Crimson Rivers V3

CRIMSON RIVERS
VOLUME 3
Zeppazariel
Crimson Rivers
Archive of our Own
Typeset made by: chasingregulus

TABLE OF CONTENTS
Crimson Rivers
one
The Maze
two
Strings
three
A Lesson
four
Brother
five
Climbing
six
Boggarts
4
seven
The Breakaway
eight
The Breakout
nine
The Breakdown
ten
Hell Week
eleven
Harmony
twelve
Pawns
thirteen
Azkaban
fourteen
To Have Again
5
fifteen
Together
sixteen
Day-by-Day
6
10
1
THE MAZE
______
They come in the early corners of the morning, before anyone is

awake, before the servants are released to return to their duties,
before the sun has even risen.
There is no warning. It's not handled gently. The door bursts open,
and a team of Aurors flood in, going into rooms and marching Sirius
and Regulus out with guns trained on them. James and Pandora do
not handle it well, but guns are trained on them, too, keeping them
there, not letting them follow.
It's a mess of shouting and desperately trying to hold onto each

other, pleas and fighting, and then nothing. Just nothing, because the
door shuts, Sirius and Regulus are taken away, and James and
Pandora are left alone.
No one even got to say goodbye.
~•~
When Remus steps into the suite, he knows immediately that

something is wrong, even as he cautiously pulls his mask off.
Pandora is sitting in the main room next to James, her face puffy
from where she's clearly been crying. James has his head in his
hands, but he lifts it and looks at Remus, his expression fracturing.
And, just like that, Remus knows.
"He's gone, isn't he?" Remus whispers.
"I'm sorry, Remus," James rasps, gripping his cane and pushing to his
feet. Slowly, with a more pronounced limp than usual, he makes his
11
The Maze
way over to Remus until he stops in front of him and holds his gaze.
Swallowing, he reaches out with his free arm to tug Remus in against
him, shorter than him, but not by very much. It's easy to tuck his face
down into James' shoulder and hide the way it scrunches as his eyes
sting and grief clogs his throat. "I'm so sorry."
Remus holds very still until he's sure that he's going to be able to
breathe without crying, and then he wraps his arms around James
in—solidarity, maybe? Friendship? Comfort, giving and receiving?
Perhaps all of it. "Both of them, I'm assuming."
"Yeah," James mumbles, clearing his throat as they break apart. He

squeezes Remus' shoulder. "They just—the Aurors busted in about
an hour ago, dragged them out, and took them away. We fought
and—and we tried, but—"
"They're not even letting you say goodbye?" Remus hisses, utterly
furious. "You're their mentor!" James blinks hard, swallowing. "I
know, but—they said not this time. I didn't even—Regulus and I
weren't even awake when they came in. There was no warning. They
just..."
"What are they going to do?" Remus snaps. "Hold them all day until
the games start? Alone?" "Yes," Pandora says, then immediately
bursts into tears.
"It's because of the interviews, we think," James tells him, glancing

wearily over at Pandora, his shoulders slumping. "I took the lift
down to go see if it was the same with Frank, and it was. All the
tributes are gone, Remus. It's—punishment."
"Did—did he say anything? Sirius, I mean?" Remus asks.
"Er, he was a bit busy yelling about being woken up. He spit on one
of the Aurors," James admits sheepishly, and Remus releases a weak
chuckle. "But um...no, there wasn't really time for anything to be
said. Not from Sirius or Regulus."
"I'm going to—" Remus stops, inhales, exhales. He takes a second,

looks at James and Pandora, then forces the tension out of his body.
12
"Okay, this is what's going to happen. On the first day of the games,
everyone watches without going anywhere, so we'll all be here
together for this. Tomorrow, James, you'll have to go handle mentor
duties and such. But, for today, we are all going to go into that
kitchen and put something on our stomachs before we have to
watch."
"Yes," James agrees firmly, gripping Remus' arm and leaning into
him for support as they walk towards the kitchen. "I'll make you tea.
Sirius told me how you like it. Unless you want coffee? We can have
coffee, if you want. Pandora, come on, we're having breakfast. Get
up."
Pandora miserably pushes to her feet, sniffling, but she dutifully

follows. Remus goes at James' pace, taking every measured step with
the same defiance and resilience that he takes every day one at a
time. Sirius and Regulus are not here, no one got to properly say
goodbye, but to crumble under the weight of that does not help any
of them.
"Tea is fine," Remus says softly, and so, that's what they have. ~•~
Time passes slowly.
This is ironic, Regulus thinks, because it didn't last time. Just last
year, in the lead up into the arena, everything felt like a blur after the
initial wait. The moment they left the suite, it all sped up; and he was
there, hugging his brother, not wanting to let go; and he was there,
shuffled through the process with no knowledge of what was
coming; and he was there, watching Gideon be murdered before his
very eyes, the first murder he would witness in person, the very
same day that he would cap off the night with the first murder of his
own; and then he was there, rising on a platform to the arena,
squinting against the sun, listening to the countdown to the very first
cannon that would signal the change of everything.
This time, he is left with a tracker in his arm and a quiet, cold room.
Not clean from a morning bath to prepare for the filth that surely
awaits him. Hungry from the lack of breakfast he should have been
granted as a gesture of a last meal. Just the steady presence of
discomfort, waiting, time dragging.
13
The Maze
There's nothing to glean from the outfit he had to change into. Well,
no, there is. Having no coat at least tells him that it likely won't be
cold, but that does very little to reassure him. He's just in a black
shirt and black trousers specifically designed for activity, easy to
move in, lightweight and durable. His arms are left bare, revealing
his scars, which—well, on one hand, it makes him uncomfortable,
because he's always in long-sleeves, but on the other hand, he is
intrigued by the idea that seeing his scars will further infuriate the
Hallows since the reminder of how he got them and how unfair it is
that he may be getting more can't be ignored with them on display.
Regulus realizes it as he sits there, never moving or doing anything

at all, just breathing; he isn't scared this time.
Not even a bit.
He stares at the closed tube around the platform and waits in the
uncomfortable seat, hands threaded together, ready. Oh, he's so
ready. Possibly more ready for this than he has been anything else in
his entire life.
There can't be any hesitation, any faltering, any caring. There can't be
anything other than going in and doing what he needs to. There can't
be one moment where he looks at Sirius and—
Regulus closes his eyes, exhaling slowly, trying to shake himself free
from the swell of emotion he hasn't let break out since the reaping,
since Sirius volunteered again. He shuts it down and thinks, instead,
of the gentle way James traced his skin last night. How James
brushed Regulus' hair back and scanned his face leisurely, carefully,
taking him in like he had all the time in the world and would spend
it doing just that.
After all the fighting, all the pain and grief and fear, they touched
one another with such reverence and love, smiling into kisses and
whispering sweet words into each other's skin, letting time slip away
from them like burning, midnight embers of a cigarette. Ash, ash,
ash. They blazed, and then they cooled, and then they settled there,
together, waiting for the wind to come in and blow them away.
It has.
14
~•~
Sirius, if you'd believe it, is very fucking bored.
Over time, the anger from being dragged out far too soon at
gunpoint and the frustration with not getting to properly say
goodbye to Remus had faded. It turned sad, and anxious, and just
helplessly defeated. He had planned to kiss Remus' mask one last
time, and kiss Remus, too. All he wanted to do was kiss Remus at
least one more time. That's all he ever wants to do, really.
He has gone around in circles about what's coming and what he's
going to have to do, again, quite literally spending hours just pacing
restlessly around the room.
He has lost moments, thinking so hard and so much that he works

himself up, and then he blinks and finds himself parked in the chair,
no recollection of when he sat down. It worries him, frankly. This is
something that doesn't happen very often anymore, unless in very
stressful situations that his mind simply can't handle, and the arena
is sure to pose many of those, but he can't afford to slip away. He has
to be present; he has to remain here, for Regulus, he has to.
Fortunately, Sirius has never once lost himself in a fight. When James
lashed out at him, or when Regulus did back in the early stages right
after his games, Sirius remained planted firmly in himself, perhaps
even more tethered there by the rush of adrenaline and surge of
survival instincts that pushed away any possibility of escape. He
stays here when there's nowhere else to go, and in the arena, it's just
the arena. It's nothing but adrenaline and survival instincts. He'll do
what he has to. He will. No different than he did at the reaping,
reflexively.
The boredom is what gets to Sirius, in the end. He's left in a room
alone with literally nothing but himself, an unopened tube enclosing
a platform, and a cold, steel chair. At one point, he's just sitting there,
twiddling his thumbs and bouncing one leg restlessly, full of all this
built up anticipation that leaves him feeling fundamentally trapped
with nothing or no one to focus his energy on. He spends at least an
hour doing some cuticle maintenance and repeatedly re-doing his
15
The Maze
hair over and over to the point that his hair bobble is probably sick of
him.
That's why he can't be blamed when, finally, his name is called and
the tube opens up, and the first thing he does is shoot to his feet with
a deep exhale of relief. Maybe that seems horrid, but honestly? The
suspense was fucking killing him; it wasn't good kind of suspense
that Sirius associates with Remus' light caresses, but rather this
heavy dread settling in his bones. He just wants to get it over with.
He just wants it to be done.
He wants it to never have happened at all.
It's not until Sirius steps up onto the platform that the reality of it
starts to properly sink in. He thinks of what it feels like to have
Remus' fingers in his hair, Remus' mouth brushing along the curve of
his throat, Remus' arms wrapped around him; he thinks of their
everything, the spiral staircase and the porch swing underneath the
moon and stars.
For a second, Sirius closes his eyes, and he lets himself concoct a
wistful little fantasy of having all of that instead of this, and then he's
slapped with the full force of his reality by the distant, muffled crack
of a gunshot from somewhere within the building, followed very
quickly by another.
Sirius' eyes fly open.
There's a hiss and pop of the tube closing again, and then the
platform starts to rise. He tilts his head back to watch the circular
opening give way as he goes higher, blinking slowly when he can't
see sunshine on the other side of it. The only indicator, at first, that
he is moving into an entirely different environment is the swift
change in the air, going from cold and almost metallic down below,
to warm and a bit stale from up above. As he's lifted up, he can feel
how muggy and humid it is, and it's still quite dark, even when the
platform stops.
Heart racing, Sirius swivels his head automatically to look for

Regulus, only to see enclosed walls of overgrown, thick hedges on
either side of him. He cranes his head back, eyes narrowing into slits.
16
The top is obscenely high, to the point that he can't quite make it out
from here, though he has a general idea.
It's a snarling mass of green and brown; a thick tangle of roots and
leaves; branches and foliage so compact and impenetrable that he
can't even see through it. This means that Sirius can't see who is on
the other side of him, if anyone is at all. This means that Sirius has no
fucking clue what Regulus' starting position is, or anyone else's for
that matter. Great. Just great.
The sky is visible, but it seems like something from another world,
something entirely out of reach. It's a big, blue blanket with a bright
tinge of sunshine to it, large numbers displayed counting down
along with a voice echoing out in time with it.
26, 25, 24...
The sunshine doesn't reach them down here, cast in the large
shadows of the hedge walls, left to a murky dark that feels fitting
somehow, like the ugly underground where rot festers and creatures
dwell. Here they are, nothing more than the monsters they were
made into, and finally, after all this time, there's a place that reflects
it. There's some sort of cruel irony that he would find it in the arena.
Of course. Where else? Where else other than the place they were
created?
17, 16, 15...
In front of him, Sirius can see a long, dim passageway straight ahead.
If he squints, he can make out the opening at the end, like the hall of
greenery will lead him somewhere. He'd bet a lot on the fact that it's
the weapons and supplies, depending on the layout. If this is what
he thinks it is...
9, 8, 7...
A labyrinth. A maze. Sirius would fucking laugh if he had enough

air in his lungs to do so. Oh, Minerva McGonagall. That woman.
Quite the comedian, he thinks. Very on point, honestly, throwing
17
The Maze
them in a maze like a bunch of lab rats all just trying to find their
way out; she is fucking hilarious. Even if she doesn't know it, even if
she's doing it subconsciously, there is no way to deny the fact that
this is exactly what the tributes are every year—the Hallows' stupid
fucking lab rats, being played with for their morbid amusement,
strung along and driven to desperate lengths by the promise of
cheese.
3, 2, 1...
As soon as the cannon sounds, Sirius drops off the platform and
sidles up to the hedge to his left, closing his eyes and straining his
ears to listen. He can hear it, faintly, the sound of feet pounding
against the ground.
Shit.
Without a second of hesitation, Sirius swivels on his heel and tears

off down the passage in front of him, because if he knows one thing
for sure, it's that there's going to be a fucking fight waiting on the
other side of that opening at the end—one Regulus will also be
caught up in.
Right at the end of the passage, there's a bag sitting on the edge that
Sirius plucks up as he's running, not even stopping to think about it
as he does it, not wondering why it's there, or what it means. He
breaks through to the wide open space where people are pouring out
of their own passages all around, and then he immediately collides
into someone so hard that he and whoever it is goes sailing to the
ground.
Sirius rolls with the motion, easily and agile, dropping the bag and
bracing himself as his head snaps up to see who he hit. He blinks to
find Narcissa mirroring his position exactly, though she doesn't have
a bag. For a long, tense moment, neither of them move or do
anything at all, and then, slowly and very carefully, they ease to their
feet, gazes locked.
"Cissa," Sirius says, his tone clipped.
18
"Sirius," Narcissa murmurs, flicking her gaze over him, assessing.
After a beat, she drops her hand to her stomach and arches an
eyebrow at him. "Come now, surely you wouldn't harm me and little
Draco, would you?"
"I'm going to give you one chance to run," Sirius tells her, holding
still, "and take little Draco with you."
Narcissa breaks into a grin, huffs a laugh, then doesn't hesitate to

whip around and fucking run. Sirius watches her go for about five
seconds, then shakes his head and snatches up his bag to turn and
survey his surroundings.
"Andy, that was for you, by the way," Sirius mutters under his
breath, gaze darting around as he takes in the chaos currently
spreading throughout the area.
It's like an open portion of a maze, a big square with weapons

scattered around all over. There are a lot less bags, maybe five that he
can see in all, which tells him that this is mainly a cache spot for
weaponry. Sirius can see at least two or three different spears
sticking out of the ground that are all very tempting, but not as
tempting as it is to find his brother. All around, there are countless
openings to run into, to delve further into the labyrinth. When Sirius
peeks, the one he just ran out of is already closing up into a wall of
dark green.
Everywhere Sirius looks, people are sprinting, some that he

recognizes as they dart around, and some he can't even properly
make out in the dim lighting. Everyone is trying to snatch up
weapons before anyone else can get one and attack, making the most
of the seconds it takes to prepare.
The sound of one cannon, followed quickly by a second, seems to

draw everyone to a halt. Everything sort of just—stops. Two deaths
already, that soon, and they all seem a little stunned by it, an eerie
silence draping over everyone and everything, and Sirius gets it.
There has been this underlying sense of camaraderie between
everyone, none of them as of yet turning on each other, and it hasn't
even been two minutes, so to think that already there's murder is
just...disheartening, honestly.
19
The Maze
But, when the source of death is located, Sirius is halted by a heavy

sense of solemnity. It's Mavis and Velvet; they'd done exactly as they
promised they would. They found weapons, found each other, and
they died together. Their bodies are splayed out on the ground right
beside one another, curled close in death like the lovers they were in
life.
For a long moment, maybe half of a minute, no one moves. No one

speaks. No one does anything but stare. No death eaters take the
opportunity to attack anyone, and there's just this quiet, momentary
mourning and respect for two people who loved each other and
decided, together, that they would not participate in a game as cruel
and sadistic as this one. They went out together, in complete control
of their own fate, and they never deserved anything other than a
long life full of love.
And then, unprompted, Regulus' voice rings out, nearly snarling.

He's addressing the sky, the audience, the Hallows in a low hiss of
derision when he declares, "When you take them, you take them
together, and know that it's your fault."
The moment Sirius locates Regulus across the open field, he's
running full-tilt right for him, and this pushes everyone back into
motion. Sirius knocks into someone, clipping them as he goes by—
Emmeline, he thinks—but he's not stopped, so he keeps going. The
first initial deaths have passed, and the floodgates have opened.
Some people are taking escape routes into the maze, uninterested in
starting the fight so soon, but that's not the case for all of them.
For one thing, Sirius sees Coen scrambling away from Camilla as she
runs after him with a fucking club in hand, both of them darting into
the maze and shouting angrily at each other. For another thing,
Regulus is in the middle of diving for the dagger closest to him when
Henri tackles him to the ground, going for the same exact thing.
Sirius had yanked up his bag as he sprinted, which he now uses to

swing directly at Henri's head so hard that he sails to the side, torn
away from where he was just strangling Regulus.
It takes less than ten seconds. Sirius drops his bag, drags Henri back,
and proceeds to ruthlessly press his boot to Henri's neck, grabbing
20
his arm roughly to yank at it and stomp on his throat at the same
time. There's a sickening crunch and Henri's choked noise sputters
out into silence as his head hangs awkwardly on his broken, crushed
neck.
The cannon sounds.
"Hey, hey, are you okay?" Sirius blurts out, dropping Henri's arm
carelessly as he moves to Regulus' side. He reaches down to help
Regulus sit up as he coughs and lightly touches his throat.
"Reggie? Look at me. Let me see if—"
Regulus swats his hand away with a huff and scowls as he scoots
further back and pushes to his feet. Sirius follows him, stepping
around Henri's body to grab his bag, still watching Regulus,
scanning him for further injury. He looks fine, just sort of pissed off,
which—fair.
"I just saved your life. Again," Sirius says pointedly, arching an
eyebrow at him, because surely now Regulus can see that the silent
treatment and cold shoulder is just immature and does neither of
them any favors in the fucking arena of all places. "You're welcome
for that, by the way."
Regulus stares at him for a beat, jaw clenched, then he says, in a flat
voice, "Thanks," and immediately punches Sirius in the face right
after.
Sirius reels from the force of it, not at all seeing it coming, and he
goes stumbling back with a sharp curse of pure disbelief, his face
already aching from the hit. He barely has the chance to get his
bearings before he sees Regulus shake out his fist and surge forward
to slam his shoulder into Sirius' chest while yanking the bag right
out of his hands. Sirius wheezes, the air knocked out of him as he
hits the ground, meeting Regulus' eyes with his mouth hanging open
in shock.
Without a word, Regulus starts backing up, swinging the bag that
the little shit just stole up onto his shoulders and pausing long
enough to snatch up the dagger he was fighting for in the first place
21
The Maze
as he goes. And then, easy as that, he turns and takes off sprinting
without looking back, ducking into the maze and just—leaving
Sirius behind.
Sirius stares after him, genuinely so caught off-guard that he can't

even form any thoughts for what the fuck just happened, or why. He
doesn't—he can't understand. Why—
"Get the hell up, you idiot!"
At the sharp, familiar hiss in his ear, Sirius blinks harshly and
scrambles to his feet, still disoriented and confused, but very sure
now is not the time to focus on that. He swings around and comes
face-to-face with Marlene, first seeing her swollen eyes and
tear-stained cheeks, as well as the fierce gleam in them despite that,
and then her new haircut.
Sirius glances down to find Marlene already holding a sword, then

glances around to see that the chaos has died down. Most of
everyone has already left, leaving only four others; those that are
already allies. Augusta, like Marlene, has a sword in hand.
Emmeline has a crossbow and quiver of bolts already settled against
her back. Alice has apparently managed to grab a bag of supplies,
and they have a machete gripped in one hand as they dig through it
with Augusta peering over their shoulder, which seems to annoy
them, but they don't say anything or look back at her for doing it.
Sirius is the only one empty-handed. Lovely.
"Well, this is shit," Emmeline announces, turning in a slow circle as

she examines the area. It's cleared out, nothing left behind; no
supplies or weapons otherwise.
It's not a place for provisions or anything. It's not even a place for
claiming, frankly, because it's surrounded at all sides with openings
into the maze. Now, it's just a field that offers no defense, shelter, or
protection. No wonder everyone left.
Usually, there's a place right at the beginning that has an abundance

of weapons and supplies, as well as shelter, for people to claim,
generally the death eaters. This just had weapons, and not enough to
22
go around for everybody, and it was very scarce on supplies. Sirius
realizes how incredibly lucky he was to come across the bag he did
before his sneaky prick of a brother fucking decked him and took it.
"Well," Augusta says dryly, "it certainly could have gone worse. Only
three dead, and two weren't even really killed."
As one, they all swivel their heads to stare at Sirius, who is

responsible for the first genuine kill in the arena. He huffs and
throws his hands up, because honestly, what was he expected to do
in that situation? Henri was strangling Regulus. Of course Sirius
snapped his fucking neck.
"We can't stay here," Alice says firmly as they zip up their bag and
stand to their feet, eyes darting around, visibly tense.
"The death eaters already fled," Emmeline notes. "What do you think
their plan is?" "I don't know, why don't we ask Regulus?" Marlene
snaps.
Sirius' head immediately whips around towards her. "What's that

supposed to mean? Regulus isn't a fucking death eater."
"No? Because he sure seemed to feel safe enough running in the

same direction they all did," Marlene tells him, her voice sharp and
her eyes cold. "You've got a bruise already blooming that says he's
not your ally—or ours, by extension."
"Look, he's just—throwing a tantrum, basically," Sirius grumbles,

grimacing as he reaches up to prod at his jaw, shooting Marlene a
glare when she scoffs. "His issue is with me, not anyone else, so he's
not a threat. He'll get over it."
"Hate to break it to you, boy," Augusta tells him, "but he's not a
secure ally, from what I can tell. I get he's your brother—"
"Yeah, exactly, he's my brother," Sirius cuts in harshly. "He may be

angry at—no, okay, he is angry at me, but that's between us. He's not
a death eater. He's just not."
23
The Maze
"And if he is?" Marlene challenges. "What then, Sirius? Because if

you expect me to hold back if he's trying to attack me just because
he's your little brother—"
"Watch it, McKinnon," Sirius says shortly.
"Why?" Marlene snarls. "Huh? Why should I? Because he's your

family? Well, you know what?
Families die. They die. That's what they do. They—they—that's what
they—"
"Marlene," Sirius murmurs gently, because he can suddenly see that

she is shaking, and her breath
is hitching in her chest, and tears are building up in her eyes.
Marlene chokes out, "My parents, Sirius. They killed them. They
killed my—"
"Fucking hell," Sirius whispers, moving forward to catch her the

moment she drops her sword and breaks down crying, ducking her
face against his chest and rattling in his arms. He cups the back of
her head, instinctively wanting to block her from sight, and he raises
his gaze to find the other three watching with sickened, pained
expressions.
Marlene starts explaining through her tears, the words muffled and
stuttered, but audible all the same. The two gunshots he heard—they
all heard—right before being lifted into the arena. That was
Marlene's parents being murdered right in front of her eyes where
she could do nothing to save them, where she could do nothing at all
but watch.
It's horrible. It's fucked up. Haven't they all been through enough?
Isn't the arena punishment enough? Yes, Marlene called for riots and
rebellion, and she did so more bluntly than anyone else, but that's
just too much. That's—well, that's exactly what a man like Riddle
would do.
24
Someday, Riddle is going to fuck with the wrong person, and they're
going to slaughter him, and on that day, the whole world is going to
shine just a little brighter.
"Okay, Marlene, look at me," Sirius orders firmly, pushing her back
by her shoulders, then cupping her face and gently wiping her tears
away. "I am very sorry. They didn't deserve that, and neither did
you. But, right now, you have to keep it together. They want you to
fall apart, alright? That's exactly what they want. Don't give them the
satisfaction."
Marlene swallows, blinking hard and fast, and she's so strong for
how she handles it, how she adjusts to the weight of it and shifts her
shoulders, and stands taller, and firms her jaw. It hits Sirius then, the
reminder why the vessels of the sea are often called she, because no
one bears the brunt of a storm like a woman. The worst part is,
Marlene shouldn't have to. No one should, and yet she does. She
breathes in and out, takes a step back, and picks up her sword. There
she is, ready to survive.
"Sorry, I really am, but we can't stay here," Alice repeats.
"We need more supplies. A water source. Preferably some shelter.

And we can't just stay here where anyone can easily find us,"
Emmeline lists off, docking a bolt in her crossbow as she frowns
around at all the different routes they can take. The death
eaters—and Regulus—all went towards the right.
"Well, I don't know about any of you, but I'm going that way," Sirius
states, pointing to the right. "I have to find—"
"Oh, come off it, Sirius," Marlene snaps. "You know as soon as all the
death eaters group up, they're coming right for you. Going that way
is dangerous."
"Regulus went that way."
"Again, how do you know he's not with them?"
"He wouldn't. No matter how angry is, he'd never do that to me.
He'd never—" Sirius halts, the mere concept making his chest ache.
25
The Maze
He shakes his head at Marlene. "He'd never hurt me, Marlene.

Certainly never try to kill me."
"He already punched you," Augusta points out.
"Yes, well, brothers do that sometimes. I'll get him back for it when I
see that little shit again," Sirius grumbles.
"But in the arena?" Marlene challenges, clearly refusing to let it go.

"That just seems like a statement you can't really miss. I mean, did he
ever say he was actually our ally, or is that just something you
automatically assumed?"
Sirius clenches his jaw.
No, Regulus never said that, but...it's Regulus. He wouldn't. He

just—he wouldn't. Not for anything.
"Well, that changes things," Augusta says firmly. "If the boy has no
intentions of being an ally, then he won't be treated as such, and you
may not like it—"
"Look, do any of you have siblings?" Sirius cuts in, his voice sharp.
He glances around at all of them. "Well, do you? No? Exactly, so you
don't know what it's like to know someone inside and out the way I
know my brother. Whatever you think he's doing, I guarantee that
you're dead wrong. I know him. He may be fooling all of you, but he
can't fool me."
"I think, because he's your brother, you're the easiest to fool,"
Marlene argues, eyes narrowing.
"Okay, you are very cynical on anything family-related due to grief,

and you're valid for that," Sirius mutters, "so I'm going to let that
slide and not count you as a reliable source. Just... Look, I'm your
ally, right? You have to trust me on this."
"And if you're wrong?" Augusta asks bluntly. "I'm not," Sirius

declares, steady, unwavering.
26
Marlene's lips press into a thin line. "Alright, fine, we'll take your
word for it. But, if—and I mean this—if he attacks any of us, I will
kill him, Sirius."
Sirius gives her a sad smile. "You can try." "You think I won't kill
you?" Marlene asks.
"I'll be offended if, at some point, you're not at least a little tempted,"
Sirius tells her with a lopsided grin, and she snorts weakly and looks
away. "Right, so back to my original point. I'm going after Regulus.
Who's joining?"
"Going in that direction is just asking for trouble," Emmeline says,

arching an eyebrow at him.
"Well, you know, all for one and one for all?" Sirius tries weakly. No
one looks amused. He sighs. "Okay, then leave me to it. I'm not going
to ask all of you to take that risk. I'll take it on my own, and you can
all go whatever way you like. No one said allies have to remain
together."
"It'd certainly be more prudent if we did, though," Augusta informs

him, huffing and shaking her head.
"So, come with me. That's your only option. We all stay in a group,
all of us, or you all leave me to go on my own," Sirius announces
simply, "because there's nothing or no one that's going to stop me
from finding my brother. Up to you, really."
Alice clicks their tongue. "Oh, for fuck's sake. Does it even matter,
truly? I'd bet my life on the fact that all these passages connect in
some way or another, so I doubt we won't all be running into each
other along the way anyway. You know the gamemakers will find
some way to get us exactly where they want us. I vote we stay
together. Safety in numbers and all that. It'd be worse if we came
across all the death eaters without all hands available, yeah?"
"They do have a point," Emmeline agrees.
"Yes, unfortunately they do," Augusta concedes grudgingly. Marlene

grunts and side-eyes Sirius. "Stubborn bastard."
27
The Maze
Sirius just hums, pleased, and flashes them all a grin. Again, none of
them look impressed in the least. In fact, they're all eyeing him like
they're considering just killing him now so they won't have to deal
with the headache he is sure to be. He's so ridiculously fond of each
of them, truly.
The sound of rustling and heavy footfalls wipes the grin off his face,
and they're all on edge immediately, swiveling to face the sound of
what's clearly an unsteady approach. Marlene and Augusta have
their swords up in seconds, Emmeline raises her crossbow, and Alice
grips their machete tight. Sirius doesn't have a weapon, but he also
doesn't need one to fight, so he just waits, eyes narrowed, body tense
and at the ready.
The moment a form comes stumbling out of an opening into the

clearing, Emmeline shoots, and the only reason she misses is because
the form trips and lands flat on their face.
"Shit," Marlene breathes out.
Groaning, Eli pushes himself up and haphazardly makes it back to

his feet, bracing himself against the spear he'd dropped when he fell.
He hiccups, blinks blearily at them, then raises the spear up like a
trophy, coming dangerously close to stabbing himself in the face
with it.
"Look what I found," Eli slurs, swaying on the spot.
"Shit," Marlene repeats, this time with a heavy sigh.
"Sirius, go take that from him before he falls on it and dies," Augusta
orders, shaking her head. "It'll do you better than him as it is.
Goodness, is he still drunk?"
"He's going to have a bitch of a time drying out over the next couple
of days," Marlene mutters with a grimace.
"If he even lives that long," Emmeline says bluntly.
28
Sirius eases forward with a frown, watching Eli poke the pointy end
of the spear, face slack. "Hey, Eli, you wouldn't mind too terribly
much if I took that, would you?"
"Nah." Eli smacks his lips and swings out the spear so wide that
Sirius has to jump back, hissing in distress as his eyes bulge. Eli
squints at him. "Just gets in the way, seems like. Well? Are you gonna
take it or not?"
"Right." Sirius coughs and swiftly plucks the spear away from Eli,
swiveling it artfully in his palm so the handle swings around his
hand and balances back over. He rolls the handle along his fingers,
adjusting to the weight of it, then turns his gaze back to Eli. "Have
you been on your platform this entire time, Eli? Just...doing what,
exactly?"
"Mm, there was a boom; haven't heard one of those in a while," Eli
mumbles, scratching his head. "Startled me a bit, so I fell on the
ground, maybe took a quick little nap. When I got up, I found that."
He gestures to the spear, then drops his hand and smiles at Sirius.
"Say, you wouldn't have a drink on you, would you? I could really
use one. Haven't had one all day."
"You took a nap." Sirius turns and looks at the others, and now they
look amused. "He took a nap."
"Eli Zatish, you never fail to amaze me," Marlene says with a fond
chuckle. "Come on, old man, we need to get a move on, and you
have a really bad night ahead of you."
Eli gives a sad little frown. "Oh. Don't like that."
"Join the club," Sirius replies wryly, clapping him on the shoulder
and keeping him steady as they all turn as a group and head towards
the maze. Marlene moves over to help Eli along as well, and Sirius
glances at her. "Hey, McKinnon?"
"Yeah, Black?" Marlene replies, turning tired eyes to him.
"I like your hair, by the way." Sirius watches her eyes get just a little
lighter, pleased, and he smiles. "It suits you."
29
The Maze
Marlene looks away, but not before he sees her lips curling up at the
corners. She doesn't reply, but Sirius doesn't need her to. Together as
a group, they continue on.
Finding food, supplies, water, and shelter—those are all vital to their
survival and well-being, but frankly, Sirius is worried about one
thing and one thing only.
Finding Regulus.
Regulus is lost.
~•~
He really, really doesn't like this. The maze, that is. Well, he doesn't
like any part of this, obviously, but the maze is fucking with his
head, and it's only been twenty minutes. He goes down one passage
and takes a corner to go in the opposite direction, only to feel like
he's going in the same one, and when he tries to backtrack, he finds
that there's nothing to backtrack to. Everywhere he turns, it's all the
same, one tall hedge after the other, nothing different about any of
them.
There's no sense of direction, not here, and it's disorienting. Left is

right, and forward is back, and straight is a turn that loops back
around. He's dizzy from it, his heart racing as he constantly swings
his head to check in front of him and behind him interchangeably, on
rotation, not at all appreciating how there's really nowhere to fucking
hide.
It's not quiet. There's a muffled rustling from the hedges at all times,
like something is about to reach out and grab him. He can't tell if
someone is coming up behind him, or if someone will take a corner
in front of him, or if there's an opening ahead that someone might
run out of. It puts him on relentless tenterhooks, paranoid, too tense
to really think clearly.
For a second, just one second, Regulus regrets not taking the chance
to stay with Sirius.
30
It's just this stupid instinct he's been wrestling with for days, the one
where, when he's scared, something in Regulus simply wants his
brother. He can't help it, can't stop it, no matter how much he's been
fighting it, and continues to fight it.
But, in this moment, if Sirius appeared in front of him, Regulus

knows he'd be unable to stop himself from going right to him,
because he'd feel safer, as ridiculous as that is.
Regulus comes to a screeching halt, breathing in, then slowly

breathing out. Because no, no, there can be none of that. Just because
Sirius is here does not mean that Regulus needs coddling. It's the
fucking hunger games; of course this is terrifying. He's just going to
have to get over it, deal with it on his own, and stop relying on his
brother to fight his battles for him. All his life, that's all Sirius has
done, really, and this time they're on the same battlefield; just on
opposite sides.
Slowly, Regulus crouches down low and eases the bag off his back to
quickly open it and see what, exactly, he managed to steal from
Sirius. His gaze darts back and forth, checking his surroundings, and
it's still Sirius' voice in his head reminding him to be cautious, to not
linger too long, to keep going until he locates a water source at the
very least.
Inside the bag, Regulus finds his first possible stroke of luck he's ever
had in his life, and it's terribly ironic that it's not even his luck, but
actually Sirius' that he just so happened to steal. There's a flashlight,
a lighter, and an odd container that Regulus is quite sure he saw in
the training room, used to collect rainwater. The sight of it puts a
knot in Regulus' stomach as he tilts his head back to stare at the sky.
Oh.
Not good. Very not good.
Regulus doesn't really do rain. When it's raining, he simply doesn't

leave his house. He doesn't go outside. The one and only time it
rained when he just so happened to be out at the tree back in district
six, he literally broke into the mortuary and waited the five hours it
took for it to stop.
31
The Maze
If it rains here, Regulus is fucked. There's nowhere for him to go. It's
just open sky above him, nothing to hide in or under; even the
hedges are too dense for him to crawl into, but he would literally
bear the brunt of sharp leaves and vines and whatever else the hedge
is made of if it meant he could get out of the rain. But he can't. He'll
be stuck.
Swallowing thickly, Regulus glances back down and continues to sift

through the bag. It's not raining now, and that will just have to do.
He's got this. He'll—he'll be fine. Probably. For a moment, selfishly,
Regulus wishes James were here.
The irony of that desire is not lost on him. He doesn't really want
James to be in danger, just...here. Just right next to him, to touch, to
talk to, to lean on. James would lift his shirt and let Regulus crawl
under it to block the rain. James would crack open his chest and
shelter Regulus inside, if he had to. That kind of devotion, that kind
of love, it lives in their blood, in the marrow of their bones. Regulus
can feel it resonating all the way from here, knowing James is
watching him, knowing James...is probably quite mad at him. Again.
Well, at least this time, Regulus doesn't know about it. Doesn't have
to see it. Doesn't have to live with it. He likely will never forgive
Regulus for this, but maybe someday, he'll understand that it's as
much for him as it is for Regulus. It's for them both.
There's a full water bottle at the bottom of the bag, along with two
granola bars and a package of dried meat and berries. In a separate
compartment, there's a small first aid kit, complete with bandages,
antiseptic, burn cream, and a needle already threaded with a small
spool of thread. Frankly, it's startlingly helpful, to the point that
Regulus' eyebrows are raised so high in disbelief that they're
practically stitched into his hairline.
He's going to start stealing Sirius' luck more often. Fucking hell, how
Sirius managed to find a bag carrying at least a day's worth of food
and water to survive on—which goes a really long way in the
arena—as well as incredibly useful supplies, even of the medical
variety, is beyond him.
32
There's a stir in the air behind him, a shift, a presence that sends a
chill up Regulus' spine and has him moving on pure instinct. He
swivels on the balls of his feet and springs up quickly, blade twirling
in his hand and settling directly against Thornfinn's throat, who
instantly freezes where he has a hatchet not unlike the one James
used to use raised high as if he was preparing to strike.
"Rowle," Regulus murmurs.
"Black," Thorfinn replies, holding still.
Regulus flicks his gaze towards the hatchet, then arches an eyebrow
at Thorfinn. "What do you think you're doing?"
"I saw your bag," Thorfinn mutters. "Plan to share?"
"No."
"Well, that's not very ally of you."
"Neither is planning to take someone's head off with a hatchet.

Fucking hell, aren't you supposed to be smart?"
Thorfinn glares at him. "Look, you can't blame me for trying. No one
even knows where you stand, no matter what your crazy fucking
cousins think. So, I mean, if you're actually an ally, now is the chance
to prove it."
"What's mine is mine," Regulus informs him sharply, though he

draws his dagger back as he says it. "Try and take it from me, and I'll
shove this dagger through your face. That includes this bag and
trying to kill my brother."
"See, you say shit like that and then wonder why no one trusts you,"
Thorfinn snaps. "Who cares who actually kills Sirius if he's dead
anyway, yeah?"
"You don't listen very well, do you?"
"Maybe you need to start listening, Black. I'm telling you now, the
second I see your brother, I'm getting that kill, no matter how much
33
The Maze
you want it to be you. I'm taking his fucking head off, and there's
nothing you can do about it."
"I quite literally just told you what I would do about it. If you don't
believe me, that's your mistake."
"Yeah? Well, if you want to stop me, you may as well kill me now,
because—"
"Okay," Regulus says, then snaps his hand out and shoves the dagger
up through the soft underside of Thornfinn's chin, behind the
jawbone, driving it up with enough force that he can see the tip split
through Thornfinn's tongue and glisten with blood from where his
mouth is open.
Thornfinn's eyes bulge, and he makes a grotesque choking noise.

Regulus holds his gaze for a beat, holds him there, then rips the
dagger right back out. Thornfinn's hatchet hits the ground as his
hands fly up to his neck, mouth opening and closing, blood pouring
from his lips and between his fingers. He takes a stumbling step
back, then another, then goes down. Regulus watches him bleed out,
and he doesn't flinch when, minutes later, the cannon sounds.
Regulus really thinks he's alright, for just a moment, utterly

unshakeable after that. He had no feelings for Thorfinn at all, and he
warned him what would happen. It's the hunger games. Death
happens. Murder happens. It's not even Regulus' first.
Yet, the moment he sees blood on his hand, he turns and

immediately vomits on the ground so violently that he stumbles to
his knees and has to catch himself with his free hand that, thankfully,
is very clean. His other hand drops the blood-stained dagger, and he
scrambles back from it, gagging harshly and doing his best to catch
his breath.
"Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck," Regulus chokes out, squeezing his eyes shut
as he frantically drags his slick hand along the ground, trying
desperately to get the blood off. The smell of it lingers in his nose,
rusty and metallic. He can—he can taste it. He remembers the taste,
and he's swallowing, he's choking it down, trying to breathe,
drowning again.
34
The phantom feeling of hands sends him into a tailspin, and he kicks
out harshly, scrambling back further as he swipes his trembling hand
on his shirt and tucks his head down between his bent knees. He
breathes. He tries to breathe.
Regulus isn't sure how long he remains hunched in on himself, only

resurfacing when he's jostled out of his breakdown by the sound of
yet another cannon, meaning someone else just died. Fuck. He snaps
his head up at the sudden gust of wind that sails over and the
pronounced sway of the hedges on either side of him as a heli-carrier
hovers, coming to get Thorfinn.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
There's no time to have a fucking meltdown, not when he knows that

death will draw people in, and the last thing he needs is to be placed
at the scene of the crime by the very group of people he's trying to
prove his trustworthiness to. He feels like Bellatrix would
understand, if he explained that Thorfinn...provoked him, and
Narcissa might let it slide, but everyone else would just—oh, they'd
decide he's more trouble than he's worth in a heartbeat.
Regulus can't let that happen. It's vital that he remains allies with the
death eaters. So, he flings himself to his feet and takes off running,
scooping up his dagger and bag as he goes, not even looking at
them. He just needs to put as much distance between himself
and—and that as possible.
So, Regulus runs, and he keeps running, and he doesn't stop

running. His lungs are protesting, and his mouth tastes sour, and he
can't—he still feels the blood on his blade, and maybe if he runs
forever, he'll never have to stop and face—
The next corner he takes, Regulus runs directly into Bellatrix, quite
literally stumbling right into her. She catches him as he trips, her
hands darting out to grasp his shoulders, steadying him. He stops,
watching her gaze flick over him slowly, and then he turns his gaze
to find the rest of the death eaters all standing together. Every. Single.
One.
35
The Maze
Regulus stands before them, bloody dagger in hand, face flushed

and hair windswept, gasping for air.
Again—shit, shit, shit.
"Well, it looks like someone was having fun without the rest of us,"
Bellatrix says, reaching down to pluck his dagger from his hand. He
lets her, feeling weak and faint and close to being sick again. She
swivels it, examining the blood curiously, then tilts her head at him.
"Who'd you just kill, munchkin?"
Okay, pause.
There are moments in one's life where they can pinpoint the weight
of their next words. For Regulus, this is one such moment. If he says
Thorfinn, there's a very good chance that at least half of this
group—Yaxley, Alecto, Dixon, and possibly even Rabastan—will
immediately turn on him. Bellatrix likely will not; he feels like she'd
at least hear him out, on account of him being her favorite cousin.
But if she doesn't deem his reason good enough, that's it, and she's so
fucking mental that Regulus doesn't even bother trying to figure out
what her measurement for good enough would be.
One problem, though. They're going to find out Thorfinn is dead in a

matter of hours, when the banners play in the sky. He can't say Henri
on the chance that someone saw Sirius kill Henri, and if no one dies
before the banners, or Regulus says a name that doesn't match up,
then he's fucked. There was one other person killed around the same
time as Thorfinn, and if he can guess who, then he'll be in the clear.
So, in the shift of one second, Regulus asks himself who is one of the
smartest people he knows, and while there's a very long list of
brilliant people he's acquainted with, for some reason it's Remus that
pops into his head. Thinking of Remus leads him into a rabbit-hole
of thoughts that tumble through his head until, before he knows it,
he's speaking.
"Coen," Regulus blurts out, the name escaping him blunt and abrupt,
but he doesn't waver when they all stare at him. It's the best guess
he's got, because Camilla is ruthless enough to murder people—as
proven in her previous games—and she is out for Coen's blood. He
36
thinks he saw her chase after Coen. Maybe she actually caught up. "I
killed Coen. From twelve."
"What happened?" Narcissa asks.
Regulus clears his throat. "We just—knocked into each other. Got
into a fight. I won."
"Hm." Bellatrix swivels the dagger, then lazily wipes it clean on her
shirt and holds it out to him, hilt first. She already has a dagger
tucked in the waistband of her pants. "Well, good for you. That's five
already."
Regulus reaches out and takes his dagger, admittedly grateful that
she wiped the blood off for him. He flicks his gaze over the rest of
the group. They all have weapons; Narcissa set with a bow and
quiver of arrows, Dixon and Alecto leaning on their swords, Yaxley
gripping a short-handled spear, Rabastan lazily holding a chain
mace, while Bellatrix and Regulus have their daggers, one each.
Rabastan and Narcissa have supply bags on their backs, like Regulus
does.
When Regulus' gaze crawls back to Bellatrix, she's grinning at him,

and she reaches out to grip his shoulder, eyes gleaming as she says,
"Now, let's go make it six."
She doesn't even have to say who. He knows.
Sirius. Of course she means Sirius.
Regulus gives his dagger a lazy twirl and steps forward in silence.
When they turn to go, ready and willing to hunt Sirius down, he
joins them.
37
2
STRINGS
______
Everything I do in that arena, it's for you.
James turns those words over in his head as he stares at the screen,
watching Regulus walk among a group of six other death eaters.
Other. Because there's seven.
Because Regulus is one of them.
The swiftness in which Sirius and Regulus killed hadn't surprised

James. He didn't really think about it, what they would do in the
arena, because he was too busy doing everything he could not to
think of any of that, to focus on his anger before his fear, because he
knew, even then, that only one of them could get better. Deep down,
James knew that, whatever kills Sirius and Regulus made, he
wouldn't blame or judge them for it. He didn't the first time, after all.
It hadn't shocked James, really, to see Sirius snap a man's neck

almost effortlessly, not past the initial surprise of seeing him do it
after eleven years of him being away from the violence the arena
draws out of someone. Honestly, James' own hands had twitched
with the urge to rip Henri apart for daring to strangle Regulus; it had
been one of the most terrifying moments of James' life, seeing
Regulus in danger and not being able to do anything about it. While
Remus had sucked in a sharp
breath the moment Sirius killed Henri, James had exhaled in

reflexive, selfish relief, because Regulus was safe.
38
What had shocked James was watching Regulus sucker-punch
Sirius, steal his supplies, then leave him behind.
James hadn't been prepared for it. Much like Sirius, he had just
stared, slack-jawed, entirely disbelieving. Pandora had covered her
mouth with her hand, and Remus—well, he had pressed his lips into
a thin line and narrowed his eyes.
Even here, apart, James is so in tune with Sirius that his initial
instinct was to revolt against the idea of Regulus being a death eater,
just like Sirius, when Marlene suggested it. Marlene, who is sporting
a new haircut that looks great on her. Marlene, who broke down in
Sirius' arms and explained for the whole world to see that her
parents were killed before her eyes. The camera did not shift away; it
lingered, letting everyone see it.
A threat of what Riddle could do? Possibly. James thinks it's a

double-edged sword, though. People who are afraid much prefer to
hone in on their anger. He would know.
So, James didn't really believe, any more than Sirius, that Regulus
was a death eater. Frankly, just watching Regulus and Sirius being
back in the arena has been rough on his frayed nerves. Sirius, at
least, had a group of people to stay with.
Regulus, to start with, did not.
Or so it seemed.
He ran into the maze, and so he was alone. James had wanted to
groan and bang his head against the wall because of how stubborn
Regulus is. James loves him so fucking much, but he is genuinely
such a contrarian bastard. Most of the time, this is something James
finds endearing. When Regulus is sprinting into a maze alone, away
from his brother?
39
Strings
Not so much.
Things went awry, because of course they did. Thorfinn Rowle. A

death eater. Someone who suggested that Regulus was an ally of
some sort, which James instantly disregarded, despite the familiarity
in which they spoke.
It hadn't mattered anyway, in the end, because Regulus killed him.

Quickly. He just struck like a fucking snake, absolutely no hesitation,
and James knew—he thought—well, it seemed like Regulus was
doing it for Sirius, because it was Sirius that Thorfinn made the
mistake of threatening.
Regulus doesn't make warnings lightly. When he tells someone he

will hurt them if they do something, he means it. He said he would
stab Thorfinn in the face, and then he did just that.
To James, Regulus killing Thorfinn had looked like further proof that
Marlene was wrong, while James and Sirius—who know Regulus
better than anyone—were right. Because of course they were. They
had to be. It's Regulus. He's theirs, and they know him. They know
him.
Why kill a death eater if you are one? That sort of defeats the
purpose, doesn't it? James thought so, and he thought, then and
there, that that was it. A done deal. Signed, sealed, and stamped. No
further questions. Marlene and Augusta could take their doubt and
toss it aside.
James was proud of himself, even, for having no doubts at all. After
everything these past few days, all their issues and fights, James
didn't doubt Regulus. Not for a second.
All that was left was the sickening lurch in his stomach and surge of
sorrow as he watched Regulus break down after his first kill in this
arena. James had felt like his chest was cracking open, and he
just—he so desperately wanted to be there. He wanted to wrap his
arms around Regulus and hold him. He wanted to wipe the blood
40
from his hands and kiss each finger to remind him, to promise him,
that it was okay. That it didn't make him a bad person. That, no
matter what, he was doing his best, and James still loved him.
He just wanted to go there and tell him that, so he would know, so

he could be comforted by it, perhaps. Seeing Regulus spiral in the
aftermath of murder had left James feeling lost, and trapped, and
utterly miserable from the need to simply be there for him. But he
couldn't. He can't.
Then, Regulus got back up, and he ran. Swift and panicked, he ran.
Desperately, he ran, like he was running from something, possibly
from what he just did, or the consequences that were sure to find
him if he were to stay. He ran.
James will likely never again feel the way he did when he saw
Regulus run directly into the death eaters. A muffled sound of pure
panic had escaped him, and someone was holding his hand—
Pandora, he thinks—so he's sure that, at that moment, he nearly
crushed all the bones in her hand. He couldn't help it. Regulus had
just barreled right into a group that James thought wanted him dead,
and he did so in a state that wasn't very promising for his chances of
survival.
James is pretty sure his heart has never dropped so fast in his life. He
just—he could feel the cold fingers of fear walk down the length of
his spine, leaving him short of breath as the blood in his veins turned
to ice.
Except.
Nothing.
Happened.
41
Strings
Regulus lied. It had confused James why Bellatrix stopped to

question him about who he killed at all, but it made sense to him
why Regulus would lie. It's a good lie, even, because Camilla did
catch up and kill Coen, a mere ten minutes after Regulus killed
Thorfinn. It was a good lie.
Regulus is a good liar.
He's such a good liar.
He tells so many lies.
James didn't believe it, even then. Even when the death eaters didn't
attack. Even when they
stopped, when they questioned him, and when they listened.
He thought that maybe, just maybe, it was a family loyalty sort of

thing, in which Bellatrix and Narcissa were letting it slide because
he's their cousin. He thought that, perhaps, Regulus would be able to
talk himself out of the situation and run.
James kept waiting for him to run.
Regulus did not run. He let Bellatrix take his dagger, and then he
took it when she gave it back. She smiled at him, touched his
shoulder, and insinuated that he would join all of them in
slaughtering more people as a group—Sirius being their first target.
And Regulus did.
He joined them.
42
He's with them.
Regulus is a death eater.
How, Reg? James thinks, staring at the screen with a lump in his
throat. How is this for me? Tell me how.
Regulus can't do that, though. He can't explain. Perhaps he planned

to, but he never got the chance, and James doesn't understand. He
doesn't know how, in any world, Regulus being a death eater could
ever, ever be for him. Because not only are the death eaters the ones
that relish in murder— even just outside of survival—but they're all
hell bent on finding Sirius and killing him as soon as possible. So,
how? How could this, in any capacity, be for James?
James doesn't know, and Regulus can't answer, and all that's left is
trust. All that there can be is— trust. A feeling and a choice in one.
After Regulus lied to him, after he broke his promise, James is once
again left on the dagger's edge of trust, precariously tipping from
side-to-side.
And the thing is, somehow, impossibly, James doesn't need to have
the answers to know he believes in Regulus. He doesn't know what's
going to happen, or what Regulus is doing, but James knows other
things. More important things. He knows he loves him. He chooses,
here and now, to trust him.
Without hesitation.
Yeah, that's what James is scared of.
43
Strings
~•~
Sirius refuses to think about Henri. Every time his brain skitters
around the topic, around what happened, Sirius forces his mind to
do an abrupt turn and go in a different direction.
He's no stranger to murder. He has killed twelve—no, thirteen, it's

thirteen now. He's killed thirteen people, so it's not—it isn't this
impossible concept for him to wrap his mind around. In fact, it's
easiest for him to handle it in the arena. He's no different inside it
now than he was the first time, because after he made his first kill,
after Gunther, Sirius never held himself back from pain— inflicting it
or enduring it. He left no room for shame, or for childish fantasies
where it never had to happen. It did happen. It's happening again.
And that's that.
So, he doesn't feel it, really. He doesn't need to, and he won't have to,
because he's not making it back home, where he would feel it. Where
it would hit him. Where he would be sucked into all the things he
had to do in the arena to survive.
In a way, it's almost relieving to have other things to focus on. Like
Eli, for example, who is slowly sweating out whatever alcohol he
had in the humid heat of the maze. Like Marlene, who has gone
silent and has shadows in her eyes, this horrible grief clinging to her
wherever she goes. Like Alice, who seems very agitated by Augusta
at all times and wants basically nothing to do with her. Like
Augusta, who doesn't seem to care what Alice wants and hovers
close by them constantly. Like Emmeline, who... Well, actually,
Emmeline is steady. In all of this, Emmeline is calm, and Sirius
genuinely appreciates her so much right now, more than she could
ever know.
They've been walking for a while now, but the maze never really
seems to lead anywhere. It's one confusing hall of green right after
the next, and the only sounds are the hedges that rustle at all times,
which is ominous. They can't hear a water source, no distant sounds
of trickling or anything, and they haven't happened upon one either.
There's no signs of wildlife for a source of food, or any fruit from the
hedges, or any other caches that they've come across.
44
They could start a fire, but honestly, there's no need for one. It's so
hot out that they're all sweating, and they're all very fucking thirsty
at this point. They have nothing to cook, and no place seems like a
good one to stop at, because there's no shelter or sense of defense
inside the maze.
For hours, no one speaks. They all just listen, and move quietly, and
stay prepared for—anything. Sirius is on edge, waiting for any sign
of Regulus, or even the death eaters, but there's nothing. It's just
them, this group, and the darkness that's slowly growing thicker as
the sun starts to set, except
they can't really see that either. The sky above grows dimmer, slowly,
and inside the maze gets darker along with it.
There has been two additional cannons after the first three, and
Sirius' heart very briefly stuttered with the fear that maybe it was
Regulus. He instantly discarded the notion, because no. Sirius won't
believe that unless he has proof, so wherever Regulus is, he's just
fine, as far as Sirius is concerned.
And yet, when another cannon sounds, the surge of fear hits him a
third time, choking him until he shoves it away with force. Okay, so
six people are dead. Just six. Three of which Sirius knows
already—Velvet, Mavis, and Henri. There are three others, and he
knows that the six here aren't it, which leaves fifteen people. That's
fourteen people other than Regulus it could be. Regulus is fine. It's
not him. He's fine.
Everyone better hope Regulus is fine, because if he isn't, if he's dead,

Sirius is going to kill every single fucking person in this maze for
daring to live when his little brother didn't.
The cannon draws everyone to a halt. Even Eli, who sways on his
feet and groans quietly, as if in pain. They all stare around at each
other, no one speaking for a long moment.
"Murder or maze, do you think?" Emmeline asks.
45
Strings
"Probably murder," Alice replies. "The maze doesn't seem to have

anything in it to worry about yet, and while I don't doubt it will,
surely it won't on the first night. The sun is setting. It won't be long
before everyone is turning off their screens."
"Don't be foolish," Augusta snaps. "People die through the night in

the games all the time, Alice. They'll just play the highlights the
following morning."
Alice scowls and grits out, "Yes, thank you, Augusta, for your input
that I didn't need or ask for." "Well, if you insist on falling prey to
idealistic hopes for—"
"I was making a theory, you fucking—"
"Do not interrupt me, or curse me," Augusta cuts in sharply, and
Sirius winces slightly at how much it reminds him of his own
mother. "Kid, if you think for a second—"
"Don't call me kid," Alice interrupts bravely, their eyes narrowing as

they hold Augusta's gaze. "I'm not a kid."
"You're a child—"
"I'm an adult, not a child. You are not my damn mother, so don't treat
me as if you are. Because
what Frank will put up with from you, I won't."
Augusta's nostrils flare. "And just what, exactly, is that supposed to

mean?"
"You know what it means," Alice retorts. "I think I've made it pretty
obvious by now, but allow me to make it clearer. I don't like you. I
think you're a shit mother. You use the excuse as Frank's mother to
control him, not respecting his boundaries, or understanding the
basic concept that his life is his own to do whatever he wants with it,
no matter your expectations or demands. And I know—oh how well
I know that you just love him, and it fucked you up having to watch
him go into his games while being his mentor, and you've never been
46
the same since. Trust me, I get that you're the way you are because of
something horrible no mother should have ever experienced, and
Frank gives you a lot of leeway for that, but me? I don't. You smother
him, Augusta. You helped save your son's life just to turn around
and barely let him live it."
Augusta's cheek twitches, and so does her hand, around her sword.
No one moves or says anything for a long moment, the tension thick
between two people who share only one thing; how much they care
about Frank Longbottom.
Sirius resists the urge to cough. This is...very awkward. He is

absolutely, resolutely not getting involved in this, thank you very
much. He has enough mother-related issues on his own to contend
with, so he's not inviting more into his life. His heart goes out to
Frank, though. That poor man.
"Hey, um, hey...do all of you see that, too?" Eli mutters abruptly,
squinting as he lifts his hand to brace against his hairline, peering
into the dark behind them.
As one, the entire group turns to see what he's talking about, and
Sirius does see it, too. In the dark, there are forms moving right for
them, and they're moving fast.
In the next second, Asher and Warwick come barreling closer, and
Asher shrieks, "Run!"
That's really all that needs to be said, because one doesn't hear run
inside the arena and simply ignore it. In seconds, Sirius is turning
with everyone else and tearing down the passage with absolutely no
idea what he's even running from.
The sound of heavy footfalls behind them rumbles through Sirius, so

heavy that the ground shakes, so he knows it's not a person, or even
a group of people. It's something else, something Hallow- made,
most likely.
47
Strings
"Give me that!" Warwick shouts, slamming into Emmeline's side

while trying to take her crossbow. "Shoot it! Shoot it!"
"Get off," Emmeline snarls, shoving Warwick and whirling away.

Warwick hits the ground, immediately trampled by Asher and Eli as
they frantically work to keep running. Just like that, left behind.
Warwick releases a horrible, blood-curdling scream that Sirius can't

stop himself from looking towards, nearly stumbling when he sees
why. There's a very large statue shaped like a man, at least
twelve-feet tall, if not more, with stone hands that wrap around
Warwick's ribcage to crush it. The statue has no face, no features,
which somehow makes it even more menacing when it crumbles
Warwick up before ruthlessly ripping the body apart, right in two.
The cannon sounds.
Sirius keeps running, his heart thumping hard in his chest as he

scrambles around a corner with the rest of the group, nearly
skidding from how swiftly he's moving in the desperate need to put
some distance between himself and that statue.
The footfalls pick back up, the brief pause in killing Warwick over,
and the pace of the chase brings Sirius no comfort. It's not as fast as
them, but due to size, it makes a good distance when it moves. If
they can confuse it, maybe they can lose it that way, and everyone
else seems to agree, because they're all taking every turn they come
across.
Sirius can hear Eli wheezing. He's older and sickly, undergoing
detoxification with no water or food or medicine to help him. It's not
a surprise when he falls back, when he slows, or when he falls
altogether and hits the ground.
"Shit!" Sirius bursts out, because all he can think about is his uncle
Alphard, and how Eli, apparently, was his lover. He should leave Eli
there, but he doesn't want to be a person who does that. That would
weigh on him more than killing Henri did, and he knows it.
48
Cursing again, Sirius swivels on the spot and runs back for Eli,
rushing to his side to help him to his feet again as the sound of the
statue draws closer. He's not alone. Marlene came back, too. She's
right there with him, hauling Eli ruthlessly to his feet and shoving
him back into a run as she yells at him.
"Sirius, Marlene, come on!" Emmeline bellows, swinging her

crossbow up and slowing to a halt. "It's right th—"
Sirius and Eli both stumble when the support from the other side is
snatched away from them, Marlene releasing a loud scream of pain
as the statue grabs her by the arm and yanks. Sirius hears her arm
break, the awful crunch echoing in his ears as Marlene is dragged
across the ground.
No.
No, no, no.
Not this. Sirius can't. He can't.
A collective cry of, "Marlene!" echoes out as she's lifted up into the
air by her awkwardly bent arm, her sword falling to the ground as
she kicks and flails, trying to keep the statue from getting ahold of
her and completely ripping her apart.
Sirius digs his heels into the ground and raises his spear, launching it
forward so hard that he stumbles with a grunt, which he allows to
propel him into a run. The spear hits the statue directly in the face,
but it just clatters against the stone and slides right off, falling to the
ground. However,
the force in which the spear hit does make the faceless head rock
back as if avoiding a gnat. Like a pesky distraction, at most, but a
pesky distraction keeps it from killing Marlene, so—
"Shoot it! Emmeline, shoot it in the face!" Sirius shouts.
"It doesn't have a face!" Emmeline shouts back, but she does release a
bolt right at the head nevertheless.
49
Strings
The force from a crossbow versus a spear from Sirius' strength is

very different. It's massive, in fact. From the crossbow, the bolt
reaches velocity and force that Sirius couldn't make just by throwing
his spear. So, when it lands, it does break past stone, little cracks
forming around it.
The statue stumbles back, but doesn't let Marlene go.
Shit.
Okay, okay, think. Fuck. Think, Sirius, think. What can he do?
Nothing.
He can do nothing.
"Marlene!" Sirius calls as he stutters to a stop beneath her. She hangs

in the air right above him, still struggling while the statue tries
fruitlessly to grab the bolt and yank it out, except the statue's hands
are too big to manage it. Marlene's feet are right above Sirius' head,
just out of reach. She cranes her head down to stare at him, and he
scoops up her sword. "Here!"
That's the warning he gives, and she responds immediately, her free
hand falling to reach for the sword the moment he tosses it up to her.
She cries out, likely from the pain in her arm as she swings herself to
drive the sword in the cracks that formed in the face of the statue
around the bolt.
The cracks splinter, getting wider, traveling out further like fault
lines in glass. Marlene snatches the sword out, gritting her way
through another pained scream, then drives her sword in again. The
statue's head begins to fragment inwards from the front, and it
abruptly lets Marlene go as it sails back.
Marlene crumbles to the ground as the statue starts to fall, and Sirius
plucks up his spear, swiveling it in his hands as he runs forward to
slam his spear down into the statue's head. The stone cracks and falls
apart, the head left in crumbled, dusty pieces as the statue stops and
goes still.
50
It immediately begins to turn to dust.
Sirius swivels on the spot, breathless, and rushes over to Marlene at

the same time that Emmeline does. Eli is on his hands and knees,
vomiting into a hedge.
"Are you okay?" Sirius blurts out, stupidly, as he falls to his knees
next to Marlene, who is pale and cradling her arm to her chest, teeth
gritted with visible pain.
"I'll live," Marlene grinds out, then starts laughing. It's dry and harsh
in her throat as she tips her head back, grinning up at the sky with
her teeth bared. "You hear that, you fuckers? I'll live. I'm still alive.
I'm still here, and I'm still surviving! How do you like that? Come
on, what else have you got?!"
"Okay, shut up," Emmeline declares firmly, literally reaching out to

cover Marlene's mouth. "Now is not the time to go provoking
anyone, Marlene. How's your arm?"
Marlene scowls around Emmeline's hand until she drops it, then
begrudgingly grumbles, "It's broken."
"Yes, obviously, but where?" Sirius demands. Marlene huffs and

closes her eyes before holding her arm out to him. He and Emmeline
immediately start inspecting it, and then they share a look.
Sirius clears his throat. "Okay, um. Not—not good. You're going to
need a splint. Does Alice have —" He stops and looks around,
blinking. "Where is Alice and Augusta?"
Emmeline grimaces. "They were running ahead, and they took a

corner with Asher before Marlene got snatched. They didn't see it
happen, and I—I don't know if they're going to be able to find their
way back to us. They might, but until we run into them again, we
have no supplies."
"Great," Sirius mutters, then heaves a sigh. A minute later, he barks,

"Eli, find me some fucking sticks."
"Ergh," Eli says.
51
Strings
Somehow, Sirius knows what he means. "Take them from the hedges
if you have to. I don't care. Just find me some damn sticks I can use
for a splint!"
"Here," Emmeline murmurs, reaching out to grasp Sirius' spear on

the ground and cutting strips of fabric from her shirt.
"Thanks," Sirius replies, listening to Eli cough and stumble around,

mumbling to himself. The rustling of the hedges become more
pronounced, and Eli yelps. They all ignore it and him, leaving him to
his whims.
"I still have one arm," Marlene says as her eyes flutter open to stare
at where her broken arm is swelling and turning purple in certain
places already. "I'll be fine. I can still fight."
"No one is saying you can't," Sirius assures her. "Maybe you'll even
get some medicine from a sponsor."
Marlene just snorts doubtfully.
"What the fuck was that thing?" Emmeline mumbles, her eyebrows
crinkling together as she looks over at the pile of white dust that
remains from the statue. "It was huge. The top of it nearly reached
the top of the maze."
"Whatever it was, it was fucking creepy," Sirius admits, wrinkling his

nose. "At least we know how to kill it, though. Emmeline, you were
brilliant. You too, Marlene."
"We know," Emmeline says cheekily, and he chuckles.
Eli abruptly comes stumbling over, smelling quite awful, but

carrying over the sticks requested from him. He blinks and sinks
down beside Emmeline to peer at Marlene with a glimmer of
genuine worry in his eyes. "You alright, girl?"
Sirius thinks that Eli has absolutely no idea what any of their names
are, which is objectively hilarious, and yet he still seems to know
Marlene enough to care for her. He was her mentor, and not a very
52
good one, still a drunkard even then. He barely even spoke to
sponsors on her behalf, and he would get wasted enough to cry
every time something went wrong for her in her games. He cried
when she won, too. It wasn't happy tears. He just kept saying that
she hadn't really won at all.
Sirius knows this, because he was one of the last few that stuck
around to watch, because his tribute that year made it all the way
down to the last two. He'd wanted Marlene to die, at the time, and
now he's so thankful that she didn't. Marlene killed his tribute, and
then she became his friend, and now here they are, put in positions
where they may have to kill each other, yet still fighting so hard to
keep one another alive.
Marlene's eyes soften a bit as she offers Eli a tiny, exhausted smile.
"Yeah, I'm alright, old man. You?"
"Could do with a drink, but I've got sticks," Eli announces, holding
them up with a toothy grin, missing a couple of teeth past his
chapped, wrinkled lips. "The hedge tried to grab me and keep the
sticks, but I got 'em just for you."
"Much appreciated," Marlene says with a weary laugh, "even if this

is going to hurt like a bitch. Just—just get it over with."
"Want to see if you can break my fingers?" Emmeline teases as she

holds her hand out in offering.
"Careful, Vance, I'm really strong," Marlene replies as she does

indeed reach out to take Emmeline's hand.
"Yeah, you are," Sirius agrees softly, sadly, his heart aching because
she is, they all are, and no one should have to be, not like this.
"Alright, brace yourself, McKinnon."
Marlene exhales and closes her eyes. "Do your worst, Black."
Unfortunately, Sirius has no choice but to hurt her in the endeavor to

help her, and so he does just that. Marlene doesn't scream, or cry, or
53
Strings
do much of anything at all. She bites her lip and muffles a sound of
pain, but by now, her tolerance is very high, and she makes it
through with just Emmeline's hand to hold onto. Emmeline grimaces
right along with her, tucking her lips in and getting through Marlene
practically crushing her hand like a fucking trooper.
Sirius is as quick as he can be while still being efficient, using the

fabric and sticks to form a splint, then tying off her arm to her chest
and side, held there to prevent further damage.
Once it's over, they all exhale in relief.
"Okay, what now?" Emmeline asks as she and Sirius help Marlene
stand up, who keeps her sword in her hand.
"Well, we lost Alice and Augusta, but there's no cannon, so they're

fine. Asher as well, it seems." Sirius glances around slowly. The dark
is so dense now that he can't see either end of the passage, and he
can only make out those close to him. When he looks up at the sky,
he instinctively looks for the moon, but if it's out, if it's even there at
all, he can't see it from here. "There's no point in keeping moving. We
all need to rest, and it'll be easier for Alice and Augusta to find us, if
they can."
"Still no water or food source, or any shelter," Marlene says.
Sirius sighs. "No, but we can keep looking tomorrow. It's too dark for
us to find anything anyway. It's too hot for a fire, and maybe it's
better if we're in the dark, so it won't draw anyone or anything in.
We should sleep in shifts. I can take the first."
"I'll join you," Marlene murmurs. "Couldn't sleep now if I tried. You
okay with that, Em?"
"Yeah, I'm fucking tired already," Emmeline admits, plopping down

right there on the ground with a sigh. "I'll wait for the banners, then
I'll be out like a light."
54
"Pretty tired myself," Eli mumbles, and even as he says it, he's
slumping to the side to curl up on the ground, eyes fluttering shut.
"S'been a long day. A real long, long day."
And, well, no one can argue with that.
They all fall silent and get settled in together after one such long day,
preparing themselves for a long, long night.
~•~
Regulus would like it on the record that he doesn't like these people.
Not necessarily because they're death eaters, which is a complex
subject all on its own, in this context.
Dixon, for example. He was a death eater in his games, but he never
seemed to like the whole murder aspect of it at all. He did it to
survive, and in the arena, does that make him a bad person? Regulus
doesn't think so, no more than he thought it made Peter a bad
person. The difference is, Dixon didn't hesitate to kill at the end of
his games, and Peter did. The difference is, Dixon got to go home,
and Peter didn't.
But then there's people like Bellatrix, and Alecto, and even
Thorfinn—who is now dead. They all relished in the murder aspect
of it in their first games, and while they're all not shy about showing
their bitterness with being back here, they seem just as inclined to
kill as they were then, but almost more...jaded about it, in a way?
Like that's all they're made for. Like that's all they know how to do
now, even years after their games. Trauma takes many forms, and
this one—well, this one just so happens to be damaging to more than
just themselves.
Even Thorfinn made it clear he was bloodthirsty. He was eager to kill

Sirius, like it was a prize. I'm getting that kill, he said, like it really is
just a game he could reach the high score on. Is that a way to cope? If
it is, Regulus finds little to no sympathy for Thorfinn.
55
Strings
Then there's Narcissa and Rabastan. They were the charmers, the
pretty things no one could really bring themselves to break in their
games. Countless sponsors adored them, so much so that the
support of the sponsors and those in the arena with them got them to
the end. They killed, of course they did, but only when they had to.
It still came across as betrayal when they presented themselves as if
they weren't a threat. Narcissa hid behind a veneer of delicacy;
Rabastan hid behind warmth and calm that he weaponized to
distract from what he was capable of. They're both chameleons,
changing the shades of themselves to whatever suits their survival
best.
Yaxley... Corban Yaxley, the jester of the death eaters. Never the best.
Never adored. A joke. He's a fucking joke, all talk with no follow
through, which is one of the bigger reasons Regulus has absolutely
no respect for him. In his games, he got cheap shots in, but didn't do
very much at all. Killing isn't something to be proud of; Regulus isn't
proud of being a killer. Yaxley killed one person at the end of his
games—one who was already bleeding out and could barely fight
and still nearly won against him anyway, mind you—but he acts like
doing that makes him better, or stronger, or dangerous. He's proud
of killing, and it's not even something to be proud of, let alone for
him, who didn't do very much killing at all. It's fake. Regulus doesn't
like fake things, and he really doesn't like Yaxley.
Yet, here he is, staying with all of them anyway.
The maze remains disorienting and directionless. No matter where

they go, they never seem to get anywhere at all. They're trying to
find Sirius, and there's talk of trying to locate Thorfinn, which
Regulus very innocently doesn't comment on either way. There have
been three cannons since
Thorfinn died. Regulus is choosing to believe that one of them is

Coen.
Regulus is also choosing to believe that none of them are Sirius. The
thought won't even take shape in Regulus' head. Sirius is here,
somewhere, alive. He's still here. He just is.
56
It's dark out now, and the heat is...very fucking annoying, honestly,
but they've kept moving anyway. Regulus and Rabastan have bags
that came with flashlights, which they've been using to light the way.
Past the reach of the beams of light that penetrate the dark, it's
pitch-black.
That makes it immediately easy to spot the banners when they come
up in the sky, even before the first trumpets start playing to signal it.
As one, the entire group of death eaters slow to a halt, tilting their
head to stare at the sky.
As always, it plays in order.
Mavis and Velvet's banners are displayed together, which either

means that they died at the same time, or it means that the
gamemakers wanted to further highlight the tragedy of their deaths.
It's a toss up, honestly. It could be either one either way, and for
some reason, their deaths have hit Regulus hard. Maybe because, in
a way, they remind him of his first games with James; just two
people deeply in love, who did not want to live without each other,
who had no interest in being trapped in a journey of suffering
together. Regulus thinks, if he and James had come back into the
arena this time, their fates would have been similar. Neither of them
would have left the arena without the other. Mavis and Velvet just
further represent how fucked up all this is.
After them, it's Henri. Regulus presses his lips into a thin line when
he sees his face. He hates to admit it, but he'd frozen for a moment,
when Henri attacked him. Stupidly, all he could think of was
Bernice, and then her baby and husband, and how she had wanted
so desperately to live, and how it had been Peter who had saved him
when she was strangling him, such a vivid memory that he'd almost
expected it to be him yet again.
But it wasn't. It was Sirius, who snapped Henri's neck in less than
thirty seconds right after, murdering for Regulus in less than five
minutes after the starting cannon. It infuriates Regulus, because
there it is again, Sirius killing in his name, not even batting an eye
like it didn't even matter to him. But it will matter to him. It will,
because these things do. Because they are who they are, and Regulus
still has nightmares about Avery, and Quinn, and Irene. Now,
57
Strings
because of Regulus, Henri is just another person who will haunt

Sirius.
Following Henri is Thorfinn, and Regulus feels his heart drop as he

realizes, all at once, that the next person has to be Coen, or everyone
is going to know he lied. He's at the back of the group,
lighting the path they're all walking on, while Rabastan is at the
front, lighting the way up ahead. He grips his dagger, feeling his
muscles bunch up, fingers flexing around the flashlight. A few
people glance at him, but he remains stoic, stone-faced, as if he has
nothing to worry about.
"Wonder what happened to him," Alecto murmurs, and she doesn't

sound...pleased, exactly. They did come from the same district, after
all. Maybe they were friends. But she doesn't sound upset either,
really. Just sort of—resigned. Maybe a little detached, like she'd
already come to terms with it beforehand.
Thorfinn's banner fades, and Regulus feels his heart thump heavily
in his chest as his muscles tense up in preparation to run. It isn't until
Coen's banner replaces Thorfinn's that he feels his muscles unlock
and his racing heart slowly calm down. The undercurrent of tension
traveling through the group, directed right at him, dissolves all at
once.
Regulus feels like he deserves a trophy, or something, for being such

a good liar. He gets it from his mother, he knows that, but in this
scenario, he is so grateful for it. Look at that, his mother did do
something worthwhile for him after all.
Alowyn, from district eight, follows behind Coen, and then Warwick
last, also from eight. So, one from twelve, both from ten, both from
eight, one from seven, and one from three. Seven dead altogether,
just in the first night.
Shit.
Regulus knew it was going to be brutal, he did, but he can't think of

one arena in which more than five died on the very first night. Yes,
58
two of the deaths here were suicides, but still. That's still seven
people. There are seventeen people left.
He does a quick rundown. Bellatrix and Narcissa from one. Yaxley

and Rabastan from two. Alecto from three. Asher and Majesty from
four. Alice and Augusta from five. Sirius and himself from six. Lester
from seven. Emmeline and Dixon from nine. Marlene and Eli from
eleven. Camilla from twelve.
Of all those people, only four aren't in a group of allies. Asher,

Majesty, Lester, and Camilla. If Regulus had to guess, they're all
going at it alone, and will do everything they can to stay alone, likely
hoping the two larger groups will kill each other off. It's a smart
plan, frankly. It's also dangerous, because being alone means you're
easier to kill.
As for the groups—well, they're evenly matched, really. The allies

Sirius has are of little importance to Regulus; he's here for one thing
and one thing only.
There is the passing thought of Emmeline—the one he likes most,

one that he feels a bare hint of connection to, through Evan. He
doesn't—it's foolish, possibly, but he can't help but feel a little sick at
the thought of her dying, especially if he has a hand in it. Evan
respected Emmeline. It feels like yet another betrayal to him,
somehow. Regulus already had a hand in killing his best friend, and
now this?
Regulus misses the nightmares Evan would come visit him in. He
wants another, selfishly. He wants to apologize. He never really got
to apologize, not properly.
There's so much that he's sorry for, now.
"I think we should call it," Narcissa announces once the banners fade.
"We're wasting the batteries in the flashlights just roaming about,
and we need our rest. Let's stop, Bella."
59
Strings
"You're no fun, Cissy, no fun at all," Bellatrix complains, but she

heaves a sigh and nods anyway. "Alright, we'll camp here then, and
sleep in shifts. One group of three, the rest in pairs. Claim your
partners now. I want Alecto."
"Absolutely not," Narcissa protests immediately. "She's mine."
"You only want her because I said her first," Bella says.
"No, I want her because she's a fucking nightmare with a sword,"

Narcissa corrects.
Alecto looks quite pleased about being fought over, and she raises
her hands, lips twitching. "Ladies, ladies, please, there's no need to
argue. There's enough of me to go around. We'll just be a team of
three, yeah?"
Regulus thinks Alecto is quite mental to subject herself to a shift of

dealing with two of the Black sisters, who are as equally dramatic
and ridiculous as the Black brothers when they want to be.
He's silently grateful that they didn't feel the need to claim him,
which surely would have been a headache, though they probably
didn't simply because it would make the rest of the group uneasy. A
clear display of family loyalty, or a sign that they're a trio who might
be plotting to kill the rest in
their sleep, and Regulus can internally admit to himself that he's at
least a little tempted by the idea.
"Okay, I want Regulus," Rabastan declares.
Regulus twitches. He doesn't much care as long as it's not Yaxley,

who he genuinely isn't sure he'd be able to refrain from killing if the
man pushed him far enough. Dixon wouldn't be a problem, he
doesn't think. He'd rather it be Dixon, because he's an older, gruff
man who doesn't have much to say, while Rabastan is... Well, he's
friendly, sort of.
60
And no, no, Regulus isn't doing this again. He's just not. He feels like
he could accidentally become fond of Rabastan in some way, and
that's just—not happening. He's not here to make friends. It didn't go
well for him last time, literally only last year, down to the same
fucking day. Exactly a year ago, Regulus spent the day with Evan
Rosier, climbing a tree to get to weapons, learning to trust, not
knowing that he was on a clock that was running out where the best
friend he didn't even know he would have was going to leave him,
before he could even properly find him, and know him.
"No," Regulus says coldly. "I'm with Dixon."
"Fine by me," Dixon agrees with a grunt.
Rabastan smacks his lips. "Well, damn, tell me how you really feel.
Just because I'm in the same district as Corban doesn't mean we have
to pair up. I do not want to be stuck with this wet napkin of a
man—"
"Hey!" Yaxley blurts out, offended.
"Suck it up, buttercup," Bellatrix tells Rebastan, who does not seem
to care that Yaxley is glaring at him. "The ladies will take the first
shift while you all sleep, then we'll rotate to Dixon and Regulus, then
to you and Corban. Sound good?"
A low grumble of agreement echoes out to her, and they all start to
settle in. Regulus would not admit it to save his life, but he honestly
feels safer with his cousins and Alecto, so that's who he sits beside.
Well, actually, he sits behind them, on the outside of the group circle,
like he's using them as a shield. He can't help it. His paranoia won't
let him do anything else.
He also has no interest in participating in the low chatter they all

start up in between passing around water and food from the three
bags of supplies in the group. Regulus reluctantly pitches in, because
it would look bad if he didn't, but he's not happy about it. He listens
to them theorize on what actually happened to Thorfinn, discuss
61
Strings
what the plans are for the next day, and make comments about how
shit the arena itself is this year. In silence, he eats and sips water.
"Hey, give me more of that," Narcissa demands, holding out her

palm to Bellatrix, who was just about to pass the small pack of dried
fruit back to Regulus. A tiny smile curves her mouth. "I am eating for
two, after all."
Bellatrix clicks her tongue and leans forward to dump out a little
more for her, musing, "How is little Draco doing?"
"Oh, they're fine for now," Narcissa replies, her eyes flashing with
that very specific gleam that exists in their family; a sign of plotting,
a sign of danger, a sign Regulus picks up on right then and there
because he's seen it enough to know what it is and what it means.
Just like him, and Bellatrix, and Sirius, and Andromeda, and all of
their family—Narcissa is prone to her dramatics, too. He knows she's
not pregnant.
He respects her so much for pretending to be. He thinks she's rather

hilarious for it, actually. There's no doubt in his mind that no one
other than their family actually knows she's just lying. Andromeda
surely knows, too. Regulus wonders what she thinks about all of
this. Is she at home with Ted, watching all of this while forcing Dora
to play in another room, so she doesn't have to see? Does she ache,
watching her sisters, her cousins, her family in the arena again, all at
once?
Regulus forces himself to stop thinking about it.
"Alright, dinner over, lights out," Bellatrix orders, and Regulus clicks
his flashlight out at the same time that Rabastan does.
The dark immediately descends upon them, thick and stifling, so

much so that Regulus can't see anyone else. His eyes are trying to
adjust, and it only puts him more on edge. He doesn't lay down to
sleep, not yet, too tense to even manage it.
He can hear the others settling in. Dixon is snoring in less than five
minutes. Rabastan requests very politely to use Alecto's lap as a
pillow, and she allows it. Yaxley grumbles and complains about
62
Dixon snoring, then eventually shuts up, then eventually starts
snoring, too.
"I can see you sitting up over there, munchkin," Bellatrix murmurs,
because her eyes have adjusted like his has, just enough to make out
the forms in the dark. "Go to sleep."
Regulus doesn't respond, but he stiffly lays down, his eyes wide
open as he stares at nothing. He doesn't think he's going to manage
to sleep a wink, but then Narcissa starts softly humming a gentle
tune she would back when he was young, back before all of this,
back before any of them knew the horrors of the arena and it was just
him and his brother being looked after by their older cousins in a
hollow home and a hollow family still trying to shove their broken
parts together, before the games came in and ripped them all apart,
for good.
Helplessly, Regulus' eyes flutter shut. With the help of Narcissa's

lullaby and the phantom presence of James that his mind conjures
right next to him, Regulus sleeps.
~•~
Remus takes the lift down to the basement level, his mind still
churning with memory of the first day of the games, full of Sirius
and all that happened to him.
He's brilliant. Sirius is absolutely, unequivocally brilliant, and so

very brave. He killed someone so quickly, and Remus' heart had
ached, because he knows Sirius. He knows that Sirius will stay
focused and just—not deal with how it affects him, because his main
goal is to save Regulus, and to him, nothing else matters outside of
that.
But Remus knows that it does matter to him, deep down, or it will.
Sirius struggles so much with the feeling that the Hallows have
shaped him into something he never wanted to be, and this will
surely only add to that. Right now, he gets to use the excuse that he's
doing it for his brother, like a shield.
63
Strings
The thing is, it's not beautiful, seeing Sirius murder. He is beautiful,
even in the midst of murder, but there's no beauty to be found in the
fact that he's put in a position where he has to. Sirius doesn't deserve
that. He deserves to exist under the light of the stars, eyes shining,
face flushed with pleasure because Remus is touching him, and his
family is close by. That's all Sirius wants, really. To be with the people
he loves the most, safe and calm, present with the memories that
he'll be happy to hold onto. Remus has him all figured out now.
It's simple. Sirius wants a simple life. He wants Remus, and he wants
James and Regulus somewhere near, and he wants the parents he's
proud to claim. He wants to build, and love, and leave blood and
pain and death behind.
Remus wants the same. Maybe that's why they work so well.
Because they want their lover, and their family, and their best
friends. Because they want freedom.
Because they want everything.
Right now, though, what Remus wants most of all, perhaps selfishly,
is for Sirius to live.
Just live.
Please live.
Come back, Remus thinks fitfully, helplessly, desperately. Come back

to me, sweetheart, please.
The lift dings, and Remus raises his head as he steps out, moving
with habitual silence down the hall towards the cells he has to return
to every night. Most of the other servants are likely already there,
dismissed after dinner and not kept if they have no other chores or
demands to fulfill. Remus, of course, stays until the last possible
moment.
It had been necessary, his presence. He wasn't prepared for how

much it meant to James and Pandora that he was there with them,
nor was he prepared for how comforting it was for them to be there
64
with him. They all sat close together, watching and reaching out to
touch, murmuring reassurances and simply trying to get through it
as a unit.
They all have mixed emotions about everything that's happened so

far, particularly with Regulus. James was steady, Remus could see
that, only murmuring that Regulus was a good liar, and an
unpredictable man, and this couldn't be just what it seems.
Pandora—poor Pandora was so innocently confused, sort of crushed
by the whole thing, and she just kept stuttering that it didn't make
any sense. But Remus?
Oh, Remus is angry.
I'm going to make him regret it. He will regret it this time, Remus.
He's going to, Regulus had said.
Remus can see now that he meant it. He didn't think for a second
that Regulus meant it in this way, and it's genuinely pissing him off
that this is what he chose to do. He gets that Regulus has very
complex issues around Sirius, especially Sirius volunteering for him,
but to betray him like this?
It's going to break Sirius' heart.
And so, Remus is angry. He wants to drop down into the arena for
the sole purpose of decking Regulus in the face, then take him by the
shoulders and shake him. He wishes—oh, he really wishes he had
tried to make Regulus see it better, understand it more clearly; that
Sirius is doing all of this for him; that Sirius is scared, too; that Sirius
wants to live just like everyone else, but he's ready to lay his life
down for someone who has chosen, out of spite and anger and pain,
to hurt him.
Regulus is ungrateful. That's all Remus can think. Maybe it comes

from a place of anger, he isn't sure. Maybe it's just him latching onto
whatever excuse he can use to ease the small guilt in him for wishing
that Sirius would come back to him, even if that means Regulus will
die. Maybe Remus just loves Sirius so much that he automatically
65
Strings
wants to beat the fuck out of anything or anyone that hurts him,
even if it is his stubborn, traumatized little brother, even if it is
someone Remus considers a friend, despite everything.
And Remus knows, rationally, that doing what it takes to survive in

the arena doesn't automatically make someone a bad person. He
even knows, rationally, that he doesn't actually know what Regulus
is going to do, or what his plan is. He also knows, rationally, that
Regulus is pretty shit at being a death eater so far, from what he's
seen, since he's already killed someone who threatened Sirius.
He knows all of that, rationally, but it turns out that Remus is more
than a little irrational when it comes to Sirius' safety and well-being.
He's in love. Sue him.
As Remus takes a corner to the hall with all the cells waiting, he
hears the lift ding behind him again, originally assuming that it's just
another servant coming down after him, at least until he hears
muffled voices.
Remus comes to a screeching halt, then immediately backs himself

up against the wall and strains his ears to listen, because he is nosy
and soaks up gossip like a sponge.
"—don't understand just how strict Ms. McGonagall is. I mean, she
really runs a tight ship," says a low voice, the words barely reaching
Remus from down the hall.
"You have access to the control boards just like some of the other
gamemakers. Surely you can... make something happen, can't you?"
is the soft, silky reply.
Remus' eyes narrow. He knows those voices. The first belongs to a

low-level gamemaker by the name of Verna. The second is none
other than Lucius Malfoy, mentor for district one. Remus knows this,
because he's worked parties with them present, even as recent as last
year.
"Ms. McGonagall directs everything," Verna insists in a low hiss.

"Nothing gets past her, I'm telling you."
"I doubt she would mind this, though, would she?"
66
"She says she already has plans for Sirius Black. She's keeping a very
close eye on him, especially. I was directed to give Eli Zatish a spear
just so it would get to him. Whatever she has planned, I think—well,
I think it's going to be brutal as it is. Honestly, you should see some
of the orders we have coming up. I don't say this often, but it's—it's
sick."
There's a pause, and then Lucius sighs and mutters, "What about
Regulus Black, then? Does she watch him closely, too?"
"She watches them all," Verna explains. "Like a fucking cat that never
blinks. It's terrible. But...I —I mean, I could probably make sure that
at least one of her plans will be directed towards Regulus. Maybe. Or
I can try."
"Ah, lovely," Lucius says with a hum of satisfaction. "Exactly what I

wanted to hear. Come, Verna, let's go through the garage and have a
drink at the pub. We'll discuss the particulars of our... agreement."
Remus peels away from the wall and swiftly moves down the hall,
turning into his open cell just as Lucius and Verna sweep past the
opening at the end of the hall. As he crosses the threshold, the sensor
emits a soft ping, the red light above turning green as the cell doors
shut with a low clang.
For a beat, Remus just stands there, heart racing, trying to catch his
breath within his mask. Fear spikes within him as he sinks down on
his thin bed, hands shaking while tears prick at his eyes, pure panic
sweeping through him until he's quite sure his heart is going to beat
right out of his chest.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Suddenly, Remus has no space for anger within him for Regulus,
only fear for his friend. No, all of his anger shifts and points in a new
direction, towards Lucius Malfoy, towards the gamemakers, towards
Riddle.
67
Strings
Just like that, Remus is reminded of the reality of it all. Like a slap to
the face, it hits him that those in the arena are not truly to blame for
all that happens in there.
Behind the scenes, someone is always pulling the strings.
68
3
A L ESSON
______
James smiles at him, gently, and Regulus can't stop himself from
smiling back. It's reflexive. He feels the same little heart flutter he
always gets when James looks at him, especially when James is
looking at him like this.
"Would we have vows?" James murmurs.
"I'd write you a poem," Regulus says. "You could read it, but not out
loud. Only you'd get to know."
"Oh? A sad boy poem just for me?" James bats his eyelashes, his
smile growing. "Reg, I'm honored."
Regulus huffs a soft laugh. "Sad? On our wedding day? No, it

wouldn't be sad. Not even a little bit."
"You'd be happy, then?"
"Yes. Why wouldn't I be?"
"I make you happy?" James asks.
"You remind me that happiness exists," Regulus admits. James' smile

slowly fades. "So, why are you doing this?" "Doing what?"
"You know what."
"Stop it, James," Regulus whispers, swallowing harshly as he scans

James' features, laden with grief and pain. "You know why I'm doing
this. I have to. It's—it's for you, just as much as it's for me. Please tell
me you understand."
69
A Lesson
"I don't," James whispers back, and he pushes up on his elbow, tears
forming in his eyes as he looks down at Regulus. "I don't
understand, Regulus. Why? It doesn't have to be this way."
"Yes, it does," Regulus chokes out.
"This isn't what I want," James insists. "Please, love."
Regulus flinches when a tear hits his cheek, wet and cold against his
skin. "You don't mean that. You'd never say that to me, James. I don't
believe you."
"It's true," James breathes out, reaching out to cup Regulus' cheek,
except the weight of his hand feels like nothing more than a whisper
of wind. "I'm sorry, but it's true. Please don't do this. I'm begging
you, Reg."
"James," Regulus rasps, then flinches again when the next tear drops
onto his face, and then another, and then a heavier one. His breath
catches. "J-James? James, don't—please stop crying. It's—I'm—I
can't—"
"It's your fault," James tells him, more tears pouring out, hitting
Regulus' face, his exposed arms, his skin. It's wet and cold, making
him tremble and try to curl away from it. "It's what you do. This is all
you know how to do."
"James—"
Regulus gives another violent flinch when a tear hits the corner of
his mouth, though it doesn't taste of salt. The slide of water from his
cheek into his mouth makes him gasp on it, choking when more
tears break past his lips, and then his eyes fly open as he jerks awake
to find that it's raining.
It's coming down hard now, picking up the pace, not visible through
the dark. It's still night, still the very first night, and he's maybe had
a few hours of sleep, at most. The rain woke him, and the very first
thing he does is fling himself back like he can outrun it, but there's
nowhere to run.
70
Distantly, Regulus can make out the sound of Bellatrix laughing in
delight, her form twirling around in the rain with her arms held out,
Narcissa chuckling in agreement when she hisses how nice the rain
feels in the heat.
Lucky them.
For Regulus, it's different. No part of this is nice. He doesn't like

water, particularly water he can feel running over his skin, especially
his face. Being in a bath is bad enough, and he has that down to a
science at this point, comfortable in the routine of it, knowing his
limits and adjusted to how he handles his trauma around water. He
knows precisely how to wash his hair and his body without freaking
the fuck out; he knows precisely how to live a full, clean life without
triggering himself to do it.
Rain is not a part of his routine, for obvious reasons. It's the way his
hair sags against his forehead and the sides of his face, a weight
constantly under the pressure of more rushing water, no different
than coming out of the crimson river with his hair plastered to his
skin, heavy. It's the water drenching his clothes, weighing at them,
tugging at him no differently than in the river, when he fought so
hard to get away, to escape the hands and the rush of the river
dragging him down. It's the liquid in his mouth, jumbling his mind
as he struggles to breathe past it, desperate to swallow to
survive, tasting blood and gasping for air. It's the complete lack of
control, and no escape, and he's dying again. He's dying again.
Regulus presses himself back into the darkness, further away from
everyone, hand flying up to clamp down around his mouth so hard
that he's squeezing his jaw, just to make sure no one hears him cry.
They can't know. They can't see it, can't see him weak and vulnerable
and easy to pick off.
He drags his bag up with his free hand and lays it over the top of
himself as much as he can as he curls forward and ducks his head
down between the shelter of the bag and his knees. He tucks his
elbows in and shrinks as much as possible, pressed into a tight,
71
A Lesson
compact ball. He can still feel the rain hitting his shoulders, the back
of his neck, the sides of his arms, the front of his legs. The only thing
protected is his head, chest, and thighs, which are mostly blocked
from the bag and how he folds in on himself. Water drips down from
his hair and the end of his nose right into his lap, tears intermingled
with it.
One hand pressed to his mouth to muffle the sound of his sobs and
uneven breathing, the other gripping his dagger like a lifeline,
Regulus sits there and endures.
Bellatrix continues to play in the rain.
~•~
Sirius jerks awake the moment he realizes that it's raining. It's hot
out, humid and thick, so the rain feels nice, really. Just not for
everyone. Sirius' mind immediately goes to Regulus, and he's on his
feet in seconds.
Emmeline and Eli are technically on watch now, though it's clearly
Emmeline doing the heavy lifting on that. Eli is a little too busy
shaking and sweating, moaning in pain, working what's likely
decades worth of consistent alcohol intake out of his system. It's not
going well for him.
"Sirius?" Emmeline murmurs.
"I—I have to go," Sirius blurts out, snatching up his spear and
squinting through the dark helplessly.
"What? Go? Sirius, go where? What are you—"
"It's—I have to find Regulus."
Emmeline sighs. "Okay, I know, but you're not going to be able to

find him now."
"No, you don't understand," Sirius hisses, borderline frantic at this

point, feeling the rain drip from his hair. Oh, it's coming down hard.
72
Fuck. "I have to find him, Em, now. He's—he needs me. He needs me
right now."
"Sirius, stop," Emmeline says sharply when Sirius whips around,

fully prepared to start sprinting.
Sirius swivels back around and snaps, "This isn't a fucking joke. You
don't get it. He—he can't handle rain, alright? It's—he has
aquaphobia, which means he's likely a wreck right now, so I need to
find him, I have to get to him and—"
"If you leave, you won't be able to find him anyway," Emmeline
informs him harshly, brutally honest. "It's too dark for one thing, and
you won't find him before they want you to. Sirius, there's nothing
you can do for him."
The worst part is, Sirius knows she's right. He knows that, and still,
all he wants to do is search every inch of this maze to find Regulus as
soon as possible. He's not even sure what he'd do when he did. It's
not like he can fucking stop the rain. But he could block some of it,
right? However he had to, he would. If all he could do is sit there
and talk Regulus through it, that's what he'd do. At least he'd be
doing something.
"Sirius," Emmeline says gently, "you can't protect him from

everything. You can try, but you won't always be able to."
Something in Sirius outright snarls at that. Yes, I can, and I will, he

thinks, instinctively, furiously. Except no, no, he can't.
He hasn't always been able to.
And he won't this time.
Sirius cannot stop the rain, and he cannot get to Regulus, and he
feels like tearing the world apart because of it. He feels like
uprooting this entire maze to clear a path to his brother. He is
helpless, frustrated, and stuck.
73
A Lesson
All he can think about is Regulus somewhere out there, shivering

and trembling, even in the heat. Weeping. Drenched. Suffering. Just
as stuck and helpless as Sirius feels, undergoing torture that, in turn,
feels tortuous to Sirius.
"Sit down," Emmeline orders, and so Sirius does. "Catch what rain
you can and drink that. Stay hydrated. Wherever Regulus is, he's
alive. No cannon, remember?"
Sirius does as she says, cupping his palms together to catch handfuls
of rain and sip on it slowly. He tells himself, as he does, that maybe
Regulus is sleeping through it. Or maybe he did find a place in the
maze with some shelter, and Sirius is just worrying for nothing.
Maybe, maybe, maybe.
Whether Regulus is maybe, possibly, hopefully okay or not, he is

alive, and that matters the most, right now.
The rain doesn't stop until morning, but a cannon never sounds, and
Sirius' chest aches with grief and pulses with pride to know that,
despite everything, Regulus survived.
~•~
Dorcas sits on the very edge of her chair and stares at the screen with
wide eyes, breath held as she watches Rita do the recap of the
previous night, playing a few highlight reels that weren't
broadcasted live. She needs to know Marlene made it through the
night. She won't breathe again until she does.
Marlene, who nearly fucking died. Marlene, who now has a broken
arm. Marlene, who thankfully still has the ring on her other hand.
Marlene, whose parents were killed just the same way Fabian and
Gideon were.
Dorcas has been persistently nauseous since the moment the games
started, and it's only gotten worse with everything that has gone
wrong so far, one right after the next, and it was only the first
fucking day. It doesn't look promising for the second.
74
But there. A small clip of Marlene in the shade of vague green from
night vision from the cameras, eyes glinting like opaque orbs,
otherworldly and monstrous. Beautiful. In the clip, she's sipping
water as it rains in her free hand, the other still tied in a splint
against her body. She made it to morning.
Dorcas exhales.
The clip changes to show Regulus, who clearly had a very bad night.
Dorcas' heart clenches seeing him like that, small and afraid. She
remembers when Sirius came to her after the previous games and
asked her, hopefully, if there was any possible way she would
accommodate Regulus' aquaphobia by letting him take a bath with a
very little water, just as much as necessary to help him get clean, and
if she would stay and talk to him through it. She agreed. Of course
she did.
She sat right there in the room with him and kept her back to him as
she talked, explaining her favorite fabrics to work with, talking
about the effect the cut of clothes can have on the perception of an
outfit, rambling on about her personal feeling that accessories can
sometimes bring an outfit together, or completely deconstruct it. She
talked and talked and knew that he barely took in a word of it as he
bathed behind her, crying as quietly as he could throughout the
whole process.
It had broken her heart.
Seeing him like this does, too.
But he's alive. He made it through the night, just like Marlene did,
just like Sirius did. They're all alive, one day closer to freedom if they
just keep surviving. They're here, no matter how the night treated
them—which was not well, not at all.
Honestly, the night didn't seem to treat any of the remaining tributes
well. The clips shuffle through basically all of them waking up at
some point from nightmares, or simply paranoid. Eli's condition only
worsened through the night, to the point that it was touch and go for
a bit, a genuine threat of death on the horizon. He pulled through,
but Dorcas has no idea if he's functioning this morning or not.
75
A Lesson
There's Marlene's discomfort with her arm, Majesty sleeping in fits of

one or two hours at a time before they apparently felt compelled to
get up and move to a new spot, and more than a few people jerking
awake in their sleep from nightmares, some even having panic
attacks.
This includes the death eaters, which probably shouldn't surprise

Dorcas as much as it does. Even they're not free from how being back
in the arena affects them. Alecto nearly took Dixon's head off with
her sword when he shook her awake because she was groaning and
crying out in her sleep. Rabastan woke up with tears glistening on
his cheeks.
And then there's Sirius, who Marlene poked with a stick from afar
during his nightmare, which turned out to be a good thing when he
came up swinging and making vague, belligerent threats to someone
named Gunther. When he calmed, it was strange, like he sort of
just—detached. He stared off into space for a while, not really doing
much or acknowledging anyone, and then he eventually blinked,
looked around, and heaved a sigh as he gripped the back of his neck
and hung his head.
Rita sure has a lot to say, but she never once acknowledges the clear
signs of trauma from each and every single tribute in that arena. It
makes Dorcas grind her teeth.
Day two is... Well, it's here whether they like it or not, and Dorcas is
absolutely fucking terrified. She doesn't care what any of these
people do in the arena; she doesn't care that Regulus is a death eater
apparently planning to kill his brother; she doesn't care that Augusta
and Alice seem to have no warm feelings between them. None of
that matters to her.
What matters is getting everyone out that she can, the moment she
can, regardless of what happens inside there. The terrifying part is
that the moment she can isn't here yet, and she can do nothing but
watch the woman she loves and her friends fucking suffer. She just
needs them to survive for a little longer. Just keep surviving. Please
keep surviving.
76
The sound of her phone ringing has her head snapping up as she
bolts to her feet and immediately dives for it.
"Patronus?" Lily says in lieu of a greeting.
"Starfish," Dorcas replies quickly. "What is it? What have you got?
Please tell me—"
"The third night," Lily cuts in, no-nonsense, and Dorcas' breath
catches. "So, tomorrow night. Are you going to be ready for that?
Can you manage it?"
Dorcas chokes out a relieved exhale and rasps, "Yes, absolutely I'll
manage it. Fucking hell, Evans, you move fast. I mean, we were
planning for day five, then you said maybe night four, but now it's
tomorrow? How did you...?"
"Meadowes, you know just as well as many others what my mouth

can do. Literally." "Lily, have you been using sex for favors?"
"No." Lily pauses, then snorts. "Well, alright, so this is how it works,
yeah? I'm already having sex, and then I'm like, say, look at you all
laid out and desperate to give me what I want; don't you want to do
this very small, very simple thing for me? And then they mostly
always say yes, and they get what they want, all while I'm having a
grand time and also getting what I want. See? Win- win. I mean, I
couldn't do it with all of them, because I didn't have sex with
everyone I talked to, but a lot of people owe me anyway. Six years
worth of secrets and gossip will do that for a person, you see."
"I cannot believe that this revolution is partially running on your

competency in sex."
"Oh, if only it could fully run on that. Everything would go so

smoothly. Shit, we'd win the war in,
like, a week."
77
A Lesson
"Someday, someone is going to humble you," Dorcas informs her

with a low hum of amusement. "I just want you to know, on that day,
I'm going to laugh."
Lily just snorts, skeptical, and then her voice has softened
considerably when she murmurs, "How are you doing, then? Molly
has kept me updated on the games. I hear it's been shit and
Marlene's... off to a rough start?"
"She's still alive," Dorcas replies, her voice dropping lower, softer,
and she has to swallow past the lump that forms in her throat. "She's
surviving."
"Well, I thought you'd like to know, that mission in district eleven

brought in some more people— and, of those people, there was a
small family closely related to the McKinnons. A married couple and
their infant son. The wife used to be a McKinnon before she took her
husband's last name."
"Marlene's cousin. The baby—a boy, right? Maximus?"
"Mhm, that's the one," Lily confirms, and Dorcas' shoulders slump
with relief, her eyes fluttering shut. "Apparently, the district was
rioting majorly since Marlene's interview, and it didn't help that the
mayor abandoned her post and joined her people against the Aurors.
The Order went in and got a few people out, the mayor especially,
and from what I've heard, the district is now under lockdown.
People kept in their homes, not allowed to leave, Aurors patrolling
the streets. There's speculation that eleven will get the same
treatment as six did, but that thankfully hasn't happened yet."
Dorcas presses her lips into a thin line. "No, I don't think Riddle will
take it that far. He's still keeping what happened to district six quiet.
No formal announcement, not even as a thinly veiled threat.
Just—nothing. It's smart for him not to, though, because it's...getting
a lot worse here. The protests have been getting bolder. They've
taken to standing outside his castle now, demanding he stop the
games. A lot of people are refusing to watch, and others are so
horrified by what they see that it's just pissing them off even more."
78
"Yeah, I can imagine if they find out that he has the power to wipe
out nearly an entire district as easily as he can, they won't handle it
well," Lily mutters. "The other districts either, if I had to guess. The
spread of rebellion is just growing at a rate that even the Order is
struggling to keep up with, so I know for a fact that Riddle can't. You
should see Dumbledore. He's not around much, but when I have
seen him, his eyes are always twinkling. But, then again, that may
have something to do with the fact that his brother is here."
"His—" Dorcas blinks. "Wait, what? He has a brother?"
Lily sighs. "As it turns out, he does. Aberforth Dumbledore, Mayor

of district six, which is apparently where they're both from. Talk
about fucking irony, yeah?"
"The plot thickens," Dorcas mumbles, shaking her head

incredulously as she glances at the screen, sees Camilla walking
through the maze, then glances away again. "Okay, that's—it's not
important right now. How are the Potters?"
"Oh, they're fine. Euphemia—sorry, Effie, she told me to call her

Effie. Anyway, she's healed up and walking around now, though a
bit slow and sore. I keep telling her I know exactly how to make her
feel better, but she insists she's a married woman, and also far too old
for me. Disappointing, really."
"Oh, no, I get you. She's something, isn't she?"
"Truly," Lily agrees. "In any case, she and Monty have been focused
on the games a lot, watching
Sirius and Regulus, worrying about James. You know, parent stuff.
But, I mean, they've also been trying to take care of people from their
district. There's a lot of mourning going on at the moment. The grief
is heavy here, Dorcas. Really fucking heavy."
"Yes," Dorcas murmurs, "that's to be expected. I think we're going to

lift a lot of spirits tomorrow, all over the world. I mean, no one's ever
79
A Lesson
stopped the games before. It's going to invigorate a lot of people,

Lily."
"It's war after that," Lily says quietly. "You know that, don't you?
Once it's done, there's no going back."
Dorcas takes a deep breath in, then slowly lets it out and focuses her
eyes on the screen. "I know." ~•~
James makes a beeline right for Lucius the moment he steps into the
watch party, his stride full of purpose, lacking a cane today because
his leg feels just fine for now.
He doesn't need a cane to scare the piss out of Lucius Malfoy.
As soon as Lucius sees him coming, he tenses up, even when

standing next to Lestrange and Dolohov. There's a group of sponsors
lingering nearby, rising whispers getting louder the second they see
James coming, enticed by possible drama.
"Potter," Lucius greets stiffly.
"James, James, don't—" Frank is suddenly right there, grabbing at

James' arm to try and tug him away.
James shakes him off. "Listen to me very closely, Malfoy. If I find out
that you've been trying to bribe gamemakers again, the next time I
hit you, I'm not going to stop until you're fucking dead, do you hear
me?"
"I've done no such thing," Lucius retorts sharply. "I don't appreciate
the implication that—"
"No? So, you didn't take Verna—a gamemaker—out to the pub last
night to bribe her? To ensure that Regulus would endure worse in
the arena, or die quicker? Sirius, too?" James challenges, his voice a
low hiss so no one hears but them.
80
"Obviously I didn't," Lucius snaps. "You're new as a mentor, but
allow me to make it clear how this works. Gamemakers can't be
bribed, Potter."
"Oh, I know they're not supposed to be, but we all know that it can
happen, and has happened," James argues. "Funny, really, because
there's a witness placing you at the pub last night with Verna, where
you two discussed an agreement." This is technically true, because
Remus is the witness, and he told James all about what he overheard
this morning over breakfast. "This means that you're purposefully
doing what you can to influence the games. Today, it's Regulus.
Who's to say, tomorrow, it's not Rabastan? Or Alecto? Or Alice?
Anything to get ahead, right, Malfoy? Anything for you to win."
Frank drops his hands from James, and now he's standing right
beside him, staring Lucius down.
Lucius looks around to find all eyes on him, the bruise on his cheek
gone, likely with the help of Hallow medicine, so there's just an
empty spot that James is practically vibrating to hit again. Dolohov
takes a firm step back from Lucius, his face dropping into a scowl,
and Lestrange's eyes slowly narrow.
There's a long, tense silence.
How many times has Lucius bribed various gamemakers and

sponsors to get his tributes farther? How many years did he bring
home Victors just because he resorts to bribery and manipulation?
There's a fine line between being a mentor who does everything they
can within the constraints they're forced into and being a mentor
who goes behind the scenes to influence the games themselves.
Sirius, for example. The one and only time he influenced the games
was with Slughorn, and that was to get James and Regulus both out.
Perhaps, in a way, that's no different than what Lucius has done to
bring tributes home; the motivation and intent behind it is different,
though. Sirius did it out of love and desperation. Lucius did it for
glory.
81
A Lesson
And this is ultimately worse, because he's actively working to make

sure Regulus, at the very least, suffers. He'd like it to be Sirius, too,
from what Remus said, but McGonagall is keeping a very firm
eye on him, apparently.
This is not a good look for Lucius, not at all. Any respect the other
mentors might have had for him is called into immediate question.
Their tributes are in the arena, too. It's very, very stupid to make
these sort of moves, because once found out, there are repercussions.
Even now, already, there are repercussions. People are watching

them, but they have no idea what's going on. The only people who
are close enough to hear are Frank, Dolohov, and Lestrange. Just that
easily, with that accusation laid out for them, they've all turned cold
eyes to Lucius.
"Oh, I see what you're trying to do." Lucius laughs smoothly and
holds up a hand. "Don't listen to this nonsense. He's trying to knock
down the competition, and who can blame him? My tributes are
indeed a threat to be worried about. Solid effort, Potter, but you
see—it's my word against yours."
"I don't care about words against words, Lucius," James informs him,
speaking low and firm, never once breaking his gaze. "The next time
you get in the way, words won't be used. You'll just be fucking
dead."
With that, James turns around and walks away, letting that truth
settle behind him as he goes, because it was not a lie. James isn't a
good liar. He never has been.
If it wasn't obvious, James is not in a good mood. There are many,

many reasons for this. One, a general lack of sleep because he spent
the previous night worrying about Sirius and Regulus. Two, the
push-and-pull on going back and forth on what the hell Regulus is
even doing with the death eaters, and still trusting him, despite his
confusion. Three, waking up and seeing that Regulus had to spend
the night in the rain, blatantly tormented by it, and James could not
get to him or help him. And then, finally, when Remus swept in to
82
ramble about what he overheard the previous night, it was just a
cherry on top of this shit sundae.
So, yes, James is not in the mood to be making empty threats. He

said what he said, and he meant it. He came to say what he needed
to, and he did. And now, he has work to do.
"You know, if it comes to it, I'll help," Frank announces as he falls

into step with him. "With Malfoy, I mean."
"Noted," James says, heaving a sigh as he abruptly stops and clears

his throat. "Right now, though, can you explain how to, um, use a
donation?"
Frank blinks at him. "Already?"
James nods and mumbles, "Yeah, I...uh, I need to get a message to

Regulus."
"Right, well, be careful not to waste donations too early, James,"

Frank warns, but he nonetheless points over James' shoulder. "If it's
that important, follow me..."
James follows Frank, because it is, indeed, that important. ~•~
Regulus has a headache.
Spending all night in a cramped position, sobbing silently, and

repeatedly falling into one panic attack right after the next will do
that to a person, he supposes. The rain had thankfully stopped when
the sky started growing lighter, and the dark began to fade. Regulus
was instantly relieved, calmer, more clear-headed. By the time
daylight really broke, and everyone could actually see him, he was
carrying on as if the previous night didn't even happen. No one even
knew.
Well, he doesn't doubt that countless people watching knew. James

knew. James likely saw the highlight reels, but Regulus hopes that
James can see that he's fine now.
83
A Lesson
Fine is subjective, really. He is fine comparatively, how about that?

Up and moving, focused, vision clear with no tears to block them.
Still here and still continuing on.
It's oddly...comforting to know that he survived it. Some part of him

didn't think he could, especially not alone, but he did. Right by
himself, he got through it. No Barty, no Sirius, no James. Should he
be proud of that? Can't he be proud of that?
He is proud of that. Does he want it to happen again? No, absolutely

not. Is he sure that he can survive it, if it does? Yes, he is, and it
comforts him to know that.
It's day two, and the group is on the move again, setting out once
more with the hope that they'll come across Sirius. Regulus walks
along with them silently, waiting for whatever the day will throw at
him.
The soft chime of a sponsor box has them all coming to a slow halt,
every head tipping back as they watch the box float in on a
parachute over the top of the hedge. It drifts down gently, bobbing
and weaving through the air, sinking into place right over Regulus.
He swallows thickly and holds his hands out just as the box softly
settles into his palms.
"Aw, your boyfriend sent you a present," Rabastan teases, his tone
lighthearted and good-natured. "Fiancé," Regulus corrects sharply,
eyebrows furrowed as he stares at the box. His stomach turns
over, and he is so fucking nervous that he almost can't bring himself

to open it.
"Oh?" Rabastan says, sounding amused. "Well, I mean you said you
two were planning to get married, but I didn't think it was anything
official. Good for you, man."
"Munchkin is all grown-up," Bellatrix chokes out with a fake sniffle.

