do you know?” She tears her gaze away from the pages to look at him.
“I suspected he was tampering with something around a year ago. He came into a meeting one day looking sunken, like he’d been drained. That night I snuck into his office at his manor, and here this was on his desk.”
“This is his?” she looks down at the notebook in front of them. The frantic handwriting and stained pages and fights off the urge to wipe her hands on her clothes.
“A copy. I left the original where it was.”
Her head is already spinning, but a laugh forces its way out of her. “Right, to maintain your cover. Which you’ve been doing for years. I assume your brother knows. James and Remus. Who else? Was I the only one that didn’t? Does Pandora know too? Evan? Is he–” her voice cracks and she hates him more than ever. “Is he in on it? Barty too? Or do they still want my friends dead.”
Regulus seems to close in on himself with every word she says, but he tries to keep looking at her, gaze flitting away when she dares to meet him right back.
“Evan and Barty didn’t know anything. And yes, my brother knows. So do Remus and James. And I–Dorcas I really thought you were going to leave. That’s why I didn’t tell you.”
“Leave? What–”
“When we were kids,” his eyes flash, pleading with her. For a second she really doesn’t know what he’s talking about. “You always talked about how you were going to leave Hogwarts, leave the UK, and never look back.”
“I–” her cheeks heat up, and she doesn’t want to have this conversation with him right now. But she supposes there’s no way around it. “Well, I didn’t.”
“I can see that, but I don’t understand why you didn’t. You could have.”
She grits her teeth, grimacing already as the words left her mouth, “I sort of fell in love with someone.”
He looks so taken aback by it she almost laughs. “The great Dorcas Meadows found someone worth giving up her future plans for?” he says dryly. And then she actually smiles, a real fucking grin too. Her chest feels a little lighter than it did walking in. Gods, she realizes, I’ve missed you. The others are great. She loves Marlene, so much. She loves Mary, and Lily, loves all her friends. But fuck, they’re all such Gryffindors.
“It really ruins my image doesn’t it.”
“Who is she?” he asks, one part timid one part curious.
Dorcas bites her lip, knowing she could refuse it. But she sees the question for what it is. An olive branch. A leap of faith and trust, hers to take. “Do you remember Marlene Mikinnon?”
“The Gryffindor seeker?”
“That’s the one.”
“You hated her,” Regulus chuckles, crossing his arms. “After every match you would get so touchy about her–even when we won.”
“Trust me, I’ve heard it all,” she laughs, but Regulus’ smile grows strained.
“Are you two happy?”
“As happy as we can be right now. Remus told me about Peter, your part in figuring it out.”
Regulus doesn’t say anything for a moment, but then, “I keep thinking about what could have happened if I hadn’t stopped it.”
Dorcas swallows, “me too.”
⬺
Remus arrives twenty minutes later with a backpack full of books that look stolen from the Hogwarts restricted section. It takes them two hours to sort through them all, and they only find one mention of Horcruxes. It’s in a book of myths and legends, just like Dorcas said it would be.
“Her name was Brigid,” Dorcas explains from her spot on the couch. “She’s ancient. If she did exist, there might not even be records that go that far back–or they would have been destroyed.”
“I think she’s part of muggle mythology too,” Remus frowns. “Irish Goddess. What does she have to do with Horcruxes?”
“It’s a long story, I only know it because of my advanced magic history courses–which you both thought I was crazy for, might I add.”
“What’s the myth,” Regulus asks, sitting up straight.
“Her power was truly magnificent. Legend says the horizon burned at her birth, and though she was never taught magic it came as easily to her as breathing. She was the protector of her community. She made tools, and weapons. The crops she tended to prospered more than any others.”
“What happened to her?” Remus asks.
“Her village was home to witches and muggles alike. Purebloods thought it was unnatural that she shared her gifts with the world,” Dorcas said gravely. “They attacked, and killed a lot of people she loved. She wanted to find a way to protect them. Brigid—she was just one person, and they would find a way to kill her eventually. So, she got desperate.”
“Good intentions,” Regulus murmurs, staring out the window into the woods. “Bad consequences.”
“Yeah, bad consequences.” Dorcas swallows, “it did work, at first. She was able to protect everyone. But she–it warped her. Changed her. Eventually they lost anyway.”
“There’s nothing about destroying them?” Remus asks.
“No, but really this is just mythology. Stories. None of it is a guide to making one. None of it is fact.”
“Whatever the mythology, this is real,” Regulus says, standing and pouring over the notebook he’d brought with him. “And I know where the locket is. Maybe we should focus on that.”
“We’ve been at this for hours,” Remus says, rubbing his eyes. “I think we need a break. Reconvene tomorrow.”
