1
James will never get used to this - throwing open the front door and being assailed with the visage of his husband and his son in the living room.
His.
Even now, with the war years behind them, James isn’t quite sure how to reconcile his childish years with the adulthood in front of him. What had once been a hallway crush, nothing more than whispers in the astronomy tower, was now a marriage with unshakeable foundations. Paper rings turned into silver for Regulus and gold for James. A drunken sketch of a stick figure family on a pub napkin alchemized into ‘daycare’ (Lily and Arya’s flat) visits and somewhat unfounded bets on which Hogwarts house Harry would belong to. Regulus was team our-son-is-a-Hufflepuff-he-cried-because-he-picked-a-flower-and-didn’t-know-that-picking-meant-killing, while James was convinced that he was too much of his father's son to be anything other than Slytherin or Gryffindor (he hoped for the latter). A love of flying and leadership turned into James’ position as captain of the Puddlemere United team.
He never gets used to that either - wearing blue to play quidditch.
For a moment, his home is so full of love that he doesn’t notice the faint flicker of Regulus’ eyes between him and a sheet of paper on the kitchen counter. But he does notice, he always ends up noticing everything about Regulus, and the illusion is shattered.
The St. Mungo’s crest decorates the header. James’ heart sinks like a rock dropped into the depths. Or rather, violently thrown into the depths. Oh.
That’s when Pandora rounds the corner with a dash of flour across her cheek (she’d taken to almost living with them in the past few months) and calls for Harry to help her with the cookies. Harry, two years old and already the most fascinating person James knows, bounds happily in her direction. James watches him go with a helplessly fond heart.
Regulus winces a little at this before getting the paper for James. Already, by the way Regulus is looking at him, James knows it’s not good. Knows the universe will stutter a little the second he reads the doctor’s note.
“I can’t do it” He admits softly, exhaling and tugging off his coat. “I can’t read it.”
“Do you want me to read it to you?” Regulus responds, voice strained and weak.
“No. No, I want it burned. I want it falsified.”
“James,” Regulus says, and oh. Oh.
“How long?”
“I don’t know. Not long enough.”
No, not long enough. Of course not. It was never going to be long enough. Hot, stinging tears burn at his waterlines. Somewhere in his lungs, a shortness of breath is blossoming. He can’t do this. Merlin, not now or ever. James Potter, who planned to bring home the news that Puddlemere qualified for the world cup, was silenced by the news Regulus brought home.
Once, that was what made the two of them so great. James made Regulus light up. Regulus taught him how to slow down, how to not get carried away. Now, well…
“Fuck, Reg.”
Regulus purses his lips in a grim line. “I, um… I don’t know what to do with this. Now that it’s like real real.
“Fuck,” James says again. It’s the only thing he can manage.
“Yeah,” Regulus agrees softly. “Fuck.”
Two thoughts run through James’ head.
What the fuck do they tell Harry? When do they do it? How do you tell your son that his father has been on a downward slope since he was born and now the slope has suddenly given way to free fall?
A life without Regulus.
James only gets through the mere idea of the second thought before he needs to puke. Regulus doesn’t leave him, even as his meals disappear into the toilet bowl of the foyer bathroom. For this he is grateful. He doesn’t want Regulus to leave. Ever.
Except he is. He is leaving.
His system finds something more to throw up.
It takes nearly an hour before either of them can stand and properly face the scene in the kitchen. Regulus’ eyes are still bloodshot from crying, his body still overcome with tremors. Telling your husband that the doctor says your life is coming to a close… it’s hard on the body.
James’ knuckles are white from gripping the toilet seat. Despite the lack of substance in his body, there is no appetite to be found.
Being told that your dying husband is finally, well, dying, takes a toll on the body.
Neither of them are strong enough for this. Neither of them knows how to be.
“I can’t fucking do this again. I’m not… my body isn’t ready to grieve again. I wasn’t made for it. Not so soon after dad.”
“I know, James. I know.”
“And especially you, I… I can’t lose you.”
Regulus loses it again, folding into a mess beside James. Never touching. Not now, not while he’s feeling so raw around the edges. James, watching Regulus begin to metaphorically slip through his fingers, knows better than to reach out and grasp at the pieces.
Not even to reassure himself that Regulus is real. James is better than that.
“You have to stick around until next summer.”
“James-”
“No. No, I won’t hear it. Next summer, I’m playing in the Quidditch World Cup. Me. I’m playing and you’re going to be there cheering me on. It’s non-negotiable.”
