lomonaaeren (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lomonaaeren) wrote2023-10-31 07:58 am
lomonaaeren) wrote2023-10-31 07:58 am
[Songs of the Stormy Season]: Dreams of Death, Dreams of Desire, Regulus/James, R
Title: Dreams of Death, Dreams of Desire
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Past James Potter/Regulus Black, past James/Lily
Content Notes: AU, mentions of violence, dark fic, Harry is taken away from the Dursleys, surrealism, open/ambiguous ending, present tense, major character death
Rating: R
Wordcount: 6300
Summary: Regulus survives the Inferi, but his memory and his magic are damaged. It’s years before he remembers that he was in love with James Potter. And it’s longer still before he remembers that he was supposed to raise the child James had with Lily.
Author’s Notes: This is one of my “Songs of the Stormy Season” fics being posted between Halloween and the winter solstice. Please be on notice that this is a very dark fic, and take the warnings/tags seriously.
Dreams of Death, Dreams of Desire
He left the lake. Sometimes Regulus doubts that. But he left.
*
His hands are cold and his head spins and there are times that Regulus even has trouble remembering who Kreacher is, although the faithful elf serves him every morning. That is all he has to blame his memory problems on, because he sits up one day several years after the lake and whispers, “James?”
“Master is speaking of whom?”
Regulus turns blind, swimming eyes towards Kreacher. Kreacher bows a little nervously. Regulus ignores that. “James Potter,” he says hoarsely. “I was—I was his lover, Kreacher. How did I forget that?”
Kreacher pauses for a long moment, as if searching for an answer that won’t distress Regulus. At last he says, “Kreacher is not knowing how Master Regulus is forgetting.”
Regulus sits back in his chair and clasps his hands over his face. As happens in moments of intense emotion, for a moment the smell of the lake fills his nostrils, the image of shifting bodies, the stench of rotting flesh.
He dismisses it and chases the flash of memory that told him about James.
Regulus can remember thinking that James Potter, his brother’s best friend, was as arrogant as Sirius with less cause for it. James was a brilliant Quidditch player, but who cared about that? Sirius was smarter, if he bothered to apply himself. And James got caught at pranks more often than Sirius did.
No, there should have been no reason for Regulus to notice James except in passing, when he would sneer at him. But one day Regulus looked up and saw James laughing at the Gryffindor table across the Great Hall, brushing off another rejection by Lily Evans with grace Regulus hadn’t known he had.
The laughter pierced Regulus’s heart. He found himself sitting up, his eyes focused on James, and something in his heart danced, too. He wished James would smile at him instead of Lily. He wanted to—
That was how it began. Regulus, sitting in the present at his own kitchen table, wishes he could remember the next step, the first time he and James met in secret (because neither of their Houses would have approved, and neither would their families). But for right now, this is enough.
Regulus cradles the memory to himself like a dark pearl, and the smell of the lake diminishes.
*
More pieces return to Regulus over weeks and months, and he slots them into place like the rubble of a broken mosaic. Here is the shadow in James’s eyes when he admitted that he liked spending time with Regulus more than he did with Lily.
There is the way that James held onto him in secret, kissing Regulus so fiercely that Regulus’s lips tingled for hours afterwards.
Over there is the sound of James’s voice wavering up and down the scale when Regulus finally put his mouth to the best use for the first time.
“Master Regulus?”
Regulus blinks his way free of the memories and looks at Kreacher. The elf bows to him and then says in the kind of uncertain voice that he’s used since he first saw Regulus survived, “Master was crying out.”
“I was?” Regulus frowns, leaning back and tapping his fingers on the empty table, trying to remember what about a pleasant memory would have made him do that.
Then he knows.
“Harry,” he whispers.
“Who is being Harry, Master Regulus?”
Regulus turns to Kreacher, who jumps a little. “Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived,” he says, and watches Kreacher’s lip curl in some amusement. Kreacher has reacted like that ever since they heard the first news of the infant who defeated the Dark Lord. “James’s son with Lily.”
“Master James should not have left Master Regulus for—”
“Of course not, but I became a Death Eater.” Those memories are the most murky and churning in Regulus’s head. He supposes it’s because they’re so closely connected with the damage the Inferi inflicted on his magic and body. “I thought—pleasing Mother and Father was more important than staying with James.”
“Mistress Walburga was a great mistress.”
“I don’t remember why I thought that.”
“Master Regulus was faithful.”
“I don’t remember why I expected to impress James.”
“If James Potter was faithful, then it would have been impressive!” Kreacher dances in place, snapping his towel over his shoulder. “It would have been a great honor for him to court Master Regulus, who was loyal to his family!”
Regulus reaches out and pats Kreacher’s shoulder gently. He has to do it gently, since he came back from the lake and the Inferi. He doesn’t want to damage Kreacher. “It would have been impressive, but the important thing is that I can raise Harry.”
“Why would Master Regulus be doing that?”
“It would give me a way to have part of James close,” Regulus whispers. The details in the paper, which aren’t many, say that Harry James Potter looked a lot like his father as a baby. Regulus doesn’t think the resemblance will have faded.
His memories of James are strong, but not enough. He wants a little living piece of him to gather and be gathered close.
*
It takes some time to find Harry James Potter, but not as much as it would have if Regulus had a job and other duties. And if he didn’t have a dedicated house-elf. He shows Kreacher the photos of baby Harry in the Prophet and a photo of James he found in Sirius’s bedroom.
It’s not well-known, but a tiny trace of a wizard’s or witch’s magic adheres to a moving photograph. It doesn’t matter most of the time, either. No wizard or witch Regulus knows of would be able to do anything with it, not even the Dark Lord.
But a house-elf had can pick up on it, and track that person.
Kreacher was still as he brushed his fingers over the surface of the pictures. Then he shivered and vanished with a sharp pop. Regulus settled back and waited, and now he’s waiting, nearly half a day later.
He doesn’t feel hungry or tired. His eyes are locked on the patch of air that Kreacher disappeared from, the patch of kitchen floor that—
Kreacher reappears with a noise that seems to cleave through the air. He’s holding the arm of a terrified-looking, skinny boy Regulus can hardly believe is James’s son.
Oh, he has the dark hair, and cursed Lily Evans’s green eyes when he stares up at Regulus. But he looks like he’s three instead of five.
“Was with Muggles,” Kreacher says slowly, as if he’s had to fight his way through deep magical protections to reach the boy. That doesn’t make sense, though, not if James’s son was with Muggles. “His Mudblood mother’s family.”
Regulus sighs. He’s glad that he sent Kreacher to search. He would have confined his own search to the magical parts of Britain, and who knows how long it would have been before he found Harry?
“Hello,” he says, and bends down to look into the green eyes.
Harry draws back, hunched into himself, his arms wrapped around his chest. He looks sunken and so thin, Regulus thinks.
Starved?
The thought startles him. Surely not even Muggles would starve a child? The Dark Lord talked about them as if they were all monsters, but even before the lake, Regulus knew the reality was more complex than that.
But would they starve a magical child?
Yes, probably.
“Who are you?” Harry whispers, a faint, stumbling voice that comes to a stop the minute Regulus turns to look at him again.
“My name is Regulus Black. I was your father’s lover once.”
“What?”
Oh, of course. A child this young and raised by Muggles probably doesn’t understand the concept. “I knew your father,” Regulus says, choosing a simpler truth. “And I promised that I would raise you if something happened to your parents.” He takes a deep, painful breath. “But something happened to me before you were born that made it hard for me. Now I have you, though. So now I can raise you.”
“I—you want me to stay?”
“Yes,” Regulus says, and opens his arms.
Harry is uncertain and trembling as he walks towards him. Regulus wonders if it’s just because Harry doesn’t remember ever hugging a magical person.
