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Death Eaters Don’t Cry


James came out of the parlor room at exactly the same time as Regulus came up from the dungeon stairs. They both bore the look of someone who’d just come from something that they didn’t particularly want the other to know about - guilty looks whispered over their faces. And both of them recognized the guilt written on the other’s face. James shoved his fists into his pockets and stared at Regulus as he walked over, trying to remind himself not to sound like he was accusing Regulus of anything when he spoke. “What’cha up to, Reg?” he asked as casually as he could, though there was a tremble to his voice.

Regulus answered, “Just went to… to get my jumper,” he lied. He noticed his sleeve was still popped and quickly hastened to pull it down over his wrist again, his fingers clasping over the hem, and he looked up, nervous that James might’ve seen the Dark Mark.

He hadn’t. But he had noticed Regulus pull the sleeve down and James felt the tightness of suspicion in his throat. He took a couple steps closer to Regulus and he looked around as the Great Hall was clearing out and he hoped that maybe Remus and Sirius would go and open up the Secret Meeting Room - he was going to be late. He looked Regulus in the face. “We need to talk.”

Regulus felt a pit in his belly. He nodded.

James thought about going back to the parlor room, but he decided it was too risky - too many professors frequenting the area that might check in there for some reason. This was a conversation that he didn’t want interrupted. He nodded to the stairs, “C’mon.” He led the way up to the third floor and turned to look at Regulus. “Can you keep a secret?”

I already keep so many, Regulus thought. He nodded.

James waved for him to come along and when they got to the tapestry, he lifted it and waved for Regulus to go ahead into the darkness behind it… At first Regulus thought he was mad but as he stepped forward, he found there was a tunnel there and his eyes widened as James waved his wand. “Lumos,” James said, then, “Be careful. There are pits. We’ve only really explored one of them. It goes down to the laundry room… Peter reckons the others go to dragon lairs but he’s an idiot.” He waved Regulus along the Trophy Room Passageway, telling him how to get over the pits ‘til they’d reached the alcove halfway up, and James waved his wand to light the lanterns that he and the other Marauders had brought down.

Regulus looked about. The walls were papered with notes and pictures, older than either one of them, from a time long before their own. He looked over the photos on the walls and recognized Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall in one photograph together that was labelled Poppy & Minnie, and another, much older picture where two boys were grinning and holding up broomsticks - they were faces he recognized though it took him a moment to realize why. One of them was Newt Scamander and the other looked like it was probably his older brother. Newt was grinning - his front teeth looked even larger when he was that age - probably thirteen or fourteen, about the age that Regulus was then. And he wore a Hufflepuff Quidditch jumper and a helmet that strapped under his chin awkwardly, making his cheeks look almost pudgy. The wizard next to him, by comparison, looked like an adonis of a boy, with chiseled muscles and normal-sized teeth. Regulus thought of the morning in the Care of Magical Creatures barn...

I was the brother that never quite lived up to it,” Newt had said (though, with a bit more “uhs” and stutters mixed in, of course), “I wish I’d told him that I was proud to be his brother…

Regulus watched the little Newt in the photo grinning as his helmet slid down his head and over his nose and the brother laughed, having pushed the helmet down, smirking rather haughtily out from the picture as Newt shoved his helmet back up on his head and continued on grinning adoringly, desperately up at his Gryffindor elder brother.

James cleared his throat and Regulus’s fixation on the photo ended and he turned ‘round to look at James.

James held out his hand and, instinctively, Regulus knew what James wanted. He walked over and, taking a deep breath, he lay his arm in James’s hand. Regulus’s eyes met James’s.

“Am I going to see what I think I’m going to see when I push up your sleeve?” James asked.

Regulus nodded.

James pushed the sleeve back and there it was, the horrible Dark Mark, black against Regulus’s very pale skin. James’s stomach churned uneasily as he stared upon it, his eyes tracing over the slowly undulating snake - as though the tattoo was breathing. He looked up at Regulus’s eyes.

Regulus was near to crying.

