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Chapter Text

James checked his watch. Harry should have been out by now. Why was he late?

His fingers drummed on the steering wheel, each tap a small, useless prayer. His leg jittered with nerves. Then the villa’s front doors opened and the Evanses stepped out—an elegant, pale-faced couple who kissed the boy goodbye with the practiced ease of people who never had to plead for anything. Harry slid into the back of a glossy black car with a driver already waiting, and the vehicle eased toward the main road.

James let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His chest loosened at the sight of his son. He started the engine and followed.

——

Regulus walked out of the hospital, the resignation letter folded neatly in his coat pocket. He thought he’d feel relieved, but before the thought could settle, his phone buzzed—his father’s number flashing insistently across the screen. Regulus was petty enough not to save it—why give him that satisfaction?

He stared at it, jaw tightening, thumb hovering only a second before he muted the call, shoved the phone back into his pocket, and stepped into the main street to hail a cab.

——

Harry craned his neck to check if his father was behind them. When he spotted the familiar cab in the line of traffic, his face lit up. James grinned back and gestured for him to buckle up; Harry rolled his eyes theatrically but still pulled the belt across and clicked it into place.

A silver sedan lunged in front of James and he muttered a curse. The light cycled to red and the cars stopped. A moment later, the back door opened, and a calm voice broke through the hum of traffic.“Regent, please.”

James turned. A pale man with a mess of black curls and sharp green eyes slid into the back seat, a faint frown tugging at his mouth.

“I think there’s a mistake. I’m James,”

The man stared at him, brows pulling together in a slow, irritated frown. It took him a full second to register the joke—one long, unimpressed second. “Very funny,” he said finally. “I’m not laughing.”

“Sir, I’m not working right now. Could you please take another cab?” James forced a smile.

“What do you mean you’re not working?” His frown —impossibly deepened.

“I mean I’m off-duty. I don’t think London has run out of taxis—” James began, only to be met with a look that suggested this was the final annoyance in an already miserable day. The stranger exhaled sharply, rolled his eyes, and reached for the door.

“Everyone’s fucking crazy in this city, I swear.” James muttered under his breath.

The man paused, fingers still on the handle. “Did you just call me fucking crazy?”

“What? No—I didn’t say anything—”

He cut James off by slamming the door shut so hard the cab shuddered. “I’m not leaving. Drive me to Regent Street, or I’ll make sure you’re fired.”

“I really, really don’t give a shit,” James said, the last of his patience fraying. “Just get out of the car.” The man didn’t move. The light flipped green and horns erupted.

“You are causing traffic. Drive.” He said, looking out the window. James cursed and pulled forward.

“Wait—where are you going? You should’ve taken that exit,” the man snapped.

James smiled tightly. “Do me a favor. Put on your seatbelt.”

“What?”

“Put. On. Your seatbelt.”

“Why? What are you—” The man’s eyes flicked to how close they were getting to the car ahead.

“Because in about two seconds, I’m going to crash into that black car.”

“You WHAT?”

“PUT IT ON.”

“It’s eight in the fucking morning,” he muttered, fumbling with the belt. “I’m not awake enough for this shit—”

The impact came seconds later—not catastrophic but enough. The black car shuddered to a stop, its driver stumbling out, face twisted in outrage. “YOU AGAIN?” he shouted, pointing at James.

James opened his door slowly, stepping out with his hands slightly raised, mouth set in what might’ve passed for a conciliatory smile—then slammed a headbutt into his face. The driver barely had time to register anything before he crumpled, hands flying up to his nose.

Harry leapt out from the car, and sprinted towards the cab. He flung the rear door open and threw his backpack squarely into the chest of the stranger in the backseat— who gaped at him in utter shock, Harry shoved past him then slammed the door shut.

James delivered one last kick to the driver for good measure, then dove back into the cab, and sped off. Unfortunate for them— a patrol car rounded the corner just in time to see the assault and immediately sirens wailed.

The stranger blinked at Harry, bewildered. “Are you out of your mind? Did you just—did you literally just kidnap this boy?”

“There’s no other choice!” Harry shook his head fiercely. “They won’t let us meet any other way!”

James glanced at him in the mirror, grinning despite the chaos. “Hey, you miss me?”

Harry’s grin came quick and bright. “So much, dad. More than you can imagine.” He scrambled forward to kiss his father’s cheek.

The stranger sputtered. “Dad? He’s your father—? You know what? I can’t deal with this. Drop me off.” He demanded.

“I told you I wasn’t working,” James shot back, frustration rising with the sirens. “Damn it, I can’t shake them. I’ll drop you off when I lose them.”

The man mumbled about his morning being ruined and, with obvious reluctance, he reached forward and buckled Harry in. James pushed the cab faster; the city blurred into a strip of red and yellow lights.

They didn’t get far. Five minutes later four police cars boxed them in. James cursed—obviously frustrated and told Harry to stay in the car.

He climbed out slowly and handcuffs clicked around his wrists before he could even blink and Harry erupted, flinging himself out of the cab and raining tiny, furious fists on the officers. “Leave him alone! He’s my dad!”

One officer tried to soothe the boy while another shoved James into the back of the squad car. The brutality of the motion was a private humiliation played on public stage.

The stranger climbed out, he barely had time to process the scene before an officer approached him. “Sir, you’re a witness. You’ll need to come with us.”

He nodded slowly, eyes drifting back to the boy’s tears as the squad car pulled away

——

Orion Black sat behind a desk of dark polished oak, hands steepled and expression unreadable. On the couch across from him, Rowle trembled like a cornered animal. Marlene McKinnon stood nearby, stiff as iron.

“You come here today—on my daughter’s memorial—to beg forgiveness,” Orion said calmly. His tone was velvet over steel. “Do you need reminding of what caused her death?”

Rowle’s eyes squeezed shut. He had taken Orion’s money and turned it to drugs. And if there was one thing the world knew about Orion Black, it was this: drugs had killed his daughter, and he vowed to not sit aside and watch another parent lose a child the same way.

Orion Black is a man of his word.

Rowle dropped to his knees, pleading. The silence that followed was colder than rejection. Then Orion lifted a hand, a single command. “Take care of him.”

Remus and Peter stepped forward, seizing Rowle by the arms. His begging echoed uselessly as they dragged him out.

Orion leaned back in his chair, his face a mask carved from stone. “Dorcas,” he murmured, “Have you spoken to Regulus? He still refuses to answer my calls.”

“I’ll call him now,” Dorcas said, already pulling out her phone.

——

The interrogation room smelled faintly of metal and sweat.

“James Fleamont Potter,” the detective read, voice dripping disdain. “Ex-cop. Expelled from the force. Six months inside for bribes and abuse of power. Hell of a resume.”

“I was framed,” James said flatly. If he had earned a pound every time he’d said those three words, he wouldn’t be driving a cab.

“Sure you were.” The detective smirked. “That must be why they locked you up. Tell me—why’d you kidnap your son?”

James looked at him like he was the punchline of a joke. “What do you think? They won’t let me see him.”

“For good fucking reason.” The detective leaned forward now, tapping the file with two fingers. “His grandfather is Adam Evans for fucks’s sake! The journalist who runs a whole damn magazine. He’s made sure his grandson has everything. Private schools, drivers, nannies, you name it! Why on earth would he trust a washed-up ex-cop accused of bribes?”

James’ jaw clenched hard enough to ache. He said nothing.

——

“How do you know James Potter, Mr. Black?”

Regulus sat in a chair that was just uncomfortable enough to be intentional. His hair slightly mussed from running a hand through it too many times. “I already told you,” he said, annoyance bleeding into his voice despite his best efforts. “I don’t know him. I’m just a customer.”

The boy—Harry—sat a few seats down, feet dangling, gaze glued to the scuffed floor tiles. His sadness wasn’t loud, but it pressed against Regulus’ ribs like a small, steady fist.

His phone buzzed, slicing through the quiet. Regulus lifted it to his ear. “Hey, Dorcas.”

“Reg, your father won’t stop asking about you,” she said without preamble. “I know you don’t want to see him, but it’s Andromeda’s memorial. He really wants you to be here.” Regulus sighed loudly, letting his head tip back for a second.

”Where are you? I’ll send someone to pick you up,” Dorcas pushed.

“At the police station.”

“What? Why?” Her voice sharpened with rising panic.

“It’s not a big deal.” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Small car crash, I’m just a witness,”

“Send me your location.” She hung up before he could argue. Regulus rolled his eyes, he knows she’ll find him even if he doesn’t send her his location, so he did, just to save her the trouble.

He glanced sideways at Harry, who was sneaking curious looks at him. “Why doesn’t your grandfather let you see your dad?” he asked, softer than he’d spoken to anyone today.

“Because he thinks my dad’s a tramp,” Harry said simply, without bitterness—just a child repeating an insult he didn’t fully understand.

Regulus blinked. “And your mum?”

“She’s working in Switzerland. She’ll come back soon.” Harry swallowed, his voice wobbling slightly. “Do you know what’s going to happen to my dad?”

Regulus shifted to sit closer to him, softening despite himself. “Don’t worry. They’ll just ask him a few questions and he’ll be out soon.”

“Really?” Harry’s face lifted with desperate hope.

“Really.” Regulus gave him a small, reassuring smile. “If you want, I can talk to them for your dad.”

“They know my dad anyway,” Harry shook his head. “He’s an ex-cop.”

Regulus raised his eyebrows in surprise. Before he could say anything, the door swung open. Two elderly people rushed in quickly —Harry’s grandparents, Regulus assumed— Behind them came the driver from earlier, still clutching his nose like it might fall off any second.

The woman went straight to Harry, kneeling to stroke his cheek and murmur to him. The man, however, cut straight toward the driver, voice already raised. “You failed to protect my grandson from that lunatic!”

“Excuse me? That ‘lunatic’ is the boy’s father,” Regulus snapped, frustrated at the man’s attitude in front of a child. The man leered at him and Harry, brave and small, surged forward. “I want to see my dad, grandpa. Please!”

“Not today.” He grabbed Harry’s wrist in a grip that brooked no argument and started dragging him away, casting one last contemptuous look at Regulus on his way out.

In the hallway, James passed, flanked by two officers. Harry immediately broke free and threw himself into James’ arms. “Oh—Hey, baby. I’m so sorry about today,” James whispered, bending to wrap his arms around him as best he could with the cuffs. Harry just clung tighter.

“Look at me.” James cupped Harry’s face in both hands, his thumbs brushing away his tears. “Don’t be sad. I promise—everything is okay. I’ll fix it. Did I ever lie to you?”

“All the time.” Harry sniffed, giving a crooked, watery little smile. James huffed a laugh and kissed his cheek. “I love you so much.”

Regulus watched the exchange from a little distance away, something like a soft warmth curling behind his ribs. He kept watching as James and Adam Evans argued in low, tight tones—James saying something about getting Harry’s custody back, the older man laughing in offense—and then he watched Adam drag Harry away, the boy instantly starting to sob as he twisted to look back for his father.

Marlene walked past the crying boy, then turned and spotted Regulus leaning against the wall, eyes on the floor, lost in thought. “Everything alright? What happened here?” she asked.

“Family drama. Nothing i’m not used to,” Regulus shrugged.

She folded her arms. “Listen, i know it’s none of my business. But You haven’t seen your father in a whole damn year! He called you every day and you didn’t even have the decency to pick up!” Marlene jabbered and he stared at her flatly. “come on, Reg! The least you could do is come with me and see him now, it’s Andromeda’s memorial and he’s been waiting for you all day.”

“I’m not coming,” Regulus snapped, pushing off the wall and starting to walk away. He stopped when he passed an open door and saw James sitting inside, elbows on his knees, head bowed. He looked up just then and their eyes met. James gave him a small nod—an acknowledgment, a silent thank you, something wordless that passed between them. Regulus nodded back, almost before he could think better of it, and moved on.

Marlene followed, exasperation in every step “Reg, you’re going to get me in trouble. Your father specifically asked me to pick you up.”

“Fine,” Regulus said, spinning around to face her. “I’ll come—on one condition.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What condition?”

“You saw the crying little boy, right?” Regulus jerked his chin toward the hallway. “Get his father out of custody. Then I’ll go with you.”

Marlene blinked, then grinned like someone who’d already counted the cost. “Done,” she said, and went to move the pieces.

Ten minutes later she emerged from the chief’s office. “They’ll let him go,” she announced. “Now your turn. We’re going to your father’s,” she said, a triumphant glint in her eye. Regulus grumbled but followed, the protest small and familiar, which only widened Marlene’s grin.

Chapter Text

Regulus stepped through the tall wooden doors of his father’s house, the echo of his footsteps swallowed by the marble foyer. The air smelled faintly of expensive cigars and old wood polish—the same scent that had clung to his childhood like a too-tight collar. His scowl deepened.

“Regulus!” Narcissa’s voice broke through the tension. She glided toward him, all silk and practiced smiles. “It’s good to finally see you.”

Before he could respond, Dorcas appeared from the parlor, followed closely by Orion Black. His father’s smile was wide, and it unsettled Regulus more than anger ever had.

“Welcome home, son,” Orion greeted warmly, stepping closer, arms lifting in an almost-question—may I? Regulus’ jaw tightened, but he gave a grudging nod. His father wrapped him up in a firm, familiar hug.

For a moment, Regulus stood rigid. Then, against his better judgment, his hands lifted and he returned the embrace—barely, fingers just brushing the fabric of his father’s suit. Orion kissed the top of his head the way he used to when Regulus was small. “I’ve missed you so much,” he murmured.

Regulus responded by pulling away as if burned.

Orion’s smile faltered, cracking at the edges before he forced it back into place. “I’m glad to see you again, Regulus.”

“I won’t stay long,” Regulus muttered, eyes fixed somewhere near the floor.

“Still. You came.” Orion stepped aside, gesturing him in. “That’s what matters.”

The main living room was crowded—Black family loyalists, old friends, and dangerous men with polite smiles. Regulus chose a chair as far from his father as the room would allow and sat with his back to the wall, a habit born of growing up in a house where danger often wore familiar faces. His gaze drifted over the crowd.

He blamed them all. Every last one of them. But mostly, he blamed Orion.

Bellatrix, Narcissa, and Andromeda—his half-sisters from Orion’s first marriage—had grown up under the same shadow. Their mother had died of cancer; his own mother had later died of a heart attack. She’d been a nervous woman, always braced for disaster, always terrified for her children. In Regulus’ mind, that fear had a single root: Orion Black’s obsession with power, reputation, and revenge.

If his father hadn’t built this empire, maybe their family wouldn’t have shattered the way it did. Maybe they wouldn’t be what they were now—the biggest, most feared crime syndicate in the country. A mafia. Orion loathed the word, but he’d built it with his own hands all the same.

At eighteen, Regulus had walked out and cut everything that tied him here—except Andromeda. And when she died, whatever warmth had been left in his world died with her.

Orion had tried to provide for him, even after he left—offers of a house, money quietly pushed his way, doors opened with a single phone call. Regulus refused all of it. He became a cardiologist on his own, paying for university with his own sweat and sleepless nights.

He told himself that made him clean. But it hadn’t.

His name was still Black. People still crossed the street when they heard it. Every job interview was a test he had to pass twice. Every handshake, a silent question.

He’d denied his family so many times he’d lost count. But it didn’t change who he was.

What a family. What a fucking family.

——

James Potter left the police station in a fog, blinking against the sunlight like a man who had been underwater too long. He had braced himself for at least a week in a cell. Maybe Adam had decided to be civil for once.

He shook his head and headed for the tow yard to retrieve his cab. Oh, he’s in so much trouble.

——

When the memorial ended, Regulus was already halfway out the door before anyone could stop him.

“Leaving so soon?” Dorcas caught his wrist gently, her brow furrowing.

He’d always had a soft spot for her. But today had been long, and he was running on fumes. All he wanted was to crawl into bed and let the misery swallow him whole.

Before he could answer, Orion appeared again. “Stay for dinner, Regulus.”

“I have work,” Regulus replied flatly, twisting his wrist out of Dorcas’ hold and trying to brush past him.

“Son.” Orion’s tone gentled. “Can we talk for a minute, please?”

“We have nothing to talk about.”

Bellatrix’s voice cracked like a whip. “If father wants to talk to you, you’ll do as he says!”

Regulus’ head snapped toward her, eyes flashing. “No, I fucking won’t. What are you going to do about it?”

“Regulus.” Orion’s hand landed lightly on his shoulder, the weight almost tentative. “It’s been a year since we last saw each other. I’m your father. Don’t you want to ask how I’ve been?”

Regulus gave a short, bitter laugh. “Don’t worry. I see you in the papers every day. If anything happens to you, it’ll make the front page.”

Orion’s hand slipped away, his face unreadable.

Regulus hated himself for noticing the hurt there. Hated that he knew, with a mean little certainty, that his father cared. He knew Orion was patient and soft only with his children—especially with him. And yet, every time he met his father’s eyes, his stomach turned. Those were the same eyes that had watched men die—eyes that had committed and ordered deaths, hundreds of them.

“Watch how you speak—“ Bellatrix snapped, her voice rising again.

“What are you going to do? Shoot me? It’s what you do every day. Wouldn’t surprise me.”

Orion held up a hand to silence her before she responds. “Son, I understand. I truly do. You blame me for your mother and Andromeda’s deaths.” His voice dropped, rough at the edges. “You know I would give my soul this instant to bring them back. Without thinking twice.”

Regulus’ hands trembled. He curled them into fists at his sides. “I know you would. But they’re gone. Nothing you could ever say or do will ever change that!” His voice cracked, heat stinging behind his eyes. “Don’t look at me like that! Like i’m the one at fault. What have you given me but loss and shame?”

“What have I given you?” Orion’s voice rose slightly. “At least you grew up with a father, Regulus. They killed my father in front of me when I was ten, they stabbed him in the back right before my eyes. Do you know what it’s like to grow up an orphan? To live in strangers’ houses? Did you have hitmen searching for you at fifteen? No. Because I made sure you were safe. That was the best I could do.”

“You chose this life,” Regulus shot back. “And it cost me a mother, a sister, and a brother.”

“No. I didn’t choose it. It was what I had to do when I had nothing left to lose!” Orion’s jaw clenched “All I’m asking is a little understanding from you, Regulus.”

“What understanding?” Regulus’ voice finally broke completely. Tears spilled over, hot and unwanted, streaking down his face. “You’ve been an excellent father figure to every stray who knocked on your door, but the biggest failure to your own blood children.”

The room had gone quiet enough to hear a pin drop. Regulus couldn’t stand looking at his father’s face another second. He turned on his heel and walked away.

Orion didn’t try to stop him.

——

James trudged up the narrow stairs of his three-story apartment building, every step dragging at his aching shoulders. The walls were chipped and the banister wobbled slightly under his hand, but it was home, in a way nothing else had been in a long time.

On the second floor, as he fumbled with his keys, Molly Weasley—his upstairs neighbor—appeared on the landing, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Hello, James. How are you today?” she asked, eyes already scanning his face in concern.

“Like shit, Mrs. Weasley,” he said honestly. “How can I help you?”

Her mouth tightened in sympathy. “Sorry to hear that, dear. It’s Ron—he has an essay he needs help with. I’m terrible with essays. You’re always reading, so I thought maybe…”

James forced a smile. “Sure. I’ll just rest and take a shower first. Send him down in an hour.”

Molly’s shoulders eased. “Thank you.” She nodded gratefully and headed back upstairs.

James opened his door, flicked on the lights—and froze. Severus Snape sat at his dining table like a spider that had made itself comfortable in someone else’s web, one elbow on the table, nursing a beer.

“What the fuck are you doing in my apartment?”

“Oh come on, James. Is that how you greet your former chief?” Snape’s tone was genuinely disappointed.

——

Regulus sat in the backseat of a cab, patting down his coat pockets with increasing urgency. “Oh God,” he breathed. “I’m so sorry. I must’ve lost my wallet. Can you give me your phone number? I’ll pay you back as soon as possible, I swear.”

The driver glanced at him in the mirror and offered a faint smile. “Oh no, don’t worry about it. Marlene took care of it already.”

Of course she had. Regulus muttered his thanks, stepped out, and stared at his house, frowning, trying in vain to remember where he’d lost the damn wallet.

——

“So,” Snape said, swirling the last of his beer and pinning James with a look. “Tell me what you did today.”.

“Nothing.” James slumped in his chair, rubbing his face with both hands. “Just getting used to my new job.”

“Yeah? And is your new job kidnapping Harry?” Snape’s voice was extremely exhausted. “For fuck’s sake, James! We gave you that cab as a tool to help you get inside Orion Black’s world and bring us intel.”

James’ temper flared. His palm slammed against the table. “I haven’t seen Harry in days! Adam won’t quit being a piece of shit!”

“And he’s right! You can’t even take care of yourself, let alone a child.”

James shoved back his chair and stood, fists clenching. “I could be homeless and I’d still take care of Harry. No one cares about his well-being more than I do.”

Snape’s gaze didn’t waver. “You promised to get me intelligence on Black. I’m sick of covering for you, man. The chief won’t stop yelling at me left, right, and center.”

“Oh, boo-fucking-hoo,” James snapped. “You promised to clear my name in return. I don’t see you doing anything about that.” He kicked off his shoes and, because he’d run out of better ways to express himself, he yanked a sock off and threw it at Snape, who gagged, and flung it away in utter disgust.

“Six months in jail for something I didn’t do!” James shouted, pacing. “They took my son away from me!”

“Listen.” Snape set the empty bottle down with a dull thunk. “I talked to the chief, and he’s pleased that you’re working on Orion’s case. He—”

“Was he now?” James laughed bitterly. “My life’s ruined, Snape. All my friends turned on me. I struggle just to see my son.”

“Do you want your job back?” Snape asked quietly.

James stopped pacing. “I want my name cleared, you prick.”

“Then what’s better than ending the Black family empire and putting Orion behind bars?” Snape leaned forward, eyes intent now. “All you have to do is watch him. See where he goes. Who he meets. That’s enough.”

“I tried,” James said, dropping back into his chair. “He never leaves his manor. You’re the cop—track their phones. Tap their calls.”

“They’re onto us,” Snape replied grimly. “They’re so fucking careful. I need evidence, James. Something, anything tangible.”

Silence settled over the room for a minute.

Finally Snape spoke again. “Listen, someone new entered the game. Gellert Grindelwald. Complete fucking sociopath with money and influence. He’s trying to rope Orion into drug trafficking.”

James barked a laugh. “Orion? Drugs? No fucking way.”

“It’s a billion-dollar business, James. You never know.” Snape drained his bottle. “My intel’s good. Just…feel it out. See if Orion’s even interested.” He pushed back his chair and got to his feet. Shrugging into his coat.

James let his forehead drop onto the table with a dull thud.

Snape clapped his shoulder lightly on the way past. “Hang in there.”

The door shut behind him and James stared at it for a long moment, then lifted his head and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Everyone’s fucking crazy,” he muttered to the empty room.

Chapter Text

James slid into the cab, the so-called plan turning over in his head like a loose screw. Not much of a plan, really—follow Orion Black and don’t get caught. Sure. Easy. Piece of cake.

He slammed the door shut, let his shoulders drop against the seat, and only then noticed the wallet lying abandoned on the cracked leather backseat. He frowned, reaching for it.

Three credit cards, a driver’s license, and an ID. James drew out the last and went stil.

It was the customer from yesterday. The man who got caught up in the chaos James had stirred. He hadn’t realized, not fully, how obscenely beautiful the man was. James’ lips twitched, and his gaze drifted to the name.

Regulus A. Black.

James’ brows knitted together. Black? No way. Orion had a son? He ran the name through his memory, scanning reports, records, anything—but came up empty. Shaking his head, he rifled further through the wallet and found a business card.

Dr. Regulus A. Black, Cardiologist.

James let out a low whistle despite himself. The neat print carried a phone number. He slipped the card into his jacket, a smirk tugging at his lips. Later. Right now, he had work to do.

——

Marlene slammed her car door shut just as Dorcas was walking up to the front steps of the manor.

“Morning, lawyer,” Marlene called, grinning.

Dorcas didn’t break stride. She glanced at Marlene for all of a heartbeat and muttered “Morning,” Then she was gone through the door.

Marlene sighed loudly, watching her go—only to hear Remus chuckle at her side, arms folded, and mouth curved into a shit-eating grin. “You’re pathetic, McKinnon.”

“Fuck off, Lupin.” She jabbed his shoulder, light but sharp enough to widen his grin. “One day you’ll fall in love,” she warned, narrowing her eyes at him. “And when you do, I won’t let you breathe. I’ll tease you until you choke on it.”

Remus barked a laugh, Peter joining in as they trailed her inside.

——

Orion sat at the head of the dining table—Bellatrix on his left, Narcissa and Lucius to his right. Dorcas entered, greeting the room with polite warmth before slipping into the seat beside Bellatrix. Minutes later, Marlene, Remus, and Peter joined.

For one fragile moment, Orion allowed himself to smile. Surrounded by family, by loyalty. Yet even in that moment, one chair remained empty in his mind. He wished—fiercely, painfully—that Regulus was among them. His smile thinned into a frown.

“Mr. Black, when are we leaving for the meeting?” Marlene asked, sipping her coffee.

Orion checked his watch. “Now. We don’t want to be late.” He rose, the others following his lead.

——

Three hours. That’s how long James had been parked outside the Black manor, The Rolling Stones humming from blown-out speakers as he stared daggers at the wrought-iron gates.

Nothing. Not a single movement.

His gaze drifted to the passenger seat, to the wallet glinting in the thin strip of sun. He picked it up, pulling out Regulus’ ID again. That damn face.. It was almost offensive how beautiful he was. James scrubbed a hand over his jaw, then grabbed his phone.

The number on the business card rang four times before someone finally picked up. “Hello?”

James cleared his throat. “Good morning. Is this Regulus?”

“Yes? Who’s asking?”

“I’m James. You remember—You got into my cab yesterday and then we… had that minor accident-slash-police-station detour?”

A soft, sarcastic laugh. “Oh, right. Thanks to you, I had a spectacular day.”

“Glad I could make such an impact.” He leaned back, grinning. “Anyway, you left your wallet in my cab.”

“Oh, thank God. I’ve been tearing my place apart looking for it. Can you bring it over?”

James scoffed outright. “Excuse me? You dropped it, you come get it.”

“Fine. Where are you?” He sighed.

“Not free at the moment,” James said, eyes flicking to the manor gates wearily. “Tomorrow? somewhere neutral.”

That set off a volley of back-and-forth bickering—Regulus stubborn, James shameless—until they finally landed on a restaurant that worked for both. James hung up smiling like he’d won a prize he hadn’t entered for.

The sound of gates creaking open snapped him to attention. Three black cars rolled out. James’ spine straightened, his hand slamming the engine to life as he followed at a careful distance.

They drove nearly thirty minutes before stopping at an isolated estate. James parked under cover of trees. Orion Black stepped out first, shaking hands with a man in a sharp black suit. Dorcas trailed behind, professional and poised, while Marlene flanked Orion like a shadow.

From the second car, Bellatrix, Remus, and Peter spilled out, scanning the perimeter. James exhaled silently in relief—he’d parked well out of sight. Raising his phone, he snapped photo after photo.

——

“Mr. Black, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” the man in the suit said, shaking Orion’s hand, “I’m Abernathy, Mr. Grindelwald’s lawyer. He’s waiting for you inside.”

Orion nodded curtly as they shook hands, catching the subtle strain beneath the his polished composure. They walked into the building, and as the door closed behind them, Grindelwald rose from the head of the table. He extended a hand, smiling like a predator that had learned manners. “Welcome, Mr. Black. I’ve heard many exceptional things about you,” His tone formal yet carrying an edge, a trace of challenge hidden beneath politeness.

“I imagine you have.” Orion replied evenly, shaking his hand firmly, his eyes not leaving Grindelwald’s.

——

James kept his voice low as he muttered into the phone. “It looks like they’re having a meeting,” he told Snape, “How the fuck am I supposed to know what they’re talking about?” He hissed, frustrated.

He ended the call with a promise to inform Snape if anything happened, then rested his head against the window, staring miserably at the quiet eerily street.

——

Inside, Orion took the opposite head of the table. Dorcas at his right. Bellatrix at his left. Remus, Marlene, and Peter forming a silent line behind him, their presence a subtle warning to anyone thinking of testing boundaries. “I’m all ears,” Orion said.

Grindelwald leaned forward, elbows resting on the polished oak table, his gaze locked onto Orion. “Long story short,” he began, voice calm but edged with steel, “it’s drugs trafficking.”

Orion’s entire demeanor shifted. His eyes narrowed to slits, daggers aimed directly at Grindelwald.

