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Regulus Black was never one for happy endings.
He grew up with his life laid out for him: he’d graduate from Hogwarts with perfect marks in his classes, on his OWLs, and on his NEWTs; he’d take The Mark; he’d get a job working for his father (until it came time to take over the department); he’d marry a rich, pure-blooded girl, they’d have children; and he’d maybe even work up high enough in his job to run for and be elected as Minister of Magic.
It was a perfect life, really; a safe option with security.
But it wasn’t a happy ending.
The thing about perfect lives is that they’re meant to be lived. Not planned. And when Regulus Black was seventeen, he realized that no matter how much he followed the script, he would never be able to stomach the ending.
The moment he discovered the Dark Lord’s secret, he knew there were only two ways his story could go. He could accept his fate and live a life soaked in the blood of the innocent, or he could make his own path. A messier, uncertain path, that probably wouldn’t keep him alive long enough to see the ending.
But then there was James Potter.
James, who had taken up all the space in Regulus’ mind long before Regulus even knew what to call it. James, who had never let anyone tell him how his story was meant to end. James, who looked at Regulus like he wasn’t just a name, or a Black ,or a disappointment waiting to happen. James, who, on those quiet nights spent on the Astronomy Tower together, looked at Regulus like he had hung the moon and the stars, and created the entire galaxy just for the two of them.
James, who promised him a different future.
It was James who had got to him the night his parents wanted him to take The Mark. It was James who had dragged him out of that house and to his own. It was James who had saved him, who had taken him in.
Regulus had been too weak to fight back, too tired to argue. He had gone his entire life contained, keeping his thoughts and desires locked up in an airtight box. But there, in James Potter’s home, in which Regulus had no idea how he had ended up in, with James’ fingers clutching his wrist like he was terrified he would slip away, something changed.
So he let James press a hand to his chest and whisper reassurances. He let James hide him away in a safe house, let him trace the scars on his arms late at night, let him brush a shaky hand through his damp hair and promise him a future where he could be free. Where he could live.
He let himself dream.
For the first time in his life, Regulus Black started to believe in happy endings.
It started slow. Regulus’ body still ached, his hands still trembled. He still woke up gasping for air, certain that any moment now, the walls would cave in and he would find himself back where he started, in that house with those people. But everytime he opened his eyes, James was there.
James, with warm hands and tired smiles and the kind of happy-go-lucky attitude that Regulus could never understand. James, who never let Regulus slip too far into his own mind, who forced him to eat, to sleep, to heal. James, who never asked for anything in return.
Until one night, when James hesitated before leaving the room.
“You don’t have to love me,” he had murmured. “But I need you to know that I love you. And I don’t want you to run from that.”
Regulus hadn’t answered right away. It wasn’t really about love. It was about safety. About trust. About waking up in the morning and knowing that someone in this world wanted him alive. It was about the way James’ hand fit over his, grounding him when the nightmares came. About the way he said Regulus’ name, like it meant something. Like he meant something.
So he reached out and caught James’ wrist before he could turn away. He didn’t say anything–he didn’t have to.
James just smiled, all warmth and relief and something too big for Regulus to name, and squeezed his fingers in return.
When the war ended, when the Dark Lord fell, when Regulus walked out into the sun with James’ hand in his, he realized that maybe he was one for happy endings. It wasn’t perfect, but it was real. And that was enough.
He and James built a life together, in a home filled with light and laughter. They had a garden in the backyard where James grew carrots and absolutely no other edible plants. Regulus had a library with a reading nook by the window, and James would usually come and sit beside him while he read, not speaking, just being. They hosted dinners with Sirius and Remus, and Barty and Evan. Sometimes Peter too, though he never stayed long. They got a cat, a black one that James named Snitch. They argued about what color to paint the sitting room and whose turn it was to make tea.
At night, when the house was quiet, when the lights were dim, and the only sound was the distant hoot of an owl outside the window, James would pull Regulus close.
“I love you,” he would whisper into Regulus’ hair.
Regulus, eyes heavy with sleep, would barely move, but his fingers curled in James’ shirt.
“Mmm,” he would hum in return.
And James would grin and say,
“I’ll take that as an ‘I love you too.’”
A pause.
Then, softly,
“I do.”
“I know,” James would say, and then kiss his forehead.
Regulus’ favorite days were when he and James would be woken up on early mornings by Harry jumping around in their bed. The three of them would make their way downstairs together, to where Mary and Lily had already welcomed themselves in–Mary, setting Harry’s things down in the sitting room while Lily put a pot of tea on in the kitchen.
James would mumble something jokingly about boundaries while Regulus just rolled his eyes with a smile and took Harry’s tiny hand in his own, helping him up into a chair so that he could watch Lily pour the tea. They always had breakfast with Lily and Mary on those days, eating James’ slightly burnt pancakes and listening to Harry’s stories about his week with his moms.
