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They get close, turn the corner just in time to see the door swinging shut, and James puts on an extra burst of speed even as they hear it: one short scream, a sound that may be fingers searching the door for the knob, and then nothing. At least, nothing human; there is still the wolf tearing into its prey, teeth scraping against bone in that way that always makes Sirius' mouth ache when they have chicken at dinner, even now he has more important things to worry about. It takes James a moment to process, and he runs a few steps more, which would be funny if it weren't for the look on his face, eyes wide and disbelieving, mouth open like he's trying to say something (nonono no) but it won't come out. He falls to his knees, and Sirius watches and sees a total collapse, sees something dawn on his face that looks a little like understanding, not just of Snape's death, but of the person he has chosen to spend his time with.
“James?” He thinks it will help, somehow, if he can just get James to look at him, at anything other than the door at the end of the hall. But then James does, turns that gaze on him and it is full of horror and fear and what looks like pity. Sirius flinches. There is a pause and they stare at each other and Sirius' mind is whirring with ways to make this better, but he stays silent because he's not sure James wants to make it better at all. Then, as if James can read his mind,“You're not going to Azkaban.” It's shrill and panicked and unsure, more a plea than a statement, but it's enough. He's still wanted.
“Of course not.” Sirius has never had to be the functional one before, but something about the dejected slump of James shoulders clears his head. He has always worked best under pressure: the last hours before an essay’s due, the final practice before a Quidditch game, midnight when he's just killed someone and has only a few hours to get rid of the evidence.
“What now?” The way James' voice quivers makes Sirius feel worse than anything, worse than the sounds still occasionally coming from behind the door.
“Take the cloak and stand guard outside the Willow, all right? I'm not getting between a werewolf and its meal, but once he— once it's done, it ought to be a bit more sedate. I'll go in, stun it, clean up.” James looks at him a moment, says nothing about the swap, then nods. “Hey. No one’s going to Azkaban, all right?” He'd feel better if James would seem even a little reassured, but he is at least no longer crouched on the floor with his arms wrapped around himself, or standing but on the balls of his feet,turned like he's ready to bolt, and that's something. Very little, but something.
Sirius doesn't consider himself detached, and he's willing to bet no one else would either, but as soon as he steps into the room with the wolf, it's like a part of him disappears. There's blood everywhere; the wolf has spread its kill around, and he can see the fragile curves of a rib cage arcing out of a mass of red. It's like watching himself from some removed vantage point, not quite from above but as if he is just slightly outside of himself, because surely those aren't his hands prying open a werewolf's mouth to clean traces of human meat off its teeth.
He sits down in the hall when he's done, pulls his knees to his chest and breathes deep until he can feel his body again.
They're lucky no one's come looking because James is standing just barely out of the tree's range, cloak only half covering him so his head and the left side of his torso seem to rise out of thin air.
“Good job keeping watch.”
“You just wanted to get me out of there and you know it.” James grins, a bit recovered but still shaky.
“I took care of it. Now we just—” Sirius stops suddenly, overwhelmed because he’s just tampered with a crime scene and he has the remains of a classmate tucked away in his robes and he doesn't know how to say, "Now we just leave everything and everyone we know behind."
“Well, we can't stay here of course.” James' voice is soft and soothing,a far cry from the blankness of before. He's used to cleaning up Sirius' messes, and this is a little more typical now the blood's gone.“My dad says Dumbledore's a Legilimens. We'll be the main suspects and the second we're called in, it all goes to pieces. We can’t be here come morning.” There is something very sad, very final about it, and Sirius can't quite meet James' eyes. James has a life, two parents who love him and a future. Had.,
“I could obliviate you. Then you'd be able to stay.”
James punches him lightly, grinning like this situation is in any way normal. “Like I'd trust you messing with my head. No, we're in this together.” Then, softer, “This is my choice. Trust me. Now get under the cloak so we can deal with this.” He looks pointedly at his watch, then pulls the cloak over both of them.
When they get back, Peter's still napping; they were supposed to wake him hours ago. A simple stunner ensures he stays like that, but they whisper anyway.