"Hear that, Cissy? He's an engaged man."
84
"Welcome to the family, James," Narcissa announces lightly, lips
twitching when Regulus cuts a glare in her direction.
"Are you gonna open it or not?" Dixon mutters.
Regulus scowls, not at all appreciating that he has an audience

watching him like vultures. He especially doesn't like that Yaxley is
here for this, who has rolled his eyes at least twice already. Sighing,
Regulus peels open the box and tilts it towards him to see what's
inside.
Immediately, against his will, his face explodes with heat, flushing
with some ridiculous inner delight to see a bagel sitting next to a bit
of cream cheese in the smallest container he's ever seen in his life,
outlined in the shape of a flower. He can't help the way his face
softens, automatically, because of course James sent him a bagel, and
of course James found some way to send him a flower, even here.
After last night, it's a steady source of comfort that puts a bright
burst of warmth right in the center of his chest. James had to know
that it would make him feel better. Regulus could cry.
What he does, instead, is feel his lips curl up at the corners, his face
still hot and his heart still fluttering. Again, he wishes James were
here, not for him to be in danger, but solely so Regulus could kiss
him. Oh, he misses him so much.
"Fucking hell, is he smiling?" Rabastan asks. "I didn't know he could

do that. James Potter, you've got skills."
"Look at 'im," Alecto coos mockingly, "he's blushing." Yaxley makes a

sound of disgust.
"Alright, alright, fuck off," Regulus grumbles, his smile fading as he

glares at all of them, huffing when they all just continue to look
amused, except for Yaxley. Even Dixon looks faintly entertained by
the whole ordeal.
"What'd he get you?" Bellatrix asks curiously, bounding over eagerly

and peering down into the box before he can fully snatch it out of
85
A Lesson
sight. She blinks down at it, then lifts her head to stare at him
blankly. "It's a bagel."
"Listen—"
"You're getting googly-eyed over a bagel?"
"I'm not—shut up, fuck off," Regulus snaps when Narcissa proceeds
to start laughing and Rabastan has to bend over and brace his hands
on his knees as he erupts into giggles. "None of you know the
context, so just mind your fucking business."
The laughter continues.
Regulus ignores it, reaching past the bagel and cream cheese flower
to get the small white card.
When he flips it over, there are no words. The card just reads: ???
This is, objectively, sort of hilarious. Just: ??? Just that, which James
actively decided to send, most likely because it properly sums up his
emotional state at the moment, at least in regards to the
company Regulus has chosen to keep.
Grimacing slightly, Regulus glances up wearily and says nothing

before crumbling the card in his fist. He does enjoy his bagel, though,
as the group continues on.
Wisely, no one asks for him to share.
~•~
Sirius watches Marlene pace back and forth, restless, swinging her
sword around in her hand. Her other arm looks worse now, in the
light of the day. It's secure, at least, but there's no ignoring that it's
injured. In a fight, if whoever her opponent is happens to be smart,
they're going right for that arm.
Slowly, Sirius trades a look with Emmeline. She raises her eyebrows
at him. He shrugs back. They both sigh.
86
"What?" Marlene snaps, tossing them both a glare.
"Stop pacing," Emmeline says. "It's making me nervous."
Marlene scoffs. "You don't get nervous."
"Well, better to say that than to say it's getting on my nerves. You're
annoying, McKinnon. Take a load off, yeah?"
"We should be moving."
Sirius looks skyward, begging for patience. "We agreed to wait as

long as we can to see if Alice
and Augusta can make it back to us, Marlene."
"Yes, well, clearly they're not. They would have by now, if they
could," Marlene grits out. "We'll come across them if we just get a
fucking move on. Can we go?"
"Come off it," Emmeline scolds, "Eli had a really bad night, and he's
still resting."
This is true. Sirius darts a glance at Eli, who spent most of the night
moaning in pain between vomiting, until there was just nothing left
for his body to give. They took turns making sure he had rainwater
to drink, which didn't help too much, but they made sure he was
hydrated in all that mess. The poor man has been sweating, and
hallucinating, and begging for a drink any time he gets lucid enough
to form full sentences.
Finally, a couple of hours ago, he settled down into genuine rest,

which was a good sign. Sirius was actually a bit worried he was
going to have a stroke, or a heart attack, and just not make it through
the night.
The thing is, Sirius is just as antsy to get up and go as Marlene is,
though likely for very different reasons. He doubts she cares very
much about finding Regulus, but it's clear that she does not at all
appreciate staying in one place too long.
87
A Lesson
"Well, too fucking bad," Marlene declares sharply, marching over to

drop down in a crouch by Eli, leaning her sword up against the side
of her thigh. "If we keep lingering, they'll find some way to get us
moving, and I don't fancy waiting around to find out what else they
have up their sleeves." She reaches out with her free hand and
smacks Eli right across the face, not hard, just enough to jolt him
awake. "Hey, old man, time to get up and go. Come on, get a move
on."
"Blergh," Eli garbles out.
Marlene softens, just a tad. "Yeah, I know. I know it's rough, but we
need to go. I'll help you stand, come on."
Grumbling, Emmeline surges forward to help Marlene get Eli up. He

looks fucking awful, dead on his feet, hands shaking and still
sweating. Sirius grips his spear and keeps a watch around them
while Emmeline and Marlene make sure that Eli can walk. He's
speaking, but it's raspy and stuttered. He's moving, but it's slow and
stilted.
It takes a few minutes, but then they're on the move, and Eli keeps
waving people off. He doesn't want to be touched, and he grunts any
time someone gets too close to him. Likely due to pain and
withdrawals, he's grouchy and harsher. They leave him be, for the
most part. Emmeline walks beside him since, for some reason, she's
the one he doesn't mind being near him. Maybe because he doesn't
recognize her at all. Marlene was his tribute. Sirius... Well, he has the
same family
genes as his uncle Alphard, so Sirius is probably confusing for Eli,

especially with the hell his mind and body are suffering.
Sirius falls into step with Marlene, and he glances over at her with
his heart sinking to his feet. "Marlene?"
"Yeah?"
"You said you knew. How...?"
88
Marlene just looks at him, and Sirius feels his stomach fall out from
beneath him along with his heart. A lump forms in his throat, and he
wants so badly to stop and pull her into a hug, but he knows she
won't stand for it. Not here. Not like this. Not after all that she's been
through lately.
Sirius knows, too. He may not know to the degree that Eli is going
through it, but he's detoxed and suffered withdrawal as well. Many,
many times. He never wanted Marlene to get in that deep, and all he
can think about is the times he let Marlene drink because he knew
how hard being a mentor was, or all the times he caught the signs of
her turning to drinking as a crutch and dismissed them, because they
all drink when things get hard, and they all handle it, and it didn't
have to mean that Marlene was becoming dependent on it.
But she looks at him, and he knows she did. She looks at him, and
his chest aches, because he tried —he always tried so fucking
hard—to look out for her, to help her, and he failed. He fucked it up.
He didn't even fucking notice.
"Oh, fuck, Marlene," Sirius croaks, "I'm—I'm sorry. Shit, I—"
"Sirius," Marlene cuts in, "don't worry about it. Was it shit? Yeah. But
did I get through it? Yeah. I fucking pulled through, and I'm still
here. You're part of the reason I am, whether you realize it or not.
Let's leave it at that, okay?"
"You could have told me," Sirius whispers. "I would have helped
you, Marlene."
"You were one of the people I didn't want to know." Marlene clears
her throat and looks away. "Didn't want to disappoint you, I guess. I
don't know. I just... You were always trying, for me, and then I—"
She shakes her head, swallowing. "I did get help, though. Someone
really important to
me encouraged me to, and I was brave enough to actually do it. I'm

good now, yeah? Don't—I don't want you to treat me differently."
89
A Lesson
Sirius stares at her, stricken. "I wouldn't. Never. I swear it. I—well,
not many people know this, but I know, too. I needed help, too, and
there's no shame in it. I'd never be disappointed in you, okay? I'm
proud of you."
"I didn't know you..." Marlene trails off and looks at him, her lips
tipping down. He gives a tiny shrug and a small, sad smile. There's a
lot people don't know about him, things he could never reveal when
playing the role he did in the Hallow. Her gaze is soft. "Yeah, well,
I'm proud of you, too."
That's all that's said about it. That's all that needs to be said, between
them. He leans over and gently bumps his shoulder into hers, the
uninjured one, and they continue on.
~•~
"Hey, does everyone hear that?"
Regulus unfortunately hears that. And, by that, he means the

increased rustle of the hedges ahead of the group, so loud that
everyone has come to a sudden halt. The wall of green on either side
up ahead is shaking.
"Well," Rabastan says, "that can't be good."
"Thank you, Captain Obvious, as if that wasn't becoming

increasingly fucking clear," Alecto hisses, already backing up while
everyone joins her in doing the same.
The moment—literally the exact moment—that Regulus sees a pale,

clawed hand burst free from the hedge, he's turning and sprinting
without looking back. Fuck the rest of them, he knows what the hell
that is.
"Go, go, go!" Dixon roars.
Regulus doesn't need to be told that. He is gone. He's running as fast

as he ever has, possibly, not waiting on anyone else or caring where
they go. Not that they can go anywhere, really, because they're all
90
trapped in a long passage together. There was, at some point, a
different passage to turn into, but it seems to have disappeared on
the way back.
The rustle of the hedges grows more pronounced, shaking violently

on either side of him, then right up ahead. In front of him, hands
burst forth from each side, spilling out all the way from the top to the
ground, clawed fingers desperate to grab onto something. Regulus'
chokes out a harsh breath and dives forward through it.
A sword slices right beside him, sending various hands to the

ground, gushing blood, the scent of it thick in his nose. He shakes off
the harsh grip of one clawed hand on his arm, nails digging in,
swiveling his dagger to slam down into the wrist as he wrenches
himself free with a snarl.
He trips forward and skids in the dirt, scrambling to propel himself

around the corner that opens itself in front of him, the hedge
shuddering as it parts.
Regulus makes it through, still sprinting, still outrunning the hands

that continue to burst free from either side of him. He doesn't look
back, but he can hear the pounding of footsteps behind him, just one
pair, one person panting.
Regulus doesn't care who it is, or that the group just got split up. He
just keeps running, and he doesn't stop.
~•~ "What the fuck is that?" Marlene chokes out.
Sirius is already backing up, his heart racing as he watches the fog
spill out around a corner up ahead, a cloud of bright green pouring
out along the passage in front of them. He has no idea what that is,
but he doesn't doubt that it's bad news.
"Run!" Sirius orders sharply, then does just that himself, pivoting on
the spot and taking off. He can hear the others following, even Eli,
who is wheezing as he goes.
Sirius dives around the first corner he comes across, and he keeps
going, sucked into the lure of his
91
A Lesson
survival instincts where running is the only thing he knows. His ears
ring. He can feel his heart beat in his teeth, and he wants to bite,
chew, and taste just how badly he wants to live. He forgot this; he
forgot just how this feels, that knife's edge of the worst thing he's
ever experienced and the most exhilarated he's ever been.
You never truly do feel as alive as when death is breathing down

your neck.
Sirius turns, and he runs. He turns, and runs, and turns, and runs.
He goes and keeps going and feels like he's going nowhere,
convinced that there is something nipping at his heels, reaching for
his ankles, and one give in his stride will end with him on the
ground, then beneath it, in his grave.
The world has faded away, and everything else is lost. He doesn't
know where he is, where his allies are, or what he's actually running
from. He just feels, intrinsically, that he cannot give into the waiting
embrace of death that tries to yank him back by his collar, that
whispers like the wind against the shell of his ear.
I will have you, eventually, it says. I have everyone, eventually. Not

yet. Not yet. Not yet, not yet, not yet.
And so, Sirius runs, and he doesn't stop running until he takes a
corner and slams directly someone else, stumbling from the impact
of it until he almost tips. The crash brings the world into sharp focus,
and the first thing he hears is weeping.
Sirius inhales sharply when he gets his bearings enough to take in

Camilla right in front of him, one eye clawed out, blood pouring
down her cheek. There are deep gouges all over her face and neck, as
well as her arms and legs, and Sirius' stomach lurches when he
recognizes it.
"There were—all the hands, there were so many hands," Camilla

chokes out. "They—they kept clawing at me. They—"
"Okay, hey, okay," Sirius blurts out as she shifts like she's going to
rush past him. "No, you can't go that way. Trust me, it's not a good
92
idea. There's some kind of green fog, and I'd bet my life on it being
deadly, so not that way, okay?"
"We can't go back that way," Camilla sobs, gesturing shakily behind
her. "The hands. There's so
many fucking—"
Sirius reaches down to grab her hand, swallowing thickly as he looks

at her. One eye is fine, the other is a bloody mess. "I can see a place to
turn up here. Come on."
"The hands—"
"I promise, if there are hands, we won't go that way." Camilla's

shoulders hitch. "There's nowhere to go."
Seeing that Camilla isn't in the best of states at the moment, which is
fair, Sirius just keeps a firm grip on her hand and tugs her into a run.
He's lost everyone else, has no idea where they are, but he knows no
one has died. There's no cannon. It just seems that the maze is a
fucking minefield of horrors at this particular moment. Camilla is
right, though. There really is nowhere to go; they're all just rats in a
maze with no way out, guided from one nightmare to the next.
The running resumes, now with someone Sirius never really

expected to find himself with in the first place. Camilla is still crying,
even as she stumbles along behind him.
They sprint down one passage, then take a corner to run up the next.
There's an opening halfway down that Sirius tugs them into, only to
come to a screeching halt when hands proceed to burst forth from
the hedges in front of them. Camilla bumps into his back, then
screams.
For a second, Sirius stares at the hands and can't move, thinking of
Regulus, the river, the scars on his skin to this day. Camilla yanks at
the back of his shirt, pulling on him, and Sirius blinks as the world
tilts. He's there, and then—
93
A Lesson
Sirius blinks again to find himself running, Camilla' scream still

ringing in his ears. They're going in the opposite direction,
backtracking again. They're—
Sirius blinks as they stop and stumble back, watching a green fog
spill out from a corner up ahead, and—
Sirius blinks— Sirius blinks— Sirius—
"Oh no," Remus whispers. "No, no, no."
~•~
His eyes are locked on the screen, heart in his throat as he watches
that curtain fall in Sirius' eyes. A light flickering, and then it goes
out, and then he's gone. Blank. There, but not.
"What?" Pandora whines. "What is it? Remus, what—"
The thing is, Remus recognizes it. That fog. The shade of it. He
remembers it, even through his torture, what it looked like when it
came from a canister. It nearly killed him, and was that it? Was he
just a body in an experiment for the games? A mere step on the
sequence of events that would lead to this moment, where—what?
Other servants died to it. Were they trying to find the right formula
where it would cause pain, but not kill? Was Remus the success that
led to this?
"Sirius is—he has—there are times when he—when he just sort of—"
Remus swallows, the words catching in his throat, and he stares
helplessly as Camilla tugs frantically on Sirius' arm, trying to get him
to move again. Sirius doesn't.
"Why isn't he running?" Pandora asks desperately, fitfully, her eyes

glimmering with tears. She has her hands clasped tight together, legs
bouncing up and down with pure anxiety.
"He's not there," Remus croaks. Come back, he thinks, staring at

Sirius with wide eyes. Come back. You have to come back now, right
now, sweetheart, or you're going to—
94
The hedge next to Sirius abruptly parts, opening up into a new
passage, and Camilla proceeds to shove Sirius inside and dive in
after him just as the fog spills out closer and the hands burst free on
the other side of where they were just standing.
Remus exhales.
Sirius still isn't there, not really, but he starts running once he's in
motion, seemingly just because Camilla tugs on him. It's eerie
watching Sirius go through the motions of it, running with no
expression. He's not going to remember this, not this part, and
Remus wonders if that's a kindness.
"Oh, this is so bad. I feel sick," Pandora gasps out, her arm coming
up to cradle her stomach. "This is sick, Remus. It's always been sick,
but this—"
"I get it," Remus rasps, because he does.
No one inside that maze isn't going through it right now. All of them
are running for their lives. Each group is broken up to the point that
it's either people running in pairs, or people running alone. Death is
surrounding them on all sides, every single one of them. They all just
want to survive.
That's all they're trying to do.
Survive.
Remus continues to watch Sirius, waiting desperately for him to

come back to himself, needing to see it, to be sure. It's not the first
time Sirius has slipped away. Remus saw him do it briefly during the
highlight reel for last night, after Marlene poked him awake with a
stick and he came up swinging. It hadn't lasted too long, and he
wasn't in immediate peril, so it wasn't as concerning as this is.
It doesn't take that long for Sirius to come back this time either,
thankfully. Remus watches it happen, watches him give a harsh blink
and stumble a bit in surprise to find himself running, watches him
95
A Lesson
essentially shake it off with a grimace and just—keep running. Of

course he does.
It's not like he can do anything else.
Pandora makes a small, muffled noise of fear. "Remus, they can't all
run forever, but—but I don't think this is really something any of
them can fight. They have no chance, and it's not fair. It's—it's
wrong."
"I know," Remus says softly. "Maybe that's the point." ~•~
The room is dead silent, packed with so much tension that no one
even seems to be breathing. James stands next to Frank, eyes wide as
he flicks gaze between the screen and the map displaying the
positions of all the tributes.
"This is about to get messy," Frank whispers.
"It's already a mess," James croaks.
It is. It's such a fucking mess in that arena right now, for pretty much
everyone. Majesty is alone, running from hands. Lester is alone,
running from fog. Bellatrix and Narcissa got split up running from
both. Marlene is alone with a broken arm, running for her fucking
life. Augusta and Alice are running together, while Alecto is alone,
just like Dixon is. Eli and Emmeline are together, an unlikely pair the
same way Sirius and Camilla, Rabastan and Asher, and Regulus and
Yaxley are— though, Regulus doesn't seem to even realize that
Yaxley is running behind him, and since it's the fucking hands
they're running from, James isn't surprised by this at all.
They're all so caught up in the midst of escaping external threats that

no one seems to care to turn on each other. It reminds James
viscerally of the moment he and Regulus teamed up with Axus,
Bernice, and Peter to take down the Hallow-made spider wearing
Irene's face and torso. Survival is a strong motivator; it can rip
people apart, and it can bring them together. James knows this. He's
experienced both.
96
Again, James' eyes flick to the map.
The layout of the maze is intricate. It's a very large square, with one
open space in the middle where everyone started, which contained
weapons and a few bags of supplies. There are three others that
contain food and more supplies, and no one has found those yet.
One of them has a shelter with two crates containing food and
various supplies, but it's scarce overall. The other two just have bags
and two small platforms with a spread of the bare minimum when it
comes to nutrition. And that's it. No animals to kill and cook, no
streams to stumble across, no caves or trees to hide in.
It's like every tribute's worst nightmare, quite frankly. James hates
the arena, purely because of how big of a mind-fuck it is. It only
further snatches any sense of security from those inside it;
everything they counted on is just—gone. The environment doesn't
cater to anyone in any capacity.
That's not even counting that the fucking walls of the maze move.
They shift and change whenever and wherever they like. They open
up in certain places, then close in others. One passage will turn into a
loop with no way out. James watched Majesty walk in a fucking
circle for an hour straight.
James remembers how his mum said, once, that the games used to be
just people thrown into a field and told to kill each other, and how
no one could truly glamorize that. He's finding that this arena feels
the same way, except worse, because the people within are thrown in
to be tormented and toyed with all the while. It's sickening to watch.
The worst part is, James knows that there are some people out there
who are actually enjoying it. People who wave off the tributes'
nightmares with a roll of their eyes; people who get excited for the
fights and thrive on the violence; people who always have, and still
do, live for all that the hunger games stands for, no matter the arena,
and—to them—the worse it is for those inside, the better it is for
them watching.
97
A Lesson
They see these real people, and they have no empathy, none
whatsoever. James could understand if it was fake, if these were paid
actors and no one was actually set out to be hurt, because that's not
reality. That's not real. That's just characters that don't actually exist,
and no one is actually being harmed. But this? It's real. These are real
people dying; these are real people suffering. How can anyone watch
that and enjoy it?
It's like the difference between a secret fantasy and what someone is
actually willing to do. James, for example. He has had dreams of
Regulus, ah, using his dagger during...intimate moments, but is that
something he'd actually do?
Well...
Okay, bad example.
Maybe this doesn't need a comparison. Maybe it should be simple

enough to understand on its own. Maybe the fact that people—real,
live people—are being tormented and killed, or forced to kill, is
distressing enough by itself. Or it should be. James is pretty sure it's
normal to find that
distressing, which means everyone else needs to get a fucking grip.
The amount of people who find it distressing in the Hallow is on the

rise, and James thinks he can see why. It's like tributes aren't really
people to them, and they can only achieve the label of human by
becoming a Victor, inviting a sense of realism to their lives just by
being the one to live, and suddenly they are real to these people.
So, now, in the eyes of many Hallows, they're actually watching real
people, because these are all Victors; they've already achieved
humanity. It's harder for them to see it, and enjoy it, now that they've
applied this sense of reality to it.
You look at a body and just see a body, and it doesn't really matter
what happens to it because it is not your own, or someone's that you
love. But...when you look at a body and see the soul within, too, you
can't unsee it.
98
James remembers coming on the train a year ago, waving out at
beaming faces, flashing smiles at those who screamed and cheered at
him in pure delight.
"How can you stand yourself, doing that?" Regulus had asked.
"They don't know," James had replied, still smiling. "Just as we've
been conditioned, so have they,
Regulus. It's not really their fault, if you think about it. They didn't
make the games."
"They watch them. They love them."
"Yes, just as they were taught to. Just as we watch them. Just as we
were taught to dread them."
James remembers as if it was yesterday, and some part of him that

struggles with time so much isn't entirely sure that it wasn't. His
eyebrows scrunch together as he watches the screen. Slowly, he tilts
his head.
Huh.
He feels the thought take shape in his mind, as farfetched and out of
bounds as it seems, but it—
fits. Minerva McGonagall is a strict professor, it turns out, and she

appears to be teaching everyone who was conditioned to love the
games to dread them instead. No one will be able to watch and
continue on not knowing, not anymore. Now, why would she do
that?
Is she doing it on purpose?
James turns that over in his mind for a bit, then ultimately lets it go,
because no matter what lesson these people need to learn, he doesn't
at all appreciate his best friend and the man he loves being used in
the demonstration.
99
A Lesson
~•~
Regulus takes a corner and is instantly relieved to see a complete

lack of hands, and he slows a little as he goes further in and finds the
hedges calm. His chest is heaving, lungs on fire, and he just —he
needs a second. Just one second.
Fuck.
Carefully, Regulus draws to a halt and raises both hands to brace on

his head as he struggles to regulate his breathing, keeping a wary
eye on the hedges, but no hands break free. He turns, slowly, and
watches Yaxley jog to halt behind him. The idiot bends over and
braces his hands on his knees, still gripping his short-spear, gasping
for air.
"What," Yaxley wheezes, "the fuck?"
Okay, that's a fair assessment, actually, but Regulus dislikes Yaxley

enough that he doesn't bother to agree or respond. He just stands
there and feels his racing heart slowly start to calm.
After a bit, Yaxley straights up and tilts his head back as he blows
out a deep breath. Regulus stares at him, lowering his arms, his
dagger gripped in one hand. Yaxley drops his head forward and
looks at him. They're both very still, suddenly.
Regulus' fingers twitch around his dagger. He could...
It'd be simple, really. Just one flick, and the blade would bury into
Yaxley's fucking skull. Regulus could lie again, to the others, lie and
say that Yaxley was ripped apart by the hands. He could describe it
in detail, because he knows what it feels like. He could make it
believable.
It's one less person to deal with, and they're all going to have to die
anyway. Regulus wouldn't be defending himself, though. He would
be killing just to kill, and he's never... He hasn't actually done that
before. It was never about taking someone's life when he was taking
lives. The closest he ever came to that was Irene, but that had been
100
mercy. A kindness, some would say. It still haunts Regulus, despite
that.
But Thorfinn... He killed Thorfinn, not out of self-defense or

kindness or even an accident.
Murder is murder, and Regulus doesn't feel good about it, any of it,
but his feelings on killing Thorfinn are very similar to his feelings on
killing Quinn. He didn't particularly want to kill them; he just...did,
as a response, without really thinking about it beforehand. An
instinct, really. Quinn threw her spear at Evan, so Regulus threw his
dagger at her. Thorfinn said he'd have to be killed to be stopped
from going after Sirius, even though Regulus explicitly told him
what he'd do about that, and so Regulus killed him. Newton's third
law: for every action in nature there is an equal and opposite
reaction.
But, to kill Yaxley now, that would be murder for murder's sake.
Well, the laws of that are complex here, in the arena, when murder is
forced upon people. However, Regulus could simply not kill Yaxley,
at this moment, because Yaxley has done nothing to warrant it, other
than be someone Regulus doesn't like. He hasn't threatened Sirius
explicitly; he hasn't tried to attack Regulus; he hasn't done anything,
really.
Before Regulus can decide either way—because, internally, he is

genuinely debating it—the sound of approaching steps from behind
snatches his attention, along with Yaxley's. They get maybe five
seconds to brace themselves, and then two people are barreling
around the corner and colliding directly into them so hard they all go
tumbling to the ground.
Regulus rolls with the motion, coughing harshly as he shoves

himself back and braces one knee on the ground. When he lifts his
head, the first thing Regulus sees is his brother.
The second thing he sees is Sirius' fist, just the flash of it, just seconds
before it collides with the side of his face.
Well, yeah, okay.
101
A Lesson
Fair's fair.
102
4
BROTHER
______
The thing is, Sirius doesn't even mean to hit him.
Now, don't get him wrong, he had fully intended to smack the fuck
out of Regulus the moment he got in range, purely just to get him
back for punching him and stealing his supplies. He's even agitated,
a bit, that this hit isn't what that's about.
But, really, Sirius just reacts on instinct. He slams into someone, is

shoved, and naturally just lashes out with his fist before he even
thinks about it. He's coming down from the rush of running for his
life, then unexpectedly thrown off his feet, and then he's punching
his little brother in the face before he even realizes what's happening
at all.
Regulus eats it. He takes the hit like he was waiting for it.
Slowly, Regulus rolls his head back up, cheek red from where Sirius
hit him, and then he smiles. It's not a nice smile at all, and it's
followed by a low, raspy laugh. "Oh. Ha. Yeah."
And then he's launching off the ground to punch Sirius so hard that
he stumbles back with a grunt. Before he can even get his balance,
Regulus is grabbing him by the front of his shirt and dragging him
around to shove him down to the ground. Regulus hits him again,
and Sirius hits him right back, and oh shit, they're having an all-out
brawl.
103
Brother
It's mean. It's nails and hair-pulling and brutal in the way only
siblings can be. In mere seconds, they've both made each other bleed,
and they don't seem inclined to stop there.
Sirius huffs as he kicks out and slams his boot into Regulus' leg,
earning a low hiss of pain, and he uses the space to scramble
backwards along the ground. Again, he lifts his leg and kicks once
more, his boot colliding with Regulus' chest so hard that he wheezes
as he goes sailing back, hitting the ground with a thud and a low
groan.
Sirius drags himself to his feet, panting, then spits out blood at his
feet as he scowls at Regulus, who is slowly pushing himself up to
stand, his movements full of strain.
A grunt from the side steals both of their focus, and they swivel at
the same time to see Yaxley and Camilla fighting. Despite Camilla's
injuries, she's swinging her club at Yaxley's head with frightening
precision.
Sirius doesn't even think about it; he just immediately dives into the
fray, reaching out to snag Yaxley by the back of his shirt and wrench
him around. Yaxley stumbles, then slams his elbow down into Sirius'
arm to get free. He trips forward and knocks into Regulus, who he
promptly moves to stand behind, as if Regulus is going to protect
him.
Regulus' expression falls flat immediately. He looks absolutely

unamused by this turn of events.
"Well?" Yaxley demands, nudging Regulus in the back. "Go on,

Regulus, kill him."
Sirius blinks, then he busts out laughing. He nearly drops his spear
from the way laughter flows through him and just seems to jump
free from his mouth. "Kill—wait, kill? Who, me? Regulus? Regulus
kill me? How stupid are you, Yaxley? He's not going to kill me. I'm
his brother, idiot."
104
"You know, Black, that's your problem," Yaxley tells him with a sneer.
"You're so fucking
arrogant."
"This isn't arrogance. This is fact," Sirius argues. "I don't know where
you get off on treating him like some sort of ally—"
This time, Yaxley is the one who laughs. His eyes light up, and he
shakes his head. "Oh? Oh, this is just too good. You mean you don't
know? You don't even know, do you? Goodness, Regulus, did you
not tell him?"
Slowly, Sirius' eyes crawl to Regulus, who holds his gaze steadily,
and it's like the world falls out from beneath Sirius' feet for a
moment. He feels suspended here, completely weightless as
everything gives way around him, and he's left hanging in the
balance as everything he believes— everything he knows—is called
into question.
Because of that look on Regulus' face. Because of that look in

Regulus' eyes. Because, even after all this time, Regulus is still
looking right at him the same way he did the moment he shut down
at the reaping. Even here, in the arena, Regulus is lost to him. Sirius
feels a lump form in his throat.
"No," Sirius rasps, his chest pulsing with this horrible, harsh pain
that makes breathing difficult, and in this moment, he wishes James
were here to sync his breathing to.
"Yes," Yaxley says with relish, gleeful.
"No," Sirius repeats in a croak, just looking at Regulus and waiting,

still waiting, for it all to become clear, because surely Regulus
wouldn't. He wouldn't. Not when—not when Sirius is the main
target. "You're—no, you're not, Reggie. You're not."
105
Brother
Regulus is blank-faced when he says, blandly, "What? Not a death

eater? Is that what you think?"
"Of course that's what I think, because you're not," Sirius bursts out,
itchy all over and desperate, his heart beating hard and fast in his
chest. "You—you wouldn't be, because they want me dead, and you
could have just stayed with me. So, you wouldn't. You're not. You
wouldn't do that to me."
"Oh, but that's exactly what I did," Regulus says softly, and Sirius
inhales sharply, freezing in place. Regulus' eyes flash, glinting like
blades. "I joined them the moment Bella offered. I jumped at the
chance, even. So, who's the idiot, Sirius? Because, if you ask me, it's
you."
Sirius holds his breath for a long moment, staring at him, and then
he exhales and slowly narrows his eyes. "So, you want to kill me, is
that it? You think you actually can?"
"Why wouldn't he be able to?" Yaxley interjects, lips curling into a

smirk. "You wouldn't be his first kill. I mean, he already killed Coen,
so he's clearly capable."
"Uh," Camilla says, "that's bullshit."
"No one asked you," Regulus snaps, tossing her a harsh glare.
Camilla scoffs, looking offended. "Oh, hell no. I did not spend nearly
a decade of my life trying to kill that bastard for some little entitled
bitch of a brat to try and take the credit. Fuck that and fuck you. I
killed Coen. That was me."
"I understand it must have been difficult for you, not getting to kill
him," Regulus says calmly, "but creating a false narrative in your
head to cope isn't actually reality. It's also not healthy. Perhaps you
should seek help."
106
"Camilla," Sirius says warningly, because he can see her shoulders
tense as she flexes her fingers around her club.
"You lying snake," Camilla snarls, then proceeds to launch herself

forward right at Regulus.
All hell breaks loose immediately. Camilla and Regulus get into a
tussle, and Sirius surges forward to—well, he isn't really sure, at this
point, still rather stuck in protect Regulus mode. It's not a mode he's
sure he can come out of, honestly.
Yaxley takes the opportunity to sucker punch Sirius while he's

distracted, and Sirius releases a low growl of frustration as he whips
around towards him, wild-eyed and furious. Yaxley's eyes go round
and big with alarm, and he frantically tries to drive his short-spear
forward, but Sirius swings his own spear in an arc to knock the aim
to the side.
There's the clatter of spear handle against spear handle, and Sirius
shoves up with a grunt to yank the short-spear from Yaxley's hand. It
goes flying and skids along the ground. A short yelp escapes Yaxley
as Sirius snatches him forward by the collar, then proceeds to
headbutt him in the face.
Yaxley curses and shoves Sirius back, stumbling forward into him
and trying to wrestle the spear from him. Sirius trips backwards
until he collides into something—no, someone. Ironically, he finds
himself pressed back-to-back with Regulus, who is trying to fight off
Camilla.
"You're a fucking death eater?!" Sirius snarls as he dodges Yaxley's

elbow.
"Yeah, it doesn't feel good, does it?!" Regulus snarls back, ducking to
the side just as Camilla's
club comes swinging past Sirius' arm, where Regulus' head just was.
107
Brother
"How is this even comparable, you little shit?!" Sirius bellows,

swinging his knee up to slam it between Yaxley's legs, making him
choke and bend over with a low moan of pain. "I fucking
volunteered for you! This—you're literally contributing to have me
killed, Regulus! That's not even close to the same thing! That's, like,
the opposite thing!"
"Betrayal is betrayal is betrayal!" Regulus shouts, and he leans back

into Sirius harshly as he kicks out with his leg. Sirius can hear
Camilla's gasp as the kick lands.
"Betrayal?! You fucking dramatic little—"
"Me?! I'm dramatic?! You're dr—"
"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Sirius bursts out, officially done with this shit,
reaching the end of his rope.
Okay, no more playing around. Sirius surges forward and slams the
heel of his hand into Yaxley's nose, hooking his foot around his ankle
and sweeping. Yaxley hits the ground with a choked noise, and he
doesn't have enough time to get his breath back before Sirius swivels
his spear up and drives it down into his chest. It's quick, a strike that
lands fast and hard enough that Yaxley curls up from the force of it,
blood splattering against his lips when he coughs.
Sirius yanks the spear out harshly, the open wound of Yaxley's chest
gushing immediately. Yaxley rasps and scrabbles at his chest,
stunned as the light slowly dims in his eyes, bleeding out. He tries to
say something, but Sirius does not care what he has to say. He turns
around to see Regulus shoving Camilla back, who instantly lifts her
club to swing it at his head. He ducks at the same time that Sirius
jerks forward and launches his spear at her with ruthless precision.
The spear embeds itself right in Camilla's chest, landing so hard that
her feet come off the ground as she sails back before she drops with a
choked noise, then goes still.
108
A cannon. That'd be Yaxley.
A beat.
Another cannon. That'd be Camilla.
Regulus heaves out a harsh breath, then turns to face him, and they
glare at each other in thick silence.
"Did you even kill Coen?" Sirius snaps.
"No," Regulus admits with no shame whatsoever.
Sirius grinds his teeth. "Regulus Arcturus Black, I do not know what
has gotten into you—"
"Oh, well, don't you sound just like Mother?" Regulus hisses, and
Sirius rears back in offense. Regulus curls his lip in distaste and
mocks, "Sirius Orion Black, what has gotten into you? We didn't raise
you this way. Blah, blah, fucking blah. That's what you sound like, I
hope you know. You sound stupid."
"You sound stupid," Sirius corrects. "You are stupid. What the hell
were you thinking, being allies with the death eaters? Reggie, you
can't trust them."
"But I can trust you?" Regulus retorts.
"Yes! Fucking obviously!" Sirius' eyes bulge as he flings his arms out.
"Are you mental?! You're my little brother!"
Regulus only seems to get angrier. "No, but I did trust you, Sirius! I
fucking trusted you, and what did you do? You ruined it. You ruined
everything."
"Regulus," Sirius grits out, "if you don't start using your mind, I'm
going to think you've lost it."
109
Brother
"You are the worst person in this world. You are the worst fucking
brother anyone could have," Regulus hisses, marching forward and
reaching out to shove Sirius in the chest. "You promised. You
promised me—"
"Yeah, well, I lied," Sirius cuts in coldly, swatting Regulus hands

away with a scowl. "Didn't you do the same? What room do you
have to judge me when you—"
"It's different!" Regulus argues furiously, eyes blazing, face a furious

red. A grown man acting like a fucking child. Sirius wants to grab
him and shake him. "I was going to lose James anyway, don't you get
it?! I never even really got to have him! But you—I got you back. I
had you back, and you took that from me. You weren't—you
promised you wouldn't do that. How could you do that, after I—I
begged you not to? And for what? Me? You think you did it for me?
No, you did it for you. You tossed me aside, and it's not even the first
time!"
"Do you realize how childish you sound?" Sirius asks sharply, staring
him down. "You sound like a child throwing a fit because you didn't
get your way. Grow up, Regulus."
"You won't let me!" Regulus roars, and Sirius flinches in pure
surprise, his eyes widening. "You won't fucking let me. This is what
you made me. Disappointed by your own design? You have no one
to blame but yourself, because you won't respect me like an adult,
because you look at me and see your little brother like I'm still a kid
you have to take care of, which is ironic, because you didn't even do
that right."
Sirius is not prepared for how much those words hurt. They sting. A
lot. Oh, boy, do they sting. He —he tried really hard to take care of
Regulus, he truly did, but...
Swallowing, Sirius hoarsely whispers, "I was a kid, too."
"Yes, I know," Regulus says, his volume dropping and his voice
going cold. His eyes are colder. "The one who didn't grow up is you,
Sirius, not me. You're still that kid trying to protect me at every turn,
110
but I got older, and I learned to take care of myself, and I don't need
you anymore."
"Shut up," Sirius says reflexively, his mouth dry, heart thundering
hard in his chest. You do, he thinks desperately. You do need me.
You'll always need me.
"You cannot even begin to imagine how much I hate you," Regulus
informs him, his voice clipped. "How much I've always hated you .
The most freeing parts of my life were the ones you weren't involved
in."
"Shut up," Sirius repeats, a loud ringing in his ears.
"What I regret most isn't that you broke your promise, Sirius,"
Regulus continues. "It's that I wasted
time caring enough to ask for a promise from you at all."
Sirius squeezes his eyes shut, trying to think, needing to think. It's
difficult, very difficult, to push past the spiraling thoughts in his
head to try and be rational. Regulus' words cut into him more
deeply, more ruthlessly, than his dagger ever could.
"And I don't anymore," Regulus presses on. "Care, that is. It's
liberating, honestly. Seeing who you are, truly, after being fooled into
thinking you could ever be worth my effort. See, you're stifling.
You're selfish. You're every single thing Mother and Father ever said
about you. I didn't understand then, but I get it now, what they saw
when they looked at you, and why they were so fucking
disappointed."
No.
No, it's not right.
No, it just doesn't fit.
111
Brother
Sirius' mind just—doesn't accept it. Not this. Not from his little
brother. His little brother. Always his little brother.
Slowly, Sirius peels his eyes open and stares at Regulus, and really,
it's the mention of their parents that truly solidifies it for Sirius.
Because all he can think about is how, after their parents died, it was
Regulus who still loved them. Even after everything they'd put
him—both of them—through, Regulus still fucking loved them so
much that he couldn't get out of bed for days after they died, and
still, even now, misses them when he barely has anything to miss.
"Oh, you're clever," Sirius breathes out, and Regulus blinks, visibly
startled. "You—okay, I don't give you enough credit, I can see that.
You little genius. I mean, you're still a prick, just to be clear, but
that—that almost worked."
Regulus stares at him, then flatly says, "What?"
"You almost had me going," Sirius admits with a snort, shaking his
head as he lazily reaches out to slap the dagger out of Regulus' hand,
watching it land on the ground before he broadens his stance.
"Alright, Mr. Death Eater. Give it a go."
"Give...it...a...go," Regulus repeats slowly.
Sirius' lips twitch, and he arches an eyebrow. "Yeah, you're a death

eater, right? You hate me, want me dead, all that. So, give it a go."
Regulus just stares at him some more, and Sirius shakes out his
hands, rolls his head on his neck, and bounces in place. He grins.
"Come on, Reggie, haven't you ever wondered who's better between
me and you?"
"No," Regulus says shortly. "I know that already." "Ah, but what if
you're wrong?" Sirius teases. Regulus sighs. "I'm not."
With that, Regulus shifts forward, and Sirius meets him halfway;
hand to hand and hit for hit; two stars colliding in the middle of the
112
day while the brightest laughs like they're not in the midst of
burning themselves up.
It's honestly a bit fun, despite everything. The rush of it has Sirius'
blood pumping, his whole world narrowing down to blocking every
single hit Regulus throws at him. He dodges, leans out of the way,
dances out of range; still laughing; utterly breathless as keeps
himself out of reach, watching Regulus try desperately to close the
distance.
Perhaps that's a bit messed up, but Sirius can't help but be
ridiculously warmed by it. Regulus— that's the thing with him,
really. His actions have always spoken for him, no matter what
words left his mouth. Regulus can say anything he likes to imply he
despises Sirius, and yet, here he is, doing everything in his power
just to touch him. To have him again.
"Oh, you'll want to stop leaving yourself open here," Sirius

announces, swatting Regulus in the side gently. He busts out
laughing and jerks back when Regulus tries to slam his fist into the
side of Sirius' face, only narrowly missing. "Your form is good, really,
but you're getting sloppy."
"Fuck off," Regulus snarls, then tries to hit him again.
Sirius easily pushes his arm aside and says, warmly, "You know, I'll
bet you killed a death eater,
didn't you? Not Coen, you said, so... Thorfinn? Did you kill Rowle,
Reggie?"
"So?" Regulus snaps, abruptly pausing in place to squint at him, his

chest heaving.
"Doesn't make for a very good ally," Sirius points out, amused.
"He provoked me," Regulus mutters. "Can't help that. It's not a
reflection of my loyalties."
113
Brother
"Mhm," Sirius hums skeptically. "Sure it's not."
Regulus' lips flatten out. "Just what are you insinuating?"
"Tired yet? Need a break?" Sirius asks with a grin, raising his
eyebrows. "If you have to catch your breath—"
Sirius yelps and ducks hastily when Regulus' hand darts out. He's
fast. Always has been, really. Sirius can't say who's faster between
them, because he suspects it depends on the circumstances and just
what they're trying to prove. At the moment, Regulus has something
to prove, but bully for him, because Sirius isn't buying it.
There's another round of Regulus repeatedly trying to beat the

ever-loving shit out of him, and Sirius repeatedly not letting him do
so. It's a fun round. Sirius wins again, and he's laughing by the end,
when Regulus jerks away with a low sound of frustration. He
stomps off, utterly furious, then paces back towards Sirius, looking
like he's out for blood.
"Fight back!" Regulus snaps, looking so pent up and rattling with so

much rage that it's sort of just —sad. "I didn't take you for a fucking
coward. Of all the things you've been, I can at least say you've never
been that. What's this, then?!"
"I don't have to fight you," Sirius says simply. "I can beat you without
ever laying a hand on you. I'm better, Reggie. I just am, and that's
okay. I had to be, for you. I had to be, for this. So, I am, and you can
take your time coming to terms with that; you really have some
things to work through—"
"You absolute bastard," Regulus hisses, swinging out with his fist
again, which Sirius artfully dodges.
Sirius sighs wistfully. "Oh, if only. But no, sadly, I am our parents'
son. Their eldest. Less sadly, your big brother."
"I wish you weren't," Regulus spits out.
114
"Liar," Sirius replies, swatting Regulus upside the head and kicking
his feet further apart. "You're not staying steady in your balance.
Think about your center of gravity, yeah? If you stand like that,
instead of this, you'll be easy to take down."
"Stop it! Just—fucking stop," Regulus declares, smacking at Sirius'

hands and glaring at him. He takes a step back, gaze calculating and
sharp. "You're not going to fight me."
"No," Sirius says. "I'm not."
Regulus clenches his jaw. "Why?"
"Because I know you," Sirius tells him simply. "You're mad, and you
want to lash out, but you don't really want to hurt me. You couldn't
kill me if you tried, not even if I gave you the chance. So, sure, you're
a death eater. You're a death eater because you wanted to get back at
me, since you're a mean, miserable little shit. You're also a death
eater to make sure none of the others lay a hand on me. Let me
guess, you told them only you could kill me? Something like that,
yeah?"
"Oh, is that what you think?" Regulus blinks at him, and it's like all
of his anger just—falls away. Before, he was a shattered window that
let the storm from within spill out; now, just like that, he's boarded
the window up, and everything is still from the inside out. "Has it
ever crossed your mind to think that I joined the death eaters
because I agree with them?"
Sirius smacks his teeth. "Oh, please. Give it up, Regulus. I've got you
all figured out, and you can't fool me. You just can't."
"You've fooled yourself. I didn't even have to do anything; that's how

much of an idiot you are," Regulus says. "You think I'm trying to
protect you, really? That's more your thing than mine, isn't it?"
"You just do it differently," Sirius mutters. "Dramatically, to be more

clear. Besides, you're angry with me. Of course you want to be a
prick about the whole thing."
115
Brother
Regulus scoffs. "For fuck's sake, Sirius, you're clinging. Do you

realize that? You're so desperate to believe I'd never hurt you that
you're forming lies to cope with it. I didn't join the death eaters to
protect you, you fucking idiot."
"And what about James?" Sirius asks bluntly, and Regulus goes very
still. Sirius hums. "Yeah. He's watching right now, you know.
Watching us both. Are you really just alright with, what, killing me
right in front of him? You planned to?"
"James..." Regulus trails off, expression twitching, and then his face
seems to turn to stone. "Everything I do, I do for James, and for me,
and for us. He knows that. I told him that, and he'll understand that,
when the time comes."
Sirius heaves a sigh. "You know James. You know him, Regulus. You
know he'd never recover from it, and whatever you'd do to me,
you'd never do that to him."
"You underestimate how much he loves me."
"No, you do, generally. I know how much he loves you. And I know
you don't even fully realize it, because you don't know how to accept
it, so I know you're not using that as an excuse to do whatever you're
pretending you're trying to do in here."
"Okay," Regulus murmurs, "then you underestimate just how much I

love him."
"I—" Sirius pauses, faltering, his mind skipping like a record

bumped off the track. He can't help it, that insidious thought that, in
his desperation to make it back to James, Regulus would cling to his
anger at Sirius just to cope, let it twist into hatred so he could let
Sirius die and not feel just how much it hurts. Regulus would do
that. He's a messy, complex man thrown into impossible situations
and wrestling with feelings he doesn't know how to handle. Sirius
hesitates for a long beat, then shakes it off. "No, I'm not buying that
either."
116
"You really want to believe in me that badly?" Regulus asks.
"I do believe in you," Sirius insists, like a challenge, just daring

Regulus to prove him wrong, because he can't. He can't trick Sirius,
can't sway Sirius, can't change Sirius' mind. "There is nothing in this
world that you can say or do that will change that, Reggie. You're my
brother. I love you. That's what it is, that's what it's always been, and
that's what it will forever be."
Regulus doesn't crack. He doesn't thaw. He remains unmoved and

cold. With a sharp nod, he turns on his heel and dips down to snatch
the dagger out of the ground. He grips it tight, then stands, pivots,
and moves right for Sirius.
"That's your mistake," Regulus announces, and then he's flinging

himself forward, and it's— different.
It's immediately different than before.
Sirius can feel the shift, somehow. Regulus is different when he's
fighting with a dagger, for one thing. Deadlier. Sharper, like he's
becoming a part of the blade. Colder, faster, more ruthless. He's also
just different now from moments before, as if he's done letting
emotion take the lead.
It's harder, then, to block and dodge. Sirius does, but he's not
laughing anymore, because he has to focus. He can't miss one move,
one shift of Regulus' body, one flash of the dagger. If he does— well,
if he does, Regulus is going to cut him.
It's that simple. It's not Sirius just letting Regulus blow off steam, not
now. It's Sirius actively defending himself, because if he doesn't, he's
going to get hurt. Possibly very hurt.
Sirius' survival instincts rear up within him, and when Regulus darts
his hand out, Sirius catches his wrist and twists. He's trying to
disarm him, get the dagger out of the equation, but Regulus—
stubborn as he is—refuses to let it go. What he does, instead, is flip
the dagger in his bent hand and
117
Brother
slices.
Sirius lets him go with a curse, jerking back in disbelief, utterly

astonished by the sight of the cut on his forearm where Regulus got
him. Blood drips down in a small stream, a tiny crimson river that
flows onto the ground.
It doesn't even hurt that much. It's not very deep, and Sirius has had
worse, but it's disorienting purely because it's Regulus who has done
it. He looks up with a reprimand on his tongue, only to inhale
sharply when he sees Regulus still coming.
Sirius reacts without meaning to, yet again. He catches Regulus'

hand with the dagger, then swings out with his free hand to punch
Regulus right in the face. Regulus grunts, curses, and tries to correct
where Sirius just threw him off course. Sirius doesn't let him, doesn't
even give him time, just yanks on his wrist and gets an arm around
Regulus' throat. Easily, swiftly, Sirius jerks Regulus around and
brings his arms up to secure him in a headlock.
"Fucking quit it, you little shit," Sirius hisses in his ear. "This isn't
going to work. You're just pissing me off."
Regulus doesn't respond outside of a snarl, and then he throws his

elbow back into Sirius' chest hard. Sirius—stubborn as he is—doesn't
let go. Regulus shifts, throwing his elbow back again, then reaches
back to fist Sirius by the back of his shirt as he launches himself
forward, bending in half and fully tossing Sirius right over him.
Sirius feels the world tilt in a swirling rush, and then he lands flat on
his back with his breath punching out of his lungs. He wheezes for a
second, blinking rapidly, then rolls out of the way when Regulus
tries to bury his dagger in his shoulder.
With a grunt, Sirius scrambles to his feet and kicks out before
Regulus can stand up. His boot collides into Regulus' cheek so hard
that his head snaps to the side, a mark left in the shape of the tread of
Sirius' boot, stark and dirty against flushed skin. It takes genuine
118
effort for Sirius not kick him in the face again, then just stomp his
fucking head into the ground. Anyone else, and their head would
break open under his boot like a melon.
"Done throwing a tantrum yet?" Sirius grits out as Regulus rolls his
jaw, then eases to his feet. "Oh, is that what you think this is?"
Regulus asks mockingly, tilting his head. "You've really
convinced yourself, haven't you? That I wouldn't betray you. That I

wouldn't kill you."
"You won't," Sirius declares. "You can hurt me, because I hurt you,
but you won't cross a line. You can't, so just give up. Let it go,
Reggie. I'm here. We're here, and it's done. Let's just fucking hug it
out and get through this together."
"Only one of us can make it home," Regulus tells him.
Sirius softens, helplessly. "I know, and that's you. It's you, and I
know you know that. I know you know I'll make sure you get home,
and it hurts, it scares you, but giving into anger isn't going to help.
It's only going to make it worse when I'm gone."
"I'm not going to be hurt at all," Regulus states, and he sounds like he
means it. He looks like he means it. "I'm going to be entirely at peace
when this is all over."
"Stop it," Sirius whispers. "Just stop. Don't you get it? You can't prove
something I already know isn't real."
Regulus doesn't move, doesn't break his gaze, doesn't do anything

for a long moment—and then, calmly, he says, "Are you willing to
bet your life on that?"
"Yes," Sirius says firmly, then holds his arms out and leaves himself
an open target. All Regulus has to do is throw his dagger, and that'll
be it. He doesn't.
119
Brother
"Are you willing to bet someone else's life on that?" Regulus asks
quietly, holding his gaze. "Your moon's, perhaps."
Sirius freezes. All of his muscles lock up as his heart starts beating
hard and fast in his chest. "Regulus—"
"I know your moon, don't I, Sirius?" Regulus says, staring him down.
"Oh, that would hurt, wouldn't it? That'd make you give up
altogether, if I just so happened to say their name."
"Shut the fuck up," Sirius bursts out, frantic and ferocious in a
heartbeat, feeling wild and untamed
and pushed to the brink just that quickly, just that easily, because it's
Remus. It's Remus, and Sirius can't be rational about Remus.
"Their life would be ruined the moment they were connected back to
you," Regulus murmurs. "Because that's what you do. You ruin
things. Why don't I share with the world just how easily you ruined
the moon? A name. That's all it'll take."
"Don't you fucking dare," Sirius hisses, stepping forward and

hearing his blood rush in his ears, instincts going haywire,
everything thrown off balance by the threat. If Regulus says Remus'
name, that's it. Remus is dead. He—he wouldn't do that, right?
Remus is his friend. So, why does he look like that? Why is Sirius so
scared? "Shut up. Stop. You wouldn't."
"No?" Regulus says softly, never breaking his gaze, never backing
down. His mouth opens, slowly, lips shaping around the very first
syllable, "R—"
Sirius doesn't let him finish. Doesn't even give him the chance. In
seconds, he has Regulus flat on his back on the ground, hitting him
once, twice, a third time.
"Shut the fuck up!" Sirius roars, shaking all over as he leans over
Regulus and hovers his fist in threat.
120
Regulus coughs, then slurs, "R—" Sirius hits him again.
Again.
Again.
And again.
Things go in and out, his mind in an uproar, and he's here, then
gone, here, then not, and back again. Sirius feels like the world is
spinning around him, swirling in a hazy wash of dull watercolors,
the air stale and the stench of death and blood clinging to the inside
of his nose.
Everything seems to fall apart, and it hurts, because this—it's proof.

It's convincing. Sirius, for the first time, doesn't believe in his brother.
Because Regulus wants to say Remus' name, and that would hurt
Sirius more than dying by Regulus' hand. This isn't anger. This goes
beyond Regulus just being angry at him. Regulus meant it. Oh, oh
fuck, he meant it when he said Sirius was dead to him, and
he's—he's actually trying to do it.
He actually wants to kill Sirius and get home, whatever it takes. His
own brother. Sirius, who was going to die for him. Sirius, who still
wants to. Sirius, who still would, if it wasn't for the fact that the man
he loves is under threat.
And it's here, with Regulus underneath him, being beaten to death
by Sirius' hands, that Sirius realizes he hates him, too.
After everything that Sirius did for him.
After everything that Sirius suffered for him.
After everything that Sirius tried so fucking hard to fix.
After all of that, it was Regulus who threw it away, angry and
betrayed and hurt. His little brother. Always his little brother.
121
Brother
And Sirius hates him for it.
"I gave everything for you!" Sirius shouts, then hits Regulus again.
"And this is what you give to me?!"
Regulus is gagging on his own blood.
"You ungrateful, spiteful, hateful piece of shit!" Sirius chokes out, his
vision blurring with tears until the way Regulus lays there, face
covered in blood, doesn't even seem real. Just a simple illusion. A
dream. A memory he wants to hold onto and shove away in equal
measure.
A rattling breath escapes Regulus, and he lifts his hand weakly,

fingers slack around his dagger. "R —"
Sirius hits him again, heaving out a harsh breath that escapes him
like a sob, hot tears dripping down the length of his nose as he
confesses, "I hate you. I fucking hate you. Why would you do this?
How could you do this to me, after I—after all of it? All I've ever
done is love you! Everything I did, I did for you! It's your fault, and I
hate that you were ever fucking born!"
Regulus pushes the dagger forward, still trying, still fucking trying,
even now. It wobbles, swaying weakly through the air, too slow,
laughably slow to the point that Sirius easily snatches it from his grip
as he wheezes, "R—"
"Shut up!" Sirius bellows.
"You'll—" Regulus coughs again, eyes rolling around before settling

on him once more. "You'll
have to kill me."
"I will! Don't fucking push me, because I will," Sirius snarls,
vibrating in place, suspended in this moment of horrible, sickening
rage, and hurt, and betrayal, and fear.
122
Regulus just looks at him and whispers, "R—"
Sirius hits him with one hand to shut him up, and Regulus twists
beneath him, wheezing, only for him to jerk to a halt the moment he
sees Sirius raise the dagger up.
Sirius doesn't bring it down, but he wants to. He wants to so badly

that he's shaking. He wants to drive the dagger down into Regulus'
chest and twist. All he has to do is try to speak Remus' name again,
and Sirius will. All he has to say is—
"It's okay," Regulus gasps, one bloodstained hand coming up to

shakily cover Sirius' around the dagger. His fingers are slick as they
wrap around Sirius' hand, and he swallows, he swallows his own
blood just to look right at Sirius and choke out, "I love you, too.
Wanted to say it for a while. Sorry. I'm so sorry I didn't. Sorry I'm
saying it now, but I do. It's okay, right? It's okay. I love you, too."
Sirius feels a horrible, cold sensation slowly crawl through his body,
and he can't—he can't move,
can't look away from Regulus' face. His hands ache, knuckles busted,
and his little brother lays bloody and beaten beneath him, under the
threat of dagger's death, and Sirius is the one who put him there.
And he knows why.
He can see it, suddenly. It does become clear, then, all at once.
Regulus did trick him. He did fool him. Just not in the way Sirius
was prepared for. He never imagined this at all.
Regulus never intended to go home.
Sirius releases a whine and presses the back of his wrist against his
mouth as he stares down at Regulus through the tears in his eyes.
Oh. Oh, it's all coming together now.
123
Brother
Regulus knew Sirius was planning to get him home, and he knew
Sirius would sooner kill himself than let Regulus do the same, and
Sirius is better than Regulus. Faster. Stronger. Even more efficient,
depending on the circumstances.
There was no way Regulus could make sure Sirius got home unless
Sirius did. Only Sirius could get himself home, and he wasn't going
to, and that was the last obstacle Regulus had to get through. He
knew exactly how.
Sirius wasn't going to let anyone kill his brother, and yet here he is,
at death's door, because Sirius was tricked. Because Sirius faltered.
Because Sirius was goaded into it like a fucking fool. Regulus was
never going to say Remus' name, was he? Regulus found Sirius'
button, and he pushed it, repeatedly, until he pushed Sirius right
over the edge. On purpose.
Sirius wasn't going to let Regulus die for him, and so, Regulus
pushed Sirius to kill him instead. A simple, effective plan to twist
Sirius' mind around, banking on his survival instincts and just how
much he loves Remus. A simple, effective act of turning himself into
the bad guy, saying all the wrong things and siding with all the
wrong people, becoming something Sirius could hate enough to
fight, because once he started fighting, really fighting, that was it.
A sacrifice. It was a sacrifice.
I love you, too.
As if all the times Sirius has said it, every single one, there was an
echo of Regulus returning it. There was. Sirius knew that. He knew
Regulus loved him.
I love you, too.
How did he forget? How did he let himself doubt, even for a
moment, even out of fear?
124
I love you, too.
The words crack open Sirius' chest, and he chokes out a harsh sob as
he drops the dagger. His hands come up shakily to cup Regulus'
face, and maybe it was true, maybe Regulus was right when he said
Sirius still looks at him like a kid, because it doesn't matter to him
that Regulus is twenty- six years old right now; Sirius looks at him
and remembers, vaguely, so very vaguely, the way he had a lisp at
the age of six because his front baby teeth fell out, so when he
giggled and whispered Sirius' name, it didn't really come out right,
but Sirius came running right to him every time anyway. It's been
twenty years and twenty seconds, and Sirius is still here.
Regulus' eyes snap open, cloudy and hazy, then brighten with
growing alarm as he takes Sirius in, weeping over him. His face is
swollen and busted open, slashes of crimson across his pale skin, but
his panic comes through loud and clear.
"Pick it up," Regulus croaks. "Pick it up. Sirius, pick it up."
Sirius shakes his head, sucking in a harsh breath, chest stuttering

around his tears. Regulus lifts his hand to fist the front of Sirius'
shirt, desperate, making a low noise. It sounds like he's begging.
Again, Sirius shakes his head, eyes stinging. Regulus whimpers, his
hand dropping.
The worst part is, Regulus would have seen it through. He got right
there to the end before he slipped, before he fucked it up, because
he's human, and in what he considered his last moments, he just
wanted to say one final thing.
I love you, too.
"Then—then let me do it, okay? Let me do it. Please just let me do it,"
Regulus chants, his hand frantically patting at the ground as he tries
to locate the dagger. Sirius shifts to kick it away hard, and Regulus
starts crying in earnest. "Don't, please don't do this to me. Sirius,
please just—please do it, or let me do it. Don't make me live without
you, please don't, Sirius—"
125
Brother
Regulus is a bloody, blubbering mess and caught on the borderline of

a fucking panic attack—and Sirius doesn't care. He reaches down to
snag Regulus' collar and haul him up. He's a little limp and loose,
delirious from Sirius beating the fuck out of him, so he flows like
water and slumps easily into Sirius' body. Sirius wraps his arms
around and holds him, staring blankly out at nothing as he cups the
back of Regulus' head and the tears fall freely down his face.
Sirius can do nothing but sit there and listen to his brother plead
with slurred, choked words. Plead to die. Plead for Sirius' life. Plead
with desperation that overflows like a pipe finally bursting, flying
apart under the pressure.
Eventually, Regulus gets so desperate that he tries an entirely

different tactic. "James," he says. "Sirius, James needs you. He needs
you. Don't—don't do this to him. Don't—"
"Regulus, Regulus, stop," Sirius orders firmly, drawing back to grab

his shoulders and shake him a little bit. Regulus' chest rises and falls
at a rapid rate, eyes wide and wild like an animal caught in a trap.
"Stop. It's over. It's done, okay? You—you tried, and it didn't work,
and that's it. Just stop."
"I'll—I'll say it. I'll say the name," Regulus chokes out.
Sirius swallows, then rasps, "No you won't."
"R—R—" and that's it. That's as far as he gets. Sirius does nothing,
and Regulus' mouth remains open. Sirius waits, and then Regulus'
busted lip begins to tremble as the building tears in his eyes spill
over. He ducks his head forward and sobs out, "Fuck. Fuck."
"Yeah, I know, you little fuck-up," Sirius mumbles with a weak,

tear-filled laugh. He cups the back of Regulus' neck and pulls him
back into a hug.
Regulus drops his head down on Sirius' shoulder and weeps. His
fingers twist in Sirius' shirt at his sides, clinging, restless. "I'm sorry.
Fuck, I'm so sorry. I—I really—I tried."
126
"I know," Sirius whispers.
"I was trying so hard," Regulus gasps out, shaking and crying, crying
and shaking. "I'm sorry. I'm —"
"I know, Reggie. It's okay. It's going to be okay." Sirius swallows
harshly, because he knows, realistically, that it's not. It can't be. All
this time, he's given so much thought to what his loss would do to
James, and to Remus, but not so much to Regulus. A huge oversight
on his part, Sirius now knows. He's going to have to leave his little
brother, too. For some reason, he could never really look past
knowing he would do anything he could to protect Regulus, even
die to save him, to see that he would be leaving him behind. Again.
And that must have been the very first thing Regulus became aware
of the second he heard Sirius volunteer for him. It's horrible, because
the arena has brought Regulus back to him twice, once when
Regulus became a Victor and right this very second, but for Regulus,
all the arena does is take Sirius away.
Regulus leans against him and sobs like he just lost everything, and
maybe, in a way, he did. ~•~
With a wince, Regulus dabs at his face with the supplies from the
medkit in his—in Sirius' bag. Sirius took it back, and Regulus let
him, not saying a word of protest.
Sirius sits beside him in silence, cleaning his arm up where Regulus
sliced him open with a dagger.
The heli-carrier has already come by to scoop up Yaxley and Camilla,

which is what initially got them to stop crying and separate, because
oh, right, they're still in the middle of the fucking hunger games.
Reality is a bitch, truly.
Sirius had gotten up to retrieve his spear from Camilla's body, then
they started taking care of their injuries. Not speaking. Not looking
at each other.
127
Brother
Regulus is worried if he opens his mouth, he'll throw up. The thing
is.
Well, you see, the thing is, Regulus had a plan, right? It was a good
plan, and he knows this because it nearly worked. It would have
worked if he hadn't fucked it up in the home stretch. All he had to
do was keep his mouth shut, or pretend like he was going to say
Remus' name again, and then just die.
He was so close. So fucking close.
But of course he fucked it up, because he's a fuck-up, and he always

fails when it matters most for him not to. Was he scared to die? Yes,
admittedly he was, but not nearly as terrified as he was to die
without saying it at least once, just once, needing to say it, a selfish
desire to prove that he does have that in him, and all that he was
doing—all of it—was because he loves Sirius, too. Sirius and James.
A major part of the plan was making them angry with him. Making
them hate him, even. Being someone easier for them to lose and let
go of. Regulus knows through his parents that being angry with
someone who dies doesn't make it hurt less, but he can only imagine
the pain he'd feel if he hadn't been angry with them, if they were
good people who never hurt him or Sirius, if they had done right by
them.
He was trying, in his own way, to make it easier for them.
He fucked that up, too.
Regulus should have just fucking plucked up the dagger in the first
five minutes and gotten it over with, but...well, how the fuck was he
supposed to do that, knowing Sirius might have fallen apart after
that? It would have hurt him, weakened him, and then the death
eaters could have actually had a chance at killing him. Regulus had
to be here; he had to, just to make sure no one got to Sirius.
128
It wasn't supposed to go like this. Regulus had hoped to get farther
in the games and bring the numbers down significantly before he
goaded Sirius into killing him. Because it had to be Sirius who killed
him. Sirius is better—Regulus has always known that, and he was
counting on that. If Sirius killed him, if he reached that point, then
he'd get out. He'd keep going. He'd have no reason to stop and
nothing holding him back.
All Regulus has ever done is hold Sirius back. Drag him down. Sink
his claws into him and fretfully, desperately never want him to leave.
Regulus could set him free, like this, and it's no less
than he deserves, really, after all the pain and trauma and grief that
Regulus has invited into his life.
Regulus is his little brother, and all that's ever done for him is make
his life worse. Everything—all of it—is his fault. Sirius even said it.
Yeah, Regulus wishes he was never born, too.
And, alright, a part of Regulus had hoped that maybe... Well, maybe,
like this, Sirius would regret volunteering for him, because he
should. Because he has every right to, and why doesn't he? Regulus
can't stand it, being loved that much, being responsible for what
Sirius' love costs him.
It always costs him.
This time, it's going to cost him everything. He doesn't even see it,
why it needs to be him that gets out. How can't he see it? All the
lives he's touched. All the people who need him. Effie, Monty, Andy,
Pandora, Remus, James.
Oh, James...
Regulus, too. Regulus really needs it to be Sirius who goes home.

Because how is he supposed to live with it? The fact that he's killed
his brother; how does he carry the weight of that? How does he
129
Brother
continue on with that always in the back of his mind? So, he killed
himself, too.
It was an easy choice. It's no different than the decision Sirius made
for him. Here they are, both of them walking corpses, slain by each
other's hands and their own. Only one can keep going, at the end of
all this. Only one of them can revive.
Regulus still wants it to be Sirius. It has to be, because Regulus is the

sword Sirius picks up, and the sword Sirius falls on, and Sirius
deserves the chance to let the sword go.
"Here," Sirius says curtly, holding out a water bottle.
Regulus takes it gratefully, because he can still taste blood in his

mouth, and he feels dangerously close to being sick from it. He
swallowed blood again. It makes his stomach churn.
The water helps. He swishes it in his mouth, spits it out, then

actually sips some down. His entire fucking face is throbbing, but it's
as clean as it's can get. It's probably a fright to see, swollen and
busted open all over. One eye won't open all the way, and his bottom
lip stings every time his mouth moves.
A soft chime has them both tilting their heads back to watch as a
sponsor box floats gently down in the space between them. Neither
of them move. They both just stare at it like it might bite them,
equally wary and chagrined.
For the first time since their fight, they look at each other. Sirius
arches an eyebrow. His face is swollen and bruised in certain places,
but not nearly as bad as Regulus' at the moment. Regulus can't arch
an eyebrow back, because it would hurt his face, so he just inclines
his head to Sirius. He's not brave enough to face down a scolding
from James first.
Sirius blows out a deep breath and reaches out to snag the box,
drawing it into his lap. He hesitates, then flips it open to reach
130
inside. There's a quiet hum of approval when Sirius pulls out a small
container of salve for their injuries, which is admittedly relieving to
see. What comes out after is two half-loaves of bread and a small
spread of cheese for them to share.
"There's no note," Sirius breathes out, tipping his head back to stare
up at the sky, stricken.
Regulus looks away, his eyes fluttering shut, chest pulsing with a
harsh, horrible pain he almost can't breathe around. James' silence
speaks volumes. He must be so upset. I'm sorry, Regulus thinks. I'm
so sorry, James.
In silence, they open up the salve to put on their own

injuries—Regulus needs most of it—and then they eat and pass
water back and forth between them.
When that's done, Sirius stands up and waves him to his feet,
mumbling that they should use the rest of the daylight they do have
to get away from here. Just to move. Just to not stay in one place too
long. The maze has made them paranoid, all of them most likely, but
at least the hands have gone away.
The maze is calm now as they walk through it, walking in no

direction, walking without a word between them. Sirius has Regulus'
dagger, because he doesn't trust him with it. He even said so, blunt
and harsh when he picked it up. That's fair.
They walk together in silence for hours.
Regulus doesn't know what to say. Sirius won't look at him, or

acknowledge him, and Regulus can't
stop himself from stealing quick peeks, waiting for something.

Anything.
As the day passes, the salve does its job in healing Sirius, from what
Regulus can see. The swelling goes down in his face and hands,
131
Brother
bruises fading a bit and knuckles scabbing over. The cut on Sirius'
arm scabs over last. Regulus' own face stops hurting as much, but he
suspects, since he's worse off, he won't heal fully until tomorrow.
There's not a sound between them, other than their quiet and careful
footsteps, along with the consistent rustling of the hedges they walk
in the middle of. Regulus keeps waiting for hands to burst out and
grab him, but they never do.
Neither of them really do much of anything until they take one

corner and both suck in a sharp breath at the same time. In front of
them is a small open, shed-like shelter with a back, two walls on
either side, and a roof—all made of metal. Under it are two open
crates that show packages of dried meat and fruit. Regulus thinks he
sees a flashlight, too.
The area is small and square, compact with the shelter at the center,
but there's one way in and one way out. At least at the moment.
Regulus doesn't doubt that the hedges surrounding the open space
could open up or shift; this maze is a fucking mess on one's mind. In
fact, the maze isn't really a maze at all, at least not for everyone. A
maze indicates there's a way out, but only one person will achieve
that.
Sirius and Regulus trade a quick look, and then they move forward
at the same time to head into the shelter and pick over the crates. It's
very sparse, unfortunately. There is a flashlight, as well as enough
food for them to put something else on their stomachs, passing a
package of dried meat back and forth as they pick over everything
else.
There's also two more bottles of water, which is good, because they
finished off one and half already between drinking and cleaning up.
One crate has a bit of rope that Sirius immediately plucks out of
Regulus' hands to put in his bag. Regulus scowls, but again, fair is
fair. He stole from Sirius first, after all. It's not much rope, from what
Regulus can tell, only long enough to reach from his feet to his waist,
at most.
132
Regulus wants his dagger, mostly. Despite what Sirius might be
worried about, Regulus isn't going to do some sort of sacrificial
suicide—at least not yet. Not until he's sure Sirius is the last one at
the end, and then it's fair game.
Once the crates are cleared, they both toss them out and make use of
the space and security the shelter gives them, putting their backs
against the wall and peering out the open front.
The first thing Sirius says to him, after hours of silence, is a very
harsh, "You're un-fucking- forgivable, you know."
"That was the plan," Regulus mumbles.
"You're a prick. You're—" Sirius' nostrils flare as he looks over at him.

"I mean, the hypocrisy
alone, Regulus..."
"I know," Regulus admits. "I know I'm a hypocrite, but so are you.
How are you mad at me for
doing the same thing as you?"
"You did it in a much worse way," Sirius snaps. "Or you were
planning to. How do you think that would have felt for me, huh? If
I—if I actually—"
Regulus tangles his fingers together in his lap. "It's—well, that's the
thing, isn't it? If you had, you would have been justified. I—I made it
to where you could kill me, and that'd be fair. You'd have reason to.
You could hate me. So, you wouldn't have felt—I mean, you
could—you could live with it, because I'm not a good person, and
that's all I was showing you. What were you going to do? Mourn the
brother who tried to kill you, who hurt you, who—who ruined your
fucking life?"
133
Brother
"You're so fucking stupid," Sirius whispers, squeezing his eyes shut.

He shakes his head sharply, lips pressed into a thin line, and then he
looks right at Regulus. "Listen to me, there is no world in which I
wouldn't mourn the loss of you, because it would be a loss. I don't
care what you've done, or how bad of a person you make yourself
out to be. You're my brother. Don't you get it? I would never be the
same if I lost you. And, fuck, if I lost it enough to kill you? Do
you—can you even imagine what that would do to me, Regulus?
I—I would never get over that, no matter what you did to goad me
into it. Even if all that you said out there was true and not just some
trick, even if you crossed the line, I would never recover. Never."
"Oh." Regulus' shoulders slump.
Sirius stares at him incredulously. "Did you honestly not know that?
You thought, what, that I'd just—carry on?"
"I hoped," Regulus chokes out, because it's true, and he doesn't know
if that makes him foolish or simply desperate, because he wanted so
badly to just—just— "Just this once, all I wanted to do was take the
burnt of the pain and do the hard things for you this time."
"Fuck's sake, Reggie," Sirius mumbles, heaving a sigh as he rubs a

weary hand over his face. He drops his hand and stares at him.
"Look, I get that your heart was in the right place here, but—no. Just
no. This was not okay."
Regulus' eyes drift shut. "I know I get it wrong. I know that. But I
just—I wanted—" His eyes snap open, and he looks over at Sirius
helplessly. "I had to try, and that was the only thing I could do,
Sirius, because I can't—I can't beat you. I can't win when you're in
the race, do you realize that? The moment you set your mind to
something, that's it. I only had one chance to outsmart you, and I
fucked it all up."
"I thought you hated me," Sirius whispers. "You said I was dead to
you. Was that all lies, too?"
"Yes and no," Regulus admits, grimacing. "I do hate you. I hate you
and I don't, obviously. And I —I killed you the moment you
134
volunteered for me, both times. Something in you dies, and I know
that firsthand now, and it's my fault. Every single thing you've
suffered, all that you've lost, it can all be traced right back to me. I
didn't want to be at fault for it again."
"Hey, no, that's not—don't do that, Regulus," Sirius says firmly.

"That's not on you, okay?" "You said it. You said you wished I was
never born."
"I know what I said. I was pissed off and out of my head, but that's
not—it's not true. You clearly didn't mean it when you said you
didn't care about me anymore, and I'm assuming most of the rest
was just you trying to get me to..."
"Yes." Regulus clears his throat and awkwardly mutters, "I'm sorry.
Bringing our parents into it was—low."
Sirius gives him a wry look. "You think?"
"I'm just really good at hurting people I never really want to hurt at
all," Regulus says softly, his gaze drifting up against his will, mind
turning to James, who is never too far from his mind anyway. "I'm
not—good, you know? Not like you."
"Regulus, you just tried to sacrifice yourself for me, and in such a
way where you draped yourself in everything bad in an attempt to
make it easier for everyone," Sirius says flatly. "It's unconventional,
yes, but that's not something bad people would care to do. And what
even is good, really? In this world? Here? I don't think anyone is
simply good, you know? I don't think anyone can be; I think there
are the people who try, and the people who don't, and you—you try.
You really try."
Regulus blinks harshly past the stinging in his eyes. "And I fail.
Every time, I fail." "We all do," Sirius murmurs, "and then we try
again."
"I'm so tired," Regulus rasps, looking at him with this unshakeable,

soul-deep exhaustion. "You should be the one who gets to keep
trying. It should be you. I want it to be you."
135
Brother
"Don't you think I want the same thing for you?" Sirius asks.
"There's a difference, though," Regulus whispers. "A stark difference

that you're not even conscious of. See, you—you have a family. Not
just me, but the Potters. You have James, will always have James,
and I—I never really did at all. You can go on without me if you have
them, if you have James, and James can as well. You two already did
it, didn't you? But me? I never could, Sirius. I never really did."
"You don't know what you mean to us," Sirius croaks, his expression
twisting, pained.
"Maybe not. Maybe I do. Regardless, what I do know is that you two
never needed me to—to make it. Not the first time, and not this last
time. I wasn't there like I should have been for either of you, and you
managed, because you need each other. You may want me, too, but
we can't have what we want anymore," Regulus explains quietly.
Sirius sounds strained when he mutters, "What about you? What do

you need, Regulus?"
"I need you both," Regulus admits, turning to hold Sirius' gaze. "Do
you—do you get what I'm saying? I can't come out of this arena. It
has to be you. We all need it to be you."
"Reggie," Sirius says softly.
Regulus shakes his head and swallows past the lump in his throat to
scoot closer to Sirius, needing to get closer to convey the importance
of what he's trying to explain. "It has to be you, okay? It has to,
because I don't want to go home if I'm not going home with you. I—I
just don't see the point."
Sirius looks stricken. "James. James is the point, Regulus. You

two—you could be—"
"Do you think, for even a second, that either of us would ever be able
to heal in this world without you in it, even with each other?"
Regulus whispers. "He needs you, Sirius. You. I know he loves me,
okay? I do. And I—fuck, I love him so much that I can barely stand
136
it. But he made it through this past year without me, and he
wouldn't have without you." He blinks hard and gives Sirius a sad
smile. "I wouldn't have either."
"Well, we're in a bitch of a situation then," Sirius tells him, his voice
cracking, "because I—I refuse to believe that. I don't accept that. You
two will be—you'll make it without me. You'll have to, because there
is nothing you could say that's going to stop me from getting you
home."
"Can you cut it out?" Regulus grinds his teeth. "Stop being stubborn
about this. Think about it logically, alright? You never needed me as
much as you needed him."
"Shut up. Shut up. Just—"
"You didn't. You don't. He has taken care of you, and I've always
failed to. You have taken care of him, and I've barely even started
trying to. It's not me, Sirius. Don't you get it? We know this. We spent
ten years knowing this. It's always you and him, and not me, and I'm
okay with that now."
"Fuck you," Sirius says, his nostrils flaring. "No. Fuck that and fuck
you and—and fuck all of this. I'm getting you home."
"What—what about your moon?" Regulus tries, desperate at this

point. "Your moon needs you, too. Sirius—"
"Drop it," Sirius cuts in harshly, so harshly that Regulus' mouth

snaps shut as he pulls back. Sirius stares at him, and then his face
softens as he releases a sigh. "You really love me, huh?"
Regulus is obviously not going to ever say that out loud again unless
he's on the brink of death. He gives Sirius a blank look for even
daring to expect it. For some reason, this makes Sirius laugh, his face
lighting up.
137
Brother
"Yeah, you do," Sirius coos. "Oh, I'm never letting this go. I'm going
to hold it over your head until my last breath."
"You know when I said you're the worst brother?" "I do recall, yes."
"That one was true."
"Ah, you love me, really."
"Fuck off," Regulus grumbles, looking away with a huff, and then
he's tilting his head back to stare at the roof when the first little ting
hits it, followed quickly by another, and then some more until it
grows in consistency.
It's raining.
"Alright?" Sirius asks quietly, no longer amused, not rejoicing in the

rain the way Bellatrix did, despite the heat.
"Yeah," Regulus replies, equally quiet, leaning back against the wall
to watch the rain, where it's not an issue when he's not stuck in it,
where—just as he knew he would—he feels safe, simply because
Sirius is with him. "Yeah, I'm alright."
138
5
CLIMBING
______
Remus nudges a waffle over to James just as James eases a cup of tea
in front of him, doing Sirius'
partner-ly duties in his stead while he's away. Objectively, this is

hilarious. In reality, it just makes Remus miss Sirius more.
And, well, Remus will never admit it, at least not to James, but Sirius
makes his tea better. This may just be because Remus finds basically
everyone lackluster compared to Sirius. It's not James' fault; he's
really doing his best.
"How are you this morning?" Remus murmurs.
"Oh, you know," James says vaguely, heaving a sigh and lazily
pouring syrup over his waffle. He's been miserable, really, since what
happened between Sirius and Regulus.
He had come bustling in yesterday, grumpy and huffy about the

whole thing, but he just got progressively sadder as he had to sit
there and watch his...boyfriend? Fiancé? Honestly, it's unclear, and at
this point, Remus is too polite to ask. Either way, he got
progressively sadder as he had to watch Regulus list out all the
reasons Sirius should be the one to live, in a clear fit of desperation,
and on this list just so happened to include James and the tragedy of
their whole situation.
"You know it's not—it isn't that he doesn't want to come back to you,
right?" Remus asks gently, because he understands Regulus enough
to know that for a fact. "He's just—really fucking desperate, James.
139
He's scared. He's... Well, you heard him. He doesn't want to lose his
brother."
James sighs and puts down the syrup. "I know. It's just... Look, I
don't want to lose either of them, and I can't—I can't even think
about it, if I'm honest. But what I can think about is how Regulus
views himself. And I—I can't help but think that I somehow
contributed to that in some way. Didn't make him realize just how
much I—" He cuts himself off, swallowing thickly. "I love him so
much. It tears me apart that I can't make him see just how special he
is."
"James, as much as we might wish to, we can't make people love

themselves just by loving them enough," Remus says softly. "There's
no measurement you have to meet for that to be possible. You can
love Regulus, or anyone, so much you break the fucking scale,
but...some people just don't know how to love themselves, and they
have to learn that. Do you think if it could be done for them, you and
Sirius wouldn't have managed that for Regulus by now?"
"I..." James closes his eyes, looking pained, and then he blows out a
deep breath as his eyes drift open again. "Yeah, I know. I do know
what you're saying. He was—I think he was learning to, before all of
this. You should have seen him, Remus. It was amazing. He was—he
was trying, you know, and—and then this happened, and it's not fair.
It's not fair to him, or any of us."
"No," Remus agrees quietly, "it's not."
"I can't even be really upset with him about it," James says, lips
tipping down. "What he did, I mean. Or what he was planning to do,
and the fact that I factor in it at all. It's like with my mum, yeah? I
couldn't be upset with him for making sure she was safe, and I can't
be upset with him for wanting to get my best friend back to me—and
so many others."
"You're not upset?" Remus asks, startled.
"I'm angry, don't get me wrong. Angry at him for scaring the fuck
out of me and taking it that far, and angry at the situation, and
140
Climbing
just—angry. But in the same breath... It's upsetting that he's so ready
to throw himself away for it, but it's like—I get it now, the way he
loves. It's—oh, hell, Remus, it's messy the way he loves. Messy
and—and almost violent, you know? He does it with all of him, all
he's got, and it's just this tangled, complicated force in him that spills
out, even when he tries to keep it all inside. Like it's too big for him,
and too big for the world, and he thinks he doesn't do it right, but all
it really is..." James' face softens, gentle and adoring. "He doesn't
know how to stop. That's all it is. And I don't think he should. In a
better world, it wouldn't show itself the way it does here. In a better
world, it'd never hurt anyone."
Remus turns that over in his mind and thinks of all he knows about
Regulus, and—well, yeah.
Yeah, that makes sense. It's a pattern with him, the way his love
reveals itself in big gestures and dire circumstances. The first time he
ever called James baby was in a panic. When Evan died, Regulus
released a scream so raw with grief that it was chilling, something
awful and quaking rising from the depths of him. One of the secrets
he kept close to his chest was that he missed his brother. He tipped
himself into a river, believing he wouldn't come back out, and
knowing he could never return the same. He tried to get his own
brother to kill him just so he wouldn't have to live without him, and
he only failed in that endeavor because he needed his brother to
know that, despite everything and perhaps because of it all, he loved
him. Still loves him.
If the world was different, better, kinder, maybe Regulus' love

wouldn't flow out of him this way at all. Maybe it'd be easier, calmer,
softer. Remus knows how difficult it is to love here; he knows how
much it hurts. He thinks, maybe, Regulus is a very sensitive person.
Most probably wouldn't be able to see it that way, but tender hearts
grow barbs to resist being bruised.
"I don't know what's going to happen. I just know I love him. I love
them both," James mumbles, then sighs again and lifts his fork to
poke at his waffle. He doesn't seem very interested in it and raises
his gaze to Remus instead. "What about you? How are you doing
this morning?"
141
Remus gives him a wry look and mutters, "Oh, you know."
James' lips twitch at the corners. "Yeah, I suppose I do. Still, I'm
checking in. You have to give me something."
"Do I?"
"Mhm. Just open up a bit, please, that's all I ask. Let me... I don't
know. Let me help."
"I don't need you to take care of me, James," Remus tells him,
shaking his head. "Just worry about yourself."
"No," James says simply, holding his gaze. "No, I'll worry about you,
too, thank you very much. Nice try, but that's not how this is going
to go. I'm not stupid, you know. You do this thing where you, like,
exude this—sense of serenity and calm, as if you're strong enough to
bear everything on your own, but that's not going to slide with me.
We all need people to lean on from time-to-time, and I'm here. I'm
right here, so lean."
The thing is, James is his friend. Remus knows that. But it's here, in
this exact moment, that Remus fully settles into their dynamic,
letting it take shape around him, feeling the weight of importance
shift until it grows just a bit more. Sometimes, you can really feel a
moment with another person, like this tangible thing you can reach
out to touch, and you just know, somehow, that whatever bond
existed before has strengthened. Remus does feel like he can reach
out and touch this moment, here, with James; he's quite sure it
would be warm.
Unfortunately, Remus does have a habit of not really opening up to

other people, and he's almost not sure how to. Even with Sirius, it
took time, and it took a bond they worked together to build. He's
opened up to Regulus only a bit, and that's—well, he's quite sure it's
partially just because Regulus sort of had no choice but to expose his
own vulnerabilities to Remus, so Remus simply returned the favor. It
did bring them closer together, but they're both equally fucked up
enough that they wouldn't have done it on their own.
142
Climbing
"Ah, I don't—really know what to say," Remus admits, feeling a bit

out of sorts, honestly. Not for the first time, he aches for the ease he
always felt with Lily, no matter what.
"Hm." James looks thoughtful, and fortunately for Remus, he clearly

knows how to do this whole friend thing and opening up business
enough to guide him through it. "Were you okay last night? I didn't
even—I wasn't really in a place to ask, but Regulus threatened to—"
He grimaces, then coughs. "Well, that wasn't okay, regardless of the
reasons behind it."
Remus frowns. "You know, honestly, I wasn't even scared. Mostly I

was just—confused. Because, yes, I knew he was angry with Sirius,
but he never treated me differently. I couldn't make sense of why he
would have been alright with me before the arena and then just...do
that. I'm not angry with him or anything. I think I knew he wouldn't
really do it. Just from logic, basically. He never specified a gender. He
only used the terms the moon and your moon when talking to Sirius.
He didn't say my full name, and then...couldn't, wouldn't, even
when Sirius actually gave him the chance to."
"Yeah, alright, but you'd still have every right to be upset with him
about it," James informs him. "I mean, are you in danger now? Did
he—did that put you in danger?"
"What? No." Remus snorts. "The Hallows would sooner believe

Sirius fell in love with the actual moon before they believed he fell in
love with a servant. I mean, had Regulus said my full name, that'd be
different, but he didn't. I'm safe, James, I promise. But...well, I
suppose I'm a little upset he used me as leverage over Sirius, just to
work him up."
"Mm, I know. He's a prick," James agrees with a sigh, and it sounds
ridiculously soppy and lovesick. Remus gives him a flat look, and
James looks sheepish. "Sorry. No, I'm—I mean it. You do have every
right to be upset. And I'm glad you're safe."
"I'm not... I don't like that he did it, but I also know why he did."
Remus swallows and tries to shove back the awful, insidious thought
that he almost, almost, almost wished it had worked. He squeezes
143
his eyes shut. Oh, he's so selfish. So fucked up. No different than
James, he can't help it.
"Remus?" James says gently.
"I'm fine," Remus rasps reflexively, eyes flying open, and then James
just stares him down, waiting like he'll wait here all day if he has to,
even though they both know he won't. His gaze is piercing behind
his glasses, and Remus gives in. "I just... I think that was it, you
know. That was—it was the only chance of—of Sirius getting out."
Because that's the thing. Regulus was right. Sirius was never going to
let his little brother die, but if Sirius felt betrayed by him enough to
get angry and kill him, that anger could possibly carry him right out
of the arena, send him on a rampage, and leave him ruthless in the
endeavor to get home. But, if Regulus had simply died or killed
himself while Sirius was trying so hard to get him home, it wouldn't
matter what promise Sirius gave to Remus about trying to make it
back home. He would try, Remus is sure, but he'd be grieving. He'd
be a fucking mess. Remus knows firsthand how impossible it feels to
achieve much of anything after the loss of one of the most important
people in your life; after his mother died, Remus barely managed
much of anything, not even with trying to get Greyback arrested and
out of the district, because not even revenge could overpower his
grief.
So, Remus does think Sirius would have tried, but he wouldn't have
had the same chances of actually managing it as he would have if
Regulus' plan actually worked. And now? Oh, now Sirius isn't going
to let anything happen to his brother, if he can help it. That's it. Sirius
likely isn't coming back, and Remus doesn't think he can handle that.
James is quiet for a long moment, then his throat bobs up and down
as he swallows convulsively. He breathes in and out, and Remus can
see him putting his own feelings aside to be here for Remus, to listen,
to let him open up. "You're not a bad person for being hurt by that,
Remus. You're only human, and you don't have to—well, you
shouldn't be ashamed of wanting the man you love to make it out."
144
Climbing
"I'm not ready to lose him," Remus whispers. "I don't think I'll ever
be ready to lose him. I—I don't —I can't—"
"I know," James croaks. "Remus, I know."
Remus releases a hoarse, pained laugh. "Yeah, I guess you would,

wouldn't you? Fuck, this is—it's awful for you, too."
"It's awful for everyone, I think. Some more than others. Them the
most; the ones inside the arena," James mumbles. "I keep trying
to—to find some sort of comfort in all of this, like a habit, but the
thing is... Sometimes, things are just shit."
"Trust me, I'm well aware," Remus replies. "If there's one thing I've
learned, though, impermanence only solidifies importance. You can
learn through loss to better cherish what you have, and be thankful
for what you got. It's awful, mostly, but you look back and there are
glimpses that you can't bring yourself to regret. The inevitability of
endings can't remove all that came before it. That still exists, and we
get that, and we keep that. And that's—that's special. That's
precious."
James looks at him for a long moment, then smiles and softly
murmurs, "That was really beautiful, Remus."
"Oh. Ha, right," Remus mutters with a cough, reaching around to rub
the back of his neck awkwardly.
"It's—no, I mean it. I—" James clears his throat, his eyebrows
crumbling together. "That's something I've been sort of struggling
with, because I—I wasted a lot of time with Regulus, you know?
These past few days, I mean. Time that could have been better spent,
and I didn't...really know how to come to terms with that. So, this
is... It's nice, I guess, to be grateful for—for what time we did spend
together, right there at the end. We all want more time, I think, and
coping with not having it is... It's very fucking hard."
"Yeah," Remus whispers, a lump in his throat. "It is."
145
"You're a very wise man, Remus Lupin," James declares, playfully
pointing his fork at him. Remus quirks a tiny smile. "I do my best."
"And you do it well," James says, and it's sincere. Remus knows that.
He can tell, and it warms him. "See? Opening up a bit isn't so bad.
We should do this again sometime."
"Oh, shut up," Remus mutters with a huff of laughter when James
grins at him. Remus rolls his eyes, then picks up his spoon to stir his
tea, drifting off in thought. After a long moment passes, he looks up
and regards James for a beat, pensive, and then he speaks. "My
birthday is March 10th."
James blinks at him. "Is it? Hey, I was born on March 27th! You're
seventeen days older than me." "Ah, that explains why I'm wiser
than you."
"Ha ha, very funny. Happy early birthday."
"James, my birthday—and yours—is still a bit away."
"Eh, who's counting? Happy belated birthday, then, for all the ones I
missed." Remus shakes his head, amused. "Thanks."
"Not that this isn't lovely information to have about you, but what
made you bring it up?" James asks curiously.
"Well, I just..." Remus purses his lips, then pushes them from
side-to-side, then blows out a deep breath. "I guess I've just been
thinking about all the things I never got to say to—to a lot of people.
No one knows that about me, you know. My birthday. No one in the
Hallow, in any case. It's not even that important, really, but we were
talking about opening up and—and someone should know, I think.
Even Sirius didn't know. It's not something that ever came up, and
that's only one thing I didn't get to tell him. I don't know his either."
"November 3rd," James says softly. "Four months before us." "Oh,"
Remus whispers. "I missed it."
146
Climbing
James' face softens. "He was—it was a good day for him, you know.
Mum made a cake. He spent a good bit of the day just bothering Reg,
who pretended to not know it was his birthday at all. It was
hilarious. He wouldn't wish Sirius a happy birthday; he waited all
the way until nearly midnight, down to the last second, then opened
his window and shouted it across the street. Sirius was on the roof,
talking to you, and we all heard him curse and nearly fall off, then
laugh."
"Talking to me," Remus repeats.
"Yeah. Talking to the moon, talking to you, same thing," James tells
him, waving his fork lazily. "You didn't miss it, not really. You were
always there for him, there with him, believe it or not. I know
that's—I know it's not fair that neither of you got more than that, but
it's...it was..."
"Something," Remus fills in, his chest warm and tight at the same
time. "It was something."
"Yeah," James murmurs. "It meant a lot to him. You mean a lot to
him, Remus. He loves you so much."
Remus' lips curl up. "I know he does."
James' lips curl up in a response, a gentle echo, warm and tender and
bittersweet. They fall silent again, comfortable and perhaps even
comforted, and then they both look up when the door opens.
Pandora shuffles in looking a little worse for wear, still clad in
pajamas, her makeup from last night faded and smeared on her face.
Remus and James simultaneously frown and look at each other, and
it's been a long time since Remus has had a friend he could
communicate with without ever saying a word. Again, he and Sirius
can, but. Well, Sirius isn't just his friend. He's his best friend, in a
way, and so much more. Never the best friend that Lily was—and
still is. No, that's just Lily. It'll always be Lily.
Pandora moves over to the side of the counter in between both of

them and reaches out to grab one of their hands in each of hers.
Without a word of warning, she brings Remus' hand to her mouth to
147
press a quick, gentle kiss to the back of his fingers, then does the
same thing to James. Remus feels his ears go hot, because he knows
what that means, a Hallow gesture for deep admiration. No ones
ever done that to him before, so he's a bit flustered by it, admittedly.
James, however, is apparently more accustomed to it, because he

looks less flustered and more fond. "And just what was that for
exactly, Pandora?"
"Well, you know, I woke up and didn't want to get out of bed, then I
thought about you two being up and waiting for me, and suddenly I
magically found my way to my feet," Pandora says, and it's
delivered lightly, as if it's some simple thing, but the sincerity in her
voice makes the impact of her words heavier. There's something
charming about her, and what she has said, and James must
agree, because he kisses her hand in return.
"We're having breakfast before I go," James tells her. He drapes his
arm around her shoulders and gives her a squeeze that she seems
happy to lean into. "Hungry?"
"No, queasy, actually. But I should eat," Pandora admits, and they
both give her a hum of approval and encouragement at the same
time, though they both understand how hard it is to keep up an
appetite when your loved ones are at constant risk of dying. "And
you, James. How's it going, then? You mentioned you handled it
with Lucius calmly—" She gives him a squinty, suspicious side-eye,
"—so there will be no problems today, right? Do you need anything?
Should I come?"
"Pandora, really, I'm fine," James insists. "You stay here with Remus,
okay? It helps knowing you two have each other, and that I'm
coming back to you by the end of the day. Besides, I have Frank to
lean on, and I think I saw Dorcas loitering around at some point
yesterday, but I didn't get to talk to her, so maybe I will today. I even
spoke to Lestrange a bit. He's mad at Lucius, I suppose, so he made a
point to chat with me and shake my hand where Lucius and,
148
Climbing
conveniently, sponsors could see. It's probably just a whole bunch of

nonsense and ulterior motives, but...well, he's alright for the most
part, despite his tributes being death eaters. I, ah, don't really have
room to judge on that one, all things considered."
Remus should not find that mildly amusing, but James looks so
sheepish that it is sort of hilarious. James, in love with a death eater.
Who would have thought? Shaking his head, Remus leans down the
counter with a huff of laughter.
"Come on, James made you a plate already," Remus murmurs,

offering Pandora a tiny smile as he slides her plate of breakfast in
front of her. "Tuck in. I have a feeling it's going to be a long fucking
day full of nothing but insanity."
And, well, has he ever been wrong before?
~•~
Sirius knows the moment Regulus wakes up, because he goes tense
and jerks slightly as his head flies up from Sirius' shoulder. He blinks
around blearily, getting his bearings, then looks at Sirius'
shoulder—which he was using as a pillow only moments
before—and immediately scowls.
"Oh, don't look like that. You did it," Sirius tells him with a snort,
helplessly amused. Regulus squints at him suspiciously as if he
doesn't believe that for a second, but it's true.
At some point during the night, Regulus had eventually nodded off.
There's not a whole lot of space in the shelter anyway, so they were
nearly shoulder-to-shoulder as it was. Sirius hadn't been paying
attention, his head tipped back against the wall and his eyes closed
as he enjoyed the easy breeze that blew in, a bit cool from the rain, a
marvel in the heat. He'd felt it when Regulus' head had dropped on
his shoulder, peeked open an eye to see him sleeping, then closed his
eyes and went back to the inside of his mind, where Remus' warm
laughter was echoing in his ears and Remus' smile was flashing
behind his eyelids.
149
Sirius didn't sleep. He couldn't. He won't, just on the off chance that
Regulus might do something stupid like get himself killed while
Sirius is indulging in a nap. Eh, it's fine. Sirius will sleep when he's
dead, and hey, that'll probably arrive for him sooner rather than
later. Silver lining?
Bad joke. He's glad he didn't say it out loud. The only person he
could count on to laugh at it would be Marlene, most likely. Sirius
wonders how she is this morning. She's alive. He does know that
much. The banners last night proved it.
There are nine people dead now. Fifteen remaining. Five death
eaters—not including Regulus, because Sirius refuses to count
him—which are Narcissa, Bellatrix, Alecto, Rabastan, and Dixon.
Separate from them, an ex-death eater if you will, is Regulus. Then
there's Sirius, Marlene, Emmeline, Augusta, Eli, and Alice. Other
than that, it's just Asher, Majesty, and Lester. It's only day three...
Fucking hell.
The thing is, it's not unheard of. Last year, for example; Sirius
couldn't forget it if he tried. By the end of day two, sixteen people
remained, and by the end of day three, eleven did. It was considered
a brutal year, as far as games go, and this year is clearly shaping up
to be even worse. The fact that it's an arena full of hardened,
traumatized Victors only adds to that.
With a grunt, Regulus pushes to his feet and immediately looks

around for something to do, except there's nothing to do, because
Sirius has already handled everything. This, for some reason, only
makes Regulus scowl harder.
"Well?" Regulus snaps. "Are we going, then?"
"Mm, breakfast first," Sirius tells him, gesturing lazily to the ground
before reaching in his supply back to bring out water and something
to eat. "Most important meal of the day, you know, or so the saying
goes."
Regulus somehow gets more scowl-y, and Sirius resists the urge to
tell him to fix his face. Instead, he points to the ground again and
150
Climbing
arches an eyebrow at Regulus, who continues to scowl but does

nonetheless sit right back down.
They have breakfast. It's not great.
It is something, though, and going into the day that's sure to be shit
with food and water for energy is very important. He wonders how
the others are getting on, if they found food or not, because while the
rain keeps them hydrated, they have to be hungry by now on day
three with no food in them.
The silence between him and Regulus is vaguely annoying, but

Sirius refuses to be the one to break it. He has spent a better portion
of the night swinging between utter fury at Regulus and some other
unnameable, unfathomable emotion that still, even now, pulses
tender and bright beneath his ribs.
Just. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fucking hell. He knows—okay, so he truly

does know that Regulus is pretty fucked up. He also knows that he
himself is fucked up as well. Maybe it's the family they come from,
or the turns their lives have taken, or possibly how they influence
each other, how they go round and round in circles, two waves
crashing against either side of a ship, tipping it back and forth and
waiting for it to sink.
All they want, really, is for the ship to sink. Just so they can meet in
the middle again. Just so the weltering waters can calm.
It's probably a tangled mixture of childhood trauma and arena

trauma and so many other things as well, all things they had actually
managed to find a balance with before the reaping. That's where the
ship rolled in, and they've been waging war on it ever since. Go
away, go away, go away.
It won't. It's here to stay, and there's nothing either of them can do
about it. They've been trying anyway. Trying the same fucking thing,
for the same fucking reasons, and fucking ruining each other and
themselves in the process. They're parasitic and symbiotic all in one,
an unstoppable force and an immovable object, planning to lose so
they won't lose at all.
151
Sirius thinks of that fable of the scorpion and the frog. The one
where, to cross the river, the scorpion rides on the frog's back.
Halfway over, the scorpion stings the frog, despite the fact that it's
going to drown as well, simply because that is its nature. Sirius
thinks about it, and he can't figure out, between him and Regulus,
who's the scorpion and who's the frog.
But, either way, they're drowning.
"Look, do we—" Regulus huffs and grimaces, reaching out to stuff

the water bottle back in Sirius' bag. He's not quite looking Sirius in
the eye. "Do we need to—talk?"
"I don't know, Reggie, do we?" Sirius asks, arching an eyebrow at

him. "What do you think?" "Well, I don't want to," Regulus mumbles.
Sirius shrugs. "Fine. Whatever. Live with your regrets, then."
"I said I was—I apologized, didn't I?" Regulus says, strained.
"I don't know, it seemed sort of insincere, if you ask me."
"Sirius, come on."
"What's that?" Sirius asks, cupping his ear and turning his head to
Regulus. "You were saying?"
Regulus exhales sharply through his nose, then very slowly and very
painstakingly grits out, "I'm... sorry..."
"Well, that wasn't very convincing at all," Sirius muses.
"Oh, fuck off," Regulus snaps, pushing to his feet and glaring down
at him. Sirius remains in place, aloof and unbothered, just raising his
eyebrows at him. "Where's my apology?"
"I'm sorry," Sirius says.
"Exactly, so fu—" Regulus stops and stares at him, then frowns at

him. "Wait. For what?"
152
Climbing
Sirius clears his throat. "For volunteering for you when I promised
not to. I—you know, I didn't mean to. It was—of course I wanted to
every time I thought about it, but I knew how much it meant to you
that I wouldn't, so I—I planned not to, but I just..." He blows out a
deep breath, giving a weak shrug of his shoulders. "I heard your
name, and I was sixteen again. It was instinct, you know? A reflex.
Like breathing."
Regulus swallows harshly, but can't seem to speak.
"And I'm sorry I'm going to die," Sirius continues bluntly, his
stomach cramping when Regulus visibly flinches a bit, his eyes
drifting shut. "I'm sorry I have to leave you behind again, and if it
wasn't a requirement for you to live, I wouldn't."
"Don't," Regulus whispers, eyes fluttering open. "Don't, okay? For

me? Not—I'm not even asking for James or anyone else at this point.
Just me. Can't you just let me go?"
"Yeah," Sirius replies easily. "Go home. I can do that." Regulus'

expression falls flat. "You're not funny."
"I'm hilarious," Sirius counters, lazily pushing himself to his feet with
a sigh. "We can't keep talking about this, and we're not. Let's just...do
this one day at a time, yeah? Me and you."
"Me and you," Regulus repeats, staring at him for a long moment,
then heaving a sigh and shaking his head. "Fine."
"Good. Let's go."
"Sirius?"
"Hm?" Sirius asks as he grabs his bag to put on.
"I'm sorry, too. Genuinely," Regulus murmurs, his voice weighted

with sincerity now, and simple remorse.
153
Sirius goes still for a moment, then lifts his head and looks at
Regulus, lips pursed. "For what?"
"For trying to get you to kill me," Regulus admits, looking

appropriately sheepish about the whole thing, as if saying it out loud
makes him aware of how fucking insane that was for him to do.
"And also, um, saying...all the things I said."
"Did you mean any of it?" "Did you?"
They stare at each other. Unstoppable force, immovable object.

Scorpion, frog. Yes, Sirius thinks. No, not a fucking word, Sirius
thinks. The horrible, hideous truth is—he doesn't know. What he
does know is that he loves his little brother to death, literally, and his
little brother loves him, too.
Maybe that's all he needs to know.
"I don't want you to feel responsible for anything that I've gone
through, or anything that happens to me," Sirius says.
Regulus holds his gaze and whispers, "I don't want you to feel
responsible for me."
"I—" Sirius opens and closes his mouth, because he does, and he
always has, and maybe he always will. He can't change that. It's in
his fucking blood, circulating from his heart with every stubborn
clench and release. He can see how it's damaging, how it gets them
stuck in a loop neither of them
can escape, but he can't do a damn thing to break them free other
than let his heart stop. So, in the end, he just rasps, "I'm sorry."
"Yeah," Regulus says. "Yeah, Sirius, me too."
~•~
"Already?" James asks, perhaps in a bit of a panic.
154
Climbing
Frank is gripping his arm tight. "We're starting off strong on day
three, apparently."
"Fucking hell," Rodolphus hisses as he watches Rabastan swing his

mace at the strange creature chasing after him and Asher. The
creature is very big, has red leather-like skin, hooves, and claws. It
doesn't have eyes, and the nose is just slitted like a snake, while the
lipless mouth is wide with spiky teeth spilling out all over. There's at
least three more running behind the one that Rabastan hits, which
sails to the side with the head dented in and busted open like a
rotted peach.
James does a double-take when he realizes that Lestrange and

Dolohov are standing next to him and Frank to watch the screens,
leaving Malfoy alone with a few sponsors. Okay, so clearly they're
very pissed at him. Fair enough.
"Mum, don't you dare," Frank chokes out, and James' gaze snaps
back to the screen to see Augusta stumble through the corridor of the
maze that closes in on her and Alice from either side. Alice dives out,
but Augusta doesn't make it, other than her hand, and the maze
closes up around the rest of her.
Helplessly, James can only reach out and grab Frank's wrist, listening
to him muffle a weak sound of pure panic. On the screen, Alice
curses harshly and reaches out to grasp Augusta's hand, using their
machete to hack at the hedges to create an opening as they
desperately yank Augusta through.
Augusta comes falling out, gasping for air, shaky and dazed as she
leans on Alice, who steadies her and snatches them both back into a
desperate run.
Frank's hand eases on James' arm as he exhales.
The camera cuts to show Marlene and Eli taking a corner and
slamming directly into each other, both running from different
things. Marlene cries out when she falls on her arm, and Eli stutters
155
out helpless apologies as he grabs her with shaking hands and tugs
her back to her feet. I'm sorry, girl, I'm so sorry, but we have to run,
he keeps saying, and Marlene grits her teeth through the pain to
follow him.
Emmeline was separated from Eli and is standing at the very end of
a closed passage in the maze, shooting bolt after bolt as creatures
crawl on the ground and on the walls of the hedges towards her.
They're spider-like in the way they seem to just scuttle along and
defy gravity, but they look like fucking mannequins. Their cheeks are
high, arcing inwards, and when they blink, it's exactly like a
mannequin coming to life, confused as to why it's awake. The whites
of their eyes are a little too visible. They hold their faces like those
dolls with no eyelids, and their eyelashes look like stitches against
skin.
It's creepy. How Emmeline is so stoic as a whole mass of them come

barreling towards her all at once, James doesn't know. A bolt to the
face does seem to stop them, but there's more of them than she has
bolts to shoot them with. She will run out, and then she'll be
overtaken, because she's at the end of the passage with nowhere to
run.
Everyone else is alone, running in their own parts of the maze,

running from hands or creatures or the green fog. Some of them are
closer to others, from what James can see on the map of their
positions. Bellatrix is quite close to Alice and Augusta, and there's a
good chance she might run into them. Narcissa and Dixon aren't too
far from Sirius and Regulus, which is rather nerve- wracking for
James.
At the moment, Sirius and Regulus are—fine. They're alert and

moving through the maze with no issue. Sirius is currently
complaining about the fact that he can't see the moon at night,
tipping his head back and boldly requesting McGonagall personally
to hang it in the sky just for him. Regulus rolls his eyes but
ultimately leaves Sirius to his whining.
James is...not pleased with either of them, at the moment. Having to

watch them quite literally beat the shit out of each other had been
156
Climbing
very distressing. Not once throughout did James doubt Regulus,

though. Not for a second. He knew Regulus wouldn't kill Sirius, and
he also knew Sirius wouldn't kill Regulus. They may have been
angry enough in the moment to want to, but James didn't believe for
a second that either of them could actually see through any attempt
of what they were doing in that moment. So, to him, they were
essentially just hurting each other for no fucking reason in the
middle of the death arena where everyone else, in some way or
another, wants them dead. And yeah, he's not pleased that they're
both so fucking desperate to die for each other while using him as an
excuse to mix in with the truth, which is that, deep down, they're
both utterly terrified to lose the other.
It was purposeful not to send them a message after their fight,

because he was angry and he knew
his silence would convey that. Angry for them both, angry for
himself, angry for every single person in that arena and all their
families and the people who will have to go in the following year
and just—just angry at so many things. He regrets it now, not taking
that opportunity to send some kind of message to let them know,
despite everything, he still loves them both. But yesterday? The
fighting and the attempted sacrifice? He doesn't want it.
What James wants is for them both to fight to live, not just for other
people, but for themselves. And he wants them both to live. Both of
them. He'd do quite literally anything if there was some way they
could both make it out, because as of now, his brain just can't accept
that only one can. He still hasn't come to terms with it. He's not sure
he ever will.
Dolohov grunts, and they all turn their attention to Alecto on the
screen, who just so happens to be running right past the opening to
the passage where Emmeline is stuck and under attack. The sight of
the creatures seem to stun Alecto enough that she actually stops and
stares at them in what seems to be pure disbelief. It's obvious that
she sees Emmeline at the end, but she doesn't assist. She just turns
and keeps running.
157
"Well, she's down," Dolohov mutters, jerking his chin at Emmeline,
who releases her last bolt with a sharp curse.
Frank clenches his jaw, gritting out, "I wouldn't be too sure of that,
Dolohov. Just wait." They wait.
Emmeline grips her crossbow, eyes narrowing, and then she starts
marching right down the passage without a stutter in her stride,
meeting the creatures halfway. They immediately begin to swarm
her, and she—
James blinks rapidly, watching her bust in the heads of the creatures
with her crossbow, always moving, never staying still long enough
for them to actually get ahold of her. She just keeps going, not
seeming scared in the slightest, and the creatures begin to thin out,
laying broken and discarded at her feet. She had to have gone into a
swarm of at least ten, and yet she walks right back out with a trail of
twitching, dismembered creatures behind her.
"Okay," Dolohov grumbles, "I stand corrected." "Damn right you do,"
Frank says, smirking.
James huffs out a slightly hysterical laugh and shakes his head in
amazement as he watches each and every single one of these people
strive to survive, some just stubbornly refusing to die.
Helplessly, James' eyes crawl to two of the most stubborn people he

knows, staring at Regulus and Sirius and selfishly hoping that
they're more stubborn than the rest.
~•~
"You know," Sirius muses, "if James were here, he'd be beat-boxing
right now."
Regulus sighs. Looking back, he did perhaps take for granted the
levity James brought to the first arena, especially in the beginning.
Somehow, James found ways to make even that whole situation
158
Climbing
better, and Regulus knows this, because he's in it again and,

comparatively, Sirius is shit at it.
To put it simply, Sirius is an idiot who never shuts up, and there isn't
even the benefit of him having a voice Regulus actually enjoys
hearing. James has such a lovely voice. Regulus misses it. But nooo,
he's stuck listening to his brother's inane chatter and his stupid,
smug voice that generally always seems to have a grin in it,
somehow.
Regulus kind of wants to punch him again. Regulus kind of wants to

hug him again.
Regulus does neither of these things and, instead, feels a surge of

guilt and distress tangle like knots in his chest when he realizes
there's a good chance that, in a few days, he'll never hear Sirius
speak again. Suddenly, Regulus wants to listen to every word he
says and beg him to never, ever shut up.
"James," Sirius says, addressing the sky, "I want you to know that,
unlike some people, I would appreciate you beat-boxing in stressful
situations, and I would gladly provide backup vocals to bring it all
together."
"Oh, excuse me for being normal," Regulus mutters defensively, and

then almost instantly realizes what he's just said and what's about to
happen, because Sirius is going to—
That. He's going to do that. Sirius busts out laughing at him,

wheezing, "Normal? You think you're
normal?"
"Compared to you and James? Yes, by far," Regulus insists, because

he has to see it through now. "Just—when it comes to heavy,
dangerous situations, I mean. Because I'm not cracking jokes and
laughing at things."
159
"Reggie, you never crack jokes or laugh at things."
"I—yes, I do. I...do. I have before."
"Name one time," Sirius says, lips twitching.
Regulus opens his mouth, then closes it, then frowns. He sits on that
for a second, then says, "James thinks I'm funny."
"James is blinded by love, is what he is," Sirius tells him, clearly

exasperated. "He is not an unbiased opinion."
"Before you volunteered," Regulus states finally, and Sirius blinks at

him. "The first time, I mean. I know you don't really remember a lot
of things from back then, but I—I would occasionally make jokes,
and I did laugh a lot more."
Sirius clicks his tongue. "Well, that's tragic."
"Isn't it just?" Regulus agrees dryly.
"I bet you were shit at it even then."
"I wasn't. James laughed, and he didn't even like me before my

fifteenth birthday."
"Mm, no, I don't believe you," Sirius says. "I will simply always see
you as not funny. You've never told a good joke in your life, I just
know this. James." He looks up at the sky again, his eyes dancing
with amusement. "If you happen to send us anything again, do let
me know if I'm right. Well, you'll side with me even if I'm wrong, but
still."
"Why would he side with you over me?" Regulus asks in disbelief,
eyes narrowing slightly.
"He's my best friend," Sirius announces slowly, like Regulus is an

idiot who can't understand basic concepts.
160
Climbing
Regulus arches an eyebrow. "He's my fiancé."
"He's—" Sirius stops. He comes to a screeching halt, which makes

Regulus stop and turn to blink
at him. "Wait. Wait, no, because you weren't lying just then. Your
fiancé?"
"Yes," Regulus says, his lips curling up at the corners rather against
his will, and he can't help it. He can't stifle the warmth of pride in his
voice, or how he goes a little breathless with giddy joy and
excitement. It'd probably embarrass him if he had any space in him
to be anything other than delighted.
Sirius gasps. Legitimately gasps. It's very dramatic. "Oh, shit, you're
getting married? Reggie!" "What?"
"When was this?! When did he ask? I mean, you know, properly. Not
just, um, talking about the wedding in the Hallow or whatever. I
mean, when did he really ask?"
Regulus can see that Sirius is walking a fine line here, talking in
half-truths to get the message across. He gets what Sirius is saying
well enough. "Why do you assume he asked?"
"Because he's James." Sirius stares at him, waiting with some sort of
eager, earnest patience for more details, and then his eyes widen.
"You asked? You?!"
"Yes," Regulus admits.
Sirius gapes at him. "Oh, fuck. He cried, didn't he? I bet he cried.
Why didn't you tell me?! Why didn't he tell me?!"
"There wasn't really time," Regulus explains. "It was the last night
before we came into the arena. Properly, I mean."
161
"Oh. Wait, you asked then? Wait..." Sirius squints at him, lips pursing
like he's trying to fight a smile. "Did you—did you actually, properly
ask him?"
"Yes! I just said so, Sirius."
"What did you say? What exactly did you say?"
Regulus huffs and rolls his eyes to the sky, literally begging for
patience. "I said: would you marry me? He said: yes. Very simple.
Asked, answered, engaged."
"You—" Sirius abruptly starts giggling, and Regulus stares at him

blankly. "Oh, Regulus. Regulus. That's not—it's—okay, so you do
realize that agreeing that you would get married is not the same as
agreeing to get married, yeah?"
"No, I'm pretty sure they're the same," Regulus replies.
Sirius wheezes with laughter, tucking his lips in as he leans on his

spear like he might fall over if he doesn't. When he calms, he
breathes out, "It's...not at all the same. The intent really matters. Did
either of you even talk about how the wedding would happen? Start
making plans?"
"Well, no, obviously we couldn't," Regulus snaps, gesturing

pointedly around them. "Seeing as there would be no point."
"You..." Sirius is no longer laughing. His eyebrows tug together as he

regards Regulus in confusion. "Wait, why would you do that if you
planned to die?"
"I wanted him to have that. I—I couldn't give him anything else,
because of all this." Regulus once again gestures around them, this
time with dejection. "But I could give him that. And—well, selfishly,
I wanted it, too. It made me happy. It still makes me happy. I wanted
to have that all the way up to the end. And he gave it to me."
162
Climbing
"Right," Sirius says quietly, and then he swallows and gives Regulus
a tight smile. "I know I said we wouldn't talk about it, but you do
realize that this only makes me more determined to get you home,
yeah? I—I mean, come on, Reggie, you could get married! You—you
could—"
Regulus shakes his head. "We wouldn't. Not without you there. It
wouldn't feel right to either of us, I don't think."
"While I'd genuinely kill to be there, and I do mean genuinely, it

shouldn't stop just because I won't be there. I—I want you to. And,
really, I will be there. Just, you know, not physically. But I'll be there.
I wouldn't miss it." Sirius tilts his head back to address the sky again.
"James, I mean it. I'm not joking. Convince him however you have to,
but do it. You both want to, and so you will. Please."
"I won't go. I'll leave him at the altar."
"No you won't."
"It's not happening, Sirius," Regulus bites out, a harsh clench in his
chest. "We'll just be engaged forever, I guess, because we're not
getting married if you can't physically be there."
"Don't put that on me. Don't make me responsible for holding you
back," Sirius murmurs. "Well, now you know how I feel," Regulus
declares sharply.
Sirius sighs. "You're so spiteful."
"Yes, I'm fucking spiteful, because I don't want you to die! I don't
want you to be dead!" Regulus bursts out. "I want you to keep being
an idiot until you're old and ugly, and I want you to come to my
fucking wedding!"
"First of all, I would be old and beautiful," Sirius states firmly,

holding up a finger. "I am going to be sexy until the day I die, even if
I could live until a hundred. Second of all, I will be at the wedding.
163
In spirit. Have it at night under my star. Or just—I don't know, slap a
picture of me on a chair and—"
"You're so stupid," Regulus interrupts, then swivels on the spot and

stomps off, scowling as he goes.
"James, how do you put up with him?" Sirius groans from behind
him. "The chair idea is a good idea, isn't it? You get it. See, now you
have to. It's funny! It would be—"
"Stop talking to my fiancé!" Regulus snaps as he continues on, and

Sirius doesn't, but he does lower his voice as he follows along, which
will just have to do.
~•~ "Congratulations, by the way," Frank says.
Despite everything, James breaks out into a goofy grin. Did he know
he was engaged prior to Regulus announcing it when he sent the
bagel? No. Is he going to protest it? Also no.
James beams over at Frank and chirps, "Thanks!" ~•~
Things are fine, until they aren't.
Regulus is walking ahead in a clear tiff, and Sirius leaves him to it,
grumbling to James under his breath. He doesn't get why they can't
just get married without him. Yes, the idea of them having a
wedding without him there wants to make him curl up in a ball and
cry, but that doesn't mean they shouldn't.
He wants them to be happy, even when he's gone. He needs them to

be. And Remus. He needs Remus to be okay. Ideally, he would be
free, but Sirius knows this isn't an ideal world. He'd die
willingly if it meant Remus could be free, though. When he said he

would live for Remus, he meant it, but he would also give his life in
a heartbeat if that's all it would take to give Remus a chance at a
better one.
164
Climbing
Sirius is finding this whole dying business a chore, honestly. You'd

think it would be easier; you're here one day, then gone the next.
Simple enough, right? As it turns out, no, not so simple, because it
affects more than just you.
Yeah, well, Sirius would love to live, actually. Has everyone

forgotten that part? Obviously he doesn't want to die and never see
Remus again, and never go to his brother and best friend's wedding,
and never get to keep going in life and see what comes next. He'd do
anything to keep living, anything except let his little brother die to
make it possible.
So, grumpy as he is about the whole ordeal, Sirius glares at Regulus'

back up ahead and thinks rude thoughts at him as he mumbles to
James that he'd be his best man, not Regulus', because Regulus is
currently being a little shit, so James is very ahead in the race of who
would get him. Sirius finds the thought of them fighting over him as
a best man mildly amusing and wonders, idly, who would win.
Before he can think of a proper answer, the sound of the shuddering

hedges gets louder, and Sirius' face falls slack as the walls of the
maze in between him and Regulus start to grow together, closing in
between them.
Regulus whips around, eyes wide, and they look at each other
through the gap for a beat before Sirius immediately takes off
running, trying to catch up and jump through.
He doesn't make it.
"Regulus? Regulus!" Sirius calls through the hedge, his heart beating
hard as he shoves one hand into the wall of leaves and sticks that jab
at him and don't let him get through. It's so thick that he doesn't
think he reaches in even halfway.
"Sirius?" Regulus calls back, his voice faint and muffled. "Hey, are
you okay?" Sirius asks, voice raised.
165
"Yeah, I'm—" Regulus cuts himself off, and Sirius ducks his head to
listen better, but he can't hear much of anything through the barrier.
And then, suddenly, Regulus' voice gets louder, tinged with panic.
"Sirius! Sirius!"
Sirius' breath catches at the sheer fucking distress and audible terror
in Regulus' voice. Immediately, Sirius' heart kicks into overdrive as
he starts frantically yanking at the hedges, trying to cut a path with
his spear, but it's no use. "Reggie? What is it? Regulus? Hey! I need
you to talk to me! Regulus!"
There's no reply.
~•~
Regulus is frozen, his back to the hedge where Sirius is trapped on

the other side, still yelling, though Regulus has no idea what's being
said past the loud ringing in his ears.
The passage has been split in half, blocked right down the middle
with Regulus on one side and Sirius on the other, a barrier too thick
to break through in between them. At the end of the passage Regulus
is facing, it's blocked off, nowhere to run forward, no turns to take.
He can only stand there, every muscle in his body locked up as he

watches the steady trickle of blood pour down the length of the
passage. It's a crimson river, making its way right for him.
Regulus doesn't move, doesn't even breathe, because he can't, at least

not until the river reaches the tread of his boots, blood lapping
against the soles. He instinctively heaves out a harsh breath and
stumbles back as far as he can go, until he's pressed right up against
the wall of greenery behind him, pushing himself backwards
steadily, desperately and fitfully trying to outrun the blood. He gets
nowhere.
There's nowhere to go.
"Please," Regulus chokes out. "Not this. Not like this. Anything else.
Anything, please, just—just —"
166
Climbing
The river of blood rushes at him faster, rapids and red foam, the
sound of it sending a surge of panic through him. It starts to rise,
splattering up against the hedges and rocking over the top of his
boots, almost reaching his ankles just that quickly.
"No, no, no," Regulus chants, his breath stuttering out of him as he
twists around and ducks his head, squeezing his eyes shut tight just
so he won't have to see it. He trembles and traps a whimper behind
his clenched teeth, tears pricking at his eyes as he feels the river
wrap around his calves. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry.
I'm—I won't—I shouldn't have said anything. I shouldn't
have—I—I'm sorry. Please. You want to kill me? Fine, fine, but
not—please not this way."
Sirius is still shouting, muffled and frantic. "Regulus? Regulus,

what's happening? Regulus, what's —"
The crimson river clings to the back of Regulus' knees.
"Sirius," Regulus weeps, because he is weeping now, fully just

sobbing—a hoarse, teary mess that he knows Sirius likely can't even
hear, but Regulus can't catch his breath to raise his voice over the
rushing blood. "Sirius, I'm going to die."
He is. He knows he is.
And the insane thing is, he doesn't want to.
It hits him now, like this, that he doesn't want to die, and more than
that, he doesn't deserve to. Not now. Not like this. Not here. He
doesn't, and Sirius doesn't, and none of them do.
It's on the edge of death that it becomes clear how desperate one is to
live. No one wants to die, not really. It's one thing to say it, to think
it, to feel it—but humans are creatures of endurance. They endure,
and endure, and endure. It's instinct. It's the fear of the unknown and
the desire for more.
167
People are born to live, and destined to die.
Regulus doesn't care about destiny. What he cares about is Sirius,

and James, and so many others who are watching him in this
moment, so many people he's realizing that he impacts just by living,
and being who he is. People he doesn't want to leave yet. People he
wants more time with. People he means something to. People who
love him. He doesn't want to waste a second he could spend with his
brother; he doesn't want to waste a moment he could spend knowing
James is his, and alive, and loves him with every breath he takes.
Regulus wants to live for so many people, and deep down, he wants
to live for himself. Because he was growing. Because he was learning
to turn a house into a home. Because he was ready to let love in, and
let love out. Because he was trying, and it doesn't matter that he's
tired, and it doesn't matter that trying seems pointless, because he
wants to keep trying.
The crimson river ensnares his waist.
Gasping out a harsh breath, Regulus' eyes flutter open as he stares at

the hedge in front of him, barely hearing Sirius call out to him over
the buzzing in his ears. His eyes are full, vision blurred from the
tears constantly spilling over. The blood that laps at him makes him
rock, but he can feel himself trembling so hard that his teeth are
chattering. The river is so cold. So fucking cold, just like before, and
Regulus—
The last time Regulus was lost in a crimson river, he tipped himself
into it for James, and for Sirius. He chose to do it for them. A
sacrifice.
This time, when Regulus is lost in yet another crimson river, he

chooses to find his way out for himself. A rebirth.
Slowly, Regulus looks at the hedge in front of him, and carefully, he

tilts his head back, because what drifts through his head is no one
thinks to look up.
168
Climbing
Regulus does.
He always thinks to look up now.
"Sirius," Regulus croaks, then clears his throat violently and blinks
tears out of his eyes. He raises his voice to shout over Sirius, who is
also shouting. "Sirius! Sirius, shut up and listen to me, okay? I need
you to listen!"
"Don't you fucking dare give some sort of goodbye speech, Regulus,
or I swear I'll—" "I'm not giving a goodbye speech! I need help!"
There's a beat of a silence, and then Sirius blurts out a strained and
muffled, "Anything. Anything you need. What is it?"
"I need you to climb to the top of the hedge and drop down the rope
from your bag!" Regulus calls out, then whines helplessly as the river
knocks against his ribs.
Sirius doesn't respond, and Regulus' panic and distress starts

spreading to everything, to worrying about Sirius, too. Why hasn't
he replied? Why hasn't he said okay? Why hasn't he—
A choked wheeze from up above catches Regulus' attention, his head

falling back so he can stare wide-eyed at Sirius, who apparently
scaled the hedge in record time and is now perched on the very top,
staring down at him in horror, very pale.
"Oh, what the fuck, Reggie?" Sirius hisses, his hands flying around as
he rushes to unravel the rope and drop it down. It doesn't reach
where Regulus is, still too high. "Come on. You have to move right
now. You have to climb."
That's the thing. Regulus can't climb. Every time he has tried since
leaving the arena, he has failed. Every time, he freezes up and can't
make himself move. Every time, he stays right there on the ground,
never making it to the top.
169
If I cannot climb, I will grow. And he did. He has. He still is, even
now. Growing doesn't stop. But, the thing is, to live right now, he's
going to have to do both.
"Regulus!" Sirius bursts out, eyes wild, his voice tinged with panic
and pure desperation. He has leaned forward as far as he can go,
holding the rope down as far as it will reach. "Just keep going and
don't look down!"
The crimson river drapes over Regulus' shoulders.
To grow is to climb, to climb is to grow. Either way, he's going up.

Slowly but surely, he's making his way to the top.
Regulus gasps out a deep, shaky breath and reaches up as high as he

can, fisting his hand into the
hedge until he has a sure grip. Underneath, he swings his foot

forward through the thick blood to embed his boot into the foothold
he creates, and then he feels the river wrap around his neck like a
noose just before he clenches his jaw and climbs.
His other hand flies up to bury in the wall of leaves and vines,
clinging as he muffles a weak sound in the back of his throat and
pulls, and keeps pulling, and yanks himself out of the river one
handful at a time. The blood cascades off of him, inch by fucking
inch, weighing him down, trying to drag him down. He thinks he's
sobbing, but he isn't stopping. Despite the strain, the effort, the
fear—he keeps climbing.
Regulus' chest heaves as he feels the river still lapping at his legs,
still rising as he does the same, but he doesn't look down. He doesn't
look at anything. He keeps going, feeling his arms shake, feeling the
world shift around him and fall apart and somehow, inexplicably,
build anew again.
170
Climbing
To some, this would be simple. To some, climbing to escape a river of

blood would seem like the sane course of action. To some, this
wouldn't be very much of a feat at all.
But to Regulus? It's the fight of his life. It's the fight for his life.
And he wins.
He fucking wins.
Regulus hears it when Sirius shouts to grab the rope, finally getting
high enough to reach it, and so Regulus clamps down on it and starts
yanking himself up almost desperately at the same time that Sirius
starts frantically pulling, his hands flying along the rope, palms
eating the length of it as he puts all his strength behind helping
Regulus reach the top.
Regulus does. He folds over the top of the hedge and feels Sirius'
hand ball into the back of his shirt tight, clenching and yanking so
hard that the stitches make ripping noises. Regulus scrambles up
until he's there, until he's gasping and shivering and immediately
being tugged right into Sirius' arms.
"Okay, okay, you're okay," Sirius chokes out, clinging to Regulus as

hard as Regulus clings to him,
blood and all.
"I know," Regulus wheezes. "I know I am."
"You're okay, right? You're okay," Sirius chants, hands flying up to

grasp Regulus' shoulders and push him back, shaking fingers patting
him down, checking him over. "Yeah, you're okay. You're fine.
You're—"
"Sirius," Regulus rasps.
171
"You're fine," Sirius insists, gasping for air more than Regulus is, at
this point.
"Sirius," Regulus says firmly, shockingly steady as he darts his hands

out to grip Sirius' wrists, stilling his hands. Sirius stares at him,
wide-eyed, all the color drained from his face. "I'm okay. I'm really
okay."
"Okay," Sirius whispers, his fingers still trembling.
"No more trying to die," Regulus states, holding Sirius' gaze, his
racing heart slowly starting to calm. "No more. Not me, not you, not
anyone. We try to live, okay? We have so much to live for, even just
ourselves, so we try to live. Me and you."
Sirius stares at him for a long moment, then blows out a deep breath.
"Fucking hell, Reggie, did you just have some sort of revelation or
something?"
"Yeah," Regulus says with a mildly hysterical laugh, blinking rapidly.

"Yeah, I think I did." "Oh, well, fair enough," Sirius replies, equally
hysterical.
Regulus swallows. "Did you hear me? We try to live. We—"
"You know we can't both—"
"I don't care. I don't care what we aren't supposed to be able to do,
Sirius. Fuck them. Fuck them all. We can do anything. We can do
whatever we decide to, and so let's live. Let's try to live, okay?
Whatever it takes. Me and you."
Sirius holds his gaze, and he seems to hold his breath, and he's better
than Regulus—he always has been—so it makes sense that he's
better at hoping, too. A spark enters his eyes, and he laughs, choked
up and carefree simultaneously, utterly exhilarated as he nods and
breathes out, "Me and you."
172
Climbing
A helpless, hysterical laugh spills out of Regulus' mouth, and he tips

himself backwards out of Sirius' grip to lay back against the top of
the hedge, gazing hazily up at the burnt orange and soft pink of the
sun dancing across the sky, and he laughs softly, quietly, relaxing into
the rush of adrenaline and finding the view to be entirely worth the
climb.
"You hear that?!" Sirius shouts at the audience. "Me and him! Both of
us! Fuck you! Fuck all of you! We're going to live!"
Regulus wheezes out another laugh and lifts his head to see Sirius
grinning like a madman as he flips off the sky with both hands.
Regulus drops his head back and lifts his hands to lazily join Sirius
in flipping the sky off, too.
Slowly, the rush fades, and Regulus eases his arms down, letting
them land over his stomach and chest with a wet smack, still
shivering, still dripping blood. He hangs his hand over the side of
the hedge and turns his head to look at it, watching the tiny crimson
river run down his arm, over his scars, and slip through his fingers.
Regulus' gaze crawls past it to stare at the river of blood below. It's
receding, calming, draining away to nowhere. It wanted him again.
It wanted to keep him this time.
You can't have me, I'm not yours, Regulus thinks, and then he turns
his face back towards the sun and smiles.
173
6
BOGGARTS
______
"My brother. Louie," Huey says, looking skittish. "I need to know
that he's going to be okay. Will he be okay?"
"Does he have anywhere he can go?" Dorcas murmurs, keeping her

voice quiet. "Anyone he can lie low with?"
Huey hesitates, then mumbles, "He has an old flame who would take
him in and keep him safe in a heartbeat. It's a little complicated,
but..."
"Call him, tell him to go there, and he should be fine," Dorcas says.
"It's—I do want you to be aware of the risk, though. For him and for
you. I'm not going to lie to you, Huey. This is going to be a war. No
one is going to be okay."
"Right," Huey whispers. "Right, okay, and if I refuse?"
Dorcas stares at him. "Whether you are here, or elsewhere, you won't
be safe from the war, nor will anyone else. And, let me be very
fucking clear, if you intend to in any way jeopardize what I'm doing,
I will kill you before you ever get the chance."
Huey swallows thickly. "Right. Yeah, okay. I'll go call him." "Good,"
Dorcas tells him.
Huey nods and walks off, his hand slipping into his pocket to pull
out his phone. Dorcas sighs quietly and feels the tight clench of
anticipation and worry gnaw on the inside of her chest some more.
174
Boggarts
She'd been so eager to get to what's coming, and yet, the closer she
gets, the less prepared she feels.
There's still more time, but Dorcas has a lot to do, on top of balancing
her desperate need to keep an eye on Marlene in the arena. She's so
distracted worrying about her that it's very difficult to manage much
of anything else.
"Ms. Meadowes, I find myself curious about why you, of all people,
would be talking to a sponsor."
Lips thinning out, Dorcas swings around to see Lucius Malfoy

standing in front of her, his gaze trailing after Huey before settling
back on her. He arches an eyebrow.
"You're aware, I'm sure, that only mentors are meant to network on
the behalf of their tributes," Lucius continues, and Dorcas finds his
voice very, very grating. "Not handlers. Not stylists. To interfere on
the behalf of—"
"Malfoy, I literally do not have time for this, or you," Dorcas cuts in,
and then can't even be bothered to stick around and listen to him
sputter in offense. Dorcas doesn't waste her time on people who
aren't worth it.
Dorcas sweeps off without a word, surveying the room to find either
James or Frank. She locates James first, who is leaning against a wall.
He seems to be recovering after Regulus nearly died, pressing one
his hand flat to his chest as he breathes in and out. It's his first year
as a mentor— hopefully his last—and he doesn't know how to save
face yet. Other people are attempting to fawn over him and offer
comfort, except James is not having it. He keeps sweeping out his
cane to force people to give him a wide berth, not trying to hit
anyone, but being sure that they won't come too close.
Alright, Dorcas can respect that. She swivels on her heel and decides
to come back to him later. He's practically a sure thing anyway.
Frank, however, is not.
175
"Dorcas," Frank greets in mild, distracted surprise when she comes
to a stop next to him. He's Marlene's friend, and Dorcas wonders if
Marlene ever talked about her to him. He seems quite caught up in
watching Alice and Augusta to fully focus on her at the moment,
which is fair.
"Hey, Frank, how are you holding up?" Dorcas murmurs. Frank
sighs. "Managing, mostly. You?"
"Oh, I'm—fine," Dorcas says haltingly, and Frank does turn his head
to raise his eyebrows at her then, and yeah, okay, he knows she's
involved with Marlene. Right, well, this should be a little easier, in
that case. "Actually, not that fine."
"Yes, well, when someone you care about is in the arena, it's always
harder," Frank announces, holding her gaze. He seems to be
searching her eyes. "You love her, don't you?"
"I do, yeah," Dorcas admits quietly, and Frank's face softens
immediately. "You have no idea just how far I'll go for her."
"Unfortunately, there's not very much you can do from your

position," Frank says softly.
Dorcas clears her throat. "Yeah, uh, about that..."
"What?" Frank asks, eyebrows wrinkling together.
"What if I said—" Dorcas cuts herself off when multiple people gasp
throughout the room, drawing her attention, as well as Frank's, who
sucks in a sharp breath and goes still.
Rita is on one screen, leaning forward in clear interest as she shows

the scene of Augusta and Alice taking a corner and both coming to a
screeching halt at the sight of Frank laying in the middle of a
passage, a hole in his head from a bullet wound, clearly dead. Dorcas
blinks and glances over at Frank, then back to his dead body on the
screen.
176
Boggarts
"Ah, yes, this is exciting," Rita states. "A new creation by Head
Gamemaker Minerva McGonagall herself, something called a
boggart. It's a creature that takes the form of the tributes' greatest
fear, and it's interactive. It can and will attack, and as we can see
here, it seems Augusta and Alice share the same fear. Of course, they
have no way of knowing it's not real..."
Frank makes a quiet sound, staring at the screen with wide eyes, and
Dorcas swallows thickly, her stomach churning to think that Minerva
created this. Of course she did. Minerva is brilliant, even to a
terrifying point, and she knows as well as everyone within the Order
that Riddle has an odd obsession with fears and such. He finds it
fascinating, especially since he's essentially immune, seeing as it's
rumored he fears nothing and doesn't experience fear at all. That's
why he loves Horcrux Hornets so much, or so Slughorn has said.
On the screen, Frank's corpse turns its head and stares at Alice and
Augusta with dead eyes. "Why, Mum? Why did you take my place
when it doesn't even matter?" The corpse drags itself up on creaking
limbs. "Alice, how could you let me die the same way your parents
did? How could you —"
Alice whimpers and stumbles back into Augusta, who exhales

harshly and steadies them before rasping, "It's not real. Alice, it's not
real. That's not Frank. He's not—my son isn't dead. It's a trick. Come
on. Come on!"
Augusta turns away from the corpse and yanks on Alice, who seems
to be hyperventilating through
tears, but they dutifully start running away when Augusta forces
them to. As they go, Augusta just keeps chanting it's not real, it's not
real, it's not real.
Once Alice and Augusta take a corner, out of sight, the boggart
dissolves into mist and drifts along like wisps of smoke, traveling
through the maze.
177
"Sorry," Frank croaks, blinking rapidly. "Um, you were—you were
saying something before."
"Right," Dorcas whispers, swallowing past the lump in her throat.

"Yeah, I was. Frank, I need you to hear me out, okay?"
Frank turns and looks at her, and then he does.
~•~
When blood dries in cloth, it makes it stiff. Regulus feels like he's
wearing boards, which is very uncomfortable, but there is literally
nowhere to clean his clothes. Sirius helped him wring out what he
could, making sure to keep the dripping portions of Regulus' shirt
away from his skin so he wouldn't have to feel it, which Regulus
appreciates. It was damp for a while, wet and sticky against his skin,
which he hated, but now it's dry and rough. It's still an
improvement, in his opinion.
Either way, it's a small price to pay to not be dead.
"You don't have to walk so close, you know," Regulus mutters,

exasperated because Sirius is
walking beside him, right beside him in perfect step, their elbows
bumping over and over.
Sirius grunts. "No, but I do, though. Apparently—" He shoots a glare

up at the sky, "—they feel the
need to separate us."
"Sirius, we probably will be separated, realistically speaking,"

Regulus tells him, and Sirius purses his lips in visible distaste at this
notion. "This maze is a fucking mess, so there's a good chance we
will be. And, if we are, then we just—we keep going and try to find
each other again. Stay alive until we do."
178
Boggarts
"Yeah, I know, but I'm not going to make it easy for them," Sirius
declares firmly. Regulus hums. "Fair enough. Me neither."
Abruptly, Sirius snaps his hand out to clamp down on Regulus' arm,
and Regulus instantly stops, tensing up as he looks over to see how
serious Sirius is. He cocks his head a little, eyes narrowing, and
Regulus strains his ears and darts his gaze around, trying to hear
what Sirius is hearing and see what Sirius is seeing. It takes a
moment, and then Regulus picks up the faint sound of footsteps
pounding against the ground.
"You hear that, right?" "I hear that." "Someone's com—"
Sirius never finishes before a form bursts through the opening up

ahead, tripping a little as they take the corner. Regulus gets to make
out that it's Lester only seconds before he's coming right for them,
raising his spear.
Before Regulus even thinks about it, he shoves Sirius to the side
forcefully and stumbles back, watching the spear fly through the air
where Sirius just was.
"Don't you fucking dare!" Regulus bursts out, utterly furious in just a
split second, and Sirius ducks yet again when Lester attempts to
wrap hands around his throat.
"It's not going to stop!" Lester roars, panting, utterly wild-eyed and
frantic. "Don't you get it?! The maze isn't going to stop throwing shit
at us until we're all dead! We have to kill! I have to kill you! I have
to!"
In seconds, Regulus is whirling behind Lester to grab him by the

back of his hair, slamming his boot into the back of Lester's knee and
shoving him forward at the same time that Sirius swings out with his
spear. It's so precise, so quick, that Lester barely even gurgles when
the spear slits his throat, open and uncovered where Regulus
wrenches his head back.
179
Regulus sees the blood immediately begin to pour down Lester's
front, but he doesn't let go until Lester's hands go slack, no longer
trying to reach Sirius, who is perfectly fine. He's already cleaning off
his spear lazily, watching dispassionately as Lester falls forward in a
puddle of his own blood and continues to bleed out.
"Are you alright?" Sirius asks, swiping the spearhead off and eyeing
Regulus carefully.
Regulus is doing his level best not to gag, honestly. None of the
blood got on him, but he can smell it, and he saw it, and after the
crimson river, he's so fucking queasy that death is genuinely just
making him feel in danger of being sick.
"Yep, fine," Regulus manages to say, and then ruins it by flinching

slightly when the cannon sounds. Sirius raises his eyebrows at him,
and Regulus huffs. "Oh, shut up. It's the blood, alright? It fucking
stinks. How are you so—so—"
"Calm?" Sirius asks.
"Yeah, that," Regulus mutters grudgingly.
Sirius sighs and twirls his spear over his wrist. "Reggie, I'm not
exactly—I mean, I've... I've had my moments, alright? But it's the
arena. In here, this can't—I can't think about it. I can't focus on what
I'm doing, or what I have to do. I just do it."
"Don't you think I'm trying to do the same?" Regulus snaps, taking
another step back from Lester, breathing through his mouth. The
blood-stiff clothes he's wearing is making his skin itch. "Fucking hell,
Sirius, you've killed four people without even hesitating. Didn't even
blink. And Camilla—I mean, you seemed to be alright with her, and
then—"
"And then she tried to kill you," Sirius cuts in bluntly. He holds
Regulus' gaze. "Look, I knew exactly what I was getting into by
coming back here. I've already murdered twelve people. What's
sixteen, especially to keep me and you alive? If I live, I'll live with it.
If I don't, well, I guess I won't have to. Either way, I do what I have
180
Boggarts
to do, same as you. It's not easy, but I don't have the same issues with
blood that you do, for one thing. And I wasn't just here last year, for
another."
"What if I fuck it up? Or I'm too late to help you? Or I'm not fast
enough?" Regulus whispers, and his stomach churns even worse at
the mere thought.
"Is that what you're worrying about now?" Sirius asks wearily,
heaving a sigh. "Honestly, you have some major anxiety issues going
on, you know that? Listen to me, okay? Me and you, whatever it
takes. We agreed to that, didn't we?"
"Yes," Regulus mumbles.
"So, that's that," Sirius says simply. "That means we're both trying
our best, and that is enough, Reggie. No matter what happens, it's
enough. We're doing enough."
Regulus swallows harshly, then nods. "Okay." "Okay, good," Sirius

murmurs. "Now, let's go."
~•~
They take one corner, and Sirius immediately sees what Lester was
running from in the first place, and why he was so frantic by the
time he reached them.
Frankly, if Sirius had been chased relentlessly by these creatures, he'd

be a fucking mess, too.
"Sirius," Regulus whispers, reaching out slowly and tapping Sirius

against the chest with the back of his hand, never taking his eyes off
the creatures in front of them. "Dagger. Give me my dagger. Now is
the time to give me my dagger."
Sirius wordlessly passes him his dagger.
181
The creatures are about half the size of an average human, but the
massive amount of them is what's off-putting. Their arms are longer
than their bodies, branching off into sharp points that dig into the
grounds like life-size needles. From what Sirius can tell, there's no
feet on them at all, just a humanoid chest that stops into an open
ribcage, no organs on display. Where the head is, there's a slick,
bulbous mouth with tentacles splitting free, except the tentacles seem
to have teeth. Not human teeth, no. Sharp, curved teeth that look like
fucking hooks made of bone.
Naturally, the opening behind them that they just turned down has
already shuddered closed, so
they're trapped with nowhere to go. There has to be at least twenty

creatures waiting at the other end of the passage. They're very silent
and very still.
"Okay," Sirius says. "Okay, so."
"So?" Regulus asks.
"So," Sirius repeats, and has no idea what comes next. Regulus clears
his throat. "Sirius, what's the plan here?" "Climb again?" Sirius
suggests weakly.
"Ah," Regulus replies, releasing a punched-out breath, his head

swiveling to look at the hedge beside them. Sirius glances at him to
see him looking wary, but he seems to set his shoulders. "Right.
Right, okay. Climb again. I can—I mean, I already did it once. I can
probably do it again."
The second they edge closer to the wall of greenery beside them, the
rustling gets louder and hands burst free from it, swiping for them.
Sirius snatches Regulus back and watches the hands slowly recede
back again. "Okay, so that's...not going to happen, apparently. Um.
Shit."
182
Boggarts
"No climbing," Regulus mumbles, sounding both relieved and upset

about this, somehow. "Guess not." Sirius flexes his fingers around his
spear and squints at the creatures ahead. "So, it
looks like the only way to go is through. Fighting it is."
"For fuck's sake," Regulus grumbles, his face dropping into a scowl,
but he gives a swift little twirl
of his dagger and puts one foot back, standing at the ready. "Hey,
Reggie?"
"Yeah?"
"I bet I can take down more than you can," Sirius teases, broadening
his stance and letting a grin grow on his face.
There's a pause, then Regulus snorts and says, "You're on," before
promptly tearing off down the passage, running right for the
creatures without a beat of hesitation.
"Hey!" Sirius blurts out. "That's cheating, you little shit!"
He thinks he hears Regulus laugh, but if he does, it's lost among the
rush that fills Sirius' head as he takes off running, too. The moment
they get halfway down the passage, the crowd of creatures at the end
are a sudden burst of motion, quite fast on their needle-arms as they
rush to meet them.
Sirius and Regulus are severely outnumbered, and there's also a lot
of appendages to contend with between the pointy arms and the
ridiculous amount of tentacles flying at them. Sirius finds out very
quickly that the ribcage on the creatures break open and tries to
ensnare whatever comes too close, so that's yet another thing to
worry about.
And yet, they blitz through like they were made for it.
183
If Sirius and Regulus are weapons in their own right, then they're
dual blades, easily working in tandem like extensions of each other.
Dangerous on their own, even more dangerous together. They never
have to speak, never have to even look at one another; they flow as if
they're in the middle of a dance they've known the steps to since
birth.
Sirius skewers one creature through the face and slams it into
another, sweeping out with his spear to knock at least four to the
ground at once. Regulus stomps on the heads as he goes by, like they
practiced it. Just the same, when Regulus slams his dagger into the
head of one, Sirius kicks it through the spine to make it easier for
Regulus to snatch his dagger back out, flip it, and slam it into the
head of the next.
It's fluid the way they shift and move around one another, focused
and intent, dropping one creature right after the next. Sirius finds his
whole world narrowing down to the fight, the thrill of it, not
thinking of it as a competition, but rather something they're handling
together. He's bolder than Regulus is, unafraid to reach out and grip
the creatures by the outside of their tentacles, where their teeth
aren't, just to raise them up and slam them to the ground. At some
point, Sirius quite literally has a creature-kebab lined up along his
spear, dangling where he pierced them through their faces.
The mass of creatures thin out, and then the last does down when
Sirius shoves his spear up through the cracked open ribcage so hard
that the spearhead bursts through top of the creature's head. The
tentacles instantly fall slack, no longer trying to wrap around his
face.
Panting, Sirius tips his spear down and puts his boot against the ribs
to kick the creature off. There's a squelch, then a very gross splat, and
that's it.
"Well," Sirius wheezes, "I definitely won."
184
Boggarts
"What? No you didn't. You can't prove it," Regulus sputters instantly,
which tells Sirius he did, in fact, win.
"Don't be a sore loser," Sirius teases, wrinkling his nose as he inspects

his spear. It's covered in gunk. The creatures didn't seem to bleed,
but they were very...goopy.
"What are you doing?" Regulus asks.
Sirius continues to pull off his bag, reaching inside to find the cloth
he needs. "Cleaning my spear. It's disgusting."
"You have a bit of..." Regulus coughs and gestures to his own hair,
then Sirius'.
"What?!" Sirius chokes out, instantly dropping his spear and cloth,
hands flying up to his hair in horror.
Regulus' shoulders start shaking, and then Sirius realizes he's

laughing, because he's fucking awful, is what he is. Sirius glares at
him, but can't stop himself from patting at his hair, running his
fingers through it as Regulus continues to laugh at him.
"Ah, you're too easy," Regulus sighs out, sounding rather pleased
with himself as he moves over to smugly scoop up the cloth and
clean off his dagger.
Sirius huffs at him. "Clean my spear, why don't you?"
"No," Regulus says blandly, then drops the cloth back on the ground
once he's done with it.
"Prick," Sirius grumbles, but gives in and leaves his hair alone once
he's sure that it's clean. He grabs his spear and cloth to turn his
attention to that instead. "So much for loving me."
Regulus frowns. "I do lo—" He stops, then squints when Sirius grins
triumphantly at him.
185
"You're too easy," Sirius corrects, cackling when Regulus scoffs and
looks away. After Sirius finishes with his spear, he stands again and
puts his bag back on. "You know, that wasn't so bad, actually. I mean,
whatever those things were, they were disgusting, but we did
alright. We're really —"
"Sirius," Regulus interrupts, his tone making Sirius' spine snap up

straight as he whips around to see what Regulus is staring at with
such intensity. All of Sirius' pride drains away to be replaced by
intense fear the moment he sees the green fog spilling out up ahead.
"That's not good, is it?"
"Nope," Sirius confirms. "Time to go."
~•~
Dorcas watches Eli go down and knows, somehow, that he's not
going to get back up.
Marlene doesn't seem to know this.
"Come on , old man, keep moving!" Marlene orders harshly, stabbing

her sword into the ground to go back and hook her uninjured hand
under Eli's arm.
Eli is wheezing, and though he tries to stumble back to his feet, he

hits his knees and is promptly sick on the ground. He groans and
shakes his head, gasping out, "Can't. I can't."
"Yes, you can," Marlene insists, snatching him around his own sick
and dragging him along, but
again, he tumbles right back down and coughs as he clutches his

chest, hacking so hard that it sounds painful. "If you stay here, Eli,
you will die."
186
Boggarts
"Girl, if I keep running, I will die," Eli manages to say, his voice wry.
He tips his head back to stare at her. "My heart's going to give out.
I—I can't outrun this shit, but you can."
Marlene throws a desperate look towards the green fog that's

steadily drawing closer to them. "Look, throw a pity party to
someone who cares. I don't have time for this. Get up!"
"You remind me of my Alphard," Eli rasps, giving her a sad smile.

