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Chapter Text

Sirius Black is crowned king at 21 years old. He is dressed in green robes, the silver circlet is placed on his head, and all Regulus can think is that it doesn’t suit him. Sirius’ glittering eyes and grinning mouth were not made for this sombre weight of responsibility.

He skips the coronation ball and returns to his rooms, ignoring Barty’s attempts to coax him out. He’s the crown prince now. He can do what he wants.

He falls asleep with a horrible sense of dread, and the bitter thought that it should have been him.

 Months later, after the marble stone of the main hall has absorbed another one of their shouting matches, Regulus looks at Sirius. Really looks at him, at the dark rings under his eyes, the way his hands shake, how his hair hangs limply behind his ears. Gone are the booming laughs and joyous pranks. Regulus can’t actually remember the last time he saw Sirius smile.

“This is killing you,” he states.

Sirius puffs up, apparently ready for another round of yelling. Regulus was so tired of this. Couldn’t he see that he was just trying to help?

“Tell me honestly, Sirius. Did you want this?”

“Of course I wanted this.” Sirius scowls. “This is what everybody wants. This is what you want. You can’t take this from me just because you’re jealous.”

Regulus is silent a moment, considering the sting of Sirius’ words. He doesn't have the energy for this. “Fine. Let it kill you. See if I care,” he tells him before he turns on his heel and sweeps away. 

The lone guard left in the hall watches him as he leaves. Regulus glares at him, too, for good measure.

A week later, Regulus is in the garden. The hydrangeas will be blooming soon, and the agapanthuses are thriving, dewy white and midnight blue petals swaying gently in the warm air.

“Nice lilies,” Sirius remarks. Regulus startles and turns to face him, clasping his hands in front of him.

“Not lilies. Agapanthus. Sometimes called an African Lily.”

“So it is a lily.”

“Well, no, because—” Regulus pauses. Why was he talking about this, to Sirius, of all people? “Did you need something?”

“Yes, I just wanted to…” Sirius trailed off. Regulus watched as he looked at the flowers, then at the walls of the courtyard, finally raising his eyes to the sky. “Lovely weather we’re having. Unseasonably cool, y’know.”

Regulus raised an eyebrow. Sirius kept talking. “Good for picnics. Beach days. Coronations. That sort.”

He didn’t have time for this. “I don’t care Sirius. Is that what you came to find me for? This is a waste of my time.”

“Oh, and admiring the flowers isn’t? What, you sit here and you go ‘hm, these would look lovely in a vase by the window. The blue will match my carpet.’ Grow up, Reggie, do you really—” Sirius scrubbed a hand over his face. “That isn’t what I came for. I found you to say…” he trailed off and mumbled something to his feet.

“What was that?”

“Sorry. I’m sorry for what I said to you.” He started twisting gravel under his toe. “The other day. Y’know.”

Regulus stared at him and didn’t say anything. In all honesty, he was amazed. Sirius didn’t apologise. Not to their parents, not to the courtiers, and rarely to Regulus. 

He was going to eek this out as long as possible. Sirius was already squirming in the silence.

“I just–” He huffed, and threw himself into a bench nearby, kicking his legs out in a very ungraceful manner. Mother would be turning in her grave. “You were right. I can’t do it. And I think– I mean, I would appreciate– actually, really—”

“Spit it out,” Regulus sighed.

“Help. I would like–” Sirius coughed. “I don’t know what to do.” He looked up at Regulus, meeting his eyes for the first time since his apology. “And you’ve always been better at it. This, I mean. It comes naturally, for you. I don’t,” he grimaced, “I don’t get it. I don’t like it. I wasn’t– I don’t think I was meant for this. I don’t want it anymore.”

Regulus was stunned into silence. He stared at Sirius, and then decided he needed clarification. “You don’t want to be king.”

He’d meant to phrase it as a question.

Sirius shook his head and said in a very small voice, “No. I don’t want to be king.”

There was another pause, and Sirius seemed to be expecting Regulus to say something. When no words were forthcoming, he spoke again. “I’m going to abdicate. Tomorrow.”

Regulus flicked his eyebrows up. “Just like that? Don’t be rash, Sirius, have you…” He thought carefully about his next words. Sirius had apologised, asked for help, and then admitted defeat. He was vulnerable. Regulus didn’t want to break him, it looked like he was close enough to that already.

All he could come up with was a lame “Are you sure?”

Sirius turned to him, irritated. “Of course I’m sure. Isn’t this what you wanted? Break me down and take the crown for yourself. Well, there you go.” He stood up, not looking at Regulus, bitterness seeping into his voice. “I’ve failed. You’re king now. Congratulations, Reggie.” 

“No, I…” Regulus started, but couldn’t come up with anything to say. Sirius had never given up on anything before. Regulus hadn’t…he was only trying to help. He had only been giving Sirius suggestions. It wasn’t…

Sirius looked down at him now and scoffed, features twisting before he turned to walk away. 

“You didn’t fail,” Regulus said quietly to his retreating back. He paused, but didn’t turn around. Regulus thought he heard him all the same.

***

The coronation was a grand affair. Regulus was given the same green robes and the same silver circlet that Sirius had been given. He stood before the people– his people– and gave them a speech about honour and bravery and leadership. He smiled uncomfortably through the parade to the palace and tried to hide a grimace at the fineries set up for the ball. Oh God, how he hated balls. 

Sirius introduced him to the captain of the guard. Already, he looked lighter, happier, healthier. Throwing his arm heartily around a man about their age with wild black hair and circular glasses he announced, “May I present your Captain of the Guard, James Potter!”

The captain turned to Regulus and flashed him a beaming grin. He was pretty, disarmingly so, and Regulus felt his stomach do a funny sort of flop. He ignored it, and instead chose to scrutinise the captain.

Unfortunately, all his mind seemed to be able to focus on were the dimples and the warm brown eyes. Eyes that looked far too kind to come from a life at court.

“The glasses must be a liability, Captain,” he found himself saying.

The captain only grinned broader. With a wink he said, “Call me James, your majesty. I’m the best at what I do. Nothing’s a liability for me.” With that, he bowed— a sweeping, elegant gesture that Regulus was embarrassed to admit left him fighting a blush. God, what was wrong with him. And, ugh, the man was arrogant, too.

Regulus used his trusty silent stare until the captain’s smile slipped, and then he turned on his heel to find something else to do.

He was not running away, that was a baseless and frankly insulting accusation, he told the little voice at the back of his mind.

He ran into Barty and Evan on his way out of the hall, bickering over something or another. Barty’s face lit up when he saw him and suddenly Regulus found himself swept under an arm, Evan throwing another over his shoulder to prevent any escape. Damn.

“Going somewhere, sweetums?” Barty sang, as he and Evan marched Regulus towards the staircase that led to his rooms. “We haven’t even picked you an outfit yet! Only the best for our youngest, handsomest king.”

Evan snorted and Regulus fought the urge to trip them. 

On second thoughts, they deserved a tripping.

Barty shoved Regulus through the door to his own rooms, straight into his manservant. Kreacher caught him with those bony fingers and Regulus tried not to wince as he felt unpleasantly sharp nails dig into his arm.

“I have laid out your best suits, my lord. In the royal green, of course. I am very pleased to see you crowned.”

Regulus righted himself and gave him a nod. “Thank you, Kreacher. That is kind of you. I will dress myself.”

Kreacher inclined his head. “Very well, my lord.”

Barty pushed him out the door. “Out you go, you old bastard,” he said, and slammed it.

Regulus glared at him. “Open the door and apologise.”

Barty laughed and looked to Evan. Evan only raised an eyebrow and gestured to the door. “It was uncalled for, Bat.”

Barty tried to stare them down. He crossed his arms and widened his stance. Regulus could only send a dark look in his direction and turn his back. There were lines that he expected his friends not to cross. 

He strode into the bedroom purposefully, already irritated and wanting everybody out of his space. Behind him, he heard Evan muttering, and Barty hiss something back. There was a dull thwack and more indignant hissing from Barty.

A pause, and Regulus heard Barty open the door and mumble an apology in the vague direction of Kreacher’s back. “Only because you’re king, your majesty,” he said as he shut the door again.

Regulus nodded at him, and turned to look at the clothes laid out for him. They were all rich, forest greens made of soft silk. Oh, but how he wanted to curl up in bed and avoid any and all duties. Just for the evening.

“I’m having a shower,” he announced. “Evan, you pick an outfit. I don’t trust Barty’s judgement.”

Evan snorted. “Neither do I, frankly. Use the good cologne I gave you for your birthday.” 

Barty looked wounded. “I thought you only gave me cologne!”

Regulus could hear them continue as he closed the bathroom door behind him.

“I gave everybody the same cologne. I’m trying to see who it smells better on.”

“Evan, you saucy minx, the label says it’s the ‘sexiest thing you’ll ever wear.’ We all know I have no competition.”

“I think Regulus wears it best, actually.”

There was a thump from beyond the door and Regulus sighed, turning the shower on. Maybe if he just never left somebody else could entertain all these guests and he wouldn’t have to sit in that ridiculous chair at the top of the table.

Who was he kidding, Barty would jump at an opportunity to break down that door and drag him down the stairs naked if he had to. Regulus would never live down the humiliation.

In the end, the coronation ball was as dull as he had expected it to be. The neighbouring kingdoms came to pay their respects: a young Queen Pandora from the west and an equally young Princess Lily from the north. Regulus had grown up with them at diplomatic occasions and actually rather liked them. Pandora used to sneak out with him to hide in the library and Lily had always struck him as a bit of a snob, but when he’d caught her crying after being shouted at by her older sister she had set her shoulders back and looked him dead in the eye, tear streaked face and all. Regulus respected that, and gave her his handkerchief before he left her alone.

He saw Lord Snape eyeing her up at one point and swept in to offer her a dance before he could convince himself otherwise. Sirius gave him a thumbs up from across the room and Regulus ignored him. He would have had to dance with her eventually, for etiquette’s sake. Might as well get it over with.

She gave him a smile, small but genuine. “Thank you, your majesty. Lord Snape has already bruised my toes twice this evening.”

Startled at her honesty, Regulus huffed a laugh. “It’s my pleasure, your highness. I wouldn’t wish that on anybody.”

He started to swing her around the ballroom, her long red hair spinning along behind her. “I’m admiring your dress,” he found himself saying.

“Are you?!” she exclaimed, a flash of a grin. “It’s silk chiffon, from your own kingdom, actually. There’s a tear down the shoulder I had to mend myself.”

Regulus raised his eyebrows and lifted her gently. “You mend your own dresses?” he asked as he placed her down again. “I believe we have people to do that for us.”

Lily shrugged and pulled away from him in a twirl, unapologetic. They stayed silent the rest of the dance before she leant in close towards the end, speaking rapidly into his ear.

“I must warn you that my elder sister is looking for a match for me, and has been eyeing you up all evening. I have no intentions to marry. I don’t care what she offers you, or what you offer her, there will be no marriage between our kingdoms. Do I make myself clear?” 

Regulus inclined his head and smiled a genuine smile at her. She was far too trusting to be telling him this much information about herself and her kingdom’s intentions, but he appreciated the transparency. “Quite clear, your highness. I shall fend off any passive aggressive remarks with pleasure.”

She curtsied with a wink and sank back into the crowd.

Regulus turned towards the doors, hoping to escape before anybody could catch sight of him. He was walking quickly, expertly maneuvering through the crowds, the same technique he’d been employing since he was 6 years old and chasing a giggling Siruis after they’d set fire to Bellatrix’s gown. 

Oh yeah, this was his thing. Nobody was as good at slipping out unnoticed as him. Nearly there, now, only a few—

The captain from earlier smoothly fell into step beside him just before the doors. He held out a flute of champagne. “Going somewhere, your majesty?”

“Yes.” Regulus gritted his teeth. “The washroom.” Why couldn’t anybody in this damned castle leave him alone? He’d made his speeches and danced his dances, was he not allowed to skulk off now?

“I’ll accompany you!” the captain exclaimed, far too delighted by the prospect of joining Regulus on his trip to the toilet. 

“Will you.” 

The captain was unfazed by the chilly tone. “Oh yes, you know, most assassinations happen the night of the coronation.” 

Regulus turned to him, astonished, but the captain just continued on, blissfully unaware. He was smiling to himself, that horrible, smarmy, gleaming thing that made Regulus want to gouge his eyes out.

“But don’t you worry,” the captain said and leaned in conspiratorially. Regulus tried to ignore the sharp squeeze in his chest at the sudden closeness. He smelled inexplicably like summer.

Regulus wanted to smack himself for having such a sentimental thought.

“You’ll be safe with me,” the captain said. Then, to Regulus’ unending mortification, the captain winked, and his heart gave an embarrassing flutter in response. 

Good God, he needed to get a grip.

He stopped, and turned to the captain with a cool stare. “What was your name again?” he asked, lifting his chin slightly. The captain was taller than him, but Regulus firmly believed that height was a mindset, and right now he was a giant. The only other option was looking up into the captain’s face and those distracting brown eyes, feeling small and fragile and picked apart under that gaze. 

This was not an option.

“James,” the captain said, “James Potter. We met earlier, I’ve known your brother for years.”

“Well, Captain Potter,” Regulus continued in the same disinterested voice. “I am not a damsel in distress, and I can look after myself perfectly fine if somebody attempts to stab me with my cock out.” Oh god, oh god, why did he say that? Now he’s thinking about cocks and, huh, maybe it’s proportional to James’ height, wouldn’t that be thrilling. 

Regulus put his shoulders back and turned away, a clear dismissal. “Have a good evening, Captain,” he said, forcing all the coldness he could muster into his voice. 

He could feel the captain’s eyes burning a hole through his back as he closed the door behind him.

After that, things got a little fuzzy. The captain was stubbornly waiting outside in the hallway when Regulus reemerged, so he downed the glass of champagne in a fit of frustration. The captain let out a little whoop, making some remark about letting loose, but Regulus wasn’t listening.

When they reentered the hall, he made a beeline for Evan and Barty, vaguely registering Sirius coming up and throwing an arm over the captain’s shoulder to peel him away for some drinking game or another.

Barty was very drunk, and halfway onto Queen Pandora’s lap. As Regulus got closer, he heard Barty challenging her to an arm wrestle, to which she jumped up gleefully and hitched up her sleeves. Barty startled sideways onto Evan, who shoved him with a little more force than necessary to get him upright again.

Regulus plucked the champagne glasses out of Barty and Evan’s hands and downed them one after the other. If he wasn’t going to be allowed to leave, he might as well get drunk enough to relax.

He threw himself into the chair next to Evan, who turned to him with raised eyebrows. His top buttons were undone, and he looked quite tipsy himself.

Barty and Evan, of course, had been drinking since before the ceremony. They always did. Evan, as usual, held his alcohol much better than Barty.

“What’s got you in a mood, Oh Great King of Mine?” Evan said, leaning back precariously in his chair.

Regulus scowled. “Stupid bloody handsome guard. I’ll have to fire him.”

“Oh, that Potter bloke?” 

Regulus looked at him, surprised. “You know him?”

“Eh, know of him. Top of the heap back in training. Poncy arsehole, but he’s good at what he does. Gives him an ego bigger than your cousin’s fucking skirts.” Evan waved towards the other end of the ballroom where Bellatrix was, indeed, taking up twice the space with her impractically layered skirts.

Barty and Evan were both technically qualified guards, Evan at his father’s request and Barty for some unknown reason that Regulus suspected had to do with the way he followed Evan around like a lost puppy most days.

He looked back at Evan and took in the way he was watching Barty and Pandora with a sour expression. Pandora had evidently won the arm wrestle and had jumped in the air with a whoop. Barty was kissing her knuckles and asking for a “Dance, my lady, to smooth this hurt?”

She gave him a sly smile and her eyes cut to Evan. She leaned into Barty. “I’d only trip over you. We all know my cousin’s the better dancer.”

Barty turned to Evan with a flourish and bowed. “A dance, my sweet, sweet lady, before you are snatched up by another strapping young man? None quite as strapping as I, of course, but I am humble enough to admit that there is beauty in this room–” he made a drunken hand gesture towards Evan, nearly smacking Regulus across the face, “--that far outshines my own. What say you?”

Evan, despite himself, was laughing, and allowed Barty to pull him to his feet. Regulus watched as the two twirled very fast and very out of time onto the ballroom floor, knocking over three waiters and an older courtier as they went. They seemed to be competing as to who got to lead.

“They’ll be in to see Lady Dorcas before the end of the night,” Pandora said as she sat, gracefully, into Evan’s chair.

Regulus snorted. “They put that poor woman through hell with the amount of stitches she’s given them.”

There was a comfortable silence as Pandora grabbed two more glasses off of a passing tray. This is why Regulus liked her. She was comfortable in her own skin, and happy to leave him to his thoughts. 

He’d heard whispers around the court that she was mad as a hatter and unfit to run a country, but the western borders never reported any conflict, and their trade was booming. Pandora’s people loved her, and she was celebrated as a successful, modern queen. Regulus didn’t mind if she was a little odd from time to time. It was refreshing amongst a court of pretenses.

Plus, they swapped books every month and Regulus enjoyed reading her annotations.

“A toast,” Pandora announced as she handed Regulus a glass, “to the youngest king yet. May you have a happy reign and be a fair ruler, and may the gods give you their warmest welcome.  And,” she leaned in close with the same sly smile she’d given to Barty earlier, “may you find love within arm’s reach.” 

Regulus only grinned at her, and tipped his glass back. He stood up and held out his hand, an invitation to the ballroom floor. “Shall we, Majesty?”

She smiled, and stood up elegantly. “We shall, my friend.”

***

For some reason, Regulus wakes up with Barty in his bed. There’s a terrible knocking on the door and then Evan sweeps in, irritatingly bubbly.

“Rise and shine, your majesty!” he announces, and pulls the curtains open. Regulus thinks that Evan takes too much gleeful joy in this, and vows to kill him for it. Eventually. 

He tries to tell him as much, but all that comes out is “Nngh. Light.” 