“First we need to talk,” Regulus says, stopping them both from packing up. He glances at Dorcas warily before he speaks, “going after these is going to put a target on our backs–even more than there already is.” He turns to her, “Remus and I have been preparing for months, but you haven’t been.”
“We’ll be going on the run,” Remus adds. “We can’t settle permanently anywhere until they’re all destroyed. It would put all the people we care about in danger–it would put Marlene in danger.”
“It’s the safest option,” Regulus agrees, “but you don’t have to choose this. It’s a big risk, Dorcas. We have no idea what we’re going up against.”
“Does the Order know about this?” It occurs to her then, how off the books this seems.
“Kingsley does,” Remus says. “He’s who Regulus has been working with ever since he figured out what You Know Who was doing.”
“And how did you get involved?”
“I needed some information regarding Hogwarts’ layout, and Remus knows more about it than anyone. Plus, next to you, he knows everything there is to know about magical theory.” Regulus adds.
“And I know how to put them into practice.”
“Nobody understands cursed objects like you do,” Remus admits. “That’s why you’re the best.”
“It’s a lot to ask, you’ve helped plenty already. You can say no, we’ll obliviate this information from your mind, and handle the rest ourselves,” Regulus says in earnest. “I don’t want you to risk any more than you already have.”
He means Marlene, she realizes. God, it’s harder knowing he really does care, because they’re right, she could leave now. She can say she’s given them all the help she has to give. She could leave the dangerous part up to the two of them so easily. Could go home to Marlene, go back to sorting through the bullshit Peter’s put them through the last couple years. It’s hard, it’s war, but it won’t necessarily kill her. This? Well, this just might.
“I need to think about it,” she decides.
⬺
They’d worked a bit longer before Regulus had to go. She didn’t ask questions, but the grimace on his face said he wasn’t headed anywhere good.
When Dorcas gets home, the lights are on in the kitchen. There’s music playing from their record player–one of the muggle artists Marlene loves.
All I want is a photo in my wallet
A small remembrance of something more solid
All I want is a picture of you
“Cas is that you?” Marlene peaks her head around the corner. She’s dressed in pyjama pants and a purple long sleeve crop top that she definitely took out of Dorcas’ closet.
“The one and only,” she toes off her shoes and strides forward to wrap her arms around her fiancé, who accepts it happily and gives her a loud kiss that Dorcas struggles not to smile through.
“What’s this for?” Marlene questions.
“Nothing,” Dorcas murmurs into her mouth. “Rough morning I guess.” It hits her then that if she decides to go, she’s going to have to explain where she’s going. That she’ll be gone for months with no word, no letters to send, or a way to tell Marlene she’s safe. She grips her tighter at the thought, deciding right then and there this won’t be a secret between them. There’s already too many.
“Do you wanna talk about it?”
“Not right now,” Dorcas sighs, pulling back to see Marlene’s face. There’s still a bruise over her left eyebrow, and the cut on her chin is just starting to heal from a fight she got into with Dolohov on a mission yesterday. Dorcas touches the bruise lightly, “have you put Pandora’s balm on it today?”
Marlene gets a guilty look in her eyes, “I may have forgotten.”
“I’ll get it for you,” Dorcas chuckles, moving away from the warmth of her body to the stairs.
She finds it in their bathroom in a drawer next to a basket of Marlene’s makeup. It somehow got all tangled in the cord of Marlene’s hair dryer. After she gets it free, her eyes linger on the hairdryer. She touches it with her fingertips, overtaken by a memory from seventh year.
She was in Marlene’s room. The Halloween party downstairs was in full swing, and even from up here Dorcas could hear the beat of the music.
Marlene was in the bathroom, leaving Dorcas to study the space. She’d never been in the other girls room before and it was quite a sight to behold. There was a certain chaos to her space that left Dorcas feeling both comfortable and antsy to clean at the same time.
She’d just started leafing through Marlene’s record collection when an absolutely horrid sound came from the bathroom. Dorcas flinched, nearly dropping a record.
She knocked on the bathroom door, her heart beating a bit faster than she’d care to admit. “Marls, you alright?”
The noise stops, and Marlene opens the door. Her–then pink–hair was part damp, part fluffy. She was holding what Dorcas now knows is a hairdryer, but back then thought it must have been a torture device and she was about to die in a Gryffandor dormitory. “Yeah, I’m just blow drying my hair.”
“You’re what?”
Marlene laughed, holding up the contraption, “yeah, have you never seen one of these before?”
“No,” she admitted, a bit sourly. It used to bother her when she didn’t understand things. Though her family grew up separate from most other purebloods, they were as isolated from muggle culture as the rest of them. She’s always used magic to do her hair, and when she was too young to, her mom did.