But he nestles close to Regulus, despite making a soft complaining noise when Regulus hugs him and lifts him from the floor, and Kreacher is already muttering about clearing out one of the guest rooms upstairs for Harry. Regulus smiles into the crisp black hair.
He remembers kissing James. And he remembers making his vow.
I will look after your son.
Harry isn’t James, but he’ll benefit from that promise.
*
“Aren’t you hungry, Uncle Regulus?”
“I already ate before you came downstairs.” Regulus smiles at Harry over the table. “You slept in late this morning!”
Harry blushes bright red. “I won’t anymore,” he says hastily, and uses his fork to move his scrambled eggs around his plate instead of wolfing them down, the way he was a minute ago.
“You should feel free to sleep in as long as you like and eat as much as you like,” Regulus tells him gently. “In a few years, when you go to Hogwarts, you won’t be able to do that, but now you can.”
“Kreacher was saying something about Hogwarts. What is it?”
Regulus loses himself in memories of the school, and the way that James kissed him, and Quidditch, and how much he resented Lily sometimes. Harry listens, although sometimes his brow twitches, furrowing the scar that Regulus has seen in the papers.
Now he doesn’t have to imagine how much Harry looks like James. He can see how much Harry is like James, everything from the quick dart of his hands to the way that he laughs when Regulus tells him about playing a prank on Sirius.
And yet…
Something is amiss with the scar. Something feels like Dark magic that stirs up the worst memories of the cave and the lake.
Then Harry laughs, and Regulus lets the memory go. He has all the time in the world he needs to figure that out and save Harry from any machinations the Dark Lord may have left behind. It is years before Harry even goes to school, after all.
*
HARRY POTTER VANISHED!
“I’m surprised they admitted it,” Regulus mutters, and turns around the Prophet so that Harry can see the headline. As usual, Harry is sitting on the other side of the table, eating his solitary breakfast.
“Why—what does it say?”
Oh, of course. Regulus could read younger than this, but he remembers that Sirius couldn’t, and Muggles must teach their children later than five. He reads out the article to Harry, who gets quieter and quieter as he listens.
“Are—are people going to be upset? Are Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon going to be upset?”
From the way Harry shivers, Regulus already knows a great deal of what the Muggles were like, although Harry hasn’t described them in any detail. He leans forwards across the table. “If they are, you don’t have to worry about it. You’ll never see them again. They will never hurt you again.”
“You’re really scary when you look like that, Uncle Regulus.”
But Harry is looking at him with admiration, which makes Regulus relax and smile at him. If Harry believes that Regulus will use all his strength and rage in defense of him, then Regulus will be as frightening as Harry likes.
*
Regulus expected Mother’s portrait to be more of an obstacle to his adoption of Harry than she turns out to be.
As it is, she peers at Harry, who’s hiding halfway behind Regulus when they’re introduced, and simply nods. “He’s the son of that boy you’ve been going on about?” she asks Regulus.
“The boy I was in love with, Mother.”
“You never said.”
“I would have hidden it from you. I hid a great many things from you.”
Mother only glares at Regulus as if she doesn’t believe him. “Well, you’ll raise him to be a proper heir for the house. Grimmauld Place needs someone who can love it.”
Regulus nods. He knows that Mother cared more about Grimmauld Place itself when she was alive than the money or any artifacts or books. Harry is learning to read under Regulus’s patient tutelage, but he doesn’t seem to be a great lover of books, either. He much prefers the painted and polished toys left behind by generations of Black children.
Then again, he never had such toys to play with before Kreacher rescued him.
Mother softens enough to smile at Harry. “Your godfather was worthless when I was alive, but I believe he did the right thing in the end,” she declares. Regulus shifts to the side. He hasn’t explained blood purity or Sirius to Harry yet, and he’s not looking forward to that discussion. “I hope that you will be a credit to the House of Black.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Harry mutters, and hides his face in Regulus’s robes, something he doesn’t do often. Regulus thinks that his lake-disordered magic drives Harry away from him sometimes.
But Harry doesn’t pull away until they go to the kitchen, and then asks uncertainly, “What’s a godfather, Uncle Regulus?”
No, he wasn’t looking forward to this discussion, but it seems the time has come.
Regulus sighs, and lays his arms on the table, and says to the boy’s bright, inquiring eyes, “I had an older brother named Sirius Black...”
*
Harry is so quiet, and so avoidant, for the days after Regulus tells him about Sirius and blood purity and the war with the Dark Lord that Regulus finally sends Kreacher to Harry’s room to summon him down the stairs.
Once again, they’re sitting at the kitchen table, with Harry spinning his spoon around the remains of his bowl of porridge and Regulus waiting patiently. Harry is finally the one who whispers, “You were a Death Eater.”
“Yes.”
“Then why do you want me here?”
“What?”
“Kreacher told me my mum was a—a Mudblood.” Tears are filling Harry’s eyes and spilling down his cheeks, and Regulus is horrified, because this is not the way he thought this would go. “He said I—I was only here because you were in love with my dad, but—”
Harry is repeating the words without understanding them, Regulus is certain. He leans forwards and says soothingly, “I loved your father very much, Harry. I don’t care who your mother was.”
That is only a partial truth. Regulus wishes Lily had never stolen James away from him, of course he wishes that. But James is the one who made the choice in the end, and he decided that he couldn’t live with Regulus becoming a Death Eater.
And it is a partial lie because it is a truth. Regulus can’t imagine Harry leaving now, going back to his Muggle relatives or anywhere else.
“You really want me here?”
“I really want you here.”
Harry climbs out of the chair and runs around the table. Regulus stoops down and kisses Harry on the forehead, which usually makes Harry shy away. He probably didn’t receive any gestures like that when he lived with the Muggles, and he’s only been with Regulus for a few weeks now. He must not know how to take them.
But for now, Harry leans on him, content, and Regulus only frowns at Harry’s scar.
It continues to contain the Dark thing that reminds him of the locket.
He will have to do something about that.
*
“Uncle Regulus?”
“Yes, wizard-child?”
Harry smiles shyly at him again. He really does like that nickname, which means that Regulus makes sure to use it as often as possible.
“How exactly did my parents die?”
Regulus sighs. They’re sitting out on the shaded verandah that overlooks the tangled mess of the Black gardens. Kreacher is busy growing some poisonous plants, some vegetables, some Potions ingredients, and some plants that Regulus frankly doesn’t know the purpose of. “That’s something else I hoped to put off until you were seven, anyway.”
“I was six a whole month ago! Please, Uncle Regulus!”
Regulus sighs. It’s true that Harry is incredibly mature for a child of his age, and can probably stand the details if anyone can.
Really, Regulus’s disinclination to talk about James’s death is because of what James meant to him, not because he thinks Harry will be affected that much.
“The Dark Lord came to kill them personally,” Regulus says quietly. He knows that much, although not why. The Dark Lord didn’t attend to enemies personally most of the time, and by the time that Harry was born, Regulus and James had drifted apart. “He killed your dad first. I know that much.”
“How?”
“A very Dark spell called the Killing Curse.”
“No.” Harry stares up at Regulus with shimmering eyes that increasingly just make him think Harry instead of Evans. “I mean, how do you know that my dad died first? Kreacher read me the articles, and you read me the articles. They didn’t say that.”
Regulus blinks, and blinks again. “I know it.”
“I just want to know how, Uncle Regulus. I want to know everything.”
Regulus blinks and blinks again, and raises his hand to rub his forehead. He must have talked with another Marked Death Eater who knows, he thinks, someone who was there that night. The years right after the lake and James’s death are the most muddled. He could easily have thought it was a good idea to go talk to one of his “fellow” Death Eaters and not remembered it afterwards.
The only important part about that knowledge is the method of James’s death.
“Someone told me.”
Harry stops wriggling and settles down, nodding. “All right, Uncle Regulus. And then he killed my mum?” His voice is very low.
