Knife. 354 Words. @jegulus-microfic .

knife. 354 words. @jegulus-microfic .

A few days before Regulus is due to get the dark mark he finds a kitten mewling on the steps of Grimmauld place. It’s a tiny thing, gray with little dollops of white on its chest and the tips of its ears. He hesitates before reaching down and scooping it in his arms. The kitten’s reaction is immediate violence, hissing and spitting and ripping scratches across Regulus’ arms with tiny daggers of claws.

Regulus hisses back at it and wraps it in the bottom of his shirt in an attempt to protect his own flesh.

He dashes up to his room, narrowly avoiding his father on the second floor landing before dumping the kitten onto his bed.

It yowls up at him, puffing up its tail.

He’s never going to be able to keep it. Nagini will swallow it down on sight.

But he can’t just abandon it.

He has to save it.

So he does the thing that’s been playing on the edges of his mind for weeks.

He throws some of his things in a bag, scoops the kitten back into his arms, and he apparates to James Potter's house.

He isn’t expecting to find the whole family sitting on the front porch, all sipping tea like some kind of perfect holiday card, but his luck has been pretty shit lately.

“Oh my,” Euphemia breathes.

Fleamont chokes on his tea

Sirius drops his cup.

“Regulus?” James says and stands from his chair. “Are you bleeding?” He comes charging down the steps, stopping only a breath away.

The kitten spits.

“Oh.” James looks at the both of them, eyes soft. “And who is this?”

Regulus gazes down at the kitten. “This is Knife.” He clears his throat and gestures with his bleeding arms. “They’re quite sharp.”

Knife growls in agreement.

“Well.” James takes a deep breath. “Is Knife here to stay?”

Regulus looks to the porch. SIrius is standing at the top of the stairs, his hand reaching back to clutch Euphemia’s hand. He’s clearly straining to hear Regulus’ response.

“Yes.” Regulus looks up into Jame’s wide brown eyes. “We’re here to stay.”

july 10. snitch. 215 words. @jegulus-microfic

James wakes up to a light tap on his bicep, and a whispered “Got it.” 

He grumbles, letting Regulus know he was awake. He’s expecting his boyfriend to explain why he tapped him, but instead, all he gets is another tap—on his hip this time—and a huff in frustration. 

“Reg, love,” he says, voice rough from sleep, “Why’re you tapping me?”

“Oh, did I wake you?”

He did, but James isn’t about to make him feel bad when he probably would’ve woken on his own soon enough. “No, I was already up. Did you need something?” He feels yet another tap on the back of his neck and a quiet cheer from Regulus. “Love?”

“Hmm?” 

“Why do you keep tapping me?”

“Oh, I like to see if I can catch your snitch tattoo under my fingers. It’s nice to watch it fly all around your body.”

A burst of warmth floods through James’ chest. He’s never said anything specifically, but he got that tattoo for Regulus. It was nice that not only did he enjoy how it looked on James’ body, but that he’d found a small joy in being able to try and catch it. It was moments like these that reminded James just how capable of childlike wonder Regulus still was, despite everything.

@jegulus-microfic

12 June 2023 Micro-fic

Prompt: warmth

Tags: angst, subjective allegory, no dialogue, references to self harm and child abuse but nothing graphic, sort of toxic past bartylus but it’s not their fault, not sure if you can read this as romantically involved Jegulus but it’s not platonic either, I’m quite literally completely unable to write anything under a thousand words I’m so sorry

WC: 1300 words, average read time 17 minutes

Regulus was always cold. It didn’t matter what season it was, what he was wearing, or how many blankets he was under, he was always, always cold. He wondered if it was a byproduct of living in that godforsaken house for too long. Sometimes, when his mind wasn’t working the way it should and he gave into the temptation to look at Sirius, he would see Sirius burrowed in his friends’ embraces. Like maybe Sirius was just as cold as he was.

For a long time, the closest he came to warmth was Barty. But Barty wasn’t warmth, not really. Barty was flame. Scorching, dangerous, burning, and uncaring of the damage left behind. And Regulus was like a moth. He let himself get pulled over Barty’s edges again and again, each time hoping he may get to soak the warmth up from the coals at the end. Barty left him burned and scarred every time, and Regulus left him snuffed and drenched in return. They both knew they’d kill each other one day, but it didn’t matter. They were both toxic people at their cores. They would poison themselves until one of them dropped dead and the other would follow shortly behind. A sick, twisted, crude facsimile of a phenomenon that neither of them knew but desperately craved.

James isn’t sure when he started noticing Regulus’s eyes on them, but now that he’d noticed, he’s hyper aware of his gaze. At first, he’d thought his gaze was bitter and angry and directed only at Sirius. And, it was, kind of. The farther into the term they got, the more Regulus seemed to lose the battle in himself and the more his eyes would land on their group.

He never seemed to realise he was being watched in return.

James watched Regulus closely and at some point, he realised that the anger and bitterness in his eyes wasn’t actually directed at Sirius like he had thought. Regulus was jealous. His eyes burned with it, desperate, longing stares that shuddered with a kind of sadness that left James with chills along his spine. The longer he watched Regulus, the more he saw. The way his hands never stopped shaking, the way his chapped lips always looked like they were a hair shy of blue, how he always wore long sleeves and jackets no matter the season, and how he caved in on himself, like if he scrunched down into himself far enough, he might find the barest hint of warmth. James isn’t sure when he starts flicking warming charms at the younger boy, but when his tense face smooths out for just a moment every time they hit him, James knew he wouldn’t stop.