James begins to speak, counting on his fingers. “We need to pack—travel light— write a note, get our brooms, leave through the Shack again,” he winces here, “and head to Gringotts. Then we get as far away as possible.”
“Right.”
Sirius watches over James' shoulder as he writes their note. He has to fight the impulse to invade James' space like he usually would, to lean heavily on his shoulder and refuse to support more than three quarters of his own weight. But James' shoulders are hunched and he is small and sad and quiet in a way Sirius has never seen him before. He's afraid James is experiencing serious regret for the first time, is regretting not just becoming Sirius' accomplice in this, but Sirius' accomplice in anything. So
he hangs back, stand only close enough to read.
“You've said you're sorry five times already.”
“Well, I am sorry.” James stops writing for a second and cracks his neck like he's been doing strenuous labor instead of agonizing over a paragraph.
“You might as well write, 'Sirius killed Snape,' because that's what this is, an admission.”
“You do it then!” He throws the quill down. “I'm sorry but I don't exactly know how to write a running away from murder charges note!”
“I can't. Think about it. If we were actually running away for some other reason, who would write the sentimental note saying goodbye to our families and closest friends?” James sighs, defeated. “Exactly. We should come up with something better anyway.”
“Better than 'We happened to run away the same night as a murder, oops'?Hard to conceive of something so remarkable.” He chuckles under his breath, and Sirius is momentarily thrilled to have the normal James back, but his face shifts from mirthful to horrified faster than Sirius can track. “I can't believe I just said that. I can't believe I'm standing here joking I can't believe you—” His voice gets louder as he goes, and Sirius doesn't quite regret having to slap a hand over his mouth.
“Do you want to wake Peter? Be quiet.”
“Sirius, I am— I am about an hour away from a breakdown at best. I am about to turn my entire life upside down out of loyalty to you and you area murderer and we're about to be fugitives so please do not—” Sirius' wand hasn’t left his hand since the shack, so he manages to hit James without telegraphing it. “What did you just do?”
“Calming spell.”
“You can't just—” James tries to maintain his fury, tries to marshal what remains of it so he can keep going, but Sirius can see the way the frown slips off his face.
“You were getting hysterical. Yell at me all you want later, but right now we need to finish this and get out of here.” James doesn't respond, just looks at him with something that he would hate to have described as a pout,and it's so very James that Sirius almost laughs from relief. “Now we need some reason we'd run away together suddenly in the middle of the night and hide from everyone who cares about us.”
What James says next, he says quickly, but James says everything quickly, and there's no reason for Sirius to ascribe to this any special meaning, but he does anyway. “We're in love.”
“What?”
“No, see, it's perfect.” As James speaks, he speeds up even more, staring into Sirius' eyes with an odd sort of urgency. “It's not really accepted, so we’d want to leave. It's not great in the muggle world, but it's better than here. You'd be afraid of retaliation from your parents and I just wouldn’t be able to deal with the disappointment and disgust from mine and we’d want to go somewhere no one would know us to hate us.” He waits, but Sirius can't let his face be anything but carefully blank (the only other
option is hopeful, and that's not really an option at all). “I'll make it convincing. Just let me.”
“Fine. I'll pack.” Sirius doesn't take his eyes off James for a while after that, waits until he is well into a new letter before kneeling in front of his trunk.
I've been in love with Sirius since— I don't know. It all blends together,like one second he was just my best mate and the next I was desperately in love with him. For all I know, that's what happened. Because obviously being in love and being aware of said love are two totally separate things. I’ve always felt like I skipped straight from friendship to complete obsession, like there was no stop at just fancying him. He's like that, inspires obsession.
Maybe it's cowardly, but I can't stay here and watch the disappointment on my parents' faces when they find out. I'm afraid I'd give in, say fine,there's something wrong with me, help, but there's not anything wrong with what’s between us. There isn't. And honestly, Sirius says he wants to leave because his parents' response might be violent, and I don't know, it might be, but I don't think that's why. I think he has the same reason I do, as much as he likes to pretend not to be sentimental. They're still his
parents and I don't think he could take it. He's refusing to write anything and rolling his eyes like I'm some sentimental idiot, but he teared up when he thought I wasn't looking.
