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Chapter Text

The towering spires of Erudite rose into the sky, their sleek blue-tinted glass reflecting the cold efficiency of the faction’s ideals. This was a place where knowledge reigned supreme, where intellect was the only currency that mattered. The streets were lined with people in pristine blue attire, their eyes sharp with calculation. Every movement had a purpose, every conversation held weight.

Regulus Black had lived in Erudite his entire life, but he had never felt like he truly belonged.

He walked the halls of the Erudite compound with his head held high, posture straight, just as he had been taught. Appearances were everything here. He had learned from an early age that questioning the faction’s ideology was dangerous. Erudite valued intelligence, but only in ways that served the faction’s greater purpose—power, control, and the pursuit of pure logic. There was no room for sentimentality, no room for emotion unless it was cold, calculated, and efficient.

His mother, Walburga Black, was a prominent figure in Erudite’s leadership, and his father, Orion, was no different. The Black family had been entrenched in Erudite’s structure for generations. His older cousin, Bellatrix, was one of Erudite’s most fervent supporters, and she watched him carefully, scrutinizing every move he made, waiting for any sign of weakness.

Regulus excelled in his studies. He had to. Failure was not an option in the Black household. He had read every book expected of him, studied every principle Erudite held dear. He could recite Erudite’s historical philosophies by heart, argue his way through any intellectual debate, and analyze problems with ruthless efficiency. And yet, despite all of this, he felt like an imposter.

There were nights he lay awake staring at the ceiling, suffocated by the weight of expectations pressing down on him. He knew that in less than twenty-four hours, he would be expected to choose where he belonged. The Choosing Ceremony loomed over him like a storm cloud, and despite knowing that his family expected him to remain in Erudite, a part of him whispered of another path.

He didn’t want to stay.

***

The Black household was an imposing structure, its design a blend of Erudite’s modern aesthetics and the old-world grandeur that his family had always clung to. The dining hall was eerily silent except for the clinking of silverware against porcelain plates.

“You will choose Erudite,” Walburga said, her voice sharp as a knife.

Regulus didn’t look up from his plate. “Of course.”

His mother’s gaze burned into him, unyielding, untrusting. “You understand what is at stake.”

He nodded. “I do.”

Bellatrix smirked from across the table. “You don’t sound very enthusiastic, little cousin.”

“I don’t see why enthusiasm is required,” Regulus replied smoothly. “It is a logical decision.”

Bellatrix tilted her head. “Indeed. But logic is best accompanied by conviction.”

Walburga set down her fork. “Your duty is to this family, Regulus. To Erudite. Do not forget that.”

He swallowed down the resentment that threatened to rise in his throat. “I won’t.”

***

The next morning, the initiates were led into a sterile-looking room where the Aptitude Test would take place. Regulus found himself standing in front of Dorcas Meadowes, the test administrator.

“You know how this works,” Dorcas said as she motioned for him to sit. “This will determine where your true inclinations lie.”

Regulus nodded, slipping into the chair as she placed a set of electrodes on his temples. A clear liquid filled the syringe in her hands.

“This serum will place you in a simulated environment where you must make choices. Just act as you normally would.”

She pressed the needle into his neck, and the world dissolved into darkness.

Regulus found himself standing in a featureless, white expanse. Slowly, shapes began to take form—an ornate hall, an expansive dining table set with elaborate silverware and gleaming crystal goblets.

He turned his head and saw a woman sitting across from him. She was unfamiliar, but her presence radiated an air of authority.

“Choose a goblet,” she instructed, gesturing to two before him.

One goblet was a deep sapphire blue, encrusted with intricate silver designs. The other was plain, unembellished, its contents a simple, clear liquid.

“What are they?” Regulus asked.

The woman’s expression remained impassive. “One is laced with a poison that can only be detected through intelligence. The other is harmless.”

A test of logic.

Regulus’ mind worked quickly. If he was meant to use intellect, then he should analyze the properties of the liquid, look for inconsistencies. But what if that was the trick? Overthinking might lead to failure. What would Dauntless do? Take the risk. What would Abnegation do? Consider the greater good.

He exhaled slowly and picked the plain goblet. He took a sip. The liquid burned down his throat, but he felt no pain. The woman nodded approvingly.

The scene shifted.

Regulus was suddenly standing in an open field. A pack of wolves encircled him, growling, their yellow eyes glinting with hunger.

“Fight or flee?” a voice whispered.

His instincts screamed at him to run, but he forced himself to remain still. He wasn’t faster than wolves. Running was pointless.

Instead, he picked up a nearby rock and hurled it at the leader’s head. The wolf yelped, and the others hesitated. Regulus grabbed a stick, brandishing it like a weapon.

The wolves backed away.

Again, the scene shifted.

Regulus stood in front of a mirror. But instead of one reflection, there were three.

In one, he wore the blue robes of Erudite, his expression cold and calculating.

In another, he was clad in Dauntless black, a fierce determination in his eyes.

In the third, he was dressed in the simple gray of Abnegation, his features softer, selfless.

“Choose,” the voice urged.

Regulus hesitated. The weight of the decision pressed heavily upon him.

“I…”

The world shattered.

***

Regulus gasped as he was yanked back into reality. His heart pounded wildly in his chest, his breathing uneven.

Dorcas stood over him, her expression unreadable.

“You’re Divergent,” she said in a low voice.

Regulus stiffened. “What?”

“Your results showed compatibility with Erudite, Dauntless, and Abnegation.” She leaned in, her eyes urgent. “You cannot let anyone know about this. Do you understand?”

Regulus’ mind raced. Divergent. A word he had heard whispered in dark corners. A word associated with danger, with people disappearing.

“Why?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

Dorcas glanced at the door before lowering her voice. “Because people like you threaten the system. The Bureau—Tom Riddle—he’s hunting Divergents.”

Regulus felt his blood run cold. “What am I supposed to do?”

Dorcas hesitated. “Be careful. Don’t tell a soul. And when the Choosing Ceremony comes—choose wisely.”

Regulus swallowed hard, his entire world tilting on its axis.

Everything had just changed.

Chapter Text

Regulus Black was walking down the sterile, white halls of Erudite Headquarters, his footsteps echoing in the silence. It was a sound that had become all too familiar over the past few weeks. His mind, however, was anything but calm. Beneath the icy veneer he had perfected over the years, a storm raged—a storm that threatened to break free at any moment. His Divergence. It had been growing for weeks now, clawing at the edges of his mind, refusing to let him rest. The peace that Erudite claimed to offer was nothing but a lie.

He hated this place. It wasn’t the immaculate floors or the endless rows of books that filled every room—no, it was the suffocating expectations. The weight of them bore down on his chest with every breath he took. It was the sharp, calculating intelligence that permeated every word spoken here, every glance shared. It was the very air of superiority that made him feel small, less than, unworthy. The Dauntless, with their reckless bravery and their defiance of rules, tempted him in ways he couldn’t fully articulate. And Abnegation—selflessness, devotion, humility—he felt their ideals tugging at his heart, too, in ways he couldn’t ignore.

But here he was. Erudite. Chosen for his intellect. A good fit, they had told him. A perfect fit.

Yet, it felt like a cage.

His eyes flickered briefly to a window as he passed. Outside, the world stretched out, vast and open, the sky impossibly blue. Freedom. The thought taunted him. Regulus glanced down at the silver bracelet on his wrist—his faction symbol, the perfect image of his place in this world, his destiny. He was supposed to belong here, to be one of the best and brightest, to rise through the ranks of Erudite, to show the world what he was capable of. But every time he looked at it, a bitter taste filled his mouth. Was this who he really was? Was this all he could be?

His thoughts turned to his family.

His mother, Walburga, had always made her expectations clear. She had groomed him for greatness—greatness that could only be achieved through Erudite. He was to be the model member of their faction, intelligent, rational, and above all, pureblood. His father, Orion, was the same—an unwavering supporter of the faction system and, more recently, the enigmatic Lord Riddle, the figurehead who was reshaping the world in his image. Regulus had never questioned their authority, never dared to challenge their beliefs. But now… now it felt like they were watching him more closely, expecting him to be something he wasn't sure he could be.

And then there was Sirius.

Sirius Black, his older brother, had been the family’s prodigal son. The one who had left.

Regulus gritted his teeth at the thought of Sirius. He hadn’t seen him in over four years, but the memory of Sirius’ departure still stung as though it had happened yesterday. Sirius had been a rebellious, difficult child—a nightmare for their parents, a constant disappointment to their mother. Where Regulus was calm, calculating, and obedient, Sirius was reckless, loud, and defiant. Walburga had often told him that he was the hope of the family, the one who would restore the Black name to its rightful place in the world, unlike Sirius, who had chosen to forsake it.

Sirius had always hated Erudite—he had said as much countless times. He had often mocked the faction system, calling it a lie, a prison, a game designed to make people like them feel superior when they were anything but. The last conversation they had had before Sirius left was still fresh in Regulus’ mind, as though it had happened only a moment ago.

“I’m not staying here,” Sirius had said, his voice dripping with disdain. “I won’t be a pawn in their little game, Reg. You shouldn’t either, you know. There’s more to life than what they tell you.”

Regulus had been too angry to respond properly. How could Sirius leave? How could he abandon everything their parents had worked for? How could he leave Regulus behind, stuck in this cold, heartless world of logic and intellect?

But even then, there had been something in his brother’s words that had gnawed at him, something that felt almost… right. But he had ignored it, pushed it down, buried it beneath the suffocating ideals that Erudite demanded. He couldn’t afford to think like that, not now, not after everything that had been laid before him.

The truth was, though, he missed Sirius. Desperately. He hated the way Sirius had so easily walked away from everything, but he couldn’t deny that he yearned for his brother’s reckless freedom. Even if it had cost Sirius his place within the family, within Erudite, even if it had cost him everything, Sirius had seemed free. Free of the expectations, free of the rules, free of the suffocating demands that Regulus now found himself drowning in.

Regulus had never told anyone that, of course. He couldn’t. His family would never understand. Walburga would have called him weak, and Orion… Orion would never have tolerated such a betrayal of their values.

He remembered the last time he had seen Sirius—how Sirius had stood in front of him, eyes blazing, daring Regulus to follow him.

“You could leave too, you know,” Sirius had said softly, as though the words were meant just for him. “You don’t have to be like them. You can be more than this. Don’t let them define you.”

And Regulus had looked at him, torn, but said nothing. He couldn’t—he had been too scared. Scared of what leaving would mean, scared of the chaos it might bring. Scared of who he would be without Erudite.

Sirius had left without another word.

Regulus had heard rumors about Sirius, about where he had gone, what he was doing now. Dauntless. Of course. It made sense, in a way. Sirius had always been brave, in his own way, throwing caution to the wind and embracing the thrill of danger. The thought of his brother living a life where danger and fear were not things to be avoided, but things to be embraced, felt like a betrayal, but it also made Regulus ache with longing.

But more than anything, Regulus hated himself for missing Sirius. He hated that a part of him wanted to join him, wanted to throw everything away and live a life without the suffocating rules of Erudite.

The sound of heels clicking sharply against the floor brought him out of his thoughts. Regulus stiffened and turned to see Bellatrix, his cousin, striding toward him with that self-assured look in her eyes. She was everything Erudite stood for—sharp, calculating, brilliant—and she never hesitated to remind him of it.

“Regulus,” she said, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “You’ve been absent from the study halls again. Your tutors are beginning to wonder if you’re still committed to your future here.”

He felt a flicker of irritation rise within him, but he forced it down. Bellatrix had always been a thorn in his side. She was a high-ranking Erudite supporter, fiercely loyal to the faction system and its ideals. She had no patience for weakness, especially not when it came to someone like Regulus, who she believed should be the epitome of what Erudite stood for.

“I’ve been busy,” Regulus replied, his tone neutral, betraying none of the inner turmoil he felt.

Bellatrix raised an eyebrow. “Busy? Or distracted?” she asked, her voice dripping with condescension. “I know you’ve been spending more time with that ridiculous idea of yours, that nonsense about Dauntless and their ‘bravery.’”

Regulus didn’t respond, but the words stung nonetheless. He had always felt Bellatrix’s disdain for him, but lately, it had been sharper, more biting. She didn’t understand. She couldn’t. And she never would.

“You’re better than this, Regulus,” Bellatrix continued, her voice cold now, her eyes narrowing. “You’re better than them. Don’t let their foolish ideals poison you.”

Regulus clenched his fists at his sides. “I’m not like you, Bellatrix. I don’t fit into your perfect little world.”

For a moment, there was a flicker of something—disappointment, maybe, or frustration—in Bellatrix’s eyes, but it vanished as quickly as it had come. “You should be,” she said, her voice hard. “It’s your place.”

And with that, she turned on her heel and walked away, leaving Regulus standing in the cold, echoing hall, more uncertain than ever about where he truly belonged.

Regulus stood there for a long moment, the weight of Bellatrix’s words lingering in the air. He had heard them a hundred times before, but today, they felt different. They felt more like a chain than a reminder.

Sirius had chosen his path. Regulus had been too scared to follow. But was he still scared? Would he always be?

The internal war inside him raged on, and Regulus couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever find peace—or if peace was even possible in a world that demanded so much of him.

But for now, all he could do was survive.

Chapter Text

Regulus could still hear the sterile hum of the aptitude test room in his ears long after he had left it. The memory of the simulation played over and over in his mind, each moment replaying with painful clarity. It had been a simple test, or at least, it was meant to be. A series of carefully designed scenarios, all meant to pinpoint his natural inclinations, to decide where he truly belonged.

But it hadn’t gone the way it was supposed to.

The test was designed to give one clear result. One faction. One path.

His had given three.

Erudite. Dauntless. Abnegation.

Divergent.

Regulus pressed a hand to his temple, trying to force down the rising panic that threatened to consume him. Divergence wasn’t just an anomaly—it was a death sentence. The Bureau hunted Divergents, saw them as threats to the order and stability of the faction system. No one really spoke about what happened to them, but the rumors were enough. People who didn’t fit—people like him—simply disappeared.

He had sat there in stunned silence when the result flashed across the screen, his breath coming in shallow gasps. It had taken every ounce of his training, every carefully honed Erudite instinct, to keep his face neutral. To not react. To not give himself away.

Dorcas had been the only other person in the room.

Now, walking the halls of Erudite headquarters, Regulus knew she was looking for him. And he knew he couldn’t avoid her.

He found her in one of the quieter study rooms, her dark eyes scanning the halls before she motioned him inside. The door slid shut behind them, sealing them in silence.

Dorcas Meadowes had always been different from the rest of the Erudites. She was sharp, brilliant even, but there was something else beneath the surface—something he could never quite place. She had never cared much for the mind games and superiority complexes that Erudite thrived on. And now, Regulus realized, she knew far more than she ever let on.

"You have to be careful," she said immediately, voice barely above a whisper.

Regulus let out a bitter laugh. "Careful? Dorcas, I'm Divergent." The word tasted foreign on his tongue, like something dangerous, something forbidden.

Dorcas' expression hardened. "Then you already know how dangerous this is."

He did. He had always known there was something different about him, even before today. He had never fit perfectly within Erudite, never fully believed in their ideals. He had felt the pull toward Dauntless—the reckless, untamed freedom. He had felt the quiet whisper of Abnegation—the selflessness, the ability to give rather than take. And now, he understood why.

"You can't tell anyone," Dorcas said, stepping closer. "Not your family. Not your tutors. No one."

Regulus scoffed. "As if I would."

"I'm serious." She grabbed his arm, her grip firm. "The Bureau doesn’t just monitor Divergents. They eliminate them. If they find out about you, you're dead."

Her words sent a chill through him, but he forced himself to stay composed.

"You act like I don’t know that already," he muttered.

Dorcas’ expression softened just a little. "I know. But I also know what happens to people who think they can hide it on their own. They slip up. And when they do, they disappear."

Regulus exhaled slowly, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. "So what am I supposed to do? Just pretend?"

"For now? Yes." She hesitated. "Regulus, I know you. You’re already questioning everything, aren’t you?"

He didn’t answer right away. But he didn’t need to.

Because the truth was, he was questioning everything.

***

As the days passed, the weight of his secret began to settle like a stone in his chest.

Everything about Erudite—the place that was supposed to be his home—felt foreign now. The endless halls of books and research that had once felt like security now felt like walls closing in around him. The constant pursuit of knowledge, of progress, of control—it all seemed hollow.

His mother had always told him knowledge was power. But now, for the first time, Regulus wondered if it was just another form of shackles.

He pulled away from his family without meaning to. Conversations with Walburga became shorter, his responses more clipped. He no longer sought his father’s approval or Bellatrix’s validation. The sharpness of their words, the rigid expectations—they no longer affected him the way they once did. Because now he knew, deep down, that he didn’t belong here.

And yet, the realization didn’t bring relief. It only made him feel more lost.

Regulus sat in the library late one evening, staring at an open book without really seeing the words.

"You're slipping," a voice said from behind him.

Regulus tensed before slowly looking up. Bellatrix stood over him, her sharp gaze scrutinizing him the way a scientist would study an experiment gone wrong.

"I don’t know what you mean," Regulus said evenly.

Bellatrix tilted her head, smirking slightly. "You’ve been different. Less focused. Less... certain."

Regulus forced himself to meet her gaze. "I’m fine."

She leaned closer. "Are you?"

For a brief moment, he wondered if she knew. If somehow, she had already figured it out. But no—Bellatrix didn’t know about his Divergence. She just knew he was straying. And in her eyes, that was weakness.

"You need to remember who you are," she said, voice low. "Our family has worked too hard for you to become... soft."

Regulus clenched his jaw. "I’m not soft."

Bellatrix smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "Then prove it."

He didn’t respond, and after a moment, she turned and walked away, her heels clicking against the floor.

Regulus exhaled sharply, feeling the weight of her words settle over him.

He wasn’t soft. But he also wasn’t who they thought he was.

He didn’t belong in Erudite.

But leaving? That wasn’t an option.

Not yet.

Not when his very existence was a secret that could cost him everything.

Chapter Text

The great hall was silent except for the steady, rhythmic beating of Regulus’ heart in his ears. Rows upon rows of seats stretched before him, filled with young initiates and their families, each waiting for their moment to step forward and choose their fate.

The Choosing Ceremony was the moment that defined everything.

Regulus had always known this day would come. He had always known that he was expected to stand before the entire room, take the knife, and let his blood fall into the Erudite bowl, just as his family had before him. It was supposed to be simple. Logical.

But now, nothing felt simple.

Regulus sat rigidly at the Erudite table, his hands curled into fists against his thighs. The blue of his faction surrounded him—cool, calculated, controlled. His mother sat beside him, her gaze hard as steel, lips pressed into a thin line. Orion was just as impassive, though Regulus could see the expectation in his eyes. And Bellatrix—she barely spared him a glance. Her attention was on the stage, where the Choosing Ceremony had already begun.

One by one, names were called. One by one, initiates stepped forward, cut their hands, and let their blood decide their fate.

Abnegation. Candor. Amity. Dauntless. Erudite.

The five factions. The only choices that mattered.

Regulus could barely focus as the ceremony continued, his thoughts a chaotic spiral of doubt and fear. The weight of his secret pressed against his ribs, reminding him that no matter what he chose, he wasn’t safe. Not in Erudite. Not anywhere.

And then—

“Regulus Black.”

His name echoed through the hall, and for a moment, he felt frozen.

Slowly, he rose to his feet. Every movement felt heavy, like wading through water. He could feel the eyes of his faction on him, the expectations woven into their gazes.

They already knew what he was supposed to choose.

Regulus ascended the steps of the stage, each one bringing him closer to the knife, to the moment that would determine everything. The Choosing Ceremony was meant to be a declaration of free will, a choice entirely one’s own. But for people like Regulus, it had never truly been a choice.

He reached the center of the stage and took the knife from the ceremonial table. The cool metal felt foreign in his grip. The bowls of each faction sat before him, waiting.

He could end this now.

A simple cut. A drop of blood. Erudite.

And yet…

Regulus hesitated.

His fingers tightened around the knife. He raised it to his palm, slicing a shallow wound. Red welled up instantly.

He moved his hand over the Erudite bowl, staring down at the water, at the rippling surface that awaited his blood. He could do it. He could make the safe choice.

But at the last second—

His arm shifted.

And his blood fell into the Dauntless bowl.

A single drop. Then another. Then another.

For a heartbeat, there was silence.

Then, the hall erupted.

Gasps rippled through the Erudite section. Shock spread across the room like wildfire. Regulus didn’t dare turn around, but he could feel the weight of his family’s disbelief, of his faction’s betrayal.

His hand clenched into a fist, the blood on his palm sticky and warm. He forced himself to stand tall, his expression unreadable, even as his entire world shifted beneath his feet.

He had chosen Dauntless.

Regulus stepped away from the bowls, walking towards the section where the Dauntless initiates sat. As he did, his gaze flickered toward the Erudite table.

Bellatrix was staring at him, her dark eyes narrowed with seething fury. There was no disbelief in her expression—only pure, unfiltered rage. He had shamed the family. He had betrayed everything they stood for. And she would never forgive him for it.

Regulus tore his gaze away and sat down in the Dauntless section, his pulse hammering in his ears. He barely heard the next name that was called.

But then—

“Bartemius Crouch Jr.”

Regulus’ head snapped up as Barty Crouch Jr. stepped forward. Unlike Regulus, Barty moved with complete confidence, as though he had never once questioned what he would choose. He took the knife, sliced his palm, and let his blood fall into the Dauntless bowl without hesitation.

Regulus felt a flicker of relief, but it was quickly overshadowed by unease.

Barty was reckless. Unpredictable. Chaotic.

And now, he was Dauntless too.

The ceremony ended not long after, and the newly chosen initiates were led to a separate room to prepare for departure. Regulus barely had a moment to breathe before he heard a sharp voice behind him.

“Regulus.”

He turned slowly, bracing himself.

Walburga Black stood in the doorway, her face carved from stone. Behind her, Orion lingered in the shadows, his silence just as damning.

Regulus swallowed, forcing himself to meet his mother’s gaze.

“You have shamed this family,” Walburga hissed, stepping closer. “You had one duty, one obligation—to uphold our legacy. And instead, you have chosen recklessness and filth.”

Regulus felt his pulse spike, but he didn’t back down. “I chose my own path.”

Walburga’s eyes burned with fury. “Your own path? You are a Black. You are meant for greatness, not whatever… this is.”

Regulus set his jaw. “I’m still a Black.”

“No,” Walburga said sharply. “Not anymore.”

The words sliced deeper than he expected.

She straightened, her expression cold and unyielding. “You are no son of mine.”

Regulus clenched his fists, willing himself not to react. He had known this would happen. He had known the price of his choice.

And yet, it still hurt.

Walburga turned on her heel and strode out of the room. Orion followed without a word.

Regulus stood there, his chest tight, his mind spiraling.

He had made his choice.

There was no turning back.

As the Dauntless initiates were led outside, Regulus felt the weight of what was coming.

The train.

He had heard about this part—the first test of Dauntless. The initiates had to jump onto the moving train that would take them to Dauntless headquarters. If they hesitated, they would be left behind.

Regulus inhaled deeply, trying to steady himself. He had spent his life mastering control, but this—this was something else entirely.

Regulus clenched his fists.

He had already made his choice.

Now, he just had to prove that he could survive it.

Chapter Text

The night air hit Regulus like a cold slap as they burst through the exit and onto the open city streets. The sound of pounding footsteps, quickened breathing, and exhilarated laughter surrounded him. Ahead, the Dauntless-born were already making a sharp turn toward the train tracks.

Then, he heard it.

The distant, rumbling roar of a train.

Regulus ran harder.

The sound grew louder, closer, until he could see it—barreling toward them at full speed. It was not stopping.

His stomach lurched.

He had seen this before. He had watched Dauntless come and go from Erudite, effortlessly leaping on and off the moving trains like it was second nature. But watching and doing were two very different things.

Regulus forced himself to watch as the first group of Dauntless-born initiates neared the tracks. Without hesitation, they leaped—some grabbing onto the metal bars on the side, others vaulting through the open doors.

He swallowed hard. That was the first test. If you couldn’t make it onto the train, you weren’t Dauntless.

Someone screamed.

Regulus snapped his gaze toward the sound just in time to see one of the Candor initiates trip, missing the jump entirely. The boy’s body slammed against the tracks with a sickening crunch, the train mercilessly crushing him beneath its wheels.

The blood. The way the other initiates barely reacted before moving on. The way the Dauntless leaders didn’t stop, didn’t even acknowledge the fallen boy.

It was brutal.

It was reality.

Regulus’ pulse skyrocketed. His mind screamed at him to run faster.

The train was nearly alongside him now, the open doors flashing by in an instant.

He took a deep breath, focused on the next open door, and jumped.

For a split second, he thought he had it.

Then, his grip slipped.

His body slammed against the edge of the train, his upper half barely making it inside while his legs dangled dangerously over the rushing tracks below.

Panic flared. He scrambled, trying to pull himself up, but his arms trembled with the effort.

Then—

A strong hand grabbed his wrist.

Regulus gasped as he was yanked up with surprising strength. He tumbled forward, landing hard on the floor of the train car, his breathing ragged.

“Close one.”

Regulus looked up to see a boy crouching beside him, offering a slight grin. He had messy brown hair and a sharp, quick-eyed gaze—one Regulus recognized.

“Evan?”

The boy smirked. “Knew you’d recognize me.”

Evan Rosier. A Candor-born initiate who had, like Regulus, chosen Dauntless. They had crossed paths at school a few times, though they had never spoken much.

Regulus pushed himself up, rolling his aching shoulders. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Evan said, stretching out his legs. “Better to have someone watching your back, right?”

Regulus exhaled, nodding. He hadn’t expected kindness in Dauntless, but maybe—just maybe—he wouldn’t be alone in this.

***

The train sped forward, carrying them into the unknown.

Regulus sat beside Evan, staring out at the dark city skyline. He had left everything behind in Erudite. His family, his home, the life that had been mapped out for him since birth.

He should have been terrified.

But instead, there was something else.

Anticipation.

Uncertainty.

Freedom.

He clenched his fists, pressing them against his knees. He wouldn’t look back. He couldn’t look back.

Still, his mind drifted—unwillingly—to Sirius.

His older brother had left Erudite years ago, abandoning their family for Dauntless. Regulus had hated him for it. Had resented the way Sirius had made it look so easy to walk away.

And now, Regulus had done the same thing.

Would Sirius be there? Would he even care?

Regulus shook the thought away. It didn’t matter. He hadn’t done this for Sirius. He had done this for himself.

The train ride stretched on, the city lights blurring past. Some initiates sat in silence, mentally preparing themselves. Others whispered excitedly about what was coming next.

“Never thought I’d see you pick Dauntless, Black,” a familiar voice drawled.

Regulus turned to see Barty Crouch Jr. lounging against the train wall, his sharp grin unmistakable.

Barty had also been Erudite, but unlike Regulus, he had always been reckless. The kind of reckless that made people nervous. The kind of reckless that either thrived in Dauntless—or didn’t survive at all.

Regulus exhaled through his nose. “Guess I surprised you.”

Barty chuckled. “Surprised everyone." He tilted his head. "Your mum looked about ready to set the place on fire.”

Regulus’ jaw tightened, but he didn’t reply.

Evan looked between them. “So you two knew each other?”

“More or less,” Regulus muttered.

Barty smirked. “Let’s just say Erudite wasn’t exactly a thrilling place to grow up.”

Another voice cut in. “You were Erudite?”

Regulus turned to see a girl with light brown hair and sharp, perceptive eyes watching them.

“Marlene McKinnon,” she introduced herself, extending a hand. “Amity-born, now Dauntless.”

Regulus shook her hand, noting the callouses on her fingers—odd for someone from Amity. She must have trained hard before coming here.

“Regulus,” he said simply.

Evan grinned. “And I’m Evan. From Candor, in case that wasn’t obvious.”

Marlene smiled. “Figured as much.” She turned back to Regulus. “So what made you leave Erudite?”

Regulus hesitated. He couldn’t tell the truth. Not about his Divergence.

So he settled for a half-truth.

“I didn’t belong there.”

Marlene studied him for a moment, then nodded. “Fair enough.”

The train continued onward, carrying them closer to Dauntless headquarters.

Regulus exhaled. He had survived the first test.

But he knew—

The real trials were just beginning.

Chapter Text

Regulus could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears as the train rumbled forward, carrying them toward their new home. The dark skyline of the city stretched before them, but it was the Dauntless compound that loomed ahead—tall, foreboding, a massive structure of steel and stone. It was unlike anything he had ever seen in Erudite, where clean glass and precision ruled. Here, everything felt wild, untamed, and just a little bit dangerous.

Marlene, sitting across from him, narrowed her eyes at the compound ahead. “The train isn’t slowing down,” she observed.

“Nope,” Barty said, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Because we have to jump.”

Regulus felt his stomach twist.

Jumping onto a moving train had been terrifying enough. Now, he had to jump off of one onto a building?

He barely had time to process that thought before movement ahead caught his attention. The Dauntless-born initiates in the front train cars were already leaping off, rolling onto the rooftop with practiced ease.

That was when everything became real.

No hesitation. No time to think. Just jump—or die.

A strangled scream erupted from somewhere behind him. Regulus whipped his head around just in time to see one of the initiates—he wasn’t sure which faction they were from—miscalculate the timing of the jump. Instead of landing safely on the rooftop, the boy flailed midair before plummeting down. The sickening sound of impact echoed seconds later.

Regulus’ stomach clenched.

This is real. People can die.

His hands were clammy, his breath shallow. His body was frozen, muscles locked with indecision.

Then, warm fingers wrapped around his wrist.

“Come on,” Evan said, his expression serious but steady. “We go together.”

Regulus swallowed thickly and nodded, gripping Evan’s hand in return.

The train was nearing the jump point.

Barty was the first of their group to leap. He laughed as he hit the rooftop in a crouch, rolling smoothly to absorb the impact. Marlene followed next, landing solidly on her feet.

Regulus tightened his grip on Evan’s hand.

“Now,” Evan said.

Together, they jumped.

The moment of free fall was pure terror.

Wind rushed past Regulus’ face, and for a split second, he thought he was going to miss—

Then, his feet slammed against solid ground, his knees hitting hard as he and Evan rolled from the impact.

He gasped, blinking rapidly, heart still hammering. But he was alive.

He had made it.

Regulus sat up just in time to see Evan grin at him. “See? Not so bad.”

Regulus let out a shaky breath. “Not so bad?”

Evan laughed and pulled him to his feet. They turned to join the rest of the initiates gathering at the edge of the rooftop, adrenaline still buzzing through Regulus’ veins.

It wasn’t over yet.

***

A group of Dauntless leaders stood in a circle near the edge of the building, waiting for the initiates. At the center was a tall, broad-shouldered man with sharp features and a cruel smirk.

He stepped forward. “Welcome to Dauntless.”

His voice was as sharp as a blade.

“My name is Mulciber, and I’ll be leading your training alongside another instructor,” he continued. “Now, before we head inside, there’s one last thing.”

Regulus already knew what was coming.

Mulciber gestured behind him to the very edge of the rooftop. “Your first real test—jump.”

A murmur rippled through the group.

Evan raised a hand. “Uh… is there something at the bottom to catch us?”

Mulciber smirked. “Guess you’ll have to find out.”

Silence.

Regulus’ heartbeat quickened. He didn’t want to be afraid, but every part of his logical, strategy-trained mind was screaming at him not to be stupid. Jumping without knowing what was below went against everything he had been taught.

No one stepped forward.

Seconds stretched on, and the tension grew thicker with every passing moment.

Then, before Regulus could second-guess himself, he moved.

His feet carried him forward before his brain could catch up.

His heart pounded as he reached the edge.

And then—

He jumped.

For a moment, it was like flying.

Wind rushed past him, his stomach twisting violently. The world blurred around him.

Then—impact.

Not against hard ground, but something soft. Elastic. A net.

The breath whooshed from Regulus’ lungs as he bounced before settling into the net’s embrace.

For a moment, all he could feel was pure adrenaline.

Then, hands reached down and gripped his arms, pulling him up with impressive strength.

Regulus stumbled onto his feet and found himself standing face-to-face with a man he had never seen before.

And—

Oh.

Oh.

***

The man—who was stupidly attractive, Regulus' mind unhelpfully supplied—had warm brown skin, thick, dark curls, and gold-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with strong arms and thighs that, frankly, looked capable of crushing a man’s skull. A tattoo peeked out from under his sleeve, and his serious expression was offset by the faintest smirk.

Regulus’ brain had completely shut down. He heard the man ask for his name somewhere in the back of his mind.

“Uh, Regulus. Regulus Black.”

The man tilted his head, looking at Regulus with interest. Then, in a loud, clear voice, he turned to the gathered Dauntless watching.

“First initiate to jump—Regulus Black.”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd, but Regulus barely registered them. His heart was still hammering, though he wasn’t sure if it was from the jump or the way this man was looking at him.

The man’s dark eyes studied him for a second longer before he finally let go of his arms. “Not bad.”

Regulus swallowed. “Thanks.”

The man nodded once before stepping back, turning toward the edge of the pit as more initiates began to drop into the net.

Regulus exhaled.

That—

That had been a lot.

***

Once all the initiates had made the jump—some hesitantly, some eagerly—James stepped forward again, standing beside Mulciber.

“Listen up,” he called, voice carrying over the murmuring crowd. “My name is James Potter. I’ll be one of your instructors through initiation.”

Mulciber smirked. “And let’s get one thing straight—there are twenty-five of you. By the end of this, only fifteen of you will be Dauntless.”

A ripple of tension shot through the group.

Regulus stiffened. Fifteen.

That meant ten people would either die—or be forced into the factionless slums.

His chest tightened, but he shoved the panic down. He would not be one of them.

Evan muttered, “That’s not exactly encouraging.”

James glanced at him, arching a brow. “Dauntless isn’t for the weak. You either prove yourself—or you don’t belong here.”

The words settled over them like a final warning.

Regulus took in James again, studying him in a different light. There was something inherently confident about him, but not in the same way as Mulciber. Mulciber’s confidence was cruel, ruthless.

James’ confidence was earned.

And, well. It certainly didn’t help that he was ridiculously attractive.

Regulus quickly looked away before his staring got too obvious.

Unfortunately, it was already too late.

“Got a problem, Black?”

Regulus snapped his attention back to James, who was looking at him with a knowing smirk.

Heat immediately rushed to his face.

Evan, the traitor, elbowed him in the ribs with a barely concealed grin.

Regulus coughed. “No.”

James hummed, clearly amused.

Regulus wanted to die.

“Right,” James said, clapping his hands. “Let’s move. Sleeping quarters are this way.”

As they followed James and Mulciber through the compound, Regulus forced himself to focus.

He had way bigger problems than his entirely inappropriate attraction to his instructor.

Like staying alive.

And proving himself.

Even if his heart was still racing from the jump.

And, perhaps, from something else entirely.

***

James led them deeper into the Dauntless compound, navigating through dimly lit hallways carved into stone. The air smelled of sweat, metal, and something faintly charred—like adrenaline and survival.

As they walked, Regulus let himself observe the structure of the compound. Everything was built for efficiency rather than aesthetics. The walls were rough, the floors uneven in some places, and the lighting was sparse. It was a stark contrast to the sleek, pristine halls of Erudite. There, everything had been cold and calculated, made to reflect the supposed brilliance of its members. Here, the walls felt alive with history, with struggle.

And yet, for the first time in his life, Regulus didn’t feel like a chess piece on a predetermined path. He had chosen this.

They finally arrived at a large, open room lined with rows of simple beds—nothing but thin mattresses on metal frames. Regulus instinctively counted them.

Thirty.

But he already knew the truth: by the time initiation ended, half of these beds would be empty.

James turned to them, arms crossed. “This is where you’ll be sleeping for the next several weeks. Better get comfortable.”

Regulus could hear a few initiates muttering under their breath—complaints about how small or plain the room was. He glanced at them, unimpressed. Did they not understand where they were? This is Dauntless. It wasn’t meant to be comfortable.

James continued, “First things first—get rid of your old faction clothes. You’re not Erudite, Amity, or Candor anymore. You’re Dauntless initiates.”

Regulus looked down at his crisp blue Erudite shirt and black slacks, both now streaked with dust and sweat from the day’s events. A sharp pang twisted in his chest.

He had spent sixteen years in these colors. Sixteen years being molded into something he was never meant to be.

And now, he was stripping that identity away.

It should have made him uneasy. Instead, it felt like stepping out of a cage.

Regulus began unbuttoning his shirt, rolling his shoulders as he pulled it off. He could feel the tension in his muscles from the jumps earlier. Around him, the other initiates were doing the same. Some hesitated, clearly reluctant to let go of the last piece of their past. Others, like Barty, tore their clothes off without a second thought.

“Damn,” Barty muttered as he pulled on the simple black Dauntless shirt. “Couldn’t they have gone with something more dramatic? Maybe some spikes?”

Marlene snorted. “Right, because that’s practical.”

Regulus didn’t say anything as he slipped on the shirt, adjusting the fit. It was looser than what he was used to, and the fabric was thicker than Erudite’s usual light, breathable material. The pants were the same—black, sturdy, meant for movement rather than style.

When he looked around again, everyone was dressed in Dauntless black. No more faction colors. Just initiates standing side by side, stripped of their previous identities.

James watched them with an unreadable expression, his sharp eyes scanning the group. He nodded, seemingly satisfied.

“Training starts at five a.m. sharp,” James announced.

Regulus barely processed the words, exhaustion weighing on his limbs.

Barty groaned. “Seriously?”

James smirked. “Didn’t think Dauntless would let you sleep in, did you?”

Evan muttered, “Kind of hoped.”

James rolled his eyes. “Tough luck. Get some rest. You’ll need it.”

***

Regulus surveyed the room before making his way toward one of the unclaimed beds. He chose one near Evan, Barty, and Marlene. It wasn’t exactly a conscious decision—he simply found himself drawn to the only people he knew in this new world.

He sat down on the mattress, feeling the springs creak beneath him. It was not comfortable. But exhaustion was creeping into his bones, dragging at his limbs, and he knew that as soon as he closed his eyes, none of it would matter.

Evan flopped onto his own bed, sighing dramatically. “Well, that was a day.”

“No kidding,” Marlene muttered, pulling her blanket over herself. “I feel like I just aged five years.”

Regulus didn’t say anything. His thoughts were too scattered, exhaustion pulling at the edges of his mind.

Barty, however, still had energy to spare. “So,” he said, glancing between them. “Who do we think is going to drop out first?”

Marlene shot him a glare. “You’re terrible.”

Barty shrugged. “Just being realistic. We all saw that kid fall off the train earlier. Dauntless doesn’t coddle anyone. People are going to die.”

The words sent a chill through Regulus, but he didn’t let it show.

He already knew that. He had seen it.

And yet, hearing it said so plainly made it feel real in a way it hadn’t before.

He glanced around the room, taking in the other initiates. Some looked tough, others uncertain. Some were still quietly shaking from the day’s events. How many of them would make it? How many of them wouldn’t?

Regulus clenched his jaw.

He refused to be one of the ones who didn’t.

***

As the others settled in, Regulus found himself staring at the ceiling.

For the first time since the Choosing Ceremony, his mind drifted back to his family.

To Walburga’s fury. To Bellatrix’s scorn.

To Sirius.

He had spent so much time resenting his older brother for leaving first. For walking away from their family, from everything they were raised to believe. Regulus had hated him for it.

And yet… here he was. Doing the same thing.

Was this how Sirius had felt? The quiet relief? The burning uncertainty?

Regulus exhaled through his nose, willing the thoughts away.

He couldn’t think about Sirius now.

He had his own path to carve.

Turning onto his side, he let exhaustion pull him under.

For the first time in a long time, he didn’t dream.

Chapter Text

Regulus was deep in sleep when the door to the sleeping quarters slammed open.

"Up and at ‘em, initiates!"

The loud, commanding voice startled Regulus awake, and before he even had time to process, a pillow flew past his head. A groggy groan came from Barty’s bed, followed by a muffled, "Fuck off."

James Potter stood in the doorway, arms crossed, the dim overhead lights illuminating the sharp planes of his face. His dark eyes scanned the room, landing briefly on Regulus before moving on as he continued, "Training starts in half an hour. Get dressed and head to the dining hall for breakfast."

Another groan, this time from Evan. "It's four-thirty."

"And?" James quirked a brow. "Did you think Dauntless would wait for your beauty sleep?"

Regulus forced himself upright, blinking the sleep from his eyes. Around him, the other initiates were sluggishly rolling out of bed, muttering complaints under their breath. But despite his exhaustion, there was something exhilarating about it.

This was real. Training was starting. There was no turning back now.