James fought himself to keep from bellowing, to keep from hexing the boy before him, everything in him screaming that this was an enemy, that this meant he couldn’t be trusted, but one small, teensy little voice in the very depths of him - one so deep he almost couldn’t hear it’s whisper - said not to walk away. He needs somebody, James strained to hear the whisper. He needs someone like you to listen.

Death Eaters don’t cry.

“Tell me when, how, and why,” James said calmly.

Regulus said, “The day you found me by the cave. I dunno how. I dunno why. I was walking back from Care of Magical Creatures class and Kreacher showed up and he took me to see the Dark Lord, and -- and that’s it. The next thing I remember, I was sitting on the beach and I couldn’t remember. And then you were there.”

James remembered clearly the confused look on Regulus’s face on the beach that day - the dirt and the blood he had to wash away from his cheek…

“I didn’t want it, James,” Regulus said quietly. “Please believe me. I don’t want it. If I could take it off…” he stared down at the exposed tattoo on his wrist.

James reached up and took the sleeve of Regulus’s jumper and pulled it down to cover the Dark Mark and put his hand over his wrist, and let go of Regulus’s hand. “Alright so… so what exactly is it used for?” James asked, practically, “Can he hear us or something through it?” he was half joking.

Regulus shook his head no. “He can summon people by it, though. He - he touches the Mark on one of his followers and… and it burns on everybody’s wrist. That’s what I’ve heard anyway. He hasn’t done it yet since…” he looked at his own wrist, then looked up at James, “I’m scared when it does that it’ll hurt.”

James didn’t know how to answer that.

Regulus bit his lip, then, “James, I understand if you don’t want me to come to the meeting anymore.” He looked up at him, “But… don’t tell Sirius.”

James raised an eyebrow, “But --”

“He’ll go off his trolley!” Regulus said, panicked. “Completely mad! He’ll hate me, he’ll never speak to me again! If you tell him, I’ll never have a chance to be his brother again. And I want to be his brother, I wanna be, I wanna tell him -- I wanna tell him I’m proud to be his brother… please!”

The expression on Regulus’s face was so very like his older brother that James couldn’t help but feel his heart soften toward the boy. He put his palm on Regulus’s shoulder. “Calm down,” he said gently. “I want you to come to the meeting.”

“Yeah?” Regulus’s eyes turned hopeful, “You do?”

“Yes,” James nodded. “I do. Very much, Reg.”

Regulus couldn’t help it. He was so thankful for someone wanting him to be there that he launched himself at James and hugged the older boy tightly ‘round the torso.

James patted Regulus’s back awkwardly. “Alright, mate… it’s alright.”

Regulus let go after a few moments and backed away, “I didn’t think you would want me around anymore.”

James shook his head, “Mate, that’s not how friends work. They don’t turn off when something bad happens. They stick it out with you and do what they can to help when the rubbish comes...” He waved his palm at Regulus’s wrist, “And if you don’t want me to tell Sirius, then I won’t.”

“Thank you.”

“But just know this, Regulus -- I found out, yeah? So it’s out there. If Sirius finds out from someone besides you…” James shook his head, “He’ll think you were hiding it from him, and he’ll find it a lot harder to believe you.”

Regulus hung his head.

“And even more than you need to tell Sirius, you need to tell Dumbledore.”

“But he’ll expel me,” Regulus argued.

James shook his head, “Not Dumbledore. Dumbledore will know how to help you. Might even be able to get it off you, to rescue you.”

Regulus stared up at him with fearful eyes, “But what if the Dark Lord finds out I went to Dumbledore? What if he finds out I don’t want it? James, he’ll kill me sure as anything. He kills deserters. And… and I don’t wanna die. I don’t. I’m - I’m afraid of dying. Please, Voldemort will kill me if I go to Dumbledore.”

“Dumbledore will protect you from Voldemort, mate.”

“Like he protected Maryrose?”

There was no arguing with that point.

