Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

May 22, 1902

❖───── •✧✧• ─────❖

The tent canvas still dripped with last night’s rain, the oil-lamps hissed a slow, warm glow across the packed dirt floor. Long shadows stretched from beams and stands, swallowing heaps of rope and forgotten props. Beyond the thin canvas, the impatient hum of the audience grew louder: shuffling feet and murmuring anticipation. The animals shifted restlessly in their cages, chains rattling against wood. Performers stretched, warmed their limbs, rhythmically practicing the cracks of whips, pattern of drums, and turns of the body. 

Sirius clawed a hand through his slicked-back hair, pacing like a caged lion. He was ready. Ready to hurl himself at the crowd, to let them engage in all the danger of fire and steel that he would encounter from the safe distance of the wooden bleachers. The tang of lamp oil clung to his palms, sharp on his nose, quickening his pulse. He strode forward, but before his heel struck the floor, a blade hissed through the air and landed point first into the dirt. Just a hair’s breadth short of clipping his boot. 

“Try not to set yourself on fire this time,” Regulus said lightly, retrieving another knife from the row laid out in front of him. 

“I told you,” Sirius shot back, flashing teeth, “I’m not your target girl. Keep your bloody knives to yourself.” 

Regulus didn’t look up. “Where’s the thrill in hitting dead wood? We’d double the audience if you let me trim that ridiculous hair. One slip and it’d be the act of the century.”

Sirius barked a laugh, before lazily plucking the dagger from the ground, dangerously twirling it in his fingers before tossing it back with a flick.

From above came Evan’s voice, laced with amusement. “You’ll both gut each other before we’ve even started.”

“Do it in front of the audience, at least,” Pandora cut in, her eyes glinting, matching the glint of her sequined bodice. “That’d really be worth the ticket price. Think we could charge double?”

“You’re all idiots.” Sirius muttered.

“Idiots sell tickets,” Pandora shot back. “The crowd loves the illusion that we might actually die.”

“Problem is,” Sirius said, eyes narrowing toward Regulus. “Our performers don’t love it when idiots almost make them die.”

“Oh, sod off. Can’t help he was daft enough to sneeze during a bloody knife act.”

“We can barely keep our stagehands as it is,” Sirius hissed. “Too many of them, they’re not as apt as we are… not the same kind of magic to them.”

“We’re not a charity.” Regulus spat. “If they can’t handle it, they don’t belong, simple as that.”

“Well,” Sirius sneered, “not everyone grew up familiar with the sensation of a knife hurled at you from the parlor settee.”

Regulus’s smile was razor-thin. “Not to mention the whirling tea cups. Charmed with the hot tea still within them. Keeps a man steady.”

“Or scalded,” Sirius grinned. “I certainly miss Mother’s Darjeeling, don’t you little brother?”

Evan whistled low, still up in the rafters above.
“Damn, better show back here than we’ve got on the bill tonight.”

Regulus snorted, then hurled a dagger at the canvas, the blade cut clean through, splitting just enough of an opening for Sirius to glimpse at the restless audience.

“Alright,” Regulus murmured. “We’ll save the rest of it for out there.” He gave a half-smile. “Knock ‘em dead.”

❖───── •✧✧• ─────❖

“Ladies and Gentleman…Boys and girls… And of course, all the splendid curiosities in between.”

Sirius’s voice echoed beneath the striped canvas, smooth and sharp, dripping with the promise of endless extravagance much to the audience’s delight. The crowd leaned forward, hungry already.

“The Brothers Astral present to you an evening of marvels and menace… Of magique so daring you’ll know not whether to gasp… or to pray. This is the traveling Cirque Du Siècle, where flames are devoured, blades dare to kiss flesh, stars are flung across the heavens, and performances dare tempt fate itself. We promise you wonders enough to steal your breath away. Now… let us begin.”

The crowd roared, stamping boots and clapping hands, as Sirius stepped aside for the opening act.

Jugglers poured in, wooing the crowd with impressive stunts that grew bolder with each pass. Bright rings and clubs tossed lazily into the air, with such precision to be caught again at the right timing. One juggler sent cutlasses skyward with oohs and ahhs at each return of the hilt to his hand. Another tossed flaming torches into the air, the fiery arcs had the audience wild in excitement. Sirius caught sight of a tea set slipped into the mix, a last-minute addition, no doubt Regulus’s doing. To Sirius’s amusement he swore one porcelain cup still sloshed with tea. Foolish, yes. But damn, his brother was bloody brilliant.

“Applaud, applaud!” Sirius bellowed, voice like thunder. “If you thought the air belonged to the jugglers, hold your breath! For now, the Crimson Flame herself, our beautiful Eos, will steal the sky!”

The jugglers scattered, making way for the next entrance. A beautiful red-headed woman, dressed in a glittering red skirt with tulle that cascaded over the edges just enough to tease the floor. She ascended with calm precision, and walked across the rope as though it was simply the edge of a garden wall. As though a misstep would result in nothing worse than a bruised ankle.

From behind the canvas flap, Pandora leaned forward, catching sight of the performance. Her sequins scattered the lamplight and splayed colorful light on her face. “She’s done well for herself, hasn’t she? Already a natural.”

Evan was still perched on the rigging, looking down at Pandora. He snorted. “Pretty little thing. Wonder what made her end up in a place like this.”

Pandora arched a brow. “Same as us, I’d presume. Dissatisfied. She’s not a muggle, you know that? A muggle-born, actually.”

Evan shrugged. “Not much of a difference is it?”

“Shove off.” Pandora’s voice sharpened “you’ve no idea how little they let her do.”

She lifted a section of her skirt, showing it to Evan.

“It’s impressive, really. Lent her my wand, one go at the pronunciation and she fixed the tear in my skirt clean through. She’d never had a magical education before.”

That silenced Evan for a moment.

Then the tightrope walker came passing through, her performance had ended. Her cheeks flushed, and eyes bright from adrenaline.

“Knock ‘em dead, Pandora,” She said warmly, pressing a hand to her shoulder as she passed. “You too, Evan!” She added, glancing upward.

“You know it, Lily.” Pandora’s grin flashed, then her voice rose, ringing with cheer. “You were marvelous out there!”

Lily flushed at the praise, and Pandora then turned, sequins shimmering as she swept through the canvas into the thunder of the ring. Evan dropped down from the rigging with catlike ease, falling into step at her side.

“Alright, alright!” Sirius’s voice rolled through the big top yet again. “And we are not done taming the sky just yet! Raise your hands, raise your voices, for the dazzling, death-defying, radiant Ophidian Twins! Pandora, the Serpent of the Stellarium... And Caelus, the Dragon of the Night Sky!”

The crowd roared, stamping feet against the wooden bleachers. Pandora raised a hand in salute, and Evan’s grin was sharp as he vaulted towards the ropes.

Pandora had been determined to keep her name as her stage title. It fits, after all. Mythical, dazzling, impossible to forget.

Sirius and Regulus, for all their constellation-given names, had still abandoned theirs beneath the canvas, donning new identities for the sake of performance and survival. Theirs was a deliberate reinvention, protection from the world they’d fled. But it also bound the troupe together, new identities crafted from the mythos and stars. It gave the show its celestial edge, and reforged the performers in a shared identity.

Most others were not so fortunate to hold their own names in performance. Evan had been rechristened beneath the stagelight, and Lily too, their true names tucked away, spoken only outside the canvas walls. Sirius and Regulus had insisted on Pandora to follow, to craft herself a new name and character to play, but she refused. Her name already bore its weight in legend. She held steadfast to her identity as Pandora, and nothing else.

Once ascended to their platforms, Pandora and Evan stood poised, silhouettes gleaming in the lamplight, letting the anticipation simmer in the audience below. Evan moved first. He stepped from the board with an easy grace, hands gripping the trapeze bar as his body swung forward into the striped vastness of the surrounding canvas. His hips pumped in steady rhythm, each pass through the arc carrying him higher and faster. Once he gained the necessary momentum, in a fluid shift, he inverted. The back of his knees hooked securely around the bar, his body folding upward before he released his hands. He let himself fall into a perfect suspension, upside down, arms stretched out wide. He hung like a pendulum, timing his swing to Pandora’s unseen leap. He was a dragon, coiled in wait, fixed on the platform opposite him.

Pandora stepped forward, a jeweled hand curled around her own bar. She gave a salute to the crowd before placing her other hand on the bar, then leaned forward, skirt fluttering, and let herself fall.

The bar swung out into the wide open space, in perfect synchronization with Evan, mirroring his arc with grace as she gained speed. Her movements grew sharper, higher, and the sequins on her costume caught the lamplight like scales. At the peak of her next forward swing, she arched back, body taut like a bowstring before release. She let go. For a breathless moment, she was weightless, twisting into a tight somersault and then opening into an effortless arch. The audience gasped as she swept through the empty air, a serpent uncoiled and fixed on its target.

Her trajectory carried her to Evan’s outstretched hands. As she straightened out, she extended her wrists for his, and their grips collided with a crack. Snapping shut like shackles in midair. Evan had locked the two together, as they swung in a fluid arc across the open air. The serpent and the dragon, two constellations come alive beneath the striped canvas. The tent erupted in cheers, applause breaking into thunder as they swung together.

Pandora hung from Evan’s grip like a star caught in orbit. On the next arc, Evan’s core shifted, guiding their swing closer to her returning bar. At the exact moment the trapeze swept into reach, he released her wrists. For a heartbeat she was adrift, just long enough to send gasps through the audience with a hundred lungs holding tight. Her hands closed cleanly around the polished wood and the crowd broke into a cheer that rattled the canvas.

She swung once, twice, legs sweeping to drive her arc higher again, until she was within reach of the platform. With a swift hook of an ankle, she pulled herself back onto the board. Evan turned upright on his own swing, and reached the board in tandem.

Together, the serpent and the dragon turned to face the roaring crowd, arms spread wide in triumph.

“Truly, Brilliant!” Sirius’s voice bellowed. “Another round of applause, for our serpentine siblings, descended from the very heavens themselves!”

After the audience had calmed down again, just enough for Sirius to speak, there were introductions and performances from various other acts. A wave of comic relief rolled across the ring, with clowns and playful skits performed, primarily for the comfort of the children in the audience. To keep the routine fresh, more of a prank than anything, one of the daredevils had joined them for the evening. Just to shake things up. Sirius barked a laugh, when he spotted Barty beneath the greasepaint, juggling nonsense props and tripping over his own feet. How he could ever willingly offer to be painted up so foolishly was beyond him.

Then, some animal tricks were up next, trainers stepped forward with small beasts. Dogs leaped cleanly through hoops, and ponies pranced in step. A pair of goats balanced wobbling on barrels to the delight of the children. A monkey in a little waistcoat scampered along the rope overhead, and bowed grandly at the audience.

At the center of the performance stood the tamer. He coaxed the animals along with soft calls and the occasional crack of his whip, never raising his voice at them. He stood almost aloof in the center of all the entertainment. Sirius pretended to watch the spaniels circle on their hind legs, but his eyes kept straying elsewhere– to the rolled up sleeves, the scarred forearms, the way that quiet composure seemed to command the entire ring without ever demanding it. Before he realized it, around came the turn for the Astral Brothers’ themselves.

“You’ve had grace, acts of balance, acts of trust… But I’ll wager you’ve not yet tasted true danger. So hold your breath! I give you the Brothers’ Astral! Leonis, the Drowned Star, sharp enough to split a hair… or worse. And yours truly, Canis, the Hellhound… Flame and steel are my bread and butter tonight! Watch close, my friends. For you may not believe your eyes, as we command heat and metal to our will!”

“Leonis, the audience is yours to awe!”

Regulus stepped forward, knives glinting in his hands as the tent hushed in anticipation. His props had been set carefully, demonstrations of precision designed to impress without the need for a living target, not after the… incident.

He began with fruit. Apples, lemons, and grapes strung on wires swung gently in the lamplight. One by one he split them open with the clean edge of his dagger-style throwers. Juice spattered as the halves tumbled to the ground. Children shrieked with delight, adults murmured approval.

Next came fire. He hurled blades just above rows of candles, each flame snuffed with surgical precision while the wax remained unspattered. He struck torches with oil-soaked knives, sparks bursting into fireballs that set the audience gasping and shielding their faces from the heat.

He did not pause to bask in applause, but rather, with cold grace he turned his back to the board and sent a volley of knives arcing over his shoulder. Each landed in a precise cluster, until the shape of a constellation gleamed from the wood. An assistant rushed forward, looping rope between the hilts until the Little Dipper was revealed, to the crowd’s astonished cries.

He built the tension higher still. A speed volley followed, a dozen knives hurled in rapid succession, striking so tightly that the hilts overlapped and metal clanged against metal.

For the finale, he drew a cloth over his eyes. The audience roared in excitement, then hushed silent. With unnerving calm, Regulus hurled knife after knife. Each one slicing through the flame of a torch before burying itself into the board. When the last blade struck, the blindfold was ripped away to reveal a perfect star pattern blazing from the wood.

The tent erupted in cheers, stamping feet, and applause. Regulus simply inclined his head, staying as cool and sharp as the steel he wielded.

“Beautiful, isn’t he? My brother star.” Sirius chimed, drawing the audience’s eyes from Regulus back to the center. Regulus sneered in response.

“Now, I’ll admit, I can’t throw a blade the way he can.” Sirius flashed teeth, waiting long enough for the crowd’s chuckles to rise. “But eating it? That’s another story. How say we make it time for my supper?”

He paused, pressed a hand to his chest, and gave a sudden, exaggerated burp. “Oh, pardon me. Seems I’ve gone and spoiled my appetite already. That won’t do.”

The audience laughed in surprise as Sirius leaned forward, face alight with mock-concern. With a flourish, he reached into his mouth and drew a gleaming short sword free, holding it high for the lamps to catch.

“Admittedly,” He grinned, “I was peckish before the show. This sword looked far too delicious to resist. Don’t you agree?”

The crowd erupted, half horrified and delighted, exactly as Sirius had intended.

He grabbed another blade, this one from Regulus’s constellation board. He tilted it towards his mouth and ran his tongue along the flat of the blade. Triggering a round of excited murmurs from the crowd. He glanced sideways, Regulus still in the ring alongside him, and caught his glare.

“Don’t worry little brother, I won’t dirty it. Just a little taste, see?”

And with that, he tipped his head back, dagger flashing as it slid down his throat in a smooth, impossible motion. A hush fell across the crowd, as Sirius turned, hands spread wide before pulling the steel free again, clean and gleaming.

The audience shrieked, and he bowed extravagantly. He then snatched a torch from an assistant at the edge of the ring.

“Sword was my supper,” He declared, voice ringing, “but what better to pair it with than a fine vintage?”

He raised a goblet that had been set at his side, swirling the liquid with mock sophistication. “Most would suggest a cabernet to accompany their blades,” His grin sharpened, “but I’ve always thought lamp oil the better pairing.”

He raised the goblet high, as if toasting royalty. “Here’s to you, my splendid curiosities!” He roared. With a long swallow, he flung the goblet aside, squared his shoulders, and drew in a breath that had the entire tent holding theirs.

Then he exhaled.

A jet of flame burst from his lips, roaring skyward and licking the canvas top above. Firelight rippled across the crowd, a golden light cast among wide eyes and open mouths. Sirius threw his head back and laughed, wild and untamed, painted by the flame’s glow as the very image of the Hellhound he claimed to be.

The fire did not stop. Each stunt blazed larger than the last, as though Sirius meant to set the tent aflame with himself inside it. Steel and flame became his conductor’s baton, and the audience his orchestra, gasping and shrieking in perfect rhythm to his will.

At last, as the roar of applause swelled to a fever pitch, other performers began to pour back into the ring. Sirius stepped back from the ring, chest still heaving from flame and steel, and swept an arm wide.

“And now, your grand finale!” His voice cracked like a whip.

The performers took to the ring in unison, with dancing, juggling, and acrobatics colliding across the audience’s vision.

Slowly, the lamps dimmed, and from the opening of the canvas tent, a cage rattled as it rolled along the flattened dirt. Inside the cage, there was a lion. The beast pacing with restless power. Outside of it, the tamer walked in stride, whip attached at his hip.

A crack split the air as the whip lashed, and the iron gate groaned open. The lion padded into the ring, and the performers kept a wide distance from the wild animal, melting back to the edges. Its mane glowed in the lamplight, and a hoop was lowered into place, set alight with flames.

Another crack of the whip. The beast snarled, coiled, then sprang forward to burst through the wreath of fire. The audience erupted. Stamping feet and cheering, the roar nearly matching the animal’s.

The tamer bowed, but the lion did not retreat. Instead, it growled low, muscles bunching as it lunged a pace toward him. Gasps rippled through the ring. A few performers jumped back, scattering in fright.

The whip cracked again, sharp and commanding, but Sirius’s stomach dropped.

Fuck. We can’t keep having this. One dagger incident had nearly ruined them, but there’d been others too. Slips on the trapeze, silks misjudged, stunts pushed too far. This tamer, Sirius was fairly sure he was a muggle, hadn’t seen a flicker of magic from him. He stood with a clumsy posture, and Sirius began to question if he’d really had the experience he claimed to. If the lion decided to pounce, there would be no saving him.

The whip lashed once more. The lion’s ears twitched, the growl subsided, and slowly, it paced back towards its cage. The iron bars clanged shut, and the tent exhaled into one great shriek of applause.

The show rolled on, but Sirius’s thoughts stayed heavy. Too many risks. Too many faults. A troupe was fragile, and reputations even more so. A rogue dagger was a liability, but a rogue beast would certainly end them.

❖───── •✧✧• ─────❖

That night, the performers gathered for their post-performance celebration. A feast scraped together from the town’s market stalls and fattened by the audience’s coins.

“I think that might’ve been your best go yet,” Sirius said warmly to one of the jugglers. Even the less daring performers, he made sure to remind them of their importance.

“Thanks,” the young man muttered, scratching the back of his head. “Not sure I’m living up to my name though,”

“Apologies, what was it again?” Regulus asked dryly, buttering a roll with too much precision. The man was new to their troupe, only a handful of performances under his belt, though clearly skilled enough to warrant bigger, more daring props in the future.

“Er.. well I went with Orion. Juggler of the stars, or something like that”

Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled sharply before turning to Sirius.

“You really let him pick that?”

Sirius shrugged, eyes glinting with mischief. “I mean, I’d say it's fitting. Father was a clown, after all.”

Regulus’s knife scraped hard against the plate as he set it down. “Just… Orion.” His voice was low, hissed like steel. He waved a dismissive hand towards the juggler. “Find another name. Anything else.”

“Ah. R-right.” The man stammered, shrinking a little at the response.

Sirius’s grin slipped. “Merlin’s sake, Reg. You can’t keep biting the head off every new one that comes through. Barely keeping a troupe together as is.”

Regulus’s eyes flicked up.

“Haven’t even seen the new tamer since he almost fumbled with the lion,” Sirius went on, “Probably scared him half to death. If he’s bolted, that’s one more gap in the roster we’ll have to fill.”

“Darn,” Lily murmured, her tone softer than the rest. “He seemed like a good one.”

“Yeah,” Sirius said, thumb tracing the rim of his cup. “I had hopes too. Had presence that one. Could’ve made for a charming solo act if he’d been here long enough to prove it.”

The table went quiet for a beat, the clink of cutlery filling the space where Sirius’s words hung. His mind drifted back to the night they’d first crossed paths. It had been no more than a month ago.

He hadn’t come to join the circus yet, just another face in the crowd. Sirius remembered spotting him near the front rows, quiet, but content at the performance, eyes fixed on the ring. A few rowdy drunkards sat beside him, sloshing their ale, loud enough to be heard from Sirius’s place in the center stage. 

“Looks like the knife-thrower’s been practicing on him already,” one of them had jeered, and the others barked a laugh. 

He kept his gaze forward, ignoring the hecklers like the ring was the only thing in his presence. That only egged them on.

“Must’ve escaped the freak show. Careful now, looks like they need to tame him a little better.” 

Rather than continuing to ignore them, he turned his head, staring intensely at the hecklers. He said something that Sirius couldn’t quite make out, but for the rest of the night they seemed done with bothering him. 

After the show ended, Sirius caught up with him before he’d slipped out of the tent. 

“Pay them no mind,” Sirius said easily. “I’d have thrown one of my swords at them myself, if my aim was as true as my brother’s.”

That earned him a small smirk. He then noted the whip coiled at his side. Worn, scarred leather that bore its heavy use. 

“Well, that’s no walking stick. What’ve you got that around for?” 

“Stablehand.” He said shortly. “At least, was. Bit of decor now.” 

“Good with animals, eh?” Sirius’s grin widened, the gears turning in his head. “Stick around after everyone clears out, if you’re looking for work.” He gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Assuming you picked up the knack for taming animals.”

“Also,” Sirius continued, before turning back to the ring. “Curious, how’d you get those drunk idiots to shut up?” 

He gave a crooked smile. “Promised I’d teach them manners, same way I’d teach a mule. Didn’t say that it’s more the bark than the bite, that the whip is for. But they didn’t need to know that.” 

Sirius cackled a laugh at that. He was pleasantly surprised when he’d found him still waiting around the ring after the crowd had dispersed. 

From then, they’d welcomed their tamer into the troupe. 

He’d not bothered to offer a name, never did, so to most he was simply the tamer. Sirius wished for something grander, of course, he couldn’t just leave it at that. Something to fit their theme of mythos and constellation-born identities. The most he settled with was “the midnight whip”, not quite thematic as he’d want, but it made an acceptable temporary title. Something exciting enough to call out, until he’d finally landed on his stage identity. 

Sirius excused himself early from the table, slipping into the cool night. The tamer’s absence from the table had sat too heavily. The camp was quiet, lanterns guttering low, and Sirius made his way to the new man’s quarters. Empty. The bedroll untouched.

A rustle caught his ear. Sirius turned, just in time to glimpse a figure slipping between the wagons. The silhouette was hardly identifiable, save the whip coiled at his hip. For a heartbeat, pale eyes caught the lamplight, staring straight at him.

“Oi!” Sirius called, stepping forward. “Where d’you think you’re going?”

Instincts took over. Sirius closed the distance and caught him by the arm.

The tamer’s face was barely visible in the distant glow, but enough. Enough to reveal the pale lines of old scars, and despair carved deep in his eyes. The weight of it struck Sirius like a blow. This wasn’t the clumsy fool who’d risked being mauled by a lion. Or the awkward recruit who’d silenced a few drunkards with a snarky remark. 

Up close, he looked like something else entirely.

He looked like a survivor. Someone who shouldn’t be fleeing into the shadows.
He looked capable of far more than that.
He looked like a warrior.

Fuck.

The tamer yanked his wrist free, shoulders taut as if to run.

“Wait.” The word tore out of Sirius before he’d thought of what to say. “You don’t have to bolt. So you nearly botched it with the lion? Who cares? We all fuck up. You pulled through it like a champ.”

Silence. The man didn’t answer, but hadn’t moved either. Sirius’s pulse pounded in his ears.

“You’ve got a place here,” Sirius pressed. His throat felt tight, but words tumbled anyway. “Stay another night. Another performance.”

The silence stretched. The man didn’t bolt, but didn’t speak. His chest rose and fell like a caged animal, ready to spring at a moment’s notice. Sirius felt the strange pull again, like a hook behind his ribs. He couldn’t explain it, only that he couldn’t let this moment slip.

“C’mon,” Sirius said softly, trying for a grin. “I know you can speak. Give me that attitude you had with those drunkards.”

That earned him a glance. Pale eyes, bleak but steady, locked on his.

“We need you,” he added quickly, the words spilling out unchecked. “You’ve got the presence. The crowd feels it. You command the ring,” He hesitated. “Hell, you commanded me.”

He flushed as he spoke the words.
Not realizing that his mouth would betray him so.

The man’s mouth twitched, a small huff escaping his lips. “You’re an idiot.”

Sirius moved without thinking, catching his wrist again. “Maybe,” he chuckled. ‘But you look like you’ve been alone long enough.”

The man stilled. And Sirius. Reckless, clumsy, daring, he leaned in. His lips met the stranger’s in a quick desperate press, a final act begging him to stay.

For the briefest moment, the man leaned back into it, and that sent Sirius’s pulse hammering. Sirius took this as acceptance, and started to card his hand through the man’s tangled hair–

Then, a sudden shove. The man’s hand slammed against his chest, driving him back hard. 