Barty pulled his blanket over his head, grumbling, "Wake me when it’s a reasonable hour."

James strode forward and ripped the blanket away, smirking. "Rise and shine, Barty."

Barty sat up, glaring. "I hate you."

"Good. That means I’m doing my job."

Regulus fought back a smile as he reached for his clothes.

***

Regulus sat at the long table in the Dauntless dining hall, the clattering of trays and the low hum of conversation surrounding him. The room was cavernous, filled with initiates and Dauntless-borns alike. Regulus took a breath, trying to steady his nerves. This was it—the first real day of training. The food, hearty and filling, was nothing like the neatly arranged meals he’d been accustomed to in Erudite. There were no fruits or fine cheeses here—just bread, eggs, and slabs of bacon, the kind of food that filled your stomach but did little for your soul.

He loaded his plate and sat down at one of the tables with Evan, Barty, and Marlene. The four of them found a corner of the room to settle, mostly away from the boisterous Dauntless-born initiates who crowded the area. Evan, who always wore a half-smile, was the first to speak up, as usual.

"So, what do you think? What's training going to be like?" he asked, eyes glinting with a mix of excitement and anxiety.

Marlene shrugged, cutting into her bacon. "I’ve been warned. It’s not about survival; it’s about proving you're willing to die for Dauntless. Half of us will be gone by the end of it, if not before."

"Thanks for the optimism," Barty drawled, rolling his eyes, clearly less than thrilled at the prospect.

Regulus barely registered their conversation, distracted by his thoughts. His eyes flitted over the room, scanning the faces of the initiates, searching for someone. A face he couldn’t quite ignore, no matter how hard he tried.

James.

He couldn’t help himself; his gaze drifted toward the familiar figure across the room. He hadn’t really seen him since that brief encounter after the jump from the train. It was foolish—regardless of how strong the pull was. But there James was, talking animatedly with some other Dauntless-born initiates at the far end of the hall.

Regulus could feel his heart rate quicken, his eyes scanning James' form with something between longing and curiosity. The way his dark eyes sparkled when he laughed, the way the muscles in his shoulders flexed under his black Dauntless shirt, the playful confidence he exuded. Regulus shook his head, trying to stop the thoughts that threatened to spiral, but it was like trying to stop the tide with your hands.

"You’re staring," Evan said with a teasing grin, breaking through Regulus' mental haze. "You like what you see?"

Regulus snapped his head back to face his friend, cheeks tinged with color. "What?"

"Don’t lie, mate," Barty added, the corners of his lips curling upward. "You’re totally checking out James Potter."

"I am not," Regulus shot back, trying to mask his sudden unease. But it was too late. The damage was done. The teasing had begun, and there was no escaping it.

"Sure, sure," Evan continued, nudging Barty. "I can see it in his face. He’s got that ‘I’m-trying-to-pretend-I’m-not-interested-but-I-so-am’ look."

Regulus flushed, his fork clinking against his plate as he quickly shoved a piece of toast into his mouth to try and distract himself from the onslaught. "You’re both ridiculous." He could feel his face burning, and the more he tried to deny it, the worse it became.

Marlene, ever the voice of reason, rolled her eyes dramatically. "Oh, just admit it, Regulus. We all know what’s going on."

"What’s going on?" Barty grinned, his amusement evident. "Oh, don’t tell me you’ve got a little crush on James. Do I need to start writing him love letters for you?"

Regulus’ eyes widened as he spluttered, "No!"

Marlene, who had been quietly watching the interaction, sighed and then flicked her eyes towards the far end of the room. "He’s sitting right over there, Reg. If you’re going to stare, at least be subtle about it."

Regulus whipped his head around. There, sitting in the corner, was James Potter, laughing at something one of the Dauntless-born initiates said. His shoulders were relaxed, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. But that wasn’t the problem. The problem, the one Regulus had hoped he’d avoid, was who was sitting next to him.

It was Sirius.

Regulus’ stomach dropped like a stone.

Sirius was there—right there, in the same room, in the same faction. The brother who had abandoned him, the brother who had turned his back on their family, on him. Regulus felt a familiar ache in his chest as he watched Sirius’ carefree demeanor. How could he just sit there, as if nothing had happened?

He hadn’t seen Sirius in months—months filled with nothing but bitterness and resentment. But now, with him sitting there, it was impossible to ignore. All the anger, the feelings of betrayal that had festered in Regulus’ chest since Sirius left their family for Dauntless, came rushing back. The fact that his brother was now part of the faction that had taken him in—becoming one of them—stung more than he ever thought it would.

"What’s wrong with you?" Evan’s voice broke through his spiraling thoughts. "You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

Regulus whipped his head back around to face his friends, heart pounding. He realized they’d all been watching him. They could probably see the distress written all over his face. His palms were suddenly clammy, and his appetite had evaporated.

"It’s nothing," Regulus muttered, trying to act like everything was fine, even as his mind raced. "Nothing at all."

Barty, ever the cynic, wasn’t buying it. "You sure about that? Because you look like you just saw a Dementor or something."

Regulus didn’t respond. Instead, he shoved his plate aside, his stomach no longer able to handle the food.

"Reg, seriously," Evan pressed, voice softening. "What’s going on?"

Regulus’ eyes flickered back to the table where James and Sirius sat. They were talking now, their heads leaning in close, laughing. It was as if they had no idea what this did to Regulus—what it was doing to him.

He had to get control of himself.

"Nothing," he repeated, this time more firmly. "I’m fine. I just—" He swallowed hard. "I just don’t want to think about it right now."

"Think about what?" Marlene asked, her voice surprisingly gentle for someone so no-nonsense.

Regulus didn’t answer. Instead, he pushed his chair back, standing abruptly. "I’m going to get some air."

Evan didn’t try to stop him. Neither did Barty. But Regulus knew they saw right through him.

Regulus left the dining hall as quickly as he could, not daring to look back. The noise from the room faded as he walked down the corridors of the Dauntless compound. The cool air hit his face as he stepped outside, but it did little to calm the storm raging inside him.

It was hard to breathe, hard to think. Sirius. James. The way they were sitting there together, so comfortable, so familiar. The thought of them laughing together felt like a slap in the face.

Regulus closed his eyes for a moment, pushing everything out of his mind. He couldn’t let himself fall apart over this. Not now.

He was here for a reason. He had a purpose. He had to keep moving forward.

But for a moment, just a fleeting moment, he wished things had been different.

***

The air was thick with anticipation as the initiates gathered in the training yard, the harsh sun casting long shadows across the open space. Regulus stood near the front, feeling the slight nervousness knot in his stomach. His fingers twitched, still unfamiliar with the weight of the Dauntless initiation uniform—black shirt and pants that fit tight against his form. The sight of the other initiates, all eager and brimming with excitement, only made the unease in his chest grow.

He had heard stories about Dauntless training. Grueling. Merciless. It was about survival, but not just survival. It was about proving you belonged to Dauntless, about showing that you were worthy to be part of the faction. But the stories hadn’t prepared him for the intensity of the moment—the sense that everything was about to change, that everything was about to push him to his limits. His thoughts from breakfast, the tension between him and his brother Sirius, the lingering emotions about James—everything seemed so far away now, irrelevant. He had to focus on the task at hand.

A sharp whistle broke through the air, pulling his attention toward the center of the yard where James Potter and Mulciber stood. The two men exuded authority in their Dauntless uniforms, their postures rigid, ready to unleash whatever training was about to begin. Mulciber’s cruel smile sent a shiver down Regulus' spine, and James, while calm, had a sharp intensity about him that made Regulus feel both awe and fear.

James raised a hand, signaling for silence. As the murmurs quieted, he spoke, his voice carrying effortlessly across the yard. “Today marks the beginning of your real test,” he said, his dark eyes scanning over the group of initiates. “You’ll train harder than you ever have in your life. If you make it through, you’ll be Dauntless. If you don’t, well… you won’t be. Simple as that.” His words were blunt, yet the weight behind them made Regulus' chest tighten.

Mulciber, who had been silently observing, smirked at James’ words, leaning forward slightly as he added, “First things first. Combat. Dauntless is built on strength, and you’ll need to know how to fight, how to protect yourself, and most importantly, how to take down your enemy.” His eyes gleamed with a sadistic enjoyment, as if the prospect of hurting others was what truly fueled him.

The air seemed to buzz with energy. Regulus felt a slight tremor in his hands as he glanced at the others. He wasn’t physically imposing—not like Barty, who looked like he could crush a man’s skull with his bare hands. But he had his mind. And if anything was going to get him through this, it would be his intellect and quick thinking.

James clapped his hands once. “We’re starting with hand-to-hand combat. Mulciber and I will demonstrate first. Watch closely. This is the most fundamental part of your training. If you can’t hold your own in a fistfight, you’re as good as dead.”

The two instructors stepped forward, and the initiates shifted uneasily, eager to see the demonstration. Regulus watched as James and Mulciber squared off, their eyes locking in a silent challenge. Regulus felt a strange flutter in his chest, watching James move so fluidly, his posture poised and confident. There was something almost effortless about the way James stood, as if he were completely at ease in the chaos of combat.

Mulciber lunged first, attempting a fast punch aimed at James’ side. James, as if expecting the move, dodged with fluid grace, ducking under the blow. The crowd of initiates watched in rapt silence. Regulus felt a strange mix of admiration and awe as James retaliated with a quick jab to Mulciber’s gut, causing the man to stagger back slightly.

Mulciber, ever the masochist, grinned, seemingly enjoying the contact. He recovered quickly and came at James again, this time with a series of quick punches. James parried the blows with practiced ease, moving like water—never rigid, never making a move that wasn’t calculated. With a swift twist of his hips, James turned Mulciber’s own momentum against him, sending the larger man crashing to the ground.

Regulus couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips. He was impressed—completely and utterly impressed. James made it look so easy. But there was something more to it than just strength or skill. There was an understanding of the fight itself. James seemed to anticipate every move, every feint Mulciber threw at him.

“Alright,” James said as he helped Mulciber to his feet, a satisfied glint in his eyes. “This is what you’re all going to learn. It’s not about brute strength. It’s about using your opponent’s energy against them, outthinking them. It’s strategy, but it’s also instinct. You’ll have to rely on both if you want to survive.”

Mulciber, rubbing his jaw where James had landed a hit, glared at James but didn’t say anything. It was clear that the two had a long history of tension, but for now, they kept it professional, if only just.

James then turned to the initiates. “Pair up. We’re going to spar. Don’t hold back, but remember, it’s about learning, not hurting your partner. You’ll switch partners after each round. Mulciber and I will walk around, offering advice.”

Regulus quickly turned to find a partner, locking eyes with Evan. He gave a quick nod. It was better to stick with someone he knew. He wasn’t ready to trust the others completely, not yet.

Evan’s grin was sharp as they squared off, ready to spar. “Don’t go easy on me,” Evan said, cracking his knuckles.

Regulus smirked, the nervousness beginning to fade. This was just a spar, right? He could do this. He could handle this.

They circled each other for a moment before Evan lunged at him. Regulus sidestepped just in time, but the force of Evan’s momentum threw him off balance, and he stumbled. Evan used the opportunity to sweep at Regulus' legs, knocking him to the ground with a soft thud.

Regulus winced at the impact, but the fall wasn’t as bad as it could have been. He had prepared himself. He quickly pushed up to his feet and squared off again, more focused this time. Evan was quick, but so was Regulus. He wasn’t going to let himself get taken down again so easily.

Evan came at him again, and this time, Regulus was ready. He caught Evan’s arm, twisted it, and shoved him off balance. Evan stumbled but quickly regained his stance. Regulus used the opening to aim a quick jab at Evan’s side. The move wasn’t perfect, but it was enough to throw Evan off for a moment, causing him to stagger back.

“That’s better,” Evan grinned, wiping sweat from his brow. “You’ve got the moves, Reg. You just need to be quicker, more decisive.”

Regulus nodded, taking the advice to heart. The sparring continued for several more rounds, with Regulus trying his best to match the speed and strength of his opponents. He wasn’t as fast as Evan, nor as powerful as some of the other initiates, but his mind—his ability to strategize, to anticipate—was beginning to shine through. He wasn’t just thinking about what his opponent would do next. He was thinking two steps ahead.

As the session wore on, James made his way around the sparring pairs, offering guidance and occasionally calling out observations. When he reached Regulus, he paused for a moment, watching him spar with Barty. Regulus could feel his heart rate quicken, the weight of James’ scrutiny heavy on his shoulders.

“You’re not bad,” James said casually, though there was something more serious in his voice. “You don’t have the raw power, but you’re fast, and you think before you act. Keep that up, and you might make it through this.”

Regulus’ chest swelled with pride at the compliment, but he didn’t show it. Instead, he nodded and said, “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”

James offered a small, approving smile before moving on to the next pair.

The rest of the training session went by in a blur of bruises and exhaustion. Regulus’ muscles ached by the end of it, but he felt a sense of accomplishment. He hadn’t won every spar, but he hadn’t lost either. He was starting to prove to himself that he could handle this—that maybe he did belong here, even if only by the skin of his teeth.

As the initiates were finally dismissed for the day, Regulus wiped the sweat from his brow and took a deep breath. He was far from done. But for the first time since stepping off the train, he felt like he was beginning to find his place in this chaotic, brutal world.

Chapter Text

The days that followed the first combat training session passed in a blur for Regulus. His muscles ached with every movement, his body battered by the intense physical demands of the Dauntless initiation. He was sore, exhausted, and at times, frustrated with the limitations of his body. Yet, beneath the weariness, there was a flicker of determination burning within him. He wasn’t going to fail. Not after everything he had sacrificed to get here.

But as the days slipped by, something strange began to happen. Regulus started feeling more comfortable with the rigorous training. The exercises had become second nature to him, and while he still wasn’t as physically powerful as some of the other initiates, his sharp mind and adaptability were proving to be invaluable. He had been taught that it was about surviving the challenges, no matter the method. If it was physical strength or wit, both could get you to the top in Dauntless.

The day’s training arrived like any other. Regulus was still half-asleep as he entered the training room, stretching his stiff limbs in an attempt to shake off the remnants of sleep. He had expected more sparring—more brutal hand-to-hand combat—but what he saw when he entered the room surprised him.

The room was lined with wooden targets, each one painted with concentric circles, and a series of gleaming knives were neatly arranged on tables at the far end of the room. The sight of them sent a chill down Regulus’ spine. He had never been particularly fond of knives, let alone the idea of throwing them at something—or someone. A test of precision, focus, and bravery, as the Dauntless would call it.

James and Mulciber stood near the front, both of them surveying the room with calculating expressions. James seemed calm as always, his posture loose and relaxed, while Mulciber had that sharp, predatory glint in his eyes. He looked eager to see who would fail the challenge first. Regulus swallowed hard, feeling a nervous lump form in his throat. He could already sense the pressure, the weight of being watched so intently.

“Alright, initiates!” James called, raising his voice to address the group. “Today, we’re working on something different. Knife-throwing.” He paused to let the words settle over them. “It’s a test of precision, focus, and bravery. And most importantly, it’s a skill you’ll need if you want to survive in Dauntless.”

Regulus felt a knot tighten in his stomach. Knife-throwing wasn’t something he had ever considered before. He had always been more inclined toward thinking through problems, finding clever solutions, not... hurling sharp objects at targets.

James continued, “This isn’t just about hitting the target. It’s about control. You need to be able to remain calm and focused under pressure. If you let the fear take over, you won’t make it.” He shot a glance over to Mulciber, who gave a wicked grin in return.

“Step forward,” James instructed, and Regulus found himself moving, almost against his will. His hands felt clammy as he picked up a knife, turning it over in his fingers as he examined its weight. The cold steel sent a shiver up his spine, and he knew this wasn’t going to be easy.

One by one, the initiates took their turns. Some fumbled with the knives, barely hitting the targets—or missing entirely. Others seemed to try too hard, overcompensating with brute strength and missing the mark completely. Regulus watched with a growing sense of unease as the challenge unfolded. He didn’t know how to throw knives. He didn’t have the experience, the skill.

But as the rounds continued, Regulus realized that it wasn’t about strength or raw power. It was about precision. The ones who were failing weren’t doing so because they were weak. They were failing because they didn’t have control, they didn’t have focus.

When his turn finally came, Regulus stepped forward, the eyes of the entire room on him. The cold edge of the knife seemed to hum in his hand, and he tried to shake off the doubt that had taken root. He focused on the target, drawing a deep breath and pushing all thoughts of failure out of his mind. This was about precision. And he could do this. He could focus.

Without thinking too much, Regulus swung his arm forward, releasing the knife. It flew through the air, cutting a clean arc through the space before landing dead-center in the bullseye. A hush fell over the room as the blade quivered in the target, the sound of its impact ringing in the silence. Regulus didn’t have time to feel any satisfaction. The room erupted into murmurs, and James stepped forward, eyes glinting with surprise.

“Well, well,” he said with a slow grin. “Color me impressed.”

Regulus blinked, his heart pounding in his chest. The thrill of hitting the mark sent a rush of adrenaline through his veins. It wasn’t about proving something to James, or even to Mulciber. It was about proving something to himself.

But James wasn’t done with him yet. He had seen something in Regulus’ performance that intrigued him—something more than just a lucky throw.

“Alright,” James said, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. “Let’s make this interesting.” He nodded at Mulciber, who flashed a wicked grin. “Regulus, since you’re so good at hitting the target... let’s see how well you handle being the target.”

The room seemed to freeze for a moment, all eyes turning to Regulus. His stomach dropped as he realized what James meant.

Regulus glanced back at James, hoping for some sign that this was a joke, but there was none. James’ gaze was steady, his expression unreadable. “You heard me,” James said, his voice as calm as ever. “You’re going to stand in front of the target. Three knives. Let’s see how well you can handle a little pressure.”

The blood rushed to Regulus’ face as panic surged through him. His mind raced, his pulse thudding in his ears. He looked to Barty for help, but his friend had already backed away, a slight grin on his face as if he had been expecting this all along.

“No way!” Barty called out with a nervous laugh, but Mulciber quickly silenced him with a sharp, “Shut up, Barty.”

Regulus felt his throat constrict. His mind raced. This wasn’t about precision. This was about bravery. About testing how far you were willing to push yourself for the faction. This was a test of composure. Of fearlessness.

Before he could second-guess himself, Regulus moved forward, stepping into the space in front of the target. He could feel every eye on him, the weight of their expectations pressing down on his shoulders. The air seemed to grow thicker, his breaths coming in shallow gasps as his heart hammered in his chest.

James’ gaze never wavered. “Ready?” he asked.

Regulus swallowed, his throat dry. “Yes.”

With that, James took the first knife, throwing it with deadly precision. Regulus stood perfectly still, staring at the board in front of him. The knife flew past him, landing just inches from his shoulder. He didn’t flinch. He barely even blinked.

“Impressive,” James muttered, almost to himself.

The second knife came even faster, cutting through the air with deadly intent. It whizzed past Regulus, brushing right above his head. The cold wind from the blade’s passage tickled his scalp, and Regulus fought to keep his body still, his face neutral.

“You’re not bad,” Regulus taunted, his voice steadier than he felt. “Is that all you’ve got, Potter?”

James’ eyes sparked with something that made Regulus’ stomach flip—perhaps amusement, perhaps respect, but it was definitely something more.

The third knife was faster. Regulus didn’t see it coming until it was too late. He felt the rush of air as the blade sliced past his ear. The sharp edge grazed his skin, and for a moment, Regulus thought he might be dead. But it didn’t draw blood.

Regulus blinked, his ear stinging slightly. He turned to face James, his breath coming in fast bursts, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. James had been testing him, and he had passed.

“You missed,” Regulus said, voice low, but there was a grin on his face. “I’m still here.”

James walked over and leaned in close, his breath warm against Regulus’ ear. “Don’t get too cocky, princess,” he whispered, his voice low and almost teasing. “Next time, I might just make you regret it.”

Regulus’ heart skipped a beat, and he quickly turned away to mask his blush. James’ words were unexpected, but somehow they stoked a fire deep within him, one that he wasn’t sure how to deal with.

For the rest of the session, Regulus threw a series of difficult shots, each more complicated than the last. He nailed every single one. His precision was unmatched, his focus sharp as a knife’s edge. With every throw, his confidence grew. The knife wasn’t a weapon—it was an extension of himself, a symbol of his control.

But with every success, Regulus couldn’t shake the nagging feeling at the back of his mind. He couldn’t ignore the fact that, in this moment, his Divergence—his strange, hidden ability—was giving him an edge. When the stakes were high and the pressure was on, he could manipulate situations in ways others couldn’t. And that terrified him. If anyone found out about his ability, he wouldn’t just be under the radar—he’d be a target.

James watched him carefully, his eyes narrowed in thought. Regulus could feel the weight of his gaze, the silent recognition of the skill he was hiding behind his cold, controlled exterior. James was impressed, but he never let it show for too long.

At the end of the training session, Regulus felt a strange sense of accomplishment. He had survived this challenge, too, and despite the pressure, despite the knives flying inches from his face, he had remained composed.

But as he left the training room, he couldn’t shake the feeling that James was watching him more closely than before. And that, in itself, made him uneasy. The feeling of being seen, truly seen for the first time, made Regulus’ insides twist. He didn’t know what that meant for him yet.

***

The next few days of training continued with relentless intensity, each challenge more demanding than the last. But as Regulus moved through each trial, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was different. Something within him was shifting. His success in the knife-throwing challenge, in particular, had made him realize just how much of an advantage his Divergence was giving him. It was an edge he hadn’t fully recognized until now, one he had been carefully concealing from the others.

Every time Regulus threw a knife, he was more aware of the subtle ways in which his abilities affected the outcome. It wasn’t just about skill—it was about control. There was an unnatural calmness to his mind when the knives left his hand. It wasn’t something he consciously willed; it was as though the air itself bent to his will, giving him an advantage in the timing, the precision, the moment of release. When he focused, everything seemed to slow, every movement sharp and deliberate, as though the world around him was waiting for his signal to move. It wasn’t something anyone could see, not even the most observant of the initiates. It was a quiet manipulation of the environment, the precise moment in which he pushed his own will into the world.

The challenge that should have been difficult, especially for someone as unskilled with knives as Regulus, had instead felt almost too easy. His concentration was heightened, his reflexes sharper. He didn’t just hit the targets. He could feel the way the blades moved through the air, almost as if he were guiding them. It was his Divergence—his innate ability to manipulate the unseen forces of the world—that was giving him this unspoken advantage.

But it also scared him.

The more he realized this, the more he understood just how dangerous it could be if anyone were to notice. He couldn’t afford to stand out, to show that he was different from the others. Regulus had always understood the dangers of his Divergence. His family had raised him to hide it, to keep it buried deep within, so no one would use it against him—or worse, so he wouldn’t be hunted for it.

He could already feel the growing tension around him. Every day, it became harder to hide the flickers of his power, especially when he performed so well in the training exercises. He had perfected the art of maintaining a calm exterior, showing only what was necessary, never letting anyone see just how much of an advantage he had. But inside, a quiet panic had begun to settle in. Every moment felt like a tightrope walk, balancing between the desire to excel and the need to remain unnoticed.

As he practiced with the knives, Regulus began to realize just how much his Divergence could influence the outcome of each challenge. He had always been a quick learner, a keen observer, and now he could sense things before they happened. Every movement of the other initiates, every shift in their stance, felt predictable to him. It was as though he could read the patterns, even in the most chaotic situations. His mind was sharp, his thoughts moving faster than anyone else’s, and his body reacted before he could even consciously direct it. But it wasn’t just that. There was an unnatural rhythm to his actions, a calmness that allowed him to control the smallest details.

When James had challenged him to stand in front of the target and face the knives, Regulus had known exactly when to brace himself, when to stay perfectly still, and when to allow the air to shift around him. Every time James threw a knife, Regulus felt the smallest flicker of energy pass through him, his Divergence guiding him just enough to avoid the worst. It was like playing chess—except the pieces were moving faster than he could calculate, and the stakes were his life.

He had to be careful. No one could find out. Not even James, though Regulus suspected that the Dauntless leader might be more aware than he let on. James had watched him closely, his gaze penetrating, calculating, as though he saw through the surface of things. Regulus couldn’t afford to let anyone get too close. The last thing he wanted was to draw the attention of those who might see his Divergence as a threat or a power to exploit.

Still, as he moved through the daily drills, he began to notice something else. The other initiates were starting to notice him. He wasn’t just blending into the background anymore. His success in the knife-throwing challenge had earned him a reputation, and not all of it was good.

Avery and Carrow, two of the more dominant initiates, seemed to take an immediate dislike to him. Avery had always been one of those types who thrived on competition, constantly striving to be the best, and anyone who stood in his way became a target. Regulus had noticed Avery casting him sharp looks during the knife-throwing challenge, a mixture of curiosity and resentment burning in his eyes. It wasn’t that Avery had failed; it was that Regulus had succeeded so effortlessly, and that grated on him. There was no way Avery would tolerate someone outshining him, especially someone like Regulus, who seemed to have no visible weaknesses.

Carrow, on the other hand, was more subtle. He didn’t openly challenge Regulus, but Regulus could feel the simmering animosity every time their paths crossed. The subtle sneers, the sharp comments that seemed to be directed at him when they trained. It was as though Carrow was constantly sizing him up, trying to figure out what made him so different.

Regulus had always known that being in Dauntless wasn’t going to be easy. The competition, the desire to be the best—it was all part of the culture. But he hadn’t expected it to feel so suffocating. He hadn’t anticipated the quiet resentment that simmered beneath the surface, especially from those who saw him as a threat. It made him nervous, unsure of how to navigate the social dynamics of the faction.

Still, he tried not to let it bother him. He kept his head down, focused on the challenges, and remained as low-profile as possible. He couldn’t afford to become a target. The last thing he needed was to attract the wrong kind of attention. Regulus had seen firsthand how jealousy and insecurity could turn people against one another. The last thing he wanted was for the other initiates to start circling him like sharks.

But it was becoming harder to ignore. Avery’s glares, Carrow’s sidelong glances, the way they seemed to watch him just a little too closely. It was clear they were trying to figure him out. And Regulus couldn’t shake the feeling that they were getting closer to the truth.

The next few days only made the tension worse. Regulus continued to excel in training, outperforming the others in several exercises. He wasn’t the best at everything—there were still some areas where he struggled, like physical strength—but he made up for it with his strategy and intellect. He began to wonder if the initiates would ever stop trying to figure him out, or if they’d eventually turn on him.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized that hiding his abilities was going to be a constant battle. It wasn’t just about excelling in training—it was about hiding his Divergence. And as much as he tried to bury it, the truth was that his power wasn’t something that could stay hidden forever.

But for now, he did his best to stay under the radar. He couldn’t afford to stand out. Not yet. If he wanted to make it through Dauntless, he would have to rely on more than just his abilities. He would have to rely on his wits, his patience, and his ability to keep his true self locked away.

For now, though, the tension with the other initiates was something he couldn’t ignore. Avery and Carrow were watching him, waiting for him to slip up. Regulus wasn’t sure how much longer he could stay hidden in plain sight. But one thing was certain: as long as he was in Dauntless, he had to be careful. If his secrets were discovered, it could be the end of everything.

Chapter Text

The day had arrived. The day every initiate dreaded. It was time for the fear simulations.

In Dauntless, fear was both the enemy and the teacher. The fear simulations were designed to challenge each initiate to their core, forcing them to confront the very worst of what their minds could conjure. The process was brutal, a test of resilience and courage, and Regulus could already feel the pressure mounting as he stepped into the room with the other initiates.

The room was stark, its walls bare and metallic, and in the center, large chairs with restraining straps awaited each of them. Each initiate would be hooked into a simulation pod where they would face their deepest fears in a virtual reality environment. To most of the initiates, it was an unavoidable nightmare; an experience where their subconscious would become reality, and all they had to do was survive it.

The simulations could range from confronting massive spiders to being trapped in a cage with terrifying monsters or even facing their own failure in life. Regulus knew his fears would likely be a mixture of failure, rejection, and an overwhelming fear of being trapped. But what he wasn’t prepared for was the realization that he might have a distinct advantage in the simulations—his Divergence.

***

When Regulus had first learned about the fear simulations, he had been dreading the experience. After all, what was more terrifying than facing the things he had spent his entire life trying to avoid? His fears were too real, too close to home. The possibility of seeing his parents again, the life he could have had if he’d chosen differently, the crushing weight of being nothing but a disappointment to everyone around him—these were things he feared far more than any virtual nightmare.

But when he sat down in the simulation chair, feeling the straps secure around his wrists, Regulus experienced something unexpected: a strange sense of control. As the simulation began, he could feel the familiar pull of his Divergence, a subtle shift in his perception. The world around him, once oppressive and suffocating, felt malleable. He could sense the change in the atmosphere, like the air was now a medium he could manipulate. It wasn’t just the fear that he could control, but the reality of the simulation itself.

Regulus wasn't sure if it was conscious or subconscious, but as the simulation unfolded, he found himself more able to alter the fear-inducing elements. He was standing in a small, cramped space—his worst fear of being trapped in an enclosed area. His body tensed, panic creeping in. But then, he focused. He reached out with his mind, subtly pushing against the walls of the confined space. Slowly, the walls seemed to stretch, the oppressive feeling loosening. The room started to grow bigger. The air felt less suffocating.

It wasn’t a drastic change; it wasn’t like he was rewriting the whole experience. But he could feel his influence—his Divergence—making things slightly less terrifying, less intense. Instead of being trapped in a tiny box, he now stood in a large open space, one where he could breathe freely. It was a small change, but it was enough to help him hold on, enough to give him the edge.

The other initiates didn’t have this advantage. They were trapped in the full force of their fears, forced to face them head-on without any reprieve. Regulus couldn’t help but feel the growing sense of unease. What if his powers were discovered? What if someone realized that he was not experiencing the simulations the same way everyone else was? His Divergence was supposed to be hidden. He wasn’t supposed to have an edge.

Still, he couldn't let his advantage go to waste. As the simulation progressed, he continued to tweak his environment, bending the fear to his will. And with each passing test, he felt more in control, more confident. But at the same time, his anxiety grew. He couldn’t afford to draw attention to himself.

***

Regulus was becoming increasingly aware of how much his Divergence influenced his experience in the simulations. He was using it to manipulate the virtual environment, to reduce the intensity of the fears he was facing. The walls would stretch, the claustrophobia would ease, and the danger would feel just a little less immediate. It was subtle, but it was there.

But the more he succeeded, the more he feared that someone might notice. He had no idea how James would react to this—or Mulciber, for that matter. The Dauntless faction was built on strength and resilience, and what he was doing was something that could easily be perceived as cheating, or worse, as weakness. Regulus wasn’t sure how he would explain his ability if someone confronted him about it. And the thought of it being discovered filled him with dread. His Divergence had always been a curse, and revealing it could lead to untold consequences.

For now, Regulus buried it deep within himself. He had to be careful, had to make sure that no one caught on to the fact that he wasn’t like the others. He wasn’t just surviving the simulations; he was bending them to his will. But it was a dangerous game. The slightest mistake, the smallest sign of deviation, could draw unwanted attention. And unfortunately for Regulus, someone had noticed.

***

The tension in the simulation room was thick with anticipation as Regulus stood in front of the control panel, trying to prepare himself for whatever came next. After days of handling the fear simulations with a calmness that had unnerved both his fellow initiates and the instructors, Regulus was beginning to sense the growing suspicion from Mulciber. Mulciber, ever the perfectionist, had been watching him closely. Every time Regulus came out of a simulation with barely a scratch, Mulciber had seemed increasingly determined to push him further.

Today, Regulus could feel the weight of Mulciber’s eyes on him. The simmering hostility in the air was palpable. Mulciber was going to test him, push him to his limits. And Regulus was already aware of the underlying challenge: Mulciber believed that Regulus had to be hiding something. He believed that Regulus couldn’t possibly be that good without some sort of edge—an edge that, if exposed, could derail Mulciber’s entire perception of the initiation process.

As the simulation began, Regulus stepped into the pod, the cool, metallic surface of the machine pressing against him. It was time for the next phase. The room fell into eerie silence. The other initiates were watching, some nervous, others curious. Regulus steadied his breath, focusing on the task at hand, despite the gnawing feeling in his stomach that today might be different.

Then Mulciber’s voice broke through the quiet.

“Regulus, we’re going to test your ability to handle stress and fear in a different way today,” Mulciber said, his voice dripping with thinly veiled malice.

Regulus barely spared him a glance, his gaze fixed on the blank screen in front of him. He was ready for anything—he thought.

“You’ve faced spiders, closed spaces, being buried alive. But let’s see how you handle something a little more… threatening,” Mulciber continued. He turned to James, who was standing off to the side, his eyes narrowed in curiosity. “Adjust the simulation. Let’s see how he fares when it’s not just about being scared, but about fighting for survival.”

James hesitated for a split second, exchanging a glance with Mulciber before nodding. The simulation room hummed as the interface shifted. Regulus’ heart began to race, though his exterior remained calm. He felt a slight flicker of unease, a warning deep in his gut, but he forced it away. Whatever it was, he could handle it. He had to.

The room shifted into a watery abyss, the walls fading into a dark, murky sea. Panic began to rise within Regulus as he realized where this was heading. The sense of dread was immediate, and his breath hitched slightly. The water began to fill the space around him, his feet sinking into the cold, clammy depths. He knew exactly what was coming. The simulation was drowning.

“Let’s see how he does when the water starts rising,” Mulciber said from behind him, his voice laced with cruel anticipation.

The water level began to rise, inching higher and higher. Regulus felt the coldness creep up his body, the water now rising up past his ankles, then his knees, then his waist. His heart rate quickened, but he fought to maintain control. He had been trained for this, hadn’t he? Fear was just a simulation—nothing more than an obstacle to be conquered. The water splashed around him, dragging at his clothes, but he stood still, focusing on his breathing.

But as the water reached his chest, the pressure began to mount, and that’s when Regulus started to feel the weight of the simulation. It wasn’t just about drowning. It was the claustrophobia—the overwhelming sense of helplessness. The water was beginning to push in on him from every side, the thick, stagnant liquid dragging him down, forcing him into a tighter space. The fear tightened around his chest as his mind screamed to escape.

“Not bad, Regulus,” Mulciber’s voice echoed from the observation window. “But let’s make it more interesting.”

Before Regulus could respond, the simulation intensified. The water rose faster now, swallowing his chest and neck. Panic surged through him. His heart hammered in his chest, and for a moment, the fear was all-consuming. He fought it back, shaking his head to clear the thoughts, pushing against the terror that threatened to take over. He had to stay calm. He was Dauntless. He could survive this.

But it was hard to focus when the water was rising relentlessly, the pressure in his ears almost unbearable. He began to struggle against the overwhelming force of the water. His legs, heavy with the weight of the liquid, moved sluggishly, and every breath felt like a fight. The water was high enough now that it was pushing against his chin, the only thing keeping him from full submersion was the shallow space left between his nose and the surface.

Mulciber’s voice again broke through his thoughts. “What are you going to do, Regulus? Sink or swim?”

A cruel laugh rippled through the speakers, and Regulus’ mind raced. He could feel the air thinning, his lungs desperate for oxygen. Panic clawed at him, and for a moment, he thought he might actually lose himself to the fear. His chest tightened, and his breath came in shallow gasps.

Then, something inside of him clicked. A shift. It wasn’t just the drowning simulation anymore—it was his Divergence. Regulus had never quite understood it, but he’d felt its pull during other moments—those flashes of clarity where his mind seemed to bend the world around him. And now, as the water continued to rise, he felt that same pull.

He focused. With all his strength, he willed the water to slow, to stop. For a fleeting moment, the water seemed to hesitate, to thin slightly, before it continued rising at its previous pace. But Regulus held his ground, forcing his mind to bend the simulation, just enough to allow him to catch his breath. It was subtle, the way he controlled the water’s movements, but it was enough. The pressure was momentarily lifted, and he took a deep, ragged breath.

But Regulus knew this wasn’t sustainable. His Divergence wasn’t a permanent solution—he could only influence the simulation for so long before it caught up with him. And Mulciber was watching him too closely. Regulus had learned that Mulciber didn’t tolerate anything unusual. If he suspected Regulus was doing something beyond the simulation’s design, it would all be over.

But just as Regulus steadied himself, Mulciber made the mistake of pushing too far.

"Let’s see how much you can take," Mulciber sneered, adjusting the controls. The water surged upward again, faster this time. It was rising at an unnatural rate, overwhelming Regulus completely.

Regulus’ mind snapped into action. The fear—the drowning sensation—began to take over. His chest tightened, and his lungs burned with the need for air. The pressure, the panic, everything was mounting at once. His breath came out in short bursts, each one more desperate than the last. He couldn’t breathe. He was going to drown. His mind flashed with fear—images of being trapped, unable to escape. And it was as though his Divergence kicked in full force. The simulation wavered. The water began to slow, if only for a moment, but Regulus couldn’t hold it back.

He gasped for air, desperate to clear his head, but his vision was blurred. He was drowning. No matter how much he tried to hold on to his control, the water kept rising. It pressed against him, suffocating him, and he couldn’t stop it. His body struggled, convulsing against the terror rising within him. He was helpless.

Regulus wasn’t sure how long it had been before everything went black.

***
Regulus’s mind swirled as he slowly drifted back into consciousness. His body felt heavy, his chest tight with the remnants of the overwhelming fear simulation. The feeling of being submerged, drowning, still lingered in every muscle. His breathing came in ragged, shallow gasps, like his lungs were still struggling to adjust to the lack of water. He could still feel the coldness of the water creeping along his skin, the weight of it pressing against him, dragging him under.

When his eyes fluttered open, the harsh fluorescent lights of the simulation room greeted him. The sterile environment seemed oddly distant, a stark contrast to the suffocating terror of the water. He blinked rapidly, trying to focus, trying to ground himself in reality. His heart was racing, still pounding in his chest as though he were still in the simulation, trapped in the depths of the water.

The first thing Regulus became aware of was the steady, rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor. His vitals were being monitored, and the sound seemed too loud in the otherwise silent room. His pulse was erratic, and he could feel the tightness in his chest, the panic still clawing at him, refusing to let go.

He shifted slightly, his body trembling. He was lying on something firm and flat, a bed or some sort of medical table, but it felt too much like a holding cell—like he was being confined after a failure.

Mulciber was sitting across from him in a chair, monitoring his vitals with a professional detachment. His gaze flicked briefly over to Regulus, but it was James who caught his attention.

James was seated at the computer, his fingers resting lightly on the keyboard, eyes focused on the screen. His body was stiff, his posture tense, as if every part of him was wrapped up in Regulus’s well-being.

Regulus didn’t understand why James was here. Why did he care? Why was he watching him so closely? The weight of the question seemed too much for his scattered mind to hold on to.

“Regulus,” James’s voice was soft, filled with concern. “Are you okay?”

Regulus barely registered the words. His mind was still in a haze, the aftereffects of the simulation clouding his thoughts. He tried to respond, but his throat was dry, and his words came out hoarse, weak. “Did I pass?”

It was the first thing he could think of to ask, even though the question felt trivial in the face of everything else he was feeling. His mind was still foggy, and his body felt like it was on the verge of collapse. He couldn’t think straight.

Mulciber barely spared a glance in his direction, his voice flat and indifferent. “You passed, Regulus. Stop worrying about that.”

Regulus nodded weakly, his head still spinning. The simple answer didn’t seem to be enough to calm the storm inside him. It was like a thousand thoughts were racing through his head, each one louder and more insistent than the last. The water. The suffocation. The drowning. The feeling of being completely helpless.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled to himself, even though he wasn’t. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so out of control.

Without waiting for any further response, Regulus pushed himself up into a sitting position, his body shaking in protest. He could feel the sweat on his brow, the cold, clammy feeling sticking to his skin. But he didn’t want to lie here any longer. He wanted to get out. He had to get out.

With shaky legs, he stood up, his knees weak and unsteady. The room seemed to tilt slightly as he took a step forward, his vision blurring around the edges. His body moved on autopilot, his feet taking him toward the door as though it were the only thing that could give him relief.

The hallway beyond the simulation room was empty, and the silence was deafening. Regulus stumbled as he walked, each step feeling heavier than the last. His breath came in shallow bursts, his heart racing, still thumping loudly in his ears. The pressure in his chest only seemed to grow with every step, and it felt like the walls were closing in around him. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think.

Suddenly, the world tilted again, and Regulus found himself crumpling to the ground, his body giving out beneath him. His knees buckled, and he collapsed against the cold stone floor. His breath came out in desperate gasps, his body wracked with tremors as his mind spiraled into panic. The world seemed to blur, the edges of everything turning into a haze of dizziness and fear.

