Eclipse (Chapter 23)

Harry Potter Fanfiction Set in a Non-Magical Universe

Photo by Benjamin Voros on Unsplash

23.

(TW: Mentions of war, suicide ideation, attempted murder, blood, torture, child abuse and psychological trauma)

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — Present — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

“Let me tell you what this war is really about.”

Regulus has been wanting to rant about this for so long that, at the moment, he doesn’t even care about the members of his target audience. His cobra hood unfurls, ready to rear up and strike.

“This horrible, horrible situation we’re in right now is happening solely because that- that tragic excuse of a nutjob wants to PISS OFF Albus Dumbledore! He is a grasping, tryhard social climber who hates rejection and cannot take no for an answer; and he is also an insecure little bitch.

“And Albus Dumbledore, instead of acting like a responsible nearly one-hundred-year-old adult, has decided to go head-to-head with this tyrannical dumpster fire and is letting him choose the terms of this battle, because he wants to beat him at it. Publicly. So that everyone will know just how great he is; add another feather to one of his ridiculous-looking hats. Apparently, defeating Grindelwald was not enough glory for him.

“That is the reason for this war. That is all there is to it, I PROMISE YOU. Just two old men playing games and using Great Britain as their chessboard.”

James blinks, stunned at the amount of vitriol spilling from Regulus’ lips — such a degree that makes anything that’s been directed at him pale in comparison.

He really parted ways with the Dark side on severely bad terms, huh, James thinks. Wonder how that happened.

Briefly, he ponders over what could have possibly made Regulus this bitter towards everyone involved.

Sirius is quite amused at hearing this new spitfire version of his brother ripping both Dumbledore and Voldemort to bloody shreds. Anything is a nice change from his friends who all thought the sun shone out of Dumbles’ arse… Even though he has no bloody clue what the fuck Reggie is talking about.

Remus is completely aghast. He’s never heard a more incomprehensible retelling of events in all his life.

People are dying and Regulus thinks this is some kind of game?

“You sound insane,” Remus tells him.

Regulus snorts. “That is not the insult you think it is,” he counters glibly. Stars, what he wouldn’t give for a cigarette and a nap right about now…

His laidback manner is completely contrasted by Polaris who bristles, hackles rising as she finally reaches the end of her rope.

“Starboy isn’t lying!” She snarls, glaring at the Marauders viciously. “And he doesn’t owe you shit either! My brother has already given too much of himself to this war.”

A dark look flickers across her eyes. “NOBODY is entitled to ask anything more from him.”

“Your ‘brother’ is a war criminal who has not yet properly answered for his crimes,” Remus coolly rebuts.

“Oh, shut up!” Ris snaps. “SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP, you simpering, overgrown toerag! We just had somebody in here who was nearly crying about how he wanted to unalive himself from something you losers did to him before this war even started! You shouldn’t be telling anybody what they should be doing. You should be in prison, you filthy, fucking disgusting, absolutely abominable arsehole…”

She proceeds to call him every name under the sun, and Regulus can’t stop his shoulders from shaking with restrained laughter.

Moony looks like he is shrinking in height every second she continues, and Padfoot’s eyes have turned black with anger.

James reaches out to drag both of his friends behind him, acting as their pillar. He never knew he’d ever meet a girl with a sharper mouth than Lily Evans, but there’s a first time for everything.

“Whoa, whoa, there’s no need to fight!” He desperately implores.

“Well, your degenerate friend is looking for one,” Polaris shoots back, relentlessly ruthless. “Maybe he shouldn’t open his fucking mouth if he isn’t prepared to take what he dishes out. And if you can’t handle the heat then get the fuck out of the kitchen. Why are you even still here? What gave any of you the right to think you could ask my brother for anything?”

A tiny squeak is heard from behind them, and James partially turns to see Wormtail rooted in place, slightly quivering in fear while staring at Polaris. With her attitude, he must think she’s some sort of Valkyrie coming for their souls.

James shifts a little bit to also shield him from view.

“Look, we’re sorry. It shouldn’t have been phrased that way. This is just…such a sensitive situation, and it seems like we all have stakes in this,” He bites his lip, nervously meeting her gaze.

“I just don’t understand why we can’t all work together in some way; lend each other our strengths to fight back at the oppression we’re all completely against.”