His eyes blazed wild.

“That’s all I can give you.”

He tore free and vanished into the shadows.

Chapter Text

July 12, 1902

❖───── •✧✧• ─────❖

It had been over a month since their last new recruit, and the troupe had settled into a routine again. Three shows a week, lamps burning, coins pouring in, and applause rattling the rafters. Regulus kept the order, while Sirius sowed the chaos. Between the two of them, things had settled into a decent balance.

Tonight was no exception. The knives had landed, the fire had roared, and the audience was on their feet. Regulus let the weight of the applause wash over him for one measured moment as he gave a sharp bow. Precision, discipline, control.

The audience started to head outside, the cool air flicking inward as the crowd left. Regulus watched as the crowd funneled out, and gave a small bow towards those who acknowledged him.

Then something collided with him.

He staggered back, shoulder slamming into the pole. His hand closed around the hilt of his dagger before his brain caught up. He drew it in a flash, blade catching the lamplight, ready to strike whoever had been foolish enough to rush him in the ring.

“Woah, woah!” The intruder yelped, glasses skewing on his nose. Both hands flew up. The steel hovered inches from the reflection in the lenses. His chest heaved, but his grin came anyway, wild and amazed.

“Holy fuck.” He gasped, glasses slipping further down his nose. “Reg? It’s really you, isn’t it?”

Regulus froze. His brain stuttered at the sight in front of him. He had just been knocked backwards, practically assaulted, but the voice was excited, not angry or vengeful. He looked fully at the face of the man foolish enough to barrel into the ring.

He looked at a face he didn’t expect to ever see again. 

“...James?”

The name slipped out. His own lips startled him.

He then laughed for a moment, forgetting the situation. “Merlin, you just body slammed me like we were back on the Quidditch pitch.”

Regulus then rubbed his shoulder scowling at how hard James had collided with him. Unfortunately, James wasn’t finished, as he shoved him hard against the canvas pole, intentional this time.

Regulus winced. That easy golden grin on his face had been replaced with something Regulus had never seen in him before. Anger. Real anger.

“You!” James spat, voice cracked. He shoved him again. His eyes welled up with tears. “How could you!”

From across the ring, Sirius caught the scuffle from the corner of his eye and strided over, aggressively prepared to defend his brother from whoever dared lay hands on him. 

He stopped in his tracks.

James Potter.

Squared up in front of Regulus.
Eyes alight with a seething expression.
His wand was just barely visible under his jacket sleeve.

For a heartbeat Sirius couldn’t move either. He hadn’t seen James since he was hardly sixteen. It had been five years since he’d last seen him. Now, James was in front of him, and Regulus was cornered with his teeth bared, dagger still glinting in his hand.

“Merlin… James. Mate,” Sirius’s voice was quiet. “I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again.”

James’s head snapped toward him. Disbelief washed across his face.

“You… Merlin, Sirius…” His voice broke into a laugh, bright and shaking, but it died as quick as it arrived. Relief collapsed back into rage. He turned back on Regulus.

“You.” His voice was lower. “You let me think you were dead. All this time.” His voice wavered. “Any idea, at all, what that did to me?”

Regulus’s mouth pressed thin. The canvas pole dug into his back, James’s anger pinning him harder than his hands did.

“And, after I’d already lost him.” James’s eyes flicked toward Sirius, voice rough. “My best friend. Gone. Ran off. Then you–” His breath hitched. The fury broke into something rawer. “You filled the gap. Gave me more than that. And you ripped it away too.”

Sirius’s breath caught. Gave me more than that.

The words lodged sharp in his chest. He hadn’t known James and Regulus were anything more than civil. That James had his world torn from him not once, but twice. Once when Sirius ran, and again when Regulus had “drowned.”

James’s grief poured out. His eyes blazing, voice torn ragged. The weight of his fury pressed down on the brothers with unrelenting intensity.
“I mourned you, Reg. Do you hear me?” His voice turned raw. “I buried you in my head. No body to recover, they said. That you’d drowned, they said. A bloody tragic accident.”

He shook his head, laughter breaking through. “Years later, I hear about some circus. Just some muggle act, nothing special, just enough to pass my time.”

His eyes showed disbelief, and a small grin formed, something between relief and pain. “And who do I see? Sirius Black. Bloody hell, I was excited, I’d wondered for years where you’d ended up.”

Then his gaze sharpened on Regulus again. “But you, Regulus fucking Black. Back from the dead and wielding knives at a muggle circus? What the fuck, Reg?”

There was a beat of silence, before Sirius lifted a finger, grin sharp. “Correction. Not a muggle circus, actually.”

The corner of James’s mouth twitched.

“Think muggles can pull off all of that?” Sirius tilted his head, mischief on his face. “Sure, we’ve got quite a few in our troupe. But you haven’t seen half of our acts.”

“Besides the point, Sirius!” James shot back, his voice cracked reluctantly with amusement. He dragged a hand through his hair, exasperated. “Merlin, everything about this whole bloody thing.”

“C’mon.” Sirius extended a hand to him. “Join us for dinner. Catch up. For old time’s sake.”

James blinked at the offered hand, then looked back at Regulus, his expression still cold and jaw tightened. He huffed a laugh, short and bitter.

“Only if you’ve got firewhisky.”

Sirius’s grin widened. “Dinner and drinks. Questionable quality all round, but it’ll burn. That’s what counts.”

Sirius threw an arm around James’s shoulders and steered him out the tent, all swagger and warmth, his laughter spilling like he had saved it all these years. Regulus slowly followed, keeping his distance. He had thought about this moment a hundred times over. Seeing James again. Telling him the truth. Confessing that he was more than alive. That he felt free. That his first genuine smile was from escaping his parent’s grasp.

But he didn’t. He hadn’t.

And as the time passed, the years slipped by, the more it felt like that part of him had really drowned. Gone under, swallowed whole, taking with it the only love he’d ever let himself have.

But James had returned. Nearly three years after Regulus had drowned his parent’s heir.

He’d dug up that grave, desecrated it, and thrust that love back into Regulus’s chest. Resurrected the feelings he had buried years ago for his safety.

Now, those feelings rose again. Clawing their way to the surface. Vicious. Hungry.

And he knew, he’d never manage to nail that coffin shut again.

❖───── •✧✧• ─────❖

The dining tent glowed with lamplight. The table stretched long beneath the canvas, benches set along either side. It reminded James, in an odd way, of the Great Hall, though stripped of its grandeur. Where the Hall would have a spread of roast pheasants and goblets of pumpkin juice, here lay chipped crockery, tin mugs, and cutlery that looked to have been transfigured into enough shape to supply the table with just enough silverware for everyone.

The spread was modest. Loaves of bread torn into hunks, a selection of hard cheese, and a scattering of cold meats across the table. The center held a giant pot of stew, its smell filled the tent with the comfort of onions, carrots, and a warm hearty meat. It wasn’t a grand feast, but James found it oddly comforting.

James took a seat across from Sirius, then reached without hesitation to catch Regulus’s wrist as he tried to slide further down. James made it this far. He wasn’t going to let him slip away again. Reluctantly, Regulus settled beside him, eyes narrowed but compliant.

“So, who’s this bloke?” Pandora voiced the question that lingered on everyone’s mind as soon as he had stepped in. Her fork waved in the direction of James.

James looked utterly different from the rest of them, standing out sharply in his dark morning coat over a crisp white shirt and a grey wool waistcoat. His trousers neatly pressed, with dark stripes, and falling just slightly over his oxfords which had been neatly polished prior to the fresh spattering of mud from rushing through the ring. He wore a flat cap on his head, with thin Gyffindor stripes, a subtle reminder of the last times Regulus and Sirius had seen him.

“This is James,” Sirius announced, waving his fork lazily. “He was a year above you two in school.”

“Can’t say we noticed,” Evan muttered.

“Besides, we didn’t stick around all that long. Third year, was it?” Pandora added. She jabbed her fork toward Regulus. “Anyway, what’s the deal with you two? Saw you get pounced on by the fancy bloke. Looked like our bloody lion act.”

James flushed and chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Right, well…” He shot Regulus a glance, then looked away. “We knew each other. Sirius and I, for the first four years, we were inseparable.”

“Merlin, that’s longer than I’d expect anyone to survive,” Barty had spoken up from down the table, earning a ripple of laughter from around the group.

James pressed on. “And Reg…” His voice caught. He shifted the glass between his hands. “Got to know him in the years after Sirius left.” The words came out too fast, like pulling off a bandage. James cleared his throat and pushed on quickly. “Anyways, enough about me. Tell me about the troupe.”

Introductions circled the table, stage names and real names mingling as performers declared themselves. Some welcomed James with a wide grin, others cast sidelong glances, unimpressed by his sophisticated coat and posh accent. Pandora and Evan had struck a vague recognition in his mind, familiarity of classmates that had shared classes once near the Slytherin dungeons. Barty, he learned, was a friend of Evan’s that followed him into the circus life. Then, Lily smiled kindly when introduced, and James gave a warm smile in return.

“Alright, all introduced. Now back around to you.” Sirius prodded, eyes glinting. “What’ve you been up to since school? Auror work? Slaying beasts?”

“Hah. Not quite,” James huffed a laugh and fiddled with his glass. “With the ministry. Department of regulation and control of— ahem,” he caught himself, remembering the presence of muggles. Unsure how privy they were to magical affairs. “Excuse me, control of creatures.”

Sirius smacked the table. “Well, shit, I wasn’t expecting to actually hit the target with ‘slaying beasts’! You catch anything worth bringing to the big top? Fancy smuggling me a couple of nifflers?”

James’s blush deepened. “Ah, that would be hilarious, but no. Nothing glamorous. Clerk work, actually. Quills, forms, parchment. Endless parchment.”

“Paperwork?” Sirius leaned back, scandalized. “You? Merlin’s tits, I’d never have imagined you’d settle for that.”

Pandora arched a brow. “Bit tame, but do you enjoy it?”

“Well, It’s important work.”

“Yeah, well, are you satisfied though? Surely–”

James’s expression quickly turned sour. He downed a good swallow of whatever muggle whisky he had been handed. He set it down harder than intended. The edge of bitterness leaking through.

Sirius clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re a good way from home, yeah?” He changed the subject, voice lighter. “Stay the night. Be daft not to. Got two Black brothers back from beyond, lots to catch up on.”

James nodded. He’d swigged a little too much of the harsh liquor in one go, knocked back more than sense should allow.

“I’m so fucking glad you didn’t die.” The words spilled out without much thought. Awkward chuckles scattered down the table, but the words stuck.

Regulus had no reply. Just sat next to James quietly, still and silent as he wrestled with this situation.

By the time the meal ended, James was weaving unsteadily on his feet. Sirius handed the now heavily inebriated James over to Regulus, depositing him squarely into his arms.

Regulus balked. “I can’t take him. He’s... he hates me.”

“He’s over the fucking moon for you, Reg.”

“Didn’t seem that way,” Regulus muttered.

“Out of everyone,” Sirius said slyly, “you should know sometimes love is expressed with a dagger at your throat. You of all people, little brother.”

James leaned his head on Regulus’s shoulder with a crooked grin.

“Still pissed at you,” he slurred. “Proper furious, actually. But I’m not walking off without you again. Hear me?”

Regulus went rigid, breath caught.

Sirius barked a laugh, clapping James’s back. “Well there’s your answer. Nothing says affection quite like a vow mumbled absolutely sozzled into your shoulder.”

“Shut it,” Regulus hissed, his voice lacking its usual bite.

James murmured, words heavy with sleep. “Glad you’re alive. Both of you. S’worth more than any bloody Ministry post.” His lashes fluttered, barely awake.

Regulus stared down at him, torn between exasperation and something he dared not name. James looked pitiful, unbecoming, soft in a way Regulus had sworn he’d never see again.

He shouldn’t accept it. Shouldn’t let him stay.

And yet, his grip tightened. Against all reason, he half-guided, half-dragged James to his living quarters. With a flick of his wand, the narrow cot stretched out wide enough for two. Regulus lowered him carefully, making sure that he lay rested on his side in case the whisky turned cruel in the night.

He took the far edge for himself, and laid flat on his back. Eyes fixed up at the canvas, tracing the patterns above that blurred in the dark. Sleep didn’t come. It wouldn’t. Not with James so near. Every shift of weight on the cot, it sent Regulus dipping towards the center of the mattress. Towards James. He forced himself to remain on the edge of the cot.

He told himself to move. To conjure another blanket, to shove James off the cot, and preserve the distance he had become familiar with. Instead, he was left to watch the rise and fall of James’s shoulder, listening to his breaths slow and deep in sleep as hours passed.

Regulus fought bitterly, but eventually, his exhaustion pulled him under. In that half-conscious drift, his body betrayed him, turning toward the heat beside him, as though bound by a thread that was never truly cut.

Chapter Text

July 13, 1902

❖───── •✧✧• ─────❖

James awoke to the sound of morning, a rooster crowing somewhere beyond the canvas, and the uncomfortable reality that half his body was sprawled on the packed dirt floor instead of the cot. His head throbbed with every heartbeat. Too much whisky. Way, way too much. 

He sat up, squinting at his surroundings. The striped canvas above his head looked familiar, the same fabric as the big-top. Slowly, memory crept back. The Circus. Sirius. And… Regulus? But that part felt too unreal, like he’d conjured it with the copious amounts of whisky he’d had the night prior. 

The tent was small, sparse of much inside. A trunk sat in one corner, a collapsible table and chair in the other. Still unsteady, James shuffled towards it, searching for clues to explain why he'd woken up in a bloody circus tent. 

The trunk creaked as he lifted the lid. Clothes, neatly folded. A locket, half-recognized. And then– 

James froze, the sight of the photograph cut through his hangover haze. It was from seventh year. Him and Regulus, side by side. Smiling. Alive. 

He stumbled back a step, and grabbed at the edge of the trunk for balance.

“Oi. Don’t fuck with my stuff.” 

The voice snapped him to attention. James spun, heart racing. 

“Bloody Merlin,” he gasped. “I thought I’d dreamt it at first.”

“Can’t imagine you did a whole lot of dreaming, not with everything you downed last night. Had to drag your arse in here myself.” 

Regulus set a mug in James’s hand. The bitter smell of coffee wafted warmly through the air. James took it carefully, as if he brushed against Regulus’s fingers, the whole illusion might shatter. 

“I assume you have… questions.” Regulus muttered, resignation in his voice. 

James nodded, nursing his coffee, letting the heat seep into his palms while last night came back to him in fragments. Silence stretched before he finally looked up, eyes heavy with uncertainty. 

“I just…” The words snagged. “Why, Reg?” 

“It was easier.” He started. “Easier to step away from it all this way.” He looked down at his own mug, the steam curling in the morning air. “Easier for everyone. All ties cut, and all that.” 

“Easier?” James exploded, awake now. “It wasn’t easy by any means! You could have left me something, anything, to tell me you were alive!” 

James couldn’t imagine anything crueler. At least with Sirius, despite the ache of his absence, he was alive. Frustration and grief could sit side by side, because running away left a door cracked open. A chance, even slim, that they’d reconnect again.

But death slammed the door shut. Left him mourning a relationship he thought he’d never touch again. Every day, he’d carried that weight. And every day he’d believed there was nothing more. 

And Regulus had chosen to give him that. 

“Was I worth that little to you?” James' voice cracked. 

Fuck. Regulus wished he’d never heard that sound come out of him. It was maddening. It was frustrating. James should know, he should bloody know, how much he’d meant. How much support he’d given when Sirius had left him behind. How he’d been the only one to offer a listening ear, the one who slipped him healing salves after mother’s temper found its mark. 

“No,” He forced his voice out. Fingers on gripping his mug until his knuckles turned white. “That’s not it.” His voice faltered, and he swallowed hard. “I just couldn’t, I was trapped.” 

James stared at him like he could pry the truth out of him with his own intense gaze. He opened his mouth, ready to push further, but something in Regulus’s expression made the fight escape him, for now. He leaned back, and drank more coffee. 

The silence between them stretched, until the canvas flap slapped open. 

“Breakfast’s up,” Evan called, ducking in with a grin. “If you don’t drag yourselves over, Barty’ll eat the best of it before you get there.” He was gone with the echo of laughter. 

James took a long sigh, and stood up. “Guess that’s our cue.” 

Regulus nodded, grateful for the reprieve. 

❖───── •✧✧• ─────❖

At breakfast, Sirius instantly lit up when James entered his line of sight. 

“Good morning,” he crowed, voice carrying over the table chatter. “Look at you, still as dapper as the night prior.” 

James glanced down at himself, his button-up was wrinkled and stained with dirt, and his slacks hadn’t fared much better. The scent of whisky clunk to him like smoke. 

“I look a tad rough now, don’t I?” He scratched the back of his head. “Apologies, I got a fair bit drunk.” 

“Fair bit?” Sirius barked. “We could’ve wrung you out like a sponge.”

“Don’t worry about it, mate.” Evan added, “Happens to the best of us. You wear disgrace well. Guess any of us would, wearing money and polish.”

James chuckled hesitantly, unsure if that one was meant to be a joke or a jab.

“So,” He said quickly, mustering his usual grin. “What do you lot usually get up to when you’re not flying, juggling, or setting yourselves on fire?” 

A few heads turned his way, grins flashing. 

“Depends,” Pandora answered first, “Sometimes we practice, sometimes we drink, sometimes both at once. Gets pretty entertaining, that.” 

“We banned Regulus from taking part in that one,” Sirius cut in, nudging James’s side with a laugh. 

“That was one time!” Regulus barked, scowling. “The board was fine.” 

“You mean the wall was fine,” Evan corrected dryly. “The canvas behind it? Not so much.” 

James found himself smiling despite everything. Frustration still burned in his chest, but hearing stories of Regulus being ridiculous, not so strung up and severe, was unexpectedly comforting. 

Lily spoke up next, her tone softer, less chaotic than the others. ‘It’s not always throwing knives and getting drunk, you know. Sometimes we go into town for what we need. Food, cloth, lamp oil.” She stirred at her porridge. “Actually, we’re running low again. Bread’s nearly gone, and coffee won’t last the week at this rate.” 

“Not the coffee!” Sirius responded dramatically, clutching his cup. 

Lily rolled her eyes but smiled. She glanced at James. “You’re welcome to come along today, if you’re not too busy nursing that headache.” 

Regulus gave her a look, but she shrugged. 

“Sounds lovely,” James replied. “I’d only briefly seen this town before stopping in for the performance. I’d love to see more of its charms.” 

After breakfast ended, he stepped aside and cleaned up his suit with a quick Scourgify. He really needed to figure out who he could use magic freely around in here, if he was going to spend a few more hours with them. 

When he returned, Lily was waiting near the wagons, her hair plaited back and her skirt gathered neatly so it wouldn’t drag in the dust. Regulus stood a little apart, hands folded behind his back, as if the whole idea of a trip into town was beneath him. A couple of other performers trailed nearby, talking amongst themselves. 

Lily glanced at James, her brow arching with curiosity. “So, Ministry man, right?” she asked lightly. “Magical creatures, you said?”

James coughed. He’d thought he’d spared anything that might give magic away in his introduction. Of course, it wasn’t a great leap, not with Sirius and Regulus having been identified as his school mates. But still, whether she’s a witch or not, the presence of the others nearby, it startled him that she would be so open for discussion. 

“Don’t worry,” She waved her hand lazily. “Sure, two of them are muggles, but they’re too caught up in their own chatter.” She tilted her head toward the other performers. Then her smile warmed. “I’m a muggle-born, don’t need to tiptoe around magical affairs with me. So, what’s it like?” 

James glanced at the other performers for a moment, and back at Regulus. To his surprise, Regulus gave a faint nod, permission enough to speak freely. He didn’t need that permission, but made him feel better that someone else was also comfortable with this. 

“Well, I’m pretty sure I said last night, not exactly thrilling work. Clerk work, piles of parchment.” 

“Surely, something’s got to be interesting though.” Lily pressed. “Magical creatures, I’ve not seen many myself. Even if you’re doing paperwork, you’ve seen more than I have. Do you have a favorite?”

James scratched his chin, considering the question. “Well, I think hippogriffs are bloody neat. Proper majestic. You’ve got to bow or they’ll eat you for breakfast. Reminds me of this one over here,” He teased towards Regulus. “Dragons are brilliant too. From what I’ve heard Sirius has nothing on their fire-breathing. And, have you ever heard of a moke? Strange little lizardy thing. Can shrink at will. I’ve seen reports about its hide accidentally slipping into the Muggle market. Imagine, a poor Muggle buying a purse that suddenly shrinks every time a stranger walks close.”

Lily’s laughter bubbled out, bright and delighted. “That’d be something!” 

They chattered easily for most of the walk into the square until the tents and stalls of the market unfolded before them, bright awnings and baskets of produce. Vendors called out their wares, and there was a decent crowd ahead of them. 

Lily led the way, purposeful. She stopped first at the bakery, as it was apparently always the first to sell out. She secured an armful of rolls and baguettes and continued with James and Regulus in tow. They paused here and there while she compared vegetables and fruit. Regulus handed over a coin for a single apple, to indulge while they wandered the market. 

James, meanwhile, shoved his hands into his pockets. He didn’t have any muggle money on hand. He’d transfigured a few pebbles into coins to slip into the circus the night before, not realizing wizarding money was accepted there. Now the galleons in his pocket might as well have been stones. He felt a twinge of guilt, he owed them for his ticket, at least. 

They drifted past the food stalls into a section lined with clothing and accessories. Lace gloves, embroidered shawls, and little displays of brooches glittered in the sunlight. Leather ankle boots on wooden racks, and parasols leaned open to display beautiful lacework. 

Lily slowed. Her gaze lingered on one parasol in particular, its silk canopy stitched with tiny wildflowers winding around the panels. It was certainly dazzling, with notable handiwork with how detailed the embroidery was. James caught the look, the way she lingered but held back. It wasn’t the sort of stall that she’d regularly spent her hard-earned coins at. She was frugal, even when using the pooled allowance for food and goods for the troupe. 

James stepped up beside her, pulling his wallet from his pocket.  

“Hey, Lily,” he said quietly. “Care to make a currency exchange? Help a hopeless wizard out?” 

He offered her a galleon, and she looked at her purse with a small frown, as though weighing her own meager coins against the wizard gold. James wondered how much she had, or didn’t have, in there tucked away for herself. Still, she exchanged it without protest, returning to him three pounds and ten shillings. He knew she could easily convert it back later with the others in the troupe.

Her brow furrowed in confusion as James turned to the vendor and asked the price of the parasol.

“James!” She hissed, color rising in her cheeks. “You wouldn’t! That’s far too much, I was only looking!” 

He only grinned, wide and unrepentant, as he handed over a pound and ten shillings. 

Beside them, Regulus rolled his eyes skyward. 

“Problem?” James said, mischief in his eyes. “Were you fancying one as well?”

“If you haven’t noticed, not all of us can afford to be so… frivolous.” 

James had noticed it, of course. The sparse contents of Regulus’s tent, the cot set on packed dirt. But Regulus still carried himself with polish, elegantly presented, as though he’d stepped straight out of school, still every inch the heir of Black. This comment, though, reminded James that he had fully separated himself from that previous life, no longer comfortably supported by his family’s wealth.

“Wasn’t my intention to flaunt.”

“All I’ve heard is disgust over your cushy ministry post, meanwhile you can toss a galleon like its pocket change? Meanwhile, Sirius and I have scraped by from nothing since we stepped away from our family name. Better now for it, but still.”

James opened his mouth, then shut it again. He didn’t mean it to be that way. His actions were spurred from kindness, not arrogance. But even now, he couldn’t regret it. Not when Lily’s smile bloomed, shy but genuine, despite her initial protest. 

For a moment, they were silent, and James wandered ahead. He paused at a stall displaying wristwatches. One particular wristwatch caught his eye, its leather gleamed with a slick, iridescent shimmer, like oil on water. Regulus followed his gaze, and Lily leaned in with curiosity. 

“Rather pretty too, isn’t it?” She said lightly.

“It’s not hoke,” James muttered, lips curled in disapproval, “but it’s not Muggle leather either.” 