Sirius has never been good at not looking at James, has always found his eyes drawn to him no matter what else is happening, so he sees the way James colors pink as he writers, keeps pausing, putting his hands palm down on the desk like he's bracing himself. Sirius sees the way he is still for almost ten minutes before finally saying, shaky like his fingers, “Done. How's the packing going?”
“Oh, um. Almost.” He gestures to the two bags sitting on the bed he’ll never sleep in again, mostly full and spilling open. “I think I should write something for Regulus.”
“We agreed we were just leaving one letter for everyone.”
“I promised, after my first year here, that I'd never leave him alone with them again. Look, he doesn't have anyone else. I have to— It won't take long” They both know it's a lie, that Sirius will deliberate over the parchment for an agonizingly long time and probably end up with nothing to
show for it anyway, but James—and this is why Sirius loves him, really—doesn't say fine, but he's writing his parents then, or worse, that they need to go, even though the sun's rising and Peter's begun to make soft, open-mouthed noises that sound too much like waking up for comfort.
I've always been proud to call you my brother.
Sirius has never been good at silence, hears it as admonishment even when he’s done nothing wrong, nothing wrong recently, because he always has something to be ashamed of. And James won't talk, mouth still like his hands braced on the broom. It would be nice if Sirius could claim what comes out is impulsive, the first thought that manages to shape itself into words, but it's not true. He's wondered this for years, before he ever knew
the letter would be written, he wondered, tried to ask but what came out was, “We're best mates, right?” every time.
“So, the idea for the note came to you pretty fast.”
James' broom strays off-course for a moment, but when he speaks, he is calm “Are you really asking me that right now?” Sirius reconsiders. He is not calm, but flat. Detached, like some irretrievable part of himself is now separate from Sirius. And that ought to be answer enough, especially when Sirius never thought it would happen at all, but he has to fight to swallow the words bubbling
up anyway.
“I just.” But he falls silent, deciding it's better not to risk antagonizing James. The truth is that he needs a distraction. Needs something he can focus on other than what's going on in his brain. They get to Gringotts as the sun rises and James speaks to him for the first time in hours.
“Take everything out of your account and meet back here.” Then he pointedly walks over to the teller farthest from where Sirius is standing.
Lily Evans is supposed to be sweet. That's what teachers think, supposedly,though as she grins at Regulus across the makeshift waiting room that was once the front half of Dumbledore's office, it occurs to him that information on the thoughts of professors offered by Sirius is at least secondhand, maybe third, and not necessarily reliable. What is reliable,he's sure, is what Sirius followed this information up with. "She's a bitch."(Then, like it was unrelated, "James used to fancy her, he acts like he does still, but he doesn't," the last word overemphasized.)
They're the only two in the room, yet she's seated herself as far from him as possible, perched in the opposite corner of the room. It's perfectly silent, so she doesn't have to raise her voice to speak, but she does lean forward, maybe to more clearly watch his face change.
“Your brother's crazy, you know. The whole school's talking about it, and everyone they ask will say it, too. We're supposed to think they're both suspects, but everyone knows if it was them, then it was really just him,and Potter's along for the ride. No one's going to defend him either, not with everything that's come out.” She pauses, red-ringed eyes narrow, and her lips, bitten the same shade, twist together in the closest approximation of a smile she can manage. “I've heard he's been pulling away from your family for years, I hope all that's prepared you to be an only child”
“No wonder everyone says you're such a bitch.” He pauses, says the next bit like chocolate melting in his mouth, “Dyke bitch. I'd think you'd be more sympathetic”
“Coming from you, limp-wristed pansy.” She snorts, eyes his legs crossed at the knee until he blushes bright red and adjusts them. “Have you ever touched a girl?”
“Have you?”
She laughs, and it's not that funny but her best friend's been dead not even two days, so she ends up having to cover her mouth with both hands to muffle the sound. Finally, once she's mostly calmed, “I like you. Is there something in the water at your house? Both of you?”
“I'm not—” She raises an eyebrow and he stops. “I can see why Snivellus was your only friend. Not even Slytherins like him, you know. Liked.”
Lily snorts but can't manage any type of calm demeanor, interlaces shaking fingers “Yes, he's dead, I've got that well enough, thanks.”