The panic overtook him fully, and he couldn’t control it. He was back in the simulation, drowning again, helpless and trapped. The water was suffocating him, and he couldn’t break free. His breath was shallow, his chest tightening, his heart thudding violently against his ribs. His body shook with the intensity of it, and he couldn’t stop the tears that started streaming down his face.

He was crying. He hadn’t cried in years, but now, in the empty hallway, with the weight of everything pressing down on him, he couldn’t hold it in. The sobs wracked through his body, each one pulling him further into the spiral of his own emotions.

A sudden presence loomed over him. Strong arms wrapped around him, pulling him close, lifting him from the cold floor. The warmth of the embrace confused him, and his mind scrambled to make sense of it. He couldn’t focus on anything other than the feeling of being held, of being cared for—something he had never allowed himself to experience.

Someone started rubbing soothing circles on his back, their touch gentle but firm. The sensation was grounding, bringing him back to reality in a way he hadn’t expected. The words being whispered in his ear were soft, comforting, but they didn’t make sense to him at first.

“Regulus, it’s okay. You’re okay. Just breathe.”

It took him a moment to realize who it was. The voice—the warmth—he felt the familiarity of it seep through his haze. It was James. James was holding him, calming him.

Regulus’s breaths were still shallow, but the comforting touch was enough to ease the panic that had gripped him. Slowly, his body began to relax, the shaking lessening as James continued to speak to him in that low, soothing voice.

“I’ve got you,” James murmured, his voice steady and firm. “Just breathe with me. You’re safe, Regulus.”

Regulus felt the tears slow, but the weight of everything still lingered. His chest still ached, but the pressure in his mind was starting to loosen. Slowly, he let his breath come deeper, matching the rhythm James set for him.

After what felt like an eternity, Regulus managed to pull himself together enough to speak, his voice barely above a whisper. “I need to go back… to the quarters.”

James gave a soft, understanding hum. “Alright. I’ll take you back. You need rest.”

Regulus nodded weakly, the exhaustion finally catching up with him. He allowed James to help him to his feet, and with the comforting presence of James beside him, he allowed himself to be led back down the hallway. The emptiness of the space around them seemed less daunting with James there, even if Regulus couldn’t fully comprehend the warmth that came with his company.

When they reached the sleeping quarters, Regulus felt himself collapse into his bed. He barely managed to pull the covers up before the exhaustion overwhelmed him.

As soon as he closed his eyes, the dreams came. The nightmares of his parents—of them hurting him, of the suffocating pressure of their anger. But then, amidst the chaos of his mind, a different image emerged. Sirius. His brother’s face, full of sadness and longing, standing just out of reach, calling to him but unable to get close.

And then there was James. The warmth of James’s arms, holding him, saving him from the darkness.

Regulus's breathing evened out as sleep took over. He couldn’t understand what it meant, but for once, in the quiet of his mind, he let himself rest.

Chapter Text

The days in Dauntless passed in a blur of intense training and physical exhaustion. The grueling regimen had Regulus feeling worn down, but it was also where he started to make real connections. Despite the overwhelming pressure of being in a new faction, one that was so different from what he had been raised in, Regulus found himself forming stronger bonds with certain initiates. These relationships began to take root, grounded in shared struggles and experiences that were unique to Dauntless.

***

Regulus had always been a solitary person, one to keep his thoughts to himself, always avoiding too much attention. But Dauntless was different. Here, the initiates were thrown together and forced to work closely, sometimes under the most intense circumstances. There was nowhere to hide, and in this, Regulus found himself building friendships he had never imagined would exist.

Barty Crouch Jr. was one of the first people Regulus had really clicked with. Barty was ambitious, sharp, and relentless in his pursuit of power. In some ways, he reminded Regulus of the drive that had propelled him forward in his life back in Erudite. But Dauntless was different from home. There were no walls to hide behind, no strict family legacy to uphold. In this environment, Barty’s ruthlessness was sharpened even further. He was competitive, always pushing forward and never letting anyone get in his way. He was loyal, but that loyalty came with a price.

Regulus had always appreciated the cunning minds of those who could maneuver through difficult situations. Barty was a master of strategy, always calculating his next move with precision. He’d watched as Barty faced off with Avery in a sparring match, and when Barty broke Avery’s arm, Regulus couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of pride. It wasn’t that he wanted to see Avery hurt, but it was a reminder of the stakes of Dauntless training, and Barty had come out on top. Regulus, though only a little surprised, was glad to have him as an ally.

In contrast to Barty’s overt ambition, Evan Rosier was quieter but equally strong. Evan had a certain quiet strength about him that Regulus admired. He wasn’t loud, nor was he in-your-face like Barty, but there was a calm determination about him. Coming from Candor, Evan wasn’t afraid to speak his mind, often saying things that others might only think. Regulus had seen Evan tell Carrow to “go fuck himself” when Carrow made a snide remark about Regulus. It had earned him a few raised eyebrows, but Regulus couldn’t help but feel a sense of camaraderie with Evan. There was a shared understanding between them: don’t mess with the people they cared about. Regulus appreciated that.

Marlene, the glue that held their little group together, was a stark contrast to both Barty and Evan. Marlene was kind and compassionate, traits that seemed to stem from her Amity background. She wasn’t just a pacifist, though. No, Marlene had a quiet strength of her own. She was the one to break up arguments, make peace, and offer help when no one else could. Regulus had learned that the hard way when he had underestimated her in the sparring ring. He had assumed she wouldn’t be able to take him down, but Marlene had swiftly proved him wrong. The bruises on his pride were more significant than any physical pain. She could hold her own and then some. Regulus was starting to realize that in Dauntless, it wasn’t just about physical strength. Emotional resilience was just as important. Marlene had both, and that made her a valuable friend.

***

Regulus had always been good at keeping his emotions in check. His upbringing had taught him how to hide his true feelings, to never let anyone see the parts of him that were vulnerable or raw. After all, as the younger brother of Sirius Black, he had learned early on how to keep his emotions buried deep beneath a veneer of stoicism. But here, in Dauntless, everything was different. The physical challenges, the brutal training, the sense of camaraderie—it was all so raw and immediate, and Regulus couldn’t help but feel himself pulled in ways he didn’t entirely understand.

Among all the noise and chaos of initiation, there was one constant that had begun to occupy his thoughts more than he would have liked: James Potter. James had always been the center of attention, brimming with confidence and charisma, the type of person who could light up a room without even trying. Regulus, on the other hand, had always kept to the shadows, the quieter, more introspective brother, who rarely sought the spotlight.

But here, in Dauntless, everything seemed to shift. Despite the vast differences between them—James’s boisterous nature and Regulus’s tendency to remain withdrawn—Regulus found himself inexplicably drawn to him. James, with his bold, cocky attitude, his effortless charm, and his ability to lead a group, seemed to represent everything Regulus both admired and envied. There was something magnetic about James’s confidence, something that made Regulus feel both drawn to him and deeply intimidated by him at the same time.

It wasn’t just admiration that Regulus felt—it was something deeper, something he couldn’t quite put into words. There was a warmth in James’s presence, a raw energy that tugged at Regulus’s insides, making his heart race whenever their eyes met. And that was the problem. Regulus could feel the heat in his chest, the quickening of his pulse when James walked into a room, or when he caught Regulus’s gaze for just a second too long. It was the way James held himself, his easy smile, the way he made everyone feel like they mattered when he spoke to them. He was a natural leader, a force of nature, and Regulus couldn’t help but find himself captivated by it.

What scared Regulus the most, though, was how quickly those feelings grew into something more than just admiration. It wasn’t long before Regulus realized that what he felt for James wasn’t just a simple attraction to his confidence or his leadership abilities. No, it was something much more complicated—something he wasn’t ready to confront. The more time Regulus spent in Dauntless, the more he found himself thinking about James, daydreaming about him, sometimes in ways that made him uncomfortable.

It started innocently enough, with Regulus catching himself looking at James during meals or training sessions. He would watch James as he led the group, the way he commanded respect without even trying. James’s laugh was loud, infectious, and Regulus couldn’t help but be drawn to it. There were moments when James would glance over at him, and their eyes would meet for a fraction of a second, but it felt like an eternity to Regulus. He would quickly look away, his heart pounding, not sure what to do with the feelings that were welling up inside him.

At night, the dreams came. Regulus had never been one to have vivid dreams before—his sleep had always been quiet and undisturbed. But since he had joined Dauntless, and especially since James had become such a prominent part of his life, his dreams had become charged with intensity. He dreamed of James constantly. Sometimes it was just small things: James smiling at him, James giving him a reassuring pat on the back after a difficult training session. Other times, the dreams were far more vivid—more intimate, more heated.

In these dreams, James was different. He wasn’t the bold, confident leader that Regulus saw in the waking world. In his dreams, James was softer, more approachable, more...human. They would be alone, in a quiet corner of the training hall or in a darkened room. James would smile at him, his eyes soft and full of unspoken understanding, and then the atmosphere would shift. Their faces would inch closer, breaths coming faster, and then, without warning, their lips would meet in a kiss that sent shockwaves through Regulus’s entire body. The kiss was passionate, electrifying, and it felt so real that Regulus would wake up feeling disoriented and flushed, his body still tingling from the sensation.

He had never experienced anything like it before. In the safety of his own mind, he could explore these feelings—his hidden affection for James—without fear of judgment or rejection. But when he woke up, reality would crash in. He would lie in his bed, wide-eyed and breathing heavily, trying to push the thoughts and feelings away, trying to convince himself that it was just a dream—just his mind playing tricks on him.

But it didn’t stop. The dreams kept coming, each one more intense than the last, and Regulus found it harder and harder to ignore what he was feeling. There were times when, after waking up from a particularly vivid dream, he would find himself desperately trying to bury his face in his pillow, his hands trembling as he tried to steady his racing heart. He had no idea how to process these emotions, how to make sense of the attraction he was feeling, especially when it seemed so out of place in the world of Dauntless.

Evan, ever the observant one, had started to notice Regulus’s odd behavior. He would wake up in the middle of the night to find Regulus lying stiffly in his bed, eyes wide open, flushed with embarrassment. One night, after one of Regulus’s particularly intense dreams, Evan had shaken him awake, asking what was wrong.

“Reg, are you—are you okay?” Evan asked, his voice laced with concern.

Regulus, mortified, quickly shook his head and muttered a quick excuse. “Just... a bad dream,” he said, though Evan didn’t look convinced.

Regulus could feel the heat rising in his cheeks as he turned away from Evan, not wanting to acknowledge what Evan was implying. “I’m not—” Regulus began, but the words trailed off. He couldn’t deny it, not to himself, and certainly not to Evan.

Evan just chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re hopeless. Just... try to keep it in your pants, alright?” he said, before turning back over and going to sleep.

Regulus lay there, staring up at the ceiling, his thoughts a whirlwind of confusion and frustration. The truth was, he didn’t know what he was feeling. He didn’t know what he wanted from James or if James even noticed him the way Regulus had noticed him. What if it was all just in his head? What if it was just some fleeting infatuation that would pass with time? And what if, by some miracle, James did notice him—what then?

For now, Regulus kept his feelings buried. He kept his distance from James, forcing himself to focus on his training and the friendships he was forming with Barty, Evan, and Marlene. But no matter how hard he tried, James’s presence lingered in his mind, like a shadow he couldn’t outrun. And every time their eyes met, Regulus could feel his heart race, knowing full well that he was hiding something he could no longer keep to himself.

***

Regulus couldn’t help but notice his brother at every meal, no matter how hard he tried to keep his focus elsewhere. Sirius sat with James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew—always the same group, always laughing, always so at ease with each other. It was a striking contrast to the tension Regulus felt every time he glimpsed them. His gaze would inevitably drift toward Sirius, and every time their eyes would meet, Sirius would offer him a brief, knowing look, as though he were silently daring Regulus to break the silence between them. Regulus would quickly avert his gaze, a mix of guilt and confusion coursing through him. He hated himself for feeling so distant from Sirius, for feeling like a stranger in the same room.

Sirius, for his part, always seemed calm, at ease in his surroundings, surrounded by his new friends. Regulus had a hard time watching them, especially when Sirius would laugh with James, his head tipped back in that familiar way that used to make Regulus feel like everything was okay. But now, watching his brother with James and the others, a dull ache twisted in his chest.

It wasn’t just the laughter that caught Regulus’ attention, though. It was how close Sirius seemed to be to James, how their camaraderie transcended mere friendship. It was the way they’d brush shoulders casually, the way their eyes lingered just a moment too long on each other, always in perfect sync. Regulus didn’t know what to make of it, but a part of him wanted to push the thought away, to ignore the nagging feeling that something deeper was happening between them.

Remus Lupin was a new face to Regulus, he had only recently started paying attention to him. Remus had joined Dauntless from Abnegation, and Regulus had heard bits and pieces about his past—rumors that hinted at a troubled home life. It wasn’t hard to figure out why; Remus’ body bore the evidence of abuse—scars criss crossing his arms and neck, reminders of his father’s cruelty. Despite this, Remus had not only survived but had thrived in Dauntless. He was incredibly strong, tall and imposing, with broad shoulders and a muscular frame. He had a limp that Regulus noticed when he walked but that Remus hardly let slow him down. If anything, it seemed to make him more determined, more unstoppable in fights.

Regulus also noticed the way Remus was always close to Sirius. It wasn’t just friendship—it was something else, something subtle, but undeniable. The way they leaned in toward each other when they spoke, the way they exchanged private looks when they thought no one was watching, all of it added up to something more than just camaraderie. Regulus didn’t fully understand the dynamic between the two of them, but there was no denying that they were deeply connected. It was hard for him not to feel a pang of jealousy at their closeness, even though he couldn’t exactly place why.

It wasn’t until one evening, when Regulus found himself watching them from across the dining hall, that he pieced things together. Remus had placed a hand on Sirius’ shoulder, a gesture that was gentle but affectionate, and Sirius had looked up at him with an expression that Regulus had never seen before. It was soft, caring, and, for a split second, Regulus thought he saw something more in that gaze—something that made his chest tighten. He quickly looked away, ashamed of himself for even thinking it.

And then there was Peter Pettigrew, the fourth member of the group, who Regulus had observed more recently. Peter had joined Dauntless from Candor, and Regulus had always found him to be a bit too loud, a bit too brash for his taste. He didn’t think before he spoke, and that could get him into trouble—often with Mulciber, who seemed to take particular pleasure in taking down anyone who dared to speak their mind too freely. Peter had a tendency to be blunt, to say exactly what was on his mind without concern for how it might come across.Despite his somewhat abrasive personality, it was clear to Regulus that Peter was fiercely loyal to his friends, particularly to James and Sirius. Regulus had noticed how the two of them seemed to lean on Peter in ways that were more than just casual friendship, even though Peter often tried to downplay it with his loud laughter and disregard for subtlety.

Watching the four of them—James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter—together, Regulus couldn’t help but feel like an outsider. They had a bond that was so strong, so unmistakable, and no matter how much Regulus wanted to be a part of something like that, he knew he would never be able to. His role was clear: he was Dauntless now, but he was still an outsider, forever separate from his brother. The more Regulus watched, the more he realized that he didn’t just miss Sirius; he also longed for the kind of connection that Sirius had with James, Remus, and Peter. He wanted that, but at the same time, he feared it—because he knew that if he did anything to reach out, he’d just be reminded of how far apart they had become.

Sirius might catch his eye every now and then, but Regulus would always turn away quickly, afraid of what that look might mean.

Chapter Text

Regulus was exhausted. His muscles ached from the relentless training, and all he wanted was to crawl into bed and shut out the world. Every session had been brutal—sparring drills that left his body covered in bruises, endurance tests that made his lungs burn, and psychological tests that left his mind frayed at the edges. He had barely eaten, barely spoken to anyone. He felt like a machine running on the fumes of pure willpower, and right now, all he wanted was to be alone.

But as he walked down the dimly lit corridor, heading toward the initiates’ sleeping quarters, he felt a shift in the air. A presence. A tension.

Then he saw him.

Sirius stood there, in the middle of the hallway, arms crossed, waiting.

Regulus stopped short, his stomach twisting into a tight knot. Sirius had been giving him space since he arrived, and Regulus had taken full advantage of it, avoiding him at all costs. It wasn’t hard—they were both busy, and Dauntless was big enough that he could slip away unnoticed. But deep down, he knew this moment was inevitable. Sirius would never let him avoid this forever.

Regulus swallowed hard, keeping his expression blank. He took in his brother’s appearance—long, curly black hair that looked slightly wild, like he’d just run his hands through it in frustration. His sharp, stormy-gray eyes burned with determination, the same eyes Regulus saw when he looked in the mirror. But the differences were stark. Sirius had ink covering his arms, intricate tattoos weaving over his skin like permanent battle scars. Swirling patterns, celestial symbols, even the faint outline of a howling wolf. His ears were pierced multiple times, silver rings glinting under the fluorescent lights.

Regulus knew the tattoos weren’t just for aesthetic. They were a rebellion. Against their parents, against their past, against everything they were forced to be. Sirius had shed his Black family identity the moment he joined Dauntless, carving out a new self from the ashes. And Regulus hated how much of him admired that.

Still, admiration or not, he didn’t want to have this conversation.

He clenched his jaw and kept walking, trying to brush past him.

Sirius, of course, didn’t let that happen. He shifted, stepping into Regulus’ path. "Not this time, Reggie," he said, his voice firm but not unkind.

Regulus' muscles tensed. That name. He hadn’t heard it in so long, and hearing it now, from Sirius, made something in his chest twist painfully. But he wouldn’t let it show.

"Move," Regulus said coolly.

"No," Sirius shot back. "You've been avoiding me since you got here. I gave you space, I let you settle in, but enough is enough. We need to talk."

Regulus exhaled sharply, his patience already thin. "There's nothing to talk about."

Sirius let out a frustrated laugh, shaking his head. "Are you serious? Because I think there’s a hell of a lot we need to talk about. Like how my little brother—who was practically groomed to lead Erudite—is suddenly a Dauntless initiate. Like how you’ve managed to impress half the instructors—including James, by the way."

At the mention of James, Regulus’ heart leapt in his chest, but he immediately crushed the feeling before it could take root. Instead, he narrowed his eyes. "I don’t care what Potter thinks."

Sirius scoffed. "Please. You always cared what James thought. Just like you always cared what I thought. And what Mother and Father thought—"

"Don’t," Regulus snapped, his voice ice-cold. "Don’t talk about them."

Sirius sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Fine. Just—just listen to me, alright? I know why you stayed in Erudite. I know why you did everything they told you to do. But you're not there anymore, Reg. You're here. And whether you like it or not, you're my brother. And I—" He hesitated, his voice catching for just a fraction of a second before he pressed on. "I never stopped caring about you."

Regulus inhaled sharply. A small part of him wanted to believe those words. But the pain—years of pain, abandonment, resentment—it all clawed at his chest, refusing to let him give in so easily.

He turned away, taking a step past Sirius. "I don’t need your pity," he muttered.

Sirius grabbed his wrist, halting his escape. "It’s not pity," he said, his voice quieter this time, more raw. "It’s the truth. You don’t have to do this alone, Reggie."

That was the final straw.

Regulus ripped his arm away, his eyes flashing with unrestrained fury. "Don’t call me that!" he hissed. "You don’t get to call me that. You don’t get to act like you care—not after you left me there." His voice cracked on the last word, but he pushed forward, unable to stop now. "You ran away, Sirius. You left me alone with them. With him—"

Sirius flinched, and Regulus knew he had hit his mark. But he didn’t care. His chest was heaving now, the emotions he had buried for years bubbling up, refusing to be ignored.

"You never even said goodbye," Regulus whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. "One day you were there, and the next, you were gone. No warning. No note. Nothing."

Sirius’ face fell, and for the first time, he looked… guilty. Truly guilty.

"Reg…"

Regulus shook his head violently, stepping back. "No. You don’t get to stand here and pretend you care. You don’t get to waltz back into my life and act like everything is fine. You left me. And I survived without you."

Sirius opened his mouth as if to argue, but for once, he had nothing to say.

Regulus took the silence as his chance to escape. He turned on his heel and walked away, each step echoing loudly in the empty corridor.

He didn’t stop. He didn’t look back.

And he told himself he didn’t care.

But deep down, he knew that was a lie.

***

That night, Regulus lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. His heart still pounded from the confrontation, but the anger was beginning to settle, leaving something else in its place.

Hurt.

He hated how much he still cared. How much he wanted to believe that Sirius hadn’t abandoned him. That somewhere, deep down, his brother still loved him. But that wasn’t reality. The reality was that Sirius had left without a second thought, and Regulus had been forced to endure their parents' wrath alone. He had been forced to become the perfect son, the obedient heir, because he was the only one left.

He had spent years telling himself that Sirius wasn’t worth missing. That he was better off without him.

But now that Sirius was here—now that he was trying—Regulus wasn’t sure what to believe anymore.

He turned onto his side, pressing his face into the pillow. His body still ached from training, but it was nothing compared to the ache in his chest.

He wanted to hate Sirius. He wanted to shut him out completely, to keep this wall between them so he wouldn’t get hurt again.

But deep down, he wasn’t sure he could.

Chapter Text

Regulus had never felt at home in his own mind.

Even in Erudite, where logic was supposed to reign over emotion, his thoughts had been a battleground—constant, unrelenting noise. He had spent years shoving down the parts of himself that made him different, ignoring the quiet whisper that something inside him did not fit.

Dauntless wasn’t any better. The physicality of their training was exhausting, but it did nothing to quiet the storm inside him. If anything, it made it worse. His body ached from relentless drills, bruises covered his ribs from sparring matches, but none of it tired him out enough to actually sleep.

Tonight was no different.

Hours had passed since lights out, and Regulus was still lying awake in his cot, staring at the ceiling, his muscles tense despite his exhaustion. The confrontation with Sirius replayed in his head over and over again—Sirius standing in front of him, demanding answers, looking hurt when Regulus had thrown his words back at him.

It had taken everything in him to walk away. And now, in the silence of the dormitory, he felt like that choice was suffocating him.

I need to get out of here.

Silently, he slipped out of bed, careful not to wake any of the other initiates. He grabbed his jacket and pulled it over his shoulders before slipping out of the sleeping quarters and into the darkened hallways of the Dauntless compound.

He barely thought about where he was going—his feet carried him there automatically.

The training room.

It was one of the few places that brought him any kind of peace. Not because of the fights or the drills, but because of the knives.

Throwing knives had become the one thing Regulus actually excelled at in Dauntless. He wasn’t the strongest, he wasn’t the fastest, but when he had a blade in his hand, none of that mattered. It was about precision, focus, control. It reminded him of Erudite in some strange way—every motion calculated, every angle accounted for.

He pushed open the door to the training room and exhaled as he stepped inside. The space was dimly lit, casting long shadows along the walls. Most initiates were asleep at this hour, and the instructors had long since disappeared to their own quarters.

He moved to the weapons rack, fingers grazing the cool metal of the knives before selecting a few of his favorites. They were well-balanced, their weight familiar in his grip.

Regulus positioned himself a few feet from the target, rolling his shoulders to loosen the tension there. He took a steadying breath, raised his arm, and threw.

The knife hit just off-center.

He exhaled, grabbed another, and threw again. Thunk. Again. Thunk.

The rhythm calmed him, gave his restless mind something to do. Each throw was precise, each impact against the target a small, satisfying victory. For once, he didn’t have to think about Sirius, about James, about his Divergence. He didn’t have to think at all.

And then he heard the voices.

***

Regulus froze mid-throw, his entire body going rigid.

The voices were muffled but unmistakably close—coming from somewhere just beyond the training room. He held his breath, listening intently.

At first, he thought it might just be a couple of initiates sneaking around after hours. But then he recognized one of the voices.

Mulciber.

Regulus’ grip on the knife tightened.

Mulciber was dangerous. That much had been obvious from the beginning. He was a Dauntless leader-in-training, but there was something about him that set Regulus on edge. He was cruel in a way that went beyond normal Dauntless brutality, and he watched Regulus too closely during training sessions, as if searching for something.

Cautiously, Regulus moved toward the far wall, pressing himself into the shadows. He crept closer to the open doorway, careful to keep his footsteps silent.

As he peered around the corner, his pulse spiked.

Mulciber wasn’t alone.

Standing in the dimly lit hallway was Rodolphus Lestrange.

Regulus’ breath hitched. What the hell is he doing here?

Lestrange was high-ranking in Erudite. More than that—he was Bellatrix’s husband, deeply embedded in the political schemes of their faction. His presence in Dauntless at this hour, speaking in hushed tones with Mulciber, could only mean something bad.

Regulus pressed himself deeper into the shadows, straining to listen.

Shocking Revelations
“I expect results, Mulciber,” Lestrange was saying, his voice sharp and controlled. “Riddle is growing impatient. The hunt for Divergents needs to move faster.”

Regulus felt ice crawl down his spine.

Riddle.

He had heard that name before, whispered in dark corners, spoken with a mixture of reverence and fear. Riddle was the faction leader for Erudite, he was very private and even the citizens of Erudite don’t know much about him, only that he is powerful. A mastermind pulling strings behind the scenes.

Mulciber exhaled sharply. “You don’t think I’m doing everything I can?” he snapped. “I have my suspicions about a few of the initiates, but I can’t act without proof. If I start dragging them in without evidence, it’ll raise too many questions.”

Regulus’ stomach twisted.

A few of the initiates.

Mulciber didn’t say names. But Regulus knew.

Mulciber had been watching him too closely in training. He had already pushed him harder than the others during the fear simulations. He was testing him. Looking for cracks.

Lestrange wasn’t satisfied. “Then find proof,” he said coldly. “The Erudite faction isn’t patient, Mulciber. Divergents are a threat to everything we’ve built. The longer they go unchecked, the more dangerous they become. Riddle wants them eliminated—all of them.”

Regulus barely kept himself from making a sound.

His mind was racing. Divergents were already being hunted, but now there was a name to the one orchestrating it. Riddle. And Mulciber was working with them.

He forced himself to stay perfectly still, to listen.

“What about the serum?” Mulciber asked after a pause.

Lestrange’s lips curled into a satisfied smirk. “It’s nearly ready. Soon, Divergents won’t be able to hide anymore. It won’t matter how strong their minds are—we’ll make them obedient.”

Regulus felt sick.

A serum. Something designed to control Divergents.

He needed to get out of here.

***

Slowly, carefully, Regulus started to move. One step back, then another. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, adrenaline flooding his system. He needed to get back to his room, now.

Then—his foot barely brushed against a loose piece of debris on the floor. The faintest scrape of sound echoed in the hallway.

Mulciber’s head snapped toward the noise.

Regulus’ body went rigid.

For one terrifying second, Mulciber’s sharp eyes scanned the darkness. Regulus held his breath, every muscle coiled tight. The shadows were deep here—if he stayed perfectly still, if he didn’t even breathe—

Finally, Mulciber turned back to Lestrange.

Regulus didn’t wait. The second their attention shifted, he turned and slipped away, silent as a ghost.

By the time he made it back to the dormitory, his hands were shaking. His mind was still racing, his pulse hammering against his ribs.

He barely remembered getting into bed. His body was still buzzing with adrenaline, but he forced himself to lie still. To breathe. To think.

Mulciber was working for Erudite. Lestrange was involved. Riddle was behind everything. And now there was a serum designed to control Divergents.

Regulus swallowed hard.

He had to survive. No matter what it took.

Chapter Text

Regulus had never expected Dauntless training to be easy, but the past week had been something else entirely.

Ever since the rankings had started to solidify, the atmosphere in the training hall had shifted. It was no longer just about improving—it was about survival.

The initiates had been watching each other closely, sizing up the competition. It was clear who was rising to the top and who was falling behind. Regulus was among those climbing the ranks, and that meant he had targets on his back.

Avery and Carrow, in particular, had taken notice.

Regulus had always known they were ruthless—Dauntless born and bred, raised in the most brutal faction and trained to be merciless. But now, their tactics had become more aggressive, more calculated.

They weren’t just fighting to win anymore. They were fighting to eliminate threats.

And Regulus?

He was a threat.

The first real sign of trouble came in the form of an unusually harsh sparring match.

***

Regulus squared up against Carrow in the training ring, already wary.

Carrow was grinning—a cruel, hungry expression that sent warning bells ringing in Regulus’ head.

He barely had time to think before Carrow lunged.

Regulus dodged the first attack, barely avoiding a vicious strike aimed at his ribs. He countered quickly, stepping to the side and landing a sharp punch to Carrow’s jaw.

The other boy stumbled back, wiping at his mouth. His grin widened.

And then he changed tactics entirely.

Carrow’s next move wasn’t a standard attack—it was dirty. His leg shot out, sweeping Regulus' feet out from under him. Before Regulus could react, Carrow drove his elbow into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

Regulus hit the mat hard, coughing, his vision blurring for a second.

That wasn’t an approved move.

Regulus barely had time to roll away before Carrow was on him again, delivering a sharp knee to his ribs. Pain exploded through his side, but he forced himself to push through it, shifting his weight and shoving Carrow off him.

“Enough,” James’ voice cut through the noise, his tone sharp.

Regulus scrambled to his feet, breathing heavily. Across from him, Carrow was smirking, looking completely unbothered.

Regulus glanced toward the instructors, expecting someone to intervene, to call Carrow out for fighting dirty.

But Mulciber just watched, his arms crossed. He said nothing.

Regulus clenched his jaw.

So that was how it was going to be.

***

By the time the match ended, Regulus’ body was aching, but he refused to show any weakness. He refused to let Carrow win, even if the fight itself had been stacked against him.

They were given a break before the next round of sparring. Regulus stepped to the side of the room, rolling his shoulders, trying to shake off the lingering pain.

He was distracted.

He didn’t see Carrow coming.

There was no warning—one second, Regulus was catching his breath, and the next, pain exploded through his skull.

Carrow had slammed into him from behind, sending him crashing to the ground. His head hit the floor with a sickening crack, and the world spun violently.

There were shouts—someone yelling his name, but the voices were muffled, distant.

His vision blurred at the edges.

And then—

Nothing.

***

Regulus came to slowly.

His head was pounding. His body ached in ways that told him he had been out for a while. The world felt too bright, the light above him sharp and unrelenting.

He blinked groggily, trying to get his bearings.

There was a warm pressure around his hand.

For a brief, disoriented moment, he thought it was James.

His heart leapt, but as his vision cleared, he realized he was wrong.

It was Evan.

Regulus blinked at him, confused. Evan had a rare, serious expression on his face, his usually blunt demeanor softened. He was still holding Regulus' hand, but when he realized Regulus was awake, he quickly pulled back, clearing his throat.

Barty was the next face he saw. He was leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed, looking amused. “Took you long enough,” he said. “Thought you might be dead for a second there. Would’ve been a real shame.”

Regulus groaned, pressing his fingers against his temples. “What happened?”

“You got wrecked, mate,” Barty said cheerfully.

Regulus shot him a glare.

Marlene, who had been sitting at the foot of the bed, rolled her eyes. “What he means is that Carrow attacked you like a coward in between matches.”

Regulus’ memory flooded back in sharp flashes. The fight. The cheap shot. The impact against the floor.

He inhaled deeply. “How long was I out?”

“A few hours,” Evan said.

Regulus exhaled, his stomach twisting. He should be furious, but instead, all he felt was exhaustion.

Barty grinned at him. “You should’ve seen your face when you woke up. Thought you were about to confess your undying love to Evan.”

Regulus groaned. “Shut up.”

Evan snorted. “He thought I was James.”

Regulus definitely didn’t want to talk about that.

Barty smirked. “Interesting.”

“Drop it,” Regulus muttered, shifting slightly in the bed. The movement sent a fresh wave of pain through his skull.

Evan, for once, let the teasing go. “James punished Carrow,” he said instead. “For attacking you outside of a match.”

Regulus’ fingers twitched. “He did?”

Evan nodded. “Decked him in the face. Pretty satisfying to watch.”

Barty smirked. “Carrow was pissed. But what was he gonna do? Challenge one of the Dauntless leaders?”

Regulus exhaled slowly. He shouldn’t feel grateful—shouldn’t let himself care—but a small, traitorous part of him did.

***

Marlene leaned forward, nudging Regulus’ knee lightly. “Look, I know it sucks that they’re targeting you, but you know what that means, right?”

Regulus sighed. “That they hate me?”

Marlene shook her head. “That they’re scared of you.”

Regulus frowned.

“If they didn’t think you were a threat, they wouldn’t bother,” she continued. “They know you’re climbing the ranks. They know you’re better than them. That’s why they’re lashing out.”

Regulus wanted to believe that.

He really did.

But all he could focus on was the dull ache in his skull. The lingering dizziness. The knowledge that this was only going to get worse.

Barty seemed to sense his thoughts. He clapped a hand on Regulus’ shoulder, grinning. “Come on, don’t look so grim. You’re alive. That’s a win, isn’t it?”

Regulus let out a slow breath.

He was alive.

For now.

Chapter Text

The moment Regulus steps into the simulation chamber, an overwhelming sense of tension coils in his chest. He’s been through this before. He knows what to expect—or at least, he thinks he does. But this time is different.

James stands at the control panel, arms crossed, his gaze locked onto Regulus with unnerving intensity. There’s something in the way he watches him that makes Regulus’ pulse quicken—not with fear, but with something unsettling.

Mulciber is also in the room, leaning casually against the wall, his expression unreadable. His presence alone makes Regulus uneasy. Mulciber has been watching him closely these past few weeks, as if waiting for him to slip up.

Regulus takes a slow breath as he lowers himself onto the cold metal chair in the center of the room. A Dauntless instructor approaches, pressing a syringe against his neck.

A sharp sting.

Then—darkness.

***

When Regulus opens his eyes, he is no longer in the simulation chamber. Instead, he is back in Black Manor.

The grand marble floors stretch beneath him, cold and pristine. The walls are lined with tall, imposing bookshelves filled with tomes on Erudite philosophy, pure-blood lineage, and the laws of their society. The air is heavy with the scent of aged parchment and burning wood.

He knows this place.

A chill creeps down his spine.

He turns around slowly—

And there she is.

Walburga Black.

His mother stands at the far end of the room, her piercing grey eyes fixed on him like daggers. She is draped in an elegant black robe, her presence suffocating.

“You disappoint me,” she says, her voice calm but sharp enough to cut through steel.

Regulus stiffens. He knows this isn’t real, but it doesn’t feel that way.

“You had such potential,” she continues, stepping forward. Her heels click against the marble floor. “You were meant for greatness. And yet, you threw it all away—for what?” Her lips curl in disgust. “This foolish faction?”

Regulus tries to speak, but the words catch in his throat.

She steps closer, eyes narrowing. “You abandoned everything we built for you. You betrayed your family, your name—”

“I didn’t betray anything,” Regulus manages to say. His voice is strained, almost hoarse.

Walburga’s face twists in fury.

“You are weak,” she spits. “You were supposed to rise in Erudite, to be something great. Instead, you ran off to play soldier.” She steps even closer, now only inches away, her presence crushing him. “You are nothing, Regulus. You are a failure.”

The words hit him like a blow to the chest.

He clenches his fists, his nails digging into his palms. He knows this isn’t real. He knows it’s a simulation. But deep down, there’s a part of him that fears she’s right.

No.

No.

Regulus forces himself to breathe. He focuses on the flaws in the illusion—the slight flicker in the candlelight, the way his mother’s voice echoes unnaturally in the vast room.

He clenches his jaw.

“This isn’t real.”

His mother’s expression falters.

“I’m not afraid of you anymore.”

The world around him shatters into dust.

***

Regulus barely has time to breathe before the next fear takes hold.

The floor beneath him vanishes.

And suddenly, he is falling.

Cold. Suffocating.

Water closes in around him, swallowing him whole.

His body sinks deeper and deeper into a vast, endless ocean. He can’t see the surface. There is only darkness.

His lungs burn.

He thrashes, trying to swim upward, but there is no direction, no light guiding him. The water is an inky abyss, stretching infinitely in every direction.

Regulus struggles, panic clawing at his chest. He needs air. He needs to breathe—

But there is only water.

His chest tightens as he fights against the crushing weight of the ocean. His movements slow. His limbs feel heavy.

He is drowning.

He is going to die.

No.

No.

Regulus’ survival instincts kick in. He forces his mind to bend the simulation to his will. He knows how to do this—he’s done it before. He just has to concentrate.

He imagines the water disappearing.

At first, nothing happens. The ocean remains vast, unrelenting.

Regulus focuses harder.

The pressure lessens. The water lightens. He rises.

The next second, he is breaking through the surface, gasping for breath.

He isn’t drowning anymore.

The moment he regains control, the scene dissolves into nothingness.

***

Regulus’ eyes snap open.

His chest rises and falls rapidly as he gasps for air. His muscles tremble, his fingers gripping the armrests of the chair like a lifeline.

He made it out.

His head spins as reality slowly comes back into focus. The cool, sterile air of the simulation chamber fills his lungs. The dim overhead lights flicker above him.

But what catches his attention most is James’ expression.

James is still standing at the control panel, his gaze locked onto Regulus. There’s something intense in his eyes—something calculating.

Regulus’ stomach clenches.

Did James see what he did?

The way he manipulated the simulation, the way he controlled his fears?

The silence stretches between them, thick and suffocating.

Finally, James clears his throat. His expression returns to something more neutral, but there’s still a hint of suspicion in his eyes.

Regulus swallows.

“Well?” he asks, his voice hoarse.

James hesitates. Then, after a moment, he simply says, “Go back to your sleeping quarters.”

Regulus stiffens. That’s it? No questions? No accusations?

He pushes himself up from the chair, his legs feeling unsteady beneath him. His body is still shaking from the simulation, but he refuses to let it show.

As he walks toward the exit, he can feel James’ gaze on him.

Just as he reaches the door, James speaks again.

“That was… impressive.”

Regulus pauses.

He doesn’t look back. He doesn’t say a word.

Instead, he forces himself to keep walking, leaving James’ words lingering behind him.

Because deep down, he knows one thing for certain:

James is starting to suspect something.

Chapter Text

Regulus wasn’t sure why James Potter had suddenly taken an interest in him, but it made his stomach coil with a mix of anticipation and dread.

Ever since his last fear simulation, James had been watching him more closely, assessing him with a sharp, unreadable expression. At first, Regulus had assumed James was just suspicious, that he had somehow picked up on the way Regulus manipulated his fears. But then, instead of confronting him, James did something entirely unexpected.

He started training him.

***

Regulus arrived at the training room early, hoping to get in some extra practice before the group session. But when he stepped inside, he found James already waiting for him.

The older initiate leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed over his broad chest, his ever-present smirk tugging at his lips.

Regulus hesitated, suddenly feeling like a cornered animal.

“Relax, Black,” James said, pushing off the wall and stepping forward. “I figured you could use some extra training.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

James gave him a half-shrug, but there was something intentional about the way he moved. “I’ve been watching you. You’re smart—too smart to be struggling the way you are.”

Regulus bristled. He didn’t like being observed. It made him feel exposed.

“I’m not struggling,” he said stiffly.

James’ smirk widened. “Really? Because last I checked, Carrow and Avery have been kicking your ass in sparring.”

Regulus’ hands curled into fists at the mention of those two bastards. He hated that James was right.

James, however, didn’t sound mocking—he just sounded certain. “Look, I don’t mean to insult you,” he continued, rolling his shoulders. “You’re good at strategy, better than most people here. But physically? You hesitate. You hold back. You need to get past that.”

Regulus frowned, but the words struck a nerve.

James wasn’t wrong.

Regulus had always been more of a thinker than a fighter. He excelled in intelligence-based tests, quick decision-making, and adaptability. But physically? Dauntless training was brutal, and his body was still catching up.

Before he could argue, James tossed a set of fighting gloves at him.

“Come on,” James said. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

***

Over the next few days, Regulus found himself training alone with James more and more.

James had a different style of teaching than the Dauntless instructors. He wasn’t needlessly cruel, nor did he rely on intimidation like Mulciber. Instead, he was relentless but encouraging. He pushed Regulus, forced him out of his comfort zone, made him react faster, fight smarter.

And despite himself, Regulus admired him for it.

James had this unshakable confidence, this effortless way of commanding attention. He wasn’t just strong—he was charismatic, the kind of person who could smile in the middle of a fight and still come out victorious.

Regulus had always known James was powerful, but up close, he was something else entirely.

Regulus hated it.

And he hated himself more for being so drawn to it.

***

James had been on his case all morning about keeping his guard up.

“You drop your left side when you dodge,” James pointed out, circling Regulus with a predatory ease. “You do it every time.”

Regulus scowled. “I do not.”

James arched an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

Regulus barely had time to react before James moved—fast.

One second, he was standing a few feet away. The next, he was on him.

Regulus had no time to dodge.

