Chapter Text
Draco sighed as he looked through yet another book on Dark rituals. He had tried to find anything that could fit into what Regulus had hinted at, but it had been futile. He had found a number of horrible and sickening Dark rituals, but none of them even came close.
He had thought, when he read Dark Elements in Matters of the Soul, that it would have shed some kind of light. The book had been three volumes remastered into a single collection. He had wondered if the original books might have held something different, but the original books had been recalled.
Soul magic was outlawed by the Ministry, and that could have been the cause of the recall, but Draco didn’t think so. Not when the volumes of the collection were numbered one, two, and four. Volume three had never been remastered.
If Draco hadn’t been worried about his father discovering his research, he would have hired someone to find the book for him; dealers in Knockturn Alley would have found what he was looking for.
As it was, Draco had been trying to hide from his father the best he could. His first night back from Hogwarts had been a disaster. He had endured a two-hour lecture on why he was a disappointment as an heir. His father had put the blame of him not being chosen to lead the Ministry raid on Draco.
‘The Dark Lord has heard whispers of your friendship with Potter,’ it had been sneered in his face. ‘The Dark Lord no longer trusts me, and it’s your fault.’
Draco had said nothing as his father berated him, verbally attacked him. As usual, his mother just watched.
‘Don’t disappoint me again, Draco’, his father had warned. ‘You will not like the outcome should something like this happen again.’
As if their normal actions were enjoyable.
Draco closed the book with a snap and pushed it away harder than necessary. He was ready to give up, wanted to cease looking, but every time he tried to, thoughts of Regulus entered his mind.
He pulled another book towards him, albeit reluctantly, when the sound of a peck on the window had him craning his neck in time to see a familiar owl. Draco rushed forward and grabbed the letter. Usually, the owl left quickly, but on its way out, the owl stopped on his shoulder to nuzzle the side of his head before it took off.
It felt like a goodbye.
With his heart already in pain, Draco shakily opened the letter.
Dear Cousin,
I don’t know how to start, or rather how to end this. My suspicions have been confirmed, and it’s as bad as I feared. I had hoped that once I arrived, I would see that I had been wrong.
If only that were true.
I don’t wish to alarm you, but I’m not making it out of this cave alive. I think by writing this, I am prolonging my death. Whether that makes me a coward or just human, I do not know. I have always felt as if I would not survive the war, but I didn’t think it would end like this.
I thought that maybe the opposition would take me down. Perhaps I would die mid-battle, not as a hero but as the villain who got what they deserved.
Never once have I entertained the notion that I would be the catapult to my own ending. I never stopped to think that I would fight back, fight against the Dark Lord.
But here I am.
I want to leave you innocent, and not provide all the necessary information, but doing so would be a disservice. You deserve to know what has happened.
The Dark Lord has created a Horcrux. I pray that you don’t know what that is, or how it is obtained. Know this, only a true monster can create a Horcrux, but only as the soul has been split, ripped apart and damaged beyond repair.
Anyone will tell you that the Dark Lord is a monster, but they do not know the depths. They do not know the things he has done to obtain that title.
As much as I hate him, as much as I can’t stomach the things he has done, nor the things I, myself, have done, I can’t help but want to weep for his soul.
A soul is a beautiful thing, a piece of a certain kind of magic that we, Wizards, don’t understand. The soul is not like our magical cores, it is not something that can be replenished or fixed with care. We are given one soul to cherish, and the Dark Lord has ruined his.
He has a taken what should have been a gift and turned into something unrecognizable. Murder tears the soul apart, and someone who creates a Horcrux has murdered with the intent to gain something out of it.
The cruelty and lack of respect for the dead does not surprise me in the slightest. The act of a Horcrux itself, however, frightens me.
With a Horcrux, the Dark Lord cannot die. A piece of his ripped soul will remain in whatever conduit he places it in. A piece of the Dark Lord’s corrupted, vile and cruel soul is out there in the world.
Right in front of me.
It’s a locket, I imagine it’s an heirloom of some kind. It has always been rumoured that he was a distant relative of Salazar Slytherin.
I can feel the magic, and it nauseates me. It’s Dark, cousin, far darker than anything I have ever felt. As I look at the locket, I can’t help but ache for the victim that suffered to make the magic possible.
Who were they? Will their family even know?
Those are questions I ask about myself as well. I don’t know who I am, not anymore, and I don’t know if I ever have known. Will those who know me define me? Or will they speak of me in disdain? Will my family know what has happened to me?
No. My mother will not understand my change of heart, nor will she want to live with the truth. It is better to let her think I died doing what she wanted.
Sirius. If I could see him one more time, I would tell him that he shaped me in ways that he doesn’t realize. Sometimes, I wonder what my life would have been like if I had followed in his footsteps. He cares so deeply about the ones he loves, and I fear that I no longer fit that description.
I love my brother, but I don’t know what he would think of my ending. Would he be ashamed that his little brother had turned so rotten? Would he hate me as much as he hates Dark wizards? I don’t know if he ever thinks of me, but I think of him often.
I’ll miss him.
One act of good cannot erase the things that I have done. I am not a good person, so please do not look at this and think highly of me.
I am a Death Eater, no matter how hard I wish I weren’t. The choice was mine, and I made it of my own free will. Do not forget that I once believed in the Dark Lord’s message. Do not forget that I have not made any means to redeem myself.
Perhaps if I had more time, I would make an effort. If there were another way, I might have even gone to my brother and beg for forgiveness, seek asylum and hope his heart would still welcome me.
But I can’t do that, not anymore.
There is a potion above the Horcrux. I know that the Dark Lord intends for the drinker to die. He would not have an easy solution. I can tell it’s a poison by it’s aroma, but one made to appear as if it were water.
There’s an ironic end to that, as I can feel Dark magic in the water. I don’t have to investigate to know what lurks beneath the surrounding cave. He intends for the victim to end as it began. I suppose the Dark Lord has always had a flair for dramatics.
As much as I have prepared myself for the possibility of death, I don’t think I am ready. Is anyone ever ready? I don’t want to die, but I don’t want the Dark Lord to live more. Something has to give, and I am expendable.
I have ordered Kreacher to destroy the locket, and I hope he will find a way to do that. House elf magic is strong, and I have my faith in his abilities.
There is a certain level of freedom in choosing what I want. I have never allowed myself the luxury of doing what is right. I have always considered other people first, considered selfish paths, and considered what was expected of me.
I know exactly what is expected of me now. The Dark Lord would expect me to return home and do nothing. He would expect my loyalty, my silence, and he would require unwavering servitude.
However, I’m not going to do that.
I’m going to do everything I have been taught I shouldn’t. I am going to break free, and even if that freedom will only last a few minutes, it will still be worth it. The last breath I take will be that of a free man. I’m going to treasure that.
But what I treasure the most is you and these letters. You have given me a reason to see the world anew, given me a reason to want to be a better person—even if it was only internally. I want so much for you. I want your life to be filled with everything that mine wasn’t. I want you to know no pain, know no doubts, and to only know love.
Whether that is unrealistic or not, I still dream of that for you.