“I don't think you get to play the victim when the first thing you've ever said to me was started with you calling my brother crazy and ended with implying I'll be an only child soon.” She smiles and looks away, refuses to meet his eyes. They sit like that for almost an hour, and it seems like as the students closest to the victim and the suspects, at least one of them ought to get some sort of attention, but the door doesn't open and neither of them moves.
“Do you knows who's in there? She jerks her head toward the door.
“Potter's parents. They were both crying when I saw them.” He rolls his eyes, tries to pretend he thinks it's stupid and not oddly touching.
“Mm. They're taking a while.”
“Not surprised. The Potters are known for being soft.”
She makes the same considering noise as before, looks him over. “Have your parents been in?”
“You'd have seen them if you'd been a little earlier. There's a sound-proofing spell on the door, but I could still hear them screaming. Aurors lasted less than five minutes.” He laughs, mouth lopsided, and
he can hear Sirius telling him he's not good at faking.
“Are you worried?” And now her voice is soft, like she cares though she’s been given no reason to, and he knows she must be faking it, but she's the only one in the entire school who's done something other than stare at him.“I mean, the Potters, they'll do what they have to to get him out of trouble if he's caught, but what about yours?”
“Sirius didn't do it,” he says, repeating what he's said to everyone who’s so much as brought it up. Then, knowing it's stupid even as he does it,“And even if he did, he's too smart to get caught.”
She laughs, but otherwise doesn't respond and the conversation fades back into awkward silence. Finally, after several minutes of careful watching, Lily says, “Would it be bad, do you think, to maybe be a bit grateful? Not that he's dead, of course, but there's a war on, and he planned on putting himself in the middle of it. There's no way to be sure he'd have lived much longer anyway. But I just. My memory doesn't have to be— I don't have to remember him having gone bad. I can mourn him properly now. Do you get that?”
He opens his mouth though he has no idea what to say, and almost jumps out of his seat when the door opens and his name is called, mouths an incoherent apology and turns his back.
“Are you done ignoring me yet?” James flinches, but doesn't speak, just crosses his arms and turns away. “I don't even understand why you came if you were going to be like this. I could have obliviated you and we would have been fine. I don't need you following me around and playing my conscience.”
“Well, you don't seem to feel bad, so maybe you do.” It's the first time James has spoken to him in days, and as far as reconciliations go, it's underwhelming but something hopeful flares in Sirius' chest nonetheless. “You're not even upset!”
“Of course I'm upset. I killed someone and ruined both our lives. Snape was a bad person and I'm not sure I feel bad he's dead, but I do feel bad he died because I couldn't control myself. And. James, I made a really awful mistake. I know that. And you have every right to be angry with me or uncomfortable around me or—or whatever. Respect that but I can't quite deal with it, so please—”
“You can't deal with it? Sirius, you're a murderer. There are consequence sand you can't run away from all of them. I won't help you run away.” And that, Sirius is sure, is as good an ending for the conversation as any. He doesn’t bother responding, primarily because he's not sure he can. There's
a lump in his throat the size of a chocolate frog and he can't quite breathe and he can't quite think or focus or speak. All he can do is sit, his knees tucked under his chin, in a tent designed for six that feels too small with just him and James. He tries holding his breath as if crying is anything like hiccuping, as if he can stop it by pursing his lips and ballooning his cheeks
Unsurprisingly, a sob slips out, coupled with warm tears sliding down his face “Shit.”
James turns, finally, and looks at him, “Are you crying?” But for the first time in days, there's no animosity in his voice. He walks across the tent and sits next to Sirius. Almost too close. “You're crying.”
“I'm sorry. This is—unexpected.” He does his best to force a laugh. “I don’t even deserve to be upset. I just. I'm sorry. I'm scared, all right?”
The sympathy dims a little. “We're not going to get caught.”