Evan only laughs. “Hey, have you seen Barty? I haven’t–” he turns, and stops talking when he spots Barty in the bed. Internally, Regulus groans. He want absolutely no part of this back-and-forth bullshit they insist on and wishes they would just get their acts together and leave him out of it.

“I don’t know how he got here. Please, get him away from me.” Regulus makes some attempt to untangle himself from his sheets, but gives up and just rolls sideways. He hits the floor with a thump and a pitiful ‘ow’ as his head gives a throbbing protest.

Barty grumbles, “I just wanted a hug and Evan was still dancing. Don’t be mean to me.” Or, that’s what Regulus thinks he says. Barty hasn’t bothered taking his head out of the duvet.

“I’m the king, you have to do what I say. Get out of my bed, peasant.”

Evan hauls him to his feet with a scowl and mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “you could have just asked for one, dick,” as he pulls Barty out of the room.

Ah, blissful silence, Regulus thinks to himself. The floor isn’t too bad, now that he’s lying here. He could go back to sleep, really.

“Good morning, your majesty,” comes the voice of Kreacher from the doorway. “Would you like help off of the floor?”

Regulus holds in his groan and, with great dignity, pulls himself to his feet using the bedpost. “Do you have my clothes for the day, Kreacher?”

He nods, and scuttles into the wardrobe, returning with a comfortable looking shirt and trousers. 

“That will do, Kreacher. Is there breakfast?”

Kreacher nods. “There is, majesty, the tea is just wet.”

Regulus stretches, and offers him a smile. “Thank you, Kreacher. You’re dismissed.”

“Very well, your majesty,” he says, and shuffles out, closing the door with a click behind him. 

With a sigh, Regulus begins to get dressed very slowly, absorbing the morning sunlight streaming in through the windows. It would be a lovely day for a stroll, he thinks wistfully. Unfortunately, there’s some sort of meeting today and paperwork to be signed. 

For the first time in a long time, Regulus feels peaceful. He remembers the way Sirius looked last night, shoulders relaxed and head thrown back in a laugh. He had been flirting with one of Princess Lily’s ladies in waiting and jumping around the ballroom floor as if his life depended on it. Already, the bags under his eyes were fading, and he had looked looser, as if removing the crown from his head had lifted him of a horrible weight.

Regulus would sit through another thousand coronations and excruciating balls if it meant Sirius continued to look like that.

There was a knock on his door and Regulus turned his head suspiciously. “Who is it?” he called, and then winced. The tea was easing his headache, but not by much.

“Your charming captain of the guard!” A bright voice said from the other side of the door.

Regulus fought the urge to bang his head against the table. That would only make the headache worse. “Piss off, Captain. Go run drills or some sort.”

“Unfortunately,” and oh, horror, he was coming in, “there are no drills to run! All of my minions are in tip-top condition. In fact–” the captain seemed to falter when he caught sight of Regulus. He hadn’t bothered getting dressed properly, and the soft silk shirt fell unbuttoned around his shoulders.

Regulus stared him down. Not everybody got to look like the sun had chosen a favourite. Some people happened to match the white drapes in the drawing room. Potter was going to have to deal with it. 

Eventually, he seemed to recover, “in fact– I, uh, I just… this is a list of your council. There’s a meeting,” he coughed, and refused to meet Regulus’ eyes, and– was he blushing? Oh god, he was blushing. “There’s a meeting at the hour. Good day.”

And then he was gone, door slamming behind him. Regulus contemplated the door handle for a moment, thinking of how well that red colour had suited his cheeks. He caught himself and made a disgusted sound. 

Poncy, arrogant arsehole. There was nothing attractive about poncy, arrogant arseholes.

He buttoned up his shirt, observing just how pale the black material made him seem, and shook his head. He had things to do, people to intimidate. A kingdom to rule.

***

The next few months run smoothly. Regulus is efficient where Sirius was not, and finds his feet quickly. In fact, he rather thinks this crown business suits him. He receives insolence initially, from the predictable, horribly old fashioned courtiers like Avery and Mulciber, but Regulus cuts them down so ruthlessly they leave court to vacation in the sunny south. Malfoy and Lestrange play drab sycophants until Barty very rudely insults them to their face and Regulus only shrugs. 

After that, they keep to their own, in favour of putting heads together and casting Regulus dirty looks. It suits him fine.

In less joyful news, Potter has taken to him, apparently, like a duck to water. No matter how many cutting remarks, death glares, or outright hostility Regulus throws at him, the man insists on accompanying him on his frequent strolls.

“Wanders,” Sirius snorts when Regulus comes back to his rooms after one such walk. “You can’t call them walks. You’re barely moving, head in the clouds.”

Regulus sniffs indignantly. “It helps me think kingly thoughts.”

At this, Sirius laughs out loud. “Don’t make stupid jokes, Reggie–”

“Regulus.”

“--we both know you think kingly thoughts anyway.” 

Regulus is taken aback, and startles as Potter pats his shoulder. “It’s true,” he tells him, before settling into Regulus’ favourite chair. He bloody well knows it too, if the smirk is anything to go by.

“You’re not too shabby at this whole business.” Sirius gives him a half sort of smile, before jumping up and clapping his hands together. “And it suits me a treat! Money, women, and parties for days!”

Regulus snorts. “Women?” he asks with a pointed look.

Sirius only pats his chest as he moves towards the door. “Takes one to know one, Reggie, my boy.”

Drily, Regulus says, “Don’t speak to your king that way. I’ll have you executed.”

Sirius only blows him a kiss on the way out.

It’s nice. It’s rare, these moments of camaraderie, but it’s nice all the same. Something in Regulus’ chest always eases when he sees Sirius cracking jokes and running around like a lunatic with his ‘pranks.’ They spent so many years stifled by this castle, Regulus likes to think he’s turning it around. A place where Sirius can breathe.

Potter hasn’t moved from the armchair. Instead, he’s gazing out the window. “You have a lovely view of the gardens.”

Despite himself, Regulus moves beside him to look out the window. “Yes,” he says, and then finds himself with the urge to say more. “It’s why I chose this room. I can watch over my plants.”

He can feel Potter turn to look at him, that stupid beaming smile on his face again. “My mum does the same thing. Spends hours talking to her garden. I think she’s named all the vegetables.”

“That’s a stupid thing to do.” 

Potter falls silent, and Regulus finds himself awkwardly adding, “I read somewhere that it helps them grow, though.” He hadn’t meant to insult Potter’s mother.

“That’s what she says!” Potter sounds so ridiculously delighted by this that Regulus finds himself huffing a quiet chuckle. He turns to Potter to make some cynical remark about sentimentality, but instead finds him already looking back. He has this soft smile on his face and the light is pouring into his eyes, turning them into molten brown depths that Regulus is worried he’ll get lost in. Potter is just looking at him, and looking at him, and oh god is Regulus blushing? No, oh, no, the mortification. 

He turns to the window, trying to ignore the burning heat in his ears.

“I like your walks.” Potter says, unprompted. “I never knew the castle had so much life around it. All those trees.”

Regulus turned to him again, surprised. Potter spent most of their walks muttering angrily about rocks in his shoes and how wonderful it would feel to see people again. Regulus almost always snapped at him, telling him to ‘fuck back off to the city if you love it so much then,’ but Potter would only scowl at him and make a ludicrous declaration about how he was solely responsible for Regulus’ safety.

There were always another 5 guards following them from a polite distance of 10 metres. Potter, it seemed, was a worrywart.

“I’m sorry for complaining. Thank you for taking me with you.”

“You don’t really give me a choice.” Regulus raises his eyebrow.

James winces slightly. “I’m sorry about that, too. You just– you have to be okay. You go off and disappear into the woods at twilight, and anything could happen. You still have so much to do. I can’t let anything happen to you.”

Regulus sighed internally. “Nothing’s going to happen to me, James.” Oh, bugger it, he wanted to kick himself for the slip. He wasn’t James, he was Captain Potter. “But I suppose you can keep coming along. Only,” he held up a finger to shut Potter up before he started, “only if you can keep up intelligent conversation.”

Potter nodded seriously. “I’m very intelligent.”

Oh, good lord, Regulus hoped he was joking.

“How about you take these,” Regulus picked up three books from his nightstand, “read them, and then tell me what you think.”

Unfortunately, James looked like Christmas had come early. “Really?” he asked.

Regulus just looked at him. “No, James, I’m offering you these books as a joke and I wish you would get out of my rooms.” He was horrified to find himself being sarcastic. Didn’t he want James out? What was wrong with him?

Even worse, James took him seriously. “Right, yes, sorry about that. Overstaying my welcome. Again.” He chuckled awkwardly. “Well. I’ll see you for dinner.”

“James,” Regulus sighed and walked over, pushing the books into his hands. “You have twigs in your hair.”

James positively blinded him with the next smile, and bounded out of Regulus’ rooms like some sort of cracked up deer.

Oh god, oh god, what was he doing? One comparison to his mother and two apologies and Regulus was handing him his favourite books? He wasn’t even totally sure James could read, to be honest. 

Maybe he’d tear them and Regulus would have a decent excuse to banish him on a whim. ‘Fit of passion,’ he’d say to Sirius with a shrug, and leave him to grumble about ‘sending away my one and only true friend.’ That would be nice. Serve them both right. Two birds with one stone, as the saying goes.

Regulus was staring absentmindedly into his empty fireplace when the door knocked again. “Who is it?” he asked, suspiciously.

Evan poked his head around the door. “Don’t sound so suspicious. Who else would be knocking on your door? You’re not exactly a hoot to hang out with.” He dropped gracefully into the other armchair.

Regulus scowled at him. “I will throw you in the dungeons.”

“Uh-huh. And did I just pass James Potter carrying your books as if they were a gift from God?”

Regulus sniffed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Evan only grinned at him, that slow and lazy smirk that screamed ‘I know something you don’t.’ The women at court swooned whenever he pulled it out. It was not good news that he was using it now.

“Where’s Barty?” Regulus asked, changing the subject. Evan made a face, allowing it, but let his gaze linger on Regulus for a beat to let him know that they weren’t done talking about this.

“Out.”

It was Regulus’ turn to scrutinise. “Out where?”

“Fuck if I know. I don’t care,” Evan snapped. Regulus raised an eyebrow. 

“You don’t?”

“No. Of course not. Why would I?” Evan turned to stare out the window, rather childishly, in Regulus’ opinion.

He let a moment go by before he spoke again. “Just say something to him, Evan. I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

“Mm,” Evan looked back with that horrible grin. “Wouldn’t be anything like the way Potter looks at you, now, would it?”

Regulus threw a shoe at him when he laughed. 

He would never admit it on pain of death, but he liked when people laughed in his rooms. It seemed to him that it settled into the curtains and the rugs and hummed back out at him on particularly quiet nights. Regulus could remember a time when nobody ever laughed in this castle, and he liked bringing that with him to the throne. Laughter, joy, a happy people. A nice place to rule over.

Because, that was the point of it all, wasn’t it? You wanted a people to rule over, and you wanted the best for them, so you wanted them to be happy. Everybody had seemed to unhappy before, under his parents’ rule, and something in Regulus’ spine stood straight with pride knowing he was making something of himself. Doing something his parents couldn’t do, something Sirius couldn’t do. 

Ruling well.

And it was good to see Evan laugh. There was a while there where Regulus was afraid he’d forgotten how to. Barty had made it his personal mission to remind Evan what it sounded like, and had never quite stopped after that. Sometimes Regulus caught Barty gazing at Evan as he threw his head back, unable to hide that wonder from his eyes.

The two of them were ridiculous. He wanted to smack them.

“Oh, right.” Evan startled from his chair. “I came here for a reason. Mucliber and Avery are back from the south. I heard them muttering to Lucius and Rodolphus about a ‘dark stranger they met on the road.’” He snorted. “Verbatim, that’s what they said. Unbelievably up their own arses. I can’t stand it.”

Regulus huffed. “Well, we can’t be that surprised, now. Brains small enough to fit up there.”

“Wise words, majesty. Either way,” he looked to Regulus, eyes serious. “I heard them planning something. I know you think yourself above it, but just.” Evan closed his mouth and looked away, shifting uncomfortably on his seat. “Be careful, Reg. Don’t underestimate them.”

Regulus rolled his eyes. “Of course, mother dear, I’ll look after myself perfectly fine, thank you.”

Evan shot him a glare before going to the door. He paused with his hand on the handle. “I don’t like him very much, but Potter does seem to be devoted. You deserve to live a little.”

“Pot, kettle. Tell Barty you’ve loved him since you were twelve years old and then we’ll talk.”

Evan poked his head around the door and wagged his finger at Regulus. “I was very drunk, and prone to telling lies. You may never speak of it again.” Regulus only winked at him.

He wouldn’t tell, of course. He was not the meddling kind. That had always been Sirius’ bad habit. Still, this back and forth was going to drive him to an early grave. He was not meant to mediate these things. They needed to sort this fucking thing out and gift him some expensive shirts as a thank you for listening to them all these years.

And Evan was telling lies. Regulus had absolutely zero interest in Captain James Potter. That was ridiculous.

Chapter Text

Mulciber and Avery made themselves known at the next council meeting. 

It started well, as it always did. Regulus had been slowly handpicking his inner circle, surrounding himself with people he could trust. He was no fool. He could write a comprehensive list of the people attending this meeting who wouldn’t mind him popping his clogs early.

He’d kept on Sirius’ advisor, a man called Pettigrew. He’d seemed bumbling and clumsy at first, but Regulus quickly realised that those sharp eyes of his missed nothing. He found Pettigrew to be an accurate judge of character. Most times. The fact that he was willingly friends with Sirius was a poor oversight on his part.

Pettigrew came early to this meeting, striding in with a quick step. “Terribly sorry to disturb, your majesty, I’ve overheard some things I wish to discuss with you before the council.”

Regulus looked up from his papers. “Go on.”

“I was invited out for drinks, your majesty, with the old boys, you know, Malfoy and Rodolphus, and Avery and Mulciber. It got rather rowdy, and as the topic turned to their travels they said something very interesting, that I think you should hear, majesty. They said, well, the gist was that they’d met this man on their way back, they called him a travelling mercenary, and they made some crude joke about killing the king, that would be yourself, and they said one more thing about the man coming back with them. Mulciber said he was rooming him himself, a pallet on the floor or some such, and then he did this odd little rubbing gesture with his hands and said that they were cooking something. You know me, your majesty, and I gave him one of those stupid little smiles and asked about a crockpot and he smacked me around the head, which rather hurt actually, and told me—” Here, Pettigrew lowered his voice into an incredibly accurate mimic of Mulciber’s voice, “‘no, you fool, a plan, for that wretch of a thing on the throne,’ Which, I’m sure you know I would have leapt to your defense but I really don’t think it would have suited present company at the time, and—”

“Thank you, Pettigrew, I understand. Was that all?” Regulus interrupted.

Pettigrew nodded quickly and scampered up to the table, dropping into his usual chair to the left. “I believe so, your majesty, apart from the usual documents I have here, tax forms and the like. Just a warning, I suppose. Something about him seems like real danger to me. Of course, I haven’t met him, the stranger that is, but Mulicber too would fall into that category, I suppose, that of being a danger. Still, there was just something about the way he spoke about this man, I can’t put my finger on it, majesty, but you know me and intuition, my mother always said trust your gut and what my gut is saying is—”

James leant forward from where he’d been slouching behind Regulus’ throne. Frankly, Regulus had forgotten he was there and tried to hide his startle when James spoke. “Can you write up a report of that for me, Peter? I want to have a look into this mercenary. See if I can get a background on him.”

“Of course, not a bother, Captain. I’ll drop it in this evening. After dinner, probably, but I’ll do my best to get it there before. Always easier to read on a full stomach.”

James gave him a gleaming smile and leant back, somehow blending into the shadows behind Regulus’ throne again. Nonetheless, Regulus was painfully aware of his presence now, and the faint scent of coriander drifting towards him. He wondered if James had been helping in the kitchens. He’d been known to do that, and Regulus would reluctantly admit that his meals were some of the best he’d ever had. The man was irritatingly talented at everything, it seemed.

Just then, the doors opened with a bang and Sirius strolled in, hands in his pockets and shirt half unbuttoned. How he could walk around the castle, in polite company, with such open arrogance dumbfounded Regulus. “Button your shirt, Sirius, this is a council meeting, not a brothel.”

Loudly clattering himself into a chair, Sirius raised his eyebrows. “Oh, brother dear, you overestimate me. It seems you’ve never been to a brothel in your life. I’ll pencil it into your schedule, some bonding time, you and me.”

“You’re disgusting.” Regulus glared daggers at him as he put his boots up on the table. Admittedly, they were a nice pair of boots, but Regulus would rather not have them scuffing his table, thank you very much. “Feet, Sirius.”

“Yes, Sirius,” a new voice called from the doors as Lucius and Narcissa entered. With a smug flick of his hair Lucius took his seat across from Sirius. “Feet off the table. I thought you were raised better than that. But, well,” with a dramatic sigh he gestured to Regulus, “what works on one brother obviously failed with the other.”

Narcissa locked eyes with Regulus and managed to communicate an entire range of emotions, mainly exasperation, in less than a second. She had always been good at that. Telling you exactly what she meant without a word.

Regulus broke in just as Sirius started rising to the bait. Quite literally, too, he was getting up out of his chair when Regulus spoke. “Enough Lucius. Is Rodolphus on his way?”

Lucius’ ridiculous hair fell into his face as he inclined his head.

Finally, once most of the council had trickled in, Snape followed by Rodolphus and Avery, Evan dragging Barty along by the sleeve, a sharp blonde woman named Marlene running in just before the clock rang the hour, Regulus eyed the empty chair left out for Mulciber. “If he won’t deign to grace us with his presence, we’ll begin. Lord Snape, you had some issues you wanted to raise, I believe?”

“Yes, your majesty, that redhead woman’s armies are encroaching on my fields to the north. I fear a scuffle.”