“Puddlemere qualified?” Regulus says breathlessly, a smile passing his lips briefly. This was all James had wanted since he was little.
“Yeah,” James laughs a little wetly, “we did it.”
“I’m so proud of you,” Regulus wipes a lock of James’ hair back from his face. They both shudder slightly at the contact. The cool kiss of Regulus’ silver rings feels somehow colder than ever before. They feel like the death wrapping around Regulus.
James can’t think about it, so he doesn’t. Slowly, denial spreading up his spine and making a puppet of him, James peels himself up from the floor. He moves silently to rinse out his mouth, to wash his face.
Regulus watches from the ground, nothing short of terrified. “James? James, we’ll talk about this more later, yeah?”
James nods. “We have a son right now. And then you’re going to watch me win the world cup next summer. We’ll talk later.”
They don’t. Harry sits in James’ lap during dinner. They pointedly say nothing. They talk nonsense. They say everything except the obvious. James says he needs to visit his mum. Regulus watches him go.
James makes it only to the doorstep of his childhood come before breaking down again. It looks the same. His house still looks like Summers and Christmases of years long gone. It looks like twenty four years of unconditional love.
Stepping into the foyer feels like stepping into the past. Falling into his mum’s outstretched arms feels like every other time. Except now Fleamont isn’t home - hasn’t been for years.
Effie must notice that his husband isn’t with him, because the first words out of her mouth are, “Oh deary, all couples have rough patches. Your father and I used to go back and forth-”
“Mum, he’s dying.” The words hardly make it out of his clenched teeth before he’s rendered speechless by gasping sobs.
His mother holds him like she never plans on letting go. Like her touch alone can keep her son from falling apart. “Hon, that’s what the doctors have said since he was born. That doesn’t mean he’s-”
“It’s for real this time,” James strains. “He went to St. Mungo’s.”
Effie’s face falls. “Come sit in the living room with me. I’ll have Mimi make us some tea, yeah?”
James nods softly and lets his mum lead him to the living room. A minute later, a collection of Effie’s new pets are climbing all over him and showering him in love. She’d gotten most of them after the death of Fleamont, needing something to distract her from grief. James was fond of them all, especially Sniffles the niffler.
He was a little less fond of him now that he was trying to take James’ wedding band.
“Sniffles,” Effie scolds softly, “not now.”
The niffler understands and settles to curl up in his lap instead. Something about it reminds him so distinctly of Harry that he starts to cry again.
“How do you feel?” Effie asks.
James shoots her a look that could kill.
“You’re right, you’re right,” She concendes, fighting back tears of her own. It pains her to see her son so hopeless and it doesn’t help that she’s real fond of her son in law. “It’s a stupid question to ask when you’re faced with… this.”
“I don’t know what to do, Mum. It’s like- Like I don’t… How do you do it? How do you live without your lover?”
“It’s really hard,” Effie admits, “I miss your father every day but I, like you, had a son that needed me. I stay strong because it’s not just me in this world.”
“I’m sorry,” James says, letting his head drop in shame.
“Don’t be, my dear boy. You’re the reason I survived it all.”
“So I just… make myself strong for Harry?”
“You don’t make yourself anything. You just recognize that you have it in yourself to survive. I know you, James. You’ll love Regulus forever, the way I love your father. You can use that love to keep going.”
“Doesn’t that hurt?”
“Yes, yes it does. But it keeps us strong, that love. It makes survival easier.”
“I don’t feel strong. That love is killing me right now. I can’t… Mum, I can’t breathe.”
Effie moves onto the couch to clutch James close to her. It feels like all those years ago, when James was seven and afraid of thunderstorms.
I’ll hold you until it all blows over. Nothing’s gonna hurt you.
“Because it’s still so new. Novelty makes things seem bigger.”
“I just want him to stay.”
“I understand, dear. I understand.”
“Harry,” James choked, “Harry’s gonna grow up without him, Mum. That’s not fair.”
“No, it’s not. None of it is fair but that little boy is going to be okay. You and Harry are going to make it work. You will get through this.”
A sob. A confession. “I don’t want to.”
“Oh, but you must. You will and you must.”
“I caught myself at the dinner table tonight looking at him like he was already gone. It’s like I’m writing his obituary in my head.”
“Oh James,” Says a voice from behind them. A voice that breaks him in half. Regulus, Harry in his arms, newly stepped through the floo.
The two of them stare at each other in silence. James, still wrapped in his mother’s arms, is desperate for something. Anything.