James hooked his leg behind Regulus’ and swept his feet out from under him.

The world tilted.

Regulus hit the mat hard, the breath knocked out of his lungs. Before he could even think about getting up, James was on top of him, pinning him down with his full weight.

Regulus froze.

His entire body went rigid.

James had him caged in, his hands gripping Regulus’ wrists, his chest flush against his own. Their faces were inches apart, so close that Regulus could see every detail—the beads of sweat on James’ forehead, the gold flecks in his hazel eyes, the way his smirk curled at the edges.

Regulus couldn’t breathe.

James smirked down at him, utterly unbothered. “See?” he said. “You drop your left side.”

Regulus barely heard him.

All he could think about was the heat of James’ body pressed against his own, the way his muscles tensed, the way he smelled—like sweat, adrenaline, and something unmistakably James.

Regulus swallowed hard.

This was bad.

He could feel his heart hammering against his ribs, could feel the way his body was responding to James’ closeness, and dear god, if James noticed—

James tilted his head slightly. “You okay, Black?”

Regulus wanted to die.

His mind screamed at him to move, but his body refused to cooperate.

James shifted slightly, and that was it.

Regulus’ breath hitched.

Panic surged through him.

With far more force than necessary, Regulus shoved James off and scrambled to his feet.

“I’m done for today,” he said sharply.

James raised an eyebrow. “You sure? You—”

But Regulus was already walking away.

No—running away.

He didn’t stop until he was out of the training room, his pulse pounding in his ears.

***

Regulus practically sprinted back to the sleeping quarters.

The moment he got inside, he slammed the door shut and collapsed against it, his chest heaving.

He was burning up.

His skin tingled, his mind raced, and worst of all, he could still feel James on him—the warmth, the weight, the everything.

Regulus let out a sharp breath, then marched straight to the bathroom.

He turned the shower on ice cold.

When he stepped under the freezing water, he let out a curse as the chill shocked his system. But he didn’t move away.

He needed this.

He needed to get a grip.

This was dangerous.

His feelings for James were nothing more than a weakness—one he could not afford.

He closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against the tile.

This couldn’t happen.

This couldn’t happen.

James Potter was off-limits.

Regulus would make sure of it.

Chapter Text

Regulus had always known that Dauntless thrived on violence. It was what separated the strong from the weak, what determined who would make it to the final rankings and who would be left behind.

But Carrow?

Carrow didn’t fight for survival. He didn’t fight to get stronger. He fought because he enjoyed it.

And now, that violent thirst for power had found a new target.

Regulus.

***

The aggression had been getting worse.

At first, it was just a look—sharp glances across the training room, a sneer every time Regulus landed a hit in sparring, a lingering presence that always seemed to be at his back.

Then it escalated.

Carrow had started picking fights with the other initiates, taking his frustrations out on anyone who seemed weaker than him. Peter had taken a bad hit the other day, and even Barty had nearly gotten into it with Carrow before Evan had dragged him away.

Now, though?

It wasn’t just fights.

It was cruelty.

Regulus saw it in Carrow’s eyes—the way he enjoyed the pain he inflicted, the sick twist of amusement whenever someone flinched away from him.

It made Regulus’ skin crawl.

But it wasn’t until he turned on Marlene that Regulus snapped.

***

Regulus had just finished sparring with Barty when he heard it.

A sharp, cruel laugh from the other side of the training room.

His head snapped up.

Marlene stood rigid, her fists clenched, her expression one of pure fury.

Carrow stood in front of her, smirking. Avery was beside him, chuckling under his breath.

Regulus immediately started walking toward them.

“Come on, McKinnon,” Carrow drawled. “Where’s that famous Dauntless bravery? You’re always talking about how you don’t take shit from anyone, but here you are—just standing there.”

Marlene’s jaw tightened.

“What’s wrong?” Carrow pressed. “Scared? Or are you just as weak as I thought?”

Regulus clenched his fists.

Bastard.

Marlene could hold her own in a fight, but Carrow wasn’t just looking for a fight. He wanted to humiliate her.

And then Carrow crossed the line.

In one swift motion, he grabbed Marlene by the throat.

Regulus saw red.

Marlene choked, struggling against his grip, but Carrow just smirked.

Regulus moved before he even thought about it.

In an instant, he was on Carrow, shoving him away from Marlene with enough force to send him stumbling backward.

“Get your hands off her,” Regulus snarled.

Carrow steadied himself, blinking in surprise. Then, his expression darkened.

“You’ve got a death wish, Black?”

Regulus didn’t hesitate.

He raised his fists. “Try me.”

***

The fight erupted instantly.

Carrow lunged, swinging at Regulus with all the fury of someone who had been waiting for this moment.

Regulus barely ducked in time.

The training room exploded into noise—Barty and Evan cheering, the other initiates gathering to watch, and Marlene coughing as she backed away.

Carrow was stronger, but Regulus was faster.

He dodged, side-stepped, retaliated. Every move was calculated, every punch meant to throw Carrow off balance.

For a few moments, it worked.

Regulus even landed a solid hit to Carrow’s ribs, making him stumble.

Then he saw James.

He had just walked into the room, Mulciber at his side, watching the fight unfold.

Regulus’ stomach clenched.

And that split-second distraction cost him.

Carrow’s fist connected with his jaw.

Regulus saw stars as his head snapped to the side.

Pain exploded through his skull, and he barely managed to keep his footing.

Damn it.

***

Before Carrow could land another hit, James stepped forward.

“That’s enough.”

The command in his voice was unmistakable.

Even Carrow hesitated.

James pushed between them, his hand pressing against Regulus’ chest, keeping him from lunging forward again.

Regulus was still buzzing with adrenaline, his body aching with the need to keep fighting, to win.

But James’ steady presence forced him to stop.

“Back off, Carrow,” James said sharply. “You’ve made your point.”

Carrow scowled but stepped back, wiping a bit of blood from his lip.

“Whatever,” he muttered. But before leaving, he shot Regulus a look—one that promised this wasn’t over.

Regulus didn’t care.

Right now, all he could focus on was James standing way too close, his hand still pressed against his chest.

Their eyes met.

James searched his face for a long moment before muttering lowly, “You okay?”

Regulus’ jaw ached. His body throbbed from the fight.

But none of that mattered.

James had stepped in for him.

He had noticed him.

And, for the first time, Regulus wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

Chapter Text

Regulus had been in plenty of fights before.

But somehow, the fight with Carrow felt different.

Maybe it was the way James had stepped in. Maybe it was the way he had looked at Regulus afterward—not as some fragile Erudite transfer who had no business being in Dauntless, but as an equal.

It should have annoyed him.

Instead, it left Regulus feeling something else entirely—something he wasn’t quite ready to name.

***

The shift happened gradually.

After the fight, James had started watching Regulus more closely.

Not in a way that felt overbearing, but in a way that made it clear he had taken some kind of personal responsibility for him.

When they trained, James corrected his form more often, gave him pointers he didn’t offer the others, and, most surprisingly, he stepped in when Carrow or Avery tried to push too far.

Regulus wasn’t sure what to do with that.

Because if James was only protecting him because of Sirius—if he was just some obligation—Regulus didn’t want it.

But another part of him, the part he hated, liked it.

James wasn’t just strong—he was confident, kind, and he had a presence that drew people in.

Regulus found himself watching him too much, noticing the way James smiled when he was genuinely amused, the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the way his eyes sparkled when he was about to make a snide remark.

It was getting dangerous.

And worse, Regulus was starting to wonder if James might actually see him the same way.

***

Regulus sat alone in the training room, methodically throwing a knife at the target in front of him.

Thud.

Dead center.

He retrieved the blade, rolling it between his fingers before throwing it again.

Thud.

Perfect.

But his mind wasn’t focused on the knives.

It was focused on James.

Why was he doing this? Why was he looking out for Regulus? Was it because of Sirius? Was it just some stupid sense of duty?

Or worse—did James see him as just Sirius’ younger brother?

Someone to look after, someone to protect—not because he wanted to, but because he felt he had to?

Regulus hated that idea.

But before he could think too deeply about it, the door to the sparring room swung open.

Regulus barely had time to react before he saw them.

James.

And Sirius.

***

Regulus froze, hoping they wouldn’t see him.

They were arguing, but there was no real bite to it.

Something about James owing Sirius a drink, something about a bet that had gone horribly wrong.

Regulus barely registered the words because they were laughing—really laughing.

Sirius was grinning, pushing James playfully, and James just shoved him back, shaking his head.

They were best friends.

And that was the problem.

Because as much as Regulus wanted to hate Sirius, he couldn’t deny that he and James fit together effortlessly.

James didn’t look at Sirius like he was a burden or an obligation. He chose to be his friend, despite everything.

Which meant if James did look at Regulus, it was only because of Sirius.

Right?

Regulus wanted to believe that.

He really, really did.

But then James pulled off his shirt.

And Regulus’ brain short-circuited.

Regulus had always known James was in good shape. You didn’t get to be the top of Dauntless without being ridiculously strong.

But knowing that and seeing it up close were two entirely different things.

James was built like a god, muscles defined but not overly bulky. His shoulders were broad, his skin deep brown and smooth, his stomach taut with muscle.

Every part of him was effortlessly strong, like he was made for power and precision.

Regulus’ mouth went dry.

Then Sirius stripped his own shirt off, and they both stepped into the sparring ring.

Regulus knew he should look away.

He didn’t.

He couldn’t.

Because James moved like he owned the world, and Regulus was utterly enthralled.

James ducked a punch, pivoted, grinning as he and Sirius fought like they had done this a thousand times before. His back muscles shifted fluidly, his skin gleamed slightly with sweat, and his entire presence was overwhelming.

Regulus was staring.

Hard.

He realized it far too late.

Because someone cleared their throat behind him.

Regulus jumped, whipping around.

And standing there, arms crossed, an annoyingly knowing smirk on his face—

Was Remus Lupin.

***

Regulus’ stomach dropped.

Remus raised a brow, clearly amused.

“You, uh…” He gestured vaguely to where Regulus had been ogling James like an idiot. “Enjoying the view?”

Regulus’ face burned.

He scowled, snapping, “Shut up.”

Remus chuckled, moving to sit beside him, as if this was the most casual conversation in the world.

“I mean, I get it,” he said airily, stretching his legs out. “James is—what’s the word? Ridiculously attractive? Built like some kind of war god?”

Regulus glared at him.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he muttered stiffly.

Remus hummed. “Right. Because you totally weren’t just staring at him like you were about to commit a crime.”

Regulus refused to acknowledge that.

Instead, he picked up his knife again and threw it at the target, pretending Remus didn’t exist.

But Remus just kept smirking.

“I won’t tell James you’re in love with him,” he teased.

Regulus nearly choked on air.

He turned sharply, whisper-hissing, “I am not in love with James Potter.”

Remus tilted his head. “Uh-huh.”

“I’m not.”

“Okay.”

“I’m not even—”

“Sure, sure,” Remus said, waving a hand dismissively. Then he grinned. “But, uh, just so you know—you’re really bad at hiding it.”

Regulus clenched his jaw, grabbed another knife, and threw it.

He missed the center by an inch.

Damn it.

Chapter Text

Regulus had been caught staring at James Potter like an absolute fool.

By Remus Lupin, of all people.

And despite the mortifying embarrassment of it all, despite the fact that Remus could have humiliated him in front of James and Sirius, Regulus found himself not hating him.

Against his better judgment, he actually liked the guy.

Not that he’d ever admit it.

Remus hadn’t called him out in front of the others.

Instead, he’d just given Regulus one of those looks, the kind that said I know exactly what’s going on here, but I won’t say a word. Then he had casually moved aside, letting Regulus slip out the back exit of the training room.

Regulus had been grateful for that much.

His pride wouldn’t have survived otherwise.

Still, after that incident—after The Incident as he had begun calling it in his head—Regulus found himself noticing Remus more than before.

Not just as Sirius’ friend, but as someone who seemed to be always watching, always thinking.

And it wasn’t just him that Remus was watching.

It was Sirius too.

***

Regulus had always been observant.

And it didn’t take much to see what was going on between his brother and Remus.

The way Sirius leaned closer when Remus spoke.
The way Remus’ sharp expressions softened when Sirius grinned at him.
The way they gravitated toward each other without even realizing it.

It was subtle—too subtle for most people to notice.

But Regulus wasn’t most people.

And it hit him, suddenly, that Sirius had never looked at anyone the way he looked at Remus Lupin.

He could have used it against him.

He could have said something cruel, could have exposed the secret his brother was so clearly keeping.

But he didn’t.

Because no matter how much he hated Sirius for leaving him, Regulus wouldn’t betray him like that.

Sirius had abandoned him.
But Regulus wouldn’t do the same.

***

A few days after The Incident, Regulus found himself alone in the training room again, practicing his knife-throwing.

The weight of the blade felt comfortable in his hand.

It was something simple, something he could control.

He lined up his shot—

Thud.

Perfect aim.

Again.

And again.

And then—

"Mind if I join you?"

Regulus stiffened, turning just as Remus Lupin stepped into the room.

For a second, he considered ignoring him, but Remus had already grabbed a knife from the weapons rack, inspecting it casually.

Regulus sighed. Fine.

They stood in silence for a while, only the steady thud of knives hitting the targets filling the air.

Then, of course, Remus had to ruin it.

"So," Remus started, his tone light, too light. "How do you think your training’s going so far?"

Regulus gave a half-hearted shrug. "Fine."

Remus hummed. "That’s it?"

Another shrug. "What do you want me to say?"

Remus snorted. "Maybe something more than a one-word answer, for starters."

Regulus wasn’t in the mood for small talk.

Especially not with Sirius’ best friend.

But Remus was nothing if not persistent.

And after a few more moments of silence, he went for it.

"So," Remus said, casually throwing a knife. "Why do you hate Sirius so much?"

Regulus’ knife nearly missed the target entirely.

Regulus turned slowly, eyes narrowing.

"That," he said tightly, "is a pretty blunt thing to ask."

Remus shrugged, as if it were nothing. "Figured we might as well get it out there."

Regulus clenched his jaw.

He didn’t owe Remus an explanation.

But for some reason, the words came out anyway.

"I don’t want anything to do with him," he said, voice flat. "I don’t care what he wants. He lost the right to call me his brother when he left me alone in that house without so much as a goodbye."

Remus was quiet for a long time.

Then he spoke—carefully.

"Sirius will always be there for you," he said, voice low but certain. "Even if you don’t like him right now."

Regulus scoffed. "I don’t need him."

Remus gave him a long look.

"You don’t have to need him," he said. "But that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be good to have someone looking out for you."

Something in his tone made Regulus’ stomach twist.

Did he—
Did he know?

Regulus bristled. "I can look out for myself."

He turned, ready to push past Remus and leave, but—

A firm hand grabbed his arm.

Regulus froze.

Remus leaned in slightly, voice dropping lower.

"Be careful," he murmured, urgent now. "Dauntless is changing. It’s getting more aggressive. There are whispers of corruption among the leaders."

Regulus’ pulse spiked.

He didn’t move.

Remus’ grip on his arm tightened.

"They’re watching us," he continued quietly. "Closely. And it’s dangerous for someone like you."

Regulus’ heart stopped.

Someone like him.

Remus knew.

***

Regulus forced himself to keep his expression calm.

He didn’t say anything.

Didn’t react.

But his mind was racing.

How did Remus know?
How could he possibly—

And then it hit him.

James.

James had been watching his simulations.

James knew.

And James must have told Remus.

Regulus felt a sudden, sharp wave of panic.

No.

No, he had been careful. He had made sure not to reveal anything. He had controlled the simulations as much as possible.

And yet—James had seen through him.

Regulus’ chest tightened.

If James knew, then others could know too.

And if that happened—if anyone else found out—

He was dead.

***

Regulus took a breath, schooling his features into cold indifference.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," he said, voice steady.

Remus’ eyes searched his face, as if trying to determine whether or not he was lying.

Then he sighed, releasing his grip.

"Just be careful, Regulus," he said softly.

Regulus didn’t respond.

Instead, he turned sharply on his heel and walked away, every nerve in his body screaming at him to get out of there before Remus said anything else.

But as he left the training room, his mind was still spinning.

Because James knew his secret.

And now, so did Remus.

Chapter Text

Remus’ words wouldn’t leave his head.

No matter how hard he tried to push them away, they clung to him, wrapping around his thoughts like choking vines.

Dauntless is changing. They’re watching us. It’s dangerous for someone like you.

Someone like him.

Someone Divergent.

Regulus felt the first telltale signs of a panic attack before it fully hit him.

His breathing was uneven. His chest felt too tight, as though something was pressing against his ribs, making it impossible to take a deep breath. His fingers trembled at his sides, and his vision blurred slightly.

I need to get out of here.

***

He barely remembered leaving the sleeping quarters.

His body moved on instinct, carrying him through the twisting corridors of Dauntless until he reached the Pit—the massive chasm in the center of Dauntless headquarters, where the roaring river crashed against jagged rocks far below.

Regulus sat on the very edge, staring down into the darkness.

The sound of rushing water filled his ears.

It was constant. Steady. Unchanging.

Maybe if he focused hard enough, it would be enough to pull him back from the edge of the panic.

But it didn’t work.

His thoughts were spinning too fast.

They know.
They know what I am.
I’m Divergent, and I’m going to be killed for it.

His chest seized painfully.

And then came the worst thought of all—

What if Mulciber knows?

Regulus gasped sharply.

His hands shook violently, and his breath came in uneven bursts.

It felt like he was drowning—

No.

His mind flashed to another moment, another time when he had felt like this—

He used to get panic attacks in Erudite, but they had been rare when he was younger.

Then Sirius left.

And suddenly, they weren’t rare anymore.

The first time it had happened after his brother abandoned him, his mother had caught him.

Her voice had been sharp and unforgiving as she loomed over him, demanding to know why he was acting so weak.

He had learned quickly to hide it after that.

To shove it all down.

To keep himself in control at all times.

But here he was, losing control anyway.

His knees came up to his chest, arms wrapping around them tight as he tried desperately to catch his breath.

It wasn’t working.

And then, without realizing it, he started to cry.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t anything dramatic.

Just silent, shaking sobs, his body trembling as he clutched himself together, as though he could physically stop himself from falling apart.

***

“Regulus?”

The voice barely registered at first.

But then—

Footsteps.

Soft, cautious footsteps, drawing closer.

Regulus should have cared. Should have felt humiliated that someone was seeing him like this.

But he couldn’t think properly.

He was still spiraling, still trapped in the panic.

It wasn’t until warm hands gently grabbed his shoulders and pulled him away from the edge of the Pit that he fully realized who had found him.

James.

***

James crouched in front of him, concern etched into every line of his face.

“Reg,” he said carefully, voice gentle in a way Regulus hadn’t heard before. “Hey, you with me?”

Regulus couldn’t respond.

Couldn’t even look at him.

His breath was still coming too fast, his body shaking uncontrollably.

James realized what was happening immediately.

“You’re having a panic attack,” he murmured, his voice steady but not patronizing. He reached out, his touch feather-light on Regulus’ arm. “Okay. We can deal with this. Just breathe with me, alright?”

Regulus couldn’t.

He tried. He really tried.

But nothing was working.

His throat felt like it was closing, and no matter how hard he fought, his body wouldn’t listen to him.

James cursed under his breath, eyes scanning Regulus like he was trying to figure out what to do.

Then—

He took Regulus’ hand.

Before Regulus could pull away, James pressed it against his own chest.

Regulus barely registered what was happening.

“Feel that?” James said, voice low and grounding. “Focus on it. Just match my breathing, alright?”

Regulus tried.

At first, it was impossible.

But James was calm, and his chest rose and fell in slow, steady movements beneath Regulus’ trembling fingers.

And after a few moments, Regulus started to sync up with him.

Inhale.
Exhale.

James squeezed his hand slightly, offering silent reassurance.

Regulus’ heart was still racing, but the panic wasn’t as crushing anymore.

And slowly—painfully slowly—he managed to pull himself back from the edge.

***

They didn’t move.

Even after Regulus had calmed down, even after he could breathe again, he didn’t take his hand away from James’.

And James didn’t let go either.

Regulus leaned against him, exhausted.

For the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself just exist in the silence, safe in someone else’s presence.

James held him there, murmuring soft reassurances.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “You’re alright. You’re safe.”

Regulus barely realized that he was still clutching onto James, like he was something solid to hold onto.

When James shifted slightly, lifting a hand to wipe a tear from Regulus’ face, something inside Regulus snapped.

Regulus looked up.

James’ fingers lingered against his cheek for a fraction too long.

Their faces were too close now.

And for one, terrifying second, Regulus thought—

He’s going to kiss me.

Or maybe—maybe—

I want him to kiss me.

The air was thick with something electric, something dangerous.

And Regulus realized, with a sharp jolt, that he wanted this.

That he had always wanted this.

***

No.

No, no, no.

This couldn’t happen.

This shouldn’t happen.

James was Sirius’ best friend.

James was a leader in Dauntless.

Regulus was an initiate, and this was reckless, and he was stupid for even thinking it.

His entire body tensed, and he yanked himself away.

“I—I shouldn’t be here,” he stammered, scrambling to his feet.

James blinked, dazed. “Reg—”

“No.” Regulus shook his head violently, stepping backward, putting distance between them. “You—you’re best friends with Sirius. And you’re—you’re a leader. This can’t—”

James looked completely stunned, like he had just realized something himself.

Regulus didn’t stay to figure out what.

He turned and ran.

***

That night, Regulus didn’t sleep.

He lay awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment over and over again.

Not the panic attack.

Not the fact that James had found him at his lowest moment.

But the fact that he had almost kissed James Potter.

And, worse—

For one second, he had been convinced that James had wanted to kiss him back.

But no.

That couldn’t be possible.

James was a leader in Dauntless. He couldn’t be with an initiate.

And even if—even if James did like boys, even if there was a chance—

There was still Sirius.

Still everything that stood between them.

Regulus squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the thoughts away.

But he knew it was useless.

He wasn’t getting any sleep tonight.

With a frustrated sigh, he shoved the blankets off and headed to the showers.

He needed to clear his head.

Chapter Text

James Potter stormed through the winding corridors of Dauntless, barely aware of where his feet were taking him. His mind was moving too fast, replaying what had just happened over and over again, like a cruel joke the universe had decided to play on him.

Regulus.

Regulus Black.

Sirius’ little brother.

James rubbed his hands over his face, trying to shake the thoughts out of his head, but they clung to him stubbornly. His pulse was still racing, and his chest felt tight—whether from the moment they had shared or from sheer panic, he wasn’t sure.

Because something had happened.

James had seen plenty of panic attacks before. He’d seen Sirius break down more than once after leaving his family. He’d seen Remus freeze up after a particularly bad full moon when the pain still lingered in his bones. He knew what they looked like, what they felt like.

But Regulus? Seeing Regulus like that—curled in on himself, struggling for air, shaking so hard he looked like he might crumble apart—had wrecked James in a way he wasn’t prepared for.

And then, the moment he’d touched him.

The second Regulus’ trembling hand met James’ chest, something had shifted. Something huge.

James stopped walking, gripping the back of his neck as he exhaled sharply.

He had almost kissed Regulus.

What the actual fuck.

He had felt it, that crackling tension between them, the way their eyes locked, the way Regulus had stilled beneath his hand. James wasn’t making it up. It was there.

And for one reckless, stupid, insane second, he had nearly closed the gap.

Regulus had felt it too.

…Right?

James groaned, pushing forward again, needing the privacy of his room before his brain exploded inside his skull.

***

When he finally slammed the door shut behind him, he leaned against it, exhaling hard.

His heartbeat was still erratic. His mind wouldn’t shut up.

He collapsed onto the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

No. No, no, no. Not Regulus.

James had always looked out for him these past few weeks, but that was because he was Sirius’ brother—right? That was why. It had to be why.

Except… if that was the only reason, then why did his brain keep conjuring up his face?

Why did he keep thinking about the way Regulus had looked at him?

Why did his traitorous thoughts not stop there?

James groaned, leaning back on his hands and staring up at the ceiling.

Regulus was beautiful.

Fuck.

There was no other way to put it. James could try to deny it, could try to reason his way out of it, but it wouldn’t change the fact that Regulus was beautiful.

That sharp jawline, those high cheekbones, that perpetually unimpressed gaze that always carried something deeper beneath it.

His curly black hair, wild and untamed in a way that made James’ fingers itch—so much like Sirius’, but somehow so different. It framed his face perfectly, drawing attention to those storm-gray eyes.

Oh. His eyes.

James had always thought Regulus’ eyes were unnerving. They were piercing, calculating, the kind of eyes that could read a room in an instant. But now, all James could think about was how they softened when Regulus was truly focused on something—how they darkened when he was deep in thought, how they flashed with fire when he stood his ground against Carrow.

How they had looked at him just an hour ago, raw and open in a way James had never seen before.

James clenched his jaw.

No. This can’t happen.

Regulus was Divergent.

James knew it. He had known for a while now.

Regulus had tried to hide it, but James wasn’t an idiot. He had been the one watching his simulations, the one tracking his results. He had seen how Regulus manipulated them, how he adjusted the outcomes in ways that should have been impossible.

If Mulciber ever figured it out—if anyone figured it out—Regulus was dead.

James had been careful. He had made sure he was the one handling the reports. He had made sure nothing looked suspicious, made sure no one else had reason to suspect anything.

As long as James kept it that way, Regulus was safe.

But now, now there was a whole new problem.

Because James didn’t just want to keep Regulus safe.

He wanted him.

***

James let out a frustrated noise, raking his hands through his already-messy hair.

Sirius.

Sirius would never forgive him.

James had spent years watching Sirius mourn the loss of his brother, even when Sirius pretended he didn’t care.

He still remembered the night Regulus had arrived in Dauntless.

Sirius had been ecstatic, practically buzzing with excitement. He had been so sure that he and Regulus would finally have the chance to reconnect, that everything could be fixed.

And then Regulus had shut him out completely.

James had watched as realization broke across Sirius’ face—that his little brother hated him, that there was no homecoming, no reunion, no forgiveness waiting for him.

And Sirius had never recovered from that.

James had spent so many nights trying to convince Sirius that leaving had been the right choice, that there had been nothing he could have done to save Regulus from the life he left behind.

But now?

If Sirius found out that James had feelings for Regulus—actual, undeniable feelings—Sirius would lose it.

James wouldn’t blame him.

How could he explain this to him? Hey, mate, I know your relationship with your brother is completely shattered, but I might be in love with him? Yeah. That would go over great.

Sirius would never understand.

Hell, James didn’t even understand.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

But it had.

James let out a bitter laugh.

He was so screwed.

***

James lay back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, completely exhausted—but his mind wouldn’t stop.

He replayed the moment again. The way Regulus had clung to him, the way his breath had steadied when James had guided him through it.

The way he had looked at him, all wide eyes and uncertainty, lips just barely parted—

James groaned, pressing the heels of his hands against his face.

He needed to stop thinking about this.

He needed to stop thinking about Regulus.

But he couldn’t.

Because for one second, he was sure—absolutely sure—that Regulus had wanted to kiss him too.

And now, James wasn’t sure how he was supposed to ever look at him the same way again.

Chapter Text

Regulus threw himself into training with a level of intensity that bordered on obsession. It was easier this way—easier than thinking about James Potter.

James, with his irritating confidence and maddening charm.
James, with his wide, dimpled grin and the way his eyes softened when he looked at Regulus.
James, with his lips—

No. No, absolutely not.

Regulus swung hard, the force of his punch sending a dull ache up his arm as his fist connected with the training bag. He welcomed the pain, let it ground him. It was better than the alternative.

The alternative being the way his stomach flipped every time James walked into a room. Or the way his pulse raced whenever their gazes almost—but not quite—met.

Regulus refused to let himself spiral.

So, he trained. Harder than ever.

He spent every waking moment perfecting his fighting techniques, running through tactical drills, and pushing his body to its limits in preparation for the final tests. The trials were fast approaching, and he refused to be anything less than exceptional. Stress levels among the initiates were at an all-time high. The tension in the compound was palpable, but Regulus welcomed the chaos.

Because as long as he was training, he didn’t have to think about James.

And, more importantly—he didn’t have to think about the way James had touched him.

The way James had held his wrist, his fingers brushing over Regulus’ pulse like he could feel the way Regulus’ heart was pounding beneath his skin.

The way James had looked at him, like he knew exactly what Regulus was thinking.

It wasn’t just Regulus avoiding James.

James was avoiding him too.

At first, Regulus thought he was imagining it. But then it kept happening.

Whenever they came close to crossing paths, one of them immediately found an escape route.

Regulus would walk into the cafeteria, spot James, and instantly change direction—even if it meant skipping a meal.
James would enter the training hall, see Regulus, and suddenly remember he needed to be somewhere else.

The tension between them was suffocating.

***

Unfortunately, training could only distract him for so long.

At night, he wasn’t so lucky.

Because that was when the dreams started.

They weren’t just regular dreams.
They were hot, suffocating, skin-burning, mortifyingly vivid dreams.

And they were all about James.

Regulus woke up in a panic more times than he could count.

Heart pounding. Skin flushed. Breath coming in shallow gasps.

Each time, he was drenched in sweat, sheets twisted around his legs as if his own body was betraying him.

And the worst part?

They felt real.

James’ voice—low and rough against his ear.
James’ hands—strong, insistent, gripping at his waist.
James’ mouth—

Regulus shoved his face into his pillow, trying to will himself back to sleep. But it was impossible.

Because every time he closed his eyes, he saw James.

And every time he woke up, he was horrified at himself.

It was wrong.

It had to be wrong.

Right?

***

One particularly bad night, the dream had been so intense that Regulus woke up gasping, his pulse hammering in his throat.

His skin felt too hot, his breath ragged, his entire body tense with something he refused to acknowledge.

Across the room, Evan stirred.

“Reg? You okay?”

Regulus froze.

He hadn’t even realized he’d been moving—hadn’t realized he was tangled in the sheets, gripping them like they were the only thing keeping him grounded.

Shit.

Think. Think. Think.

He forced his breathing to slow and muttered, “Yeah. Just a nightmare.”

Evan frowned, sitting up slightly. “Sounded bad. You kept shifting in your sleep.”

Regulus swallowed hard.

If only he knew.

He forced himself to look tired, exhausted even. “I’m fine. Just… don’t feel great.”

Evan nodded slowly, still watching him with concern.

Regulus took that as his cue to get the hell out of there.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” he muttered, shoving the blanket aside.

Evan didn’t protest. “Alright. Try to get some sleep after, yeah?”

Regulus didn’t answer.

Because sleep was the last thing he wanted.

***

The cold water burned when it hit his skin.

Regulus welcomed the shock, the way it sent a jolt through his overheated body.

He stood under the spray, hands braced against the tiled wall, head bowed.

This was getting out of hand.

He needed to control himself.

This—this thing with James, whatever it was—it wasn’t real.

It was just… the stress. The pressure. The tension of the trials and the exhaustion catching up to him.

It had to be.

Did James ever dream about him?

The thought struck him out of nowhere, and Regulus immediately shook it off.

No. Of course not. That was ridiculous.

James Potter wasn’t losing sleep over him.

James Potter wasn’t waking up shaken, breathless, and unable to think straight.

James Potter wasn’t—

Regulus slammed his fist against the wall, frustration curling in his chest.

He had to stop this.

Had to stop wanting something he could never have.

***

By the time morning came, Regulus was exhausted.

But exhaustion was better than the alternative.

Because exhaustion meant he didn’t have to think.

Didn’t have to wonder what would happen if he just stopped fighting it.

Didn’t have to consider the possibility of James wanting him too.

Because that wasn’t an option.

It never could be.

And yet—

When he walked into the training hall and accidentally met James’ gaze from across the room…

His stomach still flipped.

Chapter Text

The training room was filled with the sounds of fists hitting flesh, the dull thuds of bodies hitting the mat, and the sharp bark of Mulciber’s commands. The air was thick with sweat and tension, every initiate pushing themselves to their absolute limit.

Mulciber was pushing them harder than ever.

Too hard.

Regulus could see it in the way people’s movements were growing sluggish, their stances less controlled. They were exhausted, but Mulciber didn’t care. If anything, he enjoyed watching them suffer.

“Again!” Mulciber barked, pacing the perimeter of the fighting mats like a predator stalking its prey. “You don’t stop until your opponent is on the ground and stays there. If you’re not unconscious, you’re still fighting. No mercy.”

Regulus clenched his jaw. This wasn’t training—it was torture.

Across the room, James was sparring with another initiate, his movements swift and calculated. Regulus tried not to look, tried not to let his focus waver—but it was difficult. Because every time he saw James fight, it was like his body had some involuntary reaction to it.

He didn’t have time to analyze it. Not now.

Because Mulciber was stepping forward again, surveying the line of initiates with a cruel smirk.

“Next match—Bartemius Crouch Jr. versus Marlene McKinnon.”

Regulus stiffened.

Marlene stepped forward first, rolling out her shoulders, her expression unreadable. She was strong—one of the best fighters among the initiates—but Barty was ruthless in combat. He fought with wild aggression, like he had something to prove every time he stepped onto the mat.

And yet, as Barty took his place opposite her, Regulus saw the hesitation in his stance.

Something in his gut twisted.

Mulciber crossed his arms. “Begin.”

***

Barty moved first, lunging forward with a quick jab. Marlene dodged, pivoting to the side and landing a sharp kick to his ribs. Barty staggered but recovered quickly, responding with a brutal punch to her stomach.

Marlene let out a sharp breath, stumbling back.

Regulus didn’t like this.

He could see it—the moment Barty realized he’d hit her too hard. His entire body hesitated for a fraction of a second, and that was all it took.

Marlene took advantage of the opening, sweeping his legs out from under him. Barty hit the mat hard, cursing under his breath.

Mulciber sneered. “Get up.”

Barty pushed himself up, shaking off the impact, and this time, when he swung at Marlene, his hit landed squarely against her jaw.

She dropped.

Regulus’ stomach churned.

She wasn’t moving.

She wasn’t unconscious, but the impact had clearly stunned her.

“Finish her,” Mulciber ordered, his voice cold.

Barty froze.

Marlene was still on the ground, her chest rising and falling heavily.

She was already down.

Regulus could see it, Evan could see it—everyone could see it.

Barty had already won.

There was no need to continue.

But Mulciber didn’t care about fairness. He wanted blood.

“I said, finish her.”

Barty’s fists clenched at his sides. “No.”

The word echoed in the silence that followed.

Mulciber’s expression darkened.

“What did you just say?”

Barty stood his ground. “I won. There’s no point in—”

Mulciber’s hand lashed out, gripping Barty by the collar and dragging him forward.

“You think you get to decide when a fight is over?” His voice was low, menacing. “You think you get to disobey me?”

Barty said nothing, but his jaw was set with defiance.

Regulus felt sick.

He could already tell—Mulciber wasn’t going to let this go.

“If you won’t finish the fight, then you’ll learn a lesson in obedience.”

Mulciber shoved Barty away and turned toward the others. “Take him to the Pit.”

***

Barty had gone pale.

Regulus barely managed to keep his own expression neutral.

The Pit.

It was a punishment worse than a beating.

The Pit was a bottomless void in the heart of the Dauntless compound, a dark abyss that swallowed anything that fell into it.

Mulciber led the way, the initiates forced to follow.

Barty didn’t struggle as they dragged him to the edge.

Didn’t fight when they forced him to grip the metal bar hanging over the void.

Regulus’ chest tightened.

It was an impossible task.

Five minutes was a death sentence.

Mulciber sneered. “Hold on for five minutes. If you fall, well… that’s on you.”

Regulus felt a surge of anger so strong it almost knocked him breathless.

This wasn’t about discipline. This was about cruelty.

Barty’s knuckles were already white as he clung to the bar, his arms trembling from the sheer effort of keeping himself up.

Seconds ticked by.

One minute.

Barty’s breath was shaking.

Two minutes.

Sweat dripped from his forehead. His arms were quaking.

Three minutes.

His grip was slipping.

Regulus couldn’t take it anymore.

“That’s enough!” he snapped, stepping forward. “You’ve proven your point!”

Mulciber turned to him, slow and dangerous. “Do you want to join him, Black?”

Regulus ground his teeth together but said nothing.

Barty was slipping.

His fingers trembled, muscles locking up.

Evan was crying.

“You can do it, Barty,” Evan said desperately. “Just hold on. Hold on.”

He started counting down the time.

Thirty seconds.

Regulus and Marlene joined in.

Twenty seconds.

Barty let out a sharp, strangled breath.

Ten seconds.

His fingers slipped—

“NOW!” Evan shouted, lunging forward.

Regulus and Marlene were already moving.

Together, they hauled Barty up, gripping onto whatever they could.

It was a struggle—Barty was heavy, and his arms were like dead weight. But they didn’t stop. They wouldn’t stop.

And then—

Barty was back on solid ground.

Safe.

The second Barty hit the floor, Evan was on him.

He threw his arms around Barty’s shoulders, shaking, his breath hitching with something dangerously close to a sob.

Barty let out a weak, pained laugh, resting his forehead against Evan’s.

Regulus looked away.

He exhaled, letting the tension drain from his body.

It was over.

But then—

He felt eyes on him.

And when he looked up—

James was watching him.

Their gazes locked across the room.

Regulus’ breath caught.

James wasn’t smirking. He wasn’t grinning.

He was just looking—like he saw everything.

And then, James nodded.

A silent acknowledgment. A look of approval.

Something in Regulus’ stomach flipped.

And before he could process it, before he could react—

James turned and walked away.

Regulus was left standing there, pulse hammering in his throat, feeling like something important had just happened.

Something he wasn’t ready to face.

Chapter Text

For the past week, Regulus had perfected the art of avoidance.

Every time he saw James, he went the other way.

Every time James entered a room, Regulus found an excuse to leave.

He didn’t look at him during meals. Didn’t acknowledge him in training.

He convinced himself it was for the best.

But now, standing in the simulation room, he had no choice but to face him.

James was here.

And James was watching him.

Regulus forced himself to keep his expression neutral as he stepped forward, trying to ignore the way his pulse hammered in his throat.

The simulation chair looked colder than usual—or maybe it just felt that way because James was standing beside it.

Regulus swallowed hard. He shouldn’t care about James’ presence. Shouldn’t let it affect him.

But then James spoke.

“When the real test happens… you need to be careful.”

Regulus stiffened.

He turned his head slightly, just enough to see James’ face. His expression was unreadable, but his voice was low, quiet.

A warning.

“Try not to manipulate it,” James continued, his tone barely above a whisper. “If you change anything, they’ll know.”

Regulus’ stomach twisted.

James knew.

He had known from the moment he first saw Regulus in a simulation. He had known, and yet—

He hadn’t said anything.

Regulus nodded stiffly, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached.

He refused to look at James as he lowered himself into the chair.

The cold metal pressed against his back.

Then—

Darkness.

***

When Regulus opened his eyes, he was home.
He was standing in the grand drawing room of Grimmauld Place, the chandelier casting flickering shadows across the walls. The scent of candle wax and old books filled the air.
And in front of him—
His mother.
Walburga Black stood tall, her piercing grey eyes boring into him with that familiar, suffocating disappointment.
“You have embarrassed this family for the last time.”
Regulus’ throat was dry.
This wasn’t real.
This wasn’t real.
And yet—his body reacted the way it always had in her presence.
His muscles locked up. His breath hitched. His mind screamed at him to stay still and stay quiet.
That was what was expected.
That was what a proper Black did.
“Regulus,” Walburga spat the word like it was poison. “You are a disgrace. A stain on our bloodline.”
Regulus kept his face carefully blank. A normal Dauntless initiate would fight back.
So he did.
“I’m not Erudite anymore.” His voice came out steady, sharp. “I’m Dauntless.”
Walburga’s lips curled.
And then—
Fire.
It erupted from nowhere, engulfing the room, licking at the walls, creeping toward him with terrifying speed.
The heat was unbearable.
Smoke filled his lungs.
And Walburga was still standing there, untouched, staring at him with those cold, lifeless eyes.
Regulus fought the instinct to break the illusion.
Stay in character.
He forced himself to act like a true Dauntless.
He backed up, scanning for an exit. He grabbed the heavy iron poker from the fireplace, breaking a chair leg to use as a shield. He gritted his teeth against the rising panic, forcing himself to push through the flames.
And just as he reached the doorway—
The fire vanished.

***

The world shifted.

Suddenly, he was underwater.

Freezing, inky blackness surrounded him, swallowing him whole.

His lungs burned.

His limbs thrashed on instinct.

Cold. So cold.

Regulus gasped, but only water filled his throat.

No. No, no, NO.

He clawed upward, kicking desperately, but there was no surface to break through.

His heart pounded. His chest screamed for air.

The panic crept in, sharp and suffocating.