“It's not that. I need you to believe that I never meant for this to happen, and it scares me that it did. I think— I'm losing control.” But he doesn’t want to admit that, thinks maybe if he can keep pretending, it
won't be true. “I lost control. Saying I don't remember doing it gives the wrong idea. I do, but it's more like I remember having done it than actually doing it. It's not that I tried to control myself and
couldn't; I feel like I never had the chance. Do you regret it?”Sirius tucks his knees under his chin and wraps his arms around them. “Do you regret coming?” he repeats, quicker and more desperate; he's been thinking it for days but this is the first time he's managed to force it out. James doesn’t look at him, doesn't even make noise, just focuses on the map spread out in front of him, one lip between his teeth. And Merlin, Sirius can't quite breathe from anticipation, can't do anything but clench his eyes shut and wait.
“I—” James pauses, considering. “I miss my parents. I miss Hogwarts. I don’t know what this means for my future, but I guess I'll never be auroral.”
“James, I—”
“I wasn't done. I just. If I had to do it all over again, I'd still leave with you.” He still isn't looking at Sirius, hasn't for this entire conversation, but it feels different now. The way his shoulders hunch and his cheeks color, worse than how he looked when he was writing the letter.
“Oh.” Sirius' voice comes out choked. “Thank you. That's—”
“Well. You'd do the same for me.”
“Of course,” Sirius says, surprising himself with his passion. “You're my best mate. I'd do anything for you.”
“But you thought I wouldn't do this for you?”
“It's— It's different. You left so much behind. Your family... You were going to be an Auror.”
“You have Regulus. And I thought you wanted to be one too.”
Sirius laughs, high and cold. “I was never going to be an Auror, James. It was stupid to even pretend, but I got caught up in—” He pauses, unsure how to synthesize “the idea of being normal” and “good, pure dreams” and“happiness,” and finally lands on, “you.” Which is close enough.
“Me?”
“Yeah, well. Regulus is the only other person who's ever cared about me like you. But you're different. Not more or less, just. Different. You didn’t grow up in that house, you'd never seen me like that, scared of them,cowering. I liked that.”
“I've never once thought you were weak. None of that means anything, not when it comes to your worth as a person. It's not—” Sirius isn't used to seeing James lost; being a spoiled only child didn't exactly endow him with lot of sensitivity, but he's always fumbled through with a lack of tact that Sirius can't help but find charming. Now though, they've been tramping through the woods because police in the last town looked at them funny, and James has dirt smudged on his cheek running up to his temple and twigs in his hair and a wand stuffed down his boot so he won't accidentally use it,
and he repeats, “It's not—” before going quiet. “I'm sorry, I'm just.”Then, conciliatory, "I'm not mad at you, you know."
Sirius snorts. "You're doing a good job of faking it then."
"I'm just—" James stares hard at the ground, picks a few blades of grass off his boot before continuing. "I'm not mad at all and that’s scaring me. I've always thought I was pretty moral, you know, and then
this happened and I realized I'd follow you if you'd done worse. And it’s not just—overcoming the feeling or something, I don't care. Not at all, it's not affecting how I feel about you at all." He pauses,
then smirks like he can pretend not to care after that. "You were right about the letter. The idea came to me so fast because I've been thinking about it for a while.” James' voice shakes, and Sirius marvels that this is something he has the power to cause.
“Knew it,” he says, unable to help his self-satisfied tone and unsurprised when James punches him lightly.
“Don't get all arrogant when we both know you've fancied me since you saw me on the train.”
”Right, Potter, because my types always been bug-eyed idiots quoting the sorting hat.” He's still laughing when James closes the distance between them and kisses him, sloppy and inexperienced and wholly James.
The first time someone insulted Sirius in front of Regulus, he abandoned his wand and punched him in the face like Sirius taught him. So he isn’t doing well socially by the time they get caught, skips class more often than not and sits on the slope facing the lake until late so he can slip into his dorm after everyone's asleep. That's what he's doing when he hears footsteps crunch on the frozen-over snow, moving toward him, and has his wand up before he sees who it is.
Lily stops, holds up her hands to show they're empty. “They're caught.”
“What?”