I have shared so much of myself with you, and I don’t even know if it’s something you are interested in. I would like to think that these letters are just as important to you as they are to me. I wish I could talk to you, I wish I could be there to see you grow up. I want to see your youth, see you sorted, and see how you handle adulthood. I want to offer advice, get to know you, and just be in your presence.
I just want to be there for you, and I hate that I won’t be. I hate that the Dark Lord has taken something else from me now.
I don’t have much more time, and that’s something I regret.
Please do not mourn me. Please do not dwell on my passing. I don’t know what I want you to remember me by, but I do know what I don’t want you to think of. I don’t want you to think of this letter. I don’t want you to think of my death.
I want you to think of me and remember a troubled adult. I want you to see how self-aware I have become, and I want you to think of the choices I didn’t take, and the path I didn’t follow.
I want you to think of me and see something that you don’t want to repeat. Please do not become the monster I am.
Cousin, I started these letters because I wanted to show you a different side of things, I wanted to give you a complete story—one that was unbiased.
And yet, I write to you now and I know it will be biased. I am praying with everything that I am that you don’t become me.
Please don't make the mistakes I did. Please.
Make your own mistakes, but let them be juvenile. Let your mistakes be things that every child goes through. Don’t make a mistake that will haunt you for the rest of your life.
Be informed in everything you do and if, for some reason, you have read all of my letters and still choose to walk in my footsteps, know that I will still love you.
Everyone can change, everyone can be better, and no one has a claim on redemption.
You are always in my thoughts, but you will remain in my thoughts until the end.
Love,
Regulus
A sob left Draco as he finished the letter. He clutched it to his heart and cried. Despite Regulus’ words, he would mourn him. He would mourn the person Regulus had been, and he would mourn the life that Regulus could’ve had.
It wasn’t fair. Why did the Dark Lord ruin everything? Why did one man hold so much power?
He tried to stop the tears, but his emotions became erratic, and he was angry—so angry, and that fueled his tears further. Who gave the Dark Lord the right to create such a horrible creation? Something so awful that Regulus sacrificed his life to get rid of.
Draco didn’t care that Regulus thought his death wasn’t worth remembering, because to Draco it was. To him, it would be something he could never forget.
His heart broke, because no one knew what had happened. Not only had Regulus died in whatever cave the Horcrux resided in, but no word have ever gotten out of why he died. Regulus died fighting his beliefs, he died to see even a piece of the Dark Lord destroyed.
That was worth talking about. That was worth the public knowledge. Regulus Black deserved redemption, and Draco didn’t care that his cousin hadn’t wanted it.
To Draco, Regulus was a role model, just not in the way one would expect. Every major life lesson had been something Regulus taught him. He had learned who he wanted to be and what he didn’t want to become through the letters. Regulus had shaped everything, had changed so much.
He wasn’t sure what kind of person he would have been without Regulus. Wasn’t sure what path he would have taken. Would he have chosen to become a Death Eater? Would he have unknowingly allowed history to repeat itself through a familial bond? Would Draco have made the same mistakes?
Draco wanted to rage, wanted to scream the injustice of it all to the world. But what he wanted the most, was for the Dark Lord to be taken care of once and for all, and by Merlin, he wasn’t going to let Regulus die in vain. The knowledge of the letters needed to be told, and he was going to make it happen.
He didn’t know anything about Horcruxes further than what Regulus wrote about, but Draco was sure he knew some people who might. People who had strength backing them, who had powerful wizards on their side. People who believed in a worthy cause, and people who cared for others.
As Draco stared down at the tear covered parchment, he knew, once and for all, what path he would take. There would be no going back, there would be no change of mind later on. Draco knew who he wanted to be, who he was and who he had been.
The path ahead could get rough, rocky and dangerous, but his decision had been made, and he could only move forward.
One step at a time.
When Alpsi apparated in, Draco knew it was a summons, and by the screams from below, he knew it hadn’t been his father who made the decision.
Draco looked around his room and took in his surroundings, took in the things that had defined him for so long. The first potions kit he had received from Severus was given a place on his shelf. His puzzles and magic strengthening toys were carefully arranged on his desk. Books he coveted over the years were given their own spotlight on the bookshelf. Various knickknacks and odd things collected from Dobby had been placed gently on his vanity.
The room had been his safe haven for so long; it had been the place of many conversations with Dobby, many games and tickle wars between them. His room had been lived in happily, despite the circumstances.
Draco’s childhood might not have been a good one, might not have been preferable, but it was one that he wouldn't change.
He took one last look around the room before he shut the door for the last time.
As he walked into his father’s study, the room of his nightmares, he discovered that the sight of the Dark Lord was far worse than any dream.
The Dark Lord did not resemble something human. The mixture of animalistic features was startling. Red eyes peered into his own, and Draco thanked everything he had that he had taught himself Occlumency as the stare increased in intensity. Long pale fingers toyed with a wand as if it were unimportant, but Draco knew that it was for show. Thin lips were quirked in an oddly pleasant manner, but he could see right through it. There was a dangerous tilt to the Dark Lord’s lips and it put him on edge.
“Young Malfoy, how good of you to show up—” There was a pause as the Dark Lord lifted a hand, as if he expected Draco to speak up, but Draco wasn’t stupid enough to fall for that. “—late.”
Draco hadn’t received a timed summons, nor had there been any message regarding when to appear. When the Dark Lord’s smile grew, he knew it wouldn’t have mattered when he had arrived, it still wouldn’t have been enough.
“I punish those who can’t follow orders.”
Before Draco could understand the implications of that, a flick of a wrist and the uttering of a spell caused his knees to collapse before he fell sideways and writhed on the floor.
Pain. Unimaginable but familiar pain filled Draco. The Cruciatus Curse didn’t just amplify pain, it sent it in waves; moments of reprieve were just as painful as his seizing muscles. The ache of the pain wasn’t tangible to a single spot on his body, there were no distractions as the agony tormented his entire being and all his mind could focus on was the need to make it stop.
Time meant nothing when it came to the curse. What could have been only one second felt much longer and it skewed reality.
When his muscles continued to spasm, but no further pain came, he tried to gather the strength to raise his head.
“I have been informed that you have intimate knowledge of Potter. Is this true?”
“No,” Draco whispered as he braced himself the pain he knew would come. “I don’t.”
What should have been easier to handle the second time around was worse. The knowledge of what was to come couldn’t be ignored and it caused the awareness to magnify everything.
His body hadn’t had time to heal properly before it was attacked again, attacked internally, something that left no scars on the body but inflicted the suffering of the mind. At some point, he had bitten his tongue and the sharp tang of blood filled his mouth. The agony ripped apart his mind and the only thing he could see, hear or feel was pain. Draco wanted it to stop, wanted it to go away, he would do anything.
Except give the Dark Lord what he wanted.
Draco lost count of the many times he had been put under the spell. He had denied the accusations, shook his head and screamed his denial, but the Dark Lord hadn’t given in—hadn’t given up.
“My Lord, I don’t think he knows—”
A scream that was not his own caused Draco to tilt his head from his position on the floor until he could look at his father, who had been on the receiving end of the curse.