“Yes. She stood in front of you, and the Dark Lord offered to let her move out of the way three times. But she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t give up on you for the world.”
“And you know that from talking to a person, too?”
“Yes.” Regulus’s voice is firmer now. He doesn’t remember the conversation, but the details are so brilliant in his mind that there is no mistaking them. How could he know that without speaking to someone who witnessed James’s death, and Lily’s?
He remembers that as if he were there, as if it were him who shut James’s eyes and climbed the stairs to gaze at Lily’s body and the ashes of the Dark Lord and Harry crying in his cot.
“All right.”
Harry cuddles close to him, on the edge of his robes, and Regulus pats him gently on the hair. His hand trembles.
Regulus shakes his head, but carefully. The legacy of the lake and being so long without breath is starting to catch up with him again. He will have to perform a strengthening ritual tonight, after Harry is safely asleep and unable to wander in and disrupt it.
*
Regulus surfaces after memories as heavy as the lake water, gasping. He rolls over and stares at the heavy dark casket, lined with lead, that never sits far from his favorite chair in the library.
He remembers the name of the locket now.
Horcrux.
That’s the name of the thing lying in the casket. That’s the name of the thing in Harry’s forehead.
Regulus sits up and wraps his hands around his face. His eyes tremble beneath the pressure of his fingers. He takes long gasps, feeling for a moment as if he’s drowning all over again.
He was so sure that the locket was the only Horcrux. It’s true that he hasn’t yet managed to figure out how to destroy it, but he thought he had time to deal with it! The Dark Lord’s body was destroyed, and Regulus has the locket, so no loyal Death Eater can find it and use it to resurrect him.
But he must have been wrong. There must be other Horcruxes. That’s the only possible reason that Harry Potter, the Dark Lord’s greatest enemy, would be hosting one.
Regulus isn’t even sure that the Dark Lord would have made Harry a Horcrux deliberately. He was mad long before the end.
If Regulus can rely on his memories to be truthful.
Which he can’t. Look at how long it took him to recall what a Horcrux was, and how he can’t remember how he got the knowledge of Lily and James’s deaths. But he is sure that the Dark Lord would be able to return with the power of the Horcrux in Harry’s scar.
Which means it has to go.
*
“Uncle Regulus, can I help?”
Regulus pulls back and smiles distractedly at Harry over the top of the thick tome that he’s been scanning for clues to the destruction of Horcruxes for the past few weeks. Harry is lingering in the doorway of the library, a longing look on his face.
“Sorry, Harry. This is very serious research, and I don’t think that you can read well enough yet.”
“I could have Kreacher read the books to me?”
“Sorry, Harry, no.”
In truth, Regulus would like to give Harry some control over his fate by involving him in the research. But not only is he young, that would be akin to involving the Horcrux in the research as well. Regulus is many things, but not fool enough to chance waking the Horcrux.
“I can read better now,” Harry says desperately. “I’m almost seven.”
Regulus blinks. It was just a few weeks ago that they were celebrating Harry’s sixth birthday, wasn’t it? Yes, because it was a few nights after that that Regulus remembered what the locket was.
Then he smiles indulgently. Of course. Harry is exaggerating his age the way children do when they want to be involved in an adult endeavor. Regulus can remember attempting to do the same thing to get his mother to let him use a practice wand.
“I appreciate that you want to help, Harry. But this is really too advanced—”
“I don’t see you anymore! You never come down and sit with me at breakfast or dinner anymore! You just sit in the library!”
“Harry, that’s not true—”
“Yes, it is! It’s been months since you did it! And Kreacher just says that I can’t disturb you, but I want you to take care of me the way you did when I was first here! You sat with me and you hugged me and—and I don’t even care about what you look like, I just want you to take care of me!”
Regulus sighs. He supposes that he has spent more hours than he reckoned in the library, although Harry is exaggerating the scale of the time. He stands up, a little surprised at how his legs creak. Getting old, he supposes. “All right, Harry. I can do that this morning.”
Harry beams. He does seem noticeably taller as he skips down the corridor ahead of Regulus, which startles him. Has Kreacher been letting Harry get into growth potions? He hopes not.
In the kitchen, Regulus listens to Harry chatter and resolves not to forget his responsibilities. First and foremost is getting the Horcrux out of Harry, but of course he needs to take care of James’s son as well. Of course he does.
*
“Can you teach me to fly, Uncle Regulus? Please?”
“I was never all that good on a broom, Harry. And at this point, I haven’t been on one in years.”
“But Kreacher says that if I don’t know how to fly when I go to Hogwarts, I’ll be a disgrace!”
Regulus blinks. Even that movement seems slower than it used to be.
That’s right. Harry’s going to Hogwarts. Somehow, Regulus managed to forget that, to think he had forever to solve the Horcrux issue before something happened to change or challenge him.
He clears his throat and stands from the chair in the library. That’s more difficult than he remembers, too. That’s something he’ll have to address in a strengthening ritual. It will never do to be so weak that he can’t take care of Harry. “All right. I’m rusty on a broom, but I’ll do my best to show you.”
Harry dances in joy, although he doesn’t dart up and hug Regulus the way he once would have. Of course, he’s exaggerating his age again, claiming to be nine now. It makes sense that he would think he’s too old for hugs.
And they do have fun flying in the old Nimbus brooms that Kreacher fetches out of the attics, even though the sight of Harry circling in the sunlight, laughing in joy, is hard for Regulus to bear. He looks so much like James, especially from a distance, when Regulus can’t see those cursed green eyes.
Harry lands in front of him at last and says, “You said my dad was a Chaser?”
“Yes. A good one, too.” The memory of James makes Regulus smile, the way all his memories of James do. They seem so long ago, too, but they are less than ten years old. “You have the build of a Seeker, though.”
“But if you want me to be a Chaser, I’ll be a Chaser!”
“You—you should do whatever makes you happy, Harry.”
“I want to do what makes you happy, Uncle Regulus. So you’ll keep talking to me.”
Regulus blinks. Then he says, “I know that it seems like I spend all my time in the library doing research, Harry, but I promise you can come and talk to me at any time.”
“I tried to yesterday, and you snarled at me and said it was very important that I not see the runes you were writing down.”
Regulus stares at Harry, shaken. He never wanted his memory problems to cause trouble with Harry, and now it seems they’re doing that and more.
“I have no memory of that,” he whispers.
“I don’t think you have memories of a lot, Uncle Regulus.”
Harry’s eyes are old and sad. Regulus shakes his head and reaches out a hand to him. Harry hesitates a moment before he clasps it. That makes Regulus more determined than ever to do something that Harry will like.
“Why don’t we go out into the garden and take turns dodging that old Devil’s Snare that’s there?”
Harry smiles, but it’s weary. “Kreacher uprooted that Devil’s Snare years ago, Uncle Regulus.”
“What?” he whispers.
Harry leans towards him, his face growing concerned. “Are you really forgetting that much time, Uncle Regulus? I just thought that you didn’t talk to me a lot anymore. And it’s all right!” he adds hastily. “I have Kreacher and Aunt Walburga. I’m all right. But I thought things weren’t this bad.”
How long did I spend in the library?
Regulus swallows and says, “Well, we can get one of the old practice wands and do Charms, then. I know that you told me you wanted more practice with them.”
“I mastered most of them years ago, Uncle Regulus. But we can do that if you want.”
Regulus feels as though his thoughts are drifting like the clouds overhead.
“Harry,” he says helplessly. “What month is it?”
“August.”
“I—how? I thought it was September when Kreacher got you from your relatives’ house.”
Harry closes his eyes. “Uncle Regulus,” he whispers. “It’s August, 1990.”
Regulus reels, and ends up sitting down hard in the grass. Harry sits beside him, talking in a worried tone, but Regulus doesn’t listen. He’s too busy staring at the scar on Harry’s forehead, which he knows is responsible for this shit.