“It’s muggle,” Marlene smirked and held it up, pointing it right in Dorcas’ face. Warm air blew directly at her, accompanied by that horrible sound. She looked right into Marlene’s eyes, and held a straight face for approximately half a second before bursting out laughing.
Marlene joined her, and for the first time since the start of the year, she really felt happy.
“You alright love?” Marlene’s voice snaps her out of it. Dorcas looks up to see her leaning against the door frame, frowning at where Dorcas is standing staring at a fucking hairdryer.
“Yeah, sorry. C’mere, I’ll do your face.”
Marlene hops up on the counter, and Dorcas unscrews the lid to Pandora’s salve. “So,” Marlene starts, “I know you weren’t at the ministry today.” She says it so casually, but Dorcas has to stop herself from flinching.
“I was working on something with Remus.”
“Oh,” Marlene frowns, then grimaces when Dorcas takes a small amount of the greasy salve onto her fingertips and spreads it over the healing cut on her chin. The effect is instantaneous, skin knitting back together, redness fading, leaving only a trace of a light scar.
“Sorry,” Dorcas murmurs, “I forgot to warn you.”
“Can you–” Marlene cuts herself off.
“What?” She asks softly, brushing her fingertips over what’s left of the bruise before screwing the cap back on the small container. Neither of them move, but Marlene doesn’t keep talking. “Marls, talk to me.”
Even before she starts speaking, Dorcas can see the tears fighting their way out. Oh my brave girl.
“I just feel like we’ve done everything we were supposed to do, you know? When we found out Peter was the leak, we figured out what he knew, and we–we acted accordingly. And you know, my family is safe.” Her voice waivers, and she presses her hand to her chest, over her heart as if even now she’s protecting them. “We’ve done everything we should have, but I can’t help it–I just want him back.”
“I know, love,” Dorcas leans her forehead onto Marlenes, not caring about the salve still drying. “I know.”
“Is this how you felt? When Regulus joined?”
One thing Dorcas has noticed is that Marlene uses his name now. She didn’t before Peter betrayed them. It was always Sirius’ brother. Always a Death Eater. Never Dorcas’ friend, never Regulus.
She knows Dorcas’ history with him and it always remained a touchy subject. But now, Dorcas supposes they’ve both had a taste of it. The feeling of someone they loved–someone they trusted, turning on them.
Saying their name or not doesn’t change what’s happened.
“Yeah, yeah it was.”
Dorcas thinks of Regulus in that farm house. His hair tousled and eyes sleepy. All her guilt, all her grief. Being blind to how he changed. None of it was ever true.
Because how could she have missed it? About all of them. Evan with his sweet smile and sharp eyes. Sure, Barty had been trouble from the start, but she really thought he’d been harmless. And she was a fool for it.
“How did you cope?”
“I had Pandora, mostly,” she smiles softly, brushing a blonde lock of hair out of Marlene’s face. “She moved in with me during sixth year, you know. When Regulus got initiated, Evan followed him, and she was scared her parents would make her too.”
Dorcas remembers Pandora showing up on her doorstep with tears in her eyes and nothing but a backpack. Her mother had made them both soup, and cupped Pandora’s cheeks and told her she was welcome as long as she needed. They wouldn’t breathe a word about it.
It sounds cheesy, but Dorcas’ mom is her hero. She doesn’t talk about it much, but Dorcas knows pureblood culture has not been kind to her. It’s why her and her sister Lou were brought up separate from the galas, the gatherings, and the dinners.
Sometimes it hurt, because her parents homeschooled her, and she didn’t have any friends until she went to Hogwarts. And Lou, being a squib, went to muggle school. Both places were lonely because of it. But she’s seen the price of being…involved.
And her family may be blood traitors, but they’re safe. More safe than Marlene’s family, or Lily, Mary, and Remus. She knows what she’s fighting for; at the end of the day, she’s not doing this for her life, she’s doing it for theirs.
“Marls, I have to tell you something.”
“Absolutely not,” Marlene laughs, hands gripping the kitchen table. Dorcas explained what she could. Dark objects, Remus going on the run, Regulus. Maybe it’s stupid. Actually, it is stupid. But it’s Marlene, they’re engaged, this isn’t just her choice. It can’t be.
The sun’s long since gone down, and they’ve been going back and forth ever since she opened her mouth. Dorcas promises it has to be their decision. That she’ll give up once Marlene hears her side. But Marlene’s always had a stubborn streak.
“They don’t know how to destroy them, and I’m the only one of us that understands objects like this. They need me.”