"He cared so much it killed him."
"Eli, now is not the time to—"
"You need to leave me now, girl. I know what I can take, and I can't
take any more. I'm tired. So
tired."
"Well, too bad, because I'm not leaving you here," Marlene declares
in clear distress. She tries to help him, but she can barely manage it
with only one arm, especially with how tired she is. She does
manage to get him back to his feet, crying out as she ducks under his
arm and takes his weight, only for his legs to give out almost
instantly and jostle her shoulder. "Eli, please. Please, please just get
up. Please—"
"Go," Eli whispers hoarsely, and then he reaches out to shove at her
hard enough that she stumbles back a few steps. The fog has almost
reached them. "I said go!"
"Eli," Marlene croaks, her eyes shimmering on the screen as she

stares at him in horror.
"You made me proud," Eli tells her. "Really proud. And I didn't do
right by you, didn't do a damn
thing for you, didn't even try. But you didn't need me, and you still
don't, so go."
187
"I'm sorry," Marlene chokes out, the tears spilling out of her eyes and
trailing down her cheeks. Dorcas feels her chest clench, her palms
itching with the desire to reach out and gently brush those tears
away.
"What're you sorry for, Marlene McKinnon? I'm gonna see my

Alphard again." Eli gives her a toothy grin, one that shows a glimpse
of how charming his smile must have been when he was younger.
Still charming now, even like this. "I'd do anything for Alphard. Even
live. And I did, as best as I could. I hope you find that someday."
She already has, Dorcas thinks. Anything, anything, anything.
Dorcas' eyes burn as she watches Marlene's shoulders heave, still

frozen in place as the fog reaches Eli's feet. It travels up the length of
his body, and Marlene doesn't move, can't seem to. Eli curls up on
the ground and closes his eyes with a serene smile, but the moment
the fog reaches his head and he breathes it in, he starts screaming.
It's absolutely devastating. The entire room goes silent just listening
to it, utterly horrified by the raw scream of agony that escapes the
man who could run no longer and go no further. Dorcas feels the
very tips of her fingers prickle, her eyes wide and her mouth dry.
The green fog. Biological warfare. Horcrux Hornet venom turned
into this.
She knew there was a chance it could be used in the games, but she
never saw it, and she didn't connect it all together until this moment.
This is what most of district six experienced, and this is a weapon
Riddle has at his disposal to use against those that defy him. Eli is
screaming like he's suffering the worst torment any human could
ever feel. It's the peak of torture, gripped in death throes, simply
suffering.
Dorcas' skin crawls. All that she has seen, all that she knows of, and
nothing could have prepared her for this.
188
Boggarts
There are no good people in war, but there are terrified ones, and as
Dorcas watches this, she's strangled by such an intense fear that she
can barely breathe.
That? she thinks. We have to beat that? No one can beat that.
As if to prove her point, Eli's screams cut out, and only seconds later,
the cannon sounds.
Marlene hasn't moved. She's frozen, eyes wide and teary, lips parted
as if she's breathless, utterly stunned and horrified by what she just
witnessed. The fog hasn't stopped moving, still crawling right
towards her, so close now she'd only have to take a step forward and
reach out to touch it.
"Go," Dorcas breathes out, gaze fixed on the screen. Her whole body
is trembling. "Come on, Marlene. Come on, come on, come on. Go.
Please go. You have to—"
Choking out a harsh breath, Marlene proceeds to go, as if maybe

she's heard Dorcas, or just felt the utter desperation winding around
Dorcas' bones, her very blood, where her love flows and cements
into her; surely Marlene can feel it, as big and relentless as it is, even
while trapped there. Can't she?
Whether she feels it or not, Marlene snatches up her sword and runs,
and Dorcas thinks she's crying as she goes, but she's still going. Still
here. Still surviving.
On the screen, Marlene sprints down one passage and whips around
the corner of the next, not even slowing down as she leaves the fog
behind. It stops advancing, and Dorcas is at first confused why, but
then her heart drops when the camera pans to the white mist at the
end of the passage Marlene is running down. She doesn't seem to see
it, even as she looks right at it, and the moment she glances away, it
begins to take shape.
189
Dorcas' heart drops, the blood in her veins turning to ice when she
sees...Marlene. Another one. A different one. She looks so different
from what Dorcas is used to. Long hair in perfect, delicate curls
down her back and over her shoulders; eyes bright and warm, a
spark of innocence in them that Dorcas has never seen before;
wearing a pale cream-colored dress that shows her arms and legs,
completely scar-free. She looks young; no, she looks youthful,
something sweet and shy draped over her, all the way down to her
bare feet. There's something innocent about bare feet, and the way
she walks like she's not scared of one step she takes, unafraid of the
world around her.
This is a Marlene no one has ever seen before. She didn't even look
like this in her first games. To the Hallows, even then, Marlene was
rather plain and unremarkable. But this Marlene? She's the flutter of
fairy wings and wisps of cotton candy, and Dorcas knows—she just
knows in her heart— that if this is how Marlene was presented to the
Hallow, they would have cared for her so much more than they ever
have.
The Marlene that Dorcas does know, the one that's real, the one that
she's deeply, unapologetically in love with, the one that is ripped
nails and bloody teeth and scars that reach farther than just skin
deep—that Marlene stumbles to a stop the moment the other one
comes closer.
"Who are you?" the boggart asks softly.
Marlene stares, seeming genuinely startled out of her own grief by

the sight of—herself. Or no, that's not her. It's not, and Dorcas doubts
it ever was. So...what is Marlene afraid of? Why is this
her biggest fear?
"What the hell is this?" Marlene croaks, her fingers flexing around
her sword. She only has one hand to grip her weapon, but her gaze is
hard like she isn't afraid to fucking use it.
190
Boggarts
"What are you?" the boggart whispers, face contorting with horror
and—and fear. Dorcas swallows harshly, her gaze darting back and
forth between them. "You're a monster."
Marlene goes still, then repeats through clenched teeth, "What the
hell is this?"
"You're the monster that got our parents killed," the boggart chokes
out, seeming genuinely frightened. "You killed them, and what?
You—you take comfort by the fact that they got to see you as you are
before they died? They never wanted you as you are. They wanted
this! They wanted me!"
"Shut up. Shut up, shut up, shut up," Marlene chants, her chest
stuttering on a sharp inhale. "What the fuck are you? What—"
"It should have been me, not you, not the monster that you are, that
you became," the boggart insists. It steps forward, and Marlene
immediately swings her sword up, her breathing erratic. "Look at
what you became."
"Shut up!" Marlene bursts out.
The mist swirls off the boggart, down by bare feet, and in the next
second, Hodge and Vanity are stepping out of the darkness to walk
up beside the Marlene that's not real. The sight of them steals Dorcas'
breath, only more so because they're dead. Corpses. Empty-eyed, the
both of them; Vanity's throat slit; Hodge soaking wet, dripping red.
As they walk forward, they're holding hands between them.
From somewhere in the room, someone releases a choked noise, and

Dorcas recognizes it. James.
"We needed her," Vanity murmurs, "but we got stuck with a monster.
Fancy that, a monster trying to save children for once, and all you
succeeded in was failing to."
191
"If you were her," Hodge gurgles, a stream of red spilling out of his
mouth as he speaks, "you could have done more. But you're not.
You're just you, and that's all you can ever be. All you'll ever be is
this, a monster who can't save anyone."
"This is what they all needed," the boggart hisses, suddenly not
seeming as innocent as before as it starts advancing on Marlene,
who's clearly struggling to breathe. "Our mother. Our father. Every
tribute we've ever had. Our family. Eli. They all need me, and they
got stuck with you, and look where it got them. And what about
your lover? What about her?"
Dorcas sucks in a deep breath and holds it, her heart hammering
hard in her chest. Marlene shakes her head and backs up, eyes wide
and wet.
"How could she ever love you?" the boggart spits out. "Shut up,"
Marlene says weakly.
"Do you think she looks at you and sees anything other than the
monster you are?" the boggart demands, continuously moving
forward, getting too close. "All you're fighting for, trying so hard to
survive, and for what? To get back to her? She doesn't want you. She
never wanted you, and you knew it, and then she felt sorry for you.
What she really wants is me, and you can't give that to her, can you?
Can you?!"
Marlene heaves out a deep breath that seems to turn into a scream
and a sob all in one, and she swings out with her sword with what
seems to be all her might, the blade slashing right through the
boggart. There's a moment, just one, and then Marlene and everyone
else watches as the distorted mirror of Marlene is split in two,
decapitated. The boggart's head rolls right off its neck, hitting the
ground first before the rest of the body falls. Marlene stares, her chest
rising and falling rapidly.
"Why didn't you do more?" Vanity asks, because she's still there. It's
still the boggart, still advancing, not yet defeated. Marlene's head
snaps up. "My family needed me. They needed you to do better for
me, and you couldn't."
192
Boggarts
"My mum's all alone now," Hodge says through a mouthful of

crimson river. "I didn't want to leave her alone. You were supposed
to help me so I wouldn't leave her alone."
"I'm—I'm sorry. Please, I'm so sorry," Marlene weeps, a whimper

falling out of her mouth as they walk towards her steadily,
hand-in-hand.
"You're a monster," they tell her, chanting it as they continue to draw

closer. "You're a monster. You're a monster."
Dorcas reaches up to cover her mouth, trying to muffle the sound

crawling up the walls of her constricted throat. Marlene doesn't raise
her sword against them, and she won't. Dorcas knows she won't.
Knows she can't.
All Marlene does is stumble back when they reach for her with small
hands. She keeps backing up, hyperventilating and seeming unable
to tear her eyes away from them as she goes.
She moves swiftly in her panic, backing up all the way out of the
passage to the opposite hedge wall before the opening. She stops
there, frozen in place, not running left or right, no longer going
anywhere. Her sword clatters to the ground.
"Go," Dorcas pleads through her fingers. "Please, Marlene, just—just

go. You have to go."
This time, Marlene doesn't seem to feel the love crying out from
every cell in Dorcas' body, and
she doesn't move.
~•~
Sirius found Regulus, kept him for a day, then lost him again.
He hates this fucking maze.
193
It's not either of their fault, really, because it seems the gamemakers
are bound and determined to separate them, and with all the shit
they have at their disposal in the maze, it wasn't impossible for them
to do. Between the hands, the fog, even the fucking twists and turns
and the hedges that open and close, somewhere along the way, they
got split up.
Sirius wants to rip his fucking hair out, or maybe rip the whole
damn world in half, but all he can do is run. He's still running.
Did he ever stop?
What's worse is that the unexpected sound of a distant scream

triggered him, and he slipped away without even knowing it, so he
has no idea where he lost Regulus. He just came back to himself, still
fucking running, to find Regulus gone.
So, as you can guess, he is not in a good mood at the moment, quite
literally cursing up a storm as he tears down one passage after the
next, and that means he outright snarls when he takes a corner and
slams into someone who isn't Regulus, or any of his allies, or anyone
he could be pleased to see.
Sirius perhaps shoves Dixon away roughly, and between that and the
snarl, it's no surprise that a fight instantly breaks out between them.
Dixon, predictably, is very strong. He's also older and wiser, so he
stays out of range as they clash, sword to spear. Even still, Sirius isn't
too worried until Dixon somehow manages to disarm him, the spear
rolling away.
There's sort of these levels to Sirius, when it comes to the threat he

poses. Most of the time, he does the bare minimum, just what he has
to so he can win and win quickly. But, every now and again, he'll get
into a fight with someone he has to dig deep into himself to get the
upper hand against.
Like the person he fought in his last games where he quite literally
bit their finger off. A whole finger. Blood and muscle and bone. He
194
Boggarts
bit right through and spit it out. Didn't choke, didn't gag, didn't even
slow down.
So, yes, he's no stranger to going the lengths it takes to survive, and
oh, Sirius is fixated on survival now. Especially now. As long as he
can. Whatever it takes.
Generally, what it takes to activate this need to dig deep is a very

hard opponent to beat, or having someone to protect, or noticing that
he's losing the advantage he has just by being as good as he is. He
knows he's good, but he also knows he's not indestructible, or
infallible. Perhaps the reminder of his own fragile mortality in a
place it can so easily be crushed drives him over the edge. Perhaps
he's just insane.
Either way, when Dixon comes at him fast, Sirius fights back dirty.
He digs his nails into Dixon's wrist and twists, whirling back and
slamming his boot forward into the side of his knee so hard that he
cries out and goes down. The sword tumbles to the ground, but
Dixon still lashes out hard enough that Sirius has to let him go and
back out of the way.
Dixon does little hops to get back on his feet—well, his foot. He's
very carefully staying off the leg that Sirius just kicked, so Sirius
naturally kicks it again, ruthlessly, even harder. This time, there's a
sickening crunch, and Dixon's leg bends in at the knee in a way it
absolutely should not. He starts to crumble again, shouting and
cursing, and Sirius has all intentions of stomping his knee into dust
and then, possibly, his skull, but Dixon is not faint-hearted. He's a
resilient, hardy bastard, clearly, which Sirius can't help but respect.
Somehow, Dixon balances on one leg and brings his hands up,
breathing hard before promptly swinging out at Sirius, quick enough
that Sirius has to dodge. As he goes back, Dixon tips forward to
scoop up his sword, and Sirius is still in range, unable to move in
time, so he quite literally sees his life flash before his eyes in the glint
of the blade.
195
And then, without warning, there's a sharp zing through the air, and
Sirius feels his hair rustle by his face, as well as a stinging sensation
across his cheek seconds before he watches an arrow bury itself right
in Dixon's eye. It lands so hard that his head snaps back as he falls,
and the cannon sounds before his body ever hits the ground.
Slowly, Sirius reaches up to touch the slice on his cheek, fingers

meeting the blood that bubbles up. It's not deep, or a genuine issue,
but it burns a little. He turns around to find Narcissa standing at the
other end of the passage behind him, lowering her bow as she meets
his eyes.
Her aim is deadly. Sirius has never known her to miss, which means
she killed Dixon on purpose, her own ally, and it also means she
gave him a little cut for funsies.
Narcissa's lips twitch as he breaks out into a helpless grin, and she
winks at him before turning and darting off without looking back,
without a word spoken between them.
"This fucking family," Sirius mutters wryly, shaking his head as he

dips to pick up his spear and back up steadily. An incredulous huff
of laughter escapes him before he turns and takes off at a light jog,
his chest oddly, inexplicably warm.
Just for a moment.
~•~
Regulus is not at all pleased with how this is going, but really, he
never is. If it's not one thing, it's another. This whole arena is shit,
even in ways he could have never expected.
He thought that it would be similar to all the arenas before, in that at

least allies would be given the chance to stay with each other, but
that's clearly not the case. As far as he knows, the death eaters are all
broken up, and Sirius' allies are, too. It's like the arena is taking every
bit of anything anyone has ever relied on away. No resources, no
196
Boggarts
solidarity, no way to ground themselves or find a sense of security.

It's all a mess.
The sound of a cannon nearly causes him to trip, and he curses

sharply under his breath as he rounds a corner, glancing frantically
over his shoulder as he outruns those fucking hands. He swears if he
never sees a clawed, corpse-like disembodied hand again in his life,
it'll be too soon.
There are no hands in the passage he turns down, though, which he

takes as a vast improvement until he sees what is in the passageway.
He comes to a halt so hard that he skids, his eyes bulging at the sight
of—Vanity? Hodge?
It takes a second for Regulus' brain to make out what he's actually
seeing. Vanity and Hodge, clearly dead, wrapping their hands
around Marlene's throat and squeezing. She's fighting, weakly, but
mostly just wheezing and sinking down to the ground, slowly going
limp.
Regulus' stomach drops out from under him, and before he even
thinks about it, he snaps his hand out and watches his dagger fly
through the air. It embeds itself into the side of Hodge's head, which
surprisingly does seem to help Marlene a little. The boy is dead
already, and yet his hands go slack as he drops to the ground like a
stone. Little rivers of red trickle out of the corners of his mouth, his
gaze unseeing and glassy.
Vanity doesn't stop, though. Marlene's eyes flutter shut.
"Shit," Regulus whispers, and he's not thinking past anything other
than the fact that Marlene is Sirius' friend, and according to James,
Dorcas'...lover, possibly?
Not only that, but just Marlene herself. Regulus respects her, and he's
only just realizing it right now. He thought he didn't care about
Sirius' allies, planned to kill them if he could so Sirius didn't have to,
even, but the thing is. Well, what Marlene did in her interview was
moving. She's just— she is someone to respect, and no one deserves
to die like this.
197
Not like this.
It's as repellent and horrid as being trapped in a crimson river, in

Regulus' mind. For fuck's sake, Vanity and Hodge's families could be
watching right now. James surely is.
Oh, James. There's no doubt in Regulus' mind that seeing this, seeing
these two again, has hurt him. Regulus instinctively wants to stop
James from hurting further, and Marlene dying at the hands of the
corpses of these two would be worse.
Regulus quite literally slams into Vanity's corpse to rip it away from
Marlene, who releases a choked, hoarse noise before slumping to the
side, her breathing worryingly shallow. Vanity's corpse is in his arms
one second, then gone the next. Just poof. Mist. She dissolves, gone,
and when Regulus turns, Hodge's body is also gone. Regulus exhales
in relief.
The dagger was left behind, thankfully. Regulus scoops it up as he

moves over to crouch down at Marlene's side. The arm she's laying
on is fine, but the other one... Regulus grimaces just looking at it,
swollen and visibly broken as it is. He doesn't touch it, but reaches
out to press his fingers to the side of her throat, checking her pulse.
She has one. It's faint and a little slow, but it's there. Marks are
already forming on her neck from where she was strangled, shaped
like four hands. Regulus draws his hand back and stares down at
her, considering her.
As horrible as it is, a part of Regulus wishes he had let her die. It

would have been easier, wouldn't it? Because she's going to have to
die at some point anyway, and putting off the inevitable isn't going
to change much in the end.
Yet, Regulus just—can't. He can't bring himself to regret it, giving her
more time, because it was— that was good, wasn't it? Even here,
even in this rot-infested fucking maze where the sun doesn't even
198
Boggarts
really reach them, there's the warm glow of humanity to be found.

Even in him. Even after everything.
Regulus blows out a deep breath, then reaches out with his free hand
and begins gently tapping Marlene on her cheek with the back of his
hand, trying to rouse her. She's alive, just seems to have passed out.
He'd give her water if he had any, but Sirius has all the fucking
supplies.
Marlene's face twitches, just a little, and so he pulls his hand back
with the intention of tapping her a little harder, except he goes still
when he hears footsteps behind him.
Swiftly, Regulus twists and whirls to his feet as he flips his dagger
and has it against the throat of the person behind him in mere
seconds. He freezes the moment he sees who it is.
"Hey, love," James greets softly.
~•~
The moment James sees himself on the screen, he feels his heart sink
right to his feet. He moves forward as swiftly as he can with his cane,
his breathing erratic as he comes to a halt in between Dorcas and
Frank, staring at the boggart version of himself and Regulus frozen
in place, eyes wide.
"No," James chokes out, and he jolts when Dorcas reaches out to take
his hand, gently squeezing it. She looks queasy, her whole body
threaded through with tension, face twisted with strain. "Not me.
Fuck. He won't—he won't kill me. He always hesitates. He'll hesitate.
He—"
"James," Frank says firmly, "breathe. Just breathe. We don't—we have

no way of knowing what will happen, and he just has to hold on for
a little longer, okay?"
199
"What?" James rasps, glancing over to see Dorcas and Frank trade a
quick look. "What does that mean?"
"James?" Regulus whispers on the screen, and so Dorcas and Frank

do not elaborate. James wouldn't hear if they did. He focuses back on
the scene in front of him. "You're—how are you here? Why are
you—"
"All you did to keep me out, and here I am anyway," the boggart
says lightly, making it seem like a joke.
Regulus doesn't seem to find that funny. "How the fuck—"
"Oh, come off it, Reg," the boggart teases, and James instantly hates
anyone else, anything else, calling him that. He doesn't care if it's his
mouth shaping around the nickname; it's not him speaking it, which
James finds out very quickly he does not like, especially in these
circumstances. "Don't act like you're not pleased, even secretly. I
know you want me here. It's selfish, but you're glad I'm here, aren't
you?"
"What?" Regulus croaks, all the color draining out of his face at once.
"No, James, I—I don't want —"
"Yes, you do. Don't lie. You're always lying," the boggart mutters,
frowning at him. "You're a liar. All you do is—"
"No, that's not—I—I mean, I do want you here, but not—not in

danger, James. Just—just—" Regulus swallows harshly, his fingers
trembling around his dagger. He seems to become aware of it then,
where it is, still pressed to the boggart's throat. He instantly snatches
it back, looking horrified, and James almost whines in pure distress.
"Sorry. Fuck, I'm sorry. It's—yes, okay? Yes, I want you around,
always, but I don't want you to be hurt, and this—you can't be here.
How—"
200
Boggarts
"Well, you fucked that up, too," the boggart says, and Regulus
flinches back, visibly stung. "Why do you think I'm here, hm?
Because of you. Who else?"
"They—what? I don't understand. I don't—"
"This is what you do, you know. You drag everyone you love down.
You fail, and fail, and fail. Why do you even bother to try? Sacrifice
yourself for your brother, which was better for everyone —nope, you
couldn't even do that. Keep me safe and out of the arena—well, you
fucked that up, too. And what? You want to live now? You think you
deserve to as much as anyone else? After all that you've done, all the
pain you've caused, all the ways you've ruined everyone's life?"
"What?" Regulus says, staring at him with wide eyes, his voice
wobbling precariously. "You— what? You're... This isn't—this isn't
you. It's not. You would never say that to me."
The boggart scoffs and takes a step forward. "Are you fucking
delusional? I have every right to say that to you! Think about
everything you've put me through! And not just me, but Sirius, too.
And Evan—he's dead because of you. What about your parents,
Regulus? I did everything right, but you? It's like you malfunction
every time you dare to try. Did you honestly not expect this to
happen someday? You thought I'd never wake up and see you for
who you really are? You're everything I hate in this world, aren't
you? We're complete opposites. I try, try, try—and you never do,
because every time, all you do is fail. I care about the world and the
people in it, but you don't, not really. I'm honest, and you're a liar. I
do as much as I can for everyone, and you're selfish. I know how to
heal, and you're just broken, fucking irreparable. Why should I have
to be stuck with that, with you? Do you know how exhausting you
are? Do you know how much you drain me?"
"No," Regulus chokes out, stumbling back like a reflex as the boggart
starts advancing, steadily backing him away from Marlene. "James,
just—just wait, okay? I know I'm—I know, but I—I—"
201
"What? You what?!" the boggart roars, and Regulus heaves out a
harsh breath that hitches on a sob. James clamps down on Dorcas'
hand, his eyes stinging. "You love me? No you don't! You call this
love?! You wouldn't know how to love right if you had a
step-by-step guide. What you do is rot. You're the epitome of rot,
Regulus. You take everything good in this world and invent ways to
deteriorate it, because you're so fucking scared of being alone that
you'll cling until there's nothing left to cling to. Everything you
selfishly touch comes away with claw marks on it. You're no
different than the corpses in the crimson river you should have died
in!"
Regulus makes a quiet, whimpering noise that pierces James right in

the fucking heart, and this— honestly, James thinks this is his biggest
fear, too. Seeing himself like this. Becoming a person who hurts those
he loves. He wants to dive through the screen and snap the neck of
his mirror image, then wrap his arms around Regulus and take back
everything that was just said with his mouth. Hold him. Kiss him.
Promise him that it's not true, that James already sees him as he is,
and it's not any of that, none of it, and James loves him so much. He
loves him so fucking much. With everything in him.
"I know you've thought about it, because I sure have," the boggart
hisses. "I've thought about how much better off I would be without
you, how much better off Sirius would be, how much better off the
whole fucking world would be. So, you know what? Let me do it."
"Don't!" Regulus bursts out, sounding nearly hysterical, his hand

striking out quickly like a snake, tucking the dagger up under the
boggart's chin.
Everything stops.
Do it, James thinks, internally begging, holding his breath. Kill it.
Just kill it. Come on, love, it's
not real. It's not me. You have to know that, deep down. Please,
please, please, please, please—
202
Boggarts
"Oh, what's the matter?" the boggart mocks, James' eyes glinting
cruelly, a grin of pure malice on his face that James is sickened by.
"Look at you. You're hesitating, love."
Regulus swallows harshly, visibly, and he's shaking. James can see
him trembling like he's about to fall apart. Tears aren't falling, but
they're there, glimmering.
"We both know you're not going to do anything to me. Does that
scare you, Reg? Hm? Knowing that you're completely defenseless to
someone else. Weak for someone else." The boggart reaches up and
wraps fingers around Regulus', peeling them off the handle of his
dagger. Regulus watches it happen, lips trembling, and then the tears
fall at the same time that his hand does. The boggart smiles. "See?
There you go, failing again. And the pathetic part is—some part of
you is actually grateful that at least I'll be the last thing you see. But I
want you to know, you're not looking at someone who still thinks
you're beautiful. You're not dying at the hands of a man who loves
you, Regulus. Just a man who isn't yours."
With that, the boggart raises the dagger and places the point right
over Regulus' heart, resting it there. James knows it. He knows that
spot, that scar, after all the times he's pressed his mouth to it
reverently, cherishing the continued beat beneath the bone. Regulus
stands there, and he does nothing.
"No," James whispers. "No, no, no. Please wait. Please—"
"James!" Dorcas bursts out, strangling his hand as she points to the
map, and he glances at it desperately, choking on a harsh breath at
the quick approach of Marlene.
"Come on, come on, come on," James chants, genuinely clinging to
the last hope he has, because she knows it's not real.
Sure enough, the camera pans out to show Marlene sprinting down
the length of the passage as fast as she can go, and she doesn't
hesitate at all. The moment she makes it, Marlene shoves her sword
203
right through the boggart's back, piercing all the way through the
front, the tip nearly reaching Regulus.
The dagger drops to the ground.
Regulus chokes, staring at the sword with wide eyes, and then his
gaze flicks back up to look at the boggart's face. In an awful,
grief-stricken croak, he whispers, "James?"
"See?" the boggart gasps out. "This is what you do."
Marlene flexes her fingers around the handle of her sword and rips it
right back out with a harsh breath, eyes bright and blazing, chest
heaving. The boggart goes to its knees, and in a split second, Regulus
joins it. His hands fly up to the boggart's face, and his
expression—James' heart clenches violently in his chest just looking
at it.
James doesn't think he's ever before seen someone look as shattered
as Regulus does in this moment. Regulus doesn't very often emote
strongly through his expression; generally, it's all in the eyes with
him. But this? It's like the floodgates have been opened. There's no
hiding the pure, all- consuming wash of pain and fear that crashes
down over Regulus' features. James has never seen him look like this
before.
He's devastated. Utterly, completely wrecked. The moment the

boggart slumps into his arms, in the form of a dead James, a raw
noise spills out of Regulus' mouth. He tries desperately to lift the
boggart's head back up, a weak whimper escaping him, not like a
wounded animal but a dying one.
"No, no, James, no," Regulus whines, sounding so young, so

terrified, so fucking heartbroken that James' vision blurs with the
building tears that burn his eyes. "Don't—please don't do this to me,
baby. Please, please, please. Come on, don't—"
"Regulus," Marlene croaks, her voice shredded, barely able to raise

her voice past a breath. From her wince, James would guess that it
204
Boggarts
hurts to talk, which is fair, considering she was just nearly strangled
to death.
Regulus doesn't acknowledge her. Doesn't do anything other than

cling to James' dead body and weep. He's tender, so very tender,
when brushing hair back from the boggart's forehead and
straightening the glasses with trembling fingers.
This sort of destructive, cataclysmic event is usually reserved for

leveling cities, or natural disasters, or unspeakable horrors that no
one can bear to stomach, let alone witness. It's not something people
see every day, and yet, there it is. Laid out on the screen for everyone
to look at. A great, big tragedy.
James swears that he has, in this moment, swallowed Regulus' heart.

Somehow, inexplicably and wondrously and horribly, it throws itself
against the walls of his teeth, and James has bitten into it like the first
taste of knowledge, swallowing down free-will and choking on it.
Fruitlessly, it tries to crawl free, but James doesn't simply have it; he
doesn't just own it, and hold it in warm hands; no, he has consumed
it and made it a part of himself, a drumbeat echo from chest-to-chest
and blood-to-blood and breath-to-breath.
It's not just touching Regulus, it's digging his hands inside and
cupping all that Regulus is into palms that only wish to cradle, and
yet, here James is, crushing. He doesn't choose to. This is not his
choice. He wanted to keep Regulus' heart, not eat it, but it has been
shoved down his throat
against his will.
He wishes he didn't like the taste.
James is chewing, chewing, chewing. Watching Regulus wrap

around his corpse like he'll never let it go and feeling something
from within keen with want, a selfish want that, perhaps, has been
festering for years of wishing to be loved so wholly, so violently, that
no one can come out of it unscathed. He wants to be ripped apart,
205
and he aches, oh how he aches, with how good it feels, in this
moment, to be torn to pieces from the depth that Regulus loves him.
A love like that, a love like this, a love so undeniable and unending
and unstoppable; James swallows blood for it, and muscle, and life.
He swallows and feels full, sated, and hungry for more immediately
after. Hedonistic in his desire to blaze as bright as the sun, bright
enough to scorch, and have someone burn for him anyway. Regulus
does. Regulus is.
And it's horrible, hideous, so very human—not good, deep down, he

doesn't think—but there is a part of him watching the man he loves
fall apart over his dead body that feels it wash over him like a soft
kiss to his forehead, tender and sweet with proof, just how loved,
loved, loved he is.
Just the same, a war wages on in which he burns with Regulus,

gagging on the heart he never wanted in his mouth, never once
wanting to rip it from the chest it should safely reside in. It's scary,
almost, to face it. To see it. To witness how easily, how effortlessly, he
could bring ruin to someone he loves. To be loved like this is his
greatest shame and his guiltiest pleasure.
Love is supposed to be simple. Love is supposed to be safe.
It's not.
And yet, and yet, James would not, could not, give it up for anything
in this world. He will take it, and take it, and take it. He will let
Regulus cling and cling just as hard, and he will wear whatever
marks that are left with pride. And, when there is nothing left to
hold onto, he will reach for more.
He can be gentle. They can be. James wants, one day, to live in a
world where they'll get the chance.
But, for now, there's just this.
206
Boggarts
~•~
Regulus has seen unimaginable horrors and felt indescribable pain,

but nothing will ever compare to this. Nothing, ever, could compare
to this.
It's here, like this, that Regulus feels the deep, burning desire to
scream at the sky, at the world, at the universe and any force
listening, because this cannot be happening to him. Because it is
happening to him, because James is his, his, his; mine, mine, mine,
he thinks desperately, my James, my baby, my love, mine and not
yours, he is not yours to take, give him back.
"Regulus."
He's mine.
"Regulus."
He's not yours.
"Regulus."
Please give him back to me.
There is a pressure on his shoulder, a hand, and Regulus realizes that

he is rocking, and speaking out loud, begging and pleading to
anything that will listen, except nothing does.
James remains dead in his arms.
Marlene is staring down at him, and he looks at her, and their eyes
only meet for a second before Regulus is a burst of motion. He comes
off the ground fast, and Marlene skips back like she was anticipating
it, like it makes complete sense that his whole world has narrowed
down to slitting her throat.
207
She killed him. She killed him, and Regulus is going to kill her. He is
going to drag his dagger across her bruised neck and relish in the
blood that flows out, until every drop is gone, and he will not flinch.
He will wash his hands in her blood and carry the stains with him
like a badge of honor.
The only issue is that Marlene—well, she's not easy to kill, even
one-handed. She has a sword, and she can fight, and she does. It's
messy and ugly between them. Regulus hits her broken arm.
Marlene knees him between his legs. They kick, and punch, and
snarl at each other with enough feral energy that neither of them
seem to have much humanity left in them at the moment. It's just
violence. They're just violence.
Regulus doesn't stop, and then he does when Marlene makes him,
when she slams the hilt of her sword into his face and kicks out with
her foot to knock him flat on his back. Without even hesitating, she
drives her sword down through the top of his shirt, over his
shoulder, slicing fabric pin him there so he can't get up. She could
have put it through his chest.
He wishes she did.
It would have hurt less than losing James.
"It's...not...real," Marlene croaks, pressing her boot down on his wrist

to keep him from raising his dagger. "James...is...fine.
That...wasn't...him. He's alive."
Regulus freezes, staring up at her, waiting. He waits, and waits, and

waits for that to be true, needing it to be true, wanting it to be true so
badly that he can't breathe.
Marlene swallows with effort, grimacing as she does it, clearly in

pain. She jerks her chin forward to where Regulus left James' body.
"Look. An...illusion. Not...real."
Slowly, Regulus cranes his head back to find James' corpse

dissolving into mist the same way Vanity's did. He watches, fixated,
208
Boggarts
until the form of James fades away. The mist swirls up and drifts off,
fading into the darkness.
An illusion. Not real.
Like—okay, so. Okay, so not James. That wasn't James. It's not James.
He's fine. He's alive. Regulus is just insane.
Okay. Yeah, okay.
Regulus slumps back against the ground and makes some sort of
noise that could be labeled as a the lead into a fucking mental
breakdown, because he is both laughing and crying and falling apart
and mending, all at once.
And, the thing is, Regulus knew deep down that whatever that was
couldn't have been James, not really, because James—he would never
say those things to Regulus, not for any reason, not even if he
actually believed it. Even when he did think he hated Regulus, he
never took it that far.
James isn't the kind of man who does things like that. Who says
things like that. Who destroys people, just because he can, just
because he has the power to. He can destroy Regulus, easy, no
problem; it was just proven, and it wasn't even him.
It's possibly crazy, but after all of that, Regulus just wants to curl up
in James' arms and go to sleep. He wants oblivion and safety. He
wants to go home.
Marlene's boot lifts away from his wrist, and she tugs her sword
from his shirt, which now has a hole in it and slips over his shoulder
a bit. He doesn't care. He doesn't lift his dagger, doesn't stop crying
or laughing, doesn't do anything other than lay there on the ground
and try to cling to all the personal progress he's made recently, which
was very nearly yanked right out from under him yet again.
209
Yet, somehow, he manages to keep it. It's either just him being too
stubborn for his own good, or maybe his revelation was one worth
believing in, because he keeps it close to his chest, warm and secure
like James would be, if he were here.
I do deserve to live, Regulus thinks. I deserve to try.
"James," Regulus mumbles once he somehow manages to calm

down. His eyes drift shut. "You better be okay. You better be
perfectly fucking alright, because if you have so much as a bruise
from bumping into a wall, I am going to lose my mind."
James, of course, cannot respond to him. Not because he's dead,

though. He's not. He isn't. He isn't, he isn't, he isn't.
Perhaps James will send him something. That would be nice, simply
to know that he's alive, that's all. But, really, here on the other side of
it, Regulus feels deeply sure that he is, and he tells himself it's not
denial. That—that thing was just another nightmare concocted by the
maze, and Regulus refuses to fall for it again. James would—if he did
somehow find his way into the arena, then he'd definitely kiss
Regulus first, speak second.
Regulus knows James. He knows his fiancé, and whatever the fuck
that thing was wasn't him. So, okay, it just looked like him, and it got
into Regulus' head, and it played with Regulus' emotions. Kind of
embarrassing now, really.
However, there's no space or time for embarrassment, because

there's a forceful nudge of a boot against his arm that has him
peeling open his eyes to glare at Marlene, but she's not even looking
at him. She's already backing up, making a quiet, muffled noise of
urgency that has him quickly getting to his feet. When he swivels, he
outright groans at the sight of green fog spilling out down the
passageway.
That's another thing, there's barely any time to rest in this arena.
People aren't meant to be pushed to limits like these; yes, humans
210
Boggarts
are creatures of endurance, but they can only endure for so long
before they give out.
For fuck's sake, Regulus is exhausted. By the looks of things, so is

Marlene, and yet they both share a brief look before they turn and
take off running. Marlene is ahead of him, and she takes a corner
into an open passageway, but by the time he reaches it, the opening
has closed.
And, just like that, Regulus is alone again.
~•~
The way the camera cuts sharply brings James a mounting sense of
discomfort. It fixes itself very abruptly on Bellatrix, who darts past a
corner that just so happens to lead into a passage where
Alice and Augusta are running down.
Ideally, Bellatrix would not stop.
Ideally, she would keep running.
Ideally, she would leave them be.
This is not an ideal world, and Bellatrix does stop. She doesn't keep
running. She stands in place for a moment, breathing heavily, and
then she starts backing up.
"Shit," Frank rasps. "Shit, shit, shit. Wait—"
There is no waiting. The moment Bellatrix reaches the opening again,

she turns to see the other two outrunning the green fog. Augusta and
Alice are quite busy trying to survive, and neither of them see
Bellatrix until it's too late, until she's lifting her dagger with a grin
spreading across her face.
211
It's Alice. That's all James can think. The dagger whips through the
air quickly, but Alice is clearly the target, the one Bellatrix has chosen
to kill, so James only has one second to tense himself in preparation
for—
Augusta blocks it. With herself.
It happens so fast that James hardly even makes sense of it at first,

but Frank... Oh, Frank seems to get it immediately. A low,
punched-out noise escapes him, breathless, something that hooks in
James' chest and drags out a deep swell of sympathy from him.
That's his mother. It's Frank's mother standing there, a dagger
sticking out of her chest where she stumbled in front of it, in front of
Alice, on purpose.
Bellatrix laughs. She laughs and wiggles her fingers in a mocking

wave when Alice skids to a stop and sucks in a sharp breath, their
gaze flicking from Augusta, then to Bellatrix.
Still laughing, Bellatrix skips off, carrying on like she never even
stopped, still on the run from hands that burst free from the hedges
behind her.
"Ah," Augusta chokes out, trying to take a step forward, even

managing to make it a little further, and then she crumbles to her
knees, wheezing. She cups her hand around the dagger and falls
back on her hip, blinking rapidly, looking dazed.
"Augusta," Alice whispers, tripping a little in their haste to crouch

down beside Augusta, reaching out with a shaking hand to touch
her shoulder. "Let me see. Just—hold on, let me look, okay? Don't
—don't pull it out."
"Fatal," Frank croaks. James looks over to see him staring at his mum
blankly, his face slack with shock. "It's—it's fatal. The wound—she's
not—she can't survive that. It's—"
212
Boggarts
"Frank," James says very carefully, tugging his hand free from
Dorcas' to reach out and gently put it on Frank's arm. He means to
say something else, but his mouth hangs open, because he doesn't
know what to say. Not about this.
Augusta coughs and immediately spits up blood. She shakes her

head, squeezing her eyes shut tight for a moment, then looks up to
meet Alice's gaze. Wheezing, she says, "Kid, it's nothing to look at.
You—you need to go."
"Frank," Alice declares, their voice rising in pitch. "Frank can send
a—something. He can—he'll be able to—"
"Nothing is going to help, and it'd be a waste on me, especially so

early. He knows that," Augusta tells them firmly, heaving out a harsh
breath and flexing her fingers around the handle of the dagger. "The
fog—is it still...?"
Alice glances quickly behind them, then grimaces. "Yeah, it's still
coming. Augusta, we have to go."
"We can't. You—"
"Shut up. Don't even try it." "Kid," Augusta starts.
"I'm not a kid, certainly not yours!" Alice bursts out, seeming quite
hysterical. "But you know who is? Frank. And I'll be damned if I let
you die here, because it'll break his fucking heart, so we are going.
Now."
Augusta coughs again, hanging her head forward to spit blood on

the ground. It seems to take effort to lift her head and focus on Alice
once more. "No. No, we're not."
"Augusta—" Alice cuts themselves off with a harsh noise low in their
throat when Augusta proceeds to yank the dagger out of her chest,
crying out and crumbling forward. "No! No, what are you doing?!
Why would you—"
213
"No use in dragging it out," Augusta gasps out, still stern and
no-nonsense even now, like this. "Only one of us could make it back
to him anyway, and it was always going to be you. He loves you,
you know. Can't imagine why, but he does."
"Oh, you—you stupid old bitty," Alice hisses, their face twisting as
they slump down next to Augusta and try to cover her wound with
their hand. "How many times have Frank and I told you? It's not like
that. We're not—"
"It doesn't have to be," Augusta whispers, her gaze latching onto
Alice. "You think loving someone like that is the only thing that
matters? It doesn't matter how my son loves you; the point is that he
loves you."
"He loves you, too," Alice says.
"I'm his mother. He's the only person in this world I love, but I'm not
the only person in this world he loves," Augusta confesses hoarsely.
"I'm not the only person who loves him. You do, too, so you've got to
go now. For him."
"I won't," Alice announces with a harsh sniffle, blinking rapidly.

"I'm—I'm not your child. You can't just tell me what the fuck to do,
and I'm not leaving you like this."
"I know that losing your parents in the riot hurt you, Alice, but
staying with me now won't make it hurt less."
"Shut up. Don't talk about my parents."
"Defiant, insolent child," Augusta scolds, her eyes fluttering shut.

"You want to know why I never liked you?"
"Because I took your son away from you."
214
Boggarts
"Mm, no. Because he was better off with you. I couldn't treat him
right. I tried, but I didn't know how to let go. To do right by him, I
had to let him go, and I couldn't figure out how."
Alice is silent for a second, and then they reach down with their free
hand to grab Augusta's bloodstained one, and they both hold on
tight as Augusta rattles out another cough, blood on her teeth.
"I'm—I'm sorry I said you were a bad mother."
"I wasn't always," Augusta rasps, "but that's what I became."
"Mum," Frank breathes out, stepping forward, tears shining in his

eyes. All eyes are on him, and James can't help but watch him with a
pang in his chest. Frank lifts his hand to reach towards the screen
like he can reach out and touch his mother one last time, and it's
quite possibly some of the most heartbreaking shit James has ever
seen.
"It's okay," Alice whispers, and when they blink, the tears spill out of
their eyes. "It's okay, Augusta. He forgives you for it, for all of it. You
did your best. You can—you can let go now."
"You've got him?" Augusta slurs out.
Alice's expression collapses as they draw Augusta's limp hand to

their chest, whimpering, "I've got him."
Augusta doesn't respond. She lays there, bleeding out slowly,

inching closer to death by the second as the fog inches closer to them
both, and Alice doesn't move. Alice cradles Augusta's hand in their
own and sits there with her, quietly weeping over her while, right
here, Frank does, too.
~•~
Sirius hears her before he sees her. The maniacal laughter is his
warning, and then Bellatrix is darting out of an opening up ahead in
215
the passage in front of him, dancing on light feet to skip out of range
of the hands reaching from the hedges.
When she pops out, the hedge shudders closed, and Bellatrix turns
with another breathless laugh, only for her breath to hitch when her
eyes land on him. She's empty-handed, but Sirius tenses up at the
sight of her anyway, because he knows that she—out of
everyone—poses a proper threat, weapon or no weapon. Her eyes
positively gleam.
"There you are," Bellatrix declares gleefully, as if genuinely delighted

to see him. "I've been looking for you for ages."
"Have you?" Sirius asks flatly, holding still as he tracks every move
she makes with his gaze. She's coming closer leisurely, hand lazily
draped over her belt, a wicked smile on her face.
"You would not believe the troubles I've had to face on my journey to
you," Bellatrix complains. "First, I lost Narcissa, which—can you
believe that shit? You wouldn't have happened to run into her lately,
would you?"
"Nope," Sirius lies cheerfully. "Hey, maybe she's dead."
Bellatrix stills briefly, and then she laughs. "Well, that'd make things
simpler, wouldn't it? All these cannons today—hey, maybe Regulus
is dead. Poor little munchkin, all alone, only a year out from his
arena and facing the physical manifestation of all the ugliest little
reminders. I mean, the hands? Can't imagine he'd handle that well.
What do you think?"
"I think you better shut your fucking mouth before I feed you this
spear," Sirius snaps.
"Well, that's no way to talk to family, Sirius," Bellatrix chides, easing

closer to him. "But, well, our family has never been particularly
proper, has it? Why break the tradition?"
216
Boggarts
"My thoughts exactly," Sirius agrees, and then she's flinging herself at
him with a snarl while he meets her halfway.
Now, this—oh, this is fucking brutal, and Sirius relishes in it. He's at
full-throttle, giving it his all, no concern for holding himself back or
maintaining some inner measurement of sanity he can hold onto
when the shame creeps in. She is in many ways his equal; the eldest
sibling, the one with the most kills under her belt, the biggest threat;
ruthless and willing to do whatever it takes to survive. She's one to
lose her collective shit more easily than most, like him, the both of
them always one little push away from going too far to come back
from; the only difference is that Sirius does everything he can to keep
his balance, and Bellatrix laughs before she leaps.
Bellatrix is fast. She's so quick it's hard to keep up with her, but Sirius
does. She has him disarmed in seconds, kicking his spear away as
she digs her nails into the side of his throat and spits right in his face.
He grabs her by the back of her hair and yanks, slamming his knee
up into her pelvis and making her stumble back with a gasp.
Sirius doesn't give her time to recover. He tackles her right to the
ground, then instantly gets shoved onto his back with a thud.
Bellatrix punches him, full-on decks him in the face so hard that his
head snaps to the side. Her nails dig into his scalp when she grabs
him by the hair and slams his head back into the ground. Cursing
sharply, Sirius swings out with his elbow to clip her in the side of the
head, shoving her to the side. She uses the momentum to scramble
forward, trying to get to his discarded spear on the ground.
Hand darting out, Sirius grabs her by the ankle and drags her back,
hissing, "Oh, no you don't."
"You selfish little brat!" Bellatrix shrieks, the rest of her words
muffled as he braces his hands against the back of her head to grind
her face in the ground. She spits out dirt and grass when her head
comes back up, and he slams it forward again, satisfied by the
crunch he hears.
Sirius slams her face into the ground again, quite smug by the whole
thing until she jerks her foot up behind him and kicks him with the
217
heel of her boot hard, right on his spine. His back bows on as he
lurches forward with a groan, and the moment Bellatrix is free, she's
crawling frantically for the spear.
Well, great. Just great. There she goes, and—yep, she has it. Lovely.
Sirius grumbles under his breath as he pushes to his feet at the same
time that she hops to hers and swivels towards him. Her nose is
visibly broken, blood gushing, staining her teeth as she grins at him,
wide and malicious.
Huffing out a laugh, Sirius shakes his head and lazily holds his arms
out only a bit and lets them clap back to his sides. He dips his head
at her, arching an eyebrow as he gives her a half-grin and says,
"Well? Come on."
"This isn't the first time I tried to kill you," Bellatrix informs him,
tossing the spear from hand-to- hand, eyes bright.
"What happened last time?" Sirius coos. "Did you miss?"
Bellatrix instantly scowls. "No. I pushed you down the stairs. You
just got back up." "Yeah," Sirius says with a hum. "I tend to do that."
"Not this time," Bellatrix hisses, then proceeds to launch the spear at
him with a grunt.
The thing is, Sirius has spent over a decade being prepared for
situations just like this, and whether he remembers it all or not, most
of it is motion-memory. Bellatrix is fast, and she's strong, but Sirius
sees it coming. He anticipates it, so he's already leaning to the side as
the spear hurdles through the air at him, and it's insane even to him
as he does it, the quick snap of his hand as he reaches out and
catches it.
Sirius catches it.
Bellatrix hisses like a cat being dunked in water. Sirius of course

takes this opportunity to smirk at her and straighten up, giving the
218
Boggarts
spear a lazy twirl. It's not her weapon, not one she knows the way
she knows daggers. While it's not exactly difficult to use, there is a
difference between the way a novice handles one and the way an
expert does. Sirius is the expert.
To prove so, he doesn't throw it, and he keeps it close to his body as
she runs right for him. He's steady, waiting, watching her come
closer, closer, too close—
Sirius dips and hooks the handle of the spear at her ankles, then
sweeps her right off her feet. She hits her back with a thud, gasping,
and he brings the spear up, preparing to drive it right back down.
Bellatrix gives a truly animalistic shriek and flings herself back,
scrambling up against the hedge.
Hands immediately burst free to grab onto her, which only makes
her screech more. She rips herself free, still screaming, and Sirius
blinks—
Sirius blinks— Sirius—
~•~
Regulus knows the instant that he hears Bellatrix screaming that he

has to get to her, because there's only one person in this arena who
can make her sound like that. Utterly furious, seething with rage,
pushed completely over the edge. Only Sirius has ever been able to
get her to that point.
So, Regulus runs, because he—well, honestly, he doesn't think

Bellatrix could beat Sirius, not really. In his mind, no one can beat
Sirius, because Sirius is—he's the best. At everything. Maybe he
thinks that way because he's the little brother, or maybe because it
fills him with this safe, bittersweet nostalgia for when he was a child
trailing after Sirius with wide eyes full of wonder at absolutely
anything he did, no matter how simple or how foolish. Sirius did a
cartwheel when he was nine, and Regulus thought he was the
coolest person in the whole world.
219
Maybe he thinks that way because it's true, because Sirius has
always been capable of doing absolutely anything he puts his mind
to. Regulus' admiration for that had soured when they drifted apart,
and then it just infuriated him, but he always believed it. He still
believes it after all this time.
So, you can imagine how it feels for him to take a corner and jerk to a
breathless halt as he watches Bellatrix shove an unmoving Sirius in
the chest, and then he does move. He does. He tips right back into
the hedge behind him, into the hands reaching, and Regulus watches
them wrap around him and drag him back into it. Sirius is yanked
into the hedge by the hands, disappearing, and then the cannon
sounds.
Regulus' whole body goes cold instantly.
Bellatrix crows with delight, throwing her hands up in the air and
cackling as she does a little dance, hopping up and down in a sure
sign of victory.
"I killed Sirius Black! I killed Sirius Black!" Bellatrix chants,

sing-song, and then she swivels to see him. Her face absolutely lights
up. "Munchkin! Did you see? I killed Sirius Black!"
She comes skipping right towards him, utterly triumphant, bloodied

and bruised and glowing despite it all. Regulus stares at her blankly,
not moving, not doing anything as she reaches him and immediately
snatches him close with a laugh. She jostles him and ruffles his hair,
beaming.
"I said—" Regulus' mouth is dry, and he swallows, feeling cold. He

feels so—he feels—he doesn't feel anything. He can't feel anything. "I
said only I could. I said—"
"Oh, I know, but you weren't around," Bellatrix tells him, clicking her
tongue. "Oh well. All's well that ends well, I say. That's done now,
yeah? He had it coming."
220
Boggarts
"I said," Regulus repeats in a rasp, and he can't—he isn't sure what
comes next. What does he do now? His tongue feels too big in his
mouth, and his chest feels too tight for his lungs, and suddenly,
inexplicably, he doesn't know who he is.
"Hey, have you seen Cissy? I lost her yesterday, so I'm still looking
for—" Bellatrix stops, her mouth hanging open. A strangled exhale
escapes her, and she blinks violently before slowly looking down.
Regulus does, too, staring at where he has buried his dagger
between the high point of her ribs, angled up to drive into her heart.
Her head lifts, and their eyes meet. Confused, she whispers,
"Munchkin?"
Regulus' vision blurs, and he's not entirely sure why. A choked noise
falls from Bellatrix's mouth as he shoves his dagger forward and
twists, repeating, "I said," and then snatching the dagger back out,
only to drive it in again while falling into the pattern of, "I said," stab,
"I said," stab, "I said —"
Bellatrix eventually falls. Another cannon sounds. Regulus' ears ring.
It's like gravity, yeah? Because, your whole life, gravity is a constant.
You depend on it. You can't really exist in this world without it,
because what happens without it? No gravity, nothing to tie you
to this world, and then you're gone. You float away, up and up and
up, weightless and lonely and lost amongst the stars, but the
brightest has gone out, and the sky is dark, and there's no gravity,
and where are you, how do you get back down, who are you, how
do you get back home?
Slowly, Regulus sits down. Well, he just sort of finds his legs folding
beneath him, and then he's there on the ground, staring impassively
at his blood-covered dagger in his bloodstained hands. He doesn't
feel sick.
He doesn't feel anything.
221
What about me and you? What about that? What about the fact that
Regulus doesn't know who he is, all of a sudden? He's never lived in
a world that didn't have Sirius in it. He's always been Sirius' little
brother. Always his little brother. Always that. And now, now what,
he—he doesn't get to be that? He can't be that? Does he stop being
that if Sirius—if Sirius is—
Then who the fuck is he? What is he? Regulus' very sense of identity
is stamped with Sirius' signature. He is who he is because of Sirius,
and he can never be anything else, and he doesn't even really want to
be. Whatever this is—whatever it is—whatever it may be, it's an
alien concept to him. It's like trying to visualize nothing. You can't.
He can't. He is that now, just nothing, a blank canvas. Empty.
There's a rustle, the sound of boots hitting the ground, then a warm
hand pressing into Regulus' shoulder.
Regulus looks up, blinks, is dead probably. Has to be. Surely the
saccharine flood of relief in his clementine-brittle bones is just the
fluff-cloud security of the afterlife taking the shape of his brother
peering down at him almost curiously. Regulus doesn't even
remember dying. It didn't even hurt.
"Hey," Sirius says, and no, the heat is still sticky and thick, and the
underbelly of the maze is getting dimmer as the echo of the sun asks
them to say their goodbyes; it has a journey to go on, and will return
tomorrow. Hey, like hello; Hey, like the instinctive greeting from one
human to another; Hey, like life, still alive, still here and breathing
and—
"Hey? Hey?!" Regulus bursts out, sounding quite shrill, and Sirius
jolts in place, rearing back, visibly startled by Regulus scrambling off
the ground to slam his hands against his chest. His own chest
heaves, and he can't breathe, and he feels—he feels—he can feel
again, somehow, inexplicably, and he is little brother and alive and
the world makes sense now. "I thought you fucking died, and all you
say is hey?!"
222
Boggarts
"You did? What? Wait, what happened?" Sirius asks, looking

supremely confused.
"You—you fucking idiot," Regulus chokes out, shoving him again,

and then immediately and helplessly reeling him into a hug that
likely does nothing to clear up his confusion.
Sirius has always been more readily affectionate than Regulus, even
when they were just kids. But, when they were just kids, Regulus
would hug Sirius, and hang off his arm, and slam into his back until
he fell over, just to climb all over him and wrestle on the ground,
then fall silent and go still and hold their breaths when they heard
the creak of weight on the stairs, knowing and dreading the
approach of their parents; either one, both, the shadow that befell
them and frowned upon any sign of two brothers daring to have fun.
Regulus doesn't think he's stepped up to hug Sirius first since he was
fourteen years old, maybe even before that, maybe it's been fourteen
years since the last, fourteen years and fourteen seconds and
countless deaths. It doesn't matter when he found the place to stop
for whatever reason; it matters that, despite that and after all this
time with every single fucked up thing in between, he finds himself
crossing the distance to do it again.
"Oh, you really thought I died," Sirius notes with a weary sort of
chuckle. His voice gets smaller. "Sorry about that. Didn't mean to
scare you."
"I'm not scared of anything," Regulus croaks, because he is scared of

too many things to even count, because is scared of everything and
everything itself.
Sirius ruffles the back of his hair, releasing a fond sort of noise, and
then he grabs the lobe of Regulus' ear and twists it, gently tugging
on it like he used to when they were kids and he wanted to make
Regulus groan and swat at him. "Sure you're not. Come on, get it
together, Reggie. You're giving me all sorts of blackmail material
right now, literally as we speak. I'll tell you to do something, and you
won't, and I'll say, oh, but don't you remember that time we were in
the hunger games, and you thought I died, and then you hugged me
223
and refused to let me go, and you'll say, that didn't happen, and so
then I will have no choice but to pull up the live footage, because just
to remind you, this will exist as video evidence, which I am not
afraid to resort to pulling out to win arguments, despite the—"
"And I'm over it," Regulus cuts in gruffly, finally, though he isn't
entirely sure it's true. He is sure that Sirius would have rambled as
long as Regulus needed him to, just to stay like that, but that's not
feasible for either of them now, not here.
"There he is," Sirius says, voice warm with amusement, and he claps
Regulus on the shoulder, squeezing briefly before shifting aside to
tilt his head down at Bellatrix. She's slumped over on her front.
"What happened to her? Did I do that?"
"Um," Regulus mumbles, clearing his throat.
"I—I had a bit of a moment. I think really loud screams sort of... Well,
anyway, I'm noticing a pattern." Sirius clicks his tongue in
disapproval, then reaches out with his boot to nudge Bellatrix over.
He goes still, then looks at Regulus, gaze trailing down to where he
dropped the bloody dagger as he frantically stood up before. "Oh.
You, um."
Regulus coughs. "I...also had a bit of a moment."
"Right."
"I wasn't—"
"No, no, it's—fine. Really, Reggie, it's..." Sirius trails off, gaze flicking
to Bellatrix again. "I didn't mean to," Regulus whispers.
Sirius' gaze snaps back to him. "I know. You were—I mean, you
thought I was dead. Trust me, I wouldn't be any better. I probably
would have been...much worse. I just—I guess I—"
224
Boggarts
"It's not your fault," Regulus offers, because Sirius seems to be

struggling to articulate what he's feeling at the moment, but the
thing is, Regulus has been feeling like that since he was fifteen. He
knows the burden of being someone's reason to fight. To kill. He
knows. And now, on the other side of it, he knows it's not that
simple.
"How many times did you...?" Sirius falters yet again.
Regulus can't bear to look at Bellatrix, and he can't remember how

many times he stabbed her. All he knows is that, in the moment, he
wasn't sure how to stop. But, here and now, he's suddenly struck
with this deep sense of—grief. For Bella. For his cousin, his favorite,
his past where he
could have never imagined that he would actually, sincerely kill her.
Or anyone.
Maybe she was insane. Maybe she was in a fucked up world just like
the rest of them. Either way, regardless of motives or mental
facilities, she was family.
Oh. Oh no.
"Cissa," Regulus croaks, his eyes going wide. "Regulus," Sirius says
very carefully.
"Oh, fucking hell, Andy," Regulus chokes out, taking a sharp step
back and pressing a shaking hand to his stomach. He just killed his
own cousin, and it hurts him, because in the same way he will
always, always carry the harsh sting of loving his parents, he has
love for her, too. But he didn't just kill his favorite cousin. He killed
their sister. Narcissa's. Andromeda's. While Narcissa may not know
now, may never know, there's a good chance that Andromeda just
watched it happen.
And it was brutal. It was bloody. It was betrayal.
225
"Don't. Don't do that, okay?" Sirius tells him, his voice strained. "This
is—it's the fucking hunger
games, Regulus. I was going to kill her. I was. I would have. Can you
blame me?" "It wasn't you. It was me."
"I don't blame you."
"But they might," Regulus whispers.
Sirius sits on that for a second, and then says, "Well, okay. Fine. They
can blame you, and blame me too, but they're blaming the wrong
people. Maybe it was your dagger and my influence, but who put
her here in the first place? Who put her here, and put us here, and
put the dagger in your hand?"
"It was still my dagger, and my hand, and that—I can never change
that," Regulus murmurs. "We can blame the world's problems on the
beat of a butterfly's wings, but that doesn't help make the world a
better place, Sirius. Maybe I'm not the beginning of what got her
here, but I was the end of her."
"She was trying to kill me. She nearly did. She would have tried to
kill you, too, if she knew you weren't her ally." Sirius sighs wearily.
"Look, I know what you're saying, okay? I do, and it's good —it's
really good to do the sort of self-reflection that seeks out your own
sense of morality, but here? Regulus, here? Things like that don't
exist here. You can't find it, and trying is only going to tear you
apart, and there's no time for that. You have to keep going, and then
you can fall apart after. Just like me. Just like all of us. We worry
about all of that when we have the time and the space for it, but here
and now? We don't."
Regulus swallows harshly and drops his hand, staring at Sirius with
this growing pit in his stomach, the insides of himself feeling
cavernous. Slowly, his gaze crawls to Bellatrix, and the mere sight of
her makes his eyes sting immediately.
He remembers burying his face into her hair when he was young
and laughing, laughing, laughing as she whispered rude things
226
Boggarts
about Sirius in his ear, making Sirius pout and huff and go to
Narcissa for attention. He remembers the way she rolled her eyes,
the effortless way she swung her own dagger between her fingers,
the tiny snarl at the corner of her mouth when Andromeda talked
about Ted. He remembers the way she danced in the rain, arms held
out, face tilted to the sky.
Sirius doesn't have the benefit of remembering, and Regulus is

burdened with the memories. What a difference the curse of
recollection can make.
"Regulus," Sirius insists. When Regulus glances back at him, he looks

sad. Slowly, he shakes his head. "Now isn't the time. We have to go.
We have to keep going. Me and you, remember?"
Regulus breathes in, then out, then gives a sharp nod before reaching
down to pick up his dagger. When he stands back up, he meets
Sirius' eyes steadily. "Me and you."
With that, Sirius goes to pick up his spear, and together, they walk
away, falling into perfect step as they go, leaving the body of their
eldest cousin behind.
As they go, Regulus can't resist glancing back, feeling a sharp pulse
in his chest.
Bellatrix died with tears on her cheeks.
~•~
"I'm sorry," James whispers, squeezing Frank's shoulder as he and

Dorcas crowd him in a secluded corner, having saved him from
sympathetic sponsors and hollow condolences.
Augusta died the same moment Sirius was snatched into the hedge.
There wasn't even a second of confusion for anyone here, because it
was displayed on the screen, and they saw it happen. Alice had
continuously dragged her back away from the fog as she bled out,
227
crying and screaming through clenched teeth, but when the cannon
sounded, they collapsed on the ground next to her body and wept.
It was devastating to witness. It was even more devastating seeing

Frank's expression crumble as he inhaled a choked breath and
exhaled a sob, reaching up to cover his mouth as his shoulders
shook. The sound of him crying had seemed to fill the whole room
and everyone—every single person—had been silent with sympathy
or discomfort. No one thrived on it. Not one damn person found it
the least bit entertaining.
In the end, Alice had no choice but to get up and run, and that's what
they're doing now. As they go, they just repeatedly chant, "I'm sorry,
Frank, I'm so sorry."
It's a chilling moment for all, but for Frank, it's something beyond
that. It's the loss of his mother, and regardless of the relationship,
that's never easy. Saying sorry can't fix it. Saying sorry can't bring her
back. Saying sorry can't do anything.
Yet, that's all they can do.
But, apparently not, because Dorcas swivels to cup Frank's cheek in

her hand and tilt his face up, making him look her in the eyes as she
whispers, "Alice. They're still in this, Frank. Alice is still there, okay?
I—I know it's unfair, and I know it's fucked up, but you can't do this
now. Not here."
"You said—" James swallows and ducks his head forward as he

lowers his voice, dragging his hand down to rub soothing circles on
Frank's back. "You said this is an arena for us just as much as it is for
them, remember? The day is almost over now. Just a few more hours
and then night will fall, and I'll—I'll go back to your suite with you,
yeah? I'll stay with you, whatever you need, I promise. Can I do
that?"
"No," Dorcas answers, and James blinks at her. "I haven't had the
chance to talk to you yet, but you'll be busy tonight, and so will
Frank. Right, Frank?"
228
Boggarts
There's a pause, and then Frank heaves out a harsh breath, squeezing
his eyes shut. His face twitches through multiple expressions before
he reaches up to swipe his tears away. When his hands drop, his eyes
are open, locked onto Dorcas, and his jaw is set. "Yeah," he rasps.
"Yeah, I will."
"Er," James says, "what exactly are we doing tonight?"
Dorcas glances around, then leans in so close their noses are almost
touching before she whispers, "Starting a war."
229
7
THE BREAKAWAY
______
"You don't have to stay, you know," Pandora murmurs.
Remus swallows harshly and tears his eyes away from the screen.
Sirius and Regulus have gotten separated again. Everyone else has
been mixed up and twisted all around, so now Emmeline is with
Alice, Marlene is still alone, Narcissa and Alecto have found each
other, Rabastan and Asher have not lost each other because they've
refused to let each other's hands go while not fighting (rather genius
if you ask Remus; everyone should be operating under the laws of
the buddy system), and Majesty literally won't stop moving, even
though it's growing dark inside the maze.
Poor Asher is suffering some rather gruesome wounds from the

creatures she and Rabastan were fighting, and now it doesn't look
like she's going to make it through the night, but Rabastan has food
and water for them, so there's that. Alice had a complete breakdown
when telling Emmeline what happened to Augusta, and they
apologized to Frank over and over while hyperventilating until
Emmeline cupped their face firmly and made them stop, and
breathe, and settle down; Alice is silent now, not speaking or doing
anything at all, but they both came across a cache in the maze with
water and food, so they also got to eat and stock up a little.
Narcissa did not inform Alecto that she killed Dixon, but the tribute
banners have played in the sky, so they all know who is dead.
Narcissa knows her sister is dead; she didn't cry, didn't speak, just
swallowed harshly and stepped away from Alecto, who actually
seemed to reach for her as if
230
The Breakaway
to comfort her. She didn't try after that. Like Rabastan, Narcissa has
food and water in her bag, so she and Alecto also get to eat tonight.
Majesty has come across a cache as well, the third and last according
to Rita. Remus thinks it's just a set up for the next few days of the
tributes being pushed to the limit.
The only person who hasn't gotten food or water after all that
transpired throughout the day is Marlene. It's night three, and she's
only had water from rain both nights, but no food otherwise. She's...
Well, Remus doesn't know her very well, but he watched the
highlights of her games just like everyone else, and she's clearly
being pushed to that point of survival again, starving and thirsty and
in pain. Her arm is really bad, her throat is swollen and bruised, and
she looks fucking exhausted. Out of everyone, she didn't get one
moment of peace today.
Regulus also has no supplies and hasn't been led to a cache, but he
had breakfast with Sirius, at least. Sirius, of course, has his bag of
supplies, so he's fine in that regard.
They are, however, separated once more, and Remus is not

comforted by how far away they are from one another. They've been
led to opposite sides of the maze, and Sirius, worryingly, has been
isolated far from everyone else. He's okay, as far as physical means.
He has food and water and isn't in danger.
He was, though. For a second, for a moment, he was...he...
It's been a long fucking day full of hit after hit after hit. First, there
was the crimson river that nearly took Regulus a second time, and it
had been really fucked up to watch. Remus' chest had been tight, his
breath held as he watched Regulus and Sirius call for each other. He
thought then and there that Regulus was going to die, and honestly,
no part of him had wanted it, even as a guilty thought. He'd been
repulsed by what he saw, sitting there clinging to Pandora's hand as
she wept.
But Regulus—oh, it was amazing, like James said. Because it was like
watching something shift. Remus could see it on his face, not just
survival, but the desire to live. To try. To hope. And Sirius, too. It was
231
messy and beautiful, watching them decide to try, together, both of
them. No more of that nonsense of who deserves to live more, who is
needed more, because they both deserve to live and they're both
needed.
Now, obviously, Remus has no fucking clue how it would be possible

for both of them to manage that, and it was blatant defiance, so some
part of him had waited for them both to be struck down
immediately. But they weren't. They're still here, still trying, even
now. Remus doesn't know what will come, but he does know, if
anyone can pull it off, it'll be them.
The hits didn't stop after that, however. Eli. The green fog that
doesn't just hurt, but kills, so how the fuck is Remus here right now?
What was the point of the experimentation? He doesn't have the
answers and didn't have the time to figure it out, because there was
more. Boggarts. Augusta. Bellatrix. Sirius...
Oh, Sirius fighting Bellatrix. That was—Remus didn't enjoy it,

exactly. He was on edge the entire time, but there was a moment. Just
that fucking moment where Sirius caught the spear. He caught it.
Remus nearly folded in half, then hated himself a little for the
reaction. But then—but then Sirius went away. Bellatrix screamed,
and Sirius slipped away.
Remus is pretty sure he died for a second. It felt like... He doesn't

even know how to describe it. The world stopped. Sirius slipped
away, was yanked into the wall of the maze, there was a cannon, and
the world stopped.
It had lasted only a second, only one where Remus didn't even get to
fully grasp what he was feeling, and he's still sure that it was the
worst second of his life.
Immediately after, the camera cut away, and Rita showed up on the
screen to reveal that it was Augusta who died. When it did cut back
to Bellatrix, it was to show Regulus killing her.
232
The Breakaway
And then Sirius was there. Remus has no idea how. He suspects
Sirius doesn't even know, due to his memory issues. Was he spit out
the other side of the maze? Did he climb over? Was he held inside
the hedge, then just pushed back out again? There wasn't one scratch
on him, other than the few bruises and tiny cuts from previous
fights, but not from the hands. It's—well, obviously Remus doesn't
want Sirius to get hurt or die, but it didn't make sense.
There was no time to think about it, and really, Remus doesn't even
care. He genuinely doesn't care, because Sirius is still here, still alive,
still surviving. That's what matters.
It is growing darker in the maze now, as well as in the Hallow.

Usually, James would be back by this point, but he hasn't returned,
and Remus... Remus is so fucking tired. It's not long before he has no
choice but to go back to his cell, and he sort of just wants to go now,
so he can curl up and cry in peace and deal with all of this alone,
because it's weighing on him really fucking heavy, and he's stuck in
this habitual need to keep it together in front of everyone else and
break apart alone.
Pandora must know this, because she's giving him the out he needs.
You don't have to stay, you know. Doesn't he? Shouldn't he? Just to
check on James, at least.
"I can—I should wait for James," Remus mumbles.
"Remus, you don't have to do that if it's better for you to go. I can
check on James. You can check on him in the morning. If you need to
just—be done tonight, and get some rest, and recover alone, that's
fine. I'm here, too."
"I know that, but I promised Sirius—"
"Sirius wouldn't want you to tear yourself apart trying to take care of
everyone else," Pandora murmurs with a tired smile. She's been
crying a lot, and she looks weary, sounds weary, clearly feels as
weary as all of them. "You've been helping me so much, even just
233
tonight, and it's okay to need to be alone. It's okay. I'll check in with
James when he comes in, then send him off to bed; you can get a
hold of him in the morning. It's one night. Honestly, what difference
can one night make?"
Remus hesitates, because he knows things can change in a blink, in

less than one night even, but in the end, he relents. He relents
because it's all the same, it's one day full of nightmares after the next,
and they have to choke on it over and over with no reprieve, just like
Sirius said to him once. We swallow it. We choke on it, year after
year after year, because what else can we do? That's all we can do.
What else can Remus do?
"Thanks, Pandora," Remus whispers, reaching out to squeeze her

hand, then eases away to grab his mask, put it on, and leave as he
grants himself the space he needs to choke alone.
~•~
"Wait, so it's—it's just empty?" James blurts out, sitting on the edge
of his seat in Dorcas' small suite, his hands buried into his hair as he
stares at her incredulously. "Where did—what happened to everyone
else?"
Dorcas gives him a pained look as she drops off a black crate on the
coffee table in between them. "James..."
"No," James whispers. "They—my whole district? My home?"
"Some people got out," Dorcas murmurs. "I don't know all the
numbers, but Lily did say your parents are safe."
"Fuck," James chokes out, reaching up to cover his face with both
hands, his shoulders hunched.
District six. People he's known his whole life. A fucking ghost town
now, because of Riddle. What about Mary? Bingley? Their family.
234
The Breakaway
What about Sirius and Regulus' family, too? Andromeda, Ted, little
Dora. What about Barty and his family? What about Mayor
Aberforth, and Dotty from down the street, and Quiverlee who sold
muffins at the market for as long as James can remember? What
about—
"Uh, what—why—why do you have those?" Huey speaks up, his

voice strained enough that James lifts his head.
Oh.
Guns.
Dorcas has guns.
"Well, what did you think?" Dorcas snaps, holding out a gun to
Frank, who takes it with his jaw clenched. "Did you think we'd just
break people out of the arena without any trouble? Don't be naive,
Huey. It doesn't help."
"You said we wouldn't be breaking them out!"
"No, I said we wouldn't be going to the arena. We are absolutely

helping break them out. Now, take a fucking gun."
Huey bites his lip, then awkwardly reaches out to grab the gun,
eyebrows furrowed. "I have no idea how to use this."
"Point, shoot, hope you don't miss," Dorcas informs him, her voice
clipped. She holds the next gun out to James, who takes it with a
frown. It feels—odd. He's never held a gun before. It's cold. Heavy.
"Now, we will obviously be doing our best to get through this as
quietly as possible, but I can't promise that we won't have to fight at
some point. And, well, the guns are necessary for an intimidation
tactic, too."
"When we get to the gamemaker room," Frank says, and Dorcas

nods. "Just one thing. McGonagall."
235
Dorcas snorts. "Let me handle Minerva."
"Sirius said she's not easily intimidated," James mumbles.
"I know Minerva," Dorcas tells him, taking her own gun and holding
it much more comfortably than they all do. James can't help but stare
at her, not entirely sure he's not looking at a stranger. She's a part of a
secret, underground organization for rebels and a revolution;
yesterday, she was just his stylist and friend. "She's in the Order, too,
believe it or not."
Frank hisses between his teeth and spits out, "What?! So, what the
fuck is she doing with the arena?! She—"
"Frank," Dorcas cuts in, "I know it's hard for you to see it, but what
has happened in the arena isn't something separate from the war.
You don't even realize, but the state of the world right now is... very
precarious, and Minerva is just—" She swallows, then sighs. "Look, I
obviously don't like it any more than you do, but it's something
that—that—"
"Would work," James says softly, and everyone turns to stare at him.
"It would work. It is working. She's dismantling the games from the
inside. Making them all hate it. She's—she's using this to bring war
here, where Riddle is."
Dorcas hesitates, then nods tentatively. "Yes. It's not her. She's
not—she's just following orders, doing what needs to be done, doing
what it'll take to get to a better world. Sometimes, we have to go
through war to get there. And we're about to, so now is the time to
set aside morals and personal feelings, because—because there are
no good people in war."
"That's statistically impossible," Huey argues.
"Actually, it's not," Dorcas corrects, sweeping her gaze over them as
she shoves her bullets into the gun handle with a sharp click. "All the
good people die. If you live long enough to see the end of the war,
236
The Breakaway
trust me, you're not coming back out the other side with your hands
clean."
"Like, literally?" Huey asks, eyes wide.
"Well, probably, but also figuratively. Hands, souls, whatever. The

point is, you may as well accept it now," Dorcas says.
James turns the gun over in his hand, his stomach sort of falling out
from underneath him. The thing is, he'll do anything to get Sirius
and Regulus out of the arena. Anything. Whatever it takes. He's
so—he can barely stop shaking from how eager he is to do this, all of
it, any of it. He doesn't need any further motivation than getting
them out, but especially now that he knows his parents aren't home,
he's more than willing. The Phoenix sounds like a whole other
world. A safer world than this. They need to get there. All of them.
Abruptly, James' head snaps up with a sharp inhale that has

everyone looking at him. "Shit. Pandora. R—"
"We'll go by and get her on the way," Dorcas interrupts.
"And Remus," James states firmly.
Dorcas blinks. "Who?"
"Remus," James repeats. "He's, ah, Sirius' moon? He's my friend.

He's—he's coming with us." "Is he a Hallow? A sponsor? A—"
"A servant."
"A—sorry, what?" Dorcas says, so startled that it's almost comical.

Huey's eyes bulge. Even Frank's eyebrows fly up his forehead.
"Sirius is in love with a servant?"
James scowls. "Sirius is in love with Remus. He's a person. You

fucking Hallows, you do this, you know. You never—"
237
"Okay, sorry," Dorcas murmurs, lifting one hand in a placating
gesture. "That's—yes, you make a good point. Remus, then. I assume
he's the servant assigned to your suite?"
"Yes."
"So, he'll be there."
"Should be," James says, flicking his gaze towards the clock, his lips
tipping down. "Well, it's getting late now. We don't have much time.
Dorcas, I'm not joking, I won't leave him."
Dorcas bites her lip, then clears her throat. "It's just... James, servants
have trackers in their thighs. If we bring him with us, they'll be able
to find us. All of us."
"Then I'll cut it out," James declares simply, and Dorcas blinks at him
again. "What? You said it's war, right? Life or death. Well, no time for
anything other than what it takes, so get me a knife, and I'll cut it out
and carry him out on my back if I have to, because I'm not leaving
him."
"Oh, his poor leg," Huey mutters.
James cuts him a glare and pointedly taps the cane resting in
between his spread legs. "He'll survive. Trust me, an injured leg isn't
a death sentence."
"Shouldn't he get to make that choice, though?" Huey insists, his

eyebrows furrowed. "Like, sorry, but it's going to hurt. I don't mean
anything about future complications. I literally mean the pain of
having the tracker sliced from his body."
"You are so not cut out for war, or the arena, or—basically any harsh
realities in life," Frank tells him with a sigh. He reaches out and claps
Huey on the shoulder. "You'll learn."
238
The Breakaway
"Remus would probably cut it out himself, honestly," James admits,

lips twitching fondly. "Either way, it's his thigh, and if the tracker
isn't too deep and I keep a steady hand, his leg should heal up just
fine. It will be his choice, I promise, but I already know what he'll
choose, so Dorcas... Knife?"
"Coming right up," Dorcas states, "and then we go."
James blows out a deep breath. Right, because that's what's

next—and then they'll go, and then they're off to start a war.
~•~
Euphemia smooths her hand over the letter in her pocket, still in her
pocket even now, her heart thumping hard in her chest as she walks
beside Lily Evans, who is funny and kind to her outside of a
warzone, but also unafraid to ask for help from those she knows will
readily give it.
"Now, remember, the patrol switches over on the hour, so you two
have a ten minute window to get those doors open manually and get
out," Lily explains, her voice low as she swings her head between
Fleamont and Euphemia both. "I have taken out the eyes in the sky,
thanks to Wren, who fixed a loop for the surveillance cameras.
Ember broke the back exit open that hasn't been used in ages, so if
you're looking for a quick place to hide, go there. If you get caught
out of bounds on your way back to your room, claim you got lost
since you're new, or just let them catch you making out."
"You're fun. I like you." Fleamont leans forward to grin at Euphemia.

"I like her." "Yes, dear, I have ears," Euphemia says, amused.
"Thanks, Monty," Lily murmurs, an undercurrent of warmth in her

tone and something sort of sad underneath at the same time that
Euphemia doesn't think she realizes is there.
It makes her wonder what happened to Lily's family. She's all alone
and seems to wear that like armor. Young as she is, she's often seen
chasing women and just one more cigarette, but there's this sort of
shadow that sits in her eyes at all times, only noticeable when she
239
thinks no one is looking. Like one of those chocolates shaped into
something, but it's just a shell; it seems structurally sound, and then
you press, and the chocolate breaks open to reveal nothing inside at
all.
"Lily, there's something..." Euphemia hesitates, flicking her thumb

over the corner of the letter in her pocket, a nervous habit by now.
She never had nervous habits before she saw her home destroyed,
along with most of the people in it. These days, her hands shake
more often than they don't. It scares her, being so scared. "Well, I
have a request to make."
Lily's face twitches as she slows down, her eyebrows furrowed. The
thing is, with Lily, she's an entirely different person when not in the
middle of a mission. It had surprised Euphemia a bit to see her tease
and crack jokes and respond kindly seemingly by instinct, especially
when she was so harsh and efficient on the mission to retrieve them,
and then acted unaffected by the whole ordeal entirely. But, outside
of the mission, she checked on Euphemia personally, as well as all
the other people who were injured that she helped along the way.
She assisted people in anything they needed without having to be
asked, one of the few who actually got some of the kids saved from
the district to laugh and smile for the very first time.
On the mission, though? Lily is tenacious. She doesn't slow down,

and she doesn't stop, and she doesn't flinch. She acts like a machine,
honestly, and it is both admirable and quite worrying. Euphemia
herself knows what it is to do what needs to be done, but she also
knows the importance of letting yourself feel in the aftermath. She
has spent days mourning with her people, leaning on Fleamont,
letting Fleamont lean on her, talking to him in the safety of their
shared room about how scared she is about all of this, and for their
children, and for everyone they love. She doesn't let these things
fester in her and build up with no release, and perhaps she has the
benefit of age to grant her the wisdom of knowing how necessary it
is to give yourself that, but Lily? She doesn't.
240
The Breakaway
So, Euphemia knows that this is a rather far-fetched request to make,

and yet, she can't stop herself. Sirius... She has to try, at least for him.
She has to.
Euphemia takes a deep breath. "I understand that this is a very

daunting undertaking already, as well as rather time-sensitive, but I
wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."
Lily clears her throat. "You can ask, but—"
"There's a servant," Effie says, and Lily raises her eyebrows in clear
disbelief. "He's really important to Sirius, to James, to Regulus, to all
of them. He's—I know that's not really the point to all of this, but if
there's any way you could—"
"Effie," Lily interrupts firmly, "I'm sorry, I really am, but this isn't my
mission. I'm not the one running things, okay? It's Dorcas, and I have
one priority target, Marlene McKinnon. Not Sirius, not Regulus, but
her. It's her first, and then I can worry about saving the rest of those
in the arena. Besides, I won't even be on that side of things. Dorcas is
worrying about getting people out of there, not me."
Euphemia struggles not to grit her teeth, and Fleamont reaches out
to rub her back, making her take a deep breath in and a deep breath
out. "Fine. Can you pass the message along for me then, at least?"
"I can," Lily tells her. "The servant Sirius loves. Got it." She starts
backing up, grimacing. "Just don't expect anything, yeah? It's cruel,
but saving some servant Sirius just so happens to love isn't going to
be high on the list of priorities."
"James will insist on it," Fleamont says, and Euphemia doesn't doubt
it either. They know their son. Of course he will.
"Then let's hope James works to make sure no one gets left behind,"
Lily replies simply. "Unfortunately, I have other work to do, and so
do the both of you. Be careful, yeah?"
241
Euphemia and Fleamont call after her to do the same, but she's
already gone, as tenacious as ever. Sighing, Euphemia glances over
at Fleamont, who gifts her with a tiny, reassuring smile.
"Less than a week, and we're already breaking all the rules,"
Fleamont says lightly. "Probably best we don't mention this to the
kids. They'll never let us live it down."
"Our secret," Euphemia murmurs, giving him a playful nose-scrunch

before grabbing his hand and tugging him along, the both of them
off to do whatever they can to help bring the rest of their family
home to them, and anyone else who may be fortunate enough to be
picked up along the way.
Euphemia passes her thumb over the letter in her pocket and really,
really hopes that Remus is included in that.
~•~
Lily takes a corner and runs directly into Mary, who has her arms
crossed and her eyebrows raised. Oh, great, just what Lily needs.
Now is not the time to be distracted, so Lily is going to need Mary to
get out of her immediate vicinity.
"Ah, Mary, what are you—" Hm, no. Not important. Lily needs her to
go away. "Doesn't matter. Lovely to see you, as always. The brightest
part of my day, really. A true gift. Now, if you don't mind too terribly
much, I'll just slide by you and—"
"What are you doing?" Mary interrupts, eyes narrowing with

suspicion already.
"Walking. You know, as humans tend to do when they're trying to go

from one place to the next. You take one foot—"
"No, don't play with me. I'm not joking. I saw you earlier, you know,
talking to Effie and Monty in the Big Hall—"
242
The Breakaway
"Great Hall," Lily mumbles.
Mary waves a hand carelessly. "Whatever. You were talking to them,

and whatever you said got them to stop watching the games early, so
you're obviously doing something."
"Look, Mary, I would love to stand around and have this lovely little
verbal spar we always do," Lily says wearily, because it's true; their
rooms are next to each other, so they see each other quite a bit, and
Lily doesn't think they've had one genuinely civil conversation in the
last week. "It breaks my heart, truly, but I'm a little busy at the
moment so, if you could—"
"Don't even try it," Mary says flatly. "Seriously, what are you up to,
and what does it have to do with Effie and Monty? I can't find them.
Where are they?"
Lily resists the urge to huff. Anyone else, and she could probably
talk her way out of this, but Lily has noticed Mary is a force to be
reckoned with, especially when it comes to people she cares about. In
the aftermath of what happened in district six, Mary has taken to
checking on Effie and Monty a lot, along with Andromeda and Barty,
if she can actually find him. People who matter to Sirius, and James,
and Regulus. And there's Bingley, of course, who she barely let out of
her sight to start with and is still wary to do so.
The fact that Mary is here now, rather than in her room with her little
brother lets Lily know she's not budging, and if she thinks Lily is
getting Effie and Monty caught up in something, she's absolutely not
going to let it go.
Lily gets it, and she respects it, and she even likes it. Just...not so
much when it's fucking with her plans. Lily honestly does not have
time for this shit.
"Okay, I really need you to move," Lily says shortly, in no mood to

keep messing around. She pushes past Mary, who immediately
243
catches her arm, and Lily whips around to glare at her, nostrils
flaring. "I don't have time for this, Macdonald."
"Well, that solidifies it," Mary declares decisively, following behind

her when she marches off. "You're definitely doing something, and
somehow this involves Effie and Monty."
Lily ignores her. Or, well, she pretends to. Ignoring Mary is pretty
impossible. She's tall with bouncy, black curls framing her face, and
her eyes are quite possibly the most piercing Lily has ever seen in her
life. At times, Lily is almost genuinely uneasy by the thought that
Mary can see right through her. Also, she's frustratingly brilliant,
which is doing Lily absolutely no favors currently.
Seeing as Lily has no idea how the fuck to make Mary leave, she just
keeps going, because she genuinely doesn't have the time to stop.
Thankfully, Sybill is already waiting for her in the place she
promised she would, so things are coming together.
"Oh, there you are," Sybill whispers when Lily moves over to her.
She flicks her gaze from Lily to Mary. "One more?"
"No, she's not involved. Ignore her, and maybe she'll go away," Lily
grumbles.
"Not likely," Mary replies with a scoff.
"Right, well, are you ready?" Sybill asks Lily, twisting her fingers
together. "Because I want to point out, yet again, that I am not.
This—it doesn't feel like a good idea, Lily, and—and I hate lying to
Kingsley. It makes my stomach all squirmy."
"You're not lying to him...exactly," Lily soothes. "You're just, you

know, waiting to tell him until it's already done."
"Wait," Mary says, "is this—oh, for fuck's sake, is this a sex thing?
This is a sex thing, isn't it?"
244
The Breakaway
"What?" Sybill asks, blinking. "Who's having sex?"
"You two. You're sneaking around to have sex," Mary blurts out,
staring between them in disbelief.
Sybill frowns. "No, we're not. We're sneaking around so we can

abduct the tributes out of the hunger games."
"Sybill!" Lily hisses, eyes bulging. "What? We are," Sybill sputters.
Mary exhales sharply, her eyes lighting up, and then she's stepping
forward to announce, "Oh, absolutely. Yes. This is so much better
than a sex thing, and fuck you, Lily, I'm definitely involved. I'm
coming with you."
"No." Lily clenches her jaw. "No, you're not." "Sirius is in there. Yes
the fuck I am."
"And what about Bingley, hm? Because this isn't going to be safe,
Mary. It's dangerous. You could actually die."
"You know I'm a person, right? Not just a sister. I can make my own
decisions, and Bingley is safe," Mary retorts. "I'm not going to just
stand by and do nothing if I could help my friends. So, you're not
getting rid of me that easily. Look at that, you have an extra pair of
hands."
"I mean...that would be helpful, Lily," Sybill points out. Lily groans.
"You're not going to let this go, are you?"
"No," Mary confirms.
"Fine. Fine, but if you're in this, then you're listening to me. No

taking guns and shooting people and running off to do your own
thing. You do not get off the heli-carrier for anything or anyone,
alright?" Lily states, holding her gaze.
245
Mary doesn't look pleased, but she holds up her hands and dips her
head. "Fair enough. Put me in, coach. What can I do?"
"Follow us. Or, follow Sybill." Lily swivels her head to look at the
woman in question. "You picked, right?"
"Yeah, come on," Sybill says, leading them off further down the hall,
then easing the entrance to the hangar bay open so they can slip
inside. It's fairly deserted as always, large and cavernous and dim
with only six different types of heli-carriers inside. Lily doesn't think
any of them have ever actually been flown before. "I picked the one
that closest resembles the simulation lessons I took in class to
become a pilot, so that should help. It's right here down at the end."
"Wait, should help what?" Mary asks cautiously, her voice low as
they move quietly through the room.
"Help me fly," Sybill whispers.
Mary makes an odd noise and wheezes, "You—you haven't flown

anything before? I thought you were a pilot."
"I am," Sybill informs her. "Certified and everything. I've just never,
um, had the opportunity to put it to the test."
"How long ago were your classes?"
"Seven years ago? Eight? Somewhere in there." "Oh," Mary says

solemnly, "we're going to die."
Lily sighs. "Don't listen to her, Sybill, you're going to do perfectly

fine. Just like riding a bike, I'm sure."
"Bikes don't have buttons. Or wings. Or—"
"Sybill, really, I believe in you, okay? You can do this."
246
The Breakaway
Grimacing, Sybill stops by the heli-carrier. "Let's hope you're right,

because otherwise, we are going to die, and then Kingsley will be so
upset."
"Kingsley's your boyfriend, right?" Mary asks.
"Yeah," Lily answers at the same time that Sybill shakes her head.
They stop, blink, and stare at each other. "Sybill, you and Kingsley
have been dating for months. You were literally just with him earlier.
Did you two break up, or...?"
"We're dating?" Sybill blurts out. "Why didn't he tell me?!"
Lily struggles not to laugh. "What? How could you not know? You
practically live together,
Sybill! Everyone knows you've basically moved into his room."
"I just keep falling asleep there after we have sex, and he likes to
cuddle, which is nice. He's really nice, honestly. Got me a toothbrush
and let me bring some of my clothes over. Oh, and he lets me hide
the blanket I'm knitting under his mattress because they never check
his room anymore." Sybill pauses, her lips tipping down. "He never
told me we were dating. I mean, I'm fine with it. More than fine, but
he didn't say!"
"Oh, you two are so well-suited," Lily chokes out, her shoulders
shaking with her laughter. "It's— yeah, you're dating. You should
probably talk to him about it, but...well, he called you his girlfriend
last week, so I'm pretty sure he's under the impression that you're
together."
Sybill looks delighted. "Oh, lovely. Then yes, Mary, he's my

boyfriend. I can't wait to tell him."
Clearly pleased by this news, Sybill is a bit bouncy as she moves

over to yank open the side door on the heli-carrier with a sharp
clang. She's swift when leaning in to pull out the ramp, then beams
247
the entire way inside. Lily's lips curl up, and she shakes her head
fondly as she follows Sybill inside with Mary right behind her, only
for them to all bump into each other back-to-back like a line of
dominoes that don't fall.
"Oh, what the fuck?" Lily blurts out incredulously, a headache

forming so quickly that she has the strong impulse to take her skull
between her hands and squeeze.
Amos and Barty are in the midst of separating and trying to

straighten their clothes, but it's doing exactly nothing to hide what
they were just doing. Amos at least has the decency to look sheepish,
but Barty does not. In fact, Barty looks faintly amused about being
caught with the buttons on his shirt all undone. Well, he looks
amused if you ignore that his smile doesn't reach his eyes and his
gaze is rather flat and empty.
"Lily," Amos says, fumbling for his glasses to slip them on and blink
at her, red in the face. "Uh, hi. Hey. I—" He opens and closes his
mouth, looking at Barty, then back at them. He coughs. "I don't have
a good explanation."
"Fuck's sake, Amos, the poor man is grieving," Lily scolds, tossing
her hands up. Not that she really has much room to talk about how
one copes with losing people. Still, it hasn't even been a week, and
Amos perhaps should not be enabling the use of sex as problem
avoidance, which Lily is aware makes her a bit of a hypocrite, but
just because she does something doesn't mean she thinks others
should, and Barty looks like hell. He looks like he hasn't slept in
days. Amos should have been taking him to bed to rest, not—
"To be fair, it's not his fault. I'm very persuasive when I want to be,"
Barty says, "and trust me, I was not complaining."
"I—I was trying to comfort him," Amos stutters out, looking

frazzled. "I wasn't going to do anything, but then he—I—I don't even
know what happened. I don't even like men!"
"You do now, darling," Barty informs him, grinning.
248
The Breakaway
"It's okay not to know things, Amos. Finding out can be fun," Sybill
says. "I just found out Kinglsey is my boyfriend. Did you know that?
Isn't that fun?"
Amos blinks at her. "Wait, you're just finding that out now? Sybill,
you two have been dating for months."
"See? You learn something new every day," Sybill muses, smiling at
him. "Congrats on your fun little discovery of the day, and while I
support you wholeheartedly, I'm afraid I'm going to have to
interrupt. We kind of need this."
"The heli-carrier?" Amos asks, his eyebrows rising as Sybill circles

her finger to show what she means. Sybill nods, and he tilts his head.
"Why do you need the heli-carrier?"
"We're taking it so we can abduct the tributes out of the hunger

games," Sybill answers.
Lily wishes for the sweet release of death. "Sybill!"
"What? It's true," Sybill replies.
"Secret mission! Se-cret!" Lily declares, smacking the back of one

hand to her other palm for emphasis. "That means we do not tell
people about it."
"Wait, sorry, what? You're doing what?" Amos hisses, his eyes wide.
"Lily, are you fucking mental?! What—who—does Dumbledore
know about this?"
"Obviously Dumbledore doesn't know about it," Lily snaps, her

shoulders tense. "It's secret for a reason, Amos, and you better
choose your next words wisely, because if you even think of fucking
this up, I'll do what I must to make sure you don't."
Barty steps forward. "I'm coming." "No," Lily grits out.
249
"Okay, let me rephrase. You can't stop me from coming," Barty
corrects, and he looks dead serious. "Regulus is in there."
Lily rubs her temples, squeezing her eyes shut as she lowers her
voice and chants, "Don't punch him, don't punch him, don't punch
him, don't—"
"Why don't we all go?" Sybill asks. Everyone stops and stares at her.
She shrugs. "What? We're all already here, and it's not like more help
is a bad thing, really."
"Where's Kingsley?" Amos asks, glancing around like he expects

Kingsley to pop out and start giving orders.
"Lily said we can't tell him until it's over," Sybill mutters, twisting the
bottom of her shirt between her fingers. "She thinks he'd tell
Dumbledore and stop it."
At this, Lily winces. Kingsley is a very good man, and he's damn
good at missions, but he's in a high position, and Lily can't be sure
that he wouldn't have ruined the plan in the endeavor to do what he
feels is right. He's been Dumbledore's go-to for everything involving
missions for years now, even when Lily came to the Phoenix, and he
may not be willing to go against that. Lily has no way of knowing if
Kingsley would go along with this, and she couldn't risk it.
Amos clears his throat. "Lily, this is not a cleared mission. I can't just
stand by and—"
"Mm, can't you?" Barty asks, reaching over to touch Amos' shoulder,
light, staring at him. His eyebrows raise slowly, and he tilts his head.
"I think you can."
"I—" Amos opens and closes his mouth, looking lost, still seeming
frazzled by Barty, or possibly what he was just doing with Barty. He
likely saw Barty darting off as he always does these days and
decided to follow, to give him some comfort, because after all, Amos
was on the mission, too. And then, before he knew it, he was tucked
250
The Breakaway
away in an abandoned heli-carrier doing something he'd never done

before. Lily almost pities the poor man, but in the end, Amos just
deflates a little and nods. "Suppose I can, because it's not like I have
much of a choice. I'm in this shit now."
"Good answer," Lily says. "Otherwise, I would have had to knock

you out and tie you up to hide you somewhere until I got back, if I
did at all."
"Charming as always, Evans," Amos replies flatly. Lily smiles, all

teeth. "I aim to please, Diggory."
"Look at us," Sybill declares warmly. She waves around at all five of
them. "The rescue team. I decree we are called the Thunderbird
Thieves."
"Why?" Mary asks, eyebrows raised.
"Well, we're stealing, technically," Sybill points out, then moves over
to tap the inner panel of the heli-carrier, looking fond. "Besides, we'll
be birds in the sky, and this baby was built to withstand any
thunderstorm."
No one objects. For some reason, this is a unifying sort of moment

for them. Alright, then. Thunderbird Thieves it is.
~•~
"Shit, shit, shit," James chants.
Dorcas watches James hang his head, then glances back at Pandora,
who is just—staring at her. Staring like she's never seen her before.
There's been a lot of that as of late.
It puts a tangle of knots in her stomach, even though she saw this
coming. She gets it. She's known these people for a year now, a
friend to them, and she lied to their faces more than once, all of
them. While they're not entitled to every facet of her life, this reveal
251
is shocking by a large margin. Not just a simple stylist who is a little
too bold, not by a long shot.
Dorcas understands that it's an adjustment. She also gets that this is a
lot of information being thrown at them at once. No, not just that
she's more than a stylist, but also that there's a secret, underground
bunker home to a brewing rebellion for her to be a part of at all, and
also that she has decided to take it upon herself to kickstart the
revolution by breaking into the arena within the hour to save
everyone inside, and oh, they all have to leave the Hallow tonight.
Unfortunately for them, they're all on a time-crunch here, and there's

no time to waste.
Dorcas stands up. "James, breathe. We have to go down to the

basement level to get to the garage anyway for our great escape, so
we'll just grab Remus on the go. Less of a smooth transition for him,
but it's all we got. We need to go. Now."
"My dad," Pandora says softly. Everyone stops and stares at her.
"He's dying," Pandora continues. She's staring at Dorcas blankly.

"He's going to die, and I won't be here."
There's something fucking tragic about the way she says it, already
knowing it, not even protesting it. She knows she's coming. She
knows she has to, because if she stays, they will kill her just because
she's their handler, because it would hurt them, because she
apologized at the reaping and cried while reading off the names. She
can't stay, and her father is dying, and it doesn't matter if he's not
dead yet; he may as well be in this moment, for her, because she'll
never see him again.
"Pandora," James whispers, stricken.
Blinking, Pandora gives a jerky shake of her head, and she meets
Dorcas' eyes. "Well? Let's go." They go.
252
The Breakaway
It's a silent wait at the lift, a steady pulse of anticipation between the
five of them. James is flexing his fingers around the handle of his
cane, Frank is as blank-faced as Pandora, and Huey is chewing on
his lip anxiously. They all have their guns hidden, put away. Pandora
doesn't have one.
When the lift dings, the doors open to reveal that it's not empty.
Rodolphus Lestrange blinks out at them, looking suitably startled by
the eclectic group before him.
"Coming from a party?" Rodolphus asks, raising his eyebrows as he

reaches out to hold the doors for everyone, though no one moves.
"And I wasn't invited? Rude."
Dorcas realizes belatedly that everyone is stealing glances at her,

waiting for her to lead. Here she
stands, waiting for the person in charge to step up and take control
of the situation, only to remember that it's her. She's in charge. She's
leading.
Exhaling slowly, Dorcas enters the lift with the others filing in after
her, because it would be more suspicious if they didn't. Dorcas
doesn't know very much about Rodolphus, other than the fact that
his little brother is still in the arena, alive, and yet another person
Dorcas hopes to save.
"A bit of an odd group," Rodolphus comments.
He's fishing, Dorcas can tell. He sounds curious. Not exactly

suspicious, but he knows something is up.
"It's been a rough day," James replies, looking over to offer

Rodolphus a tight smile. "Huey here is planning on taking us out for
drinks to, ah, unwind a bit."
James is smart. Very smart. Dorcas knows that, but it's moments like
this when he really shines. He's socially smart as well, and that's a
253
weapon in its own right. Huey, the sponsor, footing the bill. Frank, in
mourning, likely desperate to get so drunk he blacks out. James,
aching in the aftermath of all he witnessed today. Pandora, the
handler. Dorcas, the friend.
It works. Rodolphus nods, because it does work, and it's easy to

believe. "Yeah, that it has. Suspect tomorrow won't be much better, so
a word to the wise, don't get too sloshed tonight."
"Thanks," James mumbles.
Things are quiet for a bit as the lift continues to rise. Dorcas watches
the buttons light up slowly, one at a time, with each floor they pass.
Closer. Closer. So close. Almost there.
"Oh," Rodolphus says softly.
Dorcas flicks her gaze over to see him staring down at Huey's hip, at
the line of the gun under his shirt, revealed by how he shifts his arm.
For a second, no one moves. No one breathes.
And then, swiftly, Dorcas has her gun out and pressed up under
Rodolphus' chin as she backs him
up against the wall of the lift. Huey yelps, and James curses under
his breath. Rodolphus tilts his head up, holding very still.
"You see what's on the end of my gun, Lestrange?" Dorcas asks

coldly. "That's a silencer. That means, if I happen to blow your
fucking head open, it'll be much quieter than a normal gunshot, and
I'll be free to dump your body in the first supply closet I come across.
By the time they find you, I'll be gone."
The column of Rodolphus' throat rises, then falls. His voice is a

hoarse rasp when says, "Yeah, yup, got it."
"Dorcas," James warns, sounding wary. She doesn't look away from
Rodolphus, her mind running a mile a minute with so many
254
The Breakaway
possibilities. She's never killed anyone before, but she's too close
now. Too close to have this fucked up. Not now. She won't let anyone
ruin this. "Dorcas, hey, just —just wait, okay? He's—he might... He
could help us."
"He's a liability, James," Dorcas snaps.
"No, no, he's—a brother. An older brother, who loves his little
brother," James argues carefully. "Think about it, okay? He hasn't
hidden how much he cares about Rabastan. It's his brother, yeah?
Look at Sirius and Regulus. You see how they are, especially when it
comes to the games. You saw how Sirius was last year; he was
willing to do anything for me, and also for Regulus. Just— give him
the chance, at least."
"If it was Louie, I'd do it," Huey agrees, his voice shaking.
Dorcas exhales sharply through her nose and pulls her gun away, but
she keeps her free hand against Rodolphus' shoulder to hold him
there, holding his gaze. "We're breaking into the arena to get the
tributes out and get them somewhere safe, and that includes your
little brother, if we can."
"How the fuck are you going to do that?" Rodolphus blurts out, his
eyes bulging. "Doesn't matter," Dorcas says shortly. "Are you in or
not?"
"Oh, I'm in. It's my brother," Rodolphus replies simply, blinking at

her. "Hell yeah I'm in. Do I get a gun, too?"
"If you make any sudden moves, the only part of the gun you'll get is
a bullet," Dorcas informs him, clipped. She slides her gun away,
eyeing him with distrust. "Now, shut up, I have to make a call.
Everyone stay quiet."
When Lily answers the phone, she sounds like she's in a vacuum,
and she's already talking. "— totally have this, I promise. You're
doing great."
255
"WE ARE TILTING!" someone shrieks in the background. Dorcas
doesn't recognize the voice. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm trying," Sybill
sobs, voice muffled.
"It's—no, it's fine. You've got this. I—I don't think that was the right
button, though, but—" "WE HAVE A FUCKING GATLING GUN?!"
"Ah, that's—that'll be the weapons, I think, Sybill," Lily calls out,

sounding strained. "WHY CAN I SEE THE GROUND?! PULL UP!
PULL UP!"
Dorcas coughs and winces as someone screams in the background,

and then it's just pure chaos over the line. Everyone in the lift is
staring. They can all hear it.
"Lily?" Dorcas asks tentatively, cringing at the background sound of

something clattering, like metal on metal.
"Hi, Dorcas, a little busy here," Lily pants out. "We're, um."
"Problem?"
"What? No. Everything's f—hey! No, step away from the gatling
gun! Barty, don't make me leave this cockpit!"
James straightens up. "Barty? Did—sorry, did she just say Barty? Is
Barty there? He's alive?"
"Lily?" Dorcas tries again.
"We have this under control," Lily replies, and then there's a choked
sob and the distant shout of
we're all gonna die!
Dorcas sighs. "Right. Clearly."
"Just—oh, shut up, we are fine! Barty! Stop fucking with the gun!"
Lily shouts. There's a pause, then, calmer, "Thank you. Okay, Sybill,
256
The Breakaway
talk to me. Well, no, breathe first. See? Look at that. We're all
straightened out now, flying easy and smooth. You did that. You did
great. You're doing great."
"Yeah," comes Sybill's muffled, shaky reply. "Y-Yeah, I've got it. I've
got this. It's—it's all coming back to me. Okay."
The lift dings, the doors peeling open, and Dorcas waves everyone
else out, keeping a sharp eye on Rodolphus. He doesn't do anything.
Like everyone else, he seems rather invested in her phone at the
moment. She holds up a finger to get them all to wait, and they do.
"You're on the way?" Dorcas asks.
Lily blows out a deep breath. "Yeah, uh, we're on the way. Sybill, do
we have an ETA?"
"T-minus twelve minutes," Sybill replies.
Dorcas' heart jumps. "Okay, well, we're moving in. I'll have
everything ready for when you get there, and you—you've got the
tracker, right?"
"Yes. It'll pick up Marlene as soon as we're in range. We're going

right for her first, Dorcas, I promise."
"Okay, good. Remember, as soon as you drop in, you'll have

opposition incoming, so you'll have to be quick. I'll do what I can to
get everyone as close as I can, but you won't have a lot of time. Lily,
if—if you have to go, you go, do you hear me?"
"Alright," Lily murmurs. "Hey, um, Effie sort of—well, she asked
about you maybe getting someone else out of the Hallow if it's at all
possible. A servant. Uh, Sirius' moon?"
"Oh, yeah, that's already in the works," Dorcas assures her.
257
"Who is—" Lily cuts herself off with a groan. "Barty, for fuck's sake,
it's not a toy! What did I
say?!"
"Lily, I have to go," Dorcas tells her. "Be careful, okay?"
"Yeah, we'll do our best. You, too."
"See you soon, Evans."
"Real soon, Meadowes. Real soon," Lily replies, soft, and then she
starts yelling again, and the line goes dead.
"Barty?" James asks immediately. "Is Barty alive?"
"I—James, I don't know if it was him for sure. She did say the name
Barty, so maybe?" Dorcas offers cautiously. "I've never met another
Barty at the Phoenix, so...it's a good chance. But, whoever it was,
they wouldn't leave the gatling gun alone."
James huffs a weak laugh. "Yeah, that's Barty." He looks relieved,

shaking his head as he exhales. "Okay, well, that's good.
That's—yeah, that's good. Right, what next?"
"Alright, so right now, the Aurors on rotation won't reach this floor
for another fifteen minutes, so that's all the time we've got to get in
and get the hell out," Dorcas explains. "There will be a shift change
after, which means when we leave, we should be bypassing the usual
amount of Aurors."
"You timed this?" Frank asks.
"Of course I did." Dorcas slips her phone away. "Just the same, the
gamemakers on the nightshift are already in place, so it's a lot less to
deal with when we go in."
"You timed that, too?" Huey asks in disbelief.
258
The Breakaway
Dorcas arches an eyebrow. "I timed everything. I memorized the

patrol schedules. I know each route. I have the getaway vehicle
already stashed in the garage. This isn't a thrown together plan by
any means, no matter how little time I had to prepare, and as long as
you all listen, we'll be fine."
"Well," Frank mutters, "that's enough for me."
"Now, when we go in," Dorcas explains, "I'm going right to Minerva.

I need everyone else to round up the rest of the gamemakers. Use
your guns. You don't have to shoot unless it's necessary. Situations in
which it's necessary include if you have to defend yourself, if they
try to run, or if you need to so no one disrupts the mission.
Otherwise, it's your choice, you're the one who will have to live with
it either way, but do not, under any circumstances, fail to shoot if it is
necessary."
"Still don't have a gun, by the way," Rodolphus says.
"You'll be standing by the door, making sure no one gets out," Dorcas
tells him. "If that door opens before it's time, I'm shooting whoever is
at it. Keep in mind, that includes you."
"You're crazy," Rodolphus states. "I like crazy." "I like women,"
Dorcas replies. "Only."
"Oh. Good for you, sad for me, but the next bit of crazy will come
along, I suppose," Rodolphus says wistfully.
Dorcas rolls her eyes, then focuses on Pandora when she quietly
announces, "I also don't have a
gun."
"That's because you're going to be at the main control board,

Pandora," Dorcas murmurs, more gentle with her. "To bring the
protective perimeter down around the arena so the others can get in
requires a password set by the Head Gamemaker."
259
Frank inhales sharply. "So, if—if we don't get the password..."
"We will," Dorcas assures him. "Now, everyone knows what they're
doing and where they'll be, right?" She gets nods and low murmurs
of agreement. "Okay, then let's go."
They go.
The gamemaker room isn't that heavily guarded at night, and with
the Aurors on rotation, there's only one waiting by the door, no gun
in hand. The Auror looks bored, and why wouldn't this be boring?
Literally nothing ever goes wrong here. Dorcas scoped this entire
building yesterday, and it's lax in an arrogant way, so comfortable in
the years upon years of luxury and lack of pushback. This will be a
rude awakening.
"What about that one?" Frank whispers as they approach.
"James," Dorcas murmurs, "can you knock him out with your cane
and make it quick and quiet?"
There's a heartbeat of silence, and then James clears his throat. "Yeah.
Frank, come catch the body?"
"Mhm," Frank hums.
They split off together, walking ahead. Dorcas watches the Auror
turn his head, blinking, and then his head whips back to the side
when met with the harsh impact of James' cane. There's a dangerous
amount of force behind it, so much so that the Auror instantly
knocks the fuck out, going slack as his body drops like a puppet with
no strings. Frank catches him and eases him carefully to the floor.
"No gun," James comments softly as he rubs his hand over the
handle of his cane, then plants it on the floor, leaning on it.
260
The Breakaway
"You have to have a certain level of clearance to have a gun in this

building," Dorcas explains. "Or just sneak them in like me, but—well,
why would anyone want to?"
Frank side-eyes her. "You wanted to."
"I'm the exception," Dorcas says, "not the rule."
"So, do we just...go in?" Huey whispers, staring at the door.
Dorcas steps up to it and pulls out her gun, then raises her other
hand. "Well, it'd be rude not to knock first."
She knocks.
"Can I help—" The person who opened the door cuts themselves off
the moment Dorcas presses the gun to their head. They freeze, eyes
wide.
"Yes, actually, you can." Dorcas presses her gun to their head harder,
pushing them back. "Walk. I said walk."
They walk. Well, they stumble, making a quiet, whimpering noise as

they go. The room is large, but very sparse. There are circular control
boards around the room and various screens, as well as holograms
and monitors. There's a large screen showing the vitals of all the
tributes, and none have died since Dorcas last saw them, which is
relieving. In the center is a smaller hologram of the whole layout of
the arena and tagged positions of each tribute.
Slughorn didn't lie. Slughorn gave her absolutely every bit of

information she could have needed, and had seemed eager to, and
for the first time, Dorcas doesn't want to kill him when he happens
to cross her mind. She can give credit where it's due.
In the room, there's only about twelve people, and the others file in
and split off to immediately
261
round them up. Before anyone even notices they're coming in,
Dorcas shoves aside the person in front of her and steps up behind
Minerva just as she turns. Dorcas' gun settles against Minerva's
forehead.
For a moment, nothing else matters outside of this. Just the sharp
collision of their gazes, Minerva's shrewd eyes, and Dorcas' cold
ones. A part of her wants to cry. No part of her wants to pull the
trigger. She knows she will do the latter if she needs to, then give
into the former if she has to.
She does neither, for now.
Minerva only looks surprised for a second, just one, and she never
looks away from Dorcas' gaze, so Dorcas sees the way she wrangles
her own feelings down and shutters them. She's good at that. You get
good at that, in war.
But there are some things you can't hide. When you're being torn
apart inside, the outside reflects it. That takes a toll on your body.
Minerva has always been a very put-together woman. Now, she
stands before Dorcas and looks every inch of her age and then some.
She looks tired.
Yet, her gaze is sharp, and her mouth is set as stern as ever. Still the
same Minerva. Dorcas knows her. Dorcas insists that she knows her,
in her own mind, because her heart is sure and her anxiety is
arguing. Who are you? Dorcas thinks, helplessly. No, no, I know you,
Dorcas' heart thuds. A war within. She has no idea which will win,
or which victory would be easier to rejoice in, or which loss would
be easier to handle.
Dorcas looks at her, Minerva, and she thinks. She wonders. Has this
changed her? Has she enjoyed the power? Has she given one
thought, any thought, to how this might be affecting Dorcas, or
anyone else? Has it affected her?
"What are you doing?" Minerva asks softly. "What you should have,"
Dorcas whispers. "Dorcas," Pandora calls out.
262
The Breakaway
"What is it, Pandora?" Dorcas asks, never taking her eyes off of
Minerva or her finger off the trigger. She can't look away. One split
second of split attention, and Minerva could split her
fucking skull open. Would she strike? Dorcas doesn't know anymore.
"I'm at the control board," Pandora says, strained. Frank can be heard
making the gamemakers lay on the ground, hands behind their head;
many of them are weeping. Rodolphus remains by the door. Dorcas
can make him out in her peripheral vision. "We have a problem."
"What's that?" Dorcas asks.
"The—the password is set to between five or seven letters, and

there's only three attempts before it locks and sends out an alert,"
Pandora explains.
For a beat, there's just silence. Minerva doesn't move. She doesn't do
anything. She just stares at Dorcas.
I know you, Dorcas thinks.
"Try Order," Dorcas replies stiffly.
A beat.
Keyboard noises.
Pandora inhales sharply. "Wrong. Two attempts left." "What are you
doing, Dorcas?" Minerva repeats.
I know you. I do know you, Dorcas thinks, staring at her. She knows
her. She's known her for years now. Someone she has always,
always, always looked up to and admired. Does she still? She doesn't
know that. She can't know that, now.
263
"Try Phoenix," Dorcas says, her mouth dry.
Another beat.
More keyboard noises.
Pandora makes a high noise of distress. "One attempt left, Dorcas.

