Chapter Text
The door unbolts from the outside. James blinks, raising his head as he straightens.
The first person who steps in is Fenwick.
James’ veins go cold.
Then behind him enters Dumbledore.
James turns his head to look at Regulus; Regulus who is wide-eyed, shoulders tense where he's sat up on the bed with all his weight onto his hands behind him, knees up. He quickly scrambles his legs up into a curl, towards his chest, scooting back into the corner.
“James,” Dumbledore says softly, “Please give us the room.”
James looks at him. Stares at him for a moment. Then, his eyes slide towards Regulus again.
He used to cling to my shirt, Sirius whispers in his head, used to fall asleep on my shoulder.
It's just that he looks so fucking small.
His wide eyes are fixated on Fenwick, wrist curved around his knee. Not even straying towards James or Dumbledore for even a second. His chest is heaving, rising and sinking low and deep and heavy, on the verge of panic and tears going by the way he's clearly fighting to keep his mouth from crumpling.
He looks so scared.
“The fuck are you still here for? Get out already Potter,” Fenwick says, impatiently.
Used to want me to read to him. Do all the voices.
I'm sorry Sirius. I'm sorry.
Kill me.
I want to die. Kill me.
“No.”
The room goes very still.
James stands to his feet. Slowly, he makes his way over in front of them, becoming a wall between the two of them and Regulus.
Dumbledore stares at him.
“No?” he asks quietly.
“No,” James says, unbudging.
Fenwick narrows his eyes, tilting his head. He scoffs, “He got you all wrapped around his finger too?”
James ignores him and says nothing. Fenwick isn’t even worth breathing in the way of, to him.
“Are you aware that this means you are obstructing victory, James?” Dumbledore tells him. The unspoken breathes between them. This is grounds for exile.
“I know,” James says, “but I made my stance on this clear. I don't want Fenwick anywhere near him after what he did. So until you change the interrogator, I'm not moving.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake, this again,” Fenwick mutters. This again, James thinks, like it's such a ridiculous thing to keep bringing up over and over. Like it shouldn't reshape everything Fenwick is in James’ eyes. The disgust creeps up his esophagus, leaves him sick and acidic.
“I see,” Dumbledore says, looking curious. “And I asked you for a suitable candidate to replace Fenwick with.”
"Isn't that your job?"
"I value your opinion."
Do you? James thinks.
Frank is the first person that comes to mind. But Frank isn't exactly a strong interrogator. He tends to avoid–hostile interrogations.
Torture. Frank doesn't like torture. Which is exactly why James thought of him, because he’s not sure he trusts anyone else to be as humane enough out of all those who could be an option among the seniors. The trusts the other senior Order members even less so after Fenwick. He doesn't know any of them very well besides Frank.
But Frank, for all his excellent leadership skills, isn't the best at getting answers out of their captives in general. When he's not leading people, he's rather awkward, not the best at casual conversation. And that's a good part of non-hostile interrogation.
Alice. Alice would be perfect. But she's already got plenty on her plate with all that she's been taking on for the cause and James doesn’t want to add any more on top of that.
Same thing with his mum, who can’t possibly sustain sessions as needed with the amount of times she has to leave for the hospital.
Moody?
But Moody is often out in the Ministry on the front lines, too often doing the field work, and he can get aggressive. And Regulus doesn't need someone aggressive. Not only because it doesn't work, but because at this point James thinks it's unnecessarily adding onto whatever the hell he's already been through.
What he needs is someone who can reach him.
Kingsley Shacklebot. Good man. But same as Moody, he's often in the field investigating and fighting alongside Moody. Won't have the time.
Everyone else is as young as James himself is. Not experienced much in all this.
But, maybe, they need a change anyway.
“I'll do it,” James says. “I'll get the location out of him.”
Fenwick stares at him then starts laughing. “You?” he wheezes, “You think you’ve got the fucking stomach–?”
Dumbledore raises a hand to silence him. Fenwick clearly doesn't like that, jaw clenching tight but he does go quiet. He sure likes to act all tough when Dumbledore isn't around, but when he is, Fenwick is just his dog.
“Are you sure?” Dumbledore asks.
Not really, James thinks.
Who the hell am I to get anything out of him?
