The Stag and The Harpy | James Potter

Slytherin hero

{{currently crying}}

Regulus Black stares in disbelief at the handkerchief in his hand.

It's silver satin. Shiny and pristine. Untouched if not for the looping embroidery in the corner. Initials.

P.L.G

After everything that had happened...he couldn't fathom her contacting him. Something weighty lays beneath the folded fabric, something he's scared to look at.

He sighs, glancing sideways at Kreacher.

The house elf shrugs and offers a grimace. Neither of them knew what this meant. The kerchief and whatever it was hiding had been left on the kitchen table of Grimmauld Place. Kreacher suspected his fellow house elf Kelpy, a tiny little thing that had visited on more than one occasion. But he didn't understand the significance.

"Master, let me," The house elf croaks, reaching for the cloth. Regulus shakes his head quickly. The poor creature was still recovering from his near death at the hands of the inferi. At the hands of Lord Voldemort.

"No, Kreacher. I'm certain it's fine," Regulus says warily as he begins to unfold the material.

"But master—"

Regulus cuts him off with a silencing look. His fingers shake as he moves the last fold, his blood freezing at what lay inside.

A familiar gold coin glints in the dim light of the library. Regulus' throat grows tight, his eyes tracing the delicate outline of the lion facing upwards.

He doesn't think, just reaches out and touches the surface of the metal. He's instantly sucked into a vacuum like space, a tugging behind his belly telling him that he's being transported somewhere. A port key.

Clever Veela.

Arms envelope him before he's even steady on his feet, holding him up from the force of landing.

"Regulus," She breathes

It's her. It's Phoebe.

Regulus doesn't know what compels him, maybe it's guilt or affection or fear of what's to come. He can't stop his arms from banding around her waist and squeezing her tight. Hugging her.

The last time he'd seen her she'd been close to death. He could still hear her screaming in his head at night when the house was quiet. He can still see her writhing in pain. He'd known that pain, faced that curse at the hands of his father. It was brutal. Unforgivable.

He doesn't realize he's crying, not until he looks down and sees wet marks on the shoulder of her blouse. Phoebe squeezes him tighter, her eyes clenched shut as the boy faced with the weight of the future crumbles in her arm.

"Regulus," She says again, this time stronger. She pulls back enough to look at his face, her heart breaking at his bloodshot eyes and sunken in cheeks. He was wasting away.

"What's happened?" She asks quietly, reaching up and gently wiping his tears away with her thumb. Regulus wonders briefly if she realizes how motherly she can be for someone that was nearly destroyed by their own.

"I-I can't.." he trails off, the ink on his arm burning under the expectation of her words. He can't say it. He can't explain himself.

She must notice his pain, because she quickly takes his arm and shoves up the sleeve of his shirt before he can stop her. Her heart breaks further at what she sees.

This was as close as she'd been to a dark mark. The mark that represents everything she stood against. Everything the people she loves feared. Regulus recoils at her critical eyes, but she grips his arm tighter, laying her hand over the blackened skin so neither of them have to see it any longer.