Horcruxes make him lose track of time. A Horcrux was what made him go into the lake in the first place. He shouldn’t have brought the locket back to the house with him. Or he shouldn’t have had Kreacher retrieve Harry. One Horcrux was manageable, but two are bad news.
Well, no. He wouldn’t want Harry to have stayed with his awful Muggle relatives.
(How does he know they’re awful? He doesn’t remember).
It just means that he has to move faster. To take care of Harry. He’ll always take care of him. He’s his Uncle Regulus.
*
Regulus finds Harry standing in Regulus’s old bedroom, his eyes old and a stack of letters in his hands.
“What did you find, Harry?” Regulus asks as gently as he can, closing the door behind him. He needs to make sure things work out properly.
“Letters that you wrote to my father,” Harry whispers.
Regulus blinks. He never thought to look for love letters to James in his own room. Wouldn’t he have sent them, and James retained them? If anything, Harry would have found letters in his father’s handwriting.
But would he know they were from his father without an explanation? Regulus can’t recall that James ever signed his name. More secrecy, to keep them safe from their families.
“Can I see them?”
Harry gives him a glance from eyes so old that they shouldn’t belong to a ten-year-old (how can he be ten?) and holds them out.
Regulus sifts through them. At first he smiles, because he can see his declarations of love for James, and they’re as strong and passionate as he always remembered. But then he begins to frown, because something about the letters seems different.
Dear James,
Why won’t you look at me? What do I have to do to prove myself to you? What would make you leave Evans for me?
Beloved James,
If I knew how to approach you and make you turn to me and forget about Evans, I would do it. Even Sirius! He should know what you mean to me, but he acts like he doesn’t, and I don’t know how to tell him.
Dear James,
When will I ever gain the courage to tell you? How can I? We’ve never met, never touched…
Regulus turns the last letter over. Then he turns it back. There was no date on the back of the parchment, but he sees the date on the top of the front sheet, right above the scrawling lines that proclaim his love.
June 19th, 1979.
Regulus swallows. Then he swallows again. How can there be a letter like this, saying that he never confessed his love to James, after they parted? He remembers their parting so clearly, how James turned his back on Regulus and proclaimed that he couldn’t love someone who had willingly taken the Dark Mark…
He remembers.
He thinks he remembers.
“And what about this one, Uncle Regulus?” Harry whispers. There’s an accusatory tone in his voice. He holds out the letter.
Regulus picks it up, in a dream, in dread.
Dear James,
If I could, I would kill Evans, wrap my hands around her throat and choke the life from her. What does it matter if I never had the courage to confess to you? You still should have seen the love burning in me, should have chosen me while I was—
There’s no date on this one, and the sentence ends in a tear of parchment. Regulus glances up at Harry. “Harry,” he whispers. “Did you tear off the bottom of this sheet?”
Harry shakes his head. His chest is heaving, his eyes bright with deadly tears. “You never told him,” he whispers. “You were never lovers with him. He never knew. You—you brought me here for no reason, didn’t you? Because you thought you remembered loving my dad and him loving you, but he never—he never made you promise to take care of me.”
Regulus stares at him, and down at the letter. He can’t reconcile these letters with his memory. Of course James refused him after Regulus took the Dark Mark, but that was—they spoke—they touched, he’s sure of it—
He can’t be sure of it.
Not with the lake. Not with the Horcruxes around that influenced him.
It can’t be put off further. It’s time.
Regulus reaches out and grabs Harry’s arm. Harry’s mouth opens in a soundless scream. Regulus winces and moderates his hold. He does forget, sometimes, how much stronger he is since returning from the lake.
It’s a shock sometimes to look down and see blue-grey flesh instead of the white he remembers, but needs must.
“Uncle Regulus, what are you doing? Kreacher! Kreacher—”
“He obeys me, not you,” Regulus says, and he walks outside, dragging Harry with him, and Disapparates.
*
It comes to the place where he knew it would, the cave and the lake. The place that once held a Horcrux is the best place he can think of to counteract their influence.
Especially when none of the books told him how to counter a living Horcrux in such a way that it remains alive.
But now, Regulus knows. He feels at peace as he wades into the lake, dragging Harry, who hasn’t stopped screaming, behind him.
He will make sure that the Horcrux is destroyed and Harry lives. It’s the only way that he can.
And he’s sure that Harry will forgive him, in time. Harry will understand.
Regulus pulls Harry towards him as the lake churns around him. The Inferi stir and rise, but they float around Harry and Regulus, not attacking. It’s been like this ever since Regulus left. He’s the only one of them who managed to emerge, because the force of his unrequited desire for James brought him back from death.
Yes. He remembers now.
“Uncle Regulus, please—please—I won’t—I’ll never bother you again—”
Harry struggles hard enough to make one of Regulus’s fingers break off. Regulus frowns. He’ll have to do more strengthening rituals tonight, after he destroys the Horcrux and retrieves the finger, of course.
Regulus shakes his head and says, “I know that you’ll never bother me on purpose, Harry. It’s the bloody Horcrux in your scar that would bother me.”
“Uncle Regulus, what are you—”
Regulus seizes Harry’s head and forces it underwater.
*
It doesn’t take long. Harry splashes and struggles and probably screams, but if so, that just means the lake water sinks deeper and quicker into his lungs. He’s limp against Regulus soon enough.
Regulus still holds him down, and is rewarded when he sees the dark mist he knew was there forming above Harry’s body. It wavers back and forth, seeming to grow a pair of red eyes and an open mouth for a moment, but then it dissipates, the last of the Dark Lord’s spirit banished to parts unknown.
Regulus nods. Then he bends down and gathers Harry close. Being in the lake is bringing more and more memories back to him. He knows these are accurate, unlike the ones that were apparently in his head of loving James.
It takes a strong desire to bring someone back as a self-willed Inferius. However, that desire need not belong to the one newly dead.
And this is a strongly magical place.
Regulus holds Harry in the water and chants softly, words that blur and drift out of his memory almost as soon as he says them. He won’t need them after this. They are the words that he chanted in his own mind as he forced his way out of the dark water eleven years ago, as he became what he now is.
The water around Harry turns cloudy and deep green. Regulus breathes out the last word, and the Inferi around them bow jerkily and sink back beneath the surface. Regulus ignores them. He doesn’t need to try and command them, not when it was the Dark Lord’s desire that brought them back to life.
Regulus has different desires now.
The green water around Harry lightens to the color of transparent jade, the color of a pendant that Regulus dreamed James giving to him. Then it’s sucked into Harry’s body, and Harry shudders and opens his eyes.
Their color has altered a little. Now it looks like that jade. Regulus smiles. The less Harry looks like Evans, the happier he is.
“Uncle Regulus?” Harry whispers. His voice is thick and water-clogged.
Regulus hugs him and then retrieves the finger that Harry broke off when he was still a Horcrux, still tainted. He sticks it in a robe pocket. He and Harry will both undergo strengthening rituals tonight, ones that will make Regulus’s flesh stronger and more like that of the living and that will restore Harry’s voice.
Harry drifts in the water. He blinks.
“I—I don’t remember what he happened,” he says.
“That is a mercy,” Regulus says, and he wades to the shore with Harry. They get outside the cave and Apparate back home. Kreacher is there, hovering anxiously with a mug of hot chocolate in his hands. But when he looks at Harry, he sighs and Vanishes the cup.
“Young Master Harry will not require this now,” he says sadly.
“No,” Harry says, and smiles at Kreacher. “But I’m better, Kreacher!”
“Yes, the Horcrux is gone,” Regulus agrees, and wonders if the lake can help him destroy the locket Horcrux before he banishes the thought. Tonight is about strengthening rituals and teaching Harry to survive in his new body.
Tomorrow will be for dreams, and for their new lives, and for the memory that James loved him.