Regulus fought the urge to sigh. “We treat royalty with their respective titles, Lord Snape. It would do you well to remember. Now, what was your issue?”

Pulling himself up to full height, Snape declared, “My fields to the north are being stolen by the northern Princess, majesty.” He only stumbled over the word ‘princess’ briefly. Regulus was impressed.

“Really. A neighbouring princess is stealing your fields? Of corn?”

To be fair to him, Snape didn’t cower from the sarcasm. He met Regulus’ gaze unflinchingly. “Perhaps I have misjudged, your majesty.”

“Mm, perhaps. Princess Lily is visiting in a week to discuss trade, we may ask her then.”

Mumbling, Snape said, “Very good, majesty.”

“And, I believe it would do you well to—”

The doors banged open, in much the same fashion that Sirius had abused them earlier. Already speaking, Mulciber strolled leisurely in. “...for my lateness, but you understand, majesty, that there are more—”

Sparing Mulciber the briefest of glances, Regulus raised his voice and continued speaking over him. “It would do you well, Lord Snape, to avoid baseless accusations against royalty. I do not care what sort of personal history you hold with the princess, keep it out of my council. I expect professionalism. And you, Lord Mulciber.” With this Regulus fixed his gaze on Mulciber, who had stopped speaking and was now pulling out his seat. “Do not sit down.”

There was silence as Mulciber paused with his hand on the back of the chair. With a chuckle, he raised his chin to Regulus, amused. “And whyever not?”

Regulus let the silence drag. Sirius had leaned back in his chair and looked very much like he was having the best show of his life. Lucius, Avery and Rodolphus were staring at the table uncomfortably. Regulus figured they would, weak little men hoping to go unnoticed.

“You will address me as ‘your majesty.’”

Mulciber nodded, but stayed silent.

Regulus raised his eyebrows. 

Through gritted teeth, Mulciber spoke again. “Your majesty. Why may I not sit?”

With a bland smile, Regulus rose from his seat, letting the chair legs screech around the echoey hall. There wasn’t any need, really, but he was fond of the dramatics. Barty’s shoulders were shaking in silent laughter now, and Marlene had crossed one leg over the other, a vicious little smirk on her face.

“Because lateness does not go unpunished in this council, Lord Mulciber. I expect each and every one of you to arrive entirely prepared and devoted to our meetings. I do not tolerate tardiness, or speaking out of turn. You’ve made quite a habit of this, no?”

Mulciber didn’t say anything.

Cocking his head, Regulus turned to Pettigrew. “Lord Pettigrew, if you will read out the notes I’ve asked you to keep.”

“Certainly, your majesty, I will just find it in the…ah, yes, here we are.” He cleared his throat. “Lord Mulciber has skipped twenty-three council meetings, and arrived late to two more. He has spoken out of turn eight times and threatened other council members twice. Shall I continue?”

Regulus appreciated the discretion. The rest of the notes on Mulciber contained…incriminating information that Regulus had no need of. Yet. “Thank you, Lord Pettigrew, that will be all for now.”

Mulciber himself had his mouth open, and there were blotches of red creeping up his neck. “You cannot be serious, I missed those meetings because I was away, as you well knew.”

Regulus held up a finger. “Add a tally to the speaking out of turn section, Lord Pettigrew. Actually, add two. What did I say about using the correct titles, Lord Mulciber?”

Mulciber slammed his chair into the table and leaned towards Regulus at the other end. “I’ve had enough of this. Who are you to push me around, boy? You’d do well to remember your place in this castle.” A wad of spit flew onto the table in front of him, Narcissa wrinkled her nose and leaned back. Barty was desperately trying to hold in his laughter and looked nearly constipated with how red his face was. “I was travelling, which you are well aware of. How dare you hold that against me?” 

“Another tally, Lord Pettigrew,” Regulus said pleasantly. Then his face darkened and he fixed Mulciber with a sharp stare. “Let me make something abundantly clear to you, Mulciber. I am your king. I own you.” He paused a moment. “As for the specificity of your travels, you never came to me to announce your intentions. Hence, officially absent from the meetings.”

“This is ridiculous,” Mulciber huffed, and pulled out his chair.

“Do not take that seat.” Regulus had raised his voice just enough, hit the sweet spot where it seemed to bounce off the walls and make the table vibrate slightly. Personally, he believed there was a problem with the acoustics in this room. “You are no longer a member of this council. I will appoint a courtier to fill your place in the coming week. You may provide suggestions if you wish, but frankly, I don’t care. And,” Regulus looked at Avery for a moment before turning back to Mulciber. “I do not take threats against my life lightly. Get out of my hall.”

There was silence as Mulciber rose and went to the door. He looked back at Regulus for a moment before closing it behind him.

Regulus let his council stew in their discomfort for a moment. Avery looked as if he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. Evan was patting a choking Barty on the back while Marlene looked as if Christmas had come early. Lucius was nervously curling a strand of hair around his finger. Regulus wouldn’t be surprised if he started chewing on it like an anxious child next.

“Lady Marlene, if you would proceed with a report of your crop yieldings.”

“Of course, your majesty. We actually have quite a surplus this year, with…”

***

Barty looked positively delighted as he bounded up to Regulus, Evan in tow. There was something off, Regulus noticed, something in the way Evan had shifted his shoulders away from Barty. 

Absolutely, one hundred percent, not his problem. He was not getting involved. Evan could sulk and scowl as much as he wanted.

Barty, it seemed, was unaware. “Reggie-kins! Oh, my divine majesty!” He leapt up into the air with some sort of heel click, “Ha-ha! Oh, Reg, that was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen. Good fucking god above I nearly wet myself. Ha! Did you see his face?” He whirled around and grabbed Evan by the arm. “Evan? Did you see that? Oh, my god! Actually,” he slung his arm over Evan’s shoulder and leant into him. Evan shifted away, ever so slightly, but enough that Barty seemed to notice and straighten up. “I think I owe you my life, Evan, dearest, I would have choked on my own spit if not for you.”

Evan gave him the lamest sort of bro-nod Regulus had ever seen in his life. Barty’s eyes lingered on him a little too long before he turned around back to Regulus. “Such power! And you should have seen the good captain behind you, he turned bright red and kept adjusting his collar,” he added with a wink, and turned again to Evan. 

He looked as if he was waiting for something, a laugh, a look, a shove, the typical team of Evan-and-Barty making swipes at Regulus about Potter. But Evan kept his gaze firmly in the middle ground, refusing to even acknowledge that Barty had spoken.

“Well. Great stuff, Reg, great stuff. I’ll be…” Barty again looked to Evan, this slightly lost look on his face. He looked like a sad puppy. Regulus felt the inexplicable urge to pet him.

He didn’t, of course. But he did consider it.

“I’ll be off! Peasants to poke and women to woo!” At this, Evan winced slightly, and shot an indecipherable look towards Barty’s back.

Regulus felt like he was watching Sisyphus and that ridiculous boulder of his. Anytime Evan and Barty got anywhere near the top of their hill, they seemed to tumble all the way back down again. It was getting so bad that Regulus thought they must be doing it on purpose.

Unfortunately, he knew them both well enough to recognise that they were just thick fools, the two of them. It was excruciating.

He coughed. “And we don’t care where Barty is or what he’s doing, is that right, Rosier?”

“Shove it, Black,” Evan snarled, and stalked off in the opposite direction to Barty.

Completely and totally not his problem.

“He can’t talk to you like that,” a familiar voice said over his shoulder.

Oh, God, this was his problem. Still smelling inexplicably like coriander and some other lovely scent that reminded Regulus of sunshine, James Potter was now loping effortlessly alongside Regulus’ very fast, not-running-away-I-don’t-care-what-you-say-Sirius pace. 

Damn that man and his long legs, even Barty couldn’t catch him like this.

“You don’t decide who can speak to me and who can’t, James.”

“No!” James spluttered, “No, I– I just mean, that, well, I– nevermind. It– no, nevermind.”

Regulus shot him a look out of the corner of his eye. He had never seen James Potter flounder, ever. He always seemed to share Sirius’ effortless charm and confidence. “Are you well, James?”

God, why did he keep saying his name? It just felt so pleasant, soft sounds with that lovely broad vowel in the middle. 

Regulus barely managed to hold back a face of disgust. Where did that come from? What was wrong with him? ‘Lovely broad vowels’?

 Regulus needed, sooner rather than later, to visit Lady Dorcas, get this thing checked out. He obviously had a serious problem that was affecting his judgement.

Was it something he ate, maybe? An insect bite on one of his walks? Maybe somebody was trying to poison him. James? Would James poison somebody? It would explain the amount of time he spent with Regulus, offering him tea and food he’d nicked from the kitchens.

“I’m– of course I’m well, what do you mean? I’m dandy, swell, swimmingly. Wonderful.”

Regulus stared at him a moment, judgemental. “Are you sure? You’re sweating.”

“Yes! Quite sure! In fact, I think I have somewhere to be! Goodbye Regulus— majesty— goodbye majesty!”

And then he bolted, nearly colliding into a wall on his way out.

Well, that was odd. 

Not worth his time, anyhow. He had to consult lady Dorcas about these heart palpitations.

***

Dorcas’ door was bolted when Regulus tried it. He frowned, and tried again. Still locked, he had not received magical unlocking abilities within thirty seconds. He knocked, and stepped back, a habit instilled in him by Sirius when they were younger. He used to rig up his door with buckets of various liquids, angled so that whoever opened the door got splashed. Regulus learned to knock and wait, and step back out of the splash zone.

Just as Regulus went to knock again, worried that she hadn’t heard him the first time, the door creaked open, only enough for Dorcas’ face to peer out.

“Oh,” she said, “it’s you.”

Regulus raised an eyebrow. “Were you expecting someone else?”

“No, no, just…” she turned and looked back into the room for a moment, “Give me a minute.” Then she closed the door with a click.

Regulus blinked. Faintly, he heard a voice behind the door. Or no, wait, was that two voices? Did Dorcas have somebody else with her? Why hadn’t she let Regulus in?

He heard muffled voices in quick succession, Dorcas’ brisk tone and then purposeful footsteps. The door swung open to reveal her fully, her elegant dress and thick, coiled black hair settling something in Regulus’ chest.

Oh, how he was relieved to see her.

Dorcas had been the lead healer’s apprentice for as long as Regulus had known her, and had taken over the job upon his death. After the death of his father, Regulus’ mother had blamed Dorcas for being unable to find a cure and dismissed her from the position, rather abruptly. The woman who replaced her, Madame Pomfrey, had been terribly insulted on her behalf, and offered the position back again as soon as Sirius took the throne, but Dorcas had declined, claiming inexperience.

Regulus thought she could have at least come up with a better excuse.

He tracked her down to a cottage just inside the forest border, where she was cultivating medicinal herbs and, oddly enough, breeding very successful racing greyhounds. Her pride had been badly hurt by the dismissal but the notes that she kept were impeccable and Regulus did his best to coax her back to the castle.

It took Pandora dropping by for a surprise visit to convince Dorcas to come back. 

Regulus still isn’t sure how she did it, but he suspects that it involves the very colourful mushrooms she brought from the north. The next day, Dorcas arrived with her packed bags, a lame greyhound and the declaration that she “will only work as a consultant, Regulus, that is non-negotiable.”

“Good afternoon, your majesty!” piped a cheery voice from the adjoining room, where Regulus knew Dorcas kept her private chambers.

Regulus stared in astonishment as Lady Marlene McKinnon, his appointed council representative of the southern region, swanned out of Lady Dorcas’ bed chambers and flopped gracefully onto a chair. “It’s an absolute pleasure to see you again, and I must commend you for your show in the council hall earlier.” She clapped her hands together with a wicked grin, “Oh, that was positively delectable. Do it again sometime, I insist.”

Regulus could only stare at her, mouth agape.

Dorcas coughed delicately. “Darling, your hair.”

“Oh, did I not–?” Marlene smoothed her hands over her, admittedly very tangled, cropped blonde hair and flashed Regulus an unashamed smirk. “Apologies, your majesty, I dressed in a hurry.”

Regulus looked to Dorcas, who was standing very straight with her hand clenched around the back of a chair. “So, you…I mean, the two of you…well, I’d say– that is…you’re…”

“Seeing each other,” Marlene finished for him and stood up. She looked defiant, back ramrod straight and eyes staring unflinchingly at Regulus. “If this complicates matters, I am willing to resign from my post on the council.”

At this, Dorcas seemed to startle back into herself. “Resign? Marlene, you can’t. You worked hard for that post and you do the best job of them all. The whole thing would fall apart without you.” She turned to Regulus and now he found himself under the very hard, uncompromising gazes of two very proud, very capable, quite frankly terrifying women. “If Marlene is forced to resign, I’m not staying a minute longer here, do you understand?”

“That’s ridiculous, she doesn’t mean that, your majesty. If either of us are leaving, it’s me. I have less to lose.”

“Don’t be stupid, Marlene, you’re not going anywhere. You,” Dorcas turned to Regulus, “will have to go through me.”

Regulus, wide-eyed, managed to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth long enough to speak. “Why would I get rid of either of you?”

Marlene looked taken aback. “Well. Emotions always make things messy, don’t they?”

“Do they?” Regulus asked. “If you’re telling me that your…situation…impacts either of your abilities to make the clever, informed decisions I value you both for, then maybe you should be reevaluating your situation with each other.”

There was a beat. Dorcas was looking at Marlene, who very slowly turned to meet her eyes. Quietly, but sounding very sure of herself, she said, “It doesn’t. I’m in, all the way.” She leant impossibly closer to Dorcas. “I’m in.”

“Well,” Regulus said, feeling very uncomfortable with the intense gazes they had locked each other in. “I’m happy for you both, then. You’re a force to be reckoned with.”

Dorcas turned to him and smiled, a small, genuine little thing. Before Regulus had time to run, she had wrapped him in a hug and pulled away again, holding onto his forearms. “Thanks, Reg.”

He nodded, feeling painfully out of his depth. He had absolutely no idea what he was meant to say next. Please, oh please, change the subject. Something else, anything else, this silence was awful.

“So. You’ve come for a friendly chat or a consultation?”

Oh, thank god for Dorcas’ perceptiveness. “Yes, a consultation I suppose. I think…” He glanced to Marlene, who had draped herself back over the sofa. 

“Oh!” she said. “I can leave, it’s no worries.”

“No, no,” Regulus shifted on his feet, “I’m sure it’s…” he trailed off. “I think I’m being poisoned.”

Dorcas gestured to Marlene, who jumped up to start making tea. Regulus marvelled at that. Dorcas hadn’t said a word. It reminded him of the way James would know exactly where he wanted his breakfast tray, depending on the weather. Sunny, window; cloudy, desk—actually, is that how James was doing it? Took over breakfast delivery from Kreacher to get at Regulus’ food? 

Dorcas brok him out of his thoughts. “Sit down, Reg. What makes you think so?”

“I’ve been getting these heart palpitations,” he said and started fiddling with his knuckles on the table. “It feels like my heart stops and starts for a minute and my ears get all hot. And my stomach keeps turning over, as if I’m going to be ill.” Dorcas nods. “But not in a nauseous way,” he adds, “more of a…falling off of a tall spire way.”

“Ok, it doesn’t sound like any poison I recognise yet,” Dorcas said. “When do you get these symptoms? And sit down Marls, you’re hovering.”

“But that’s it! I can’t figure out a pattern. It’s not necessarily after I’ve eaten anything, only occasionally after my walks, it’s this sporadic, random feeling I get. But Dorcas,” Regulus made a face, “it’s so intense sometimes. It’s awful.”

“Hm. And there’s nothing linking these instances together?”

Regulus shifted in his chair again, wondering if he should say it. Now that he was here, he could admit that he really hoped it wasn’t James poisoning him. Plus, if it was, he wasn’t doing much harm was he? Regulus only really felt like this from time to time, it wasn’t like this was impacting his overall health. “I suppose…”

Dorcas sighed. “Spit it out, Reg.”

“It only ever happens when James is around.”

Dorcas’ mouth tightened, as if trying to hold back a laugh. Marlene stared at him. “James? James Potter? Tall, dark, curly hair, lovable ass of a man? Captain of the Guard James?”

“Yes,” Regulus said miserably. Oh God, Marlene knew James, well enough to call him an ass. Now, word would get back that Regulus knew he was poisoning him and he’d never get those books back. James would leave in the middle of the night on a black horse and nobody would ever hear from him again. Years later, when Regulus is travelling the world on a merchant’s ship, they’d meet again and James would challenge him to a duel. Regulus would—

Woah there. Hold on a second. When did his imagination get this out of control? Keep it together, Regulus. 

“Oh, my god.” Marlene started laughing. “Oh, my god. Mary will love this. Oh, my god. Ha!” She tried to cover her mouth but failed miserably, shoulders shaking with the force of her laughter. “This is unbelievable! My day is made! Oh, my god!”

“Marlene,” Dorcas scolded, but there was half a smile on her face too. “You can’t laugh at the king. Excuse yourself.”

Regulus watched as Marlene apologised, giggled again and then swept to the door. “Oh, majesty, I’m terribly sorry. It’s just– well. I’m sorry.” She had to take a breath to compose herself. “I’ve been very rude. I hope you find–” she snorted, “I hope you find the antidote.” And then she was off again, doubled over in cackles as she closed the door behind her.

Regulus looked back to Dorcas, unsure. She very quickly smoothed her face into neutrality. 

He squinted at her. “You were laughing at me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You traitor,” he told her. “I’ve missed something.”

Dorcas smiled. She opened her mouth to speak, and then closed it again. She looked as if she was considering what to say very carefully. Finally, she spoke.

“When I first met Marlene…” she trailed off. “I hated her. God, here was this fierce, competitive, irritating woman who looked like she rose fully formed out of the sea foam. She wouldn’t leave me alone, and insisted on correcting everything I said. Oh, I hated her!” Dorcas laughed. “But every time she tossed those choppy strands of hair and gave me this triumphant smirk, my stomach would lurch and I’d resolve to beat her so thoroughly the next time, she wouldn’t dream of looking at me like that.”