The only person that likely could is the one person that can’t be let near Regulus in any way. The one that is most vulnerable to him. The one that is closest to this. The one James will protect at all costs.
“I’m sure,” he still says.
“Albus,” Fenwick says, with a huff, “You're not seriously considering this. Come on, he's a conflict of interest, being best mates with Sirius Black and all, because clearly that bitch in the corner is getting to him–”
“Please refrain from using such language,” Dumbledore states, hardly looking his way. “It's unnecessary.”
James feels the disgust crawl further up to his throat. He has to swallow hard. It's not that language like this hasn't been used in reference to Death-Eaters, especially by Fenwick. But it means something else entirely now coming from him. Something James can't digest, nor feel neutral about. Back then he had understood the anger and hatred, even if crudely and crassly expressed by others in a way he wasn't raised to express himself. This–what and who Fenwick is and the things he's done- this isn’t something James understands anymore.
“Then you have a month,” Dumbledore says eventually.
James stares at him and wishes he still felt like he knew the man before him. Because the man he knew never seemed like the sort of person who would overlook this. Let this go so easy. Bring a rapist into the same room as his victim.
Fenwick is walking free, with – as far as James knows – no further consequence beyond Sirius’ fingerprints around his throat, an imperfect attempt at healing leaving them faded, attempted either by himself or his cronies. Their two Healers in the safehouse are Lily and his mum. Clearly neither of them like Fenwick very much for obvious reasons, because otherwise Fenwick would have been fully healed by now. Dumbledore deems it a consequence of his actions, so he wouldn't heal him either. James doesn't think it's enough.
“Fine,” James says, eyes centered impassively onto Dumbledore's face.
***
Regulus’ eyes are fixed on him as James turns. His shoulders are still tense. And when James begins to move towards him, he scrabbles back frantically into the corner, wide-eyed.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” James says, with the same tightness in his chest and a nausea that's been there for days, ever since–
Nerve damage consistent with prolonged and frequent Cruciatus curses–
I’m sorry Sirius.
I'm sorry.
“Look. We’re just going to talk, okay? I’m just gonna sit in that chair, and we’ll talk. Gonna figure out a way you and I can communicate and then–" James breaks away, clearing his throat, "but I’m not going to hurt you.”
It takes a minute, but eventually James sees the tension drain slowly out of Regulus' shoulders. He wonders what it means that Regulus may be starting to believe him, and that it eases something in his own chest to see it. He doesn't like being looked at like that.
James then comes closer, pulling the chair up and perching carefully on it, hands clasped together between his knees. He clears his throat.
“So…um…you think you can…tell me where the last horcrux is?”
James cringes at himself.
Listen, he's not–he’s not really the best at this, but he's done some interrogations in the past and he wasn't exactly bad either. He could hold his own. Put up a tough and intimidating front. All that shit. Sure, some Death-Eaters didn't buy it and were tough to crack, but he broke down some of the cowardly ones. He wasn't the best, but he sure as hell wasn't bad either.
He's not sure why it feels so hard here. Maybe, because, some part of him viscerally understands it's not what's needed in the situation? They've already done the tough and intimidating shit with Regulus. Didn't work, did it? That's why James is here in the first place.
Some part of him just–can't bring himself to put up the hard and scary act. Maybe he will when it's needed, but he doesn't feel the need right now.
Regulus’ shaky hand starts yet again, one arm around his knees, head bent as he draws on the bed.
James, now familiar with this, is clearly being ignored.
James sighs, “Fine.” Maybe he took a leap. Maybe they need to start small and slow.
It's as his mum said. They should be building trust with Regulus.
“How about–um…how about you tell me something about yourself?”
Regulus ignores him. Okay. Okay okay okay. Cool. Great. Maybe it's a little too late to do the whole ‘let me get to know you’ thing.
Maybe what Regulus needs is…an incentive. A reward? Something that makes him want to share information, because he's getting something back from it.
“Alright. How about this? You give a piece of information, any information, and you get whatever you want to eat for dinner. Whatever it is. I’ll make it for you, I’m a great cook. You’ll probably get some semblance of vindication out of making me cook for you, yeah? How does that sound?”
Still being ignored. Like James doesn't even exist. James thought this would surely work, considering all Regulus has been getting to eat is bread. He always leaves the soup James brings him.