“I did not ask your opinion. You wish to take your son’s punishment? I care not who is in pain.”
He watched his father writhe on the floor and watched the pain in his eyes, that were so similar to his own, get worse with each reapplication. Draco thought he would have felt empathy or understanding, but his mind disassociated and all he could feel was relief; the relief of not being the one on the other end of the wand.
“You have been a loyal Death Eater,” the Dark Lord said during a moment of calm as he walked around Draco’s father with a ‘tsk’. “I have overlooked your cowardice when I fell, overlooked your denunciation of our ways and my plans of the future.”
His father jerked his head in a way that Draco wondered if it was a nod of agreement, but it wasn’t until he realized how close the Dark Lord’s feet were to his father’s head, that he knew it was an aim to grovel. His stomach soured at the thought that his father would have fallen to the delusion of a man like the Dark Lord.
“However, I will not overlook your only heir besmirching your good standing by parading around with Potter. You have promised me his servitude, and I aim to collect.”
What?
As the Dark Lord turned towards Draco, he knew that he had to remain calm and not show the panic and horror that had seized him. His father had promised Draco’s servitude? Promised something that was not his to give away?
Draco glanced at his father and was not surprised to see that he would not meet his eyes. Coward. His father was a coward and he hated him, hated everything about him, but mostly—Draco hated that a small piece of him would always care about him.
“You should be proud,” the Dark Lord whispered, eyes bright with something Draco wanted no part of. “You should be honoured that I want you in my ranks.”
Draco closed his eyes when the touch of a foot pressed against his face.
“Tell me, are you proud? Are you honoured that I have sought you out?”
He inhaled deeply. He wanted to scream, wanted to rant and he wanted to tell the Dark Lord exactly what he thought of him.
Draco remained silent.
“You must prove your loyalty, prove that my doubts of you are nothing but rumours. If you are as competent as your father claims, then prove it to me.”
When Draco looked at his father, he thought he would see anger or perhaps his eyes would have shown a plea, a plea for him to do as the Dark Lord wished. But as Draco looked at his father, the only thing he saw was recognition.
His father had always known what his answer would have been. Draco wasn’t sure if the knowledge made him want to cry or to rejoice.
Draco looked at the Dark Lord and they locked eyes.
“No.”
There a was a moment of silence, and if the Dark Lord had had eyebrows, he was sure they would have been furrowed.
He knew there was no time to second guess his words, no time to change his mind, and no time to form a plan.
“Dobby!”
The crack of the apparition was loud as the sound echoed off the walls. Time didn’t slow as the Dark Lord raised his wand, time didn’t stop as his mouth opened to utter a spell.
Draco forced himself into an upright position. His body ached, and his muscles screamed at him to remain still, but he couldn’t. In the time it took for him to stand, Dobby had placed himself in front of Draco.
“You will not harm Draco Malfoy!”
There was a blinding light as Dobby’s hand shot forward and magic collided with whatever silent spell the Dark Lord had cast.
“How dare—”
Draco never got to hear the end of the Dark Lord’s sentence. A small hand grabbed ahold of him and he was lost in the warmth of Dobby’s magic as they disapparated.
They had left the Manor, and for the first time, Draco felt free. Was it the same freedom that Regulus had found?
Draco’s path didn’t seem unattainable any longer. There were no signs, no instructions, and he wasn’t sure where he would go, but it would be of his own free will.
He was the one making the decisions, and he had never felt such relief.
When they landed, Draco could barely raise his head enough to look around. The neighbourhood was clearly muggle, one that was rundown and in need of repairs. Children were chasing each other and their laughter was so different from his own childhood that he ached.
“Where are we?” Draco panted as he tried to remain upright. His muscles spasmed and he knew they would continue to do so for several more hours.
Dobby didn’t say anything as he raised his hand to knock on the door. They could hear swearing and loud complaints as someone on the other side got closer.
The door opened a crack and voices could be heard as someone in the residence started to scream.
“BLOOD TRAITORS! Filth! Scum! How dare you besmirch my home with your presence!”
“Remus shut her up! I don’t know why people knock. I have told them not to. The damn woman made my life hell while she was alive and she torments me in her death as well. It’s not fair!”
When the door fully opened, and the grumblings continued, Draco wondered if they were at the right house. The person at the door had their head turned behind them over their shoulder and they didn’t seem to care that people were at the door.
“One of these days I’m going to run away. Somewhere tropical where I can surround myself in silence, and men—definitely men.”
“Huh,” Draco whispered without realizing it. The person turned to face them but paused to gape.
It took Draco longer than it should have to realize that he was staring at Sirius Black. The family resemblance to his mother and aunt were prominent.
“Mister Black, sir,” Dobby squeaked, with his arms still supporting Draco. “Can we enter?”
Black’s mouth was still parted, and his eyes were wide, but he stepped aside to let them in.
“Remus! Harry! Get your arses in here now, you aren’t going to believe this.”
“If it’s another nude magazine, save it!” Potter yelled, the noise muffled from the distance. “The last one you showed me gave me nightmares.”
Black snorted before it turned into full-on laughter as he doubled over.
“How embarrassing, and in front of your boyfriend, too.”
“Malfoy isn’t my boyfriend! I already told you that.”
Draco looked up at the staircase that led to the second floor, where he assumed Potter was. There was a moment of silence before he could hear thundering footsteps.
“Wait, what do you mean?” He heard the question before he actually saw him.
Potter stopped at the top of the stairs, puffs of air could be heard as he panted, wide eyes stared down at him before they narrowed in concern.
“Are you alright?” Potter rushed down the stairs faster than Draco expected, and before he could register that, Potter pulled him away from Dobby and led him to a room that resembled a study. His mind went back to the one he had just left, and he couldn’t help but flinch.
“Can we go somewhere else?” Draco asked as he put his arm around Potter’s waist for support.
“Sure,” Potter said easily as if Draco hadn’t made an odd comment, and he might have fallen just a little bit more for Potter in that moment.
“What about the kitchen?” Black offered as he pushed open the door.
Draco let Potter carry most of his weight as they entered the room. He thought they were alone, but a loud gasp caused his muscles to tense, and he couldn't help the whimper that left his mouth.
“It’s alright,” Potter whispered. “The chair is just right here and then Remus can take a look at you.”
He wanted to tell Potter that he was perfectly fine, wanted to snark him, wanted to tease back, but he didn’t have the energy. His knee made contact with the rough feel of wood and it was enough for Draco to reach forward and hold onto it as he sat down gingerly.
Potter moved to sit next to him but a hand near Potter’s knee caused Draco to look over in time to hear Dobby say, “Excuse me, Harry Potter, but Dobby would like to sit next to Draco.”
Draco didn’t wait for Potter to respond before he pulled the available chair next to him and helped Dobby climb up.
He watched Potter move to his other side and had to wonder why Dobby had asked in the first place. It wasn’t until Dobby winked at him that he realized there wasn’t a reason at all. Merlin, he loved Dobby.
Draco took a deep breath before he peered up into three pairs of concerned eyes.
“Potter,” he nodded his head in greeting, a small quirk of his lips formed when Potter reached forward to grab his hand.
