to the dark lord

by justwhatialwayswanted

Summary:

Regulus Black is the only remaining son of the oldest pureblood family in Britain, the heir to a thousand-year-old legacy built on blood purity, and one of the most experienced Dark Arts users at Hogwarts. His joining the Death Eaters isn't just an expectation—it's practically a given. His parents certainly think so.

There's just one problem: Regulus has no intention of doing it. He's unenthused by the prospect of torturing and murdering Muggleborns, and as for championing the Dark Arts, well, why entrust to Voldemort something that he can do much better himself?

But it's the middle of Regulus's fifth year at Hogwarts, and the war is already picking up steam. If he wants to take on both Voldemort and Dumbledore, he has some catching up to do.

Notes:

the final chapter estimate is very much an estimate - the main purpose of it is to indicate roughly how long the fic will be. so don't be surprised if that number fluctuates lol

i'm tagging this fic as 'choose not to use archive warnings' because i want to give myself some flexibility as i write - i'll add appropriate warnings as needed and will say in the author's notes if i've changed the warnings for the fic

MAJOR THANKS TO THEMINORFALLANDTHEMAJORLIFT FOR BETA-ING!!! you are massively raising the quality of this fic from worldbuilding to plotting to wordsmithing thank you so so much!! <3 <3 <3

if you'd like to include this (or any of my fics) in a collection, please *ask first* - via tumblr is preferred, but via comments on the fic in question also works

oh and one last thing: i do not stand with jkr. fuck her and her antisemitism and transphobia

Chapter 1

Regulus takes as long as possible to unpack his trunk on the first night back at Hogwarts.

This shouldn't be a particularly time-consuming task, since he left most of his things at school over the winter holidays, but he stretches it out as much as he can, unfolding and re-folding each pair of socks with excessive care, faking indecision about how best to arrange his ties, and occasionally pausing to flip through one of the books he brought back to Hogwarts with him. It's essential to seem natural, or at least somewhat natural. Regulus would prefer to avoid attracting suspicion from his roommates.

Well, one roommate in particular.

The Slytherin fifth-year boys' dorm is small and always has been. There are three of them, although which three has changed over the years, what with Emma Vanity moving to the girls' dorm in the middle of their first year and Evan Rosier joining Regulus and Barty Crouch at the start of their second. Normally, this makes it very easy to have private conversations with Barty, as Evan doesn't spend much time in their room and there's nobody else to worry about. The exceptions to this rule being the first and last nights of term, because Evan is a chronic overpacker who frequently ends up charming his wardrobe and bookshelf to make everything fit. This is something Regulus should have remembered when he decided to tell Barty about his plan on the first night back. But he forgot, so here he is, pretending to contemplate the proper placement for a pair of shoes while watching Evan unpack out of the corner of his eye and wondering how many cloaks one person could possibly need.

Strictly speaking, he could come up with some excuse to leave with Barty and have this conversation elsewhere, but that option is more complicated than it's worth. There are very few places at Hogwarts where one can have a conversation with absolute privacy—at least, not without setting up some time-consuming and conspicuous wards. Besides, both Barty and Regulus leaving at the same time for a reason other than classes or meals would be noticeable. Regulus's fledgling plan needs some time to solidify before he makes it public knowledge. Thus, he needs to wait for Evan to leave, which means picking up another book at random and flipping through it as if it's suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.

Unfortunately, the book he's picked up turns out to be the Charms textbook, which falls open to the section on the Animation Charm, where the spine's creased from Regulus spending so much time staring at it over the holidays. He carefully does not wince and does his best to look deeply fascinated.

But his best is perhaps a little too good, because Evan says, "Regulus, you should have told me you spontaneously developed a passion for Charms over the holidays. I've been dying to find someone to talk to about the underlying theory besides Professor Flitwick, and Emma refuses to oblige."

Oh, absolutely not.

Regulus can attribute any and all outward composure in the face of such a suggestion to Mother and Narcissa's examples of unshakable poise (or nearly unshakable, in Mother's case). Having spent his childhood learning from them is the only thing that prevents him from shuddering now. But when he looks up from the page, Evan is grinning, which is a sign that he's probably joking.

Probably.

Still, this is a path that Regulus needs to cut off before anything disastrous can happen, like Evan actually talking to him about Charms theory. "It's never too early to begin studying for OWLs."

The smile melts into a melodramatic sigh of a sort that Regulus normally sees from Evan when Geoff announces extra practices for Slytherin's Chasers. Despite the ostensible disappointment, his blue eyes crinkle up at the corners, as if he and Regulus are in on the same private joke. "I was afraid you'd say that. At least for a brief moment I lived in a world where I didn't know anyone who preferred studying for OWLs to unpacking."

"Maybe Regulus is just trying to make you feel less alone in spending an hour unpacking all your shit." Barty is noticeably not unpacking. He spent ten minutes on it, then loudly announced that he was bored and sprawled out on his bed with a book. (Barty's one of the tallest people in their year, which means he can take up an entire bed quite easily, provided he does his best imitation of a starfish.) Regulus didn't get a good look at its cover before Barty opened it, but judging by the size, he's guessing that it's one of those awful Cyprian Silkwood novels. If Regulus wanted to be subjected to that much rambling, he'd pay attention to Professor Binns. Then again, he keeps buying them for Barty as birthday gifts, so perhaps he only has himself to blame whenever Barty wants to talk about the latest plot arc.

Evan glances amusedly in Barty's direction. "It'll take you that long too, you know."

"Oh, I'm done."

He looks pointedly from Barty to his trunk, still half-full of a jumble of whatever Barty felt was necessary when he packed his things, whenever that was. Sometime around three in the morning, most likely.

Barty follows Evan's gaze to his trunk and shrugs. "I already put away everything that might wrinkle. What does it matter if the rest of my stuff is sitting in my trunk as opposed to anywhere else?"

(When Barty was sorted into Slytherin, there were a few older students who doubted that he was truly one of them, given his by-the-book father, but nobody can deny his pragmatism. Especially when it lets him avoid doing things he doesn't want to do.)

"You horrify me," Evan says cheerfully as he begins putting his shoes away. Regulus has lived with Evan long enough to know that he always puts shoes at the bottom of his trunk, which means he should be getting close to being done, which means Regulus can put down the Charms textbook and get back to his very slow unpacking. He still has most of his shirts left. He can stretch that out for at least ten minutes.

Nothing really depends on Regulus communicating his plan to Barty as soon as possible. If Evan takes forever to put his shoes away, it's not as if Regulus's future will go up in smoke. It's just that he's tired of keeping it to himself. When the plan only exists in Regulus's mind, it's nebulous, abstracted, less a plan than a possibility. It doesn't feel real.

He wants it to be real.

Each shirt has been folded crisply to fit in his trunk, but the sharp creases fall out one by one as Regulus picks them up and puts them away. Kreacher is good with clothes, so these enchantments will last for a month or so even without him around to maintain them. After that, Regulus will simply have to hope they don't wrinkle too obviously before he can bring them home over spring break.

Not that anybody at Hogwarts except him will really care if they do. But for as long as Regulus can remember, he's checked his clothes for wrinkles, both when he puts them on and when he has an opportunity to look in a mirror. It started as a simple daily task, one of the things every Black had to do, because they weren't the sort of family to be unkempt. Then it changed slowly from habit to compulsion, Regulus growing neater and more fastidious as Sirius embraced wrinkled clothes and shaggy hair and sitting with his feet propped up on the nearest table. Somewhere along the way, Regulus started to hate the idea of not feeling put together. The closest he ever gets is immediately after a grueling quidditch practice, the kind that leaves even Evan and Megan Fleming, Slytherin's second-year Beater, subdued on the walk back to the castle. And even then, quidditch gear is its own kind of defense against anyone who might otherwise judge the flyaways in Regulus's hair or the redness of his face. Dishevelment is permissible when it's in pursuit of the Quidditch Cup. At all other times, though, Regulus is Heir Black, and he can't let anyone forget it. It was difficult enough to rebuild respect for the title after Sirius all but burned it to the ground and make his peers understand that even though he came to the title of heir later than most, he is in fact extremely well-suited to the position.

Evan puts away his last pair of shoes and closes his trunk with a flourish. The flourish proves to have been a bit too dramatic, as a few strands of short golden hair fall in his face and he has to push them back out of the way. "Right, it's far too quiet in here, so I'm going to the common room. See you later."

Then he's gone without a backward glance. Evan is like that—always chasing whatever seems most interesting at the moment. Regulus is pretty sure it's a result of constantly jumping from conversation to conversation with every single guest at the Rosiers' various parties.

As soon as the door is closed, Barty sticks a bookmark in his book and sits up. "What's up with you?"

"So much," Regulus says, with more honesty than he would permit when talking to literally anyone else. "Was it obvious?"

He shrugs. Barty shrugs like he's never been reprimanded for doing it, which is because he hasn't been. His father may be strict, but he mostly cares about Barty's marks, and his mother is much more relaxed. "I never know what Evan notices and what he doesn't. If he's suspicious that you're up to something, it's definitely because you pretended to be absorbed in reading the Charms textbook of all things."

"I'll have you know I spent quite a bit of the holidays doing just that, and it actually was because of OWLs."

"Ugh, don't remind me." The look Barty sends at his own stack of textbooks seems to hint at a desire for them to spontaneously burst into flame. "My father wouldn't stop talking about them. And rattling off lists of which entry-level jobs in which Ministry departments require which NEWTs, and so on and so forth. I made a point of not remembering any of it. Please don't tell me that you pretended to forget how to fold socks because you wanted to talk about OWLs. I'm not strong enough to fight that war on two fronts."

Regulus spent quite a bit of time mulling this over on the train, in the brief snatches of time when he could be certain that nobody would be asking for his opinion on what was being said for a minute or two. He's concluded that the best way to open this conversation is simply to rip off the bandage. There's no way of knowing when Evan will reappear, after all. "You're in luck. I want to talk about the real war."

Barty's brow furrows. "Did something happen? I thought you were trying to stay out of it."

Regulus is about to dive into a recount of what happened, but then the implication behind Barty's wording hits him. "I thought we were both trying to stay out of it. Did something happen to you?"

He shifts uncomfortably. Barty was not raised like Regulus was, and as a result, he displays his emotions with an ease that still feels foreign to Regulus, even after years of them being best friends. The careful neutrality on Barty's face now is an expression that Regulus is perhaps overly familiar with, though. (Maybe even one that Barty picked up from him.) "I mean, I already told you, my father's been a pain in the arse recently. I need a career option other than 'Ministry official' or 'family disappointment.' I'm not letting him win."

"Obviously not. How does this relate to the war?"

There are not many people at Hogwarts who have the nerve to look at Regulus as if he is stupid. Of the people who do, Barty is his favorite. However, that does not mean Regulus particularly appreciates it, even coming from him.

"We both know," Barty says delicately, "that everyone with connections is gathering on one side of it."

Oh.

Right.

Suddenly, Regulus understands the 'you're being stupid' look. The clear oversight, paired with needing Barty to lead him to a conclusion that he should have already thought of on his own, leaves him feeling like he's stepped on a trick stair and fallen on his face.

Because Regulus should have thought of this already. At Hogwarts, Barty has very little need for networking. Being close with Regulus gives him more than enough social capital to secure his position as a respected member of Slytherin. But this is Hogwarts, where Sacred Twenty-Eight heirs are the highest ranking people around. They won't be here forever. Regulus should never have forgotten that the hierarchies established at Hogwarts are temporary, destined to falter and break after they graduate.

Outside of the castle, Regulus depends on his parents, who wouldn't be thrilled about extending their friendship to anyone even loosely associated with the DMLE, no matter how good Barty is at keeping secrets from his father. They're aware that Regulus and Barty are friends, of course, and tolerate it on the grounds that Barty has no close ties to any other Sacred Twenty-Eight families that might result in complicated loyalties. (Evan doesn't count, nor do their yearmates Emma Vanity and Maeve Bulstrode, because Barty is closer with Regulus than he is with any of them.) But tolerating Regulus's friendship with someone who is less than ideal (though at least better than James Potter) is different from actually expending effort in order to help a blood traitor with nothing to offer in return.

Which is another big problem. Barty may disagree with his father on most things, but they're both vehement blood traitors. It was Barty's refusal to accept conversational defeat in their first year that made Regulus begin to question the institution of blood purity.

But Regulus was raised to be a blood purist the same way Barty was raised to be a blood traitor. If one of them could be swayed, so can the other.

Who would sway Barty, though? There are a few outspoken blood purists at Hogwarts, the loudest ones being a cluster of generally unpleasant bullies among Slytherin's sixth- and seventh-years. As far as Regulus is aware, Barty doesn't like them, but he's positive that there are many more blood purists who just aren't speaking up about it because they don't want to be associated with the likes of Mulciber and the Carrows. So... there are possibilities.

But it still doesn't make any sense. Barty can't possibly be intending to throw all of that out the window and dive into an ideology he's scorned his whole life for the sake of getting one over on his father. He can't.

And they're best friends. Barty would have said something if he were actually considering changing his mind about blood purity.

Unless he decided not to say anything because he knew Regulus would try to persuade him otherwise.

No. That's never stopped Barty from speaking his mind. He doesn't care for holding his tongue. It's part of why they're friends. So Regulus needs to... needs to take it on faith that Barty's being honest about his reasoning.

That doesn't mean he's going to accept it without question, though.

Barty's raised a straw-blond eyebrow at him, which means Regulus has been silent for too long as he turns that over in his head, so he opens his mouth and says something. "The side that tortures Muggleborns. Just so we're clear."

It feels awkward, too abrupt, too blunt, more like Sirius than he cares to be. But he's said it now. There's no going back.

Barty responds quickly, as if he expected Regulus to bring that up, which he probably did. "I didn't say it was a good plan. But, you know, it's an option."

"An unnecessary one." Still too blunt, too forceful, and Regulus makes himself pull back. He hasn't spent this much time watching Mother to toss everything he's learned from her out the window. Sirius was Mother's weak point, the only person who could get her to phrase anything in a less-than-genteel manner. Regulus doesn't want to imitate her at her worst. He is in control of himself and he will maintain that control. It's not like Barty's gone and gotten himself Marked already.

"That depends on how the next couple of years go, doesn't it?" Barty says.

"Yes, but also no," Regulus says, and he pivots, because he needs a more substantial counterargument and he has an excellent one to use. "This is exactly the kind of thing I wanted to talk to you about."

And it seems that he's chosen a good time. Who knows what might have happened if Regulus had waited a little longer to bring this up? Barty may be a lifelong blood traitor, unusual for Slytherin, but he's as goal-oriented as the rest of them. If he decides joining the Death Eaters is the best path forward, he will follow through. Regulus doesn't even want to see Barty and Bellatrix in the same room, much less working together. But if he doesn't provide a better option, then he might not be able to do anything about it.

Regulus already wanted Barty on his side. The situation hasn't changed. It's just that now the stakes are higher.

He can still make this work.

"But you changed your mind over the holidays too." Barty's looking at him with clear skepticism now. He and Evan are both blond, but that's largely where the resemblance ends. Barty is sharp where Evan is sunny, and his skeptical look is even better than Narcissa's. "At least, that's what I'm assuming, since you brought this whole thing up. You can't be about to tell me that you want to join Dumbledore. Just go to your dear cousin Bella and ask her to kill you, it'll be quicker."

Barty makes an excellent point. Or he would, if Regulus were actually planning to go anywhere near Dumbledore's ragtag group of vigilantes. "I have a better solution. It requires neither swearing allegiance to Dumbledore nor torturing Muggleborns."

Even deeper skepticism. "Fleeing the country?"

"No."

"Alright, I'm tentatively intrigued. Hit me with it."

"Consider this." Regulus lets himself smile a little, rather than maintaining his customary neutrality—it's just Barty, and he is rather pleased with himself. "The war as it stands right now is between two sides. Dumbledore has set it up as a battle of dark and light, and the Dark Lord is playing along, probably because he realizes that there are quite a few Dark families who don't care about blood purity one way or another but do care about being able to practice Dark Arts."

Strictly speaking, there are a few families, like the McKinnons, who would probably sacrifice their family magic (or just hush it up even more) rather than support the eradication of Muggleborns. They're in the minority, though. Old pureblood families, the kind that have continued practicing certain magics and developing familial specialties even once the Ministry declared them Dark Arts, have remained pureblood specifically because they don't make a habit of welcoming outsiders, especially Muggleborns, to share in their most closely guarded secrets. The Blacks are the oldest and purest of the Dark families, so to say Regulus is familiar with this mindset would be a vast understatement. The reigning theory is that accepting anyone who wasn't raised to have respect for the Dark Arts (and a healthy enthusiasm for breaking laws) is a sure way to have all of one's family secrets revealed. People have been disowned or killed for less. If there is one thing every Dark family agrees on, it is that they do not want a Ministry crackdown.

"As long as this is how the war is set up, Dumbledore and the Dark Lord can divide up the magical world between the two of them and amass as much power as possible in doing so," Regulus says. "Then one side will win and attempt to exterminate the other, and the whole cycle will begin again, just like with Grindelwald. Does everything make sense so far?"

"War is always inevitable between intelligent creatures," Barty drones in an unexpectedly good impression of Professor Binns. "Yes, all clear. And?"

"There are two pain points. Blood purity and Dark Arts. And other factors like creature rights and such, but those only tend to come up when both sides are competing for allegiance from a nonhuman group. Dumbledore is a champion of Muggleborn rights, so they flock to him, as do blood traitors. The Dark families who feel that their standing is threatened by Muggleborn advancement join whatever the other side is. Yes?"

"Yes. So?"

"So, this is a dance that has been going on for generations. Two sides, a war with immense loss of life, and then we start over with a new leader rising to take the place of whoever lost the last time. That doesn't appeal to me, personally."

"You've gone into lecture mode, Reg." Which is Barty's long-established way of informing Regulus that it's time for him to get to the bloody point.

"Nearly there, I promise." Regulus spent most of the train ride planning out this speech, so Barty is going to hear the whole thing whether he likes it or not. "This entire cycle is dependent on two sides, one that supports Muggleborns and one that supports Dark Arts. If a third side is introduced, one that can do both, then the cycle is ruined. That third side can siphon off support from both Dumbledore and the Dark Lord and leave them fighting a meaningless war of attrition as the rest of us move on. If we play our cards right, we can even put an end to the other two sides ourselves, and then the last victory will be ours for the taking."

The best thing about Barty is that Regulus has never once had to slow down for him. He hardly bats an eyelash as Regulus lays out the plan. Then he tilts his head, which is presumably a sign that the implications have hit him. "You're putting together a third side that's pro-Muggleborn? Do your parents know?"

The implications have indeed hit. "Yes, I am, and no, they don't. I'll inform them once it's too late for them to do anything about it." Not that Regulus has any idea yet of when that will be, but he'll figure it out.

"Getting people to back you without your parents' support will be tough."

Regulus raises an eyebrow. "And pledging your life to He-Who-Tortures will be easier?"

"Fair enough." Barty is starting to smile. "So what exactly are you offering me?"

"I should hope it's a simple choice." It seemed that way on the train, while Regulus was unpacking, all the way up until Barty brought up the Death Eaters. But all he can do right now is put his cards on the table, wait to see how Barty responds, and act accordingly.

So Regulus takes a breath and makes his offer. "Foot soldier in the Death Eaters? Or would you rather be my right hand?"

Barty grins. "Don't ask stupid questions."

Which is pretty much exactly what Regulus thought Barty would say.

But having the confirmation lifts a weight off of his chest anyway. He didn't want to do this without Barty. He'd manage, of course, but Barty was right about it being a difficult path to walk. Regulus doesn't want to do it alone. He especially doesn't want to do it alone as he watches Barty vanish into the ranks of the Death Eaters. (The irony is that maybe then Regulus's parents would accept them being friends, as opposed to just tolerating it.)

Step one of his plan, securing Barty's support, has been completed. Now he gets to move on to step two: chipping away at Voldemort and Dumbledore's power. If he makes enemies, so be it. As the spare, he could afford to sit back, be noncommittal, make vague statements of agreement with every side. He can't do that anymore. If he never makes any enemies, he'll never gain more true allies.

That being said, at this stage, attempting to make himself a known foe of both Voldemort and Dumbledore is far too dangerous. While he's gathering support, he'll focus on some more manageable enemies. People he can cut down easily, who will have difficulty getting back at him for it.

Fortunately, Regulus knows exactly where to start.

Chapter 2

The first day of spring term starts bright and early with double Charms.

This is a bad way to begin any day, and it is a particularly bad way to begin a week. Regulus does not hate school, but every time Monday morning arrives and he has to trudge up to Professor Flitwick's classroom yet again, he is sorely tempted to change his mind about that.

It's not that the class itself is that horrible. Professor Flitwick is one of the better lecturers at Hogwarts, and he doesn't give much homework. Slytherin doesn't take Charms with any of the other houses this year, so Regulus doesn't have to worry about avoiding certain irritating people. That being said, it does mean that their Charms class is very small. And Regulus has been struggling for years to prevent anyone from noticing that his facility with Charms is subpar, so a small class makes his life difficult.

It's only a little subpar. He tends to do just well enough that Flitwick doesn't notice him struggling. This is key. But it does mean that the first few times Regulus attempts a new charm in class, he has to wait until Flitwick's back is turned. This was much easier in fourth year when they had Charms with the Ravenclaws, who tended to monopolize Flitwick's attention because of a combination of a burning desire to ask detailed questions about the lecture and a tendency towards modifying spells they are absolutely not supposed to modify, with amusing and sometimes disturbing effects. When it's just the Slytherins, the only reliable distraction for Flitwick is Evan, who has an irritating habit of sitting near Regulus. Thus, Flitwick can see Regulus in his peripheral vision whenever he's talking to Evan, which means Regulus has to spend almost the entire practical section of each class pretending to be in deep thought and hoping he draws as little attention as possible.

So it's not his favorite time of the week.

He's been rather bad at Charms for years now, though, so he has perfected his 'I have no strong feelings about this class' mask, and he sits down at his desk and takes out parchment and quill without any outward indication of reluctance. Double Charms with just the Slytherins. He got through an entire term of this. He only has to get through one more. Then he can drop the class and never cast so much as a Wingardium leviosa for the rest of his life. (This is an incredibly unrealistic dream, because charms are the most common form of spell and it is inevitable that Regulus will use them somehow. But he needs something to see him through OWLs, and practicing does not improve his mood, so unrealistic daydreaming it is.)

Professor Flitwick claps his hands. "Right, welcome back, everyone! I hope you all had a most refreshing winter break. If we had time, I'd tell you a bit about how my break went, but OWLs are only a few short months away, and I do believe our time is better spent on a review of all the charms that have certainly slipped your minds over the holiday. Charms Review will have an extremely interesting article in March about the results of performing mind-enhancing enchantments on cursed objects, that's all I'll say."

Evan tilts his head, and Regulus immediately knows that he will overhear a long conversation about this article as soon as the practical section of class begins. (Not that he'll be actively trying to eavesdrop. Evan's sitting two seats away, so it will simply be inevitable.) It's odd that Evan is so fascinated by Charms when the Rosiers have a reputation for a certain... lack of scholarly inclination, but it's not like any family would object to their children doing well in school.

"Yes, Miss Yaxley?" Flitwick adds, and Regulus belatedly realizes that Charlotte's raised her hand. She is, without a doubt, the least social of the Slytherins in their year. Which is saying something, because Regulus has mastered the art of sitting in the midst of a group of people having a conversation and saying as little as possible. But Charlotte is always working on assignments, much to the disappointment of Professor Slughorn, who has been inviting her to Slug Club events in vain for years. Regulus was genuinely surprised that she accepted her prefect badge instead of finding some way to turn it down in favor of spending time on her studies.

"Are we spending the entire class period on review?" Charlotte says. "Because I was reading ahead in the textbook last night—" (Maeve Bulstrode abruptly looks down to flip through her notes, but Regulus still catches her rolling her eyes.) "—and I have some questions about the different types of stasis charms."

"We'll be spending as much time as is necessary to get you all back into the swing of things, and then we'll move on," Flitwick says. "But I highly doubt I'll have many students during office hours today, so if your questions aren't answered during class, do come by then!"

Behind him, several pieces of chalk rise and start scribbling out a list of spells on the board. There are at least eight, when they usually cover one or two per class period. Flitwick doesn't even bother to turn around and look at what the chalk is writing—he just beams at their class and says, "Busy day today! Let's get started."

Regulus glances around as subtly as he can. Charlotte is re-tying the end of her braid and looks completely unimpressed by the length of the list of spells. Evan, similarly unfazed, whispers something quickly to Emma Vanity, who has a long-suffering expression on her face. Maeve trades a perturbed look with Lucinda Talkalot, who's tapping her glittery green fingernails on her desk. That will probably get irritating soon. At least they seem appropriately disturbed by how much Flitwick is trying to pack into this class. And Barty has his head propped in one hand and is clearly fighting to stay awake. Par for the course for Monday morning Charms class, really.

"Now, we've gone over the theory for these spells in plenty of detail already," Professor Flitwick says, and Regulus barely has time to comprehend those words and begin to feel dread before he continues, "So let's jump right into the practical work!"

It's going to be a long morning.

 

Somehow, Regulus gets through the class with the bare minimum of embarrassing himself. They only manage to review six of the spells on the list, so Flitwick declares that they'll finish up on Thursday, and then he sends them off to lunch with his customary "Wonderful work, everyone!" and a reminder that the school chorus is holding auditions for the spring term next week. (Regulus will not be auditioning. He would genuinely rather die.)

"Well, that was fun," Barty says once they step into the corridor. "Who else is thrilled to find out what McGonagall will put us through next period?"

"I really hope you're kidding," Maeve says. Watching her and Barty talk to each other is always amusing, as she only comes up to about his shoulder. Maeve refuses to let herself go unnoticed because of her height, though. "My brain was basically melting out of my ears by the end of fall term in that class. At this point, I just want OWLs to start already so they can end and I can start dropping classes."

Lucinda pouts. "You don't want to take NEWT Transfiguration with me?"

"This isn't news to you. I've been telling you that since fourth year. You've had plenty of time to find other people to take it with."

"You're taking NEWT Transfiguration, Cinda?" Barty says. "Like, because you want to?"

"Provided I do well enough on the OWL to get into McGonagall's class," Lucinda says. "Which I will."

Evan sidesteps a lamp that attempts to shoot fire at him. (Of all the hazardous lighting fixtures around the castle, that one is probably Regulus's least favorite. The others are largely harmless, as long as one doesn't do anything stupid.) "I still can't believe you prefer Transfiguration to Charms."

"Really?" Maeve groans. "This again? On the first day back?"

"Why are you surprised?" Emma says.

"I honestly don't know anymore."

"The theory is more interesting," Lucinda sniffs in Evan's direction.

"Your opinion is appalling," he says.

"Yours is superficial."

"And?"

She ponders it, then shrugs. "I'll come up with more points after lunch. Right now I'm too focused on the prospect of food."

"Victory is mine!" Evan says.

"I wouldn't call that a victory so much as Lucinda having other priorities," Emma says.

"Are they mutually exclusive?"

"No, but I feel like it should spoil your victory a little."

"I've never let anything spoil my victories in my entire life, and I'm not about to start now," he replies cheerfully. "Although depending on what McGonagall hits us with, I could see Transfiguration spoiling my day in general."

"Professor McGonagall said in December that we'd start temporary human transfiguration immediately after the holiday," Charlotte says. "I don't think she's planning to do any review until April or so. We'll have to handle that ourselves."

"My brother says that was his favorite part of classes in fifth year," Maeve says.

"Wonderful," Lucinda says. "Lottie, do you know if there's a study group meeting tonight?"

"Don't call me Lottie," is Charlotte's immediate response. Then, "Joaquin told me on the train yesterday that he's not drawing up a formal agenda since he doesn't think many people will show up, but he and Nathaniel will be there. Athena is a maybe."

Judging by the context, Regulus is assuming they're discussing their transfiguration study group, so he does not need to find an excuse to exit the conversation. Both Lucinda and Charlotte seem to think that study groups are absolutely vital to success in practically every class, which doesn't impact Regulus's life very much unless they're discussing arithmancy. Then he has to be on guard in case Lucinda tries to recruit him again. He's quite sure that Anne Hopkins, one of the Ravenclaw prefects in their year, has put her up to it, and Regulus can only stand Hopkins' presence for so much time per week before needing to withdraw. It's not that she's rude—on the contrary, she's incredibly enthusiastic about arithmancy and has seized on Regulus as the one competing with her for top marks in the class. This would be fine if she wanted to be academic rivals. Unfortunately, she has decided that she would rather work together, and Regulus has far too many things competing for his time to sign up for a friendship that would definitely result in constant extra-credit projects. 

"Why are you going to a study group meeting on the first day back?" Evan says. "Aren't there more fun ways to spend your time?"

"We're not all devoted to quidditch," Charlotte says. "Some of us have better things to do."

"Rude and unnecessary," Emma says.

"I'm not devoted to quidditch," Evan says. "I have plenty of time for other things."

Charlotte glares at him. "Don't you dare wink at me."

"I wasn't going to, but now my feelings are hurt."

"That is none of my concern." They reach the main staircase down to the castle entryway, and Charlotte turns in the direction of the library. "I need to get some books. See you after lunch."

As the rest of them start to descend, Lucinda sighs. "It will be so much easier to live with her once OWLs are over."

"Then we'll only have a year until our professors start lecturing us about NEWTs," Barty points out.

"And I will endeavor to savor every moment of sixth year because of that."

"Good luck," Emma says. "NEWT students get way more homework per class."

Lucinda gives her a quizzical look. "Why are you wishing me luck? You'll be right there with me."

"Not in NEWT Transfiguration."

"How tragic."

 

Transfiguration is, fortunately, business as usual, which in this case means a complicated lecture followed by a complicated practical followed by complicated homework. Regulus has never gotten involved in the Charms-versus-Transfiguration debate (which Evan and Lucinda bring up at least once every couple of months), but if he did, he'd come down decisively on the side of Transfiguration, even if he weren't mediocre at Charms. Transfiguration is complicated, but it's methodical. As long as he understands all of the steps, the spells work correctly, which is a refreshing change after a morning of carefully reviewing incantations and then having no clue why they're performing inadequately. Everything works out neatly in Transfiguration, much like in Arithmancy. So even though Regulus hasn't openly declared a side in the debate, he's with Lucinda.

What with Transfiguration being normal, the afternoon is shaping up to be much better than the morning. They do have History of Magic with the Gryffindors next, but things could be worse. Regulus has no need to pay attention in that class, since he had the OWL-level curriculum memorized before he turned ten. He's tentatively planning on using this class period either to start on his Transfiguration homework or to stare out the window and think about Slytherin's prospects for the Quidditch Cup. (No matter which he chooses, it's likely that there will be some staring out the window involved anyway. Professor Binns has a way of eroding Regulus's ability to focus, and although he's fairly sure it's been proven that ghosts are incapable of mind magic and thus incapable of mental attacks on one's power of concentration, perhaps they ought to do another study.)

His plan is upended less than ten minutes into the lecture, when Barty slides an almost-entirely-blank piece of parchment onto his desk, significantly larger and harder to conceal than the scraps they usually use to pass notes.

Regulus glances at Binns to see if he's noticed, but Binns' gaze is currently fixed on some point above the entire class's heads, so it's probably safe to assume that he either doesn't know or doesn't care. Nobody in their class has been caught passing notes before, even though a few of the Gryffindors have gotten increasingly brazen about it over the year. Binns has never done anything about it. Regulus always checks anyway, but it's nice to know that the risk of facing consequences is low.

Having made sure Binns poses no danger, he turns his attention back to the parchment.

I have questions about what you said yesterday, it reads in Barty's cramped handwriting. And for the record, I'd like to state that while I'm fully on board unless given reason to do otherwise, it is an insane plan.

Ah. That.

Emily Zhu, a Gryffindor who sits on Regulus's other side, is doodling on her own piece of parchment, so Regulus doesn't worry about whether she'll read what he's writing. He does keep his handwriting as small as possible, though. Just in case. Besides, this might be a long conversation. Every option is insane except fleeing the country, and there's no way I'd ever be able to do that. And I sincerely hope you're not actually planning on keeping any of this on record.

Barty is reading along as he writes, so when Regulus hands back the parchment there's no delay before he starts writing. First of all, stop nitpicking, you know it's an expression. I'll get rid of the parchment after class. Second of all, yeah, your reasons for doing it are clear, don't worry about that. But V & D will both try to box you into one side or the other. Can't counter that with words. How are you proving you're not with either of them?

By attacking both of them, Regulus replies. And I will never stop nitpicking.

To what end? Wiping out the other sides? That won't happen. (Barty gracefully ignores Regulus's other statement.)

Zhu shifts in her seat, so Regulus leans forward in his chair and props his chin in his hand to block her view of the parchment, just in case her attention has started to wander. But she just sighs, vaguely in Binns' direction, and goes back to her doodling. Somewhere on the other side of the classroom, someone is tapping their nails on their desk. Hopefully it's not Lucinda again. They sit next to each other in Arithmancy, and Regulus isn't sure he can take the constant noise for another class period.

That's not necessary, he writes. Just forcing them out of power and filling the vacuum ourselves. Or with our people. We can't do it with just the two of us.

Barty takes some time to think about that before he responds. How do we fill the vacuum? Overt Ministry control or running things behind the scenes?

Both.

Then use it for what?

Which is... a good question, really.

Regulus's primary objective is avoiding being pressed into Voldemort's service. He's willing to bet that many of his earliest recruits will feel the same way. But as soon as Voldemort is stripped of his power and influence, that objective is complete. Regulus can't just amass a third side, gain control of the country, and then abandon all his supporters to squabble amongst themselves and destroy all the progress that magical society will make when Regulus wins the war.

He doesn't have to figure everything out now, of course. The political landscape of Britain will change over time, and Regulus isn't so naive as to think that he'll win this war in a year or two. If he chooses to set himself on an overly specific course of action now, he'll be unable to adjust when things change.

That being said, there are a few things that will be necessary, unless he wants to be deemed a hypocrite. So he'll start with those. Legalizing some forms of Dark Arts. Not the ones that involve murder obviously. Eliminating Muggleborn discrimination and pushing back against the dominant narrative about them in pureblood society. I'll come up with more later.

Starting with the big ones, I see, Barty writes.

Quite.

Fair enough. Wouldn't be a Slytherin plan otherwise.

It seems like a careless throwaway comment, but Regulus knows it's not. Barty has wrestled with the question of what makes someone a true Slytherin. Regulus has too. They spent quite a bit of first year figuring it out together, although for different reasons. Barty wanted to know why he was there. Regulus wanted to know why Sirius wasn't.

He'd always thought they were alike, right up until Sirius went to Hogwarts and got sorted into Gryffindor. Then Regulus spent the next year worried that he'd be put there too for some unidentified, undesirable Gryffindor-ish trait that he and Sirius might share. He hadn't wanted to be pushed into the spotlight. He hadn't wanted his family to look at him the way they looked at Sirius. He hadn't wanted to find out that he wasn't who he thought he was.

But in the end, Regulus had very little reason to worry about his sorting, and that came with its own set of problems.

Because the Sorting Hat took less than five seconds to put Regulus in Slytherin.

Most of the Blacks interpreted this as a sign that Regulus was the good son who would restore dignity to the family name. Sirius interpreted this as a sign that Regulus somehow both lacked the ability to think for himself and simultaneously had the audacity to choose to let their parents think for him instead of letting Sirius do it.

And Regulus and Sirius were relatively similar as children—not so much as Andromeda and Bellatrix used to be, but close. That meant that everyone in the family wanted to know why Regulus went to Slytherin. (Not because they wanted to find out what Regulus did right, but rather what Sirius did wrong and how to fix it. This was the status quo until Sirius's final wrongdoing turned Regulus into an important member of the family.)

Regulus endured a lot of questioning about precisely how his sorting went, always with the underlying goal of using his answers to turn Sirius into a better heir. And Regulus didn't exactly respond with maturity, because he didn't want everything to be about Sirius all the time. Especially when Sirius responded to Regulus's sorting by avoiding him, little by little and then vanishing all at once. Regulus did not want to help. Regulus did not want to make Sirius a better heir.

So he lied.

When asked, he's always held that the Sorting Hat didn't say anything to him, just took a look in his head and immediately decided with no attempt at conversation.

That's not strictly true.

There was no conversation, but the Sorting Hat did say something to him. It said, You have a taste for hard victories, little king.

And without giving Regulus a chance to respond, it declared him a Slytherin.

He picks up his quill and writes on the parchment, We'd never win this any other way.

Chapter 3

Regulus usually arrives at the quidditch pitch for practice about ten minutes early. This is a habit that dates back to third year—he and Evan had just made the team, and Emma, who was thrilled that she was no longer the only lower-year, insisted that the three of them arrive at the pitch at least half an hour early so they could practice together before everyone else showed up. Having three third-years meant that Slytherin's team skewed young (and thus relatively inexperienced), and none of them wanted to be the reason that their team lost. Last year, Evan had started to complain about continuing the extra practice when they were no longer third-years. Naturally, this resulted in him and Emma bickering nonstop for nearly an entire day. The eventual agreement to arrive ten minutes early came about after Regulus intervened. (Emma and Evan would have figured out a solution on their own, given enough time, but Regulus was tired of hearing about it.)

They're rarely the first members of the team to arrive. That title usually belongs to either their captain, seventh-year Geoff Pucey, or second-year Megan Fleming, one of their Beaters. Geoff arrives early because he claims that he can come up with better plays when he's physically at the pitch. Megan arrives early because she's a quidditch fanatic who has been playing Beater since she was old enough to hold a bat and control a broom at the same time. (Which seems like a questionable parenting decision, but what does Regulus know about parenting? Megan's mother is an assistant coach for the Magpies, so at least she was trained properly. And Regulus certainly isn't going to complain about Slytherin having a good Beater who has many more years on the team ahead of her.)

So when Regulus gets to the pitch, he's expecting people to be there already.

What he's not expecting is for Amycus Carrow to be among them.

Amycus Carrow and his twin sister Alecto are seventh-years and two of the most obnoxious blood purists in Slytherin. They are also thoroughly unpleasant people. That's why, when Amycus was kicked off of the quidditch team over the summer, due to being placed on academic probation, the rest of them were more than a little relieved. He was a decent Beater, but difficult to work with, and Megan's far superior to him in both respects. Now that he's no longer on the team, Regulus mostly sees him skulking around the dungeons or sitting in the common room with his friends. He certainly hadn't thought he would see Amycus on the pitch ever again.

And yet here he is, facing off with Geoff on the grass as Megan flies in slow circles above them, almost certainly focusing more on eavesdropping than on warming up. She took Amycus's spot, after all. If he's here, even just to argue with Geoff, it means she needs to watch for signs that her position on the team is in trouble.

(It's not. Geoff would have to be out of his mind to replace Megan with Amycus. But staying alert is still the wise thing to do in this situation.)

The other Beater, sixth-year Thomas Travers, arrives at the same time as Regulus, Evan, and Emma, although from the direction of the greenhouses instead of the castle. Judging by the punctures in the sleeves of his robes, he was at Professor Sprout's office hours. Regulus has heard sixth-years in NEWT Herbology complaining quite a bit about their predatory plants unit. Apparently, it's the cause of much tension between Sprout and Pomfrey.

Thomas waves at the three of them, but he doesn't come over and strike up a conversation, and neither do they. There's something more important happening.

Amycus has a size advantage over Geoff and is clearly attempting to use it by getting in his face, but one does not become the captain of the Slytherin quidditch team by being afraid of confrontation. Geoff has dealt with this before, and he seems thoroughly unimpressed now, arms folded but stance otherwise casual as he looks Amycus in the eye. Regulus, Evan, and Emma have only just reached the pitch, so they're relatively far away from the conversation, but Geoff's voice rings out so clearly that they have no trouble listening in. "I don't care."

"This is nostalgic," Evan murmurs. "What do you suppose he's here for?"

"Why does anyone come down to the pitch?" Emma says. "To play."

"Yikes. I want to hear this."

"I don't think we'll get much of a choice in the matter," Regulus says. "It doesn't look like he intends to leave."

"Professor Slughorn told me the terms of your probation when he explained why you were off the team," Geoff continues. "You are ineligible to play for Slytherin this year, even if you have improved academically."

"Ineligible as long as I was on academic probation," Amycus corrects. "I've met the requirements."

"But you haven't gotten Slughorn and Dumbledore to sign your request to be taken off probation, because if you had, you'd be waving that in my face right now."

The best response Amycus can muster to that is a flinty glare.

Geoff pretends he doesn't notice. "Besides, we have a full team, put together in September, as always. You didn't attend tryouts. We found someone else to play Beater. That's how it works."

Amycus doesn't even attempt to hide his scowl up at Megan, much like Megan is no longer attempting to hide her eavesdropping. She's floating above Geoff, grip tight on the handle of her bat like she's worried Amycus will try to snatch it.

"And as far as attempts to browbeat me go, this is a weak one," Geoff says. "If you wanted to play this year, you should have worked harder to keep your marks up last year. I'm not holding another round of tryouts to appease you."

Their Keeper, third-year Theophania Nott, arrives then. She pauses, surveys the situation, and then busies herself checking her broom for stray twigs. Checking very carefully. Theophania's place on the team isn't in jeopardy even if Amycus gets his way, but she dislikes conflict outside of quidditch matches. Normally, she works very closely with the Beaters, since the three of them form the team's defense, so there is a sliver of a chance that she could be pulled into the conversation if she displays too much interest in it.

"You may want to give that a little more thought," Amycus says to Geoff. "Or do you need encouragement?"

"If you're about to say that you know where I sleep, I'd like to remind you that we do happen to live in the same dorm room. You knowing where I sleep just proves that you're vaguely aware of your surroundings."

"Please. I'm more creative than that." He shrugs. "I'll talk to Slughorn, then. Pity about the team being full, but things happen."

"Go away, arsehole," Megan snaps. "If you come after me, I'll shove this bat you want so badly down your throat and watch you choke on it."

Theophania looks down at her broom in an attempt to hide her smile. Thomas makes no such attempt at concealment. Evan says, "I'd pay money to see that."

There are quite a few people who would. Beyond the sheer entertainment value of a second-year taking down someone so widely despised, there are politics at play that would render it a somewhat symbolic victory as well.

Megan's father is a Muggle. Everyone in Slytherin knows this, and has known it since her first week at Hogwarts. Half-bloods aren't unheard of in Slytherin, but half-bloods with a Muggle parent as opposed to a Muggleborn one are unusual. (Regulus suspects that their magical parents, afraid of Slytherin's reputation for housing every single fanatical blood purist ever, warn them against letting the Sorting Hat put them there. He's fairly sure that the professors who visit Muggleborns to deliver their first Hogwarts letter do the same.)

In fact, the only other Slytherin half-blood with a Muggle parent that Regulus can think of is sixth-year Severus Snape, who has a very different approach to navigating his time at Hogwarts. Snape has dealt with being unusual by worming his way into the pack of sixth and seventh year bullies including Amycus and Alecto, who are known for jinxing Muggleborns (and other people they don't like, but mostly Muggleborns) in the corridors. Megan deals with it by punching people who insult her father in the face. Regulus frequently wonders if the Sorting Hat considered Gryffindor for her.

Before the beginning of this year, she wasn’t his concern. Megan can handle herself perfectly well, and it's not like she needs upper-years to come to her defense against the likes of her yearmate Gina Crabbe. However, two things have happened this year that make it his concern. First of all, he became a prefect. Second of all, Megan made the Slytherin quidditch team as Hogwarts' most deceptively-harmless-looking Beater. As a result, Regulus has a vested interest in keeping her safe and uninjured. (He can't keep her out of detention. There are some things not even the Blacks can do.)

Additionally, this is a good opportunity to take a subtle stand against Amycus and his friends. Regulus isn't established enough yet to be open about his allegiances (or lack thereof), but he'll need a history of going up against blood purists if he wants to convince anyone other than Barty that he truly doesn't think that way. He can warn Amycus against going after Megan to get his old spot back, and cloak his actual motivations by making it about quidditch. Megan is objectively a better player, after all.

So when Amycus starts heading back towards the castle, Regulus steps away from Emma and Evan to walk with him. "Do you have a moment?"

He gets a sideways glance that betrays Amycus's surprise at Regulus interacting with him. Which is fair. That's not something Regulus tends to do of his own free will. But he also doesn't like giving up opportunities.

"Sure," Amycus says. "What about?"

Regulus stops walking. (He doesn't actually want to get too far away from the pitch, as practice is about to start. Here, they're far enough away from the rest of the team that nobody will be able to hear their conversation, but they'll be able to see it. Regulus needs witnesses.)

"Quidditch," he says.

"I'll handle Pucey," Amycus says. "Been a bit uppity in practices, has he?"

"Oh, no, that wasn't what I meant." Out of the corner of his eye, Regulus can see everyone else watching. No doubt they're all trying to figure out what this is about. "Personally, I'd like to win the Quidditch Cup this year."

"Wouldn't we all." There's a conspiratorial tone to his voice as he says it. Clearly, Amycus is assuming that Regulus pulled him aside in order to help him.

Regulus takes some pleasure in yanking the rug out from under his feet. "As the team stands right now, we have a good shot at it. If we replace our best Beater with you, we don't. It's quite simple." Amycus opens his mouth, but Regulus pretends he doesn't notice and keeps talking. A tactic from Father, who likes using his reputation for being absorbed in his own head as an excuse to dominate conversations by simply not letting anyone else get a word in. It works wonders against almost every single Wizengamot lord. "If you go after Geoff, I'll retaliate. If you go after Megan, I'll still retaliate, but I'll also turn you into the laughingstock of Slytherin. It'll be easy. Don't make a rival out of a twelve-year-old. You'll look pathetic."

That's a satisfactory way to end his statement, so he stops there and lets Amycus respond.

"Is that so?" He squints at Regulus, then says slowly, "You've left me a lot of loopholes."

"I want to win," Regulus reiterates. "You rejoining the team endangers that, so I'm doing you the courtesy of informing you that I will prevent it from happening, no matter what you might attempt. There are no loopholes, which you would realize if you put some thought into it. Do try to keep up."

And with that, he turns and walks back over to the rest of the team.

Geoff raises his eyebrows. "What was that about?"

"I've sorted him out," Regulus says. "If he gets the bright idea to try something anyway, let me know."

"How ominous," Evan remarks.

"As long as he doesn't interfere with our practices, I don't care," Emma says. "Although he made a very rude gesture behind your back as you walked away, Regulus, so that may not be the end of it."

Regulus shrugs. "I told him I'd do what was necessary to make sure we win, which involves keeping him from being reinstated. He's been warned."

"Right," Geoff says. The sun is setting, washing the pitch in gold, and the stands are empty. Even the most dedicated players on the other Houses' teams won't be sneaking out to spy on Slytherin's practice on their first day back. (Which is Geoff's preferred state of affairs. If it were possible to reserve the pitch for quidditch practice after curfew so no one could catch a glimpse of their tactics, he would do it.) "Everyone, put that conversation out of your minds, since Regulus apparently has it handled. We have more important things to discuss. Let's talk Cup."

"Cup!" Megan doesn't land to stand with the rest of them, but she does hook both her knees over her broom and dangle off of it upside down to get closer to the conversation. She likes showing off her comfort in the air. "What do we have to do?"

"We play Hufflepuff in February, and they're basically out of the running," Geoff says. "Watch out for Buckner when we play them, though, because rumor is she's being scouted and she won't want her record as captain to outshine her record as Chaser. She'll be out for blood wherever she can get it."

"Her record as captain seems fine." Emma is pulling her black hair back into a ponytail so tight that Regulus's scalp hurts just from looking at it. Watching her wrestle her hair into submission for quidditch isn't the only reason that Regulus keeps his own hair short, but it's definitely a factor. "Hufflepuff won the Cup in her first year leading them."

"Yeah, but that was because O'Shea and Madden were still playing for them and they were unbeatable. McBride and Segal have nothing on them."

Regulus can attest to that. Melinda Madden broke his collarbone and knocked Slytherin out of the running for the Cup with one well-aimed Bludger last year. His only consolation was that she did the exact same thing to James Potter in the final. (He has a new consolation now, which is that Megan and Thomas are nearly as good a Beater pair as Madden and O'Shea were, and those two played together for years. Next year, when Megan and Thomas have spent a full year working with each other, Slytherin will be even harder to beat than Hufflepuff was.)

"So aside from Buckner, we don't need to worry about Hufflepuff," Geoff continues. "We just need to score as much as possible to build up our point total. Their Keeper's decent, but we're better."

"Naturally," Evan says.

Geoff jabs a finger in his direction. "Evan, I already told you, no getting complacent."

"I'm not complacent. I'm realistic."

"Evan has a point." Theophania twists her long braid around one finger. Even after months of playing with her, Regulus still can't tell if she's nervous about speaking up at practices or if it's a habit. She does talk quite a bit more than she used to, though. "My save percentage is twice as good as Summers', and you score on me at practice all the time. So our Chasers are probably better. Statistically speaking."

Evan beams with all the easy sparkle of a Rosier. "See?"

"No complacency until the Cup is in our hands," Geoff says firmly.

"'Until the Cup is in our hands'?" He frowns in mock confusion. "But I thought we weren't supposed to be complacent. How can we possibly worry about losing if our fearless leader is already assuming that we'll win? You're blazing a bright trail of hypocrisy for the rest of us to follow."

"Can we get back to the point of this conversation?" Emma says.

"I think we need to spend more time discussing the bright trail of hypocrisy," Evan says very seriously. "I'm deeply concerned."

"I'm not."

"How unfortunate for you. My sympathies."

"Your condolences are appreciated." Emma turns to Geoff. "So Hufflepuff's out. Let's assume we score enough points against them to secure our spot in the final. Ravenclaw or Gryffindor? Gryffindor, right?"

"Should be, yeah." Geoff seems mildly relieved by Emma's intervention. Evan is good at making conversation and terrible at focusing, which is frequently a bad combination. As a result, keeping strategy discussions on track is a joint effort between Geoff, Emma, and sometimes Megan. "Half of Ravenclaw's team is new this year, including their Seeker. He'll only get the Snitch in the Ravenclaw-Gryffindor match if McKinnon gets taken out early."

(Which isn't likely. Marlene McKinnon seems to have the ability to fly faster than a Bludger. She's not great at stopping, or hairpin turns, but she almost never gets hit. Unless Regulus lures her into a trap. This is unlikely to happen in a Gryffindor-Ravenclaw match, seeing as by definition, Regulus will not be playing.)

"Gryffindor's Chasers have all worked together before, too," Geoff says. "We can assume they'll flatten Ravenclaw. So barring a miracle, we'll be playing Gryffindor for the Cup, and I want us to go into that final with a substantial point lead over them. That means when we play Hufflepuff, we're slaughtering them. Understood?"

"Question," Megan says. "Do you mean an actual slaughter, or just embarrassing them?"

"Embarrassing them. Keep it relatively clean. We want to save our nastiest stuff for Gryffindor." Geoff grins. "Can't have them watching us play Hufflepuff and figuring out all our tricks."

"Got it!"

"So, Regulus, that means keeping it boring with Young," he adds. "Unless you think you're going to have to work to beat him to the Snitch?"

It's a half-joking question. Regulus scoffs at it anyway. "He hasn't been playing as long as I have, and he's nearly as tall as Thomas. He's already at a disadvantage. Besides, Foxworth put up a good fight against him in the Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff match, and if I could fly circles around him when we played Ravenclaw, I can do the same to Young."

"Not if you plan on using the same tactic against McKinnon. She's hard to shake off as it is. Don't make it easier for her by giving her a preview. The fewer evasive maneuvers you use against Hufflepuff, the better."

That'll make the match mind-numbingly dull, but it'll be worth it for the sake of beating Gryffindor in April, so Regulus nods.

"Megan, Thomas, you two need to pay more attention to Regulus than usual, since he'll be an easier target," Geoff continues. "We don't want Young catching the Snitch because Hufflepuff's Beaters got in a lucky hit."

"We never want that, that would be humiliating," Megan sniffs.

"Hufflepuff's Beaters getting in a lucky hit, or Adrian Young catching the Snitch?" Theophania says.

"Both," Thomas says. "Although Young catching the Snitch is more embarrassing for Regulus than it is for me and Megan."

"Still humiliating," Megan says.

"Glad we're all in agreement on that," Geoff says. "And that means that Evan, Emma, and I will need to look out for each other more, since we won't get as much attention from the Beaters. Our job is to score as fast as possible. We'll be focusing on keeping the Quaffle moving so Hufflepuff never gets their hands on it."

"And if we can bait them into tackling us so we get penalty shots, so much the better?" Emma says.

"As long as Hooch doesn't catch you and you stay on your broom. I'm not finding a replacement Chaser. That goes for everyone, actually. If you wind up in the hospital wing and I have to find someone else for your position, I will send you a gift basket of flobberworms."

"Please do, my Herbology project is about how growth rates of predatory plants are impacted by three different food sources," Thomas says. "If I can use flobberworms, then I don't have to use spiders."

"Gross. I'll send you spiders if you get injured. Just to spite you."

"Ugh. Message received. No injuries."

"No injuries. Anyway." Geoff looks around at all of them. This is a good team—everyone is competent at their position, they don't buckle under pressure, and there's no political infighting (unlike Regulus's previous two years on the team, which were marked by constant bickering between Amycus Carrow and Kingsley Shacklebolt, who graduated last year). Gryffindor has a good team this year too, mostly sixth- and seventh-years who have been playing together for a while, but if Slytherin can build up a good point lead against Hufflepuff, they have more than a fighting chance. "We have a month until we play Hufflepuff. They saw us play Ravenclaw. They know we're strong. Our goal over the next month is to get so much better that by the time they step onto this pitch with us, they're completely unprepared. Got it?"

"Got it," everyone says.

"Then let's get to it."

Notes:

YAY GEOFF HAS ARRIVED

Chapter 4

Tuesdays begin with Potions lecture with the Gryffindors, a rather dull hour in which Slughorn talks about potions theory and explains how to avoid injuries and damage to the classroom. (They do most of the actual brewing in their double period on Friday afternoons, which is when they get to find out who wasn't listening on Tuesday. It's significantly more eventful.)

Regulus is partnered with Maeve Bulstrode, due to alphabetical assignment, which has worked out in his favor in this case. Potions is Maeve's favorite subject, and Regulus is adept at following step-by-step instructions, so their combined efforts produce decent potions that are almost always done brewing well before the end of the period. As a result, they're Slughorn's favorites in this class.

Not that they have to be good at Potions to achieve that. They're children of some of the oldest families in the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Regulus and Maeve's only real competition for Slughorn's favoritism is Evan, and he cannot, even in the most generous of terms, be described as a dedicated student of Potions. It follows that, although all three of them are enthusiastically invited to Slug Club events, Regulus and Maeve are Slughorn's favorites. He's not from a family of note, nor is it possible for anyone to become particularly wealthy on a Hogwarts professor's salary, but Slughorn knows nearly every important or semi-important person in Britain, so it's a good idea to stay on his good side.

Today, he bustles over to their table the second that Maeve puts her bag down. "Miss Bulstrode, I've just heard the news. Please pass along my most heartfelt congratulations to your brother and Miss Nott." He smiles conspiratorially. "I made both of them prefects when they were here at Hogwarts, you know. In my most humble opinion, I believe it's an excellent match."

Regulus spends enough time with Maeve to know that she's going to use her 'talking to someone I have to be polite to' voice. (It's like her normal voice, but much more earnest.) She smiles back at Slughorn. "I agree. Everyone's quite happy. Felix and Cressida are the happiest, of course."

"Of course, of course, I'd expect nothing less," he says. "I'll be sending out invitations soon for a small get-together to catch up after the winter holidays. I do hope I'll see you there. You as well, naturally, Mr. Black!" he adds in Regulus's direction. Then there's a chime from one of his pockets, which Regulus knows is the sound of Slughorn's elaborate gold-and-emerald pocketwatch telling him that it's time to start class.

As Slughorn goes to the front of the classroom and begins conjuring various visual aids for the lesson, glowing purple diagrams that hover in the air, Regulus turns to Maeve and whispers, "When did your brother and Cressida Nott get engaged?"

It's not at all surprising that they did. They hardly left each other's sides during the St. Mungo's charity ball a couple of weeks ago, which is tantamount to a declaration of commitment, coming from Sacred Twenty-Eight scions of a marriageable age.

"It was in the society pages this morning," she mutters back. "You know her little sister, right?"

"Theophania? She's on the quidditch team."

"Introduce us?"

"Why do you need an introduction?" It's mildly odd that Maeve and Theophania wouldn't already know each other, as immediate family members of the engaged couple. Normally, by the time an engagement is announced, the families are fairly well-acquainted. (Naturally, the families of British high society all know each other, even if not well. There are only so many of them, after all, and they tend to go to all the same parties. The Bulstrodes don't attend many gatherings, though, which makes forming casual connections with them difficult. It's not unheard of for the parents to finalize the betrothal agreement before less relevant family members get to know each other, but that implies that someone needed the betrothal to happen quickly.)

Maeve flashes a quick grin at him. "Because if I just go up to her and start talking, I think she might keel over. Felix says Cressida's the most outgoing member of her family and she's still super shy."

"Fair enough," Regulus whispers. That didn't really answer his question, but he'll accept it for now. If anything else seems off, he can always write to Mother to ask about it. Pureblood society is her domain, and she likes to stay informed. Regulus has no idea who her sources are, but they're good—when he's at home, he usually hears about scandals at least a week or two before they become common knowledge. And the news of an engagement between a Nott and a Bulstrode will definitely be scrutinized for any hint of a scandal.

They're both Noble and Anciente, so similarly old and well-established families, but it's an unusual match for other reasons. More than a few Sacred Twenty-Eight families lowered their opinions of the Bulstrodes a generation back, when the Heir Bulstrode at the time (now Lord Bulstrode and Maeve's father) married a Chinese witch he met while traveling. Everyone is very well aware that Lady Bulstrode is from an old, influential, wealthy family. The match would have been considered perfectly respectable if she were British. But she isn't, and the Bulstrodes miss about half of the summer social season every year in favor of visiting their family in China, so they've rapidly developed a reputation for flouting British pureblood society.

Nobody is actually willing to ostracize a family as old and rich as House Bulstrode, especially since they still have the Rosiers' approval, but Regulus has overheard plenty of snide remarks in private parlors or dining rooms. Some of those remarks have come from Father, who is deeply worried that Lord Bulstrode might somehow trick the Wizengamot into acting in China's best interest instead of Britain's. Mother has never cared as much—either that, or she's keeping her thoughts to herself.

But House Nott marrying into House Bulstrode means that House Bulstrode no longer has even the slightest reason to fear ostracization. The Notts are one of the more conservative families (a less generous descriptor would be 'uptight'), so if they're willing to form an alliance, it's a signal that the Bulstrodes have officially regained the respectability they'd lost. Knowing Maeve's family will indicate that someone is well-connected. No wonder Slughorn made a point of talking to her today.

 

That night, Regulus leaves the dungeons for his least favorite of the prefects' responsibilities: rounds. They're an intriguing mix of monotony and disruption: twice a week, he has to spend two hours escorting errant students back to their common rooms, when he could be doing literally anything else.

His partner, sixth-year Ottoline Colfax, is fairly quiet, and her main goal seems to be finishing their rounds as quickly as possible so she can retreat back into Ravenclaw Tower. She has never displayed an interest in making conversation or getting to know Regulus, which suits him perfectly well. So it could be worse, but 'it could be worse' is not what Regulus would call an expression of contentment with the current state of affairs. 

They were warned at the first prefect meeting of the year that the first weeks of fall and spring term always have the most students sneaking around after curfew. That's when all the couples who have been separated from each other for a month or two are finally under the same roof again and simply cannot resist the compulsion to have clandestine meetings after dark. None of them seem to put any thought into it whatsoever, though. If they did, they would realize that the best time to sneak out is obviously after two in the morning, when the last prefect patrol ends. Regulus came to that conclusion after thinking about it for only a second or two, and he has no interest whatsoever in this sort of thing. One would think that the couples who are so interested in meeting up at night would have given it much more thought than he has.

And yet.

Regulus and Ottoline have just returned from escorting a Hufflepuff back to their common room when a nearby staircase begins to rotate towards them. A flash of red and gold catches the lamplight, and there's the quiet tap of a hard-soled shoe on the stairs, but the staircase has separated from the far landing by now. The only way to go is towards Regulus and Colfax.

The person on the stairs heaves a dramatic, familiar sigh, and Regulus's stomach sinks.

He doesn't need the glint of light off of long black hair to tell him who he has to escort back to Gryffindor Tower.

They were doing so well at avoiding each other. Or rather, Regulus was. He has kept to the dungeons, the library, the Slytherin side of the Great Hall, and he has shoved down every urge to wander into places where he might be found by people who he is not supposed to speak to. It's easier this way, when he doesn't know anything. The vague discomfort of uncertainty, easily ignored, is better than the cold frustration Regulus remembers from back when they still spoke to each other.

Sirius was the only one who could get Mother to show how angry she was, and Regulus understands why. They used to be allies. But Sirius and Mother have a way of making people into their enemies, and when Sirius went to Gryffindor instead of Slytherin, they changed their alliances accordingly. The swap left Regulus with whiplash. And as a Slytherin one year later, he found himself on the wrong side of Sirius's urge to provoke.

Regulus always knew that Sirius was more than capable of standing up for himself. He'd even thought that Mother and Sirius might clash eventually. He hadn't expected to be dragged into the middle of it.

And he'd hoped that Sirius leaving would mean an end to that, but as long as Sirius and Regulus are both at Hogwarts, as long as there's a chance that they'll run into each other, Regulus will still be the good son. The one who stayed.

Avoiding Sirius may help, but it won't prevent the inevitable.

The corridors are shadowy at night, dark enough that if it weren't for that sigh, Regulus wouldn't have known that the Gryffindor on the stairs was Sirius. And there are plenty of dark-haired Slytherins. Sirius might not have identified Regulus yet. That means he has some time to prepare for that moment of realization.

So Regulus clears his mind. He shouldn't— doesn't need to Occlude to get through this. Clearing his mind will be enough to keep his face neutral. He can pretend that his unease is actually mild annoyance at how many students he and Colfax have found tonight, not anything to do with Sirius's unexpected appearance. If he can listen to Bellatrix's stories about the Death Eaters at tea with polite interest, he can escort Sirius to Gryffindor Tower with nonchalance, false though it may be.

"Ugh, more stairs," Colfax mutters, the first thing she's said to Regulus since a polite 'hello' at the start of their shift. She raises her voice. "Alright, you're done, we've seen you. Five points off Gryffindor and—"

"Yeah, yeah, back to my common room, I know," Sirius's voice says. Regulus can hear him grinning. "Not even a hello, Ottoline? I thought we bonded after the Charms incident."

The staircase continues to rotate, and Sirius's boots thud on the stairs as he makes his way down, no longer trying to be quiet. Scarlet dragonhide, if Regulus is right. Sirius bought those boots for himself last winter and refused to take them off. Bellatrix tried to set them on fire five minutes before they were due at Malfoy Manor for the winter solstice banquet. He seems at ease, sauntering into view with his hands in his pockets, looking completely unbothered by getting caught.

Then he spots Regulus next to Colfax and stops in his tracks.

It's not for long—a fleeting hesitation, nothing more—but when Sirius starts descending again, his face has hardened, eyebrows furrowed the exact same way they always did when he was expecting to be attacked.

Lovely.

Regulus does not permit himself to do the same. They don't all have the freedom to care so obviously. As far as Mother and Father are concerned, Sirius is worse than dead, and more importantly, he deserves it. The person who would look so much like Regulus if not for the red and gold or the long, shaggy hair or the cultivated slouch is meant to be a stranger.

Which he is.

And he has been for quite some time.

Running into Sirius at Hogwarts has never exactly been a pleasant experience. As Regulus was waiting to be sorted at his first welcoming feast, he'd caught a glimpse of Sirius, in the middle of a cluster of boys with red and gold ties, bouncing his leg nervously and staring directly at Regulus. It was not an encouraging sight. Regulus had been worried enough already without having visible proof that Sirius was too. He'd looked away, surveyed the other three tables instead for the few minutes before McGonagall called his name.

And when Regulus walked over to the Slytherin table for the first time, he didn't want to know how Sirius was looking at him. So he didn't look. And that has rather set the tone for their interactions at school ever since. Even in the rare times that they did speak in Regulus's first and second years, it was always brief, awkward, leaving Regulus feeling uncomfortably hollow as he walked away. It was worse when they didn't speak, though, when they pretended not to notice as they passed each other in the corridors. When Regulus always had to wonder if Sirius was just pretending, or if he really didn't see Regulus, if Regulus was the only one of the two of them who was still looking.

Regulus had to save face. He couldn't afford to be seen chasing down his errant Gryffindor brother, or worse, being bothered by Sirius ignoring him. If Sirius didn't care, Regulus couldn't either. At least, not outwardly. That was the last thing he and Sirius ever fought over—who started it. Sirius could never stand being ignored. Regulus has had quite a bit of experience in that area. So maybe it's no surprise that Sirius was the one to put an end to their mutual silence, just like it's no surprise that Sirius was also the first one to storm off again after that argument.

Would Regulus have been like that if he'd been born the heir? If he'd gone to Gryffindor? He doesn't really want to know, but he can't help turning the questions over and over and over in his mind anyway. It's the sort of thing Narcissa taught him to put away, to use Occlumency to keep that thought in a locked box in a shadowy corner of his mind. And Regulus... hasn't done it quite yet. Hasn't shut off his memories of all the ways he and Sirius used to be alike, although it seems that everyone else has.

Sirius may be a stranger to Regulus now, but he wasn't always. And every time Regulus decides to abandon that past in favor of the inevitable future, there is a part of him that rises up and refuses to let go, even though letting those memories tumble around his mind will only ever lead to that hollow feeling that tries to consume him from the inside out. It's a part of him that should not exist, because he is supposed to be the rational, logical, reasonable one.

But Sirius is no longer around to be the opposite.

The fact of the matter is that one of them has always had to get the last word, to spit out something final and stalk away before the other can come up with a response. That is how it was, after Regulus was sorted, before Sirius left.

Regulus has a bad feeling that tonight will end the same way.

The one good thing about this whole situation is that if the past several months are any indication, Sirius will most likely go out of his way to avoid interacting with Regulus on this journey to Gryffindor Tower.

Most likely.

But Sirius has always subscribed to the theory that the best defense is a good offense.

Regulus takes a deep breath, as subtly as he can, and settles his mind again. Whatever Sirius does, he cannot afford to react. Sirius is supposed to be nothing to him, no matter how easily Regulus can still pick out his voice from across the Great Hall.

Colfax glances between the two of them, then says to Sirius, "We did not bond after the Charms incident. Remus and I bonded. You were just there."

Sirius deliberately looks away from Regulus and gasps, mock-scandalized. "I am never just anywhere. Except right now. I have no ulterior motives for being out and about at this time of night."

Sure. And the rest of Sirius's friends are slumbering innocently in their beds at this very moment, with no thoughts of pranks to occupy their heads. That is definitely what's happening.

Whatever they're up to, Regulus hopes that him and Colfax catching Sirius ruined it beyond repair. He gave up trying not to be petty a while ago. It wasn't worth the effort.

"Let's just go," Colfax says. "The sooner we get to Gryffindor Tower, the sooner I get to stop climbing stairs."

And the sooner they get to Gryffindor Tower, the sooner Regulus can be done dreading whatever Sirius might do or say. So he nods. It doesn't look stiff or uncomfortable or abrupt. It's a good nod, calm, not too invested, the way that Father nods to signal that someone less important than him is permitted to continue talking. Regulus is not being himself right now. He is being Heir Black the way that his family wants him to be. This is how he will make it up to Gryffindor Tower, then down to the dungeons and into his bed, without doing anything that will come back to haunt him later.

Hopefully.

"Fine." Sirius is no longer sauntering quite so easily. Regulus takes a small, unsatisfying amount of pleasure in how he is so obviously being ignored. If Sirius didn't care—if he weren't affected somehow by seeing Regulus—he wouldn't be trying so hard.

It's a small bit of consolation, but it's all he's going to get.

Sirius stays turned towards Colfax as they walk, falling into stony silence, and Regulus continues to breathe. He focuses as much attention as possible on lengthening his breaths, seeing how many steps he can take before he needs to inhale or exhale, but not pushing himself too hard. Sirius knows this trick. Mother taught it to both of them together. Regulus cannot give himself away by sucking in air with a little too much relief.

Walking through the castle at night would be more pleasant if not for the context. The wide hallways are empty, most of the portraits are asleep, and as a prefect, Regulus doesn't even need to worry about being caught. It reminds him a bit of Black Manor, back before Grandfather died, when they used to stay there in the summers. There's the same sense of temporary stillness, having the place to himself. Or there would be, if not for his companions.

But Gryffindor Tower is only two floors away from where he and Colfax stumbled upon Sirius, and even an uncomfortable walk can only last so long.

Regulus is so focused on his breathing that spotting the Fat Lady in the distance takes him by surprise. Sirius has regained a bit of his swagger, but it looks more intentional than usual as he approaches the portrait. Regulus's hands feel odd, dangling at his sides as he watches Sirius walk away. He can't put them in his pockets, though. Sirius is already doing that.

"Our shift's basically over," Colfax says awkwardly. "So, er, I should probably just go back to Ravenclaw Tower and keep an eye out for anyone out after curfew on the way?"

She doesn't wait for an answer before walking away, just a little too quickly to be polite. Regulus doesn't blame her. Something ominous is settling in the air. He doesn't want to be here either, but leaving in a hurry would imply a fear of staying. That being said, he can't stay, so he'll just turn and—

"Regulus," Sirius says.

For a moment, Regulus thinks he's misheard.

But no. There's no denying that Sirius is looking straight at him, not welcoming, exactly, but expectant. Waiting for Regulus to say something.

Knowing Sirius, he is waiting for something very specific, and whatever he wants, Regulus does not want to give it to him. He's had more than enough of that.

He was right earlier. This was never going to end in peaceful ignorance.

Regulus allows himself one more breath, slow, measured, and when Sirius doesn't say anything else, Regulus tilts his head slightly. "Did you need something?"

And Sirius...

Sirius scoffs at him. "Forget about it."

"I believe I shall," Regulus says, because it'll piss Sirius off.

He doesn't need to stay to hear how Sirius will respond. In fact, it'll be better if he doesn't, if he can turn his back on Sirius and get the last word.

So that is exactly what he does.

Maybe he should be proud that a few minutes pass before it hits him that for some reason, whatever inane or annoying or cruel reason it may have been, Sirius actually tried to speak to him, broke over six months' worth of total silence to say... what?

Regulus will probably never find out.

He would try to keep that from bothering him, but he knows a futile effort when he sees one.

Notes:

SIRIUS WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

if you're getting the sense that this is not the last time he will appear in the story............ u may be right

Chapter 5

Runes class, as usual, is an exercise in not looking over Barty's shoulder.

Not because Regulus needs to cheat—he's good at Runes. But Barty is better, and he spends quite a bit of class either doodling on the parchment that is ostensibly for notes or reading under the desk. (Regulus has seen him reading the Runes textbook during class more than a few times, but always a couple chapters ahead of what they're covering that day.) They sit right next to each other, and no matter how hard Regulus tries to focus on Professor Babbling, sometimes his attention strays to attempting to figure out what Barty is drawing. The verisimilitude of his artwork leaves a little to be desired.

Today, Professor Babbling's earrings are long, dangling crystals that appear to turn green when she's had an idea. Barty is quite blatantly drawing some sort of four-legged animal. Regulus has a respectable amount of notes, because Barty is progressing very slowly on his art and there's not much to distract him. And Regulus watches with only slight trepidation as Babbling's earrings turn green and she looks directly at Barty and says, "Mr. Crouch, could you tell me what the issue is with this chain?"

Barty blinks and looks up at the blackboard. Hardly a second passes before he says, "It's a five-link chain but there's no channel for the excess magic."

"Precisely." Babbling beams as her earrings fade to a pale pink. She seems to enjoy this—at least, that's the only conclusion Regulus can draw from this pattern of Babbling waiting until Barty seems thoroughly distracted before calling on him. Maybe she's waiting for the day when Barty won't have an answer. Maybe she's just trying to make sure he pays the slightest bit of attention in class. Maybe this is a Ravenclaw thing. Who knows? "Now, I've warned you all in the past about the dangers of five-link rune chains. Activating them willy-nilly is a horrible way to explode your base. Or implode it. That's sometimes more dangerous." (She says that with the faintest trace of glee.) "However, the instability makes them a particularly good choice for object bindings, which will be the subject of our class for a few weeks. Can anyone tell me what an—yes, Mr. Holsclaw?"

Charlotte, who's also in this class, looks a bit put out that one of the Gryffindors beat her to answering the question. She doesn't glance at Regulus the way she used to, though, which is good. Regulus used to raise his hand to answer nearly every single question posed by Professor Babbling. In fourth year, he recognized that a little more subtlety was in order. Charlotte, who knows that Regulus rarely struggles with the assignments, once expressed confusion that Regulus would choose not to raise his hand when he certainly knew the answer. He'd managed to distract her by responding with "Why bother," which appalled her, but it was a bit too much of a close call.

Regulus isn't going to be the one who lets a Black family secret slip to an outsider, after all.

It's well-known among certain families that the Blacks deal in magical power. Power is their family specialty, researched and developed and incorporated over generations until it became their heritage, giving every Black by birth a propensity for channeling it. Every Dark family in Britain is fully aware of this. Almost nobody else is, because it's illegal. Drawing in power from external sources is heavily frowned upon by the Ministry, which means it was deemed a Dark Art and outlawed centuries ago. By that point, the Blacks had already gotten rather good at it, so they simply continued to practice in secret.

And they're not the only ones.

There are quite a few families with their own specialties, either forced underground by the Ministry or developed after the practice had already been made illegal. Within this network of families, knowing the general form of someone's specialty is perfectly normal. Regulus can list most of the families and their particular magic without a second thought.

But the details are closely guarded, which is why he can't display his prior knowledge of runes too openly. It wouldn't do for someone like Charlotte to put together that the Blacks' family magic is rune-based. She's in the network (the Yaxleys specialize in invulnerability), so she knows how to keep a secret, but their families aren't allied, and while Regulus and Charlotte are friendly, they aren't close. Thus, she could do anything with that information, so she can't be permitted to put the pieces of it together.

And Charlotte isn't the only potential threat in the class. Maeve is taking Runes too, and the Bulstrodes have been in the network for far longer than the Yaxleys.

All of this means that Barty's talent for Runes comes in handy, not just in preventing Babbling from taking points off Slytherin for his poor classroom etiquette, but also in giving Regulus some cover. People won't pay nearly so much attention to Regulus's facility with Runes if they're distracted by Barty knowing the correct answer off the top of his head yet again. That irritates Charlotte, and it also seems to irritate Simon Holsclaw, the Gryffindor who managed to raise his hand before she did.

"Object binding is when you link two things together so that an action performed on one will affect the other in a predetermined way," Holsclaw says. "Similar object bindings are simpler because the things are already related somehow, and dissimilar object bindings are more complicated but more widely applicable."

Babbling nods. "Note Mr. Holsclaw's wording, everyone—it's a predetermined way. If you don't plan out the end result, it'll go poorly, as a rule. Don't go slapping rune chains together like you can for isolated enchantments." (Barty, who excels at slapping rune chains together, grimaces subtly at his parchment. He'll be fine.) "Now, we'll spend the rest of this week on theory, but I'll expect you to bring two different ideas on small-scale similar object bindings to class tomorrow. Next week, you'll be doing similar object bindings yourselves! So during my lecture today, make sure to jot down any ideas you might have, and then tomorrow we'll have time to go over your ideas and make sure they're feasible to complete within two weeks. Similar object bindings are less flexible, it's true, but that doesn't mean you can't be creative!"

Barty carefully opens his Runes textbook under his desk and starts flipping ahead. Whatever he comes up with, it will certainly be strange, and Babbling will certainly love it. If it's exceptionally good, she might even lament to his face (again) that he wasn't put in Ravenclaw. Watching Barty deal with that is always amusing.

Regulus is vaguely familiar with the concept of object bindings through learning how to use his family magic, but bindings tend only to come up in particularly advanced (and thus particularly risky) castings. He doesn't know much, and what he knows is entirely theory. That means he can simply come up with project ideas without worrying that they're suspiciously knowledgeable, which is always nice. The extra layer of planning can be a headache.

Babbling flicks her wand, and a piece of chalk scribbles out 'PROS' and 'CONS' on the blackboard. "Let's start with the most important question. Why would we ever use an object binding when we could use something else—say, simply enchanting the target object ourselves? Throw some ideas out there."

"In case we don't want to actually do the enchantment yet," Ruby Stuart-Lane, one of the Gryffindors, suggests.

"And why might we not want to do that?"

"Maybe it's time-sensitive?"

Babbling nods. "Maybe so." The chalk scribbles 'timing' in the PROS column. "Any other reasons?"

"Maybe it's a bomb," Barty says. (Which is generally a safe answer in Babbling's class.)

"It could very well be!" 'Self-preservation' is the next word to appear in the PROS column, amidst snickers from a few people. They've all been taking classes with Professor Babbling since third year—everyone knows by now that she's rather fond of spectacle, whether it's the result of failure or success. It's probably why she became a specialist in runes. Most other legal fields of magic have less potential for melodrama. In rune-based casting, as Professor Babbling likes to remind them, there could be disaster around every corner. "That leads me rather neatly into my next question. Let me make clear that I don't expect you to have an answer to this one, as it concerns NEWT-level magic, but it's an important question nonetheless. Is anyone familiar with the Protean Charm?"

Several people raise their hands. Charlotte is, naturally, one of them.

So is Regulus. He doesn't invest his time in reading ahead on Charms, seeing as he is not a masochist, but several of the lighting features at home rely on Protean Charms to function. He and Sirius once spent an entire afternoon following Father around the house and listening to his explanations of various spells that made everything work. Regulus had been five or six, not very far into his study of magical theory, but he'd liked how the Protean Charm in the foyer made the light look as if it rushed down the row of lamps in the hallway, lighting each one as it went. He vividly remembers trying to make the lights in his bedroom and bathroom do the same thing.

It didn't work, of course. He knew little about magic and was trying to cast a NEWT-level enchantment simply by thinking very hard about what he wanted to happen. His practice of Charms has gotten significantly more sophisticated since then, but only somewhat more effective. At least now he knows about incantations and wand movements.

"Wonderful, that's quite a few of you," Babbling says. "Could any of you tell me how a Protean Charm differs from an object binding? Yes, Miss Yaxley?"

"Protean Charms don't need a predetermined result, but the objects have to be identical or near-identical," Charlotte says.

"Exactly. And why is this?"

"Because Protean Charms were originally meant to only work on one object instead of linking more than one."

"Good." The chalk scribbles 'object variety' under PROS and 'inflexible results' under CONS. "Object bindings are rune-based, which means they don't rely on latching onto the same essence within each object, unlike a Protean Charm. What really matters is the runes themselves! That being said, as I wrote on the board, the results are inflexible. If you build an unspecified channel of magic between two objects using runes, you're practically asking for one of them to explode. That's ideal if you're creating a bomb—" Babbling nods in Barty's direction— "but if any of you attempt to hand in a bomb as your project, I will give you a D for incomplete application of the concept. Is everyone clear on that?"

There's nodding all around the classroom. Regulus suspects there will be one or two minor instances of property damage as they work on their projects anyway.

Barty has dog-eared a few pages in the Runes textbook by now. He carefully closes it and slides it back into his bookbag, then picks up his quill again. The next step in his artwork appears to be adding stripes. Maybe it's a tiger. Or a zebra.

Professor Babbling claps her hands. Even though she hasn't actually touched a piece of chalk yet, dust still clouds up between her palms. Chalk dust is a constant in this room. "Right, that's settled. Let's move on to the basics of how to do this, shall we? As I've already said, you'll need a five-link rune chain, formed as a square with one rune in the center. One of your corners will be the basis of your link. Now, this is quite important—the five-link chain goes on the trigger object, and the six-link chain goes on the target object. If you get that backwards, the magic flows the wrong way, and that's not fun for anyone. Rule of sevens, everyone! Sixes want more magic, and eights want less! Although an eight-link is almost always far too much power for a trigger object. That's only necessary for long-distance bindings or particularly needy target objects. I won't get into that until you're all sixth-years."

She picks up a piece of chalk then, which is a sure sign that they're about to get into a more intense phase of lecturing. On the very first day of Runes in third year, Professor Babbling cheerily informed them that she doesn't trust the chalk to write anything important properly. She always writes out runes and draws diagrams by hand.

Hm. Should Regulus continue Runes at NEWT level, or stop so he doesn't have to worry so much about how knowledgeable he can be in the open?

He should probably continue. It might raise more questions if he didn't. Besides, plenty of the texts on the Blacks' family magic assume NEWT-level knowledge of runes, and as the future Lord Black, Regulus needs to truly understand their magic. He's perfectly decent at it now, but he's not supposed to be decent at using his ancestral magic. Bellatrix and Narcissa, not in line to inherit much of importance from the Blacks, can afford to be decent at it. Regulus needs to be more.

Especially since Bellatrix is good at it. And Sirius was too, before he took some sort of odd moral stand about the whole thing. Or maybe a fearful stand. It's an accepted reality in their family that overusing their specialty is dangerous. Their minds aren't meant to handle so much power all the time, or even very much of the time. Being good at their magic, without dying exceptionally young or going insane, means incredibly thorough comprehension of the theory and not much practice.

Thus, NEWT-level Runes. Not a mastery, though. That would be too overt.

At least it's Runes and not something like Charms or Herbology. If Regulus had to take NEWT Charms in order to improve at his family magic, he might have wished for disownment. Or he might have had to throw himself upon Evan's rather whimsical mercy to ask for help. Neither of those would be desirable outcomes.

 

"What were you drawing?" Regulus says to Barty once the two of them and Charlotte have left Runes to go down to lunch. Maeve was drawn into conversation with two of the Gryffindors who sit by her, but if she doesn't catch up with them on the way down to the Great Hall, she'll meet them at the Slytherin table. "Curiosity was driving me mad for the whole class."

There's a quiet yet distinct sigh from Charlotte's direction. Someday, she'll stop being so disappointed by the reminders that she's obviously the most diligent student of the Slytherins in their year. Or maybe it's resignation instead of disappointment by now.

"A zebra," Barty says to Regulus with a faint air of affrontery. "Didn't you see its stripes?"

"I couldn't be sure if it was a zebra or a tiger."

"It had hooves."

Regulus searches his memory of Barty's drawing for proof of hooves and comes up with nothing. "Its legs definitely ended, if that's what you meant."

"They were most certainly hooves. If you took Care of Magical Creatures, you wouldn't have been confused."

"Zebras aren't magical creatures," Regulus feels the urge to point out.

"But you'd be able to identify a hoof when you saw one."

That's... not an argument Regulus can effectively counter, so he pivots. "You don't take Care of Magical Creatures either."

"I clearly don't need to," Barty says. "Of the two of us, you're the only one who had difficulty identifying a zebra."

"I think you should ask Emma and Lucinda for their objective opinions," Charlotte interjects. "Seeing as you're never going to reach a conclusion like this."

The hallways are crowded with students all going down to the Great Hall for lunch, which means Regulus doesn't see Maeve catching up to them until she's suddenly there on Charlotte's other side. "Anyone else concerned about someone losing their eyebrows in Runes sometime soon?"

"I'd say 'concerned' is maybe the wrong word for how I feel about it," Barty says. "Curious, maybe?"

"The reason I say 'concerned' is that I'm worried I'll be in the line of fire," Maeve says. "Zhu and Stuart-Lane always move their desks closer to each other so they can whisper when Babbling isn't looking in our direction. If one of their projects blows, there might be a chain reaction, and then I'll be next."

"You could sit with us instead of back there," Charlotte says.

Maeve shakes her head. "Corner seats in the front row are taken and if I sit in the middle I'll probably get cold-called on. No thanks."

"Oh, well," Charlotte says. "Is that Emma up ahead?"

Regulus doesn't bother to crane his neck to see over the crowds of people. That's why he has tall friends.

"Yeah," Barty says obligingly. "I see Evan and Lucinda too, but I don't think we can catch up to them now. They're almost at the doors to the Great Hall."

"We're not that far," Charlotte says. "I think we can—" Her face falls. "No, you're correct. We're too far from the doors. We won't make it."

"Er, so?" Maeve says. "Why are you acting like that's so horrible? We'll see them inside."

"That," Barty says, "depends entirely on why James Potter is heading for the doors holding a broomstick."

Well.

That's just what Regulus's day needed.

"Fuck," Maeve says, which sums it up rather neatly.

Regulus could leave and come back later, but openly avoiding James Potter would be worse than openly avoiding Sirius, even more of an expression of weakness. The Potters, wealthy and old though they may be, are not a particularly influential family. They're not in the network of Dark families, they don't invest much time in forming alliances, and their only real claim to power is a long-standing friendship with Dumbledore.

Regulus going out of his way to avoid Sirius is about him and Sirius. Regulus going out of his way to avoid James Potter is about the Blacks and the Potters, and who won the battle for Sirius's allegiance. The Blacks may have lost Sirius, but that's just more of a reason for Regulus to act as if they won. And that means treating Potter as if he's nothing but a mild irritant, not even worth the effort to avoid.

But James Potter seems to have made it his mission at Hogwarts to make avoiding him very, very well worth the effort.

"He's kicked off," Charlotte says dully, as Potter ascends to hover on his broom over the doors to the Great Hall. More people have noticed him, and there's apprehensive murmuring rising around them, along with quite a few students hurrying into the Great Hall. There's no chance of the four of them doing the same. No matter how quickly they move, they won't be able to push past all the people between them and the doors before Potter does... whatever it is he's here to do. "We're doomed."

When Regulus and Ottoline Colfax caught Sirius out after curfew last night, he'd been standing relatively still on a staircase, so there was no way to tell which way he was coming from or which way he was going. Maybe they intercepted him before he could play his part in the prank that is undoubtedly coming. Maybe they didn't.

Regulus is fairly sure that they're about to find out.

"Citizens of Hogwarts," Potter's voice booms out, undoubtedly with the aid of a Sonorus. He raises his wand with a grin. "Prepare... for slime."

Immediately, there are dozens of people casting Shield Charms. Regulus is one of them. So is Maeve.

And then Potter waves his wand in some sort of complicated triangular pattern and bright orange slime pours down.

It's... not quite like rain. More like Potter and Sirius and their friends managed to conceal enormous buckets of slime in the air and then tip them over. But Regulus can't see the source. All he can see is Potter, soaring around the high ceiling far above the slime, then flying out into a courtyard from which he will most likely escape. Plenty of time to put away his broomstick, stroll back into the castle, and go to lunch with little more than a trace of orange on his shoes.

The only good thing about the slime is that it's over quickly. After the initial downpour, it stops as quickly as it started, amid displeased muttering from what seems like every single person in sight. There's a cluster of Gryffindors nearby who don't look happy, and Regulus halfheartedly wonders if it's worth hoping that they'll yell at Potter later.

This is one part of being at school that he certainly did not miss over the winter holidays.

"Great," Barty mutters. He mostly managed to huddle under Regulus's Shield Charm, but a bit of his sleeve got caught in the downpour. It glistens in a thick layer that smells a bit too much like rotten pumpkin juice for Regulus's comfort. "This shit has glitter in it."

"Of course it does," Maeve sighs. She releases Charlotte, who she'd clearly dragged by the elbow under her Shield Charm. "I wish I were surprised. But Cinda will know how to get it off. Or she'll figure something out."

Charlotte frowns down at the slime spreading in slow tendrils across the stone floor. "Our shoes are going to get stickier with every step."

"Did Evan and Lucinda make it into the Great Hall before all of this?" Regulus says.

"I don't see them in here," Barty says. "Hopefully that means they didn't get caught in the slime. We'll never hear the end of it if they did." (Which was exactly what Regulus was concerned about, and why he asked. Lucinda is extremely protective of her hair and clothing, and Evan hates messes—well, as much as Evan ever hates anything.)

"Look on the bright side," Maeve says. "Maybe if we channel their rage into more productive outlets, they'll come up with a way to get back at Potter without making all of us targets."

Barty shakes his sleeve a little, but the slime remains stubbornly where it is. He sounds disgruntled when he says, "Framing Snape and Mulciber. We've discussed this."

"Easier said than done, though," Maeve says. "Which is why I suggest setting Lucinda and Evan to the task. Although if neither of them got caught in the slime, I don't think they'll be invested enough to expend a bunch of effort on it."

Charlotte seems vaguely alarmed. "But Lucinda will still help us get this off, right? These are my favorite shoes."

"Oh, sure. But none of us got slimed too badly." Maeve shrugs. "As far as pranks go, this one's not really worthy of avenging."

So much the better. If they tried to frame Snape and Mulciber, and Potter realized someone was framing them, he'd probably assume that Regulus was the one behind it instead.

Regulus has more reason than most Slytherins to go after Potter. He's never quite managed to rationalize using it, but Potter certainly knows that all of the Blacks' difficulties with Sirius can be traced back to the two of them becoming friends. Regulus is the representative of the House of Black at Hogwarts, and his reasons for disliking Potter are both familial and extremely personal. This means that if Regulus or anyone associated with him went for Potter, Potter would know who to blame and strike back in the only way he knows how.

And Regulus is not interested in a prank war. He has plenty to occupy his mind already.

Notes:

a little mystery for you all: why is a significant chunk of this chapter about runes theory?

(i know the answer to this question lol but i want to know what people think! there's very little room for filler scenes in this fic because we have PLENTY of plot to cover already but i think there's a lot of plot that's going to read like filler until all becomes clear later. now i'm not necessarily saying that the runes theory isn't filler. but what if???)

i'm not saying the gryffindors held maeve back to talk to her because one of them has a crush on her and the other is trying to help, but i'm not NOT saying that, you know?

runes structures are..... VERY vaguely based on chemistry. i haven't taken a chemistry class in a hot second and i'm making most of this up but if you need a mental model for how the magic flow that babbling talks about works, think of atomic bonds!

and for anyone who's interested: the reason babbling says to put the five-link rune chain as a square with a rune in the middle and use one corner as the link to the six-link chain is because a square with a rune in the middle, with one corner removed, forms a bunch of triangles, and 3s are stable. so once the five-link chain has a channel to the other chain, all the magic that *doesn't* go through the channel will stay stable and keep doing what you want it to do. 7s are also stable, more so than 3s (the noble gases lol)

that being said this fic will *not* be super heavily focused on magical theory, beyond what's plot relevant. i think we've got rather enough to be getting on with already, don't you? (so i may infodump about the theory in the notes occasionally lol)

Chapter 6

They find Evan, Emma, and Lucinda already at the Slytherin table, free of slime and a little bewildered by the orange-coated students straggling into the Great Hall. Most of the older students are fine, barring the ones who didn't think to cast a protective charm in time or have someone nearby who was willing to cover them too. The younger students are generally drenched, with varying responses. Some of them are utterly horrified. Others are trying to smear slime on each other with enthusiasm.

Emma raises her eyebrows when they sit down at the Slytherin table. "Care to explain?"

"Potter," Maeve says.

"Ah." Emma grimaces. (Evan, who's occupied tearing a roll into tiny pieces, makes the exact same face at the exact same time. Neither of them sees the other do it.) "Say no more."

Lucinda is looking at Barty's sleeve with vague consternation. "Is that... glitter?"

"I wish it weren't," he replies. "Do you happen to know a spell that will remove glittery slime from clothing?"

"And shoes," Charlotte says.

Lucinda frowns. "I have to confess, that one's never come up for me before. Have you tried basic cleaning charms yet?"

"The only thing we've tried is asking you," Barty says.

"Understandable, I'd go straight for asking me too." Her tone turns businesslike in a way that reminds Regulus a little of Professor McGonagall. "The school uniforms are made to withstand Herbology, Potions, and Care of Magical Creatures. They can handle all-purpose cleaning charms. Shoes can, too—at least, the sort of shoes that any reasonable person would wear for a full day of walking between classes. If that doesn't work, I can see if any of my books have something applicable."

The soles of Regulus's shoes are a bit tacky, but he doesn't feel like mustering up the motivation necessary to attempt a charm surrounded by witnesses. He busies himself pouring tea instead as Barty tries a Scourgify on his sleeve, which seems to remove most of the slime but still leaves the fabric shimmery.

"Well, that's not horrible," Lucinda says encouragingly. "Glitter is hard to get off anyway. It'll probably get brushed off over time."

"That's if the slime is even permanent matter," Emma says. "I wouldn't be surprised if they conjured it temporarily and it's going to revert in an hour or two. That would solve the glitter issue pretty easily. How was Runes?"

"Babbling taught us another way to make things blow up," Maeve says. "So, same old, same old."

"Barty claims to have drawn a zebra, but I can't say I completely believe him," Regulus says.

"It was a zebra." Barty digs around in his bookbag and emerges with the parchment he was drawing on during class, which he lays out on the table with the air of someone presenting an undefeatable argument. "It's got hooves."

Regulus scrutinizes the drawing for these hooves that Barty keeps talking about, but having the drawing in front of him does not provide him with a different answer than when he was simply remembering what it looked like. "I still don't see them."

"I... kind of see them," Lucinda says. "It's definitely stripey."

"It could be a tiger," Regulus says, because really, a tiger is a perfectly reasonable interpretation of this particular artwork.

"It could be, except for how it's a zebra," Barty says.

"No, I see the hooves," Emma says.

"Thank you."

"And there aren't any whiskers," she adds. "It needs a mane, though."

"Maybe you would've successfully identified it as a zebra if I'd added the mane, Regulus," Barty says with magnanimity. "That's my bad. I'll add it during Defense. Then I trust that there will be no further arguments."

"Fine," Regulus says. "I'll accept that it's a zebra if it has a mane. But I still don't see the hooves and I stand by that." Not that it really matters. The idea of drawing a zebra himself, just to prove what hooves should look like, does cross his mind. He dismisses it before it can take root, though. That seems like an unnecessary expenditure of effort, considering that Regulus is also not particularly artistically gifted.

"Noted," Barty says.

"So glad that's resolved," Maeve says with more than a tinge of sarcasm. "Cinda, Emma, how was Care of Magical Creatures?"

Emma snickers as Lucinda says, "Er... it was educational."

Evan brightens and looks up from his largely dismembered roll. "It was fascinating."

"Merlin," Lucinda sighs. Like Barty, she's not from a particularly aristocratic background. It shows in how she drops her elbows onto the table, slouching over her plate. "I beg to differ."

"You don't take Care," Maeve says to Evan, somewhat quizzically.

"He flew by at a bad time," Lucinda says.

"I thought it was a great time," Emma says.

"Ugh." She stabs a roast potato with an air of great fatigue. "I don't want to relive it."

"Relive what?" Barty says.

"Nothing," Lucinda says. "It was a very mundane class."

"Our porlock was a tad stressed," Emma says. "Lucinda got the worst of it."

"Oof," Barty says. "No clue what a porlock is, but that sounds rough."

"Thank you for your sympathy," Lucinda says primly.

"Cinda's right, though, it was very educational," Evan says. "I learned that I made the right decision by not taking Care of Magical Creatures."

(Regulus fully supports that sentiment. He spends more than enough time interacting with magical creatures in Potions. Why Emma and Lucinda willingly signed up for more is beyond him.)

"Kettleburn only ever assigns reading for homework," Emma counters. "And then he doesn't check if we've done it."

Evan sighs. "Tempting, and yet I find myself consumed by the desire never to experience semi-domesticated magical creatures at close range."

"You spent two hours trying to get Priam's kneazle to like you last term," Barty says. "That's a semi-domesticated magical creature if I've ever seen one."

"It's a cat," Evan says.

"It's a kneazle."

"It's a cat," Emma says. "Its ears aren't long enough to be a kneazle."

"Your support on this important matter means the world to me," Evan says cheerily. Emma fistbumps him. Charlotte rolls her eyes.

"It's way too smart to be a cat," Barty says.

Emma raises her eyebrows. "Cats can be smart."

"Says who?"

"Says me."

Barty switches tactics. "But Priam's creature, no matter what it is, is definitely semi-domesticated."

"Priam's cat," Emma stresses, "is not the most benevolent of animals, no."

This is a fair assessment. Seventh-year prefect Priam Parkinson's cat mostly minds its own business, but it takes poorly to people encroaching on what it's deemed its territory. Seeing as that territory shifts every few days and doesn't necessarily correspond with where the cat is at any given moment, Priam is often prevailed upon to take the cat back to his room.

Evan turns his attention back to Maeve. "I tried to fly by your class too, but then I realized I have no clue where Babbling's classroom is or if it's even got a window, so I gave up on that and looked around Hogwarts to see if any new courtyards had sprouted up instead."

"Did you spend the whole period flying?" Charlotte says. "I thought you said you were going to start on the Arithmancy proof."

"I did. Then I went flying."

"It's due tomorrow morning."

"There's a new courtyard on the third floor."

"How are you going to write a twelve-inch proof in one night?"

"On the third floor?" Emma says.

Evan nods. "With grass and everything. There was a statue of Ulric the... something, I forget what the plaque said. It was snowing in there, so I didn't stay long. Ulric seemed a bit put out about that."

The ceiling of the Great Hall shows a pale sky with only a few clouds, hardly enough for snow, but Regulus doesn't know where the extra courtyards and classrooms come from or where they go when they disappear, so maybe this one came from a place with snow. Or maybe the reason it's not snowing is because the courtyard drew all the snow to itself. Sometimes Charlotte likes to mull over how the extra rooms work, but she looks a bit disgruntled right now and isn't likely to encourage Evan in his non-academic pursuits by asking him questions about this courtyard.

"The snow, or you abandoning him?" Emma says to Evan.

"Huh." He frowns slightly. "I assumed the snow, but maybe he's lonely up there. We should go visit during our free this afternoon. I bet if we fly I can find it again."

Charlotte rolls her eyes and pulls out her Charms textbook, opening it with a bit of a flounce. So she's clearly done talking to them for the rest of lunch.

The tinkle of faint bells sounds in the air, and small scrolls of parchment tied with shimmering purple ribbon appear next to Regulus, Maeve, and Evan's plates. Without unrolling his, Regulus knows it's the invitation to Slughorn's party. They always arrive with that sound. (Further down the Slytherin table, the aforementioned Priam Parkinson mutters "Already?" to sixth-year Heather Brown, who pats his hand in a manner that would seem more sympathetic if she weren't laughing as she did it. She's gotten an invitation too, so Regulus is guessing that the two of them will stick together the entire time. It's how they approach most social occasions.)

"This color's nice," Maeve remarks as she unties her ribbon. "Should I keep it? I don't know what I'd do with it, though."

"It's pretty small," Emma says. "It's not like it would take up much space."

"Fair enough." She tucks it into her bookbag and unrolls the scroll. "Wow, dinner party. I wonder who else is going to be there."

"Priam and Heather, at the very least," Regulus says. A dinner party explains what must be a small guest list, if Emma and Charlotte haven't been invited. They're from some of the younger families in the Sacred Twenty-Eight—respectable, certainly, but connections with them aren't as coveted as connections with the likes of the Rosiers, the Bulstrodes, and especially the Blacks. The Parkinsons and Browns are old families too, and the Browns are nearly as wealthy as the Rosiers. That means Priam and Heather are almost always invited, just like Regulus, Maeve, and Evan. Slughorn chooses a variety of students for the Slug Club, though, so there will most likely be a few guests from more modest backgrounds.

Maeve looks over at them, spots the telltale scrolls, and nods. "He's probably not being creative with the invitations, then. I guess that's alright. If it's the same people as usual then we already know who's boring."

"That might not help at a dinner party," Evan says. "If there's a seating arrangement. We might get stuck."

"Slughorn likes a lively group, though," Regulus says. (He suspects this is because it's easier for Slughorn to speak to everyone when there are one or two large group conversations happening, as opposed to moving from pair to pair and interrupting. Slug Club events aren't really for the students to network with each other, after all. They're for Professor Slughorn.)

"True. He won't mind if we ignore the people next to us as long as we're talking to someone." Evan surveys the small pile of torn-up bread roll on his plate and sighs. "I don't know what I was thinking."

"You weren't thinking," Charlotte says absently as she turns a page. "You rarely do."

Her words leave a sudden, uncomfortable silence in their wake.

It's broken briefly by Barty muttering "Yikes," but that doesn't diffuse the tension whatsoever. Emma and Maeve abruptly seem very neutral, a blank-faced mask with which Regulus is rather familiar. Lucinda worries at her lip and looks over at Evan, who blinks at Charlotte with faint surprise.

That comment is a sign of Charlotte being stressed if Regulus has ever seen one. The Yaxleys traditionally dislike the Rosiers—they claim it's because the Rosiers are frivolous, and the Rosiers claim it's because the Yaxleys are jealous of their money and long family history. (They're Noble and Anciente, about three hundred years older than the Yaxleys, who are just Noble.)

Normally, Charlotte keeps quiet about this particular hereditary dislike, and Evan seems perfectly happy to let her. The Yaxleys aren't the only family who consider the Rosiers frivolous, after all, and yet they still show up to the summer solstice ball at Rosier Manor every year that they're invited. But sometimes Charlotte forgets to keep the peace, if she's sufficiently distracted by something else. Or if Evan's lax attitude towards most schoolwork is irritating her more than usual.

The silence doesn't last long. Evan smiles at Charlotte, so sunny and amiable that Regulus is immediately on edge. He may be a Rosier, but that doesn't mean he's incapable of dislike. It just means that he shows it differently from most people.

"Oh, Charlotte, I've just noticed that you're reading the Charms textbook," Evan says pleasantly. Nothing in his tone or his face betrays the slightest offense. "If you're struggling with the material, do feel free to ask me. I'm happy to help. Especially with Warming Charms. You were having difficulty with those on Monday, weren't you?"

Maeve attempts and fails to disguise a snicker as a cough. Emma doesn't react so openly, but her mouth twitches in what might be a tiny smile.

"Thanks for the offer." Charlotte sounds anything but grateful.

Still, Evan beams at her. "You're ever so welcome."

Regulus hadn't noticed Charlotte having trouble with Warming Charms. Admittedly, he'd mostly been focused on concealing his own trouble with... everything. But Evan usually sits on one side of Regulus and Charlotte sits on the other. If Evan could see what Charlotte was doing, he must have looked past Regulus to do so.

And Regulus didn't see him doing it, which means he has no idea if Evan was watching him as well.

That's not good.

Evan is not an intimidating member of Slytherin. He's the heir to an old family, yes, but he's easygoing and mostly known for being a good Chaser. Very few people associate him with any sort of serious ambition, Slytherin placement notwithstanding, and Charlotte isn't the only person who considers him a bit... well, vacuous. It's a reasonable conclusion to draw, if one doesn't know Evan very well.

The thing is, though, Regulus isn't stupid.

Which is how he knows that Evan isn't either.

They've been acquainted since they were children, and they've been living together since second year. Regulus has listened to years' worth of Evan's making offhanded remarks about social dynamics and rambling about Charms and debating quidditch strategy with Emma. And it's true that Evan is very, very good at pretending to be a quintessential Rosier—easily bored, interested almost exclusively in having fun, ambitious only in the sense of wanting House Rosier's parties to thoroughly outshine everyone else's. (Especially House Malfoy's.)

But he could be more than that.

This is the conclusion Regulus has come to after watching him outsmart other quidditch teams time after time and float through charms theory well beyond what they're studying in class without batting an eyelash. He's clever. He has to be, or he wouldn't have been placed in Slytherin. But he likes to coast on his family's reputation for flightiness and frivolity, for hosting lavish events at which all of them flutter around from guest to guest, endlessly charming, smiling so much that Regulus's face hurts from watching them.

And it's not just about the parties. The Rosiers are one of very few Dark families that claim not to have a family magic. Evan insists that for them, practicing Dark Arts is really more about being friends with the right people. He attends every meeting of Regulus's Dark Arts study group and spends the whole time chatting with the other members instead of working on anything. The other Dark families are collectively skeptical about whether the Rosiers really don't have a specialty or whether they're just pretending, because they're one of the oldest families in the network—they've had generations upon generations in which they could have developed a family magic. And maybe there is a specialty. But as far as Regulus knows for sure, Evan's practice of Dark Arts extends only to flipping through Regulus's books sometimes and pointing out spells with funny names.

That's a good thing, really—at least, it is for the Blacks, because it would be easy for Evan to transform the Rosiers into an intimidating family. They're already wealthy and well-connected. If he were just a little more aggressive about establishing himself as a leader in Slytherin, he could leverage that to great effect after graduating from Hogwarts.

But that takes effort. (Regulus would know. It wasn't easy to take over the Dark Arts group at the end of fourth year.) And if Regulus knows one thing about Evan, it is that he is very choosy about how he spends his time and energy. It's a bit frustrating to watch him settle for where he is instead of pushing for more, but Regulus has gotten used to it over the years.

Which is why Evan's pointed remark about Charlotte's Warming Charms is... frankly, a bit odd. Since when is he quietly observing other people? And in Charms class? Regulus was positive that was the one place where Evan's attention would never wander from the lesson.

If Evan's decided to stop settling for where he is, that means that Regulus has a complicated road to walk. Taking charge of the Dark Arts study group cemented his position as the most prominent Dark scion in Slytherin—the smaller group that splintered off from them last year does not command the same sort of respect, no matter what Amycus and Alecto Carrow seem to think. If Evan puts in effort, he could make a move to wrest control from Regulus. That's a headache Regulus doesn't need when he's busy trying to join the war. The Dark Arts study group will probably be a good recruiting ground. He needs to retain control.

How is he going to do that without giving Evan a reason to dislike him?

He could extend an offer of co-leadership, but that might make him look insecure. If Regulus were the one receiving that offer, he would smell blood, and any alliance would most likely be a temporary measure as he worked towards supplanting the other person completely. Regulus could also try subtly reaffirming his leadership and making a usurpation as difficult as possible, but that would run the risk of Evan realizing he was doing it deliberately and deciding it meant Regulus was making an enemy of him. That's not exactly an outcome Regulus wants.

Or he could just wait and see what Evan does at the first study group meeting of the term tonight. One comment about Warming Charms doesn't necessarily mean that Evan is changing how he navigates Slytherin. It could just mean that he noticed Charlotte having trouble and was annoyed enough to use it.

Lucinda sets her teacup rather loudly in its saucer and leans across the table towards Maeve with an awkward smile. "So! You said Professor Babbling taught you another way to blow things up today? Tell us more, why don't you?"

"I think if we play our cards right, we can blow things up long-distance now," Maeve says. "What with everything she was saying about trigger objects and target objects."

"I dunno," Barty says. "I mean, yeah, we probably could. But Babbling was mostly talking about the ways triggers could blow up, wasn't she?"

She shrugs. "Trigger object and a Banishing Charm."

"Fair enough."

Maeve starts saying something else about the potential to weaponize object bindings, but Regulus misses it, because Amycus and Alecto Carrow are approaching the Slytherin table.

In the past, whenever they've acknowledged him, he's responded with a sort of... cool, disinterested nod. Perfunctory almost to the point of being condescending. But he can generally pass it off as being occupied doing something else. It helps that Regulus isn't exactly known for being the friendliest person in Slytherin.

They don't interact with each other as much anymore, since the Carrows split off from the Dark Arts group to form their own and Amcyus got kicked off of the quidditch team. Regulus is more than fine with this, but it has, historically speaking, complicated his interactions with them.

The problem is that Bellatrix is very pleased with the Carrows' commitment to joining the Death Eaters once they graduate. According to her, Rabastan Lestrange has been corresponding with them for a while, pointing them towards spells that will be useful once they're Marked and encouraging them to build up the membership of their Dark Arts study group as a future recruiting ground. (Which is a horrible idea in terms of haphazardly sharing Dark Arts with people who might not know how to keep a secret. But it's a good idea in terms of amassing supporters who have a vested interest in Voldemort's side succeeding. And now, in Regulus's side succeeding. So Regulus will absolutely be taking Rabastan's advice and using his own study group as a foundation for his supporters.)

So even though Regulus has no more reason to interact with the Carrows, he still has to acknowledge them, which unfortunately means allowing them a sense of being vaguely friendly with him. Bellatrix would hear about it if he didn't, and then Mother would hear about it, and that's not an outcome that would be good for anyone.

Regulus threatened Amycus at quidditch practice on Monday, but he can't just openly shun him. It would raise too many questions. So what does he do if they acknowledge him now? Pretend he didn't notice? Or pretend Amycus isn't there and acknowledge Alecto?

The latter makes it seem like Regulus's grievance is solely with Amycus and thus solely about quidditch. He'll have to go with that.

But he has to come up with a better way to navigate this situation. Remaining on speaking terms with the Carrows will not endear him to any Muggleborns, and if Regulus is going to pull this off, Muggleborns are exactly who he needs.

That's a matter that will require some thought. Not just who to recruit, but how to go about recruiting them. It'll take boldness for any Muggleborn to sign up to follow the heir to a rather notorious family of blood purists. He'll need to talk to each of them individually, persuade them of his intentions, and furthermore, convince them to keep that conversation secret to the highest degree.

Fortunately, there's a large pool of potential candidates. Anyone who's been targeted by the Carrows and their friends is a strong possibility, and there are quite a few of those. (Perhaps Regulus should be thankful to them for creating so many enemies. Now he only has to worry about getting to those people before Dumbledore does.)

"Black," Alecto says cordially as she and Amycus walk by.

Regulus nods vaguely in her direction and pours himself some pumpkin juice.

He has his work cut out for him with Muggleborns. But he'll start with something a little more manageable. Regulus's Dark Arts group meets on Wednesday nights, which means that at ten tonight, he'll be surrounded by people who are already accustomed to listening to him. If he's going to build momentum, that's the best place to begin.

Notes:

hehehe charlotte and evan DESPISE each other and reg is just living his life like 'oh yeah their families kind of dislike each other and sometimes when charlotte is stressed she forgets to think of evan as evan her housemate instead of as a Random Rosier', totally missing the fact that Actually Charlotte Does Dislike Evan Specifically And It's More That When She Loses Patience She Snaps At Him For The Everything About Him

and then evan goes 'oh boy a tiny outlet for my totally-repressed aggression!!' and here we are

is regulus right about the rosiers? is evan coasting? is his head actually full of elevator music at all times? is he doing something else that reg can't see? is he turning over a new leaf, or did charlotte just strike a nerve???? .......we'll see :) but as always, i love hearing your thoughts about what's going on!

thanks so much for reading!!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 7

The Dark Arts study group is the only one that Regulus has ever participated in of his own free will.