“Then how much?” Regulus asked flatly. “Go on then, use that fat wallet of yours if you’re so concerned.”

James glanced at the tag. Whoever the vendor was, they knew it was rare. Priced higher than anything else on the table. More than James had in his pocket. More than Lily could possibly exchange with him. He shook his head. 

“Well then, just report it when you get back,” Regulus said. 

“Yeah,” James’s voice was quiet. “Yeah, I can.” 

“What might it be, you think?” Lily asked, tilting her head. “It’s exquisite. If it came from a magical creature, wonder what properties it might carry?”

James’s mind worked quickly. He wanted it gone from the market, away from curious eyes. Away from any other possible ministry official who might stumble through town and notice more than just leather. 

If it were reported, they’d have more officials around, and that would be risky for the circus, as well as for Regulus. His chest tightened at the thought. 

It didn’t look too out of place, not at a glance. A Muggle would see nothing but an odd shimmer, like an abalone shell. But leather typically didn’t appear that way. Not even with magical creatures. It looked like camouflage. A water creature. He pieced it together. 

“Kelpie,” he said at last. “Someone was barmy enough to make a watch strap out of it. If there’s any magic left in the hide, it could pull a Muggle into the nearest river, I bet.”

Lily’s eyes widened. “That’s awful!” 

James looked at her, then at Regulus. His expression was plain as day: he was about to do something very stupid. 

A subtle flick of his wand, hidden under his sleeve, and a barrel stacked at the edge of a stall burst into flame. The vendor shrieked, bolting to put it out. 

In that instant, James snatched the watch from the table and slipped it into his coat. 

“James, you fucking idiot!” Regulus barked as they tore down the street. They didn’t stop until they were out of sight, hearts pounding, breath ragged. 

At the edge of town, Regulus seized James’s sleeve and yanked him to a halt. 

“You’ll get fired, doing stupid shit like that.” He panted.

“That’s fine,” James breathed, he gave a hollow laugh. “Already have.” 

Chapter Text

James dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling hard.

“I was gonna quit anyway,” he said at last. 

They had returned to the tents before James explained himself, after admitting he no longer worked at the Ministry. It had taken Regulus by surprise, though he still let James wait until they had the privacy of his tent to give details. 

“I’d been there a year, perhaps a bit more. Took some time after you’d… gone… to get myself together. I wanted more than the post I landed, of course. Dreamed of becoming an Auror, or something else in Magical Law Enforcement. But after–” He swallowed. “After everything, it was easier to bury myself in parchment than face the field. I was lucky to get any Ministry job in the state I was in. But once I was there, I found out it’s near impossible to move up, or even sideways. It didn't matter what I wanted.” 

His jaw clenched. “My supervisor was a bastard. Buried me in files so I’d never stir. Turned out he was covering for smugglers, records would vanish before they hit my desk. And when I caught on, he made sure I was stuck where I couldn’t cause trouble. I snapped. Hexed an ink pot clean across the office, told him to shove his bloody desk job, and walked out.” 

A bitter laugh escaped as he shook his head. “Didn’t matter in the end. They sacked me properly before I could even pack up my quills.” 

Regulus stared, unsure what to say. It didn’t surprise him, not really, that James would hex a man who had such disregard for decency. That part fit. But there was more to it. He wasn’t boasting. No pride in his voice, or a story to be admired. Just raw honesty and a sense of shame. Not for telling off his supervisor, but for what followed.  

“That was months ago,” James admitted. “My parents don’t know. Couldn’t stomach telling them, after they helped me secure it in the first place. They still think I’m clocking in like a good lad at the Ministry. Truth is…” His gaze fell to his shoes. “Truth is, I’ve been wandering. Town to town, pub to pub. Just looking for something to keep me standing.” 

Regulus said nothing, only stared. Words caught in his throat. He hadn’t realized how far James had fallen. He hadn’t thought, hadn’t let himself think, that his own disappearance could weigh on someone else like that. It made no sense. But for James, it had. 

He’d buried himself in parchment and wasted his brilliance in clerk work for almost two years, letting the grief hollow him out as he squandered opportunity after opportunity. That should have infuriated Regulus. Whose opportunities had always come laced with venom from the start, every path poisoned by his family’s expectations. But it didn’t. It only made what he saw in front of him worse. 

He wished he’d stayed ignorant. Wished James hadn’t found him. Wished he could still believe James was off doing grander things without him. That was easier to swallow than this. The truth that his own disappearance had left James wandering, aimless, chasing scraps of purpose across pubs and towns. 

And he couldn’t really believe that, either. Not really. He’d only really been close to James for a couple of years before he left. He couldn’t possibly make such an impact. He refused to think too much about it. The words wouldn’t come.

So they sat together in silence for a moment, the air thick with the words that had been spoken.

James stood up, deciding to break the silence. 

“Always so damned quiet when it mattered most.” He muttered, then stood, hands shoved in his pockets. “Don’t worry, I won’t upend what you’ve built here. I’ll clear out by sunset. Just… let me come back sometimes. Pretend things aren’t so different.” 

And with that, he stepped outside the tent, leaving Regulus to simmer with his thoughts.

❖───── •✧✧• ─────❖

“Lils, you can’t expect me to survive like this, can you?” 

Sirius was dramatically lamenting Lily’s return with the troupe’s provisions, everything secured but the coffee.

He clutched the near-empty tin to his chest with one hand, the other pressed to his forehead like a fainting damsel. He then caught sight of the parasol in her hand.

“You forgot the coffee but came back with this darling parasol? Tsk, priorities.”

“There was a situation,” Lily said dryly, “before I picked up another tin.” 

She had no intention of explaining the situation, for James’s sake. “You’ll live.”

Sirius’s brows rose at the word ‘situation’, but then he took another look at the parasol. He snatched it from Lily’s hand and twirled it open with a delicate flick. He inspected the silk canopy with an exaggerated reverence. 

“Merlin’s beard, Lily. How’d you manage to swindle this? It’s finer than a noble dowry back in London.”

Lily flushed, reaching for it. “For heaven's sake, give it back.”

“Not until you tell me which poor sod down there was fool enough to play your benefactor,” Sirius teased, tilting the parasol while he batted his lashes.

Before Lily could snap back, James stepped through the tent flap. She turned sharply to him, cheeks still pink. Sirius froze for a heartbeat, then pieced it together. He grinned like the cat who’d got the cream.

“Well, well,” Sirius twirled the parasol, then pointed it to James like a dueling pistol. “I’ll be damned if I haven’t identified your mysterious patron.”

James stopped mid-step, and looked at Lily, who was flustered at the whole display. 

“What brings our gallant benefactor outside my brother's tent?” Sirius asked, twirling the parasol lazily.

“Wanted to let you know I planned to head out by sunset. Caused enough disruption for you all in one visit. Don’t want to wear out my welcome.”

He glanced at the almost empty coffee tin still clutched in Sirius’s other hand. 

“And that was my fault,” he added. “us leaving the market before Lily could pick up your precious means of survival.”

Sirius raised a brow. “So the situation was… you?”

James gave a half shrug. “May have caused a scene. Truth is, been a bit of a disruption everywhere lately. Not working at the ministry anymore, got sacked after… Well, doesn’t matter now. Not looking to drag more trouble to your doorstep.”

Sirius blinked, then barked a laugh so sudden it made Lily jump.

“You’re daft,” he said, grinning. “if you think you’ve got to run off just because of your talent for mischief. That’s half the bloody job description here.”

“Huh?” James frowned.

“You said you got sacked. Well, you’ve got the charm, and the looks.”

“No,” James shook his head, incredulous. “I’m not circus material.”

“Neither was half this lot when they first arrived.” Sirius shot back. “Hell, you know Regulus. He didn’t know how to throw knives blindfolded before this. All he knew was a governess throwing teacups at him for misbehaving. Now he gets applause for what mother would have called acts of rebellion.”

James snorted despite himself. “Its… I need to do something grander. Bigger than this. Maybe I’ll try again at the ministry. Work my way toward being an Auror.”

“Grander?” Sirius leaned in. “There’s nothing grander than this. The ministry doesn’t deserve you if they’ve already sacked you once. Nothing grander than giving people something to smile for. Something to believe in. Building a place where everyone can live away from the cruelty this world spits out.”

James hesitated, caught between Sirius’s words and his own ambitions.

“And if I stay?” He asked softly. “What then?”

“Well,” Sirius’s grin widened. “I’m excited to find out what you bring to the table. Whatever it is, you’ll look dashing in sequins.”

❖───── •✧✧• ─────❖

Sure, James would probably look rather good in a circus outfit. But this could go wrong so easily. 

“What will you tell your parents?” Regulus asked, exasperated. “You tell them you’ve joined a damn circus? I doubt they’d disown you, but if word gets around…” his concern wasn’t for James. It was for himself. The Potters didn’t care to have the Black family for company, but all it took was the right person to spread the wrong thing. 

“Mother and father? They’d never tell a soul if I told them the truth.”

“No.”

“C’mon. You know they want nothing to do with your family either.”

“It’s still a risk.”

“What’s your idea then?”

“You found a job, private sector. Quidditch training, perhaps? Not too off the mark. Close enough to the truth. Entertainment, travel expected…”

“Hm…” James was trying, but continuing to lie to his parents was not something he hoped to do. “Fine, I won’t tell unless you let me. I’ll go with it for now. Eventually though, I hope to tell mum and dad. They’d be so happy to hear from you and Sirius.”

“Don’t plan on it.”

“I’ll still hope for it.”

“Use that hope to find yourself an act. Your face won’t be enough if you’re staying on.”

“When do I start?”

“Start with a less stuffy outfit. If you can’t stretch in it, you can’t perform.”

❖───── •✧✧• ─────❖

James quickly learned that circus life was far less forgiving without relying on a wand. 

If he could cast just a few charms, he’d have looked brilliant at anything they threw his way. But the troupe had a rule: magic was for preventing serious injury only. They took pride in what they accomplished on their own, or at least knew better than to flaunt real magic carelessly in front of Muggles. 

It made everything much harder. 

They started simple.

James could juggle decently, as long as nothing was sharp or on fire. Cartwheels, a handstand, those were manageable, though Regulus tutted about his “sloppy form.” He could throw and catch a baton well enough. Then came the tightrope.

James was thankful they’d set it up only a few feet from the ground. Even if they’d use magic in the case of a fall, there was always the risk of not responding fast enough. He wasn’t inclined to take that risk at the usual height the tightrope was fixed at.

He stepped on, feeling the rope sway beneath his feet. One step. Another. He found his balance and grinned, arms outstretched. Feeling like a natural. Another step, and he promptly pitched himself sideways into the dirt. 

Next came knife-throwing. Ten daggers. He landed… two. On the board, not the bullseye. Regulus abandoned watching after the third miss. 

Fire-breathing fascinated him most. When he first saw Sirius’s act, he was certain he’d broken the Statute of Secrecy in front of an entire muggle crowd, only to realize it was all oil and technique. No magic required. Sirius flatly refused to let him try, but permitted a sip of the lamp oil, so James could fully appreciate the art form, the foul taste, and never ask again. 

“Not everyone finds their niche right away,” Sirius assured, clapping him on the back. “You’ll keep practicing a bit of everything. Next performance’s Saturday. The last before we move on. For now, try it all. Figure out what catches your fancy.” 

“How long did it take you?” James asked. He was perched on a barrel in the ring. “To find what you’re good at? Hell, to figure this all out, after you left?” 

Sirius leaned against a beam on the side of the tent. He shrugged, like the words couldn’t be heavy if he treated them lightly. 

“For a while,” He said slowly, “I just kept moving. Guess I never really stopped. But back then I was sixteen. On the street with nothing but what I could carry. Odd jobs, here and there, wizard or Muggle, didn’t matter as long as it got me a roof for the night, or a meal.” 

James tilted his head, soaking up the story, piecing together what had happened in the time after they’d been apart. 

“Came across a few Muggle performers one day,” Sirius went on. “Rough around the edges. But they got a crowd to stop and stare, toss a few coins. So I started doing tricks in the street myself, of course.” He smirked, self-deprecating. “Relied on proper magic at first. Nearly got caught for it, too.” 

He then shrugged. “Still use magic everywhere else. But I realized there was something about the way they did it, no wands, no charms… Just skill and nerve. When I finally learned to do it properly, it was… intoxicating. But it wasn’t easy.” 

He grinned, thinking back at the memory. “Couldn’t speak any spells for a week after one of my first fire-breathing attempts. Inhaled the fuel, scorched my throat raw. Another time, the spray wasn’t fine enough. Got a flame to the face. Lucky for me it wasn’t magical, or my looks would’ve been ruined forever.”

James laughed. 

“After that, once I’d figured it out… I stuck with it. Muggle troupes, small ones. Learned the ropes, the shows, the life on the road. Wasn’t until Reg found me that we made our own.” His smile softened. “Cirque du Siècle. Circus of the Century.” 

“And, Regulus…” James hesitated. “Did you know? That he’d left in… that way?” 

Sirius ran a hand through his hair, a bit unsettled by the question. He sighed, letting out a long breath before he met James’s gaze. 

“He came back from the dead for me, too.” he said quietly. “Didn't believe it at first. It was all rumor, nothing certain. Until I saw the paper. Headlines, name printed clear as day.” His jaw tightened. “If he hadn’t found me as quickly as he did, well… I don’t know where I’d be now.” 

The usual glint in Sirius’s expression was gone, replaced by something heavier.

“I’m sorry,” he said at last. “I wish he hadn’t put you through that. But… I’m glad you’ve got him back, too.” 

James nodded, the words settled in him in a bittersweet, but welcome all the same.

Sirius straightened, and shook off the heaviness with a huff. “Right, enough brooding about.” he said, tone lighter now, “Let’s go see what our dearly departed is up to.” 

James shook his head, biting back a laugh as he fell into step behind him. 

Chapter Text

July 19, 1902

❖───── •✧✧• ─────❖

Unfortunately for James, he hadn’t quite discovered where his talents lay. 

Fortunately for James, he didn’t mind making a fool of himself.

And so, for the troupe’s final performance in town, the easiest act for him to join was the one involving a liberal amount of greasepaint and clothing loud enough to be seen from the moon.

Regulus was embarrassed, Sirius was ecstatic. And James, he was just game for whatever at this point.

“And welcome to the ring, our silly clowns and jesters everyone! A round of applause and laughter! Watch, our glorious fools!”

James chatted briefly with the handful of performers that made up the circus’s regular clown act. Three Muggles, one squib. 

Henry was the leader, a tall, round-bellied man with a dubious past and a kind heart. He claimed to have once been an aristocrat, but now wore greasepaint for a living. 

“The louder they laugh, lad,” Henry assured him, “the better you know you’re doing. And if all else fails, fall on your arse.” 

Elsie was the smallest of them, a cheeky and fearless slip of a girl with a large grin on her face. She gave James a prime example as Henry spoke, practicing an exaggerated pratfall in front of him, limbs flung out in all directions, making him chuckle.

Otto played the sad clown, all white facepaint and a drooping expression, a darker palette than the others. He had a gift for complaining straight to the audience in such a dire way that earned laughs as they pitied his comical circumstance. 

Francis was a squib, and played it up as the role of a failed magician. His tricks always fizzled, sparked, or backfired in spectacular fashion. His hat would eat his props, his wand would fall limp, and everything refused to vanish on cue. 

James didn’t overthink it. He just knew he needed to be funny. He didn’t plan to make this a full time gig, clowning forever. 

Just be goofy, smile, and make the kids laugh. 

Regulus didn’t realize at first who had just passed him to enter the ring. When it registered, he groaned aloud, because of course it was James. 

James’s hair was somehow messier than usual, if such a thing were possible. He’d daubed red triangles above and below his eyes, and a ridiculous painted on mustache that made Regulus want to Scourgify his entire face on the spot. James grinned and waved at him as he went by, utterly shameless.

The clown troupe entered the ring in grand procession. Henry led at the front, walking in with a pompous dignity at odds with his enormous coat buttons and mismatched striped pants. Otto trudged behind him, hunched and weary-looking, expression bored and contrasting the leader. Francis followed, promptly dropping his hat on the way in and having to double back for it, nearly colliding with Elsie, who came barreling forward like a cannonball, and crashed directly into Otto, and gave the audience an extravagant bow as he fell into the dirt. 

James brought up the rear and, true to his form, managed to trip over his own enormous shoes as he crossed the ring. Completely intentional, of course. Definitely. 

Once the entire troupe had gathered, Henry produced a confetti popper with great ceremony, showering them in colored paper to signal the beginning of their act. 

They opened with a mockery of the performance they had followed, Lily’s graceful tightrope routine. The clowns set to building a crudely designed tightrope contraption. Otto instantly found himself tangled in the ropes. Francis attempted to set up the ladder, which promptly collapsed after each try. Elsie climbed halfway up, and the ladder swayed dramatically. She plummeted to the dirt with dramatic flair, limbs flailing wildly. 

While the others stumbled over the tightrope routine, James was tasked to wander the audience and entertain from within the crowd. 

When someone in the stands sneezed, James seized the moment, gasping loudly and yanking an endless stream of scarves from his sleeve as he rushed over. “One moment, sir! Nearly there, just… half a tick…” He handed the growing chain to the wrong person entirely, did a double-take, then wrapped it around the correct person’s neck like a scarf, as though that was its purpose all along. 

He tripped theatrically behind benches whenever he passed children, landing flat on his back before springing to his feet for a dramatic bow. They adored it. He crouched down to whisper conspiratorially with them, nodding gravely at whatever they said before pointing accusingly at the other clowns, who immediately acted as though they’d been framed for something. 

By the time the ladder and tightrope were finally upright, James had organized the children into a full chorus. He ordered applause whenever the clowns merely climbed the ladder, and–contradictorily–demanded total silence for their bows, holding his finger to his lips until the entire section of the stands were shushing. The audience loved it. Sirius, watching from the sidelines, looked thoroughly entertained. Regulus, meanwhile, watched through his fingers, face red on James’s behalf.

After a few more gags from the clown troupe, James lingered at the edge of the ring rather than exiting. He wanted to see the rest of the evening’s performances, and some were new to him, acts that hadn’t run on his first night. 

The ring crew moved quickly between numbers. Large hoops carried out and hooked to the rigging above. Swathes of silk were unrolled and floated high above the ring like banners. 

Two performers prepared themselves. James recognized one immediately: Dorcas, though on the billing she was Aquila. He’d met her briefly the first night at dinner. She climbed the silks with ease, like ivy twisting up a tree. 

The other he hadn’t met yet. A girl introduced to the crowd as Lyra. She took her place on the aerial hoop, stretching her arms as it lifted slowly from the ground. 

Music swelled. The two moved together, one on silk, the other on steel, twisting and unfurling in rhythm. Dorcas let the silks catch her after a dizzying drop, and Lyra turned herself upside down on the hoop, held only by the crook of one knee. Their movements flowed together like a single performance, fluid and fearless. Two elements sharing the same sky. 

James’s jaw went slack. 

“That.” He said at last, decidedly. 

“Hm?” Sirius leaned toward him to be heard over the applause. 

“I want to do that.” James’s eyes gleamed like a man who had just found religion. 

❖───── •✧✧• ─────❖

“Ladies, gentlemen, our miscellaneous,” Sirius declared, a cup held aloft at the long dinner table. “A round of applause for our newest recruit, and for his first performance!” 

The tent erupted in cheers and clinking mugs as James ducked his head, still bearing the streaked remnants of greasepaint from the ring. He’d left his wand in Regulus’s tent and hadn’t had a chance to Scourgify the mess off before being herded to dinner. The red triangles above and below his eyes gave a comical flair to his sheepish grin. 

“Quite the natural,” Henry spoke warmly. “You sure you don’t want to make it official? We could always use another proper clown in our group.” 

Elsie perked up, thumping the table enthusiastically. “Please! You were a riot out there! Amazing pratfalls for a first-nighter.”

“I’d love to claim they were all intentional,” James held up his hands, grinning. “But those shoes? They were out for blood.” 

Sirius continued. ‘Alas, our wonder boy is destined for the sky, it seems.” He waved his hand overhead with theatrical flair. 

Both Regulus and Lily glanced up, eyebrows raised. Curious. 

“James took a liking to an act tonight,” Sirius went on. “Can’t say if he’s got the skill for it yet, but the passion? Oh, he’s positively smitten.” 

“And what, exactly, caught his fancy?” Regulus asked dryly, eyes narrowed. 

“Boy’s got an interest in the silks.” Sirius’s grin widened. 

James nodded a bit sheepishly. Many of the troupe looked surprised. Whatever they’d expected him to say, this apparently wasn’t it.

“How grand!” Dorcas exclaimed, delighted. She reached across to shake James’s hand with enthusiasm. “Another for the skies, I’ll have you climbing in no time!” 

James laughed, returning the handshake. “Can’t promise anything. Quidditch kept me fit, but it's been a couple years since I played regularly. Never tested my flexibility the way you both showed in your act tonight, it was spectacular. I don’t mind heights, so long as I’ve got hold of the fabric.”

“Oh, you’ll love it,” Dorcas said with absolute certainty. “The wind rushing past your ears on the drop, the whole tent holding its breath, and stopping just before your head meets the floor.”

Regulus set his fork down, looking positively disgusted. “Sounds dreadful.” 

“Not everyone’s so eager to court death, Dorcas, Dear,” Sirius teased. “But I, for one, can’t wait to see your take on the death-defying act. As soon as we’re set up in the next town, we’ll have you training straight away.” 

“Where are we headed to next, then?” James asked.

“Thetford,” Sirius replied. “About a day’s travel. Smaller place, but I expect we’ll still draw a decent crowd.”

July 20, 1902

❖───── •✧✧• ─────❖

Breaking down the circus was nothing remarkable, though Sirius sped the work along with a discreet flick of his wand here and there, just enough magic to help without the Muggle performers catching on. 

The troupe traveled primarily by horse and carriage, meandering the road toward Thetford. Halfway there, they stopped for a simple meal: cold cuts and cheese, easy to prepare on the road. James, with a quick muttered charm, turned his mug of cider into something that tasted close enough to butterbeer to satisfy him. 

The journey was lively in the way only circus folk could make it. Lyra, whose real name was Anne, though she explained she preferred her stage name for its glamour, treated them to a song while they traveled. 

Dorcas, meanwhile, spent half the road chattering in James’s ear about silk routines, drops, and wraps. He nodded along enthusiastically, though utterly lost in the terminology. He didn’t need the names. He just wanted to go woosh– to feel the silk catch him, wrap him, and make him feel weightless. 

Regulus sat beside James, quiet, with his arms folded. The steady sway of the carriage always made him drowsy. It reminded him of the long train rides back to Hogwarts. There, he could lean against the window and carry off to sleep without a problem. Here, he tried to sit upright, head against the wooden beam of the carriage. But slowly, his head tipped sideways and came to rest against James’s shoulder. 

James froze for half a heartbeat, then smiled. Delighted by the unexpected weight against his shoulder, he leaned slightly against him in return, and let his eyes drift shut as well.

From the carriage behind them, the one hauling the bulk of the troupe’s food supplies, a startled scream split the air, sharp enough to make both of them jolt upright. 

Chapter Text

“There’s a great bloody rat in the supply carriage!” 

Elsie was, apparently, very frightened by rats. Despite her confidence in the ring, she was absolutely petrified by the sight of a rat sneaking out of the grain, all courage wiped out of her. 

The moment a whiskered nose poked out from the grain sacks, she shrieked like the devil himself had sprung from the wagon. Before the horses had even reined to a stop, she was scrambling out the side, skirts in a tangle, tears streaking her face as she distanced herself from it. 

James and Regulus hopped out the back of their carriage, looking to see what the commotion was about. Further ahead, Sirius handed off the reins of the lead horse to another performer and came striding back, curiosity written all over him. 

James reached Elsie first. She immediately grabbed his arm and clung to him, and hid behind him while watching as Regulus drew a dagger out of his satchel. He approached the supply wagon without hurry, lifted the back flap, and peered inside. Ready to murder one very unlucky rodent. 

According to Elsie, it had been in the grain when she screamed, but dove deeper into the supplies at the noise. Regulus began shifting crates methodically, dragging them away from the pile one by one. 

Then he grabbed the sack of apples from the corner, and there it was. 