“They're caught they've been caught they're being taken to Azkaban right this second.”And she ought to look excited, he thinks, but she's wringing her hands as she says it, bouncing from foot to foot like she can't stop running even now she's here. “Save the breakdown, all right? I've been thinking. Sirius
did it, we both know that.” Regulus opens his mouth to protest, but Lily raises an eyebrow and he gives up like before. “Thank you for not patronizing me. So he did it, but he's not too much of a danger, is he, just some bloke who lost control.” She pauses here, even her frantic motions halting, like they are
poised right on the edge of something and he's to take the plunge with her,but he stares back blankly. After that she speaks slower than before,her words distorted so he barely catches some of them. “It doesn't do anything, for him to be in there. It doesn't help anyone.”His eyes widen against his will, and despite the seriousness of the situation, she rolls hers, as if she does this often. “You want to frame
someone else. Someone you want out of the way.”
“Need out of the way. The boys Severus ran with, future Death Eaters, I suppose you wouldn't be too upset about them, but someone has to be arrested and it'll get your brother out, so I don't think you'll complain.”He wouldn't complain anyway; he is not a Death Eater, but he gets the feeling that Lily, as a muggleborn, would not appreciate (as in understand,as in tolerate) the distinction he draws between Death Eaters and death eaters, would say in a high-pitched voice mocking the way his still cracks, “Oh,
poor baby, you're scared of your parents,” and harsh like a book slamming shut, “Do you want to know what I'm scared of?”
“I don't mind. I want to do it.”
“Perfect.” She pauses, crosses her arms and looks away, and for a split second, he can see the nice girl she's meant to be. Then she’s hard again, draws herself up to her full height three inches above him and says, emotionless, “I'm sorry about what I said, you know. About your brother. That he's crazy. I shouldn't have, but I was upset.”
She doesn't apologize, he notices, for calling him a pansy, nor does she demand an apology for what he said. He doesn't ask, but imagines he can see something settling between them, some established fact. Regulus is growing a bit too fond of her, maybe, because he says, “He is though,” but he can’t be completely gone because he doesn't add, “We both are,” or even worse,“So are you.”
She laughs, and her eyes widen like she didn't mean for it to happen."Anyway.” She clears her throat, returns to a tone like he's a class she’s presenting to. “They'll have to stay in a bit longer. If we're going to do this, it needs to be done right, especially because these will be the sons of some of the richest men in the wizarding world. I'm going to plant memories of them committing the murder and get them arrested for it. They won't be able to resist the urge to brag, and I can testify to having heard it. Or you can, I suppose your testimony would have more clout." Her lip curls. "Now, the memories will be scrutinized extensively, and if they don't hold up, then Potter and your brother are in even worse trouble than before."
"Is that possible?"
"They could get the kiss."
"That's only for really serious cases though, like mass murderers or—"
“Fags who've pissed off people in power."
Regulus silently finishes, “flight risks,” thinks of the way they disappeared and evaded Aurors for over a month despite how high-profile the case has gotten, says, with renewed concern, "How long will this take?"
"I've been working on it almost since Severus died. He would disapprove,but there's nothing I can do about that. With you helping, it shouldn’t take more than another two weeks to get everything ready."
"You want to leave them in there two more weeks?" He's grown to like her,but he can't keep the anger out of his voice, because there must be someway to speed it up but she doesn't care to. This isn't her brother.
"There's nothing I can do about that. Don't get sentimental on me now."
“I'm not! I— What if they get discovered? Confess or something?"
"They won't turn on each other. I barely know them but I know that."
“I don't trust Potter,” he doesn't say, because it's unfair and, to his disappointment, inaccurate. "Legilimency then. Or Veritaserum, Right now there’s no proof, but if they try for it—"
"They won't. They don't need it. James and Sirius will get a trial, but it will be a farce. The ministry won't present any evidence except what they already have because there's no judicial body in the country that wouldn’t convict them. All we need to do is get them out before they've been in too
long. Your brother's already unstable."
"He's not weak."
"No,” Lily says, drawing the word out slightly. “He's unstable. This cannot possibly be up for debate.”
Regulus has no idea whether he means it or is just lashing out, but either way he puts as much heat as he can into saying, "I'd be more worried about Potter You think he's ever had to worry about anything his whole life? All of a sudden Mummy and Daddy aren't there with a handkerchief every time he sneezes? Sirius knows what it's like to be unhappy." Which means, of course,that there's more unhappiness to be recalled, but Lily doesn't point this out and he's grateful to her for letting him maintain this fiction of his brother as a stoic hero. But he's met her, knows her better than he ever
thought he would, and he doubts she'll resist the urge for long. "So!" he says, too loud, "What do you want me to do then? You seem like you've got all this under control."