Dorcas paused for a moment and looked out the window. “And then one day, I did. We were swordfighting, and my legs were covered in bruises because she refused to go down without a fight, and I had her pinned, finally. And she looked up at me, with those seahorse eyes, and just started laughing. She laughed, and laughed, and it mixed in with the sound of my rapid heartbeat in my ears and my stomach gave that familiar, hateful lurch and I realised, quite suddenly, that I had wasted a lot of time hating her when that is not what I had meant to do at all.”

Regulus didn’t say anything.

“You’re not being poisoned, Regulus.”

He scowled at her. “I don’t like James Potter.”

Dorcas sighed and got up. “Cup of tea?” she asked.

“Not your special stuff. Just normal, thanks.”

“Please,” Dorcas scoffed, “you couldn’t handle my special stuff. Also, you don’t know anything about it, majesty.”

Regulus huffed a laugh. He had never asked where, exactly, Dorcas got that funny smelling tea, and he suspected that he didn’t want to know. For legal reasons.

“Alright Reg, tell me again what your symptoms are.” She looked at him from across the room and Regulus had to look away from that steely gaze. Damn her and her knowing eyes. She was such a scary woman.

“My heart hurts, and it feels like I’m falling, and–” he stopped abruptly. “And I want him to know me. Oh no. Dorcas.” He turned to her in horror. She toasted him smugly with her cup of tea. “I’m in love with James Potter.”

“Yes, you are, majesty.” She placed his own cup in front of him. “Drink up. Sugar’s good for shock.”

***

“Evan! Evan! Open your door!” Regulus banged again and waited impatiently.

The door swung open to reveal a very irritated Evan Rosier. “What in the ever loving fuck do you want, Regulus.”

Regulus took his opportunity and swept into the room, despite Evan’s protests. “I’m having a crisis,” he said primly, and sat himself down on the floor in the middle of the room.

Evan stared at him. “You are mentally deranged. Get out of my rooms.”

“Evan!” Regulus said, hurt. “Please. If I told you I was in love with James Potter, hypothetically, what would you do?”

Evan sighed and sat down on the floor in front of Regulus. “Smack you across the face, yell at you, and then wish you luck.”

There was a pause. “Well then. Good thing it’s hypothetical.”

“No, it’s not. You’re in love with James Potter.”

Regulus didn’t say anything.

“Listen Reg, was that all? I already knew this. I’m glad you’ve figured it out.” He sighed. “Go do something about it, you’re the king. Woo him or something. Flowers, chocolates, I don’t care. Get out and let me go to bed.”

Regulus caught sight of his split knuckles as he dragged them across his face. “What happened to your hand, Evan?”

“Hm?” He looked down. “Oh, nothing. Sparring, y’know.”

Regulus squinted at him. He’d known Evan since they were toddling children, he knew when he was lying.

The sound of water being shut off came from the adjoining bathroom. Regulus hadn’t even noticed it was on. 

With a yawn, Barty came strolling out. He had one hell of a black eye. “What’s this? Sparring? Fun fact, the only person who’s ever beaten me is James Potter.”

Evan laughed loudly. “You’re such a liar, Barty. No, Regulus is having a crisis about one such captain of the guard.”

Barty plopped himself down onto the carpet and draped himself into Evan’s lap. Regulus watched as Evan slowly inched his fingers into Barty’s hair. Barty smiled sleepily and closed his eyes, ever the open book. “Well, nothing new then.” He opened one eye to peer at Regulus. “Figure it out, did you?”

Regulus huffed. “Did everybody but me know about this?”

“‘Fraid so, Reg. Sirius started a betting pool.”

“What?!”

Evan hummed an affirmative.

“Who won?!” Regulus was indignant, but rather curious about this.

“Pandora, actually, I suppose.” Evan cocked his head thoughtfully. “She bet on both your realisation and an actual getting together. Do we owe her half the money now? She was bang on.”

“Dunno.” Barty shrugged. “She can keep her clever little paws off my coins. I’m keeping them. I never agreed to that bet.”

Evan made a face. “Fairly sure that’s not how it works, Barty.”

“Is too. Sirius started it, I make the rules.”

Evan tugged at his hair. “Play nice. Pandora will take a bone if she doesn’t get her money.”

Barty patted Evan’s leg. “You’ll keep me safe, oh big and strong protector, you can punch hard enough to knock three men down at once.”

So that confirms Regulus’ suspicions about Barty’s eye. They must have argued about something again. Predictable, stubborn asses.

“Well, you’ve been absolutely useless to me," he told them. "I’m going to hide in my room and pray that James never finds me again. Goodbye.”

Barty and Evan didn’t move from the floor. Evan made some vague affirmation and Barty just rolled further on top of Evan.

Time to make a hasty exit.

Chapter Text

Kreacher brought Regulus’ next breakfast. He placed it on the desk, out of the warm autumn sunshine Regulus craved on these mornings. 

“Where’s the captain?”

Kreacher paused on his way out the door. “I do not know, my lord. Lord Pettigrew delivered that report last night and perhaps Captain Potter has gone to investigate.”

“Hm.” Regulus said, and took his tea into the sun. “What do you make of this business, Kreacher?”

“You’re asking me, sire?” Kreacher sounded surprised. “I do not believe it is my place to speak on such topics.”

Regulus flapped a hand. “Indulge me. Have you met this stranger staying in my castle?”

“I have, my lord. He does not seem like good news. Very rude to me. Arrogant.”

“Does he have a name?”

Kreacher thought for a moment. “I believe he calls himself Lord Voldemort, sire. I do not believe that is his real name. He does not carry himself like the noble-born, my lord.”

Regulus snorted. “What a stupid name. Well, keep an eye on him for me and let me know if he does anything.”

“Anything like what, my lord?”

Regulus loved Kreacher. Really, he did. But sometimes they just, didn’t seem to understand each other. “You know… strange, alarming, suspicious things.”

“If I may,” Kreacher started, looking hesitant, “I believe you should request he stay elsewhere. I do not like him in the castle.”

“Thank you, Kreacher. I will consider it.”

Kreacher inclined his head and closed the door behind him.

Regulus stood by his window and gazed out at the gardens. The aster was blooming, beautiful, bright blossoms sweeping towards the edge of the forest. As he watched, a familiar form came striding towards the castle, wild curls damp against James’ head and a towel tucked under one arm. He’d recently taken to early morning swimming, but Regulus hadn’t yet caught a glimpse.

Without consciously deciding to, Regulus was opening the door to his rooms and going to meet– check on his flowers. Yes, there was always the chance of frost coming soon in this weather, finicky gods and all that, and Regulus had to make sure his blossoms were well protected.

In fact, he’d even go out of his way to avoid James. That would show him.

Regulus was crouching behind a hedge, twigs getting tangled in his hair, when he heard his name. “Regulus? Are those my boots?”

Damn Sirius and his terrible timing.

“Oi, James, what are you doing shirking your duties?” Oh god, oh god, anything but that. Don’t call him over here, please. “Our good king has been shoved unceremoniously into a hedge and you stand there shirtless, gallivanting away through the gardens.” 

From where Regulus was peering through the branches, attempting to glare Sirius to death, he saw James drop his bundle of towel and clothes and start running.

“Regulus! What happened?” he cried, far too distressed in Regulus’ opinion.

“Nothing.” Regulus was horrified to find his mouth moving of its own accord. “Wood is good for your skin.”

There was a pause. 

“Is it really?” James asked. Sirius started laughing.

With great difficulty, but unending dignity, Regulus hauled himself out of the hedge and stood upright, primly brushing leaves from his clothes. He looked down his nose at Sirius, who was bent double, wiping tears from his eyes in between gasps.

“Yes. Lady Dorcas said so.” 

James looked at him doubtfully. “Alright, majesty, whatever you say.”

Sirius was finally in control of himself and straightening up, the last bars of his laughter winding away. “Oh, you are funny Reggie.”

“Regulus.”

“Reggie. I read that report Peter dropped by for James.”

Regulus frowned at him. “That was private material, you had no right to.”

“I’m the crown prince,” Sirius flapped his hand dismissively, “I have a right to documents regarding safety in the castle.”

“No, Sirius, you must ask me for permission to those documents. You do not get to flaunt around as if this place is still yours.”

“Oh, come off it Reg, it doesn’t matter. I–”

“Yes, it does matter.” Regulus was sick of feeling second best, still. His opinion, his say in this was the most important one. He was king, not Sirius. “You gave up that right when you gave up the throne. There is still a way to do things, you don’t get to be the exception to that.”

Sirius jabbed at finger at Regulus. “You’re only in this position because of me. Don’t forget that, you owe it all to me.”

“I don’t owe you anything. You would have failed anyway.” Regulus stepped closer and sneered at him. “You are nothing in this castle. You were nothing on this throne.”

James attempted to step between the two, but Sirius shoved him away. “How dare you say that to me. I made you. You wouldn’t have made it out alive if not for me. Give me some credit here, Reg, it’s just a report. There wasn’t even anything I didn’t already know.”

“You,” Regulus shoved him in the chest, “do not own me. I made myself. You just can’t help shoving your nose into everything, hm? So desperate to not be left behind.” He scoffed. “Get over yourself.”

Sirius leaned in close. “King of the fucking castle, aren’t you, Reg.  Always better than everybody else,” he snarled.  “You are just like our mother.”

Regulus stared at him. 

Sirius stared back, eyes slightly wide.

“Get out of my garden,” Regulus said coldly.

Without a word, Sirius turned and left.

Regulus refused to meet James’ eyes. “You too, captain.”

Stubbornly, James didn’t move. Regulus was going to strangle him with his bare hands. Could he not bloody well see that all he had wanted was a walk in the gardens, maybe a pleasant chat, a chance to ogle James’ bare, enticing back on his way up from the sea, and now he was left with the mocking euphrasia blooms and an awkward captain of the guard.

This was not what Regulus had planned for the morning, and now he wanted to be left alone.

“I read those books you—”

“Leave, James!” his voice came out as a shout. “I don’t care what you fucking thought of the books, I gave them to you to get you out of my rooms. I asked you to get out of my garden!”

James’ face cycled through a series of emotions; surprise, hurt, resignation. He mumbled an apology into his boots and fled, picking up his towel from where he had dropped it.

Very suddenly, Regulus felt a lump in his throat. Damn it all, why did he do this every time? And now James would never come back, run off and hire a replacement captain of the guard and Regulus would never see him again. Sirius would never speak to him again, and soon enough word would spread about his little outburst and his council would come for his throat. ‘Can’t have an unstable king on the throne,’ Lucius would say, and then worm his way into Regulus’ seat through outrageous claims of blood and marriage.

Regulus took a breath. He did not have the time, nor the energy, to devote to disaster scenarios. When James left, Regulus would get to know a new guard. When Sirius disowned him, Regulus would offer a villa in the south, keep him in orbit. If Lucius came baying for his blood he would put him back into his rightful place.

He was Regulus Black, and he was strongest alone.

***

Regrettably, Regulus Black, Intimidating King of All the Eastern Region, was not immune to everything, and had to go and get a glass of water from the kitchens in the middle of the night, and this was to be his downfall.

All the way down the stairs he cursed his sleep-muddled brain for forgetting shoes, and asked himself why on earth he had to go to the kitchens and not just drink straight from the tap in his bathroom like a heathen.

Well, there was his answer, he supposed.

When he reached the kitchen, he found the cook, Alice, cleaning up for the night.

She turned from wiping down the counters when he came in. “Oh! Your majesty! Did you need something?”

Regulus shuffled on the spot. “Only a glass of water, I’ll grab it myself.” 

Alice was already reaching for a glass and placed it in front of him. “You know where the sink is,” she said with a warm smile, and turned back to her cleaning.

Regulus liked Alice. She was married to one of the guards, Frank, and the both of them were warm people, from what Regulus had gathered. He knew that they went out drinking with Sirius’ little group from time to time, and that James knew Alice well enough to be allowed in the kitchens during prep time. Her food was exemplary, she was one of the most talented cooks on the continent. He counted himself lucky to have her.

“What are you doing up so late then, majesty? You could have called and a maid would have brought you a glass.”

Regulus rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Quite frankly, I forgot about that. And yourself, Alice? Surely cleaning is well done by now?”

Alice rinsed out her cloth and turned to face him with a roll of the eyes. “You’d think, wouldn’t you? Lords Rosier and Crouch came down for a late dinner, they said they’d been ‘too busy’ to come to dinner at the official time.” She sighed, draping the cloth over the sink to dry. “Whipped them up something simple, and they were very good about it,” she said. “Very polite. Lord Crouch had a whopper of a shiner, though. Wouldn’t tell me where he got it.”

Regulus frowned in a vaguely disapproving way. “Didn’t know you were such a gossip.” He didn’t care, really, he just felt that he should point it out.

Alice only shrugged. “Castles thrive on gossip and rumour. All we have to distract ourselves.”

Regulus couldn’t be bothered to find words to that, so toasted her with his glass.

“Anyway, just cleaning up from that now. D’y’know, I think there’s something there. Lord Crouch couldn’t keep his hands to himself, touching, shoving, poking, ruffling.” Regulus smiled at this. Oh, he knew all about that. “Lord Rosier didn’t even flinch, just leant in or flicked him back or stole his food. Like an old married couple, they are.”

“Oh, I know that, Alice,” Regulus agreed. “They’ve been like that for years. Leave the rest of us in the dark, eyes only for each other.”

Alice laughed. “And then you’ll find them trying to kill each other on the training ground, Frank says! Some sort of wild pendulum, they’re on.” She untied her apron. “Well, I hope you don’t mind if I’m off.”

Regulus waved a hand at her. “No, no, of course, get some rest.”

“I’ll be in tomorrow for breakfast. Any requests, majesty?” She asked as she bustled around, collecting a bag from the corner and hanging her apron up.

Regulus thought for a moment. “Whatever you feel like, Alice.”

She gave him a last smile and a nod. “Perfect. Pastries it is then. Sleep well, majesty, look after yourself.”

The door swung shut behind her.

The silence in the kitchen seemed to come to life, breathe in time with Regulus’ heartbeat. It crowded in around him as he sipped his water, the stifling emptiness only serving to highlight his own swirling thoughts. 

He wasn’t like their mother, was he? She had been cold, cruel, but Regulus thought she had loved them, in her own way. Maybe he was like her. He loved Sirius, in his own way. Maybe not in a way either of them could understand.

James could understand. He seemed to be good at that, understanding. He knew what to say and how to smile at the right people. If it had been him and Sirius, the topic never would have come up. James would have smiled and laughed it off, and Sirius wouldn’t have gotten brittle so quickly.

Why couldn’t he see that this was just the way things were? Regulus would have let him look at the documents, he values Sirius’ opinion and his outlook. If he’d just asked about it, Regulus would have discussed it with him. He didn’t have to get up on his high horse and expect to be treated like some sort of favoured council member. He already was a favoured council member. He just couldn’t act like he owned the place, like some sort of king. He gave that up. He was just so bloody egeotistical.

He hadn’t gotten a chance to see Evan or Barty today, either. Alice’s little gossip was all he had heard. It would have been nice to talk to them. They would know what to say.

He didn’t need to talk to them. He was fine on his own. Plus, they were sorting their own things out. He’d only get in the way.

He wondered how Barty got that punch. It wasn’t uncommon, of course, Barty always managed to get himself punched over something or other. Usually never by Evan, though. Evan was always the one to stand in and cool things down whenever Barty got himself into fights.

There was one time in particular Barty had spread a nasty rumour about one of their fellow trainees and a kitchenmaid. He ended up with the entire training class against him, literally dragging him facefirst through the mud.

Regulus had found them in the courtyard, Barty still managing to laugh through a mouthful of blood and dust. He’d been about to step in when Evan had appeared from nowhere, a face like thunder. In that moment, Regulus thought he struck a figure out of a painting. Back ramrod straight, blond hair seeming to reflect the sun into mirror shards, shattering sharp dapples onto the courtyard walls. He didn’t say anything, only strode lazily towards the group, one of his father’s old swords in his hands.

This detail stood out to Regulus, because the trainee guards weren’t allowed swords yet, only the wooden practice ones. The sight of notoriously stony Evan Rosier, top of his class at the time, with a real steel blade in his hands sent a nervous titter through the group. Regulus had heard the whispers. Ruthless, uncaring, cold. Killer. 

Regulus left then, for plausible deniability. The healers had three trainee guards taking up their beds for a month afterwards. Nobody laid a hand on Barty Crouch Jr again.

He’d always wondered why Evan hadn’t become captain of the guard. Instead, Evan had dropped out of the program and taken up his father’s political studies. Soon after, his father had died, and so Evan took up the lordship. 

Regulus suspected the comfortable life of wealth and power suited Evan far more than the gritty job of Captain. And as usual, wherever Evan went, Barty followed.

Footsteps in the corridor startled Regulus back into himself. His eyes had closed, and he blinked now against the lamplight of the kitchen.

Quickly, he rose and rinsed his glass out in the sink. No point giving Alice more work than necessary for the morning.

It occurred to him quite suddenly that he didn’t want to be seen. Without deciding to, he found himself ducking into the servants hallway and quietly making his way up the stairs, as quickly as he could without making noise.

He emerged in a corridor on the east wing, close to Lady Dorcas’ rooms. It was a farther walk back to his own rooms and he cursed his deluded impulses. His heart was beating unreasonably fast in his chest and there was a strange sensation of fear climbing up his spine. 

He took off at a clip, shadow stretching out ahead of him to seep around the corners.

Just as he passed the main door to the kitchens he heard it, footsteps behind him. Who else would be awake at this hour?

It was probably a maid, of course, who else would it be?

Without his permission, Pettigrew’s warnings from before came back into his head. He hadn’t done enough research into this stranger staying in his castle. Instead, he’d gotten lazy and let James do all the heavy work. He hadn’t even let James into his rooms earlier to give him a report. Oh, God, what if he was paying for that now? That foolishness was going to lead him to an early grave; youngest king of the region dead before the winter.