A great, fat rat shot across the wagon bed. Regulus threw his dagger and nicked only a whisker. He threw another, landing it just ahead of the rat’s tail. He raised a third–

And froze. 

The rat was no longer a rat. 

“Please! Don’t throw another! I’d rather not be impaled!” 

Sprawled on the carriage floor, hands raised in surrender, a very sheepish looking young man had replaced the creature before him. 

Regulus stayed frozen, dagger still in hand, staring with sheer disbelief after the sudden transformation. Before he could demand an explanation, Sirius appeared at the back of the wagon and tossed the flap open. His eyes flicked from Regulus, armed and looking murderous, to the stranger sprawled across their provisions. 

“Well,” Sirius spoke after a moment, his head tilted. “That’s not the kind of rat I was expecting.” 

From outside the wagon, Elsie’s voice could be heard, still shrill with nerves. “Did he kill it? Is it gone now?”

“Rats gone now,” Sirius yelled, “But found us a stowaway.”

“I… I’ll just be on my way then,” he stammered, starting to rise to his feet.

Sirius and Regulus both gave identical glares that leveled him. He froze mid-step, like they’d petrified him with one look. 

“You’ve got some nerve,” Regulus said calmly, “Transforming back without knowing if we were Muggles or wizards.” 

“I almost got split in half!” The young man shot back, “I’d rather take a dagger at this size than when it would’ve cleaved me in two!” 

Sirius raised his brows and glanced at Regulus, as if to say he’s got a point. Regulus answered with a roll of his eyes. 

“Animagus, I presume?” Sirius said at last. 

The man nodded, still looking like he desperately wished to escape. 

“Interesting,” James spoke up, peeking in from the back of the carriage. “Not exactly a common practice… I’d never have guessed we’d find another,” 

Sirius shot James a sharp look. Regulus’s head tilted.

“Another?” Regulus asked, eyes narrowed. “Who do you know that can do this?”

“Never mind,” Sirius cut in before James could answer. “We can talk about it later.” 

Sirius pointed his look back at the man. “Name?”

“Peter.”

“And what’s your story, then? Seems we deserve that much if you’ve been hiding in our grain.” 

They started back on their journey, letting Sirius join them in the carriage to hear his story. Elsie was requested to stay with Dorcas in the carriage ahead, and they explained it was so Regulus would keep on rat watch. 

“I hadn’t taken anything,” He admitted. “I was scouting, if I’m honest.” 

“For what?” Sirius asked. 

“And for who?” Regulus added. 

“Well,” he began wringing his hands, “Got tangled up in some seedy company. Dodgy work. My animal form makes it easy to sneak, and find things… you know?”

Peter looked at the three of them, nerves written on his face. “So I often pick up those kinds of jobs. Whoever pays well. Wizards or Muggles, I just forgo the rat part, if it's the latter.” He scratched the back of his head, “Anyways, some man named Hiram offered the work. Said he’d pay me well, if I scouted for him and his crew.”

“So they could rob us blind?” Sirius asked dryly, “A circus? Hardly the crown jewels.”

Peter shook his head quickly. “Not quite. He was looking for a creature, a particular beast. Wouldn’t say what. Paranoid sort of man, and a Muggle, at that. Couldn’t tell if he knew about magic or was a proper nutter, honestly. Told him I wasn’t interested, but he kept on. Offered a fair bit of coin if I came back with information. I got turned around looking through the tents, ended up in the food stores instead, and next thing I know I’m being hauled out with the potatoes and grain.” 

“A beast?” James asked, frowning. “And this Muggle… He didn’t say anything about what he was looking for?” 

“He wasn’t specific,” Peter admitted. “He was quite odd. Honestly, my plan was just to come back, make something up if I had to, and take the coin.”

Sirius gave a laugh. “Tricky lad, trying to con a madman, only to be foiled by the circus provisions.” 

“Wonder what he was looking for,” James said thoughtfully. “If it was an actual beast… Have any magical creatures been spotted nearby?” 

“Another question,” Regulus cut in. “Why search the circus at all? We have a few big animals, yes, but still. Nothing of note, unless he’s looking for a lion.”

Peter shrugged. “This circus was just one of a handful of places on his list he requested I look at. Anywhere someone might find a beast. Freak shows, menageries, nearby forests, supposed haunted areas. Didn’t even have to be a real sighting, just information to lead him. Would’ve helped if he’d told me what sort of thing I was looking for.” He shrugged. “Before here, I scouted old ruins, the nearby woods… nothing turned up. Nothing worth the title of ‘beast’, anyway. A mangy cat scared me half to death at once. The closest thing I could even consider to tell him about was that watchband of yours.”

He nodded toward James. Sirius tilted his head, curious. 

“It’s a unique leather,” James explained simply to Sirius, avoiding the details. 

“You were rummaging in my tent?” Regulus exclaimed, voice raised. James hadn’t figured out what to do with the watch strap, nor had gotten his own tent yet either, though he wasn’t particularly fussed about the latter. 

“Sorry,” Peter said quickly. “I told you, I was to look for anything. So… I looked everywhere I could.”

“Better not have taken anything,” Regulus muttered, “or I’ll throw a dagger again.” 

Peter shook his head defensively, hands raised again.

“Well,” Sirius said. “If you haven’t taken anything, feel free to leave, but if you still need the coin…” 

Of course he was looking to hire. Always was. No matter the fact the hire was just found within their food supply. 

Regulus’s eyes went wide. “We just caught him rummaging through our things, and we’re just letting him off? Inviting him, even?” 

“I don’t see why not,” Sirius replied with a grin. “A runaway, a dead man, an unemployed gentleman, and a rat perform in a circus. Adds a lovely touch to our joke of a story, doesn’t it?” 

“He hasn’t even shown a skill to recruit for,” Regulus shot back. “What are you playing at, Sirius?” 

“Hasn’t shown a skill?” Sirius arched a brow. “He said he’s a good scout. We could use that. Certainly, if you’ve been hired for that kind of thing before, you’ve got some tricks we could apply here.”

Peter shifted, nervous. “Well, I didn’t make a good show of it just now, but I can escape things pretty well.”

“Without magic?”

“It’s had to be. Well, besides the occasional animagus form.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean by that?”

“Had my wand stolen a couple months back,” Peter admitted. “That’s what I’ve been working to get enough coin for. Was hoping to buy another. Never been all that apt at wandless magic.” 

“Well, if you can pull a few tricks for the crowd and scout the town for us,” Sirius said, “abandoned buildings, storage sheds… places that might have things we need. Cans of food, dry firewood, rope… Performers don’t live on applause alone, you know. And the coin only gets us so far. You’d save us the trouble of rooting through half the countryside.”

Peter shifted a little. “I don’t know what sort of tricks I’d be good for. But you lot scare me less than that dodgy old man. As long as you’re not sending me after any mysterious beasts, I can help.” 

Sirius grinned, pleased as ever. “We’ll figure out how to give your skills some flair. For now, two new recruits, you and James. I look forward to the additions to the show.” 

James shot Peter a crooked grin at the introduction, and Peter, still looking like he hadn’t quite meant to join a circus today, managed a faint uncertain smile in return. 

❖───── •✧✧• ─────❖

A few hours later, the troupe rolled into a clearing on the edge of town. The living tents went up first, forming a circle behind where the big top would be raised. Peter did his best to introduce himself as the performers passed by him, awkwardly sidestepping any mention of the stowaway incident. Luckily, most circus folk didn’t care to ask too many questions. As long as you pulled your weight, no one cared how you ended up there. 

The sun was low on the horizon, just a couple hours from setting, when Sirius strolled over to where James and Peter stood. 

“As our newest recruits,” Sirius announced. “I have some scut work for you both.”

Both turned toward him, curious. 

“Peter,” Sirius started, “You’re going to do what you claim you’re good at. Take a look around the area, see if there’s anything abandoned, check for provisions and goods no one will miss. Useful stuff. That sort of thing. Think you can do that?” 

Peter nodded. He really didn’t have much to lose, given he had just unexpectedly joined them. 

Then he turned to James. “And you… well, use that pretty face of yours. It may be Sunday, but nothing wrong with a little advertising before the crowds get busy.” 

James nodded as well, though his attention drifted almost immediately. Regulus had just finished assembling his tent. Always one of the fastest, preferring to use magic to speed up the process, as efficient and precise as ever. 

He wasn’t shy in the least. The thought of advertising didn’t bother him. What he wanted, though, was to spend that time with Regulus instead. Regulus had been quieter than James remembered, and James could tell it was deliberate. He suspected he knew why.

Not long ago, Regulus had been gone. Mourned, remembered, unreachable. Now they were together again, sharing the same tent, but still speaking like strangers who knew each other too well. The shift left James off-balance, the whiplash impossible to ignore. 

He thought about it often, how he’d gone to the circus that first night on nothing but a whim. If he hadn’t, Regulus would have stayed just a memory. And Regulus, he acted like he’d preferred it that way. 

For now, he was civil enough, but there was distance in every word. It didn’t help that it had been years since they’d spoken properly. Sirius carried on like they’d only seen each other a week ago, but Regulus kept his walls firmly in place. Still there were moments, where the natural affection would slip through. That gave him hope that things between them hadn’t been lost. 

James headed over to Regulus, and grabbed him by the wrist, taking him in the direction of the town before he could retreat into his tent. 

“Sirius said my pretty face is good for advertising. But I think yours will be the true showpiece. Let’s go.” 

❖───── •✧✧• ─────❖

The town square was sparse, just as James expected. The lamps burned low in the windows, and many buildings already had their shutters drawn. Likely, most people had turned in for the night, preparing for the workweek ahead. A few men lingered outside the tavern, pints in hand. Others passed by, quick in step towards their respective destinations. 

James handed Regulus a handful of handbills, though he suspected he’d get as much enthusiasm out of him as a man handing out funeral notices.

“Hand these out,” James said, moving towards the center of the square. “I can do the charming.”

Regulus muttered something that sounded like complaining, but followed anyway.

The trouble was, James realized he hadn’t the faintest idea what one actually said as the town crier for an incoming circus. 

“Er… come one, come all!” He exclaimed, voice echoing in the square, a little awkward at first, before picking up confidence. He pressed on, raising his voice. 

“The cirque du siècle! Arrived this very afternoon, with daring performers ready to amaze! Death-defying acts beneath the grandest big top in England!”

The men at the tavern took long sips of their drinks. You could practically hear a pin drop when he stopped speaking, save a cough from someone passing by. 

“First show begins the twenty-third!” James added, glancing at Regulus for confirmation. He got the faintest nod. 

A few passersby slowed, listening, but it wasn’t much of a crowd. 

James turned to Regulus, dropping his voice. “You’ve got your knives?” 

“Why?” Regulus asked warily. 

“Throw some.”

“Here?”

“Yes, here,” James hissed. “Something flashy. It’ll catch attention.” 

Regulus gave him a flat, you’re mad look but stepped forward all the same. Three blades flashed under the lamplight. Thunk, thunk, thunk. Landing in a perfect triangle dead center on the tavern sign. 

That got heads turning. 

James grinned, sweeping an arm toward Regulus. “And that, ladies and gentleman, is only wood! Imagine the skill with a living breathing target!”

He realized the mistake as soon as the words left his mouth. The small crowd that had now gathered perked up, murmuring with interest. 

“Ah,” he laughed, hesitantly. There it was. “Yes, well… Naturally, that would make me the volunteer, wouldn’t it?”

“Your words,” Regulus said evenly. “Step up to the post, and stay still.”

“Ok. Grand.” James swallowed hard. Too late to back out now. 

He’d seen Regulus throw before, gloriously flawless during performances. But he couldn’t actually remember seeing him throw at a person. But he’d spoken too quickly, and now he’d promised a living target. He was nervous as hell, but he was going to stay absolutely still. Because Regulus said so.  

The first dagger struck between his arm and ribs, close enough he could feel the thud in his bones. The second buried itself opposite the first, the handles framed his torso. James took one sharp breath, forcing himself not to flinch, as the third dagger flew straight toward his head. 

For half a heartbeat, he was certain this was it. The end of James Potter. Killed in a village square by a man who’d already been declared dead once himself. 

The blade whistled past, wedging itself into the post just above him with a final, solid thunk. 

Gasps, then cheers erupted from the small crowd of onlookers. James stepped forward, bowing theatrically, and gestured to Regulus to pass out handbills to everyone. 

“Marvelous!” He called to the gathering crowd. “Reg–” Regulus elbowed his side. “Er– Leonis! Yes, Leonis! One half of the Astral Brothers, and just a taste of what awaits you at the Cirque du Siècle!” 

As Regulus handed the handbills out, James stood beside him. He leaned in towards Regulus smiling while he whispered. 

“Certainly, you ah… charmed them, didn’t you? To hit that close?”

Regulus replied unfazed. “Not at all.”

James blinked. “Not… at all.” 

“All technique. Same as everyone else.” 

“All technique.” James repeated. “Brilliant.” His pulse hadn’t slowed since he’d accidentally volunteered. 

Regulus turned and gave him a long, flat look. “Why in Merlin’s name did you let me do it if you were that nervous?”

James gave a sheepish grin. “Seemed a shame to stop once the crowd got so excited.”

Regulus rolled his eyes, and handed out the last of the handbills. 

They started back toward the circus and James stretched his arms over his head with a groan, the adrenaline finally ebbing. 

“You’ve done that before, right?” he asked. 

“Hm?” Regulus didn’t look up.

“Throw at people.”

“Yes,” Regulus said after a pause. “Sirius has me on probation though.” 

James turned his head sharply. “...Probation?” 

“Hit a man once.” 

James stumbled a little over his own feet. “You what?”

Regulus’s tone stayed maddeningly even. “His fault though. He sneezed.”

James choked on a laugh, half a cough. “Merlin’s sake, Reg. You could’ve led with that before you pinned me to the wall like a butterfly specimen.”

“Well,” Regulus said without missing a step. “you lived.”

They walked in silence for a while, the road back toward the tents lit by the faint glow of lanterns in the distance. James shoved his hands in his pockets, chewing over the words before blurting them out. 

“I wouldn’t mind.” James said finally. He could feel the heat creep up his neck as he spoke. “If you need a ‘target’ again.”

Regulus stopped dead in the road, turning to stare at him. “I just told you I hit someone once,” he said slowly, “and you’ve had this astonishing realization you want me to throw knives at you again?”

James shrugged, looking idiotically casual about this. Truth is, he had been thinking about it the whole walk from the town square. It was properly terrifying to stand there while steel blurred through the air toward him. But the rush when the daggers slammed into the wood an inch from his ribs? That was something else entirely. 

And it put him squarely in Regulus’s line of sight, his focus sharp as a drawn blade, alive with precision as he threw. James couldn’t deny this was… well, a certain sort of bonus. 

“You’re asking to be a dead man.” Was the only thing Regulus could spit out. 

“Says the dead man.” James quipped without missing a beat. 

Regulus shot him a look, but James didn’t grin this time. His voice softened, the words deliberate now. He decided now to speak what he’d wanted to say, but careful where they landed.

“I want to be part of your present, Reg.” He paused, weighing it. “I can see the way you’re trying to keep that part of your life shut out. But I’m not the past rattling around in your present. I’m here. Now. With you.” 

Regulus scoffed, sharp and dismissive. Never willing to discuss things simply, because talking about feelings was never simple with him. “I didn’t shut the door because of you.”

“I know that,” James said quickly.

“Then stop following me like a stray,” Regulus snapped. “It’s as if my running off gave you nothing better to do. There was plenty. You’ve a whole life you could be living, Potter.”

There it was, the guilt. Raw and mean-spirited, but expressing his emotion the way he knew. Regulus had carried it since the moment he saw how hollow James had felt without him, how adrift he’d been. He hated it. Hated how angry it made him, because he didn’t know how else to feel. 

James turned and looked towards the tents ahead. His voice came quieter. 

“At this point I don’t really give a damn.” 

He didn’t say the rest, that maybe it was Regulus’s fault, in a way, that he hadn’t managed after he left. That felt too cruel, even if it had been true. 

“Your past and mine,” James went on, more steady. “We can’t change any of that. I’m still figuring out how I feel, and I think you are too. But I don’t see the point in keeping those walls up now that I’ve found you.” 

His eyes searched Regulus’s face. “Was all of it really nothing?”

Regulus met his gaze for a moment before looking away, shoulders tense. 

“It wasn’t,” he said finally, voice low. “It wasn’t nothing. But sometimes I wish it had been… for your sake. Because now…” His jaw tightened. “Because now, I don’t know how to make it something again. Not after everything.” 

The admission startled James, though he tried not to show it. A few bricks had come loose from the wall Regulus always kept around himself, but James knew better than to push too hard. Regulus was the sort to raise it twice as high if pressed before he was ready.

“Just…” James began, fumbling for words. “Just, it’s something already. It never stopped being something. Maybe it doesn’t have to be the same as before. But let it… still be something.” 

He sighed, frustrated at how clumsy it sounded. He was no poet, but at least he was honest. 

Regulus didn’t look at him. He just nodded, slow, the smallest crack in his composure. 

“I’ve missed… something,” he said, the words surprised him as they left his mouth. They’d slipped past his guard before he could stop them. 

James’s chest ached with the simple truth of it. “I have too.” 

Neither spoke again after that, letting the silence hold them the rest of the way back to camp. But the air felt less heavy, the weight between them shifted slightly, as they returned to the tent they continued to share. 

Chapter Text

While James and Regulus headed toward the square with their stack of handbills, Peter slipped off in the other direction, keeping to the quieter streets. He wasn’t about to waste a chance to prove he was worth keeping around. 

By the time the lamps were being lit in the windows, he’d scouted half the village. Two abandoned sheds on the edge of town looked promising, one with a stack of firewood behind it, another with a half-broken lock and the glint of tin cans inside. He’d found a few lengths of rope, a tin of lamp oil, and a battered kettle he tucked under his arm for the walk back, figuring it would show he could bring back something useful straightaway. 

A third building and a few scattered sheds sat further out, near the treeline behind the camp. The building was large, weather-worn, with an old heavy padlock on the front. He noted it for the morning, visibly long-abandoned but likely held something of use if protected with such a sturdy lock. They could easily use a quick alohamora and check it out in the morning. 

Peter returned and checked in with Sirius, who approved of the plan. He gave Peter direction to share a tent with Otto that night, with hope they’d find more canvas to provide additional sleeping arrangements for both Peter and James.

July 21, 1902 

❖───── •✧✧• ─────❖

The next morning, Sirius tended to the campfire while Peter sat cross-legged beside him, sipping on a coffee while the rest of the camp stirred awake. Pandora and Lily returned from the market carrying flour and a few other supplies. 

“Whole town’s buzzing,” Lily announced as she set the bags down with a huff. “People heard screams in the night.”

Sirius glanced up, brow furrowed. Peter froze, mug halfway to his mouth. 

“Sounded like murder,” Pandora added, darkly. “If you believe the rumors.” 

Sirius frowned. “Murder? What’s the rumor, exactly?” 

“Couple of people said they heard it. A long, awful scream.” Lily pointed toward the treeline. “Out that way. There are some old buildings out there. Folks claim they were already haunted. That perhaps someone was fool enough to go and stir up the dead.”

Pandora slipped off her gloves. “There was concern, too, some think the circus is tied to it. We show up and suddenly there’s a bloodcurdling scream in the night.” 

“Idiots,” Sirius groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We pitch tents and suddenly we’re murdering townsfolk? Perfectly convenient explanation.” 

“Either way,” Lily said grimly, ”the whole place is on edge now.”

Peter cleared his throat, glancing toward the treeline. “I looked around a bit out that way last night, when I was scouting. That big building has a sturdy lock on it. Clearly ancient, but wasn’t gonna budge easily. Didn’t bother with it, figured we’d check it out this morning. But no one could’ve been inside there last night, not without breaking the thing or knowing the right charm.” 

Sirius rose, dusting off his coat. “I think we should go take a look.” 

Lily straightened sharply. “What if someone really did get murdered? What if whoever did it is still out there?” 

Sirius met her gaze evenly. “Better us, with our wands, than some poor Muggle playing detective.” He gave a smirk. “Besides, there’s got to be something valuable in there if it's all locked up like that. Just tend the fire for me, I’ll take Peter and we’ll be back in no time.’

Lily looked hesitant, arms folded, but huffed and dropped onto the log by the fire. 

“I know I said I dealt with my share of dodgy folk,” Peter shifted uncomfortably. “But if there really was a murder…” 

“Fine, then.” Sirius cut him off. “Lily, come with me. That way someone can run back here if there’s truly something out there worth panicking about.”

Peter looked away, cheeks burning, but he wasn’t about to argue. He felt guilty, letting Lily replace him in the investigation. Lily stood up, and fell into step beside Sirius. Wary, but admittedly curious.

They crossed the clearing quickly, the early light slanting through the trees as the scattered buildings came into view. At first nothing looked out of the ordinary, no tracks in the dirt, no broken doors, no obvious sign of struggle. 

Sirius led the way, wand in hand, with Lily close behind. He pushed open the doors of the smaller, unlocked sheds one by one, checking each one. No lurking murderers inside, no dead bodies either. Just a stack of scrap metal in one, and a pile of wooden boards in another. 

A mouse darted out from beneath the boards, skittering across Lily’s boots. She jumped back with a startled sound. Sirius chuckled, knowing Lily hadn’t seen Peter’s Animagus trick yet. 

They circled the largest building. The door was chained with a heavy iron padlock, rusted but still sturdy. Sirius raised his wand, ready to try Alohomora. 

“Sirius!” Lily’s voice cut through the air. “Look!” 

She stood at the far corner of the building, pointing down. Sirius hurried over and followed her gaze. The window was set low into the foundation, no wider than the length of his wand. The thick glass was cracked across the center, and smeared with something dark. Sirius crouched, squinting.The pane was streaked in red. Blood. 

Tergeo. The crimson streaks vanished, and he leaned closer. But the fractures on the glass still distorted the view inside. Another charm. Reparo. 

Now the glass was whole again, so he looked inward at the darkened basement. There was just enough light filtered through the window to make out thick chains bolted to the far wall. And something, slumped in their grip. A body, twisted in on itself, unmoving. 

The rumors were true. Someone had been left to die here. 

Sirius immediately whipped around the building to the front, not even speaking to Lily what he was doing. He blasted the padlock with a flick of his wand, and flung the door open. 

“Sirius! Careful!” She called out to him, but he headed inside.

He walked in slowly, with a cast of Lumos to improve his visibility. The basement was accessible by two large doors in the floorboard. He steeled himself, and opened them with a quick charm, the doors sent flying open. 

The smell of iron instantly met his nose. 

He descended. The scene in front of him illuminated slowly, no sign of anyone lingering with murderous intent, at least. 

But there in front of him, he made out the sight of a body. It was lying in a pool of blood. Mangled with a deep claw mark carved across the side of the abdomen, blood soaking deep into the dirt. 

Lily stood at the top of the basement and peered in behind Sirius. 

“Merlin,” She gasped, hand trembling over her mouth. 

Sirius walked closer, every muscle tight with caution. Then froze as he saw the faintest movement of breath. Shallow. But there. 

“Lily.” He said sharply, “Prepare a tent. Whatever bandages, potions, anything we’ve got. He’s alive.”

She nodded once and darted off.  

Sirius crouched lower, holding the light closer now, and the features came into view. The man’s hair matted with blood, curls stuck to his forehead. The long-healed scars across both forearms, old and crosshatched, and across the freckled face, as well, Sirius remembered.

Sirius’s chest tightened. 

The tamer. 

The stranger who’d walked away months ago. 

Sirius had never even learned his name. Just a few passing quips, the impressive demeanor, the brief interaction by the wagons, a reckless kiss. Still, he made a lasting impact on Sirius. 

He hadn’t told anyone about that brief moment they’d shared before he left, not even Regulus. 

Most of Sirius’s flings in different towns had gone as quickly as they came. 

He’d had a couple experiences with fellow performers as well, that hadn’t turned into anything more than that, an experience. 

But this one stayed sharp in his mind. 

And now here he was. 

Bleeding out, dying on a basement floor.

“Fuck.” That was all Sirius could let out, especially in times of panic. 