And Regulus is taking care of James’s son now, protecting him from all dangers.
Exactly as James asked him to.
All is well.
The End.
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Past James Potter/Regulus Black, past James/Lily
Content Notes: AU, mentions of violence, dark fic, Harry is taken away from the Dursleys, surrealism, open/ambiguous ending, present tense, major character death
Rating: R
Wordcount: 6300
Summary: Regulus survives the Inferi, but his memory and his magic are damaged. It’s years before he remembers that he was in love with James Potter. And it’s longer still before he remembers that he was supposed to raise the child James had with Lily.
Author’s Notes: This is one of my “Songs of the Stormy Season” fics being posted between Halloween and the winter solstice. Please be on notice that this is a very dark fic, and take the warnings/tags seriously.
Dreams of Death, Dreams of Desire
He left the lake. Sometimes Regulus doubts that. But he left.
*
His hands are cold and his head spins and there are times that Regulus even has trouble remembering who Kreacher is, although the faithful elf serves him every morning. That is all he has to blame his memory problems on, because he sits up one day several years after the lake and whispers, “James?”
“Master is speaking of whom?”
Regulus turns blind, swimming eyes towards Kreacher. Kreacher bows a little nervously. Regulus ignores that. “James Potter,” he says hoarsely. “I was—I was his lover, Kreacher. How did I forget that?”
Kreacher pauses for a long moment, as if searching for an answer that won’t distress Regulus. At last he says, “Kreacher is not knowing how Master Regulus is forgetting.”
Regulus sits back in his chair and clasps his hands over his face. As happens in moments of intense emotion, for a moment the smell of the lake fills his nostrils, the image of shifting bodies, the stench of rotting flesh.
He dismisses it and chases the flash of memory that told him about James.
Regulus can remember thinking that James Potter, his brother’s best friend, was as arrogant as Sirius with less cause for it. James was a brilliant Quidditch player, but who cared about that? Sirius was smarter, if he bothered to apply himself. And James got caught at pranks more often than Sirius did.
No, there should have been no reason for Regulus to notice James except in passing, when he would sneer at him. But one day Regulus looked up and saw James laughing at the Gryffindor table across the Great Hall, brushing off another rejection by Lily Evans with grace Regulus hadn’t known he had.
The laughter pierced Regulus’s heart. He found himself sitting up, his eyes focused on James, and something in his heart danced, too. He wished James would smile at him instead of Lily. He wanted to—
That was how it began. Regulus, sitting in the present at his own kitchen table, wishes he could remember the next step, the first time he and James met in secret (because neither of their Houses would have approved, and neither would their families). But for right now, this is enough.
Regulus cradles the memory to himself like a dark pearl, and the smell of the lake diminishes.
*
More pieces return to Regulus over weeks and months, and he slots them into place like the rubble of a broken mosaic. Here is the shadow in James’s eyes when he admitted that he liked spending time with Regulus more than he did with Lily.
There is the way that James held onto him in secret, kissing Regulus so fiercely that Regulus’s lips tingled for hours afterwards.
Over there is the sound of James’s voice wavering up and down the scale when Regulus finally put his mouth to the best use for the first time.
“Master Regulus?”
Regulus blinks his way free of the memories and looks at Kreacher. The elf bows to him and then says in the kind of uncertain voice that he’s used since he first saw Regulus survived, “Master was crying out.”
“I was?” Regulus frowns, leaning back and tapping his fingers on the empty table, trying to remember what about a pleasant memory would have made him do that.
Then he knows.
“Harry,” he whispers.
“Who is being Harry, Master Regulus?”
Regulus turns to Kreacher, who jumps a little. “Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived,” he says, and watches Kreacher’s lip curl in some amusement. Kreacher has reacted like that ever since they heard the first news of the infant who defeated the Dark Lord. “James’s son with Lily.”
“Master James should not have left Master Regulus for—”
“Of course not, but I became a Death Eater.” Those memories are the most murky and churning in Regulus’s head. He supposes it’s because they’re so closely connected with the damage the Inferi inflicted on his magic and body. “I thought—pleasing Mother and Father was more important than staying with James.”
“Mistress Walburga was a great mistress.”
“I don’t remember why I thought that.”
“Master Regulus was faithful.”
“I don’t remember why I expected to impress James.”
“If James Potter was faithful, then it would have been impressive!” Kreacher dances in place, snapping his towel over his shoulder. “It would have been a great honor for him to court Master Regulus, who was loyal to his family!”
Regulus reaches out and pats Kreacher’s shoulder gently. He has to do it gently, since he came back from the lake and the Inferi. He doesn’t want to damage Kreacher. “It would have been impressive, but the important thing is that I can raise Harry.”
“Why would Master Regulus be doing that?”
“It would give me a way to have part of James close,” Regulus whispers. The details in the paper, which aren’t many, say that Harry James Potter looked a lot like his father as a baby. Regulus doesn’t think the resemblance will have faded.
His memories of James are strong, but not enough. He wants a little living piece of him to gather and be gathered close.
*
It takes some time to find Harry James Potter, but not as much as it would have if Regulus had a job and other duties. And if he didn’t have a dedicated house-elf. He shows Kreacher the photos of baby Harry in the Prophet and a photo of James he found in Sirius’s bedroom.
It’s not well-known, but a tiny trace of a wizard’s or witch’s magic adheres to a moving photograph. It doesn’t matter most of the time, either. No wizard or witch Regulus knows of would be able to do anything with it, not even the Dark Lord.
But a house-elf had can pick up on it, and track that person.
Kreacher was still as he brushed his fingers over the surface of the pictures. Then he shivered and vanished with a sharp pop. Regulus settled back and waited, and now he’s waiting, nearly half a day later.
He doesn’t feel hungry or tired. His eyes are locked on the patch of air that Kreacher disappeared from, the patch of kitchen floor that—
Kreacher reappears with a noise that seems to cleave through the air. He’s holding the arm of a terrified-looking, skinny boy Regulus can hardly believe is James’s son.
Oh, he has the dark hair, and cursed Lily Evans’s green eyes when he stares up at Regulus. But he looks like he’s three instead of five.
“Was with Muggles,” Kreacher says slowly, as if he’s had to fight his way through deep magical protections to reach the boy. That doesn’t make sense, though, not if James’s son was with Muggles. “His Mudblood mother’s family.”
Regulus sighs. He’s glad that he sent Kreacher to search. He would have confined his own search to the magical parts of Britain, and who knows how long it would have been before he found Harry?
“Hello,” he says, and bends down to look into the green eyes.
Harry draws back, hunched into himself, his arms wrapped around his chest. He looks sunken and so thin, Regulus thinks.
Starved?
The thought startles him. Surely not even Muggles would starve a child? The Dark Lord talked about them as if they were all monsters, but even before the lake, Regulus knew the reality was more complex than that.
But would they starve a magical child?
Yes, probably.
“Who are you?” Harry whispers, a faint, stumbling voice that comes to a stop the minute Regulus turns to look at him again.
“My name is Regulus Black. I was your father’s lover once.”
“What?”
Oh, of course. A child this young and raised by Muggles probably doesn’t understand the concept. “I knew your father,” Regulus says, choosing a simpler truth. “And I promised that I would raise you if something happened to your parents.” He takes a deep, painful breath. “But something happened to me before you were born that made it hard for me. Now I have you, though. So now I can raise you.”
“I—you want me to stay?”
“Yes,” Regulus says, and opens his arms.
Harry is uncertain and trembling as he walks towards him. Regulus wonders if it’s just because Harry doesn’t remember ever hugging a magical person.
But he nestles close to Regulus, despite making a soft complaining noise when Regulus hugs him and lifts him from the floor, and Kreacher is already muttering about clearing out one of the guest rooms upstairs for Harry. Regulus smiles into the crisp black hair.