At last, Regulus sets Harry down and whispers something to him. The little boy toddles to Effie and, in his wavery toddler voice, announces, “My dads need to have a chat.”
Regulus pinks a little in the cheeks. Clearly, that was part of the whisper that was supposed to remain a whisper.
Effie beams down at her grandson. “Yes. Yes they do, my little owl.”
Effie untangles herself from James, who is sorry to see her go, and leads Harry up the stairs.
“I’m not dead yet,” Regulus says after entirely too long has passed. “And you always knew I was dying.”
“I always knew you were sick,” He corrects through tears. “Sick and dying aren’t the same thing.”
“Where did you think this was going to end?” Regulus asks, surprised by the sob in his throat.
James doesn’t know how to answer that, so instead he rises to his feet and crosses the room. Regulus still hasn’t moved from the fireplace.
“I don’t want to lose you. I say it’s because I don’t want to hurt like this again or because Harry will need you, but it’s because I truly will miss you. I need you because I love you. It’s you.”
“You,” Regulus echoes breathlessly, a single hand coming to cradle James’ head. His fingers wrap around the back of James’ neck and James comes to the sudden realization that he and Regulus have never done this before. I mean, of course they’ve touched and loved over their years together, but Regulus is holding James like James is the one who’s disappearing. Like James is water in his hands.
“Where do we go from this?” James asks.
“Home,” Regulus replies. “Always home.”
“Okay,” James replies a little wetly, “sure. Always home.”
“I get Harry, you get the floo powder?” Regulus asks.
“Can Harry stay here for a little bit? I just… I want to exist somewhere where I don’t have to manage this without…”
Without traumatizing our child. Without teaching him that crying all day is a normal thing to do. Without forcing James to bottle up his feelings for the sake of parenting. Because this is too big. This is too much.
“Okay, yeah. Yeah. Do you want to ask Effie or should I?”
“It should come from me.”
Regulus waits downstairs while James does whatever it is James does. Glancing around, he can fully appreciate how little has changed at the Potter home. Above the fireplace, the mantle is still adorned with moving photographs.
Monty, Effie, and baby James, who sneezes periodically.
Little James on a broom, zooming off camera and back into frame.
Lily, Mary, and Marlene with Euphemia and what looks like a bottle of firewhiskey. Classy.
James, Sirius, Peter, and Remus all squishing onto Sirius’ motorbike.
Monty and Effie with James and Regulus on their wedding day. Regulus can see the tears in his own eyes.
Newborn Harry.
The entire living room is crowded with years and years of love. It makes Regulus want to sit there and cry. He knows he is far too rotten - born rotten, really - but even the idea that he could have grown up somewhere like here is enough for him to go mad. He’s grateful to James for giving him even a window into this kind of life.
For giving him this kind of life with Harry.
Speak of the devil, James appears at the top of the stairs. Regulus feels that familiar schoolboy crush creep back up his throat. His heart hammers a little. That’s his husband. Even with bloodshot eyes and a puffy face, he’s gorgeous enough to rival the gods.
“I had a thought.”
“James, I love you but no.”
“You didn’t even hear my idea?”
A little more softly, Regulus replies, “You’re going to ask about clinical trials. You’re going to ask about muggle medicine.”
“No,” James says like it’s the hardest thing he’s ever done. “I went down that rabbit hole the day we met. I know that what you have… isn’t a thing that is fixable.” Quietly, he adds, “by anyone.”
Regulus swallows with a great deal of difficulty. “Okay. Your idea?”
“I was fifteen when we met. That’s fourteen years of your life that I didn’t get to experience.”
Regulus winces. “That’s fourteen years of things I don’t want you anywhere near.”
James looks at him intently and, not for the first time today, Regulus is reminded just how much James loves him. “I just want to watch you live, while we can. If that’s okay.”
Regulus runs it over in his mind, scanning for everywhere this could go wrong. There’s quite a bit that could go wrong.
But James got him through everything. James knows everything already. There’s nothing to hide, really. No memories that he hasn’t mentioned or implied at some point.
“Okay,” He says. “Okay, we use the pensieve. And it’s not just my memories. I’m not dead yet. I still want to be with you. In some of your memories. All the time, always.”
Floo powder forgotten, they apparate home hand in hand.
The first thing Regulus asks to see surprises James. James expected to flay out his soul in order for Reg to understand that he’s serious about this, but all Regulus wants to see is Peter and Marlene.
“You just want to see my childhood friendship moments?”
“Yeah. When you, Peter, and Marlene became you, Peter, and Marlene.”