He doesn't like normal study groups—he was learning magical theory at the age of five, so it inevitably means he winds up teaching the material to everyone else instead of learning anything himself.

Of course, that's exactly what he does with the Dark Arts group as well, but at least everyone in the group is competent enough that Regulus can afford to leave them to their own devices for a few minutes while he works on things he's interested in. And Priam and Maeve can generally be trusted to explain things to their newer members if Regulus is occupied.

He had to expand the group to keep their numbers up after the Carrows left—otherwise there was a possibility that the Carrows and their group might begin to overshadow the legacy Dark Arts group. Regulus couldn't have that. This study group was practically originated by the Blacks, centuries ago, when the Ministry's outlawing of what's now called Dark Arts pushed its practitioners underground. Several students, including a few Black cousins, set up a secret study group so Hogwarts students could continue to practice Dark Arts while at school. It's been a Slytherin tradition ever since. Regulus can't be the one who lets the group crumble because of a little bit of competition.

Thus, he brought in more members. The group already contained all the Slytherins fourth-year and above from Dark families (excepting the Carrows, of their own accord), plus Barty and a sixth-year named Margaret Avery, whose secret-keeping abilities were vouched for by her yearmate Antony Flint. In order to increase their numbers, Regulus had to do what the Carrows were doing and bring in people who weren't already part of the network. Maeve nominated Lucinda, and the last two members of the group almost fell into Regulus's lap—literally, because he walked out of the fifth-year boys' dorm precisely when Jessica Gao and Alexander Yew were trying to counter the privacy wards and muffling spells on the door.

(Naturally, he brought them into the group. They had the initiative to go looking for the Dark Arts practitioners that they'd heard about, with the intention of joining, and now that they're in the group, Regulus has leverage over them—they owe him a favor since he accepted them despite their complete lack of experience with Dark Arts, and neither of them will reveal the secret, since they'd be implicating themself and their best friend too.)

Despite the fact that Regulus still often finds himself explaining things to other people, he generally enjoys the study group meetings. It's a refreshing break from keeping the secret, a time once a week when all the Dark scions in Slytherin (and a few of their friends) get to breathe... well, semi-easily. There are still the hidden details of their family specialties and the knowledge that at least some of these people will probably be their social or political rivals once they graduate, depending on how alliances shift with marriages over time. Attending study group meetings sometimes feels like they're just getting together once a week to pretend they're all friends, because otherwise the Dark Arts network means nothing.

But most people in the group are genuinely friends, or at least friendly. It's difficult not to be, when they have such an important secret in common. (Of course, there's Charlotte, but she usually doesn't come, so it makes sense that she's not as friendly with the rest of them.)

Since Regulus, Evan, and Barty are all in the group, meetings are held in their dorm room. This is incredibly convenient, since it means Regulus doesn't have to tote his books around. He fervently hopes that he will never so much as have to read the incantation for an Undetectable Expansion Charm, much less cast one. (It's a NEWT-level spell, so his odds are good.) When the other members of the group come to him, all he has to do is unlock the hidden compartment in his trunk and pass books around. No need to worry about people stealing them—Regulus's books like him, and they tend to find their way back quickly.

Not that anyone's tried to steal any of his Dark Arts books, as far as he's aware. That would be a colossally stupid move, what with the wards on the doorway that prevent any Dark texts from being removed from the room. Father says that's crucial to prevent spells from being left out where anyone might find them.

(Admittedly, he also told Regulus that it's best to keep those wards a secret, so he can find out if anyone in the group is likely to betray him. So nobody else in the group knows about the wards on the doorway. But it would still be a stupid move to assume Regulus hadn't taken measures to protect his belongings.)

The group is simultaneously a poorly and well-kept secret. Rumors about Dark Arts have swirled around Slytherin for hundreds of years—long enough that most people not in-the-know respond with eyerolls. (It seems like a tired, fear-mongering story, if one isn't already aware that it's true.) It helps that most people also don't exactly have a good grasp on what Dark Arts are, beyond some sort of shadowy, nebulous area of magic that is inherently evil. Similarly, there are murmurings about exclusive clubs, mostly populated by scions of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, in which the members form secret social and political alliances that will control magical Britain in twenty or thirty years.

Both of these are exaggerations, but Regulus likes the efficiency of how neatly they combine into one study group. Many Dark families are also Sacred Twenty-Eight; the Wizengamot and the families represented within it do in fact mostly control Britain; and nearly every important family, whether they're Dark or Sacred Twenty-Eight or both, takes note of who their children befriend. That makes both rumors basically true, and yet the specifics make them practically unbelievable.

The important thing is that most students at Hogwarts consider themselves far too sensible to fall for a story that outlandish. Who on earth would practice Dark Arts at Hogwarts, right under Dumbledore's nose, of all places? Nobody could possibly be that foolish.

But this Dark Arts group was here long before Dumbledore. It'll be here long after him too, provided Regulus doesn't let the Carrows win this competition that they may or may not realize is happening.

What with his comments to Amycus Carrow at quidditch practice on Monday, they might put the pieces together sooner rather than later.

Oh, well. He's already noted the Carrows down as future enemies in his head. In order for that to work, they need to become aware of it at some point.

Barty and Evan are both already in the room, due to living there, so the first people to really arrive are Maeve and Lucinda, the latter of whom promptly helps herself to a seat on Evan's bed and narrowly misses sitting on his foot. (Evan, who's sprawled out staring at the ceiling, doesn't react beyond a small wave of hello. He claimed about ten minutes ago that his brain was melted by McGonagall's lecture from this afternoon. Regulus didn't think it was that bad, but Evan's distaste for Transfiguration is not exactly a secret.)

Lucinda's seat on Evan's bed gives her an excellent vantage point from which to raise an eyebrow in Regulus's direction. She's changed her hair since Regulus last saw her at dinner—instead of her frequent choice of a green headband, she's opted for a ponytail. It would resemble Emma's go-to, but Regulus is willing to bet that Lucinda spent several minutes at the very least identifying exactly which curls in the front to leave out. Emma moves through the world as if she is perpetually aware that a quidditch match could break out at any moment, so she doesn't leave hair where it could fall in her eyes if she can help it. Lucinda is much more flexible about those things. "Regulus, what did you threaten Carrow with at quidditch? I've been dying to know ever since Emma mentioned it, but I thought the answer might not be fit for mixed company."

(Which is to say, anyone who isn't Dark. Lucinda has adapted fabulously quickly to being part of the network, much like she adapted fabulously quickly to being surrounded by Sacred Twenty-Eight scions the moment she was sorted into Slytherin. Whatever shape her ambitions take, they're clearly served by her being well-connected. Mother would probably like her, if not for her relative emotional openness and middle-class status.)

"Retaliation for whatever he might choose to do," Regulus says. "And I told him I'd humiliate him if he tried to go after Megan."

"Bit vague," Evan comments idly.

"I wouldn't show my hand that early. Then he might start thinking of ways to counter me." A vague threat is less impressive, but safer—especially because it's easier to follow through on. If Regulus is making threats, he wants to be sure he can carry them out. Otherwise, he looks ineffectual. "Is Charlotte not coming tonight?"

"As far as we're aware," Maeve says. She's chosen to take Barty's chair. (The biggest problem with expanding the group is lack of seating. Three people in the room means three beds, three desks, and three chairs. Regulus could improve the situation by giving some sort of indication that people can sit on his bed, but really, he'd rather they didn't. He sits there himself, and that's as much mitigation as his bed will provide.) "And so her Hufflepuff friends win out over our company again, but we all saw that coming."

"And I'm sure you're positively broken up over her absence," Barty says with heavy sarcasm.

"Oh, absolutely."

"I suppose it'll make tonight's meeting a little more relaxed." Lucinda sighs. "She's just stressed."

"She's always stressed," Maeve says. "I don't see why we have to suffer for it."

"Because we still have years left of living with her? And she's much nicer when she's not being provoked, you know."

Evan props himself up on one elbow. His forehead is creased slightly. "Did she think I was trying to provoke her earlier? I just wanted to talk about that courtyard. Emma asked."

Lucinda blinks at him, then shrugs. "She did seem concerned that you wouldn't have time to finish your proof. I suppose study group doesn't help with that."

"Bullshit," Maeve pronounces. "Charlotte doesn't care if any of us fail our classes. Except you, Cinda."

"Because I talk to her."

"I talk to her," Evan says plaintively.

"Not sure that helps in your case," Barty says.

"Ugh." He flops back onto the bed. "I don't know what she wants from me."

"The Arithmancy proof, duh," Maeve says.

He waves a hand vaguely in the direction of his desk. "It's mostly done. I'll finish it during History of Magic tomorrow morning."

Charlotte's absence from the study group is nothing new. She seems to find their actual coursework much more interesting than Dark Arts, which Regulus can understand—at least, in the case of a Yaxley. He can't really see the appeal in their specialty of invulnerability. It's much more satisfying to overpower the opponent than to simply repel them.

Which is why it's a good thing that Regulus has the family magic that he does. The House of Black is built to overpower.

Barty makes a sound that can be best described as 'urgh.' "How many more weeks do we have of Binns at nine in the morning?"

"Too many," Maeve says.

A knock on the door reveals itself to be Priam Parkinson. He's cleaning something green off of his glasses and looks supremely irritated as he steps into the room. "The third-years are experimenting in the common room again."

"Gross," Lucinda says sympathetically. "McKinnon?"

"And Wu, and some of their friends, although McKinnon was the one poking at things." He takes Evan's desk chair and puts his glasses back on. "I'm very close to showing them how to ward an unused classroom so they can conduct their nonsense elsewhere."

If anyone in Slytherin could explain the best way to ward a room in order to turn it into a proper workshop, it would be a Parkinson. Mother calls them tinkerers, but she does so with grudging respect—Parkinson estates are full of incredibly dangerous cursed objects that they make themselves. Priam says to other Dark people that his poor eyesight is the result of long hours in his workshop at home. Regulus, who has seen the miniscule rows of text in many of Priam's books, severely doubts that is the only reason.

Really, it's a good thing that Priam never displayed much interest in taking over the study group. He probably would have taken over by default if Regulus hadn't jumped in, seeing as he's the only seventh-year in the group, but he doesn't seem disgruntled whatsoever about someone else being in charge. This is good because Regulus would be slightly disappointed if he had to make an enemy of Priam.

Slightly disappointed, and wary. Regulus can imagine all too well the multitudes of ways in which the Parkinson specialty might be used in traps, and he barely knows anything about it. Someone who's been trained in how to use it could undoubtedly come up with much more creative ideas.

"How are all of you?" Priam adds. "Professors are hounding us about NEWTs. I imagine you're dealing with the same over OWLs, if my memories of fifth year are accurate."

Hm.

Priam is generally well-liked by Slytherins, despite his cat. That's powerful when it's used well.

Furthermore, if Regulus recruits him, he can use him to get to Heather Brown.

Her family is fairly welcoming of Muggleborns, especially for a Sacred Twenty-Eight house. Also, they're all Gryffindors except for Heather, and while she doesn't have any family members at Hogwarts at the moment, that does mean that her social circle isn't contained within Slytherin (which is the case for many members of their house, Regulus included). She has a lot of friends. This makes her an ideal candidate for Regulus's side, because if she doesn't know how to use people liking her, Regulus will resign from Slytherin. She's gotten through five and a half years down here without being ostracized, despite her family. Given how wealthy the Browns are, that wouldn't have been remarkable ten years ago, but ideology has begun to supercede family background in Slytherin. Voldemort and his recruitment efforts are, of course, to blame.

So Heather Brown staying afloat in an increasingly purist Slytherin House indicates that she has some sort of strategy. And whatever it is, it clearly works.

The difficulty lies in recruiting Priam. He doesn't have personal loyalty to Regulus the way Barty does, and while being heir to a Noble and Anciente house gives him power, it also gives him more reason than most to be cautious about his alliances.

(And yet, he and Heather have been together for two years. She's Sacred Twenty-Eight, but not Dark, and Regulus can't imagine that Lord and Lady Parkinson are happy about that. Then again, he still feels like he's missing something about what could have driven Andromeda to elope with a Muggleborn, even knowing that it meant disownment and losing all of her connections and resources. Narcissa attempted to explain, in quiet conversations they weren't meant to be having once Andromeda's name was blasted off of the tapestry years ago, but she just repeated the same word soup about love over and over, then gave up and told him he'd understand when he was older. Regulus is older now, and the spontaneous burst of understanding Narcissa implied would happen has not occurred. He has accepted that this area is not his forte. Understanding might have been helpful to figure out how to get to Priam and then to Heather Brown, but he'll figure something else out.)

This will have to be the first true test of Regulus's plan. If he can sway Priam, it bodes well for recruiting more Dark and Sacred Twenty-Eight scions. If he can't...

Well. There are other people he can try. But it would be extremely useful to have an important Dark and Sacred Twenty-Eight heir on his side from the beginning.

"Flitwick is trying to kill us, I'm pretty sure," Maeve says to Priam. "We covered a ridiculous amount on Monday. I'm not excited for class tomorrow."

Neither is Regulus, but he occupies himself unlocking the trunk at the foot of his bed rather than risk anyone else picking up on some sort of quiet sign of agreement in his face.

Unlocking the trunk is a simple matter; unlocking the hidden compartment that contains his Dark Arts books, not so much. It's keyed to his magical signature, but all that does is prevent someone else from getting in by watching his wand movements and collecting his blood. It has to be complicated, so that Regulus runs no risk of accidentally opening the secret compartment while there are outsiders in the room. Knowing this is true does not prevent it from irritating him. Fortunately, it's a series of movements that was drilled into him before the secret compartment was even placed inside his trunk. It's second nature by now, but Regulus still looks forward to the day when he doesn't have to work his way through thirteen different movements and a drop-of-blood identity verification to get to his books.

"Hogwarts students have an incredibly high rate of passing the OWL for Charms." Priam frowns and removes his glasses again, having apparently decided that they're not clean enough yet. "And a lot of Outstandings. Flitwick knows what he's doing."

"That's the worst part," Maeve says. "If he didn't, I'd be able to gripe about it with more justifiable outrage."

"Gripe about standardized testing," Barty suggests. "The standards are arbitrary, anyway. All they test is how well we can follow directions."

"Ah, yes, your greatest talent," she says. "Excited for the Runes OWL?"

"Why would you say such a cruel thing to me?"

Regulus reaches the end of the wand-gesture portion. The lock to the compartment reveals itself, and he presses the tip of his index finger to the dark metal. There's a tiny prick, barely deep enough to draw blood, certainly not deep enough to merit an attempt at a healing charm, and then the lock clicks open and the secret compartment slides into view. The books lined up in two rows are a little worn—after decades of use, it's inevitable. They're free of dust, though, lettering on the spines shining in the lamplight of the room, almost all covers in dark colors except for a pale orange book and a shimmering mother-of-pearl one. (That one has some of the nastiest mind magic tricks Regulus has ever seen. It was a birthday gift from Narcissa, naturally.) These books are good-natured, despite their contents; they like feeling useful, and having several people pore over them at least once a week keeps them contented.

This has always felt like how Slytherin is supposed to be. Not the Dark Arts necessarily, although they're a house tradition, but the entire nature of the group. They're not the type to limit themselves to what they're learning in their classes.  The world is full of magic, available to people who are willing to put in the time and effort to figure out how to use it. People like everyone in this room.

Lucinda spots that he's opened his trunk. "Regulus, could you pass me the one I had last week? The air magic one. There's something in there about a ritual to unlock autonomous flight but I didn't have time to look last time."

The air magic book she's talking about has a deep blue cover made of some sort of leather Regulus can't identify, with twinkling silver lettering that likes to wander around the spine. It's in the front row—the spells in it are relatively simple, especially for people who are new to Dark Arts, so it's used at nearly every meeting by one of the newer people. (Air magic isn't considered Dark, but most of its uses are. This book is the sort that's become increasingly illegal over the years. Regulus has a few like that.)

Regulus passes it to her. "Does anyone else know what they want?"

There's a rather perfunctory knock at the door, followed by the entrance of Margaret Avery and Antony Flint, the two sixth-years of their group. Margaret is tall, with brown hair in an impeccable bun and what seems to be a semi-permanent look of polite disinterest on her face. It only goes away when Barty manages to draw her into conversations about Runes that Regulus pretends not to be listening to. Antony, on the other hand, is about Regulus's height, dark-haired, and normally relaxed, which means that he's one of the more popular prefects for lower years to go to with their problems. (Cora Shacklebolt being the other one. Slughorn chose fairly approachable prefects among the sixth-years, and then, when Regulus's class came along, seems to have decided to defenestrate that strategy entirely and choose Regulus and Charlotte of all people.)

"Evening, all," Antony says, dropping onto the other side of Evan's bed. "How's everyone coping with having homework again?"

"First Priam, now you," Barty says. "At least Regulus doesn't remind us he's a prefect constantly."

"Regulus," Regulus says, "has other priorities. Like handing books out to all of you because he has things he wants to accomplish tonight." Things involving the mother-of-pearl book. It's one that he hasn't let anyone else use as of yet—mind magic is easy to get very, very wrong, and checking how skilled someone is before letting them see this book takes enough time that so far, everyone has opted simply to use other ones.

"Never mind," Barty says. "That was more than enough of a reminder. Can you pass me the nonsense one?"

Regulus hands it over. Nonsense Abstruse is Barty's favorite of these books, perhaps because it reminds him of Cyprian Silkwood's writing style. (Figuring out how to read the book is the magic. Regulus has never bothered—he has more concrete spells he wants to learn.)

Margaret Avery clears her throat and looks towards Regulus. "There's a slight problem."

All action in the room ceases. Lucinda looks up from her book, Barty pauses in the middle of opening his, Priam stops messing around with his glasses, and even Evan bothers to turn his head to look over at her.

"What kind of problem?" Regulus says.

"Heather's figured out that Priam and I vanish to the same place on Wednesday nights."

Not ideal, but something they've dealt with before. The difficult factor is the Browns—any sort of exclusive Sacred Twenty-Eight group would certainly include them (and not include Margaret unless she had someone to sponsor her), which means some other explanation is necessary.

"Is she upset?" Priam moves as if to get up, but Margaret shakes her head, which stops him in his tracks.

"She's positive it's a Dark Arts group, since all the other options would either include her or not need to be kept secret."

Oh, that's the issue.

"I didn't know how to convince her otherwise without doing something drastic," Margaret says.

Heather Brown, in the know about Dark Arts in Slytherin, something Regulus didn't think would happen unless she and Priam got married. (A distinct possibility, maybe even more likely now.)

"Huh," Barty says. "Well, that's... that's a problem, yeah."

Hm.

Is it?

Margaret raises her chin. "None of you get to come after me for this. Heather would have put it together sooner or later. She's good at picking apart rumors to figure out what's true, and what with dating Mr. Curse-Everything-Without-A-Pulse over there..."

"Margaret's right." Priam doesn't blink an eye at the new moniker, which is probably because as far as monikers go, it's fairly accurate. "It's a miracle that Heather hasn't said anything about knowing already, since she probably put the pieces together a while ago. I suppose she's decided on how she's going to use it and that's why she told you now."

Oh, that's an interesting insight into Heather's personality. She's known for being gossipy, but if what Priam says is true (and it almost certainly is, they've been together for years), then what she gossips about isn't even close to being the sum total of what she knows. She's just picking and choosing according to what serves her interests at any given moment.

So. Heather Brown has known for a while, and she's just been waiting for the right time. And Margaret's preemptive defense of her seems to suggest that the two of them didn't fight over it. (Margaret has a vengeful streak.)

This isn't a big problem.

In fact, Regulus is quite sure this isn't a problem at all.

"What did she want?" Priam says to Margaret. At least half the room leans forward, maybe subconsciously, waiting for the answer.

"She wants in," Margaret says.

That's what I thought.

Regulus selects the smallest book from his compartment, a pocket-sized one with letters branded into the dark red cover. This is A Brief Introduction to Wielding the Dark, one hundred and fifth edition. (A new edition is released every ten years. Fortunately, at some point they saw fit to update from the original Old English.) Everyone in this room has used this book, regardless of which edition was most current at the time they began practicing Dark Arts. It truly is brief, but it's concise, and most other books assume the reader has read this one.

In the still room, the motion of taking out the book has drawn everyone's eyes to him. He holds it up, just to make sure everyone knows exactly what he chose and what he intends.

Heather has more than enough incentive to keep the group a secret. Regulus has personal reasons for wanting her to owe him a favor. And he might be able to use this to get Priam on his side too.

It's an obvious decision, really.

"So," Regulus says to Margaret, "we'll bring her in."

Recruiting Heather Brown for the war just got much, much easier.

Notes:

i really thought i was going to be able to fit the entire dark arts study group meeting into one chapter. time to put on my clown shoes

i don't think i have any pointed questions for you about what's going on in this chapter? it's fairly straightforward. rip evan's brain, 1960-1977, death by transfiguration lecture, gone too soon, sometimes we still hear its neurons firing, etc etc etc

(i'm writing evan with a november birthday which should explain those dates)

Chapter 8

It's not like Regulus can just have Margaret fetch Heather Brown from wherever she's undoubtedly waiting for a verdict on whether she can join the group.

It's an action that's within the realm of possibility, certainly, but not one he would undertake. He wants to talk to Heather himself first. (As usual. Regulus is the leader of this group, and he doesn't intend to let anyone forget it. He needs to be the face of Dark Arts in Slytherin—hidden though that face may be. He talked to Margaret, Lucinda, and Jessica and Alexander before letting them join, too.)

So Regulus stands up. "I see no reason to make her wait any longer. I'll speak to her now, unless anyone needs me to supervise an imminent spell?"

"Your prefect badge is showing again," Barty says.

"My desire not to be investigated for possible liability in the grievous injury of a fellow student is showing. Anyone?"

Barty opens up Nonsense Abstruse and grabs his Runes chalk. (He's expressly forbidden from taking notes in the margins, but he also can't leave any parchment with notes on Dark texts lying around. He has decided to solve this by taking notes on the wall by his bed and cleaning the wall after meetings conclude. Regulus would have solved this by taking notes on parchment and destroying the parchment afterwards, but to each their own. He suspects Barty just likes covering the walls with writing.) "Nah. We will be very boring and safe while you're gone."

"Wonderful. Margaret, where do I need to go?"

Margaret raises her eyebrows slightly. "You're just going to burst into the girls' wing of the dormitories and demand a clandestine meeting with her?"

"If that's what you want to call it." Regulus hands the introductory Dark Arts book to Priam, on the theory that Priam will be one of the first people Heather Brown interacts with once she enters the room. "Lock the door once Jessica and Alexander arrive."

 

He does not burst in anywhere, nor does he demand anything. That would be crude. Instead, he very calmly walks down the girls' hallway and knocks on the door to the sixth-years' room.

Seconds later, Heather Brown opens it. She's still wearing her uniform, but she's draped a fuzzy, bright pink blanket around her shoulders that matches her nail polish and contrasts with her dark skin. She smiles at Regulus. "Did you want something? Cora and Sophia are trying to study, so unless it's a yes or no question, I'd like to leave them in peace."

That's a clear sign that they can't have this conversation in Heather's dormitory. Regulus plays along. "It's about Slughorn's dinner party."

"Ooh! Okay, one second." She tosses the pink blanket onto a bed that's probably hers, judging by the tiny pink lights hovering underneath the canopy, then steps into the corridor and shuts the door. "He gave us such little notice. It's horrible. What if I'd had plans for Friday night? I didn't, but still. That's two days from now. He could have interrupted my entire life."

Regulus, who rarely (if ever) has plans for Friday nights, nods in what is hopefully a sympathetic manner and hopes that he will not need to contribute in a more substantial way to this thread of conversation. He's occupied with thinking.

There aren't many good places for a secretive conversation in the Slytherin dormitories, especially when people don't share a room, but it's just after curfew and Regulus is a prefect, which means there's no reason for them to stay in the dormitories. Whoever's on patrol tonight won't make their way down to the dungeons for at least another half hour—it's unofficial policy to stay away from the entrances to the common rooms right after curfew, so they can conveniently fail to catch any stragglers who were already on their way back to their dormitories and only missed curfew by a few minutes. As long as they stay near the entrance to the Slytherin common room and put up some silencing wards, they'll be fine.

And Regulus happens to know a room that will do the job.

He turns and starts walking towards the common room. There will be people there, which doesn't matter. Regulus is aware that he is talked about behind his back, but people generally don't confront him. If he could get through all of the fall term without a single person (other than Barty, who doesn't count) asking him directly about Sirius's disownment, then he can certainly exit the common room with Heather Brown after curfew without being questioned.

Heather walks with him and adds, "And it's good I hadn't repainted my nails yet. This color goes with the robes I'm going to wear, since they're light green so it's complementary, but I was thinking about doing blue before I got the invitation. That would have been a disaster. None of my dress robes go with blue. Well, not the ones I brought with me to school. What are you going to wear?"

Er. "Black." (All of Regulus's dress robes are black. As are most of his casual robes. And most of his clothes in general.)

The common room is still fairly full at this hour, mostly populated by upper years, none of whom react outwardly to the somewhat odd pair that is Regulus and Heather Brown. (It's not that odd, seeing as they're both Sacred Twenty-Eight, but they're in different years and largely different social circles, so it's still a combination that raises one or two eyebrows. Eyebrows that Heather Brown must be pretending not to notice.)

"Hmm, yeah." She nods decisively. "Dark colors are your thing, aren't they?"

That... might be her testing the waters to see if Regulus is here to discuss Dark Arts with her. Regulus is going to hope that it is. Part of the point of having almost exclusively black clothing is so that he doesn't have to consider things like which colors suit him. He's been told that black does, and that it's more than appropriate for him given his family name, and that's enough as far as he's concerned. "By virtue of my family. But I've taken to them of my own accord as well."

"I totally see that for you."

The entrance to the dungeons slides open, and they step out into the corridor, which is darker and colder than the common room. There are no plush carpets here, only hard stone. It's always reminded Regulus a little of the vault under Black Manor, which he wasn't supposed to go into without an adult, but Bellatrix dared Sirius to go in during one summer years ago, back when they still spent most of the summer at the manor with the extended family, and Sirius dared Bellatrix back and Regulus happened to be in the room and as a result found himself going along. The vault seemed dark and vast and Regulus felt small, but this was when he was quite young. The Hogwarts dungeons don't faze him.

Nor do they faze Heather Brown, who's walked into the chill with no outward reaction, despite the blanket she had in the warmer dormitory. "Priam's the same way, although I'm sure you're already aware of that."

"Quite." Regulus is fairly sure now that they're talking about Dark Arts, seeing as the Parkinsons don't have a hereditary attachment to certain color palettes that he's aware of. He indicates the direction that takes the corridor deeper into the dungeons, further from the routes wanderers might take. "This way? There's an empty office that I've never caught anyone using."

(Primarily because he found it when looking for a good place to have this conversation with Margaret and warded it to make sure it stayed empty. It's not as secure or private as Regulus's room would be, seeing as he's had much more time to construct and check his wards there, but that's full of people at the moment, so it's not an option.)

"Sure." Heather tilts her head and surveys Regulus with a critical eye. "You're familiar with Margaret, aren't you?"

They're definitely talking about Dark Arts now. "You could say that."

"In the right company."

"Yes." They reach the office door, and Regulus uses his thumb and forefinger to turn the handle. (This ward is keyed to his fingerprints. It wouldn't do to have all his wards work the same way. If anyone who isn't him tries to open it, they'll get the impression that the door is actually a wall that's sprouted a handle. It's better than people realizing it's a locked door, because once they know it's locked, someone will try to get around it. At Hogwarts, fake doors are a fact of life, so this is a simple ruse.)

The door swings open easily, revealing a sparsely decorated office with little more than a desk and a few chairs. Regulus gestures Heather Brown inside. She takes one of the chairs facing the desk, which is good, because the chair behind the desk is his favorite. He shuts the door and puts up two silencing wards, then sits down.

He's barely made contact with the chair when Heather Brown says, "So, this seems efficient. I assume Margaret went straight to the meeting and announced everything about our conversation."

"She did," Regulus says. "It wasn't efficient so much as it was simple. I don't like wasting time."

"Simple." She draws out the word, thoughtful. "You're recruiting?"

"In a way." Which means 'yes, but not for what you think.' "Margaret and Priam both vouched for you as an individual, and the Dark network can always use more people with the kind of resources that you have."

"Money and status." It's not a question. "And knowledge."

"And knowledge," Regulus confirms. "The rest will be more useful after graduating from Hogwarts."

"Which is sooner for me than it is for you." She props her chin in one hand. "Not to be rude, but where do you get off running this operation? You mentioned the Dark network. Your family's involved? Wait, don't answer that, that's obvious, of course they are. But they're not the only ones, if it's a whole network. Why are you in charge?"

"Because I wanted to be." It's the bare minimum of the truth.

"That's not an answer."

"Ask someone else, then."

"Oh, I will." She smiles. "So you are in charge? You're not an emissary sent from the leader of the group? That's nice. I feel so special."

That works out very well for Regulus. He lets it pass without comment. "Why are you interested in joining?"

"Why wouldn't I be? I like being in the know. If there's a network, I want to be in it. If there's magic out there to be used, I want to know how to use it. Not to mention that I don't like knowing my boyfriend and my friend are keeping things from me. Joining your group solves all of that. Besides, now I know for a fact that it exists, and I know the identities of multiple members." She shrugs. "Legally speaking, that's quite a bit to go on. You have a lot to lose by barring me entry, and a lot to gain by initiating me or whatever it is that you do."

That he does.

But Regulus hedges for a bit longer, just to make it clear that he's not the type to bow to subtle threats of coercion. (He is, however, the type to appreciate people who are prepared but not inclined to extort him. Such people make excellent allies, provided he knows what they want and can use it to keep them from turning against him. Anyone who's willing to extort someone like him is more than capable of doing the same to easier targets.) "If you were to join, you recognize that would mean breaking the law. Membership in such a group falls under the legal definition of abetting, regardless of whether you ever use Dark Arts yourself."

"The law," Heather Brown says cheerily, "is what we make of it."

"Fair point. The precedent for this case has been set for a while, though."

"Oh, I know. I did my research. The Hogwarts library has a ton of books about the outlawing of Dark Arts. I think they're trying to tell us something."

Now is the time for a hint at an anti-Dumbledore stance. (Which is no surprise from a Dark scion, but still worth establishing. It wouldn't do for people to lump Regulus and Dumbledore together as one side.) "Dumbledore has his agenda, and we have ours."

She beams. "That we do! Shall we consider it a done deal?"

"Yes," Regulus says. "Welcome to the Dark network."

He genuinely means it. New people always mean a slight re-shuffling of the group, as people figure out who their friends are and where they fall in the hierarchy. Since Heather is a Brown with tight connections to Priam and Margaret, this re-shuffling will be somewhat different than the usual. She's not the study group's typical newcomer. But Regulus will still come out on top, which means he has enough security to be able to watch the maneuverings with peace of mind.

Heather being in the Dark network will change its scope and its general milieu from now on. Regulus can't speak to whether it'll change in a good way or a bad way—that's not important. But he can speak to the fact that it'll change in a useful way. So, good enough for him.

"Thanks ever so," Heather says. "Can I join the meetings straight off, or is there anything else I need to do first?"

"You can join the meetings. In fact, let's go now. I'm sure Priam is on the edge of his seat wondering what's taking so long."

"It's nice to know he's invested, although I can't say that surprises me hugely. I've known he was keeping some sort of big secret from me for a while, because it was obvious that he felt awful about it. Oh, he didn't tell me, don't worry about that, but I knew something was off."

Hm. Does Andromeda's husband know about the Dark network? Maybe. She ran away, so Regulus can't imagine she feels a great sense of being beholden to keeping the secret for her family's sake.

Which doesn't bode well for Sirius and his big mouth. He didn't run away to be with a Muggleborn—he ran away because he hated the Blacks and didn't want to serve Voldemort, a figure known for using Dark Arts.

That could be an issue. If Sirius opens his mouth, he's not just jeopardizing the Dark network—he'll also be pushing Regulus's plans into the open before Regulus is ready. Regulus can cope with having the Dark network made public, as long as he's completely laid his foundation beforehand so he can take advantage of the moment. This is not something Sirius is likely to take into consideration, if he decides to spill. In fact, he might intentionally say something before Regulus is ready, just to keep him from benefiting from it.

So putting the fate of his plan in Sirius's hands is a bad idea, to put it lightly.

Which means Regulus needs to assess how likely Sirius is to say something to someone, and how soon it's likely to happen, and how Regulus can prevent it from having too much of an impact.

The real issue is that Sirius is surrounded by people who don't understand Dark Arts, and don't think of it as anything other than cruel magic that shouldn't be used. There's one other Gryffindor Dark scion in his year, Marlene McKinnon, but Regulus doesn't know if they're friends beyond just playing quidditch together. If they're not, or if Marlene McKinnon doesn't practice Dark Arts, then her proximity might not stop Sirius from saying something.

But it's an issue for later, and it may not be an issue at all, depending on how vengeful Sirius feels now that he's gotten his way.

For now, instead of dwelling on that, Regulus will allow himself some celebration at having made another successful recruitment. An important one, too, one that gives the Dark network a way into House Brown. Before now, they were out of reach. It'll be something to tell Mother over spring break. Heather is too young for Mother's social circle, but once she graduates she'll be about the right age for Narcissa's. Whoever helps her learn to navigate the Dark network will be able to forge a strong alliance with her. Even though Narcissa is a Malfoy now, she's still a close enough relation that the Blacks would benefit.

Also, depending on how things go with Priam and Heather, it's possible that a connection with Heather would mean a connection with the Parkinsons several years down the line. That's certainly nothing to sneer at, no matter what Mother might say about their specialty.

But with or without the Parkinsons, Heather Brown will be a key figure in the Dark network. After talking to her, Regulus is sure of it.

"Priam didn't seem surprised that you'd figured it out," he replies. "I didn't stay long enough to see how he felt about it."

"Let's go find out." Heather stands up. "Where are we going?"

"The fifth-year boys' dorm. Meetings are always there."

"Making everyone come to you. I like it. Is this door going to burn me or something if I touch it?"

"No. Why do you ask?"

She raises her eyebrows. "Are you telling me you normally open doors like you think the handle's going to bite?"

Regulus officially needs to get Heather on his side for the war. If she sides with someone else, she'll be a problem.

But she already gave him the key to recruiting her—being in the know. So he replies, "The lock is fingerprint-based."

"Huh." Heather gives him a considering look, then says with a casualness that's probably fake, "Muggles use fingerprinting for identification, you know."

"I didn't, actually," Regulus says. "But now I do."

Subtle acceptance of Muggle technology. It's not much, but it's enough for her to start drawing conclusions, without being enough for her to use them. Proving that he's not a blood purist is going to be complicated. Regulus doesn't want it becoming public knowledge before he's ready, much like his use of Dark Arts. (Ironically, despite its illegality, being exposed as Dark would probably be easier to recover from. At least his parents would help.)

But if he gets Heather fully on his side before then, he can consult her on the best way to make it public. She'll certainly have some ideas.

"Now you do," she says cheerfully. "Off we go, then."

She opens the door, and Regulus follows her out, although not before taking down the silencing wards. Leaving excess magical traces lying around isn't a great idea if he wants to make sure this office seems unused and irrelevant. He'll take down the locking ward before the summer, too, just in case they do some kind of deep cleaning and discover his magical signature all over this doorway. That would be non-ideal, although he could probably persuade Slughorn that it was both innocuous and necessary in order for him to secure his social standing before graduating. (The locking ward isn't Dark. The chances of someone stumbling across it and tracing it back to Regulus are just too high for him to risk that.)

"That was a fun talk," Heather says. "By the way, on the topic of Slughorn's dinner party... I heard James Potter's going to be there."

That is just what Regulus's life needs.

But on the bright side, it seems that Heather is willing to share her information with her allies. He'll deal with James Potter in exchange for that. At least she warned him.

"I can't imagine why," Regulus replies. "It's not as if he ever dares to show his face at other polite occasions."

"Mm, but Lily Evans doesn't get invited to those." She giggles as they approach the door to the common room. "Don't you love other people's priorities? Merlin."

The door slides open. They haven't been gone for long—most of the people who were in the common room when they left are still there now. Seeing Regulus and Heather exit and reenter in quick succession may spark curiosity in some of them, but that curiosity is unlikely to be pursued or satisfied. Sacred Twenty-Eight nonsense. It's a wonderful excuse.

Regulus turns down the boys' hallway. 'Love' is a strong word for anything that involves James Potter being in proximity to him, but he focuses on the other part of what Heather said. "Lily Evans will be there too?"

"Sure will," Heather says. "She's not stupid. When Slughorn invites her to things, she goes."

If only she didn't.

"Do you know if there's a seating arrangement?" Regulus says instead of voicing his actual thoughts.

She shrugs. "Probably. That's how dinner parties work, unless you just want everyone to talk to the people they already know for the whole evening. Kind of screws over anyone who isn't well-connected, and Slughorn likes helping those people out when it suits him. Big return on investment opportunities there. The people who already have connections aren't nearly so grateful to him."

"I suppose he's the Slytherin Head of House for a reason." Regulus opens the door to the fifth-year boys' room. It's still open, so Jessica and Alexander must not have gotten here yet. (Jessica is chronically late and Alexander always waits for her, so that makes sense.) "Here we are."

They step into a fight.

"How bloody hard is it to keep your mouth shut?" Maeve snaps at Evan. "Lucinda and I have been bending over backwards to make sure she doesn't question anything, and you just go and—"

"Technically, it sounds like she still doesn't know what's actually going on?" Lucinda interjects.

"She doesn't," Evan says. "But she'd have to be pretty obtuse not to notice most of her yearmates vanishing every Wednesday night, Charlotte aside!"

"You didn't have to help her figure it out," Maeve says.

"I didn't, which you would know if you just listened—"

"Reg's back," Barty says, loud enough to cut through whatever Evan was going to say. "Hey, Brown."

"Crouch," Heather says pleasantly. "I see we've interrupted something."

"Emma knows there's a secret group that meets on Wednesday nights, she knows pretty much all the rest of the fifth-years are in it, and Evan has not told her it's Dark Arts, although who knows what she thinks," Barty rattles off. "Maeve is pissed because if she'd known Emma knew something already, she wouldn't have had to work so hard to keep her and Lucinda vanishing a secret. Margaret has sided with Evan, Priam seems to be tentatively siding with Maeve—"

"I never said that," Priam says.

"You implied it," Barty says. "Lucinda's trying to fix things, and Antony's watching. I believe that sums it up."

"I told her it was a political group," Evan says. It seems to be partially aimed at Maeve and partially aimed at Regulus. "She believed me."

"She believed that you're in a political group?" Margaret says.

"I'll be Lord Rosier sooner or later, won't I? I told her I mostly just show up to keep track of what everyone else is talking about. She believed me, because she trusts me." He scowls. "I'll thank you not to forget that. If Emma puts together what's actually going on here, she won't say anything. Who do you think she is? A Gryffindor?"

"Who do you think we are, window dressing?" Maeve says. "I'll thank you not to forget that what you say and who you say it to impacts all of us."

"Which is why I lied! If it were just me who would be taking the fall, I'd take the risk and tell her."

"And yet you didn't see fit to let me and Lucinda know what was going on?"

"I meant to tell you. I forgot. It happens."

"Sure. You forgot. How convenient."

"We're not usually like this," Regulus says to Heather. "Tonight's been eventful."

"Understandable," Heather says. "Fortunately for me, I've never been the type to be scared off by an argument."

She'd better not be. Arguments happen in the Dark network, albeit only behind closed doors. With such a big secret, shared between so many people, tensions will run high sooner or later. Heather's discovery of their group is an unexpected boon, but the 'unexpected' part is enough to put people on edge, and when Maeve is one of those people, someone snapping becomes a distinct likelihood.

But Regulus doesn't say any of that, because Heather will find it all out one way or another, if she hasn't already guessed.

"We attempt to avoid quarreling," he says instead. "Keeping the peace is better for keeping the secret."

"Except it's not, apparently," Maeve says. "Regulus, I know there's strength in numbers and all that, but haven't we gotten a little lax? It may be an open secret, but Dark Arts are still illegal, and some of the people in this room are of age to be tried as adults. Not to mention most of our families are involved too. It's bigger than us."

"It is," Regulus agrees, because she's right. However, balance must be maintained, so before Evan has a chance to identify Regulus as opposition, he adds, "But the rumors protect us, and so do our friends. If Emma has a vague idea of what this group does, then she knows how many of her friends she'd be double-crossing if she mentioned it to someone who might attempt to put a stop to it. Evan says she won't tell. I believe him. Not just because he knows her, but because she knows us. Who we are. What we can do when we put our minds to it. Crossing this group would be remarkably foolish. If nothing else, I believe Emma knows that."

"But that's Emma," Maeve counters. "What about another Jessica and Alexander situation? We were lucky then. They could have been anyone."

They were lucky that Jessica and Alexander were interested in joining, not in turning them in. Regulus still doesn't want a repeat. Oddly enough, he isn't enamored with the idea of people trying to break into his room, whether it's a secret study group location or not. (He's willing to bet that Barty and Evan also aren't fans of the concept.) But every option comes with a trade-off. "We can change our meetings so they're less regular. Work harder to keep the existence of our group a secret. But I'm not going to close off our membership. The Carrows will take anyone if they're eager enough."

"And when we're found out by someone who doesn't want to join?" she says. "When someone thinks they can take down most of the Sacred Twenty-Eight in Slytherin just by going to Dumbledore, and they're bold enough to actually do it? What do we do then?"

If Regulus were more reckless, less thoughtful, more swept away by his plan and the future he's creating, he would make some sort of grand speech now, try to sell everyone here on his side of the war in one go, and most likely fail. He's never been a fiery orator. The charisma he has is only what he's managed to pick up from watching others. He can't rely on swaying people through passionate speeches.

Now is not the time.

But if Maeve is so worried about being found out by the wrong person, then perhaps Regulus can persuade her that it's to their advantage to be found out by the right one.

He's been silent for more than long enough, and everyone is watching him, waiting for the perfect solution he will nonchalantly deliver that will fix everything. Regulus is the leader of the group. This sort of thing is his responsibility. No doubt they expect him to know what to do. That, or they think he's stumped.

Well, he isn't. But his real plan is too risky to share just yet.

Fortunately, he has something else to offer.

Regulus summons up as much calm and certainty as he can. The fear of discovery is a legitimate one. As of right now, the public narrative surrounding Dark Arts is still far too ominous for Regulus to be able to spin it in his favor. In the future, things will be different, but they're not different yet, which means he has to convince all of these people that it will be fine, that they won't be the generation that destroys the network. (Regulus will only destroy it a little bit.)

Everything will work out well. He'll make it happen.

In the silence, heavy and expectant, Regulus returns to his seat on his bed. It's the furthest one from the door, facing the center of the room around which the group is clustered. Sitting here, in his proper place, is better than standing by the door like a guest. There's no table here to sit at the head of—the desks don't count—but seating arrangements matter. Posture matters. Voices matter. All of it matters, to remind the study group that he's not just Regulus, their mostly quiet friend who wears black and owns Dark Arts books. He's Heir Black, he's their leader, and they need to be able to see who he will become.

"That won't happen," Regulus says, to Maeve, but really to everyone. "People don't believe those rumors unless they want them to be true. But that doesn't really answer your question, does it. So. Here's what does. If an outsider were to find out about us, and we were discovered as a result, it would be my failure, and so it would fall upon me to accept the consequences. I would concoct a story to place the initiative—and therefore the blame—on myself, then plead some sort of youthful ignorance and most likely receive a light sentence, if any, while the rest of you would go free as long as you played along. That is what would happen."

"If the group were discovered," Maeve says. "What about the network, through us?"

What if centuries of secret-keeping by our parents and our parents' parents and everyone who came before were completely ruined because we got complacent, is what she means.

This is, in a way, Regulus's eventual goal (without the complacency), so he doesn't have to pause to think before answering. "Then Britain will be forced to reckon with how deeply the Dark Arts are entrenched in our society. They don't want to see it, so they simply won't unless they're forced to. Any sort of spy or informant would be blackmailed and smeared and coerced and discredited in a thousand ways before they could do something like testifying before the Wizengamot, or rather, the tiny subset of it that isn't Dark. I wouldn't be surprised if a would-be informant met with a terrible accident before they could do real damage. The network is centuries old. It's resilient. We shouldn't be careless—" he nods to Maeve— "but we also shouldn't forget that we're powerful. We're not petty thieves skulking in the shadows. We're Dark. That means something."

When he's done, there's another silence, just as heavy as the last one, but without the sense that everyone is waiting on him to say something.

Sirius was never good at this type of silence. He interpreted every silence as a gap needing to be filled.

Regulus lets this one stand. The group needs time to think. He's never gotten what he wanted by rushing.

Barty raises an eyebrow slightly at him. That's probably meant to be a question about whether Regulus was indeed attempting to prime this group for recruitment to his side of the war with all of that. But too many people are looking at Regulus right now for him to respond properly, so he just blinks at Barty in a way that hopefully communicates affirmation.

And Barty must get the message, because he says, "I think changing up our meeting schedule makes sense. Pity that we do need to do a bit of skulking, though."

Regulus can't agree with too much fervor, can't give anyone the idea that he and Barty planned this. The plan is a secret to be revealed carefully, slowly, person by person, not hinted at until people figure it out of their own accord. So he says, "It's unfortunate, but it's better than Azkaban."

"Most things are," Maeve says.

"I think we can all agree on that."

It's time to move past this argument. Regulus has maneuvered it into a gain for himself as well as he can, and nobody seems tense anymore. They don't exactly seem happy, either, but that would be a little unreasonable to expect of them. The exceptions are Priam and Margaret, who both look relieved at having Heather in the room, and Evan, who gives Regulus a smile and double thumbs-up that strongly suggest he has completely moved past the argument he was having with Maeve five minutes ago. (He seems to have recovered from whatever McGonagall's Transfiguration lecture supposedly did to his brain.)

Regulus, however, has not completely moved past that argument. Evan not telling Maeve and Lucinda what Emma might or might not know about the group is one thing. Evan not telling Regulus is another.

He'll have to sort that out.

Not right now, though. Right now, he has a study group to run.

Notes:

i project my love of pink onto heather and my love of a very easy and straightforward wardrobe onto regulus

and heather definitely got a kick out of making regulus talk about clothes with her. she is FULLY aware that he pretty much exclusively wears black. but hey, he's the one who chose slughorn's dinner party as the cover for their conversation, he can deal with the consequences

Chapter 9

Jessica and Alexander never showed up to the study group meeting last night, which plagues Regulus through all of Thursday. They're the type to be late, but not the type to skip. Alexander, in particular, seems to be fascinated by everything he can get his hands on. Jessica is less voracious but no less interested. One of them skipping a meeting is strange. Both of them skipping suggests a problem.

The issue is that unless they attend meetings, Regulus has no good way of contacting them to identify and deal with that problem. There's very little reason for them to interact outside the context of Dark Arts—a context that they can't just flaunt in the middle of the common room. Nor are there any other fourth-years who Regulus could more easily interact with. None of the Slytherin fourth-years are Sacred Twenty-Eight, and none of them are Dark by birth. The only people he really knows among that group are Jessica and Alexander. If he can't speak to them, he certainly can't speak to any of their yearmates.

He could ask Antony to check in with them, given his reputation as a more involved prefect, but that would be a drastic measure. Antony doesn't have much more reason to talk to Jessica or Alexander outside of meetings than Regulus does. It would still attract attention, especially because Regulus can't exactly say that he suspects something is wrong because they didn't show up to his illegal Dark Arts study group meeting yesterday.

This is how Regulus finds himself (and Barty) in the common room on Thursday after dinner. Alexander is here, talking to one of his yearmates who is not Jessica. And Jessica is here, sitting by the fireplace and reading a book. Both of them are studiously avoiding looking at each other, which suggests there was some sort of argument.

Regulus, for his part, is sitting in an armchair as close to halfway between them as he could find without making it obvious that he was looking for a very specific place to sit. He's not sure if either of them has noticed his presence. It doesn't really matter whether they do, though, because Regulus will pretend he hasn't noticed either of them. He's here to eavesdrop, not converse. If one of them feels the urge to tell him what happened, they know where to find him, but Regulus doubts he's either of their first choices to confide in, hence why he's trying more roundabout measures.

Barty is sprawled across a couch next to him, ignoring his homework in favor of the ever-fascinating Cyprian Silkwood, although anyone looking carefully would notice that Barty hasn't moved his bookmark out of the last place he stopped reading and is flipping pages rather haphazardly. Absently, Regulus hopes that he doesn't drop the book on his face. It would probably hurt.

In accordance with the theme of 'books that would hurt if dropped on one's face,' Regulus is pretending to read the History of Magic textbook, which means he is skimming it and not retaining a single word as he listens in on Alexander's conversation with his yearmate. But Alexander doesn't seem to be in the mood to confide, if the story he's telling about the Bloody Baron saving him from Peeves is any indication.

And it may be embellished in some places, judging by how Jessica just scoffed at her book.

Regulus trades a glance with Barty, who shrugs at him. So he's not getting anything out of this either.

That's not good. One of the reasons that Regulus accepted Jessica and Alexander into the group in the first place is because they came as a pair. They were built-in leverage against each other. If they're fighting, which seems likely, then Regulus might not be able to use them as incentive to keep the secret.

If it's a big fight. It's possible this is nothing, and they'll resolve it themselves and show up to next week's meeting like nothing happened.

But given how much both of them seem to care about the study group, this doesn't feel like nothing. This feels like a problem.

Still, his options are limited. Jessica seems like she might be willing to vent if Regulus gives her the opportunity. He can't tell with Alexander. Either he's less angry, or he's significantly angrier and hiding it. But as long as both of them are sitting in the common room, surrounded by potential eavesdroppers, Regulus can't do anything except sit in the common room with them and try to glean any sort of information from Alexander's very long-winded story.

It might be a better use of his time to actually do his homework here, rather than pretending to read the History of Magic textbook. This endeavor has not proved particularly fruitful.

Naturally, just as Regulus is about to give up and go retrieve his actual work so he can do it here, the door to the common room slides open and the atmosphere gets a little more ominous.

"Can't believe I missed that," Amycus Carrow is in the middle of saying to Alecto Carrow and Julius Mulciber. This is already a sign that something repellent has happened.

(Frankly, Mulciber's involvement is enough of a sign, actually. There are very few people who Regulus knows he and Sirius both dislike. Mulciber is one of them. He's in Sirius's year, and apparently clashes with him and Potter somewhat regularly. It's the one good thing Potter has ever done with his life, and admitting it doesn't even make Regulus feel like there are worms crawling around in his stomach anymore. He's gotten used to the idea that Potter's irresistible drive towards being a nuisance can be useful if aimed at the correct people. Unfortunately, Potter's idea of the correct people does still leave something to be desired.)

"This is what happens when you actually go to the library," Mulciber says.

Amycus shoves him in a friendly manner. "It's not like I can get anything done around you lot."

So he's actually putting effort into school. Interesting.

Alexander is wrapping up his story (finally), so Regulus can afford to listen to this other conversation. It's not hard. They're talking just as they always do, loud enough that anyone in the common room can hear them if they're paying attention. And this group has a... peculiar effect on Slytherins. As they get louder, the people around them get quieter.

Slytherins need to watch their backs, but it's more obvious than usual whenever the Carrows and their group are nearby.

Ironically, the common room subduing itself is a good thing for Regulus. This is as close as he can really get to proof that, whatever people may think about the Carrows' ideas, they're at least made uncomfortable by their methods. He can work with that.

"True," Alecto Carrow says. "It was a bit out of the ordinary, though. The kid almost held it together."

A few people look very carefully down towards their work. Anyone who's been paying the bare minimum of attention over the past year or so no longer needs any more information to guess what Amycus Carrow missed.

Regulus keeps his book open on his lap, still vaguely pretending to read. He's supposed to be unfazed by this type of conversation. To some degree, he is. It's not like he agrees with what they're doing, but he's accustomed to hearing about it by now. If he got wrapped up in the details every single time, he wouldn't stand a chance at making it through any social occasion with Bellatrix.

He keeps listening. The more detested these people make themselves, the better his odds are.

"Almost?" Mulciber says. "I thought she managed."

"Almost," Alecto says. "She mostly did. Started crying, though, right as we were leaving. I heard her."

"Pity. For a moment there, I almost respected a mudblood."

The change in atmosphere of the common room is immediate, flipping from subdued to uncomfortable. No matter which side someone is on, someone using that word spells trouble waiting to happen. At the least, tension in the air. At the most, arguments breaking out, and not the kind that can be resolved as easily as Maeve and Evan's spat last night.

The intriguing thing is, though, that Jessica and Alexander respond differently. Jessica doesn't look up from her book, but her jaw tenses. Alexander's doesn't. He half-turns towards the conversation, a dangerous move for someone who isn't interested in being involved.

Regulus is beginning to get an idea of what they must have fought about.

He'll have to address that. (His list of things to address is growing faster than he is addressing them, unfortunately... which makes that yet another thing to address.)

Alecto snickers, either not noticing or ignoring the sudden chill in the room. "What for? Her ability to keep it together for two minutes? A five-year-old pureblood can do better."

"Who was this?" Cora Shacklebolt says. (Shacklebolt is Antony's co-prefect, from a Noble family that isn't part of the Dark network. She's never hesitated to reprimand people for bullying, but it doesn't have any sort of effect on this group. Cora Shacklebolt isn't the type of person they'll listen to.)

(Regulus could be, if he put his mind to it, but he's not interested in reforming them. They're fully committed to this path, so it would be a waste of his time. Also, he needs them as enemies.)

"Why?" Mulciber rolls his eyes at her. "So you can lecture us about being good role models? It was a Hufflepuff. Doesn't matter."

"A Hufflepuff lower-year, from the sound of it, and you driving her to tears for no reason."

"Oh, there was plenty of reason, I assure you."

Barty grimaces, which is what Regulus would do if he didn't have to be Regulus. They've all heard about that group going after Muggleborns for crimes such as not getting out of their way in the corridors.

Shacklebolt scowls at Mulciber. "I'm aware of your definition of 'reason,' and it doesn't impress me."

"Yeah, well, that's why you're the prefect." He grins at her, but there's nothing friendly about it. "Face it, you're getting no more information out of us. No use checking the hospital wing, either. She's fine."

"Well." Alecto snickers again. "In a manner of speaking."

This places Regulus in a bit of a dilemma.

If he doesn't react to this conversation, he'll look spineless or passive, which will do him no favors in his recruitment efforts. If he does, he risks blowing his cover before he's ready.

Unless he intervenes in a very specific way.

He snaps his book shut. "I can't believe you."

Naturally, this pulls everyone's attention towards him.

He'd better do something worthwhile with it.

Alecto raises her eyebrows. "Are you developing a do-gooder streak? Amycus told me about all the quidditch stuff. You know, that prefect badge only means what you want it to mean. I thought you knew that."

"An unsolicited opinion from someone who wouldn't know." (Chetana Gupta is the seventh-year female prefect, not Alecto.) She opens her mouth like she has a response, but Regulus barrels on. "You lower yourself to harassing a lower-year, and then come back here laughing about it as if you don't realize that it makes you, and by extension all of us, look like we have nothing better to do than bully Hufflepuffs. I thought you were a Slytherin. Where are your goals? Where is your cunning? Surely it doesn't lie in the realm of making children cry."

Barty carefully tucks a bookmark into his book, closes it, and sits up. That's a signal that he's paying attention and may or may not jump in. It's easier for Regulus to go after a Carrow, though. They're Noble, one of the youngest and therefore least prestigious houses of the Sacred Twenty-Eight—basically nothing to Regulus, worth some caution to most other people.

"Oh, don't act like you care all of a sudden," Alecto says. (To Regulus. Barty's movement goes ignored.) "She's a nobody. It's just a bit of fun. We let her go without really hurting her."

"Did you?" Regulus says. "And when this mysterious Hufflepuff vanishes back into her common room, will she respect Slytherin? Will she believe that we're worthy of the word 'ambition'? Or will she think we're nothing but a house full of aimless, vindictive lumps of malice?"

"For fuck's sake, Black, it's one Hufflepuff," Mulciber says. "Nobody cares what she thinks. Why are you making such a big fuss? Stick your nose back into a book and leave off."

"I wasn't speaking to you," Regulus says coolly. "But since you've involved yourself, now I will." The Mulcibers are a respectable family, occasionally meriting an invitation to the Rosiers' summer solstice ball, but they're neither Sacred Twenty-Eight nor Dark. Regulus can absolutely get away with being rude to him, even more so than he can get away with being rude to the likes of Amycus or Alecto Carrow. And everyone knows Mulciber is a bully, which means tearing him down will be worth the effort for recruiting later. Also, it'll be cathartic. "You have not shown an ounce of initiative in the years that I've been unfortunately acquainted with you, unless it involves causing misery to those around you. You singlehandedly tarnish the reputation of our house—"

It hits home, obvious in how Mulciber's face twists. "I said leave off, Black."

"I wasn't finished." It's snapped out, reminiscent of Mother in a bad moment, and Regulus forces himself to pull back, say as calmly as he can, "You should find a better use for your time and energy. Actions have their consequences."

"Is that a threat? Are you threatening me over a Hufflepuff?"

"Be reasonable. I should think it obvious that threatening the likes of you isn't worth my time or energy." It's half a lie, but that's not important. What's important is that it cuts Mulciber down with an effectiveness that would make Mother smile.

Barty snickers, which drives the point home. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't need to. Laughing at Mulciber is more than enough of a contribution.

Ordinarily, Regulus would open his book again, as a signal that he was finished talking. But Mulciber has brought that up as a reference to Regulus's usual reservedness, so he can't withdraw just yet—not before he's really torn them down. Both of them, not just Mulciber. Alecto is metaphorically still standing.

Instead, Regulus borrows a trick from Father: watching, and waiting. Father has a way of making people uncomfortable just by looking at them, as if he's waiting for them to explain what they're still doing in his presence. Regulus has never had reason to use this tactic before. He can only hope he's doing it correctly.

He gets his victory when Alecto scoffs. (There's no tangible discomfort, either in her face or her voice, but Regulus knows it's there from how quickly she buckled and filled the silence.) "You're no fun."

"Such a witty rebuttal," Regulus says. "You deliver it as if you think I care."

This time, Barty's not the only one amused. There's a ripple of snickering across the room. It's hastily suppressed, but unmistakable.

It appears Regulus doesn't even need Amycus Carrow to fight Megan Fleming in order to turn his group into the laughingstocks of Slytherin. (Although that would certainly help.) All he needs is a few retorts and an audience.

Now he can open his book.

 

Regulus retreats to the fifth-year boys' dorm later in the evening to accomplish things and has just barely started his homework when the door to their room swings open.

He's expecting Barty—he'd said he wanted to finish one more chapter of his book, and then he'd come back to the room to work on Runes. But that's not who it is.

"That was a fun show you put on earlier," Evan says with lightness that doesn't fool Regulus for a second. He closes the door, casually enough, but it still feels like Regulus has been shut in. "Woke up on the wrong side of bed this morning?"

"I meant what I said," Regulus says. "They reflect poorly on all of us." (He's proud of that reasoning. If anyone pushes him further on it, he can trace it back to perfectly logical, ordinary things—the Blacks have been affiliated with Slytherin since the man himself was alive, since before the rupture between Slytherin and Gryffindor, even since before Hogwarts' founding. Of course Heir Black would take poorly to people making his house look bad. Because it is Regulus's house, almost as much as it was the Gaunts', and he's doing a fair sight better than they are, so it's quite reasonable to expect him to take on the task of upholding its reputation.)

"And I meant what I said." Evan doesn't cross the room to go to his section, just leans against the doorframe like he thinks Regulus will try to leave. "They've been doing that for years. What's so special about this time?"

The words slip out easily. "You have a long way to go if you want me to think you're asking out of idle curiosity."

He blinks. "Why else would I be asking?"

Oh.

Hm.

That's a problem.

Specifically, the problem is that Regulus has no idea how to respond to that question, which is probably exactly what Evan intended when he said it.

Curiosity? Certainly. Idle? Not so much. But Regulus doesn't know why Evan wants to know. Just that he does. Probably. For some reason. But that reason might very well be a passing fancy. In which case Evan raises an excellent point by asking why on earth Regulus would expect anything else from him, and Regulus has rather given himself away by letting Evan know that he suspects something else in the first place.

He needs to either shake this lingering suspicion of Evan, or get to the root of it. Starting with why Evan didn't tell him that Emma was aware of the existence of their group. From there, Regulus can sort out the rest.

"I don't actually care, is the thing," Evan continues. "But since you're being so cagey, maybe I'll change my mind about that."

Lovely. Just what Regulus needed. If he hadn't been so blunt about his suspicions, maybe Evan wouldn't have picked up on his caginess, but...

Once Sirius started running his mouth in all the wrong ways, he never stopped. It happened more and more and more, even as the consequences piled up. Regulus is beginning to understand why. Saying exactly what he thinks is thrilling, in a way.

He can't become addicted to it. This is proof of why. Regulus has at least one more double-edged conversation with Evan to get through before he can rest somewhat easy with regard to this matter, and that's the least of his worries.

"But who knows?" Evan grins at Regulus. "Maybe it's just your chivalric streak shining through. That would be poetic, don't you think?"

"How so?" Regulus is proud of how calmly his voice comes out. As if the comparison with Gryffindor—with Sirius—has completely passed him by, or better yet, failed to affect him whatsoever.

Something is going on here. Regulus has never heard Evan make so many pointed comments in such a short period of time before, and certainly not pointed comments aimed at him.

He has to figure it out. Evan obviously wants something. Regulus just has to find out what, and then decide how he's going to deal with it.

"Oh, you know. Thesis. Antithesis." Evan pushes off of the doorframe and heads for his desk, which involves picking his way past the mess of parchment and quills that Barty left on the floor when he was looking for a very specific inkbottle in his trunk earlier. That could be why he hesitated to cross the room earlier and lingered by the door instead—looking for a path through the carnage.

It could be, except that the timing of Evan's movement away from the door aligns a little too well with what seems to be the end of this line of questioning.

It seems that Regulus is no longer being held. Which means that either Evan gave up, or he got what he wanted. Or he's decided to wait and pursue this point later, when Regulus is feeling more talkative. There are too many possibilities.

"Want to spy on Hufflepuff's practice tomorrow morning?" Evan adds.

Normally, Regulus would accept, because he has no idea what Evan is playing at and the trip to and from the quidditch pitch early in the morning (fewer eavesdroppers) would be a good opportunity to try to get more information out of him. However... "I have rounds starting at midnight tonight."

"Gross." The conversation they just had has slipped off of Evan like water off a duck's back, as if he hadn't just hinted that he might start poking around Regulus's business to find out why Regulus antagonized Alecto Carrow and Julius Mulciber today.

Regulus isn't going to let that fool him into thinking Evan's forgotten about it already.

He smiles at Regulus, as sunny as ever. "Better you than me, I suppose. Tuesday evening, then?"

Regulus has rounds Tuesday night too, but the evening quidditch practice slot is from six to eight, and his Tuesday rounds start at ten. Plenty of time for dinner, homework, figuring out what Evan wants from him, and a modest quantity of sleep. Hopefully.

"Tuesday," Regulus agrees.

"Perfect." And then he winks at Regulus, of all things. "It's a date."

Whatever that's supposed to mean.

Notes:

regulus 'petty' black is here and he is here to stay!! half of slytherin probably has whiplash from how quickly he turned on the carrows - but i shan't say anything more here. the pace of the fic is beginning to speed up, now that i've finished setting up the important things, so you can look forward to regulus talking a whole lot more!

next week: slughorn's dinner party, featuring: post-grad plans! james potter! quidditch arguments! LILY EVANS!!!!!!!

thanks so much for reading!! and major kudos to those of you who have been very patiently reading along as i lay down the foundation for this adventure!! 32k of setup later, we are READY TO GOOOOOOOO

i haven't even had any caffeine today i don't know why i'm so hyped, except for the fact that i'm excited to post this chapter

-love, birl<3

Chapter 10

It would be nice if Regulus could devote all of his time to what's happening in Slytherin, but other obligations prey upon his time. Classes, for example, but those are nothing new. The more pressing concern is Slughorn's dinner party.

Evan. James Potter. Those two alone are enough to ensure that Regulus will have to be on his toes for the entire evening. Add in Professor Slughorn and several people Regulus will be attempting to recruit to his side, and he has a long evening ahead of him.

"I can't believe you're wearing black for this," Evan says as they leave their room. "I mean, I can, because it's your family's thing, but you wear black every single day."

"Exactly," Regulus says. "Why stop now?"

"Do you own any other colors?"

"Yes." Not many, besides the white, green, and silver merited by the Hogwarts uniform, but some. Narcissa and Aunt Druella occasionally try to break Regulus out of his color palette with gifts of clothing in other colors. He sticks with black, though. It's easy and reminds everyone of who he is. (Sirius said it made them all look like they were constantly in mourning. Whenever Regulus considers wearing another color, the urge to spite Sirius's memory is just too strong to resist, and he ends up picking black again. Besides, it's what he's supposed to wear to formal occasions, as Heir Black. Father does it too. Regulus has simply expanded beyond 'formal occasions' to 'all occasions.')

"I'm sure they feel incredibly neglected, then," Evan says. His robes are a pale blue that stick out against the dark stone of the dungeon walls, fabric rippling through the air in a way that completely opposes the heaviness of Regulus's black velvet. (It's January. It's cold. He doesn't want to know why or how Evan is wearing something so lightweight.) There are tiny patterns embroidered in shimmering thread at his wrists, making the cuffs of his sleeves glint in the lamplight. Regulus knows without needing to look closely that they're roses. Much of Evan's—and his family's—dress robes feature similar motifs. As do their gardens. "Did Maeve say if she's meeting us or making her own way there?"

"I'm here," Maeve's voice calls, and then Maeve herself appears from the girls' wing, fastening a necklace with a large, teardrop-shaped amethyst hanging from it. It matches her purple robes, and her hair is up, all of which suggests to Regulus that Lucinda was heavily involved in the process of Maeve getting ready for this dinner party. (The fancy hair and color-coding give it away.) She navigates around several chairs and tables in time to catch up with them at the door, which slides open obligingly to let them step through. "Pretty sure I'm overdressed, but Lucinda told me to deal with it so she could live vicariously through me. At least Heather's going to be there."

Judging by what Heather told Regulus about coordinating her nail polish with her robes, he's pretty sure she will have put in at least as much effort as Lucinda did, if not more. And Maeve is a Bulstrode, so frankly, one large gemstone will be seen as a rather restrained choice of jewelry. (Although only other Dark people know that the reason the Bulstrodes are so fond of gems is because they have a magical affinity for all types of stone.)

"You'll probably be the star of the evening," Evan says to Maeve. "What with Felix and Cressida and all."

(Which is a delicate way to put it. Slughorn is almost certainly angling for an invitation to the wedding, which he will probably get. It looks nice when people invite their old Heads of House, and an event like the wedding of a Bulstrode and a Nott is sure to be a big enough affair that they can spare one invitation for him.)

"Wonderful," Maeve says. "I like ending my weeks with friendly interrogation. Also, Regulus, you still haven't introduced me to Theophania."

There's that introduction thing again. That means that it clearly wasn't a whim when Maeve first brought it up, but Regulus has made no progress on figuring out why she and Theophania haven't already met through their families. It's probably not important in the grand scheme of things, but it's something he'd like to know.

He may not get that lucky. There's no reason Regulus should get to know the family affairs of the Notts or Bulstrodes. Still, Maeve has to know that by asking him to introduce the two of them, she's making it his business.

Maybe that means it's nothing particularly interesting, if she's willing to risk Regulus asking questions. Or maybe it's worth the risk in some other way.

"It's been a busy week," Regulus replies.

"Think she'll be there tonight?" Maeve says.

"I don't think so. She didn't mention it at practice yesterday."

"Not that Theophania mentions much of anything unless asked directly," Evan says.

Maeve sighs. "Unfortunate. I guess she's a younger sibling, and not an heir. It's not like Slughorn bothered with me until he found out I was good at Potions."

Nor did he bother with Regulus until third year or so, when it became clear that he'd never get Sirius into the Slug Club. It paid off when Regulus became Heir Black. Now they pretend that Slughorn selected Regulus based on his own merits all along.

"Yes, yes, his fickleness is well-established," Evan says. (He's faced similar treatment. Evan didn't merit any particular notice from Slughorn until he became Heir Rosier the summer before their second year.) "But dwelling on that isn't going to help us enjoy ourselves, is it?"

"Nothing will help me enjoy myself," Maeve says gloomily. "If you can keep him occupied for more than half of the dinner, I'll love you forever."

"Tempting, but I can't make any promises. My sister's married already, I don't have much to distract him with."

"Regulus?" Maeve says.

"I'm not doing anything he might find interesting," Regulus lies. (Slughorn would find Regulus's current plans extremely interesting. But he might also attempt to interfere, which Regulus can't have. Nor is he going to trot out his future plans at a dinner party featuring James Potter in order to prevent Maeve from having to answer question after question about her brother's engagement. That is nowhere near a good enough reason.) "Maybe you'll get lucky and someone else will spark some sort of scintillating conversation."

"I hate relying on luck."

"You'll be fine," Evan says. "If the situation becomes dire, I can loudly ask Priam what he's planning to do after graduating."

"For which I'm sure he'll be very grateful to you," Regulus says.

"He'll have some sort of answer prepared. It'll be fine."

"Very gallant of you," Maeve says. "I appreciate the planning. Let's hope it doesn't become necessary."

 

It's necessary, of course.

Maeve makes it through about ten minutes of conversation about her brother (impressive, Regulus wouldn't have lasted five, even before the disownment) and then experiences a spontaneous coughing fit that lasts precisely as long as it takes for Evan to change the subject, as promised.

Perhaps Priam is glad that he's been seated right next to Slughorn. It means that he has to turn to talk to Evan, at the other end of the table, which also means that he can shoot him a dirty look without Slughorn noticing. (Regulus, halfway between Maeve and Evan and sandwiched between two Ravenclaws, sees it quite easily.) Priam sounds perfectly amicable out loud, of course. "I assume you mean after the conclusion of the summer season?"

"Naturally," Evan says. "I'd be very sad if you missed the solstice ball. Or the garden party."

"Maeve misses the garden party every year," Priam points out, which is either because he's being pedantic or because he's put together that Evan threw the burden of spotlight on him at Maeve's request. Or both.

Evan sighs very tragically. "And I'm miserable every time because of her absence. Ask anyone."

This is a blatant lie on Evan's part, and everyone either knows it or seems able to guess for themselves. Regulus has never seen Evan even remotely close to miserable, and certainly not at the Rosiers' garden party, when he's playing host.

"So, in the fall?" Evan prompts. "How will you be occupying yourself without our splendid company?"

"Traveling, mostly," Priam says. "I'll be managing some smaller estates so my father can focus on the Wizengamot."

"He must be quite happy to have your help," Slughorn says, and then he turns to the Ravenclaw on Regulus's left. Unsurprising, really—several of the people at this table aren't the type to garner invitations to the parties and estates that Evan and Priam have brought up, and Slughorn doesn't like leaving his favorites feeling neglected. It's almost kind of him. "And you, Miss Gamp? Have you considered what you'll be doing after you graduate?"

"I'm pursuing a mastery in Arithmancy," Artemis Gamp says quietly. (That may just be how she talks. Regulus has only ever really heard her speak in prefect meetings, and then never for very long.)

"Is that so?" He says it in such a way that Regulus suspects he already knew, most likely from Vector or Flitwick, both of whom would know about any Ravenclaws going on to an Arithmancy mastery. "Have you spoken to Miss Evans about it? I know she's considered further study in Potions. Which I heartily encourage, of course!"

Lily Evans is at the end of the table, between Evan and a fourth-year Regulus doesn't know. She sets down her goblet hastily—what with all the discussion of society, she probably wasn't expecting to be called into the conversation so quickly. "It's definitely an option. I've been considering Charms, too."

"Plenty that can be done with expertise in both," Slughorn says knowledgeably. "Then again, it might save time if you found a colleague in the complementary discipline, rather than getting both masteries yourself—assuming you're planning on research. I know plenty of Potions masters, of course, and I'd be happy to provide an introduction."

"My father has his mastery," James Potter says, with his characteristic lack of subtlety.

That's unfortunate. Regulus was beginning to think he might get through this evening without hearing too much from him. At least they're not seated across from each other, although it's a near thing.

"Oh, I'm more than aware, Mr. Potter!" Slughorn laughs. "I'll have to catch up with him someday, it's been far too long."

"What's involved in a Charms mastery?" the fourth-year says to Lily Evans.

"It's three years of study under a master licensed to retain apprentices, although you can petition to do it in two," she says. "The first half is learning, and the second half is supervised creation of a portfolio of charms to present at the end of the apprenticeship. That's what the board of the Charms Society judges when they're deciding whether to award you the mastery."

"What's in the portfolio?" Evan says, and then he quickly switches to sipping from his goblet. When he adds, "Beyond charms, of course," it's much more casual, but if he's trying not to seem too interested in the answer, he is failing.

Regulus isn't sure what to attribute that to. Either Evan doesn't want to seem overly interested in the subject, or he doesn't want to seem like he's connecting with Lily Evans, for one reason or another.

Hm.

"Ah, you've caught on to my little scheme," Slughorn says. "I did in fact cluster you three Charms aficionados at that end of the table! Professor Flitwick's mentioned all of you—yes, even you, Miss Nguyen. He says you have quite the talent for object manipulation." (Regulus is going to go ahead and assume that's the fourth-year, seeing as he knows everyone else at this table.) "Although I have to say, Mr. Rosier, I'm surprised that you haven't joined Charms Club! I know Filius would be delighted to have you."

"I'm afraid I can't," Evan says. "I'm far too busy with quidditch. As Head of Slytherin, I'm sure you understand."

"Need all the practice time you can get before playing us, Rosier?" Potter says with a grin. There's a sharp undertone to it, though, so subtle that maybe Regulus is only recognizing it because he's aware of Potter's grudge against Slytherin. Even Gryffindor's captain isn't as intense about beating Slytherin on the pitch as Potter is. Regulus is quite sure it has something to do with Sirius, who plays Beater.

At least Potter plays Chaser. If he and Sirius were a Beater pair, Regulus would probably be targeted by Bludgers nonstop for the entire game. As things stand now, Sirius tends to aim for the opposing team's Chasers, but Gryffindor's other Beater, Caroline Johnson, has an irritatingly accurate overhand that she uses against Seekers whenever she possibly can. (She hasn't managed to hit Regulus yet, but she did make things difficult for him in last year's match.)

"We like our victories absolute, what can I say?" Evan smiles at Potter. "Besides, our Chasers are a bit vain, I'm afraid. We prefer scoring goals ourselves rather than waiting for our Seeker to win the game for us."

That is most certainly a dig at this year's Gryffindor-Hufflepuff match, in which Gryffindor was trailing Hufflepuff by eighty points before Marlene McKinnon caught the Snitch. Hufflepuff's Chasers aren't even particularly good, excepting their captain—their Keeper was just having a good day. It was rather embarrassing for Gryffindor. Regulus thoroughly enjoyed it.

Lily Evans abruptly takes a sip from her goblet in what Regulus assumes is an attempt to conceal a smile. She and Marlene McKinnon are friends, he thinks.

That... could be an interesting route. The McKinnons are a Dark family, specializing in soul and death magic, but they're also pro-Muggleborn. And there's a McKinnon in Slytherin. He's a third-year, so he's a little too young for when the Dark Arts group normally brings in new people, but Regulus should be locking down potential recruits while he can. He can't let the Carrows recruit a McKinnon out from under Regulus's nose. That would be mortifying.

If Regulus can get Miles McKinnon, then maybe he can get the other McKinnons at Hogwarts—Miles's twin sister Miranda in Ravenclaw, and his cousin Marlene in Gryffindor.

And if he can get Marlene, then he might have an avenue towards talking to Lily Evans.

Selfishly, Regulus likes the idea of recruiting her, if only for the purpose of (secretly) pissing off James Potter. But that's irrational. In order for this to work, people like Potter can't know.

Lily Evans is still an option, though. She's tied to the McKinnons (if loosely), and there's a reason she's in the Slug Club. She has no real connections, which means she's here on her own merit, and when Slughorn thinks someone has potential, he's usually right.

And she seems amused by Evan's dig at the Gryffindor Chasers. Maybe Regulus can use quidditch as common ground to talk to Marlene McKinnon. And maybe Evan going on the offensive will boost Lily Evans' opinion of him, if only slightly.

Which would require Regulus recruiting Evan, if he were to benefit from this conversation. And it would also require Evan being willing to make a Muggleborn's acquaintance, which is... not obviously out of the question, at least? He seems fine with Megan, but that's not the same, and Regulus doesn't want to gamble on assuming that it is.

Spying on Hufflepuff's quidditch practice with him will be very interesting.

"Oh, so you prefer for your Seeker to be useless, got it," Potter says to Evan.

Regulus wasn't going to get involved in this, but by bringing up his position, Potter has given him no choice. (He probably did that on purpose.) So he jumps in, voice as coolly polite as he can make it. "I would hardly call winning by nearly two hundred points 'useless,' but far be it from me to criticize another team's strategy to their faces. I'd hate to help them improve."

"No, no, by all means, keep talking." Dorcas Meadowes, the Ravenclaw on Regulus's right, produces a scrap of parchment and a stub of charcoal out of one of her sleeves with a grin. "Xavier will be thrilled if I come back from dinner with new strategy ideas for when we play Gryffindor."

She seems unbothered by the reference to the Slytherin-Ravenclaw match in the fall, but perhaps Ravenclaw isn't worried about their points. They took Hufflepuff's Keeper out early and scored quite a bit in that match. Regulus wouldn't be surprised if they're planning to do something similar to Gryffindor to make up for the loss against Slytherin. (Not exactly the same, though, because Gryffindor will be expecting an early shot at their Keeper. Ravenclaw tried the same maneuver against Theophania, but Megan got there first and sent the Bludger spinning back towards the Ravenclaw Beater who'd hit it. Gryffindor will certainly station a Beater near their Keeper if they've been paying any attention to Ravenclaw this year whatsoever. And maybe that's what Ravenclaw is counting on.)

"Pleased to be of service." Evan is sitting on Meadowes' other side, so she blocks Regulus's view of him a little, but Regulus still sees Evan wink at her.

Lily Evans is considerably less successful at hiding her snicker now than she was at hiding her smile earlier.

Slughorn chuckles. "I can see the rest of this year's season will be very well worth the watching! I confess, I do wonder how the professional teams fare when they recruit people who played against each other at Hogwarts. I'm sure some rivalries are put aside more easily than others, though."

"Lots of rivalries can be put aside in pursuit of victory," Evan says cheerfully.

"Depends on the rivalry," Potter says. "And the victory."

"The World Cup is a worthy prize, surely!" Slughorn says.

He grins. "That's what I was thinking of, yeah."

"Are you considering professional quidditch, then?" (Regulus can practically see Slughorn preparing to offer to introduce Potter to various professional players and the owners of different British clubs.)

Potter shrugs. "Maybe. I was kind of thinking of becoming an Auror."

Of course he would. It's not enough for the Potters to support Dumbledore in his efforts to suppress Dark Arts—they have to go supporting the Ministry, too.

"Well, that's no piece of cake, but if you're willing to work hard, I have the strongest certainty that you'll make it through the Academy." Slughorn beams at Potter. "One of my Slytherins just made it through in record time—Kingsley Shacklebolt, perhaps you're familiar with him? I suppose you all must be, seeing as he was Head Boy last year."

Kingsley becoming an Auror doesn't irritate Regulus nearly so much as the prospect of Potter becoming one, for a few reasons. First of all, Kingsley as a person doesn't irritate Regulus nearly so much as Potter does. Second of all, the Shacklebolts may not be Dark, but they aren't particularly vehement one way or another about Dark Arts. Not like the Potters. Third and finally, Kingsley will almost certainly take up Lord Shacklebolt's seat in the Wizengamot once his father dies or retires, which will necessitate him giving up his Auror post, as there's a conflict of interest. This is supposed to apply to Potter as well, but Regulus doesn't know if he'll claim his Wizengamot seat or follow the Weasleys' lead and ignore it. If anyone would, it would be him.

"I hadn't realized he'd already become a full Auror," Heather says. "When did that happen?"

"Oh, very recently," Slughorn says. "I believe the induction ceremony was this past week."

That's earlier than the usual induction. If Regulus is remembering correctly, there are two per year, one in March and one in September. If the Ministry has accelerated progression through the Auror Academy...

He should probably write to his parents soon. Father might know what's happening.

But Regulus can guess the basics. There could only be so many Death Eater raids before the Ministry decided to expand the Auror department to cope. Still, he'd like confirmation and an idea of how quickly the Ministry is planning to expand, as well as whether they're considering changing the scope of the Auror department to aid them in counter-raids and captures. All of which might be outside the purview of Father's knowledge, and Regulus can't be too obvious about his curiosity in case it raises questions from his parents about why he cares, but they're still things he wants to know. He's nowhere near the point at which he'll need to consider the Aurors when making plans, but that's part of the problem. By the time that Regulus is ready to enter the battlefield properly, the Auror department might look quite different from how it looks now.

"That's a shame," Regulus says. "If I'd known he was to be inducted so soon after the start of the spring term, I would have offered him my congratulations before returning to Hogwarts."

(He probably wouldn't have bothered unless they ran into each other, actually, but if Potter wants to be an Auror, then Regulus is going to make a point of being acquainted with as many current Aurors as he possibly can, just to ruin it for him. Or make him think twice about that career path, at the very least.)

"Have you kept in touch, then?" Slughorn says. "I understand the results of last year's Quidditch Cup were a bit disappointing for everyone here—well, except Miss Nguyen and Mr. Macmillan!" he adds with a chuckle. (Heir Arnold Macmillan, the other Hufflepuff at the table, is seated directly across from Regulus. This hasn't been too much of a burden so far, thankfully. Regulus has had the misfortune of socializing with Macmillan at other events, them being second cousins and both heirs to Dark houses and such, and he'd prefer not to die of boredom tonight.) "But I certainly remember the Slytherin team being one to watch out for before your unfortunate injury."

'Unfortunate' is a characteristically euphemistic word choice from Slughorn. Regulus would have said 'catastrophic.' But James Potter is at this table, so Regulus will have to come up with a better response than that.

He settles on, "It was our second year playing together. We were already well acquainted by the time I was injured."

"Wonderful, wonderful. I'm sure he'd be happy to hear from you, should you write to him to express your congratulations. You as well, Mr. Potter," Slughorn says. "Despite your diametric opposition on the quidditch pitch!"

Judging by Potter's rather perfunctory smile, Regulus has managed to thoroughly ruin the idea of reaching out to Kingsley Shacklebolt to inquire about the process of becoming an Auror, before Potter had even really started to consider it.

The dinner hasn't been a waste, then.

Notes:

i did say regulus 'petty' black was here to stay

by the end of this dinner party slughorn is like 'hmmmmmm perhaps putting gryffindor and slytherin quidditch players in the same room and expecting them to make polite conversation was Not my best idea ever'

evan and heather and narcissa should possibly unionize to attempt to get regulus to wear something other than black and occasional slytherin colors

maeve: *coughing loudly*
evan: HEY PRIAM!!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING AFTER GRADUATION!!!!! :DDDDD
priam: >.> i know what you're doing you little shit

lily does not know What the fuck is going on but it looks like a bunch of people she either doesn't care about or doesn't like getting into an argument about something she also doesn't care about and she's enjoying the carnage

next week: barty!! jessica!! scheming!! VIOLENCE (affectionate? derogatory? that's for me to know and you to find out next wednesday)

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 11

After an unremarkable breakfast on Saturday morning, Regulus and Barty return to the Slytherin part of the dungeons to do homework. Regulus is vaguely planning on doing it in the common room, so if he sees Theophania he can tell her that he's meant to introduce her to Maeve, but he throws that idea out fairly quickly because as soon as Barty shuts the door to their room, he says, "Jessica told me what she and Alexander fought about."

Interesting. "When? And why you?"

"Last night, while you were at that dinner party. And because she knows I'm not a blood purist."

(Which further confirms Regulus's suspicions that he knows what happened.)

Barty sits on the edge of his desk, having apparently decided that both his chair and his bed are inadequate forms of seating. "She made me swear up and down that I know how to keep a secret from you before telling me anything—metaphorically, obviously, I'm not stupid enough to swear to keep things secret—which means your cover seems pretty intact as far as blood purity goes, despite all that in the common room Thursday night." He raises an eyebrow. "Whatever that was."

"That was an opportunity," Regulus says. "I don't want to be friendly with them any more than you do. I have to communicate that to them somehow."

"It got people's attention, that's for sure." He taps his fingers on the edge of his desk. "Lots of people like seeing the Carrows and Mulciber put down, but they don't like the idea that you're setting yourself up to be the tyrant of Slytherin. So you can't rely on pulling rank to shut them up—it's double-edged in a way that won't do you any favors later. Which means you need recruits."

"Who are 'lots of people'?" Regulus feels the urge to check. "I mean, that makes sense, about tyranny and double-edged swords and whatnot. But I can't imagine people have been lining up to tell you what they think?"

Barty grins. "They might as well be. Especially last night, since anyone paying attention knew that you'd be out. Jessica just wanted to complain to someone she wouldn't have to lie about Dark Arts to, but Cinda was definitely sniffing around to see what I knew. So was Antony. And I had the longest one-on-one conversation I've ever had with Charlotte in my life, which I think was equally uncomfortable for both of us, especially since she was pretending she didn't have ulterior motives. I felt like I was holding office hours. I would've said something as soon as you got back, but, you know, Evan."

"He's been odd too. But I don't have to figure out how to deal with him until Tuesday. Why do you think recruiting now is going to help? Everything still needs to be secret for a while."

"Why Tuesday?"

"Because that's when he asked if I wanted to go spy on Hufflepuff's quidditch practice, which I think is meant to be an opportunity to talk." Regulus is aware that this raises more questions than it answers, but he's focused on different things at the moment. "Why more recruits now?"

"To give you backup so you can delegate being obnoxious to the Carrows and their lot," Barty says. "If you're the only one doing it, it's just Heir Black being all that your parents taught you to be—which, obviously, they'd be fine with, so it keeps you on good terms with them, et cetera. But it doesn't exactly give the sense of a coalition, or any sort of movement, if you're the only one doing it. If more and more people are talking back to the enemy here, though..." He trails off meaningfully.

"Then they don't have a leg to stand on in general," Regulus fills in. "Which throws suspicion off of me, and makes them look weak. Bonus points if there's anyone willing to mock their cause, not just them, although that's riskier."

Barty nods. "It builds momentum for you. But building momentum is hardest at the start, obviously. So you need people who will stick their necks out for you. Or people who just really hate that group and will jump on the bandwagon at the first opportunity."

"Cora Shacklebolt criticizes them openly already."

"Sure, but neither of us really know her, do we?"

"Antony does," Regulus points out. "Heather, too." (He's not sure which of them would be the better option to get to Cora Shacklebolt, but there's no harm in trying both.) "We might not even need to recruit Shacklebolt directly—just have someone on our side who's in a good position to encourage her to keep doing what she's already doing."

"Might as well go all the way, though, if we're trying to get her friends," Barty says. "And they're both Dark—well, now they are—so you're connected through the study group already. I like it. I can talk to Antony, since he's already approached me. You take Heather."

That's a speedy pivot from discussing to taking action, even for Barty. "How urgent do you think this is, exactly?"

He shrugs. "I think we're at a crossroads. You can take down the Carrows, or Mulciber, or whoever, without breaking a sweat. But they're stepping stones, not the real enemy. So you can deal with them on your own or use them to test your recruits. I think it should be the latter, and I think it should be fast. The Carrows graduate soon, and they're good targets. Might as well take advantage of them while they're here."

"I want to get Priam, too," Regulus says. "He graduates this year as well. I could talk to him over the summer, but it's easier when we're all at school, I think." Without their parents around to remind them of certain obligations. "And having Heather will help with that too. What did Jessica and Alexander fight about? You never said."

"Oh, blood purity," Barty says. "As per usual these days. Jessica is a solid option for our side, Alexander's a risk. Maybe even a lost cause. She called him an utter nincompoop, so I don't think they'll be reconciling anytime soon."

Hm.

"Were the Carrows involved?" Regulus says.

"Not directly, I think? But you know what Alexander's like about Dark Arts. I imagine if they or Mulciber delivered a good enough speech, they could poach him."

An idea is taking shape. Possibly a bit of a cruel one, but effective all the same. "And he's a fourth-year."

Barty blinks. "Are you thinking about how he'll be here for a while before graduating?"

"Yes. The Carrows graduate soon, like you said. Mulciber and Snape have another year, but then they'll graduate too, and we'll still be here. So will Alexander." Regulus takes a breath. It's an obvious choice, really—it feels bold, so early in the fight, but he's never been one to object to thinking ahead. They are at war, after all. Thinking ahead will save their lives. "And if the Carrows try to poach him, well... we'll still need enemies two years from now."

"So you're saying we should cut him loose." Barty sounds considering. "Side with Jessica, let Alexander join the Carrows' group—maybe even subtly push him towards them—and let him turn himself into our enemy, so we can use him later."

"We'll still need enemies," Regulus repeats. "Otherwise, in seventh year, we could founder on the rocks of complacency. People might consider our job done, unless there are still open Death Eater sympathizers in Slytherin."

Barty doesn't point out that setting up Alexander to be the villain of Slytherin in two years might be a little drastic, doesn't suggest talking to him to make sure he's a full-hearted blood purist before getting rid of him, doesn't object at all except for one thing: "He's a pretty fast learner. You want to hand that over to the Dark Lord?"

(They need a better moniker for Voldemort, not one that contributes to his delusions of grandeur, but that's low on Regulus's list of priorities. Calling him anything other than the Dark Lord would be a dead giveaway that Regulus doesn't adhere to his beliefs, and he's not ready for that, so it can wait.)

"I'll recruit more people to compensate," Regulus says. "We'll retain Jessica—if she's bitter enough, it'll motivate her, and if she's not a purist, then she might be open to reaching out to Muggleborns in the fourth year. I'll just need to get her on our side now, while she's angry. Or you can get her on our side—what do you think would work better?"

"Me," Barty says without hesitating. "That way, I can ease her into the idea of you not being a purist before I ease her into the idea that I told you about what she told me. Besides, she's already come to me once."

Which is a signal that Jessica has decided to count Barty as trustworthy, so him recruiting her will be much simpler than Regulus attempting it. "Alright. Then you talk to Jessica, however you see fit, but soon, so she's still mad. I'll have to put some thought into how to push Alexander towards the Carrows. There's a litany of reasons why he'd think encouragement in that direction bizarre coming from me, but maybe if Jessica could be persuaded to flaunt the fact that she's still attending our meetings... Alexander loves studying Dark Arts. I could easily see him going to the Carrows to keep learning, especially if his politics align with theirs."

"The question is whether that sets him up for a vendetta against you, for keeping Jessica and dropping him," Barty says. "And if it's such a bad thing if it does."

"A vendetta might be a bit much, this early, but a bit of resentment over feeling abandoned never hurt anyone." In a manner of speaking. "I'm sure the Carrows and Mulciber will fan that into a flame. I wouldn't be surprised if he's very much committed to their path as early as next year."

"Well, he's precocious. And that group will be looking for footholds in the lower years."

"They don't want to extinguish their power by graduating any more than we want them to," Regulus agrees. "We'll have to get ahead of their recruitment efforts, of course, so we can't focus too much on upper years."

"Unless they're upper years who the lower years admire and will follow," Barty points out. "Which is another reason to get Antony."

"I think so too. Do you want to take that on, or focus on Jessica?"

He considers it. "I don't think I have as much of an advantage, compared to you, with Antony as I do with Jessica. So either of us could make it work. But you already have Heather and Priam, and dealing with whatever's going on with Evan. Speaking of, what's up with him?"

"I'll let you know if I have time to talk to Antony, but if recruiting Jessica goes as fast as it seems like it will, then you can probably switch to talking to him much faster than I can," Regulus says. "Regarding Evan, there are a few things that add up to something worth investigating. There was that altercation with Charlotte at lunch on Wednesday."

"Not that out of the ordinary, but he was a little harsher than usual, so I guess I see your point. And?"

"He never said anything to me about Emma having suspicions about all the other fifth-years being in some kind of group. You'd think that in the vast amount of time that we spend together, given that we share a room, he would have remembered to mention it at an opportune moment."

"Could've been an error in judgment instead of memory," Barty says. "Or a deliberate judgment. I dunno, I can never tell with him. And?"

The last thing on Regulus's list is, in his opinion, the biggest indication that there is something going on with Evan, as opposed to two isolated incidents of him displaying a little more cunning than usual. "He cornered me on Thursday to try to figure out what I was doing after the incident with Alecto Carrow and Mulciber, then when I didn't give him anything, he immediately asked if I wanted to spy on Hufflepuff's quidditch practice. Which I assume he intends to use as another opportunity to get information out of me, although I have no idea why he's bothering. I tried to find out, but he shut me down immediately. He tried to throw me off about the whole spying thing, too, maybe so I somehow wouldn't realize it was connected to what we were just talking about."

"Okay, yeah, that qualifies as odd. Huh." He frowns. "Why didn't you give him anything?"

"Too risky. I don't know where he stands. But based on how last night went, I might need to find out. He may have a chance at recruiting Lily Evans. They possibly bonded over Charms and mocking Potter." (Regulus doesn't know how she feels about anyone else he might manage to recruit. They don't exactly operate in the same social circles.)

"Which is presumably why you want to get her all of a sudden?" Barty says pointedly.

Regulus doesn't bother to respond to Barty's implication that Regulus is naturally inclined to join forces with anyone who dislikes Potter. They both know very well that it's true. There's no need for him to address it out loud. "Not just her. I want the McKinnons—they're ideal, politically speaking, and if I can get all of them currently at Hogwarts, I'll have a route into Ravenclaw too." Probably. Regulus is only about sixty percent sure that the third McKinnon at Hogwarts is in Ravenclaw. In fact, he's only about eighty percent sure that there are three McKinnons at Hogwarts at the moment. They're a large family, so there could very well be one or two more who have crept in while Regulus wasn't paying attention. "I'm fairly sure Lily Evans is friends with Marlene."

"And if you can persuade the Gryffindor Seeker to follow you, you can persuade anyone?" Barty says.

"Precisely." (Specifically because Sirius is a Gryffindor, and as far as Regulus is aware, he's a relatively popular one. This means that Regulus has almost certainly been badmouthed constantly in Gryffindor Tower since September first of this school year, if not earlier. He also hasn't done himself any favors with his quidditch record. Gryffindor always experiences a spike in intra-team collisions when Regulus is involved—it's very easy to get them to crash into each other, and it serves Regulus's interests, so he entertains himself by interfering with Gryffindor's plays when he doesn't have much Seeking to do. Thus, Regulus has no illusions about his general popularity, or rather the lack thereof, among Gryffindors. Marlene McKinnon probably has a personal grudge, although if Regulus is lucky, it's only quidditch-related and he can attempt to twist it into a sort of cordial rivalry. Still, if he can get past that, then Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff will seem easy by comparison.)

"So who does that leave us with?" Barty says. "Jessica, Antony, Heather, and maybe Evan, in order to get Shacklebolt, Priam, and maybe Lily Evans and the McKinnons?"

"Possibly Maeve, too," Regulus says. "Not right away, though. I need to think some more about the right approach first. But I think I could convince her that pushing for legalization of Dark Arts is a better strategy than keeping it hushed up, in terms of longevity, which she obviously cares about. And if Evan is a dead end, I can approach Miles McKinnon, for the same results from the other direction. I should probably do that relatively soon anyway, to make sure he's set to join our group. Two birds and one stone and such."

"Okay. And he's not the only Dark scion in the third-years, right?"

"Theophania is the other one in Slytherin." (There are a handful of them in Ravenclaw as well, and one of the Young siblings in Hufflepuff is in third year, Regulus is fairly sure. No Gryffindors, which isn't unusual.) "That'll be easy, I think. I'll check in with her, but seeing as she's a Nott, I'm hesitant to approach her right away about joining my group of blood traitors. I don't know anything about her political views. She keeps them to herself."

"Then she's probably not a great early candidate, anyway," Barty says. "We want people who are willing to start a fight."

An excellent point. Then Regulus has his tactics for moving forward—anger and mockery. Not the most predictable or stable of methods, but quite useful if he can point them at the correct targets, and it's not like Voldemort and Dumbledore don't play on people's emotions. Clearly, it'll work well enough for motivating his base. The rest will lie in Regulus's ability to persuade people of the truths that form the foundation of his plan. "Do you think there will be more people seeking you out to vent?"

"There can be," Barty says. "If I make myself more of a public figure by getting more involved. But it means people might start questioning what you're doing being friends with me."

So that's why he kept his participation to a minimum in the common room on Thursday. It's known that they're friends, but Slytherin is too much of a hodgepodge of political viewpoints to expect people only to interact with those who share their ideas exactly. Many people most likely assume that Regulus and Barty just don't discuss politics in order to keep the peace. (Like Jessica and Alexander probably did.) If Barty goes after the future Death Eaters on ideological grounds, especially if he does so repeatedly within Regulus's hearing, then those assumptions will be blown to bits.

But they have to go sooner or later.

"I'll handle that," Regulus says. "It'll almost certainly mean informing people that I don't care what you do or say to the likes of the Carrows, because they most likely had it coming." (He may as well take advantage of Mulciber's comment about Regulus occupying himself with books and leaving them be. If Regulus does his best to give the impression that he simply does not care enough to involve himself, he stands a chance at convincing them of it. For a little while. It's not a good idea long-term, but it'll do until he's amassed enough support that he can afford to be more open about his opinions.)

"They're going to hate your guts," Barty says, with perhaps a little too much anticipation for it to sound like a real warning. (He sounds like Professor Babbling when she's trying to convince them that blowing things up is a bad idea—advising caution because she has to, but unable to fully deny the appeal of a big explosion.)

"That's the goal," Regulus says. "If I give them reasons to hate me, they'll give me opportunities to prove that I'm capable of defeating them."

He grins. "Brilliant. And what happens when they come after you?"

"I shut them up." (Regulus hasn't gotten that far yet. But he'll come up with something in the moment. That strategy worked well enough in the common room.)

"If you punch any of them with witnesses, you'll have half of Gryffindor in the bag," Barty says, rather unexpectedly in Regulus's opinion.

"I... don't feel the urge to do such a thing," is Regulus's first, mildly bemused response, followed by, "Why? Do you?"

To which Barty says, "Don't worry, I won't get caught."

That doesn't overtly answer Regulus's question, but it's more than enough for him to guess. "Doesn't that make it rather difficult to make sure there are witnesses? Unless you're planning to rely on hearsay, but then it'll be your word against theirs, and they won't be eager to admit to you getting the upper hand."

"I'm not planning to rely on anything," Barty says. "That would imply that I'm planning something, which, naturally, I am not. The concept of doing violence to my fellow human beings is anathema to me, as I'm sure everyone who knows me will earnestly testify to anyone who asks. But if I were to consider the best way to go about such a heinous thing, I'd simply need an airtight story to justify my punching them, which might or might not be true, and a friend with a fancy heir ring who would intercede with Slughorn on my behalf to make sure he understands that I am but an innocent victim seeking to defend my honor against the mean, nasty baby Death Eaters."

Reasonable enough, although Barty will have to work a little harder if he wants to pull off 'innocent,' in Regulus's opinion. "I'll cover for you."

"Much obliged. This conversation never happened."

"Obviously. I do believe we've spent the past ten minutes discussing the Runes assignment."

"I'm doing a binding that goes backwards and forwards," Barty says immediately. "Candles. When you extinguish one of them, the other one lights, and vice versa, so it's a perpetual enchantment. They might explode. I figure Babbling will like it either way."

Seeing as the expectation Babbling has set for them is a similar object binding that works in one direction, one time, without fire being necessarily involved, Regulus is fairly sure Barty stands a good chance at yet another Outstanding whether it explodes or not.

"It's a shame she's not Dark," Regulus says. "I'd love to see what would happen if someone gave her full access to House Crabbe's grimoires."

"That's if you weren't incinerated in the first week of her having all of that at her disposal," Barty says. (He hasn't been Dark for very long in the grand scheme of things, but a year and a half are plenty of time to learn and remember the more interesting family specialties, such as House Crabbe's. He may never memorize all of them, though, seeing as Regulus isn't inclined to quiz him spontaneously, which is how Mother got him and Sirius to learn.)

"I suppose," Regulus says. "But it would be a glorious week."

Notes:

and the plot ZOOMS forward

'a bit of resentment over feeling abandoned never hurt anyone,' regulus says, like a MASSIVE HYPOCRITE

chaos barty activate!!!

next week: regulus is exposed to direct sunlight!! warming charms!! EVAN!!!!!!!!!!!!

thank you so much for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 12

Notes:

posting early because i'll be busy at my usual time - next week's update will be at the usual time!

People treat Regulus a little differently, after Thursday.

He'd been too preoccupied to notice, but now that Barty's pointed it out, Regulus can feel the renewed scrutiny following him around the dungeons. They're trying to figure him out, guess at what's going on in his head, find his agenda wherever it may be hidden. It's nowhere near as bad as it was in September, though, when the heir ring's weight was new on his finger and everyone, not just Slytherins, was wondering about it. This is mostly because nobody's quite worked up the nerve to approach him directly about what's going on.

Besides Evan.

If Regulus hadn't been one half of that conversation, he might not have fully believed it happened, because Evan is acting perfectly normal, which for him means insisting that he needs to spend as much of the weekend as possible outside so he can practice augury for the Divination OWL.

In actuality, there is very little practicing happening. On Sunday, Regulus accompanies Evan and Emma to their preferred bit of shore by the Black Lake, on the theory that it might prove enlightening. It is not. The two of them spend the whole time hurtling back and forth at astonishing speeds between complaining about Emma's second cousin and Evan's brother-in-law (who are the same person) and bickering about which Hufflepuff Chaser will be easiest to get around in the next quidditch match. The common thread apparently being that they are all Hufflepuffs.

(Regulus does learn that Evan's sister has been in Switzerland for the past few weeks, which is why she wasn't at the St. Mungo's charity ball. However, this information is functionally meaningless to him, so his previous conclusion with regard to the conversation's usefulness still stands.)

(Also, Regulus is fairly sure that augury isn't even covered on the Divination OWL anymore. But it's not like any of them actually expected Evan to spend the whole weekend studying. He's more the sort to leave things until the weekend before. It's only January.)

So Evan doesn't seem inclined to provide Regulus with any hints before their rapidly approaching conversation, and Regulus is... finding himself at a bit of a loss, to be honest.

Evan obviously wants something from him. Probably information. Regulus wants the same in reverse, but he doesn't know how to get it. A direct approach will probably just result in Evan shrugging it off and refusing to answer like he did on Thursday night, but an indirect approach often lacks clarity.

He'll have to come up with something in the moment.

This isn't Regulus's favorite strategy, but it's one he's comfortable working with, especially since he has no idea what Evan's tactics will be. Watch, wait, and adapt accordingly. It's how he normally interacts with Bellatrix, so it'll have to be good enough for Evan.

It serves him very well when, at the end of Herbology on Tuesday, Evan catches up with him and Barty on the way out of the greenhouse. "How miserable do you think the practical OWL is going to be for this class, on a scale of one to ten?"

"Thirteen," Barty says promptly.

Evan wrinkles his nose. "Unlucky, too? Ouch. Anyway, this has been a fun talk, can I borrow Regulus? I'll give him back later."

"It's only just past four," Regulus says. "Hufflepuff's practice slot doesn't start until six." (Not that this has ever been about spying on Hufflepuff's practice.)

"But the pitch isn't reserved during office hours, and they're Hufflepuffs. Who knows how early they'll get to practice?"

Probably not two hours early, seeing as that would nearly double the length of their practice and give them very little time to both shower and get dinner afterwards. But the sooner this conversation begins, the sooner it'll end and Regulus can decide what to do with the results, so he does not point that out.

"If it's quidditch-related, I want none of it," Barty says. "See you tonight."

He falls back to join Lucinda, who's talking to two of the Ravenclaws who share her table. One of whom is Anne Hopkins. Regulus faces forward very quickly so she won't notice him looking vaguely in their direction and attempt to get his attention.

"Imagine living with us and not caring for quidditch," Evan says. "What a burden to live under."

"He tolerates attending Slytherin's matches and that's his limit," Regulus says.

A rather tragic sigh. "And practices are so much less interesting than matches, especially when they're talking to each other and we can't hear. I suppose we'll have to come up with some other way of entertaining ourselves."

That's obviously a reference to the conversation that they need to have. "If it's quiet."

Evan smiles. "I suppose you're right. It wouldn't do to be discovered."

No, it would not.

The quidditch pitch is a different direction from the nearest entrance to the castle, so it doesn't take very long before the rest of their Herbology class is well out of earshot, and Evan says, "To be perfectly honest with you, I don't actually think we need to get there this early. That was a lie, shocking though it may seem."

"I'd guessed as much," Regulus says. "Why the lie?"

"I'm impatient," he says cheerfully. "Also, Geoff and Emma both went to some of Hufflepuff's practices last week, so our witnessing another one seems rather redundant, don't you think? They're not that good of a team."

Regulus had assumed it wasn't really about spying on Hufflepuff, but that tidbit brings it to a new level. "Implying that you've brought me over here on false pretenses."

He says it to see how Evan will respond, but he's not sure what conclusions to draw from Evan saying, "If that's what you want to call it."

So he pushes a little more. "Then what would you call it?"

"Me not spelling everything out for you."

"Maybe I want to know how you'd spell it."

Evan shrugs. The gesture doesn't look the same on him as it does on Barty. It looks... polished, almost, as if he'd stood in front of a mirror and practiced shrugging to make sure it looked adequately nonchalant. "Defeats the purpose, honestly, but I'll indulge you. I'd spell it like this: quidditch is common ground, and privacy is hard to come by in the dorms."

Now they're getting somewhere. "Privacy for what, exactly?"

"If I said maybe I just wanted your company to myself for a bit, would you believe me?"

"No," Regulus says. "I'd point out that we're in nearly all the same classes, practice quidditch together multiple times a week, and share a room." Not to mention the study group. But they're very much out in the open, and that's not something Regulus would reference out loud without a muffling ward at the least.

"Pity," Evan says, not sounding like he thinks it's much of a pity at all. "It was worth a try. Or, well, it was worth asking. You don't have anywhere to be for office hours, do you? I just remembered those are a thing that exist."

"I don't." Regulus never goes to office hours. "Do you?"

"Nope! I don't believe in office hours. I just bother Flitwick during class."

A phenomenon to which Regulus has borne witness time and time again. "And he's never told you to come to office hours?"

"Oh, he's tried, but I'm incorrigible. He gave up on that last year." Abruptly, Evan stops and surveys the ground. "This area seems relatively flat. I didn't bring anything to sit on, though..." He digs around in his book bag and resurfaces with a handkerchief. "There we go! Could you put up some wards? I think we're due for a chat of rather dubious legality."

That is a statement with which Regulus can fully agree. (Although sitting outside for an extended discussion is not necessarily his idea of a good time. There's a bit of a chill in the air, despite the pale sunlight.)

He sets up his usual quick wards, along with a visual shield that resembles a Disillusionment Charm in results, but not in casting. Small-scale elemental magic bears more similarity to transfiguration, all things considered, so Regulus will gladly take an elemental substitute for any sort of charm. (Large-scale casting is completely different, or so he's heard.) This one warps sunlight around whatever it's shielding, so anyone looking in Regulus and Evan's direction won't be able to see them unless they look very hard for trace shadows. It's considered Dark, as is the case with more and more elemental magic, although this particular spell wasn't made illegal until twenty or so years ago. The shield is to prevent them being seen by anyone who knows they're supposedly spying on the quidditch pitch—it's nearby, but far enough that they'd have to be creative about justifying how they could watch the practice from here.

Meanwhile, Evan has enlarged his handkerchief into a reasonably-sized blanket. Judging by the smooth way it's settled over the ground, Regulus suspects a Cushioning Charm is also involved. Evan holsters his wand and gestures to the blanket with the exact same beaming smile with which he normally welcomes people to the summer solstice ball. "Not so bad for last-minute improvised seating, if I do say so myself. Shall we commence the getting to of the point?"

"I believe that's a good idea." Regulus sits down on the blanket. The Cushioning Charm is a good one—he may as well be sitting on a couch cushion. And as soon as he sits down, he feels warmer too, which means Evan managed to cast a Warming Charm as well, in not a very long span of time. "Why don't we begin with why you initiated this entire interaction in the first place?"

"Quite the opening statement." Evan sits down across from him. "I'm curious. You're obviously up to something, and as you pointed out earlier, we do spend a lot of time together, which means that whatever you're up to will naturally affect me."

"Am I up to something?" Regulus says almost reflexively. "That's a bold assertion."

"Of course you are. You don't court drama unless you get something out of it. I've never met anyone else better at keeping their mouth shut. At least, until recently." Evan tilts his head. "You didn't need to do anything about Amycus. Geoff would've dealt with him. And you didn't need to do anything about Alecto. Nobody would've dealt with her, but that's been the case for years. Why would Regulus Black, of all people, go after the Carrows? One would assume he'd have no reason to bother. And then there's Mulciber. You practically left him bleeding out on the common room floor. What for? Surely not a fit of temper. Not from you. Which begs the question—what's enough to make you get involved?"

Regulus has seen this expression on Evan's face before—thoughtful, focused, not quite calculating, but far from daydreaming. He's never been the target of it before, though. That distinction usually belongs to opposing teams in quidditch matches.

Does that make Regulus opposition? Or just a puzzle, with defenses Evan is trying to get around?

Nothing Evan's mentioned is particularly bad. Regulus can afford for him to notice these things, as parts of a foundation that Regulus is laying that will set him up as an enemy of the likes of the Carrows. People have to notice them, or else they're pointless. But for some reason, Evan's not content simply to notice.

There's his angle.

"What's enough to make you get involved, Evan?" Regulus responds. "This is more interest in my affairs than you normally display, and far too much effort to go to in order to satisfy some mild curiosity. Why are you bothering?"

Evan grins. "Alright, fine, I'll give you that one. I'm bothering because we're at war, and to anyone familiar with who the Death Eaters are likely to recruit, you putting down the Carrows looks an awful lot like infighting."

Which is an interpretation that Regulus could encourage, but he's not sure he wants that impression circulating on a grander scale. If enough people drew that conclusion, it might get back to Bellatrix, or someone who knows her, and then Regulus would have to do some very fast talking to persuade her that nothing was really amiss. (Fast talking which might create more problems for him in the long run.)