James sighed and ran his hands through his hair, messing it up, and as he brought his palm over the back of his neck, he said, “Well… well, I guess we probably should go up to the meeting, we’re already late and -- well, I’m supposed to be the leader of this whole thing…”

“And you’re sure you want me ‘round?” Regulus asked, feeling like James was maybe frustrated with him, like maybe James was changing his mind about Regulus already...

“I’m positive,” James nodded, and he hooked Regulus into the crook of his arm, pulling him along as he stepped out into the tunnel. Regulus cringed away from his touch at first, having half expected abuse when James had lifted his arm (like Sirius had once been about being touched, thought James, and he hugged Regulus all the closer). A quick flick of James’s wand and the lights of the alcove were off and his wand was a glow, illuminating the way as they walked on up to the Trophy Room, where they came out of the portrait of Brutus Scrimgeour.

James paused before they were about to leave the Trophy Room, stopping Regulus and pulling him back a second. He stared at Regulus carefully, then he said, “Hey. That Mark on your wrist? It doesn’t change who you are, by the way.”

Regulus looked up at him.

“It has no power over you, I mean. Voldemort has no power over you. Not really. He’s just a man, the same as any other. He was born, he lives, and one day he’ll die. The only real difference between a man like Voldemort and a good man - many other man - is that they treat others with respect and they are capable of feeling stuff like love for more than just their own selves. They think about others feelings and they act kindly toward them…” James paused, looking Regulus over for a moment as they stood there among the trophy cases in the semi-dark of the dusty old room. Regulus looked so young, his hair untamed, and so much like Sirius that it broke James’s heart to see him upset like that. It was like looking at Sirius to him, one and the same, and all he wanted to do was make this poor mini-Sirius alright again… wanted him to know that he was going to be alright if he just held on… to know that if he needed help holding on he, James, would be there to hold on to him. “Always be a good man, Reg, even when it seems impossible. Maybe even especially then.”




“FERFUCKSAKES… where the bloody hell have you been James Ridiculous-Middle-Name Potter?!” Sirius was standing in the hallway of the seventh floor corridor, his foot in the magical door of the Secret Meeting Room, waiting for James - the last of the people needing to arrive to the Order meeting. He had finally just rounded the corner and Sirius, ever impatient, wasn’t about to let him live down being late. “My foot’s probably bruised from this blasted door and you don’t even give a flying rat’s arse about it, come trotting up like you’re a bleedin --” he stopped when he saw Regulus. “Hullo,” he murmured.
“Hi,” Regulus said as James and Regulus came to a stop before Sirius.

Sirius looked him head to foot, then, “You look… ill. Too skinny. Have you been eating? You should eat, you’ll feel better.”

Regulus looked like he wasn’t sure how to answer this. “I eat,” he replied.

Sirius said, “Well, eat more. Or maybe eat like cookies or something, like a dozen fucking cookies all at once.”

Regulus said, “I ate two with dinner.”

Sirius shrugged, “That’s a start, I s’pose.” He pushed open the door and looked at James. “Prongs, they’re about to descend into anarchy if you hadn’t arrived soon, bloody hell, that Frank Longbottom, he’s a troublemaker.” His eyes glistened.

“Yes, I’m sure, Frank Longbottom’s a regular renegade,” James said, rolling his eyes as he ducked under Sirius’s arm and into the Meeting Room.

Regulus made to follow but Sirius lowered his arm like a drawbridge and looked at Regulus. “Not so fast, you little bastard. What’s the password?” he glowered at Regulus with menacing eyes.

Panic filled Regulus up. Password? James hadn’t mentioned a password! He stammered, “I - I - I dunno, James didn’t - James just --”

A giant smirk crossed Sirius’s face, “Relax, I’m just takin’ the mickey out of you, little brother.” He threw his arm around Regulus’s shoulder and chortled as he pulled him into the room, “There isn’t a bleedin’ password… but for the record, I would’ve accepted Sirius is a fabulous son of a bitch as a password if you’re ever in need of one again.” He gave his kid brother a swish of a pat across his wild hair and closed the door to the Secret Room behind them.