Grindelwald continued, unflinching. “It’s a multi-billion-dollar enterprise—a new synthetic brand. Cheap to produce, expensive to sell. Easy money. But to make it work, I need manpower and connections across multiple sectors. Crabbe and Goyle are already on board. You, Mr. Black, have unparalleled connections within the enforcement networks. But most importantly… you command respect. Your name alone opens doors that would otherwise remain shut.” He leaned back in his chair, still maintaining unbroken eye contact, a faint, almost imperceptible smile playing at his lips.

Orion’s fingers drummed lightly against the table, deliberate and controlled. “When I first came to London, I was just a boy scraping by, learning fast that the world doesn’t hand you anything for free. I earned every scar, every lesson… and instead of making mistakes—I made enemies. Every single one of them is six feet under, buried under the consequences they brought upon themselves.” He leaned forward slightly, eyes hard. “I lost a daughter to drugs. As long as I draw breath, no one—and I mean no one—will sell that poison in this city.”

Grindelwald’s smile didn’t falter, though his eyes sharpened. “I see where you stand, Mr. Black. But I’m not asking for permission. This is a rare opportunity—one that I will not miss.”

Orion rose from his chair, the table creaking under his weight. Grindelwald mirrored him, his posture casual, almost taunting.

“I’ll make sure that you do.” Orion sneered, pivoting sharply and striding toward the door. His words hung in the room like a guillotine falling.

——

Later that morning, after the tense meeting with Grindelwald had ended, Dorcas arrived at Regulus’ house. She dropped her bag on the garden table where he sat in a chair, engrossed in a book. “I’m in desperate need of coffee.”

Regulus shaded the corner of the page with his pencil—a habit he preferred over bookmarks—and smiled. “Your wish is my command, Cas.”

A few minutes later, he returned with two steaming mugs. Dorcas took a sip, sighing with pure contentment. She looked up at him, a teasing smirk dancing across her lips. “So… tell me about Theodore Nott’s proposal.”

Regulus rolled his eyes. “It happened last week. A total disaster. Can you believe it? We only dated for four months.” He set his cup down with a faint clatter.

“And you said…?”

“Of course I said no! I’d already planned to break up with him that night.”

Dorcas leaned in, her voice softening as her eyes searched his face. “Reg, you never let anyone in. You keep building these walls around yourself, higher every time, until no one can reach you through them.” Her expression tightened with quiet concern. “The moment something matters, you bolt. Life can’t go on like this.”

Regulus chuckled bitterly, sarcasm dripping from his tone. “Could it be because my family is the largest mafia in the country? Theo doesn’t even know who my father is. If he found out, he’d run for the hills—let alone propose.”

Dorcas’ voice softened further. “All your father wants is your happiness, you know that, right?”

Regulus’ gaze sharpened suspiciously. “Why are you here, Dorcas? Tell me the truth—did my father send you?”

“Oh, please. I’m your best friend. I crash your house whenever I feel like it.”

Despite her words, Dorcas’ skillful persuasion worked its quiet magic. By the end of their conversation, Regulus found himself agreeing to attend a dinner that evening celebrating Narcissa and Lucius’ marriage anniversary.

He didn’t even know how it happened. He’d never been able to say no to her.

——

James banged his head against the steering wheel, bored out of his mind. He’d been following Orion all day, and now he was parked outside a restaurant, his playlist changed for what felt like the hundredth time. He rolled down his window and squinted at the curtained façade of the restaurant, trying in vain to catch a glimpse inside.

——

Regulus walked in with Dorcas to the restaurant, which had been booked entirely for tonight—empty except for the family. His father sat at the head of the table, the two seats to his left reserved for Dorcas and Regulus. The rest of the family chatted casually, filling the quiet room with polite murmurs.

Orion’s face lit up the moment he saw Regulus—though Regulus didn’t spare him so much as a glance. As they approached the table, Dorcas moved to leave the seat next to Orion for Regulus, but he strode past her and claimed the other seat, away from his father.

Regulus hadn’t uttered a word the entire meal. When the plates were cleared, he set his wine glass on the table and met everyone’s eyes evenly. “I have something to tell you,” he said. The room leaned in, anticipation humming in the air. “I quit my job at the hospital because I’m moving to New York. I found a better job there.”

Orion’s brow immediately furrowed.

“Maybe that’s for the best,” Bellatrix chimed in, her smile bright, almost cheerful. “Good for you—please leave as soon as possible.”

“Son, you know you don’t need a job,” Orion said, ignoring her entirely. His gaze pinned Regulus in place. “Going all the way to New York for this… it isn’t worth it.”

“It’s not the job,” Regulus said evenly. “I just want to be as far away from here as possible.”

——

“Snape, the whole family is at some restaurant. It’s only them, but I can see five men outside—armed. I feel like something’s about to happen,” James said, lowering himself in the seat and rolling the window up.

“Are you sure they’re not Orion’s guards?” Snape asked.

“I don’t think so,” James replied, eyes fixed on the men outside.

“Just watch, James. If anything happens, do not get involved. Under no circumstances.”

They hung up and moments later, a black car stopped in the middle of the street. A tall man stepped out, and he entered the building swaying slightly, clearly drunk. James muttered to himself, “Shit’s about to unfold.”

——

“Regulus?” Theodore called, stepping into the restaurant. Regulus’ eyes widened, and all heads turning toward the intruder.

“What are you doing here?” Regulus hissed, rising from his seat.

“I’m sorry, I… kind of followed you,” Theodore admitted sheepishly. Immediately, Marlene and Remus shot to their feet, alarmed.

“Is everything alright, Reg?” Remus asked, tension coiling in his voice.

Regulus held up a hand, exasperated. “Yes! Calm down, everyone—he’s my friend.” Without waiting, he grabbed Theodore’s arm and steered him toward the exit, making sure to keep him close.

“No, Regulus—wait.” Theodore resisted, gaze darting past him. “Is that your father? I’m here to talk to him.” Panic instantly flashed in Regulus’ eyes.

“Sir, my name is Theodore Nott,” he said, standing with unsteady determination before Orion—who offered a polite smile. “I’m in love with your son.”

Orion’s smile immediately dropped. Marlene snorted in disbelief, and Regulus groaned. “Theo! You’re drunk! Come on, let’s get out of here!”

“Son,” Orion said calmly, rising from his chair, “I doubt this young man came all this way for just that.”

“There isn’t anything else!” Regulus snapped, “Let’s go!” He dragged Theodore toward the door— who looked at him with pleading eyes.

“Regulus,” he whispered, “I haven’t been able to get you out of my head for the past week. Please. Give me a chance.”

“This isn’t the time or place!” Regulus hissed, forcing Theodore toward the street. Orion followed them out then his eyes caught movement—shadows shifting behind the trees across the street. Armed and waiting.

“Marlene! We have guests!” Orion’s voice cut through the street—sharp and urgent.

Regulus barely had time to register what was happening.

One moment his father was standing beside the restaurant doors, the next he was bolting toward him with a speed that didn’t match his age or usual calm exterior. Before Regulus could react, Orion grabbed him and yanked him down behind the nearest parked car. The impact jolted painfully through Regulus’ knees.

And chaos erupted.

Regulus froze against his father’s chest, crouching low, his hands clamping over his ears as gunfire tore through the street. Orion shifted, shielding him with his whole body—one arm locked around Regulus’ shoulders, the other already drawing his gun with zero hesitation. He fired with cold, surgical precision.

Regulus flinched at every shot, his chest tightening until he struggled to breathe. The weight of Orion’s presence was confusingly both grounding and terrifying at once.

——

James jolted upright in his car as hell exploded across the street.

The five men he’d been watching had doubled—no, tripled—spilling out from between the trees, guns raised, unleashing a deafening storm of bullets toward the restaurant.

He can identify Marlene and Remus who dove into cover at the front entrance, returning fire with terrifying precision; On the other side, Peter and Bellatrix held the flank, the pair of them moving in perfect sync, like they’d rehearsed this a hundred times.

Orion was nowhere to be seen.

——

“Mr. Black! Stay down! We’ve got this!” Marlene shouted from somewhere to the left, her voice sharp and unwavering even under fire.

A car window shattered nearby, and Regulus flinched violently. He grabbed fistfuls of Orion’s jacket on instinct, pulling him closer, desperate for an anchor and subconsciously trying to shield him too. Orion leaned closer, covering him completely.

“Anyone got an extra gun?” Dorcas shouted. Remus tossed one to her without looking. She caught it, popped up from behind Peter, and shot a man clean between the eyes.

“Man… she’s so hot,” Marlene murmured to Remus, who chuckled quietly as he reloaded.

——

James was freaking out. What the hell is happening?! He started the engine to flee—until a bullet punched through the windshield, spiderwebbing the glass in a violent crack. “Oh hell no.” He ducked low, cursing Snape over and over again for dragging him into this mess.

——

“Someone get the car! We need to get Mr. Black and Regulus out!” Marlene shouted. Peter sprang from cover. “I’ve got it—cover me!”

Marlene, Remus, and Dorcas rose, firing relentlessly without hesitation.

“Lucius, give me a gun!” Narcissa shouted, crouched near Orion and Regulus.

“I don’t have an extra—leave when they get the car.” He replied in distress.

“That’s it,” Bellatrix sneered, emerging from cover and taking down three attackers in quick succession.

Then, as abruptly as it began, the gunfire ceased. An unnatural silence hung over the street, broken only by distant sirens and the ragged breaths of those left standing.

Regulus looked up—and froze.

Theodore lay sprawled on the pavement, blood already soaking through his shirt. Panic ripped through Regulus as he tore free from Orion’s protective grip, sprinting to Theodore with shaking hands. “No! Fuck— Don’t close your eyes, Theo!”

Dorcas immediately dialed for an ambulance, her movements sharp and urgent. Orion stood a few feet away, eyes fixed sadly on his son who was struggling to stem the bleeding with trembling hands, his chest tightened with helpless tension.

Maybe it really was for the best that Regulus stayed far from him.

——

James leaned forward in his seat as the chaos subsided, surveying the aftermath. Bodies were scattered everywhere—but then his eyes caught movement. A man leapt from behind a tree, gun raised, heading straight for Orion.

James froze, stomach twisting into knots. The man raised his weapon—and Orion didn’t move, didn’t even flinch, completely oblivious.

“Everyone is fucking crazy,” James muttered, heart hammering in his chest.

Instinct ripped through him. Without thinking, he slammed the engine into drive. The tires screamed, rubber burning against the asphalt.

“Orion! Crabbe sends his regards!” the man shouted, one second away from pulling the trigger.

James didn’t hesitate. He drove straight at him, the impact throwing the man sideways. He crumpled to the ground with a groan, sliding across the pavement.

James’ eyes met Orion’s.

Oh. He’s so screwed.

He immediately tore away from the scene, tires skidding, the smell of smoke and gunpowder filling the car. He cursed everyone—Snape most of all—but beneath the panic and adrenaline, one cold truth lodged itself in his chest.

He had just changed the course of the night.

Because James Potter had just saved Orion Black’s life.

Chapter Text

James pulled the car to the curb outside his apartment and stumbled out, pacing the sidewalk in distress. His hand trembled as he dialed Snape.

“Hey—what’s up?” Snape answered, his voice thick with sleep.

“I’ll tell you what’s up, Snape. You piece of shit—” James cut himself off with a strangled laugh that collapsed into a shout. “They tried to kill Orion. Hell broke loose. And I—” his voice cracked, “I ran someone over.”

A beat of stunned silence.

“You what?” Snape’s voice spiked. “Who the hell did you run over?”

“Someone who was creeping up on Orion. He was going to shoot him. I didn’t think, I just—” James’s stomach lurched. “I fucked up.”

“Bloody hell, James. Are you out of your fucking mind?” Snape swore and James groaned. “Alright, calm down, I’ll handle it,” his tone switching into sudden control.

“The last time you said that, I spent six fucking months behind bars.”

“James. Just go home and lay low. I’m sure the chief will call any minute. I’ll keep you updated.” Snape sighed.

The line went dead. James stared at his phone a second too long before shoving it into his pocket. He stumbled up the steps toward his flat, every step heavy with the memory of rubber skidding, of flesh and bone hitting pavement, of a body tumbling like a rag doll beneath his headlights.

——

“It’s my fault.” Regulus’ voice was a broken whisper. He slid down the hospital wall and folded onto the cold linoleum floor, exhaustion eating at every sharp edge of him.

Hours had passed since they wheeled Theodore into surgery, yet the clock hands refused to move.

Dorcas lowered herself beside him, shoulder brushing his. “No,” she said softly. “Don’t say that.”

“He’s the only innocent one there,” Regulus rasped, twisting his hands into his hair until his scalp screamed. “And the only one who didn’t walk away untouched.” His throat tightened. To his horror, tears pricked his eyes.

Dorcas reached for his hand and laced her fingers through his, anchoring him in the sterile, fluorescent night.

——

Bellatrix stormed through the manor like a wildfire, “I’m going to murder Crabbe! How dare he set us up? He’s gone too far this time, Father. We must answer him!”

“Calm down, Bellatrix. This isn’t the first time something like this has happened ” Orion said. His voice was low, irritation smothered beneath restraint. “I’ve known Crabbe my whole life — this isn’t him. It can’t be. He doesn’t have the spine to pull a stunt like this,”

“The man literally said, ‘Crabbe sends his regards.’ What more proof do you need?” She was pacing, jaw clenched, fury radiating off her like heat.

“For that very reason, I’m sure it wasn’t him,” Orion snapped. “Crabbe isn’t stupid enough to have his men leave calling cards. It reeks of a trap—for us and for him.” He sank into a chair.

“If it were up to me—” Bellatrix started.

“It isn’t!” Orion’s voice cracked like iron. The room went quiet but for the faint crackle of the fire and Bellatrix’s barely contained rage.

——

Morning light seeped into the waiting room when Orion arrived at the hospital. Dorcas was still in yesterday’s clothes, exhaustion pooling under her eyes but her posture stubbornly upright. “Why didn’t you go home?” he asked quietly.

“I couldn’t leave Regulus.” She nodded toward the row of chairs where Regulus slumped in uneasy sleep, head tipped back, a permanent frown carved into his brow. “He couldn’t sleep at all last night.”

“And Theodore?”

“He’s fine. Might be out in a few days.” She offered a tired smile.

“Put the bills on my account,” Orion said and she nodded in response.

Orion sat beside Regulus and allowed himself a long, quiet moment to simply look at him. His son looked impossibly exhausted, like someone carved out by worry, and yet somehow he still managed to scowl even in his sleep — the same stubborn set of his brow he’d had since childhood.

Gently, almost tentatively, he reached up and brushed a strand of hair off Regulus’ forehead— who instantly jolted awake, eyes wild and unfocused for a heartbeat. Then he groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“Son, are you alright?” Orion asked softly.

“Why are you here?” Regulus muttered, voice rough with sleep.

“To see you.” Orion offered a small smile. “I heard your friend’s recovering. If you need anything—”

“All I need is for you to leave me alone.” Regulus shot to his feet and walked away before Orion could reply. The words struck harder than any bullet, and Orion’s faint smile faded.

——

James woke up with a skull-splitting headache, but forced himself to drag the cab to the workshop. He haggled with the mechanic he’d known for years until they settled on a price neither of them liked.

He stepped outside for a cigarette to clear his head. The smoke was halfway down his throat when a sleek black car slowed in front of him, the window sliding down. Marlene McKinnon’s face appeared—sunglasses perched in her hair, a pistol gleaming against her hip like jewelry she wore for fun.

She looked even more dangerous in daylight. He knew her by reputation alone—Orion Black’s right hand, the kind of woman who didn’t show up unless something had already gone terribly wrong. And definitely not someone who should have any reason to know his name.

“Are you James Potter?”

His stomach dipped. Fantastic. That sounded like someone who did have a reason.

“Depends on who’s asking.”

“Get in the car.”

He flicked ash onto the pavement, trying to buy himself half a second. He wasn’t stupid enough to think he had a real choice, but his mouth still worked faster than anything. “Why would I do that?”

“Because I said so.” She shifted her jacket to flash the gun.

Right. That would do it.

James crushed the cigarette beneath his boot, exhaled once, and slid into the car. Here come the consequences of last night, he thought bleakly—because of course the universe would send her to pick him up, and of course this was happening before he’d even had breakfast.

Ten tense minutes later, she ushered him into an empty café. The air smelled faintly of coffee and lemon cleaner, the blinds drawn tight against daylight.

Orion Black sat at the center table reading the newspaper. Remus Lupin perched on the windowsill, smoke curling lazily from the cigarette between his fingers, eyes focused on James with quiet, predatory calculation.

“I picked him up from the workshop,” Marlene said smoothly. “Looks like his cab’s badly damaged.”

“I hope you didn’t lose your job because of last night’s events,” Orion said, neatly folding the paper.

“My boss doesn’t know yet,” James muttered, grimacing. The room felt too small, too sharp around the edges.

“You saved my life last night, James Potter. I owe you one now.” Orion’s voice was even, controlled. “And knowing you might lose your job because of it, I feel I owe you even more.”

“It’s really not a big deal.” James shrugged. He could sense Lupin watching him like he was running an internal background check.

“Tell me,” Orion continued, narrowing his eyes. “Have you always been a cab driver?”

That one caught James off guard. He should’ve lied. Should’ve said yes. But the truth slipped out before he could stop it. “No, sir. I used to be a cop.”

Silence rippled through the room.

Marlene’s whole body tensed. She instinctively edged closer to Orion, her hand brushing against the side of her jacket where the weight of her gun rested. James doubted she even realized she’d moved. Remus straightened from the windowsill, ash from his cigarette scattering on the floor as he pinned James with a glare sharp enough to cut glass.

James felt suddenly, stupidly exposed. Like he’d just handed the wolves his scent.

But Orion’s reaction was different. His brows rose—with intrigue. He leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, “A cop?” he repeated softly. “Now that… is interesting. Why aren’t you one anymore?”

James’ throat dried. He forced himself to meet Orion’s stare. “I was framed.”

Orion tilted his head, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. “Because you stirred the wrong nest? Or because you weren’t dirty enough to keep up with the rest of them?”

“Does it matter?” James’ voice was hollow. “Either way, I lost everything.”

Something in Orion’s expression shifted— an almost imperceptible flicker of recognition, like he’d found a kindred bitterness in James.

“You could’ve stayed out of it,” Orion said, leaning back. “You didn’t have to run over that man. Yet you still did. Why?”

“He was sneaking up to shoot you in the back. Instinct took over.” James shrugged simply. Orion nodded once, as if satisfied.

“Then you have my thanks.” His gaze didn’t waver. Then, almost too casually: “I have an offer for you. Would you like to be my chauffeur?”

Marlene snapped her head toward him. Her stare flicked to Remus, whose brow furrowed in confusion, the two of them trading a look heavy with unease. James figured they hadn’t seen this coming — Orion had just thought of it on the spot.

James hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until it escaped him in a long, shaky exhale.

——

Regulus leaned against the cold hospital wall, exhaustion pulling at his bones. Theodore was fine—the doctors had reassured him again and again—but Regulus couldn’t make himself leave.

Hours blurred together until hunger gnawed at him and his hands shook from fatigue. He finally decided he’d go home, shower, eat, then come back. But as he reached for his coat, panic spiked in his chest. His wallet. Still with the cab driver.

“Shit,” he muttered, smacking his forehead. He dug his phone out, scrolling frantically. The number was there—but the name? Jimmy? James? His brain was a blank slate.

A low, frustrated growl escaped him. Of all the times to forget a name.

——

“I can’t accept your offer, I’m sorry,” James said.

“We’re not as frightening as you might think,” Orion replied, calm and measured, as if he truly believed that. “I’m just a regular businessman. And I’ve been looking for a chauffeur for a while now. You’re at risk of losing your job anyway, so why not?”

James opened his mouth to respond—probably to say something wildly unwise— but his phone buzzed. He excused himself, stepping a few feet away, staring at the unsaved number with a puzzled frown. “Hello?”

“Hi, is this James?” The voice was unmistakable — Regulus. James shut his eyes tightly. Oh, fuck — he forgot to give him his wallet. “Yes… unfortunately, it’s me,” he admitted.

“Can I come by and pick up my wallet?” Regulus asked, sounding perfectly unfazed by the tone.

James rubbed a hand over his face. “I… I’m not anywhere convenient to meet,” he muttered.

“It’s fine I have a car. Where are you?” Regulus pressed. James glanced back at Orion— who sat patiently waiting for him.

“I’m near SoHo,” James said carefully. “I’ll send you the location of a restaurant near me. Let’s meet in about half an hour.”

“Done.” Regulus hung up and James slid his phone into his pocket, turning back toward Orion. “Something came up. I have to go.”

“Think about my offer. My door is always open.” Orion’s lips curved faintly.

James nodded, unsure whether the gesture was polite or suicidal, then stepped outside, pulling out his phone and immediately dialing Snape. “Guess who I just talked to,” he said when the call connected. “Orion fucking Black.”

Snape exploded through the speaker, and James winced, holding the phone away from his ear.

——

It took James a while to walk the restaurant. The moment he stepped inside, he stopped dead in his tracks.

Regulus sat near the window, cupping a warm drink with both hands—long fingers stacked with silver rings that caught the low light every time he shifted. James exhaled slowly. It was actually painful, that’s what it was. Painful to look at someone who had the audacity to exist like that in public. How was anyone supposed to function?

He allowed himself a few seconds—just a few—to stare before he forced himself to move. He stepped forward and pulled out the chair across from Regulus. “Hi.”

“Hello.” They stared at each other for a minute— Regulus looked at him expectantly, and James rolled his eyes and handed him his wallet, Regulus instantly called the waiter for the check.

James frowned. “Leaving so soon?”

“What else am I supposed to do?” Regulus replied, genuinely confused.

“Most nice people start with a ‘thank you’ you know,” James said, shrugging. “Or, revolutionary thought, small talk. I did bring your wallet back. That’s practically medieval heroism.”

“It’s the bare minimum to be decent.”

“You’re no fun.”

“Fine. Order whatever you want, I’ll pay.”

“Oh no, absolutely not. You made it sound like charity.” James grimaced. “It’s your company I want.”

“Excuse me?” Regulus blinked at him, baffled. He stood as he pocketed his wallet, staring at James like the man had just grown a second head—and was threatening to grow a third.

“I can pay for myself, thank you very much.” James pushed to his feet as well.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Regulus asked, with the weary disbelief of someone discovering a structural flaw in the universe. He headed for the exit. James followed.

“You know you’re very rude,” James called after him.

“Thanks. It’s my badge of honor.” Regulus didn’t even look at him — he looked past him — then snapped his gaze back in disbelief. “Why are you following me?”

“I’m just heading for the exit,” James’ faint smile only widened at the scowl blooming across Regulus’ face as he strode toward his car.

James’ phone buzzed, and he picked up smiling softly. “Hey Harry, what’s up?”

“Dad! Where are you?” Harry’s voice trembled, and James felt his heart drop, immediately alarmed.“Harry? Baby, are you crying? What happened?”

Regulus paused, glancing back at James.

“They’re sending me to Switzerland,” Harry blurted. “To Mom. Grandpa bought the tickets and they’re packing my suitcase right now—Dad, please come get me.”

“WHAT?” James began pacing like a wild animal, scanning the street for a cab. “Alright, baby, I need you to calm down. No one’s sending you away.”

“They are! Grandma’s coming with me. Dad, please—” Harry wailed. James pressed the phone closer to his ear, catching the sound of hurried footsteps just before Adam stormed in and snapped the phone out of Harry’s hands.

“Harry! Never call your father without my permission!” Adam shouted.

“Why not?” Harry yelled back.

“Because he’s a bad influence on you!”

The call ended abruptly, James shoved his phone into his pocket and cursed every passing cab that didn’t stop.

“Is everything alright?” Regulus asked, still standing by his car, watching James carefully.

“They’re taking my son,” James said, his voice breaking between urgency and disbelief. He kept pacing, fingers trembling. “His grandfather—the son of a bitch—is sending him out of the country!”

Regulus’ expression shifted—confusion first, then concern, and then something far more serious settling in. He unlocked his car with a sharp exhale. “Get in. I’ll take you there. Just… don’t drag me into anything illegal— I’m only doing this for that sweet boy of yours.”

James nodded immediately and slid into the passenger seat, rattling off directions to the Evans villa. Thankfully, Regulus was going at top speed.

——

They pulled up in front of the villa, and James was out before Regulus could even stop the car properly. He sprinted straight to the gate, hammering the bell with frantic urgency and pacing like a man on the verge of tearing down the gate with his bare hands.

Regulus lingered in the car, fingers drumming on the steering wheel as he debated whether to leave or wait.

When the gardener cracked the gate open, James immediately barreled past him without so much as a glance. Seeing his reckless determination, Regulus sighed and stayed put.

Inside the garden, a security guard stepped forward to block his path—only to be met by a headbutt that dropped him instantly. James didn’t even look back; he sprinted toward the front door and pounded on it until his knuckles ached.

No answer.

Panic tightened around his ribs as he circled to the back, calling Harry’s name into the quiet yard.

Silence.

Enough is enough. He grabbed a medium-sized rock and hurled it at the glass door. It shattered instantly, fragments scattering across the floor in a glittering spray. James stepped through, pushing aside what was left of the frame, only to be met by Adam, descending the stairs in shock. “What the hell are you—this is literally breaking in!”

“Then so fucking be it! Where’s Harry?” James shoved past him, taking the stairs two at a time.

“James! You’ll scare the boy!” Adam shouted, chasing after him.

James burst into Harry’s room so fast the door hit the wall. His grandmother—Emily, was trying to calm him down as he screamed for his dad. James pulled him out of her arms in one swift motion. She gasped in shock, stumbling after them as they sprinted back downstairs.

He flung open the front door—only to come face-to-face with a police officer.

James slammed it shut instantly. Emily’s shrill voice followed a second later as she opened it again. “He’s kidnapping my grandson!”

“Fuck.” James muttered, clutching Harry’s hand tighter. They bolted through the garden gate, cutting into the next street—just as Regulus’ car screeched to a halt.

“How come you’re still here?” James grinned, breathless.

“I knew you’d get yourself in trouble.” Regulus sighed, His eyes flicked to Harry, and his irritation softened into something gentler. “Come on, get in.”

James hurriedly ushered Harry into the back seat, and Regulus’ eyes flicked to the blood streaking down James’ forearm. “What happened to your arm?”

James followed his gaze, noticing the cut for the first time—a thin line where the glass must’ve caught him. “Not a big deal,” he muttered, climbing in and buckling his seatbelt.

Harry leaned forward between the seats. “Hey… I’ve seen you before,” he said, studying Regulus with wide, curious eyes.

“Yeah,” Regulus replied dryly. “Your father won’t quit dragging me into his mess.”

“Hey, you offered to help,” James protested absentmindedly as he examined the cut on his arm.

“And you said you wouldn’t do anything illegal.” Regulus glanced at him pointedly. “Yet here we are, once again, kidnapping a kid in broad daylight.”

“You’re mean,” Harry and James said at the same time. They turned toward each other, identical amused grins spreading across their faces. Regulus rolled his eyes like he regretted every decision that had led him to this moment.

“Dad, I think we made it this time! No one’s following us!” Harry said, holding up his hand for a high five. James slapped it, still grinning.

Regulus sighed. “Alright, where do you want me to drop you off?”

“Can’t go to my flat.” James said, grimacing. “It’ll be the first place they search.”

“A hotel?”

“No way, they’ll find us in seconds from our IDs.”

Regulus frowned. “Then what? You don’t have… relatives or something?”

James shook his head. “You know what? Just drop us off here. I’ve already caused you enough trouble.” He nodded toward the sidewalk, and Regulus reluctantly pulled over. James and Harry climbed out, shutting the door quietly behind them.

Regulus drove a few meters, muttering curses under his breath. His grip tightened on the wheel until his knuckles went white. Finally, he growled something unintelligible— as if he’d lost an argument with himself. Then he slammed the gear into reverse and rolled back toward them.

James and Harry turned, confused, as the car stopped beside them. Regulus rolled his window down, his face a mask of irritation. “You can stay over at my house tonight.”

Harry lit up immediately, shooting his dad a wide grin.

“Are you sure?” James asked, raising an eyebrow.

“For just one night,” Regulus warned, voice clipped.

“I knew you looked like a good person,” Harry said innocently.

Regulus gave him a flat stare, then he jerked his head toward the back seat. “Get in before I change my mind.”

——

“Come on, man! It’s against my principles to beat up a handyman!” Remus complained — right before his fist cracked against the jaw of the man tied to the chair. The man’s head snapped sideways, blood sliding down his chin in a slow, vivid line.