He never finds out how Sirius finds Regulus that cold, stormy, December night. All he knows is one minute they’re sitting around the fire in the lounge, and the next, Sirius goes rigid beside him. James doesn’t manage to get a word out before Sirius is gone. He comes back hours later with a half dead, drenched Regulus who’s bleeding from Merlin only knows where and shivering so hard he keeps biting his own tongue. He’s drawn to Regulus with an urgency he’s never felt before, and the fact that he’s not at all a healer doesn’t occur to him. He’s been treating Regulus for years, hasn’t he?

He tries not to let his eyes linger on the countless, brutal scars that line the hidden planes of Regulus’ body as he strips him from the soaked robes he wears, but if the sound of his heart breaking over and over is anything to go by, he’s not successful. He’d be able to recognise Walburga Black’s handy lacero work in his sleep, or the deep wounds left from Orion’s rage, and it doesn’t take him long to discover Regulus’ own work across his left forearm. This body holds the remains of so many different people’s violence. James wonders if it holds a person at all.

He stays with Regulus through his nightmares. Speaks softly to him when he wakes screaming and staring into nothingness with haunted eyes that should never live in the body of an eighteen year old. The words don’t seem to help much, James doubts he even hears them, but the warming charms do. He casts them on the blankets piled atop Regulus, he casts them on the sofa he lies on, he casts them on the much too large borrowed clothes Regulus has on. Anywhere Regulus touches, James funnels warmth into it. Anything to keep Regulus from shivering into tens of millions of tiny pieces right before his eyes.

Regulus will never talk about what happened that dreadful December night all those years ago. He will never speak of what he saw or what he did or what happened to him, but James doesn’t need him to. He knows enough to form his own ideas, and he knows enough to know that when Regulus’ eyes go glassy and void, that warming charms, hot tea, and a warm muffin will bring him back to the present. He knows Regulus will burrow into his side, as though he wishes he could crawl inside James’ rib cage and even then it might not be enough, and James will wrap his arms around him, holding him close for as long as he needs. Never tightly, Regulus fears being trapped more than he fears being touched, but firmly enough that Regulus knows he is held together, kept whole. Regulus will shove his feet under James’ leg, and even through his trousers he can feel how cold they are. He won’t complain, ever, about Regulus’ cold, he just bundles him up, encases him in the warmth James can provide, and soothes the cracks and aches and edges as much he can.

Regulus accepted long ago that he is a weak, weak man. He knew the second he recognised the source of the warming charms he’d been hit with back in school that he would become an addict. James’ warmth is intoxicating. He gives it so freely, completely surrounds Regulus with it, and never tries to take it away. Regulus is a weak, selfish man, and he can’t bring himself to care that he must scald James’ sweet, rich skin with his frigid cold. He can’t bring himself to care when James wraps his arms around him and bleeds his warmth directly into Regulus’ very soul. He feels alive for the first time ever while he’s surrounded by the feeling of James’ heart beating against his back, the smell of a blueberry muffin in front of him, a book he’s not even really reading open in his lap, piping hot tea cradled in his hands, and the hum of a familiar warming charm pulsing around them. He understands what is different between Barty’s flame and James’ warmth now. Barty and Regulus only had one language they could speak. Violence was how they understood each other. James, though? James knew love. He knew kindness. He knew gentle. Years down the line, James is still teaching Regulus new words in this foreign language with the same amount of patience he had when he started. Barty was fire. James is sun. Both similar to each other, both with the capability of destroying Regulus, but only one with the ability to put him back together.

He may never understand how to love another person, but James has enough warmth for the both of them. Perhaps, one day, he may even stop shivering.

Headcanon that Sirius always wants affection from Regulus, but he is also very aware of his boundaries:

It's 4am and Sirius and Regulus find themselves in the kitchen at the same time but they don't speak. They just sort of nod to each other and continue doing whatever it is they came to do.

When Sirius is about to leave the room, he stops for a moment and sets down his coffee, turning around to face Regulus with his arms open wide in invitation.

Sirius half expects it when Regulus simply shakes his head 'no' and he nods in quiet understanding, allowing his arms to fall to his sides.

He's about to pick up his coffee again and leave, but instead, he smiles at Regulus and lifts one hand from his side, offering a fist bump instead.

And Regulus just rolls his eyes, but not without the tiny smile that finds its way to his lips because even as he lazily slaps the top of Sirius' fist, not even putting in the effort to give him a real fist bump, Sirius's face still lights up in that same grin that he would have if Regulus had accepted his offer for a hug in the first place.

Then Sirius picks up his coffee and says, over his shoulder as he leaves, "Love you!"

To which Regulus responds as he always does, in a tone that suggests otherwise,

"Hate you."

Sirius: I feel like I'm being stabbed.

Remus: how do you even know what getting stabbed feels like?

Sirius: points at Regulus accusingly.

New torture method: I lock you in a room and play the ‘touch a touch a touch a touch me’ scene from glee on repeat until you claw your own eyes out and die