You have to get this right, or that's it. We're fucked."
I know you. I know this, Dorcas thinks, holding her gaze. Something
only Minerva would know. A secret, but not her biggest. No, no,
something personal. Something she has to type in every day.
Something that could never slip her mind.
A reminder. A reason. Her reason behind it all, and Dorcas knows

her. Knows she wants to defeat Riddle.
Riddle—six letters. It's genius, really. A name. One that would

display faux loyalty to anyone who saw it. A password floating in a
server somewhere, easy to pick out if someone really tried, and it
would make whoever found it think one thing while the truth of it
would be something else entirely. Brilliant.
"Try—" Dorcas stops, and she looks at Minerva, and the war within
pauses. Because she is not looking at Minerva and seeing anything
other than a mirror of what she could have become. Me, Dorcas
thinks. You're me, if things were just slightly different, if I'd stayed
on the path I set out on at the start.
"Dorcas?" Pandora asks.
"Poppy," Dorcas declares. "Try Poppy."
Five letters. A name. A reminder and a reason. Untraceable in the

same exact way as Riddle would be, because Poppy is a flower, and
Poppy is a person Minerva loves, and so few people know both.
Poppy, because Dorcas would have chosen Marlene. Poppy, because
Dorcas does know Minerva. There are no good people in war, but
there is love.
264
The Breakaway
That last beat.
Those final keyboard noises.
Pandora exhales a soft laugh and breathes out, "That's it."
And there, right there, that shift in Minerva's eyes. Not defeat, but
pride, but benediction. There's praise there, unspoken, and a warmth
unfiltered. Me, you, us. The student surpasses the teacher; teaching
this old cat new tricks; wisdom passed down, then wielded like a
weapon. All that Minerva ever hid from her, and she never hid this.
The heart of her.
"What are you doing?" Minerva asks once more. There's the faint
impression of a smile there at the corner of her wrinkled mouth, soft,
motherly almost. She knows Dorcas, and surely she knows this, and
she's just waiting. Simply waiting.
Dorcas swallows. "I'm getting her out. I'm getting them all out,
Minerva. I'm starting the war a little early, and you—you aren't
going to stop me."
"No," Minerva agrees, "I'm not."
"You're not?" Dorcas chokes out, and she nearly does cry then. She
sounds small. Young. Fucking terrified. She is, really.
"It seems that I couldn't even if I wanted to, but I—don't want to,"
Minerva tells her rather simply.
And, the thing is, Dorcas did know this, deep down. She knew that
Minerva was just following orders, and that it was about the war,
and that she only didn't do this because she had no idea that she
could. It's only through love that Dorcas knew that, and Minerva's
love is waiting for her at home. Minerva's love stands before her
with a gun pressed to her head, and now she has the idea that she
can.
265
She does love Dorcas, and Dorcas knows that. She doesn't love
Albus. She follows his orders and believes he will help bring upon
the world Minerva wants for the people she loves, and herself, and
he is the lesser of two evils. But it's love, at the core of everyone, that
people turn to and follow. Minerva loves her like a mother, a mentor,
and a friend. She loves her like a reflection. She loves her the way
one loves their past self, just one that has a long way to go and
different mistakes to
make.
Dorcas lowers her gun. Minerva will not strike. Minerva, now that
she knows her options, will help. All Dorcas has to do is ask. So she
does. "Help me."
"How?" Minerva murmurs.
"I need to get the tributes closer to Marlene," Dorcas tells her on an
exhale of relief. "As close as we can get."
Minerva hums, then turns and sweeps off without hesitation,

stopping next to Pandora, who jolts and stares at her with wide eyes.
"You, stay here. Press the buttons I point out when I tell you. Dorcas,
watch the layout."
Dorcas swivels her head to check on the others. Rodolphus remains

at the door, watchful, waiting. James, Huey, and Frank are handling
all the gamemakers, keeping them down and quiet. Their sobs have
softened. Some of them are peeking at Minerva in disbelief, or fury,
or betrayal.
Exhaling, Dorcas steps up to survey the layout. Marlene is fairly

secluded, farthest from Sirius and Regulus equally, who are on
opposite ends of the maze from each other. Narcissa, Alecto,
Rabastan, and Asher are closest to Marlene. Majesty next, and then
Emmeline and Alice.
266
The Breakaway
It's raining, and they're all stuck out in it. Each tribute is awake.
Marlene is poking at the ground with her sword, her gaze blank and
empty, swollen arm tucked close to her body. Sirius is—oh, he's
talking to the moon. Not the real moon, but Remus, except not by
name. I miss the moon, he says, and I miss my moon. I miss you. I
love you. Meanwhile, Regulus is once again struggling with his
aquaphobia, this time with no bag to cover himself with. He's alone,
hunched in over on himself, clearly doing his best to breathe, to
survive.
"That button there, the one that just lit up," Minera orders.
The rain in the arena cuts out very abruptly. It's pouring one second,
then stopping the next. Regulus chokes out a harsh breath and dares
to raise his head, looking up at the sky like a fucking miracle just
happened. Sirius falls silent. Marlene blinks, then frowns. The other
tributes look up as well, taking note, startled and unsure. It's a break
in routine. Every other night, it has rained all the way until morning.
The change is enough to get the tributes up, and then Minerva is
making Pandora press another button, which starts shifting the
layout of the maze. Naturally, the movement gets the tributes to run,
and then it's a game of getting each of them as close to Marlene as
possible, guiding them like rats with hands and fog and whatever
will get them to go.
"Wait, Minerva, keep Marlene in place," Dorcas says, watching as

Marlene gets wary enough to start moving, which is only going to
make it harder for people to get closer to her.
A few moments later, Minerva has Pandora pressing all sorts of

buttons, and the hedges box Marlene in, keeping her trapped.
Dorcas' heart clenches seeing her respond to it, paranoid and
panicked, so fucking exhausted that her arm trembles as she holds
up her sword.
"How do I make sure the hands won't harm them?" Pandora asks,
and then she's directed to press another button. They all watch as
267
Rabastan scoops Asher up in his arms and carries her as fast as he
can, cursing under his breath the entire way.
"Minerva," Dorcas croaks, feeling her phone buzz in her pocket, the
set alarm going off. It's time. There's no more waiting. It's now or
never. "The protective perimeter has to come down. It needs to come
down now."
Minerva lifts her gaze to meet Dorcas' eyes. "As soon as I do that,
Hallow heli-carriers will be dispatched."
"I know," Dorcas says, "but we don't have much time. They're there,
do you understand? Lily's there to get them out, and we're on a tight
schedule. Bring it all down."
When the arena breaks open, it's on Dorcas' orders, but it's Minerva's
hands that make it happen. The creator digs her claws in and rips,
and destroys, and has no regrets about it.
Five letters. A name. The word that starts the war. Poppy.
~•~
Lily clips the harness around her waist and gives a sharp tug,
glancing one more time at screen to make sure they've got the right
spot. It's simple enough, Lily supposes. A tracker in a ring to get to
the starting point. Marlene first.
"Ready?" Amos asks, bracing his hand on the latch on the side door,
staring at her and waiting for the cue.
"Ready," Lily confirms, and she doesn't wait one second the moment
the door opens.
It's a slow descent where they hover over the top of the maze, and
she dips down at a pace that makes her impatient. She wants to sinks
down rapidly and hit the ground running.
268
The Breakaway
Instead, she lands lightly on her feet in a cube of hedges, finding a

ragged Marlene McKinnon glaring at her with her sword raised,
looking damn near feral. Lily realizes, belatedly, that simply
grabbing her and going won't be so simple.
"Who the hell are you?" Marlene spits out.
"My name is Lily," says Lily, carefully holding her hands up to show
she's no threat. "I'm a friend of Dorcas'."
For some reason, this does not soothe Marlene like Lily had expected
it to. Instead, it makes her snarl and come running right at her with
her sword. Lily yelps and skips to the side, clunky and slow in the
harness, and she curses under her breath as the sword slices against
her arm.
Well, great. That's just great. Huffing, Lily throws up a mental

apology to Dorcas before she kicks out with her foot to slow Marlene
down, then wraps the rope around her wrist and snatches on it.
Marlene cries out, and the sword clatters to the ground. There,
perfect. No weapon.
"Listen to me, I'm here to help," Lily hisses, inching closer and fully
just dragging Marlene in. They collide into each other, and Marlene
gasps, struggling to push away and not really managing it with the
state of her broken arm and Lily's unrelenting grip to contend with.
"I don't have time for this! I'm getting you out of here. Hold on!"
With that, Lily wraps the hanging clip on the harness around
Marlene and secures it, then grabs onto her and gives a sharp tug on
the rope, bellowing into her headset to be brought up. As soon as
their feet leave the ground, Lily wraps her legs around Marlene and
holds her, and holds her, and holds her through each bite and hiss
and claw of fingers.
Marlene is still fighting and lashing out as much as she can all the
way through the air and into the heli-carrier. Barty, Mary, and Amos
269
are there to hastily help them inside, all chattering and trying to peel
Marlene away from Lily at once.
It's not until Marlene really registers that there are other people that
she calms down enough to pause, her head swinging around, eyes
flashing. She's defensive, panting, unaware that she's saved. Lily
leaves Mary to offer her water, soothing her with the promise that
she's okay now, she's not in the arena anymore, and she'll never have
to go back.
"Barty, get that tracker out of her arm," Lily orders, sweeping past
him to head to the cockpit. She ignores the stinging in her arm from
the sword and the ache from Marlene quite literally beating the shit
out of her to stoop down in the cockpit and stare at the radar. "Has
she got it yet?"
"No, still waiting," Sybill says nervously. "It should be possible to

pick up the pings of the trackers in the tributes' arms so we know
where to go, but..."
"Shit," Lily curses. "Shit, shit, shit."
Sybill glances at her with wide eyes. "What do we do?"
"We do nothing," Lily mutters. "I have to go into the maze."
"Lily—"
"We don't have time, Sybill."
"But," Sybill starts, only to cut herself off as Lily drops her phone in
Sybill's lap, displaying Marlene's position. Sybill blinks. "What is
this?"
"This is going to be me, here in a moment," Lily declares, pointing at

the screen. "You'll be able to follow me through the maze and send
Barty or Amos down to bring whoever I find back up. We'll
270
The Breakaway
communicate through the headset, but you'll have eyes on me the

whole time, so stay close."
"Okay," Sybill says. "Just—be careful."
Lily nods and steps back out of the cockpit to find Marlene
absolutely sobbing her eyes out as Barty digs the tracker out of her
arm. Her broken arm. Oh, that's—well, that's horrible, but it is
necessary. She's allowing it, though, and Mary is right there, holding
her other hand and soothing her through it.
"Got it!" Barty announces the moment he does, in fact, have it. He
holds it up like a trophy, blood on his fingers.
"Toss it," Lily orders, and Barty does, fully just flicking it out of the
open door. Lily drops down next to Marlene and Mary, reaching out
to peel their hands apart. She doesn't hesitate, just slips the ring off
her finger, and looks up to find Marlene staring at her. "Sorry, I need
this. I'll give it back."
"I—" Marlene's breath catches, her voice hoarse, throat still bruised
and arm still broken and bleeding. She's a fucking mess, and yet, she
holds Lily's gaze and says, "If you lose that, I'm going to fucking kill
you."
Lily just huffs a laugh and darts away, stopping only long enough to
explain what she's doing and making it very clear that Mary is not to
drop down into the maze. Barty is tasked with removing trackers,
Sybill has to fly, and that leaves Amos to come down for retrieval.
Mary catches this, and the last thing Lily hears as she drops out the
heli-carrier is Mary Macdonald telling her to go fuck herself.
~•~
"Why isn't the radar picking up the signal of the tributes' trackers?"
Dorcas hisses.
Minerva presses her lips into a thin line and shakes her head sharply.
"It's tied into Hallow technology only, Dorcas. No other radar can
pick it up."
271
"Shit," Dorcas chokes out, staring at the screen as she watches Lily hit
the ground in the maze, unclip from the heli-carrier and take off
running. Dorcas swallows. "Okay, well, that's going to
make this a little harder."
"What can we do?" Pandora asks.
Dorcas bites her lip. "Help guide her until we have to go. Who is she
closest to from her position?" "As of now...Majesty, who moves fast,"
Minerva says.
"Okay," Dorcas replies firmly, "so get her to them."
~•~
Lily could do without the hands that burst free from the hedges
behind her, thank you. She does not at all appreciate them, and she
can't stop herself from sending a look of sheer disbelief up to the sky
as she tears down the passage, a ring on her finger and a heli-carrier
flying above.
Lily is pretty sure that the hands are just guiding her along, but it's
not exactly a comfort to feel chased by them. They're fucking creepy,
and it's genuinely terrifying. She ignores them as much as possible
and weaves through the maze as fast as she can, taking turns when
hands burst free in front of her and the hedges part for her to dive
into.
It's not long before she finds someone. Majesty, Lily recalls, and they
only get one moment of staring at each other before the hedges close
up around them, nowhere to go, and Lily looks up to see someone
sinking down. Immediately, she's pissed, because she'd know that
hair anywhere.
"What the fuck did I say?!" Lily bursts out incredulously.
272
The Breakaway
"Amos actually has a history with patching up wounds, so he needs

to help Marlene," Mary snaps. "Then they could have sent Barty!"
"He's helping Sybill!"
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Lily hisses, shooting her a glare before focusing
on Majesty, who is staring at them like they might be some new alien
lifeforms coming to abduct them.
Not too far off, actually.
"Hey," Mary says gently, addressing Majesty. How she can be gentle
now, here, Lily does not know. "Majesty, right? My name is Mary. I
understand this might be confusing for you, but we're here to get
you out, alright? We've already rescued Marlene McKinnon, and we
have to help the others after you. I know this is a lot to ask, but I
need you to trust me, okay?"
"Out?" Majesty asks, cautious. "You're getting me out?"
"We are. I promise," Mary murmurs. "We're not with the Hallow. I
swear we're not. Hallow is hollow."
Majesty stares at her, and then they swallow and look up at the
heli-carrier, and then, tentatively, they take a step forward. Drawn in
by the promise of freedom. Drawn in by the chance to finally rest.
Drawn in by Mary's calm words and defiant declaration. Hallow is
hollow.
And so, Majesty goes up without a fight, and Lily checks in through
the headset, getting the updates. The tracker is taken out of their
arm. Amos is doing what he can to help. Barty is keeping an eye on
Lily's position, removing trackers, and steadily giving out water.
Mary plans to keep dropping in, and Lily gives in, because she's
better at it than Lily was.
The next people Lily comes across are Narcissa and Alecto. They're
all running from hands and crash into each other, and Lily's head
273
nearly gets taken off by Alecto's sword. Narcissa has her bow up and
pointed at Mary in seconds as she comes down, and Lily moves fast,
striking out while she's distracted and nearly getting a sword to the
stomach for her troubles, if not for the hands that dart out to grab
Alecto and hold her.
Narcissa and Lily fight, and they're still fighting when Mary makes it
to the ground. She rushes over to pull Narcissa off Lily, the both of
them wrestling her bow away from her. Alecto snarls and fights
against hands that don't harm her, just hold her, and then Mary is
talking. Not soft, not soothing, but firm. Listen to me. Now. That's
what her words mean, and it's what these two need, apparently,
because they do.
Narcissa goes up first. Alecto follows.
It's the same thing, over and over, the same fight and then the same
spiel. Lily locating, Mary coming down, Barty taking out the
trackers, and then doing it all over again. Rabastan and Asher.
Emmeline and Alice. All that's left is—
"Lily!" Sybill shrieks as Lily runs, guided along by more hands and
an ever-shifting maze. "Lily, they're here! The Hallows are here! We
need to go!"
"Not yet!" Lily shouts back, because not yet. Not yet. Not yet. They
can do this. They can get them all out. There's still Regulus, there's
still Sirius, there's still more of the mission.
So, Lily doesn't stop, and she doesn't slow down. ~•~
The whole building wails. The loud alarm that blares through the
building makes Dorcas suck in a sharp breath, her eyes wide and her
hands shaking.
"Dorcas, we have to go," Minerva declares.
274
The Breakaway
"But—" Dorcas traps a whine behind her teeth and glances at the
screen where Lily is still running, still running, still running from
their guiding hands. If they leave now, they can't help her. They
won't know she and everyone else made it out, not until it's over, not
until Dorcas can make the call.
"Dorcas!" Minerva shouts.
"Wait," James chokes out. "Please wait. Regulus and—"
"We have to. James, I'm sorry, we have to," Dorcas tells him, utterly
devastated. "We don't have time. If we don't go now, we'll die. James,
I know, okay? I know, but—but Lily is still in this, and as soon as
we're in the garage, I'll make the call. She'll do everything she can to
get them out. She will."
"There's still a chance, James," Frank says. "You just have to hope,
okay? But she's right. We have to go now."
"Come on! Come on," Dorcas orders. "Go, go, go!" With no other
options, that's what they all do.
~•~
Regulus is wet from rain and running for his life. Always the hands.
He's so fucking tired of the hands. The rustling of the hedges are
loud, then louder, then too loud. There's a heavy thwap-
thwap-thwap noise from above that has him looking up as he takes a
corner, managing to catch sight of a hulking shadow passing over in
the sky for only a second before he collides into someone hard
enough to hit the ground.
He rolls, then comes back up with his dagger at the ready, only to
falter in surprise at the sight of a woman that should most definitely
not be in the maze. Not a tribute. An illusion?
"Regulus," she says, hands help up, not moving—she speaks like she
knows him, "my name is Lily. I'm not here to—"
275
"Regulus!"
A jolt travels through Regulus' body at the familiar sound of Mary's

voice, and his heart hammers as she drops to the ground from a line
she's clipped to. She moves towards him, fast, and he steps back
sharply, swiveling his blade up.
Mary stops, blinks, then looks so fucking sad. "Hey, Regulus, it's me.
I promise it's me, okay? I—I know this is confusing, but we really
don't have much time now. We're getting you out of here. I need you
to come with me."
"Where?" Regulus asks shortly, eyes narrowed.
"Away. Somewhere safe," Mary tells him. "I—I know you're scared
and on edge, but the sooner we get you out, the sooner we can find
Sirius and get him out, too."
It's like she says the magic words. Regulus' heart jumps, and he
lowers his dagger. "You're getting him out?"
"As soon as we have you," Mary vows. She holds out her hand to
him. "Come on. Barty is waiting in the heli-carrier."
"Barty?" Regulus asks, and his voice cracks, tears filling his eyes as a
harsh pressure builds in his chest. Here is Mary, not quite a friend,
but Sirius and James' friend. Someone kind. Someone who reminds
him of home. And there is Barty, somewhere, waiting. Barty. A
constant. He's here? Home is here, and home has come for him, and
Regulus wants so badly to go home now. James is home. Where is
he?
Mary steps forward and touches him gently, easing her hand around
his elbow to pull him closer. She tugs his dagger away and murmurs
to him, explaining that they have to go up, up, up. Regulus is not
okay with this, really, because he does not like heights, but she
bargains with him; as soon as you're in the heli-carrier, we'll find
Sirius.
276
The Breakaway
There's not a lot of time, and Regulus wants to go home, and he'll do
anything to make sure that Sirius can come home, too. So, he tucks
his face into Mary's hair, closes his eyes, and holds onto her as they
rise.
It's chaos in the heli-carrier. Utter fucking chaos. People are shouting,
moving around, full of activity. There are faces he doesn't recognize
and faces he does from the maze. There's Barty there, suddenly, who
practically peels him away from Mary and chokes out a harsh breath
as he snatches him into a hug. Regulus sinks into him all at once.
"Fucking hell, fucking—" Barty cuts himself off and pushes Regulus
back, guiding him to a seat built into the closed side of the
heli-carrier, next to a very large gun. "Okay, look, I have to get the
tracker out of your arm, Regulus. I have to cut it out and dig it out.
It's going to hurt. Hey, are you listening?"
Regulus is dazed, overwhelmed, and can barely hear himself think

over the sounds of everyone else. Barty smacks him. Just slaps him
hard enough to make him jolt and focus. Barty raises a scalpel and
raises his eyebrows, too.
"Okay," Regulus says, nodding. "Okay."
Regulus barely even gets to feel it or make sense of anything,

because someone starts shouting from the cockpit, and a man in
glasses starts barking orders at Mary, and it's utter chaos. The heli-
carrier tilts, and everyone rocks with the motion.
"Sybill!" Barty roars. "Keep the fucking thing steady!"
There's blood on Regulus' arm.
"They're fucking shooting at us!" someone shrieks.
"Regulus? Regulus?" Narcissa demands, suddenly at his side, staring

at him with wide eyes. Her arm is wrapped in white cloth. There's
blood on it.
277
I killed your sister, Regulus thinks. He does not say it, but he feels it,
and he feels nothing. "Got it!" Barty declares. "Okay, time to toss!"
"Barty, no!" The man in the glasses dives forward to yank Barty out
of the way just as he tosses the tracker out the opening, and everyone
starts screaming and ducking as gunfire sprays through the
heli-carrier.
"We have to get Lily!" the person from the cockpit yells. "Mary, get
Lily! Bring Lily up now!" "Fuck!" Mary shouts, and then she's
running right for the open door and swinging out, the rope
catching and spinning on the mechanism as she sails down. Regulus

watches it slow.
Regulus' ears are ringing.
Regulus is holding Narcissa's hand.
"Amos, can you—" Barty cuts himself off and hits the ground just as
more gunfire rips through the opening. Everyone goes to the ground,
diving out of the way.
The heli-carrier tilts again, and they all slide and sway, rocking with
the motion of it. Regulus is on the ground, tucked under Narcissa,
and he doesn't know how he got here.
"No! No!" Lily shouts, swinging back inside with Mary and clearly
not pleased to be here at all. "Not yet! There's still—"
"We have to go, Lily! We've done all we can!" the person from the
cockpit shouts back. "They're already here!"
Lily marches off to the cockpit, and Regulus shoves Narcissa aside,
woozy and shaking. He crawls to his feet and watches Mary, with
tears on her cheeks, slam the side door on the heli-carrier closed and
lock the latch.
"Fuck! Fuck!" Lily snarls, stomping back out of the cockpit, and
everyone stares at her. She stands in place, her chest heaving, and
278
The Breakaway
she squeezes her eyes shut. "Alright, listen up! Everyone hold onto
something. We're leaving, and it's not going to be a graceful exit!"
"Wait," Regulus croaks, stumbling forward. "Wait, you haven't got

everyone. You haven't—" "We got everyone we could," Lily says.
"Regulus," Barty whispers, there suddenly, catching him by the chest

and halting him. Regulus is still trying to move forward, and he can
see. He can see through the front window of the heli- carrier, and so
can Barty, and Barty shifts to block him, to block his view. Regulus'
eyes sting.
"Sirius," Regulus chokes out, slumping into Barty's arms and trying
fruitlessly to reach past him, trying to pluck the Hallow heli-carrier
ahead out of the sky. "Sirius. Barty, please. Sirius—"
"I know, I know," Barty says, and he looks over his shoulder,
grimaces, and then lets them both sink to the ground.
"Sirius," Regulus repeats, weeping. "Sirius. We have to get Sirius.

Barty, we can't leave him. We can't—"
"Stop. Regulus, stop." Barty clutches him closer and holds onto him,
staring into his eyes. "Just stop."
"We can't leave," Regulus whimpers. "Please. Please, Barty, we can't

leave him. We can't, we have to go and get him, it's supposed to be
me and him. Where is he?"
"They got him, Regulus," Barty says softly, his voice laden with pity.
"The Hallows got him."
Regulus gasps out a hoarse sob and shakes his head, the whole
fucking world ripping apart around him. He curls up. He lays there
and bleeds, lays there and weeps, lays there and screams.
They got him. The Hallows got his brother.
His big brother.
279
Always his big brother.
280
8
THE BREAKOUT
______
It's a long way down to the basement, and the lift has been shut
down, because—unbeknownst to everyone—when things go terribly,
terribly wrong within the arena, things proceed to go terribly,
terribly wrong within the building that controls said arena. Dorcas
probably should have anticipated that.
It's smart, Dorcas can bitterly acknowledge, because once that alert
was sent out and there was confirmation that someone or something
was breaking into the arena, the mothership put out the alarm and
responded accordingly.
"Come on, come on, stairwell," Dorcas directs, holding the door open
so everyone can file past her. Best to stay out of sight on the way out,
if they can.
Dorcas' planning around patrols and routes has granted them quite
the headstart they need, though. The seven of them make their way
down the stairwell quickly, or as quickly as they can. James falls
behind, but Frank stays with him. As they bypass the sixth floor
towards the fifth, the door bursts open down below and a flood of
Aurors come in.
There should be a moment of hesitation, because Dorcas has never

killed anyone before, and yet she points and shoots without even
blinking. Headshot. Huey gasps. James and Frank lean over the rail
from further up and shoot, too. Not necessarily headshots, but
Aurors do go down.
281
Gunfire ricochets off the walls, spraying crumbling concrete and
making them all duck. Minerva pushes forward, hits one Auror,
grabs the next and ruthlessly slams them back against the rail, and
then tilts them right over the side. They scream as they fall, sailing
down and landing in a crumpled heap at the bottom. Rodolphus,
who is closer than Frank and James, sees this and gets inspired,
clearly, because he darts into the fray and starts tossing Aurors, too.
The moment the Aurors are cleared, they continue swiftly on the
way. They made it down to floor three when the doors up ahead,
back at the sixth floor, burst open yet again. More Aurors come into
the stairwell, shooting down at them and following them down.
Dorcas carelessly raises her gun over the railing and starts pulling
the trigger, mildly satisfied when she hears the yelp and groan of
people being hit.
Some make it down and reach them at the second floor, meeting
James and Frank first since they're at the back. Frank slams one
Auror against the wall, then fully drags them by the front of their
vest to quite literally toss them over the rail. They don't have as far to
fall, so they might get back up. Minerva must think so, too, because
she snatches Huey's gun and points it down over the railing to shoot.
Another one goes sailing past, launched aside from where James
smacked the shit out of them with his cane, his other hand up as he
shoots at the Aurors still coming down with Frank's help. Some
drop. Some shoot back, and Pandora gasps when she ducks out of
the way, her shoulder slamming back into the wall. Rodolphus grabs
her by the back of her neck and pushes her down, then braces one
hand against the wall and the other to the railing as he swings
himself up and kicks at an Auror that pushes past Frank and James.
The Auror lands on their back, and Dorcas looks away before Frank
brings his raised foot down against their head with force.
By the time they all reach the first floor, the Aurors close are thinning
out, but more are steadily flooding the stairwell from higher up,
shooting down at them with little success. At one point, James runs
out of bullets, looks at his gun, then just throws it at the Auror in
front of him, whacking them in the face with it so hard that they
stumble back.
282
The Breakout
Minerva makes it to the basement level first with Huey and Pandora
right behind. There are a few
Aurors that fell that are alive and well enough to stand back up, and
Minerva puts them right back down with bullets between their eyes.
One Auror lunges at Huey, who yelps and stumbles back, and
Rodolphus heaves a sigh like he's babysitting as he starts to assist.
Pandora is closer. She punches the Auror in the face, then almost
instantly bursts into tears. Just starts crying, and the Auror looks so
genuinely alarmed by this for a second that they don't even move or
do anything. This turns out to be a mistake, because while still
crying, Pandora throws herself at the Auror like a wild, untamed cat
trying to claw their face off.
It's dreadful, honestly. She's just flailing and screaming and crying all
at the same time, leaving bloody scratches on their face but not doing
any real damage. Rodolphus is the one who has to sweep in and
shove the Auror's head into a wall, making them go limp and slump
to the ground, knocked out.
Rodolphus blinks at Pandora. "You, uh, good?" "No," Pandora says

with a sniffle.
"Come on!" Minvera calls out, holding the door open and waving
them all through. The floor is littered with bodies and blood, some
dead and some not and some too injured to move.
Dorcas makes it through the door but waits for James and Frank, and
then Minerva slams the door once everyone is out. More Aurors are
still chasing them, but Minerva steps back and proceeds to shoot the
lock until she empties her clip. She tries the handle and presses
against the door, seemingly satisfied when it won't give.
"Tell me you have a way out of here," Minerva grits out, swinging
around to face Dorcas as she tosses aside her gun with a dull clatter.
Frank does the same, and when Dorcas checks, she repeats the
motion. Great, so they're all out.
283
The good news is that it'll take the Aurors a while to catch up. If they
make it to the garage quickly, then they'll be able to get out and get
to the train, and then they're all in the clear.
"Yes, there's a van in the garage," Dorcas tells her. "Who's waiting to
let us in the station?" Minerva asks.
Dorcas shrugs. "I don't know. Whoever Lily sent. They'll let us in the
moment we set off the censors."
"Good," Minerva says. "Let's go."
"Wait," Dorcas mutters. "We have to take one tiny detour."
Minerva raises her eyebrows in disbelief, but Dorcas sets her

shoulders and tilts her chin up, because she's in charge here, and she
made a promise. James beams at her.
~•~
"Do you hear that? Fucking gunshots! And the building is on

lockdown now. Lift won't work. Potter and his lot, no doubt."
Remus crosses his arms tighter around his ribcage, feeling the frantic
thump of his heart as he paces back and forth in his cell. The muffled
sound of gunshots has faded, but the faint sound of an alarm blaring
through the building has not.
Something has happened, obviously.
Remus doesn't know what has happened, but by the dread turning
the blood in his veins to ice, he just knows it somehow involves
James, and probably Pandora. Oh, what did they do? He's freaking
the fuck out wondering if they're okay, if they're even alive, and
fucking Malfoy isn't helping.
Yet again, Lucius must have gone out with someone for drinks or
something, because he got trapped down on this level when the
284
The Breakout
building shut down unexpectedly. Remus doesn't know how many

people he's with, but he has heard at least one person grunt in
response to the things he has said.
At first, Lucius was prattling on about James apparently having

some sort of secret plot going on to help Regulus or Sirius win the
hunger games. He was going on and on about how James has his
district stylist doing dirty work, which is against the rules, and
Remus has been resisting the urge to claw his own ears off or snatch
his mask away and scream down the corridor for Lucius to shut his
stupid fucking mouth. Remus wants to fucking kill him. Itches with
the urge. Hungry for it.
Once the gunshots started, Lucius fell silent. He's just now picking
up his complaints and ranting, and Remus can hear him pacing at
the end of the hall, likely waiting for the lift to come back on so he
and his companion can leave.
There's the distant sound of a door slam and feet pounding against
the ground. Remus freezes, his eyes going wide, and he can't stop
himself from whipping around to face the bars on his cell, staring
wide-eyed at nothing and straining his ears. Lucius has fallen silent.
The footsteps have stopped.
And then, Lucius flatly says, "Potter, how did I know it was you? Of
course it was you and..." The silence is thick.
"Yes, me," comes the dry voice of Minerva McGonagall. "Do finish
your sentence, Mr. Malfoy, please."
"What is the meaning of this?" Lucius hisses.
"Look," James says, his voice ringing out sharp, "I'm only going to
make this offer once. You and Dolohov can come with us, or we can
go through you. The arena has fallen. We're getting the tributes out.
Either come with us, or get the hell out of the way, and if you
285
don't—well, I told you what would happen if you got in my way
again."
Remus is pretty sure his heart fucking stops. The arena has fallen.
We're getting the tributes out. Sirius. That's the first thing Remus
thinks. Just Sirius.
What the hell is happening? James never mentioned this, and surely
he would have, if he knew. Damn. What a difference one night can
make, indeed.
"You—" Lucius makes a low snarl of fury. "What did I say, Dolohov?
I told you Potter would fuck this up somehow. I knew you were
planning something. I knew it."
"Oh, come off it, Lucius," snaps someone else, someone that Remus
doesn't know. "Fuck the glory of winning. Who cares about any of
that? They're getting my brother out. Your wife as well. Winning the
games isn't important—"
"To you," Lucius grits out. "It's not important to you, but to some
people, the integrity behind these games matter. If you think I'm
going to just stand by and let you ruin this—"
"Well," James cuts in, "I did my part. I tried."
There's the following sound of a grunt, and then people are yelling,
and Remus holds very still as he listens to the clear sounds of a
brawl. Possibly more than one. He can hear Pandora shouting, and
Frank cursing, and someone else slamming into a hard surface.
The fight doesn't get further away. It gets closer. Remus takes a step
forward, drawn to it like a moth to a flame, his palms itching. It has
been years since he's done anything, absolutely anything at all, that
could release the built-up pressure always fluttering under his skin,
like he's eager to rip out of himself and let go. His heart flutters
rapidly at the base of his throat, his temples throbbing, struggling to
breathe behind his mask in a strange sense of anticipation he can't
286
The Breakout
really understand. There's the sound of violence, bodies taking hits,

and Remus steps forward again. Again. Again.
The moment Lucius Malfoy stumbles into view outside of his cell,
Remus' hands are darting out between the bars of their own accord.
His fingers curl into silky hair, and he fists it before yanking hard.
Lucius barely gets one second to gasp, and then Remus is slamming
his head into the steel bar once, twice, a third time. Lucius stares at
him dazedly, bloody and bruised already, eyes unfocused.
Remus yanks on his head with all his strength and hears the snap at
the same time as he registers the feeling of blood pooling over his
fingers in Lucius' hair where his head was split open. Remus knows
what a dead man's eyes look like, and Lucius is indeed a dead man
before he ever hits the ground when Remus finally relinquishes his
grip.
It's eerily quiet.
James steps over Lucius' splayed legs slowly and comes into view,
his eyes wide, and yet they still light up the moment he sees Remus.
Despite the dead man at his feet, James grins.
Remus reaches up and hesitates for a moment, feeling briefly

suspended in this one second, trapped
in amber and trapped in a cell he's never removed his mask in.
But it's just James here. Just James. His friend. If Remus can trust
anyone, it's him. And, well, Remus just murdered a man, so taking
off the mask isn't going to make much of a difference at this point.
Either way, he'd be executed for it. So, exhaling in relief as he does it,
Remus removes the mask.
"Remus," James greets warmly, "I was handling that."
287
"I was faster," is all Remus can think to say, and James releases a
high-pitched, hysterical sort of laugh, staring at him in pure
disbelief. He shakes his head like he's amazed.
"You just—you killed someone. Are you alright?" "He's not the first,
James."
James blinks. He blinks again. "Oh, so you—you—"
"It's a long story, but let's just say I didn't end up becoming a servant
in the Hallow on a petty crime," Remus says dryly. "I can, uh, tell you
all about it later the next time I feel like opening up a bit more, but
after you explain to me what the fuck is happening right now."
"Oh. Right. Yeah, so I'm here to break you out," James informs him,
and then he pulls out a knife.
Remus stares at him. "James, this isn't the sort of cell you can break
into with a knife, and I—I can't come with you. My—"
"Listen to me, there's not much time," James interrupts. "The arena
is—well, some people broke in. There's this whole secret revolution
my stylist is a part of. It's insane, and we—we hope they managed to
get Sirius and Regulus out. Do you hear what I'm saying, Remus?
You can be free. You can come with us and be somewhere safe, and
Sirius will be there, and—and—" He stops, then swallows. His voice
drops to a whisper. "Please. Just please come, because—because
Sirius would want you to, and because you're my friend, and
because you deserve to be free, and because I won't leave you
behind."
James sounds—and looks—desperate. Hoping. Pleading. All Remus

wants to do is agree, just agree so fucking badly, because he is who
he is and would give anything to go.
Anything except his father's life.
"They'll kill my dad, James," Remus whispers, his voice small.
288
The Breakout
"Believe me, Riddle will be a little busy with many other matters to
focus on the loss of one servant," says McGonagall, who sweeps into
view. "I cannot promise you that your father will live, but I can
promise you that whether you stay here or go with us, his chances of
dying are the same. War is here, and that goes for everyone,
including Riddle himself. Furthermore, the spread of rebellion will
surely lead to liberation missions across the districts and already has;
your father could be safe already, or may one day become so."
Remus stares at her, his mouth running dry. He hesitates, his heart
pounding in his chest. Dad, he thinks. Dad, please don't die. Please
don't be dead. I want to be free. Can I be free?
"Remus," James croaks, "do you think your dad would want you to
give up your freedom and chance at safety just for him? Don't you
think he'd give his life for you to have all of that?"
Remus thinks about it, that letter, those words he read so many times
that he memorized them, words he has thought of day in and day
out. Days of thinking of our last fight has taught me many things
about regret, and I want to tell you now that the only regret I truly
have is not assuring you, even in our differences, that I would
always love you and support you through anything. If you doubt
anything else, do not doubt that, because I will always love you, no
matter what; I will always be proud to call you my son.
After all the fighting, and the struggles to communicate, all the push
and pull and pain, all the distance and years spent apart, and every
time Remus never really listened to his father—after all of that, here
Remus is, deciding to listen this time.
"Okay," Remus chokes out. "Okay, I'll come, but—but you really can't
break into the cell with a knife."
James exhales in visible relief, then clears his throat. "Um, well,
actually the knife is to cut the tracker out of your thigh."
"Oh," Remus says.
289
"Er, if you're alright with that, I mean," James mumbles awkwardly,
looking a little unsure.
"I—no, I mean yes, that's—well, it's sort of necessary, isn't it?" Remus
asks, coughing. "Right, just —uh, do you have a plan to get into the
cell, though? Because it's on a timer. It won't open again until
morning, unless it's manually opened."
"Okay, how do I manually open it?"
"At the end of the hall, you take a left and go down to the second
office. That's the control room. It's practically never used or
monitored. It does take three different people to do it, though, sort of
as a failsafe. The three keys have to be turned at the same time, and
they're all at separate parts of the room, but once they're turned, you
can open any cell you want."
James nods and turns to the side to, presumably, look at everyone
else he's with. "Okay, I'll go. I need two more."
"Frank, Rodolphus, go with James," says Dorcas, the stylist, who is

also apparently a part of a revolution? "If the Aurors make it
through, they'll reach you three first, and you're all strong enough to
fight. Huey, you and I will go bring the van out into the garage.
Minerva, get that tracker out of his thigh, and Pandora... Darling,
what would you like to do?"
Pandora steps into view and looks through the bars at Remus with a
trembling smile. "I think I'll hold Remus' hand."
Remus' face softens. Pandora looks a fright. Her hair is a mess, face
swollen from tears, and she's all banged up. He reaches through the
bars, and she moves closer, not looking at Lucius' body as she
reaches out to tangle their fingers together. He gently squeezes, and
she squeezes back.
James passes Minerva the knife, and then he's gone, moving quickly
away with his cane thunking against the ground as he goes. The
others depart as well, except for Minerva, who eases close to the
290
The Breakout
bars. Remus presses up against them and turns, holding his thigh in
place in the open space in between.
"Remus, wasn't it?" Minerva asks quietly.
"Yes," Remus murmurs.
"I'm Minerva," she replies, kneeling down. "I'm going to cut the seam
of your trousers to reveal the injection site. You should have a small
scar there. I'll do my best to be as quick as I can, but I'm afraid it's
going to hurt either way."
Remus blows out a deep breath and closes his eyes, letting his
forehead rest against the cold bars and feeling Pandora once again
squeeze his hand. Exhaling, Remus gives a jerky nod and grits out,
"Do what you need to do."
~•~
"We got them all," Lily whispers through the phone. "We got all of
them, Dorcas, all except Sirius. The Hallows got him."
Dorcas' eyes sink shut. She leans forward and presses her face
against the wheel, locked away in a quiet van, the only sound to
accompany her being Huey's quiet breathing.
"Okay," Dorcas rasps. She blinks open her eyes and straightens up.
"Okay, but—but you are out, yeah? Marlene? Is she safe? You're all
headed back to the Phoenix?"
There's a beat of silence, and then Lily mumbles, "We, um, made it
out of the arena, but we've run into a bit of trouble. Marlene is fine,
and we're all fine, and we'll handle it."
"Lily—"
"Just—just worry about you and your lot, Dorcas. You all get the hell
out of there, okay? We'll see you soon."
291
Dorcas doesn't get to respond before Lily hangs up. With a harsh
swallow, Dorcas rolls down her window and tosses her phone,
clenching her jaw, then she reaches out for the side of the steering
wheel and turns the key.
~•~
James sees what Remus meant about the office when he steps inside.
It's deserted and untouched, so unused that the air is stale and there
are abandoned cobwebs in the corners. There are also three separate
panels in the room, enough distance between them that one person
wouldn't be able to reach them all at once. James isn't sure anyone
ever comes in here.
With an exchanged look between all of them, James splits off as

Rodolphus and Frank do the same. Frank goes to the far corner,
Rodolphus goes to the back, and James goes to the main panel at the
front.
"Alright, I'll count us down, and then we turn," Frank declares as he

reaches out to grasp his key. James and Rodolphus do the same.
"Three...two...one..."
James turns his key and watches the panel light up in front of him, a
small screen flashing Manual Override Optional, and a row of
numbers between one and twelve flashing. Only twelve servants
stay overnight, and the rest are brought in for parties or by request,
then escorted out after their duties are done. But these are the ones
that stay, one servant per district, and James looks at the number six.
That's Remus.
For some reason, James' hand hovers over the button, and his gaze
slowly crawls to the number twelve. Yeah, Remus is assigned to
district six, but he's from district twelve. Slowly, James' eyes flick
across each glowing number, his chest pinching when he thinks
about how these people, all of them, are reduced to numbers and the
services they provide, but they all have homes they come from and
292
The Breakout
lives they should get to live. It's not just Remus. He's not the only
one.
"James?" Frank asks. "Did it work?"
"The numbers are lit up," Rodolphus comments, moving over to

glance between said numbers and James. "Are you waiting for an
invitation or something? Hello? Let your friend out."
James ignores him and presses the number one. There's a buzzing
noise, and the key on the panel flicks back in place as the numbers
go dim. Okay.
Okay, so one at a time, then.
"Get back to your panel," James orders. "We have to turn these keys
eleven more times."
Rodolphus heaves a sigh and turns around to shuffle back to his

panel, muttering, "Oh, for fuck's sake. Great, I'm stuck with a
bleeding heart."
"Frank," James says, "count us down."
So, Frank does. And again. And he keeps doing it. Over and over,
they repeat the process, one cell at a time. They almost certainly
don't really have time for this, and that's eleven other people who
will have trackers cut out of their thighs, but... Well, James can't not.
What is he going to do? Not save everyone if he can? Do you even
know him at all?
By the eleventh turn, they've fallen into a rhythm, quick with it and
used to the pattern. They only falter when there's a clatter in the
distance, making them all freeze. James swivels his head to look at
Frank, who is very still.
"Shit," Frank whispers. "Three, two, one."
293
They all flick the keys one last time, and James quickly presses the
number twelve, wincing at the loud buzzer. It's quiet out there
otherwise, though, and they all look at each other and wait. When
nothing happens, they shrug.
There's no pounding footsteps, no sounds of movement, no cracks of

gunshots. With nothing else to do, they move for the door cautiously.
It's closed, and Frank reaches it, grabbing the handle and holding his
free hand up at them. They wait and listen, but there's nothing. The
door creaks open, and still nothing. Frank presses his back against
the door and pokes his head around the doorway, and still nothing.
"See anything?" James breathes out.
"No, we're clear, come on," Frank mumbles with a heavy sigh of
relief, straightening up and stepping out and getting shot in the head
only seconds later.
It's quick, sudden, an abrupt crack! that has Frank's head jerking and
blood splattering back against the doorway and James' front. He
flinches when it hits his face, small dots and smudges of red filming
over the front of his glasses.
Frank is there one second, alive and standing, and then he's
dropping to the floor in the next.
James doesn't really understand it. He sees it, and it doesn't make
sense to him. He stares, and he isn't sure what the fuck he's looking
at. He thinks maybe Frank is hurt real bad.
"Frank?" James asks, starting to take a step forward, and then he's
yanked sharply back by the collar and slammed up against the wall
by Rodolphus, who presses him there and claps a hand over his
mouth, his eyes wide.
James thinks Rodolphus is shaking, and then he realizes it's him, but
he isn't entirely sure why. He doesn't feel cold. There's something
warm and wet on his face. Blood.
294
The Breakout
How'd that get there?
Rodolphus stands there for a long moment. One heartbeat, two, five,
ten. By the fifteenth, it hits James that Frank's heart isn't beating
anymore. He's not—he can't really put it all together, the sound of a
gunshot and blood on his face and Frank hurt on the ground and
Frank standing and Frank's heart not beating and Frank and Frank
and Frank—
His mother died today.
A strange noise crawls up James' throat, muffled into the palm

against his mouth, Rodolphus shoving him harder back when he
tries to move, to struggle, to get Frank and stop him before he steps
out of the room, but there's blood on his face, and Rodolphus is
whispering to him fervently, begging.
"Shh, shh, please, you have to be quiet, man," Rodolphus hisses

under his breath. "I know, okay? I know, but he's dead. He's dead,
James. Shut up, they're coming."
James goes still, because the urgency in Rodolphus' voice is enough

to scare him, and he is afraid. He can't see very well. There's
something on his glasses, obscuring his vision.
Blood.
Frank's blood.
There's the sound of a tread of a boot lifting sticky away from the
floor, and then a gun swings into the open doorway barrel-first, only
getting in an inch before Rodolphus whips away from James to slam
it up and lash out at the Auror that's starting to come in. James
watches Rodolphus knock the gun into the Auror's face, can't really
see all of it, but then the Auror cries out and Rodolphus has the gun.
The air fills with gunfire, Rodolphus using the Auror as a shield as
he swings out the doorway to shoot at those that are shooting at
295
them. James reaches up shakily and pulls his glasses off, staring
blankly at the floor, vision blurry and dry as he cleans his glasses off
before putting them back on.
"James!" Rodolphus bellows. "A little fucking help here!"
Blinking rapidly, James swivels and leans on his cane as he eases out
the doorway. His first instinct is to help Frank get up, but Rodolphus
seems to be in a worse predicament right now, so that's who James
focuses on.
James snatches up his cane and whacks the closest Auror in the face
with it, grunting from the force and following them as they crash
into the wall. He brings his aching leg up to knee them in the
stomach and snatch away their gun. It's not a pistol, but something
with a wide spray and rapid fire. Aim, shoot, and hope you don't
miss is easier like this.
Rodolphus and James duck in and out of the room for cover,
shooting when they can, mostly tearing into the walls. The group of
Aurors are down at the other end of the hall near the lift, around the
corners. A few trickle down at a time, so James and Rodolphus pick
them off and do their best to not get shot. The entire time, Frank
remains on the floor.
James and Rodolphus have the better cover, admittedly, and they
don't waste bullets when Aurors get in close range. They just drag
them into the room and beat them there, and at some point, things
go very quiet.
Carefully, James peeks around the corner. There are bodies bleeding
out all down the hall, and it's so silent that it's utterly chilling.
Rodolphus reaches out and touches his shoulder, then gestures for
him to stay, so James does.
It takes only a minute for Rodolphus to creep down the hall, gun at
the ready, then straighten up and head back when he finds that
296
The Breakout
they're fine. James braces against his cane and grunts as he steps out
into the hall.
"That's not the last of them," Rodolphus mutters. "We need to get the
hell out of here."
"Yeah, okay, let's go," James agrees, and so they do. On the way,
James stops by Frank and leans down to nudge him on the shoulder.
"Hey, come on. Frank, we need to leave."
Rodolphus stops and stares at him.
"Time to go, Frank, come on," James insists, plucking at his sleeve
and tugging a little, trying to get him to move.
"James," Rodolphus says softly.
"You can go," James offers. "We'll catch up."
"James," Rodolphus repeats, his face twisting into a grimace as he

nods towards Frank, "look at him."
James isn't looking at him.
James doesn't want to look at him.
James is scared to look at him, for some reason.
Swallowing, James' hand goes slack on Frank's arm, and he squeezes

his eyes shut. There's the sound of breathing. Two people. Just two
people. There's blood on James' face, but not on his glasses, and he
can see. He opens his eyes and looks.
He'll always wish he didn't.
Frank landed awkwardly, so half of his face is lying in his own

ever-growing pool of blood. His eyes are wide and glassy, his mouth
still open slightly on his last exhale of relief.
297
James feels his mouth twitch and tremble, his eyes burning, and he
doesn't even know why, but at this moment, all he can think about is
the way Alice had weeped I've got him as a last promise to Augusta,
and it was a lie.
There's nothing for Alice to have anymore.
With trembling fingers, James reaches out and brings Frank's eyelids
down, as if he's sleeping. James isn't sure why he does it, because
Frank isn't sleeping. Frank is dead.
"James," Rodolphus says, "we have to go."
Every single cell in James' body protests leaving, and yet, he knows
he doesn't have a choice. He blinks rapidly against his stinging eyes,
trying to breathe around the harsh ache in his chest, and he forces
himself to stand up. His leg hurts.
Rodolphus starts moving when James does, and they don't speak.
Unlike Frank, Rodolphus doesn't quite match James' pace, but he
keeps a gun at the ready as they move towards the cells again.
They're stopped rather quickly by Pandora helping a limping
woman towards the garage.
"James," Pandora breathes out in relief as he moves forward to come

help her. "We heard gunshots. Are you—" She falters as she looks at
him. "There's blood on you."
"Frank's," is what falls out of his mouth.
Pandora's eyes go wide. "Frank? Is he—where is he?"
"Dead," is what falls out of James' mouth next, which is odd, he

thinks, because his voice sounds blank, devoid of emotion as if he
feels nothing, but he feels everything.
"Dead?" Pandora chokes out. "He's—"
298
The Breakout
"He was shot," James explains flatly, and then he doesn't want to talk
about it anymore. "Did—did Remus get out? Is this the last from the
cells?"
"No, he's—I mean, he's fine. The tracker is out, and he's helping
bring the last few servants with Minerva. He, um, had to coax a few
into agreeing to leave, but we've got most of them to the van now.
Remus and Minerva should be following with the last two here
shortly," Pandora tells him.
"Good." James nods and says nothing else all the way to the garage
with Rodolphus bringing up the rear, keeping his gun up. Pandora
has started crying. The woman in between them is shaking and
sipping in air like it's a miracle.
Out in the garage, there's a lot of activity at the van at the center.
Dorcas and Huey are bustling around, helping the people they've
broken out inside. Already it looks like a tight fit, but it's not an
impossible one. Some of the freed people are crying silently, but none
of them are speaking. They all look fucking terrified, and each of
them have injured thighs, which Dorcas and Huey are wrapping up
as gently as possible.
"We got one more," Pandora calls out, and Dorcas hops out the back
of the van to help the woman in. Pandora crawls in after her, taking
over helping Huey with the rest.
"Are you okay?" Dorcas asks James and Rodolphus, swinging her
gaze between them. She eyes the gun in Rodolphus' hands, but
doesn't comment on it, apparently trusting him enough by this point.
"We heard gunshots. Where's Frank?"
"Have you called Lily yet?" James mutters.
Dorcas hesitates, then murmurs, "James, where's Frank?" "Dead,"

James says irritably. "Have you called Lily yet?"
Rodolphus moves forward to plant one foot in the back of the van,
giving the stunned Dorcas a pained look. "Frank was shot in the
299
head. There was—we couldn't do anything. Take it easy on him,
okay? I think he's in shock."
James isn't in shock. James feels fine. James has blood on his face,
and his leg hurts, and he needs to know if Dorcas has called Lily yet,
so he asks again. "Have you called Lily yet?"
"Oh, James," Dorcas croaks, her face seeming to just sag, her eyes
getting brighter and shoulders slumping like a new weight has
dropped on them. The leader. She's the leader, and she made the call
to send Frank along, and James is the one who saved eleven extra
people just to lose one friend.
"Have you called Lily yet?" James snaps.
"Y-Yeah, I—I—" Dorcas rolls her jaw, stuttering to a stop and raising
her gaze up like she can fight the gravity of the tears building in her
eyes. She blows out a slow breath, gives a harsh sniffle, then jerks a
nod. "Yeah, I called her. She—"
"What?" James whispers, breathless, so fucking desperate.
Dorcas swallows. "They got Regulus out. He's out, James. He's out
and on the way to the
Phoenix."
James feels like his chest cracks in half. A quiet whimper falls out of
him, and his hand flies up to his mouth as his eyes begin to burn,
and there it is. The overflow. Instant. He's just here now, breaking
down in sheer relief and wanting so badly to get to Regulus right
now, and hold him, and slump into his arms and cry until he has no
more tears to give.
Soon. So soon. Very soon, James will be able to go to him, and bury
his face into Regulus' hair, and maybe never let him go again. He
wants—oh, fuck, oh he wants Regulus' hands in his hair and
Regulus' eyes meeting his and Regulus promising him that he's
300
The Breakout
good, he's still good, and that it's not bad to be good even when
being doing good leads to bad things happening. He can explain it to
Regulus, tell him that he never meant to Frank to die, because be
only wanted to save everyone he could, and Regulus will be able to
explain it to him that it's not his fault, and he tried his best, and it's
okay, it's okay, it's all okay when they're all together, safe and secure.
And Sirius. He'll forgive him, won't he? James knows, deep down,
that Sirius won't even blame him. Sirius will hug him, and they'll
hold on, and they'll mourn Frank together. They'll breathe together.
They'll all finally, finally, finally be together.
"Okay," James chokes out. "Okay, so—so Regulus and Sirius are safe?
They'll be there when we get there?"
Dorcas doesn't respond. Dorcas drops her gaze.
They got Regulus out, she said. Regulus. They got Regulus out. Why
didn't she say Sirius, too? Why didn't she just say that they got
everyone out? Didn't they get everyone out?
"Dorcas?" James whispers.
"I'm sorry," Dorcas whispers back, looking up with tears in her eyes,
and James feels his lungs seize. "I'm so sorry, James. They—they
couldn't get Sirius. I'm—"
"No," James moans, shaking his head and stepping back. "No, no,
don't say—don't tell me that. Don't—"
"I'm sorry," Dorcas says, her voice hoarse. "James, they did all that
they could, but they just—they couldn't get him. I'm so sorry, James.
The Hallows got Sirius before we could."
James turns away from her, dropping his head forward and
strangling the handle of his cane as he tries to breathe and only
manages to sob. There's a tentative hand pressed in between his
shoulders, and he whines helplessly, feeling Dorcas wrap her arms
301
around his front as she leans against his back, hugging him from
behind, holding him together.
"James," Dorcas murmurs, "James, Regulus will be there. He'll be

there, and he'll—he needs you, okay? I know. I know it's hard, and
I'm sorry, but Regulus will be there."
Regulus. Oh, Regulus. They took his brother away. He's never going
to be okay again, not without Sirius. James doesn't know if he will
either. And, for a moment, James can only stand in place and hate
everyone else, all those other tributes that got picked up before
Regulus and Sirius. Why couldn't someone else get left behind? Why
couldn't Sirius and Regulus make it out?
It's a selfish, harsh thought that burns through him like a blazing
fire, the sun warm until you get too close, and James would
incinerate them all if it meant Sirius could have made it along with
Regulus. Just them, if it could only be two. James doesn't care that it
makes him selfish. He doesn't care that he thinks it and feels it, here
and now, that he'd sacrifice all the others if that's what it took. Here,
James thinks. Have them. Have any of them, except for mine. Those
two are mine. Please, please, please don't take them away from me.
James can't do this, not to Sirius, or Regulus, or himself. How could

he? He has to try. He has to do something. He has to—
"James?"
The sound of Remus' voice makes James look up, and oh no. Oh no,
no, no please no, not this. Not Remus. He told Remus that Sirius
would be waiting. He said—he promised that—
"What's wrong?" Remus blurts out, limping along faster with a

woman limping along beside him. His leg is already wrapped, and
Minerva follows behind with a man who is touching his face like he
forgot what it felt like without a mask.
302
The Breakout
"Frank," Rodolphus calls out from the van, and James inhales sharply
as Dorcas peels away from him to go help the others get in the van.
Rodolphus clearly thinks that James is breaking down about Frank
dying, and maybe he feels that it's on him to be the one to say it so
James doesn't have to, because it's him that gives Remus an answer.
Not the full answer, but an answer nonetheless. "Frank didn't make
it. We—we watched him go down, and James isn't...taking it well."
"Oh, James, I'm—I'm sorry," Remus whispers, shuffling forward, and

then he's there, pulling James into his arms.
James is limp in his grip for a few beats, and then he lifts his arms
and hugs him tight, clutching at him, not letting him go as Minerva
and the other man go by. There's more bustling at the van, and James
grips Remus as hard as he can, blinking the tears from his eyes,
breathing in and out.
"It's going to be okay," James croaks, swallowing thickly before he

pulls away and fails to meet Remus' gaze. "Are you okay? How's the
leg?"
"I'll live," Remus says, then winces. "Shit. Ah, sorry."
"Shit!" Huey bursts out. "Hey, uh, we have company!"
"Dammit!" Dorcas hisses, and James whirls around to see her waving
her hand at Minerva. "You're
driving. Go! James, Remus, get in. Time to go."
There's frantic shuffling inside the back of the van. Huey runs up
front with Minerva, Pandora yelps as she falls directly into
Rodolphus' lap, who hastily moves his gun aside with wide eyes full
of alarm. The van rocks as everyone shifts around, piling on each
other and huddling together.
Past the van, at the exit of the garage, a sleek black car has pulled
inside, facing the van head-on. Out on the street, two other cars are
303
stopped right across from each other, blocking the exit. Aurors trying
to trap them in.
Remus and James move for the back of the van, and James grabs
Remus' elbow to help him climb up into it. Pandora shifts in
Rodolphus' lap, earning a grunt as she leans forward to reach out
and help pull Remus in.
"Come on!" Minerva calls from the front.
"What's the plan here, Dorcas?!" Huey shrieks shrilly. "I—fuck, I

don't know!" Dorcas shouts. "Minerva?!" Silence.
James grabs his cane and tucks it underneath one arm while reaching
out to grab one of the van doors with the other. He swings it shut
with a slam and, instead of swinging himself inside next, he grasps
the other door and slams that, too.
Remus swivels around and blinks. "James?"
James grabs his cane and stares through the steel-mesh on the back
of the van, then swiftly runs the line of his cane through the two
door handles on the back of the van. Remus' hand flies up against
the steel net, fingers peeking out. His eyes are wide as he rattles the
doors, unable to open
them from the inside.
"James?" Remus repeats, more frantic this time. "James, what the hell
are you doing? What are you—"
"Remus, it's okay. It's okay."
"James, open the fucking door! Open the—"
"Remus!" James bursts out, and Remus snaps his mouth shut, face
hovering through the other side like pixels. "It's okay. I promise it's
okay. I'm just—I have to try."
304
The Breakout
"Try what? Get in here. Open the fucking door, James, and get in,"
Remus spits out. James steps back, and Remus smacks his hand
against the barrier. "James, where the fuck are you going? What are
you doing? Don't, James. James!"
There are others, too, calling for him, Pandora and Dorcas and even
Rodolphus demanding he get inside the van. James raises his voice
and calls, "As soon as you've got the opening to go, Minerva, you
drive! You go, do you hear me?!"
"James, stop!" Dorcas shouts. "Don't do this! Get in the fucking van.
That's an order!"
"James!" Remus bangs his hands against the only thing that separates
them, wild-eyed. "James!"
Turning, James moves around the van and heads right for the car
blocking their path, hearing everyone shouting at him to come back.
James' leg is on fire, and he feels off without his cane, but he grits his
teeth and takes off at a run. His leg has been through hell today, so
he's sure it's the adrenaline that gets him to that car, and sheer force
of will.
The Auror is already opening the door and getting out with a gun in
hand when James reaches them. They raise it and pull the trigger,
but the shot fires wide as James shoves their hand up and slams
them up against the side of the car. The gun clatters to the ground,
and it's kicked away, skittering across concrete and disappearing
beneath a different car.
With a curse, the Auror lashes out at him, and James ducks, then
throws his elbow into the side of their head. The Auror cries out and
curls forward, slipping and hitting their knees. James grabs the car
door and yanks. He does it a second time and then a third, slamming
their head into the car door until they slump on the ground, knocked
out.
305
James breathes out harshly before he shoves his way into the car
behind the wheel, reaching out to slam the door shut behind him. He
grips the wheel and looks around, a little lost for a moment. He's
never driven a car before.
Right, well, it's already on, so that helps. He looks down at the lever
with the little letters next to it. R for reverse, right? He tries to pull it
down, but it's stuck. Okay, not that. Shit.
James tries pressing a pedal and jolts when the engine snarls at him,
though the car remains idle. A noise of frustration slips from James'
lips, his eyes stinging, because he has to do this. He has to save his
best friend, like he couldn't save Frank, for himself and for Regulus
and for Remus. He can't just leave Sirius here. The Hallows got him,
so James will get him back, but he can't fucking do that if he can't
even move.
There's still blood on his face.
People scream his name in the distance.
"Come on, come on, come on!" James shouts, banging his hand on
the wheel as he kicks at a pedal and yanks on the lever at the same
time. He chokes out a harsh breath when the lever comes down,
finally, slotting into place.
Oh. Oh, okay. There.
Sniffling, James exhales shakily and puts both hands on the wheel,
then moves his foot off one of the pedals. R is indeed for reverse,
because the car slowly starts easing back. Too slow. James needs to
go faster.
So, James slams his foot down on the other pedal and almost
instantly starts screaming as the car jolts and flies backwards. His
eyes bulge as he shouts his head off, staring out the front windshield
to see the faces of his friends from the van in front of them. They all
look fucking horrified. All except for Minerva, who flexes her fingers
on the wheel.
306
The Breakout
The car jolts and rocks up on the incline as it goes backwards, and
then James hears the crash of metal on metal before he feels the
collision of the back end of his car slam in between the other two cars
blocking the exit.
James is still pressing the pedal all the way to the floor, his body
jerking and teeth clacking at the loud shriek of the other cars being
shoved back from the force. It leaves a wide opening, and James
frantically jerks at the wheel, full of panic as the car jerks from side to
side, and he can't think, can't figure out what to do or how to do it,
but still trying so fucking hard to get it done. All he can see is the
world flying past the windows, the van screeching as it comes flying
through the opening, and then there's a deafening crash.
James feels this collision travel through the entire car and all the way
through his body, hearing the loud shatter of glass all around him,
and then everything jerks to a halt so suddenly his whole frame
rattles. His head whips forward on his neck, and the last thing he
sees is an explosion of white, and then everything proceeds to go
black.
~•~
"James!" Remus shouts, utterly frantic as he throws himself at the

back doors, staring out the small mesh-holes as the van speeds down
the street. The car James took—the back half of it is tucked inside a
window display behind him, the front half hanging out. Remus can't
see James from this far.
"Go back!" Pandora screeches. "You have to go back!"
"Minerva, turn this fucking van around right now!" Dorcas bellows,
rocking with the harsh motion of the vehicle as Minerva takes a
sharp turn.
"We can't!" Minerva says harshly. "If we stop now, none of us will
make it out, Dorcas! And, in case it escaped your notice, we are
currently being chased!"
307
"Then lose them and go back!" Dorcas snarls.
"I'm trying to lose them!" Minerva snaps. "By the time we do, there
won't be anything to go back to. You know that! We have to go,
Dorcas. I'm sorry, but we can't go back!"
"We can't leave James!" Remus whirls around and looks at Dorcas.
He doesn't know her very well, but she's in charge here, from what
he's seen, and she's close to James. He stares at her, and his breathing
goes thin when he sees her face twitch before her expression
collapses altogether. Her shoulders heave. "No! No, we—we can't
leave him. We—"
"We don't have a choice!" Dorcas explodes, her voice cracking, her
tone so harsh that many of the servants around her flinch back.
"Don't you think I want to go back?! I do, okay? I wanted everyone
to make it out, but—but—" Her shoulders jerk again, and the tears in
her eyes spill over. "But not everyone could."
Remus wants to snarl at her, and maybe he would, but screams ring
out when there's a ping against metal. Everyone instantly ducks
down, covering their heads. The van careens around yet another
corner, tires screeching, and the gunshots stop.
"They're shooting at us," Pandora wheezes, practically clinging to

Rodolphus for dear life. "Minerva, you need to lose them!" Dorcas
calls out.
"Doing my best," Minerva snaps, and then she jerks the wheel again
so sharply that everyone in the back goes tumbling over each other,
multiple people groaning.
Remus props up to peer out the back to see two cars taking the
corner behind them, and he stares for a beat before he lays back. He
ends up sprawled out against Dorcas' lap, and she blinks down at
him in bemusement. He ignores her and reaches out to grab
Rodolphus' leg for leverage, bracing his other hand against the wall
of the van. Then, with a huff, he raises his uninjured leg and slams
308
The Breakout
his boot into the steel mesh in the doorframe. It doesn't give, so he
kicks it harder.
"What are you doing?" Dorcas asks, audibly alarmed.
"Helping. Us. Lose. Them," Remus grits out, slamming his boot
forward on each word, and on the last, the mesh pops out in one
corner. He kicks it one more time and watches it fly out.
There's a loud shatter, and Remus jerks up to watch one of the cars
take the steel through the window, and the car swerves hard before
hitting the side of a building. The other car whips around it, still
coming and not slowing down.
Remus rocks with the motion of the van as Minerva takes them
off-road rather unexpectedly, but even still, the car continues to
follow. With a growl of frustration, Remus reaches out to snatch the
gun out of Rodolphus' hands and crawls towards the back window.
This isn't a gun he's ever held before, but he has held one gun at
least, so he has a general idea of how this needs to go. He points the
gun out the opening and starts shooting.
The car behind them jerks, the glass shattering. Remus can hear the
faint scream of the driver inside, but he keeps shooting until the car
swerves too hard to one side, the front end dipping and then hitting
too fast. The car tilts, gets some air, then flips and skids in a horrible
screech of metal.
"There!" Remus spits out furiously, shoving the gun at Rodolphus as

everyone gapes at him. He glares at Dorcas and hisses, "We fucking
lost them."
"Minerva," Dorcas croaks, "how far out are we?"
"Two minutes," Minerva replies, and Dorcas' eyes sink shut as she
slumps down, not saying another word.
309
The van is quiet. Pandora is crying. Dorcas looks like she's about to
fall apart. Huey is gripping the handle up front like his life depends
on it. No freed servants speak, and Rodolphus holds onto Pandora
and his gun, and Minerva drives. James is not with them. James is
left behind.
Remus wants to rip the world apart. As hard as he thinks, he has

absolutely no fucking idea how he's going to manage to explain this
to Sirius when he sees him again.
~•~
"We have to lose them now, Lily!" Sybill shrieks, and the heli-carrier
dips low into a dive that makes Lily's stomach lurch. She feels sick.
Oh, she feels so fucking sick.
Lily swallows harshly and pushes to her feet, leaning forward to

peer at the radar. Still one Hallow Heli-carrier tailing them. Two had
come into the arena, one that got Sirius and one that follows them.
Too close. It's too close to the Phoenix. Sybill is right; they have to
lose it. Now.
Lily stumbles out of the cockpit, chest heaving as she sweeps her
gaze over everyone. A lot of the previous tributes look like they're in
shock, too fucking stunned by what has happened and what's
happening still to really be involved at all. There's Mary still passing
out water, Amos helping with injuries, and then Barty. Oh, that's...
The mere sight of Barty holding onto Regulus Black makes her heart
clench.
Regulus is limp like a rag-doll, staring blankly at nothing. He's not

crying anymore. He's not screaming his brother's name, though the
sound of that had ripped at Lily, especially as a younger sibling
herself. His pain—she felt that.
Now, he's just lying there. Barty has wrapped his arm and simply sits
there with him, looking fucking exhausted. Narcissa sits next to
Regulus, and she's stroking his hair, murmuring to him, but he
310
The Breakout
doesn't seem to hear her. She seems to understand. She would,

wouldn't she? Her older sister is dead. They got them out after the
banners played in the sky, so she has to know. Lily just doesn't think
she realizes that she's holding the hand of her older sister's murderer.
There's a now-familiar pinging of metal as gunfire rains across the

side of their heli-carrier. They're still being shot at, and it's so
expected now that no one even flinches. Everyone remains low to the
ground and away from the door, just to be safe.
Lily swallows. "Barty."
"Yeah?" Barty mumbles, swiveling his head to stare at her.
"I need you to use the gun," Lily tells him, and then she waits for him
to follow her gaze towards the gatling gun. When he does, she looks
back at him, waiting.
Slowly, Barty looks at her, and then he grins. "Thought you'd never
ask."
"Everyone, stay away from the door!" Lily calls, just as a precaution,
and she moves over to grip the handle, waiting for Barty to step up
to the gatling gun. It's very big with two large handles to swing it
around with. Barty grunts as he swivels it towards the door.
"Ready?"
"Ready," Barty assures her, eyes wide with delight, smiling with all
teeth and looking young like this, a young boy who likes destruction
and has a new toy that will destroy.
Lily gives a nod of warning before she releases the latch and runs the
door back, pressing flat against the wall.
The gatling gun makes a whirring noise, the thick barrel starting to
turn, and then Barty is doing some odd mixture of a warcry and a
cackle as the bullets start ripping free. It's loud. The sheer noise of it
311
makes Lily's ears ring and her teeth ache. Bullets tear through their
heli-carrier, and Sybill screams from the cockpit in distress.
The heli-carrier tilts, and people go stumbling and sliding across the
floor, including Regulus, who looks like a lifeless puppet as he
legitimately just drifts by without even twitching. Narcissa crawls
after him. Someone cries out, and someone else shouts, and Barty is
laughing like a madman.
Lily has no idea how long it takes, but whatever arsenal the other
heli-carrier has, it doesn't hold a candle to this gun here, because
there's eventually an explosion that rocks the very air around them.
Sybill shrieks again, and Lily's stomach lurches as the heli-carrier
starts to climb. The smell of burnt iron and leaking fuel fills Lily's
nose, smoke and heat so heavy from the other heli-carrier that she
swears it's strangling her.
The gatling gun whirs to a stop, and Barty stumbles back, quite
literally falling to the ground, just sitting there, panting and looking
dazed. Lily grips the rail over the doorway and swivels to peer out.
She watches, utterly mesmerized, as the Hallow heli-carrier swivels
through the sky, a hunk of burning metal that finally crashes to the
ground and explodes again.
A hysterical laugh spills out of Lily's mouth, and she slams the door
shut, locking the latch. It seems unbearably quiet in the aftermath,
and Lily just stands there and shakes until she finds her voice and
calls out, "Hey, Sybill, I think we lost them!"
"Yeah, looks like," Sybill chokes out, laughing hysterically along with
her. "ETA?" Lily asks as she heads towards the cockpit.
"Three and a half minutes," Sybill tells her.
"Marlene. Marlene!"
Lily halts and whirls around immediately. Emmeline is kneeling

down next to Marlene, who is
312
The Breakout
staring up at her in visible distress. She's trying to speak, but she

can't seem to breathe. There's blood on her chest.
"Help! Help, she's been shot!" Emmeline calls out, and Lily rushes
over with her heart in her throat. Emmeline's hands are shaking.
"I—I don't know what happened. She was—she—"
"Move. Move, I'm a medic!" Lily orders, and Emmeline goes

scrambling back until she bumps into Alice, who wraps their arms
around her and holds on. Lily reaches for Marlene, her heart
thumping hard as she watches Marlene gasp for air, her eyes wide
and panicked, blood spilling out over the fingers she has pressed to
her chest. "Let me see, let me—"
Marlene is stiff, flat on her back, and she jerks in visible pain every
time she tries to move her broken arm. Her own body is fighting
against her, instinctively trying to do everything she can to get air
into her lungs, but something has gone wrong.
Lily is a flurry of activity around her, barking orders and making

demands for what she needs. Amos and Mary run around to get
whatever she asks for. Without finesse, Lily rips Marlene's shirt open
and pushes the torn fabric aside, her stomach dropping from under
her in distress at the sheer amount of blood. It's not
through-and-through, Lily can tell that just from the damage. It's
internal. She's going to need surgery, and she's going to need it fast.
"Sybill!" Lily shouts. "ETA?!"
"Two minutes!"
"Get us there now!"
"What can I do?" Mary asks, sounding fretful.
"Go to the cockpit and get the phone there. I stole it from Poppy's
office, but she has a contact list. Call Kingsley and tell him to tell
Poppy to start prepping for emergency surgery," Lily orders,
snatching the cloth that Amos brings her and packing it in on
313
Marlene's chest. Mary stands up and darts away. "Amos, get the first
aid kit."
"Lily," Amos says, his voice strained as he nods at Marlene.
Lily glances down, and at a minute away from safety, Marlene

breathes out and does not breathe back in again. Lily freezes.
Marlene has fallen slack. She's. She.
"No," Lily whispers. In seconds, she's swinging her leg over

Marlene's hips and straddling her, looking for a pulse and not
finding it and then immediately beginning chest compressions with
her teeth gritted. "Amos, find me an AED."
"I don't know if we have—"
"Find me a fucking AED!"
At Lily's shriek, Amos scrambles up hastily, and Lily stays with

Marlene. She chants it, desperate, come on, Marlene, come on, come
on. A steady press of hands to chest, enough force to crack ribs,
making her heart continue to beat, circulating the blood that's trying
to escape her gunshot wound, and filling her lungs with
mouth-to-mouth. Head tilted back, airway cleared, nose plugged
and breathe, come on, fucking breathe!
Amos does miraculously procure an AED, and he's there, working

around her, because she can't stop. AEDs aren't very hard to use,
really. They come with instructions, usually, even if there's never a
situation where AEDs are necessary that gives you time to calmly
read said instructions, but Amos has enough training to know this.
Lily leans in to cover Marlene's lips with her own, breathing one,
two, and then going back to chest compressions. Amos places the
defibrillator pads on Marlene's chest, having to shift her bra up on
one side for one of them, and then he's making Lily clear, and Lily
lifts her hands.
314
The Breakout
"Nothing," Amos says. "Again," Lily orders.
Amos lets the AED analyze, then does it again. A beat. Lily's ears are
ringing, but she hears him say, "Nothing."
"Again," Lily repeats.
"Lily," Amos murmurs, his voice gentle.
"I said do it again!" Lily shouts, and she doesn't care that with each
shock, a person's chances of revival decreases. She doesn't care what
this looks like, or seems like. Marlene is not fucking dying here, not
like this, not now, not so close, not—
"Nothing," Amos repeats softly.
"Come on, Marlene!" Lily snarls, her eyes hot and sharp with
something that burns, and she's angry, so fucking angry. She braces
her hands against Marlene's chest and goes right back to
compressions, speaking through clenched teeth. "Fuck you,
McKinnon. You don't get to do this to her, do you hear me? I can't—I
can't love her like she deserves, so you have to. You have to be here!
Come on, please!"
"Lily," Amos mutters, "she's dead."
"Shock her again," Lily grits out.
"She's dead," Amos whispers, reaching out to lay his hands over
hers. "Stop it, Lily, she's gone."
"No," Lily chokes out, vision blurring. "Shock her again, Amos! Do it!
Don't just fucking sit there!"
Amos sighs, watching her with pity, but he dutifully draws his
hands back. Lily dips in and breathes for her again, internally
pleading that this time, this time, it'll be enough. When she comes
back up, Amos shocks her again.
315
"Holy shit," Amos breathes out a moment later. "What? What? Is
she—"
"She's back."
Lily gasps out a deep breath and a sob all in one, melting forward
like all of her strings have been cut at once, and she finds her
forehead resting against Marlene's. It's clammy, and Lily is dripping
tears on her, but she doesn't care.
"Thank you," Lily whispers. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."
"Come on, Lily, we need to get her on a backboard to carry her out
with," Amos urges, bursting into motion.
Lily peels back with shaking hands and fumbles for the ring on her
finger. It's slick with blood and slips back onto Marlene's finger with
ease, where it belongs.
"Alright, everyone!" Sybill calls out from the cockpit, her voice warm
with triumph. "I'm bringing us home!"
~•~
Severus puts his car in park and eases the door open. When he steps
out, glass and gravel crackles under his shoe, and it continues to do
so with each step as he shuts his car door.
"Sir?"
"Let me see," Severus murmurs, moving past the group of Aurors

surrounding the car hanging out the shop window.
The back half looks like a crumpled can, warped metal and glass
shards everywhere. The front half is practically untouched, and
Severus can't help but think that some deity or higher force that
exists out there—if it does—is very partial to James Potter.
Something is certainly looking out for him.
316
The Breakout
Well, mostly. Severus walks around the front of the car and peers
through the window. Inside, Potter is slumped against a deflated
airbag, body slack against the wheel. There's a tiny cut on his head,
above his eyebrow, and his glasses are smashed in his lap. He looks
fine otherwise.
He could be dead. Severus can't tell if he's breathing. For Potter's

sake, Severus hopes he is dead.
Sighing, Severus reaches out and grabs the door handle. He has to
yank on it a little to get it to open, and then it does. Potter does not
stir. Severus reaches in and feels for a pulse.
Alive.
Severus almost pities the poor bastard. "Sir?" is asked yet again.
For a long moment, Severus doesn't respond. He stares at Potter and

rather hates him. Everything started falling apart because of him,
really. Because he threatened to drink some venom for love. After
that, it was utter chaos. Severus hasn't really had a moment of rest
since.
Severus can't resist sneering at him. The last thing this war needs is
an incompetent fool ruining everything without even trying. Potter
simply exists, and he causes problems. He speaks when he shouldn't
and acts without thinking. A fool. The worst kind of fool. One who
has influence.
Tonight has been... Severus doesn't even have a word for it. He was
notified early about the dispatch of Aurors to the arena in the
endeavor to retrieve tributes before the opposition could. The Order,
Severus presumes, but Albus never notified him of this. Albus
doesn't notify him of everything as a man caught in the middle of
two sides, because he won't risk it, so it is entirely possible that this
was planned.
Severus doesn't think so, however. He looks at Potter like this and
thinks that, somehow, he was behind this. Severus can give credit
where it's due. If Potter was behind it, he did very well. All tributes
317
liberated except for one. Mm, that one, though. Sirius Black. Another
wrench in this war, and Riddle will be utilizing him, of course.
Severus doesn't doubt it.
If Riddle is going to use Black, he will surely find some way to turn
Potter into his weapon, too. After tonight, there is no possible way
Riddle will be ignorant to the brewing war, and not only that, but
also the fact that there is opposition. The Order was a secret
organization, but it won't be any longer. Riddle may not know all the
details yet, but he will surely do what it takes to learn them, and
regardless, he will know that the Order is out there. He will be
prepared for it now.
You fool, Severus thinks as he stares at Potter in disdain.
What does Potter know? Does he know anything? That's not a risk
Severus is willing to take. Black most certainly doesn't, but Potter
just might. Riddle will want to get information from him, or he'll
figure out how to use him, or both. Either way, Severus doesn't plan
to let that happen, if he can help it.
This is a liability that needs to be dealt with now. So, Severus pulls
out his gun and puts it against Potter's head. Still, Potter does not
stir. This is a kindness, really. He is a fool, but a dead fool can do no
further damage.
Just as Severus goes to pull the trigger, there's the sound of a car
door opening, and Riddle says, "Do not shoot him."
Severus closes his eyes, only for a second, and then he pulls his gun
down and turns around. Riddle does not drive. He has his own
personal driver, a man who holds open his door and shuts it after
him as he gets out and walks closer. Glass and debris crunches under
his shiny shoes.
Riddle comes to a halt next to Severus, cold eyes surveying Potter

thoughtfully. All the other Aurors on scene shift nervously, just from
Riddle's mere presence. Severus remains still, just waiting, not
saying a word.
318
The Breakout
"Though he has caused quite the mess, James Potter is more useful to
me alive than dead," Riddle declares, and Severus finds that he can
hate Potter more, after all. "Get him out and have him escorted to my
castle."
"Not Azkaban, sir?" Severus asks.
"No," Riddle murmurs. "Not Azkaban. Sirius Black is being held

there for now. James Potter will remain close to me."
"Yes, sir," Severus says.
Riddle is silent for a beat, and then he reaches out and cups his hand
to Potter's forehead, pushing his head back to peer at him. Potter
does stir, then. Only a bit. His face twitches, lips moving, and he
whispers, "Reg."
Riddle's lip curls in distaste, and he drops Potter's head, letting it

hang forward again. He steps back. "Severus."
"Yes, sir?" Severus murmurs.
"Clean this up," Riddle orders, swiveling a finger to gesture to the

street; as he walks away, he adds, "and prepare for war."
319
9
THE BREAKDOWN
______
There's a welcoming committee at the Phoenix when they arrive.

Mary barely gets to kick out the ramp while Lily, Amos, Emmeline,
and Alice carry out Marlene before there's a flurry of people rushing
forward to meet them, a stretcher waiting.
Everyone is talking all at once, and the transition to get Marlene on

the stretcher is quick. Poppy climbs on the side and immediately
starts working over her as people roll them away. Lily starts to go
with them, as do a lot of people, but they're all halted and blocked.
Lily's stopped by Kingsley, his hand against her shoulder. Their eyes
meet, and she still feels sick, a sensation that only grows worse when
she sees how he's looking at her.
"Kingsley," Lily rasps, "you have to let me go. I need to—"
"What you need to do is stop," Kingsley declares sharply, his voice

loud enough that everything sort of just—does stop. Well, central to
here. Off to the side, a very injured Asher is being carted off towards
the infirmary, and there are a few other people lingering that bustle
around to check on the remaining tributes. But, right here, close to
them, everything falls silent. "What the hell were you thinking?"
"Look, I know you're upset—" "I'm not just upset, Evans! You—"
"This wasn't me!" Lily bursts out, shaking his hand off her shoulder
as she glares at him. "Dorcas was the one who—"
"Oh, don't feed me that bullshit," Kingsley snaps. "You may not have
come up with the idea to break into the arena, but you threw this
320
The Breakdown
mission together. You rounded everyone up and gave them

something to do. You decided to carry out a mission not cleared or
approved. You led them through it."
"Kingsley—"
"We gathered everyone involved, and do you know what they all
had in common? Hm? You. It was you. So, don't stand there and tell
it wasn't when it was. You broke every rule and put multiple people
in danger, including Sybill!"
"I'm—I'm fine. Kingsley, I'm fine, see?" Sybill stutters out as she
stumbles forward, but he doesn't even look at her.
"Do you have any idea what you've done?" Kingsley hisses, never
taking his gaze off of Lily. "You think your mission was a success?
You just helped bring upon war, and you didn't just put yourself in
the middle of it. No, you dragged them into it, too. Sybill could have
died."
"But I didn't. I'm fine. Kingsley, I'm—I'm really fine, and I did good.
I'm actually really proud. You should have seen—"
"Stop talking, Sybill."
"Really, King," Sybill insists, "I'm an amazing pilot. I was—"
"Stop talking, Sybill!" Kingsley bellows, and Sybill snaps her mouth
shut, her eyes instantly getting bright. Kingsley focuses on Lily
again. "Don't you get it? She's in this now, because of you. They'll use
her now that they know what she can do. That's how it works here.
She'll be in the sky when war comes, do you realize that? A war
pilot. You made her into a fucking war pilot, and if she dies, if she
gets hurt, that's on you."
"That's enough," Mary bursts out, moving forward abruptly and

getting right in Kingsley's face with no warning whatsoever and not
321
an ounce of fear. "You don't know what the fuck you're talking about.
You weren't there."
"No, I wasn't," Kingsley agrees coldly, not reacting to Mary at all, his
gaze still locked on Lily.
"Kingsley," Lily whispers, a lump in her throat, "I'm sorry. I needed a

pilot, and—and I could trust Sybill. I—"
"But you couldn't trust me?!" Kingsley bursts out, flinging both arms
to the side. "You asked nearly every other fucking person in this
bunker for help and didn't think to come to me?"
"Would you have helped?" Lily croaks helplessly, raising her hands
and letting them drop to her sides. Her eyes are stinging and it
shouldn't hurt, this shouldn't hurt so much, because Kingsley wasn't
supposed to matter to her. No one was. "I mean it, King. Be honest. If
I had come to you, would you have helped me with this, or got in
my way?"
Kingsley drops his arms and stares at her, exhaling a huff of air like
she just punched him in the chest. "All you had to do was ask.
Because I'm your friend. Maybe you don't care about things like that,
but I do. And, if not for you, then for her. I took the same piloting
courses, and I would have done it for her, so she could be safe.
Because I love her. But you don't know anything about that either, do
you?"
Lily feels that like a punch to the chest. Again, it shouldn't hurt as
much as it does, because it's true, right? This is who she is. This is
who she'll always be now. She tries so fucking hard to shut it down,
to not care, but she's so tired and she's shaking and her face is hot
and her eyes are stinging —
"You're a fucking fool if you think she doesn't care about people,"
Mary says sharply, reaching out and jabbing Kingsley in the chest.
"She nearly fucking died to save people she doesn't even know. She
refused to give up on someone just because her friend loves that
person. She kept Sybill as
322
The Breakdown
calm as she could and was there for her every single step of the way.
No one—and I mean no one, not one of us—would have made it
back here alive if it wasn't for her."
"No one would have been at risk of dying if it wasn't for her,"
Kingsley bites out, and Lily flinches.
"Kingsley, stop it," Sybill says urgently, moving towards him and
reaching out to grab his arm, tears in her eyes. "You're just—you're
scared, that's all. And we all are, but—but today was a win. We
saved lives, King. I helped save lives. I did something amazing. I
flew."
Kingsley looks at her, finally, and his jaw clenches as he eases his arm
out of her grip. "Why didn't you come to me? Lily is one thing,
Sybill, but you—what? You didn't trust me?"
"No. I mean yes! Yes, of course I trust you, but—but Lily said... She
said..." Sybill swallows. "I just wanted to help, and I—I did help. I
know you're worried, but it's okay. It's really okay, because I'm good
at it, Kingsley. I'm a good pilot, and I know that you like that I wasn't
involved in missions, and that I was safe here, but why shouldn't I
do this if I can? And I can."
"Yeah, you proved that," Kingsley whispers, his expression twisting.

"He'll use that. He'll use you."
Sybill reaches for him again, but he takes a step back. She looks close
to tears. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, okay? I wanted to. I felt horrible
that I didn't, but you—you don't have to be alone in this. I'm with
you, yeah? I—I learned that today, that we're dating. We're a team,
right?"
"You just learned that today?" Kingsley breathes out, looking utterly
astonished. "What—Sybill —"
"You never said it, and I—I didn't know, but it's okay, because I know
now," Sybill says in a rush. "I know now, and I'm sorry I didn't tell
you. I'm sorry I didn't know. But I know this now, that I love you too,
323
and so I'm telling you because we learn something new every day,
and I want you to learn this today. I want you to know I love you."
"What I learned today is that, evidently, we're not a team," Kingsley

tells her. His voice is usually so smooth, even, steady and calm. Now,
it cracks. "You proved that today, too. And I can't, Sybill. I can't do
this with you. Not like this. Not when you don't—not when you're
going to—I just can't —"
"Are you breaking up with me?" Sybill chokes out, staring at him
with wide, wet eyes. Lily's heart clenches, because she looks fucking
pitiful."Yeah. Yeah, I uh—I am." Kingsley reaches up to swipe a hand
over his mouth, shaking his head, eyes squeezing shut as he takes
another step away. Lily's heart gives a second harsh clench, because
he looks just as pitiful as Sybill does. His hand drops and his eyes
open. He looks at Sybill and shakes his head again. "Shouldn't be too
much of an adjustment for you, should it? You didn't even know we
were dating."
"Kingsley," Sybill whispers.
"I have to go," Kingsley says. "Thanks to all of you, I have a lot of
fucking work to do."
With that and nothing else, Kingsley turns around and marches
away, and he doesn't look back. Lily moves the moment she sees
Sybill's shoulders hitch, wrapping her up in a hug and holding her
as she releases a gut-wrenching, audibly heartbroken sob into Lily's
shoulder.
"I'm sorry," Lily rasps. She raises her gaze and looks around at
everyone before, finally, her eyes meet Mary's. And, really, that's all
she can say. "I'm sorry."
~•~
Euphemia rushes as quickly as she can through the bustling crowds,

breathing heavily as she pushes past multiple people with
Andromeda hot on her heels. Nymphadora is with Bingley and a
few of the older kids that made it out of the district, all of them eager
to see those coming in, but staying put when the adults tell them to.
324
The Breakdown
Fleamont is gripping Euphemia's hand tight, and she knows he must

feel as desperate as she does to get where they're going. It feels like
they've been barreling down corridors for years since being told they
can go to the infirmary to check on their loved ones. So far, only
those from the arena have made it back, but that means Sirius and
Regulus are here.
It's mayhem throughout the compound, people rushing about,

everyone chattering and shouting and speculating. It's even more
chaotic near the infirmary. Apparently, there were a couple of
tributes who needed severe medical attention, and Euphemia
selfishly hopes it's not Sirius or Regulus.
Getting through the crowd is a difficult task, but they do, and then
it's hard to pick out everyone lined up in chairs outside of the
infirmary. Tributes, clearly. People are bustling around them, tending
to their cut arms, giving water and food and blankets. A lot of them
look tense and overwhelmed, and Euphemia has to resist the urge to
tell everyone to back off.
These people are well-meaning, but they don't know what it's like.
They don't understand how the arena affects someone; these people
are still in survival mode, likely in shock from being rescued as well,
and Euphemia thinks it's a miracle no one has lashed out yet.
Helplessly, Euphemia pushes forward, scanning the rows of people

to locate who she's looking for. Sirius and Regulus, Sirius and
Regulus, Sirius and—
Regulus. Just Regulus. He's sitting at the end next to his older cousin,
Narcissa Malfoy, who is fussing with the person who is invading
their space, trying to force them to drink water. Regulus isn't
acknowledging them. The poor boy is quite blatantly in a state of
shock, his hands sitting limp in his lap, gaze blank as he stares
straight ahead.
No Sirius. Euphemia looks around for him, even though she doesn't
doubt Sirius would stay with Regulus if he could, so maybe he's one
of the tributes that arrived in critical condition? Euphemia's heart
drops at the thought.
325
Andromeda pushes forward and halts in front of them, her breath
audibly catching in her throat. She's looking at her sister. Euphemia
knows through Sirius, and just from being around for all the drama,
that Andromeda has a very strained relationship with her sisters. But
does that matter in situations such as this? Does that matter when
she has lost her husband, and watched her older sister be killed by
her youngest cousin, and spent years surely missing her sisters
regardless of the strife that existed from them all falling apart in the
first place? Does it matter, here, when stakes are so high, and years
have passed, and war is splitting the world apart?
"Cissy," Andromeda croaks.
Narcissa's head snaps up, and Euphemia doesn't think it matters at

all, not right now. "Andy?"
There's a moment where everything seems to freeze for both of them,

and then Narcissa pushes to her feet, takes one very frantic step
forward, and halts just as abruptly as she moved. Euphemia knows
Narcissa only as her mentor, a young woman who never spoke out
of turn, who observed everything with calculating eyes, who found
the best ways to make fools out of everyone who believed she
wouldn't, and believed she couldn't. To Euphemia, Narcissa was
more dangerous than Bellatrix; far past Bellatrix, who simply had no
reservations about slaughter, there was Narcissa, who wasn't just in
the hunger games; no, she played the game, and she played it well,
so well that Euphemia never doubted she would win.
Standing across from one another, it's just Narcissa and Andromeda
now, and Narcissa left home. It's been years. They stand apart from
each other like those years have cleaved their sisterhood in two, as if
they will never find it again.
Euphemia doesn't believe that. She has seen the way Regulus and
Sirius have put so much effort into getting back what they lost, and
they did. It can happen, and it always seems to start with a simple
need outweighing resentment and pride.
Sometimes, really, the one thing you need is your flesh and blood.
Not everyone is fortunate enough to have that, like those who will
never be able to have family again, even when they need them. Not
326
The Breakdown
everyone has flesh and blood that will reach back like the instinct it
should be when you reach for them. Not everyone has flesh and
blood that needs you, too.
But Andromeda is a mother to a child who will never see her father
again. Andromeda is a sister to a woman who tried to kill her cousin,
and was killed by her other cousin in front of her eyes, on screen.
Andromeda is a sister to another woman who stands before her now,
tentative and waiting, years upon years of flesh and blood and
family echoing across the space between them. Andromeda is a
human who is surrounded by other humans, and the world is on
fire, and it doesn't surprise Euphemia at all that she is the one who
opens her arms first.
Narcissa practically flies into them. She exhales sharply and moves
forward swiftly, a tight embrace that they both fall into. Simple
sisterhood. Because, at the end of the day, sometimes people need
each other, and that's what matters, and they're very fortunate to
have flesh and blood they can hold onto.
"Bella," Narcissa chokes out. "Andy, she—she's gone. She's—"
"I know," Andromeda says, voice heavy. "I know. I'm here, Cissy, I'm
here."
Euphemia tugs on Fleamont's hand, easing them past the pair,

leaving them to their reunion. Regulus hasn't moved or even looked
anywhere. He's just sitting there and staring.
"Regulus," Euphemia says softly, carefully kneeling down in front of

him while Fleamont takes the open space next to him that Narcissa
just vacated. Regulus doesn't acknowledge either of them, likely
doesn't even know that they're there, or where he is. His gaze is
unfocused. Gently, cautiously, Euphemia reaches out to cover
Regulus' hands in his lap. "Regulus, dear, it's Effie. Can you hear
me?"
327
The light touch does make his hands twitch, and then Regulus blinks
and looks at her. She can see his eyes actually focus on her. "Oh," he
rasps. "Hello, Effie."
"Hi, honey," Euphemia whispers, unable to stop her voice from

shaking, or keep the sting from building in her eyes. She wants to
wrap him in her arms and shield him from this world, all the
horrible, cruel edges of it.
"You're here," Regulus states, sounding startled, and then he blinks

again and exhales in relief. "You're safe."
"Yes, and so are you," Euphemia murmurs. Regulus swallows.

"Monty? Where's—"
"I'm right here," Fleamont murmurs, and Regulus jolts a little,

swiveling to stare at him right beside him. It's clear he has no spatial
awareness at the moment, yet he releases another sigh of relief when
he sees Fleamont.
"I know you're very confused right now, and a lot is going on, but
is—do you know if Sirius is in the infirmary?" Euphemia asks, not
wanting to overwhelm him further, but needing to get an
understanding of the whole situation so she knows how to suitably
reassure him—and herself.
"No," Regulus says. "Sirius is—" His voice catches, and he blinks
again, and then he's whipping his head back and forth between
Fleamont and Euphemia with pure horror painted on his face.
Euphemia's heart immediately drops. "Oh no. No, I—I
didn't—where is James? I want to see him. Can I see him? Please let
me see him. Is he here? Tell me he's—"
"Not yet," Euphemia croaks. "Not yet, but he—he should be arriving
soon, Regulus. He'll be here soon. You said—is Sirius not—Regulus,
where is—where—"
Euphemia is trying so, so very hard. She truly is. Because she can feel
it, somehow, in her weary bones that rattle like she's about to
328
The Breakdown
malfunction and fall apart. It's there, lodged in her throat like a knife,
where is my son? Where are my children? All my children, all those
that I have fed, and loved, and watched grow? Regulus is right here,
and where, where, where is Sirius?
She can see it there, in the collapse of his expression, the awful
tremble of his lips and building tears in his eyes. He's clinging to her
hands suddenly, as if he's afraid she will pull away from him, but she
won't. She never would have in all the years she has known him, but
he was always the one to shy away from her grip. She wanted to
hold him as any mother would wish to hold a child that needed it,
but he only ever wanted that from Sirius. It's like this, that he turns
to her, and Euphemia knows immediately, just that simply, that
Sirius isn't here.
He isn't, because if he was, that's who Regulus would cling to; that's
the only person he ever wanted to cling to.
"No," Euphemia chokes out reflexively, because no. No, not this, not
Sirius, not that lovely boy with the grin that could light up the
world, not her lovely boy who clung to her after he left the arena at
sixteen years old, so young and so upset to have ever raised a hand
against her, crying in her arms and chanting the apology mindlessly;
I'm sorry, Mum, I'm sorry. That was the first time he called her that,
and the last was with an apology, too, always with an apology when
he addresses her this way, like he has to apologize for the imposition
of being her son, when it's one of the things she's most proud of.
"I'm sorry, Effie," Regulus says, shaking, and he will never address
her as anything else, certainly not as Mother. He could be married to
James for fifty years and still never say it, because the only mothers
he's ever known or allowed himself to accept are Walburga and
Sirius, and Euphemia has known that as long as she has known him.
She loves him, regardless, and knows, in his own way, Regulus loves
her, too. "I'm so sorry. I—I tried to—I begged them to wait, to go
back, but they couldn't. They—they couldn't, because the—the
Hallows got him. The Hallows got Sirius. I—I'm sorry. I didn't—"
Euphemia's whole body is numb, and she can't—she can't even

separate herself from the shock of it, from how hard it hits her. Sirius.
329
Oh, Sirius. She did everything, absolutely everything she could, to
save him. To help him. To love him. He is not flesh and
blood—doesn't even look like her, pale boy that he is—but she did
not have to birth him for him to have a home in her heart. She
doesn't mean to, but the shock of it slackens her grip, and she doesn't
want to let go of Regulus, not even for a moment, but she can't feel
anything. Can't breathe. Can't—
"I'm sorry," Regulus gasps out, fretful, almost frantic in the way he
winds his fingers around her hands and squeezes, desperate and
wide-eyed. It's like he thinks it's his fault. Like she is blaming him,
and he doesn't want her to. She is not and never would. "If it could
have been me, if they just —if they picked him up before me, if the
Hallows got me instead—"
"No," Fleamont cuts in fiercely, so sharply that both Regulus and

Euphemia jolt. Euphemia is so thankful for him, because he is
picking up her slack, because he can step in when she fails to and be
strong when she can't. It's an exchange, an unspoken partnership
that requires nothing but instinct. She has done it for him, and he can
do it for her now, because she needs him to. "No, Regulus, don't
think that way. No one wishes it had been you instead."
"I wish it had been me instead," Regulus confesses, his chest

stuttering. "Not him. Not my—he's my brother. He's—"
The moment Regulus breaks down sobbing, Fleamont eases an arm

around him and pulls him close, a big man with big feelings and a
big need to nurture. Euphemia has always been maternal like a bear,
dangerous about it, claws and teeth and ready to swing for those she
loves, still fighting all these decades on the other side of the arena.
Fleamont, though?
He's more gentle than she is, always has been, very rarely one to lash
out about anything. Over the years, Euphemia has learned how to be
soft; over the years, Fleamont has been forced into being harsh—a
remote shattering against the wall, tossed with the strength of a man
who is strong enough to be her rock, but not strong enough to
330
The Breakdown
remain steady when trapped with the guaranteed loss of someone he

loves. Trapped even now, because they knew, didn't they?
They all knew only one could make it out, and Sirius wasn't going to
be the one who did, except more than one has, and Sirius is the only
one who didn't.
How does someone accept that? How do they live with that? How
are they meant to continue on in the aftermath of that?
There's a reason, here, in the form of Regulus Black, who sinks into
Fleamont while weeping, a man he has never considered a father
and never will, because that was Sirius for him, too. Sirius and
Orion, and he has now lost both.
Euphemia's eyes itch, and she squeezes them shut, forcing her
trembling fingers to wrap around Regulus' once more and cling to
him as he clings to her. She dips her head and presses her face
against their tangled hands, shoulders heaving. A warm hand settles
into her hair; Fleamont, she would know him anywhere, through
anything.
He strokes her hair, and they cry.
They all cry.
Remus is quiet on the train.
~•~
Well, they're all quiet on the train, honestly. He has somehow

collected a flock of recently freed servants, all of which hover close to
him and look to him for what to do. Maybe that's fair, considering he
was the one who coaxed each of them into fleeing in the first place,
so fucking grateful that James is the kind of man he is to think of
them all. Not just Remus.
331
The thing is, Remus knows these people. Adjacently. Sort of. He
knows their eyes, knows part of their faces from seeing them each
morning and each night when entering and exiting their cells. He
knows that look in their eyes, that guarded sort of fear for every
move they make. He knows how they feel right now, sort of lost and
overwhelmed by an unburdening none of them were prepared for.
They all have the same injury on their thighs, all suffered the same
pain to take the freedom each of them were utterly terrified to claim
for themselves.
Some of them are older than him. Some are younger. Each of them
linger close by like he's the only comfort they have in all of this, like
he's the only thing that makes sense, like they trust him before they
trust anyone else.
Pandora sits next to Dorcas and Huey, staring down at her shoes
without really seeming present at all. She has James' cane draped
across her lap, trembling hands wrapped around it; she refused to
leave it behind with the van. Dorcas is next to Minerva, her jaw
clenched and one leg jumping up and down restlessly. Minerva is
calm, watchful, sweeping her gaze over everyone like she's checking
that they're all there. Rodolphus won't stop fidgeting, his hands
seeming empty now that he dumped his gun on Dorcas' orders when
they all left the van and boarded the train.
All Remus can think about is James. Is he alive? Did he die in that car
wreck? If he didn't, has he been captured? What will happen to him?
What is Remus supposed to say to Sirius? How is he supposed to
explain that he tried, he really did, but James was left behind
anyway? What about—
The train abruptly comes to a creaking halt, and everyone looks up

at the same time. No one moves for a moment, but then Dorcas
shoves to her feet, eyes bright.
"Alright, everyone, listen up," Dorcas says, and her voice carries,
draws all the attention to her. "We've arrived at the Phoenix, but we
aren't the first today. A large group coming out of the arena are
already here, and I don't doubt they'll all need medical attention of
some sort, along with the rush-job of having to get them
unexpectedly settled in. It's the same situation with all of you."
332
The Breakdown
She looks around with a grimace of apology, and Remus tries not to
grind his teeth. He finds it very difficult not to resent her, or
Minerva, for leaving James behind. Maybe Remus will just field all
of Sirius' questions straight to her. She's his friend, right? Remus will
let her explain what happened, because even now, he still doesn't
have the answers.
"I know that many of you are confused, and scared, and in pain,"
Dorcas continues, her voice softening. "I would like to tell you that
you'll have immediate comforts and ready accommodations waiting
on you, but that would be a lie. This was not a planned mission, and
the Phoenix is not ready for you, so those things will take a little
time. I don't know how long, but you will have someone to help you
at some point, if you'll just be patient. It's going to be very, very busy
inside, and loud, and chaotic. We will all be heading towards the
infirmary together, so stay close. Anyone who approaches or offers
help—they will not hurt you. I promise you, you're safe here. All of
you are safe now."
Dorcas and Minerva lead the group inside, and saying it would be
busy was an understatement. The place is crawling with activity,
people rushing around, loud shouts and orders flying about in all
directions. It's utter mayhem.
The Phoenix is massive. They come out in an underground train port

that leads further into a large wing for the bunker, and Remus is
immediately overwhelmed by the sheer amount of everything. So
many people, so many levels, so many halls. So much movement, so
much noise, so much space. It's a lot, and it's stifling. The air is stale,
and either Remus is just going crazy, or there really is less oxygen in
the metal hub beneath the earth. It's artificial light and the low
background whir of generators, and all Remus can think is that it's
another prison.
"Meadowes!" a loud voice booms.
"Not now, Kingsley," Dorcas retorts, still marching along as she leads
the charge through the crowded hall.
333
The man—Kingsley—looks absolutely furious. He falls into step
beside Dorcas and starts hissing at her in low tones. Remus watches,
eyebrows furrowed, but Dorcas doesn't let anything slow her down.
They're a large group of people hobbling along, all helping each
other continue on. Everyone is following her, following the leader,
and anyone else who would dare to try and take over wouldn't get
very far.
Regardless of Remus' issues with James being left behind, he has to

admit that he feels a sense of gratitude, possibly, for Dorcas. Because
it's very clear to him now that this mission was hers all the way
around, and not one that came from someone in charge here.
She's—in trouble? She risked a lot, then, to do this? Remus can
admire that, if nothing else.
"I don't care, King!" Dorcas bursts out as they take a corner, yet again
running right into more chaos. "Dumbledore is just going to have to
wait, or he can fucking meet me here!"
"Dorcas," Minerva says carefully.
"No," Dorcas grits out. "Marlene first. Fuck anything else."
Remus raises his eyebrows. Clearly Dorcas is not fucking around,

which everyone else seems to pick up on as well, because Kingsley
stops berating her and Minerva quietly sighs and looks away. Remus
also looks away, surveying the current activity around him,
distracted by it.
Some people watch as they come by, mouths hanging open, eyes
wide. Other people don't even seem to notice them, far too wrapped
up in rushing to do whatever it is they're doing. People go by in
blurs of faces, none that Remus can really look at, all of his senses
flooded at once.
They take another corner, and Remus hears her before he sees her.
That's what registers first. The sound of her voice. He knows her
voice, even without hearing it for so long.
334
The Breakdown
Lily.
Remus comes to a very abrupt halt, his heart seeming to stop in his
chest for a second, because he wasn't—he didn't even think to
prepare himself for this. He can hear her in the distance, up ahead
somewhere. Whatever she's saying is indistinct, but harsh, and his
heart thumps with I know you, I know it's you, I know it is, I know, I
know, I know—
Breath punching out of him, Remus surges forward without finesse,

shoving forward and pushing people mindlessly, carelessly aside.
Someone calls after him. He does not care. Nothing matters. Nothing
else matters, not the ache in his thigh, or the pressure in his lungs.
Nothing, nothing, nothing matters but getting to her now,
immediately. It's Lily. It's—
"—don't give a shit what he wants!" Lily is saying, the words

catching above the crowd and reaching Remus' ears, coated in fury
and still the sweetest thing he's ever heard. Remus shoves his way
forward desperately, choking on air, and there she is. Oh, there she
is. It's her. It is, she's right there, glaring with flushed cheeks and
looking—she looks—it's been six years, and she looks different, but
she's Lily. She's his best friend, right there, so close. "I already told
you—"
"You can't just bypass this, Evans," says the man she's currently
yelling at. "You don't get to decide what the priority is after breaking
countless rules to—"
"Oh, get fucked, Bones," Lily snarls, and Remus tries to say her
name, tries to call for her, but he can't breathe, so all that escapes him
is a choked wheeze. "I'll cooperate when I've spoken to Poppy and
checked on—"
"You'll cooperate now," comes the sharp reply, and oh, they don't
know her at all, do they? Remus could laugh. He thinks he does, a
bit, and maybe he cries as well as he squirms between bodies and
edges towards the front, so fucking close to breaking free and
335
entering her line of sight. "Even an unsanctioned mission needs a
debrief!"
"You want a fucking debrief?" Lily scoffs, and Remus stumbles out of
the crowd just as she harshly announces, "I went in and got all the
tributes out that I could, and the only one I didn't get is Sirius Black.
The Hallows got him, so he's likely dead."
Remus jolts to a stop, frozen in place, and any chance of him getting
to breathe again is promptly snatched from him.
The whole world proceeds to stop.
~•~
There is a sound, a noise like a wounded animal, raw and gutted.

Lily tears her eyes away from Edgar to instinctively locate it, not
recognizing it, and curiosity is human nature.
So, she looks.
Lily looks and then has to do a sharp double-take, because the

illusion before her in the form of her long-dead best friend is so
fucking clear that the rest of the world drains away in an instant. Her
mind goes blank. It just—empties out, all at once.
Remus. Remus? It's—that's Remus. That's him standing there, right

here at the mouth of the corridor leading towards the infirmary,
crowded with people too nosy for their own good, everyone eager to
help and get information about what has happened. Nothing ever
happens here, not like this.
Lily has no idea what's happening here, not anymore. Nothing

makes sense, all of a sudden, because that's Remus. That's her best
friend, alive and breathing. That's him, dressed in washed out grey
with a scar across his face she has never seen before in her life, tall
yet hunched a little like he's taking a blunt object directly to the
336
The Breakdown
chest. He looks alive, and the look on his face says that, inexplicably,
he does not wish to be.
He's in clear distress. That much is obvious. The last time Lily saw
Remus, he was pushing a gun into her hands and telling her to run,
everything falling apart around them both. The way he looks now,
it's as if they're right back there, as if the world as they know it is
coming crumbling down again.
But he's alive. He has to be, because other people are looking at him,
too. Other people see him, and so he can't be an illusion. That's
Remus. It's Remus, right there, and Lily does not know what is
wrong, but she doesn't need to.
"Remus?" Lily breathes out, and nothing else matters except for the
fact that he moves. He reaches up to press a hand over his mouth, an
awful noise muffled against his palm, and that's it. That's all it takes.
Nothing makes sense, and nothing matters, and Lily is running. She
breaks away from everyone else without a care in the world, flying
across the open space between them to close it, to cut it down and
never let it form again. It feels like years and only seconds before she
slams into him with a choked noise, wheezing as they collide.
Six years it's been since she's wrapped her arms around her best
friend, and yet they still fit.
Lily can't even describe the feeling that travels through her body. The
sensation of it. Shock and fear and relief. Joy. There is so much joy in
this moment for her. She is crying, one hand coming up to cup the
back of his head, arms locked around him tight—and he does not
hug her back.
He's slack against her, heaving for breath, and Lily chokes around a
sob as she tightens her grip. She wants to shake him a little, make
him hold onto her and never let her go again, make him understand
the miracle that this moment is. He has to know. How can he not
know?
337
"No," Remus croaks, and his hands brace on her arms, pushing her
back. His fingers tremble on her skin, and he's searching her face
desperately, something there in his expression that's pleading with
her, but Lily doesn't know what it means. She has never not known
what he was saying when he looked at her until now. So much they
could share in an exchanged look, long ago, and now she can't
follow the conversation. "No, that's not—that isn't possible. Sirius?
He's—you said you didn't get him out. Tell me—Lily, please—"
Lily stares at him, shell-shocked, confused. She doesn't understand.

"Sirius Black? No, we—we didn't manage to get him before the
Hallows. Why? Did you know him?"
Whatever response Lily was expecting from Remus, it's not for his
legs to buckle as a low moan of pure pain slips from his mouth. He
goes down to his knees right in front of everyone, right there in front
of her, and his hands slip down to her sides, fists clenching her shirt
and tugging on her fretfully as he ducks his head into her stomach
and breaks down crying.
Alarm threads through Lily, turning the blood in her veins to ice, her
heart thudding painfully in her chest as she stares down at Remus
with wide eyes. She doesn't have the answers, but she doesn't need
them, not for this. She does what her love for him demands her to,
dropping down right there with him and dragging him close, trying
to breathe past the harsh pinch in her chest. He's releasing the most
devastating, heartbroken sobs she has ever heard, more pain-filled
even than the gasps and sobs that were ripped from him when he
was whipped and beaten down time- and-time again.
Nothing ever really broke him, but this does.
Remus curls up against her, clinging and crying, revived six years
later just to disintegrate before her very eyes. Lily does not know
much, she doesn't know what Sirius was to Remus, but she does
know for sure now that he was something.
Maybe, as much as she dreads to think it, he was everything. ~•~
338
The Breakdown
Dorcas pushes through the crowd, struck by the odd silence and
stillness, then sucked into it herself from the shock of finding the last
thing she ever expected to. Lily slumped on the floor, cradling
Remus half in her lap, holding him close like she will protect him as
he sobs against her.
"Woah," Kingsley breathes out, and Dorcas gets it.
She's never seen Lily look like that. She's never seen Lily at all, as it
turns out, because this is achingly real, like she's been stripped down
to blood and bone for the whole world to see and does not care one
bit about who dares to look. All her defenses dismantled, and Dorcas
doesn't understand why or how or what it has to do with Sirius'
moon.
"What's happening?" Dorcas asks.
"Some guy just showed up," Edgar mumbles, edging closer to them,
eyebrows furrowed. He gestures to Remus. "He sort of just—broke
down when he found out Sirius Black wasn't saved from the arena.
Then—that."
"Oh," Dorcas says. "It's—yeah, he's Sirius' lover."
"Who is he?" Kingsley mutters, his voice faint.
"His name is Remus," Dorcas admits.
Kingsley sucks in a sharp breath and whispers, "Oh, shit." "What?"

Dorcas blurts out. "What is it?"
"That's—oh, fuck," Kingsley murmurs, his face softening more than

Dorcas has seen since she arrived. "They know each other. That's
Lily's best friend from—from before. She thought he was— we all
thought—we were all told he was dead."
Dorcas' head whips towards him, and their eyes meet. She watches
his eyes go cold, jaw clenching, and she feels her nostrils flare as fury
floods through her. "Dumbledore?"
339
"Yes," Kingsley confirms, his voice clipped.
Oh, that man. Dorcas could just—she could really just—
"Bas?" Rodolphus pushes forward, his voice strained as he stumbles

past them, not seeming to care about the two on the floor or the other
crowds of people. "Bas! Rabastan!"
Dorcas watches the group further ahead, Rabastan Lestrange

pushing people aside, moving in a rush at the same time that
Rodolphus does. Dorcas can make out Sybill and Amos, as well as
two other people she doesn't know, who are all crowded together.
They're the only people really standing between everyone else and
the tributes all waiting by the infirmary.
Rodolphus and Rabastan meet in the middle, slamming into each

other and both laughing, exhilarated by the reunion. It's
heartwarming, truly, but Dorcas does not have it in her to care about
that right now. She's already on the move, too.
Marlene. She needs to find Marlene.
As she rushes forward, Pandora is the one who bites the bullet to
gently usher Lily and Remus to their feet, so careful as she coaxes
them to empty chairs off to the side, snapping at others around them
to back off and find other shit to do. The rest that Dorcas brought in
all follow her, including Minerva, and that's just as well. These
people need to wait for help anyway.
This is the destination, and it just so happens to coincide with where

she needs to be. As she draws closer, scanning everyone desperately,
she can see most of the other tributes. Emmeline is near Alice, Alecto
was sitting with Rabastan and now has been abandoned, Majesty is
shying away
from people trying to get them to drink water, Narcissa seems to be

talking to a woman who bears a startling resemblance to Bellatrix,
and Regulus is with—oh, he's in between Effie and Monty.
340
The Breakdown
Asher is nowhere to be found.
Marlene isn't either.
There's so much going on around that those at the end of the

hall—Regulus, Narcissa, the Potters—
don't even focus on what's happening. Dorcas is tempted to go to

them for answers, but honestly, Amos and Sybill are closest. She'd
ask Lily, but she's currently occupied.
"Dorcas!" Sybill bursts out in delight as she moves closer.
"Hi, Sybill, Amos," Dorcas says breathlessly.
"Barty, Mary, this is Dorcas," Sybill introduces with a watery smile.

"She's the woman who came up with the plan. Dorcas, this is Barty
and Mary. They're from district six, friends with Sirius and Regulus.
They came with us to help save—"
"Lovely, thank you, nice to meet you," Dorcas interrupts in a rush,

aware that it's rude but having no capacity to care at this particular
moment. "Sorry, just—where's Marlene?"
Everyone falls silent immediately. They all exchange looks.
Dorcas stops and flicks her gaze between them, a strange twinge
taking place in her chest that she's ignoring. She waits, and no one
speaks. Firmly, she repeats, "Where's Marlene?"
"Shit," Amos mumbles, grimacing before he clears his throat. She is

inexplicably angry about this. Angry about how they're all looking at
her, and how they're not, not really. Angry about the implication
that—that— "Okay, um. Dorcas, listen to me, yeah? It's—I want to
say she's fine, but —"
"Amos," Dorcas says coldly, "where is Marlene?"
341
Swallowing, Amos rasps, "She's—she was shot—"
This does something very odd to Dorcas' chemical makeup.

Something in her sort of just—shifts, and she is more rage than she is
woman, more vengeance than she is person. It is here, right now, that
she learns what it means to put the weight of purpose, her purpose
and drive, on one person. The weight of that is held on the very
foundation of Marlene McKinnon's beating heart, and that's
such a fragile organ; it can so easily stop and bring the foundation
crumbling down.
Dorcas gets it, suddenly, the process of loss into revenge into war.
She gets how motivations can lead to destruction. The chaotic force
of loving someone so much that you will burn the world for them
and dance around the flames. It had a guide before that sentence left
Amos' mouth, contained to one part of the world, one group of
people who were to blame for Marlene's lack of safety in the first
place.
But she was shot slips past Amos' lips, and the direction of this force
splays wide, no longer aimed, just unleashed on anyone and
anything that dares to stand before it. In seconds, Dorcas has Amos
by the throat, slamming him up against the wall and holding him
there. Amos wheezes, his glasses lopsided on his face, but he still
lifts his hands to halt the others who hiss and start to move forward
to peel her away.
"Don't say that to me," Dorcas tells him, and her voice doesn't seem
to match the feelings within her. She feels like she is blazing, like she
is a white-hot blade that can slice cleanly through anything that gets
in her way. But her voice—it is not steady, and it trembles, and it
cracks. "Say something else. For your sake, say anything else."
"She was shot," Amos repeats hoarsely, "and we lost her on the
heli-carrier," and Dorcas is going to kill him, "and then we got her
back," and Dorcas might not kill him, "so she's in surgery right now,"
and Dorcas doesn't know what she's going to do to him, or to
anyone, or at all, "but we don't know what state she's in now, okay?
342
The Breakdown
We're all waiting on the update. Dorcas, she was alive when we got
here, and you know Poppy will do everything she can for her. You
know how good Poppy is."
"Dorcas," Sybill whispers, careful and tentative as she reaches out to

wrap her hand around Dorcas' raised arm. She tugs gently. "Come
on, let him go. That's it."
Dorcas exhales shakily and blinks hard, taking a stiff step back, her
hands trembling. Amos stares at her, not moving, and so many
people are staring at her like she's a bomb about to go off—and that's
exactly how she feels. The timer is ticking down, and only Marlene
can clip her wires.
These people are her friends. People she has known for years. People
who know this part of her, this secret she had to carry with everyone
else. Kingsley, Lily, Sybill, Amos, and many more here —they all
know her, or this part of her, but not all of her. Not who she is as a
stylist. Not as a Hallow. She has so many faces, and it's no wonder
there are moments where people can't seem to recognize her.
Sometimes, she can't even recognize herself.
~•~
Aberforth perhaps should not find any of this funny, but it is taking
genuine effort not to laugh right now.
Albus looks so stressed.
Oh, you can hardly tell with him, really, especially these days, but
Aberforth knows. It's all in the pacing with him. He used to do it a
lot back when they were all just kids. Pace and pace when Ariana
was sickly; pace and pace when Aberforth fought Charles Lemmings
for trying to steal his goat; pace and pace before every single reaping,
until that last one, until all the reasons he had to stress came true.
He paces slower now, but it is pacing nonetheless.
343
Again, Aberforth should possibly not find his brother's distress a
source of entertainment, but— well, karma is so much more amusing
when it's not applied to you. Especially when it's applied to someone
who very much deserves it.
"Doesn't feel so good, does it?" Aberforth can't help but ask,
watching Albus pace from one end of his office to the other. He has a
long beard. It looks stupid on him, which is a childish thought, but
Aberforth is not above those these days, as it turns out. Truly, Albus
brings out the worst in him. Siblings do that, and Aberforth is no
better, because Albus is seventy-five and still pauses long enough to
make a face at him, wrinkles and all. "What? It's true. You have to
admit, there is a lot of irony in all of this, isn't there?"
Albus heaves a very weary sigh and lifts a withered hand to squeeze
the bridge of his crooked nose, broken by Aberforth's hand and
never healed straight again. Albus thought it was funny after the
fact. Even my nose isn't straight, he'd said, grinning, and Ariana had
giggled while Aberforth rolled his eyes. The memory is faint.
Distant. A mere wisp now.
Lately, Albus has been far too pleased with himself, if you ask
Aberforth. Sweeping around his less-than-humble abode with that
ever-present twinkle in his eyes. Delighted because Aberforth
arrived with the last remainders of his district. Not deterred by any
harsh word or sharp accusation Aberforth has thrown at him. He
tells Aberforth everything, every choice he has made, every detail of
this brewing war—and he tells him just to have the excuse to spend
time with him, to talk to him again. He has aged, but his eyes are the
same, and the light of relief and joy and love in them has not
changed. That is how he looks at Aberforth, nearly always.
Aberforth does not like it, obviously. He and Albus have over five
decades worth of strife between them, not long-lost or forgotten.
Aberforth is not the boy he once was; he is now a man who survived
without his brother and no longer needs him. Being near him—well,
it chafes his soul.
So, seeing Albus like this, a man in the midst of watching all his
plans burn down around him... Needless to say, it's satisfying.
344
The Breakdown
"You are—irritating," Albus mutters, finally, yet again sighing as he

swivels to brace both hands on his desk and peer at Aberforth over
his glasses. "Explain to me in what world any of this could ever be
labeled as ironic."
"Well, it's just history repeating itself," Aberforth points out, amused.
"Except it's happening to you this time. Is this not what you did,
Albus? Did you not go against all order, all rule, to act as you saw fit
in a form of defiance? Was it not you who called for war in the first
place?"
Albus doesn't look pleased anymore. "What Ms. Meadowes has just
done is not even remotely similar to what I have done. I built this
resistance from the ground up, Aberforth, and I have guided our
position in this war into the path of a sure victory. She has just
ruined all of that."
"Perhaps if you had not brought down war upon us all, this would
not be happening," Aberforth suggests lightly, mockingly. "Perhaps if
you had considered the impact of the lives you planned to shape into
martyrs, you would have realized that this could happen, and would
be no one's fault but your own. You put those people in the arena
this year, Albus, didn't you tell me that? All the ready opposition to
Riddle, and you couldn't foresee this? Opposition to you?"
"What are you implying?" Albus asks softly.
Aberforth holds his gaze. "Oh, it's not an implication. I am more than
happy to state it. Considering recent moves you've chosen to make,
there hardly seems to be much difference between you and Riddle at
all."
"You speak foolishness led by personal resentment—"
"I don't. Ask yourself, Albus. Ask yourself and answer honestly what
Grindelwald would—"
"Do not," Albus cuts in sharply, standing to full height, every part of
him going tense. Aberforth does not back down. He will not. Albus
shakes his head. "Do not speak of Gellert."
345
"He would be proud of you," Aberforth says coldly.
Albus' beard twitches, and Aberforth can hear his throat click on a
harsh swallow. There's a beat, another, and then Albus' expression
wipes clean, turns mild, impenetrable. "That, I'm afraid, is
impossible to prove. Because he is dead. Because I killed him. Have
you so easily forgotten that?"
"No," Aberforth admits, "but I won't so easily forget that you loved
him once, either."
"That—" Albus opens his mouth, closes it, then shuts his eyes and
releases yet another weary sigh.
Aberforth freezes, staring at him in disbelief. "Still, Albus? Even

after—even all these years later, you still—"
"That," Albus repeats forcefully, eyes snapping open, "has absolutely

nothing to do with any of this."
"Oh, it's becoming ever so clearer that it does," Aberforth counters

with a scoff. "Your love for a dead man—"
"For our sister, if you recall," Albus corrects. "It is for—"
"Do not put this on her!" Aberforth bellows, slamming a hand down
to the desk and jolting to his feet as he points his finger in Albus'
face. "You don't get to do that, you don't get to lay your mistakes at
the mantle of Ariana, you don't get to beg for forgiveness through
revenge. She would never want this. She would be disappointed in
you for what you've done."
Albus leans back, regarding him in thick silence. Neither of them

speak for a long moment, and then Albus steps back and shakes his
head. "This is a pointless discussion. You can't even grasp the shift in
the state of the world that took place tonight. You cling to the past,
Aberforth, but I do not have that luxury when our present impacts
the future of the whole world."
346
The Breakdown
"I thought you would have been pleased," Aberforth says derisively.
"It's war now, yes? Isn't that exactly what you wanted, Albus? Don't
tell me you're not prepared."
"All of the advantages carefully built have been torn to pieces."
"In what way? So, the games are off. That will surely bring about
positive change, if nothing else."
"Possibly," Albus allows, "but at what cost? So few think of the cost.
That is my burden, weighing the costs and bearing the weight of
those costs."
"What cost?" Aberforth hisses. "How is saving lives a cost?"
"If you believe I'm so incapable of compassion that I am not relieved

lives have been saved, you are as foolish now as you were in your
youth," Albus murmurs, staring at him with his eyebrows furrowed.
"Do you truly think so little of me?"
Aberforth clenches his jaw. "I think nothing of you, Albus. I haven't
for many, many years, and I won't start now."
"Ah, of course." Albus gives a faint, flickering smile as his gaze slides
to the side, pained. He's silent for a few beats, then slowly resumes
pacing. "I've gotten in contact with a secret informant within the
Hallow, who informed me that Riddle has captured both Sirius Black
and James Potter."
"Captured..." Despite himself, Aberforth feels his heart give a small

pang when thinking of Euphemia and Fleamont. That boy as well,
Regulus Black. None of them are going to take the news well. "Are
they to be killed, then?"
"No," Albus says, gaze trained on the portrait of their sister hanging
on the wall, Ariana in her songbird blue dress to match her eyes,
delicate white ribbon in her hair. The picture of innocence. "They're
far more useful alive than dead, if not for information then for how
they can be weaponized."
347
"Weaponized? Will they be altered?" "Elaborate."
Aberforth arches an eyebrow at him. "You are forgetting the nature

of people again, Albus. Do you know where they come from, what
family they were born into, who they were raised by and who they
are? You do not, and you don't consider such things any longer.
People are just bodies to you now, so they can more easily be
disposed of. But I do know. Sirius is a Black, and not just any Black,
but one brought up under the Potters' guidance. Defiance is in his
very blood, nature and nurture. And James? He is a good boy, to his
core. Loyal with a very strong moral compass. Not just optimistic,
but earnest and eager to put effort into the things that matter."
Albus regards him thoughtfully, inclining his head in a gesture to

continue, showing that he is listening.
Well, there's a first for everything.
"The very nature of themselves will need to be altered for them to be

weaponized," Aberforth explains. "Whatever you may think, they
will not simply play into Riddle's hands. That is not who they are.
So, I ask you, can they be altered?"
Albus considers that for a moment, then hums. "That is not

technology or weaponry Riddle possesses. He has nothing, as far as I
know, that could erase who they are."
"He cannot alter their thoughts?" "No."
"He cannot alter their memories?"
"No."
"He cannot alter their feelings?"
"No."
Aberforth spreads his hands. "And so, in short, he cannot alter them,
and as such, he cannot control them."
348
The Breakdown
"There is something you do not think about, Aberforth, and I don't

fault you for it. You have not had the power of love and loyalty
leveraged against you," Albus murmurs. "You have never wielded
that power yourself. You do not know it from each side as I do.
Control is—hm." He pauses, swiveling on spot and pacing in the
other direction. "You do not have to change the nature of someone to
control them. All you have to do is find the source of what's
important in their thoughts, memories, and feelings, and then exert
power over that. What you do know, or should, is how far people
will go for those that they are loyal to, and for those that they love."
Yes, Aberforth does know that. He knows that better than most, by
example and not by experience. He is watching the twisted result of
that pace in front of him, gazing upon his older brother, gazing upon
a stranger.
"The very nature of those boys cannot be changed," Albus continues,

"but it can be manipulated."
"Pain manipulates us all, and yet we find ways daily to overcome it,"
Aberforth counters. He is not a very optimistic man himself, as
Albus once was in his youth, and so it feels strange to be the one
arguing on the side of hope now.
"It's not through their own pain that they will be manipulated,
Aberforth," Albus says softly, "but through each other's."
At that, Aberforth fails to form a rebuttal, because he does know the

detriment of loyalty and love. In all his years, Aberforth has never
seen a loyalty and love exist as the loyalty and love between those
two boys do. He has seen an uncomfortable amount of Albus in
Sirius, and himself as well as Ariana in Regulus Black, but the bond
between Sirius and James is something entirely other. He has never
before seen anything that could compare to it.
What James and Sirius have doesn't exist in history and may never
exist again—not just once in a lifetime, but once in any lifetime. This
is not history repeating itself, and therefore it is unprecedented. They
can't avoid mistakes or prepare for what may come through the lens
of the past, not with them.
349
Loyalty and love is dangerous, not just because it can be twisted and
turn violent, but also because it can be leveraged. Aberforth has no
doubts in his mind that James and Sirius could undergo any form of
torture and come out the other side entirely themselves, but he does
doubt that they wouldn't toss aside everything that they are, and all
that they stand for, if it could mean sparing one another any bit of
pain.
Suddenly, none of this is funny to Aberforth anymore.
"James and Sirius are not where the issues end," Albus informs him.
"Tonight, the anonymity of the Order was dissolved. Two groups,
one with enough power and artillery to break into the arena and
escape, and the other that escaped from the Hallow itself. Riddle has
now learned that there is an organization against him with weapons
and at least one heli-carrier, as well as the fact that there is a breach
within the Hallow that the organization uses. That is the very least of
what he has learned without any further follow up."
"And with further follow up?"
"He will learn the identities of everyone involved, because he will

surely gather the footage from the arena to study it for any details he
can. Depending on how the mission went, some of those who broke
into the arena will now be on his radar, if not all of them. I don't
know yet what was revealed."
"Will you find out? Surely Riddle will not release the footage of what
took place," Aberforth murmurs.
"He will not," Albus replies mildly. "However, I have a very

competent technological genius here by the name of Filius who is
working to gain access to the footage as we speak."
Aberforth stares at him. "Albus, tell me you do not intend to release

the footage and endanger those children?"
"They are not children," Albus says. "No more than we were. No
more than we ever got to be.
350
The Breakdown
Them or any of us. They are adults, and they made their choices. I
have little choice otherwise, because this is what I'm left with."
"No, you have a choice. You can choose not—"
"Yes, I could choose to put the few above the greater good and watch
the world fall to further ruin because of that choice. Or I can release
that footage and lean into the war they chose to start too early. We all
have choices, and they made theirs. All choices come with
consequences."
"You wish to punish them?" Aberforth hisses.
Albus looks weary. "You truly do think so little of me. No, I have no
desire to punish them. Releasing the footage isn't to teach them a
lesson. The state of the Hallow itself is already in shambles, which is
what this war needs. To allow Riddle to put a patch over it and cover
up what took place will take us further away from the growing
rebellion across the world."
"I think you always find some way to justify your worst actions.
What is this greater good you speak of? Who's greater good, Albus?
Yours?"
"This is not a debate. I will review the footage and have Filius release
it, because secrecy has been stripped from us. The war is here and
hiding is no longer an option. People need to know our presence.
People need to know we are here."
"Open recruitment, is it?" Aberforth scoffs.
"To those who wish to step up, yes, and refuge to those who need it.
You paint me as an unreasonable man, but I'm not."
"So you say."
"So I do," Albus agrees, lips twitching slightly. Just as quickly, the
brief amusement in his eyes fade. "A lack of secrecy lends itself to
disadvantages in more ways than you can imagine. Riddle will find
351
how we entered and exited the Hallow soon enough, and he will
either have it monitored, or destroy it. That access is lost to us now."
"Will he know about the stations?"
"No. He won't be able to detect the station below." "Alright, so take

the districts," Aberforth states firmly. "Take the districts," Albus
repeats.
Aberforth grunts. "S'what I just said. No more secrecy, as I

understand it, so come up from under the ground and spread out.
Take each district, clear out all the Aurors, and cut off the Hallow. Do
you even know how reliant the Hallow is on the districts, Albus? As
a mayor, I do. We build for them. We run the transportation. We
provide food and materials. Even close to the Hallow, the districts
make the Hallow flourish. District two is the source of the Hallow's
manpower, the Aurors, and all weaponry. District one is the source
of all medical and—"
"Technological advancements," Albus finishes, his eyes brightening.

"Yes, that I do know. Filius is from one."
"So," Aberforth repeats, "take the districts."
Albus laughs. It's soft, a bit croaky from age, but it's as warm as it
was when they were children. Albus always laughed when
Aberforth or Ariana did, even when he was trying to be stern,
unable to help but join in with them. He loved to laugh then and
sounds as if he barely remembers how to now.
"Perhaps you think too much of me," Albus declares finally, and
again, his lips twitch, but this time with fondness, as if the thought
warms him. "I am but a man, Aberforth."
"You have the power," Aberforth insists. "I've seen this place. I've
looked. You can take the districts."
Albus sighs and shakes his head. "I can't. What you fail to realize is
that Riddle has a power that, as of now, I have no idea how to beat.
A power I can't beat, as far as I know. I lack what those in this genre
like to call a deus ex machina."
352
The Breakdown
"Something to solve an unsolvable problem."
"Ah, I never knew you would grow into a cultured man. Abby, have
you been picking up books over the years?"
"One, don't call me that," Aberforth says gruffly. "Two, fuck off.
Three, I found books appealing when you weren't around to gaze at
them with such reverence that it seemed like you wanted to stick
your prick between the pages and—"
"Now, there's no need for such filth," Albus cuts in, scolding almost,
though Aberforth is not exaggerating in the least. There is nothing
Albus looked at so hungrily, so wistfully, as he did a book.
Knowledge—he's always had a taste for it. No surprise there, really.
After all, knowledge is power.
Aberforth has always enjoyed getting a rise out of his puritan

brother, but to fall back into very, very old habits now feels too much
like—kinship. Yearning. Nostalgia. He looks away with a scowl.
"What is the unsolvable problem, Albus?"
"You already know," Albus murmurs. "You've been exposed to it

before, if you recall."
"I—" Aberforth stops. His paper-thin skin breaks out into a wave of
goosebumps, and he looks at Albus again, tense in his chair. "The
fog. Biological warfare, you said. That's—"
"Unbeatable," Albus confirms. "I cannot take the districts. To even try
would be to... Well, Riddle would unleash that in the name of war,
and whether you think so little of me or simply too much, I would
not send so many people—my people, the people of the districts, or
any people—to inescapable death."
"So, what are your options?" Aberforth croaks.
Albus hums and resumes his pacing, glancing at Ariana's portrait as

he softly says, "Yes, that is the question, isn't it?"
~•~
353
Regulus has never given much thought to shock. Like, legitimate
medical shock, or something close to it. A complete override of one's
nervous system. A scrambled brain. A certain detachment from the
body, floating like a ghost from beyond.
In a state of shock, time passes strangely, he thinks. Things occur, but

from a distance. Everything is muffled, like it's all coming from
underwater. Naturally, he hates the feeling.
There's nothing to be done about it. He sort of drifts in and out.