James chuckles a little at this but pulls from his head with little hesitance.
Whatever you want, Regulus. I will do whatever you want. I always have and always will. He hopes Regulus understands.
They’re standing at someone else’s birthday party. The Prewett twins, by the looks of it. James is… well…
Regulus dissolves into laughter the moment he catches sight of his husband.
James is six years old and dressed like a dog. Ears, collar, the whole costume shabang. For authenticity purposes, he’s even breathing with his tongue out.
The first thing Marlene (dressed as the more sensible option of space-cowgirl-witch) says to James is, “Why are you doing that?”
Committed to the bit, James keeps his tongue right where it is and tries to speak around it. “Thewing wuh?”
Marlene steps forward and not-so-delicately pinches his tongue and manually puts it back in his mouth. “You’re welcome.”
“You’re mean,” He responds.
Baby Marlene narrows her eyes. “I liked you more when I couldn’t hear you.”
“I like you,” James says, because of course he does.
“Marlene.” She spits in her hand and holds it out.
“James,” He responds, following suit. They spit shake on it.
“Why did we spit on our hands? It’s icky,” James asks a moment later.
“Dunno. My brother Danny does it with all his friends.”
“Danny’s your brother?” James ogles her for a moment before reaching out and yanking one of her pigtails.
She wails and makes a downright adorable face. It’s the child-murder stare that really just consists of a nose scrunch and big eyebrow movements. Regulus is overcome with the somewhat strange desire to adopt baby Marlene. She and Harry would be menaces together.
He wishes Harry had siblings. He wishes he and James had a whole quidditch team of kids they love with everything they have (and a little more). He wishes he could stay and watch them all grow up and make their own happy families.
Grandkids. The mere thought is a bullet.
It’s not too long before Peter enters the fray. Or, rather, James notices that someone is playing by themselves. In James-land, that’s on par with a felony.
He grabs poor little Marlene and the two of them make their way to Peter. Juxtaposed by Gid and Fab playing with all the new birthday gadgets, he looks lame with his toy soldiers. He’s only got two, so when James decides that he and Marlene are joining the game, James has to pluck a blade of grass and call it a man.
Only Regulus sees him apologize to the Earth before he plucks the blade of grass. Leave it to James to feel sorry.
The memory ends and suddenly they’re back in Godric’s Hollow. Back in their room. Regulus hugs his James, eternally grateful to the world for sculpting him.
The world is better with James Potter in it.
Wordlessly, Regulus pulls a memory of his own. He and James enter it together. That’s how things should be, the two of them together.
It’s quite different from James’ memories. There is no sunlight, no costumed birthday party thrown for two energetic little boys. They’re at Grimmauld, standing at the edges of the ballroom. Somewhere upstairs, Sirius is likely throwing a tantrum.
Softened by time, Regulus realizes that Sirius wasn’t at fault for the scuffle that happened earlier. Bellatrix had no reason to react the way she did, and now Sirius is missing the ball because of it.
Regulus catches sight of himself, though nearly unrecognizable from the body he has now. Narcissa had braided his hair and he sat prim and proper in a dress Walburga had picked out. The collar was ridiculous.
He hates the little girls he sits with. All they want to do is talk about boys (which Regulus is fine with, to a certain extent) and dresses or dolls. They already want to be mothers. They can’t wait to have kids. Getting married to a pureblood man. Oh, the dream.
Even at age seven, he knows he isn’t one of them. He isn’t a girl.
Evan must sense it somehow because, amidst a game of hide and seek that he’s playing with Barty, he decides to hide behind Regulus. Not in the group of girls, but directly behind Regulus.
“Hide me, yeah?”
Regulus nods fervently, ready to assume the role of king’s guard for the little rugrat.
“Evan, mate, you having a piss?” For seven years old, Barty’s vulgarity completely shocks Regulus. He swears it alters his brain chemistry, actually. He didn’t know you could do that.
“What are you on about?” Evan responds.
“Why are you hiding behind a girl? Ninny,” He teases.
Evan looks at Regulus up and down. “I’m hiding behind our new friend. She’s one of us, Barty.”
Regulus spends the whole night playing games with them. Surprisingly, he doesn’t see Walburga or Orion all night. He stays safe. He’s loved, if you can believe it.
When they come from the memory, James is misty-eyed. “I love Evan,” He proclaims weakly. “Always have.”
“Yeah, I know. Evan loves you too, for the record.”
There’s a lot of love around him right now. His system wasn’t made for it.