"That's worth more than mild curiosity, wouldn't you say?" Evan continues. "It's the sort of thing that can make or break a side. That's what I'd like to know about."

So Evan wants to know if there are cracks in Voldemort's base of support, presumably in order to predict the outcome of the war. "What for?"

"Knowledge is everything." It's as simple as if Evan had just told him that pumpkin juice is made from pumpkins.

"Only if you use it," Regulus says.

Something about his face brightens, then, not quite returning him to his usual cheer, but making him look... pleased. "Fair enough."

"How do you plan to use it?"

"To my own benefit, naturally. We're Slytherins, it's what we do."

"You benefit from knowing if the Dark Lord is likely to win," Regulus persists. "Which means you're not yet decided on which side you're taking, are you." It's not a question. "You're worried about linking yourself to the losing side."

"Aren't we all? Except those among us who are already committed to joining the Death Eaters." Evan shrugs. "They seem to have no concerns whatsoever."

Regulus notes the use of 'they'. Evan doesn't think Regulus is one of those people. Nor is he one of them himself. That, or he said 'they' on purpose to see if Regulus would correct him. Either way, it's bait.

"What makes you concerned?" Regulus says, instead of taking it.

The corner of Evan's mouth quirks up. "You're really invested in making this difficult for me, aren't you. I hope you realize that'll only make me wonder why."

"You're very open about your wondering."

"There's no reason for us to be enemies."

"What makes you think that?"

"You tell me," he says, so pleasantly that it doesn't even really sound like the command that it is. "You're the one who agreed to talk. You think there's a way for you to win this conversation."

"I wasn't aware this was a fight to be won," Regulus lies.

"Allow me to politely call bullshit." (Well, there goes that.) "As I've said, there's no reason for us to be enemies. Our victories don't need to be mutually exclusive. You've done your posturing. It's your turn to share."

So, Evan wants to be allies.

That much is obvious, not in the least because it's fairly safe to assume that most people would like to be on the same side as House Black. The issue is that joining with Regulus is not necessarily the same thing as joining with House Black.

But once he inherits the lordship, it will be.

And he will inherit it. The Blacks are out of heirs. Cygnus only has daughters. Bellatrix and Narcissa, for their part, don't have any children. Aunt Lucretia is childless, not that a Prewett would ever be permitted to inherit, and every other male in the family is too old. It's Regulus or Sirius, and Sirius will never return.

The Blacks and the Rosiers are already allied through the marriage of Cygnus and Druella, but both of them are from cadet branches, and the alliance is beginning to get old. Renewing it is probably a good idea—the Rosiers may not be the most politically active of families, but they're Dark and wealthy and their summer solstice ball heavily influences the entire season. Being uninvited is a social death stroke. That could be very useful. And Regulus could use an heir on his side, especially an heir to a Noble and Anciente house. He'd been aiming for Priam, and Priam is still a good target, but Evan would work too, and here he is, telling Regulus they don't need to be enemies.

That's a superficial statement, of course. It's very possible that they do. It just depends on how much Evan cares about blood purity.

But there will most likely be purists on their side, because blood purity goes hand in hand with the oldest Dark families. If Evan's one of them, then Regulus may as well find out soon.

He can wait forever for the perfect time and place and person. But as Evan said, they're at war. If Regulus sits around expecting perfection to fall into his lap, he'll never get anywhere. Evan has signaled that he's open to working together and has concerns about the viability of Voldemort's side.

It's good enough.

"This war," Regulus says, "bears a strong resemblance to the last one."

"With Grindelwald?" Evan says. "That was international, though."

"But it's based in the exact same conflict, if on a smaller scale. Blood purity and Dark Arts." Regulus pauses to make sure Evan's not going to interject. He doesn't, just blinks at Regulus, and so Regulus carries on. "I have concerns too. Dumbledore won the last one. It didn't stop another war from breaking out a generation later. The Dark Lord is repeating what Grindelwald attempted. Even if he were to win, who's to say another Dumbledore wouldn't rise up to fight him, twenty or thirty years from now?"

"Who's to say, indeed." Evan seems... pensive, which Regulus can work with. "But if he were to lose, Dumbledore would have the legal opening he needs not just to condemn Dark Arts, but to stamp it out as well as he could."

"He would need the Wizengamot's support to take such measures."

"A Wizengamot more than decimated by the end of the war? Plenty of Death Eaters would certainly be convicted of using Dark Arts and stripped of their titles at the very least. They wouldn't be in a position to object in a way that matters."

"Only if the Dark houses side with the Dark Lord, which isn't in our best interest long-term." An argument is falling into place for Regulus. He takes it and runs with it. "His position is too extreme for broad appeal and doesn't recognize the reality that magical children will continue to be born of nonmagical parents, meaning that they simply can't be eradicated. He's tied Dark Arts to torture and murder and fear. He does us no favors."

"You sound a bit like Horatio Nott, you know," Evan remarks. "Or, well, Horatio before he took the Mark."

That's new.

Regulus immediately pretends that he already knew Horatio Nott was a Death Eater. (It's a rather stunning turn, seeing as his staunch insistence on keeping the Dark community respectable was the main reason why the Carrows broke off from the legacy Dark Arts study group last year. Regulus used the general dissatisfaction with how Horatio handled things to seize control of the group out from under him. Then he graduated, and Regulus didn't hear anything about him—not even from Theophania, his younger sister. Until now.)

"Horatio," Regulus says, "had no goals for the Dark network beyond keeping it alive."

"Unlike you," Evan says.

Regulus takes one deep breath. And then he admits it. "Unlike me."

And Evan...

Evan beams at him and says, "I knew you weren't the type to kneel."

He knew?

Implying this is a matter that Evan has given some thought. And that he didn't—doesn't think Regulus is on the path towards becoming a Death Eater.

And he says it with a smile.

Regulus is going to go ahead and assume that means that Evan, Dark though he may be, is also uninterested in taking the Mark. That makes him a potential recruit.

Now all Regulus has to do is persuade him.

"You're looking for reasons not to join the Dark Lord," he says to Evan. "Neutrality could keep you safe. It could also turn you into an enemy."

"Trust me, Regulus," Evan says. "There is nothing you can say to me about the possibilities around neutrality that I haven't already thought of."

"Then you're admitting to having thought about it?"

"If you'll make it worth my while."

Regulus can manage that. "How about this: taking a side has a risk, but it also has a potential reward. Anyone affiliated with the victor of the war will benefit. At least, until there's another war, and another victor, and the cycle begins again." He looks Evan directly in the eye. This is the most important thing he will say today. "I know how to end the cycle. I can make this the last war. The people who side with me will be the victors. Forever."

He doesn't see his words land, but he can tell he's made an impact when Evan says very slowly, "And what does victory look like with you at the helm?"

"Legalizing Dark Arts."

"And? What makes you different from Voldy?"

That's interesting.

Regulus has never heard anyone call him that. It's always the Dark Lord or You-Know-Who. Bellatrix told him Voldemort's name, once, but she'd said nobody used it. That was shortly before the Taboo was set. Throughout last summer, when Bellatrix wasn't snarling over Sirius's disloyalty, she was giggling over how many members of the Order of the Phoenix the Death Eaters had ambushed, because they were the only ones calling Voldemort by his name.

Nobody calls him by it now.

Regulus's pause must be too obvious, because Evan says, "We call Dumbledore by his name, don't we? And we'll be Dark lords ourselves in the future. It seems to me that calling Voldy the Dark Lord only invites confusion. He's not a real lord, anyway," he adds offhandedly. "Even my father shows up to Wizengamot sessions."

If Evan is willing to call Voldemort by... a rather lazy nickname, rather than the title that everyone who supports him (or pretends to support him) uses, then Regulus can use the term that will immediately give him away.

He puts the words in order and speaks them, as calmly as he can, as if he isn't handing Evan a piece of information that could destroy Regulus if told to the wrong person too soon. "What makes me different from him is that I don't believe Muggleborns are inferior to us."

Now he's said it.

Once the words are in the air, they hang there, looming, as Regulus watches Evan think.

Because he is thinking. He props his elbow on his knee, his chin in his hand, and gazes at Regulus for what could be one second or ten minutes.

And then he says, "Your parents don't know about any of this."

Regulus doesn't confirm or deny. Letting Evan assume that his parents are backing him would come back to haunt him later, but he doesn't need to make it explicit that they're not backing him, either. He especially doesn't need to ask any questions that'll make him sound like he's hedging, such as 'how did you reach that conclusion.' "My parents have no other candidates for heir. I have leverage. They made sure of that themselves. Besides, if I take over Britain, what are they going to do? Stop me? They understand ends over means. They may not agree with my views, but they'll certainly appreciate the results."

"Acceptance by necessity?"

"You could call it that."

"I think I will," Evan says, and he still looks thoughtful, but he's starting to smile, just a little, as if it's sneaking onto his face without him noticing. "It's funny, what necessity can drive us to tolerate. And my parents don't have any other heir candidates either. Not that I think they need to know about this just yet. It's not the opportune moment. You need a victory first."

"I agree," Regulus says. "Which is exactly why the Carrows will be finding themselves a trifle uncomfortable whenever they step into the common room from now on."

Evan's smile broadens, sunnier than the sky above them. "Interfering with Voldy's recruitment at Hogwarts, are we?"

"We'd look rather stupid as an enemy if he didn't know we existed," Regulus points out. "Thus, we have to. The same goes for Dumbledore. Since we're still in his school, there's a limit to how open we can be, but I see no reason why we can't poach some Gryffindors for our own purposes."

"Oh, that's a thought. You aren't planning on appealing to brotherly affection, are you?"

As if that would accomplish anything. "I was rather planning on appealing to Lily Evans and Marlene McKinnon."

Evan laughs, then, a surprised thing that sounds more delighted than disbelieving. "I'd love to see you and Marlene McKinnon work together without trying to kill each other."

"Well," Regulus says. "Stick around, and you'll get your wish."

"I do believe I will." He stands up and brushes some invisible dirt off of his robes, then holds a hand out to Regulus. "This has been most fascinating, but assuming that you've also talked Barty around to your side, I see no reason to continue to have this conversation out here when we do share a room."

Regulus takes his hand and lets Evan pull him to his feet. "Barty was the first person I talked to."

"First night back? I assumed as much." He laughs again, lighthearted, like they haven't just been discussing the best way to join a war. "You really did yourself in when you picked up the Charms textbook. I've known you were up to something ever since."

"And you left the room anyway?"

"Of course." A grin. "I certainly wasn't going to stop you from making things a little more interesting around here. Besides, the tension was killing me."

"Imagine how I felt," Regulus says.

"I don't wish to do such a thing, thank you very much." Evan shrinks his handkerchief back to its normal size with an ease that only makes Regulus a little bit angry. (It's fine. They all have their strengths. He's known for a long time that Evan is smarter than he likes to seem, and therefore perfectly capable of being very good at Charms. But Evan shrinks the handkerchief and summons it back to him in one smooth motion, casually tucking it back into his bag like he hasn't just done something that would be extraordinary for Regulus, and, yes, for a brief instant, that makes Regulus angry. But he puts that away and focuses on taking down his wards.)

Once their patch of grass has been restored to its former state of unremarkableness, Regulus says, "What now? Barty knows I thought this wasn't actually about spying on Hufflepuff, but who knows if he's mentioned it to Lucinda or something like that."

Evan says very grandly, "Now we wander back to the castle, and, if questioned, claim I decided it was too cold to hang around outside and you wanted to work on Runes or..." He waves a hand. "Something else appropriately Regulus-y. You can pick."

Fair enough. "And when we don't return to the grounds to watch Hufflepuff's practice, once it's actually somewhere in the vicinity of starting?"

"I told you, it's cold. And if I complain enough about it, nobody will be even remotely surprised that you agreed to delay our espionage plans until sometime when it's warmer. I am exceptionally good at pouting. I'd say to ask Emma, but she knows when I'm faking, it hasn't worked on her in years."

"And no one will think to question why you didn't just use a Warming Charm?" Regulus says.

"For hours?" Evan shakes his head. "That seems like far too much effort. Like I said, Hufflepuff's not that good."

Regulus can't tell if he genuinely means that, or if he's telling Regulus what he would say if questioned on that point, but it doesn't really matter.

What matters is that he's secured Evan's support. Regulus's side is growing.

He's on the right track.

 

(He doesn't realize until he's about to fall asleep that night that he completely forgot to ask Evan why he didn't tell Regulus about Emma's suspicions.)

Notes:

evan: we'll have to come up with some other way of entertaining ourselves ;)))))
regulus: yes. military strategy.
evan:
regulus:
evan:
regulus:
evan:
regulus: why are you looking at me like that
evan: i'm trying to figure out what it's like inside your brain

puzzles don't usually have defenses but we'll forgive regulus his poor metaphor, he's not used to being openly scrutinized by evan it's throwing him off

speaking of him being thrown off: regulus? forgetting things? especially important things that might give him information about evan's loyalties? why would he ever do that?

my favorite thing evan says in this chapter is 'i think we're due for a chat of rather dubious legality' but my second favorite is probably 'i'm incorrigible :)'

next week: maeve cusses out the solar system!! regulus writes a letter!! evan literally comes out of the closet!!

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 13

Notes:

welcome to 50k

In the end, introducing Maeve and Theophania happens almost by accident.

Regulus has taken to spending more time in the common room. It's not very good for his productivity, as he keeps finding himself listening to other people's conversations instead of doing his assignments, but he wants to see and be seen. Shutting himself away in his room won't help him win the war. He can't lead if nobody ever sees him.

Doing work in the common room during his free periods is a good middle ground. There are fewer people around, which means less distraction, but other Slytherins still see him as they pass through. And all the fifth-year Slytherins have a Wednesday afternoon free period, so even though the common room is less crowded, Regulus isn't sitting alone. (Which is good. He doesn't want to seem like an iconoclast. That would be even worse than shutting himself away in his room.)

Passing through is exactly what Theophania seems to be doing, judging by the cloak over her robes. However, introducing her to Maeve won't take long, seeing as Maeve is sitting right next to Regulus muttering rather rude things at a half-finished star chart, so Regulus doesn't hesitate to say, "Theophania, do you have a moment?"

"If it's a moment." Theophania picks her way over to them, giving Priam's cat a wide berth. (It's defending its chosen couch vigorously today.) "I'm meeting my friends soon."

"It is a moment. Maeve asked me to introduce you, seeing as your siblings are getting married."

Maeve's looked up from her star chart by now. "Hello. Let's be friends."

This seems to Regulus to be an awkwardly blunt way of managing any sort of introduction, but some sort of look passes between her and Theophania, so quickly that he can't parse it, and then Theophania says, "Yes, let's. I've always wanted another sister. My brother's useless."

Which is the most Regulus has ever heard Theophania say about her family. Ever.

"Mine's not," Maeve says. "I'm sure Cressida's said."

"Yes, she has."

Regulus is getting the feeling that he does not know everything that's being communicated in this otherwise incredibly inane conversation.

"Come by my room sometime." Maeve picks up her quill again. "If we band together, maybe we can stop them from choosing an ugly color for the bridesmaids' robes."

"Cressida's favorite color is orange," Theophania says grimly.

"That'll look horrible on both of us."

"I know." She turns towards the common room door. "Bye."

"Bye."

Well.

That was odd.

Once Theophania leaves, the common room is fairly empty, so Regulus takes the risk of asking in an undertone, "Why did you need me to introduce you? You could have just walked up to her."

Maeve sets about labeling Saturn's moons. "It's nice to do things properly when one has the chance."

And that means it's time to write to Mother.

Somewhere in the engagement of Cressida Nott and Felix Bulstrode, there is a scandal. Regulus just has to find it.

Not that he knows what he'll do with it once it's found, but Evan had a point when he said knowledge is everything.

 

The next item on Regulus's to-do list is talking to Heather, but he wants to wait at least until after tonight's Dark Arts meeting, to give her a little longer to adjust to being in one secret group before he tries to recruit her to another one.

Instead, he does his homework, then spends the time after dinner writing a letter in the fifth-year boys' room.

 

Dear Mother,

I'm sure it comes as a bit of a surprise to receive a letter from me so early in the term. Rest assured, all is well here, but a matter came to my attention upon which I am hoping you can shed some light.

Shortly after returning to Hogwarts, I learned that Felix Bulstrode is engaged to Cressida Nott. It struck me as odd, because Maeve asked me to introduce her to Theophania. I'd assumed they would be acquainted by this point, since they're immediate family members. It was also odd that Maeve asked me for an introduction in the first place. I believe you met her at the soirée the Rosiers hosted for the new year over winter break, so you'll know what I mean when I write that she would be more than capable of introducing herself. She also said something about it being nice to do things properly when possible. Naturally, that raised questions for me.

That being said, Professor Slughorn was quite curious as well, and Maeve spent ten minutes answering his questions at a dinner party on Friday without showing any hesitation or obvious consideration of her answers. It's possible that I'm looking for a scandal where there is none, but I thought I would ask for your insight anyway.

(Once I introduced Maeve and Theophania, their conversation wasn't particularly formal, either, suggesting that Maeve may not be as invested in doing things properly as she implied. I've thought about it, and I still don't see the point of setting up an introduction through a third party. It would have been quicker to do it themselves.)

The professors are doing their best to keep us busy in preparation for OWL exams. I have no reason to be concerned, although I am, of course, doing what I must in order to ensure that my results are more than merely respectable. You'll receive this letter before Slytherin plays Hufflepuff, but I expect a resounding victory there. Our goal is to enter our match against Gryffindor with a sizable point lead already in place.

Also, I assume Father is aware that the Ministry has accelerated the pace at which Auror candidates graduate from the Academy. Does this reflect larger changes at the DMLE, or is the Auror department taking matters into its own hands? (Kingsley Shacklebolt has apparently become an Auror in record time, according to Professor Slughorn.)

I am considering placing an order for Narcissa's birthday gift by mail, since I fear I've rather exhausted the suitable options that can be procured in Hogsmeade, so you may receive a bill from Twilfitt & Tattings. I'll ask them to note down who placed the order in the bill, so you can be sure it's not a spurious charge.

Finally: I have made the acquaintance of Heather Brown. I believe Narcissa could find her to be a very good friend once she graduates from Hogwarts.

Regulus

 

Once he's dried the ink, he folds the letter crisply, drips a generous amount of black wax onto the parchment, and presses his heir ring into the wax to seal it. No one's ever tried to read his correspondence, at least not that he's aware, but there's only one Black heir ring, so if anyone were to attempt to break the wax, they'd have to be very careful about how they did it.

Also, Father taught him a spell to cast on letters that will ensure that only people who share his blood are able to open them. So he uses that too.

Then the letter is ready to send, except for one important final step. "Evan?"

"Hmm?" is the response that emerges from Evan's wardrobe. Regulus has no idea what he's doing in there, nor does he want to know why Evan needed to enchant his wardrobe to make it walk-in. (Sort of. It looks like a perfectly normal wardrobe, if a bit bigger on the inside than one might expect. Regulus absolutely did not anticipate Evan casually pushing some of his cloaks aside and stepping in. He hadn't even noticed Evan casting the concoction of Undetectable Expansion Charms that he undoubtedly needed in order to do that. Which is proof that Evan is more than capable of NEWT-level Charms, but frankly, that comes as no surprise. What comes as a surprise is the fact that Regulus has never seen Evan enter or exit his wardrobe before now.)

Then Evan emerges, holding a broomstick Regulus recognizes from last year. Evan switched to the newest model of the Starsweeper over the summer, as he generally does, but Regulus hadn't realized he'd brought his old one back to school with him as well. (Regulus, for his part, favors the Nimbus Seven—it's an exceptionally lightweight model, but as long as he doesn't get hit, that doesn't matter. Heavier brooms really only help with stability and collisions, neither of which are much of Regulus's concern. He dodges the collisions, and too much stability is a liability for a Seeker. The Starsweeper is built for Chasers, though—more maneuverable than a heavier Beater's broom, but stable enough to be flown one-handed for long periods of time and sturdy enough to withstand crashes. Evan, who often runs interference to give Emma and Geoff scoring opportunities, gets into crashes quite a bit.) "What?"

"Could I borrow Caspian?" Regulus says. (Whenever people ask, his default response is that he doesn't need his own owl when Evan is right there and hardly ever writes to anyone. The real reason is because he doesn't like the prying way they stare at him. He gets enough of that from humans.) "Also, why do you need your old broom?"

"Yes, and this is for Emma. Hers is moving oddly when she banks and she doesn't have time to get it fixed before we play Hufflepuff, so she's trying this one to see if it'll suit as a substitute for now."

"And you just happened to have your broom from last year on hand?"

He blinks at Regulus as if this is a question with a stupidly obvious answer. "I have the one I used in third year too." (No doubt hidden behind all of those cloaks.) "It's a little short for me now, but I suppose if Megan wants to try a lighter model she can borrow it. Or you can, if you want to try steering that's a bit less touchy than the Nimbus."

"I'm not that much shorter than you." Regulus and Evan are practically on the same eye level. It's the sort of difference that really only affects the precise hemming of their robes.

"Enough to be noticeable, and that's what counts," Evan singsongs. "No, you're right though, that one would be too short for you. Not that you'd ever want less touchy steering anyway."

"Micromanaging gets results," Regulus says, not for the first time.

"Spare me," Barty says without looking up from his Transfiguration essay. (It's not his first time hearing this debate either.)

"Barty hates micromanaging," Evan informs Regulus, as if this is a deep, dramatic secret he's revealing.

"I sure do," Barty says. "Especially when it means quidditch talk. You need some new topics."

"Okay, how about this? I know which Hufflepuff Carrow and Mulciber went after last week." Evan says it so casually that Regulus doesn't fully register what he's said until he's already moved on. "It was Jackie Fenwick. Third year, Muggleborn, uncle's a Healer but he's Muggleborn too. Their family just happens to produce a lot of magical children, I guess." He beams. "And you know the best part? She and Theophania are Herbology partners. Also—sorry in advance, Barty—sometimes they talk about quidditch, because Fenwick's hoping to take over as Keeper once Summers graduates."

"The world is against me," Barty says.

"Chin up," Evan says. "Once we graduate, you won't have to hear about sports nearly so often."

"But I'll have to hear about Wizengamot proceedings," he responds gloomily. "That might be worse."

Regulus is rather preoccupied with everything else Evan has said. "So Theophania is friendly with a Muggleborn? House Nott is very conservative. At least, that's the position the heads of the family have been taking for decades."

"She's a youngest child and a daughter, as far as I'm aware," Evan points out. "So she's laughably far from inheriting a position of authority in the family, what with Horatio being heir and Cressida's potential future children taking precedence over Theophania's should anything happen to him. Which it very well could. He's taken on a risky job."

"What job?" Barty says.

"Death Eater. Did Regulus not say?"

"No, he very much did not. Did that come up yesterday?"

"I was focused on communicating the most important information," Regulus says. "Horatio's allegiances slipped my mind." Which reminds him. "Speaking of things that I meant to say that have slipped my mind, Evan, how long have you known that Emma knows we're all meeting without her?"

Evan tilts his head. "Is this a prelude to you asking me why I didn't say anything about it to you?"

They might as well cut to the point. "Yes."

He leans the broomstick against his desk, closes the doors to his wardrobe, and flops backwards onto his bed, which results in some of his hair falling across his eyes. "Information, my dear Regulus, can cause problems when shared with micromanaging-type people. Like you." (The 'like you' was unnecessary. Regulus was already perfectly aware that Evan was referring to him.) "I knew it would be fine, because I told her it was a political group and she rolled her eyes and told me not to say anything more because she wanted plausible deniability. Then I asked if she felt left out, and she said that if I was going to the lengths of telling her it was a political group, then it sounded like the sort of thing she didn't want to join anyway, or else she might've vaguely considered staying Heir Vanity." Evan briefly attempts to blow his hair out of his face, which does not work, then brushes it out of the way with his hand, which is much more effective. "There was no need for you to do anything about it, and I knew if I told you, you wouldn't be able to resist getting involved. And it's not like I ever actively lied about it. The only reason everyone found out is because after you left, Maeve asked if anyone else had any suspicions. And then I realized it was the sort of thing she'd probably want to know about, so I mentioned it, and then we argued, and then you walked in so you know the rest. But to answer your original question, I've known since fourth year. I don't remember the exact month. It was cold, I remember that much, because that was when Emma was bribing me with Chocolate Frogs to learn how to do a proper Warming Charm. And then cast them on her, obviously. I got around a dozen Chocolate Frogs out of that deal. But I gave the cards to Priam."

"What did Priam want with them?" is the only thing Regulus can think of to say to that. He's busy absorbing everything else Evan has said so far.

Emma knows enough to guess that whatever is going on in this group, it's not strictly legal. And if it was cold enough that she was bribing Evan for Warming Charms when this conversation was happening, that places it at about a year ago.

Evan shrugs, as well as he can given that he's lying down. "He said something about the cards lasting for a really long time even though he hasn't found signs of any traditional stasis spells on them? I don't know. You could ask him, but you'll probably get way more information than you need."

Regulus has already gotten more information than he needs with regard to the Chocolate Frog cards, really. But he's also gotten an answer to why Evan kept quiet about Emma's suspicions.

For a year.

"That might be proprietary information, if they don't use any of the standard spells," Barty says absently. "If he did deconstruct whatever they do to those cards, I hope he's not doing anything stupid like selling the instructions."

"Can you see Priam selling anything?" Evan says. "He just does it for fun, I think. No wonder his cat is odd. I would be too, surrounded by that much experimental magic."

"You're already odd," Barty says.

"Thank you kindly. You're perfectly normal."

"That's the meanest thing you've ever said to me."

"I know. I've been feeling rather contrary recently. I almost fought Regulus yesterday. It was the most fun I've had in ages."

That gets Barty to stop working on his essay. "Regulus, your account of this conversation you and Evan had yesterday was clearly severely lacking."

"Because we didn't almost fight," Regulus says. "Evan is exaggerating."

His defense goes completely ignored by Barty, who says, "Evan, I want to hear your version of it immediately."

"Sure, I love talking," Evan says agreeably. "It all began after double Herbology, when I thought, 'what if I just talk to Regulus now instead of waiting until six for some arbitrary reason?' Then I walked up to both of you and said something inane about the OWL as a way of announcing my presence, you responded, it occurs to me that you were there for this part, I'm skipping ahead. Then Regulus and I wandered the grounds until I found a good spot for a picnic blanket—I didn't bring a picnic blanket, this was more of an abstract pondering, but then I remembered I had a handkerchief so I just enlarged that and everything was fine. I knew Regulus was on edge because he was being very proper and whatnot, so I thought a more informal setting—like a picnic—would help? I think that's why picnic blankets came to mind. Except, as I've said, it wasn't a picnic blanket, it was a handkerchief. And we didn't have any snacks."

"So, not much of a picnic," Barty says.

"Not much of a picnic, no. Anyway. I, in a fit of goodwill, gave Regulus quite a bit of information pro bono, so to speak. Regulus was quite determined not to tell me anything, it seems, which was definitely its own form of answer to my questions—sorry, Regulus, but when you evade my questions by asking me more questions, it's usually pretty easy to guess your thought process. You should just lie, you're better at that, Charms textbook aside." Evan turns his focus back to Barty. "We reached a bit of an impasse once I felt done with answering questions—that was the almost fighting part—but then I politely asked Regulus to share his perspective, and he did, and now here we are!"

This is an onslaught of information that coalesces into one single conclusion for Regulus. "Are you freely telling us all these things you know because we're on the same side now?"

"Yep," Evan says easily. "I will say, though, that this is not all the things I know. You'll have to earn that."

"Understandable. If you handed everything over to me right away, I'd be concerned about the quality of the information."

He's not particularly concerned over that now. Evan's proven his perceptiveness in the past. If that lends itself to finding things out, that just means he'll be useful to Regulus beyond his name and his connections. Of course, Regulus will need to verify things when possible, but recruiting Heather should accomplish that, and the more people he has, the easier it will be for him to check whatever Evan's told him.

Evan beams at him. "We are going to get along so well."

"We already get along," Regulus says. "We've known each other for our entire lives."

"Your entire life."

"As if you remember those six or seven months before I was born."

"I do, and they were horrid. I sobbed tears of loneliness constantly. I didn't know Barty, and the rest of you weren't even born yet, so I just sat around and thought longingly of companionship all day. Except I didn't know any words that long, so I couldn't even express my yearning. It was tragic, honestly."

"Evan, I am going to hazard a guess that you weren't actually all that bothered," Barty says.

"Okay," Evan says. "By all means, hazard away. I've got nothing better to do."

"You do, actually," Regulus remembers. "I need to mail this, and Caspian won't take letters from anyone other than you."

"He takes letters from Emma, actually, and anyone I write to and request a response from, but your point stands." Evan sits up. "Off we go to the owlery, then, and Barty can have some peace and quiet to finish that essay before our room is crowded full of students of illegal magic. Should we look into duplicating some chairs? My parents would have a fit over our lack of seating for guests."

"Maybe," Regulus says. "It hasn't been insufficient yet."

"But it will be."

"And when that day arrives, we will figure it out."

Evan grins. "Spoken like someone with other priorities."

"We'll be fine tonight, even with the addition of Heather," Barty says. "Jessica's determined to be punctual, and she says Alexander's been hanging around with Seaver and Sarkisian and will probably skip tonight in favor of their company. Might be wishful thinking on Jessica's part, but she's hoping if Alexander sees her walk over here he'll decide not to show."

"You recruited her already?" Regulus says.

"Nah. I couldn't find her all weekend, and I didn't want to look too hard in case people started wondering why."

(That could turn into a problem eventually, if Regulus is attempting to work with all sorts of people he isn't supposed to know. Perhaps he should strike up a public acquaintance with Jessica, so it won't look so out of the ordinary for them to interact outside of the Dark Arts group. It won't solve the problem, but it'll delay it from becoming a real hindrance.)

"But Lucinda dragged me to the library yesterday while you two were having your chat that might have almost been a fight and I ran into her there," Barty continues. "She had the whole thing planned out, and she got to repeat her rant about Alexander to Lucinda, although with most of the details cut out since who knows what Lucinda thinks about purity. I'll try to let her know tonight that I want to talk to her. You'll have to clear out of here to give me an opportunity, though, because it's not like she'll speak freely around either of you yet."

"We're both at quidditch practice three times a week," Regulus points out. "Although the next opportunity is tomorrow morning and that's rather early."

"Sunday practice should work, if I don't get a chance before then," Barty says. "If Lucinda wants to study together again I'll tell her I need peace and quiet to really focus, so I'm staying in my room. Speaking of, don't you have a letter to mail?"

 

(Jessica comes to the meeting. Alexander doesn't. His absence does not go unnoticed, but Regulus acts as if everything is normal and pretends not to notice Jessica's satisfaction with the results of her plan. He also pretends not to notice that her determination to learn new spells has doubled, but he does help her pick a few to work on.)

Notes:

a snippet from my planning doc, on evan's quidditch strategy:
for all evan's comments to james potter about slytherin chasers being vain, he actually has much more fun frustrating the other team than he does scoring, which is why he kinda signed himself up for running interference constantly. once geoff was like 'evan?? your aim is fine??? you can take possession of the quaffle more????' and evan was like I Would Like To Fuck Gryffindor's Shit Up and geoff was like understandable. carry on

evan 'learned how to do an undetectable expansion charm to enable his latent hoarder tendencies' rosier

jessica has adopted barty

side note, since i don't know if i'll ever have an excuse to jam this into the fic: priam's cat's 'territory' is actually just wherever she last saw heather sitting. she defends that chair or couch or whatever so heather can sit there again when she comes back from wherever she is now. priscilla (that's the cat) ADORES heather and this was a source of deep humiliation for priam before he managed to confess his feelings - it's actually how he and heather started talking in the first place because priscilla would just wander out to the common room and priam would go 'ah shit i've lost my cat again' and then he would inevitably find her curled up in heather's lap purring like her life depended on it. absolutely mortifying.

anyway. priscilla parkinson, #1 priam/heather shipper, entirely for her own purposes

'we are going to get along so well,' evan says to someone he's known since he was a Literal baby

next week: regulus gets grumpy when he's tired!! wandlore!! terms of endearment!!

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 14

Regulus returns from his Thursday night rounds to a nearly-empty common room.

This is not particularly out of the ordinary, seeing as it's just after two in the morning on a weeknight and most people are in bed.

However, rather than the last stragglers still awake being stressed upper-years scribbling away at assignments due in too few hours, the common room is completely deserted except for the Carrows, seated on a couch facing the door.

Regulus needs neither crystal ball nor tea leaves nor augury to foresee that he is about to have an extremely pleasant conversation. (Adding to its pleasantness, it will delay him going to sleep, which he wishes could be his primary goal at this moment. Unfortunately for him, this is probably higher priority. If the Carrows bothered to clear out the common room, then they really want to talk to him.)

He's not sure whether it would be better to acknowledge them immediately or pretend not to notice them and head for his room, but the decision is made for him when Amycus says, "Regulus."

"You're up late," Regulus says. (The next sentence that springs to mind is a pointed comment about how staying up on a school night will do him no favors in the realm of academic probation. He holds it back for now. There are no witnesses—the Carrows have made sure of that—which means Regulus only has so much to gain by antagonizing them in such a petty manner.)

It's as if he hasn't spoken. Amycus continues, "Feel like giving us an explanation for your recent behavior?"

The next sentences that spring to mind are mocking congratulations for using a four-syllable word in a sentence and an inquiry as to whether he practiced his delivery in the mirror beforehand. (It's so easy.) Regulus doesn't say those ones either. Instead, he says, "I'm afraid I'm not sure what you're referring to, but if something is concerning you, by all means, let's discuss it." (He can pretend to be a good prefect when he wants to.)

Alecto snorts. "'Afraid' is the right word, maybe. You know we're in touch with the Lestranges."

Regulus helps himself to a chair and sits down as if he owns it. "Many people are."

"Your cousin," she stresses, as if Regulus has somehow missed her meaning—which only serves as inspiration for yet another comment about how she must have become accustomed to explaining herself in very simple terms, what with having Amycus for a twin. (Really, it is too easy.)

But Regulus decides to be deliberately obtuse. "My point still stands."

If the Carrows want to threaten him, he's not going to let them get away with hinting at it. He wants a commitment from them. The lines in Slytherin are murky, flexible, people hiding behind the curtains of implication and plausible deniability, and this is certainly what the Carrows will lean on if permitted.

Regulus intends to force them into saying something definitive. (Well. He wasn't planning on it before right now, but they've handed him this opportunity, so he might as well take it. And if he doesn't manage it in this conversation, it's still very much worth considering for another time.) If they threaten him outright, he has much more liberty to strike back than if they only imply things.

(And if they threaten him outright, they're also admitting that they think taking on Regulus is a fight they can win, which is such an insulting idea, socially speaking, that Regulus could even go to the lengths of writing to his parents to ensure House Black's vengeance on House Carrow would be multi-pronged. He'd have to be very delicate about explaining why, exactly, the Carrows are not falling at his feet, overwhelmed with reverence for his status, but he could figure something out. Possibly referencing the notion that perhaps they should not be expecting Heir Carrow to make the most intelligent decisions, given that he's come surprisingly close to failing out of Hogwarts—and if Regulus never gets a chance to use all of these little comments that are springing into his head, he will be rather disappointed.)

So. The Carrows explicitly threatening him would be incredibly stupid of them, which means it would also be incredibly convenient for Regulus. The question is what angle he should use here. Barty's cautioned him against pulling rank too often, but the lack of witnesses helps Regulus too, not just the Carrows. They all have a little more room to maneuver. The Carrows are both Dark and Sacred Twenty-Eight, which means they're in the exact same social web that Regulus is. A random Muggleborn from one of the other houses might not care at all about the distinctions between the various families and who outranks whom and where the alliances are falling. Amycus and Alecto have to care. Regulus isn't just going to ignore that weapon when it is so conveniently there.

But at the same time, pulling rank lacks finesse. It's crude, relies on Regulus's family rather than Regulus himself, and serves him more than it serves his cause.

Still. No witnesses. It doesn't matter how prettily Regulus defeats the Carrows if the end result is still their defeat, and he suspects that whatever story he tells about this conversation later, if any, it'll involve some careful editing of the truth anyway.

Rendering this a poor choice on the Carrows' part, seeing as Regulus has the advantage in any sort of private conversation. What do they think they're going to do, hex him? Slughorn would be enraged. Or, well, vigorously disappointed, which is as close as he gets, and more than enough to suit Regulus's purposes.

"You've been weird," Amycus says. "Confrontational. Not acting like yourself."

(Not that Amycus has spent much time with Regulus in environments where Regulus does act like himself. The presence of a Carrow is rather a strong incentive against him doing that. He refrains from pointing this out, as he wants to see where this is going, and interrupting does not seem like it would be conducive to finding out.)

"And maybe your parents told you to act more like the future Lord Black or something over the holidays—" he scoffs— "but we're not putting up with this shit from you."

Ah. A warning. Not necessarily a threat, at least not yet, although who knows what else is coming.

"Where we're going, all purebloods are equal," Alecto adds. "The Dark Lord doesn't care who's Noble and who's Anciente and who's Moste Anciente. He cares about how effective we are. Which means there's a storm coming for you—you, and everyone in your study group. Fair warning."

So they're still fully operating under the assumption that Regulus is going to join the Death Eaters, and they haven't yet reached the point of deciding he's an enemy—more like an errant ally who needs to be reprimanded. (Regulus isn't going to give Alecto the undue praise of considering that a threat. He wants specifics. Not warnings.)

As entertaining as it would be to destroy those assumptions, now would be a terrible time to do so. First of all, again, there are no witnesses. Second of all, Regulus has only barely begun gathering forces. He's not prepared for battle yet. He still needs to walk the line between antagonizing the Carrows and preserving the fragile peace in Slytherin. Besides, the longer he can hold out, the better the eventual reveal will be.

Justifying his behavior while continuing to let the Carrows think he's on the same career path as them will be... convoluted, but he's already laid the foundation for one particular avenue of criticism. He may as well use that. (Also, the Carrows need to learn that they can't reprimand him, and more importantly, that it is ridiculous that they would believe themselves to be capable of such a thing, and him to be willing to listen and obey. If they criticize him, he can and will turn it back on them.)

Regulus sits back in his chair and does his best impression of Father when he's indulging someone lesser than him by listening to their frivolous ideas. He always does the same thing—listens with a neutral expression, waits for the other person to finish their argument or speech or whatnot, and then corrects them with a thoroughness that has never actually made anyone cry, but Regulus thinks that with the right person and the right correction, it absolutely could. Regulus has already done the listening and the waiting, which means that now it's time for the correction. "Alecto, do you remember when I asked you where your ambition was?"

"When you bit my head off out of nowhere, then bitched at Julius like he was the second coming of Godric Gryffindor? Sure."

"My question still stands. I find it... hard to believe," Regulus says delicately, "that of the three of us, I am the one who will have the most difficulty being effective. You don't find it hard to believe, of course, because you have no idea what the study group looks like under my leadership." (Largely the same as it did under Horatio Nott's, but they don't need to know that.) "Nor will you, if your great goal is becoming the Dark Lord's servant. Wars are fought to be won, aren't they? That means they end. I intend to be ready. One would assume that I would be surrounded by Slytherins thinking along the same lines. And yet, where do I find my fellow Dark scions, the ones who should be most excited for the end of the war, the ones who should have plans for what they'll do as soon as it's over?" He waves a hand vaguely in their direction, which is a gesture he's borrowing from Evan for the occasion. Hopefully it comes off as dismissive, rather than just tired. "Wasting their time antagonizing children. So you are and will be 'putting up with this shit' from me, because I've realized you have not proven yourselves worthy of anything more. Do you want to win the war? Do you want to impress the Dark Lord? Act like it."

There. That should goad them into getting worse. And if Alexander seeks them out, they'll almost certainly bring him into their group, seeing as they're very likely to draw the conclusion that bringing in more recruits would make Voldemort happy.

He's used all the opportunities he can see in this conversation, so Regulus stands up. "If that's all, I'll be on my way. I have nothing more to say to you."

"You're telling us the likes of Crouch are worthy?" Alecto says. "Fleming? Talkalot? Blood traitors and mudbloods and social climbers?"

So they're not done, apparently. (The dig at Lucinda is an intriguing choice. She doesn't have much choice in being a social climber, given that she's surrounded by Sacred Twenty-Eight and also likes having friends.) "You said it yourself—where we're going, all purebloods are equal. And if Megan's parentage gives you pause, you may want to reconsider your patronage of Snape. Goodnight."

The silence behind him is ominous as he leaves the common room, but it's late and he wants to sleep. He'll save analyzing that interaction for the morning. They have Herbology lecture first thing, so nothing that requires Regulus to physically do anything, and he can probably broker a deal with Emma in which he receives a copy of her notes and she receives Ice Mice procured during the next Hogsmeade weekend. (Barty would let Regulus make a copy of his notes for free, but Barty's Herbology notes are indecipherable. Regulus is fairly sure they're written in a secret code that just looks like English.)

He opens the door to the fifth-year boys' room as quietly as he can. It's dark inside, with the only light coming from a crack between Barty's mostly-closed curtains. He's probably reading, and Regulus wants to ask someone to remind him to come up with a long-term plan for establishing himself as a supporter of Muggleborns (he can't use the 'be a good Slytherin' template forever), so he hisses, "Barty."

No response.

Regulus steps a little closer and tries a slightly louder whisper. "Are you awake?"

Still nothing.

He must be asleep, then, but if he fell asleep with a light on, Regulus is willing to bet it wasn't planned. So he pulls the curtain aside maybe half an inch, just enough to confirm his suspicions that Barty has indeed fallen asleep on top of his covers, book still open, Lumos still active.

His bookmark is right next to him, so it's a simple matter to mark his place and close the book (Barty is still working his way through the Silkwood monstrosity he was reading on the first night back), which only leaves Regulus with the dilemma of the Lumos.

Wands are loyal. They can refuse to function if someone other than their chosen one attempts to use them, or they can backfire. Or they can work perfectly. It depends on the wand, and its holder, and whoever is trying to cast something. Regulus knows that every wand that has ever been made for a Black would probably work for him, solely based on materials—their wands are all traditionally black walnut, and Regulus himself has one with a phoenix feather core, which means neither dragon heartstring nor unicorn hair is likely to have a particularly adverse reaction to him. (Unicorn hair cores might be a little grumpy about working with him, given that he's up to his elbows in Dark Arts, but they're rare enough for the Blacks anyway, so it doesn't really matter.) However, knowing that the materials of the wands are favorable to him doesn't necessarily mean anything about whether he could successfully use an individual wand. He could probably use Narcissa's. Maybe Father's. Maybe Uncle Cygnus's—he and Regulus tend to get along well. He couldn't use Bellatrix's wand—regardless of how she feels about him, it might expose him as not liking Bellatrix as much as he claims to. Sometimes, wands are more perceptive than people.

And that's if Regulus could obtain permission to use their wands in the first place. Families like the Blacks don't wait until their children receive their first Hogwarts letters to get wands for them. Nor do they work their way through Ollivander's premade selection to find a suitable one. Regulus had his first consultation with Ollivander at age six, and after months of measurement and discussion and trying out a variety of draft wands and Ollivander supposing out loud that Regulus would naturally need a wand that would lend itself to more... unusual magics (House Ollivander doesn't practice Dark Arts, but they're certainly aware of them, what with the number of Dark families commissioning wands for their children), Regulus received his wand on his seventh birthday. It chose him, yes, out of three possibilities Ollivander assembled, but it was also made for him.

So in a sense, they were made for each other.

Now, nearing nine years later, Regulus can't really fathom the idea of anyone else casting something using his wand. It's odd enough to play quidditch, which doesn't allow players to carry their wands with them onto the pitch. He hasn't so much as dropped his wand and had someone pick it up to give it back to him in years. No one other than him has laid hands on it since he was little. The concept is distant and uncomfortable.

Barty, on the other hand, has a father who is a stickler for rules and customs, and so he got his wand from Ollivander's after receiving his first Hogwarts letter, and it is locked away every summer to prevent him from doing unsupervised underage magic. He most likely doesn't have the same degree of attachment to it as a result. And Barty and Regulus have been friends for years, so Regulus could... probably risk casting a Nox.

Probably.

But it's still Barty's wand, and the idea of using it without him knowing sends something unpleasant crawling down Regulus's spine.

He could just wake Barty up and have him deal with it, but it's very late, and Regulus prefers not to interfere with Barty sleeping (given that he sometimes forgets to do it). So he carefully places the book on top of the tip of the wand instead. It'll block out most of the light that way.

Then he shuts Barty's curtains all the way and goes to bed.

 

It turns out that Regulus does not need a reminder to figure out a long-term plan to establish himself as a supporter of Muggleborns, because as soon as he wakes up, it looms over his mind.

He could very easily keep shutting the Carrows and their friends down over being poor Slytherins for the rest of his time at Hogwarts, with few to no consequences to Regulus himself. But it's a temptation that he will have to learn how to resist, or else he will never be able to turn this into a proper, ideology-based battle. Opening up the possibility of mocking the Carrows to their faces is not the same thing as Regulus's side establishing a foothold in Slytherin.

But at the same time, his side isn't substantial enough yet to expose itself to opposition. There is a reason Regulus continually has to resort to becoming the defender of Slytherin's legacy. If he attempts to lift the veil now and show the Carrows the war that this will truly be, he will lose.

No. He won't just lose. He'll bring down the wrath of Bellatrix, and thus Mother, and maybe even Voldemort, upon his head. He'll endanger his current supporters. He'll lose all the credibility he has in Slytherin, up in smoke as Regulus goes from the proper, thoughtful, composed Heir Black to a fifteen-year-old delusional enough to think that he could take on Voldemort and Dumbledore.

That is a lovely prospect.

In order to avoid that, Regulus needs more support, and the sooner he gets it, the better. He pushed the Carrows a little further last night. Sooner or later, they'll figure out how they're going to retaliate.

He'll have to check in with Barty about how the recruitment of Jessica and Antony is going, broach the subject with Evan of approaching Lily Evans, and talk to Miles McKinnon, then to Heather, and then to Theophania to find out if what Evan's said about her being friendly with Jackie Fenwick is true. If it is, Regulus will have to weigh the merits of recruiting Theophania, almost certainly do it anyway, then evaluate whether that has any potential to help him in his recruitment of Maeve. Or his attempt at it, at least.

Regulus has begun to establish himself as a leader, a separate entity from the Carrows, and there's only so much more he can do on his own. He needs people, and he won't be able to put his mind at ease until he gets them.

With that in mind, he quietly gets out of bed, hoping at least one of his roommates is awake. Barty's curtains are still closed, but the door to their bathroom is open and the light is on, which seems to be because Evan doesn't wish to brush his teeth in the dark. (Not that it makes any real difference. The toothbrush certainly doesn't need light to do its job. It's not like it has eyes. The enchantments take care of all of that.)

Regulus enters the bathroom and is about to start talking, but then thinks better of it, because Barty might still be asleep. He shuts the door first. "I need to talk to you about something."

Evan raises his eyebrows and points to his toothbrush.

"Now's fine. I'm sure you can find some way to let me know what you think of this idea."

His eyes crinkle up at the corners, which Regulus takes to be amicable acquiescence.

"I think," Regulus says, "that it's well within the realm of possibility for you to recruit Lily Evans to our cause."

Evan gives him a dubious look and indicates that he should wait. The toothbrush finishes a few seconds later and returns to its holder, and he immediately says, "Because our names are similar? Or do you think I somehow have secret, mystical Lily Evans knowledge that I can leverage to persuade her to join? I don't know her any better than you do."

"But you have more common ground with her than I do, and Slughorn clearly intended for you to interact with each other when he placed you next to each other at the dinner party. You have an excuse to talk to her. I don't. Besides, I don't know what she may have heard about me from certain biased sources."

"I'm still a Sacred Twenty-Eight Slytherin. She has a lot more reason to trust those sources than she does to trust me."

Evan has a point. Obviously, Regulus cannot admit that, because he doesn't want to get into why recruiting Lily Evans is so important this early in the morning (important enough to overrule her possible connections with certain people), so he pivots. "Are you saying that because you're testing me, or because you think you can't do it?"

"That was a charmingly brazen attempt at using my ego against me." It's completely devoid of the amusement with which Evan normally says things like that. Nor is it particularly cold. It's just... thoughtful. (Regulus should probably get used to Evan looking at him like that, openly trying to puzzle him out. This will almost certainly not be the last interesting conversation they ever have.)

"You can assign whatever adjectives you like to it. I only care about whether it worked." Regulus tilts his head. "Or are you squeamish about Muggleborns? You'll have to get over that, as I do believe Barty intends to start punching blood purists sometime soon."

He half-smiles. "I would assume you're making that up to lend some vivacity to your threat, but brawling doesn't seem like the sort of thing that would occur to you in the moment, and it's absolutely the sort of thing that would occur to him, so I'll believe you."

"Lovely." (Regulus is fairly sure they both know that Barty wouldn't hit Evan unless Evan really did something to deserve it. It's best not to fight with the people one lives with, after all, and Barty did tell Regulus that his alleged targets are the future Death Eaters, not every purist in Slytherin. He'd have extremely bruised knuckles if it were the latter.) "So? Thoughts?"

"You know my thoughts," Evan says. "But, fine, I'll accept your challenge. I expect gratitude if I pull it off."

"When," Regulus says. "Not if."

"It's nice to know you have so much faith in me."

"I have faith in the fact that you will understand the importance of recruiting more people quickly, especially Muggleborns." Especially Lily Evans.

"I will understand? I thought I already understood." His gaze sharpens. "Or did something happen last night?"

Regulus makes a split-second decision. "I'll answer that once you have proof that you've attempted to recruit Lily Evans."

"You're so cruel right after you've woken up," Evan says, but he seems more cheerful than he did a few seconds ago. "Like I said, fine, I'll give it a try."

"Thank you."

"Anything for you, dearest. And that was as good as a yes, anyway. I want a more detailed account of it later."

Naturally, that's when Barty opens the door, bleary-eyed, and looks between them with an expression of blank confusion on his face. "Er... I only caught the last bit of that conversation. Did I miss something?"

"Not at all," Evan says brightly. He pushes past Barty to leave the bathroom, but as he goes, he tosses over his shoulder, "I need Caspian as soon as he's back. I'm not approaching a Gryffindor in the middle of the Great Hall."

"Your sense of subtlety is appreciated," Regulus says.

"This is self-preservation, but I'll never complain about you appreciating me."

Okay. All things considered, that went well.

"Oh, and one more thing?" Evan reappears in the doorway. He sounds as amiable as ever when he says, "Regulus, I'm indulging you, because something clearly happened, but this is the last time you're getting away with ordering me around. Next time, I'm not lifting a finger until you ask politely."

Never mind.

"Neither of you should have important conversations before breakfast," Barty says. "You both sound grouchy as fuck."

"I was minding my own business," Evan says with a smile, and then he vanishes back into the bedroom.

There's the soft creak of his wardrobe opening, and Barty shuts the bathroom door. "What brought all that on?"

"The Carrows cornered me last night as I was coming back from rounds," Regulus says.

"No shit?" He grimaces and grabs his toothbrush. "Save me the summary for after breakfast. I don't think I'm awake enough to deal with that right now. Neither are you, I'm guessing, 'cause usually you tell him to do things politely enough that he thinks it's funny."

"How angry do you think he actually is?" (Regulus immediately isn't sure why he asked, when he's not positive he wants to hear the answer. He doesn't feel bad, exactly—it's hard to spare mental energy for that when he's preoccupied with everything else that's happening—but he is experiencing a sense of vague discomfort that suggests that his subconscious thinks he has reason to consider himself the guilty party. He doesn't really want that confirmed by anyone else. But it's too late, he's already asked.)

"Meh," Barty says unhelpfully. "He'll be back to normal within ten minutes, probably, but you'll have no way of knowing if he's really over it unless you talk to him. And I don't think you want him mad at you."

Which is not what Regulus wanted to hear.

Fine. Yet another thing to address, then.

Notes:

oopsie daisy

orion and regulus are like that meme from into the spiderverse, except 213% more terrifying

also i was like 'oh i'll go over this chapter one more time before i post it' and then i'm pretty sure i added literally 500 more words. so that's why this chapter is! longer than they normally are!

boy, regulus took a little bit of a gamble, basing part of his reprimand of the carrows around the fact that they don't know how his study group operates....... i sure hope no former members of that study group get in touch with the carrows and tell them anything that might CONTRADICT THAT....................

evan has his pride, regulus has his mild anxiety spirals first thing in the morning, barty has his magical empath skills<33

next week: the return of caspian the owl!! regulus panics about something completely different!! regulus and barty attempt to deconstruct the concept of romantic love and end up more confused than they were when they started!!

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 15

Caspian delivers a letter for Regulus at dinner, with his name in Mother's handwriting on the front and the Black family crest stamped into the usual black wax on the back.

He doesn't open it at dinner, of course. He has no idea what it contains, and there's always the possibility of someone reading over his shoulder. Instead, he tucks it into one of his pockets, where it stays until he gets back to the fifth-year boys' room.

 

Dear Regulus,

There seems to be nothing unusual about the engagement of Heir Bulstrode and Miss Nott, besides its inherent suggestion that those two families intend to act as allies. Lady Bulstrode and Lady Nott have struck up an acquaintance; your Aunt Druella called on Lady Bulstrode last week and was rather surprised to find Lady Nott there as well.

I will, however, note that there was no formal announcement of their courtship before the announcement of their engagement. These have fallen out of fashion recently, and I suspect the Notts may have had additional reason to avoid declaring a commitment between one of their children and a Bulstrode, even one as easily revoked as a courtship. They most likely wished to ensure that Cressida Nott would not limit herself prematurely, and by the time they made up their minds to accept Heir Bulstrode as a suitable match, he and Miss Nott had been unofficially courting for long enough that an engagement was the logical next step. The fact that their courtship remained unofficial for so long may be the reason why Maeve Bulstrode and Theophania Nott had no occasion to meet before their return to Hogwarts and the announcement of the engagement. It is certainly not as if the families were fast friends before now, and Theophania Nott is rather too young for most social events during the season, so they would not have had an opportunity to be acquainted over the summer.

With regard to Miss Bulstrode's behavior: it reflects well on her, and on her family, if she is acquainted well enough with you to ask you to introduce her to people. She may wish to behave 'properly' to compensate for the mildly unorthodox courtship. Alternatively, she may wish to reinforce her connection with you. Make no commitments. Having secured a Nott for their heir, the Bulstrodes may very well be considering an even more advantageous match for their daughter, and your father would have some reservations to be addressed before approving any sort of courtship of her.

As for your inquiries about the DMLE, he says that they are slowly adopting more aggressive tactics to address vigilante terrorism and asks why your friend Crouch Jr. does not seem to have provided you with any insight. Despite Bartemius Crouch Sr.'s lamentable political agenda, estrangement from one's family does suggest future difficulty with making connections; his son would have to be very clever to leverage such an estrangement in order to secure a place in certain exclusive circles. I await your assessment on this matter with some interest.

Narcissa has recently expressed a desire to expand her repertoire of gloves. Twilfitt & Tattings will have her measurements on file. I trust you are familiar enough with her taste to order something she will like.

I am intrigued by your suggestion that she would get along well with Miss Brown. It is certainly not an inappropriate one; nonetheless, I would be interested in discussing this development in person when you are home over spring break.

Mother

 

Well.

That... doesn't improve Regulus's day whatsoever.

Maeve, angle for a match? Something about it settles wrongly on his skin, like a thin layer of sap that he can't wash off as easily as he does the aftereffects of double Herbology. She's generally considered pretty, he knows that much, and her family is Dark and Anciente and rich, and successful marriage alliances have been built on less, but...

He doesn't want to.

No. He really doesn't want to. That's what this emotion is—cold, instantaneous, almost nauseating rejection. More impulsive than his resolution not to join the Death Eaters. More vehement, too.

Narcissa, Regulus thinks, would tell him more platitudes about love, but she's always been very consistent about declaring that she does in fact love Lucius and didn't just marry him because of the extremely advantageous alliance it solidified between the Blacks and the Malfoys. Regulus isn't sure he could go through with a charade like that. He likes Maeve, they get along well enough, but he doesn't think he could ever convince anyone that he loved her. Especially himself. An engagement between the two of them would be a blatant exchange: Bulstrode money, Black prestige. Not that either of them is particularly lacking in either of those areas, but it's their duty as Sacred Twenty-Eight scions never to be satisfied with where they are.

On paper, it makes sense. But Regulus still feels like someone's knocked him off his broomstick in midair.

He has to talk to Maeve.

That's the only solution. He'll talk to her, figure out what she thinks she's doing, and then write back to Mother and assure her that there will be no need to attempt to persuade Father to approve any sort of courtship.

Fortunately, Regulus hadn't stopped to take his shoes off before sitting down at his desk and reading the letter, so it's a simple matter to stuff it into a drawer and get up. Hopefully Maeve will be in her room, not the common room. He doesn't want to endure the process of asking her if they can talk somewhere more private. Barty might say "Where are you off to?" as he leaves the room, but he doesn't register it until after he's already in the hallway with the door shut behind him, so he might have been making it up.

It's a Friday evening—the common room is crowded with people hanging out with friends, ignoring their homework, enjoying the beginning of the weekend. Regulus winds his way through as quickly as is possible without looking like he's rushing. Emma is playing Exploding Snap with Evan by the fireplace, and Charlotte is curled up in an armchair reading, but there's no sign of Maeve or Lucinda.

Regulus makes his way down the girls' hallway to the fifth-years' room, knocks, and hopes Lucinda is out.

No such luck. She's the one who opens the door. "Hi! What's up?"

"I need to talk to Maeve." Regulus hopes fervently that it doesn't come across as frantic. "Is she here?"

"Yep," Maeve calls from the other side of the room. She's seated at a desk with at least a third of its surface taken up by an ornate jewelry box. "What?"

This is absolutely not a question that Regulus is prepared to answer with witnesses, and his plan grinds to a sudden halt.

An awkward silence descends upon the room. And the doorway, in which Regulus is standing.

Eventually, an eternity later, Maeve raises an eyebrow. "Confidential stuff?"

"Yes," Regulus says, because it sounds reasonable enough.

She shrugs. "Come in, then. We can do a muffling ward so Cinda doesn't have to clear out."

That should be fine, so Regulus enters. The girls' room is messier than the boys'—there's an open broom maintenance kit on the floor with half its components strewn about that must belong to Emma, haphazard piles of parchment on both Maeve's desk and one that Regulus suspects is Charlotte's (judging by the stack of books at least eight volumes tall), and Lucinda's bed is covered in what seems like the aftermath of her wardrobe exploding, judging by all the clothes. It resembles what Regulus thinks the boys' room might look like if Barty were less conscientious about keeping his mess confined to his own section.

"I'm reorganizing," Lucinda says by way of explanation.

Hopefully she's at the beginning of the reorganization process, not the end. Regulus just nods and picks his way past the broom maintenance kit to where Maeve has already snagged an empty desk chair for him.

As soon as he's sat down, Maeve casts a muffling ward that Regulus recognizes from the air magic book that Lucinda likes looking through at Dark Arts meetings. "What's going on? Is something wrong?"

This is the point at which Regulus realizes that his plan of 'talk to Maeve' is lacking some critical details. For example, what to say.

He decides to start simple. "Why were you so insistent on me introducing you to Theophania? Evan could have done it. Or Emma."

"I didn't want to gamble on Evan and Theophania being on good terms," Maeve says. "And I asked Emma, but she told me not to bother with being formal."

"And yet you bothered anyway." But Maeve asked Emma first, and only asked Regulus because Emma said no, it seems, which makes Regulus feel the smallest bit better.

"Because Theophania is a Nott," Maeve says, like this explains everything.

And it does, a little. But... "Emma knows her personally, though. She could have told you that Theophania isn't a stickler for manners."

"And she did." Maeve sighs. "Look, it's really important to Felix and Cressida that this goes well. They know that it's a bit of an unexpected match, considering the families involved, and they don't want to do anything to jeopardize the engagement or risk anyone's parents withdrawing approval. There wasn't time for me to meet Horatio or Theophania before coming back to Hogwarts, so Felix asked me to do everything as if Lord and Lady Nott were standing right behind me judging my every action. That's why I needed someone to introduce me instead of introducing myself. Why is that such a big deal that you felt the urge to come over and confidentially ask about it? Lucinda knows all of this already."

Oh.

For a second, it doesn't even feel real to Regulus, compared to the dread that Mother's letter threw upon his shoulders. But then it sets in.

It was never about him. He was just convenient, the next best option since Emma refused.

Everything is fine.

He answers semi-truthfully, since Maeve was helpful. "I mentioned that you'd requested that I introduce you to Theophania in a letter to my mother. She inquired about ulterior motives."

"Ulterior... oh. Eugh." Maeve emphatically shakes her head. "If you mean what I think you mean, you can stop thinking about it. In fact, I am politely insisting that you stop thinking about it. I'm not marrying anyone."

There's his answer.

But it sounds like the sort of answer that would be given by someone who hadn't put much thought into it, so Regulus feels the need to ask, "You're certain?"

Maeve responds to this by slicing her hand across her neck in what Regulus assumes is meant to be a throat-cutting motion. "Not anyone. Felix and Cressida want lots of kids, so the line of succession should be good to go, and Felix promised me he'd get involved if our parents start making noises about another match. I get to avoid spending the rest of my life with some random guy. Don't you dare fuck that up for me by accidentally implying to your mother that there's a chance you could snag some of my family's fortune. If your parents want to talk to my parents, neither of us is getting a say, and maybe I'm reading you all wrong, but you've never seemed into that sort of thing. Or me. Which is ideal. Keep it that way."

Perhaps Regulus should feel some sort of offended at such a definitive rejection, considering that he is Heir Black and that's nothing to sneer at, but instead he just feels relief. "You're correct. I'd prefer to avoid that."

But he'll have to do some quick thinking if he wants a choice. Regulus has no spares, no siblings, not even any cousins still bearing the Black name who could supply more heirs. The Black line of succession ends with him.

His family won't want it to stay that way.

And Regulus... is going to have to figure out how he'll compensate for not being the heir his parents wanted.

Again.

Lovely.

"Good," Maeve says. "Because not to be rude, but the idea of marrying a man kind of makes me want to change my name and flee the country, so I'm trying to be very clear here. It will not happen. But you have to work with me on that, because I could see our parents deciding it was a good idea."

So can Regulus. Hence the urgency. "I'll make sure to mention you as little as possible so my parents forget we know each other." (Or, at the very least, so Mother doesn't conclude that courting Maeve is something that Regulus would like to do.)

She grins. "Sounds feasible. I'll do the same. So, we're good?"

"We're good."

"Great." She cancels the muffling ward, then announces with some triumph, "Good news, Cinda! Regulus and I are not getting married!"

Lucinda looks over at them with an expression of mild bewilderment. (She seems to have made little to no progress on her reorganization.) "Er... congratulations? That's kind of what I assumed?"

"Well, playing into people's expectations is cool sometimes," Maeve says. "And now everyone can rest much easier, since we have made an anti-commitment to each other that I trust will stand the test of time."

"I have complete confidence in you both," Lucinda says, and then she holds up a scarf. "Would you call this more lavender or periwinkle? I can't decide where it should go."

 

With that conversation finished, and Caspian back from London, the next item on Regulus's list is approaching Evan in the hopes of addressing the conversation they had this morning without making anything worse. Evan is still in the common room, though, so he decides to wait on that and go back to his room. It's inevitable that they'll cross paths in a semi-private setting later tonight, which will be a much better venue.

Maybe he was right about thinking he heard Barty ask where he was going, because as soon as he reenters the room, Barty says, "Done running errands?"

Regulus shuts the door. "My mother made some concerning remarks in her response to my letter. I was in a bit of a rush to find Maeve and sort things out before our parents started thinking we'd be a good match. Fortunately, we're very much on the same page, so I don't have to take drastic action."

"A good match?"

"Well, there aren't many other Dark and Anciente girls. Except Theophania, I suppose, but she's a third-year."

"Yikes," Barty says. "You know, sometimes I forget how nuts your social circle is, and then you say things like that and suddenly I remember."

"I'd forgotten too," Regulus admits. "Or rather, I wasn't expecting it to rear its head as an issue until I'd at least gotten my NEWT results."

"Like I said. Nuts."

"My family is running low on heirs."

"That entire statement," Barty says, "is proof of my point."

"There's a Wizengamot seat hanging in the balance. In the absence of an heir in the main line, it'll pass through the cadet branch to Bellatrix's second son, if she has one. Then House Lestrange will have two seats."

"I'm not denying the politics of it all. It's just stupid that you're supposed to get married and have kids for the sake of those politics, when you obviously don't want to. That's personal shit. Or it should be."

"When I obviously don't want to?" It's not the sort of thing Regulus would normally comment on coming from Barty, seeing as he's correct and is usually correct about these things when it comes to Regulus. It's a product of them having been confidantes for so long. But... "Maeve said basically the same thing. Why is that remarkable? And why is it so obvious?"

Barty looks at him a little oddly. "Er... Regulus, I'm pretty sure you genuinely don't believe romantic love exists, and I don't have to be a Legilimens to know you are dreading the day when Narcissa has children and you have to interact with them. Not that everyone else loves babies or anything, lots of people don't, but, erm. I think most people believe in love."

"I believe it exists," Regulus objects. "Madam Puddifoot's hardly seems inclined to let anyone forget. It's the foundation of their business model. But love always seems to line up very neatly with people doing what's advantageous for them or for their family. The only counter-example I've ever seen was..."

Andromeda, he's about to say, but the family tapestry with its scorched golden threads flashes into his mind, and so do more names, spat out by Mother when she's in the mood to relive old family history. Cedrella Weasley. Dorea Potter.

And, of course, Andromeda Tonks.

The surname is dredged up from old memories, Bellatrix hissing it like an Unforgivable over a very important family dinner. Regulus was nine, sitting next to Sirius as always, constantly looking for Andromeda at Bellatrix's side like she would come in at any second, sending both her and Bellatrix into gales of near-hysterical laughter over the trick they'd played on everyone. Imagine, Andy eloping, with a mudblood no less, and she'd be jokingly offended that everyone could think such a thing of her, then laugh along when Bella claimed proudly that it was due to her superior acting skills.

But Andromeda never came back, and Narcissa was quiet all through dinner, and Regulus knew she was the observant one so he asked her afterwards why Andy would ever do something like that. Cissa answered. It didn't help.

The thing is, though, that just because Andromeda eloped doesn't mean she ran away out of love. Sirius ran into the arms of another family who were willing to support him. Andromeda did the same thing.

Regulus becomes aware that he's trailed off, but Barty doesn't seem interested in filling the silence, so he does it himself. "People claim it does extraordinary things to you. That's what I can't make myself believe."

"I'd call my mum being happily married to my father pretty extraordinary," Barty says. "I mean, I don't have hard evidence for you. But usually when people are interested in that stuff, you can tell. They go on dates on Hogsmeade weekends or dance with people at fancy parties because they actually want to or, like, embarrass themselves in class because they weren't paying any attention because they were staring at someone they think is good-looking. If you ever want a laugh, by the way, sit next to Lucinda in the Great Hall at lunch and ask her to point out every example of lovelorn yearning she can see. Her commentary is excellent. She's never pointed you out, though." He shrugs. "You just always seem more interested in other things. Doesn't really matter. It would matter less if you weren't heir to a lordship, though. That's why I think it's nuts."

"Hereditary titles depend on subsequent generations continuing to have children." (Regulus decides not to address everything else Barty's said at this moment, about people dating and dancing and getting distracted in class, because they want to and not because they're supposed to. He'll... sort all that out later.) "The Sacred Twenty-Eight are built on that. Otherwise, the government might collapse."

Barty smiles crookedly. "Which is exactly why my father hates the institution of the Wizengamot, and why our parents will never get along. I suppose you could adopt an heir."

"Perhaps." (Mother and Father would be appalled, unless it was a family member, and even then they wouldn't exactly be happy. House Black can't have a patriarch who doesn't have their magical affinity. Lord Black is the keeper of knowledge relating to the family specialty, not just the family's representative in the Wizengamot. But adopting an as-of-yet-nonexistent nephew would be better than nothing.) "First I'd have to find one."

"We have two and a half more years before we're even done with Hogwarts. I think you have time."

Maybe. They'll have to find out. But Mother has never brought it up before now, so Regulus probably stands a good chance at burying it for the next couple of years by just avoiding any topics that might remind her.

"What about you?" he says. "You don't go on dates with people or any of that."

"Nah," Barty says. "Romance holds zero appeal for me. The only reason I would ever get married would be to shamelessly take advantage of my spouse's money."

"Which is a perfectly rational reason to do such a thing." One of the main reasons that anyone in the Sacred Twenty-Eight does it, in fact. Regulus can approach this fact with a much calmer acknowledgment of its ubiquity when it doesn't seem to be actively affecting him. (It's fortunate that the Blacks, while certainly wealthy, are not on the same level as the Rosiers, Browns, Bulstrodes, or Malfoys. Regulus can rest somewhat assured that anyone pursuing a husband for money most likely will not target him—even though Lucius Malfoy is married, and Felix Bulstrode and Heather's older brother are both engaged, there will still be Heather's younger brother, several years in the future. And Evan, sooner than that.)

"Lends itself to kind of off-putting vows, though," Barty says. "Like, 'in sickness or in health, especially sickness, because if you die I get everything to myself'? I could see that making a few people uncomfortable."

"Only if you bring it up," Regulus points out. "Just stay away from the matter entirely and everything will be fine."

"But can you imagine the look on my father's face if I said that out loud in the middle of a ceremony? He'd be apoplectic." Barty sighs. "Alas, it is not to be. That's way too much work. There are easier ways to spite his plans for my life."

"Oh, by all means." (Although usually, Barty's methods for spiting his father are blocked neatly by his mother's intervention. Regulus has never met her, so he doesn't know if this is an intentional scheme or a side effect of her attempting to prevent open warfare in their family.) "Let me know if there's anything I can do to help."

"I most certainly shall."

Notes:

i've said it before, i'll say it again: bwahaha i love foreshadowing (if you want to guess the very specific bit of foreshadowing dropped in this chapter that i am thinking of right now, go for it and i'll let you know if you're right!)

i very cheerfully named barty's mother 'harriet' and then realized that this is literally harry potter fanfiction so choosing the name harriet for a character unrelated to harry himself might be. a tad confusing. nonetheless i'm committed, because it was the first name that popped into my head and i vibed with it. (this is exactly how i named geoff as well)

walburga: oh, i know exactly what my emotionally closed-off teenage son wants to hear from me: unsolicited relationship advice!

also walburga: befriending heather brown AND not leveraging crouch junior for every scrap of information he has??? who the fuck are you

ALSO walburga: 'nothing's weird about this engagement except for the fact that it happened'

next week: evan contemplates his fingernails!! regulus plans a hypothetical smear campaign!! architectural features of hogwarts!!

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 16

Notes:

bonus chapter because i just broke up with my boyfriend so fuck it i'm doing random self indulgent things today

Evan eventually returns to their room, which means that for the second time in one evening, Regulus finds himself in the rather awkward position of setting up muffling wards so he can have a private conversation with someone, while there is also a third person in the room completely aware that there is a conversation happening to which they are not privy. (Fortunately, Barty at least knows the general shape of the conversation that Regulus is about to have with Evan, so it's not like he's sitting there wondering what they could possibly be discussing.)

The ward that Regulus sets up doesn't need to be enclosed. He just draws a sound-barrier line across the room that includes his and Evan's sections and excludes Barty's. Despite the simplicity of it, Regulus actually has much less practice with this type of ward, and about halfway across the room he finds himself wishing he'd just done an enclosed one instead. But at this point, he's committed, so he carefully completes the line and sits back down on his bed. This places him across from Evan, who's been vaguely contemplating his fingernails while waiting for Regulus to finish casting.

Once Regulus has sat back down, Evan says cheerily, "What reason might you have to seek out my company in such a secretive way? We seem to be having so many private conversations recently."

One might consider that a natural result of working together to win a war, but Regulus doesn't say that. "I wanted to talk to you about this morning. You seemed annoyed."

He waves a hand dismissively. "Oh, I was. It all makes sense, though. You get dogmatic when you're stressed. I assume that's something you've picked up from your parents."

Regulus doesn't respond to the part about his parents. "I have not shaped my life in such a way that the next several years will be stress-free." Implying, of course, that Evan would be a tad naïve to assume otherwise.

"Well, we all have room to grow." He smiles. "I thought I'd do you the courtesy of informing you now that I'm not here to serve you, rather than waiting until it became a real sticking point. You'll find that the same applies to pretty much everyone you recruit. I thought you'd find my objection useful to avoid future mishaps."

"A certain degree of following my instructions is necessary for everyone who joins me," Regulus points out. "If there's no clear leader, we'll fall apart."

"But what we don't need is a puppetmaster. If you don't win, I'll look incredibly stupid, yes, but I'm also not interested in being ordered about. If I were, I'd sign up to kiss Voldy's hem. As you can see..." Evan indicates their surroundings. "He's not here."

They're both too proud for that, it seems.

"What does that look like for me, then?" Regulus says. "There will be times when I need you to do things, and they may very well be life and death."

"Then you explain the stakes," Evan says. "My trust in you is not thoughtless. I'm not going to take it on faith that you know best and come running when you snap your fingers. I want to know why I'm doing things. But I know you'll bring this up, so I'll say now that I don't need you to explain everything to me. If we're in the middle of a fight, and you tell me to duck, I'll be able to figure that one out on my own."

"I can't give potentially sensitive information to everyone who asks." He also simply won't, regardless of ability, but that's detail Evan doesn't need.

He grins. "Then don't. I'm sure there are people out there who are much more comfortable with not knowing what's going on. We can ferret them out and recruit them."

"Evan, this is a legitimate concern," Regulus says. "You're an early member of my side and occupy a highly visible role in society that makes you look like an easy target. If someone slips you Veritaserum in a flute of champagne, you might spill everything."

"I will let you in on a little secret." Evan leans in close and lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "The only reason I carry around drinks at parties is to convince people I'm drinking them. If someone tries to slip me something, they'll be very, very disappointed." He leans back and adds, "Besides, most purebloods would never believe you'd trust me with anything important. Muggleborns? Maybe. I doubt it, though."

So Evan is not going to stop arguing until he gets his way. That much is clear. The simple, hopelessly gullible solution would be to adhere to his request. The better solution is to agree, and explain only what directly concerns him, while keeping him as unaware as possible of all other operations. All they're really doing right now is recruiting and standing up to the Carrows and their group, so there's a limit to how much damage Evan can do if he does spill that information—or if he deliberately reveals it.

(Of course, there's the entire nature of Regulus's plan, but if Evan does make that public knowledge, Regulus can paint him as a vapid, attention-seeking socialite who thinks he can put together a full puzzle from a few edge pieces and drew a laughably incorrect conclusion as a result. He wouldn't even need to work that hard to smear Evan; the Rosier reputation has done most of his job for him. All Regulus would need to do is react to the 'rumors' with amused or offended incredulity and avoid changing his behavior in the slightest, even under scrutiny, all the better to convince people that he's not doing anything untoward. He could follow that by writing to his parents to inform them of Heir Rosier's poor decisions, such as publicly slandering him, then watch the spectacle that would unfold. It might make quidditch practices a tad awkward, but that would really be Evan's fault for breaking Regulus's trust in the first place. Actions have their consequences, and given the high stakes of what they're doing, Regulus is completely sure that Evan has already guessed that Regulus would respond to a betrayal swiftly, decisively, and thoroughly.)

With that plan in place, there's no reason for Regulus not to say, "Fine. On the condition that you do not share what I tell you with anyone. Not even Barty—I'll let you know if it's something we can discuss freely in our room, and if it's not, don't mention it in front of him. I don't want anyone having reason to suspect that you know more than you ought. The Carrows cornered me last night. That's why I was on edge this morning. They would not hesitate to do the same to you if they thought they would get something out of it."

"Oh, Regulus." Evan smiles. "It's almost impossible to break past someone playing dumb. If they think they can get information out of me, they're welcome to waste their time and energy trying. I'll happily show you the memory of it as proof that I know what I'm doing."

That also has potential. The Carrows interrogating Evan would make them look ridiculous, and Regulus is fairly sure that Heather could gossip about it with the right amount of laughter to make sure everyone at Hogwarts agrees.

Not that he's actually going to try to push the Carrows into cornering Evan, because that sounds incredibly complicated and only mildly useful. But if it happens, Regulus can benefit from it.

"That sounds vaguely entertaining," Regulus replies. "Do you agree to my condition?"

Evan beams. "I do. And I think now you owe me an explanation of why you're so vehement about recruiting Lily Evans."

That is indeed the deal they just made. "Two reasons. The first is that she's friends with Marlene McKinnon, who I want on my side. The second is that she's a fairly respected Muggleborn, and a Gryffindor, so having her on my side is essentially proof of concept. I can claim to support Muggleborns until my death, but unless I can prove it by actually working with them, people won't believe me. I need to recruit Muggleborns quickly, and the more of them I have, the easier it will get. That's why Lily Evans matters so much."

"Okay," Evan says slowly. "Here's my concern. You can't assume McKinnon has told her about the Dark network. Actually, we should assume McKinnon hasn't said anything, and seeing as they're Gryffindors, there's not nearly so much evidence floating around of something going on as there is in Slytherin. Which means we're the ones responsible for delivering that lovely piece of worldview-altering information. To a Muggleborn who went straight to Gryffindor and has probably internalized that Dark Arts are a synonym for evil magic. She has no reason to trust me when I say they're not. She probably trusts McKinnon, though."

"We'll be careful," Regulus says. "And while you're working on Lily Evans, I'll also be talking to Miles McKinnon. If I get through him to Marlene before you do, your job will be much easier. Regardless, I suggest dropping hints and then telling her to talk to McKinnon about it. Or you can stall by convincing her to talk to me, and I can do that part. The important thing is that we start talking to her, discreetly enough that the Carrows and their friends don't realize it's happening. Barty knows about this, but nobody else should until the McKinnons get involved."

"Hence writing to her," Evan says. "But that won't work forever. Snowy owls are too distinctive. People might start to wonder who's suddenly keeping up such a correspondence with her."

"School owls exist," Regulus points out.

"Oh, right."

 

At lunch on Saturday, a snowy owl drops a letter in Lily Evans' hands.

Regulus, seated on the other side of the Great Hall, is too far away to see much more than that. But he knows that the letter is written on heavy, cream-colored parchment, with black ink in Evan's swooping hand, sealed with blue wax with one stylized rose stamped into it. (Which might suggest a Rosier, but like all Sacred Twenty-Eight families, they're expected to use their family crest as a seal. That goes double for Evan, who wears an heir ring he can use to seal envelopes just like Regulus does. Those are unique, though, so they indicate at a glance who sent the letter. A stylized flower is a generic enough design that it could have come off the shelf from any store that sells such things. Regulus thought about asking why Evan had a relatively anonymous way to seal letters, then decided against it, as it didn't seem like a fruitful line of inquiry and Evan had already told him to stop hovering over him once. Besides, in this case, it's convenient. He'll figure out why Evan is prepared for somewhat clandestine correspondence later.)

What Regulus does see is Marlene McKinnon, sitting next to Lily Evans, glancing at the letter and saying something that seems like a question, and Lily Evans shrugging and putting the letter into her bag unopened.

There's a gentle kick to his ankle, and then Evan leans in close enough to say in the barest whisper, "Stop staring. I wrote on the front that it was private."

Lucinda, seated across the table, arches an eyebrow at them. "Secrets at the table, Evan? How rude."

"Potential letter drama amongst the Gryffindors," he says brightly to her. "Lily Evans got some sort of letter and Potter may be attempting to figure out if she's got a secret admirer."

This is far too close to dropping hints about what's actually happening for Regulus's comfort, but Lucinda just snickers. "Poor girl. Let me know if it turns into real letter drama."

(As far as Regulus can see, Potter has completely disregarded the whole letter incident, so it's highly unlikely that Evan's lie will become truth. Hopefully that means Lucinda will not develop an interest in what's happening.)

"I hope it does," Evan says. "Things have gotten so sedate around here recently. Gryffindors feuding would liven things up a little."

Nobody points out the fact that the Slytherins are rather careening towards feuding themselves. Perhaps it seems indelicate, seeing as Regulus is right there. Regardless, the conversation moves on to the pros and cons of Gryffindors livening things up, the pros being entertainment value, and the cons being the strong likelihood of the sixth-year boys wreaking havoc, which Evan concedes would be a little too lively for his taste.

So the recruitment of Lily Evans, and thus that of Marlene McKinnon as well, has been set in motion. Barty is working on Jessica and Antony. Regulus has his own list of people to contact.

He should probably start figuring out what he's going to do with all these people once he has them, besides telling them to sit on their hands while he decides on the perfect time and strategy to make a public entrance into the war.

 

"Jessica's in, so you should talk to her," Barty says as soon as he and Regulus get back to their room. (They aren't staying here long, just long enough to grab their bookbags before meeting the others to work on Transfiguration, but a minute is long enough to convey information.) "Antony's thinking about it. I didn't tell him that our side exists—just pointed out the cycle of wars, the common threads, and the possibility that a third side could wipe out the cycle for good. If he comes back to talk to me more about it, then I'll move into recruiting him."

"He seemed like he thought it was plausible, though?" Regulus says.

"Oh, yeah. But thinking it's plausible isn't the same thing as wanting to participate."

"I suppose not everyone is willing to take that risk."

Barty shrugs. "I think we've got a shot with Antony, but he has to give it some thought first. Reasonable enough, honestly. Do you think if we grab Evan's bookbag for him he'll be glad we did, or do you think he'll be annoyed that we took away his excuse not to do homework?"

"I feel fairly certain that he could find another excuse," Regulus says. "But also, why test him? It's miraculous enough that he's even joining us in our attempt to study."

"The key word being 'attempt,' of course. And I've got spare parchment and stuff if he does actually want to do things, so that will have to suffice."

Having thus retrieved their bags, they return to the common room, where the other fifth-years (even Charlotte) are waiting. Lucinda has a large cushion tucked under one arm, and Evan is holding a blanket that Regulus recognizes from when he went to sit on the shore of the Black Lake with him and Emma. It must be Emma's, because it's not like Evan came into their room to get it.

The placement of the Slytherin and Hufflepuff dormitories in the dungeons naturally ensures that their living quarters are untouched by sunlight. This means that the fifth-year prefects' speeches to the first years always include a warning to make sure they spend some time aboveground outside of classes and meals. The grounds are a popular choice, as are the Great Hall and various empty classrooms and reading rooms with big windows around the castle, but the best indoor option for experiencing daylight is the solarium.

At least, everyone thinks it's a solarium. Nobody can really be positive of its intended purpose, because the provenance of the room is unknown. Grandmother Irma claims it appeared in her first year at Hogwarts. Regulus has never compared this claim with anyone else's, but it seems reasonable enough. Then again, that may not have been its first appearance. The solarium exists consistently now, and has for the past fifteen or twenty years, but Regulus has heard tales of it vanishing, occasionally with people inside. (The people were still alive when the solarium reappeared, but they were never quite the same afterwards. This is not enough of a deterrent to prevent people from going into the room.)

It still has a penchant for being hard to pin down, though; the doorway to the solarium likes to swap places with other doorways in its hallway, so unless someone has propped the solarium door open, they need to open all of them to figure out which one is the right one. Fortunately, there are many Hufflepuffs conscientious enough to prop the door open. That, or they're worried about the room vanishing and hope that leaving the door open will prevent it while they're inside.

The other benefit to the solarium is that it's only two floors up from the dungeons, which reduces the amount of time they spend climbing stairs to get to it, which in turn reduces the amount of time Maeve spends complaining that all of them are walking too fast for her to keep up. (Walking to Divination with her is always an interesting experience.)

Today, someone has indeed propped the door open, and there are only a few people inside: a handful of upper-year Hufflepuffs that includes Arnold Macmillan, as well as Lucy Duncan, a seventh-year prefect who also happens to be a member of one of the few Dark families that are not also Sacred Twenty-Eight. The group looks over to see who's entered, and Macmillan nods to them, which is perfectly logical, because he's acquainted with a few of them via society. Duncan does not acknowledge them at all, which is also perfectly logical, because as far as most of Hogwarts knows, the only reason she even knows who any of them are is the occasional prefect meeting. (Not that Regulus actually knows her. He knows of her family, so when he'd heard there was a Duncan in Hufflepuff, he'd remembered, but they've never spoken.)

It's a good day for furniture in the solarium. There's a couch that has been here consistently for several months, some chairs and cushions and small tables scattered around the room, the pile of cushions and blankets donated by Hogwarts graduates in the corner, and a deep purple chaise with gold trim that wasn't here last time, which Evan immediately claims. (Furniture comes and goes from the solarium, apparently at its whim; Lucinda always brings a cushion in case there's nothing here, and the rest of them decide in the moment whether they care enough to bother bringing something.) The huge windows show a rather dreary day outside, so it's possible that the solarium will get crowded with people who might otherwise spend their afternoon on the grounds. Right now, though, it's rather empty, and the group of Hufflepuffs is sitting on cushions on the floor, so the Slytherins have their pick of furniture. Regulus claims a chair, as do Charlotte and Emma, but Barty, Maeve, and Lucinda opt for the couch.

Evan, meanwhile, is delighted with his chaise, judging by how he's running a finger along the trim. "The solarium is really testing me with the whole 'don't remove items or the solarium will remove you' thing. I am severely tempted to test the truth of that legend."

"There's no space for that in our room," Regulus says.

"There is absolutely space. We could put it in between all of our beds."

"We walk through that area."

"Well, obviously we wouldn't anymore. Or I could just shrink it and enlarge it as needed. I could keep it in my desk." His face lights up. "I could make it pocket-sized."

"You could bring it to History of Magic and take a nap," Maeve says. "Binns wouldn't care."

"Maeve, you are the light of my life, the most brilliant mind of the twentieth century, and most importantly, completely correct. I could absolutely bring it to History of Magic."

"So glad that me knowing Binns doesn't give a shit about what students do in class is more important than me being the most brilliant mind of the century."

"It's much more relevant to my life," Evan says. "This could change the whole game."

"What game?"

"Surviving History of Magic."

"Is that a game or a brutal slog to the finish line?" Barty says.

"Yep! But just imagine." Evan gestures grandly to the chaise. "You're packing your bookbag in preparation for an hour of a ghost attempting to make your soul leave your body via boredom. A pre-mortem exorcism, if you will."

"I think those are unique to dementors," Regulus has to point out.

"As far as we know," Evan says ominously. "Hogwarts is a center of learning and a beacon of knowledge. Our professors conduct research that pushes the bounds of what is possible. And I believe wholeheartedly that Binns could come up with a new, improved, less creepy way of removing living people's souls, no kiss necessary."

"I'm sure he appreciates your support," Emma says. "If that's what we're calling it."

He considers it. "Hm, I don't know if we can truthfully call it support. It doesn't sound very appealing, does it?"

"'Pre-mortem' is usually not an encouraging phrase, no," Lucinda says.

"Which proves my point that we need to prepare properly for History of Magic. And that brings me back around to the ideal strategy—where was I? Packing the bookbag. Right. So at the last moment, you think, wait! Why should I suffer? And you shrink down your chaise or your couch or what have you, and you put that in your bag. Then you walk up all those stairs to the fifth floor, and then across the entire floor to get to Binns' classroom. You arrive. You're exhausted. You're already bored just from walking into the room. It's the perfect time to take a nap. And normally, you'd just have to rest your head on your arms while sitting at your desk and hope you don't wake up with a sore neck. But since you've brought your own furniture... all you have to do is move a few desks, expand it back to its full size, and voilà!" He beams as if he's just laid out step-by-step instructions for creating a Philosopher's Stone. "Now you're the envy of all of your classmates, and you don't have to sleep at your desk."

To which Charlotte and Emma point out at the same time, albeit with very different tones of voice, that nobody ever has to sleep at their desk. The prospect of engaging in vehement but ultimately pointless debate gets Barty involved, followed shortly by Maeve jumping in on the side of sleeping through any subject as useless as History of Magic, and Lucinda teasing Barty about his inability to remain conscious during Monday morning classes, and above it all, there's Evan, laughing and spurring on the chaos he's created.

They might have to spend a sizable chunk of the afternoon persuading him that stealing furniture from the solarium really isn't worth the risk of retribution. But for now, Regulus is content to watch.

(He can confidently predict that none of them are going to make any progress whatsoever on Transfiguration, though.)

Notes:

i'm having a Day so keeping this relatively short. evan, of course, has his own agenda here, but what is it? lily's sixth year is about to get REALLY interesting (as is marlene's, lmao)

and if you're asking yourself if i created the solarium because i think it was a stupid decision to put the dormitories for half of your students UNDERGROUND (hello seasonal depression year-round!!), the answer is yes, but also i just like the idea of a room that steals furniture from the rest of the castle to furnish itself and puts the furniture back when it gets bored with it. do not interfere with the solarium's furniture whims - it can disappear furniture, it can probably disappear you

more solarium lore: it tends to keep anything that's given specifically to it. lots of graduating hogwarts students will donate their cushions and picnic blankets to the solarium (or at least, the hufflepuffs and slytherins who use it) - the best way to do this is to say out loud 'this is a gift for the solarium' as you put your thing down, and then it knows! since all of that tends to stick around, there are actually a lot of spare cushions and picnic blankets, but not everyone trusts them since who knows how long they've gone without being cleaned

next week (on wednesday, to be clear - retaining usual update day): the quidditch team is sleepy! miles mckinnon, slytherin's OTHER chaos child (nobody can beat megan)! MORE LILY

thanks for reading!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 17

A school owl drops a letter into Evan's lap at breakfast on Sunday morning.

The Great Hall is usually deserted this early in the morning on the weekends. Most people prefer to sleep in and either get breakfast later or miss it entirely. Whenever possible, Regulus is one of the former. The only reason he's here this early is the same reason that six other Slytherins are: they have the pitch reserved for quidditch practice starting at nine. (One of Geoff's less popular decisions, but he's the one who suffers over early mornings the most out of all of them, so they've forgiven him. Besides, they can all appreciate the importance of practicing at times that are unlikely to appeal to would-be spies.)

"I like that ink," Emma says.

The letter is indeed addressed to Evan Rosier in glittering violet ink and an unfamiliar, rounded hand. Evan tilts it so the glitter flashes in the light. "Me too. Do you think it's Scrivenshaft's?"

"Why would Scrivenshaft's be writing to you?" Geoff says with a deep frown.

"I meant where the ink is from."

"Ah."

"Drink more tea," Thomas says. "You're clearly not awake."

Megan leans half her body across the table to see the ink. "I think Scrivenshaft's sells glittery stuff. One of my Gryffindor friends has a whole collection."

"Boo, Gryffindor friends," Geoff says half-jokingly.

"Megan, your hair is in serious danger of dipping itself into your pumpkin juice," Theophania says.

"Oops!" She pushes it over her shoulder. "They're not quidditch players, don't worry, Geoff. I would never betray the team like that."

"Forgiven," Geoff says.

"Thanks ever so." Megan sits back down. "But yeah, I think Saoirse has this color, and she literally only buys ink from Scrivenshaft's, because she says theirs doesn't bleed as much as other kinds."

"She's right," Regulus says.

"Regulus would know," Evan says. "His handwriting is so small that if he buys ink that bleeds, his writing just turns into a smear."

"That is an exaggeration." (Or rather, only accurate for Regulus's notes, when he's just scribbling things for himself. He writes properly for anything that other people need to be able to read.)

"Sure it is," Emma says. (Regulus suspects she is being sarcastic, but Emma's deadpan face can be difficult to decipher. Sometimes Regulus has to take cues from Evan to know if Emma is joking.) "Once, I was out sick and tried to borrow his Transfiguration notes? Never again. They were incomprehensible. The shorthand would make Healers proud."

"It's called being efficient," Regulus says. "And I told you that you'd be better off asking Charlotte for hers, so I don't know what you expected."

"Charlotte is possessive over her notes. She doesn't even let Lucinda touch them."

"She'd make a copy of them for you herself if you complimented her on how detailed her understanding of the material is." This is how Regulus obtained Arithmancy notes from Charlotte last year, when he was recovering from his broken collarbone and having trouble writing. It wasn't even a lie—she takes very good notes and has all the theorems and corollaries and irritating little exceptions memorized. Charlotte has been close friends with several Hufflepuffs for so long that Regulus can easily pick out some of the ways that they've influenced her. Her mentality about how to succeed in Arithmancy (endless labor) is a dead giveaway.

"Lessons in manipulation via flattery from Regulus at eight in the morning on a Sunday," Thomas says. "I'm not sure which part of that is most absurd."

"Definitely the Regulus part," Evan says. (At some point between when he brought up Regulus's handwriting and now, the letter has disappeared. Hopefully it has disappeared on purpose, into one of Evan's pockets, rather than somehow getting lost. Seeing as it was delivered by a school owl, it must be from another student, and given that Evan recently sent a letter to Lily Evans...) "Combined with the flattery, at least. Not so much the lessons at eight in the morning on a weekend."

"Just for that," Regulus says, "from now on, I will be providing unsolicited, inescapable Transfiguration tutoring in our room as soon as I wake up every single day. When Barty asks, I'll tell him it was your idea."

"That is the cruelest thing you have ever said to me. I take everything back."

"You have to study for OWLs at some point."

The best way Regulus can describe Evan's facial expression is as a pout. "Not by force."

 

Miles McKinnon is a freckly, round-faced third-year with a few key differences from his cousin Marlene. First of all, he's a Slytherin. Second of all, he's not nearly so inclined to scowl at Regulus. (The first and second differences are closely related.) Third of all, he has a proclivity for experimentation that lends him a certain notoriety among their housemates.

The difficulty in talking to him is in getting him alone. All of the loud, extroverted Slytherins in that year have coalesced into one extremely loud, extroverted, somewhat hazardous group of friends, with Miles McKinnon and Cecily Wu at the center. McKinnon supplies most of the hazards. Wu supplies most of the volume. Fortunately, they're not as inseparable as certain other loud, extroverted, hazardous groups of friends that Regulus could name, which means that talking to Miles McKinnon alone is only a matter of waiting until he's in the common room by himself and Regulus can find an excuse to initiate conversation.

He gets that excuse when he's returning from quidditch practice. It's a nice day outside, with a light breeze that's managed to blow away most of the clouds, which hints at why McKinnon's friends aren't clustered around working on homework with him. McKinnon might be glad not to have the distractions, judging by the look on his face. Regulus has seen that particular expression on many, many people: it's a very specific kind of consternation that tends to surface when Professor McGonagall told them to practice a spell for homework, they have Transfiguration tomorrow, and they still don't get it.

And it is Miles McKinnon's lucky day, because it's obvious from across the common room which spell he's attempting, and Regulus happens to know exactly how to transfigure inanimate objects into living creatures. (Much more complicated than the reverse. This is probably the first time McKinnon's doing it—it's normally introduced in third year, after all.)

So Regulus breaks off from the rest of the team as they head back to their rooms to shower and change out of their quidditch gear. He'll do that too in a moment. This is really just an invitation to speak, to be fulfilled later.

McKinnon is focused on his spellwork, but not so focused that he doesn't notice Regulus approaching. "Alright, Black?"

Regulus nods to the rather furry... item on the table. (It might be a former Chocolate Frog box.) "Professor McGonagall says to change the material first because it can sometimes help to guide the structural changes, but you may have an easier time of it if you reverse the order. Adding fur first makes it difficult to see what you're doing."

"Huh." He frowns at the furry thing. "But then I'd have to do the structure with a lot more detail, wouldn't I? Because it wouldn't know what it was changing into yet."

"The first step helps with that, regardless of what it is. All the steps fuse into one spell once you get to fourth-year work. Professor McGonagall separates them out in the third-year curriculum to make sure you understand the components on an individual basis first."

"Yeah, well, I do not," McKinnon says frankly. "I've only been managing inanimate furry things with legs. I'm pretty sure they don't have any internal organs, because they don't do anything, but it's not like I want to check that."

Yes, Regulus could also do without dissections that would undoubtedly take place in the common room where he would have a difficult time avoiding them. "That's an issue with the essence component, but you may be setting it up incorrectly with the material and structural components. Come by my room after lunch. I'll take a look at what you're doing and see if I can find the problem."

"Oh!" McKinnon seems mildly surprised, which is a reasonable reaction. Regulus is not usually the sort of prefect to go around offering to help people with their homework. Nor would he be, if he didn't need to speak to McKinnon. (He's not a very good prefect. Really, what was going through Slughorn's head? Although Barty would be an equally terrible choice, and Evan would be much worse, come to think of it.) "Okay, yeah, sounds good. Just any time?"

"Yes. I'll be there until dinner."

"Okay!" he says again. "Thanks."

Regulus nods to him and leaves the common room. He's undoubtedly sacrificed his opportunity to claim the shower first, but Evan beats him to it about a third of the time anyway, so this is a setback that he knows how to manage. (The only real problem with showering second is that it leaves him with an awkward period of waiting around that is just short enough that it's not worth using for starting anything productive.) It's worth it in exchange for having arranged a conversation with Miles McKinnon. He won't bring up the war in this conversation—just focus on the Dark Arts study group—but ensuring McKinnon is on track to join Regulus's group will make it much easier to discuss the war with him in the near future.

And he'll help McKinnon with his Transfiguration homework while he's at it, because having people owe him never hurts.

 

If Evan's word is to be trusted, which it may or may not be, he 'completely forgets' there's a letter in his pocket until they're on their way back from lunch, descending one of the many twisting stone staircases down into the dungeons.

(Sometimes Regulus feels as if it's permanent night down here; even with lamps at regular intervals down the corridors, the dark walls seem strangely deserted, deathly still after the portrait-crowded hallways upstairs. It's either a relief not to feel watched or slightly concerning to know that if he somehow gets lost down here, he'll most likely be alone. The dungeons are usually the most stable part of the castle, besides the Great Hall; they're anchored not just to the ground floor, but also to the edge of the Black Lake, to make sure the dungeons don't accidentally move into the lake and drown everyone. That would put a bit of a damper on their education. It means that navigating the dungeons is relatively easy, compared to the rest of the castle, but it also means that Regulus has never had to learn to be adaptable about how he gets around down here. If he gets lost, he'll have no choice but to wander around until he gets out of the dungeons, then just start over.)

Evan sticks the letter, now a bit crumpled post-mail-revelation, back in his pocket. "Amazing, the things that can slip your mind when you pay absolutely no attention to them."

Emma says what Regulus is thinking. "After that whole conversation we had about the ink?"

"We had quidditch," he says. "I was preoccupied."

"Correct answer." She fistbumps him. "Do you know what it is?"

He sighs melodramatically. "Probably another love letter from one of my legions of secret admirers. It makes it so hard for me to write back to them and ask where they got their ink if they don't sign their names."

"I thought we settled on it being Scrivenshaft's," Regulus says.

"I like to be absolutely sure about things this important," Evan says. "I suppose I could stand on the table in the Great Hall at dinner and inquire very loudly."

"I'm sure your secret admirers would happily reveal themselves in front of the entire school if it meant answering your burning questions about their glittery ink suppliers," Emma says.

"I agree," Evan says seriously. "I think this is foolproof. And extremely necessary."

"They could always write to you with the answer, instead of announcing it then and there," Regulus feels the urge to point out.

For his troubles, he gets an appalled look from Evan. "But how will they ever win my heart without a demonstration of how deeply they understand the central issues of my life? I need to know they care, Regulus. Announcements in the Great Hall are simply essential. Otherwise, our love is doomed."

"Maybe that's a good thing," Barty murmurs.

Evan turns the appalled look on Barty next. "Rude."

"Payback for when you said I was normal."

"Could you please not set a precedent for standing on tables and yelling things at dinner?" Charlotte says. "I shudder to think what the Gryffindors might do if they were enabled in such a way."

"I wouldn't yell," Evan says. "I would inquire loudly."

"I think to a Gryffindor they amount to the same thing."

She has a point. Not that Regulus thinks Evan would ever admit to that.

And he's right, because Evan says, "But what if it turns out that my secret admirer with the fantastic taste in ink is actually James Potter, and if I don't stand on a table and speak in a raised tone of voice at dinner, he'll never confess his love in the same fashion?"

"I don't know why you would want James Potter to profess his love for you at the top of his voice in the middle of dinner while standing on a table," Maeve says. "I mean, the scenario just gets worse and worse."

"But you cannot deny," Evan says, "that it would be hysterically funny."

Maybe. Or maybe Regulus, despite being ostensibly uninvolved in this scenario, would be overcome with the urge to sink into a hole in the ground and never emerge. (Seeing as his dorm is in the dungeons, this is in fact an incredibly practical course of action. It would make getting home from school difficult, but maybe he could Floo from the common room fireplace. There are probably enchantments on it to prevent students from using it to get in and out of the school, but Regulus is confident that given enough time, he and Barty could deconstruct them. Barty would understand the importance of making sure Regulus never got even remotely near James Potter again. He would help.)

"Geoff would kill you," Emma says to Evan. "Or him."

Evan shrugs. "That's none of my concern. Besides, what if I could take advantage of Potter's feelings to get him to tell me all about Gryffindor's quidditch strategy? Or to throw him off in a match? Then I bet you Geoff wouldn't be mad at all."

(Geoff would be delighted, as long as Evan wasn't doing anything traitorous like providing equivalent exchange. Then Emma would be absolutely right about the murderous intent. Not that Geoff has ever expressed such a sentiment of which Regulus is aware, but he's quite sure that Geoff is fully capable of it.)

"I see your point," Emma says. "Okay, if James Potter confesses his love for you, via yelling from atop a table or otherwise, you have my blessing to use him in whatever way seems most conducive to our winning the Quidditch Cup."

"Thank you kindly," Evan says.

"You sports people are bizarre," Barty says.

"We have our priorities in order," Emma says.

"If you say so." They turn the last corner and reach the door to the Slytherin common room, which is really just a section of wall with slightly lighter mortar between the stones to distinguish it from the rest of the dungeons. ('Common room door' sounds better than 'common room patch of wall,' and it has the added benefit of confusing any outsiders trying to figure out how to sneak in. If they're looking for a door, it's highly unlikely that they'll think to pay attention to the mortar.) "Merlin." The stones slide apart, releasing some welcome warmth from the common room into the corridor. As they step inside, Barty adds, "I need to work on Runes, but if anyone else hasn't finished the Astronomy assignment and wants to do that tonight, I'm down."

"I'd love to know when else you could possibly do it, seeing as it's due tomorrow," Charlotte says.

"Not until midnight. That's the gift of Astronomy. Worst-case scenario, I..." Barty considers it, then raises an inquiring eyebrow in Regulus's direction. "Beg Regulus for mercy?"

"Fine," Regulus says. "As long as you remember that you can't do that during the OWL."

"Yes, yes, you and Charlotte are prefects, you've both reminded us now, we know."

"I did just agree to let you cheat off of me," Regulus says.

"You're so lucky I don't like getting fellow Slytherins in trouble," Charlotte grumbles.

"That I am," Barty says. "But for now, I am going to go do my very honorable, cheating-free Runes project."

That's the signal for them to split off and head to their various rooms. Lucinda draws Charlotte into some kind of conversation, and Regulus spots Miles McKinnon, once again in the common room but this time with his friends. He doesn't seem to see Regulus, but that's alright. There's a long afternoon stretching out ahead of them, and Regulus doesn't have anywhere to be.

But he does want to know about that letter that's been sitting in Evan's pocket.

Fortunately, he's clearly not the only one. As soon as the door to their room clicks shut, Evan pulls it out and breaks the wax seal. (It has some sort of geometric design on it, from the sort of stamp one might buy in a store—pretty, but generic.) "What are the odds this isn't from Lily Evans?" He unfolds the letter and checks the signature. "Zero."

The letter is short, barely six inches of parchment. Regulus doesn't know if that's a good sign or a bad sign. "What does it say?"

"Let me read it out. Rosier— no salutation, my parents would have a fit— I'm not really sure why you're being so secretive about all of this. Are you worried your housemates will freak out about you interacting with a Gryffindor or something?" Evan tilts his head consideringly. "I can't tell if she's saying this out of concern or because she hates us all. Well, I suppose I'll be finding out one way or another."

"Love the optimism," Barty says.

"Thanks, I try. I'll hear you out about this mysterious project— yay, go me! But I'd love to know your reasoning for keeping it hush-hush."  

(Fair enough, honestly. Regulus doesn't know what Evan wrote in his letter, seeing as the 'stop hovering' comment happened almost immediately after Evan got his quill and ink out, but if Evan is justifying wanting to talk to Lily Evans by claiming it's related to some sort of project, then requesting that the conversation be secret would raise questions for anyone. At least the tactic worked.)

Evan is still reading. "And then she goes into talking about when her free periods are, et cetera, et cetera, write back with a time that works for me, let's meet in the library to balance out the amount of stairs each of us has to climb—that's very thoughtful of her, but I also feel like it's a test to see if I'll object to meeting somewhere as public as the library." He looks up from the letter. "Do I object to meeting somewhere as public as the library?"

"Muffling wards," Regulus says. (It's not ideal, but Evan is right that it sounds like a test, and letting her pick the meeting location is a good way to indicate that Evan is there to negotiate with her on even footing, not trap her into a war. Besides, most people will be in class or their common rooms or literally anywhere other than under Madam Pince's watchful eye.)

"Excellent. Then I'll write back." Evan scans the end of the letter. "Ooh, she has the same free as I do on Wednesday mornings. I'll pick that one. I'm always bored out of my mind since everyone else is in class."

Which means that Regulus will accomplish absolutely nothing in Runes, since he'll be distracted wondering how it's going. Unfortunately, there's nothing he can do to address that. Professor Babbling's classroom is too far from the library for him to go check on the pretext of using the bathroom, and it's best for him to leave Evan to conduct this conversation on his own, anyway. Lily Evans probably wouldn't like knowing that multiple people have been involved in strategizing for how to make her acquaintance, or how to use that in order to reach her friends.

Speaking of which.

"Miles McKinnon will come by our room sometime this afternoon," Regulus says. "I'll be discussing the Dark Arts study group with him. It may be a race to see which of us gets to Marlene faster."

"I love your competitive streak." Evan folds the letter back up and puts it in a desk drawer. "Want to bet? Loser buys me Chocolate Frogs."

"I'm not falling for that."

He grins. "It was worth a try."

Notes:

megan is the Popular Jock of the second-years (not every year has a Popular Jock™, but in y5 it is evan and in y6 it is james)

geoff 'i'll make my team suffer but i will manage to do it in such a way that i suffer more' pucey

regulus: mckinnon and wu and their friends are like a slytherin version of the marauders except WAY LESS FUCKING ANNOYING

the other thing making miles's life difficult with this transfiguration thing is that what he's SUPPOSED to do is transform it into a mouse but he thought 'it would be so cool if i could transform this chocolate frog box into a kitten' which is significantly more difficult (not, like, inherently, but the lower years tend to work mostly with mice and snails and so they tend to be way more familiar with the structure of a mouse etc. and the more familiar you are with that structure, the easier it'll be to transfigure something else into it. but miles is too busy being like 'omg i could have a KITTEN' which is. exactly what i would do in that situation as well)

please imagine evan and barty as prefects. that would be absolutely catastrophic. (slughorn chose regulus because a) rank and b) he understands DECORUM and will at least ATTEMPT TO BEHAVE HIMSELF PROPERLY even if he is not the most... uh... *Dedicated* prefect)

LILYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!! she won't actually show up in person for a few more chapters but wE'RE GETTING CLOSE!!!!!!!!!!!!

oh also: probably in a few weeks i'll start upping the estimated final chapter count - right now i don't know much other than 'more than 100 probably', i need to write a bunch more chapters before i have a better idea, but just be aware that as of rn it looks like we are headed for something over 100 chapters long!

next week: more fun little locations around hogwarts, this time outside!! the return of heather brown!! i had to look up whether 'extralegal' was a word for this chapter!!

thank you so much for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 18

Notes:

hello i hate waiting, so have this chapter a day early!

Tuesday finds Regulus leaving lunch about half an hour early.

It's the second time Jessica has eaten lunch with the fifth-years, and he needs to publicly interact with her as part of his quest to make sure she stays committed to his side. (And to make sure Alexander sees them being friendly, so he doesn't bother with Regulus's study group anymore.) So he would stay if possible, but he has a rather important obligation elsewhere.

"Where are you off to?" Barty says when Regulus stands up.

This has all been planned, of course, so Regulus responds with the predetermined answer. "I think I left my Divination essay on my desk."

"Oh, can you check for mine, too?" Evan says. "I would go with you, but I don't want to get up, and you're already standing, so..."

"Yours is in your bag," Barty says to Evan. "I saw you put it in there this morning, right before you made some comment about being irritated that Professor Cato was actually trying to teach you things this year."

"He keeps assigning us homework," Evan explains to the rest of the group. "It's a calamity."

"Tragic indeed," Regulus says.

And with that, he takes his leave. (Maeve and Evan are now complaining about the Divination essay, which means Regulus can rest assured that nobody will think too hard about what might induce Regulus to forget to pack his homework in his bag. He hasn't forgotten, of course. He was particularly careful about packing this morning, because he knew he wouldn't have time to go back to the dungeons at lunch if there was anything he needed.)

He passes by the stairwell he usually uses to get into the dungeons. His destination is aboveground, and it's not far from the Great Hall, so he only has to walk for a couple of minutes before he steps into Fountain Court.

This courtyard was, reputedly, Helga Hufflepuff's favorite part of Hogwarts, although it's undergone many changes over the centuries. The eponymous fountain has a plinth in the center, upon which a statue of Hufflepuff stands, arms outstretched. (The statue likes feeding the birds. The Hufflepuffs have some sort of tradition around providing it with birdseed, but Regulus doesn't know the details.) In warm weather, the grass around the fountain is covered with picnic blankets, and the benches around the edges of the courtyard are packed with people, almost all of them Hufflepuffs and Slytherins who don't feel like walking up the stairs to the solarium, but want an atmosphere a little less boisterous than that of the parts of the grounds frequented by the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws who deign to descend from their towers. (It's mostly the Gryffindors they're avoiding. The Ravenclaws who spend time socializing outside are the less hazardous ones.)

It's still January, though, if barely, so the only person in Fountain Court is Heather Brown. She's opted to spread a pink and red blanket over a bench, rather than sitting on the ground, and she spots Regulus as soon as he's walked in. "Hi there!"

"Hello." Regulus approaches her. "The thing I wanted to talk to you about is of a sensitive nature, so I think it would be best if I put up a muffling ward."

"Ooh, mysterious. Go for it."