Marlene whips around, face scrunched up in a way that’s too angry to be cute for once. “They don’t need you, I need you. If they know about it, why can’t they just deal with it themselves,” she strides across the room and takes Dorcas’ hands. “You’re right, you’re the only one out of all of us–the whole fucking Order–who understands these objects. You have saved our asses too many times to count. What’s going to happen to us if you’re not here? What happens the next time Lily ends up with a cursed dagger in her side, or when Pandora’s salves aren’t enough and we need something stronger? What if we lose without you.”
She looks into Marlene’s determined gaze, a bit breathless as she always is by the sight. Marlene Mikinnon is a force to reckon with. She smiles softly in the face of the storm, “We won’t lose if I end it. Don’t you see, love? This is how we win.”
“Then you should tell the Order. Let someone else handle it, a bigger team than just you three.”
“I can’t let the Order handle this. We already know how information can slip, how could we ever expect to trust them? Kingsley knows, that’s enough for me.”
“You’re trusting Regulus too easily.”
“I’m trusting Remus. I trust him to know what he’s doing.”
“Well, I don’t trust him,” Marlene snaps. Dorcas pulls the other girl close, arms around her waist until she can feel her breath on her face.
“You just don’t want me to leave,” she says simply. And Marlene’s anger flickers.
“I don’t want you to leave, and I don’t trust him.”
“It’s Remus, of course you trust him, Dorcas sighs, A tired smile making its way onto her face. Despite all their fighting, she thinks Marlene knows what has to happen here. “You know you’re everything to me right? I’m not doing this because of some stupid war, or because it’s the right thing. I want the world to be safe for us. For you. Our life.”
“That’s very Slytherin of you,” Marlene mumbles into her neck. “I want that life to. I just wish it–”
“Didn’t have to be like this?” Dorcas finishes her sentence. “Me too.”
“But it is,” and just from her voice Dorcas can tell she’s crying. “When do you leave?”
“Soon.” Marlene’s arms tighten.
“I don’t want you to go.”
“I’ll be back.”
And she will be. She’ll claw her way if she has to.
Part II Remus
Their new flat doesn’t feel the same. It’s newer. Their furniture clashes with the fluorescent lighting. There’s no floo; a safety precaution according to Moody.
Remus’ new room doesn’t have enough shelves for all his books, so a couple boxes of them take up space in the living room. James and Sirius say he’s welcome to move his books into the spare room, but it doesn’t feel right. Like he’s intruding on a space meant for someone else.
Their nights are quieter without Peter.
The weeks with Regulus at the safe house had helped with adjusting to his absence, but now that the three of them are on their own again, it’s so fucking loud.
He gets home from his meeting with Regulus and Dorcas to the kettle whistling on the stove and Sirius on the couch with a hand pressed to his mouth, eyes staring off into nothing. Remus makes sure to make some noise so he doesn’t spook him.
“What are you doing home?” He asks, trying to sound casual. Sirius turns towards him, and Remus’ blood goes cold at the sight of a bruise spreading over the left side of his face and a split lip still swollen and bloody.
“What happened?” he rushes towards him, sitting on the couch turning Sirius’ head further to get a closer look.
“This would be the courtesy of Lucius Malfoy.”
“You got in a fight with Lucius Malfoy?”
“I won a fight with Lucius Malfoy,” Sirius tries for a smile, but it’s so pained Remus’ heart aches.
“Let me get you some ice,” Remus murmurs, standing and making his way over to the freezer. He grabs a bag of peas and brings it back. The air around Sirius is so fragile when Remus sits back next to him.
“Thank you,” Sirius takes the bag from him delicately and presses it to the side of his face.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Sirius shakes his head, “he was just talking shit.”
“About?”
“Regulus. it…got under my skin, I guess.”
“Oh,” Remus sighs. They fall quiet for a while, but then he feels the small touch of Sirius taking his hand.
“I just want him out, you know?” Sirius’ voice wobbles. “It was…good. Being in the same house as him again.”
“You two were surprisingly civil,” Remus agrees.
“Yeah,” Sirius rubs his nose with his sleeve. The ice is starting to melt on his face. It’s an endearing gesture that wrecks something in Remus. He holds Sirius’ hand closer. “I think…I missed him growing up you know? In my head he’s just—he’s so different.”
“I think that goes two ways,” Remus reminds him. “He’s learning who you are too.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m just…”
“What?”
A fond expression overcomes Sirius’ face, a new kind of glimmer in his eyes as he looks up at Remus. “I’m just so fucking proud of him, you know?”
“He deserves it,” Remus tells him, “he really—“
“But,” Sirius continues, cutting him off. “I want him out now. He’s done his part, and, Remus, I—whatever you two are working on together, if it’s….what I think it is, I don’t want him getting roped into it.”