“Mister Lupin,” Draco continued as he looked around the table.
“Mister Lupin.” A snort drew his attention towards Black who appeared to be coughing into his hand. “Sounds like a stuffy tosser who can’t handle his gin.”
“Mister Black.”
The laughter went out of Black as Lupin and Potter laughed loudly.
“Now who is stuffy?” Lupin asked, a bright smile in place, and Draco couldn’t remember seeing Lupin so vibrant before.
A poke to his knee caused Draco to clear his throat.
“Sorry, and this is Dobby.”
Dobby waved happily. “Nice to be meeting you, sirs.”
He could tell that Black and Lupin weren’t quite sure what to make of Dobby, but they had a smile on their faces and that was enough for Draco.
“Are you going to tell them about You-Know-Who?”
“What?”
“Voldemort? You saw him?”
“Are you okay? What happened?”
Draco wasn’t sure who to answer first. He frowned down at Dobby. “I was going to lead up to that, you know.”
One of Dobby’s ears drooped but he didn’t appear to be apologetic. When Dobby’s brows arched, Draco scowled.
“I was! I wasn’t going to hide it.”
“Perhaps not, Draco,” Dobby agreed. “But the pain you would have.”
“Pain?” Potter asked, his voice sharp with concern. “What kind of pain?”
Draco narrowed his eyes at Dobby. He had thought that the fact that he couldn’t stand upright would have been the only tip off that they knew he was in pain. Excuses had been made in his head that he could offer as to why he was in pain, and not a single one of them would have mentioned the Cruciatus Curse. Dobby must have suspected that all along—how he had known about it at all, was a mystery.
“My father promised the Dark Lord that I would serve him.”
A noise left Black, and Draco couldn’t quite say it sounded human.
“He made the decision for you?”
Draco nodded as he looked down at the table and focused on the cracks of the wood. On instinct, he wanted to curl his lip in distaste, but he felt as if he could relate to the table; he too had cracks, he too still had to go on with them unmended.
“I told him no.”
When no one said anything, Draco looked up and frowned at their expressions.
“Why is that surprising? Did you think I would say yes? Did you think that I would join his ranks and become someone that I have been trying so hard not to be?”
If they thought he could have gone through with it, then perhaps he was in the wrong place.
“This was a mistake, I’ll just find Neville, excuse me.”
Before Draco could move to get up, Potter held onto his hand tighter.
“Please don’t, Draco.”
He closed his eyes at the sound of his name. Leave it to Potter to use cunning against him.
“We aren’t surprised you said no,” Black began in a soft tone. It’s the act of bravery that was surprising. The act itself, not the merits of your morals.”
Draco opened his eyes, only to stare down at the hand holding his own. He wasn’t sure he was ready to talk to Black. Every time his eyes zeroed in on him, he wondered if that was how Regulus would have looked too. Had the brothers been as close in appearances as they had been in age? The ratty tapestry in the Manor was old and cracked and did nothing to show what Regulus might have looked like.
“I didn’t come here for asylum,” Draco said as he squared his shoulders and moved his hand away from Potter. “I didn’t come here for a ‘well done’ or whatever nice Gryffindor speeches you already have planned out.”
Lupin’s brows arched higher and higher with each word Draco spoke, and he wondered if they could reach his hairline.
“Why did you come here?” Black asked with narrowed eyes and a hint of suspicion. The wariness alone relaxed Draco, that was an element he was used to. Kind words and praises had him uneasy, but Black’s suspicious nature was exactly what he needed.
“The Dark Lord has made a Horcrux in the past, and I think your side should know about it.”
“What’s a Horcrux?” Potter asked at the same time Lupin backed away from the table as if it had burned him, and Black let out a horrified noise that hurt Draco’s ears.
“A piece of someone’s soul placed into an object for safe keeping. It can only be done by murder, which rips apart the soul,” Draco explained. Potter covered his mouth as his face twisted in horror.
“How do you know this?” The suspicion in Black had spread to Lupin as both stared at him with their arms crossed and their foreheads pinched.
“I—um, well—” Draco took a deep breath as he pulled out the only thing he had kept from the Manor. The only thing that mattered.
“I have been receiving letters since I was ten.” He watched Potter straighten up in his chair. “They have shaped my life in many ways.” Draco blinked rapidly as he clutched them to his heart.
He looked up at Black as his eyes stung and his mind thought of Regulus.
“You see, your brother Regulus wrote to me before he died.”
Pain replaced the suspicion on Black’s face and his eyes moved to the letters in Draco’s hands.
“How do you know they are from him?”
“Dobby checked them, sir!” Dobby said as he clapped his hands once. “Regulus Black sent them, he did.”
“What—” Black’s voice tapered off as he looked away from the letters at glared at the wall. “What did he write to you about?”
“Everything,” Draco sighed, a small smile in place as he tightened his hold. He knew he’d have to go into detail, have to explain it all and even hand over the letters, but he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to let them go, didn’t want to set them down, but he did.
Draco slowly pushed the letters to the middle of the table and he tried not to feel as if he was giving a piece of himself away.
“At first, he just wanted someone to talk to, someone to listen to him. Regulus made a lot of mistakes, and he didn’t have anyone to tell it to.”
“He could have told me,” Black growled as his hands clenched into fists. “I would have listened to him.”
“Would you really have done so?” Draco asked seriously. He ignored the way Black’s head snapped to his and ignored the anger on his face, he ignored the way his fists clenched to the point his knuckles turned white.
“Regulus spoke of you in his letters, how you have always known who you are and what you wanted. He didn’t have that, he didn’t know what he was supposed to be, so he listened to your mother until there was nothing but her wishes propelling him. Can you tell me that he could have confided in you without you trying to change him as she had? Would you have been unbiased? Or would you have hated him for his choices?”
Black’s fingers unclenched and clenched, the action repeated several times as he closed his eyes.
“I don’t know,” Black admitted, and Draco wasn’t sure if he was upset over the question or the answer. “I would like to think that I would have been there for him.”
Black opened his eyes, and the intensity stilled Draco.
“Back then I hated anyone and anything that was Dark. I fought so hard to prove myself to the people around me. I wanted to distance myself from my family, and I left my brother behind because he didn’t want the same things. If he wasn’t going to fight with me, then I was going to fight without him.”
“He loved you,” Draco said with a shaky inhale that rattled when he breathed out. “I don’t know what your relationship was like on a deeper level, but he looked up to you.”
Black placed a hand over his head as his shoulders shook.
“Is that what the letters were about?” Lupin asked quietly with his eyes on Black.
Draco shook his head. “Not really. Black was mentioned in passing, mostly. Regulus wrote to me because he knew what kind of life I would have. He knew because he had lived one so similar. Regulus wanted to tell me his side of things, so that if I were ever in the same position, I would be informed of everything.”
“How would that help?” Black asked, his voice muffled from the palm of his hand.
“I’m not like you,” Draco whispered before he amended his statement. “I’m not like any of you. I didn’t choose a side like you did, Black. I didn’t think to question things, I never stopped to wonder whether or not my father’s teachings were right. I didn’t have a moral compass and part of that is my own fault. I never made an effort to try. At least not until the letters.