He really does just put up a muffling ward—meeting in Fountain Court when almost everyone else is in the Great Hall is enough to minimize the risk of people seeing them talking to each other. Worst-case scenario, Regulus can say he ran into Heather in the Slytherin dormitories and they struck up a conversation. Heather is sociable enough for this to be plausible.

Regulus isn't sure Heather choosing to sit on a bench corresponds with an invitation for him to also sit on that bench, but there aren't any other benches nearby, so once he's done casting the ward, he stays standing. "How much do you know about the war's impact on Hogwarts? Students, to be precise."

"Sit down, you look so ominous," Heather says.

Well, that answers that. He sits down.

"The war's impact on Hogwarts students," she says consideringly. "It's definitely pushing people into taking sides. Moderate opinions on blood purity and Dark Arts are growing fewer and farther between—either because people are refusing to admit that they're not aligned with a side, or because they're being radicalized into picking one. Slytherin's history enables some purists to bring the war within the walls of Hogwarts by attacking Muggleborns." (Regulus notes the word choice. It's no surprise—House Brown is socially moderate—but it's still good to confirm.) "Gryffindor's history enables its students to do the exact opposite, which means clashes are inevitable. They're just less structured here than they are outside Hogwarts, because it's mostly independent actors instead of organized combat. That feeds certain students into the two sides as soon as they graduate, and they pull their friends in with them. Personally? I think it's just a matter of time before the fighting really comes here. I mean real fighting, not whatever the Carrows think they're doing. And then..." She shrugs. "We see what happens! Why do you ask?"

Regulus weighs whether he should answer or ask another question first, then settles on answering. He has his strategy for staying on Heather's good side, after all: telling her things. "Because I wanted to know if you were aware of the... pressure certain families place on their children to join the Death Eaters once they come of age."

"Huh." Heather taps a fingernail against her lip. "Not particularly, actually? I mean, I'm totally aware that there are some students who are absolutely set on joining as soon as they graduate, but purist family dynamics aren't my area of expertise."

"What is?"

"Gossip. What people are saying. Lots of Sacred Twenty-Eight kids, especially in Slytherin—they don't talk about their families much, have you noticed? And if they're not talking, then it's harder, because I have to think about what they're not saying, and keeping all of that straight between a bunch of different people is a lot more work that's usually not worth the effort."

"I know people who hardly ever say a word about their families, yes." (Regulus is including himself in that.) "I'm asking because there are factions within the Dark network, based on their thoughts on blood purity. Dark families have driven much of the anti-Muggleborn sentiment that the Death Eaters are taking advantage of now, but some families are more militant than others, and some are fairly open-minded. I want to know how you fit into that spectrum."

"Why?" Heather says. "Worried I might reflect poorly on you if your family doesn't approve of my views?"

Mother and Father not approving of Heather's views is a very minor concern, bordering on irrelevant, but Regulus doesn't say that. "I agree with you about the fighting coming here sooner or later." (Most likely sooner, once he gets his way.) "Slytherin is low on pro-Muggleborn Dark scions at the moment. If it stays that way, the fighting will look very different from how it will look if there are divisions."

"I see that, yeah." She's quiet for a moment. Then—"How do you want the fighting to look?"

The inevitable question.

Regulus answers with the truth. "I don't know yet."

That grabs her interest. "Oh? Tell me more."

Regulus isn't trying to recruit Heather today. He's doing what Barty did with Antony—introducing the idea of a third side, letting her think on it, and then talking to her more later to actually recruit her. So he chooses his words carefully. "As things stand now, I don't think this war will result in anything but backlash from the losing side. If there's going to be fighting, I'd like for it to mean something, at least."

"You don't think it means anything now?" Heather says. It sounds very casual, but Regulus knows it's anything but.

"It's the same war that was fought in the forties, with a new leader rising to replace Grindelwald since he's in Nurmengard. Of course I don't think it means anything."

"Strangely pacifistic coming from a Black."

Regulus knows that comment is bait. He takes it anyway. "I didn't say that I don't think there should be fighting."

"But you object to it being the same war all over again."

"Exactly. I think it could be stopped, with the right interference."

"This war?" Heather raises her eyebrows. "Or something bigger?"

"Something bigger."

The words settle into the quiet of the courtyard. There are no other students around, no birds, not even a breeze to ruffle the grass, which means the only sound is the water in the fountain, splashing or rippling down in whatever pattern it sees fit.

Heather is the stillest Regulus has ever seen her, not that he's spent very much time looking at her. She seems lost in thought, staring at the fountain, or maybe at Helga Hufflepuff, who's raised her arms so that some rays of direct sunlight fall across her stone hands. Do statues get cold? Regulus has no idea. Maeve might know.

Eventually, Heather says, "Why me?"

That's... not really what Regulus was expecting her to lead with, and it's vague enough that he runs the risk of ruining his own plans if he guesses wrong about what she's really asking, so he opts for a clarifying question. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that you totally have some kind of agenda, and it's related to the war, and I'm asking why it involves me. You came to talk to me yourself about the study group, when there were a few people right there  you could have just sent to get me and bring me to the meeting. Now you're requesting that we meet up discreetly to discuss the war. That suggests that whatever your agenda is, it's involved me this whole time. You get something out of me being in the Dark network." She smiles, a little wryly. "You get something out of me owing you a favor, too. I'm sure of that. It must be why you brought me in so quickly. So I wonder—what's the point? Is it my family you're interested in, or is it what I know?"

A moment passes, and it seems like she's done talking for now, so Regulus responds. "I want your opinion as a member of a non-Dark family, and as a member of the Dark network, and as someone from a politically moderate house. I have thoughts about how this war works—I mean the war in general, not just this iteration of it. You're in the Dark network, so you have some degree of understanding of my perspective, coming from the family that I do. The complete picture of how the upper echelons of magical Britain work, I suppose. But you grew up differently than I did. You know different people."

"Why ask for my opinion, unless you have something you want to do with it?"

She's got him there. "If you think that I have an agenda in mind, why bother to pretend you're asking hypothetically?"

"If you're being careful about plausible deniability, it means you're up to something big."

"Maybe." (There are two types of plausible deniability: being able to deny something, and being able to deny admitting to something. The former is much more effective but much more difficult, and the latter can work nearly as well if it's spun right.)

Heather smiles. "Protect yourself if you want. That's your right. But I can't deny I'm curious about what you could possibly be up to, besides the illegal activities I already know about. You've already got what I think about how the war's affecting students. I'll offer you a trade: you tell me just how illegal this new plot is, and then you get to ask me for another opinion."

That's an... interesting choice of question. Legality is not really a concern in Regulus's family. The only question is whether something needs to be kept secret. But if Heather wants to know, fine. "I don't really know. I suppose it's what one might call extralegal, although it does incorporate Dark Arts, so it's definitively illegal in that sense."

"Extralegal." She considers that. "Okay, interesting. I'll accept that answer. Ask me a question."

Regulus has no idea what else Heather might want to know in exchange for further information, which means this question has to be a good one, which means that he... probably needs to hint at what he's actually doing. But he'll have to do that anyway if he wants to fully get Heather on his side. "Do you think it's plausible that there's a sizable proportion of the population that could be persuaded to support both advancing Muggleborn rights and legalizing Dark Arts? By sizable, I mean enough to change the course of the war."

"Huh. I think... that that's a very fuzzy question. 'Advancing Muggleborn rights' means something different to everyone. So does 'legalizing Dark Arts.'" Heather shrugs. "I think there are enough people out there who are open to supporting both that it could make a real difference in the war, but I don't think there are many people who actively support both at this moment. If some hypothetical person were interested in building a coalition of people who support both, it would either be small, or it would need to do a lot of persuasion to get enough people on its side to tip the scales. And that coalition would need to be large and organized, in order to make any structural changes to the way our world works. Otherwise, it would result in a three-way stalemate. If this potential third side wanted to win, instead of just preventing the other two sides from winning, they'd need to... well, crush them, really!" She giggles. "I mean, there's a reason those two things don't usually go together. It wouldn't be easy to turn that into a real victory. But there are Muggleborns who don't like playing by the rules, obviously. Get them and their friends into Dark Arts, connect them with the Dark establishment, then you have—sorry, this hypothetical person has a shot. The rest depends on Dumbledore, the Death Eaters, and whether it turns into a war of attrition or not."

Hm.

Heather doesn't seem to know about the handful of socially moderate Dark families, which makes sense, as she's very new to the Dark network and probably doesn't have every single Dark family and their political affiliation memorized yet. (That would be unreasonably quick. Regulus was at least five by the time that he knew all of them off the top of his head, and that was with Mother quizzing him on them regularly.) But she seems to have drawn the same conclusion that Regulus has: this won't work without substantial Muggleborn support. Specifically, Dark Muggleborns.

Evan is talking to Lily Evans tomorrow morning, and Regulus has already spoken to Miles McKinnon, but they'll need more Muggleborns than just Evans, and they'll need more Dark blood traitors than just the McKinnons. They'll need people who are motivated, but who understand the importance of keeping their actions a secret. And they'll need to spend a lot of time talking people into seeing things their way.

There's Jackie Fenwick. She's a third-year, but she won't be one forever. The difficulty with her would be persuading her that Dark Arts aren't synonymous with bullying. (And also figuring out how to talk to her. The only connection Regulus knows about is her vague friendship with Theophania, and leveraging that would be... complicated.)

There are also the other Dark moderates. Arnold Macmillan is one of them, even if Regulus doesn't love the idea of interacting with him on purpose. And there's Ian Lovett, a Ravenclaw in Regulus's year, and there's Lucy Duncan as well. But they're all purebloods. That's not the central problem Regulus needs to be solving.

Hm.

Half-bloods could be useful as well.

Megan is twelve, but she's good at standing up for herself. Barty did say they need people who are willing to get into fights. She has a Muggle parent, which means she's that much closer to understanding a Muggleborn perspective than Regulus is. There's Snape, but he's tied himself to the Carrows, and Regulus doesn't want to try to recruit him when he'd much rather have Lily Evans and it's unlikely that he could get them to work together.

Other half-bloods... the problem is, Regulus doesn't know. Most Slytherins are purebloods. His social circle is entirely purebloods, except for Megan. And oddly enough, most people with close Muggle relatives don't seem all that eager to tell him about it.

"If I asked you for a list of Muggleborns and half-bloods who 'don't like playing by the rules,' as you put it," he says, "what would you ask for in exchange?"

Heather giggles. "You are in such a weak negotiating position right now. You realize plausible deniability only works if it's plausible?"

(It's true that Regulus is basically telling her what he's doing, and that means she could potentially extort him by threatening to reveal his plans, should he fail to recruit her. However...)

"You said yourself that you owe me, and I could make the Dark network very hostile towards you if I wanted to," Regulus says. "Besides, I can't imagine that either Dumbledore or the Death Eaters winning is an outcome that's favorable to you."

"No, it's not—and you've made sure of that by bringing me into the Dark network, haven't you? To make sure I have a reason to dislike the idea of a Dumbledore victory. Even if I weren't particularly invested in Dark Arts for my own sake, by letting me into the study group, you'd still be handing me proof that people I'm close to would be hurt by him winning. Very clever."

"Thank you."

"You're quite welcome!" Heather tilts her head. "So, you want a list? In exchange for that... I mean, it depends on how many people you want. Like, are we talking about people I could list off the top of my head, or are we talking about a comprehensive list of Hogwarts students, or are we talking everyone, faculty included?"

"Off the top of your head." (Regulus still fully intends to recruit her, after all, in which case her making a comprehensive list will be for her own benefit as well as his and presumably not require him to give her something in exchange, besides a victory.)

"Huh." She falls silent again for a bit, then says, "Make it known that we're friends. Not best friends or anything, let's keep things realistic, but friends."

Interesting.

Heather obviously wants to use Regulus's status, and he's willing to bet that she specifically wants to use his status within the Dark network. (She's Noble and Anciente, after all. She doesn't need any help to position herself well within the Sacred Twenty-Eight.) The odd thing is that she's asking him. She's friends with Antony, although his family hasn't been in the network for very long, and she's dating Priam, whose family has been in it for hundreds of years. One would think that Heather already had plenty of help within the Dark network.

But if she's not satisfied with what she already has, does he really care why? It's their job not to be satisfied. Heather is attempting to use Regulus just like he's attempting to use her. And if they're friends, it serves Regulus's ends too.

"Fair enough," he says. "When can you have that list?"

"I mean, you said off the top of my head, so... now?"

 

Regulus leaves Fountain Court with a list of five names tucked into his pocket. Lily Evans wasn't the first name Heather gave him, but she was the second. It's nice to know that someone else thinks she's a good candidate. The first name is a friend of Heather's, apparently—Regulus has seen her at prefect meetings, but they're not acquainted. If she's friends with Heather, then recruiting her is a good step towards making sure Heather is on his side and stays on his side, but he's found himself preoccupied with the third name Heather gave him.

Remus Lupin.

She'd giggled a little, said that he's more of a mastermind than he likes to let on, that he prefers hiding behind his louder friends and letting them take the credit (and the punishment). She hadn't said who those friends were, but Regulus knows anyway.

Lupin is Sirius's other best friend.

The spiteful part of Regulus that pushed him towards jumping into recruiting Lily Evans is clamoring for his attention again, telling him that Lupin is only a sensible choice. He's a half-blood, according to Heather, with a Muggle mother. He's a Gryffindor, and a well-liked one. (Slytherins usually aren't the biggest fans of his overtly biased quidditch commentary, but many other people find it entertaining.) Regulus needs Gryffindors, he needs half-bloods, and he needs smart people, and if Sirius is to be believed (he spent quite a bit of time defending his choices of friends over the dinner table), Lupin is very smart indeed.

But he's too close to Sirius. Regulus would be wasting his time trying to earn Lupin's trust, or at the very least enough goodwill for the two of them to be able to work together.

That still leaves Regulus with four names, three of them new ideas, and he's made progress on recruiting Heather. It's enough to go on.

He checks his bookbag for his Divination essay, which is still safely where he put it this morning, and returns to the Great Hall to meet back up with the others before lunch ends.

Notes:

'crush those motherfuckers' - heather brown, 1977

heather is def placing mental bets with herself about whether regulus is actually going to go to the lengths of talking to remus lupin

like sure this whole idea about ending the war sounds great and all but also she's here for drama. she knows EXACTLY who remus is to sirius and she knows EXACTLY who sirius is to regulus (well. sorta. even regulus doesn't know *exactly* who sirius is to him) and so she definitely very casually mentioned remus lupin while being FULLY aware that this was a name with Great Significance to regulus

more on fountain court: in the first week of every school year, the hufflepuff seventh years take the first years to fountain court and show them the best way to put birdseed in helga's hands and all the first years add some birdseed and that's the first birdseed of the school year and it's all very nice - the rest of the year, people just add birdseed whenever they feel like it, although the seventh years Do all go together shortly before graduation

seeing as helga is kind of up high, you either have to politely ask her to crouch a little, or use a levitation charm, or if you feel daring someone can lift you (but helga is generally in the mood to help out so that's easiest) (and they do call her helga - they tend to refer to helga hufflepuff founder of hogwarts as hufflepuff, but the STATUE is helga)

heather and her friends hang out here a lot, frequently with the aid of heather's pink and red picnic blanket (picnic blankets are solid investments for hogwarts students who don't like getting grass stains on their clothes)

i don't think i'll update tomorrow seeing as i updated today lmao, but i've realized i get impatient with having written many more chapters than i've posted lmao. i guess i'm not built for the 'plan everything out well in advance life'

that being said i WILL attempt to mostly adhere to once a week - it'll be once a week at the minimum. gonna try to avoid updating twice EVERY week because then i will run out of chapters probably and we're trying to avoid that

oh and! i posted two more regulus-centric fics in the past week - one of them is a short ficlet called someday (regulus/evan, mild hurt/comfort) and the other is the first three chapters of the FIRST draft of this fic, which is way more chaotic and sufficiently different from this version that i've decided to post them both! check out career goals: tyrant (linked at the end of this fic in the 'works inspired by this one' section) if you want to read that

next time: regulus does not draw a zebra!! he and evan hold hands!! lucinda learns to fly!!

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 19

Notes:

hello it's me again with another chapter because i'm bad at waiting and good at producing hundreds of thousands of words of fanfiction

let's play a game: keep an eye on evan, and let me know when you think he's tripped and fallen face first into Feelings™. there are a LOT of possible answers coming up (in this chapter and chapters to come), and i want to see which ones stand out to people!

Regulus is supposed to be enchanting parchment.

There are two reasons he isn't. The first reason is that he's done with the enchantments. Similar object bindings are fairly simple in terms of rune chain structures, and Regulus has chosen a straightforward project: two pieces of parchment, enchanted such that any marks made on the trigger piece will also appear on the target piece. Good enough to get him an O, but not so precocious that it raises eyebrows. He finished the enchantments last week. (Unlike Barty, who is carving ever more runes around the bases of his candles, possibly just for fun. Regulus sincerely hopes the success of his binding is not dependent on every rune staying intact. As Barty runs out of space, he's carving the runes higher and higher on the candles, so unless he can extinguish them both very quickly, melted wax will run into the carvings. Then they'll all discover the hard way whether Barty's project is a fire hazard. Well, more so than candles normally are.)

Tomorrow they're turning in their projects, so Regulus isn't the only person who's finished today. Charlotte has been frowning at her inkpots, but not making any adjustments, for at least twenty minutes now. Maeve is making no secret of chatting quietly with Ruby Stuart-Lane in the row behind them. All of this means that Regulus being done with his enchantments is a fairly unsurprising reason for him to be sitting here idly, avoiding twisting around in his seat to check the grandfather clock at the back of the classroom.

The second, more important reason that Regulus is not doing classwork is because he is far too busy thinking.

He has Divination at nine on Wednesday mornings, right before Runes. Being partnered with Evan in Divination can be very entertaining, especially when Professor Cato comes by and asks if they're Seeing anything, but it also means that Evan is quite capable of spending a full hour first thing in the morning finding new ways of informing Regulus that all the lines on his palm are telling him to calm down and leave some things up to other people. Which is exactly what he did this morning, varying between cheerful and playfully solemn 'predictions,' before Divination ended and he set off to the library to meet Lily Evans.

Far from his initial skepticism, Evan seems to be fully confident now in his ability to sway Lily Evans to their side. Regulus isn't sure what's responsible for the change. Maybe he's figured out an angle that he thinks will work. Maybe it's spite because Regulus suggested he couldn't do it. Maybe he's just pretending to be confident because he thinks that Regulus will follow him around watching his every move if he hints that he might need assistance at any point.

(Which... is something Regulus would do. But he'd do it subtly, within reason. He wouldn't go as far as skipping class to do it, for instance. Unless an opportunity fell into his lap.)

Or maybe this is Evan's way of proving himself so that in the future, he can say something along the lines of 'you trusted me to recruit Lily Evans and I did it, why not trust me with this other thing?' Which is fair. Regulus believes Barty when he says he will do something.

Just to look busy, Regulus scribbles down every use of dragon's blood he can remember on the trigger parchment. He's definitely forgetting a few that he normally knows, which goes to show the price one pays for distraction, but the words show up on the target parchment, exactly the same as how he wrote them, so at least his enchantment works and he looks like he's doing something.

Fifteen minutes of class left.

Maybe he should draw a zebra.

 

He does not draw a zebra.

Nor does he draw a tiger, in fact, although the thought does cross his mind. Instead, he occupies himself staring at his twin pieces of parchment, trying to come up with another use of dragon's blood, and trying not to run through countless ways that the conversation happening in the library could be playing out. He is unsuccessful with regard to both.

The thing is, he has no idea how that conversation is going, because he doesn't know very much about Lily Evans, and he doesn't know how hard Evan is trying and what form that trying might even take. For all he knows, they've spent an hour complaining about Potter, and Evan will justify it later by claiming that he's gaining her trust.

Because it has been an hour. Runes is over, and Regulus is free to put away his parchment and go to the Great Hall for lunch and pretend he's not dying to pull Evan aside to ask him how it went.

In the end, though, such a drastic measure may be unnecessary, because when the Slytherins step out into the hallway, Evan is there, leaning against the wall. Judging by how he pushes off and walks over as soon as they emerge, he was waiting for them.

Or maybe for Regulus specifically.

"I thought you didn't know where the Runes classroom was," is Maeve's greeting.

"That was two weeks ago," Evan says cheerily. "I'm a different person now. I've grown."

"Congratulations," Barty says.

"Thank you kindly."

And Evan... says nothing to Regulus.

They walk down to the Great Hall, and Evan chats with Maeve and Barty about whatever comes to mind, and Charlotte and Regulus are quiet, and Evan hardly even looks in Regulus's direction.

Regulus has no idea how to interpret that.

Is it a bad sign, because he's avoiding communicating anything? Is it a good sign, because everything is going well and there's nothing that requires Regulus's urgent attention? Does it mean there's just nothing to tell? But if that's the case, then why bother walking all the way up to the Runes classroom?

But Babbling's classroom is only two floors away from the entrance to the library, and the Great Hall is much farther, so maybe Evan just didn't want to go to lunch alone and opted to meet the closest people instead of going out to the grounds to meet Emma and Lucinda.

It would be very nice if Regulus knew him well enough to know what this sort of thing means.

He doesn't get a direct answer. What happens is that when they reach the Slytherin table, Evan sits down across from Regulus and proclaims that he needs to practice palmistry.

"Palmistry?" Maeve says. "The exact same thing we just spent an hour on this morning? That palmistry?"

"One hour is not enough for the art of palmistry, Maeve," Evan says solemnly. "I'm sure Regulus understands."

"I don't believe I do, but I'll indulge you," Regulus says. (Given Evan's rather creative version of 'the art of palmistry' this morning, this could be how Evan is planning to tell him how it went with Lily Evans—or at least give him a hint.)

"It's your duty as my Divination partner," Evan says, and then he holds out his hand expectantly.

Which is not something most people would do. Not because Regulus has made any special effort to that end; he's just not the sort of person one touches. (Anymore. Bellatrix only stopped squishing his face after he stomped on her foot as hard as he could when he was eight or so. She'd laughed so hard she almost cried, then told him she was glad he was growing claws, but it did the job. Then there was Sirius, who was always dragging Regulus places. But that's in the past.)

Regulus doesn't actually object to people touching him, though, as long as they aren't throwing themselves at him like Geoff's girlfriend Sophia Warrington does with Geoff occasionally. (That's excessive.) This is something that Evan knows, because they've been Divination partners since third year, and they return to palmistry every year to study more advanced techniques. Evan has read Regulus's palm (and vice versa) so many times that Regulus doesn't think twice about extending his hand.

Evan takes it and inspects his palm very closely. "Hm. You chose to offer your left hand, which indicates a preoccupation with practical matters—"

"That's not what it indicates," Charlotte mutters.

"As opposed to the more metaphysical, emotional right hand," he continues, unperturbed.

"You have them backwards."

"My Inner Eye says the textbook is wrong."

"Sure it does."

"My Inner Eye also says that sometime soon, a tall stranger in possession of mysterious, arcane qualities will walk into Regulus's life, and there's..." He scrutinizes Regulus's hand. "Yep, there's definitely some sort of magic involved."

"It's not like we're surrounded by magic constantly or anything," Charlotte says with heavy sarcasm.

Evan nods very seriously. "You make an excellent point, Charlotte. I really appreciate your valuable input in this vital matter."

She doesn't really know how to respond to that, if the way she rolls her eyes and starts cutting up her vegetables is any indication, but Regulus has gotten the message.

Sooner or later, but probably sooner, he'll be talking to Lily Evans about Dark Arts.

 

"She's skeptical," Evan says in their room that afternoon. (Regulus hadn't even needed to ask—he'd just walked in, shut the door, and made eye contact.) "I think her exact words were 'how do I know you're not just lying to me about magical history because you know I didn't grow up learning about it?' So I pointed out that we were surrounded by history books, and we came to an agreement that she's going to do her own research."

That's not a particularly bad outcome. Even Dumbledore can't deny that more and more magic has been deemed Dark by the Ministry over time, as opposed to there being one single, definitive category that is inherently Dark Arts. (And thus inherently bad or wrong, at least by the Ministry's standards. There is a common thread between types of magic deemed Dark, which is that they tend to blur the lines between the magic and the person casting it, but really, that's such a massive category of magic that the Ministry is wasting its time trying to regulate it.) And, of course, Lily Evans can look up military history to see the common thread between wars for herself.

"I also told her that I know a lot of people who know a lot about Dark Arts and the law and such," Evan says. "And that I'd be happy to introduce her, but I didn't want to take such drastic measures before she'd decided if she believed me about the wars and whatnot. I told her that was because as far as interesting research topics go, Dark Arts are a bit of a stigmatized one, not in the least because if the Ministry notices you getting too interested the Aurors may come knocking just to make sure you're not actually practicing it." (An exaggeration. The Aurors have their hands full dealing with people who are making no secret of their practice whatsoever.) "I'm sure she suspects that I know people who do practice Dark Arts, but I told her they're mostly a category of magic defined by law so she should research the progression of outlawing more types of magic. So she can decide for herself if they seem so evil. I also told her that her friend McKinnon might have some ideas, as long as she asks in a private setting and makes sure to mention that I was the one who suggested it."

"That bluntly?" Regulus says.

Evan grins at him. "You said it was a race to get to Marlene. I listen when you speak, dearest."

Yes, he most certainly does. Regulus isn't sure yet whether that'll become a problem.

"So now it depends on them, but I expect that in the near future, my social calendar will have many more Gryffindors on it than it usually does. And if Lily Evans wants to know more about Dark Arts than what McKinnon can tell her, then I'm sending her in your direction. I'll do that soon anyway, so you can talk to her before everything's finalized. I know you want to."

Regulus opts to ignore the pointed comment Evan tacked onto the end of that. "Thank you."

"Oh, there's that gratitude I asked for," Evan says. "You're very welcome. I love winning."

"In the sense of getting to Marlene McKinnon first, or winning the war?"

"Both." (Regulus probably should have predicted that response.) "You know, I'm rather proud of myself for this one. I assumed it wasn't Slytherins she dislikes so much as it is the future Death Eaters, and I was right. I shook hands with her and I think she took it as an indication that I don't hate her by default. She's quite funny when she forgets to be wary of hoity-toity purebloods she doesn't really know, actually."

Oddly enough, Regulus is also wary of those people. It's always good to be cautious. "Do you consider yourself hoity-toity, then?"

"Absolutely," Evan declares. "The toitiest. If you want that title, you will have to fight me for it."

"I hardly think that's an appropriate way of settling the matter," Regulus points out, not without some satisfaction.

"...Actually, I changed my mind, I'm not even going to try to compete with you over this."

Regulus lets himself smile a little. He does also like winning, after all. "That's what I thought."

 

In the middle of that night's study group meeting, there's a knock on the door.

Lucinda has just figured out the autonomous flight ritual she's been studying, amid light applause from everyone except Barty (who's staring at his notes chalked on the wall and muttering to himself). She drops down to the ground, as lightly as if she were stepping off of a broomstick. "Are we expecting anyone else?"

"We are," Regulus says. "I'll check if it's the right person before I open the door all the way, though."

He unlocks the door and cracks it open, spots freckles and brown hair, and opens it enough to speak to Miles McKinnon. "Hello."

"Hello," McKinnon says. "I'm here for transfiguration."

Which is the excuse they'd agreed upon when Regulus spoke to him on Sunday, so Regulus opens the door wide enough to let him in, then closes and locks it behind him. "Everyone, allow me to introduce Miles McKinnon. He'll be joining us from now on."

They don't normally include third-years in their meetings, because most of the magic is either too advanced for the average third-year or dangerous enough that none of them want to risk letting one in. (An upper-year doing stupid things and being injured as a result is one thing. A third-year surrounded by upper-years doing stupid things and being injured as a result is quite another.) However, given McKinnon's common room activities, Regulus thinks he's capable of learning some things, and he has ulterior motives for being on McKinnon's good side. Thus, specially inviting him to join the study group early. (Although Regulus will most likely start recruiting younger in general, just to make sure he's getting to people before the Carrows do.)

However, he did not actually inform anyone of this, except for Barty and Evan, so he's expecting a tiny bit of surprised silence before people get over it.

And he does get a bit of a squinty look from Antony, but the more noticeable reaction is Priam bursting out with, "Thank Merlin. McKinnon, please let me teach you some proper warding."

Excellent.

"The group rules are simple," Regulus says to McKinnon. "Be polite to the books, ask if there's anything you're not absolutely sure of, and remember that if you tell anyone, you're incriminating yourself too."

"But no pressure," Evan adds cheerily.

Regulus will pull McKinnon aside to talk to him about his cousin as everyone is leaving. It should be a short conversation, so there's no need to make a big deal out of it by setting up another meeting. As far as the war goes, he's really only interested in Miles McKinnon by virtue of using him to get to other people. That will change—he wants third-years on his side—but given McKinnon's family and the fact that he's officially in Regulus's study group now, recruiting him will be straightforward. Especially if Regulus has Marlene. She'll be the most difficult McKinnon at Hogwarts to reach, and she's graduating in a year and a half, which means Regulus has a deadline to get her on his side. Focusing on her right now is a better use of his time.

"Hey, Regulus?" Antony says.

Regulus hasn't gotten an update from Barty recently on how recruiting him is going. He should do that. "Yes?"

"I just remembered, Slughorn wants us to come by his office hours soon to talk about next year. Don't let me forget."

"Fine. Tomorrow?" Thursdays are Regulus's busiest days, but he can afford to take some time to have whatever conversation Antony wants to have. It's probably related to the war, possibly related to Miles McKinnon, and definitely important if Regulus wants to secure his support.

Maybe he should gauge Antony's opinion of Lily Evans and Marlene McKinnon. They're in the same year, so they must have shared plenty of classes. It might be good to have some idea of how easily they can work together.

"Tomorrow's good," Antony says. "How's it going, Barty?"

"It sure is," Barty responds absently. "Margaret, does this look like a hexagon-structured chain to you?"

"No, it looks like gibberish," Margaret says.

"Structured gibberish, though."

"No."

"Okay." He scribbles out some of the chalk markings. (Regulus can't make sense of them. It's a mix of notes in English, runes, the occasional arithmantic matrix and diagrams of magic flow that he vaguely recognizes from Charms, and—)

"Is that Gobbledegook?" he says.

"Yep," Barty says. "If I end up figuring this book out just because my dad insisted on me taking it, I'm going to be so pissed."

Barty's father would probably be even angrier over Barty using Gobbledegook to study Dark Arts, but Regulus prefers not to highlight Barty's relationship with the incredibly anti-Dark head of the DMLE. It might make some members of their group a tad uncomfortable.

(He also doesn't point out that Barty only knows how to do all those matrices because of his father's insistence on self-studying for extra OWLs. They don't talk about that, especially not in front of other people.)

"It kind of looks like a—a transference," McKinnon says.

Barty turns away from his wall of notes. "A what?"

"A... I mean, I'd need to write to my dad to get all the details, but it looks like maybe it's giving you something. Or you're giving it something."

"Huh. How do I tell the difference?"

"Transference implies giving freely," McKinnon says. "If you're supposed to give it something, there'll be instructions somewhere. It's not the same thing as taking. Er, most of the time. But unless there's a dementor hidden in the book, I think you're fine, and we're not really sure if transference is the right term for the Kiss anyway. My aunts are working on that."

Right. Soul and death magic. McKinnon is a little young for the study groups, but every Dark family starts teaching their children their specialty before they start at Hogwarts. Of course he knows things already.

What's interesting is how easily he's telling them about it. Regulus doesn't really want to give the other McKinnons a reason to dislike him, such as being privy to family secrets he's not supposed to know, so he says, "Is that common knowledge?"

"Sure, within the Dark network," McKinnon says. "There's some soul magic that really shouldn't be widely available, but everything else is alright to share. If we keep all our research to ourselves, then it dies with us. That ruins the whole point."

How wonderful. Then Regulus can question him as much as he wants. "How do you know it's a transference?"

"All the notes are showing some form of excess. It has to go somewhere."

Barty surveys his wall of chalk. "So they are. And they're giving me something? Regulus, do you know anyone who's figured this book out? Should I be concerned?"

"My uncle and my great-aunt both have, and they're in excellent health," Regulus says. (Great-Aunt Cassiopeia gave the book to Uncle Cygnus, who gave it to Regulus.)

"Right-o. Then I'll carry on. McKinnon, want to join?"

"Sure," McKinnon says. "I don't know anything about Gobbledegook, though."

"You don't need to. I have that covered. Tell me more about transference."

Notes:

i love this chapter because i can describe the first section as either 'regulus worries about the success of a critical mission to secure muggleborn support for his side in the war' or 'regulus spends all of runes ignoring his classwork in favor of thinking about evan' and they're BOTH TRUE

bellatrix is 11 years older than regulus, for context, so she was 19 when regulus decided he'd had enough of her squishing his face

barty is, as always, vibing. if you're thinking 'hm crouch sr's insistence on barty taking extra OWLs seems like the sort of thing that might come up again later,' well. yep sfjslhfkdhg

and remember the Evan Catching Feelings Game! i'll be interested to see which moments feel like turning points. there is no deadline on a response - it's very possible that you might not see a Feelings Moment for fifty chapters (afjslghsfk this burn is so fucking slow), so just keep an eye out and let me know what you think!

next week: barty's daddy issues!! debating how many dead bodies could fit in evan's wardrobe!! the fifth years throw a RAGER FOR LUCINDA'S BIRTHDAY (they sit around and talk about quidditch)!!

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 20

Regulus didn't coordinate with Antony on how they were going to find each other at office hours for their conversation about whatever Antony wants to have a conversation about, but he didn't need to. When the fifth-years get back from Charms, Antony is already sitting in the common room with Margaret and Heather.

Barty beelines for them. (Regulus follows and sits down next to Heather, as a subtle way of upholding his end of their deal.) "Margaret, I'm in crisis."

"That's unfortunate," she says. "Hello to you too."

"Babbling wants me to join Runes Club." He throws himself into an armchair. "She mentioned talking to you specifically."

(Regulus witnessed this entire conversation, which happened at the end of Runes today. Barty's project was incredibly successful, and Babbling spent at least five minutes enthusiastically poking at it before declaring it NEWT-level work and asking him to stay after class. Regulus dawdled by the door to wait for him, as they had a free next so he didn't have anywhere to be. Margaret is the student coordinator of Runes Club, so naturally her name came up. Barty told Babbling he wasn't sure if he had time, what with OWLs getting closer every day, but he'd talk to Margaret and then decide. Regulus hadn't expected him to actually talk to Margaret about it, though.)

"If you don't want Babbling to treat you like a runes prodigy, maybe you should try not acting like one," Margaret says. (Which is a good point. It's Regulus's philosophy for navigating Runes, after all.)

"Can I tell her you refused to let me join on the grounds of me being too disruptive to the learning environment at club meetings?" Barty says hopefully.

(Now his reasoning for talking to her becomes clear.)

"No," Margaret says. "I'm signing you up. I want to see you suffer."

"You're the worst."

"Thank you."

"What's so bad about Runes Club?" Heather says.

"Meetings are on the seventh floor and I'm lazy," Barty says. "Also, there are classes I actually need to study for. And the club meets during office hours on Tuesdays and usually I'm done with everything by four on Tuesdays and I like it that way."

"Not everyone shows up to every meeting," Margaret says. "Chetana doesn't. She's too busy."

"I'm too busy," Barty says.

"But if you join, Babbling will stop pestering you about it."

"Fuck."

"You could go twice, then tell Babbling you're too busy with OWLs," Regulus says. (It would even be the truth. Barty has more than enough studying to do. Regulus can help him with Arithmancy and Divination, at least, but he's on his own for the Muggle Studies curriculum. Regulus tried to help him figure out televisions and ended up more confused than where he started. He's more of a hindrance than a help there.)

"Yeah, that's probably what I'll do." Barty sighs. "But think of all the stairs."

"Snakes weren't built for stairs," Antony agrees.

"Thank you, Antony. It's cruel and unusual punishment, that's what it is."

"Fail the class," Margaret says.

"No."

"Then I can't help you."

Barty slouches back in his chair, arms crossed. "Why are we friends again?"

"Because we both like Runes," Margaret says drily.

"Rude."

"We're both that too."

That seems like the natural end of that topic, so Regulus jumps in before someone can find a new one, as he did come over here with an agenda. "Antony, should we go see Professor Slughorn now?"

Antony stands up. "Yep, sounds good. I don't think it'll take too long."

That's just as well. Regulus has a lot of Herbology reading to do.

 

"What did Antony want with you?" Barty says in an undertone later that night, after Regulus has gotten back from rounds. (Evan went to bed a little before Regulus left, so he's almost certainly asleep by now. It wouldn't be an issue if he overheard this, but it's still polite to avoid waking him up.)

"He wanted to know why I'm recruiting younger for the study group," Regulus says, just as quietly. "He assumed I'm involved in the war in the same way that you are and that's why I'm bringing in more people. I told him that he was right about me being involved and pointed out that McKinnon joining up with us a year early is better than the Carrows getting to him."

"And?"

"He's convinced." Antony signed on almost immediately after Regulus mentioned that there's a very real risk that any Dark scions in Slytherin will end up as Death Eaters unless they do something. Regulus doesn't know if he was worried about himself or about lower-years like McKinnon (that seems like the sort of thing Antony might worry about, as one of their few competent prefects), but he doesn't really care. "It was mostly you who sold him on it—I think all he wanted from me, besides an answer about the study group, was confirmation that the idea was bigger than just you."

"Implying he thinks that I can't be an entire third side of a war all by myself?" Barty says. "I'm positively insulted."

The cadence of how he says it reminds Regulus of the conversation with Margaret. More specifically, Barty telling her she's the worst for not barricading him from certain extracurricular activities. "Have you figured out what you want to do about Runes Club?"

He sighs. "Think I'll do what you said. Go twice, then tell Babbling I'm too busy. And it might actually turn out interesting, it's just... I have enough shit to do already."

"More than enough, yes," Regulus says. "But if it does turn out to be interesting, there's next year."

"Maybe. Watch me be the first person in the history of Britain to get twelve NEWTs." It's half joking, half frustrated, which is how Barty often sounds when they discuss his father or topics adjacent to his father. Regulus doesn't like hearing this tone of voice from him—it's not something that he can solve for him, or even really do anything about, and the resulting sense of helplessness is not a feeling that Regulus enjoys. His only option is to attempt to alleviate symptoms, rather than the root cause, and there still isn't much he can do, especially since he learned years ago that he just comes across as awkward and out of his depth if he attempts to comfort anyone.

So he sticks with what he's good at: reason. "There is no way Slughorn would let you do that. He told me in my career meeting that they discourage students from taking eight or more NEWT classes, and that self-studying is only really a good idea for Muggleborns who want the Muggle Studies NEWT, or half-bloods who live in the Muggle world during the holidays. I think you'd be strongly advised against trying for twelve, if not forbidden outright."

And from what Barty's said about his father, he's not the type to lean on Hogwarts professors to get them to make exceptions for his son. That's the good thing about Hufflepuffs. Even if they happen to be top government officials, they tend to dislike cutting corners, and Barty's father is the strictest meritocrat of them all.

Of course, that's exactly why he's pushing Barty into taking twelve OWL exams in the first place, so it's not always a good thing.

"Here's hoping," Barty says. "Oh, and it's Lucinda's birthday tomorrow—well, today. You have something for her, right?"

"Yes, but it's not wrapped," Regulus says.

"Meh, I don't think anyone's will be. Who brings wrapping paper with them to school?"

 

Apparently, the answer to that question is that Evan does.

Regulus doesn't know why he's surprised, really, given that he already knew that Evan hoards his old broomsticks at school. And it's not like he's lacking in storage space.

"I've got three kinds," Evan calls from inside his wardrobe on Friday afternoon. "One with an owl pattern, one plain blue, and one yellow and orange striped."

"I'll take the owl one," Regulus says. (It seems thematically appropriate, considering his gift—it's glamored to resemble a copy of 101 Matrices to Organize Your Life (And Everyone Else's), but once Lucinda opens the book, she'll see the instructions for removing the glamor, and then the choice of wrapping paper will make more sense. It's not the sort of gift that can be given in mixed company, so he had to be creative. That was on top of persuading this book that it really would be alright if it left his possession. Fortunately, it likes Lucinda, so it agreed to change hands, but Regulus still had to write 'Property of Lucinda Talkalot' on the inside of the cover so that the ward he put on the door would let him take the book out of the boys' room. Father didn't teach him that trick—Narcissa did.)

Evan emerges from his wardrobe and tosses a roll of wrapping paper at Regulus. There are owls in every size and color (some of them not found in nature) flying around on the paper, occasionally leaving enough of a gap between birds to expose a bit of blue sky. He's holding the other two rolls of wrapping paper. "Barty?"

"Stripes, I guess?" Barty catches the roll Evan throws at him. "Why the fuck do you just have these with you?"

"I can't believe you'd ask me why I have wrapping paper at school when we're wrapping gifts for one of our many friends who has a birthday that falls during the school year." Evan lays out the blue wrapping paper on his desk and puts his gift, which is in some sort of large square box, in the middle. "And when you're benefiting from said wrapping paper. Let the mysteries of life wash over you and take the gift horses as they come."

"You most definitely did not have wrapping paper at school last year, and we all made it work," Barty says. "I'll happily take advantage of it if it's here, but I'm questioning why it's here now in the first place. And when you give me a horse, I'll be sure to accept it with all the gullibility of a Trojan."

"I didn't know how to modify my wardrobe last year, so I had to be choosy about what I brought with me. I've changed. And I would never hoodwink you in such a despicable way."

"I'll believe that when you give me a horse."

"Your birthday's not until September, so you'll have to be patient."

"When did you modify your wardrobe?" Regulus says. "I never saw you working on it."

"That's because I didn't want either of you to know how easily I could hide a dead body in there," Evan says cheerfully. "I worked on it during a few of my free periods in fall term. You were in Runes."

"Let's circle back to the 'dead body' comment," Barty says.

"Let's not."

Barty is undeterred. "You have a Trojan wardrobe."

"If the Greeks were all dead inside that horse, the war would have ended very differently," Regulus says.

"Alive bodies and dead bodies take up the same amount of space," Barty says.

"But you can stack dead bodies on top of each other," Evan points out. "They don't need as much of a personal space bubble."

"Speaking from experience, are you?"

"Shush."

 

The birthday gathering is the girls' room. It's not an elaborate affair—it never is. They mostly just exchange gifts and sit around for a while. If it's Evan's or Emma's birthday, there's usually a lot of sugar involved, but that's as extravagant as they get.

It's rather nice, to be honest. More than once, Regulus has idly wished his birthday fell during the school year instead of in late June. If he's lucky, it's on the same day as the summer solstice ball, and everyone's busy preparing for that, so they skip the usual family tea. Most of the time, he's not that lucky. (It's not horrible. It just involves Bellatrix by default, so the conversation is destined to take some unpleasant turns.) But being at school means that he misses most of his family's other birthday get-togethers, so there's that.

They've fallen into a routine of giving gifts in order from oldest to youngest, which started on Barty's birthday in their second year—something about Evan wanting to go as early as possible and Maeve wanting to go dead last because she didn't like how the bow on her present had turned out and wanted to redo it. Emma made an 'age before beauty' comment, Evan took semi-playful offense, there was wrestling, and then they never deviated from this order again. (The exceptions are Charlotte and Regulus, because their birthdays are during school holidays—Maeve's is too, but she's always in China at that time, so they wait for her to get back and give her gifts in person to spare their owls the trip.)

All of this means that when they get to the girls' room, Barty's the first one to hand Lucinda a gift. "Happy sixteenth."

"Thanks! One more year until I'm eligible to be tried as an adult in court," she responds. "We pulled up some chairs for you guys."

And so the gift-giving commences.

Barty's gotten Lucinda a planner that never runs out of pages. And they do in fact deviate slightly from the established order—Charlotte goes next, with a copy of Transfiguration Breakthroughs of the Twentieth Century, because Evan's and Emma's gifts go together. Evan's gotten her a Quaffle enchanted for solo practice, and Emma's gotten her new quidditch gloves.

"Emma told me you're going for the open Chaser position next year," Evan says by way of explanation. "We can all practice together too, so you get used to flying in close formations."

"I haven't even tried out for the team yet," Lucinda says, but she's smiling.

"So? We can make you a shoo-in for Geoff's spot."

"And if you're already accustomed to flying with us, we'll have a head start on training next year," Emma chimes in. "Plus, Evan and I have been flying with Geoff since third year. Next year, we might be completely thrown off by working with someone new. I think it's your duty, as a supporter of the Slytherin quidditch team, to fly with us so we remember what it's like to play with someone who isn't Geoff. Whether you make the team or not. Which you will, if you practice."

"Am I destined never to be able to escape the quidditch talk?" Barty says. "Who's trying out next—Maeve, are you aiming to play Beater once Travers graduates?"

Maeve shudders. "Absolutely not. I like my feet on the ground."

"I'm so glad."

"You already have to go to all of Slytherin's games and live with me and Evan," Regulus points out. "This doesn't really change anything for you."

"In principle it does," Barty says haughtily. "I trust you haven't bought Lucinda a new broom or anything like that."

"Your trust in me is well placed." It's Regulus's turn next, actually, so he hands Lucinda his gift. The owls on the wrapping paper seem to recognize that they've been given to the intended recipient, because they get very excited all of a sudden, covering the paper in a blur of flapping wings as Lucinda carefully unwraps the book.

The note he tucked into the first few pages starts out with instructions for removing and replacing the glamor on the book, then reads, You'll have to keep this hidden, of course, but I thought it only sensible that you should have it. Lucinda will find it when she finds it, and once she removes the glamor, it'll reveal itself to be the air magic book she uses at every study group meeting. (If Regulus had known about the quidditch gifts, he probably would have added something about not using the book to cheat too obviously during matches, but it's too late now.) The glamor changes the text of the book as well, but it's nowhere near as interesting as the fake title makes it sound. Regulus checked.

Lucinda is new to the Dark network, which means she doesn't have an accumulation of Dark books at home like most of the study group does. And they're not easy to find. Even in Knockturn Alley, one has to know where to go and what to say before being allowed entrance to the Dark bookshops. (Also, many of them are incredibly expensive.) But now she has one book, which is a start.

 

Regulus is expecting Lucinda to discover the instructions in the book sometime over this weekend, so he's a bit surprised when there's a knock at their door that evening and Barty opens it to reveal Lucinda in the doorway. She has the book, glamored, under her arm, and she steps inside and waits for Barty to shut the door before she says to Regulus, "You're just... giving this to me? Hasn't it been handed down in your family for years?"

"Only fifty of them," Regulus says. "It's not borrowed from my family, though. It was mine, so I got to decide what to do with it, and I decided to give it to you."

"Why?" Lucinda says.

"To help you cheat at quidditch." (Evan snorts rather inelegantly at that. But it's not the truth, which is what Regulus suspects Lucinda wants, so he continues.) "You use that book all the time. I thought you should have it. Duplicate copies of the same book are hard to find, and I haven't used that one in years, so giving you mine made the most sense. Besides, it likes you already."

"Handing down books is usually how it goes, Cinda," Evan says. "A lot of them are unique, or most of the copies have been confiscated by the Ministry, or something like that. The Brief Introduction's the only book that gets more copies printed regularly, and that's because it gets updated every ten years."

"And my family still hands those down," Regulus says. "My great-aunt claims they started going downhill after the 1832 edition. We have a copy of every version."

"No shit?" Barty says. "Going back to... what year was the first one?"

"922. The first thirty are all under quite a bit of protective warding. They're physically fine, but magically they're somewhat volatile so we have to keep them in the vault. The copy I have with me is borrowed from my father, so I wouldn't be able to give that one away, but most of the books I have here are mine. I could give them away if I wanted to."

"So people normally give books to each other," Lucinda says.

"To their family members, usually, but you're new to the network, so I imagine you'll mostly get yours from friends."

She might be holding the book a little more tightly now, or maybe it's Regulus's imagination. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"No, really," Lucinda says. "You didn't have to."

Regulus isn't really sure what to say to that. Of course he didn't have to. "That's why it was a gift. Although to be perfectly honest, I don't actually think you should use it to cheat at quidditch. There's no telling what Madam Hooch might notice. Or the Dark scions on the other teams."

"Again, I still haven't tried out yet, much less made the team, but it's noted. Who are the other Dark scions? Besides Marlene McKinnon, of course."

"Adrian Young is the other one. Seeker for Hufflepuff."

"Worst hair out of all the Seekers," Evan adds.

"That is an avenue of quidditch commentary that I could get behind," Barty says. "Someone tell Lupin."

"You have a ranking of Seekers by hair?" Regulus says.

"I desperately want to hear this," Lucinda says.

Evan sighs deeply. "Nobody can beat Damian Miller, unfortunately."

"But he graduated last year," she says. "What's your ranking of this year's Seekers?"

"Young's the worst. I don't think I need to say anything more about that. Foxworth looks like he rolls out of bed and then falls down the stairs from Ravenclaw Tower all the way to the quidditch pitch. I respect McKinnon's commitment to the chin-length look but I'm waiting for her to realize that it'll get in her face way less if she chops it all off. And Regulus's is the best, naturally."

"Naturally?" Regulus says. "Why naturally?"

"I still want to know why Young's is the worst," Barty says.

"Young has the worst hair because it's too short for him to pull off a center part, and yet he attempts it anyway," Evan says.

"I can see that being horrible," Lucinda says. "Although I can't say I'm very familiar with what his hair looks like. And Regulus?"

"I don't need to explain that," Evan says with great authority. "He's right there. You can see for yourself."

Regulus fights the urge to check his hair. Based on what Evan's already said, it's most likely a process of elimination—besides, he already knows what his hair looks like. He sees it in the mirror every day. But being looked at was always more of Sirius's thing than it was his. They look very similar (Regulus tries not to think too hard about why there's such a strong family resemblance among the Blacks), or they would if not for Sirius's long hair and the well-established difference in their bearings, but Sirius was the one who liked to be stared at. Regulus wouldn't know what to do with himself if people watched him as blatantly as they watch Sirius. There seems to be a casual way of faux-ignoring it that Regulus knows he could never pull off. It requires a certain air of carelessness that Sirius was born understanding and Regulus has never figured out.

Instead of saying any of that, he says, "What prize do I get for winning?"

"Bragging rights," Evan says.

"That's not much of a prize."

He winks. "Well, it wasn't much of a competition."

Notes:

barty, trying to be a reasonable person with reasonable concerns: let's circle back to the part about how you said you didn't want us knowing how many dead bodies you could fit in your wardrobe
evan: no<3

if you bring someone new into the dark network, you're kind of expected to.... look out for them? it's nothing so formal as sponsoring them or anything, but like, since you brought them in, you're supposed to serve as a proxy for what they would have learned from their family (if they were from a dark family). this doesn't include sharing information about your family specialty (unless they marry in), but it does include helping them learn, making sure they don't get themselves killed, and, very often, giving them resources!

maeve is the one who actually brought lucinda in, but it's regulus's study group, so he's still a little bit responsible for helping lucinda get set up in the dark network. plus, he has a ton of dark arts books at school so he has plenty to give away. but there are other ways to help set someone up to succeed in the dark network, which we will see with heather! (regulus did already mention to walburga that he thinks heather and narcissa should become acquainted)

the 5th year slytherins, from oldest to youngest, are: barty (september 15), evan (november 28), charlotte (december 30), lucinda (february 2), emma (april 19), regulus (june 22), and maeve (july 7)

i think it's really funny to give regulus a summer birthday because he has the Opposite of summer vibes

with regard to 'have a big wardrobe so you can hoard things in it,' i am definitely more like evan than i am like barty - i haven't done any expansion on my closet, but it IS packed very. densely. (also would not be caught dead only half unpacking my stuff on the first night back - EVERYTHING gets put away)

but just to be clear i've never hidden a body in my closet, alive or otherwise

next week: morning quidditch practice!! evan stares at clouds!! MARLENE MCKINNON!!!!!!!!!!!!!

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

EDIT: if you follow me on tumblr, you may have seen me in the process of drafting an alternate ending to this chapter, in which instead of saying "it wasn't much of a competition" at the very end, evan asks if regulus wants a kiss as a prize instead. it's posted now! if you're interested in reading, check out 'something sweeter' - it's linked at the end of this fic in the 'works inspired by this one' section

Chapter 21

Notes:

MARLENE WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Slytherin's match against Hufflepuff is a little under two weeks away, which means that the Slytherin team has begun ignoring the carefully balanced system of which team gets which practice slot on the pitch.

They aren't interfering with anyone else's reserved times, of course. That's asking for trouble from the other teams (or from their Heads of House), and it's not like Slytherin wants people to know that they're doing extra practice. Instead, they're simply starting their morning practices even earlier, when the quidditch pitch is not supposed to be open to students. (Something about not holding practices until Madam Hooch is awake and on call in case something goes wrong. Hogwarts does a terrible job of enforcing this rule. The pitch is right there. They can just walk onto it. Really, the only difficult part is getting into the equipment shed before Madam Hooch has unlocked it, and all of them are more than capable of an Alohomora.)

In fairness to Geoff, starting morning practices earlier was not solely his decision. He offhandedly suggested it, Megan and Emma immediately agreed, Theophania confessed to apparently always being up before six anyway so it was all the same to her, and Evan complained a bit before saying "I'll accept it for the purpose of embarrassing Hufflepuff," so then the matter was settled.

They can all accept a lot of things for the purpose of embarrassing Hufflepuff, especially if it goes hand in hand with embarrassing Gryffindor in April. Practicing more means more skill and more stamina, both of which are important in a game that's likely to go on for a while. The match against Hufflepuff ordinarily wouldn't, but they're planning to use it to build up a point lead against Gryffindor, so Regulus will be actively preventing Young from catching the Snitch in order to give the Chasers time to score. The game against Gryffindor will probably be long, as is usually the case with evenly-matched teams. If one team goes into it with a lead, then the other will be doing everything in their power to prevent the game from ending until they've caught up. If they go into it neck-and-neck, then both teams will be vicious.

Well, really, it'll be vicious no matter what. Such is the nature of Slytherin-Gryffindor matches. And this will be the last match of the year, almost certainly the one where the championship is decided. The stakes will be high enough for everyone to be playing their hardest. Not a single punch will be pulled. (Metaphorical punches, ideally. They can't afford to have Megan kicked out of the game.)

All of this means that they've just wrapped up a grueling two-and-a-half-hour practice on Sunday morning, which would have been longer if not for the fact that it would have meant missing lunch. The only person with any energy left is Megan, who's in the midst of thoroughly explaining her ideas for using the Hufflepuff Chasers' momentum against them to Geoff and Emma. To give them credit, they are clearly paying attention to what she's saying. Then again, Regulus is fairly sure that all three of them could be raised from the dead if someone stood next to their corpse and said 'I wonder what the best way to win the Quidditch Cup is.' Even exhausted, it's second nature for them to discuss it.

And they are exhausted. So when Marlene McKinnon bursts out of the castle, races down the path to the quidditch pitch, screeches to a stop in front of Evan, and hisses "How dare you," it takes all of them rather by halfhearted surprise.

"Er," is Evan's first response. Then: "How dare I what?"

"You know exactly what you did," McKinnon says.

He blinks. "I don't think I do."

"For fuck's sake." This seems to be when McKinnon notices that they're surrounded by vaguely curious onlookers, because she says, "Okay, you and I need to have a discussion."

"Alright," Evan says amiably. "Now?"

"Yes, now." She looks around, then points (somewhat arbitrarily, it seems to Regulus) at the equipment shed. "Over there. Without your teammates."

"Mysterious," Emma says. "What do you want with Evan?"

"A private conversation," McKinnon says.

"I thought it was a discussion," Megan says.

"For fuck's sake," McKinnon repeats. "Look, I will give your Chaser back to you unharmed. I just need to talk to him about something he did."

"I've done many things," Evan says.

"Bet I can jog your memory about this one. Come on." She sets off towards the equipment shed without looking back to see if he's following.

Evan links his arm with Regulus's. "Want to join so there's an eyewitness if she kills me?"

"Fine," Regulus says.

"No deaths," Geoff says. "Gryffindor can't just knock us out of the running for the Cup with one little murder."

"I'm hurt, I'd be a very big murder," Evan says. "The nation would collectively mourn for years. Decades, even."

Rather than responding to that, Geoff looks over at Regulus. "Keep it civil. McKinnon may have a month and a half to recover from any injuries before her next match, but Evan doesn't."

"He'll do his best," Evan says cheerily. "See you later."

Once they're a safe distance away from the rest of the team, Regulus asks in an undertone, "What happened to telling me to stop hovering?"

"Oh, you misunderstand my goals completely," Evan says. "I'm bringing you along so I can blame you for everything."

That makes more sense. "I see."

"I'd say sorry in advance, but this is what you signed up for when you decided to spearhead this whole thing, so I'm not sorry at all." He beams at Regulus. "Thanks in advance, actually."

"If I take the blame, I think that also means that I take the credit," Regulus says. "Which means I got to Marlene first, so I win."

"What? No. She's here for me. You can't take that away from me."

"Does that mean you're taking the blame upon yourself again?"

"Nope. Credit, yes. Blame, no. That is a tightrope I am both willing and able to walk."

McKinnon is waiting by the equipment shed, arms folded. She scowls (well, scowls more) when she sees Regulus. "Rosier, I said without your teammates."

"Regulus is my emotional support Seeker," Evan says.

"Ugh." She unfolds her arms and jabs her wand at the ground in what Regulus recognizes as the incantation for a bubble-shaped muffling ward. Not the best choice in a building with multiple floors, as one never knows who might be on the floor below, but it's safe enough outside, and quick to cast. "I guess he's Dark too, though, so. Fine, he can stand witness to your dumbassery if he wants to."

"Much obliged," Regulus says. Then he asks, as if he isn't already perfectly aware of what Evan did, "Is this about the network?"

"Obviously," McKinnon says. "And who's distinctly not in it. And what on earth might have been going through your head—" this is directed at Evan— "when you decided to tell Lily to ask me about it."

"Oh, I remember that," Evan says. "I take it she did just that?"

"I spent the entire afternoon yesterday talking her through magical history while also doing my best not to incriminate myself, fuck you very much. She's a Muggleborn. She's gotten nothing but messages about how evil Dark Arts are since she received her first Hogwarts letter. She could have told anyone."

"'Could have'?" Regulus says. "You're saying it as if it's no longer a risk."

"It's not," McKinnon huffs. "Thanks to me. I had to tell her about my family so she'd understand why it's so important for her to keep her mouth shut. We don't talk about that shit in Gryffindor. Do you get me? Anti-Dark sentiment is everywhere. There are a few people who wouldn't be above storming the dungeons with pitchforks if they knew what goes on down there."

"That would be very nice if we could direct them at the right people," Regulus says.

"Like the Carrows wouldn't drag you down with them," McKinnon shoots back. "Or try to use you as a shield. But I'm not talking to you. I'm talking to Rosier."

"You're talking to both of us," Evan says extremely pleasantly. "I brought him over here for a reason. This whole thing was Regulus's idea. I was merely the messenger."

She groans. "No. Say you're joking."

"My sense of humor is immaculate and if I were joking you would know."

"Then what the fuck do both of you think you're playing at?" McKinnon says. "Is this some kind of house-wide conspiracy? What are you doing? Picking random Muggleborns to talk to about Dark Arts and just... seeing what happens? Why would you even—I would assume that to be the last thing either of you would ever do!"

Evan pats Regulus's arm, still linked with his. "It's your time to shine."

Alright.

This is not exactly the context in which Regulus thought he would be speaking to Marlene McKinnon. But it's what he has, so he'll work with it.

"Did Evans tell you what else they talked about?" he says.

"The cycle of wars? Sure," McKinnon says. "It struck me as weirdly analytical when I thought all of this was coming from Rosier, but knowing that you're involved makes it make a whole lot more sense."

"It only works because Dark Arts and Muggleborns can be pitted against each other," Regulus says. "If that were no longer the case, the cycle would collapse, and we'd all be better off. That's why I wanted to talk to Evans."

McKinnon blinks.

And blinks again.

She still doesn't look happy, but it's slightly more of a frown than a scowl. "So you're, what, getting involved in the war because you wanted a new extracurricular? Quidditch not keeping you busy enough?"

"He's a prefect too," Evan says helpfully.

"I'm getting involved in the war because I want it to stop," Regulus says. (Sort of. He doesn't want it to stop until he's won it, but that's a detail McKinnon doesn't need.) "You can't tell me you like the idea of graduating into a world that's constantly being torn apart by the same battles over and over again?"

"Of course not," McKinnon says. "But I also don't like it when I am getting the distinct sense that a couple of Slytherins are trying to use my best friend to suit their own purposes."

"Who else's purposes would we possibly want to suit?" Evan says, this time rather less helpfully in Regulus's opinion.

"It serves her interests too," he says to McKinnon. "Supporting Dumbledore may keep her alive in the short run, but it's not the same thing as improving the situation. I want to address the root cause, and I can't do that without Muggleborns. So, yes, I do intend to use Lily Evans to suit my own purposes, but I think you're making a gross misrepresentation of it by framing it as if it's entirely self-serving. Wouldn't your family benefit from the outcome I want too?"

"Oh," McKinnon says. "So that's your game. You told Rosier to tell Lily to ask me about Dark Arts because you knew it meant I'd come to yell at him."

Regulus actually hadn't predicted that, and he definitely hadn't predicted McKinnon doing so right after quidditch practice when Regulus would be around to jump into the conversation, but he'll take the credit for it. "There are plenty of Muggleborns at Hogwarts. I wanted to reach Evans because she knows you, and I thought that she might be willing to look past—or at least reconsider—previous messaging about Dark Arts if she knew that you're part of the network. You said it yourself—she's been surrounded by anti-Dark sentiment since she got her first Hogwarts letter. If it can work for a Gryffindor Muggleborn, it can work for others, and if it can work for others, it can end the war once and for all."

"Blow it up."

"Yes."

McKinnon folds her arms again and looks at him. Regulus can't tell if she's just thinking and happening to look in his direction, or if she's trying to stare him down, so he looks back at her and waits. (They've actually done this exact same thing multiple times before, but every other time, it's been right before a quidditch match as Geoff and Alice Fortescue shake hands.) Evan's gaze is drifting vaguely up towards the clouds above them.

Then McKinnon says, "Why do you care? This is a hell of a lot riskier for you than falling in line with the blood purists. And I want it to be known that I'm suspicious of whether you actually support Muggleborns as much as you claim to."

"That's reasonable," Regulus says. "You don't have to take my word for it. I aim to prove it."

"Sure, of course you do. Let's go back to why you care about this."

Hm.

He needs to frame this in a Gryffindor-friendly manner, but he's not sure he has passionate speeches about the future of the country in him. Besides, if it's too Gryffindor-friendly, McKinnon will probably suspect that he's lying. He needs to give her an answer that will appeal to her without seeming too perfect.

"First of all, like I said, I want the wars to stop and this is the best way to make it happen," Regulus says. "Second of all, it's the right thing to do. And third of all, my practicing Dark Arts is in no way sufficient reason for me to bow down to the first person who comes along claiming to champion our magic. This approach may be riskier to me personally than 'falling in line,' as you put it, but the network as a whole is safer when we're not actively creating more enemies."

"We all win," Evan says absently, still looking up. "Except Dumbledore and the hardcore purists. Also, there's a cloud up there that looks kind of like a hedgehog, but I don't know if that means anything."

"That's because most weather-based divination is notoriously finicky, so it isn't taught until NEWT level," Regulus says before turning his attention back to McKinnon. "Evan is right, though. Very few people actually benefit from these wars, but almost everyone suffers because of them. I don't have to be the most selfless person in the world to think that something has gone wrong here. And there is a difference that we can make before we even graduate from Hogwarts. There are students here who have already signed up to join the Death Eaters as soon as they can. We can make sure they don't drag anyone else down with them. And I'm not going to let them use me as a shield, as you suggested earlier. When there's an opportunity to change things right in front of me, I take it."

"So... the Carrows..." McKinnon says. "Just to be clear. You're telling me they're not just sympathizers—they're actually set up to join?"

"They're already in contact with current Death Eaters who are advising them on how best to prepare," Regulus says. "They have been for some time. And it's not just the Carrows."

"Shit."

Shit indeed. "So that's another reason that I care. The war has already come to Slytherin. I can't afford to pretend that it hasn't."

It's extremely satisfying to watch his words land, especially since he was telling the truth. McKinnon's mouth presses into a straight line. She's staring at nothing now, probably turning Regulus's words over in her mind.

Regulus waits.

(The cloud really does look like a hedgehog.)

Eventually, McKinnon looks back at Regulus. "Okay. I get where you're coming from with this. Still wish you hadn't dragged Lily into it, but... she's Muggleborn, so."

So she never had a choice, Regulus fills in mentally.

That's something to remember. Many of the people Regulus will be recruiting will be deciding between participating in the war and not participating. That's not the decision that Muggleborns will be making. Their lives are already at stake. They don't have much to lose by getting involved, and they have a lot to gain.

"I do want to know, though," McKinnon says, and perhaps Regulus has been getting a little complacent, because the last thing he expects her to say is, "Have you talked to Sirius about this?"

That question should not knock the air out of Regulus the way that it does. It should not come as a shock. It should not even come as a mild surprise.

There are only two Dark scions in Gryffindor, after all. Even if one of them has been disowned.

He doesn't know if Sirius and McKinnon are friends. She's not a member of his group, but Regulus is more or less friends with all of his yearmates in Slytherin, so it wouldn't be a stretch to assume the same of the sixth-year Gryffindors. And Sirius and McKinnon are on the quidditch team together. Regulus is practically obligated to be friends with Evan and Emma because of how much time they spend together. So the same probably applies to Sirius and McKinnon. But Regulus has never really... considered who Sirius might be friends with, beyond his little pack. Sirius never had to defend his acquaintance with McKinnon at the dinner table.

But Potter is also a sixth-year Gryffindor, and Potter is also on the quidditch team, and if Regulus knows anything about Sirius, it is that Potter's opinion matters to him, possibly more than anyone else's does—including Sirius's own.

So of course Regulus hasn't talked to Sirius about this. If he feels like wasting his time, he'll practice augury with Evan again. That doesn't require climbing nearly so many stairs as walking up to Gryffindor Tower to humbly request an audience with his former brother does.

But the fact that McKinnon asked—that she thought there was a possibility that Regulus might have consulted Sirius on this, might even be working with Sirius on this—

With any other family, Regulus might have thought the same.

But Sirius was the one who ran away. Regulus won't be the one who crawls to him, begging for mercy. He won't offer up this plan, with its rejection of their family's ideas on blood purity, as some sort of evidence that he is worthy of Sirius's favor. He won't be the eternal younger brother, constantly looking for direction from the elder.

Regulus doesn't say any of that, of course.

What he does say is, "Sirius and I don't speak to each other," but as soon as the words are out of his mouth, they feel too blunt, too revealing to someone Regulus barely knows, no matter how neutrally Regulus said them. He can't backtrack, but he can try to move past it, so he adds, "If he said anything to Potter, it would put this whole thing in jeopardy."

McKinnon grimaces. "Maybe. You might not be giving him enough credit. But I can't speak for him. Like I said, we don't talk about this shit in Gryffindor. I don't know what he thinks. It would have to be a leap of faith, but you did already talk to Lily, so clearly you're willing to take risks."

It's not a risk. It's just a horrible idea. But saying that might ruin the fragile truce that Regulus and McKinnon (and Evan) seem to have arrived at, so Regulus says, "It depends on the reward."

"Yeah." She sticks her hands in her pockets. "Well, thanks for the talk. Don't send any more Muggleborns my way for a primer on Dark Arts. I used up all my mental energy on convincing Lily we could really still be friends."

"But you convinced her?" Regulus says.

"Sure. We've been best friends for years. I had to help her adjust, though. And explain all the stuff that Rosier hinted at. I do mean all. Lily's thorough."

More importantly, she's been persuaded that Dark Arts aren't evil.

Excellent.

"If she has more questions, I can answer them," Regulus says.

McKinnon grins crookedly. "Yeah, you're overqualified, I'd say. Might take you up on that. I help out with my family's stuff when I'm at home, but I'm no expert. It's not really my thing. And she'll have a lot of questions."

"Regulus has lots of answers," Evan says.

"I gathered," McKinnon says. "See you around."

And she lifts the bubble ward and starts walking back to the castle, and then it's just Regulus and Evan, standing by the equipment shed, and Regulus becomes aware that their arms are still linked.

"You can let go of me," he says. "You've already gotten through the 'blaming everything on me' part. I'm not going to run away."

Evan releases his arm with a smile. "No, you never do, do you? And based on that entire conversation, I think we can safely say that I won the race to get to Marlene McKinnon."

"The person who takes the blame takes the credit," Regulus counters. "You can't have it both ways."

"I absolutely can, and I will. See, I was the one who told Evans to talk to McKinnon, so I get the credit for that. But you were the one who told me to talk to Evans about Dark Arts in the first place, so you get the blame for that, because it was your idea. It all makes sense."

"I also told you that I wanted to get to McKinnon," Regulus says. "So that was my idea too."

"But I was the one who made it happen."

"But you were also the one who made talking to Lily Evans about Dark Arts happen."

"Pedant."

"You say that like it's a recent realization."

"Oh, it's very much not," Evan says. "But I can still be impressed."

Notes:

***flirting intensifies***

marlene just had the weirdest conversation of her entire life and she lives with the marauders

also, yes, sometimes i WILL be using regulus's narration to make pointed comments about the stupid shit some of the slytherins did in canon. cunning my ASS. if you're going to assign certain personality traits to all of your villains you should at least bother to follow through on your OWN WORLDBUILDING. DON'T USE YOUR HEAD OF HOUSE TO TRY TO TAKE OVER THE PITCH WHEN ANOTHER TEAM HAS IT RESERVED????????? WTF???????????

pretty sure 'emotional support [noun]' is an anachronistic turn of phrase here, but it amused me so i put it in anyway lol

also: imagine, if you will, marlene attempting to prod sirius for information on regulus, while ALSO attempting not to make it obvious that's what she's doing. regulus's side is beginning to loom over gryffindor tower and i think that's very funny because sirius is trying to keep up like 'why is regulus suddenly a Big Name On Campus??????'

next week: shit goes sideways--or does it??

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 22

Regulus walks into breakfast on Thursday exhausted from two hours of practice in abysmal weather conditions and preoccupied with questions of recruitment.

He talked to Theophania on Monday about the Dark Arts study group. She confirmed that she's planning to join, but she didn't seem particularly enthusiastic, just matter-of-fact. With that in mind, he hadn't extended an invitation to her to join the group early. It was a sure thing with Miles McKinnon, given that he'd already been demonstrating his interest in unusual magic in the common room for years, but Theophania is more reserved and Regulus didn't want to come across as pushy. That might raise questions.

He still wants to make sure Theophania joins his group and not the Carrows', though, which means he needs to come up with something. That might involve talking to Maeve about it, since she was so determined to befriend Theophania. Coming from Maeve, an invitation might sound like a friendly offer, rather than a direct recruitment effort. Of course, Maeve doesn't know why Regulus cares so much about getting Theophania into the group, and if he wants her to know why so she understands the stakes, then he'll have to recruit her into the war, and he hasn't made much progress on figuring out that angle because he's been busy with various sixth-years.

It's only when Evan whispers "Does it seem quieter than usual?" that Regulus realizes how hushed the Great Hall is. They've walked in later than most people, because they've just come from morning practice, so the hall is relatively full. But it's quieter than it should be, with this many people here. There are plenty of students talking, mostly in undertones. Only some of them look happy. Most of the upper-years and teachers, and everyone holding a newspaper, look...

Well. Reactions vary.

The Carrows and their friends are behaving the same as usual. Stephen Travers, one of the other seventh-years and Thomas's brother, is telling some kind of animated story that involves a lot of hand gestures and laughter. But they're some of the exceptions in a hall that is, overall, solemn. The Gryffindors in particular alternate between angry muttering and a somber stillness. Even most of the lower-years seem subdued.

Heather is sitting at the near end of the Slytherin table next to Margaret, a copy of the Daily Prophet spread out between them. Margaret's usual expression of polite disinterest is even politer than it normally is. Heather is tapping one bright pink fingernail very slowly against the table and frowning down at the front page.

Regulus and Heather publicly being friends benefits him too. He sets off in that direction, Evan trailing along behind him, and sits down directly across from Heather.

She looks up. "Hello. Have you seen this?"

"We just got out of quidditch practice," Regulus says. "I haven't seen anything."

Heather turns the newspaper so Regulus can see the front page.

Oh.

TOP MUGGLEBORN MINISTRY OFFICIAL FOUND MURDERED IN HOME, the headline screams. There's a picture of the main entrance of the house, elegant front doors hanging off of their hinges, Aurors swarming inside.

A Dark Mark floating above.

"His wife was the one who found him." Margaret says it very, very, very calmly. "She was working the night shift at St. Mungo's. The Aurors are pretty sure that's what saved her life—that she wasn't home. Pureblood, but, you know, she married him. She's lucky they didn't have children. Have you seen Barty?"

"He'd just woken up when we got back to the room," Regulus says. "He said he'd catch up. Why?"

Heather points at a paragraph. "They quote his father."

Regulus skims it. Despicable act... difficult to predict... doing everything we can to bring the perpetrators to justice, all the things he might expect the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to say when Death Eaters have brutally tortured and murdered one of his colleagues. It's not the first time this has happened, but it is the first time it's happened to someone so prominent. Regulus doesn't recognize the name, but he recognizes the role: Deputy Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. The DIMC isn't as visible as the Department of Domestic Affairs or the DMLE, as far as bureaucratic parts of the Ministry go, but it's still important, and the deputy head of the department would have been deemed worthy of DMLE-provided protection on his home. Not an Auror detail, that's reserved for far more important people, but wards set by a security team and checked regularly. The Death Eaters getting past those protections doesn't reflect well on the DMLE, and it definitely doesn't reflect well on Barty's father.

Crouch condemns the Death Eaters as 'lawless vigilantes,' of course, which is probably why Margaret asked about Barty. Normally, Barty's political leanings are a bit of an open secret in Slytherin, but going after him isn't worth certain purists' time when there's a whole school full of Muggleborns and half-bloods to torment (and when Barty spends so much time with Regulus). Any reminder that his father is a blood traitor (cloaked though it may be in the language of law and criminality) throws the scrutiny of the Carrows and their friends back upon him, though, and given that Barty has recently decided to get more physically involved in the war...

Today will be an eventful day.

And then, like he's been summoned, Barty is there, dropping onto the bench on Regulus's other side. "Why aren't you sitting with Maeve and Lucinda? I mean, no offense, it's just that this isn't the usual breakfast—oh. Shit."

"That sums it up," Heather says.

Barty scans the article. His face almost twists into a scowl at one line, but he flattens it out into a more neutral expression and lowers his voice to a mutter. "'Difficult to predict'? That the Death Eaters would attempt to remove Muggleborns from the government? I can't say I'm surprised."

"Difficult to predict them succeeding at it, maybe," Heather says quietly. She folds up the paper. "Margaret and I need to head to class, but let me know if you want to borrow this again later."

Once they're gone, Evan whispers, "That signals the end of some complacency."

And Regulus...

Regulus has some quick thinking that he needs to do.

What does he do? The shock over this could be redirected into action, but it's far too early for Regulus to show his hand. If there's any action, it can't be taken by him—at least not directly. At the same time, Regulus can't seem too unaffected by the news, or he'll look callous. Marlene McKinnon, at the very least, will probably be taking note of how he reacts to this.

Solemn, then. He can do solemn. He's good at solemn.

But someone needs to do something. Goad the Carrows and their friends into saying something indiscreet, get into a fight, not just show the pro-Muggleborn students their enemies but show them how to take them down. McKinnon was shocked to know how close some Slytherins are to taking the Mark. If Regulus can just spread that information a little further...

 

The Slytherins have History of Magic with the Gryffindors first thing on Thursdays.

Regulus sits next to Barty, just as he always does, and takes a large piece of parchment out of his bag.

They have a lot to discuss.

 

Classes pass quietly, none of the fifth-years inclined to be raucous. Aside from Binns, the professors seem shaken. Vector does a better job at hiding it than the rest of them. Charms is even slightly more tolerable than usual. Professor Flitwick is clearly distracted, because he doesn't notice that Regulus's Color-Changing Charms can really only turn his parchment from one shade of beige to a variety of slightly different shades of beige. On any other day, getting away with that would be Regulus's primary concern, but he's distracted too.

The plan is not foolproof, which is the price they're paying for putting something together so quickly. It can't be truly initiated by someone on Regulus's side, and in order for it to work, Regulus has to be far away—or at least seem far away. The Carrows and their friends are perfectly aware that if they target Barty, Regulus will get involved. That means that Barty has to become such a tempting target that the future Death Eaters disregard the risk—at least, for now.

They also need an audience, and this is the complicated part. The point of enticing the future Death Eaters into attacking Barty is proving that Slytherin is not monolithic—and, more importantly, that there are people willing to be the first to stand up to the blood purists. Eyewitnesses are a necessity. But with an audience, Regulus would inevitably find out what had happened. (Even if he weren't already orchestrating it from behind the scenes.) There's a substantial risk that the Carrows and their friends will decide attacking Barty isn't worth the risk with so many witnesses around, and all of this will be for naught.

It's the first plan that will use every official member of their small team, which means Barty passing notes back to Evan in the seat behind him in History of Magic, Regulus quietly explaining to Antony at lunch that some of the second-years have been having issues and he wants to talk to him about how to address it during office hours, and all the fifth-year Slytherins except Charlotte leaving Charms, turning left instead of right, and intercepting Jessica on her way out of Professor Vector's classroom.

(They didn't really need six people to participate in this last part, but it's not like it hurts.)

Jessica doesn't blink an eye when she leaves Arithmancy to find six fifth-years standing in the hallway waiting for her. "Hello."

"You have babysitters now?" Alexander mutters as he and Audrey Seaver push past. Jessica doesn't deign to look in his direction. (Anahit Sarkisian is nowhere in sight, so she must not take Arithmancy. Normally, she and Seaver are inseparable.)

"That was either a deeply uncreative insult or he doesn't know what friends are," Barty whispers to Emma, just loud enough that it's obviously meant to be heard. "Place your bets."

(Barty saying this sort of thing to Regulus might make Regulus a target too early. Barty making himself a target, on the other hand, is not just fine, but exactly what they want.)

Emma, of course, is not in on this plan, nor does she have any idea of why Jessica is fighting with Alexander or even why the other fifth-years are acquainted with them in the first place, so she just gives Barty a mildly confused look. Alexander rolls his eyes and stalks off down the hallway.

Evan has already agreed to his part of the plan. Barty will talk to Jessica, and Regulus will talk to Antony, and then they'll be ready.

 

At a little before five, Antony knocks on the door to the fifth-year boys' room to inform them that the correct people are in the common room. (The 'correct people,' in this case, are at least three of the future Death Eaters sitting together, as well as Jessica, reading in a chair near the door.)

Barty gathers his materials for the Defense essay and goes to work on it alone in the common room.

Antony goes back to his room, but Regulus knows that in ten minutes or so, he'll also drift over to the common room with some homework.

That leaves Regulus and Evan, who wait fifteen minutes on the dot before picking up their brooms and quidditch gloves and leaving.

Evan rambles as they walk through the common room, loudly enough that Mulciber glances up from his conversation (presumably to see who could possibly have so many opinions on the Hufflepuff quidditch team's attempt at a coherent defensive strategy). Regulus forces himself to pass by without a glance in Mulciber's direction, but out of the corner of his eye he sees him look from Regulus and Evan to Barty, now crossing out what looks like at least three inches of his essay.

It'll have to do.

Of course, they're not actually going flying, but the combination of broom, quidditch gloves, and Evan means that Regulus appears as though he'll be gone for a while. (Nobody bothers to wear gloves for short flights, after all, and Amycus Carrow will probably be able to attest to his friends that when Evan goes flying, his feet do not touch the ground until he has no other choice.) The other reason Evan is necessary to the plan is because Regulus knew that he would be more than capable of drawing at least one future Death Eater's attention as he and Regulus left the common room, no matter how absorbed they were in their conversation. It would be rather embarrassing if they went to all this effort and nothing happened because Regulus left the dorm too quietly.

Barty showed Jessica where Regulus's office is earlier, and that's where Regulus and Evan go now, as quickly as possible so nobody runs into them in the hallway and realizes that they're going the wrong direction to get to the quidditch pitch.

Regulus puts up a muffling ward once he closes the door, to preserve the illusion that there's nobody here, and then he says, "Mulciber noticed us."

"Wonderful," Evan says. "Now we just have to hope that he's in the mood for a spot of tormenting others before dinner. Surrounded by witnesses."

"Surrounded by witnesses, yes," Regulus says. "We can't spin it as well if nobody knows what happened."

"If anything happens," Evan says. "I don't know if the news is going to make them more or less careful."

"I think it'll depend on the person. So the crucial factor is what kind of person Mulciber is. But I've already gone after him, and he may be interested in getting some kind of revenge by striking at Barty. I did some damage to their fear-worthy image. Given the news, today is a good day for them to reassert it. Barty's connection with the DMLE does him no favors in their eyes. If they can attack him and get away with it, it gives them more credibility. But if they attack him and don't get away with it, they look like fools."

"And if Slughorn gets involved, it's worse, isn't it?" Evan says. "Barty plays the victim and tosses around his father's name, you shoulder your way into the room and back him up, and what do the likes of Mulciber have? Especially if they're the instigators."

"Maybe," Regulus says. "I don't know if Slughorn handing out detentions would slow down the conflict brewing here or speed it up. All of it depends on how badly people want revenge. We'll get a better idea of how they think and feel over time."

Evan nods, and then they fall into a silence, the kind that falls when one is waiting for something. In this case, for Jessica to show up and inform them that the chaos in the common room either is over or needs their intervention. They have no idea how long it'll take, although they've agreed that if an hour goes by without anything happening, they'll deem the attempt over and go to dinner.

An hour is a long time to wait around in this office. It's not even heated. It might be colder outside, but if they were really adhering to their cover story, they'd be flying, and the physical activity would warm them up. (The benefit to the February chill outside is that if they're summoned back to the common room quickly, they can claim it was too cold to stay out for long.) Not for the first time, Regulus wonders if the towers get as cold as the dungeons. They're aboveground, so they're closer to the sun, but also closer to the wind.

Evan must be thinking along similar lines, because he says, "Maybe we should've actually gone flying. Antony's there in case anything goes wrong."

"But Antony isn't me," Regulus says.

"Well, no." He grins. "Don't worry, dearest, you're unique."

"That was never in question." At least, not really. Regulus and Sirius were alike, not the same. There were always differences, obvious to everyone around them from the start. They just grew more pronounced over time. "Antony is too nice and not someone they're immediately inclined to take seriously as a threat. He'll jump in as a prefect, so it'll help in case anything really goes wrong before I can get there, but rhetorically speaking, there's not much he can do. The best he can provide is a stalemate, which is hardly what we're hoping for."

"A stalemate now can be turned into a victory later," Evan says, once again proving that he puts much more thought into these things than most of the people around him expect.

Regulus isn't sure how he comes off, in that respect. His name was dragged into the occasional 'think before you act, Sirius' conversation when he was little, as an example of proper consideration of the consequences of his actions, but those conversations were rare, and rarer still were the conversations where the person telling Sirius to use his brain wasn't also telling Regulus the same thing. (Often as an afterthought. There were benefits to Sirius being the loud one.)

But Regulus's reputation is not based on a vague sense of vapidity, so it's likely that people expect him to think, and most of those people will never figure out exactly how much thought he puts into things anyway. It's better when they don't know how many steps ahead he is.

"Stalemates can become victories for either side," Regulus says. "And they'll have time to regroup. From now on, they'll know what to expect from Barty, so to get the most out of this, it has to go our way from the start." Besides, today they have the front-page murder of a Muggleborn raising tensions, if not to the point of boiling over, at least to an uncomfortable sort of simmer.

"But we could also work with a martyr angle," Evan says.

"That depends on how good Barty is at acting pitiful, and I don't want to bank on that." If they really want a martyr, they'll need someone who's not pureblooded, anyway. "Besides, we're supposed to be the ones saving everyone else, not the other way around."

"Are we?" Evan says. "Saving them, I mean."

Regulus holds back his immediate response, which is a blunt No. This whole scheme started out as a way for Regulus to save himself. He's just turning his escape route towards the general benefit of society along the way. Oddly enough, that makes it rather easier to recruit other people to the cause. Not to mention that it's a far more impressive achievement for Regulus himself than just avoiding taking the Mark. "We're winning. That won't save everyone, by design. But it'll help, and as both Dumbledore and the Dark Lord have shown, a moral argument never hurts."

"Unless it boxes you in."

As if they haven't been boxed in one way or another for their entire lives. It's part and parcel of being who they are, the exchange they make for status and power that not everyone thinks is fair. (That's a question that Regulus has never really concerned himself with overmuch. Whether it's fair or not, it's what he has to work with. Complaining wouldn't get him anywhere—besides, as Heir Black, things tend to be unfair in his favor. Expostulating on the importance of fairness and then turning around and using his name to get Barty out of trouble with Professor Slughorn, as is the plan, would render Regulus more than a little hypocritical.)

And boxes can be useful. He has to be able to leverage rules, not just work around them. It gives him legitimacy that he'll need, if he's going to persuade the Dark establishment that he's worthy of their support.

"If it does," Regulus says, "so be it."

Notes:

famous last words bb

hmmmmm not much to add re: this chapter - what do you think, is this going to turn out a blessing or a curse for reg's side? will there be a fight? who will win? and how do you think the gryffindors are reacting to this news?

next week: evan enters his bloodthirsty era!! geoff tells embarrassing stories!! a surprising amount of information about emma's history of quidditch injuries seeing as she doesn't actually make an appearance in the chapter!!

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 23

Regulus and Evan wait around in the office for a little while before there's a knock on the door and Jessica's voice says, "It's me."

Regulus swings open the door. Jessica looks... relatively calm, book tucked under one arm, posture casual, so it doesn't seem like she's fetching them to solve a crisis.

"That took five minutes," Evan says. "It got out of hand in five minutes?"

"It's over," Jessica corrects. "It was really fast—a few minutes after you left, Mulciber got things going, Barty annoyed him until he got his wand out in front of everyone, and then Barty just grabbed it from him and hit him in the face. Plenty of eyewitnesses will say Mulciber started it. You might need to do some quick talking to persuade Slughorn that it's really not Barty's fault how he ended it."

"Did anyone go to him already?" Regulus says.

"No, but Stephen Travers ended up taking Mulciber to the hospital wing, so Madam Pomfrey might start asking questions."

To the hospital wing? "How hard did Barty hit him?"

"There was blood."

"Excellent," Evan says. He seems like he means it too, judging by the way he's beaming.

"Barty went back to your room, so you can debrief with him," Jessica says. "I'm going to head to dinner. Let me know what the effects are going to be."

"I will," Regulus says. "Thank you."

"Sure." Jessica half-turns like she's about to walk away, then turns back to Regulus. "How long are we pretending to be disorganized for?"

"Until we have enough support to make coming out of the shadows worth it," Regulus says. "Even the Carrows don't openly proclaim that they're set to join the Death Eaters. Declaring a side at Hogwarts is risky. Dumbledore won't like what we're doing, so we have to be careful to ensure that by the time he does find out, he can't do anything about it."

"What do you think he'd do?" Jessica says. "Crack down?"

This is... a question that Regulus doesn't quite have an answer for yet.

The issue with Dumbledore is that he clings to morality. Bellatrix has scoffed over the Order of the Phoenix's refusal to use Unforgivables, how some of them offer mercy in defiance of all sense, how they insist on fighting in the 'right' way. Regulus has no idea how that philosophy might play out, should Dumbledore realize what's happening among his students. He doesn't know if Dumbledore is as committed to his principles as he seems, and if so, what tactics he might be willing to use to uphold them. With Voldemort, it's very simple—he does his best to torture and kill anyone he doesn't like. Predictable. Dumbledore is harder. And Regulus doesn't know him very well—or rather, not at all, on a personal level. He knows Dumbledore's position in the war and his past accomplishments. He doesn't know what kind of person Dumbledore is, underneath it all.

"He runs the school," Regulus says eventually. "There are many ways that he could interfere with us, which he may use if he realizes what our position on certain magic is. But a handful of students fighting over blood purity? Dumbledore will be inclined to take our side, as long as he thinks that we have taken his. Besides, I doubt the news of one hit to the face will reach his ears. Slughorn is more than equipped to handle that. It'll take something much more dramatic to involve Dumbledore."

Or maybe it won't. Maybe what it will take is a series of small incidents, building up over time, chipping away at Voldemort's shadow over Hogwarts, gradually coalescing around one group of students, with one leader.

Dumbledore has never shown much interest in Regulus. He doesn't network, like Slughorn does, and Regulus has never gotten into the kind of trouble that merits a trip to the headmaster's office. (Well. He's never been caught.) But if Dumbledore realizes that there is a movement at Hogwarts, supposedly aligned with his ideas but led by a student he knows little to nothing about, heir to a family that should be diametrically opposed to him...

Regulus may be invited to some rather interesting negotiating sessions.

"I like drama," Jessica says. "I'm in."

"Good," Regulus says. "We'll need you."

She grins. "Great."

And then she leaves, and Evan whispers, "Wow, I didn't know you could be nice."

"That wasn't nice," Regulus replies. "That was the truth." Jessica is their best route towards other, similarly-minded fourth-years, as well as the person best able to let them know who to avoid in that year. She owes Regulus. Her continued membership in their group pushes Alexander further away. All of these factors mean that they will need Jessica. And she sought out Barty to complain about that fight in the first place, which was rather a risky move, considering that she could have just not said anything to anyone. Regulus doesn't know what her goal was, or whether she's achieved it, but seeking Barty's allyship is an interesting choice, seeing as socially, his best asset in Slytherin is Regulus. Maybe it was an impulsive choice. Maybe it wasn't. Regulus is willing to find out, because the only other person who was that deliberate about befriending Barty is him.

Evan shrugs. "Still, a bit of flattery never hurts, does it? Especially when you're recruiting people for something that might ask them to put themselves in danger."

Regulus almost asks if that's Evan's way of telling him that he feels underappreciated, then decides he doesn't want to get into that discussion. Evan is clearly more than capable of informing him of such things in a much more direct manner, but if Regulus brings it up, he'll take it as an invitation. Instead, Regulus says, "I think that the truth is a better strategy, long-term. One fewer lie to keep straight."

"A truth carefully edited, of course."

"Of course. Let's find out what Barty has to say about how the fight went."

 

Barty is indeed in their room, sitting on his bed with his hands in his lap. He looks up and grins at them as they walk in, but it's tenser, a little more hollow than usual, and Regulus is immediately on edge.

They'd known going into this that it meant inviting the Carrows' group to try to turn Barty into a victim. He'd insisted multiple times, on the piece of parchment they'd passed back and forth in class, that he could handle whatever they threw at him, that he wasn't so insecure as to let them get in his head while he was actively antagonizing them. Regulus arranged for Antony to keep watch in case of unmanageable violence, but he'd been thinking of the physical variety.

But Jessica would have said something if it had gotten particularly nasty verbally, wouldn't she? She made it sound like they weren't talking for very long before Mulciber got his wand out.

Evan is right here, though, so Regulus can't really ask what he wants to ask. Instead, he says, "How did it go? Jessica said it was over quickly."

"Oh, yeah." Barty's smile looks a little more genuine now. "It was easy. They're so used to people being afraid of them that they didn't really know what to do with me. Honestly, I was worried they were going to back down instead of making a huge scene surrounded by witnesses, but then I referenced their future career plans and informed them that they'd get very familiar with the experience of being on trial, so they'd get personally acquainted with my father sooner or later and I'd look forward to the results, and then Mulciber lost it. Or he would've, if I hadn't taken his wand and hit him. Side note, do either of you happen to know any healing magic?"

"Healing magic? Where are you hurt?" At least that makes everything make sense—the pain, even after a quick fight, that Jessica apparently didn't notice or didn't think worth mentioning—of course he'd seem uncomfortable. But if Mulciber didn't get off any spells...

Barty gingerly lifts his right hand. He's not screaming in pain, so it can't be too horrible, but his knuckles are bruised and his thumb looks a little swollen, which doesn't seem good. "Just here. Turns out I don't actually know how to throw a punch, and apparently, that can go poorly. Your tiny Beater offered to show me how to do it correctly. She was almost crying, she was so excited."

"Megan is a bloodthirsty little fiend, and you should take her up on that, because she knows what she's doing," Evan says. "I don't know anything about first aid, but Geoff knows enough to tell you if it'll be fine tomorrow or if you should go to Madam Pomfrey."

"See, that's the thing," Barty says. "I can't just show up at the hospital wing while Mulciber is there. How embarrassing would that be? But I also can't really move my thumb, and I feel like that might be a problem."

 

"That's a problem," Geoff says after looking at Barty's hand for approximately two seconds. "If you can't move it, something's fucked up in there, and if you wait until tomorrow to see Pomfrey it'll probably get worse. Plus, with injuries, she can usually tell how long you waited before going to the hospital wing, and she'll lecture you about not coming in sooner. Especially since I'm assuming you hurt your dominant hand."

"But Mulciber," Barty says plaintively.

Geoff shakes his head. "He'll be gone by the time you get there. That looked like a broken nose to me, and when Evan flew into a goalpost and broke his—"

"I thought we agreed never to discuss that again," Evan says.

"—Pomfrey fixed it in about thirty seconds, half of which were her telling us we're far too reckless about how we play quidditch. The only reason for Mulciber to stick around would be if she's grilling him about what happened, which might not be the greatest look for you, yeah, but I think you've got the moral high ground on this one."

Geoff raises an interesting point. Even if Mulciber is still there, it could be an opportunity to get Barty's side of the story to a teacher before Mulciber's version can take root. Besides... "You don't know how to throw a punch, and are experiencing the consequences," Regulus says. "I think that makes it fairly clear that this was not some kind of planned attack." (Well. It implies it. But Geoff was not in on this plan, so they have to stick to their cover story around him.) "And going to Madam Pomfrey now shows that you have nothing to hide."

Barty goes along with the lie. "I guess if I hang around here it might look like I'm hiding from them."

"Which is stupid," Evan declares. "They're the ones who should be hiding."

"Yeah, well, that's not how the world works," Geoff says.

Regulus notes that response. Noncommittal, but unenthusiastic about the Carrows' group. And Geoff came in here to look at Barty's injury, fully aware that it came about as a result of hitting Mulciber. Those are not the actions of a Voldemort sympathizer. (Neither is choosing Megan over Amycus for the quidditch team.)

Barty catches Regulus's eye and tilts his head very slightly. It's a clear question: are we going to do anything with that?

Regulus says, "It's not how the world works yet."

"True, there's always tomorrow," Barty says. "Although Pomfrey might have some opinions if I pull this again."

 

Madam Pomfrey, as it turns out, has opinions now.

Regulus and Barty arrive at the hospital wing, empty except for her, and with an air of resignation, Barty removes his hand from his pocket (which he'd done so nobody could see the swelling, which has gotten worse over the course of them walking up here—it would be rather embarrassing to admit that he'd basically broken his hand on Mulciber's face, and they haven't decided yet if they're going to play the victim angle that aggressively). Madam Pomfrey sees it and her lips twist and she says, "I don't suppose you're going to tell me how this happened?"

That is, in fact, exactly their plan, so Barty affects a sort of weary surprise. "I thought Mulciber already came up here. Did he not say?"

She doesn't blink an eye at the reference to Mulciber, suggesting that she's already put together that one student with a broken nose and another with an injured hand in very quick succession might be a result of the exact same incident. (Which makes Regulus wonder how often Pomfrey sees the results of fistfights. He would assume that duels would be rather more common here, but he is also perhaps significantly better-versed in offensive magic than much of Hogwarts.)

"Most students aren't eager to inform me of the details when they get into a brawl, Mr. Crouch," Madam Pomfrey says. "Sit down. Mr. Black?"

"I'm not hurt," Regulus says.

Pomfrey raises her eyebrows. "Then...?"

"We thought Mulciber might still be up here, so I walked up with Barty." Regulus invites himself to take a seat next to him. (He'd be approximately useless in another round of fistfighting, but there's no reason for him to admit that.)

She clearly decides it's not worth her time to try to kick him out, which is what Regulus expected. Pomfrey seems only to expend energy on that when she has students who need to be resting.

(In fact, the only time Regulus has ever been kicked out of the hospital wing was in third year, when the whole quidditch team was forcibly ejected so that Emma could sleep off the effects of Pomfrey healing her broken leg. The actual healing didn't take very long, but apparently broken and re-healed bones are delicate for some time before they're really back to normal. Emma couldn't put weight on her leg for a full day, and when Regulus broke his collarbone he was in the hospital wing for two, but fractures and minor breaks don't take as long, which is why Evan has never had to stay overnight. The main reason that Regulus has only been kicked out of the hospital wing once is because usually when the entire team piles in to make sure the injured person is alright, the injured person is Regulus. Never let it be said that he's not willing to make sacrifices in pursuit of a Slytherin victory. But most of the time, either none of them get hurt, or the only injuries are along the lines of a few bruises that aren't enough of a reason to trek all the way up to the hospital wing.)

Madam Pomfrey turns back to Barty. "Mr. Crouch, is it just your hand?"

"Yes. I can't really move my thumb."

The diagnostic charm that Pomfrey casts sinks into Barty's hand before an array of colored lights resurfaces. She watches them float into a particular order and announces, "Broken thumb. Minor bruising. I can fix the thumb right away. I'll give you bruise paste for the rest, and it should be gone by tomorrow if you follow directions." One of the many bedside tables rolls over, and Pomfrey instructs Barty to lay his hand on top of it palm-down. "This will hurt, although not as much as breaking it did. Would you like me to count down from three?"

"Er... sure," Barty says.

And so she does, and then she casts some sort of spell that causes an audible cracking noise that Regulus doesn't want to think too much about. (Madam Pomfrey gave Regulus a sleeping potion before fixing his collarbone. He did not experience any noises in that process, and he decides right now that he prefers it that way.)

Barty's face drains of color, but he manages to say weakly, "Fantastic. So, all fixed?"

"No," Madam Pomfrey says. "I'm giving you a potion to take for the swelling." She holds out her hand, and a small vial filled with a sparkling ruby-red liquid comes flying out of her office. It lands in her hand without Pomfrey even needing to look, and she uncorks it and hands it to Barty. "All of it. And keep your injured hand still."

Barty drinking a potion isn't particularly fascinating, so Regulus's mind returns to the potion itself. How Madam Pomfrey summoned it, specifically. He didn't see her wand move, and she certainly didn't say an incantation, but she held out her hand and it was like any Summoning Charm.

Well, not any Summoning Charm. Regulus's are much slower than that. But a good Summoning Charm. One of Evan's.

When Regulus was little, Mother called his and Sirius's bursts of accidental magic uncontrolled, irrational, explosive, something to be trained out of them, first by teaching them how to keep their composure, then by giving them wands through which they could channel the magic. It was never a skill to be cultivated, never worth anything except as a sign that they could do magic. Some Dark families have wandless specialties, yes, but according to Mother that's in order to keep their specialties secret—one can't copy a sequence of wand movements if there are no wand movements.

Madam Pomfrey is a mediwitch, though, trained to manage her reserves of magic incredibly carefully, to use them efficiently to ensure that she is able to treat as many patients as possible before needing to rest. Regulus has seen her performing plenty of magic year after year (mostly in the realm of fixing quidditch injuries), and she wastes neither time nor energy.

So if Madam Pomfrey can do wandless magic, then it must have value beyond secrecy.

Pomfrey takes the now-empty vial from Barty and sets it on the table. "I am going to put your thumb in a splint, which will remove itself in eight hours. I'll also give you bruise paste for the rest of your hand. Apply it at least an hour before you go to bed. I recommend doing so immediately after dinner, if not earlier, as the swelling reducer can sometimes make people drowsy. If the bruising is not gone in the morning, apply another coat and wait for six hours, and if that doesn't fix it, come back to the hospital wing. Can you remember all of that, or should I write it down?"

"I'll remember," Barty says.

"I'll remember too," Regulus says.

"Good. Hold out your hand." Pomfrey waves her wand in a complicated pattern around Barty's thumb, and a splint springs into existence. "Now. How did this happen?"

It's time to see how well Barty can play the victim. (Regulus sets a solemn look on his face. He's not exactly the most cheerful person in general, so it's not hard. The key here is to seem upset on Barty's behalf, while also seeming to be doing his best to hide it.)

Barty keeps it simple, staring down at his hand with slightly drooped shoulders as he says, "The Daily Prophet quoted my father in a front-page article this morning. The one about the murder. Mulciber didn't like what he said and decided to... to get in my face, to tell me what he thought. I, er. Told him to shut up before I made him, and. That's when he got his wand out." (This is the crown jewel of the story, one that every eyewitness can attest to—Mulciber aimed his wand at Barty, and Barty did not respond in kind, opting for a somewhat less dangerous method of conflict resolution.) "I guess he decided to see if I was bluffing." Barty shrugs, the corner of his mouth turning down. "I mean, I thought I was bluffing too. I didn't even know how I would make him shut up when I said it. But he just—he wouldn't stop."

"And how did you respond?" Pomfrey says.

Barty blinks at her like he's surprised by the question. (Regulus is too, briefly, before he realizes that Pomfrey's probably looking for a direct confession, not just the power of assumption. Besides, when someone points their wand at someone else, what usually follows is an attack of the magical variety.) "I took his wand and punched him in the face."

Pomfrey is silent for a moment, then turns to Regulus. "Were you present, Mr. Black?"

Regulus shakes his head in what he hopes is an appropriately downcast manner. "I was outside. When I got back, I found Barty in our room."

"And then you came to the hospital wing?"

"Not right away," Barty says. "Er. I... after I hit him, I know Mulciber went to the hospital wing, and I... didn't want to run into him. And I wasn't sure what was wrong, so I thought I'd just give it some time and see if it got better on its own, but then we got Geoff—Pucey—to look at it, and he said I should go. So."

"Mr. Pucey possesses a modicum of sense regarding injuries that many of his teammates do not," Madam Pomfrey says drily. (Which is definitely a reference to Emma's sprained ankle that she thought she could walk off last year. Among other injuries.) "He was correct in his assessment. That amount of pain is a signal that something is wrong and requires attention as quickly as possible. I understand the desire to avoid another altercation, Mr. Crouch, but in the future, please do trust in my ability to maintain order in my hospital wing."

Barty's shoulders droop a little more, and he hesitates before saying, "Okay."

"I will need to inform your Head of House," she adds. "I'm certain he'll wish to speak to you concerning this." Then, more gently— "It has been a disconcerting day for many of us. I appreciate your honesty and will communicate that to Professor Slughorn."

Excellent.

Barty nods wordlessly.

A small pot of bruise paste, pale blue jar exceedingly familiar to Regulus after years of quidditch, floats over. Madam Pomfrey glances at Barty's hands, the injured one and the one tucked in his lap, and hands the jar to Regulus. "Remember, one coat at least an hour before going to bed. If needed, apply a second coat in the morning, wait six hours, and then come back if the bruising isn't gone, or if you're still experiencing any pain in your hand."

That's a clear dismissal, so Regulus stands up, bruise paste in hand.

Barty does too. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Madam Pomfrey waves a hand, and the bedside table drifts back to its original position, no wand necessary. Regulus wants to ask about it, but under the circumstances, it's completely inappropriate—he's supposed to be preoccupied with Barty. "Oh, and, Mr. Black, I've been quite impressed with the relative lack of Slytherin quidditch robes in my hospital wing this year. Do encourage your teammates to keep it up."

That's because they've only played one match so far this year, and dramatic injuries are rare when they play Ravenclaw. (Although she's right that they've been doing particularly well this year with regard to not getting injured during practice.) But Regulus doesn't say that. He just nods, and then he and Barty make their exit.

The door swings shut behind them, but they keep quiet until they've passed the portrait gallery (as the constant conversations between the portraits inside will prevent Madam Pomfrey from overhearing anything Regulus or Barty might say).

"That was neatly done," Regulus says.

"Next up, Slughorn," Barty says, sounding a little more cheerful than he did in the hospital wing. "Did you see how she didn't even ask if I wanted a painkiller? Rude."

"Well, you did seem very calm about your broken thumb."

"In the future, I'll scream hysterically for the entire trip to the hospital wing."

"Do you want a pain reliever?" Not that Regulus has any on hand. But he can consult his Dark Arts books and see if there's anything relevant. Charlotte might have some ideas, although it would be a long shot—her family magic is based around not getting injured in the first place. But even if none of Regulus's books have an answer specifically for relieving pain, the mind magic book might have instructions for tricking Barty's mind into repressing it, which is almost the same thing.

Barty shrugs. "I'll see how it feels once we get back to the dungeons. It started feeling better right after she fixed it."

Which is probably exactly why Madam Pomfrey didn't offer a pain reliever, as presumably she's familiar with the effects of her spells. But Regulus doesn't say that. "Do you want to go back there, or go straight to dinner?"

"Hm. I guess dinner first minimizes stair-climbing."

"That it does."

Notes:

madam pomfrey is having A Day

what do you think about regulus's prediction for how the fight against dumbledore will go? do you think he's right? do you think he's forgetting anything/missing key pieces of information?

jessica: barty punched mulciber hard enough to break his nose
evan: brilliant showstopping incredible etc<33

also, fun fact about *evan's* broken nose that i don't think i'll ever be able to jam into the fic: evan may or may not have had a huge crush on geoff in fourth year and flew into a goalpost because he was distracted because he'd just scored a goal and geoff said something along the lines of 'nice one'. geoff took him to the hospital wing because he's the captain and it's his job to look after his teammates. evan had a breakdown over this later. to this day, it is the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to him. he has never admitted to ANYONE the true cause of his injury, but emma guessed

i do love pomfrey she's just. she's seen everything by now

regulus 'repressing something is basically the same thing as not feeling it in the first place' black

next week: the continuation of regulus's very long thursday, featuring: prefect rounds!! more fallout from the barty-mulciber altercation!! LILY EVANS ACTUALLY ON THE PAGE TALKING TO REGULUS AND NOT JUST WRITING LETTERS TO EVAN HOLY SHIT SHE'S FINALLY ALMOST HERE

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 24

To finish off a long day, Regulus gets to leave the dorm shortly before midnight and climb stairs up to the fifth floor to begin patrolling the upper floors of the castle (as well as three of the towers) for the next two hours or so.

Thursday rounds are always particularly enjoyable because they're on the same day as morning quidditch practice, which means Regulus is already tired. And because they've been starting their morning practices earlier, not only did he get less sleep than usual last night, he also did an extra half hour of flying around before breakfast. (Not to mention the more unusual occurrences of today.)

This means that by the time he reaches the fifth floor, he just wants to get through these rounds as quickly as possible, return to the dungeons, and go to bed, preferably without another late-night (or very early morning) conversation with the Carrows in the middle. But Ottoline Colfax doesn't seem to be on the same page as him about getting through this quickly, because she isn't in their usual meeting place. Regulus didn't think he left any earlier than usual.

"Over here, Black," a vaguely familiar voice calls. A voice that does not belong to Colfax.

Regulus's night seems destined to get interesting.

He approaches the flash of red hair. "Hello. I didn't think you had rounds on Thursdays."

"Ottoline's not feeling well," Lily Evans says blandly. "She asked me to cover for her in exchange for her taking my shift tomorrow."

Hm.

What are the chances that this isn't connected to this morning's front page news?

"That's nice of you," Regulus says. "Shall we?"

"Sure."

 

It takes until they're climbing the stairs to the Astronomy Tower for Lily Evans to get to the point of why she swapped shifts with Ottoline Colfax. And she opens with a question that would seem casual on any other day, in any other context: "Did you see the Prophet this morning?"

"I did." Regulus will probably need to indicate his opinion on all of this before Evans will come anywhere near trusting him, but the issue with walking around looking for students out after curfew is that sometimes, they find students who are out after curfew. Anyone could be listening—even the portraits that crowd the walls. So he says, "It was shocking. I'm not sure I'm at liberty to discuss my specific thoughts in a public setting."

"Oh, yeah, a remote staircase in the middle of the night, very public," she says. "I guess Rosier was twitchy about eavesdroppers too, though."

So this is definitely about what Regulus thinks it's about, and he needs to put up a muffling ward before she says anything else revealing.

The difficulty with that is that every muffling ward that he knows is anchored to the ground or the floor, which means they don't really allow for substantial movement. They'll have to stop walking around in order to have an actual conversation.

With that in mind, he says, "Staircases echo."

She takes the hint, and they finish the climb to the top of the Astronomy Tower in silence.

It's a clear night, cold enough that it doesn't surprise Regulus when there's no one else here. (Students breaking curfew will undoubtedly be more of an issue next week, as Valentine's Day is on Wednesday. Fortunately, Regulus doesn't have rounds then. It's mostly Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors who do, if he's remembering correctly.) At least they've climbed enough stairs that the cold isn't really bothering him. He doesn't have Evan to cast a Warming Charm this time.

"Did you want to continue discussing this morning's news?" Regulus says once they're done checking the top of the tower.

"Yes," Evans says. "I'm guessing you want to put up a muffling ward."

"Yes."

She nods, and so Regulus does. Once it's complete, he holsters his wand again and chooses his words carefully. "It was appalling, and concerning. The Death Eaters have never gone after someone so risky before. By attacking a relatively high-up Ministry official, they're practically asking the Aurors to come after them in full force. The fact that they've decided to take this risk anyway indicates to me that they intend to escalate the scale of the war. They may simply have enough numbers that they don't care if the Ministry tries to crack down on them or not. I don't know what drove this decision, but it does not signal anything good."

Evans' jaw is tight. "That's the conclusion I drew, too. They've done it once. They'll do their damnedest to do it again. And it's not just random Muggleborns anymore. It's targeted."

"It's no longer pure fearmongering," Regulus agrees. "Now that they know that they can get to people in the Ministry, I'm sure they've already started thinking about who might be politically advantageous to take out."

Like Barty's father, the raging blood traitor in charge of the entire DMLE.

Hm. That's not a thought that Regulus is happy about having.

But it's better to be prepared than to be naïve.

And then another thought clicks into place: Barty is at Hogwarts. In Slytherin. Surrounded by future Death Eaters. And he's just pissed them off.

That...

That's not good at all.