James’ eyes trail down over Regulus' arms—he is thin. Almost to a sickly and frail point. The implications of it bring back the discomfort in his chest.
“What if I take you outside?”
James is trying just about anything. It's a shit idea. Not only because you can't exactly go for a casual stroll in the middle of war, with Death-Eaters hunting you down – and even more so with Regulus Black of all people – but because he doesn't know whether he can trust Regulus to be outside with him. What if he tries to escape?
But also, where will he even go?
To Pandora obviously, the answer comes.
Regulus could possibly try and run to her. And that could also spell trouble. Pandora wouldn't be safe anymore what with Regulus being hunted down. And Pandora might also withhold information, if she finds out what's been going on. Which would be fair, James thinks. He can understand that. He wouldn't want to help a cause that imprisoned and hurt someone he loves either.
But this, too, doesn't seem to stir Regulus’ interest.
“Okay, what do you want?” James asks. He almost regrets volunteering for this. But at the same time, the alternative was not something tolerable. “Like…what can I give you that– you give me a piece of information, I give you something. Fair trade, right? So what do you really want?”
James’ eyes drift to Regulus’ shaky hand. Drawing. Over and over.
The thing is, he knows what Regulus really wants.
It's the one thing James can't give to him.
The more he offers, however, the more he grows desperate–whatever he can think of, which isn't much if he's honest, but it ranges from anything Regulus could want from the store next time James goes for an errand, a nicer and bigger room James can renovate, to an owl he can write to Pandora for him. This does seem to pique Regulus’ interest, a slight raise of his shoulders and shift of his head, his hand faltering.
James holds his breath and waits.
But ultimately, Regulus returns back to drawing.
***
For two whole weeks after, Regulus does not budge. James feels the time ticking by. He's not sure what the consequence is at the end of the month. Dumbledore didn't say, so James has no idea if he is going to be exiled after this or not, or if the consequence will be something else. Months ago, he would have been inclined to think it was a miscommunication. Now he's rather sure there's something deliberate about the uncertainty he's being left under.
Two weeks. James has tried everything he could. Offered all sorts of incentives and rewards he could think of within his limits, hell some things even beyond his limits. Nothing seems to appeal to Regulus enough.
There were even times James considered being an asshole – not hurting him, but just trying to intimidate and pressure him – and a few times he tried too, being cold and hard with him, trying to catch his eye and hold it firm, his voice sharp, but… well, it doesn't go anywhere. Regulus seems unaffected by him at this point, maybe because he's finally getting the sense that James doesn't actually have it in him to do anything anymore.
It’s hard, with all the things that breathe in the room with them now.
He tries to remind himself that Regulus isn't innocent, that he's still done horrible things. Sure he deserves mercy for what he went through, maybe he even deserves a chance – but that's only if he actually redeems himself. If he actually tries to better things, end the war. As far as James knows, Regulus is actively preventing that. Actively protecting Voldemort, even after everything he did to Regulus. Maybe it's some sort of Stockholm syndrome thing. James tries to tell himself this.
“You know I only have two weeks, right?” James says, trying not to sound as desperate as he feels. He bites his lip and looks down, and in a low voice, “I don't know–look, I don't know if I’m going to have to leave the safehouse after this, if I don't get the answers from you. But Regulus, I don't think you want whoever’s going to come in here after me." He leans forward, hands clasping together. It's still a respectful distance, but his face is at level with Regulus' bowed head now. "So please. You have to tell me. Where is the horcrux?”
James eyes Regulus’ face closely, trying to meet his eyes. But Regulus’ eyes are down on his own fingers. And James thinks—if he doesn't know any better, he thinks he sees a waver across his face. A twitch in the muscle of his neck. Thinks, maybe, that he feels what this means. The fear. The danger.
Because it's true. Regulus does not want whoever is coming after James. James is not going to be able to protect him from the worst of the Order members after this.
He used to think the Order was truly a safe place, you know. Used to think people here would never– a whole war he's seen, but he still feels so naive. But he knows that's not true anymore. Not after seeing Dumbledore for who he is. Not after Fenwick.
“And the thing is,” James says, running a hand down his mouth, biting his lip. He leans back on the chair, “The thing is, if I have to leave…I can't say Sirius isn't going to come with me. He's already not having the best time here."
James can't also say Sirius is going to come with him.