“Oh, I am sure it would be incredibly easy for all of us to just sit holding hands around little campfires as we plan to tackle this great evil, then wanking each other off while the sun sets,” she says, her tone filled with biting sarcasm.

James’ mouth gapes open slightly. She always appears so prim and proper — he didn’t think Polaris could be vulgar as well.

She aims him a level stare.

“Let me spell it all out for you, so maybe you’ll finally pull your head out of your loser arse. Why the fuck should we work with you? Oppression? Does anybody in there look oppressed to you?”

She points a sharp finger at the cafe they’ve just exited. The people in there still look so happy, laughing and milling about like not a single thing in the world could ever harm them. James’ stare lingers on them, still longing for that serene atmosphere.

“Exactly. Look at what is going on with your eyes instead of whatever pretentiousness you tell yourself to get your pathetic self out of bed in the morning. Nobody in there cares about this fucking war; not because it’s not going on, but because of him.”

Her chin jerks towards Regulus at her side, who looks like he’s not even paying attention.

“He gave them that peace of mind, so none of them have any worries because they know he will take care of any problems coming their way. Do you get it now? We don’t need your help — and we don’t need to help you either. We are doing just fine handling the situations that we want to give our attention to, and if that sometimes coincides with helping with this war, then that is fine. But we are not helping the Light. The House of Black are members of the Grey faction now, get that through your thick head! If your leader is so shite at his job that he’s failing you all so much you have to come begging for help from someone who rightfully owes you NOTHING, then that’s on him. You speak about how people should be doing more, but from where I’m standing, the only person who is not doing enough for this war is your fucking Leader.”

James splutters. “Dumbledore has done so much, things not even the Ministry tries to help with! He mobilises us, playing to our strengths and sending us to the places he can use us best! So many of our friends and family have survived this long and are still able to fight because he’s organising us and rallying in new volunteers as well!”

He digs his nails into his palm, trying not to let his temper rise. “You don’t even know the half of it, so don’t — don’t just speak on things you don’t know.”

She coolly watches him. “When was the last time,” she begins slowly, “You saw your Leader come onto the battlefield himself?”

That brings James up short. “What?”

“Well?” She arches a brow. “I know absolutely nothing, so tell me, why doesn’t he fight? Why isn’t he out there subduing these threats to your friends and family by himself?” She gently tilts her head to the side in a catlike motion.

“Is he weak?”

James squints at her. “No. He took on bloody Grindelwald. He’s the best duelist since Godric Gryffindor, and Voldemort himself is said to be afraid of him. He is not weak.”

“Then why isn’t he out there fighting? Why hasn’t he shown up to take care of Voldemort and his forces?”

“It’s too risky. We haven’t been able to pin down Voldemort’s location yet because he’s too slippery, and he has so many followers shielding him. He’s not even seen on the battlefield that much either. Dumbledore likely wants to conserve his strength for when we’re finally able to confront Voldemort directly. So right now he’s helping the cause by doing his best to make sure we can put away as many Death Eaters as possible.”

Polaris just gazes at him flatly. “So we agree then. Your Dumbledore is pathetic. Equally as pathetic as Voldemort, both of them simply hiding behind their forces like shivering little rats.”

Her eyes slide up a little, making eye contact with Peter. He ducks, moving closer to James to hide from view. She sneers, her lips curling slightly.

“They are co-chairmen of the same club, the one called ‘Sit Around With Your Dick In Your Hands’.”

Remus chokes and Regulus isn’t doing much better, silently wheezing with tears forming behind his eyes.

James grinds his teeth. It’s like talking to an infuriating brick wall. “Don’t compare Dumbledore to Voldemort. That’s sick. They are not even remotely the same, don’t ever say that.”

“I’m just calling it as I see it,” Polaris neutrally states, crossing her arms. “You can all continue doing his dirty work, but I am NOBODY’S fucking servant. I will never fight with or for someone who isn’t fighting right there beside me. If you want to keep being a doormat, that’s your problem.”

Sirius cocks his head, thinking about that. Thinking of what that might mean in regards to his brother, who he now darts a speculative gaze towards…

Polaris stares Remus right in the eyes next. “Any kind of leader worth their salt would look people in the eyes when asking them to put their lives in his hands, rather than sending an errand boy. Otherwise, that’s just asking for human sacrifices — and none of us here are stupid enough to throw our lives away now that we’ve finally gotten to a point where we are okay with living them. Even just the thought of it disgusts me to my core… But you know what really pisses me off?”