Was he even being chased? He glanced back, but the hallway was empty. Just his imagination, really, of course nobody was following him. That was a stupid notion, born of childish fear. He thought he’d gotten rid of those weaknesses years ago.

Turning forward again, he let out an ‘oomph’ as he collided with somebody. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I–”

“Regulus?!” James’ arms had shot out to catch him and now he was clinging to Regulus’ sleeves. There was something wild in his eyes, a certain gleam of fear.

“James? Has something happened? Is Sirius okay?”

James blinked. “Is Sirius–? Yes, he’s fine, why wouldn’t he be?”

“Then why were you running? Why do you look like that?” Regulus asked.

James released him and smoothed down his jacket. “I went to check your rooms but you weren’t there.”

“It’s the middle of the night, James, why would you need me?”

The wild look was back. “Because I discovered something today, about Mulciber’s stranger. And then you weren’t in your rooms, and I thought the worst, because he’s actually–” 

James head snapped up and he shoved Regulus aside. “Look out!” he cried, rather unnecessarily, in Regulus’ opinion. The shove had done the trick, no need to overdo it.

Where Regulus’ head had been, an arrow whizzed by and sank into the stone walls. Regulus blinked at it. Those were solid stone walls. Arrows did not ‘sink’ into stone. They ‘clinked’ and clattered to the ground. What, in God’s name, had sent that arrow?

He whipped his head around to find the source.

At the other end of the corridor a man was stalking towards them dressed head to toe in black. He was wearing a floor length robe, which, in all honesty, Regulus quite admired for the dramatic aspect. In his hands was a crossbow, and on his face was an odd, skull-inspired mask.

James pulled himself up to full height and drew his sword. 

“James!” Regulus hissed, “Are you mad!? He has a crossbow! A sword is going to do absolutely nothing against a crossbow!”

James, the arrogant ass, only adjusted his grip and started advancing towards the man. Regulus heard a low chuckle, and then the man tossed his crossbow to the ground in favour of drawing his own sword. Regulus cringed as the– rather spectacularly designed– crossbow skittered into the wall.

“The little dog wants to play?” the stranger rasped. “My business is not with you, little dog, move out of the way.” 

“I will not. You are an unwelcome stranger in these halls. I would advise you to leave before you get hurt,” James declared. Regulus thought he looked like a fool, making declarations and vaguely threatening statements, yet found his ears heating and his heart speeding up. Something in the way James carried himself was irresistible; the untouchable Achilles striding forwards to meet Paris blade to blade.

The man laughed, a horrible croaky sound that seemed to echo the screech of his sword. “Before I get hurt! Filthy peasants cannot touch the gods, boy,” he growled and leapt to meet James.

Regulus decided that this oddly robed man had a right stick up his arse. Proclaiming himself a god? On what grounds? Begrudgingly, he could admit that the man at least knew his way around a blade. James seemed to be well matched, the clang and shuffle of their fight seemingly an even give and take. Where James pushed forward, the man parried, twisting around and stabbing to force James back to the defensive. 

With a grunt, James swung his sword low, sweeping the man across the shins. He went down with a swear, rolling out of the way of James’ downward thrust. The sword embedded itself into a crack in the floor, giving the man time to jump to his feet and make a swipe at James. It caught his sleeve, blood welling up to stain the fabric.

He glanced at it and then danced backwards, abandoning his sword on the floor. Grabbing a lantern off the wall, he unscrewed it and threw the hot waxy liquid towards the stranger. The man twisted with a yelp, dropping his sword to throw his hands up in front of his face. 

James grinned. “Not the god of fire then, are we?” He grabbed the man’s discarded blade and stabbed towards him, but the man was too quick. James caught his robe, tearing the fabric lengthways, but the catch allowed the stranger time to wrench James’ blade out of where it had been lodged. He leapt back and held his sword up again, panting. 

James eyed him. They had swapped positions, the stranger now with his back to Regulus and James on the other side of him. In between one blink and the next, the man had turned and was running towards Regulus. James let out a cry and presumably took chase, but Regulus didn’t have time to look as he took off in the other direction.

Under his breath he cursed his drowsy mind. Why hadn’t he thought to take anything with him? The was nothing he could defend himself with. He was doomed. He should have picked up Barty’s habit of tucking a knife into his boot ‘in case of an emergency, Reg, it’s a clever thing to do!’ On second thoughts, Barty had a track record of stab wounds in his feet.

Risking a glance back, Regulus could see the stranger gaining on him. He screeched around the corner and spotted a mop leant against the wall. It would have to do.

He grabbed it and whirled, aiming to catch the man by surprise around the corner. He was only a few seconds ahead of him so he crouched, stuck out the handle and–

The man’s foot caught and he went flying. Regulus jumped up, whacking the mop as hard as he could on the now-rolling man’s body. He grunted but kept moving, pulling himself to his feet and reaching towards his dropped sword.

Oh god, oh god, why hadn’t Regulus done more sword fighting in his youth? He’d skipped so many useful lessons in favour of observing the poison expert at work. Now, he was going to die with a useless wooden mop in his hand. He fought the hysterical urge to laugh and focused on the man in front of him, trying to recall the vague memory of the swordmaster. ‘Footwork and agility,’ Regulus thought he had said once.

Under the mask, the man’s lips were curled in a snarl. He swung his sword towards Regulus who ducked, stabbing the mop towards the man’s stomach. The man huffed as Regulus made contact, and then paused to look down at his now damp shirt. Regulus had used the mop end instead of the stick end. 

The man started laughing. “Kings are such delicate little creatures, don’t you think?” He twirled his sword in his hand and prepared for another attack. Regulus thought that this was a bit dramatic, with the sword-twirling and exaggerated lunging. No point showing off to a man you wanted dead in the next few minutes.

The man swept his sword along Regulus’ feet, who looked down and jumped, and then felt the horrible sensation of a fist colliding with his face. ‘Keep your eyes on your opponent!’ he heard Sirius scold in his head.

Suddenly, the piercing silver of a blade was cutting through the black spots in his vision, and he desperately threw the mop up infront of himself. It worked, the wood held, and the man’s sword lodged itself into Regulus’ mop handle. He thanked whatever gods for the luck.

Incredibly, the man was unable to pull his sword out, so in a fit of impulsiveness Regulus threw the whole thing down the corridor- sword, mop and all.

He was left standing wide-eyed in front of the man, who cracked his knuckles threateningly. “Get over yourself,” he found himself saying. “Who are you trying to impress? With the stomping and the posturing? I mean–” He swung his leg and kicked the man in the knee. He staggered sideways and Regulus took his chance, turning to flee.

“Ooh,” the man mocked, grabbing him by the collar. Regulus let out a strangled cry. “Posturing, such a big word.” Getting a hand around his throat, the man shoved him into the wall, Regulus’ skull cracking against the stone. “When I’m done with you–” he leaned in close and tightened his grip. Regulus could see black spots crowding his vision. “--you won’t have any words left.” 

The man threw his fist into Regulus’ stomach and released him, stalking back over to where the sword had landed. Regulus crashed to the ground, trying to cough but unable to breathe past the pressure in his gut. The man could have at least come up with a cooler line. There were still black spots in his vision and he could feel his heartbeat in the back of his head where it had connected with the wall. He looked up to see the man standing over him, looking down with a sneer on his mouth.

Regulus refused to beg. If this was it, this was it, and he would not plead like a pathetic child. He would die a king, somebody who Sirius could remember and be proud of. Somebody Evan and Barty could avenge. Maybe James would join them, if he wished. Regulus doubted it, he didn’t seem like the avenging type. Hopefully Dorcas would look after his gardens, and somebody would give Pandora his books.

The blade glinted golden in the lamplight as it arced down towards Regulus. He thought it looked almost surreal, magical.

Suddenly, there was a body in front of him. It gave a shout and crumpled to the ground, familiar black curls thumping into the stone floor. “James?” 

Regulus looked up at the man, now cursing under his breath and readying for another swing. He grabbed James’ sword out of his limp hands– he ignored the blood creeping out from Jame’s torso– and made a desperate sweep upwards, catching the man between the legs. He screamed and fell backwards.

There were footsteps at the other end of the corridor. “Help!” Regulus yelled, tossing the sword aside and turning his attention towards James. His face was twisted up and his hands were clutching at his chest, blood spilling out of a gash along his ribs. “James, James,” he breathed, hands skittering along his sides. He didn’t touch the wound, afraid of making it worse, instead letting his hands catch on James’ jaw, shoulders, curls. 

James opened his eyes and stared up at him, brown eyes hazy with pain. “Regulus,” he sighed, and closed them again.

Regulus skated his hands over his face. “No, no,” he said. “Open your eyes. Look at me.” James did, vision unfocused. “Good. Good. You’re going to be fine, okay? I’m getting help. You’re fine. You’re okay”

Dimly, Regulus was aware of shouting and footsteps around him, but he couldn’t drag his eyes away from James’ face, sickly pale and sweaty. Maybe this was it, maybe he’d never see him again. Maybe all he’d have to remember him by was this moment, cold and shaky and so terribly small against the grim stone background.

“You’re fine,” he said again, smoothing James’ curls off of his forehead. James closed his eyes. “Look at me, James, you’re fine.” 

“I am fine. You’re here,” James whispered and then coughed, a horrible wretching thing flecked with blood.

Suddenly, Sirius’ voice was in Regulus’ ear. “What happened? Is he okay? Regulus? What happened?”

Regulus turned, hands shaking, eyes wild. “I don’t know– I– he was– and then–”

Sirius grabbed him on either side of his head, hands gentle, grounding him with warm callouses over his ears. “Are you hurt?” Regulus shook his head. “Good.” Sirius nodded, and took his hands away, bending over James. 

Feeling some anxious, flighty energy within him drain away, Regulus watched detached as Sirius picked James up, all of his lanky limbs cradled into Sirius hard, compact chest. He rose and started running. Regulus followed on autopilot; he had always followed Sirius. Sirius would make it okay. Sirius would fix it.

The world came to him in flashes, Dorcas’ serious face pinched tight with worry, Evan pushing him into a chair, somebody handing him a cup of cocoa. He stared at it, following the wrist up to Barty’s face, normally laughing mouth set in a frown. He couldn’t muster up the energy to comment on it, so just kept staring.

Barty’s mouth formed the word ‘drink,’ Regulus thought, but he couldn’t really hear anything against the muffled silence in his head. He took a sip. He took another, muscles moving without command as his head floated somewhere above his shoulders.

By the time the mug was empty, the world was filtering back into his ears. Barty had put his feet up on a chair and was sitting beside him, his own mug by his elbow as he tapped out a rhythm on the table.

“Back again?” he asked when Regulus turned to look at him. “Evan went to get blankets so we can camp out here, Sirius stalked off to find the guy and possibly kill him, judging by the look on his face, and James is in with Dorcas.”

Regulus nodded and took his feet off of the chair. “Can I see him?”

“Dorcas said she’ll come get us when she’s finished. Shouldn’t be too long, I think, she said it didn’t look too bad.”

Regulus nodded again, feeling suddenly very tired. 

Barty hopped up and collected their mugs. “I’ll make some more cocoa. Dorcas has the best drinking chocolate, I think she gets it from Panda. Never in my life has she ever let me use it, so we’re going to make the best of it now.” He clattered around the little kitchen in the corner, pulling milk and a tin of powdered chocolate out. “I saw a book I thought you’d like the other day, Reg, it was one of those obscure poetry collections from the ancient dig things they do. You know the ones, made of fragments?” 

Regulus didn’t respond, but Barty kept talking anyway. It was nice. Distracting.

Finally, as Barty was about to describe in intricate detail the ‘horrific’ dress he’d seen on a woman in the market that morning, the door to Dorcas’ operating room opened.

Reglus jumped up, checking his hip on the table edge and hovered, waiting awkwardly for Dorcas to say something.

“He’s absolutely fine,” she told him with a smile. “I’ve stitched him up and given him a tonic for the pain, he’s sleeping now. You can go in if you’d like.” With a glare at Barty she added, “quietly.”

He nodded, uncharacteristically serious, and followed Regulus into the little room where James lay.

He looked peaceful, despite the clean white bandages wrapped around his middle and sweat soaking his hair. Regulus went to sit on the chair beside the bed, hand going instinctively to his wrist to check for a pulse. It was something he’d had to do for Sirius countless times in the past.

It was there, thumping away under his skin, and Regulus felt his shoulders relax. All was well again.

Settled, Regulus let the gentle pull of sleep nestle over himself, curling into the chair. Evan appeared at some point and tucked a pillow under his head telling him he’d get an ‘awful crick in the neck, you mule.’ Regulus ignored him and closed his eyes again.

All was well. James’ heart was thumping away under Regulus’ fingertips. All was well.

Chapter Text

James slept the entirety of the next day. Sometime before lunch, Pettigrew ventured into the room to retrieve Regulus.

“Majesty?” he started, timidly. Regulus startled awake from where he had been dozing. He hadn’t left the chair since he’d sat down. Anything could happen to James, he reasoned. He needed to be here.

He blinked blearily at Pettigrew. “Yes?”

Pettigrew shuffled into the room. “Is…there’s a meeting, now. Lord Lucius was wondering if you’re planning to attend, majesty? I told him that given the circumstances, of course, he was being ridiculous, and if you ask me, he’s only sent me here to be a nuisance, but, well, I suppose I have to return with an answer. I’ll tell him no, of course, and I’ll be on my way, not a bother to you at all.” He’d started backing out of the room when he paused, and looked uncertainly towards the bed. “Is– is James okay?”

Regulus on instinct turned towards the bed beside him. On the other side, Sirius was passed out along two chairs, mouth open and drool gathering at the corners. Regulus hadn’t even heard him come in. 

James looked peaceful in sleep. The bandages wrapped around his middle were now stained slightly red, Dorcas would probably be in to change them soon enough. 

Regulus looked back to Pettigrew, still hovering in the doorway. “Yes, I believe he’ll recover,” he said, tiredly. To be truthful, he didn’t know himself whether James would be fine. For all he knew, that blade meant for him could have permanently damaged some organ or another. Maybe Dorcas was too afraid to tell him. He could take it. If James was going to die, he wanted to know. He had to know. “You know him as James?” he found himself asking.

Pettigrew nodded. “We grew up together. Like most people in this castle, I suppose,” he added. “James was always good to me. Still is. That goes a long way, I think. My mother always said he was ‘a good egg, that James Potter’.” His voice goes up and he stoops slightly as he says this, allowing Regulus to imagine, very vividly, what Pettigrew’s mother must have looked like. “I think he’s just amazing,” he said quietly. He had gone silent, something Regulus didn’t often see from Pettigrew. The man had a tendency to run his mouth constantly, a stream of useless blabber while his eyes darted around, assessing. Regulus found it terribly irritating, but rather impressive. A distraction technique.

After a moment of silence, Pettigrew seemed to startle back into himself. “Well, just wanted to check, your majesty. I’ll tell Lucius to fuck off and comb his hair for the seventh time today instead then, shall I?”

That startled a laugh out of Regulus. “Yes, do, thank you, Pettigrew.” 

Pettigrew grinned back at him. “Peter’s fine, majesty. If I’m doing your dirty work for you.” With a wink, he closed the door behind him.

Baffled, Regulus looked at the door for a moment. What a funny man.

Turning back to the bed, he brushed his fingers over James’ hand. He was warm, breathing evenly, perfectly relaxed in sleep. A square of light from the mid-morning sun had fallen across his shoulders, a molten blanket to wrap him in safety. No harm would ever come to him again, Regulus vowed. He’d personally ensure it.

For a fleeting second, Regulus considered praying. Pandora told him once that the ancient people had believed in the healing power of sunlight. Those kissed by warm rays would be safe, protected. It was a nice idea, Regulus supposed, but he’d never been one for pretty stories. Even if James looked like one of those angels from Narcissa’s old tapestry collection. Woven from gold in wonderful, intricate patterns. Something spectacular that Regulus couldn’t hope to understand but longed to all the same.

He wrinkled his nose. What had gotten into him? He was becoming a sap.

There was a tiny sound from the bed and James’ eyes fluttered open, squinted briefly, and closed. He made another croak and opened his eyes again, squinting around the room before landing on Regulus.

“Regulus?” He cleared his throat. “Is that you? I can’t see properly; I’ve lost my glasses. Why are you in my bedroom?”

Regulus smiled at him, a rare one, one he could feel pulling at the corners of his eyes. “You’re in Dorcas’ chambers, James”

James looked alarmed. “What? Why? But—Marlene—I would never—”

“You got stabbed, James.”

James fell silent and his eyes drifted across the room. “Did I--?” He inhaled sharply and his eyes snapped to Regulus’. “Oh, yes, I remember.” He looked away again, hesitant. “Sorry about that.” 

“Don’t apologise,” Regulus snapped. He took a breath and made a conscious effort to relax his tone. “Don’t say sorry. You were doing your job. I’m sorry I put you in that position. If I had—”

James interrupted him with a laugh. “If I can’t apologise, you can’t either. I’m glad I found you when I did.” He continued beaming at Regulus, a soft warm thing worming its way under Regulus ribs. He couldn’t look away. James was gazing at him with—with admiration, and kindness, and those warm brown depths looked so inviting.

Oh, God, did Regulus want to dive in. Lean in and relax and let the sweet molasses of James’ smile envelope him, surround him, drown him. His hand had found its way back into James’ and he was so warm, so alive.

James tugged slightly and Regulus went easily, letting his body follow the pull of James’ fingers towards his chest, his shoulders, his neck, his face. Glowing, glowing, golden in the sun, soft eyes and soft lips. Of course this was where Regulus was meant to be, of course this was where it was always going to end. James was so close now, Regulus could smell the stale sweat and clean sheets and his mouth was right there, lips curving into a gentle smile, something quiet, something just for Regulus—

Sirius snorted and startled awake, hitting the floor with a thump.