There for a bit, crying, and then empty and numb as the world
moves around him in a blur. Someone does something to his arm.
He's treated to water and a muffin. Maybe it's supposed to wake him
up a bit, but it doesn't work.
People come and they go. There's chaos at the end of the hall,
invisible from this focal point, unreachable to him in this little bubble
of nothing he's found himself in.
Effie and Monty stay with him.
And then Narcissa. The sharp, cutting edge of her voice from
somewhere beyond. "He what?" "Cissy," Andromeda protests.
Regulus looks up to find Narcissa heading right for him like an angel
of death ready to give the final blow and break the news that his
time has come. He doesn't move. He should, probably, and his brain
is screeching at him. Remember, please remember, you deserve to
live, too. Now is the time to fight. Get up. Get up!
Regulus doesn't get up.
Effie does, though. She springs out of her chair so fast that it's almost
like the movement shifts the very temperature of the space around
them. The tension is cold, harsh enough to burn, and Effie steps in
front of him with a jerky movement, placing her body between
Narcissa and his own.
"Don't," Effie warns, her voice sharp. "Move," Narcissa hisses.
354
The Breakdown
"Narcissa, if you make a move for this boy, I will put you down. You
know I can. Don't make me," Effie says.
There's a heavy beat of silence. Regulus swallows and stares down at

his fingers. They're shaking. Monty is rubbing his back ever so
gently, but he's visibly tense, too. Finally, Regulus hears Narcissa
gives a harsh exhale, one of acceptance, because Effie was her
mentor, too. She knows how good Effie is, and she owes Effie her
life, in a way.
"Regulus," Narcissa says, voice clipped. Regulus raises his head and
peers over Effie's shoulder to find Narcissa's cold eyes—not delicate,
not at all—pinned right on him. "You killed her. You killed my sister."
"Yes," Regulus replies quietly, holding her gaze. "She tried to kill my
brother first. I told her not to. I said—"
"I don't care," Narcissa cuts in, and he shuts up. "I don't care what
she nearly did, and I don't care what you said. You're dead to me, do
you understand?"
"Yeah," Regulus murmurs, turning his head and staring across the
hall without seeing anything. "I understand."
He does understand. He gets it, and he doesn't blame her. He thinks

maybe that's—good. It feels good; it's the only thing he can feel. The
relief of blame. He thinks over and over, don't let me get away with
it, don't let me forget what it means, don't let me live easy; I deserve
to live, but not a life of ease.
"Come on, Cissy," Andromeda mutters, and then she's there,

carefully guiding her away. "I know, okay? I know, but he—"
"He killed her—"
"He never meant—"
"Our sister—"
355
As they get farther away, their blooming argument goes fuzzy and
drops into distant hissing that Regulus closes his eyes and drowns
out. He doesn't care either. He hopes Andromeda doesn't calm
Narcissa down. He hopes Narcissa treats him with scorn, because
she should. He hopes Narcissa hates him for what he did, because he
doesn't want to do it alone.
Effie moves to stand beside him, hand on his shoulder. Monty is still
rubbing his back. It's the closest to James he can get until James gets
here, and maybe it's better than Regulus deserves. Did he move fast
enough when Mary dropped down to get him? If he hadn't hesitated,
would they have gotten to Sirius sooner? He wasn't fast enough, was
he? What he was scared of, and then—and then—
Regulus breathes, and he drifts out for a while again. Drifts and
drifts and drifts. People come and they go. Time passes. Regulus
closes his eyes and waits for James.
Every now and again, his mind forgets that Sirius is gone, and he has
to remember on repeat, and then the shock wades back in. He
careens between acceptance of it like a fact and sheer denial like it
could never, ever be true.
There's a lot of activity around them, and Regulus has cried, but he
isn't doing that anymore. When does a defense mechanism become
an unhealthy coping mechanism? When it's no longer a choice,
Regulus thinks. He hadn't planned to shut down and retreat into
himself; he'd thought, or hoped, that he would never have to do that
again.
He doesn't decide to, now. It just sort of—happens.
Perhaps it's only fitting that what draws him out is Remus. He comes
into Regulus' line of sight, almost fluttering on the sidelines, swollen
eyes and a scarred face. The shock of seeing him hits Regulus square
in the chest.
"Regulus," Remus says. There is a defeated air to him, a strain in his

expression. Lily hovers beside him, close, her hand on his arm like
she wishes to run away with him.
356
The Breakdown
Regulus feels his heart sink just looking at him, because he does not
look well. He looks worse than Regulus has ever seen him. Sirius
would be so—he'd fret over him, concerned, and this is what spurs
Regulus to his feet. He tugs his hands away from Effie and eases
away from Monty, standing up.
"Regulus," Remus repeats, and his voice cracks.
"You—you know?" Regulus rasps. Remus nods, his eyes dull, and of
course he knows. Regulus can't miss it, that look on his face and in
his eyes. "I'm sorry."
"I'm—" Remus' voice catches, his chest stuttering on a harsh breath

in and out, like he's struggling with it, like it hurts to do it. Regulus
knows what that feels like.
There's a moment of a thread between them under great strain,

threatening to snap, and everything feels so fragile in a way Regulus
doesn't know how to handle. He doesn't—he has no idea how to be
careful with anything anymore. He has no idea where to even start,
and being comforting, taking care of people—that's something
Remus is far more adept at.
The thing is, Regulus has always wanted to, though. Always wanted
to take care of Sirius as Sirius took care of him. Always wanted to
comfort James as James comforted him. Always wanted to be the
person who could do such things, as those he is surrounded by are.
He doesn't know what to do or how to do it, and he thinks he's in
shock, but if he does not try now for Remus—for Sirius—then what
was the point of it all? There has to be a point. There needs to be a
point.
So, Regulus steps closer, opening and closing his mouth, trying to
find words and knowing absolutely none. Lily tenses at his
proximity, fingers clamping down on Remus tighter, more
possessively, more protective overall.
357
Remus pulls away from her, jerky and abrupt, and Regulus is nearly
fucking hyperventilating when Remus reaches for him. Touch. Of
course. There's so much that can be translated through touch, so
much comfort to be shared in contact, and it's always Regulus' last
instinct. He never thinks of it. There is something else in touch, a
deeper perception, closer to what feelings lay beneath the skin and
form symptoms in the body.
Remus can likely feel him shaking. Regulus doesn't like it, that he
can feel that, but he's not alone in it. Remus is rattling like he's about
to fall apart. That's what Regulus appreciates about Remus, above
all. He makes Regulus feel less alone; the first person to stay with
him while he faced his fears, and the first person now who he
willingly holds onto in the aftermath of his loss. Their loss. They've
both lost, haven't they?
It's strange the way they don't fit well together, like two misshapen
puzzle pieces trying to form a picture neither of them can see. They
do it anyway, an embrace, a tight one where it's all wrong and
they're both trembling and there's no comfort to be found here, just

fear, just pain.
Regulus feels large hands drape over his shoulders, squeezing, and
then he's being pushed back. There's an awkward moment of
fumbling, because Regulus doesn't know how to do this with Remus,
the whole touching thing. It's not really...their thing, he doesn't think.
They are at their best together when they are showing their worst to
one another and basking in the relief of being next to someone they
know won't really care, or have an opinion on it, or judge them. They
have no wish to change each other for the better, only help where
they can and accept when they can't. It's relieving, really.
The awkwardness fades when Regulus meets Remus' eyes, and

there's a wild gleam there, something that puts a tight knot in
Regulus' stomach. "I have to—there's something—"
358
The Breakdown
"No," whispers Regulus, who immediately feels dread slide in a

spiral up his spine like a snake. He shakes his head. "No, it's
not—that's not—don't you fucking dare."
"Regulus," Remus murmurs.
"Where is he?" Regulus asks, because he should be here. If Remus is

here, he should be here. James should be here.
Remus swallows, his fingers clamping tight over the bend of

Regulus' shoulders. "He didn't—not everyone made it out—"
And that's it. Regulus knocks Remus' hands off his shoulders and
shoves Remus so hard in the chest that he stumbles back a few steps.
Lily surges forward automatically, and Regulus is happy to meet her,
and that does not go over well with anyone in the immediate
vicinity.
Effie and Monty are calling for everyone to stop, Narcissa and
Andromeda are trying to pull Regulus away from Lily, and Remus is
trying to pull Lily away from Regulus. It's not really working well
for anyone. Lily comes for Regulus like it's fucking personal, all
pent-up aggression and flashing jealousy in her bright eyes, and
Regulus could not care less about the very breath in her lungs or
anything else, really.
Regulus lashes out like he's still in the arena, the first or the second
or some sick amalgamation of both, and if he had his dagger, she
would be dead. As he does not, she is not, and also she slaps the shit
out of him so hard that his ears ring. He slams her back into the wall,
the both of them tripping
over their feet with hisses and grunts, the background sounds of
people yelling and protesting fading to a dull buzz.
It's good, somehow, because Regulus can focus on Lily instead of

James, and Lily can focus on Regulus instead of—whatever she
doesn't want to focus on, he supposes.
359
He knows, distantly, that this is an exchange for them both that has
very little to do with each other at all. Regulus has no ill will towards
Lily. If he's honest, she's the first person he actually wants to grab the
hand of and kiss in a Hallow gesture of admiration, and neither of
them are even Hallows. But she's his savior. She saved him. She's
saving him now, giving him a target to lock onto and giving him
pain that isn't wrapped up in the agony of James' absence.
"That's enough!"
Dorcas' shout is sharp and loud enough to pierce through the violent
fog in Regulus' brain, and possibly Lily's, and she's suddenly there to
push in between them and shove them apart. She casts an imposing
figure, and when she orders them to stop, they do. Because she
orders it.
"There will be no in-fighting," Dorcas declares, her voice carrying,

not raised but assertive enough that everyone looks to her and
listens. "To place blame and turn on one another will help no one and
does not honor those we lost tonight."
"Dorcas," Effie says, her eyes wide. "Dorcas, where is my—"
"Tonight, we—" Dorcas closes her eyes for a moment, then exhales
and opens her eyes. "Tonight, there was a mission conducted in two
separate parts, one to save those from the arena that we could.
Unfortunately, we were not able to save everyone, and Sirius was
captured by the Hallows. As of now, I don't know if he's alive or
dead, or what happened to him."
Regulus slumps back against the wall, his eyes fluttering shut, a
lump forming in his throat. This announcement gets mixed reactions
from everyone. Remus makes a small sound. Effie and Monty seem
equally hurt. Andromeda—ever stoic and unflinching
Andromeda—has to swipe tears from her eyes.
But no one interrupts Dorcas.
They all listen.
360
The Breakdown
"The other part was within the Hallow," Dorcas continues, taking in a
deep breath and setting her shoulders. "An escape took place, but
again, not everyone managed to make it out. Narcissa, your
husband, Lucius, died tonight."
"Oh," Narcissa says softly, blinking rapidly. That's all she says.
Regulus looks at her, his stomach churning. She looks rather startled,
her eyebrows furrowed, and there's a distance in her eyes that he
relates to. She's in shock, too. She lost one sister, gained the other,
and became a widow all in one night, and none of these things were
gently delivered to her.
None of this is gentle for anyone.
"Alice..." Dorcas swivels her head, looking for them, and they sit
forward from where they're next to Emmeline. They look afraid
already, knowing that to be singled out, there is very bad news
waiting for them. "Alice, I'm sorry, but Frank was with us tonight.
He—he also didn't make it."
"He—he was captured?" Alice chokes out, sounding almost

desperate. "They captured him?" Dorcas looks pained. "No, Alice."
"So, so what—so, if he wasn't—so what happened then? If he's not

here and he wasn't captured, then—then—"
"He's dead."
Brutal. Utterly brutal. There is no way to properly deliver such news,

and apologies will not make it hurt less, so Dorcas just speaks
honestly, softly, her back straight and her throat bobbing harshly.
Regulus doesn't understand what's going on. He doesn't understand
why she's—why this is on her, or who she is right now. This is not
his stylist. This is someone who knows all of this, inside and out.
This is someone in charge, and that doesn't make sense to him.
What's happening?
Alice collapses back into their chair, sagging into Emmeline,

someone Regulus knows through Sirius that also adored Frank as yet
another friend of his. Alice almost immediately breaks down, but
361
Emmeline's face goes blank, her movements slow like moving
through water when she wraps her arms around Alice. The sound of
their muffled sobs echoes in the silence.
"Regulus, Effie, Monty," Dorcas presses on, and immediately it's

impossible to breathe. Regulus feels his heart pulse painfully in his
chest, and he grabs onto whatever is closest to him, bracing himself,
bracing for it. Lily's arm is warm under his hand, and as if they were
not just trying to claw each other's eyes out only moments before,
she lifts a shaky hand and covers his fingers, holding him there. It's
an absent gesture; her gaze is locked onto Dorcas. "James—"
"No," Effie chokes out instantly. "No, please, not my son. Not my
boys. Dorcas—"
"James didn't make it," Dorcas continues, her jaw clenched, whole
body tense like an unbearable pressure is working to crush her.
Atlas, holding the whole world on a pair of aching shoulders. "We
don't know if he died, or if he was captured. I'm sorry, but I don't
have any more information than that."
Regulus' knees buckle, and though he doesn't know this, it's not the
first time Lily catches someone in the last hour while learning
they've lost the man they love.
Regulus can't do it. He can't do it. He's going to throw up—oh, fuck,
he's going to heave everything out of him until he's empty, then feel
the skin slide right off his bones, leaving him nothing but brittle
marrow nicked by the claws of corpses he wishes he could join. Not
this. Not this, not this, not this. Please, please, please not this.
Regulus is gagging, hand against his chest, feeling something invade

him, under his skin, in his veins, in the pit of him. Swelling.
Expanding. Ripping from the inside, ready to explode out. He'll be a
smear. His scars won't be knitted together anymore, and he can't do
this. He can't do it. Rewind life on a reel and take him to the day he
turned fifteen; that liminal in between where he and James loved
each other at the same time, and actually got to be happy with that.
That's where he wants to be. Not here. Not now. Not this.
362
The Breakdown
"Regulus, I'm sorry," Remus is saying, surging forward to try and

hold him up, to hold him. Oh, they've lost. They've lost together, and
they're lost together, looking for something to hold onto, and it's all
gone. All they've ever clung to, ripped away from them. "I'm so
sorry. I tried—I'm sorry. Lily, let him go. He doesn't—he doesn't like
to be touched. Lily, just—"
"Fuck," Lily hisses, and Regulus digs his hands into her, shuddering
and begging in every way except words for her to not let him go,
because he can't figure out how to hold himself together now, and
she saved him—tried so, so hard to save Sirius, too, even if she
failed—and he whimpers with wanting her to save him again. Save
him. Oh, please save him.
"Regulus, Regulus, shh," Pandora whines, hands on his face,

standing before him with tears in her eyes and devastation curling
her shoulders. She said his name. She called his name, and here they
are. He wishes she never spoke. He wants her to keep talking, so he
can hear her sweet croon, anything other than the possibility, the
chance, the reality that—that—
Regulus could kill them all, if he could breathe, if he could stop

shaking, if the seams of himself weren't unraveling. They crowd him,
and each other, pressing in from all sides, and it's good. Touch him.
Hold him together. Feel where every inch of him translates pain. It
hurts, it hurts, it hurts.
It was supposed to be me and you, but Sirius is gone. Come back to

me, baby, Regulus thinks, but James is gone. And he's—oh, he can't.
He will, he has to, he's going to burn it all down, if he can pick
himself up off the floor.
There's someone behind him. Barty. The touch of him. Face pressed
into the back of Regulus' hair, hand pushing into the curve of his
spine. Doesn't let him fall. Won't let him fall.
Somewhere, somewhere, Effie and Monty aren't strong enough at the

same time. A mother's tears; an angel weeping while the world ends.
363
A father's tears; a natural disaster on a pipeline that carries them all
along with it. They wash, and wash, and wash away. It's just rain.
When it rains, it pours. Regulus hates the rain. He hates the world
and everyone in it. He'll blow it up. Set it on fire. Destroy every
faction of every city more thoroughly than they destroyed Troy.
There will be no rebuilding in the aftermath of what he will do.
"Breathe, breathe, breathe," someone is chanting, and Regulus tries

and doesn't want to try and wants to stop and can't stop and has to
try and can't and can't and can't can't can't—
"ENOUGH!" Dorcas bellows, and immediately the entire hall falls

silent. All tears come to a halt. Everyone is so startled by the way her
voice carries, shocked out of their own shock, and they stare at her
with wide eyes.
No one even seems to breathe. Regulus isn't breathing.
Dorcas exhales slowly and stands taller. "If—if they survived tonight,
Riddle won't kill them. He's too smart for that. So, at the moment,
there's a chance they're alive. We have a meeting with Dumbledore,
and he will likely know one way or another if they're alive. We're all
going to walk there in a calm and orderly fashion. Go. Move, now."
That's the thing that gets air back into Regulus' lungs. Hope.
It feels like climbing to stand on his own two feet, and pull himself
together, but he proved he could climb, didn't he? One of the hardest
things he's ever had to do, and he still did it, and he does it again.
He'll never really understand how, but he does. And he exhales. And
he watches Remus and Lily look at each other, then look away all at
once, and he watches as Effie and Monty move forward to stand
with him. And they go.
They all depart as a group, the ones Dorcas selects. Regulus walks in
between Effie and Monty, and Remus walks ahead with Lily, but he
keeps turning back to glance at him. Pandora and Dorcas take the
lead, and Pandora is holding Dorcas' hand.
364
The Breakdown
Along the way, they pick up two others. Sybill—one of the ones from
the heli-carrier, who surges forward to join them the moment a
different man Regulus doesn't recognize swings to walk with them,
his jaw clenched. They end up in a meeting room of some sort with a
longtable and two men sitting at the far end. Regulus recognizes
one—Mayor Aberforth—and finds that a different man he doesn't
recognize at all is at the head of the table, resembling Mayor
Aberforth a great deal, though his beard is less scraggly and his hair
is more white, not the dark grey shade of Aberforth's. Dumbledore,
Dorcas said. There's two of them? Brothers?
Regulus doesn't immediately get his answer, because things go awry

the moment they walk inside.
"You lied," Lily says, her voice hoarse. She is staring at the man
Regulus doesn't know at the head of the table. "You told me he was
dead. You lied."
"Ms. Evans—"
It's fast. Scarily so, in fact. Clearly no one sees it coming, because
there's nothing anyone can do to stop it. With no warning, Lily's
hand darts out to yank the gun out of the holster of the man farthest
from Sybill, and she has it trained right on the man at the head of the
table before anyone can even
draw a breath. Before anything can happen, the man she stole the
gun from swivels swiftly and puts himself right in front of it,
stepping forward so the barrel presses to his head.
"Lily," he says, his voice smooth and calm.
"Move, Kingsley. Now," Lily replies coldly, giving absolutely no

indication that she won't shoot him if necessary.
"Lily," Sybill chokes out, and it escapes her as a whimper, her

breathing thin and short. "Please don't. Please—"
365
"Lily," and that's Remus now, sounding uncertain and speaking with
familiarity all at once. "What are you doing?"
"He lied to me," Lily states. Regulus doesn't know who she's talking
to. She's looking at Kingsley. "He said—he told me—"
"I know."
"He told us, King—"
"I know," Kingsley repeats.
Lily inhales sharply and whispers, "Did you know?"
"No," is the immediate, steady answer.
"Six years," Lily announces. Her voice cracks. Her whole body is
shaking, but the hand around the gun doesn't even tremble. She isn't
crying. "I thought he was dead for six years."
"I know," Kingsley says softly, yet again.
"So, move," Lily grits out.
Kingsley doesn't. "I can't do that, because you'll shoot him."
"I'll shoot you."
"You won't."
Lily's lips twist. "Won't I?"
"Step aside," says the man, the other Dumbledore. "Mr. Shacklebolt,
step aside, dear boy."
"I can't do that, sir," Kingsley says stiffly. "She will actually shoot you,
and she will not miss."
366
The Breakdown
"Kingsley, move aside," Dumbledore murmurs with an entirely new

inflection in his tone. An order masked in geniality. "Go on, do not
shield me with yourself. I don't ask that of you."
Everyone seems to hold their breath. Kingsley doesn't move. What

he does instead is reach up and wrap his hand around Lily's on the
gun. "Listen to me, Red, you are not at a place you can't come back
from, but this? Don't go there. I'm not going to let you go there,
because I care. You'll have to kill me, and you won't, because you
care, too."
"I don't," Lily croaks. "I really fucking don't. I don't care about
anything, Kingsley, not one damn thing."
"Okay, Lily. Okay," Kingsley murmurs, gentle almost, and he eases

her hand down, taking the gun, and she lets him.
Lily makes a quiet noise that seems locked between defeat and
frustration, and she pushes past Kingsley to glare at Dumbledore.
"Why? Can you at least tell me why?"
"I did not lie to you intentionally, Ms. Evans," Dumbledore tells her
quietly. "I simply assumed that Mr. Lupin was dead, and I felt that
not providing you with that closure would—"
"Bullshit!" Lily snarls, slamming her hand down to the table, making
it shake. "That's bullshit. How stupid do you think I am? You know I
had no fucking closure, and you—you could have found out. You
could have checked, but you didn't. You just assumed the answer
you wanted it to be, because that was more convenient for you."
Dumbledore is silent for a long moment, and then he looks at Mayor

Aberforth. They stare at each other, and Regulus can see something
heavy there between them. Yes, they're definitely brothers. Regulus
can feel it in his bones.
"Yes," Dumbledore admits, finally, and multiple people in the room

inhale sharply. He's only looking at his brother, and Mayor Aberforth
367
doesn't look surprised at all. He shakes his head and looks away, and
Dumbledore sighs, sounding old and weary. "Yes, Ms. Evans, I
provided you with the answer that was most convenient. You're
correct, I could have checked, and I chose not to. He was either dead,
or as good as. If he wasn't dead, then he was a servant, which...I
presume...?"
He's looking at Remus now, and so does Lily. Everyone does, and
Remus swallows. "Yeah. I'm—I —yeah."
"As such, there was nothing I or anyone or you could do for his fate
either way," Dumbledore explains, focusing on Lily once again. "Do
you understand, Ms. Evans? I couldn't follow up on Mr. Lupin,
because if he wasn't dead, you would never have stayed. You said as
much. For your own safety—and yes, for the benefit of this war—I
told you what you needed to hear."
"You bastard," Dorcas whispers, her voice shaking with so much

audible anger that it's palpable. "What of my family?" Lily chokes
out, sounding desperate now. "You said—you told me they
killed—"
"As far as I know, they're all dead," Dumbledore informs her, and she
takes that like he struck her. Regulus finds this to be unspeakably
cruel, watching someone be strung along, given hope, and then have
it all snatched away again. "There were orders given for your family
to be killed as punishment for your crimes, as is Riddle's way. That
only further fueled my belief that Mr. Lupin was killed as well. I
could be wrong, and I hope—like with Mr. Lupin—that I am."
"You could be wrong?" Lily croaks.
"Yes," Dumbledore says softly. "I didn't check for them either."
"When this is all over," Lily whispers, "you better hope that someone
kills you before I get my hands on you."
"I'll bear that in mind," Dumbledore murmurs. "I do want you to

know, Ms. Evans, whether you wish to believe it or not, my
intentions were not malicious."
368
The Breakdown
"No, they never are, are they, Albus?" Aberforth scoffs under his
breath, scowling off to the side, top lip curled in a snarl.
Dumbledore—Albus, apparently—does not acknowledge his

brother. He gestures to the chairs. "Everyone, I ask that you take a
seat. There is much to discuss."
"Fuck you," Dorcas spits out. "Why should we listen to a word you
have to say? After everything you've done—"
"I am not the only person present who has done things, especially
with tonight in mind," Dumbledore cuts in calmly, flicking his gaze
to meet hers. "There's a lot to cover, Ms. Meadowes, including the
status of Sirius Black and James Potter, as they were left behind in
the Hallow."
Regulus' ears ring, just from the name. Sirius, he knew. James is still
new, and Regulus hasn't processed it yet. Can't quite manage to.
Regulus can't hear anything past the name that chants in his head
like a mantra, like a prayer. James.
James.
James.
James, baby, please be alive. Please, please, please. Because Regulus

can do something with that. Regulus can do a lot of things with that,
he thinks. If Sirius and James are alive, Regulus will get them back,
somehow. Whatever it takes.
And then Albus' voice breaks through to announce, very clearly,

"James and Sirius are alive."
And that.
Well, that inevitably saves the world.
369
It is here, in this room, that Regulus learns they are alive, and so it is
here, in this room, that Regulus learns he can keep going, because
they need him to.
But it's not the only thing he learns, here, in this room.
It is here, in this room, that Regulus learns what became of his home.
Biological warfare and more death. So many losses. Adults and
children, dead. Families, torn apart. The district he grew up in,
empty and filled with ghosts. A hollow home.
It is here, in this room, that Regulus learns of a resistance that has

been building for fifty odd years or so. Weapons and war. Safety
under the ground. Missions. Secrecy.
It is here, in this room, that Regulus learns Dorcas has been a part of
this resistance for years and has now formed herself into a leader,
but doesn't seem ready to shoulder the burden of it, or the
consequences. She wishes to leave, to be with Marlene, and
Dumbledore explains to her that she does not have that luxury now,
as she has made orders and must contend with the fallout of them. A
trap of her own making.
It is here, in this room, that Regulus learns he will be given amenities

and safety where Riddle cannot find them—as will everyone who
was brought in tonight. The only catch is that they will have chores
or jobs to do and rules to follow, and they are not allowed to leave.
Apparently, the Hallows will now be scouring the area, since a
Hallow heli-carrier went down not too far from here, and Riddle will
be eager to locate this place. This means no visits to the surface, not
even sneaking through the vents—a statement directed right at
Lily—and it is made very clear that anyone who tries to go to the
surface will be putting every life in this bunker in danger, and as
such, those that do so will be confined to solitary lockup. This makes
Remus laugh, harsh and brittle, and he sounds so fucking resentful
when he says he has traded one prison for another.
It is here, in this room, that Regulus learns the footage within the
arena that caught the near-perfect breakout will be released to the
world tomorrow. With it, Lily and Mary's identities will be known,
since they spoke their names in the arena. There is a good possibility
370
The Breakdown
that Barty, Sybill, and Amos will be in danger as well, as their names
were mentioned and there is a chance that a clear shot of their faces
might have been caught on camera. However, Riddle had this
information already, so it's not as if not releasing the footage will
keep any of them from being targets.
It is here, in this room, that Regulus learns the anonymity of this

rising rebellion has gone up like smoke. Riddle knows of it, the
presence if not the details, and he will be responding accordingly, as
well as doing whatever it takes to get said details. The access to the
Hallow granted before is now lost. War is here, and Regulus wasn't
aware it was approaching.
It is here, in this room, that Regulus learns how things are going to
proceed in the face of a war kicked ruthlessly and thoughtlessly in
motion. Because this is not a war that can be completely won from
this end yet, a different form of battle will take place, but it will
essentially be a game of chess. Dorcas made the first move, and
Riddle will surely take his turn after, and so it will continue. They
can only go from there, gradually, and continue in a war of wits.
It is here, in this room, that Regulus learns he will do anything,

anything, anything it takes—not to save the world, not to build a
better one, but to make sure the sun keeps rising and the stars
continue to shine.
It is here, in this room, that Regulus learns what it is to feel just how
far he will go for his brother and the man he loves. He'll go as far as
he needs to. He'll go until his last breath.
It is here, in this room, that Regulus learns he's still breathing.
For them, he's still breathing.
371
10
HELL WEEK
______
Sirius has a new sympathy for Remus, because Azkaban?
A total shithole.
Oh, and do not get him started on the fucking mask. It was his very
first present they gave him, a mask perfectly fitted to the lower half
of his face, which means it's a gorgeous mask, but that doesn't mean
he's ecstatic about wearing the damn thing. It's restricting and sort of
itchy and also makes breathing deep basically impossible, so he feels
perpetually out of breath.
He kept taking it off and yelling obscenities, so they locked it on his

face. Do you have any idea how humiliating it is to have someone
come inside your cell and have to unlock the mask on your face,
because you've been muzzled like a fucking dog?
Sirius has killed three people, so now they tase him before they come
inside. Pfft. Cowards.
In any case, Sirius doesn't know what the fuck is going on. He is
supremely confused, honestly, but he has drawn his own
conclusions. He thinks that he was extracted from the arena for the
blatant defiance he and Regulus displayed, possibly, but that would
mean Regulus was also taken for punishment and eternal servitude,
except Sirius hasn't seen or heard a hint of anything about him.
There's really no information on what's going on, but Sirius is smart
enough to know it's...not good.
Obviously it's not good. He's in prison. Is it better than the arena?
Eh, Sirius can't really say. He doesn't think he's going to die here, at
least, because they would have already killed him, wouldn't they?
372
Hell Week
But he can't move around here, can't talk, can't do...basically

anything. It's—degrading. And boring.
Fuck, Sirius is so bored. This is torture. At least in the arena he had

some fucking activity and interaction. Here, he's just stifled and
confused and—lonely. It's very lonely here.
He is left, unfortunately, with his own thoughts—and this, believe it

or not, is very shitty company to have. All he can do is think himself
in circles, wondering about Regulus, James, Remus, everyone. Are
they okay? Are they alive? Where are they? Has something
happened to them? What's going on?
Sirius was not given the luxury of Hallow medicine to help heal his
bumps, bruises, and cuts, so he's also still in pain on top of
everything else. Being tased repeatedly doesn't help him either,
though it's not damaging, as far as he can tell. Yeah, it hurts like a
bitch, but it's only enough to put him down for a minute at most, just
long enough for them to unlock the mask on his face so he can eat
and have water.
Otherwise, they haven't done anything to him. Haven't beaten him.

Haven't tortured him. Haven't answered his questions. Haven't even
acknowledged him. They're all bastards, and they all seemed to learn
from the three he killed to stay out of his range. Bastards they may
be, stupid they are not.
(The food here is awful, by the way. Slop, basically, and barely
enough to keep a damn bird alive. Oh, and it's cold here? Like, so
fucking cold. He is perpetually shivering. Plus, the bed is like
sleeping on a slat of wood, and there is no blanket at all. As for
showers and hygiene, he's essentially taken to a stall, left alone with
a bar of soap and a spout that shoots out cold water at a velocity so
high that it hurts his skin. His hair is a wreck, which is absolutely
killing him, just as an aside.)
Anyway, Sirius is very bored, so this means a change piques his

interest. When he's handcuffed and taken out of his cell, he can't help
but be intrigued and almost eager. Even actual torture would be
373
a nice change of pace, at this point.
(Be careful what you wish for and all that.)
He's taken to a room with a table in the center of it, a steel ring on
one side that he's cuffed to with absolutely no slack, so he can't even
raise his hands more than a few inches. The chair he sits in is cold
and uncomfortable, but he holds still as one of the guards removes
his mask and sits it on the table, out of reach. Sirius rolls his jaw,
craning his head back with a grin.
"Ah, what a relief," Sirius says on an exhale. "Thank you...hm. Billy?

Bob? Stuart? You look like a Stuart."
Probably-not-Stuart doesn't acknowledge him.
"So, Stuart, you wouldn't happen to want to clue me in on what's

going on here, would you?" Sirius asks lightly. "Just, you know, give
me a hint. Or come closer."
Probably-not-Stuart doesn't come closer.
"Come on, Stuart, I won't bite," Sirius needles. "We're pals, aren't we?
I mean, you've had me convulsing on the floor with your fun little
taser more than once now. We're practically family, if I'm honest."
Probably-not-Stuart turns and leaves the room.
"Was it something I said?" Sirius mutters to an empty room.

Naturally, he gets no response. Great, he's bored again. At least he
gets the sound of his own voice, though, which is a huge
improvement in his opinion.
Sirius is singing, loudly and out of tune, when the door opens again.
Riddle comes inside, a briefcase in hand. As soon as Sirius sees that
it's him, he starts singing louder, more off-key, and drumbeats his
fingers on the tabletop, bobbing his head like he doesn't have a care
in the world.
Riddle does not look impressed with him, which—yeah, that tracks.
He sits down on the other side of the table and places his briefcase
374
Hell Week
on top, off to the side, then threads his hands together loosely. He's
out of reach, sadly. Sirius wonders how he's going to get Riddle to
inch closer, just enough for Sirius to snap his hand out and break a
finger or two.
For now, Sirius continues to sing. Riddle waits him out, or intends to,
but what he doesn't know is that Sirius' ability to be a menace can
outweigh anyone's patience. He has tested this many times over the
years, particularly with his own parents. Even negative attention is
still attention, blah blah blah. Sirius grew out of that, in the end, but
he has retained the knack for irritating someone into responding to
him.
Look at me, look at me, look at me. That's all Sirius wanted as a
child, but as he grew up, he realized that's not what he wanted at all.
See me, and love me as I am. That was the real desire he had,
underneath it all. Still the same thing these days, he thinks, but he
doesn't care to be seen or loved by the man before him now. Nah, he
just wants to get on his nerves.
"I see it hasn't taken long for imprisonment to make you lose your
mind," Riddle notes flatly.
Sirius' voice cuts out, and he grins, because whether or not Riddle
knows it, he just won. Ha. "Oh, well, if you never had it to begin
with and all that. Good afternoon, or is it evening? Morning, maybe?
Can't really tell, you see. There's no window in the cells, or light. I'm
assuming you could change that, and listen, I'd greatly appreciate it
if you'd have a window installed in my cell. I'd like to look at the
moon. Oh, and the food here? Abysmal. I don't know what the meal
plan is here, but you should absolutely get someone on that. Also,
there's—"
"James sends his regards," Riddle interrupts, and Sirius stops talking
immediately. "Yes, I thought that would get you to pay attention.
Come now, we have much to discuss and wasting time on your
trivial, childish musings does nothing for us."
375
"Well, it does a whole lot for me," Sirius corrects, though his gaze is
sharp on Riddle's face now. "It certainly entertains me more than you
ever could. You're a bit like a dead fish, really."
Riddle smiles thinly and reaches out for his briefcase, popping it
open. "Do you know what happened a week ago?"
"I was taken from the arena. Thanks for that, by the way."
"Do you know why you were taken from the arena?"
Sirius watches as Riddle draws out a jar and sits it on the table.
Inside it, there's a Horcrux Hornet, pouch glowing green and sheer
wings remaining still. If Riddle is surprised that Sirius isn't afraid, he
doesn't show it. "No, not really."
"Hm." Riddle regards the jar thoughtfully, then looks up at Sirius.

"You don't fear me, Sirius?"
"No," Sirius says.
"You should," Riddle informs him.
"I don't scare easily," Sirius replies, arching an eyebrow. "And you,
regardless of how you act, are just a person."
Riddle hums. "I think that you don't fear me as a person, or what I
can do, only in regards to yourself. You're not afraid to die, or suffer,
are you?"
"No, I'm not," Sirius admits, tilting his chin up.
"But what about those you love?" Riddle asks softly. "Are you afraid
of what I can do to them?" Almost instantly, the jar is filled with
light, muffled thumps as the Horcrux Hornet tries to fly towards
Sirius. Riddle hums again. "Ah, there it is."
Sirius finds that he can't speak, suddenly silent, abruptly at a

disadvantage. Okay, so he lost that round. He can't help it, really.
Riddle has mentioned James, Sirius has no idea where Regulus is, or
if Remus is okay—and yes, it scares him. Nothing scares him more
376
Hell Week
than the idea of something happening to those he cares about. That's

what real fear is, to him.
"You think you're so clever," Sirius murmurs. "This is what you do,
then? You find what people are afraid of and use it as leverage over
them, to threaten them."
"Well, if it works," Riddle replies.
"It won't," Sirius tells him simply. "I won't be threatened by you. My
pride won't allow it, or maybe I'm just too spiteful, but whatever
you're looking to get from me, you won't find it."
"I'm simply looking for a discussion. Let's talk, Sirius," Riddle

murmurs, threading his hands together again. The jar goes quiet, the
Horcrux Hornet settling. Riddle glances at it, one eyebrow twitching
up. "You have a strong grip on your emotions, it seems. Admirable."
Sirius nearly laughs, because that's absolutely the farthest thing from
the truth about him he's ever heard. No, he doesn't have a strong
grip on his emotions, or any grip at all. They're just all over the place,
strange, sliding wildly on a scale. He's a walking mood swing, quick
to fly off the handle, easily influenced by the things around him.
But, when it comes to survival, none of that matters. He knows how

to lock his shit down and put on a mask. Build up a wall around
who he needs to be. Live and breathe by a facade, just to make it
through. This facade? This one, here and now, is someone who is as
unfeeling as the man across from him, unafraid and unaffected.
Sirius has always been good at this. The mask he so easily puts on
has always been a mirror.
"A week ago, there was an attack on the arena," Riddle tells him. "A
group of anarchists broke into the arena to abduct the tributes
within."
It takes a lot of effort for Sirius to keep his face neutral, to not react,
to not immediately make demands about Regulus, or all of his
friends, or for what happened and why he's still...
377
He's still here.
"As you can see, they were clearly not entirely successful in their
endeavor," Riddle continues, almost wry as he gestures lazily to
Sirius. "Meanwhile, at the same time, a group of anarchists within
the Hallow conducted an escape."
Again, Sirius is exercising a lot of self-restraint in not reacting in any

way. He's learned over the years that, to gather any bit of
information you might want, sometimes the best thing to do is to let
the person talk. Don't attempt to guide them. Don't show your hand.
Don't reveal how badly you want to know.
He so badly wants to know.
"This brought it to my attention that there is an organized group of

anarchists that oppose me." Riddle flicks his gaze towards the jar,
then back to Sirius. "Now, tell me, Sirius, what do you know about
all of that?"
"Oh, everything," Sirius replies lightly, flapping a hand carelessly, as

much as his cuffs will allow. "All the fun details. Where and how and
who. In fact, I invented it. I am the group of anarchists. I definitely
didn't mean to leave myself behind, but hey, we all make mistakes,
right? Oops."
"As I thought," Riddle murmurs. "You know nothing." "Obviously,"

Sirius declares.
Riddle holds his gaze. "Allow me to tell you what you're so very
desperate to know. Your brother and every other tribute alive at the
time managed to escape; you were the only one who didn't make it
out. Within the Hallow, it was your stylist, your handler, your
mentor and others that led an attack to break their way out of the
Hallow—and, ironically, the head gamemaker herself. They broke
into the servants' cells and abducted the criminals as well. Of course,
not everyone made it out alive. Many Aurors were killed, as was
your friend—ah, Frank Longbottom, if I remember correctly."
That's a lot of information all at once with no warning, a mixture of

awful news and wonderful news and completely unexpected news.
378
Hell Week
Sirius' brain suffers overload for a moment as he tries to process it,

because Frank? Frank is dead? But the servants were freed? Remus?
So Remus is safe? And James? And Regulus? They're all okay? But
how—who—what—
It's not through sheer force of will that Sirius doesn't react this time.
He doesn't react, because he can't, because he's not here. He flickers
in and out like a light desperately clinging to its last bit of
luminescence. Nothing around him changes; Riddle is not speaking,
neither of them have moved, and Sirius can't get a grasp on when
he's here and when he's not. It's quick, like little snapshots, his mind
trying to shape around all this new information and make sense of it.
Riddle is once again attempting to wait him out, as if Sirius' silent

treatment is a new form of mockery for the purpose of being an
agitation. Truthfully, Sirius can't break his silence, too busy being
yanked in and out of reality, barely able to wrestle with it. All of it's
internal, and so it seems as if he's just sitting there, doing and saying
nothing.
Sirius has no idea how long it takes before he's fully settled again.
Throughout all of that, he hardly even blinked.
Riddle stares at him, just the slightest tilt to his head, brown eyes
rusty like blood and sharp with probing demands. He's still waiting
Sirius out, utterly oblivious to the fact that Sirius just slipped away.
Sirius' mouth feels dry. Okay. Okay, so now what does Riddle know?
Does he know about Remus? Does he not? Is everyone safe, or will
Riddle kill them all? Can he?
Sirius doesn't allow himself to think of Frank. He doesn't allow

himself to wonder how everyone got involved in all of this shit. He
doesn't allow himself to ruminate on the apparent anarchy taking
place. What he does think of, only, is that Regulus made it out of the
arena, while James and Remus escaped from the Hallow. It's such an
overwhelming sense of relief that he could curl up and cry from joy,
because it's everything—it's absolutely everything he wanted, and if
it meant he had to stay behind and suffer whatever Riddle would
throw at him, then it was worth it. He was always willing to do that,
and he still is. It's still fucking worth it.
379
"Sounds like you've had a shitty week," is what Sirius says, finally,
when he can bring himself to speak.
"You cannot even begin to imagine," Riddle says shortly, sitting up a

little taller. "I have gathered all the information I could pertaining to
what has taken place over the previous week. Unfortunately, I still
find myself in the dark about some things. I was rather hoping you
could help with that."
Sirius snorts. "Yeah, ah, you should have seen this coming. I mean,
even if I did know anything, I'd literally die before telling you any of
it. Surely you know that."
"I did suspect, yes."
"So, in what world would I ever help you?"
Riddle taps his finger to the top of his briefcase, likely a motion
meant to draw the eye, an intimidation tactic of some sort that Sirius
refuses to fall for. He doesn't bother breaking Riddle's gaze. "There's
many ways to get cooperation from someone, as I'm sure you know.
Our methods are different, though closely related. You wield
pleasure while I use pain."
"There is no amount of pain you could use that would ever make me
cooperate," Sirius says
simply. "Go on, give it a go, I dare you. Torture me out of my fucking
head, leave me a smear across the wall, and still—watch—I won't
break. I don't break."
"Yes, well, I hardly need your help if you don't know anything, do I?"
Riddle keeps tapping his briefcase. "However, I do think I can
guarantee it, simply because I have James."
That stupid fucking Horcrux Hornet. Sirius hates the stupid bugs,
regardless of James' fondness for them. The one he kept sits in a jar
in James' room back home. Sirius said they should set the damn
thing on fire and secretly agreed with Regulus that it was better off
380
Hell Week
being buried in the backyard, but James got testy about that if you
suggested it to him. Either way, Sirius—like any sane person
—doesn't enjoy the visible proof of his fear, such a weak and
vulnerable emotion he's only ever willing to let a select few see.
Now, Riddle can see.
Sirius hates it. He also chooses to ignore it, much like he's doing with
the idea that James is captured here, too. "You're lying. How stupid
do you think I am?"
"I need not lie, Sirius." "Yeah, that's what liars say."
Riddle looks unimpressed with him all over again. This man is
clearly an only child, because he doesn't seem to know how to
properly go in circles in a pointless debate as Sirius does, and as
Regulus does. What marks a true sibling is childish, petty arguments
about senseless things that always escalates and then is inevitably
pushed aside later in favor of hanging out or going to find food.
Sirius has been preparing his whole childhood to piss this man off.
Thanks, Reggie, he thinks.
"Whether or not you believe me, the facts remain the same; I have
James contained within my castle, comfortably close by, because
he—unlike the others who fled the Hallow—seemed to make choices
that led to his capture. Either he was trying to be the hero, or..."
Riddle pauses, flicking his gaze over Sirius with visible disdain.
"Trying to save you."
Sirius' heart sinks, because that absolutely sounds like James, and
dammit, there goes that stupid fucking bug again! Every time he
manages to wrangle his fear, put a lid on it, Riddle has to open his
dumb fucking mouth and push him. Oh, Sirius wants to rip his
fucking throat out.
"Don't," is all that falls out of Sirius' mouth, and it comes out harsh,
almost a growl.
"Don't what, Sirius? Kill James? Hurt him? Torture him?" Riddle
watches him, knowing that it's all of that, and more. Sirius doesn't
want Riddle to even be within spitting distance of James. "You're so
381
defiant. So prideful. Spiteful, like you said. What would it take to get
you to set that aside?"
Fuck you, Sirius thinks. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.
"The sound of his screams?" Riddle asks softly. He leans forward on

his elbows, holding Sirius' gaze, a gleam in his eyes that makes
Sirius' stomach churn. "What if I tortured him in front of you? Made
you watch where you could do nothing to stop it? What if I tortured
him so thoroughly that he broke, Sirius? What if it was him, begging
and pleading for you to cooperate? What then? What would you
do?"
No, no, no, Sirius chants inwardly. Please don't. Please, please, please
just leave him alone. Hurt me, not him.
He balls his hands into fists on the tabletop, nails digging into his
palms. He tries to breathe. Tries not to bend to Riddle's will, because
it's clear he's using Sirius' fear against him. The Horcrux Hornet is
flying so hard at the inside of the jar that it shakes minutely on the
table. Stupid fucking bug.
"How far would you go for your best friend, hm?" Riddle asks,
tilting his head again. "To spare him pain. To save his life. If there
was something you could do, would you not do it?"
"What do you want?" Sirius grits out.
Riddle's mouth twitches as he leans back. "I want you to break. I

want to watch. Set aside your pride, Sirius. Your defiance and your
spite—do away with it all. Kneel down on the floor before me like a
dog and beg."
Sirius stares at him for a long beat, feeling rather sick at the demand,
as well as oddly detached from this entire moment just from how
surreal it is. Riddle is not joking, and Sirius can feel bile rising when
he realizes what comes next.
Exhaling sharply, Sirius stands up, a little hunched over from where
his arms are still chained to the table. He walks around to the side,
grinding his teeth as Riddle's gaze follows him, and then he proceeds
382
Hell Week
to dip down on one knee before dropping down on the other. Just
like that, he kneels.
His arms remain half over the top of the table, the side of it digging
into the tiny, mostly-healed scar he has from where Regulus cut him
in the arena. He holds Riddle's gaze, feeling the humiliation of this
moment writhe under his skin, but he knows deep down that he has
to. Not because he believes doing so will actually save James from
whatever Riddle wants, but on the off chance that it might, he will
never forgive himself if he didn't even bother to try.
"Don't hurt him," Sirius says stiffly. "Please."
"You're not even afraid," Riddle murmurs, and the thing is, like this,
Sirius isn't. The Horcrux Hornet has settled down. Sirius isn't scared;
he only burns with anger. "Look at you. There's not an ounce of
submission in how you address me now. You are inferior to me, do
you understand that? I am above you in power, and so you must
come to me as the peasants fell before their kings. You are at my
mercy, as is James, so beg for it. And mean it this time."
That horrible pit in Sirius' stomach only yawns wider, and he knows
what is being asked of him. He just can't deliver. That's not who he
is. Sirius Black is many, many things, but a peasant before a king is
never and will never be one.
A little fun fact about Sirius, though. He's a very loyal man, and a
devoted one at that, which means there's no low he won't sink to in
the name of those he loves. So, for James, he drops his gaze in a clear
sign of submission and gets as low to the ground as he can manage
from his position. He closes his eyes and lets himself feel it, the sheer
terror that rocks through him at the thought of James hurt or dead,
feeling himself start to shake and hearing the Horcrux Hornet start
back up again.
Sirius is practically speaking to Riddle's shoes beneath the table

when he chokes out, "Please don't hurt him. Hurt me. Kill me.
Just—just, please, not him."
383
"There, that's better," Riddle says. Sirius swallows and fights the
scalding sensation of humiliation that makes his eyes sting and his
stomach twist. There's a hand underneath his chin, lifting his head,
and Riddle peers down at him like he's a stain upon his shoe.
"Believe it or not, your request will be granted. I never intended to
harm James, only you. But think of how far you've fallen in the name
of your best friend and ask yourself just how far he will fall for you."
Sirius feels his stomach drop right out from underneath him, and it's
one of those sharp mood swings that has him surging forward as far
as he can go to clamp down on the only part of Riddle he can reach,
which just so happens to be the inside of his wrist. Sirius sinks his
teeth in his skin and bites ruthlessly, so hard that blood bubbles up
and pours into his mouth, and he doesn't care, just swallows it down
and bites harder.
He's promptly backhanded across the face with enough force to

detach him, but Sirius went all in, so when he comes away, he brings
skin with him. The inside of Riddle's wrist rips open, blood gushing
as he hisses between his teeth less like a person and more like a
snake. Sirius slumps back, heaving for breath and laughing, leaning
against the side of the table and staring at Riddle with his blood
staining his teeth.
"You," Riddle declares, "will regret that."
Sirius spits out whatever skin he took with him and leans his head
against his bent arms, giving the
man a cute, too-sweet smile. "Oh, no, I think that's my crowning

achievement."
Riddle's nostrils flare as he pushes roughly to his feet, jerkily

grabbing the jar and stuffing it back in his briefcase, clipping it shut
and snatching it up. He sneers at Sirius. "You are a useless excuse for
a human being. A waste of oxygen."
"Is that the best you've got?" Sirius arches an eyebrow up at him.
"Please, my mother came up with better insults. If you're going to kill
384
Hell Week
the woman, you could at least attempt to carry on her legacy. At this
point, she's superior to you, and she's dead."
"The only reason you're still alive is because your screams will bend
James Potter to my will," Riddle informs him coldly.
"Suppose I just won't scream then," Sirius challenges.
"Oh," Riddle whispers in threat, "you will."
With that and nothing else, Riddle whips around and marches out of
the room, still dripping blood as he goes. Sirius blows out a deep
breath as soon as the door shuts, then forces himself to his feet so he
can shakily plant himself back in his chair. He still feels a little sick.
Sort of hot. Itchy.
He stays still until the door opens again, and then he swivels his
head and slaps on a grin. "Oh, Stuart, you're back!"
Probably-not-Stuart ignores him and comes over to unclip him from

the table. The mask isn't put on again. Sirius is led from the room,
but not back to the cell. No, he's taken lower.
Much lower.
~•~
"Hello, neighbor," Lily greets as she leans against the open doorway
of Mary's room. She winks at Bingley on the other bed across the
room, breaking out into a grin when a giggle seems to spill out of
him, which he responds to by shoving his face into his pillow in pure
mortification.
"Not today, Lily," Mary says shortly, shoving loose papers into a bag.
"Bing Bing and I have to go."
Bingley's head pops up as he groans. "Oh, come off it, Mary, do I

have to?"
385
"Yes," Mary answers promptly, not even looking at Bingley as she
snaps her fingers at him. He starts dragging himself up, looking
utterly miserable. Lily bites her lip so she won't break out into a
smile. "I don't care if there's a war on, your education will not suffer
for it."
"Save me," Bingley whispers hopefully as he brushes past Lily in the

doorway, eyes wide. He has eyes like Mary, so dark they're black, but
he never rolls them at Lily, at least.
Lily snorts and lowers her voice. "Are you mental? She'll kill me if I
try anything, and you know it."
"Pfft, she can't kill you," Bingley argues. "You're too cool."
"Bingley, stop stroking her ego. It's inflated enough as it is," Mary
calls sharply. "Go on. Get to class."
"Can you come by again, Lily?" Bingley asks.
"No, she can't," Mary answers for her. "She's banned from my
classroom. Now, go."
Bingley grumbles, but he dutifully heads off down the hall, stopping
by the room of one of his friends to walk with them. Lily watches
him go, amused, then turns back to watch Mary continue to
grab...her lesson plans, probably? Maybe? Fuck if Lily knows. She
knows nothing about
teaching.
"I'm banned from your classroom now?"
"Yes."
"On what grounds?"
Mary shoots her a flat look. "On the grounds that you're distracting.
Those grounds."
386
Hell Week
"Oh?" Lily grins at her. "Do I distract you, Mary? Make your job
harder? Take your mind off your work? Make it hard to focus,
perhaps? Take your—"
"Distracting for my students, particularly my little brother, who you

like to sit in the back and giggle with, which—" Mary swivels and
arches an eyebrow at her. "I know what you're doing, by the way.
Stop it."
"I'm not doing anything."
"No? So, you're not trying to win over my brother to get to me?"
Lily leans her head against the doorway and hums. "You talk about
my ego, but look at yours. If you must know, I'm not trying to win
over Bingley. I have already done so. And getting to you— well, I
hardly need his help with that."
"Give it a rest, Evans," Mary says dismissively.
"Oh, but you'd get bored if I did," Lily murmurs, her lips curling up
at the corners. "Admit it, Macdonald, I keep your life exciting. If
nothing else, I do manage that."
"Yeah, maybe, but that's hardly high praise," Mary counters,

shouldering her bag and moving towards the door. "Personally, I
think my life could do with a little less excitement."
"Shame. I think my life could do with a little more you," Lily teases,
remaining in the doorway as Mary stops in front of her, looming a bit
because she's taller and also in heels. Fucking hell, the heels are
criminal. Her legs go for days.
"I can see you thinking naughty thoughts," Mary mutters.
"I like your legs," Lily says stupidly, because her brain and mouth
have disconnected briefly, apparently. For fuck's sake, she's usually
more smooth about it, but it's like with all that's happened in the
past week, she's lost her touch.
387
"They're good legs," Mary allows. "Long," Lily agrees.
Mary's lips twitch, then she looks annoyed about it. "No, nope, not
doing this with you. You've caught me on a bad day."
"Have we had anything else lately?" Lily mumbles, her tone weary,
and that immediately changes the whole mood. It's strange how
there's this thing that connects certain people here together, inviting
a sense of camaraderie between them, and the reminder of it
overcomes everything else.
"No, suppose we haven't," Mary replies with a sigh. She arches an

eyebrow at Lily. "It'd be easier for you if you actually spent time
doing your chores. I know you got demoted to janitorial, but
shirking your duties isn't helping your reputation."
"Fuck my reputation," Lily retorts with a scoff. "Do you honestly

think I care about what anyone thinks of me anymore, especially
here?"
"Yes, well, I don't have the luxury to not care, because my reputation
reflects on my little brother," Mary says softly, adjusting her bag on
her shoulder. "I'd like his time here to go a little smoothly at least."
Lily considers her for a long moment, then says, "You're a good
sister, you know. A really good one."
"Oh, and you're the expert, are you?" Mary asks.
"I have one," Lily blurts out, then immediately wants to turn around
and go in the opposite direction, possibly never speak to Mary again.
Her feet feel nailed to the floor. "Had one, I mean. Well, maybe I still
have one, I don't know anymore. I thought I had a best friend, but it
turns out I still—well, he's still alive. So, you know, maybe I still have
a sister, too."
Lily doesn't know why she's saying all of this. She wishes she wasn't.
She's gone days not saying any of this to anyone, not daring to reveal
the secretive hope that courses in her veins, not wanting to show just
how much she cares—too human, too human, still too fucking
human. She hasn't wanted the pitying looks she would surely get, or
388
Hell Week
the gentle words of people who would feel the need to remind her of
chances and odds and how, oftentimes, hoping in a world as fucked
up as this one usually only leads to disappointment.
But, well, being under Mary's gaze is like being under a fucking
scalpel; intense and sharp, peeling back the layers of her and taking a
look inside. Or, no, it's like being x-rayed. Like Mary can see right
down to her fucking bones. It is both unnerving and addictive, as
well as terrifying. Lily gets trapped in the challenge of it, like a
bargain with herself to see if she can get around Mary and keep her
shit together, and what do you know? Not once has she managed to.
Mary doesn't look at her with pity. All she says is, "Well, for your
sake, I hope you do. Bully for her, though. I can't imagine being your
sister is anything other than hell."
"Oh, you think I'm bad?" Lily breathes out, laughing and feeling
giddy almost, just to simply talk about her sister with the hope she's
probably better off not having. "My sister is so, so much worse, you
have no idea."
"Older or younger?" "Older."
"Ah," Mary says, her gaze running from the top of Lily's head all the
way down to her shoes, then back up again. Her mouth quirks at the
corners. "Explains a lot about you."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Lily sputters.
"Younger siblings have this thing of wanting to be the center of a

universe," Mary tells her wryly. "Older siblings tend to enable it. Not
all, but—well, enough."
Lily rears back. "That's—not even close to true, and I can name one
younger sibling right now that will completely deconstruct your
entire argument."
"Don't say Regulus."
"I'm saying Regulus."
389
"Fool," Mary chides. "You, like many, are blinded by his personality
to believe that this doesn't apply to him, too. It does. I never said the
universe, I said a universe. Regulus doesn't want to be the center of
the universe, but he wants nothing more than to be the center of
Sirius and James'."
Lily opens her mouth, then closes it. Mary lifts an eyebrow smugly,
so Lily has no choice but to scowl and pout and internally berate
Regulus as a fellow younger sibling who has let her down. Damn
him. He was the perfect counterargument.
"Okay, Aberforth," Lily challenges, snapping her fingers.
"District six was his universe. He put himself at the center of it and
nearly died trying to stay there," Mary says.
"I—that's—" Lily wants to stomp her feet. She wants to bite the curl
of Mary's shoulder. Oh, Mary is so pretty and smart and Lily thinks
if they fuck, everything will be so much easier.
"You're thinking naughty thoughts again."
"Stop being right all the time."
Mary leans in with a smile, eyes like pools of ink that write countless
stories Lily is desperate to read. Her hand is cool when it lands on
Lily's side, a gentle pressure there, settling above the curve of Lily's
hip and giving a slow push. As Lily turns under her guidance, Mary
glides past her—and, while she goes by, she whispers in Lily's ear,
"Never."
Lily nearly moans. Out loud. Just because Mary has gotten close and
smells like sweet pea perfume and one of her curls brushed Lily's
cheek and her breath had ghosted over the shell of Lily's ear, and oh,
oh, Lily is in trouble.
Five minutes later, Lily bangs right into Remus' room down the hall,
declaring, "I need to have sex."
"I'm not sure how I could help you with this problem," Remus
replies. "The last time I checked, you don't fuck men." He pauses,
390
Hell Week
pushing up on his elbows and looking aggrieved as he eyes her

warily. "Wait, has that changed in the last six years?"
"No, that has not changed," Lily mumbles and resents that he even
has to ask in the first place. Remus blows out a deep breath and
slumps back, clearly relieved. "Okay, great, that means I
definitely can't help you with your problem."
"Tell me you don't want to fuck me without explicitly telling me you

don't want to fuck me," Lily
says flatly, kicking the door shut with her foot and moving over to
shove his legs aside with a huff.
"What, are you joking? Of course I'd fuck you. It's my deepest desire,
in fact." Remus arches an eyebrow and lazily props his arm up
behind his head. "Come here, make my dreams come true, why don't
you?"
Lily swings her leg over his lap and drops down on him as hard as
she can, snorting when he bites his lip and bats his eyelashes up at
her. "Excited yet?"
"Ecstatic," Remus tells her. "You know what would blow my fucking
mind right now?"
"I've got an idea."
"Come on, rock my world."
"Anything for you," Lily says, reaching down the front of her shirt to
dig out a smoke from the pack hidden in her bra. She reaches out to
put it between his lips, then gets one for herself, grabbing her lighter
at the same time. She lights her smoke, then leans down so her tip
will connect with his, catching when he inhales. Lily gave him his
first in six years days ago, and he'd coughed through the whole
thing, then smoked five more back-to-back. "So, my problem."
"Mm," Remus hums, his eyes closed in pure bliss.
391
"Oi, pay attention." Lily wriggles in his lap, earning a warning look
that makes her grin. "Anyway, my...reach, you could say, has been
shortened significantly."
Remus blinks at her. "Your...reach?" "I, ah, have a lot of sex."
"Lily, you've always had a lot of sex. I'm not sure why you're treating
this like it's new? Or... different?"
Lily coughs. "I have a lot of sex with...a lot of women."
"Oh, so there's not—I mean, no girlfriend?" Remus asks, a touch

awkward about it, and because she knows him, she knows he wants
to avoid this topic so he won't be in danger of talking about Sirius.
"No," Lily murmurs. "No girlfriend."
Listen, she's not—she isn't bitter, okay? Really, it doesn't scald her
insides a little bit that Remus was out there this entire time, and he
found love, and she was here, running from it. That's not his fault.
She's not angry with him about it, but she also sort of is. She's angry
at him about a lot of things, none of which she knows how to voice
yet. They used to talk about anything and everything. These days,
they talk about anything and everything that isn't anything and
everything.
"Well, get one," Remus suggests.
"Are you fucking stupid?" Lily snaps reflexively, recoiling back as a

knee-jerk response. Remus blinks at her again, a wrinkle forming
between his eyebrows. She clears her throat. "Sorry. That was—rude.
I don't think you're stupid."
Except she does, because he is, isn't he? What the hell was he
thinking, going off and falling in love with Sirius Black, all while a
servant? And just—falling in love, period. A doomed love, no less!
The very thing she's spent years dodging, he walked right into with
his eyes wide open.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
392
Hell Week
She's angry with him for it, because that's such a him thing to do,
except he's not much of himself anymore, not as she knew him. She's
angry with him, because he looks like her best friend and doesn't,
talks like her best friend and doesn't, acts like her best friend and
doesn't, feels like her best friend and doesn't, is her best friend
and...isn't.
The thing is, they don't really know each other anymore. They can't
share looks and have conversations in the span of one blink. They
almost don't seem to know how to move around one another as they
used to, like a machine in two separate parts that could always
merge, two bodies and one heart.
That's gone now. That ease that was always between them is just
gone. Absent. Dead like he was for six years. She grieved him. She
was still grieving him. He's back and where does that grief go, where
does she put it, what does she do with it?
It hasn't left her, and she doesn't know what to do about it. She
doesn't talk to him about it, and she knows he knows she's not
talking to him about it, like she knows he's not talking to her about a
lot of things, and he knows she knows that. It's a lot of knowing
between them, despite the fact that they barely know anything about
each other anymore.
A stranger is just someone you haven't met yet. What do you call
someone you knew better than yourself that you no longer
recognize? A ghost?
What is, really, is the struggle to grapple with change. Because

they've both changed so much. Still Lily and still Remus, but not as
they were, not as they never should have had to be. They know each
other and do not know how they've changed. Lily has never known
a Remus afraid of freedom, and Remus has never known a Lily
afraid of love.
Worse yet is what sits between them. They don't talk about it, can't
talk about it, because there's no fixing it. No fixing that Lily didn't
393
save Sirius and was the one to deliver the news in the harshest, most
devastating way possible. There's no way to overcome that, and Lily
thinks the only chance they'll ever have is if they get Sirius back. He's
become so important to her, Sirius has, because he's so important to
Remus; she wants him here, for Remus, and will be the first to jump
at the first opportunity to save him. Remus never talks about him.
Won't. The first and only time Lily tried to bring him up, Remus shut
her out so coldly that she still shivers just thinking about it.
There's a lot of shutting each other out, between them.
But, at the core of them, they're still barreling right into things they
likely shouldn't, hand-in- chaotic-hand. It's probably best for them to
actually take some time away from each other and adjust; instead,
they are stubbornly sticking to one another like glue and steadily
avoiding all the things they don't talk about, and they're equally
obsessed with having each other again. Every night, Remus comes
and crawls in her bed, and he cries there sometimes, but he's there,
and she's there, and they don't speak because they don't have to,
because they're still two bodies and one heart after all this time, if
nothing else.
She feels like she misses him more right now when he's here than she
did when she thought he was dead.
"Why can't you get a girlfriend?" Remus ventures cautiously. He's

more cautious these days. It agitates Lily to see him like this, quiet
and subdued sometimes, hesitant in a way he never used to be. He's
always been a bit guarded about his more vulnerable feelings,
though never with her, but now he's guarded about everything. It
makes her want to shake him and scream at him, just so maybe he'll
scream back.
"Relationships aren't really my thing."
"They...used to be."
Lily doesn't reply for a long moment, taking a pull from her smoke
and letting the ash fall on his shirt. Neither of them try to brush it
away. "Well, things change."
394
Hell Week
"Right," Remus says quietly. "Yeah, they do."
"Yeah." Lily sits there and smokes in silence, they both do, and then
she clears the lump out of her throat. "Anyway, when it comes to sex,
I'm deprived."
It's true, unfortunately. After Dumbledore released the footage to the

whole world—including the Phoenix—he gave a speech to everyone
in the Great Hall explaining that there was an unsanctioned mission
conducted by 'a select few' that essentially ripped away the secrecy
of the Phoenix and therefore the safety of everyone within.
Naturally, everyone knew who those select few were, and so now,
Lily and Dorcas are both public enemy number one for the most
part, and no one wants anything to do with them. I n short,
everything is shit, and Dumbledore is a prick.
Remus hums thoughtfully. "What about Sybill? You two seem to get
on well, and she's going through a breakup, so maybe it'll cheer her."
"Mm, been there," Lily admits. "Too messy now, in any case. Kingsley
is—he's my—I mean—" "Your...friend?" Remus suggests slowly.
Lily glares at him. "No. He's just—Kingsley. I'm not going to do that
to him. He still loves her, you know, and she still loves him. They'll
make up, I'm sure."
"Alright, hm." Remus purses his lips. "I'd say Dorcas, but..."
"Also been there," Lily mutters. "Would love to go back, if I'm honest,
but don't tell anyone that. That's too complicated."
"Because of Marlene?"
"Sure, let's go with that."
Remus squints at her. "There's more you're not saying." "Anyway,"

Lily says firmly, "next?"
395
"Hm. Fine." Remus keeps eyeing her for a beat, ultimately letting it
go in the end. He never would have done that before he died. Or, not
died. No, not—he didn't die. He's right here. Lily still
forgets sometimes, usually when she first wakes up in the morning,

still so sure she's living in a world without her best friend, and then
having to remind herself that it's not true anymore, even if it still
feels that way. "Mary?"
"That one," Lily says with a wistful sigh. "Oh, Remus, that one. Fuck
me, she's just—she's so—"
"Oh," Remus muses, chuckling, "that's the one you want."
Lily huffs. "She's not exactly my number one fan. For some reason, I
think maybe she doesn't like me. Well, no, I think she does, but I
think she doesn't want to like me, and I know she won't have sex
with me. She's maddening. Oh, she'll stand around and bicker with
me for ages, get us both worked up, then let us hang there. And she
doesn't listen! Like, ever. She's so nosy, too. Pushy. Fucking knows
everything, which is utterly ridiculous. But then—I mean, I don't
know, because she'll defend me, or she has defended me once, at
least. And she's so good with Bingley, you know. That's her little
brother, I don't know if you know him, but she loves him so much.
She looks out for people, too. Her people, but all kids. Like—she's a
fucking teacher, Remus, going around and shaping the minds of the
youth, which is—that's just—"
"Lily—"
"And! And, ooh, she's brave as anything, really. Dropped into the
arena in a heartbeat without even blinking. Well, you saw. Just—she
has this sort of sense of justice, a clear definition of what she thinks is
wrong, and she doesn't stand by and simply accept it, you know?
She makes people own up to their shit, but she's not—she isn't harsh.
She's so... I mean, she's an artist, for fuck's sake, and a good one. It's
beautiful, the things she creates, which makes sense because she's
beautiful—"
"Lily—"
396
Hell Week
"She's like pure duality, do you know what I mean? She—oh, oh, you
don't know this. She fucking shot me! Remus, she literally shot me
when we first met. Took my gun, shot me, then ran off in heels.
Heels. It was so absurd, but maddeningly attractive. I don't know
what I did to offend her, because it seemed like we'd get on at first,
but then when she started settling in the Phoenix, she just seemed to
dislike me. She makes a point to talk about my ego—I don't have a
big ego, do I? Look, I can't help it that I'm confident about how good
I am in bed. It's the truth! I could show her, if she'd just—"
"Lily!" Remus calls loudly, reaching up to cover her mouth so she'll

shut up. Instinctively, as if they're still sixteen, she licks his palm. He
huffs a laugh and drops his hand. "Okay, I get it. You fancy her.
You've made your point."
Lily blinks down at him. "What? No, I don't. It's just—you know, sex.
That's all. That's it."
"Right," Remus says, his voice flat. "I'm not going to push, only
because you said she's not interested, so it's best to respect her
wishes. But, well, you've got a crush, at the very least."
"I don't get crushes."
"Mhm, sure."
"Anyway," Lily snaps, "Mary is not an option, so...anyone else?"
"Ah...Pandora?" Remus tries.
Lily pauses. "Oh, hm. Pandora... I don't know her very well. Does
she like women?"
"Um." Remus' lips tip down. "I—don't actually know. I mean, she's
my friend, but I've never seen her with anyone, and the topic never
came up. But...you can find out."
"She is very sweet." "Very."
397
"Seems like she deserves nice things." "She does."
"And you like her."
Remus smiles softly. "I do."
"Right." Lily smacks Remus' stomach and starts to climb off of him,
then yelps when he stuffs his hand down her shirt to reach into her
bra. "Hey, your fingers are cold!"
"Just going for the goods," Remus tells her, drawing out her smokes
with a grin. "Carry on."
"Okay, I'm off to try and woo your friend into bed," Lily declares,
shuffling along the side of the bed to dip down and kiss above his
eyebrow, the very top of his scar.
"Best of luck," Remus calls as she draws back, waving lazily as he

lights up another smoke and lets his eyes drift shut.
Lily closes the door behind her and pauses there, hearing all things
they talked about, and all the things they didn't. A part of her wants
to open the door and go back in to find a way to bridge the gap
between them, or die trying, but she doesn't even know where to
start. So, she doesn't.
She walks away.
~•~
Remus is on his fourth smoke when there's a knock on his door,

which alarms him immediately. No one knocks on his door. Lily just
barges in, and no one else comes to bother him.
Quickly, Remus sits up and hastily puts out his smoke, coughing and
scrambling to tuck his ashtray in the drawer of the stand it sits on,
then stuffs the pack of smokes under his pillow. There's a cloud of
smoke that he frantically attempts to wave away, but he's not entirely
398
Hell Week
sure it works. There are no fucking windows in an underground

bunker.
"Ah, come in," Remus calls with a wince.
Of all the people who could show up at his door, he's not expecting
Mrs. Potter. The sight of her poking her head in almost tentatively
makes him freeze, wanting the floor to open up and swallow him
whole. He hasn't seen her since the first time they met, only
indirectly. He hasn't seen anyone other than Lily and hates himself
for it. He's free, right? He should be—doing something, but he does
nothing.
It's been a week, but Remus...doesn't get out much. He's been
assigned to kitchen duty—ironic, really—so he usually eats when
he's cooking the meals, which lets him skip breakfast, lunch, and
dinner in the Great Hall. He's just. He doesn't know what to...do. He
honestly has no fucking clue what to do with himself, or how to face
anyone, or how to be—free.
He tried to do something, that first night. Tried to leave, to take his

freedom by busting out to get to the Hallow, as if he could just stroll
right in, grab Sirius, and say, "Sorry, this is mine, I'll be taking him
back now." He looked like a fool, desperate as he was. They threw
him in solitary for a night, a room so similar to Azkaban that he
almost felt like he was still there. Lily apparently kicked up a fuss,
and so did Regulus and Pandora, so he was released the next
morning, but that one night was all it took.
One night, and Remus is stuck again. Hiding away. Lost in his own
head, tormented with thoughts of what Sirius might be
suffering—him and James. The guilt of it eats away at him, not
managing to make sure James made it out, not managing to go and
save Sirius now. So, he sits in his room, a warmer cell than he's used
to, and sets his lungs on fire one smoke at a time. Grieving. Guilt-
stricken. Lonely, and missing Sirius with every labored breath. No
mask to make it harder to breathe, but losing Sirius smothers him
more than a mask ever could.
399
The only change of pace and form of reprieve he gets is in the form
of Lily, but that's not perfect either. It's not easy for them anymore,
and she's—distant. There's something alien about her now,
unreachable like she's stuck behind a barrier she won't let anyone
break through. All her words have teeth.
"Hi, Remus," Mrs. Potter greets, easing inside slowly like she's giving
him the chance to tell her to get out.
"Hello, Mrs. Potter," Remus says, a bit stilted, then struggles not to
grimace at how formal and uncomfortable he sounds.
Mrs. Potter closes the door with a quiet chuckle, facing him with a
small smile. Her eyes are a bit dull, her smile not quite reaching
them, and she looks very tired. "Call me Effie, dear. Practically
everyone does."
"Oh, right. Sorry, Mrs—ah, Effie," Remus mumbles.
"Do you mind if I sit?" Effie asks, pointing next to him.
Remus shifts quickly to make room. "Not at all."
"Thank you." Effie moves over and sinks into the open spot beside
him, then visibly pauses. After a beat, she sniffs the air, then holds
out her hand, lips twitching.
"Um," Remus says, his face burning. He's a grown man, for fuck's
sake, but this is Sirius' mother. "I've no desire to confiscate your
smokes, Remus." Effie smiles at him again, wider, and wiggles
her fingers. "I was rather hoping you'd share, actually."
"Oh," Remus chokes out, then wheezes on a startled laugh, but twists
to indeed share with her. Again, she is Sirius' mother. His very
beloved mother, at that. So, Remus gives her a smoke and brings out
the ashtray. "I didn't know you..."
400
Hell Week
Effie hums around the smoke, lighting it and passing the lighter back
to him. She inhales like she's been doing it for years, then blows out
slow rings, looking faintly amused. "I'd ask that you don't tell my
husband. He worries for the state of my lungs, and as far as he
knows, I quit fifteen years ago. Well, I did quit, but I do share the
occasional smoke with Sirius from time-to-time. He taught me to do
the ring trick."
"Sirius smokes?" Remus whispers. Inexplicably, his eyes start to

sting, because he—he didn't know that. He never knew that. They
never discussed it, and he never saw it happen, and Sirius doesn't
know he used to smoke, and doesn't know he's doing it again,
because he's not here—he's not—he's—
"Not in the Hallow, as far as I know," Effie murmurs, glancing over at

him sadly like she knows exactly what he's thinking and feeling. "It
was always one of those things he kept at home, separate from the
Hallow, just for him. He liked having things that existed outside of
the Hallow."
Remus swallows harshly and nods. "Yeah, that's—that makes sense.

Was there...anything else?"
Effie sighs. "There was something else. Something entirely

untouched by the Hallow that he kept safe. Something he entrusted
to me to keep safe when he couldn't."
A beat later, Effie reaches in her pocket and pulls out an envelope
that Remus recognizes immediately. His breath freezes in his lungs,
and he stares at it, feeling as if his mind has just run directly into a
brick wall. That's. It's the letter. His letter. Lyall's letter. Remus never
expected to see it again.
"I owe you an apology, Remus. Sirius asked that I would keep this
safe, and I—I've had it with me ever since. He asked that I would
return it to you if I ever saw you, and I did mean to, but this last
week has been..." Effie's lips tremble a bit, and she blinks hard. Her
hand shakes when she holds out the letter to him. "Forgive me. I
should have come to you sooner."
401
Remus reaches out to take the letter, doing his level best not to let the
building heat of tears in his eyes win. The letter isn't in the same
pristine condition he left it in, now a bit wrinkled and bent at the
corners, folded down and softened like fingers have run along the
edges. That doesn't matter to him. It's the letter. His letter, from his
father, that he left in Sirius' hands, and Sirius found a way to get it
back to him.
"You have absolutely nothing to apologize for, Effie," Remus croaks,

his voice coming out thick and shaky. He keeps swallowing
convulsively, feeling as if his heart has shot up to lodge in his throat.
"Thank you. I—I can't even—I—"
"It's okay, Remus." Effie reaches out with her free hand and gently
pats his knee. She squeezes it, then looks away and keeps smoking,
seeming to understand that he needs a moment to get himself
together. "I didn't read it. No one has other than you, I presume. I do
apologize for the state of it, though. I've had it through...everything
that's happened as of late. Losing my home. Losing my—"
"I'm sorry," Remus whispers, squeezing his eyes shut. "I'm so sorry,
Effie. I wanted—I didn't want to leave James. I tried to get him
to—to get in the van, but he—I don't know why he wouldn't. He just
lost Frank, so maybe... I just—I'm sorry."
Effie clears her throat and stands up to put out her smoke in the
ashtray, then turns to him, holding his gaze. "I sat Dorcas down and
asked for details about everything that happened. I know my
children, Remus. I know how far they'll go for each other and those
they love, and that includes you. None of that is your fault. No one is
to blame, not you or Dorcas or Regulus. The person who is at fault
for James staying behind is James, because he is an adult who can
make his own decisions. It's a hard pill to swallow, but he chose not
to leave the Hallow for Sirius, for Regulus, for you and me and many
people, and above all, he chose not to leave for himself."
"Are you angry at him for it?" Remus asks softly.
"Yes," Effie answers bluntly, then tilts her chin up. "And, just the
same, I am immeasurably proud of him for it. The truth is, it's no
different than many of us would have done. I would go there now if
402
Hell Week
I could. I'd storm the Hallow just to try for them, even if I couldn't
make it more than one step inside. There is such bravery in simply
trying. We find our strength inside us, and the people around us, and
through love—and those boys are some of the strongest people I've
ever known."
"I know they are," Remus agrees hoarsely, having to turn his head
away and look down as his vision blurs. He's all cut up with it, torn
up about it, feeling ripped to shreds by how badly he aches in the
aftermath of loss. It's not fair.
"They'll try until their last breath, and they haven't stopped
breathing yet, Remus. Neither have we. I think we can join them in
trying, not because we owe that to them, but because we owe that to
ourselves," Effie whispers fiercely, stepping forward to cup his jaw
and carefully turn his head, making him look at her. She doesn't
judge him for the tears that fall. "We are still here, and they are still
there, and no matter what any of us go through, we will find our
way back to each other again. I believe that. I have to believe that."
"I want to believe that," Remus confesses, because he does, and he's
desperate to. Pleading for a reason. Begging for a spark of hope.
Needing it. Please, please, please.
"Then try," Effie says, and it's so simple, two words, but it's like she's
unlocked something within him.
Remus promised Sirius he would never forget his worth, how

invaluable he is, even if Sirius wasn't here to remind him, and yet
that's exactly what he's done. He's human. He's a person, who
deserves to have hope, who has the freedom to try.
Ridiculous as it may be, Remus chokes out a laugh that may or may
not be half a sob, but it doesn't matter, because he nods into Effie's
gentle hand and says, "Okay."
~•~
Let's get this out of the way right now, because Dorcas is sure it goes
without saying, but it's been one hell of a week.
403
When she made her choice to set all of these things into motion and
start the war, she had come to terms with the fact that there was no
going back, but what she hadn't realized was that the aftermath of
her decisions would look like this.
Marlene didn't make it out of surgery until late in the night, and she
didn't wake up until the third day. Dorcas wasn't at her bedside
when she did. She was too late. Again. As always.
Dorcas wasn't prepared. She hadn't really been at her best, exhausted
and running on fumes. She was going and going and going with no
chance to stop for rest, which was apparently due to the mantle of
her new proclivity for leadership.
You did this, Ms. Meadowes, Dumbledore told her. You don't get to
quit now.
It felt like both a challenge and a punishment, and Dorcas didn't

back down from either. She stepped up and stepped in to help all
those she brought in, either through her own means, or through her
own planning. This required assigning rooms, helping people settle
in, providing reassurances that felt like half-lies and explaining rules
she barely wants to follow herself. This required giving orders and
fulfilling tasks, as well as answering unanswerable questions and
providing assistance with everything from carting food around to
being a reluctant tour guide around the Phoenix.
This required watching Riddle's broadcast explaining that the games

were stopped early be interrupted through the help of Filius by
releasing the footage of what happened in the arena during the
rescue mission. Then, days later, watching a new broadcast in which
everyone who broke into the arena were labeled as anarchists, while
Riddle twisted the truth of the Hallow escape by labeling everyone
who made it out as prisoners of war, and also twisted Frank's death
into martyrdom to paint the 'anarchists' in a very bad light.
When she did get a second to return to the infirmary and get an
update on Marlene, she'd had to tuck herself in a corner and stuff the
back of her fist into her mouth to muffle her sobs when Poppy
informed her that Marlene made it through and would make a full
404
Hell Week
recovery with time. She'd slid down the wall and cried and breathed,
and then got up and kept going.
On the third day, when Marlene did wake up, Cordelia—her

cousin—was the one waiting there for her, while Cordelia's husband,
Riker, stayed outside with their baby, Maximus. Dorcas knows this,
because she rushed past them to scramble inside, rushing to
Marlene's side after Minerva notified her that she was awake, which
she learned from Poppy. Minerva knew she would want to know,
and of course Dorcas dropped everything to immediately go to
Marlene.
The reunion hadn't gone well.
By the time Dorcas had made it there, Marlene had mostly been
caught up by Cordelia and the input Arthur provided, because he
was cheerfully answering her questions and doing everything he
could to keep her calm. When Dorcas got there, Marlene met her
eyes and told everyone else to get out. Her gaze had been cold, and
her voice even colder.
Dorcas' heart had dropped, but—well, what was she expecting,

really? It was ironic, but Dorcas still didn't know, even then, how she
was supposed to explain her part in all of this to Marlene. She
thought to herself before that she would deal with that problem
when she got to it, and well.
Well, there it was.
What was she supposed to say? The truth, finally, because she didn't
really have a choice, did she? Dorcas felt guilt clog her throat as she
realized that she—she wasn't so sure if she wanted Marlene to know
the truth. The lie was easier. The lie was safer. The lie was all Dorcas
knew.
But, well, she didn't have a choice. Marlene had already gotten bits
and pieces of it, here and there, and she deserved to hear it from her.
It was time for Dorcas to own up to her shit.
So, Dorcas did.
405
She told Marlene how she got involved herself years ago by one
drunken conversation with Alastor Moody at a bar when he was
there for his Victor's victory tour that year. He'd gone out for a drink,
or five, and Dorcas had just been someone at the bar he struck up a
conversation with. Casual at first, light, and then much heavier by
the end of the night. He picked her brain open and rooted around to
find what he was looking for, and then he followed up. Less than a
week later, Dorcas was stepping into the Phoenix for the very first
time.
She told Marlene how she felt so driven to help, to make change,
always wanting to through fashion and then taking the immediate
chance to do it this way, too. When Moody had died and the
mourning period had passed, Dumbledore asked her if she was
willing to take on a higher position to cover the loss of what Moody
provided for the war. She was willing, and so she agreed, and she
did it. She did it a little too well.
She told Marlene how she worked her way into the central hub of
the games by becoming a stylist, originally supposed to sway public
opinion through fashion for the tributes she was to work with, as
well as find more recruitments along the way. Gideon and Fabian
had been recruited beforehand, recruited only a few days after they
came to her with humble, yet charming requests to work with her.
They'd been in the Order for only six weeks—just long enough for
them to have visited the Phoenix twice and gotten orders for their
first, last, and only mission—before they were sacrificed for her sake.
She told Marlene how she got them killed, how it was her fault, and
how she could not bear to lead Marlene to that same fate. All she
wanted to do was keep Marlene safe. She never meant to put her at
risk. She never meant to fall in love with her and make her a priority
over the war.
She told Marlene how it happened anyway, and how she did
everything she could to save her, up to and including starting a
fucking war. She told Marlene everything.
That sat between them for a while, like a bomb about to go off in
their laps, and Dorcas knew—she knew that Marlene was seeing
right through her, thinking back on every conversation they ever
406
Hell Week
had, every opportunity Dorcas could have taken to involve her, to

invite her into this part of Dorcas' life, and this cause. Could have,
but didn't. Chose not to.
In the end, Marlene had told her to get out, too. So, Dorcas did, and
she kept going.
In the meantime, the less injured tributes have all healed up, gotten
rooms and food and a chance to adjust. Same for the previous
servants. Asher pulled through, just like Marlene, but she was
released three days ago. She's now in a wheelchair and seems as
eager to work with Poppy on the biological warfare issue as
Dumbledore and Poppy are to consult with her.
Marlene had been released from the infirmary the day after Asher,
two days ago now. She'd spent five days in the infirmary altogether,
because she needed more time between the bullet wound to her
chest, recovering from surgery, and her broken arm. Fortunately, the
Phoenix does have access to some of the same medical
advancements that the Hallow does, either through what
information the Order has stolen throughout the years, or from
district one recruits who had a hand in creating said medical
advancements.
So, Marlene's healing has made miraculous leaps and bounds. She's
up and walking around, though she's a bit slow about it, and her
arm is in a proper sling. It should be coming off in a few days, which
Dorcas only knows because Cordelia—lovely, wonderful
Cordelia—has happily given Dorcas updates on Marlene's condition.
See, Cordelia loves Dorcas, loudly and proudly likes her and
approves of her for Marlene, shamelessly grateful for Dorcas because
she saved Marlene. She tells Dorcas all the time to let Marlene cool
off, and they'll be fine.
It's a nice thought, and Dorcas has decided to believe that, because
she simply refuses to accept that, after everything, what little bit of
more that they were is just gone. No, she's not entitled to Marlene in
any capacity just because she saved her. That's not it at all. She just...
Well, maybe she had fooled herself into thinking that she and
407
Marlene could have more once they were here, once everything had
been brought to light, once they managed to make it through.
Here they are, on the other side of hell, and what do they have to
show for it other than the demons they brought with them?
But, well, Dorcas is bold and isn't one to back down, not really. She
has given Marlene space, hasn't approached her, hasn't bothered her
since she was told to leave. She was going to wait for Marlene to
come to her, honestly, except she desperately misses her and wants
so very badly to see that she's okay. That's all. She just wants to tell
her she loves her.
So, Dorcas is at Marlene's door, trying to convince herself to knock. It

takes her a few minutes, but she inevitably does, and then she's left
waiting. She holds her breath.
The door opens, and then the door immediately starts to shut, and
Dorcas chokes out, "Wait. Marlene, please wait. Just—"
The door slams, only for it to wrench right back open. Dorcas gets
one second to suck in a sharp breath of hope, and then something
small hits her right in the chest and bounces off to land on the floor
with a cold ting. Dorcas glances down at the ring Marlene just threw
at her, staring at it and feeling every inch of the Hallow she is for
how hollow she becomes when the door slams one final time, and
doesn't open again.
Dorcas picks up the ring and walks away. As she goes, she wonders
what it'll take to get the ring on Marlene's finger a third time.
Whatever it takes, Dorcas will do it.
For Marlene, she always does.
"Did you check?" Regulus asks.
~•~
408
Hell Week
"Yes," Barty says, heaving a sigh, "I checked. I told you I would,
didn't I? The vent is sealed in my room, too."
"And you?" Regulus demands, swiveling on the spot to narrow his

eyes at Rabastan. "Did you check?"
"Sealed for us, too," Rabastan murmurs, gesturing between himself

and Rodolphus. He glances at Asher. "Did you—"
"Sealed," Asher confirms.
Regulus grinds his teeth. "There's surveillance all over, no way in or

out, and slipping past patrols
is fucking impossible. If I don't get a route out, I'm going to start

killing people."
"Is Pandora into women?" Rodolphus asks, turning to Regulus very

abruptly, his eyebrows
wrinkled.
"What?" Regulus snaps. "What does that have to do with—"
"No offense, but give it a rest, man," Rodolphus mutters, waving a

hand. "You're not busting your way out of here, not unless
Beard-Man says you can go, so—ya know, chill out. In the meantime,
you can tell me if Pandora is into women."
Regulus stares at him.
Rodolphus coughs. "Just—that cool lady who you fought, the one
who busted into the arena—" "Lily," Rabastan, Regulus, Barty, and
Asher all say at the same time.
"Right, that one. Lily," Rodolphus says, lips tipping down. "I think
she's—I mean, I'm pretty sure she's hitting on Pandora right now just
across the room, and I'm wondering—well, does she have a chance?
Does Pandora like women?"
409
"Why do you care?" Regulus asks, narrowing his eyes, though a part
of his brain can't believe he's having this conversation right now. He
can't believe a lot of things, because they're never things involving
getting to Sirius and James, and so he deems them unfathomable on
principle.
Rabastan snorts. "Is she crazy? Pandora, I mean. He likes them crazy.
That's why he was with Bellatrix." There's a pause, and everyone
looks at Regulus. Rabastan grimaces. "Sorry."
Regulus doesn't acknowledge that. Doesn't even grant it a second

thought. The most he lets Bellatrix enter his mind is in his
nightmares, or when Narcissa sweeps past him. She looks at him
sometimes. Andromeda softened her after all. Just yesterday, they
both stopped to talk to him very briefly and very stiffly, and he'd
wanted to fold himself up until he just disappeared. He managed a
smile anyway, tight as it was, because Dora had crawled into his lap
with a grin.
The reunion with Nymphadora had been painful and lovely, all at
once. He'd heard her before he saw her, just that loud shriek of
Reggie at top volume with undeniable child-like joy. He'd been two
days out of the arena, and she'd launched herself at him, throwing
her arms around his neck, and he'd just—he'd cried, helplessly.
You're not supposed to cry in front of children, he doesn't think, but
he did. He couldn't help it at the time. He was so fucking fragile in
the aftermath of everything, and Sirius calls him that. Reggie.
It's a bittersweet sort of acknowledgement, just that recognition of

finding his brother in the people around him. Sirius is everywhere he
looks, really. In Effie and Monty. In the playful shoves and laughter
shared between Rabastan and Rodolphus. In Andromeda's head
held high and Narcissa's sharp, watchful eyes. In the back of
Regulus' mind, talking to him always, providing running
commentary that usually gets him through the day, like this is just a
new arena and Sirius is still the one he trusts to help him survive.
This place lacks James, much to Regulus' bitter resentment. He only

finds James in Effie and Monty, which is partially why he spends
practically most of his time with them. But no one can properly
410
Hell Week
encompass the sheer enormity of James himself. There's not even

fucking sunshine down here.
In any case, Dora had only hugged him and told him it was okay to
cry, extending tragic company in his misery by telling him that she
cried, too. Cried a lot, in fact. Cried for her dad, who is gone now
and won't be returning to her like Regulus did. She'd cried with him
then, and they'd cried together, and Regulus had felt like no less of a
child in that moment than she did. Andromeda hadn't interrupted
them.
Regulus knows she would have had every right to. Andy has been
through a lot as of late. She was injured, lost her home, lost her
husband, then lost her sister. Got the other back, but that doesn't
change that Bellatrix is dead, and he's the one who killed her.
She—along with Narcissa—would have every right to hate him, and
keep Dora away from him.
Andromeda doesn't, though. When he tried to apologize to her, she

had said, simply, that they would never discuss it. So, they don't.
Narcissa doesn't touch Regulus anymore, not even to comfort him,
or to try. She's not outright cruel, but there is a frigid distance now,
one that he knows they'll never be able to cross.
He's always going to be dead to her, for as long as Bellatrix is. Just
another one of those fucked up parts of their family that they'll
continue on in spite of.
Honestly, to Regulus, it went as well as it could have. He is their

sister's murderer. Most of the time, they still treat him as if he's just
their youngest cousin. He can live with that. He does, and they do,
too. They don't really have any other option.
But no, Regulus doesn't think about Bellatrix very much, not because
she doesn't haunt him—she does, as do many things from the
arena—but because he has other things to focus on, namely on
figuring out how to get the fuck out of here.
He hasn't made much progress.
411
"Pandora is crazy," Rodolphus confirms to Rabastan, who
immediately rolls his eyes. Rodolphus
sighs wistfully, putting his chin in his hand. "And I do like crazy."
Regulus' fingers itch for a dagger. His eyes are narrowed so far now
that he almost can't see. "You're going to leave her be."
"Mm, no, I don't think I will," Rodolphus replies, pursing his lips.
"Unless—I mean, if she's not into men, fair enough. But if she is, then
I'm shooting my shot. Is she?"
Regulus—doesn't actually know, admittedly, but regardless he will

kill this man. "Okay, let me reiterate. Pandora is someone very
important to me. I am telling you this explicitly, right now, if you
shoot your shot and fuck up in any way, I will let her pick a part of
your body to take as a trophy, then remove it and give it to her. Still
interested?"
"Even more so," Rodolphus says, wiggling his eyebrows. "She's got
crazy friends, too. That's hot." "You know," Barty muses lightly, "I'm
crazy."
Rodolphus pauses and eyes him. Flicks his gaze across the room
where Lily is chatting with Pandora. Glances back at Barty. "Okay, I'll
shoot my shot later. You first."
"I like a man who has his priorities straight," Barty chirps, hopping
to his feet and glancing at Regulus. "See you?"
"Mhm," Regulus hums, watching Barty and Rodolphus leave with a

sigh. He shakes his head. Lovely, now he'll have to hear all those
details later when he's curled up in bed with Barty and doing his
best not to cry because he's not James.
"That means I'll have the room to myself," Rabastan breathes out,
sounding relieved, and Regulus does his best not to snap at him and
tell him not to take his big brother's presence for granted. What
412
Hell Week
Regulus would not give for Sirius to be around to annoy him, and
invade his space, and—and—and —
"I'm coming with you," Asher says, wheeling back from the table and
beaming up at Rabastan. Rabastan's face softens. "Don't you
always?"
"Have a problem with that?"
"No, no, definitely not. I just—"
"Because, if I remember correctly, it was you who said we'd made it

through hell together, so we could keep doing that, and just fucking
die together too, while we're at it."
"Right, right, I did say that. Yes, okay, come on. Do you want me to
push you to the—"
"I don't need you to push. I can wheel myself."
"Yes ma'am."
Asher's lips twitch, rolling along as Rabastan follows after like a lost
puppy. "So, about dying together, how do you think we'll go? I'm
thinking something fun. Poison, preferably."
"Shit, I think I like crazy, too," Rabastan chokes out, and Asher tosses
her head back as she laughs. Rabastan grins down at her. "No, uh,
maybe...we die from old age? Wouldn't that be nice? I think that'd be
nice."
"Not as fun," Asher points out, "and that's a long time to stick
together, don't you think?"
The last thing Regulus hears before they're too far away to be heard
is Rabastan saying, "Yeah, that's the nice part."
413
Regulus hates them all. Everyone who dares to have their sibling,
everyone who dares to have sex, everyone who dares to feel love. He
hates, hates, hates them.
Huffing, Regulus stands up and moves to go interrupt Lily in flirting

with a seemingly oblivious Pandora. Lily looks deeply displeased by
this. Regulus ignores her and feels something settle in him when
Pandora beams at him, leaning her arm against his and taking his
hand under the table, squeezing it.
For a moment, Regulus gets a little reprieve in making sure that

Pandora, at the very least, is safe from anyone who could do her
harm of any variety, even in the love department.
It's for the best, really. The love department hurts the worst. He
would know.
~•~
James taps his foot impatiently against the floor and grips the arms
of the cushioned chair he's forced to wait in. The office is eerily
silent, but the muffled sounds of protesting down past the castle
grounds drifts up through the cracked window.
It's music to his ears, frankly. Hallow is hollow, Hallow is hollow,

Hallow is hollow, they all chant. They're Hallows themselves, no
doubt, but the meaning behind it speaks volumes. To know that
there are some Hallows—many, in fact, by the sounds of it—that are
actively protesting right outside of Riddle's castle is invigorating.
Living in Riddle's castle is...strange. It's opulent, for one thing. He

has his own personal servant who brings him food, clothes for each
day, and takes the clothes he wore the day before. He's had two
servants so far. The first was killed in front of him, because he made
the mistake of touching them, catching their arm to halt them and
trying, gently, to talk to them. A mere few minutes later, Aurors
came in to hold him in place and make him watch as that servant
was shot. The next servant never raises their head or acknowledges
him, and he goes out of his way to not even get near them.
414
Hell Week
In his room, there's a very comfortable bed and a screen on the wall.
He's not sure why he's allowed to keep up with current events, but
he is. The day following the escape from the arena, and the Hallow,
Riddle's broadcast explaining that the games were ending early for
unforeseen circumstances was interrupted by...well, the unforeseen
circumstances.
James had seen most of it already while it was happening, the arena
rescue, but he hadn't seen Mary save Regulus. Hadn't watched
Regulus make it to safety with his own two eyes. Hadn't realized
how fucking dangerous it was for Mary to speak her name, or Lily's,
or just how worrying it was that the others there were picked up on
the camera. Some of the faces James didn't recognize, but he saw
Barty there.
The Hallows know their faces now, as well as their names, because
Riddle cut his broadcast short and went silent for a few days, then
came back and announced that there was a group of anarchists that
set out to put the safety and harmony of the Hallow in danger
through war. That's when James really saw an uptick in the protests
outside the castle. Either people don't believe his shitty excuses,
or they're angry with him for failing to keep this from happening.
Whatever it is, the names of everyone involved in the arena rescue

have been released, or at least those that Riddle could get
information on, apparently. Lily Evans, Mary Macdonald, and Barty
Crouch Jr. The other two—Sybill and Amos—have anonymity in that
their last names aren't known, but that's hardly a consolation. Along
with the others, their faces have been blown up and marked as
anarchists. Riddle's broadcast made it clear; these people are wanted,
and any information regarding their whereabouts is to be turned in
immediately, and they're labeled as armed and dangerous.
It's not limited to just them, though. All the servants—all twelve of
them—have been broadcasted as escaped convicts, also dangerous
people; any information regarding them is supposed to be turned in,
too. Seeing Remus on his screen had set James' heart ablaze, because
415
all he could think about was how he was free, yes, but he'd be at the
Phoenix now, and he'd know that Sirius didn't make it out of the
arena.
Rodolphus, Pandora, Dorcas, and Minerva have not been

broadcasted as anarchists, but rather prisoners of war, who the
anarchists apparently abducted. It's smart, James supposes, because
these are either Hallows or people that the Hallows, in some way or
another, idolized. To paint them as anarchists would surely garner
further support, but to say they've been captured by anarchists and
taken from the Hallow changes the whole narrative while still
ensuring any information about them will be turned in. Frank was
used in this way as well; his death was blamed on the anarchists and
broadcasted as further proof that said anarchists are the 'bad guys'.
The same thing had been said about Lucius and Dolohov.
No information has been released about Sirius or James.
As for James, he's been recovering, mostly. Between the fight to

escape the Hallow and the car wreck at the end—a fight to stay—his
body had been put through hell. He'd been given top notch healing
from the Hallow medical advancements, but there are some things
only a few days of rest can cure. A new cane has been provided for
him, but the outside of it is wrapped in a soft, pillow-y material that
means if he hits someone with any part of it, he won't do much
damage.
Not much has changed with him overall, other than being absolutely
capsized by grief for Frank, missing his family, missing Regulus, and
just—feeling shitty, basically.
Oh, and he can now see. Yes, like with his eyes. His glasses are just
gone, and yet James can still see. Perfectly. He doesn't have contacts
in; he knows, because he checked. This means that, without his
permission, someone did the operation to fix his eyesight
permanently. It's such an attack against his own autonomy that he
doesn't even know what to do about it, or how to feel, and all he can
ever think about is how upset Regulus gets when James' glasses get
taken away.
416
Hell Week
He hasn't seen Riddle yet. James isn't sure why. The man is likely
very busy, but James honestly expected to be tortured every day or
something. After all, James has information he wants, doesn't he?
James isn't stupid; he knows that Riddle wants something from him,
probably a lot of things, and he's prepared to die to not give it to
him. Ready and willing to laugh through his last breath while giving
Riddle nothing.
There's nothing Riddle can do to get anything out of him, and James
sits here in this office he's been escorted to, quite sure he's about to
get to prove it.
Sure enough, the door eventually opens, and Riddle sweeps in

without a break in his stride. James tenses in his chair, gaze
following him. His hands are free. He's not bound. He could get up
and snap Riddle's neck.
A quick look over the back of the chair immediately kills that idea,
because an Auror stands by the door, gun in hand. Yeah, okay, so
James would be killed before he could even fully come out of the
chair. He turns his gaze back to Riddle, who swings around the other
side of his desk to close the window and silence the sound of the
protests, then sits down.
They sit there across from each other in silence for a long moment,
Riddle surveying him with his hands threaded on top of the desk,
and James sitting still with his jaw clenched.
Then, without a word, Riddle reaches in his inner suit jacket pocket
to pull out a recorder and sit it down on the desk. He presses the
button, and every muscle in James' body locks up when screams split
the silence. Screams James recognizes. Screams James has heard in
his nightmares. Sirius' screams.
It just keeps going. James stares at the recorder with pure horror,
feeling sick and shaky, wanting to claw his own ears off or crush the
recorder in his fist. He's on the brink of begging for it to stop, please
stop, when the recorder stops and Riddle opens up his laptop on his
desk, clicks a few buttons, then swivels it to face James. On the
417
screen, there's a grainy video of Sirius, who is sitting in a cell on the
dingy bed, literally twiddling his thumbs. There's a mask on his face.
"Sirius sends his regards," Riddle says.
James doesn't look away from the screen. Can't. He stares at it

hungrily, Sirius' screams still ringing in his ears. Sirius looks fine,
overall. Well, his hair is tangled, and he doesn't look his best while
literally in prison, but he doesn't look like he's in pain. In fact, he just
looks...bored. Yeah, James knows what Sirius looks like when he's
bored, and it's that. All that restless energy, that inability to sit still,
always staying in motion. But, most importantly, he's alive.
"Leave us," Riddle continues.
The door opens and closes, and James only checks to see the Auror
gone when Riddle closes the laptop. Right, well, it's not like James is
going to kill Riddle now, after all that. Not when doing so could end
with Sirius hurt, or dead, or worse.
"Let's cut right to the chase," Riddle declares, holding his gaze with
those dead, hollow eyes of his. "Sirius is in Azkaban, at my mercy,
and if you cooperate, his time there will be free of further torture or
future death. His life and well-being is in your hands, James, so I
implore you to comply. For his sake."
"Bring him here," James demands. "Bring him to me."
"No," Riddle counters simply.
James grits his teeth. "Then how do I know you're not lying? He
could be—you could have killed him already. That could be older
surveillance, or you could be torturing him anyway—"
"Don't be a fool. Frankly, I haven't the time," Riddle cuts in sharply. "I
am very aware that your compliance is dependent upon Sirius'
vitality. That is my leverage over you, James, and I need not play
games with you to use it. I want your full cooperation, and to get it, I
have to give you something you want. I know how this works."
"I want to see him for myself," James says.
418
Hell Week
Riddle pauses, then inclines his head. "Very well, I'll permit you to
visit him, but only when you've earned it. The term that applies here
is tit-for-tat. You give me something, I give you something. Does that
work for you?"
"What do you want?" James snaps, hating himself for it already, just
how quickly he's changed his tune. Somehow, for some reason, he
never considered that Sirius could be used against him in all of this.
Fuck. Oh, he's so fucking stupid.
"I have spent the last week gathering information on the

organization of anarchists that oppose me," Riddle explains, leaning
back in his chair. "I have a feeling you know more."
"I don't know anything," James croaks.
"You're an awful liar, James. For Sirius' sake, you need to become a
better one, or tell the truth," Riddle murmurs.
James swallows. Shit, shit, shit. "I really don't know—"
"If I reach for my laptop and press one button, Sirius will be dragged
from his cell and tortured," Riddle interrupts calmly, never breaking
his gaze. It's not an empty threat. "You will hear it as it happens. You
will be the cause of it, because you have the power to prevent it.
Choose your next words wisely."
James' heart thuds in his chest painfully, his hands shaking in his lap.
He feels like a child. He wishes he was a child again. Just a young
boy tumbling into his best friend for the very first time; he'd go back
there, if he could.
But here he is. He's right here, and this is going to break him. It's
going to tear him the fuck apart. He can't call Riddle's bluff, because
Riddle isn't bluffing.
What is James supposed to do? Sirius wouldn't want him to breathe

a word of anything he knows, especially not if it could put Regulus
in danger. He'd rather be tortured to the point of insanity and
beyond, and James knows it. But—but Regulus. Oh, Regulus would
419
never—he'd never forgive James if he didn't spare Sirius from any
pain that he could, especially not in the name of protecting him. It's
so—he's just—he's caught in between them, caught in a trap he
willingly walked into, because he is a fool. Riddle said it, and he was
right.
All James has, at this point, is the hope that those on the other side of
the war against Riddle are strong enough to defeat him no matter
what James says or does. What Riddle doesn't know yet and may
never understand is that he only has James, but the resistance? The
resistance has James' parents, and Regulus, and Remus, and Dorcas,
and so very many others that can beat him, if they'll stand together.
James is one person, just one, and no matter what he does or how he
helps Riddle in the endeavor to help Sirius, the very people James
loves and believes in will win. James doesn't just hope for that; he
knows that with every breath he takes and every decision he makes.
The odds are not in Riddle's favor. If you ask James, he'll bet on his
people every fucking time. It's not a game of chance, or luck, but a
game of faith—and James has that in spades.
So, James exhales and lifts his gaze to meet Riddle's, then opens his
mouth and starts with, "The organization opposing you is called the
Order of the Phoenix..."
420
11
HARMONY
______
Remus watches in vague amusement as Lily presses herself up

behind Pandora and slides her arms out to readjust Pandora's grip
on the gun, murmuring in her ear. There is a slow nod, then Pandora
turns her head and smiles, visibly oblivious to the fact that she's
being flirted with. Lily has been flirting with Pandora for a few days
now, ever since she came to him about apparently needing to have
sex, and all Remus has seen her succeed in doing is become
Pandora's friend.
Pandora, ever since the mission to escape the Hallow, has taken to
training. She does a lot of training these days, keeping herself busy,
sparring with Dorcas, or letting Lily teach her about guns, and when
neither of them are available, it's Rodolphus. She generally goes to
him for efficiency, Remus thinks, because she knows Rodolphus will
say yes and indulge her by immediately dropping whatever he's
doing to go with her instead; he's apparently done it enough times
for her to be sure of it now, or so Pandora said. She told Remus all of
this with the air of a woman entirely clueless as to why it was like
that. Remus could tell her, but honestly, it's kind of fun to watch as it
is, and the last thing Pandora needs is something to worry about on
top of her friends and also her father. Rodolphus is respectful and
just genuinely seems to like her as a friend even outside the flirting,
which is primarily the only reason Remus isn't too suspicious about
the whole thing.
Besides, Pandora is a big girl. She can handle herself. Sure, she's the
kindest soul Remus knows, but even kindness can cut if it's
sharpened—and here Pandora is, seeming bound and determined to
give herself an edge someone could slice themselves on. She wants
to be prepared, Remus thinks, and she wants to be distracted from
421
Harmony
being so scared. He gets it, and it soothes something in him to see

that, no matter what else, she's making many friends here, people
who treat her well. This includes Lily, even if Lily pretends its all
about sex. Look at her over there, making Pandora laugh and
struggling to hide the soft smile on her own face.
A few minutes later, Lily is walking over to him, scratching her head
and looking miserable. "I think I've lost my touch."
"Not going well?" Remus asks.
"She likes me. Thinks I'm kind, for some reason."
"You are kind."
"Not really," Lily says with a snort, crossing her arms and leaning
against the wall beside him. "Not like I used to be, in any case.
Maybe I should just try a more forward approach."
Remus stares at her for a long moment, then murmurs, "Why aren't
you kind like you used to be?"
Lily pauses, her face twitching. She keeps looking right at Pandora
when she stiffly replies, "You died."
That sits between them, heavy. Remus looks away and doesn't say
anything. He doesn't know what to say. It's been days of this. Days
and days of them hovering in orbit around each other and failing to
talk, failing to connect, failing to get back to the ease of what they
once were. Remus wants it so badly that he's genuinely terrified to
go after it for fear that he'll find out that it's gone permanently.
All they've done is slap a patch over it, really. They still walk and
talk and act just as they used to, but it doesn't feel the same. Remus
has spent six years missing her, and he still feels like he's missing her,
because—in reality—he is. The Lily he knew is not the Lily who
stands next to him now.
She's so different now. Rougher around the edges. Harsher. Flippant,

like nothing and no one in this world can touch her. But, underneath
it all, Remus sees what's there. Sees just how much she cares and
loves, so much that it rips her apart, so much that she can barely
accept it.
422
The thing is. Well, the thing is, she's still Lily at the end of the day,
still his best friend, no matter what changes she has gone through.
He's gone through plenty, too, but he knows that he's still himself to
his core.
The very things they're afraid of, they're made of. They're fit to burst
with it, freedom and love clawing on the inside of them and begging
to get out.
There's a lot of love in freedom and a lot of freedom in love. Remus

thinks it goes hand-in-hand, and he thinks if they can mend
whatever is broken between them, the very things they're afraid of
won't seem as scary anymore.
"I didn't," Remus says abruptly, turning to look at her, and he

watches her shoulders get tense instantly. "I didn't die, Lily."
Lily doesn't reply.
"I didn't die," Remus whispers, "and I did. I—the person I was before
did die, in a way, but I'm not dead. Lily, I'm still here. I know that
I'm—I know it's different now—"
"Remus," Lily cuts in, "it's fine. Let's not—"
"It's not fine," Remus insists, "because we're not—it's all wrong. We're
all wrong, and we're not supposed to be."
Lily rolls her jaw, squeezing her eyes shut. "Of course you want to do
this now. Look, I'm not... I'm moving on, okay? I'm moving past it.
Letting it go."
"No, you're not. You're holding on so tight you're only breaking

yourself," Remus tells her.
"Fuck you," Lily hisses, head swinging around to pin blazing eyes on
him, and he thinks it's the realest thing she's shown him since he
showed up. "You don't know what this is like. You don't know how it
feels to—"
423
Harmony
"I don't?" Remus challenges, a strange heat starting to rush under his
skin, and he doesn't—he
hasn't gotten heated like this, like he used to, in a while. Not freely.
Not outside of life or death situations. "Lily, don't be a fucking idiot.
You think you're the only one who lost their best friend six years
ago? I didn't even know if you were dead or not."
"See, that's the difference!" Lily bursts out. "I did know. I was told
you died, and that it was my fault! You got off easy, do you know
that? Because you're the one who gave yourself up; you're the one
who made the fucking sacrifice, Remus. But me? I had to live with
that! I had to live with the guilt! Why the fuck would you do that to
me? I never wanted you to do that for me. I just—I ran. I left you
there. I—"
"Lily. Lily, shut the fuck up." Remus reaches out to grip her
shoulders, meeting her glare with his own. "That was not your fault.
You're not to blame for my choices. I did what I did because I love
you. It's that simple. I love you, Lily, then and now and the past six
years and the next six and all the years I've got in this life. All of
them will be spent loving you, and I would do it all over again; I
would do it tomorrow. The mere chance that you would make it out
and be safe made all of it worth it, and knowing that it worked? You
can't even imagine how much of a relief it is. I don't regret saving
you. I'm glad you ran, do you understand? I'm grateful that you've
lived. And I'm sorry—I'm so fucking sorry that you've been hurting,
and grieving, and suffering guilt. I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry."
"It's not fair," Lily whimpers.
"I know," Remus says. "I know it's not, and I know how it feels.
James—he—I feel like I left him behind, and like I let everyone
down, myself most of all. I've been hiding from it, from the shame of
it, because I'm blaming myself, and because I'm so angry at him for
it. But it's not my fault, and he didn't do any differently than anyone
does for those they love. Lily, it's not your fault, and I love you."
"I—I hated you for it, for doing this to me, for being dead. I still hate
you for it," Lily chokes out, a film forming over her eyes. She raises
424
her hands, curls them, and moves them jerkily up and down at her
chest, like she wants to reach in and yank something out. "It feels
like—I feel like I've been limping through life. I feel so fucking
empty, all the time, and I can't—I can't even breathe sometimes,
because I don't—Remus, I don't want to be empty anymore. I
don't—I can't—"
"You're not, though. You're not empty, Lily," Remus mumbles,

squeezing her shoulders. "Look at you. Fuck, you can't even see it,
can you? You're so full you're about to explode. You can't keep it all
in and shut everyone out. It doesn't work."
"But I have," Lily croaks.
Remus shakes his head, voice softening. "You really haven't. Do you
know what I see? I see life. You've lived a whole life, Lily, these past
six years, even if you tried not to, because you didn't want to live
without me. But you did. You made friends, like Kinglsey and Sybill.
You've fallen in love and didn't let yourself have that love; that'll be
Dorcas. You've learned new skills, because I just watched you shoot
with various guns and never miss. You lived. You had to live
without me, and you did despite your best efforts, just like I lived
without you."
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I left you there. I—I tried so hard, Remus. I
was always trying so hard to wait for you. I've just been waiting for
you," Lily sobs, and she's shaking, rattling under his hands like she is
exploding now, finally, in spurts.
"You couldn't wait for me, and that's okay," Remus tells her, sliding
his hand up to sweep under the curtain of her hair and grip the back
of her neck, pulling her into his arms. He kisses the top of her head.
"It's okay. I never wanted you to."
"I still fucking miss you," Lily says, crying, the words muffled into
his chest. "I still—all the grief and guilt, it's still here, it's still in me. I
don't know how to get rid of it. I don't know where to put it now."
425
Harmony
Remus closes his eyes and rests his cheek on the top of her head.
"Give it to me. Give it to the people you care about. Give it away,
Lily. It's just love. That's all it is."
Lily makes a horrible, choked noise against him and seems only
capable of crying. A lot of crying. Messy crying. Remus holds her
through it, pressing his face into her hair, hating every second of it
and knowing it's absolutely necessary.
They could never move forward if they didn't go back. He knows

that, but knowing doesn't make it any easier. He can feel how much
it hurts her, and he can't help her, can't fix it for her. There's all this is,
the horrible process they have to go through to get to the core of who
they always were, together.
It's just the start. Remus knows that, too. He'll have to take his turn
as well; he can't escape unscathed. He'll have to open up and face his
fears and methodically work through things he'd rather leave alone.
All those years he spent wishing he could just talk to Lily and tell her
everything, and now he's going to have to work at it to do so. It was
never supposed to be a struggle. It was supposed to be easy.
Remus is learning that the important things in life are rarely easy,
and Lily? Lily is important. One of the most important parts of his
life. He wants her back. He needs his best friend.
Lily does calm, eventually. She sniffles wetly and smears her face
against his chest, getting rid of snot and tears, probably. Then, finally,
she pulls back and violently clears her throat.
The first thing she says is, "How'd you know about Dorcas?"
"What, that she's the one who got away?" Remus asks. Lily swallows
and nods. "Because I know you." Lily looks like she's about to cry
again, and Remus sighs. "I'm sorry, by the way. You don't have to
talk about it if you don't want to."
"I loved her," Lily rasps. "Probably still do. Maybe always will, at
least a little. The worst part is that I didn't know. I didn't know until
I'd already let her slip away from me, and then... And then I still
426
wouldn't accept it. Couldn't. I don't know what's wrong with me.
There's something wrong with me."
"I don't think so. I think you were just scared. We all get scared, Lily,"
Remus murmurs. "I'm scared right now."
"Yeah." Lily sort of hiccups a chuckle, sniffling again and rubbing her
red nose. "Yeah, me too. All the time, really."
"I think we all are," Remus admits.
"I'm—" Lily clears her throat again, blinking hard, breathing in and
out. "I don't know—I have no idea what to do now, you know?
Because if I'm not—because, before, I wasn't...letting myself have
anything. Didn't know how. Still don't. You said I lived, but I didn't
know that, didn't feel that, and I don't—I can't work out how to do it
again, or where to go from here."
Remus hesitates, then says, "Well, the thing is, you're still living.
You're sort of...already doing it. I mean, even with love, yeah? You're
open to it. You want it, at least, because you're half in love with Mary
as it is."
"No," Lily says, like a reflex. Remus raises his eyebrows at her, and
she bites her lip. "Maybe? You think?"
"I do think, but only you can know that. How do you feel?" Remus
asks, reaching out to poke her chest. "In here."
Lily swats at his hand, and he grins. "Oh, fuck off. Now you're just
fucking with me."
"A little bit, yeah, but I mean it," Remus says, letting his smile turn
gentle. "Just because you ran then doesn't mean you have to punish
yourself by running now. Slow down, Lily."
"I'm still mad at you," Lily mumbles, "and I'm sorry." Remus sighs. "I
know. Me too."
"We're okay?" Lily whispers.
427
Harmony
"We're okay," Remus confirms.
Lily looks at him for a beat, takes a deep breath, then slowly lets it
out. "Okay. Right, okay, well... we lived without each other then.
Worst time of my life, just to be clear."
"Me too," Remus admits. "But some of it was good, just like it was for
you. That's okay, too. That's what living is, all the good and bad, easy
and hard. We don't—we shouldn't be guilty about it, Lily. I don't
want you to be guilty, and I'm sorry, but nothing in this world will
ever make me regret Sirius."
"You really love him, don't you?"
"More than anything."
"More than me?" Lily asks.
Remus huffs a weak laugh. "The same, just differently."
"I'm jealous, just on principle," Lily informs him, her lips curling up
in the corners. Her face softens. "You can—you know you can tell me
about him, don't you? About all of it. About every bit of the past six
years. Anything."
"It's a lot," Remus admits. Lily smiles. "I've got time."
So, when Lily holds out her hand, Remus reaches out to take it, and
they leave the gun range together, leaving Pandora to keep
practicing, now accompanied by Rodolphus in nearly the same exact
position as Lily was in before. Lily doesn't even glance at them as
they leave. They go to Remus' room and talk.
Oh, they talk, and talk, and talk. They talk and they laugh. They talk
and they cry. They talk and chainsmoke, watching the cloud above
their heads where they lay shoulder to shoulder with an astray
between their hips. They talk and burn a hole into Remus' mattress,
putting it out between catching each other up on the last six years,
covering torture and fear and loss and pain, setting their lungs on
fire as they trade stories of friendship and joy and love.
428
They talk, and they live, and they find that ease they fought to have
again, both waiting for it. Always waiting for it.
~•~
Lily leaves Remus eventually, because she has some things she needs
to take care of. Things she needs to do. When Lily sets her heart on
something, when she makes up her mind, she can't be stopped. That
applies to everything, whether it's a mission or simply taking steps
she needs to get better.
Lily goes to Kingsley first.
"I'm sorry," Lily says the moment he opens his door. "I should have
trusted you, but the truth is, I didn't. I refused to, because it was a
risky form of trust, and it scared me. But you were right. You're my
friend, you were the first friend I had here, and I haven't been a good
friend to you. I'm sorry."
Kingsley stares out at her, not speaking. After a beat, he crosses his
arms and leans his shoulder up against his doorway, raising a hand
and flicking his fingers to indicate quite clearly that he's going to
need more than that.
Yeah, okay, fair enough.
"You don't have to forgive me. I'd like you to, but I understand if you
can't. I just—I want you to know that I am sorry. And I have
immense respect for you—always have, really—even if I showed the
opposite. You mean..." Lily trails off, then clears her throat. Oh, this is
very difficult. "You're important to me, even if I've failed to show it.
Oh, and I'm sorry I put a gun to your head. I shouldn't have done
that; fuck, that's so fucked up. I'm so sorry I did that, and if you want
me to stay away from you, I understand, but I want—I do want you
in my life, King, and I'm sorry I never showed that either. So. Yeah."
"You know, Red, I feel like I need to go shake Remus Lupin's hand,"
Kingsley says dryly. "He's working miracles, clearly."
"Maybe a bit," Lily admits sheepishly. "It's sort of his thing."
429
Harmony
Kingsley's lips twitch, and then his face softens. "You know what I
could never understand about you?"
"Oh, here we go," Lily mumbles, wary now, feeling exposed. It's
becoming clear to her all over again why she doesn't do this shit. If
you're just leaving yourself open for hits, of course it's going to
fucking hurt when you get smacked.
"I could never understand how you convinced yourself that you
didn't care, when that's all you ever seemed to do. You weren't a bad
friend, Lily. You made mistakes here and there, sure, but we all do,"
Kingsley murmurs. "I do, too. I made a mistake by what I said to
you. I shouldn't have, because not only was most of it about you
blatantly wrong, but it hurt you and I knew it would. For that, I'm
sorry."
"It's okay," Lily whispers. "I know you were upset, and scared, and
freaking the fuck out. I've always thought of you as this unshakeable
man, but you're just as human as everyone else. Not just
Dumbledore's soldier. I shouldn't have treated you as such. I'm sorry
for that, too."
Kingsley sighs, and here Lily is, left open for a hit, but all she gets is
an embrace. He reaches out and tugs her in, and they have never
once hugged before, but she goes willingly now; it seems he knew
she would. "Water under the bridge, Red. We'll just do better next
time, yeah?"
"Yeah," Lily agrees, blowing out a deep sigh of relief. When she pulls
back, she clasps her hands together and rocks back on her heels, then
blurts out, "So, you and Sybill are totally going to make up, right?"
"I don't know," Kingsley says quietly, frowning a bit as he leans up

against the doorway again. "I'm not sure if I can. The thought of her
in the field, in danger, and she could—she might—" He squeezes his
eyes shut and lets his head hit the doorway with a dull tap. "I, um. I
don't know. What is it when you let someone go because you can't
lose them?"
430
"A double negative, I think," Lily says gently, a pang in her chest
when he opens his eyes and looks so sad. "King, you didn't let her
go. Take it from me, you'll regret pushing her away. And take this
from me, too. Don't let the war come between you, because before
you know it, you could lose her, if not to the war, then to someone
else. And you will regret it. Trust me on that. Hold onto her while
you can."
"Speaking from experience, I see." Kingsley gives her a weak, weary

smile. "Dorcas?" Lily sighs. "Fucking hell, was I that obvious?"
"I'm observant," Kingsley offers mildly. Lily clicks her tongue, and he
lifts his head, blowing out a deep breath. "Right, well, you...may
have a point. That's good advice."
"Don't ignore it." Lily steps back. "Alright, I have to go." "Making
rounds?" Kingsley asks.
"Don't worry, you were my first stop," Lily assures him with a
playful grin, then continues on to the next.
Lily goes to Dorcas second.
Dorcas looks very exhausted when she opens her door, and Lily feels
sympathy unfurl within her, as well as a rising sense of nerves
squirming about in her stomach. If she makes it through all of this
without vomiting, it'll be a miracle.
"Oh," Dorcas murmurs. "Hey, Lily."
"Hi." Lily clears her throat. "Can I come in?"
"Sure," Dorcas says, letting her in and shutting the door before
moving to plop down on her bed with a weary sigh, visibly
miserable. Lily knows that things aren't very good for her overall
right now, as she has been working herself to the bone, but the fact
that she and Marlene aren't okay certainly isn't helping matters. Lily
moves to sit beside her, staring at her hand, at the ring on Dorcas'
finger. Marlene's ring. The sight of it sort of breaks her heart. "What's
up?"
431
Harmony
"We, ah, need to talk. Or, well, I need to talk to you. I mean, I need to
tell you something," Lily mumbles.
Dorcas bolts up in alarm. "What is it? What hap—"
"No, no, nothing like that. Nothing to do with the war or any of that
mess, I promise," Lily says quickly, holding her hands up. Dorcas
settles slowly. "No, um, it's more...personal."
"Oh." Dorcas blinks. "Oh?"
"Yeah." Lily fiddles with her hands in her lap, her heart beating a
little too fast, though she can't figure out if it's from fear or nerves, or
both. Probably both. "So...I'm going to say something to you, and
it's—well, I'm going to feel awkward about it. I might vomit."
"Lily, is this a love confession?" Dorcas teases, clearly trying to

lighten the mood. She even leans over to bump their shoulders
together, smiling at her.
Lily looks at her and breathes out, "Yeah, actually, it is."
Dorcas' smile fades. She blinks again, then just stares at Lily, then
leans away like she's trying to
look at more of her. Lily is doing her level best not to throw up. Oh.
Oh, fuck, there it is. Well, that's just—out there now. Okay, that's fine.
That's—
"Oh," Dorcas says softly. "Lily, um. It's—I'm—"
"No, no, wait," Lily blurts out. "Wait. Please wait. I'm not trying
anything, okay? I swear I'm not. What I mean is, I—I was in love—I
mean, I did love you, before. I think."
"You think?"
"No, I know. I just—I didn't know then. I didn't realize it until you
were—until you said you were in love with Marlene, and even then,
I didn't really...accept it fully. The thing is, I couldn't love you then. I
mean, I did, but not all-in, do you know what I mean? I couldn't love
432
you the way you deserved; I couldn't love you right. I wasn't loving
me right, really, or...anything. Or I didn't know I was. This is—I
know I'm not explaining myself well, but what I'm trying to say is
that I wasn't ready then, for any of it. But it was there. It was there,
Dorcas, and I need you to know that. I need you to know I loved
you, and I still do."
Dorcas takes that in, apparently needing some time to process, which
Lily is admittedly grateful for, because she feels like she just ran a
damn marathon. She resists the urge to press her hands into her
stomach and bend over to catch her breath. Why is she winded?
She's not even trying to be with Dorcas. This is ridiculous. She is not
fine. All the times she told herself she was fine were lies. Oh, she is
so fucked up.
After a long moment, Dorcas carefully reaches out and takes Lily's
hand. Lily feels better instantly, suddenly able to breathe as they
thread their fingers together. Dorcas swallows and holds her gaze. "I
get it. I—yeah. Yeah, me too, Lily."
"Yeah?" Lily whispers, her throat feeling thick, because isn't that just
tragic? They had it, almost.
"Yeah," Dorcas whispers back. "I was...doing the same thing, I think.
The war was my priority, and if it hadn't been, it would have been
you. Before her, it could have been you."
"I'm sorry," Lily croaks, and she doesn't know who she's apologizing
to. Maybe both of them. Maybe to the lost opportunity they worked
together to throw away.
"Yeah, so am I," Dorcas admits. She squeezes Lily's hand and takes a
deep breath. "Do you still...? You said you weren't trying anything,
but do you—do you...?"
Lily darts her gaze away immediately, tucking her lips in and feeling
her heart give that same strange pulse in her chest that it did when
she heard Dorcas say she loved Marlene. Not Lily, but Marlene. And
Lily has a name for that pulse now; she knows what it is. Yearning.
433
Harmony
It's just—she can't help it. She knows now, and she wants... Well,
that's the thing, isn't it? Dorcas was an almost lover, and Lily wants
to undo everything, rewind time, and know what she missed. It's
hard to let go sometimes. It's so hard.
"Lily," Dorcas says softly, a mere breath. She waits for Lily to look at
her, and she looks so, so sad. "I'm sorry, but it's her. I love you—I do
love you, Lily, and you will always, always, always have a part of
me, okay? But it's her. It's Marlene."
"I know," Lily chokes out, eyes stinging, and how is it possible to be
heartbroken over losing something you never had? She didn't think
it was possible, and yet, here it is.
"Oh, Lily, I'm so—I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. Come here," Dorcas
rasps, pulling her in, and then the whole situation gets so much
worse, because Lily clings to her and cries.
Fuck, this is mortifying.
Dorcas coddles her through it, a bit. Pets her hair. Holds her close.
Tells her she loves her. Thankfully and tactfully doesn't bring up
Marlene again. Lily lets her do it. Needs her to.
She holds onto Dorcas, tucks her face into Dorcas' shoulder, breathes
Dorcas in. For a moment, she lets herself pretend she has her. Just for
a moment. And then she lets go, and it hurts. Fuck, but it really
hurts, far more than she expected it to when she went into this. She
knew it would be shit, but she didn't know it would split her open
and scrape her raw.
Lily only pulls away when she knows she's ready, and Dorcas
doesn't make her a second before. It's good. It helps. In the end, it's
necessary, because Lily can't go anywhere if she stays here. That's the
thing. She doesn't want to stay here anymore. She doesn't want to be
trapped by an almost, because she wants someone she can have, and
she wants to let herself have someone when she's ready. She isn't, not
yet, but she'd like to try to be. And so, this is where it starts.
434
It's an end and a beginning, and it leaves her a bit sensitive and
exposed after. Dorcas doesn't seem surprised that Lily needs to go
quickly after that, but she does catch her hand and bring it to her
mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to her fingers. A Hallow gesture of
admiration, Lily knows, and she appreciates it. Oddly, after all of
that, she's proud of herself, too.
They don't say anything else, but they don't have to. Lily leaves, and
she knows they'll be alright. They will, because the love is still there
between them. They didn't let it bloom, but the seeds can't be
uprooted from the garden they laid upon, and is a garden less of a
garden through a drought?
No. A garden that bears no fruit is still a garden.
Lily goes to Mary last.
"No, shut up," Lily says firmly, the split second Mary opens her door
and looks immediately unimpressed. Following these words, she
looks less unimpressed and more disbelieving, her eyebrows flying
up. "Sorry, that was aggressive, and rude, but I really need you to let
me talk."
"Alright," Mary replies slowly, curious now. "Proceed."
"I don't know if you don't like me, or what I did to offend your
apparently delicate sensibilities, even though I am the one who has
the right to dislike you, because you literally shot me when we first
met," Lily tells her. "And, you know, that's okay. It's okay that you
might not like me. But, the thing is, I like you. I—really like you.
Like, really. My best friend thinks I'm half in love with you, which is
ridiculous because we haven't known each other long, and all we do
is bicker, and I just got rejected by someone I never even let myself
love properly, which was heartbreaking, by the way, so the entire
concept of loving you even a bit, even just starting to, is so absurd
that I can't even begin to wrap my head around it—"
Mary's face journey is wild right now, flying through so many

expressions that Lily doesn't even bother trying to figure out what
any of them mean. There's some surprise, a bit of alarm for sure, and
435
Harmony
it doesn't matter because Mary opens her mouth like she's about to
speak, and Lily is not having it.
"No, no, let me finish," Lily insists, and Mary snaps her mouth shut.
For once. "I know I'm just rambling and not making any sense, but
that's your fault, because I can't think around you apparently, which
is just—annoying, is what it is. Anyway, my point is, I'm a fucked up
mess of a person who has been through a lot of shit, and I have no
idea what I'm supposed to be doing, and I'm genuinely terrified of
loving in any capacity, but I've had—a breakthrough. Clearly. As you
can tell. I don't think I'm handling it well, honestly, but I'm trying. I
got a friend back today—two, really—and I lost an almost lover, and
these are good things, so I'm—I'm sort of riding the wave."
"I see that," Mary says faintly.
Lily scowls. "I wasn't done. All that is to say, I'm not ready for love,
not really. Not yet. But I want to be, someday, and none of this has
anything to do with you overall, except I like you, a lot, and if I don't
love you at least a little bit already, I probably could, if you'd let me.
Except you won't let me, which might be for the best, because like I
said, I'm not ready. But I'll probably do it anyway, because I never
leave well enough alone, and I don't want to avoid it, or refuse to
accept it, or run from it; I want to walk into it with my eyes wide
open and do it on purpose. And I just—I just think that maybe, just
maybe, you'd be secretly alright with that. Maybe. Would you?"
Mary is silent for a long time, and then she clears her throat and
arches an eyebrow. "Can I speak now?"
"Oh. Yeah, sorry, I'm done," Lily replies, ridiculously out of breath
and nervous in a good way.
"So, you've clearly had...a day," Mary states. She pauses, then huffs
an incredulous laugh. "You know, good for you. I think... Well, I
think that, if you wanted, you could come inside to hang out with
me and Bing Bing. Maybe entertain him for a bit. I want to draw. It
helps me decompress."
Lily blinks. A lot. "I—wait, no, yeah. Sure. Yes, I'd love to."
436
"Come on, then," Mary says simply, lips curling up as she pushes
open the door and steps to the side.
"I—I still don't know if you like me or not," Lily admits, stepping
into the doorway and stopping there, searching Mary's gaze like she
can find the answers there and only succeeding in getting lost in her
eyes, because apparently she's a walking cliche now and there's no
hope for her.
"One of life's greatest mysteries," Mary murmurs, pools of laughter

in the black of her eyes.
"You never answered my question," Lily whispers, her heart doing a

funny little twist in her chest. "Would you?"
"Maybe," Mary says, then tugs her in and shuts the door. ~•~
Regulus is snatched out of his near-daily daydream of taking

Slughorn by the back of his head and smashing his face down
against the table he sits at until he's just a smear on it by the harsh
tug on his sleeve that gathers his focus instead.
"Reggie," Dora says, vying for his attention with a small frown and a
tiny wrinkle between her eyebrows. That same Black stubbornness
for what she wants that exists in all Blacks. It's in her blood. Her
wrinkled eyebrows look like his.
"Dora, where's your mother?" Regulus asks immediately, pushing

the chair next to him back and holding onto her arm so she can climb
up into it.
Dora gets settled and flashes him a smile. "She's coming, but she's
walking so slowly with my new aunt Cissa."
Narcissa has now been dubbed as new aunt Cissa by Dora, much to
her palpable delight. Regulus hadn't been there when Andy
introduced them properly, but they're two peas in a pod, from what
he's seen. It's quite clear to him that Narcissa is very pleased about
being with Andromeda again, regardless of anything else, and she
adores her niece.
437
Harmony
"There she is." Dora proceeds to stand up in the chair and jump up
and down, waving her arms. "Mummy! Mummy!"
Regulus holds onto the back of her shirt so she won't fall, and again,
her reckless zeal reminds him so much of Sirius that it's painful. It
hurts in a good way. A good ache. A reminder in the form of a
pin-prick that stings, yet alleviates pressure.
Andromeda sweeps over with Narcissa, both of them stopping by

for idle chit-chat for a moment, inquiring what's for lunch, asking
where Regulus' usual entourage is, and then they're collecting Dora
and heading to go through the line so they can make plates of food
and eat lunch together. They can never really linger around Regulus
for too long. He gets it. If he could, he'd get as far away from himself
as possible, too.
Regulus' usual entourage consists of Barty, Rabastan, Asher,

Rodolphus, and occasionally Pandora. Well, Pandora is a bit of a
social butterfly, in that she flutters around to whatever group she
likes, welcomed by all. To refuse her would feel like the equivalent of
a crime, but one you're horrified by committing. However, much to
Regulus' eternal displeasure, Pandora is apparently fond enough of
Rodolphus to be swayed into spending most of her time with
him—and the whole group, by extension—but Regulus is
single-handedly cockblocking that man as much and as often as he
can. Pandora, of course, remains entirely oblivious to all of this.
There's sort of a mess of fractured groups at the moment, in all

honesty, which is generally only noticeable at mealtimes.
One group consists of Mary, Sybill, Amos, and Lily. Every now and
again, Dorcas will be with them, but she's usually sitting with
Minerva and wistfully gazing over at where Marlene, Alice, and
Emmeline all sit together. Joining those three is Kingsley, much to
Regulus' bemusement, but apparently he came from district five and
was once childhood friends with Alice and Frank, and in the
aftermath of Frank's death, those two have reconnected as friends.
Regulus is pretty sure that Emmeline, Marlene, and Kingsley are
single-handedly getting Alice through to their grief, because as far as
438
Regulus can tell, they're a bit of a shell unless those people are with
them.
Alecto spends her time with Narcissa, and Andromeda by extension,

while Majesty has taken to sticking with the large group of previous
servants saved from the Hallow, as does Huey Rutledge, who
tentatively offers Regulus sad smiles whenever Regulus catches his
eye. During meals, it's the quietest table. When any of them do talk,
they whisper like they're expecting to get in trouble for it, but each
time they don't, Regulus notes they do it more and more.
Effie and Monty are generally at the same table as Regulus, close by,
or down a table with Minerva, Poppy, Filius, and Dorcas. Aberforth
comes and sits with them sometimes. Effie and Minerva seem to get
on well, but not at first. There had been a tension between them that
everyone was wary of, sourced from the fact that Minerva was the
head gamemaker behind all the shit that went down in the arena and
Effie seemed to want to beat the hell out of her for it, except Minerva
—according to Dorcas—is not easily beaten.
They did not fight, thankfully. Regulus talked to Monty about it, and
then Monty talked to Effie about it, and then Effie marched off to go
talk to Minerva about it—which is when Regulus groaned and put
his face in his hands, waiting for the entire underground bunker to
collapse around them or for someone to die (he would have bet on
Effie winning, but maybe he's just biased), but none of that
happened. It seemed that Minerva and Effie talked like two adult
women, discussed the whole matter, and came out the other side
with mutual respect and a building friendship, despite everything.
There's a lot of that going around. Continuation. Pressing on. Sitting

aside issues and focusing on what matters now. There is this big
thing sitting between everyone, and it's not just brushes with death
and loads of trauma. No, it's war. It's the war lingering like a shroud
over them all, something that ties them all together, and everything
in the past can't affect the present they're faced with now.
As for Regulus' usual entourage, they're all broken up at the

moment, but will surely make their way here at some point. Asher is
most likely caught up with Poppy, because Poppy is also absent from
Minerva's side. Rodolphus is caught in the middle of a conversation
439
Harmony
with Alecto. Rabastan is going through the line, getting his tray of
food. And Barty...
Barty is lingering around Mary, Amos, Lily, Sybill, and also Pandora
at the moment. Most of the time, Barty is never too far away from
Regulus, and Regulus spends any time he isn't with Effie and Monty
with Barty. Not only because Barty is Barty, but also because Barty
needs it, badly. He lost his mum, killed his dad, and hasn't been
doing well in the aftermath of either. Mostly the first, admittedly, but
either way, he's only just now starting to look a little better, which
Regulus knows can be attested to his willingness to linger around
Barty through anything, through his manic ramblings in the day,
through his quiet sobs in the night; through it all, Regulus is there,
because Barty is Barty, and Barty has consistently been there for him.
Still is, even now.
Barty hides his issues well, carrying on as he usually does, doing all
the usual things he would do. Flirts with Amos, gets Sybill to laugh
when she's sad, annoys Lily, entertains all of Regulus' frantic
thrown-together schemes to break out of here, no matter how foolish
or impossible. But—when they're alone, and it's just them—they'll lie
on the floor in Regulus' room, and Barty will ask him to hum the
tune of a nursery rhyme his mother used to sing to him, and Regulus
will, and Barty will curl up on his side, back to Regulus, and cry.
And, at night, Regulus will curl up against him, close his eyes, and
chant his promise to himself to keep going, to keep breathing, to the
consistent beat of Barty's heart.
One person who never shows up to meals is Remus. It has been over
a week, and Regulus hasn't laid eyes on Remus once since Regulus
made sure Remus got out of solitary. They haven't spoken. They
haven't made it a point to seek each other out. Regulus doesn't know
what he's supposed to say to him; he doesn't know how they're
supposed to be here at the same time, together, without— without—
So, you can imagine his surprise when the chair next to Regulus that
Dora was in scrapes across the floor, drawing his gaze away from his
own plate to find Remus plopping down in the open seat, his jaw
clenched and his shoulders back.
Naturally, Regulus freezes like a startled hare under the gaze of a

watchful wolf. His mind goes blank for a moment, and it hasn't even
440
been two full weeks since he got out of the arena, since he laid right
there under his brother's fists and used Remus as leverage over him
to keep those fists raining down. He couldn't do it, couldn't
endanger Remus, and never even planned to, but he pretended he
would have. He was going to die under that pretense and never
correct it. He never
apologized for that. He never apologized for a lot of things.
There's too much between them to even know where to start.