Her tone gets darker, and she takes a step closer. Determinedly, James stays right where he is, bravely trying not to falter as she pins him with her predatory gaze; like a vulture spotting carrion.

“It’s that, for some reason, you think you can stand here and say so boldly, to his face and mine, that Starboy’s feelings towards you all are less important than this war. I do not agree,” she pronounces each word crisply, making sure each one sinks into him like a blade meeting flesh.

“NOTHING is more important than them. I do not care if the apocalypse descends on us tomorrow and we all have to band together to help each other survive — nothing will ever erase ANY of the suffering you horrible pieces of trash so easily abandoned him to deal with alone. You think you can simply say that and just make it true because you don’t know what it was like, but I do. I WAS THERE.”

Her eyes flit between him and Sirius. “NONE of you were. So don’t ever open your fucking mouth and say something so stupid again.”

James finally falters, chagrined because…beneath her anger, there’s a lot of pain. Pain that Regulus has not allowed himself to show — so she’s doing it for him.

“I’m — I’m sorry…”

“SHUT UP. I’m already trying so hard not to kill you as it is. Don’t tempt me even more by offering useless apologies. My brother is so very kind that he’s given you his hospitality and made you think that after everything you’ve done, you can ask him for things; that you can even address him while standing up, instead of getting on your fucking knees and begging him for mercy.”

The Marauders take a collective step back. Her gaze is so imposing that James even feels the back of his knees start to shake. Even Sirius is unnerved, because what the fuck is wrong with this chick?

Peter is desperately trying to hold in his squeaks of fright.

Then Regulus sighs. “Ris, I don’t… Let’s not talk about that right now.”

Slowly, she rips her eyes away from them and turns to him. Regulus gives her a small smile that holds no amount of happiness anywhere.

“Hey, come here.” He tugs her towards him and she goes easily, letting him wrap his arms around her shoulders and rest his chin on her head. She keeps her burning gaze on them for a few more seconds, all that fire and rage and pain just barely contained, before shutting her eyes and leaning her head back into his chest.

Remus believes he has made a grave mistake. All along, he’s seen the way Polaris complements Regulus, guiding him sometimes and being defensive over his well-being, and he thought their relationship was like what Sirius has with James — with Polaris being the one keeping Regulus in check like James does with Sirius. He thought that Regulus was the one to watch…and he’s been SO wrong it’s astounding.

It now seems as though he’s the one restraining her.

He opens his mouth. Regulus immediately pins him with a fierce look. “Zip it!” He hisses out.

Remus closes his mouth.

Regulus places a hand on Polaris’ head, trailing his fingers gently through her hair. “Better?” He murmurs.

She lets out a soft grunt and nods, still not opening her eyes.

Regulus sighs again, continuing to cling to her tightly. Coolly, he looks up at the Marauders, considering them.

“If you really want important information about this war, then there’s something you should know.”

At the corner of his sight, he sees Peter twitching, anxiously fidgeting. Gods above, what a dumbarse. Regulus still can’t believe he hasn’t been caught yet.

He takes a deep breath, then begins. “Voldemort is a -” Half-Blood, he wants to say, thinks it, imagines speaking it out loud…

…And his throat is immediately clogged by a surge of that rib-crushing laughter, so powerful he has to bite the inside of his cheek before it tears out of him and rips his throat raw and sends him back to that same state as before — seeing spots as he fights to breathe, then fights to keep all the water in his body from spilling out of his eyes, then fights to keep his stomach from fleeing his body.

He tastes the slight tang of copper in his mouth; tries again -

“He is a fraud, and a barmy motherfucking son of a bitch!” Regulus seethes, getting heated all over again. “His entire crusade is built on lies, and they’re so paper thin anyone could poke holes in them, then drive a fucking tank straight through it! And your…Leader of the Light knows this, he has to know it, it’s unthinkable that he doesn’t, and if he was willing to tell any of you anything, then he would tell you this. It would be incredibly easy for him to just open his mouth and say something — but he hasn’t, and I cannot begin to understand why, much less care for his reasons. All I know is that he could’ve ended this war before it even properly began, and he didn’t, and now that’s all you will know too.”