“What kind of fucking principle is that?” Marlene asked, genuinely confused. She didn’t wait for an answer; she drove her own punch into the captive’s face. His head jerked the other direction, fresh blood spilling from his nose. “Are you going to talk or not?” Her fist already cocked again. “Who the fuck planned the attack?”

The man whimpered. “I swear I don’t know! My boss got an order to organize an attack team, that’s all! His name’s Anderson. That’s all I know, I swear!”

Marlene hit him once more for good measure. He groaned, sagging against the ropes.

In the corner, Peter sat cross-legged on a crate, calmly munching a sandwich. “No, for real though—what kind of principle is that?”

“I know, right?” Marlene said, exasperated, shaking the sting out of her knuckles.

Remus rolled his eyes. “It’s called ethics. You should try it sometime.”

“Ethics?” Marlene snorted. “You’ve killed more people than you can even count.”

The door creaked open. Orion stepped inside, his presence chilling the room instantly. He stood a few feet away, gaze sharp. “Has he said anything?”

“Just that his boss, Anderson, put the attack team together on someone’s orders. He doesn’t know who gave them. So, basically nothing we don’t already know.” Remus reported.

Dorcas walked in behind Orion, her voice steady as stone. “I got word—Anderson was killed today.”

“Well,” Marlene muttered, “Looks like someone’s covering their fuck-up.” She shoved the man back against the chair, his nose bleeding profusely. “Alright, off you go, buddy. Go bleed somewhere else.” She yanked at the knots until the ropes loosened, and he stumbled toward the door, clutching his face.

“Any news from Crabbe?” Orion asked Dorcas, tone clipped.

“Still MIA.”

Remus lit a cigarette, smoke curling into the air as he leaned against the wall. “Fantastic. We’ve got corpses, cowards, and a handyman with a broken nose. Real progress.”

Chapter Text

“Alright, come in,” Regulus said as he flicked on the light switch, stepping aside for James and Harry to enter.

The warm glow revealed a space that felt lived-in in the best possible way. Regulus’ place was the ground-floor flat, cozy, with dark green walls that somehow made the room feel both grounded and alive. Plants crowded every corner, spilling across shelves and windowsills. The air smelled faintly of something herbal, like eucalyptus.

A wide window overlooked a front yard that was just as green and carefully tended with a small seating area and a weathered wooden table.

The living area was open: a circular dining table to one side, a sprawling L-shaped couch to the other, draped in blankets and mismatched pillows faced the television. What caught James’ attention most, though, was the wall of books — floor to ceiling — Beneath it sat an armchair and a little coffee table, clearly a reading corner. He made a mental note to take a closer look at the books later, curiosity tugging at him.

“I really don’t know how to thank you enough for your help today,” James said, unzipping his jacket as Regulus hung his own on the rack by the door.

“Don’t worry about it,” Regulus replied easily, waving him off. “Sit down, get comfortable.”

Harry had already claimed a spot on the couch, sinking into the pile of pillows with a satisfied sigh.

“I’m going to grab the first aid kit for your arm,” Regulus added, disappearing down the hall.

“Dad,” Harry said thoughtfully, eyes half-open, “you know Grandpa’s probably lost his mind by now.”

James smirked. “Your grandpa’s already insane, son. Nothing new there.” He dragged out a chair from the dining table, sitting near the bookshelf, eyes scanning the spines of the nearest titles.

Regulus returned moments later, a small white kit in his hands and his phone tucked between his cheek and shoulder. “Yes, I’m Theodore Nott’s friend. I was just wondering if there are any updates?” He set the kit on the dining table and gestured for James to roll up his sleeve.

James watched quietly as Regulus listened to the voice on the other end.

“He’s awake?” Regulus straightened slightly, relief flickering in his expression. “Please let him know I called, and that I’ll be there first thing tomorrow morning. Thank you.” He ended the call, setting his phone aside and pulling a few items from the kit. His movements were neat and practiced.

“It’s not too bad,” he murmured, examining the cut on James’ arm. “You won’t need stitches — just a bandage.”

James nodded. He hadn’t realized how close Regulus had gotten until now— until the faint trace of his cologne reached him, subtle but intoxicating: sandalwood, amber, and the softest hint of vanilla. The kind of scent that tugged memories out of people, even when they didn’t have any to begin with.

Regulus’ pitch-black curls had fallen forward as he concentrated, shadowing his face in a way that made it impossible for James to look anywhere else. “Why did you become a doctor?” he asked quietly. Mostly to hear him talk, partly because the room felt too quiet and intimate otherwise.

Regulus didn’t look up. “No particular reason.” Then, after a beat, he glanced briefly at James, “Why did you become a cop?”

James shrugged. “It’s a sexy profession.”

Regulus snorted, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Not as sexy as firefighters or pilots, though.”

“Harsh,” James chuckled, watching him dig through the kit again.

”Why were you fired?” Regulus asked, his tone deceptively casual as he dabbed antiseptic on the wound.

“I was framed. They thought I took a bribe.” The words tasted tired coming out, but saying them in Regulus’ quiet home felt different — less like defending himself, more like offering a truth.

Regulus hummed softly in response, busy unrolling a strip of bandage.

“Not going to ask if I actually did it?”

“No,” Regulus replied simply.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s none of my business.”

James tilted his head, studying him. “You look like you don’t believe I could take a bribe. Everyone else does—why not you?”

“It’s not that—will you stop moving?” Regulus muttered, his fingers firm around James’ wrist

“Not until you answer.”

“Fine,” Regulus said, mildly irritated. “I don’t think a man who loves his son that much would take a bribe.”

James’ lips curved into a teasing grin. “Do you think I’m a good father, Regulus?”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Regulus shot him a sharp look, finishing the bandage with brisk efficiency.

”Too late,” When Regulus was done, James flexed his arm experimentally. “You’re good at this.”

“I’m a doctor,” Regulus said dryly. “It’s in the job description.”

James leaned back in the chair, watching him close the kit. “So, no bedside manner beyond sarcasm?”

Regulus gave a small, exasperated sound. “I treated your wound, didn’t I? That’s more than enough bedside manner for one day.”

“You’re mean,” James grinned, his tone carrying a hint of joy and amusement.

Regulus looked up, one brow raised. “Why do you sound happy about that?”

“I happen to have a thing for mean people,” James admitted shamelessly

Regulus stared at him, unimpressed. “Do you flirt this badly with everyone, or am I just lucky?”

“Just you,” James said, leaning forward slightly, his grin widening. “You make it entertaining.”

Regulus scoffed, shaking his head. “You’re insufferable.”

“Stop talking dirty to me!”

Regulus’ eyes narrowed, but the subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth ruined the attempt at severity. He shook his head again and turned toward the hallway. James watched him go, warmth catching unexpectedly in his chest as he caught the faint, unguarded huff of laughter Regulus let slip on his way out.

——

Bellatrix set her seventh shot of whiskey on the table a little too hard—or was it her tenth? She wasn’t sure anymore. The edges of her thoughts were starting to blur.

She wasn’t an alcoholic. Really, she wasn’t. It’s just that sometimes her father had this insufferable way of getting under her skin with his calmness—his endless, irritating patience. How he managed to stay composed after everything that happened, she’d never understand. They were attacked, for crying out loud, and he was sitting there running charities for Regulus’ injured friend as if nothing had happened.

Fucking outrageous.

All Bellatrix wanted was to make someone pay—to spill blood for the insult, to make the world remember that no one touched the Blacks and walked away unscathed. She had always been the kind of person who acted first and thought later — or, more accurately, killed first and thought later. It was a flaw she’d long accepted, perhaps even cherished, because in her world, you either killed or got killed.

And her father never approved of that. He smothered that part of her under reason and restraint, always insisting on control, on logic, and ‘the right way to handle things’

So, left with no outlet and nowhere to aim her fury, she did the only thing she could — she drank.

——

“I like Regulus,” Harry said in a low voice, leaning closer to his father once Regulus disappeared down the hallway to fetch them blankets. “He’s nice—and really handsome.” He grinned, mischievously biting into a slice of pizza.

James’ eyes widened at his son’s audacity, utterly scandalized. “What are you insinuating? Actually—no. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. Just eat your food in silence.”

Harry snorted, but he obeyed, chewing with exaggerated innocence.

When they finished, James collected the empty pizza boxes and stray napkins. The small, domestic act felt grounding — almost absurdly normal after the chaos of the day. He carried the trash to the bin and returned to the living room just in time to see Regulus bent over Harry’s sleeping form, gently tucking a blanket over him. The sight made James pause in the doorway. Regulus’ expression was soft, in a way that didn’t quite match his cool and distant composure.

Instead of interrupting, James drifted toward the bookshelf. As he scanned the spines, his eyes caught a framed photograph perched near the edge of the shelf. It showed a woman sitting on a patch of sunlit grass, smiling down at a teenage girl who rested her head in her lap. Two boys surrounded them. One, with slightly longer hair, had his side to the camera, fingers tangled absently in the girl’s hair. The other—James recognized instantly, was Regulus. His curls wild and messy, his hands resting on the woman’s shoulders as he grinned brightly at the camera.

James’ chest tightened unexpectedly. That smile—unguarded and boyish—was so cute it made James want to scream, but it also was so at odds with the calm, quiet man he knew now.

“Would you like a drink? Coffee or tea?” Regulus’ voice broke through the moment. He’d turned off most of the lights so as not to bother Harry, leaving the room bathed in a warm, golden hush.

“Any heavier drinks?” James asked sheepishly

Regulus gave a small, knowing nod, like he understood without needing to ask. “I think I can manage that.” He slipped into the kitchen, and James continued snooping. Another picture caught his attention—just Regulus and the same teenage girl, standing beneath a tree, arms wrapped around each other. Both were smiling at the camera with identical deep dimples creasing their cheeks.

“There you go.” Regulus returned, handing him a glass. His own was already half full.

“That’s a lovely picture,” James said, pointing toward the first one. “Are those your mom and siblings?”

”Yes,” then he hesitated for a moment. His gaze lingered on the photo for a long beat before he lifted the glass to his lips. “I lost all of them.”

”Shit,” James muttered, his tone softening. “I’m sorry for your loss. Was it… a car accident or—?”

“No.” Regulus’ answer was quiet and clipped. The way his jaw tightened made it clear he didn’t want to go there. James recognized the boundary immediately and stepped back from it without argument.

”What about your father? No pictures of him around?”

Regulus sank into the armchair beside the bookshelf, “I really don’t like talking about my family.”

James nodded wordlessly, accepting it. He turned back to the shelves to scan the titles, letting the quiet settle between them.

Four entire rows were packed with thick, medical tomes—surgery, anatomy, pathology—but the rest were an eclectic treasure: philosophy, poetry, memoirs, political theory, novels dog-eared and worn. The kind of collection that told a story of someone endlessly curious, someone who craved understanding.

Then James froze.

Oğuz Atay.

His eyes darted to the worn spine of Dangerous Games. He pulled it from the shelf, thumbing through the soft, overused pages before tilting it toward Regulus. “Did you like this one?”

“I loved it,” Regulus said simply. A small, almost fond smile flickering at the corner of his mouth.

James felt his own smile bloom far too easily. He stepped closer and held the book out to him. “Read me your favorite part.”

Regulus raised a skeptical brow, but he still set his glass aside and took the book with careful hands, flipping through the pages with a familiarity that made something warm twist in James’ stomach.

James lowered himself onto the floor across from him, arms resting over his knees. It was obvious Regulus knew exactly where he was headed; his fingers moved with the instinct of someone who had returned to the same words many times before.

Finally, Regulus found it. He cleared his throat softly, then began to read.

’My dearest Bilge, if only you had written me a letter, and I had answered you. Or if a great storm had erupted between us during our last meeting, leaving many words unfinished and many issues unresolved as we separated in a fit of great anger and violence—‘

James’ lips parted before he could stop himself. He picked up the line without missing a beat, his voice low and certain, the words etched into his memory:

’—making writing, explaining, and talking as two people who love each other, inevitable. If only I didn’t have to write to you out of nowhere. If only I hadn’t distanced myself from you, just as I’ve run away from all my other troubles.’

Regulus froze mid-sentence. Slowly, almost cautiously, he lifted his eyes to James.

Their gazes locked, and the air between them thickened, filling with something electric and terrifyingly intimate. It was ridiculous—just a quote from a book—but it wasn’t. Something about the shared familiarity, the mirrored affection for those exact words, cracked open a door neither of them had meant to touch.

Regulus looked away first— his breath escaped in a fragile exhale, he closed the book and set it on the table. “Would you like a refill?” he whispered.

James only nodded, holding out his glass.

Regulus took it and turned on his heel, walking to the kitchen with steady steps that didn’t match the storm brewing inside his head.

It’s just a quote, for fuck’s sake.

Dangerous Games had always been one of his favorites—that particular quote had always stuck with him, its melancholy so sharp it felt like a bruise. And James knowing it by heart? reciting it like he’d carried the ache with him too? That was just—

He doesn’t know what has gotten into him, it’s like he’s hypnotized, caught in the pull of someone he’d barely begun to understand. His thoughts tangled, tripping over themselves, and his pulse thudded loudly in his ears as he entered the kitchen.

He opened the oven, and stared inside at the empty metal racks.

For nearly five minutes. He just stood there, lost in thought, before it finally hit him that he was supposed to be refilling James’ glass.

A groan escaped as he slammed the oven door shut and reached for the bottle on the counter, fingers gripping the neck too tightly. He wasn’t sure if the irritation clawing at his chest was meant for himself—or for James Potter.

——

Bellatrix looked up when someone slid onto the stool beside her, a slow smirk curling at her mouth. “Look who decided to show up,”

Vincent Crabbe leaned against the bar, “I heard you’ve been—maniacally—looking for me. Thought I’d ask you personally what your problem is.”

“Oh, you misunderstood something, dear.” She slammed her glass onto the counter; the crack of it shot through the low murmur of the nearly-empty pub “You’re not significant enough for me to bother looking for you. Tell me where your father is hiding.”

“We hide from no one.” He leaned in, close enough that she could feel the heat of his breath. “Listen carefully, Bellatrix. You do all kinds of crazy shit because you know your father will save your ass every time. That bullshit?” His gaze didn’t waver. “Doesn’t work on me.”

She drained the rest of her drink in silence; letting him have his little victory.

Bellatrix was drunk out of her mind, sure. but that has never stopped her before

——

“Mr. Black, we’ve known each other for God knows how long,” Crabbe began, voice strained, eyes flicking between Orion—who sat like a carved statue behind his desk, and Dorcas, whose stare was cold and calculating. “No matter our disagreements, you know I would never attack you. It’s a set-up, for both of us,” Crabbe continued.

Orion’s calm voice cut through the room. “Then who was it?” He’d already ruled Crabbe out in the quiet corners of his mind, and the absence of an answer weighed heavier than any confession.

Who had the nerve to set them all up?

——

“Get the fuck out of here, Vincent, or I swear I’ll make you regret the day you were born.”

“A bit cocky to threaten me when your little flock isn’t around,” he drawled, his smile lazy and poisonous. “Tell me where McKinnon and Lupin are.”

“You and I both know if they were here, they’d do nothing but try and stop me from killing you.”

Vincent snorted. “You know, I have all the respect in the world for Orion Black — a real man, someone who commands respect and actually earns it. But you?” His eyes drifted over her with deliberate contempt. “What are you but Daddy’s little girl, acting tough every now and then, head so far up your ass you actually think you could threaten me or my father. You’re nothing without your family name, Bellatrix. Fucking nothing.”

Bellatrix’s eye twitched—genuinely. She struck the counter hard enough to make the glass jolt in blinding rage, then stormed out of the pub.

Yes she is reckless and ruthless. But not stupid enough to kill the motherfucker in public, so she waited in the underground parking lot.

She laid the gun on the passenger seat— furious enough to know she wouldn’t need it; her fists alone could crush Vincent like the insignificant insect he was.

When she finally saw him heading toward his car, she moved. Her steps were wide and predatory.

She launched herself at him from behind; the two of them crashed to the ground in the messy, animal physics of grappling bodies. She forced him flat on his stomach, her weight locking him down, then she grabbed a fistful of his hair, and smashed his face against the cold concrete—again, again, and again—until his cries dissolved into broken sound.

It wasn’t enough.

Only when she heard the sharp, satisfying crunch of his nose giving under her hand did she flip him onto his back. She planted her knee on his ribs and drove her fists into his face, over and over, until he went limp beneath her.

It wouldn’t be enough until he stops breathing.

She hit him until she couldn’t tell his blood from her own. Her knuckles throbbed, split open, but the pain sent an electric pleasure down her spine, and she relished the feeling of finally letting all her anger out.

Vincent died.

And Bellatrix didn’t stop.

Chapter Text

They ended up outside, settling at the small table in the front yard so they wouldn’t wake Harry. The night was warm, the kind that softened everything at the edges.

James had Dangerous Games open in his hands, flipping absently through the pages. Regulus, a little tipsy, had folded himself into the chair beside him, curled up like a cat. His head rested against the backrest, angled just enough to watch the line of James’ profile without being obvious about it.

“Where’s Harry’s mother?” Regulus asked at last, breaking the quiet that had settled between them.

“In Switzerland,” James muttered without glancing up. His thumb traced the edge of the page in a slow, unconscious motion, like he was soothing a thought he didn’t want to name.

Regulus leaned a little closer, the tipsiness softening his voice. “What is she doing there?”

“Rehab.” James finally looked up—just briefly—before his gaze dropped back to the book as if it were easier to talk to paper than to a person. “When we—when we fell out of love, it hit her hardest. All of us, really. Me, her, Harry. Divorce is brutal especially when there’s a kid in the middle. So, she started drinking again.” He spoke slowly, like each word had to crawl its way out. “It wasn’t new—she used to drink a lot as a teenager. Her father’s doing. The piece of shit.” He closed the book halfway, not fully, his fingers still wedged inside as if he needed the anchor. “Last I heard, she’s getting better. Almost done. That must be why they tried sending Harry to her.”

Regulus’ fingers fumbled with a loose thread on his sweater. He hesitated, tasting the warning in his own mouth. “You won’t like what I’m about to say.”

James gave him a tired, tight smile—one that didn’t come anywhere near his eyes. He closed the book fully and set it on the table with a soft thud. Then he leaned back, shoulders sinking into the chair as if bracing himself for impact. “Say it anyway.”

“Don’t you think it might be better for Harry to be with her for a while?” Regulus asked tentatively. “James… I’m sorry, but you’re running on instinct and panic. Yes, he’s with you now—but what about tomorrow? What’s the plan? What happens next?”

James’ jaw tightened. His eyes flicked away from Regulus’ face down toward the table as though the grain of the wood could give him answers. “I have nothing else,” he whispered. His hands slid into his hair, gripping briefly before falling into his lap. “Harry is my everything. Without him, I’m nothing.”

“He won’t be there forever,” Regulus murmured. “They’ll come back here eventually.”

James flicked his gaze toward him, exhaustion carved into every line of his face. “So what? I’m supposed to hand my son over to that man? That utter waste of fucking oxygen?”

“That’s his grandfather.”

“You don’t know, Regulus.” His voice cracked with something raw— like defeat. “This man is a lunatic. He’s hated me from day one. Lily is the way she is because of him.”

Regulus watched the way James’ knee bounced under the table. A telltale sign that his anxiety was winding too tight. But he pressed anyway, gently, because someone had to. “It’s just— are you sure you’re doing the right thing?”

He huffed a soft, humorless breath and dragged his hands over his face. “I don’t remember the last time I did something right,” he muttered. “I don’t even know how the fuck everything got this bad. It’s like a tornado hit my life and ripped straight through everything I cared about.”

Regulus leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table until their shoulders brushed. A small touch, but steady and grounding. He didn’t say anything for a moment—just let the contact speak.

“Just think this through. All of it,” he murmured quietly.

James didn’t speak; he only nodded, his eyes drifting down to the table with a faraway look he didn’t bother to hide.

From where they sat in the front yard, they had a clear view through the window into the living room. So when Harry suddenly jolted upright on the couch, gasping, the sight alone sent James flying to his feet before the second breath even left Harry’s lungs.

He rushed into the room, Regulus right behind him.

“Hey, hey—look at me, baby.” James gathered Harry into his arms, holding him close. “It’s just a nightmare. I’ve got you. I’m right here.” His voice gentled, dropping to a murmur as Harry trembled against him. Slowly, the boy’s breathing eased. His fingers unclenched, drifting back to sleep in James’ arms.

Regulus sank onto the arm of the couch, a frown tugging at his mouth as he watched them—James cradling Harry like something too fragile for the world to touch. When James looked up at him over Harry’s head, he looked nothing short of troubled and heartbroken. Something in Regulus’ chest cracked clean open.

Because in that moment, the truth was devastatingly simple:

James was drowning. And he was trying—desperately—to keep someone else afloat.

——

“Are you fucking out of your mind, Bella?” Marlene’s voice tore through the night in utter disbelief. She stared into the open trunk of Bellatrix’s car where Vincent Crabbe’s body lay folded like discarded luggage.

Peter dragged both hands down his face. “I can’t believe we left a football game for this,” he muttered, his voice wobbling somewhere between grief and hysteria. “A fucking football game. To bury Crabbe’s son. No, I refuse to ruin my jersey for this piece of shit.”

They were, in fact, still wearing their jerseys—three morons in matching outfits loitering in the middle of nowhere beside a corpse.

Remus pinched the bridge of his nose, face settling into one long, miserable wince. “Your father is going to bury us right next to him, Bella,” he said, grimly. “I hope you realize that.”

“That’s why we’re not telling him,” Bellatrix replied, far too casually for someone with a dead man in her trunk.

“What?” Marlene, Remus, and Peter chorused, their voices pitching in the same horrified octave.

Marlene spun on her heel, hands flailing. “Fucking—fuck.” She jabbed a finger toward the body. “Does he have a phone? They track signals, Bella. You do understand that? Tell me you threw his phone away or I swear to God—”

“Of course I threw it away!” Bellatrix snapped, outright offended. “I’m not stupid.”

Marlene exhaled a flat, humorless sound that barely counted as a laugh. “Yeah, you really can’t claim that when Crabbe’s dead son is right in front of us.” She rubbed her temples, looking one complaint away from developing a medical-grade migraine “Just—go home. Leave this to us. You’re so fucking drunk, and I’m honestly struggling not to bury you with him.”

——

Loud, insistent knocks rattled the front door—so sudden and violent that both James and Harry jolted awake on the couch, blankets slipping to the floor.

“James Potter, we know you’re inside. Open the door!”

The voice thundered through the hallway, muffled but unmistakably official. James shot upright, heart hammering, he crossed the room to the window overlooking the front yard. He eased the curtain back just enough to see police cars flooding the street.

His breath left him in a tight exhale.

“What’s going on?” Regulus stepped into the living room in his pajamas, hair a wild, sleep-mussed halo. He didn’t seem fully awake, but the fear hit instantly when he saw James’ face.

“The police are here,” James said, letting the curtain fall. He looked between Harry and Regulus—one terrified, the other trying not to be.

“What are we going to do?!” He dropped onto the couch beside Harry, helping him shove his feet into his shoes.

“Dad, we should run,” Harry whispered, panic flooding his voice. James moved from one window to the next, scanning angles, exits, possibilities—searching for time he didn’t have.

“James, what are you waiting for? Come on!” Regulus hissed urgently, “I’ll distract them. I’ll buy you enough time to get out through the garden door.”

The pounding on the front door grew louder, more impatient; the frame shuddered with every hit.

James stopped moving.

Something in his posture sagged—barely, but enough for Regulus to feel dread settle in his own bones.

“You were right,” he muttered.

Regulus blinked. “Right about what?”

“I can give him nothing but trouble.” James’ voice was low, almost hollow. “He deserves more than nightmares and waking up to cops at the door.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Regulus snapped, panic sharpening his tone. “They’re going to arrest you, James! You need to go. Right now.”

But James stayed rooted. He looked down at Harry—whose lower lip trembled before tears began to spill.

“Dad?” Harry’s voice cracked.

James knelt in front of him, hands shaking as he cupped his son’s face. “Harry, sweetheart… we can’t keep running forever. How long can this go on? Think about it—what could I ever give you? What good comes from living like this?” His breath hitched. “I love you more than anything. And you deserve what your grandfather can offer— safety, stability, a life I could never give you.”

Harry shook his head violently. “Dad, please don’t do this. I don’t care about anything else. I just want you.”

James’ throat tightened as he forced the words out. “I’m doing this because I love you.”

“If you love me, you wouldn’t leave!” Harry sobbed, fists bunching into James’ shirt. “Dad, please—don’t.”

James pulled him into a crushing embrace, burying a kiss to the top of his head—lingering, breathing him in like he could brand the moment into his lungs—then stood, and walked toward the door.

“Are you James Potter?” The officer’s voice echoed through the hallway.

Regulus squeezed his eyes shut at the small, wounded sound Harry made. He reached for him instinctively, grounding him against his side.

“That’s me.” The defeat in his voice was impossible to miss.

“We have a restraining order. You need to come with us.”

James stepped outside and shut the door behind him. Regulus held Harry’s hand and pulled him closer—Through the door, James’ muffled voice carried:

“Listen—I’m an ex-cop. My son is inside. I’ll cooperate. Just… leave the man in there out of this. He had nothing to do with it.”

Regulus’ breath hitched. Even now—handcuffs waiting—James had somehow thought of him.

A pause. The officer let out a resigned sigh. “Alright.”

Then came the unmistakable click of metal closing around wrists. Harry whimpered at the sound, burying his face deeper in Regulus’ shirt, his small hands trembling.

A few seconds later, there was another knock. Regulus slowly eased the door open, Harry still clinging to him through ragged sobs.

He caught just a glimpse of James’ back retreating down the steps. He didn’t look back. Regulus knew that was the only way he could keep walking. The officer at the door cleared his throat. “We’re taking the boy to his grandparents.”

Regulus nodded. He crouched down, pulling Harry into him with both arms. He pressed a kiss to each wet cheek, murmuring whatever comfort he could manage. Then he wrote his number on a scrap of paper and gently curled Harry’s fingers around it.

“If you ever need anything,” he whispered, forehead almost touching Harry’s, “you call me. You understand? Anything at all.”

Harry nodded, barely. And then he was led away.

And just like that—

Regulus was alone.

——

Snape had been talking for so long that James wasn’t sure where the rant had even begun. The man had paced the length of the small holding cell at least twenty times, boots clicking, voice ricocheting off the concrete walls like a deranged metronome.

“Are you on drugs? Tell me the truth—I swear I won’t be angry, James,” Snape rambled. He didn’t even pause long enough for an answer before launching into another tirade.

James sat on the metal bench, head tipped back against the cold wall, squeezing his eyes shut. He took a slow breath, trying—failing—to tone Snape out.

“I’m not on drugs,” James muttered, cracking one eye open just in time to see Snape still pacing like a man possessed.

“Well, you could’ve fooled me!” Snape barked, turning sharply on his heel. “Because at this point, I don’t think there’s a single crime left in the British penal code you haven’t committed today.” He threw up his hands in frustration— like he was about to summon the heavens as witnesses to James’ stupidity. “Let’s list them, shall we? Breaking and entering, opposing a court order, resisting the forces, assault, child kidnapping—child kidnapping, James—do you want me to continue? Because oh, believe me, I absolutely fucking can.” His voice was climbing toward hysteria now. “It’s gotta be a new record of some sort. I’m fairly certain no human being in the history of this godforsaken country has managed to commit so many crimes in a single day.”

James exhaled. “Rot in jail it is, then. At least it’ll finally be quiet.”

“Fuck that! Not while I’m around.” Snape shook his head, still pacing, still rambling. “You know? You should be building shrines in my name. You should be praying left, right, and center that I’m stupid enough to keep saving your ass—every single time.”

That sentence finally cut through the fog. James straightened, blinking. “You can get me out?”

“I already talked to the chief,” Snape said, waving one hand as if adding another bullet point to his internal rant. “They’ll let you out—miraculously—on one condition: you agree to Orion’s job offer.”

James sat up so fast the bench creaked. “What? Are you fucking mental? No. Absolutely not. Jail is fine, really. Comfortable benches. Free food. I would very much rather rot in there.”

“James!” Snape stopped pacing long enough to level a glare at him. “Think—for once in your life. If this goes to court, you’re getting at least five years. Five. And with all the shit you’ve pulled lately? They’ll probably throw in a bonus offense out of spite.”

“Still fine by me.”

Snape resumed pacing with renewed fury. “Oh, for fuck’s sake! Use your thick head, you arsehole! You have a son. An actual child depending on you. If you can’t think of yourself—which, evidently, you cannot—then think of him.”