Remus grimaces, “it’s not that.”
“So you’re not smuggling werewolves out of London again.”
“I wouldn’t bring your brother into that,” Remus promises.
“Good. Because I—you know I’m trying to be supportive of…”
“Of my illegal activities.”
“Don’t get me wrong, I hate it. I know why you’re doing it, but I just can’t, with Regulus. His trial is going to be hard enough, if he’s caught up in—”
“I know.” Remus holds him steady, “I promise, he won’t have any connection to…to that.”
Then, Sirius frowns. “If it’s not the werewolves, what have you two been working on?”
“I wish I could tell you,” Remus sighs, nudging his knee with Sirius’, who pouts.
If he’d said that a few months ago, it would be like sparking a fuse. A fight waiting to happen.
“Can you tell me anything?” Sirius asks thickly. His eyes a veil of curiosity hiding so much worry.
“If things go well, we’ll be doing damage to him. Personally.”
A flicker of a grin appears on Sirius’ face, “I would love to see that.”
“We could really hit him, pads.” For the first time since he joined Regulus’ mission, Remus lets himself feel hopeful. Sure, they don’t know how to destroy it, they don’t even know where the other three are. But with Dorcas, they might just have a chance. He doesn’t tell Sirius about leaving. He knows he has to, but it’s been so fucking hard, he just wants this. Right now. Sirius’ warmth near him and that feeling, like they could be okay again.
“Think I could pry any details out of my brother?” Sirius asks half-heartedly.
“You’d probably have more luck with James, but I think he’s as in the dark as you.”
A strange expression comes over Sirius’ face at that, and he falls quiet.
Remus tilts his head, nudging him, “what’s that?
Sirius’ face wobbles, voice thick, “I’m worried about James.”
Remus sighs, “yeah, me too.”
Part III, James
James is staying late at work, glaring at a stack of cold cases curtesy of Moody. Ever since Peter, James has been doing desk work. Something about not being fit for duty, which is ridiculous, because if anything, the field is exactly where he should be right now. They’re stretched thinner than ever, and James is good at his job. Really good.
Yet here he is, working cold cases in a storage room. Looking at port key records, and injury reports.
He’s lost a lot of people the past year.
But none like this.
None of it has ever felt like this.
Some nights, it’s like a part of him is rotting in Azkaban.
He’s aware he’s not exactly keeping it together right now. But desk duty? Really?
There’s a knock on his door, Mary’s voice coming through. “You in here James?’
“Yeah, give me a sec,” he grumbles back, shoving his stack of paper so far back on his desk it nearly topples off so he can get the door for her.
She’s still dressed in her work uniform, meaning she’s come here right from the hospital.
Unlike most of their friends who went into ministry jobs, which by default meant joining the war efforts, Mary had opted to become an EMT. She see’s just about as much of the war as they do, but James sometimes wonders if she had the right idea. Out of all of them it feels like Mary is the one that’s actually making some kind of difference. Maybe it’s because her job is saving their lives in the moment, not thinking of the bigger picture. She doesn’t have cases that span on for weeks, months on end.
Either way, James is just glad to see her right now.
“I figured you’d still be here,” she holds up a take out bag from Gabbies, James’ favourite go-to right now. “Wanna eat at my place? I cleared it with Moody, he said you can head home.”
“Sure.” James is already grabbing his coat. Though by cleared it with Moody she probably means blackmailed him, he really doesn’t care all that much right now.
The air is cold, but Mary insists they walk because, it’s only five minutes James. We used to play Quidditch in this weather.
“So,” she asks, arm linking through his, “how’s desk duty going?”
“I hate it. Tell me about your day instead. Please?”
Mary laughs, “surprisingly slow. Though Frank Longbottom stopped by, he’s thinking of transferring to my unit.”
“Really?” James frowns. “I mean, he’d be great, but we really can’t lose another body right now.”
“Well, we could use one,” Mary sighs, “things have been getting worse, and I don’t need to be friends with a bunch of auror’s to know that.”
James frowns, “What kind of worse?”
“Death eaters have been targeting our medical supplies. Not usually stealing it, just…obliterating all of it. But, do you remember Florence? She was on Hufflepuff’s team.”
“Tall? Pink dreads and wicked right defence?”
Mary nods, “Yeah, she’s in the south district. Her transporter got stolen.”
Since you can’t exactly apparate or port-key a wounded person to the hospital, they have med transports. They’re pricy, hence why they’re not available to the public. It’s basically a portkey, but smaller, fits on a muggle keychain. That’s where Mary keeps hers at least. In fact, it kinda looks like a key. Put it in any lock, or anything that could even be a doorway, and it takes you to the closest hospital. Useful if there’s a spinal injury, or time sensitive curses.