Regulus jumped back so quickly he felt like he’d been burned. James stared at him with open disappointment, eyes flicking to Regulus’ lips and back, bereft. Like something important had just been taken away from him.

That was ridiculous. Regulus was imagining things.

“Prongs!”  Sirius exclaimed, rushing over and touching James’ face, hands skimming along shoulders and forearms and knuckles. Checking to see that he was all still there. “Thank God,” he whispered, and buried his face in James’ neck. James met Regulus’ eyes over Sirius’ dark rat’s nest of hair (Regulus thought he could have at least brushed it before passing out), and uncharacteristically didn’t say anything. James Potter, silent.

This was a terrible mistake. Regulus was going to ruin him, take away everything lovely that made him James. Enough time and those sunny smirks would slip off his face, sinking into the stormy dark depths of Regulus’ own scowl. Inviting James in would mean opening him up to the choppy waves and swirling riptide of Regulus’ soul that even he could barely swim in. How could he hope to keep them both afloat?

“I’ll just—” he managed to stutter out, desperately trying to think of an excuse. He was already backing towards the door. “Water—you…thirsty? I’ll get water.” He practically ran through the doorway in his haste to leave.

***

Regulus was about halfway down the corridor when he whirled around. A man had peeled off the wall outside Dorcas’ chambers and was now following him from about fifteen paces back. Regulus was jumpy, tired, and had an awful crick in his neck because Evan had been right about sleeping on a chair. He was sick of people following him around—look what happened last time.

He marched up to the man—much taller than he had initially thought, God, this man was all legs—and poked him in the chest.

Not his finest moment, he’ll admit that.

“You,” Regulus said through gritted teeth, “are going to fetch a glass of water from the kitchens, bring it to Ja—the Captain, and then you are going to leave me alone .”

The man raised his eyebrows, but made no move to push him away. “Unfortunately, I am not going to do that. I am under strict orders to not let you out of my sight.”

“And who,” Regulus asked, deadly calm, “gave you those orders?”

The man looked over his shoulder, and something on his face caught the light from a nearby window. Regulus realised for the first time that he had quite a few nasty looking scars bridging his nose and his forehead, peeking out from under his sleeves and poking at his lip. “Your brother first,” the man said pleasantly, turning back to Regulus, “and then your friends, the Lords Rosier and Crouch. They were quite insistent.” The corner of his mouth ticked up slightly, the ghost of a smirk.

Regulus stepped back and looked at the man for a moment, noticing for the first time the guard uniform. He was getting slow; it should never have taken him this long to notice it.

“Well, Mr…” Regulus trailed off, raising an eyebrow, implying the question instead of asking it. It was something Evan liked to do.

The man’s expression didn’t change, his eyes still crinkling slightly as if in amusement, an infuriating air of confidence radiating off of him. “Lupin,” he offered. “Remus Lupin.”

“Well, Mr Lupin, I—”

“Remus is fine,” he interrupted. Regulus glared at him.

He gestured towards Regulus to continue.

Regulus inhaled to allow himself a moment. “I am the king, Remus, and what I say goes. And what I am saying, is that you are going to bring the captain a glass of water.”

Remus only shrugged, before his gaze wandered over Regulus’ shoulder and he stepped sideways, into the path of a servant boy.

“Hiya,” he said with a grin, and the boy’s mouth dropped open. “Would you mind bringing a glass of water to the healer’s chambers, please? Tell them it’s for the captain.”

The boy was already nodding, tripping over himself in his hurry to get to the kitchens. “Of course, sir. Right away, sir.”

Remus pointed at his retreating back. “Thank you, that’s very good of you.” The boy, back of his neck tomato red, only nodded some more and walked even faster.

“There you go.” Remus turned back to Regulus and spread his hands in a placating gesture. “Taken care of. Where to now, Regulus?”

“Majesty,” Regulus corrected.

Remus made a considering face. “I don’t believe in monarchies,” he said after a moment.

Regulus stared at him, speechless for the second time in one conversation. Remus was already looking away, whistling the opening notes of a tune James liked to sing. Regulus’ chest gave a little pang.

With a sigh, he turned on his heel. He was going to the library.

*** 

Remus Lupin was insufferable. He hadn’t left Regulus’ side for three days. He had barely managed to get the man to stay outside the bedroom during the night, and when he emerged there he was, bright eyed, hands wrapped around a cup of tea and buried in one of Regulus’ books.

“You have a wonderful collection,” he said now, from where he was stooped in the corner of Regulus’ rooms, perusing his bookshelves.

Regulus looked up from where he was skimming a document Peter had dropped in this morning. Peter had been friendly with Remus, beaming at him in greeting and telling him some long-winded story about a woman called Mary and her capabilities with darts.

“And we missed you last night,” Peter had added at the end, with a surreptitious glance towards Regulus. “Prongs too, but he’s shut himself up in his rooms. Alice says he has a ‘distinct air of misery about him, that boy, tell Sirius he ought to drag him out again’.”

Remus had laughed at Peter’s impersonation of Alice. “Mm, Alice is usually right. I hope you drank enough for the both of us, Pete, in my absence.”

Peter snorted and made his way to the door. “I absolutely did not, I’d be dead on the floor. You’re inhuman, Moony. Mary certainly missed the business you bring in, anyway. I’ll be sure to pass on your regards.” He closed the door on himself, still speaking.

Remus had gone back to his book, and it was now that Regulus remembered something they’d said.

“Thank you, you’re free to borrow them if you’d like,” he answered Remus. Always better to start small talk before you ask nosy questions. “Not like that’d stop you,” he muttered as an afterthought.

Remus gave him a nod all the same. It seemed that after they’d gotten the introductions out of the way and established that Remus was James’ temporary replacement, emphasis on temporary, Remus was content in the silence. It suited Regulus perfectly, aside from the irritation of sharing his space all the time. If they had sent him a chatterbox, someone like Peter perhaps, Regulus would not have been responsible for his actions. Only one of them would have emerged from this room alive. 

“You know Peter well, then?” he asked as Remus picked up a book of fantasy short stories.

“No, not at all, in fact,” Remus said blandly as he plopped himself into an armchair, legs extending farther than any human should be capable of. He was at least good enough to leave the other one, Regulus’ favourite chair, free. “I met him just now, guessed that he looked like a ‘Pete,’ and listened to a very long story about a woman I’ve never heard of, for the laughs.”

Regulus shot him a look, to which Remus just raised an eyebrow. “It was a stupid question, Regulus.”

“Well, forgive me for trying,” he sniped back, “Perhaps I wanted a conversation.”

Remus told him, “You hate conversation.”

“I hate conversation with you. You’re unintelligent and boring.” This was actually untrue, Regulus found Remus very interesting to talk to. His contrary beliefs about the monarchy, not to mention his in-depth analyses of poems Regulus had bookmarked were very enjoyable. Almost as enlightening as conversations with Pandora.

Almost.

Remus only laughed and opened his book.

“Prongs,” Regulus said after a minute had passed, deciding to suck it up and just ask. “Is that a nickname?”

Remus closed his book, keeping a finger on his page, and looked at him. “Mm. James’.”

“Is there…what’s the story?”

Remus regarded him with a quiet sort of knowing. It made Regulus uncomfortable, like he could see into his mind. “Ask him yourself.” 

Regulus nodded, feeling slightly wrongfooted. Remus did this sometimes, left him off-kilter. It was the same thing Evan and Pandora could do, leave him vulnerable with just a look. 

“He’ll tell you, Regulus,” Remus added, sounding almost gentle. Regulus got the sense that he wasn’t talking about the nickname anymore. But the implication that James would open up to him, trust him, let him in… it was too much to bear. Regulus only nodded, not quite sure what would come out of his mouth if he opened it. Remus gave him something, not quite a smile—he never smiled, not really—but sympathetic all the same, and opened up his book again.

Regulus’ book, technically.

He’d gotten soft. Putting up with this blatant disrespect and letting syrupy guards into his heart. What a sight he’d make if his parents could see him now.

***

About a week after The Incident, Sirius came banging on Regulus’ door. Quite literally; Regulus thought he was about to put his fist through the wood.

“What.” He glared at Sirius as he threw the door open, squinting in the brightness.

Sirius strode in, pausing in the middle of the room. “Reggie, why is it so dark in here?”

“I was napping,” Regulus told him irritably, pulling back the curtains. Remus blinked at him from the armchair, looking suspiciously like he’d just woken up.

There was uncharacteristic silence from Sirius, and when Regulus turned around, he was staring at him, open-mouthed. “Napping?” he repeated. “Since when do you nap? ‘Oh, don’t be a slob Sirius,’” he mimicked, voice going high. He was recalling a conversation they’d had back towards the beginning of Sirius’ brief reign. “‘Naps are for time wasters.’ You,” he proclaimed, sweeping an arm towards Regulus, “are a hypocrite.”

Then he paused, catching sight of Remus. Neither of them said anything, and then Remus got up, silently, and left the room.

Regulus watched as Sirius stared after the door. With raised eyebrows, he decided the safest option was to continue with the conversation. He got the feeling that he adamantly did not want to be involved in whatever that was. “I never claimed I wasn’t. What do you want, Sirius.”

Sirius blinked, and turned back towards him. After a moment, he seemed to remember what they were talking about and said, “I would like you to tell me why you’ve reverted to your cold, unfeeling habits.”

“My—what?” Regulus said, surprised. He made an aborted move towards Sirius as he sat down at Regulus’ desk. Oh, what was the point, he wouldn’t be able to get him out of the chair, anyway.

“Your heartless ways. I thought we were past that, after your coronation. I thought you’d… softened, slightly,” Sirius told him, genuine. He wasn’t acting, wasn’t throwing his arms and words around for the drama, this was Sirius making a genuine point. Tactless, but genuine.

Regulus dismissed him. “Soft is weak.”

Sirius flapped a hand. “Oh, bullshit and you know it. You were warmer, somehow, rounder on your—” Sirius raised his eyebrows pointedly, “—very sharp edges.”

Regulus furrowed his brow. “What are you talking about?”

“Reggie, it’s been a week.” He leaned forward, hands clasped, elbows on his knees, the picture of earnestness. “Your captain of the guard nearly died for you, has since been released to his rooms, and you haven’t even been in to visit him once.”

Regulus felt his fingertips start to tingle, diaphragm constricting around his lungs. So James had noticed. Noticed enough to comment on it to Sirius. Some small part of him had hoped his decision to flee would be mutual, that he could disappear silently back to his high throne of isolation and James wouldn’t even notice. An easy break.

When Regulus didn’t respond, Sirius kept going. “Just drop in, say hello. Something. I know it might have been…distressing for you, but you can’t leave him by himself.” Sirius was looking at him carefully. “James takes all this stuff to heart. He likes to pretend that he doesn’t, that he’s untouchable, but he’s not.”

“And how do you know that?” Regulus snapped.

“I’ve known him for years, he’s like a brother. He—” Sirius froze, staring at Regulus. “Not like—I mean—he—and you—”

“I’m your brother,” Regulus said, quieter than he meant to.

“Yes! Yes, you are, and I love you, you know that, right?” Sirius was tripping over himself to get the words out, gesturing frantically. “Because sometimes I feel like—it doesn’t matter. I just mean, I mean, James and I—” 

“You’re friends. You’re—brothers.” Regulus felt his heart in his throat, beating away, stealing his words. What was he going to say? This was it, this was Sirius choosing somebody else over him. It was always going to happen, he knew that, but he’d just thought— well. Never mind, now. “It’s, that’s…” he trailed off, finding himself with nothing to say, nothing to keep Sirius here.

Sirius looked helpless for a moment before his face lit up. “It’s like you and Evan. We’re friends, we’re—I’d die for him.”

“Okay,” Regulus said carefully. “So you’re…leaving? Together?”

Sirius looked at him in bafflement. “What? Why would I leave?”

Regulus felt a wash of relief. He kicked himself for misunderstanding, of course, but that paled next to the realisation that Sirius was staying. He’d gotten the wrong end of the stick, that was all. “Why are you here, then?”

“I’m asking you to visit James?” Sirius said, sounding doubtful. “Did you think I was leaving?” 

“Of course not,” Regulus told him, pouring all the arrogance into his voice that he could muster.

“Reggie, that’s ridiculous, I’m not going to leave.” 

“Obviously.” Regulus sounded shaky, even to his own ears. “Good thing I wasn’t thinking it.”

Sirius sighed and stood up, letting Regulus get away with his flimsy excuses. “Just give the poor man a chance, Reggie. Say hello.”

Regulus watched him leave, getting the impression that he was talking about more than just ‘saying hello.’ It was the same thing Remus had hinted at earlier.

Maybe it was all a conspiracy to weaken him and take his throne. Build his hopes up and then dash them against a rock.

Remus poked his head in through the door. “Alright?” 

Regulus fought the irrational urge to throw something at him. He needed a walk. A walk away from this god-forsaken castle.

***

The woods are the same. Same smell, same colours, same mud stuck to his boots. It was a comfort, to know that even when his own little world was tilted wildly off its axis, the woods stay the same. Birds screeching from the trees, rain droplets from the night before, the air fresh in his lungs. He breathes, and breathes again, and lets the forest settle him.

When he opens his eyes, he thinks he’s hallucinating. In front of him on the path is Pandora, laden with bags and shielded by a ridiculously large-brimmed hat. He closes and then opens his eyes again, but she’s still there.

Dropping a bag, she waves to him. “Regulus! Fancy seeing you here!”

“Pandora! What are you doing here?” He strides over and picks up the bag she dropped. It nearly takes the shoulder off of him with its weight. “God above, what do you have in here?” he asks, peering at the leather as if he’ll be able to see right through it.

“Oh, you know,” she waves a hand, “this and that. The usual.” She leans sideways to peer around him. “Who’s the new guy? I thought you were getting attached to the old captain.”

“What? No. No– attached? No.” Pandora raised her eyebrows at him. “That’s Remus,” Regulus told her, and congratulated himself on his effortless recovery. She would never suspect a thing. “He’s temporarily replacing James. There was an incident.”

“Oh, I know.” Pandora hitched up her skirts and shouldered the three bags she’d managed to attach to herself with a series of complicated straps and elastic cords. “Dorcas sent me a letter, she sounded rather distressed. It’s why I decided to visit. Give her a moment’s reprieve. Tell me,” she leaned in conspiratorially, “about this Marlene character she keeps mentioning.”

Regulus gave her an obliging smile. “Where should I start?”

When they reached the castle, they found a carriage outside the front doors. Just as they passed, out stepped Princess Lily.

“Your highness!” Pandora exclaimed, delighted. She even went so far as to clap her hands together in excitement. Regulus thought she looked whimsical; golden circlet woven through her wavy braids, knit gloves, stained skirts, still managing to look the epitome of queenliness.

Princess Lily, in contrasting fine silks and perfectly smooth hair, looked just as pleased to see Pandora. “Your majesty,” she said with a bow, to which Pandora made a face and waved her away. 

“Oh, no, I’ve abolished the whole bowing thing in my part of the world.” She picked up one of Lily’s bags and started walking inside. “I’ve convinced them all to tip their hats instead, asked them to get as creative as possible.” She smiled sunnily at the servant who tried to take the bags out of her hands, refused to let go, clinked a few coins into his pocket and patted him on the shoulder as she continued on. “One young lord in particular managed to do this spinning thing with his hat, tossed it into the air and everything. It was enthralling. I’ve asked him to teach me.”

Princess Lily nodded along, and attempted to take her bag out of Pandora’s hands. “Really, I can carry my own luggage, thank you, majesty.”

“I don’t mind!” Pandora said. “It keeps the arms fortified. Reg never lifted enough luggage as a child and now he’s as strong as a sheet in the wind. And please, call me Pandora. Or Pan, if you’d like. Panda.” She considered for a second. “I don’t mind really. But not ‘majesty’.”

“Only if you’ll call me Lily,” the princess acquiesced. “I’m just here.” She pointed towards the right. “Staying in the west wing, I believe.”

“Me too!” Pandora turned to Regulus. “Are we near to each other?”

“I believe Kreacher put you next to each other, yes.”

“Wonderful! We’ll see you at dinner, thank you for the escort, Reg,” Pandora said, clasping his hands and looking very earnestly into his face. “Fear becomes nobody. You will lead with your heart, or you will not lead at all.” She patted his hands and started down the corridor. “I’ll drop my poetry books in after dinner!”

Lily and Regulus stared after her for a moment. Regulus had the sense that he’d just been bowled over by a friendly hurricane. Before following Pandora, Lily turned to Regulus. “I was terribly sorry to hear what happened. Will you send the captain my regards?”

Regulus gave her a small smile. “Of course.”

“And should you need anything, I am always happy to help. Anything at all.”

“Thank you, your highness, that is very kind.”

The princess made a face. “Pandora is onto something, I believe, Lily is fine. We’ll see you at dinner.”

In the past, Regulus would have been horrified at the lack of propriety. But perhaps Sirius had been right about his softening of edges. There was something warm in Pandora’s insistent lack of titles and etiquette, instead cutting right to the quick. She ran her kingdom on integrity, not power. The familiarity in the lack of titles was inviting, comforting.

He thought of what Lucius would say if he got rid of his title. The man would have a conniption.

With a chuckle, he turned back towards his rooms. Maybe he’d do it just for that.

***

Barty and Evan caught him on the way to his rooms, Barty swinging an arm over his shoulder while Evan gave a nod to Remus.

“Alright, Lupin?” he said. “We’ll return him to you in one piece.”

Remus gave him a lazy salute and turned, sauntering down the corridor and disappearing around the corner. Regulus was amazed he didn’t whack his stupidly tall head off of a wall lamp.

“We’re staging an intervention, Reg,” Evan informed him as they took a right instead of a left at the corner. 

Wary, Regulus tried to figure out where they were going. “What for?”

Evan didn’t answer, and Barty only gave him a cheeky grin when Reulus turned to him. “Afraid we can’t tell you. Top secret business.”

“This is my intervention, Barty.”