He dropped to one knee beside the man and eyed the chain clamped tight around his ankle. The metal looked wrong. Too clean against the rest of the rusted basement fittings. No lock or keyhole to be found. Sirius muttered a quick severing charm, the clang of the broken link ringing out as the chain fell away. A few twisted links still dangled from the cuff. He’d remove the rest later, right now the man just needed to not die in front of him. 

Sirius shrugged off his coat and draped it across him, like a makeshift blanket, but better than nothing. He hooked his arms beneath him, startled at how unnaturally loose his body felt. The man’s leg wasn’t right. Not just the ankle, but higher up too. Wrenched or dislocated in a way that made Sirius’s stomach turn. He didn’t know nearly enough healing magic to fix it here, and there was no time to try. 

He shifted the body, bracing his stance, and looking for leverage. Dead weight made for a hell of a fight, especially given that Sirius was the smaller of the two. But he managed, taking one step at a time toward the stairs. Sirius could feel the loose drag of the man’s legs and the warm blood seeping through his shirt. It made him shudder, but he continued. The man stirred once, a faint groan breaking through, barely conscious, as they moved. 

And then Sirius caught sight of a wand. Or what was left of one. Snapped in two, the splintered wood blackened and charred where the magic had released from it. It lay in the dirt near where Sirius had found him. He stared for half a heartbeat before carrying him up the stairs and out of the building. 

He stumbled into the clearing with him slung across his shoulders, breath ragged as he tried to move as quickly as his legs would allow under the weight. The moment one of the performers spotted him through the trees, the camp stirred like a kicked anthill. 

“Bloody hell,” Someone gasped as Sirius staggered through the circle of wagons. 

Lily immediately caught Sirius’s attention, and gestured towards the tent she’d prepared. A bedroll was laid out in the center, and every possible medical supply Lily could collect, magical and Muggle. Pandora had waited for them inside. Peter stood outside the tent, and waved away the other performers, primarily to ensure the Muggle performers didn’t see any of the magical healing

“The tamer,” Lily breathed, shocked after seeing his face in the light. Sirius nodded.  

He lowered him as gently as he could, crouching beside the bedroll while Pandora immediately cast a diagnostic charm. She then cast tergeo, cleaning up the excess blood so that she could see the wound more properly. The wound was deep. She pulled dittany from their collection of potions, and worked on applying it right away. Lily prepped the bandages. 

“He’s a wizard, too.” Sirius said at last. “Never realized until now. Found a snapped wand.”

He heard him stir on the bedroll.

“Easy,” Pandora’s voice was gentle. 

The man groaned, whimpering from the pain. His eyes fluttered slightly, and opened, drifting from Pandora, to Lily, and towards Sirius sitting next to him. He shifted, and a sharp gasp left him when he tried to move. 

“Don’t.” Sirius put a hand to his shoulder. “Don’t try to sit up. You were in rough shape. Just lie still.”

He blinked, gaze unfocused. And didn’t speak, just laid there wincing at his wounds. After a moment, he spoke. 

“Where…” His voice cracked, raw. 

“The circus. Camp.” Sirius said. “We found you, you were–” 

“Chains…” he croaked.  

“Yeah. You were chained up… we broke you free.” Sirius replied.

“Wand… broke.” 

“I saw… didn’t even know you had one,” he spoke without expecting an answer, the man was hardly awake. Sirius just had a tendency to fill the tense silence with words. 

“Not mine…” Sirius frowned but didn’t press. “Hurts…” he added.

“I know.” Sirius kept his voice gentle. “What should I call you? You… never gave us one before, a name.”

For a long moment, he was silent. Sirius figured he was focused too much on shutting out the pain right now. Pandora was working to bandage his side. But then, he heard it spoken quietly.

“Lupin,” he breathed. “Remus Lupin.”

Sirius repeated it under his breath, the name sinking in. “Remus Lupin.” He huffed a nervous laugh. “Merlin’s sake. That’s… you’ve a bloody brilliant name this whole time, and you had me calling you the tamer instead?” 

He shook his head. “Lupin… fitting name for a beast tamer…” Then softer, almost to himself, “Latin. The wolf.” 

Remus’s eyes snapped open at that, startling despite his exhaustion. Panic flashed sharp in his gaze.

“Easy,” Sirius said quickly. Hands raised, as if calming a skittish animal.

The reaction sank in hard. Remus’s breath hitched, and he shifted uncomfortably as though he’d bolt if his body weren’t in so much pain. Sirius instinctively reached for his hand, hesitating for a moment. He hovered before closing the distance slowly, fingers wrapping around Remus’s with careful steadiness. 

“You’re safe.” He murmured. “No more hurting. No more danger.” 

It took a moment, but the tension in his shoulder ebbed away as panic dulled to bone-deep exhaustion. His breathing smoothed out, and he drifted unconscious again. 

Sirius stayed crouched there, the name echoing in his mind.

Remus Lupin.

Chapter Text

July 23, 1902 

❖───── •✧✧• ─────❖

The first thing he noticed was the canvas of the tent, with sunlight leaking through the seams of  colored panels. It was familiar, but didn’t feel right. He blinked hard. The ringing in his ears wouldn’t stop. His thoughts didn’t feel like they’d line up properly. 

He hadn’t seen this place in months. 

The last he remembered was the abandoned building.  The window he’d peered through, and the conjured chains. The way night came fast, and the transformation took him over. 

But now, he was on a bedroll, not the dirt floor of a basement. A cool cloth heavy across his forehead. He shifted, slow, and his hand found the bandages wrapped tight around his abdomen. The throb underneath the fabric roared to life as soon as he touched it. 

He pushed himself halfway up, before the dizziness crashed over him. The tent spun sharply, black spots at the corners of his vision before he fell back with a groan, eyes screwed shut. 

The noise must have alerted someone. 

He heard the sound of steps, a body moving closer. 

“Hey,” the voice spoke carefully. “How are you feeling?” 

He thought about it. His throat was like sandpaper. The only word that he could get out:

“Water.”

A moment later something cool pressed to his mouth. He blinked, and the shapes above him came into focus. The rim of a cup, with a straw against his lip, and a man crouched beside him. He drank slow, shallow sips. The dizziness threatened him, but each sip of water lessened it. He looked to see who was beside him. He saw the loose dark hair, and the worried look of someone he’d met before. 

The ring leader. From the circus. 

For a moment, Remus thought maybe he was hallucinating. A fever dream that had replaced whoever was helping him now into a memory from months ago. 

Confusion furrowed his brow before he rasped, voice rough, “Where…?” 

Sirius repeated the words he’d said the first night after finding him. “The circus,” he said gently, “You’re at the circus, remember?” 

Remus blinked. 

“No,” He murmured, shaking his head just slightly. “No, that’s not right…”

Before Sirius could stop him, he tried to push himself upright again. As though that would prove the memory wrong, despite the failed attempt just moments ago. His vision lurched, as the sudden movement caused his side to radiate with pain and the dizziness returned with vengeance. He dropped back onto the bedroll with a sharp hiss of breath. 

“Bloody hell, don’t do that,” Sirius snapped. “You nearly bled out two days ago, trying to finish the job?” 

Remus shut his eyes tight, willing the spinning to stop. “Doesn’t… make sense.” He muttered.

“Yeah, well, things probably feel confusing when you’ve been unconscious for two days straight.” Sirius’s voice softened. “You lost a lot of blood back there.” 

Blood.

Ah. That’s right. 

Memory came back in fragments. The way he’d woken after the transformation, the chain against his leg, and the searing pain when he moved. The clasp dug into his leg where his ankle twisted unnaturally, where he threatened to tear it apart before transforming back. He remembered fumbling for his wand to undo the transfiguration… Only to find it snapped clean in two. Destroyed by the beast he became. 

He’d sat there in the dark, chained, bleeding, too drained to apparate, knowing he wouldn’t last long. That this was it. He was going to die on the basement floor of an old abandoned building, alone. 

But clearly, he hadn’t. He was out now. Somehow. Still confused by the return of the circus canvas tents and the ring leader. 

“How…?” 

He asked without thinking. The thoughts in his head felt like soup. 

“Was hoping you’d be able to tell me,” Sirius said dryly. 

“No… how’d you find me?” 

“Well,” Sirius replied, “I imagine that gash on your side was what did you in. Loud enough to be heard from the town.”

“Ah.” Lovely. 

“How did you end up there, anyway?”

Remus said nothing. 

“That place was locked up tight,” Sirius pressed. “Chains were conjured. You, on the brink of death. A wand snapped in two. What the hell happened in there?”

He turned his head away from Sirius. 

“Who chained you up?”

“No one.”

“Right,” Sirius said flatly, “like you did that to yourself?”

He stayed quiet.

“Did you?...” Sirius asked, quieter this time.

Remus shut his eyes. He didn’t want to answer that. 

“Right.” Sirius could tell he wasn’t getting much yet out of him. “Just keep resting, then.”

And that’s what he did. Partly because it ended the conversation, and partly because he was still so heavily exhausted, even after two full days of unconsciousness.

❖───── •✧✧• ─────❖

James watched as Dorcas twisted herself in the silks, she described every movement from up in the air, before returning to the ground. 

They had two sets of silks set up. The first thing that they practiced after the camp was set up, James learned to simply climb. Dorcas let him try it without instruction, seeing how he’d expected to climb, first.

“Your arms are doing all the work that way,” She started. “You’ll exhaust yourself even faster with that. And how would you stay steady like that? Nothing secured.”

She had him mirror her movements. Starting with the French climb. Pulling up with the arms first, that part was correct, but then she stepped on the fabric with one foot, wrapping it under the other foot, allowing her to stand on it. James followed suit. She pushed upwards with her legs, and slid her hands up the silk, and repeated, gaining height. James pulled himself upward with a similar motion, fumbling but raising himself higher with each go. 

“Now,” She instructed. “Lean back, wrap once more and stand tall.”

He obeyed, letting the fabric lock around his ankles to hold him taut. He swayed, and realized how much trust the silks demanded. And he was unexpectedly glad to learn that they weren’t the soft fabric he thought they’d be. The firm heavy weave let him grip with more ease, even without his hands. He let go of the silks, and didn’t fall. He steadied and grinned. 

“There you go!” Dorcas grinned back. “Now lets do a quick dismount.”

While they were hardly off the ground, Dorcas emphasized the importance of a proper dismount technique, as higher up, things could get real uncomfortable if done improperly. The silks were rough, helping to hold him in place, but it also meant friction, so sliding down the silks was not a simple task. Too fast, he’d skin his palms. Too slow, he’d look like a fool, awkwardly scooting down to the ground. He slid down awkwardly, and hit the ground too hard with his feet, knees folding as he landed. 

“Graceful as a sack of potatoes,” Dorcas muttered, chuckling. “But you’ll learn.” 

James laughed, hands braced on his knees. His arms burned, and his legs wobbled already from the new way he was using his muscles. It felt like he’d been lifting weights for an hour straight. But there was a spark in him, he could picture it already. The crowd gasping as he’s up in the rafters, twisting through the air like he’d been born for it. 

“You looked like a bug stuck in a spiderweb for a moment there,” Regulus called from the edge of the ring, arms folded, smirking. “Might even be ready to perform some simple tricks in a month or two, if you keep at it.” 

“Month or two?” James straightened and whirled around toward him. “It won’t take that long, will it?”

Dorcas nodded. “Keep at it. Every day, if you want to learn properly. A month would be quick.”

James groaned, already impatient. “What about in the meantime? Just twiddling my thumbs?”

“Well,” Regulus said, voice smooth as ever. “You did offer to be a target again.” 

Dorcas cocked her head at that, interested.

“Oh,” James flushed. “I suppose… we could try that again.” 

Dorcas blinked. “You’re supposed to be throwing at posts, not pretty faces, Merlin’s sake.”

James smirked. “Ah, you know about his probation, I presume.” 

“Everyone knows,” Dorcas said, throwing Regulus a look. “Poor sod was a muggle, needed stitches, since that’s how they do it… Absolutely barbaric. Poor thing.”

Regulus rolled his eyes. “And you know, then. He sneezed. His fault.”

Dorcas replied, deadpanned. “Ah. Shocking lack of consideration on his part.” 

“Exactly,” Regulus said, without a hint of irony. 

James snorted, unable to help himself, though he quietly decided he’d stay very, very still if he was going to be the fool volunteering for the target board again. Merlin, If he needed to sneeze, he’d sooner choke on it than risk becoming Regulus’s next cautionary tale. 

“Well,” Dorcas clapped him on the shoulder, “feel free to practice keeping your limbs attached while I practice for tonight’s show.” She climbed up high on the silks, before looking down below. “Don’t lose any fingers. Would make our next lesson all the more tedious.” 

“Right,” James chuckled weakly. 

James walked over towards Regulus’s target board, trying to look as brave as he could, and struck a ridiculous pose. 

“Hit me– WAIT.” His eyes went wide. Poor choice of wording. ”No. Don’t do that. You know what I mean. I’m ready. Like, hit me. Just… don’t actually hit me.” 

“Astounding,” Regulus stared at him, expression flat. “You’d make a good contortionist, the way you manage to put your foot in your mouth so neatly.”

“Just,” James put a hand to his face, his cheeks turned hot, before getting into position again. “Throw the damn daggers.”

“Even though I threw a few at you that night,” Regulus dug through his satchel. “I’m not using my performance set for this. Dull ones for practice. Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t stay absolutely still though.” 

James gave a quick nod, before Regulus steadied himself. 

“I’ll charm them, for practice. If you want.” Regulus suggested. 

“Wouldn’t that hurt your aim? Knowing the risk isn’t there?”

“Figured it would make you feel better.” 

“I just won’t sneeze.” 

“Right you won’t.” Regulus made it sound like a promise. Or a threat.

Regulus went ahead and began. He started further out from James and worked his way in at precise intervals across the board, building a slow and deliberate rhythm. This worked as warm up, before working with James. 

“Now,” Regulus started. “The pose you take, it’s going to need to be the exact same one you’ll use during the performance. Shift so much as an inch to the wrong side, and you’ll risk a dagger in the abdomen. We’ve seen I can throw without that planned ahead, but that was reckless, and I’d rather we not rely on luck.” 

“Got it.” He made himself aware of the way he stood. He pressed his back straight against the wall, arms evenly spread out from his side. 

Regulus flicked his wand.  

James frowned. “What was that?”

“Charm,” Regulus said. “It’ll mark that pose. Like drawing around you with chalk. Only shows if you’ve moved out of alignment during practice. Now,” 

He continued his volley of daggers, reaching James quickly. 

“Steady.” 

Thunk. 

The first dagger landed beside his ribs. James felt the vibration through the board and into his spine. 

“I’m going to follow that outline,” Regulus murmured. 

Adrenaline immediately spiked in James’s veins. 

Thunk. Beside his hip. 

Thunk. Lower, by his knee. 

His muscles tensed, pulled tight.  

Thunk. 

Every breath became manual, forced, slow and even. 

Thunk. 

Oh. Merlin’s beard, he was moving upward now. Between his legs.

Thunk. 

Hell, he was really aiming close. 

Thunk. 

He clenched his jaw as the next dagger was thrown. And –thunk– felt the sensation of the metal landing and displacing the air just below his belt. A treacherous heat shot through him, making his ears burn scarlet. 

Merlin save him.

And Regulus, the absolute bastard, kept going. 

Thunk.

James squeezed his eyes shut, pulse hammering, the thrill a little too sharp, too real. 

“Christ on a broomstick,” Dorcas exclaimed from above. “You look like a bloody madman.” 

James realized, quite against his better judgement, he was grinning. Not from bravery. Something far worse. His ears burning painfully red. He didn’t dare look, or move, as though no one would notice if he stayed perfectly still.

Regulus, of course, noticed everything. He’d been staring at James with such precision. He glanced once… down. And the corner of his mouth curled, slowly. Awfully.

“Oh, don’t stop looking so thrilled on my account,” Regulus murmured, retrieving another dagger with leisure. “Wouldn’t want to ruin your fun.”

James made a strangled noise. “You’re evil.”

“Mm.” Regulus lined up the next throw, voice terribly mild. “And you’re h–”

“REGULUS.” James practically barked it, voice cracking. 

Dorcas snorted so hard she nearly fell out of the silks. 

Another dagger, sent right next to James’s temple, landed perfectly as Sirius stepped past the canvas flap. 

He froze. Took in the board. The daggers. And James, bright red and half-ruined. 

“What in bloody hell…” Sirius began, and stared at the outline of knives bracketing James’s body. Regulus reached for another dagger. 

His eyes narrowed. “What happened to probation, Reg?”

James managed a weak, “It’s fine,” though his voice cracked on the word fine. He sounded more like a dying kettle than he hoped.  The world’s most unconvincing liar.  

“Fine?” Sirius raised a brow. He looked from James back to Regulus. “How in Merlin’s name did you rope him into this?” 

“He volunteered.” Regulus gestured lazily towards James with a dagger. 

James nodded, and smiled nervously. He could feel the heat crawling all the way to his hairline. “Turns out I have a knack for daggers thrown at me,” he said, voice faint.

With that, Regulus released the next knife, it buried itself an inch from the other side of James’s head, bracketing his temples. 

“A fucking knack,” He repeated flatly. His hands raised in helpless surrender, shaking his head with an incredulous huff. “Might as well stand behind a hippogriff and give it a slap while you’re at it. A knack? That’s bloody masochistic.” 

“Only masochistic if I were actually hit,” James shot back, voice still strangled. Regulus smirked at this.

Sirius stared at James for one second too long, before an evil grin spread across his face. “Oh, bloody hell, you do have a knack for it. More than a knack I’d say. You’re enjoying this.”

James seriously considered making a run for it, if his knees hadn’t just given out like the traitorous bastards they were. He slid down the board in an undignified heap on the packed dirt.

“You just distracted my target,” Regulus promptly turned to Sirius, dagger poised, looking at him like he was surely the only reason James was no longer standing. 

At that point, Sirius broke. Practically wheezing. “This is fucking hysterical.”

James covered his face with both hands, ears on fire. “I’m ruined.” 

“Tragic,” Regulus said, unbothered. 

Sirius tried to gain his composure again. “Right. I’ll… leave you both to it then.” He shook his head, a wicked grin on his face. “Hate to interrupt your bonding.”

Sirius left, still chuckling at the unexpected comedy he’d walked into. 

Regulus looked at James, still crumpled on the floor.

“Can’t be having that,” Gesturing at all of James’s mortified self. “If you’re going to be my target for an audience.” 

He tilted his head upward. “and Dorcas,” he called, voice carrying. “Never pegged you for a voyeur.” 

Dorcas choked on a laugh. “Oh, shut up,” she wheezed, dangling upside down like she might actually fall if she didn’t stop laughing. 

“Back on the board, then?” Regulus asked blandly, as if James hadn’t just collapsed from it all. 

James could only wheeze in reply.

Chapter Text

While James had managed to stay mostly still for Regulus’s volley of daggers, he was under no illusion that he was about to show off this newly discovered talent in front of an audience. Not until he figured out whatever the hell his body had betrayed him with earlier. And that was something James was absolutely not unpacking tonight.

The silks were no better. He was still in the baby stages there, fumbling through the climbs and dismounts. Nothing worth putting before a paying crowd yet. 

Honestly, he expected to be shoved back into clown duty. At least he knew he could get the audience going when he was covered in greasepaint and falling dramatically to make the kids laugh. 

“James,” Sirius called as the performers readied themselves. “Need a favor. Peter’s out grabbing more medical supplies, we went through half of them patching up our old tamer. Problem is, he’s still not steady on his feet. I want someone there while we perform. Keep him company,” Sirius’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “He’s got that look about him, like he’d run again if he could manage it. I’d like to try and find out what’s going on before that.” 

James would rather not argue and risk anyone bringing up his catastrophic failure during the dagger practice again. He simply nodded and headed toward the medical tent. 

He still wasn’t entirely sure what the deal was with this guy who Sirius had lugged back to camp, spilling blood and completely unconscious. James had gathered a few facts. He’d been the animal tamer a couple of months back, he was a wizard, and they’d found him chained in the old building by the clearing. Other than that? No clue.

James reached the tent, and pushed the flap aside. 

“Hey,” he announced. “I’ll be hanging out with you for a bit. If you need anything.”

Remus blinked, startled awake,

“Ah, shoot.” James said quickly. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.” 

“No. It’s okay.” His voice was still rough. He propped himself upright slowly, wincing just slightly when his side protested. “I’ve slept more than enough.” 

“You, uh… seem like you’re doing better.” James started, stepping inside properly. He held out a hand. “James, by the way.”

“Remus.” 

Remus’s eyes flicked toward the flap again, like he was expecting someone else. 

“If you’re looking for Sirius, he’s about to start tonight’s show.” James offered. 

Remus nodded faintly. 

“So,” James went on, unsure what to do with the silence. “I hear you used to be part of this whole thing. The circus?”

“Mmhm.” 

“Beast tamer, right?.” 

“That’s correct.” 

James scratched the back of his neck. Not one for small talk, huh?

“Any exciting stories from that?” he tried. 

“Was only here a month,” Remus said. “Wasn’t one before that. Worked with all the critters. Dogs, goats, monkeys. The lion. Last one tried to have a go at me.” 

James blinked. “Jealous. Well, not of the lion trying to eat you, but it sounds exhilarating. More than what I did for work. Mostly read about them.”

Remus raised a brow. 

“Not regular animals,” James explained.”Magical creatures. Still, quite boring on parchment.” 

“Mm.” Remus murmured. 

“Had a chance to work with those?” James asked, tilting his head. 

“Mm.” He replied again, noncommittal. 

Remus watched him for a moment, trying to figure out what his deal was, asking so many questions. James opened his mouth, about to speak, and Remus gave him a look that clearly said enough of that.

“Sorry,” James raised his hands. “I’m just a talker. Bad habit. Just wanted to make conversation. And it looked like, well,” He gestured at the old scars running across Remus’s arms. “It looked like you’d have stories.” 

Remus looked away, jaw tight. 

James felt the silence sit heavier. He didn’t mean to make it awkward. But he sat there, eyes drifting back to the crosshatching of scars. 

He’d seen plenty of reports in his time working for the ministry. All those files stacked high on his desk, occasionally there would be reports with moving photos taken at the worst moments. Bites, slashes, maulings. And the ones that were on Remus’s arms, the one across his side, were layered. Not just a one off incident. 

The thought took shape before he could stop it.

“You don’t have to say anything…” James said carefully, “But, I’ve seen the reports. Magical creature attacks... It’s hard not to recognize after a while.” 

Remus still didn’t look at him.

“That’s why you were out there, isn’t it?” James hesitated, but he was already this far in. “Lycanthropy?”

Remus looked sharply, his expression severe. 

“Right.” James nodded. His face was sincere. “I’m sorry, that’s not easy.”

Remus moved suddenly. Upright, too fast. Wishing to leave before this escalated. His side pulled hard against the bandage, and blood immediately bloomed through the fabric. 

“Ah.” He hissed. “Dammit.”

“Whoa, hey… easy.” James was heading over before he even thought about it. Remus gave him a sharp look. 

“Look. I’m not going to go saying anything to anyone. I’ve seen the way the ministry treats this stuff. I’m not about to supply them with another parchment in their files. Now, sit. Alright?” 

He grabbed the spare bandages and re-wrapped the wound with surprising efficiency. “My mum was a healer.” He explained. “Can’t do much, but this is simple enough.” 

He tied off the bandage and leaned against his heels. “I’m not one to let someone be another beast catalogued. I wish I quit sooner than I did, but working there put things into perspective for me. Showed what they liked to sweep under the rug.” 

For the first time, Remus looked at him properly. 

“Just, let’s sit. Relax. I won’t say anything, not without your permission, okay?”

Remus nodded. Placated, for now. Hesitant, but still in need of a place to heal. 

They sat for a while, just silently in each other’s company. Time went by, and James perked up with an idea. 

“Hey,” he caught Remus’s attention. “I’d like to share a secret with you. Put us sort of on the same page, you know?”

Remus glanced at him.

“I know it’s not the same, but… I can change form too, actually.”

That got him a proper stare.

James grinned. “Figured I ought to show you, you deserve that much with what I know now. Get all the cards on the table, yeah?”

Before Remus could say anything, James stood a few steps back, and suddenly with a rush of magic, an enormous stag stood in the center of the tent. 

Antlers brushed the canvas ceiling as he adjusted his stance, hooves stamping on the packed dirt. Remus blinked, and then let out a startled incredulous laugh that turned into a wince, then a reluctant smile.

