When the Candle Gutters

The room smelled like dust and old rain. Candlelight flickered, shadows crawling up the walls with every draft from the cracked window. James stood with his back to the door, hands shoved deep in his pockets, trying to keep his fingers still. He’d been waiting twenty minutes. Every second stretched like a thread about to snap.

Then he heard the soft footfall. A floorboard creaked. He turned.

Regulus Black stood in the doorway, face half-lit by the flame. Pale. Thinner than James remembered. Dark rings under his eyes that hadn’t been there a month ago. He wore his Slytherin green like armor, but his hands were shaking.

“You came.” James’s voice came out rough. Too honest.

Regulus closed the door behind him, latch clicking with finality. “Don’t make it sound like a choice.”

The air tightened. James stepped forward, stopped when Regulus flinched. “I had to see you,” James said. “After what you said in the library—I couldn’t just… let it sit.”

“It should sit.” Regulus’s voice cracked at the edges. “It should rot. Everything we do rots, Potter. You know that.”

“Then why are you here?”

Regulus didn’t answer. He crossed the room in three long strides, and before James could breathe, Regulus’s hands were fisted in his shirt, pulling him down. Their mouths met hard, desperate, without grace. A collision of hunger and fear—teeth clicking, breath ragged. James’s back hit the edge of a dusty desk, and Regulus pushed him onto it, climbing after him like a drowning man clawing for air.

The kiss deepened. James’s hands found Regulus’s waist, then his ribs, then the curve of his spine. Regulus made a sound—half sob, half gasp—and pulled at James’s collar, kissing down his jaw, his throat. James’s head fell back, and he whispered, “Regulus. Regulus, I—”

“Don’t.” Regulus’s lips pressed against his pulse point. “Don’t say anything. Just—be here. Be real.”

They fumbled in the dim light, shedding layers of wool and pretense. Regulus’s tie came undone. James’s glasses knocked askew. The desk groaned under them, rain splattering the glass, and for a few moments there was nothing but skin and breath and the desperate, fragile heat of something with no future.

James’s hand cupped Regulus’s cheek. “I love you.”

Regulus froze. His eyes were dark, wet, unreadable. “Don’t.”

“It’s true.”

“It can’t be true.” Barely audible. “We can’t—this isn’t—I’m not something you get to keep, James. I’m not your redemption.”

“I don’t want redemption. I want you.”

Regulus kissed him again, softer this time, like he was memorizing the shape of James’s mouth. “You’ll destroy me.”

“I’ll save you.”

Regulus laughed—hollow, terrible. “You can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be found.”

The door swung open.

Violent crack of wood against plaster. James looked up, heart lurching into his throat. Sirius Black stood in the doorway, face a mask of disbelief crumbling into rage in the span of a single breath.

“Sirius—” Regulus scrambled off James, nearly falling. Shirt untucked, hair wild, lips swollen. “Sirius, wait—”

But Sirius was already moving. He crossed the room with the fury of a storm, shoving Regulus aside. His fist connected with James’s jaw before James could even raise his hands. The impact sent him sprawling off the desk, crashing into a chair that splintered under his weight.

Pain exploded through his face. James tasted copper. He blinked through the haze to see Sirius towering over him, chest heaving, eyes blazing with something between hurt and loathing.

“You bastard.” Sirius’s voice was raw, shaking. “My brother? You—of all people—you—how could you?”

James pushed himself up, blood dripping from his split lip. “Sirius, listen—”

“Listen? Listen to what?” Sirius laughed, brittle and sharp. “‘Oh, sorry, mate, didn’t mean to shag your little brother in a broom closet’? Is that the line you were practicing?”

“It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like?” Sirius’s hands were fists at his sides. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’ve been sneaking around with a Death Eater’s pet. With my brother. With a Black.” He spat the name like a curse. “I trusted you, James. I loved you like a brother. And you—you’re—using him?”

“I’m not using him.” James’s voice cracked. “I love him.”

Sirius went still. The silence stretched, thick as smoke.

“You love him,” Sirius repeated. Flat, hollow. Then it broke. “You love him? He’s a bloody Slytherin. He’s—he’s their prize, James. He’s going to take the Mark. My parents have already—he’s lost. And you think you can—what? Romance him back from the dark side? You’re a fool.”

Regulus had backed against the wall, arms wrapped around himself. Pale, tear-streaked, but his jaw was set. “Sirius. Stop.”

“No.” Sirius rounded on him. “No, you don’t get to tell me to stop. You—you’re supposed to be better than this. You’re supposed to be—I thought you were—but you’re just like them, aren’t you? Sneaking around, lying, breaking everything you touch.”

Regulus flinched. “I’m not lying. I’m—I don’t know what I am.”

“You’re a traitor,” Sirius hissed. “To our family. To yourself. To—to me.” He looked at James again, the hatred in his eyes a physical thing. “And you. You were my best friend. You swore we’d always have each other’s backs. And now you’re—you’re this.”

James wiped blood from his chin. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“But you did.” Sirius’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You did.”

He turned and walked to the door. Boots echoed on the stone floor. At the threshold, he paused without looking back.

“Regulus. Come.”

Regulus stood frozen. His eyes met James’s—hollow, lost, apologetic. For a long, terrible moment, James thought he might stay.

Then Regulus lowered his gaze, and followed his brother out.

The door swung shut. James alone in the flickering candlelight. Rain had stopped. The room silent except for the drip of water from the cracked window and the pounding of his own heart. He sat on the floor, blood drying on his lip, dust settling on his clothes, staring at the closed door.

He didn’t know how long he stayed there.

Somewhere in the castle, two brothers walked down a dark corridor. Neither spoke. The gulf between them had grown into a chasm, and James Potter was on the other side, bleeding and alone, the weight of his choices pressing down like stones.

The candle guttered out.

Darkness swallowed the room whole.