Their weeks with Harry were always the busiest, but they were also Regulus’ favorite, because for all the plans he had for his future before, none of them ever included waking up to the sound of a giggling toddler being chased around the house by James Potter, or watching the way Harry’s nose scrunched up with determination as he stirred cookie batter with a spoon too big for his little hands.
None of those plans had included sitting on the back porch with Pandora, watching Harry and Luna chase fairies around the garden. None of them included watching Sirius teach Harry how to fly, standing on the edge of the porch with his heart in his throat, biting back shouts of warning because James was right next to him, beaming with pride. And he had certainly never thought a time would come where he and James Potter were co-parenting a child with Lily Evans and Mary MacDonald. When Regulus was sixteen, he had never thought there would even come a time where he would have even an ounce of care for anyone’s child, certainly not his own.
On mornings where Regulus woke to the sound of tiny feet padding along the wooden floor, followed by a loud thump as something launched itself onto the bed. James would groan, burying his face deeper into his pillow, and Regulus would bite back a smile.
“Up! Up, up, up!” Harry would declare, bouncing excitedly between them.
“James,” Regulus would sigh, not opening his eyes. “Deal with your child.”
And James would blindly reach out, grabbing Harry around the middle and hauling him onto his chest saying, “our child,” as he pressed a kiss to the top of Harry’s messy hair. Harry would giggle, and Regulus would sit up, finally opening his eyes, and smiling over at his boys.
“Come on then, troublemaker,” he’d say, reaching over to ruffle Harry’s hair and leaning over to press a quick kiss to Harry’s cheek. “Let’s get breakfast started.”
Harry would cheer, scrambling off the bed. Regulus would barely have any time to react before James was grabbing his wrist and pulling him back down.
“Hey,” he would mumble right into Regulus’ ear, voice thick with sleep. “You’ve kissed the kid good morning, where’s mine.”
Regulus would roll his eyes, but lean down with a smile, brushing a kiss against James’ cheek.
“That’s rubbish,” James would grin. “Try again.”
“Later,” Regulus would say, shoving a pillow in James’ face as he got up. “If you actually get up, you might get a proper one.”
James would groan, but finally roll out of bed, and drag a hand through his hair as he followed Regulus and Harry downstairs.
They had a good life, a really good life.
And then the lamp started to look weird.
Regulus first noticed it when they had gotten home late one night after spending the day with Harry, Barty, and Evan at the park.
There was a lamp on the end table next to their sofa in the sitting room. Just an ordinary lamp. But when Regulus looked at it as James helped Harry take off his shoes, there was something off about it. He couldn’t place what it was, though, so he just put the thought into the back of his mind as James passed Harry over to him, placing a kiss on his temple and saying something about going to put a pot of tea on.
“Uncle Barty told me that next time I see him, he’s gonna teach me how to duel,” Harry was saying as Regulus brought him into the bathroom.
“Did he now?” Regulus asked, setting Harry down on the closed toilet lid.
“Yep,” Harry nodded, popping the ‘p’. “He said that you never know when you’ll need to know how.”
Regulus hummed as he turned the tap on, putting the plug in the drain.
“He’s not wrong,” Regulus said, turning back to Harry. “You’re a little young for duels though, aren’t you?”
Harry shook his head as Regulus started to help him get undressed for his bath.
“Uncle Evan said it’s never too early to start,” he said.
“Of course he did,” Regulus sighed. He looked up with a smile. “I think they might be bad influences.”
“I don’t think so,” Harry shook his head as Regulus lifted him up and then set him down in the tub.
“Hm, well I think so,” Regulus said, giving Harry his small bucket of bath toys. “We’ve got to get you hanging out with Aunt Panda more. She’s a much better influence.”
“And Luna?” Harry asked as Regulus used a cup of water to start to get Harry’s hair wet.
“Yes, Luna too,” Regulus nodded.
“When can we see Draco again?” Harry asked.
“Maybe next week,” Regulus answered. “I’ll talk to Cissa whenever–”
He had reached into the water to soak Harry’s spiderman washcloth, but as he pulled his hand out, something from in the water grabbed him around the wrist. It was another hand; pale, with sharp nails almost like claws. It was gone as quickly as it was there, and Regulus had just froze up.
“Papa?” Harry asked. Regulus looked up at him. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he said, pulling his hand away from the water. “Um. I think bath time’s over.”
“But I just got in,” Harry said.
“I know, but it’s late already,” Regulus said, already reaching to unplug the drain. “I don’t want to miss bedtime.”
“Okay,” Harry shrugged, letting Regulus pick him up and wrap him in his towel.