“Shit,” James swears, “those things are…”
“I mean, she’s not in trouble, but it’s concerning they have one.”
“Why do you think they took it?”
“I was hoping to ask you, actually.”
“Me?”
“I mean, you’re the best transfiguration and charms student Hogwarts has spit out. Do you think—I mean it’s just a fancy port key, right? They just go to hospital’s right?”
James sighs, “it operates different than a portkey, it doesn’t…move you. It cuts a hole, temporarily, between you and where you’re trying to go. They’re more like wands than they are like portkeys. It’s a source of magic, not a tool of magic. What makes them go to hospitals is the charms that are placed on them. It’s delicate magic though. Whoever stole it will probably just break it.”
Mary presses her lips together, her eyes still suspicious.
“Honestly Mary, they probably just want hospital access. We’ll post extra security, and—“
“But that’s just it, James, they have hospital access. If I was on a call, and my patient was a death eater, by law I’d just take them there anyways. Why do they need this? It just—It’s not sitting right with me.” They’re almost at her appartmenr, and Mary rummages her purse for the keys.
“I can look into it more if you want,” James suggests. “It’s not like I’ve got much else to do.”
“I’d appreciate it,” Mary says, unlocking the front door and pulling James in.
After a couple re-heating charms, they bring their food out to the table, Mary flicking on the radio with her wand. The air filling with the smells of good pub food and music as they sit on opposite sides of the table.
“So, other than work, how are things.”
James narrows his eyes at her, “did Sirius make you check up on me?”
“No, James, I wanted to check up on you.”
“He told you, didn’t he.”
Mary eats a fry off her plate, “he did mention you haven’t been sleeping, but I am here of my own volition.”
“It’s nothing, honestly,” James grumbles into his burger, “it’s just our new place. I don’t like it.”
“Maybe we should have a party then. Help it feel a bit more like home.”
“Everyones too busy.” James brushes the idea off quickly.
“Everyone’s always busy, but I think we could all use it. You three, and Lily, Marlene, Dorcas, hell, let’s invite Alice and Frank too. I haven’t seen them outside of work in ages. I bet Pandora would love to come.”
“Mary, we can’t have a party.”
“Why not,” she groans, “James. I think you need this.”
“Please, Mary, just drop it ok?”
“No. I’ve talked about it with Sirius, he thinks we should have something. We haven’t gotten together since…you know.”
“Exactly,” James hisses, all but shoving his plate away, “we—we can’t. Without him. He’s just, Mary, he’s in there, and I can’t—“ he cuts himself off, taking a shaky breath. Mary is watching him with a careful expression.
“James, you can’t put your life on hold because Peter is in Azkaban.”
I’m not, I just…I can’t, Mary.”
She gets up, taking the seat next to him. “James, look at me.” He tries, dark eyes meeting his own. “You have to stop punishing yourself for what he did.”
But that’s what it has been, hasn’t it? Desk duty, moving apartments, all the cold cases? Logically, James know’s it’s not a punishment. That Moody just doesn’t want him out there when he’s…whatever. It doesn’t change the fact that James feels punished. After all, who else is going to? How else is he supposed to make it feel even.
He flinches, shaking his head, “I think Moody put me on desk work because he doesn’t trust me anymore, and he’s right.”
Mary’s face does this thing, changing from soft to confused. “James, of course you’re trustworthy. Peter covered his tracks really well. I mean, no one could have guessed. Moody said we only know because of our spy.”
“I—I’m not saying I should have known, that’s not it. I just…if he was here, right in front of me? Mary I’d forgive him, I’m scared all the time that I already have. Every day, I try so hard to find some reason to be angry at him. He—he got Gideon and Fabian killed, did you know that?”
“I did,” Mary says carefully. “I know about all of them.”
“How can I not hate him?” The words cut out of him, and James feels wounded. Has half a mind to check for blood. “How can I not hate him, Mary.”
She takes his hand, eyes filled with so much care. “Because you love him.”
He knows he’s crying, doesn’t really care at this point. “I just want him back.”
“I know,” Mary murmurs, pulling him in for a proper hug as he chokes back a sob. “I know, James.”
Part IV, Regulus
When Regulus arrives at Malfoy Manor after leaving the safe house, Rodolphus Lestrange is standing at the front gate. His cheek is busted from some fight, most likely a bar fight if his brother Ralph had anything to do with it.
“Have you heard the news?” He asks Regulus.
“News?”
“Our spy’s been caught.”
“What? How is that possible?”