Regulus has wronged Remus, but it's not just that. It's that he is here,
and Sirius is not, and as much as Regulus hates that, surely Remus
does, too. It's that Remus is here, and James is not, and Regulus
doesn't want to hate that, and so he tries not to, and only manages by
half. No, no, he wouldn't want them to trade places, Remus left there
and James safe here, but—
But.
They sit right next to each other, staring at each other, and Regulus
sees Sirius in Remus, too. Finds Sirius there in the love he has for
Remus, and the love Remus has for him, clear as day in the bags
under his eyes and that lack of something in his gaze; that something
is Sirius, and Sirius is absent. Gone. Not here. Remus is here, and
Sirius is not, and James is not, and Regulus could rip Remus' throat
out for it, or offer up his own for the same treatment, or simply hold
onto him and cry.
None of those things happen, of course. It's all feeling, pure

sensation, a breath frozen in place and a moment lost to the cruel
hands of time, swirling down a drain as they sit here, drained,
missing the same things in the exact opposite ways. Hand-in-hand
without ever touching. Mirror, mirror sitting before me, which of us
could the most miserable be?
"Do you have the wrong table?" is what falls out of Regulus' mouth.
"Lily is across the room." "No," Remus says, "I'm here for you."
"You never come to meals," Regulus murmurs.
441
Harmony
"I've been grieving," Remus replies, clipped.
Regulus looks away, staring down at his plate, appetite fully

vanished. Not that he has much of an appetite these days, but he eats
anyway, because he has been hungry and he knows how important
nutrition is to keep one's strength up. He can't allow himself to get
weak. He needs to be ready at all times, ready the moment there's a
shift in the wind and he can get to them, get to them, he will get to
them.
Regulus clears his throat. "They're not dead."
"No, but they're likely being tortured, and as someone who knows
intimately how that feels, I'm a little more informed on why that's
something to be upset about," Remus says bluntly.
"Thanks for saying so, really appreciate it," Regulus grits out,
drawing his hands down into his lap to hide how they shake. He
fists them and wills himself not to hit Remus.
Remus sighs. "I'm not—listen, I'm not trying to be a prick, alright?

I'm just not going to sugarcoat it. Denial doesn't help either of us,
and it definitely doesn't help them."
"I will help them," Regulus says firmly, turning to look at him almost
challengingly. "I'm going to help them."
Does he know how he's going to do that? Mm, no. But he will, in
fact, be doing that. At some point. Eventually. Someday. He doesn't
know when or how, but if it takes finding a way to escape the
Phoenix and march his way into the Hallow right by himself, then
that's what he'll damn well do.
"Ah, so you've made it through your grieving period," Remus notes,

flicking his gaze over him, lips curling up in one corner.
"I never had a grieving period," Regulus retorts sharply, and he

hasn't. There was no grieving period. There was no transition from
arena to safety, because the fighting hasn't finished; James and Sirius
still need to be fought for, and that is central to Regulus' survival, so
he breathes and keeps going and doesn't break down, doesn't shut
442
down, doesn't do anything other than stay focused. For them. He
clings to that, to being ready, because that's all he has now.
"Regulus..." Remus' expression twitches, eyebrows furrowing as that

same curl in his lip ticks down in the opposite direction. "It's okay,
you know, to not be fine."
Regulus digs his nails into his palms. "I am fine."
"Fuck's sake." Remus heaves yet another sigh and plants his elbow
on the table, reaching up to swipe his hand over his face. His
shoulders are hunched, and he drags his hand back and forth over
his hair, then turns to peer at him, looking very exhausted all of a
sudden. "You're still so fucked up."
"So are you," Regulus grumbles, like an accusation. They bonded

over this, didn't they? Why is it a problem now?
Remus shakes his head. "Look, we can unpack all of that later,
or...not, knowing us, but I've had —" He stops, then blows out a deep
breath. "Well, I had a talk with Effie the other day, and I helped Lily
out earlier, which—in doing so—helped me. So, yes, everything is
fucking awful right now, but I've decided to deal with that by
believing it'll get better, even if I have to make it get better. Do you
understand what I'm saying?"
"Yes," Regulus says, because he does understand. They are in the

same boat, in this regard. "You're going to help them, too. If it makes
you feel any better, I never doubted that, regardless of your grieving
period. Have any ideas?"
"Oh, just right into it, then," Remus mutters, mildly amused.
Regulus arches an eyebrow. "Is there anything else worth talking

about?" "I don't know, is there?" Remus shoots back, holding his
gaze.
"I—" Regulus stops, because he wants to say there's not, but that's
not true, is it? I'm sorry bangs at the back of Regulus' throat, and he's
443
Harmony
never been good at saying it, but Remus is looking at him and he
knows he needs to.
Remus shakes his head and almost looks fond. "Alright, fine, I'll get
it out of the way first. I'm sorry."
"You—what?" Regulus blinks at him, then leans in to stare at him in

sheer disbelief. "Remus, what the fuck do you have to apologize for?
I'm the one who threatened to put you in danger inside the arena.
I'm the one who used you to get Sirius to lose it. I'm the one who spit
in the face of all the times you've helped me by leaving you alone in
all of this now. If anyone should be apologizing, it's me. What are
you sorry about?"
"I'm sorry for leaving you alone in all of this, too, because I have. I'm
sorry I didn't—I tried, but James was left behind, and I'm sorry I
made it out when he didn't, because I know you'd rather it be him."
"Remus—"
"And I know that because you made it out, and it's one of the worst
things I've ever felt, but I wish it had been Sirius. I'm sorry, because
you're my friend, and I'm—I am so fucking grateful that you're here
and you're okay, but something in me wishes it was him, and I can't
help it," Remus chokes out.
Regulus feels like something in him pops. Just deflates a little. He

exhales heavily, shaky from relief, and he's nodding. He nods almost
frantically and rasps, "Yeah. Yeah, okay, thank you.
Because—because I thought—I thought I was alone in that, and I
didn't want to be alone in that."
"You're not," Remus says hoarsely. "I promise you're not."
"I have so few friends and you're one really fucking high on the list,
Remus, and I'm glad you're free. You have no idea how glad I am,"
Regulus tells him rapidly, feeling a little untamed and wild as he
just—confesses. "But I wish it was James."
"Fuck," Remus declares on a laugh that sort of cracks in his throat,

and he nods along, too. "Yeah, Regulus, same here."
444
"Oh, they'd be so angry at us if they knew," Regulus whispers.
Remus quirks a weak smile. "Our secret, then."
"Right. Right, okay." Regulus flexes his hand under the table and
keeps nodding, feeling inexplicably lighter. "Right, so that's—that's
out of the way. We're awful and we're sorry. Good enough for me.
Good enough for you?"
"Yes," Remus admits, and he clearly means it.
"Good, because we have other shit to focus on," Regulus says,

leaning in even closer and lowering his voice. "As of now, I have—no
plan. I mean, I've sort of been tracking the way this place works.
Memorizing rotation schedules. Finding out who goes where and
does what. It's just—well, after Dorcas and Lily pulled what they
pulled, the measures to keep everyone inside are infuriatingly
thorough. We can't just leave."
"But staying here isn't an option," Remus mutters.
Regulus grimaces. "I know, but at the risk of going to solitary, an

escape attempt can't be made until there's an opening, and there
aren't openings, Remus, I've checked. I mean, you already went to
solitary once, and if they try to throw you in there again, I'll kill
someone. Like, actually."
"Regulus," Remus says, lips twitching.
"I'm not joking," Regulus whispers, holding his gaze. "If they try to
pull that shit again, I'm going to kill them. Any of them. All of them.
Sirius would."
"Oh, is that why you plan to?"
"Well, only partially. You're also my—friend."
"Aw," Remus coos, "look how far you've come. Remember when you
said I wasn't your friend?"
445
Harmony
"Simpler times," Regulus replies wryly.
Remus snorts. "Do you know how fucked up our lives are that the
time after your first arena was simpler than this?"
"I'm very aware." Regulus sighs. "Things will get simpler if we can
get James and Sirius. So, brainstorming."
"We can't fight our way out?" Remus asks. "I know Lily would come,
and I don't doubt some of the others would be happy to as well. Lily
can still get into the armory in the gun range, so that's an option. If
we did it late at night, maybe..."
"I don't think we'd make it very far. The surveillance here is too
good. We'd be caught before we even got halfway in. All I can think
of is—well, Rodolphus said it, actually, but I've been
thinking...Dumbledore," Regulus says.
Remus blinks. "Dumbledore?"
"Dumbledore of the Albus variety, not Aberforth. If we could

somehow convince him to let us out, convince him to clear a mission
to go to the Hallow, then maybe..."
"Oh, that's never going to happen."
Regulus is about to open his mouth and tell Remus never to say
never—he knows from experience that saying so usually ends up
getting proven wrong, and what do you know? The universe is
moving fast, or the fates, or whatever thing exists out there that
shifts winds and throws in plot twists—because the words have
barely left Remus' mouth before something happens that will set the
course for exactly what he spoke against. Before you know it, never
can be now, and here it is.
The loud buzzer indicating an update broadcast from within the

Hallow makes the entire Great Hall fall silent. There's a large screen
at the front that's usually off, but it comes on whenever Riddle is
addressing the world, thanks to some untraceable, technological
interference from this end.
446
The screen flicks on now, and Regulus is expecting Riddle, which is
why he nearly chokes on air when it's James.
Oh.
Oh, it's James.
Regulus stares, his lips parting as he takes him in. James, James,
James. There he is, alive and looking...startlingly well. His glasses are
missing, and his hair is slicked down in a way Regulus has never
seen before, but there he is. Right there. He looks so—put together.
Dressed in a suit with a striped tie soothed down, cufflinks glinting,
dripping in opulence and looking so rich and refined that Regulus
feels like he's something untouchable, too expensive, too valuable.
Regulus simultaneously doesn't like it and feels his mouth water like
a fucking reflex. In seconds, his chair is clattering loudly in the
deadly silent room, and he nearly trips over his own feet to move
towards the screen, drawn in by it, drawn in like there's a hook
around his spine that drags
him to James.
James is looking right into the camera, his expression calm and
neutral, but it's like he's looking right at Regulus, looking like him
and like he never has before, looking beautiful, always beautiful, and
all Regulus can think is oh, James, I've missed you.
"Hello," James says softly, and Regulus chokes out a harsh breath, his
shoulders jerking like he was just struck. How long has it been since
he heard James' voice? Since before the arena. That horrible morning
where Regulus was dragged away along with Sirius, and James was
yelling then, but he sounds so gentle now. "Today, I address all of
you with a very important message."
Regulus inhales sharply, and even that's loud in the otherwise silent
room. Everything feels like it's coming from far away, so he's only
distantly aware that Remus has followed him and is standing at his
shoulder, watching with him.
447
Harmony
"There are external forces that wish to dismantle the peaceful core of
the Hallow, all in the name of wreaking havoc and causing
mayhem," James declares. "These external forces are anarchists, and
they are gathering to threaten the very state of the world as we know
it, as we have always known it. The very state of the world as we
need it. These anarchists wish to cause war, and I beg of you, please
don't fall prey to it. Sympathizers of the anarchists, ask yourselves if
you wish to encourage war and death within your own home, within
your own families. This is not a time to turn on each other, but a time
to band together against one common enemy. Stand with me, stand
with your fellow Hallows, stand with your Master—and stand
against all those who oppose peace."
Regulus feels a chill go down his spine as he stares wide-eyed at the

screen, at James, at a man he loves and knows inside and out. A man
who sits before him and everyone to say things Regulus knows for a
fact he doesn't agree with.
It's not him, Regulus knows that. Or, well, it is him, but those aren't
his words, and this isn't his choice. Look at him there, camera-ready
and giving a speech like it was scripted for him. Oh, baby, Regulus
thinks as he gazes at James, what have they done to you? They have
him doing something he'd never do without coercion. Riddle is
making him do this, and Regulus needs no time to work out how.
Sirius. He's using Sirius.
"Desist all protests and instead come together to help one another.
Any information about these anarchists or those taken as prisoners
of war are to be turned into the authorities. Hear me, Hallow is not
hollow. Hallow is harmony." James dips his head. "Thank you."
The screen goes black and all hell immediately breaks loose.
~•~
James walks quickly through the concrete corridors of Azkaban, his

heart racing as he's led through the silent, solemn prison. It's frigid
here and so quiet that the sound of his steps echo off the walls. His
shoes are pinching his toes, and he's so nervous and full of anxious
anticipation that he's struck with the impulse to beat-box.
448
Naturally, James does not give into this impulse, because he's being
marched past one cell after the next, revealing a masked servant in
each one, full of hollow eyes and gaunt faces. His stomach churns
just seeing them, so he forces himself not to look, because there's
nothing he can do for them, and the urge to try only puts Sirius in
further jeopardy.
And then—there. The guards leading James along come to a halt in

front of a cell, and he peers around them eagerly, his breath
punching out of him at the sight of Sirius, who springs up from his
bed the moment he hears James. The cell doors open with a clang,
and James bursts forward, frantically pushing past the guards to run
to Sirius.
Sirius, who watches him with wide eyes, the bottom half of his face
covered. He's reaching out before James gets to him, and they collide
into each other so hard they go stumbling back.
"Sirius," James chokes out, gasping almost, hugging him so hard that
he can feel Sirius' ribs constrict under his arms. Of course, he gets no
response, which immediately makes him scramble back and raise his
hands to fumble at the clasps of the mask, only to find it locked. He
rears back and stares at Sirius in horror, then whips his head around
to glare at the guards. "Let me unlock the mask."
"Sorry, those weren't our orders," comes the dry response, and then
the door shuts again. "We'll return to collect you shortly."
With that, the guards sweep off, and James grinds his teeth, glaring
after them, but cold hands on his face gathers his attention. Sirius
tugs on his head, shaking it a little as he stares at him with wide
what-the-fuck eyes. His hands are trembling against James' face, and
his chest is heaving, very faint sounds of sharp, muffled breathing
only just escaping through the slots on the mask. It's so tight to his
face that he can barely make a sound, just like with Remus.
"Okay, okay, it's okay," James chants, gripping Sirius' wrists,

squeezing them gently. "You're okay. Are you okay?"
449
Harmony
Sirius proceeds to give him a flat look over the mask.
James winces. "Alright, fair enough. I just—I meant, have they

tortured you? Recently, I mean. In the last few days?"
Sirius' eyebrows draw together, and then he shrugs and pulls his
hands back to tap his own wrist. "Right, you don't know how long
it's been." James bites his lip and nods. "Okay. Er, has it been a
bit since they tortured you last, then? A notable amount, maybe?"
Sirius pauses, then nods.
"Okay. Okay, good," James wheezes, his shoulders slumping as relief

pours through him. No, Sirius isn't in the best condition at the
moment, but at least he's not being tortured daily.
Riddle is keeping his word, it seems. He would, wouldn't he? It's

what gets James to do whatever he wants, and if he were to torture
Sirius anyway, James would spit in his face and never comply again.
By letting James actually have some control over what happens to
Sirius, Riddle keeps James on a leash.
At this point, James doesn't even care. Yes, he feels absolutely filthy
in the aftermath of getting on camera to read the speech written for
him, but he'd do it all again to see Sirius and be sure that he's safe.
Or, well, mostly safe. Safe enough, how about that? It'll have to do
for now.
James reaches out to brush his hands over the side of Sirius' tangled,
unkempt hair. It's a bit limp and not as shiny and pretty as it usually
is, which James knows must be driving Sirius mad. Maybe James can
bargain to bring a brush next time. Should that be a priority?
Probably not, but whatever.
The balls of James' hands bumps into Sirius' cheeks, the part not
covered by the mask, and he immediately frowns as he reaches up to
press the back of his hand to Sirius' forehead.
"You're hot," James mumbles.
450
Sirius stares at him, then wiggles his eyebrows, which is so
ridiculous and so Sirius that James can't stop himself from releasing
a hoarse, choked laugh.
"Yes, you're always hot, but I mean hot," James says. "As in
temperature-wise. A bit sweaty. Clammy. Are you sick?"
Sirius nods and steps back, showing James his wrists and inner arms,
where he's broken out into a rash. James grabs him and stares at it
with a frown, and then Sirius points at his legs, chest, and face before
pointing to the rash again.
"You've broken out all over?" James asks.
Again, Sirius nods, then taps his stomach.
"Your stomach hurts?"
Sirius snaps his fingers and nods once more, then pokes himself in
the temple, gesturing to his head.
"Headaches?" James frowns when Sirius nods again, then shrugs his
shoulders and waves his hands around like a man as baffled as
James is. "Are you, like, allergic to prison?"
There's a beat, and then Sirius' shoulders start shaking, his eyes
above the mask crinkling up, alight with laughter. There's just the
quietest, faintest sound of muffled, muted laughter that breaks
James' heart, because of the many things Sirius is, quiet isn't one,
especially when it comes to laughter. But, well, it does soothe
something inside James to know Sirius is laughing, that he can still
laugh, even after everything.
"Alright, well, are you getting worse?" James murmurs. Sirius shakes
his head, then gives a thumbs-up.
"You're getting better?" James narrows his eyes when Sirius nods.
"Are you lying to me?"
Sirius whacks him upside the head.
451
Harmony
"Okay, just checking," James mutters, and Sirius steps back to sit on
the edge of the bed, jerking out his hands in yet another clear sign of
what-the-fuck? James glances out into the empty hall, then moves
forward to hit his knees in front of Sirius, reaching around to cup the
back of Sirius' head and push it down. He makes them both slouch
together, the curtain of Sirius' hair falling forward as much as it can
on either side from under the mask. James hides there and lowers his
voice to a mere breath. "I don't know how much time we have, and I
need to be careful. You're under surveillance."
Sirius' arms come around James' neck, helping block his face. It
probably looks like a lover's embrace, honestly, and James could not
give a fuck less. If Riddle is watching, let the man wonder —if he'll
even bother to care.
"Listen to me, I'm going to make sure you're as safe as you can be.
I'm going to keep you from being hurt. I'm not going to let anything
happen to you, okay?" James whispers fervently.
Sirius wrenches back, his head popping up, and James lifts his head,
too. Sirius is wide-eyed again, studying his face, the cogs behind his
eyes turning in his mind, and he's so smart, he knows James so well,
so it comes as no surprise that his eyes narrow a moment later. He
immediately starts shaking his head, digging his nails into the back
of James' neck in clear reprimand. Oh, he is not happy.
"Stop. Sirius, stop it," James hisses under his breath, only pushing
closer, shaking his head along with him. "I know what you're
thinking, but stop thinking it. We have to trust them, do you
understand? We have to trust they'll pull through for us, for the
whole world, and in the meantime, I'm doing this. You have to let me
do this for you, and for me, and for Regulus."
Sirius' eyes visibly soften, and his shoulders slump. Even with half
his face covered, he conveys guilt with ease. Of course he doesn't
want to be the catalyst to what James is doing for him, but— well,
sometimes that's just how it goes. There's really nothing Sirius can do
from his position at the moment.
"Listen, don't worry about anything," James tells him, even though
he knows that's pointless to say. "Come here." He tugs Sirius back in,
this time burying his face into the curtain of his hair for the sole
452
purpose of speaking softly in his ear. "Do you know what happened
to the other tributes?"
Sirius nods against his cheek.
"So, you know Regulus is safe?"
Another nod.
"Do you know what happened in the Hallow?" Nod.
"Frank?"
A pause, then another nod, a bit slower. Sirius' arm comes up around
him, hand pressing flat between James' shoulder blades. James
squeezes his eyes shut and tucks his face into Sirius' shoulder, letting
them hang onto each other for a long moment, heavy grief choking
him, likely choking Sirius, too. They hold onto each other like that,
probably for too long, but James desperately doesn't want to let go.
He doesn't let go anyway, but he does lift his head again and start
whispering once more. "Mum and Dad are safe, Sirius. They were
saved, too. It's—well, a lot has happened, and I don't have time to
explain it all, but they're alive and safe."
Sirius jerks against him, fingers digging into James' back, and James
can feel how Sirius' shoulders wrench up on what must be an
aborted sob of relief. This time, James is the one holding Sirius when
he slumps a bit, like his strings have been cut.
The distant sound of steps reach them, and Sirius tenses up, his hand
patting at James frantically, trying to communicate something with
so much urgency in his movements that James knows what it is
instantly. He drags one hand up to cup Sirius' neck and puts his lips
directly against Sirius' ear.
"Your moon made it out safely. Your moon is free," James breathes
out, and Sirius gives a full- body shudder before he collapses against
James and clings to him. The steps draw closer, and James swallows.
"They're coming."
453
Harmony
Sirius draws back slowly, and his hand slips over James' shoulder,
their gazes meeting. Sirius presses his hand flat to James' chest,
applying a bit of pressure right between his lungs. James slides his
hand down and mirrors the contact, feeling Sirius' chest rise and fall
under his hand.
Eyes stinging, James gives a shaky smile and nods. "I know. Every
breath, in and out. I'm with you, you're with me."
It's the last thing James gets to say to Sirius before the cell opens and
the guards drag him away.
454
12
PAWNS
______
Regulus feels his leg jump up and down with racketing nerves, his
gaze latched onto the door as he waits. He doesn't really appreciate
having to wait, and his impatience is making him feel very fucking
mean. He's not above killing an old man; the urge is absolutely there,
and if Dumbledore doesn't—
"You look like you're about to come out of your skin, boy."
Wrong Dumbledore.
Regulus darts his gaze briefly to Aberforth, then looks away, staring
at the door again. Aberforth moves over to sit down in the chair next
to him, gazing upon the gargoyle door-knocker ruefully. Regulus
ignores him, because Mayor Aberforth isn't really someone he's ever
properly interacted with or gotten to know before, and he doesn't
care to.
"You know that tree on the edge of my property back home, the one
you became so fond of?" Aberforth asks. Regulus doesn't look at
him, but he nods, and Aberforth sounds gruff when he continues to
speak next. "My sister's ashes were buried beneath that tree."
Regulus does look at him then, purely because he's surprised. He

didn't know that. He didn't even know there was a sister. He also has
no idea what to say in response to this.
"Well, better to say—the tree was planted there for her, with her
ashes," Aberforth corrects, clearing his throat. "Grew in memorial for
her over the last five decades."
455
Pawns
"Should I apologize?" Regulus asks, sort of just—reflexively, without

even thinking, like an instinct. For fuck's sake, the tree grew from a
dead girl's ashes, and Regulus was out there cutting up the bark with
his daggers.
Aberforth grunts and shakes his head. "No, you don't need to.
Ariana wouldn't have minded." "Oh," Regulus says. He coughs.
"Okay."
"She died in the arena, only fourteen years old," Aberforth tells him.
"Nearly lived to see the end of the 34th hunger games.
Second-to-last."
Regulus' stomach turns over. "That's—" He stops and gets no further,

because there are really no words to encompass what that is. Tragic.
Normal. Something all of them will always find horrible. Something
all of them have known their entire lives. It's despicable. It happens
all the time.
"The man who won instead of her is right through that door,"
Aberforth murmurs, nodding towards his brother's office.
And that. Well, that's something else entirely. Regulus thought he felt
sick before, but no, no, this is true nausea. Siblings in the arena.
Regulus and Sirius, Narcissa and Bellatrix—they were not the first.
It's common for families of tributes to be reaped later, especially if
the tributes become Victors. It's impossible to miss; so many from the
Black family; Augusta and Frank; Rodolphus and Rabastan;
Euphemia and James; so many others, those who didn't make it, and
now two from the Dumbledores. It appears, when it comes to
siblings being in the arena at the same time, history is doomed to
repeat itself. Only one ever seems to make it out.
"Why are you telling me this?" Regulus mumbles.
"Because," Aberforth says with a sigh, "I wish I had someone to tell
me then what I know now. What good does history do in secret? It
just makes it easier to repeat. You and Sirius so painfully remind me
of myself and Albus."
456
Regulus resists the urge to grind his teeth. "I don't really think Sirius
and I are anything like you and him."
"No? You don't think so?" Aberforth chuckles throatily. "On the day
of the reaping for 34th hunger games, the very first name that was
called was mine." He swivels his head and meets Regulus' gaze.
"Albus volunteered for me."
Regulus is pretty sure his stomach drops right out from underneath
him. Okay, now he's in real danger of being sick. That's just...very
fucking familiar.
"Albus was seven years older than me, ten years older than Ariana,
and he always said he'd make sure nothing happened to us. He
promised us that every year, and he intended to keep that promise,
because I don't think there was a half a minute between my name
being called and him raising his hand and calmly volunteering for
me." Aberforth shakes his head, looking weary. "I didn't—it's one
thing to think your older brother will do that for you, but something
else entirely when it actually happens. You know that twice over
now."
"Yes," Regulus whispers, "I do."
"Luck did not shine upon our family that day. Ariana's name was
only in that bowl twice. It should have never been her. That
saying—may the odds be ever in your favor... It originated from
Albus," Aberforth informs him. "He said it to her for her first reaping
and likely said it for the second. He always said it at the start. The
odds are in your favor. But, well, they weren't. The next name that
was called was Ariana's."
"The odds of that..."
"How well I know. I was taken out of the reaping when Albus
volunteered for me, so I couldn't volunteer for her, and that was that.
Of course, it came as no surprise to me when Albus ensured me that
he would be getting Ariana home."
Regulus squeezes his eyes shut, helpless to the goosebumps that

break out all over his body, a strange tingling sensation like he's a
bell that's been rung, the past reaching out to him now and
457
Pawns
resonating so hard that he shudders.
"The games were a bit different back then, under Grindelwald as

Master," Aberforth continues. "There was more time for the tributes
in the Hallow before the games started, for one thing, and
Grindelwald was...a bit more involved. It all took place in his castle.
Parties, dinners, interviews, training, evaluations. The man himself
would speak directly to the tributes, engage with them, and he did
so with Albus."
Regulus' eyes snap open, and he looks at Aberforth with his lips
parted. "Wait. Grindelwald was assassinated—"
"Don't go getting ahead of the history lesson now, boy," Aberforth

mutters. "But—yes. Before that, though, you have to understand
why. You see, as it turns out, Grindelwald became quite enamored
with Albus. He fell in love with Albus and, against all odds, Albus
fell in love with him in return."
"He—what?" Regulus blurts out, eyes widening. It feels like his brain
short-circuits briefly out of sheer disbelief. How could he do that?
How could someone who had their family ripped apart fall in love
with the person who not only upheld the system that did it, but also
had a hand in the ripping?
Aberforth doesn't look very pleased about it. "Yes, well, it never
made much sense to me either. I always thought that Albus' belief
that he was going to die anyway lended itself to his own acceptance
of it. Because he meant he was going to go into that arena and do
whatever it took to get Ariana home, and you want to know the
worst part?"
Regulus doesn't want to know, because he feels ill, but he can't look
away from Aberforth now, invested in this, hooked.
"He did," Aberforth says gruffly. "That's the worst part. He did
absolutely everything he meant to. Got them both to the end. Kept
her safe the entire time. And, when it was just them, he intended to
kill himself. Said goodbye to me through a screen, started to say
goodbye to Ariana, and then—" He halts, taking in a sharp breath
before shaking his head jerkily. His top lip curls up in decades old
458
resentment. "Well, Grindelwald didn't want to lose Albus, you see,
and so Ariana was killed instead."
"That's why Albus killed him," Regulus whispers.
"When Albus made it home, he spent some of his new fortune on

getting that tree planted for Ariana, but most of it he either gave to
me or...saved," Aberforth continues. "He was—well, it consumed
him. The guilt. The thirst for revenge. He went back to the Hallow
and killed Grindelwald, then fled and... Hm, I don't know if he
realized things would turn out as they have, all these years later, but
he's devoted himself to trying to make up for past mistakes and
unleash war in the name of dismantling the system that cost us our
family."
"But he still had you," is what tumbles out of Regulus' mouth,

painfully innocent and child-like, because it clambers through him
like dissonance, just the way it's him for a moment and he's fifteen
and Sirius won't see him and you still have me, you came back and
I'm still right here, why don't you want me, why am I not enough,
why, why, why?
Aberforth just looks at him, and he's an aged face, eyes wise and
hard, so like his brother's and so very different at the same time, and
Regulus knows then. Knows that Albus didn't have Aberforth.
Knows exactly what that feels like, having your older brother
volunteer for you, all that resentment and guilt that widens a divide
too far too cross.
It's so much worse for them, Regulus can't help but think, because
they lost someone they both loved. He tries to imagine how that
would have felt. If, perhaps, Sirius had volunteered for him and the
next person to be called had been James. If, perhaps, Sirius had
promised to get James home, only to fail in the end. If, perhaps,
Sirius had zeroed in on revenge and left him in favor of war. So
similar and yet not with all these different components and varying
types of love, but it resonates like a ghost from another time who
built the place you've taken up residence in, a home rearranged to be
unrecognizable, but the frame is still the same.
459
Pawns
"Listen to me, boy," Aberforth says gruffly. "My brother was not
always a bad man. I..." He closes his eyes. "I don't know that he is
now. He has done bad things, and he will do many more, but he has
done good, too, and so shall he continue to. What I wish I knew then
that I know now is that wrecking ourselves and the world in the
name of family doesn't return all that you lost back to you. My sister
is still dead, and my brother is a stranger, and he will never have me
again. You can go as far as you're able and get nowhere. That's what
I wish someone had told me. You'll get nowhere, Regulus."
Regulus stares at him, realizing all at once what the entire point of
this was. Aberforth is trying to help, in his own way, though he's
very far off the mark. He's trying to tell Regulus not to destroy
himself in the name of helping Sirius, cautioning against going too
far and doing whatever it takes, because rarely does that get the
results one hopes for.
Regulus' face falls blank, eyes narrowing, and he pushes to his feet
so he can look down his nose at Aberforth. "I'll get to wherever I
damn well please, and do whatever I deem suitable to get there,
because the difference between you and me is that my brother will
always have me."
He doesn't wait to hear whatever response Aberforth could give to

that, because no warning is going to stop him now, and he's tired of
waiting around for moves to be made. With a scowl, Regulus
marches up the door and tries the handle, finds it locked, then takes
two bracing steps back and proceeds to kick the door in so hard that
the wood splinters.
Albus Dumbledore is pacing.
Well, he was. He comes to a halt and stares at Regulus as the door

swings slowly on its hinges, coming back from where it banged
against the wall. Regulus steps inside and grips the splintered wood
to slam it shut behind him. It won't stay fully, so it's a little cracked,
but Regulus doesn't care.
"Ah," Albus says mildly, "do come in, Regulus." "Thank you,"
Regulus replies sarcastically.
460
Albus clears his throat. "You'll forgive an old man for losing track of
time. Patience is a virtue the youth often find on the outside of their
grasp. I was once in the same rush as you."
"I won't forgive you, actually. You summoned me for a meeting and
then made me wait an hour. I'm not a toy to play with, and I'm done
waiting." Regulus moves forward to pull back the chair on the other
side of the desk. He sits, then flicks his gaze between Albus and the
chair on the other side, arching an eyebrow. "Let's talk."
"Very well," Albus murmurs, and he does dutifully sit and regard
Regulus a beat later. "May I ask your thoughts on the recent
broadcast from James?"
"He's being used," Regulus declares bluntly. "Riddle is making him

do that, using Sirius as leverage against him. It's coercion, and he
isn't to blame for it. Do not mark him as an enemy, because he isn't
one, and if you do, you'll have more enemies from all sides as a
result. I don't really think you're in a position to have another war on
your hands."
"Are you threatening me, Regulus?" Albus asks, and he looks faintly
amused, eyes twinkling.
Regulus shakes his head. "No, that's a promise. I'm just pointing out
what you surely already know."
"I do know, yes," Albus agrees with a sigh. "James is a very

important figure in this war. Regardless of coercion, the fact remains
the same. The influence he has is vast and will get results, all of
which will have a negative impact on our progress in this war.
Riddle is very smart, Regulus. James is nothing more than a pawn to
him, and one he's using well."
"I know," Regulus grits out. He can only imagine the loss of progress
that happened in the aftermath of James' message. How many
Hallow sympathizers changed their mind just because someone they
idolized told them to? How many protests disbanded? How many
people willing to help shut their doors, and how many people
wanting to help started to want to help in the opposite direction?
461
Pawns
"This is something that will require pushback," Albus informs him

calmly. "We will have to combat the negative impact and allow them
to gain no further ground."
"I understand that," Regulus says, because he does.
Albus is silent for a long moment, studying him, and then he finally
says, "Do you? What do you understand?"
"You need me," Regulus announces, holding his gaze. "You said it
was like chess, and you need your pawn, too." He spreads his hands
and tilts his head. "Allow me to make this easier for you. I'll even tell
you what to do. Your leverage over me is James and Sirius. Use it."
If Albus is surprised, he doesn't show it. He only gives a low chuckle

and murmurs, "You're a very brilliant boy, you know."
"I know, and what I am not is an unwilling pawn, but for them, I will
be a willing one," Regulus threads his hands together on top of the
desk and leans forward, holding Albus' gaze with intensity. "A
demanding one, though. You have to give me what I want if I'm to
return the favor."
"I wouldn't label this as coercion, then," Albus says. "This is more of
a deal, is it not?"
Regulus scoffs. "That would make you feel better, wouldn't it? But
let's be honest here, because we
both know what this is. You have the power to make me your pawn
and move me as you see fit, all for your own benefit."
Albus frowns. "The war's benefit—"
"I don't care about the war. I don't care about a better world. I don't
care about any of that, and you know it. You know what I care about,
and you're going to use that, and I am going to let you," Regulus
snaps, in no mood to talk around the truth. He doesn't care for
conversations that feel like verbal spars with no contact. It's strange
to think of it now, but Regulus would have preferred to have
discussions with Riddle, who spoke bluntly and never hid his
462
intentions. He was self-aware and unmoored in flaunting his power,
blunt and to the point, which Regulus finds much easier to deal
with.
"I would at least like you to be aware of what I will be needing you
for," Albus murmurs, eyebrows furrowed.
Regulus is pretty sure this man has never met someone he didn't
have to manipulate in some way to get them to do what he wants
when it's not what they want. Well, Regulus will just be the
exception. "I am but your puppet. Go on, then, tell me how you'll
make me dance."
Albus doesn't look pleased by this description, and Regulus wants to

sneer at him. "What I would ask of you is to be a direct contrast to
James in all of this. I have a secret informant within the Hallow, close
to Riddle, who believes James will be used just as he was today. I
want to give our own broadcast, one of which you will be the face of,
should you agree."
Regulus arches an eyebrow. "Yes, I suspected as much. It makes

sense, considering my relationship with James has been broadcasted
and idolized. For us to be at odds will bring upon a significant shift. I
know exactly what I'll have to do."
"You're willing, then?" Albus asks, and now he does look the faintest
bit startled, as if he wasn't expecting this response. That's probably
what he was pacing around about, trying to work out how he was
going to get exactly this.
"Your willing pawn." Regulus gives a thin smile. "However, I do

have my demands. I will do this, and I will do it well, but while I'm
doing so, a rescue team needs to go retrieve James and my brother."
Albus stares at him. "That is a very tall order, Regulus."
"I'm aware, but I also know that it's the only shot we've got. Doing a
broadcast will take everyone by surprise. It's the smallest window to
get in and out undetected, or the only chance we'll have," Regulus
says simply. "The focus will be on me. You may not be able to get
463
Pawns
into the Hallow directly, but it's not entirely inaccessible. The option
to go in from district one is there, at least. Well, you can work out the
details, I'm sure. That is your job, isn't it?"
"You ask of me an impossible mission that could get some people

killed," Albus informs him. Regulus shrugs. "I don't care."
"And if the team I send in consists of your friends?" Albus asks, a

blatant challenge.
To that, Regulus has to pause. Oh. Oh, Albus is terrible. Truly

fucking terrible. The thing is, Regulus does have people here who he
cares about. Barty, Remus, Pandora, Dorcas, Effie, Monty,
Andromeda, Narcissa. Some of the others he even likes. But, well,
the thing is—these are the same people who would literally
volunteer to go in the first place. The same people who would
demand to go. These are the same people that Regulus believes in
more than literally anyone else, and trusts, so he's not sure he'd want
anyone else to go anyway.
It doesn't mean they'll all go, and going doesn't mean they'll die. It
doesn't. No one has to die, if it's done right, if it all goes well.
Regulus forces himself to take a deep breath, then release it, and he
stares Albus down.
"Then you're smart, because my friends will get the mission done,"
Regulus retorts. "I insist on you sending them, in fact."
Albus sits on that for a second, clearly bested yet again, and then he
sighs. "You realize, of course, that the odds of this being successful
are nearly nonexistent."
"I've beaten worse odds, and so has Sirius and James," Regulus tells
him simply. "It's a common thread between us all."
"Is this what it will take for your help?" Albus murmurs.
"Yes." Regulus nods sharply. "Allow me to persuade the leader in

you. Riddle has his pawn— James—but only through Sirius as
leverage. Take them both, and Riddle loses everything."
464
"Do you believe he will simply stand by and allow that to happen?"
Albus asks. "Have you fooled yourself into thinking that Riddle will
not kill them rather than let them go?"
"Riddle won't kill them for as long as he believes he can use them,"
Regulus replies coldly. His stomach squirms, a horrible feeling like
he's about to be sick rocking within him, and it's taking all of his
effort not to let his hands shake. "He would only kill them if he knew
he was losing them, so obviously he can't find out about it until it's
too late."
"You'll forgive me for finding it difficult to think of a way this would

be possible," Albus mutters.
"No, I won't forgive you for it," Regulus snaps. "You're supposed to
be in charge, right? So fucking figure it out. You want soldiers? You
want me to fight for you? Then give me a fucking reason. You got the
short end of the deal, because me? I don't give a shit about fighting
in your stupid war, but to get them back, and I'll be right there with
them—and theyll care enough to fight, to help however they can.
You'll destabilize Riddle entirely. Isn't that what you want? You can
have it, okay? You can have that, but I need—just—I need—"
Regulus chokes off, physically biting down on his tongue, trying not
to show how desperate he is. Albus regards him in silence. He says
nothing.
"This is all on you," Regulus whispers. "Aberforth told me how you

volunteered for him and went into your games with your little sister,
you know. How you went to Hallow and fell in love with the
previous Master, the one you killed after he killed Ariana. Then
Riddle came in, the Quarterly Memorial came about, and here we
are. Everything has a source, doesn't it? At the source of all our
problems, it's you. You're the first domino that fell, and I'm—I'm not
going to repeat your mistakes, or the mistakes of your brother. Do
you understand what I'm saying? You were the start. You owe me."
Again, Albus says nothing. His gaze remains infuriatingly neutral,

and Regulus has these horrible, violent impulses in the aftermath of
the arena, just like his first. He has a visceral mental image of
slamming a dagger through the side of Albus' neck, simply because
465
Pawns
he won't do what Regulus needs him to. Regulus is so desperate he

wants to draw blood. He can't draw Albus', as that would be
counterproductive; all that's left is himself, and so he cracks himself
open and lets himself bleed.
"Please," Regulus rasps, laid bare to the bone, like all of his scars
have split open again. "If I can't persuade the leader in you, then let
me persuade the man who knows what it is to be in love, let me
persuade the brother you are. I love James, and Sirius is my brother.
Please."
Albus sucks in the tiniest, little breath, like perhaps he felt that cut
deep, and it would, it has to, considering his own history. Regulus'
pride means nothing to him now, and just as easily as the past can
resonate with Regulus, the future can resonate with Albus. It tugs at
something within, family and loss and ashes beneath a tree and a
brother who has a brother and brother who doesn't.
Aberforth gave him history in the hopes he wouldn't repeat it, and
whether or not he knows it, Regulus is using it to do just that. Maybe
Albus and Aberforth lost everything, but Regulus refuses to. He
won't lose Sirius and James. He just won't.
Wielding history like a weapon works. The past resonates like the
butterfly effect, the man before him now who volunteered for his
little brother and had no way of knowing it would cost him
everything, and lead right to this, to Regulus sitting right here in
front of him with demands that he fix his mistakes.
Maybe it's that, or maybe it's the way Regulus sits before him, a little
brother pleading to an older one on the behalf of his own; or maybe
it's the way Regulus sits before him, a man viciously in love begging
one who experienced love's most vicious parts to save him from
them; or maybe it's all of it.
Whatever it is, it does work.
Albus exhales, inclines his head, and says, "We have a deal."
~•~
466
Remus looks around at the odd grouping of people, not quite
understanding what's happening at the moment. Lily is next to him,
and next to her is Kingsley. Across the table, Regulus sits beside
Dorcas. Dumbledore, who Remus does not like, sits at the head of
the table.
This is about James somehow, isn't it? That's all Remus can think,
because the broadcast happened only a few hours ago, and Regulus
was immediately summoned to Dumbledore's office before anything
could properly happen, though things did happen even after he was
escorted away. The Phoenix itself has been in a state of chaos ever
since, people angry, people slandering James left
and right, labeling him a war criminal, a turncoat. Remus wanted to

scream at them all.
Don't talk about him. Take his name out of your fucking mouths.
He's one of mine, you don't know him, and I pity the state of your
lives for never being fortunate enough to.
Effie nearly took a man's head off for suggesting James should be put
down, and it took the combined efforts of Minerva and Pandora to
pull her away. Monty had looked fit for cheering his wife on, and
then when the man didn't shut up, Monty punched him in the face.
After that, it was a surge of people scrambling to come to his and
Effie's defense, like a wave spilling out from all sides, Mary there in a
heartbeat and Barty right behind, Remus moving before he even
knew what he was doing, though none of them got to actually fight.
The only person who did, ironically, was little Nymphadora, who
ran right in and kicked the man in the ankles, which of course
brought Andromeda, and that brought Narcissa, and...
Well, needless to say, a clear divide had been set with all the separate
parts of those who came in from the rescue missions, along with
district six, standing together to stand against everyone else. They
were severely outnumbered, of course, but that's a lot of fucking
dangerous people in one group, enough to make any crowd hesitate.
Remus is pretty sure he's never felt a rush of pure adrenaline like
that in his life.
467
Pawns
In the end, Kingsley took charge and completely steamrolled the

entire situation by reminding everyone that violence and infighting
within the Phoenix was not permitted, and everyone who did it
anyway would go to solitary.
The whole scene broke up after that, but the rush had stayed with
Remus after. Just that feeling. A feeling he can't even put a name to,
really. All of them were there together. The servants who took their
first act of freedom to move when he did, just following him without
question. The tributes, too, all the way down to Alice, even, who
barely has any life in them these days, yet was there like they had
found their spark. And everyone in between; the rescued Hallows
like Pandora, and even Huey was there, as much as he seems allergic
to conflict of any sort; those in the Order, like Dorcas, Kingsley, Lily,
Minerva, Sybill, and Amos.
Something about it, all of them together, it had sent a tingle down
Remus' spine in a way he can't explain. A group of at least sixty
people, he imagines, and it's not an insignificant number in the least.
Not even half of the people against them, and yet Remus thinks they
would have won. Could have won. Somewhere in all of that, in
knowing that, Remus felt a rush.
But now...this. Remus still doesn't know what this is. It's not a
punishment for what happened earlier, because not everyone
involved is here—though, not everyone could fit into this room. It's
not anything to do with the rescue missions from before, because,
again, not everyone involved is here. So, it's about James' broadcast?
"I've gathered you all here because there is a mission coming up, and
I would like to ask all of you to do it," Dumbledore says, and Remus
is immediately not on board. Fuck this man, honestly. Remus will
never, never, never forgive him for how he lied to Lily, intentional or
not. He caused her such pain. Years worth. Remus would sooner spit
on him than do a mission for him. "The mission, should you choose
to accept it, will be to retrieve Sirius and James from within the
Hallow."
Remus is immediately on board.
468
Unfuck this man, or whatever. Well, no, he's still awful and Remus
will never like him, but this is a mission he can get behind. His
hands are already shaking, and his gaze snaps to Regulus. Oh,
Regulus, such a brilliant man. He did it. Remus doesn't know how,
but he fucking did it.
"Yes," announces Lily, the first to speak. Remus can't find his voice,
can't quite catch his breath, but Lily is sitting tall with her chin tilted
up. This has sat between the two of them since Remus arrived, just
that Lily was the one who took charge of the rescue mission in the
arena and failed to get Sirius out, and Sirius is the man Remus loves.
It's horrible, and they both know it, even if it's unsaid, but Lily
would have cared more if she knew Remus' involvement, because
she didn't care when she was declaring to the world that Sirius got
left behind and was likely dead. Remus heard it from her, his best
friend, like a hot brand piercing through him, so callous, and how do
they ever come back from that fully? Like this, apparently, because
Lily doesn't even hesitate. "Yes, I'll do it. I'm in."
"Me," Remus chokes out, practically fucking vibrating. He can't

really form full sentences. "Yes."
"Absolutely I'm in," Dorcas agrees next, her eyes bright, and for the
first time since they all came into the room, Lily and Dorcas actually
look at each other, equally eager to do this.
"I'm willing as well," Kingsley says simply, possibly the calmest

person in the room at the moment, excluding maybe Dumbledore
himself. They both radiate that sense of serenity, but Kingsley's
seems to be sincere, while Dumbledore's seems more sinister in
nature. "Will I be taking point?"
"You will indeed be taking point," Dumbledore announces, and

everyone focuses on him. "Now that I've gotten your agreement, I'll
explain how this is going to go. Mr. Lupin, you are vital to this
mission, because you're the only person in this room who has been
in Azkaban."
469
Pawns
Remus feels something within him wilt, his stomach dropping out
from underneath him. "What do you need to know?"
"Is there an office that has the information of all prisoners, including
their cells?" Dumbledore asks.
"Yes," Remus admits. "It's above the level where the—as where the
prisoners get taken. The lower levels. It's—I've seen the offices
before, but I've never been in them, not since I was first integrated
into the system six years ago. I just—I don't know if they'll have a list
of cells assigned or not."
"For a system to run smoothly—even a prison system—having an

organized database is ideal," Dumbledore murmurs. "It will be the
best place to start, at the very least, and you will have as much time
as Regulus can grant you."
Everyone stops and stares at Regulus.
"I—" Regulus pauses, the muscle in his cheek jumping, visibly

clenching his jaw. "I won't be going. For this to be possible, I'll have
to do my part from here."
"Riddle will be utilizing James in another broadcast," Dumbledore

says, and Remus doesn't like how he says it. Utilizing James, as if
James is just a tool. "I have a secret informant within the Hallow who
informs me that James is willing to do these broadcasts in exchange
for visits to Sirius in Azkaban. As soon as his broadcast ends, he's
escorted from Riddle's castle to Azkaban, and that's the only window
of accessibility to both of them that we'll have."
"That sounds like a small window," Dorcas mutters.
"It will be," Dumbledore confirms. "From here, Filius will follow
James' broadcast with one of our own, which will be Regulus, who
will keep Riddle—and, by extension, the rest of the Hallow— busy
and focused on him, hopefully allowing the rest of you to break into
Azkaban and get them out."
Kingsley leans forward on his elbows. "How will we be infiltrating

the Hallow, since the station there is monitored?"
470
"You'll be going in through district one," Dumbledore explains
calmly. "Filius has a friend there
named Pomona Sprout, who works in one of the main labs for the
Hallow. That lab sends out shipments of medicine and various other
experimental things to Azkaban frequently. You will all be snuck in
that way, hidden in the back of the container, undetected."
"Trojan Horse," Regulus mumbles, and he laughs quietly, shaking his

head in a mixture of awe and incredulity.
Dumbledore flicks his gaze towards him. "Just so. There will, of
course, be a stopping point at the entrance to the Hallow in which
the container will be checked. Ms. Sprout has informed us that it's
not very thorough, but we'll take further precaution by having one
crate empty, which all of you will stay in."
"Wait, like..." Lily grimaces. "You mean we're going to be packed in a

small box inside a bigger box?"
"To simplify it, yes," Dumbledore confirms.
"How are we going to breathe?" Dorcas blurts out.
"You will be equipped with oxygen tanks to...ease the strain, but
conserving your oxygen as much as possible is ideal."
"We're going to be suffocating. That's what you're saying."
Regulus heaves a sigh. "Yes, but really slowly, so you'll live."
"Oh, well, in that case," Dorcas mutters with a scoff.
"You'll be going directly to Azkaban," Dumbledore continues. "Once

you're there, Ms. Sprout will break open your crate and free you, and
then the rest will be up to you."
"Okay, I can see getting in as a possibility," Lily allows, her eyes

narrowing, "but what's our route
out?"
471
Pawns
"Far from glamorous, I'm afraid," Dumbledore says. "You will be

equipped with tools to override the surveillance feed within
Azkaban for fifteen minutes. Only fifteen minutes. That is your only
window to avoid detection from cameras, but you'll still be at risk of
discovery by people within the building, so—"
"There's not, like, guard patrols or anything," Remus interrupts,

clearing his throat when everyone swivels their heads to look at him.
"Well, I mean...it's literally a prison. Everyone is in cells. Guards
mostly stay in their rec room, and anyone in administration will be
in their offices. If we do it quickly and quietly, we can break into one
office without alerting anyone and get the information on where
Sirius' cell is, then sneak to get him. It's—it is possible to do it
quietly."
"Yes, that is the idea," Dumbledore agrees. "It's a mission depending

heavily on stealth, and the biggest problem you'll face is time. You'll
be racing against the clock, even with Regulus doing what he can
from here. Riddle is intelligent far more than most realize. He won't
easily be fooled."
"I'm still not understanding how we get out," Lily says.
"Ah, yes, that," Dumbledore replies. "Filius is working his way into
servers now to retrieve blueprints of the prison, as well as what's
beneath it. Azkaban operates on a lone sewer system underneath.
You'll need to travel through it to where the waste runs off from the
large pipes. There, Ms. Sprout will be waiting to carry you back to
district one."
"Shit and piss," Dorcas declares flatly. "We're going to be wading

through literal shit and piss." "Well, Riddle won't expect it, at least,"
Lily mutters dryly.
"You will all be sent out to district one to wait with Ms. Sprout ahead
of time," Dumbledore murmurs. "I will be notified when James is
escorted to Azkaban, and that's when you will go in. If, at any time,
Azkaban's breach is discovered, the entire Hallow will respond. They
will put up roadblocks, send Aurors out after you, and you'll more
than likely be captured or killed before you can make it out."
472
"There are about ten different holes in this plan," Dorcas announces,
staring right at Dumbledore. "You realize that, don't you? This plan
is shit. It likely won't work."
"I know," is all Dumbledore says.
Dorcas' eyes narrow. "So, why are you doing this?"
"Because I insisted on it," Regulus snaps. "Look, it's the only shot
we've got, alright? It's a shitty plan, sure, but if anyone can pull it off,
whatever it takes, it's all of you. I don't care how you get it done. Just
get it done."
To that, all protests and doubts come to a halt. No one says anything,
but they all look around at each other in silence. It's an insane plan.
It's an insane thing to do, to go right into the heart of the very place
they're labeled as anarchists, to go when the odds of making it out
are very fucking slim. It's an insane idea, risking capture or torture or
death, or all of it.
"So," Dumbledore says softly, "I will give all of you one more chance
to opt out of this mission, because if you do not, you will have two
days to prepare, and then you'll leave."
It seems no one here is sane, because—even given the chance, and

knowing all they do—no one changes their answer.
~•~
Word travels fast around the Phoenix—this, Dorcas knows well. It's
sort of hard to ignore when a mission is coming up, because those
involved are taking the time to prepare, and various people are
rushing about to get supplies and such.
For example, they've all been training in the two days before they're
all set out to leave. Brushing up with guns, brushing up on mats in
the training room, brushing up on how to all work the supplies
they'll be equipped with. There was, of course, the natural spillage
from those involved to those who are not, yet deserve to know.
Remus told Effie and Monty. Lily told Mary. Regulus told Narcissa
473
Pawns
and Andromeda. Dorcas told Minerva. In no time, Pandora had

found out about it, and then more and more people knew, and then
everyone knew.
Somehow, inevitably, Marlene finds out about it, and Dorcas isn't
expecting it to be the thing that brings Marlene to her door, but it is.
After everything, it's this.
"Marlene," Dorcas blurts out, her heart thundering hard in her chest
just from the mere sight of her, just from the proximity.
"Dorcas," Marlene retorts sharply, then pushes the door open further
and backs Dorcas into the room, sweeping in so swiftly that Dorcas
just naturally goes stumbling back. The moment she's in, Marlene
slams the door shut. "You're leaving, then?"
"I—yes, in a few hours," Dorcas admits.
Marlene holds her gaze and says, "Swap with me."
"What?"
"Swap with me."
Dorcas stares at her. "Swap—what? No."
"No?" Marlene asks. "Why not, Dorcas? Give me one good reason
why I shouldn't go instead of you."
"Marlene—"
"Go on. Give me a reason. Can you?"
"It's—" Dorcas swallows, her heart racing, a drip of dread dropping

down her back. "You—for fuck's sake, Marlene, you only just got out
of the arena—"
"And I'm all healed up." Marlene holds out both arms, lifts them
above her head, then drops them back down to her sides. Her eyes
are glinting, locked right on Dorcas without wavering at all. "I'm
physically capable. I'm as mentally stable as you and everyone else.
That's not a good reason, and it's certainly not your reason, is it?"
474
"What are you talking about?" Dorcas rasps.
Marlene steps closer. "You know what I'm talking about. You know
the real reason you won't swap and let me go in your place. It's
always the fucking entitlement with you Hallows, isn't it? All of you.
Sure, surface level, you're not like them, but deep down? You're no
different from the rest."
Dorcas is frozen in place, knees locked, every muscle in her body

bunched up. She feels that accusation like a slap. It's hard to breathe,
suddenly. Harder, still, to look Marlene in the eye, yet she can't drag
her gaze away.
"Just like the rest, when you want something, you deem it yours,"
Marlene continues, utterly ruthless about it. "You claim it, you
idolize it, and you don't respect it for what it is, only for what it
means to you."
"No," Dorcas croaks. "No, Marlene, that's not—"
"You don't respect me," Marlene snaps. "You lied to me. All of it,
everything, was a lie. And it wasn't that you couldn't tell the truth; it
was that you were too scared to. Because you knew me— you got
that chance, since I didn't have the option of hiding—so, you saw all
of me, and I let you, and you knew I would want everything you
didn't want for me if I knew the truth. You made sure I didn't get a
choice. You chose to keep me in the dark; not for me, but for you."
Dorcas' eyes sting, her chest feeling tight, because it's true. She
knows it's true. She knows and has known this from the very first
opportunity to recruit Marlene that she didn't take, all in the name of
protecting her, but it was a selfish desire that she indulged in,
because she knew then what Marlene would want. She knew, and
she didn't care. She knew, and she did what she wanted anyway, on
purpose.
She doesn't even have the luxury of feigning innocence, or

pretending not to know, and maybe things would be easier if she
did, but she doesn't and she can't. She did this. She chose this. Here
and now, despite everything and as horribly fucked up as it is, she
475
Pawns
still wouldn't choose differently. Hallow to the bone, entitled as they

come, and running on desperate love. Aching with it. Lost in it.
Trapped with no way out.
"I know you were watching the games. I know you were watching
me. I know you saw my boggart, and Dorcas? I am not her. I will
never be her, not even for you." Marlene steps that final step, so close
that they're almost touching, so close that their breaths are mingling.
"Is that who you'd rather me be? Is that what you want? You want to
own me? Put me up somewhere, soft and safe, delicate and secure?"
Dorcas inhales sharply, gaze snapping up as she breaks out into

goosebumps from the pure horror
those words invoke. She shakes her head. "No. No, Marlene, that
isn't what I want. I want you, just as you are."
"Really? Because I can't tell. Because I was born and bred in the
arena, Dorcas. Someone died there and came out as this. As me,"
Marlene hisses, gesturing to herself harshly. "Don't you fucking get
it? You did everything to shield me from war, up to and including
starting the fucking war to save me, but I am war. Everything you
wanted to protect me from, I was made for. It exists in me already,
and you can't take that away from me."
"That's not all that you are," Dorcas whispers.
"Maybe not," Marlene agrees, "but a stylist isn't all that you are, is it?
We don't get to pick and choose the parts of people we love, Dorcas.
For me, it has to be all or nothing. I need to be loved for the monster
I am just as much as I need to be loved for the monster I'm not."
"You are," Dorcas breathes out, blinking hard and fast, a lump in her
throat and tears building in her eyes. "I love all of you, Marlene. I
love all of you, and more."
"You have a real poor way of showing it!" Marlene bursts out, her
voice raising to a shout. "You started a fucking war for me, and I
didn't ask you to do that! Do you know how heavy that is, Dorcas?!
You can't just put that on someone! I have to live with that now, and
476
the worst part is that I have to live with knowing you didn't even do
it for me; you did it for you!"
"Yes, okay?! You want the truth?! I did it for me!" Dorcas explodes,
flinging her arms out as her vision blurs and her chest heaves. "Is
that what you want to hear?! Yes, I started a war to save you, and
yes, I lied to you, and yes, I did absolutely everything in my power
to keep you safe even while knowing you'd want to be involved. Yes,
all of it, because I'm so fucking selfish, so fucking entitled, so fucking
crazy in love with you that I can't bear the thought of losing you!"
Silence rings between them like the aftermath of an explosion, the

stuffy pressure of sound you can't make out over the noise of your
own heart, your own breathing, the rumble of the earth beneath your
feet. Dorcas feels unsteady, shaking, because she knew at the heart of
her that it was this all along, she really did, but to be torn apart by
the honesty in it is something else entirely. The war was Dorcas'
priority for so long, and then it was Marlene, and the same ferocity
in which she gave the war her all, she does the same to Marlene.
Devotion to the point of detriment. A toxic waste type of love.
"There it is," Marlene whispers, finally. "There you are. Yeah, Dorcas,
that's exactly what I want to hear, because I want the truth. Don't
hide from me. Let me see all of you."
"I don't even see all of me," Dorcas croaks. "I don't want to see all of
me, because some of it isn't pretty."
"You think I care about that?" Marlene asks. "In case you've
forgotten, you're not the only monster in this room. But you knew
that, and yet you still claim to love me anyway."
"I don't claim it. I know it."
"Don't you want that in return?"
"Yes," Dorcas confesses, "but I don't think I'll get it." Marlene holds
her gaze. "Try me."
477
Pawns
"I—" Dorcas swallows thickly, then squeezes her eyes shut and turns
her face away, ashamed. "I'm not sorry. I'd do it all again, Marlene,
because you're alive and you're here. And it—it doesn't feel selfish to
me. I don't feel entitled to you. I don't view you as spoils of war. I
prioritize you, your safety, your life over everything and everyone
else. I love you so much that I think, if I lost you, I would set the
whole world on fire."
"Is that so?" Marlene asks quietly.
Dorcas exhales shakily, opens her eyes, and looks at Marlene

tentatively. "There are no good people in war, and I certainly never
tried to be. I'm not a good person, and I haven't been entirely good to
you, no matter how much I wish I had been, no matter how much I
wish I could be. And it —it should probably scare you. Sometimes, it
scares me."
"It doesn't," Marlene murmurs, her hand coming up slowly, fingers

curled, ever so gently caressing the curve of Dorcas' neck and
making her breath stutter. Marlene's voice is soft, so soft, when she
says, "It doesn't scare me a bit. Do you want to know why? Because I
get it. Because what's worse than all that you did is that it doesn't
even matter. I'm still so in love with you that, sometimes, I think I
could kill you myself, just so no one could ever take you away from
me. And I think, in my worst moments, I even want to. Does that
scare you?"
"No," Dorcas breathes out, lips parting as her eyes flutter shut,
leaning instinctively into Marlene's touch. It's mental, pure insanity,
but Dorcas thinks she'd let her, thinks she'd like it, even. "I told you, I
like it rough."
"It's not sustainable, though," Marlene mumbles, and her hand drops
away, nearly dragging a whine right out of Dorcas' throat at the loss.
Dorcas' eyes snap open, and Marlene frowns at her. "We're not
sustainable, Dorcas. This—it doesn't work. We can't work like this."
"Marlene," Dorcas whispers, plaintive now, aching.
Marlene swallows. "I can forgive you for what you've done, because
I wouldn't have done differently, and—and I know it was done out
478
of love, not malice. But you have to respect me and my choices if this
is ever going to work." She waves her hand between them. "If we are
ever going to work, it has to be mutual respect and no more hiding.
We do this together. I want to do this, and despite everything, I want
to do it with you."
"You won't be safe," Dorcas chokes out.
"Neither will you," Marlene tells her. "You haven't been. You won't be
on this mission. Give me one reason—a good one that isn't
selfish—why I should have to be the one that has to stay."
Dorcas licks her lips, mouth dry, mind racing. She holds her breath
for a moment, then exhales and rasps, "You have family. You have
Cordelia, Riker, and Maximus. You—you go beyond this war.
Whether or not you're made for it, you exist outside of it. You exist
past this war. You exist for more than the war."
"You think you don't?" Marlene asks.
"I can't remember a time that I ever did," Dorcas admits, blinking
past the stinging in her eyes. "Not until you. Do you understand?
You have to make it through this war. I need you to, and so many
others need you to. People need you, Marlene. But me? No one
needs me."
"I do," Marlene says, gentle almost. "I need you."
Dorcas looks away again, or tries to, because her eyes are burning
and she's nearly in tears, but Marlene cups her jaw and moves in,
presses closer and rests their foreheads together like that.
Dorcas squeezes her eyes shut, feeling the tears itch their way down
her cheeks, feeling Marlene's thumb swipe one of the teartracks
away, so careful about it.
"I need you, and I'm asking you to prioritize us. Not just me, but us,"
Marlene whispers. She kisses Dorcas, fleeting and soft and so very
loving. There's so much desperation to be found in the way
479
Pawns
Marlene's fingers tremble and her breathing shakes, just as desperate

as Dorcas feels. "Swap with me. Please."
"Is this an ultimatum?" Dorcas croaks.
"At least I'm giving you the choice," Marlene replies.
"I'd rather you kill me, I think," Dorcas tells her, and it comes out as a
whimper, her heart clenching violently in her chest.
A shaky laugh spills out of Marlene's mouth. "Honestly, that could

be arranged." "Make it hurt," Dorcas mumbles.
"No, for you, I'd be so gentle," Marlene whispers, breath spilling out
hot and trembling along Dorcas' jaw. Her mouth follows, slow and
sweet. "Swap with me."
Dorcas sucks in a sharp breath and holds it, reaching out to grab the
sides of Marlene's shirt, fingers flexing in the fabric. She stands there
on the precipice, trembling, selfish with Marlene in so many ways,
selfish enough to know that refusing her would keep her protected
but make Dorcas lose her, yet wanting her so badly that she's on the
edge of risking her just to keep her. She hangs in the balance for a
long moment, teetering from side-to-side, in equal parts desperate in
either direction, clashing on the inside, made up of war as much as
the woman touching her.
It is an impossible situation, but the solution has been given to her.

Marlene said it. Marlene was right; they're not sustainable as they
are, and they won't make it through the war anyway, if they continue
like this, at least not together. Dorcas wants to make it through
together, both of them. She started the war for Marlene, and she
wants to end it at her side. She doesn't want to set the world on fire.
She wants to do this right.
There are no good people in war, but there are people who try to be,
and it's not the war they'll
fight that Dorcas wants to be a good person in, but rather the war
within them both that they can never win—and that's why she pulls
Marlene close to hold her tight, keeping her, as she says, "Okay."
480
Marlene goes still against her, then reels back to meet her gaze,
studying her. "Okay? We'll swap?"
"We'll swap," Dorcas confirms, swallowing harshly. She carefully

eases the ring—Marlene's ring —off her finger, then slips it onto
Marlene's thumb while holding her gaze. "We'll swap, but you have
to promise me you'll come back. Promise?"
"I promise," Marlene vows immediately, fiercely, and then she kisses
her, holding her face in her hands and kissing her like that's enough
to make sure that promise never breaks.
The war within wages on, yet here they are, trying for peace. ~•~
Lily shrugs her pack on her shoulders, letting her gaze sweep across
the bustling activity around her at the underground station. Her lips
curl up at the sight of Sybill and Kingsley, hugging each other in a
tight goodbye. To the right of them, Regulus stands with Effie and
Monty, talking to Remus, who gives a weak smile when Monty
reaches out to squeeze his shoulder. Farther to the left, Dorcas is
standing in a circle with Minerva, Poppy, and...Marlene, which is
surprising.
Lily watches them for a long moment, admittedly curious about the
dynamic. Marlene seems a
little uncomfortable around Minerva, which is fair. Lily thinks it's

commendable that Marlene hasn't tried to kill Minerva at any point,
because despite her true loyalties, she still did her job as the head
gamemaker very well, right up until she didn't. Making the right
choice in the end can't change all the wrong she did before. Dorcas
can forgive her, and has, but Marlene has every right to not want to.
So, Lily can respect the restraint Marlene shows by being in
Minerva's presence without lashing out.
In a way, Lily gets it. She had lashed out at Dumbledore when she
found out he'd lied about Remus. Planned to shoot him. Would have
if Kingsley hadn't gotten in the way. She'll never forgive that man,
and she'll never again be the weapon he forged her into. Everything
she does now, all of it, isn't fueled by the absence of love, but built
upon the foundation of it.
481
Pawns
It's new. She's still getting used to it, honestly. Just that insane
concept that she isn't empty, or
careless, or loveless; the reality that she's full of how much she cares
and overflowing with how much she loves. Fuck, it's terrifying just
how many people she cares about, how many people she loves, how
many people she wants to let get close to her.
This was something she was accustomed to, before. Six years ago,
she loved fiercely and with no fear. Fought for that love, and then
lost so much. Lost herself, too, in the process, but she's getting it
back. Slowly but surely, she's getting some of it back. Herself, most of
all.
The sound of heels reaches Lily's ears, making her lips curl up. She
knows that sound. She can always hear Mary coming, and these
days, she's always listening for her.
"You'll be careful, won't you?"
"Worried about me, Mary?" Lily asks, turning around, letting her
smile stretch wider.
Mary, as always, looks unimpressed. "Worried about your knack for

doing insane shit, more like. I hear it's a stealth mission. You don't
strike me as someone who knows how to be quiet. Everything about
you is loud."
"There's a compliment somewhere in there," Lily muses, and Mary's

lips twitch. "But, if you must know, I'm actually very good at being
quiet. Sometimes."
"When your mouth is otherwise occupied, you mean?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?"
"Not more than you'd like for me to find out," is Mary's calm, casual
response.
Lily purses her lips. "Well, that's a given. Not more, you said. Maybe
just as much, then?"
482
"Stop flirting," Mary chides. She has a 'teacher voice' that's just on the
edge of scolding, a little firm, and Lily isn't into it in abstract, but
Mary has added a special little flare to it when talking to Lily,
specifically for Lily and Lily alone, in which there's a little bit of a
condescension in it, as well as warm exasperation somehow—and
that is something Lily is into. Oh, mercy on her soul,
she's so into it. "I mean it, Lily. This is—I know it's going to be
dangerous." "Well, now you actually do sound worried," Lily
murmurs.
Mary sighs and mutters, "Bingley would be sad if you died."
"Oh, Bingley would, would he?" Lily teases, though she knows that's
actually true. Bing Bing is Lily's little buddy. Practically her partner
in crime, at this point. They're always whispering and giggling
together, just to make Mary look at them with suspicion, a smile
hidden at the corners of her mouth. Bingley keeps giving Lily
less-than-subtle hints on how to woo Mary, because he thinks his
older sister should have a cool partner.
It's cute, really. Lily doesn't need help, exactly, but she takes his tips
in stride. Bingley really loves Mary, and in the wake of them losing
their parents, they're very close. Mary hasn't said explicitly that she
and Bingley are a package deal, but she doesn't have to, honestly.
Lily is very aware that Mary is raising her little brother, and it
doesn't keep Lily from wanting to be around at all. If anything, it
makes her want to be around even more, like a moth drawn to a
flame.
She can't help it. There's something special about them and their
bond. Bingley is a hilarious kid, kind as well, but he's not without his
troubles. He went through a traumatic event and lost his parents,
watched his sister kill people, and now finds himself stuck in an
underground bunker that will never feel like home. Lily has seen
him in a sour mood, snapping at Mary, cursing her. She's seen him
yell at Mary, say things only young teenagers say because they're
angry at the world and the people closest to them are the only targets
they have, and she's seen the exhausted, worn look on Mary's face
483
Pawns
that grew more tense and strained with each word he said until she
asked Lily to leave, her voice clipped and her hands shaking.
So, Lily left, and the next time she saw them, they were fine, as if it
never happened. Lily knows all about that, fights with your sibling
and the love that still exists thereafter. Mary and Bingley are a small,
broken family now, and they're trying, and Lily is addicted to the
sight of the love she can see holding them together, even through
everything. Perhaps selfishly, she craves acceptance within the fold.
She just—all she wants is to be around them all the time. It's like they
have their own gravitational pull, and Lily is desperate to be tugged
in.
Mary invites her in, or has been since the first time she did. Only
three days ago, but Lily has been back multiple times. When she's
not with Remus, she's with Mary and Bingley. Ironically, they don't
do much. Mary draws sometimes. Lily and Bingley fold up paper
and make goals with their hands, thumping it through and laughing
when they score.
Sometimes, they all talk about ridiculous things, like would they
rather take a bath in rice or pudding—a question posed by the
ever-brilliant mind of Bingley. Sometimes, they avoid talking about
serious things, like the war and death, trying to skirt around the
subjects for Bingley's sake, and maybe a little for Lily and Mary's,
too. Most of the time, they're just wasting time with each other,
doing nothing much at all.
It's probably Lily's favorite thing to do. When she thinks about what
she wants to do, it's always that. And, since she's trying to let herself
want things and have the things she wants, more often than not she
lets her feet take her right to them.
Only once was Bingley off with his friends when Lily showed up,
which was yesterday. Naturally, Lily's mind had pretty much
immediately went to sex, but Mary wasn't having it. She let her in,
sure, but told her to sit on Bingley's bed across the room and stay
there. Lily did.
They didn't talk about sex. Well, no, they did, but not sex between
them. Just their sexual history, sort of. As it turns out, Mary doesn't
484
do casual sex, not the way Lily does, or did. She doesn't mind casual
sex, but she doesn't have sex that doesn't mean the same thing to her
partner as it does her. All she ever saw from with Lily is that sex
never meant anything to her, nor did the people she was having sex
with, because that's how Lily presented it and that's how Lily liked
it.
Lily found out that Mary was with Sirius Black once upon a time
(ironic, Lily couldn't help but think, and she immediately went back
and gossiped with Remus about it, who knew and found the partner
shuffle hilarious), and the relationship between Mary and Sirius had
been new. It was special, according to Mary, and could have been
something—except they got that taken from them.
Mary had to watch that wither and die, through no fault of their
own, and ever since, sex and relationships are things she treats with
care. She needs to have control in it, an input in it, and she needs it to
be an equal exchange. Lily was not someone who could give her
that, from what Mary saw at the start, and that's why Mary turned
down her advances.
Lily can respect that. She does respect that. The thing is, after that,
there's the natural next step in that line of thinking. Lily couldn't give
her that then, but can she now? Mary didn't outright ask, and she
talked around the subject overall, but Lily had wanted to tell her the
truth, which is that she doesn't know if she can give Mary that,
doesn't even know how anymore, but she does know that she really,
really wants to.
Is that enough on its own? Lily has no idea. She didn't say it, didn't
say anything, and instead, she changed the subject.
It turned out to be good, in the end. They didn't have sex, but they
laughed. Mary drew Lily a pretty picture. Lily learned that Mary
started transitioning before Bingley was ever born, and she chose her
name after her Gran who had passed away a few years prior. Mary
listened when Lily told a story about Petunia. Lily made Mary toss
over her pencil and drawing pad to leave a little message, which was
485
Pawns
the not-so-original: Lily Evans was [X]. It made Mary laugh again, so
fuck originality.
In any case, Lily hasn't seen Mary since, because today has been
rather busy with the upcoming missions and all. Yet, here she is now,
acting like Bingley is the only one who would be sad if Lily died. Oh,
Lily doesn't buy that for a second.
Mary seems to realize this, because she gives in with a roll of her
eyes and says, "Yeah, well, I'd be a little let down if you weren't
around to keep Bingley company, too."
"And you?" Lily asks, amused. "Wouldn't you be at least a little let
down if I wasn't around to keep you company?"
"Maybe," Mary says, lips curling up.
Lily snorts. "Alright, well, in that case, I'll make sure I get back in one
piece. Can't leave you disappointed, can I?"
"You disappoint me daily, pretty much every time you talk."
"Well, it's not my fault you're not otherwise occupying my mouth.

Modern problems, timeless solutions."
"I opened myself up to that one, didn't I?" Mary asks wryly. "You did,
yeah," Lily teases.
Mary shakes her head, a smile breaking out across her face, which
steals Lily's breath every fucking time. "Don't let it go to your head,
but I would be disappointed. Really."
"I'll be careful, Mary," Lily murmurs, turning serious now, and a

tension Lily didn't even know was there sort of falls away from
Mary, her shoulders inching down a little. It makes Lily's heart
clench. She forgot somehow that this whole caring and loving
business is a two-way street, usually. It feels good to let people mean
something to her again, and it feels just as good to mean something
to someone else, to a lot of people.
486
"Thank you," Mary whispers, stepping forward, so close that Lily
inhales sharply and goes utterly still.
Mary cups the side of her jaw and carefully dips in, ducking her
head to brush a soft, fleeting kiss to Lily's cheek. Lily feels like the
contact is burning a hole right through her. She's so tempted to tilt
her face up and seek more, or even grab onto Mary and pull her
closer, hold onto her, but this moment is gossamer-golden and fragile
for how terrified Lily is to break it. She wants to keep it, just like this.
"I'll see you when you get back," Mary says as she pulls away, her
lips curling up again as Lily stares at her, lips parted, likely looking
like a fool on the edge of fainting, because she has forgotten how to
breathe in the last five seconds.
It takes a moment, but then Lily clears her throat violently and nods.
"Right. Yeah, that—you will do that. See me. That will happen.
You'll—yeah."
"Alright?"
"Yes. That was nice. What you did. I liked it."
"I can tell," Mary replies, chuckling. She reaches out and gently
brushes her fingers over the side of Lily's hand, slowly and casually
grabbing onto two fingers, the pinky and ring finger, swinging her
hand almost playfully. "Your reputation around here... They have
you all wrong, don't they? And so did I. You're a softie. A total
marshmallow."
"People are rarely ever one thing," Lily points out.
Mary's eyes sparkle, glimmering like the glint of volcanic rocks in

the glow of lava, or simply the reflection of Lily's hair in her gaze.
"Oh, and she's wise, too."
"And only getting wiser," Lily quips, flashing a smile. "Time to go!"
Kingsley calls out.
Lily's smile fades. "Ah, that's my cue. Hey, tell Bingley bye for me,
okay? And that I'll see him soon."
487
Pawns
"Alright." Mary squeezes her fingers, just for a second, then lets go
and steps back. "Be safe."
"You too," Lily replies, then forces herself to go, turning to meet
Remus as he pulls away from a hug with Effie, who immediately
reaches out to give her arm a reassuring squeeze. Regulus nods at
her, but doesn't speak. Monty tells her and Remus to be careful and
make it back safely, and that's that.
Lily and Remus head towards the train together, sharing a long look
between them, not having to speak to explain what they're saying at
all. Just a simple unit. Doing this together. They'll get on this train
together and—
"Remus!" At the call, Remus and Lily turn in perfect sync to watch
Regulus jog up to them, looking a little strained. When he does stop
in front of Remus, he just opens and closes his mouth, eyebrows
furrowed.
And then, Remus sighs and says, "I know, Regulus. It's okay."
"Just—let me say it. I need to say it." Regulus lets out a deep breath,
then meets Remus' gaze with a firm sort of glint in his own, looking
less like a lost boy with no idea what he's doing and more like a man
who has something to say that's actually worth hearing. "I know we
both said we'd rather them be here instead, but that doesn't mean I
want you to take their places. When they come back, you better be
with them."
Remus' face softens, and he huffs a weak laugh. "Yeah, alright. That
was sweet, Regulus. Should we hug again? Come he—"
Regulus turns and leaves.
Remus looks so fond. He glances at Lily with a grin, and she stifles a
laugh before they turn to get into the train together, him first and her
following. She looks back quickly, just to locate Mary standing with
Effie, Monty, and Regulus. She meets Mary's eyes, smiles, then looks
away.
Kingsley is already on the train, and Remus takes the open seat next
to him when he gestures at it, already settling in to study the
blueprints of Azkaban. Remus keeps peeking at it, so Kingsley turns
488
to hold it out so they can both go over it. Lily sits across from Remus
and kicks her feet up into his lap, slumping back lazily and
considering a nap.
A beat later, boots clomp through the aisle, the doors shut, and the
train jerks into motion just as someone falls into the seat directly next
to Lily. Instinctively, Lily looks up to smile at Dorcas and feels her
smile immediately drop the moment she finds Marlene McKinnon
glaring at her instead.
"Last minute change of plans," Kingsley explains carefully when Lily

whips her head towards him, and he looks like he's only just holding
back a wince. "Dorcas opted out after all, and she said Dumbledore
cleared Marlene to go in her place."
Lily immediately knows that's not true, but if there's one thing
Dorcas is good at, it's being convincing when she needs to be. Very
persuasive, that one. Lily flicks her gaze to Remus, who raises his
eyebrows and cocks his head just a smidgen. Lily holds his gaze for
beat, then swivels to look at Marlene.
"Do you have a problem with that?" Marlene asks, arms crossed and
jaw set, every inch of her visibly screaming that she has a problem,
and that problem is Lily.
"No, that's...great," Lily mutters, resisting the urge to groan as she

lets her head tip back against the seat. Remus squeezes her ankle
gently, and Lily closes her eyes. "Just great."
"The mission to go get James Potter—" "It's a fucking disgrace—"
"—and bringing him here—"
~•~
"We don't want him—"
"—nothing more than the Hallow's bitch—"
"Regulus," Rabastan says, his voice low, "don't."
489
Pawns
"Regulus do," Barty counters gleefully. "That's your fiancé they're

talking about. Fuck them up! Defend your man!"
"Oh, don't. Regulus, just—shit, shit, shit—" There's the hasty clatter
of Rabastan's chair, along with Barty's, because Regulus has already
sprung right out of his. Rabastan follows warily, while Barty follows
in delighted anticipation. "This doesn't solve anything. This is only
going to—"
"Who are we fighting?" Rodolphus asks, moving to catch up with

them as they pass the table he was chatting with Alecto at. He blinks
when Rabastan glares at him. "What?"
"No one's fighting anyone."
"Are you sure? Because by the look on Regulus' face, I think it'll be a
miracle if he doesn't kill
anyone."
"Yeah, that's his I'm-ready-to-kill-you face," Barty agrees.
"No one can kill anyone!" Rabastan bursts out.
"I mean, we absolutely can. We all have. We're capable," Rodolphus

argues.
"None of you have any sense whatsoever," Rabastan grinds out,

groaning as Regulus whips around one table to grab the back of the
chair one man is sitting in, bracing himself there and using his free
hand to fist the man's hair so he can slam his head down, making his
face bounce off the table.
"What the fuck?!" the man bursts out, hands flying up to cup his
bleeding nose. "What—" "Hey!"
"What the hell?!"
Regulus snatches the man by the back of his hair and glares down at
him as the surrounding tables fall silent. "Let me make something
very clear to you—to all of you—" He raises his voice enough that
people stop what they're doing to pay attention, everyone alarmed
immediately, "—James is no one's bitch, and if you talk badly of
490
him—if you so much as breathe wrong in his direction when he gets
here—I promise you and everyone here that I will snap your fucking
neck."
"Regulus, honey, don't kill anyone," Effie calls out, bustling over
quickly with wide eyes, Monty rushing right behind her, and Mary
on the way. "You can't do that. It will only make things worse for
James, and for you."
Regulus pauses. Sighs. "Okay, original statement retracted, then. It's

your lucky day; James' mother just saved your life. Let that sink in
for a moment." He tugs sharply on the man's hair, making him
grimace and grit his teeth. "Good, now that that's settled, I'll amend
my statement. I won't snap your neck, fine, but I'll fuck your face up
every time you insult him until your own mother won't even want to
look at you. Either you'll learn to keep your mouth shut, or you'll get
brain damage, and trust me, I genuinely don't care which one comes
first."
The man glares up at him, blood streaming from his nose. "No one is
scared of you or your bitch of a boyfriend—"
"Fiancé," Regulus corrects harshly, then bangs the man's face into the
table again.
"Yeah, careful with that. He's really touchy about that," Barty calls
out, sounding like he's having
the time of his life.
"Regulus, stop," Rabastan says firmly.
"No, keep going, this shit is hilarious," Barty announces.
"You know what? Fuck you!" The man tries to clamber out of his
chair, and Regulus immediately kicks him in the back of his knee and
slams him face-first into the table (again), wrenching his arm behind
his back and holding him there.
491
Pawns
Rodolphus clicks his tongue. "He just told you he has a fiancé, man,
take a hint. I get it, he's crazy, it's a shame he's taken, but no one likes
a sore loser."
"Fuck," the man chokes out. The other people look horrified and also
way out of their depth. They've never been exposed to violence in
their home like this. "He betrayed—"
"James didn't betray anyone," Regulus hisses. "He's the most loyal
man on this planet, and you don't fucking know him. I'd like to see
how well you'd handle being in his position. Here, let me give you a
taste. You're going to say that you're very sorry right now, or I'm
going to hurt something very important to you. Got it? Go on."
The man struggles and spits out, "Fuck off, I'm—" Regulus wrenches
on his arm until something cracks.
The man howls, and people cry out, trying to rush forward as he
starts wailing, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Okay, I'm sorry!"
"Oh, not handling it so well, are you?" Regulus snarls, and then he's
being pulled away by Rabastan and Mary, everyone yelling at once
while the man weeps and slips to the floor.
Needless to say, Regulus ends up in solitary.
~•~
"Move," Aberforth grunts, glaring at the guard standing in front of

the door. "I'm here to get the boy."
"Er," is the awkward reply. "Sir, he—he broke a rule—"
"And I've decided he's been punished enough, so move." "He's been
in here for an hour. For assault, the sentence is—"
Aberforth scowls. "Do I look like I care? Don't make me go get

Albus—you know, the man running this whole organization and
also my brother. Remember him?"
After a beat, the guard moves.
Aberforth heads down the silent hall. There aren't that many rooms
and they're not often used, but apparently the damn boy lost his
492
mind and attacked someone, so here they are. This doesn't have
anything to do with Aberforth, but Euphemia came to him
requesting his help, and threatening to also lose her mind. Best to
derail that before it even starts.
Besides, it doesn't sit well with Aberforth either, the boy being in
here. He's a good kid, mostly. Troubled, sure, and rather violent, but
Aberforth was much the same in his youth. And, well, he wasn't
lying. Hasn't the boy been punished enough?
When the door opens, Regulus is sitting on the floor and looking
entirely at peace. "Get up," Aberforth says.
"That was fast," Regulus murmurs, pushing to his feet and moving
forward. He looks very calm. Relaxed, even.
"Enjoy solitary?" Aberforth asks dryly.
Regulus shrugs. "Honestly? A little bit. I like the quiet."
"You're a solitary creature," Aberforth mutters, shaking his head and

closing the door when Regulus steps out of it. He supposes he gets it.
Some people like being alone; Aberforth himself has always liked it,
and it only becomes a problem when you start to feel lonely.
"Are you going to tell me that was stupid?"
"Do I look like your father, boy?"
"Far from it."
"Exactly. It isn't my job to tell you anything, and I can guess you
already know it was stupid." "No, it felt justified," Regulus counters.
Aberforth gives him a flat look as they move up the hall together.
"You broke that man's shoulder in three places."
"I told him I'd hurt something very important to him if he didn't
apologize. It's not my fault he didn't listen," Regulus replies, arching
an eyebrow.
493
Pawns
"Well," Aberforth grumbles after a moment, "can't say you don't have
a point." "I'll do it again, if someone else doesn't listen."
"I don't think that's going to be a problem. Word travels fast around
here and now no one wants to even bring James Potter up in
conversation. Safe to say, no one will bother him if he makes it here.
Nothing to worry about, thanks to you."
Regulus' lips twitch, and then he says, "Effie send you?" "Uh huh."
"Ah."
"Besides," Aberforth adds, "you wouldn't stay too long anyway.

Albus needs you on standby for the broadcast."
"I know."
"I'm surprised you volunteered for that. Doesn't seem like you."
"You don't know me."
"Boy, I watched you grow up. I picked up on a few things, and I

know for damn sure I'm not wrong about this."
"I—" Regulus grimaces, then huffs. "I'd rather be there. I want it to be

me going in to save them, but—but I can only save them from here.
It has to be me. I know that. This is all I can do for them, so even
though it's something I hate, I'll do it for them. I'll do whatever I
have to."
"Like I said," Aberforth tells him gruffly, "you can go as far as you're
able and get nowhere." Regulus scowls at him. "Then I'll go farther."
It's like looking into a damn mirror.
"Alright, boy, you do that," Aberforth replies, leading him past the
guard with a sigh, looking away and shaking his head. It's foolish,
but some part of Aberforth hopes—deep down—that the mirror
shatters and the boy gets somewhere, after all.
It'd be nice if at least one of them did.
~•~
494
Pomona Sprout is a cheerful, lively woman with a big smile and a
bigger wine collection, which Lily only knows because the wine
cellar below her home is where the group has to stay.
It's thankfully connected to the garage on the side of her house, just
below, so they never had to go into the house to get to the cellar. Best
not to risk them being seen by neighbors, and with a war on,
everyone's paranoid. Lily gets it; Pomona is risking a lot by doing
this.
The cellar isn't so bad, really. There are four cots down there,
complete with a pillow and blanket each, and Pomona brings them
meals and checks on them frequently. She does threaten to skewer
them if they touch her wine collection and promises that she knows
each bottle, all unopened, and will absolutely throw them to the
Hallow if she finds out they had any. Lily would love nothing more
than to steal a bottle or two and get absolutely sloshed, and Remus
wistfully admits the same, though they get over the urge quickly.
Marlene is the one who acts like the cellar is her own personal hell.
She makes it very clear she hates it here. Well, actually, she seems to
hate everything, especially Lily. Honestly? Lily would never admit it,
but it kind of hurts her feelings.
It's just—well, Lily fought so hard to save her life. Maybe it's a little
fanciful, but Lily can't help but feel something for her. A connection
of some sort. She had Marlene's unbeating heart beneath her hands,
making it beat. She had Marlene's mouth against her own, breathing
for her when she stopped. Is Lily not supposed to care for her after
that?
Lily does, though. She cares for Marlene, inexplicably, and not just
because Dorcas loves her. She cares for Marlene the way she cares for
all those she took the time to help, anyone she has ever gotten her
hands on to be the barrier between the death that wished to take
them. She's not divine intervention; she's simply a woman who does
what she can, and she did what she could, and she's proud of that.
She looks at Marlene and is proud, so fucking proud, that she's alive.
495
Pawns
Lily looks at Marlene a lot. She fails to understand why Dorcas ever
came to the conclusion that Marlene has to be protected. Frankly,
Marlene seems like she can protect herself just fine. She's quiet, most
of the time, but her silence is always sharp, like she's a perpetual
edge ready and willing to make others bleed. There's almost a
natural instinct to keep your distance away from her, but Lily is
pretty sure she likes it that way. Lily is also pretty sure she hates it
that way, too.
The thing is, Lily understands why Marlene doesn't like her. Or, she
thinks she does. It has to be Dorcas, right? That's the only thing that
exists between them.
Lily pretty much confirms it for herself on the first night, when she
finds her gaze latched onto the ring on Marlene's finger, only for
Marlene to curl her hand into a fist, tucking her thumb in as if Lily
might attempt to take it from her again. It's the glare of all glares Lily
is met with when she looks up, a very clear sign that Marlene is more
than willing to punch her if she even dares to try,
and Lily looks away with absolutely no desire to try whatsoever. She
isn't sure how to explain that.
How does one explain it? What Lily and Dorcas had, and have, and
never had, and will always have. How Lily and Dorcas were merely
a could have been, a garden with nothing to show for it but seeds,
and it's heartbreaking, sure, but Lily wouldn't change it for anything.
She likes it, she likes how things have ended up, and she's at peace
with it.
Lily sort of wants to sit her down and tell her about Mary. Tell her
how Mary makes her feel, and how it's wholly different from how
Dorcas has ever made her feel. Tell her that Dorcas isn't the one Lily
truly wanted to try with, but she's so fucking desperate to try with
Mary that it's driving her mad, and maybe Marlene could give her
advice on how to come out on the other side of a major
metamorphosis and settle into the changes, because she's good at
that, isn't she? That's what Lily sees when she looks at Marlene, a
woman who rolls with the punches, and keeps going, and wears her
bruises like jewelry.
496
But, well, talking to Marlene is practically impossible. She stays to
herself, mostly, never too far away from her cot that she dragged
towards the back corner where there are no shelves of wine and
where the rest of them aren't. She doesn't really talk or provide
opinions when Kingsley is talking about the plan; she just looks at
the blueprints with keen eyes and listens with focus when he's going
over something.
In any case, the second night goes much like the first with them
waiting for news of James' broadcast, keeping an eye on the notif,
checking their supplies and going over every angle of the plan until
their eyes are crossing. At this point, Lily is just gritting her teeth
through the hurry-up- and-wait suspense of it all. She wants to get it
over with already.
They all retire when evening bleeds into night. Everyone murmurs
goodnight to each other, even Marlene, though hers is more of a
grunt, as it always is. Lily is treated to yet another glare before she
departs; at this point, Lily is starting to grow fond of them. Maybe
that's just Marlene's face.
Lily nudges Kingsley's shoulder before bed, ruffles Remus' hair and
gently shoves his head playfully before kissing his brow, and then
she settles in for the night.
She doesn't sleep, though. Can't, really. She closes her eyes and gets
lost in little fantasies of Bingley's smile when she returns, and the
way Mary will smile as well, but she'll do her best to hide it. Remus'
breathing eventually evens out, and it's not long before Kingsley's
does the same. Lily listens to the sound, drifting for a while, not
asleep yet not quite awake either.
Until, abruptly, she is.
Lily's eyes snap open as awareness creeps in, late in the night, her
brain catching up slowly to what dragged her out of the clutches of
sleep. A noise. The scuff of a shoe against the floor, across the cellar.
So quiet no one asleep would hear.
497
Pawns
Carefully, Lily props up on her elbow, then eases off her cot and
makes her way towards the sound. She weaves around shelves of
wine and steps around one stand to blink in surprise at the sight of
Marlene standing there already.
Holding a bottle of wine.
Just staring at it.
Lily flicks her gaze in between the bottle and Marlene's face. She
can't quite make out her features in the dark, but from what she can
see, Marlene looks...strained. It's at this exact moment that Lily
remembers what Molly told her happened in the arena, how Eli
Zatish was going through withdrawal and Marlene apparently
stated that she knew what it was like, making it clear that she got
sober at some point in the past.
Ah, no wonder Marlene seems to hate this place. That makes sense,
actually. She's quite literally surrounded at all sides by constant
temptation and showing immeasurable restraint by not giving into
it, especially in the wake of everything she's been through recently.
Lily figures she'd be pissed off all the time, too, if she was in
Marlene's position.
"It was the second thing I thought of when I woke up in the

infirmary," Marlene says quietly, and it doesn't surprise Lily that she
knows she's here. As a previous Victor, mentor, and tribute twice
over, she's always aware. "Dorcas was the first thought I had, but
right after that, it was fuck, I could really use a stiff drink right now."
"Well, you were just shot, so..." Lily clears her throat and steps closer.
"Can't really blame you there."
"It drowns out the pain. External, internal, physical, mental, or

emotional—any of it. But it...ah, it doesn't help, not really. It's still
there," Marlene murmurs. "Doesn't go away. You'd think, knowing
that, I wouldn't instinctively want it when everything fucking hurts,
and yet I do. I still do."
"Yeah, that's—that's how addiction works," Lily replies.
498
Marlene turns the bottle over in her hands, humming. "You ever
dealt with anything like that? Addiction, I mean."
"We're all addicts, Marlene. Just some of us are addicted to more

destructive things than others." Lily shrugs and eases closer, gaze
sharp on the side of her face. "I'm addicted to smoking, which is shit
on my lungs, so there's that. I'm addicted to grieving, I think, and
that's worse for me. Can't quite quit that one cold-turkey, but it's an
ongoing battle."
"It's always an ongoing battle. You can quit, but it never does." "But
it's a fight worth fighting, isn't it?"
"Yeah," Marlene says softly, "but sometimes you get tired."
"Which is when you let someone else help you fight," Lily replies,
equally soft as she stops next to Marlene and gently holds out her
hands. "We don't have to do it alone. That's the beauty of it. Give me
the wine, Marlene."
There's a long beat, and then Marlene exhales explosively, her arms
moving stiffly as she places the bottle in Lily's hands. Her fingers
tremble as they slip away.
"I wasn't going to drink it," Marlene declares gruffly.
"Okay," Lily says.
"I wasn't," Marlene snaps, turning her head, and ah, there it is.
There's that glare of hers.
"Okay," Lily repeats, simply nodding as she eases the bottle back into
the slot on the shelf. "I believe you."
"I'm going back to bed," Marlene mutters, turning abruptly and

stomping off to do just that.
Lily turns and goes back to her cot, but she doesn't lay down. No,
she gathers her pillow and blanket, then folds the cot up and carts it
across the room. As soon as she comes in range, Marlene props up
499
Pawns
on her own cot to glare at her some more. Lily ignores her and sets
the cot up right next to her, in between Marlene and the rest of the
room.
"What are you doing?" Marlene hisses.
"Helping you fight," Lily tells her bluntly, flopping down on her cot
and settling in with a sigh. "If you want to get up and go stare at
wine again, you'll have to crawl over me to do it, which is fine. I'll
get up and go do it with you, then take the bottle when you hand it
to me as many times as you need to. Sometimes, when we're tired,
being reminded that we can fight is enough to keep us fighting."
Marlene scoffs, but she settles back down again. She's silent for a
while, and then, "Lily?" "Yeah?" Lily asks.
"Emmeline told me what you said," Marlene confesses. "About me

having to live because you can't love Dorcas right."
"Yeah, well, that's not all someone is worth, I'm learning. You're not
here just to do what I couldn't then and don't want to do now, at
least with her," Lily mutters. "You're here to be here until you're
gone, just like the rest of us. And I'm glad you're here, not for her or
me, but for you."
"But you do love her," Marlene points out.
"I—" Lily sighs and turns over to peer at Marlene through the dark.
"Marlene, Dorcas and I missed our opportunity long before you
came along, and we were never going to get it back, whether she fell
in love with you or not. We were always going to be exactly what we
are, and I'm okay with that, and so is she. We're better off for it. Do
you get what I'm saying? There's no race, I was never running in it,
only running from it, and there's—well, I'm running to someone
now, I think."
Marlene is silent.
"So, um, you can stop glaring at me now," Lily mumbles, clearing her
throat. "You don't have to treat me like a threat, or be jealous,
because I—"
500
Marlene snorts. "You think that's why I'm glaring at you? Lily,
Dorcas rebelled against the rebellion to break into the arena and start
a fucking war for me. Trust me, you're the least of my worries." Lily
makes an inquisitive noise, because if it's not that, then Lily wants to
know what the fuck it is, and Marlene heaves a sigh. "No, I was
pissed off with you because of why I thought you fought so hard to
save my life. I'm not going to be someone I'm not, even to fit myself
into someone who would love her the way other people think I
should. I'm going to love her exactly as I do, and fuck anyone who
thinks it's not right, or I'm not right. I thought, you know, fuck you,
too; I just assumed you fought so hard to bring me back to be
someone I'll never be, but I take it I was wrong?"
"What? For fuck's sake, no," Lily blurts out, eyes bulging as she leans
up on her elbow. "That's not —I don't want you to be anyone other
than who you are. We all deserve that, yeah? I just—I have a bit of
personal issues surrounding the subject of love. I'm, ah, sort of afraid
of it, if I'm honest. I'm —I'm getting better, or trying to. I've sort of
been through a lot of shit."
"Yeah, I get that," Marlene offers. "Same here, honestly."
"Right, but...you're unapologetically yourself," Lily says, her voice

softening as she lays down again. She swallows thickly and threads
her hands on her stomach. "You're not scared to be who you are. I'm
envious of that."
"Well, I am scared of who I am, sometimes. I'm just more scared of

being someone I'm not," Marlene replies. "Because if I'm that, and the
people I love feel love for that, then it means they don't love me. And
that—well, that scares me the most."
Lily exhales slowly and murmurs, "Yeah, okay, that's a fucking

terrifying thought, now that you mention it. I guess, for me, it's less
that I'm afraid of being who I'm not and more that I'm afraid of being
who I was."
"We're never who we were," Marlene tells her. "It's not a bad thing,
being who you are instead of trying to mold yourself into someone
you can never be again. You're scared of the impossible, Lily. Because
you can only ever be you in the moment you're living in, and when
501
Pawns
that moment passes, you're a whole new you—but you're always

you, and never who you were. So, don't be scared. Just be you."
"Wow. Inspirational."
"It was, actually. You just don't appreciate my particular brand of

optimism." "Never took you for an optimist, McKinnon."
"Mm, well, now's the time for it, isn't it? It's the bleakest moments in
our lives where we learn to survive. Everyone always paints it as this
horrible, gruesome thing, but personally? I like knowing how to
survive."
"You're not scared?" Lily asks.
Marlene pauses, then says, "No, not really. I know how to survive,
but that doesn't automatically mean I will. Sometimes, we just don't.
So, I either will, or I won't. Simple as that."
"Just not afraid to die, then?" Lily mumbles.
"No," Marlene says, "I'm rather used to it, actually."
To that, Lily has no reply, blinking slowly at Marlene through the

dark. After a few beats, Marlene turns over on her cot. She doesn't
say goodnight, so Lily doesn't either, but they sleep.
They sleep until morning with no interruptions.
502
13
AZKABAN
______
Severus escorts Potter to his seat in front of the camera, shoving him
roughly down into it when he doesn't move fast enough, which
earns him a glare. Severus ignores it, because he can't focus on hating
Potter today.
Especially today.
It's going to be such a busy day. Playing both sides of this war puts
him in this position where he is essentially battling for and against
himself on rotation. He'll be helping get Potter and Black out of the
Hallow, then he'll have to turn around and do everything he can to
keep them trapped, should this mission go wrong. Severus hopes for
the state of his headache that it doesn't go wrong.
Angering Riddle is a bonus, at least. The man has been a thorn in

Severus' side since the arena break-in. He gives Severus orders that
spreads his Aurors thin, a constant pushback against protests within
the Hallow, harsher monitoring within the districts, gathering
information at all costs, and more.
Within the Hallow, Severus has teams of Aurors on rotation at the

abandoned area at the back of the city, in which those that escaped
disappeared into. Where they went, Severus does not know. It's as if
the very van they were in simply vanished. The entire place is empty.
They did discover that the sinkhole was simply an illusion, but even
past that, there was nothing to find. Regardless, Riddle has that area
constantly on watch and thoroughly guarded.
503
Azkaban
How Albus plans to have Black and Potter rescued from the
Azkaban without that escape route evades his understanding. He
can't envision a plan that would ever work, so he suspects today will
indeed be a busy day. Severus doesn't need answers, however. His
only job to help Albus is to notify him once Potter has been safely
dropped off at Azkaban for his promised visit to Black.
But first, yet another message from Potter. It burns through Severus
that it's happening, purely because it's working. A good portion of
the protests are disbanding, and now more people are coming
forward with the desire to help their Master, offering
information—usually false—that Severus then has to follow up on.
Two days ago, a woman reported that she spotted suspicious
behavior around the alley near her home, convinced it was
anarchists coming to abduct or kill her family. Upon investigation, it
was simply a pack of rodents digging through her trash. He had to
call an exterminator.
However, there remains some protests, and there was activity within
Hallow servers picked up recently that Riddle is very displeased
about, only more so because he can't trace it or locate who was
behind it. He only knows that whoever it was didn't go past public
servers, meaning only things that are public records, such as prison
blueprints. Severus isn't an idiot. If they're going to be breaking in,
knowing the layout of Azkaban is just the logical next step.
So, naturally, Riddle wants Potter to be his mouthpiece yet again.

This time, his reach is meant to go farther. The districts have grown
restless in the aftermath of the released footage of the arena break-in.
Riddle hasn't addressed it, far too distracted with the issues within
the Hallow, far too obsessed with preparing for war.
In the meantime, riots have broken out in all districts except for one,
two, three, and seven. Four, five, eight, nine, ten, eleven, and twelve
have been on lockdown for two weeks now. Riddle has the Aurors in
each district spread thin as well, all immune and weaponized with
biological warfare already, but restrained to instilling curfew and
turning each district into nothing more than a prison. People are
allowed to work, but only work that benefits the Hallow. Many
people within the districts are slowly starving. The militaristic grip
in those districts are so strong that the numbers drop by the day.
504
He knows if the Hallow didn't depend on the districts to flourish,
then Riddle would wipe them all out and be done with it. This, at
least, convinces Severus that most of the districts will take the
immediate opportunity to overthrow the Hallow, no matter what
message Potter gives. Regardless of dwindling numbers, they will
surely fight back and lose more.
Severus sometimes wonders, by the end of the war, who will be left
to see the outcome.
"What, are you joking?" Potter blurts out, his head snapping up to
stare at Riddle incredulously, who just swept in and handed him his
script on a lone, crisp piece of paper. There's a monitor right beside
the camera that plays a slow reel of his script, but letting him read it
beforehand is supposed to prepare him so he won't fumble. Any
misstep will result in Black's torture, so he simply doesn't falter.
"I'm not asking your opinion, James," Riddle replies. "I don't care
what your thoughts are. Simply do as you're told, or shall I have
Sirius taken from his cell in preparation?"
Potter shakes his head quickly. "No, that won't be necessary."
Riddle hums and steps back to go sit at his desk, opening his laptop
to pull up the camera feed of Black sitting in his cell, as he always is.
It's just a reminder to Potter what pressure he's under. As usual,
Potter greedily stares at the screen, but he drags his gaze away when
the camera crew sweeps in and begins setting up for the broadcast.
And then, without further ado, Potter begins speaking.
When addressing the districts directly, Potter starts by once again

giving the message about the anarchists, listing them all off and
making it clear that any and all information about them is to be
brought forward. That's not the ironic part. No, the ironic part is that
Riddle has apparently decided that it's entirely unironic for him to
call for peace there as well, and ask that the districts stand with the
Hallow as, apparently, the Hallow has always stood with them.
505
Azkaban
Potter struggles with the next part, his voice too tight, and his body
too tense. Riddle reaches for the laptop until Potter's face smoothes
out, and his voice softens. The message Riddle is forcing Potter to
give claims that the Hallow cares for the future of the districts, a plea
for the people within to think of the youth who will be endangered
by the anarchists, as if the Hallow hasn't been slaughtering their
children for decades.
Riddle continues to work with the belief that fear will get
compliance. For some, it will. For most? After decades of facing the
system the Hallow runs on and only losing because of it? Well, for
most, this will only inspire them to fight back even more. Some will
cower in fear, but there comes a point where cowering in fear will
only end in death, and the districts are subjected to the hunger
games. Survival is something they have been conditioned to fight for,
and so fight they will.
Potter is a fool, no doubt about it, but he isn't the biggest fool in this
room. No, that honor goes to Riddle.
When the broadcast is over and the camera turns off, Potter stands
up swiftly and says, "Alright, take me to Sirius now."
Riddle flicks his fingers at Severus. "Take him."
"Yes, sir," Severus murmurs, showing no signs of how they may just
make a fool out of him yet again very soon. He's not a laughing man,
not since his mother died, but for the first time in years, it's more
difficult than usual to remember.
~•~
If Remus wasn't claustrophobic before, he certainly is now. This will

go on the list of things that haunt his nightmares, that's for sure.
Slowly suffocating will do that to a person.
Imagine this. You're in a crate. It's big enough for four people to
squish together in, but only just. It's cramped, lined with a fuzzy
material that goes over the top to hide those within, and there are no
slots or holes on it. The top is nailed firmly shut. This crate is
wooden and boxed in by other crates in the back of a moving truck,
506
and you're staying silent and breathing shallow to conserve your
oxygen. You have oxygen tanks to make sure you don't fully
suffocate, but those will eventually run out, and if the crate never
opens, you will die. Oh, and panicking will only kill you faster.
Yeah, imagine that. Sound like a good time? Take it from Remus, it's
not.
The only way he gets through this is literally closing his eyes and
chanting it's fine, it's fine, it's all fine over and over in his head like a
mantra. The air is stale and stuffy, and it's hot. He's sweating. He can
feel the blistering heat of Lily's skin where she's pressed right up
against him. They were holding hands, but then their palms got too
slick with sweat, so they let go. Kingsley looks like he's fucking
meditating or something, and Marlene is curled up with her head
ducked, sitting very still.
If this wasn't for Sirius and James, Remus literally doesn't know if
he'd think it was worth it. This is fucking awful. And he has to go
back into the underground bunker after this? Just another prison?
For fuck's sake, Remus wants to be outside. He wants a little house
with a porch, windows up to let in fresh air, a home he can come and
go in as he pleases.
What he wants more than that, more than anything, is Sirius in his
arms again. He'd give everything up for their something. So, yes, this
is worth it.
Remus knows when they reach the checkpoint from district one into
the Hallow. He hears the muffled sounds of the truck being opened,
people perusing. His hand finds Lily's again, and they cling to each
other despite the sweat. They're all breathless, and they still hold
their breath until the doors slam shut and the truck begins to move
again.
Unanimously, they all take in some oxygen after, as a treat.
Step one: getting into the Hallow. Check.
507
Azkaban
Step two will be getting out of this crate and getting into Azkaban. In
a very strange turn of events, Remus—for the first time in his life—is
eager to go back to prison.
~•~
"Bet you didn't expect I'd be doing this again, huh?" Dorcas asks
quietly, gently applying makeup under his eyes.
Regulus hums. "I didn't, no. Did you?"
"Honestly, I thought my days as a stylist for the war were over,"

Dorcas admits, her tone dry. She sighs and pulls her hand back.
"Have you been sleeping, my love?"
"I get by," is all Regulus says, because no, obviously he hasn't been
sleeping. When he does drift off, it's always fitful rest, littered with
indistinct nightmares, usually involving Sirius or James, or both.
Sometimes, he'll get the occasional nightmare of Bellatrix, or the
crimson river, or dead hands. He never gets the only nightmare he
wants. He hasn't dreamed of Evan in a long time, not since the
victory tour. Regulus still misses him.
"Good job," Pandora comments, offering Regulus a gentle smile. She

reaches for his hand carefully, and he lets her take it, lets her hold it.
"That's all we can do, for now. And right now, you need to do the
broadcast. Are you ready?"
"Ready as I'll ever be," Regulus mutters with a grimace.
Albus didn't give him a script, but did give him a few points he
wanted Regulus to cover as cohesively as possible, and he waited
until the last moment to warn Regulus that there was a chance
Riddle could piggyback onto his broadcast and speak directly to
him, depending on what technological team he has at his disposal.
Regulus doesn't want to speak to him, anxious that he'll somehow
fuck something up, or give away the coup.
"It's going to be okay," Pandora murmurs, tugging him to his feet.

"Everything is going to be okay."
508
"We sent in four of the best people in the world," Dorcas tells him,
holding his gaze. "They'll get this done, Regulus. They'll be fine, and
then they'll come home."
Regulus finds that he can't speak past the lump in his throat, so he
just nods. Pandora tugs on his hand again, guiding him through the
room and down the hall. Dorcas walks beside him, their shoulders
brushing. It's still so startling to know all that he does about her now,
but regardless of all the things he didn't know, she still feels like a
friend. James would say that's the most important part, and Regulus
decides to agree.
The next room they enter is a little more full. Albus, Aberforth,
Filius, Minerva, and Barty. Regulus had asked for Barty specifically
during the meeting where Albus had found out that Dorcas
swapped with Marlene under his nose. He wasn't pleased, clearly,
but she just shrugged and smiled with all teeth as she stated she felt
it best that she stay here to make sure Regulus was camera-ready
because, really, it was tradition, wasn't it? And, to hear her tell it, her
girlfriend was more than capable of taking her place.
In the end, Albus let it go and gave in, simply because, once again,
Dorcas didn't really give him a choice in the matter. He also wearily
agreed to let Barty be there for Regulus' broadcast at his request.
They'll all be sitting behind Filius' computer, within Regulus' line of
sight, as if he's just talking to them.
It's supposed to help his comfort levels or something, but really, it

does a terrible job when he's guided to a stool in front of a camera.
He's already tense, which causes Pandora and Dorcas to fuss over
him like he's still their tribute, and well, maybe a part of him always
will be. As ridiculous as it is, that's what helps him relax. He's done
this before. He has them. All he's missing is James, Sirius, and
Remus.
They're coming back, Regulus tells himself, forcing himself to

breathe as Pandora and Dorcas retreat to settle next to Barty. Those
three sit together, watching him, steady, while Albus sits in between
Aberforth and Minerva.
509
Azkaban
"Ready, Regulus?" Filius asks. This time, Regulus only nods, and
Filius begins to count him down. "You're going live in five, four,
three, two, one..."
Filius presses a button on one and points at him, and Regulus

watches a red light begin to blink on the camera. For a second, he
doesn't speak, doesn't move, doesn't even breathe. Then—
"Hello," Regulus says, which is probably stilted and awkward, but

he's absolutely not the best person for this. He is the only person
they've got for now, though, so...here goes nothing. "I would
introduce myself, but I hardly think that's necessary."
This is true, and it makes him uncomfortable, because there's literally

not one person in this world who doesn't know his name. He can
perfectly picture so many faces turning to the screens near them to
see him there, recognizing him instantly, eager to hear what he has to
say.
Regulus has no idea what to say, suddenly. All he can think about is
James, who is likely moving through the halls of Azkaban right now,
heading for Sirius, completely unaware that Regulus is following his
broadcast with one of his own. It's as he thinks about James, and
James' broadcast, that Regulus realizes exactly how to begin his own.
"Only a little bit ago, my fiancé presented the world with a

broadcast," Regulus announces, and then his voice turns wry as he
continues to speak. "Now, I present you with my own to do
something that's very on brand for James and I, which is me arguing
with literally everything he just said."
Regulus sees Barty clap a hand over his mouth, his shoulders
shaking. Dorcas breaks out into a grin, and Pandora beams at him.
Regulus feels his shoulders relax. Yes, okay. This, he can do. He's
been doing it for years.
"You see, James is an idiot," Regulus continues, fixing his gaze on the
camera without wavering. "Let me tell you why."
~•~
510
Sirius glances up when he sees movement outside of his cell. His
eyebrow furrows just before the door gets thrown open, guards
moving in to immediately tase him, cuff him, then jerk him to his
feet and march him out.
Well, okay, rude.
If Sirius were capable, he would huff and complain as they shove

him along. If they expect him to have a broken spirit, they're very
mistaken. For one thing, he's only been tortured the once, and for
another, he doesn't even remember the whole thing, because when
he finally did give in and scream, the sound of it triggered him into
slipping away. So, score one for his fucked up head, he guesses.
In any case, a shithole of a prison and a mask locked on his face and
one torture session isn't enough to get him down. That's nothing.
Sirius would laugh about it, if he could.
He knows James is behind it, that idiot. Sirius loves him dearly, he
really does, but James giving Riddle whatever he wants isn't
something Sirius is on board with, especially not for his sake. But,
well, Sirius also gets it. If their positions were switched, Sirius would
do the same.
So, really, Sirius definitely could have it worse here. He knows that.
He's not even sick anymore, despite the conditions. Mostly, it's just
the boredom that's torture. Fucking hell, how did Remus do it?
Literally what did he do to occupy his time?
Oh, yeah, Sirius remembers what he did. He got sexy. It's a small,
stupid thing, but Sirius would give just about anything to feel Remus
up right now. Fuck, he misses him.
Sirius feels confusion whip through him when he's taken down to
the lower levels. Down, down, down. He's not supposed to be down
here anymore. This means one of three things. Either Riddle is
breaking his bargain with James, or James has broken his bargain
with Riddle, or James is...
511
Azkaban
Okay, now Sirius is worried. His mind races along with his heart as
he's dragged into the same fucking room he was tortured in before.
The mask is left on, but he's strapped into a chair just like last time.
The guards leave him there with the same exact man who tortured
him the first time. Bastard. Sirius glares at him, watching him like a
hawk.
"You remember me, I see," the man says dryly, rolling over on his
stupid rolling stool. He reaches up towards the mask on Sirius' face,
and Sirius' head jerks away. "Relax, I'm just getting us set up as a
precaution. Might not even be necessary, but I want to take a long
lunch, so I'm getting ahead."
Sirius squints at the man, but dutifully holds still as he unlocks the
mask and sits it aside. Sirius automatically exhales in relief and rolls
his jaw, staring at the man suspiciously. The wild thing is, he's a
fairly normal man overall, even friendly when he spoke with Sirius
last time. This is literally just his day job.
"What do you mean it's a precaution?" Sirius mutters.
"Probably shouldn't say, but..." The man clicks his tongue as he sets a
recorder on the stand next to them, the same one as before that he
used to record Sirius' screams. "Well, your brother just came on
screens with a broadcast. A right shock, he was, and I sort of
assumed Master Riddle would have you tortured as a punishment.
It's kind of his thing."
Sirius stares at him. "My brother? Regulus? What?"
"Yeah," the man continues, "he's with the anarchists, as it turns out.
Bully for you, I guess, because you'll take the heat."
"Is he okay? Did he look well? Safe?" Sirius blurts out.
The man blinks at him. "I tell you I might be ordered to torture you,
and that's the first thing you ask?"
"Let me guess, only child?" Sirius asks flatly.
512
"No, actually. I have a little brother and a little sister. Hate them
both," the man replies with a snort. He fixes Sirius with a wry look.
"If it was me, and I was you, I'd be begging to make them suffer
instead of me."
"You're sort of ruining the integrity of all older siblings everywhere.

Come on, it's a bad look," Sirius tells him.
"Not all siblings love each other, you know." The man reaches out
and pats his shoulder. "Good for you and him, though. I mean, it
ended with you here, but..."
Sirius sighs. "Okay, but—really, how did he look?"
"Well enough, I suppose," the man offers with a shrug, and it's not
much, and Sirius doesn't actually trust this man, but he wants to
believe it bad enough that he slumps with a gusty sigh of relief. "If it
cheers you, Master Riddle might not even give the order, so you
could be fine. Let's just hope it's quick either way. My pasta is calling
my name, you have no idea."
"Great," Sirius says bitterly, dropping his head back and glaring at
the vents in the ceiling above him. The man keeps setting up next to
him, and Sirius eventually clears his throat before looking at him
again. "So...what kind of pasta?"
~•~
Lily has no idea how the device works to override the surveillance
feed in Azkaban, but she trusts it will. Filius said it only needed to be
within twenty feet of the building, turned on, and then they'd have
fifteen minutes.
They turned it on two minutes ago.
Getting out of the crate had been simple enough, thanks to Pomona,
who busted the lid open and ushered them out with a promise to go
wait by the sewer runoff pipes. They have a system for this in the
Hallow, in which Pomona would usually drive in a full truck, leave it
to be sorted on the night shift, and take an empty truck already
sorted back to district one. It's a smart rotation and runs smoothly,
513
Azkaban
Lily has to admit, and it allows them the perfect route back to district
one.
After that, it was almost laughably easy to sneak into the prison,
because...well, who the fuck sneaks into a prison? Azkaban is a
formidable building, looming high and gloomy, a heavy quiet
hanging eerily over it. There are many entrances, and Remus guides
them to the one that involved prisoner transport, the one he was
taken through when leaving Azkaban and then returning.
It's deserted with only the cameras to worry about, but if they were
going to be discovered, they would have already. The device is
clearly working.
Inside Azkaban, they start on the ground floor, which is where

Remus said the offices are, as well as the rec rooms for the guards
are. The higher levels are where the prisoners are kept, while levels
below are for the torture and experimentation.
It's cold in the prison, cold enough that Lily shivers as she slinks
along the empty hall behind Kingsley. Remus is behind her, and
Marlene brings up the rear. They all move silently, keeping a sharp
eye out, but Regulus is doing his broadcast, so surely everyone is
distracted by now.
Sure enough, as they creep past one room, Lily lifts her head to peek
through the blinds, finding multiple guards standing around in front
of a screen. She thinks the rooms are sound-proof, because she can't
hear any of them, but she can see them moving around, pointing at
Regulus and nudging each other. She ducks her head and keeps
moving.
"We're looking for an empty office, or one that has less people in it
than us," Kingsley whispers, holding his hand out, then flicking his
fingers to gesture to them to start spreading along the hall to look,
keeping low and out of sight.
Lily breaks away to go to the other side of the hall, moving along
and stealing quick glances into rooms. Some of the rooms seem to be
for storage. Others are break rooms, clearly for the guards. There's
one room with lockers and uniforms hanging up, also for the guards.
514
She passes a room that most definitely isn't an office, but one that
makes her stop anyway.
"Um, hey," Lily breathes out, flapping her hand to get their attention.
"Hey, uh, we—we have a problem."
It takes a moment, but Kingsley slinks over with Marlene and

Remus, and then they all stare into the room. Lily bites her lip, her
gaze latched onto James Potter, who is clearly ranting at four
different guards, all of which have their backs to the door and
window, keeping James inside.
"Why...?" Remus' eyebrows furrow, lips tipping down, and Lily

shares a wary look with him.
James is supposed to be en route to Sirius' cell right now. That's

where the team was supposed to find him, that way they could
sneak in, snatch them, then sneak out. But, if James is here, and
Sirius is in his cell, the plan has to change.
"Maybe they're waiting for Regulus' broadcast to be over," Marlene

breathes out, inching closer with her eyes narrowed.
"Which is less than ideal for us," Lily mumbles. "Regulus' broadcast
is what's going to help us sneak out. Kingsley, how the hell are we
going to get James quietly, but also get Sirius?"
Kingsley is silent for a long beat, then he murmurs, "We're going to

have to split up. Two are going to need to go retrieve Sirius while the
other two stay here to watch James. The goal is to wait for Sirius to
be retrieved before we get James and go, just to minimize chances of
detection."
"So...get Sirius, come back, get the drop on the guards, take James
and sneak out quickly?" Lily summarizes.
"Pretty much," Kingsley murmurs. "Who—" "I'm going to get Sirius,"

Remus cuts in.
"Okay, I'm with him," Lily says automatically, at exactly the same
time as Marlene says, "I'm going to get Sirius, too."
515
Azkaban
Lily and Marlene stare at each other. Their fragile peace from the
previous night wobbles a little precariously as their eyes narrow at
the same time, equally stubborn.
Kingsley sighs. "Marlene, you go with Remus. Lily, you're staying

with me in case we have to fight those guards. We know how to fight
together, and we can do it quickly and quietly. No, don't argue.
Remus, Marlene, go now."
Now isn't exactly the time to protest, as they're all trying to be very
quiet, but Lily grinds her teeth in frustration about it. Remus pauses
only long enough to squeeze her thigh with a grimace of apology,
and then he and Marlene continue on to find an office to slip into so
they can figure out which cell Sirius is in, break him out, then get
back here and help get James, all within ten minutes and without
being discovered.
Right, okay. What could go wrong?
~•~
Severus steps into the room, already tired and not at all surprised by
the flurry of activity in Riddle's office. The plan is underway. Severus
ordered Potter's escort to Azkaban and notified Albus the moment
he was informed that Potter had arrived. Shortly after, the younger
Black began a broadcast.
It would have been nice if Albus had warned him of that, but of
course he did not. Severus understands why, because it's very crucial
for the war, but it is agitating. The only thing that makes it less so is
how visibly furious Riddle is about it.
"Severus," Riddle snaps, eyes cold. "Yes, sir?"
"There's a situation."
"I see that, sir."
"Have the team you sent that escorted James to Azkaban bring him
back. I want him on the way back here by the time this broadcast
ends."
516
Severus resists the urge to sigh. "Yes, sir."
"Before you do that, however—" Riddle halts when someone steps

up beside his desk, head ducked. "What? Speak."
"Sorry, sir, it's just—we've set up the camera, and we're ready to
connect you to Regulus Black's broadcast," is the quiet, shaky
response. "Ready whenever you are, sir."
"One moment." Riddle reaches out to press a button on a device on

his desk. The line connects, and he says, "Make Sirius regret ever
being related to Regulus, and if I give the order, kill him. Do you
understand?"
"Yes, sir," comes the cheerful response.
The line clicks, and the person next to Riddle's desk shifts nervously
and says, "But—but sir, won't killing Sirius mean that James won't do
broadcasts anymore?"
"James won't be there, so he will not know that Sirius is dead. I have
old footage I'll use for him. He will comply, even without the visits.
He's desperate enough," Riddle replies sharply, eyes narrowing.
"Severus."
"Yes, sir?" Severus asks.
"As I said, before you have James brought back, there is something of
more importance I need you to do," Riddle tells him, and Severus
waits for his orders.
When he gets them, his headache grows worse. ~•~
"Welp, you heard Master Riddle."
Sirius sighs and drops his head back against the headrest of the chair,
gazing up at the vents again. He did, in fact, hear Riddle. So, he
guesses there won't be any more talk of pasta.
517
Azkaban
"You know I'm not going to scream, right?" Sirius asks idly, just like
he did last time. That turned out to be a lie, but hey, maybe the
second time's the charm?
"Everyone screams. No shame in it, really," says the man who did, in
fact, make him scream last time. He's rolling around in his chair,
gathering what he needs to. "You're the stubborn sort, though, I'll
give you that. I reckon you can last longer this time, yeah? We'll
make a game out of it."
"Oh, will we?" Sirius asks, his voice flat.
The man chuckles and rolls to a stop next to him, reaching out to pat
his shoulder. "Might as well. You can do it, I believe in you, and
hopefully I don't have to shut you in here and kill you. Either way,
I'll think of you when I'm eating my pasta."
"Thanks," Sirius replies sardonically. "Really appreciate that."
"Oi, don't blame me, yeah? I'm just doing my job," he says,
shrugging. "Now, let's get started, shall we? Round one. May the best
man win."
Sirius snorts. "Oh, I'm definitely winning round one." ~•~
Regulus thinks he's doing pretty well, honestly. It's easy, almost, to
deconstruct Riddle's script with James being the person Regulus
bounces off of. Genuinely, he and James can argue for ages, and he's
literally spent years insulting him, both lovingly and not, so in a way,
it's almost like he's had practice.
With James as a guide, Regulus counters every single thing that

Riddle has had him say so far. Explaining that, no, those that left the
Hallow are not prisoners of war, but rather those that are aligned
with the resistance. Releasing the truth that Frank was murdered
ruthlessly on Riddle's orders, and that he, too, had been on the side
of the resistance, even in death.
It doesn't stop there. Albus gave him things to share, and share them
Regulus does. He tells the whole world how there is a resistance, one
that waits in the shadows, not to hurt anyone but to help those in
518
need. It's not war they seek, but a better world for all, and if it takes
war to get there, then it's worth fighting, isn't it? The war isn't
against people; it's against power, against the system, and against
Riddle.
Regulus reminds everyone of the games, how brutal they are, how
awful they've always been. Blood, agony, and slaughter. Has the
Hallow not been waging war for decades? How can Riddle claim to
care for the children in the districts when he sees them slaughtered
for entertainment year after year? Is everyone meant to simply
continue to accept mass murder and a true imbalance in power and
equality forever? Shouldn't the world change to be a safe place for
all?
And the Hallows. Well, their Master does not listen to them. He cares
nothing for them either. Did he not ignore them when they protested
against the Quarterly Memorial? Did he not have many of them
slaughtered during the interviews for the Quarterly Memorial, then
lie to the public about it? Did he not try to lie about what actually
happened in the arena? Has he ever stopped lying to his own people;
has he ever listened to them; has he ever cared for their safety and
well-being?
There is no harmony in this world, and Riddle has only contributed

to that, but there could be harmony in this world. Doesn't everyone
want harmony in this world?
Regulus isn't sure that this world will ever find harmony, but he's
willing to lie to everyone and say there can be, if that's what it will
take to bring harmony back to him in the form of James and Sirius.
And so, he turns himself into Albus' pawn, sure that he's lying and
daring to hope it's true anyway. He doesn't care if this world has
harmony. He's selfish enough to only care for himself and those he
loves.
There's little to no warning for the broadcast being interrupted by

Riddle. A monitor sits off to the side, showing Regulus there, and
then it flickers to show Riddle instead.
519
Azkaban
Regulus falls silent. Everyone in the room straightens up, paying

attention, waiting with a bated breath. This is where things get dicey,
because the team in Azkaban are still relying on him to keep
everyone distracted and buy them time.
He can see Riddle, and Riddle can see him. Filius said that if Riddle
interrupted the broadcast, the world watching would see him
instead of Regulus, but Regulus' audio would remain. The only
person who can see Regulus now that isn't in this room is Riddle, but
the whole world can still hear him.
So, they hear him say, "I was in the middle of something."
"Yes, I noticed," Riddle replies. He looks calm, all except for his eyes,
which are cold with fury. He's sitting at a desk, hands threaded
together on top. "You'll forgive the interruption. This discussion
seemed incredibly one-sided."
"I think you've said enough," Regulus announces.
Riddle hums. "I disagree. I've said very little, Regulus, if you recall.
James—your fiancé, need I remind you—has been the one who felt it
necessary to speak. I wonder how much it will hurt him to find out
that you oppose him and his beliefs."
"As I said, arguing is something James and I are accustomed to,"

Regulus says shortly. "Though, as his fiancé, I know him better than
most. I can safely say that his beliefs mostly mirror mine, but of
course you don't allow him to speak freely, do you? His words are
not his own. They're yours."
"Why would he speak them if he did not agree?"
"Are you familiar with the concept of coercion, Riddle?"
"I am," Riddle murmurs. "It strikes me to be concerned about you in

that regard, Regulus. Are you in danger? Are they forcing you to
spread such misinformation?"
Regulus gives a thin smile. "That's your weapon of choice, I believe.