And then—

His body reacted before he could stop it.

The moment his mind registered the impossibility of escape—

The simulation bent to his will.

Suddenly, the water vanished.

Regulus fell onto solid ground, gasping, his lungs aching from the phantom sensation of drowning.

And that’s when he knew.

He had fucked up.

***

The simulation faded.

The cold metal of the chair pressed against his back again, the fluorescent lights of the testing room buzzing faintly above him.

Regulus’ breath was still coming fast. His heart slammed against his ribs, but it wasn’t from the simulation.

It was from fear.

Slowly, he turned his head—

And James was staring at him.

His hazel eyes were sharp, focused—worried.

Regulus barely had a second to process it before James spoke.

“You can’t do that in the real test.”

Regulus flinched.

James leaned forward slightly, voice low and urgent. “They’ll know, Regulus. You’ll be killed.”

Regulus felt like he was going to be sick.

He hadn’t meant to manipulate the simulation.

It had just happened.

Panic clawed at his chest, his mind racing in circles.

He couldn’t control it.

How the hell was he supposed to pass the final test?

How was he supposed to hide this if his instincts would betray him every time?

He needed to get out of here.

Without another word, Regulus shoved himself out of the chair and rushed toward the door.

He barely heard James call his name.

He barely felt the burn in his lungs as he sped down the hallway.

All he knew was that if he didn’t figure out how to fix this—

He was dead.

Chapter Text

The Pit was different at night. The roaring torches that lined the massive cavern flickered dimly, casting long shadows over the stone walls. The ever-present hum of the Dauntless compound had quieted, leaving only the occasional distant footsteps or the faint sound of water dripping into the abyss below.

It felt like a different world entirely. A world of ghosts and thoughts too heavy to carry in the daylight.

James saw him immediately.

Regulus sat near the edge of the Pit, close enough that James felt an immediate flicker of concern. His legs were drawn up, his arms resting over his knees, and his gaze was fixed on the endless darkness below. The tension in his posture was undeniable. His hands twitched slightly, his fingers digging into his own forearms as if grounding himself.

James exhaled, shoving his hands into his pockets as he approached.

"You’re still thinking about the simulation."

Regulus didn’t flinch. Didn’t deny it. He just kept staring into the Pit, jaw clenched so tight James thought he might crack a tooth.

James sighed, stepping closer.

“You can’t afford to panic when the real test comes,” he said. “But you also can’t afford to manipulate it again.”

Regulus finally turned to look at him, his grey eyes unreadable but sharp. There was something wary in them, like he was trying to decide whether James was helping him or setting a trap.

James didn't blame him.

He hesitated, then made a choice.

"I can help you."

Regulus blinked, his expression unreadable. “Help me?”

James nodded. "I can show you how to pass the test without looking Divergent."

Regulus’ gaze narrowed. James could practically hear his thoughts racing. And then—

Realization.

Regulus stiffened. His eyes locked onto James’. His lips parted slightly, like he wanted to ask but couldn’t quite make himself say the words.

And then, in a quiet voice, “You’re Divergent too.”

James held his gaze.

Then, slowly, he nodded.

Regulus said nothing for a long moment. James could see the battle happening inside his mind—doubt, suspicion, understanding.

Finally, he exhaled. "Alright."

James turned. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

***

The simulation room was empty, silent except for the quiet hum of the simulation equipment. The metal chair gleamed under the dim lights, its restraints slightly worn from years of use.

James didn’t hesitate as he rolled up his sleeve, grabbing the injector and pressing it to his arm. The serum was cold as it entered his veins, but he barely noticed.

He turned to Regulus, who was watching him carefully, as if trying to commit every detail to memory.

James handed him a second injector.

Regulus frowned. “You want me to—?”

“You need to see how it works.”

Regulus hesitated for only a second before taking the injector and pressing it to his arm.

A sharp sting.

And then—

Darkness.

***

Regulus barely had time to blink before the room shifted around them. It was like one moment they were standing in the sterile, quiet testing room, and the next, they were somewhere else entirely. He looked around, his heart already beginning to race, the unfamiliar surroundings triggering something primal in his chest.

They were in a tiny room—windowless, airless, with no visible exits. The walls were smooth and featureless, a perfectly square box with no escape. He could feel the temperature in the room rising, the air becoming thin and pressured. His pulse quickened, a nervous energy pulsing through him as he turned to James, but the other boy was already several steps ahead, looking pale.

“What is this?” Regulus asked, his voice unsteady. He half expected to hear a response, but James didn’t seem to be paying attention. Instead, James was staring at the walls, a slight tremor already in his posture, and it took Regulus a second to realize—James was panicking.

It was then that Regulus understood, truly understood, that the simulation was tapping into something far more personal. Something he hadn’t expected.

James had always been the strong one—the leader, the towering figure among them all, six feet four inches of muscle and bravado. The last person Regulus would ever think would be scared of anything, least of all something as simple as claustrophobia.

Regulus’ brain took a few moments to process, and then he felt a rush of amusement. This was a nightmare for James? How could someone so big, so bold, be afraid of being confined in a small space? He couldn’t help but glance at James for a second, his lips curling into a brief, half-amused smile.

But that smile quickly faded when he saw James’ face—white as a ghost. The amusement died in Regulus’ chest. This wasn’t funny.

James’ breathing was growing ragged, shallow gasps escaping his lips as he started shifting from foot to foot. His hands were clenched at his sides, fingers twitching in an almost involuntary response to the pressure around them. The walls were not moving yet, but Regulus could feel the oppressive nature of the space closing in on them. The air felt thick and heavy, as if it were pressing down on their chests.

The first low creak from the walls sent a chill through Regulus. He took a cautious step back, then stopped himself. He couldn’t abandon James, not now.

Another creak, and then the walls began to move—slowly, methodically, pressing inward. Regulus could feel the subtle shift in the air, the pressure growing with every inch. It was like the room itself was suffocating them.

“James, hey… it’s okay,” Regulus said, trying to sound calm. He reached out, instinctively moving toward his friend. His voice was soft, but there was an undercurrent of urgency to it.

James didn’t seem to hear him. Or maybe he couldn’t. His face was twisted in sheer panic, and his breaths were getting shorter by the second. His body was trembling, fingers white-knuckling at his sides.

Regulus had seen panic before. He’d seen the disorientation, the shock that followed a difficult situation, but this—this was something different. James was frightened in a way Regulus had never imagined. The walls continued to close in, and Regulus felt the space between them shrinking—physically, emotionally, the weight of everything pressing down on him.

The room was too small now. The walls were moving fast, squeezing tighter and tighter.

And then, suddenly, they were pressed together.

Regulus froze as his back was pushed against James’ chest. The closeness was… overwhelming. He could feel the heat radiating off James’ body, could feel the trembling muscles beneath his hands. But he was too trapped, too close to even move. It was too much. The proximity was suffocating in its own way. James’ panic filled the air between them, and Regulus was suddenly hit with a full-body wave of discomfort.

Regulus prayed to Merlin that James couldn’t feel his heart hammering in his chest, his hands trembling as they barely brushed James’ arms. He was too aware of everything: the heat, the tightness in his own chest, the way his breathing began to mirror James’. He couldn’t let James notice, but as James continued to tremble, it became harder to focus.

Regulus turned his head slightly, and that’s when he saw it—James’ hands were shaking. His entire body was shuddering under the pressure. The panic was unmistakable. Regulus couldn’t ignore it anymore.

Shit.

Regulus could feel the air growing staler with each passing second. The walls were getting closer, inching forward relentlessly. It was closing in on them—on him, on James, and there was no way out unless James calmed down.

It wasn’t just claustrophobia. It was the terror of being trapped, of not being able to breathe, of having nowhere to run. Regulus had to get James to breathe. He couldn’t let this spiral out of control.

“James…” Regulus murmured, trying again. His voice was barely a whisper now, trying to cut through the rising panic.

“James, listen to me,” Regulus said, more urgently this time, his voice dropping low to try to soothe his friend. He had to help him. This wasn’t just the simulation. This was real fear, and if he didn’t act, they wouldn’t make it through. “Breathe. In… out. Just breathe with me.”

But it wasn’t working. James’ body remained stiff, his hands still shaking violently. The walls were practically on top of them now, the pressure too much to handle. Regulus' own breathing quickened in response to the rising pressure, but he forced himself to calm down. He had to. For James.

Regulus’ mind whirled, trying to remember what had worked before. What had calmed him down during his own panic? The breathing. James had done it for him—holding his hand, matching his breath. He could do the same for James.

His decision was almost instinctive. Regulus reached out and grabbed James’ shaking hand, guiding it toward his chest, pressing it over his heart. The touch was warm, steady—he hoped it would anchor James, give him something solid to hold onto.

For a moment, James was still, eyes wide with panic as they locked onto Regulus’ face. There was something in his gaze—confusion, fear, a flicker of desperation. Regulus could feel his pulse pounding in his chest as he stared back, willing James to calm down. He needed him to focus.

“Listen to me,” Regulus whispered, trying to sound as calm as he could. “Breathe with me. In. Out.” He took a slow breath, making sure James could feel it—feel his chest expand and contract. He kept his hand over James’ as he repeated the pattern, slow and steady. “In… out… come on, James. You can do it.”

James blinked, once, twice. His hand trembled, but it was still there, pressed firmly against Regulus’ chest. His chest was rising and falling more evenly now, his breathing less erratic, though still shaky.

Regulus held his breath as James’ gaze softened, just a little. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, James began to mirror Regulus’ movements. He took a breath, then another, the panic subsiding just a fraction. His body relaxed slightly, and the tension in his muscles began to loosen.

Regulus exhaled in relief when he saw James finally breathe properly, his hand no longer trembling so violently. The walls stopped closing, the pressure lifting, and with it, the sensation of being suffocated began to flicker away.

As the simulation shifted, they found themselves back in the black void, no longer in that small, oppressive room. Regulus pulled his hand away from James’ chest, his heart still pounding from the proximity—but it was over now. The walls had stopped. They had survived it.

Regulus could still feel the residual heat of James' body against his, the lingering pressure of being trapped, but as the simulation dissolved, he was grateful that it had ended.

The tension between them was palpable, but for now, neither of them spoke. Regulus wasn’t sure what to say, but he was certain of one thing: He had never seen James like this before.

***

The shift between simulations was seamless—one moment, they were trapped in the suffocating room, the next, they were standing at the edge of the Pit.

Regulus’ boots scraped against the stone floor as he steadied himself. He blinked, disoriented, his mind still reeling from what had just happened. The Pit stretched before them, deep and dark, the abyss yawning open like a beast waiting to swallow them whole.

At first, Regulus thought James was afraid of the height.

But then he heard the screams.

And his blood turned to ice.

"JAMES! REGULUS!"

Regulus whipped around.

Down at the bottom of the Pit—barely visible in the darkness—were three figures.

Sirius. Remus. Peter.

Regulus’ breath hitched.

The three of them were trapped at the bottom, backs pressed against the cold stone walls, faces twisted in terror. Their voices were raw, breaking with panic as they screamed for help.

Regulus turned to James—

And his stomach dropped.

James was already panicking.

His whole body went rigid, his breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts. His hazel eyes darted frantically around the Pit, searching for something—anything. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, shaking with the effort to stay in control.

Then, without thinking—James moved.

He rushed toward the edge, searching desperately for a way down.

"I have to get to them—"

He looked for a ledge, a rope, anything to climb down—but there was nothing.

The Pit was sheer stone, no footholds, no handholds. No escape.

Regulus’ stomach twisted as James reached the very edge, his boots kicking pebbles over the side. His entire body was taut with desperation.

"James, stop!" Regulus stepped forward, grabbing his arm before he could do something reckless. "There's no way down!"

James ripped his arm away. His face was wild with frustration and fear. "I HAVE TO GET TO THEM!"

Then—

The screams changed.

They weren’t just calling for help anymore.

They were screaming in pain.

Regulus’ breath caught in his throat as Sirius let out an ear-splitting scream of agony.

It was followed by Peter’s, then Remus’.

The sound was like nothing Regulus had ever heard—pure, unfiltered horror.

It sounded like they were being torn apart.

Regulus’ heart slammed against his ribs. His instincts screamed at him to do something, to help, to save them—

But there was nothing to fight.

Nothing to stop.

Just screams and darkness.

James stumbled back, his hands flying to his hair as his breath hitched. His whole body shook violently as he turned in a desperate circle, eyes darting across the Pit like he could will an escape into existence.

But there was no way down.

James let out a broken sob.

His knees buckled.

And then—he collapsed.

Regulus watched, frozen, as James fell to his knees at the edge of the Pit. His shoulders shook with silent, gasping sobs, his hands clawing at his own hair, his body curling in on itself like he was trying to block out the sounds of his dying friends.

Regulus had never seen him like this.

Not James Potter. Not the fearless Dauntless leader.

This wasn’t the James who smirked at danger.

This wasn’t the James who charged into fights without hesitation.

This was someone broken.

James let out a shaky, gasping breath, rocking forward, his forehead nearly touching the stone floor. “I can’t—I can’t save them—I can’t—I can’t—”

His hands were clenched so tightly that his knuckles had gone white. His entire body trembled, shoulders rising and falling with panic-stricken gasps.

Regulus was still frozen, his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

Because—he could hear his own brother screaming too.

Sirius’ voice was raw with agony, his screams shattering through Regulus’ mind, hitting something deep and instinctive inside him.

Regulus flinched, his first instinct to lift his hands—to cover his ears, to block it out, to make it stop.

But then—

He looked at James.

James, who was breaking apart in front of him.

And Regulus realized—

This wasn’t his fear.

This wasn’t about him.

This was James’ nightmare.

Regulus took a slow, shaking breath.

Then—he moved.

He sank down beside James, their knees brushing.

James barely reacted—he was too far gone, his whole body still trembling with the effort to breathe, to think, to function.

Regulus exhaled.

And then, carefully, he wrapped an arm around James’ shoulders.

James flinched at the touch. His breath hitched, sharp and broken.

Regulus tightened his grip. "James, listen to me."

No response.

The screams grew louder.

James let out another silent sob, his whole body curling further inward.

Regulus’ heart clenched. He had to get James to breathe, to ground himself, before the panic swallowed him whole.

He moved instinctively, shifting until he could press his hands against James’ ears, muffling the sounds of the screaming below.

James froze.

His entire body went rigid.

Regulus held firm.

He leaned in closer, so that James could hear him over the chaos.

"It’s not real."

James shuddered.

"It’s a simulation," Regulus murmured, his voice steady. "None of this is real. You just have to breathe, James."

James' breath stuttered.

Regulus could feel him shaking under his hands.

But he didn’t let go.

Instead—he moved one hand down, pressing it flat against James’ chest.

"Breathe with me."

James sucked in a breath—sharp and uneven.

Regulus slowed his own breathing, exaggerating each inhale and exhale, making it deliberate, measured.

James tried to match it—but his breath kept catching, kept breaking.

Regulus pressed a little firmer against his chest, grounding him.

"Again. Breathe. With me."

James’ breathing hitched—

And then—slowly, shakily, he followed.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

The screams began to fade.

James shuddered violently, his body still wracked with the aftershocks of panic. But his breaths were steadying.

Regulus kept his hands in place, feeling the way James’ chest rose and fell beneath his palm.

"It’s not real," he whispered again.

James nodded weakly against him.

And then—

Silence.

The Pit vanished.

Regulus blinked, the world shifting around them once more.

The simulation had changed.

James let out a slow, shaking breath, his entire body still tensed from the aftershock. His fingers twitched against the stone floor before curling into tight fists.

Regulus finally let his hands drop.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, James cleared his throat. His voice was rough, hoarse, barely a whisper. "That’s how you do it."

Regulus frowned. "Do what?"

James swallowed hard, finally looking up.

His hazel eyes were still glassy, still raw—but there was something else there now. Determination.

"That’s how you pass the test."

Regulus stared.

And then, suddenly—he understood.

James had to struggle.

James had to fall apart.

Because if he didn’t—

They’d know.

They’d kill him.

Regulus' stomach twisted.

Because if he couldn’t do the same—

He’d be dead too.

***

The simulation shifted again, more jarring this time than before. Regulus barely had time to adjust to the abrupt change in scenery before he found himself in what appeared to be a dimly lit room.

At first glance, it looked almost like a study—rich wood paneling on the walls, elegant furnishings that seemed far removed from the raw, brutal setting of Dauntless. But there was a strange, disorienting feeling to the place. It felt like being transported into someone’s private nightmare—a place that didn’t belong here.

Regulus blinked, looking around, trying to make sense of his surroundings. He stood on cold stone floors, under the weight of the silent tension that hung thick in the air.

A sudden rustling noise broke the stillness, and Regulus’ eyes snapped to the front of the room. He wasn’t prepared for what he saw.

Before him stood two older figures—a man and a woman—both dressed in Dauntless black, their features stern but softened with age. They were both tall, with dignified postures, their faces strikingly familiar.

But it wasn’t until he turned to James that the weight of the situation truly hit him.

James, who had been silently watching the two strangers, suddenly looked smaller. He stood with his back straight, but Regulus could see the way his shoulders were slightly hunched, as though trying to make himself less noticeable. His eyes were focused on the two people, his jaw clenched so tight that Regulus could almost hear the tension.

And then he noticed the tears.

Silent, unbidden tears were rolling down James' cheeks—his face pale, his lips trembling as though he was fighting for control.

Regulus' stomach tightened. He had never seen James so vulnerable, so… broken.

It was like a wave of recognition crashed over him. The older man’s features—the high cheekbones, the sharp jaw—those were James’ features, his father’s face. And the woman, her eyes soft and warm, that was his mother.

But something felt wrong, off. This didn’t make sense. Why was James crying?

Regulus took a hesitant step forward, his mind racing with confusion. He tried to make sense of the scene in front of him, but nothing added up. It was clear this was something deeply personal, something James wasn’t sharing.

“James?” Regulus asked quietly, his voice a mix of concern and confusion. He couldn’t take his eyes off James, still standing frozen. “What’s going on?”

James didn’t respond right away. Instead, his gaze remained locked on his parents, not meeting Regulus’ eyes. Regulus felt the air between them crackle with tension, the unspoken emotions thickening the space.

“James?” Regulus repeated, stepping closer, wanting to understand.

But James only shook his head, his expression grim. “I can’t explain it… I don’t want to explain it.”

Regulus frowned, unsure how to proceed. The woman’s soft voice cut through the growing unease.

“James…” She spoke his name gently, her tone heavy with love and sadness. “You know we only want what’s best for you. You know that, don’t you?”

James’ lips parted slightly, but he didn’t speak.

Regulus felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. The air grew denser with every passing moment, every breath becoming more strained than the last.

James seemed to be growing more distant, retreating into himself, his eyes unfocused as if he were looking at something far beyond the room, something only he could see.

The woman smiled sadly, and Regulus couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy. She was trying to comfort James, but there was something unsettling in the way she did it.

Suddenly, the man—James’ father—took a step forward. Regulus’ stomach flipped, a sense of foreboding flooding him.

He extended a hand toward James. In it, he held a gun—a black, sleek weapon, perfectly polished, and deadly.

Regulus’ heart skipped a beat.

The man’s hand shook slightly as he held the gun out to James.

“Take it,” the man said, his voice gruff, tinged with sorrow. “Take it, James. You know what you have to do.”

Regulus stared at the gun, his pulse quickening. There was no way. He couldn’t understand what was happening. Why would anyone be asked to take a gun and use it on—

“James, don’t take it!” Regulus snapped, his voice rising in desperation.

But James was still motionless, staring at the weapon in his father’s hand with wide eyes. His breath hitched as though each moment was crushing him under its weight.

It was as if the man’s words had ensnared him—bound him in an invisible trap—and there was no escape.

“James,” Regulus pressed, his voice full of tension, “What is this? What do you have to do? What’s happening?”

James’ lips parted as he finally spoke, his voice barely a whisper.

“It’s the only way to end this.” His words were thick with pain, each one laced with a heavy, silent burden. “I have to do it. I have to shoot them.”

Regulus’ stomach churned. “No… James, you can’t—”

But James only nodded, his eyes empty, haunted.

Regulus felt the urge to step forward, to stop him from taking that gun, but he couldn’t move. His body felt like it was rooted to the spot, heavy and unwilling to act.

The woman spoke again, her voice breaking with emotion.

“James…” Her eyes shimmered with tears, and her voice quivered with love. “I will always love you. No matter what you do. But you need to end this. It’s the only way. You know it’s the only way.”

Regulus’ breath caught in his throat as the words sank in. The realization hit him hard, like a slap to the face.

These weren’t just any people.

This was James’ family. His parents. The ones who had raised him, loved him unconditionally.

And now, the simulation had forced him to make an impossible choice.

James’ parents were asking him to kill them.

The gun was in James’ hand now, and Regulus saw the way his fingers tightened around the cold metal. The man and woman before him were smiling sadly, lovingly—but the smiles didn’t reach their eyes.

They knew what had to happen. They knew what the test was.

“James, don’t,” Regulus whispered, horrified by what he was seeing, by what was being demanded of his friend.

But James’ expression remained unchanged.

“I have to do this,” James said again, his voice hollow. “It’s the only way to make it stop. It’s the only way to finish the simulation.”

Regulus’ heart ached for him, but there was no time to process.

James didn’t hesitate any longer.

He raised the gun.

The shot rang out.

Regulus couldn’t breathe.

The man before them collapsed to the floor, his eyes wide with shock, his body crumpling like a marionette with its strings cut.

Before Regulus could say a word, another gunshot echoed through the room.

The woman’s body jerked violently, falling back with a dull thud.

And then—

Everything went dark.

***

The sterile lights above them buzzed, casting a cold, unforgiving glow over the room. Regulus sat there, numb, his eyes fixed on James, who was sitting rigidly across from him, staring into the distance as though the world around him had become nothing more than an abstract blur. The silence was oppressive—heavy with unspoken thoughts and emotions neither of them seemed ready to voice.

Regulus was shaken. He could feel it deep in his bones, a tremor of unease that refused to fade. His pulse raced, a reminder of what they had just experienced, of the horrors they had seen together in the simulations. He didn’t know what to do with the weight of it, the violence and the trauma that had been thrust into their minds.

James, however, was somewhere far away—his eyes unfocused, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. His face was pale, a mask of emotional exhaustion that Regulus had never seen before. He had always known James to be resilient, unshakable, someone who could handle any situation with ease. But this… this was different. Regulus could see it now, in the way his friend was crumbling silently, the cracks beginning to show.

James' voice broke the silence, hollow and distant.

“I’m sorry.”

Regulus couldn’t answer right away. He couldn’t form words. He didn’t know if he even could. Instead, he just sat there, watching James, letting the heavy silence stretch between them like a bridge neither of them could cross.

Finally, Regulus found his voice, though it was soft, hesitant.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

James didn’t look at him, didn’t even shift. His gaze remained fixed ahead, as if the room itself didn’t exist. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, his knuckles white. When he spoke again, his words were barely a whisper, so soft it was as though he were speaking more to himself than to Regulus.

“No.” His voice cracked, the word barely escaping his lips.

Regulus nodded, though he wasn’t sure if James could see it. It wasn’t surprising. The weight of what they had just lived through—the trauma of the simulations, the impossible choices, the horrors that had been presented to them—had to be too much to process in one sitting. He understood that.

But what Regulus didn’t understand was why James wasn’t looking at him. Why he was sitting there, stiff and unmovable, as though he were somehow dissociated from the world around him. James had always been the one to lead, to push forward without hesitation, but now—now he seemed lost.

James finally cleared his throat, the sound rough and ragged, as if he were trying to push through a wall of grief, of frustration. His eyes, still glazed, slowly drifted toward Regulus. It was an effort, and Regulus could see the weight behind it.

“That’s what your simulation is supposed to look like,” James said quietly, his voice heavy with anxiety. “You’re supposed to struggle. You’re supposed to fail… not escape easily.”

Regulus blinked, his heart skipping a beat. The words hit him like a punch to the gut, forcing his mind to race. What did James mean? What was he saying?

For a moment, he was speechless. His mind scrambled to make sense of James' words, but they felt like they didn’t belong in this context. Fail? Struggle? Escape? What did that have to do with what they had just experienced? The horrors they’d just lived through… it didn’t make sense.

“James… what do you mean?” Regulus finally asked, his voice almost frantic, his brows furrowed in confusion.

James' eyes fell to the ground, his lips pressed into a thin line. The moment stretched, and Regulus felt his stomach tighten.

“You don’t get it, do you?” James muttered, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. It was devoid of humor, though. “Your tests have been too easy. Too easy, Regulus.”

The words crashed into him like a tidal wave, drowning his thoughts. Regulus' heart sank, the realization hitting him like a punch to the chest. He had never really stopped to question why the simulations had felt so—easy—for him. Why had he always managed to get through them with barely a scratch? The answers were always just there, always perfect, the danger dissipating before he even had to act.

James' words now made sense in a way that terrified him.

“It’s because I’m Divergent,” Regulus whispered, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. His voice was barely audible, but he couldn’t stop it from coming out. “That’s why I can do it… Why I’ve been able to get through them. Because I can control them.”

James didn’t respond, but his silence was enough. Regulus could see it now—James' eyes, filled with that haunting sadness, the way his face had been so resigned earlier. He hadn’t been staring into nothingness. He’d been staring at Regulus, at the reality that was staring them both in the face.

Regulus felt the weight of it. The weight of his Divergence. It wasn’t just a gift—it was a curse, one that could easily be detected, one that would kill him if anyone found out. And now, in the middle of their trials, in the middle of everything, James was the only person who knew.

The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. Regulus could feel the pressure building inside him, the panic, the fear that he might not make it through this. The fear that someone—someone important—might finally notice. That they might figure out what he had done. And if they did, he was dead.

James seemed to sense the rising tide of panic within Regulus. He let out a heavy breath, and though his posture was still stiff, his voice softened.

“You can’t let anyone know. You can’t let them see it, Regulus.”

Regulus nodded, though his heart was still racing, the fear gnawing at him, sinking deeper with every passing second. How could he possibly hide it? How could he suppress the power within him when it felt so natural, so instinctive? How could he control this when it felt like his very survival depended on it?

James’ eyes softened for a fleeting moment. He looked like he wanted to say something, but the words seemed trapped in his throat, stuck somewhere between concern and guilt.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, James sighed and shifted his position slightly, his hands resting on his knees. The tension in his shoulders was still there, though not as pronounced. It was as if he were trying to force himself back into control, to regain some semblance of the person he was before the tests.

“I can’t help you with that.” James’ voice was quiet now, but there was an edge to it. “No one can. You’re the one who has to figure out how to hide it. You can’t let anyone see.”

Regulus swallowed hard, his throat dry. For the first time, he truly felt the weight of what had been happening, the dangerous game they were playing. There was no escaping this. Not anymore.

The silence stretched once again. Neither of them spoke. The weight of their realizations hung in the air between them like a dense fog that neither of them could clear away.

James, still sitting stiffly, looked at Regulus for a long moment. His eyes softened just slightly, but there was something unreadable in them, something hurt that Regulus didn’t understand.

And so, for once, Regulus didn’t try to speak. He didn’t try to fix anything. Instead, he just sat there, beside James, their breathing in sync as they both recovered in silence.

There was nothing else to say. Not right now.

Chapter Text

With only a few days left before the final tests, tension among the initiates is palpable. The air in Dauntless headquarters feels heavier, charged with an undercurrent of nerves that no one can shake. Some are focused on the upcoming trials, determined to prove themselves worthy of their place in the faction, while others are becoming increasingly unhinged, cracks showing under the pressure.

Avery and Carrow have become more unbearable than ever. Their cruel streaks are no longer hidden, and their violence feels like it has no limit. Every day, they find new ways to make life for the initiates even more hellish. Their laughter echoes down the hallways, full of malice, as they mock and intimidate anyone unlucky enough to be their target.

One morning, in the training room, the tension between the initiates and their sadistic leaders comes to a head. Avery is sparring with another initiate, a nervous-looking boy who hasn’t quite gotten the hang of the physical aspects of Dauntless life. Regulus watches from the sidelines, trying to stay focused on his own training, but his eyes keep drifting to the scene unfolding before him.

The boy makes a weak attempt to block Avery’s strike, but his guard is far too slow. Avery's fist connects with a sickening crack. The boy’s leg gives out, and he crumples to the floor, clutching his leg as pain explodes in his face. There’s a sickening pop as Avery snaps the boy’s leg in half, the sound echoing through the room.

For a moment, everything stops. Regulus feels his stomach lurch at the brutality of the scene. It’s not just the pain of the injury—it’s the sheer enjoyment on Avery’s face. He’s grinning, his eyes gleaming with malicious glee as the boy writhes on the floor in agony.

The other initiates stare in stunned silence, but no one dares to move. It’s the kind of thing that sends a cold shiver through the room, the reminder that Dauntless training isn’t about mere combat skills—it’s about survival. And Avery and Carrow are perfectly willing to destroy anyone who stands in their way.

Regulus can’t tear his eyes away from the scene. He’s furious. Furious with Avery’s cruelty, with the twisted enjoyment they take in hurting others. But he also knows that the only thing he can do right now is focus on his own training. The last thing he needs is to draw attention to himself, especially with the final tests approaching.

Despite his best efforts to ignore the horror unfolding in front of him, the image of the boy’s broken leg lingers in Regulus’ mind. He tries to shake it off, but it follows him into the next few hours of training. His body is exhausted. The weight of the days’ events, coupled with the nightmares that have been plaguing his sleep, leaves him feeling drained. Every night, he lies in bed, tossing and turning, unable to shut his mind off.

Some nights, it’s James—images of him far too close, lingering touches, moments of confusing feelings that he can’t quite grasp. Other nights, it’s Regulus’ worst fear—being found out for his Divergence and brutally executed. The nightmares are vivid and terrifying, keeping him awake until the early hours of the morning.

Sleep-deprived and on edge, Regulus barely has the energy to keep up with the brutal training schedule, let alone defend himself against the rising tension between the initiates. Every day feels like a struggle to hold onto his composure, to keep pushing forward despite the weight of everything hanging over him.

***

It happens when he least expects it.

The cool night air hits his face as he’s pulled out of his restless sleep. A rough hand slaps over his mouth before he can even register what’s happening. Panic floods through him, his heart pounding in his chest as he thrashes violently against whatever or whoever is restraining him.

His vision is blurred by sleep, and before he can make sense of his surroundings, something heavy is thrown over his head, plunging him into darkness. The gag is tight and suffocating, but worse is the clamp of panic tightening around his ribs as his mind races. What’s happening? Why are they doing this? Is it finally happening?

His breath comes in short, gasping pants as he struggles, trying to break free. His pulse thrums loudly in his ears, drowning out everything except for the rush of fear. There’s no way they’re going to do this now—not now—right before the final tests.

He twists in their grip, his limbs flailing wildly, but it’s no use. He’s being dragged somewhere, half-carried and half-pulled through Dauntless headquarters. He can feel the cold of the stone floors under his knees, the harsh pull of the ropes biting into his wrists as he’s hauled through the corridors. It’s all happening too fast, and the terror clawing at his throat is almost enough to make him sick.

His mind flashes to his worst fear—the one that has kept him awake at night, the fear of being discovered as Divergent. They’ve finally figured it out. They know, and now they’re going to execute him. That’s why they’re doing this. They’re going to throw him into the Pit, and everyone will watch as they end him. The thought sends a chill through his bones, and a wave of nausea rises in his throat.

Suddenly, he feels the air shift. It’s colder now, the smell of dirt and sweat mixing with the scent of something… darker. The Pit.

His blood runs cold as he hears voices. There’s a familiar sneer in one of them—Avery, and beside him, Carrow.

Regulus’ heart drops to his stomach. They’re the ones behind this. They’ve dragged him here, to this place where all the Dauntless secrets are buried, and Regulus doesn’t need to see their faces to know exactly what they want.

His stomach churns as the fear becomes all-consuming. Avery and Carrow have never been the type to play by the rules. They don’t need a reason to hurt him—they just enjoy it. And now, they’ve decided to make him pay for some unknown crime.

The sound of footsteps grows louder, and Regulus can’t stop the cold sweat that pours down his back. They’re close. He feels the pressure of something heavy weighing down on him as he’s shoved into a space that’s unnervingly familiar. He’s finally shoved to the ground, and the bag is ripped off his head.

His eyes take a moment to adjust to the harsh lights of the Pit. The sound of laughter fills the space, and there, standing before him, are Avery and Carrow, both grinning wickedly. Regulus’ stomach turns with disgust at the sight of their faces.

He tries to move, but his wrists are bound, and the restraints bite into his skin. His mouth is still gagged, and the suffocating panic rises again, tightening his chest. But despite the overwhelming fear coursing through him, Regulus’ anger is the stronger emotion.

They’ve done this to him before. They’ve cornered him, humiliated him, and now they’re about to destroy him. But Regulus knows one thing—he won’t give them the satisfaction of breaking. He will not let them see the fear that’s bubbling up inside him.

Avery’s sneer deepens. “You’ve been a real pain in our ass, Black,” he says, his voice dripping with venom.

Carrow’s voice follows, smooth and mocking. “Too much of a problem. We need to fix that.”

The words send a shiver through Regulus. The thought of what they might do to him next sends a flash of panic through his veins, but his anger overpowers it. He refuses to let them win.

His mind races, searching for a way to turn the tables. The words escape before he can even think about it.

“Are you really that scared I’ll beat you for a top 15 spot?” Regulus mocks, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Afraid of a Black besting you?”

He tilts his head in exaggerated curiosity. “What’s the matter, Avery? Carrow? You really can’t stand being bested by someone like me?”

Avery’s grin falters, and Carrow’s eyes narrow with malice.

The silence stretches for just a moment too long before Avery steps forward, his fist landing hard against Regulus’ ribs. The impact knocks the wind from his lungs, and he gasps for air, his body folding in on itself.

Regulus grits his teeth, refusing to make a sound. He won’t give them that satisfaction.

But the beating has only just begun.

***

Regulus braces himself, knowing what’s coming. But nothing can fully prepare him for the sheer brutality of the first punch.

Avery strikes first.

The punch is sharp, vicious. It connects with Regulus’ ribs with a sickening crack. The air is knocked from his lungs in a rush, and for a brief moment, everything goes still. His vision blurs, his chest heaving as he struggles to take in even the smallest breath. The pain explodes in his side, like a firework lighting up every nerve ending at once.

His body betrays him. He doubles over, gasping for air, his hands straining against the ropes that bind his wrists. The blood in his veins feels thick, and the beating of his heart is the only thing that feels real. His head spins, the world tilting as his body tries to compensate for the searing pain tearing through him.

Carrow doesn’t waste a second.

Before Regulus can even recover, a brutal kick to his stomach slams into him like a freight train. The force of the blow sends him crashing to the ground, his face hitting the hard, unforgiving floor of the Pit. The pain is instantaneous, a raw agony that spreads from his abdomen out to every limb, igniting in his bones. His chest feels like it’s caving in, his ribs screaming in protest at the assault.

Regulus struggles to right himself, his wrists burning as the ropes cut into his skin. His muscles scream in protest as he tries to force himself back up, but the world around him feels like it’s spinning, disorienting him further. His breath comes in shallow gasps, pain radiating from his stomach, from his ribs, from every inch of his body. But through the haze of agony, one thing is certain—he won’t scream. He won’t give them that satisfaction.

Avery steps forward, his face twisted into a cruel smile. He’s enjoying this, reveling in Regulus’ pain. Regulus’ vision is still swimming, but he can make out the gleam in Avery’s eyes, the satisfaction that comes with the brutality of his actions.

A fist slams into Regulus’ jaw next, the blow landing with a sickening crunch. Regulus’ head jerks back violently, his teeth rattling in his skull. For a moment, he sees stars—everything lights up in blinding white-hot flashes that make him dizzy. The force of the punch is so intense that his vision blurs again, and his body jerks backward involuntarily, his head spinning from the sheer force of the blow. But still, he remains silent. He will not scream. He will not give them the satisfaction of knowing they’ve broken him.

Carrow is next.

The kick to his side lands so hard that Regulus feels his ribs crack under the pressure. The sound of bone splintering echoes in his head, but the pain that follows is so overwhelming that it eclipses everything else. He gasps, the air leaving his lungs again as his body crumples to the floor. His wrists burn more intensely as he struggles to maintain even the faintest sense of composure. He can feel his blood rushing in his ears, the sound deafening in the chaos of the Pit.

He can’t keep his balance. His legs are giving out beneath him, his arms trembling under the strain of holding himself upright. His body is nothing but a battleground of raw, fiery pain, and all Regulus can focus on is forcing his body to remain as still as possible. He knows if he reacts too strongly, if he shows weakness in any way, they’ll exploit it, take even more pleasure in torturing him.

But it’s getting harder to focus, harder to keep his thoughts clear. The pain is drowning everything else out.

Carrow steps forward once again, this time grabbing Regulus by the hair, yanking his head up so sharply that Regulus lets out a low groan from the force of it. The pain in his scalp is nothing compared to what’s already coursing through his body, but it’s enough to make his neck ache and his throat constrict with frustration. His head hangs forward for a moment, and he blinks rapidly to clear the fog in his mind.

Regulus barely has time to register the sudden proximity of Carrow’s face. They’re only inches apart, and Regulus can feel Carrow’s hot breath on his skin. The twisted grin on Carrow’s face makes Regulus’ stomach twist with disgust. The mockery, the sadistic pleasure—it’s all written on Carrow’s face, clear for Regulus to see.

Carrow looks down at him, his eyes dark with malice. “Such a shame,” he sneers, his voice dripping with mock sympathy, “that something so beautiful has to die.”

Regulus spits at him, the action so fast and instinctual that he barely has time to think about it. The spit lands on Carrow’s cheek with an audible splat, and for a moment, the Pit goes still. The silence is deafening, as if even the walls themselves are holding their breath.

Regulus doesn’t feel any satisfaction from the gesture—he doesn’t feel anything other than an overwhelming sense of defiance. He may be bound, bloodied, and broken, but he’s not going to let them win. He’s not going to let them break him.

Carrow doesn’t flinch, doesn’t wipe away the spit. Instead, his smile widens, and his hand tightens in Regulus’ hair, forcing his head back even further. The look in Carrow’s eyes turns darker, more dangerous, and Regulus knows what’s coming next.

In the split second before it happens, Regulus braces himself for impact. But even then, it’s impossible to prepare for the overwhelming pain that follows.

Carrow’s fist crashes into his face with a sickening thud, snapping Regulus’ head back violently. His vision goes white, the pain so intense that it steals the air from his lungs. The force of the blow rattles his skull, and his body jerks backward, but he’s still bound, his wrists screaming in pain as they hold him in place.

Regulus’ mouth fills with the taste of blood—his lips have split open from the impact, and his teeth are aching. His body feels like it’s falling apart, his bones groaning under the relentless barrage of pain. The world tilts, and for a moment, he wonders if this is it—if this is the moment when he’ll finally break, when his body will give up on him and let them finish the job. But no matter how badly he’s hurt, no matter how much his vision flickers between black and white, there’s one thing he knows with certainty:

He will not scream.

He won’t give them the satisfaction of hearing him break.

His head lolls to the side, a dull ache pulsating through his skull. His throat is raw, his body battered and bruised. Every inch of him hurts, but the pain is starting to blur together, like one overwhelming sensation that drowns out everything else. He tries to focus, tries to push through the haze of agony clouding his mind. He’s still aware, still conscious of the two sadistic faces hovering over him, savoring the power they hold over him.

Avery steps forward again, and this time, his eyes are gleaming with an almost manic intensity. “You’re so damn stubborn, Black,” he sneers, as if the sight of Regulus’ defiance is more infuriating than anything else.

Regulus doesn’t respond. He can’t. His throat is too dry, his body too beaten down to offer any more resistance. But he feels the anger. It simmers beneath the surface, building in his chest, ready to explode. They want to see him broken, want to see him bend to their will, but he won’t give them that satisfaction. He’ll go through hell, but he won’t give in.

As the seconds drag on, the pain becomes unbearable, and Regulus feels the edges of consciousness slipping away. His body is losing the fight, his limbs weak, his vision fading in and out of focus. The sounds around him are muffled now, as if he’s underwater, and the world feels distant, unreachable. The only thing that keeps him tethered to reality is the rage in his chest, the anger that refuses to be extinguished, no matter how hard they try to break him.

And as everything starts to go dark, as the pit of his stomach twists with the creeping sensation of unconsciousness, Regulus makes a promise to himself.

He will not scream.

He will not give them the satisfaction of seeing him falter.

Even if they beat him until there’s nothing left, he will not let them break him.