“But we’re staging it,” Barty mocked back at him. “Look me in the eyes, Regulus.” Suspiciously, Regulus did. He had the sudden sensation of being dragged quicker and tried to look towards Evan, but Barty grabbed his chin and pulled him back. “Have we ever done anything without your best interests at heart?”

“Yes,” Regulus told him, deadpan. “All the time.”

“Well, in this case, you must know–”

Evan interrupted Barty. “You’re up, Bat.”

Looking around, Regulus spotted a familiar door and realised very suddenly where they were. He dug his heels in and tried to pull away, but Evan wasn’t letting go. Barty darted ahead and pulled the door open with a flourish, bowing towards Regulus. 

To Regulus’ great surprise, Sirius came sprinting out of the open door and whirled, taking up Regulus’ shoulder where Barty had let go. “Reggie, you’re a thick bastard, and I’m very pissed off at you for causing this in the first place. Fix it.”

“Enjoy yourself!” Evan called cheerfully, as he and Sirius shoved Regulus through the door.

From the rug where he landed, Regulus heard Barty slam the door behind him, and the suspicious sound of a deadbolt. Who kept a deadbolt on the outside of the door? There were some serious security issues in this castle that he needed to address.

He closed his eyes and didn’t move from the ground. This was terrible. How could they do this to him? He thought he could trust them, care for them, and this is how they repay him? Torture of the highest order?

“...Majesty?” a soft voice asked. A voice Regulus knew almost as well as his own, knew where it dipped and cracked, rose and fell. A voice that wound itself around his breakfast in the mornings, stuck in the bottom of his shoes on his walks, settled on his bookshelves to ask stupid questions and make ridiculous assumptions. A voice he would much rather listen to in contentment than have to face the conversation he knew they had to have.

With a sigh, Regulus rose to look at James head on.

He looked…well, terrible. Deep bags under his eyes, standing gingerly with his hand around his middle, wild curls frizzy and unkempt with a loose shirt barely buttoned up around his torso.

Still, he took Regulus’ breath away. 

Huddled there, limp and flat instead of his usual glowing and proud, Regulus thought that James Potter looked like a tragic hero. Somebody people would write poems about and create statues for, somebody celebrated and mourned and immortal.

Compared to that, how could Regulus stand a chance? He was Dido to James’ Aeneas, doomed from the beginning. James was made for more than this, ships and seas, adventures and battles; all Regulus could give him was a heart bent out of shape and a few ratty old books.

James was the sun on the horizon and Regulus felt like the waves; reaching and reaching, sinking before any chance to feel the warmth on his face.

The silence stretched.

Regulus took a breath. To say something, he didn’t know what, he’d figure it out on the fly, but James beat him to it. “I’m going to resign.”

It felt like all the air had rushed out of Regulus at once. “What?” he breathed. 

James only nodded. “This is my two week notice. Or six weeks. However long you require.” He looked away guiltily. “I never read my contract.”

Regulus stared at him in astonishment. “You can’t resign.”

“I– what?” James looked almost offended. “You gave me a contract where I can’t resign? Reg– majesty, with all due respect, I don’t think that’s legal.”

“No, I–” Regulus tried to figure out what he wanted to say. It felt like his heart was trying to claw its way out of his chest. James couldn’t resign, Regulus didn’t know what to do without him. A weakness, maybe, but not one he was willing to give up. “You need to give me six weeks’ warning. To find a replacement.” Why was his mouth saying these words? He didn’t want a replacement. Who could replace James Potter?

“Oh. Okay then. Well.” James looked away again, awkward. “This is my six week warning, I suppose.”

Regulus could feel every single one of his ribs and it felt like they were cracking into tiny pieces. He wished Evan and Barty had never brought him to this room. He wished he’d never met James Potter.

That wasn’t true. That could never be true. Even if James obviously wanted nothing to do with him, Regulus could never regret meeting him. James felt like fate. Home. A resting place, where Regulus had been running all his life.

They lapsed into silence again. Neither of them moved.

Regulus took a long breath in an attempt to gather all the shattered pieces of himself. It felt like he was falling to pieces right there in James’ room, cracking like marbles against the floor and rolling away into the corners. 

“May I ask–” He cleared his throat and tried again. “May I ask why? Was it the attack?”

“The attack?” James looks surprised. “Of course not. I’m a guard, that’s what I’m trained to do. And it kept you here, with me, of course it wasn’t the attack.”

Regulus furrows his brows. “Is it your rooms? I can get you bigger ones, if you wish. Just ask.”

“No, no, not the rooms, that’s ridiculous.”

“The people? The council? I can have words with anyone who’s said anything. Lucius can be an ass sometimes, but he doesn’t mean any harm. I can get rid of him, if you wish, if only you’ll–”

James looked as confused as Regulus felt. “No, of course not, everyone here is lovely, this place feels like home–”

Home. This place was home for James, and Regulus was driving him out of it. “Then what?” Regulus interrupted. “What is it? Why won’t you stay? Why do you have to leave?” His voice was climbing in volume, but he couldn’t help it. Just like that, and James was leaving? “I can get you anything you wish for; clothes, money, company, space–”

“It’s you!” James exploded, then shut his mouth.

Silence again.

Very quietly, Regulus asked “Me?”

James closed his eyes and inhaled through his nose. “You. I can’t do it anymore, your majesty. You’re too–” He opened his eyes. His face softened when he met Regulus gaze again, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Too everything. Your stumbling around in the morning, the way you do your buttons wrong, your stupid walks full of mosquitoes and snakes. I even started reading poetry because of the way you’d look at those books. I wanted–” he cut himself off. “I can’t do it anymore. I’ll finish my six weeks, and then I’ll be gone. You don’t even have to think of me again, your majesty.”

“Stop with the ‘majesty,’ James!” Regulus cried. “I don’t– was I a bad king? A bad–friend?” 

“No!” James looked as if he’d never even considered it. “No! The opposite! You’ve been wonderful. I read your books, I listened to your voice and,” he looked earnestly into Regulus’ face, “this is the happiest I’ve ever been. Truly.”

“Stop talking like that!” Regulus whacked him on the shoulder, barely any force behind it. “You’re not gone yet, don’t–” he made a noise of frustration. “Please,” he said, “please don’t leave.”

“I have to,” James said, eyes starting to shine.

Regulus felt the fight go out of him. “I just don’t understand.”

James didn’t say anything, just walked over to the nightstand and pulled out a stack of books. They were the ones Regulus had lent him.

He handed them to Regulus with a sad smile, and it felt like goodbye. There was nothing Regulus could do. He took them silently and turned around, somehow making his way to the door.

He paused at the door. “You can– you don’t have to stay for the six weeks. You’ve handed in your resignation, you can leave today, if you wish.”

He left before he could hear the answer.

Evan and Barty were outside, murmuring about something with their heads very close together. They jumped apart as the door closed behind Regulus, and Barty broke into a beaming smile. “Well?” he asked.

Regulus ignored them. He just had to make it to his room, and then he could cry.

One foot in front of the other, and it would all work out. He’d be fine. James had never meant that much to him anyway.

“Regulus?” Evan called from behind him. 

He didn’t answer.

He could hear Barty getting agitated. “That’s not– that isn’t– what happened ?” Evan said something soft to him, and then there were footsteps away from them. 

Regulus barely registered Evan’s hand on his back. “Come on,” he mumbled. “We’ll work it out.”

Chapter Text

It seemed to Regulus, as he was working on his garden, that he couldn’t get a moment’s peace in this castle.

Barely three hours had passed since he left James’ rooms, tears stuck in his eyelashes, and already he’d had visits from Evan, Dorcas, Lily and, bizarrely enough, the barkeep from the local tavern. Her name was Mary, and all she’d done was observe him for a moment or two before asking him about his plants. Confused, Regulus had rambled until she’d nodded, curtseyed, and left again.

He was staring into the middle distance, purple daisies forgotten before him, when a gate slammed. Regulus jumped and whirled around, nerves frayed from the events of the week. James was leaving. He was never going to see him again.

James was leaving.

Sirius stalked out of the gate and over to Regulus. Sirius was the type of person who embodied his emotions completely. This Sirius, with his scowl and stomping, looked like a storm brewing on the horizon. He was mightily pissed off.

He stopped once he reached Regulus, and the two stared at each other in silence for a moment. Regulus was too tired to say anything. Exhaustion had settled on his shoulders like a cloak. James was leaving.

“You.” Sirius pointed at him aggressively. Regulus blinked. “You wanker. I thought you were the smart one, you utter, utter fool.”

Regulus stayed silent. In all honesty, he didn’t have the foggiest notion what Sirius was talking about.

“You– and James– agh!” Sirius yelled in frustration. He took a breath and began again. “You cannot kick James out of this castle. He’s staying.”

James is staying? “Oh.”

“You are going to talk to him, and you are going to explain that you want him here.”

“But he doesn’t want to be here,” Regulus told him. Did they really have to go through this again? It still stung when he thought about it. James, gone.

Sirius stared at him, mouth hanging open slightly. “He doesn’t–? How did–?”

Regulus shrugged, wanting the conversation to be over. It hurt, talking about it. He was tired. He’d put himself out there, he’d felt himself curling open like a delicate little petal, and then the frost came to drag him down again. It was done, it was over. He should have expected it.

“You are fucking ridiculous! Tell him you want him here, what is wrong with you!” Sirius sighed, closed his eyes, and took another breath to gather himself. “I came out here to tell you that the vole guy was arrested. Frank found him at the edge of the woods a few days ago, and he’s awaiting trial in the dungeons. Mulciber and Avery have fled the country, but we’ve sent out a team to track them down. It’s getting sorted.”

Regulus nodded slightly in acknowledgement. “Who’s the vole guy?”

“The guy that attacked you? Hired by Mulciber?”

“Oh.”

There was another pause. It seemed his eloquence was failing him today.

“Well,” Sirius rocked backwards on his heels, “I’ll leave you to it. Talk to James.”

Regulus stared after him. How would he talk to James? James was leaving. It was all he could think about, like some stupid spinning top, around and around; James was leaving, James was leaving.

In all honesty, Regulus knew what the problem was. It wasn’t James. This tangled mess of a situation, this thing that had left Regulus flat on his arse with the wind knocked out of him, was mostly his own fault.

That’s the thing, as much as he was loathe to admit it, Regulus had known about this all along. He’s not oblivious. He had seen the train coming a mile away, and had instead decided to invest in a blindfold instead of a brake lever. When he really thought about it, he could trace it all the way back to his visit to Dorcas. Of course he wasn’t getting poisoned. Of course it was James. It was always James, really.

He had floated into the castle in a cloud of pride and skill, and he had been unbelievably attractive since day one. Regulus had just thought he was stronger, was all. Strong enough to resist, strong enough to be friends, strong enough to admit it. Admit that he was in love.

But he couldn’t even admit it to himself, let alone James.

And now, because Regulus was weak and afraid, James was leaving. 

He didn’t have the courage; he never had. His parents had said it, Sirius had said it– Regulus was scared. Scared of things he shouldn’t be, scared of little things. ‘Good things,’ Sirius had spat at him, once. ‘You’re afraid of good things happening to you, Reggie, you stubborn bastard.’

Perhaps he deserved it. Perhaps this was the consequence of his fear.

Couldn’t be in love, couldn’t admit it to himself, could never admit it to James; left alone in the darkness once again. Sunshine brushed against his skin briefly, skittered away as he pulled the curtains.

His own damn fault. 

Regulus sighed and pulled himself back into the moment. The garden. Pollen in his lungs, soil under his feet, nobody to speak to him.

He glanced up at the sky and nearly laughed. Where the sun had shone brightly this morning, dark clouds had rolled in and now cast a grey sheen over everything. Sucked the colour right out of the world. 

Regulus had never been a fan of pathetic fallacy in books, he always thought it was overdramatic. The weather will not bow to little mortals and their petty problems, no matter how symbolic it would be.

And yet, here he was, lump in his throat that matched the heavy rain gathering in the air.

He turned around and went inside.

***

Regulus skipped dinner that night, and didn’t open the door to anyone when they came knocking.

Sometime later, after what could have been hours or minutes spent in a slumped haze staring at the wall, the door to his rooms creaked open.

“Fuck off and die,” Regulus tried to say. Unfortunately, his mouth felt like it was filled with cement powder, and all he managed to garble was a series of unintelligible sounds.

Whoever it was whistled at the state of the room and then said, “This is the shittiest shit you’ve ever sat in, shitman.”

Regulus smacked his lips into what felt like a vague lip shape. “You can’t speak that way to me, Barty,” he mumbled. “I’m the king.”

“Yeah, the king of wallowing,” Barty scoffed, “Up you get.” He plopped himself into the armchair across from Regulus, disregarding his own order. “Here.”

Barty handed Regulus a glass of whiskey. Regulus eyed it suspiciously. “Barty, do you know how much whiskey you’re meant to pour into a cup?”

“Evan told me I was doing it wrong, but he said a finger and–” Barty stuck his finger into his glass vertically, where the liquid came up to his middle knuckle, “this looks like a finger to me.” There was an incredulous pause. “Oh, don’t look so distraught, Reg. I’ll drink ‘em both myself if you don’t want it.”

At this, Regulus pulled his glass back towards himself, out of the way of Barty’s swiping fingers. “No, I’ll drink it.”

Barty raised his eyebrows. Regulus didn’t like whiskey, always said the price was too much to pay the next day. And yet– “Sweetums Reggie drinking whiskey. My, my, the world has ended.”

The scowl Regulus sent his way would have sent crows scattering, but Barty only looked pleased with himself. “Bastard,” Regulus mumbled and took a gulp.

Barty did this every time Regulus was in a funk, and every time it worked. He swanned in as if nothing was wrong, and the next thing he knew, Regulus was remembering how to move his mouth and breathe properly and feel something other than a faint tingling in his fingertips.

The thing about Barty was that he loved with a surprising fierceness. He couldn’t stand to see the people around him sad, or bitter, and lived his life along the theory that he could trade his good cheer for your bad. Regulus quietly thought that it would put him in the grave one day, bartering emotions like that, and Evan was always giving out to him for it. ‘Keep some of it for yourself,’ he’d mutter, before cheering Barty up the exact same way Barty’d just cheered Evan.

They reminded Regulus of those binary star systems he’d read about in one of Pandora’s books. Set at the perfect distance, with the exact size to keep them perpetually swinging around each other, each star didn’t rotate, and looked solely at the other the whole time. Aeons spent locked in this reflecting cycle, where if one fails, so does the other. Around and around and around, no life for one without the other, an unwitting mirror image of love.

About halfway through his unreasonably large glass of whiskey, Regulus attempted to explain this to Barty.

“And it’s, it’s like this–” Regulus hiccoughed, “this, these big stars and they– they love so much.” He tipped forwards, trying to look Barty in the face, but just ended up tilted in some direction he couldn’t figure out at the moment. “And that’s you, you’re like– a star, it’s so…so…”

Barty giggled, sliding down in his chair. “You should have been–” he interrupted himself to laugh, “a painter! You see so much, Reggiekins, darling– it’s always am’zed me.” Barty’s face loomed into Reg’s vision and he managed to rearrange himself upright. Barty was slumped forwards, hands on Regulus’ knees to keep himself upright. “Let me teel you this. I have to teel you. Teel you. Teel– this… it’s…” he trailed off and blinked slowly. “Oh. Yes. You know love.”

Regulus blinked at him, head tilting sideways of its own accord. Oh, how he was going to pay for this tomorrow morning. He hadn’t been this plastered since he was sixteen and sneaking out with Sirius. “Love?” he repeated.

Barty nodded emphatically. “Yeah, you… you know’t better than me. You have the whole…” he took one hand away to wave it vaguely and unbalanced himself, sliding to the floor. Regulus found himself following him down, leaning sideways against the coffee table. “...pottery thing. Petry. Po-wet-ry. You… get it.” Regulus smacked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. “I don’t get it.” Barty continued with a shake of his head.

“What? You get it. The… Evan?”

Barty smiled and it looked like his whole face was lit up in gold. “Evan,” he repeated, softly, just for himself. Admittedly, Regulus was inebriated and his senses could not be trusted, but no amount of drink could hide the sheer adoration on Barty’s face. This was a man who got it. Whatever the ‘it’ was that Regulus couldn’t be arsed to remember at the minute.

“You do, you do, do you– yood. I want to…” Regulus trailed off and stared into his glass, a thin golden layer still left in it. “I want what– that, it, the way you…” Helplessly, Regulus waved his hand generally around Barty. “Think him, look at him. That’s love.” He paused and listened to Barty breathing. “Golden,” he muttered to himself.

Barty’s head swung around to him, beaming smile alight on his face. “That’s it. That’s– you’ll ready hav’t.” Regulus blinked at him. “You swim everywhere. Swim. Sweem. Swee him.” Barty furrowed his brow and knocked back the last of his whiskey. “See him. Golden, golden, it’s all you’ve ever sad– said.” He cackled at his own mistake.

Regulus didn’t know what to say to that. Maybe it was true. Even here, this whole room, he just wanted James to be there. To see what he saw and know what he knew; he wanted to share it all, everything, all he’d ever learnt and observed. James would like it.

“Your polbrem is you’re too…” Barty continued, waving his glass dangerously in the air, “you don’t think you derserv an’thing. Won’ like things, think is not allowed. Regulus,” he leaned forward on his hands and knees, face eclipsing Regulus’ view of the room. Very seriously, he told him, “it is allowed. It is allowed. For you– anything, it’s all. All for you, anything you want, is dersev’d.” 

Regulus blinked back at him slowly, trying to focus on what he was saying. “I can like… James?”

“Of curse. Ask him to say. Stay. With you. For you.” Barty fell backwards, energy apparently drained.

“But… how– I’m not…” Regulus trailed off and glanced over towards Barty. He was slumped against the sofa, legs stretched out in front of him, eyes closed in what appeared to be a pleasant sleep.

Regulus slumped into him and closed his own eyes. What a mercy sleep seemed to him, a lovely, comforting, dark embrace for his tired eyes and mind. He could think of this all tomorrow.