Regulus dried Harry off as he carried him through the upstairs hallways and to his bedroom. He got Harry dressed into his pajamas, and then read him a story.
“Goodnight, Papa,” Harry said when Regulus finished the story.
“Goodnight, étoile,” Regulus said, leaning down to press a kiss to Harry’s forehead. “I’ll send Dad up in a little bit.”
“Okay,” Harry mumbled, turning over on his side and closing his eyes.
Regulus couldn’t get the hand from the bath out of his mind, but it was sort of hard to care about that when he had a kid as perfect as Harry. He smiled as he left Harry’s room, turning off the light and keeping the door cracked just enough so that a little bit of the light from the hallway could flow in, just the way Harry liked it.
James was coming up the stairs as Regulus came to the top of them.
“Hey,” he said. “Bedtime went quicker than I thought it would.”
“Yeah,” Regulus answered. “He was tired.”
“Well, I’ll peek in and tell him goodnight,” James said, pressing a kiss to Regulus’ temple as he passed. “Teas in the sitting room.”
Regulus nodded as James made his way to Harry’s room and Regulus went downstairs to the sitting room.
Regulus sank into the sofa, the warm scent of tea filling the air. His fingers brushed the side of the lamp as he reached for the cup of tea James had made him.
The lamp. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong with it. The size, the shade, the color, it was all the same. But there was something about the lamp that was just…wrong.
“Everything okay?” James’ voice broke Regulus’ thoughts. Regulus looked up at him, giving a soft smile in what he hoped was a nonchalant tension.
“Yeah,” he said as James sat down next to him. “Just tired.”
James gave him a look like he knew Regulus wasn’t telling the truth.
“You sure that’s it?” he asked.
“Positive,” Regulus said, and then shook his head. “There was just–In the bath, there was something in the water that–”
“-Like a bug or something?” James asked.
“No,” Regulus shook his head. “There wasn’t actually something in the water, it was just–This hand reached out and grabbed me… I don’t know. Long day.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” James asked.
“Yes,” Regulus said, setting his tea down and pressing a kiss right to James’ lips. “Just tired, like I said. I’m gonna head up to bed early.”
“It’s seven o’clock,” James said.
“I know,” Regulus said. “Long day. I’m okay, James, really.”
“Alright,” James said, though he sounded unsure.
Regulus started walking toward the stairs, but James caught his hand before he could get too far away. Regulus turned to look at him.
“I love you,” he said.
“I know,” Regulus smiled. “I love you too.”
James gave him that stupid, crooked, James Potter grin, letting go of Regulus’ hand, letting him make his way upstairs. In their bedroom, Regulus got into his pajamas before making his way over to the bed. There was a Gryffindor-red shirt laying on the mattress, one that Regulus hadn’t seen since he was sixteen years old, he thinks. There was white writing on the back of it, POTTER 07 in a big, bold font. James’ quidditch jersey.
When Regulus picked it up though, going to move it to the dresser so that he could lay down, his attention was drawn to the three large rips going through it. Like something had clawed its way through the jersey. Regulus only looked up from it when the door creaked open and James came in.
“What happened to this shirt?” Regulus asked.
“What do you mean?” James asked in return.
“Your jersey,” Regulus clarified, though he didn’t think he needed to. “What happened to it?”
“Nothing,” James answered slowly. “Why?”
“What do you mean ‘nothing’?” Regulus asked. “It’s all torn up.”
James was quiet, just looking at Regulus for a second.
“Are you feeling alright?” he asked finally, walking over to Regulus and taking the jersey from him. “There’s nothing wrong with the shirt.”
“Yes there is,” Regulus said. “The three big rips in it. James, I–”
“-You know what,” James said. “We did have a long day today. Let’s just go to bed, yeah?”
Regulus stared at him for a long moment, and then nodded.
“Yeah,” he said. “Okay.”
He got into bed as James took off his jeans and shirt, and then climbed into bed with Regulus, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him close. That night, Regulus dreamed of a dark cave and salty water filling his lungs. But when he woke up in the morning, with a jolt and gasping for air, James was right there holding him, and it was all alright.
“Maybe we should just have a quiet day today,” James said over breakfast. “How does that sound, Haz?”
“A quiet day at the beach?” Harry asked instead.
“Sure,” James said, and then looked at Regulus who gave a small nod. “A quiet day at the beach. And then we’ll bring you back to your mums’.”
“Okay,” Harry smiled, picking up another strawberry from his plate.
The air was warm when the three of them made their way to the beach. Harry ran ahead of them, his feet kicking up the sand as he laughed. James found a spot to lay out their towels and set the cooler down, as Regulus rubbed sunscreen on Harry’s skin.
“Can I swim out to those rocks?” Harry asked, pointing toward the ocean.
“I don’t think so,” Regulus shook his head. “How about you stay where the water touches your knees unless Dada takes you farther?”