***

Regulus’ vision is swimming, each passing second more disorienting than the last. His body is a war zone of pain, every inch of him aching as though it’s been shattered. His limbs are heavy, his muscles screaming in protest, but it’s his mind that feels like it’s slipping away from him. The darkness is slowly creeping in, wrapping around him, pulling him under like a tide.

The world around him is a blur, fragmented flashes of sound and color. The last thing he remembers is Carrow’s fist connecting with his jaw, the sickening crack of his teeth rattling in his skull. The pain is unbearable, his body no longer able to keep up with the onslaught. His breath comes in shallow gasps, his lungs struggling to pull in air.

But then, before unconsciousness can claim him completely, something changes.

Regulus blinks, trying to focus through the haze of blood and dizziness, and that’s when he sees it—a shadow moving fast, furious, unstoppable.

It’s a blur at first, just a dark streak in the corner of his vision, but it’s unmistakable. The figure moves with a speed that doesn’t belong to the world they’re in, like a force of nature, a storm on the horizon that can’t be stopped.

Regulus’ heart stutters in his chest. His mind is barely hanging on, but he knows that presence. He knows that feeling.

The sound of thunderous footsteps reverberates through the Pit—each heavy, ground-shaking step bringing the figure closer. Regulus' head lolls to the side, and through the haze of pain and blood, he sees it more clearly now. It’s James.

James Potter.

Regulus' heart flutters in his chest at the sight of him, and for the briefest moment, hope flickers to life in his chest. He’s not alone. James is here.

Regulus can’t make sense of anything else—his brain is too clouded, his body too broken to fully understand what’s happening—but the sight of James, moving toward him with all the fury and speed of a storm, fills him with something he hasn’t felt in what feels like forever: hope.

James’ face is twisted with rage, his eyes alight with fire, and Regulus can hear it in his voice. That voice—loud, furious, and filled with an unmistakable urgency.

“Regulus!” James roars, his voice breaking through the haze like a sharp, clear bell. There’s no mistaking the intensity in it. It’s the sound of someone who won’t let anyone take their friend away, who won’t let them fall without a fight.

“Reg, stay with me!” James shouts, his words ragged, raw with anger. He’s coming for him. James is coming for him.

But the words are muffled, the world slipping further and further away, the darkness closing in.

Regulus’ body is heavy, his muscles exhausted, and the noise around him is muffled as if the world is collapsing inward. His limbs are trembling, useless. The pain is so overwhelming that it almost makes him wish he could fade away, let it all go.

But James… James is here.

James’ footsteps grow louder, and before Regulus can process anything more, before he can even hope to reach out, the darkness swallows him whole.

The last thing he feels is the surge of warmth in his chest, the knowledge that James is there, furious and determined, fighting for him.

And then, the world fades into oblivion.

Chapter Text

Regulus slowly regains consciousness, his body protesting each new wave of awareness. Pain is the first thing he registers—every muscle, every joint, every inch of his skin seems to be on fire. His head throbs relentlessly, each heartbeat a drumbeat of agony in his skull. He blinks his eyes open, but it’s slow, a gradual process, the brightness of the world too much for him to handle.

It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust, but when they do, he immediately realizes something is wrong.

He’s not in his bunk.

His surroundings are unfamiliar. A warm, soft bed beneath him, a light cover that he can feel brushing against his skin, but it’s not his. He can’t remember how he got here, but that’s the least of his concerns. His body feels stiff and broken, a mangled mess of aches, bruises, and raw skin. He groans softly, trying to push himself up, but the effort is met with resistance from his body. He feels the weight of exhaustion, the depth of his injuries. Every move is a battle. His head feels heavy and full of cotton, making him dizzy.

As he lays there, trying to breathe through the pain, he hears the faint sound of water running. The soft hum of movement in the distance. It’s only then that he notices a bathroom nearby, the door slightly ajar.

And standing in front of the mirror, his back turned, is a man—shirtless, his shoulders broad, his frame impossibly familiar.

James.

Regulus’ heart stutters. There’s a strange, heavy feeling in his chest—something that’s hard to explain. He’s never been this close to James in such a vulnerable state before. And it’s unnerving. He’s already so exposed, so raw. To be in a room like this—James’ room—feels like a line has been crossed.

James doesn’t turn around immediately, but Regulus watches him in silence, trying to steady himself. His body aches so much that it feels like even breathing takes too much energy. He wants to speak, to ask questions, but his throat is dry, cracked, parched. He opens his mouth, but all that comes out is a soft, strained noise, barely audible.

The sound of his voice, weak and broken, catches James’ attention.

James spins around instantly, his eyes locking onto Regulus with a kind of intensity that makes Regulus’ heart skip. His face morphs from concentration to concern in the span of a second. Without hesitation, he crosses the room in just a few quick strides, kneeling at Regulus’ side in an instant. His eyes are filled with concern, his brows furrowed.

“How do you feel?” James asks softly, his voice gentle but laced with worry. His hands hover over Regulus’ body but don’t quite touch him, as if uncertain of how to proceed.

Regulus tries to form words, but it’s impossible. He gestures weakly to his throat, his dry lips parted in a silent plea.

James immediately understands, rising to fetch a glass of water from the nearby table. He returns quickly, lifting the glass to Regulus’ lips. Regulus sips carefully, trying not to wince at the sensation of the cool liquid sliding down his dry throat. His eyes flicker to James’ bare chest for just a second, feeling an uncomfortable heat rise in his cheeks. He can’t stop the way his mind reacts, the awareness of James being this close to him in such an intimate way. He quickly looks away, trying to focus on anything else.

James doesn’t seem to notice—or maybe he’s pretending not to. He takes the empty glass when Regulus finishes, his hands smooth and sure, but as he does, Regulus notices something. James’ knuckles are torn, bloody, and bruised, like he’s been in a brutal fight.

Regulus’ heart clenches with a sudden, sharp pang. His eyes dart from James’ hands to his face, unable to ignore the question that bubbles up.

“What happened?” he croaks, his voice still hoarse.

James shrugs casually, but there’s a flicker of something darker in his eyes, a quiet sadness masked by nonchalance. “Carrow and Avery won’t be bothering you again.”

Regulus freezes. The words don’t register immediately. The implication does, though. James fought them. Fought Avery and Carrow—two of the most dangerous and sadistic initiates. Regulus can hardly believe it. His mind races, trying to make sense of it.

“Did… did you fight them?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, stunned.

James nods, his expression hardening for just a moment. “Yeah.” The simplicity of his answer sends a shiver down Regulus’ spine. James had taken on both of them—two against one—and come out on top. But what does that mean for Regulus? What does it mean for their friendship?

Regulus doesn’t know what to say. He’s shocked—and, to his surprise, a little bit… impressed. And if he’s honest with himself, it’s more than a little attractive. But he doesn’t have time to process this. Not right now.

Instead, he just looks at James, who’s kneeling beside him, concern still written on his face.

***

Now that Regulus is more aware of his surroundings, he takes in the room with a careful glance. The walls are decorated with pictures—some old, some new. There are familiar faces, friends, family members—people he doesn’t know but can still place. There’s a bookshelf in the corner, a few scattered items that belong to James—books, clothes, and various mementos that reflect the kind of life James leads.

It’s only then that it hits him.

This is James’ room.

Regulus feels his cheeks heat up instantly. His stomach flips in a way he’s not sure he wants to understand. His eyes widen as he takes in the room more carefully, the realization sinking in. He’s in James Potter’s room. James’ bed. He should be embarrassed. He should feel exposed.

“What’s wrong?” James asks, breaking Regulus from his thoughts. His voice is gentle, concerned.

Regulus hesitates, then asks, his voice barely more than a whisper, “Why am I in your bed?”

The question hangs in the air between them, and Regulus feels the weight of it. It’s uncomfortable, to be in James’ space like this. It feels far too intimate. And yet, here he is, unable to escape it.

James doesn’t hesitate in his answer, his expression softening as he explains. “I didn’t want the other initiates to see you like this. If they found out what happened, they’d know you were attacked.” His voice lowers at the last part, and Regulus notices the quiet sincerity in it.

Regulus is touched, grateful for James’ kindness, but at the same time, the realization makes him feel exposed. Being in James’ bed, in this room, in this vulnerable state—it’s more than uncomfortable. It stirs something in him that he doesn’t want to examine too closely.

***

Regulus had barely registered the sound of James’ footsteps as he moved away from the bed to tend to the glass of water, but now, as he finally glanced back at him, James seemed to deflate. He looked utterly exhausted, his shoulders slumping, his face drawn in fatigue. The effort of everything—saving him, making sure Regulus was taken care of, the worry of all that had happened—had worn him thin. James had always been a whirlwind of energy, but now, for the first time, Regulus could see the toll it had all taken.

James let out a long, deep sigh as he stood there for a moment, staring down at the floor, his chest rising and falling with the weight of his breath. He rubbed a hand through his messy hair, looking almost defeated. Then, as though suddenly realizing he couldn’t stand any longer, he turned to Regulus.

“Do you mind if I sit?” James asked, his voice a little softer than before. The exhaustion was obvious in his tone, the quiet sadness he couldn’t fully hide. “I just… need a minute.”

Regulus’ throat felt dry, his mouth still tasting faintly of the water he’d just drunk. He blinked and took in James’ question, trying to make sense of it in his hazy state. His eyes flicked from James’ tired face to the bed, which was already large enough for the both of them, the soft blankets still settling where James had stood.

Regulus didn’t need to think about it long. "It’s your bed," he muttered, the words barely leaving his lips before he realized how odd that sounded, like he was justifying something. It was James' space, after all, and now it was his comfort.

James didn’t say anything to that, his gaze soft as he climbed onto the bed, shifting carefully next to Regulus. The mattress dipped under his weight, and he let out a heavy, exhausted sigh. His head dropped slightly as he leaned back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling for a long moment, as though he were trying to will himself back to life. His face was more relaxed now, but it also looked older—too young to carry the weight he did, but still, the stress had caught up to him.

Regulus remained silent, his heart still racing from everything that had happened. He didn’t know what he was supposed to feel right now—gratitude, relief, guilt? Everything inside him was too jumbled. He felt a strange vulnerability as he lay there, his body aching and exhausted, his chest still tight with pain. But what struck him most was the presence of James beside him. The reality of it, more than anything else. They were here, together, in this bed, and Regulus wasn’t sure how to navigate it.

James finally turned his head to look at Regulus, and the concern was immediate in his eyes. There was something deep in the way James studied him, as if he were searching for something—some sign of safety, of reassurance. Regulus, not wanting to meet that gaze for too long, looked away and focused on the warmth of the blankets around him. But he couldn't avoid it for long.

James' voice was softer when he spoke, the words almost a whisper. “Your eye,” he said sadly, his gaze dropping down to Regulus' bruised face.

Regulus blinked in surprise, not expecting the comment, and for the first time since he’d woken up, he fully realized just how badly Carrow had hurt him. He raised his hand instinctively to his face, touching the swelling that was already forming beneath his eye, his fingertips brushing against the tender, sore skin. His pulse quickened as he noticed how the bruise was beginning to bloom into an ugly purple-black color, and he couldn’t help but wince at the sensation.

James' expression only darkened as he watched him. The sadness was palpable in the way he looked at Regulus, his eyes filled with an emotion that went beyond concern. It was something quieter, deeper—regret, perhaps. As though James couldn’t quite fathom the fact that someone had hurt Regulus this badly.

Regulus didn’t pull away from James, even though he was surprised by the tenderness in James’ gaze. Instead, he let himself feel the weight of that sadness, the raw vulnerability it triggered in him. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Regulus simply stared back at James, his chest tight as the silence stretched between them. What was there to say? That kind of violence—the kind that was inflicted on him by Carrow—was far too intimate for words. And yet, the sadness in James’ face spoke volumes.

But then, in a split second, everything seemed to change. The sadness in James' eyes flickered, his expression shifting into something else, something more primal. It was like the storm clouds had passed, and now there was something else burning in James’ gaze—a deep, aching want that made Regulus’ heart skip a beat.

Regulus froze, unable to process it right away. He almost thought it was something like need—the kind of need that burned with the intensity of something far deeper than simple desire. But the thought was fleeting, something Regulus immediately tried to push away. He didn’t want to think about it. Not here. Not now.

James reached up slowly, his fingers brushing through Regulus’ dark hair. The touch was light, as though he were tentative, unsure of the boundaries between them. But when his hand moved, it wasn’t to push Regulus away—it was to gently tuck one of his black curls behind his ear, brushing it away from his face. And as his hand lingered there, cupping the side of Regulus’ face, Regulus stopped breathing. Every muscle in his body went stiff.

It was as if everything around them had faded, leaving nothing but the touch of James' hand against his skin. The warmth of James' fingers, the way they lingered on his face, the slight tremor in his touch—it was enough to make Regulus’ heart thunder in his chest.

Regulus couldn’t move. His body felt frozen, as if all the reasons he had been telling himself about why he shouldn’t want James Potter—why this was wrong—melted away in an instant. In the back of his mind, there was a voice screaming at him to stop, to pull back, to be smart, to remember that this was dangerous. But right now, that voice felt so distant, so irrelevant.

All that mattered was the way James was looking at him. The way James' eyes were filled with something so hungry, so full of want. There was nothing soft or tender about it now. There was only the desperate intensity of a desire that neither of them could deny.

James leaned in, and before Regulus could do anything, their lips met.

It was like lightning. Like everything clicked into place. The kiss was surprising to both of them, awkward at first, as though they were testing the waters—wondering if this was real. But the moment their lips connected, it felt like the world shifted. Everything else—every thought, every fear, every doubt—faded away. It was just the two of them, lost in this strange, unexpected connection.

The kiss was soft at first, a tentative exploration of this new territory between them. But it didn’t stay that way for long. As James deepened the kiss, his hand moved from Regulus’ face to his back, pulling him closer, and Regulus responded in kind, his hands threading through James’ hair as if they couldn’t get close enough. It was like everything in him had been building up to this moment, this contact, this closeness.

The kiss became something else—more desperate, more needful. Regulus could feel the heat between them, the urgency in the way their mouths moved together, as though they were both starving for something neither had realized they needed. It was hot, messy, everything he had been craving, everything he had been denying himself for so long.

Regulus was dizzy, lost in it, and he didn’t want to stop. He didn’t care if it was wrong. Didn’t care about the consequences. He only cared about the way James was kissing him back with equal fervor, as though he, too, had been waiting for this moment.

Time lost all meaning. They stayed like that, tangled together, their bodies pressed against each other in a way that felt too intimate, too perfect to pull away from. Every inch of their skin felt like it was on fire, and the air between them was thick with heat and the taste of something new, something dangerous.

Finally, Regulus came to his senses. He pulled back, his chest heaving as he gasped for air, trying to collect himself. His mind was a whirlwind, but his body felt electric, alive in a way it never had before.

James stared at him, his eyes wide with surprise, his lips swollen from the kiss, and a mixture of relief and something deeper flickered behind his gaze. He didn’t know what to say, but the silence stretched between them.

Regulus finally managed to speak, his voice a little breathless. “I—fuck—I think I like you.”

James laughed, a breathless, surprised sound. “Yeah. Yeah, I like you too Regulus.”

They didn’t need to say more than that. It was enough—everything was there, unspoken but understood. They were both feeling it. They both knew it now.

But the reality of it all hit them both at once. The implications. The risks. And then, of course, Sirius.

James sighed heavily, the weight of the situation sinking in. “Sirius can never find out,” he said quietly, looking away for just a moment, the seriousness in his voice cutting through the tension.

Regulus chuckled, still a little breathless. “No, he absolutely cannot.”

For now, they let themselves exist in this fragile moment. A moment between two people who, for a brief second, had forgotten the world around them.

Chapter Text

Regulus drifted into consciousness slowly, warmth pressed against his side. For a moment, he forgot where he was. His body ached, his mind was sluggish, and the sensation of another person’s steady breathing was unfamiliar.

Then, he became aware of the arm slung across his waist, the quiet pull of another body curling around his own.

His eyes snapped open.

James.

Regulus tensed instinctively, his first thought being danger, but the reaction died almost immediately when James stirred. The man only shifted in his sleep, his grip on Regulus tightening as if to wordlessly reassure him that there was no need to be afraid.

Regulus should move. He should push James away, put space between them before his heart started getting used to this, but the warmth was... nice.

Too nice.

He had never woken up next to someone like this before—close, tangled in sheets, no urgency to leave. The Black family was not one for displays of affection, and intimacy was often transactional in the world he had grown up in. Yet here he was, with James Potter’s arm draped over him like it belonged there.

James mumbled something, shifting again, burying his face against Regulus' shoulder. His breath was warm against Regulus’ skin.

“You think too loud in the morning,” James muttered, still half-asleep.

Regulus huffed, trying to ignore the way his stomach flipped. “You talk in your sleep. Annoyingly.”

James only hummed in response, clearly too comfortable to bother arguing. Regulus allowed himself just a few more minutes of this—of pretending. Pretending that they were just two people, just them, without the weight of their world pressing down on them.

Eventually, reality set in. With a deep breath, Regulus shifted, forcing James’ arm off of him and sitting up.

James woke up slowly, stretching with a groan, his body shifting lazily under the sheets. Regulus, still sitting on the edge of the bed, watched him out of the corner of his eye, trying not to stare.

It was proving to be a challenge.

James was… annoyingly good-looking. His golden skin was warm from sleep, his curls a complete mess, and when he stretched—Merlin help him—his shirt rode up slightly, revealing the toned muscle of his stomach. Regulus tore his gaze away instantly, scolding himself for even looking.

But James, always perceptive when it came to annoying Regulus, cracked one eye open and smirked.

“You’re staring,” he said, voice still thick with sleep.

Regulus scowled. “I am not.”

James hummed in amusement, sitting up and running a hand through his already-disheveled hair. “Didn’t know you were such a morning person, Black. Thought you preferred brooding in dark corners.”

Regulus huffed, shoving at James’ shoulder. “And I thought you preferred to be quiet in the mornings.”

James laughed, but instead of letting the shove move him away, he grabbed Regulus' wrist and yanked him back toward him. Regulus barely had time to react before he was pressed close—closer than he should be.

His breath hitched.

James’ fingers lingered around his wrist for a moment before trailing up the length of his arm, slow and deliberate. His teasing expression softened slightly, the humor from moments ago giving way to something else. Something… deeper.

Regulus barely had time to think before James’ fingers grazed his cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over the bruise forming beneath his eye.

James’ expression darkened. His jaw clenched. “Your eye.”

Regulus blinked at the raw emotion in his voice.

James was angry. Not at him, but at the fact that he was hurt. Regulus had spent years convincing himself that no one gave a damn about what happened to him, and now here was James Potter, looking at him like the very idea of Regulus being in pain was unbearable.

Regulus swallowed. He wasn’t used to this.

James’ touch was impossibly gentle as his thumb brushed against Regulus’ skin again, his brows furrowed in concern.

Regulus should move. He should say something to break the tension, roll his eyes, do anything to get back to their normal bickering.

But then James reached up and pushed a stray curl out of Regulus’ face, his fingers lingering just a second too long. His hand cupped Regulus’ jaw, thumb ghosting along the sharp line of his cheekbone.

Regulus froze.

The look in James’ eyes had shifted again.

It wasn’t concern anymore.

It was want.

Hunger.

Regulus felt something shatter inside of him, something he had been holding back for so long.

A voice in the back of his mind whispered all the reasons why this was a terrible idea. That wanting James Potter was reckless, dangerous, stupid. That it would only end in disaster.

But then James leaned in.

And Regulus?

Regulus didn’t give a damn.

The kiss started off soft, almost tentative, like neither of them fully believed it was happening.

But then something shifted.

The moment James’ lips pressed fully against his, something inside Regulus snapped. He grabbed James by the collar of his shirt, yanking him closer, deepening the kiss in an instant.

James groaned, low in his throat, and that sound alone sent a sharp jolt of heat through Regulus.

The kiss quickly turned desperate.

James’ hands slid into Regulus’ hair, tugging slightly as he tilted his head to kiss him better. Regulus gasped against his lips, and James took advantage of that, kissing him harder, his hands moving to grip Regulus’ waist, pulling him flush against him.

Regulus felt like he was burning from the inside out.

He had spent so much time trying to convince himself that he didn’t want this—that he didn’t want James.

He had been an idiot.

This. This was what he had been missing. This heat, this pull, this need.

James kissed like he meant it. Like he had been waiting for this just as much as Regulus had. Like he was starving for it.

Regulus responded just as eagerly, his fingers tangling in James’ curls, pulling him even closer. James let out a quiet groan of approval before his hands tightened their grip on Regulus, flipping them so Regulus’ back hit the mattress.

The weight of James pressing down on him made Regulus’ head spin.

They had lost control of this entirely.

And Regulus didn’t care.

James kissed him again, slow and deep, his hands sliding under Regulus’ shirt, fingers tracing the bare skin of his waist. Regulus gasped at the touch, arching slightly against him, and James grinned against his lips.

“Merlin, you’re beautiful,” James murmured, his lips trailing down to Regulus’ jaw, then his throat.

Regulus let out a shaky breath, his fingers tightening in James’ hair, tugging just hard enough to make James growl against his skin.

It was intoxicating.

Too much.

Too good.

And then, suddenly, James stopped.

He pulled back just enough to look at Regulus properly, his breathing ragged. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, lips red and swollen from kissing.

Regulus almost whined at the loss of contact.

But then James let out a breathless laugh. “Shit,” he muttered, running a hand down his face.

Regulus blinked up at him, still dazed. “What?”

James exhaled sharply. “If we don’t stop now, I’m not going to stop at all.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes. He was flushed, breathless, needy, and James was just going to stop?

“Coward,” he bit out.

James let out another laugh—this one more strained. He shook his head, leaning down to press one last lingering kiss against Regulus’ lips, slow and teasing.

Regulus’ heart stuttered.

James pulled back just enough to whisper, “You’re going to be the death of me, Black.”

Then, the bastard grinned before rolling off of him, leaving Regulus lying there, ruined.

Regulus groaned and flopped onto his back, staring at the ceiling, trying to catch his breath.

James was going to drive him insane.

***

The heat between them slowly faded into something softer, quieter. The air still buzzed with tension, but James seemed determined to ease them into a moment of stillness, as if he knew that Regulus needed it.

They lay there in silence, James sprawled out beside Regulus, his body radiating warmth.

Regulus had no idea what to do with himself.

He had never been in a position like this before—not just physically, but emotionally. The way James had kissed him had left him completely undone, but what was worse—far worse—was the way James was looking at him now.

Like he mattered.

Like he wasn’t just another piece in a puzzle, a part of a grander plan.

James shifted, propping himself up on one elbow, studying Regulus’ face. His fingers trailed down the side of Regulus’ cheek, slow, careful.

Regulus held still, breath catching as James’ touch lingered over his bruised skin again.

"You act like no one’s ever been gentle with you before," James murmured, brow furrowing.

Regulus hesitated.

Because, well. No one had.

Not like this.

He had known duty, expectation, obligation. He had known sharp words, cold hands, the weight of disappointment pressing into his shoulders until he thought he might break. But gentleness? That had never been something afforded to him.

His silence must have been enough of an answer, because James’ jaw tensed.

And then—without another word—James leaned down and pressed the softest kiss to Regulus’ forehead.

Regulus inhaled sharply, his eyes fluttering shut for just a second. It was barely anything. A simple, fleeting press of lips against skin. But somehow, it felt more earth-shattering than anything else that had happened between them.

When James pulled back, his voice was quiet but firm. "Guess I’ll just have to make up for lost time, then."

And Regulus had no idea what to do with the way those words made him ache.

***

The moment of quiet between them didn't last. It couldn't last.

Reality was waiting just outside that door, and they both knew it.

James sat up, rubbing a hand over his face. "We need to talk about the simulations."

Regulus exhaled sharply, already feeling the weight of the conversation pressing down on him. He sat up as well, crossing his arms over his chest. "I know."

James turned to face him fully, expression serious. "Reg, you need to be careful. The simulations don't just test fear—they test instinct. If you react in a way that doesn’t make sense for a normal person, they'll know."

Regulus nodded, already calculating, already thinking ahead. "I can fake it."

"Can you?" James challenged, eyes sharp. "Because when you realize a simulation isn’t real, your instinct will be to act accordingly. You can’t do that. You have to go along with it. You have to panic, to react like any other initiate would."

Regulus clenched his jaw. He hated this. He hated feeling vulnerable, hated knowing that if he slipped up even once, everything could come crashing down around him.

James must have sensed his frustration, because he reached out, tangling their fingers together.

"You’re not alone in this," James said, voice steady.

Regulus searched his face. "If they find out—"

"They won’t," James interrupted firmly. "Because you’re going to be ready."

Regulus didn’t argue. Instead, he let James lead him through potential scenarios, forcing himself to think the way a normal person would.

A fire. A drowning scenario. A collapsing building.

Panic. Struggle. Desperation.

It felt wrong to pretend, but Regulus knew it was necessary.

And the whole time, James was right there beside him, steady and sure, refusing to let him fall.

***

After what felt like hours of running through simulations, Regulus finally collapsed onto his back, exhaustion pulling at him.

James rolled over onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow as he looked down at him.

"You’re going to be fine," James said simply.

Regulus scoffed, but James didn’t look away. He was serious.

"You’re brilliant, Reg. You’ll get through this."

Regulus wasn’t used to people believing in him. Not like this. Not in a way that felt genuine.

He swallowed hard, his gaze flickering to James’ face.

He didn’t know how to respond to that.

So instead, he shifted closer. Just enough that their foreheads almost touched.

James, reckless as ever, closed the gap entirely.

The kiss was barely anything—just the softest press of lips against the corner of Regulus’ mouth. Not rushed. Not desperate. Just a quiet promise.

And for the first time in a long time, Regulus let himself believe in something other than fear.

***

Night fell, and with it came the heavy weight of the inevitable.

Tomorrow, Regulus would face the simulations again. He would walk into that room and pretend to be something he wasn’t. He would lie, over and over again, because the truth would get him killed.

The anxiety sat heavy in his chest.

James noticed.

He always noticed.

Without a word, he pulled Regulus toward him, their bodies fitting together in a way that felt entirely too natural.

Regulus let himself fall into the warmth of James’ arms, let himself be kissed in a way that made everything else fade into the background.

It was slow. Deep. Lingering.

Not just desire. Not just want.

A promise.

A vow.

James pulled back just enough to whisper against his lips, "No matter what happens in there, I’ve got you."

Regulus exhaled, resting his forehead against James’.

For once, he wanted to believe him.

So he did.

Chapter Text

Regulus stood at the edge of the simulation chamber, heart pounding harder than he would ever admit. The air in the room was thick with the weight of anticipation, a tension that coiled around each initiate like a vice. This was the moment that would determine everything.

If he failed now, all of his work—all the pain, the sacrifices, the choices he made—would be for nothing.

He rolled his shoulders back, straightening his spine, forcing himself to exude confidence even as uncertainty gnawed at him from the inside. His friends stood nearby, their faces tense with their own apprehensions, but when he glanced at them, he saw quick nods of encouragement.

Barty smirked, trying to act casual, but the slight bounce in his stance betrayed his nervous energy. Evan, ever composed, gave him a slight nod. Marlene, arms crossed over her chest, whispered, “You got this, Reg.”

He gave them the smallest of nods in return before forcing himself to look away.

Across the room, James was there, too. Standing near the other Dauntless members, his arms folded, brows slightly furrowed. Watching.

Their eyes met.

James didn’t smile, didn’t give anything away, but Regulus could read the silent message there: You’re going to be fine.

Regulus exhaled and turned away before he could think too hard about it.

The Dauntless leader, Minerva McGonagall, stepped forward. She was a commanding presence, her sharp gaze scanning over the initiates like she could see straight into their souls.

“Congratulations on making it this far,” she said, her voice clear and steady. “You have all proven your strength, but this final test will determine whether you truly belong here.”

The room was silent. No one dared move.

McGonagall’s gaze swept across them before she continued. “The simulation you are about to face will bring forth your deepest fears. Unlike the previous trials, there is no set structure—your mind will dictate what you see. How you respond will determine your place in Dauntless.”

Regulus swallowed hard. He knew exactly what that meant.

“The test is not just about facing fear,” she added, her gaze settling on them with something almost like warning. “It is about how you react to it.”

The meaning was clear. If he reacted wrong—too fast, too controlled, too unafraid—they would know.

Regulus clenched his fists, forcing himself to stay calm. He could do this. He had to.

McGonagall gestured toward the chamber.

“Black. You’re up first.”

Regulus nodded once, stepping forward. He could feel the weight of dozens of eyes on him, but he didn’t falter.

James was still watching.

He took a deep breath and stepped inside.

***

The world around him shifted, twisting into something dark and unrecognizable. The cold seeped into his bones before he even understood what was happening.

Then, suddenly—

Water.

Regulus was underwater, submerged in a vast, icy abyss. His lungs burned instantly, his body flailing instinctively. The weight of the water crushed against him, his vision darkening at the edges.

He knew this wasn’t real. But he also knew that wasn’t the point.

So he forced himself to act.

He thrashed, kicking toward what should have been the surface, even though he knew there was no way out. He clawed at the water, his body writhing in simulated panic.

His chest ached. His lungs screamed for air.

Then—just as quickly as it started—

Darkness.

The water was gone.

And something worse took its place.

Corpses.

Corpses, rotting and reanimated, clawing their way toward him. Their skeletal fingers reached out, grasping for his skin.

He knew it wasn’t real. Knew this was just another test.

But that didn’t make the sensation of cold, dead fingers wrapping around his wrist any less horrifying.

Regulus gritted his teeth and pretended to struggle. He wrenched his arm free, shoved one of the creatures back, allowed himself to stumble as if terrified. His heart pounded, adrenaline rushing through his veins, but not because of fear—because he had to make this believable.

Then, as if the simulation was reading his mind—

The world shifted again.

He was no longer in the darkness. No longer surrounded by the dead.

He was home.

Grimmauld Place.

His blood ran cold.

The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the familiar, suffocating halls. He turned—and there he was.

Sirius.

Standing in front of him, arms crossed, expression hard.

But it wasn’t anger that made Regulus freeze. It was something worse.

Disappointment.

“You’re a coward,” Sirius said, voice sharp as a blade.

Regulus’ stomach twisted.

“This isn’t real,” he whispered to himself.

But Sirius kept staring at him like he was nothing. Like he had already been written off.

Regulus forced himself to react. He let his hands shake, his breath hitch. He didn’t have to fake the pain in his chest.

Then—

The world shifted again.

And this time—

Regulus’ stomach dropped.

Because now, standing in front of him, was James.

But this wasn’t a fear born of terror or danger.

No.

James was looking at him—like that.

And then, slowly, James reached for the hem of his shirt.

Regulus felt every nerve in his body ignite with sheer panic.

FUCK.

This was bad. This was so bad.

If anyone was watching this—if anyone saw—

James was smirking now, that infuriating cocky expression, and Regulus could feel heat rising up his neck in embarrassment.

Nope. Nope.

He needed out.

Immediately.

His brain screamed at him to shut it down, to regain control, but he couldn’t let them see that, either.

Instead, he forced himself to react like it was any other fear—shoving James back, turning away, gritting his teeth like it was something awful instead of—

Instead of what it actually was.

The simulation broke.

Regulus gasped as he was thrown back into reality.

***

Silence.

Regulus stumbled slightly, heart still racing. He looked around—saw the wide-eyed expressions of some of the initiates.

They were staring at him.

Something was wrong.

He looked toward McGonagall, who raised an eyebrow at him. Then, slowly, she turned her gaze to the time monitor.

Regulus followed her eyes.

His stomach dropped.

Fastest time.

Shit.

That wasn’t normal. That wasn’t safe.

A murmur rippled through the room. Some of the initiates looked impressed—others looked suspicious.

Regulus forced himself to breathe evenly. He had to keep his face neutral.

Had he just ruined everything?

***

He scanned the crowd until his gaze locked onto the only person he trusted right now.

James.

For a moment, James’ expression was unreadable. Regulus felt his stomach twist.

Then—just barely—James gave him a small nod.

Reassuring. Steady.

Regulus inhaled deeply. Okay. Maybe he hadn’t completely fucked this up.

***

The final rankings were announced.

Regulus. Barty. Evan. Marlene. They had made it.

The room erupted in cheers. Marlene grabbed him into a tight hug. Barty cheered loudly. Even Evan grinned.

Regulus should have been celebrating, too. But he could still feel the weight of too many eyes on him.

Then he looked up.

And saw Sirius.

His brother stood near James, Remus, and Peter. Watching him.

And for the first time in years—

Sirius looked proud.

Regulus swallowed hard, heart twisting in ways he didn’t know how to deal with.

Then he looked at James.

James, who was watching him with something softer. Something just as proud.

Their eyes met.

And for a brief, fleeting moment—

Regulus felt like he belonged.

He was Dauntless.

Chapter Text

The Dauntless compound was alive with energy. The initiates who had made it through training were celebrating with reckless abandon, drinking, shouting, and embracing one another as if they had just survived a war. In a way, they had.

Regulus found himself in the middle of it all, seated between Barty and Marlene while Evan leaned against the table beside them, sipping a drink with an uncharacteristic smirk. Barty, already tipsy, threw an arm around Regulus' shoulders, shaking him.

“We made it, Reg! We actually fucking made it!”

Regulus huffed, amused despite himself. Barty had been confident from the start, but now, with the weight of initiation off his shoulders, his usual sharpness had softened into something warmer.

Marlene clinked her glass against Evan’s with a victorious grin. “Top fifteen, baby. That means we’re officially Dauntless.”

Evan rolled his eyes. “I never doubted myself for a second.”

Barty snorted. “Sure, mate, tell that to the wall you almost knocked yourself out on during the obstacle course last week.”

Evan scoffed but didn’t deny it, and the group erupted into laughter.

Regulus allowed himself to relax for the first time in what felt like forever. He wasn’t just relieved—he was proud. He had done what no one thought he could do. He had survived. And James had been right—he had been ready.

James.

Regulus' eyes drifted across the room, searching for him. He spotted James a few tables away, laughing with Sirius, Remus, and Peter. For a moment, he hesitated. He and James still hadn’t talked since the simulation. Since the moment Regulus had been forced to confront a fear he hadn’t even admitted to himself.

James caught his eye from across the room and grinned. It was so easy for him—so natural. Regulus exhaled, smiling back.

He wasn’t ready to tell anyone about this… thing between him and James. But hopefully soon he would be able to confide in his friends.

Just not yet.

***

Regulus sat on the edge of the Pit, his legs dangling over the side as he gazed into the flickering flames below. The warmth of the fire, though comforting, could not shake the weight in his chest. He had made it. He had survived the trials of Dauntless initiation, and now, in a way, he was finally free. But the feeling wasn’t as sweet as he thought it would be. Instead, it felt like the beginning of something more complicated.

He had spent the evening celebrating with his friends—Barty, Evan, and Marlene. They had all made it into Dauntless, joining the top 15 initiates, and the laughter and joy had filled the air like a welcome storm. It was a victory, but it didn’t feel complete. There was still a part of him that longed for something he couldn’t quite place.

Regulus ran a hand through his hair and sighed. Despite the camaraderie of his friends, the victory didn’t ease the ache inside of him. His mind was still tangled in the aftermath of the simulation, the rush of fear and adrenaline still lingering in his veins. There had been so many moments where he had thought of Sirius—his brother, the one who had left.

He couldn’t shake the image of Sirius from his mind, standing there with his family, deciding to leave, to escape the house that had ruined them both. The pain of that decision still cut deep, and Regulus didn’t know how to make sense of it. He still didn’t know if he could ever forgive him.

The sound of footsteps behind him broke his thoughts, and instinctively, Regulus turned his head, half-expecting to see James. It had been a long day, and he had told James to meet him here. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say, but he needed the comfort, the presence of someone who understood him, even if just a little.

But as he glanced over his shoulder, he was startled to see someone else approaching.

Sirius.

Regulus’ heart skipped in his chest, and for a split second, he thought about leaving. He didn’t want to face him—not now, not like this.

But then he saw the look on Sirius’ face. The expression was unreadable at first, but there was something in his eyes that stopped Regulus from moving. Regulus didn’t understand it, but something about it made him stay.

Sirius stopped a few feet away, his posture stiff. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The silence hung thick between them, but it wasn’t hostile—at least, it didn’t feel that way. It felt… fragile.

Finally, Sirius took a deep breath and took a step closer.

"Regulus," he began quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please, just let me talk."

Regulus' stomach tightened. He wanted to pull away, to avoid whatever Sirius was about to say, but something in the way his brother’s voice cracked held him in place. He didn’t know if he could face this. Didn’t know if he could hear the words he was certain were coming.

But when Sirius met his eyes, all the anger, all the frustration, and all the unresolved bitterness that had been building inside him over the years seemed to fade—just a little. He felt a twinge of something softer, something that hadn’t been there before. Maybe it was the years of silence between them, maybe it was the exhaustion from the day, but Regulus found himself nodding.

“Fine,” he muttered, barely above a breath. “Talk.”

Sirius swallowed hard, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. The firelight danced in the air around them, flickering shadows on their faces, but it was clear that whatever was coming next, it wasn’t going to be easy for either of them.

“I don’t even know where to begin,” Sirius said, his voice shaking. “When we were younger... all I wanted was for us to get out. To get away from them—away from our parents. To have something better.”

Regulus clenched his fists, the anger flaring up for just a moment, but he didn’t interrupt. Sirius continued.

“When it came time for my choosing ceremony, there was no question in my mind. I knew I was leaving. I wanted to go. I wanted to escape, and I thought that if I told you... If I told you I was going, that you would know... But I couldn’t risk it.”

Regulus’ breath hitched as he watched Sirius’ face twist with guilt. He hated that look—that look that Sirius had given him when he left. The look of someone who had already made up their mind and didn’t think they’d need to explain it.

“I thought I was helping you,” Sirius continued, his voice now thick with emotion. “I thought if I just left quietly—if I didn’t tell you about my choosing ceremony—maybe, just maybe, they wouldn’t hurt you. They wouldn’t know that you knew about me. I was trying to protect you, Regulus. But I fucked it all up.”

Sirius’ voice cracked then, and Regulus felt his chest tighten. It wasn’t the anger he had anticipated. It wasn’t the cold, dismissive Sirius he remembered from all those years ago. This was someone who was broken, someone who had carried the weight of his decisions for far too long.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius whispered. “I never wanted you to feel abandoned. I never wanted you to feel like I didn’t care. When I saw you come into Dauntless on your first day... I was so happy, Reg. But then I realized something. You hated me. You hated me for leaving.”

Regulus froze, the words sinking in. His throat closed up, the lump in his chest growing heavier.

“I don’t hate you,” he managed to rasp, his voice breaking on the last word. The confession hit him like a freight train. He hadn’t even realized how much he had been holding onto that resentment until it was finally out in the open.

Sirius’ face crumpled. Tears filled his eyes, and without warning, he took a step forward, his hand reaching for Regulus. “I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking proud of you for making it through Dauntless. I wanted to be the one to help you. I wanted to be the one who was there for you when things got hard. But I wasn’t. And that’s on me. I should’ve been there.”

Regulus could no longer hold it in. The dam broke, and tears spilled down his face. His hands clenched the sides of his trousers as he tried to stop the sobs from coming, but they came anyway. He tried to wipe his face quickly, but the tears kept coming, hot and fast.

Sirius was crying too. The sight of his brother, his hero, so vulnerable in front of him, made Regulus’ heart ache with a pain he hadn’t known was still there.

“Sirius,” Regulus whispered, barely able to breathe through the sobs. “I… I don’t know if I can forgive you. I don’t know if I can ever forgive myself.”

Sirius’ face fell, the last bit of hope leaving his eyes. He looked like he was about to say something else when Regulus reached out. The words died on his lips as Regulus looked up at him, tears streaming down his face.

Regulus choked on a sob. “But… I do forgive you. I do. I love you, Sirius. I never stopped loving you. And I never hated you. I just… I was so angry. I didn’t know how to let it go.”

Sirius closed the space between them, pulling Regulus into his arms as the two of them clung to each other, their cries echoing into the night. Time seemed to stand still as they held each other, both of them unraveling in the warmth of the hug.

For the first time in years, Regulus felt like he could finally breathe.

***

JAMES’ POV

James sat on his bed, staring at the wall, a broad grin stretched across his face. He was still buzzing with relief and excitement—Regulus had made it through training. It wasn’t just about passing the tests. It was about proving to everyone—and to himself—that he was more than capable of surviving Dauntless.

As the realization settled in, James let out a breath of laughter. The tension that had been eating at him for weeks seemed to melt away. There had been so many moments of doubt, especially when it came to Regulus. Everyone had suspected him of being Divergent, but in the end, nobody had figured it out. James hadn’t truly feared that Regulus would fail, but now that the truth was in the open—Regulus had made it—James felt a weight lift off his shoulders.