Thinking it makes Regulus want to turn around and go straight back down to the dungeons. The doors to the bedrooms lock, yes, with an interlocking Foldenauer mechanism that prevents them from being opened with an Alohomora, but only from the inside—Barty and Evan won't have locked it, because they know Regulus will be coming back late and if they lock it then they also have to stay up until he gets back to let him in. And Barty was tired after taking that potion, and he did go to bed well before Regulus left, and who knows if Evan's paying the slightest attention? They talked about next steps after dinner, but not in the context of protecting anyone on their side—all they discussed was offense. Defense didn't seem like much of a concern, beyond concealing the existence of their side in general.

But he can't leave. This might be his best opportunity to talk to Lily Evans.

It's only an hour and a half or so until he gets back. Voldemort might not have even decided to go after Barty's father yet, much less thought of using his future recruits at Hogwarts to turn Barty into leverage. The aforementioned future recruits themselves may not be enamored with Barty, but it would be a bit of a leap of imagination for them to conclude that doing him serious harm would be a good thing for them. Besides, then they'd have to plan it, and they probably wouldn't manage to both plan it and execute it in the timeframe necessary to get to Barty before Regulus does.

Regulus forces himself to take a slow breath. The conversation has stopped. He doesn't remember who spoke last, which means Evans might be waiting for some sort of reply to a comment or a question that Regulus missed.

But she says, "Whoa, you okay? You just froze."

Not good. Not good at all. Regulus isn't supposed to react so visibly to things. He's supposed to have control over which emotions he displays.

Another slow breath. It's a hypothetical. It's not reality. They'll need to address it, yes, but for tonight, finishing rounds quickly and locking the door once Regulus returns will suffice. He does not need to Occlude to get himself under control. He can be rational about this. (Besides, Evan was awake when Regulus left. It's not as if Barty's been left asleep on his own.)

(But Barty's bed is nearest to the door, which is another thought that Regulus isn't happy about having.)

Regulus gives himself one more breath to pull himself together. This is an important conversation. He can't ruin it by having a meltdown over the possibility of the Death Eaters targeting Barty.

Right.

Back to Lily Evans.

"My apologies, I was lost in thought," he says. (Not his best excuse, seeing as Evans asked if he was alright and Regulus had to take two deep breaths before replying, but it'll have to do.) "As I said, it's a concerning move from the Death Eaters that I believe is beginning a bloodier phase of the war."

"We agree on that." She folds her arms. "I'm here to find out what you're going to do about it."

Regulus spent a full hour planning that this morning in History of Magic, a little longer during office hours before it was time for Barty to leave for the common room, and then even a little longer after dinner. (By that time, Barty was tired, so he wasn't contributing much, but Evan seemed delighted to jump in.) Most of his plans center on Hogwarts, as there's a limit to what he can do outside of school, so it's not like he has a definitive plan for how to cut off the Death Eaters before they kill anyone else. That's not happening. Regulus is no miracle worker.

But he does have a plan.

 

As it turns out, Marlene McKinnon has told Evans everything from the conversation she had with Evan and Regulus on Sunday. This makes things rather efficient.

"I'll be blunt," Evans says. "Marlene says you need me, because I'm a Muggleborn. But I don't know if I need you. I have no idea if you're going to be more or less effective than Dumbledore, and frankly, even that much is shocking, because he's the only one between the two of you who's actually done this before."

"The Dark Lord hasn't done this before either, and yet he seems to be giving Dumbledore a very evenly matched fight," Regulus points out. "They've backed each other into fringe positions. Any sort of coalition that includes both Dark Arts and Muggleborns has an automatic advantage, just because of that." But he's not really here for an abstract political discussion, and he suspects that she isn't either, what with the news.

What would a Gryffindor Muggleborn want to hear?

Evans already told him that she wants to find out what Regulus is going to do. That means he needs to pivot into what he and Barty and Evan discussed earlier. "Besides, Dumbledore isn't in a position to cut off Death Eater recruitment out of Hogwarts, and I am."

"Because you know who's being targeted?"

"Yes, and because I'm a student. Dumbledore can't go after the Carrows and their friends the way that I can. He's the headmaster. Parents would be outraged. But the Dark Lord is reaching into Hogwarts for a steady supply of Death Eaters. Once I cut him off, and Dumbledore continues whittling away at the existing forces, he'll find his numbers reduced quickly."

"But supporting Dumbledore isn't your goal," Evans says.

"No. I don't want him to win. But the fight against Dumbledore is political, not military. That'll be a question of the Wizengamot. And as long as half of the Dark families haven't been tossed in Azkaban for supporting the Dark Lord, then I'll have enough people on my side to block Dumbledore from advancing anti-Dark legislation. That's another reason why I need to prevent the Dark Lord from gaining more recruits."

"To pack the Wizengamot in your favor?"

"It's already packed in my favor."

Evans sighs. "This is so weird. You know, when I was eleven, I was like, ooh, fun, magic school! And now people are out to kill me and random Slytherins are trying to recruit me to their two-pronged Hogwarts-and-Wizengamot approach to fixing things, and... I mean, you haven't even taken OWLs. You understand how ridiculous this sounds, right?"

"More or less," Regulus says. "But it's the best option. The Sacred Twenty-Eight and the Dark network are extremely intertwined and possess a massive amount of influence. As Heir Black, I'm in a better position to leverage that than anyone else, except my parents, really. And I don't see the point in waiting to put it into practice until after I've graduated or some arbitrary milestone like that. It's a war. People are dying."

"Which is why I came to you," Evans says. "I hate sitting around and waiting for someone else to do something."

Excellent.

"Marlene told me about the Carrows," she continues. "And she said they're not the only people who are set up to join the Death Eaters. You say you're going to cut off their recruitment. What does that mean?"

"It's not an instantaneous thing," Regulus says. "That group is not well-liked, but they're... respected, I suppose is the best word, in Slytherin. Power appeals to some people. Being feared appeals to others. In order to prevent them from gaining any more recruits, we strip them of their power and prove that they're not worthy of being feared. Make them look pathetic, over and over, and it'll take root. The Death Eaters become synonymous with people so desperate to grab at the tiniest bit of power that they'll do the stupidest things imaginable to get it—and that still doesn't put them on the same level as the people who actually know what they're doing. Mocking them makes them angry, anger makes them desperate to reassert their control, desperation makes them hasty, and haste makes them easy to defeat. There are already multiple Slytherins working on this, but it'll be much more effective if it comes from everywhere at once, seemingly organically—not as the result of a coordinated campaign, but individuals and small groups all over Hogwarts deciding independently that they've had enough. Hogwarts becomes a bastion against the Death Eaters over the course of a couple of months, and the Dark Lord suddenly has a much harder time finding more people to devote their lives to him."

"A couple of months." Evans sounds considering. "How sure are you of that?"

"If it snowballs, it can be faster, but the key is making it widespread. As I said, I already have Slytherin handled, but with regard to the other houses, it would be extremely effective if Gryffindor were to lead the charge, so to speak."

"Duh," she says again. "Thus, me."

"Thus, you."

"Right. But you have to know that there's a reason that I haven't gone after them."

"Yes. It doesn't have to be you, specifically. Especially not at the moment, when there's still some risk of significant backlash."

"Backlash. Yeah." Evans goes silent, presses her lips into a thin line, then says abruptly, "I need to know why you and Sirius don't talk to each other."

"I beg your pardon?" Why do Gryffindors seem so obsessed with this? Or maybe it's just the sixth-years.

"He's always said you're the one who stopped talking to him. From where I'm standing, I can't see much of a reason for you to do that, which means that whatever it is, knowing it will really affect how I understand what the fuck you're doing and why you're doing it. If I sign on with you, I'm basically putting my life in the hands of someone who I've always been told goes along with... pretty much everything your parents say. You say the right words to me now, but Sirius would tell me not to trust them, based on what he knows about you—and between the two of us, he's known you for a lot longer than I have."

That is just wonderful.

So Sirius does badmouth Regulus in Gryffindor Tower. He assumed, but confirmation is... well, not nice, exactly, but... there is something very clarifying about the cold way it settles between Regulus's ribs.

He collects his thoughts and chooses the ones he wants to express, as coolly as he can. "Sirius hoped that I would go to Gryffindor like him. He has a talent for berating others, and he is allergic to thinking before he speaks. Is it any surprise that we didn't speak very often once I started at Hogwarts? Thus, Sirius's knowledge of me is more than four years out of date. Of course he would tell you not to trust me when I say I intend to advocate for Muggleborns. It's not something I would have done at the age of ten. However, Sirius conveniently forgets that before he started at Hogwarts, he supported our parents' political views too. If you can trust that it was possible for him to change, you can trust that it was possible for me as well. The rest is a matter of me proving that I mean what I say."

 

They're on the Astronomy Tower for at least another half hour, long enough that Evans starts shivering and casts a Warming Charm inside the ward that Regulus has set up. (The benefits of knowing people who are good at Charms never end, apparently.)

She knows Muggleborns in every house except Slytherin—they keep track of each other and check in when something bad happens, like today. Most of them won't be willing to go up against the future Death Eaters, at least not right away, but their pureblooded friends might be. And there's Marlene McKinnon, of course, as well as Evans' other friends, who are mostly but not exclusively Gryffindors.

Recruiting all of them is not a step that Regulus wants to take at this moment. That would be far too complicated, and far too risky. But the beauty is that they don't need to be recruited. All they need to do is jump on the bandwagon. And it will be a bandwagon—the future Death Eaters have made themselves plenty of enemies. Once the Slytherins and the Gryffindors both demonstrate how to get some revenge, there will be many students racing to get involved. Such is the case with anyone who builds their power out of fear. When the fear is taken away, the power goes with it.

Once they've finished working out some preliminary details, Regulus extends his hand. "If we're going to work together, you can call me Regulus."

"Lily." She shakes it. "This had better be worth it."

 

Evan and Barty are both asleep when Regulus gets back, judging by their closed curtains. It has most likely been a quiet evening, seeing as that has been the case for nearly every single Thursday evening of this year. There were no Carrows in the common room, nobody intercepted Regulus on his way back, and Lily Evans is on his side.

He locks the door.

Today, they seized the moment. Tomorrow, the Slytherins regroup and consider how to work with Barty's potential new status as leverage, while the Gryffindors (well, Lily, but she said she could persuade McKinnon) figure out how to keep building momentum. The deadline that Regulus gave Lily for turning the future Death Eaters into the laughingstocks of Hogwarts was two months. (It was an informal deadline, but he's quite sure that she'll be watching to see if he meets it.) That takes them to... the day that they return from spring break, which is awkward timing, but he'll work with it.

Besides, now that he has a Gryffindor on his side, he can make it happen much, much faster.

Notes:

regulus: i am so rational and impartial and unbiased
regulus as soon as sirius is mentioned: just kidding >:'(

LILY IS HERE!!!! fun fact: one of the reasons i specifically had her and regulus agree to be on first-name terms in this chapter is because i was tired of distinguishing between 'evan' and 'evans' as character names

hell yeah leveraging school social dynamics to influence the outcomes of the actual war!

hmmmm what do you think sirius has actually said about regulus, to make lily ask regulus about him? regulus isn't totally wrong in his assessment--sirius is not a perfect saint filled with unending understanding and compassion for his little brother. but is regulus totally right? after all, his knowledge of sirius is out of date too..........

i've been slow about responding to comments recently - the semester just started and i am Busy As Fuck. but i do read and appreciate them all!! and i'll respond in bits and pieces when i have time

next week: barty gives an encore of his oscar-worthy performance!! regulus attempts to discuss emotions!! hogsmeade machinations!!

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 25

During double Potions on Friday afternoon, Professor Slughorn asked Barty to come to his office hours, which is why Regulus and Barty split off from the other Slytherins on their way back from Defense. (They have it with the Hufflepuffs, so occasionally half the fifth-year class ends up walking down to the dungeons together, but today the Hufflepuffs are apparently doing birdseed things in Fountain Court, to which Charlotte was invited to participate with excitement and the rest of them were invited to participate with vague to moderate enthusiasm.)

"I just hope he hasn't already contacted my parents," Barty says before they go into Slughorn's office. "None of us need that."

"Definitely not," Regulus says. "Shall we?"

Barty knocks.

The door swings open on its own, revealing Slughorn sitting at his desk and marking papers. Regulus has been in his office before, but every single time he leaves, he manages to forget how... extravagant it is. Not a single piece of furniture is standard Hogwarts issue, and Slughorn's taste in furniture seems to require that an item include either velvet, tassels, or a truly hideous pattern. (The exception being his desk, which is rather nice, although having one's desk polished to a brilliant shine seems like a waste of effort considering that its entire surface is covered with papers and knickknacks.) The lamps have fringe and there are bouquets of flowers under stasis charms (which also somehow manage to strengthen the floral scent) and the walls are covered with photos of Slughorn with various famous or important people, all of them moving around and chatting silently and shaking each other's hands with generic, genial smiles. To top it all off, the fire that is always roaring in the grate is large enough to sufficiently heat a multi-person dorm room, which means it's always a little too warm in here, considering that this office is not particularly large.

Slughorn looks up. "Ah, Mr. Crouch, wonderful—and Mr. Black, always a pleasure, although I confess I'm not entirely sure this is a conversation that would be better off with an audience."

Which is a polite way of telling Regulus to leave so he can't get in the way of Slughorn attempting to discipline his students. Unfortunately for Slughorn, that is almost the exact opposite of what Regulus intends to do.

"I asked him to come with me," Barty says. "It's... well, Professor, if this is about what I'm assuming it's about, it... doesn't make for a very pleasant discussion on my part."

"Of course, of course," Slughorn says. "In that case, by all means, do take a seat, both of you."

The seats are straight-backed and upholstered in brocade, but other than that, they're nothing like the ones in Mother's parlor. These are a rather violent shade of purple, with inexplicable gold tassels on the seat cushions, and Regulus makes a mental note to find out whether Slughorn was a professor when Mother was at Hogwarts, if his office was still decorated like this, and if so, what she thought of it. The most entertaining family dinners are always the ones during which Mother discusses other people's terrible taste in furnishings.

"Mr. Crouch, I'm sure you're aware that Madam Pomfrey spoke to me yesterday," Slughorn says.

Barty nods. "She said that she would."

"She told me what you told her, but I'd like to hear it directly from you."

"Alright."

And he begins.

 

"No detention and a commitment to speaking to Mulciber is the best result we could have gotten, considering that he talked to you first," Regulus says once he and Barty get back to their room. Evan isn't in here, so he doesn't lock the door, but that's something they'll have to figure out. Perhaps they can work out another type of lock. And tomorrow is a Hogsmeade day, and they haven't sorted out what they're doing about that, either. "It's not like he could have just announced that he's giving Mulciber a month of detention without even speaking to him. I'm sure he'll try to get Mulciber to apologize."

"And I'm sure he'd rather choke on his tongue than apologize to me for putting his face in the way of my fist," Barty says.

"Ideally, yes. Although it would be amusing."

"The apology or the choking on his tongue?"

"Well. Either, now that I think about it."

"I have to say I'm offended that Slughorn took points off of Slytherin, though," Barty says. "His own house. Where's the blatant favoritism I was promised?"

"It was only five points," Regulus points out. "Charlotte and Lucinda earned us twice that in Transfiguration this morning."

"But he'll probably take more off for Mulciber, and then where will we be?"

"I don't know. I haven't checked the hourglasses in a while. I have no idea who's winning."

"Me neither. Oh, well. There goes my righteous outrage."

Which should provide Regulus with an opening to discuss something that he wishes to discuss. But he has no idea how to segue into it, which means it'll be a horrifically awkward transition. But horrifically awkward is better than nonexistent, so... "How are you doing, in the wake of all of this?"

Barty raises an eyebrow. "In the wake of not getting detention?"

"I mean everything. The newspaper yesterday, the fighting, getting injured... et cetera," Regulus finishes, rather uninspiringly.

"Well, to be totally honest," Barty says seriously, "all the et cetera has been a real pain in the arse."

"Barty."

"Regulus." He points at his hand. "No bruises. No detention. No contacting parents. Mulciber couldn't attack me in a way that matters, because he doesn't know what gets to me and what doesn't. He gave it a go, but honestly, I think he was just projecting. Not all non-Sacred-Twenty-Eight purebloods are created equal. I'm not touchy about my background, and it doesn't bother me that your parents don't think much of me, since I know that coming from them, and considering my family, any sort of tolerance is tantamount to a very grudging compliment."

"But the whole point of this was to goad him into going after you based on your father," Regulus says. "Did that happen? Because if it did, it could have been easy for him to stumble upon something effective."

"Oh, he tried," Barty says. "But pointed comments about my father being a blood traitor who can't even do his job correctly don't exactly make me feel insecure about my ability to fit into my group of blood purist friends who are all set up to slaughter Muggleborns as soon as we graduate."

"I should hope not."

He grins. "We're in agreement there. Like I said, I think he was projecting. He thinks blood purity is the definitive ticket to Sacred Twenty-Eight connections in Slytherin. He can't imagine another way. So he thinks that I'm going to interpret being related to such a prominent blood traitor as an embarrassment, because that's how he would interpret it if it were the case for him. He was pissed off that he couldn't figure out how to get to me. I hit him before he could find anything that would actually sting."

"Alright." That's much better than Barty feeling torn up about it, although there's still a very distinct worry at the back of Regulus's mind that Mulciber will simply continue trying new tactics until he finds one that works. Getting him stuck in detention will not engender any positive feelings towards Barty on his part. If he's revenge-minded...

"Reg, I'm genuinely okay," Barty says. "Thank you for asking, though."

"Of course." Regulus will have to keep doing it, if Barty's going to continue to be a target. If. They need to discuss that. But at this point, it's really a question of whether they encourage the future Death Eaters to go after Barty, or just attempt to mitigate it when it inevitably happens. (Unless, of course, the Gryffindors burst onto the scene in such a dramatic fashion that the Carrows and Mulciber and their friends find themselves rather too busy to worry about Barty. That's very possible. That might even be likely.) "I just thought... you did hit him very hard."

"So you thought I might have been pissed off," Barty fills in. "I mean, in the abstract, yes, I am pissed off by his existence. But in the moment, I promise I was very calm. And if that changes, I will let you know."

"Thank you."

 

There's a knock on their door about twenty minutes later.

"That's not Evan, is it?" Barty says.

"It can't be, I left it unlocked and he's more than capable of letting himself in." Regulus opens it. "Hello, Heather."

"Hi!" she says. "Got a minute? It's nothing that can't be discussed in front of your partner in crime."

Regulus stands aside to let her in and shuts the door. "What sort of crime?"

"The extralegal variety," Heather says.

"Wow, my favorite," Barty says.

"Oh, so you're in on this too? That's what I expected."

"In on what?"

"I described our war-related activities to Heather as 'extralegal,'" Regulus says.

"Oh, then yeah, I'm very in on this," Barty says to Heather. "Are you?"

"One way or another," she says. "You broke Mulciber's nose yesterday. Retaliation for the news?"

"Yes."

"Great! Why him, and not one of the Carrows? They're the figureheads."

Hm.

Heather's choice of the word 'figurehead' is an interesting one. The Carrows definitely believe themselves to be in charge. But if she doesn't think so... then who does she think is the real ringleader?

It has to be Mulciber. Snape tags along with the others, and Travers isn't very invested in going around attacking other students in the same way that Mulciber is. He's the driven one, out of all of them, and he's not as bound to respect Regulus as the Carrows are.

"I would have taken any of them," Barty says. "Mulciber was just the one who opened his mouth."

"'Any of them,' who?" Heather says.

"The future Death Eaters," Regulus says. "The only people who were truly likely to enjoy reading the newspaper yesterday."

"Huh." She taps a fingernail against her lip. "You say 'future Death Eaters' with a lot of confidence. Is this an ideology-based guess, or is this a sure thing?"

"A sure thing. They join once they graduate. The Dark Lord apparently isn't the biggest fan of people who back out."

"Yeah, I see that for him." Heather grimaces, which is an unusually dour expression for her. "Look, I'm not going to hit anyone, but I know you're doing something to get back at these people. And... I've gotten used to keeping my mouth shut in Slytherin, to keep the peace—Sophia's gotten louder and louder about blood purity, did you know?" (Sophia Warrington, Regulus's brain supplies—Geoff's girlfriend, a sixth-year, which means she rooms with Heather, Margaret, and Cora Shacklebolt.) "But I am sick and tired of smiling at her, especially after some of the things she said yesterday, and I know Cora's totally done with playing nice at this point, so our room is headed for fighting and I intend to be on the right side of it. You're doing something. I want to do something too. We'll be more effective if we work together. What do you say?"

 

They go to Hogsmeade on Saturday.

Regulus wasn't sure if they should, and he communicated his concerns, and Barty said something along the lines of 'there will be teachers everywhere, it's probably safer than the common room,' and that ended that. (But Regulus did ward the door to their room. It's not locked, since none of them have any interest in locking themselves out while they're at Hogsmeade, but the door handle will refuse to turn for anyone who doesn't live there, so would-be intruders would still have to break the door down to get inside.)

"We have to get to Honeydukes quickly," Regulus says to Barty as they're approaching the town. "I don't want Evan to know that I'm buying him Chocolate Frogs."

"I thought you were very definitive about not owing him any," Barty says.

"Everything worked out well with Lily, and it was largely because of him, so. Credit where credit is due, and hopefully Evan will continue to do the things I ask him to do in the future."

"Ah, bribery, I see. Reasonable enough. Although I do think a little 'please' will go a long way."

"That too. But seeing as the whole thing with Lily specifically was a bit of a point of contention..."

"Chocolate Frogs to express gratitude, so he's inclined to look kindly upon the prospect of doing you favors in the future, because of the possibility of sugar," Barty fills in.

"Exactly."

"Muggles call that classical conditioning, you know."

"I didn't, but alright. Is that what you're up to on the Muggle Studies curriculum?"

"Psychology," Barty says. "There's a whole section where they go bonkers over Sigmund Freud, and then another section immediately after that where they explain that pretty much all of his theories were wrong. Not really sure what to make of that."

"If you figure it out, I'll be interested to hear the conclusion."

"Me too."

They reach Honeydukes, which is somewhat crowded with students looking at various shelves, but there's no line at the register. The last time that Regulus saw Evan, he was wearing a cobalt blue cloak that would be impossible to miss in a crowd, and there's no trace of that color inside, so they should be safe.

"Could you watch and let me know if he and Emma approach?" Regulus says to Barty. "I should only be a minute."

"Sure, but there are windows, so I'm waiting inside," Barty says.

Fair enough. Regulus really just wants Barty to be focused on the street outside so he doesn't notice Regulus buying him Sugar Quills.

The plan goes off without a hitch, and Regulus crumples the top of the bag a bit so Barty can't see inside and notice the extra sweets. Hopefully, it's subtle enough that it seems like an accidental crumpling, rather than deliberate obfuscation. "Quick escape so we don't run into them?"

"Absolutely," Barty says, and the bells on the door jingle as they make their exit. "Three Broomsticks? I don't actually need to buy anything. I'm mainly here for a break from the castle."

"Alright."

That explains why he was so vehement about going to Hogsmeade, and is also something that Regulus needs to keep in mind. Regulus has quidditch practice three times a week, so he has plenty of excuses to leave the castle (although not the grounds). Barty claims to be allergic to exercise, so that does not apply to him. Regulus cannot ask him to simply stay in their room with the door locked. He would lose his mind, which would rather defeat the purpose of Regulus trying to keep him safe.

It's a problem with a solution that will need to be revised over time. Regulus doesn't have a good one right now. Because the fact of the matter is that Barty is also one of the best candidates in Slytherin for going after the future Death Eaters, and they can't just stop now.

A gradual solution. At the moment, Regulus is settling for locking the door when they're asleep and not letting Barty walk into potentially hazardous areas alone (such as the dungeons outside of their common room, and Hogsmeade). Attempting to make this the permanent solution would be a massive headache, though, which is why they have to keep discussing it.

"Oh," Barty says. "Er... hi?"

This is because Marlene McKinnon has popped up in front of them, which is rather preventing them from continuing on their journey to the Three Broomsticks.

"Hello, I only have the vaguest idea of who you are, so let's keep the small talk brief," she says to Barty. "Black, I need to talk to you. It'll be quick."

"Barty is my emotional support tall person," Regulus says.

Barty immediately goes with it, even though Regulus didn't relay that particular component of his last conversation with McKinnon to him. "It's true, I am."

"I'm learning that Slytherins are terrible at going anywhere without backup," McKinnon says. "Fine. No Rosier to get distracted by cloud patterns this time?"

"I believe he's raiding Honeydukes," Regulus says.

"Shame. I'd love to know what he would make of today's weather."

Seeing as it's rather overcast, Evan's main conclusion would probably be that it's dreary, but Regulus doesn't say that. "Where did you want to talk?"

"Er..." McKinnon looks around and nods at an alleyway between two clothing shops. "There's fine."

"How discreet," Barty says as they enter the alleyway. "I'm very much intrigued."

"I swear you lot will be the death of me." McKinnon casts another bubble ward. Maybe she likes them because they can be cast with a very angry wand movement. "Do I have to talk around what I mean, or does Crouch know what's going on?"

"He knows," Regulus says. "Is this about Lily?"

"Sort of. Mostly, it's about me. Lily says she has decided to gamble on trusting you, or at least trusting you to follow through on 'the next couple of months,' whatever that means. And if she's in, I'm in, because I don't want her doing this shit alone, especially not when it involves the network. So you've got one more person. Congratulations."

"I appreciate it," Regulus says. (Given his conversation with Lily, he was vaguely expecting this, but it's good to have a confirmation from McKinnon herself. The murder on Thursday, disturbing though it was, has proved excellent for recruitment.) "Did Lily tell you about what I discussed with her, with regard to interfering with the operations of the Carrows and their friends?"

"Oh, yeah," McKinnon says. "We've got some ideas. I know she already told you Mulciber's the easiest target for us, because he's in our year so we share classes with him."

She carefully doesn't mention Snape, much like Lily carefully didn't mention Snape on Thursday. Regulus doesn't point it out. As far as threats go, there are bigger ones than him. "Mulciber is a good option. The Carrows practically mock themselves. That being said, if you can find any seventh-years to take them on, and Travers, that would be quite helpful."

"We can probably manage that, although I don't think these would be candidates for real recruitment. Very classic Gryffindors, you know."

And thus vehemently opposed to Dark Arts. That will be something to address—of course, Regulus does have Gryffindors on his side now, but McKinnon seems to think much of the house is a lost cause with regard to Dark Arts, and he's not sure he's willing to settle for that. Most people probably would have assumed Lily was a lost cause, and she was the first Gryffindor to join Regulus's side. Still, McKinnon knows these people better than Regulus does. "All we need from them is antagonism."

"They can do that."

"Excellent."

"Oh, and one more thing." McKinnon folds her arms. "Miles is thrilled to bits about being in your study group. I'm not against him having fun. I am against any of my little cousins getting involved in this. Let them be kids."

That's an unsurprising objection from her. Fortunately, Miles McKinnon has already served his purpose, at least for now—Regulus is in contact with his cousin, and he's one fewer potential recruit for the other study group. Regulus chooses to respond with a partial truth. "Inviting him to join my group early was a measure to ensure that the Carrows wouldn't approach him about theirs. I'm doing the same with other Dark Slytherins in his year. The goal is to give them the option to stay out of it, which they wouldn't get in the other study group."

"Good. Keep it that way." McKinnon checks her watch, which is fancy enough that it was probably a seventeenth birthday gift. "I'm due at Madam Puddifoot's, so I need to be off, but... let's fuck up some Death Eater shit, yeah?"

"Absolutely," Barty says.

"Right." She points at Barty. "Still barely know you, but I think we'll get along."

"I broke Mulciber's nose on Thursday."

"Nice. I look forward to seeing more of your work. And, Black, this doesn't change anything about quidditch. I will still try to murder you at least once in every Gryffindor-Slytherin match."

"I would be disappointed if you didn't," Regulus says. "I would look very unreasonable if my attempts to murder you seemed unprovoked."

"Merlin, not the quidditch," Barty groans. "McKinnon, don't you have a date to be on?"

Notes:

barty, spitting blood: YOU CANNOT KILL ME IN A WAY THAT MATTERS
mulciber: i didn't even attack you yet, what the fuck??

awaiting with bated breath the hottest nonfiction book of the summer, 'the care and keeping of barty crouch jr,' a debut work by regulus arcturus black

regulus is entering his protective era at the same time that barty is entering his 'holy shit violence is fun' era afjslghskfghsjlfkj, and regulus is so incredibly unequipped to have the type of emotional conversation he just tried to have BUT HE TRIED ANYWAY!!

heather is the queen of finding out what regulus is up to and then showing up and announcing that she's going to get involved. she has a few really specific reasons for wanting to get into the war on his side - the two of them talked it through in like chapter 18, but she's got some personal reasons as well (which tie into why she wanted to join the dark arts study group, in fact!)

barty: have you considered asking evan for things politely
regulus: sure but why would i do that when i could buy him presents
barty: what
regulus: what

lily is marlene's emotional support tall person

the carrows may practically mock themselves but that is not going to stop regulus's side from jumping in to help them out with it

'let's fuck up some death eater shit, yeah?' - the new motto of gryffindor house

ALSO: there are some new works inspired by ttdl linked at the end of this fic! one of them is 'something sweeter,' by me, which isn't actually new but i forgot to mention it on ao3 when i posted it since i was talking about it so much on tumblr - that's a more shippy alternate ending to chapter 20. the truly new one is 'what the fuck... is up... with that?' by underthestarsweliveanddie, which is about sirius finding out about lily and regulus's late-night meetings via the marauders' map and drawing an ENTIRELY incorrect conclusion sjfhsghkef

so go check those out if you're interested! and let this also serve as a reminder that if you're interested in writing something based off of this fic, you are welcome to do so! just make sure to mark it as being inspired by ttdl when you post, and that way i can approve it as a related work so it's linked at the end of ttdl

next week: regulus distributes candy!! the power of gossip!! evan pouts!!

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 26

Regulus and Barty return to their room before Evan does, which means Regulus can just drop the Chocolate Frogs on Evan's desk in a prominent position and wait for him to notice them once he gets back. Barty's beelined for his own desk to continue his study of Muggle psychology, so it's a simple matter for Regulus to approach and set down the box of Sugar Quills next to his textbook.

Barty blinks at it, then looks up at Regulus. (One of the few situations in which he's the one who has to look up.) "Is this why you wanted me to keep watch for Evan in Honeydukes?"

"Yes." Regulus is hoping that Barty won't make a big deal of it. He just thought that some sort of gift seemed apropos, given that Barty did basically break his thumb on Regulus's request and Regulus was already planning to get something for Evan.

"Smoothly done," Barty says. "I thought you were just being paranoid."

Regulus thought it was a fairly shoddy excuse, but if it worked, it worked. "Thank you, I think."

"Thank you." He opens the box. "Are you trying to condition me into punching Mulciber again?"

"I'm not trying to condition you into anything." It's even true. He's trying to... well, he's not trying to do anything in particular, actually. That's an odd feeling.

It's just that when he attempted to talk to Barty about Thursday, something about it felt insufficient, on Regulus's part, like he'd neatly managed to avoid the entire reason why he'd bothered to bring it up in the first place. So he bought Sugar Quills instead, less as an expression of gratitude, more as an expression of 'sorry for asking you to do that; I didn't think it would result in trips to see Madam Pomfrey or Professor Slughorn, much less both of them, and you don't seem irritated over either of those things and I don't know what to make of that.'

"In that case, I will finally take Evan's advice and not look a gift horse in the mouth," Barty says.

"Not one of his horses, I note," Regulus says.

"No, I'm definitely checking everything he gives me from now on until forever. Even if there are no corpses, with a suitable Undetectable Expansion Charm he could put anything in there."

And Evan's Undetectable Expansion Charms, as Regulus and Barty have both learned recently, are more than suitable. "About that. Do you think he intentionally kept us from realizing that he'd expanded his wardrobe until recently? He said he did it in fall term. That's a long time to go without either of us noticing, unless he was concealing it on purpose."

Barty shrugs. "Very possible. A little concerning if true, mostly because if he was hiding it from us, he was doing it for a long time, and that suggests a strong motive." He breaks an amber-colored Sugar Quill in half and offers Regulus a piece.

Regulus takes it and discovers that it's butterbeer-flavored. (He doesn't normally eat Sugar Quills—they're Barty's favorite, not his—so he's not well-versed in which colors correspond with which flavors. He does know that Barty prefers the assortments over the boxes that are all one type, because he gets bored of just one flavor, so that's what Regulus bought. But Regulus usually prefers butterbeer to sweets, a fact of which Barty is well aware.)

"I've always thought he manages other people's expectations of him," Regulus says. "More so than most people do, that is."

"Well, not everyone wants to be feared," Barty says."

"Implying?"

"That it must be pretty relaxing to know that the only thing that's expected of you is for you to trip and fall into a Wizengamot seat once your father dies, so, probably decades in the future." Barty crunches his piece of Sugar Quill. "Although that doesn't really correspond with him signing on with us. We're not relaxing in the slightest."

Naturally, that's when the door bangs open and Evan says grandly, "I have returned from my voyages!"

"A stunningly vast achievement, to be sure," Regulus says.

"I'm so glad you understand the magnitude of my success." He drops a Honeydukes bag (much larger than the one Regulus acquired) on his desk and hangs up his cloak, which doesn't look as brilliantly blue down here as it did outside. "Are the Chocolate Frogs from one of you, or did James Potter finally make a pilgrimage to the dungeons to continue his very suspenseful and drawn-out declaration of everlasting love for me?"

"If you keep talking about that, I'm going to start thinking you mean it," Barty says. "And then I'm going to have a lot of questions."

"See if I answer them. Maybe I like keeping you guessing." Evan opens a Chocolate Frog box and neatly snatches the frog before it can so much as escape its packaging. (He could play as a Seeker if he wanted to, but Regulus is quite sure he'd be bored out of his mind. It's not for everyone.) He bites the head off, then continues, "But if Potter had gotten anywhere near our room, I highly doubt you'd be as at ease as you are now, which suggests that it was in fact one of you. I'm sure he'll be unfathomably jealous, should he discover this. Thank you kindly." Evan punctuates this by finishing the Chocolate Frog.

Regulus has no idea how to respond to that, so he opts for changing the subject. "We ran into Marlene McKinnon at Hogsmeade. She's signed on. She also said that she and Lily have plans for Mulciber."

"He's all set for a terrible month," Evan says cheerily. "Did she provide details?"

"No. We didn't have very long to talk. But Heather's also joined us. She's looking for something to do, and she mentioned that Sophia Warrington is increasingly outspoken about blood purity and Cora Shacklebolt is increasingly frustrated with it. No word on Margaret, although Heather is friends with her, so she's most likely not a vehement purist. It sets their room up for tension that may reach a boiling point sometime soon, and I think the end results will be in our favor, given the people involved."

Evan dumps the (frankly alarmingly vast) contents of his Honeydukes bag on his desk and sets about sorting the pile by type. "If Warrington's a hardcore purist, what does that mean for Geoff?"

"I don't know," Regulus says. "Heather might have some ideas. I've never thought of Geoff as seeming particularly anti-Muggle, and we could use seventh-years on our side, so it's worth finding out. That being said, the seventh-year boys' dorm has Amycus Carrow and Stephen Travers. It's at least half aspiring Death Eaters. Anyone who sleeps in the same room as a future Death Eater has limited capacity for working against them, unless they don't fear retaliation."

"Priam could probably set up some kind of protection," Barty says. "The question is whether it's just for him, or for him and Geoff, and if that's even remotely feasible given how their room is laid out. I've never seen it, so, no idea."

"Assuming Priam would help," Evan says. "He and Heather have been together for a while, so the same principle applies to him as it does to Margaret with regard to probably not being a vehement purist, but that doesn't necessarily mean he'll want to get involved."

Which raises, once again, the question of why Evan has gotten involved, but Regulus isn't sure how to ask that in such a way that he'll get a reasonably honest (or even reasonably telling) answer.

"Figuring that out is not my priority," Regulus says. "We have people on our side now, who need to be doing something. The Gryffindors are fine for now in that regard, so we need to pivot to the rest of the Slytherins. Antony and Heather can interact with each other often without raising suspicion. Jessica can't. To preserve the impression that there is no larger movement driving anything, she should be working on something that she can do alone, interacting with us as necessary. Identifying and recruiting more fourth-years will be part of that, but I also intend to ask her to reinforce her rivalry with Alexander and let it be known that the conflict was about blood purity. That way, the future Death Eaters will know to approach him. I'm sure they're looking for recruits too, or they will be."

"You're not worried about backlash against her?" (Evan doesn't seem to care very much one way or another, judging by how he's focusing on creating a pyramid of Cockroach Clusters.)

Regulus shakes his head. "She's pureblood and won't be antagonizing them directly. Also, she's publicly acquainted with me, which should make the Carrows think twice, at least. They're not angry enough yet to openly go against me, nor are they confident enough that I'm doing something that would be met with disapproval from the likes of certain authority figures. I can write to Bellatrix too, if I wish to, and I can remind them of that as needed until it stops being an effective threat."

"That would be hilarious," Barty says. "If we could get the Death Eaters and future Death Eaters to turn on each other."

Evan looks up from his Cockroach Clusters sculpture, eyes sparkling. "Oh, I love infighting. Can we?"

"I don't want Bellatrix paying too much attention to what's going on at Hogwarts," Regulus says. "But in general, yes, we can figure out ways to spark infighting."

"Pit them against each other." Evan fully abandons the sweets-sorting in favor of sprawling out on his bed, gazing up at the ceiling like he's watching a dazzling vision play out. "We can put tension on them with rumors. Someone heard that Mulciber thinks the Carrows are useless. Someone else heard that Snape hates Mulciber because he thinks he's so special for no reason. The Carrows think pretty highly of themselves for people who can't accomplish anything worthy of notice, or at least that's what Stephen Travers told someone in the library and someone else overheard it, and by the way, do you think it bothers Alecto that people think just because Amycus is stupid, it means that she must be too? What's she doing with that group of losers, anyway?" Then Evan sits up, reverie over. "And so on and so forth. I can't circulate all of those myself, though. Maybe one or two. They need to come from different sources and filter through different people, so they can't all come from Heather, either, but we can start with a few and see what people come up with on their own. If we provide a catalyst, imagination will do the rest of the work for us."

Hm.

Regulus isn't sure how he feels about how easily Evan rattled that off.

As he told Barty, he's always thought (or rather, thought for a long time) that Evan manages people's expectations of himself. Clearly, he's also well-equipped to manage what they think of each other. That... might be something to watch, although Regulus can't think of any past instances of rumors at Hogwarts that now seem like they might have come from Evan. Maybe he's making this up as he goes along. Regulus has seen firsthand how quick Evan can be at improvising in Divination.

It's useful, no matter how telling it is about Evan's understanding of how to wield popular opinion, so Regulus says, "That sounds quite doable. Would you like to take charge of causing infighting?"

Evan gives him a beaming smile. "I'd love to."

An unsurprising answer, although the enthusiasm is nice, as an indication that Regulus has successfully asked Evan to do something in a way that meets his standards for not being ordered about. "Alright. That leaves Heather and Antony. I think involving Heather, beyond asking her to help with rumors, will inherently escalate the conflict, given her family's politics and the fact that she's been relatively quiet up until now. I'd prefer if that happens slowly, which means that her involvement needs to be subtle enough to avoid causing any explosions but substantial enough that she doesn't feel that her time is being wasted. Ideas?"

"Get that full list of half-bloods and Muggleborns from her," Barty says. "I don't know how long it'll take her to assemble that, but by the time she has it, we might be in a better position for some open escalation. And wasn't one of the people on her first list one of her friends?"

"Amanda Chen. She's a Hufflepuff prefect. But if Heather recruits her, then we'll also need to figure out how best to get her involved."

"Chen is one of Heather's gossipy friends," Evan says. "It's the two of them, Margaret, Alana Fawley, and Shreya Patil. All sixth-years, and they cover every house. I think that's one of the reasons that Heather knows so much. I see them in Fountain Court all the time."

"We can use gossipy friends," Barty says.

"That we can," Regulus says. If Chen is already accustomed to collecting information in Hufflepuff, it'll be relatively easy for her to contribute to Regulus's side without needing to put herself in danger, which is a useful talking point for recruiting her. And she's a half-blood, which is good. "Alright. I'll bring that up to Heather. As for Antony, he's a prefect, and he's approachable enough that first-years go to him with their problems, so I think we can use him to start sorting the lower years."

"To what end?" Evan says. "Getting eleven-year-olds involved in the fighting isn't a great look for us."

"To the end of finding out who's already aligned with us and who we can sway. Are you familiar with Larissa Selwyn? She's a first-year."

"House Selwyn, yes. This particular Selwyn, no."

That's fair. Regulus himself is only vaguely aware of who she is. "Antony told me that at the beginning of this year, a half-blood in the first year came to him to ask for help dealing with her. She was being anti-Muggle, I think. Antony talked to her about it and found out that she'd only ever talked to other purebloods before and hadn't really considered what she was saying. Apparently, it took a few conversations, but Antony got the point across and the half-blood apparently told him that Selwyn apologized. Those are the people I'm looking for in the lower years, and given Antony's previous success, he's a good candidate to find them."

Evan is right that involving first-years would be rather detrimental to their image, but Regulus intends to get both Larissa Selwyn and Ethan Taylor, the half-blood, on their side. House Selwyn is Noble and Dark, with a specialty focusing on animal transformation into unlimited forms. (That would be rather difficult to put on the Ministry's Animagus Register, so while the Ministry has never specifically outlawed House Selwyn's magic, the entire Dark network can extrapolate that they would do so if they knew it existed.) Larissa is the granddaughter of the current Lord Selwyn, so she's not in a position to do anything politically, but Regulus is willing to bet that she could be helpful for persuading other purebloods. As for Taylor, Regulus has no idea if he's the sort of person who would be open to supporting Dark Arts, but he can ask Antony to find out. If so, Selwyn and Taylor could serve as proof that reconciliation is possible.

The difficulty lies in figuring out how to recruit first-years, and how to convince Antony that this is a good idea, but perhaps Regulus can frame it in terms of protection. Every Slytherin who joins his side strengthens his hold over the house, giving more weight to his words and actions, and it's much easier to sign up for something a bit risky if many other people are doing the same. Recruitment snowballs if done properly. Regulus can make the case for including first-years by offering solidarity. The future Death Eaters like to go after younger students. If they go after someone on Regulus's side, he'll go after them. (And Regulus can also use that as an opening for large-scale retaliation, should an opportunity arise, given that a lower-year bullied by an upper-year is an excellent candidate for a martyr—although perhaps he won't mention that particular component to Antony.)

There. That's his angle.

 

Apparently, Slughorn chose to talk to Mulciber during Monday office hours.

This is an assumption on Regulus's part, based on the fact that most of the fifth-years (everyone except Charlotte, who's with her Hufflepuff friends) are working on Astronomy in the common room before dinner when the door to the dungeons opens and Mulciber storms in.

Unsurprisingly, he aims for Barty. "You."

Barty looks up from his parchment and raises an eyebrow. "You're really going to start talking to me when I'm working on the world's longest Astronomy essay? I'm already filled with rage, Mulciber. Maybe you should take a step back and consider whether now is really the best time to enter my line of sight."

"How'd you manage it?" Mulciber seethes. "You broke my nose, and I'm the one with detention? Who talked Slughorn into that—Black, are you running interference for your dog?"

"Why would I do that?" Regulus says. "He's a Slytherin. He can solve his own problems." (He hadn't even really needed to do anything in the conversation with Slughorn. Barty managed everything perfectly well by himself, although Regulus's presence, with its implied support, was probably helpful.)

Barty grins in a manner that makes him look about as friendly as the Whomping Willow. "Yeah, Mulciber, I can solve my own problems. You pointed a wand at me. I dealt with it accordingly. If you don't like the results, maybe you should consider confining yourself to your room where the mean, nasty fifth-years can't hurt you. Also, Slughorn gave you detention? Nice."

"Oh, is this because of the whole thing with the punching?" Evan says. "I was terribly sorry to find out I'd missed it. I love a good show. Can we count on a part two anytime soon?"

Mulciber has no idea how to respond to that, if his wordless glare at Evan is any indication.

"Frankly, Evan, I have to confess that I don't know," Barty says. "Seeing as part one started with me minding my own business, I assume a part two would start the same way, and that's difficult for me to predict. But maybe if you ask Mulciber nicely, he'll indulge you."

"You'd have to ask very nicely to persuade him to seek out another broken bone," Maeve says. (Regulus can't tell if she intends that to be an expression of support or just commentary.)

"I'm always nice," Evan says seriously. "Emma, I can see you laughing."

"I'm not laughing," Emma says, completely straight-faced. "You're always nice. It's true."

"Thank you for your support. It means absolutely everything to me." Evan tilts his head consideringly. "Well, no, not quite, there's one thing that would mean even more. Mulciber, could you possibly—"

"No," Mulciber says.

Evan pouts at him (exaggeratedly enough that now Regulus can see Emma trying not to laugh). "Not even if I said 'pretty please with sugar on top'?"

"Are you a child?"

Barty jumps back in. "Are you? You're the one who stomped over here to have a tantrum."

"I came over here to see if you knew what you were doing with Slughorn, or if you're just stupid and lucky," Mulciber says. "And I've gotten my answer. This isn't over."

"Oh, fabulous," Evan says. "I look forward to it. Could you let me know when you plan to make your next move? I'll mark my calendar."

"Out of curiosity—" Barty starts, but Mulciber's turned and left before he can finish. "Oh, well. I was going to ask which he thought it was."

"He'll probably tell you at some point," Regulus says.

Lucinda is tapping her fingernails on the table and frowning a little. "Is this the norm now? Fighting in the common room?"

"Might be," Barty says. "Why?"

"It's not a very good place to do homework if you're constantly being interrupted."

While that probably is a genuine concern for Lucinda, Regulus strongly doubts that it is the only reason (or even the main reason) that she asked. Fighting in the common room means discord, and regular fighting in the common room means entrenched discord. The future Death Eaters aren't yet aware that they're in a castle-sized war. Once they figure it out, the atmosphere in Slytherin will change drastically, even more so than it already has. But Lucinda may have picked up on the signs already.

"It's fun, though," Evan says.

Lucinda raises an eyebrow at him. "You've never been involved in it."

"I'm an enthusiastic spectator. And neither have you, anyway."

"I'd prefer for it to stay that way. I want to know now if that means I should avoid the common room."

In that case, Lucinda may not be a good candidate for recruitment. Regulus wasn't particularly considering her, but if she wants to avoid the fighting, that's another reason not to do so. Maybe later, once he's finished assembling his frontline and can add more people who aren't interested in drawing fire. (Of course, first he'll need to figure out what she thinks about blood purity, and if she could be persuaded to an alternate opinion if necessary.)

"That may be the best option, if you want to be able to focus," Regulus says to Lucinda. "I doubt the Carrows and their friends will spontaneously decide to retreat into their rooms and leave the common room in peace."

"We can always hope," Evan says cheerily.

Barty's smiling again. "Oh, I think we can do better than hope."

Notes:

slytherin is slooooooooowly coalescing - you'll see more of this later, when it becomes fast

regulus: *attempts to be stealthy about walking up to barty's desk and putting a box of sugar quills on it While Barty Is There, then just sort of awkwardly hanging around because he doesn't know what to do next*
barty, internally: ah yes regulus is showing affection, but i cannot respond dramatically because it will scare him away like a skittish cat. discussing plotting it is

alternatively, regulus could have purchased a cake with 'sorry you broke your thumb' on it in icing. ALTERNATIVELY alternatively, he could have attempted to mAKE a cake in order to write 'sorry you broke your thumb' on it in icing, which would have been a complete disaster, prevented regulus from ever setting foot in a kitchen for the rest of his life, and honestly probably would have resulted in him running into the marauders in the kitchens, because they're certainly down there all the time. what a way to reunite. regulus is drowning in icing and ready to kill

you WILL learn more about why evan signed onto regulus's side - from evan himself, in fact! but it won't come up for a few more chapters. in the meantime, we have speculation - and note barty's perspective on the whole 'become a wizengamot lord once your father dies' thing, which is definitely colored by a) his not being sacred 28, b) his relationship with his own father, and c), which is really b(i)), his deeply held spite towards his father's general philosophy on life. fun times! (but how does evan feel about it???)

i spent a While thinking about evan's chocolate frog-eating strategy and ended up deciding it's a two-bite sort of situation. i don't know whether chocolate frogs are enchanted such that they stop moving once you bite into them, or such that they stop moving once you land a lethal hit on them, or something else similarly macabre, or if they just stop moving once you pick them up in your hand (which would be the least horrifying, but also, boring)

regulus isn't a huge candy person but when he does eat chocolate frogs, he starts with the head because andromeda told him and sirius it was more humane when they were young and impressionable and regulus just got into the habit of it. evan starts with the head because it's efficient. make of that what you will

and we have a lot of names being tossed around and a lot of ideas for the war!!! regulus has pulled together an inter-house coalition (although it doesn't cover every house) which means he can shift into the next gear, including fun with delegation, people management skills, and war councils while evan makes pretty arrangements of his candy hoard (featuring surprise bonus candy??? almost certainly from regulus because barty definitely would have confessed to it???) and Participates As Hard As He Can - but why?????????

a fun little thought experiment for you: how do you think slughorn would have responded to barty's sob story if regulus HADN'T been there?

i also find it incredibly entertaining that mulciber comes over to confront/threaten barty (his best plan ever? probably not but he's pissed off let him live - or don't lmao) and what he gets in response is nonstop mockery from both barty AND evan rosier of all people???? (which begs the question - does mulciber know evan's mocking him? and if so, at which point in the conversation does he pick up on it?)

aaaaaaand not everyone wants to be involved in the war. oh well such is life

next week: the architectural similarities between hogwarts castle and black manor!! regulus climbs many stairs!! evan is the center of attention!!

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 27

Notes:

are you ready for some off-the-walls black family history

On Tuesday, Barty is preparing to drag himself up to the seventh floor to go to Runes Club, and Regulus is pondering the best way to offer to accompany him there (although he's definitely not joining Runes Club), when Evan says, "If you're going all the way up there, I'll go with you. Heather told me to go to the reading room in West Tower if I want Ravenclaws to overhear rumors from me. I will need someone to gossip with, though. Regulus?"

"Me gossiping might raise some eyebrows," Regulus says. "But I'll listen as you monologue."

"So, a normal Tuesday?" Barty says.

"I'm sure you can think of some appropriately snippy comments," Evan says to Regulus. "We're hoping Foxworth and Rosendale will be there, as apparently Fawley's always told Heather that the two of them love spreading nasty things about people they don't like, and Rosendale's Muggleborn."

Regulus knows this already, as Meredith Rosendale was on the first list that Heather gave him. (As was Dorcas Meadowes, another Ravenclaw, but Regulus isn't sure how to get to her yet. Maybe through McKinnon. He sees them together sometimes.) If Rosendale's already interested in making the future Death Eaters' lives difficult, so much the better. "Are she and Foxworth genuinely friends? I thought they just liked wreaking havoc in Arithmancy and bonded over that."

"Best friends," Evan says. "The wreaking havoc in Arithmancy came second, although plotting together is an excellent way to bond." He follows this with a wink.

"This is all fascinating, but if you're accompanying me to the seventh floor, can we go?" Barty says. "I'm already climbing all those stairs. The last thing I want is to have to do it quickly."

 

Regulus and Evan leave Barty at Professor Babbling's classroom and continue onwards to West Tower. It's a little after five, so they're moving against the current as occasional groups of Ravenclaws pass them in the opposite direction, presumably going down to the Great Hall for dinner. There aren't that many groups, though, so Regulus isn't particularly worried about going to this reading room and finding it empty. (Ravenclaw Tower is southwest, between West Tower and the Astronomy Tower, which probably explains why this reading room in West Tower is the place to go to find Ravenclaws outside of their dormitories.)

Speaking of which. "What's this reading room that Heather told you about? I haven't heard of one."

"That's because you're a Slytherin who mostly talks to other Slytherins," Evan says. "Why would we go up all of these stairs when we can just go to the solarium? The reading room's more of a Ravenclaw and Gryffindor thing—mostly Ravenclaws, though, as Gryffindors tend to stick to the east side of the castle or go all the way down to the grounds. I hadn't heard of it either until Heather told me to go, and she said she only knows about it because she's friends with Fawley."

"So it's functionally similar to the solarium?"

"Yes, but less whimsical with regard to its own existence, apparently. And there are bookshelves."

That sounds rather nice, actually, although not enough to tempt Regulus into walking all the way up here for fun. He already has to come up to the seventh floor for Runes and Divination, and then there's Astronomy, and his Thursday rounds, which cover the upper floors of the castle, so he's up here more than often enough without doing it recreationally. (Come to think of it, Ottoline Colfax has never suggested that they check the reading room for students out after curfew, even though they must have passed by it many times on their way to the owlery, which is at the top of West Tower. Not that Regulus cares. If she wants to protect fellow Ravenclaws from being caught, that's her business, and skipping rooms makes rounds go faster.)

They reach the bottom of the spiral staircase that winds up through West Tower, each stair with a dip worn into the center of the stone from centuries of footsteps. The oldest parts of Black Manor have similar-looking stairs—they could easily be repaired or replaced, but the worn stone is a symbol of how long House Black has existed, so they're left as is.

Regulus prefers it that way, really. A family like House Rosier or House Malfoy would disdain the signs of wear—everything is impeccable at their family estates, or at least the parts that they show to guests. But Black Manor is a bit of an architectural mishmash, even though each addition is matched as carefully as possible to what's come before. Generations of Blacks have put in the effort to keep it in good if not perfect repair, maintaining their home instead of building a new one that would be flashier or more fashionable. (They don't all live there now, seeing as the invention of the Floo Network made it possible for them to stay close to the family without having to live with relatives who irk them, but nonetheless, Black Manor is the family home.) It's driven by the desire to prove how old their family is, of course, but the result is an estate that simply doesn't seem to care about the minutiae of day-to-day life. Black Manor has been around for far too long to be bothered by little things. Despite the vast number of graves on the property, which put off some guests, Regulus has always found it refreshing.

It has some things in common with Hogwarts, as well—arched stained glass windows, a library that used to be much smaller before it decided it needed more breathing room, and sprawling grounds without any carefully manicured gardens of the sort that are House Rosier's pride and joy. (Although Black Manor is, on the whole, better behaved than Hogwarts is.) Some family members, Mother among them, are confident that this architectural similarity is because the Founders took inspiration for Hogwarts Castle from Black Manor, as a nod to the family who donated the land for the school. Father has always told Regulus to be very careful about making that particular claim to non-family members, though, because they don't have enough proof to back it up indisputably.

There are a few letters, though, meticulously preserved in the vault at Black Manor, between Salazar Slytherin and the Lord Black at the time, Pollux Cepheus I. The letters discuss the progress of raising Hogwarts Castle, as well as the grounds, with the implication that Pollux Cepheus was very familiar with the area, and the lake does bear their name, but they don't have written proof of the land donation. That bit of family history has been passed down orally. (What they do have is several references to Slytherin's wife, a woman named Sagittaria, and one inquiry from Pollux Cepheus about his grandchildren. Apparently, referring to House Gaunt as 'a cadet branch of House Black' was an excellent way to stop them from getting too full of themselves over their ancestry, before the family died out.)

Father's theory with regard to being careful about assertions is that the Ministry, as an institution, likes to forget that there was a time before it existed, and it also likes to pretend that certain families aren't as old and entrenched as they are. (This fear isn't completely unreasonable. Orion Delphinus II did attempt to transform magical Britain into a monarchy independent of Muggle royalty in the fifteenth century, with House Black taking the crown, obviously. He was unsuccessful, though.) They have to walk the line between reminding people of who they are and preventing the Ministry from deciding that House Black is undermining its authority. Well. Undermining it too overtly.

But whether it's a nod to Black Manor or not, the architecture of Hogwarts has always felt familiar to Regulus, and both it and Black Manor provide a welcome change from the townhouse at Grimmauld Place, which can feel cramped in comparison. Even the spiral staircases in the towers of Hogwarts, narrow though they are, have windows that look out over the vast expanse of the grounds. These windows show the Black Lake far below them, rippling in what must be a breeze.

"Heather said it was only one floor up," Evan says. "I suppose even people who live in towers get tired of climbing stairs."

The door at the first landing is made of dark, heavy wood, with bronze hinges and a handle engraved with feathers. Regulus probably could have guessed just from looking at it that they're about to enter a Ravenclaw-dominated space.

"That's what I heard," Evan says, unprompted, as he opens the door. (Given that Regulus hadn't said anything that would merit that response, he's guessing that this is Evan's way of making their conversation sound organic.) "She wouldn't tell me who told her, I think because whoever it was got worried that Mulciber would go after them for causing trouble, but does it really matter?"

"I suppose not," Regulus says.

The reading room is smaller than the solarium, but it has a fireplace, as well as window seats that are almost all occupied by various Ravenclaws. A few people are scattered around the rest of the room, looking through the bookshelves or doing homework in the cluster of chairs and tables by the fireplace. (Or sitting on the floor, in the case of two Ravenclaws who look like first-years.) Most importantly, Carlisle Foxworth and Meredith Rosendale are playing chess in the corner, next to an ornate grandfather clock. Regulus knows of Foxworth through quidditch, but most of his knowledge about the two of them as a pair comes from Arithmancy, in which Foxworth and Rosendale sit together in the back row and seem to devote themselves to figuring out every possible way to get matrices wrong. As far as Ravenclaws go, Regulus often finds himself preferring the bookish, unsociable ones.

"That's what I think too." Evan heads for the bookshelves, and Regulus follows him. "Because it's too weird for someone to make up, so whoever it was must be telling the truth. I mean, Mulciber knows the Carrows made him, right? Without them, he'd just be another random Slytherin with a fairly repellent personality. Nothing special, aside from his stunning ability to turn strangers into enemies in under ten minutes." He trails a hand along one row of books like he's looking for something, speaking faux-absentmindedly, but it doesn't stop almost every person in earshot from looking at least vaguely interested. Some people even blatantly look up from what they're doing. Evan has distinctly become the center of attention, without even needing to talk particularly loudly. "He wouldn't have any friends if it weren't for them. I don't know, I think maybe some gratitude is in order. It's not like he's such a gem that people are falling over themselves to spend time in his presence. If the Carrows hear what he's been spewing about them behind their backs, they might stop talking to him, and then where will he be? Like I said, he's made himself a lot of enemies. There'll be carnage."

Regulus is interested despite himself—he knows Evan is making all of this up, and yet something about how he's saying it makes Regulus want to know more, as if this is real information that Evan is sharing with him. "What has he been saying?"

Evan tilts his head, which makes the light shine off of his hair. "I don't know anything specific about Amycus, but I can guess. He's easy to mock, what with managing to sink to academic probation despite—how many classes is he even taking? Isn't it three or something like that?"

"That sounds right." Regulus has no idea.

"Low-hanging fruit. But she didn't tell me anything about that," Evan continues. "It was more about Alecto. Mulciber told Warrington—you know Warrington?"

"In sixth year? Not personally, but I know of her." (Warrington doesn't seem to be actually aligned with the future Death Eaters, but Heather wants to go on offense against her, and she is a vehement purist, so Evan mentioned earlier that they'd probably be dragging her name into whatever rumors they start.)

"Mulciber told her something about how Alecto Carrow thinks she's going to be the next Bellatrix Lestrange, or something like that, and Mulciber thinks she's deluding herself," Evan says.

The mention of Bellatrix doesn't get the same reaction here that it would among certain Slytherins. Her role in the Death Eaters is a rather widespread secret, but it's still a secret—Bellatrix is very careful to ensure that she never leaves actual proof of her involvement (aside from telling her family all about it). Having Aurors on her tail would make it difficult for her to serve Voldemort, after all. To anyone not in the know, Bellatrix is a young society lady, not nearly so genteel as her sister Narcissa but much livelier, formidable because of her connections and her sharp tongue, not because of her skill with a Cruciatus. (And there are likely people in this room who don't recognize her name at all, being Muggleborns or people who don't pay much attention to the Sacred Twenty-Eight.)

"Deluding herself in what way?" Regulus says.

Evan is in the middle of picking a book, but he pauses to grin at Regulus, with something wry about it that makes Regulus absolutely certain that whatever comes out of his mouth next will be brutal towards Alecto Carrow.

And then Evan says, "People actually like Bellatrix."

There it is.

Out of the corner of Regulus's eye, he sees Meredith Rosendale cover her mouth, eyes sparkling, before whispering something to Carlisle Foxworth.

"I suppose charisma is difficult to teach," Regulus says. (Which is something that he's heard over and over, mostly when he was little, eavesdropping on various relatives who liked telling Mother how wonderful a lord Sirius would be eventually. Regulus can't even remember all the times he heard someone say charisma couldn't be taught, always right before commenting that Sirius clearly inherited it from his mother. Regulus has always been judged to be more similar to Father—they're both quieter, and people who felt inclined towards compliments tended to comment on his bearing, how he really did carry himself like the 'little king' that is his namesake. This past summer, those same people didn't hesitate to say that the good thing about Regulus becoming Heir Black was that he would finally bring some dignity back to the role—his father's gravitas, his mother's composure. Maybe charisma is difficult to teach. Regulus wouldn't know. But he's done his best to learn from the examples around him.)

"You'd have to ask Mulciber what his specific objection to the concept is," Evan says. "That's all I know." He flips through the book he's picked and tilts it towards Regulus. "Look at all these notes in the margins. Someone hated this book."

It's as if he announced that everyone in the room can stop eavesdropping now. Gazes slide away, heads tilt back down towards their books, faltering conversations regain their liveliness. But Regulus hears Carrow and Mulciber muttered out of half a dozen mouths, which means that Evan has done what he set out to do.

He's still holding out the book to Regulus, and they can't make it obvious that they're just here to spread rumors, so Regulus looks at it. The margins are filled with notes in a cramped hand, most of them profanity-laden comments on the text, some of them drawings that Regulus assumes were meant to indicate the reader's emotional state upon reading certain passages. The book itself has a particularly convoluted air about it with which he is, unfortunately, familiar. "Is this a Milford novel?"

Evan checks the cover. "Socrates J. Milford, yes. How did you know?"

"Barty has a few of his books. All of them are philosophical treatises disguised as novels. He'd love this."

"Oh, is Milford the one who was profiled in the Prophet a while ago? His favorite fan letters are the ones that tear his books apart point by point? I'm not big on the Arts and Culture section, but I remember Lucinda talking about it."

"Yep, that's Milford," Meredith Rosendale's voice says from much closer than Regulus was expecting.

He attempts not to seem startled and turns around. "Hello."

Rosendale isn't actually right behind him, although she has a loud voice that makes her sound closer than she is. She and Foxworth are standing by the end of the bookshelf. (Regulus is realizing that Evan had a point when he said that Foxworth's hair looks like he falls out of bed and rolls down the stairs every morning.)

"He also said in that interview that a lot of his novels start out with conversations he has with fans who disagree with him," Rosendale says. "I think it's cool that he gives that much respect to so many points of view. Your friend's a fan? Carlisle tolerates Milford, but..."

"I'm not a big fan of the narrative framing device for philosophical debates," Foxworth says. "Also, hi, sorry to sneak up on you like that. It's kind of hard to avoid in the reading room because the carpet is so thick. Neither of you have been here before, right? It's just that Mer and I are here all the time and we've only ever seen you in class. Well, and quidditch."

"First time," Evan says cheerily. "We're here on a recommendation. Most locations that Slytherins gravitate to are either incredibly drafty or under the lake, so I'm sure you can understand the desire to seek out warm places."

Regulus stands back and lets Evan handle the socializing. Foxworth and Rosendale are obviously here to try to get more information out of him, not Regulus, and Evan is better at looking like he's enjoying conversation with random people anyway. (Regulus is fairly sure that House Rosier specifically teaches their children to seem like they're enjoying themselves even in the dullest conversations possible. They're perpetual hosts, arranging plenty of events during every social season, which means they're constantly in situations where they need to make every guest feel welcome and appreciated, regardless of whether they actually are.)

Rosendale was on Heather's first list, which means that any befriending that Evan can do now will benefit them later. It also means that Regulus can (politely) ask Evan to handle recruiting her. Maybe Foxworth, too, but they'd need a better idea of his views on Dark Arts first, which would probably require Rosendale's input.

Expanding into Ravenclaw is a worthwhile endeavor in general. There's one Dark scion in their year, Ian Lovett, and there are also a few of them in the third year, whom Miles McKinnon's twin Miranda is presumably well-equipped to recruit. It's possible that Regulus could entice them to join his side by way of offering access to his collection of Dark Arts books, although that would imply expanding his study group to be a multi-house operation, which would mean that they wouldn't be able to meet in the Slytherin dormitory anymore.

Then again, if Dark Muggleborns are necessary as proof of concept, then Regulus is going to have to teach some Muggleborns Dark Arts, which means he'll need to figure out a non-Slytherin meeting location anyway.

So he nods along as Evan discusses the layout of Hogwarts with Foxworth and Rosendale, and he notes that Foxworth seems to bear Regulus no grudge for how easily Regulus defeated him in the Ravenclaw-Slytherin quidditch match in the fall, and he watches the grandfather clock and eventually informs Evan that they should leave soon if they want to meet up with Barty on the way down to the Great Hall.

"Pity. Time flies, I suppose." Evan directs a sparkling smile at Foxworth and Rosendale. "I'm sure we'll see you here again—we have to show Barty this book. Until next time, then?"

"Er, yeah," Foxworth says. (Regulus notices, but does not comment on, how his face is reddening rapidly.) "See you around."

"I look forward to it," Evan says with a wink, and then he takes Regulus's arm and sweeps out of the reading room, presumably pretending not to notice the eyes watching them go.

Once the heavy wooden door has closed behind them, Regulus says in an undertone, "Did you do that on purpose?"

"Of course," Evan says easily. "Do you take me for an amateur?"

Which suggests that any and all winking at Regulus may have also been done with specific intentions in mind. Regulus assumed it was meant to throw him off balance, keep him busy questioning how Evan was saying things rather than what they really meant. It makes sense in the context of preoccupying Regulus enough that he might forget to watch his words. It makes less sense in the context of Carlisle Foxworth, who doesn't have any particular information that needs to be found out, at least not that Regulus is aware of.

To some degree, this is just what Evan is like. But his 'of course' implies that he is being like this intentionally, for a reason that might be significant.

None of that provides Regulus with any ideas for how to respond, though. So he just raises an eyebrow and hopes that Evan will interpret it as some sort of silently witty remark.

"People like to feel special, my dear Regulus," is Evan's reply. "Whether it's because they feel important or because they feel admired. You use rhetoric. I use my stunning good looks and ability to wink without looking stupid. It's that simple."

That's... reasonable enough, although it's hardly what Regulus would call a recipe for stability. "What happens when they realize you're flirting with them with ulterior motives?"

"First of all, all flirting has ulterior motives. Second of all, I don't know." Evan beams at Regulus. "But when you figure it out, do tell me."

Hm. "Are you requesting that I sort it out for you? Or are you asking me to let you know what I decide to do when I realize that you're flirting with me with ulterior motives?"

"Bravo!" Evan slips his arm out of Regulus's and applauds lightly. "I meant the latter, but if you're offering, I'll gladly let you sort everyone else out for me too."

Regulus suspects he may not get a choice. Everyone on his side is his responsibility, no matter how they got there, and that means it falls to Regulus to prevent infighting. (Although he doesn't intend to console anyone who got their hopes up.) "If I ask you what those ulterior motives are, will you answer me honestly, or will you double down on distraction?"

"We're working together," Evan says. "I'll always be at least a little bit honest."

"I'll believe that when you give Barty a horse."

He blinks. "Does he actually want one? I assumed he was joking."

"He was," Regulus says. "My statement still stands."

"I suppose if I got him a horse, I'd also need to get him a stable to keep it in, and Dumbledore might object to that. Or Barty's father would, and I'm not sure if stables are portable so I might need one per residence, and at that point it would be two stables and one horse, gifted to someone who doesn't want any of it, and my parents might consider that a rather frivolous expenditure."

With any other family, Regulus would consider that to be a humorously vast understatement, but last summer the Rosiers spent what probably amounted to hundreds of Galleons in order to hire someone to train a flock of swans to swim in formations around their pond during their annual garden party. The invitations for their summer solstice ball are always edged with gold leaf and delivered by a pair of goldendoves, which only hatch once every seven years. Frivolous expenditures seem to be their modus operandi.

"A figurine of a horse, then," Evan muses. "Perhaps an Abraxan. Or a zebra. Are zebras horses?"

"I have no idea, but a zebra would be entertaining," Regulus says.

He grins. "Zebra it is. And to answer your question that you didn't really ask, my ulterior motive is that it's incredibly entertaining to watch you rack your brains trying to figure out what I'm doing. The first time I winked at you, you looked at me like I'd started speaking Mermish. I live in the hope that one day, I'll bewilder you to that point again."

That answer seems... too innocuous, or maybe too simple, but Regulus doubts that pushing would get him anywhere.

He'll just have to pay attention. Evan's made it clear that he's going to keep doing it, so Regulus can't draw any conclusions based on that, but he can note when Evan gets particularly blatant about it and see if that correlates with certain subjects. If it's a distraction maneuver, as Regulus suspects it might be, then it'll appear when they're nearing something Evan wants to distract him from. If it's really just for fun, then there won't be a recognizable pattern... but it's also very possible that there simply won't seem to be a recognizable pattern, which would be the smart move on Evan's part, so really, Regulus has no definitive way of finding out the truth, except for watching and waiting and asking some carefully-chosen questions.

Very well. He can do that.

Notes:

much of my hogwarts worldbuilding is 'how do 1970s hogwarts students find places to relax around the castle where they're not going to run into the marauders or junior death eaters, both of whom make it impossible to relax in VERY different ways'

rip orion delphinus ii, you would have loved your descendant's extracurricular activities

i know really far more than necessary about barty's favorite authors. jessica's too

carlisle foxworth is weak for a pretty face - it's not why regulus beat him so easily in that quidditch match but the jury is out on whether it may have influenced how quickly carlisle found it within himself not to be angry over it :) gotta love how instead of paying Any attention to meredith rosendale for purposes of recruitment, regulus spent that whole conversation standing next to evan silently and then asked evan wtf he was doing as soon as they got out of earshot

what do you think about evan's rumor-spreading? (ahsgsjfhg i'm trying so hard not to draw your attention to Very Specific Things about it because i don't want to spoil stuff but - SOMETHING IMPORTANT HAPPENED WHILE HE WAS MAKING UP GOSSIP ABOUT MULCIBER)

and while we're talking about evan: why is he REALLY flirting with regulus, hmm? was he telling the truth? the whole truth? nothing but the truth? how many people has evan even winked at by now? so many questions. so few answers. unless.....?

i will say just as a general note that evan loves attention. however, there is MUCH more to it than that. and everything he did in the reading room can be best described as So Incredibly Rosier Of Him

afsjlgshjfk there's SO MUCH MORE i could say about this chapter but i don't want to write the world's densest author's note, as always feel free to speculate/ask questions in the comments!

next week: barty gets an important letter!! marlene gets her hands dirty!! ✨government surveillance✨!!!!!!!!

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

edit 10/3/22: spoilers in the comments! if you want to read the comments but also avoid spoilers, just look for the all caps in which i say 'THERE ARE SPOILERS IN THE REST OF THIS COMMENT' or something to that effect. everything else is pretty much safe asjglshfkgh

Chapter 28

Regulus gets a brief opportunity to hear Lucinda's commentary on examples of 'lovelorn yearning,' as Barty put it a while ago, at lunch on Thursday.

Valentine's Day was Wednesday, and one might assume that anyone inclined to yearn would have gotten it over with yesterday. But Evan just spent half of Arithmancy chatting with Foxworth and Rosendale, who sit in the row behind Regulus, Lucinda, and Evan, so it's not really a surprise when they sit down at the Slytherin table and Lucinda says, "Evan, you're receiving attention."

"I love attention," Evan says. "Who is it?"

"Foxworth and Rosendale."

Regulus glances over at the Ravenclaw table, as subtly as he can. Sure enough, there is some distinct staring happening. (Maeve and Barty look over at the same time that he does, which is probably why Foxworth flushes and mutters something to Rosendale. She mutters something back that makes him bury his face in his hands, but then Rosendale looks away from the Slytherin table and strikes up a conversation with another Ravenclaw.)

"What?" Evan says. "Both of them?"

Lucinda raises an eyebrow. "I don't know why that surprises you, when you were just talking to both of them. Unless you're aiming for one in particular."

"Foxworth and Rosendale?" Barty says. "Why—"

Whatever he's going to ask, none of them find out, because a sleek gray owl with the violet band around its leg indicating that it's a Ministry messenger swoops down and lands on the table in front of him. The letter tied to its leg doesn't look like a standard Ministry envelope, though.

Barty unties it and studies the handwriting on the front as the owl leaves, as swiftly as it came. "I guess my mum's at the Ministry today." He breaks the seal, the wax also Ministry purple, and unfolds the letter. It's one piece of parchment, with quite a bit of blank space in the margins, which is unusual. Regulus has seen the letters Barty usually gets from his mother—she's apparently quite talkative, and they're usually two pieces of parchment at the minimum, filled to the edges with cramped handwriting. (Regulus has only met her once, in third year when she was at Hogwarts to interview every portrait in the portrait gallery, but he remembers her being just as voluble out loud as she is in writing. Barty says she's amassed mountains of research on the history of British enchanted portraiture and done very little writing on the book that is the ostensible end goal of all this research, but she seems to be enjoying the process.)

He scans the letter, then frowns and hands it to Regulus. "Didn't Slughorn specifically say he wasn't going to write to my parents?"

 

Dear Barty,

Everything's hectic here, so I haven't got much time, but I had to let you know that your father and I will be coming to Hogwarts on Friday—you should expect to be pulled out of class in the afternoon to go to the headmaster's office. You're not in trouble!

Love,

Mum

 

"He did," Regulus says. "But this seems unrelated, judging by Dumbledore's involvement." (And the part about Barty not being in trouble—judging from what Barty's told Regulus about his mother, she doesn't seem like the type to lie about that.) "Coincidental timing, I suppose."

Barty's parents visiting Hogwarts means something important is happening, though, so it may not be totally unrelated to Barty punching Mulciber in the face a week ago. Regulus came to the conclusion that the Death Eaters might target Barty's father next (or eventually). Someone at the Ministry might have done the same. If they've decided to do something about it... on the one hand, it means Regulus might not need to worry so much about Barty. On the other, it means that Barty might find a few more sharp-eyed Ministry employees in his life, which is non-ideal from a war standpoint.

But Regulus doesn't know what the Ministry's procedure is for this sort of case, so he'll just have to wait until tomorrow to find out.

"Hopefully they pull me from Potions, not Defense," Barty says. "I didn't like the sound of the potion Slughorn told us about on Tuesday. And Holsclaw will probably be thrilled to have an opportunity to brew the whole potion by himself, instead of having to share all the glory."

"Every time Holsclaw insists on using a knife, his life flashes before my eyes," Maeve says. "I'm sure Pomfrey is very grateful that he's partnered with you."

"Oh, when he wants to cut things I just casually point the knife at him, and then he remembers it's a weapon and we're partially graded on teamwork," Barty says. "I hate all the complicated stirring, so I let him do that part, but he seems to think that's the true test of one's potion-making abilities. Maybe if he slices off a finger tomorrow he'll realize I've been saving his life once a week since September."

"Order of Merlin, coming right up," Lucinda says. "I don't think the potion will be that bad, though. Didn't Slughorn say it uses dried slugs, not fresh?"

"Depends on the variant," Maeve says. "You should really be using dried, because it's more concentrated, but then you have to compensate with more moonstone and elderflower oil and most people don't have easy access to that, so the fresh slug variant is meant to be a little easier to make. That's probably what we'll be doing, since I doubt Slughorn wants to waste a ton of moonstone on a class of fifth-years, at least half of whom are going to ruin their potions anyway."

"Unfortunate," Lucinda sighs. "And Stuart-Lane is so squeamish, so I'll have to do everything slug-related. I suppose she'll be fine with most of the other ingredients, though."

"You're also a bit squeamish, Cinda," Barty points out.

"I take Care of Magical Creatures. I've learned to cope."

"Yeah, Runes doesn't really deal with gross matter, so Stuart-Lane hasn't had an opportunity to figure out how to get over it," Maeve says. "Also, where's Jessica? She hasn't eaten with us for a couple of days."

"With Misra and Finch and O'Hagan in fourth year," Barty says. "Although, yesterday? Just Misra."

"Oh, I see."

Regulus isn't sure if Jessica spent much of yesterday with Rahul Misra because of some Valentine's Day-related thing, or if she did it as part of her mission to identify other fourth-years who could be recruited to their side. Evan would almost certainly say that it doesn't matter. Regulus still isn't sure that he believes that. Introducing feelings seems unnecessarily messy, especially with no intention of reciprocation.

 

On Friday, Barty is pulled out of the second half of double Potions to go see Dumbledore, which would ordinarily ensure that for the rest of the class period, all anyone would talk about would be what he might have done to get himself sent to the headmaster. That's not the case this time. There are two reasons that the whole class takes it mostly in stride. The first reason is that all of the Slytherins already knew that he'd be going and that it's because of his parents, not anything he did.

The second reason is that everyone is already buzzing over an altercation between some sixth-years that happened during first period.

Neither Lily nor Marlene McKinnon provided Regulus with any details on what they were planning, but he'll get the full story from one of them somehow. The rumors are already distorted—by lunchtime, everyone knew that something had happened, but most Slytherins heard it was a duel, and Charlotte's Hufflepuff friends told her it was an argument, and Regulus has overheard Ruby Stuart-Lane swearing up and down to Lucinda over their potion that McKinnon stuffed stinging nettles down the back of Mulciber's robes.

He's not having a very good February, but no one can say he didn't have it coming.

Gryffindors are clearly useful in multiple ways, though, because about ten minutes before the end of class, Caroline Johnson (Sirius's Beater partner, not that it matters) raises her hand. "Professor Slughorn?"

Johnson's at the table right behind Regulus and Maeve, but she's been whispering to her partner too quietly for Regulus to know what they've been discussing. However, he's unsurprised when her next words are, "We heard there was a fight in NEWT Potions this morning, and we were wondering what really happened. People are saying some really weird things."

Slughorn sighs. "Miss Johnson, I'm not sure the details need to be spread around the school."

"Erm, someone told me that there were death threats," Isabelle Scott, one of Gryffindor's prefects, pipes up. "And, like... given the current political climate, I at least want to know if that's true."

Scott is Muggleborn, a factor that Slughorn undoubtedly takes into consideration before saying, "There were no death threats."

"But the argument was political," Simon Holsclaw says. (He hasn't managed to slice off a finger yet—Barty did most of the chopping before being called to Dumbledore's office.) "Wasn't it? Lily Evans was saying at lunch that it was."

Dragging the name of one of Slughorn's favorite students into it is a neatly executed maneuver. And Regulus happens to be able to assist this particular effort. He finishes his third round of stirring so he can afford to look up from the cauldron, directly at Slughorn. "It wouldn't be the first time that Mulciber attacked someone and cried foul when they fought back."

"That's true." Maeve drops in their last piece of moonstone. (They should be done with their potion in a few minutes now, as all that's left is one more round of stirring and waiting for the water to boil off.) "Is that what happened, Professor?"

"There is a difference of opinion between Mr. Mulciber and Miss McKinnon as to who started it," Slughorn says. "As you've said, Miss Scott, given the political climate, it is probably best to dispel false rumors around what actually happened. I assure you that the truth is less sensational than what you've probably heard. It was a short argument that briefly became a physical altercation. No death threats were exchanged, and there was no duel."

"What about the stinging nettles?" Ruby Stuart-Lane says. "Was that part true?"

Slughorn sighs. "Miss Stuart-Lane, I really don't think that information is necessary."

If he thinks that will end the discussion, he is about to be sorely disappointed.

 

Barty doesn't show up to Defense at all, and Regulus doesn't want to miss his return to the Slytherin dormitories, so he sits in the common room with Evan, Emma, and Maeve for over half an hour pretending to be interested in the game of chess that Emma and Maeve are playing. (Pretending to be interested is at least better than Evan is doing—he's sprawled sideways on a loveseat with his legs dangling over one armrest, staring at the ceiling and mourning that he already finished the entire bag of sweets he got from Honeydukes last weekend, as well as the Chocolate Frogs that Regulus bought him.)

Maeve's last remaining bishop headbutts Emma's king off of the board, which Emma watches with mild dismay and Maeve with triumph. (If Regulus were more invested in the game, he might have pointed out the one opportunity Emma let slip by that might have gotten her a victory. As it is, he's mostly just been staring at the board and letting the sound of chess pieces attacking each other wash over him.)

He's set to talk to Lily during rounds tonight—all it took was a brief conversation with Priam, asking if they could possibly swap shifts. Priam now believes that Regulus has a substantial Divination essay due on Wednesday morning, which is the reason why he wanted someone else to cover his Tuesday night rounds next week. As long as Priam does not speak to Charlotte specifically about this alleged essay, Regulus's cover will remain believable—it's somewhat plausible that Maeve might have forgotten about an assignment, and extremely plausible that Evan simply wasn't listening (or was pretending not to listen) when Professor Cato mentioned it. (Perhaps at some point Regulus can ask Lily how her shifts with Priam normally go, to gauge Priam's willingness to work with Muggleborns.)

The discussion in Potions today was somewhat enlightening, but Slughorn was determined not to 'facilitate the spreading of rumors around the school,' so he didn't give them many answers beyond rejecting the more outlandish suggestions about what might have happened. What Regulus now knows is that Marlene McKinnon and Julius Mulciber are partners in NEWT Potions, they got into an argument this morning, and judging by Slughorn's lack of denial, McKinnon did indeed insert flora into some creative places, to Mulciber's detriment. Lily will probably have a more colorful account of what happened, as well as information on how McKinnon started it (which she definitely did, although Regulus is sure that she's arguing vehemently that she did not).

Slytherin, as a house, is rather insular. It's a result of both their reputation and their high proportion of Sacred Twenty-Eight scions who tend to interact mainly with others of a similar social rank. That means that when something happens in Slytherin, it often stays in Slytherin. But when something happens between a Slytherin and a Gryffindor, the whole school finds out within hours, as today proved.

What this cannot become is a mere reinforcement of the Slytherin-Gryffindor rivalry—nor can it become the other three houses against Slytherin. That's where Regulus's group comes in. Their job is to prove that it's not Slytherin as a whole that's the issue, but rather a very small, very specific group of Slytherins that the rest of the house has turned on. (Will turn on.) Those are the bare bones of his strategy: inter- and intra-house conflict, meant to make the future Death Eaters' lives so miserable that anyone who joins them after this spring was definitely already a lost cause.

Maeve and Emma are setting up a rematch (and Evan is conjuring colorful bubbles that float up to the ceiling and pop on impact) when Barty comes back.

He doesn't say anything when he steps into the common room, just waves a little in their direction and heads down the boys' hallway, either to put his things down or to wait in their room for Regulus to show up for a debrief on the meeting with Dumbledore and Barty's parents.

Regulus waits for a few minutes, and Barty doesn't reappear, so he makes his excuses and departs.

Sure enough, when Regulus gets to their room, Barty is sitting on his desk, tapping his fingers on the wood. As soon as Regulus shuts the door, he says, "I love being under government surveillance."

"More so than usual?" Regulus says.

"Urgh. Ministry's come to the same conclusion that you have about my father. He's got a protection detail now." Barty grimaces. "Only one Auror, but it's Moody, who's basically worth three and was staring me down the whole time like he thought I might bust out a Dark Mark any second now."

"Alastor Moody was there too?" Regulus has never met him, but he's familiar with who he is—Moody's name is thrown around Dark circles as an example of an Auror who is ideologically in Dumbledore's pocket, even if literally, he would never accept a bribe. Despite his seniority in the Aurors, he's not in charge of their department. Moody is known for being abrasive, especially with bureaucrats, so they try to keep him out in the field as much as possible to minimize the risk of him offending someone important. The unsurprising side effect of all that practice is that he is very good at his job.

And that job happens to be sniffing out Dark Arts.

Lovely.

"Is Moody round-the-clock?" Regulus says.

Barty shakes his head. "They put a Fidelius on our house, and Moody's Secret-Keeper. One of the reasons he was here was so that he could tell me where I live. It means he's basically just with my father when he's not home, so ideally, I won't see him much. But I'm still distinctly not thrilled."

"Of course not." Any sort of increased Auror presence in Barty's life is bad, no matter how minimal. And Moody... well, judging by Bellatrix's comments, he's not just ideologically aligned with Dumbledore.

So if Moody is guarding the head of the DMLE (an unusually monotonous, low-level assignment for someone who's usually tracking down murderers, not waiting for them to come to him), then that means he probably got himself put on the protection detail on purpose. And that means that the Order of the Phoenix wants Bartemius Crouch Sr. to stay safe, presumably because his politics are favorable to theirs—he doesn't like any sort of vigilante justice, of course, which makes Moody's proximity to him rather ironic, but he's at least willing to toss Death Eaters in Azkaban for life. When he can find them.

For the Auror Department to take someone like Moody out of the field and put him on a protection detail, they must really believe that Crouch Sr. is in danger. Or that it'll make them look like they're taking things seriously. It's one or the other. Regulus will probably find out which it is the hard way.

"And that's not even the end of it," Barty continues. "The Fidelius means owls can't get to our house, so all our mail is going to go through the Ministry, and Ministry security will be checking it for any traces of Dark Arts before passing it on to us. Mum said they can do that without opening anything, but she also had her reassuring face on when she said that, and then my father made some comment about how it shouldn't matter whether they have to open our personal mail or not, since none of us have anything to hide."

Well.

That's not good.

But Regulus is willing to bet that what Barty doesn't want right now is for Regulus to throw up his hands and declare this situation unsalvageable. And it's not—they just have to exercise a little creativity. "So we'll need to figure out another way to communicate before the end of the term. Doing that now will probably serve us well in the future, for coordinating with anyone who can't receive frequent owls for one reason or another. Anything else?"

"Just that if I ever leave the house without my father and Moody, I'm supposed to request a temporary protection detail from the Ministry, which will be a massive headache and also means that I'll basically be under house arrest this summer unless I want to spend time with my father, which, blech."

Blech indeed. "What about when you're here?"

"Meh, Dumbledore's here, they figure I'll be fine," Barty says. "I conveniently failed to mention any trips to the hospital wing that may or may not have happened recently. I am encouraged not to wander off on my own, however."

That's relatively aligned with Regulus's opinion, although the Ministry's policy, unsurprisingly, doesn't reflect the existence of future Death Eaters across the hall. "Strongly encouraged?"

"My father doesn't like half-measures. It's a miracle he didn't revoke my Hogsmeade permission slip. Pretty sure my mum had a strong hand in that. She's the one who signed it, anyway, so." He shrugs. "That's what we're dealing with. I didn't even realize that I'd forgotten my home address until my father said they'd done a Fidelius Charm. That was creepy."

Regulus can't even imagine what it would be like to forget Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Navigating his house is practically a part of his being. It reflects the Blacks in every way possible—the dark color scheme, the portraits of dead family members, the buzz of layer after layer of warding, reinforced and adjusted by each new occupant. When Regulus learned family history, it was in front of the tapestry with their family tree embroidered onto it. When he learned to fly, it was on a toy broom up and down the central staircase. When he learned to draw in ambient magic, it was from the house that he drew it. Forgetting any of that would be... deeply disconcerting.

"How was Defense?" Barty adds. "And I assume Holsclaw didn't find a way to bleed out by the end of Potions?"

"Defense was a lecture," Regulus says. "The end of Potions was significantly more interesting."

Notes:

'i love attention' - evan rosier possibly every single day of his life

and then there's barty, casually threatening his potions partner with a knife approximately once a week, as one does

regulus: can we switch shifts for rounds, i have a divination essay due next week
priam, internally: since when does cato assign essays?
also priam, internally: he's offering me a free friday night so i'm not going to question this too much

honestly i think emma, maeve, and evan were all a little surprised that regulus continued to sit in the common room for a few minutes after barty got back instead of immediately beelining for him

the ministry is involved now!! hurray(?)

okay busy day for me so i'm keeping the author's notes brief. next week: regulus and lily learn rather a lot about other people's love lives!! the voice of remus lupin!! evan attempts to actually gossip with regulus and it goes about how you might expect!! the author hopefully has some more free time because the zillion assignments i have right now are all due BEFORE next wednesday (yikes)!!

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 29

Unfortunately for Regulus, the Friday rounds that he's signed himself up for are on the upper floors, but at least they're the early shift. And the fact that they cover the upper floors means that he and Lily can talk on the Astronomy Tower again.

(This proves to be a mixed blessing, as it's a Friday night and the Astronomy Tower is, perhaps unsurprisingly, already occupied by a pair of seventh-years he doesn't know. It proves to be a substantial delay of their conversation, as once they've returned from escorting the seventh-years back to the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw common rooms, there's another pair of students at the Astronomy Tower, and they have to return them to their dormitories as well. But after many, many stairs, and far more information about certain upper years' love lives than Regulus wants, the Astronomy Tower is finally emptied. After that, it's a simple matter to set up a few wards.)

"I'm assuming this is about this morning," Lily says.

"Professor Slughorn wasn't particularly interested in telling us what happened," Regulus says.

"No, I guess he might not love the idea of telling his students all about a fight he didn't notice was happening until there was yelling." (Fair enough.) "Marlene picked a fight with Mulciber, which she said was pretty easy. He didn't seem all that interested in raising his voice, but that makes sense to me, seeing as we were in class with his Head of House. So they argued really quietly for a while, and by that point all the students knew something was going on. Sophia Warrington tried to shut it down, but she did that by insulting Marlene, so obviously that accomplished nothing, and I told her so—Warrington's probably annoyed with me now. Erm, that was when Potter got involved."

Of course. "How so?"

"He said Mulciber should probably put down the knife. I don't think he realized he was vaguely aiming it in Marlene's direction—he was just kind of gesturing with it. But once Potter pointed it out, Marlene grabbed Mulciber's wrist and told him that if he was so—I think the word she used was 'butthurt'—he could put down the knife and they'd settle it later like adults. But that was definitely a distraction maneuver, because as soon as he agreed to a duel, she let go and stuffed nettles down his robes."

So Ruby Stuart-Lane was right about that. "Were those part of your potion?"

"Er, no." Lily settles her shoulders and looks him very squarely in the eye—or at least, as squarely as she can given that she's quite tall. Regulus isn't sure what sort of revelation about stinging nettles requires such a deliberate approach, but then she says, "Sirius snuck into the ingredients cupboard while Potter was talking and dropped them next to Marlene."

Ah.

"So other Gryffindors are getting involved of their own volition," Regulus says. (Unsurprising. Sirius and his friends never could stay out of a conflict. In this situation, it's useful, although it is irritating that apparently, Regulus can't do anything without Sirius's shadow dogging his footsteps.) "Do you think that'll push them to start taking action on their own, or will we need to set more of a precedent first?"

"A year ago, I would've said that was more than enough, but..." She shrugs. "I don't know anymore. Potter's calmed down this year. A little. He might need more of a push, and..."

"And the others won't do anything without him?" Regulus says.

"Well, Peter definitely won't, Sirius probably won't, and Remus claims this is the most peaceful year of his life and he'd kind of like to keep it that way."

So they need Potter.

Evan would say to use Lily to recruit him—or at least persuade him to do things for their cause, without mentioning the whole 'promote Dark Arts' thing. But Regulus has noted how Lily seems to be on a first-name basis with every Gryffindor except for Potter. (Understandable, really.) That approach won't work. And recruiting any of Potter's other friends is out of the question for infinite reasons, so setting more of a precedent it is.

"I'm sure we can give them a crusade worthy of their spontaneous participation," Regulus says. "It's not as if they're absolutely necessary. They just have a way of garnering everyone's attention."

"Oh, I'm well aware," Lily says. "We can do a crusade. Marlene and I are trying to get our friend Alice—Fortescue—to take on the seventh-years."

Regulus is familiar with Fortescue, although not very. She's been the captain of the Gryffindor quidditch team since Regulus's third year, but she's a Chaser, so he hasn't come into much contact with her. Nonetheless, she seems to be well-liked, so people will probably follow her lead. "What's the likelihood?"

"It's complicated by the fact that we're not actually telling her anything about Dark Arts, because she's very openly against them, but she likes the idea of striking back. Leaving Hogwarts better than she found it."

What an excellently Gryffindor mentality for Regulus to use for his own purposes. "Will that work on other people too?"

"Of course," Lily says, as if it's obvious. Maybe it is, to anyone particularly familiar with the Gryffindor mindset.

Good.

 

The next day is the Slytherin-Hufflepuff quidditch match.

Most of the people in the stands are supporting Hufflepuff. They're functionally out of the running for the Quidditch Cup, so if they beat Slytherin today, then Gryffindor or Ravenclaw stands a much better chance at winning. (And Gryffindor always roots for whoever's playing against Slytherin.) But it's a cold February day, threateningly overcast, the light dim with the promise of rain to come, which means a sizable portion of Hogwarts has opted to stay in the castle. (Including many Slytherins. Barty, Maeve, and Lucinda are in attendance, as are various other Slytherins who know someone on the team, but the stands are half-filled at most.)

"Right," Geoff says. "Bright yellow robes may help the Hufflepuffs see each other, but it also helps us see them. Intercept them as much as you can without getting hit. Watch out for Buckner, and Chasers, stay close—we don't want to be fumbling passes just because our robes are a little less visible than theirs. As much as I'd like to get this over with so we can go back inside, we'll warm up once the game starts, so, Regulus, make sure it doesn't end until we've scored at least seventy points. And obviously, let the match keep going until you're sure you can catch the Snitch. Young's still a little more awkward in the air than you are, so take advantage of that, but like we discussed..."

"Don't show McKinnon everything I can do," Regulus fills in. "Do you want me interfering to help with goals, or should I stay above?"

"Stay above, unless shit is really going south for us, which it shouldn't. We don't care how many points Hufflepuff gets. Obviously, we don't want to lose, because that would be embarrassing, but this game is about amassing points ourselves so we can go into the match against Gryffindor with a lead."

A boring match. Lovely.

They line up, and Geoff shakes hands with Buckner, and Regulus kicks off with everyone else and prepares for a lot of waiting.

"It is a chilly day, and I appreciate all of you who have made the trek out here with me," Remus Lupin's voice blares out from the commentator's box. "For those of you who don't follow quidditch as closely as my roommates do, here's where the teams stand: this is Hufflepuff's last match of the year, so while they're in the lead with two hundred and fifty points total, they're going to have to work hard to maintain a shot at the Cup. Slytherin's playing their second match out of three, and they're already at two hundred and twenty thanks to a long game against Ravenclaw in December, so... we'll see what happens!"

Shockingly neutral of him, really. Regulus was expecting either an assessment of Hufflepuff's chances at the Quidditch Cup that would be blunt bordering on rude, or a fervent appeal to Hufflepuff to at least keep Slytherin from scoring goals so that Gryffindor would have the lead in April. Lupin cloaks his blatant pro-Gryffindor bias by claiming that he solely wishes to keep his dorm room from becoming a bastion of misery (as he described it in the fall), but everyone knows he really does want Gryffindor to win.

Regulus is supposed to keep Adrian Young from catching the Snitch too early (or rather, at all), which means sticking close to him. This will not be a difficult task. Young seems to adhere to the Marlene McKinnon school of Seeker technique, which is to say that he acts as though speed is more important than agility. This is a valid technique. McKinnon deploys it fairly well. Young... well, as Lupin said, they'll see what happens. Perhaps he's improved since the fall. But seeing as he has, as of yet, failed to demonstrate any improvement since last year in general, Regulus has substantial reason to assume that Young has nothing new to offer today.

Speaking of McKinnon, she and Lily are here, in the front row at a distance from Potter and Sirius and Pettigrew. At least Regulus is holding himself back for a reason. If McKinnon's here, then that means she'll be paying some attention to Regulus—not Young, as Gryffindor already played Hufflepuff. If she hadn't been here, then Regulus keeping the match boring would have been for naught.

"Buckner makes an early shot on goal, blocked by Nott," Lupin's voice says. "Professor, I just thought of a pun."

"If you absolutely must," McGonagall's voice says in the background.

"Her name is Nott because she does not let the other team score. And... I seem to be receiving a thumbs-up from Fleming, I guess she appreciated that one. Vanity in possession, the Slytherin Chasers are wasting no time moving the Quaffle back to the other side of the pitch—you know who does seem to be wasting time? The Seekers. They are twiddling their thumbs up there. Not sure if that's a long-term strategy or if they're waiting for opportunities—anyone who's seen Slytherin play anytime in the last few years is fully aware that Regulus Black does not like sitting still on the pitch, much to the detriment of the opposing team when he decides that he'd rather be a Bludger than a Seeker. We all know he lies about saying he saw the Snitch."

This seems to Regulus to be unfairly targeted. It's not as if McKinnon doesn't do the exact same thing.

"Mr. Lupin, I've asked you in the past to refrain from the ad hominem commentary," McGonagall's voice says. "If you can't restrain yourself—"

"You'll get a first-year who knows nothing about quidditch to commentate, I know," Lupin says. "Sometimes I want to take you up on that. I think it would be entertaining. Maybe I'll visit after I graduate—who even has the Quaffle right now? I hate when the Slytherin Chasers fly this close—it makes it impossible to see which of them is in possession, which I guess is exactly the point... Oh, nice double play from McBride and Segal—they just narrowly missed Vanity, forcing her into a dive, but as it turns out, she wasn't even in possession, Rosier was. Oops. He's passed to Pucey—no, back to Rosier—Vanity—I hate these plays—Pucey nears the goal, he aims—no, it's yet another pass—Vanity scores the first goal of the game. Ten-nothing, Slytherin."

Six left to go before Regulus can start actually doing something.

"Bajaj has caught the Quaffle, and she's going low," Lupin says. "The Slytherin Chasers are set up fairly high—the disadvantage of flying close—so they're racing to catch up, Buckner and Grossman moving to the other end of the pitch—that's a lot of faith in Bajaj to get the Quaffle over there by herself—I'm not trying to be rude, it's just a fact that— oof. Well-timed Bludger from Travers, to Fleming, to six inches in front of Bajaj's face, she swerves off course—and that's given Vanity time to catch up, which is what I thought would happen. Sorry, Hufflepuff. But, hey, at least Bajaj is still in possession. Pucey now on her tail, Rosier going high—probably to block Buckner and Grossman from receiving passes, if I know anything about Slytherin plays."

"Are you really just going to sit there for the whole match?" Adrian Young says to Regulus.

"No," Regulus says. "I'll catch the Snitch at some point."

Young rolls his eyes at that. The Young family is one that Regulus is only vaguely familiar with—they're recent entrants into the Dark network, too recent to even have their own family specialty yet. (Specialties take generations to develop properly; there's the research component, but there's also the fact that practicing a certain type of magic enough alters one's relationship to that magic in general. That affinity can then be passed down to direct descendants. It's one of the reasons why older families tend to be much more prestigious. Their connections to their specialties are significantly stronger, and they've also had centuries' more time to advance their research.) In a non-quidditch context, this means that Young needs to be wary around Regulus, who is in a position to make the Youngs friendless in the network, should he desire it. In a quidditch context, if last year's match is any indication, Young does not seem to feel that Regulus is owed any special deference. This is ideal. Regulus has never been inclined to cry tears of boredom, but playing against someone determined to let him win might push him over the edge.

"Against all odds, Bajaj makes it to the Slytherin end of the pitch, still in possession!" Lupin announces. "Rosier's set up to block a pass to Buckner—Vanity and Pucey in a pincer formation—I see, this was the point, they weren't actually trying to intercept the Quaffle—Bajaj getting closer to the goalposts, is she even going to pass or is she going to go for a goal herself? Grossman swooping in—Bajaj scores! The score is tied at ten each—Buckner dives for the Quaffle, Rosier cuts her off, Vanity catches it instead, very classic Slytherin play... And now Fleming and Travers are splitting up, that's new—Travers taking on both Hufflepuff Beaters at once, Fleming falling back to make the Hufflepuff Chasers' lives difficult—Pucey and Vanity headed for the Hufflepuff goalposts as Rosier stays behind. Seekers still doing nothing, in case anyone was curious. Buckner's gotten around Rosier— nasty Bludger to the leg from Fleming—Buckner seems to be trying to fly it off, we'll see how that goes, but unfortunately Madam Hooch has told me many times that I can't call it a foul when a Beater succeeds at doing their job, so play continues. Rosier... seems to be flying in loop-the-loops around Grossman. If anyone knows what that's about, do let me know—McBride ducking out of the war against Travers to check in with Buckner—Rosier accelerating out of the loop—Segal almost lands a hit on Travers and Rosier manages to fly between McBride and Buckner, they're both forced to swerve—Vanity scores again. Twenty-ten, Slytherin."

Five more to go, then.

"Rosier looking a little dizzy from all the loops," Lupin adds.

Regulus looks down. Evan seems fine—flying a little more cautiously than he normally would, but that's good practice when Megan is in one's immediate vicinity with a bat. She's excellent at predicting where people will be, but it's still better to stay alert.

"Buckner flying normally now," Lupin says. "I guess that Bludger wasn't as bad as it looked. Pucey in possession, Segal going after him, Travers going after her, and in this lovely long chain of people going after each other we have pretty much everyone except for the Keepers and, as usual, the Seekers. I'm looking forward to the moment when Black gets bored."

Regulus does not need to be a Legilimens to know that Geoff is listening to this commentary and desperately hoping that Regulus stays the course, driven by a desire to spite Lupin if necessary.

And Regulus is by no means immune to spite.

He stays where he is.

 

Emma scores two more goals, Geoff two, and Evan one, and that's when Regulus can finally start looking for the Snitch properly.

Hufflepuff has done their fair share of scoring as well, and Young has been trying to stay subtle about looking for the telltale flash of gold, but sometimes subtlety is not the answer. Sometimes, the answer is leading the other Seeker on a merry chase around the entire pitch, scattering the Hufflepuff Chasers like a flock of pigeons, hurtling underneath Emma's overhand pass to Geoff, weaving through the Slytherin goalposts and then diving so low that Regulus's toes skim the grass—at which point he hears Young swearing behind him.

So Regulus hasn't shaken him off yet. That's fine. He'll manage it.

Lupin's omnipresent commentary has faded into the background, a hum under the whistling of the wind, and Regulus pulls up from the ground and circles the Hufflepuff goalposts, forcing their Keeper to dodge (which sets Geoff up rather nicely for Slytherin's eighth goal)—and then he sees it.

The Snitch is twinkling above, staying still just for a moment, as if it wants to be absolutely sure that it's been seen.

And it has.

Interfering with the other team is all well and good, but this is why Regulus plays quidditch. It's just him and the Snitch. All the other people on the pitch—even the Hufflepuff Beaters, even the Hufflepuff Seeker—are nothing but obstacles, ones that are too afraid to get in his way because they've seen the damage he can and will leave in his wake.

The cloudy sky works in Regulus's favor, because it lets him spiral up and up and up without once having to look into the sun, without once losing track of his target, which has now taken off on a merry chase of its own.

It doesn't matter. That flicker of gold is more than enough. Now that Regulus has spotted it, he won't lose it again.

The wind grows from a whistle to a dull roar, and Regulus follows the Snitch around a hairpin turn, and then—the feeling of cold metal in his hand, familiar, but exhilarating all the same, no matter how many Snitches he's caught before.

"Slytherin wins," Lupin says dispiritedly. "Two hundred and thirty to sixty, bringing the point totals to three hundred and ten for Hufflepuff and four hundred and fifty for Slytherin—better luck next year, Hufflepuff, but I'm afraid you're out of the running for the Cup. The next match is March, Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw, in which we will find out who's facing Slytherin for the trophy. And now, I'm off to warm up."

Regulus guides his broom into a gentle descent. There's no rush to get down to the ground, and his steering is compromised due to needing to hold the Snitch in one hand, so it's not the time for his more daring maneuvers. The slow pace means that he spots Evan rising to join him long before Evan actually gets close enough to say, "Brilliantly done. Geoff's thrilled. He'd tell you himself, but he's been waylaid by Warrington, so I suppose he considers accepting her congratulations more important than telling you things you probably already know. Gryffindor or Ravenclaw will need to score over two hundred points next month to even get close to our total."

That was, of course, the entire point of Regulus sitting still for the vast majority of the game. At least it worked. "How's your head? What were the loops about?"

Evan grins. "Oh, I'm fine. Grossman had to be careful about how he moved to avoid colliding with me—I just wanted to keep the Hufflepuffs separated so none of them could mount a coherent defense against Emma and Geoff. It might work against the Gryffindors too, if Lupin couldn't figure out what I thought I was doing. Do you think McGonagall would really replace him with a first-year?"

"To make a point, maybe, but I don't think she'd be able to stand the commentary from someone who doesn't know the game for very long. She'd last one game at the most before reinstating Lupin."

"I suppose that explains why he never seems to take that threat seriously." Evan tilts into a soaring spiral, lifting away from Regulus and then showing up a few seconds later on his other side. (It's something he does relatively often. Evan, Regulus thinks, would never settle for using a broom merely to get from one location to another.) "Did you see Emma's hair?"

"Yes." It looked the same as it always does for quidditch—an unnervingly tight ponytail. "What about it?"

"Purple hair ribbon."

That's... mildly odd, seeing as Emma normally uses the same green-and-silver ribbon as Megan and Theophania on game days, but it's not as if she doesn't own any other colors. "And?"

"Not just any purple," Evan says significantly. "Purple like Slughorn's dinner invitations."

Oh. So the ribbon that Maeve kept, from those dinner party invitations at the start of the term. "I assume she borrowed it from Maeve, then."

"Or Maeve gave it to her."

"Or that, yes. And?"

Evan looks at him for long enough that Regulus is beginning to wonder what was wrong with what he said, but then Evan shrugs and says, "A stunning lack of team spirit, wouldn't you say?"

"She scored four goals," Regulus points out. "I hardly think team spirit matters in that case."

He sighs extravagantly. "I'd say it's the principle of the thing, but then I'd sound like a Gryffindor. I suppose I'll discuss it with Lucinda. She cares about these things more than you do."

And with that, he dives to join Emma on the ground, leaving Regulus to continue his slow descent alone.

Notes:

'regulus is by no means immune to spite' is right up there with 'a bit of resentment over feeling abandoned never hurt anyone' in terms of Regulus's Most Sentences

walking in on people you don't know making out and then having to interrupt them and escort them to their dormitories is. a cruel form of bonding. hell of an icebreaker really

mcgonagall is still trying to keep quidditch commentary fair right now - by the time lee jordan shows up, she's lost 90% of her fucks and only intervenes when the bias is really egregious

imagine being ezra grossman, chaser for hufflepuff, minding your own business playing quidditch, when suddenly evan rosier just starts flying in loops around you?? and now you can't fucking do anything because this slytherin chaser has decided to orbit around you as fast as possible for some reason??????

oh wow geoff's girlfriend came to support him in the quidditch match!! how nice :))))))))))))))))))

what do u think is going on with maeve and emma 👀

next week: evan's school tie is conscripted into the service of furthering his education!! regulus and evan kind of threaten each other but not really!! BUBBLES!!!!!!!!

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 30

During Barty's second Runes Club meeting, Regulus and Evan opt to stop at the owlery. Heather is the one spreading rumors today, not Evan, and the target is Hufflepuffs, so there's no need to go to the reading room. Besides, they have to place an order for three journals, small enough to keep hidden in a drawer, sturdy enough to withstand potential years of regular use. (Regulus asked if Evan's parents would notice the bill and ask about it, but Evan's answer was a definitive no. He has a personal Gringotts vault, apparently, for smaller expenditures, although he is by no means limited to it.)

Once they've sent Caspian off with the order, Evan says, "There we go, all set. Now I demand that you uphold your end of the bargain."

Seeing as Evan is well aware that Regulus would need either to place an order at Honeydukes by mail or to wait until the next Hogsmeade weekend to fulfill one part of the deal, Regulus is assuming that he means the other part. "Did you bring your Transfiguration notes, or do we need to go all the way back down to the dungeons?"

Evan produces a tightly rolled scroll of parchment from one pocket. "Voilà. I'd say let's go to the reading room, but I don't want to back myself into a corner with Foxworth, so, empty classroom?"

"I thought backing yourself into a corner with Foxworth was the whole point."

"What? No. He's now inclined to listen to and repeat whatever untruths I happen to spread, which is good, but the goal was always Rosendale, what with Heather's list and all. As of right now, there's no reason for her to think I might be deliberately leading her friend on—just that I smile a lot and Foxworth isn't good at coping with that."

(That's even true, if also a lie by severe omission.)

"I want to keep it that way," Evan continues. "If the two of them see that I interact with other people the exact same way that I interact with them, they conclude that it's just what I'm like and it doesn't necessarily mean anything, even though Foxworth in particular can't keep himself from being affected by it. He becomes a not-so-secret admirer from a distance, where I don't have to explicitly reject him and turn everything sideways, but where I can still use him to make the rumor mill turn. And we have an in with Rosendale, because I'm already acquainted with her, but she isn't holding a grudge on behalf of Foxworth or anything like that, nor is she in the precarious position of only joining up because she fancies the person who asked her to. That's the whole point." Evan waves the scroll at Regulus. "Transfiguration? I may not be intending to continue this at NEWT level, but I want McGonagall to at least think I made an attempt at practicing."

 

Helping Evan with Transfiguration is... less of an ordeal than Regulus was expecting it to be.

It's a bit frustrating, yes, but less because of what Evan doesn't get and more because of what he does. He clearly understands the material, or at least, he's capable of understanding it once he spends a few minutes talking it through. Evan is doing far better with Transfiguration than Regulus is with Charms.

"Why am I necessary to this process?" Regulus asks at one point. They're sitting crowded together at one desk so both of them can look at Evan's notes, which are lacking in technical terms but largely accurate (when taken in the first place—there are significant gaps). "You don't really need me here."

"It makes more sense when you say it." Evan turns his tie (no longer on his neck) into a green-and-silver-striped snake, which slithers in angular, jagged motions across the desk before Evan turns it back again. "McGonagall keeps talking about theorems and whatnot and they all start going in one ear and out the other after ten minutes or so of lecture. I just care about what I need to do to get the spells to work. I'd want to understand the theory if I were planning on taking the NEWT, but I'm not. So, the more results-oriented approach appeals to me here. It's not like I want to embarrass myself."

"You'll still have to take the written OWL exam."

"And?" Another tie-to-snake transfiguration. This time, the snake is a more natural deep brown color, almost exactly how it should look, but its movement is still wrong. Evan turns it back and ties it around his neck again, hands quick and assured. "Literally nobody cares how I do on the written exam for my Transfiguration OWL. Hardly anybody's going to care how I do on my NEWTs. I'm a Rosier. We don't deal in academia. Haven't you heard?"

