The Stag and The Harpy | James Potter

Locket

Phoebe smiles slightly, listening to Sirius lazily thump up the stairs.

Grimmauld place was dimly lit, a warm, greenish glow caused by the light bouncing off the ghastly wallpaper. It was surprisingly comforting now, the odd creaks and moans, the occasional screaming from Wallburga Black's portrait.

The Veela winces when James hits a rather sore spot deep in  the sole of her foot. He glances up from where he's kneading her fuzzy sock covered feet, his apology in his voice as he says, "Maybe stay off your feet tomorrow, Phoebe."

She rolls her eyes, huffing, "Too much to be done! I can't just sit around with—"

"Your feet up?" James finishes for her, lips quirked in a half smile as he peers at her over his glasses. Her heart warms slightly when he chides, "Couldn't you send some of your research to Newt tomorrow? Take your mind off some of the bad stuff. I know he'd enjoy hearing from you."

Phoebe flushes, insisting shyly, "I have to make sure it's right before I send it to him. He's the—"

"Magizoologist of the century. Yes, love, I've heard," James teases, grinning fully now at her exasperated face. She playfully pinches his side, murmuring, "Why don't we go lay down so you can interrupt me in my dreams too, you bloody stag."

James smirks and leans over her legs resting in his lap to kiss her softly. Her lips curve into a smile against his, the tender touch a reminder of how much he still makes her crazy. In all senses of the word.

"If you insist, harpy," James mumbles quietly, wincing when he receives yet another pinch. He slowly moves her feet before standing, grabbing up her hands and carefully pulling her to her feet as well. He bends at the waist, like he's going to scoop her up but Phoebe swats him away, insisting, "Go on! I'll be right behind you."

James protests, "Just let me—"

"Potter," Phoebe sighs, finally the one to interrupt. His smile grows as she says tiredly, "Let me enjoy walking without a kid attached to my hip while I can. I already have to babysit you and Sirius. Let me bloody walk!"

"Fine," He bites out, smirking when she stands on her toes to press another quick kiss to his lips. He grabs her waist and holds her there, playfully nipping at her lower lip before pulling back enough to whisper, "I'll take a quick snog instead when you finish waddling your way up the stairs."

"I don't waddle!" Phoebe cries, pushing him away. James snickers and quickly ducks before she can smack him upside the head, teasing, "No, of course not. You just walk slowly."

He runs out of the kitchen before she can attempt any more bodily harm, jeering as he goes, "Hurry up, love! I'm aging by the second!"

Phoebe shakes her head, lips twitching while she wonders when she'd lost her ability to be mad at the boy. Probably when she'd married him.

She busies herself with pushing in the kitchen chairs, dusting off the table before sighing and heading towards the door.

Just as she moves to turn out the light, Kreacher appears with a rather deflated sounding 'pop' that's uncharacteristically quiet. Phoebe turns to face him fully, brows furrowing as she wonders, "Kreacher, can I do something...."

Her voice trails off, her grey eyes settling on his tearstained face and shivering body. She'd never seen him like this. Kreacher was never anything but gruff or occasionally sweet with her. Never sad. Never distraught. Not unless...

Regulus.

Regulus.

Phoebe swallows down the bile that threatens to rise when she sees a familiar kerchief draped over Kreacher's hand. The house elf sobs quietly, Grimmauld Place silent except for his sniffling and Phoebe's short breaths.

She nearly flinches away from the fabric, nearly curls up into a ball to not face this truth. The truth that lay so painfully before her.

This was a sign.

A sign that Regulus Black had completed his task.

Phoebe winces when she finally grabs onto the silk hankie with her initials, unfolding it to find the gift that he'd once given her. The coin that she'd used to bring him to her, to tell him that they were okay. That he was good, just as she was. That they were two sides of the same coin, the snake and the lion.

Her finger traces the glinting gold medal, silently wishing that it was still a port key that could take her to wherever the boy with reluctantly kind grey eyes and the scars of conflicting morals was.

Kreacher clears his throat, whispering shakily, "M-Master...he told me to give you this."

Phoebe blinks confusedly when Kreacher hands over a heavy gold locket, an emerald S curled on the front of it like a serpent. The weight was insurmountable. Not the locket's. But what the locket represented. Regulus Black had found what he'd been looking for.

And yet he'd taken all of the answers with him from this existence and onto the next.

A wave of nausea grips her. Stay safe, she'd told him. Stay alive. Come with. If only she'd begged. If only she'd tried harder, done something sooner.

If only she'd seen him one more time.

Phoebe clenches her eyes shut, chest aching at the memories of her first interactions with the boy. The first time they'd spoken, the night he'd saved her. The night she'd whisked him away to that abandoned factory somewhere in London and she'd told him about the beach and the ocean and the birds that flew free across the blue sky.

Free.

He was free.

"Are you coming, P?"

The sound of James' voice drifting from their room stirs her awake from her thoughts, one hand grasping the kerchief and coin while the other wipes away hurriedly at her tears.

If she was good at one thing, it was masking her emotions. She steadies her voice, smiling flatly even as she hollers up the stairs, "Yes, J! Just telling Kreacher goodnight!"

A voice from even higher in the house yells down, "Tell him to fuck off!"

Sirius. How would she tell Sirius that his brother, their brother was gone. A lost child taken from their grasp and thrown down a path that had once seemed far too appealing to fellow children from broken homes. Regulus was them. They were him. Just lucky enough to be pulled from the seductiveness of the darkness early enough. Lucky enough to find the support to fight the destiny that others had laid out for them.

Perhaps this was it, his final act of rebellion. His final 'fuck you' to his parents, to everyone that had decided who he should be and how he should exist.

Phoebe glances at the locket, finding that the humming reminds her of her earrings. Alluring almost. Her fingers reach out to touch it, pain and anxiety gripping her lungs tighter and tighter until she finally rears back and breathes out harshly. Her voice is barely a whisper as she says, "Hide it somewhere. Somewhere here. Just until you and I can discuss this further."

Kreacher nods, eyes wide and round as he clasps the locket around his neck. The Veela suddenly grabs his hands, pleading, "Lets keep this between us, Kreacher. Please."

Her eyes clench shut again when the house elf silently throws his arms around her, his hug surprisingly warm and tight. They could find refuge in each other, and only each other. This was their secret.

This was their duty to Regulus.

Phoebe squeezes the elf tightly one last time before quickly turning and hurrying up the stairs. She hesitates when she gets to the hallway where her room is, the gentle glow under the door a reminder of the golden boy inside that has only ever deserved the truth from her.

She's not sure if that's what makes her do it, or if it's the kicking she'd been feeling all day. But she suddenly lays her palm on her belly, eyes looking downward at where her child was growing. Another set of ears. Another confidant that she needed during this waging war. She hesitates once more before whispering,

"Keep this between us, buddy. Just you and your mum, okay?"

She takes the silence and firm kick against her hand as an affirmative.

Maybe this kid would be her saving grace after all.