But then, his thoughts drifted back to the simulation.

James couldn’t help but chuckle at the memory of Regulus’ face when he had appeared on the big screen. He could still picture Regulus’ eyes widening in surprise and—was it panic? James hadn’t been sure if it was embarrassment or just sheer discomfort, but the look on his face had been priceless.

His heart had stopped. The way Regulus had looked at him, his body frozen for just a second as if he couldn’t quite figure out how to react—James had found it so absurdly funny, even though he probably shouldn’t have.

He briefly wondered if Remus had noticed. Remus noticed everything, after all. But when it came to Regulus, James figured he might have let the moment slide. After all, it wasn’t exactly a normal thing for Regulus to have a "fear" that involved James looking at him in a way that could only be described as… intense.

A thought crossed his mind: Did Sirius notice?

James laughed to himself, shaking his head. He was pretty sure Sirius hadn’t picked up on it. Or if he did, he hadn’t made a big deal out of it. The last thing James needed was for Sirius to confront him about that—about whatever had been happening between him and Regulus.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, James snapped out of his thoughts. It was 11:00 p.m.

He had promised Regulus he would meet him by the Pit.

Shooting up from his bed, he grabbed his jacket, ruffling his hair, and headed out of his room. The sounds of the continuing celebration buzzed through the walls, but James was more focused on finding Regulus. They hadn’t really spoken since the simulations, and despite everything—despite the awkwardness he felt with their ever-shifting relationship—he was eager to check in.

He made his way through the winding corridors of the Dauntless compound, the cool air outside brushing against his skin as he approached the Pit. The fire from earlier was still burning low, casting faint shadows on the stone walls.

But as he neared the edge of the pit, his footsteps slowed.

Two figures sat by the edge of the firelight.

It wasn’t Regulus, not exactly, but the two people in front of him caused his heart to skip a beat.

Sirius and Regulus.

For a moment, panic crept into James’ chest. What was going on here? Were they arguing? Was this going to turn into something ugly? He paused behind a pillar, hidden from their view, trying to get a read on the situation.

But then, as he watched quietly, his worry slowly began to dissipate.

Sirius had his head tilted down, his shoulders shaking slightly. Regulus was the same. They weren’t fighting. They weren’t at each other’s throats.

They were… crying.

James blinked in shock, his heart pounding as he tried to process what he was seeing. Regulus, always so composed, was openly crying in front of his brother. Sirius, usually so carefree, had tears running down his face as he clutched Regulus tightly, their bodies close. They were hugging.

The scene in front of him was almost surreal.

It was then that the full weight of the moment hit James. They’d made up. After everything. After all the years of tension, the distance, the misunderstandings—they had finally found their way back to each other.

The relief that washed over James was palpable. He had wanted this. He had hoped for this moment, but he hadn’t dared to believe it would happen. And now it was, right in front of him.

Regulus had forgiven Sirius. Sirius had apologized. And James didn’t need to be a mind reader to know that they were both in a place where healing had finally begun.

For a long time, James just stood there, watching them from the shadows, giving them space to be vulnerable together. He didn’t want to interrupt, didn’t want to ruin this quiet moment of reconciliation.

His thoughts drifted to the way Regulus had reacted during the simulation—how he had been so out of his element, and how they had both skirted around everything they were feeling. But now, watching them, seeing the raw emotion in their faces, James realized something else: this wasn’t just about surviving Dauntless for either of them. This was about confronting their fears, their past, and everything that had kept them apart.

James couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips. It was a small, quiet smile, one full of relief and hope. His best friend, and whatever Regulus and he were becoming, were both in a better place now.

He turned to leave, his heart light as he made his way back toward the compound, giving them the time they needed. The weight of the night felt different now. For the first time in a long time, things were shifting in the right direction. And James was happier than he could remember being in a while.

Chapter Text

Regulus stared at the note in his hands for what felt like the hundredth time. The ink was smudged slightly, as if it had been hastily written, but the message was clear.

Reg—Come by the training room tonight. Open invitation. No pressure.

—Sirius

It was such a simple thing, yet it made Regulus feel like the floor had been ripped out from under him. His relationship with Sirius was still rocky. The night by the Pit had changed something between them, but it hadn't magically erased years of resentment and hurt. He didn’t know how to navigate this new, fragile thing between them, and walking into a room full of Sirius’ closest friends felt… overwhelming.

And then there was James.

Regulus let out a breath, running a hand through his hair. James. His biggest complication. His greatest distraction.

The two of them had been skirting around something for weeks now, and it was getting harder to ignore. Regulus had lost count of how many times James had looked at him like he wanted to devour him, only to pull back at the last second. How many times Regulus had wanted to drag him into the darkness, kiss him breathless, and not worry about consequences. But they both knew they had to be careful. They couldn’t let anyone find out.

A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. Marlene popped her head in, arching an eyebrow at him.

"You look like you're contemplating murder. Or having a breakdown. Either way, I approve," she said, smirking.

Regulus rolled his eyes, holding up the note. "Sirius invited me to hang out with the Marauders."

Marlene’s smirk widened. “And?”

“And I don’t know if I should go,” he admitted.

Marlene sighed, walking into the room fully. "Reg, I know this is weird for you. But you want to go, don’t you?"

Regulus hesitated. He hated that she could see right through him.

"I don’t know," he muttered. "Things with Sirius are still… unsteady. And James—"

Marlene gave him a knowing look. "Oh, this is definitely about James."

Regulus scowled, and she laughed. "Go," she said, nudging him. "It's an open invitation. That means if it sucks, you can just leave. But, knowing you, you’ll sit here all night thinking about it if you don’t go, so just do it."

Regulus exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Fine."

Marlene grinned victoriously. "That’s the spirit. Now go be a normal person for once and have fun."

***

Regulus hesitated outside the training room, listening to the sounds coming from inside. The occasional grunt of exertion, the dull thud of bodies hitting the mat, and the laughter that followed. He wasn’t sure why he felt so nervous. He had faced life-or-death situations in Dauntless training, endured pain beyond comprehension, and navigated the treacherous waters of pretending to be something he wasn’t.

And yet, standing here, about to spend time with his brother and his friends, he felt a different kind of apprehension.

You’re being ridiculous, he told himself.

Still, he hesitated for a few more seconds before finally pushing open the door.

The sight that greeted him was… well, unexpected.

Sirius and Remus were on the sparring mat, both shirtless, locked in a match of pure physical intensity. Remus, taller and broader, had Sirius in what looked like an unbreakable hold, but Sirius twisted out of it with his usual reckless agility. He ducked under Remus’ arm and aimed a sharp jab at his ribs.

Remus grunted, but he recovered quickly, grabbing Sirius by the waist and flipping him over. Sirius landed hard on the mat, letting out a strangled noise.

Regulus blinked.

James and Peter were standing off to the side, watching the match like it was the most entertaining thing they had seen all day. James glanced over at Regulus as he entered, a grin spreading across his face.

"You made it," James said, nudging him lightly.

Regulus rolled his eyes. "Obviously."

James chuckled. He was standing close, almost too close, and Regulus could feel the heat of his body. He didn’t move away.

Their attention snapped back to the mat when Sirius let out another grunt of pain.

Remus had him pinned, one knee pressing into Sirius’ chest.

Peter cheered from the sidelines. "Remus wins!"

Sirius groaned dramatically. "Not fair. You’re a giant."

"You’re just short," Remus shot back, smirking.

But just as Remus began to climb off, Sirius struck. He grabbed Remus' legs and yanked, knocking him off balance.

Remus fell onto his back with a surprised grunt, and suddenly Sirius was on top of him, straddling his waist and pinning his wrists to the mat.

Regulus raised an eyebrow.

Remus’ eyes went wide, his breath hitching slightly. Regulus was pretty sure that Remus could have thrown Sirius off if he really wanted to, but he didn’t seem to be in a hurry to do so.

Sirius leaned down and whispered something in Remus’ ear. Whatever he said made Remus' face go bright red.

Regulus looked at James and Peter to see if they had noticed.

They hadn't.

Idiots.

Sirius was being painfully obvious, and yet neither James nor Peter seemed to realize what was happening right in front of them.

Regulus cleared his throat loudly.

Sirius glanced up, spotting Regulus for the first time. His face immediately lit up. "Reggie!"

Before Regulus could react, Sirius lunged at him.

Regulus let out a startled grunt as his older brother pulled him into an enthusiastic—if slightly awkward—hug.

Regulus stiffened for a second before reluctantly returning the gesture.

When Sirius pulled away, he grinned. "Drink?"

Regulus raised an eyebrow.

Sirius jerked his head toward his bag, where a stash of bottles was half-hidden beneath a pile of clothes.

"Fine," Regulus said.

James, Sirius, and Peter wandered over to grab the drinks, leaving Remus standing beside Regulus as he pulled his shirt back on.

Regulus tilted his head. "Did you, uh, enjoy the sparring match?"

Remus froze, his fingers pausing mid-button. "What?"

Regulus smirked. "Looked like you were really enjoying yourself there for a moment."

Remus' eyes widened. "I—"

Regulus raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening.

"Relax," Regulus said finally. "I won’t say anything."

Remus exhaled in relief, shaking his head. "Sirius is insufferable."

"Yeah," Regulus agreed. "But you like it."

Remus turned even redder but said nothing.

Regulus let out a quiet chuckle.

Sirius returned moments later, pressing a cold bottle into Regulus’ hand. "Come on, sit with us."

Regulus hesitated, but then he followed them to where they had all sprawled out on the training mats.

***

Regulus sat back against the training mat, listening as the Marauders swapped stories, their voices overlapping in an easy rhythm. He found himself caught somewhere between amusement and quiet fascination, watching how effortlessly they fit together.

He had known of their little group, of course. James and Sirius were the loudest, most obnoxious of the group. Peter, who Regulus had always assumed was just their sidekick, was surprisingly sharp-witted. He told stories with exaggerated hand gestures and a dramatic flair that made them all laugh. Sirius, of course, was boisterous and unapologetically himself, taking over every conversation with ridiculous tales.

And Remus…

Regulus found himself watching Remus the most.

The way he laughed—more reserved than the others, but no less genuine. The way he would add the occasional quip, dry and cutting, that made Sirius throw his head back in laughter. The way he observed, always aware of his surroundings.

But more than anything, he noticed the scars.

When Regulus had first walked in, Remus had been shirtless, sparring with Sirius. It had been impossible not to notice them—the deep, jagged scars running across his torso and back.

He had seen scars before.

He had his own.

But nothing like Remus’.

And the way Sirius had looked at them—not with pity, but with something else. Something protective.

Regulus had spent years hiding his own pain. Learning how to carry it, how to conceal it so that no one would ever use it against him.

But Remus wore his pain.

Didn’t hide it. Didn’t apologize for it.

It made something twist inside Regulus’ chest.

"You look like you have something to say," Remus said suddenly, raising an eyebrow at him.

Regulus blinked, snapping out of his thoughts. "What?"

"You keep staring."

Regulus smirked slightly, tilting his bottle toward him. "I was just thinking about how you seemed very comfortable under my brother earlier."

Remus choked on his drink.

James, Peter, and Sirius didn’t seem to notice, still laughing at something Sirius had just said, but Remus coughed violently, shooting Regulus a look.

"You little shit," he muttered under his breath, cheeks darkening.

Regulus grinned. "Don’t worry, I already told you. Your secret is safe with me."

Remus looked at him warily. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Regulus only took a slow sip of his drink, smirking.

Before Remus could respond, Sirius suddenly slung an arm around Regulus’ shoulders. "You know what we haven’t told Reggie yet?" he said, grinning.

Regulus stiffened at the contact, but Sirius either didn’t notice or ignored it.

"What?" Peter asked.

Sirius smirked. "How we got these." He held up his arm, displaying the Marauders tattoo.

James groaned. "Oh no."

Regulus raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess. It was Sirius’ idea?"

"Hey!" Sirius huffed. "You say that like it’s a bad thing."

"It was a bad thing," Remus muttered, rubbing his temples.

Peter snickered. "To be fair, we were very drunk."

Regulus shook his head. "That tracks."

James grinned. "We had just made it through initiation. Sirius decided we needed to ‘solidify our bond’ with matching tattoos."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "That’s not exactly how I put it."

"You said we needed to ‘mark ourselves forever like the dumbasses we are,’" Remus said flatly.

Sirius grinned. "Yeah. That sounds like me."

Regulus chuckled, shaking his head. He glanced at the tattoo again, something unreadable flickering through him.

He had never belonged to anything before.

Never had something like this.

The closest thing he had was Barty, Evan, and Marlene. But even that felt different.

This… this was something else.

"So," Sirius said, nudging him. "When are you getting one?"

Regulus snorted. "Never."

Sirius gasped dramatically. "You wound me!"

Regulus rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched slightly.

He still didn’t know what to do with Sirius.

Didn’t know what to do with this… new version of him. The one who was trying, who was looking at Regulus with something that almost resembled longing.

A longing for a connection that had been severed years ago.

Regulus wasn’t sure if it could ever be repaired.

But… he was here.

Sitting with them.

Laughing with them.

And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel alone.

James, who had been watching him quietly, suddenly clapped a hand on his knee. "Alright, enough serious talk. Time for another round of drinks."

Peter cheered. Sirius whooped.

Regulus exhaled, allowing himself to sink just a little deeper into the moment.

He wasn’t sure what the future held.

Wasn’t sure if he could really belong here.

But for tonight, he let himself pretend.

***

Regulus wasn’t sure if he was drunk drunk, but he was definitely feeling loose.

His limbs were warm, his head pleasantly light, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like he was walking on a knife’s edge, constantly waiting for something to go wrong.

Sirius had been the loudest of the group—no surprise there—clinking his bottle against everyone else’s and declaring himself the “Champion of Dauntless Drinking.” Peter had curled up on the mat at some point, mumbling something about needing “just five minutes” before passing out completely. Remus had laughed at him before taking another slow sip of his drink, seemingly unbothered by the chaos around him.

And James…

James had been watching him.

Regulus had felt his gaze more than he had seen it, burning into him even as James continued to joke and laugh with Sirius. Every time Regulus looked over, James wasn’t looking anymore, as if he had just turned his head in time.

It made something coil low in Regulus’ stomach.

And he liked it.

He wasn’t sure when he and James had fallen into this thing—this unspoken thing—but it was dangerous.

And Regulus had always had a bad habit of being drawn to dangerous things.

When the night finally wound down, Regulus pushed himself up, stretching with a sigh.

“I think I’m heading back,” he said.

Sirius, sprawled out on his back, gave a lazy wave. “Later, Reggie.”

Regulus rolled his eyes but didn’t bother correcting the nickname.

Remus gave him a nod, still nursing the same bottle he’d been working on for the last hour.

Peter was snoring.

James, however, pushed himself up too, brushing his hands off on his pants. “I’ll walk you back.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes slightly. “I think I can manage.”

James smirked. “Oh, I know you can, but I’m supposed to be checking on the initiates anyway. So, might as well keep you company.”

Regulus snorted but didn’t argue.

The two of them left the training room, the noise of the Marauders fading behind them as they stepped into the dimly lit corridors of Dauntless headquarters.

Regulus walked a little slower than usual, the warmth of the alcohol still settling in his bones. James, naturally, took it as an opportunity to start talking.

“You had fun tonight,” James said.

Regulus raised an eyebrow. “You sound surprised.”

“I am surprised,” James admitted, grinning. “I was half-expecting you to come in, stare at all of us like we were idiots, and leave after five minutes.”

Regulus smirked. “I do think you’re all idiots.”

“But you stayed.”

Regulus didn’t answer right away. Instead, he glanced at James, his expression unreadable.

James only watched him, waiting.

Finally, Regulus exhaled. “Yeah. I stayed.”

James’ grin softened into something warmer.

Regulus hated the way it made his chest tighten.

They walked in comfortable silence for a while, their footsteps echoing against the stone walls. The halls were mostly empty, save for the occasional flickering light or the distant sound of voices deeper within the compound.

James, naturally, couldn’t stay quiet for long.

“So, was that your first time drinking with friends?” he asked casually.

Regulus shot him a look. “I have friends.”

“Yeah, yeah,” James waved him off. “Barty, Evan, and Marlene, I know. But do you ever just… hang out with them like this?”

Regulus hesitated.

Sure, he spent time with them. But it was different.

Barty and Evan were more like… allies. People he could trust to watch his back.

And Marlene was—well, Marlene. The closest thing he had to a real friend.

But it was different.

Regulus didn’t answer, and James must have picked up on it because he only smiled knowingly.

Then, suddenly—

“Reggie.”

Regulus groaned.

“Don’t call me that.”

James laughed. “Sirius does.”

“Sirius is Sirius.”

James smirked, stepping in a little closer. “Oh, come on. You like it.”

Regulus scoffed. “Do not.”

James leaned in slightly, voice dropping lower. “I think you do.”

Regulus’ breath caught.

For a second, it was like the air changed, charged with something electric.

James was close. Too close.

And Regulus didn’t move away.

Instead, he tilted his head, smirking. “If you’re going to flirt with me, Potter, you should at least try a little harder.”

James blinked, startled for only half a second before he grinned. “Oh?”

Regulus hummed. “Mm. Very lazy attempt.”

James’ eyes flickered down to his lips.

Then—

He surged forward, pinning Regulus against the wall.

Regulus inhaled sharply, but it wasn’t from shock.

James’ hands pressed into the wall on either side of him, his body warm and solid and right there.

Regulus looked up at him through his lashes, letting his smirk turn sharp. “Well. That’s more like it.”

James let out a soft chuckle, but there was heat behind it. “You really do like pushing me, don’t you?”

Regulus tilted his head. “What gave me away?”

James exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “You are insufferable.”

Regulus grinned. “And yet, you’re the one who—”

Footsteps.

Both of them froze.

Low voices echoed down the hall, getting closer.

James reacted first, grabbing Regulus by the wrist and yanking him into a darkened alcove.

Regulus’ back hit the wall again, but this time, James pressed up against him, shielding them both from view.

Regulus barely had time to process it before the voices passed by.

Mulciber and Rodolphus.

Regulus stiffened, and he felt James tense too.

“I’m telling you,” Rodolphus muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, “it’s almost ready.”

Mulciber hummed. “And Riddle is sure it will work?”

Rodolphus scoffed. “Of course he’s sure. He’s the smartest bastard Erudite’s ever produced.”

Mulciber made a noise of disdain. “As long as the serum actually works. We can have them breaking out of the mind-control because of faulty research.

The continued down the hall saying, “Don’t worry. Everything is going according to plan.”

Their voices faded as they walked further down the corridor.

Regulus and James remained silent, barely breathing.

Then, slowly, James pulled back just enough to look at him.

Regulus exhaled, glancing in the direction the two men had gone.

James’ brows furrowed. “A mind-control serum?”

Regulus nodded grimly. “It sounds like it.”

James swallowed. “That’s bad.”

Regulus scoffed, rolling his eyes. “No shit.”

They exchanged a look, a silent understanding passing between them. Panic settled itself low in Regulus’ gut.

Whatever was happening—whatever Erudite was planning—

It was only the beginning.

And they were right in the middle of it.

Chapter Text

Regulus woke up feeling lighter than he had in a long time. He stretched lazily, allowing himself a rare moment of comfort as he let his head sink deeper into the pillow. His body was still warm from sleep, his mind lingering in the dream he had just woken from—a dream that featured James Potter entirely too much for his peace of mind.

James’ hands. James’ voice. The way James had looked at him like he was something worth worshiping.

And the way they had almost kissed.

Regulus groaned, rolling onto his stomach and burying his face into the pillow. His heart still beat a little faster from the ghost of it—of James’ lips hovering close, of the heat radiating between them, of that inevitable moment where their mouths would have met.

And then, cruelly, he had woken up.

He exhaled sharply, irritated with himself. This was getting ridiculous. He was not going to let some dream ruin his morning.

Still, he found himself throwing on a shirt, slipping into his boots, and heading towards James’ room before he could talk himself out of it. Maybe he just wanted to see him. Maybe he wanted to tease him. Or maybe—just maybe—if something did happen between them, well… Regulus wouldn’t exactly be opposed to it.

***

He reached James’ door and knocked.

There was a moment of silence before the door swung open, revealing—

Regulus’ breath caught.

James stood in the doorway, hair damp, water still dripping down his bare chest. A towel hung dangerously low around his waist, his toned muscles on full display like something out of a damn fantasy.

Regulus’ brain stalled.

James smirked, leaning casually against the doorway. "Like what you see, love?"

Regulus snapped out of it immediately, eyes flicking back up to meet James’. He had definitely just been caught staring. Damn it.

He scowled, huffing as he pushed past James and into the room. “Put some clothes on before you embarrass yourself, Potter.”

James laughed behind him, closing the door. “You’re the one who showed up unannounced, Reggie.”

Regulus threw himself onto James’ bed, feigning nonchalance. “Maybe I just wanted to see if you’d be awake.”

James walked over, sitting beside him. “Oh, I was awake. Fresh out of the shower, actually. But you already noticed that, didn’t you?”

Regulus didn’t respond. He refused to take the bait.

James, of course, was undeterred.

“You know,” James mused, flopping onto his back beside Regulus, “if you wanted to see me this badly, you could’ve just asked.”

Regulus rolled onto his side, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize I had to schedule an appointment for your attention, Golden Boy.”

James grinned, looking up at the ceiling. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Regulus scoffed, but his face was warm. James’ teasing had always gotten under his skin—he was too good at it, always toeing that razor-sharp line between playful and infuriating.

Unfortunately, James must have noticed the look on his face, because his smirk only widened. He turned his head toward Regulus, eyes darkening slightly. “You’re staring again.”

Regulus refused to let himself get flustered. He shifted onto his elbows, leaning in slightly. “And what if I am?”

James blinked, clearly not expecting that response. But then his expression shifted, something more dangerous flickering in his gaze. “Then I’d say you should do something about it.”

James’ smirk was lazy, teasing, and utterly infuriating.

Regulus wasn’t about to let him have the upper hand, though. He never did.

He tilted his head slightly, allowing his smirk to mirror James’. “I was planning on it.”

He moved before he could think better of it, shifting smoothly and straddling James’ lap in one motion.

James inhaled sharply, his hands instinctively coming to rest on Regulus’ waist, fingers warm and firm against the thin fabric of his shirt. For a moment, he just looked up at Regulus, his brown eyes darkening, lips parting slightly as if he were about to say something.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he let his hands slide lower, gripping onto Regulus’ hips like he needed to hold onto something. His breath was warm against Regulus’ throat, his chest rising and falling steadily beneath him.

Regulus smirked. “Something wrong, Potter?”

James let out a breathy laugh, his fingers tightening ever so slightly. “Merlin, you’re going to be the death of me.”

Regulus leaned in, their noses brushing, their lips so close that James’ breath mixed with his own. “Then maybe you should stop looking at me like that.”

James arched an eyebrow. “Like what?”

Regulus hummed, tilting his head as if he were thinking about it. “Like you want to kiss me.”

James’ lips curled into a slow, knowing grin. “Maybe I do.”

Regulus’ stomach twisted at that, but he refused to let it show. Instead, he shifted slightly, rolling his hips just enough to make James’ grip on him falter for half a second.

James’ reaction was instant. His breath hitched, and his fingers dug into Regulus’ waist, pulling him just a fraction closer.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, love,” James murmured, his voice lower now, rougher.

Regulus smirked. “I always win.”

James’ eyes flickered with something dark and hungry, and then he moved—fast.

Before Regulus could react, James had flipped them over, pinning Regulus against the bed.

Regulus barely had a second to process it before James’ lips were on his.

The kiss started slow, teasing, like James wanted to test how long he could drag it out before one of them lost control.

But then Regulus bit at his lower lip, just enough to draw a groan from James’ throat, and everything snapped.

James kissed him harder, hungrier, his hands moving from Regulus’ waist to the hem of his shirt, fingers ghosting over bare skin.

Regulus arched into him, gripping onto James’ shoulders, pulling him impossibly closer.

James smiled against his lips, breathless. “Impatient, are we?”

Regulus narrowed his eyes. “Shut up and kiss me.”

James didn’t need to be told twice.

His mouth was hot and insistent, hands roaming, touch burning wherever it landed.

Regulus let himself get lost in it, in James’ weight pressing into him, in the steady rhythm of their breaths mingling.

James’ fingers brushed against Regulus’ ribs, sending shivers up his spine. His lips trailed lower, ghosting along Regulus’ jaw, then down to his throat.

Regulus’ breath hitched when James’ teeth grazed his skin.

James grinned against his neck. “You like that?”

Regulus rolled his eyes, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the way his fingers curled into James’ hair. “You talk too much.”

James hummed, pressing another slow, open-mouthed kiss to his throat. “And yet, you’re still here.”

Regulus opened his mouth to retort, but James’ hands were suddenly at the waistband of his pants, and whatever he was about to say turned into a sharp inhale.

James chuckled. “That’s what I thought.”

Regulus was just about to flip them again—to take control, to turn the teasing back onto James—when—

Knock knock knock.

They both froze.

James groaned against Regulus’ mouth, forehead dropping onto his shoulder. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Regulus, despite himself, laughed breathlessly. “Ignore it.”

Another knock.

Then—

“Oi, Potter! Open the damn door before I break it down! I know you are in there!”

Regulus’ stomach dropped. Sirius.

James shot up so fast that he nearly fell off the bed. “Shit—shit, shit, shit—” He scrambled to rewrap his towel, which had become very loose.

Regulus barely had time to react before James was frantically pointing toward the bed. “Hide.”

Regulus’ eyes widened. “Are you joking?”

“I wish I was. Go!”

With no better options, Regulus cursed under his breath and slid under the bed just as James yanked the door open.

Sirius grinned, completely oblivious. “What the hell took you so long?” He pushed past James, walking straight into the room.

James forced a laugh, running a hand through his still-wet curls. “I was—uh—showering?”

Sirius narrowed his eyes at him but didn’t question it. Instead, he sighed dramatically before flopping onto the bed.

Directly above Regulus.

Oh, you have got to be joking.

***

Regulus stayed completely still, barely daring to breathe. James, meanwhile, stood awkwardly beside the bed, looking way too guilty.

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “What’s up with you?”

James coughed. “Nothing. Just, uh… thinking about going to get dressed.”

Sirius waved a hand lazily. “Yeah, yeah. Do whatever. I’ve got nowhere to be.”

Regulus internally panicked.

James sent him an apologetic look before disappearing into the bathroom.

Which left Regulus trapped under the bed. With Sirius.

Regulus gritted his teeth. This is fine. This is completely fine. He just had to wait for Sirius to leave. Any minute now.

A long minute passed.

Then another.

Then—

Regulus felt his nose itch.

No.

Absolutely not.

It itched.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Do not sneeze. Do not sneeze. Do. Not.

Sirius shifted above him. The bed creaked.

Regulus exhaled very slowly through his nose. He could feel dust collecting around him, sticking to his hair, his shirt—

This is how I die.

James finally reappeared, fully dressed, clearly praying for Sirius to leave. “Hey, so, uh, don’t you have somewhere to be?”

Sirius stretched. “Nope.”

James visibly clenched his jaw. “Cool. Love that for you.”

Regulus swore he saw James suffer in real time.

Sirius, absolutely oblivious to what he just interrupted, spent the next half hour telling James about some encounter he had with some man named Frank. It was a completely pointless story that ended with Sirius laughing about some prank he had pulled on the poor man.

Regulus was in absolute hell. He could see Jame’s legs resting on the floor in front of him, and it took everything in him not to pinch the shit out of him for letting Sirius stay this long.

It was a full hour before Sirius finally stretched, sat up, and yawned. “Well. I guess I should go.”

Regulus nearly wept with relief.

Sirius clapped James on the back as he walked toward the door. “You’re acting weird, by the way. What's gotten into you this morning?”

James forced a laugh, his face turning an alarming shade of red. “Me? Weird? No way.”

Sirius just snorted, shaking his head as he finally, finally left the room.

The door closed.

There was silence.

Then—

Regulus rolled out from under the bed, covered in dust, scowling murderously at James.

James, of course, just grinned. “So… same time tomorrow?”

Regulus picked up a pillow and threw it at his head.

***

Regulus had never thought he’d reach a point in his life where he willingly agreed to spend time with Sirius. Yet, there he was, making his way down the halls of the training center, heading toward the sparring room where Sirius had told him to meet.

It was an odd feeling—this tentative truce between them. It was shaky, uncertain, but it was real.

When he stepped inside, Sirius was already waiting, rolling his shoulders back as he stretched. He caught sight of Regulus and grinned.

“Morning, Reggie,” Sirius greeted. Then, completely oblivious, he added, “What were you up to this morning?”

Regulus froze for half a second before composing himself. His mind flashed to being under James’ bed, praying to Merlin that Sirius wouldn’t realize he was there.

“Oh, you know,” Regulus said smoothly, tossing his bag onto a nearby bench. “Just hanging around.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow, still oblivious. “Oh, sounds fun.”

Regulus only hummed in response, stretching out his arms. “Are we sparring or just standing here gossiping?”

Sirius let out a loud bark of laughter. “Alright, alright. Let’s do this.”

Unlike their previous fights—ones filled with pent-up resentment, rage, and years of unspoken words—this one felt different. It wasn’t about proving dominance or trying to hurt the other. It was fluid, a real test of skill.

Sirius didn’t hold back, but he didn’t fight with reckless abandon either. It was the first time they were on even footing, meeting each other as equals.

Regulus could tell Sirius was proud, in his own stupid way. Every time Regulus dodged an attack or managed to land a well-placed hit, Sirius would flash him a grin, nodding approvingly.

When Sirius finally swept Regulus’ legs out from under him, sending him crashing onto the mat, he only grinned down at him. “Not bad, little brother.”

Regulus groaned, shoving Sirius off of him as he got up. “Don’t push it.”

They sat side by side afterward, leaning against the padded wall, catching their breath.

Sirius took a long drink from his water bottle before exhaling. Then, out of nowhere, he blurted, “I’m really glad you’re here, you know.”

Regulus stilled, fingers tightening slightly around his own bottle.

Sirius wasn’t looking at him—he was staring straight ahead, like he wasn’t entirely sure if he should have said it.

Regulus hesitated. The words weren’t easy. The wounds between them weren’t completely healed. But…

“…Yeah,” Regulus murmured. “Me too.”

Sirius turned to him, eyes flickering with something unreadable, before he broke into a grin.

“Well,” he said suddenly, jumping to his feet. “We should do something about it.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes. “…Do what?”

Sirius grinned even wider. “Something permanent.”

Regulus frowned. “I swear, if you suggest a blood pact—”

Sirius barked a laugh. “What? No, I was thinking something less horrifying.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Let’s get a tattoo.”

Regulus blinked. “Excuse me?”

“A tattoo,” Sirius repeated. “Something to represent us—our survival. The fact that we made it.”

Regulus scoffed. “That’s ridiculous.”

“And yet,” Sirius said, smirking, “you haven’t said no.”

Regulus rolled his eyes, but he felt himself smirking despite it.

Maybe… maybe a tattoo wasn’t such a bad idea.

***

After the training session with Sirius and the morning he had with James, Regulus realized how hungry he was. He made his way to the dining hall.
Regulus had approached the hall expecting nothing more than a normal meal. He should have known better.

The moment he stepped inside, he spotted Barty, Evan, and Marlene huddled together at a table near the back, surrounded by a ridiculous amount of food and, for some reason, what looked like a small, hastily constructed barrier of trays.

That was his first red flag.

His second? The unmistakable smirk on Barty’s face when he caught sight of him.

“Regulus!” Barty called dramatically, throwing his arms wide as if Regulus had just returned from war. “Perfect timing.”

Regulus eyed him warily as he took a seat. “Perfect timing for what, exactly?”

Before anyone could answer, a chunk of bread came soaring through the air, hitting Evan squarely in the chest.

Evan, who had been leaning so dramatically against the table like a wounded poet, slowly turned his head toward Barty.

“You,” he said, voice dripping with betrayal.

Barty smirked, entirely unrepentant. “Oh, my apologies, dear Rosier. I thought you looked a little hungry.”

Regulus raised an eyebrow. “What the hell is going on?”

“Prank war,” Marlene supplied helpfully, casually stealing a piece of toast from Evan’s untouched plate. “It’s been escalating for the past thirty minutes. I’d say we’re at DEFCON 2.”

Evan, still clutching his chest like he’d been mortally wounded, scoffed. “I did nothing to deserve this.”

“You did everything,” Barty shot back immediately.

“Oh?” Evan arched a sharp brow. “Like what?”

“Like breathing in my general direction, Rosier!” Barty snapped, flicking a single grape at him.

Regulus, watching the entire thing unfold, was not blind to the fact that despite all of Barty’s dramatics, he was clearly having the time of his life.

And so was Evan.

The corner of Evan’s mouth twitched up in the beginnings of a smirk, though he rolled his eyes. “Keep dreaming, Crouch.”

Barty placed a hand to his chest, looking scandalized. “You wish I dreamed about you.”

“I think we all know you do,” Marlene muttered, not even bothering to hide her smirk as she chewed on her stolen toast.

Regulus snorted, entirely done with all of them.

It was then that Barty suddenly snapped his fingers, turning to Regulus with an expression that immediately put him on edge.

“You know what would be really fun?” Barty said, eyes practically glowing with mischief.

“No,” Regulus said automatically.

Barty ignored him. “A little game—a challenge, if you will.”

Regulus crossed his arms. “I’m not interested.”

Barty grinned. “You don’t even know what it is yet.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes but sighed. “…Fine. What is it?”

Barty’s grin widened. He leaned in dramatically, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“I dare you to steal something off of a Dauntless leader’s plate.”

Regulus immediately leaned back. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on,” Barty whined. “It’s just a little theft.”

“Yeah,” Marlene chimed in, smirking as she rested her chin in her palm. “What, scared?”

Regulus turned to glare at her, but she just raised an eyebrow, looking far too smug.

Evan, who had been watching the whole thing with barely concealed amusement, smirked.
“Honestly, I don’t think he can do it.”

Regulus’ eyes flicked between them, jaw clenching.

He could see what they were doing.

And he hated that it was working.

Regulus sighed, already regretting his life choices. “Fine.”

Barty clapped his hands together. “Yes! My reign of chaos expands.”

Regulus shot him a look before discreetly scanning the cafeteria. His eyes landed on the Dauntless leaders' table, where several high-ranking members sat, deep in conversation.

One of them—a particularly burly, grumpy-looking man—had a plate in front of him with an untouched apple sitting right on the edge.

Perfect.

Regulus took a slow breath before smoothly getting to his feet, walking past the leaders’ table as if he had no ulterior motive whatsoever.

He timed it perfectly—when one of the leaders gestured animatedly with their hands, causing everyone’s attention to momentarily shift, Regulus casually reached out, plucked the apple from the plate, and kept walking.

He made it all the way back to his table, placed the apple down in the middle, and sat like nothing happened.

For a second, there was silence.

Then—

Marlene burst into laughter.

Barty looked personally offended, as if Regulus had somehow stolen his title as the Most Chaotic One.

And Evan? Evan was staring at Regulus like he had just earned his respect for life.

Barty was the first to snap out of it. He threw his arms around Regulus dramatically.

“My son,” he gasped, clutching his chest. “You have proven yourself worthy of the chaos.”

Regulus shoved him off with a roll of his eyes, but—

He didn’t stop himself from smiling.

***

The small, dimly lit tattoo shop was nestled into a forgotten corner of Dauntless, a place only known by those who had spent years navigating its labyrinth of corridors and alleys.

Sirius led the way, his steps sure and confident as he walked through the winding paths, past old storage rooms and flickering lights, until they arrived at a metal door covered in years' worth of graffiti and knife etchings. The word INKED was barely visible through the layers of carved names, tally marks, and other nonsense scrawled by bored initiates over time.

Sirius turned to look at Regulus. “You sure about this?”

Regulus met his gaze, steady and unwavering. “Are you?”

A smirk tugged at Sirius’ lips. “Oh, I’ve been sure since the moment I thought of it.” He knocked on the door twice before shoving it open.

Inside, the walls were covered in Dauntless symbols, intricate designs, and faded sketches. The scent of ink and antiseptic filled the air. A heavily tattooed woman sat behind a counter, her boots propped up on it as she flipped through an old book.

She looked up when they entered, one brow raising. “Sirius Black. Haven’t seen you in a while.”

Sirius grinned. “Miss me, Emmeline?”

Emmeline snorted. “Like I’d miss an idiot who nearly passed out last time.”

Regulus smirked. “You passed out?”

Sirius scowled. “I did not pass out.”

Emmeline smirked. “Right. You just gracefully collapsed.”

Regulus chuckled, but Sirius waved them both off and pulled Regulus toward a corner where a large sketchpad lay open. “Come on, we have a design to pick.”

Sirius grabbed a pencil and started sketching almost immediately.

“I was thinking—" he began, glancing at Regulus before putting pencil to paper, “—we do something us. Something that means something.”

Regulus sat beside him, arms crossed. “And what exactly means something to you?”

Sirius shot him an unimpressed look. “Don’t be difficult, Reggie.”

Regulus smirked but stayed quiet as Sirius quickly traced out an idea.

A constellation. Two, actually. Leo and Canis Major.

Regulus blinked at the paper.

Sirius hesitated, watching him carefully. “It’s… us. You’re Leo, obviously. And I’m Canis Major. The lion and the big dog.” He let out a small breath, suddenly uncertain. “It—it felt right.”

Regulus stared at the sketch, tracing the thin pencil lines with his eyes.

Leo. The lion. Strength. Determination. Power.

Canis Major. The loyal companion. The star that always shone bright, no matter how dark the night was.

His and Sirius’ constellations.

Regulus swallowed. “Yeah.” He nodded once, firm. “It does.”

Sirius beamed. “Then let’s get inked.”

***

Sirius, being Sirius, insisted on going first.

“I need to show you how it’s done,” he said, stretching out his arm. “Try not to cry when it’s your turn, yeah?”

Regulus rolled his eyes but didn’t argue as Valerie prepped the tattoo gun.

The buzzing filled the air as the needle met Sirius’ skin.

To his credit, Sirius did not collapse this time, but he did let out a particularly dramatic groan, gripping the armrest.

“Merlin’s bloody balls, that stings.”

Regulus smirked. “Didn’t pass out, though.”
“Yet,” Emmeline added dryly, not pausing in her work.

Sirius shot her an annoyed look but held still as the black ink slowly took shape, forming the constellation across his forearm.

Through gritted teeth, he said, “If you laugh when it’s your turn, I’m punching you.”

Regulus hummed. “No promises.”

It took about an hour for Valerie to finish. When she wiped down the fresh ink and held up the mirror, Sirius grinned like a kid at Christmas.

“Damn. That looks good.” He turned to Regulus. “Your turn.”

Regulus rolled up his sleeve, watching as Valerie prepped the needle again.

Sirius leaned against the chair, arms crossed. “Bet you cry.”

Regulus arched a brow. “Bet I don’t.”

The moment the needle touched his skin, pain bloomed along his arm—but he didn’t flinch. Didn’t even react.

Sirius’ smirk faltered.

Fifteen minutes passed. Then thirty. Still nothing.

At some point, Sirius scowled. “Okay, this is actually pissing me off.”

Regulus, still expressionless, simply blinked at him. “What is?”

“You!” Sirius gestured wildly. “You’re not even flinching. Where’s the suffering? The pain? The drama?

Regulus fought the urge to smirk. “Unlike you, I have self-control.”

Emmeline chuckled. “Gotta say, he’s handling it better than you did, Black.”

Sirius groaned, dropping his head back dramatically. “This is an outrage.”

Regulus finally let a small, satisfied smile slip.

***

When both tattoos were done, Sirius and Regulus stepped outside the shop, the cool night air a stark contrast to the warmth of the tattooing chair.

They walked in silence for a moment, their arms still stinging, the ink raw and fresh.

Finally, Sirius nudged Regulus, tilting his head toward the matching designs on their skin. “Now we’re really brothers.”

Regulus stared down at the ink. The permanence of it.

Despite everything—the fights, the betrayals, the years of anger and silence between them—they had both chosen to mark themselves with something that would never fade.

Something that meant forever.

Regulus swallowed past the lump in his throat.

“Yeah,” he murmured, voice quieter than usual. “We are.”

Sirius studied him for a long moment. Then, softer this time, he said, “I’m proud of you, you know.”

Regulus didn’t look at him, didn’t trust himself to, but he nodded.

It wasn’t perfect.

But it was a start.