James’ brow furrows as he frowns in absolute befuddlement. Voldemort is a fraud? What the hell did that mean?…Is Regulus saying that Voldemort doesn’t believe in blood purity? That’s…such an absurd thought James can’t wrap his mind around it.

If he doesn’t believe in it, then why the fuck is he preaching it? Why is he going around killing muggleborns and innocent civilians? Why would he be striking so hard at members of the Light who are opposing him if he has no issue with their beliefs?

Could it all really be because of this grudge Regulus claims Voldemort has against Dumbledore?

Sirius, quite frankly, doesn’t care one whit if Voldemort is a liar or not. The man is a fucking snake, of course he would be lying about something at some point or another! Slytherins lie, the sky is blue and the sun sets; so fucking what? They still needed to take down the fucker in order to win the war.

But hearing that Dumbledore has something to do with this war dragging on is what perks his interest.

James turns to Remus, giving him a questioning look. Remus has always been able to make sense of things faster than the rest of them.

But even Remus is confused here. Voldemort…didn’t invent blood purity. It’s been around for ages; even before the time of Hogwarts’ founding, when Salazar famously declared that anyone without Pureblood wasn’t welcome in the school. Pureblood Nobles have always thought that they were better than anyone with muggle origins — that’s a straight fact.

If Voldemort is capitalising off of it somehow and pulling the wool over his followers’ eyes — then that is regrettable, but not surprising. There was a forest of hatred already laid out with ripe fruit for him to pick from, but not even Voldemort is so powerful as to have planted it all in the first place.

And Dumbledore…must have his reasons…if he could’ve stopped the situation from spiralling out of hand and chose not to. Maybe a Dark Lord emerging again was inevitable, no matter what he did. He probably learned that from experience after vanquishing Grindelwald — which was a war that also took him some time before he was able to triumph.

Dumbledore choosing to tell or not to tell them certain things couldn’t be all that important. He is their Leader, and he earned that position through his experience and his relentless conviction in taking down bloodthirsty Dark Lords. They couldn’t afford not to trust him.

Remus turns to Regulus, wanting to voice his thoughts but wary of the sleeping viper in his arms.

“Even if…what you’re saying is true…it doesn’t change that we’re still at war. Death Eaters are still believing in Voldemort to push Dark agendas in the government, and they have numbers that we don’t. And there are good people on our side that are still being targeted too often…which is something that could be…helped…”

Regulus just shrugs. “Not my circus, not my monkeys.”

Something important he realised out after finding the truth — is that EVERYBODY is fucking barmy. He was just late to the party.

“Besides, if your side is outnumbered, that is on Dumbledore!” He snaps. “There should not be that many Slytherins fighting on the Dark Lord’s side! Stars, I should not have been there either! I never wanted to be, and you idiots seem to think of me as the exception instead of part of a not-so-general rule! There are others from Slytherin House who do not belong there, and Dumbledore could have done something to prevent that. Instead — for some reason I cannot fathom — he did the exact opposite and practically drove them into the Dark Lord’s awaiting arms!”

“Wait that- that can’t be Dumbledore’s fault,” James says, flabbergasted.

The Order relies on volunteers who want to help fight for their cause or to contribute in other ways to the war efforts, and they aren’t exactly picky about who they choose. They even have a couple of Slytherins on their side! Well, one notable one — Dorcas Meadows, who was in their year and is very close with Marlene McKinnon. Kingsley Shacklebolt, who works in the Ministry and is way older than them, is rumoured to have been a Slytherin while he was at Hogwarts.

The fact that no one can confirm nor deny if this is true definitely leans towards the man having been in the Snake House.

Point being — the Order has Slytherins on their side who have joined them because they decided to pick a better side. Which means the other Slytherins Regulus is talking about can do the same thing!

“If they were forced to serve Voldemort and didn’t want to be there, they could’ve just defected, like you did!” James argues. “I mean, clearly it’s not impossible! They just need to try and do the right thing! If they’re scared about needing protection from the Dark Lord, then I’m sure Dumbledore would give it to them! As long as they’re willing to help us take down Voldemort, he wouldn’t turn any of them away.”