“Regulus opened my eyes to so much that I had been blind to, whether it was my own narrow-minded view or not. Suddenly I didn’t know who I was anymore. Because up until then, my beliefs were my father’s and I had no individuality.”
Draco took a deep breath as he shook his head. “I have spent so many years questioning my life. Whether to be a better person was something I was doing for myself or if I was doing it for Regulus. And to be honest, I wish the answer had been clearer from the start. I connected with Regulus in ways that scared me. How could someone I have never met change so much of my life? How could he know me in ways that I hadn’t tried to discover?
“I don’t know who Regulus was to you, Black, but he became everything to me. Which is why I had to tell you. I can’t let his death be in vain. He didn’t deserve the silence of his sacrifice.”
Draco blinked rapidly before he wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his robes. When a warm hand engulfed his, he let their fingers entwine.
“How did he die?” Sirius asked, his voice cracked on the last word and a dry sob left Draco.
“Regulus discovered one of the Dark Lord’s Horcruxes. He gave up his life trying to get it.” Draco pointed to the letter on top. “That one will tell you everything you need to know. It was the last letter he wrote before he died.”
He glared when he thought of Regulus’ death. “What drives me mad is that no one knew. The Ministry still had him down as a missing person for years after his death. Until it was assumed that he had died sometime during the war. Everyone who knew he was a Death Eater believes he ran away, like a coward would. But really, he died fighting the Dark Lord’s beliefs. He died doing the right thing, and not a fucking soul knows about it.”
Draco slammed his hand against the table, and he ignored the way they all startled.
“Regulus believed in things he never got a chance to show, and I hate it. I hate that no one saw the good in him, no one thought he could have redemption if given the chance. Regulus was someone who was self-aware enough to know that he had made mistakes, but those mistakes didn’t define him. Regulus was a good person, and I want the world to know that, I need you all to know that. Please know that.”
Potter pulled him into a hug and Draco couldn’t hold back the tears. “I wish I could have met him,” Draco whispered in Potter’s ear. “He made me who I am.”
“No,” Potter returned just as quietly. “You made you who you are, he just gave you a push.”
Draco felt small hands on his back and he realized that Dobby had joined the hug. He reached a hand behind him take hold of Dobby’s hand.
When Draco pulled back enough to stare at Potter, he couldn’t help but rest his forehead against Potter’s.
“You’ve kind of shaped me too,” he whispered, eyes searching for something.
Potter smiled as he ran a finger down Draco’s cheek. “Good, because you’ve done the same for me.”
“Can you two boyfriends save the flirting for later?” Black snarked, his eyes were red and he didn’t look okay, but he had a genuine smile on his face—albeit a small one.
Draco leaned away from Potter and sat more firmly in his chair.
“How many times do I have to tell you, Draco and I aren’t—” Draco squeezed Potter’s hand and watched Potter smile as his sentence ended abruptly.
“Oh,” Black began with a slight twinkle. “Remus did you hear that, Harry—”
Lupin rolled his eyes. “Shut up Sirius. Let them be.”
Silence settled around them, but it was comforting and it didn’t feel stifling in the slightest.
Black raised a hand and moved tentatively towards the letters on the table. “Do you mind if I read these.”
“Go ahead,” whispered Draco. Parting from them didn’t seem as daunting after he had already voiced his thoughts. “Just, give them back to me? When you are ready?”
When Black’s eyes softened, Draco wondered why he felt like he had seen them before. It was odd that Black didn’t regard him as badly as he had always thought would happen.
“They were always supposed to be yours,” Black said with a shrug. “I’m just going to borrow them.”
“What do we do about the Horcruxes?” Potter asked. “Should we tell Dumbledore?”
“Who’s to say he doesn’t already know,” Draco said as he placed his hand underneath his chin.
Black and Lupin exchanged a long look, so long that Draco wondered if they were using a form of Legilimency.
“He’s the head of the Order,” Lupin said, eyes still on Black, and Draco got the impression that it wasn’t meant for them.
“Moony, you know my thoughts. The information never goes both ways.”
Draco hummed curiously. Did Black not trust Dumbledore?
“I know but—”
“It was the same thing with the prophecy. Dumbledore refused to tell us anything but demanded we all protect it. Harry wasn’t allowed to know why Voldemort was trying to get into his head for the better part of a year. Harry almost walked straight into a trap for Merlin’s sake!”
Black paused to look at Draco. “Thank you for that, by the way. If you hadn’t pushed him in, I think he would have stormed the Ministry.”
Draco didn’t doubt that one bit.
“I’m right here!” Potter cried.
Black ignored Potter and chose to return to his conversation with Lupin.
“I think that if we go to him with this knowledge, he will tell us to do nothing and he will handle it. Do nothing and it will all work out in the end. I am tired of doing nothing, Remus. A war is coming, and we can’t just sit on our arses.”
Lupin placed a hand on his forehead as he nodded.
“Alright, say I hypothetically agree with you—”
Black whooped loudly, and Draco smiled at the sight. Was his cousin always like that?
“I said hypothetically, Sirius,” Lupin rested his hands on his hip and gave Black a look of disappointment. “What are we are going to do, travel Britain on a Horcrux hunt?”
“That kind of sounds like fun,” Potter said.
“You aren’t helping,” Black hissed when Lupin grinned smugly.
As the two started to argue about the merits of hunting Horcruxes, Draco settled against Potter and closed his eyes.
“Why not just ask Kreacher? He knows about one of them.”
The silence that followed was quite nice and Draco had been about to doze off when three shouts jerked him into an upright position.
“What are you talking about?” Lupin demanded.
“Kreacher!” Black bellowed.
“Why would Kreacher know about a Horcrux?”
“Kreacher!” Black continued to yell. “If you don’t get in here I will find a way to burn my mother’s portrait and I promise you I will dance to the sound of your tears.”
“Sirius!” Potter scolded. “I don’t like him either, but that’s just rude.”
“Master called,” Kreacher croaked as he pushed open the kitchen door. His eyes travelled the room and lingered on Dobby before they settled on Draco. “More like screamed. Master doesn’t know how to be civil.”
Draco snorted and tried to wave his hand in an apology when Black glared at him.
“Yes, well we can’t all be prudes with wands up our arses like dear old mum, can we?”
Kreacher let out a gasp. “If Mistress could hear Master now.”
“I’m sure she would be horrified,” Black said in a deadpan tone, and Draco had never been more curious in his life. Just what went on in the Noble House of Black?
“Kreacher,” Draco spoke up softly as he stood up and made his way over. It took some effort to kneel, his body still ached.
“My name is Draco Malfoy.”
Kreacher stood up straighter and his eyes widened.
“Mister Malfoy comes from good blood.”
He tried not to grimace at that. “I have something I want to talk to you about. I want to talk about Regulus.”
Kreacher took a step back as his ears drooped. “Kreacher doesn’t want to talk about Master Regulus.”
“He cared about you, didn’t he?”
Kreacher nodded once and mumbled something inaudible.
“I know that he gave you a locket the night he died.”