"It's not just about academia," Regulus says. "It's about understanding the world that we live in. There's a reason that Transfiguration is one of the core subjects in the Hogwarts curriculum."

"I know what I need to understand." Evan flashes a quick smile at him. "My talents lie in other areas, dearest. I'd rather be very good at some things than drag my feet about being good at everything, especially when there are people around me who can compensate for the areas in which I am personally lacking. As Geoff would say, teamwork!"

"Geoff has never once said 'teamwork' with that particular inflection."

"No, he never really gets that peppy, does he?"

Geoff does not do 'peppy,' at least not that Regulus has seen. The closest he ever gets is 'victorious.' "But you're studying for Transfiguration now."

"The line between 'poor at uninteresting subjects' and 'noticeably bad student' is razor-thin, and I have spent years of my life figuring out how to walk it properly. Besides, as I said, I don't wish to embarrass myself on the practical." Evan duplicates his scroll of notes, which is a spell he can do perfectly. It's the complex transfigurations that he struggles with, as Regulus has learned. He's decent at multiplying and vanishing. "Have you and Barty figured out how to wipe your parchment clean yet?"

Regulus doesn't object to the topic change. If they'd just spent this stretch of time working on Charms, he'd be eager to think about literally anything else by now. "Yes, but not without wiping both pieces. We haven't figured out how to just do one."

Two-way parchment is, for now at least, their solution to the issue of quick communication long-distance that doesn't need to go through distinctive owls or Ministry employees. Regulus already knows the runic enchantments necessary to make two pieces of parchment display the exact same thing, and Barty only had to tweak his candle binding a little to sort out how to turn both pieces of parchment into combined triggers and targets. Ideally, it'll be rather like passing notes in class, but from a distance, and with the possibility of wiping pages blank to prevent spying (and running out of space in the journal).

As of right now, the issue to which Barty is devoting his mental resources (and Margaret's, if he can subtly get her input) is the question of scaling. They'd like to avoid Regulus needing to carry around multiple journals to talk to multiple people, but having every journal connected to all of the others would introduce far too much confusion and make each one a massive liability. Thus, ordering three journals, to see if they can link Regulus's to both Barty's and Lily's without also linking Barty's and Lily's to each other. If all goes well, they shouldn't need to order more—at least, not until they need to create them for more people.

Besides wiping pages and linking with multiple targets, they also haven't figured out how to lock the journals yet, which will be crucial, since Lily shares a room with people who are not part of their group. They have to make it impossible for anyone to open a journal, or read its contents, without express permission of the owner. A fingerprint ward is probably the best solution, and Regulus knows how to do one already, but they'll need to rework it to make it fit a journal instead of a door, and it also requires the fingerprint of the person in question at the time of casting, which means they can't lock Lily's without her there, which means they need to coordinate a time to hand off the journal—it's either that or have Regulus carry hers around with him constantly just in case she happens to show up to do rounds with him, which would require larger pockets than he normally has, and he doesn't quite want to admit to Evan that he needs help with Expansion Charms, Undetectable or otherwise.

(Although Evan seems perfectly willing to admit that he's not wonderful at Transfiguration. Then again, Evan has always been perfectly willing to admit that. As he said, he's a Rosier—nobody expects him to be good at school in general, much less the painstaking subjects. Evan not understanding schoolwork is not an indication of failure.)

The second scroll of parchment is flattening out now, turning into what could be a ruler if the markings were less haphazard, and then Evan frowns at it and returns it to how it was. "Does this bother you?"

"Does what bother me?"

"The type of person that I am." He elaborates without Regulus needing to ask him to do so. "You and Barty are both so... academic. Everything is very logical with you. Of course all of this makes sense when you explain it—there's no way it could possibly do anything else in your head, and so when you say it out loud, it just falls into place, because that's how it is for you. Organized. Macmillan magic, isn't it?"

"I suppose," Regulus says. "My grandmother didn't teach my father how to use it, but I think he figured some things out on his own. That may have been enough to ensure that I would have a bit of an affinity for it as well."

Father had been the one to teach Regulus and Sirius mind magic, as young as the Macmillans and Notts learn it, young enough that it might shape their minds. Regulus doesn't know very much about the Macmillan specialty—it's a family secret, and he's not a Macmillan, despite his grandmother—but he knows that what it offers its family is resilience. (Nothing like the flexibility of the Nott specialty, or so Regulus has heard when various Notts and Macmillans are put into a room together and some enterprising mischief-maker, usually a McKinnon, sometimes a Bulstrode, strikes up a conversation about mind magic.) Macmillan minds are organized to a fault, clear and logical and stable, and even though Father didn't teach them the Macmillan specialty, he'd figured out how to leverage his affinity for it, a little, and so it informed how he taught them.

Studying mind magic with Father ended once he deemed Sirius ready for any mental burdens that might fall upon him as the future Lord Black. Regulus, obviously, didn't need to be ready for anything more than that. Narcissa was the one who'd pointed him towards all the other things that could be done and helped him when he was struggling to wrap his head around the books she lent or gave him. Such is the disadvantage of Macmillan magic. Mother was right about the rigidity it teaches.

"Nonetheless," Evan says. "Your mind settles things in order. But that's not really what I was asking about. It's more that... I'm meant for emotions." It's clear, the way he says it, indubitably pure fact, and the second scroll of parchment pops into a flurry of colorful bubbles under his wand. "I have my way of doing things, and it's a different type of chess than yours, and I know you like to understand things, and I know you don't fully understand what I think I'm doing, and I'm asking if that bothers you. Or is it concern for Foxworth's finer feelings that made you inquire as to my end goal earlier?" The bubbles multiply until they're swirling around the classroom, shining like the marble floors of the Rosiers' ballrooms, polished to brilliance. "Your way of pulling strings isn't for everyone."

"I'm aware." A bubble floats past Regulus's face. It smells, rather unsurprisingly, of roses. "And I know we have different ways of doing things. I've always known that." But never in terms as pointed as the ones Evan is using now. "What do you mean, you're meant for emotions?"

"I mean I'm Heir Rosier." Evan smiles, more wryly than his usual glitter. "What I do is, I throw parties and I smile at people and everyone loves me because they can't help it. Do you understand what I could do with that? I could turn the country inside out, if only I had someone else to do the dirty work."

"Someone like me," Regulus says.

He's not really following Evan's thought process with this topic, but a bit of memory surfaces: a sleek owl, snowier even than Caspian, depositing a letter into Evan's hands at breakfast yesterday, heavy cream parchment, the Rosier crest stamped into a swirling, glittering concoction of pink and gold wax. A letter from Evan's parents, of course. (His older sister, Katherine, is notable in her absence from Evan's rambling about home—Regulus has heard more about Katherine's husband in the past few weeks than he has about Katherine herself, and that was mostly because of Emma. Besides, Katherine likely uses the Vanity crest on her correspondence now.)

"Someone like you," Evan says. "And yet part of me wants to do the dirty work myself."

This is veering dangerously close to Evan revoking his allyship, or making some sort of brazenly forthright attempt at supplanting Regulus. "In what sense?"

"Maybe I want someone to know they should be worried about making an enemy of me." He pops a bubble, the movement light and airy as ever—the more he talks about this, the more Regulus thinks that it was trained into him the same way that Regulus learned how to move like a Black. House Rosier is just so consistent —Regulus has seen firsthand how hard House Black works to get all of its scions to uphold its image. Why should they be the only ones?

"Maybe I want them to understand that it's not just a matter of who I could be—it's a matter of who I already am," Evan continues. "Who I am is effective. I haven't found my limits yet. I know you know what I mean. You're seeking to become more than just Heir Black, because it's not enough." Another bubble pops. "Also, because of all of that about the war and such. I don't deny the sociopolitical factors at play. But how are we supposed to be nothing more and nothing less than our fathers?" He flicks his wand, and all the bubbles burst into a shower of sparkling droplets that evaporate as they drift to the floor. "I'm a Slytherin too, you know. It's not just because the green suits my complexion."

"You are effective," Regulus says. "Do you think I haven't noticed how people listen when you speak? Why do you think I want you on my side? Your endless supply of wrapping paper?"

"Three rolls. Hardly endless."

"Close enough. I think what you're doing with Foxworth is messy, and it introduces a risk. I also think you're smarter than you pretend and unlikely to do something really ill-considered. I don't understand it, but I can see the results. Of course I want to know how it works—not in the least because, as you've said, if only you had someone like me, you could change everything. I won't be taken advantage of."

"Nor will I," Evan says. "Regulus, I'm not good at Transfiguration."

This shift catches Regulus by surprise. "I'm aware. We've just spent thirty minutes addressing that."

"I'm not good at it," he repeats. "I really don't get it before you explain it. I'm lucky enough that I don't need to be good at it, but I don't need to be good at it for the same reason that people won't expect me to be, and I know the grass is always greener on the other side, but still. I made myself into Heir Rosier. I don't see any reason to stop there. We have a war to win, and we're winning it together, and we're doing it because we can, and I am telling you right now—I might not be brilliant at every class, but that's because I've spent my time learning more important things. Nearly everyone of any importance thinks my head is filled with rose petals, and I'm willing to use that, but I'm not going to let it be my life. When I befriend useful people, and attract the right sort of attention, and turn all of that into victories for us, I want you to know that it's on purpose. You, Regulus, you specifically don't get to underestimate me, because that is the entire reason that I sought you out."

Hm.

Evan did seek him out.

And he's been blunt—he wants appreciation for what he does. He wants insider information. He also wants attention, but that is nothing new for Evan. He's woven his way into Regulus's side with speed that, in another light, could be urgency. And yet no one in their right mind would try to pressure Evan into taking the Mark—at least, no one who wanted Voldemort to win.

And Evan, out of all of them, is perhaps the most aware of that. Heir Rosier, avoiding the tricky subjects, filling the room with flowers. Smiling like it's his job. Because it is.

Even if nobody's pushing Evan towards the Mark, there are other reasons for him to need this victory the same way Regulus does.

Regulus duplicates Evan's notes again, since Evan popped all the bubbles that used to be the last duplicate. Transfiguring parchment into a different form of parchment is easy. Conjuring the wax is difficult, and he definitely doesn't get the Rosier crest exactly right, but he manages a sort of pink and gold swirl and the crest is close enough to be recognizable, and he slides the facsimile of the letter towards Evan and says, "Am I right?"

Evan tilts his head, face thoughtful, then taps the wax seal with his wand. Black bleeds from the point of impact, reshaping the wax until it's turned into a reasonable imitation of the seals on letters Regulus gets from home. And Evan says, "Why isn't a lordship—some might say the lordship—enough for you? You have laurels to rest on for a lifetime, and you toss them aside in constant pursuit of more. Tell me why, and I'll tell you why, but I suspect that once you're finished talking, I won't have much to add."

The letter glares up at them, stark with sharp corners, impossible to miss even in the dim light of the room, and Regulus says, "What's so special about a lordship?"

What he doesn't say is that inheriting it makes him one more Lord Black in a long, long line of Lord Blacks, most of whom Regulus doesn't even know anything about in particular—their names, at the most. What he doesn't say is that the heir ring felt like a consolation prize, Regulus always the second best, heavy silver on his hand to replace a brother who ran away and never looked back.

What he doesn't say is that all of this just started out as a ploy to keep Regulus out of the ranks of the Death Eaters.

He was going to save himself.

It's never that simple.

And so Regulus says, "I have the opportunity to be more than that. I'm taking it. You don't get to underestimate me either."

Evan beams, sunny as ever, bright and glaring, as sharp as he is sparkling. "Exactly."

Notes:

i spy with my little eye...... PROGRESS ON THE SLOW BURN?????

evan and heather are Official Shit-Talkers they're doing their part for the war

evan's single piece of parchment with transfiguration notes is just his notes on the most recent stuff they've been working on but imagine if that was all the notes he'd ever taken for transfiguration. almost 5 years of note-taking have resulted in...... one piece of parchment mostly filled (with some doodling and quidditch plays in the margins). i think that might push regulus to the breaking point but i don't know if he'd burst into tears or fall in love on the spot

this chapter contains a shitload of information about evan's motivations (and family???), partly concealed behind both what he says and how regulus interprets it - it'll be made more explicit later, but what do you think is going on with him? what do you think he means when he says he's meant for emotions?

aghskfjh honestly there's so much to say about this chapter that idek where to start so i'll let you decide

next week: sophia warrington is angry!! regulus makes (un)pleasant conversation!! MORE QUIDDITCH

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 31

The Carrows and their friends haven't cracked under the strain of Heather and Evan's industrious gossiping yet, but Regulus can see the tension growing. It's obvious in how they're more likely to sit in silence than usual, Snape hiding behind textbooks, Alecto Carrow and Stephen Travers having more whispered side conversations than they used to, Amycus and Mulciber slouching into their chairs and not looking at each other. (Separating the Carrows is paramount, as is creating divisions between Mulciber and the rest of the group. Snape retreating and Alecto teaming up with Stephen Travers are just bonuses, upsetting their group dynamic even more.)

Regulus is quite happily providing a stark contrast with his friends. They're not raucous, exactly, but... well, it depends on who's there. It's not just the fifth-years anymore—Heather and Margaret and Antony gravitate towards the same set of couches and armchairs as them now, and that means that Priam shows up sometimes, as do Miles McKinnon and his friends (all of whom seem to have taken to following Priam around like a pack of somewhat destructive ducklings). Priscilla Parkinson, Priam's cat, also puts in regular appearances, and it seems that the best way to prevent her from attacking passerby is simply to let her curl up in Heather's lap. Jessica splits her time between arguing terrible detective novels with Barty and sitting with her fourth-year friends. (Barty only started reading those books once Jessica started handing them to him—personally, Regulus does not think this represents an improvement over the likes of Cyprian Silkwood, but it's not like it could get worse tham him.) Even Theophania joins them occasionally, mostly to collaborate with Maeve on increasingly desperate letters to their siblings about bridesmaid apparel. (They're not having much success on the anti-orange front, it seems, although they haven't stopped trying.)

And people are taking notice of the new balance of power in Slytherin. The pack of bullies no longer dominates the room. Nor do they dominate the school—Lily and McKinnon's efforts in Gryffindor, combined with well-placed snickering from all of Heather's friends, have seen to that. The revolt is beginning to take on a life of its own.

And Regulus is at the center of it all.

Not overtly. He hasn't announced that he's responsible for all of this. But his friends' new spot in the common room is carefully chosen, right in the middle. And everyone who joins him here has some sort of connection to him (except Priscilla, but she's a cat). He's becoming the heart of Slytherin—well, the core of it, at any rate. Words like 'heart' should probably be reserved for other people.

Regulus doesn't thrive on being the center of attention, not like Evan does. He's always favored Father's approach to these things over Sirius's or Mother's. He doesn't speak very often, but people know to listen when he does. He doesn't always offer his input on the conversations around him, but if he wants to, it's a simple matter of looking up from his book. The rest of the time, Regulus is a quiet presence, lending the prestige of his identity to this group, giving them social capital and providing implicit approval of the people around him. They're his group, and every person who wanders into their section of the common room is saying that they think things have shifted. Surviving in Slytherin isn't just about avoiding the notice of the future Death Eaters anymore. Instead, it resembles the Slytherin House of a few years ago, before the war had taken root, when one's friends mattered much more than one's repertoire of hexes. It's a livelier place, with less of the dampening worry that used to seep in whenever one of the future Death Eaters entered the room.

Bellatrix wouldn't approve if she knew what he was really doing, but as of right now, Regulus can stop any criticism in its tracks by pointing out that it's only natural for Heir Black to be at the top of Slytherin, that it's how it should be, in fact. Mother, he thinks, might even be pleased with this turn of events.

But to the ignorant eye, Regulus's ascendancy looks like nothing more than a few well-placed remarks and friends in strategically useful positions, and since he doesn't even need to antagonize the future Death Eaters to their faces to make this work, Slytherin is... rather peaceful for a couple of weeks, really.

And then it's a Friday evening in early March, the common room crowded with people returning before curfew, and Heather plops down in an armchair next to Regulus and leans in and says, "You will never guess what I just heard."

They haven't planned anything, but Regulus isn't aware of all the minutiae of Heather and Evan's plans. They work with each other on that, and they do keep Regulus updated, but he's usually not party to the actual gossiping, so he doesn't hear exactly what they circulate unless Evan feels like sharing. (By the time that the rumors reach Regulus's ears organically, they've usually morphed and taken on several different forms, none of which are the exact original.) It's possible that Heather wants Regulus involved in this one for some reason—or maybe this isn't part of a scheme, and she's really just heard something interesting. Evan looks up from his copy of Charms Review, and he seems intrigued, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything.

"If I'll never guess, then perhaps you should just tell me," Regulus says.

"Fantastic idea." Heather lowers her voice, not enough that she can't be overheard, but enough that it at least seems like she's making an attempt in that direction. "Sophia just got dumped, and I know why."

"Sophia Warrington?" At least, that's the only Sophia Regulus knows, and by far the most likely one for Heather to know things about. "Why?"

Heather smiles. "A little birdy told Pucey about her penchant for sneaking around with other people. Well. One other person in particular."

Geoff's girlfriend has been cheating on him?

If Heather is telling Regulus about this, she must think there's a reason for him in particular to care. He's not the only person here who knows Geoff, but he's the only one Heather is talking to. And she did say that Warrington was a blood purist.

"Wait, what?" Emma says. "Who was the little birdy?"

"That would be telling," Heather says. "But I have it on good authority that quite a few people know. It might have been the sort of rumor that they were afraid to circulate a month ago, but now?" She shrugs. "What's one more?"

Footsteps clatter on the stone floor, and then Sophia Warrington is entering the common room and beelining for the center of it. She doesn't look happy, but Regulus doesn't think she's here to seek reassurance.

Sure enough, she stops in front of Heather and hisses, "Catty bitch. Didn't your parents ever teach you to mind your own business?"

"Didn't yours ever teach you manners?" Heather says. "Hello to you too. I understand you've been caught."

"I don't need you making my life difficult just because you're bored."

"You did that yourself. I don't see what I have to do with it."

"Please." Warrington scoffs. "I know you put Geoff up to it."

"Oh, totally, but not in the way you're thinking," Heather says comfortably. (She must realize that they're drawing attention from everyone else in the common room.) "I thought he deserved better, and I told him so. You know, at first he didn't believe me? But then he realized that if I just felt like stirring up drama, I'd choose something a lot more believable than you going for Mulciber."

There it is.

No wonder Heather thought Regulus would be interested in this revelation.

"Mulciber?" Evan says, head tilted, eyes wide. "Really? But he doesn't play quidditch."

Warrington blinks at him. "What?"

"He doesn't play quidditch, and Geoff does," Evan says, as if this explains everything. "That's what makes it difficult to believe, so it's probably true. Heather wouldn't make up something that stupid."

"Not that I make things up," Heather says. "Clearly, I don't need to! Was there anything else you wanted to discuss, Sophia, or was that all?"

 

"Did you know that was coming?" Regulus says to Evan later.

He shakes his head. "I knew Heather had something on Warrington and wanted to use it. I didn't know what."

Then Heather is strategically concealing information. Unsurprising, but Regulus will have to be delicate in dealing with it. Practically speaking, nothing about the situation would have been different if Regulus had known to expect it, but understanding the connections between their opponents is essential. He'll probably need multiple different sources of information for verification purposes. That's likely more effective than simply hoping Heather will tell him everything from now on.

"And Emma says Geoff's pissed off," Evan says. "But he also says he's just glad it's over and he doesn't have to do anything about it anymore. Pity it got him involved, but people like him, so it just makes the fallout worse for Warrington, and Mulciber by extension."

Hm.

 

As it turns out, Geoff and Priam are friends, which is probably a necessary result of them sharing a dorm room with Amycus Carrow and Stephen Travers. And so Regulus's group gains another seventh-year. Geoff's not in on the war side of things, but socially, he's throwing his support behind Regulus, as Warrington drifts over to the future Death Eaters' corner. That matters. They might recruit him, but graduation is creeping closer by the day—he's pureblood, but neither Dark nor Sacred Twenty-Eight, so there's a limit to how useful he can be. Perhaps it'll fall to Priam to recruit him later. There's no reason that Regulus has to restrict himself to only seeking out current Hogwarts students.

 

Reworking the fingerprint ward and testing the links between the three journals take some time, but once those last steps are done, all it takes is a brief note delivered by Caspian, and Regulus finds himself doing his next rounds with Lily instead of Ottoline Colfax.

They're doing the lower floors this time, so instead of the Astronomy Tower, Regulus leads the way to the solarium. Fortunately, it's empty. He wasn't looking forward to a repeat of the last time he and Lily did rounds together.

He explains the journal, sets up the fingerprint ward for Lily, and then they go their separate ways, and Regulus is all set to get back to his room and go to bed, but he descends into the dungeons and a voice says, "You're hard to find all on your own. Worried about being caught without backup?"

As far as threats go, Regulus has heard better ones. "If only you'd decided you wanted to have this conversation in the common room instead of out here, I wouldn't have had to take five points off of my own house. The Carrows managed that much when they wanted to have a chat."

"Yeah, sure, Mr. Prefect." Mulciber emerges from the shadows. He's always looked a little unpleasant, inclined to think poorly of the people around him, but it's gotten more extreme in recent days. That's no surprise, if he knows what people are saying about him. It remains to be seen how he's going to respond, but perhaps this conversation will shed some light. "I heard some interesting things about your study group from Alexander Yew earlier."

"Again," Regulus says. "Some conversations are better held in the common room."

(Yew talking to Mulciber about Dark Arts means that part of Regulus's plan is proceeding as he thought it would. That doesn't explain why Mulciber is here now.)

"Why?" Mulciber tilts his head. "It's just a study group, isn't it? Or are you thinking about how easy it would be to persuade Dumbledore that you're responsible for Dark Arts being alive and well in Slytherin? Heir Black and all that. It runs in your family. No surprises."

Regulus is only partially responsible for the flourishing of Dark Arts in Slytherin, although it's true that his family in general takes a large part of the credit—or blame, depending on one's perspective. Regardless, as far as threats go... "There's much to be said for character witnesses in such a situation. If I were you, I'd be extremely concerned about making any sort of claims to Dumbledore about Dark Arts in Slytherin. There have been more than a few cases of people accusing others in order to conceal their own involvement, and anyone who's been paying attention in Slytherin knows that you have rather personal reasons to dislike me." (Mild though they may be, compared to Mulciber's personal reasons to dislike Barty and Heather. All Regulus did was insult him in front of half of Slytherin, and that was weeks ago by this point. Many students have moved on to newer, more exciting tales of people going after Mulciber. The story of Barty breaking his nose has begun to filter out into the other houses, and, of course, there are the Gryffindors.) "Dumbledore has been a teacher for long enough to recognize a petty grudge when he sees one."

"I do have personal reasons to dislike you," Mulciber says. "Number one: you've been playing Amycus and Alecto for fools, which raises some suspicions for me."

Regulus summons up an impression of Evan at his most lighthearted. (If that group are all still on first-name terms, Heather and Evan have room to push them even further apart.) "You have to admit that they can make fools of themselves perfectly well without my involvement."

"You made them think you were preparing your study group to serve the Dark Lord. And according to Yew, you've done nothing of the sort. Which means you were lying to Amycus and Alecto, which means you're up to something."

Regulus holds back a remark about how they are Slytherins and being 'up to something' is rather a core component of their house in his opinion. Mulciber seems to be in the mood to be dramatic, which means that this is an opportunity for Regulus to watch, wait, and evaluate. (And Mulciber is here on his own, without any of his friends. That wouldn't have been the case three or four weeks ago. The cracks are showing, even if the group hasn't completely broken apart.)

"You think you're better than us," Mulciber says. "You think that your surname and that ring on your finger make you somehow superior. Don't think I haven't noticed how all the troublemakers in Slytherin suddenly seem to be orbiting around you. Bellatrix won't think much of that. The Dark Lord won't think much of that. You'll have to do some quick thinking if you want to get away with your life."

Regulus blinks at him, as unimpressed as he can manage, the sort of blank-faced waiting for something more worthy of his notice that always infuriated Sirius.

And it works. Mulciber hisses out a sigh, or it might be a wry laugh. "I have to say I'm looking forward to seeing you knocked off of that pedestal of yours. If I'm lucky, maybe I'll even get to participate."

This is Regulus's opening. Perhaps Mulciber has also forgotten the reprimand in the common room from so many weeks ago. He's certainly had many other things occupying his mind in the meantime.

"I have two pieces of advice for you, Mulciber," he says. "First of all, you'll never get anywhere by sitting around and hoping to get lucky." (Mulciber probably meant that as a dramatic-sounding threat, not as a literal statement of his intentions, but the intent doesn't matter when Regulus can pick apart its flaws with crisp precision designed to make Mulciber feel outplayed.) "Second of all, I recognize that you are irritated at finally experiencing the consequences for your ill-considered actions. I advise you against seeing conspiracies in every shadow; it will not gain you allies. And if you're so bothered by me thinking I'm better than you, you could try coming up with some evidence that might indicate that I should think otherwise. Goodnight."

He has to slide the handle of his wand into his hand, concealed by the sleeves of his robes, but he manages to cast a Shield Charm under his breath as he passes Mulciber and walks away. After a few seconds, a hex ricochets off of it and bursts into a shower of orange sparks against the wall.

"Predictable," Regulus calls without bothering to turn around. "I said evidence that might indicate otherwise."

And with that, he takes his leave.

 

The entire Slytherin team goes to the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw quidditch match to support Ravenclaw, with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Theophania and Thomas have both obtained Ravenclaw scarves from friends, Emma has tied her hair with a blue ribbon, and Evan's wearing his cobalt blue cloak. Geoff, Megan, and Regulus are dressed as usual. (Lucinda's sitting with them too, with matching blue gloves, scarf, and headband—normally she sits with Barty and Maeve at games, but she has difficulty persuading them to attend the ones in which Slytherin isn't playing. Charlotte avoids the quidditch pitch like the plague.)

There is a sliver of a chance that Ravenclaw might score enough points to put them ahead of Slytherin, but this is their last match of the year, so they'd have to do extraordinarily well to beat Slytherin to the Cup. Gryffindor is the concern here. Thus, supporting Ravenclaw.

(To that end, Regulus and Evan may have spent the past few Arithmancy classes passing notes to Carlisle Foxworth telling him how to play against McKinnon, as well as tricks to help their Chasers to get around Gideon Prewett, Gryffindor's Keeper. They've been careful to avoid any information that the Ravenclaw team could repurpose against Slytherin in future years, but fortunately, Regulus flies nothing like McKinnon, and Prewett's weak spots don't overlap much with Theophania's. Evan was very careful about letting his hand brush against Foxworth's as he passed over the last piece of parchment covered with tips. It seemed casual, even accidental, but Regulus knows by now that nothing Evan does is accidental. At least, nothing that involves interacting with other people.)

Xavier Harrington and Alice Fortescue shake hands, Madam Hooch blows her whistle, and the teams kick off.

"Welcome, one and all, and join me in thanking Scotland for providing us with some sunlight for today's match," Lupin's voice says. "The points are as follows: Gryffindor's coming in with one hundred and ninety, and Ravenclaw with one hundred and eighty, but Ravenclaw's under a lot of pressure today, because it's their last match of the year. We can expect some borderline brutality from Jones and Goyal today—they've been aiming for the opposing team's Keeper at every match so far, and it seems like Gryffindor's expecting that tactic again today, judging by how they've stationed Black at the Gryffindor end of the pitch—Johnson taking her usual position at midfield."

Caroline Johnson is, undoubtedly, a better Beater than Sirius is. She's almost as predictive as Megan on the pitch, but physically stronger (as are most of the Beaters older than twelve), which means that she doesn't have to rely on double plays to get Bludgers across the pitch. Sirius, on the other hand, just seems to enjoy hitting things. Gryffindor normally puts him on defense. He's fast for a Beater, but doesn't aim as carefully as Johnson does, so they presumably know that they benefit from giving him a target for Bludgers as easy to hit as 'away from our team.'

"Gryffindor in possession," Lupin says. "Potter's got the Quaffle and he's headed straight for the Ravenclaw goalposts. Fortescue and Prewett—that would be Fabian, Gideon's in goal—are running interference, keeping the Ravenclaw Chasers off of Potter's tail, and—whoops, guess Ravenclaw wasn't planning on going for the Keeper this time after all—Potter fumbles—and now Meadowes has taken possession for Ravenclaw, but she's going... okay, she's flying back behind the Ravenclaw goalposts—Xavier Harrington looks very calm about all the Chasers and Beaters currently bearing down on him, but I guess one of his teammates does have the Quaffle. Caroline Johnson doing her best to defend against Jones and Goyal—oof, the Gryffindor Chasers are getting battered, I was right about Ravenclaw coming out swinging. I'm sure I'll get a detailed list of all of James's bruises against my will later, but he did volunteer for this. Black creeping towards midfield—Meadowes sneaks past the chaos at the Ravenclaw end of the pitch, she's still in possession—McKinnon dives! Foxworth's not following, guess he's assuming this is a feint..."

Of course he is. Regulus was very detailed in his explanation of how to tell whether McKinnon is feinting or not. The biggest tell: when someone's headed for the Gryffindor goalposts with the Quaffle and her other teammates aren't in a position to stop it. Besides, the Snitch is over by Harrington right now.

"He took your advice!" Evan says to Regulus. "Geoff, it's working."

"So far," Geoff says. "Now that Lupin's helpfully pointed out Ravenclaw's Beater strategy for this game, I think Gryffindor's going to pull back and regroup. If Jones can get in a good hit before then, maybe that won't matter, but it would need to be a real hit—she already grazed Potter, and besides the fumble, he's fine."

"McKinnon pulls out of the dive, looks like it was a feint," Lupin says. "She hasn't managed to knock Meadowes off course, but now the rest of the Chasers are catching up—and so are the Beaters, it looks like Jones has switched targets from the Chasers to Johnson specifically, I guess that makes sense..."

 

McKinnon beats Foxworth to the Snitch, and Geoff sighs. "Fuck. Well, there goes our point lead."

"We're only ten behind Gryffindor now," Emma says. "And Fabian Prewett's gotten faster at the expense of the last dregs of his agility. We can exploit that. Besides, it'll be the last match of the year. Gryffindor could score thirteen more goals than us and we'd still win as long as Regulus got the Snitch. Which he will do. Correct?" (That last part is aimed at Regulus.)

"Correct," Regulus says. "McKinnon's gotten used to controlling the game. She's forgotten what it's like to have to catch up."

"We won't let the point margin get that bad, anyway," Evan says. "We've got a whole month to plan out some fun surprises."

"So fun," Megan says. "Should we aim to take out their Keeper? I don't think they'll expect that. Thomas and I don't usually get that far down the pitch. Besides, Lupin has pegged it as a Ravenclaw thing now. They won't think we'll copy another team so blatantly."

"I like it," Geoff says. "Or any key player, really. They don't have reserves, do they?"

"Nope!"

"Good. We'll make them regret that."

Notes:

evan fully believes that going from dating a quidditch player to dating a non-quidditch player is, by default, a downgrade. he's willing to make exceptions but only if the quidditch player sucks

MORE QUIDDITCH!! james and sirius are both very dramatic about their injuries as a rule. and we get some commentary from regulus on how sirius plays - as always, take anything regulus says about sirius with a grain of salt

structure-wise, regulus is approaching his full form at hogwarts - there's more to do, of course, but alliances in slytherin are beginning to settle (noting, of course, that there is always the possibility of people changing their minds, and it's certainly not like everyone has taken a side)

ok yet another busy day/week for me so i'm keeping this short

next week: ITS SPRING BREAK BABEYYYYYYYY

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 32

On the last morning in March, Regulus sets his journal in his trunk, locks it, and gives up on the concept of doing a Featherweight Charm before even really starting to consider it. It's only spring break. He's not taking very much back home with him—most of his trunk is filled with what he needs to study for OWLs. The exams are a month and a half away, close enough that the fifth- and seventh-years are growing less interested in petty drama and more interested in getting things done. (The sixth-years have no such constraints. Lily and McKinnon have managed to entice Sirius and his friends into renewing the incessant pranking of the past few years, with a mostly-successful focus on targeting only the future Death Eaters. Regulus has no idea how they accomplished that. He also has no idea what they said to Potter to get him to keep Regulus out of the line of fire.)

"Are you sure you don't want to sneak out and come see my house?" Evan is saying to Barty. "It's way less drafty than Hogwarts. Although then I suppose you don't get the delight of Lucinda's company."

"It's not like I've been locked up in Hogwarts," Barty says. "I'm just staying here so I can study without my father breathing down my neck. If I go visit you, I'm not going to get anything done."

(Not to mention that the Ministry certainly wouldn't approve of Barty gallivanting off to Rosier Manor without telling them.)

"False!" Evan says. "It'll be educational. I can teach you how to feed goldendoves."

"Care of Magical Creatures is basically the only OWL I'm not taking."

"How do you feed goldendoves?" Regulus says.

"You go into the cellar and get one of the pails of powdered rubies and take that to the aviary and pour the whole thing on the floor," Evan says. "They'll eat out of people's hands, too, but that's far slower and they might accidentally peck you if they're hungry enough."

"Beg pardon, pails of powdered rubies?" Barty says.

"Goldendoves are healthiest when they live off of gemstones. It's really just a dozen or so rubies that my family has been duplicating since before I was born. Sometimes we put in other things for a treat. They love amethysts. Once I tried to feed them my sister's amethyst bracelet, but my father caught me and made me put it back. Barty, you're sure you don't feel like running away?"

"Positive," Barty says. "Feed some goldendoves for me."

 

Father meets Regulus at King's Cross.

There's a touch of oddity about this—Father's more likely to accompany Mother to King's Cross than he is to make the trip on his own. There are often meetings and correspondence calling for his attention; whenever September first falls on a weekday, the Blacks go to King's Cross without him. But it's not as if Mother just sits around the house all day waiting for Regulus to need something, and it is a weekend, so there's no real reason for this to be as strange as it feels.

Father is dressed in all black, of course, and he makes it look imposing in a way that Regulus has never quite managed. Even the people on the platform dressed in Muggle clothing seem to be aware that this is someone to give a wide berth. He's not particularly tall—none of the Blacks are—but that doesn't matter when he stands as straight as he does. When Regulus was little, he thought Father was practically giant-sized. This time last year, Sirius was barely the same height as him, just tall enough to look him squarely in the eye. Regulus is beginning to think that he'll never get there himself. He doesn't really have to look up at his father anymore—he's tall enough for that, at least—but it seems likely that Father will always be a little taller than him, until old age stoops his posture while Regulus continues to stand with his spine straight.

This is assuming, of course, that Father will get that far. The Blacks in line to inherit the lordship... do not usually enjoy their full natural lifespans. It's the fault of their specialty; humans aren't built to have that much magic running through them, and over time, it takes its toll. Every lord, as the expert on their family magic, has to practice it more often than the rest of the family does, and as a result, they experience the brunt of the damage. Centuries ago, it used to kill each Lord Black by the time they reached middle age. Over time, as the Blacks got better at channeling the magic and their natural affinity for power strengthened, it stopped killing them quite so young.

That was when the madness began to creep in instead.

They're better at handling the consequences now than they were. The onset of the madness can be slowed, sometimes stopped entirely, by not using their specialty, and if it's caught early enough, recovery is possible. Each Lord Black still tends to lead a short life, by magical standards, but they do usually make it to old age. The time of lords dying in their prime (or what should have been their prime) is in the past. Grandfather Arcturus was a bit of an exception—he was in his mid-fifties when he died—but he could never resist the pull of the family magic, or at least that's what Regulus once overheard Grandmother Melania telling Father. There's a reason that Blacks learn Occlumency. They have to be able to ignore the murmuring in the backs of their minds, suggesting that just a little more power can't hurt.

Father is one of their more restrained lords, though. Much of his research is theoretical, with the bare minimum of practical experimentation. He might never experience the family madness. The magic certainly won't take him in middle age.

He greets Regulus with a nod and takes his arm, and then there's the tight press of Side-Along Apparition and they're in the foyer at home, the only part of the house that people can Apparate into. (Even then, they have to be occupants of the house. Otherwise, the wards won't let them in, and they'll have to Floo or approach from the street.)

The foyer is all dark wood and paint and gleaming gilding, whether on the lamps lining the walls or the frames of the portraits. A couple of them greet Regulus and Father, but most don't—they've seen many a lord and many an heir, and they only bother to interact with the living occupants of the house when they do something interesting. 'Interesting,' in this case, is usually a bad thing.

"I will teach you to Apparate this week," Father says. "There is no reason for you to wait until a Ministry official arrives to teach all of the sixth-years like so much cattle."

Regulus is definitely home. Nobody at school is ever quite that crisp about their disdain for others.

He nods, which is all that's required of him for this interaction. It's not as if Regulus has made other plans. He's here simply because he always comes home for spring break. Most of his friends are in the same situation. Evan usually makes it a day or two before sending plaintive letters inviting his friends to visit Rosier Manor to take tea, during which he traditionally complains about how there's nothing to do when the Rosiers aren't hosting any imminent parties. Regulus imagines that the pattern will hold this year, although if Evan complains about having nothing to do, he must be aware that someone will suggest studying for OWLs.

"How is the study group?" Father adds.

Father is aware that there are people in Regulus's study group who aren't from Dark families, but he's never asked for a detailed roster, which means that Regulus doesn't have to explain anything related to Alexander Yew leaving the group. He does, however, have new members to explain. "Miles McKinnon has joined. I was unaware his family's policy on sharing information about their specialty was so generous."

"The McKinnons see themselves as scholars," Father says. "It is rare that any of their scions are sorted into Slytherin. By and large, they are more interested in means than ends. Has this one shared anything of note?"

"He had some interesting contributions with regard to Nonsense Abstruse."

"Of what sort?"

"He told us about the concept of transference and identified a pattern for it in the text, as much as patterns can be identified." (Miles lost interest in the book after a few meetings, in favor of everything else that's available, but Barty is still working on it and has claimed that things are starting to make sense. Regulus is generally inclined to believe him, even if the notes on the wall still seem as nonsensical as they were before Miles's contributions.)

"Hm. Useful on a practical level, or interesting on a theoretical level?"

"Maybe both," Regulus says.

Father raises an eyebrow. "You're not the one attempting to read it, then."

"No. Barty is."

This isn't a particularly risky thing to say, but it's always best to be delicate when referring to Barty. During the winter holidays of Regulus's first year at Hogwarts, charged with describing all of his friends and enemies and why they fell into those categories, he had to be extremely careful. He saw what happened the year before; he was fully aware that Mother and Father disapproved strongly of Sirius being friends with James Potter, and he had no wish to make his own life needlessly difficult. Fortunately, Barty being a Slytherin who wasn't in the habit of making a nuisance of himself worked in Regulus's favor. As far as Mother and Father are concerned, Barty is inclined to look down on anyone who isn't pureblooded, but he really hardly ever thinks about them, because he's more focused on the (pureblood) Slytherins around him. This is Aunt Druella's mindset, copied and repackaged by Regulus to plausibly fit a first-year with a blood traitor father. Every so often, Regulus has to subtly reassure his parents of Barty's thoughts on blood purity, but they haven't overtly questioned him since first year.

In fact, the only other time that Regulus has faced that sort of interrogation was last year, when he pushed Horatio Nott to bring Barty into the Dark Arts study group. That questioning was more about Regulus's judgment, given that Barty's father is in charge of the DMLE, but he'd imitated Mother at her most disdainful and said that Barty wasn't stupid enough to practice Dark Arts at home, and besides, he was specifically borrowing materials from Regulus to ensure that he wouldn't have anything incriminating on his person or among his belongings, so he'd have to be a Gryffindor to mess it up badly enough to get caught. (It was even the truth—as long as Barty lives with his father, he's restricting all practice of Dark Arts to what can be done at school with borrowed materials.) That put an end to it—at least, with regard to Mother and Father. Sirius took some offense. Not that Regulus really knows why. He was already refusing to practice Dark Arts by then.

Nonetheless, Barty is tied to the DMLE, and his family is neither Sacred Twenty-Eight nor Dark, which means that Mother and Father tolerate their friendship at best.

"I see," Father says very neutrally. "And is he progressing?"

Regulus has no idea how to answer that, seeing as he's never read Nonsense Abstruse and doesn't know if Barty is anywhere near figuring out how to understand it. He goes with a safe answer. "I believe so, but Uncle Cygnus told me that the book falls into place quite suddenly. It can be difficult to gauge progress."

"In that case, I expect that the epiphany will be of some interest."

Then Father departs for his study, so the conversation is over.

Which means that Regulus will simply have to find another time to tell Father that he brought Heather into the group as well. (He did mention her in that letter to Mother, though, so it's possible that Mother will ask Regulus about her first. In that case, Regulus won't have to tell Father at all, as the two of them tell each other everything.)

 

Regulus traverses more stairs to get to his bedroom at home than he does to get to his bedroom at school.

His is the only inhabited room on the third floor—six bedrooms, meant for children and guests, three on each side with a quiet hallway in between them. There are no family portraits on this floor, because when there were, Sirius would argue with them. He was young enough at the time that it was largely considered endearing, the future Lord Black asserting his many, many opinions—besides, the arguments weren't about big things, more about the portraits' fashion sense and who the important Dark families were these days. (Regulus never got particularly involved in the fashion arguments, but he did enjoy observing the political discussions and interjecting occasionally.) Regardless of how endearing they might have been, though, they always created a bit of commotion, which meant Mother and Father could hear their children distinctly not adhering to bedtime, and so the portraits were moved to the first floor. In their place, there are landscapes and still life paintings, carefully chosen to ensure that there would be nobody in there for Sirius to talk to at three in the morning—there was always Regulus right across the hall, but unlike the portraits, he does have to sleep. Sirius's barging into his room to demand his attention stopped short of waking him up. Usually.

(During last year's spring break, there was no such commotion. Sirius ground out the words "I have to study" as soon as they got home, and then he disappeared into his room across from Regulus's and shut the door. Regulus saw him at meals.)

When the portraits were first removed, the third floor suddenly felt very dull and lifeless. Regulus got over that feeling quickly, mostly due to Sirius making himself impossible to ignore in new and generally irritating ways. But after last summer...

He'll probably spend a lot of this week in the library.

His trunk is already in his room, thanks to Kreacher, who's in the midst of cooking dinner but still found a spare moment to send it up the stairs. Regulus unlocks it and takes out his journal. The ribbon bookmark poking out is black, which means someone's written in it since he opened it last. Probably Barty. Lily was on the train, and her parents wouldn't have Apparated, so she might not even be home yet.

The clasp on the journal is protected with a fingerprint ward, and it clicks open when Regulus touches it. Sure enough, about halfway down the first page (underneath all the testing messages they haven't erased yet), Barty's scrawled Snape staying for spring break. None of the other baby Death Eaters are here. As soon as Regulus reads it, the bookmark turns back to its original gold, so that was the only message.

That's good. Snape doesn't have much reason to hold a grudge against Barty in particular—he has plenty of Gryffindors to hate already.

Regulus has to dig through his trunk a little, but he locates quill and ink. How is the castle?

The response comes in seconds. Dull as dirt. I guess if we're corresponding successfully now, the enchantments work across long distances, so that's good. But either Cinda will end up splitting her time between me and Charlotte, or I'll have to get better acquainted with Charlotte's other friends, because apparently Goodwin and Kirk are staying this week too.

Regulus doesn't particularly know Penelope Kirk, but he is rather familiar with Nicholas Goodwin. My sympathies. But your family is such that Goodwin probably won't try to hitch a ride to fame and fortune on the hem of your robes.

Not very Hufflepuff of him, Barty writes.

I suppose it depends on your perspective. Attempting to befriend me against my will does require hard work and toil. (The Goodwins are one of the newer Dark families, and Nicholas has unfortunately put together that being friends with Heir Black would allow his family to speed through the usual decades of careful self-establishment necessary to be considered an important part of the network. Regulus finds him overbearing, so they're both destined to be frustrated. Fortunately, Goodwin's attempts to talk to Regulus during Divination are usually foiled by Evan cheerily dominating the conversation.) Are there many other people staying?

Not really. I think everyone wants a bit of a break. Except us lucky fifth-years.

A month and a half until we're done with OWLs forever, Regulus writes.

But what a month and a half, is Barty's response.

He makes a good point. It'll be intense for all of the fifth-years; for everyone on Regulus's side, it'll be even more so, because they'll be busy with the war as well.

And in the midst of all of that, there's still the Quidditch Cup to be won. The match against Gryffindor is in only three weeks. Regulus would have brought his broom home, so he could keep flying this week, but there's nowhere to fly—the townhouse has a small patch of garden at the back, nothing more, and they haven't gone to Black Manor in quite some time. (That was where Regulus learned to fly properly, once he'd outgrown swooping up and down the stairs on toy brooms.) Packing his broom wouldn't have been worth the effort.

 

It's a quiet evening in Grimmauld Place, which turns into a quiet night, which turns into a quiet Sunday morning. Mother and Father swap sections of the Daily Prophet over breakfast, and Regulus is on the verge of requesting the sports section when an owl taps on the window of the dining room.

"I didn't think Heir Rosier was in the habit of rising early enough to send owls at dawn," Mother says, the longest sentence any of them has said since sitting down for breakfast.

And it is Caspian at the window, carrying a thin envelope sealed with gold wax. The Rosier crest is stamped into it, with the double border that indicates their heir is the one writing. Regulus takes the letter. "We've been starting quidditch practices early on Sundays. I suppose he adjusted."

Caspian is hanging around, perched on the windowsill, which means he knows Evan's requested a response. It's clearly not very long, judging by the envelope, so Regulus breaks the seal.

 

Dear Regulus,

I know I just saw you, but my house is frightfully dull (I hate April—don't tell Emma) and I've decided to solve this in a manner of which my family can be proud. Namely, hosting things. Please do me the honor of showing up for tea at Rosier Manor tomorrow (Monday, to be clear). If you're not too inclined to turn up your nose at borrowing a Starsweeper, we can go flying—you didn't bring your broom home, did you? I suppose you had no reason to do so. Never fear, I am here to supply one. Also, I haven't gotten Emma a birthday present yet, so if you haven't either, let's go to Diagon Alley. Répondez, s'il vous plaît!

Best,

Heir Evan William Rosier and all of that

 

"I'm invited for tea at Rosier Manor tomorrow," Regulus says.

"Very well," Mother says. "Give our regards to Lord and Lady Rosier."

(Evan is an approved friend and always has been, even before he became Heir Rosier. He's from the main line of his house, and his mother is a Greengrass, which makes him Noble and Anciente, as well as Dark, on both sides.)

"He's requested that I respond in writing," Regulus says, and Father nods, which he takes as permission to leave the table. He's done with breakfast, anyway.

 

The response is brief, in order to avoid making Caspian (and by extension, Evan) wait. Really, it's just one line saying that Regulus will be there, so it should take him thirty seconds to write, but it... doesn't.

It doesn't, because normally Regulus just writes the person's name and then begins his letter (unless they're family, which Evan's not), but Evan wrote 'Dear Regulus,' not just 'Regulus,' and while it's unlikely that Evan would take serious offense if Regulus didn't respond in the same way, it's very possible that he would take joking offense, which Regulus doesn't want to happen, and by this point Caspian is watching Regulus with an uncomfortably sharp stare, and Regulus is reminded of why he doesn't have an owl of his own, and he just writes 'Dear Evan' and resolves not to think too much about it. It's not like Evan will care about anything except the general substance of the letter.

Notes:

please imagine lily and marlene holding a pep rally in the gryffindor common room to persuade their housemates that making the junior death eaters' lives miserable is not only fun but also the Noble and Chivalrous thing to do. marlene is standing on a table. it's the only way she can be taller than lily

the rosier goldendoves can have evan's sister's favorite bracelet. as a treat<3

orion black, the man the myth the legend, finally makes an on-page appearance! regulus is a chip off the old block..... OR IS HE...........

lots in here about the blacks. so much about the blacks. i'll let you process that

hellooooooooo sirius lore!! he and regulus used to be best friends. i'm not crying you're crying. it's not like being in grimmauld place is going to constantly remind regulus of sirius and result in lots of passages about what they were like as children or anything. regulus definitely doesn't miss him. nope

7 year old sirius: *striding up and down the hallway, waving his arms dramatically as he makes some sort of emphatic point to the portraits about Why Big Pointy Hats Look Dumb*
6 year old regulus: *sitting on the floor with his arms wrapped around his knees, debating asking what constitutes a truly BIG pointy hat as opposed to simply a pointy hat of the normal size*

evan could have just written 'RSVP' like a normal person but. when does evan ever do anything normally

'evan doesn't care whether i write 'evan' or 'dear evan' on this letter' ok regulus

next week: regulus gossips with walburga!! orion expresses disdain, just like, in general, but mostly aimed at how the ministry teaches apparition!! DO NOT ENTER WITHOUT THE EXPRESS PERMISSION OF REGULUS ARCTURUS BLACK

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 33

Sunday afternoon finds Regulus in the parlor with a cup of tea.

This is a spontaneous check-in, but Regulus was expecting it at some point over spring break. Mother has expressed interest in discussing certain things in person, and if they don't talk about them now, they won't be able to until late June. So when Mother came to the library to retrieve Regulus for tea in the parlor, it wasn't much of a surprise.

(He wasn't accomplishing anything, anyway. He'd already reached the point at which he simply could not get any more use out of his Herbology notes for the moment. Talking to Mother is not what Regulus would call a relaxing experience, but it's different from poring over his notes for another hour, and he doesn't want to end up with eyesight like Priam's. He needs his vision for quidditch. Thus, given the choice between tea with Mother or spending the entire afternoon studying, Regulus chose tea with a vague sense of relief. Not that he really had a choice.)

"Your new acquaintance Miss Brown." Mother says it with polite curiosity, but if she bothered to come get Regulus to talk about it, she must care. (Especially since Regulus hasn't mentioned it since that letter towards the beginning of the spring term.) "Why have you begun to consider her a potential friend for Narcissa?"

"Heather is a member of my study group," Regulus says. Expanding the Dark network is not unusual, nor is it restricted to Hogwarts. The most common situation is when someone who's Dark marries someone who isn't, but when Regulus started adding new people to the study group at Hogwarts, whether through pushing Horatio into it or through bringing them in himself, he was following a precedent that was set centuries ago. That being said, the entry of someone like Heather, who comes from an important family, is always of note.

Mother sips her tea and doesn't blink an eye at the revelation. "On Heir Parkinson's recommendation?"

(Heather and Priam have been dating for over two years by now. Seeing as they're both Noble and Anciente, people pay attention to that sort of thing.)

"Among others'. I spoke to her myself before making the final decision." (Regulus conveniently leaves out the fact that Heather found out about them first.) "She has proven herself clever. Being new to the Dark network, she will need friends, and I have confidence that her friendship is a worthwhile investment."

"And if she and Heir Parkinson go their separate ways?"

Unlikely, given that they've lasted this long and they're very well-matched with regard to social status (which would prevent any sort of objection on a familial level), but that isn't the sort of answer that Mother wants. "Then Heather will find herself even more indebted to her Dark friends who help her establish herself in the network, in the absence of a connection via marriage. I do think that knowing her is valuable, regardless of Priam. She has a talent for... discovering things." (Regulus can use deliberate hesitations too. Mother can guess that this is a polite way of saying that what Heather is really good at is assembling a network of informants and using them to gather gossip about basically every student at Hogwarts. Regulus does not feel the need to provide insight on how, exactly, he has come to be so familiar with the capabilities of Heather's network.) "If Narcissa were to extend an offer of friendship, after Heather graduates from Hogwarts, she would not regret doing so."

"Of that, we can be sure," Mother says. "House Brown has quite a few advantages to its name that counterbalance their political stance as a whole, although that should not be disregarded."

Regulus knows when he's being prompted to offer an assessment of whether someone is acceptably purist. He anticipated this, anyway. It's inevitable with anyone from a family with which Mother and Father are not well acquainted. "I doubt Heather is the militant sort, and it is true that her parents are more ideologically aligned with the Macmillans than the Lestranges, which is unsurprising, given her mother." (Lady Brown is formerly a Macmillan, cousins with the current head of the family. She hasn't been active in the Dark network since marrying an outsider, though, which is a bit unusual.) "Having been acquainted with her for a few months, I am confident that she has the proper respect for British pureblood culture and its preservation."

It's a non-answer of the sort that only works because Regulus's family believes that he is a wholehearted blood purist, who has no reason to lie about the political leanings of acquaintances he's deemed suitable for himself. (If Sirius ever attempted that sort of response, Mother would immediately point out that one's definition of 'proper' is heavily based in opinion, and press him for a more specific answer. With Regulus, she thinks she knows exactly what he means.)

The name-drop of the Macmillans is intentional as well; they're generally pro-Muggleborn, but a bit more conservative than the McKinnons, conservative enough that Grandfather Arcturus married a Macmillan and it was considered fairly reasonable. Reminding Mother that there are similarly minded families in the Dark network will go a long way towards helping her look past Lord Brown's voting record and focus on House Brown's wealth and history. If a Macmillan could be Lady Black, a Brown—especially one who's half Macmillan—can be friends with Narcissa. (And with Regulus, but society ladies have their own way of doing things, to which he is not privy. Heather needs a foothold with them to get anywhere, and Narcissa is her best option. First of all, Narcissa is Regulus's cousin, so he can easily provide an introduction. There is much to be said for practicality. Second of all, she's a Black and the future Lady Malfoy, and the Blacks and the Malfoys are two of the oldest and best-established families in both the Dark network and Britain as a whole. Narcissa's opinion already holds weight, and once Lucius inherits the Malfoy lordship, she'll be even more influential.)

"In that case, I suppose it falls to Narcissa," Mother says, which is as close to agreement as Regulus will get. "However, on the subject of the futures of your acquaintances... I do remain intrigued by Crouch Jr.'s potential with regard to entering polite society. His family will not guarantee him a place, but neither are they fit only for shedding."

The pause after 'acquaintances' presumably means that if Barty can't pull his own weight socially, Regulus is supposed to switch him from a friend to an acquaintance, to avoid being dragged down with him. It also means that Mother is still waiting for an explanation of why Barty hasn't been providing Regulus with insider information about the DMLE's operations.

"Barty and his father are not estranged," Regulus half-lies. (Barty seems to occasionally wish they were.) "His father takes confidentiality extremely seriously. He never brings work home, which is why there is little Barty can ascertain about the Ministry that Father does not already know. To be perfectly honest, I consider it rather fortunate that Barty has avoided such inclinations, even if it does render him rather different from his father." (That's even true. And the reference to Barty being different from his father won't go amiss, either. Regulus's parents never will get along with Barty's.) "His lack of knowledge about the inner workings of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is more a signal of his father's character than it is of their relationship." (That part's... mostly true. If Barty were more interested in following in his father's footsteps, it's possible that he would have been able to pick up some more information by going to the Ministry himself.)

"Unfortunate," Mother says. Regulus can't tell how genuinely she means it. "And as for his future?"

"He intends to enter the Ministry after graduation." (A complete lie, but a very useful one.) "His father is strictly against nepotism, but his reputation for being reliable and hardworking will certainly help Barty secure a position."

"Under his father?"

Regulus sips his tea, then half-smiles. "Why stop there?"

 

(Hopefully, he will never have to explain to Barty that he heavily implied to Mother that Barty is the future Minister of Magic. It ended her line of questioning about whether he'll be an advantageous connection after Hogwarts, and that's what matters.)

 

Regulus's first Apparition lesson takes place in the dueling room.

This is where he began learning magic—a large room, taking up the entire fourth floor of the house, sealed with wards designed to prevent any magic from the rest of the house leaking in and causing issues, or the other way around. There are a few chairs, a table, a chalkboard, and very little else—even the lamps placed at regular intervals along the walls are in less ornate sconces than the lamps in the rest of the house. Things can be brought into the dueling room, but for the sake of simplicity, and minimizing the risk of damage to possessions, not much is kept here.

The first time that Regulus walked into the dueling room, he was four years old. He wasn't here to learn anything—his lessons at the time focused more on etiquette than anything else—but Sirius had begged and begged to see the dueling room, which both of them thought sounded like the greatest room in the world, and finally, Mother gave in and unlocked it so they could look around.

It wasn't what Regulus had envisioned, unfortunately. (He's not entirely sure what he envisioned, but it was much grander and more spectacular than reality, and probably betrayed the fact that he had only the vaguest idea of what a duel even was at the time.) But that was only part of why he didn't like the dueling room. The bigger reason was that he stepped inside and the world immediately felt wrong. It's his clearest memory from that age: seeing the big, empty dueling room; wanting to go inside to find out if there was anything more interesting that he couldn't see from the doorway; crossing the threshold and feeling every hair on the back of his neck stand up at the way that the world suddenly weighed on him; very carefully making himself look around for a minute or so before walking back over to Mother, who was standing just outside the doorway. Once he got back into the hallway, things felt alright again.

Sirius, apparently, felt the same way upon entering the room, or that was what he told Regulus afterwards. He'd taken it as an indication of mystery, though, and poked around for a while in search of the source of wrongness, without finding anything.

Regulus never mentioned it to their parents, and he doubts Sirius did, but they figured it out once they learned about family specialties. The way that Regulus and Sirius felt in the dueling room was the way a Bulstrode might feel in a room without stone, or a Greengrass in a room without plants. Dark Arts usually involve a sort of... blurring of boundaries between person and magic. (It's a matter of debate, actually—the families with corporal magics say they're just using what they already have. But the families with elemental magics, the sort that tie them to something external, can all agree on this.) People feel the absence of their affinity.

The dueling room is sealed behind layers of wards, but the room itself is a room without magic. There's nothing to draw from—none of the familiar life in the air that Regulus normally breathes. Normally, people don't feel absences like that unless they've already started training in how to use their family specialty. But Regulus and Sirius are twice Blacks, through their mother and their father, so their affinity for power is twice as concentrated. They took to the family specialty very easily and very young.

They couldn't learn the specialty in the dueling room, of course—in order to draw in magic from external sources, one needs those external sources to have magic. They studied that in the parlor, or the library, or (very occasionally) Father's study. But the rest of the time, they learned magic in the dueling room, all the better to avoid cross-contamination from the rest of the house.

With repeated exposure, Regulus has gotten used to the feeling of absence in the air. He still doesn't enjoy that first step over the threshold, but he adjusts to the heaviness of the room in seconds, and he knows from experience that leaving the room at the end of the lesson feels like shedding weights.

He hasn't seen anyone Apparate in this room before, but he can guess why Father chose it—the wards on the house mean that nobody can get into or out of the house from the dueling room, but the lack of magic means that there's also no anti-Apparition ward inside the room itself. Apparition lessons start with very small distances, so the dueling room is more than large enough for their purposes.

Father has drawn two circles on the floor, rings of black large enough for a person to stand in them, set a few feet apart from each other. "The Ministry curriculum involves mnemonic devices you do not need. You are familiar with fixating your entire mind on one idea." (One of the many techniques that Regulus knows for lying to a Legilimens. This particular one can be used with or without actual mind magic.) "To Apparate, that idea must be your destination. It is best only to Apparate to places with which you are personally familiar, for that reason. You will find it easier and safer to Apparate if you can visualize the destination with a high degree of accuracy. Closing your eyes may be helpful. In order to avoid Splinching, you must fixate your entire mind, although using mind magic is unnecessary. As for the rest, all you need to do is turn on the spot. A complete turn is not required. Anyone who says that it is does not understand the magic behind it."

Simple enough.

Regulus doesn't ask if this is the sort of thing that he's expected to get right on the first try. He also doesn't ask if Father taught Sirius to do this. (Probably not. Sirius used to spend more time with Father than Regulus did, but that started shifting as soon as he began to espouse political views their parents found rather undesirable. Regulus isn't sure when the last time was that Father taught Sirius anything.) Any sort of answer to either of those questions will only get in his head. If it were something that Father expected Regulus to take a few tries to get right, he would have said so already.

Alright.

Regulus steps into the nearer circle. It was presumably created with magic, but it resembles a circle of black paint, as does the other one. Each circle spreads over several of the boards in the polished wood floor. The boards are narrow, though, so the circles aren't particularly large targets. Father has not made this easy for Regulus, perhaps deliberately. There is not much room for error in Apparition, after all.

Since the two circles are almost exactly the same, Regulus will either end up in the other circle, or he'll Apparate into the same space he started in. That would be embarrassing, even if it were also proof that he was at least capable of doing it. Apparating into the other circle is the ideal outcome, and as a result, it's the one that Regulus will make happen.

He studies the other circle for a few more seconds, but it really is just a black circle on the floor, so there's not much complexity for him to visualize. And Father doesn't like excessive waiting around before trying something. (Nor does he like haste. Sirius and Regulus both had difficulty figuring out the right balance, although from different directions. Once and only once, Regulus overcompensated for his previous hesitation, which was an unpleasant experience for everyone involved. In hindsight, he should have thought twice about rushing through learning to channel magic with blood, but 'thinking twice' was exactly what he was trying not to do. Now, he's mostly figured out how to think twice quickly.)

The black circle a few feet away is more than large enough for Regulus to Apparate into it.

He closes his eyes, centers his entire mind on being in that circle, and begins to turn.

The Apparition hits a quarter of the way around.

It's... not pleasant.

The whole world, or maybe just Regulus, is compressed into a tiny, tiny space and hurtled somewhere at breakneck speeds, the sort of swerving that feels like a death wish on a broomstick but twenty times faster, and then it stops as quickly as it started.

Regulus opens his eyes.

He's in the other circle.

"Good," Father says. "If Hogwarts bothered to offer Occlumency, I expect they would have far fewer issues with students Splinching, although I suppose that studying something does not necessarily correlate with developing any sort of skill at it. Nonetheless, this is not the last time that your mental discipline will aid you in more complex magic." He waves his wand, and the circle Regulus just left moves a few feet further away. "Again."

 

Regulus ends the Apparition lesson dizzy, vaguely nauseous, and otherwise in perfect health. He lost a few strands of hair in his first attempt at Apparating across the entire room, but his second attempt was successful, and the quantity of hair lost was certainly not enough to push Evan into reevaluating his ranking of Hogwarts Seekers. Father has declared him capable of passing the test required to get a license, so now all that remains is waiting until Regulus comes of age and can thus legally take said test. (And not forgetting how to Apparate in the intervening fourteen or so months.)

As he walks back to his room on the floor below, there's still a piece of the back of his mind wondering who taught Sirius to Apparate—the Potters? Or did he wait and learn at Hogwarts? Father explained Apparition to Regulus in the context of his background with mind magic, a background that Sirius mostly shares. Maybe that would've made Apparating easy for him. Or maybe it wouldn't have helped at all, if he learned from someone who explained it differently.

Whatever. Plenty of people learn to Apparate every year, and most people manage it without any particularly dramatic Splinching. Sirius was always good at practical magic. He probably got it right away. Maybe he even has his license already. He's been seventeen for months now.

Regulus has no idea what happened to the watch that was supposed to be given to him. Maybe Mother and Father never bought one—Sirius ran away in late June, and he turned seventeen in early November, so if Mother and Father already had a watch then they would have been planning very far ahead. Nonetheless, they might have been starting to think about it. They wouldn't have bothered to get something custom-made—not with how much Sirius was fighting with Mother towards the end—so it could have been purchased last-minute. It would have been, if Sirius hadn't been disowned. Appearances matter.

And the appearance of that sign on Regulus's door is beginning to grate on him.

April. A little over nine months since Sirius ran away, and over a year since the last time Regulus was at risk of Sirius barging into his room uninvited and unannounced. Regulus still hasn't taken the sign down, not that it ever did anything besides give him something to point at as he told Sirius to go back into the hallway and try again. Despite everything...

Regulus isn't going to take it down.

He knows that already. If he hasn't managed it by now, he never will, because it's been a little over nine months and Regulus still can't seem to relegate Sirius to the past.

A little over nine months. Sirius left in late June.

But he stayed for Regulus's birthday.

That doesn't necessarily mean it was intentional. It's not like Sirius was out the door at midnight on the twenty-third. He left a few days later. And maybe he hadn't even planned to go so early—maybe he'd meant to try to stick out more of the summer, even the fall, make it until he turned seventeen, at least. It was yet another fight with Mother that drove him to Potter Manor. And it wasn't like Regulus and Sirius were on especially good terms. They barely spoke to each other. Regulus turning fifteen would not have been of such importance to Sirius that he would have deliberately shaped his plans around it.

But Sirius was still there. He attended tea with the rest of them, he exchanged insults with Bellatrix as usual, he gave Regulus an eagle quill that Regulus hasn't been able to convince himself to use, but hasn't gotten rid of either.

So it's... not the sign, really. It's that every time he goes to his room, he's reminded that Sirius was here, and that there was a time when Regulus felt like he couldn't get rid of him. And that Regulus can't even really face the idea of taking this sign down, because of... nostalgia? Being determined to pretend that nothing important has changed? A combination of the two, or something else entirely?

Maybe he could...

No. McKinnon (she's still McKinnon, even though Lily's been Lily for a while now) said she doesn't know what Sirius thinks about Dark Arts. Lily, for her part, mentioned what Sirius says about Regulus in Gryffindor Tower. It's true that Sirius and his friends have taken to renewing their attacks on the future Death Eaters with enthusiasm. That doesn't mean anything with regard to what Sirius thinks of Regulus. He doesn't even know Regulus is involved in all of that.

For all intents and purposes, he's a Potter now.

And everyone knows what the Potters think of families like the Blacks.

Notes:

one of my favorite lines in this chapter is "Regulus can use deliberate hesitations too." he really is just a magpie picking up other people's mannerisms and he's so proud of himself for this one afjsghskfdj

crouch sr never brings work home because if he hasn't finished something by the end of business hours he just stays at the ministry

honestly i would love for barty to become minister of magic can you imagine the CHAOS that would be every single press conference

orion's default communication style is 'neutral comment followed by roast'

why DID sirius stick around at the beginning of the summer?

next week: plant magic!! sparkly things!! regulus experiences sunlight!!

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 34

There are three reasons that Regulus does not Apparate to Rosier Manor.

The first reason is that he's actually not quite sure where Rosier Manor is, and although it's definitely closer to Grimmauld Place than it is to, say, Hogwarts, that's not saying much, and he's only just gotten the hang of Apparating across a large room.

The second reason is that the Rosiers generally prefer for their guests to Floo, and Regulus doesn't know what form their anti-Apparition wards take, or how much of the property they cover, so it's likely that he might not be able to Apparate directly inside the gates.

The third reason is that he's underage and doesn't have a license, which makes Apparating to Evan's house rather illegal. It would be extraordinarily embarrassing for Regulus to get away with practicing Dark Arts under Dumbledore's nose for years and then get caught Apparating underage because he Splinched on the way to Rosier Manor for tea.

So on Monday afternoon, he abandons his Transfiguration homework and Floos to the foyer of Rosier Manor.

Regulus has visited many Sacred Twenty-Eight ancestral homes, several of them multiple times. He's more than familiar with the stone and stained glass at Black Manor, the combination of white marble floors and black walls that someone clearly favored in the design of Malfoy Manor, the narrow towers and enormous tapestries at Lestrange Abbey. Many of the others are similar, or trying to be.

But Rosier Manor is like nothing else Regulus has ever seen.

It's a sugary confection of an estate—immaculate gardens, carefully placed groves of trees, a shimmering pond at the edge, and roses everywhere. The house has so much white and gold and crystal that Regulus often wonders how many house-elves they must have, to keep everything as spotless as it is. That's not to say that it's anywhere near monochrome—there are colors everywhere, most of them pleasantly pastel, some of them a little more saturated when desired. There's quite a bit of variety in the art, and Regulus has seen roses as dark as plums on the grounds. But it's glittering, and full of light, and far from the air of solemn dignity that pervades every Black property.

Evan grew up here, and it will be his domain once he inherits the lordship of House Rosier. He always seems like he fits here, in a way that he doesn't at Hogwarts. Not that he doesn't fit at Hogwarts—it's more that a drafty medieval castle just seems like it's not quite the right backdrop for him.

But based on what Evan has said about being the heir to this family, it's very possible that he feels that Rosier Manor isn't the right backdrop for him either.

When Regulus steps out of the fireplace into the foyer, Evan is already there, sprawled across a mint green chaise that looks a little like the one he liked in the solarium, and he's flipping through a copy of Quidditch Quarterly, and he's wearing pale gray. Evan hardly ever wears black unless he's required to, and given who he is, the only time he's required or even expected to wear it is at Hogwarts. When they're at school, Regulus gets so accustomed to seeing Evan in black that whenever he wears something different, Regulus has to take a moment to remind himself of the world outside of the walls of the castle. For Regulus, the black is ubiquitous. For Evan, it's the exception.

Whatever Evan is looking at in Quidditch Quarterly clearly isn't particularly absorbing, because he closes it as soon as Regulus arrives and gets up from the chaise to perform a sweeping, unnecessary bow. "Welcome! From the bottom of my heart, I deeply appreciate you pausing the rest of your life to come solve my problems."

"What problems am I solving?" Regulus says. "And hello to you too."

Evan grins at him. "I said 'welcome.' That's basically a hello. And you are solving my boredom."

"You are tempting me to prove exactly how boring I can be." It's an empty threat. Regulus basically trapped himself in the library today in order to study. He's just as glad to get out of his house as Evan probably is to have someone new at his.

"Do your worst," Evan says airily. "I'm sure watching you try to be boring will be a great source of entertainment."

Regulus... isn't quite sure what to make of that, so he says, "Are you saying you think I can't win?"

"I'm saying you've already lost. If you bored me, I wouldn't have invited you over. Shall we?"

 

The polite thing to do is to greet one of Evan's parents right away, as they're in charge of the household. Visitors to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place almost always greet Mother; Father's usually busy. At Rosier Manor, it varies much more, but it's not unusual for Evan's parents to be together. (They rarely, if ever, seem to be working.)

That's the case today. Evan leads the way through spotless white double doors into the parlor, which is filled with heavily decorated furniture in shades of pale yellow and white, as well as a piano in the corner from which Regulus has never heard a single note of music. One wall is mostly covered with a massive painting of forest nymphs dancing in a clearing. Every time Regulus has been in this room, all of the nymphs have been dancing. They're painted, and thus don't necessarily get tired or dizzy, but they don't ever seem to get bored of whirling around, which is the surprising part. (That's not to say it's all they do. This painting is silent, but it's still obvious when the nymphs are talking to each other about people in the parlor.)

Lord William Rosier is using a small side table moved in front of a couch as a writing desk for some kind of letter. He looks like Evan, or rather, Evan looks like him—the same shade of golden blond hair, the same easy way of holding himself, even the same tilt to his head as he writes. He sets down his peacock-feather quill when Evan and Regulus come in. "Heir Black, welcome. I trust spring break has been treating you well thus far?"

"It has, thank you," Regulus says. "My parents send their regards."

Lady Aurelia Rosier, shorter than Bellatrix, maybe even shorter than Maeve, is inspecting a large fern in the corner of the room. Its fronds stretch halfway to the ceiling, swaying in a nonexistent breeze. She looks towards the doorway and smiles. "It's lovely to see you, Heir Black. You won't tell if I use some creative magic on this poor fern, will you? The fronds simply do not look right at all."

The fern looks perfect, near as Regulus can tell, but he's also barely scraping together an O in Herbology, so what does he know? "I would never."

"Wonderful." She waves a hand around one frond, and the green of it deepens until it's nearly the same color as the trees in the painting of forest nymphs. So that's probably what it's supposed to look like.

Lady Rosier is a Greengrass by birth, siblings with the current lord, so when she says she's using creative magic on a plant, she means she's using the Greengrass family magic. (Evan doesn't know much about that specialty, but he says his affinity for it makes it practically impossible for any of the plants they encounter in Herbology to take a disliking to him.) Thus, Regulus is abetting the use of Dark Arts by saying he'll keep his mouth shut, but that's nothing out of the ordinary.

(The few times that Regulus has seen Evan's mother use her specialty, it's always been wandless. That's not unusual for family magics—wands can be tracked, after all, and there's always the possibility of an inconvenient Priori incantatem. The other benefit to wandless magic, or so Regulus has heard, is that it isn't as structured as magic that uses a wand, which means it's difficult to figure out how to cast a spell by watching someone else do it. There aren't set movements for wandless magic, so the same spell can be cast in many different ways—ideal for using a specialty around non-family members, although using them around anyone who isn't Dark is still too much of a risk. Concealing the Blacks' specialty is as simple as covering up the runes so nobody else can see them, and using the magic sparingly enough that nobody notices any side effects. It often does not require a wand, but that's not the same thing as what Lady Rosier is doing now, casting spells wandlessly. Mother's always thought wandless spellcasting is an unrefined way of doing magic, although the concept of Evan's mother doing anything unrefined is a bit laughable. That, and knowing that Madam Pomfrey uses wandless magic too... it may be worth looking into after OWLs.)

"Your sister is taunting us," Lord Rosier says to Evan. "She sent a letter detailing every artisanal chocolate shop she visited in Switzerland."

"Cruel of her," Evan says.

"Very."

"We should just take a trip ourselves, darling," Lady Rosier says. The fern is about half dark green now and half the paler shade it was when Regulus walked in. "Katherine sent us quite the recommendation list. I propose we Portkey over tomorrow, go to all of them, and return in the evening with our spoils of victory. Evan, you're not busy, are you?"

"No," Evan says. "Emma is coming over on Thursday, but until then I'm very free."

"Perfect."

Not a single Rosier mentions doing homework or studying for OWLs, which isn't really a surprise. Regulus has always gotten the impression that Evan's parents consider checking in about Evan's classes a secondary concern, compared to more important things like socializing, keeping up with the Slytherin quidditch team's successes, and, apparently, whisking Evan off to Switzerland for the day so they can buy as much artisanal chocolate as possible. Absolutely no part of this interaction would have happened with Regulus's family. He feels a bit like he's in another world, which is how he usually feels when he's here.

"Oh, but don't let us keep you." Lady Rosier waves a hand at Evan and Regulus. "Go on, enjoy your afternoon. Tea is laid out on the terrace."

 

The terrace is sandwiched between two of the most impressive parts of Rosier Manor: the rose gardens and the large ballroom, which is where the summer solstice ball is held every year. Regulus has attended the ball twice, which is unusual for someone his age—most people don't start attending important society events until after their fourth year at Hogwarts. But Rosier children tend to start attending the summer solstice ball earlier than that, since it is in their house. Evan went for the first time after third year, and he got to invite some friends, so Emma, Maeve, and Regulus all attended as well.

During the ball, there's always a set of French doors left open, giving people not just a route onto the terrace but also a source of a breeze. Regulus is not much of a dancer, so he has spent sizable portions of his evenings out here. At his first ball, he even talked a bit with Sirius, who wandered out to the terrace when the ballroom started to feel too warm. It wasn't much of a conversation, though. Mostly, it involved a lot of Regulus staring out at the rose gardens wondering if Mother and Father would notice that neither of their children were inside.

The gardens look different in the daytime, when sunlight renders the colors of the roses a distinct array of hues, instead of the night covering them in shadows. Regulus can see the stone paths between the meticulously shaped flowerbeds closer to the terrace, but further away, everything melds into an ocean of petals.

And thorns, of course. But the Rosiers tend not to draw attention to that part.

There are two sides to the terrace. One side is open to the sun. The other is shaded by an arbor drowning in some sort of flowering vine. It's not a climbing rose, unlike the vast majority of the arbors and trellises at Rosier Manor, but Regulus has no idea what it is. He's never asked. The flowers seem to bloom in the dark, because they're closed up whenever Regulus visits during the day, but when he's been here at night, the flowers have been open, round and white and luminous. He's never been able to tell if they actually glow, or if they just seem that way because they're so brilliantly white against the darkness.

The tea that Lady Rosier mentioned is laid out on the uncovered side, on a small, round table. Each teacup and saucer has a lacy gold pattern around the rim that matches the metalwork on the handles of the spoons. Regulus has never asked if these place settings are exclusively for when the Rosiers have guests, or if Evan always uses elaborate gold cutlery at home.

"Oh, the elves gave us sugar cubes." Evan bypasses his teacup entirely in favor of dropping a sugar cube into his mouth as he sits down. (He drinks his tea black, which is a quirk that stopped surprising Regulus years ago. Something about balancing out sweetness, although balance is not the word Regulus would use for the usual refreshments at tea with Evan. Today, possibly due to the small size of the table, there are only tea, scones, and macarons, which is shockingly restrained. Normally, the sugary offerings outweigh all other items by at least two to one. But also normally, Evan tends to invite as many friends as possible over at once. It's a rare thing for Regulus to be his only guest.)

Regulus sits down opposite Evan and sets about adding milk and sugar to his tea. (Mother doesn't like the self-warming teacups that have grown popular recently—she says the tea tastes better fresh out of the pot—but the Rosiers feel much more positively towards them, which means that the tea has already been poured.) "How has your break been? The little of it that's elapsed since I last saw you."

"It's been downright drudgery," Evan sighs. "I did homework."

"So far before the due date? I'm impressed."

"Thank you for appreciating my labor. It was onerous." He selects a variety of macarons and starts arranging them by color on his plate. "I very much preferred working on transfiguration with you. I don't know why it makes so much less sense when I do it on my own."

"I was explaining it to you," Regulus points out. "In an ideal setting, that tends to make things make more sense."

"Or maybe it's easier for me to concentrate on you than on distant memories of McGonagall's lectures." Evan punctuates this by abruptly biting into a macaron.

"I've always thought her to be a decent lecturer," Regulus says. "But to each their own."

A whisper of an idea is forming, one that he's not sure he should indulge.

Regulus has not started his Charms homework yet. The theoretical aspects, like the essay Flitwick assigned, are usually fine; it's really that he dreads anything to do with the subject in general. He always thinks he understands a spell, and then the practical component fails, or is mediocre at best. Maybe it would be less frustrating if he also had issues with practical magic in other classes, but he's more than fine at absolutely everything else, and he has never been able to figure out why charms are such a problem.

Evan, though...

Evan is good at charms. And it's not just that—he's interested in them. He subscribes to Charms Review despite not even being a NEWT student, much less a master. He bothers to push past the Rosier reputation—no, the Rosier image— because he likes charms so much that he wants to be good at them. Not passable, or decent, or good enough. Actually good.

And Regulus is helping him with transfiguration. Evan is extremely familiar with the notion of a quid pro quo. So if Regulus asked Evan to help him prepare for the Charms OWL, Evan would probably agree.

But Blacks aren't supposed to need help.

Regulus avoids letting out a sigh by taking a sip of his tea. It has a lighter flavor than the variety Kreacher stocks at home, which is intense and a bit smoky. This one feels made for sipping by a garden.

"Well, I do prefer you to McGonagall," Evan says. He's occupied with choosing his next macaron from the assortment on his plate, so ideally, he hasn't noticed Regulus thinking.

"High praise." Regulus half-means it. On the one hand, he likes Transfiguration, even if Evan doesn't, so being ranked above McGonagall is somewhat of an achievement. On the other hand, it appears that Regulus's main triumph over McGonagall in Evan's eyes is his willingness to ignore almost all of the theory in favor of helping Evan with the practical components. This does not make him a good teacher; it makes him one who conceded when Evan said he didn't care about the concepts. Unlike Regulus, McGonagall can't exactly skip the theory. "I do suspect that your preference has a certain element of bias, though."

Evan looks up from his plate. "How so?"

"If you told McGonagall you didn't care about understanding 'theorems and whatnot,' or however you put it, I expect she would give you detention rather than indulging you."

"Oh." Evan smiles and picks up another macaron. "Maybe if I asked very nicely. And pledged never to inflict my presence on her again after the OWL."

"I suppose that could work, but I doubt it, frankly."

"Pity," he says carelessly. "Oh, well. That's why I have you."

This could be an opportunity.

Regulus can see how it would play out: a careful segue into the realm of Regulus's concerns about his own OWLs; mentioning that he'd like to improve his practical Charms work; gauging whether Evan seems surprised; hinting that a perspective other than Flitwick's might be helpful, as a test to see if Evan shuts him down; and then cautiously broaching the question of whether Evan might be willing to be that alternate perspective. The most likely outcome would be Regulus proceeding through all of these steps and Evan agreeing to help him.

But there's still that part of Regulus's mind that rebels violently against the notion of admitting that he needs help—no, that he wants help. He's gotten this far on his own. He could prepare for the OWL that way too, and that's what his parents would want. They wouldn't want him admitting to anyone that his Charms ability is subpar, and they especially wouldn't want him admitting that to another Dark Sacred Twenty-Eight heir, even if Evan is a Rosier. Even if Mother and Father wouldn't really believe Evan to be capable of leveraging that information in any meaningful way. (In fact, that might make it worse in their eyes—offense at the idea that Heir Rosier could figure out something that Regulus can't. Evan is an approved friend, but that doesn't mean Mother and Father want him doing better than Regulus at anything.)

Mother and Father don't want Regulus admitting he needs—wants—help.

And Regulus... doesn't know what he wants, exactly.

Because the idea of letting Evan see how much he struggles with something that looks so easy when Evan does it—that sends a chill racing down Regulus's spine and settling uncomfortably in his stomach.

But the idea of walking into the Charms OWL without feeling like he's about to humiliate himself...

That is so tempting that it hurts a little in Regulus's chest, as if the possibility of having that makes not having it feel worse. OWLs are a month and a half away, no more. Maybe he wouldn't have to dread them so much. Maybe he wouldn't preemptively cringe every time he sat down to study for Charms. Maybe he could spend the practical thinking about how to get things right, rather than how to cover up things going wrong.

And it's not like Mother and Father would ever need to know.

Regulus is almost, almost at the point of putting the words in order to ask, and then—

"I think McGonagall can be pragmatic, actually," Evan muses. "I don't see how else she could have lasted this long as the Gryffindor Head of House. But I still like you better."

He smiles at Regulus, and Regulus promptly loses his nerve. Evan thinks Regulus is good at these things. Regulus can't make himself ruin that image. Not right now, at least, not when Evan is smiling and talking about how helpful Regulus has been with Transfiguration. He'll try again at another time. A better time.

But if he's going to do it, it has to be soon.

OWLs are only getting closer.

Notes:

im not saying regulus would have apparated to rosier manor if he were sure he could get away with it specifically because evan would have been impressed. but im not not saying that

AND EVAN WAS WAITING FOR HIM

we get to meet evan's parents! thoughts on what regulus knows about them? thoughts on what regulus *doesn't* know about them? do they fit in with what you were expecting, based on what various people have said about the rosier family in the past?

the flowering vines covering the terrace at rosier manor are moonflowers, which are a real plant! although moonflowers don't actually glow. the rosiers probably have a special variety that does

regulus: huh usually evan has a bunch of people over at once for tea, but this time it's just me
regulus: that's probably not important. anyway

you can reconstruct much of evan's internal monologue in this chapter simply by imagining him thinking 'WHY DID HE CALL ME DEAR' over and over. regulus please. evan needs answers. because the stakes of evan flirting with regulus are SO much lower when regulus basically just doesn't react one way or another, but if things have changed.........

you can reconstruct most of the rest of evan's internal monologue in this chapter by scrutinizing everything regulus does for hints that he might have Picked Up On Something with regard to evan's feelings

REGULUS JUST ASK EVAN FOR HELP MY GUY

next week: extended family!! awkward teatime!! the joys of the hogwarts express!!

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 35

On Wednesday, the quiet of Grimmauld Place is interrupted by the arrival of Bellatrix and Narcissa for tea.

They arrange themselves in the parlor—Bellatrix in a velvety armchair, Mother at one end of her favorite sofa and Narcissa at the other, Regulus in the same chair as usual, straight-backed with heavy brocade. Of the four of them, Narcissa is the only one dressed appropriately for spring, in pale pink robes with shimmering, silvery flowers blooming and fading away. She looks wryly at Regulus's black robes but doesn't say anything—she doesn't need to. They've had so many discussions about whether Regulus really needs to wear black all the time that it's practically a running joke by now. Mother and Bellatrix both mostly keep up with fashion, but Bellatrix hates the pastels and wide sleeves that are apparently popular right now, and Mother says that wearing dark colors regardless of season distinguishes the Blacks from the rest of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. (Occasionally, Regulus brings this up to Narcissa, who is always quick to point out that Mother has never objected to jewel tones.)

Bellatrix barely lets her spoon finish stirring in her four sugar cubes before she takes a sip of her tea, then sets the cup in its saucer and leans forward with a wide smile. "Reggie. I heard the funniest thing from Rabastan about Hogwarts yesterday."

Hm.

There are a few reasons for that statement to be concerning. Rabastan Lestrange is the Death Eater corresponding with the Carrows, so any Hogwarts news from him probably came through them. Bringing in more recruits is a matter of prestige for the Death Eaters (as long as the recruits are vaguely competent), and Bellatrix has more of Voldemort's favor than Rabastan does, so he'd be unlikely to get her involved in any sort of Carrow-related situation unless her input was really necessary. That would indicate either something important, or something only she could address. The fact that she's bringing it up to Regulus now means that it might be related to him, which would not be good.

But this may not actually be much of a concern. Regulus saw Bellatrix fight with Sirius often enough to know the signs of her preparing to attack. She either scowls or smiles, but she smiles with a noticeable sneer. The way Bellatrix is smiling now, toothy but not particularly condescending, is one she normally reserves for saying nasty things about people behind their backs. And Bellatrix does love doing that. It's possible she's telling the truth about hearing something funny and just bringing it up so Regulus can provide her with more fuel for amusement.

Either way, though, he can't seem like he's on edge. How could he be, when he's talking to his wonderful cousin Bella whom he admires so much? (Not too much, though. Only as much as befits Heir Black to admire anyone.)

So Regulus responds with, "Do tell."

"Oh, I will," Bellatrix says. "Rab got this whole letter from the Carrow twins whining about you."

Lovely.

Regulus's excuses about upholding the Slytherin legacy will work for him here, in case Bellatrix is digging for information, but it's irritating to have such clear proof that the Carrows can and will tell Bellatrix about Regulus's doings at Hogwarts, if indirectly. At least they're graduating soon, although it's possible that Mulciber (or Snape, if he can get them to look past his Muggle father) will be communicating with an active Death Eater next year, in which case Regulus will still have to worry about news of his actions getting back to Grimmauld Place. (Well, really, he'd have to worry about that no matter what. There are infinitely many ways for information to leak.)

Mother raises an eyebrow. "In what context?"

"Reggie gave them a bit of a scolding, didn't you?" Bellatrix sounds delighted, but her eyes are intent as she looks back at Regulus. "For tarnishing the reputation of Slytherin. You said they were making all of you look bad for picking on lower-years. You said they should be working harder if they didn't want to disappoint the Dark Lord. You said toying with a few mudbloods was a waste of time. Didn't you?"

Ah.

So Bellatrix is investigating.

Fortunately, Regulus is well aware of how to get her on his side. What it requires is a subtle but noticeable scoff, a bit of amusement as he says, "Are they still complaining? I told them that at the start of term. They all gather around a lower-year as if they think they need the advantage of numbers for one mudblood. It makes them look pathetic."

"Oh, naturally," Bellatrix says. "But they were simply shocked by your involvement. Alecto said she didn't even expect you to acknowledge their conversation, much less participate. You have a bit of a reputation for keeping to yourself, haven't you?"

She's holding out for longer than he thought she would. Normally, mocking someone and reaffirming his adherence to blood purity in the same breath are more than enough to win over Bellatrix. Regulus feigns bemusement and does not give any indication that he knows he's being interrogated, plays a version of himself with nothing to hide and no reason to be concerned over what Bellatrix thinks about this letter. "If by 'keeping to myself' Alecto meant keeping to more enjoyable company, then I suppose so."

Bellatrix tilts her head. "Like Crouch, I assume?"

"Certainly." Regulus already re-persuaded Mother that Barty is acceptable a few days ago. He doesn't particularly feel like going over that again with Bellatrix, so he moves on as if there's nothing else to discuss with regard to Barty, no possible reason that Regulus's friendship with him could or should be called into question. "The Carrows seem to think that they are entitled to my friendship purely because we share political beliefs. I feel no need to indulge them when Slytherin is full of people whose company I prefer."

He could list out some examples of his Dark Sacred Twenty-Eight friends, but that might make him look like he's trying too hard, so he ends there and waits for Bellatrix's next move.

But before she can make one, Narcissa says lightly, "That's quite reasonable, I think. I find that Carrows in general are exceptionally single-minded. We can hardly begrudge Regulus the opportunity to surround himself with people with more to offer in terms of wit."

Thank you, Cissa.

Regulus doesn't know what Narcissa thinks of blood purity, Voldemort, or the Death Eaters. She says all the right words (well, the right words in their family), albeit with more delicacy than Bellatrix does, and she's married to a Death Eater. At the same time, she's never seemed enthusiastic about the war. It could mean anything. Narcissa is probably the best liar in the entire family, because she's certainly the best with mind magic. And to be honest, Regulus doesn't really want to know what she thinks, because he knows he would be irrationally disappointed by the most likely answer. He's more comfortable with this ambiguity, in which he and Narcissa don't talk about the war and she redirects the conversation at tea from blood purity to polite society.

And regardless of Narcissa's political views, that comment was definitely meant to be a rescue, an indication of support for Regulus. Bellatrix has made the occasional pointed comment in Narcissa's direction about her prioritizing society over the war, but every single time, Narcissa has dismantled Bellatrix's point with perfect composure. Sometimes Bellatrix even laughs and concedes. So Narcissa entering the discussion on Regulus's side matters.

"An exclusive social circle is indeed reasonable, but it must be curated with prudence," Mother says. "Hostility does not engender respect."

"Power does," Regulus says, because he knows it'll be well-received.

It is. Bellatrix laughs and leans back in her chair. "It hardly even matters that Uncle Orion is at a Wizengamot session right now. Reggie, you're turning into quite the chip off the old block."

Now he's won her over.

"As he should," Mother says, more matter-of-fact than approving. "He would do well to learn more of Orion's restraint."

What?

Did Regulus hear that correctly?

The last time Mother chided him about restraint was when he was nine and used the family specialty without parental supervision.

Bellatrix didn't say anything about Regulus snapping at the Carrows, and Regulus hadn't thought the conversation made it look as if he'd done something ill-considered. Mother hadn't even seemed especially displeased by Bellatrix's revelations about how Regulus's term is going. The few comments she made placed her reaction between Bellatrix's and Narcissa's, or so Regulus had thought. So... why?

And Bellatrix and Narcissa look confused, too. Well, they don't look confused, exactly, but Bellatrix has paused in the middle of raising her teacup to her mouth, and Narcissa hasn't jumped in to smooth out the awkward tension that has swollen to fill the room. She's very good at keeping a conversation moving, after years of hosting events and building up her own personal network to leverage once she becomes Lady Malfoy. If Narcissa has been noticeably thrown off by that comment...

The silence doesn't last long, though. Bellatrix sips her tea and sets down her cup with a clink that sounds unnaturally loud, and Narcissa says, "Regulus, when do OWL exams begin?"

And the conversation continues, and Mother never elaborates on what she meant.

 

Regulus boards the train to return to school precisely two months after the conversation he had with Lily about cutting off Death Eater recruitment out of Hogwarts.

He's not sure if he's achieved his goal. The future Death Eaters have lost much of their cohesion that made them a threat at the beginning of the term, but Regulus's current tactics are heavily based in antagonizing the individuals involved, not their ideology as a whole. There could very well be more students who intend to join the Death Eaters who are simply being quiet about it, and if they're doing any recruiting of their own, it'll complicate things. Bellatrix didn't mention any Hogwarts students interested in taking the Mark other than the ones Regulus already knows about, but just because she didn't mention them doesn't mean they don't exist.

Regulus has made progress. The future Death Eaters are certainly out of power at Hogwarts, and divided enough to have difficulty striking back at the attacks from all sides. But in order to cut off Death Eater recruitment, rather than trying to suppress it, he needs to do more.

He's building up credibility as a legitimate contender against Voldemort and Dumbledore, though. It's obvious, even in things as simple as walking down the aisle of the Hogwarts Express. Regulus learned how to clear a path for himself by watching Mother—most of it is just walking as if he believes with every fiber of his being that everyone will get out of his way. (It's the sort of thing that Sirius always seemed to understand instinctually.) He's accustomed to people moving a little to let him pass by, and for the most part, things are as usual.

Except when he passes a Slytherin.

They still move out of the way, just as they have for years, but their eyes follow him as he walks past, too. Regulus is not the loudest member of the house, nor the most aggressive, nor the most popular, but Slytherins, by and large, tend to be good at dissecting changes in hierarchies. And there is no denying that every Slytherin who has gone against a future Death Eater in the past few months—Barty, Heather, Jessica, Megan, even Cora Shacklebolt, in a way—has done so with Regulus's support, implicit or otherwise. He sits in the center of the common room and lets people to come to him, and they do. That matters.

In order to defeat Voldemort and Dumbledore, Regulus needs to be seen as worthy of such a victory—needs to prove himself worthy of it. Everyone needs to believe him when he says that he can win. Conviction inspires loyalty. And a bit of personal legend certainly won't hurt.

That means he'll be stared at for the rest of his time at Hogwarts. He should probably start thinking about what to do with it besides pretending not to notice.

For now, though, he has other priorities. When Regulus boarded the train, he passed Maeve and Theophania, Theophania holding some sort of small glowing plant, and Maeve told Regulus that Evan and Emma had a compartment near the middle and she'd catch up. As it turns out, he doesn't need directions, because he can clearly hear Emma holding forth on the merits of doing Astronomy homework in History of Magic.

Regulus knocks on the compartment door to announce his arrival and doesn't wait for a response before letting himself in. They always sit together on the train, although they're not nearly so obnoxious about it as Sirius and his friends are. (Apparently, back in their first year, they chose 'their' compartment and are rather aggressive about defending it from anyone else who might want to sit there. Regulus made a point of not knowing where it was to irritate Sirius.)

Emma's way of greeting Regulus is gesturing to him triumphantly and saying to Evan, "And Regulus doesn't have anything to do other than read and respond to my notes asking him questions. It's ideal."

"Glad to be of service, I suppose," Regulus says. Emma and Evan are sitting opposite each other on the window side of the compartment, so Regulus sits down next to Evan. "Sometimes I do have better things to do, though."

"Why would you do anything in History of Magic?" Evan says. "It's practically school-mandated break time. Also, hello, how was the rest of your break?"

"You're changing the subject because you know you're losing this debate," Emma declares.

"I'm changing the subject because I have manners and I stand by everything I said about staring out the window."

"Except for how you're sitting right now."

"Then I sit by it. No response to the part about manners, I see."

"That was far too much of a stretch for me to dignify it with a response." The train rumbles into motion below them, and Emma looks toward the door of their compartment. "I thought Maeve said she was going to join us?"

"Have faith," Evan says. "She's on the train somewhere. She has hours to figure out where we are."

"She was talking to Theophania when I saw her and she said she'd catch up," Regulus says.

"I'm sure Maeve finds our company much more appealing than that of a gaggle of third-years," Evan says. Emma raises her eyebrows at him, and he grins back. "What? I think we're fascinating."

"Naturally," Emma says. "Regulus, did you do any flying over break?"

There's clearly context Regulus was missing for that exchange, especially given the abrupt redirection to talking about Regulus, but he doesn't comment on it. Prying would be an awkward start to a long train ride in close quarters. (Evan was talking about Maeve and Emma and that hair ribbon after the Hufflepuff match. Maybe this is related.)

"Only once," he says. In all likelihood, though, Emma doesn't actually care about the flying itself, so he adds, "I wouldn't call it quidditch practice, exactly."

Really, flying around the grounds of Rosier Manor is completely different from quidditch, except for Evan being there and flying being involved. Regulus did indeed borrow a Starsweeper, but it wasn't horrible—there was no Snitch to catch, so being a little less agile didn't matter so much. He still beat Evan to the pond.

But thinking about that visit just reminds Regulus of transfiguration tutoring and the Charms OWL and how he slogged through Flitwick's essay and could hardly force himself to pick up the Charms textbook after that, which made studying difficult, and through all of it he knew it would have been easier if he'd just asked Evan for advice, but he hadn't. He'd had tea and gone flying and barely thought about classes at all once Evan stopped talking about McGonagall.

As Barty would say, urgh.

"It was absolutely quidditch practice," Evan objects. "We raced to the pond. Beating one other person to an arbitrary point without dying is what a Seeker does."

"Your pond is stationary," Regulus says.

"So is a Snitch, if it's of poor quality. Besides—"

There's a loud bang from somewhere in the aisle. A voice says "Hey, what the fuck?" Below it, there's muttering, smothered by the kind of hush that means something dramatic has happened.

And then, muffled through the closed door but still perfectly audible, Amycus Carrow's voice snarls, "You'll pay for that."

Right.

The war didn't go on spring break like Regulus did, of course. But being back at Hogwarts, even if only on the train, means that it's time for Regulus to reemerge as a person of note.

Carrow will probably regret saying that within Regulus's earshot.

He stands up. "Excuse me for a moment."

Evan is standing up too. "As if I'd miss this."

Emma sighs. "Fine. Field trip."

"It doesn't sound like we'll have to venture particularly far," Evan says. "They came right to us."

Regulus slides the door open and steps into the aisle. The location of the fight is obvious—students are gathering like moths to a flame, tucked against the walls, close enough to observe but far enough to give Carrow and whoever he's up against a wide berth. Regulus could watch and wait, but if spells are already being cast, there probably isn't time. He doesn't want to have to step into a full-fledged duel.

So he raises his chin and believes everyone is going to get out of his way and sets his feet down harder than he normally does, just hard enough to make sure people hear his footsteps.

And they do. He can tell by the way they quiet down even more, how some faces turn in his direction even though most are still focused on the obvious threat. Then, suddenly, it's not quiet anymore—whispers sprout up in a handful of different places, which Regulus takes to mean that his arrival has been duly noted.

He leaves a respectable amount of distance between himself and Carrow, who is doing an admirable job at not turning around to see who's behind him. The distance makes clear that Regulus is not involved in this fight, whatever it is. He's ending it.

Regulus summons up an impression of Father, self-assured and dry, coolly composed but expectant all the same. "Would someone care to explain the disturbance?"

A chillingly familiar scoff comes from beyond Carrow.

Oh.

And Sirius says, loud enough for everyone to hear him, "Use your imagination."

Shit.

Notes:

hoo boy this is a dense chapter! let's start with the tea party: BELLATRIX AND NARCISSA!!!!!!! they really are like horror movie twins in some ways, despite the fact that they don't have as much of a resemblance as bellatrix and andromeda or reg and sirius do

one constant in my bellatrix characterization is a massive sweet tooth. she is the only person in the world who calls regulus 'reggie'

we also get some info about how regulus stays afloat in the house of black! mostly, it's a lot of tea and insincerity

whose side is narcissa on? if anyone's?

and what's going on with walburga? what did she mean by that comment? why did it throw everyone else off so much? why did she say it????? (if you're getting the sense that it's important. yeah<33)

and now on to the train. okay let's work through this chronologically afjsghsjkfhg--

regulus has asserted with quite a lot of confidence that he *needs* other people to know that he can defeat voldemort and dumbledore, in order to make it happen. is that true? why is he so sure that it is? how much thought do you think he put into that assertion, and how much is feeling disguised as thought?

theophania's glowing plant is not actually hers - keep an eye out for it, it shall return. anyone who guesses whose it is earns bragging rights (and i will be sincerely impressed if you put it together afjslghskdfjdd)

i'm not even going to say anything about regulus deciding with 0 hesitation to sit next to evan. u can guess everything i might say about that

evan and emma bicker as a love language

i'd be deeply entertained if regulus ever said 'urgh' out loud. same energy as him saying 'yikes'. extreme barty-isms

also, gotta love how regulus assumed evan and emma *weren't* going to come find out about the drama

and, of course. sirius. and a fun and cute CLIFFHANGER ENDING ✨

next week: MORE SIRIUS WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! and also: quidditch talk!! barty reads a book!! bathroom conversations!!

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 36

Notes:

updating early because tomorrow is going to be hell for me afjslghsdkfjd

cw for this chapter: hinted-at past transphobia in this chapter (like, years in the past)

Regulus should have known.

Or guessed, or expected it, at the very least. Lily told him Sirius was getting involved in the fighting. Of course he would jump at the chance to express his views in a more cathartic way than slipping stinging nettles to McKinnon. A fight on the train, somewhere guaranteed to draw spectators? That has Sirius all over it. He always loved an audience. So really, it shouldn't be as much of a surprise as it is. Regulus just...

Regulus hadn't expected to see him.

What does he do? He can't side with the future Death Eater. He can't side with his disowned brother. Threading the needle in between seemed so simple when it was only about the war, but this is a train compartment and an enemy and someone he avoids on instinct and witnesses everywhere. The addition of Regulus as a participant in the conflict is only making it more intriguing to anyone who knows the Blacks or can spot the resemblance, hidden though it is behind a Slytherin crest and a prefect badge. Regulus is dimly aware of Evan watching him—him, not the fight waiting to happen—just a little too intently to pass off as casual, looking for... something.

He can't freeze. Not more than he already has, anyway. This is still a situation he needs to resolve. If it were any other student, Regulus would be proceeding as usual, and so he needs to act as though Sirius is no different from anyone else. (Which is possibly the single most infuriating thing Regulus could do to Sirius, as well.)

Alright. That's his angle. Sirius could be anyone. The person who matters here is Amycus Carrow.

Amycus Carrow, who's turned to see who's behind him, and who's grinning in a way that suggests ominous anticipation more than it does happiness. "No need to strain yourself lifting a finger, Black. I'm just sorting a few things out."

Well, now Regulus has to interfere.

He puts away all the sharp-toothed shock of one minute ago. This fight is about to end. "As usual, your problem solving methods leave more than a little to be desired. Did it never occur to you that perhaps the center of a moving train packed with potential witnesses is a less-than-ideal location for a duel?"

(Not that Regulus knows for sure who started it. He suspects Sirius, based on what he heard earlier, but... then he'd have to talk to Sirius, and talking to Carrow is easier. Safer. More effective, considering Regulus's goals.)

"Oh, and I suppose you want me to tell him off instead," Carrow sneers. "You're always talking. What does it take to get you to actually do something?"

At least Regulus is on familiar ground here. He raises an eyebrow. "I thought you found me talking rather effective, judging by the whining about it you've apparently been doing." (Whether Carrow puts two and two together and realizes Bellatrix told Regulus about that letter to Rabastan is up to him.) "If you want to be juvenile, fine, but you'll have to accept that the rest of us will lose patience for it. Speaking of which, where are your allies? I would assume you'd want to muster all of your forces to do battle against a foe more formidable than the average third-year. Or have you finally taken my advice about attempting to look a little less laughable?"

"Not that I'm not loving watching you squabble," Sirius butts in, "but Carrow's threatened me with a duel and now I'll be disappointed if I don't get one."

Of course he will.

"Then meet somewhere more discreet than the middle of the Hogwarts Express," Regulus says. Hopefully, it comes off matter-of-fact.

Sirius's eyes narrow. He's wearing Muggle clothes, because of course he is, and that makes everything so much more complicated, because Regulus cannot even pretend that there is no political tinge to this conversation—and this is a political tinge he might have welcomed with anyone else. A pureblood in Muggle clothing is making a statement. Sirius seems to enjoy making it every chance he gets. And he stares Regulus down, not avoiding him in favor of looking at Carrow like Regulus was trying to do, and he says, "So that's it, then? You don't give a shit as long as we're not disturbing your peace and quiet?"

Lovely.

Sirius being confrontational means that Regulus is either fighting a battle on two fronts, or his hand is forced into siding with someone. Regulus can't let the statement about 'peace and quiet' stand. That means he has to admit to having a stake in this whole thing.

But that doesn't necessarily mean Regulus has to be honest about what that stake is. Sirius hasn't earned that.

He settles his shoulders and puts the words in crisp order. "Carrow has been stupid enough to get himself into this situation. I think it only fair that he should accept the consequences."

"This again?" Carrow says.

Regulus ignores him and focuses on Sirius. He needs some sort of—not a parting shot, necessarily, but something to indicate that this interaction is over. "Try not to blow up the train. I'd like to arrive intact."

It's not as definitive an ending as he wanted, but it'll have to do.

Before anyone can say anything else to him, he turns and walks away, spine straight, chin up, exactly how he's supposed to, past the whispering witnesses and the open compartment doors and the curious faces peering out, and he walks back into the right compartment and sits down with as much composure as possible and then realizes he's taken Evan's spot by the window.

Regulus doesn't even have time to consider moving back to his old spot, though, because Evan drops down onto the bench next to him without question or complaint. Emma is the next to return to the compartment, followed by Maeve, who Regulus didn't even see out there in the crowd but who nonetheless looks faintly irked as she closes the compartment door.

They fall into a pressing silence, heavy enough that Regulus turns enough to look out the window. The Hogwarts Express is fast enough that he can only catch vague impressions of countryside, black and brown specks that might be animals, the sparkling of some body of water in the distance. White and gray clouds stretch out overhead, interrupted with the occasional patch of dim blue that lets sunlight fall directly to the ground. Maybe it would be more idyllic if it weren't blurring by.

It makes sense that Sirius's usual compartment would be somewhere around here. The middle of the train. Naturally. Regulus can't even really find it within himself to be surprised that he was so nearby. It's an odd feeling, though, knowing that Sirius is... close. They might see each other in the aisle as they leave the train.

They could speak to each other, if they wanted to.

Not that they will. A common enemy is... well, it's enough of a uniting factor for Regulus to talk to other people, but Sirius is different. Sirius has always been different. It's just that when they were younger, he was different in a good way. Talking to him used to be easier than talking to anyone else, because there weren't rules about how to do it.

There are now, Regulus thinks—some sort of tacit refusal to let things be the way they were, but circumscribed such that neither of them will go so far as to talk about it. That's not how things are done in their family. It's possible that Sirius will never be able to completely leave them behind. Maybe he hates that. Maybe he doesn't care. Regulus doesn't know.

When he was five or six, old enough to understand things like clear lines of succession and the type of family he had, he wondered if Mother and Father were lying about the nineteen months that separated Regulus from Sirius. Andy and Bella were twins, always arguing over which of them was born first and whether it even mattered, and Regulus knew that for him and Sirius, it did—that arguing over who was older was much more dangerous for the heir and the spare than it was for daughters in a cadet branch. And they did everything together, like Andy and Bella did, and Regulus didn't feel like a younger child so much as he felt like a spare one. Naturally, he was... suspicious.

It wasn't a fantasy. It was a nightmare scenario. Things made sense in their family because Sirius was the heir, Regulus the spare, but close enough in age to be expected to (mostly) keep up with his elder brother, and everything stemmed from that. He knew Sirius was special because he was older than Regulus. He was terrified that them being twins would mean Regulus taking something away from Sirius, and Sirius being angry at him over it. They were just so alike. In Regulus's five-year-old mind, it meant there was no way they could be a whole nineteen months apart. He worried about it for weeks.

It was a family picture that put the nightmare to rest, back then—one that Grandmother Melania showed him when they visited Black Manor. Father and Mother sitting in their parlor, Mother holding a sleeping baby Regulus while a tiny Sirius tugged on her sleeve, mouth moving silently. That was it—proof that Regulus and Sirius were not twins, that there was no family secret waiting to burst into the open and split them down the seams. Sirius would always be the heir (it didn't occur to Regulus at the time that Grandfather Arcturus would die someday, much less Father), and Regulus would always be the spare, and things would still make sense, and Sirius would still like him, and there would be nothing to worry about.

Five-year-old Regulus was astute in his assessment of the danger of things changing.

He never told Sirius he'd been worried about it.

Maybe if he had, things would be... different, somehow.

A light nudge to Regulus's arm yanks his attention back into the compartment just in time for Evan to say to him, "Place your bets: has Barty been reveling in having the room to himself this week, or is he climbing the walls waiting for us to get back and liven things up a bit?"

It doesn't quite eliminate the tension in the air, but it softens it a little, enough for Regulus to push through it and respond. "If he's spent the week studying, I think he's desperate for us to get back just so he has something else to do."

"Good," Evan declares. "People eagerly awaiting my presence is my preferred state of affairs."

It does sound nice.

 

The rest of the train ride passes without any major incidents, to Regulus's vague surprise.

It's because of Evan, really. He jumps from topic to topic, quidditch and classes and the frankly obscene amount of Swiss chocolate he purchased last week, which was apparently so much that the combined efforts of him and his parents were not enough to finish it before the end of the break. As a result, Evan has some with him, which does not stop him and Emma from enthusiastically greeting the trolley witch and selecting more provisions than they could possibly need to see the entire compartment through the rest of the journey. Regulus sits back and lets the subsequent argument between Emma and Maeve over Ice Mice versus Fizzing Whizbees wash over him. It's about as normal as it can be, if he pretends not to notice how his friends are tiptoeing around every subject even remotely related to what happened earlier.

When they disembark, Regulus is as subtle as possible about looking around. If Sirius is nearby, he wants to be elegant about avoiding him. And Evan maybe catches him looking, or maybe he just glances at Regulus at the wrong time, but either way, he doesn't say anything.

Sirius is nowhere to be seen.

 

The Great Hall is buzzing when they enter, students flooding the tables, catching up with their friends, or debating where to sit, or talking about what happened on the train. Regulus ignores the chattering, no matter how the mentions of Sirius prick at him, and takes stock. Potter, at the Gryffindor table, is audible even from the other side of the Great Hall. That means Sirius is already seated, because the two of them seem to think it's a crime to eat a single meal apart from each other. Amycus Carrow is at the far end of the Slytherin table, talking to Snape. All present, accounted for, and far away. It's as good as Regulus is going to get.

Barty, Lucinda, and Charlotte are already sitting down, Lucinda and Charlotte with their heads bent over a textbook, Barty with a long-suffering expression on his face. The first words he says to Regulus are, "Please tell me you intend to make dinner conversation about something other than exams."

"Productive break, then?" Regulus says as he sits down.

"One brain isn't meant to have this much information in it. I'm dying."

"You can't die before OWLs," Lucinda says, sounding a tad strained. "Then all this studying will have been for nothing."

"Sure, but at least I wouldn't have to do any more of it," Barty says. "If McGonagall makes us review Switching Spells tomorrow I'm going to scream."

"We can talk about quidditch," Evan offers. "If you've reached the point of considering that an improvement over academics."

"I hate that I'm acquiescing to that riveting proposal." Barty sighs. "Bring on the Quaffles."

"That is indeed a summary of how we're going to browbeat Prewett into letting in all of our goals," Emma says. "Although multiple Quaffles on the pitch is a foul."