Tell me, what misinformation have I spread?"
520
"This belief that I wish for war," Riddle says. "I do not. You talk of
war as if I started it, when I did not. I'm left in a position where I
must end it. People oppose me, threaten my home and my people,
and intend to dismantle the very way of life as we have always
known it. Regulus, I must ask you, why do you think I wish you any
harm? You or anyone? I don't."
"Then what are the hunger games?" Regulus challenges.
"Tradition," Riddle answers simply.
"Can tradition not be broken?"
"When it's the foundation of the very structure that runs this world,
it can't. You speak of a better
world, but tell me, what will this world look like? Tell the people, tell
the Hallows, tell everyone how economic collapse will treat them."
Regulus pauses, gaze darting to Albus, who shakes his head. After a
beat, Regulus looks away. "I ask you, are the districts not trapped in
the vestiges of economic collapse already? If you mean to say that
you would take issue with the districts flourishing as the Hallow
does, simply speak your truth."
"The districts have been the same as they always have been, and they
shall remain so," Riddle retorts. "The world is as it needs to be. To
oppose that will only bring further ruin to us all. This is not a time
for war, Regulus."
"Then present us with peace," Regulus snaps. "End the hunger

games, step down from your position, and come together with those
who oppose you to make a better world—one that benefits us all, not
just the Hallow, and not just you."
"Or," Riddle counters lightly, "you and all those who oppose me stop
seeking bloodshed. Even you, Regulus. You're not a prisoner there,
are you? If not, you can leave. I will grant you safe passage into the
Hallow. James is here with me; he surely waits for you. Do you not
want to be reunited with your love?"
521
Azkaban
Regulus resists the urge to swallow, his heart thumping hard in his
chest. He'd go, is the thing. If that was his only option, he'd go in a
heartbeat. It's not his only option, though, so he looks Riddle right in
the eyes and says, "No, I think I'll stay right here. If it takes a war to
be reunited with James, then I'll be sure to do everything in my
power to see the end of it."
"If you continue to oppose me," Riddle informs him, never breaking
his gaze, "I assure you, you will not."
~•~
James is about to lose his fucking mind. His entire body is vibrating,
muscles wound tight, and if he doesn't get answers here in a second,
he's going to start swinging.
He remembers a time when he was a softer James. Before his hunger

games. Before he ever felt violence touch him. He's never been the
same after that; quicker to anger, quicker to lash out, quicker to act
when it comes to protecting those he loves. That's always his greatest
motivation,
isn't it? Nothing gets James to fight faster than defending those that
are his.
Sirius? Sirius is his. His best friend, his constant, the very breath in
his lungs. So, naturally, James is ready to start flinging shit, because
he's here to see Sirius, and they're not letting him. Why? Why can't
James see him? Where is he?
No matter what James asks, or how often, the team that escorts him
on these visits will not answer. The last time, they brought James in,
passed him off to Azkaban guards, then waited for him to be
brought back down before escorting him the same way they came.
This time, they brought James in, then the Azkaban guards brought
them to this room, talked to one of the members of the team, and
then left. They've been blocking James in here ever since.
They don't harm him. They also don't acknowledge him. They just
watch him rant and rave, demanding answers, and they do nothing
else. James just wants to know that Sirius is okay.
522
That's the crux of it, isn't it? Why James can feel himself slipping.
That worry, that dread, that utterly paralyzing fear that something
has happened to Sirius, that maybe Riddle has decided to break the
bargain, that maybe Sirius is—
"Come in, Shaw."
James halts and snaps his head over to stare at the radio on,
presumably, Shaw's hip. The voice— James recognizes it as that
Auror he doesn't like, the one Riddle always gives orders to directly.
James recognizes the dry lilt of his voice.
"Sir?" Shaw asks, speaking into the radio.
"Escort Potter back to Master Riddle's castle. Now." "Yes, sir."
James steps back automatically when Shaw starts to move for him,
radio still in hand. "No. No, fuck that. I'm not leaving until I see
Sirius. I'm supposed to—"
"Don't resist, Mr. Potter," Shaw says. "We have orders. Now, come
with us quietly. You'll have your answers when you return to Master
Riddle, I'm sure."
"I said no!" James bursts out, stepping back again. "I'm not leaving
this prison until I know Sirius is alive. If he's not alive, I'm not
complying, so prove to me that he's alive, or—"
"Or nothing," Shaw cuts in, gesturing to someone else on the team
with his free hand. Immediately, the person raises their gun and
points it at James. "Come along now."
James pauses, considering. He flicks his gaze between the team.

There's four of them, all armed with guns, and all likely trained to
fight. Only Shaw has a radio. James is one person with a cane that's
practically covered in bubble-wrap.
Well, he's had worse odds.
523
Azkaban
"Thing is, Riddle wants me brought back alive," James says lightly.
"I'm sort of important, you see, and I know this, so I know you're not
supposed to shoot me."
Shaw sighs. "Mr. Potter, don't—"
James doesn't let him finish. He tosses his cane at the person
pointing a gun at him and surges forward to grasp Shaw's radio,
slamming it into his face to get him to stumble back. The rest of the
team start yelling, starting to move forward, but James uses the
momentum of Shaw's stumble to run him backwards. He slams him
back against the wall, then slams the radio into it as well until it falls
to pieces on the floor.
And then, right after, James whirls Shaw away from the wall and
proceeds to tackle him through a window.
~•~
There's no warning for it. Lily is just crouched next to Kingsley one
second, admittedly pouting, and then James Potter comes flying out
the window with another man in the next.
Glass shatters, of course, so Lily instinctively covers her head. She

misses James landing on the floor, but she hears it, hears his grunt
and the wheeze of the other man.
Well, there goes the element of surprise.
The door to the room bangs open as the rest of the team pours out,
and Lily rises up at the same time Kingsley does. As this was
supposed to be a stealth mission, everyone was equipped with
stealth-related weapons, such as daggers, while these people have
guns. Kingsley is not a known 'anarchist', but Lily is. However,
they're not really expected to be here, so they do have the element of
surprise for a moment longer.
Lily grabs one person and knocks the gun out of their hands,
kneeing them so they'll fold over a little bit and meet the dagger she
slams directly into the side of their throat. She wrenches it right back
out as they choke and whirls around to help Kingsley with the two
524
he's fighting, though that turns out to be unnecessary. He stabs one
when she reaches him, elbows the other in the head and moves
fluidly to sweep their feet from under them. They hit the ground,
and Kingsley follows to slam his dagger in their chest.
Alright, three down, one to go.
That last one is who James is struggling with at the moment, so Lily
moves over to help him instead. The man knocks James onto his
back at the same time she reaches him, so before his fist ever comes
down to connect with James' face, she buries her dagger in the side
of his neck. He gurgles, goes limp, then falls to the side when Lily
yanks the blade back out.
James blinks up at her from the floor, looking dazed, his lips parted.
He's dressed smartly like he was for his last broadcast, but rumpled
now, the suit torn from the glass. There's still glass in his hair, in fact,
and he's a little cut up. He hardly seems to notice, gaping up at her
in disbelief as he is.
Lily would like to take the time to fuss at him for botching the stealth
mission, but the doors along the hall are opening as guards come
flooding out to investigate the sound of the window breaking. So, for
now, she leans over to grab the gun off the man she just killed,
snagging James' sleeve as well.
"Get up!" Lily orders, and James scrambles to do just that.
"Okay," Kingsley announces with a heavy sigh, backing up towards

them, having claimed a gun for himself, too. James stumbles back as
Kingsley guides them, and Lily distractedly kicks him a gun as they
go past another dead person. James takes cues well, because he
scoops it up. "Right, so the others were just heading to the staircase
to go get Sirius—"
"Sirius?!" James demands immediately. "You're saving—"
"Shut up, no time for questions," Lily cuts in, raising her gun as the
guards locate them and start pulling out tasers. "King, what's the
plan here?"
525
Azkaban
"The others were heading to the stairwell, so I'm assuming they

found what cell he's in from the office. They only just went in, from
what I saw," Kingsley says. "If the guards reach the stairwell before
the others make it back down, we're all—"
Kingsley never even gets to finish because, from somewhere down

below, there's a very loud scream.
~•~
Remus freezes the moment he hears the scream. Just for one second,
his whole body locks up as he registers it, and his gaze finds
Marlene's. Neither of them breathe.
And then, at the same time, they whip around and start pounding
down the stairwell in the opposite direction. Not going up. No,
going down.
Following the sound of screaming. Following the sound of Sirius.
~•~
Regulus tenses up when he sees Riddle's gaze flick away from him
for the first time since he interrupted the broadcast. It makes the
small hairs stand up on the back of Regulus' arms, his heart
thumping hard. No, Riddle shouldn't focus on anything else but him.
What if that's someone
coming to notify him that there was a break-in at Azkaban? What

if—
"Is it done?" Riddle asks, not addressing Regulus. There's a pause,

and Riddle hums. "Good. In that case, there's no need to continue
with the farce. Isn't that right, Regulus?"
Riddle's gaze latches onto him again, and the gleam of satisfaction in
his eyes makes Regulus' chest go tight. No. No, there's no possible
way Riddle knows. The others haven't even been in Azkaban that
long. It hasn't even been ten minutes.
526
"What farce would that be?" Regulus asks with forced calm, arching
an eyebrow at him.
"You think I don't know that a team of anarchists have broken into
Azkaban?" Riddle asks, and Regulus freezes immediately, his whole
body going cold. Riddle leans forward to press something on his
desk, mouth ticking up in one corner in a sure sign of victory,
holding Regulus' gaze as he speaks to the device, ordering, "Kill
them all."
The screen goes black.
Just like that, the broadcast ends, and Regulus is left frozen in place
for a long moment, ears ringing. He sees the red light on the camera
pointed towards him go off.
"Wait," Regulus whispers, the word escaping him on a fucking

wheeze as he stands up, his insides shaking like he's about to fall
apart from within first. "Wait, no, no, no—"
Dorcas goes stumbling back with a choked noise, Pandora moving

towards her quickly. Minerva, Filius, Albus, and Aberforth are all
talking all over each other, loud and disorganized. Barty is moving
right for Regulus.
"He—he knew," Regulus gasps out, his hands shaking. "The whole
time, he knew. He was—"
"Regulus," Barty says, reaching for him, gripping his arms.

Desperately, Regulus grips him back, almost gagging as his stomach
heaves, and he makes a high-pitched sound of pure hysteria. Barty
shakes him. "Regulus, it's—"
"He was taunting me. He—it wasn't my diversion. It was his,"

Regulus whines. "Barty—" "Breathe. You have to breathe ," Barty
tries, sounding strained.
Regulus is hyperventilating, vision blurring as he clutches at Barty

and dissolves into an immediate meltdown, voice rising with panic
as every part of him quakes. "He knew the whole time. He said —he
527
Azkaban
wants to have them killed. Barty, Barty, he said—did he—did I just

lose all of them? Did I just—"
"Shh, breathe, just breathe," Barty whispers in his ear, wrapping him
up and holding him close.
Regulus collapses into Barty with a raw, guttural sob and can't figure
out how he's supposed to breathe ever again.
~•~
Remus doesn't care about the mission. He doesn't care that he can
hear gunfire up ahead as he steadily makes his way down, and he
doesn't care that he can hear Lily and what sounds like James
shouting as they come barreling down after him and Marlene. All he
cares about is getting to Sirius. Immediately.
Remus and Marlene are farther ahead than the others, and they're
running together, so they break out of the stairwell first on the level
Sirius is. The screaming has stopped for now, but it still rings in his
ears. He knows exactly where Sirius is, and he doesn't slow down on
the way to him, not even when guards come running down the
corridor towards them.
Marlene doesn't even hesitate, not for a moment, fully just launching
her dagger forward and launching herself with a snarl right after.
One guard goes down with a choked noise, and the next takes a hit
to the face so hard that they cry out and slam into the wall. Marlene
keeps slamming their head into it until they slump down, silent and
still.
Remus can feel the blood rushing in his veins as he dodges a taser
and throws out his fist, making a guard stumble back. He follows the
motion and keeps hitting the guard, legitimately forgetting that he
also has a dagger until the guard is already a crumpled heap on the
floor. Remus rushes past, knuckles bloody and throbbing, a sensation
that shouldn't feel so good but does anyway. As he takes the final
corner that will get him to the room—he can see it down at the end
of the corridor, so close, so fucking close—more guards come
rushing at them.
528
"Marlene, Sirius is in there!" Remus bursts out, taking a hit to the
side of the head like it's nothing, not even flinching, just swiveling
with the motion to grab the guard and pick them clear up off their
feet to slam them back down to the floor.
"Go get him!" Marlene shouts. "I got this!"
Remus heaves out a deep breath and carelessly digs his boot into the
side of the guard's head until he hears a crunch that probably means
the guard won't get back up again. There are still others, but Marlene
sounds so sure that she'll be fine, and Remus knows Lily, Kingsley,
and likely James are on the way and will be able to help her if she
needs it. He's seen her in action; she can hold her own until they get
there.
So, Remus leaves her. Doesn't even glance back. Doesn't slow down
or wait or think past getting to the end of the hall where the screams
originated from. He starts running.
Before he can make it all the way, the door opens, and a man steps
out. Oh, Remus knows this man. Remus has been in the chair for this
man when getting punished. If that alone wasn't enough to make
Remus want to snap his fucking neck, this man being the one to hurt
Sirius certainly is.
The man shuts the door and locks it. The only way to see the room is
through the large window beside said door. Remus can see the chair
there, just the back of it, the very top of Sirius' head.
"Open that fucking door," Remus declares harshly, starting right for
the man, his stride never faltering.
"Can't do that, I'm afraid," the man replies, holding up a little remote
and clicking his tongue. "I just got my new orders."
Remus lunges forward at the same time that the man presses the
remote, knocking it out of his hand a moment too late. The man gets
slammed back against the window, a thick plane of glass that seems
to absorb the sound of his head hitting it with a thump. Remus hears
him gasp and doesn't care, just wrapping his hands around his
throat and shaking him.
529
Azkaban
"What did you do?!" Remus bellows.
"You're too late," the man gasps out, clawing at Remus' hands, trying
to breathe. "He's—he's already....dead..."
Remus refuses to accept this, and also he doesn't like this answer, so
he finds his grip around the man's neck tightening. He knocks his
head back into the glass repeatedly, clenching his jaw as the man
wheezes and tries to push him away, tries to fight him off, tries to
struggle. His efforts get weaker, mouth opening and closing as he
releases raspy noises, slowly going limp as his eyes roll around
uselessly. The blood vessels in his eyes have popped, and it's brutal,
it's absolutely gruesome the way Remus is literally just squeezing the
life out of him.
Remus doesn't stop until he's squeezed him dry, until he's limp and
staring vacantly at nothing, which just so happens to coincide with
the exact moment Remus notices the green fog flooding the room
through the window.
Remus' hands go slack, his whole body locking up. The dead man
flops to the floor.
From the vents right above Sirius, Remus can see the green fog
pouring out, and his breathing goes thin almost immediately.
Something sort of just—cracks within him, because he's right here,
he's so fucking close, and this can't be happening to him. This
can't—it can't—no, it can't, it can't, it can't—
The only thought Remus has as he dives for the door is a constant,
desperate stream of Sirius, Sirius, Sirius.
"No! Remus, no!" Lily screams from down the hall, arriving in just
enough time to witness this, too far away to stop him, because he
can't be stopped, because he isn't stopping.
Remus knows distantly that this green fog has been created to kill
people, to kill them in the most excruciating way possible, and that
he's likely in a long line of experiments used to make that
happen—he knows this, and he doesn't care. He can't think past
SiriusSiriusSirius, and that's all that accompanies him as he rushes
530
right into the room; that, and the sound of his best friend screaming
his name desperately.
Naturally, the room is full of green fog now, and Remus covers his
face, pressing his forearm over his nose and mouth, not breathing as
he stumbles quickly to the chair. Sirius is still trapped there,
but Remus can't see him, can't even hear if he's screaming over the
loud hiss of the fog being released and the ringing in his ears. So,
frantically, still holding his breath, Remus feels his way along the
chair, removing the restraints.
The moment Sirius is free, things go awry.
Remus hasn't breathed, so his chest is burning, his lungs are on fire,
and he really doesn't stand a chance when the full force of a hand
slams directly into his chest. He can't stop himself from wheezing as
he stumbles back, gasping for air and expecting to immediately feel
pain and approaching death, only to feel—nothing. He feels nothing.
Remus blinks rapidly, tentatively sipping in air, breathing in the fog

and getting no response. He feels fine. What the—
"Fuck!" Remus bursts out, purely from surprise, because hands have
grabbed him by the arms to take him for a ride.
Remus goes whirling around, the stand next to the chair clattering to
the floor as he goes crashing into it. He tries to get his bearings and
only just makes out a fist coming right for him through the cloud of
green. Yelping, Remus jerks back to avoid it, his eyes bulging in
reflexive disbelief because Sirius is fucking attacking him.
It's so surreal that Remus doesn't even know how to wrap his brain
around it, and for that, he takes an elbow to the chest and nearly gets
punched again. Remus is admittedly a little affronted that this is
happening right now, because he doesn't want to fight the man he
loves, obviously, but then he realizes that Sirius has no fucking idea
it's him.
Oh, right. Shit.
531
Azkaban
"Sirius!" Remus shouts, catching Sirius' wrist when he goes for

another hit. "Sirius, can you—"
No, apparently Sirius can't hear him, because he proceeds to yank

Remus around and shove him into a wall. Okay, well, that's—yeah,
now really isn't the time, but Remus can't deny that it's a little
thrilling. Sirius is so—fuck, he's so fast, and he's really strong,
holding his own in a fight he can't even see in and can't be breathing
in.
However, Remus wants to get the hell out of here, sooner rather than
later, so he grunts in frustration when Sirius yanks on him again, and
he does something he genuinely never even imagined he would do.
He uses his strength to slam right into Sirius, coming right at him
through the fog and pushing him back against whatever available
surface is closest, which turns out to be the window. Remus can hear
Sirius' back thud into it, and he feels relief course through him,
because that means the door is close by. Okay, they just need to—
Sirius finally lands his punch now that Remus is in range, and
Remus curses sharply, because fucking hell, Sirius hits like a damn
brick. That shit hurts. Remus' jaw immediately blooms with an ache,
and he suddenly has a lot of sympathy for Regulus, who literally had
Sirius beat the shit out of him once. It's just—well, Sirius hits with his
whole body, with all the force in him, like he's trying to kill you with
one hit, and it almost seems like he comes really close to succeeding.
Remus shoves forward to knock Sirius back into the window harder,
arms wrapping around him tight enough to hold him, because he
just needs Sirius to know it's him. As soon as Sirius knows it's him,
he'll stop. Of course he will.
"Sirius! Sirius, it's me! It's Remus! It's okay, it's—" Remus halts at the
noise that reaches his ears, just the faintest sound of breathing from
someone other than him. He can feel it, Sirius' chest rising and
falling, Sirius' breath hitting the side of his neck. Sirius is breathing.
He's breathing in the fog.
Again, Remus doesn't get any time to ponder this, because Sirius
slams his hands against his chest to push him off and whip him
around. Remus grunts as his back hits the door, and he only gets one
532
second of warning before the boot moving through the air collides
against his chest. Sirius proceeds to kick him so hard that he's kicked
right through the door, which bangs open as he goes sailing back and
slams against the opposite wall, legs buckling as he tries to catch his
breath.
Sirius comes stepping out of the room looking like something

ethereal and wild, green fog billowing out around him, hair tangled
and untamed, hands and jaw clenched, and—
Oh.
Remus' breath punches out of him as he meets Sirius' eyes and

realizes that Sirius isn't even here right now. No, this is—this won't
be something Sirius remembers, and Remus isn't scared, exactly, but
there's absolutely no recognition in Sirius' gaze as he looks at him, as
he moves right for him. He seems to be on one setting at the
moment, and it's that single-minded focus to demolish whatever is
in his path that leads him to grab Remus by the collar and crawl
right into his lap, bracing his hands on Remus' head with clear
intentions to snap his neck. Quickly.
And, the thing is, it's not even his fault. He's seconds away from
breaking the neck of the man he loves, gripping the top of Remus'
head and the underside of his chin, and he won't even remember
doing it. This is just—this is how it works, Remus thinks. When
Sirius slips away, whatever is left behind continues like an extension
of his last need.
If he's running, he keeps running. If he needs comfort, he asks for it.

If he can't process something, then he rocks in place. If he's in danger,
then he fights, and there's no stop-gap with him like this; he fights to
kill.
"Sirius," Remus croaks. Sirius isn't even looking at him. He's

disinterested. Blank. "Sirius, look at me."
The fingers gripping him grow tight, flexing, and nothing happens
for a long second. Remus tilts his head a little to meet Sirius' dull
533
Azkaban
gaze with his own. They stare at each other for a second— Remus,
on the precipice of death; Sirius, empty-eyed.
"It's okay," Remus breathes out, shuddering. "I know you won't
remember, but I—I forgive you, sweetheart. It's okay."
Because it is okay, because it's not Sirius' fault, because this is what
he was made into, and it was wrong, and he didn't deserve it, and
Remus forgives him and wants, desperately, for Sirius to forgive
himself for anything he's ever done, and what he will do, and Remus
loves him, he loves him so much, even like this, because it's
something, because they're something.
Sirius stares at him, and he's still not here, he's not, but he's looking
now. He's looking right at Remus, right into his eyes, and his
eyebrows wrinkle together slightly. He blinks, slowly, fingers
growing a little softer where they grip Remus, just a sliver of
tentative hesitation like he's prepared to get right back to what he
was doing at a moment's notice. He looks less blank and more
confused now. His head tilts, and then his hand drifts down from the
top of Remus' head to cup his jaw as he leans in a little, staring into
his eyes like he's curious.
Remus' throat bobs on a harsh swallow, his mouth so dry that he

doesn't even try to speak. Sirius blinks again, and then there's a shift
in his eyes. Remus thinks he's imagining it until it sparks like a flame
and starts to spread, both eyes eventually filling with recognition.
Sirius rears back, his lips parting around a soft exhale, and when he
blinks again, his eyes are wide and entirely his own. It's him. He's
here.
"Remus," Sirius rasps.
"There you are," Remus mumbles, managing to crack a shaky, weary

smile. "Hi, sweetheart."
"Hi," Sirius chokes out, sounding and looking stunned. Both hands
fly up to cradle his face. "You're here. You're—"
Sirius inhales sharply, and then he folds forward to catch Remus in a

kiss so deep, so intense, that Remus forgets everything else almost
534
instantly. It doesn't matter that Sirius absolutely needs to brush his
teeth, or that green fog is slipping out of the cracked door behind
them in wisps, or that there's distant sounds of grunts and gunfire
down the hall, or that they're here, in a prison, in the middle of a
mission to escape. Nothing else matters but this, because it's
everything, because Sirius is absolutely fucking everything.
Remus is clutching at Sirius as desperately as Sirius is clutching at

him, kissing him hard, and then left breathless when they do break
apart. Sirius looks fit for diving right back into yet another kiss, but
then he flinches and scrambles off of Remus with a gasp. He fists
Remus' shirt and drags him along as he goes, making Remus yelp
and try to get his bearings.
"Sirius—"
"The—the fog. It's—there's—we have to move!"
"Sirius! Sirius, it's okay!" Remus bursts out, reaching up to grab onto
Sirius' arms to wrench him to a halt, which is actually a feat, because
Sirius is legitimately dragging him along the floor, the muscles in his
arms bulging. Remus eases Sirius' grip and slowly stands. "It's—I
promise it's okay. We, um. Well, we sort of...just came out of it. The
fog, I mean. I don't know why, but it doesn't hurt us."
Sirius blinks. "What? Is it—not bad?"
"No, it is, I think. Just—" Remus swallows and glances at the dead
body of the man he killed, still slumped on the floor. "Ah, well, he
said...it would kill you. I think it was supposed to, and probably me
too, but it...didn't? For some reason?"
"Didn't," Sirius repeats faintly, his gaze crawling to the dead man. He
blinks again, then says, "Did you do that to him?"
"Kill him, you mean?"
"Yeah."
Remus holds his gaze. "Yes."
535
Azkaban
"Oh," Sirius mumbles, then blurts out, "He never got to eat his pasta."
"What?" Remus asks, startled, but Sirius doesn't get to elaborate.
"Remus!"
The shrill call of his name makes Remus' head snap to the side, and
he mindlessly snags Sirius' hand before promptly taking off at a
sprint. All his mind focuses on in that moment is Lily, and the
desperate plea that just escaped her, because she sounds scared, and
Remus needs to get to her now.
The others have been backed down a corridor branching off from
this one, fighting guards, severely outnumbered by them. Remus'
hand falls away from Sirius the moment he sees Lily being dragged
along the floor by her hair, Kingsley and Marlene too far away, and
James entirely surrounded.
Fuck.
"James!" Sirius shouts, and then he's snatching the dagger out of
Remus' belt holster right before he runs full tilt into the fray without
even stopping.
Remus stumbles, then goes with the momentum to reach the guard
holding Lily, slamming them back into the wall. The guard lets out a
shriek, which is when Remus looks down to see Lily slam her dagger
into the side of their knee, twisting and yanking. The guard
crumbles, and Remus gets his arm around their neck, squeezing and
wrenching at their head until there's that telltale snap before the
body sags.
Lily scrambles to her feet, chest heaving as she stops and gapes at
him, cheeks stained with tears. "You're—but you—I saw you—how
are you—"
"I don't know," Remus admits, because he doesn't know, and it

fucking terrifies him. He searches her eyes for a long moment,
hoping maybe she'll have the answers somehow, impossibly, but she
looks as shocked as he feels.
536
There's a shout, followed by a yelp, and Remus jolts back into
motion, because oh, right, there's still a lot of fighting going on at the
moment. There's really no time for reunions.
Remus and Lily surge forward to offer help to the others, deflecting
hits and throwing out their own. Sirius is cutting a path to James,
killing swiftly and effortlessly as he goes, or just shoving people
aside, or knocking them out. He's a flurry of desperate, determined
movement. Remus goes to aid Kingsley, while Lily rushes to
Marlene, who has one guard on their knees with their own taser
down their throat, making them choke on it before she turns it on.
There's no way to know how long they fight for, and it doesn't
matter, besides the fighting doesn't come to an end. They just all
push in together, reaching for each other, drawn into the instinctive
need to be in a group. When they're in range, Kingsley yells to run,
and they do.
They have to. They can't just keep fighting forever. Getting out is the
main priority now that James and Sirius have been located, and yes,
the whole stealth bit of the mission has gone entirely to the dogs, but
the mission to escape is entirely still on. So, they run, with Kingsley
taking the lead.
Kingsley, who has been studying the blueprints of the prison and the
sewer system beneath so much that he probably has it memorized.
Kingsley, who is trained on how to shake off those who pursue them.
Kingsley, who keeps them at a pace that borders on agonizing to
keep up with, even for them, let alone those that are chasing them.
They take all the winding turns that Kingsley guides them on, and
then follow him right into a room without even a stutter. He bursts
in through the door, frantically waving them in, then slams it shut
and immediately takes off for a vent in the corner.
"Block the door," Kingsley orders sharply, and so Remus, Lily, and
Marlene automatically go for the large desk in the middle of the
room, working to move it against the door.
James and Sirius are a bit too busy being caught up in staring at each
other in disbelief, clutching
537
Azkaban
one another's shoulders and talking rapidly over each other. James is
standing on one leg, Sirius is leaning so close to James that it looks
like he's about to kiss him, and they sound like an overturned mess
of jumbled, mutual confusion.
"Hey, hey, you okay?" Remus mumbles as he pulls away from the
desk to turn to Lily, hands coming up automatically to cup her
cheeks and look for injuries. He slips one hand over the round hill of
her cheek to ease it into her hair, being careful because it was just
ruthlessly yanked on. Lily winces, but she tilts her head into his
hands, letting him gently get the tangles out that the guard put there.
"Hurts?"
"I'll be alright," Lily whispers, reaching out to press her hands flat to
his chest, seemingly just to feel it rise and fall beneath her palms. Her
fingers shake. "You—I thought you were—"
"I know, I know, but can we not talk about it now?" Remus asks, his
chest pinching at the stricken expression on her face. She starts to
lean away from him, and he shakes his head, tugging her closer and
dipping down to press his forehead to hers, because he can't. He just
can't do it right now. "Please. Just—I can't, right now. I need you.
Please."
Lily seems to hold her breath, then exhales and sags into him, hands
settling on the outside of his arms, squeezing. She nods against his
forehead and says, "Okay, Remus. Okay."
"Shit!" Marlene yelps when the desk thumps as the guards reach the
door, trying to burst their way in. "Kingsley, we're sort of cornered
here!"
"Not for long. Come on, time to go," Kingsley calls out, sitting aside
the vent cover and waving at them to join him as he crawls in.
"King, where the hell are we going?" Lily hisses, the one to follow in
behind him, while Remus goes next. Sirius makes James go after,
then seems to get into a bickering war with Marlene about who will
go last. Marlene ends up winning, because Sirius crawls in after
James, while Marlene follows.
538
It's cramped inside the vent, and they're all squished and sort of
shuffling in a slow crawl as they go, shoulders bunched up and
heads ducked, making their way on hands and knees. It's stuffy, and
when Kingsley speaks, his voice sounds muted and echo-y at the
same time.
"There's a, um, body deposit?" Kingsley replies. "Like, it's built

towards the back of the prison like
a trash chute, but it's where they dump bodies so someone else can
pull up a carriage and haul them off. It's—a way out. Technically."
"Don't tell me we're sliding down a dead-body chute."
"Sorry, Red, but we can access the sewers from the back. It wasn't the
original plan, but I can't see the guards expecting it, and Filius'
device should still be working."
"It hasn't been fifteen minutes?" Remus asks incredulously.
"Not quite, but we're cutting it close," Kingsley mutters. "As long as
we get to the sewers, we'll be fine."
"Sewers?" Sirius mutters. "We're traveling through sewers?"
"Oh, sorry, shall we escort you back to your cushy life of luxury in
prison?" Lily snaps.
"Who the fuck are you?" Sirius snaps back.
"Sirius," Remus says, a warning.
"Who the fuck is she?" Sirius repeats, harsher this time.
"Is now the time?" James asks, strained.
Lily scoffs. "No, it's not. Shut the fuck up and be grateful about
escaping Azkaban, instead of—oh, I don't know, complaining about
the circumstances in which you have to."
539
Azkaban
"Oh, just you fucking wait until I get out of this vent," Sirius hisses. "I
don't know who the fuck you think you are—"
"Sirius," Remus cuts in, "this is Lily."
There's a beat of silence. Awkward silence. Sirius coughs and

mumbles, "Oh. So, um, not dead, then?"
"No," Remus confirms, lips twitching as he stares down at the tread

of Lily's boot ahead of him. He can't really make it out fully in the
dark. "Still alive. Very lively, as you can tell."
"Brilliant," Sirius says weakly. "I'm—ah, hi. Shit. Wait, no, I'm really
glad you're alive. It's great to meet you. I mean—well, it's shit
circumstances, and I have definitely looked better, so this isn't my
best impression, but—"
Lily huffs a laugh. "Relax, Sirius, believe it or not, I feel the same
about you. Sorry I couldn't get you out of the arena, by the way. I,
um. I really tried."
"You're the one who...?"
"Yeah, I was running the team who went in. Again, I'm really sorry
that I—"
"You got my brother out," Sirius cuts in. "Thank you."
"Oh," Lily says softly, and then she clears her throat. "Remus, you're
right. He's precious."
"Isn't he?" Remus agrees, ridiculously smug and oddly proud, struck
with the urge to shout from the rooftops how Sirius is so fucking
precious and his. He has him, he has him, he has him again; oh, oh,
he has him again. Remus is fucking rejoicing.
Kingsley shushes them all urgently, so they fall silent, crawling about
in a ventilation system that, apparently, Kingsley has mapped out all
in his head. He seems to know where he's going as he leads them
along, taking a turn here or there, which is actually a bit difficult to
deal with in the cramped space. It's a relief when Remus hears
540
Kingsley bust out the opening to a vent with a clatter and lead them
all out.
The room itself is very compact and sparse when Remus tumbles out
of the vent, which is a little
high off the ground, so coming out head-first is a bit disorienting.

Lily helps steady him by his elbow, but she still looks displeased
with him when their eyes meet, though at least she isn't being harsh
about it.
Remus waves Lily and Kingsley off to go inspect the chute in the
room, choosing instead to help the others out of the vent. James
grunts when he flops out, looking mildly ridiculous in his fancy,
cut-up suit. His hair is a wreck, while his glasses and cane are absent.
He blinks at Remus, then takes his hand with a crooked smile, one
that fades when Remus glares at him.
"Remus," James rasps once he's on his feet, "I—"
"Not now," Remus interrupts, clipped. "Later."
Remus turns away from him, ignoring him in favor of helping Sirius
out of the vent. Now really isn't the time, and Remus would prefer to
be safely inside the Phoenix before he and James talk about what
happened. They will need to talk about it, because Remus is tired of
having nightmares about that moment of being trapped in the back
of a van while James remained behind.
Sirius takes his arm gratefully and leans onto him as he comes out of
the vent, and he's there for a moment, gazing at him in that way he
seems to be stuck doing here. Just unhindered awe in his eyes, lips
parting as he stares at Remus like he's a miracle. His hand comes up
almost mindlessly, fingers gently brushing the bruise Remus can feel
aching on his jaw.
"Someone hit you really hard," Sirius whispers. "Yeah," Remus

mumbles. "It's okay."
541
Azkaban
Sirius frowns, eyebrows furrowed, concern in the tenderness of his

touch. Remus can only look at him, starved for the sight of him. Oh,
just look at him. Here he is. Look, look, look.
And, even like this, Sirius is still such a beautiful mess. He reflects
the toll Azkaban takes perfectly, his hair tangled and limp, his
clothes shabby and unflattering. He's shivering, sporting bruises of
his own, his knuckles raw and busted the same way Remus' are.
Remus can feel the ache in his chest where Sirius kicked him and
suspects he'll have a gruesome bruise there in the shape of Sirius'
boot, along with many others where Sirius tossed him around.
They're both less than their best, but that's hardly mattered to Remus
ever before. He just doesn't care. He wants to kiss Sirius again. He
wants to hold him, and keep him safe, and never let him get hurt
again.
"Thanks for the help," Marlene grumbles as she flops out onto the
floor, and Remus jolts with a wince, grimacing in apology as he
moves over to help her up.
"So, you're just going to...?" Lily sends Kingsley a look of disbelief as
she peers into the...body chute.
Kingsley heaves a sigh and climbs up to sit on the edge, gripping the
top as he glances around at everyone. "Count to ten and listen for my
whistle. If you don't hear it, I'm either dead, or it's not safe to come
down."
With that and nothing else, Kingsley tugs himself forward and
proceeds to slide right into the darkness of the chute, fully
disappearing. They can hear the shush of his clothes against the
steel, but that eventually fades, too.
"Cheerful guy," James comments awkwardly, as they all wait, and

Marlene snorts at the same time that Lily does. James looks visibly
pleased to have gotten tokens of their approval, or perhaps he's just
always grateful to lighten the mood.
By five seconds, there's a quiet whistle that reaches them, and they
all immediately start moving. They're all eager to get the hell out of
here, and they're in the homestretch now.
542
Lily has to practically shove Remus into the chute next, and it takes
genuine effort to not make a sound on the way down. It's literally
like a slide, so he sails down quickly, breathless when he shoots out
the opening into a free fall right to the floor. It's not too far,
thankfully, so he manages to mostly land on his feet, though his
ankles smart for it and he stumbles. Kingsley is right there, helping
steady him.
Marlene follows next, though she doesn't look pleased about it, and
she takes the fall with more finesse than Remus did, absorbing the
impact by bending her knees, spry and agile on her feet. James
comes down next, and he falls right to the floor, his leg buckling
underneath him. Marlene and Remus are there immediately to help
him up, but a whine escapes him, and he's most definitely limping
now.
"Fuck," James hisses, his arms thrown over Remus and Marlene's
shoulders, teeth grinding as he glares down at his leg. When he tries
to put weight on it, he crumbles again. "Ah, well, that's not good."
"It's okay, James, we're almost there," Marlene murmurs, briefly

glancing up as Sirius drops down, hissing between his teeth as he
collapses as well. Remus starts to pull away, but Kingsley beats him
to it, and Lily comes sailing down right after. As soon as she has her
bearings, she goes to check on Sirius. "Kingsley, how far are we from
the sewers?"
"Not too far. Come on, we'll take it nice and easy," Kingsley replies
quietly, walking past with Lily, Sirius hobbling along between them,
looking very exhausted.
"Alright, James?" Sirius mumbles. "Been better," James admits. "You?"
"I might vomit," Sirius offers conversationally. "As turns out,

adrenaline can only carry you so far. But I'll live. Probably."
"Yeah, same here, I suppose," James says wryly.
The entrance to the sewers—or one of them, anyway—is just on the

outside of the body deposit, underneath a heavy grate that shows
543
Azkaban
nothing but darkness down below. Kingsley halts them outside of it,
gently helping Lily ease Sirius to the ground, then instructing them
to do the same with James. Sirius and James both seem grateful for
the second of rest.
"Okay, Lily, get ready," Kingsley says, and she nods as she drags her
bag off. He crouches down in front of James and Sirius, calm as
always. "My name is Kingsley. As you've likely guessed by now,
we're here to get you two out. To do that, we need to make sure
Riddle doesn't have trackers in you."
"They never took the one out of my arm," Sirius mumbles, looking a
bit pale. "They didn't see the point in putting a new one in, so they
just left that one."
"I have one," James admits with a sigh. Face grim, he reaches down
and taps his injured leg, giving a rueful smile as he grips his own
thigh. "Same place as yours, Remus."
"Let me guess, you have to cut them out?" Sirius asks.
Kingsley nods. "Unfortunately, yes, we do. However, Lily is a medic,

and she's prepared for this. She has some medication that will help
both of you with pain and discomfort, but removing the trackers and
leaving them here is necessary."
"I'll be quick," Lily says as she kneels down next to them to pass out
water and medication. "Who wants to go first?"
"Me," Sirius declares. "Get this fucking thing out of me."
"Remus, Marlene, I need you to help me move the grate," Kingsley

orders, gesturing them over.
Reluctantly, Remus shuffles away from Sirius and James, leaving

them with Lily. They're in capable hands, he knows that, but he
wants to be with them. He wants to stay with Sirius. Hold his hand
through the procedure. Let Sirius lean on him, hide his face against
Remus' neck, and block it all out.
544
Instead, Remus puts his efforts into helping further them along in
their escape. They're still on a time limit. The only reason the guards
haven't located them yet is because the surveillance feed has been
jammed, and they don't have a lot of time before they need to get
down in these sewers. Once they're there, no one will be able to find
them.
The grate is rusted iron and very fucking heavy, so it takes the
combined efforts of Remus, Kingsley, and Marlene to lift it and shift
it aside to leave the opening. By the time they make it back over to
the others, Lily is dabbing at Sirius' arm and carefully wrapping it in
gauze. The tracker is discarded on the grass, covered in blood.
"Me next?" James says wearily when Lily shifts to him.
"Yes. Drop your pants, Potter," Lily replies.
James cracks a weak smile and holds up a hand. "Listen, I'm an

engaged man—"
Lily rolls her eyes and starts taking his pants off. James makes a
quiet yelping sort of noise and smacks her hands away a bit
frantically, taking over quickly to handle it himself. Remus leaves
them to it and kneels down next to Sirius.
"Let me see," Remus murmurs, reaching for Sirius' wrapped arm, his
lips tipping down.
"I'm fine," Sirius says softly, his other hand coming up to cradle
Remus' jaw, fingers trembling. "I've had worse."
"Doesn't mean I have to like it," Remus mumbles.
"One of the worst things I've ever felt was being without you,
Remus," Sirius tells him, "and here you are. How can anything hurt
now that you're here?"
Remus could fucking cry. He makes a small noise and leans in to

press their foreheads together. "Sweetheart."
545
Azkaban
"Hm?"
"Sirius."
"What is it?" Sirius whispers, fingertips trailing over Remus' cheek,

wiping the tears away. "Oh, the tides are going wild. Calm waters,
moon of mine, I beg of you. We're almost to the port. Almost there.
We're almost there."
"We have a whole war to fight," Remus croaks, his eyes stinging.
"This isn't even the half of it."
"Say the word and I'll run away with you," Sirius murmurs. "We'll
abduct everyone we love and take to the seas. Throw them under the
deck until we're too far away for them to swim back."
"We wouldn't have to do that to Regulus. He can't even swim." "Oh,

you're fucking awful. I'm so in love with you."
Remus smiles against his cheek and tries—and fails—to stop crying.
"I love you, too."
"Say it again," Sirius mumbles into the crook of his neck, hiding there
now like he has no desire to ever resurface. "I've been telling the
moon every night how much I love you. Say it back. Say it back."
There is nothing in this world Remus would not give Sirius, and so
he winds his fingers into Sirius' hair and says it again, and again,
and again. He says it back, soft and repetitive like a lullaby, a
precious offering for the most precious thing to him. He says it until
he stops crying, until they're just there, tucked into each other while
everyone else politely ignores them, focusing on their own things.
That's where they stay, finding each other again.
And then it's time to leave.
"Alright, we're cleared to head out," Lily declares, helping James

stand once he has his pants back up.
"Ready to go?" Remus asks Sirius, easing back. Sirius nods wearily.
"Yeah, I—I'd like to leave now."
546
"Alright, sweetheart, we'll go," Remus murmurs, taking his arm to
help him stand. "We're almost there, and it'll be a struggle, but we'll
make it. We're going to make it."
Remus says it because he wants to soothe Sirius, who sinks into him,
suitably soothed. He says it, not even knowing if it's true, having no
knowledge of what waits for all of them. He says it because he
believes it, because he has to believe it.
He says it, and he's willing to do whatever is necessary to make sure

he's not wrong. But, that's the thing, he's never really wrong, is he?
~•~
Three hours later, Severus steps into Riddle's office, finding the man
sitting behind his desk, gaze latched onto his laptop. He doesn't look
up when Severus comes in, not at first. It takes a second, then he lifts
his gaze. Oh, this isn't going to go well.
"Explain to me," Riddle begins, "how I ordered you to place

roadblocks all over the city, form a perimeter around Azkaban, and
the anarchists still managed to escape?"
Severus resists the urge to sigh. "We—"
"And," Riddle continues sharply, "explain to me how they managed

to blow up the blockade checkpoint between us and district one on
their way out."
"We've been investigating, sir, and it seems that the team of

anarchists traveled through the sewers," Severus says, and Riddle
curls his lip in visible disgust. "By the time the surveillance feed was
back online, they had already escaped all points of visibility. They
traveled back through the city with the help of someone from district
one."
"Who?" Riddle grits out.
547
Azkaban
"A woman by the name of Pomona Sprout. She worked in the main
lab in district one, including transport in and out of the Hallow. The
anarchists were escorted by her."
"Why was she not investigated at the roadblocks?"
"She had clearance, sir," Severus murmurs.
Riddle looks fit for murder. "You mean to tell me that the anarchists
were loose in the city, and those at the roadblocks simply waved her
through?"
"When she traveled through the city, we were under the impression
that the anarchists were still in Azkaban."
"So, they slipped out from underneath everyone's noses." "Yes, sir,"
Severus admits.
"At what point, exactly, did you figure out that they had managed to
leave Azkaban's grounds?" Riddle asks.
"When they reached the blockade," Severus says. "There is a routine

check on the way out from the Hallow into district one, and the
anarchists were discovered there."
"And?" Riddle demands.
Severus once again resists the urge to sigh. "And the driver, Pomona
Sprout, busted through the blockade, which ended in a crash. She
didn't survive. The anarchists fled through the opening the truck left,
and the truck was leaking fuel. Someone shot it. There was an
explosion as a result."
"Did any of the anarchists die?"
"We recovered no bodies if they did, sir."
Riddle stares at him, hands threaded tightly on his desk. His eyes are
cold with rage. "What happened to Sirius Black?"
"He was with them," Severus says simply.
548
"Of course. Of course he was." Riddle exhales, splitting his hands
and laying his palms flat against the desk. His fingers twitch. "This is
an unacceptable display of incompetence, and it will not happen
again. Escort James Potter to me. Now."
Severus shows absolutely no signs of malicious vindication on his

face, but he perhaps takes a little too much pleasure in getting to say,
"I can't do that, sir."
"You can't do that," Riddle repeats, going still. "Why?"
"He was with them, too," Severus informs him. If he were a laughing
man, this would keep him laughing for years to come.
"I ordered you to have him escorted back here."
"I did. The team escorting him was killed in Azkaban, sir."
Riddle abruptly stands up with a snarl, slashing his hands across his
desk and sending everything flying all at once. He picks up a book
there and launches it at the wall, looking the most undignified
Severus has ever seen him. Severus has never seen him lose control
like this, and it's invigorating to watch.
Severus never looks away, taking it all in, how very human Riddle
looks. Simply a man. An angry one, his chest heaving, teeth bared
and eyes blazing. Even in the midst of all his mistakes, he's never
once shown his frustration, because Severus thinks he hasn't realized
that he is losing, that he can lose, until this very moment. It makes
him wreck his own space, and then—abruptly—it's like a switch
flips.
Riddle stops. He surveys his own mess almost blankly, then steps up
to his desk and leans down to pull something out of a drawer. A beat
later, Riddle straightens up with a jar holding a Horcrux Hornet in
his hand. Slowly, he walks around his desk and approaches Severus,
holding his gaze.
"This was planned," Riddle murmurs, stopping in front of Severus.

The Horcrux Hornet remains still in the jar, no response from it at all.
549
Azkaban
"They didn't simply choose today to have Regulus give a broadcast

in response to James, then attempt to utilize that as a diversion. It
wasn't just about saving Sirius. No, they knew James would be
there."
Severus says nothing. Riddle reaches up and slowly screws the lid
off the jar, holding it against the glass with a clink. He eases his hand
inside and draws out the Horcrux Hornet, which remains still in his
palm. Is it meant to frighten Severus? How can it, when Severus is
immune?
"I know this can bring you no harm now," Riddle says, gazing down
at the Horcrux Hornet with... It's almost reverence, or as close to
reverence as he's capable of getting. "Regardless of that, they can still
sense fear and respond to it. Anyone who has betrayed me should be
afraid of what I will do to them, wouldn't you say, Severus?"
"Yes, sir," Severus replies.
Riddle holds his gaze. "Do you have a family, Severus?"
"A father," Severus tells him, and the wings on the Horcrux Hornet
give a faint flutter. It settles immediately after, just a minor slip, but
Riddle catches it.
"Ah," Riddle says softly, reaching up to gently stroke one of the

wings. "Your father. What's his name?"
"Tobias Snape."
"Located in district two, I imagine?"
"Yes, sir."
"Do you love your father, Severus?"
Severus pauses, just for the second it takes for him to realize that it's
in his best interest to lie, then he says, "Yes, sir."
"Hm." Riddle looks at the Horcrux Hornet, then at Severus, then

back to the hornet. "How did they know James would be in Azkaban
today, Severus?"
550
"I don't know, sir," Severus replies.
The Horcrux Hornet remains still. Riddle watches it, then lifts his
gaze to study Severus' face. Then, calmly, Riddle tips the Horcrux
Hornet back into the jar and screws the lid back on.
"Then find out," Riddle orders, pushing the jar against his chest,
letting it go the moment Severus takes it. "And, if you do not, your
father will pay the price."
"Yes, sir," Severus says.
Once dismissed, Severus leaves with the jar in hand, thinking of the
funeral he will have to plan for his father, wondering if he will be
given the order to kill the man himself. Idly, he can't help but think
of the irony in that, his only true fear defeated at the order of the
man he's never feared at all. Not once has a Horcrux Hornet
responded to Severus in Riddle's company, because regardless of
power, Severus doesn't fear fools.
Riddle is one of the most powerful, dangerous men in the world,

easily qualified to be an exception, and yet the only exception to
Severus' rule to never fear a fool is his father.
Only when Severus is alone in his car does he allow himself to sit the
jar in the passenger seat, grab the wheel, and laugh.
551
14
TO HAVE AGAIN
______
Dorcas is the one who's waiting at the station when they return,
because she's the only one who believes they're not dead. Her reason
for this is because Marlene promised she would come back, and
Dorcas refuses to move until she does.
It's a bold belief. Desperate, some would say. Pathetic and pitiful,
some likely think. Dorcas doesn't care. She simply doesn't accept any
other outcome, so if she has to stay in one spot forever, until her very
last breath, that's what she'll do.
In the end, it pays off.
She's up and moving the moment the train rolls into the station,
convinced that there's more than just the driver on it, and her breath
catches when the doors rattle open.
There's an immediate flurry of activity as Sirius, Lily, and Remus

pour out. Lily is giving orders, frantic and loud, clothes singed and
James' slack body laid out on a backboard. There is no help waiting,
no gurney, and Lily doesn't waste time; she just takes off running
towards the infirmary with Sirius and Remus going with her,
carrying James between them. Kingsley comes darting past, not even
stopping to speak to her.
Dorcas stares after them, her eyes wide.
They all looked like hell, quite frankly, suffering bruises and burns,
smelling repugnant like they were still in the sewer they came out of,
a frenzied air about them that suggests they're all still stuck in
survival mode. And James... Dorcas only caught one glimpse, really,
552
but he looked very fucking bad. Not dead, though, at least not yet,
because they wouldn't have been so urgent to get him to medical
help if that was the case.
Dorcas is taking it as a win, because that's really all she's got, at this
point. He's still alive, and he's here. They're all here. They all made it
back. She knows that.
She knows, because when she turns, Marlene is wearily exiting the
train, looking fucking exhausted. She's covered in dried blood, as
well as superficial bruises of her own, and she has clearly fought
very fucking hard. The look in her eyes is clear, though. Sharp. Calm,
almost.
Dorcas' breath catches at the very sight of her, and something within
cries out in triumph, joyous with I knew you'd come back to me, I
waited for you, and I was right. She knew, because she's the one
who's always late, but Marlene is always right on time.
It's only a second that keeps her trapped in place, her entire fucking
being just rejoicing at Marlene's return, and then she's moving. She's
running. She doesn't even care, not about anything but getting to
Marlene immediately. Marlene can't seem to go much faster than she
is, but she's moving to meet her halfway, reaching for her the
moment Dorcas gets close.
And then Dorcas has her. Dorcas throws her arms around her with a
stuttered gasp, dragging her close and shaking with it, with the gift
that is having her again. She wants to be gentle and has forgotten
how to, clinging too tight, gripping too hard. It doesn't matter.
Marlene is rough with her, too.
Like the others, Marlene smells fucking awful, and Dorcas doesn't
care. They clearly did all they could to clean up on the train, but the
smell lingers, and Dorcas doesn't care about that either; she wouldn't
care if Marlene was still covered in shit and piss. She genuinely
couldn't care less, because she has Marlene in her arms once again,
finally, safe and sound.
553
To Have Again
Marlene holds her like she's trying to crush her into nothing, and
Dorcas loves it. Dorcas feels like a tube Marlene is trying to get
everything inside out of, leaving nothing behind, pushing the very
breath out of her lungs until she's hanging in the balance between
breathing and never breathing again, kept there like that and never
wanting to leave. It feels so unbearably good, like a physical
manifestation of how important it is for them to have each other to
hold.
The moment Marlene's grip eases, just a little, Dorcas rocks back just
enough to shakily cup Marlene's face, searching her eyes as she
whispers, "I knew. I knew you'd be back."
"I promised, didn't I?" Marlene tells her, lips curling up faintly, still
visibly worn out. "How else could I be sure I'd get the chance to give
you your ring back at least one more time?"
"Oh, was that it?" Dorcas chokes out on a shaky laugh. "In that case,
keep it for my peace of mind. As long as you have it, I'll know you're
making it back to me."
Marlene hums, eyes drifting shut, that tiny tired smile still on her
face. "I think I'll do that. Although, I have to admit, I'll miss you
finding ways to get it back on my finger."
Dorcas leans in to press their foreheads together, eyes slipping

closed, just breathing. "Three times I got that ring on your finger.
Sybill says some of the best and worst things come in threes,
Marlene. Let's leave it at that. That's enough, yes?"
"Yeah," Marlene whispers, "that's enough."
"I love you," Dorcas breathes out, fingers on Marlene's cheeks, a

warrior worshipping war.
Marlene responds to this by kissing her, hands on her hips dragging

her in, pressing them tight together. Dorcas can feel the echo of I love
you, too in the way she kisses her, putting in the effort to be gentle,
delicate about it, slow and sweet. It feels like a first kiss, somehow,
554
though it's not. Just how it's tentative and careful, like at any
moment it could end.
It does end when Dorcas squeezes Marlene closer, tighter, trying to

fold her up and keep her locked away inside her chest, wanting so
badly to keep her safe, because this was the hardest thing she's ever
had to do; the worst thing she's ever experienced, simply because
she was not there, and Marlene was in danger, and Marlene could
have died, and the only thing that kept this world safe was Dorcas'
bold belief that she hadn't. What if she had been wrong? She'd raze
this world to the ground, she thinks, so it's for the best that she
wasn't. But a part of her can't ignore that she could have been, and so
she holds onto Marlene too hard, kissing her like she's oxygen, and
then Marlene hisses and winces, and Dorcas jerks away.
"It's okay. I'm okay," Marlene mutters, still grimacing. "I just probably
have some bruised ribs. Really, I'm fine."
"Shit, we need to get you to the infirmary," Dorcas says, feeling like a
fucking idiot. "Okay, come on."
"Fucking hell, you must really love me if you're standing this close to
me when I smell like this. And letting me kiss you, Meadowes?"
Marlene shakes her head, releasing an incredulous huff of laughter.
"Wonders never cease."
"I told you, I love you all of you, even when you're carrying the scent
of sewer with you wherever you go," Dorcas murmurs, and Marlene
hums in a pleased fashion, grinning, only to wince when she moves
too quickly. "Easy. Take it easy."
"Dorcas, I promise I'm alright," Marlene grumbles, but Dorcas won't

hear it. Marlene rolls her eyes
and heaves a sigh when Dorcas wraps an arm around her to gingerly
help her along to the infirmary. "It doesn't matter, really. Lily checked
me out on the train, did what she could, and they'll all be focused on
James anyway. He needs more help."
555
To Have Again
"He—he didn't look good," Dorcas murmurs, swallowing past the

lump that forms in her throat.
Marlene is silent for a beat, and then when she does speak, her tone
is heavy and her eyes flash with ghosts of war. "There was an
explosion. Well, the mission went tits up pretty much the whole way
through, but we almost made it out easily in the end. Just...the
checkpoint back into district one... They're, um, usually more lax,
Pomona said, but the city was basically on lockdown, and while they
just waved us through at all the roadblocks, they were more
thorough at the checkpoint."
"You were discovered," Dorcas whispers, her heart sinking.
"Yeah," Marlene replies, her voice flat and empty. "So, uh, Pomona
rammed right through, but— but there was a crash. We were all
thrown around, and I—I remember the screams and the gunshots,
Kingsley shouting for us to run. We tried. We just—we couldn't get
out of range before the truck exploded. I could smell the fuel, and
they were shooting, and Pomona was knocked out in the front.
She—she didn't—"
Dorcas exhales slowly, refusing to let her expression twist the way it
wants to, hardening her heart to it. Because it's war. This is what
happens. "She didn't make it out?"
"No. She was in the truck when it exploded," Marlene says. There's a
moment of silence. "She was nice, you know? I didn't really like her
cellar, but she..." There's another, longer pause, and then Marlene
sighs. "In any case, there was nothing we could do. James was—he
was closest to the truck, because he stayed back to help everyone
crawl out of it. He was so urgent when he told us to run, and
Kingsley was yelling it ahead, so we just—we did. And James was,
too, but he took the brunt of the explosion. It was—I thought he was
dead. I thought—"
"He's not," Dorcas reminds her gently.
Marlene nods curtly. "I know. It was just really bad. Sirius was a
fucking wreck, trying to crawl for him, and it was... And then Remus
just—he went back for him. Ran right at the gunshots, into the
556
smoke, and Sirius and Lily were screaming, there was shrapnel
everywhere, everything fucking hurt, and then Remus came back.
He's strong, yeah? I mean, he had James tossed over his shoulder
and was yelling at us to run, and we did, and it was just—it was so
fucking chaotic. We didn't even know he was alive until we made it
to the train."
Dorcas can perfectly picture it. The adrenaline. The desperate need to
survive. The pressure to run as fast as you've ever ran in your life,
knowing that if you're caught, you'll die. A part of her rails against
the fact that Marlene had to suffer that again. She can only imagine
the thick smell of smoke, burning metal, the knowledge that the
woman who helped died doing her best to. She knows the sound of
screams and gunshots, the sound of death, and can still hear it
ringing in her ears to this day.
"James is going to be okay," Dorcas says, finally. "The mission went

off the rails, but—but it was a success."
"Tell that to Pomona," Marlene murmurs.
"She knew the risks, Marlene." Dorcas grimaces as soon as she says
it, because she sounds like Dumbledore. Those are his words. Those
are the words of a leader who knows it's true, that people take the
risk of dying, and people do it with the hope that they won't die, and
then people die anyway.
Marlene glances over at her, eyebrows furrowing. All she says is,
"Yeah, I know she did. We all did. But we made it out, and she didn't,
and so the mission wasn't a full success."
"I'm sorry," Dorcas rasps. "I know that's insensitive, but you can't
expect me not to be grateful that you made it out."
"The world doesn't revolve around me, Dorcas."
"Mine does."
557
To Have Again
"That's not true," Marlene murmurs. "What about Minerva?"
Dorcas clears her throat. "I once held a gun to her head with all
intentions of shooting her if she stood in the way of saving you. Trust
me, Marlene, it's true."
"She's like...your mum," Marlene says, blinking at her.
"I—well, maybe, sort of," Dorcas mumbles, feeling hot in the face,
ridiculously bashful for no reason.
Marlene blinks at her some more. "You—you don't talk about your
parents. It's just Minerva and Poppy."
"Some things are better left unsaid," Dorcas tells her quietly,
dropping her gaze to the floor. "It is just Minerva and Poppy. That's
all that needs to be said about it."
"Alright," Marlene allows, not pushing, and why would she? It's not
like she ever wants to talk about her parents.
As much as they want to see each other, all of each other, there are
some things that are folded away into the dark corners of one's
mind, tucked into a box with the lock rusted shut, dust a thick film
over the top. It's the sort of box you can only open when things are
calm, and things aren't right now, and may not be for some time.
Dorcas thinks, one day when the war is over and they're safe, she'll
sit Marlene down and tell her all about her parents, and she'll listen
if Marlene wishes to talk about her own. Because there's so much to
see in each other, and they'll need a lifetime to discover it all.
They're going to fight to have the lifetime they deserve to see every
part of one another.
"We do need to work on that, though," Marlene adds, wincing and

cupping her side as they take the corner towards the infirmary. "Your
world revolving around me, I mean. It's not healthy, you know.
That's—Dorcas, that's a lot to put on one person. It can't just be me.
You need more than me."
558
"You're the first person I've ever allowed myself to really need at all,"
Dorcas admits.
"And I thought I was fucked up." Marlene sighs and reaches over to
gently pat her hip. "We'll work on it."
~•~
Lily sits on the edge of the bed in the infirmary, head in her hands,
squeezing her eyes shut tight against the memory of the explosion.
She saw it. She watched it go up in flames. She witnessed the
shrapnel fly out in all directions. She was an audience to the way
James' body went flying.
The worst part, she thinks, was the smell of burnt flesh. She didn't
know there could be anything worse than the smell of the sewer, or
worse—when they were all locked in the back of a metal truck,
stifled by the heavy scent of shit and piss that they all did their best
to rid themselves of, still trying to remain quiet. They'd struggled for
air on their way into the Hallow, and they'd all been holding their
breath on the way out. Lily didn't know anything could smell more
awful than that, and then a truck exploded and James Potter was on
fire.
They all carry that smell with them, and the smell of smoke, and
already the burns are being healed. The burn cream is fast-acting, but
even in the aftermath, Lily thinks she'll never get the smell out of her
nose.
Arthur and Molly have been delegated to helping Lily, Sirius,

Remus, and then Marlene when she arrives with Dorcas. Poppy
handles James. Lily did her best, but she didn't have all the supplies
she needed, just enough to keep him alive.
They've all been allowed to get showers, get clean, get out of their
clothes and into new ones brought to them. There are shower stalls
that branch off from the infirmary, a big open area that they were all
able to use at the same time, curtains closed and water running, the
559
To Have Again
heavy scent of shampoo and soap thankfully replacing the smell of

the sewer and the smell of the smoke. Kingsley had run off
immediately after, not even letting himself get checked out, which
Poppy surely wouldn't have stood for if she hadn't been so busy
getting James clean and doctored. Lily was too tired to bother risking
a future lecture from Poppy—or worse, Molly—so she let herself be
checked out, her mind full of too many thoughts.
All the running, all the shouting, all the sound of gunshots... For a
second, Lily had been back in district six, tossed in the middle of war
and mayhem. It felt...
It was different this time. She was scared. Maybe she was last time,
but she didn't know it then. She knew it this time, though. Couldn't
avoid it. Couldn't fight how sick she felt, how her hands shook, how
fucking terrified she was. She saw Remus disappear into the room
full of the green fog, and it didn't matter that he somehow,
miraculously, came back out with Sirius in tow, because the fear
invaded her from that moment and didn't leave her from that point
on.
It's still there. She's back, and she's still scared, and it hits her that
this is the cost of loving. This is what Dumbledore meant when he
said she would be an asset as someone immune to the destructive
nature of love, because it is through love that Lily recognizes the full
brunt of her fear, and it makes her want to lay her guns down and
never step onto a battlefield again. It makes her want to
take the people she loves, and the people who they love, far away
from here, somewhere safe where they can't be found and don't have
to be involved. Let the world outside burn down around them, but
please, please, please just let them be safe. Let them never feel fear
again.
Lily forces herself to breathe out slowly. She digs the balls of her
hands into her eyes, trying to stop shaking. She knows she's just
coming down from the rush of adrenaline, and she knows that, with
time, she'll feel more clear-headed. But, for now, she wants to curl up
into a ball and cry.
560
They all came so close to death. Too fucking close.
Swallowing, Lily drops her hands and checks herself over again.
She's okay. All wounds have been cleaned, bandaged, and left to
heal. In a few days, she won't even look as if anything happened at
all, save for a few minor scars here and there. It doesn't feel fair,
somehow. It's going to exist in her memories, in her nightmares, and
in all the people who were present. This exists between them now, a
tie that threads them all together, something they'll all share.
It's one of those binding things, Lily thinks. Something you go

through with other people that will never leave any of you. A
common traumatic event between them only they'll ever understand.
Lily will love each of these people with everything in her, and she
will let herself, because they were all there trying to help each other
survive.
Lily loves them all. Lily fears for them all.
But she—she can't, right now. She just can't. She feels like she's going
to be crushed under the weight of it, and she's tired, and she needs to
get the hell away from here.
She needs a smoke.
Naturally, the news of their return has spread across the Phoenix
already. People are being nosy, as per usual, and Lily ignores their
stares and whispers as she makes her way to her room. She wonders,
idly, where Effie and Monty are, where Regulus is. None of them
turned up at the infirmary, and surely they would be rushing to see
James and Sirius again. Maybe they haven't found out yet. Maybe—
"Lily!"
At the delighted shriek of Bingley, Lily comes to a screeching halt,

her head snapping up immediately. He's barreling down the hall at
full tilt right for her, and Lily feels like all her fear drains right out of
her, replaced by a flood of relief.
561
To Have Again
"Bingley," Lily blurts out in knee-jerk delight that mirrors his, and
then she's opening her arms just as he comes flying into them,
slamming into her hard enough that she grunts.
"I knew you weren't dead!" Bingley declares, squeezing her, head
lying against her chest. "I told Mary, I told her you were too cool to
die, I said it."
"She thought I was dead?"
"Riddle said it on the broadcast. He gave the order for all of you to be
killed. But I knew he couldn't kill you."
Lily blows out a deep breath, blinking rapidly, and then she grips
Bingley's shoulders and slowly eases him back. He beams up at her,
and it breaks her heart. "Bingley, I'm—I'm very sorry you had to hear
him say that. I'm sorry if you were scared, even for a moment."
"I was," Bingley mumbles, wrinkling his nose. "But just for a second.
Only a second, I swear."
"No, it's—it's okay to be scared," Lily says slowly, just as she realizes
it. "Let yourself be scared when you're scared. It just means you care,
and that's nothing to be ashamed of."
"Oh." Bingley pauses. "Okay, in that case, I was terrified the entire
time and maybe cried a little and was basically shitting my pants
through all of it, to tell you the truth, but don't tell anyone any of
that, yeah?"
"Our secret," Lily assures him with a weak laugh. She swipes her
hand over his forehead, not touching his hair, because he doesn't like
people to do that. He keeps his hair cropped short to his head in
lovely waves he's been training, often brushing it and wearing a
wave-cap whenever he's sprawling about on his bed. "Listen, I—I
think maybe... Bingley, I don't want to frighten you more, because I
care about you, but I don't want you to think that I'm indestructible.
I don't want you to have to think of anything happening to me, but
something could. You said... You said Riddle couldn't kill me, but
he—he can, is the thing. And it's scary. And it's—it hurts to even
562
imagine that, but I need you to know that, no matter what happens
to me, or anyone, it's okay to care anyway."
Bingley stares up at her, swallowing, and he's so painfully young

that it feels like her heart is cracking in her chest. He doesn't deserve
to have these fears thrust upon him. He didn't deserve to lose his
parents and his home. Yet, this is the world, and Lily worries he's
latching onto her because he sees her as strong and capable, which
isn't necessarily bad, but it could be damaging in the long run if
something does happen to her. It will hurt, and she never wants to
hurt him, even indirectly.
In the end, Bingley just whispers, "Okay," and wraps his arms
around her again, hugging her even tighter than before.
"Bingley! Where did you—" "Uh oh."
Lily's mouth runs dry as she looks up to find Mary at the end of the
hall, staring at them. "Uh oh? Why uh oh?"
"I—sort of ran off," Bingley mutters. "We were in our room, and she
was upset, but she was pretending not to be. For me, I think.
We—well, I got angry and yelled at her."
"Right, I see. Very uh oh," Lily murmurs.
Bingley eases away from her slowly, glancing back at Mary, biting his
lip. "You know, maybe she'll just forget all about it now that you're
here."
"Mm, doubtful, but either way, you should probably apologize," Lily
says. "I know." Bingley sighs as his shoulders slump. "I—"
"Bingley," Mary calls out, her voice sharp and terse, heels clicking as
she moves towards them, "go to the room. Now."
563
To Have Again
"But—"
"Now, Bingley."
Lily nudges him gently. "Go on. It's going to be wild around here for
a bit, so it's best to avoid the mess. I'll come and see you later, I
promise."
"Fine," Bingley declares with a huff, pursing his lips in a clear sign of
displeasure, but he's smart enough to know now isn't the time to
argue. He stops on the way, catching Mary's arm to murmur to her,
and she thumps him in the middle of his forehead. He rubs it with a
scowl, then goes when Mary forcefully points in the direction of their
room.
And then Mary is heading right for her, and Lily fidgets a little
ridiculously with her fingers, itching to touch her, already a mess as
she tries to get her scrambled thoughts from the mere sight of her in
some semblance of order, just to string a sentence together befitting
of how relieving it is to see her, and how scared she was, and still is,
and how she's afraid because she cares, she cares so fucking much.
Lily decides to start with, "Mary, I—"
She gets no further, her mouth still ever so slightly parted when
Mary marches right up to her, catches her face in between her hands,
and draws her into a kiss.
Lily has no thoughts after that.
She forgot, really, how good a kiss could be when it's not about sex,
or the lead up into sex. That's not to say kissing before, during, and
after sex isn't good—because it is—but this has nothing to do with
sex, entirely separate from it, and Lily's pretty sure it's the best kiss
she's ever had.
It's also a post I-thought-you-were-dead kiss, which—as it turns

out—is a fucking phenomenal type of kiss. It's like a lightning strike
travels right down her spine, lighting her up and making her jolt as
she inhales sharply, falling into it and drowning in it and lost in it
and every other cliche in the world.
564
It's a hell of a first kiss, Lily has to admit, and she can quite literally
feel herself be entirely ruined for anything or anyone else from just
that, just this, but the thing is, she thinks she has been for
some time now. It's the sort of kiss that leaves her shaky and
sensitive, Mary's hands sliding into Lily's still-damp hair as her
tongue slides over the seam of her lips, and Lily arches into it in an
eager way that would be embarrassing if Mary's breath didn't stutter
against her mouth, audibly hitching, a small sound escaping the back
of her throat that can almost be labeled as a very quiet groan of
defeat.
Yeah, Lily's still got it.
Mary keeps right on kissing her, too, and she's the one who chases
the kiss when it's broken. She's panting a little, following after Lily's
mouth with her own, and Lily can't stop herself from breaking out
into a grin as she turns her head away from it, feeling warm all the
way down to the bone.
Mary blinks at her, then mutters, "Fuck."
"I can see you thinking naughty thoughts," Lily teases.
"Shut up," Mary replies, then clicks her tongue and leans forward to
let their foreheads settle together. Her hands ease over the curve of
Lily's cheeks, gently caressing down the sides of her throat. "Okay.
Yeah, okay, you got me."
Lily laughs, utterly exhilarated. "Did I?"
"Turns out I'm not immune to your, ah, allure," Mary admits dryly.
"It's a shame, isn't it? I suppose I'll have to resign myself to it, being
just like everyone else."
"You're like no one else," Lily whispers, bumping Mary's nose with
her own. Her lips feel like they're tingling.
565
To Have Again
"No?" Mary asks. "Because if you wanted to take me to your bed

now, I'd be more than happy to go."
"Oh, I would love to," Lily tells her, sliding her hands up her sides
and humming in a pleased fashion when Mary leans into her even
more, "but I think we'll take it slow."
"Slow," Mary repeats.
"Slow can be fun," Lily murmurs. "Haven't done slow in a while.

Let's take it slow. Let's—date. Or whatever the fuck dating is in an
underground bunker in the middle of war."
Mary leans back and studies her. "I thought you said you weren't
ready for...anything."
"I also said I was probably going to do it anyway, and would you
look at that?" Lily says softly, lips twitching. Mary arches an
eyebrow. "I just—I wanted to be here. I hate it here, most of the time,
but I still wanted to be here, because you and Bingley are here, and
I... Well, honestly, I could have died. I nearly died. And that hasn't
really scared me in a long time, but it scared me this time, because I
have things I want to do, and people I want to love, so I'd like to get
started on that. Maybe that's okay with you. Is that okay with you?"
"Yes," Mary breathes out, then kisses her again, and this time, there's
absolutely no maybe about it.
~•~
For the record, Sirius doesn't like it here. He knows it's supposed to
be safe, but it's crowded and full of people he doesn't know. He had
wanted to stay in the infirmary, where James is, but people showed
up to escort him and Remus away.
Sirius had no intentions of leaving until that woman by the name of

Poppy came out to inform him that James was stable. He's resting
now, put to sleep to better heal that way, as our bodies heal best at
rest, or so Poppy had said. She did allow Sirius to check on him, and
566
it helped soothe him, but he doesn't think he's going to feel fully
alright until James is awake. He's clean now, smelling better, but
definitely not looking better. Sirius had wanted to crawl into bed
with him, but he was too scared to touch him. It was then that people
showed up, coaxing Sirius and Remus into coming along.
Remus clearly isn't pleased about it. He'd argued a bit, fussing about
Sirius needing to stay and rest as well, but Sirius doesn't want to
leave him either. So, Sirius compromised by agreeing to go along,
secretly hoping they'll let him see Regulus whenever he's done.
Because Regulus is here.
Somewhere in this bunker, he's breathing and alive, and Sirius needs
to see him. Whatever it takes to get to that faster, he'll do it. He
knows how these things work. Chances are, he has to go talk to
someone important who doesn't actually care that all he wants is to

be reunited with those he loves.
So, here Sirius is, being led down hall after hall, garnering all sorts of
attention he'd rather not have. People are staring at him as he goes
by, clearly recognizing him, and Sirius stays close to Remus, their
arms brushing as they walk. That's new, too, being able to be close to
Remus around so many eyes. It's sort of jarring, in a way, and Sirius
almost doesn't know what to do with that freedom. He wants to
reach out and take Remus' hand, thread their fingers together, but he
doesn't.
"Sirius!"
"Cissa?" Sirius blurts out, nearly tripping as he wheels around to

follow the sound of his cousin's voice. He's not sure what he's
expecting, but it's not for Narcissa to come barreling down the hall
right for him, throwing herself at him.
It says a lot that Sirius is expecting an attack. He prepares himself to

take the incoming hit, bracing for it and already planning how he
will fight back, and then Narcissa throws her arms around him with
567
To Have Again
a gasp, hugging him. Sirius is as stiff as a board, blinking rapidly, a

mixture of alarmed and startled because he doesn't know if Narcissa
has ever hugged him before. If she has, he can't remember it. Even
so, they're not exactly from the sort of family that does much
hugging.
"Fucking hell," Narcissa breathes out, snatching away from him as

abruptly as she jumped on him. Her hands fly up to grasp his arms,
eyes wide. "We thought—"
"Regulus," Sirius cuts in desperately, gripping her wrists and

searching her eyes. "Where's Regulus?"
"No one knows. We all split off to look for him," Narcissa tells him.
"After the broadcast, he just— disappeared. Aberforth said he had an
idea of where he went and stomped off, so—"
"Broadcast? What broadcast? Wait, Aberforth?"
"You don't know, do you? Oh, Sirius, Regulus thinks you're dead.
You and James, along with all those who went on the mission to get
both of you out."
Sirius feels like his whole body goes cold. "What?"
"Shit," Remus hisses. "I have to—"
"Pardon me," comes the gentle interruption, and Sirius whips his
head around to see an older man moving down the hall towards
them. He bears a startling resemblance to Aberforth, the same eyes,
except he looks much kinder. "I apologize for breaking up the
reunion, but I must ask Sirius and Mr. Lupin to follow me. It's a
matter of utmost urgency."
"Who are you?" Sirius snaps, narrowing his eyes.
"I have the answers you seek, Sirius, or most of them, including
where your brother is," the man says. He sweeps his arm out. "Come
along, I will explain as much as I can."
568
"Go," Narcissa whispers, squeezing his arms. "I need to go find Andy
and Dora to tell them you're okay."
"Andy and Dora are here?" Sirius breathes out.
Narcissa nods. "They're here. Later, Sirius. We'll all have a proper
family reunion later, I promise. I just—I need to let them know you're
here."
Sirius lets her go, because he'd like Andromeda, Ted, and
Nymphadora to know that he's alive, even if he can't see all of them
right this second. He draws back and splits off with Remus to follow
the man.
They're not led very far. Just to a door with mismatched wood,
clearly having been broken and fixed, a gargoyle door-knocker lying
against it. Sirius glances at Remus, eyebrows furrowing to see him
glaring at the man's back, jaw clenched.
Okay, Remus doesn't like this man. Noted. Has he done something to
hurt Remus? Sirius will kill him. It's not even a question; he'd do it in
a heartbeat if Remus wanted him to.
Although, Remus would never want him to, and Remus can
definitely kill on his own. Sirius has seen that now, on the way out of
Azkaban. It had startled him to actively see Remus snap a man's
neck, or beat the shit out of someone until they were choking on
their own teeth, drowning in their own blood. Remus is...violent.
Very violent.
It's raw, not refined. There's no finesse, and he's messy about it,
forgoing technique for brute strength and overwhelming whatever
unfortunate soul happens to get in his way. It's more brutal that way,
less precise and certainly not as swift as Sirius himself is. If Sirius is a
sword forged and sharpened, then Remus is the harsh edge of raw
steel. It's not something most would label as beautiful, and yet Sirius
had been as enraptured by the sight of Remus like that as he was
stunned.
569
To Have Again
For a long time, Remus had been covered in blood, and that hadn't
made Sirius want to touch him any less. It shouldn't have made him
want to touch him more, and yet.
And yet.
"Please," the man murmurs, moving behind his desk to gesture to the
chairs on the other side. "Have a seat."
Sirius and Remus sit.
"Where's my brother?" Sirius demands immediately.
"Aberforth has gone to get him," the man says. "You'll see him soon
enough. Trust me, Sirius, I have no intentions of keeping you from
your brother, but there is unfortunately something I need to discuss
with both of you."
"Who are you? How do you know Mayor Aberforth?"
"Ah, forgive my rudeness, in my haste I've rushed past

introductions. My name is Albus Dumbledore."
Sirius blinks. "Wait, like..."
"Yes," Albus confirms. "Aberforth is my younger brother."
"You're the leader," Sirius states. "Of this whole...resistance, I mean.

You're the one in charge, right?"
Albus hums. "Yes, I'm the founder of the Order of the Phoenix. I
want to tell you, Sirius, that you're entirely safe here. Many of your
friends and family are already here, as is what's left of your home.
I'm afraid Riddle released biological warfare within district six, so
only a fraction of people made it to safety. I apologize for being the
bearer of such burdensome news, but it leads into the matter we
need to discuss."
"My home," Sirius croaks. "It's gone?"
570
Remus reaches over and covers his hand. He knew. He must have, at
least some details, but it's not like they've really had time to discuss
anything in between all the escaping and whatnot. Still, Sirius feels
the shock of it run through him. It's his home. Can he not go back?
Ever?
It explains why Effie, Monty, and Aberforth are here, along with
Andy, Ted, and Dora. What about Mary and Bingley? What about
Crouch, Regulus' friend? What about all the people who sold at the
market, and all the children who ran on the school grounds, and
those he's known his whole life?
"The district is empty," Albus murmurs. "Unfortunately, as I said,

Riddle released biological warfare there, leaving it currently
inhabitable, but I don't think it will always be. I think, in time, it's
possible that those who wish to return there after the war will be
able to, safely, and I have reason to believe that Mr. Lupin may help
make that possible."
"What?" Remus asks flatly.
Albus threads his hands together on his desk and leans forward. "I
got a full recount of the mission from Kingsley while all of you were
in the infirmary. You two faced a terrible trial today to reach your
freedom and safety, and for that, I'm truly sorry. However, hope can
be found, even in the darkest of times, if only one remembers to turn
on the light. Today, I have found the greatest light in the form of
you."
"What does this have to do with biological warfare?"
"From my understanding, you two have immunity to it."
Sirius glances over at Remus, who presses his lips in a thin line,
eyebrows wrinkled together. Sirius wants to reach up and smooth
them out, ease the strain away, cradle Remus' face in the curve of his
neck and keep him safe there forever.
571
To Have Again
"The green fog," Sirius says slowly, looking back at Albus, his own
lips tipping down. "It was used in the arena. That was biological
warfare?"
"Yes."
"And some people are just...naturally immune? You mean to tell me

that I was doing all that
running for nothing?"
Albus looks faintly amused by how affronted Sirius is. He shakes his
head. "No, not at all. The biological warfare was created from
Horcrux Hornet venom, and immunity to it had to be formulated. I
have reason to believe, Mr. Lupin, that you were a key piece in
creating the formula. I don't wish to dredge up painful memories,
but I must ask if you ever recall coming into contact with the fog
before today."
Sirius glances at Remus again, his heart sinking at the look on his
face, even before he cautiously admits, "Uh, yeah, actually. It was
before the Quarterly Memorial. They injected me with something,
then made me breathe in the fog. I—" He darts a quick look at Sirius,
then looks away. "I...nearly died."
"If I may," Albus says mildly, "did you have a similar experience in
Azkaban, Sirius?" "No," Sirius replies.
"Are you certain?"
"Yes."
Remus opens his mouth, winces, then immediately closes it. Sirius
turns and narrows his eyes at
him, and Remus bites his lip. "It's just... Are you certain?"
"I just said so, didn't I?" Sirius grits out.
572
"I—I'm not saying—" Remus pauses, then grimaces and heaves a
sigh. He sets his shoulders and meets Sirius' eyes, clearly working
himself up to saying what he has to. "Is there any chance you may
have...forgotten it?"
Sirius stares at him. His nostrils flare. "Remus, don't insult my

intelligence. I was tortured only twice in my stay at Azkaban, thanks
to James. That was how Riddle was manipulating him, by giving
him the power to make sure I wasn't hurt and allowing him to visit
me. Also, consider this, why the fuck would Riddle grant me
immunity to his weapon?"
Remus opens and closes his mouth. "Okay, that's...a fair point. He'd
never do that. So, how are you immune?"
"Are we sure that I am?" Sirius asks. "I mean, I—I don't—it's all a bit
of a blur. Did I...come in contact with the fog?"
"You did," Remus murmurs, eyebrows furrowing again, clearly deep

in thought. "Wait, that's—this doesn't make any sense. They intended
to kill you with it, which means they didn't know you were immune.
I didn't even know I was immune."
"Wait, what—just tell me what happened. I was—" Sirius glances at

Albus, who listens to them calmly. Sirius doesn't really like talking
about his difficulties with memory, not openly, and especially not to
people he doesn't trust. "I was out of it from the torture. By the time I
really, ah, got my bearings, we were out of the room."
"You were trapped inside. A man came out and used a remote to
deploy the fog in the room," Remus explains. "I killed him and ran
into the room to—"
"You what?!" Sirius bursts out, eyes bulging. Remus blinks. "What?"
"Remus! You just said you didn't know you were immune! So, what,
you—you just ran in there anyway?"
573
To Have Again
"You were in there."
"Fucking hell, Remus," Sirius whispers, staring at him, stricken.

"You—you could have died. You —"
"Well, I mean...I didn't go in breathing. I held my breath. I saw how it

worked in the games. It's only when you inhale the fog, right?"
Remus looks at Albus, who inclines his head. "Right, so I—I
obviously didn't plan to breathe it. I was just—I had to get in and get
you out. But then I—I did breathe it in—"
"What? Why?" Sirius demands, horrified.
"I..." Remus swallows and looks at him, tentative almost. He takes a

deep breath, then slowly lets it out. "You were strapped to the chair,
and you—you didn't know it was me—"
"No," Sirius croaks, freezing.
"Sirius—"
"The bruise. You had a bruise from where someone hit you. It's still
there."
"Sirius," Remus says carefully, "I'd been fighting since we got there. I
was going to be a little hurt. It's fine. I—"
"But you fought me," Sirius murmurs, holding his gaze. "Or, no,
I...fought you. I put that bruise there. Didn't I?"
Remus clearly wants to lie, just because it would be so much easier,

but—he can't. He wouldn't betray the trust Sirius has in him to not
lie to him about what occurs between them when he can't remember.
Swallowing harshly, Remus whispers, "It wasn't your fault. You
didn't know—"
Too late. Remus has said enough. Sirius flinches back from him,
dropping his gaze and dragging his hand away, his stomach
churning. He told Remus he would never hurt him. He promised,
574
and then he did it anyway. Because that's what he does. He carries
ruin in the lines of his hands and smears it on anything he comes
into contact with. Sirius feels fucking sick. He should have never
touched him. He was so selfish to ever, ever, ever touch him.
What if Remus hadn't been immune? He would have been dead.

Sirius likely knocked the breath right out of his lungs, making him
breathe, and if he wasn't immune, it would have killed him. Sirius
could have killed him.
"I understand that this is a difficult situation," Albus says into the
heavy silence, "and I'm sorry for the emotional toll this is taking on
both of you. If it wasn't necessary to save lives, I wouldn't ask either
of you to revisit it. I do have to ask, Sirius. Do you, by chance, recall
the symptoms from the immunity? Mr. Lupin, I'm sure you
experienced it at least. A feeling of illness. A rash. Headaches.
Nausea."
"How do you know that?" Remus asks, frowning. "I thought you
didn't know how to create the immunity."
Albus sighs. "We do not. We know nothing of the formula, but I have
a secret informant who was given the immunization, and I was told
of the symptoms it causes. Is that right?"
"Yes," Remus mumbles.
Sirius' heart is beating very fast. "Um. Yeah, I—I did go through that,
but I swear I wasn't given an immunization."
"Can you tell me what happened before you went through those
symptoms?" Albus asks.
"I mean, I was mostly just kept in my cell, tased a lot, and I did get a
visit from Riddle. That's the day the symptoms started, and I—I was
tortured that day, but I'm telling you, Riddle never would have had
me immunized."
"I believe you, Sirius. What happened with Riddle?"
575
To Have Again
"Um." Sirius grimaces. "Well, he brought a Horcrux Hornet to

intimidate me, I'm sure, but it never left the jar. There were some
threats, a little humiliation, and I bit him, then he hit me, and that
was about it. Nothing really happened."
Albus surveys him over his glasses. "You bit him." "He pissed me
off," Sirius mutters.
"Did you begin experiencing the symptoms after the visit with
Riddle, or after the torture that day?" Albus asks.
Sirius scrunches up his face, thinking hard. "I mean, I started getting
itchy after his visit, but I assumed that was because I was around
that bastard. Wait, are you telling me you think he somehow slipped
me an immunization? That's—that doesn't make any sense. He
wouldn't do that."
"He's right," Remus agrees. "Riddle was going to have Sirius killed
that way. Why would he give him immunity?"
"I don't believe he did, not intentionally," Albus muses, leaning back
with a hum. "Sirius, may I ask, when you bit Riddle, did you perhaps
ingest his blood?"
"Oh, yeah, I tore open his wrist with my teeth," Sirius says smugly.
"Pissed him off with that. But what does that—" He stops, then
blinks. "Wait. Riddle is immune. Of course he is, why wouldn't he
be? He was immunized. It's—it's in his—"
"Blood," Remus breathes out. "It's in our blood."
Albus' eyes twinkle. "So it would seem. That's my working theory,

yes. It appears to be a bloodborne immunity, though it's clear Riddle
isn't aware of this." His gaze settles on Remus, head tilting a little. "It
would also seem that I did, in fact, have my deus ex machina this
entire time."
"You need my help," Remus says softly.
576
"I do," Albus confirms. "We don't know how to create the immunity
yet, but with samples of your blood, we could begin working out
how to form one. In the meantime, you could give willing blood
donations to—"
Sirius stiffens. "No. No, absolutely not. Fuck that. He's—you can't
just fucking turn him into an experiment and use him like a
pincushion. You're not doing that."
"Sirius," Remus starts.
"No," Sirius spits out, standing up so sharply that his chair clatters
against the floor. He holds Albus' gaze. "You think I don't know how
this works? You think I don't know the signs of manipulation?
Already, you've stated it'll save lives, which you know will weigh on
him, and that will make him feel a sense of obligation. And, if that's
not enough for him to agree, how far will you take it, hm? He's safe
here, but if he won't comply, will you threaten to toss him out, or
torture him? And what if it takes more than just blood? What if it
takes hurting him to get what you need? What then?"
"Sirius, I assure you, I wish Mr. Lupin no harm."
"Good, because you're not going to touch him. He's not a fucking
servant, and he's certainly not yours. Use me. I'll do it, whatever you
need, but leave him out of it."
Albus shakes his head slowly. "I'm afraid that may not be possible.
We've been studying this for some time, and I don't believe the
immunity would be able to be transferred from a source that didn't
have the immunization. I can only be sure that a direct source will
work, and I can't risk otherwise."
"Well, I suppose you're fucked then," Sirius says coldly.
"I believe that's Mr. Lupin's choice," Albus murmurs, holding his
gaze, utterly calm. "Not yours." "He's not yours to use," Sirius snarls.
"You can't have him."
577
To Have Again
"Sirius. Sirius," Remus says, his voice sharp, and Sirius whips his
head around to stare at him. "He's right, Sirius. It's my choice. Not
yours, and not his, but mine."
Sirius practically wilts. He sinks back down into his chair, staring at
Remus with wide eyes. "Remus..."
"I'll give blood samples, and I'll donate however much blood Lily
will allow, and no more," Remus announces, turning to look at
Albus. "I'll do that on one condition."
"Which is?" Albus asks.
Remus tilts his chin up. "It's my blood. I'll decide who gets
immunizations first, and then—after that—you can do what you
want with what's left, or how much I give after."
"Very well," Albus agrees immediately. "I want you to know that,
with your help, we will be able to take the districts, save countless
people from certain death, and take this war to Riddle. You will
single-handedly be the catalyst to helping us win this war, Mr.
Lupin. This world will owe you everything."
"I don't need everything." Remus' gaze shifts to land on Sirius, face
softening. "Something will do."
Sirius clenches his jaw and stands up again, hands balled into fists.
"Where's my brother? I want to see my brother."
"Aberforth will surely be escorting him to the infirmary," Albus

informs him. "You're free to return there. Mr. Lupin, I'd ask that you
remain so we can discuss the plans."
Sirius walks out before he ever hears Remus' response, and he slams
the door as he goes. ~•~
Aberforth hasn't had to lug a ladder along in years, and he feels

quite foolish doing it now, but he does appreciate the wind that stirs
his hair and beard. The boy could have chosen a better time to make
578
his grand escape, like perhaps during the day. At least then
Aberforth would get to feel the sun.
Being outside makes him ache for home. He always aches for home,
though, much like he imagines the boy does. It comes as no surprise
to Aberforth that the boy would go outside in the aftermath of what
happened. Regulus always seems to seek out trees when he's
troubled.
Sure enough, Aberforth eventually spots Regulus where he expected

to find him, or close to it. He's never seen Regulus climb Ariana's
tree, though he tried, but he did witness Regulus climb the hedge
within the arena. It seemed like an important event in his life, and so
it would seem the tradition accompanies him now. When believing
his brother and the man he loves have died, he has chosen to climb.
Sighing, Aberforth adjusts the ladder and lets it lean against the limb
the boy is on with a dull clatter. Regulus doesn't acknowledge the
sound. He's sitting on the branch with his knees drawn up to his
chest, arms wrapped around them, faced pressed down into them.
Aberforth grunts and grabs the ladder, then begins to slowly climb.
He's getting too old for this shit.
Surprisingly, it's Regulus who speaks when Aberforth reaches the

top. His voice is devoid of emotion, his face—when he lifts his
head—even more so. "I don't care that I broke a rule. I don't care if
Riddle has Hallow heli-carriers still out searching for the bunker. If
you're trying to get me to come down from this tree, you're going to
have to kill me."
"That won't be necessary," Aberforth says dryly. He suspects the boy

might fall out of the tree in his haste to get back inside once he
knows who's waiting for him in there.
"Alright, well, I got nowhere. Just like you said. Are you here to rub
it in that you were right and I was wrong?" Regulus grits out.
"Because, if so, I'll kill you."
579
To Have Again
"Boy, I'm not here for that," Aberforth grumbles. "Even if I was right,
I wouldn't do that. But I was wrong. You need to come down now.
The others made it back."
Regulus stares at him. Aberforth can see his hands tremble against
his legs. The boy's been out here for hours and it's February now,
cold outside. He's shivering, but he hardly seems to notice, too busy
staring at Aberforth like he's too scared to hope. "The others... Do
you—who do you mean?"
"All of them," Aberforth says gruffly. "Everyone who went on the

mission from here made it back,
and they brought James with them, along with your brother. They're
here, Regulus."
Regulus damn near does fall out of the tree, his body jerking as he
sucks in a sharp breath, and then his body starts to tip. Aberforth
snaps his hand out and fists the front of his shirt, heaving a sigh
when Regulus yelps and clamps down on his wrist desperately, his
eyes wide with fear. He looks small like that. It reminds Aberforth so
painfully of Ariana that he scowls as he drags Regulus back to let
him get his balance.
"Oh, fuck," Regulus wheezes, gripping the branch and suddenly

seeming to realize how high he is all at once, staring around in
dismay. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. What am I doing up here? I need to get
down. I need to get down right now."
"Alright, keep your hair on," Aberforth mutters. "I need to get
down!" Regulus bursts out.
Aberforth starts climbing down. "No need to yell at me about it. I

didn't tell you to be dumb enough to climb up in a tree when you're
scared of heights. Now, stop all that panicking nonsense, boy, and
use the damn ladder."
As soon as Aberforth reaches the ground, Regulus scales down the

ladder faster than Aberforth has ever seen anyone move, probably a
580
mixture of desperation to get down and desperation to get inside.
Aberforth steps up to grab the ladder.
"Uh uh, where do you think you're going?" Aberforth barks when
Regulus starts to turn, clearly about to run off. "Only way they're
letting you back in with no trouble is if you're with me. Come here,
help me with this."
Regulus stares at him incredulously. "But—"
"I'm an old man. Hurry up, or we can stand out here all night, if you
prefer," Aberforth tells him.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Regulus snaps, glaring at him as he marches

over to snatch the ladder from him, exhaling sharply and gesturing
towards the Phoenix. "Can we go now?"
"By all means," Aberforth says, amused despite himself.
Regulus seems to have no concept of patience whatsoever, and he

proves so by keeping ahead of Aberforth all the way back into the
bunker. As soon as they're back inside, Regulus carelessly tosses the
ladder aside and starts rushing, only to be stopped by those who he
incapacitated on his way out, so Aberforth has to step in to keep him
from being immediately thrown in solitary (again) for breaking rules
and also knocking out about nine different people just to get to the
surface.
Really, Aberforth thinks it's a miracle the boy didn't kill any of them.
He's pretty sure he was just focused on getting outside, and killing
would take a little more time and effort, which is likely the only
thing that saved those people's lives.
In any case, Aberforth has to escort Regulus to the infirmary. As

Albus' brother, he gets clearance to do pretty much anything he
wants. Albus isn't above playing favorites, and even if he was, no
one wants to disrespect him by crossing his brother. Aberforth has a
high position here, technically. Albus trusts him with everything, all
581
To Have Again
information, and he even consults with him. Aberforth didn't want

to be a part of this, but Albus didn't really give him a choice. He
never does.
Once inside the infirmary, Regulus immediately starts looking

around. That girl—Molly, Aberforth thinks her name is—steps out
from behind a drawn curtain and blinks.
"Oh dear," Molly says quietly. She gazes at Regulus with something
akin to pity. "Here to see James, I take it. He's not awake, I'm afraid,
but he's right through here."
Regulus moves forward to whip the curtain back, and then he

instantly freezes, a choked noise escaping him. It comes from
somewhere deep, something that tugs at even Aberforth's chest.
Well, that's just awful, is what it is.
James is very badly injured, wrapped in bandages and covered in

salve for his burns. It's an ugly process, healing burns that severe,
though it's thankfully a fairly quick one. He should be fine by
tomorrow, Aberforth suspects, but he looks really bad laid up in the
bed as he is. The injuries are all over him to the point that it doesn't
look like there's really any place you can touch him without it
hurting him.
The boy takes a staggering step forward, bracing his hands against
the rail at the foot of the bed. He sounds like he's gasping when he
says, "What—what happened to him?"
"There was an explosion," Molly explains gently, full of sympathy.

Her eyes only grow sadder when Regulus outright whimpers. "He
took the brunt of the blast, they said, but he's going to heal up just
fine. By tomorrow, he'll look much better; give it a few days, and
he'll be good as new."
Regulus heaves out a harsh breath and continues on his staggering

journey around James' bed. His head is ducked, but Aberforth can
see the pain there, twisting it. His entire expression collapses the
moment he reaches the head of the bed and lifts trembling fingers to
582
push them through James' hair in a touch so tender that Aberforth
feels like he's intruding by simply being here. He looks away, but
that can't save him from hearing Regulus.
He's crying. Sobbing, really. It's muffled, like he's doing his absolute
best to hide or stop it, but again, it tugs at Aberforth's chest. Maybe it
makes him a soft old man, but he can't help but see Regulus as just a
boy. So young, really. He remembers the first year Regulus' name got
called, and how Sirius volunteered for him, and the way his breath
had caught, because he knew. He knew
that he'd just watched a tragedy in the making. He knew that he'd
just watched two boys have their innocence snatched from them, and
he knew—through that—they'd always have this stunted sort of
growth where they're never quite children again, yet they're never
going to shed themselves of the pain that chains them to the children
they were. He knew, because he'd experienced it himself.
"Where's his glasses?" Regulus chokes out, and Aberforth looks at

him again to find him shaking all over like he's on the cusp of falling
apart. "Why doesn't he have his glasses?"
Molly gives a wary flutter of her hands, looking pained. "I don't
know. He—he didn't have any, or any contacts, and they said he
didn't need them anymore. I'm sorry."
"He—he does need them. He needs them. He needs his glasses."

Regulus releases yet another horrible, heartbreaking noise and seems
incapable of holding himself up any longer. His legs buckle, and he
goes down right there next to James' bed, kneeling next to it as he
cups James' hand gingerly in both of his, pressing his face to the limp
fingers. "They're his. Please. He needs them. He needs his glasses."
Molly doesn't respond this time, likely because it doesn't seem like
the boy can process a response. He's just weeping, and there's
nothing to be done about it.
"Move," Aberforth orders gruffly, waving Molly back with a scowl,

and she looks startled, but she does as he says.
583
To Have Again
Aberforth reaches out and whips the curtain shut, because if nothing
else, the boy deserves to have his breakdown in peace. The least they
could do is give him his damn privacy.
Even still, closing the curtain does nothing to drown out the
gut-wrenching sound of his sobs. ~•~
It's Andromeda who hunts Euphemia down to call off the search for
Regulus, because apparently Aberforth is going to get him, and also
Sirius and James are here.
Euphemia is pretty sure she and Fleamont have never run this fast in
their life. It's so very reminiscent of the last time in the aftermath of
the arena break-in, the way they clutched at one another's hand and
tore through the halls in the hopes that, very soon, they would be
reunited with their children again.
A part of Euphemia died while watching Regulus' broadcast, when

Riddle gave that kill order, and she thinks the only thing that
stopped her from lying down and never getting up again was the
news that Regulus had disappeared. It filled her with such visceral
fear, along with the selfish, possibly horrible thought that he was all
she had left of her boys, and she couldn't bear to lose him, too.
And now, everything has shifted. Euphemia is breathless as she

whirls around a corner, then choking on air the moment her gaze
lands on Sirius. She comes to a screeching halt, listening to Fleamont
groan like a man on the verge of tears. She wouldn't be surprised if
he's crying already. She is. Her eyes immediately start streaming.
"Sirius," Euphemia gasps out, and his head snaps in her direction,
eyes widening when he sees her.
They both start running at the same time. They also slam into each
other at the same time, and Sirius laughs. It's a breathless laugh of
pure elation, one that lifts Euphemia right off her feet. No, actually,
that's Sirius. He wraps his arms around her tight and legitimately
picks her up from the force in which he embraces her, then goes with
584
the motion and twirls her around until she's laughing with him, even
through her tears.
Fleamont nearly tackles them both to the floor with how hard he
collides into them, arms thrown around them both, and he is both
laughing and crying as well. He squeezes them so hard they wheeze,
all of their hands slipping over each other, desperate to touch and
hold on, feeling life and love spill out between them. Family. This is
family.
"Oh, honey. Darling boy." Euphemia's hands come up to cradle his

face, and he stares at her as he always has, like she's his hero. She
presses in, tugging him by his head, kissing his forehead fiercely.
Fleamont has an arm around Sirius' shoulders, head ducked down
against one as he breathes and cries, a big man with big emotions,
weeping all over Sirius with no shame in his lumbering frame
whatsoever.
"It's okay," Sirius says. "I'm okay."
"We were so worried," Euphemia confesses, because these are things

you tell your children, especially the child that doesn't automatically
realize parents are meant to care enough to worry. "We've been so
worried, Sirius."
"I was worried about you, too. Both of you. All of you, everyone,"
Sirius tells her. "You have no idea how relieved I was to know you've
both been safe."
"We love you so much," Fleamont croaks, lifting his head to peer at
Sirius with a watery smile.
"I love you, too," Sirius replies simply, with the sort of ease it took
years for him to find. He doesn't let them go, and they're not keen to
let him go either. "I—I heard about what happened back home. I'm
glad you got out. Andy, Ted, and Dora, too."
585
To Have Again
Euphemia pauses, her heart giving a harsh clench. She swallows and
reaches up to gently sweep her hand over his hair. It's tangled and
damp. "Ted didn't—he didn't..."
Sirius' smile falls. "No. No, he—"
"I'm sorry," Euphemia whispers. "Sirius, I'm so sorry."
"Oh no, Dora. Andy." Sirius' eyes sink shut, his eyebrows wrinkling
as he ducks his head. Fleamont and Euphemia soothe him as much
as they can, and he eventually looks up again. "Are they—how have
they been?"
Fleamont gives a wan smile. "It's been hard. We've all been grieving.
There were a lot of people lost, but as for Andromeda and Dora,
having Narcissa has seemed to help a lot. For Dora specifically,
Regulus has also been a big help. It's—difficult, but we're all leaning
on each other. Taking care of each other."
"What about Mary?" Sirius asks desperately. "Bingley?"
"They're here," Euphemia assures him. "They lost the rest of their
family, but they're safe. Regulus' boy, that Barty, he made it, too. His
parents didn't, but Regulus has seemed to help him with that.
They've been helping each other, really."
Sirius nods. "And—and Regulus? Has he—"
"It's been rough," Euphemia admits, taking a deep breath and slowly
letting it out. "Fleamont and I have been looking out for him, along
with Remus. He's a good boy, Remus is. Hasn't been doing well
himself, honestly, but he's such a pure soul. I got that letter to him
like you asked."
"You did?"
"Of course I did, honey. Of course."
586
"Okay." Sirius exhales, some of the tension seeming to leave his body,
and then it comes right back. "Wait, have you seen James yet?
He's—he's in the infirmary. Regulus is supposed to be there now. I
sort of...got lost on the way."
"Yes, this place is massive, isn't it?" Fleamont turns to guide him
along, and Euphemia joins them. "Been here for weeks and we still
get lost frequently. You said James is in the infirmary. Is he hurt very
badly?"
Sirius glances between them in a way that makes a pit open up in

Euphemia's stomach. "It's—yeah, it's pretty bad. I mean, he's fine.
He's going to be fine. They said he'd be healed up for the most part
by tomorrow, but...he just looks really hurt at the moment. I just—I
want you to be prepared. It's hard to see."
Euphemia swallows harshly. "What happened?"
"There was an explosion," Sirius whispers. "Um, a truck exploded.

He was close by, and he..." Likely due to the looks on their faces, he
doesn't finish. Instead, he clears his throat and mumbles, "He's alive,
though, and he will get better. He's okay, Effie, Monty, I swear it. I
promise he'll be
okay."
It's not every day that the child comforts the parent, and not on
every occasion is it appropriate, but in this instance, Euphemia is so
very grateful for him, for the kindness in his heart to want to
reassure them, even after everything he's been through. Euphemia
leans her head over on him as they walk, basking in having him
close again, safe and within reach.
It's quiet between them the rest of the way to the infirmary,
something settling familiar and comfortable between them, wrapped
up in something else somber. It feels so very good to be together
again. Just the same, they ache with what's happened, and they ache
for James.
587
To Have Again
When they do reach the infirmary, Sirius halts outside the doors and
closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. He draws away from them,
squaring his shoulders, visibly standing taller.
"Sirius?" Euphemia asks.
"Regulus is in there," Sirius says, and his voice cracks. It makes him
grimace. He works his jaw, flexing his fingers.
Oh, Euphemia knows what this is. She's seen it before, a ritual Sirius
has gone through many times in his hardest moments, before he's
going to see his little brother again. He does this. He tries to pull
himself together and be strong, stepping into his role as protector,
the one who takes care of Regulus no matter what, regardless of his
own struggle and pain. It's a self-imposed role, which saddens
Euphemia, because she thinks Regulus might appreciate a role
reversal sometimes.
But this is what they know. This is how they've always been. Sirius is
the big brother, and he's so much more, too. The weight of that is
something he shoulders instinctively, and always has, and Regulus
doesn't mean to put that weight on him, but it's impossible for him
to lift it on his own. Because he loves Sirius like a brother, a mother, a
father, a friend, an enemy, a reflection, and like no other. He can't
stop that any more than Sirius can stop loving him as a brother, a
son, a daughter, a friend, an enemy, a reflection, and like no one else.
That's a weight they carry together, between them, and it'll take both
of them to lift it.
"Take a moment," Euphemia murmurs, reaching out to gently touch

his cheek. "It's alright, Sirius. We'll go in, see him and James, and you
can take some time. Just breathe, darling."
"Thank you," Sirius whispers.
Euphemia hugs him again, and so does Fleamont, and then they go
inside. It's fairly sparse, especially now that it's getting later in the
evening. Marlene is lying in a bed, sleeping, and Dorcas sits in a
chair next to her, holding her hand and also sleeping. Euphemia only
588
knows this because Arthur steps out of the curtain to reveal them,
and then he gently shuts it back. Kingsley is off to the side, being
fussed over by Poppy in low tones, because apparently she's not
pleased that he didn't stay in the infirmary from the start. Euphemia
sees no one else, and she's looking around eagerly for—
"Here to see James?" Arthur asks kindly. He waves them along.

"Follow me. I'd like to warn you, he looks more than a little worse
for wear, but I assure you he's healing as we speak, and he'll be much
better by tomorrow."
"Thank you, Arthur," Euphemia says.
"Is Regulus here already?" Fleamont asks, still worried about him,
too. He's so terribly fond of Regulus.
Arthur nods. "Aberforth dropped him off just a bit ago, then left.
Regulus has been by James' side ever since." He offers them a gentle
smile as he gestures to the curtain they all stop at. "Go on, then.
You're welcome to stay all night."
As if Euphemia was going to do anything else. She smiles and nods

anyway, then shares a look with Fleamont as Arthur sweeps off to go
help Molly. Swallowing, Euphemia eases the curtain open so they
can slip inside.
The first thing she sees is Regulus sitting in a chair next to the bed,
holding James' hand between both of his own, James' fingers pressed
against his mouth. His gaze is locked on James with unwavering
focus, and she follows it.
Oh.
Oh, her poor baby. Tears spring to her eyes almost instantly, and the
only thing that keeps her from crying out is the fact that she was
bracing for the worst. Somehow, it could be worse, but that doesn't
take away from the fact that her son is lying in a bed, covered in
bandages and burns. He just looks like he's in pain, even if he's
sleeping right through. His face is slack, practically peaceful, despite
everything.
589
To Have Again
Fleamont inhales sharply, and his hand finds hers, gripping tight. At
the sound, Regulus' head snaps up. He looks at them, and his eyes
are so very sad. It's heartbreaking. He's not crying now, but it's very
apparent that he has been at some point.
"He's okay," Regulus says, his voice small and shaking just the
slightest bit. "He's—he's going to be okay. They said he'd be much
better tomorrow."
It's things such as this that will make sure Euphemia never forgets
just how gentle of a man Regulus is. Look at him there, all torn up
inside, and he softens himself as much as he can in the hopes that he
can offer them a bit of solace. Those fears of his in the arena, that he
and James are opposites and not well-suited; they're unfounded.
Regulus and James are more alike than people realize, even in all
their many differences. It's a beautiful thing to have, and Euphemia
knows because she was fortunate enough to find that in Fleamont.
"We know," Fleamont says softly. "They told us."
Euphemia and Fleamont move closer to the bed, standing on the

other side of it. James' other hand is wrapped in white bandages,
likely burned there, but his wrist right above it is open and
unharmed. She gently brushes her fingers over that warm space of
skin, something in her easing and unclenching all at once as she feels
the flutter of his pulse beneath.
Fleamont edges closer to the top of the bed. He moves so carefully,

gingerly cupping the side of James' head to lean down and kiss his
temple, then stays there. He closes his eyes and rests his forehead
against James', just breathing.
"Have you seen Sirius?" Regulus asks hopefully.
"He's here," Euphemia assures him quietly. She starts to open her
mouth, only to close it and cock her head at the sound of the doors
opening in the distance. Her lips curl up. "Ah, I suspect that's him
now. Go on, go see him. We'll be here with James until you both get
back."
590
Regulus nods, because he knows as well as she does that they're all
going to camp out at James' side until he wakes up. He moves
towards the curtain, then pauses and looks back at them. As gentle
as he is, he says, "Thank you."
"You have nothing to thank us for," Fleamont tells him, not pulling
away from James. "We love
you, Regulus."
"I know," Regulus replies, and that's all he says, but that alone says
so much. He's never accepted their love before. He watches them
and James for just a moment longer, and then he turns and slips out
the curtain without another word.
Euphemia lets her eyes drift shut, breathing along to the feeling of
James' steady pulse beneath her fingers.
~•~
Only Sirius could get Regulus to leave James' side. There's a harsh
yearning bearing down on his chest, because he wants to see his
brother again. Just know that he's here. Alive.
And then he is.
As soon as Regulus turns away from the curtain, Sirius is right there
across the room, staring at him. Regulus feels like he's a small child
again, for just a second, overcome by the simple elation of seeing
Sirius, thinking of him as if he was the grandest thing this world had
to offer, as if he was wiser and seconds away from adulthood when
he was merely a child not even two full years older than him.
Before Regulus ever found the sun in James, Sirius was the brightest
light he knew; his guiding star. Regulus would have followed him
anywhere, to the ends of the earth and beyond, and he still will even
now.
591
To Have Again
Maybe especially now.
It's easy, then, to move towards him now. Regulus wants to run, but
he isn't the child he once was. Always a bit guarded even then, but
now he's cautious with everything, especially the things he's scared
most to lose. And this—Sirius, before him, within reach—he's
terrified it'll dissolve like a mirage if he moves too fast and shatters
the illusion.
Sirius is not smiling. His face is very still, and as Regulus inches
slowly closer, he can see a blotchy spot of red crawling along Sirius'
jaw. Closer, closer, and Regulus can see the film of tears forming in
his eyes. Regulus' heart feels too big in his chest, taking up too much
space, constricting
with each careful step he takes. Closing the distance. "Sirius?"

Regulus rasps.
"Reggie," Sirius says. It comes out hoarse and choked, his face
twitching before it crumbles altogether. A gasp escapes him, and
then he's moving to meet Regulus halfway.
Regulus isn't at all prepared for Sirius to stumble right into his arms,
collapsing into him like he's so tired of holding himself up and needs
somewhere safe to fall into. He clings to Regulus and cries hard,
fingers twisting in the back of his shirt, face pressed against his
shoulder.
The thing is, Regulus recognizes this. It resonates with him, because
he's usually on the other side of it. It's Regulus who always curls into
the security Sirius offers, breaking down because he can trust Sirius
to take care of all his broken pieces, if not put him all back together
again. It's about the comfort one seeks, and Sirius is the strong one,
the big brother, the one who never breaks and always offers the
shoulder to cry on.
Sirius has never truly done this before, and Regulus is at first very
alarmed, even frightened by it. He thinks something must be terribly
wrong, and he doesn't know how to fix it, and he needs to fix it—but
592
then Sirius slumps into him like he's giving in to letting himself be
cradled and comforted for once, and Regulus realizes with a
blooming warmth and simultaneous pain in his chest that Sirius has
come to him for safety and security for the first time...maybe ever.
It's the most vulnerable Regulus has ever seen him, and he takes the
care to wrap his arms around Sirius and hold his weight for him, and
just hold him. Because he knows how it feels to need that, and
because he knows how it feels to have that. Sirius is the one who
taught him both, and it's through that lesson that Regulus knows
how to return the favor.
He'd thought it would be him to fall into Sirius and break in the
safest place he could, but he can be the strong one for once. He can
be the protector. He can be safe. Little brother or not, he can. Sirius
showed him exactly how.
"It's okay," Regulus whispers, feeling like something fractures in his

chest and mends together all at once as he realises Sirius is holding
onto him like Regulus is all he needs. "It's okay now, Sirius. It's okay.
You're okay. I've got you. You're here, and I'm here. Me and you,
remember?"
"I was—I was so—" Sirius hiccups a sob into Regulus' shoulder,
clinging to him. "I'm sorry. I tried to be—I didn't want to be scared,
but I was. The whole time, I was so fucking scared."
Regulus swallows harshly and wishes—oh, he really wishes—he had

the words to reassure Sirius. He's not good at this, not good with any
of it, because the truth is, he's been terrified this whole time, too.
So, that's what Regulus says. "Yeah, me too." "M'sorry," Sirius

mumbles, yet again.
"You don't—I don't know why you're apologizing," Regulus admits

quietly. "I'm the one who
made it out. I'm—Sirius, I'm sorry you didn't. I wanted—I tried to

make them go back. All I wanted was—"
593
To Have Again
Sirius makes a disapproving sort of noise, peeling back a little to

frown at him. "Hey, don't do that. You can't think I'd ever be upset
you made it out over myself. Reggie, I always put you before me. Its
you before me every time, okay?"
Regulus feels his throat close up, and he knows what Sirius said is
not healthy. He knows he's supposed to tell Sirius not to do that, tell
him he doesn't have to do that, tell him he shouldn't do that—but he
can't force the words out, because he has missed Sirius so much,
even this part that he's always resented. This part where Regulus is
the source of everything that's ever gone wrong for him; the name
called that he volunteered for, the one picked up before him which
left him behind, the reason he tries not to be afraid and the reason he
finds himself in situations where he has to be. Regulus has missed
even this, and feels unwaveringly loved, and feels unwavering love
in return. A complex, complicated thing, something broken and
codependent at the same time, and Regulus wants to cradle it in
careful hands and never let it go again.
"I wanted you here," Regulus chokes out. "We agreed we both
deserved to get out. We—"
"Technically, I did get out," Sirius says weakly, then clicks his tongue
when Regulus makes a fussy sort of noise in disagreement. "Okay,
hey, I know what you mean. Trust me, I wanted to be here, too.
Come here, let me look at you." He reaches up to grab Regulus' face,
squishing his cheeks and rolling his head around to examine him
critically. Regulus lets him do whatever the fuck he wants. "Doing
okay?"
"Mm."
"You look like shit."
"Just modeling myself after you," Regulus murmurs.
Sirius stops rolling Regulus' head around and stares at him, and then
he says, "Was that a joke?"
"Was it funny?" Regulus asks.
594
"No," Sirius replies, then laughs a little hysterically, and keeps
laughing, and keeps laughing, and then he's not laughing at all,
because he's crying again.
Regulus makes a strained noise, his stress spiking once more, every
instinct in him screaming at him to fix it, to fix whatever is wrong.
His arms come up a bit, almost instinctively, and Sirius falls into him
just like before.
"I—I didn't—I'm sorry," is what tumbles out of Regulus' mouth, heart

thumping hard in his chest. "I didn't mean it. You look—great."
Sirius laughs through his tears, words muffled into Regulus'

shoulder as he wheezes, "You little shit, I've missed you. Oh, fuck, I
really missed you."
"What can I do?" Regulus whispers, because he's trying, but he isn't
sure he's getting this comforting thing right, and who better to ask
than the person who does it best? "Sirius, tell me what to do."
"Just be here," Sirius rasps in something devastatingly close to a

whimper. "Just be here with me, okay, Reggie? That's all I need you
to do."
"Okay," Regulus says quietly, because he can do that, and really, he

doesn't want to do anything else anyway. "It's okay. I'm here."
Sirius holds onto him for a long time, weeping like it's the most
cathartic, comforting moment of his life, and Regulus stays there
with him, doing all that he can, just as Sirius has always done for
him.
They're okay, because they have each other. Here they are, holding
onto this moment; two comforted, two comforting, two brothers.
Always brothers.
595
15
TOGETHER
______
James is perched on a cloud, a very fluffy cloud, and there are so

many people here with him. There is the mother, the father, the best
friend, and the angel. Pretty, pretty angel. James tries to reach for the
angel, because the angel is beautiful.
"James?" the angel murmurs.
"So beautiful," James tells the angel.
"That'll be the meds," says someone else, who has invaded his cloud.
He does not know them, but they sound friendly. They also sound
amused. James decides they can stay.
"James, honey, how are you feeling?" asks the mother.
"Look at him," the best friend announces, "he's clearly feeling fucking
amazing at the moment."
"Oh," James gasps in utter delight when he finds out that he can, in
fact, touch the angel. He stares in wonder as he glides his fingers
gently along the angel's jaw. To him, it feels like ultraviolet sparks
fizzling against his fingertips, and somehow someone is skipping
rocks in the rippling lake
that sits in his stomach. This is the best day of his life.
"Yeah, he's fine," the father says with a snort.
596
Together
"Am I dead?" James asks in disbelief.
This displeases the angel, James thinks, because the angel frowns.
"No, James, you're not dead." "Oh," James says. "Are you visiting,
then?"
"Visiting...?" The angel looks confused. James blinks. "Um. Earth, I

guess?"
It is a little confusing, James supposes. Where do angels come from?