And of course, the canvas flap shoved open. 

“James, the show’s over–”

Regulus froze in the entrance, taking in the scene. His eyes moved from Remus on the bedroll, to the enormous stag looming beside him like some sort of personal bodyguard. 

The stag huffed through its nose, staring at Regulus.

“...What,” He said flatly, “the absolute fuck is happening in here.”

The stag flicked an ear. 

Regulus pointed at it, eyes narrowing. 

“Why is there a deer in the medical tent?” 

Remus opened his mouth, then shut it again, he had no idea how to explain it either. 

The stag stared at him for a moment. And Regulus stared back. The stag gave an exaggerated snort and tossed its head. Its antlers hit the lantern, making it swing precariously. 

“You know what? No.” He said finally, voice filled with disbelief. 

And with that, he turned on his heel and left without another word. 

James turned back to normal, laughing. 

“I’ll bring you dinner, yeah?” 

Remus nodded. 

❖───── •✧✧• ─────❖

Sirius was waiting for Regulus to come back with James in tow. Regulus came back without him, looking utterly bewildered. A few minutes later though, James arrived on his own. Sirius sat down across from James.

“How was he?” Sirius asked. 

“Man of few words.” James replied. “Idiot tried to stand, so I had to replace his bandages. But I think he’s not trying that again.”

They continued to chatter, and Regulus decided to speak up halfway through dinner. 

“There was a deer in the medical tent.”

Conversations halted. Elsie set down her spoon. “... A deer?”

“A deer,” Regulus repeated.

Elsie looked around like she wanted confirmation she was hearing correctly. “In the medical tent?”

“Yes,” Regulus said. 

“That’s…” Elsie was at a loss for words. “A deer? Really?” 

“Yes. Antlers and all. A fucking deer.”

“Techncially, that’d be a stag, then.” James offered, trying his best to keep his cool.  

“Fine, a fucking stag.” Regulus corrected. 

The whole exchange sent Sirius choking on his drink. As soon as he could get a gasp out, he laughed hysterically. 

“Oh,” He gasped between wheezes, “Oh, that’s rich. And Reg, did they… did the antlers.. They hit the top of the tent, didn’t they?”

“They did,” Regulus said sharply, scowling. 

Sirius almost fell off the bench. 

Lily tilted her head, also incredulous. “And it was just… in the tent? With Remus? My word, is he okay?”

“Seemed fine, was just as confused as I was.” Regulus muttered. 

“And you left it in there with him?” Lily asked, horrified.

Sirius was crying into his sleeve now, shoulders shaking. 

Regulus sighed and pushed back from the table. “I’ll… guess I’ll go make sure it hasn’t stomped him to death or something.” He muttered something about the whole bloody circus being insane, before striding off. 

James quickly stood up. “I’ll, uh… go make sure that he doesn’t have any problems with that.” 

He gave Sirius a look full of mischief before following.

Regulus shook his head, feeling completely baffled by the events of the day. 

He hoped the deer had found its way out by now. 

No sign of it tearing up the medical tent, at least. 

He pushed the flap open to find Remus sitting on the bedroll, looking tired but otherwise fine. 

“Oh good,” Regulus said. “It left. Someone will be by with food for you.”

He turned to leave– and came face to face with the stag. 

“FUCKING HELL”

The thing had been waiting. Right behind him. Ears twitching in what looked like actual amusement. Regulus staggered back a full step, back into the tent, clutching his chest. The stag tilted its head and poked its nose through the flap. It snorted… like it was laughing. 

“Oh, piss off,” Regulus snapped. He took a step forward to shoo it, like it wasn't a massive wild animal that could do proper damage. 

The stag turned and stepped aside slowly, leaving a gap like it was inviting him to walk out.

Regulus gave it a long look, then a glance at Remus, as he cautiously stepped outside. He looked again at the stag, who watched him like a guard at inspection. 

Regulus was nearly past it when the stag swung its head. 

A single, deliberate thunk of its antlers against his hip sent Regulus stumbling forward with a very undignified noise. 

“Oh, you bastard.” Regulus hissed, spinning back around. He was seriously arguing with a fucking deer. 

The stag shook its head and let out what had to be the deer equivalent of a laugh. 

Regulus yanked his wand out, because what else did you do when a deer was mocking you? 

And then the air shimmered, and the stag was no longer in front of him. James was standing there, grinning wildly.

“You? An animagus?” Regulus demanded. “When?” 

James shrugged. “Oh, probably seven years ago?” 

“That long? And I was never told?”

“Well, it was before…” He started to mention Sirius.

“Oh, bloody hell don’t tell me.” Regulus threw up a hand. “He’s in on it. That’s why he was laughing himself half to death.”

James smirked.

“He better not fucking turn into woodland creature too. He better fucking not.” 

James knew he shouldn’t say anything. But he couldn’t help it. The grin pulling at his mouth was utterly traitorous. 

“Oh, fuck me.” Regulus muttered, running a hand down his face. 

“Not a woodland creature, at least.” James offered light, because apparently, he did have a death wish.

“Oh, you’ve got to be–” Regulus stopped dead and turned. He spun on his heel, muttering darkly under his breath about his brother as he stalked off towards the dining tent.

James casually followed suit, already imagining the chaos about to unfold.

“You,” Regulus said, voice low but sharp enough to catch Sirius’s attention despite the Muggles nearby. “What exactly do you turn into?” 

Sirius immediately glanced at James, who held both hands up in mock surrender like he had nothing to do with the revelation. 

“What do you possibly mean, my dear brother?” Sirius asked, all faux innocence. 

Regulus’s eyes narrowed. “James clearly does that.” He gestured towards James vaguely, who obviously was no longer a stag, but Sirius would know what was meant. “And you were laughing like a madman about it. He’s been able to do that since Hogwarts, apparently. So what is it? What do you turn into?”

Sirius smirked. “Mmmm, why should I tell you?”

Regulus folded his arms, eyes glinting. 

“It’s something stupid, isn’t it?” He sneered, sounding pleased with himself. “Bet you turn into a pigeon.” 

“Do not.” Sirius said with a dramatically offended look. 

“Oh, wait. A goat. Yes, that tracks. All the yelling fits perfectly.” 

“I do not turn into a goat.”

“A donkey, then.” Regulus pressed, looking at Sirius’s scowl. He pointed at him and turned to James. “See? That temper. Absolutely donkey behavior.” 

Sirius pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re insufferable.”

“A ferret? Or no, a peacock, maybe? Loud and flashy, all vanity.” Regulus was thoroughly entertained by himself, while James tried desperately not to laugh. “Still feel like a bloody pigeon makes the most sense. Loud. Pointless. Just a fancy-looking rat with wings.” 

“I am not,” Sirius said sharply, “A fucking pigeon.”

“Hmmm.” Regulus tilted his head thoughtfully. “You’ll have to prove it to me, then.”

“Will do.” Sirius snarled, pure sibling rivalry in his expression. “But I won’t tell you when. I’ll keep you guessing every time an animal so much as blinks at you.” 

Regulus groaned into his hands. 

Chapter Text

July 25, 1902 

❖───── •✧✧• ─────❖

After a couple more days of rest, Remus improved well enough to move about the camp. Movement still tugged at the healing wound, sharp when he twisted wrong, and dull when he kept still. Access to magical treatment allowed him to survive, but the level of which they could accomplish on a circus campsite, well, that was pretty limited. 

Against his better judgement, he hadn’t left the camp yet. Every morning, he told himself it was just until he’d recovered enough. After all, he wasn’t going to be finding another job in this state. Once the gnawing ache in his ribs receded, then he could leave. 

But he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. The circus brought him food without question. Someone checked on him every few hours. He had a bedroll, and a roof of canvas overhead. The thought of managing without all that right now, was unappealing. 

It wasn’t safe, exactly. Not with the fact that man, James, recognized what his scars meant. Remus wasn’t a fool. James worked for the ministry before, in the magical creatures department no less. From how it sounded, he wouldn’t go running to the Ministry, but Remus could never be sure. 

And Sirius, he’d been so very expectant, desperate to understand why he found him chained up where he did, almost dead. Couldn’t blame him, really. He’d probably be wondering the same if in that situation. 

So he told himself: rest for now. Take the bandages. Take what kindness there was before it all fell apart. And if word got out, if someone else figured it out, or that man let it slip, he’d have enough strength now to leave before the next full moon. 

“You’re looking well,” Lily said as she rounded toward the log where Remus sat, sunlight catching in her hair as she crossed over. 

“As well as I can,” Remus replied dryly. “after bleeding out, I suppose.” 

Her mouth twitched. “Yes, well. I was there, you know. With Sirius, when he found you.” 

Remus turned at that, he hadn’t realized anyone else had been there besides Sirius. 

“That’s…” he hesitated. “You shouldn’t have seen all that. It was gruesome.” His voice dropped, quieter. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” Lily stepped closer, laying a steady hand on his forearm, an attempt to comfort. Her voice softened. “Don’t apologize for nearly dying.” 

Remus blinked at her. He wasn’t used to people cutting him off so kindly. 

“You didn’t ask for any of it,” Lily went on. “Not the wound, or whatever happened in that building. And you didn’t ask for Sirius hauling you here, but I’m glad he did. Otherwise, you’d still be in there.” 

He nodded faintly. She sounded very genuine. Wasn’t often he didn’t mind listening to someone lament his misfortune. 

“It's rough, that you broke your wand,” she added.  

Ah, so she learned about the wand, but not about it not being his in the first place. 

“It’s alright,” he said after a moment. “that was… it was borrowed anyway. Not mine.”

“Oh,” she nodded thoughtfully. “I see. Still, that's tough… Wish it were simple enough, you know? Magic without a wand.”

He tilted his head at her, curious. 

“Muggle-born.” She clarified with a faint smile. “I’ve only held one a couple times. Pandora’s kind enough to let me try hers.”

“I didn’t realize,” Remus admitted, and in an attempt to return something, he said quietly, “I didn’t learn with a wand at first, actually. Never went to school either.” 

Lily blinked at him, surprised. 

He shrugged. “We just didn't stay in one place long enough. My father taught me what he knew, when he could. But you’re right, starting without a wand isn’t easy. But that's all I really know. That wand was just… a recent thing I was trying.” 

“You can do that? Wandless magic?” Lily’s eyes lit up with interest. 

Remus hesitated, wary but felt a little pride in the ability. He hadn’t given it much thought, really. “Some. Not much of anything impressive.”

“It’s all impressive!” Lily beamed. “Anything I do without a wand, well… it’s never intentional. The sort of thing that happens when you’re a kid, where the teapot explodes because you got scared. That’s the limit.” She hesitated, cheeks flushing slightly. “Not much more expected from people like me. Sorry, I’m blabbering.”

Remus shook his head. “No, no. That’s alright.” 

He felt for her, truly. He could tell she was embarrassed, but wasn’t judging. If anything it made something in his own chest tighten unexpectedly. 

He never had a chance for proper schooling. No chance to get a wand through normal means, either. His father taught him what he could before everything went sideways, but that was survival. 

And Lily, she should have had that chance. She wasn’t dangerous. She’d simply been turned away because of who her parents were. He’d been kept out because of what bit him. Different paths, same locked door. 

“Should’ve been different for you,” Remus said quietly. 

She tilted her head at him, and gave a kind smile. Appreciated. 

Remus knew he wasn’t planning to stick around, that hadn’t changed. But he wanted to do something, make a mark where he usually couldn't.

“I could,” He started, “Maybe try and help you figure out some wandless magic?”

“Really!?” She jumped up and grabbed his hands, practically bouncing. 

Remus startled slightly at this, the energy she gave was so vibrant. “Alright, easy,” he said, a small twitch of a smile on the corner of his mouth. 

“Sorry,” she laughed, not letting go. “But you really mean it? You’d help me?”

“I can’t promise I’m much of a teacher. And none of it is really proper,”

“I don’t care if it’s ‘proper’.” Lily grinned. “I just want to try.”

Remus nodded, a little awkwardly, not used to someone being this happy about anything involving him. “Alright, we’ll see what we can start with. Won’t be anything flashy, but maybe we can get you going with the basics.” 

And with that, she flung herself into a hug. 

“Oh, hell. Ow.” 

She shot back, hand over her mouth. “Oh! I’m so sorry!” 

He winced, but chuckled. Her excitement was infectious. 

❖───── •✧✧• ─────❖

Elsewhere in the ring, Sirius was cooking up trouble. Peter wrung his hands, as he stood in the ring, with Sirius and a few other performers beside him. 

“So, you’ve proven helpful for running errands.” Sirius began. “But, of course, I have no intention of making you a permanent pack rat.” 

Sirius smirked at his own joke. 

“So, I’m thinking we can explore your talents.” He put a finger to his chin, contemplating. “While I had James try practically everything,” he turned to Peter directly. “I have just one in mind. You said you’re good at escaping, yeah?”

“Yeah?” Peter said warily.

“I think we could put that to the test.”

“Put it to the test?” His expression shifted from wary to downright suspicious. 

“You know, like Houdini? Heard of him, yeah?” Sirius said casually. 

Peter nodded cautiously. “Of course, but… the things I escape, I’m not like regularly chained up or locked in a death trap. Just sneaking out of places without being noticed where I’ve trespassed… Big difference.” 

Sirius waved his hand, nonchalant. “Details. You’ve got nimble hands, good instincts. Just need to add a little drama. Some style.” 

“Style?”

“Locks and chains, of course.” Sirius tilted his head thoughtfully. “But the real drama… Escaping fire, or getting out before drowning,” His eyes glinted. 

He could envision the audience going wild already. 

Peter shook his head, face pale. “Oh, n-no. That’s not–”

“-I’ll have you work with Barty.” Sirius said cheerfully. “He’s our resident daredevil.” 

He clapped a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Barty will have you slipping out of ropes before you can say ‘certain death’.” 

“Certain death?!” Peter sputtered. 

“I’m not the one that does crazy escapes,” Barty clarified, “But I can at least tell you how to manage it. How to get excited by it, even.” His eyes glinted. “You just gotta let yourself be a little feral. If you have fun with it, you won’t fumble from nerves.” 

“I’m…” Peter started, “I don’t wanna be feral.” 

“Oh, c’mon. I think you’ll learn to love it.” Sirius offered. “Besides, while you practice, there’s no real danger. We’ll make sure no Muggles are around. You can transform and escape just fine if things don’t go successfully.” 

“That doesn’t really make it sound any better.” 

“Sure it does. Built-in safety net.”

“See, that’s perfect,” Barty put his arm around Peter like he was best mates already. “No pressure until you want the pressure. Imagine, you wouldn’t have that opportunity doing what I do.”

Peter squinted at him. “Er. What do you do?”

Barty grinned, far too pleased with himself. “Oh, you know. Jumping through hoops of fire, falling forty feet into a teeny tiny net, human cannonball, sometimes I juggle torches and what not while I’m at it. Lots of launching myself across the air. Find myself eating dirt… a lot. It’s great.” 

Peter stared. “That’s… that’s not great, actually.” 

“Like I said, you’ll learn to love it. The thrill.”  

“Starting to think that I should’ve just dealt with that old nutter.” Peter shook his head. “Fine. What should I try first?” 

“We’ll start simple. You’ll practice basic escapes. Rope, simple locks. We’ll slowly introduce the drama,” He clearly meant danger, “And I’ll help you get used to it. You’ll learn to keep calm.  Breathe through it. Keep your head clear.” 

“That part, I…” He sighed. “I can’t even say anything bad about that. That’s a useful life skill I guess...” Peter gave in, though the wary expression was still visible. 

“Beautiful.” Sirius exclaimed. “I’ll leave you to it then. Barty, don’t kill him, please.”

Barty gave him a salute, with a wild grin on his face. 

❖───── •✧✧• ─────❖

Regulus watched as James worked with fervor on mastering the silks. 

He was only a few days into his lessons, and clearly, he hadn’t become a master of it yet. He sometimes slipped on his footing, or wobbled ungracefully. He looked stubborn to conquer the silks quickly, but it wasn’t as simple as that. Sometimes he’d lose his balance and overcorrect, gripping helplessly to the fabric, and he’d swing wildly like a pendulum. 

They did start working a little higher up on the silks, just slightly. It was necessary, in order to practice more accurately, working with plenty of silk below. 

After a round of climbing drills, and reviewing footlocks, Dorcas introduced the technique for accomplishing the foundation for everything else on the silks. The inversion. 

“It’s simple.” She explained, “Flip upside down. Knees up, lean back, straddle wide.”

He did exactly as she instructed. Each hand gripped a separate tail of the silks, arms straight, legs dangling loose in the air. He bent his knees sharply toward his chest, then leaned with his shoulders and kicked his legs out into a wide straddle. This brought his hips rotating over his head, the silks sliding smoothly through his hands as he tipped backward, and suddenly, he was upside down. 

“Point your toes!” Dorcas barked. “You look like a startled frog.” 

“I do not,” James grunted, but he adjusted his form anyway. 

He repeated the inversion a few times, growing smoother with each attempt until his movements looked fluid. Intentional. 

“Now,” Dorcas called. “Let’s try a pose.” 

While still inverted, James kept one hand on each tail for balance as she instructed him to hook a knee around the right silk. He pressed it firm until the fabric locked behind the knee, securing his weight. The other leg extended behind him, toes pointed. 

“Now release your hands,” Dorcas said.

James shot her a skeptical look.

“Let go.” She repeated firmly. 

He did. His arms swung out wide, chest arching as his body formed the shape she wanted, with one leg wrapped tight in the silk, and the other reaching straight out behind him. The rest of the silk streamed straight down loose beside him. The pose curved like a bow suspended in midair. 

“See?” Dorcas clapped. “Gazelle pose. Very graceful if you don’t scrunch your face like that, like you’re about to meet your end.” 

“I’m not–” James started, but the face Regulus was making in return told him that he was, in fact, making such a face. 

“You should get up here then.” James quipped from his upside-down perch. “If you think my face is so funny.” 

Regulus sneered. 

“Hey, Dorcas.” James called down. “No Muggles around, yeah?” He grinned wickedly. “I think you should give him a quick lesson too.”

Dorcas caught on immediately, lips curling into a grin. “Oh, I like this idea.” She pointed at James. “He’s evil, I like him.” 

Regulus’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, absolutely not.” he said, standing to leave before they could do anything. 

Levocorpus.

Regulus yelped and flailed upside down in the air. The second set of silks wrapped him into the same elegant Gazelle pose James had just been holding. If James weren’t staying still to keep balance, he’d have clapped a hand over his mouth. He only half expected Dorcas to actually pull that prank. 

“Dorcas.” Regulus said sharply. His voice was tight. Dangerous. The silks held him tightly like some elegant, furious ornament. 

“Mmm. Yes, Regulus?” She sang, sing-song voice filled with amusement. 

“If you don’t let me down this instant,” he hissed. 

“Oh, hush,” She circled him, inspecting his pose. “Form’s better than James’s if we’re being honest.”

“Oi!” James sputtered. 

Regulus twisted, or tried to, but the fabric held firm. He looked like a frightened cat tangled in curtains. “Dorcas,” he said again, low and warning now, “I’ll dock your pay so fast–”

James blinked. “He can do that?” 

“Yes…” Dorcas admitted slowly. 

“Yeah,” Regulus snapped. She lowered him down slowly, almost like she was teasing him. Still dangling, he spat. “He can.” 

Dorcas flicked her wand with a sigh, and he was set down on the packed dirt. 

He stalked off, while James struggled not to laugh himself right off the silks. 

James was proving to be quite the menace at the circus. 

Chapter Text

July 26, 1902 

❖───── •✧✧• ─────❖

“Tonight’s our last performance before we move towns,” Sirius announced, striding over to where Remus sat with a mug of tea. It was far too hot, but his stubbornness kept him sipping at it anyway. 

“No expectations,” Sirius continued, sliding onto the bench beside him. “But I wanted to extend the invitation. Come with us to the next town.” 

Remus tore off a piece of bread instead of answering, chewing slowly like it gave him an excuse not to speak. He knew that they’d be moving eventually. Thetford was too small for more than a few nights’ performances. This was good, he could make his distance now. But Sirius had just offered to bring him along.

“Figured you might want a ride out of here,” Sirius pressed. “Can’t imagine you’d want to stay after the way this place treated you. Whatever happened… best to put some distance, don’t you think?” 

“I’ll manage,” Remus said at last, voice flat. “Couldn’t stay anywhere if I followed that philosophy.” 

Remus’s eyes flicked to his own scars, then away again. Sirius might not have caught the meaning, but it was true enough. Remus couldn’t simply outrun what he carried, he couldn’t escape his own danger. 

“Blimey,” Sirius muttered, combing a hand through his hair. “Can’t expect you to be cheery, but that’s a bit bloody nihilistic, don’t you think?” 

Remus didn’t reply, so Sirius kept talking. 

“We all have a history, you know.” he tried again. “None of us here are saints. Hell, if only you knew half the things those twins have pulled off… You wouldn’t be the only one with a past. So if you’re worried about bringing along your baggage? Don’t. We’ve all got plenty.” 

“You’ve no idea what baggage I’d be bringing.” Remus replied. 

“No,” Sirius admitted. “But I’d lend an ear. If you want to share the weight.”

“Rather you not.”

Sirius watched him for a moment, unreadable, then sighed. He folded his arms on the table and leaned forward. “Do you remember? That night you left? I couldn’t explain it at the time, but I remember thinking you ought to stay.” 

Remus looked at him sharply. He did remember. Hard not to, when most departures were either quietly slipping out of town before a full moon, or anxiously evading ministry officials, unsure if he’d been identified. Sirius’s request to stay, and the way it was presented, was particularly memorable. 

“I was reckless,” Sirius sighed. “I know that now. Flinging myself at you like that. But even then, I could tell you were carrying something heavy. That’s why you left, isn’t it? You didn’t want to bring it here.” 

Remus nodded once. How little Sirius knew… but he wasn’t wrong either. 

“I was foolish,” Sirius admitted. “I shouldn’t have kissed you. You hadn’t said a word to invite it. You shoved me away. Rightfully so. But I kept wondering where you’d ended up, hoping you were alright. Never did I think I’d find you again like… that.” He shook his head. “I don’t know you yet. But I want to. And I want you to know you’ve got someone who gives a damn, whatever you’re carrying.” 

Remus glanced at him sharply. Sirius’s words hit like a punch to the gut. He spoke like he’d known Remus for far longer than he had, and knew more about him than he’d given. 

“Why the hell are you so attached to me?” His voice came out rougher than he meant. “Like you said, you don’t know me. You shouldn’t–” 

“Because,” Sirius cut in, no hesitation. “I know what it’s like to have no one give a damn. And I think…” His voice softened, the words spilling unplanned but not unwelcome. “I saw someone who looked like he deserved more than that.”

Remus could feel how those words came from somewhere deeper in Sirius than he expected.

“You… you don’t know me.” Remus repeated, quieter now. 

“Then let me,” Sirius said simply. 

No grin. No dramatics. Just a steady look, waiting. Patient. 

And the pity, Remus looked for it. Desperately. It would be easier, if that was why he was acting this way. But it wasn’t in his eyes. There was none. Instead, just stubborn, infuriating resolve. 

Every instinct told him to leave before the ties got any tighter. But Sirius had dragged him out of that building. Seen him half-dead, a mess, and didn’t turn away. And he made sure that Remus was taken care of until he could manage on his own again. And now, James already knew. One way or another, if Remus stayed, they’d all find out. If he left, James would tell Sirius eventually. And in either scenario, they’d have the knowledge that would put Remus on the ministry’s radar. There was no escaping it forever. 

He set the mug of tea aside and exhaled slowly. 

“I… Look,” He started carefully. “The reason I don’t stay anywhere longer than a month… You’d have found out eventually.” 

Sirius stayed quiet, waiting. 

“I usually leave before anyone has the chance. But James… Unfortunately, he’s quite perceptive. Figured it out.” He shook his head, disbelief that he was actually telling this. “And that building… that wasn’t the first time I’ve been chained up. Won’t be the last.” 

Sirius’s brow furrowed, concern filled his expression. Remus ignored it. 

“Have you ever wondered where all these scars came from?” Remus asked, voice low. 