He remembers kissing James. And he remembers making his vow.
I will look after your son.
Harry isn’t James, but he’ll benefit from that promise.
*
“Aren’t you hungry, Uncle Regulus?”
“I already ate before you came downstairs.” Regulus smiles at Harry over the table. “You slept in late this morning!”
Harry blushes bright red. “I won’t anymore,” he says hastily, and uses his fork to move his scrambled eggs around his plate instead of wolfing them down, the way he was a minute ago.
“You should feel free to sleep in as long as you like and eat as much as you like,” Regulus tells him gently. “In a few years, when you go to Hogwarts, you won’t be able to do that, but now you can.”
“Kreacher was saying something about Hogwarts. What is it?”
Regulus loses himself in memories of the school, and the way that James kissed him, and Quidditch, and how much he resented Lily sometimes. Harry listens, although sometimes his brow twitches, furrowing the scar that Regulus has seen in the papers.
Now he doesn’t have to imagine how much Harry looks like James. He can see how much Harry is like James, everything from the quick dart of his hands to the way that he laughs when Regulus tells him about playing a prank on Sirius.
And yet…
Something is amiss with the scar. Something feels like Dark magic that stirs up the worst memories of the cave and the lake.
Then Harry laughs, and Regulus lets the memory go. He has all the time in the world he needs to figure that out and save Harry from any machinations the Dark Lord may have left behind. It is years before Harry even goes to school, after all.
*
HARRY POTTER VANISHED!
“I’m surprised they admitted it,” Regulus mutters, and turns around the Prophet so that Harry can see the headline. As usual, Harry is sitting on the other side of the table, eating his solitary breakfast.
“Why—what does it say?”
Oh, of course. Regulus could read younger than this, but he remembers that Sirius couldn’t, and Muggles must teach their children later than five. He reads out the article to Harry, who gets quieter and quieter as he listens.
“Are—are people going to be upset? Are Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon going to be upset?”
From the way Harry shivers, Regulus already knows a great deal of what the Muggles were like, although Harry hasn’t described them in any detail. He leans forwards across the table. “If they are, you don’t have to worry about it. You’ll never see them again. They will never hurt you again.”
“You’re really scary when you look like that, Uncle Regulus.”
But Harry is looking at him with admiration, which makes Regulus relax and smile at him. If Harry believes that Regulus will use all his strength and rage in defense of him, then Regulus will be as frightening as Harry likes.
*
Regulus expected Mother’s portrait to be more of an obstacle to his adoption of Harry than she turns out to be.
As it is, she peers at Harry, who’s hiding halfway behind Regulus when they’re introduced, and simply nods. “He’s the son of that boy you’ve been going on about?” she asks Regulus.
“The boy I was in love with, Mother.”
“You never said.”
“I would have hidden it from you. I hid a great many things from you.”
Mother only glares at Regulus as if she doesn’t believe him. “Well, you’ll raise him to be a proper heir for the house. Grimmauld Place needs someone who can love it.”
Regulus nods. He knows that Mother cared more about Grimmauld Place itself when she was alive than the money or any artifacts or books. Harry is learning to read under Regulus’s patient tutelage, but he doesn’t seem to be a great lover of books, either. He much prefers the painted and polished toys left behind by generations of Black children.
Then again, he never had such toys to play with before Kreacher rescued him.
Mother softens enough to smile at Harry. “Your godfather was worthless when I was alive, but I believe he did the right thing in the end,” she declares. Regulus shifts to the side. He hasn’t explained blood purity or Sirius to Harry yet, and he’s not looking forward to that discussion. “I hope that you will be a credit to the House of Black.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Harry mutters, and hides his face in Regulus’s robes, something he doesn’t do often. Regulus thinks that his lake-disordered magic drives Harry away from him sometimes.
But Harry doesn’t pull away until they go to the kitchen, and then asks uncertainly, “What’s a godfather, Uncle Regulus?”
No, he wasn’t looking forward to this discussion, but it seems the time has come.
Regulus sighs, and lays his arms on the table, and says to the boy’s bright, inquiring eyes, “I had an older brother named Sirius Black...”
*
Harry is so quiet, and so avoidant, for the days after Regulus tells him about Sirius and blood purity and the war with the Dark Lord that Regulus finally sends Kreacher to Harry’s room to summon him down the stairs.
Once again, they’re sitting at the kitchen table, with Harry spinning his spoon around the remains of his bowl of porridge and Regulus waiting patiently. Harry is finally the one who whispers, “You were a Death Eater.”
“Yes.”
“Then why do you want me here?”
“What?”
“Kreacher told me my mum was a—a Mudblood.” Tears are filling Harry’s eyes and spilling down his cheeks, and Regulus is horrified, because this is not the way he thought this would go. “He said I—I was only here because you were in love with my dad, but—”
Harry is repeating the words without understanding them, Regulus is certain. He leans forwards and says soothingly, “I loved your father very much, Harry. I don’t care who your mother was.”
That is only a partial truth. Regulus wishes Lily had never stolen James away from him, of course he wishes that. But James is the one who made the choice in the end, and he decided that he couldn’t live with Regulus becoming a Death Eater.
And it is a partial lie because it is a truth. Regulus can’t imagine Harry leaving now, going back to his Muggle relatives or anywhere else.
“You really want me here?”
“I really want you here.”
Harry climbs out of the chair and runs around the table. Regulus stoops down and kisses Harry on the forehead, which usually makes Harry shy away. He probably didn’t receive any gestures like that when he lived with the Muggles, and he’s only been with Regulus for a few weeks now. He must not know how to take them.
But for now, Harry leans on him, content, and Regulus only frowns at Harry’s scar.
It continues to contain the Dark thing that reminds him of the locket.
He will have to do something about that.
*
“Uncle Regulus?”
“Yes, wizard-child?”
Harry smiles shyly at him again. He really does like that nickname, which means that Regulus makes sure to use it as often as possible.
“How exactly did my parents die?”
Regulus sighs. They’re sitting out on the shaded verandah that overlooks the tangled mess of the Black gardens. Kreacher is busy growing some poisonous plants, some vegetables, some Potions ingredients, and some plants that Regulus frankly doesn’t know the purpose of. “That’s something else I hoped to put off until you were seven, anyway.”
“I was six a whole month ago! Please, Uncle Regulus!”
Regulus sighs. It’s true that Harry is incredibly mature for a child of his age, and can probably stand the details if anyone can.
Really, Regulus’s disinclination to talk about James’s death is because of what James meant to him, not because he thinks Harry will be affected that much.
“The Dark Lord came to kill them personally,” Regulus says quietly. He knows that much, although not why. The Dark Lord didn’t attend to enemies personally most of the time, and by the time that Harry was born, Regulus and James had drifted apart. “He killed your dad first. I know that much.”
“How?”
“A very Dark spell called the Killing Curse.”
“No.” Harry stares up at Regulus with shimmering eyes that increasingly just make him think Harry instead of Evans. “I mean, how do you know that my dad died first? Kreacher read me the articles, and you read me the articles. They didn’t say that.”
Regulus blinks, and blinks again. “I know it.”
“I just want to know how, Uncle Regulus. I want to know everything.”
Regulus blinks and blinks again, and raises his hand to rub his forehead. He must have talked with another Marked Death Eater who knows, he thinks, someone who was there that night. The years right after the lake and James’s death are the most muddled. He could easily have thought it was a good idea to go talk to one of his “fellow” Death Eaters and not remembered it afterwards.
The only important part about that knowledge is the method of James’s death.
“Someone told me.”
Harry stops wriggling and settles down, nodding. “All right, Uncle Regulus. And then he killed my mum?” His voice is very low.
“Yes. She stood in front of you, and the Dark Lord offered to let her move out of the way three times. But she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t give up on you for the world.”
“And you know that from talking to a person, too?”