Regulus seems to have found a way to protect himself without Dumbledore’s help — and to protect others as well — but James thinks that just makes Regulus special. He’s strong, capable enough to wrest himself away from Voldemort’s side and turn his back on everything he’s ever been told, and that kind of strength of character and determination takes guts. Gryffindor guts, even, and James doesn’t think those other ‘unwilling’ Death Eaters have that in them.

In fact, James is highly convinced that Regulus might have been sorted incorrectly. He’s demonstrated a lot of planning and calculation, yeah, but the deep-seated bravery and conviction gleaming behind those striking grey eyes heavily outshines his Slytherin cunning.

He should’ve been one of them. If things had just been slightly different, he could’ve been at James’ side from the very beginning!

Regulus is quiet, taking in James’ words. He thinks of all it took for him to get here — the whippings and the brandings and the training sessions and the full year of complete and utter loneliness. He thinks of the periods of time when he dissociated, leaving his body behind and letting his mind go somewhere else while his mouth vomited out words that made him a traitor to humanity. He thinks of the times he’s seen the people he knows — his dorm mates, his friends — being whipped and burned at the Dark Lord’s behest simply because Voldemort didn’t like their performance or their tone. He thinks of watching the torture and not stopping it; watching the civilians fall on the battlefield and not stopping it; seeing captives having their heads opened and their minds torn out of them and not stopping it.

He thinks of the times he tried to put things to rights — planning his escape and having Kreacher die for him; freeing a little girl from a cage she’d been in for far too long and having to rip her face open to save her from a worse fate. Trying to win the love of his mother and father, failing miserably…then finally succeeding when he wanted nothing to do with them.

(What he had to do after that…)

Flash forward to what he’s doing now — trying to stop the poison that has spread far and wide throughout the entire Kingdom, one that so many people seem content to ignore — and still having a long way to go. Still not having completely stopped it. Every breath, every step, every day, for him, is an uphill battle. Trying, and failing; ad nauseam.

‘They could’ve just defected,’ James says. ‘Like you did,’ James says.

As if he wasn’t supposed to have died three years ago — drowned in a watery grave or from opening his own throat! As though he got here simply by standing on his own two feet, instead of being hauled every step of the way by this tigress at his side who wouldn’t just let him die.

James sees the expressions flickering through Regulus’ eyes, and suddenly realises he might have picked a very poor choice of words.

“Is that so?” Regulus finally drawls, his voice soft.

“You know something, Potter?”

He looks James right in his hazel-brown eyes, holding his gaze so that James has no doubt he is talking directly to him.

“You bore me.”

James freezes. The animosity he’s become accustomed to in Regulus’ silvery gaze is gone. Completely removed — only to be replaced by frost as thick as a snowstorm, blanketing everything James can see in the depths of his eyes for miles.

“This is why I have never seen any value in having a conversation with you,” Regulus continues, his words coming out in hushed, intimate tones like a whisper.

James has never been gutted so gently before. This is so different from Lily — with her it was fiery rage, while Regulus’ disdain has frozen even his bones in place.

“And I don’t see that much value in your cause either. I moved the House of Black into the Grey faction for a reason, and that is because I don’t align with the Light’s politics, or with the Dark’s. The way I see it, they both promote erasure, just in different ways.”

He shakes his head. “Neither our Pureblood customs nor our commoner population need to die. There must be a third solution, but nobody has bothered to find it yet. And I didn’t fake my death to free myself from under the thumb of one megalomaniac just to put myself at the beck and call of another one. I extracted myself from this war on my own terms, and I won’t be throwing myself back in again to support a side I don’t truly believe in. I already have my hands full with the matters I do find important.”

Sirius snorts, finally rousing from where he’s been silently listening to the entire discussion.

Now this is familiar.

Same old Reggie — never wanting to offend any side or stir the pot. Always thinking his stupid little fantasies about the way life should be were oh-so-much-more important than what Sirius was currently bleeding for; putting his whole fucking life on the line for.

Should he really have expected anything different from someone who fit in so well in the Slytherin House? They were all aloof, uncaring, and cold — just like his estranged brother.

Like a dead fucking snake.

“Of course he won’t pick a side, or actually take a stand,” Sirius scoffs, rolling his eyes.