“I am thinking of him,” James snapped back.

Snape dragged a hand down his face.“Listen. If you take the job—if you help us take Orion down—you get your old position back. With a promotion. Because you’ll be the one who brought down an entire criminal empire. And on top of that”—he paused, his voice dropping into something steadier, more deliberate—“we’ll launch the custody lawsuit for Harry.”

James went still. Completely. “Are you serious?”

“Deadass,”

James swallowed hard. “And they won’t send Harry out of the country?”

“Fuck no, they won’t,” Snape said. “I’ll personally chain myself to the airport doors before that happens. You give us Orion, and we give you your son back. That’s the deal. Jail—or Harry back home with you. It’s your choice.”

James stared at him, heartbeat loud in his ears.

”Fine. Get the paperwork done.”

——

Regulus left the hospital with guilt and shame lodged like stones in his chest. Theodore had insisted he didn’t blame him. He’d said it softly, meant it sincerely, his hand cold and trembling in Regulus’. It did nothing to soothe the suffocating guilt.

His parents, though…

They didn’t need to say anything; it was written in every tight line of their faces.

His mother had stopped Regulus in the corridor, her voice steady in a way that made it worse. She didn’t shout. She didn’t accuse. She simply asked him not to see Theodore again—not to visit, not to call, not even to stand close enough to cast a shadow near him.

And Regulus couldn’t fault her for it. How could he? Any mother would say the same.

Hell— if the roles were reversed, he’d do a lot worse.

——

”I hope you fucking rot in hell, Snape,” James muttered, squinting at the sudden sunlight as though it, too, was Snape’s fault.

Snape grimaced. “Charming. Truly. Especially coming from someone whose ass I just saved from years in prison.”

”Yeah—just to shove me straight into my grave.” James snapped. He rounded on Snape and jabbed a finger into his chest. Snape let out a long-suffering sigh—the kind he only ever used on James. “You’re getting me a paper—an official, signed, stamped, holy-fucking-grail document—that says I’m going undercover under your orders. And in return, I get custody of my son. You hear me?”

”I’ll handle it.”

”You fucking better,”

Snape shook his head, already exhausted. “Just go get the damn job. Get moving before the universe realizes it let you walk free.” He waved him off lazily. “And try—just try—for my sake—not to commit another twelve crimes on the way.”

James exhaled through his nose, amused in spite of himself. “If the universe cared, it would’ve smote me years ago.”

Chapter Text

James walked the Black manor grounds with the quiet dread of a man approaching his own execution.

The guards had let him in without question—clearly instructed to—yet every step up the long stone path felt heavier than the last, like climbing a scaffold.

By the time he reached the front door, his heartbeat was hammering so loudly he almost expected the manor to echo it back to him.

——

Orion paced near the tall window, hands clasped behind his back. For all his rigid posture, there was something frayed at the edges—a stiffness born from the dreariness of too many unanswered questions.

“Last night, Crabbe confirmed my suspicions,” His tone was level, though a muscle in his jaw ticked with tightly reined irritation. “It was a setup, he had nothing to do with the attack. I believe he’s telling the truth.”

Dorcas, curled into the corner of the couch with a file spilling across her lap, hummed, low and thoughtful. “I think so too. He seemed genuine.”

Orion resumed pacing, slower this time, the kind that meant he was thinking three layers deeper than he let on. “Do not—under any circumstances—get involved with the Crabbe family. We’re holding on to a fragile truce, and someone else is pulling strings in the dark. I don’t like puppeteers I can’t see.”

Across the room, Marlene and Bellatrix traded a look—one quick, damning second of shared awareness. They knew what a fragile truce meant. And they knew—down to the marrow—that they had spectacularly, irrevocably shattered it last night when they put Vincent Crabbe six feet underground.

Bellatrix looked away first, her mouth twisting in faint amusement at the irony of it all. Marlene swallowed hard, guilt flashing sharp in her eyes before she forced it down beneath a layer of indifference.

A knock broke the tension and one of the guards leaned inside. “Mr. Potter is here.”

Orion’s brows lifted—just barely—but the flicker of interest was unmistakable. “Send him in.”

Marlene and Bellatrix stiffened—unlike Dorcas, who didn’t even bother looking up from her file when James Potter walked through the door.

“Welcome,” Orion said smoothly. “Come in, have a seat.” James obeyed, offering a stiff nod as he lowered himself into the chair opposite Orion’s desk, every movement a shade too careful to be natural.

“Give me a moment with Mr. Potter alone,” Orion said as he moved to sit in the chair across from James.

The others filed out. Dorcas gave James a small nod of acknowledgment. Bellatrix shot him a full scowl, and Marlene hooked an arm through hers, steering her out and pulling the door shut behind them.

“Well?” Orion asked. “What made you change your mind?”

James swallowed, his rehearsed answers suddenly felt extremely flimsy. “I need a job.”

“That’s fortunate,” Orion replied smoothly. “You have one now.”

James blinked, thrown off guard. He’d come prepared for a grilling—a twenty minute interrogation at best, a strategic dismantling of his motives at worst. Not… this. “That’s it? You’re not going to ask… anything?”

“I’m not a curious man,” Orion said, leaning back. “Besides, questions are more Dorcas’s department, not mine. Do you have any?”

James shook his head. “No. Not really.” His heartbeat hadn’t slowed; if anything, it climbed. He wondered if Orion could hear it—wouldn’t surprise him, honestly. The man seemed like the type who could hear a pin drop, a lie forming, or a life falling apart three rooms away.

“Then,” Orion rose with a quiet authority that made James follow suit instinctively, “Welcome to the family.”

James blinked at Orion’s outstretched hand, his brain stalling for a beat too long. His gaze lifted to Orion’s contained, unreadable expression—before he finally reached for it, his grip a little too stiff. “Thank you, sir.”

When they stepped back into the hallway, the others were lined up waiting for them—three pairs of eyes turned to James in perfect synchronicity, appraising him with a calmness that made his skin prickle.

“James Potter will be working with us.” Orion announced. “He’ll be my chauffeur from now on.”

Marlene stepped forward first; brushing past the tension that came with the ex-cop label, she seemed to trust Orion’s judgment enough to offer a greeting followed by a small smile. The others gave curt nods of acknowledgment.

Dorcas informed him he could start tomorrow and to arrive early, mentioning she had a few questions for him. James nodded, a quiet churn of unease tightening his stomach.

The first step toward getting Harry back—fragile as it was—was almost done.

Yet, as he stood among them, James couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d just walked willingly into a trap he’d never escape.

——

“Fucking Snape—human migraine incarnate. I swear that man was put on this earth just to test my patience,” James muttered to himself, recalling the day’s events as he shut his flat door. He shrugged off his jacket and hung it up with more force than necessary.

A quiet snicker sliced through the silence, and James nearly levitated out of his skin.

He spun around—only to find Snape sitting at his kitchen counter, legs crossed, nursing a cup of tea like he paid the rent. His expression was the usual; unimpressed with a side of permanent disappointment. “Why are you talking shit behind my back?”

James clutched his chest, inhaling sharply. “You need to stop breaking into my place unannounced! You ever think of knocking? Or—God forbid—texting?” Then he jabbed a finger at him. “And I’m not talking behind your back — because I can gladly tell you, every single day, to your stupid face, that you are a fucking dickhead.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Snape said, dismissing him with a lazy flick of his wrist as he slid off the counter and wandered toward the living room. “Just tell me what happened with Orion today.”

James shuffled after him, muttering curses under his breath. “Nothing important,” he grumbled. “What kind of intelligence do you even want me to find?”

Snape sank into the couch with a sigh, elbows resting on his knees as he leaned forward. “Listen now. His lawyer — Dorcas Meadows, is basically Orion’s black box. Every piece of intel we need is with her: evidence, documents, files, every fucking thing that could put Orion behind bars for the next three lifetimes. You find those, and we’re done.”

James stared at him flatly. Genuinely just tired of life at this point. “How the fuck am I supposed to find those magical files? Are they in a safe? On a computer? Hidden under her fucking mattress?”

Snape threw his hands up in a shrug. “Fuck if I know. That’s your job.”

“Fuck you, Snape. Get out of my flat.” James pointed at the door.

——

“Lovely. Here comes Crabbe,” Remus muttered as a black Mercedes rolled to a stop outside the doorway. Marlene cursed under her breath. She rolled her shoulders back, smoothing the irritation off her face, and stepped forward to greet him.

Crabbe didn’t wait for pleasantries. He brushed past her with the stiff, brittle energy of a man holding himself together by threads. Marlene stepped back to avoid being clipped by his shoulder, then fell into step beside him, guiding him toward Orion’s office. Her stride was too sharp to be calm, too steady to be panic.

“Mr. Black,” Crabbe began the moment the door shut behind them, not even glancing at the chair offered to him. His voice wavered, anger barely masking the fear beneath. “My son has been missing. He was last seen at a bar—arguing with Bellatrix. The CCTV footage is gone. And the last person he spoke to…” His jaw clenched. “Was your daughter.”

Orion’s brows drew together in genuine confusion. His gaze slid from Crabbe to Marlene—who lingered by the doorway, her posture tightened under the weight of his scrutiny. “Ask Bellatrix to come here.”

Marlene nodded—instantly—and slipped out of the office, closing the door behind her.

Crabbe’s jaw flexed as he finally took a seat, Orion leaned back slowly in his chair, fingers laced, eyes narrowing as the puzzle pieces shifted in his mind.

——

“We’re so fucked!” Marlene burst into Bellatrix’s room without knocking, breathless and visibly rattled.

Bellatrix looked up from where she was sprawled across her bed, one leg dangling off the side, lazily scrolling on her phone. She didn’t even sit up. “What now?” she asked, tone flat with boredom.

“You—” Marlene jabbed a shaking finger at her, pacing a frantic line at the foot of the bed. “You are going to be the death of me. Fucking Crabbe is here asking about his son, and Mr. Black just told me to bring you to his office.”

Bellatrix’s expression finally cracked, her phone lowering an inch. “Shit.”

“Shit is about right!” Marlene snapped, her voice climbed a pitch as she ran both hands through her hair. “Bellatrix, I swear to God, if we end up in matching body bags because of your stupid temper—”

”Alright, alright.” Bellatrix sat up at last, rubbing her temples as tension carved itself across her features. “If none of you say anything, no one will know. We’ll just… go face the music.”

“Face it?” Marlene hissed, eyes wide. “We’re not just facing it—we’re about to conduct the whole damn orchestra.”

Bellatrix raised her brows, impressed despite herself. “…dramatic much?”

“This is me being calm,” Marlene said through her teeth. “Now move.”

——

James was slumped on his sofa, one arm draped over his eyes as he tried to recover from the surreal, half-interview he’d just endured with Orion. His brain was still spinning in disjointed circles when a violent banging rattled the flat door.

At first, he considered ignoring it. Whoever it was could batter the door into splinters for all he cared. But the pounding only grew more urgent—faster, louder, and angrier.

James groaned, sitting up with a frown. The moment he cracked the door open, Adam and Emily Evans shoved past him like a pair of panicked hurricanes.

“Where is Harry?” Adam demanded, Emily didn’t wait. She stormed into the living room, tearing her gaze across every corner as if Harry might materialize behind the sofa cushions.

“What—?” James blinked, disoriented. “What are you talking about?”

“Where are you hiding him?” Adam snapped, already marching toward the hallway to search the rest of the flat.

James felt something cold drop straight through him. He followed Emily into the living room, heart pounding. “What the hell are you talking about? Where’s Harry?”

“We should be asking you that!” Emily shouted, whirling around to face him. “We dropped him off at school this morning—then we got a call saying he never showed up!”

“What???” James’ voice cracked under panic. He dragged a hand through his hair, pacing a sharp line. “No, no, I don’t have him! I haven’t seen him since—since the last time!”

The three of them spiraled into overlapping voices—accusations, fear, frantic explanations all crashing together. James felt himself unraveling, his chest tightening with every passing second. He could barely track who was shouting what anymore.

Then his phone buzzed sharply in his pocket, slicing through the noise. Regulus’ name lit up the screen, and James stepped away from the chaos, pressing the phone to his ear. “Hey.”

“Hi, James.” Regulus’ voice was calm and steady—a stark contrast to the storm inside the flat. “How are you?”

“Like shit,” James murmured, rubbing at his forehead. “Harry’s missing.”

“Yeah—he’s with me.” Regulus sounded a little sheepish. “He called and told me he skipped school. I just picked him up, and now we’re heading to that pizza place he says you always took him to. Do you want to meet us there, or should I come get you?”

Something in James’ chest loosened all at once. Despite everything—James couldn’t stop the smirk tugging at his lips. God, he loved how rebellious his kid could be. “I’ll meet you there.”

Regulus huffed out a soft laugh, dropping his voice to a whisper. “He’s a bit mad at you, by the way. I’m trying to soften him up with pizza, but you’ll have to take it from there.”

James couldn’t stop the warm smile that crept onto his face. “Thanks,” he murmured. “Really. I’ll get there as fast as I can.”

He hung up, taking a steadying breath before turning back to Adam and Emily, who were still anxiously circling the living room like they expected Harry to crawl out from under the rug.

“Listen,” James said, forcing urgency into his voice, “I’ll search around here. You two check the area around his school. Whoever finds him calls the other immediately—deal?”

Emily and Adam exchanged a frantic look, then nodded and rushed out the door.

The moment it slammed shut behind them, the tension dropped from James’ shoulders like a stone. His expression shifted— a flicker of mischief slipped across his face as the situation truly sank in, along with a rush of pride he absolutely shouldn’t be feeling but couldn’t quite smother either.

A smirk tugged at his mouth as he grabbed his jacket and patted his pockets for his keys.

——-

Bellatrix and Marlene stepped into the office, tension trailing behind them like smoke. Crabbe’s glare snapped immediately to Bellatrix in pure hatred. Dorcas stood rigid and composed beside Orion, her expression unreadable. Orion merely lifted a hand in calm invitation, gesturing for them to sit.

“Bellatrix,” he began, voice calm, “last night you were with Crabbe’s son. Now he’s missing. Do you know where he is?”

“No,” Bellatrix replied, shrugging as if the room wasn’t seconds away from combustion. “Last I saw him was at a bar. We talked for a bit, then he took off.”

“Talked?” Crabbe sneered at her. “My intel says otherwise, Black. You were fighting with my son.”

Bellatrix opened her mouth to strike back, but Orion beat her to it.

“If my daughter says she didn’t do anything but talk,” he snapped, rising from his chair, “then that’s what happened. Watch your tone.”

Bellatrix smirked—small, blink-and-you-miss-it, but undeniably taunting and victorious. She didn’t look away from Crabbe, savoring the way he seethed. Her smirk faltered only when Orion’s gaze flicked to her.

“Marlene,” Orion said, shifting his gaze to her. “Do you know anything about this?”

A single heartbeat of silence.

Bellatrix’s stomach plummeted. Marlene never lied to him. Ever.

This was it. Bellatrix was done for.

But Marlene hesitated—one second, two—and then lowered her eyes. “No, Mr. Black,” she said quietly. “I was with Remus and Peter at a football match.”

Relief punched through Bellatrix so sharply she almost exhaled out loud.

“You better be telling the truth, or else—” Crabbe snarled, rising abruptly, rage trembling through his hands.

“Or else what?” Bellatrix shot back, standing to face him, her anger sharpening to match the edge in his.

“Enough!” Orion’s voice cracked through the room like a whip, snapping both of them into silence. “Crabbe,” he went on, every syllable deadly calm, “I gave you my word. We have a truce. I told you no harm would come to you or your family from my side, and I am a man of my word.” He stepped around the desk, gaze cold enough to frost glass. “Now leave before I break that truce myself.”

Crabbe shot Bellatrix one last venomous sneer before storming out, slamming the office door so hard the wall shuddered.

Bellatrix and Marlene stayed where they were, tension coiled tight between them.

Orion didn’t spare them another word. Instead, he turned to Dorcas. “Bring Remus and Peter.”

Dorcas nodded once before slipping out of the office, the click of her heels fading down the hall like a countdown.

——

“I’m one hundred percent sure Bellatrix is lying,” Crabbe muttered to his lawyer in the car, voice trembling with rage. “She’s unhinged as it is—I’m certain she killed my son.”

His lawyer dipped his head in acknowledgment. “What would you like us to do, sir?”

Crabbe’s jaw clenched so tightly a vein pulsed in his temple. “An eye for an eye,” he said. “Orion took my son, so I’m taking his.”

The lawyer blinked, startled. “Are we going to kill Bellatrix?”

Crabbe turned his head slowly, grief hollowing out into something cold and merciless. “No,” he rasped. “We’re killing Regulus.”

——

James spotted them from a distance—Regulus on the park bench outside the restaurant, gently wiping Harry’s mouth with a napkin while the half-finished pizza box sat open between them. The sight tugged an unexpected warmth into James’ chest. He let himself watch for a second longer, smiling softly.

When he finally walked over, he slipped into the empty space beside Harry and nudged him lightly in the ribs. “Why did you skip school without telling anyone? Are you trying to kill me with worry?”

“What are you doing here?” Harry muttered, not even looking at him. “We don’t want you. Go away.” He kept his eyes fixed on his pizza, jaw set in stubborn anger.

“Harry, he’s your father,” Regulus scolded gently, his tone a quiet reprimand.

“So?” Harry protested. “He left me! You saw what he did!” He slammed his slice back into the box and folded his arms across his chest, small and furious.

James exhaled softly, then tucked a strand of hair behind Harry’s ear. “Sweetheart, I didn’t leave you— i would never! I’m right here. I’ll always be here.” His voice wavered just enough for Harry to hear the truth in it. “All I’m asking is for you to understand that right now, there’s nothing we can do except wait until things get better. And when they do, I promise—you’ll come back and live with me.”

Harry finally glanced at him, eyes uncertain. “Are you sure you’re not lying just to make me feel better?”

“Positive,” James said without hesitation, smiling softly. “I promise, everything will get better.” He took Harry’s small hands in his, grounding them both.

Harry didn’t answer—he just lunged forward and buried himself in James’ chest. James wrapped him up instantly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head as a smile broke across his face.

After a moment, James dipped his head and whispered into his ear, “Psst… did you leave me a slice?”

Harry pulled back just enough to grin at him, mischievous and unrepentant. “No, I ate all of it.”

Regulus glanced between them, a small, fond smile tugging at his mouth at their antics.

“What?? All of it?? You monster!” James gasped dramatically. “The least you could do was leave me one slice!”

Harry giggled harder as James scooped him closer. “Fine, then. I’ll just settle for biting your cheeks instead!” He smothered Harry in playful kisses, making him squeal with laughter.

Regulus looked down at the pizza box, shaking his head with a soft smile. Despite Harry’s claims, he’d clearly left a couple of pieces on purpose for James.

——

“I’m almost sixty years old,” Orion began, pacing the length of the office with slow, measured steps. Bellatrix, Marlene, Peter, and Remus standing shoulder to shoulder before him—hands clasped, heads lowered like reprimanded children awaiting a verdict. “I know what people say behind my back—merciless, murderer, cold-hearted.” He flicked a hand in the air, dismissing the words like dust. “None of it ever bothered me. Because all of it is true.”

He stopped, the sudden stillness somehow louder than his pacing. His gaze moved down the line of them, not one daring to meet his eyes.

“But there is one thing,” Orion continued, his voice dropping into something colder. “One thing I have never allowed anyone to say about me.” He paused—just long enough to make everyone hold their breath. “That I am untrustworthy.”

The word hit the room like a blow. Silence settled, heavy and absolute, before Orion resumed pacing.

“I have never betrayed someone who placed their trust in me. Friends, enemies, allies, and rivals…” His eyes flicked sharply across their lowered faces. “Every one of them trusted my word. Because, no matter the cost, i always keep my promises.” He moved to stand in front of Bellatrix, she lifted her head, meeting his gaze without flinching. “Did you do something to Crabbe’s son?”

“No, Father,” she said, her voice steady. “I already told you what happened.”

Orion searched her face for a long moment. When she didn’t break, he turned slowly to Marlene.

“Marlene,” he said quietly, “do you know something?”

Her shoulders stiffened. She kept her eyes glued to the floor. “No, Mr. Black,” she murmured. “We were at a football match. Just like I said.”

He shifted his attention to Remus and Peter. They nodded quickly, echoing her alibi.

Then Orion glanced back over his shoulder at Dorcas, who stood behind him with her arms folded, her expression carved from stone, as always. But this time? It was too controlled. There was a stiffness in her posture that wasn’t normal— something in it unsettled him.

Still, he turned back to the four. “Fine,” he said quietly. “If you say so.”

But his gaze lingered the longest on Marlene.

Because out of everyone in the room… she was the only one who hadn’t looked him in the eye.

Not even once

——

“Yes, I found him sitting alone in a park. I’m with him now,” James reassured Emily over the phone.

Ahead of him, Regulus walked with his hands in his coat pockets, and Harry sprinted toward a hopscotch grid chalked on the pavement, practically vibrating with excitement.

“Is it okay if we spend the day together? I’ll drop him off before bedtime,” James added, eyes lingering on the way Regulus smiled down at Harry as the boy tossed a pebble and began to hop along the squares.

“Great. Thanks,” James said, ending the call. He walked over to them and stopped at Regulus’ side. Their shoulders brushed—just barely.

“So?” Regulus asked, glancing up at him.

“Weirdly enough, Emily agreed we could spend the day together,” James murmured. “I’m guessing Adam had absolutely nothing to do with that.”

Regulus snorted, amused. The two of them drifted toward a nearby bench and sat down side by side, their knees almost touching as Harry launched himself around the playground in chaotic victory.

“We’ve been together for almost two hours,” Regulus said after a moment, narrowing his eyes as if assessing a rare anomaly “And nothing disastrous has happened. Yet.”

“Development!” James grinned. “But come on—look at me. Do I look like a troublemaker?”

“No,” Regulus said, considering him with a tilt of his head. “More like a trouble magnet.”

James laughed. “Fair enough. But no trouble today. I actually had a job interview this morning—and I think i got it.”

Regulus’ face lit up, genuine warmth softening his features. “That’s great! What’s the job?”

“A chauffeur,” James said. “For an elderly man. Nothing glamorous. But once I get insurance sorted, I can finally start the custody lawsuit process for Harry.”

“I really hope so,” Regulus said quietly. “I’m glad things are working out for you.”

James nudged him gently. “Tell me about you. How was your day?”

“Well,” Regulus drawled, “unemployment is supposed to be boring. But thanks to you, I didn’t feel an ounce of boredom.” His sarcasm was soft around the edges—almost fond. “You know, the day we met in that cab? I actually quit my job that morning. I found a new position in New York, i’m planning to move there.”

James turned to look at him, startled. “Really? Do you still plan on going?”

“Yeah,” Regulus said, glancing at Harry before his eyes returned to James. “I don’t really have anything here to hold me back.” They held each other’s eyes a fraction too long—then looked away at the exact same moment.

“What are you going to do in New York?” James asked. “I mean, it’s awful. Really. Busy streets, loud obnoxious people… and most importantly, the steering wheel’s on the left, Regulus. That alone should be enough reason to never move there.”

“Oh please. You’re talking like you’ve lived there for ages.” He scoffed, the corner of his mouth lifting.

They had known each other for only a handful of days, turbulent hours stretched across chaos and coincidence—yet the thought of Regulus leaving scraped at him in a way he couldn’t begin to justify.

It felt like losing something he didn’t own. Something he didn’t even know he wanted until the moment it threatened to disappear.

“Still,” James insisted, “it’s ridiculous.”

——

“Fuck my life,” Marlene muttered as she banged her forehead against the counter—again and again. “We fucking lied to his face! I never lie to him!”

Remus leaned back against the wall, dropping his head with a groan. “The guilt is eating me alive.”

“Fucking me too!” Peter squeaked, clutching his stomach. “I feel sick—actually sick to my fucking stomach.”

The door swung open and Bellatrix walked in like she hadn’t detonated their entire lives hours ago.

Marlene marched straight at her. “Do you realize the situation you put us in?”

“Calm the fuck down, Marls,” Bellatrix said, completely unfazed. “If none of us said a word, then we’re good. We do, however, have another problem. Apparently the bar’s CCTV is missing. Did you take them?”

“Fuck no!” Marlene burst out. “I nearly had a stroke when Crabbe said they were gone—I just assumed you took them!”

“I didn’t take shit,” Bellatrix said, her voice so maddeningly calm it made Marlene want to rip her hair out.

Remus let out a hollow laugh. “Perfect. Lovely. Fantastic. So now we’re basically just waiting for the CCTV to resurface and dropkick us straight into our graves.”

“Love that for us,” Peter whispered, wilting in his chair.

Bellatrix sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Someone has to find them. Can you go to the bar and check? I don’t know—ask around, break in, dig through dumpsters for all I care. Just do whatever you have to do and figure it out.”

Marlene nodded stiffly, her jaw clenched. Remus groaned while Peter let his head fall onto the counter with a soft thud.

The weight of the missing footage settled over them like a death sentence waiting for someone to find a pen.

—-

“So, tell us about the girl,” James said, leaning back on the bench. Regulus sat beside him, their arms close but not quite touching. Harry was cross-legged on the grass in front of them, the three of them eating ice cream as the late afternoon sun soaked the park.

“What girl?” Regulus asked, eyebrow raised in curiosity.

“The love of my life,” Harry declared with a dreamy sigh. Regulus pressed his lips together to keep from laughing, trading a fond look with James. “Her name is Cho Chang,” Harry continued, sitting up straighter, earnest. “She’s so beautiful. Like—an angel. I’m in love with her.”

“What are you talking about? What love? You’re eight, Harry!” James exclaimed, snorting in amusement.

“So?” Harry said, completely and absolutely unfazed. “Love doesn’t know age, Dad!”

Regulus nodded solemnly, playing along. “He has a point.”

James shot him a betrayed look, which only made Regulus hide a smile behind his ice cream.

“I’m thinking of writing her a poem.” Harry said thoughtfully, absently nudging his ice cream around with his spoon.

“That’s a perfect approach, Harry,” Regulus encouraged, tipping his head in exaggerated approval.

“It is NOT,” James said, horrified. “Okay, Harry. I think it’s time we have The Talk. Your first lesson in the love business is that you need to treat the girl arrogantly. Be a little shit.”

Regulus nearly choked. “What??” He elbowed James sharply in the arm. “That’s terrible! Do not sabotage this child’s love life!”

“No, the poem will only drive her away, Regulus.” James leaned forward conspiratorially, lowering his voice like he was passing down forbidden knowledge. “Alright, Harry. Listen. When you’re in class—”

“We’re not in the same class.”

“Right. So when you talk to her—”

“We’ve never talked before.”

James paused, blinking at him. “Harry, sweet child… does this girl even know you exist?”

“I don’t think so?” Harry admitted, face scrunching thoughtfully.

Regulus snorted, shaking his head, amusement spilling through despite his best efforts.

“Okay,” James pressed on, undeterred, “let’s say a miracle happens and you’re finally in the same place. Don’t ever be gentle or sweet. Just bicker with her, disagree with everything she says. Maybe pull a strand of her hair every now and then—”

Regulus stared at him in obvious horror, ice cream paused halfway to his mouth.

“Because girls dig bad boys,” James concluded confidently, “and they friend-zone boys who write poems.”

Regulus groaned. “No— just no. Do not ruin your child and emotionally scar an eight-year-old girl in the process.” He protested in incredulous outrage.

Harry slumped dramatically. “Being in love is hard! That’s a lot of work to do.”

James’ expression softened. “It is hard, Harry.” He spoke slowly, the humor draining into something gentler, more honest. “Here’s something no one ever tells you about love: it is a battlefield disguised as a blessing. It’s like getting beaten up—over and over. It bruises you with its tenderness, knocks you breathless with its longing; you spit blood and broken teeth, you learn to breathe through cracked ribs, to cradle your fractured pieces with devotion. and still—still—you return to it like a pilgrim to a shrine, welcoming the pain with wide open hands. Do you want to know the worst part?” A faint, tired smile curved his mouth. “It’s still the most beautiful thing that can ever happen to a person.”

Regulus looked down at his hands, breath catching — the words landing deeper than he expected, stirring something in his chest.

James leaned back beside him and their arms brushed again, the contact was faint, but the jolt it sent through Regulus wasn’t. He swallowed hard, forcing the reaction down before it slipped out.

Harry kept chattering about Cho Chang, completely oblivious to the weight of anything James had just said.

But James and Regulus sat very still, a subtle tension winding itself between them like a held breath.