“Yes.” Regulus’s voice is firmer now. He doesn’t remember the conversation, but the details are so brilliant in his mind that there is no mistaking them. How could he know that without speaking to someone who witnessed James’s death, and Lily’s?
He remembers that as if he were there, as if it were him who shut James’s eyes and climbed the stairs to gaze at Lily’s body and the ashes of the Dark Lord and Harry crying in his cot.
“All right.”
Harry cuddles close to him, on the edge of his robes, and Regulus pats him gently on the hair. His hand trembles.
Regulus shakes his head, but carefully. The legacy of the lake and being so long without breath is starting to catch up with him again. He will have to perform a strengthening ritual tonight, after Harry is safely asleep and unable to wander in and disrupt it.
*
Regulus surfaces after memories as heavy as the lake water, gasping. He rolls over and stares at the heavy dark casket, lined with lead, that never sits far from his favorite chair in the library.
He remembers the name of the locket now.
Horcrux.
That’s the name of the thing lying in the casket. That’s the name of the thing in Harry’s forehead.
Regulus sits up and wraps his hands around his face. His eyes tremble beneath the pressure of his fingers. He takes long gasps, feeling for a moment as if he’s drowning all over again.
He was so sure that the locket was the only Horcrux. It’s true that he hasn’t yet managed to figure out how to destroy it, but he thought he had time to deal with it! The Dark Lord’s body was destroyed, and Regulus has the locket, so no loyal Death Eater can find it and use it to resurrect him.
But he must have been wrong. There must be other Horcruxes. That’s the only possible reason that Harry Potter, the Dark Lord’s greatest enemy, would be hosting one.
Regulus isn’t even sure that the Dark Lord would have made Harry a Horcrux deliberately. He was mad long before the end.
If Regulus can rely on his memories to be truthful.
Which he can’t. Look at how long it took him to recall what a Horcrux was, and how he can’t remember how he got the knowledge of Lily and James’s deaths. But he is sure that the Dark Lord would be able to return with the power of the Horcrux in Harry’s scar.
Which means it has to go.
*
“Uncle Regulus, can I help?”
Regulus pulls back and smiles distractedly at Harry over the top of the thick tome that he’s been scanning for clues to the destruction of Horcruxes for the past few weeks. Harry is lingering in the doorway of the library, a longing look on his face.
“Sorry, Harry. This is very serious research, and I don’t think that you can read well enough yet.”
“I could have Kreacher read the books to me?”
“Sorry, Harry, no.”
In truth, Regulus would like to give Harry some control over his fate by involving him in the research. But not only is he young, that would be akin to involving the Horcrux in the research as well. Regulus is many things, but not fool enough to chance waking the Horcrux.
“I can read better now,” Harry says desperately. “I’m almost seven.”
Regulus blinks. It was just a few weeks ago that they were celebrating Harry’s sixth birthday, wasn’t it? Yes, because it was a few nights after that that Regulus remembered what the locket was.
Then he smiles indulgently. Of course. Harry is exaggerating his age the way children do when they want to be involved in an adult endeavor. Regulus can remember attempting to do the same thing to get his mother to let him use a practice wand.
“I appreciate that you want to help, Harry. But this is really too advanced—”
“I don’t see you anymore! You never come down and sit with me at breakfast or dinner anymore! You just sit in the library!”
“Harry, that’s not true—”
“Yes, it is! It’s been months since you did it! And Kreacher just says that I can’t disturb you, but I want you to take care of me the way you did when I was first here! You sat with me and you hugged me and—and I don’t even care about what you look like, I just want you to take care of me!”
Regulus sighs. He supposes that he has spent more hours than he reckoned in the library, although Harry is exaggerating the scale of the time. He stands up, a little surprised at how his legs creak. Getting old, he supposes. “All right, Harry. I can do that this morning.”
Harry beams. He does seem noticeably taller as he skips down the corridor ahead of Regulus, which startles him. Has Kreacher been letting Harry get into growth potions? He hopes not.
In the kitchen, Regulus listens to Harry chatter and resolves not to forget his responsibilities. First and foremost is getting the Horcrux out of Harry, but of course he needs to take care of James’s son as well. Of course he does.
*
“Can you teach me to fly, Uncle Regulus? Please?”
“I was never all that good on a broom, Harry. And at this point, I haven’t been on one in years.”
“But Kreacher says that if I don’t know how to fly when I go to Hogwarts, I’ll be a disgrace!”
Regulus blinks. Even that movement seems slower than it used to be.
That’s right. Harry’s going to Hogwarts. Somehow, Regulus managed to forget that, to think he had forever to solve the Horcrux issue before something happened to change or challenge him.
He clears his throat and stands from the chair in the library. That’s more difficult than he remembers, too. That’s something he’ll have to address in a strengthening ritual. It will never do to be so weak that he can’t take care of Harry. “All right. I’m rusty on a broom, but I’ll do my best to show you.”
Harry dances in joy, although he doesn’t dart up and hug Regulus the way he once would have. Of course, he’s exaggerating his age again, claiming to be nine now. It makes sense that he would think he’s too old for hugs.
And they do have fun flying in the old Nimbus brooms that Kreacher fetches out of the attics, even though the sight of Harry circling in the sunlight, laughing in joy, is hard for Regulus to bear. He looks so much like James, especially from a distance, when Regulus can’t see those cursed green eyes.
Harry lands in front of him at last and says, “You said my dad was a Chaser?”
“Yes. A good one, too.” The memory of James makes Regulus smile, the way all his memories of James do. They seem so long ago, too, but they are less than ten years old. “You have the build of a Seeker, though.”
“But if you want me to be a Chaser, I’ll be a Chaser!”
“You—you should do whatever makes you happy, Harry.”
“I want to do what makes you happy, Uncle Regulus. So you’ll keep talking to me.”
Regulus blinks. Then he says, “I know that it seems like I spend all my time in the library doing research, Harry, but I promise you can come and talk to me at any time.”
“I tried to yesterday, and you snarled at me and said it was very important that I not see the runes you were writing down.”
Regulus stares at Harry, shaken. He never wanted his memory problems to cause trouble with Harry, and now it seems they’re doing that and more.
“I have no memory of that,” he whispers.
“I don’t think you have memories of a lot, Uncle Regulus.”
Harry’s eyes are old and sad. Regulus shakes his head and reaches out a hand to him. Harry hesitates a moment before he clasps it. That makes Regulus more determined than ever to do something that Harry will like.
“Why don’t we go out into the garden and take turns dodging that old Devil’s Snare that’s there?”
Harry smiles, but it’s weary. “Kreacher uprooted that Devil’s Snare years ago, Uncle Regulus.”
“What?” he whispers.
Harry leans towards him, his face growing concerned. “Are you really forgetting that much time, Uncle Regulus? I just thought that you didn’t talk to me a lot anymore. And it’s all right!” he adds hastily. “I have Kreacher and Aunt Walburga. I’m all right. But I thought things weren’t this bad.”
How long did I spend in the library?
Regulus swallows and says, “Well, we can get one of the old practice wands and do Charms, then. I know that you told me you wanted more practice with them.”
“I mastered most of them years ago, Uncle Regulus. But we can do that if you want.”
Regulus feels as though his thoughts are drifting like the clouds overhead.
“Harry,” he says helplessly. “What month is it?”
“August.”
“I—how? I thought it was September when Kreacher got you from your relatives’ house.”
Harry closes his eyes. “Uncle Regulus,” he whispers. “It’s August, 1990.”
Regulus reels, and ends up sitting down hard in the grass. Harry sits beside him, talking in a worried tone, but Regulus doesn’t listen. He’s too busy staring at the scar on Harry’s forehead, which he knows is responsible for this shit.