Blood boiling beneath his skin, he levels his brother with a derisive sneer.

“That’s because he’s a fucking coward.”

Polaris’ eyes spring wide open. Colour seeps out of her already pale face, making the partially-visible scar by the side of her nose look more prominent.

Regulus…slowly lowers his arms from where he’s been enveloping her, moving away slightly. His arms feel…completely burned through. Like someone just poured hot, molten wax all over them then peeled it off so aggressively it ripped out parts of his skin in the process.

However, the only sign of his distress is a slight shifting to his jaw.

Oh no, James thinks, alarm bells blaring in his ears. Peter squirms, feeling discomfited by the tension, jerking his head every which as though seeking a means of escape, and Remus slowly turns to shoot his lover a look of dismay.

Regulus doesn’t look at anyone else — not even Ris who is staring up at him with trepidation in her eyes. His gaze is tightly adhered to his brother, ignoring everything else.

“So you’ve always said.”

His tone is icy, unflinching. He raises his walls so sky high, none of his weakness is permitted through. Mother did manage to teach him some useful things.

“Now you’ve got your Lupin back, and I’ve gotten Severus off your back. In other words…”

His eyes are filled with such powerful contempt he seems to loom over Sirius from a great height.

“Get the fuck off my property.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer before spinning deftly on his heel, giving Sirius a cutting backwards glance.

“Just leave, Sirius. That’s what you do best, isn’t it?”

Sirius feels his rage overtake him. He just can’t understand why it’s so hard for him and his brother to agree on something as simple as this! His fury burns a red swath right across his mind, too hot, too much, his agitation and tension rising through the roof in response.

In this world, the only two things of worth were to FIGHT or to DIE.

To not fight is to die. To give up, give in, concede, surrender, retreat — any of the following is IMPERMISSIBLE.

And if one is not going to fight, then-

“Since you’re such an expert at it, maybe you should just go die.”

His friends are looking at him like they can’t believe he just said that. Seven hells — even Sirius can’t believe he just said that.

Regulus’ steps, his thoughts, and even his breathing come to a complete stop. Oh Gods, it HURTS.

It hurts like every single scar he’s ever received and painstakingly healed has been blown wide open and is screaming from remembered pain. The torture, the pain, the cold freezing ache — it’s EVERYTHING all at once; all turned raw again and too potent to ignore.

It hurts like his brother has just shoved a red-hot poker through his back, stabbing right through his chest and liquefying his heart. He can almost see the stream of bloody red rivulets descending down the front of his clothes.

He clutches at his heart, feeling it pounding weakly, heartbeat slowing. He doesn’t know whether to just follow the order or start to hyperventilate.

Oh, to hell with this. Starboy is just going to have to find a way to forgive her.

Polaris moves.

One step, swiftly reach into her Regulus’ long coat, another step, swipe the gun from his holster in a motion too quick to stop, third step, place her fingers in all the right positions while continuing to advance-

Final step, place the gun right against this motherfucker’s temple.

“SAY THAT AGAIN.”

She stares Sirius right in his eyes as she clicks off the safety, stabbing the barrel harder into his skull.

Peter lets out a startled squeak. Everyone else just seems frozen in shock.

Sirius is…rooted to the spot, his pupils blown wide from feeling the sharp bite of metal against his head. His mother is…dead? No, she’s alive; she’s right here, why would he think that? How could he ever be free of her? They’re at the dinner table, at Grimmauld Place, and he’s just said something that she doesn’t agree with, and she’s daring him to repeat himself, bearing down on him to try and intimidate him into keeping his mouth shut, all while holding the gun-the gun-the gun-

James instantly reanimates at seeing the look on Padfoot’s face, and he’s shoving him backwards, taking his brother’s place in front of her.

Sirius stumbles back, feeling strong hands catch him.

James can feel the storm clouds brewing behind his eyes as he faces Polaris down. If anyone wants to hurt Padfoot like that again, it will be over HIS DEAD BODY. They are going to have to go through him.

Polaris…is looking at him like she is willing to make that happen. Like she wants to go through him.

In her eyes, he sees his certain demise. He sees her pulling the trigger and him falling, bleeding all over the ground with mortal wounds; her stepping over him like he’s a pebble on the pavement, going after Sirius next-

He’s never seen his life flash before his eyes so vividly before, not even once throughout this entire war. In this millisecond of being sure he is about to die, he pictures his whole range of life experiences speeding through his mind like a movie reel.