——

Bellatrix ended the call with a quiet exhale, Abernathy’s words still echoing in her mind: Grindelwald wants to meet with you. Alone.

She stood there for a moment, phone still in her hand. It wasn’t unusual for her to attend meetings alone—but after their last tense encounter, where her father had refused business with him, something about this specific request tugged at her curiosity.

Why ask to see her alone?

Whatever it was, she’d already agreed.

——

“Does it ever get easier?” Regulus whispered from the passenger seat. James had insisted on driving his car, refusing to make him deal with directions again. In the backseat, Harry was fast asleep—curled up, breathing softly. “Separating from Harry, I mean?”

He watched James’ profile as the car idled in front of the Evans’ villa—his eyes fixed straight ahead, jaw set, exhaustion carved into every line of his face. The weight of separation sat on him already, settling in before Harry was even out of the car.

James exhaled through his nose. “I’d rather they rip my heart out,” he murmured. “That’d be a lot more easier.”

He cast one last glance at Harry, then unbuckled his seatbelt and slipped out of the car. Regulus watched him open the back door and wake Harry gently—the boy blinked blearily, then looped his arms around James’ neck as he lifted him out.

When James rang the bell, Adam and Emily appeared almost immediately. Emily rushed forward, cupping Harry’s face in both hands before pressing a quick kiss to his forehead and ushering him inside.

Adam remained on the doorstep.

Regulus’ fingers tightened around his seatbelt. Something in Adam’s stance prickled under his skin, stirring an irrational, violent urge to get out of the car and put himself between him and James.

“I won’t allow you to destroy my grandson the way you destroyed my daughter,” Adam said, each word clipped with accusation.

James’ breath stilled. For the briefest moment, something in him dipped; a wounded slump of his shoulders, “You destroyed your daughter yourself,” He said, voice low and shaking with anger he couldn’t afford to unleash. “You just use me as a scapegoat to justify your shit parenting.”

Adam’s face twisted, but James didn’t wait for a reply. He turned on his heel and walked back toward the car.

——

“I wish we’d dropped you off at your place first.” Regulus said quietly as he shut the passenger door.

“I caused you enough trouble for one day,” James muttered as he fumbled with the keys for a moment, trying to lock the car before handing them back to Regulus—their fingers brushing for a fleeting second.

“I hope you have a great first day at work tomorrow,” Regulus said as he pocketed the keys. James opened his mouth to respond—then suddenly went still.

Regulus saw the shift in his expression, the way his focus snapped past him. “James? What—”

James’ hand shot out, wrapping around his wrist. “Regulus, don’t freak out, but there’s a man behind you. He’s been following us all day. Last I saw him was at the park.”

“What?” Regulus did freak out—only for James to yank him toward a nearby tree before he could turn around. He braced one hand at his waist, the other coming up to shield his head, guiding him back until Regulus’ spine hit the trunk.

They were suddenly, impossibly, offensively so close. Regulus had to remind himself to fucking breathe. He kept his eyes fixed on James’ face because looking anywhere else would require movement, and movement would require brain function he no longer possessed.

Because James was so fucking close that Regulus could practically count his eyelashes.

Slow footsteps approached them, every step landing clearer than the last.

“I have tear gas in my pocket,” Regulus whispered stiffly. He had no fucking idea whether the hammering in his chest and the tremor in his hands came from the footsteps inching closer or from James’ proximity. He tried, with heroic effort, not to focus on the heat of James’ hand still resting on his waist, almost burning through the fabric.

The footsteps slowed to a halt beside them. A moment later, a man’s voice rose as he spoke into his phone:

“Oh! Then I must be at the wrong address!”

He walked off without another glance.

Regulus blinked. Once. Twice.

James’ grin split wide across his face.

And the realization hit like a bucket of ice water.

“You son of a bitch!”

James burst into laughter as Regulus shoved him hard. “That was a horrible joke!” Regulus snapped, smacking his arm.

James dodged the second hit, laughing even harder. “You have tear gas?”

“Yes, do you want to put on test, you fucking arsehole? You scared the shit out of me!” Regulus snapped, genuinely—genuinely—considering emptying the entire bottle on James.

But then James’ whole demeanor shifted. The mischief drained from his face; and something thoughtful settled behind his eyes as he looked at Regulus. “Don’t you think it’s strange Harry skips school and comes to you?” He asked quietly.

Regulus’ anger faltered, easing out of his shoulders. “He feels alone.”

“Don’t we all,” James murmured. A quote rose in his mind unbidden, the words surfacing like muscle memory and slipping out before he even realized he’d spoken. “They say: If one day you will forget me if one day you will go away and leave me don't tire me in vain don't make me come out of my den—”

Regulus picked up the line instantly, his voice a low whisper, piercing green eyes glinting with recognition: “Don't force me to let go of my habits especially my tolerance of loneliness.”

James’ breath was stolen clean away, his chest tightening around the sudden stutter of his heartbeat.

Regulus recognized it instantly; he’d memorized the passage from The Disconnected by Oğuz Atay.

And James was utterly, helplessly undone.

Rekindled flames, that’s what it felt like. They barely knew each other, and yet nothing about this felt like the tentative start of something new, but the profound, resonant finish of a circle drawn long ago, a meeting scripted in the marrow of time.

There was a strange sense of history between them that felt inexplicably familiar. As if their souls had been rehearsing it for lifetimes.

They have known each other for less than a week. How, then, did it feel like a return rather than a beginning? Like they were simply finding their way back to each other, returning to a home their bodies had never stood in, but their souls had crossed a thousand times.

Regulus looked away first, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. “Have a good night, James,” he murmured, turning toward his front door.

“Regulus.”

He paused instantly, turning back with a quiet, expectant look that was far too unguarded for his usual composure.

James hesitated for the briefest moment before asking, “Would you like to come to my place tomorrow?”

Regulus’ brows lifted slightly. “Why?”

James offered a soft, lopsided smile. “To talk more about Atay, and our shared loneliness.”

A faint, amused huff escaped Regulus before he could stop it. The corner of his mouth lifted as he shrugged lightly. “I’ll think about it.”

But the look they shared and the way Regulus lingered before turning away, made the truth unmistakably plain between them.

Regulus would be there.

Chapter Text

Regulus sat at his garden table, rubbing his hands together as the cold morning breeze slid across the yard. His coffee had long gone cold, lost among the mail and the patient files he kept opening and closing, unable to stop himself.

Yes, he’d quit his job.

Yes, he was supposed to be preparing for New York.

But he couldn’t help it—he still wanted to know how his patients were doing, whether the ones he’d monitored for years were being cared for properly. The habit was hard to break. The attachment, even harder.

He really needed to pack, to call the realtor, to finalize his visa documents.

Instead, he was out here in the cold, reading through files he should have already let go of.

His phone buzzed. One look at the name, and he was already smiling. “Emmeline? It’s been forever.”

“Hey, Reg,” she greeted, warm and bright as always. “Yeah, I know—I’m swamped with packing—moving to Scotland is absolute chaos. Tell me, are you still planning on heading to New York?”

Regulus shut his laptop slowly. “Yeah?” Even to his own ears, he didn’t sound very convinced.

“Are you certain?” she pressed gently.

Regulus hesitated. “I mean—I don’t know. But… most likely yes. Why do you ask, anyway?”

There was a soft rustle on the other end, the quiet shuffle of papers. “There’s a patient I care about deeply. Her name is Ella Grindlwald—she’s eighteen, diagnosed with DCM. I was hoping you’d look over her file… maybe even take her on as a private patient once I move.”

“Emmeline—” He sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I’m moving too. Eventually, at least. So I don’t know if I can commit to something long-term.”

“I know,” she said softly. “I do. But I promised her father I’d find the best cardiologist I know, someone I trust. And that’s you, Regulus.”

He went quiet, tracing the edge of a folder thoughtfully. “I don’t know,” he murmured, conflicted. “Tell me more about her condition.”

——

James jolted awake to the shrill ring blasting directly into his ear. He’d apparently fallen asleep with his phone pressed against his head. Half-conscious, he fumbled for it blindly and croaked, “Hello?”—his voice rough with sleep.

“James? You’re still asleep? Aren’t you a little late for your new job?” Regulus’ voice slid through the phone and James’ brain short-circuit.

For a full second, he forgot how speech worked, how mornings worked, how life worked. All he could register was Regulus is calling me and oh fuck, I’m supposed to be at work??? crashing violently into each other inside his skull.

“Wait— what job?” he mumbled, rubbing at one eye, trying—and failing—to remember his own life.

“The one you told me about? The chauffeur position for the elder man?”

There was a beat.

“Fuck!! I’m late!”

Regulus winced as chaos erupted through the speaker—something clattered, something crashed—then the line abruptly cut.

He blinked at his phone. “Did he just hang up on me?” he muttered, stunned.

As if summoned by the accusation, his screen lit up again. “Did I just hang up on you?” James blurted, panting.

“Yes,” Regulus said flatly. “You did.”

“Oh shit—I’m really sorry, don’t mind me.”

And he hung up.

Again.

“…Hello?” Regulus said to absolutely no one, then he pulled the phone away from his ear, blinking at screen in utter and complete disbelief.

He set the phone down on the table a little harder than necessary, a little fucking annoyed—only for his gaze to fall on The Disconnect by Oğuz Atay.

He’d barely slept at all last night. After their conversation, he’d ended up rereading the entire book cover to cover, fingertips drifting over the old underlines he’d made years ago. And somehow—irritatingly, impossibly—every line, every thought, every ache in the text had begun to remind him of James.

His annoyance softened, dissolving into something far more complicated to his liking.

——

Marlene greeted James at the door with a tight smile, then turned on her heel and led him down the manor corridors to Orion’s office. His pulse thudded in his ears with every step.

Dorcas sat in the chair opposite Orion, a thick file balanced on her knee. Bellatrix lounged on the couch to the side, her gaze fixed on James with the unblinking intensity of a hunting cat.

"Come in, James," Orion said, gesturing to the empty chair across from Dorcas. Marlene crossed the room and sank onto the couch beside Bellatrix, who didn't stop staring.

“Dorcas is going to ask you a few questions,” Orion went on. “Just to get to know you better.”

James nodded, eyeing Dorcas warily. She didn’t look up from the file as she spoke, "James Potter. It seems you've had a difficult life." her voice was calm, almost pleasant-if you ignored the scalpel edge beneath it. “A firstborn who lost his mother very young, your father abandoned you and your brother shortly after. You were both passed between foster relatives until you were of age. No sign of your father ever resurfacing"

James shifted in his seat, resisting the urge to tug at his collar. Did she know what underwear he was wearing too? He nodded when she finally looked up, eyebrows raised in expectation.

“I couldn’t find anything remotely related to your brother—not even a name,” Dorcas said, a flicker of irritation revealing just how much she detested blank spaces in her knowledge. “Why is that?”

“I haven’t seen him in five years,” James answered, voice tightening. “We had a fallout and he moved out of the country. I don’t know where he is or what he’s doing.” The words scraped their way out—painful and reluctant. It was a bruise he didn’t like anyone touching. Ever. So he was immensely grateful when Orion cut in.

“Why did you become a cop?” Orion asked, his tone uncannily, almost disturbingly reminiscent of the way Regulus had asked him the same question. The similarity sent a cold shiver down James’ spine before he forced the thought away. Regulus did not belong in this room.

“I didn’t have a lot of options, really,” James replied, the words thick as he swallowed hard.

Dorcas turned another page. "Your ex-wife—Lily Evans. Her father is Adam Evans, the journalist?" James nodded. "You eloped nine years ago. I assume Adam Evans did not approve of your relationship."

“That sounds about right.” To be completely honest, Dorcas was somehow more terrifying than Orion. Something about her quiet tone and razor-sharp eyes made James feel like he could spill every secret he’d ever had—and she would simply nod, already knowing.

“And then,” she went on, “your termination from the force. You spent six months in prison for taking a bribe, what do you have to say about that?”

“I was framed,” James said, fighting the urge to claw at his own hair. “I couldn’t prove my innocence, though.”

Silence settled over the room, dense and evaluative, four sets of eyes dissecting him like an equation that still didn't add up. "You're very good at what you do," he said, attempting levity. "The only thing left is my primary school."

Dorcas didn’t even blink. “Bigland Green Primary,” she supplied, holding his gaze. “Abysmal math marks, by the way.”

Marlene and Bellatrix traded entertained smirks. James could only grimace. “It’s… hard on some people.”

Bellatrix leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. “How do we know you’re not working undercover for the police? Or that you won’t rat us out? A man who takes a bribe will easily take a deal too.”

“Well, you found me—not the other way around.” He shrugged, exhaling sharply. “You offered me a job, and I took it because I need stability. I need something solid so I can get my son’s custody back.”

Orion leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "What do you need to regain custody of your son?"

James blinked—caught off guard by how direct-and oddly considerate-the question was. For a moment he forgot he was sitting in front of Orion Black, the most dangerous man in the UK, and not a family court mediator. “I… need to open a custody case,” he said carefully. “I have to prove I can take care of him, and that I have a reliable income. Something the court can’t dismiss.”

“Then Dorcas will document that you’re working for one of our hotels,” Orion said simply, as if this were a matter of signing a receipt. “That should be good enough for the court.”

“I also have a lawyer friend who specializes in custody cases,” Dorcas added, giving a single, decisive nod. “I’ll ask him to take yours. We’ll make sure everything goes smoothly.”

James stared at them, the words sinking in like sunlight breaking through a storm he’d been living under for months. A fragile hope cracked through the disbelief tightening his chest. “Does that mean… I’m taking Harry back?” His voice broke on the name, splitting under the weight of everything he’d been holding in.

"Don't worry about it, Potter," Marlene said, grinning as she rested an arm over the back of the couch. "You're on Orion Black's side now. We take a man down from a halter."

——

By the end of the interview, Dorcas was the first to rise. She gathered her files with brisk efficiency and stepped into the room adjoining Orion’s office without a word.

“Mr. Black,” Marlene said as she stood, smoothing the front of her coat, “there’s something Remus, Peter, and I need to take care of. Do you mind if we step out for a while?”

Orion lifted his gaze, studying her for a moment. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then take James with you.” he said, voice steady. “Make him comfortable. Let him get used to the job.”

Marlene nodded, then jerked her chin for James to follow. Outside, Remus and Peter were leaning against the car, mid-argument about something that already sounded exhaustingly stupid.

Marlene informed them that James was tagging along, then tossed the car keys at him. He caught them clumsily. “You drive, buddy,” she said.

Once they piled into the car—with Marlene settling into the passenger seat, cross-legged—she launched straight into the briefing.

“As Mr. Black’s new chauffeur, there are rules you need to remember. First of all, Mr. Black is very strict about pedestrians. You always stop for anyone at a crosswalk. Always.”

James blinked, waiting for the punchline but it never came.

Why the fuck were pedestrians a mafia boss’s greatest concern?

“He doesn’t like when you go too fast,” Marlene continued, entirely serious. “Or too slow.”

Peter chimed in from the back. “He likes the radio on the news, but if he’s reading something, switch to classical music.”

“Don’t turn the volume too loud,” Remus added, lighting a cigarette. “Ten to fifteen is enough.”

“You keep your eyes and ears wide open, twenty-four seven.” Marlene said firmly. “You carry a gun at all times—one on you, one in the glove compartment.” She flipped open the compartment, revealing a pistol and a neat stack of ammunition. “Got it?” James nodded, committing every rule to memory.

They stopped at a red light, and Marlene threw her head back with a theatrical groan, as if the light had personally wronged her. “Too many fucking red lights in this city, man. I hate waiting.”

“Global capitalism,” Remus muttered from the backseat, exhaling a thin stream of smoke out the window.

“Fucking what?” Marlene twisted in her seat to stare at him, eyebrows practically touching as if he’d just spoken in another language. James glanced in the rear-view mirror, equally confused.

“Traffic lights are nothing short of a trick from capitalists,” Remus declared, and Peter sighed—as if this was far from the first time he’d been subjected to this particular sermon.

“What the fuck does that even mean?” Marlene asked, her tone utterly bewildered.

“Oh, Marls,” Remus sighed, like a disappointed professor addressing his slowest student. “You sweet summer child.”

James’ confusion only grew as Remus leaned forward between the seats, cigarette dangling from his fingers. “Tell me,” Remus began, “how many traffic lights are in London?”

“How the fuck should I know?” Marlene lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug.

“I’ll tell you.” Remus said, far too dramatically. “6400 traffic lights. And nearly 2.6 million cars. Now, if all those cars stop at each traffic light for one minute, that’s roughly 998 billion seconds. Which is about… 280 million hours.”

Peter fixed him with a look. “Are you high? Please tell me you’re high, because otherwise I’m worried.”

Marlene blinked at him. “Too many numbers, Remus. Don’t freak out James here.” Peter snorted because—honestly —James was starting to look a little green.

Remus looked offended. “No! Listen to the real issue.” His eyes blazing with the zeal of a man who had definitely shared this lecture before and would again. “People waste two hundred and eighty million hours on useless stops. And cars burn more fuel when starting. Let’s generously assume each start costs ten cents. Multiply that by 2.6 million cars that’s close to 1.6 billion dollars. Not even counting motorcycles.”

Marlene’s jaw dropped. “So… if 2.6 million cars equals 1.6 billion dollars in London alone. And the UK has, what, 30 million cars? That’s nearly—fuck—18 billion dollars!”

“Exactly!” Remus pointed at her triumphantly. “Now multiply that by 365 days.”

“That’s almost seven trillion fucking dollars!” Marlene slapped the dashboard in disbelief.

“In the UK alone,” Remus said gravely. “Now imagine the other 195 countries.”

“Too much to even comprehend.” Marlene muttered, blinking hard.

“All of it,” Remus concluded solemnly, “straight into the pockets of global capitalism.”

“Holy fucking shit,” Marlene breathed, her voice a stunned whisper of sudden enlightenment. James’ head was spinning—mostly from the absurd calculations flying around, partly because he was, lowkey, impressed they’d done it that fast.

Marlene abandoned her moment of cosmic clarity and smacked James’ arm. “Let’s fucking go, James. Cut the red light,” she said—stone faced, as if committing a felony was now the polite thing to do.

“What?” James whipped his head toward her. “Are you sure? Won’t we get a ticket or something?”

“Screw that!” Peter yelled from the backseat, apparently now fully indoctrinated by Remus. “We’re not stupid enough to fall for capitalist tricks!”

And hell— even James was slightly convinced that Remus had a point.

So he stepped on the gas.

The car lurched forward through the red light, and James let out a quiet snort at the sheer, surreal insanity of his life.

——

Bellatrix stepped into Grindelwald’s manor, the heels of her boots thudding against the polished floor. Abernathy greeted her with a stiff nod and led her down a narrow hallway into a sitting room.

Once they settled, Abernathy cleared his throat, attempting formality. “Would you like a drink, Ms. Black?”

“Whisky,” not even glancing at him—her eyes already sweeping the room, cataloging exits, windows, until they settled on Grindelwald, who was already watching her with a calm that felt like a hand around her throat.

Abernathy disappeared for a moment, then returned with her glass—and, to her utter bewilderment, a glass of milk for Grindelwald.

Bellatrix openly stared. “Is that—like—regular milk?” she asked, incredulous, her judgment so obvious it might as well have been written on her forehead.

Grindelwald lifted the glass with serene dignity, as though holding a fucking chalice. “Yes. I don’t drink alcohol. Never felt the need to impair the mind.”

Fucking psychopath.

She took a long first sip, letting the burn steady her nerves. “I’m curious,” she said, lowering the glass, “as to why you called me here.”

“I heard Vincent Crabbe is missing,” he said conversationally, holding her gaze.

Not a flicker crossed her face; she remained utterly unshaken.

“Last time he was seen,” he added, “was with you. Yes?”

Bellatrix downed the rest of her drink in one clean, unimpressed swallow. “Yes. What about it?”

Grindelwald hummed, nursing his milk like he was discussing the weather. “Never liked him. Or his father, for that matter. But that’s neither here nor there.” He leaned back, crossing a leg. “About our previous meeting—you know, everyone is joining us except your father. I understand his… principles. But what about you, Ms.Black? Do you agree with him?”

“Spare me the nonsense.” She set the empty glass aside with a sharp, decisive click. “Just spit it out. Say what you called me here to say.”

“I’m offering you a chance to leave your father’s wing,” he said, tone infuriatingly calm. “And join us. You’ll have enough money and power to build your own legacy. Your own empire.”

Bellatrix smiled, a thin, mocking curl of her mouth. “Do you seriously think,” she murmured, “that I would ever betray my father?”

“Of course not. I’m suggesting you… convince him.” He snapped his fingers. Abernathy appeared beside her, setting a black suitcase on the table. When it opened, stacks of cash gleamed beneath the light.

Bellatrix stared for half a second—then barked out a loud, incredulous laugh. She kicked the suitcase shut with the toe of her boot and rose from her chair; it scraped violently across the floor before toppling over with a thud. “I don’t think you realize who you’re talking to,” she snarled, nostrils flaring with fury. “Where did you get the fucking nerve? We’re the Blacks. If my father says we’re not getting involved, then we’re not getting involved, you piece of shit!”

“Not fond of the suitcase, I see.” A small, serene smirk curved his mouth. “That’s fine. I have other surprises up my sleeve. Curious enough to know what they are?”

“Keep them to your fucking self.” Bellatrix spat, recoiling with a disgusted scoff.

She turned on her heel and stormed out, slamming the door so violently that Abernathy actually flinched.

——

James found himself shoved into what looked like a forgotten storage room behind a bar that was far too expensive to have a room this filthy. The walls were stained, the air smelled of bleach and cheap bourbon, and a flickering bulb overhead cast an ugly, interrogation-room glow across the scene.

He watched—horrified—as Remus, Peter, and Marlene took turns beating the bar manager senseless. Every instinct in James screamed to intervene, to shove them off man, to slap cuffs on someone, but he didn’t move. He couldn’t. His fingers twitched helplessly at his sides.

“Where the fuck are the CCTV drives?” Peter snarled, hauling the manager up by his collar. “Who has them?”

“If—if I knew, I’d tell you!” The man was hyperventilating, blood streaming from his nose, words stumbling over each other in pure panic. “I swear—please—”

James caught the quick exchange of looks between Remus and Marlene. A silent conversation passed between them, then Marlene gave a curt nod.

Remus stepped forward, unhurried and unnervingly calm as he held out a gun to James. “Shoot him.”

The manager gasped, choking on his own breath as he scrambled backward. James stared at the weapon, then at Remus, then at the trembling man on the floor. “He said he doesn’t know,” James muttered, voice taut.

“So?” Marlene said, raising an eyebrow. “Shoot him anyway.” Peter stepped aside, clearing the line of fire like they were on a training range.

James felt his hands detached from his body as he took the gun and slowly raised it.

The manager collapsed into pleading sobs, shaking violently. “Please, please don’t—I have a family—I swear I told you everything—please—”

“You either shoot him,” Marlene said, drawing her gun and pressing the cold barrel to James’ temple, “or I’ll shoot you.”

Then—because there was no other choice— James pulled the trigger.

A sharp click cracked through the room.

But no gunshot followed—only the hollow, echoing click of an empty chamber.

The manager broke instantly. “I don’t know his name,” he babbled, words falling apart. “But he paid me ten thousand pounds to stay quiet—he threatened my family—please, I swear, I swear that’s all I know—please don’t shoot—”

Marlene smirked, not even sparing him a glance. She turned to Remus instead. “You owe me ten pounds, Rem. He actually pulled the trigger.”

“Yeah—after he nearly pissed himself,” Remus snorted, but the sound faltered the second his eyes landed on James.

Because James was… composed. Far too composed.

“That’s an F-92,” James said evenly, looking between the three of them. “Empty, it weighs around 920 grams. Loaded, though? It would weigh a hell of a lot more—only an experienced hand would feel the difference the second they picked it up.”

Remus and Marlene’s smirks dropped as they exchanged a quiet, uneasy look.

James simply held the gun out to Remus, who froze like a sculptor mid-stroke. “Give me a loaded one next time.”

He took it without a word, visibly thrown.

“But what if it had one bullet?” Peter asked, resting a hand on James’ shoulder.

“Then we’d be digging a grave right now.” James said. And he hated—down to the marrow—how easily the words came out. It churned hard in his gut.

Marlene and Peter laughed under their breath and Remus rolled his eyes, though he looked a little unsettled as he pocketed the weapon.

On the floor, the manager trembled violently, forgotten by all but the buzzing light overhead.

——

“I owe you big time, Reg,” Emmeline said as she rummaged through her purse and finally pulled out her phone.

Lunch had long gone cold between them; Ella’s medical file lay open on the table, its pages marked with sticky notes and careful handwriting. They’d gone through every line—her medications, her episodes, her prognosis—until the weight of it settled between them like another guest at the table.

Regulus had finally agreed. Not as a permanent physician—he made that very clear—but for a short transitional period. Long enough for Ella’s father and Emmeline to find someone who could stay on long-term.

Long enough for him to pretend he wasn’t running away from New York like his life depended on it.

He listened as Emmeline dialed the father, speaking in her bright, reassuring tone. Regulus sighed softly and nursed the last of his coffee, though its fading warmth did nothing to settle the restlessness crawling under his ribs.

Is he having second thoughts about New York? Yes. Obviously.

Is he taking this temporary job because it gives him an excuse not to leave yet? Also yes.

Is he going to examine why he’s hesitating—or who, exactly, he’s hesitating for? Absolutely fucking not.

Denial was a marvelous coping strategy.

——

James found himself being pulled straight into Orion’s office at Dorcas’ request the moment they got back from the bar. Something about what had happened in that storage room still sat under his skin—unsettling in a way he couldn’t quite shrug off.

Dorcas, as always, cut straight to business, dispensing with preliminaries entirely. When he took a seat she slid a file across the desk toward him and placed a pen beside it. “Sign these,” she said. “Your employment papers and the attorney’s agency for your son’s custody.”

James blinked at her. “That quickly?”

“Why wait?” Dorcas said, raising an eyebrow.

He hesitated and looked toward Orion. The older man sat on the couch, relaxed in posture and neatly folded hands, but his eyes were steady and controlled, they held something close to reassurance as he gave James a single encouraging nod.

James swallowed, his hand felt strangely numb as he picked up the pen. Dorcas leaned beside him, tapping each signature line with her finger. He followed her guidance, signing line after line. His name—something he’d once written a thousand times without thought—felt heavier now, as if every letter anchored him to something larger, something more… hopeful than he was ready to admit.

Hope was a dangerous thing—and James was stepping into its jaws.

When he finished, Dorcas closed the file with finality. James sat back, a mix of relief and vertigo tightening in his chest as he looked between them. “So… that’s it?”

“That’s it,” Dorcas confirmed. And if he looked closely, he could almost believe she was trying to ease his nerves. “We’ll start the lawsuit as soon as possible.”

Orion’s faint smile only sealed it.

——

Regulus stopped in front of a narrow three-story building, checking the location on his phone one last time. Second floor, James had said.

He pocketed his phone, but just before pushing open the front door, a row of brass nameplates caught his eye. On the second floor, one was stamped with a familiar name: Harry Potter

A smile tugged at Regulus’ mouth before he could stop it as he stepped inside.

The building was old, but very well-kept. The staircase curled upward, lined with terracotta pots of herbs and small flowers someone clearly tended with care.

Regulus reached the only door on the second floor and took a slow, deep breath before knocking. It creaked open under his knuckles, already ajar. “James?” he called softly.

“Come in!” came James’ voice from somewhere deeper inside. “Sorry— they cut the electricity again! Just head to the living room. I’ll be right there.”

Regulus stepped inside

The apartment was dim, lit only by candles scattered across shelves, corners, and windowsills—casting warm, golden halos over everything. Shadows danced lazily across the walls, and the air carried the faint scent of melting wax and whatever James had left simmering in the kitchen.

A wide window overlooked the street, a tiny dining table pressed beside it with three mismatched chairs. The balcony door was propped open, letting in the cool evening breeze that made the candle flames sway. A single couch and two old armchairs formed a small seating area, cozy and cluttered in the most endearing way.

And then—his attention snagged on the bookshelf.

A whole wall of it. Filled to the brim with books, scattered candles, and photo frames.

All Harry.

Regulus drifted toward it almost involuntarily. Baby photos. School photos. The awkward smile of a child with missing teeth. A few drawings clearly done by small hands.

A softness warmed Regulus’ expression as his eyes trailed across the little museum James had made for Harry. Then one frame caught his attention. He picked it up carefully—James’ police academy certificate.

James F. Potter.

“What does the ‘F’ stand for?” he asked, not looking away from the degree.