Chapter Text

The Dauntless compound was buzzing with energy, but there was something off about it. Regulus could feel it in his bones. He stood in the middle of the crowd, surrounded by initiates, soldiers, and seasoned members of Dauntless, all gathering in the Pit for a meeting that no one had seen coming.

The last time there had been an emergency gathering like this, Dauntless had announced their new alliance with Erudite—a decision that had already put Regulus on edge. And now, another meeting? It wasn’t a good sign.

Regulus shot a glance to his right, where James Potter stood among the sea of Dauntless black. The flicker of unease in James’ hazel eyes mirrored Regulus’ own. It wasn’t often that James looked nervous, but right now, his jaw was clenched, and his fingers were twitching like he was ready for a fight.

Whatever was about to happen, it wasn’t good.

From the raised platform at the front of the Pit, Minerva McGonagall stood tall, her sharp gaze sweeping over the assembled Dauntless. She was a commanding presence—one of the few leaders that Regulus actually respected. But even she looked tense.

And Regulus barely noticed her.

Because standing beside her was Mulciber.

The moment Regulus saw him, his stomach twisted violently.

Mulciber wasn’t Dauntless. He was Erudite.

And if Erudite was here, nothing good was about to be said.

A hush fell over the crowd as Mulciber stepped forward, a smirk playing on his lips. He clasped his hands behind his back, looking like he was enjoying whatever power he thought he had over the Dauntless soldiers before him.

“As many of you know,” Mulciber began, his voice ringing out smoothly, “Dauntless has been working closely with Erudite to strengthen our forces.”

Regulus fought the urge to scoff. That wasn’t what was happening. Erudite wasn’t working to “strengthen” anyone. They were working to control them.

“This partnership has led to many technological advancements,” Mulciber continued, pacing across the platform like a professor giving a lecture. “And today, I am pleased to announce one of our greatest achievements yet.”

Regulus’ stomach sank.

“We have developed a new serum designed to enhance Dauntless soldiers in battle.”

The Pit was silent.

Regulus felt his pulse hammering as he exchanged a wide-eyed look with James.

They both knew what was coming.

Mulciber smiled, taking in the expectant faces in the crowd before continuing, “This serum is revolutionary. It will allow Dauntless leadership to track your vitals while you’re on missions—ensuring that you are at peak performance at all times.”

Lies.

Regulus felt like he’d been punched in the gut.

This wasn’t a tracking serum.

This was mind control.

James’ hands curled into fists at his sides. Regulus could see the barely restrained rage behind his eyes, the way his breathing had turned sharper.

Regulus turned his attention back to the platform, his mind racing.

They couldn’t possibly be doing this. Could they?

Someone in the crowd raised a hand.

A young Dauntless woman—one of the newer initiates. Her voice was hesitant as she asked, “What if we don’t want to take the serum?”

For a moment, there was silence.

Then Mulciber smirked.

“Then you leave Dauntless.”

The Pit fell deathly silent.

Regulus felt the weight of those words hit him like a hammer.

There was no choice.

There was no escape.

The silence stretched on, suffocating. No one moved. No one spoke.

Then, from behind Regulus, someone laughed.

A short, disbelieving laugh.

“You’re joking, right?” A tall Dauntless soldier—one of the more experienced ones—crossed his arms, staring Mulciber down. “You’re actually trying to force a serum on us?”

Mulciber’s smirk didn’t waver. If anything, it grew.

“This serum is not optional,” he said coolly. “It is a requirement of all active Dauntless members.”

The tension in the air was palpable.

Regulus could feel it crackling around him, the silent rage brewing in every single Dauntless soldier.

They were fighters. Warriors. They didn’t take orders from Erudite.

But now, they had no choice.

James shifted beside Regulus, his breathing uneven. “This is bad,” he muttered under his breath.

Regulus didn’t answer. He just swallowed hard, trying to keep his expression neutral.

He had spent his whole life pretending.

Pretending to be something he wasn’t. Pretending to follow orders.

He would do it again now.

He had to.

Mulciber stepped forward again, his smile widening as he looked over the Dauntless.

“You will all receive your injections tonight,” he announced. “Dauntless leadership will oversee the process to ensure full participation.”

Regulus clenched his jaw.

That was it.

It was happening.

His fingers twitched at his sides, but he forced himself to stay still.

James, however, was not staying still.

Regulus felt the way James’ shoulders had tensed, the way his breathing had gone sharp. He was ready to fight.

Regulus stepped closer, barely nudging James’ elbow with his own.

A silent warning.

Don’t do anything reckless.

James barely moved. But Regulus saw the way he exhaled, slowly, before tilting his head just slightly to show that he had gotten the message.

The silence in the Pit was stifling.

No one said a word.

And Mulciber was reveling in it.

“This is a great step forward,” he declared, as if he hadn’t just told an entire faction that they were about to become lab rats. “Dauntless will soon be stronger than ever. United. Efficient.”

Regulus barely heard the rest of the speech.

His heart was pounding too loudly.

The meeting ended as suddenly as it had begun.

Dauntless leadership began directing people into lines, preparing them for the injections.

There was no time to think.

No time to run.

No time to warn anyone.

Regulus caught James’ gaze.

For the first time, James looked scared.

Regulus wanted to say something, anything.

But there was nothing left to say.

Because it was too late.

***

Regulus stood in line, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. The Dauntless around him were silent, their faces unreadable. It was unnatural—Dauntless was never this quiet. Normally, there was at least some resistance, some chaos. But now, they all stood in stiff lines, waiting for their turn like they had no choice.

Because they didn’t.

Regulus' fingers twitched at his sides as he moved forward in line. He wasn’t afraid of needles, but this wasn’t about the needle. This was about what was inside it.

The mind control serum.

He risked a glance at James, who stood a few feet ahead of him. James was tense, his jaw clenched, his shoulders squared, but his face was impassive. No one would suspect anything. But Regulus knew that under the surface, James was raging.

Just like Regulus was.

The front of the line was eerily efficient. Erudite scientists—cold and clinical—stood behind small stations, filling syringes with a clear liquid. Dauntless leadership—people Regulus once thought were supposed to protect their faction—stood by, overseeing the injections, making sure no one resisted.

He swallowed hard.

And then it was his turn.

A woman with sharp blue eyes and an Erudite insignia on her sleeve gestured for him to step forward. Regulus schooled his face into neutrality, sitting down on the stool in front of her. She barely looked at him before rolling up his sleeve and swabbing the inside of his arm with alcohol.

His stomach twisted.

“Stay still,” she murmured, pressing the needle against his skin.

Regulus clenched his jaw. He had to play along.

The needle slid in.

A sharp sting.

And then it was over.

She pressed a piece of gauze against the injection site and murmured, “Next.”

Regulus stood, rolling his sleeve down. His skin burned where the needle had pierced it, but he forced himself to keep walking.

He had to act like nothing had changed.

Had to act like he wasn’t Divergent.

Because if they found out…

He would end up at the bottom of the Dauntless Pit.

Dead.

He took his place back among the others, his mind racing. He had no idea how long it would take for the serum to take effect, but when it did, everyone around him would become a puppet.

And he would have to pretend to be one of them.

For how long? He didn’t know.

But he did know one thing.

He had to survive.

***

Regulus awoke to the sound of movement.

It was subtle at first—the shifting of bodies, the rustling of clothes, the quiet sound of footsteps against the floor. His mind was groggy, and for a moment, he thought he was dreaming.

But then he opened his eyes.

And the dream became a nightmare.

The room was filled with movement—but not normal, Dauntless movement. There was no chatter, no laughing, no shouting. Just silence.

And perfectly synchronized motions.

Everyone around him was getting dressed, their faces completely blank. Their movements were too precise, too mechanical.

Like puppets.

Like they weren’t in control.

Regulus’ breath caught in his throat.

Oh, shit.

He sat up slowly, his heartbeat hammering so hard he thought it might give him away.

They were under the serum’s control.

All of them.

His chest tightened.

He had suspected it would work, but actually seeing it—seeing his friends, his faction, moving like lifeless dolls—made his stomach turn.

And then he saw Evan.

Evan was directly beside him, lacing up his boots with mechanical precision. His face was blank, his usual smirk completely gone.

Regulus panicked.

He wasn’t affected by the serum.

Because he was Divergent.

He was supposed to be moving like them, dressing like them, following orders like them.

If someone noticed he wasn’t…

He was dead.

His breath came short and sharp, but he forced himself to calm down.

Think, Regulus. Think.

If he was going to survive this, he had to blend in.

He reached for his boots, mirroring Evan’s movements. He moved slowly at first, copying the exact way the others were dressing. He kept his face blank, his posture stiff.

Just another soldier under the serum’s control.

He forced himself to stand at the same time as the others.

To turn at the same time.

To move at the same unnatural pace.

He had no idea where they were going, but it didn’t matter.

Because he had no choice but to follow.

***

The Dauntless compound was eerily silent, save for the rhythmic shuffle of boots against the stone floor. The mass of Dauntless soldiers, moving in perfect synchronization, made Regulus’ skin crawl.

They weren’t people anymore.

They were weapons.

Regulus kept his expression neutral, his movements stiff and mechanical. He could feel his pulse hammering beneath his skin, but he forced himself to move exactly like the others.

Just another mindless soldier.

Just another body in the army.

They entered the Pit, and Regulus immediately knew something was wrong.

Dauntless leadership stood on the raised platform, their eyes cold and calculating. Behind them, a handful of Erudite officials—Bellatrix, Rodolphus, Yaxley, Lucius—watched the crowd with sharp eyes.

The true orchestrators of this nightmare.

And then, a man appeared from the hallway.

He looked confused, his brows furrowed as he took in the silent, unnatural gathering before him. His uniform marked him as Dauntless, but he wasn’t moving like the others.

Regulus’ stomach dropped.

He was Divergent.

The man glanced around, clearly alarmed, and opened his mouth as if to speak—

But he never got the chance.

“Divergent,” Rodolphus Lestrange announced, his voice sharp and merciless.

The man's face froze.

Regulus barely had time to process what was happening before the gunshot rang out.

CRACK.

The Dauntless man collapsed instantly, a single bullet between his eyes.

Regulus fought the urge to flinch.

The air was thick with the scent of blood, and yet no one reacted. Not the Dauntless soldiers, not the Erudite officials, not the leadership.

Because they couldn’t.

Regulus swallowed hard, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

This was what would happen to him if they found out.

Mulciber’s voice broke through the silence.

“This is what happens to those who do not comply.”

Regulus forced himself to remain perfectly still.

Not too stiff.

Not too relaxed.

Just empty.

Like them.

Mulciber's eyes swept over the crowd.

And then they landed on him.

Regulus fought the instinct to run.

The Dauntless leader stared him down, looking for any sign of hesitation, any flicker of consciousness beyond the serum’s hold.

Regulus kept his face blank.

His heart hammered against his ribs as Mulciber took a step closer.

And then—

A punch to the stomach.

Hard.

Regulus bit the inside of his cheek, willing himself not to react.

Not to grunt.

Not to flinch.

Mulciber watched him closely, waiting for a slip-up, for a sign that Regulus was not like the others.

Regulus held firm.

A moment stretched between them.

And then Mulciber smirked, seeming satisfied.

He turned away, continuing down the line.

Regulus let out a slow, silent breath.

He had passed.

For now.

***

The Dauntless soldiers—no, the army—marched in perfect, unbroken lines toward the train tracks. Regulus stayed in formation, keeping his movements calculated, his posture rigid, his mind racing.

They were being mobilized.

For what, he didn’t know.

But whatever it was, it wouldn’t be good.

Ahead of him, Barty stepped up to the train tracks without hesitation, jumping onto the moving train with effortless precision.

Regulus followed.

His feet hit the metal, and he steadied himself, sliding into place beside Barty as if he were just as unfeeling as the rest.

And then—

His eyes landed on James.

A little farther in the crowd, standing rigid like the others.

But something was off.

James wasn’t with Sirius. Or Remus. Or Peter.

He was alone.

Surrounded by Dauntless under the serum.

Regulus’ breath hitched.

His mind spun with panic—was James affected?

Had he been wrong about him?

James was strong, he was defiant—he wasn’t someone who could be controlled.

But there he stood. Motionless. Expressionless.

Regulus’ stomach twisted.

No. No, no, no.

He had thought James was Divergent. But if the serum had taken hold of him—

If James was gone—

Regulus’ chest tightened painfully.

He had lost.

He was alone.

But then—

Something shifted.

James' hand—so slowly, so subtly—brushed against his own.

And then, he held it.

A barely-there touch, so small no one would notice.

But Regulus did.

Regulus knew.

James was still there.

He was pretending.

Just like Regulus.

Regulus exhaled, just barely, just enough for James to know he understood.

Whatever was about to happen…

At least he wasn’t alone.

Chapter Text

The metallic screech of the train’s brakes fills the air as it slows to a halt. Regulus’ fingers remain clenched around James’, their hands locked together in an iron grip. Neither of them dares to let go.

They step forward as one, following the mechanical procession of Dauntless soldiers as they leap down onto the concrete platform. The movement is eerily synchronized—hundreds of them hitting the ground in perfect unison.

Regulus lands, knees bending to absorb the shock, and immediately forces himself to stand still, expression blank. He keeps his posture rigid, mimicking the mindless soldiers around him. His heartbeat pounds in his ears.

His eyes dart around, scanning the rows of Dauntless, searching—

And then, he sees them.

Sirius. Remus.

They stand together in formation, their eyes vacant, bodies unnaturally still.

Regulus' stomach churns.

They look exactly like the others.

His grip on James tightens.

James doesn’t react, his face carefully blank. But Regulus knows him well enough to recognize the tension in his shoulders, the slight shift of his fingers. He’s just as afraid as Regulus is.

A movement at the front of the formation draws Regulus’ attention. His blood runs cold.

Mulciber and Rodolphus stand at the head of the crowd.

And between them—

A shadow steps forward.

Riddle.

Regulus stiffens, his breath catching.

Riddle is imposing, his presence like an unnatural chill sweeping over the Dauntless. There’s something about him—something wrong, something inhuman. His smile is small, almost polite, but it never reaches his eyes.

He surveys the army before him with the leisure of a king looking over his subjects.

When he speaks, his voice is smooth. Casual. Almost kind.

"Kill them all."

The words are soft. Almost gentle.

And yet—

They ignite hell.

A gunshot shatters the silence.

Screams rip through the air.

The mind-controlled Dauntless lurch forward, their movements stiff but unstoppable.

Regulus watches—horrified, frozen, helpless—as the massacre begins.

People fall instantly. Bodies crumple to the ground like discarded dolls.

Gunfire erupts from all directions. Abnegation members cry out, running, hiding, but they have nowhere to go.

The streets are bathed in chaos.

Regulus forces himself to move.

He and James stick together, blending into the moving horde. Every second, they see another Abnegation person gunned down, and each time, Regulus feels something inside him break.

His fists clench. His jaw locks. His blood boils.

And then—

His parents.

Orion and Walburga.

Standing among the chaos, watching the massacre unfold with cold, detached expressions.

Regulus’ stomach churns with hatred.

His mother stands tall, her chin lifted, eyes unreadable. His father has a calm sneer on his lips, as if this is merely an unfortunate but necessary lesson.

A surge of rage nearly overcomes him.

But James squeezes his hand—just briefly, just enough to say not yet.

Regulus swallows it down.

He has to be smart.

They move through the streets, watching, waiting.

And then—where they can—they help.

A small child stumbles toward them, weeping.

Regulus reaches down, his fingers brushing the child’s arm.

"Run," he whispers, voice barely audible.

James leans down to an older woman, eyes wild with fear. "Go to the factionless," he urges quietly. "Get away from here."

Every second is dangerous—every whisper a risk.

But they can’t stand by.

And then—

They are seen.

Mulciber and Rodolphus stand directly in their path.

Regulus freezes.

James’ fingers tighten just slightly.

They keep their faces empty.

Mulciber barely glances at them at first, too focused on gloating. "The Dauntless are controlled from the computer room back at headquarters, none of them are going to break out of this simulation." he mutters to Rodolphus.

Rodolphus gives him a skeptical look, but Regulus locks onto those words.

The control center is at Dauntless. If they can get back—they can stop this.

But then—

Mulciber’s attention shifts.

Right to James.

Regulus’ blood runs cold.

Mulciber steps forward, tilting his head. "Well, well," he sneers. "Potter. Still think you're better than me?"

James doesn’t flinch.

Mulciber leans in. "No smart remarks now?" he taunts. "What’s wrong, Potter? Can’t talk when you’re just another mindless soldier?"

James doesn’t react.

Rodolphus chuckles. "Regulus is my cousin-in-law, you know. But he abandoned his faction. A blood traitor."

Mulciber sneers. "Then I guess this is a good opportunity to get rid of some of the less valuable members of this faction. Let’s put them both down."

Regulus’ heartbeat stutters.

Mulciber pulls out his gun.

Aims it directly at James' head.

Everything inside Regulus snaps.

And then—

He moves.

Before Mulciber can fire, Regulus lunges.

They hit the ground hard, struggling for control.

Beside them, James attacks Rodolphus.

Fists fly, bones crunch, the fight is brutal.

Regulus doesn’t hesitate.

This isn’t a spar. This isn’t a test.

This is life or death.

Mulciber reaches for his gun, but Regulus is faster. He snatches it, flipping it in his grip and pressing it to Mulciber’s throat.

James slams Rodolphus to the ground, pinning him beneath his knee, gun aimed at his head.

Mulciber glares. "You won’t shoot us," he taunts. “You wouldn’t kill your fellow Dauntless.“

James doesn’t move.

Regulus smirks.

"He might not," he says, voice cold. "But I will."

The shot rings out.

Mulciber screams.

Rodolphus gives Regulus an impressed look, “Regulus you must be a Black after all.”

Regulus’ eyes snap to Rodolphus. A pit sinking in his stomach.

A second later—

James fires.

Rodolphus collapses, clutching his own bleeding leg.

James grabs Regulus’ arm and they run.

***

The streets of Abnegation are bathed in chaos, but all Regulus can focus on is running. He and James sprint through the shadows, dodging bodies, darting past crumbling buildings, keeping their heads down as gunfire cracks through the air. Every step sends sharp pain up Regulus’ legs, but he refuses to slow.

The train station is so close now.

Just a little further—

Then—

A door slams open in front of them.

Regulus barely has time to register it before he collides hard with something solid.

His body tenses, instincts screaming at him to fight. His hand flies toward his stolen gun—

But then—

"Reggie?"

Regulus' entire body locks.

That voice—

He jerks his head up, and for a split second, his breath vanishes.

Sirius.

His brother stands before him, eyes wide, mouth slightly open in shock. His face is flushed, and his breathing is uneven—like he’s been running, too.

But what shakes Regulus to his core isn’t just the fact that Sirius is here—

It’s the fact that Sirius looks… normal.

His eyes are alert. There’s no vacant expression, no stiff, unnatural posture. He’s not moving like the others.

The serum didn’t work on him.

Regulus stares.

"You’re Divergent too!?" he gasps.

Sirius doesn’t answer. He just lunges forward, grabbing him, crushing him in a hug.

Regulus stiffens, caught off guard—

And then, after a beat, he relaxes, gripping the back of Sirius’ jacket, holding on tightly.

"Bloody hell, what is happening?" Sirius demands, pulling back. His gray eyes scan Regulus’ face, desperate for answers. "Why are the Dauntless making us attack Abnegation?!"

James steps forward. "Have you seen Remus or Peter?" His voice is sharp, urgent.

Sirius opens his mouth to answer—

But before he can—

"RUN!"

A voice shouts from behind them.

Regulus whips around.

Remus.

Racing toward them at full speed, eyes wide with alarm.

And behind him—

A figure moves fast through the shadows, gun raised.

Bellatrix.

Regulus' blood runs cold.

The moment their eyes meet, she grins.

A feral, delighted smirk.

And then—

Gunfire.

They run.

Sirius and Remus take off first, sprinting down the street, James and Regulus hot on their heels.

The air explodes around them—bullets and spells whizzing past as Bellatrix shrieks, her manic laughter echoing through the streets.

"Oh, don’t run, darlings!" she taunts. "I just want to play!"

Regulus’ chest burns, but he forces himself forward.

Ahead, the train rumbles in the distance—moving, picking up speed.

"We need to jump!" Sirius yells.

They push harder, feet pounding against the pavement, the wind whipping past them as the train gets closer—closer—

Gunfire erupts again.

Regulus ducks, heart lurching, as a bullet shatters a streetlamp beside him.

"Go, go, go!" James shouts.

One by one, they leap.

Remus first.

Then James.

Then Regulus—

He lands hard, rolling across the cold metal, gasping as pain shoots up his arms. But he scrambles upright, spinning around—

Sirius.

He’s the last one left.

Bellatrix is right behind him.

"SIRIUS, JUMP!"

Sirius pushes off the ground, launching himself toward the train—

And just as he does—

A gunshot rings out.

Sirius lands.

Bellatrix screams in frustration as the train speeds away—

For a single second, Regulus feels relief.

And then—

Sirius staggers.

Regulus' chest tightens.

Something’s wrong.

Sirius wobbles slightly, his steps uneven. His expression flickers—

And then, Remus gasps.

"Sirius!"

Regulus' eyes drop.

Blood.

A dark stain spreads across Sirius’ side, seeping through his shirt.

Regulus' stomach plummets.

Sirius sways.

James lunges forward, catching him before he collapses.

"Shit," James mutters, his voice tight with panic.

Remus is already on his knees, hands shaking as he presses them to Sirius’ wound. "No, no, no, stay with me," he whispers, his face twisted in fear.

Regulus stares, heart hammering.

Sirius blinks up at him, his lips twitching weakly.

"Should’ve… ducked," he rasps, trying to grin—but it turns into a wince.

Regulus drops down beside him, hands hovering uselessly. His fingers tremble, but he forces them steady.

"You’re an idiot," he says—his voice comes out shaky, uneven.

Sirius just smirks. "Takes one to know one."

Regulus huffs, but it’s shaky, and Sirius must notice—because his smirk softens.

His gray eyes flicker up to Regulus, and for a second, they hold something fragile.

Something that hurts.

Regulus' throat tightens.

James presses down on the wound. Sirius hisses, but doesn’t fight it.

"We need to get back to Dauntless," James says. His voice is firm, steady—but his hands are trembling. "We have to stop the serum. And we need to get Sirius help. Fast."

Remus nods, his jaw set.

Sirius groans. "Don’t make me go to the infirmary. I’ll die before I let some Erudite prick stitch me up."

James rolls his eyes. "You’re already dying, dumbass."

"Rude."

Regulus lets out a small, strangled laugh.

Even bleeding out, Sirius is still… Sirius.

Regulus swallows, then grabs his hand.

Sirius blinks at him.

"You’re not dying," Regulus says, quiet but firm. "I won’t let you."

Sirius stares.

For a moment, they just look at each other—

And then, Sirius squeezes his hand back.

"Okay, Reggie," he murmurs. "I trust you."

Regulus nods, even as his chest aches.

He has to keep that promise.

No matter what.

Chapter Text

The train barrels forward, cutting through the city like a steel predator, heading straight for Dauntless headquarters. The wind whips violently around them, but Regulus barely notices. His entire focus is on the blood seeping through Sirius’ shirt, the way his skin is going too pale, the way Remus trembles as he whispers hurried reassurances.

"You’re okay, Sirius, you’re gonna be okay."

Silent tears track down Remus’ cheeks, his hands pressing desperately against the wound. Sirius, barely conscious, blinks up at him with a hazy, half-lidded gaze, his usual fire dimmed by pain.

James, sitting stiffly beside them, looks about as wrecked as Regulus feels. His hand clenches into a white-knuckled fist, his entire body tense with fury and helplessness.

Regulus can’t afford to fall apart.

Not now.

He forces himself to take control.

"We’re almost there," he says, his voice sharper than he intends. He pushes past the ache in his chest as he looks at the others. "When we get close, we’re jumping."

Remus’ head snaps up. "Are you insane? Sirius can’t jump!"

Regulus sets his jaw. "Then you’re going to have to help him. If he stays on this train, he dies. If we stop the simulation, maybe the massacre stops too. So we don’t have a choice."

James nods immediately, jaw tight. Remus hesitates, staring down at Sirius, whose breath is coming in shallow, uneven gasps.

"Fine," Remus finally whispers. "But if we don’t get him to the infirmary fast, he won’t make it."

Regulus’ throat tightens, but he nods. "Then you take him there. James and I will take care of the simulation."

The train nears the rooftop of Dauntless headquarters, its momentum slowing just enough for a jump.

Regulus grits his teeth. "Get ready!"

They all rise, preparing for the impact.

James jumps first, landing in a perfect roll across the rooftop.

Regulus follows, hitting the ground with a jarring impact, pain splintering through his ribs.

Remus hesitates for half a second before gripping Sirius tightly and launching them both off the train. Sirius lands hard, collapsing into a heap, a pained gasp leaving his lips.

Remus grits his teeth, practically hauling him upright. "Come on, Sirius, stay with me."

Sirius groans. "Bossy," he mumbles weakly.

Regulus exhales shakily.

At least he's still talking.

They move fast.

At the entrance, Remus pulls Sirius' arm over his shoulders. "I’ll get him to the med wing," he promises, voice fierce despite his glassy eyes.

Regulus nods. "Go."

With that, Remus disappears into the corridors, dragging Sirius toward whatever hope of survival exists in Dauntless.

James steps beside Regulus, gun in hand. "Let’s move."

They turn and descend into the heart of Dauntless.

***

The hallways are eerily silent.

Regulus grips his weapon tightly, heart hammering as they move through the dim corridors, heading for the computer room. The entire faction is still under mind control, which means no obstacles—

Or so they think.

They round a corner—

And two figures step out of the darkness, guns raised.

Regulus’ stomach drops.

Avery and Carrow.

Their former initiates.

Regulus barely has time to process before Avery grins, cocking his weapon. "Look who it is. The traitors."

James stiffens beside him. "I should’ve known you two would pick the wrong side."

Carrow shrugs. "Not the wrong side. The winning side."

Regulus’ fingers twitch over his gun. "Move."

Avery tilts his head, mockingly. "No, I don’t think we will."

Then—

Chaos.

Avery fires—Regulus dives sideways, barely avoiding the shot. James lunges forward, slamming into Carrow, knocking his weapon aside.

Regulus rolls, comes up fast, and swings his fist into Avery’s face. Avery staggers back, snarling—

Then drives a knee into Regulus’ ribs.

CRACK.

Regulus chokes on a gasp, pain splintering through his side. Avery doesn’t stop—

A second blow—then a third—

Regulus’ vision blurs, but he fights through it, grappling with Avery, twisting the gun out of his hand.

James slams Carrow’s head into the wall with a sickening crack.

Avery lunges again—but this time, Regulus is faster.

A single, brutal punch.

Avery collapses.

Regulus staggers, clutching his ribs, his breath coming in sharp gasps.

James stands over the unconscious bodies, gun still tight in his grip. He looks down at them, expression unreadable.

"They’ll wake up soon," James mutters. "We should go."

Regulus just nods.

Every second matters.

***

They reach the end of the hall.

Beyond the door is the simulation control room.

Regulus takes a steadying breath. His ribs ache, his hands shake, but they’re so close now.

James gives him a short, sharp nod. "Ready?"

Regulus doesn’t answer.

He just pushes the door open.

The room is bathed in a cold, artificial glow. A massive wall of monitors flickers in front of them, displaying live feeds of the massacre in Abnegation.

And sitting in the chair, monitoring everything—

A single person.

Regulus freezes.

James goes still.

The figure spins in the chair, turning to face them.

And both Regulus and James gasp.

Peter.

Their friend.

Sitting there. Watching the screens.

Controlling everything.

For a moment, the world stops.

Regulus can’t breathe.

James’ gun trembles slightly in his grip.

Peter just blinks up at them.

Regulus' chest tightens.

Betrayal slams into him like a knife to the gut.

Peter was the last person he ever would have expected—

And yet, here he is.

Sitting in the heart of it all.

The traitor.

Chapter Text

James’ expression is devastated.

His hand trembles on his gun as he stares at Peter, his eyes wide with betrayal. It’s like he’s seeing a stranger instead of the boy he grew up with, the boy who had always been at his side. His best friend.

“Peter,” James whispers, his voice cracking. “How could you?”

Peter doesn’t answer immediately. He looks between them, fidgeting, his breath quick and shallow. He’s nervous, but there’s no regret in his face.

“I had no choice,” Peter says finally, voice weak.

Regulus laughs bitterly, the sound sharp like a blade.

“No choice?” he repeats. “You’re sitting alone in this room, Peter. You could’ve shut this down at any time.” He gestures to the wall of monitors displaying the carnage still unfolding in Abnegation, and his stomach twists. “You could’ve stopped this.”

Peter’s jaw tightens, but he says nothing.

Coward.

James shakes his head, taking a step forward, looking both furious and heartbroken. “Peter, people are dying.” His voice is pained, desperate. “We could’ve stopped this together. We could’ve fought back! But you—you sat here and let it happen.”

Peter looks at the ground. “If they found out I betrayed them, they’d kill me.”

Regulus scoffs. “So instead, you betrayed us. You betrayed James.”

Peter flinches, but doesn’t deny it.

James swallows hard, his hand twitching at his side. “We trusted you.”

Regulus has had enough. His fingers tighten around his gun, and he lifts it, aiming directly at Peter’s head.

Peter freezes, his hands going up instinctively. His eyes are wide, panicked.

“Shut it down,” Regulus orders, voice cold as ice.

“I can’t,” Peter stammers.

Regulus cocks the gun. “Shut it down. Now.”

Peter shakes his head violently. “Reg, if they catch me—”

“Shut it down!”

Peter trembles, sweat beading at his temple. His breathing is fast, erratic. “They’ll kill me,” he whispers.

Regulus' lip curls. “Then die a coward.”

Peter’s face pales.

Regulus' finger tightens on the trigger. He’s done playing games. He’s seen too much blood, heard too many screams to let Peter’s cowardice get in the way.

Then—

A hand on his arm.

Regulus flinches, turning to see James looking at him with pleading eyes.

"Don’t," James says, voice hoarse. "Please."

Regulus’ jaw locks. “He deserves it.”

James doesn’t argue that. His face says he agrees. But he still doesn’t want to see Peter die.

Regulus growls, his frustration boiling over. "Fine."

He shoves Peter aside. “Against the wall.”

Peter stumbles but doesn’t resist.

Regulus moves to the computer, his mind racing. He knows the basics of programming from his time in Erudite—enough to do something. His fingers fly across the keys, trying to find the core of the simulation program.

James watches him, breath held.

A few commands—lines of code—

And then—

The monitors flicker.

Then—black.

The simulation is shut down.

On the screens, Dauntless soldiers freeze mid-battle, looking around in confusion, their weapons lowering.

James lets out a breath.

“It worked,” he whispers.

Regulus exhales shakily, the tension still wound tight in his chest.

Then—

A thud.

They both spin—

Peter is gone.

The door to the hallway is slamming shut.

“Shit,” James curses. “He’s running!”

They take off after him.

***

Regulus and James barrel down the halls, boots pounding against the metal floors.

Peter is fast, but they’re faster.

He rounds a corner—

They follow—

Then—

A gunshot.

James shouts in pain and collapses to the ground.

Regulus skids to a stop, heart in his throat.

"James!" He drops to his knees, eyes wild.

James hisses in pain, clutching his thigh, where blood is seeping through his pants.

Regulus’ head snaps up—

Peter stands there, gun trembling in his hands. Behind him, Carrow is slowly stirring awake. Avery is still out cold.

Regulus’ blood boils.

He raises his gun and fires.

The bullet slams into Carrow’s chest before he can even get up. He falls back with a gurgled cry.

Peter makes a choked sound of terror—

Then runs.

Regulus leaps to his feet, ignoring James’ shout.

He chases Peter through the halls, through the chaos.

Peter stumbles toward the Pit, nearly tripping over his own feet. When he reaches the ledge, he turns, desperate.

Regulus skids to a stop, gun aimed directly at Peter’s head.

Peter’s chest heaves. His hands tremble. "Regulus, please—"

A voice cuts through the air.

"Regulus, what are you doing?!"

Regulus turns.

Remus.

Supporting a pale, bandaged Sirius.

Sirius looks like he’s barely standing, but his eyes are wide, worried.

Remus’ expression is confused and scared.

Regulus swallows hard. "Peter betrayed us. He—he shot James. He let this happen."

Peter takes his chance.

He lunges.

Regulus barely has time to react before Peter’s hands close around his gun, shoving it aside—

A shot fires.

Remus lets out a sharp cry.

Regulus turns, horror coiling in his chest—

Remus is gripping his arm, blood staining his sleeve.

Regulus snaps.

He lunges at Peter, tackling him to the ground.

They brawl viciously—fists flying, bodies colliding against the cold ground. Peter is scrambling, fighting wildly. Regulus is furious, relentless.

They’re too close to the Pit’s edge.

Regulus lands a brutal punch, knocking Peter onto his back—

But Peter is faster.

He twists—shoving Regulus off—

And suddenly, Regulus is pinned.

Peter’s hands tighten around his throat.

Regulus gasps, choking, vision spotting.

Sirius’ voice is hoarse and weak. “Reggie—”

Sirius is crawling toward them, reaching out.

Peter sees.

He panics.

One hand stays locked around Regulus’ throat—

The other reaches for the gun.

Regulus’ heart stops as Peter turns the gun on Sirius.

"NO!"

Something in Regulus snaps.

With a final burst of strength, Regulus wrenches Peter off him, shoving him hard.

Peter stumbles.

One step back.

Then another.

His foot slips.

His eyes go wide.

“Regulus—!”

Peter falls into the Pit.

A scream—

Then—

Silence.

Chapter Text

Sirius gets to Regulus first.

He’s limping, his breathing shaky, his face pale with pain. But his arms are strong as they wrap around his little brother, pulling him in tight.

Regulus doesn’t move at first. He’s frozen—staring at his hands, at the blood on them, at the empty space where Peter had been.

Then—

It hits him.

He just killed someone.

Not just anyone.

Peter.

Their friend.

A sharp, shuddering breath rips out of Regulus’ chest, and suddenly he’s shaking. His hands fist in Sirius’ torn, blood-stained shirt as the weight of it crashes down on him.

Sirius winces from the pressure, but he doesn’t let go. He just holds him tighter.

"You didn’t have a choice," Sirius murmurs, voice raw. "He shot at Remus. He would’ve killed me. And you know he would’ve tried to hurt James, too."

Regulus stiffens.

James.

His stomach drops.

He’d been so angry, so caught up in chasing Peter, that he had left James behind. Injured. Alone.

Regulus jerks upright, ripping himself from Sirius’ arms.

"James—" he breathes, and then he’s running.

Sirius calls after him, but Regulus is already gone, feet pounding up the stairs three at a time.

He reaches the top just in time to see James hobbling down the hallway, his face tight with pain.

Regulus exhales sharply in relief, but guilt still burns his insides.

James notices him and grins weakly, but it’s strained. "Forget something?" he teases, but he winces as the movement jostles his injured leg.

Regulus swallows hard and rushes forward. "James, I—"

James shakes his head. "Don’t. Just—help me get downstairs before I pass out, yeah?"

Regulus nods quickly, throwing James’ arm over his shoulders. Together, they make their way back down, slowly, painfully.

When they reach the bottom of the stairs, Regulus loses it.

The weight of everything—Peter, the battle, the blood, the betrayal— crashes down on him all over again. His eyes burn and, before he can stop it, tears spill over.

James frowns, concern flashing across his face. "Regulus—?"

Regulus chokes on a breath, guilt twisting his gut. "Peter’s dead."

James goes still.

For a moment, he just stares, processing. Then, to Regulus’ complete shock, he just…pulls him into a hug.

Regulus freezes. "James—"

"It’s okay," James murmurs, pressing a kiss to his temple. "We did it. It’s over."

Regulus wants to believe that.

But somehow, he knows—this is only the beginning.

***

By the Pit, Remus is wrapping his injured arm, his expression dark with exhaustion.

Sirius sits beside him, leaning heavily against the wall, his face ghastly pale. But he looks up the second James and Regulus appear.

James lets out a long breath as they approach. "Good news—we shut down the mind control. Dauntless is free."

Remus and Sirius share a look of relief.

Regulus can tell, though—none of them want to talk about Peter.

The silence stretches until Remus clears his throat. "We can’t stay here."

Regulus nods. "Erudite will kill us if they find us."

"Abnegation is too exposed," James adds grimly.

"And Candor—" Sirius sighs. "They’d want us to confess every damn thing we’ve done."

That leaves only one option.

"Amity," Remus says.

The word lingers in the air, and for the first time, hope feels real.

Regulus nods, determination hardening in his chest. "Then let’s go."

***

The train is coming.

They stand at the edge of the platform, bodies aching, eyes fixed on the approaching headlights.

Regulus’ heart pounds.

They have one shot at this.

The train rushes closer—

"Go!" James shouts, and they run.
Well, run is a strong word for what they actually did. It was more like pathetic hobbling.

Both James and Sirius were much worse for wear.

Regulus was practically carrying James while he chased after the train.

Regulus’ legs scream in protest, but he pushes forward, faster, faster—

He grabs the edge of the train—hauls himself up, then pulls James practically on top of him.

Remus is right behind them, gripping the metal railing with his good arm.

Regulus pushes James off of him to help pull Remus up. James groans as his injured leg smacks against the metal.

Then—

Sirius.

Regulus spins, reaching out.

Sirius grabs his hand—

For a second, his grip slips.

Regulus’ heart stops.

Then—

Remus lunges, grabbing Sirius’ other arm, and together, they haul him onto the train.

Sirius collapses, breathing hard.

James laughs weakly. "That was awful. Never again."

Regulus just lets out a shaky breath.

They made it.

They’re alive.

And—at least for now—they’re safe.

***

The train roars through the night, carrying them toward Amity.

Regulus sits against the wall, exhaustion weighing heavy on his bones.

Sirius is beside him, his head resting against the metal, his eyes half-lidded with pain.

Remus sits cross-legged across from them, carefully rewrapping his arm.

James is next to Regulus, pressing close. His warmth seeps into Regulus’ skin, grounding him.

For a moment, none of them speak.

Then, quietly, James says, "What do we do now?"

Regulus closes his eyes. "We fight."

The word lingers in the air, a promise.

Because Erudite isn’t done.

Because this war isn’t over.

Because they are not done fighting.

They are defiant.

And they will not break.

***

The train rumbles beneath them, slowing as it approaches Amity. The air here is different—warmer, calmer, carrying the scent of open fields and fresh soil. The landscape is painted in gold and green, rolling far and wide, as if untouched by the chaos they’ve just fled.

But Regulus knows better.

Nothing is untouched.

Not anymore.

The war has seeped into everything, twisting its way into every faction, every choice, every breath they take. And though Amity looks like a safe haven, Regulus knows it is nothing more than a temporary reprieve.

The train screeches, metal grinding against metal, slowing further.

And waiting for them—standing at the edge of the station—

Is Poppy Pomfrey.

She is nothing like the soft-spoken, gentle healers that Amity is known for. No, there is something solid in the way she stands, something unyielding in the sharpness of her gaze as she takes them all in.

Her eyes land on Sirius first, who is barely standing, leaning heavily against Remus. Blood still seeps through his shirt, and though Remus has done his best to stop the bleeding, Sirius is far from okay.

Then her gaze shifts to James, taking in the pain he’s trying to hide.

Finally, she looks at Regulus.

Something in her expression shifts—just barely, just for a moment.

Like she knows.

Like she’s been expecting them.

Regulus grips James’ hand a little tighter.

The train lurches to a halt.

For a second, no one moves.

Sirius lets out a shaky breath, his body sagging against Remus, and James shifts beside Regulus, as if bracing himself for whatever comes next.

And then—

Poppy steps forward.

"You look like hell," she says flatly, eyes flicking from Sirius to James before finally landing on Regulus.

She crosses her arms, waiting.

Regulus swallows, his throat dry.

"We need a place to rest," he says, voice steadier than he feels. "Just for a little while."

Poppy studies him for a long moment, unreadable.

Then she exhales sharply through her nose.

"Follow me."

It isn’t a question.

It isn’t an offer.

It’s a command.

Regulus doesn’t hesitate.

Neither does James, or Remus, who tightens his grip on Sirius and helps him stumble forward.

They step off the train, the warm Amity air wrapping around them.

But despite the golden fields, despite the quiet hum of insects in the distance—

Regulus feels the weight of war on his shoulders.

They may have escaped Dauntless.

They may have survived Erudite’s control.

But they are not safe.

Not yet.

And as they walk toward uncertain safety, Regulus knows one thing for certain—

They are not done fighting.

They will remain.

They will rise.

They will stay—

Defiant.