"Pity," Evan says. "The chaos would be delightful. But Gryffindor won't want to let us keep play on their end of the pitch."

"Obviously," Emma says. "So we don't give them a choice."

"I've made a terrible decision," Barty grumbles.

"Sorry to hear that," Evan says cheerfully. "Emma, do you know if Geoff's figured out what he wants to do about cutting off Johnson yet?"

Regulus's overarching strategy for the match is 'don't let McKinnon catch the Snitch,' so he doesn't have much to add to the conversation. The idea of letting his gaze wander, finding Sirius, then Carrow, over and over again, is tempting—if only to keep reassuring himself that they're not looking back, that this entire episode might pass by without too much fanfare. Regulus needs to be a person of note, yes, but Sirius throws him off, makes him feel unprepared, and that's not a good way to go about accomplishing things. Besides, Regulus needs to be important of his own accord. Not because he unexpectedly encountered an estranged family member.

Sirius can take over his entire day just by turning up at the wrong moment. Regulus has to do something other than let him.

 

After dinner, Regulus does not sit in the common room.

He should. It's the best place to be seen by other Slytherins, and Regulus cannot take his ascension for granted. But he just... doesn't. They return to the Slytherin dormitories, and Regulus walks through the common room to the boys' hallway and into the fifth-years' room and this is where he intends to stay for the rest of the night. He doesn't feel like being interrogated by anyone who happens to wander by his usual spot.

Barty goes with him, which is no surprise. Evan does too, which... is, a little. But he sets about organizing all his chocolate right away, which explains it.

And Barty shuts the door and says, "What happened on the train?"

Really, Regulus would have been more surprised if Barty hadn't picked up on any of the muttering at dinner, although... he hasn't suddenly been filled with an overwhelming desire to talk about it.

At least with Barty, he doesn't have to go into excruciating detail.

"Amycus Carrow attempted to get into a duel in the middle of the aisle," Regulus says. "With Sirius." Barty knows the significance of that—Regulus referring to Sirius so openly. It's not something he just does. Regulus probably doesn't even need to continue explaining, but for the sake of a complete picture of the events, he concludes, "I got involved."

"Yikes," Barty says. "That's a nice welcome back to school."

And Regulus wonders if Barty's going to say anything else about it, but he looks over at Evan, who appears not to be listening but probably is, and then he says, "I made some progress over the break, by the way."

That could mean... anything, really. "On what?"

Barty is biting back some kind of smile. "Nonsense Abstruse."

Dark Arts? "How did you make progress on it? It was locked in my trunk that I took home with me."

"Exactly." He points at the patch of the wall that usually bears the brunt of his chalk scribblings during their study group meetings. "How was that supposed to help? It's nonsense. Abstruse nonsense, at that. I don't think I'm supposed to get it, because I don't think it's supposed to make sense at all. I think I'm supposed to just... let it happen. It's all I can do, really. Although I think I do need the book itself for the last part."

"The... last part?" Needing the book is obvious enough, but Regulus was under the impression that the book was the whole point, not simply the last part. Nonetheless, as Barty said, it's nonsense, and Dark Arts are a more welcome subject than Sirius, so Regulus sets about unlocking the hidden compartment in his trunk.

"Reading it. You know. I think the only way to read it is by not trying to understand it. Understanding sort of..." Barty shrugs. "Clouds it, I think. Tries to fit it somewhere it won't fit."

"With technique like that, you'll get top marks on the crystal ball portion of the Divination OWL," Evan remarks.

"Urgh," Barty says. "I'll keep that in mind. Anyway." He turns back to Regulus. "Okay, so, I know you prefer keeping your books put away outside of study group meetings—aaand you already have the book out. You're not even going to let me deliver the whole speech I wrote while Charlotte and Lucinda were studying History of Magic stuff?"

"If you really want to, I can hold onto the book until you're done," Regulus says.

And Barty visibly considers it, but... "Nah," he decides. "It was basically just that and then me talking about how great it would be to finally have this figured out and humbly requesting to work on it now so I can do a dramatic reveal at the next study group meeting."

"Who am I to stand in the way of a dramatic reveal?" Regulus hands over Nonsense Abstruse. "Best of luck."

Barty grins. "I don't need it, but the sentiment is appreciated."

 

Reading Nonsense Abstruse, as it turns out, consists of flipping between pages seemingly randomly at a frenetic pace, while occasionally muttering things under one's breath.

Regulus isn't doing much of anything except for occasionally looking over at Barty and hoping this is what's supposed to happen, so when Evan catches his eye and indicates the bathroom, he's a bit confused by the silent summons but overall grateful for a distraction.

Once the door is shut, Regulus says, "Is something wrong?"

"I don't know," Evan says. He's leaning against the counter. Regulus can't tell if it's as casual as it looks. "Maybe."

That's an... odd response. "Then...?"

"I just wanted to... say something to you."

"Alright."

Evan sighs, looks past Regulus at the closed door. "You don't really talk about Sirius much."

So that's what this is about.

"At all, actually," he continues. "So I can't imagine running into him like that was fun. And I know you have Barty, so it's not like you have to talk to me or anything, but... I just wanted to say that you don't have to pretend that it's fine if it's not. In here, at least. With Barty, or with me."

That's...

Evan has spent the whole day directing conversation away from Sirius, away from Amycus Carrow, away from anything Regulus said to them. It's... it's a kind sort of tactfulness that Regulus had mistaken for avoiding potential awkwardness, and then for just moving past what happened on the train.

And... if Regulus did want to talk about it, Evan would understand it better than Barty does, because he met Regulus and Sirius on the exact same day at the exact same time, back when Evan hadn't transitioned yet and Regulus and Sirius were practically inseparable. If Evan were a few months older, old enough to enter Hogwarts a year earlier, he and Sirius might have still been friends.

Or maybe not. Sirius isn't friends with any Slytherins in his year.

But Barty is an only child who has never even really spoken to Sirius, and Evan is neither of those things, and Evan is from a Dark Sacred Twenty-Eight family, and as a result, Evan would know exactly what Regulus meant if he started talking about heirs and lines of succession and what it meant that Sirius ran away from it all. What it means.

And if Regulus started talking about how the two of them used to be close, until, Evan would understand that too. Because Evan's sister was in seventh year when they were in first, and Regulus remembers Evan dragging all his friends out to the quidditch pitch at least fifteen minutes before each Slytherin match started, so they could get seats right at the front. Evan started playing Chaser because that was the position Katherine taught him to play, and he was good at it because that was the only way he could keep up with her.

Regulus isn't the only person in this room who doesn't talk about his older sibling much anymore.

"That's all I had," Evan says, so neutrally that he might have been discussing anything. "I'll let you have some time to yourself."

Regulus hasn't had that all day.

He doesn't want to talk about Sirius. He doesn't want to explain the line he was walking in the aisle or why he looked around for Sirius when they were disembarking or any of it.

But Evan is... he expects Regulus to be struggling with this, and he's...

He's offering to help. Not an ounce of judgment or pity or condescension. Just an offer.

And Evan pushes off the counter and walks toward Regulus, except no, he's actually walking toward the door, and before he can step past Regulus and reach for the doorknob, Regulus steels himself and says, "Evan?"

Evan blinks. Maybe he didn't expect Regulus to say anything. Probably not. "Yes?"

Things could be so simple, if Regulus just let them be.

"This... isn't really related," he says, and he looks past Evan because it's easier, and then he says, "I've been... having some difficulty preparing for the Charms OWL."

There. He's admitted it. He can't go back now.

And he means to be a little more delicate about it, but Regulus just wants this to be over, and the words tumble out so gracelessly that he knows he'll wince if he dwells on them for too long. "Could you help me? Please?"

Silence, except for the sound of Regulus's heart hammering against his ribs. It's so fast that he can't even count the beats, maybe infinite.

And Evan says softly, "Of course."

Of course.

As if it's that easy. As if it's that obvious.

As if all Regulus ever had to do was ask.

Regulus takes a very slow deep breath, which helps him pull himself together a little. "Thank you."

He's still trying not to look at Evan directly, but he'd have to have his eyes shut to miss how Evan smiles, and even then, he might catch the way it slips into Evan's voice, leaving traces of something sunny, something that makes Regulus want to look at him. "For what?"

The good parts of today, Regulus doesn't say, and he doesn't look at Evan, because the idea of it feels... bold, somehow, too honest, too close to admitting how much he didn't want Evan to know that Regulus might ever have difficulty with anything.

Instead, he says, "The snacks you bought on the train."

"I still think it's completely unreasonable that you're immune to the pepper-flavored Bertie Bott's," Evan says, and he's still smiling, and Regulus thinks he might have understood anyway.

Notes:

welp. there goes regulus's heart

and SIRIUS!!!!!!! afshlgshjfkhg i feel like i keep tantalizing you all with sirius references but i SWEAR we are now actually getting close to when he pushes and shoves his way back into regulus's life. i applaud your endurance

wow there were. so many witnesses for that really weird fight(?) between amycus carrow and the black brothers(?) that spread around the school like wildfire. i wonder if anything will happen as a result of that

and barty has a breakthrough!! we'll see how that pans out for him!!

not gonna lie, evan's relationship with his sister sometimes breaks me more than regulus's relationship with sirius breaks me, because at least i know regulus and sirius are going to reconcile. thank fuck for barty being an only child. and a bit about evan and sirius's history!! they used to be friends!! not anymore!!

ok but seriously the one-two punch of 'i am a safe person for you to have emotions around' and 'i will now give you space to process that and let you come to me if/when you want to'? PLUS evan using some of that rosier fortune to buy snacks 'for everyone' because hey, regulus bought him chocolate frogs that one time? and free charms tutoring? literally the only things evan could have done to endear himself mORE to regulus would be a) buying him a quidditch pitch or b) canceling the charms owl entirely

next week (on wednesday to be clear): barty has a Bad Day!! regulus is stressed out!! evan makes progress!!!!!!!!!!!!!

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 37

Regulus wakes up, registers the fact that it is a Monday, and immediately wishes he could go back to sleep.

Evan or no Evan, Monday morning still means double Charms. The exam is five weeks from tomorrow, both an eternity and no time at all. If Regulus were just slightly more awake, he could count the exact number of class periods he has left before he can drop the subject. The end is in sight, but that does not change the fact that he still has to spend his entire morning on Charms today.

Maybe next week will be better.

Regulus is often, although not always, the first one up. Sometimes he's the second. A few times, he's been the last one awake, but only because in those cases Barty never went to sleep. Evan claims to have set his alarm, a floating crystal bell that has withstood every single attack from Evan's pillow over the years, to ring ten minutes before Regulus's does, so he can be the first one in the bathroom. However, more often than not, the bell is swatted into submission and Evan then remains in bed until after Regulus has finished getting ready for the day.

Today is of the latter variety—Regulus is attempting to convince himself to read over his Charms notes by the time that Evan emerges from behind his drawn curtains, running a hand through his hair. If there's something wrong with it, it's nothing Regulus can detect from over here. Evan's hair always falls neatly, even when he's just gotten up; the only exception is quidditch. But Regulus's opinion is irrelevant in this situation, and as a result, he's expecting Evan to go directly to the bathroom without pausing to do things like exchange greetings or survey the world around him.

Evan defies expectations with a stop in the middle of the room, graceful though abrupt, and a turn to face Regulus fully. "Are you looking at your notes? Already?"

"I'm attempting it, yes," Regulus says.

"We haven't even had breakfast," Evan says rather plaintively.

Which is exactly the point. After breakfast, they'll go straight to Charms, and Regulus doesn't want to study in the Great Hall the way that Charlotte and Lucinda do. "OWLs are five weeks away. I expect we'll get lectures from all of our professors about it."

"And they will be riveting. But why do you have to self-inflict even more pain first thing in the morning?"

Barty's curtains ripple around before his hand emerges through a gap. He shoves the fabric to one side and says, "Say that again."

Hm.

He is... not looking his best—wan, eyes bloodshot but brilliant, feverish, absolutely fixated on Evan, as if there is nothing and no one in the world who matters more at this exact moment.

"Are you feeling alright?" Regulus says.

Barty waves a hand. "Didn't sleep well. Among other things. Say it again, Evan."

"Among other things?" Regulus says. That means this is almost certainly related to Nonsense Abstruse. He definitely should have asked Uncle Cygnus for more information about potential effects before accepting the book for himself, much less passing it on to someone else, but... Uncle Cygnus said it was clarifying, although it was different for everyone, and he said there was a brief adjustment period but nothing that couldn't be tolerated, and Regulus was rather pleased to receive the book at all—it was the winter holidays of his first year, Sirius was annoyed with him, and a new Dark Arts book was an uncomplicatedly good thing—so he hadn't questioned it too much. He'd just accepted it with gratitude and then proceeded to lose rather spectacularly to Uncle Cygnus at chess, who stopped letting Regulus win when he was about eight and has not lost a match since. Narcissa says she went through the same reversal.

"Nonsense and whatnot," Barty says, halfway to dismissive but still a little too frenetic. "I couldn't get my brain to shut up. And Evan lied."

Evan's brow furrows. "About... being fascinated by lectures about OWLs?"

"Precisely. I could tell."

"Barty, I hate to downplay an achievement, but I feel that was one of my more obvious falsehoods."

Barty, meanwhile, has scrunched his eyes shut and retreated back into the darkness of his bed. His voice emerges with a "Maybe. I mean—yes, obviously, who the fuck likes being lectured about their future, but—look, can you just say something that's not true?"

"I'm very excited for Transfiguration today," Evan says promptly. "Why?"

"That," Barty's voice says, "was a lie."

"That is specifically what you asked for. Can we circle back to whether you're feeling alright?"

"It's because of Nonsense Abstruse," Regulus says. "I take it you figured out how to read it."

"Sure did," Barty's voice says absently. "I was up into the wee hours of the morning reading, and then I was up into the slightly less wee hours of the morning with a terrible headache, and now here I am. My ears are ringing. Please tell me this is what's supposed to happen. Actually, don't, I don't want to find out, and judging by the past two minutes, it seems like I might."

"My uncle said there's an adjustment period after reading the book," Regulus says. "He said it would be brief, but I don't know if he meant hours or days."

"Fucking fabulous."

Unfortunately, Regulus agrees. Dark Arts are... well, they're never the safest hobby, and he'd assumed everything would be fine because Uncle Cygnus said it would be and he's not really one for practical jokes, but this is far worse than Barty's normal Monday morning sluggishness, and if something has gone wrong...

"We can tell Flitwick you're not feeling well," Evan says. "Although then he might want to know if we took you to the hospital wing."

"Tell him you're taking me at lunch if I haven't improved. And don't let me skip Transfiguration." And then Barty's hand yanks the slight gap in the curtains shut again.

Evan seems to think that's the end of the conversation, because he goes into the bathroom.

Regulus abandons his Charms notes and approaches the closed curtains. "Barty?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you..." A sigh slips out without Regulus's intending to let it. "How terrible do you feel?"

"Not your fault," is Barty's response.

Trust him to cut directly to the point. "I gave you that book."

"My idea. And—" He pulls the curtain aside again and looks Regulus in the eye, all that same vehemence from before, all that same blunt single-mindedness. "Reg, if you get all angry at yourself for leading me down a dark path or whatever, then you will sound like my father and I'll have to stop being friends with you."

That's a... unique ultimatum.

(Barty's father has been suspicious of Regulus's possible association with Dark Arts since the moment he was first informed that Regulus had breathed in Barty's presence, or at least that's the way Barty has made it sound in the past. It's hard to take offense when it's completely true, but... that's not to say Regulus is happy about this situation.)

"I should've gotten more information about the aftereffects before I gave it to you," Regulus says.

"Would you have done that if you were planning to read it yourself?" Barty says. "Maybe I should've asked you more questions. Or maybe not. I didn't get much sleep and now I have a headache. If I were up late reading a Silkwood book, you would very unsympathetically declare that it was only to be expected."

"But we don't know how long it'll last," Regulus says. "Frankly, you look unwell, and if it does take days—"

"Then it takes days. Pretty paltry, in comparison to the months I've spent trying to crack this."

Regulus can't really argue with that.

It's not a reassuring comment, though. Barty doesn't have days to spare. He has twelve OWLs to prepare for, three of which he hasn't even taken a class on, and Amycus Carrow and Sirius nearly got into a duel yesterday and Regulus's intervention was certainly not the end of it, and that means the war will be preying on Barty's time as well, and he just... he looks sick.

"Give and take," Barty says. "Or, no, give and receive. That's what this is. That's all this is. And I'm doing it on purpose. You don't get to beat yourself up for that. I'm not your responsibility."

"You are, with regard to Dark Arts," Regulus says. "I brought you into the network."

"Then bring me a list of what Flitwick covers in class today, and we'll call it even." He reaches under his pillow and brings out Nonsense Abstruse. "Also, here you go."

It feels heavier than it should, denser, as if it were waterlogged, a brick of parchment and leather. Regulus isn't sure if that's just him, or if the book really is heavier, if something about the process changes the book like it changes the reader. "Did you try to sleep with this under your pillow?"

Barty shrugs. "I felt weird about just leaving it on your desk. It made sense in the moment. But come to think of it, I can't imagine that helped with the headache."

"Probably not, no." The cover stares up at Regulus, title tauntingly still, as if it's daring him to read it. "Traditionally, this belongs to you now, but... I think I should hold onto it for you until you know who you want to give it to."

"Yeah." Barty flops down. "Oh, this is way more comfortable without the book. I'll let you know when I want it back, but probably best not to attempt stupid things like taking it home with me. So."

"Indeed," Regulus says. "Are you going to try to sleep?"

"Think so." He pulls the covers up to his neck, and Regulus thinks that's the end of it, but then he says, "Have you ever felt really... turmoiled?"

"I suppose." In particular contexts.

"I used to," Barty muses. "I think maybe I still do. But I know what it is and what it isn't now. Goodnight. Or good morning, rather."

And he shuts his eyes, and Regulus closes the curtains as quietly as he can and pushes down the urge to skip class in favor of staying here.

Nonsense Abstruse slots neatly back into its place in Regulus's collection, where it will stay until Barty gives it to its next recipient. Regulus isn't sure he can ever quite look at it the same way. No matter what Barty says, Regulus should have found out more about the book before passing it on. He's the leader of the study group and heir to a family known for dangerous magic. If he won't be responsible about practicing Dark Arts, then who will?

And... he can't just brush this off the way that Barty seems to think he should. Even if it's not really Regulus's fault, he's been a party to this entire process. His book. His study group.

His best friend.

He'll come back at lunch.

 

At lunch, Barty is still visibly exhausted, but he insists that his head hurts less, and so off they go to their afternoon classes. The Slytherins all have Transfiguration and History of Magic together, but they split up for the last class of the day. Barty has Gobbledegook, and Regulus has Arithmancy—or rather, Regulus sits in the Arithmancy classroom for an hour and avoids making eye contact with Professor Vector so she won't call on him. Normally, this is one of the classes that make the most sense to him, but he can't make himself pay attention. It doesn't help matters that Foxworth is quietly talking to Evan about the upcoming Gryffindor-Slytherin match. The constant whispering gets more grating by the second, and by the time that class ends, Regulus is severely tempted to take Evan's arm and drag him away just so he can get some peace.

It's not the quidditch discussion that's actually bothering Regulus, of course. The quidditch discussion is merely an irritant that he doesn't need when he's already worried about how Barty has fared during his third class in a row.

And he does not drag Evan away after class, because that would solve nothing. But he does leave without waiting for Evan to finish his conversation, because he doesn't have time to wait around. Normally, Regulus and Barty return to the Slytherin dorms at about the same time on Monday afternoons, and Regulus wants to know how he's doing and if there's been any improvement over the past few hours. If not, then rest might be the key to adjustment, as opposed to just letting time pass. But they have Astronomy tonight, and while Barty could skip it, that might not be the best idea considering how close they are to OWLs. He already missed Charms today. Regulus is better equipped to help him catch up on Astronomy, though, so if Barty isn't feeling well, it's probably better for him to sleep through class.

Evan catches up in the corridor, falling into step with Regulus with no Foxworth in sight. "You were out of there quickly."

"I want to get back," Regulus says.

"Alright," he says simply.

 

They find Barty lying facedown on his bed, fully dressed except for his shoes, which seem to have been kicked off, judging by their rather haphazard positioning on the floor.

"How are you?" Regulus says.

Barty groans, a bit muffled by his pillow. "Do you have any idea how often people lie?"

"I'm going to guess 'a lot'?" Evan says.

"I feel like a human Sneakoscope. Three people in Gobbledegook lied about why they hadn't finished their essays. This is exhausting. Do you think this is how McGonagall feels? I always thought she could stare into people's souls or some shit. I'm taking a nap before Astronomy."

"That's nearly eight hours away," Regulus says. (But the overall tone of Barty's complaining is less concerning than the singlemindedness of this morning. Regulus has seen Barty like this before, and this is a state he usually recovers from after sufficient voicing of opinions about whatever is bothering him. To the uninformed eye, he could just be annoyed by how his classes went.)

"Long nap," Barty says.

"You need to eat."

"Oh, yeah."

 

Through industrious application of sleep, Barty manages to prepare himself to get through Astronomy, as well as all of their classes the next day, but he's frazzled enough by the end of double Herbology that he opts to skip Runes Club in favor of retreating to his bed. It's agreed by Regulus and Evan that they should give him some peace and quiet, and Regulus mentions that they should probably be studying, and unfortunately for him, the end result of this statement is that he finds himself unlocking his 'office' so they can review Charms without witnesses.

Well. So Regulus can review Charms, and so Evan can help him and hopefully not have his opinion of Regulus sunk like a stone. But there's no turning back.

"I forgot exactly how spartan this room was," Evan remarks as Regulus is putting up the necessary wards. "Not even a nice chair? You should have a nice chair."

"I don't spend much time in here," Regulus says.

He wrinkles his nose. "I can see why. At least it's a good venue to practice Cushioning Charms. And Warming Charms. What did you want help with, specifically?"

Regulus takes a breath before admitting, "Most things, really. I understand the theory, but the spells just... don't work properly for me. They never have."

"Really?" Evan blinks. "That's... unusual."

Regulus must react visibly to that somehow, because Evan shakes his head. "I'm not saying that as a tactful way of calling you defective, or something like that. It's just not how charms work. If you really understand the theory, then casting the spells should be practically effortless."

He tries not to bite the words out. "That has not been my experience."

"Obviously not, since we're here." Evan considers Regulus, thoughtful, and even though there's no trace of a sneer on his face, Regulus still fights an urge to turn away. He manages to stay where he is, looking back at Evan although he's not really sure what he's looking for, and eventually Evan says, "What do you mean, the spells have never worked properly for you? You certainly haven't been failing practicals."

"They're..." Regulus fumbles for a word that is neither mediocre nor underwhelming, and settles on, "About half as effective as they should be, no matter what I do. They're slow, or inconsistent, or... things like that."

"Hm." Evan pulls a chair up to the desk and sits down, propping his chin in one hand. "That is a conundrum, dearest, but I hate studying for OWLs and like Charms, so I have both the time and the inclination to figure it out."

Regulus had been hoping that this would be a straightforward process, and this is not an encouraging start, but he makes himself sit down across from Evan. "What makes it a conundrum? You said it's not how charms work."

"Because it's not. Or, well, it shouldn't be." He's frowning the tiniest bit. "Do you know what the difference is between a charm and any spell?"

"Charms are pathways." That was practically the first thing they learned in first year.

"Yes, but do you know what that means?"

Regulus had rather been of the opinion that 'charms are pathways' was exactly what it meant. "Suppose I didn't."

Evan half-smiles. "Then, to this hypothetical Regulus who didn't know, I would say that charms are like rivers. Well, the popular ones. The more esoteric ones are probably more like streams or trickles of water in some dirt or something like that. But that's not my point. When water flows through the river—let's say it's a river through a bunch of dirt—the water takes some dirt with it, and as it erodes the ground away, the river gets bigger. Right?"

"As far as I'm aware," Regulus says. Although the stream at Black Manor has always seemed rather small to him—but perhaps that's a function of Regulus himself getting bigger.

The corners of Evan's eyes crinkle up. "Me too. I don't have firsthand experience with rivers, though, so you'll have to take this on faith."

"Noted."

"Wonderful. And it's easier for water to travel along a big river than a small one, right?" He considers that. "Actually, I don't know, so perhaps it's time to leave the metaphor behind. The river is the pathway and magic is the water. Every time someone casts a charm, that pathway gets a little better established, and that charm gets easier to cast. For everyone. That's why really common charms— Accio and such—have such simple incantations. They didn't start out that way, but they've been cast so many times that the incantation could be simplified to what it is now, because the pathway is incredibly well-worn and the magic knows how to go, so we don't have to give it as much direction. Every charm in the OWL-level curriculum is considered relatively common, so the incantations are almost... perfunctory, in a way. As long as you understand the theory, the practical elements are supposed to be easy—or at least, easy to do well enough to manage an E in Flitwick's class. That's why I said it's not how charms work."

"So I'm special," Regulus says. "Lovely."

Evan sighs fairly dramatically. "There are far too many ways I could respond to that, and I honestly can't decide on just one, so I'm going to move on instead. Could you show me a charm you have trouble with?"

Hm.

Frankly, Regulus was somewhat relieved by Evan's 'talk about charms without asking Regulus to display his skills or lack thereof' approach, and he is irrationally caught off guard by this request. Logically, he knows it has to happen, if he actually wants Evan to be able to help him. But it still...

Well. It doesn't exactly fill him with unbridled enthusiasm.

Evan blinks at him, and then adds "I won't mock you" with such genuine sincerity that Regulus wants to sink into a hole in the ground and hide there until dinner. When did he become so easy to read? Or is his embarrassment over casting charms just that palpable? Either way, it's humiliating, which in and of itself just makes things worse, because it's one spell. All Evan is asking him to do is cast one single charm. Regulus casts plenty of them in class, surrounded by far more potential witnesses. There is no reason for this to be harder for him than attending class is, and he's been managing the latter multiple times a week for years.

He grits his teeth. "Fine. Er... do you have anything I could Summon?"

Evan digs through his pockets and evidently comes up with nothing, judging by how he then casually removes his heir ring and sets it on the desk. "Try that."

"Your heir ring? Are you sure?"

Evan looks slightly amused by that. "Nothing bad is going to happen if someone from another family touches it."

"I realize that." It's just... when Father gave Regulus the Black heir ring, he told him to prize it, because it's a symbol of who he is. But... Regulus hasn't even had his for a year yet. Evan got his almost four years ago. And he's right that nothing bad will happen. But he took it off so easily.

Really, though, Regulus has made this entire exchange more than awkward enough without an extended discussion of Evan's thoughts on the existence of heir rings and his own personal relationship with the aforementioned items, and such a discussion definitely would not spare him the embarrassment of Summoning the ring anyway. So he takes a breath, braces, and casts. "Accio."

Regulus's Summoning Charms are... functional, which is to say that they work, but only in a very leisurely fashion. The ring floats over to him, nothing like how things soar to Evan when he Summons them. But it works, which is a small victory that he has been clinging to for well over a year. The Rosier heir ring settles in Regulus's hand with a familiar glint of gold that he usually sees from Snitches.

"Huh," Evan says very slowly. "Interesting."

Regulus takes a deep breath and settles his shoulders before he permits himself to respond, "What's interesting?"

"Your form is correct. Whatever's interfering with your charms, it's not a lack of understanding of the process. It's something else."

Which is just absolutely wonderful.

Evan plucks the ring out of Regulus's hand, but he doesn't put it back on. Instead, he holds it loosely. "Try again."

And so Regulus does it again, and it works again, exactly the same as it did last time.

And then Evan is silent for an excruciatingly long time.

He doesn't even take his ring back—he just stares into space, not looking at Regulus but obviously thinking about him, and Regulus is rapidly discovering how much he hates being a conundrum. All he wants is to do well on the Charms OWL so he can drop the class and never think about it again. He did not ask to be special. Or interesting. He just wants to know how to fix his spells. If Evan can't figure it out, then Regulus has embarrassed himself for nothing, when he could have just dealt with these last five weeks and taken the OWL and gotten much the same result.

Finally, Evan breaks the silence with, "I'm... not quite sure how to explain it."

Regulus latches on with perhaps an improper amount of fervor. "But you know what the problem is?"

"In a way? I... hm." He's frowning again, staring at the door. "I need to figure out how to explain it in a way that will make sense to someone other than me, and I don't think I have it completely sorted out. It's... well, it's not focused. But it's not like you're lacking in magic, you're usually quite good at practical— wait." Lightning-fast, Evan turns to look at him. "Regulus. Black."

"That... is my name," Regulus says.

"You're a Black," Evan breathes. "That's the problem."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Your parents are cousins, aren't they?"

"Second cousins, and why are we talking about this?"

Evan does not deign to answer this question, breezing past it as if Regulus hadn't asked. "Second cousins, both Blacks, when did you start learning to use your family magic?"

"...My sixth birthday." The family specialty was the only thing Regulus hadn't been allowed to start learning at the same time as Sirius, and he'd been livid over it. Once Mother and Father let him start, it took him over a year to catch up.

"So, long before your very first Charms class at Hogwarts," Evan says. "And what, in a word, is your family magic?"

This was drilled into Regulus's head as soon as he was old enough to understand what it meant. "Power."

"Exactly." Evan beams. "You, dearest, are overloading the pathway. You're working too hard to get it right, and your double-strength Black magic isn't helping whatsoever. Charms need a nudge, not a push, and certainly not a tidal wave. All you need to do is make it incredibly lazy, by your standards, and it should work. Like—" He opens his hand.

The ring sails into it.

The ring sails into it.

Heir rings are enchanted to be impossible to lose, but they are most certainly not enchanted to do that.

"Put as little thought into it as possible," Evan continues, as seamlessly as if he hadn't just done wandless magic. "Just point your wand at the ring and say Accio and expect it to come to you. Don't think."

Regulus has never felt less capable of not thinking in his entire life.

Evan can do wandless magic? It stands to reason, seeing as Regulus has witnessed Lady Rosier do it multiple times, and she could have easily taught her son, but how has it never come up before? Is this another secret Evan has been keeping? And if it is, then why reveal it now, and why reveal it so easily?

"Regulus," Evan says. "It really is that simple. No deep breath. No preemptive wince. Just Summon it."

Well.

Nothing else has worked, and if this turns out to be the solution, Regulus will gladly accept the deep, exasperating irony that comes with it.

So he just... "Accio."

The ring flies into Regulus's hand.

And Evan's face shines with triumph, bright, beaming, radiant. "Perfect."

Notes:

evan: literally just halfass it dude
regulus: sounds fake but okay

barty complicated relationship with truth makes brain go brrr - of course he has no idea what happens to him and his parents post-war in canon, but i do! it'll take some time before he stops feeling like there are alarms going off around him constantly. in the meantime, regulus is concerned

okay there's sO MUCH that happens in the tutoring scene but i will just say that the part that makes me giggle is when evan has his Moment™ and is like 'YOUR PARENTS ARE COUSINS THAT'S THE PROBLEM :DDDD' and regulus is like 'EXCUSE YOU??????'

discussion question time yay!!!! why do u think regulus compares evan's heir ring to a snitch? what is barty talking about with being turmoiled? why can evan do casual wandless magic, and is a summoning charm the extent of it or do you think there's more?

next week: regulus agrees to even more charms tutoring because he's too lovestruck to remember that he hates charms!! lily has some issues with how the dark network works!! barty and mcgonagall team up!!

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 38

Regulus's issues with charms are not completely solved by dinnertime, but they're so close to being solved that it tastes like victory anyway. He can just cast a spell and it works. For at least ten minutes after Evan figured out the problem, Regulus was so stunned that all he could do was cast charms and watch them operate precisely as they were supposed to. He'd been practically beating his head against a wall for years, and... like Evan said, it really was that simple. It was always that simple.

(His thoughts only strayed about three or four times to wondering whether Sirius struggles with Charms too.)

Regulus's charms still don't look quite like Evan's—they're not hesitant, exactly, but they're a bit less precise, which Evan says can be improved via working on efficiency, using even less magic but focusing it more. Regulus hasn't the faintest idea of how to accomplish that, but Evan offered to continue helping him with it when they have spare time, and Regulus, in a dreamlike haze caused by everything working properly, accepted.

By the time that he's en route to the fifth floor to meet Colfax for rounds, his head has cleared enough that he's wondering why he willingly signed up to spend unnecessary extra time on Charms, but if the first tutoring session was any indication, that extra time should be relatively painless. And that notion is strange and brilliant enough that Regulus is feeling exceptionally free as he climbs stairs, relieved of a weight that has been dragging him down since his first year at Hogwarts.

The Charms OWL is going to be fine.

It's going to be fine, because Regulus gritted his teeth and asked Evan for help, and Evan gave it, and things are better as a result, and a part of Regulus is almost excited for Charms on Thursday, because this time, he'll walk into class knowing how it works. (Almost.)

Of course, there's also the matter of Evan's wandless magic to consider. Evan hadn't done any more of it, nor had he mentioned it, so Regulus didn't mention it either, but it's certainly something to ask Evan about. Regulus doesn't know anyone else their age who can do that. It's possible some of the Dark scions can, if that's how their families teach their specialty, but Evan wasn't using wandless magic for Dark Arts—he just Summoned his heir ring. (Unless Evan's heir ring actually is enchanted to do that, in which case Regulus could be ascribing a high degree of significance to something that's not particularly important after all. But the possibility of wandless magic is worth exploring, or at the very least worth finding out about. Evan made it look easy, which could be the ease of long practice, or maybe there's some sort of trick that makes it easy, or maybe it's just easy for Evan—regardless, Regulus won't know unless he asks.)

On top of it all, Barty is mostly feeling better—Regulus would say he was entirely feeling better, except for the fact that Barty is still paying attention a little too obviously to anything he deems a falsehood, whether he says anything about it or not. Fortunately, the others have accepted his claim that he hasn't been sleeping well. The next study group meeting is set for Saturday, so Barty will be able to do his dramatic reveal then.

All in all, things are going shockingly well, considering that OWLs are bearing down upon them, and Regulus isn't even particularly surprised when he reaches the meeting point and finds Lily there instead of Ottoline Colfax. It's just been that sort of day.

"Hello," he says. "I suppose getting the patrol schedule changed to put us together would draw more attention than it's worth."

"I need to talk to you about something," is Lily's greeting.

"Fine. To the Astronomy Tower, then?"

She shakes her head. "I don't know if people are up there right now, and I don't want to waste time escorting them places."

"I see." That's mildly concerning. "Well, we're surrounded by classrooms. I'm sure one of them will suffice."

 

One of them does suffice, and Regulus has hardly finished warding them in before Lily says, "I need you to clarify something for me about this whole Dark network thing."

"Alright."

"It's about how we're very much not equal."

Ah.

This.

Lily scowls, arms folded. "The first time Marlene told me about all this, she made it sound like her family was just really interested in soul magic, which just happens to be illegal, and that was all there was to it. But it's not. You and people like you have these bonuses that you're just... born into, and you know that, don't you. You've always known it."

It's not a question. Regulus nods anyway.

Lily is already barreling ahead. "So riddle me this, Heir Black: if you get special powers that the rest of us don't, solely because you happened to be born to the right parents, then how, exactly, are you going to tell me that you truly, honestly believe that blood doesn't matter? It clearly does! Are you just paying lip service to supporting Muggleborns because you want to win this war for yourself? Is it all meaningless coalition building? What the hell is going on, Regulus?"

This is... well, it's a vivid reminder of fourth year, honestly. When Regulus told Barty about the Dark network, he had quite a few of the same questions.

The stakes are higher now, though. Barty was willing to let Regulus stumble through putting an answer together, figuring it out as he went along. Lily probably isn't. If Regulus doesn't have a satisfactory explanation for her right away, then he risks losing her allyship, and without Lily, all the inroads he's made into Gryffindor will be gone instantly.

Lily is waiting for a response, one foot tapping out a rapid beat on the floor, and Regulus has to say something, so he starts small. "It isn't lip service."

"Oh? Enlighten me, then."

"Family does matter." That's irrevocable fact. The structure of wizarding society would look quite different otherwise. "But purity doesn't. Everyone without a meaningful amount of Black blood would struggle with my family's specialty, regardless of whether they're pureblooded or not. And there's no evidence to suggest that Muggleborns would be at a disadvantage in the realm of developing specialties. You could start working on one right now."

"But I'd still be genetically quite different from you, because I don't have the advantage of hundreds of years' worth of my family developing that specialty for me," Lily states.

"That's true." Not that Regulus is entirely sure of what 'genetically' means, but the rest of it sounds accurate. "But it's not because you're Muggleborn."

She's still frowning. "But aren't the Death Eaters going to use Dark specialties as a justification for blood purity?"

Hm. "Probably. It doesn't mean they're correct. It just means they're looking for excuses."

"I see." Lily considers it, lips pinched, and then sighs. "I don't love that this is a thing."

"You don't have to," Regulus says, because it seems like the right sort of thing to say in response to that.

"But I'm deciding to prioritize and save my battles for the people who want me dead."

Reasonable enough.

"And you said there's no evidence that Muggleborns would be at a disadvantage in developing specialties. Which means... what, you have no evidence of anything either way, because there are no Muggleborns in the Dark network?"

"Yet," Regulus says, which means yes.

She nods slowly. "Yet."

Which is an encouraging response.

Regulus continues, "But if there were a Muggleborn interested in developing a specialty, I would be able to help with that. If, for example, McKinnon doesn't have the right materials stashed away somewhere in Gryffindor Tower."

"She does not," Lily says. "She hardly does anything Dark while she's at school."

Unsurprising. "The only real obstacle is logistics. I run a study group, which would be the obvious solution, but it meets in the Slytherin dormitories, and much of its membership isn't directly involved in the war."

"Wait, wait, wait." Lily shakes her head. "Back up. You run a study group? As in, there's a group of Slytherins who just get together regularly to practice illegal magic in the dorms?"

"It's been a Slytherin tradition ever since the Hogwarts curriculum pushed Dark Arts underground."

"Literally."

"Yes."

"But it can't be restricted to Slytherin forever."

"No, it cannot," Regulus agrees. "I think our circumstances rather demand that it isn't."

"It's not just the circumstances." Lily raises her chin. "I'm demanding it too."

There are no Muggleborns with Dark affinities.

Yet.

 

Regulus has the dorm room to himself after classes end on Wednesday, which is unusual.

Evan is with Emma, helping Lucinda prepare for Chaser tryouts next year. Barty said he had to do something after their last class, which was ominous, especially given the hard glint in his eye as he said it. Regulus is trying not to worry about it too much. Barty lingered in the Transfiguration classroom after their class ended, practically shooing Regulus away, and there's a limit to how much trouble he could get into with McGonagall right there. Nonetheless, it's already half-past four. If Barty isn't back in the next fifteen minutes, then Regulus will go looking for him.

Regulus hasn't yet consulted Barty or Evan on forming an inter-house Dark Arts study group. He wants to present a more coherent plan than 'help Lily develop a Dark specialty' when he does talk to them. That is, of course, the crucial component, but it fails to account for things like other members, a meeting location, and how to avoid a professor walking by at the wrong moment.

There are plenty of unused classrooms around the castle; it's fairly likely that the Carrows and their group use one. However, the Carrows' group are all Slytherins who are known to be friends with each other. All of them meeting up together is not something to take particular notice of. With the assortment of people who Regulus is planning to bring together, merely them breathing the same air of their own volition could be cause for speculation, if the wrong people notice it happening.

The obvious answer would be to meet after curfew, when there are fewer people roaming the corridors, but that only works for prefects, who don't need to worry about being caught out at night. There are secret passageways in the castle, Regulus knows that much, but... well, he doesn't actually know how to find them. Regulus's particular form of rule-breaking involves smuggling illegal books into the school and then keeping them in his room for the whole year. He's never been the sort for more mundane mischief, breaking curfew, scrambling into unlocked classrooms or secret passages to avoid getting caught.

Even if he did know how to find the secret passageways, he'd probably end up running into Sirius somehow, anyway. They seem rather like his sort of thing.

As a temporary measure, Regulus could tell Lily where his office is, and they could meet there, but it wouldn't work long-term. His office is deep in the dungeons, and Lily doesn't have much reason to be down here; the Potions classroom is in the other direction, and it's been a long time since she and Snape were on good enough terms for Lily to be on the Slytherin side of the dungeons recreationally. It would be possible to rotate through a variety of unused classrooms; they could coordinate ahead of time using the journals. That would mean that anyone involved in this particular group would need to be in contact with either Regulus or Lily, or someone adjacent to them, in order to know where each meeting took place.

It's doable, if inefficient. He'll probably have to figure out a better system as more people get involved.

Which entails talking to Evan about whether Meredith Rosendale seems receptive to joining. Regulus doesn't want to be attempting to recruit fifth-years during OWLs. He doesn't particularly want to be attempting to recruit anyone during OWLs, as a matter of fact. But Lily didn't say she wanted to learn Dark Arts—she said she didn't want the study group restricted to Slytherin. That means that this expansion can't just be about her, which means they will need to recruit someone else. Preferably multiple someones. Also, teaching multiple people the basics of Dark Arts at once will be far more efficient than teaching them one at a time.

Teaching so many people, especially Muggleborns, about Dark Arts will be a point of contention when Regulus reveals his plan to his parents. If he reveals his plan to his parents. Having their support would be incredibly useful, but they'd be unlikely to give it unless Regulus was on the precipice of decisive victory, and besides, it would reduce his credibility with Muggleborns. The wise thing to do is to keep it a secret from Mother and Father for as long as possible, telling them only once it's incredibly clear that their best option is to back him. He'll have to come up with quite a few reasons to delay taking the Mark—Regulus probably won't have this war won by the time he comes of age, and that's when Mother wants him to join Voldemort.

Still, that's over a year away. He has plenty of time to think of excuses.

Regulus's train of thought is forcibly redirected away from his parents when the door to the room opens.

Barty comes in, shuts the door, and says, "I dropped the extra OWLs."

Oh.

Hm.

A large part of Regulus's mind is relieved. Barty doesn't need twelve OWLs. Nobody needs twelve OWLs. But a different, larger part of his mind is...

Barty's stuck his hands in his pockets, shifting back and forth, and he doesn't look at Regulus as he adds, "I don't think my mum will be very happy about it."

How does Regulus respond to this?

Before he can start putting something together, Barty says, "McGonagall said she was glad I decided to focus my efforts on the classes I'm already taking. And that she taught my parents in their OWL year. My father took twelve. McGonagall said she's never been able to figure out why the fuck — she didn't say it quite like that, but. Why he did that. It's not as if you can take twelve NEWTs and that's what the Ministry cares about in hiring, so." He sits down on his desk, staring at some arbitrary spot on the floor. "And she said she could inform my parents if I wanted. I said I'd think about it. Just..."

And then Barty sighs, and then there's silence.

Regulus has never met Barty's father, which is probably best for everyone involved. His knowledge of Bartemius Crouch Sr. comes from three sources: Barty, Father, and the Daily Prophet. The latter two are unlikely to provide much insight as to the best way to go about informing Barty's parents that he will only be taking nine OWLs. Barty himself doesn't really seem to know.

"Do you want McGonagall to tell them for you?" Regulus says. "Because they'll find out one way or another once the scores are released."

"I do, but... my mum would rather hear it from me, I know that, and it's not like anyone will be able to persuade my father to be happy about it. Part of me just wants to fight with him and get it over with." Barty shrugs, but it's not as casual as he probably meant it to be. "I'd hate the version of myself who impressed him, anyway."

Regulus probably would too, in all honesty.

He's not quite sure what Barty wants out of this conversation—if he even wants a conversation, as opposed to an audience. If it were Regulus... well, he's trying to conceal certain things from his parents until they've progressed so far that Mother and Father are no longer able to stop him. He doesn't have a plan beyond that, and he's not particularly experienced in blatantly going against his parents' wishes. Sirius was always more comfortable with that. Regulus followed him most of the time, when they were younger, but Sirius was generally presumed to take all of the initiative and therefore most of the blame. And when Sirius's transgressions became more severe, Regulus stopped tagging along entirely.

So Regulus isn't really in a position to give advice, not that Barty's requested it. Barty certainly knows his own parents better than Regulus does, and him coming into conflict with his father is not new. But if Regulus can't give advice, he's... not sure what he can give, besides his attention.

Well. It's something, at least. And maybe Barty will keep talking and provide Regulus with some clues as to what sort of response he's looking for.

"It's weird," Barty says suddenly. "I always knew I didn't actually want to take the extra exams. And I think McGonagall did too, because when I went to her to sign up for them in September she was rather pointed about informing me of the deadline to drop them. But... I'm not so stuck as I thought I was. It's just a matter of being willing to unstick myself. And I barely see my father anyway, so what is he going to do? Complain to his colleagues?"

It does seem as though Barty's father would have to spend less time at the Ministry in order for Barty to truly experience repercussions for angering him, and that seems unlikely.

"So it's my mum, really," Barty says. "And she never said she cared. She just said it would 'mean a lot' to my father if I tried. Besides, she'll take into account whatever McGonagall says, and McGonagall told me straight out she thought it was a good decision. I think..." He taps his fingers on the edge of the desk, and then he smiles. "I think I'm going to burn all those extra notes I took. Want to join?"

That's easy. "Yes."

Notes:

evan: we could keep working on charms if you--
regulus: want to keep spending time together yes absolutely
evan, positive he just hallucinated: what
regulus: what

imagine being sirius minding your own business wandering around the castle under the invisibility cloak when suddenly you see regulus approaching lily so you eavesdrop because of course you do and then you hear THAT exchange with ZERO context

it's an interesting thing, in a society so focused on whether people can do magic, to have certain families who have been working for generations to ensure that they *are,* in fact, better than everyone else - but only in secret. how is regulus going to push for equality when he has an advantage? doing what he's been doing since fourth year and helping other people obtain that advantage, of course. but bringing in purebloods will be received very differently from bringing in muggleborns in certain dark circles, and the cat is very difficult to put back in the bag in this scenario, which means regulus is taking one more step towards irrevocability (is that a word? spellcheck is telling me it is not but idc)

it really is time for regulus to completely delegate recruitment afjslhgjskdf he's got too much else on his mind

and gotta love regulus scrambling to figure out How To Be Supportive as barty is monologuing. he's fortunate here because sitting there and listening is an appropriate response but someday he's going to run into a situation where he actually has to use his words and delve into emotion land and. we'll see how that goes for him! jsflsjfksghdjkfd

next week: lily and regulus pass notes!! regulus and friends (and some enemies) go on a little nighttime walk!! invisibility cloak dramatics!! regulus absolutely RIPS into someone, if you correctly guess who it is you will get one of these 🌟

NOTE: depending on how this upcoming week goes, after next week i may take a week off from posting - i've reached the end of my semester but also the end of the chapters i have pre-written, so i may decide i need an extra week to get ahead again. i'll keep you updated - and next week i do intend to update, this is just a heads-up about the week after that

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 39

Around ten in the evening, Regulus retreats from the common room into his room with general relief. They have one month and three days until OWLs begin, as Charlotte helpfully reminded everyone at dinner, and doing work in the common room has become less of a power play and more of a measure to ensure that none of the other fifth-years crack under pressure, or rather, to ensure that if they do, they don't bring anyone else down with them. (In particular, Regulus is anticipating some sort of conflict between Charlotte and either Evan, Emma, or both, but most likely Evan, with regard to preparing for OWLs versus preparing for the quidditch final versus preparing for whatever one wishes but not being a nuisance about it.)

Barty is already in the room, having announced that he was giving up for the night about an hour ago. When Regulus walks in, Barty nods at Regulus's journal, which is sitting on his desk. "Think you got a response."

The ribbon bookmark is indeed black. Hopefully, that means Lily has gotten an answer from McKinnon as to whether she's also interested in attending some sort of regular Dark Arts meeting. (Regulus doesn't normally leave his journal lying around unless he's waiting for a reply, but he's beginning to think that he should, or maybe that he should set up a different system to alert him when he has a message; the unobtrusive nature of the journals also means that they could be forgotten about, which would not be good.)

Regulus opens the journal and flips to the page marked by the ribbon, precisely halfway through the journal—this is where Barty's section ends and Lily's section begins.

The new message from Lily is obvious, scribbled in aggressively fuchsia ink at the bottom of the page.

It's not about McKinnon.

"We may have a problem," Regulus says.

 

Snape going to Whomping Willow on grounds tonight— SUPER IMPORTANT that he does not get there. Stop him if he's still in dungeons.

 

"'May'?" Barty says.

"I'm not entirely sure what to make of this." Regulus hands over the journal. "I don't think she'd say anything if it weren't actually important, but this is rather light on information."

Snape is one of the future Death Eaters, of course, and he's also not an important one, socially speaking, which means that Regulus can certainly go after him. But unless he's grossly misinformed, the Whomping Willow is not a factor in the war.

It clearly matters, though. If the Whomping Willow were just a violent tree, Snape going to it wouldn't matter so much. (Well, it's possible Lily wouldn't want him going near it on an abstract level, but that's conjecture to the point of fiction—besides, in that case, Lily probably wouldn't go to the length of asking Regulus to stop Snape from leaving the dungeons, especially not in such urgent terms.)

Barty shrugs and hands the journal back. "If she's not sharing, we can go find out for ourselves."

"Good point."

The door opens, and Regulus snaps the journal shut, but it's just Evan, who shuts the door and says, "Did you know Geoff is set to work at Quidditch Quarterly after graduating? He was talking to Lucinda about journalism—why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?" Regulus says.

"Like you were in the midst of scheming and you've been interrupted mid-thought." He drops his notes on his desk. "What's going on?"

"Snape is up to something," Regulus says. "It involves going to the Whomping Willow tonight. Lily wants us to stop him."

"Oh," Evan says. "That might be an issue, because I just saw him leave the common room alone with his cloak."

Lovely.

Barty grabs his shoes. "Field trip? If he just left, we can intercept him."

"We can, yes," Regulus says. "We might not want to. Lily didn't say why it was so important. Either she doesn't know, in which case we'd be doing all of us a service by finding out, or she does know and isn't telling, in which case we're doing ourselves a service by finding out, because it obviously matters."

"Follow him, then?"

Regulus nods. "We'll step in if it seems necessary. Fortunately, we know where he's going, so we can try to beat him there. He'll be sneaking around. We don't have to."

"It's probably a good idea, though," Evan says. "Why leave witnesses? Do you know what's happening at the Whomping Willow? It might not be the sort of thing you want to be implicated in."

"Curfew has only just started," Regulus says. "The prefects on patrol won't have made it down to the ground floor or the dungeons yet. Snape probably doesn't know that, so he's being careful, which means we might be able to outpace him. None of the professors know the rounds schedule off the top of their head, so if we run into any of them I can claim to be on patrol. That being said, depending on how suspicious they are, we may need to improvise. Are you in?"

"Naturally," Evan says.

Good. Between the three of them, they should be able to come up with a story in case they get caught.

"No cloaks," Regulus says. "We don't want to make it obvious that we're going outside. It's also possible that Lily will go to the Whomping Willow herself, if she doesn't want to rely on us. If that's the case, pretend we're not acquainted with her for the time being. If Snape inquires as to what we're doing there, we'll make something up based on Evan seeing him leave."

"I feel like 'being a menace to the baby Death Eaters' could be sufficient motivation here," Barty says.

"Certainly, but we'll need to phrase it differently. Ready?"

 

They make it outside without incident and step out onto damp grass under a bright moon. It's waning—the full moon was last night, as Professor Kuiper informed them during Astronomy on Monday. Regulus saw it while he was doing rounds, but he didn't linger. Full or not quite full, the moon provides plenty of light for them to see the tangled silhouette of the Whomping Willow, as well as several people standing a safe distance away.

"Not just Snape," Barty observes in a whisper.

Words hiss over the grass. This doesn't seem like a friendly gathering. There are three people—two of them could be Snape and Lily, but none of them are short enough to be McKinnon, who would be Regulus's third guess for a participant in this, since Snape left the dungeons alone.

Well. They're already here. Time to find out what's going on.

Regulus, Barty, and Evan approach quietly. It's not that Regulus is actively trying to sneak up on the others—he just doesn't want to call undue attention to their presence. They'll have to stay quiet to avoid the notice of passing professors and ghosts and whatnot. But the grass bends with each step, which means the trio near the Whomping Willow hears them and abruptly cuts off their conversation.

Snape is here, looking rather peeved. So is Lily, similarly unhappy. And—

"Is that Black?" James Potter says. "How—"

"Not important," Lily says.

Regulus happens to disagree. Potter being involved was not part of the plan, and if he's here, it's clear that something messy is going on. "I'd like to know—"

"Oh, no need to put on a performance on my account," Snape interrupts.

"Frankly, I don't give a shit what Black is doing here," Lily says, which is a good move on her part. "The important thing is—"

"I have to say, I'm surprised," he continues. "Not just that you're in on this, but that you concealed it so poorly. I only had to ask a few questions and Black broke like a glass plate."

"I don't recall the last time you spoke to me," Regulus says.

Snape smirks. "Not you."

"Sirius didn't break," Lily snaps. "He told you some bullshit to get you to go away, and you swallowed it."

Somehow, Regulus is completely unsurprised that this is at least partly Sirius's fault.

Potter does not seem to feel the same way. "Hang on, Sirius was the one who—"

"If it's bullshit, then why are you all here?" Snape says. "Rather impressive coordination, if I do say so myself, but you've shown your hand."

"And what hand is that?" Regulus says.

"You," Snape says with a tangible air of satisfaction, "are working together."

Hm.

Snape has clearly gotten something wrong here, if he thinks Sirius is involved, but... this is worth investigating. Regulus needs to figure out what pieces Snape has put together, even if the overall picture is inaccurate.

Evan breaks the rather surprised silence. "Erm... can I be the first to respond with 'gross'?"

"Seconded," Barty says.

Potter folds his arms. "Working together on what, Snape? What grand conspiracy have you invented?"

"Oh, you're peripheral, Potter," Snape says. "It's Black and Black, naturally. Pretending to hate each other, while all along you—" this is accompanied with a nod in Regulus's direction— "have been his agent in Slytherin. Fighting with people you should be allies with, gathering up every blood traitor within reach like you're putting together a collection, that was strange, but I wasn't sure of it until you sided with him on the train."

Wonderful.

Honestly, Regulus is rather irked that Snape has picked up on everything Regulus is doing in Slytherin and attributed it to Sirius telling him what to do. Of all the things to assume. Sirius would never have come up with anything so subtle. Besides, Regulus has spent years figuring out how to cast off his shadow. Snape thinking otherwise is a rather unfortunate misstep on his part, and Regulus will make that extremely plain.

"I sided with myself on the train," he says coolly. "You jumping to incorrect conclusions is none of my concern."

"Then why are you here?" Snape says.

Evan blinks. "We were worried about you, naturally." (Even if Regulus didn't know this was a blatant lie, he'd be able to tell from the way Evan's voice changes, overly earnest, sugary enough that if he pushes it any further he'll come across as condescending.) "You left the common room all alone. After curfew, too. We didn't want you to get in trouble."

"Also, we wanted to find out what nonsense you were getting into," Barty adds.

They've given Regulus a sufficient foundation to turn the conversation around. He tilts his head and keeps his voice deliberately calm. "Which begs the question: why are you here, Snape? Surely if evening rendezvous with the likes of Evans were a part of your regular routine, your current acquaintances wouldn't deem you fit to lick their boots." (Potter scowls at that. Regulus ignores him.) "I can't help wondering if, in your desperation to prove yourself worthy, you have resorted to fighting shadows simply for the sake of a victory."

Lily sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. "For fuck's sake, guys. Just—maybe, when someone who hates you tells you it's a good idea to go poking around a tree with a name featuring the word 'whomping,' you shouldn't believe him? Like, maybe consider that he might not have your best interests at heart?"

"Damn it, Lils," Sirius's voice says from out of thin air. "Stop being so sensible."

Of course Sirius is here. This wasn't complicated enough already. Regulus hasn't seen enough of him this week. His presence is precisely what the situation needed.

"Your instinct for melodrama will be the death of us all," Lily retorts. (Regulus desperately wants to agree with her, but it's better if he keeps his mouth shut.)

"Probably." And then there's a swish of fabric, and Sirius appears, as does Peter Pettigrew, both of them standing near Potter. Why are there so many Gryffindors here? Also, why does Sirius have a high-quality Invisibility Cloak, and where did he get the money for it? "But it'll be fun in the meantime." He shrugs. "Snivels, really, I don't know why you believed me. I'd also like to make it clear that I'm more than a little offended that you think I'd ever make your life easy, unintentionally or otherwise. I would have stayed hidden, but, you know, I had to reassert my honor."

There is far too much going on and Regulus wants everyone to just stop talking for a minute so he can piece together how they all ended up here. But he will almost certainly not get that minute when he's surrounded by this combination of people, which means he'll have to sort it out later. Right now, he has a future Death Eater to handle. "It's fairly obvious to me that all of this is the result of Snape presuming he's solved a mystery, when in reality he has done nothing but embarrass himself. I can think of several people who will be amused."

"Oh, dibs on telling Heather," Evan says. "I want to see her face."

They'll have to consider whether they actually want to tell Heather about this, and if so, what version of events to tell her, but if they do want this circulating through the school, then they'll need to come up with something. "Fine."

"Is that all?" Barty says. "I really thought we were going to find out something interesting."

"So did Snape, clearly," Regulus says. "You'd be well within your rights to be irritated with him for making such a fuss over nothing."

"There you go again," Snape says. "How long do you really think you can keep hiding behind petty drama and the Slytherin reputation? Making excuses won't protect you forever."

Hm.

Before Regulus can decide how to address that, he needs more information.

He raises an eyebrow. "What is it that you think I have to fear, Snape? I confess myself to be intrigued."

"You're not invincible, and you know it," Snape says. "You can't piss off your parents. You can't piss off your cousin. You're better off avoiding the Dark Lord entirely. And from where I'm standing, it's looking like you're on a collision course with all three of them."

Barty mimes gagging.

If Regulus could leave his response at that, he would, but unfortunately he's going to need something a little more specific. He could try to push Snape into rambling more, but that might work against him if Snape hits on something Regulus can't convincingly deny or talk his way around. Therefore, Regulus has to end the speculation here.

He lets the silence stretch out—not long enough to be uncomfortable, but long enough to be noticeable, long enough for Snape to recognize the incredibly unimpressed look on Regulus's face.

And then Regulus says, "Are you proud of yourself?"

That's not the response Snape was expecting, if the abrupt blankness of his expression is any indication, and Regulus permits himself to look satisfied. It's crucial that he doesn't seem defensive or like he has something to hide. That is what will persuade Snape that pursuing this line of inquiry isn't worthwhile.

"You've come up with a very convenient tale to tell yourself," Regulus continues. "It explains so much, doesn't it? Everyone who doesn't like you is working together to bring you down—or rather, your side, I should say. It's a lovely idea. That way, you can blame everything on the war, and there is no need to consider why so many people find you personally repellent."

Barty snickers at that.

"I won't deny you your coping mechanisms, as that seems a tad cruel," Regulus says. "I will, however, caution you against becoming too devoted to them. The Dark Lord will hardly be able to find a use for someone completely absorbed in fantasy. Goodnight."

He doesn't walk away. Instead, he stays where he is and waits for Snape to leave. (Saying 'Dismissed' seemed far too likely to inspire Snape to argue back.)

Snape doesn't leave, though. He just stares Regulus down, which means he fully understands that walking away now is a concession and he doesn't intend to make it. Unfortunately for Snape, he also doesn't seem to have any ideas about how to respond, and Regulus has plenty more disdain ready.

He'll have to make sure that if Snape does tell anyone else about his suspicions (or if he has already), they won't believe him. Snape has to look ridiculous, coming up with elaborate stories about how everyone is out to get him. That's something Regulus can probably leave to Heather and Evan, but since this is particularly important, he does want to discuss tactics with them beforehand instead of just trusting that they'll sort something out themselves and he'll find out what it was afterwards.

Managing it is vital, because they're in a race to discredit Snape before he can spread the story of Regulus working against Voldemort. Rumors like that don't go away. Even if people don't believe them, they remember them. And if a few months later, something similar starts to circulate, Regulus can do his best to discredit that one too, but they'll start to add up.

Nonetheless. Snape is correct that making excuses won't protect Regulus forever, but Regulus has no intention of letting Snape dictate the terms of his reveal.

A beam of gold light sweeps across the moonlit grass.

Then Professor McGonagall's voice says, "What on earth are all of you doing out here at this hour?"

Ah.

Fantastic.

 

Nobody runs, which is a bit surprising to Regulus, who was expecting Sirius, at least, to make a break for it. Then again, they've all already been seen—running would only prolong the experience. Instead, they walk up to the headmaster's office in grim silence, the Gryffindors in front, Snape alone in the middle, and Regulus, Barty, and Evan in the back.

This was not part of Regulus's plan. He'd planned for the possibility of running into a professor, yes, but not for the possibility of a professor catching them at the Whomping Willow in the midst of an argument. Explaining this will take some delicacy. They certainly won't be able to avoid a loss of house points, and it's likely that some people in the group will end up with detention.

Regulus has never gotten detention. Sirius has. Regulus was ten and eating lunch with his parents when they received their very first letter from Dumbledore about Sirius getting caught filling the History of Magic classroom with bright pink foam. It was far from their last. The Potters probably get them now.

So if Regulus gets detention, his parents will know.

Wonderful.

With the amount of time he spent talking, he certainly can't plead uninvolvement, which means he should probably just start planning for how he's going to explain this to Mother and Father. (And Bellatrix, should it come to that.) Even if he gets away relatively unscathed this time, who knows what the rest of his time at Hogwarts will bring?

To make matters worse, as they near Dumbledore's office, they cross paths with a pair of prefects—Frank Longbottom, the Head Boy, and Amanda Chen, Heather's friend in Hufflepuff. Chen will certainly mention this to Heather, which isn't particularly an issue, but if she says anything to anyone else, then the news of this will spread around the school like wildfire, what with Regulus and Sirius having fallen out in the past, Lily and Snape having fallen out in the past, and the presence of Sirius and his friends in general. Those are the sorts of things that people love to talk about. Everyone will know. All Regulus can do is give them the proper framing for it.

But he can't do that until they're done with Dumbledore.

They leave Longbottom and Chen behind and arrive at the door guarded by stone gargoyles. McGonagall says "Ice Mice," and they step aside, the door opening behind them.

Regulus has never been here before, but he's unsurprised to find all the trappings of whimsy in the decor, from the moving spiral staircase to the various magical trinkets strewn around Dumbledore's office, not to mention the large covered cage in the corner. This is the central conceit of Dumbledore's image—knowledge of fantastical magic, combined with a general sort of kindly eccentricity. Father told Regulus once that everyone who claims Dumbledore is going senile is lying. He's far from lacking mental clarity; calling him senile is simply the easiest way to attack him. Father immediately followed this by noting that 'easiest' was not the same thing as 'best,' seeing as Dumbledore is far too beloved by the general populace for them to want to believe that he's lost his mind.

But the kindliness—that's crucial, and maybe Regulus can use that. Playing on Dumbledore's sympathies, feigned or otherwise, could be a way to get out of severe trouble (and avoid explaining what was actually going on). But he doesn't have a story ready. Nor is it something he can feasibly do—Sirius would pounce on that, as would Snape, and Mother and Father wouldn't be pleased with that tactic, especially if it didn't work.

But just because Regulus can't do it doesn't mean nobody can.

It also doesn't necessarily have to be a sob story—earnest avowals that they didn't mean any harm would be useful as well, especially coming from someone perceptive enough to pivot or elaborate quickly in case they need a more aggressive tactic.

McGonagall multiplies spindly blue and gold chairs until there are enough for all of them and motions for them to sit down before going to get Dumbledore.

Regulus sits down between Barty and Evan at one end of the row of chairs. It's not Barty's first time here, and one never knows if that might come in handy. (Also, if the conversation does move in the direction of the war, referring to Barty's family could be quite helpful.) If they reach a point where Barty needs to jump in, he'll probably do it of his own accord, but if necessary Regulus can kick him or something.

Evan, on the other hand...

Regulus turns his head just enough to look at Evan. He's intending to get Evan's attention, but it's not necessary. Evan is already looking back. As soon as Regulus catches his eye, Evan smiles, small enough that nobody else will notice unless they're watching. (Snape, on Evan's other side, does not appear to be.)

That could really mean anything, so Regulus looks pointedly at Dumbledore's empty desk. When he looks back, Evan nods slightly.

Alright.

They'll have to deal with Dumbledore sooner or later.

Regulus will just consider this a practice round.

Notes:

while regulus was studying for owls, lily and the marauders (save remus, who's in the hospital wing atm) were running around gryffindor tower arguing with each other

and yes you read that right - it's the night AFTER the full moon, because i thought too hard about the logistics of the prank in canon and got confused about how it all went down and decided to just make it work differently here alghskfjd

'potter being involved was NOT part of the plan' regulus there was no plan

snape has put some things together and drawn some conclusions. hmmmmmmmmm. he's kind of wrong and kind of right and more importantly, do you think this is the sort of thing sirius is just going to let go? and how did lily get involved in this situation in the first place?

if regulus HAD said 'dismissed' to snape, snape would have had a serious mental battle between 'angry retort' and 'slap him in the face'

the question of 'what the fuck are all you people doing here' will continue to be answered in the next chapter

and here's another question: as we've seen before, usually when a student is caught out after curfew, the prefects handle it. you all might have some ideas as to why this SPECIFIC incident is being treated differently by certain professors, but regulus has some thinking to do

IMPORTANT NOTE: i will NOT be updating ttdl next week (dec 28), to give myself some time to get ahead on chapters. we shall return in the new year!!

next time: the gryffindors get acquainted with evan!! the appearance of dumbledore feat. sparkles!! regulus starts connecting dots!!

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 40

Notes:

WE ARE BACK BABEYYYYYYYYY

"Well, this is lovely," Lily says in an undertone after McGonagall has been gone for a minute or so. She's planted herself in the seat between Snape and Sirius and his friends, probably deliberately, which has the effect of partitioning the row of chairs neatly into the Slytherin side and the Gryffindor side. "It was on my bucket list to be hauled up to the headmaster's office in the middle of the night before I graduate, actually. Delightful."

She appears to be talking to the room at large, rather than anyone in particular, but Sirius responds anyway, because of course he does. "I don't think you have too much to worry about, Lils." (That's the second time he's called Lily that. It's an expression of familiarity, and Regulus can't yet be sure whether it's meant to be irritating to someone in particular. That depends on whether this is Sirius's normal term of address for her or something he's decided to use for the occasion—but Lily certainly hasn't seemed surprised by the moniker.) "You didn't really have anything to do with this besides trying to stop it."

That's not strictly true, seeing as Lily did get Regulus, Barty, and Evan involved, but Regulus opts not to contribute to this conversation in favor of seeing how it plays out.

Snape, apparently, does not possess a similar instinct, because he says, "Oh, are you planning to fall on your sword for her, Black? How very chivalrous, and not what I'd expect from you at all."

"Wow," Sirius says coolly. "I can see why you didn't bring any friends on your late-night jaunt."

"I don't share your proclivity for collateral damage," Snape says.

"I think it's interesting," Potter says, "that you assumed there'd be damage in the first place. Because frankly, I have no idea what the hell is going on, and it would be nice if one of you decided to clue me in."

"Not now," Lily says, at the same time that Sirius says, "Later."

A tense silence begins to fall, but Evan interrupts it on its way down with, "I also don't know what's going on." The corners of his eyes are crinkled up with amusement, none of which bleeds into his voice, which is impossibly lighthearted given the circumstances. "Was anyone going to fight the tree?"

"What?" Lily says.

"Obviously not," Snape says.

Evan sighs extravagantly. "Then I've been wandering around in the cold for nothing, I suppose. Really, I expected better of you."

"Of... who?" Lily says in a bemused tone.

"I thought someone was going to fight the tree," Evan says, as if this explains everything. (This conversational thread is undoubtedly just Evan amusing himself as they wait, but Regulus has to wonder if there's an element of truth in it. Someone fighting the Whomping Willow does seem like the sort of thing Evan would find entertaining.)

A door clicks open, and Dumbledore says, "I'm quite sorry to say that would be an eminently risky undertaking, Mr. Rosier."

Barty raises an eyebrow at that.

Dumbledore opens the door more fully and steps into the room. (McGonagall is behind him, but she crosses the room and leaves the office immediately.) Given the fact that they were caught out after curfew, a part of Regulus had vaguely expected Dumbledore to appear in pajamas, but he's still in the same twinkling violet robes he was wearing at dinner. (Regulus wouldn't have taken particular notice of them, but Evan commented in a significant tone on how they were nearly the same color as Emma's favorite hair ribbon that Maeve gave to her, to which Emma responded quite calmly that purple was a nice color and then changed the subject to quidditch.) It's not that late, anyway—probably not even eleven yet. The only people Regulus knows who go to bed this early are lower-years.

Which begs the question: why are they in the headmaster's office? True, eight people breaking curfew all together (or apparently together) is more noteworthy than one or two, but McGonagall could have handed off the whole group to the prefects on patrol they'd passed earlier. That's the usual way of handling curfew-breaking, and there was no evidence of them being up to anything else. The only unusual things about this particular instance of students being out after curfew are the number of students and the unorthodox choice of meeting location.

Lily knew Snape would be going to the Whomping Willow when she wrote to Regulus and emphasized the importance of preventing him from reaching it. Sirius, it seems, told Snape to go there intentionally. This revelation surprised Potter, and yet Potter was there, as was Pettigrew. (No Lupin, but Anne Hopkins in Ravenclaw complained once in Arithmancy about how often Lupin gets ill and needs someone else to cover for him on their rounds.) Why were they involved, if it wasn't meant to be an expression of solidarity with Sirius? Potter trailing around behind Lily makes sense, but Pettigrew doing it doesn't, and there's also the fact that Sirius was there. Invisibility Cloak or no Invisibility Cloak, Sirius told Snape to go check out the Whomping Willow after curfew and then decided to show up there with backup. And Lily, Potter, and Pettigrew all thought it was important enough to go too.

Hm.

Was it Snape, or was it where Sirius had sent him? Because if it had just been about interfering with any and all of Snape's goals, Regulus suspects that Potter would not have found himself on the same side of that conversation as Lily, and Sirius almost certainly would not have, and yet there they were.

The Gryffindors, as a group, didn't want Snape there. And they were worried about the possibility of Snape being at the Whomping Willow alone.

Or perhaps unsupervised is the more appropriate word.

This does not seem like the sort of thing Regulus can just ask Lily about. He'll have to pay close attention to the Gryffindors in this conversation, as well as to Snape, and discuss the proper approach with Evan and Barty later.

Dumbledore sits down at his desk. "Professor McGonagall has told me about the circumstances in which she found all of you, but I'd like to hear explanations in your own words."

A strangely intense response for eight people who just broke curfew, as far as their professors are (probably) aware.

Evan clasps his hands together in his lap, leans forward, and says very earnestly, "Professor, I'm worried about Snape."

There is an immediate, palpable sense of confusion from every student in the room. Even Barty glances at Evan, eyebrows furrowed slightly. Regulus... thinks he knows where Evan is going with this, but frankly, discrediting Snape to Dumbledore seems like a minor concern at this point.

Nobody gets an opportunity to ask a clarifying question, because Evan keeps going. "I saw him leaving the Slytherin common room after curfew with his cloak, which was weird, because the sixth-years don't have Astronomy on Wednesdays and that's the only reason we're meant to leave the dormitories after curfew—I mean, once I accidentally left my bookbag in the Great Hall at lunch and didn't realize, and Regulus had to get it for me while he was doing rounds—since he's a prefect—but still, I couldn't go get it myself because it was after curfew." (That never happened, but Regulus certainly isn't going to contradict Evan about it.) "And Snape's not a prefect, and he had his cloak, so I told Regulus because I thought Regulus would know what to do in this sort of situation. And then Barty—Barty was there too— Barty said that Snape had been acting kind of strange lately, and I thought he had a point because before spring break, I think Snape and his friends were fighting? I don't know. None of them looked very happy and they were spending a lot of time alone, especially Snape, and you know, friends are good, and people are happier when they have friends, so if they don't have friends then that's kind of concerning, and it kind of seemed like Snape didn't have any friends."

Someone on the Gryffindor side of the row of chairs coughs loudly.

"And so then I was worried, and I said so, because it was weird," Evan says. "And Regulus said he'd go get Snape and bring him back before he got caught by the prefects doing rounds, and I thought that would fix everything!" He beams. "Except for how none of us knew where he was going. But besides that."

"And you accompanied Mr. Black, I take it?" Dumbledore says.

"My parents have been saying I should get out more," Evan says blithely.

Dumbledore doesn't blink an eye at that, instead turning his attention to Barty. "And Mr. Crouch?"

"Came with in case something was wrong," Barty says, which is even partly true.

"An admirable sentiment, certainly." This is accompanied by a brief smile. "Is this an accurate rendition of events, Mr. Black?"

"Yes," Regulus says.

Dumbledore nods. "So the three of you followed Mr. Snape? Where to?"

"The Whomping Willow," Evan says, as if he's revealing something astonishing. (The question was directed at Regulus, not Evan, but Dumbledore doesn't interject.) "And then when we got there, we saw everyone else. And, Professor, I don't know if you know about this, but I've heard stories about some rather nasty fights between the Gryffindor and Slytherin sixth-years, and so naturally that was concerning, because it didn't seem like Snape was off to meet up with friends, and so then Regulus went over to find out what was going on. Because he's a prefect."

"I'm well aware." Dumbledore's eyes twinkle. "And, as I understand it, nobody was attempting to initiate combat against the tree, Mr. Rosier?"

He phrases it as if it's a checkmate—wanting to see someone fight the Whomping Willow doesn't exactly go with Evan's solicitous story about Snape having no friends and wandering around alone after curfew, after all. But Evan doesn't even hesitate before responding, "No. It was quite positively the strangest site for an argument that I have ever seen. If nobody was going to fight the tree, why meet there? It rather increases your likelihood of being hit in the head, and frankly, I'd rather be hit by a Bludger. Which is far less embarrassing, and also far more likely, since I play quidditch—I don't know if you knew that."

"I did, Mr. Rosier, and I must say—"

Evan lights up, and Regulus knows what he's going to say a split second before he interrupts Dumbledore with "Do you like quidditch, Professor?"

"There will be better opportunities to discuss quidditch."

"The final match is a week from Saturday, just so you know," Evan says, completely undaunted. "It starts at two PM on the quidditch pitch—the Hogwarts quidditch pitch, obviously—and Regulus and I will be playing, and—wait, you're right, now is not the time to discuss quidditch. I forgot there are members of the Gryffindor team sitting right here. Good thinking."

"Thank you," Dumbledore says affably. "If we could redirect the conversation?"

"Oh, of course!" Evan says. "What did you want to talk about instead?"

"Why would you assume someone would fight the tree, Mr. Rosier?" He smiles. "Pardon an old man's confusion. I confess myself frequently bewildered by my students' exploits."

Regulus doesn't need Barty nudging his foot to know that's a lie.

Evan blinks. "Why wouldn't someone fight the tree?"

"It is quite dangerous," Dumbledore says.

"Precisely! The glory of defeating it is boundless, and, you know, there were quite a few Gryffindors right there. I assume that's the sort of thing they go for."

"And how would one go about defeating the tree, Mr. Rosier?" Dumbledore's tone is mildly amused, even indulgent, but this is an interrogation. Evan mentioned the Whomping Willow and Dumbledore isn't letting it go.

Regulus is getting the distinct sense that there is a secret here that is worth finding out.

"Well, that's the puzzle, isn't it?" Evan says brightly. "In all my time at Hogwarts, I've never been able to figure out another reason for it to be here. What happens if you defeat it? Do you get to graduate early?"

"Sorry to interrupt," Potter interrupts, "but why are we talking about the tree?"

"Ask Black," Snape says. "He was the one who brought it up in the first place."

"I didn't think you'd go," Sirius scoffs. (Barty nudges Regulus, so that's a lie. Interesting.) "Or rather, I thought it would get you to go away.   Why would anyone go near that thing? Was it somehow not obvious that I was making all of that up?"

"Making what up, Mr. Black?" Dumbledore says.

"He was throwing conspiracy theories at me," Sirius says. "Really weird stuff about the war, like he expected me to confess to being part of a secret militia or something, so I said something like 'oh, if you go to the Whomping Willow tonight all of your questions will be answered,' and then I left while he was distracted puzzling that one out."

"Why the Whomping Willow?"

Sirius shrugs. "First thing I thought of."

Barty nudges Regulus.

Hm.

Sirius is conversationally adept. If he thinks Snape was trying to back him into a confession of some kind, he's probably right. Given the subject of Regulus's conversation with Snape by the Whomping Willow, Regulus can guess what sort of confession Snape was looking for.

But why confront Sirius? He's in a different house and everyone knows that he hates Snape. Wouldn't it be simpler to try to catch Regulus? Or was Snape just so enthralled by his idea of Sirius running everything that he decided to go to the source?

"I thought it was totally obvious that it was utter bull," Sirius adds, and Barty nudges Regulus again. "I can't think of a single reason why someone would voluntarily go near that tree." Nudge. "Can you, Professor?"

Dumbledore smiles. "Well, it does possess some intriguing herbological attributes."

"Like looking eminently fight-able," Evan murmurs.

Dumbledore gracefully pretends he didn't hear that. "The Whomping Willow is here for research purposes." Barty nudges Regulus. "It is a rare species, and I would appreciate it if all of you—" is it Regulus's imagination, or is Dumbledore leaning rather pointedly on the 'all'? "—gave it a rather wider berth in the future. This includes refraining from suggesting to other students that they should attempt to investigate it, for the sake of everyone's health and safety. I would hate to have to remove such a marvelous plant from the school."

"So..." Evan says. "You don't get to graduate early?"

 

Dumbledore very pleasantly kicks them all out except for Snape and Sirius. He doesn't even take any points off—Regulus doesn't expect that that will continue to be the case, but any points taken from Slytherin will be attributed to Snape. Regulus, Barty, and Evan have essentially gotten away scot-free, and Evan has laid a foundation for Snape acting unusual, which leads neatly into painting him as unreliable. Hopefully everything about the tree has distracted Dumbledore from looking for holes in Evan's explanation of why the three of them were there.

It was, in short, a success. Evan handled it all so neatly that Regulus only had to say one word the entire time. Between that and everything with Charms...

The next Hogsmeade weekend isn't until May, but Honeydukes does mail orders.

Regulus still wants answers as to how so many Gryffindors showed up and why the Whomping Willow is so important. Lily will probably be willing to explain some of it, so he intends to start by writing to her once he gets back to the dungeons, but Potter interferes.

Because as soon as the door to Dumbledore's office has closed behind all of them, Potter says, "Right. Does someone feel like talking me and Pete through how and why Evans got Black and friends involved in this?"

Ah.

That's quite a way to open a conversation.

If Potter knows that Lily contacted Regulus, he can probably guess that most of what Evan told Dumbledore wasn't true. He obviously has questions. Regulus doesn't know how Potter knows about Lily talking to him, which means he also doesn't know if Lily has some sort of explanation in mind already, so he just waits.

"I told you, Ottoline keeps asking me to swap shifts," Lily says, somewhat aggrievedly. "Patrol is boring and sometimes traumatizing. The only way to get through it is by talking to your partner." (This is patently false, as Regulus knows from personal experience, but why point that out?) "So, we got to talking. I don't see why it's such a big deal."

"Well... it's Regulus," Pettigrew starts, and then he glances at Regulus and falls silent.

Regulus steels himself to look as apathetic as possible and raises an eyebrow. "Oh, don't hold back on my account. Why am I such a big deal?"

Potter scowls. "You know why."

"I can choose my own friends, thanks very much," Lily says. "And as for how and why, I don't know, maybe I thought it would attract just the tiniest bit less attention if this entire situation was resolved in the Slytherin dormitories instead of out by the Whomping Willow."

"Incidentally, my apologies for the delay," Regulus says, partly because Lily is correct about things being simpler if Regulus had caught Snape before he left, and partly because he's fairly sure that it'll annoy Potter. "I was studying."

"The delay how?" Potter says. "The Gryffindor and Slytherin dormitories are at opposite ends of the castle. How did you even know this was happening?"

Lily folds her arms. "Not your business. Also, Sirius told me about your mirrors, so."

"We invented those." Now Potter sounds aggrieved too. "What are you going to tell me next, Sirius shared his notes?"

The door opens again, and Sirius says, "I did what?"

"Detention?" Potter says.

He grins, which is an expression Regulus mostly sees on Sirius from across the Great Hall. "Nope. Dumbles couldn't come up with anything that would stick. Thirty points for 'endangering a fellow student.' I did what?"

"You didn't, actually," Lily says. "Potter thinks you and he are the only people on the planet who possibly could've come up with near-instantaneous long-distance communication, and need I remind everyone here of the existence of telephones?"

"What's telephones?" Evan says.

"Good God," Lily says. "The point is, Potter, you're not the only person who wants to be able to have conversations without being face-to-face or waiting for an owl. And if Sirius could take it in stride when I told him I could get in touch with Regulus quickly, so can you."

Ah. So Lily just told them.

"Sorry to pull the rug out from under your argument, but I have questions about that, actually," Sirius says.

And then he turns to look directly at Regulus.

Regulus does not hold his breath. He refuses to do something so childish. Sirius is looking at him. So? People look at Regulus all the time.

There's dead silence around them. No Lily arguing with Potter, no Evan asking about telephones, hardly anyone moving except for Pettigrew fidgeting. Sirius, for his part, looks like he's thinking—his mouth pulls to one side and his brow furrows in a way that reminds Regulus suddenly and absurdly of evenings in the dining room at home years and years ago, Sirius planning out how to explain to their parents that in his opinion, he and Regulus deserved extra dessert that night.

Sirius says matter-of-factly, "If Snape hadn't been onto something, you wouldn't have gone to all that effort to convince him otherwise."

Fantastic.

The problem is, this is completely true. Regulus has something to hide, and Sirius knows it, and there's no coming back from that. And since Sirius has brought this up in front of his friends, now they know too, which is genuinely the last thing Regulus needed. Any talent for subtlety that Sirius had as a child was abandoned with enthusiasm once he befriended Potter, and if Sirius or Potter or Pettigrew starts making any of this public knowledge, Regulus will be so busy doing damage control that he won't have time for the war, and then everything will fall to pieces, for everyone who's joined him, but most of all for Regulus himself.

Maybe he can aim for a quid pro quo of sorts. There doesn't really seem to be another way for Regulus to benefit from this situation in the slightest.

So Regulus says as evenly as possible, "Why did you tell him to go to the Whomping Willow?"

"To get him out of the way," Sirius says.

No comment from Barty, verbal or otherwise. So that's not a lie. It is, however, a very vague truth.

But they're at an impasse. Sirius doesn't seem interested in providing more details, and the last thing Regulus wants to do is give Sirius and his friends a detailed breakdown of his war-related activities.

A detailed breakdown that Snape might have already given.

Because Snape has put together some pieces—the overall picture is wrong, but he's noticed certain things Regulus is doing, and his conclusion, at its most basic level, is accurate. Regulus is, to use his words, on a collision course.

And now Sirius knows.

Regulus can't leave and hope Sirius will forget about it. That's not how Sirius works. If he didn't care, he would have left already, and when he cares about something, he digs his heels in. Sirius won't let this go. Which means that Regulus has two options: come up with an explanation that will satisfy Sirius without ruining Regulus's plans, or never know another moment of peace.

He takes a breath, and then he says, "Let's find a better place to talk."

Notes:

so many people lie in this chapter. barty doesn't even point out all of them to regulus - just the ones regulus doesn't already know are lies

sirius: *calling lily a nickname because they're friends and he has nicknames for all his friends*
regulus: is this Calculated,, who is he trying to annoy,,,, lily doesn't seem annoyed so it must be someone else,,,,,,,
(but also maybe it is a little pointed! who knows!)

james understands NOTHING he was just trying to HELP and now REGULUS BLACK IS HERE

maeve and emma continue to slow burn in the background but it's still a faster burn than regulus and evan

evan to dumbledore: isn't it so sad how snape has no friends because he sucks
sirius: *choking*

also evan: *brings up quidditch*
snape: jesus fucking christ

dumbledore kicked most of them out because he had to get rid of evan SOMEHOW

and regulus wants to get him a present<3

and SIRIUS!!!!!!! oh regulus your sadness and abandonment issues are showing. sirius is smarter than regulus would like to give him credit for, and sirius also cares what regulus is up to more than regulus thinks he does - but that's not to say sirius is some sort of all-forgiving saint here. why do you think he wanted snape out of the way? why do you think he wants to talk to regulus?

this is about to get *messy.*

NOTE: my spring semester starts soon - when the fall semester started, i had enough chapters pre-written to cover almost the entire thing, and i'm getting ahead on chapters now, but i'm not going to have as much of a buffer. my HOPE is that i won't have to skip update weeks very often, but just be ready for that

next week: sirius has a detective monologue!! evan sorts cushions!! regulus gets lost on the sixth floor!!

thanks for reading!! AAAAA I'M SO EXCITED TO BE BACK
-love, birl<3

Chapter 41

Notes:

i've said it before i'll say it again - regulus is unreliable when it comes to sirius. pay very close attention to what sirius is saying vs how regulus interprets it

Sirius leads the way around so many corners that Regulus feels like they've traversed half of the sixth floor before they arrive at an unused classroom—one of many. It seems the same as all the rest, with the main benefit being its distance from Dumbledore's office, but then Sirius taps out a complicated-looking passcode on the door and pushes it open to reveal...

Actually, Regulus isn't quite sure what to call this room. It clearly used to be a classroom at some point in time (before Sirius and his friends got their hands on it). The blackboard is mostly erased, with a few notes in pink and green chalk left in one corner. All of the desks have been pushed together to form one massive table, and the chairs are scattered around the room with no readily apparent strategy. There's an enormous pile of cushions in the center of the room, a bust of someone Regulus doesn't recognize on the floor, and a large cabinet against one wall.

"Pads," Potter says, affronted, as they all file inside. Nobody sits, although Pettigrew eyes the pile of cushions like he wants to. Barty and Evan are staying close to Regulus, and Lily lingers by the door.

"Eye for an eye," Sirius says, half to Potter and half to Regulus. He shuts the door. "We've warded the shit out of this place. Breaking in would be more trouble than it's worth—there's nothing here you'd be interested in, unless you're a fan of Mr. Grumps—" he nods at the bust, which does indeed look grumpy— "but this is where we do some of our finest work. So. That's one of our secrets. I get the feeling we're going to be talking about more than a few of yours."

Which is both presumptive and infuriatingly accurate. Regulus is trapped. Hopefully not literally, but who knows?

That doesn't mean he's just going to agree, though. "One classroom weighed against what you want me to tell you is not 'eye for an eye.'"

Sirius scowls. "Don't you think I know that? Snape's fucking annoying, but he's not an idiot. You have something big going on. I don't have anything that's going to balance that out."

"Then why are you so sure that I'm going to tell you?" Regulus says, mostly to be irritating.

"Fine, let's do this the hard way." Sirius hops up to sit on the cluster of desks. It's a familiar posture—raised above the rest, so everyone can see him better. "Summer: our parents tell me to join the Death Eaters once I come of age, or else. I choose 'or else' and get disowned pronto, with absolutely zero effort on their part to bring me back. Suggests they think they don't need me, doesn't it?" (Obviously. That's the whole point of having a spare.) "And then fall: nothing, nothing, nothing, except for how Carrow's booted off your quidditch team and replaced with Fleming, who I know is a half-blood. Winter holidays, more nothing, except." He points at Regulus. "You come back different. You antagonize Carrow when he tries to re-join the team—don't ask how I know—"

"I did see that Invisibility Cloak," Regulus interrupts. (Is that the sort of thing they should tell Geoff about, or is it pointless to stress him out like that when there's only a week and a half until the last match of the year anyway?) "Where on earth did you get that?"

Sirius sighs. "Borrowed it." Which raises more questions than it answers, but Sirius is already moving on. "Anyway. Regulus Black, champion of half-bloods, or so it would seem. And Muggleborns, to hear Snape tell it—Mulciber, too."

Mulciber too. If he and Snape are drawing the same conclusions, that suggests that they're consulting each other. Regulus will have to talk to Heather about breaking that apart—Evan, who's staring at the leftover chalk markings but is almost certainly still listening, has probably put those pieces together of his own accord.

"Now, me, I find that timing just a little suspicious," Sirius continues. "You're almost sixteen, which means you're basically almost seventeen, and if you get disowned House Black has no heir. Maybe it means you have more leverage. Maybe it means you have more pressure. I'm betting you really want it to be both. And all of a sudden you're spending all this time with Lily, which I just attributed to generic teenage rebellion at first—Lils, you know I think you're a delight, but I was asking myself why Regulus would agree, no offense—"

Lily, leaning against the doorframe, says, "None taken. I asked similar questions."

"Great." Sirius turns back to Regulus. "You got the same ultimatum I did, and you have some sort of incredibly convoluted plan to wiggle out of it, because you don't want to join the Death Eaters, because you're not a blood purist—cool, by the way, congrats on that—and you're willing to bet that if you can prove that being a blood traitor isn't political and social suicide, our parents will stop leaning so hard into the whole You-Know-Who thing." He spreads his hands, mismatched silver rings shining from almost every finger. "Did I get it? Pro tip, though: you'd need a hell of a lot of leverage to make that work. Just speaking as someone who tried it."

"Then it's a good thing that's not what I'm doing," Regulus retorts, not without some satisfaction. "Our parents have looked at the state of the country and made up their minds. The only way to change that is to change the entire situation. I got that ultimatum—" although, really, Regulus didn't even get the explicit option of 'or else'— "but I'm not settling for avoiding it."

"But you are avoiding it."

There's a hint of triumph to it that makes Regulus's teeth grind. He doesn't let that into his voice. "Naturally. Just not by running away."

Sirius goes still.

Regulus can't draw out uncomfortable pauses when he's talking to Sirius. Even if Sirius is temporarily silent, given more than a handful of seconds, he'll come up with another monologue. Conversations always operate on Sirius's timetable. Not Regulus's.

That means he has to keep talking if he wants to have any measure of control over it. Very well. Regulus can monologue too. "You didn't solve anything when you left. Do you realize that? All you did was remove yourself from the situation. And our parents were quite happy to let you do that because, yes, I was there."

"I'm more than aware," Sirius interrupts. "Excuse me for thinking the entire 'situation' was me refusing to join the Death Eaters. I figured you wouldn't care either way. I had no reason to think otherwise until this term—"

"Of course I care," Regulus snaps. Which he didn't mean to do. But Sirius said 'you' with so much derision— "They're fanatical murderers with repugnant politics and a penchant for dying young. Did you think I'd just be fine with that?"

Sirius throws his hands in the air. "Well, what was I meant to think, Regulus? You didn't exactly give me any indication that we were even remotely on the same side."

"Are we? Or have you just decided we are?"

"And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"You apparently tried to talk our parents into becoming more moderate, and it didn't work, because you didn't know what you were doing," Regulus says. "They—"

"'Apparently'? You were there literally every single time I tried to bring it up—"

"They won't do it if they don't get anything out of it," Regulus barrels on. "So no, Sirius, I don't think we are on the same side, because you never did like compromising."

"Your definition of 'compromise' is just you getting what you want," Sirius snarls.

"Funny, I could say the same to you." Regulus is about to say something else—he doesn't know what yet—that will probably be equally witty and devastating. But someone taps his shoulder.

It's Barty, scowling like thunder. "Can we take five? There's something you need to know."

 

They block off one corner of the room with a muffling ward.

Potter has apparently decided to take this opportunity to have a muttered, urgent conversation with Sirius in the opposite corner, Pettigrew trailing along behind them, which leaves Lily grumbling something to Evan.

"What is it?" Regulus says.

Barty sighs. "Something you do not want to hear, I'm guessing."

Which is... only technically an answer.

Regulus raises an eyebrow.

"You're wasting an opportunity," Barty says. "Sirius picks fights, it's what he does, you've told me so yourself. Stop letting him."

"What for?" Regulus says. "If I tell him I'm not going to fight with him, he'll just double down."

"Have you ever actually tried that?"

Well.

"I spent my whole life with him until I was ten, I know how he'll react to things," Regulus tries.

But he's playing a losing game. Even if Barty weren't looking so skeptical, Regulus can point out the obvious flaw in his own logic. He is not ten anymore.

"Ask Evans and McKinnon to try to figure out how he actually feels about Dark magic, since they're obviously all friends, then decide if I'm right about the opportunity thing," Barty says. "But if you keep letting him bait you, he's never going to take you seriously."

"He never takes anyone seriously except himself."

"A pun and a lie, two in one. Look, I'm not saying you should go crawling to him for forgiveness, that would be ludicrous. Just... I know you know you're not his spare anymore. You don't owe him anything. You just need to figure out how to get him to keep his mouth shut. So how are you going to do that? Because a targeted Tongue-Tying hex takes a lot more prep time than we have."

 

At the end of the five minutes, Regulus takes down the muffling ward and returns to the middle of the room. Evan has sorted all of the cushions by color and size, save two turquoise ones, which he and Lily are sitting on.

"Hello," Evan says brightly. "Lily was just telling me that she's obligated to root for Gryffindor in the match, because of McKinnon, but she hopes we don't die."

"That's very kind," Regulus says.

"And a legitimate concern, with the way you all play," Lily says. "Sorted it out?"

"As much as we can on our own," Regulus says. "I need to talk to you about something, though, when you have a moment."

She glances over at the other corner. Surprisingly enough, Pettigrew is talking now, with both Sirius and Potter listening intently, but it's so soundless that they've clearly put up a ward of their own. "They look busy, so I think we have more time to kill. Unless when you said 'a moment' you actually meant 'half an hour.'"

"Hopefully not." This isn't a conversation that needs to exclude Evan or Barty, so Regulus casts another muffling ward in the middle of the room. "Can you and McKinnon gauge Sirius's position on Dark Arts?"

"Yeesh," Lily says, which is not an encouraging response. But then she says, "I mean, probably? If Marlene just asks him straight out. With luck, he might not connect that conversation to this one."

"Would you please sit down?" Evan says to Regulus and Barty. "This is conversationally awkward. Take the purple cushions, there are too many of them."

The stack of purple cushions is indeed higher than the others. (There is no turquoise stack.) Regulus and Barty taking two of them doesn't solve the problem, but it mitigates it.

Once they're seated according to Evan's wishes, Regulus continues. "I think, at this point, we need to know where he stands. We can't leave him in ambiguous territory forever."

"Beyond the obvious answer that he's in that corner over there, are we sure he knows where he stands?" Evan says.

"Nope," Lily says. "But that's still something. If he's not sure, Marlene and I might be able to talk him around. But, Regulus, if you're thinking of recruiting him, I kind of think that his stance on Dark Arts is one of your smaller problems."

"I'm aware," Regulus says. "I'm going to... attempt to talk to him."

"You could also attempt to listen to him," she says drily. "That might help."

 

Regulus knows when Sirius and his friends finish their conversation, because their muffling ward gets pulled down as Potter is saying "—doesn't really matter, does it? Status quo."

"Sure," Sirius says, but whatever they're talking about, his heart's not in it. He sounds flat and resigned as he adds, "But I get to choose who's explaining this to Remus."

Pettigrew sighs. "Let's not think that far ahead, please."

"Why isn't Lupin here?" Evan murmurs to Lily. (The tone is unnecessary, as Regulus's muffling ward is still up.) "Bit strange, isn't it?"

"Not really," Lily says. "He's not feeling well. I think he went to see Pomfrey, I haven't seen him since dinner."

Months ago, Heather pointed Regulus towards Lupin as a possible recruit. He hasn't followed up on it, because of Sirius, but... they're here now, so... "Does that help or hurt our case?"

"It..." She gives it some thought, then shrugs. "He has a talent for telling his friends when they're acting like idiots, but he doesn't usually do it in front of other people. Mixed bag."

Sirius is approaching, so Regulus takes one deep breath and then warns the others, "I'm taking down the muffling ward."

There's nothing visible that changes once Regulus takes the ward down, nothing to indicate that they are no longer secured in their own space, but he can't shake the feeling of being found during hide-and-seek. It's a game Regulus used to be quite good at. Emerging from the hidden spaces always set him off-center, walking out into the open and seeing the person who knew he was there. Looking at Sirius now feels the same way—Sirius is standing with his hands on his hips, so impassive that Regulus is momentarily flooded with the sense of being caught.

He takes a breath and settles his mind.

He can do this.

The pause lasts either two seconds or two years. It ends with Sirius sighing through his nose and saying, "Right, want to try all of that over again?"

This serves Regulus's purposes very well. "It does seem more useful than continuing our previous thread of conversation."

"Lovely." He grabs the nearest cushion and sits down. (Potter and Pettigrew are drifting over, but slower, as if they think they can prevent people from noticing that they're joining the group.) "Look, we both know you're up to something, and it's meant to keep you out of the Death Eaters. I want to know what."

"I can't go around telling anyone who wants to know," Regulus says.

"Which just confirms for me that it's dangerous and you know it."

"And?" Regulus raises an eyebrow. "More reason for me to avoid spreading it around."

Sirius raises an eyebrow right back. "Yes, that explains so wonderfully why Snape is putting the pieces together and throwing them in your face like a Molotov cocktail."

"He thinks that we're working together."

"And that pissed you off."

Regulus stares him down and holds his tongue. He only lets go once he's confident that he can get the words out calmly. "That was a liability. My cover relies on people fundamentally misunderstanding the reasoning behind my actions. I decide when to make the truth known, and it's far too early right now."

"There was all of that about the Slytherin reputation." Sirius drums his fingers on the floor. "I'm not sure you're going to get to make that decision."

"You," Regulus says, "have not been thinking about this for as long as I have. Why do you want to know so badly?"

That stops Sirius in his tracks for some reason.

Normally, when Regulus can get Sirius to stop talking, he experiences a sense of vibrantly petty satisfaction. But that wasn't meant to shut Sirius up. It should be an easy question to answer. Unless Sirius is putting together some sort of half-truth, but even in that case, he shouldn't be taking this long. Sirius was always quick.

The silence grows, and Regulus vaguely feels like he should fill it, but filling an awkward silence is a trap, as a rule. He waits instead.

And after five or six more breaths, Sirius says, "Because if Snape was even half right, you're up to your neck in some deep shit."

"That's not a reason," Regulus says.

"Yes, it is."

"It's not good enough, then. I told you, I can't go around telling anyone who wants to know." And then Regulus delivers the keystone of his argument, the piece that will hopefully persuade Sirius to keep quiet permanently, because it is not only true but also phrased in a manner that is designed to poke Sirius right in the sensibilities. "It's not just about me. It wouldn't be fair to the other people involved."

Sirius studies him for a long time. Then— "And that's that?"

"That's that," Regulus says. "Believe it or not, there are quite a few people trying to survive this war. I'm not jeopardizing that for them."

"I think we're all trying to survive, Regulus."

What is Regulus supposed to say to that? 'Yes, that's generally where the problems come in'?

He settles on, "Then let's not make that more difficult for each other than it needs to be."

"Fine," Sirius says. Something about it sounds hollow, even though he looks as casual as ever. "Not like you need more enemies."

"I don't," Regulus agrees, and tries not to think about how it makes something clench in his chest. "I'll try to keep them from coming your way in the future."

 

The walk back to the dungeons is quiet.

Regulus hardly registers any of it, really. Sirius's "See you around, then" is looping over and over in his head, those traces of resignation that he can't figure out if he imagined. Sirius stood in the doorway of that classroom, watched Regulus and Barty and Evan leave, and Regulus strained his ears all the way down that corridor and never heard the door close.

He'd gotten them horrifically lost trying to find a staircase going down. The third time they passed the 'Notable Muggle Inventions of 1976' bulletin board, Regulus wanted to tear it to shreds. But someone had already splashed some kind of brown liquid, maybe ink, over each of the frozen photographs, and Evan nodded to a corridor Regulus could have sworn they'd already tried and said gently, "I think Dumbledore's office is that way," and it was, which was somehow more frustrating than if they'd retraced their steps yet again.

And going from the sixth floor down to the dungeons is a long walk, but it all blurs together, portraits and sconces and stone, empty and silent except for the sounds of their footsteps. They don't even come across prefects doing rounds, not that it matters.

It's not how Regulus thought this would go.

Sirius...

He let go of Regulus a long time ago, really. Regulus knew that. Regulus... Regulus should have adjusted his expectations.

And he agreed not to say anything, him and his friends. So. Regulus got what he needed.

The dungeons are a relief, dark and still, only a few corners left to turn, but then Barty says the password and the burst of light and heat and chatter in the common room makes Regulus's skin crawl. They haven't been gone for long, all things considered, but the liveliness of it just feels...

Wrong.

It feels wrong.

Regulus pushes through the common room without stopping, and then he finally, finally reaches the door to their room and opens it to find blessed silence. His journal is still on his desk. No new messages. Obviously not—Barty hasn't had opportunity or reason to write anything, and Lily might not even be back in her room yet. She stayed in that classroom with the other Gryffindors.

Barty follows him in, and Evan does too, and Regulus doesn't give either of them the opportunity to try to say something. "I'm going to shower."

He showered this morning. He'll shower tomorrow morning after practice. But... this way he can at least pretend he's doing something useful with his time, something that lets him close a door and avoid the careful stillness on Barty and Evan's faces.

They were never supposed to see anything like that.

"Okay," Evan says as Regulus opens the bathroom door. "Goodnight."

He doesn't mean to slam the door behind him, but he does, and for some reason that stings worse than anything else.

Notes:

😬

uhhhhh so on the positive side of things: REGULUS AND SIRIUS FINALLY TALKED!!!!!! (alshdfshgjdjf writing sirius's speech patterns is so fun)

sirius is as clever as regulus is - he's just mostly devoted his efforts to different pursuits. so, like, regulus has spent much more time thinking about (and doing) political and social maneuvering than sirius has. but when it comes to putting together puzzle pieces about what regulus is up to? sirius is WELL-EQUIPPED.

and they make each other SO ANGRY afjskghsjdghsdf - but that's not anger so much as it is old resentment and irritation that flares up when given half a chance. it's not that they can't get along. as i keep helpfully reminding you all, they used to be best friends.

side note i think it's very funny how when regulus and sirius have their time-out, it's the only children counseling them. meanwhile evan and lily who both have their own fraught sibling relationships are discussing Something in the middle of the room... but what?????????? (regulus and sirius)

when regulus hit sirius with the 'why do you want to know things about my life' and sirius just froze and regulus thought it was a trap

alright, discussion question time: what are sirius's motives here? what was he *actually* trying to get out of this interaction? do you think he's actually let go of regulus? and what was he talking about when he said he already tried to convince their parents that being a blood traitor wasn't political and social suicide?

next week: regulus has a Complicated day, heather and evan pass notes, MORE SIRIUS??????

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 42

Regulus wakes up the next morning and goes to quidditch practice and works on diving over and over because nothing else takes up enough of his mind.

 

Breakfast... happens. They sit with Heather and Margaret and Antony, and Regulus speaks when spoken to and not often otherwise. Nobody finds this unusual.

 

Evan doesn't say a word to Foxworth or Rosendale for the entirety of Arithmancy, and Barty spends Runes drawing anatomically questionable dragons.

The only reason Regulus knows any better is because there's a well-worn Complete Illustrated Encyclopædia of Dragons sitting on one of the lowest shelves in the library at home. Back when Sirius was positive he could persuade their parents to buy them a dragon, they'd pored over the painted renditions of each species, looking for one that wouldn't be too destructive so it would be allowed in the house.

 

Professor Vector assigned them a proof due Monday, and Regulus is halfheartedly planning to spend their free period on that for lack of better things to do, but he and Barty get back to their room after Runes and Evan sets aside the essay he was working on and says, "We should probably go, I don't want to keep Heather waiting."

What?

"Go where?" Regulus says.

Evan blinks. "The solarium? We're 'doing homework' there so we can talk to her about Snape? You said yes at breakfast."

Oh.

Of course, it's likely that nobody actually said that at breakfast. Regulus... wasn't paying enough attention to the conversation to catch any hidden meanings, it seems.

"How are we talking to her at the solarium?" he says. "If there are other people there, they'll notice muffling wards."

"Passing notes via asking her to check over my Defense essay," Evan says.

Right. That makes sense.

Evan and Barty trade looks, and then Evan says, "But I can go myself if there's something else you need to do."

Regulus can't take that offer. It's ridiculous enough that he's gone through this much of the day in a daze in the first place. The outcome of last night was just... nothing. Net zero impact on Regulus and his plans, as far as Sirius is concerned. Once they address Snape, the events at the Whomping Willow could even prove to be beneficial. It's the sort of thing that Regulus could let Evan and Heather sort out themselves, as they've done that in the past, but given how close Snape came to the truth... it'll be delicate, and Regulus should attend the planning meeting.

"This is highest priority," Regulus says. "Let's go."

 

The solarium is busy today. Jessica and some of her fourth-year friends are huddled by the windows, and there's a group of fifth-year Hufflepuffs taking up about half of the chairs. Other students cluster in twos and threes on mismatched furniture and cushions. That purple chaise longue Evan likes is nowhere to be seen, which makes Regulus suspect the solarium borrowed it from elsewhere and has since returned it.

Heather has spread her pink-and-red picnic blanket in a particularly large patch of sunlight, and she's eating an Acid Pop as she flips through a textbook, which reminds Regulus that he was going to order something from Honeydukes for Evan. Maybe tonight. He has to patrol the owlery anyway, so he might as well save himself a trip later.

"Afternoon!" she says when they sit down. "Please give me a reason to procrastinate on my Transfiguration homework, I'm sick of analyzing theorems."

Evan produces a nearly-blank piece of parchment from his bookbag and sets it down in the middle of the blanket. "Did you have to write this essay on the difference between jinxes and counterjinxes last year? I cannot work out how it's meant to turn out twelve to fourteen inches long."

"Yes, it was obnoxious, and you can fill up space by giving loads of examples." Heather takes a look at the parchment. Regulus does too.

We had an issue with Snape last night, it reads in Evan's swooping handwriting. He hasn't completely figured us out, but he's noticed quite a bit. Regulus essentially told him he was making up stories to feel better about how nobody likes him. We can keep pushing that narrative, but the important thing is to make sure nobody believes him if he keeps talking about it. Also, splitting up him and Mulciber.

"Pretty strong introduction," Heather says. "If I could annotate with some suggestions?"

"By all means," Evan says. "I'll rewrite it with less crossing out before I hand it in anyway."

As Heather is writing, Regulus takes a breath and settles his mind. He can't afford to miss any part of this, not when it could be how they really destroy that pack of future Death Eaters. It's April. The Carrows and Stephen Travers graduate in June, leaving behind Snape, Mulciber, Warrington, and maybe Alexander Yew. Maybe others. Easy targets, more or less.

Early in the term, Regulus was concerned about losing relevance—achieving his goal too early and bleeding support as people lost interest. That's still a potential problem, but he can't just sit back and let things happen. That's how he gets people like Snape becoming risks. That's how he gets people like Sirius doubting whether Regulus has the proper leverage to make this work.

Regulus is not going to let Sirius be right.

Heather sets down her quill. "There we are. Questions?"

Her addition reads, Obviously he has to be making stuff up if we want people to think he's wrong, but I wouldn't lean too hard into 'because no one likes him'—too much risk of making him the underdog and then people might start to root for him. We show why it's the case without ever stating that it is, so people think they're drawing their own conclusions. As for him and Mulciber—give them reason to believe the other will backstab them if at all possible. It's not foolproof, but then they'll be distracted worrying about each other. Ditto with Warrington if we're concerned about that too, easier to do with her and Mulciber since she already cheated on one boyfriend. (Yay?)

"Yes," Evan says. He points at a random spot on the parchment, then scribbles, Or push them into actually backstabbing each other? "Do you think that's too much to fit in?"

"Not at all!" Heather crunches her Acid Pop. "Go big or go home, right?"

 

Regulus and Evan return to the dorm before Charms, and Regulus takes the opportunity to write a message to Lily.

 

We've planned out some damage control measures to ensure nobody believes Snape if he keeps talking about his conclusions. Would you be willing to tell your roommates a carefully edited version of what happened last night? I won't mince words: the framing of it makes him look terrible, but it would be very helpful for us. Evan and Heather Brown put together a story you can use as a template.

 

As an afterthought, he adds, I hope the atmosphere in Gryffindor Tower hasn't been too odd today.

"Have either of you seen my other shoe?" Barty is hunting around his section of the room with a shoe in one hand and his bookbag in the other. (He emerged from his bed when Regulus and Evan got back—judging by the grogginess, he was asleep.) "It was on my foot when I got back, so there's a limit to how far it could have gone, but it's testing that limit more aggressively than I want it to."

"Look under your bed," Regulus says. "Evan, could you order more journals when you get a chance? You and Heather should have them."

"Sure!" Evan grabs parchment. He's been in a good mood ever since Heather drew a network of the most sensationalist, intrepid gossips at Hogwarts and she and Evan mapped out exactly who to talk to in order to make sure that news of Snape's recent struggles reaches every single one of them. Regulus didn't recognize half of the names on that parchment, but that's a good thing—those people can't be connected to him. They span every house, every year, and almost the entire spectrum of political affiliations. Evan's eyes lit up like Regulus imagines they might if OWLs were canceled. "Flitwick's classroom isn't that close to the owlery, but it's closer than here, so I can go after class."

Barty resurfaces from under his bed with the other shoe, rather dustier than it was an hour ago. "Same object bindings as before?"

"They'll need to be connected to each other as well as to me," Regulus says. "I suppose that means dividing mine into quarters instead of halves." Which means Regulus won't really be able to scale further without making each section of his journal quite small.

"We can get you a second one later if there are more people you need to add," Barty says. "Or we can just connect those people to people who are connected to you. Like, McKinnon doesn't need one now, because she and Lily just talk to each other, but it's not like they live together over the holidays. So if McKinnon and Lily are connected to each other, with Lily connected to you, it's the same process of communicating as before, and you're less likely to lose your mind from carrying around twenty thousand different journals."

Regulus... doesn't love the idea of people being connected to each other and not to him, but Barty's right that it's exactly how he reaches McKinnon already. Barty and Evan and Heather all have people they've either recruited or are in the process of recruiting personally. (Meredith Rosendale isn't officially on their side yet, but Evan said in the solarium that he'd talk to her soon—whether Foxworth shows up as well or not is really up to Rosendale. Since Rosendale is Muggleborn, Regulus is hoping to bring her into the inter-house Dark Arts study group he still needs to form.)

"We can discuss that once there's someone else we want to add," he says, and closes his journal. "Do either of you know what we're doing in Charms today?"