From heaven, or so they say, but where is that? A separate realm? In
the sky? James' gut instinct says they come from outer space, celestial
like the stars. Somehow, James knows this angel is a star.
"I don't know what that means," the angel mumbles. "I'm not visiting
earth, James. I...live here."
"Oh, that's good. That's really good. You should stay here forever,"
James tells the angel earnestly.
"He's high," says the best friend. "Completely off his head. Of course
he's not going to make sense."
"I am the smartest person on this cloud," James declares, then gently
boops the angel's nose. He grins at the angel. "Except for maybe you,
because you must have all the information ever invented. Pretty and
smart. So pretty, so smart."
The angel turns a marvelous shade of red.
"I would like to commit blasphemy," James says, because in for a

penny, in for a pound. What is the angel going to do? Smite him? No,
somehow James knows the angel won't. Somehow, he knows the
angel will hesitate to do so.
"James, we're going to start removing bandages now, okay?" asks the
someone else he doesn't know, but is permitted entry to his cloud
because they're nice.
597
"Are clouds on earth?" James muses, and then he yelps as the
someone he doesn't know, but is permitted entry to his cloud
because they're nice starts to peel away his strange skin, and maybe
they're not so nice after all. "No! My skin!"
"James, these are bandages. It's not your skin."
"You're peeling off my skin."
"I promise you, I'm not. Do you feel any pain?"
"No, but it's my skin. Give it back and leave my cloud. I don't think
you're very nice anymore."
"James," says the mother, soothing, "it's okay. Your, ah, skin needs to
go away. You have better skin underneath."
James sends the mother an incredulous look. "It's my skin."
The best friend laughs. James would like to laugh with the best
friend, because they always laugh together, but he doesn't see what's
very funny about this. He feels that everyone on his cloud is not
suitably horrified about what's happening right now. Do they have
no regard for his skin? He looks at the angel desperately, in hopes
the angel will take his side.
"It won't hurt," the angel informs him. "They need to get rid of it, and
you're going to let them. Just relax."
James is displeased that the angel has not taken his side, so he
frowns at the angel. Nonetheless, because the angel is an angel,
James knows better to question any further. He sighs and lets his
skin be peeled off. The angel was right, it doesn't hurt, and he even
forgets it's happening when he lifts his hand to touch the angel
again. The angel allows it.
"You're divine," James breathes out in awe, because the angel is

literally divinity, and James gets to touch. Wow.
598
Together
The angel's lips curl up, and the angel looks soft, as well as pleased.
James is pretty sure he's going to woo the angel. That is blasphemy,
isn't it? Well, it's worth the trip to hell.
"Alright, James," says the someone he doesn't know, but may or may
not be permitted on his cloud because they may or may not be nice.
"You're all done. See? That wasn't so bad. Now you're free to lay
about all day and rest up good and proper."
"When will the medication wear off?" asks the father.
"Couple of hours. He'll likely sleep on and off until then."
"Ah, okay."
"Shame," the best friend says. "This is brilliant."
"Brilliant," James agrees, because the best friend is always right. He

sweeps his fingers very carefully over the bridge of the angel's nose.
"Wow. Just brilliant."
People on the cloud are laughing, and James likes the sound. It's like
windchimes in his brain. Sweet and mystical to his ears. The angel is
not laughing. The angel looks fond, but there is no laughter. James
wants the angel to laugh. James bets the angel's laugh sounds like
celestial harmonies.
"I have to tell you a joke," James says, and the angel blinks at him,
then arches an eyebrow. "I need you to laugh."
"James—"
"What did the big flower say to the little flower?"
The angel glances over at the best friend, and the best friend is
stifling laughter, and then the angel focuses on James again. The
angel indulges him. "I don't know. What did the big flower say to the
little flower?"
599
"Hey there, bud," James tells him, and the mother laughs, and the
father laughs, and the best friend laughs, but the angel does not
laugh. No, the angel only reaches up to grab his hand, gently
pressing a smile to his knuckles. It's a small smile. Lips of an angel.
Sweet. James wants to put his mouth on it, and stick his fingers in it,
but he's also sad because the angel didn't laugh. "You were supposed
to laugh. I told a flower joke. It was funny, and you like flowers."
"Mm." The angel's eyes drift shut. The angel is still smiling and
cradling his hand. "Better luck next time."
"I'll keep trying." "I know."
James sighs wistfully, letting his head drop back against the pillow,
gazing up at the angel, enamored. The angel's eyes open, regarding
him over his fingers, peering through pretty, pretty eyelashes. James
smiles at the angel and risks being smited...smote? Risks certain
death at the hands of an angel, in any case, by twitching his finger
up, unfurling it slowly to trace the angel's bottom lip. The angel does
not beam him with celestial grace and turn him to ash. The angel just
looks at him, watching, and allows it.
James keeps looking at the angel, because the angel is very beautiful,
and he doesn't want to look away. But his eyes are getting heavy, and
with each blink, the cloud seems to wrap around him more and drag
him under. His finger slows against the angel's lip, and he frowns.
He doesn't want to go away; he wants to be with the angel. Maybe
the angel will remain even when he goes away and comes back. Oh,
James hopes so.
"You'll stay, right?" James mumbles.
"I'll stay," promises the angel, and James believes the promise,
because James looks into the angel's eyes and knows the angel
means the promise and isn't being a sneaky little liar.
James smiles, pleased. "I'm going to keep you."
600
Together
The angel finally, finally, finally laughs, and it has special angel
powers to make James' chest go warm. It sounds like a gentle jingle,
a tinkling bell, and it's the last thing James hears before he happily
falls off into dreams of a knitted hat with the angel's laughter
trapped inside.
~•~ Remus sneaks into the infirmary to see James.
Well, sneaks is a bit of a strong word. What he really does is march

right in, and he's ultimately surprised to find James wide awake and
entirely alone, other than Regulus, who is conked out and draped
over the side of the bed. He's obviously sleeping deeply, and James is
just—gazing at him. The look on his face is so fucking tender.
Adoring. Loving. Soft.
When James looks up and notices him, his entire face lights up,
splitting into a smile. It takes about ten seconds of Remus not
returning the smile for James' to fade.
"Oh," James says quietly. "Right, you're—angry at me."
"Where's Sirius?" Remus asks, flicking his gaze around, eyebrows

drawing together. "Where are your parents?"
James clears his throat. "Ah, well, I made them leave. Kicked them all
out. They needed to eat, and they've been cooped up in here since
yesterday."
"They actually went?"
"It was a fight. I almost cried, so I ended up winning."
"Ah, the ultimate weapon." Remus snorts and shakes his head, then
moves over and sits down in the chair next to Regulus, sighing as he
looks over at him. He's sleeping so hard that his mouth is
slack. Even asleep, his eyebrows are scrunched together, almost like
he's still scowling at everything.
601
"I've had some visitors," James murmurs. When Remus looks up, he
drops his gaze. "I knew you'd be along eventually."
Remus stares at him, waiting for him to finally look up, and then he
asks, bluntly, "Why didn't you get in the van?"
James grimaces.
Yeah, that's about what Remus expected. Some part of him already
knows, and maybe that's why he never asked Dorcas, because he
didn't have to. Effie said James chose to stay in the Hallow— and he
did. Remus was there; he saw James make the deliberate decision to
do that, and he doesn't need three guesses to figure out why, but he
wants James to say it.
"Honestly?" James croaks. Remus nods. "I wasn't in the right state of
mind to go making decisions like I did. Once Frank died, it—it was
like this pressure was on my chest, and I couldn't breathe. I couldn't
carry it, Remus. I messed up, and something bad happened, so I—I
wanted to do something good. I thought—" He tips his head back,
eyes slipping shut as he exhales heavily. "This was foolish of me, but
I thought I could do it. Not just for you and Regulus, but for me, too.
I really thought I'd get him out, and then it'd all be okay."
"So, you knew, then," Remus replies, his tone level, despite the spike
of pure fury that rushes through him. James opens his eyes and looks
at him, swallowing. "You knew Sirius hadn't made it out. You knew
when you shut me in that van."
"Yes," James whispers.
"You know, James, I—" Remus stops, and a brittle laugh escapes him.
"The thing that pisses me off the most is that I would have done the
same thing. Verbatim. I wouldn't have told you, I would have made
sure you got out, and I would have tried to save Sirius. Do you know
what's so infuriating about that? It's that I understand why you did
it, but it still makes me angry because I didn't even get the choice;
you made sure I didn't get the freedom to choose."
"Remus," James chokes out, "I'm sorry. I—"
602
Together
"And the worst part is," Remus cuts in, "it had to be you. It couldn't
be anyone else, it couldn't be me, because Riddle would have just
killed me and found some way to make Sirius do what he made you
do. You were the best outcome in all of that, and now we're all here,
and we're all safe— and I'm still so fucking angry at you, James."
"I know, I know, you have every right to be," James says, his voice
tight like he's trying not to cry. "It was wrong. I know I made a
mistake. I've made so many now, Remus. You don't have to forgive
me, but I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
Remus sighs, glancing down at Regulus. It's a good thing he's not
awake, is all Remus can think. He'd lose his fucking mind if he knew
Remus currently has James on the verge of tears.
It's a pretty shit thing to do, isn't it?
And, like this, Remus isn't really all that angry, as it turns out. Maybe
he just needed to hear James say it, all of it, and say sorry. Maybe he
just needed to say what he did, out loud, just to feel more real. A
person with feelings. A person who deserves the freedom to express
those emotions, and then work through them when it's necessary.
Slowly, methodically, he works through them. Feels them. Breathes

every time Regulus does, matching the sleep-soft melody of it,
letting it lull him, and calm him. Thinks about how James did what
Remus would have, what any of them would have, what Lily would
have for Remus six years ago, what Remus did himself for her six
years ago.
James nearly died. Almost, almost, almost. Too close. He was in a

horrible state of mind, grieving and terrified, and trying. He's always
trying, isn't he? Remus cares about him so fiercely, one of the few
people he formed a deep connection to in the Hallow, and look at all
they've been through. James helped him get out. James insisted on it.
All these things bounce around in Remus' mind, and he lets them
until they settle.
603
Remus sighs again and meets James' teary gaze. "Friends do this
sometimes, I've learned. It comes from a place of love, because we
care about each other. You wouldn't leave me behind, and you
couldn't leave him behind. I would have done the same thing; I
pretty much did, for Lily. The very thing that got me imprisoned in
the Hallow busted me out. I understand, James. There's nothing to
forgive, but I forgive you anyway."
"I do love you, you know," James tells him earnestly, his eyebrows
pinched together. "I really do."
"I know." Remus huffs a weak laugh. "Because Sirius does."
James frowns at him. "I mean, sure, but Sirius also doesn't really
have that much to do with it. I love you because you're you. And
you—you're my friend, Remus. One of my best friends, honestly, at
this point."
"Yeah, James, I know. Me too," Remus murmurs, his lips curling up,
admittedly warmed by the ease in which James extends affection and
friendship. He's been like this from the very beginning. Some things
really never do change.
"Remus?" James says softly. "Yeah?" Remus asks.
"Why did you come back for me?" James looks at him, studies his
face, something gentle in his gaze. "You could have died coming
back for me."
Remus could say it was guilt. He could say it was to prove a point.
He could say he just wanted to do the right thing. But, in the end, he
looks James in the eye and says the truth.
"I couldn't bear the thought of leaving you behind." ~•~
The first thing Regulus registers is a gentle caress down the line of
his nose, so soft he wouldn't even feel it if he wasn't slowly
becoming aware, finding his way to being awake.
604
Together
Perhaps it's wildly inexplicable, but Regulus knows James by even

just the very tip of his finger. He knows it's James ever so gently
stroking his nose, the touch simultaneously too curious and reverent
to be anyone else, and the pads of James' fingers are entirely unique
in their own special shape and texture, which Regulus may or may
not have memorized, literally.
Regulus imagines that James is still heavily medicated. While on the

prescribed drugs, he has been delighted by basically everything and
seems to have little to no grasp on what's going on around
him at any given moment, but what he does know, apparently, is that
he's obsessed with Regulus, especially touching Regulus as much as
he can get away with.
Honestly, Regulus is stupidly pleased by that.
The infirmary is oddly quiet. He didn't mean to fall asleep, really, but
he has hardly slept lately— and if he does, it's never good
sleep—and he couldn't sleep last night until he actually saw James
get visibly better. Not fully healed, even now, but his injuries have
definitely made exceptional progress through the night and the
morning, so maybe Regulus finally, finally, finally let himself
rest—or, maybe James was sleeping, and Regulus' blinks as he gazed
at his face got too spaced apart, and he literally couldn't hold his
eyes open anymore. Who's to know? The details are fuzzy and
unclear even to him. All he knows is that he didn't dream, not even
to have a nightmare.
He did stay up to talk to Sirius about the mission, and about Remus.
Sirius told him what he did, all of it, how he went in to get Sirius and
how he went back to get James, refusing to leave either of them
behind. Sirius is distinctly displeased with Remus at the moment,
which Regulus finds rather stupid, but he's just so grateful that Sirius
is here that he didn't even bother risking getting into an argument
with him, not so soon.
605
All Regulus wants to do, really, is bask in having them all here, safe
and sound, with him. It's ridiculous, considering how he was a mere
year ago, but he wants to touch everyone, just to know that they're
alive. For the longest time, he'd planted his chair right next to Sirius'
so he could make sure their elbows were knocking and their arms
were touching. It's his brother. A little bedraggled and jumpy, more
vulnerable than he's ever been, but his brother all the same.
In any case, Regulus is sure Remus and Sirius will work out
whatever their issues are at the moment. It's been weeks of pure hell
for all of them, so he doesn't doubt that they're all going to succumb
to the temptation of comfort and unity sooner rather than later.
They've all been through a lot, and they should get to rest now.
Regulus wants to rest now.
At some point, Sirius, Effie, and Monty must have left. That makes
no sense, because Regulus can't fathom why any of them would
have left James' side so soon.
It causes Regulus' eyebrow to furrow, his rising concern and weary

paranoia dragging him awake, face scrunching as James' finger
slides up to caress the wrinkle between his eyebrows. Regulus' eyes
flutter open, and he blinks slowly, fighting a yawn as the world
swims into focus.
Regulus doesn't remember leaning over to rest his head on the bed
James is in, but apparently he did, because that's where he wakes up.
He's down by James' hip, one of his hands resting on his
leg, the other tangled loosely with James' free hand. His face is tilted
towards James, so the first thing he sees is James looking down at
him with a small smile, entirely lucid.
"And he finally wakes," James murmurs, his finger gently smoothing

over his right eyebrow.
Regulus pops up, jolting in place and slamming his elbow into the
rail on the side of the bed. "Shit. Ow."
606
Together
"Oh, did that hurt?" James asks, leaning forward slightly, reaching
away from Regulus' face to cup his elbow, rubbing gently. "Funny
bone, they call it. Not so funny when you slam it into something,
though, is it?"
"You're awake," Regulus says stupidly. "Like, properly." "Mhm,"

James confirms.
Regulus blinks at him, then looks around. "Where's—"
"I ran them all off. Made them go away," James tells him, lips
twitching. "I'm not actually released yet, but I'm fine, so I made
everyone else go. I wouldn't let anyone wake you, though. You were
sleeping so deeply; it seemed like you needed it, and I guess I just
wanted to be alone with you for a bit."
"What?" Regulus says stupidly, yet again, just staring at James.
James smiles, gaze warm, glasses gone. "We're alone, love."
Regulus isn't really sure why that gets to him, but it does. James is
here. James is right here, looking at him, talking to him, smiling at
him, calling him love, alive and safe and maybe not at his physical
best while still healing, but okay. He's okay, and he's here; so close,
and finally, close enough.
Regulus doesn't think he's scrambled up on a bed so fast in his life,

genuinely just climbing right onto it with no warning. James doesn't
seem startled, at least. If he wasn't expecting it, he was
clearly hoping for it, because his arms open up, and he's dragging
Regulus close as Regulus frantically crawls up to him with no finesse
whatsoever.
It's in the back of Regulus' mind to be gentle with James, to not hurt
him, but all inhibitions fly out the window the second James starts
tugging on him, blatantly and shamelessly trying to get him as close
as he can get. Maybe it's supposed to be this seamless sort of reunion
607
where they click into place, but it's not. It's a messy collision, much
like them, all elbows and fumbling fingers, and James makes a
horrible gasping noise like a man coming up for air and choking on
it, and he's crying before Regulus can properly hold him; it's awful,
it's all so awful, and it's the best thing Regulus has ever felt.
"Shh, shh, it's okay," Regulus croaks. He finally, thankfully manages

to get his arms around James' shoulders, tugging on him,
encouraging him to fall into Regulus' chest and stay there, hide there
if he needs to, remain safe there for as long as he seeks the refuge.
"James, it's okay. Shh, it's okay."
James digs his face into Regulus' chest, his shoulders hitching under
Regulus' hands, a shudder rippling through him. His tears seem dry;
the scratchy, raw sort of sobs that Regulus knows feels like
sandpaper in your lungs. Pain that burns where it is; pain that burns
on its way out.
"I was trying—I wanted this to be—" James chokes off, shaking his
head against Regulus' chest. Regulus cups the curve of his skull,
fingers delving into hair, and he could cry from the relief of getting
to feel it again. James clings to him, hands fisting the back of his
shirt. "I didn't—Reg, I didn't want it to be like this. I'm so—"
"James, it's okay," Regulus insists, because it is, because James

doesn't have to pretend to be alright for his sake. Goodness knows
Regulus never managed that himself, and he's too tired to make
those foolish attempts anymore. He won't stand for James thinking
he has to make that attempt at all.
"I don't know why I'm—" James groans, sagging against him, just
deflating at once. He sniffles. "I'm—I swear I'm so happy to see you,
so happy you're here, I'm just—"
"I know, I know, it's okay," Regulus murmurs, squeezing his eyes
shut and rocking him a little, letting them sway back and forth like
that, letting it soothe them. "I promise it's okay."
"I missed you," James whispers, his words muffled.
608
Together
Regulus is pretty sure his chest caves in. He can practically feel the
three fractures that splinter out from the center, one for each word. I
missed you; one fragment, two fragments, then three. He aches with
it, because it's—well, it's the longest that he and James have gone
without seeing each other. Even back when they never spoke, and
Regulus was waltzing around like a fool, wasting time believing he
hated him; even then, they still saw each other every day, even just in
passing, even just a stolen glance they rarely took at the same time,
but always there, so close, only just missing each other.
"I'm here now," Regulus whispers back.
James exhales heavily, hot breath pressing against Regulus' shirt,

pooling through the fabric to warm his skin. Slowly, James tilts his
head back and peers up at him, hunched in over on himself. His eyes
are open, watery and bloodshot, rimmed with red. No contacts. No
glasses.
"Did you miss me?" James mumbles.
"Not for a second," Regulus lies, and James sobs out a laugh, eyes
welling up again until he's crying and smiling through the tears,
shaky hands lifting to frame Regulus' face, gazing up at him with no
shame for how his chin wrinkles and his lip wobbles and his tears
fall.
"Liar," James rasps.
Regulus nods and leans in to press his forehead to James', eyes

drifting shut. He breathes, and breathes, then breathes out a soft,
"Yeah. Yeah, I am. It was every second. I missed you every single
second. At all times, baby, at all times."
James makes a helpless, muffled noise and tilts forward to press his
face into Regulus' throat. Like this, hunched over as he is, James
almost seems small. He feels small in Regulus' arms, like he's trying
to fold into himself so all of him will fit. Regulus grips him as
securely as possible, wishing he had more arms just so he could
gather more of James to hold.
609
"I thought you'd be angry with me," James mumbles, and Regulus'
eyes snap open just so he can blink in sheer disbelief. He pulls back
to stare down at him incredulously, and James swallows. "Because
I—I chose to stay. I—do you know? Regulus, I...knew you were here,
and I still—I—"
"James," Regulus cuts in, holding his gaze, "did I not do the same
thing when I went into the arena in the hopes that Sirius would kill
me and win? That was my original plan, and believe me, it
wasn't about leaving you; it was about what I thought you needed,
and what I needed, and just— Sirius. Loving Sirius."
"I love him so much," James chokes out.
Regulus nods. "I know. I'm not angry with you for that anymore."
"I love you, too," James whispers fiercely. "I'm so in love with you.
Part of the reason I stayed was for you, because he's—he's your
brother, and I just—I saw you in the arena, you know, when—"
James stops, his face falling slack, and Regulus goes tense instantly
when he realizes just how many things actually sit between them
now; the changes, the experiences they've been through, what they
saw of each other and what they didn't. James exhales shakily. "Your
boggart. Your—it was—"
"James—"
"It was me."
"James," Regulus protests weakly.
James is breathing all out of order, thin and shaky, and he's a little
wild-eyed. "It's not true. Not a fucking word that was said there with
my mouth was true, Reg. I couldn't bear to lose you, and no one—I
promise you, no one would be better off with you. If I lost you, I'd
look for you forever. You're not rot, love, and you're the most
beautiful thing this world has to offer. I would never—I wouldn't—"
610
Together
"James, it's—stop, it's okay, I know," Regulus cuts in as James' chest

stutters on his inhale. "I know it wasn't real. I know it wasn't you. It
couldn't be, because you're good, and it wasn't."
"I'm—" James almost seems to release a whine. "I don't know that I'm
good, though. I—I try to be, but I just—I made things worse,
and—and no matter what I did, it was like—"
"Like you couldn't do anything right?" Regulus asks softly, and

James' shoulders jerk as he nods. Regulus sighs. "Welcome to my life.
That's pretty much how I feel...all the time. Like a constant failure,
and it's—it makes it more difficult to entertain the thought of trying
at all. But it's not something only I experience, I'm learning. All
humans make mistakes. You're human, James. The
most human human I know. And such a good one. The best, in my
opinion."
"It's my fault Frank is dead," James whimpers. His eyes shine. "I
didn't mean to. I swear I didn't
mean to. I only wanted to do the right thing. I was just trying—"
"Don't do that," Regulus replies softly. "I've talked to Rodolphus, and

listen, I know where you're going with this, okay? But no, it's not
that simple. Bad things happen no matter what we do; that doesn't
make you a bad person. You're not a bad person, James."
James collapses forward with a horrible, harrowing noise crawling

from what sounds like the very depths of him, raw and scratchy and
desperate. He folds into Regulus and stays there, trying to shrink
himself down and fit with him, and Regulus holds him, eyes closed,
faced pressed into James' hair. He feels him stop crying, slowly. He
feels him breathe. Regulus is so glad that James breathes.
They stay there together like that for a long time, and though the
setting is different, it feels so much like their first meeting after their
arena that it's almost as if they're back there, or as if perhaps that
611
moment has always existed, then and now and later, there and here
and anywhere. Regulus basks in it, in this, and it doesn't matter how
hard things have been; nothing matters other than this, not anymore,
not ever again.
The ruffle of a curtain and a soft gasp makes Regulus tense up as his
head whips around. If looks could kill, Molly would be dead ten
times over, and it would be a very gruesome death. She stares at
them with wide eyes, pink-cheeked, bashful.
"Get out," Regulus snaps.
James swats his hip gently. "Be nice." He clears his throat and lifts his
head. "Hi, Molly. Please ignore him. He's just—like that. What can
we... Um, what can I do for you?"
"Actually, it's what I could do for you." Molly clears her throat and
carefully edges her way inside, side-eyeing Regulus like he might
pounce at a moment's notice. Don't tempt him. "I'm glad I caught
you while you were still here. I, um. Well, I hope you don't mind, but
I thought you might appreciate this, so..."
"Oh," James says softly, when his gaze lands on the glasses Molly
holds out to him. Regulus holds his breath while staring at them,
because they look just like James' old pair. "I—um, thank you,
Molly, I just... I don't—" He swallows harshly and looks

almost...ashamed? He can't seem to meet Regulus' gaze with his
own. "I mean, I—I do appreciate it, or the thought, but they—they,
um, fixed my eyesight in the Hallow. I didn't... I never asked them to.
They just...did it."
"The lenses are plain, James. Nothing to help your eyes, or strain
them," Molly murmurs. "Regulus said you really need them, like
they're important to you, so I may have...put a rush order on
replacing them for you. Go with or without them, the choice is yours,
but you should have the choice."
612
Together
James' gaze snaps up to hers, and Regulus' heart clenches at the

immediate flood of relief that steals over his face. He looks due for
crying again, and Regulus remembers. He can never forget the way
James said they couldn't change who he was, not really, but they've
done their absolute best to. They've altered him, his very body,
without his permission. It's invasive and cruel, and it makes Regulus
want to gouge out Riddle's eyeballs for suitable retribution, see how
he likes it, the fucking piece of shit. Oh, Regulus could dig his
thumbs into Riddle's eyes and just—he could just —
"Thank you," James says, interrupting Regulus' internal tirade of

violence. "Really, Molly, thank you."
Molly passes the glasses over with a small smile, then sighs and
gives them both a tiny shrug. "I've found that Riddle does his best to
take what's important from us all, but what he fails to realize is that
what's important will always be important. You two were—" She
halts, then takes a deep breath. "You two were very important to
Fabian and Gideon. My brothers. And now, through them, you're
very important to me. That's what Riddle doesn't understand. What's
important will always remain so if we make the choice to let it."
"They were important to us, too," James tells her, as earnest as he's
always been. "And, through them, so are you. I'm—I'm very sorry for
what happened to them, Molly."
"You were there," Molly whispers, fingers nervously tangling

together in front of her stomach. She pulls at a loose thread and flicks
her gaze between them. "When they... You were there in their last
moments."
"Yes," Regulus confirms, so James doesn't have to. Molly swallows.

"Did they suffer?"
"No," Regulus lies. Again, he does it so James doesn't have to. James
isn't the best liar, never has been, but sometimes lying can be a
kindness. "No, Molly, they didn't suffer."
613
Maybe that's not what someone would say if they wanted to incite
vengeance within someone. If Regulus were aiming to give Molly
further reason to seek revenge, to throw herself into war in the name
of her brothers, he would tell her that they were brutally beaten and
died in pain. But Regulus has seen Molly with Arthur, seen the
shared warmth and simple love between them, so easily bulldozed
by the draw of violence waiting on the other side of the truth, and so
he lies. Regulus lies so that she may have peace; what a concept,
peace in the midst of war. Someone should get to have that, at least.
If it were him, if it were his brother, he would want the truth; he

would want to give into the bloodthirsty need to make someone,
anyone, everyone pay for it. But, the sad truth is, doing that wouldn't
bring him peace. He's learning. He's finally getting it. Revenge
achieves nothing; at the end, what hurts will still hurt, and you're no
closer to peace than you were at the start. But Molly? She's close.
Even grieving as she is, still, she's so much closer, and Regulus will
make the selfish and perhaps kind decision not to pull her away
from that.
He sees it there in the glimmer of tears in her eyes, the way her
shoulders shift, like a weight has lifted and dropped down
simultaneously. Grief never goes away; that's a burden to bear for as
long as you live when someone you love doesn't. She'll never be free
of that, but she can find peace anyway. It's there. It's within her
grasp, and Regulus hopes wherever Gideon and Fabian are, they
know she's okay. That she will be.
"Thank you," Molly says thickly, blinking hard and clearing her
throat. She gives them a watery smile and nods. "Right, well, I'll be
on my way. If you two ever need anything..."
"You too, Molly," James murmurs. "Anything at all."
Molly leaves after that, sniffling as she goes, and Regulus turns to
find James looking at him. It's a searching look, studying him.
Regulus resists the urge to fidget under his gaze.
"What?" Regulus mumbles.
614
Together
James' mouth curves up at one side. "Nothing, just...that was kind of

you." "Yeah, maybe, but it was also unfair of me to do."
"I don't think so."
Regulus huffs a weak laugh. "Yes, well, you wouldn't."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You see the best in people. In me."
"Not that hard to notice." James smiles at him, a crooked thing,

warm. "Impossible to miss, really."
"Debatable," Regulus says, and James opens his mouth like he's
about to argue, because of course he is, because of course he would,
but Regulus shakes his head. He reaches out and taps the corner of
the frame of the glasses, held folded in James' loose grip. "So, what
will you choose?"
James glances down at them, eyebrows furrowed. After a beat, he

looks back up. "You like my glasses."
"I do," Regulus admits. "Believe it or not, I just so happen to like you
even more, with or without them. Don't wear them for me, James.
Wear them for you, if you want to."
"I know it might seem stupid, but they—they helped me with the
timeline before," James confesses, and Regulus nods, because he
remembers James telling him that. "My glasses and my cane help me
get my bearings, but now so much has happened, and it's all—it gets
a bit confusing, honestly."
"So they don't help anymore?"
"Maybe with some more time to adjust, they will. But that's not all
my glasses do. I mean, I've worn them my whole life. I've needed
them, and it feels—it makes me uncomfortable that I don't anymore.
615
But they—they help me feel separate from the Hallow, does that
make sense?"
"They always took your glasses from you," Regulus murmurs.
"Yeah," James replies. "I want them back. I want—I want to need
them again. And I never will."
Regulus reaches down gently and takes the glasses, carefully

unfolding them and slowly sliding them onto James' face. They sit as
they have always sat, looking the exact same. Regulus gets a heart
flutter just looking at him. James swallows harshly, lips parting
around a deep exhale.
"Do you feel better wearing them?" Regulus asks. "Yes," James
whispers.
Regulus smiles. "Then you need them."
James gazes up at him with such wonder, such reverence, that maybe
Regulus should see it coming, what happens next. Yet, for some
reason, it takes him wholly by surprise. Just the quick slip of James'
hand around the back of his neck, tugging him down, and then
Regulus is being kissed.
Regulus hasn't left the infirmary, so he hasn't brushed his teeth.

James probably hasn't had the chance to use a toothbrush either.
Both of their mouths are stale, and it doesn't matter. They're not
kissing with tongue. It's just lips against lips, pressed together, a
warm weight. It's likely the tamest they've ever kissed, and they've
certainly kissed in filthier conditions, tongue-and-all, but this one.
This is the one. Oh, yes, this one fills Regulus with so much warmth
and love that he can feel it tingling in his very fingertips.
James pulls away just to peck him again, then kisses each corner of
his mouth, then along his jaw, his cheek, wherever he can reach.
Smothering him in soft, quick kisses that makes Regulus want to
squirm and laugh, so he does, warm from his hair to his toes. His
face is warmest of all.
616
Together
"James, James," Regulus gasps out through laughter, desperate now

to speak, to say something so devastatingly important he feared he
would never get to say again. "Stop, hold on, just—James, would
you—"
"Listen at you," James mumbles, chuckling. "I've never heard you

laugh so much. It's lovely. You're lovely."
"I love you," is what spills out of Regulus' mouth next, coasting out
on what sounds like a breathless giggle, but no less sincere for it.
James stops. He just stops, then pulls back to look at him, lips parted.
Regulus reaches up to cradle his face, staring into his eyes. Those
pretty eyes of his. "I love you, James. I loved you from the start, I
love you now, and I'll love you for as long as love is something that
exists—and, if it ever stops existing, I'll reinvent it just for you."
James bites down on his lip, then licks them, eyes bright. He exhales
shakily, nodding. "Okay. Yeah, okay. I—well, you see, I'm trying not
to—" His voice cracks, so he clears his throat with effort. "I'm trying
not to cry, and I have to say, love, you're making that very difficult at
the moment."
"I'd apologize, except I'm not actually sorry. I mean it, James. I love
you so much," Regulus murmurs.
"Fucking hell," James breathes out, "are you—so you'll just be saying
that all the time, then? Is that —it's a thing now?"
"Well, I'm trying not to lie to you anymore," Regulus admits, lips
curling up. "Telling the truth is a good place to start."
James groans and tips his head forward, leaning into him, holding
on. Regulus cards his fingers through James' hair and whispers the
truth in his ear over and over, saying it and saying it and saying it.
Feeling it. Letting himself feel it.
I love you, I love you, I love you. He does, and he does, and he does.
Love as a verb, because it's something you do. Regulus is doing it.
617
He's been doing it for a long time. Maybe not in the best way
throughout, not always, but doing it all the same.
He's going to keep doing it, too, and get better at it all the while.
He'll try and try and try, and that's enough.
For both of them, from both of them, that's enough. ~•~
Remus is not having a very good day, despite the rather healing
conversation he had with James earlier.
Lily is mad at him. Well, she's been mad at him pretty much ever
since he ran into the room full of biological warfare, and she's doubly
mad at him for running into gunfire and smoke because he refused
to leave James behind, and he gets her anger. He really does. They've
only just gotten each other back, and to come so close to the
realization that they could easily lose each other again is infuriating,
likely even more so for her, because he was the one who was taking
insane risks.
He really does get it, because he was sort of mad at James for the
same thing, in a way. And, sure, Lily sat all of that aside while on the
mission, but they're back now, and she's pissed.
"What were you thinking?" Lily had hissed at him.
"I wasn't," Remus had confessed.
Lily's voice had been so cold when she said, "Yeah, you never
fucking do, do you?"
In any case, her anger only got worse when she found out that he
was planning to let Dumbledore use his blood, in the same line of
thinking about Sirius on the whole matter. He knows it comes from a
place of love, worrying about him, but there is a bigger picture here.
If he can help make sure more people won't be slaughtered at
Riddle's hands, he has to do that. It doesn't matter if he's afraid, if the
mere idea of being yet another experiment makes him feel sick,
618
Together
because he could help people. Children, innocents, the very people

he loves.
It seemed to soothe Lily a bit that she was allowed to put the limit on
how much blood he can donate. She put her foot down and said that
he can only give one pint every eight weeks, but he can give a small
sample of his blood as needed, though no more than three times in a
week. Remus thinks this is a little extreme, but she went on about red
blood cells and how long it takes them to regenerate, along with
other medical science stuff that he didn't argue with her about.
However, by estimate, one pint of his blood is five hundred

milliliters, and it can be used in two milliliter injections to give
immunity to around two hundred and fifty people.
Despite everything, Remus can't help but feel that there's something
really special about that. He also put his foot down and told
Dumbledore that all the children in the Phoenix have to be
immunized first, along with all the freed servants, the rescued
tributes and those that went in to
break them out, everyone from district six, and those that escaped
the Hallow. After that—and only after that—can Dumbledore use it
however he sees fit, on whoever he sees fit, including himself.
That probably only leaves approximately one hundred people, at

most, but Remus is the one giving his blood, so he demands to have
some say in how it's used, just this much at least. The children will
be safe. Those he loves will be safe. Those who have already suffered
because of Riddle will be safe. Maybe it makes Remus selfish to
demand that, maybe it doesn't, but he honestly doesn't give a shit
either way. In the end, Dumbledore agreed to his terms, so that's
that.
Remus is set to give his donation later in the week, and he's
admittedly nervous about it. Lily has already stated that she'll be
there, but she's ignoring him otherwise because she's pissed at him.
The thing is, she's not the only one.
619
Sirius is mad at him, too.
On one hand, Remus gets it, because he knows it's not just that.
Remus knows it's really just anger Sirius feels for himself. It's that
Sirius hurt him. It wasn't his fault, and they all ended up okay in the
end, but of course Sirius isn't going to see it that way. He's blaming
himself, because of course he is.
Remus wants to fucking scream, because it's not fair, because he

doesn't want it to be like this. He wants to wrap his arms around
Sirius, run his hands through Sirius' hair, breathe him in and keep
him close and never let him go. It's been too long; Remus has spent
too long worrying about him, missing him, wanting so badly to have
him close again.
He's here, is the thing. Remus doesn't think Sirius wants to see him,
and Remus also doesn't care. He's just going to have to get over it.
Remus didn't spend fucking weeks missing him, lost without him,
just for him to get back and be stubborn enough, after everything, to
run away from their something.
No. Fuck that. They're not going to do that.
Remus can be wrong, as it turns out. Tragically inevitable and

woefully pointless, he called them, and maybe he was right at the
time he said it, maybe that's how they started out, but he'll be
damned if that's all they'll ever be.
The proper thing to do here, what Remus should do, is let Sirius
have more than one night to
adjust, maybe give him a little space, let him cool down and get his
bearings. The only thing is, Remus has never been very good at
being proper or doing what he should, has he? Hm, let's reframe
that, here and now. Make it positive. What it is, really, is that Remus
is very good at doing what he shouldn't in an improper manner, and
you know what? Good for him. It's a skill, at this point.
So, naturally, Remus hunts Sirius down.
620
Together
Sirius is somewhere in this bunker, and Remus knows he won't be

far away from Effie and Monty. Of course not, and he isn't. He's
practically right up under them in the Great Hall, sitting beside them
with Narcissa on the other side of the table.
For a beat, Remus hesitates to come closer. For one thing, Remus
hasn't really interacted with Narcissa, specifically, because—well, ah,
he killed her husband. He knows that Sirius once said she had no
love for Lucius, but still. Honestly, it's less cowardice that keeps him
from telling her it was him, because—if Sirius is to be believed—she
likely won't care or might even thank him; no, it's more that he might
have to revisit it, what he did, and have to acknowledge that he feels
exactly zero remorse about it whatsoever.
All around him, people are murderers—through war, through

self-defense, through survival. It weighs on them, despite their
reasons. Remus? Even without reason, it doesn't weigh on him at all.
He doesn't have nightmares about that, killing Lucius or Greyback,
and he doubts he'll have nightmares about any of the others he killed
on the most recent mission; he didn't last night, in any case. When it
comes to what he feels about being a killer, he feels—nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
His nightmares are riddled with his own torture, the loss of his
mother, of Lily, Sirius, James, his dad. Getting whipped, his scars
splitting back open and swallowing him whole. The empty eyes of
Hallow servants. The cold of Azkaban. The chair on the lower levels
and the mask strapped to his face.
Sometimes, Remus thinks that being a servant really fucked him up.
All the experiments. All the torture. Because while he knows that
killing is the worst thing he's ever done, he never quite feels bad
about doing it. He probably should. A lot of people do, here. Sirius
does.
But, the thing is, Remus has suffered at the hands of people who
wanted him to suffer, and he knows the difference between someone
who does what they have to, and someone who does what they want
to. He knows it intimately. It's a different perspective, and in war,
621
murder is commonplace. Remus thinks that he's been in war his
whole life, ever since Greyback came into it.
It infuriates Remus to think about the mark that man left on him, on
his life, how he shaped it, and how he shaped him. Somewhere out
there, long ago, there might have been a softer Remus, one who
didn't dive head-first into chaos and violence, one who never had to
to survive, one who would feel remorse for the blood staining his
hands. But they whipped that out of him. But it died with his
mother. But it was muzzled like a dog and left to snarl and foam at
the mouth, defiance building until he never misses a chance to bite.
But they silenced it, and he has found his voice, and now, now they
hear him scream.
So, no, Remus doesn't want to revisit it, or talk about it, or think
about it. He doesn't want to be a killer, but he doesn't care that he is,
and maybe he should. But he has seen worse things, experienced
worse things, and those weigh on him more than murder ever could.
Maybe someday, when this is all over and he's just an old man, he'll
look back and feel the remorse he should now. He welcomes the
thought, because he knows that will mean the war is over.
But, for now, the war is still waging, and he's remorseless. Maybe
he's selfish, too. Desperate. Because all he wants is Sirius, right now.
So, despite Narcissa's proximity, and despite how sure he is that
Sirius is avoiding him, Remus marches right up to him anyway.
"Sirius," Remus says firmly, and all heads swing towards him
immediately. Sirius' relaxed expression goes tense, and Remus resists
the urge to grind his teeth. "Can we talk?"
"I'm busy," Sirius replies shortly.
"Okay, allow me to rephrase," Remus corrects. "We need to talk."
Sirius huffs. "Oh, is that right?"
"I mean, we can do this here in front of an audience if you like,"

Remus says, raising his eyebrows.
622
Together
"Oh, fuck you," Sirius mutters.
"No, that we can't do in front of an audience," Remus drawls, and

something in his chest goes warm when Sirius' face starts to turn red.
Oh, that blush. There it is.
Effie proceeds to burst out laughing, then claps a hand over her
mouth like she's done something
unforgivable. Sirius looks betrayed instantly, only more so when

Monty goes into a coughing fit, trying to cover his own laughter.
Narcissa's lips curl up at the corners, amused.
Sirius glares at him. "I don't find you funny." "Shall I tell another sex
joke, or...?"
"Have you no shame?"
Remus arches an eyebrow, which is all it takes for Sirius' blush to

come back in full force and spread. Monty is practically wheezing at
this point, and Effie has buried her face in her arms. Narcissa is
grinning now, looking very entertained. It's not every day that
people get to see Sirius turn as red as a tomato, Remus thinks, which
is a shame. It's truly a sight to behold. Remus has missed it so much.
With a disgruntled sound, Sirius bolts to his feet, grumbling that he'll
be back soon enough, complaining under his breath as he follows
Remus along. He stays one step behind him the whole way, refusing
to come too close, arms crossed over his chest defensively, expression
set into something closely resembling a pout. It's adorable.
Remus leads Sirius to his room, waiting for him to step in before
closing the door. He neatly steps around Sirius, careful not to brush
against him, respecting his boundaries.
"What?" Sirius bites out. "Talk."
623
"Sit," Remus orders as he takes his own spot on the edge of the bed.
He gestures beside him, and Sirius stares at it, squinting suspiciously
like getting too close would be a trap. They're both stubborn enough
to wait each other out, a challenge, but Remus isn't budging. He's
more stubborn when the situation calls for it, believe it or not.
Finally, Sirius caves and moves over with a warning glare, plopping
down next to Remus with space between them, holding his arms out
rather childishly and announcing, in a mocking tone, "I'm sat."
"Good job," Remus praises, as equally mocking as Sirius.
"Fuck—" Sirius stops, thinks about it, then turns red. He drops his
arms, looking away. "Look, I'm not...pleased with you at the
moment, so maybe it's best if we don't do this now."
"I'm not waiting." Remus takes a deep breath, then slowly lets it out.
He softens his voice. "I'm done waiting, Sirius."
Sirius' face screws up, and he squeezes his eyes shut, then proceeds
to blurt out, "We have to break up."
"Mm, no," Remus says.
"No." Sirius blinks open his eyes. He swivels his head, slowly. Stares
at Remus. Blinks and blinks.
"No?"
Remus nods. "Yeah. No. We don't have to."
"Well..." Sirius sits on that for a moment, looking a little lost. He

opens and closes his mouth, eyebrows pinching together. It takes
him a truly adorable length of time to clear his throat and set his
shoulders. "Well, we are. So."
"Are we?"
"Yes."
624
Together
"Look me in the eye, then," Remus says. "Look at me when you break
up with me."
Sirius peeks at him, then quickly looks away. He's chewing on his
lip. "What does eye-contact have to do with a breakup? Is that, like,
required? I've never dumped anyone before."
"Yes, I can tell," Remus replies dryly. "You're rather shit at it."
"I am doing my best," Sirius hisses.
Remus sighs, helplessly fond. "Sirius, stop. You're not breaking up

with me."
"I am," Sirius counters weakly. "I am, literally as we speak. This is a
breakup. You should be crying. Why aren't you crying?"
"You don't want to break up with me; you just feel you have to,
because you hit me," Remus announces bluntly.
Sirius' whole body locks up immediately. He looks like he wants to

bolt, his throat convulsing on a harsh swallow. There is shame in his
eyes when he looks at Remus, finally, utterly pitiful. "Remus,
I'm—I—"
"You were strapped to the chair," Remus begins to explain, holding

his gaze. "The fog filled the whole room, so we couldn't see each
other. When I removed your restraints, you slammed your palm into
my chest. I inhaled reflexively, and you pushed me into the tray by
the chair, then tried to hit me. I dodged, you elbowed me in the
chest, tried to hit me again, then shoved me against a wall."
"Oh, fuck," Sirius wheezes, looking horrified. "Remus—"
"I thought maybe you just didn't know it was me and couldn't hear
me, but I knew it was you. I knew it was you when I tackled you and
slammed you against the window," Remus continues, and Sirius
blinks.
625
"That doesn't count. That's self-defense. I was attacking you." "That's
when you hit me."
Sirius practically whimpers. "I'm so sor—"
"And then I shoved you, pinned you there, and heard you
breathing," Remus carries on, his voice light. "Very confusing for me,
you understand, but I didn't really have much time to think about it,
because you whirled me around into the door, then kicked me right
through it. I have a bruise in the shape of your boot on my chest."
"Oh, oh shit, Remus," Sirius gasps out, his hands shaking as he

reaches for him, only to curl his trembling fingers into fists and pull
away. He has tears in his eyes.
"You followed me out," Remus murmurs. "I saw you, and I knew
immediately that you weren't really there at the time. You'd slipped
away. You looked at me with no recognition, and then you crawled
into my lap. Put one hand on the top of my head. One hand under
my chin. Got ready to snap my neck."
"No. No, no, no," Sirius chokes out, and he comes up off the bed, a
burst of motion. He paces, hyperventilating, hands in his hair,
wild-eyed. A mess. A beautiful mess, as always.
Remus exhales. "Listen to me, Sirius. You could have killed me, but
you didn't. I could have died, but I didn't. Things could have
happened, but they didn't."
"I hurt you," Sirius rasps. "That did happen. That—"
"I didn't blame you, I still don't, because it wasn't your choice. You
didn't choose to hurt me," Remus says softly, standing up and
ducking his head to chase Sirius' ashamed gaze, catching it and
holding it. "But this? What you're doing now hurts me, and it is a
choice. You're actively making that choice, because you can't forgive
yourself, and that punishes me, too. Do you hear me? You're
choosing to hurt me now."
626
Together
With something bordering on a whine, Sirius shakes his head, chest

stuttering on his shaky breathing. "I can't. I can't do it, Remus. I—I
can't. You could have died. It doesn't matter if it's out of my control
or not. You could have died. If you had, if I was at fault for it, do you
have any idea what I would have done? I would have gone insane. I
would have—I would—I wouldn't survive that. Not losing you. I
love you. Oh fuck, I love you so much, and I—I can't hurt you
again—I gave you bruises, but not the fun kind, not—"
Remus huffs in frustration. "Sweetheart, I love you, I do, but you're

putting a lot more weight on this than me. I'm—I don't want to be
insensitive, I really don't, but I genuinely do not give a shit that you
hit me. Like, at all. Because, rationally, it wasn't done by your choice;
it wasn't done because you want to hurt me; it wasn't done out of
violence you had any control over. I'm not scared of you. My trust in
you hasn't fractured. It doesn't hurt, and the bruise will fade, but I'm
not going to stop missing you. Or loving you. So, please let it go.
Please."
"I need you to care about yourself more," Sirius demands.
"I do care about myself. For fuck's sake, I've been tortured multiple
times," Remus snaps. "Sorry if
a little bitch hit from my boyfriend doesn't quite compare." Sirius'

mouth drops open.
"It's my body," Remus continues, worked up now. "I decide what I'll
accept and what I won't. A couple of fucking bruises is nothing,
Sirius. It's a laugh, actually. Take a whip to my back and then we'll
talk."
"I—fucking hell," Sirius breathes out. "Remus—"
"Do you want me to hit you in the face?" Remus asks, and Sirius
shuts up, giving a violent blink. "Is that what you want? Do we need
to, what, settle some sort of score here? Get even? You hit me, I hit
you, guilt absolved?"
627
"What?" Sirius chokes out, eyes bulging.
"If you want," Remus says slowly, holding Sirius' gaze, mouth
wrapping around each word like he's tasting every letter, "I will
actually slap the shit out of you."
"Remus," Sirius gasps, all dramatic-like, mouth hanging open. His

cheeks are flushed. Rosy. All the way down his throat.
"Do you get what I'm saying?" Remus asks, feeling like he's about to
rip his own hair out, because they're going in circles and getting
nowhere, and it's making him feel like he's about to cry. "It's not a big
deal to me, okay? I—it doesn't mean I don't care about myself or my
well-being, because I do. If I didn't, I wouldn't grant myself the
freedom to beg you now, and I'm begging. I'm begging, because
what's worse than you hitting me is these last few weeks without
you, and I'm tired of it. I can't do it anymore. I care about myself so
much that I'm asking for you, because I need you, alright? I—I need
you to be here. I need you to hold me. I need—I—Sirius—"
"Remus," Sirius says, strained, and Remus' vision is blurry, so

worked up now that the feeling that
he's about to cry has become his reality, the tears building and his
body shaking like he's about to rattle apart.
"Look at the fucking world we live in," Remus chokes out, his
shoulders heaving. "It's death and blood and pain everywhere, so
this? What even is this, in all of that? Not your fault, or mine, that's
for sure. We're in war, Sirius. It's war out there, now, and maybe it
always has been. So, please, please, let me have the freedom of peace
here, with you." He steps closer and wants so badly to reach for
Sirius, but won't move an inch. He would never force it. "We—we
never thought we'd have this, and now we have it. We have it,
sweetheart. We're not in the Hallow. We're as free as we can get right
now, more free than we've ever been, and you said—you told me
you'd live for me."
"I did live for you," Sirius gasps out. "I really did. I do."
628
Together
"So let's just—let's live, together," Remus says, plaintively, his voice
so tight it threatens to snap between his teeth. "I'm not—I don't want
to pressure you or push your boundaries or force you into anything
you're not ready for. If you don't want to touch me, that's one thing,
but if you hold yourself back out of guilt and fear, to punish yourself,
then I can't accept that. Sirius, you deserve better than that. We
deserve better than that. Whatever you need, you have it.
Forgiveness? It's yours. I forgive you even if you're not at fault."
Sirius swallows harshly and opens his eyes, eyebrows wrinkled in

the middle. His hands are flexing at his sides, fingers trembling.
"You—you have to let me train you."
"Train—I—what?" Remus blinks, nearly startled right out of his

tears. "Train me. You want to train me?"
"Yes," Sirius says firmly, taking a deep breath and setting his
shoulders. "Train you to fight me." "Sirius—"
"No. No, Remus, listen to me. I can't—the loss of control is too much,
and this is all that I can think of that will help. Because I can't control
when I'm myself and when I'm not, but I can make sure you're ready
for anything that I could ever throw at you. I—I want you to be able
to beat me. Not kill me, I know you'd never, but incapacitate me, and
quickly. I want you to be able to do it half-asleep and blindfolded,
when I have a weapon or don't, when I'm not holding back. That
way I know you'll be able to stop me from hurting you if—if—"
"Okay," Remus cuts in.
"Okay?" Sirius repeats, his voice small.
Remus takes a deep breath and nods. "Yes, okay. You can train me, if
that will make you feel better. If that's what you need, then that's
what we'll do. But I won't hurt you, Sirius. If you're going to do this,
then you're going to show me how to do it without causing damage."
629
"I—yes, alright," Sirius mumbles. "We'll—we can ask Effie for help.
She's really good."
"This is just a precaution, you know," Remus whispers. "It only

happened once. Every other time you were triggered, you weren't
violent. It was in the aftermath of torture, Sirius. I really don't think
it's going to happen again."
Sirius shrugs, stubborn as ever. "I don't care. I need you to be

prepared. That's what I need, because I need you to be okay, and I
need to never fucking hurt you again."
"It wasn't your fault."
"Maybe not, but it was my hands."
Remus sighs and tips his head back, blinking hard to fight the tears
still stinging in his eyes. "Is this —so, what? We can't move past this?
We can't even work on it? Or try? This is it?"
There's a long beat of silence, and then Sirius sounds close to tears
when he whimpers, "Well, don't —don't say that. Now it sounds like
you're breaking up with me."
"Doesn't feel good, does it?" Remus croaks, dropping his head
forward, his heart clenching violently when he sees how splotchy
Sirius has gotten, eyes wide and wet. He looks so upset. "I need to
know, Sirius. I need to know if—if—"
"Okay, no, I'm—I'm sorry. I take it back," Sirius decides, and he

shuffles forward carefully, tentatively. He doesn't reach out and
touch Remus, but he seems to just—fall into him. Lean on him. He
hooks his chin over Remus' shoulder and releases a shuddering
breath when Remus' arms
slip around him all the way, holding him, and yes. Yes, this is it. This
is all Remus wants. This right here. Something. "We don't have to
break up. I was being stupid. We'll just—we can figure it out."
630
Together
"Thank you," Remus exhales all at once, sagging against him.
"Oh, oh, you—" Sirius makes a sound like a whine, lips brushing
Remus' jaw, and then he's peppering kisses all down the side of
Remus' neck. Careful and sweet, but greedy. He chokes a little,
groaning, and then—finally—like a flood, Sirius touches him. His
hands press against Remus' shoulders, so tender, so adoring.
"Remus. Remus."
Remus doesn't even really get to respond before Sirius cups his jaw
and tilts his face with urgency, his mouth finding its way to the
bruise his fist left behind. Remus' eyes flutter shut, lips parting
around a sigh, and Sirius kisses him there so gently like he can wipe
the violence away. A world of violence they live in, of course there's
some spillage over into them, in who they are themselves and who
they are together, but this means so much more. It means something.
It means
everything.
Sirius is frantic, then, but meticulous. He eases Remus back to the

bed and makes him take off his shirt so he can kiss the bruise from
his boot, too. Every inch, even where it's ugly, he kisses and kisses
and kisses. It doesn't hurt, but it makes Remus ache, because he
knows Sirius needs to do it. Needs to face what he did when he
didn't even really do it at all, and apologize when he's not to blame,
because he's Sirius, and that's what he does. And so Remus lets him.
Remus lays there and lets Sirius do this for him, and for himself.
Another thing about Sirius is that he's thorough. He doesn't do

anything halfway. So, naturally, he makes Remus turn over to kiss all
the scars on his back, too, despite not being responsible for them. It
doesn't matter. He's sorry about them as well, and Remus knows it.
Because he cares so, so much; he cares more than anyone Remus has
ever known.
And maybe Remus is selfish and perhaps enjoying this far too much,
because when Sirius asks if he has any new scars, he kicks out of his
trousers and shows Sirius where they cut the tracker out of his thigh.
Sirius kisses the jagged line with reverence, like he can capture all
631
the pain Remus has ever felt with the surface of his lips and swallow
it down himself, keep it all himself so Remus doesn't have to.
Last—oh, yes, Sirius saves the scar on his face for last. He crawls up
and cradles Remus' head, holding him still. Kisses every part of that
scar, from where it cuts through his eyebrow to where it meets his
lip. Sirius doesn't kiss his mouth, but once he's done, he sags like all
of his strings have been cut and rests his forehead against Remus'.
They breathe.
"You have to let me do that whenever I want, whenever we're alone

together, I mean," Sirius whispers. "Can you do that?"
"I don't know. It's such a hardship," Remus jokes. His voice comes
out croaky. He doesn't know why, but he just cried. Somewhere in all
of that, he cried, and felt—he felt so—he can't even describe what he
felt. Love, maybe. Wholly and completely loved. Cherished. Adored.
Sirius rocks their foreheads together. Lets their noses bump. Exhales
sharply. "Always fucking with me, aren't you?"
"I'll do it until we're old and grey," Remus murmurs.
"If we get there," Sirius whispers.
Remus strokes his hair. "We'll get there."
632
16
DAY-BY-DAY
______
Aberforth watches James, Sirius, and Regulus shuffle into the room,
each of them looking very,
very worn out. Visibly tired. The picture of exhaustion. Albus can't
even let them rest?
It makes Aberforth itchy. These are his people. These three here are
his; district six, born and raised, and he saw it all. He has seen them
when they were no bigger than knee-high, running around and
giggling with each other, so innocent then, having no idea that they'd
end up here.
Aberforth wants to snap at Albus to leave them alone, at least for a

damn week or two. How can Albus look at them and not see
himself? How can he look at them and only see what they can give?
Haven't they given enough?
"Take your seats," Albus murmurs, watching them do just that over
the top of his glasses. That boy —Regulus—has his jaw clenched; he
looks tense, ready to spring, gaze locked on Albus like he's more
than willing to come across the table and kill him if he says or does
something wrong to the other boys next to him. "I know you're all
very tired, so I'll keep this short. I don't intend to hold any of you
from well-deserved rest."
Aberforth grunts and squints at him suspiciously, but Albus seems

entirely sincere. That's the thing about him, though.
633
He always does.
"James, I must speak with you first," Albus starts, and James blinks,
seeming to rejoin earth. He looks mildly startled to be here, reaching
up to touch his glasses fleetingly. "Allow me to introduce myself. My
name is Albus Dumbledore, and I'm the one who created the Order
of the Phoenix."
James blinks at him, then says, "Er, I know. Dorcas told me."
"I see." Albus gazes at him for a moment, then leans forward to
thread his hands together on the table. Something about the action
makes Sirius narrow his eyes. "I have to ask, when you were with
Riddle, what information did you give him?"
"Ah," James chokes out, freezing in place, tension blooming in his

frame immediately. "I—I didn't —"
"Fuck you," Sirius spits out. "You're accusing him of—" "Leave him
alone. You know he was coerced," Regulus hisses.
Albus sighs and lifts a calm hand. "That was not an accusation.
James, I assure you that you're in no trouble, and it's not your fault.
I'm merely asking so I can be prepared."
"I—" James looks nauseous. "I—I swear I didn't really give him
anything. I, um. I gave him as little as possible, just to scrape by.
That's why he started making me do broadcasts, but he probably
would have no matter what I gave him."
"Yes, I imagine so. He fully intended to never release you from his
manipulations; it was a cycle you were trapped in, and not one you
could break free from. You did your best," Albus says, and James
swallows, some of the tension bleeding out of him. Sirius settles
down as well, minutely. Regulus doesn't at all. "I don't blame you for
whatever you gave him in the endeavor to save Sirius. I just need to
know what it was."
"Um," James mumbles, wincing.
634
Day-by-Day
"It's alright, James," Albus assures him. "I'm assuming that Ms.
Meadowes explained everything about the Order?"
"Yes, sir," James admits cautiously.
"Including that there are stations we use in each district?" "Yes, sir."
"Did you tell Riddle that?" Albus asks.
James coughs. "No, sir."
"Did Ms. Meadowes tell you an estimate of our numbers?" "Yes, sir."
"And did you inform Riddle of that?"
"No, sir."
"Did Ms. Meadowes tell you that we're aware of Riddle's use of
biological warfare and intend to create immunity here?"
"Yes, sir."
"Did you tell Riddle that?" "No, sir."
"He's not a fucking idiot," Regulus snaps. "Maybe he's not the best
liar, but he knows how to talk around things, and talk himself out of
things. Has it crossed your mind to think that maybe he gave Riddle
the bare minimum?"
"Yeah," Sirius agrees firmly, "James wouldn't just dump all the
secrets, especially if it put Reggie in danger. No one is better at
keeping secrets than him, honestly."
James gives a small, sheepish smile. "That's a bit true. Can't lie to
save my life, but I can lie to save theirs, and I can always keep a
secret. I mean, I went ten years without telling my own best friend I
was in love with his brother. Frankly, I'm a pro."
635
Albus stares at James and slowly tips his head forward to peer at
him over his glasses. "So...what did you give Riddle?"
"Ah," James says awkwardly. He reaches up and scratches at the side

of his neck. "Well, er—you, sir."
"Pardon?" Albus asks, blinking.
"I gave him you," James informs him, face scrunching in a clear
apology. "I told him you were still alive, and that you run the Order
of the Phoenix, and that you've been planning to wage war against
him for over fifty years now."
Aberforth waits for the laughter that should be crawling up his

throat. He waits to find this funny, because isn't that so funny?
Albus, after years of hiding, is in danger. Isn't that hilarious? Where's
the laughter? Why isn't Aberforth laughing?
And it's not as if Albus is truly in danger, untouchable in the Phoenix

as he is. Someday he may leave it, yes, but likely not until the war is
won. Riddle may wish to target him, but he'll be safe. And yet,
despite knowing this, Aberforth feels...
Aberforth feels slightly ill. It's supposed to be funny; it's ironic and
deserved, perfect karma for Riddle to be aware of Albus' place in all
of this, and likely want to hurt him. He'll likely take the very first
chance he can get to hurt Albus, in some way or another, and
Aberforth isn't laughing. He's not even breathing.
"Well," Albus says lightly, eyes sparkling, "I have to thank you for
judging the situation so well and giving the least damaging
information you could. You handled that very well, and I can only
commend you for it. I'll let all of you go now; I believe you all know
how steeped into this war you are, and how your efforts can
contribute to ending it faster and more safely, so I will need your
help in the future—all of you. For now, though, you all deserve
plenty of rest. Thank you."
636
Day-by-Day
They all stand, visibly happy to be dismissed, pushing in their chairs

and heading swiftly for the door, only for James to gasp and whirl
around as he announces, "Oh, I forgot!"
"Something else?" Albus asks.
"Right, yeah, I also gave Riddle one other thing." James winces again
and looks right at Aberforth. "Dorcas mentioned you were still alive,
so when Riddle—when he asked if my parents made it out of district
six, instead of them, I told him you managed to make it out and back
to your brother. Er, sorry, Mayor Aberforth. I...gave him you, too."
All the light in Albus' eyes is immediately extinguished, and when

he watches it go out, Aberforth finally laughs.
~•~
James is very tired. It's a strange sort of tired. A world-weary tired

that he's never experienced before, in which people all around are
draining him, sapping him of energy.
Not that long ago—in the grand scheme of things—James felt

rejuvenated by people. Like they were batteries that could keep him
running forever, their laughter when he told a joke pushing him to
tell another, their happiness when he did something to please them
making him want to please them more. Talking—the voice of life,
chatter and communication, a form of caring about people,
engaging with them and listening to them. Just being around people
was enough to keep him going; oh, he could go for ages and ages,
because his smiles came easier and his mind was a lot lighter.
Now... Well, now it takes effort. A lot of effort. Because it's not
laughter and chatter and being pleased. It's grief and fear. It's
concern for him, the state of the world, and what's coming. Now is
not the time for laughter, nor the time for meaningless talks, and no
one is fully pleased anymore, not really.
637
His mind is certainly a lot darker than it's ever been. He won't tell
anyone—can't tell anyone—but he remembers how it felt. He
remembers the explosion. He remembers the smell of his own
burning flesh, and how—oh, how it felt—it felt like the worst pain to
exist. James has always hated pain and never truly knew it before the
arena, before that bear trap, but it was a trap of pain he would never
be free from. Because, from that moment on, the pain he would be
forced to experience would only increase until it reached this point,
the peak, blazing like the caricature of the sun he is. Oh, the irony.
It still hurts, in his memory. It was searing, scorching, scalding; any

word you can think of, it was that. Unfathomable and
mind-consuming—it was that, too, because he couldn't think around
it, or past it. That's how he knows it was the worst thing he's ever
felt, because in the midst of all that agony, he couldn't even drag
himself from the ashes of his own thoughts to think about anyone he
loved in what he believed was his last moments. He thought he was
dying, and all he could think about was how much it hurt.
James doesn't remember blacking out, but he's thankful he did. It

was a kindness, he thinks, because he only felt the pain for a few
minutes. Just—at the time—it was so agonizing that you could have
fit years in those minutes.
And no, James doesn't want to talk about it. He's tired of talking
about pain. It's there now in his everyday life. He never knew pain
before the arena, and he has carried it with him every moment since.
A cane to use for a leg that hurts, a grief that clings to him for
everyone lost, so many people lost, now. Vanity, Hodge, Peter, Irene,
Mathias, Evan, Frank, Augusta, that servant who got shot he'll never
know the name of, all because he dared to touch them, dared to try
to talk to them. People from his home district, and people from other
districts, and people, and people, and people —and James is drained,
now, by people. Drained, now, by pain.
He's so very tired.
Also, he's still healing. His body is sore and raw, and he aches all
over, but the burns are gone. It just hurts to move if he does it too
fast, and so he's a bit slow at the moment. They got his old cane back
to him, the one he used to trap Remus and the others in the back of
638
Day-by-Day
the van, and it's comforting to have it again. Sirius made him this
cane. A lot like his glasses, he's relieved to have it
back. It helps settle him, somehow.
There were a lot of people who wanted to see him. He has many
friends from home, to start with. Mary and Bingley, for example, but
even just various kids from the classes he would sit in on as Mary's
assistant, as well as various people from the market. All these
people, he's brightened their lives, and they want to talk to him,
make sure he's okay, promise him that he has their support and
loyalty. So, he smiles and nods and talks, and he can't recall one
moment of any interaction he has by the time it's over. He feels like
he's on autopilot.
For now, James really just wants to be left alone.
This becomes blatantly obvious when Effie tenderly strokes over his
hair and asks if he's doing okay, only for him to nearly burst into
tears, because no, not really. So, he kisses his mum on the cheek,
winces through a stubborn hug to his dad, then grabs Regulus' hand
and asks him to take him to bed.
Regulus does, in fact, take James to bed. Takes him to his room in
this metal tin can beneath the dirt. A room with only the bare
necessities—a bed, a dresser, a nightstand, a lamp, and that is all.
There's no notebooks for sad boy poetry, no vase for flowers, no
signs of Regulus anywhere here. But Regulus is here, in the room,
and that's enough. More than, honestly.
Regulus not only takes James to bed, he fusses over James in bed.
Fluffs his pillow with a frown. Leaves and comes back with another
pillow he claims he didn't steal, but James looks in his eyes and
knows he's lying. Fluffs both of James' pillows and frowns harder.
Smooths out his blanket like the wrinkles are the height of
discomfort. Fluffs the pillows again, frowning so very beautifully.
639
James watches him do all of this, and lets him, and loves him. It
amuses him. Warms him. He lets it go on for probably a bit too long,
just basking in it, how comforting it is. And then, finally, he grabs
Regulus' wrist and coaxes him into bed.
Regulus doesn't drain him.
Regulus makes him feel safe.
Regulus curls into him so very gingerly and looks at him. Cards his
fingers through James' hair. Gazes at him like he's all the wonders of
the world. Touches the frames of James' glasses gently, like it even
matters if they're broken, as if James actually depends on them.
Stares with stars in his
eyes, fixated on James like he's the centerpoint of the universe.
It's almost too much, seeing him like this, and James doesn't dare
look away. Regulus is so visibly in love with him that it steals his
breath. James used to dream of this. All that it's taken to get here, all
that pain, and to have this—it's worth it.
"Tired?" Regulus murmurs.
"Yeah," James admits.
"Are you ready to sleep?"
"Not that kind of tired."
Regulus hums, instantly getting it. "Well, that's alright. We can hole
up in here for a few days, and just rest. You're meant to be
recuperating anyway. No one will bother you."
"No?" James asks, lips twitching. "Why's that?"
"I won't let them," Regulus says simply, like it's a fact, like it's law
because he has made it so.
640
Day-by-Day
"What are you going to do? Beat them all off with a stick?"
"If I have to. You'll let me borrow your cane, won't you?"
James snorts. "I'm not encouraging you to beat the shit out of people
on my behalf, Reg. You're taking your role as protective fiancé very
seriously, which is cute, but—"
"James?" Regulus asks, when James has come to a screeching halt,

just staring at him, wide-eyed. "We're engaged," James states, feeling
his whole mood do an instant pivot. "You're my fiancé."
"Yes," Regulus confirms, lips curling up.
James holds his breath, dangerously close to screaming, but he

doesn't. He just grins and feels so immeasurably good about this that
he's almost baffled by it, because he hasn't felt this good since
—since—oh, he can't remember the last time he felt this good.
Maybe...the night of the Quarterly Memorial, before the
announcement. It's been months.
"Sex really isn't on the table right now, but we are going to have so
much sex about this later," James announces.
"Oh, are we?" Regulus asks, huffing out a laugh, a smile winding its
way on his face. His gaze is warm, playful, soft with love. Oh, he's so
sickeningly in love, just look at him. James wants to swallow him
whole. "Good to know."
"You're my fiancé. We're going to get married," James says, and it's
here that it finally, fully sinks in until he's giddy with it, feeling it hit
him all at once, and all he can do is spend a ridiculous amount of
time repeating this declaration over and over in different tones of
victory and excitement, because holy shit, Regulus Black is his fiancé
and they're going to get married and his fifteen year old self is losing
his fucking mind right now.
641
It is, quite literally, his longest dream come true. Years. Over a
fucking decade. He's spent so long loving Regulus, wanting these
things and being so sure he'd never get them, and it's wild and
inexplicable how they've ended up here. There's a war on, and James
wants to plan his wedding.
Regulus indulges him, laughing at how happy he is, teasing him a

little as if James can't see how fucking happy he is clear as day. He's
all lit up with it, glowing, absolutely ethereal in his joy. And it
doesn't make sense, because James was burning alive yesterday, and
Regulus thought he was dead yesterday, and they both know so
much pain—but look, just look at what love can do, look at what
hope paying off feels like. And yes, yes, things will be rough, and
they're not okay, but for this one moment, that doesn't matter. It's just
this. Just them.
James puts his hands all over Regulus, touching him and losing
himself to the curiosity of getting to do such a thing when they're
both happy like this. It's so rare, so special, and this moment is satin
sunshine he can run his fingers over. And he does. He brushes
Regulus' hair out of his face, cups his jaw, buries his nose into the
crook of Regulus' neck and inhales sharp enough to make Regulus
squirm and laugh. He wrestles with him, gently, playfully. They
grapple at each other, fingers spider-crawling all over the body they
know as well as their own, laughing breathlessly and letting
sweet-nothings tumble from their mouth until someone—and who
knows who?—gets the brilliant idea to muffle everything with a kiss.
And there. Yes, right there. The world swirls away as James' eyes
flutter shut, hands sliding around Regulus, up his back as Regulus
winds his arms around him and kisses him until they're both
breathless for a new reason. Then kisses him some more. Kisses and
kisses him. Insatiable, but not like he's trying to quench an
unquenchable hunger, but simply as if he's savoring every single
second of the taste.
They do that until they don't have to keep doing that, and then do
that some more, just because. They kiss lazily, just because. They
642
Day-by-Day
breathe the same air, just because. They lay there pressed together,
just because. They're in love, just because.
Later, later, much later, James is so relaxed that he's sincerely sleepy
now. Not quite as tired the way he was before, but genuinely worn
out enough to cover up, block out the world, cuddle up to his fiancé,
and fall into oblivion. He can't think of anything he would like to do
more.
Regulus makes him get up, because he's mean.
"Why?" James—well, he whines. This is whining, and he knows it.

He pouts, too, and doesn't even give a shit.
"Oh, don't start. It's for your benefit," Regulus tells him, rolling his
eyes as he starts stripping the bed, gathering up the pillows and
blankets. "Here, help me with the mattress."
"What are we doing? Why are we moving the bed?" James asks
miserably. He would like to crawl back into the bed, not lift it up and
carry it away, as Regulus clearly intends to do.
"We're going to Sirius and Remus' room," Regulus announces

casually. "You'll sleep better with Sirius close by."
James stares at him. "I'll sleep better with Sirius close by." "You want
to be near him."
"Do I?"
"Yes," Regulus states with utmost certainty.
"Love," James says gently, "I think you're projecting."
Regulus frowns. "Am not. So, what, you don't want to be close to
Sirius?" James doesn't even get to reply before Regulus waves him
off. "Yes, you do. Shut up."
643
Helplessly, James watches Regulus putter around, feeling a tender
flare beneath his ribs, because yes, James would like to be near
Sirius, of course he would. But...it wasn't James who even considered
it. No, that's all Regulus, who has severe abandonment issues, and
it's almost heartbreaking how desperately he wants to be around
Sirius as much as possible, but won't confess it. Would sooner project
onto James than accept it himself.
"You know," James starts, keeping his voice light, "there's nothing
wrong with wanting to have a sleepover with your brother,
Regulus."
"Shut up," Regulus hisses, appalled. "Don't point it out."
James' face softens. "You have nothing to be ashamed of. I think we'll
all be better off together
right now."
"I—I'm just—" Regulus stops, swallowing harshly as he looks down.

His fingers tremble on the edge of the mattress.
"Reg," James says gently.
Slowly, Regulus looks up to meet his eyes, his voice so terribly small
when he whispers, "I only just got him back."
"I know," James murmurs.
"And you. And even Remus. And I just—" Regulus exhales sharply
and looks away. "I just want to
be sure, okay? If—if I need to check that you're all here, it's easier to
do if we're all together, and I have to check right now. I have to make
sure, because it's—it's the only thing that makes me feel —"
"Safe?" James asks quietly.
"Yeah," Regulus croaks. "Safe."
644
Day-by-Day
James moves over with his cane to take the pillows and folded
blanket, somehow managing to hold it under his free arm and still
lean in to kiss Regulus' forehead. James lingers there for a bit, and
Regulus closes his eyes, pressing into it. When James pulls back, he
nods. "Okay, love, we'll go."
And so, they do. And Remus answers the door. And Remus lets
them in. And Sirius releases a reflexive exhale of relief when they
show up. And Regulus says James wanted a sleepover. And James
nods along to this. And no one laughs for fear of breaking the
miracle of this moment, all being together again, not just
people—but brothers and friends and lovers and love and safety.
And, regardless of age, they have their sleepover with James and
Regulus on the mattress on the floor and Sirius and Remus in their
bed, Regulus and Sirius on the edges of their respective beds closest
to each other, all of them breathing in the dark, for a moment
untouched by war.
And, for the first time in a while, they're safe.
~•~
A lot happens in the aftermath of James and Sirius getting back.

Even more happens in the aftermath of their little sleepover where
four men piled into a room and dared to believe that they'd get at
least one night of rest.
All throughout that night, tremors ran through Sirius' body; he

tossed and turned and repeatedly swapped between plastering
himself against Remus and putting as much space between them as
the bed would allow. In the end, halfway through the night, Sirius
literally just got out of bed and slept on the floor down by James and
Regulus, which wasn't exactly how Remus imagined their first night
sleeping together would go. Yet, all he did was hang his hand over
the side of the bed in offering, and at some point, Sirius must have
taken it, because when Remus woke up, it was to their fingers
tangled together.
None of them had gotten much sleep that night, honestly. James was
achy and sore, so he had to
645
get up and down to walk around with his cane quite a lot. Regulus
would randomly sit up and peer through the dark because he was
checking that everyone was there. Remus had too much on his mind
to sleep easy. And Sirius—well, Sirius ended up on the floor. They all
jerked awake from paranoia or nightmares or both at least once,
though of course it wasn't just once.
It feels unfair that things are this hard. It was foolish to entertain the
belief that they'd all get back together and everything would be okay,
just like that, just that simply. But, the truth is, they all have shit to
work through. Regulus never let himself deal with what happened
in his second arena, and neither did Sirius. James was trapped in
Riddle's castle for weeks, used like his puppet, recovering from a car
accident; he underwent an operation on his eyes he never approved
of; he had to deal with grief for Frank alone and didn't get to fully
deal with it very much at all. Sirius was in Azkaban, and not only
that, but he was tortured. Remus and Regulus have been here, stuck,
grieving and scared and handling absolutely none of it healthily.
Between the four of them alone, they have enough trauma to weigh
so heavily that it could snap gravity in half, so how they all manage
to stay standing is a mystery.
But they all do. They stay standing.
In any case, in the days following, between everyone, all the separate
little puzzle pieces of information finally manage to click together. It
would be nice to say that it happens simply, but there's nothing
cohesive about it until things travel around by word-of-mouth (did
you hear Tom Riddle is a vampire, and Sirius Black drank his blood,
so now he's a vampire who can't be killed?) and reaches Pandora,
who essentially busts in with busy hands and demands for everyone
to set the record straight.
There's a lot to cover for a lot of people. Stories to tell and theories to
give. Time to rewind, sifting back through all that has happened
when all that has happened is so fucking shitty that no one wants to
revisit it at all. But they have to, they must, because being in the dark
in dark times just puts you in more danger. So, the exchange of
information begins.
646
Day-by-Day
It starts where all paths diverge. That very first mission to get those
within the arena out, traced back to Dorcas, with her main
motivation being Marlene. Sirius has a field day with this one, so
stuck on the surrealism of his stylist actually being involved in the
rebellion, the one who single- handedly set the course for everyone
ending up right here. He asks so many questions that no one has the
answers to, so then he just goes to get Marlene and Dorcas, who have
even more information to exchange, as well as all the answers to
Sirius' questions.
It comes down to Regulus to explain what happened on the

heli-carrier when rescued from the arena, except he awkwardly
admits that he was really...ah, out of it, and so Dorcas goes to get
Lily, who brings along Mary, and they also have answers and
information that offers many a sense of enlightenment.
Each of them have their own stories to recount, and so they do. Of
course there are things they don't talk about also.
Dorcas doesn't breathe a word about the fact that Albus Dumbledore
is responsible for the Quarterly Memorial rule this year, and that
Minerva followed the order to give Riddle the idea. Sirius definitely
doesn't say very much about his torture (and he wouldn't, even if he
could remember it), but he's more than happy to make a show of
complaining about Azkaban with all the dramatics he can muster.
James does not say very much about how Frank died, nor does he
say a word about the explosion he went through. Lily doesn't go into
detail about Marlene dying (briefly), only speaking in stiff, clinical
terms when mentioning it.
But, for every one thing they don't talk about, there's three that they
do. Swapping information, asking questions and answering them,
going back and forth until all of it stitches together and aligns so
they're all caught up. Pandora sits back and takes notes, because of
course she does.
647
And so, they reach the present with all the facts and all the tiny
separate pieces put together, and with that, the current state of the
world comes into sharp focus.
Each of them are separate components that had to come together for
all the puzzle pieces to fall in place, and now it all starts to make
sense. How they ended up here, and what's going to happen next,
each of them so deeply involved in this that they know there's no
way out.
Some of them want out. Some of them don't.
But, at the end of the day, what they want doesn't matter. War
doesn't care about wants, and here they all are, in the midst of it.
And so, all they can do is prepare.
They do that, too.
They sit down and have a long, long discussion about Albus
Dumbledore. His history. His hand in all of this. His plans, or what
they know of them, and how they're a part of them.
They sit down and have a long, long discussion about Tom Riddle
that uncomfortably resembles the discussion about Albus
Dumbledore. His fascination with fear. His willingness to wipe out
districts. His determination to win this war, no matter the cost, and
how he wants them all dead.
So, what's left? What's next? The war, yes, but how will that go?
They stitch the threads of that picture together, too, and look at it. All
of them there, just staring.
First, weakening Riddle's reach. Everything James said under

Riddle's orders, he's going to have to un-say to the entire world. He's
going to have to step up, regardless of how tired he is, and get on
camera yet again just to tell the world the truth. Not only him, but
Sirius. Oh, yes, Sirius has so much sway over the Hallows, beloved
as he is, the Hallow heartthrob he is. Put him on camera, let him tell
his story; what Riddle did to him, how Riddle used him; let him ask
648
Day-by-Day
those who love him, who idolize him, to fight for him. Manipulation,
or justice? To them, he is their trophy, their object. Artificial
intelligence gaining sentience and declaring war.
It'll be a call to arms. Not just the Hallows, but the districts, too.
Dumbledore's mouthpieces now, his pawns, these three that have
been so naturally good at invoking rebellion long before they even
realized that could be used as a weapon. It's them that defiance
orbits around, all the way from the start, the turning point in this
war when Sirius manipulated Slughorn, Regulus threw himself into
a crimson river, and James tipped up a vial of Horcrux Hornet
venom.
They didn't know it at the time, didn't know it when they made the
choices they made, but there was no going back after that. They did
what they did, and it ended with them right here, in the thick of it.
And, if they had the gift of foresight, would they have done any
differently? Could they
have? Maybe this is the only place they had to go. Maybe, as
terrifying as it is, they're exactly where they're meant to be.
The next thing on the list, immunity. The timeline here is uncharted
territory. It depends on Poppy and Asher, mostly. What they can
figure out from Remus' blood, because he can't give the whole world
all the blood in his body. Dumbledore will have enough blood to
build a fledgling army, but not one big enough to win the war. He
needs all of his numbers, as well as the districts he takes, to be able to
get to Riddle.
That's the third thing, taking the districts. Some will be easy, they
believe, but not all of them. That doesn't matter, though, when taking
the districts will be vital to win the war. If Dumbledore can take the
districts, it will essentially ensure Riddle's loss. What is a leader with
all those they command taken or turned against them? Defeated,
that's what.
And then, finally, the breach to the Hallow. If—oh, if they can make
it to the Hallow, break through the army of Aurors there, and reach
649
the castle Riddle resides in—if they can do that, then it's done. If they
can do that, the war is won.
That's a whole lot of ifs.
That's a whole lot of unknowns.
That's a whole lot of chaos, fighting, and death.
Yeah, but what else is new? James said it once, that despite
alterations, some things can't be changed, or taken away. That seems
to apply to the world, too. Look at where they started. Look at where
they are. It's all the same, isn't it?
Just more of the fucking same.
~•~
There's a lot going on—a lot, so much, too much—and James is

doing his best to adjust. He's trying very, very hard. It's just very,
very hard to try.
But he does it anyway, because he's James.
It's days later, days after arriving, that James' world extends past the
small circle of people who never drain him. He has mostly blocked
everyone else out, lost in the presence and comfort of his parents,
Sirius, Remus, Pandora, and Regulus.
Pandora—who is palpably ecstatic about them all being together

again—has been dumping information in their laps at, frankly, an
alarming rate. She's the only one, from what James can tell, that has
crossed all the bridges between what seems to be clear lines between
various groups of people. It appears that a lot of people cluster up
and stick to what they know, what they're used to, which is a very
human thing. In a way, Pandora is otherworldly in her determination
to push back against that and branch out.
650
Day-by-Day
So, in short, Pandora is friends with practically everyone, and this

means she knows more than anyone else about everyone else, all
while most know next to nothing about her.
Pandora, in the midst of all her chatter, while taking them all on a
tour to help acclimate them to the Phoenix, points out rooms of
people she knows. And she knows Dorcas, who now shares a room
with Marlene. And she knows Rodolphus, who originally shared a
room with his little brother, except now Rabastan shares a room with
Asher. She knows Majesty, who is practically never in their room and
very hard to find when not at meals. She knows Mary, who shares
with Bingley, while Lily, who is right next door, spends a lot of time
in their room instead of her own. She knows Huey, who has his own
room; and Minerva, who shares with Poppy; and Kingsley, who
shares with Sybill; and Amos, who is alone; and Barty, who is alone;
and Michelle, and Kirk, and Xanmir, and Julie, and all these freed
servants who have their own rooms; and Emmeline in her own
room, even if she spends a lot of time in Alice's.
Alice's room, because Alice has a room, because Alice is here. Alice is
here .
Alice.
James' heart practically goes splat right at his feet when Pandora
gestures down the hall to Alice's room, and he comes to a halt,
staring at the closed door. He looks at that door and thinks about the
one Frank opened. Peeked around. Stepped out of, only to get shot.
So sudden. So quick.
He thinks about Alice's boggart. He thinks about Alice holding

Augusta in their arms. You can let go now. I've got him.
"James?" Regulus murmurs, tugging on his hand, looking back at

him with a small frown, concern in his eyes.
651
"I—I have to—" James' mouth is so dry. He swallows thickly and
exhales. "I need to speak with Alice. Um. Just—just give me a few
minutes. I'll—I can catch up."
They all get it, instantly. They all know. It's not a secret that James
was there when Frank died. Dorcas was the one tasked with telling
Alice—and Emmeline—that Frank was dead, but she didn't give any
details. Alice doesn't know the whole story, because they don't know
Rodolphus was there, or that James was there, or that James was at
fault.
He has to tell Alice. They deserve to know, or maybe it will just

weigh on him until he confesses. So, he pulls away and starts
towards the door alone, thankful that he has his cane to lean against
on
the way. And then Sirius is there, beside him. James looks at him.
Sirius doesn't waver under his gaze.
"He was my friend, James," Sirius says softly.
"I know," James croaks, and they walk to the door together.
Alice isn't the one who answers the door; Emmeline is. She looks
mildly surprised to see them there, as they have been mostly staying
to themselves, in their own circle, doing their best to recuperate and
heal from all that's happened.
Nonetheless, Emmeline is relieved to see them, Sirius especially, and

she pulls him into a hug before ushering them inside. Alice is sitting
on their bed, and they look...
If grief was a person, it would be Alice. James' heart clenches just

looking at them. How much have they lost? Their parents in a riot
that started on the victory tour; James was there that day, heard the
gunshots and saw the bodies drop; any of them could have been
Alice's parents. Augusta in the games, not even their mother, but
their best friend's mother, who they stayed beside the entire time,
who they worked so hard to keep alive, who took a dagger to the
652
Day-by-Day
chest for them while their best friend, Augusta's child, had to watch.
And then—oh, and then Frank, their best friend, who died trying to
make it back to them, who died without them knowing it, who died
without ever getting to see them again, who died before he could
ever tell them they weren't at fault for Augusta, who loved them
with every breath in his body, all the way up until his last.
And still, they manage a tiny smile as they stand up, as visibly tired
as they are. "Sirius, it's good to see you here, and James, I'm glad
you're doing well. We heard—well, we all heard about what
happened. Fucking awful, all of it."
James can barely look Alice in the eye.
"We're relieved you're safe here, too," Sirius murmurs, reaching out
to tug them into a hug. They embrace for a long time, like they can
find Frank there in between them, and then Alice releases a
shuddering breath when they pull away, like it hurts that they can't
find Frank anywhere. Sirius gives them a sad smile. "How have you
been?"
"I'm—ah, well, it hasn't been great," Alice admits with a hoarse laugh
bordering on brittle and bitter.
"Alice," Sirius mumbles, "I'm—I'm so sorry about Frank, and I heard

about Augusta. Fucking awful sums it up, yeah."
"Riddle used him, you know. His death," Alice says, their jaw
clenching. "He—he—" "Alice," Emmeline cuts in cautiously.
Alice balls their fists up, exhaling harshly. "He made a mockery out
of it, used it to his advantage like it wasn't his fault. The war—Sirius,
this war—he has to pay. He has to die."
"I know," Sirius agrees, eyes flashing. Danger, danger. Oh, Riddle
isn't making it out of this alive. There are far too many people who
want him dead now, and all these people are those willing and
skilled to kill. "He will, Alice. Trust me, someone is going to make
653
sure he feels every ounce of pain he inflicted on others. Don't fucking
doubt it."
"He better hope I never get my hands on him." Alice looks more alive
in their anger. Emmeline looks away, rubbing a hand over her jaw,
eyes fluttering shut. "Frank is—he's dead because of him. He's—"
"No," James whispers, and his voice cracks.
"What?" Alice asks.
James swallows. They're all looking at him now. He forces himself to

look at Alice, holding their gaze. "It's—yes, Riddle is responsible
for—for everything. It was his Aurors that killed Frank, on his
orders, so that is his fault."
"You were there," Alice rasps, pulling away from Sirius to come
closer to James. Their eyes are wide and glimmering already. "You
were—you know what happened."
"Yes," James chokes out.
"Tell me." Alice reaches out and grabs James' arms, their grip tight.
They nearly shake him. "Tell me what happened. I need to know. Did
he—did he say anything? Did he—"
"Alice," Emmeline says softly, "ease up."
Alice doesn't. They grip James harder. "Tell me. Please."
"Riddle is responsible, but—" James hangs there for a moment as he

feels it rip at him, practically gagging on his confession. Alice's nails
dig into his skin. "But it was my fault."
"No," Sirius says instantly, moving over swiftly to grab Alice's wrist,
shaking his head at them. "No, it's not. You heard him. It was
Riddle's orders that got Frank killed, not—"
654
Day-by-Day
"Frank would still be alive if it weren't for me," James cuts in,
holding Alice's gaze, which is filled with a storm of emotion. James
peels Sirius' hand away. "The servants—we only went back for
Remus. Frank, Rodolphus, and I had to go to the office and turn
three keys to override the cell mechanisms so we could open the
door. Cell six, that's the one Remus was in, and that's the only one
we originally intended to open. That was the plan, but I—I made the
executive decision to play hero and open all the cells. All twelve. I
wanted to save them all."
Alice's hands slip off of him. Their face has gone blank.
James' eyes sting. "It would have been okay, if I hadn't done it. Frank
would have lived, if I hadn't made that choice. Because, in the time it
took to open all the cells, the Aurors reached us. In that time, if I had
let us only open the one, we would have made it out before the
Aurors got there."
"James," Sirius snaps, "that's not your—"
"Frank would have made it out," James continues, never looking

away from Alice. His chest burns. He feels like he's caving in on
himself, and good. He did it. He did this. He should hurt for it.
"Frank could have made it out, but he didn't, and that's on me."
"No, it's not," Sirius hisses. "You were just—"
"Saving people. Or trying to." James exhales shakily, fighting with

the lump in his throat. "I insisted on saving eleven extra people, and
it cost me a friend, and it cost you your best friend. And I can't—I
need you to know that I—I will never stop feeling the pain of that,
and I know it's nothing in comparison to the pain you feel, and I'm
sorry. Alice, I'm so sorry."
Alice continues to stare at him blankly. Their voice is as devoid of

emotion as their face and eyes when they say, "I want to know how
he died."
655
"I don't—" James' breath hitches. He feels like he's going to throw up.
His vision is blurring. "I— he was—you should know he wasn't—he
didn't blame you for Augusta. He wanted—he was so eager to help
save you, Alice, so relieved when he saw you saved from the arena.
He—"
"Tell me!" Alice bursts out, and James flinches. Emmeline and Sirius
inhale sharply at the same time, going still and tense, waiting. The
room seems to have dropped in temperature, so cold that breathing
stings. Alice breathes out and looks at James, looks right into his
eyes, their own eyes dead. "Tell me how he died, James. Now."
"The Aurors—we—we didn't know they were there. That they were
waiting. We—I swear we didn't know. If I'd known, I'd never have
let him go first," James gasps, his words falling out of him on a
whine. "He—he opened the door and leaned out just to check. Didn't
see anything. He thought—we all thought it was fine, but when he
stepped out, they—they—" James squeezes his eyes shut. He can still
see it. He can still feel Frank's blood splatter across his face. "They
shot him."
"Where?" Alice whispers. "Did he—did he bleed out? Did he have

time to—to say—to—"
"No," James whispers back, opening his eyes. As soon as he does, the
tears tip right over and scald his cheeks on the way down. "Alice, I'm
sorry."
Alice rolls their jaw, shoulders jerking on a stuttered breath. They

blink fast and hard. "The head, then."
James hesitates, then slowly nods. And maybe, to some, an instant

death would be something of a comfort. Frank didn't suffer, but he
also didn't even see it coming. How can there be comfort in such
tragedy? Sometimes people die, swift and sudden, and they don't get
to say goodbye; they don't get to pass along a message; they don't
get anything, because they are here, and then they're gone, and that's
all there is. That's it, and that's all those left behind are left with.
656
Day-by-Day
No closure. No peace. Nothing.
"For your sake," Alice croaks, "you need to get out and stay the hell
away from me, James." "Alice," Sirius protests.
"No, shut up," Alice snaps. Their hands are shaking. "Think about
this, James. Put yourself in my shoes, and imagine that your parents
died in a riot you helped start. They asked you not to, and you did
anyway, and they were both shot in the head for it. You never got to
apologize. You can never undo that mistake. And then you're going
into the hunger games the second time, only two years after the first,
only six months after your parents die. You go in with this plan to
make sure your best friend gets their mother back, only to fail. She
dies, because she took a hit meant for you, and before you can even
come to terms with it, you're being saved from the arena. Only hours
later. Only hours too late to save the woman who died for you, and
you just—you have to live with that. You have to figure out how to
live with that."
James' eyes burn, the consistent building tears spilling over with
each word Alice speaks. It hurts. Oh, it hurts to even think about,
and that's Alice's reality. They have to live with all of it.
"And then you make it to safety," Alice chokes out. "You make it out,
and you're alive, and the only comfort—the only comfort you have is
that you promised the woman who died for you that you would take
care of her son, your best friend. You promised, and that's how you
live with it, with all of it. Because you intend to do it, and then—"
Alice chokes again, their whole body jerking as tears fill their eyes.
"And then you find out that you can't do it, because your best friend
is dead. Your best friend is dead, James. He's dead."
James makes a small, pained noise as he feels those words slam into
him, so heavy, so harsh. He can't stop himself from looking
desperately towards Sirius, just to be sure, just to see him there. And
he's there, his expression twisted with pain. And he's there, but
Frank is nowhere to be found when Alice looks for him.
"And then, one day, I show up at your door," Alice tells him, their
lips trembling. "We don't know each other well, but you know that
657
I've been through a lot recently. You know of me from what you've
learned, and all you've learned is that I'm a good person. I'm kind. I
love hard and deeply. I care about my family and friends and also
the whole world, and you learned that I was friends with your best
friend, which means I must have cared about him, too. But then I
show up at your door."
In this moment, James regrets ever showing up at their door, but he

knows he's earned this. His penance.
"And I tell you—" Alice flexes their hands, their whole body tense. "I
show up, and I tell you that your best friend is dead because I
wanted to save more people than planned. And I did save those
people, and that's great, and that's good—but, the ugly truth is, you
don't care. You'd cut them all down if it meant your best friend could
be here, alive, with you. And you have to live with that ugly feeling,
too. So, I stand before you, after everything you've lost, and I tell you
that your best friend died in the same exact way as your parents, just
as you feared he would, just as you had nightmares about. And you
have to live with that now, and live with eleven extra people who are
alive when your best friend isn't, and live with the fact that I'm in
front of you, telling you I'm sorry."
He is. He's so fucking sorry, and he can only wilt under the weight of
it, and cry. He can only stand there and feel how much it hurts, and
listen as Alice shifts everything in reverse to show him how much
his pain doesn't matter. Because it's nothing, absolutely nothing,
compared to theirs.
Alice steps forward, looking right into James' eyes. "I hope you're
always sorry. I want this to hurt, and keep hurting as long as you're
alive, which is the only reason I won't kill you. Because if you ever
reach a point in your life where you're close to full happiness, where
you're having a good day, I want you to think about Frank, and how
he's not here, and how he would be if not for you. I want you to
think about me, and all the things I have to live with, and all the
ways in which I'll never, ever be fully happy either. So, we'll share
this, you and I. We'll carry it, and live with it, and we don't get peace
658
Day-by-Day
from this. You made sure of that, and so I'll return the favor. Stay
away from me, but don't you dare forget."
"Okay," James whispers, because it's the least he could do, because he
was going to do that anyway.
"Alice, you're out of line," Sirius says carefully. "You're—I know

you're grieving, and I understand —"
"No, you don't," Alice spits out. "Your best friend is right fucking
here, Sirius, and he's part of the reason mine isn't. So, get the fuck
out. Both of you. Get out. Get out!"
"Go. Sirius, go," Emmeline orders firmly, sweeping in to usher them

back, and Sirius actually listens, grabbing James' arm to tug him
towards the door.
Maybe because Alice is trembling. Sobbing. Hyperventilating.
"Come on," Sirius mumbles urgently.
"James. James," Alice whimpers as they reach the door. Sirius keeps
trying to yank him out, but James resists, turning back to Alice like
facing judge, jury, and executioner. Alice stares at him through tears.
"You wanted to be a hero. The fucking hero of the story, right? But in
mine, James, you're the villain."
"I'm sorry, Alice, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry," James chants, gagging on
his remorse, choking on his tears, and it's useless to say, but he can't
stop.
He's still chanting it when Sirius drags him from the room, wraps
him in his arms, and holds him as he breaks down. From the other
side of the door, Alice breaks down, too.
~•~
659
The visit with Alice is a major setback for James, and Sirius knows it,
and he was already set way back to start with. They all are, frankly,
but this is a direct hit to James among all the rest, and it seems to do
him in entirely.
James, for a lack of a better phrase, takes the rest of the week off.
Won't leave his and Regulus' room, not to go to meals, not even to
see anyone. Regulus has taken it upon himself to bring his food
and—well, he's basically a guard dog at the moment. He only lets a
select few into the room —Effie, Monty, Sirius, Remus, and Pandora.
No one else gets in, James simply doesn't leave, and Sirius makes the
wise decision not to explain to Regulus all that happened to get
James to that point, watering it down to the grief for Frank fully
hitting him.
Regulus accepts that easily enough, and James is apparently wise as

well, because he doesn't give Regulus the details either. Sirius knows
this, because Alice is still—well, not fine, but they haven't had
Regulus try to rip their head off for hurting James, so that tells Sirius
all he needs to know.
Because Regulus is hovering and fussing over James basically at all

times, Sirius hasn't really had a moment alone with him. He told him
right after leaving Alice's room that Frank dying wasn't his fault, that
he can't blame himself for it, that he didn't mean for it to happen and
had no control over it and couldn't have predicted it—and then he
felt like a fucking hypocrite, because he's doing exactly that about
hurting Remus, isn't he? But it's always easier to tell someone you
love all of that than accept it yourself.
Sirius misses Frank. He will always miss Frank. He agrees with Alice
that Riddle needs to pay in blood and pain for all the blood he's spilt
and pain he's caused. He also knows that, right now, Alice is
grieving. Thirsty for revenge. Clinging to every scapegoat they can
find to spread the hate within, all bred from loss and fury and their
own guilt. Sirius hopes that, someday, with time, Alice will be okay
in a way that they can't be right now, and maybe, just maybe, they'll
forgive James and set them both free from this weight they've
decided bears down on them and James. Neither of them deserve it.
660
Day-by-Day
Frank wouldn't want it for either of them. Or anyone.
It's a hard time for everyone right now, all of them dealing with the
fallout of all the things they couldn't deal with before in the midst of
it happening. Sirius has fallen into that trap as well, unable to break
free from it.
Sometimes, out of nowhere, Sirius will catch a glimpse of Camilla

out of the corner of his eye and jerk around, heart slamming in his
chest until he assures himself that she's not there. He'll peer into the
darkness and convince himself Dixon is about to barrel out and
attack him, or Lester, or Yaxley —and then he can't sleep, because he
has to make sure they don't. He will close his eyes and hear the
sound of Marlene's arm breaking ringing in his ears, or the gurgle
Regulus gave when gagging on his own blood, and he'll have to
open his eyes and hold them open until they burn.
One of the more complicated things is Remus. Sirius and Remus are
having—well, intimacy issues, basically. There are times when Sirius
can't touch Remus but really wants to, and then there are times when
Sirius can't stop touching Remus, always so gentle, so tender and
careful and adoring, and they're pulled too thin between both
extremes.
At night is when it's the worst. It's been years since he had
nightmares as frequent as these. He dreams horrible things, the most
terrifying things, usually centered around Remus. One of the
recurring nightmares he has is so vivid that it scares the fuck out of
him; it starts the same, him in bed with Remus, who smiles at him,
and then he climbs on top of him, wraps his hands around Remus'
throat as his smile falls, and strangles him to death. Every other part
of him in the dream tries to stop it; he begs and pleads and cries, tries
to yank his hands away, fighting it so hard while Remus lays there
and takes it, and his hands don't let go until Remus is dead.
And then he wakes up. He wakes up, and Remus is fine. He wakes
up, and Remus is right there. He wakes up, and he thinks about how
he used to yearn for the chance to sleep in bed next to Remus,
throughout the whole night, and now he can't. Every night, he starts
out in the bed next to the man he loves, soothed by the ritual of
661
kissing all his scars and the places his bruises have already
faded—even though Sirius can still picture them perfectly in his
mind's eye—and then, by the end of the night, he's on the floor.
This isn't something that just goes away overnight, and Remus is
quite possibly the most understanding man on the planet, because
he's patient and kind and never, ever pushes Sirius.
It takes days for Sirius to fully grasp it, but Remus isn't asking him to
be the person he met— which, while quite fucked up even then, was
someone much more put together than he is now. Remus meant it
when he said he'd love every version of Sirius, because he does, even
this one. This version of Sirius, the one who has nightmares of
murdering him every night. When Sirius finally confesses this,
Remus tells him, calmly, that he's not scared of him.
Sirius knows, distantly, that this is just how his brain is responding
to his guilt, and fear, and trauma. He knows that things will get
better, with time. He knows how this goes, because he's dealt with it
before, and maybe through that, it's almost easier to deal with the
second time around, in some ways. For example, he hasn't slipped
away since coming back from Azkaban. He won't be spending nearly
a year not even present, or lose all of this time; in some ways, he
almost resents that, but mostly he's relieved by it.
Sirius and Remus talk a lot, maybe to make up for all the touching
Sirius can't always bring himself to allow. They talk about things
only they will understand. How cold Azkaban was. The fear of being
led to lower levels. The terror of seeing that damn chair and
knowing what comes next. Sirius admits he doesn't even remember
most of his own torture and thinks, maybe, that was a kindness,
because from what he does remember, he knows to be grateful that
he wasn't really present for all of it. But Remus doesn't have that
same experience; he remembers every single second.
They talk about other things, too. All the small details they never got
to divulge before now. Remus killed Lucius and feels no remorse for
it or anyone else he had to kill. Sirius got on his knees before Riddle
and begged for James' life. Lily is angry with Remus, and Remus is
662
Day-by-Day
upset about it. James isn't in a good spot, and Sirius is upset about it.
They're both stuck in the middle of war with no way out—that's one
thing they talk about more often than the rest, but it's not what they
talk about the most. No, there's something else.
They're all here together, finally, and it's the only consolation they
have. They talk about that the most, the relief of that in all of this
shit, constantly reminding each other of it over and over because
that's the most important part.
And so, they take it one day at a time, just like they started out doing
when things got rough, and that's all they can do. They have plans;
Sirius wants to start training Remus after he gives his first donation
of blood, and Remus wants to do whatever it takes to get Lily to
forgive him. Sirius wants to work with Filius to build some sort of
hearing aids that will muffle the sound of screams and keep him
from being triggered into slipping away, which he will need if he's
fighting in a war. Remus wants to get much better with guns,
hopefully with Lily's help. But, for now, they're all sort of in limbo,
too wrapped up in trauma to manage much at all.
Which is okay. They're all human. They've all been through

unimaginable things. They've all suffered. They're all afraid. They all
need time to adjust, and so this is how it starts.
A war goes on in the background, and James won't leave his room.
Sirius can't be intimate with his boyfriend. Remus is the boyfriend he
can't be intimate with, who is on outs with his best friend and
getting ready to give the blood this war will need for it to be won.
Regulus isn't to be trusted with any information that could cause
him to harm someone on their behalf, because as doting as he is at
the moment—to a frantic, restless point—he's ten times as violent in
the name of being protective.
Yeah, great start, everybody.
Speaking of Regulus, he pops up around Sirius like a fucking ghost,

which startles the shit out of Sirius every single time. It reminds
Sirius why he once literally knitted him a hat with a bell in it,
because the little shit is sneaky.
663
Like now.
"Fucking hell, Reggie, don't do that!" Sirius bursts out when he turns
and finds Regulus standing right outside his door.
"Sorry," Regulus says, grimacing, because he's so soft these days.

Apologies roll off his tongue with ease now, and he goes out of his
way to avoid upsetting those around him. Sirius is pretty sure he
could tell Regulus to jump, and Regulus would ask how high. No
protest. Nothing. It's like he's trying to be a person no one has a
problem being around, as if he's fucking terrified to do anything that
could make them leave him.
Sirius heaves a sigh. "It's fine. What's up?"
"James is sleeping. Again." Regulus looks away, the skin at the

corners of his eyes strained with visible stress. James sleeps a lot
now, has been mostly sleeping for three days straight at this point,
after his altercation with Alice. Doesn't get out of bed. Eats, but
hardly talks. Closes his eyes, turns over, shuts the whole world out
and sleeps, or pretends to. "Yeah, so I'm going to get him lunch. Are
you going to the Great Hall?"
"I was planning to," Sirius murmurs. "But—ah, actually, would you
do me a favor?"
Regulus looks at him and immediately says, "Yes, anything."
"Remus was off trying to talk to Lily again, so I was going to meet
him there, but I think I'll go see James. Would you let him know
where I'm at and also grab me a plate, too?"
"Okay."
"Thanks," Sirius mumbles, his chest feeling tight. No snarky remark.

No scoff. No rolled eyes. There have been times when Sirius
foolishly (and only internally) wished that Regulus was less fussy
and argumentative, and would just listen, and would just do as
Sirius told him to—and be careful what you wish for, because here it
is, and it breaks Sirius' fucking heart.
664
Day-by-Day
"I'll walk with you until we split off," Regulus says.
"Yeah, alright. Hey, come here." Sirius reaches out and slips his arm
around Regulus' shoulders as they walk, his heart swelling and
clenching in tandem at the way Regulus leans into him instantly,
melting a little bit. "Are you okay?"
"Worried about James," Regulus confesses quietly. "I don't know how
to help him feel better. When he's not sleeping, he's crying, and he
wants to cuddle basically all the time, which is—that's fine, I'm not
saying it's not, but he won't talk to me. Won't talk to his mum or dad.
Won't hardly talk at all."
Sirius blows out a deep breath, then clears his throat. "Well, I imagine
you do help him feel better, or else he probably wouldn't want to
cuddle you all the time."
"I—yeah, maybe," Regulus allows, but his voice is strained, full of

anxiety. "I just... I—I mean, I'm trying, but I don't think..."
"Regulus," Sirius says gently.
Swallowing, Regulus croaks, "I don't think I'm getting it right.

I—never do, which is sort of my thing, but it's like... Fuck, Sirius, I
don't know. I feel like I'm not saying the right things, and I just keep
coddling him, because I—well, I love him, I can't help it, that's not
my fault. What else am I meant to do?"
"Fuck it, coddle him all you like. Goodness knows he could use it,
considering everything," Sirius mutters. "Now is absolutely the time
to coddle him. You're doing fine, Regulus. He's just... Well, it's rough
right now. Sometimes, we can't just feel better. Sometimes, we just
have to feel what we feel, even when what we feel isn't good. You
know that better than most."
"Yeah, I know. I just hate it when it's him," Regulus murmurs.
"You're taking care of him. You're doing your best," Sirius assures
him, squeezing his shoulders gently. "And you? What about you?
How are you doing in...all of this?"
665
Regulus blinks at him and says, with a straight face, "I'm fine."
"You're fine," Sirius repeats.
"Yes."
"You're fine."
"Yes."
"You're fine."
"Yes," Regulus says, yet again.
Sirius stares him. "No, you're not. There's no fucking way you're fine,
not after everything." "I am," Regulus insists. "I have to be."
"Oh no. Oh, hell no." Sirius jerks to a halt, snatching Regulus to a
stop right along with him.
"Regulus, don't do that. Do not do that, do you hear me? You—trust

me, you don't want to do that. Putting off your own issues to be
there for everyone else doesn't mean you're fine. If anything, that
means you're less fine than everyone else, because you're not even
letting yourself deal with your problems."
"All my problems went away the moment you and James made it
back," Regulus informs him.
It's a nice sentiment, but things aren't that simple. Sirius shakes his
head. "You can tell yourself that, but that's not how it works. Your
problems are still very much here, and ignoring them by focusing on
us is a recipe for disaster. It's—look, it's not good, alright? Because in
taking care of everyone else the way you're going about it, you're not
taking care of yourself."
"I really am fine, though," Regulus mutters.
"No, you're not. Look at yourself. Regulus, you're walking around on

eggshells all the time," Sirius hisses. "You don't argue with me, you
don't fuss at anyone, you're not your usual grumpy and miserable
666
Day-by-Day
self. You haven't insulted me once since I got back. When's the last
time you called me an idiot?"
Regulus gives him a measured look, lips pursing. He rolls his

shoulders under Sirius' arm. "I don't know what you want me to tell
you. Sorry I'm not taking things for granted, I guess? Did you miss
the part where I thought everyone died?"
"Yes, okay, I—I get that, I really do, but..." Sirius sighs and lifts his
free hand to scrub at his eyebrow. "That's—sort of my point. We're
not dead, Reggie. We're here, right here, so you don't have to act like
we're going to go away if you're not fulfilling whatever role you've
given yourself because you're scared to lose us. You're not fine, and
you're not expected to be, just like we're not. None of us are okay,
and that's okay."
"Well, maybe I want to be fine," Regulus croaks.
Sirius gives a weary laugh. "Yeah, I get that. So, what, you're just
manifesting it? Fake it until you make it? Say it enough and maybe
it'll be true?"
"It's working so far."
"Is it? The bags under your eyes say differently. You're having
nightmares, aren't you?" Regulus looks away. "When am I not? That's
not new."
"Evan?" Sirius asks, borderline hopeful. Oddly enough, despite being

nightmares, Regulus seemed comforted by having Evan in his
dreams. It's a preferable nightmare, at least.
"No, I haven't had a dream about Evan since the victory tour."
"So—the arena?"
"Sometimes," Regulus mumbles. He sighs and tilts his head back,

almost resting it against Sirius' arm, staring blankly up at the ceiling.
"Bellatrix features quite a bit. There was—I don't know if anyone told
you about the boggarts, but there's a lot of that, too. James dying.
You're a frequent one as well; I saw you get lifted out by the
667
Hallows, so naturally I have to see it over and over again. Let's see...
Crimson river, check. Rain, check. Climbing and falling, check. You
disappearing into the hedge and the cannon sounding, check. Hodge
and Vanity, check. Oh, there's variety, too, you'll love this.
Occasionally, I dream of Mother and Father burning alive, and I'm
the one who struck the match. A rare one, but a good one, is when
I'm a corpse in the crimson river dragging everyone I love down into
it. No, but wait, there's more. Shall I go on?"
"There's that sarcasm I know and loathe," Sirius says dryly, lips
twitching. Regulus drops his head forward, blowing out a deep
breath. "These are signs that you're not fine, by the way."
"I'm never fine, Sirius," Regulus replies, exasperated. "No one in this
world is fine. But... Fucking hell, this is going to make me sound
absolutely mental, but I've had it worse. I've been less fine than I am
right now. When I thought—when Riddle gave that kill order, and I
thought—" He squeezes his eyes shut, a muscle in his cheek
twitching. "Nothing was worse than that. Nothing, okay? So—so
maybe I'm being a little strange right now. And maybe, with some
time, I'll be more like my usual self, but right now..." He opens his
eyes and looks at Sirius, almost like he's pleading. "Right now, this is
what you all get, because right now, in spite of everything, this is the
best I've ever felt. Nightmares and all. Trauma and all."
Sirius sits on that for a long second, reframing it in his mind to see it
the way Regulus does. He hums and tugs on Regulus gently,
ushering him into moving again. "So, it's literally just that saying of
like—you never know what you've got until it's gone? That sort of
thing? You appreciate it differently now?"
"Something like that," Regulus allows. "I'm just...basking. This is me

basking. Can I bask in peace?"
"Mm, do what you do, Reggie." Sirius reaches up and tugs on his ear,
sighing when Regulus doesn't swat his hand away, just letting him
do as he likes. "You can bask, sure, but try to take care of yourself,
too, yeah? I'm—not at my best right now, and James clearly isn't
either, but we're here for you, you know? As much as we can be.
And there's others. Just—just—I want to be sure that you're taken
care of, too."
668
Day-by-Day
"It's alright, Sirius. I'm alright," Regulus murmurs. "Or, I'm as alright
as I can be, as alright as I need to be for right now. I've got it this
time, okay? You don't have to worry about me on top of everything
else."
"You're my little brother. I'm always going to worry about you." "For
once, worry about me a little less."
"All grown up, huh?" Sirius isn't sure why that makes him ache a
little bit, a harsh clench in his chest, but it leaves him a little winded.
A little choked up. "You, ah—you don't really need me anymore, do
you?"
Regulus glances over at him. "If you actually believe that, then you
haven't been paying attention." He pauses, and then his lips twitch.
"And also you're an idiot."
"There it is," Sirius says with a laugh that cracks in the middle, and
it's absolutely humiliating how fragile he feels these days. So
vulnerable. Soft and achy in his center like bruise.
"Go on, go see James," Regulus tells him when they reach the point
their paths break in two different directions. "I think it'll be good for
him. I don't know, maybe he'll talk to you."
Sirius glances at him, mildly surprised. "There wasn't an ounce of

resentment or jealousy in your tone."
"Growth," Regulus says, giving him a crooked smile.
"I'll say," Sirius muses, eyebrows raised.
Regulus' smile is soft, soft, soft. Sincerity shines in it. "I hope he does
talk to you, even if he won't talk to me. I just—I want him to be okay,
and I don't care who or what it takes to help him, even if it's not me
or something I can do."
"Wow," Sirius says in wonder, "look how far you've come."
669
"These days, I climb and grow," Regulus tells him, which doesn't
make much sense to Sirius, but it seems like something Regulus is
proud of.
So, Sirius nods and says, "Hell yeah you do."
Regulus looks pleased, but a little bashful about being pleased. His
ears are turning red, and he looks about ten years younger. No,
twelve. For a second, like this, he looks fourteen, like maybe fifteen
never even came to ruin everything.
Sirius squeezes him with possibly too much force, but it comes from
affection, so Regulus hardly seems to mind. He doesn't push Sirius,
or jostle him, or do anything to pretend like he doesn't want this
affection; so, okay, he's basking. Sirius lets him bask, for now, and
ruffles his hair before pulling away. They shuffle around each other
and go in opposite directions, one heading to the Great Hall, and one
heading to James.
James, much to Sirius' concern, is lying in bed with his back to the
door, a lump under the covers. He doesn't respond to the door easing
open, doesn't check to see who comes in, doesn't turn over to greet
him, doesn't do anything.
Sirius chews on his lip for a moment, then shuts the door and pads
over to the bed, lifting the cover up and slipping under it. As soon as
he does, James rolls over and latches onto him, fully just flops onto
him and buries his face under Sirius' chin.
Right, when James gets sad, he wants to cuddle.
Just... "Ah, you know which brother you're currently snuggling with,
right?" Sirius checks cautiously, because he doubts Regulus' personal
growth would extend out to James mistaking Sirius for him. Yeah,
no, the basking would be over.
"Duh," James mumbles, making a quiet huffy noise that informs

Sirius he's mildly affronted that Sirius even had to ask, like he'd
never make that mistake. Nevermind that he has made that mistake
before, but—in his defense—he was on drugs at the time and
670
Day-by-Day
completely off his head. Apparently, when in sound mind, James

doesn't have such issues.
"Okay, just checking," Sirius replies, relaxing as he throws one arm

over James and brings the other up behind his head. He gets situated
and cups the side of James' skull, because James is basically curled
up into his side, head resting against his chest, and pressed as close
as he can get. Sirius idly taps his fingers to the space above James'
ear, lips pursed. "You know, uh, Frank was— the year he won his
games, he said—in his interview, he said he wasn't going to kill
anyone. Do you remember that? He told the whole world he
wouldn't."
"I remember," James whispers.
Sirius clears his throat. "I told him that was impossible. We all told
him that was impossible. I think—ha, I'm pretty sure Augusta ripped
him apart for that one, because it essentially just tempted the
gamemakers and other tributes to push him into it. But he was so
insistent. Stubborn. Defiant. Definitely from district five, that's for
sure. And I don't—I suppose I'll never entirely be sure why that's the
goal he set for himself, of all the goals to have—ah, yes, let's go into
the death arena and never kill; what kind of sense does that make,
Frank?" Sirius pauses, then sighs. "People were— well, Augusta
spun it as him being noble, so he skirted by. He was very charming
and diplomatic otherwise, so everyone loved him. But I think—I
actually think that it was more than just personal morals he had that
made him set that goal. I think he wanted to defy the games
themselves. They wanted so badly to turn him into a killer, and he
was refusing to let them."
James doesn't speak. He turns his face into Sirius' chest like he's
hiding there, because he knows what comes next. They all know
what comes next. They all watched it happen.
"And then he killed anyway," Sirius murmurs, blowing out a heavy

sigh, one so deep that his chest bows in a little, making James dip in
against him. "He had to kill. He didn't have a choice. Because,
sometimes, there's nothing we can do. James, he never wanted to
kill, never, but then he did, because we can't predict the way things
671
are going to go, and no matter how much we might want to, we can't
stop bad things from happening. Some things are just—out of our
control. Frank didn't want to kill any more than you wanted him to
die, but he did kill and he did die, and that's not on him or you."
"If I hadn't opened those cells—"
"If you hadn't opened those cells, eleven people wouldn't be safe
here right now. If you hadn't opened those cells, you wouldn't be
you. James, Frank opened those cells with you. I know him, okay?
Knew. I knew him for years, and I can promise you that he wouldn't
blame you. Just like he wouldn't blame Alice for Augusta, he
wouldn't blame you for him."
James is quiet for a long time, and then he lifts his head, staring at
Sirius with grief sagging in his face. "Maybe not, but he's not here for
me to be sure, and Alice does. They blame me. You heard them. I'm
the villain in their story."
"Alice is going through a lot right now. A whole world of hurt.

People say things in grief, James, trust me. I've seen it all. I've heard
it all." Sirius pats his head and gives him a sad smile. "I know it's
hard to believe, but you're not a villain, and you're not a hero. You're
just human, as we all are, and we're doing our best. You did your
best, just like Frank did, and that's all we can do. You have to forgive
yourself for what happened, or it's going to eat you alive, and Frank
wouldn't want that for either of you. Alice has their own journey to
go on, and so do you, but the best way for both of you to honor
Frank is by remembering him as he was and trying to find the peace
he wanted those he cared about to have."
"I don't know how," James croaks. "I don't know where to even start
trying, Sirius."
"One day at a time, James." Sirius eases James' head back down to his
chest and curls around him, tipping his own head forward to bury
his face in James' hair. "One day at a time."
And it's fitting, somehow, the way their struggles align. James
needing to forgive himself, Sirius needing to forgive himself.
672
Day-by-Day
Hurting together. Mourning together. Terrified together. Never one

without the other, even in pain.
One day at a time, together, all of them.
It's proven further when the door opens again, and Regulus slips in
with Remus right beside him, carrying two trays of food each so they
can all eat. Sirius prods James up, and they scoot around the bed so
all of them can fit themselves on it, getting situated. Remus sinks
down beside him, glancing at him, and Sirius leans over into him,
resting there. Much the same, James dumps his head over on
Regulus' shoulder and slumps there, eating miserably, with no
enthusiasm.
But they eat. They sit there, together, and eat. They sit there, together,
and breathe. They sit there, together, and live. They sit there,
together, and take it one day at a time.
~•~
"Nope," Lily says, "still mad at you."
Remus groans. "For fuck's sake, Lily, you're harder to make up with
than my damn boyfriend."
"He's a weak man." Lily turns her nose up. "I am not."
"How many times do I have to say sorry?"
"At least once more."
"Okay," Remus says. "I'm sorry. I'm truly, deeply sorry."
Lily purses her lips. "Yeah, the answer is still at least once more, and
I think it will be until I decide otherwise."
"So, you're just going to string me along forever, then?" Remus snaps.
"That depends. Just how many more times will you go around
sacrificing yourself with no regard for your own life?"
673
"That was—two—no, okay, three times! Only three!"
"The best and worst things come in threes," Sybill announces sagely,
poking at her plate with her fork. "For three good things that
happen, there are three bad things connected to it to counteract it, or
vice versa. It's all about balance, you see."
"I do see," Pandora announces, nodding along.
"Yeah, see?!" Remus bursts out, jerking his hand towards Sybill,
though he's not entirely sure if she's helping or not.
"Sybill's superstitions mean nothing to me," Lily says flatly.
"Hey!" Sybill protests, offended. "It's true, though. Think about it.
The way I understand it, Remus has made stupid sacrificial decisions
thrice now. The first time to save you and get you here; the second
time to save Sirius and get him here; the third time to save James and
get him here. One, two, three. That means it won't happen again; the
universe won't allow it unless it's going to happen in another round
of threes, which is very rare, so you're probably safe. And the good
things. Three times you thought he was dead, and then three times
you learned he wasn't. One, two, three. Best and worst. That's how it
works."
Remus doesn't believe that's how it works at all, but he nods in

agreement, because it's in his favor. "Exactly. What she said."
Lily gives him an unimpressed look, because she knows him and
practically lives in his brain, much like he does hers. It's years upon
years of being best friends between them, and six years apart can't
really erase that. Once they found that ease they always shared, there
was no going back. Here they are, two bodies and one heart.
"Fucking hell," Sirius hisses, clattering into the open chair next to
Remus with an aggrieved air to him, eyes bulging as he drops his
plate on the table. "I just had three different people corner me in the
line to fucking flirt with me. Nevermind that I'm less than two weeks
out of fucking Azkaban or anything, and when I mentioned that,
they started, like, cooing at me. One of them offered to give me
fucking sponge bath."
674
Day-by-Day
"What?" Remus' head whips around. "Who?" Sirius starts to point.

"The—"
"Don't answer that," Lily cuts in.
"Shut up, Lily." Remus holds Sirius' gaze. "Who?"
"Don't answer that," Lily repeats, when Sirius opens his mouth. At
her tone, he snaps it shut again. "Remus will go politely tell them to
leave you be, and because everyone around here is stuck with the
same people day-in and day-out with only sex and chores as
entertainment, they will likely cause problems since you're pretty
and new. And then, before you know it, Remus will get into a fight,
and they'll end up in the infirmary using resources that could be
used elsewhere, namely for something much less stupid."
"Oh." Sirius blinks at her. "Really?"
"Yes, because Remus always does things he knows won't end well
while expecting them to end any other way," Lily says.
"No, I meant—" Sirius coughs, scratching the side of his neck and
darting his gaze between Lily and Remus, wary. "Well, I meant about
how you said there's only sex and chores here to entertain ourselves
with. I mean, surely there's...other things to do. There has to be. This
place is massive."
Sybill heaves a sigh. "No, it's massive for functionality, not for fun.
Nothing ever goes on here, really. The most excitement we've had
has been these last two months, to be honest."
"Right, but...no parties?" Sirius tries. "No, like, events? Music?

Dancing? What about weddings? Birthdays? You don't celebrate
anything? Ever? It—it can't be...just this."
"What you see is what you get," Lily informs him dryly.
"Filius is ordained, so he can marry people, but it just happens in his

little office and kept on file. You can request your favorite meal of the
week to happen on your birthday, which is nice, I suppose. I got to
675
eat green jello last year." Sybill pauses, twirling a curl with her fork,
getting crumbs in her hair. "We do have memorial events, sort of.
Like, when someone dies who was a hero to the war efforts, or
whatever, Dumbledore gathers us here in the Great Hall, gives a
speech, and we all give a moment of silence."
Sirius stares at her. "That's...literally the most depressing shit I've

ever heard in my life."
"What's depressing?" Mary asks, dropping down in the seat next to

Lily, getting situated and craning her head to check that Bingley is
behaving at his table with his friends.
"The Phoenix," Sirius says. "Mary, it's awful here."
Mary nods. "I know, but it's safe. Better here than out there, as far as I
can tell."
"So, there's genuinely nothing else to do here?" Sirius asks, seeming

quite uncomfortable by the thought.
Remus gets that. Sirius doesn't like to get bored, that's true, but he's
especially restless after coming out of Azkaban. It's easy to notice, at
least for those who pay attention, and Remus is never not paying
attention to Sirius. He seems to grow more antsy and anxious by the
day.
It's been rough—and Remus suspects it will continue to be for some

time—so they're all doing their best. Today, Remus sat down in
Poppy's office with Asher, Lily, and Sirius; he gave his first blood
donation, and it went surprisingly well. He thinks he made it out to
be more daunting in his head than it actually was. Lily watched the
whole time, like a hawk, and Sirius even held his hand.
Asher chattered excitedly the entire time, which took his mind off
what was happening, and Poppy was so efficient about everything
that it didn't hurt and was over before he knew it. He doesn't have to
do it again for two months, and may not have to if Poppy and Asher
manage to figure out the formula for the immunity.
676
Day-by-Day
After, they slapped a bandaid on the inner bend of his elbow, made
him eat a muffin and drink juice, held him for a bit to rest, and then
let him go. That was that. The first round of immunizations that
Remus specifically requested begins tomorrow, so Poppy, Arthur,
and Molly will be quite busy, and Lily volunteered to help as well as
soon as she gets hers, both because she's a medic trained for it and to
oversee it so she can make sure Remus' demands are met.
Remus took his bandaid off an hour ago, so it's almost like it didn't
even happen. Though, everyone seems to be getting prepared to deal
with a whole bunch of sick people—children included— because of
the symptoms from the immunity that they will have for a few days,
which will eventually, inevitably pass. Better to be ill for a little bit
than come in contact with biological warfare and die a swift,
excruciating death.
It's not universal knowledge that Remus is responsible for saving so

many people from that fate, mostly because he doesn't want anyone
to known to start with, but also because this is a matter that requires
discretion, which is why it's a bit of a surprise what happens next.
"I think, right now, the only thing any of us are going to do is be
sick," Marlene comments bluntly as she dumps her tray on the table
and plops down into an open seat towards the other end of the table.
They all blink at her. "Dorcas heard from Minerva that we're all
about to get immunized, starting tomorrow, and also how and why.
Thanks for that, Remus."
"Ah," Remus says awkwardly. "It's...not a big deal."
"It's a pretty big deal," Dorcas counters, also sinking down at the
table next to Marlene. "Big steps for the war, you know."
"Oh, yay," Lily says sarcastically.
Dorcas gives her a wry look. "Once upon a time, you would have
been saying that sincerely."
"Yes, well, once upon a time, my best friend was dead and I didn't
have a girlfriend," Lily replies. "Things change."
677
"War doesn't, though," Marlene comments. "So, you know, time to
fight and whatnot. Do you think we'll get matching outfits? We
should color-coordinate."
Sirius snorts. "Now there's a thought. Could you imagine?"
"I'm thinking..." Marlene purses her lips. "Hm, yellow?"
"Ooh, I like yellow," Pandora says. "We'd smash it in yellow."
"No, it shows blood too well," Remus counters. "You definitely want
to go with darker colors."
"Or red, to blend," Lily suggests, coughing around a laugh, doing her
absolute best not to look at Remus with their shared sense of humor.
She fails, and Remus grins at her.
"Black is a good war color," Sybill muses. "Like, matte black. Not
glossy. Something hardy, kind of rough."
"Hear me out," Mary says, holding up her hands and spreading them
like presenting a banner. "Orange."
"Or we could just all go in different colors and come at them like a
rainbow," Dorcas says, lips curling up.
"Naked," Sirius declares. "We should go into war completely fucking

nude. They wouldn't know what to do."
Remus raises his eyebrows. "You know, he has a point."
Practically everyone cracks up immediately, just at the sheer

ridiculousness of all of this, because sometimes when things are this
shitty, you just have to laugh. So, they laugh.
They're still laughing when the loud scrape of two chairs across the
floor interrupts them, being pulled up at the end of the table. It's
Regulus, who they all peer at. He drops into one with a frown,
squinting at all of them.
"What's funny?" Regulus asks.
678
Day-by-Day
"Oh, just—war," Dorcas says dryly, and they all crack up again.
Regulus looks unimpressed. "Yeah, hilarious. Well, change the

subject or shut up. I coaxed James out of bed today, so if any of you
upset him, I will kick each of you in the face."
"James is here?" Sirius asks, looking around eagerly.
Remus cranes his head, too, feeling a pulse of hope in the center of
his chest. James has spent nearly the entire last week in bed, so
morose that everyone was worried. It's a good sign if he's starting to
show up at meals, and yes, there he is.
Remus spots him in line with his parents. He looks tired, but they're
all tired these days, so that's to be expected. He's smiling, at least.
Monty is clearly putting in the work to make him laugh, and it's
paying off.
"He's coming," Regulus states, giving them all a warning look, which
is objectively hilarious. "No upsetting James."
"Aye aye, Captain," Pandora teases, saluting him.
"It's sort of hard to talk about things that aren't upsetting these days,
though," Dorcas points out.
"Yeah. What the hell are we supposed to talk about?" Marlene asks.
"Like, everyone's dead, and everyone who isn't has dealt with
various torments, and there's a war on."
"Way to bring down the mood, McKinnon," Sirius says.
"Bite me, Black." Marlene pauses. "Not you, Reginald, I was talking
to the original model."
"I could have killed you, you know," Regulus tells her, eyes
narrowing. "I spared you."
"Dumbass," Marlene says, and Sirius cackles.
679
The second chair scrapes as James gingerly sits down, placing his
tray and Regulus' on the table with equal care. He looks around at
everyone, then clears his throat. "Uh, hey."
James is clearly uncomfortable by all the undivided attention, and

Regulus looks fit for murder, glaring around at everyone so harshly
that they all scramble to look busy and act casual.
"Hey, James," Pandora says, smiling. "What were we talking about?"

James asks.
"Regulus said he could have killed Marlene—in the arena, I

presume—and she called him a dumbass for...not doing it?" Sybill
recounts, though she sounds confused by the end.
Lily covers her face with her hands and groans, "Sybill."
"What? It's true!" Sybill bursts out.
Regulus is currently strangling his fork. Remus is pretty sure his eye
actually twitches. It shouldn't be funny, it really shouldn't, but
Remus catches Lily's eye when she drops her hands, and they both
have to look away so they won't laugh.
"We're not talking about the arena. We're not talking about that, or
anything," Regulus grits out.
"No, we're not," Remus agrees. "Actually, James, we were talking

about immunity before. Ah, it's good, you know. They're going to
start with the kids, so they'll be safe."
James' face softens, and maybe it's due to the reminder of what
happened in the arena when Marlene and Regulus were there
together, the echo of Vanity and Hodge that gets his mind to go in
this direction, but he says, "That is good, yeah. It might even be
like—I don't know. Maybe one of them will find a Horcrux Hornet
one day and keep it, because it can't hurt them. It's nice, I think.
Vanity would have liked it."
680
Day-by-Day
"Vanity was obsessed with bugs," Marlene mumbles, "so yeah, she'd
like it. She wouldn't—I mean, if it were only Horcrux Hornets to
worry about, she wouldn't even need immunity."
"They never scared her," James agrees, lips curling up. There's an
aged pain in his voice, but after all this time, it's the fondness that
shines through the brightest. "She loved Vespa, and honestly? I know
they're Hallow-made and all, but I swear Vespa must have loved her,
too."
"You think?" Marlene asks, putting her cheek over on her hand, her
gaze softer than Remus has ever seen it.
James shrugs. "It'd be hard not to, wouldn't it? She was—I mean, she
was lovely, a bit crazy, but absolutely brilliant."
"The ant juice," Regulus announces, shaking his head, and he laughs
along with James and Marlene. "Vanity and her ant juice. She was so
proud of her ant juice."
"Who even thinks of that?" James says in wonder. "Fifteen years old
and she was smart enough to think of it. I mean, she completely
ignored how it affected her, breaking out into a rash and such, but
still. It—it literally kept her alive."
Until it didn't, no one says, but they all hear it regardless.
Remus sighs as everyone seems to end up sad anyway, because

again, it's hard to get away from it.
Bringing up Vanity was a bad idea. All roads lead right to here.
Grief. Loss. Sadness.
He remembers that day. Remembers watching Vanity die and James

cradling her body, a harrowing thing to witness. He can't imagine
how it must have felt to be there. The worst part is that Vanity might
have survived, if not for Hodge. After all, Vespa didn't attack her,
despite the fact that she was scared.
681
Remus wonders why. Horcrux Hornets are Hallow-made, so they're
engineered to do one thing and one thing only, what they were made
for. Horcrux Hornets were made to respond to fear and attack, and
Vanity was afraid, but Vespa still turned to Willa's fear and attacked
her instead.
That doesn't make any sense. Vespa should have absolutely killed
Vanity, just because that's what it was designed to do, yet Vespa
purposefully shied away from attacking Vanity, but the only thing
Horcrux Hornets shy away from is their only predator, the only thing
that can kill them, which leaves them immortal and indestructible
otherwise. That's what Vanity said, wasn't it?
Fiendfyre ants are their only predator; that's the one thing that can
kill them, because they essentially burn up from the inside out if
they're bitten by them.
Fiendfyre ants. Vanity's ant juice. Oh.
"Oh," Remus gasps, jolting up straight so hard that he bumps into

the table and causes the trays to clatter, interrupting the flow of
conversation that had carefully moved on. But he's still here, still
right here, and he feels it click.
"What?" Lily asks. "Remus, what is it?"
"Ant juice," Remus blurts out, bolting to his feet. They all stare at him
like he's grown a second head. He jerks his hands at them, frustrated
that they're not keeping up with him. It's so obvious now, and of
course—of course Riddle saw it, all the way back then. "Vespa didn't
attack Vanity, because of the ant juice. Fiendfyre ants. Vanity said
Fiendfyre ants are Horcrux Hornets' only predator. Vespa would
have burned up from the inside out if she were to sting Vanity, and
that's why she didn't. Don't you get it? Vanity was immune."
"Oh, shit," Dorcas breathes out, eyes widening.
"She was immune for as long as she wasn't afraid, like Riddle,"
Remus says in a rush. "But then she was afraid, and yet she was
immune past that. The very first person immune ever. Riddle didn't
create immunity; Vanity did."
682
Day-by-Day
"Remus, you fucking genius," Sirius declares breathlessly, standing

up to grab Remus by the face and smack a fierce kiss right to his
mouth. He's staring at him in pure amazement when he pulls away.
"Go. Remus, go. You have to tell them."
"Right. Right, yeah, that," Remus agrees, a bit dazed.
"Oh, honestly," Lily says, exasperated, standing up to reach across

the table and whack him upside the head. "Get a move on already. It
was only a kiss, for fuck's sake."
Sirius grins. And he blushes. And he's beautiful. "Remus," Dorcas

insists.
Huffing out a laugh, Sirius starts pushing him to get him moving,
and then everyone starts scrambling to go, because no one wants to
miss this. It's a huge turning point, if they're correct. This means
they'll be able to create immunity without using Remus' blood, and
that means more people will be able to be safe from biological
warfare a whole lot faster.
Poppy must be in her office, because she's nowhere to be seen, so the

next best person to go to about this is Asher, who is chatting and
eating at the table with Rabastan, Rodolphus, and Barty. They all
look up and fall silent at the sight of a group consisting of ten people
hovering next to them, nearly all of them vibrating in sheer
adrenaline.
"Uh oh," Barty says. He looks to Regulus immediately, his eyebrows

rising swiftly up his forehead. "What's happening?"
"Asher, you're good with poison and venom, and you've been
working on this biological warfare stuff with Poppy," Dorcas starts.
"We think Remus just solved all your problems."
Asher blinks, then arches an eyebrow. "Again?"
"Fiendfyre ants," Remus says on an exhale, looking at Asher with

wide eyes. "In the 84th hunger games, Vanity Clyde made up a
concoction of crushed, watered down Fiendfyre ants to stay warm
683
during the cold nights. She broke out into a rash, remember?
And—and then she found Vespa, a Horcrux Hornet, and it didn't
attack her because she wasn't afraid. But, when she was afraid, it still
didn't attack her, even though that's what it was designed to do."
"Okay," Asher says slowly, the cogs visibly turning in her brain, a
slow light building in her eyes.
Remus takes a deep breath. "I think—I'm almost positive it was

because of the Fiendfyre ants. We don't believe Riddle was the first
to create immunity; we think Vanity was, and we think Riddle just
used that and expanded on it. Because Fiendfyre ants are the sole
predator of Horcrux Hornets, right? So, they're ingredients in the
formula. They must be. Surely that's it; that's what you're missing."
"Oh." Asher's eyes fully light up. "Holy shit." "Right?!" Dorcas bursts
out excitedly.
Without a word, Asher grabs one wheel on her wheelchair and jerks
around from the side of the table, then proceeds to wheel swiftly
away, running over Remus' toes on the way in her haste to go. After
a beat, everyone scrambles to follow.
When Poppy finds out, she actually looks like she could cry. She
even stands up and hugs Remus, because she's been working on this
for...basically a year, and this is the answer. The solution. Not just
blood from one man, but a true shot at creating immunity with no
time limit, distributing it to all.
It will still take time, because these things always do, but not nearly
as much. This means war will reach them faster, but it also means
that more lives could be saved, and that—if nothing else— makes it
all worth it.
On the way back to the Great Hall, James speaks up, his voice soft
with pride. "Riddle wanted to use something she created for—for
evil, but Vanity just helped save the world."
"Yeah," Marlene agrees softly. "She did."
684
Day-by-Day
"Well, you know the saying," Pandora murmurs. "Between good and
evil, good always prevails."
"Not all the time," James whispers, "but this time, it does, because of
her. She was so good, you know. She'd be so happy about this. So
fucking proud."
That sits between all of them, and they let it, because for once, it
doesn't lead back to sadness. There's just this, a young girl so smart
that Riddle used her intelligence to design a weapon, a young girl so
good that she's the catalyst to dismantling it.
A young girl gone too soon, taken before she should have been, and
yet her impact remains. It lingers. She lingers. She lives on in Remus'
blood now, and she'll live on in everyone who will survive thanks to
her.
Somehow, through Vanity, a young girl long gone, there's hope to be

found, and this is where it starts.
Right here, together, it starts.
One day at a time.
685

Crimson Rivers V3

Uploaded by

Copyright:

Available Formats

Crimson Rivers V3

Uploaded by

Document Information

Copyright

Available Formats

Share this document

Share or Embed Document

Sharing Options

Did you find this document useful?

Is this content inappropriate?

Copyright:

Available Formats

Crimson Rivers V3

Uploaded by

Copyright:

Available Formats

CRIMSON RIVERS

Archive of our Own

Typeset made by: chasingregulus

They come in the early corners of the morning, before anyone is

It's a mess of shouting and desperately trying to hold onto each

No one even got to say goodbye.

When Remus steps into the suite, he knows immediately that

"He's gone, isn't he?" Remus whispers.

"Yeah," James mumbles, clearing his throat as they break apart. He

"It's because of the interviews, we think," James tells him, glancing

"Did—did he say anything? Sirius, I mean?" Remus asks.

"I'm going to—" Remus stops, inhales, exhales. He takes a second,

Pandora miserably pushes to her feet, sniffling, but she dutifully

Time passes slowly.

Regulus realizes it as he sits there, never moving or doing anything

Not even a bit.

Sirius, if you'd believe it, is very fucking bored.

He has lost moments, thinking so hard and so much that he works

He wants it to never have happened at all.

Sirius' eyes fly open.

Heart racing, Sirius swivels his head automatically to look for

26, 25, 24...

17, 16, 15...

A labyrinth. A maze. Sirius would fucking laugh if he had enough

Without a second of hesitation, Sirius swivels on his heel and tears

"Cissa," Sirius says, his tone clipped.

Narcissa breaks into a grin, huffs a laugh, then doesn't hesitate to

It's like an open portion of a maze, a big square with weapons

Everywhere Sirius looks, people are sprinting, some that he

The sound of one cannon, followed quickly by a second, seems to

But, when the source of death is located, Sirius is halted by a heavy

For a long moment, maybe half of a minute, no one moves. No one

And then, unprompted, Regulus' voice rings out, nearly snarling.

Sirius had yanked up his bag as he sprinted, which he now uses to

The cannon sounds.

"Reggie? Look at me. Let me see if—"

Sirius stares after him, genuinely so caught off-guard that he can't

"Get the hell up, you idiot!"

Sirius glances down to find Marlene already holding a sword, then

Sirius is the only one empty-handed. Lovely.

"Well, this is shit," Emmeline announces, turning in a slow circle as

Usually, there's a place right at the beginning that has an abundance

As one, they all swivel their heads to stare at Sirius, who is

Sirius' head immediately whips around towards her. "What's that

"No? Because he sure seemed to feel safe enough running in the

"Look, he's just—throwing a tantrum, basically," Sirius grumbles,

"Yeah, exactly, he's my brother," Sirius cuts in harshly. "He may be

"And if he is?" Marlene challenges. "What then, Sirius? Because if

"Watch it, McKinnon," Sirius says shortly.

"Why?" Marlene snarls. "Huh? Why should I? Because he's your

"Marlene," Sirius murmurs gently, because he can suddenly see that

is hitching in her chest, and tears are building up in her eyes.

"Fucking hell," Sirius whispers, moving forward to catch her the

"Sorry, I really am, but we can't stay here," Alice repeats.

"We need more supplies. A water source. Preferably some shelter.

"Regulus went that way."

"Again, how do you know he's not with them?"

He shakes his head at Marlene. "He'd never hurt me, Marlene.

"He already punched you," Augusta points out.

"But in the arena?" Marlene challenges, clearly refusing to let it go.