His tooth falling out; getting his first broom; being spoiled rotten by his parents; going to Hogwarts; meeting Sirius; sorting into Gryffindor; falling for Lily; HATING Snape; becoming Marauders; playing Quidditch; winning again and again and again; the countless high fives; looking across the Great Hall once and meeting Regulus’ eyes…

Then Regulus is standing right in front of him, the white expanse of his coat and his softly billowing black hair the only thing James can see anymore.

“Hey, Wildcat,” Regulus says almost lazily, placing a hand on top of the gun and slowly lowering it. She stares at him, letting him slip it from her hold and tuck it back into his side. Then he settles a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Let’s just go home, okay?”

He’s inwardly berating himself for not expecting the worst from his efforts like he usually does. Trying can be soooo beautifully pointless sometimes. Still, he never thought the situation could get this bad. More fool he. When will he ever learn, honestly?

Ris is looking at him like she can see the blood on his chest. No wait — he isn’t just imagining that. There’s actual blood on his chest.

His nose is bleeding again.

He sniffs, raising his bandaged hand — now soaked through again — and trying to staunch the flow.

Her eyelids flicker and she blinks. As he watches, a tear rolls down her now-darkened amethyst eyes.

He’s suddenly filled with sadness, reaching out to try and catch the tear from falling. One of the most sensitive souls in this world has decided to throw in their lot with him, a pathetic defective spare, for reasons he surely doesn’t deserve, and he can’t even keep her happy. Can’t keep a sparkle within her eyes.

Yet, even now, she refuses to leave him. She snatches his outstretched hand from the air and spins around, her hair cutting through the air like a wind blade, and marches them across the lot to where their car is parked.

She seethes, tears still falling as she drags him away.

Fucking Severus Snape. If she ever sees that useless loser again IT’S ON SIGHT! If that idiot hadn’t just done a better job blowing these people up then they wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place!

Regulus obediently follows, glancing back one final time…

…Towards Peter Pettigrew.

Time has stopped for James as he watches them go…because he has just fallen completely and utterly in love with Regulus Black — fallen for the second time ever in his life…and has to come to terms with that as he sees his stolen heart getting further away.

Alternatively, Sirius blinks, coming back to himself. Prongs protected him, of course James did. He’s the one who got him away from Walburga in the first place.

He thought Moony caught him when he was shoved back, but now he’s realising that the hand gripping his arm is too…tight.

Slowly, he glances over his shoulder. Jack peers back at him.

There is something distinctly malevolent in his gaze — but then he blinks and it’s gone like he just imagined it.

Calmly, Jack chews on a piece of French toast, appraising him with satirical amusement.

“I’ve never met somebody who’s already on their third life in a single day before,” He drolls. “You really are impressive, Sirius.”

He lets go abruptly, stepping away and brushing the crumbs off his hands.

“Shame I don’t get to play with you anymore. I was rather looking forward to our rematch.”

Jack walks past him, and Sirius doesn’t see his hands move or reach for anything, but he feels the sting — a sharp blade cutting right through the bracelet wrapped around his wrist that Moony got him for his birthday.

Which now falls to the ground in a cluttered, broken mess.

Tentatively, he raises his arm to inspect the wound, seeing a trickle of blood run down his skin.

“Oh, by the way…”

Jack directs a lazy look his way. “Did you really just call Boss a coward?”

He gives Sirius a look reserved for people who religiously wore tin foil hats and yelled at the sky.

“Bless your heart. You must be new here.”

With a wink, he fully turns away. “Hey, Boss, wait up!”

Jack runs after him. James watches as Regulus lifts his free arm and Jack moves as though to duck under it…only for Regulus to reach out and flick his forehead.

“Ow!”

The Marauders stare as they slide into their car and drive away, still overwhelmed by all the recent events.

Then Sirius’ radio crackles.

“Attention all units! There is an attack at Elm Park! I repeat, an attack at Elm Park! Death Eaters are swarming the streets! All capable members of the Order are requested to provide back-up if nearby!”

The Marauders turn for a split-second to exchange glances — then they’re sprinting and on the move.