"I need you to check the memories to make sure they're all right, and I need you to get me into the Slytherin dorms. I don't want to leave any loose ends, so I can't get the password from anyone uninvolved." She waits a moment, and he must be meant to speak because she sighs when he doesn't. “We're in this together then?”
Regulus takes a breath and nods. “We're in this together.”
Regulus enters the dark cell and stands in the corner nearest the door, staring. His arms are crossed against his chest like they can protect him from the cold Sirius would like to tell him that nothing works, that if he doesn’t leave right now, he will never be warm again. But he doesn't, because he is needy and selfish and never thinks of anyone but himself. So instead he tries for a smile and gestures as expansively as possible considering the manacles shackling him to the chair. Regulus only stares in horror.
“Flight risk. Supposedly. Though we never actually evaded arrest or escaped incarceration, so I don't think that's true. I think it's more—” He shrugs “You know. And now he wants to be the one crossing his arms, wants the simple security of that protective gesture and can't even have it.
“Potter isn't all done up like this.” it's the first time Regulus has spoken to him in over a month and he expects to feel a warm rush of nostalgia, but all he can think is how scared and small Regulus sounds, and how it's his fault, how Regulus has probably sounded like this since he left Then he processes what's been said.
“You went to see James? First?”
“I wasn't ready to—” Regulus waves his hand vaguely. “I didn't know what to say”
“And you do now?”
“Clearly not. Sirius,” his voice gets more urgent, “did you do it? Please don't lie to me after everything, just.”
And Sirius isn't stupid, knows they're probably listening to this conversation and isn't sure he'd tell the truth even if they weren't. “Reg, is that really what you think of me? I hated Snivellus—”
“It might be better if you didn't call him that since you and Potter are the lead suspects in his murder.”
“Why?” He's determined to do this right, so he laughs and manages to make it sound almost genuine. “I didn't do it, so I won't change.”
“Respect for the dead?”
“Look, like I said, Snivellus was a prat and I hated him, but I didn't do this I mean, I wouldn't even put it past him to have faked all of this just to get us in trouble.”
“You think he found out you two were leaving, faked his own death, and is now hiding out somewhere, laughing to himself?
“Well.” Sirius looks at him defiantly. “I don't see why not.” Regulus sighs, and Sirius figures he's laid it on a bit thick. “All right, I know it’s probably not that. He's probably dead, and listen closely because I’m never going to say this again: I wish he weren't. Not just because if it weren’t for all of this, James and I would be living anonymously in some Muggle town right now. I wish he weren't because as much as I hated him, he was a human being with a family and at least one friend, and it's not fair to them and it's not fair to him that he died so young. He started studying for O.W.L.s fourth year and never even got to take them and that's. That’s awful I'm being flippant to cope, but I promise you I know it's not a joke and that I didn't do it. You're my brother, Reg, and you know me and what I’m like and you know I wouldn't do something like that.” He snorts, looks up at Regulus from under his eyelashes in a way he hopes communicates that it’s complete shite. Regulus breathes in sharply, makes a noise that is nothing like the way the Dementors swoop in but which makes Sirius wince anyway. “You're not surprised.”
“No, of course not. I'm sorry about the questions, I just. I think being here Overwhelmed me.”
“I can't imagine.” It feels like the first time Sirius has heard anyone laugh in Merlin knows how long. “So what's this about James not being chained down like a rogue dragon?”
“His parents have a fair amount of clout. They must be pulling strings.”
“And of course Mother and Father would be more likely to use their influence to make my life harder. Tell me, did they wait until the murder allegations to disown me, or did the note do the trick?” Regulus winces, and that's answer enough. “Don't look so stricken, I don't care. Reg. Reg, look at me.” He waits until Regulus manages to drag his gaze from where the wall meets the ceiling back to his face. “You don't actually think their approval matters to me. Have we met?”
“Yes.”