When Kreacher’s eyes narrowed, Draco couldn’t stop the smile on his face from forming.
“How does young Master Malfoy know that?”
“Master?” Black whispered in outrage. “Just once sock in his daily stew, no one will even know.”
Draco tuned Black out with a shake of his head.
“I know because Regulus told me,” Draco said quietly as he gestured behind him towards the table. “He wrote to me about it.”
“Master Regulus confided in young Master Draco?”
“He sure did.”
Kreacher stared at Draco intently, far more intently than any house elf besides Dobby ever had before.
A snap of Kreacher’s fingers and he had disapparated.
“Where did he go?” Potter asked.
“Somewhere in the house,” Black said. “He’s been ordered not to leave the house unless I give permission.”
They didn’t have to wait long, Kreacher returned just as quickly as he had left.
“Kreacher tried to get rid of it,” Kreacher croaked immediately as he held up a big golden locket.
“Hey, I remember that!” Potter said, his voice held triumph to it. “We tried to open it—oh Merlin, we tried to open a Horcrux.”
“But nothing Kreacher did worked!” Kreacher wailed, large tears forming in his eyes. “Master Regulus ordered Kreacher to get rid of it, but Kreacher couldn’t. Kreacher has failed Master Regulus.”
“No, no,” Draco said as he shook his head. “That’s not true. You listened to Regulus and got out of the cave. You took the locket and tried to do as he said. That’s not failing, Kreacher.”
Kreacher wiped his eyes on his gross uniform, and Draco grimaced slightly.
“If you’d like,” Draco began hesitantly. “We’re going to try and get rid of the Horcrux, we’re going to try and finish out what Regulus started. Would you like to help us?”
The locket lowered as Kreacher put his hand down and blinked up at Draco.
“Young Master Malfoy wants Kreacher’s help? Not an… order?”
Draco shook his head slowly. “I won’t order you Kreacher, but I would like your help, if you are willing. With all of us together I think we stand a chance. And I think Regulus would be proud of you.”
Kreacher rushed forward and nearly tackled Draco to the floor as he hugged him tightly.
“Kreacher likes Young Master Malfoy.” Draco smiled warmly, but before he could return the sentiment, Kreacher continued. “Kreacher wishes Young Master Malfoy was his Master instead.”
The sound of Potter and Lupin laughing drowned out Black’s objections.
With the help of Potter, Draco stood up and placed the locket on the table. They all stared at it with different levels of scrutiny. The locket didn’t seem as if it housed a piece of the Dark Lord. On the outside, it just resembled an expensive piece of jewelry.
“Do you think this is his only one?” Potter questioned.
“No,” Draco and Black said together. He didn’t think the Dark Lord could have stopped after just one. Not with the body count on his soul.
“It would explain how he vanished all those years ago. A Horcrux saved him.”
Draco glanced up in surprise. He had not considered that.
“Would explain why he had to be rebirthed,” Potter mused with a thoughtful hum.
The surprise vanished as horror filled Draco. He hadn’t needed the mental picture.
Black picked up the locket, his face was pinched in distaste and his frown was off-putting.
“So, we’re really going to do it?” Harry asked. “We’re going to try and get rid of the Horcrux and see if he has any others?”
Black and Lupin shared a long look.
“Yeah,” Black said slowly. “We’re going to do it. The four of us.”
“Five, sir,” Dobby said as he raised his hand.
“Okay the five of us.”
“Six,” Harry argued. “You can’t leave out Kreacher.”
“Bloody hell,” Black exploded. “Fine, the six of us. What kind of group is this? We are a bunch of misfits.”
“I think that’s the best kind,” Draco said with a grin as Black groaned.
“We should have a name,” Harry exclaimed, his eyes bright.
“No.” Black shook his head. “No names, and if there were, neither of you would get to decide.”
“What about Horcrux Hunters?” Lupin offered, and Draco could see the mischief on his face.
“Remus,” Sirius sighed before he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Aren’t you supposed to be the sensible one?”
“I like it,” Harry said quickly as he looked between Black and Lupin. “It’s decided, we are the Horcrux Hunters. If you don’t like it, Sirius, you’ll have to create your own secret duelling club.”
Harry sent Draco a wink. “I told you that you would be in the next one.”
“That doesn’t even make sense,” Black complained. “We aren’t duelling anything.”
Draco ignored Black as he moved closer to Harry.
“Sirius, I think we should go, give them some space.”
“Space?” Black scoffed. “Why would they want—oh, ew.”
Draco wanted to hex Black as much as he wanted to thank him, perhaps that was a familial thing.
“Well, then I’m going to put this somewhere safe.” Black gestured to the locket in his hands.
“Just don’t keep it somewhere where you will touch it!” Lupin called after Black as they headed towards the kitchen door with Kreacher following them.
“I’m not stupid, you know.” A beat of silence. “And I swear if you say—” The kitchen door swung shut and it would seem that Draco wouldn’t know the end of that threat.
“Draco,” Dobby said as he pulled on his robe. “Dobby must be leaving. The Kitchen leader assigns duties today.”
“Okay.” Draco pulled Dobby into a hug. “Thank you for today. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t arrived.”
“Dobby will always be there for Draco—Draco is Dobby’s best friend.”
Draco had to close his eyes against the sting in them. He had already cried too much as it was. He wasn't going to let Dobby’s words get to him as well.
“You are my best friend too.”
When Dobby disapparated, Draco slumped against Potter.
“What a bloody day.”
Potter’s arms wrapped around Draco and pulled him closer. The warmth radiating off of Potter was nice, and he wouldn’t mind staying.
“I have been worried about you.”
“When aren’t you worried?” Draco asked as he entwined their fingers.
“You know, I don’t know why I bother. You are such a prat.”
“Yeah,” Draco agreed with a smile. “But you like me anyway.”
Potter tilted Draco’s chin up. “I do, you know I do.”
Despite the chaos of the day, so much pressure had been lifted off his shoulders, and he was tired of denying himself what he wanted.
And he wanted Potter.
“I like you too.”
Potter smile was bright and beautiful. It was exactly the kind of sight he needed after the day he had.
“I know.”
“Now who’s the prat?” Draco parroted, but the tease fell flat as Potter’s thumb moved in a slow circle on his cheek, each drag of his thumb moved closer to his lips.
“I don’t want to wait anymore,” Potter whispered as his face moved closer.
“I thought we weren't supposed to wait for each other.”
“I lied.”
Draco laughed, and he would have shaken his head, but Potter’s grip kept him still.
“Then what are you waiting for?”
When Potter’s grip weakened, Draco leaned forward the rest of the way and discovered what it felt like to kiss Potter again. Potter’s lips were still chapped, the pressure of their mouths was just as soft, and the build-up of intensity was still there.
The difference was his emotions. Draco had cared for Potter each time they had kissed previously, but not with as much vigour, nor as deeply. As their lips moved slowly, Draco held on to Potter.
One kiss turned into two, three and then quickly into many more. He knew if given the opportunity, he could get lost in Potter—something he wanted to explore. The kiss was familiar but different, because they were different. It made him wonder if their kisses would always be like that. Would it change on the mood? Change with each breath they took?