Not with Regulus here.
There's a good chance Sirius would stay for him. That he won’t leave Regulus in the same building as Fenwick. Won't leave Regulus ever again. It killed him the first time.
But James–he can't say that, he supposes. For many reasons.
James looks up. Regulus’ face is set, empty and brittle, his eyes blank on the hand still tracing over the mattress.
James swallows hard. Watches his hand. No matter how hard he tries to keep Sirius away from him–it always ends up coming back to this.
Because Regulus–fuck, he's so stubborn. James doesn't know if he's ever met anyone this stubborn his entire life. Not even Sirius comes close to him.
And Regulus doesn't seem to want anything. Nothing. Closest is Pandora. And by Merlin did James try to play on that, offering to take Regulus to her, if he tells him the horcrux locations. It didn't work. You can't extract much from a person that wants nothing.
“Sirius,” James rasps. He feels resigned and defeated. “I’ll let you see Sirius, if you tell me the horcrux location.”
Regulus’ hand stills.
And a longing so desperate and forceful it overwhelms him seems to twist across his face. And for a moment James thinks this is it. Finally, the two of them caving to each other.
But Regulus’ downcast eyes grow red-rimmed and heavy. His chin crumples ever so slightly.
Then he shakes his head, slow and small, and goes back to drawing.
James sits there, unable to fathom this.
Because James thought this was it. He thought Sirius would be the thing that–
But not even Sirius? When he's all Regulus has been asking for since he got here with every trace of his trembling fingers?
“Jesus,” James whispers, “is it really that important to you? Protecting your Dark Lord? Even after everything he did to you?”
James has never said this aloud to him. No one has.
And so it's the first time he ever sees it–the snap of Regulus’ head up at him and the furious, blazing eyes – burning from before. James didn't know there were tears in his eyes.
The disgust and rage and wild-eyed contempt – not just for Voldemort, but blatantly for James too, for saying such a thing — is so visceral and knee-jerk it stuns James silent, holding him still against his chair.
Has James been wrong?
All this time?
Have they all been wrong? Thinking that's who Regulus is protecting?
Looking into Regulus’ eyes, James can't deny or argue anymore with himself. Can't explain it away as a performance this time. Those eyes pin him down with their burning emotions and force. They do not let James escape the conflicting truths of Regulus Black this time. Do not let him reach for simpler understandings. How fucking dare you, they ask him.
“Who are you protecting then?” James asks quietly.
Regulus’ eyes go back down to his hand. He draws. He draws and draws. This time his movements are furious and jerky. Still, for a moment James thinks Regulus has just gone back to ignoring him.
Regulus taps on the neck of the dog. It's not the same gentle way he usually does it, like a whisper of his brother's name. And it does take James a good minute, but slowly he realises–
He realises that Regulus isn’t ignoring him. Rather, he is answering him.
This is the answer.
“Sirius?” James asks, somehow not surprised but also unable to fathom just how this could possibly be. What does the last horcrux have to do with Sirius? “You're protecting Sirius?”
Regulus nods, jerky, his mouth set downward. There is a distressed furrow between his brows, a slow heave in his chest. He's not looking at James, rather somewhere past him.
“From what?” James whispers.
If this is true—whatever this is, whatever this means–if this is true, then he and Regulus are on the same page. Because James would do anything too. Anything to keep Sirius safe.
To derail the end of a war too?
a voice asks. James stills.
In a world where your son will be born?
James will find a way around it. Whatever it is.
Regulus’ distress seems to intensify, breaths uneven as he looks around, blinking hard and fast, tugging at his ear. An anxiety tic, the first he's seen it. But Sirius used to say he did that, when he was upset but couldn't talk.
His lips move as if he is beginning to try and speak, but flutters shut when he can’t manage to.
“Oh shit,” James says, feeling stupid, looking about him quickly for something to help. It's been two proper weeks of Regulus ignoring him, so he's somewhat stopped expecting any attempt at communication on his part. And now he forgot that Regulus would need a method of communicating with him.
James quickly shakes his head, trying to get himself straight, and desperately hoping Regulus doesn't change his mind within the time they do this. He's already thought up some ways, limited as their options are. “Do you know Morse code?”