“I figured… you’d been through hell,” Sirius admitted.”Been in trouble, got enemies. Survived.” 

“True,” Remus laughed without humor. “Most of this isn’t from others, though.” He swallowed hard. “I keep the harm to myself.”

His voice cracked on the last word. Sirius had never heard it do that before. The tamer was always guarded, even half-conscious in the medical tent. But now, he was suddenly raw, and the words were jagged, scraping on the way out. 

“To yourself?” Sirius asked carefully. 

Remus dragged in a long breath. “It’s…” He faltered, then cursed under his breath. “Fuck.”

He’d never verbalized it before. Never wanted to. He couldn’t put the words in his mouth, they were lodged in his throat. 

“I’ve never told anyone…” He spoke finally. He kept his eyes fixed somewhere far away, as though that would help ground him. 

He laughed nervously, then it was quiet for a moment. 

“Lycanthropy.” The word dropped harshly into the air. “That’s why I can’t stay.”

For a moment, Sirius didn’t move. Didn’t speak. 

There wasn’t fear in his eyes, just… processing. 

“You didn’t know what you were dragging out of that building.” Remus said. “What you just invited along to the next town.” 

He stood up from the bench. “So I’ll head out tomorrow. But… best I don’t follow.”

Sirius didn’t flinch. 

Didn’t give Remus the satisfaction of ending the conversation there.

“You think I give a damn about that?” Sirius shot back instantly.

“You’re not listening.” Remus replied.

“No. You’re not.” Sirius stood too, voice sharp. “I don’t care what baggage you have. We’re all some bit of dangerous here, alright? You–” He pointed a finger towards Remus’s chest. “You only carry that label because someone branded you with it. But you? You locked yourself up. You almost died, nearly bled out in chains to make sure you wouldn’t hurt anyone else. That told me everything before I even knew what it meant.”

“You’re too impulsive.” Remus snapped. “You aren’t even thinking about what this means. For everyone. For the circus. For their safety.”

“Yes, I am impulsive,” Sirius cut in. “If I weren’t, you’d be dead in that bloody building. So, yeah, I’m glad I am.” 

He stepped closer now, closing the space between them. Sirius had to tilt his chin up to meet Remus’s eyes... Unfortunate height difference there. But he forced every ounce of stubborn determination into his voice. 

“For every other day of every month, you keep to yourself. Won’t let anyone close. You wouldn’t even give a name for that month you joined us. But for one night. One night. You might be dangerous.” Sirius’s voice dropped, but didn’t waver. “Don’t squander the rest of your life in fear of that single night. Not when there are endless bastards out there who choose to be monsters every damn day of the year.” 

Remus’s jaw tightened. He wanted so desperately to argue. To tell him to mind his damn business. But he couldn’t. Because Sirius was right, and it stung. 

“You think I haven’t wanted that?” His voice was low, bitter. “To stay somewhere? Just act like that part of me isn’t real? I’ve spent years making sure it never happened. Never hurt anyone. Because the day someone does, that’s it. That’s the last place I’ll ever stay… and probably the last day I’d ever have.” 

“I don’t have the luxury of your impulse,” Remus added. “One mistake, and I’m the monster they already think I am.”

“You’ll just make yourself more the monster they think you are if you keep running.” 

Sirius’s words stopped him cold. 

“Because all you are doing now, you’re just surviving.” He went on. “Not living. Just running from every opportunity to prove what you’re not. I know what that’s like, being told what you are before you get to decide for yourself. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”

He took a step even closer. “And if you think the troupe wouldn’t support that, well… that’s what this whole bloody circus is built on. We’ve all got our shadows. Now that I know, I can help you find the right place for those nights. You don’t have to fight it alone.”

Sirius’s voice went quiet but certain. “You have me now. James, too. You don’t have to carry it by yourself.” 

Remus sighed, long and unsteady. Sirius gave him nothing to weasel his way out with. Every option, a response. This man was too damn stubborn. Left him no walls to retreat behind. 

And God, he wanted what Sirius offered. Inside, he was aching for it. 

He loved it. 

The impulse that pulled him into a fiery kiss that night. 

He hated it. 

The impulse that forced him to shove Sirius away before anything real could take root. 

God. He wanted to have that luxury, that impulse.

“I can’t promise I’ll stay through the next moon,” Remus spoke finally, “But if I’m joining for the next town, I’ll need to return to that building… My whip was left there.” 

At the very least, he’d allow himself this. 

It wasn’t impulse, but it was stepping forward. Letting himself prove, even just a little bit, what he’s not. 

Sirius gave him a pat on the shoulder. 

Not long after, James came strolling over, glasses just as askew as his hair, having just woken up fairly recently. He immediately beelined for a cup of hot coffee. 

“Morning, lads,” he said around a yawn. He sounded far too chipper for looking half-awake. He glanced between the two in front of him. 

“Have I walked into a heavy conversation? You both look like you’ve had a day's worth of words and it’s not even noon.”

Remus silently chuckled. Alright, he might have a little impulse in him after all. Just enough for some fun. Deadpan as ever, he spoke. 

“I told him.” Remus gestured to Sirius. “About what you’d figured out about me. You were right, about that.”

“Oh.” James blinked. “Oh, I, uh. That’s good? Right? I mean, not good but… well?”

“He’s gonna haul me back to that abandoned building,” Remus announced flatly. 

James immediately choked on his coffee. He sputtered. “He’s WHAT?” He whipped around to Sirius. “What the hell—“

“Okay, hang on–” Sirius raised his hands up quickly, scrambling to explain.

“Yeah. Chaining me back up,” Remus continued, straight-faced. “Now that he knows. Can’t blame him. It’s tragic, but… best course of action, really.”

“Sirius!” James practically shrieked. 

“No, no, no.” Sirius tried to explain, he shook his head violently.  “We’re only going back there to—“

“Relax,” Remus interrupted smoothly, a sly grin forming. “To get the stuff I left there while I was bleeding out. Not a sequel of my dying act.” 

James almost toppled over. 

“Merlin’s beard,” Sirius groaned before breaking into a laugh. “You nearly had James on my arse. Haven’t seen snark like that since your first night.”

“He’s dangerous,” James sputtered, pointing at Remus. 

“See? At least he recognizes that.” Remus said mildly, sipping his tea. 

He leaned back in his seat, perfectly satisfied with the chaos he’d just unleashed. Rare thing, getting to weaponize his own misfortune for humor… might as well make the most of it while the opportunity presented itself. 

Chapter Text

July 27, 1902 

❖───── •✧✧• ─────❖

Last night’s performance went along smoothly, the audience roared a final time as the troupe wrapped up their stay in Thetford. By morning, they were back on the road again, everyone riding scattered through the carriages bound for the next town. 

“When do I get to perform the silks?” James groaned, stretching his arms across his knees in a dramatic pout.

“When you can do more than three poses,” Regulus replied without looking at him. “What’s the plan, then? Rotate between them and hope the crowd swoons?”

James sprawled out further in protest, long legs pressing deliberately against Regulus’s side.

“I just wanna go out there and perform as me,” James muttered. “Not clown-me covered in greasepaint like some silly jester.” 

“Well, if you could control your… enthusiasm, maybe you could.” 

James perked up, eyes bright. “You mean it?” 

Regulus gave a shrug. “I’ve been wanting to change up my act, anyway. Haven’t had the same applause since I last had a proper target. So yeah, unpack whatever the hell is going on with you, and maybe you can stand in front of the daggers next time.” 

James frowned. “Was as much a surprise to me as it was to you, you know. No idea how to unpack that.” 

Regulus began rummaging through his satchel. He pulled out a single dagger.

“You’re not going to be throwing them in here are you?!” James shot up. “Merlin’s sake, Reg. I’d be like fish in a barrel.”

“Calm down.” Regulus flipped the dagger idly in his hand, tone flat as ever. “Letting you… acclimate. You can at least do that before we reach the next town.”

“How exactly do you suggest I acclimate?” 

Regulus brushed the flat of the blade lazily across James’s forearm. The reaction was immediate. James went still, a shiver crawling across his shoulders as his skin prickled.

“Desensitization, maybe.” Regulus murmured. “Honestly I could stab you, and you’d probably be cured of this real fast.” 

“Do you realize what you’re suggesting?” James gawked at him. 

Regulus didn’t answer right away. He was looking at James the way he looked at his daggers. Analytical. Precise. And he didn’t want to name this yet, because this wasn’t just about the knives anymore. 

“Bite me.” Regulus said dryly. “Consider it an experiment.”

James grinned like that was a real invitation.

The fucking idiot. 

Regulus held the dagger to eye level in warning. 

James didn’t back off. Of course he didn’t. He leaned forward, letting the blade sit close to his face. And very carefully, Regulus shifted the blade and dragged the blunt side down James’s jaw, slow enough to exaggerate the shiver. 

“Getting acclimated yet?” Regulus murmured, voice low. 

James swallowed. “Think I need more practice.” 

Regulus let the words sit there while his mind caught up with what had just happened. 

What had been happening since the second James came crashing back into his life. 

James was still so deeply smitten with him. Of course he was. That much was obvious the moment he showed up. All that time, and distance, none of it dulled the way he looked at him. If anything, the years apart only sharpened whatever ridiculous devotion lived inside him. 

The first and only time they’d let things tip past what was familiar, past the kisses and nights curled together, had been the night after Regulus’s graduation. That was the last time they’d crossed into unfamiliar territory, the way they seemed to be headed now.

It had taken only a little firewhisky to loosen the restraints, both of them reckless enough, brave enough to explore what they hadn’t before.  

The memory ached now. Bittersweet, because of how quickly reality came crashing down on Regulus afterward. The family legacy, the expectations, and the weight of his need to escape it all. 

In the wreckage, he told himself James would be better without him. Without the baggage. Without the coward who faked his own death rather than stay. 

But James found him anyway, and this time, no firewhisky was required for the courage he carried. 

Courage enough to stand in front of daggers for him. To drop every opportunity for him. To keep testing the waters even now, like a fool who hadn’t learned better. 

What an idiot. 

Regulus wasn’t going to let himself believe he needed anything more to match that courage. He was the one holding the daggers, after all. The one pinning James in place with a stare sharp enough to cut on its own. The one James did all this for, whether Regulus deserved that or not didn’t matter right now.

If James was going to recklessly throw his courage around, Regulus would take it and run with it. 

Suddenly, he wanted to be that boy again. It barreled back into his memory, the feelings. Fresh out of school, slipping away from the graduation party for something far more intimate. The one who hadn’t yet learned what it would take before he could experience that again. 

He took those feelings and let them mix with the steel edge in his hand.

He let the dagger trace another line, slow and deliberate, down James’s throat this time. The carriage rattled over uneven ground, threatening the blade to cut into skin, but Regulus's hand stayed steady, as if the world had gone still for him. 

At first, James couldn’t hide the way his breath caught. The slight twitch in his shoulders. The quick flinch when cold metal kissed skin. 

But Regulus didn’t stop. 

He let the edge dance across his collarbone, teasing along the line of his shirt. The dagger had gone warm by now, from the hilt in his grip to the flat of the blade rested against James’s body. From the feelings curling tighter that neither had named since the night they started.

James swallowed hard. And slowly, he went still. Nerves smoothed out. Shoulders eased back. Breath evened out into something quiet and calm. 

“You’re quieter than I expected.” Regulus said finally, voice flat. 

“Trying,” James murmured. Eyes locked on Regulus, as if the dagger no longer existed between them at all.

And he was. The nerves were gone. The wild enthusiasm too. The shivers, and sharp breaths, smoothed into composure that needled at Regulus worse than the desire ever had. 

“Could go lower,” James murmured after a moment. Keeping far too calm. 

The carriage jostled, but Regulus didn’t break. He moved the blade downward, deliberate, watching for any sign of a reaction.

Nothing. 

James just exhaled slowly, a faint grin curled on his mouth like he knew exactly what he was doing. Like he was the one now in control of where the dagger laid. 

“Am I acclimating?” James asked softly. 

Regulus didn’t answer. Couldn’t. He pressed a fraction harder, dragging the blade in one last slow line before he lifted it and flicked his wrist. The dagger thunked into the carriage bed, buried deep in the wood half an inch from James’s head.

James didn’t even blink. 

Regulus though, he huffed a sharp breath. His pulse was too quick, and he felt that strange, stupid heat crawl its way up the back of his neck. 

And he realized he was the one who’d flinched. 

“Look at you,” James grinned, head tipped toward the dagger buried next to his temple. “You’ve gone red in the ears now, too.” 

“Oh, piss off.” Regulus yanked the dagger from the floor of the carriage, wood splintered around it. 

James had a smirk tugging at his mouth, absolutely infuriating. “I think, in trying to unpack all that, we just found even more to unpack.” 

Regulus shot him a look sharp enough to kill. James’s eyes glinted in return with mischief. 

“Not complaining, mind you.” James added lightly. “Maybe we ought to… unpack properly when we get to the next town. After the tent’s all set up.”

Regulus dragged a hand down his face, then buried his head against his knees with a noise that was halfway between a scoff and a groan. He felt ridiculous now. His face was too warm. 

“This,” he said flatly, voice muffled, “was supposed to be about you staying unbothered for daggers. Not dragging me into this.” 

James raised his hands in mock surrender. “I didn’t do anything. Stayed still, got calm, like you asked. But whatever that was, I think I’ve acclimated. Do you need help with that now?”

“Piss off,” Regulus repeated. He stayed folded in on himself, like he could disappear into his own coat. The tips of his ears were still red. 

James sighed dramatically, and shifted across the carriage to sit beside him. 

“You’re pouting,” James said finally. 

“Am not,” Regulus muttered.

“You are. Look at you.” James nudged his knee against Regulus’s until it got an irritated little huff in response. “All ruffled about getting worked up.”

Regulus didn’t dignify that with a reply, he didn’t need to. James pulled him sideways, steady arm slung around his shoulders. 

Regulus stiffened on instinct, but slowly leaned into it. 

“You’re not immune to this either,” James said, quieter now. “It takes two to feel this way.”

Regulus murmured a sound James didn’t catch. But he let his head rest against James’s shoulder anyway, the warmth winning out over stubborn pride. 

As always, the road lulled him toward sleep. It was one of James’s favorite things now. The way Regulus would eventually grow soft, sleepy, on the long rides to the next town. He’d end up against his shoulder like this without thinking, and James would relish every moment. 

The steady clatter and sway of the carriage across the path almost took James into a sleep as well. He shifted though, just enough to brace his back against the carriage wall, and glanced at Regulus tucked against his side. He noticed his breathing had slowed to normal, his shoulders relaxed, but he had roused from drifting into sleep after a proper jostle from the carriage. 

“Feeling better?” James asked after a moment. His voice gentle, not mocking.

Regulus huffed, his voice was slurred slightly by drowsiness. “You’re intolerable.” 

“Yet you keep ending up here anyway,” James chuckled gently, keeping quiet.

“Because you’re too damn warm.” Regulus muttered.

James barely caught it, but the sound was unmistakable. The sound of someone trying to pretend the walls were still up, yet they’d all fallen in on themselves already. 

They’d burned away as the miles stretched on, exhaustion in its wake, and frayed emotions after the panic, after Regulus’s own pulse, his own feelings betrayed him. He’d rebuild them as he always would, that was his nature, but for now he was defeated by his own feelings.

“Blame the temperature if you want,” James’s voice was quiet, but he joked fondly. “It’s nearly August, but sure, let’s say it’s the weather,” 

And for a while, it was silent. Regulus continued to lean on James’s side, the sound of the carriage wheels hitting bumps passed rhythmically.  

“Shut up.” Regulus finally replied, like even in sleep he was determined to have the last word.

And James did.

He just sat happily with the way the carriage ride had just unfolded, Regulus leaning against his side. And lazily, he daydreamed himself performing spectacularly in the silks, and as an amazingly daring human target in for Regulus’s next act. 

Chapter Text

“I didn’t realize we were headed to Bury!” Peter exclaimed, head stuck out the carriage back as he took in their arrival. 

He was sat in one of the busier carriages, sharing the space with Pandora, Barty, and Evan. 

“What’s so grand about Bury?” Barty asked, shoving his head out the back next to Peter like looking alongside him would give him all the answers.

“Visited years ago with the family on the way to Norwich,” Peter started, “Remember my dad was fascinated by a tiny Muggle pub there, says it's the smallest pub in the country. Can only fit a handful in there, they don’t even expand the inside with magic.” 

Barty blinked, then smacked him in the back of the head like he was reprimanding him for such a ridiculous statement. “Smallest pub? That’s all that’s got you excited?” 

“Do they make up for it with the largest pint or something?” Evan asked, deadpan. 

“Not sure that’s how that works,” Pandora added.

Peter ignored them, rubbing the back of his head. “And the market,” he went on, “Absolutely chaos. Pure bedlam. Worse than hogsmeade after OWLs.” 

“So lots of people ‘round here then? Good for drawing a crowd,” Pandora gleamed. 

“Way more than last town, for sure.” Peter affirmed. 

“Well, sounds like the perfect town to show off some daring escape, huh?” Barty grinned at Peter, elbowing him in the side.

“I suppose,” Peter laughed anxiously. “Nothing like a big crowd to push that performance anxiety away…”  

Evan smirked. “True. Nothing like the threat of public humiliation to sharpen a man’s reflexes.” 

“Thanks, Evan.” Peter groaned. 

And with that, the carriages arrived, positioning themselves in their usual format. The troupe scurried to set up quickly, looking forward to settling in for dinner and rest after the long day’s travel. 

“My, a bit eerie isn’t it?” Lily spoke as she took in their surroundings. Their tents were pitched in an open space on Angel Hill, with the Abbey ruins and the cathedral looming in dark silhouettes behind them. 

“Looks like a fun place to tell scary stories,” Henry spoke up. He leaned over Elsie with a devilish grin, before grabbing her shoulders in a quick scare. She yelped and promptly smacked him with her satchel. 

“Absolute child,” Elsie huffed, but she chuckled nonetheless. 

“Could be entertaining,” Lily said.

“Thought you said it was eerie,” Remus spoke from beside her. “Sounded like you’d be scared of all that?”

“It is eerie, but that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy the occasional good scare?” She grinned mischievously, then elbowed his side. “Trying to pin it on me, so you don’t get frightened?”

“Oh, of course. Properly frightened.” Remus said sarcastically. 

“Well, after dinner then?” Henry suggested. “Scary stories by the fire. Let’s see who can entertain and scare the best. Tell the others, it’ll be grand.” 

“Grand,” Elsie repeated, shaking her head. 

❖───── •✧✧• ─────❖

After dinner, the fire burned bright and warm. The mead jug made its rounds, warming the circle of performers that eagerly awaited as Henry announced the game: numbered sticks, order of storytelling decided by fate.

“Oh no, I can’t go first! I have no clue what story to tell,” Lyra complained, throwing the stick back at Henry. Dorcas chuckled beside her, knowing she always had a performance hidden somewhere.

“See if anyone will trade with you, sourpuss,” Henry teased.

No takers.

“Fine.” She huffed dramatically, “Are we ready then? Everyone listen up, I think I’ve got something brewing.”

She waited until the murmur around the fire softened before she began, voice smooth and lilting. 

“They say in this quiet village, no man crosses the bridge after dark.”

The story went on. 

“The bridge was beautiful, willows sweeping the water, lanterns reflected in the river below. A perfect place for a romantic night. A young couple would often meet there, and the man asked for his lady’s hand in marriage on that very bridge.”

“Bet he regretted that,” James murmured, expectant of how the story might go.

“He would, for that same night, after accepting his proposal, she lost her glasses over the bridge to the current. He went after them, and he never came back. She saw them, they say, waterlogged and blue, but reaching back up to her from below the bridge, somehow holding against the strong current. She reached for him, and was pulled in along with him. And then she was gone, too.”

“That’s terrible.” Elsie muttered.

“The next day, a trail of wet footsteps trailed across the bridge. And from every night on, she stood there, waiting for her groom-to-be, reaching out for any man that passes, thinking him to be her betrothed.” She sighed, finishing her story. “Should that poor soul attempt to cross, especially with a loved one in mind, he’d find himself dragged down into the river himself, though no one knows whether she was responsible or her drowned husband, for those young men who cross never return.”

“Moral of the story, be a woman,” Barty said flatly, receiving a prompt smack on the back of the head by Pandora. 

“You acted like you didn’t have a story, and you pulled that out like nothing?” James asked. 

Lyra shrugged and gave a quick grin in response.  

“Round of applause, for our dear Lyra, first to frighten! Who’s next?” Henry called.

Everyone looked around expectantly, and a hand raised with the next numbered stick. Another story followed, one about a headless horseman haunting the moors. Then, another one, about a missing child who followed a ghost. Then, a story from Elsie, of a haunted schoolhouse where the desks moved on their own. 

James’s turn drew the most enthusiasm because he started with such confidence. 

“This one,” He declared, “This one is actually terrifying.” 

He made it halfway through before stopping cold, staring at the fire, and admitting he’d completely forgotten how it ended. The entire troupe groaned like they’d been robbed, and Sirius took to dramatically heckling him until James bowed and surrendered to the next storyteller.  

By then, the mead jug was half-empty, and a few performers had drifted off to turn in for the night. The fire burned lower now, casting long shadows.

Henry grinned wickedly when he read the next number aloud, and Regulus groaned.

“Oh, come now,” Sirius said, stretching lazily. “You can’t possibly be afraid of saying a few words for the entertainment of others?”

Regulus shot him a cold look.  

Sirius grinned. “Tell you what,” he said, leaning forward. “We’ll tell one together. You lead the tale, I’ll bring the dramatics, since you can’t seem to manage that alone when your daggers aren’t in hand.” 

Regulus’s lips thinned. “Sod off,” he muttered, then after a beat. “Fine. The story we used to tell each other as kids. I assume you remember.” 

“Certainly,” Sirius’s eyes glinted. 

Regulus began, voice calm and low.  

“In a lonely house, a mother lived with her two children. She was not a kind mother. She preferred things silent. Obedient. Perfect.”

He paused, letting the fire pop in the silence. 

“She gave them paints, once. A canvas for each. To keep them busy, I suppose. They painted flowers, pretty skies, and colorful birds. The next day, the garden would bloom with roses, the sky a beautiful hue, birds singing in the bath.”

“This doesn’t sound so scary,” Elsie murmured, a few nodded in agreement.

“All that they painted,” Regulus said. “Became real. And their mother, despite the beauty of it, was not impressed.” 

“These flowers are gaudy, the sun is too bright, and those damn birds won’t stop squawking!” Sirius snapped in a perfect imitation, sending a few people into laughter. 

“They painted more,” Regulus continued, “trying to please her. Sugar plums,”

“They were too sweet,” Sirius sneered.

“A fireplace,” 

“Too much soot,” Sirius scowled. 

“A porcelain tea set with a hot cup of tea,” 

“My darjeeling is better,” Sirius pretended to hold a cup of tea, head lifted high with a cavalier expression. 

Lily smothered a smile behind her hand, and Dorcas rolled her eyes at each of Sirius’s dramatics. James was grinning like Christmas came early, thoroughly enjoying the brothers’ shared storytelling. 

Regulus listed the grand piano, the horses, the guests at the gate, and Sirius stood indignantly, hands thrown wide, declaring in outrage, “And not one worth keeping! None of it was good enough for their dear devoted mother!” 

The firelight threw long shadows and Regulus’s voice slipped colder. 

“One day, she brought them only one canvas. Their last chance.”

Sirius grinned, enjoying his act. “Paint something pleasant this time, or there’ll be devil to pay!”  

The circle jumped at his sudden volume. 

Regulus’s voice turned quiet. “They did. They painted their mother. And they painted crows. With sharp beaks. And the crows, they were descending.” 

“What is this filth?” Sirius snapped, “How dare you waste the paints I've given you on such nonsense!” 

He shouted again and again, imitating the mother’s fury as Regulus spoke steadily over him.

“She raged,” Regulus said evenly, “But they kept painting. Thorns spread at her feet. The sky turned red. The crows multiplied and their beaks glinted in the firelight. The sound of cawing started distant, and became louder and louder until the painting turned into her reality.” 

Sirius let out a guttural scream, sharp and sudden, the perfect note of panic and downfall. Most of those surrounding him flinched despite themselves. 