He couldn’t wait to find out.
The kitchen door slammed open, and it didn’t cause them to spring apart, but they did separate slowly; slow enough that Potter nipped at Draco’s bottom lip and they both groaned.
“For fuck’s sake,” Black said loudly as he opened and closed the door repeatedly. “The first time was supposed to get you to stop.”
They both looked at him, brows arched but said nothing.
Black pointed at Draco. “You are staying here and that’s final.” He gestured between them. “You won’t be sharing a room, you nasties, I remember what it was like to be your age. Ain’t that right, Remus?”
“Kill me now.” Lupin’s muffled voice could be heard, and Draco snickered.
“There are plenty of rooms to choose from,” Black continued as if Lupin hadn’t spoken. “I’d say my home is your home but let’s face it, no one wants to live here. Except maybe Kreacher, and is that really a deciding factor?”
Draco’s lips twitched. He wasn’t sure what to make of Black. Black wasn’t what he expected. It was easy to see how Black had been the outcast of their family, and Draco liked that.
Black moved to leave again but he paused near the door. “I’m glad you are here, Draco.”
Draco looked down as his cheeks felt hot. “Me too. Thank you.”
The door swung shut and Potter’s arms wrapped around him again.
“Are you alright?” Potter asked. “Answer me honestly.”
“No,” Draco said instantly. “I’m not. But I will be.” That much he was sure of.
Draco didn’t know what the future held for him. He didn’t know how his decision would shape the rest of his life, nor was he aware of any mistakes that might arise from it, but he did know that it had been worth it. Every doubt, every fear and every concern had paved his path. And he wouldn’t change a single thing.
Perhaps he could have thought it through better, or came to conclusions sooner, but in the end, it didn’t matter. The what ifs didn’t change the end result. Draco had chosen a path, one of his own making, one that been with all the knowledge possible.
Draco knew he was and he was proud of that—proud of the person he had become, and he would continue to be proud of himself along the way.
Most of his path had been both singular in the direction and in means of comfort—it had been lonely. But going forward would be filled with many people; people who cared about him and wanted to be there.
Draco owed a lot to Regulus, owed him so much, but he also owed many things to himself. And he was pretty sure that Regulus had known that going in.
As much as Draco relied on Regulus’ teachings and took it all to heart, he couldn't live in the past, nor could he dwell on Regulus’ path, not if he were to move onward with his own.
Something told Draco that Regulus would have been alright with that decision.
Dear Cousin,
I don’t know why I am writing this. I told myself I wouldn’t, and yet here we are. Writing my thoughts down isn’t as complicated as the mess of emotions in my head. I know that there is no reason to write to you, expect to satisfy my own curiosity.
I wonder if we will ever get to see each other, not in person, but perhaps in the afterlife? If such a thing as reincarnation exists, I would like to think that we will get to meet each other in another life. Surely, that wouldn’t be asking too much.
Things on my end aren’t bad. Sure, a war is brewing and even fighting it in the limited ways that I can sucks, but it could be worse, and I am forever grateful that it’s not.
I think about you often. Sometimes I wonder what you would do if you were by my side. Would agree with the way things have gone? Would you offer solutions? Your perspective is important to me, and I regret that we never did get to meet each other in the ways we wanted.
This letter is pointless as to the fact that it will go nowhere. I will send it outward and imagine that you could open it, that you could read my words and know that due to you all of this was made possible. You cousin, are the reason I decided to write to you.
You are the reason for a lot of things in my life. There are lessons that I wish I could teach you, as you have taught me. There are discussions I want to have with you, debates I want to explore, and meaningless conversations that last in our memories.
As foolish as this may seem, I hope that somehow my words make it back to you, that even though you are gone you still might feel them. Is that naive? Does that make me fanciful? I want your existence to be what you wished of mine. I want your afterlife to be filled with no strife. I want you to finally be at peace, and to know that the future generations won’t be like us. They won’t know a world of war, they won’t know the pain of living it. The future wizards and witches will have any and all opportunities they desire. They will get the kind of world we should’ve had.
Despite my envy over that, I can’t help but be proud that it will happen at all. I suppose I am speaking without the proof, but it will happen. It’s a new path I have chosen to walk down, and just as any of my other paths, this one is informed and of my own free will.
Something you taught me.
Please know that I will forever be grateful for the changes you caused in my life. The changes that have made me who I am, and the changes I have grown to love. Please know that you are always in my thoughts, and please know that I wish you the best despite the reality of such a thing.
Take care.
Love,
Draco
~fin~
Bonus Scene
Draco knocked on the door harder than normal and snorted when he could hear Sirius complaining louder than the screams of Walburga.
It was Deja vu as the door opened and Sirius had his head turned to look at the painting.
“Harry, shut her up! I swear she is going to drive me mad one of these days.”
“You were already mad.”
“Yes, thank you for that deduction, Remus. You are a peach as always.”
“Well, I like you, Sirius,” Draco drawled with a smirk as Sirius’ head snapped up.
“You little shit,” Sirius hissed as he pulled Draco into the house. “You could have just flooed, or you know, opened the door with the key I gave you, like any normal person would do.”
“Filth! Scum! Half-Bloods and Beasts in the Noble House of Black!”
“I left the key here,” he said as he tuned out Walburga and peered up at Sirius, eyes wide in what he hoped was honesty. He could hear Harry pant and groan in what he figured were Harry’s attempts to wrangle the curtains shut.
Sirius’ eyes narrowed as annoyance filled them.
“Uh huh,” Sirius agreed with a hum. “And floo? Does Augustus not have a fireplace?”
“Of course she does,” Draco said with a huff. “She just ran out of floo powder.”
Sirius’ right eye twitched as Harry made a noise of triumph as Walburga stopped screaming.
“I didn’t choose my wand yesterday, you know?” Sirius said as he pushed Draco further down the hall. “You just wanted to rile her up in an attempt to rile me up.”
Draco let out an exaggerated gasp but paused at the bottom of the stairs to kiss Harry’s cheek in greeting.
“Can you believe this, Harry?”
Harry’s eyes twinkled. “Absolutely.”
“Ha!” Sirius snorted.
“You are supposed to be on my side,” Draco said before he poked Harry in the chest.
When Harry wrapped his arms around Draco’s waist and pulled him close, Draco decided that he could forgive him.
“How was it?” Harry asked as his fingers rubbed circles on Draco’s back. “Did you have fun with Neville?”
Draco lifted his hand in the air and moved it in a so-so manner. “Neville was fun to be with, if you discount his plants that are questionable, but his grandmother really tests my patience. If she keeps insulting him I am going to lock her in a room with Umbridge and see who makes it out alive.”
“That is something I would pay to see.” Remus’ voice had them looking towards the kitchen door. “What are you all doing in the hallway? Let’s go in the kitchen.”
“Actually,” Sirius interrupted, his voice was hesitant and that got Draco’s attention. “You two can go ahead, I have something to show Draco.”
Remus left without comment, but Harry hesitated.
Draco pulled away from Harry’s hold and sent him a nod to reassure him.
“Find me when you are done?” Harry asked, eyes searching Draco’s.
