Chapter Text
When Regulus wakes, his first real thought is, everything hurts.
His entire left side seems to burn like he's been doused in molten fire, and he cannot remember ever hurting this much before. He's pretty sure this surpasses even the cruciatus curse and, honestly, he didn't think it was possible to feel worst than he did, on the wrong end of Bella's wand, but here he is, lying on what he's sure is an infirmary bed, and everything hurts.
Brows furrowing, Regulus tries to focus and take inventory of the worst of the damage, but he cannot remember what's happened. Finally, when he moves, he feels a tug under his left arm that tells him there's a bandage there.
Perhaps a raid that went wrong?
Eyes fluttering open, Regulus spares a glimpse at the bandages that cover his entire left side, from his wrist up to his shoulder and then around his chest and entire left side. He tries to sit up then, only to let out a hiss when his ribs seem to scream in protest at his sudden movement, and he grits his teeth waiting for the wave of pain to pass. Focusing on his breathing, it takes him a second to realize there is someone else in the room with him, a hand on his shoulder, trying to force him to lie back down.
“Whoa there, slowly, Reg,” someone says and the voice is familiar but he can't place who it belongs to, “Pomfrey healed you, but you still need to rest otherwise everything won't heal as strong as it was before. You can’t be moving like that right now.”
“Wha’ happened?” he manages to ask. His mouth and throat are dry, and his whole body feels stiff like he hasn't moved in years.
“A couple of fourth years blew up a potion and you got in the way,” is the answer he receives — Potter, it sounds like Potter, but why is Potter here? — but that answer does not make sense because he graduated from Hogwarts months ago.
With some effort, Regulus pushes his eyes open.
Immediately, he knows something is wrong because the person perched on the edge of his bed is undoubtedly James Potter, but he's never seen that expression on Potter's face before. His brown eyes, wet with unshed tears and relief, seem to tug at all of Regulus' heartstrings and he doesn't understand why.
“You really scared me,” Potter continues (and that doesn't make sense either, Regulus doesn't understand, doesn't understand why Potter's eyes are pained and worried as they seemingly caress Regulus' features) before he releases a shaky breath. “It's been a long time since I felt fear like that. Not since that night,” he whispers like those words are significant and should mean something to Regulus, his eyes filling up as he runs a trembling hand through his hair. “Are you alright, love?”
Love.
Regulus stops breathing and that word echoes in his ears — love, love, love, are you alright, love? — and his silence must last too long because the next thing he knows, Potter is leaning back, putting distance between them, dread and fear growing in his loving gaze before Regulus rasps, “I’m sorry, Potter, but what are you on about?”
Regulus is transferred to St. Mungo's to be examined more thoroughly but through it all, Regulus feels like he's floating, like he's not there, but nothing can erase the memory of how Potter's eyes widened with shock and fear when the implications of Regulus's question dawned on him.
Lily Evans — not Lily Evans-Potter, as Regulus would have expected — is the one to examine him and deliver his diagnosis and he's not surprised to learn that she went on to become a Healer. Evans always was skilled at both Charms and Potions.
His retrograde amnesia, she informs him and James, who has refused to leave Regulus's side since he first woke up, is likely brought on by his head injury from the Potions mishap. Apparently, in his rush to ensure his students weren't injured, he was caught in the blast. His students, because apparently, he's the new Potions Professor and Head of Slytherin at Hogwarts.
“It's likely temporary, but honestly, we can't know for sure,” Evans says to him, businesslike. Her green eyes keep flickering to Potter every few seconds like she is awaiting a reaction, and Regulus finds himself doing the same. “All we can do is wait,” her tone is hopeful but it does little to soothe Regulus because all he can think about is the years of his life that he's lost. He woke up thinking it was 1979, but it is 1986.
Evans leaves them alone then, and Regulus almost calls her back, the tension between himself and Potter stifling, but then there is Lupin and Sirius. “Fucking hell, Reggie,” Sirius huffs when he reaches Regulus's bedside and Sirius, Sirius, Sirius his heart seems to chant when his brother throws his arms around him before Sirius freezes and draws away, his face carefully neutral while James explains.
It's all too much, Regulus thinks numbly.
Pure, unfiltered panic coils around his rapidly beating heart like devil's snare.
It threatens to strangle the bruised and battered organ with its tendrils.
Lupin is the one to notice, surprisingly, and he is so incredibly gentle as he leads both Potter and Sirius away from Regulus, giving him the space he needs to breathe. He suggests they contact Pandora and Regulus tenses and he opens his mouth to answer, to say something, anything, but no words come because Pandora, Pandora, Pandora.
He hasn't seen Pandora since that last conversation they shared moments before they departed the Hogwarts Express for the last time, except, that was seven years ago, wasn't it? He doesn't remember the last time he saw Pandora.
Pandora bursts into his hospital room sometime later, looks at him and murmurs, “Oh, ducky.” She wraps her arms around Regulus's waist in the sort of tight hug he so rarely allows her, especially not out in the open where someone might see. “What trouble have you gotten yourself into this time?” She reaches out, tucks one long, thick curl behind his ear, and Regulus puffs out a relieved breath.
Pandora settles on the edge of his bed and grabs his right hand, the one that isn't wrapped in bandages, and updates him on the state of the world because she always seems to know what he needs. Mere months after finishing Hogwarts, Regulus betrayed the Dark Lord. Evan is dead. Barty and Bella, imprisoned in Azkaban. Dorcas, strong and fierce Dorcas, a force of nature in her own right, always with a quick quip and steely determination in her eyes, killed by the Dark Lord himself. And Voldemort? Defeated, a miracle.
Sirius and Lupin sneak out during his conversation with Pandora, but Potter remains sitting in the corner while Pandora continues to catch him up on the things he can't remember, and Regulus finds his eyes straying to him more than once. Now that he's looking at Potter, he can see the subtle differences that highlight the years that have passed. He's older, taller than Regulus remembers, broader and scruffier too.
Pandora notices his straying gaze, because of course she does. “Do you remember James, Reg?” She asks softly, glancing towards the man in question, and it takes all of his self-control not to snap, to say that obviously he remembers Potter, remembers the person his brother had obviously replaced him with. But that's not what Pandora asked, she asked if he remembered James.
Potter's — James's — face is tried and drawn when he turns to look at Regulus, and Regulus's heart twinges in his chest at the sight of James's broken expression when Regulus shakes his head. It's strange and seems impossible, but he and James are involved.
Regulus feels cold, almost breathtakingly numb in that secret place inside of him where he’d once been warm and soft; inside the heart that he believes to be rendered blind and deaf, but he forces himself to be gentle with James. “I don’t remember,” he says softly, feeling horrible at the choked sound James lets out. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, staring at the man across the room with regret.
James's pained smile as he stands up does not fool Regulus in the least. “It’s okay, love,” he says, already turning on his heel, rushing from the room and once again that word — love, love, love, are you alright, love? — echoes in his head as he stares after James.
Pandora is the one that's there to wrap him in her arms, the one who holds him, who tells him it's okay to cry.
Regulus doesn't though.
He can't.
He's too numb to cry.