“The next morning,” Regulus concluded, “they painted roses again. Lovely ones. And no one ever asked where their mother went.” 

Silence stretched for a moment, before Henry laughed under his breath. 

“Sounds like the mother had it coming,” 

“Sure did,” Sirius grinned. “Suppose we should’ve told something scarier, this one sounded more like a dream come true, didn’t it?” 

Regulus smirked and nodded. 

“Dear lord,” Henry chuckled, shaking his head. 

Finally, they reached the last of the numbered sticks drawn for the night. 

Remus began, voice steady and low. 

“In a village tucked far beyond the forest,” he said, “Two brothers were born. Twins.”

“Similar to our story there,” Sirius muttered, nudging Regulus. 

The fire crackled, sending sparks into the air, and everyone shushed to hear the story. The circle shifted closer, leaning into listen like moths to the glow. 

“Neither were welcomed by their mother or father,” Remus continued, eyes reflecting the flames.

“Very similar,” Regulus added dryly, drawing a few distracted chuckles.  

“So,” Remus went on, “they were left by the riverbank. Left to the frost… and the hunger of the night, rather than to live neglected.” 

“Poor things,” Lily whispered before she could stop herself. 

“But before the cold could seep through to their swaddled bodies,” Remus said, “a creature came. A feral thing, with blood on its fangs and a growl in its throat–” 

Lily pressed a hand to her mouth. The others looked wary, waiting for the terrible fate of the infants in the story. 

“--But,” Remus continued, voice dropping, “a mother all the same. She took them in her teeth, raised them. She taught them to survive the forest’s laws. How to catch food, how to defend themselves, and how to survive the dangers she warned them of.” 

The circle stayed silent. The wind whistled through the ruins behind them. 

“The brothers grew,” Remus said at last. “And they grew apart from her. When they returned to the village of their birth, they boarded up the old cathedral. Boarded the windows and doors with thick stone and wood, to keep out the dangers their mother had warned them about.”

He gestured towards the dark silhouette behind them. The old cathedral arches scraping at the night sky. 

“The walls were high,” he murmured. “The walls were strong. But the creatures came anyway. They scraped at the stone. Claws against rock. Snarls echoing in the dark. Night after night, the sound came, driving the brothers to madness.”

No one moved. 

“And one night,” Remus went on. “they saw her, the creature who had raised them, scraping at the walls.”

His voice shifted, to mimic the brothers’ arguments. 

“One brother said, She is our kin, we must let her in. The other said, No, brother. She is the same as the one who would kill us. She is dangerous. She stays outside.” 

His voice snarled with the sound of the brother’s anger, and the wind howled around them like it knew its cue.

“The walls not only kept her out,” Remus said, quieter now, “but kept them in, trapped together. And the brothers fought. One said the other had become like the very dangers they feared, regretting the walls, and the safety that trapped them together. And in their rage...”

The fire popped, making Elsie jump where she sat. 

“...one brother fell to the other.”

Remus let the silence stretch before going on.

“The living brother then built the walls higher still,” he said. “Because the danger, he thought, was still outside. But the walls cannot keep out what is already inside. And the walls, they couldn’t keep the fallen brother quiet.”

The smoke curled toward the cathedral as the wind pushed at the flames. 

“The spirit of the brother whispered through the cracks,” Remus said softly. “Scraping stone louder and louder, until the living brother could not sleep, could not eat, could not breathe.”

“Bit grim, isn’t it?”  Evan muttered under his breath. 

“So at last,” Remus continued, “the living brother broke the wall. He let their mother in. But when she saw what had been done… Her own blood spilled, her own child fallen…”

A log split in the fire with a crack. Lily shivered.

“she came with blood on her fangs,” Remus said quietly, ”and a growl in her throat.”

The flames swayed from the gust across the hill. 

“And she claimed the living brother’s life... But a mother all the same.”

His voice softened further. “She wept, for he had become the very creature she had so feared. And she wept, as the wind scraped through the broken cathedral, long after there was no one left alive to hear it.”

He raised a hand towards the cathedral for emphasis.

“Only the spirit of the first brother remained,” Remus finished, “whispering the tale to any who dared to visit… As he has done just now,” he added with a faint grin. “For the fallen brother, his name was Remus.” 

It was silent for a few moments, before Barty finally blurted out, “Really? You gave the ghost your name?”

Remus looked at him like the question barely deserved an answer. “No,” He said simply. “It is his name. You’ve almost certainly heard it told before, just not from this perspective.”

“Romulus and Remus?” Henry asked.

Remus’s mouth curled in a slow smirk. “Told by yours truly,” 

There was a pause, before James barked a laugh, shaking his head. “Merlin’s sake, that was dramatic.” 

“In your story, the mother kills the child. In our story, the children kill the mother. Good balance, there.” Regulus said dryly. 

“Quite morbid, that balance,” Peter said, then added. “So the ghost was you the whole time?” 

“Obviously,” Sirius replied. “Remarkable execution, ought to save that one for a Hallowe’en performance.” 

Remus simply shrugged, like the whole thing had been nothing at all. 

He glanced at Elsie, who sat very straight on her log, arms wrapped tightly around herself. 

“Scare you too much, love?” he asked lightly. 

She jolted at the sound of her name, like she hadn’t expected to be addressed, before she shook her head too quickly. “What? No.” 

“Scared that the ghost of this guy,” Barty jabbed a thumb toward Remus with a crooked grin, “is gonna get you?” 

“No,” Elsie said quickly, not at all convincing. 

“Don’t worry,” Peter chimed in with a grin, “if the ghost comes for anyone, it’ll be Barty first. He’s nearest to the trees. You’re safe.” 

Barty barked a laugh. “Ha. Yeah, I’ll just wrestle him. Ghost or not.” 

“Will you now?” Sirius joined in, leaning forward with a grin. “Tell me how you’d manage that?” 

Barty looked genuinely offended, puffing himself up like he’d been challenged for a duel. He then launched into an elaborate explanation of how he’d successfully wrestle a Remus-sized ghost if it were somehow corporeal enough to accomplish such a feat. 

Elsie started to relax at last, laughing quietly as Barty dramatically insisted he could take on any phantom. 

Remus, of course, decided to end the night on his own terms.

He rose smoothly, and strolled over to where Barty sat mid-demonstration, his shadow falling across him sharply from the fire. 

“Oh, you’d win, would you?” Remus asked mildly. 

“Absolutely,” Barty said with conviction, just before Remus leaned down, hooked his arms around him, and in one swift motion picked him clean off the log. 

“Hey, HEY, what are you–” 

The entire camp roared with laughter as Remus promptly carried him sideways, across the campsite toward the looming outline of the cathedral. 

“Let’s test your theory, shall we?” Remus said pleasantly over Barty’s protests, entirely unbothered by the thrashing and kicking. 

“Put me down, you overgrown ghost! I’ll take you out!” Barty yelled, half-laughing and half-sputtering as Remus ignored him.

And Remus only obliged when Barty’s elbow accidentally caught Remus’s bad side. The blow landed sharp in his ribs. Remus grunted, dropped him unceremoniously, and Barty went sprawling face-first in the dirt while Remus doubled over, toppling on top of him. 

The entire camp howled even louder with laughter. 

“Brilliant,” James wheezed. “Proper duel, that was.” 

Henry raised the mead jug in salute, grin wide. “Right, well, think that’s the night finished. Lovely entertainment, all of it. Ghosts, curses, tragic mothers, and of course… poor Barty here getting a face full of dirt as per usual.” 

Henry received a begrudging smirk from Barty, and everyone slowly rose from the logs, stretching legs and wandered back towards the tents. 

James slung an arm around Regulus as they wandered toward the tents, teasing about how they still needed to unpack. Elsie stuck close to Pandora, insisting she wasn’t scared but refused to walk alone back to her tent. Barty muttered about “winning next time” against Remus. 

Remus fell into step beside Lily, she still looking faintly unsettled. 

“Not scared, are you?” Remus asked lightly. 

“Of course not,” Lily said quickly, “But I wouldn’t mind being able to light a lamp quicker than it would take with matches, just in case.”

Remus smirked. “If you’re not tired yet, we can see what you can manage without a wand then,” 

Lily hesitated then let out a small laugh. “Tomorrow, my brain’s half-asleep already. I’d probably set the tents on fire.”

“Fair enough,” Remus chuckled, “After breakfast, then.” 

"Sounds good," Lily replied.

Chapter Text

“Surely, after today’s revelation you’re not still inclined to keep a separate cot?” 

James’s voice carried that familiar whine as he and Regulus readied for bed. Since James’s arrival to the troupe, they’d shared a tent. At first, it was a necessity. But since they’d acquired more canvas, it was now out of something else. Regulus had dragged a second cot inside rather than continue the awkward balancing act of sharing the magically expanded one they’d used the first night.

He hadn’t commented on it, of course. But he’d noticed it. James had the subtlety of a brick. Each night, the cot had inched a little closer, as though of its own accord. 

And now, after the carriage ride to town, that ever slim pretense of subtlety was thrown clean out the window, brick and all. 

James’s cot had now sat in the most inconvenient place imaginable: dead center of the tent, as though he thought Regulus too blind to notice or too police to comment on this absurd encroachment.

Regulus, of course, was very much neither of these things. 

“Not sure why you even ask,” he said flatly, “when you’ve been conducting this slow migration for days.”

“Well,” James grinned, “I didn’t want to move too quickly after how long it’s been since we’ve shared a bed. Thought you might need time to grow fond of the idea again.” 

“You do realize,” Regulus said simply, “We had only one cot that first night.”

“Oh, Merlin, I didn't even think about that, I was so plastered.”

“Absolutely pissed, you were.” 

“Yes,” James chuckled, shameless. “Absolutely. Why two cots now if you managed then? In fact…” His grin widened, mischievous, “if I was so drunk, shouldn’t you have not slept with me?” 

Regulus’s composure instantly cracked. “It wasn’t,” he stammered, then scowled. “Don’t make it sound like that.” 

James leaned in, smug as sin. “Sound like what, exactly?” 

“Should’ve left you drunk on your arse in the dining tent that night,” Regulus muttered, as he sat down on his own cot. 

“You really can’t let yourself be anything less than needly and sharp, huh?” James dragged the cot the rest of the way until it joined Regulus’s. “Just like your daggers… But clearly, that’s what makes you so attractive,” 

Regulus gave him nothing in reply. 

“Well,” James said with a feeling of completion, “Said we ought to unpack things proper once we made camp,” 

Regulus shot him a look, the flush returning with vengeance. 

“And look at that,” James added, grin widening. “You keep giving me more to unpack… ought to get started, don’t you think? We’ll be here all night figuring out the placement of this cot if we don’t get this sorted first.” 

Regulus sighed sharply, but made himself comfortable where he sat on the now-double cot. His choice, not because James asked. 

“See? Not so bad is it?” James teased. “I think you want it too,” 

“Don’t mistake my tolerance for indulgence,” Regulus replied simply. He held the words like a shield, though they both knew better. Every nudge pushed him closer to a familiar feeling he’d abandoned. The last time he indulged it, he was yanked away before he had any chance to go further. 

Familiar sensations lead to familiar outcomes. And he wasn’t looking to repeat that experience.   

But despite that, he wasn’t going to just let James keep running the show. He was doing this not because James asked, but because he wanted to. And frankly, he wanted to enjoy that warmth more than just when his head had shifted onto James’s shoulder in the carriage.

James stretched out across the cot, making a point of crowding the space. Regulus then rose to his knees, and looked at James with a gaze that simultaneously dared him to move and demanded him yield. 

“Finally, ready to unpack?” James asked, and was promptly shoved back, the next words swallowed as Regulus collided into him with sudden fervor, lips crashing against his in a decisive grab for control. 

James pulled back a fraction, just enough to catch his breath and murmur, half-laughing. “Oh… Fucking finally–” 

Regulus didn’t let him finish. He pushed forward again, cutting off the sound with another kiss, punctuation sharp against James’s mouth. He kissed him again. Sharp. Claiming. His weight pinned James to the cot, straddling his waist, palms braced on either side of his shoulders as if framing him with his daggers. 

James just needed to shut up. And this was an effective method. He couldn’t make some smug remark about Regulus going soft if his lips were too occupied to form the words. 

Well, other than the low unguarded sound James made when Regulus bit lightly at his lower lip before returning to kiss after kiss, landing fast and heated, collisions of teeth and tongue like waves in a thunderstorm. 

Every motion came abrupt, each one meant to scatter away any thoughts before they could form. Regulus wasn’t just kissing him. He was stealing the chance to think from both of them. 

He was stealing away his own vulnerability and any chance James had at calling it out. 

James tilted into it as though it were required of him, hands instinctively finding Regulus’s waist. He let him keep control, let him press down like he was winning something. Let him think he was conquering something that wasn’t by any means guarded. 

James let him carry out his takeover, until he shifted his grip without warning. His palms slid higher, slow and deliberate under the hem of Regulus’s shirt, while his thigh slid firm between Regulus’s knees. 

The reaction was instant. Regulus went still, just for a moment. Just long enough. 

James moved. Hands tightened firmly around his ribs, he pushed up sharply, bringing them both upright in one motion that left Regulus grabbing at his shoulders for balance. 

“Leave me my mouth for a second, will you?” James breathed through a grin, before cupping the back of Regulus’s neck and sending him downward into the cot. 

Regulus barely hit the pillow before he twisted, bracing his hand on James’s shoulder in an attempt to drag James back under him. 

James chuckled. Mmmm. No. 

He shifted his weight, sliding his palms up to catch Regulus’s wrists, pinning them lightly above his head. He didn’t give him time to regroup. This time, James set the pace. 

It wasn’t as rough. It was slower, maddeningly so, but no less intense than the frenzy he had initiated. Where Regulus kissed like he was storming a barricade, James kissed like he was purposefully dismantling one. Brick by brick, each deliberate press of his mouth left Regulus nowhere to run. 

Those damn, steady, unsubtle bricks. 

Regulus froze under the change, his pulse hammered with the same sinful heat he felt in the carriage when James had become frustratingly directing of the situation. He’d already been flushed with heat now, but it took that different tone again, where in receiving, he short-circuited, and all the sensations overwhelmed him at once. 

He wasn’t just flushed with heat, he was absolutely molten.

God. Why does it feel so fucking good?

Fuck him. Regulus was the one he should be obliging to. 

He was supposed to be in control here.

Why?

…Because.

Because—

Fuck. There’s not really a real reason. Not one he could find while James was kissing him like that. 

“Easy…” James murmured into his neck. 

Regulus had apparently cursed out loud, and now his body betrayed him completely. It was a soft and involuntary sound. Something perilously close to a purr. It climbed out of his throat like he actually wanted this. Actually wanted to be entrapped under the grasp of James fucking Potter. 

Which, I mean, he did. But that was beside the point, given his determination here in keeping control. 

“There it is,” James murmured, voice low and infuriatingly calm. He returned to breaking down the barricade, brick by brick, until Regulus’s fists fell slack and his head tipped back against the pillow, the tender heat flush against his ears and face. 

“There you go…” James whispered. He released one wrist, hand sliding to the nape of Regulus’s neck, fingers threading through his hair. The faintest brush there made Regulus shudder, heat rising up his spine as the fight drained out of him. 

His free hand twitched, at the opportunity to shove James off, to reclaim the upper hand. 

He didn’t let another second go to waste. 

He gave a sharp twist of his wrists, one last attempt, hips rolling to flip James with a solid thump. 

But he was breathless now, faltering even as he regained the vantage point, hands braced on either side of James’s shoulders, kisses sweeping down in uneven fervor. 

James pulled him in close, palm sliding up the back of his neck again, holding him there as his heartbeat thudded steady under Regulus’s ear. Regulus stilled, acknowledging the unspoken conclusion James had initiated, acknowledging it as a ceasefire in his mind. 

“Thank you,” James said, breath unsteady, “For unpacking… with me.” 

Regulus kept his eyes closed, listening to James’s steady heartbeat. He wasn’t sure he’d unpacked anything at all. Honestly, it felt more like James had just rummaged through everything, disrupting Regulus’s process with his methodical dismantling. 

He hated how much he liked the disruption. 

His so-called conquest lay in ruins. He hated that he didn’t even know how to keep fighting it anymore. 

He didn’t know what to do with this.

But he stayed there anyway, sprawled on top of James, pretending he hadn’t just lost the battle. Certainly not. He’d conquered James, obviously. The fingers teasing idly through his hair were for James’s benefit alone, of course. And the slow, even rise of James’s chest beneath him wasn’t the least bit tempting, not in the slightest. 

But the truth pressed warm against his ear. He hadn’t properly felt this strange mix of heat and quiet calm since that night of graduation. 

And before he could stop himself. Before he could drag the words back down where they belonged. He heard himself admit, low and raw, that he was grateful James had found him. 

Apparently, he’d said it out loud. Because James went perfectly still beneath him, the words landed heavier than Regulus intended.

Then, low and warm, James simply said, “So am I.”

And Regulus scowled into his shoulder, mostly to hide the treacherous smile tugging at his mouth, the ultimate betrayal of all. 

July 28, 1902 

❖───── •✧✧• ─────❖

“Ready to learn?” Remus asked, as Lily reached the campfire where they’d spoken the night before.

“Properly,” Lily started, brushing the hair from her face. “But where? I’d rather not be in the open if I might accidentally set something alight where the Muggle troupe members can see it.”

“Already thought of that,” Remus replied, smirking faintly. “You might not like it, though. You called it eerie yesterday.” 

He pointed back toward the cathedral looming over them. It wasn’t as menacing during the day, less of a looming shadow, and more of a skeleton of what it used to be. 

“In there?” Lily asked, eyebrows raised. She eyed the ruin warily. “I mean… I suppose. It works.”  

As they crossed the grass, a few of the troupe watched them go, though no one paid much mind. Likely they thought the pair curious after the ghost stories, or maybe religious and visiting the site out of some respect despite its condition. 

Remus pushed the half-hanging door open, and stepped through the threshold. Though it couldn’t be described as entering inside anymore. Sunlight streamed through the broken walls, wind sliding easily through gaping winds and the collapsed roof. 

“This must have been beautiful once,” Lily said, glancing up as they passed beneath the weathered archway.

“Probably was,” Remus agreed. He glanced up at the fractured roofline. “Something ironic about it though, don’t you think?”

“Hm?”

“You know,” Remus chuckled to himself. “Doing magic, witch and a wizard, in what used to be a cathedral.”

“Oh.” Lily smiled faintly. "Heh, yeah that is I suppose. But I did attend, once upon a time.” 

Remus raised his brows slightly. “Did you now?”

“Mostly for Christmas service,” Lily explained. “Though I think we attended more when I was too young to remember. Hadn’t given it much thought,” She looked somber. “that I might be the reason those visits became more infrequent.” 

Remus tilted his head, watching her carefully. “Because of the magic, I assume?” 

Lily gave a shrug. “Mum never minded it, but the rest of town, well… people talk.”

“Mm.” Remus replied. He understood. He knew exactly how that went. “My mother used to attend too.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I think it was a rather strict church,” Remus continued. “She didn’t tell them my father was a wizard, but she didn’t need to. He wasn’t of the church, didn’t follow their doctrine. The congregation wasn’t too keen on that, and she got married outside of the church, so they didn’t accept it as legitimate. And well, mum never did care for their opinion much after that.”

“I see,” Lily hummed. “Pet, my sister, I think she was the most apt toward it all, the faith and whatnot. I really respected her for it. Wonder if I made it harder for her, after the magic showed up.” 

“If you did,” Remus said lightly, “you either made her faith stronger or gave her something new to believe. Nothing wrong with either result. Either way, we didn’t come to figure out theology. Shall we?”

“Right,” Lily said with a shake of her head, and they arrived at the center of the cathedral near the altar. 

“So,” Remus asked, “do you ever feel anything when your magic happens?”

“Feel it?”

“Even if it's not magic you mean to do, it's still yours. Do you feel it?”

Lily frowned at the question. “Mmm. I don’t know, maybe? It just… happens. I never thought about it until after. Usually, I just feel surprised that it popped out at all.” 

Remus gave a small nod. “That’s the trouble, not thinking about it. Even if you aren’t controlling it, you can feel it, if you pay attention.” He paused, considering how best to explain. “You know how some people say they can feel a storm coming?”

“Mm, yeah. Like something in their bones?”

“Exactly. That restless feeling before the rain comes in? That’s what it’s like. Easy to treat as background noise if you don’t know better. But if you hone it, if you tune it… you can use it.” 

“I see,” she said thoughtfully. “But… how?”

“I think that’s why using a wand is supposed to be easier,” Remus said. “It acts like a tuning fork. Or a lightning rod. The noise of magic is easier to focus that way. But it can be done without one, magic existed long before wands did, after all.” 

“So the wand, it clears the static?” Lily asked.

“In a way, it directs it. But you can do the same. You just have to become the lightning rod yourself. Find the current of your magic and give it somewhere to go.” 

“Hmmm.” She thought hard about it. 

“Here.” Remus held up a hand. “I’ll try to describe what I feel as I go through it. I’m going to just make a mote of light. Usually, this is instantaneous for me now, but I’ll slow it down.” 

He closed his eyes. “There’s a low-level hum that I feel, the magic. I sort of imagine a bottle-neck on that magic, narrowing it. Then I can feel the pitch change. It’s like an inner vibration, if that makes sense?” 

Lily nodded, brows furrowed but following. 

“Now,” Remus continued, “it’s like I’ve gathered all the scattered magic in my body, and I’ve got it held together, like I’m holding it in my fist.” He held his hand out, fingers curling. “And then I will it where I want it.” 

He opened his palm. A ball of light flickered to life above it. 

“If I’m distracted, it wavers,” he said, letting it flicker. Then he steadied himself, and the flow grew stronger. “But if I’m focused, it holds.”

“That’s amazing!” Lily said. 

“Now, it's your turn.” Remus looked at her. “Start with light. It’s the easiest, just enough magic harnessed to catch like a spark on flint.” 

“And if it doesn’t work?” 

“You just keep trying until it does,” he said matter-of-factly. “It’s like using a muscle. Right now it’s not trained, but it will be. And if you accidentally set something on fire, we’ll say the cathedral really was haunted… The vengeful ghost of a witch hunter or something, tried to burn us at the stake.” 

Lily laughed at Remus’s bold humor, shaking her nerves off a bit. 

“Alright,” She said with a grin. “Let’s see.” 

She held her hand outward, as she saw Remus do. Her face creased in concentration. 

Nothing happened. 

“Feel for it first,” Remus said quietly. “Not with your hand. Feel for the storm inside. That vibration.” 

She nodded and closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in and out, to steady herself. 

“Don’t just grab at it, either.” Remus added after a moment. “Guide it. Like coaxing a cat out from under a table. Like you’re trying not to scare it away, make it comfortable.”

Lily huffed softly, but tried again, brow still furrowed. 

This time, a faint crackle sparked at her fingertips before fading.

“There,” Remus said immediately. “Whatever you just felt, bring it forward. Keep at it.”

“Like static,” Lily murmured. She tried again. This time it flared brighter, held for half a second, then fizzled. She yelped in surprise, seeing it actually form for a moment. 

“That!” She grinned. “I actually did it on purpose this time!”

“Yes, I saw. That was good,” Remus smiled. “Keep going, it’ll grow steadier.”

She nodded and returned to it again. It didn’t always come right away, but at last she managed to hold a decent orb of light at her fingertips for half a minute before it fizzled out.

Lily was beaming at her palm even after it faded, flexing her fingers like she’d just discovered a new muscle. 

“Not bad at all,” Remus said, arms crossed where he leaned against the altar. “Keep at it whenever you have the time. Next chance to practice, we’ll try something different.” 

Lily tilted her head thoughtfully, “I didn’t expect it to feel like this. it’s… sort of heavy, when it comes together. Not a bad heavy, though.”

Remus nodded.  “Like a cloud before it rains. That’s how I’d describe it.”

“Exactly.” She said quickly, and looked up at him with bright eyes. “After this, you’ll teach me more?”

Remus smirked. “Can’t say I’ve taught you anything yet if this is all we’ve managed. But yes, next time.” 

He pushed away from the altar and looked back towards the broken doorway. “For now, we should get back before someone thinks the ghosts got us for trespassing.” 

Lily laughed, shaking her head, as she fell in step beside Remus.