“Always.”
He watched Harry leave with a small smile. When he looked up he tried to flush at the soft way Sirius looked between them.
“What did you want to show me?” Draco prompted in the hope that Sirius wouldn’t talk about his relationship with Harry—again.
Sirius’ smile dimmed slightly, and Draco didn’t want to admit that it worried him.
“Do you mind if we go into the study?”
Draco nodded and his stomach clenched as he grew worried. It had taken him a few months to be alright with entering the study, the reminder of his father’s study had stopped making a recurrence.
When they entered, Draco could see something packaged hung on the wall near one of the bookshelves.
“It’s taken me over two months to get Gringotts to send it to me. If it weren’t for my criminal status, I could have taken it out of my vaults immediately, but there’s nothing to be done about that.”
“What is it?” Draco asked curiously. He could tell that it was a portrait, but why would Sirius want to show him that? Was it an heirloom of some kind?
“I figured you should be the one to open it.”
Draco shook his head in confusion. “What are you—” His breath caught as Sirius pulled off the wrapping paper.
A gold intricate frame outlined the painting. A young man with black wavy hair that was puffed slightly and partially covered one eye stared at him curiously before he looking around the room. A small plack on the wall that had been covered by the low wrapping held a name: Regulus Arcturus Black.
“Sirius, is that you? Merlin, you didn’t age well.”
“Oi!”
Draco inhaled sharply at the deep tone and elegant vibrato. For years he had wondered what Regulus would have looked like, what he would have sounded like, what he would have been like, and yet the image was nothing as he had imagined.
The sound the door made as it closed echoed around the room, but Draco couldn't take his eyes off of Regulus.
“And who might you be?” Regulus’ hands were folded and his eyes looked Draco up and down in a calculating manner.
A slightly wet laugh left Draco as he clutched his robes, the need to do something too strong to ignore.
“You’ve never met me,” Draco began in a shaky tone that caused Regulus’ forehead to wrinkle. “But I know who you are.”
Regulus’ head tilted back slightly as he continued to regard Draco closely.
“It seems there is a power imbalance, for I have no idea who you are. You do look a bit like my Aunt Druella. Are we related?”
Draco nodded as his eyes stung. “My name is Draco Malfoy.”
Regulus’ mouth parted and an inaudible noise left his mouth.
“I got your letters,” Draco continued as he blinked rapidly trying to see through the wetness. “And I wanted to let you know that you have changed my whole life.”
“Draco,” Regulus whispered as if he had been trying to commit the name to memory. “Look at you.”
Draco covered his mouth as he stared at Regulus. He couldn’t believe that it was real, that he was actually having a conversation with him.
“I always tried to picture what you would look like,” Regulus continued, as a small smile formed on his face. “Would you look like your mother or your father? Would you have the sharp features of your father or the softer edges like your mother?”
“And what do you see?” Draco whispered, he was a little worried about the answer. He didn’t want to be like either of them, didn’t want to be looked at and the only recognition to have been seen was for his parents.
“I see you,” Regulus said as his smile grew. “I don’t know you well cousin, but I don’t see much of either of them in you.”
A shaky breath left Draco as he sat down in a nearby chair gingerly.
“What’s the world like?” Regulus asked in earnest, his tone was subtle, as if he didn’t want to come across as eager. “Have things changed much?”
“Some,” Draco said with a shrug. “But not enough.”
The smile left Regulus’ face and for the first time, Draco could see the person who had fought in a war.
“I take it the Dark Lord is still alive?”
“He came back over a year ago. We think a Horcrux saved him.”
Regulus closed his eyes and his shoulders slumped. “I had been afraid of that. How did he disappear the first time? Someone powerful must have taken him out.”
Draco chuckled and it turned into a laugh when Regulus frowned at him.
“A baby got rid of him.”
“Are you messing with me?”
Draco laughed harder. “No, I’m not. We don’t know much about what happened, actually. All we know is that the Dark Lord went after Lily and James Potter’s son.”
“The Potters were powerful,” Regulus said with a nod for emphasis. “It does not surprise me that he chose to take them out. But to target their son?”
Draco lifted his hands in the air. He didn’t understand it any better than Regulus did.
“All we know is that only Harry made it out alive.”
“The baby?” Regulus questioned, his nose turned upward and his lips downcast in a frown. “A baby got rid of the Dark Lord?”
“Yes.”
“Must have been a very powerful baby.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “Don’t say that, his ego doesn’t need a boost.”
Regulus hummed curiously. “You are friends?”
A sharp knock interrupted Draco’s response.
“Are you alright? Sirius just told me.”
Draco’s heart skipped a beat at the concerned tone.
“I’m alright, Harry. I’ll find you, okay?”
There was a muffled response and then only silence.
Draco looked up at grinned at the way Regulus’ eyes were on the door.
“That would be the baby,” Draco said with a laugh. “He’s also my boyfriend.”
Regulus’ eyes snapped onto Draco and a smirk so similar to Sirius’ had Draco groaning. He didn’t need to be teased by two members of the Black family.
“Well, I’d say a lot of things have changed.”
Many things had changed, and many things would continue to change.
“You haven’t—” Draco bit his lip. “You haven’t asked me about my decisions. Or whether or not I became a Death Eater.”
“That’s because it doesn’t matter to me,” Regulus explained, eyes soft and a patient smile in place. “I told you from the beginning that I would always love whoever you turned out to be. Death Eater or not.”
Draco closed his eyes as he relaxed further into the chair.
“I didn’t,” he whispered. “I said no.”
“And I’m sure that was hard for you.”
Draco nodded, ashamed at the answer. Sirius, Remus, and even Harry commend the bravery of saying no, but they never stopped to realize how easy it would have been to give in. The easiest path hadn’t been the one he chose.
“Being good is so hard,” Draco said, eyes still closed. “Why is that? Why is it easy to do the wrong thing?”
“I wish I had the answer for that.”
Draco opened his eyes and took in Regulus’ sombre face.
“I want you to know that I’m proud of you,” Regulus continued. “I’m proud of who you are, not the decisions you made or the path you chose. I’m proud of the person that you have become, the person who you once were, and I’ll be proud of the person who you will continue to be.”
He looked up to the ceiling as his eyes began to sting once more. Draco had always wanted his father to be proud of him. As a child, he had sought his father’s approval, just so he could hear those words—but they had never come.
To have Regulus’ pride meant everything to Draco. In many ways, Regulus had taught Draco the most important life lessons, the ones he would take with him, always.
“Thank you.” He wiped his eyes on the back of his hand and revelled in the knowledge that it would have made his father cringe.
“So,” Regulus began after he cleared his throat. “You know most of my story, mainly the middle and the end, but now it’s your turn. I want to know all about you, cousin. I want you to tell me your story.”
“That might take a while.”
“That’s alright. We have all the time in the world.”
So Draco talked and talked. He told Regulus everything, no detail had been left out. They talked until the sun went down, they talked even after Draco grew hungry, they talked till his eyes began to droop, and then they promised to talk later—promised to continue to talk even when there was nothing left to say.
As Regulus said, they had all the time in the world.