“Okay,” Harry nodded. “Then maybe I’ll try to catch fish. Or find seashells for Mummy!”
“That sounds lovely, étoile,” Regulus said, letting Harry turn toward the water. “Go ahead then. Don’t let the water pass your knees.”
“I won’t!” Harry called back as he ran into the water.
Regulus sat back against the towels with James, looking over at him with a smile.
“So what was going on last night?” James asked.
Regulus sighed, shaking his head.
“I don’t know,” he answered. “I guess I was just really tired.”
“But you’re okay now?”
Regulus looked at James, the way he was looking back at Regulus with something in his eyes that made Regulus feel like everything was going to be okay. He looked out at the ocean, to where Harry was splashing around and laughing loudly.
“I’m perfect,” he said, looking back at James.
“Good,” James smiled, and then leaned over to kiss Regulus on the mouth.
They spent their day at the beach, and it was just the three of them there. Harry splashed around on his own for a while, before James called him out for lunch, and they ate sandwiches and played in the sand for a while. Then James took Harry back out into the ocean, holding onto him as they went out as deep as they could, and Regulus watched from the shoreline, unable to hold back a smile.
It was all perfect, until it wasn’t.
The sun was starting to get low when James and Regulus decided it was probably time to pack up and get Harry to Lily and Mary’s. James stayed back on the beach, folding up the towels and packing the leftover drinks into the cooler while Regulus walked down to the shoreline to get Harry.
He had just been there, planning around with his plastic sand bucket, trying to catch the tadpoles. Regulus bent down to scoop him up, and Harry was gone.
The cuffed sleeves of Regulus’ shirt got soaked, and he stumbled slightly, coming up with nothing.
“Harry?” he called out, panicked as he looked around. Harry was just there. Where could he have gone? “Harry?!”
When Regulus turned around, James was gone from the beach too. And then everything was gone, and Regulus was surrounded in black.
“James?!” he yelled out.
Everything around him smelled of salt, but it was far too intense to be from where he had been standing in the shoreline. He felt water splashing against his skin, all around him. And then there were sharp nails scraping against his skin—claws grabbing onto him, pulling him down. The same hands from the bath.
Regulus thinks he heard himself scream out for James again, though he doesn’t remember doing it. He could hear his mother’s voice in the back of his head, telling him to stay quiet! He tried to gasp in a breath of air, but was met with only water.
Ice cold, salty water, burning through his nostrils and filling his lungs as he tried, desperately, to breathe in.
When Regulus could see again, everything was sort of blurred out, as though he was seeing it from underwater. He expected he was. Maybe when he was going to get Harry, he had fallen and hit his head on a rock. Maybe he was underwater, but James would be there soon to save him, because James always saved him.
Most things around him were still dark, but Regulus thinks he was able to make out the stone walls of a cave. There was a little wooden boat too, and… No. No, this wasn’t right.
He was supposed to be with James, and with Harry. He was supposed to be with Sirius, who was with Remus. And Barty and Evan who were with each other. They were all supposed to be happy. James was supposed to love him. This wasn’t right.
He could James now, in the back of his head, but he was angry. He was angry with Regulus.
“Why did you do this?” he was asking. “Why?”
“I didn’t have a choice,” Regulus could hear himself saying, but that only made James angrier. He could hear them arguing, could feel the dread in the pit of his stomach—the dread of telling James the truth.
Sirius’ voice was there too, telling Regulus that he was going to the Potter’s and that he wouldn’t be coming back. Regulus wanted to beg him to stay, or to bring him along, but his father’s voice was there too, calling Regulus a coward, and he was right. Regulus had never been brave.
But this wasn’t right! No, this was terribly wrong. Any minute now, Regulus would wake up from this terrible dream, and James would be next to him, and Harry would be sound asleep in his room, and Sirius would be downstairs raiding their kitchen despite having his own kitchen with his own food, and everything would be okay.
And oh, there was James now, reaching into the water. Regulus could only make out his silhouette, and he seemed smaller than Regulus remembered, but there was his unmistakably messy hair, and his crooked glasses. Regulus reached up, grabbing onto James’ wrist.
But Regulus Black was never one for happy endings. He should have known that he parents would have forced him to take The Mark, he should have known that when James found out about it that would be the end of whatever it was they had going on, he should have known that Sirius would have never forgiven him, and that Lily Evans would never let Regulus go anywhere near her son.
He should have known that the hand he was gripping into now did not belong to James Potter, because Regulus Black was never one for happy endings, and James Potter was never one for saving the villain.
When Regulus was closer, he was able to make out one very distinct feature of whoever’s hand he had, and that was the bright green eyes that he had. This wasn’t James.
Regulus should have known that there was something off about that lamp.