Horcruxes make him lose track of time. A Horcrux was what made him go into the lake in the first place. He shouldn’t have brought the locket back to the house with him. Or he shouldn’t have had Kreacher retrieve Harry. One Horcrux was manageable, but two are bad news.
Well, no. He wouldn’t want Harry to have stayed with his awful Muggle relatives.
(How does he know they’re awful? He doesn’t remember).
It just means that he has to move faster. To take care of Harry. He’ll always take care of him. He’s his Uncle Regulus.
*
Regulus finds Harry standing in Regulus’s old bedroom, his eyes old and a stack of letters in his hands.
“What did you find, Harry?” Regulus asks as gently as he can, closing the door behind him. He needs to make sure things work out properly.
“Letters that you wrote to my father,” Harry whispers.
Regulus blinks. He never thought to look for love letters to James in his own room. Wouldn’t he have sent them, and James retained them? If anything, Harry would have found letters in his father’s handwriting.
But would he know they were from his father without an explanation? Regulus can’t recall that James ever signed his name. More secrecy, to keep them safe from their families.
“Can I see them?”
Harry gives him a glance from eyes so old that they shouldn’t belong to a ten-year-old (how can he be ten?) and holds them out.
Regulus sifts through them. At first he smiles, because he can see his declarations of love for James, and they’re as strong and passionate as he always remembered. But then he begins to frown, because something about the letters seems different.
Dear James,
Why won’t you look at me? What do I have to do to prove myself to you? What would make you leave Evans for me?
Beloved James,
If I knew how to approach you and make you turn to me and forget about Evans, I would do it. Even Sirius! He should know what you mean to me, but he acts like he doesn’t, and I don’t know how to tell him.
Dear James,
When will I ever gain the courage to tell you? How can I? We’ve never met, never touched…
Regulus turns the last letter over. Then he turns it back. There was no date on the back of the parchment, but he sees the date on the top of the front sheet, right above the scrawling lines that proclaim his love.
June 19th, 1979.
Regulus swallows. Then he swallows again. How can there be a letter like this, saying that he never confessed his love to James, after they parted? He remembers their parting so clearly, how James turned his back on Regulus and proclaimed that he couldn’t love someone who had willingly taken the Dark Mark…
He remembers.
He thinks he remembers.
“And what about this one, Uncle Regulus?” Harry whispers. There’s an accusatory tone in his voice. He holds out the letter.
Regulus picks it up, in a dream, in dread.
Dear James,
If I could, I would kill Evans, wrap my hands around her throat and choke the life from her. What does it matter if I never had the courage to confess to you? You still should have seen the love burning in me, should have chosen me while I was—
There’s no date on this one, and the sentence ends in a tear of parchment. Regulus glances up at Harry. “Harry,” he whispers. “Did you tear off the bottom of this sheet?”
Harry shakes his head. His chest is heaving, his eyes bright with deadly tears. “You never told him,” he whispers. “You were never lovers with him. He never knew. You—you brought me here for no reason, didn’t you? Because you thought you remembered loving my dad and him loving you, but he never—he never made you promise to take care of me.”
Regulus stares at him, and down at the letter. He can’t reconcile these letters with his memory. Of course James refused him after Regulus took the Dark Mark, but that was—they spoke—they touched, he’s sure of it—
He can’t be sure of it.
Not with the lake. Not with the Horcruxes around that influenced him.
It can’t be put off further. It’s time.
Regulus reaches out and grabs Harry’s arm. Harry’s mouth opens in a soundless scream. Regulus winces and moderates his hold. He does forget, sometimes, how much stronger he is since returning from the lake.
It’s a shock sometimes to look down and see blue-grey flesh instead of the white he remembers, but needs must.
“Uncle Regulus, what are you doing? Kreacher! Kreacher—”
“He obeys me, not you,” Regulus says, and he walks outside, dragging Harry with him, and Disapparates.
*
It comes to the place where he knew it would, the cave and the lake. The place that once held a Horcrux is the best place he can think of to counteract their influence.
Especially when none of the books told him how to counter a living Horcrux in such a way that it remains alive.
But now, Regulus knows. He feels at peace as he wades into the lake, dragging Harry, who hasn’t stopped screaming, behind him.
He will make sure that the Horcrux is destroyed and Harry lives. It’s the only way that he can.
And he’s sure that Harry will forgive him, in time. Harry will understand.
Regulus pulls Harry towards him as the lake churns around him. The Inferi stir and rise, but they float around Harry and Regulus, not attacking. It’s been like this ever since Regulus left. He’s the only one of them who managed to emerge, because the force of his unrequited desire for James brought him back from death.
Yes. He remembers now.
“Uncle Regulus, please—please—I won’t—I’ll never bother you again—”
Harry struggles hard enough to make one of Regulus’s fingers break off. Regulus frowns. He’ll have to do more strengthening rituals tonight, after he destroys the Horcrux and retrieves the finger, of course.
Regulus shakes his head and says, “I know that you’ll never bother me on purpose, Harry. It’s the bloody Horcrux in your scar that would bother me.”
“Uncle Regulus, what are you—”
Regulus seizes Harry’s head and forces it underwater.
*
It doesn’t take long. Harry splashes and struggles and probably screams, but if so, that just means the lake water sinks deeper and quicker into his lungs. He’s limp against Regulus soon enough.
Regulus still holds him down, and is rewarded when he sees the dark mist he knew was there forming above Harry’s body. It wavers back and forth, seeming to grow a pair of red eyes and an open mouth for a moment, but then it dissipates, the last of the Dark Lord’s spirit banished to parts unknown.
Regulus nods. Then he bends down and gathers Harry close. Being in the lake is bringing more and more memories back to him. He knows these are accurate, unlike the ones that were apparently in his head of loving James.
It takes a strong desire to bring someone back as a self-willed Inferius. However, that desire need not belong to the one newly dead.
And this is a strongly magical place.
Regulus holds Harry in the water and chants softly, words that blur and drift out of his memory almost as soon as he says them. He won’t need them after this. They are the words that he chanted in his own mind as he forced his way out of the dark water eleven years ago, as he became what he now is.
The water around Harry turns cloudy and deep green. Regulus breathes out the last word, and the Inferi around them bow jerkily and sink back beneath the surface. Regulus ignores them. He doesn’t need to try and command them, not when it was the Dark Lord’s desire that brought them back to life.
Regulus has different desires now.
The green water around Harry lightens to the color of transparent jade, the color of a pendant that Regulus dreamed James giving to him. Then it’s sucked into Harry’s body, and Harry shudders and opens his eyes.
Their color has altered a little. Now it looks like that jade. Regulus smiles. The less Harry looks like Evans, the happier he is.
“Uncle Regulus?” Harry whispers. His voice is thick and water-clogged.
Regulus hugs him and then retrieves the finger that Harry broke off when he was still a Horcrux, still tainted. He sticks it in a robe pocket. He and Harry will both undergo strengthening rituals tonight, ones that will make Regulus’s flesh stronger and more like that of the living and that will restore Harry’s voice.
Harry drifts in the water. He blinks.
“I—I don’t remember what he happened,” he says.
“That is a mercy,” Regulus says, and he wades to the shore with Harry. They get outside the cave and Apparate back home. Kreacher is there, hovering anxiously with a mug of hot chocolate in his hands. But when he looks at Harry, he sighs and Vanishes the cup.
“Young Master Harry will not require this now,” he says sadly.
“No,” Harry says, and smiles at Kreacher. “But I’m better, Kreacher!”
“Yes, the Horcrux is gone,” Regulus agrees, and wonders if the lake can help him destroy the locket Horcrux before he banishes the thought. Tonight is about strengthening rituals and teaching Harry to survive in his new body.
Tomorrow will be for dreams, and for their new lives, and for the memory that James loved him.
And Regulus is taking care of James’s son now, protecting him from all dangers.
Exactly as James asked him to.
All is well.
The End.