Behind him, James walked in and set two sets of cutlery on the table. Candlelight gilded the lines of his face, and he glanced up with the ghost of a smirk. “It’s the sixth letter of the alphabet,” he said, snorting when Regulus gave him the flattest expression alive. “Fleamont,” he clarified, rolling his eyes as he disappeared back into the kitchen.

Regulus mouthed the name silently, as if testing the shape of it. Then he set the certificate back in its place.

When James returned, he carried three plates—two omelettes and a towering, borderline alarming heap of French toast, steam curling up in gentle spirals. Regulus looked between the food and James, utterly blank.

“I hope you like breakfast for dinner?” James asked sheepishly.

“I do,” Regulus said, walking over to retrieve the bag he’d left on the couch. He pulled out a bottle of red wine. “I just hope it goes well with wine?”

James grinned. “Oh, it does. It goes very well.” He darted back into the kitchen. “Let me get glasses.”

Regulus set the wine on the dining table and sat down, staring at the omelette like it had personally offended him. He wasn’t denying that it smelled heavenly and looked delicious. It was just… baffling. And unexpected as fuck—who serves an omelette on a first date dinner?

Is it a first date, though?

Regulus absolutely, one hundred percent, was not going to think about that. They were just having dinner. A casual, friendly dinner. With wine. And candlelight. And… apparently omelettes and French toast.

James came back with two mismatched mugs. “Sorry,” he said, wincing. “These are all I’ve got.”

“It’s fine,” Regulus said, and for once didn’t sound remotely sarcastic.

James uncorked the bottle and poured carefully into each mug, the wine glowing dark red in the candlelight.

“So,” Regulus said as James set the bottle down. “How was your day?”

Something flickered across James’ expression—something troubled, a shadow Regulus didn’t know yet but recognized instinctively. “That bad?” he asked quietly.

“No. Not all bad.” James forced a small smile. Boring, he wanted to say. Violent, his mind whispered. If you knew, you’d walk right out of this apartment. “Just… boringly long,” he settled on. “How about you?”

Regulus cut into the omelette, took a bite—and nearly hummed in approval. Ridiculous man. Ridiculously good cooking. “I actually have a job interview tomorrow,” he said. “A private cardiologist for a teenage girl with a pretty severe heart condition. I’m meeting her father in the morning.”

James paused mid-bite. “New York?”

“It’s temporary,” Regulus said, frowning slightly as he lifted his mug. “Just until the moving-out situation settles.”

James nodded. But something in his jaw tightened—a small, involuntary movement he didn’t bother hiding.

The candles flickered between them, casting both their uncertainties into the same warm gold.

——

Once they’d finished eating, they naturally fell into tidying up. Regulus stacked the plates in one hand and picked up a candle with the other, heading toward the kitchen.

The moment he stepped inside, he froze.

The disaster was biblical.

Pots stacked on pots, pans with questionable histories, utensils abandoned in every corner. Regulus felt like he’d stepped into the eye of a culinary tornado.

Behind him, James called out—likely sensing the horror radiating from the doorway. “Don’t let the mess freak you out. Just place the plates wherever you find an empty spot, I’ll clean it later.”

Regulus sighed—the kind that came deep from his soul—and set the candle on the top shelf before carefully placing the plates in the sink already overflowing with dishes.

He picked the candle back up on his way out and nearly walked straight into James. The two mugs in James’ hands clinked softly from the sudden halt.

They paused—mere inches apart—eyes locked in the narrow entryway. Both of them holding their breath as the candle flame quivered between them, unsteady in Regulus’ trembling hand.

James opened his mouth—

—but a sharp knock at the door cut through the moment.

Regulus didn’t look away. “Who would come this late?” he whispered, barely above a breath.

“No idea,” James muttered, unmistakably irritated by the interruption. He set the mugs down and went to answer the door.

“James, can you please help me with my homework? I swear I’ll get an F if you don’t!” A young, desperate voice echoed down the hall. Regulus leaned against the wall, suppressing a smile.

“Ron, not now,” James said with a tired groan. “I’ve got a guest.”

“Oh! So sorry to bother you, James!” a frazzled woman’s voice called from behind the boy.

James looked back at Regulus, who gave him a small nod—it’s fine.

With a resigned sigh, James pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alright. Fine. Come in.”

Ron beamed and burst into the apartment, his mother trailing behind in a flustered rush.

“Oh no, James, dear—why are the lights off in here?” Molly asked, already fussing as she looked around the flat.

“They cut the electricity off! No, Molly, don’t—”

Too late.

She flicked the switch.

And warm, bright light flooded the flat.

James closed his eyes in pure frustration and whispered a very heartfelt string of curses.

Regulus looked around, taking in the suddenly illuminated room—and his knowing smirk arrived instantly. Of course. He’d suspected as much.

“Oh Well!” James announced in the fakest cheerful voice known to mankind, “would you look at that! Electricity’s back!” He clasped his hands together like this was the happiest moment of his life. “Anyway—introductions,” he rushed. “Molly, this is Regulus. He’s a doctor. Regulus, this is Molly and her son Ron. They live upstairs.”

Molly shook Regulus’ hand warmly. “Lovely to meet you, dear. You know lately I’ve had this severe back pain—”

“Oh, I’m very sorry to hear that,” Regulus cut in politely, “but I’m a cardiologist.”

Behind them, Ron sprinted around the living room, blowing out candles with Olympic-level determination. James reached out to deliver a discreet smack to the back of his head each time he passed within arm’s reach.

So much for a romantic evening, it blew in his face because the universe apparently had other plans—Ron performing candle homicide around the flat, and Molly reciting her entire medical history.

Within seconds, Regulus and Molly had spiraled into a tangent about chest tightness and whether she was dying or simply stressed. James seriously contemplated ripping out his hair.

Then came another knock.

James set his jaw, flipped on the entry lights—might as well, who was he kidding about the electricity, anyway?—and opened the door.

Horace Slughorn stood there in a bow tie the size of a small bird. “James, my boy! I heard a bit of noise and thought I’d join you. I brought muffins!”

“How… delightful,” James said through clenched teeth. “Come in, Horace.”

Back in the living room, Regulus had successfully convinced Molly she was not on the brink of a stroke. She relaxed on the couch at last.

James introduced Horace to Regulus, as Horace settled into the armchair beside him, immediately offering him a muffin. Regulus looked torn between bafflement and an existential audit of his life choices, but he still mustered a small, courteous smile as he accepted the muffin.

Ron sprawled on the floor with his notebook, and James dragged a dining chair over, settling into it and folding his arms over the backrest. “Alright,” James said, accepting his fate. “What’s your homework?”

“Write an essay about how much you value your country,” Ron announced, flipping open his notebook.

“Perfect!” James clapped once, delighted. “See, Ron—our beloved country has exactly one value: impossible love.”

“What?” Regulus and Horace said in unison, both sounding downright scandalized. Molly chuckled into her hand. “He has a point,” she said. “What else unites people except love?”

“Alright, let’s hear what you have to say then, James.” Regulus drawled, unmistakable teasing in his voice. James caught the tone immediately—and smirked.

“Your wish is my command.” He gave a theatrical incline of his head, then stood and began pacing the narrow strip of floor in front of Ron like a deranged professor.

“The mad lovers of our country are forever doomed to be kept apart by obstacles as dramatic and impossible as their love itself.” James proclaimed, “Fate, it seems, delights in throwing mountains between two maddeningly in love people just to see who climbs. Jot that down, Ron!”

Ron scribbled immediately.

“Take James Potter, for example,” James continued, gesturing to himself with theatrical despair, “a simple civilian who has nothing—nothing—to offer the most blinding, brilliant, brightest star in the sky except his loyalty, devotion, and the kind of heart that would rewrite the laws of physics just for one person. He’d cross every impossible obstacle, climb and excavate every mountain just to stand near that star for a moment longer. But is that enough? Probably not. Will he try anyway? Absolutely.”

His eyes flicked to Regulus—who was already flushing, one word away from combusting. He lifted a hand to his mouth to hide a small, devastatingly beautiful smile. The brief glimpse of it struck James with an absurd, overwhelming urge to drop to his knees and beg him not to hide it.

Horace, unfortunately, chose that exact moment to clear his throat—loudly. “Ron will fail if he hands that in,” he announced.

“We’ve already failed as a nation because our mad lovers can’t be together!” James exploded. “What’s an essay compared to that catastrophe!?”

“James,” Regulus sighed, a reluctant smile tugging at his mouth “he’ll actually fail. Ron, don’t write that.”

“The doctor is right,” Horace agreed, heaving himself out of his chair and tugging Ron up with him. “Come on, Ron. I’ll help you. It will be dreadful, but at least passable.”

Ron snorted at James’ mildly wounded expression as he gathered his notebook and pen.

Molly rose as well, apologizing profusely for interrupting the evening while James waved her off, already walking them all toward the door.

He shut the door behind them, their muffled footsteps fading down the stairs.

When James returned to the living room, he found Regulus standing near the bookshelf again, skimming the titles. The sight made James smile softly—he was reminded, of himself snooping through Regulus’ bookshelf not long ago.

Regulus pulled out a small notebook, cracked it open—and instantly snapped it shut like it had screamed at him. “Sorry,” he said quickly. “Didn’t realize that was a journal.”

“Don’t worry about it,” James waved him off. “It started as a journal. Then a poetry notebook. Then a sketchbook. Then a place to do my taxes—“ he snorted. “You can read it if you want.”

Regulus blinked. “Isn’t that a bit private?”

“I don’t mind,” James said with a shrug. “You can even keep it. It’ll be published someday, and this way you get the exclusive early edition.”

Regulus snorted and opened the notebook again. “April 23rd, 2012.
Dear diary,
Fuck you.
Have a good day.” he read aloud, utterly deadpan.

Then he looked up—slowly—eyes narrowing just a fraction, the corners of his mouth twitching like he was fighting a smile.

James nodded with solemn conviction, hand pressed to his chest as though defending sacred scripture. “I still stand by that.”

Regulus closed the notebook with a defeated sigh and sank onto the couch, joining James in a quiet debate over what movie to watch.

They eventually settled on The Apartment—clearly one of James’ favorites—and sat beside each other. James sprawled comfortably, feet propped on the coffee table, while Regulus curled up cross-legged, hugging a pillow to his chest.

They watched in companionable silence, broken only by the occasional quiet commentary, or by the moments when James whispered lines under his breath, reciting the ones that had stitched themselves into his memory.

He was right in the middle of doing just that, when he felt Regulus’ head tip, then slowly settle against his shoulder.

James instantly turned into a statue.

He didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink. Didn’t dare move a single muscle. Regulus’ breathing was soft and even, and James felt something unravel quietly in his chest.

He waited until the movie ended—until he was sure Regulus was fully asleep—before moving.

Slowly, carefully, he eased Regulus down onto the couch, letting his head rest on a pillow. Then he fetched a blanket, unfolding it with almost ceremonial gentleness before draping it over him.

Only then did he allow himself to look.

Regulus was heartbreakingly beautiful in sleep—curls wild on the pillow, mouth soft, his oversized gray sweater swallowing him whole. Sweet and incandescent all at once.

James swallowed hard. A sound clawed at his throat—something between a disbelieving laugh and a scream—and he forced it down.

He knew. Oh—how painfully well he knew—that this wasn’t just attraction. Attraction he could handle; he’d survived that before. But this… this was something else entirely. Something quiet and tender and overwhelming in ways he didn’t have a name for yet. It crept toward the parts of him he thought were too bruised, too used up, to feel anything soft again.

And that terrified him more than he could ever admit, even to himself.

He turned off the lights, blew out the last of the candles, and retreated quietly to his bedroom.

But not before looking back once more.

Just once.

——

Regulus jolted awake at the sound of pounding footsteps. Disoriented, he blinked at the unfamiliar room—candle stubs, mismatched mugs, a blanket slipping off his shoulder—

Then James burst into the living room.

“Oh good, you’re awake! We’re both so fucking late. You—job interview. Me—actual job. Let’s go!”

“What—? What time is it?” Regulus scrambled for his phone on the coffee table. One glance at the screen made him exhale sharply. “I still have time, my interview’s in two hours. But I need to go home and get ready.”

He threw the blanket aside and lurched to his feet.

“I’ll drop you off before I head in,” James said, grabbing his tie and attempting to wrestle it into something professional.

“Are you sure I won’t hold you up?”

“Don’t worry about it. Come on.”

“Just drop me at a café,” Regulus said, tying his shoelace. “I’ll grab a coffee and walk home.”

James nodded, still fighting with his tie like it was the source of all his problems.

——

Regulus stepped into the café after promising James he’d let him know how the interview went. It would’ve been fine—normal—if James hadn’t given him that infuriatingly stupid, fucking beautiful lopsided smile before he got out of the car.

His brain had been short-circuiting ever since.

His thoughts spun hopelessly around last night; every time James’ disastrous attempts at writing Ron’s essay crossed his mind, heat crept up his neck and he blushed senselessly.

He ordered a takeaway coffee and scrolled through his emails as he waited, silently running through his rehearsed answers for the interview. But something nudged at the back of his mind—a faint, persistent prickle he couldn’t quite name. He shook it off, assuming it was just leftover adrenaline from waking up in a panic, thinking he was late.

But when he stepped outside again, coffee in hand, the feeling only sharpened and he halted mid-step, squinting across the street where two men in black suits lingered, their eyes unmistakably on him.

The second he met their gaze, they snapped their attention elsewhere—too fast to be natural.

Regulus exhaled sharply, irritated. “Oh, come on.” He yanked out his phone and dialed Dorcas. She picked up on the second ring. “Seriously, Cas?” Regulus hissed as he started down the street. “Are you people mental? How many times do I have to tell you—and my father—to stop sending men to follow me around like a child?”

“What?” Dorcas’ voice sharpened instantly, panic threading through it. “We didn’t—what do they look like?”

“Two tall men, black suits—” Regulus said, craning his neck to glance back at them as he cut through the park. “They’re holding newspapers—”

In the background, Dorcas’ heels clicked sharply against the floor. A door slammed open on her end, the sound loud enough to carry through the phone.

Regulus stopped mid-sentence, his irritation draining into unease.

“Mr. Black,” she said distantly, “did you assign guards to track Regulus? He says two men are following him.”

“No, I didn’t! What men are you talking about, Dorcas?” Orion replied, and the sheer terror in his voice sent a cold spike straight down Regulus’ spine. He had never heard his father sound so downright terrified. Not once.

“Regulus!” Dorcas’ voice snapped back into the phone—controlled, but he could clearly hear the panic beneath it. “Stay in public areas. If there’s a police station, get inside it now. They’re not our men. Where are you?”

Regulus’ heartbeat instantly tripled. He picked up his pace. “I don’t fucking know—some park near Marylebone.” He tossed his coffee into the nearest bin, pulse slamming against his ribs. “Dorcas, what the hell is going on?”

“Just find somewhere safe!” she said urgently. “We’re coming. Send me your live location.”

Regulus hung up with trembling hands and quickly sent it to her. When he glanced back, the men had clearly noticed his panic; they lengthened their strides—closing the distance.

Regulus’ breath hitched.

His first, horrifying instinct was to call James. But what would he even fucking say?

Hi, I think I’m being chased by hitmen? Can you come pick me up?

He shoved the thought away, forcing his legs to move faster.

The men only grew closer.

And Regulus was freaking the fuck out.

——

Dorcas had the live location pulled up before the car door even shut. Orion was already flooring the accelerator, the engine roaring as they tore through traffic.

She dialed Marlene first, then James. He picked up almost immediately. “James, where are you?” Dorcas demanded, breath tight with urgency.

“I’m on my way to the manor—near Marylebone right now. Why? Is everything alright?”

“Perfect! you’re close. Mr. Black’s son is in danger. He’s being followed by two men—most likely armed—wearing black suits and carrying newspapers. I’m sending you his live location. Get there ASAP.” She hung up before he could get a single word in.

James stared at the screen for a split second—in complete shock. “What the fuck?” he muttered. “Since when does Orion have a son?” he grumbled, yanking the wheel sharply, tires screeching against the asphalt as he pulled up the live location. “This family is insane. Actually fucking insane. They’re going to be the death of me—literally, figuratively, spiritually—”

——

Regulus risked another glance over his shoulder, and his stomach dropped.

Only one of the men was behind him now.

Which was not good news at all.

Not even remotely.

Because where the fuck was the second one?

He quickened his steps, heartbeat thundering in his ears. He wasn’t familiar with this part of Marylebone, so he was basically walking around aimlessly.

Panic gnawed viciously at the edges of his nerves. If the second man was circling around, if they boxed him in on some quiet street—

Don’t think. Just move.

He unlocked his phone with shaking hands and pulled up directions to the nearest police station.

The screen froze.

Flickered.

And died.

Regulus let out a strangled sound. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He shoved the useless phone into his pocket with far more force than necessary.

He had no map. No directions. No way to call Dorcas. And his live location must’ve fucking cut off.

They had no way to find him.

——

James parked his car, eyes darting to the live location—only to watch it abruptly cut off. “Fuck,” he muttered, gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles went white. He was close—so fucking close that losing the signal felt like a punch to the chest.

He had no description of what Orion’s son even looked like.

But he did have a description of the men following him.

James’ pulse detonated when a man in a black suit, newspaper in hand, rushed past the front of his car.

Exactly Dorcas’ description.

James didn’t even think—he just moved.

He shot out of the car and slammed straight into the man, driving him into the brick wall of a secluded hallway. The impact reverberated through James’ shoulders, but he didn’t loosen his grip.

He twisted the man’s wrist sharply—a guttural sound tore out of him as the newspaper dropped free from his hand and a gun skittered across the pavement.

James didn’t hesitate. Didn’t give him a chance to breathe. He hauled the man by the collar and slammed his forehead into the bridge of his nose with a sickening crack.

The man crumpled instantly, unconscious before he even hit the pavement.

James stepped back, breathing hard, scanning the alley—which was, thankfully, empty.

He crouched, grabbed the weapon, tucked it into the back of his waistband, and bolted out of the alley.

That was just one of the men following Orion’s son.

Which meant the second one was still out there—

James sprinted in the direction the man had been rushing toward.

——

Regulus was running now.

No plan, no direction—just pure survival clawing at his ribs. He darted between across narrow paths, lungs burning, breath breaking, the man that was following him disappeared but it did absolutely nothing to clam his nerves.

Regulus stumbled into an open clearing and braced a hand against his knee, dragging air into his lungs.

He needs one second. Just one second to catch his fucking breath—

Then he went still.

Because the second man stepped out from behind a stone wall a few feet away—like a fucking nightmare made real.

The newspaper slipped from his hand, landing with a soft flutter—revealing a gun aimed straight at Regulus.

Regulus couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t fucking breathe.

This was it.

He was going to die.

Right here. Right now

His heart hammered so violently it felt like it might crack bone, desperate to outrun a fate his fear had locked his body against.

“Regulus! Get down!”

His father’s voice ripped through the clearing—a shock of relief shot straight down Regulus’ spine as he whipped around.

Orion stood several feet away, gun already raised and locked on the man.

Regulus dropped instantly, like his bones had vanished—knees hitting the dirt as he covered his ears, curling forward on instinct as gunfire fucking exploded.

One shot.
Regulus flinched so violently his teeth clacked together.

Two shots.
He could hear the man behind him collapse—dropped dead.

Three shots.
Regulus was hyperventilating. Eyes squeezed shut so tightly his skull ached.

Four shots.
He started rocking—back and forth, back and forth, backandforth—

He couldn’t stop shaking. He couldn’t pull in air. His mind was a screaming blur of I almost died—
I almost died—
I almost—

The gunfire stopped.

But it still rang in Regulus’ ears.

His body refused the dreadful silence that followed. He was trapped inside the terror that he had almost died—and in the far worse horror of knowing his father had killed a man to save him.

He trembled on the cold ground, trying desperately to breathe as the world spun violently around him.

——

Dorcas had never understood how Regulus managed to keep his heart intact.

They grew up in the same house. She’d known him since he was four—knew the corridors he wandered, the unspoken truths that hung over the Black family like permanent weather. Their childhoods were woven through the same rooms, the same lessons, the same legacy.

Everything he knew, she knew too.

And yet… they had become nothing alike.

Because while the house had shaped them both, it had not scarred them in the same way. Dorcas grew up loved. Regulus grew up conflicted.

Orion had never made Dorcas feel like anything less than his own child. He had folded her into the family with the same protectiveness he gave his kids, the same tenderness, the same unwavering devotion. He gave her a father’s steadiness and warmth without hesitation. She grew up safe in ways that mattered—emotionally anchored, protected, sure of her place.

Regulus grew up loved too—fiercely, undeniably—but he could never look past the trail of blood and violence his father left behind him.

Dorcas could. Not because she condoned the blood he spilled, but because she understood why he spilled it. She had learned to live within that world—to rationalize it, to trust the logic that governed it. She had made peace with the world Orion ruled. It was brutal, yes—but fair in its own dark way.

Because someone had to make decisions no one else could stomach. Someone had to draw the line, enforce it, and keep the wolves from tearing everything apart.

So to her, Orion’s justice was not cruelty; it was correction.

That’s why she never experienced the resentment Regulus built toward the empire Orion commanded.

They lived under the same roof—but they carried different versions of the same man in their hearts.

Dorcas understood both sides in a way no one else did. She could hold both truths in her palms without flinching, accepting them as two halves of the same man with open arms:

Orion Black was a good father.

Orion Black was a killer.

But Regulus could not forgive the second enough to embrace the first; he could never accept one without choking on the other.

She didn’t blame him for that.

He was the only one who didn’t know how to wield a gun. The only one whose hands weren’t stained with blood. The only Black who wasn’t feared by men who ruled entire criminal empires.

And somehow—because of that, not despite it— he was the strongest of them all.

Because he had enough willpower to carve a life away from the violence that followed his family like a second skin, he refused to let their crimes shape him. He clung—desperately—to something soft and human when the rest of them had harden themselves into weapons.

That was why everyone who ever truly knew Regulus felt that vicious, instinctive need to protect him. Because he embodied what they had once been, before their first kill turned the world gray—before their moral lines blurred into nothing.

Dorcas felt something in her chest crack open at the sight of him now, rocking back and forth on the ground, hands clamped over his ears, shaking so hard he could barely draw breath.

She stepped forward and gently placed a hand on Orion’s wrist, pushing his raised gun downward. Her eyes flicked toward Regulus.

Orion had been all sharp edges, fury carved deep into every line of him. But the moment his eyes landed on Regulus—he broke.

The rage drained from him like water from a shattered glass.

Silently, he handed Dorcas his gun.

Then Orion Black—untouchable, feared, unshakeable Orion—lowered himself to the ground beside his son.

——

James flinched at the explosion of gunfire.

Not one shot—several.

Hell has fucking broken loose.

He took off running toward the sound, heart pounding, lungs burning, bracing for a fucking bloodbath—

But what he found was even worse.

It wasn’t the body lying in a widening pool of blood.

It was what was happening beside it.

Orion Black was crouched on the ground, arms wrapped protectively around an achingly familiar man curled in on himself.

James skidded to a halt.

Because that form—
those clothes—
that fall of dark curls—

He knew them.

Regulus.

Regulus was on his knees, rocking violently, shaking hands clamped over his ears. His whole body trembled like he was trying to hold himself together by sheer will alone. Orion leaned close, pulling him into his chest with a gentleness James had never seen from him. He kissed the top of Regulus’ head, murmuring something soft and steady, words meant to anchor him back to the world.

Regulus.

Regulus Black.

Regulus is Orion’s son.

James’ heart stopped.

He stared—utterly devastated—as Orion cupped Regulus’ face with a father’s desperation, as Regulus leaned into him instinctively, desperate for something familiar, something safe.

James felt the ground tilt under him. Oh, he was so fucked.

Not just a little. Not just mildly troubled.

He was cosmically, catastrophically, astronomically fucked.

Chapter Text

Regulus didn’t even realize they had taken him to his father’s manor until he found himself sitting on a familiar couch—Dorcas fretted anxiously around him, adjusting pillows, smoothing the blanket, touching his shoulder, pulling back, then touching it again before finally settling into a restless, helpless hover at his side.

Somewhere beyond the fog, Bellatrix was saying something, Orion was answering, and other voices rose and fell in muted waves. But none of it reached him. Their words slid past as though sealed behind thick glass—distant and unreachable, as if he were listening from the bottom of a pool.

He had almost died.

And breathing wasn’t as simple as it used to be.

——

What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck. Whatthefuck—

“Fuck my life!” James slammed his palm against the steering wheel, horn blaring as he tore down the road toward the manor. “Out of everyone on this godforsaken planet—how the hell is that even possible? He’s Orion’s son! Regulus is Orion fucking Black’s son!” He let out a ragged groan, repeating the words like an incantation he desperately hoped would reverse the universe’s sick sense of humor—as if sheer disbelief alone might summon someone with a camera to declare that none of this was actually happening, or that the whole sequence of events was just a clerical error in fate’s paperwork.

But saying it aloud only cemented it.

Only made it worse.

Only made it real.

“Please,” he muttered, gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles ached, “for the love of my rapidly deteriorating sanity—don’t let him be there.”

And for the first time ever, James wished—sincerely, wholeheartedly, from the depths of his panic-ridden soul—not to see Regulus.

Not now.

Not like this.

Not when his world had just been flipped inside out.

——

Orion lowered himself into a crouch in front of Regulus—slowly, carefully, the way someone approaches a wounded animal that might bolt.

Regulus was still trembling, small aftershocks rippling through him in uncontrollable waves. “Regulus?” Orion’s voice was soft—a sound so rare it felt foreign.

He reached out a tentative hand and Regulus flinched violently, recoiling as if scorched. Orion’s hand snapped back immediately, guilt flashing across his face. “I’m sorry, son,” he murmured, voice strained. “Are you alright?”

“Am I alright?” Regulus let out a sound he couldn’t contain—a breathless, hysterical noise that was both laugh and gasp, “No, the fuck I’m not.”

He pushed up from the couch too fast—his legs nearly gave out beneath him. Every nerve in his body crawling under his skin. He couldn’t breathe in this house—couldn’t think. The walls felt too close, too heavy, pressing into him until he wanted to claw his way out. “I’m going home.”

He didn’t make it more than a step before Orion’s hand closed firmly around his arm—unyielding and immovable. “I can’t let you leave until I’m sure it’s safe outside,” Orion said, voice low with something that hovered between authority and exhaustion. “I’m sorry, Regulus. Truly. But you’re staying here until we deal with this.”

“I was almost killed today because of you!” Regulus snapped, eyes blazing as he ripped his arm out of his father’s hold. “What safety are you even talking about?! I’m leaving.”

“No, you are not.” Orion’s tone was gentle, but the unwavering firmness beneath it was unmistakable. “You’re not going anywhere. That’s final.” He stepped closer and placed both hands on Regulus’ arms.

Regulus went rigid. The years fell away, and suddenly he was a little boy again—diminished beneath his father’s shadow as it swallowed him whole. Something cold twisted in his stomach at the contact.

He had seen those hands take a man’s life today—without hesitation, without fear, without remorse. And now they rested on him with a gentleness so misplaced it felt obscene.

Regulus jerked back, or tried to, but the fight drained out of him as quickly as it flared. A sudden wave of vertigo crashed over him, pulling the floor out from under his feet.

“Let’s go upstairs,” Orion said, voice softening in a way that only made everything worse. “Your room is exactly as you left it. Untouched. Come—I’ll take you. You need to rest.”

Regulus resisted for all of two seconds before exhaustion hollowed him out completely. His legs weren’t cooperating, his breath kept catching, and from the looks Dorcas and Orion exchanged, he knew he must have appeared one second away from vomiting.

Yes—Regulus Black was stubborn, but not as stubborn as the man who raised him. On any other day, he would have unleashed a storm big enough to level the manor.

And right now? He was too tired to stand. Too tired to argue. Too tired to fight the awful, familiar gravity of his father’s hand on his arm.

So he let Orion guide him up the stairs, step by step, back toward the room he had tried so fucking hard to leave behind.

——

“Who do you think attacked Regulus?” Peter asked, voice low as the four of them instinctively closed in—him, Remus, Marlene, and Bellatrix forming a tight circle at the base of the stairs. Orion had taken Regulus up. Dorcas right behind them.

The house felt like it was holding its breath.

“Crabbe,” Bellatrix said immediately, her lip curling. “No doubt.”

“What the fuck are we going to do?” Marlene hissed, hands on her hips, eyes darting toward the stairs—Regulus’ steps wavered halfway up, his body giving out as he swayed unconsciously toward his father’s steadying hold.

“Bella, you’ve fucked us up repeatedly,” Remus snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose like he could physically squeeze the stress out of his skull.

