They apparated out of the Ministry instantly, Regulus' gut falling at the sensation, alongside the shaking that seemed to have permanently taken root in his muscles ever since the cell.
James was holding onto him with purpose, fingers digging into his side almost uncomfortably, though Regulus didn't take too much notice. His heart was thumping too loud for his chest, like a drum, filling his ears.
"Jamie," Effie started, just outside of Headquarters. Potter Manor. The day had broken, and Regulus winced against the new light, feeling as though a lifetime had passed down in those cells. His eyes fluttered shut against them, treating the warmth of James' arm as a guiding light instead.
"Jamie, Beta, you can't just leave like that," she said, eyes flickering between James' face and his own.
"Sorry Mum," James said, though he didn't seem sorry at all. Regulus' chest flared a bit, a swell of nervousness bubbling through him.
"You could've gotten killed," she said, less nervous, this time. Regulus still hadn't opened his eyes to really see what was going on.
"And I didn't," replied James.
"How'd you even get in?"
"A friend."
Regulus almost laughed. It was interesting to hear James call a Death Eater a friend. It should've been so unlike him. A few weeks ago, Regulus would've thought that was ridiculous. James Potter, speaking to a Death Eater.
Now—now anything could happen.
Effie didn't say anything in return. Regulus could imagine her expression, though—pursed lips, eyebrows furrowed. A bit like James, when he was contemplating something. He had a lot of similarities to Monty and Effie.
"You better get him inside," Monty said, voice gruff. "I've shut off the floo access. We sent everyone else to St. Mungo's."
"Who?" James asked, voice concerned.
"One of the Prewetts, Dearborn, and Alice," Monty answered. James' heart rate increased slightly, and Regulus brushed a thumb over his shoulder, wondering if it might comfort him.
"Conditions?"
"They'll all survive. Couple of days, at most."
That calmed James down a bit. It didn't calm him down, though—they didn't get lucky. The point of that mission hadn't been to physically impair the Order—it'd been something else. Political.
"You ready?" James asked, and Regulus realised he'd been talking to him. He gave a slight nod of his head.
Then, Regulus felt the shifting of James' muscles, his fingers, again, and he was being lifted off the ground. He hadn't realised how tired he was—not during the fight. James' wand was still clutched in his hand.
An arm came beneath his knees, James pulling him further in, and then he let himself fall into the blackness again.
‡
When he woke again, two days had passed.
It was mid-afternoon, telling by the clock, and he was in James' bedroom. Both the torture and the fight had worn him, worn him far further than he'd realised. Next to him, the bed was empty, and he felt that familiar hollow in his chest.
"You're awake," startled a voice. James was sitting in one of the chairs, adjacent to the bed, where he had a book pulled open on his lap.
"I am," said Regulus.
A silence fell over the room. Two days. That was a long time, wasn't it? Had anything happened, while he was asleep?
There was also that gap, too, that seemed to have formed again. The way that James was looking at him, hesitant, reminded him of how it'd been at the very beginning, after the cave. As though none of the past two weeks had happened and Regulus was at the beginning of the cycle again. Helpless again.