James says it hopefully, but when Regulus shakes his head, confused, he finds he isn't surprised. Remus taught them Morse code after graduation so it figures, since it's a muggle thing. Sirius couldn't have taught him then, no longer being able to Regulus after that.
“Okay, that's fine. I'll conjure a pen and paper. We can go about it a few ways. For now, either you do your best to write down what you want to say and I’ll decipher it, or you spell out the letters and I write. Which one?”
Regulus holds up two of his shaky fingers. James expected it, since the tremors make it hard for Regulus to write.
“Okay. I'll write.”
Regulus’ lips shape around a letter. James stares closely while keeping a careful distance, trying to understand. He's not good with lip reading when it's only vague letters, he learns in that moment, especially when the mouth movements of those sounds can be similar.
“E?”
Regulus shakes his head and tries again.
“T?”
Fuck. At this rate Regulus might just get frustrated and give up. Regulus already looks impatient and irritated, glaring at him. But he tries again.
“D?”
Regulus nods, eagerly, his eyes growing bright. James feels the relief and exhilaration, nodding along with him. There is something about finding a way to read Regulus, to share a small form of communication with him against all the odds– an involuntary smile makes its way over onto James’ face.
U, Regulus mouths.
James writes it down, easy.
M.
James scribbles, as the malaise begins under his skin–as his heart starts to pound. There aren't many people whose names are...
“B? Or P?”
One shaking finger.
B.
“Okay, B.”
One more letter, James thinks. Just to be sure.
Even though he knows it couldn't possibly–
L, Regulus’ lips shape.
“Dumbledore?” James asks, as the ringing starts in his ears.
Regulus nods, slowly.
“You're protecting Sirius from Dumbledore?” James asks again, just to be sure.
Regulus nods.
For a second, the question and doubt comes. How does James know this isn't still, maybe, Regulus trying to create a divide, as theorised by many of them? Just like with Peter and Sirius?
It's worth questioning, no matter how plausible it does seem, knowing the man Dumbledore either has always been behind the kind and wise veneer, or that he has become for the war.
But mostly, it makes sense. Mostly it all connects together; this and everything James knows.
Because James knows things; that Dumbledore suspects Sirius, that he isn't really as good of a person as he thought, that he lets Sirius do a whole lot of things to prove himself that he shouldn't allow, as a leader. That he uses his best friend, the person most important to him. That he uses his insecurities and weaknesses to do his bidding.
But still it–takes him a moment. Because Dumbledore isn't a good person. But the fact that he is so far gone that a man - his brother - on the other side of the war has to protect James’ best friend from him?
He knows things. He knows Dumbledore lets Sirius take on dangerous missions.
The threads are coming together.
Whatever it is–wherever that location is–its dangerous. Too dangerous.
And Dumbledore lets Sirius take on dangerous missions, because he suspects him as traitor.
And somehow–
Somehow Regulus knows this.
Somehow, Regulus knows that Dumbledore uses Sirius in such a way. Sends him into dangerous places.
That's why he is refusing to tell the horcrux location.
There are many questions–the first being, how?
How the fuck is Regulus so aware of the innerworkings of the Order? Knew things before James did despite being here for less than two months?
Regulus shakily reaches for the hem of his shirt. Raises it up slightly, just enough to show the glimpse of an angry, thick red scar. His trembling fingers touch his scars.
James looks up at him, eyes wide, “These scars…you got them from the location?”
Regulus nods, eyes haunted and afar.
James feels sick. Looking at the scars on Regulus’ flesh.
But what—
James blinks fast, swallowing hard. Trying to get his brain to work. “You–you're saying, you were there? At the location of the horcrux?”
Regulus doesn't seem to hear him. Gone somewhere else. And James wants to ask. He has so many questions. And he knows it’s taking something from Regulus to give these answers. He knows.
But it's so fucking important.
“Regulus? Hey.”
Nothing.
Regulus isn't hearing him anymore.
James swallows hard.
Looking at his scars, and all the other things, James thinks that maybe it makes sense, why Regulus has to go away sometimes.
“What were you doing there?” James asks, softly, more to himself now perhaps.
He thinks of his blazing, furious eyes at the idea of protecting Voldemort. The disgust. The hatred and rage.
Did he betray Voldemort? Try to destroy the horcrux?
Was his mum right then?
Did Regulus really defect?