Bellatrix scoffed, utterly unbothered. “Calm down. Crabbe’s been a dead man since the moment he even thought about touching Regulus. My father won’t let him survive the night.” She leaned in, eyes sparking with something vicious and victorious. “And that works wonders in our advantage. Once Crabbe is dead, our problem dies with him.”

——

Regulus sat on his old bed, hating—resenting—the strange comfort of the familiarity. His room was exactly as he left it, it even smelled the same—the faint scent of old wood and pine.

“I want to go to my house,” he muttered, staring at his shaking hands as if they belonged to someone else.

“You will,” Orion said, voice carved with finality. “Once it’s safe out.”

He turned to leave—then stopped cold at the sound of Regulus’ voice, soft and broken, barely held together. “You didn’t even bat an eye when you killed that man.”

Orion exhaled through his nose, slow and strained, like the weight of the words pressed against his ribs. “Because he deserved it” he said, turning back to him. “I don’t think you understand how much I care about your well-being, Regulus. As long as I’m alive, no one—no one—will ever harm a single hair on your head.”

The vow hung there, sharp as a blade, heavy as a chain. A promise from a man who protected with violence—who loved in ways that bruised—who meant every word with terrifying sincerity.

“He might’ve had a family too,” Regulus whispered, the words trembling out of him “You killed him with cold blood. What if he had children?”

Silence.

Regulus’ throat tightened with shame, guilt, and horror—none of it his fault, all of it his burden—swelled like a tide and pressed hard against his ribs until breathing stung in his chest.

He knew his father was the reason any of this had happened in the first place.

And yet—

God, yet—

Some awful, helpless, embarrassingly childish part of him still wanted to crawl into Orion’s arms, bury his face in the fabric of his coat, and hide there until the spinning stopped. The instinct was bone-deep, etched in from a childhood where comfort and danger came from the same hands.

It wasn’t logical. It wasn’t fair.

None of it is fair.

Sometimes it felt like it didn’t matter whose finger pulled the trigger—Regulus was the one who carried the aftermath. He was the one who absorbed the ghosts.

He hadn’t fired the gun.

He hadn’t spilled the blood.

But he could feel it anyway—the phantom grit of gunpowder clinging to his fingertips, the blood seeping into the lines of his palms.

Not a day passed when he didn’t think of the families of the men his father had killed—faces he’d never met but could picture too vividly, grief and entire lives torn apart simply because Orion Black decided someone needed to die. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he owed them something—some impossible debt he could never repay, because he wasn’t the one who had taken anything from them in the first place, and yet the obligation pressed on him anyway, crushing and impossible.

Sometimes, when he let himself dwell on it too long, the guilt hollowed him out from the inside—leaving him hunched over a sink, shaking, as a violent wave of nausea ripped through him until he actually threw up.

His father left a trail of death wherever he went. And Regulus… Regulus felt like he was the one walking barefoot through the wreckage—cut open on every shard, bleeding for a penance his father didn’t even bother to acknowledge.

“If he cared about his family,” Orion said sharply, terrifyingly, “then he wouldn’t dare to threaten mine.”

Not a flicker of regret. Not even a shadow of doubt.

Regulus stood, meeting his father’s gaze, eyes wide and pleading—he looked so unbearably young it cracked something deep in Orion’s chest. “Dad,” he whispered. “Please. Please just let me go home. I don’t want to be here. Please.”

Orion swallowed, jaw tight. “I’m sorry, son. You’re staying here for now.”

Regulus’ face crumpled completely, like he’d just been handed the worst news of his life. Orion looked away at once. If he didn’t, he wasn’t sure he’d hold his ground.

He stepped out of the room.

And locked the door behind him.

Then suddenly Regulus was seventeen again—trapped in a house that loved him and destroyed him in the same breath.

——

James strode into the manor with his heartbeat in his throat, his mind stuck on a single, desperate mantra:

I hope Regulus isn’t here.

God, he really fucking hoped Regulus wasn’t here.

The moment he stepped into the vast living room, Orion descended the stairs like an omen—face carved in a darkness James had never seen before. It made something cold crawl down his spine.

But then it hit James all at once— the overwhelming resemblance between father and son.

How had he missed it? How had he been so stupid?

The Blacks shared the same midnight-dark hair, the same sculpted cheekbones, the same unmistakable green eyes—but what lived behind them; the expression, the very soul, couldn’t have been more different.

Orion’s eyes pinned you in place—assessing, evaluating, as if he were already three steps ahead of whatever you thought you were doing. Regulus had the same color, the same shape, but none of the calculation. His gaze held caution, yes—but there was softness there too, something Orion either lost or crushed out of himself years ago.

Even their posture matched. The way Orion carried himself—composed and untouchable, with the kind of authority that made people shift out of his way—Regulus had that bearing, too. But he wore it like armor, not entitlement.

It was all there, suddenly, painfully clear. All the ways Regulus was a Black through and through—a lineage written across his face in strokes as beautiful as they were devastating.

“Find Crabbe,” Orion ordered, voice terrifyingly calm. “Bring him here to me. Alive.” He looked each of them in the eye, one by one. “And I’ll kill him myself. Slowly. Painfully.”

They nodded in grim unison.

“How many men were following Regulus?” Bellatrix asked, turning to Dorcas.

“Regulus said two,” Dorcas replied. “We only took one down. No sign of the second.”

“That’s because the other one is with me,” James said, stepping fully into the room.

Every head snapped toward him.

“When Ms. Meadows contacted me I was close by. I caught one of the men, now he’s tied up in my trunk.”

Orion’s expression flickered—satisfaction sharpening his features, something vicious glinting in his eye.

“That could lead us straight to Crabbe, Father,” Bellatrix said, matching his intensity beat for beat.

Orion nodded once. “Take the man to the guest house,” Orion ordered. “And make sure Regulus doesn’t see or hear a word of this.”

James almost reacted at Regulus’ name—his muscles twitched, a tiny betrayal—but he forced himself still, burying the instinct as deep as he could.

Peter and Remus followed him outside, the three of them hauling the gagged, bound man from James’ trunk. They dragged him across the courtyard toward the guest house.

——

Marlene moved quickly around the guest house, yanking every curtain shut—one after another—until not a sliver of light escaped. The last thing they needed was Regulus catching even a glimpse of this through his window.

In the center of the room, Remus and Peter forced the bound man into a chair, securing him with brutal efficiency. He twisted helplessly against the ropes, his breath breaking into frantic, uneven bursts.

Bellatrix positioned herself behind Orion, an eager shadow at his back. James grabbed the gag and tore it out of the man’s mouth.

The man sucked in a ragged breath, pain and terror etched into the set of his jaw as he tried—and failed—not to look at Orion.

Remus grabbed a fistful of his hair and jerked his head back. “Who are you working for?”

“No one,” the man spat, eyes squeezing shut as Remus tightened his grip.

“You’ll talk,” Bellatrix hissed, already pulling her gun from her coat, “or I’ll paint the wall with your fucking blood.” Her voice rising to a shriek of exhilaration as she pressed the cold barrel against the man’s cheek, The man whimpered despite himself.

——

Regulus slammed his fists against the bedroom door. “Open this fucking door right now!”

Fuck it. He wasn’t staying another minute in this house.

A soft click sounded, and the lock turned. The maid cracked the door open, peeking in nervously. “M–Mr. Black?” she stammered. “Did you… need something? Everyone is in the guest house and your father asked me to stay nearby in case you required anything.”

Everyone is in the guest house.

Regulus felt the opportunity drop into his hands like a gift from the universe.

“Everyone?” he repeated, aiming for annoyed but landing somewhere closer to feral.

“Yes,” she said gently. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes—” he cut in quickly, “the bathroom door isn’t opening. Can you check it? I think It’s jammed or something.”

“Oh.” She stepped inside, frowning. “That’s strange, it should be open—”

She barely crossed the threshold before Regulus sprang into motion.

He slipped behind her, darted out of the room, and slammed the door shut. The lock clicked again—this time trapping her inside.

“Mr. Black?” she gasped from the other side, rattling the handle. “Mr. Black—the door—!”

But Regulus was already sprinting down the hallway, heart hammering, breath sharp and wild.

He didn’t know where or what he was running toward.

He only knew he had to get the fuck out.

——

“It’s Crabbe,” the man choked out after another brutal punch from Marlene snapped his head sideways. He spat blood onto the floor, shaking. “Please—I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have done it—” He kept repeating it, a broken mantra of panic and pain.

Orion lifted the gun, his arm steady, his intent terrifyingly clear.

He was one heartbeat—one breath—away from pulling the trigger.

“Wait!”

The word tore out of James as he stepped forward, instinct bulldozing over sense.

The room went utterly still.

Every gaze snapped to him in disbelief.

No one spoke when Orion raised a weapon. No one dared interrupt him mid-execution. And James—fuck— James couldn’t just stand by and watch, not when he could still do something to stop it.

Orion didn’t lower the gun, even when James crossed the room and leaned in to whisper something low—quiet enough that only Orion heard it. Whatever James said made Orion’s jaw clench, a muscle ticking hard beneath the skin. Then—slowly, reluctantly—Orion lowered the weapon.

He shared a look with James—strange and unreadable, before turning to the others. “Don’t touch him until we find Crabbe,” he ordered.

The guest house door burst open before anyone could move and Dorcas stumbled inside, chest heaving. “Regulus escaped.” She panted.

James almost flinched at the name.

“What?” Orion’s voice cracked, sharp with distress. “How?”

“He tricked the maid and locked her in his room,” Dorcas said in a rush. “Then he took my car and left.”

Orion went pale, as though he’d just seen a ghost. “Remus, go. Don’t come back until you find him and bring him here.” Remus didn’t hesitate for even a breath. He bolted from the room.

“His life could still be in danger,” Orion raged, pacing like a caged animal whose bars had suddenly tightened around him. “How could he be so reckless!” He hissed the words through clenched teeth before turning on his heel, the others rushed after him in a flurry of movement.

All except James.

James stayed behind.

He waited—counted five steady breaths—then moved.

He made a show of sweeping the room, checking windows, securing the perimeter. Then he crouched low beside the chair and slipped his fingers to the ropes, working at the knots with quick movements.

The man stared at him, stunned. “What are you—?”

“I’m an undercover cop,” James hissed under his breath. “I’m getting you out of here.”

“If that were true, you wouldn’t have brought me here in the first place,” the man spat.

James fisted a hand in the man’s collar and yanked him close. “Because I needed to earn their trust, you fucking idiot. Now listen.”

The man winced as the ropes finally slackened. He rubbed at his raw wrists, blood smearing across the back of his hand as he wiped his nose.

“You’re going to slip out that window,” James murmured, voice low and urgent, pointing to the largest one in the room. “Go through the backyard and run for your life. Don’t look back. Just go.”

He didn’t need telling twice. He launched himself toward the window so fast he nearly face-planted. James shoved the frame up just in time for the man to scramble through it.

James watched him disappear, then straightened and turned back toward the room—

— only to find Orion standing in the doorway.

Dorcas, Marlene, and Bellatrix flanked him, their expressions unreadable.

But no one lifted a weapon. No one lunged for him.

Orion had clearly filled them in.

“He ran,” James said simply, a small smirk tugging at his mouth.

“Do you think he bought it?” Bellatrix asked, her eyes gleaming with unsettling satisfaction.

“If he leads us to Crabbe, then yes,” James said with a shrug. “Did you put someone on him?”

Marlene nodded, “Yeah, Peter’s tailing him,”

Orion clapped James on the shoulder as they moved back toward the manor. “You’re doing well, James.”

James had no idea how he managed not to flinch. The praise carried an unsettling weight, a cold unease stirring up his spine like something long asleep being nudged awake. Approval from Orion Black wasn’t encouragement—it was proof James was drifting somewhere he shouldn’t be.

Still, no one had died. No blood on the floor. If this was the price—if this was the compromise he had to shoulder instead of another corpse—James told himself he could live with it.

Once they reached the entryway, Dorcas spoke first. “Mr. Black, we need to go to the police station,” she said calmly. “They want to speak with you about the incident earlier. Supposedly there was a witness—nothing I can’t handle. But still, it’s better if we present ourselves.” Orion inclined his head in agreement

James’ phone rang and he moved away from the group, brows knitting the moment he saw Harry’s school flash across the screen—always a precursor to trouble. When answered, his son’s teacher launched in immediately, her voice frayed. “Mr. Potter, Harry has locked himself inside a classroom and refuses to come out until you arrive.”

“He did what now?” James exclaimed in shock.

Orion looked over at him, frowning, and James’ stomach fucking dropped—because of course his frown looked exactly like Regulus’. Why wouldn’t it?

“This kid is going to be the end of me, I swear. I’ll get there as fast as I can.” He hung up, grimacing and pointedly ignoring the way his mind kept tormenting him by lining Orion and Regulus up side by side in cruel comparison.

“Is everything alright?” Orion asked.

“It’s—my son,” James said, rubbing the back of his neck. “He’s causing trouble at school.”

Orion nodded once, firm and sincere. “Go to him. You’ve done more than enough today. Take care of your son—we’ll handle the rest.”

James exhaled, immensely grateful. “Thank you, sir.” He hurried out of the manor, already dialing the school back.

——

Regulus was so, so screwed.

He sat in Dorcas’ car, forehead pressed to the steering wheel miserably .

He couldn’t go home—they’d find him in an instant.

He couldn’t go to a hotel—he might as well mail his father his coordinates with a bow on top.

And Dorcas knew all of his friends. Every single one. They’d check every house before nightfall.

He had nowhere to go.

Except… to one person. The only person he’s absolutely certain his family didn’t know existed in his life.

James.

Regulus stared at his phone—at James’ contact glowing on the screen. He hesitated, thumb trembling slightly above the call button.

He shouldn’t call. He really shouldn’t.

He did it anyway.

He braced for the regret to slam into him like a truck but it never came, because James didn’t even give him a full second to spiral; he picked up almost immediately. “Hey, Regulus.”

Regulus cleared his throat. “Hi, James. How are you?” He said, aiming for normal and landing miles away from it.

“Great,” James replied dryly, “just chasing after Harry, he locked himself in a classroom and refuses to come out.” A beat. Then his voice gentled. “What about you?”

“Oh shit—” Regulus let out a startled snort, unable to stop himself. Harry’s particular brand of chaos always managed to undo him. “I’m— I don’t know,” he admitted, hating how unsteady he sounded. “Listen, James… I know this might sound a little bizarre, but would you mind if I crashed at your place tonight?”

“I don’t mind at all. You’re welcome any time you want.” James’ reply was instant—almost eager. “Can you come to Harry’s school? We’ll go to my place from there.”

Relief washed over Regulus so forcefully it nearly winded him. “Sure. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” James said—and Regulus could hear his smile.

—-

When James walked into the school, the halls were almost entirely empty—just the echo of distant cleaning carts and the muffled sound of voices down the corridor. Harry’s teacher stood outside a classroom with Adam and Emily, knocking over and over, calling Harry’s name in strained, increasingly frantic tones.

James didn’t slow.

He didn’t spare them so much as a glance.

He brushed past Adam and stepped right up to the door. He knocked once, firm but gentle. “Harry? It’s me, your father. Can you open the door, sweetheart?”

Silence.

A long, worrying minute of it.

Then the lock clicked, and the door cracked open just an inch and a small hand poked out. James took it immediately.

Only then did Harry’s voice—quiet, wobbly—reach him. “Only you can come in.”

James exhaled, a smile softening his whole face as he slipped inside. Adam tried to force the door open, but one sharp, warning look from James stopped him cold—this was a boundary Adam knew better than to cross.

James closed the door, locked it, and pulled Harry up into a fierce hug. The boy melted instantly, pressing his face into his father’s shirt like he’d been waiting all day for this.

Then they sat down on the classroom floor, cross-legged across from each other. James brushed the messy fringe out of Harry’s eyes. “Hey sweetheart” he murmured, voice gentle. “Are you alright?”

Harry swallowed hard. “I… I told Cho how I feel.”

James’ heart twisted.

“And she told everyone,” Harry whispered, his eyes filling. “They laughed at me, Dad.” His voice faltered. “Why would they do that? It’s not fair—to gang up on someone like that just because he’s in love.”

James pulled him straight into his lap, helplessly fond as his arms wrapped around him with fierce protection. Harry’s breathing was shaky—swallowing hard, and trying not to cry again.

James pressed his chin lightly to the top of his head, swaying just a little—an old habit. “Do you remember what I told you about how being in love actually feels like?”

Harry sniffed then nodded, listening.

“Well,” James continued. “That’s part of it. Actually all of it.” He hesitated, choosing the words carefully, “When I said love feels like getting beaten up over and over again… I didn’t mean by fists—I meant by everything else. By obstacles, by people who don’t understand. That’s why love is brave. It’s only for the brave. What you did today—telling Cho how you feel? That was courageous. Really courageous, it takes guts even most grown-ups don’t have.”

Harry’s lip wobbled. “But why did everyone laugh?”

James drew him closer, hugging him tighter. “That says everything about them,” he murmured, “and nothing about you. People laugh when they don’t understand something, but you—” he leaned back enough to meet Harry’s eyes again, steady and warm, “—you told the truth. That’s the kind of heart people spend their whole lives wishing they had.”

Harry’s fingers twisted into the fabric of James’s coat “So… I’m not weird for liking her?”

James let out a soft, incredulous laugh, “Weird? Harry, you’re way ahead of them.” He kissed his forehead fondly. “You get to like whoever you like. You felt something real, and you told the truth. And if they don’t feel the same, or if they handle it badly, then that’s on them.“

A tiny breath escaped Harry, something loosening in him. The explanation—having a reason—seemed to unknot something tangled in his chest.

“You know I love you so much,” James murmured, tightening his arms around him. “And whatever happens—whatever the world throws at you—I’m here. Always.”

Harry beamed through the remnants of tears and wrapped his arms around James’ neck. “I love you too, Dad. So much.”

James had no idea if he’d approached this the right way. He hoped his words hadn’t landed wrong, hoped he wasn’t planting the wrong ideas, hoped he wasn’t damaging something fragile in Harry that should have been handled differently.

A sudden, familiar weight hit him—so heavy he almost winced.

Fear.

Fear of failing Harry.

The one thing that scared him in ways nothing else did. The only person James couldn’t afford to fail.

He had no memory of childhood comfort. No one had ever crouched down to his level and explained why the world hurt. No one had held him while his heart was breaking.

And James, God help him, was winging it.

Because nobody had taught him how to do this. He’d never been shown what good parenting looked like. He had nothing to copy, no blueprint to follow.

Was parenting even teachable in the first place? How was he supposed to teach Harry things he’d never been taught himself? How was he supposed to comfort his son in all the ways no one had ever comforted him?

He’d read books—too many fucking books, actually. Parenting guides and child psychology dog-eared to the point of disintegration. But none of them ever sounded right.

None of them matched Harry.

His kid was too intelligent for his own good—too thoughtful, too perceptive. If James ever tried reciting one of those neat little scripted responses, Harry would absolutely point at him and laugh.

So this—this mess of honesty and imperfection—was the best he could give.

And he prayed to every fucking divine power in the sky that it was enough.

—-

Severus shot to his feet the moment Orion Black and Dorcas Meadows stepped into his office. He strode forward, shaking their hands with a stiffness he tried—and failed—to hide. “Welcome, Mr. Black. Thank you for coming,” he said.

Orion nodded once, letting his gaze drift around the cramped office. “I see they’ve moved you, Mr. Snape. Did you get a promotion? God forbid, I’d hoped not.” His tone was perfectly polite that Severus didn’t catch the insult until Dorcas’ mouth twitched in the smallest, cruelest amusement.

“I did, actually,” Severus muttered. “Please, have a seat,” he said, gesturing stiffly toward the chairs in before his desk.

Dorcas sat with calm, effortless composure. “We’d like to know why you called us here today, Mr. Snape.” Her voice was steady and controlled. Severus was—if he was completely honest with himself—a little fucking terrified of her.

“Right—well. Bad news,” Severus announced, clapping his hands once. “There was a murder in Marylebone. Based on a witness description, it… pretty much screams you, Mr. Black. What do you have to say about that?”

He slid a computer sketch across the desk. To be fair, it did resemble Orion—but only loosely

“There must be a mistake,” Dorcas said coolly as she picked up the sketch and passed it to Orion. “Mr. Black has nothing to do with the incident.”

Orion glanced at the drawing and let out a small, amused breath. “I fear I’m much better looking than… whatever this is.”

“Okay then—” Severus shuffled through his stack of documents, pulling out a grainy CCTV still. “What about this car? It’s registered under Mr. Black’s name, correct?”

Dorcas took it without blinking. “Yes, it is.”

“Well,” Severus said, leaning back with something like triumph, “we pulled this from a camera near the crime scene. I’m wondering, Ms. Meadows, how you plan to explain that.”

“There’s no explanation needed, Mr. Snape.” Her eyebrow lifted. “Since when is going out a felony? And considering there’s no known connection between the victim and Mr. Black, what exactly does being ‘near the incident’ even prove?”

Severus opened his mouth to argue—
—but his desk phone shrilled loudly, interrupting him. He held up a finger to Orion and Dorcas, mouthing one minute as he answered.

The voice on the other end spoke only a few sentences, and Severus felt the blood drain from his face.

——

The moment Snape answered the phone, Dorcas knew her message had been delivered.

She didn’t need to hear the words. She saw it in the way Snape’s shoulders stiffened, in the way his hand tightened around the receiver, knuckles whitening against the plastic. She shared a brief look with Orion—a glint of amusement flickering at the corner of her mouth.

Orion caught it instantly. Of course he did.

He had always been able to read her, often before she spoke.

Snape hung up, visibly rattled as he looked back at them, pale as paper, she knew Orion had seen it too.

Orion leaned back in his chair, hands folded as if they were discussing the weather. “I hope it’s not bad news,” he said pleasantly

Snape cleared his throat. “Not for you,” he muttered. “A man just surrendered. Claimed he’d had a prior dispute with the victim. He… had the murder weapon on him.”

Snape knew it wasn’t true.

Dorcas knew Snape knew.

But there was nothing—absolutely nothing—he could do about it. Dorcas made sure of it.

“You’re free to go,” Snape said, reluctant and flat. Dorcas rose, smoothing her skirt casually. Then fell into step beside Orion as they walked out of the office.

Piece of cake.

It wasn’t uncommon for a man to step forward and shoulder another man’s crime—whether for money, or for loyalty, or for devotion so fierce it bordered on worship. People always had their reasons.

Dorcas had never hesitated to use that truth to Orion’s advantage.

When the police drifted too close to Orion’s business, she chose replacements with precision. Men who needed the money badly enough to stay loyal. Men with families balanced on their backs, and would rather bleed themselves dry than let their children go hungry. She always made sure their families were looked after—rent paid, debts cleared, dignity quietly restored. And those men, grateful and terrified in equal measure, would sooner carve their tongues out than betray Orion Black out of fear. Not because he went around threatened their families, but because they understood the reach of a man who never needed to.

Not that Orion would ever harm an innocent; let alone a woman or a child. He had lines he would die before crossing. But people didn’t know that about him, and nobody wanted to test the limits of a man as feared as Orion was.

And then there were the others—the ones who volunteered. Men who stepped forward eagerly with steady hands and certain voices. Men who would gladly shoulder Orion’s sins without being asked, who treated it like an honor.

Orion inspired that kind of devotion.

Loyalty to Orion was never commanded, it was always chosen. People followed him because, for the first time in their lives, someone saw them—truly saw them. Saw their desperation, their hunger, their need to matter. And that made them loyal in a way fear and threats never could. Orion didn’t recruit; he noticed.

People trusted that. Trusted him. Trusted that giving something up for Orion Black meant they’d get tenfold back—not just to them but to the ones they loved, too. He gave them protection, purpose, a place in a world that had never once made room for them.

With Orion, there were only ever two outcomes: You belonged in his shadow, protected by a force larger than life— or you stood against him, alone.

Dorcas knew which one she’d chosen.

And she had never once regretted it.

—-

The moment James and Harry stepped out of the classroom, Harry’s grandparents were immediately on him; fussing, fretting, already mid-lecture. But Harry didn’t give them a chance. He slipped right between them and bolted the second he caught sight of Regulus walking into the school, launching himself forward.

Regulus barely had time to brace before Harry collided with him, arms flung around his waist, glasses askew, and vibrating with excitement. Regulus staggered back a step, then let out a soft, surprised laugh “Harry, sweetheart,” he murmured, smoothing a hand over Harry’s hair, “I heard you caused quite a bit of trouble today?”

“Just a bit,” Harry answered with a mischievous grin that only grew wider under Regulus’ skeptical look.

Harry turned to his grandparents and gave them the most ridiculous puppy eyes ever. “Can I stay over at dad’s tonight? Please?”

Adam opened his mouth—already halfway to absolutely not—but Emily beat him to it. “Yes, you can, honey. But just for tonight, deal?”

Harry beamed, launching himself at her for a quick hug before immediately grabbing for two hands—James’ on one side, Regulus’ on the other—and tugging them both toward the exit like a boy escaping prison.

As they stepped outside, James glanced sideways at Regulus, eyebrows lifting in a quiet question: Everything okay?

Regulus met his eyes for a beat, then gave a small, steady nod. We’ll talk later.

“Uncle Regulus, we should watch a movie tonight,” Harry declared, practically bouncing down the pavement. Every few steps he did a little hop, like his feet couldn’t contain the excitement.

Regulus softened instantly. “Sure thing. What do you want to watch?”

“The Terminator!” Harry announced, enthusiasm exploding out of him

“Excellent choice,” James said immediately, grinning and shamelessly proud.

Regulus turned to him slowly, horror dawning on his face. “You let an eight-year-old watch The Terminator?” he scolded, scandalized.

“What?” James blinked at him, genuinely offended. “It’s a great movie!”

“It’s rated R, James.”

“So?” James shrugged. “He didn’t understand the violent parts.”

Harry chimed in, entirely unhelpful and grinning. “I understood all the parts.”

Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose. “That is not the reassurance you think it is.”

“He loved it,” James said, waving a dismissive hand. “He’s got an excellent taste. Besides, it’s a very educational movie.”

“In what universe,” Regulus muttered, “is a cyborg assassin educational?”

“In the universe where my son learns important life lessons,” James said, lifting a finger like he was lecturing a class. “One: robots are cool. Two: sunglasses make you look badass. Three: never trust time travel.”

Harry nodded solemnly, as if James had just recited sacred scripture.

Regulus stared between them, utterly defeated.

——

James unlocked the flat and nudged the door open, wordlessly gesturing for Regulus to step in first.

Harry had insisted on heading to Ron’s house to recount, in excruciating detail, everything that had happened with Cho today. James had agreed almost immediately, because one look at Regulus’ face told him everything he needed to know.

Regulus needed to talk.

Something in his energy had been vibrating all evening—restless, tight, nervous. His hands had trembled in the car, his answers clipped, his gaze drifting out of focus. It felt like a confession building in his throat, desperate to be let out.

Inside, the living room was dim. The only light came from a small lamp in the corner, low and warm, casting soft shadows across the walls. It made the space feel smaller—hushed and intimate, like a room that expected secrets and knew how to keep them.

“I’ll make coffee,” James murmured, already heading to the kitchen. He needed the task more than the caffeine; it gave his shaking anticipation something to do with itself.

When he returned with two mugs, Regulus was already settled in the armchair—knees drawn slightly inward, shoulders tight, fingers fidgeting restlessly with the silver rings on his hands.

James handed him a mug and Regulus took it with both hands, murmuring a quiet, ’Thank you.’ He didn’t look up at him. Not quite. His gaze hovered somewhere around James’ collarbone, refusing to climb any higher.

James sat across from him and waited.

He simply let the moment settle between them—warm coffee cradled in their hands, the faint hum of the lamp filling the quiet. The weight of everything unspoken pressed in, slow and insistent, like a tide on the brink of breaking

“Do you remember,” Regulus began, his voice thin, “when you asked me why I don’t have pictures of my father in my house?”

“Yeah.” James sipped his coffee, hoping the bitterness might steady him.

“You don’t have pictures of your family either,” Regulus murmured. “Only Harry.”

“Harry is my only family,” James admitted quietly. “My mother died when I was eight.” He paused, then let out a brittle, humorless smile. “And then my father abandoned us.”

“I’m sorry—“ Regulus’ brows drew together, his voice soft but taut. “Why did he leave?”

James exhaled slowly, eyes dropping to his coffee. “After my mum passed, he married another woman. My father had this tiny market—nothing glamorous—but he sold the whole thing for her. She took the money and left him, me, and my brother with not one penny.” He sighed, shaking his head slightly. “He left one morning to get coffee and never came back. God knows how far that café is, because he’s still walking there apparently.” He gave a breathless, sarcastic laugh.