***

“My lords. Wake up, my lords.” A scratchy voice dragged Regulus from the swirly depths of sleep. A pointy finger was poking him in the shoulder, sharp nails dragging where his shirt had slipped.

“No, Kreacher, not yet, please, it’s awful,” moaned a voice from somewhere beside Regulus.

Dimly, he became away of the rough rug under his cheek, and cracked his eyes to see the shiny, polished boots of Kreacher standing in front of him.

“My apologies, Lord Crouch,” Kreacher said, not sounding sorry at all, “but there is a trial to attend to this afternoon. I must make the good majesty presentable.”

Regulus mumbled something and closed his eyes again.

Kreacher spoke again with obvious scorn in his voice, “I will bring some tea, sire.” Regulus heard the dull thump of Kreacher’s boot and a low groan from Barty. “Lord Crouch must fetch his own.”

Regulus didn’t open his eyes. “Rest it, Kreacher. Breakfast for us both, please.”

A pause. “Very well.”

Barty was muttering what sounded like prayers from beside him, his voice the epitome of misery.

After a few minutes Regulus opened his eyes again. “Did he say ‘trial?’”

Barty made an unintelligible noise.

“Trial for who? Do I have to go?”

“Nngh. The…mouldy guy. The vole. Mulciber’s guy.”

Oh, right. The self proclaimed God with a murder mission. 

Regulus rolled over on to his back and stared up at the ceiling. He wondered what angle the judge would take. Actually–

“Barty.” Regulus rolled over and poked him. “Barty. Who did I appoint judge?”

Barty cracked one eye open and squinted at Regulus. “Didju hit your head or somethin’? Evan’s judge. But something about only in royal situations? There’s some clause… neugh. He’ll be there.”

That was good, then. He probably wouldn’t have to do too much thinking. That being said, he wasn’t sure he could have done that much anyway. There was an awful knot in his stomach and he had what felt like a horrible migraine. “Okay. Okay,” he muttered to himself. Hauling himself up, he grabbed the back of the armchair he’d been sitting on the night before and stopped.

The ground felt like it was the deck of a ship, slipping beneath his feet, and the light slivers coming through the curtains were horrific daggers designed to paralyse his mind. “Barty. Oh, God,” he moaned, and stumbled desperately into the washroom.

After emptying the contents of his stomach, Regulus sank back down onto the frigid floor, shivering. Oh God, this was how it ended. He was going to die here. Keel over and rot. Nobody would ever see him again.

“Tea, my lords,” Kreacher announced, unnecessarily loudly. “Some sugars will do you good. And Alice,” he said her name with distaste, “has made a ‘potion’ for you.” Regulus dragged himself towards the sitting room, hunched over and grimacing. He could see the sneer on Kreacher’s face as he gazed at Barty, also hunched and grimacing. “It will aid your hangover, majesty.”

“Thank you, Kreacher. Give our gratitude to Alice.” Kreacher lingered by the door, silent. “You’re dismissed,” Regulus clarified, glancing at him. Kreacher inclined his head and left.

Barty hauled himself into a seated position, making a disgusted face at the food in front of them. “What a miserable, judgemental bastard,” he muttered.

Regulus didn’t respond, only forced himself to pick up the horrid looking drink Alice had included on the tray.

“To our good health,” Barty toasted, and then snorted to himself. Regulus couldn’t help but agree.

***

Several hours later found Regulus alone in his washroom, staring down his own reflection in the mirror. He’d dismissed Kreacher’s attempts to prepare him for the trial, instead preferring to ready himself alone.

So now he stood, barefoot on the cool tiles, silk nightwear unbuttoned and hanging from his shoulders. He observed the pale expanse of his chest contrasted against his dark, clipped waves and felt shaky, vulnerable. He had eyebags nestled comfortably under what looked to him like a naive, youthful gaze. 

He glanced at the neatly folded formal garments beside him on the table and reached for them before pulling his hand back. He wasn’t ready, he couldn’t do this, he was in no fit state to attend a trial. 

Regulus took a deep breath, filling his chest, and then another. He turned his back on the mirror and began the short, methodical process of locking his emotions back into a very strong box. He willed his hands to shop shaking, and then pulled them through his hair. Another breath.

He stripped his nightwear off and started dressing himself carefully, revelling in the mechanical order of it all. Shirt, trousers, socks. Belt, cuffs, shoes. Overshirt, then tuck the trousers and shirts in. Arrange the folds. Sword belt, cloak, cloak pin. The ornamental green overlay for the cloak. Jewellry. 

He picked up the final piece– the silver crown. He pulled his shoulders back, lifted his chin, and placed it on his hair.

He finally turned back to the mirror and observed his reflection. He looked proud, cold. Everything a king should be. More importantly, he felt nothing. No lingering unsureness, regret, nothing. Everything a king should be.

He swept into his own rooms to find Remus lounging against the wall beside the door. He looked up and whistled when he saw Regulus. “Well! Don’t you clean up nicely.”

Regulus grinned at him; the sharper one, the one he used for court. Remus nodded decisively. “You’re good to go, Regulus. They won’t know what hit them.”

“Save the platitudes,” Regulus said as he opened the door, striding out. “That’s not what I value you for.”

“Mm, but I mean it,” Remus disagreed as he closed the door behind them. “And you value me? Who knew you had such a soft side?”

“Don’t get it confused. I value your services as a guard, nothing more.”

“My services, you say?” Regulus couldn’t help but glance over and found Remus waggling his eyebrows. Against his better judgement, he found himself smirking slightly. “Don’t let the word get out, Regulus, you’d have to fight off some of the stable boys for a piece of this,” he continued, gesturing at himself.

Regulus knew what he was trying to do– joke with him, relax him– and to his irritation, it was working. He was relaxed by the time he left the washroom, but now he felt settled. Kingly. Almost, he might even say, whole.

Remus paused once they reached the council chamber– a temporary courtroom– and gave Regulus one of his half smiles. Mockingly, he bowed, before turning to the double doors. 

Regulus took a breath.

Remus pushed the doors open with a dramatic bang, revealing James already standing post on the right side of the entrance.

Regulus willed himself not to look at him while Remus let the silence ring out. Really, the man had a fondness of the unnecessary dramatics. Maybe there was hope for Sirius yet.

“His Majesty, Lord Regulus of the Noble and Most Pure House of Black,” he announced, and stepped to the side, clearing the way for Regulus to stride in. 

Despite his resolution to keep his eyes ahead, Regulus couldn’t help but glance at that familiar, warm face to the right side of the doors.

James looked tired, but still there was something in his eyes. Some fondness, maybe.

And perhaps Regulus was imagining it’s existence, but nonetheless, it gave him hope. Hope that maybe he could solve this, salvage this. Maybe all was not lost, yet.

The rippling rows of lords and ladies bowed as he passed them, eyes fixed on him as he ascended to his throne at the far end of the room. He stood for a minute, assessing the faces below him with a hard gaze before taking his seat, allowing them all to do the same. 

How many of them were here for the scandal of it all? Vultures, staring at the trial box with beady eyes, salivating for something to talk about. 

Perhaps not all of them, he reminded himself. His council were seated in the front rows, each of them staring out with hard eyes. Sirius’ dark scowl would have brought a storm on them if not for the roof, and the sharp lines of Barty’s shoulders suggested a fierce anger boiling under his skin. Narcissa looked calculated and poised, as always, but Lucius beside her had telltale signs of nervousness: flicking his hair, clasping his hands, bouncing one pointed heel against the floor. Marlene was made up perfectly, the pleasant smile on her face outlined in a bloodred lipstick. Regulus knew it was all a bland facade from the way her eyes kept cutting to Avery beside her, accompanied by the tightening of her mouth in disgust. 

Evan caught his eyes from where he was seated in the judge’s chair and Regulus gave him a nod. Pettigrew shuffled a few papers around and then looked to Evan expectantly. 

“Bring out the prisoner,” Evan called into the muttering courtroom. “Let the trial commence.”

Regulus’ role here was mostly symbolic. He had no true part to play until the end, his announcement of support or overruling of Evan’s decision. As king, his word would be final. But truly, Regulus had no doubts in Evan’s judgement.

Hence, he allowed himself time to tune out. They were only relaying a situation he already knew, the events that he himself had been involved in. He found his eyes wandering, most often to James. Generally, the other man was already looking back at him. Regulus studied him, and thought about what he was going to say, how he was going to convince him.

Firstly, he should decide what he wants. James, his mind supplies. Forcing back a grimace, Regulus chides himself for emotional outbursts, even within his own mind. Wants what with James? A friendship, like they’d had before? No, no. Something stronger, something that would declare James as his.

Consort would be too strong, Regulus decided. But then he thought about it. Too strong for the minute, perhaps, but in time…

But he must start small. He would have to convince James to stay. Offer him a post of his choosing, something he’d enjoy. And then he’d learn to relax with him, trust him.

Realistically, Regulus knew, it wouldn’t be hard. He was already there, practically. He just had to remember it. Not pull away.

And this was all assuming James was on the same page. It was always a possibility that he wasn’t. And what then?

Then, Regulus would do what he did best. Mourn, settle, and move on. It would hurt, he knew it would hurt, but maybe Pandora was right. Fear becomes nobody. Either way, it would be worth the–

“Calling our first witness, Lucius Malfoy,” Pettigrew announced, and shuffled some more papers around. Regulus sat up and watched as Lucius took the stand, nervously twirling his hair, yet again.

“For the record, please state your name and position in court,” Pettigrew said.

“Lucius Malfoy, Lord of the Malfoy Estate and subsequent lands.”

“And what was your relationship to the accused?”

Lucius blinked. “Well, I didn’t really know him. I only met him once, at the tavern, when Mulciber introduced us.”

“And what was your initial response to this man?” 

“I couldn’t see him very well, but I thought he was a normal man, honestly.” He turned pleading eyes up to Regulus, not Evan. Regulus thought that was a mistake, since he wasn’t the one making the decisions. “I had no idea they were planning an attack on our beloved king.”

Regulus fought the urge to roll his eyes. Peter scribbled something down and then said, “But did you not say, on the 7th of September, while seated on the right hand side of the bartop at the Pig’s Head, about three hours after sunset–” Lucius squirmed uncomfortably, “-that ‘somebody ought to put that child back in his place?’”

Lucius was silent a moment before stumbling out a non-answer. Regulus sat back, and let the rest of the questioning wash over him. It was all much the same, Lucius blustering out answers that didn’t make him look that good.

Still, Regulus was of the opinion that Lucius didn’t expect it all to go this far. He genuinely seemed caught up in something bigger than himself.

Towards the end of Pettigrew’s interrogation, Regulus looked towards Narcissa. She was sat beside Lucius’ empty seat, looking towards her husband with an undisguised air of dislike. She did not look angry so much as calculating, and Regulus got the distinct impression there would be a massive argument behind closed doors. Lucius seemed to sense this too, looking nervously in her direction every few sentences.

After Pettigrew had finished, a lesser courtier named Knox got up to cross examine. Regulus was underwhelmed. He brought nothing new to light.

Avery took the stand after Lucius. He tried to answer the questions much the same way as Lucius had, but it was clear he was lying. Eventually, Pettigrew’s fast questions and blunt approach led him to crack.

“Alright! Yes, we made a plan. But it was mostly Mulciber! And we only wanted to scare him a bit, not kill him.”

Pettigrew levelled him with a flat stare. “So you hired a mercenary killer. To ‘not kill him.’”

“That’s right.” Avery nodded. Pettigrew let the silence brew for a moment. Avery wiped a bead of sweat off his brow. “Well, perhaps I was underselling it, I suppose..”

The whole story came to light in reluctant stops and starts. After Regulus had banished them, they’d found themselves drunk and angry in some hole-in-the-wall tavern along the southern coast. It was a docklands tavern, open late and home to a rougher crowd than they’d be used to. They ended up chatting to this stranger in the corner, a ‘scary lookin’ fella with a silver tongue, y’know?’ One thing led to another, and the next thing they were offering him a bed in their hotel room and he was offering to ‘solve their problems’ for them. ‘Solve their problems’ turned out to be infiltrate the castle and kill the king for a nice, large, agreed-upon sum of money. Should their plan succeed, the stranger would get safe passage out of the country, and no persecution for his crimes.

Regulus could just imagine it, the three of them leaning in close, smelling of beer, scheming their piggy little brains out. It revolted him.

The trial dragged after that. Knox did his best, but couldn’t quite stand up to Pettigrew’s grilling, so by the time closing arguments were taking place there was a definite uneasy murmur around the courtroom. 

When the time came, Evan banged his gavel for silence. “Ordinarily, I would take some time to deliberate. This will not be necessary in this case. The accused, Tom Riddle, is found  guilty on charges of attempted murder and treason. He will be sentenced to death. The accused, Mulciber and Avery, are found guilty on charges of treason and conspiracy to commit murder. Their sentence is banishment, separately, and revocation of their land and titles.” There was a subdued murmur around the room. Regulus couldn’t quite decide the tone of it. “The accused, Lucius Malfoy,” Evan continued, raising his voice, “is found guilty on the charge of accomplice to attempted murder. His council seat and title shall be revoked, and he is sentenced to a brief reformatory period in the western lands, facilitated by the Queen Pandora, whom we thank for her gracious solution.” Evan nodded towards her and she inclined her head towards him, even as shocked muttering circulated the room.

The ‘reformation’ punishment had been Pandora’s idea. She had gotten it into her head the criminals could be reformed, or made better. Regulus very much doubted that Lucius could be ‘reformed,’ but after Pandora outlined the idea to Narcissa, she agreed whole-heartedly. She claimed that she could do better damage control with Lucius out of the country, which may have been true, but Regulus secretly guessed that she was mightily pissed off with him and wanted him out of her sight for a few months. 

“And you don’t mind about the titles?” Regulus had asked.

She’d shrugged. “I have my own. It will do that stupid man some good to be cut down to size.”

Evan whacked his gavel a final time. Regulus suspected he just enjoyed doing it, rather than actually needed to. “I invite His Majesty to make the final remark.”

The courtroom fell silent as Regulus rose, straight-backed. Sirius nodded at him, looking proud, which made Regulus feel all sorts of warm, fuzzy things he wasn’t going to acknowledge at the minute. Accidentally, he caught James’ eyes at the front of the room. He looked solemn.

“Lord Rosier’s ruling stands. I wish Mister Malfoy every happiness on his journey.” He smirked at Lucius. “And I will make it clear that this court does not look kindly on treason or murder. Any issues with my court can be taken up with me in a mature, diplomatic way. Failure to do so will result in strict consequences, as demonstrated by Mister Riddle and the Misters Avery and Mulciber.” He looked around the room, pleased to see that his court was silent, watching him with rapt attention. “Lord Rosier’s sentences are maintained. The execution will take place at dusk, and the banishments will be carried out by the end of the week.” He looked to Evan to make sure he had nothing else to say. “Dismissed.”

The court room erupted into noise, and Remus and James made their way over to Regulus’ throne before two servants pulled the doors open for the suddenly heaving crowd. Regulus sat, and watched them as they exited, making sure to stare down anybody who looked back at him for too long, or with a particular, distasteful curl to their mouths.

“Bloody brilliant, mate,” Remus grinned. He patted James on the back briefly, and then turned, sauntering over to where Sirius was not-so-subtly watching him from beneath his lashes.

James shuffled his feet. “You let him– call you ‘mate?’” he said awkwardly.

“I can’t get him to stop,” Regulus said darkly, looking after his retreating curls. “But that’s not– not important,” he continued, mortified to find himself stuttering. “I wanted to apologise,” he said stiffly.

James gave him a lopsided smile. “You don’t need to apologise, majesty.”

“Oh, don’t call me majesty. We’re past that, aren’t we?”

“Well,” James hesitated. “I’m not sure. I thought– for a little bit? But then, you didn’t seem to mind me leaving, so I guess it wasn’t…”

Ah, so they were just going to jump right into it then. No pretending away the problem this time. “Yes, I– I didn’t conduct myself well.” Regulus looked down. “I don’t want you to leave. I’d like you to stay. I don’t–” He took a breath and made a conscious effort to look James in they eyes. It was hard. His eyes were very distracting. “I don’t know why you want to leave?”

James sighed. “I thought it would help. I thought, for a second– I thought we could have something. In the room after I got stabbed,” Regulus winced, “I saw a whole future for us. Which is to say, I mean–” James looked back up with wide eyes, “I was only overthinking it. I know it can never be, and it’s inappropriate, so I was just getting ahead of myself, and then–” He was speaking faster now, as if afraid Regulus wouldn’t let him get the words out. “--well, I panicked a little bit, so I thought it would be best if I just cut loose and ran, but I see now that I hurt you by doing that, which wasn’t my goal at all, and–mmph.” Regulus put his hand over James’ mouth.

“You thought we had a moment?” he asked, and it came out far softer than he intended. He cleared his throat as James hesitantly nodded. Regulus smiled at him. He couldn’t help it. “Then I should be saying sorry. We could have had a moment, but I ruined it. And then I panicked, because– well, it doesn’t matter why.”

Regulus pulled his hand away from James’ mouth to find him smiling dopily at him.  “We’ve been very stupid, then, majesty,” he whispered. Regulus tutted and went to pull his head away, but James stopped him with a hand on the cheek. “Let’s have our moment now,” he continued.

Regulus felt a furious blush rise to his cheeks. “Well if– if you think–” James just beamed at him, then slowly, so slowly leaned in. He paused for a second and Regulus breathed in, sharing his air and his breath. He felt like he was breathing in James’ soul– it was intoxicating.

Regulus doesn’t remember who finally bridged that infitesimal gap, but then James’ lips were on his and it didn’t matter. He was warm, finally, and safe.

He pulled his head back, smiling so hard his cheeks hurt, and rested his head against James’. He opened his eyes to find James’ brown ones already gazing back at him, a matching grin on his face.

Regulus thought he would burst with giddiness. “So you’ll stay?”

“Yes,” James breathed, “Yes, of course I’ll stay.”