“We don’t know, he must have slipped up. I always thought he seemed a bit flighty. My money’s on he confessed.”
“Who was he, anyways.”
“Some kid named Peter Pettigrew. Did you know him? He was a year older than you in Hogwarts.”
Regulus shrugs, “I don’t know him, but he might have been friends with my brother.”
“Small world,” Rodolphus drawls. He finally steps out of the way and let’s Regulus pass. “Good luck in there. He’s angry today.”
When Regulus walks into the foyer, the fireplace is lit, but it doesn’t do much for the cold stone walls and dark curtains. The space feels sterile. The couches and chairs are arranged in a sharp manner, it makes him uneasy.
He takes a step forward, and his foot hits something solid. A wave of nausea rolls over him, he fights to contain it. Breathing heavily through his nose, trying to ignore the iron tang in the air.
There’s a dead man on the floor. Eyes clear and empty. Limbs twisted like tree branches. His back suit blends in with the marble floor below them, which is stained with blood that creeps out from a wound at his head, drenching the edges of Regulus’ shoes. His face is half scarred, half mangled. Bones poking through and lips torn like his jaw had been ripped from its hinges.
“Mr. Black,” comes a cool, collected voice from the other side of the room. There stands Lord Voldemort. He looks watery, like his edges aren’t quite fitting right with reality. Like something’s been pulled from him. It’s faint, but Regulus can feel power humming in the air like electricity.
Something bad happened here, it screams. Something dark.
“My Lord,” Regulus bows. “You called.”
“Yes, I did. Has Rodolphus filled you in on the problem.”
“Yes, but I don’t see what I have to do with it.”
“You had spoken to him the day before. I was curious to hear your thoughts.”
“My thoughts?” Regulus echoes. “He seemed okay. A bit flighty, but no more than usual. Rodolphus thinks he turned himself in.”
“Is that so?”
“That seems like the most plausible reason, doesn’t it.”
“Hmm.” He studies Regulus closely. “I need to get a package to your cousin, Narcissa.”
“I’m sorry?” Regulus says, the words tumbling out in surprise.
“Lucius is…out of commission for the moment. She’s aware it’s coming, but I was wondering if you could deliver it.”
“Shouldn’t be too big a problem.”
“On the table,” Voldemort gestures mindlessly. And there it is. A brown box neatly wrapped with a white string, sitting on a table beside the couch. “Call in Rodolphus on your way out, I need some assistance cleaning up.” He glances at the body, nose wrinkling before he retreats into an armchair by the fireplace.
For a moment, maybe half of one, Regulus doesn’t move. Then he reaches out and takes the package. Dark magic seeps into his being, making it hard to breathe. It’s stronger than he thought it would be. Claws at him, a cold hand around his throat. Carrying it feels like drowning.
Rodolphus is where he left him.
“All done?” Rodolphus chuckles, opening the gate for him.
“It wasn’t–yes. Done. I’m meant to tell you to go inside.”
“Lucky me,” Rodolphus grumbles.
Regulus walks through the gate, and doesn’t look back as he apparates to Narcissa’s.
Narcissa Interlude
Narcissa wakes up to the warm body next to her pulling away.
“Do you have to go?” she whispers as the warmth leaves the bed at the pull at the sheets. She sits up. It’s dark out, probably ten or eleven at night.
“I’m sorry,” Alice murmurs, “I can’t stay long.”
Narcissa complains with a small groan, “no, come back.” Let me love you while we have time.
Alice huffs, leaning back from pulling her shirt on to kiss Narcissa softly. “I won’t be able to get away until this weekend. Things are chaotic right now.”
“I’ll miss you.” Her voice feels small, and Alice smiles, her breath fanning over Narcissa’s face sweetly.
“Time flies, you’ll see.” She knows this. Too well. Narcissa leans in again when there’s a crack, and suddenly her house elf stands at the foot of her bed.
“Master Regulus is here to see you miss.”
“Fuck,” Narcissa mutters, falling back into the bed. Alice pulls the rest of her clothes on quickly.
“I’ll go out the back.” All the softness is gone from her tone. An agitation taking hold that Narcissa is very familiar with.
“Okay.” She watches, helpless. Right as Alice opens the door to the hall, Narcissa calls out.
“I love you.”
Alice pauses, “I love you too.” Then she’s gone.
Narcissa breathes. Once. Twice. Then pulls her own clothes on.
Regulus is in the kitchen. Neither she nor Lucius use it often. Alice does, sometimes. Regulus notices an apple core on the counter. Bits of granola scattered. He doesn’t say anything about it.
“Everything okay Reg?”
“Yes. The Dark Lord wanted me to drop a package off. He said you knew it was coming?”