Sirius wilts. “Reg, I'm trapped in here and I don't know if I'll ever get out so if you just came to bring my mood down even more, then—”
Regulus opens and closes his mouth a few times, then shakes his head.“Sorry, sorry. I don't know how to do this.”
“How's it been there, since I left? Anyone messing with you?”
“They'd gotten bored with it, but then you went and got yourself captured,so they've started up again.”
“Sorry.” Sirius' voice comes out barely more than a whisper.
“I can take care of myself, I'm fine.”
“You should go, and don't come back. I've already messed up one person's life, so just. Please go before I do the same to you.” Sirius barely managed to make eye contact with Regulus before, but now he gives up completely, ducks his head and stares determinedly, silently, at his hands until Regulus gives up on talking at him and leaves.
It's easy enough after the memories are planted to send an anonymous tip to Dumbledore, who can't be biased by influence, blood, or money and therefore guarantees the boys will be investigated and arrested as soon as possible. Lily watches them be marched through the entrance hall from a staircase that overlooks it, which is where Regulus finds her.
“Still disappointed we couldn't get Nott. Fuck him for having a decent alibi.”
“I'm going to see Sirius.”
"It's stupid, I keep telling you, it's stupid to just happen to be visiting the day they get released." Lily runs her fingers through her hair so roughly that strands come out between them; she looks at them with distaste, the same expression she's had at some point every time she's interacted with Regulus.
"And I keep telling you, my brother's been in Azkaban a month and a half,almost two. I'll be there."
"Don't get sentimental on me now, Black. You'll get them thrown back in and us too if you're not careful."
He meets her eyes, says slowly, "I'm going to see my brother. I'm going to be there when he gets out. I don't care what you say."
“I could stop you, you know. Have you wake up and find he'd been out a week, if I wanted.” She doesn't draw her wand or even move her hand to her pocket, but he still has to stop himself from wincing under her gaze.
“Are you threatening me?”
“No, I'm just saying I could, which we both know is true. So if anyone gets suspicious because of this, you don't give them my name, all right? You do not. Give them. My name.” Her hair fans out behind her when she whirls around and strides off without waiting for a response.
He hasn't been in too long, he doesn't think. There's a square of his cell that the light reaches, at dawn or high noon or just before dusk. He doesn’t know. It's the only indication that he has not been buried somewhere deep, never to be retrieved. It's appeared, making the stone surface slightly less gloomy, thirty-four times, plus two that were either stormy days or his imagination, desperate for something a two inch by two inch square can't give him. That's not counting, of course, the times he’s missed it, slept through it or been unable to force himself to open his eyes and check. He has gotten, he imagines, the dementors that would have been near James' cell if his parents hadn't bribed, according to Regulus, every high-ranking Ministry official they could find. He wonders if this was one of their conditions
It takes him almost a minute (he counts) to look up after he hears his name. “You're not supposed to be here.” The last time Regulus visited, it was only after Sirius was taken to a special room to be trussed up. Now Regulus is just on the other side of the bars, pressed against them, even,and Sirius didn't think anything could be worse than last time, but now Regulus is seeing him defeated, collapsed on the floor of a cell with only the wall at his back holding him up.
“Don't want you here.” Every word feels like it's ripping its way out of his throat, but they sound normal aloud. “Don't want you seeing me like this. It's pathetic.”
“It's Azkaban.”
“'M sorry I left you. I had to I didn't want—” He can tell that if he lets himself continue, he'll never stop, that he'll incriminate them both,because he can barely find it in himself to care when it doesn't seem like they'll get out no matter what he says or doesn't say.
“I understand, and I'm not mad at you. Just.” Regulus looks around, cranes his neck as he peers down the corridor like he's waiting for something. "Stay strong, all right? You can get through this."
Sirius sighs. "I'm tired, Reg, and pathetic. You should go."
"I don't think so." Regulus sits, finally, legs crossed so his knees press against the bars like he's daring Sirius to move closer. "We don't have to talk if you're not up to it, but I'm staying with you as long as I have to." He pauses, waits until Sirius finally looks up and into his eyes. "I got your letter, you know. For a generous interpretation of the word, anyway, and I'm proud of you too. Even with all this." He gestures to the cell. "I have a feeling it's all going to work out. Eventually."