Regulus’ lips twitched—half disbelief, half reluctant amusement. “How can you even joke about something like that?” he whispered.

“How can i take it seriously, Reg?” James exhaled softly, leaning forward, The nickname painted a soft flush across Regulus’ cheeks even in the dim light. “Think about it, i was a kid— eight years old, exactly Harry’s age right now. My family tree is full of relatives who could’ve died instead of her” A humorless huff escaped him, “take my uncle for example— my aunt’s husband, a retired old man who spent half his life betting on horse races. Why couldn’t he die instead? What difference would it make? We’d bury him, my aunt would shed a few tears, and a week later...” He trailed off, quiet for a moment, lost in the thought. “No one would remember a thing. But death took my mother—someone it didn’t fit, someone it didn’t agree with—and left behind two kids who needed her more than anything.”

A moment of silence settled, raw and unguarded

Regulus swallowed hard. His voice, when it came, was barely above a breath. “Who ever fits death?” His eyes shimmered—not with tears falling, but with tears being fought back. “I don’t understand how a person can simply stop existing. It’s a concept I can’t comprehend. I can’t make sense of it.”

“You studied medicine. You must have some idea?” James teased gently—an attempt at levity. It earned him the faintest smile.

But it faded almost at once. Regulus’ gaze dropped to his mug, fingers tightening around it. And James softened.

“Regulus,” he whispered, “are you alright? Did something happen today?”

Regulus froze in that subtle way James had begun to recognize. A pause in his breath. A flicker in his eyes. A tiny tightening of his jaw.

He could see it all over Regulus’ face—he needed to talk. Needed to let it out, he just didn’t know how.

So James didn’t push. He simply left the door wide open, instead—warm and welcoming and waiting—an invitation offered with a gentleness James assumed Regulus had rarely been given by the world.

Regulus opened his mouth, closed it. Tried again.

But then James saw it—the split second where Regulus’ walls trembled, where pride wrestled with exhaustion, where his silence nearly swallowed him whole.

“You know when we separated this morning?” Regulus whispered tentatively. “I was on my way to a job interview,” He set his mug down on the small table beside him, fingertips lingering on the ceramic as if he needed the grounding. Then he looked up—finally meeting James’ eyes.

James nodded, humming softly.

“Yeah—well, i never made it“ Regulus exhaled a shaky breath, almost laughing at the absurdity of what he was about to say. “Because I was chased by two armed men who tried to kill me. There were gunshots and shit. You know, the usual.” He let out a hollow, breathless huff. “Just a normal, regular day.”

James stared at him. He genuinely had no idea how he was supposed to react. “What are you talking about?”

“it’s what happened,” Regulus murmured, shifting in his chair, slipping his hands beneath his thighs like he could anchor himself to the world. “James… there’s something I didn’t tell you.”

“That’s fine,” James’ voice softened immediately, instinctively. “Everyone has their secrets.”

Regulus shook his head, the motion small but decisive. “This isn’t like that. It’s something you should know.” His voice faltered, barely a tremor but enough to fracture James’ breathing. “Do you know who my father is?”

“No.” James swallowed the self-loathing rising in his throat. “Who?”

He hated himself. He genuinely, seriously, viscerally despised himself.

Because Regulus was trembling—not in any obvious way, not in a way the average person would notice, but in those microscopic tells James had come to read like a second language. A slight stiffening of the jaw. A breath caught and held too long. The tiniest tightening around his eyes.

And James was lying to him.

Lying straight to his face.

Pretending he didn’t know who Orion Black was—when he’d been an undercover cop building a case against him. Pretending innocence, as if he hadn’t intended to put Orion behind bars or get himself killed trying. Pretending he was clean, when in reality he was standing knee-deep in the very dangers that had Regulus trembling in front of him now.

“Orion Black.” Regulus whispered it like a secret no one was meant to hear, dragged up from the marrow of him—soft and quick, a confession that tasted of both relief and shame on the tongue. “He’s… the biggest mafia figure in the UK. Do you know him?”

James’ pulse stuttered painfully.

“No—I mean, I’ve heard the name before. That’s all,” he murmured.

Liar. Liar. Liar. Liar. Liar. Liar.

The word pounded relentlessly against the inside of his skull like a heartbeat gone feral.

Regulus lowered his gaze, voice thinning to something fragile. “It’s hard for me to tell anyone that,” he whispered. “My whole life is built on lies and denial. I just can’t keep living like this.” His throat tightened, tears threatening. “Are you mad at me for hiding it?”

“No,” James said instantly. “Not at all. It’s just… unexpected.” The next question scraped its way out of him. “Do you know who attacked you?”

God, he hated himself.

He hated the performance he was giving—shock, confusion, sympathy.

Bravo, James Potter. A standing ovation for a truly phenomenal work. A new level of being the worst person alive—here he was, reaching it with the ease of muscle memory.

Regulus trusted him, he was trembling with the weight of honesty.

And James was lying with the steadiness of someone who’d practiced deceit as a fucking profession.

“I don’t know them,” Regulus murmured, “but they’re my father’s enemies. No doubt.” He met James’ eyes—steady on the surface, even as everything beneath threatened to split apart. “I’m leaving. For good. I have no other choice, I need to go to New York as soon as possible.”

James felt something in him jolt violently. A stupid, ridiculous, idiotic urge punched through his chest—

to ask Regulus to stay.

Who is he to ask him that?

By what right?

It shouldn’t have crossed his mind at all. It shouldn’t have existed. And yet there it was, burning and impossible, daring him to reach for something he had no claim to.

“Don’t go,” The words slipped out before James could catch them, Regulus looked up. His expression was unreadable as a stillness settled over him. “would be very unfair of me to ask.” James added quietly.

Regulus didn’t look away.

“I would stay,” he whispered. The confession landed like a tremor between them.

“But I can’t,” he continued helplessly, composure finally cracking. “It’s not a option anymore. It’s a necessity. What is there for me here, anyway?” He shook his head, a bitter huff escaping him. “I can’t—no matter how hard I try—have a normal life. I can’t tie myself to anyone because I carry this big fucking burden on my shoulders. I come from a family of murderers, for fuck’s sake! Who would settle with someone like that?” His voice withered, and this time he couldn’t blink his tears back. “I keep telling myself that it made me clean— that cutting ties with them freed me. But it didn’t. I still carry the name. Their crimes cling to me like a collar around my throat no matter how far I run.” His breath shuddered violently. “It’s so fucking heavy, James. I feel myself crushing under it every day.” He dragged a hand across his face, wiping at the tears with rough, angry swipes.

“You can go anywhere you want, Regulus,” James whispered, voice calm in a way that felt insanely at odds with the storm inside him. “But what you’re feeling? Your grief, your sorrow… they’ll follow you to the end of the world. You’ll never escape them.”

Regulus wiped at his tears again, harsher this time, as if annoyed by their persistence. “I’m not escaping,” he muttered.

James gave him a look—soft but unyielding—one that held no judgment.

Regulus exhaled sharply, shoulders sagging. “Fine. I am. But I don’t have any other choice.”

James leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, his voice low and steady. “Yes, you do.”

Regulus blinked, startled by the certainty in his tone.

James swallowed, choosing his words with a quiet, bruised kind of honesty. “Regulus—if there’s one thing life taught me, it’s this: no matter how far we run, or how fast, whatever we’re trying to escape always finds its way back to us. And when it does, it hits twice as hard.”

A beat passed.

The hesitation lingered between them, heavy and unresolved.

Then Regulus leaned back in the armchair. His gaze fell to his hands, fingers curling slightly. “I have to go,” he whispered.

There was no defiance in it. No certainty.

Just… resignation.

——

“Emmeline isn’t home.” Dorcas said as she slid into the passenger seat of Marlene’s car, shutting the door with a frustrated thud. They’d been searching for Regulus all damn day—going from house to house, friend to friend, repeating the same question with no answers. Her jaw tightened. “Where the hell did he go?”

Marlene drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. “What about that guy? The one who got shot—what was his name? Theo?”

“He wouldn’t go to him, i don’t think so.” Dorcas shook her head firmly.

Marlene turned the key in the ignition, the engine rumbling to life. “Couldn’t you track his phone? Or, I don’t know, ping a signal or something?”

“I tried.” Dorcas sighed, tapping at her own phone like she could will it to give her better news. “I called my police contacts. They can’t trace it—Regulus’ phone is off.”

Marlene let her head fall back against the seat, groaning. “Great. Amazing. We keep running into dead ends. And I’m so fucking hungry, Dorcas.” She grumbled. “Can we go grab a bite?”

“We will, after we find Regulus,” she said, putting another directions for Marlene to drive to. “Just one more place.”

——

“My flight is tomorrow at 3 p.m.” Regulus said quietly as he handed James’ phone back to him. He’d booked the ticket using James’ device—his own phone had been off all day. He wasn’t about to turn it on now. Dorcas would find him in a heartbeat if he did.

Harry sat cross-legged on the floor between them, a bowl of popcorn balanced in his lap, completely absorbed in The Terminator—oblivious to the world collapsing and rearranging itself above his head.

James slipped his phone into his pocket. “Are you leaving without luggage?”

“I can’t go to my house,” Regulus replied. “They’ve probably put someone there in case I show up—Oh.”

He froze, eyes widening. Then he smacked his palm against his forehead.

James turned toward him instantly. “What?”

“My passport,” Regulus groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “It’s at my house. I need to go get it.”

James didn’t hesitate—didn’t even blink. “I’ll come with you.” He was already on his feet before Regulus could protest.

Harry popped up too, practically springing off the floor. “Dad, can I come with you?”

“No, sweetheart.” James crouched slightly to meet his eye. “Uncle Regulus and I are going on a top-secret spy mission. Very dangerous stuff. You have to stay here.” Regulus snorted as he shrugged into his jacket.

Harry’s lip jutted out theatrically. “Please let me come,” he pleaded, launching into the most over-performed fake cry in recorded history. “Or else I’ll be so sad.”

Regulus’ brows lifted in pure amusement and James closed his eyes and sighed in defeat. “Fine. Put on your jacket.”

——

Dorcas—probably for the first time in her life—gave up.

Marlene wasn’t sure whether Dorcas finally caved because they had searched every single one of Regulus’ friends houses—including childhood friends he hadn’t spoken to in over fifteen years—or because Marlene had spent the last hour complaining so relentlessly about her hunger that even a saint would’ve snapped.

Whatever the reason, it resulted in something borderline miraculous:

Dorcas sitting across from her at a restaurant.

A nice restaurant, too. One of those dimly lit, linen-tablecloth, absurdly expensive-water-bottle types.

And they were alone.

Marlene and Dorcas.

Dorcas and Marlene.

Alone.

Marlene might as well jump on the fucking table and samba her joy across the restaurant.

“Not that I’m complaining—” Marlene began, trying to sound casual and failing spectacularly, “but… what is this place, Dorcas? Where did you bring us?”

Dorcas lifted her eyes from the menu. “It’s an Italian restaurant.”

“Yeah, but why?” Marlene flipped through the menu like it personally offended her. “What’s wrong with fish and chips? Or Bangers and Mash?”

“Nothing is wrong,” Dorcas said, stifling a laugh she failed to fully hide. “You asked me to pick a restaurant, so I did.”

Then, with devastating ease, Dorcas added:

“We can go wherever you want next time.”

Next time.

Next.
Time.

Marlene blinked at her, suddenly convinced she had misheard, hallucinated, or briefly died from starvation because Dorcas appeared blissfully unaware that she had just detonated a nuclear bomb directly beneath Marlene’s ribcage.

Marlene was seriously one second away—one—from passing out face-first into the antipasti.

——

James scanned the street for the third time, eyes flicking over every shadow, every parked car, every angle someone could be hiding in. They’d parked several feet away from Regulus’ house—far enough to observe, close enough to reach if things went to hell.

“Dad,” Harry piped up from the backseat, “don’t you think we’re parked a bit far from the house?”

“Harry, sweetheart, shut up for a second,” James muttered distractedly. Harry’s scowl could’ve soured milk. He leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, radiating wounded dignity.

James barely noticed—his nerves were on fire. If one of Orion’s men spotted Regulus… If they saw him with Regulus—

James shuddered, cutting the thought off before it could finish forming.

“Don’t use that attitude with him,” Regulus scolded sharply as he smacked James’ arm—hard. “He’s a kid.”

“You shut up too, Reg,” James hissed, darting a glance between him and Harry. Regulus raised a deeply unimpressed eyebrow.

“What?” James said defensively. “You’re spoiling him.”

“You— I swear to God—” Regulus slapped a hand over his mouth, genuinely floored by the audacity. “James, you’re a different breed of psychopath. Why would you break his heart like that? Look at him!”

They both turned to Harry, who was still wearing the deepest scowl, arms firmly crossed.

James waved him off. “He’ll be fine.”

Regulus gaped at him, but James had already shifted his attention back to the street, sweeping the area one last time. “Harry, do you have your phone?” He asked.

Silence.

James turned and Harry maintained his scowl as he yanked the phone from his pocket and held it up wordlessly. “Good,” James said. “Call if anything happens, okay? We’ll be back in ten minutes. Max.”

Harry nodded, Regulus twisted around in his seat to look at him, expression softening helplessly.

James blew Harry a quick kiss.

Harry returned it—reluctantly.

——

Regulus turned the key in his front door as quietly as he could. James pressed in close beside him, like a second skin, his gaze sweeping the street with near-paranoid vigilance

They slipped inside, and the moment Regulus reached for the light switch, James grabbed his wrist, “No!” He whispered, “someone from the outside might notice” Regulus rolled his eyes and kept walking.

James winced like each step was a personal attack. “Regulus! Walk quietly!” he whisper-screeched.

“I don’t get why the fuck we’re whispering and sneaking around my own house,” Regulus whisper-yelled back in exasperation as he marched toward his bedroom. “No one is here!”

James scanned the living room like a haunted conscience. “You don’t know that!”

“I live here!”

“That doesn’t mean anything!”

A moment later, Regulus poked his head back out, hair slightly mussed, expression infuriatingly casual. “You know, since we’re already here, I might as well pack a few things.”

James’ eyes almost burst out of his skull. “Regulus, for the love of God, just hurry u— oh fuck.”

He froze.

Regulus stepped out immediately, alarmed by the sudden silence only to find James standing rigidly by the counter, pointing at a cup of tea. “Tell me,” he said very carefully, “this is yours.”

Regulus stared at it.

His stomach flipped.

“No, it’s not mine.” His voice dropped to a thin, frightened whisper.

James edged forward, cautiously extending two fingers to touch the side of the cup.

Regulus held his breath—

And then James flinched slightly, his expression shifting in an instant. “Regulus,” he breathed, urgent, “it’s hot. Someone’s here.”

Regulus promptly started freaking the fuck out. His eyes darted wildly around the room—until they landed on the leather jacket draped over a dining chair.

His blood ran cold.

“Fuck me,” he whispered. “Remus is here.” He pointed at the jacket, voice strangled. “One of my father’s men.”

Something clattered in the bathroom. A quiet thud followed by a muttered curse.

James moved without hesitation. He grabbed Regulus’ hand and yanked him backward, pulling them both into the bedroom. The door shut soundlessly behind them, and James held his breath as he pressed his ear to it.

Regulus pulled away from the door, eyes wide as he whispered urgently. “If Remus sees you, you’re as good as dead, James.”

“He can’t do shit,” James murmured distractedly, nose scrunching as he strained to catch any movement outside.

Regulus stared at him, incredulous. “I don’t know if it’s escaped your mind, but he has a gun.”

“So?” James said lightly. “I’m a master at close-range combat.”

“Yeah, good luck head-butting a bullet.” Regulus snapped.

Before James could respond, a faint rustle froze them both—their bodies rigid against the door as they tried to listen.

Then Remus began to whistle—some jaunty, horrifically out-of-place tune. A second later, he put a call on speaker. “Hey, Marls,” he said. “Listen—I want to go. I’m bored out of my fucking mind.”

Marlene’s voice echoed through the house. “Don’t call me, you dipshit! I’m having dinner with Dorcas!”

“What?” Remus yelped, scandalized. “Dorcas as in the lawyer Dorcas?”

“Do you know any other Dorcas?” Marlene deadpanned. “She’s in the bathroom right now. Listen, Rem—she brought me to this weird-ass fancy restaurant. We had fettuccine Alfredo. So fucking good. We should bring Pete and come here sometime.”

“Sure,” Remus muttered. “But, Marls, I’m dying here. I just want to sleep.”

“Wait—here she comes.”

The line crackled with muffled conversation. James and Regulus held their breath, straining to listen.

Then Dorcas’ voice followed, “Remus, check his personal things. Maybe he came before you and already left. See if his toothbrush is there or his clothes—check his bedroom.”

James and Regulus froze, they stared at each other with identical wide, horrified eyes.

Then—
chaos.

They launched into motion at the same time, immediately colliding, hissing accusations at each other and achieving absolutely nothing. Then they devolved into whisper-bickering in mounting panic until James finally snapped and lost his patience. He scooped Regulus up by the waist, practically lifting him with surprisingly—mildly offending—ease, and shoved him into the closet. James slipped in after him, yanking the door shut just as the bedroom handle turned.

Remus stepped into the bedroom. Dorcas’ voice crackled faintly from the phone on speaker as he moved with maddening patience, checking drawers as if he had all the time in the world. “Everything seems to be in place, I don’t think he came before.”

He moved to the closet doors and began opening them—one by one.

When his hand reached their door, both Regulus and James held their breath— bracing for the absolute fucking disaster about to unleash.

But then—then doorbell rang.

Remus turned instantly, his footsteps retreating.

Inside the closet, James and Regulus released the exact same breath, shoulders sagging in shared, bone-deep relief.

From the front door, Remus’ voice drifted back. “Wait—someone’s at the door.” A pause. “Oh. Never mind. It’s the apartment building handyman. I’m not opening it.” He sighed, thoroughly done. “Dorcas, I’ve had enough. I’m leaving.”

“You have your phone on silent, right?” Regulus whispered.

James rolled his eyes. “Obviously. I’m not an amateur.”

On cue— James’ phone shrieked.

At full volume. So fucking loud it genuinely felt personal.

Both of their stomachs plummeted straight through the floor. Regulus turned his head very slowly toward James, his expression flat with quiet, murderous disbelief, as James scrambled desperately to silence the phone.

But it was too late.

Remus’ footsteps were already thundering down the hall. “Dorcas—hold on—I heard a phone ring,” he said, rushing into the bedroom.

He reached for the closet door.

Regulus didn’t think. He launched himself out of the closet like a demon escaping the underworld, slamming the door shut behind him so fast the air cracked with it. “Remus!”

Remus flinched, stumbling back with a startled yelp. “HOLY FUCK—REGULUS?” His hand went straight to his chest, clutching his heart. “Were you here the entire fucking time?”

Regulus gawked at Remus like he was the one who had just committed a social faux pas. Then he seized his arm and shoved him toward the hallway. “What the hell are you doing in my house? You can't just barge into my private residence unannounced and start fiddling with my closets!” he snapped—voice sharp with affronted disbelief, in a truly impressive attempt to turn the tables.

“Dorcas—he’s here!” Remus blurted. “What the fuck—Regulus? How are you even here right now?” His voice cracked halfway through, eyes wide in absolute shock.

Dorcas’ voice rushed through the speaker, “Stay there. Marlene and I are coming. Do not go anywhere.” She hung up and Regulus rounded up on Remus.

“Get out of my house. Now.”

They immediately began bickering—back and forth, neither of them making a shred of sense—while James crept silently behind Remus, gripping a vase like it was Excalibur itself.

Regulus caught the movement. He flicked a glance at the vase and almost winced. Then, very solemnly, he said, “Remus—just so you know, I like you a lot. You’re probably my favorite out of all my father’s men.”

Remus blinked, touched. “Aw, thanks, Reg—”

He didn’t get to finish.

Because James smashed the vase down on his head and he dropped like a sack of flour.

“OH FUCK—” Regulus covered his face with both hands as Remus lay unconscious at their feet.

“Regulus, for the love of everything that is good and holy, grab what you need so we can get the fuck out of here.” James snapped, one second away from ripping his hair out from sheer stress.

Regulus didn’t wait another second.

He sprinted into his bedroom.

——

James staggered out of the building with two enormous duffel bags, one in each hand, his shoulders screaming in protest. Regulus followed behind him with two equally ridiculous bags, looking entirely unapologetic.

“I wish we called a shipping company, Reg.” James wheezed.

“Oh, shut up.”

James shot him a look. “Are you sure you didn’t forget a sofa or something?”

Regulus glared at him like a man who had survived war—too weighed down by the bags to snap back, but his scowl did the job.

James hitched the bags higher, producing a strained groan. They reached the car, breathless and sweating buckets, like they’d just finished a marathon they absolutely did not train for—only to find Harry fast asleep in the back seat, curled up and snoring softly.

James pointed at him dramatically, "look at him. The absolute audacity! In a blissful, peaceful coma while we were in there fighting for our actual lives.”

Regulus rolled his eyes so hard he nearly pulled a muscle. He hurled the bags into the trunk with zero grace. “James, he’s eight.“

“So?” James raised his eyebrows as he slammed the trunk shut. "We started this endeavor at a reasonable hour! He could have at least offered moral support. A single clap, maybe?"

Regulus just smacked his arm with sharp impatience as they piled into the car and sped off.

——

Remus woke to the sound of the doorbell ringing and someone pounding like the building was on fire. His skull felt like it had split clean in two. He groaned, rubbed the back of his head “OW—fuck—”

He dragged himself upright and staggered to the door, opening it to Dorcas and Marlene as they barged in instantly.

“Where is Regulus?” Dorcas demanded, breathless.

Remus blinked at her. “Who?”

They stared at him in a stunned beat of silence.

Marlene stepped into his personal space, studying his face. “What? Are you alright?” she asked, squinting. “Where the hell is Regulus?”

“Oh—Regulus.” Remus rubbed the back of his head again, wincing. He pointed vaguely toward the bedroom. “He literally catapulted out of his closet, we talked for a bit, and then— I don’t know. It’s all gone.”

Dorcas closed her eyes in suffering, placing the heel of her hand against her forehead, while Marlene surveyed the shattered vase on the floor.

“Lovely.” Marlene poked at the broken glass with the tip of her shoe. “He escaped again.” She stepped closer to Remus and gently pressed her fingers to the back of his head.

“Did he do this to you?” Dorcas asked, crossing her arms, nails biting into her sleeves as her eyes swept the room.

“No,” Remus mumbled, wincing as Marlene continued her inspection. “There was someone else.”

Dorcas’ head snapped back to him. She took one sharp step forward, posture going rigid. “What?” She snapped. “A man or a woman?”

Remus swayed and Marlene caught him by the elbow before he face-planted. “Dorcas,” he groaned, “how the hell am I supposed to know? The hit came from behind me.”

Dorcas muttered something under her breath, then gasped loudly. “Fuck— is he seeing someone?”

Remus stared at her in disbelief. “Cas, I’m actively experiencing closet-related trauma. This time it’s not a metaphorical closet,” he said slowly. “Is this really your biggest concern?”

“It’s called priorities, Remus.” She waved a hand dismissively, already pulling out her phone. “I’ll call Mr. Black.” Then she turned on her heel and marched out.

Marlene watched her go, eyes wide and sparkling like this was the best thing she’d ever witnessed. Then she turned back to Remus, leaned in, and whispered excitedly. “We had dinner in an Italian restaurant. Can you believe it?” Her grin was blinding.

Remus blinked, then slowly, almost pitifully, grinned back. “That’s practically the equivalent of getting married.” His sarcasm was heavy, but Marlene—gloriously smitten—didn’t catch it.

She nodded enthusiastically. “I know, right?”

Remus sighed, rested his head on her shoulder in defeat, and wrapped an arm around her. “Never change, Marls. I love you so much.”

She patted his back like he was a malfunctioning appliance. “Yeah, we’re going to the hospital. You don’t sound sane. Let’s get that head checked.”

——

James draped the blanket gently over Harry, smoothing it over his small shoulders. Harry blinked up at him, fighting sleep, “Dad, can you read me a book? Not kid stories. I want one of your favorite books.”

James’ smile softened into something warm and helpless. “Sure thing, sweetheart. I’ll be right back.”

He stepped out quietly, and paused for a moment in the living room.

Regulus was there, sitting on the floor beside his open duffel bags, carefully transferring his belongings into the large suitcase they’d bought on the way back.

James watched him for a moment longer than he should have, memorizing the curve of his shoulders, the set of his jaw—like something already slipping into memory.

Something tighten in his chest.

Fuck. He really is leaving.

James exhaled through his nose and shook the thought off, forcing himself back into motion. He crossed to the bookshelf and Regulus looked up at him, questioning.

“Harry wants me to read him a book,” James explained, fingers skimming the spines until they closed around The Disconnected by Oğuz Atay.

Regulus’ eyes widened like he’d been struck “You’re reading that to a kid?”

James shrugged, unconcerned. “It’s one of his favorites.”

Regulus looked faintly distressed, as if something precious had just been irrevocably damaged as James returned to the bedroom and settled onto the bed beside Harry. A few seconds later, soft footsteps approached and Regulus paused in the doorway. “Do you mind if I join you?”

“Yes, come in!” James and Harry said in unison—far too enthusiastic. They shared a look of amusement at their syncing, then high-fived each other.

Regulus huffed a laugh, fond despite himself, and sank into the armchair near the bed.

James cleared his throat, smoothing the pages and began to read: “For underdevelopment in matters of love, we have nearly the highest ranking of all the countries in the world. According to the statistical data of the United Nations, only Nigeria and Ghana are less developed than we are. The rate of falling in love is forty-two to a hundred thousand.”

Regulus smiled faintly, recognizing the passage instantly.

James continued reading, his voice softening into the familiar cadence of the prose. “All right, we are behind in love. But are we better at anything else? Yes. We are first in traffic accidents. Now what do you think of that! According to the bulletin of the Institute for Love Health, the recorded number of undisclosed loves within a year, by calculations of probability, should be about four thousand six hundred…”

He read on, completely absorbed. The room was awash in warm lamplight, a hush of contentment draped over all three of them.

When James looked up, Harry was fast asleep, one hand curled against his leg.

Regulus, too, had drifted off—head tilted back against the armchair, chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. His lashes cast faint shadows on his cheeks, his features softened in sleep.

James closed the book with a quiet sigh and set it aside. He rose carefully, walked over and knelt beside Regulus. With slow hands, he tucked a pillow beneath his head, then pulled the blanket over him, his fingers lingering for just a heartbeat too long.

When he slipped back beside Harry, James lay down in a way that gave him a perfect view of Regulus. From here, the lamp cast a warm glow across his sleeping form—his wild curls, slightly parted lips, those offensively sharp cheekbones. Exhaustion had softened him into something gentle.

James watched him for a long, quiet moment.

And then, with the kind of peace he hadn’t known in years— James Potter fell asleep watching Regulus Black.

——

Regulus woke to sunlight stabbing him directly in the face.

He scrunched his nose and lifted his head—only for a pillow tucked beneath him to slide off and thump onto the floor. He blinked, momentarily confused, before the room settled into focus around him.

His gaze drifted to the bed.

James and Harry were curled together beneath the blankets, breathing in the same slow, peaceful rhythm. A soft smile tugged at the corner of Regulus’ mouth at the sight.

He pushed himself up, careful not to make a sound, and slipped away to get ready.

By the time he finished, he wheeled his suitcase to the front door. It clicked softly against the tiles—his entire life reduced to a single piece of luggage.

He stood there for a moment, staring at it.

Then, almost unwillingly, his feet carried him back down the hallway.

He stopped in the doorway of Harry’s bedroom.

Nothing had changed. James and Harry were exactly as he left them—folded into each other.

Regulus needs to leave for New York. But he wants nothing more than to return to that armchair and stay there forever.

Should he wake James?

Should he say goodbye?

How the hell was he supposed to do that? It doesn’t feel right. His throat tightened, and a quiet ache bloomed under his ribs.

He didn’t want to say goodbye.

Not to Harry. Not to this flat. Not to the first night of peace and safety he’d had in years.

Not to James.

Especially not to James.

Regulus swallowed, torn between the doorway and the bed, between what he needed to do and what he wanted, between survival and… and what? He didn’t dare name it. He couldn’t even think it.

So he stood there, caught in that liminal moment, heart thudding in a rhythm he refused to recognize—

Then he realized, with aching clarity, that leaving was something he could do— saying goodbye was something he couldn’t.