Narcissa shakes her head, confused. “It must be for Lucius.”
“Right. Well, I left it with your house elf.”
“Thank you.”
They stand in awkward silence, Regulus glances to the crumbs. An unwashed knife with sticky residue. The two bowls in the sink.
“Is there anything else you need?” Narcissa asks. Regulus has a strange look on his face.
“Do you know what you’re doing?” is his response. She swallows past the lump rising in her throat.
“I have everything under control.”
“Cissa,” he says, firmly.
“I do.” And it’s true. Alice understands what they are. What they can’t be. Alice goes home to that boy of hers, and Lucius comes home to her. She manages.
“If you–” he sighs, jaw working. They’ve never been very good at this. Acknowledging the real things. “If you need anything…”
“I know,” she smiles, putting a hand on his shoulder. Regulus nods, not quite meeting her eye. “I’ll see you at the Gala tomorrow?”
“I’ll be there,” he promises.
They say their goodbyes, and Regulus leaves. Narcissa turns back to her big, empty house, sighs, and goes back upstairs. The elf will deal with this mess.
Really, she just wants to sleep.
Part IV, Regulus
It’s late by the time he gets back to the farmhouse. James is there, on the couch, reading a book. He looks exhausted, but something in Regulus’ face must give away what he’s feeling because James is up in an instant.
“Regulus? Hey, love, talk to me.”
He can’t quite make the words leave him. There’s been a lot of that, recently. Since Peter.
“Just breathe, love.”
“I think he’s threatening Narcissa.” Regulus manages.
“Your cousin? Who’s threatening her?”
“Him, he just–” Regulus cuts himself off, wrapping his hands around James’ arms. Steadying himself. James doesn’t reach out to touch him back, and Regulus is eternally grateful for this man. Who allows him to steady himself on him. Who doesn’t try to take when Regulus is vulnerable.
His cover must be blown. It’s the only thing he can get to make sense in his mind. Why Voldemort would ask him about the spy. Why he would flaunt his power right in front of him; have him take it to stay at the house of someone he is vulnerable to. The only person Voldemort knows he cares for–a weakness Regulus can’t afford to lose. And then the ministry? Right after? It’s too many warning signs.
“Is she alright?” James pulls him out of his thoughts.
“For now, but I don’t know how to protect her. I don’t think I can.”
James nudges them over to the couch, Regulus going down with him. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
“He had me run an errand. I delivered something to her house.” James’ eyebrows crease with worry.
Regulus has done his best, over the course of the past few years, to not tell James what he’s been asked to do. Tries to keep it together for the both of them. James is reckless enough as it is.
“He’s showing off,” Regulus continues. “He can be everywhere, and knows everything. What if this is all for nothing?” he runs a hand through his hair, “I just—maybe I should just leave. Maybe we should both leave,” he looks up, meeting James’ eyes. “We could leave Europe, wait it out.”
James gives him a sad smile, “Where could we go, Reg?”
“I don’t know. Turkey, India, maybe Brazil?”
“Brazil?” James laughs softly, "you know, I have always wanted to visit.”
“James,” Regulus says pointedly. “I’m being serious.”
“You’re not going to run from this,” James says, gaze steady on him. “We have lost so much, it has to be worth it. I—I don’t know the details, but you, Remus, and Dorcas.…if they’re—if they believe whatever it is you know, then you have to try.” Regulus shakes his head, but James doesn’t let him look away. “I know you, Reg. You’re going to try.”
Regulus sighs, letting his head fall onto on James’ shoulder. “What if it gets worse?”
“Then we’ll deal with it.”
He says it so easily, and Regulus wants so badly to believe it. But the thought just makes the fear creep upwards, close around his throat. James believes in him too much, because he really doesn’t know if he can fucking deal with this.
“You don’t even know what I’m going up against.”
“I know you, I know Remus, and Dorcas. If there’s anyone up to the task it’s you three.”
“We’re leaving sooner than we thought we were. It’s not–I won’t be able to contact you James, I really need you to understand that.”
For the first time since they started talking, James stiffens. Regulus holds him tighter.
“When?” he asks, voice tighter.
“I don’t know. A week from now? Maybe less?”
James opens his mouth to respond, but they’re interrupted by a knock on the door.
Regulus moves, wand in hand, and leaves James standing in the kitchen.
He’s not all that surprised when Dorcas is on the other side of the door.
“My answer is yes,” she says, jaw set and eyes determined.
“Good.” Regulus nods, “we’ll need all the help we can get.”
“Where do we start?”
Regulus moves to let her through.“Come in. I’ll catch you up to speed.”
He hopes it comes out stronger than he feels.