 

It feels like an eternity ago that Regulus and Evan sat in Regulus's office and Evan picked apart why Regulus has struggled with charms for so long, but it was only Monday. Three days. A part of Regulus wonders if he dreamed it—from Evan complaining about the furniture to handing over his heir ring to doing casual wandless magic to beaming as Regulus cast the best Summoning Charm of his entire life.

They were going to keep working on it, on control, on precision—things nobody had ever told Regulus he could stand to improve before. Evan said the difference between a good charm and a flawless one was using the absolute bare minimum and using it well, that subtlety was the answer more often than not, that in his humble opinion there was no way that practicing efficient spellcasting wouldn't be helpful to Regulus considering his family specialty. With all that power, why not make the most of every bit of it?

And Regulus had sought out assistance for the sake of an Outstanding, but what with the way Evan described it, he couldn't help but feel tempted to try for perfection.

They haven't had time, though. Maybe next week, once all of this with Snape is closer to being sorted out.

So Regulus has done precisely nothing in the realm of practicing Charms since Monday, and that familiar dread begins to seep in as they climb stairs. It could have been a fluke. Regulus might have unconsciously adjusted something else in his casting that he's forgotten how to do in the intervening few days. Or maybe the setting had an impact—confessing to Evan that he's been struggling with Charms and not needing to hide it, rather than sitting in class avoiding Flitwick's gaze.

He should have tried a Summoning Charm in their room before they left. At least then he'd have some idea one way or the other.

Still, class is inevitable, no matter how many of the staircases move as they're climbing them. (Regulus sometimes wishes flying was a permitted way of traveling inside the castle. It would be vastly more efficient.) They enter the Charms classroom, and they sit down, all in the front row because Flitwick prefers that when the class size is small enough, and Flitwick says, "Welcome, welcome! Let's jump right in—we'll be reviewing stasis charms today, as they'll certainly appear on the OWL exam."

Regulus didn't try stasis charms with Evan at all, and they're fiddly. He somehow has to avoid trying too hard while also getting the string of movements right, which will be a difficult line to walk. At least the incantations are easy.

He'll know one way or another if Monday was a fluke in about... two minutes, probably.

Flitwick waves his wand, and small bunches of wildflowers land on each desk. "These were picked this morning, so they're very fresh, as you can see! However, when I say go— I'll give you a countdown, don't worry—you will each have one minute to cast a stasis charm before a decaying enchantment goes into effect. Now, this is a bunch of cut wildflowers with nothing particularly special about them. Can anyone tell me what type—yes, Miss Yaxley?"

"General stasis," Charlotte says.

"And why not botanical stasis?" Flitwick says.

"Because they've been cut, so they're not growing anymore."

"Precisely! I hope everyone remembers the difference in casting between the two. If you've cast the charm properly, your flowers will stay nice and lively after the one-minute mark. Does everyone have their wands out—yes, very good—alright, three, two, one, go."

It takes Evan about two seconds to wave his wand and say "Conserviectum." Then he sets his wand on his desk and props his chin in his hands, evidently done. Everyone else is a little more cautious—there's a brief pause, then a flurry of spellcasting.

Regulus does not take a deep breath, because Evan said it looked like a wince on Monday. Instead, he does his best imitation of what Evan just did, easy confidence and all. He's not sure he manages to flow between the wand movements in the same way—it seemed to be second nature when Evan did it—but he does all of them in the correct order and times the incantation right, so... he'll just have to see.

Everyone casts their charm well before the minute is up, which means there's a brief but tense period of time when six people are looking at Flitwick, who's looking at his pocket watch, and Evan is looking out the window. Regulus is trying not to go over his spellcasting in his head—it's a surefire way of making him nervous to look at the effects. Instead, he concentrates on Flitwick's pocket watch, which is brass with a starry night sky twinkling from the lid, Lyra right at the center. Regulus has never had to hear a performance by the school chorus involving lyres and he hopes it stays that way.

"And... time," Flitwick announces. "Alright, everyone, take a look!"

Regulus looks at his flowers, and—

They look the same.

He keeps looking, to see if decay is creeping in at the bases of the stems or the tips of the petals, and there is the tiniest bit of wilting at the leaves, but... that's all.

Evan drags his gaze away from the window to glance at his own flowers, which have undergone no noticeable changes, and then he looks over at Regulus's desk, then at Regulus.

He winks.

 

Lily responds during office hours in burnt-orange ink with Everyone here is pretending last night didn't happen so far. They haven't spent much time in the common room today, but that sort of thing fluctuates a lot for them. Has it been awkward for you?

Regulus opts for a half-truth. Barty and Evan and I were all on the same side of those conversations, and I haven't seen Snape, so the opportunities for awkwardness are limited. Last night raises quite a few questions, though.

In seconds, more orange ink prints itself across the page. Yeah. Do you still want to figure out Sirius's stance re: Dark Arts? Marlene says she can probably get it out of him pretty easily but I told her I had to check to see if we were still doing that.

Well.

Regulus and Sirius came to a sort of agreement last night, but it was... vague, dully reached, not really a deal in any sense of the word.

On a political level, Sirius would be useful. That much is obvious. If he's willing to duel Amycus Carrow now (not that that's particularly unusual—they always struggled to get along, even before Hogwarts), he'd probably be willing to do quite a bit more in service of a cause he truly believed in. His blood status and thorough education in Dark Arts would protect him as well.

On a personal level...

Ignoring the sheer difficulty of talking Sirius into it, there's the matter of Snape's assumption. Sirius is and has always been the better-known one of the two of them, the one who was looked at first, with Regulus second or not at all. He's older, taller, louder. With Sirius on Regulus's side, he would be fighting constantly to ensure that people still thought of that side as Regulus's. He would need Sirius's cooperation to make it work, Sirius's agreement to be considered the less important of the two of them, Sirius's ability to uphold that deal.

Would he agree?

Regulus... doesn't know.

For the sake of combating blood purity, maybe.

But for the sake of protecting Dark Arts?

Either way, knowing would be useful.

He takes a breath.

And then he writes out neatly, Yes.

Okay, Lily writes. (The black and orange inks are looking increasingly garish together.) What's the template you mentioned? I can make sure all my roommates hear about it by staging a conversation with Marlene tonight.

Good.

Evan isn't back from the owlery yet, but they discussed the plan in enough detail in the solarium that Regulus can repeat it. Lily's component echoes the same 'conspiracy theory' angle that Regulus used on Snape last night, conveniently failing to mention Regulus or the Whomping Willow. Instead, she's supposedly repeating something Sirius told her—which isn't exactly false.

Dragging Sirius's name into it... may or may not drag Sirius himself into it, but this is the best way for them to add fuel to the fire.

 

When Regulus returns from doing rounds, Honeydukes mail order successfully handed off to a school owl, both Barty and Evan are awake, which is unusual at this time of night.

"Finally," Evan says as Regulus closes the door. "You got a reply. We're dying of curiosity."

It must be about Lily's staged conversation with McKinnon. Hopefully she reached everyone—Heather is friends with one of Lily's roommates, so if this piece of gossip reaches Heather via Patil, Heather can encourage her to keep sharing it and even point her towards other people who would find it interesting or amusing. It's important that this piece spreads over the weekend, because Evan's planning to talk to Foxworth and Rosendale in Arithmancy on Monday and reveal a story that just so happens to corroborate Lily's. As Heather said, people enjoy drawing connections. If they think they're putting together a puzzle, they'll be much more invested in each of the potential pieces.

There are many pieces to come.

Regulus opens his journal to find quite a lot of orange writing at the bottom of the page he was using earlier.

 

Everything went smoothly with my roommates. It might make its way around the school faster than you thought, because Mary and Shreya were really interested, and Shreya's definitely going to tell Brown at the very least. Marlene says she can also mention it to Dorcas (Meadowes—Ravenclaw in our year, she was at Slughorn's dinner party at the start of term, I'm friends with her), although Dorcas may or may not pass it along. (But frankly, I think she'd do it if she knew it was for a good cause, so...?)

 

If Lily and McKinnon both know Meadowes and think she's a good candidate, then Regulus may as well take the opportunity and ask Lily to try recruiting her.

 

Also, Marlene talked to Sirius.

 

Oh.

Already.

Regulus had thought he would have more time.

 

She says it was a pretty long conversation, but in summary: mixed feelings. He said sometimes it's weird to be with the Potters because it's just a fact in their minds that Dark Arts are evil magic. Sirius doesn't agree, so there's that. But he also said people tend to have a lot of pride in being Dark, and sometimes it gets them killed because they'd rather keep practicing dangerous magic than admit it's harming them. Marlene says he mentioned someone specific but she didn't want to share that without his knowledge. She also says that despite that, he didn't seem all that bothered by the notion of Dark Arts. Just... he cares a lot about the risks of being extreme. Marlene and I think that's reasonable, if I'm being honest.

Let me know what you think.

 

It's... better than Regulus was expecting.

The 'someone specific' is almost certainly Grandfather Arcturus, who died from overusing the Black specialty only a couple of years before Sirius started at Hogwarts. Sirius being concerned about something like that puts him on a similar level to Father. The question is whether Sirius was simply avoiding revealing the danger of the Black specialty to an outsider, or whether he's worried about the risks of Dark Arts in general. But he doesn't think they're evil, despite Potter.

That means...

That means Sirius is a potential ally.

And that means Regulus has to figure out what to do with him other than leaving him alone.

Notes:

wooooo regulus repress those emotions about sirius in favor of plotting your ascension!!!! look at him go!!!!!!!!!

the return of heather 'crush those motherfuckers' brown

WOOOOOO CHARMS!!!!!!!!!! HE DID IT YAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY but also afsghksghsjkdf evan was just rambling about charms theory and trying to come up with an excuse to spend more time with regulus and regulus immediately went 'perfectionism?????? :)'

evan is so delighted that He Gets A Journal Now

regulus: i need to know what sirius thinks about dark arts
marlene: ok
marlene: hey sirius what do you think about dark arts
regulus: WHAT ARE YOU DOING

now's a good time to think about lily and sirius - regulus knows they're friends, which is true, but how close are they really?

next time: barty takes charge of regulus's journal!! evan experiences a negative emotion and then drop-kicks it out the window!! regulus does not find any dead bodies!!

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 43

On Saturday, Barty rolls out of bed shortly after eleven and declares, "I am returning to my natural equilibrium."

"How so?" Regulus says. (Evan is off with Emma, which meant Regulus has had plenty of peace and quiet to work on the Arithmancy proof this morning, but it's been long enough that he welcomes a distraction.)

"Force of will," Barty says. "McGonagall's writing to my parents, which means I can expect an exasperated yet perfectly bureaucratic letter from my father any day now, which will be a tad out of the ordinary, I will admit—but that's his problem. Me, I am free from three extra OWL exams, and I am going to enjoy it. By becoming semi-nocturnal so I can get through everything I've been meaning to read. It's fantastic. I've never envied you less for having to get up early for quidditch."

"We didn't have quidditch today."

Barty shrugs. "I wouldn't know one way or the other, because I was asleep. And that is the dream. Fuck hard work, maybe I'll become a trophy husband after all."

"You'd get bored," Regulus says.

"Maybe. Maybe not. The only way to know for sure is to try it."

"Well, far be it from me to crush your dreams." The bookmark in Regulus's journal is turning from gold to inky black, so Lily's writing to him. (Knowing who's contacting him will be much more difficult once Evan and Heather's journals are set up, but such is the price of interconnectedness.) He flips to the latest page of his and Lily's correspondence, and—

 

SIRIUS THOUGHT WE WERE DATING

 

What on earth—?

"Why do you suddenly look distressed?" Barty says.

More words are appearing, scrawled out faster than Lily's usual rounded printing.

 

MARLENE IS IN HYSTERICS

 

Regulus gives up and hands the journal to Barty. "What do I even say to that?"

Barty reads the messages. Processes. And cackles. "I hope McKinnon never lets him live that down. I can respond if you want. No, actually, please let me respond."

Is that a bad idea? Possibly, but probably not, and it's not like Regulus has some sort of witty reply in mind. He indicates the quill and ink he's been using for Arithmancy. "Be my guest."

Barty puts the journal back on Regulus's desk and grabs the quill. (He doesn't bother to get a chair, standing and hunching over the journal instead.) "You're my favorite."

 

Hello, this is Barty, Regulus is stunned so I'm responding for him, I want to know everything. Did he just drop this into casual conversation?

 

Lily starts scribbling something back, but Regulus doesn't quite feel ready for more information about—about whatever bizarre conclusions Sirius has been drawing about Regulus's life. He had quite enough of that on Wednesday.

"Can you summarize for me later?" he says. "I can't make the general idea fit in my mind, much less the details."

"Love to," Barty says. "Let me know when you want this back."

The door swings open then, and Evan announces, "I have returned! Lunch?"

"Barty's still in pajamas," Regulus says.

"I have fabulous news," Barty says.

"Oh?" Evan shuts the door. "What sort?"

"It's a developing story, but the summary is that Sirius thought Regulus and Lily were an item."

Evan blinks. "What? Why?"

"Something about rounds and the Astronomy Tower," Barty says, and he waves a hand towards the door. "Go, I'll catch up. What time's our meeting?"

"Not until one," Regulus says. "I'll have to put my journal away before then." (Leaving it out is all well and good when the only people in the room are ones who know why the bookmark is liable to change color at any moment. Regulus doesn't want to risk any members of the Dark Arts study group noticing something they shouldn't and asking awkward questions.)

Barty dips Regulus's quill in the ink and starts writing back. "Noted."

 

At lunch, Regulus receives a package.

He'd thought about asking Honeydukes to send it directly to Evan, but that might have resulted in a long discussion of who sent it and why, akin to Evan's 'secret admirer' theory back when he got that letter from Lily. (Although that was meant to distract everyone from why Evan was actually getting mysterious letters.) Regulus doesn't need that kind of scrutiny, and besides, he'd been too... distracted on Wednesday night to thank Evan for getting them out of Dumbledore's office so neatly. So he specified himself as the recipient, so that he could give it to Evan personally.

Unfortunately, an owl swooping down and dropping a box about the size of a textbook next to Regulus's plate is the sort of thing that tends to draw some attention from his companions. Especially when the lettering on the box clearly indicates that it is from Honeydukes, there is a sparkly ribbon involved, and Regulus's companions include Evan and Emma.

"What did you get?" Emma says immediately.

Regulus opts for a vague truth. "A variety. The next Hogsmeade weekend isn't for some time."

"Three weeks, yes," she says. "A week before OWLs. We'll have to get there early to beat everyone else trying to stock up."

"Honeydukes opens at nine," Evan says without looking up. He's been occupied slicing his potatoes into smaller and smaller pieces for at least five minutes, which isn't... unusual for him, exactly, but normally it hardly prevents him from participating in the conversation, so he's clearly thinking about something else. Regulus can't tell if it's something good or not. Evan can be impressively impassive when absorbed in thought.

Emma nods decisively. "Eight-thirty should do it, then."

"Eight-thirty?" Maeve says. "What do we do in the intervening half-hour?"

"That's when we strategize."

"Strategize for what? We'll hardly have competition."

"We have to be ready for anything," Emma says ominously.

Oh, no.

If Emma is their quidditch captain next year—which she probably will be—she's going to have everyone show up to the pitch half an hour early for every practice.

 

Regulus holds on to the Honeydukes box until he, Evan, and Barty get back to their room.

He means to set it down on his desk long enough to open his journal, skim the new messages, and give it to Barty if necessary (the bookmark is black again), but Evan disappears into his wardrobe almost immediately, leaving the double doors barely ajar.

Well.

Regulus checks his journal, sees a long paragraph with Sirius's name written quite a few times in Lily's handwriting, and promptly hands it over to Barty.

Barty takes it, but he doesn't dive in the way Regulus expected him to. Instead, he nods at the Honeydukes box. "Is that for him?"

"Yes," Regulus says. "Should I just... knock?" Will Evan hear it if he does? Regulus has never seen past the layer of clothes at the very front of Evan's wardrobe. He has no idea how big it actually is.

"Seems reasonable." Barty grabs a quill. "Let me know if he has any dead bodies in there."

Alright.

Regulus picks up the box, crosses to Evan's wardrobe, and knocks. "I have something for you."

A few seconds pass, and Regulus is wondering if he knocked loudly enough, but then there's the sound of fabric swishing and one of the wardrobe doors is pushed open, revealing Evan standing in a gap between his cloaks. "Then by all means, do come in."

This is going well so far.

Evan steps back and holds the cloaks aside for Regulus. He has enough cloaks that even with half of them pushed as far to the side as they can go, it's a narrow gap, really just meant for one person. Which makes sense. When Evan did all that expansion on his wardrobe, he did it without letting Regulus or Barty know about it, so he probably wasn't anticipating guests. Hopefully there's at least more room on the inside, because Regulus's arm brushes against Evan's as he steps in and even though it was accidental, even unavoidable, something about it makes Regulus feel unnecessarily nervous.

He's not here to say or do anything drastic. He's just here to give Evan the box and thank him for Wednesday, both of which are perfectly reasonable things to do.

Evan pulls the door mostly closed again and lets the cloaks fall back into place, casting the wardrobe into abrupt darkness. It doesn't last, though, because light begins to twinkle from above, and Regulus looks up to see a chandelier—modest in size, clearly meant to light a small space, but glittering with crystal.

The inside of the wardrobe itself is... cozier than Regulus had expected. It is clearly first and foremost a storage space, meant for someone who already knows what they're looking for and where to find it; the walls are lined with shelves, some of them filled, some of them not, and there are several broomsticks in the back carefully arranged on display hooks, the way they would be in a shop. But there's a soft rug laid out on the floor, and the chandelier provides enough light to see by but keeps the room dim and glowing, like the last traces of a night sky as the sun begins to rise.

"The chandelier was a necessity," Evan says. There's plenty of room for both of them to stand here—there's even room for both of them to sit comfortably on the rug. Evan must have used quite a few Expansion Charms in conjunction to turn his standard Hogwarts wardrobe into this.

"I'd expect nothing less," Regulus says.

And now he has to get to the point of this conversation. He can't just stand here looking at the ceiling forever.

Regulus could just hold out the box and be done with it, but... but no. The gift is only half of it.

So he says, "I wanted to thank you."

Evan blinks.

"I... should have on Wednesday, really. We would have found ourselves in a very different situation if you hadn't handled Dumbledore." Regulus's face is beginning to feel warm. It would help if Evan weren't just—just looking at him, not searchingly, simple observance.

But Regulus has one more piece to say.

He looks past Evan's shoulder, because that's easier than looking at Evan looking at him. "It was impressive. So. Thank you."

There.

That's really all Regulus had to say, so he holds out the Honeydukes box, golden letters gleaming in the dim light. "This is for you."

Evan looks at the box almost as if he's never seen one before, and the moment stretches out, time slowing down as Regulus waits for something to happen, anything at all—and then, slowly, Evan reaches out, takes the box with both hands. His fingertips touch Regulus's, only for the barest instant before Regulus lets go, but Regulus's pulse speeds up anyway.

Why is he so nervous about this? It's chocolate. It's the safest possible choice of gift for Evan in the entire world. And he's nearly out of the Swiss chocolate he brought back from spring break, so it's well-timed, too. There is no reason for Regulus to be nervous about his reaction.

And yet...

"Thank you," Evan says, and he smiles at Regulus, and somehow this is not a relief at all. Regulus doesn't know where to put his hands now that he's no longer holding the box. Evan is thanking him when the whole point of this was for Regulus to thank Evan. And Evan is still looking at him, something indescribable in his expression that makes Regulus want to simultaneously shy away and look back at him, and it is a very small room, and Regulus has done what he came here to do so he should probably go now but he feels rooted to the spot, tucked away in Evan's wardrobe under twinkling, glittering lights.

But then Evan looks away, unties the sparkling ribbon on the box, and Regulus can breathe again, and Evan puts the ribbon on top of a small heap of other ribbons without even looking to make sure it's in the right place, and he opens the box and says delightedly, "Oh, you got the truffles!"

Regulus does not press his hands to his face to see if it's as warm as it feels. He tucks them behind his back instead. "I'm not sure how Honeydukes compares to Switzerland, but..." I thought you would like them are the words on the tip of his tongue, but they suddenly strike Regulus as incredibly inane. Why would he get Evan something he thought he wouldn't like? So he says, "This was quicker."

"I strongly approve of your decision-making." Evan selects an alarmingly green chocolate shaped like a leaf and holds the box out to Regulus. "Do you want one? There's one with candied ginger on it."

"They're for you," Regulus says.

"Yes, so I decide what to do with them, so I'm offering you one if you want it." Evan bites into the green chocolate and continues to hold out the box. Each of the chocolates is different in color, shape, and undoubtedly flavor, and Regulus has no idea what some of them are supposed to be—the bright orange one is presumably orange, but what sort of flavor corresponds with the thunderbolt right next to it?

The candied ginger one is obvious, though, and it's hardly even a truffle—it seems to be almost more ginger than chocolate. And Evan did point it out specifically.

Regulus takes it. "Thank you."

 

Regulus's journal is safely hidden away in his desk shortly before the members of the Dark Arts study group begin to arrive.

The fluctuating meeting times mean that not everyone can come every time, which is good from a secrecy perspective but annoying from a continuity perspective. Regulus has to be there every time, of course, and Barty and Evan almost always are too, but everyone else varies a bit more.

Today, they have nearly everyone—Jessica shows up first, followed shortly by Miles, and then Antony and Margaret, the latter of whom shuts the door and says, "Heather is trapped in the common room. She wants to know if she can bring Priam's cat in here instead of abandoning her."

"Yes," Miles says immediately, before looking at Regulus. "Er. Maybe?"

"Is the cat comfortable around Dark Arts?" Regulus says.

Margaret shrugs. "Priam says so, and he'd know."

He most certainly would. "Then yes. How are you meant to communicate that to Heather?"

"By not returning to the common room in the next five minutes. If I don't come back, she'll assume it's fine."

Reasonable enough.

"We should have a mascot." Evan is perched cross-legged on his desk, box of chocolates in his lap. He's been taking his time, scrutinizing each option as he goes along, but Regulus still has a sneaking suspicion that the truffles will be gone within three days. Four at the absolute most. It was a good gift. He'll have to remember it in the future. "I think it's an enormous missed opportunity. We could have a cat at every meeting."

"A cat that specifically does not like you?" Barty says.

Evan pouts at him. "Barty, please. That was last year. I've changed."

"Sure, but has the cat?"

Maeve is next to arrive, without Lucinda, who is attending a different study group meeting. (Regulus was rather pleased to be able to use this meeting as an excuse to once again avoid the Arithmancy study group. Besides, Lucinda said they'd be working on the proof for Monday, which he's nearly done with.) Charlotte is also at the Arithmancy meeting, but her absence is unsurprising.

Maeve blinks at the Honeydukes box, and Regulus fervently hopes she does not ask how it entered Evan's possession, as he doesn't have an explanation prepared and they do not need to discuss how Regulus, Barty, and Evan ended up in Dumbledore's office on Wednesday.

But she just sits down and says, "I wish the History of Magic curriculum talked more about Dark Arts. I could write Binns a killer essay on the Light Laws of 1595, but trade agreements? Never. If there's an essay question about the economy on the OWL I'll weep from boredom."

"As will we all," Evan says solemnly. "Let's bother Priam about it once he gets here."

"I doubt the Ministry would love the idea of encouraging students to do research on Dark Arts for school," Barty says.

"No, they frown on that," Regulus agrees. "Which carries with it its own set of problems."

Maeve sighs. "And don't we know it. Have you done the assignment already?"

He should definitely try recruiting her.

 

As soon as Heather, Priam's cat, and Priam have arrived and shut the door, Barty says grandly, "I have... an announcement."

Regulus already knows what this is about. He has, in fact, been conscripted into this, since Barty and Evan both thought it needed a visual aid and things spiraled from there. "Do tell."

"It all began last week," Barty says. "I was minding my own business, studying for OWLs in theory, which in practice meant sitting in the library with a book in front of me, and after two or three hours of this I had an epiphany. Kindly display the book, Regulus."

Regulus holds up Nonsense Abstruse.

"Thank you very much," Barty says magnanimously. "Now, as I'm sure all of you know by now, I have spent months trying to crack this thing. Miles was very helpful for understanding how the book works—thank you, Miles—"

"No problem," Miles chirps.

"—but I still wasn't getting anywhere with reading it," Barty continues. "Until that fateful day in the library, when I was exceedingly bored and thought to myself something along the lines of, 'wow, I'm accomplishing so little in this studying session, I'd probably get more done just by staring at Nonsense Abstruse.' And then it clicked. Because how do you comprehend nonsense? You don't. And so, behold!" He gestures at Nonsense Abstruse. "I present to you... a book I have read."

Amid general applause and congratulations, Regulus puts the book down, his part in this now complete.

It's just a book, really, and Barty certainly has no regrets about figuring it out, and the side effects dissipated rapidly (near as Regulus can tell). And there's no denying that it has been useful already, less than a week after Barty figured it out.

Regulus can't fully talk himself out of that twinge of guilt, but he feels much better about it than he did on Monday morning. Barty telling him on Monday not to worry about it was one thing; Barty crowing about finishing the book days later, looking and sounding entirely back to normal, is quite another.

But between this and the broken thumb in February, Regulus may need to be the one worrying about Barty's wellbeing, as it seems that Barty isn't particularly inclined to worry about it himself.

Notes:

thus begins a beautiful friendship between barty and lily

emma probably has a floor plan of honeydukes meticulously labeled according to which candy is in which section

agslgshgjdfsgjsdlfkj regulus is struggling SO MUCH with being in close proximity to evan, he is so lucky that they haven't practiced palmistry recently. but--FEELINGS WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

regulus: here is a present for you
evan: *reverse uno card*
regulus: *does not compute??????*

regulus: oh no i hope maeve doesn't ask why evan has the chocolate i ordered
maeve, also attempting to woo a jock via gifts: ah this makes much more sense than regulus buying a fuckton of chocolate for himself

next week: barty has a great time!! regulus has a lowkey terrible time!! the two are closely related!!!!!!

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 44

Notes:

cw for this chapter: there's blood? sort of?

Regulus spends much of Sunday afternoon in the library.

This was Charlotte's idea, of course, but since OWLs are now just barely under a month away, and studying in the common room is not always the most productive course of action, nearly all of the Slytherin fifth-years ended up accompanying her. (Evan immediately claimed he had to write a letter to his parents and stayed in the dungeons. Regulus isn't sure if that was the truth, a lie because he had to talk to Heather, or a lie because he simply didn't feel like going to the library, for a multitude of possible reasons.)

They're tucked away in a quiet corner, far from the stained glass windows that most people gravitate to, hidden behind books on the history of healing. Their table is even blocked off from above; they're covered by the balcony that runs around the library to provide access to the upper shelves. It's possibly the most secluded location in the entire library. Charlotte made a beeline for it as soon as they entered. The only other people here are a pair of Hufflepuffs glaring fiercely at anyone who dares to make noise for longer than about five seconds at a time, which means Maeve and Lucinda have had to resort to passing notes to discuss their Transfiguration homework.

Regulus is working on the History of Magic essay. The topic is... not fascinating, but Regulus received a fast and intense education in managing the family finances over the summer, and the Blacks have enough investments abroad that Father felt it necessary to provide quite a bit of information about international trade. As a result, Regulus is well-equipped to write this essay, off the top of his head if necessary.

If only that made it more interesting.

Nonetheless, he is progressing, and he's about to start on the conclusion when Barty shuts his Potions textbook and says, "Alright, I'm out."

"You finished it?" Emma says, perhaps a tad enviously.

"No," Barty says. "I've simply decided I'd rather help Evan write letters to his parents."

"Shhh," one of the Hufflepuffs hisses.

Barty stands up and says, louder, "I bid thee farewell. I shall await with bated breath the tales of thy deeds upon returning to the splendiferous dungeons from whence—"

"Shut up," the other Hufflepuff says.

"Some people just cannot appreciate creativity." He shrugs. "Anyone else ready to give up?"

"No," Charlotte says.

"I wish," Maeve says.

"I'm going to finish this before I leave," Regulus says.

"Suit yourselves." He stuffs all of his things into his book bag. "Bye."

With Barty gone, Lucinda has ample room to spread out her Transfiguration textbook, her last three weeks' worth of notes, and the parchment she's been passing back and forth with Maeve, so the table somehow becomes more crowded than it was before. But Regulus can cope for the sake of finishing this essay, since he doesn't have much left to do.

It was only a few days after Sirius's disownment that Father told Regulus it was time to catch up. Sirius started learning these things when he was ten. Regulus was never invited to those lessons, but for months it was their ritual, every evening, for the two of them to tell each other what they'd learned that day. Sirius always lamented that he was stuck learning about finance and government while Mother let Regulus spend hours doing what Sirius called real magic.

Dark Arts.

Sirius was never as interested in the theory as Regulus was, but that wasn't to say he wasn't interested. Dark Arts meant powerful magic, creativity, something special. (Neither of them had been all that excited about going to Hogwarts and having to concentrate on other things.) They were discouraged from practicing the family specialty beyond the bare minimum necessary to ensure they knew how to use it, but reading about it was permissible, and they had access to a treasure trove of Dark books, collected and curated over centuries. Sirius was fascinated by fire magic in particular; he learned spells by the dozen and was brokenhearted for days upon realizing that there was no way he could persuade House Crabbe to share their research with him, even if he asked extremely politely.

Did he shy away from their specialty after Grandfather Arcturus's death? Regulus really can't remember. It's true that Sirius didn't practice it much, but that was what he was supposed to do; besides, his time was filled with other pursuits. They'd learned their specialty quickly, but that just meant that Mother and Father came up with more things to teach them.

Regulus can't ask McKinnon to find out more details from Sirius. First of all, if she pushes again, he might get suspicious. Second of all, even if he doesn't, he won't tell her about the Black specialty.

Probably.

Really, if Regulus wants a full picture of Sirius's perspective, Regulus himself will have to be the one to talk to him, which is... frustrating. It went so very well the last time they tried it, after all.

But he has to keep his priorities in order. The war will not bow to Regulus's personal whims. Sirius would be a valuable ally, and Regulus certainly doesn't want Dumbledore recruiting him.

Thus.

He'll have to talk to Lily.

 

Finishing the essay doesn't take Regulus very long; in hindsight, he could have told Barty he only needed a few more minutes and then he'd be ready to go. Nonetheless, it is finished, and Regulus packs his things and announces his departure, albeit with less creativity than Barty had.

The library is more crowded now than it was when they arrived. All of the tables by the windows are full, as are most of the nice chairs (the ones with cushions). There are quite a few fifth-years, but they are by no means the only students here; NEWTs start the week after OWLs end, and final exams for the rest of the school are right after NEWTs. They're close enough to begin driving students to the library.

Regulus heads directly for the exit, but he can't stop himself from noticing Sirius in one of the nice chairs, reading a book with his legs tossed carelessly over Potter's lap.

Sirius doesn't notice him.

 

The staircases tend to be rather poorly behaved on weekends, but luck is on Regulus's side today—all of them deposit him on a landing that connects to another staircase going down, and he correctly remembers which flight of stairs has two trick steps in a row and steps over them both. Depending on whether Barty was similarly fortunate in his return journey, Regulus may catch up with him before he gets back to their room.

It's a long walk, but not a bad one. Warm sunlight pools on the stone floors of the corridors, and Regulus has completed all of his assignments due tomorrow, and... things could be worse.

Then he descends into the dungeons and hears a loud bang.

That's not necessarily indicative of a disaster. Shortly before spring break, Potter set off a round of lion-themed mistcrackers in the middle of the Great Staircase. If something similar is happening now, Regulus will be irritated, as they are very loud, but the mist dissipates in only a minute or so, which means he won't have to tolerate cloudy lions stalking back and forth and roaring for long.

However, Potter was in the library, and it would have been rather difficult for him to beat Regulus to the dungeons.

Regulus is a prefect.

He should probably go investigate.

There's another bang, and a thud, and—

Barty, cackling the way he did when Regulus handed over his journal yesterday morning.

Regulus hurries toward the sound.

The dungeons can be labyrinthine, but he only has to turn a few corners, and there's Barty, one corridor down from the entrance to their common room. A cloud of sickly purple smoke blows past him—it dissipates as it goes, but it still stings at Regulus's eyes and nose.

"When are you going to stop trying to be so fancy?" Barty calls out.

Regulus blinks tears away. With the smoke gone, Mulciber is plainly visible. He has an interesting new haircut. It's from either an impressively precise Cutting Curse or one that was meant to hit him in the face and missed.

Barty douses Mulciber in what could be a bathtub's worth of water. Then he flicks his wand. It freezes, leaving Mulciber coated head to toe in frost.

"See?" Barty says. "This isn't a tournament. There aren't judges to impress."

Frost crackles as Mulciber raises his wand arm. He manages to do something that evaporates it. Then he casts a shimmering blue hex. Barty casually sidesteps it. Regulus has to duck.

"Again." Barty's back is to Regulus, but Regulus can hear him grinning. "You realize I'm enjoying this, right?"

"Only because I'm toying with you," Mulciber snaps back. He catches sight of Regulus and clenches his jaw.

Barty tsks. "Don't lie. I hate when people lie to me."

Then Mulciber's arms snap to his sides and he falls flat on his face.

Regulus knows a Petrificus totalus when he sees one.

That seems to be the end of the duel, so he steps further into the corridor. "Having fun?"

Barty turns around, still grinning, with a sharp edge to it that Regulus hadn't heard in his voice. The whites of his eyes are reddened, and there are tear tracks down his face, maybe from that purple smoke, but other than that he seems unharmed. "Oh, hello. How long have you been there?"

"Not long," Regulus says. "I got the general gist of the situation, though."

"Imagine if I'd persevered longer in the library." Barty sniffs and wipes at his nose. The back of his hand comes away smeared with blood.

That's not good.

"Then he and I might have missed each other, and I wouldn't even have known to be disappointed." Barty sniffs again.

"Hospital wing," Regulus says.

"Urgh." Blood is trickling out of his nose now. It's hard to tell in this light, but it doesn't look normal—almost purplish. That definitely wasn't happening during the fight. What sort of curse takes this long to set in? The only ones Regulus knows about are ones where the delayed effect is meant to prevent the caster from being caught, and they are not benign. "Do we have to?"

Regulus conjures a handkerchief and holds it out. "If you know how to reverse the aftereffects of that curse, then no."

"Lame," Barty sighs. "I won, and I'm the one going to Pomfrey."

What if Regulus hadn't been here to make him? "You're leaving him Petrified face-down on a stone floor in the dungeons. I think he has it worse."

"That's true." And Barty starts to smile again.

 

Barty's nosebleed gets worse as they go to the hospital wing.

All of Regulus's earlier luck with the castle has vanished. They take the Great Staircase up to the second floor, which is at least reliable, and then have to try three different staircases to get from the second floor to the third, and then they have to stop so Regulus can conjure some more handkerchiefs for Barty and vanish the first one. Sunlight reveals the blood to be a deep violet, and while it's possible that Regulus could be wrong, he's willing to assume that normally, Barty's blood is not that color. And it's coming faster.

Finally, they reach the fourth floor, but then their journey to the hospital wing is interrupted by running into Maeve and Emma, who are presumably fleeing the library.

"Whoa," Maeve says to Barty. "What happened to you?"

"Won a duel," Barty says thickly. He's on his third handkerchief now. Violet is already seeping through it. Regulus only has one more clean one. If Barty bleeds through that one too, then they'll have to stop again, and they're so close to the hospital wing that he really doesn't want to delay unnecessarily.

"Mulciber continues to make ill-considered decisions," Regulus says. "We're going to Madam Pomfrey."

Somehow, this results in Maeve and Emma walking with them to the hospital wing, but at least they get there quickly.

Madam Pomfrey isn't in the room when they enter, but a bell chimes and she bustles in from her office. "Can I help—ah. Take a seat. In a chair, please, Mr. Crouch, I'd rather not have to ask the elves to clean that off of a mattress."

The fourth handkerchief is mostly clean at the moment. Barty's fingers are stained purple. He sits down heavily in one of the chairs scattered around the hospital wing. Regulus, Maeve, and Emma follow suit.

What was that spell? Regulus hadn't recognized it, but he's sincerely hoping it wasn't Dark. While it would be rather amusing to get Mulciber into legal trouble on grounds of practicing Dark Arts (and using them to harm the son of Bartemius Crouch, Senior, no less), Dark curses tend to cause much more damage and be harder to reverse. Especially for Healers not trained in Dark spell reversal. Is that something Madam Pomfrey knows how to do? She's a mediwitch at a school—there can't be that much call for that knowledge. Even if she does, she's most likely out of practice with it, and they spent quite a bit of time fighting staircases on their way up from the dungeons, and if this turns out to be a particularly time-sensitive curse and Madam Pomfrey can't solve it, what if by the time they get to St. Mungo's it's already too late to prevent permanent damage? The effects of the curse got so much worse in the time it took to get here—who's to say that this is as bad as they'll get?

Madam Pomfrey conjures a swathe of gauze and folds it into a dense square, which she holds out to Barty. "Take this. Give me the handkerchief."

Once he makes the switch, she holds the handkerchief up to the light. The blood, or whatever it is, glistens. Pomfrey casts several different diagnostic spells, using her wand to draw the results of each off to one side, where they hang in the air like tiny multicolored stars.

Then she sighs, more an exasperated huff of air than anything else. "Mib?"

With a resounding crack, an elderly house-elf appears in the hospital wing. "Yes?"

"Could you please locate Horace and ask him to bring Severus Snape here as quickly as possible? Apparating them is ideal but not necessary."

Oh.

That's... odd.

The house-elf—Mib—nods and disappears, and Pomfrey summons a chair and sits down. "What happened?"

"Do you know that spell?" Regulus says.

"I know the key signs," she says tersely. "What happened?"

"It wasn't Snape," Barty says, muddled through blood and gauze. "It was Mulciber. I ran into him when I was going back to the Slytherin common room. He doesn't like me too much, so."

Once Barty stops, the hospital wing is stiflingly silent.

It wasn't Snape. It was Mulciber. But Pomfrey wants Slughorn to bring Snape here—she knew exactly who to ask for after a few diagnostics. Why?

Unless Snape was somehow the one who actually cast the spell, not Mulciber... in which case Madam Pomfrey being able to detect that after a few minutes of casting spells on a handkerchief would make her better at forensics than the entire Auror department combined. So it's not that.

Mulciber cast the spell, Pomfrey is working on how to heal Barty from it, and she wants to talk to Snape. Snape and Mulciber are working together—Regulus already knew that. And if Pomfrey knows the 'key signs,' as she put it...

That means Snape has created curses and shared them with his allies, who have collectively used them on other students often enough for Madam Pomfrey to be able to detect his handiwork in spell aftereffects, without a shred of doubt.

Who has Snape cursed? Muggleborns? Potter?

Sirius?

Madam Pomfrey sighs again. "I am sorry to hear that, Mr. Crouch. I had hoped your previous altercation was a result of the stress of that day."

"Me too," Barty blatantly lies.

And if Pomfrey isn't even starting to heal Barty before Snape arrives, then either it's a complicated curse, or she's worried about worsening its effects if she makes a misstep. Either way, it's a bad sign.

A smear campaign is absolutely necessary for dealing with Snape. But it might not be enough.

And then Regulus feels his nose beginning to run.

He does not panic.

He conjures yet another handkerchief and presses it to his nose for a moment, then investigates the results. There's a dot of dark purple spreading out on the fabric. Regulus cannot find it within himself to be surprised, even as Madam Pomfrey begins a new flurry of questioning.

Mulciber used a curse created by Snape, and he hit not just Barty but Regulus as well.

That's an opportunity.

 

The house-elf Mib Apparates both Slughorn and Snape into the hospital wing several minutes later.

"Thank you," Pomfrey says. "And if you could ask the headmaster to come here at his earliest convenience, I would appreciate that as well."

Really. Regulus has already seen more than enough of Dumbledore this month.

Mib vanishes again, and Pomfrey turns her attention to Snape. "Mr. Snape, I assume you can guess as to why you have been brought here."

Snape surveys the situation, lip curled slightly.

It is not Regulus's most impressive appearance. He can admit that much. His condition has been slowly worsening, although he's not nearly so badly off as Barty, who has stopped complaining about how annoying this is in favor of focusing on pressing ever-larger quantities of gauze to his nose. Maeve and Emma are still here, although neither of them quite seems to know what to do with themself.

"I hope I do not need to re-impress upon you what I thought I had made so clear last fall," Pomfrey says to Snape. "The countercurse?"

"Finis tarsanguinem," Snape says grudgingly. "Circular wand motion around the face. It takes twenty seconds to stop completely."

Madam Pomfrey nods brusquely and casts the spell—Barty first, Regulus second. Immediately, Regulus can feel the blood beginning to slow. So Snape knows his own curses well enough to identify the proper countercurse at a glance. Evan and Heather will be overjoyed.

Regulus will have to find out why Pomfrey wants Dumbledore here and what Dumbledore is going to do. Perhaps if he or Barty claims to feel faint they can stay and eavesdrop. They don't want to find out the hard way what other curses Snape has created, and that means they need to be careful in how they go about angering him. But Regulus isn't just going to let this slide. He will, however, tailor his approach to work in conjunction with whatever Dumbledore does to address it.

And Mulciber was the one who cast the curse. They can't let any of the professors forget that.

If Mulciber's casting of this curse is what brings it to Dumbledore's attention, and that gets Snape into trouble, Regulus can use that to stoke resentment towards Mulciber on Snape's part. That will play into Evan and Heather's backstabbing plan. But is there a way for Regulus to make it worse?

Well.

He could always write to Bellatrix.

 

Unfortunately, Regulus does not get to find out how Dumbledore is going to address this situation, because Dumbledore only stays long enough to get a summary from Pomfrey before he leaves with Snape and Slughorn.

Pomfrey makes Regulus and Barty sit in the hospital wing for fifteen minutes and then discharges them, with strict instructions to return immediately if any symptoms return, and Barty talks to Maeve and Emma about the fight as they descend to the dungeons.

Regulus listens, but it's nothing he hadn't already guessed. Mulciber and Barty ran into each other in the dungeons, they argued, they dueled.

And, as someone keeps emphasizing, Barty won.

(It occurs to Regulus that none of the professors were informed that Barty and Regulus left Mulciber Petrified in the dungeons. Oh, well. He was quite near the entrance to the Slytherin common room, so someone will stumble across him sooner or later, and the only other apparent damage Barty did was to Mulciber's hair.)

Really, if Barty (and Regulus) had known a way to block that curse, the duel would have been incredibly one-sided. Regulus doesn't want to throw Barty into fights, but... as this afternoon has indicated, he can't really control that.

What he can do is ensure that everyone on his side knows how to protect themself, to prevent them from needing to rush to the hospital wing afterwards, get them through fights as close to unscathed as possible. Snape's curses are dangerous because they're novel—but there's at least one Dark shield Regulus knows about off the top of his head that turns attacks back on their casters. As long as Regulus finds one that doesn't leave lasting traces of Dark Arts, he can make Snape regret each and every curse he's ever created.

 

Dear Bella,

Kindly ask Rabastan to tell his protegés to be more prudent with regard to their spells. I've learned that Hogwarts professors assume that they are the culprits for any instances of unusual casting, and the professors are generally correct in this assessment. Seeing as two of them have chosen to whine to Rabastan when I have attempted to request a little subtlety from them in the past, I can only hope they'll listen to him.

It was amusing at the start of the term, but if they carry on like this, they'll draw the wrong kind of attention before they even graduate. (Or continue to draw it, I should say.) None of us want that.

Regulus

Notes:

mulciber really has no idea what he's done. you fool. now barty's won a duel against you and regulus SAW it and if barty had just known to shield that one curse he'd literally be totally fine afterwards. regulus's pragmatism can work with his protectiveness here. plus barty did have fun and the last thing he'd want is for regulus to stop that from happening ever again

in short: oopsie

maeve: what happened to you why are you bleeding purple
barty: the price of victory :))))))))))

this is the second time dumbledore's talked to snape in under a week. do u think he has Thoughts about that?

next time: the return of the bulstrode-nott engagement!! also the return of carlisle foxworth!! who has the AUDACITY to WAVE AT EVAN as if they're FRIENDS as if foxworth is WORTHY OF HIM when regulus is RIGHT THERE--

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 45

Dinner is a satisfying affair.

When Mulciber was found and un-Petrified by his allies, he apparently wasn't too keen on the idea of telling people who'd done it, but Barty and Regulus relate the entire situation to everyone who sits with them, which ensures that everyone in Slytherin (and more than a few Ravenclaws eavesdropping from the next table) finds out about it anyway.

"Oh, wow," Heather says rather loudly. "And Pomfrey just knew it was Snape's fault right away?"

"Really, it was Mulciber's fault, since he cast it," Regulus points out, just to make sure everyone remembers.

"Snape knew that countercurse off the top of his head, though," Barty says. "I wonder if he knew Mulciber was going to use it on other people. Be a bit of a nasty surprise if you showed someone a spell you created and they went off and cast it on someone else and got you in trouble for it."

"Or if there was snooping involved," Evan suggests. (He was appalled to discover that he'd completely missed Barty dueling Mulciber, not to mention the trip to the hospital wing afterwards—Regulus had to describe the symptoms and the countercurse three times before Evan was satisfied that they weren't going to drop dead. As he put it, sharing a room with two corpses would be a tad depressing. But once Evan was reassured that everything really was fine, he immediately pivoted to talking through how to incorporate this into his and Heather's plan for driving Snape and Mulciber apart.)

Barty nods. "I'd be pissed. But as it stands, I'm not all that bothered by how things turned out, honestly." (That's an understatement. Barty is quite obviously pleased by it.) "And the teachers were all too distracted by Snape to remember that I'd been dueling Mulciber earlier. They'll probably want to talk to me about it eventually, but it's not my fault he keeps attacking me. At least I had enough common sense not to send him to the hospital wing. Can't imagine Snape's happy with Mulciber right now. Pomfrey definitely sounded like she was at the end of her rope with him."

"It sounded like this is something that's happened more than once." Maeve stabs at a roast carrot with her fork. (Barty's meant to try recruiting her in all that free time he has now, but seeing as he and Regulus only barely had time to discuss it before dinner, Barty hasn't exactly had a chance to do it.) "I mean, are people just okay with Snape creating these curses? How is that safe for the rest of us? Especially considering that he and his lot don't keep quiet about hating Muggleborns—I feel like Dumbledore should be doing something about it."

There's an idea.

"He and Mulciber have already proven that they're dangerous to the people around them," Regulus says. "Not just from the events of today. Hogwarts has a duty of care towards its students. If Dumbledore can't figure out a way to keep this sort of thing from happening, perhaps the board of governors should be involved."

And Narcissa's father-in-law happens to be on that board.

As does Heather's mother.

Getting anyone suspended or expelled from Hogwarts would be a delicate endeavor, one that runs the risk of driving them into the Death Eaters even earlier...

But would that be such a bad thing, in exchange for cutting them out of Hogwarts? Then Regulus can effectively outsource dealing with them to the Order of the Phoenix, who are better equipped for military conflicts than Regulus is. Maeve has a point about Muggleborns at Hogwarts being vulnerable. And getting future Death Eaters out of Hogwarts means getting them away from everyone on Regulus's side thus far.

There's also the fact that failing to graduate from Hogwarts is quite unusual. Snape's family is of no consequence, but the Mulcibers are one of those families who are considered generally respectable and constantly seeking footholds to climb higher in society. (What with Mulciber's evident career ambitions, they're probably aiming to establish themselves in the Dark network as well, or will be soon.) Since they're not Sacred Twenty-Eight, they essentially need patronage to get anywhere, and one of their children being expelled from Hogwarts would put quite a dent in their chances.

Hm.

It's worth considering.

"The last thing the board wants is for Hogwarts to be unsafe," Heather says. "But let's see how Dumbledore goes about it."

That's either an indication that Heather thinks Dumbledore will do something, or an indication that she wants to hold back and think things through some more, both of which are fine. Regulus doesn't actually have a plan at the moment—just an idea, and given that he'd probably need Heather's help to put it into action, he'll have to discuss it with her anyway.

 

Regulus spends a few hours in the common room after dinner, for appearances, and then retreats to his room. This serves two purposes. First of all, it gives people the opportunity to come talk to him in private. Second of all, it prevents his ears from being further assailed by the sound of Miles and his friends playing Exploding Snap, which they manage to do louder than anyone else who has ever played the game, near as Regulus can tell.

About half an hour after he gets back, Barty walks in with Maeve.

This can only be about one thing, so Regulus closes his book. (A history of formal dueling in Britain; Father gave it to him over winter break, but Regulus hasn't had much time to read it. He'll probably finish it after OWLs, when the fifth-years are sitting around and waiting for the rest of the school to take exams so they can go home. It isn't proving particularly helpful with regard to practical tips, but it's at least interesting.)

Barty shuts the door, and Maeve says immediately, "I already told Barty I'm in, but are you limiting yourself to Hogwarts?"

"The war is hardly limited to Hogwarts," Regulus says. "Why?"

"Because my brother would join. So would his fiancé."

That's interesting. Because Maeve's brother Felix is engaged to Cressida Nott, and of course siblings aren't obligated to share political beliefs, but... "Are you aware that Horatio Nott is a Death Eater?"

"Yes," Maeve says. "And his parents think he's going to get caught and ruin them, so they're scrambling for non-Death-Eater connections they can lean on later."

Ah. Hence the rush engagement back in January. And if the Notts think the Bulstrodes won't support Voldemort and are putting effort into forging an alliance with them as a result, that indicates that Regulus can absolutely find supporters in powerful positions within the Sacred Twenty-Eight. He'll just have to figure out how to keep them from thinking his youth makes him easy to usurp.

Since Maeve knows this much about the Notts' political inclinations, it's not a stretch to imagine that she might know what Theophania in particular thinks. Theophania will be a fourth-year in the fall, which is the year when Dark scions traditionally start attending study group meetings, and that would give Regulus plenty of opportunities to approach her about the war.

"Although it was lucky for Felix and Cressida, so I suppose I shouldn't be complaining," Maeve adds. "But like I said—they'd support you."

Regulus honestly isn't sure what he would do with that support, but having Heir Bulstrode on his side is definitely not something to refuse, and he can give himself some time to figure out how this expands his options. "I'd welcome that support. I would appreciate it if you wait until you can bring it up in person, though. We're being cautious with our mail."

"Sure," Maeve says. "June it is."

 

Heather shows up some time later, after Maeve has left to find Emma. (They've been spending more time together recently, which isn't particularly out of the ordinary, but Regulus is more accustomed to seeing Maeve with Lucinda and Emma with Evan or Geoff. What with how pointedly Evan has been commenting on it, maybe Regulus should bring it up to him and see if there's anything important happening.)

"My mother won't bring up Snape or Mulciber to the rest of the board if she thinks there's a political agenda behind it." Heather invites herself to Evan's desk chair. "She cares about the students having a safe learning environment, but she'll clock this as being targeted if it comes from me, since she knows I don't like either of them. Hearsay probably wouldn't convince her."

"What if another board member brought it up?" Regulus says. "Abraxas Malfoy isn't nearly so scrupulous about such things, and he'd jump on an opportunity to make Dumbledore look bad. I can get to him through my cousin."

"Huh." She taps one silver fingernail against her lip. "It depends on how Malfoy frames it. The same thing applies with the political agenda—my mother's well aware that the Malfoys would love to install someone else as headmaster. It's a matter of convincing the board that the student body is really at risk and Dumbledore isn't addressing the threat. The board can't take disciplinary actions against students, but they can lean on Dumbledore to do something, and if he doesn't, they can take disciplinary actions against him."

"I can get Malfoy to bring up the issue," Regulus says. "That curse caught me too, and I wasn't even in the fight."

"Which I appreciate, by the way," Barty says without turning away from the Potions essay he gave up on in the afternoon. "Mulciber would've been so annoying about it if you had stepped in."

Regulus's main concern had been more along the lines of startling Barty and getting hexed on instinct. But he's right that they don't need Mulciber thinking Barty needs Regulus to solve problems for him. Barty will probably be doing more recruiting in the future—he'll have more credibility if he can deal with Mulciber on his own. Regulus can help him prepare for fights like that, but unless Barty is really in danger, Regulus is of more use before and after the fight than he is during.

Still. Regulus would rather not have Barty run into another curse like that. Thus. "We could point the board towards Madam Pomfrey. She was definitely displeased with Snape, and she's likely to have a good idea of how dangerous those spells actually are. Although it's possible that the board wouldn't think they merited expulsion—Pomfrey didn't seem to fear for our lives or anything like that."

"Dumbledore is very anti-expulsion," Heather says. "Since Hogwarts is the only magical school in Britain, so it's this or homeschooling for most people. But the board might be able to push him into suspending Snape. Mulciber... I don't know. He'd need to have a proven history of this sort of thing."

Then Barty does look up from his essay, eyes brightening. "Give me six months, I can make sure he has one."

"That," Regulus says, "is not a practical way to address this situation."

He sighs. "Alas."

"I still think we should give it some time," Heather says. "See what Dumbledore does, if anything. I mean, the goal isn't to get the board of governors involved—the goal is to get Snape and Mulciber into hot water, and we're already in progress on that one."

 

Regulus goes to Arithmancy on Monday afternoon with a mission.

Originally, the plan was for Evan to do all the talking to Foxworth and Rosendale about Snape, but the duel yesterday has changed things. News of it has already reached Ravenclaw, and Evan can certainly initiate the conversation, but since Regulus was there, he'll be participating this time.

The Slytherins normally reach Professor Vector's classroom before the Ravenclaws do, and today is no different. Charlotte immediately goes to Professor Vector with a question, and Regulus, Evan, and Lucinda take their seats in the second row. The Arithmancy classroom feels smaller than it is, and it's not exactly large to begin with; floor-to-ceiling blackboards cover every wall, which makes the room feel constrained in a way that reminds Regulus of the cramped spiral staircase up to the attic at home. The staircase has never smelled quite so strongly of chalk dust, though. (At least not to his knowledge.)

Lucinda's nails are tapping on her desk, and rather suddenly she turns to Regulus. "Is Barty... doing alright?"

"Because of the duel?" Regulus says.

She nods. "I know he's being like, mwahaha, Snape got in trouble, but he's been talking about it so much—I've kind of been wondering if it really is bothering him underneath all that. Unknown curses and all. And Maeve told me it was, erm. She said it was a lot of blood really fast."

Barty's been talking about the duel constantly because Evan and Heather specifically asked him to (and because he wants to), and he hasn't been shy about his declarations of enthusiasm at the prospect of fighting Mulciber again. But it's not like Regulus can say that. Lucinda has expressed discomfort with the increasingly confrontational schism in Slytherin in the past, and she and Maeve are close friends and Maeve didn't suggest her as someone to recruit. If Regulus tells Lucinda that Barty was delighted to have the opportunity, she probably won't take it well.

At the same time, Regulus can't tell her Barty is distraught, because that doesn't fit into the angle they're playing. And he can't just say Barty's fine and leave it at that, because he may sound like he's lying, or like he doesn't know.

So.

"The curse looked bad, but it didn't really hurt," he says. Which is even the truth—after the initial stinging, it just felt like a nosebleed. "And Madam Pomfrey seemed more exasperated with Snape than worried about Barty's or my health. Once she reversed the spell, the symptoms vanished. Barty is choosing to focus on the part of the situation that he finds most interesting."

"Fair enough."

She sounds skeptical, but Regulus doesn't point it out. He doesn't need to prolong this conversation, especially not when he can hear Foxworth and Rosendale's voices in the hallway.

Evan jumps in, though. "Even if that curse is just meant to look scary, isn't that kind of a cruel thing to invent?"

The door opens and the Ravenclaws enter, scattering to their seats. Most of them sit in the front row with Charlotte, but Foxworth and Rosendale always sit in the back. They're accustomed to chatting with Evan before, after, and sometimes during class now, so Foxworth apparently feels no compunction about waving slightly.

"What sort of person goes to all the trouble of inventing a new spell just to make people think they're bleeding out?" Evan acknowledges Foxworth and Rosendale with a nod and a brief smile, then continues. "At best, it's rather vindictive for a prank. At worst... I don't know, but I feel like it's bad."

"Well, we don't actually know what the curse does," Regulus says, for the Ravenclaws' benefit. "Mulciber cast it nonverbally, so I didn't get any hints from the incantation. All we know is that Snape knew the countercurse right away and Pomfrey cast it before any serious damage could occur—not that I have any idea of what that would have looked like."

"But Barty really isn't bothered?" Lucinda says. "And you're not either?"

Evan shrugs. "Barty didn't even get blood on his clothes."

"Nor did I," Regulus says. "I can't say I'm pleased with the knowledge that Snape is inventing and using curses like that, but it could have been much worse, and I hope Dumbledore realizes that and takes preventative measures accordingly."

"Wait, what was the curse?" Rosendale says. "Because we've heard like five different descriptions, but only two of them involved blood."

"Also, hello, how are you?" Foxworth interjects.

Evan smiles at him. "We've had a few ups and downs recently, but all things considered, I'm actually doing quite well at the moment. I can't speak for Regulus, though, seeing as he got hit. With a curse, I mean."

"I thought it was just Crouch," Rosendale says, more to Regulus than to Evan. "You were there?"

Excellent.

 

All in all, it's really rather simple.

Barty is a minor celebrity among the students by Tuesday morning, and Slughorn keeps him back after Potions to urge him to at least attempt to find a professor if people (meaning Mulciber) try to start fights with him in the future. Barty agrees and says something vaguely abashed-sounding about being too taken aback in the moment to call for help—Regulus misses most of the sentence, because he and the other Slytherins are eavesdropping in the hallway under the guise of waiting for Barty before they go to Defense and the door to the classroom is quite solid, but he's familiar with the sound of Barty lying through his teeth.

Rumors tear through the castle, audible from every corridor as Regulus walks between classes—there's the duel, yes, but there are also tidbits circulating about last Wednesday, and Evan quietly reinforces the narrative that Snape and Mulciber are destined to clash every chance he gets. (He gets many of them.) Regulus warns everyone in his study group to stay away from the two of them, because now Dumbledore has his eye on them and if they go down Regulus doesn't want his group going down too. (Not that he actually thought anyone in his study group was associating with the future Death Eaters—over half of them are formally on his side by now. This is just to be thorough.)

And then, during his rounds, he sends one more letter.

 

Dear Mother,

I hope this letter finds you and Father well. It has been rather an eventful week at Hogwarts. All is well now, but due to a stunning lack of forethought on the part of Julius Mulciber, both Barty and I had to be admitted to the hospital wing on Sunday.

The curse itself was one with which you would not be familiar, as it was invented by Severus Snape, an acquaintance of Mulciber's. Ordinarily, I would be somewhat impressed by a NEWT student capable of creating spells efficient enough to be used in a duel, but Snape has failed miserably in concealing this pursuit from Hogwarts professors. Mulciber's ill-considered usage of these spells has contributed to ensuring that not only the mediwitch but also the headmaster are fully aware of it, which brings me to the point of this letter: if the Mulcibers seek to enter a certain exclusive circle of society, they should be refused.

As you've said many times, the conduct of the children reflects upon the parents. Given Julius Mulciber's behavior, I can hardly imagine his family is truly capable of understanding and maintaining the subtlety which we hold dear. For the sake of our longevity, they should not be permitted to rise any higher.

I have not yet decided what consequences he should face for his indiscretion on Sunday. If you have any guidance to offer, I would appreciate it.

Regulus

Notes:

i've said somewhere before, although i can't remember where, that hogwarts is the first battlefield - pureblood society is the second. regulus will find that one a little harder to crack, especially now when he's stuck at hogwarts, but the summer is approaching...

in a bit of a rush today so short author's notes - next week: regulus's office gets redecorated!! dumbledore makes a very important acquaintance!! emma's birthday!!

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 46

The new journals Evan ordered arrive at dinner on Wednesday, in a box large enough that Evan gets strange looks from some of the other Slytherins when he claims that it's full of soap. He justifies this by cheerily explaining that he got six different kinds so he can try them all and decide which one he likes best.

When they've gotten back to their room, Regulus says, "Why soap?"

"People are hardly going to insist upon smelling me at regular intervals to check whether I was telling the truth, are they?" Evan sets the journals on his desk. The first three were identical, but these two are different; one is the same shade of pink that Heather seems to favor in most of her belongings, and the other is pearlescent gray, shimmering slightly in the light. "I figured neither Heather nor I would ever own a plain black journal of our own free will, so I improvised, but these have the same page count as the others, and they have bookmarks and clasps, so the enchantments can work the same way, I assume."

"They're similar object bindings, not identical object bindings, so those'll work, yeah." Barty unearths his notes on the journal bindings from a pile of scraps of parchment on his desk. (Regulus can't tell if they're meant to be some sort of disguise for the notes or if Barty just decided to put some of his parchment on his desk instead of on the floor.) "Regulus, if you unlock yours, I can do the enchantments now. Then we'll just need to give Heather a reason to come over here tomorrow, and we'll be good to go."

"How long do you think it'll take?" Regulus says.

He shrugs. "Couple of hours, maybe, including testing? Because first I have to rework the enchantments linking yours to mine and Lily's so that there's room to add two more people. They have to be done in a specific order, though, so I think having more than one person writing out the rune chains would make it go slower."

A couple of hours of needing to avoid disturbing Barty.

The last time that happened, Regulus went with Evan to his office to work on Charms.

They could do that again.

All Regulus has to do is suggest it. (And hope that Evan doesn't have anything else he needs to do.)

He tries to make it sound casual. Because it is—they do schoolwork together all the time. The only reason this is any different is because it's Charms and normally Regulus tries to avoid letting other people witness him working on that. But maybe Regulus shouldn't actually suggest Charms out loud—Barty would think he'd been dosed with some sort of mind-altering substance. "We can go to my office. Evan, do you have anything you need to work on?"

Evan tilts his head, considering it. "That depends. Will you write my Transfiguration essay for me?"

"Bold move," Barty says.

"I will not," Regulus says.

Evan sighs. "Then yes, tragically, I do."

"But I can help you with it, if you'd like."

 

Regulus's offer is accepted with enthusiasm, and they make their way to his office quickly. Last time, Regulus had been dreading it a little, and the entire walk from the common room to the office felt like an infinite amount of opportunities for his mind to conjure up all the different ways that it could go badly. This time, though, Regulus is significantly less worried, and the trip blinks by in a moment.

But then Regulus unlocks the door and it only opens halfway before something stops it.

That's strange. His office can be called many things, but 'crowded' is not one of them, and the wards should keep anyone from tampering with it.

"Is it stuck?" Evan says.

"I don't know. I think we need to go in to find out."

At least the door's able to open halfway. It means that Regulus has room to hold his wand out as he steps inside.

But he doesn't find a trap, or an ambush, or anything that would suggest that someone has been in here for nefarious purposes.

What he finds is a purple chaise longue with gold trim deposited neatly in the center of the office, pushing the desk and all of the chairs aside to make room for itself.

A purple chaise longue bearing a strong resemblance to the one Evan liked, that was in the solarium until very recently.

Regulus holsters his wand and moves the chair blocking the door into the corner of the room. "Evan, did you do this?"

"Did I do what?" Evan steps inside. Regulus can spot the exact moment when he sees the chaise, because he suddenly looks rather perplexed. "Isn't that the one from the solarium? How did it get in?"

"Near as I can tell, and I don't know." Regulus shuts the door.

"Well, it wasn't me, because first of all, if I were somehow redecorating this heavily warded room without your knowledge, I would not have stopped at one chaise. Second of all, I would have expanded the room instead of just shoving everything towards the walls." Evan sets his bookbag on the desk. "Not to mention that it was in the solarium, so who would have taken it from there and then carted it down here, broken in, and just set it down in the middle of the room and put all the wards back and left? It's more likely that the castle put it here, honestly."

Which is reasonable. Regulus hadn't noticed any signs of tampering with the wards when they got here. "Why the chaise, though?"

"Because Hogwarts loves me," Evan proclaims confidently. "Although a chaise is really meant for lounging, and how is anyone supposed to lounge in a room this cold? Have you reviewed Warming Charms? Let's review Warming Charms."

"I haven't yet," Regulus says, but his mind is stuck on what Evan said before.

Because Hogwarts loves me.

Obviously, even if he wasn't completely joking, he was at least phrasing it humorously. But if the chaise is really here because of Evan, then... what does that mean? Does the castle expect him to spend a lot of time here? Regulus himself hardly spends any time here, and Evan only comes here because of Regulus. Wouldn't it make more sense for the chaise to appear in the middle of their dorm room? Unless the dormitories are warded against furniture appearing randomly. The solarium didn't get the chaise from Regulus's office—he would have noticed it in here before it showed up there—but if it put it here...

Well. It's probably best not to tamper with it.

Evan flops onto the chaise. It's odd, how it transforms the room—the rich color, the cushioning, the way Evan looks incredibly at-home sprawled out across it. "In that case, I think now is a fabulous time for some practice."

 

When they return, Barty is done with all of the bindings, which means all that's left is for Regulus to do the fingerprint wards. Evan disappears into his wardrobe, and Regulus is wondering whether he'll have to go in there and find him again, but this time he resurfaces after only a few seconds. "Bookmarks!"

"What?" Barty says.

Evan holds out two ribbons to Regulus—a deep green one and a sparkling one that might be the one from the Honeydukes box. "For you. I was thinking about it earlier. If you have multiple sections in your journal, you'll need a way to flip between them quickly, and if you have one color-changing bookmark, then the others should be different colors so they don't draw undue attention to the one that changes. And so you can remember which section is which."

Oh.

"That makes sense." Regulus accepts the ribbons, which involves his fingers touching Evan's, and again he feels his heart beat a little faster. Why, though? It's just Evan's hand. They've been doing palmistry together for years, although admittedly it hasn't come up in Divination recently. "Thank you."

Evan smiles at him, which leaves Regulus feeling a bit like he's missed a step on the stairs. "You're very welcome."

"Heather came by while you were out." Barty hands Regulus his journal. "I labeled the new sections, just look for the pages with the testing messages on them. She's going to come back later to do the fingerprint ward, or maybe tomorrow, but she said Snape's got weekly detentions with Dumbledore for the rest of the term."

"Yikes," Evan says. "I'm sure he's thrilled."

Regulus finds the new sections with little difficulty and marks them both. "Snape or Dumbledore?"

"Both, now that you mention it."

"Did she say why Dumbledore?" Regulus says to Barty. "It's unusual for him to be supervising a detention, although I suppose this is an unusual case."

"He's been hauled into Dumbledore's office twice within a week already," Barty says. "Maybe Dumbledore just figures it'll save time."

"That, or he really bought what I was telling him about being concerned," Evan says.

Snape spending more time with Dumbledore... in the least complicated scenario, it's purely detention, in which case Regulus can focus his efforts on continuing to drive Snape and Mulciber apart and ostracizing the Mulcibers in society. But if Dumbledore really is concerned, or is at least interested, then Snape may have more opportunities to repeat what he said to Regulus by the Whomping Willow. He may have decided not to continue to embarrass himself like that, as Regulus encouraged him to—one can always hope—but if he does mention it, or if he has already, then Dumbledore might have reason to be paying more attention to Regulus's actions, which is not desirable.

How does Regulus address that?

Either way, he should continue what he's already set in motion. That's as simple as sitting back and letting the rumor mill work, to be honest. (Well, Mother might write back with questions.) If Dumbledore knows Regulus is up to something, and he takes an interest...

The thing is, fighting Dumbledore is a matter of public opinion. Regulus can deal with Voldemort on the basis of pure power, stealing his support base and turning the Dark network against him until he has no resources left with which to continue fighting, but Dumbledore... Dumbledore is the champion of the Light. He defeated Gellert Grindelwald, he's known for advocating for Muggleborns, and his public image is simultaneously intellectual and nonthreatening. There are many people in Britain for whom Dumbledore's position on Dark Arts is significantly more appealing than Regulus's.

How does Regulus beat that?

There's the Sacred Twenty-Eight, of course. It's dominated by Dark families, which means if Regulus can beat Voldemort, he can probably control the Wizengamot (especially if he can build a coalition with some of the more moderate families like House Brown and House Vanity). Dumbledore won't be able to push through anti-Dark legislation unless he actually manages to win the war and get a substantial fraction of the Wizengamot thrown in Azkaban for Dark Arts. (He'd truly need to win the war—that's the only thing that would give him the necessary political clout to start arresting Wizengamot lords, none of whom are Marked as far as Regulus is aware. Do the Aurors even know about Death Eaters being Marked? He'll have to ask Barty. Or Bellatrix.)

But Regulus doesn't want to return to the status quo. He wants to win.

And that means defeating Dumbledore in the court of public opinion.

Attacking him will be difficult. The 'senile' angle won't work, obviously, and Regulus wants Dumbledore undermined, not mourned. That means finding some sort of flaw he can exploit, and that will take time.

It's not just a question of attacking Dumbledore, either. People need heroes. If Regulus is going to take one away, he must supply one in the same gesture to replace him. (The same applies to Voldemort, really, but Voldemort is much less established.)

And if Regulus is going to win, that hero must be him.

"We need to plan for the possibility of Dumbledore investigating us, since he's talking to Snape regularly," he says. "I think denial should do for now, but if he's as intelligent as people say he is, he'll at least look into any claims Snape makes about my activities."

"Naturally," Evan says. "Imagine that narrative—if you're a blood traitor, Dumbledore can make a big show out of being the one to reunite you and Sirius. Maybe not now, but he'd definitely be thinking about those inevitable human interest pieces for after the war. Heir Black finding his way into the light with the kindhearted assistance of Albus Dumbledore, et cetera, et cetera. If he looks into any claims Snape makes about you not being on the Death Eater track, he'll be doing it with the hope of recruiting you. I don't think he'll start thinking of you as an opponent until he knows that you're not going to bend to his will, and that requires him having at least some awareness of your actual political platform."

Hm.

That's true—Dumbledore may very well assume that Regulus is simply behaving the same way Sirius did, as opposed to organizing something bigger. The prospect is... irritating, but it's safer than Regulus revealing himself as an enemy too early.

"Is there any value in pretending to work with him?" Barty says. "It would keep him from going after us, which would be nice, but it's also kind of exactly what the Dark network already does to avoid criminal charges."

"That would damage our credibility with most Dark purebloods," Regulus says. "We need to remain visibly independent. The Order of the Phoenix and the Death Eaters can run each other into the ground without us putting ourselves on the line."

"We have to put ourselves on the line, though," Barty says. "They're already at war. They won't let us win on words alone."

"They might," Evan says. "It depends on the words."

"I don't want us entering the conflict on a combat level," Regulus says. "At least, not yet. We don't have enough people, and those we do have are inexperienced at dueling. I'm not sending people into battle unprepared. Which means we need to avoid Dumbledore's notice as much as possible—and that of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, of course—"

"Voldy," Evan says helpfully.

Regulus is not entirely sure he can call Voldemort 'Voldy' out loud while maintaining a straight face. (And he should probably be calling Voldemort the 'Dark Lord' in certain mixed company anyway.) "While we're at Hogwarts, we can meet relatively easily, which means it's the ideal time to train, but that will go up in smoke if Dumbledore finds out about it. We'll have to be discreet."

"Certain people like making that difficult for us," Barty points out.

"Not if we distract them with bigger problems."

 

On Thursday morning, the Slytherin quidditch team has their last practice before the final on Saturday.

Geoff gathers them all around before they get started, which is a common occurrence. Regulus is expecting him to announce that he's gleaned some insights from spying on Gryffindor's practice yesterday, as that's what this sort of meeting is usually for, but instead, Geoff says solemnly, "I need all of you to promise me something."

"What?" Emma says.

He looks around their circle, making eye contact with each one of them. "Promise me that whatever you do, between now and Saturday afternoon, you will not get cursed, hexed, jinxed, or otherwise injured and need to go to the hospital wing."

"That was hardly Regulus's fault," Evan says.

"Did I say I cared about whose fault it was?" Geoff says. "I just don't want to have to worry about any of you fainting mid-match. Gryffindor has a ten-point lead. It's only one goal, which doesn't sound like a lot, but they have an experienced team and they've been watching us. They'll expect us to have both our Beaters on offense, and if they're smart—I saw that face, Megan—they'll be doing the same thing we're doing with picking out players to target. Whoever loses a player to Pomfrey loses the match."

"You really know how to boost morale," Evan says.

"I'll boost morale on Saturday. Today, I'm being a killjoy. Balance is important."

"But today is Emma's birthday."

"The more we talk about strategy now, the more I have to think about during History of Magic, so I'm fine with this, actually," Emma says.

"We will collectively get Emma a belated birthday present on Saturday," Geoff says.

Megan raises her hand. "And me, I'm next week."

"We'll have to share the Cup, then," Emma says.

 

After dinner, the fifth-years take a break from studying to give gifts. Emma's parents sent her an enormous hamper from Honeydukes, as they normally do, which Emma distributes almost freely among them. (She keeps all the Ice Mice for herself. Regulus is more than fine with this, as he's never liked the squeaking effect.)

After this many years' worth of birthdays, they've all gotten a decent sense of what to give each other. With Emma, anything quidditch-related is a safe bet, unless it involves the Tornadoes, her least favorite team. (Except for the year when Charlotte and Lucinda collaborated on a scrapbook of newspaper clippings about the Tornadoes' most recent season, which had been their worst in eight years. It's had a prominent position on Emma's desk ever since.) However, Regulus already bought her new quidditch gloves last year, and Evan claimed he felt it was time to be creative, so they'd wandered Diagon Alley together over spring break looking for alternatives. Eventually, they settled on two gifts meant to go together (or, well, two gifts that could go together)—a picnic blanket enchanted to hover half an inch above the ground to prevent dirt, from Regulus, and a cloak with a Warming Charm woven into the cloth, from Evan.

"For going to the Black Lake in the winter," Evan explains as he hands over the cloak. "This won't wear out as quickly as a normal Warming Charm does. It's supposed to last five years."

"We'll be graduating from Hogwarts in two, though," Charlotte says.

"Urgh, don't say that," Barty says.

"It's not as if winters stop happening when we leave Hogwarts," Emma says. "And even if they did, that's still two years of me not having to choose between seeing the sun and staying warm."

That puts an end to Charlotte's quibble, and they move on in relative peace.

Maeve's gift is the one that gets the biggest reaction. She apparently had to go retrieve it when they got back from dinner, and then hid it in the bathroom until it was her turn, which is a surprisingly thorough display of secrecy, so by the time they reach Maeve and she vanishes into the bathroom to get the gift, Regulus can't help wondering what merits going to all this trouble.

She emerges holding a glowing plant in a small seafoam-green pot. Rounded leaves spread in a ring around a cluster of luminescent blue and purple flowers in the center.

"Oh, wow," Emma says.

Maeve carefully places the pot in Emma's hands. "I know you have a lot of plants at home. I got one that doesn't need sunlight so you can have one here too. It's called a stalagmite violet. Erm, I also got plant food for it, one second—" She vanishes back into the bathroom. Paper rustles, and then she emerges with a small brown bag. "There are care instructions in here too. It shouldn't be too complicated. Theophania was looking after it for me and she said the instructions were pretty clear—"

She's abruptly cut off when Emma hands the plant to Evan and hugs her. "I love it. Thank you."

It's rather a lingering hug, on both sides.

Maybe Regulus doesn't need to ask Evan what's going on with them.

Notes:

barty did not actually need peace and quiet and the room to himself in order to do these enchantments, which regulus SHOULD know since they did the first batch together, and yet???? regulus without missing a beat goes 'ok then evan and i are leaving<3'

regulus: why is the chaise here
evan: because hogwarts loves me
regulus: yes but why is the chaise HERE. IN MY OFFICE.

i WILL have one more divination palmistry review session before the owl for the specific purpose of making regulus suffer

why IS dumbledore supervising snape's detentions? for the whole rest of the term? that's a lot of weeks. what do you think is going on there?

regulus 'i need everyone to know how great i am and this is definitely 100% completely unrelated to being born a spare' black

regulus: i don't want us entering the conflict on a combat level
barty: why must you make me sad

and then maeve and emma! afjsghskjs regulus is sooooooooooooooooo perceptive. nothing gets past him. he always knows what's going on 100% of the time. he put this together on his own only like a month after evan did. he is SO good at picking up on people's feelings--

next time: barty sets things on fire!! regulus makes a snap decision!! geoff and megan have a difference of opinion about violence on the pitch!! QUIDDITCHHHHHHHHHHH

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 47

Notes:

HAPPY 1 YEAR OF ATFHV!!! THE PROLOGUE WAS POSTED ON FEBRUARY 17, 2022!!!!! SURPRISE BONUS UPDATE TO CELEBRATE!!!

Mother's response to Regulus's letter, guarded with a blood lock, is not as encouraging as he would have liked.

 

Dear Regulus,

The purpose of this war is to ensure that such indiscretions do not pose a substantial threat to the Dark network. The Dark Lord does not particularly value subtlety; it follows that students hoping to join him who do not have family secrets to preserve will adhere to his standards rather than ours. If he does what he promises to do, we will no longer operate under that same burden of secrecy (excepting, of course, what is necessary for the preservation of our family magics). I do not mean to suggest that drawing the headmaster's attention is a good idea; rather, that victory will both require and allow for more open usage of Dark Arts than that to which we are accustomed.

You are correct in your assessment that such careless treatment of sensitive magic would render such an individual a poor choice for the Dark network at the present moment. I think it reasonable to let him focus his energies entirely on service to the Dark Lord, given that that is where his proclivities already seem to lie. However, you must remember to look to the future. Hiding does not win wars, nor does it inspire admiration.

You have not mentioned the circumstances in which you came to be cursed by this student. I hope you do not mean to imply the development of a sort of enmity. Do not stoop to rivalry with your lessers. It will only lower you to their level.

Mother

 

Regulus puts the letter in a desk drawer. Nobody will ask him what it said—that would be considered prying—but... it's a bit irritating, and Barty will understand that. (Evan isn't here—after dinner, he, Geoff, and Emma took over a corner of the common room to review possibly every single one of their formations ever before the final tomorrow.) "I've been informed that I worry too much about getting caught practicing Dark Arts and also shouldn't be getting cursed in the first place."

"It's that kind of day." Barty is crumpling parchment into a ball. He received a letter today as well; his was about three times as long as Regulus's, judging by the thickness of the envelope, and if the address was any indication, it was composed with a Dictaquill. Barty doesn't often get letters from his father, and he never receives them with enthusiasm. "Did she insult Mulciber, at least?"

"Matter-of-factly. It's an opening. And she did agree with me about shutting the Mulcibers out of the Dark network." It's not the expression of disgust for Mulciber and Snape that Regulus hoped for, though.

"Well, there's that." He tosses the ball of parchment into the air and hits it with a burst of flame. The fire tears through it—tiny pieces flake off and drift downwards, and when the parchment hits the floor, it crumbles into a heap of ash. "My father is deeply disappointed in my refusal to honor my word and my general lack of work ethic. Takes a lot to get him to use an adverb."

"Should I be congratulating you?"

"Meh." Barty scowls at the ashes. "I don't see why he went to the trouble of writing if he wasn't going to say anything interesting."

Neither does Regulus, in all honesty, but if the letter had been that boring it probably would have become scrap parchment. Not a pile of ashes.

"Your priorities aren't the same as his," he tries. "Didn't McGonagall tell you he got twelve OWLs? He clearly had no better use for his time."

Barty contemplates the ashes as if he's debating whether to try to light them on fire again. "And now he does. So why is he writing to me?"

Oh.

It's not like Regulus ever really gets letters from his own father, but the only people who do are Father's professional acquaintances. Mother handles practically all of their personal mail. (Once, Mother said it was because she had better handwriting, which got a rare laugh from Father. Near as Regulus can tell, theirs are both impeccable, albeit in different ways.) But Regulus's parents consult each other on almost everything, so he can generally assume that when Mother sends him a letter, she and Father have discussed it. Barty's parents aren't like that.

"Maybe your mother didn't feel the urge to express disappointment," Regulus says.

It doesn't seem to fix anything.

"It didn't have a Ministry seal," Barty says restlessly. "Not a Ministry envelope, either. He sent it from home. Why was he at home?"

Regulus doesn't know.

Regulus doesn't know, and that's a problem. Not knowing means he doesn't have anything to say. He doesn't have anything that could be helpful. He can't—he can't just stand around in silence, and he definitely can't say 'well, he does live there,' and those are his two ideas.

He hates discussing Barty's father.

But he's not going to run away.

He's not.

Regulus takes a deep breath, because he doesn't know what he's doing and the centering might help. "I meant it about your mother not caring."

"I know you did."

Right. "She hasn't endorsed your father's letter. She hasn't said anything."

"Which is not like her," Barty says.

It's not.

How can he be reassuring about this?

"McGonagall thought dropping the extra OWLs was a good idea," Regulus says. "She offered to tell your parents as much herself. Your father writing an essay about it doesn't mean your mother agrees. Maybe she wrote too and the letter hasn't arrived yet."

"And if she didn't?" Barty says.

"Then you write to her to find out what she thinks. Let your father be deeply disappointed. He brought it upon himself, really."

Regulus can't tell if that was helpful or not. Barty vanishes the pile of ashes, brow furrowed, and then tosses his wand onto his bed. "He's not going to shut up about it for the whole summer. And then we'll get our results and have to pick NEWT subjects and he'll be breathing down my neck the entire time and my mum might tell him to back off but she'll definitely tell me to at least consider whatever batshit waste of energy he wants me to agree to. And I won't be able to leave because of the fucking Ministry. They'll keep sending us Aurors until Voldy's dead or until we are, and in the meantime I'm just going to be trapped in the house with my parents, Winky, and enough hardcovers to bludgeon someone until he stops talking to me about internships. Bit unfair to the books, though."

"A bit," Regulus echoes. "You'd probably make Dumbledore rather unhappy, seeing as he did dispatch Moody to guard your father."

Barty smirks. "Bet he'd never see that coming. I'd love to see the look on his face."

"Dumbledore, or Moody?"

"Either-or. And you'd get me new books if necessary."

Alright. He seems to be feeling better.

"Of course," Regulus says.

 

The Ministry will keep sending Aurors to the Crouches until Voldemort is dead or until they are.

One summer of that is a bad enough prospect. Barty might explode instead of putting up with more.

Killing Voldemort, though...

Regulus doesn't have a plan for that. It's the sort of thing that has seemed to belong to the future, many, many steps away from where he is now. He doesn't have enough knowledge to kill Voldemort. He doesn't have enough people to kill Voldemort.

But he can get them.

Hiding does not win wars.

 

I need to speak to Sirius.

 

Lily's reply comes within a few minutes.

The night before the quidditch final? Are you nuts? He's doing strange cult-like things with the rest of the team right now, anyway.

Not tonight, Regulus writes. (He can't risk a repeat of what happened last time he talked to Sirius. Not when he has a Snitch to catch tomorrow.) Soon, though.

About what? I mean, I'm assuming you're telling me this because you want me to convince him.

Rather, to pass a message along, if you would. It's short.

How short?

There are many ways to put it, but Regulus didn't have any trouble with picking one. Sirius... Sirius will know what it means, how to interpret it. They never had to be delicate in how they told each other things in the past.

I have a dark lord to kill. I thought he might be interested.

 

Lily refuses to pass on the message that night, claiming that Sirius will think it's a ploy to throw him off his game, but she says she'll do it after the match, or maybe on Sunday depending on whether she can actually get hold of Sirius long enough for a private conversation tomorrow.

That's good enough. Regulus closes his journal. "Barty, how much time can you devote to studying dueling?"

Barty is sitting at his desk writing an essay, but he turns around so fast that he almost knocks his ink bottle onto the floor. "Yes."

"That wasn't a yes-or-no question."

"Do you care?"

"Fair point. I need someone to take charge of doing that research, so we know what we're doing when we practice."

"When we practice?" His eyes gleam. "I will do that research. I will do so much research. Who's 'we'?"

"You. Me. Lily and McKinnon, most likely. Evan if he wants to. The list goes on. It can't all be Dark Arts, but if someone is using Dark spells against us, we need to be able to counter them effectively."

"Love to."

"I thought you might."

 

The stands around the quidditch pitch are packed for the final match.

Regulus is on the ground, too far down to see individual faces, but he can see masses of green and red, and banners waving in the slight breeze, and the low, burbling chatter of many, many people talking far away. It's not just students and teachers—Geoff mentioned that his family is here, and there are a few seventh-years on the Gryffindor team who may have invited people as well. It's fairly common for seventh-years playing their last match at Hogwarts. Regulus hadn't spotted any families as he was warming up, but he did see Barty, Maeve, Lucinda, and even Charlotte in the Slytherin section of the stands. (Although Charlotte seemed to be reading a book.)

Evan touches down from one last lap around the pitch, completing the circle the rest of the team has formed. "Dumbledore's sitting right next to McGonagall and having a rather lively conversation with Lupin. Do we think that'll have an impact on the commentary?"

"I'd be a little disappointed in him if it did," Geoff says. "He's dealt with McGonagall's exasperation for this long. It wouldn't be very Gryffindor of him to give in now."

"But think about how demoralizing it would be for his friends," Emma says.

"That would be lovely." Evan brushes invisible dirt off of the emerald sleeve of his uniform. "They'd be so very distressed."

"We don't need to rely on Lupin to demoralize them," Geoff says. "That starts when we take out Fortescue. Potter and Prewett are both too flashy on their own. Without Fortescue to connect them, they'll be fumbling passes left and right. Then, Megan, you get to go after Potter."

"Yes!" Megan says.

Geoff holds up a hand. "Within reason."

"No!"

"You're not actually trying to get him out of the game. Just knock him off course so he's not in position for whenever Prewett tries to chuck the Quaffle halfway across the pitch. Thomas, don't fall back completely—stick with Megan—but keep an eye out for the Gryffindor Beaters. We don't know who they're going to target."

That's the biggest vulnerability of Slytherin's strategy. The whole team works together very closely. Taking out any one of them would severely impact their plays. Megan and Thomas use a paired-Beater strategy, instead of playing relatively independently like Sirius and Caroline Johnson do, and their Chasers rely on close formations to keep possession. Theophania and Regulus, obviously, have their own central roles to play. Gryffindor could go after anyone.

Geoff and Emma spent at least an hour making a list of each Gryffindor player's strengths and weaknesses and the pros and cons of targeting them, but in the end, the decision was simple. Trying to hit McKinnon is a waste of time and energy. The Beaters are independent, so getting one of them out isn't substantial enough sabotage. And their Keeper—the other Prewett twin—is less of an obstacle than their Chasers are, when it comes to scoring goals. Thus, hit their offense until it breaks. Alice Fortescue first, because she's their captain, so incapacitating her will throw the rest of the team into disarray. (Ideally. Potter's probably angling for the captaincy next year, knowing him, so he may attempt to step up. That's why he's the next target.)

"Theophania, you don't need my advice, you're the best Keeper at Hogwarts," Geoff continues. (Regulus is fairly sure that's even true, although he doesn't pay much attention to the Keepers when he's playing.) "Emma, Evan, we're going to intercept every single cross-pitch pass they try to make."

Emma nods. "Because that is a stupid strategy and we're offended on principle."

"Exactly. Regulus, keep McKinnon busy and away from our team. Get her to crash and burn if you can. Remember that we need to beat Gryffindor by at least twenty points to win the Cup as well as the match. And if any of you let Lupin's commentary get in your head, I will lecture you like a disappointed father afterwards. Questions?"

"If we can't get Fortescue quickly, do we give up and pivot to Potter?" Thomas says.

"If you can't get Fortescue out of the game, at least make her life difficult," Geoff says. "Make other Gryffindors' lives difficult when it suits you. I want double plays that are so barely legal that they've all got steam coming out of their ears."

"Happy early birthday to me," Megan says.

"Legal."

"Barely."

"Yes, but legal. Think about how smug they'll be if they can get Hooch to call a foul."

She sighs. "Gross. Fine."

"It won't be gross once we have the Cup," Geoff says. "Everyone ready?"

 

Regulus hasn't played against McKinnon since well before they started working together for the war. Their interaction has been, admittedly, limited, but it's still an interesting change of perspective. She's not just the rival Seeker—she's Lily's best friend who attacked Mulciber with stinging nettles and, according to Lily, stood on a table in the middle of the Gryffindor common room so she could lead her housemates in an impromptu anti-Death-Eater rally. Regulus has gotten accustomed to thinking of McKinnon as someone fairly reliable, if blunt.

However, she still very much is the rival Seeker. An alliance while off the pitch means absolutely nothing while on it.

He ignores Sirius as the teams face each other. McKinnon is safer. Besides, she's right in front of him.

"Keep it clean, all of you," Madam Hooch says severely. "I'll remind you again that I do have the rulebook memorized. Captains, shake hands."

They're all wearing quidditch gloves, fingerless leather in a few different shades of black and brown, but Regulus has a sneaking suspicion that both Geoff and Fortescue are white-knuckled underneath them.

"Good. On my whistle. Three. Two. One."

The whistle screeches. Regulus kicks off directly upward. He's not getting involved in the scramble for the Quaffle. Nor is he staying within range of the Beaters.

McKinnon has the same idea, as always. They start like this every time—soaring above as the other players sort themselves out, taking stock of the situation, and then figuring out how best to interfere.

"Welcome, one and all," Lupin's voice blares. "It is a lovely day and I, for one, am—Rosier in possession—as I was saying, I'm very excited to find out who will be taking the—Vanity in possession—Cup this year, and that was either sarcastic or completely genuine depending on who wins—underhand pass, Potter blocks it, is he going to—no, he is not going to catch the Quaffle, he's just going to let it succumb to gravity, I guess—Fortescue's got it. Gryffindor in possession, heading for the Slytherin end of the pitch. Gryffindor's also in the lead, points-wise, with four hundred and sixty to Slytherin's four hundred and fifty, which means if this match is a tie, Gryffindor wins the Cup. I'm sure the Slytherins are painfully aware of that—"

"Lupin," McGonagall's voice says.

"Honesty is a virtue, Professor. Slytherin Beaters have descended on Fortescue—she's still in possession, but not for much longer if they get their way— yikes."

Below, Fortescue drops out of formation. Regulus didn't see where Megan got her, but she's doubled over. She's also dropped the Quaffle. Evan swoops in to catch it. Potter approaches Fortescue. She waves him off.

"Fortescue recovering quickly from a Bludger to the stomach," Lupin says. "Close range, too— that is why you wear your armor, everyone, I've seen the bruises they leave and they are not pretty. Slytherin in possession, no idea which one of them actually has the Quaffle, pretty sure it's at least one of the Chasers—oh, that was a pass, Pucey's got it. For now."

The Gryffindor Beaters are splitting up. Sirius is staying with the Chasers, although he might be planning to break off and join their Keeper, since play is moving towards the Gryffindor end of the pitch. Caroline Johnson is moving away from the Chasers.

Johnson is almost always tasked with taking out Seekers. Regulus needs to move.

It's too early to claim he's seen the Snitch. And the Chasers and Beaters are all flying too closely for Regulus to risk going through them. He drifts over to McKinnon, close enough that Johnson won't be able to get a clear shot.

McKinnon is scanning the Gryffindor end of the pitch. "I hope you're not here to make conversation."

"Hardly."

"Oh, so you've noticed Caroline's after you, then? Took you long enough."

So Regulus is the one the Gryffindors are targeting. It's logical enough. Unimaginative, though. "She was busy earlier. I didn't think it worth mentioning."

"Vanity makes an attempt on goal, blocked by Prewett," Lupin says. "He passes to... other Prewett... I need better names for you—overhand pass—Rosier's got it. Oops. Back to Vanity—Pucey—Vanity— please cut it out—Pucey aims—Prewett just barely misses. Ten points to Slytherin."

The Slytherin side of the stands bursts into cheers.

Potter takes possession of the Quaffle and heads for the Slytherin goalposts. His path is obstructed by Megan and Thomas, waiting at the center of the pitch. Fortescue dives below to sneak past them. Evan blocks her from getting any further. A Bludger forces Emma to veer off course. Megan knocks it towards Potter.

Then—

Gold.

It flickers at the edge of Regulus's vision. He turns slightly, to get a better look, but he already knows what he's going to see.

The Snitch spirals towards the Slytherin goalposts.

Regulus glances at McKinnon as subtly as he can. She's looking at the maelstrom below them.

Good.

McKinnon is faster. Regulus is more agile. He needs a head start.

And he takes it.

Wind howls past. He doesn't usually fly like this—a straight line, no tricks, no turns. No obstacles.

The Snitch whips to the left. Regulus follows it. McKinnon is a streak of red in the corner of his eye. Her broom has a larger turn radius. That, or she's just slower about it. Either way, Regulus is closer.

He can see the wings now. They beat as fast as a hummingbird's, silver blurring in the sunlight. Regulus flattens himself against his broom—he closes in—he reaches for it—

Then black surges up from below him. There's a crack. His arm goes white-hot. The Snitch glimmers just out of reach.

No.

Regulus puts on one last burst of speed. Just for a moment, he risks taking his other hand off his broom. He doesn't need to aim. He just needs to reach out—not fall— there.

The wings flutter against Regulus's palm, then still.

A whistle screeches.

Game over.

Notes:

walburga i don't think your son is going to interpret that advice the way you want him to

barty is stressin :( but at least he got to say swear words and light something on fire and suggest violence about it

regulus: i have a dark lord to kill. i thought sirius might be interested.
lily: oh so you're *both* insane. good to know.

in case you were wondering, fabian prewett is the chaser and gideon prewett is the keeper

TEAM DAD GEOFF

AND REGULUS OH MY GOD HE DID IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!

once again happy 1 year of atfhv, time flies ajflshgskjgsdfds

next week: bludger consequences!! regulus flies away from his feelings!! REGULUS GETS A HUG

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 48

Reflexively, Regulus tries to steer with his right hand. But he can't even grab hold of the broom. When he moves his fingers, unnervingly sharp pain flares in his arm. It hurts enough that Regulus has to stop and take a breath. Hover. He needs to hover. If he stays still, he doesn't need his arms to balance.

Lupin is talking, some sort of meaningless smear of words against cheering from the Slytherin side of the stands that can't quite drown him out but is making a powerful attempt at it. Regulus is hovering well above them, high enough that normally he'd dive to get to the ground. That's what McKinnon's doing. She's already nearing where the rest of her teammates have clustered.

Maybe if Regulus tries it slowly?

His arm twinges as he settles his hand gently on the end of the broom. Not good, but bearable. If he can just get a decent grip, then he can try steering—

He has to turn his wrist. Fire flares in his arm when he does. Regulus grits his teeth against it and slowly, carefully, gives up. Lets his right arm hang at his side. At least it hurts less this way, a blunt ache, not a searing poker.

So. No decent grip. No grip at all. And if he can't even hold the broom with his right hand, there's no way he'll be able to hold something as small as the Snitch. He's meant to return it to Madam Hooch as soon as he lands. If he releases it up here, someone will have to catch it again, and that someone... probably can't be him.

Regulus is... well, he's not stuck, of course. But if he has to both hold the Snitch and steer the broom with his left hand, then getting down will be a slow, delicate process.

The sooner he starts, the sooner he'll get there.

The Snitch is small, but even so, Regulus can barely get a grip on the broom while he's holding it. It's better than nothing. He angles the broom downward by the tiniest amount he can manage. Steep descents require both hands, and Regulus is not going to fall. That would be mortifying. He's already won the match.

He won.

Three years playing for Slytherin. The first time, they'd placed third. Regulus wasn't good enough to beat McKinnon back then. Last year, they'd fared better, only for Regulus to be knocked out of the final with a broken collarbone, completely incapable of playing. He hadn't even been able to land on his own, had barely been able to stay on his broom. Geoff and Amycus Carrow had to come get him.

This year is finally, finally different.

His arm throbs. The sleeve of his uniform feels like it's tighter than it was at the start of the match. Swelling, then. Something is probably broken.

It could have been worse, though. It could have been his collarbone again. They could have lost again.

Regulus has made some slight progress towards the ground when Evan swoops up to join him, wind-tossed and bright-eyed and victorious. "What's taking you so— oh. That looks bad."

"Does it?" The break, or whatever it is, isn't outwardly visible, near as Regulus can tell.

Evan loops around him in a half-circle and frowns at his arm. "Well, it's keeping you from landing, so it can't be good. Was it Johnson? I saw her hit a Bludger at you, but I didn't see whether it hit—are you hurt anywhere else? Because we could just go to the stands and land there and walk the rest of the way down instead of flying. I can take your broom. Or, I mean, we could try flying directly to the hospital wing from here, it might be quicker, but then we'd miss Dumbledore handing us the trophy, and it's your win, really—but I'm sure they'd be happy to bring the Cup to the hospital wing—"

This is a lot of words when Regulus is already focusing on breathing and staying balanced. He stops his slow descent and hovers.

Evan stops too. "What is it?"

Regulus has to fight against his instincts, but he manages to let go of his broom with his left hand without trying to grab it with his right. Cautiously, he twists a little, holds out the Snitch. "Could you take this? Then I'll be able to steer properly."

"Of course." Evan picks it up carefully, the way most non-Seekers do. It looks deceptively delicate—curved engravings entwine around the gold, and the wings are made of pristine, miniscule feathers. The first time Regulus saw a Snitch up close, he thought he'd crush it if he held it the wrong way. But they're made of metal, and the anti-tampering enchantments on them are a formidable defense against physical harm. Regulus has held Snitches so tightly that his fingernails dug crescents into his palms. They're not as fragile as they look. Seekers are the only ones who really get to understand that, though.

"Thank you." With his hand free, Regulus is immediately much more secure—not only can he steer, he also stands a chance at catching himself if he starts to fall. "How are you? Their Beaters were playing very far forward today."

"Best defense is a good offense, I suppose," Evan says. "How very Gryffindor. It was fine, though. They'd just managed to tie the score when you caught the Snitch—I assumed when Hooch blew her whistle that she was going to call a foul, I think Johnson might have been the only player down there who even realized you'd seen the Snitch already—I mean, how fast was that? Under ten minutes, definitely—under five? It took longer to walk to the pitch—oh, Gryffindor must be infuriated." He beams at Regulus, the corners of his eyes crinkling up, as delighted as he was when he first came up here, but now it's purely directed at Regulus, as if Regulus has just made his day.

Maybe he has.

"Count me very impressed," Evan adds. "Especially considering the Bludger."

Gryffindor being infuriated means it'll take a while before Lily can talk to Sirius, but out here, high in the sunlight, the noise around them fading as people slowly empty out of the stands, that just doesn't seem so important. Evan turns his face up towards the sun, still shining with a triumph that plays about his lips, showing in the way he smiles. It suits him, better than the stony silence of the dungeons, maybe even better than the crystal leisure of Rosier Manor.

Regulus tests his grip on his broom. Good enough. "Race you to the ground."

That yanks Evan out of his reverie. "Wait, what? Regulus—"

He dives.

Well, not quite. Pulling out of a proper dive to the ground without landing face-first in the grass requires both hands, so it's more of a steep descent, slower than he'd normally take it. But it's so much better than the careful drifting downwards he was doing before.

Evan pulls up next to him shortly, of course. Being a Chaser, he's more than accustomed to flying one-handed, and the steering on the Nimbus being more agile than that on the Starsweeper doesn't really mean anything when Regulus is flying in a straight line.

"The match is over and you are injured," Evan says.

"All the more reason to get down quickly."

He looks so appalled that Regulus has to fight back a smile. "All the more reason to get down carefully. We will never hear the end of it from Madam Pomfrey if you manage to injure yourself after the match. I will never hear the end of it from Barty. And Geoff will be disappointed in you. You can't hold the Cup if you break both of your arms. Or your neck."

Geoff rises to join them. "What's this about Regulus breaking his neck?"

They're close enough to the ground now that Regulus slows his descent. The rest of the team is there already, talking over each other in jubilant bursts, brooms and Beaters' bats scattered on the grass, surrounded by well-wishers dressed in varying amounts of silver and green. "Hypotheticals. It's just my arm."

"Your arm is broken?"

"Most likely." He can mostly ignore the pain now, as long as he keeps it still, and it's not getting worse. That's a good sign. "There was an inconvenient Bludger. It's not as if I fell off my broom." Compared to last year, almost anything is an improvement.

"Could be worse, I guess," Geoff agrees. "Do you want to go straight to the hospital wing, or get the Cup first?"

"I'll stay." Slytherin hasn't won the Quidditch Cup since Regulus's second year, before he was on the team. He's not leaving early.

Geoff grins. "Good. I'd hate for any of us to miss it. Especially seeing as you weren't here for Megan singing 'Happy Birthday' to herself."

 

They form a rather odd procession going to the hospital wing.

Regulus is the only one who actually needs to go, but Geoff is staying right next to him as if he thinks Regulus is going to try to escape. The whole team is there—Emma and Megan are both holding the Cup, as it's a joint birthday present, and Barty, Maeve, and Lucinda are coming along, as are a couple of Megan's friends who seem to have bedecked themselves in as much green and silver as is physically possible. (Charlotte came down from the stands with them to offer congratulations, then left to return to the dungeons, as did most other people. Megan's friends are only here because they didn't want to interrupt their conversation by splitting up.) Regulus is trying to let his arm hang at his side without actively holding it still—unfortunately, there's no good option, because letting his arm swing as he walks hurts too. It doesn't make for a graceful gait. Fortunately, most people aren't watching him closely enough to notice.

"We broke Fortescue," Emma is saying, mostly to Maeve, but really to anyone who'll listen. (Barty is tolerating the nonstop stream of quidditch talk admirably. Or, possibly, he's doing his best not to pay attention. He's been vaguely staring at the paintings lining the corridors the whole time.) "I don't think she expected to be the target at all—they put their Beaters so far forward, I was wondering if they were trying to keep Megan and Thomas from getting too close to their Keeper. Wrong choice of people to focus on, honestly, their point lead wasn't that big, it's not like Regulus had to wait for us to score a few times before he could start looking for the Snitch."

"Although it was nice to get the first goal of the game," Evan chimes in. "Did you see Prewett's face when Regulus got the Snitch?"

"Which Prewett?"

He shrugs. "Whichever one plays Chaser. It's tragic that he's a seventh-year. I'd love to witness that again."

"Potter looked gobsmacked, and we'll play him again next year," Megan says helpfully. "Except Geoff. Sorry, Geoff."

"That's alright," Geoff says. "I saw his face this time. I'll remember it."

"Come to the match next year and bring binoculars!"

Nobody mentions what Sirius may or may not have looked like. Regardless, he's definitely with Potter right now. Lily won't be able to talk to him for at least a day, and then...

And then Regulus will still have a dark lord to kill.

What if he miscalculated the message? It seemed so obvious when he was writing it, but it's brief, and could be construed as flippant, and there's also the fact that the best-case scenario is Sirius agreeing to discuss it, in which Regulus will have to talk to him and there are infinite ways for that to go wrong. Especially if Sirius is irritated with how the match went. Regulus doesn't think he'd let that determine his decisions with regard to the war, but, well... he might not be in the mood to listen.

Evan pokes his shoulder, gently enough that it's really more of a tap. "Please tell me you're not doing a post-mortem of the match in your head right now. At least wait until you're healed."

"I'll do a post-mortem with you, Regulus," Emma says. "First of all: Gryffindor lost. Second of all: no deaths. We can save the rest for practice tomorrow."

"We are not practicing tomorrow," Thomas says. "You can, but I will not be there."

"Why would you even practice tomorrow?" Barty says.

"To get ahead for next year," Emma says. "Gryffindor won't be practicing tomorrow."

"They never do," Geoff says. "They don't have the pitch reserved on Sundays."

"Details."

The doors to the hospital wing swing open as they approach. Madam Pomfrey is waiting by the entrance, with a small rolling table covered in potions vials. "I trust none of you are in mortal danger?"

"Regulus probably has a broken arm, but the rest of us are fine," Geoff says.

"Admirable effort. Sit down, Mr. Black."

"And we won," Emma adds as Regulus takes a chair. This is a familiar vantage point—being in the hospital wing with the rest of the team standing around. Usually, they're a little more stressed, so this is a nice change of pace.

Pomfrey smiles wryly. "I'm aware, Miss Vanity. Professor McGonagall has already provided quite a thorough update." She turns her attention back to Regulus as another small table rolls up. "Right arm?"

"Yes." Regulus sets his arm down on the table as gently as possible, but it still throbs unpleasantly at the movement.

A diagnostic charm sinks below the sleeve of his uniform and produces several floating lights, one of them blinking rapidly.

"Broken ulna and bruising." Pomfrey selects a dark blue-green potion he knows well from the other table and removes the cap. "All of that."

The pain reliever before she sets the bone. Fantastic.

Regulus can never quite get used to the taste, like someone boiled every medicinal herb at once and added a bucket of sugar to make it worse, but at least he's never spat it out the way Sirius did when he was five and sprained his ankle playing tag. He drinks the whole thing as quickly as possible, and by the time he hands the vial back to Madam Pomfrey, it's already starting to soften the pain in his arm.

And then Pomfrey checks her watch and continues to wait for it to take effect, which means Regulus can look forward to an extremely enjoyable procedure.

Barty pulls up a chair next to him and drops into it. "What's the recovery time like?"

"No carrying anything heavy today or tomorrow. I'll give him a splint today, and then I'll check on Monday to see if it can be taken off. In almost every case, that's plenty of time to heal completely, as long as they follow instructions—and no flying," she adds to Regulus. "If you have reason to believe you'll have difficulty with that, best to tell me now and I'll keep you here until you're cleared to fly again."

"It was only the once," Emma mutters.

"I'll manage," Regulus says.

Pomfrey checks her watch again. "Alright, it should have taken full effect." She pulls up another chair. "I'll count down from three before I heal it. Three. Two."

Crack.

Regulus hears it more than he feels it, bone snapping back together like a thunderclap, but he does feel it, in a dull ripple up his arm. It leaves his arm feeling heavy, raw, but not in a particularly bad way.

She hands him another potion vial. "For swelling."

This one tastes vaguely floral and sparks against his tongue, which is considerably more tolerable than the pain reliever. Madam Pomfrey conjures a splint underneath Regulus's sleeve and his glove, hands the obligatory bruise paste to Barty, and then Regulus is free to go.

The whole procession leaves with him. They get maybe ten steps away from the hospital wing before Emma says, "Are you in pain, or do we get to celebrate now?"

"We can celebrate." Were they not doing that before?

"Good. Hold this." Emma pushes her side of the Cup towards Megan, who cradles it like it's her most precious possession. That split second is all the warning Regulus gets before Emma seizes him in a hug tight enough to knock the air out of his lungs. "Four fucking minutes, are you joking? I told Geoff it didn't matter that Gryffindor had a point lead—that has to be a Hogwarts record, there hasn't even been an under-five catch in a British professional match since 1972 —McKinnon was spitting mad—I cannot believe you!"

Oh.

Regulus is a good Seeker, he knows he is—by Hogwarts' standards, anyway, and those are really all that matter since he'll never play in a professional setting. He was decent when he made the team, and then he practiced and he improved, and so...

It's not like the rest of the team hasn't acknowledged that. They've always expressed confidence in his abilities, and when he's caught the Snitch, they've been grateful.

But.

Regulus is a Seeker, which means that at the end of the day, he is alone. He competes—that's it. The others look to him to get those one hundred and fifty points, end the game at the right time, keep himself safe because that's how they win, because if Regulus can just stay out of it, nobody has to worry about him.

He catches the Snitch.

They win the match.

It's the natural result of Regulus doing his job.

But now Emma is hugging him like she's trying to send him back to the hospital wing and she and Theophania are tossing statistics back and forth to figure out precisely which records he's broken and Evan jumps in with "New plaque for the trophy room" and Regulus can't even parse the swell of chatter around him much less begin to identify possible responses, and it's all—

It's all—

His chest is tight in a way that has nothing to do with Emma hugging him. All these people, going with him from the quidditch pitch up to the fourth floor of the castle, just waiting for the moment Regulus was healed. So they could celebrate.

They were waiting for him.

Regulus... doesn't know what to say.

So he doesn't.

He hugs Emma back, loosely because he doesn't want to test the strength of his newly healed bone, and he breathes through his nose, slowly and deeply, to dispel the pressure building behind his eyes. The longer the inhale, the better—he just needs to count—he just needs to let it wash over him, not take it in, because if he stops and thinks about it too much he'll—

He counts.

First, the inhale. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.

Second, holding the breath. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen.

Third, the exhale—slowly, starting very slowly, so he doesn't run out too fast. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen.

And then he starts over, trying for one more number in each step, and his throat closes up halfway through the exhale and he doesn't make it all the way to sixteen and he starts over again and when he gets through that round, he feels almost back to normal again.

He keeps counting.

 

They get back to their room and Regulus showers and feels fine and changes into normal clothes and feels fine and then Evan goes to shower and a heartbeat after the water turns on in the bathroom, Barty says quietly, "Were you alright back there?"

All of that pressure in Regulus's chest and behind his eyes and in his throat roars back with a vengeance.

He can't answer. He can't open his mouth, because something will come out.

He wasn't not alright. He was just... taken aback. They all became so boisterous so quickly, when Regulus hadn't even realized that they were holding back before. On his account.

His throat hurts, like he'd swallowed the Snitch instead of catching it, a lump of gold with the wings still fluttering faintly. It's such a little thing, and yet, and yet, and yet—

"I was just surprised." His voice sounds awful, creaking like old stairs spiraling up to the attic, and Regulus shuts his mouth before he dislodges the lump of gold.

"Surprised?" Barty says. "I really want to call that bullshit, Reg. Lucinda was talking my ear off the whole time that we were trying to leave the stands. Everyone around us was talking about it too. Even Lupin said it was the shortest game he'd ever seen. And you won them the Cup. I was a bit surprised they managed to hold out until you were healed before they started screaming."

It's so stark when he says it, and Regulus wants to explain that Seekers are normally responsible for winning or losing games, that after years of Regulus being a good Seeker the novelty of it has worn off for the team, that he hadn't thought they were holding out in the first place, but his jaw won't cooperate, fused shut, and the sentences pound behind his eyes instead, blurring his vision, turning Barty's face into a smear of pale against the dark stone walls.

Oh.

Regulus inhales, but he only makes it to six before the breath collapses like a popped balloon, and his chest aches and his throat is closed up and blinking does nothing and he can't get his ribcage to expand and if he can't even control his breathing then how is he supposed to—

His cheeks are wet.

No. Regulus has those breathing techniques for a reason. They worked earlier, out in the corridors—there's no reason they shouldn't be working now, he doesn't want anyone seeing him like this—what is he even supposed to do? What does he say? Does he just walk away, draw the curtains around his bed and pretend it didn't happen when he resurfaces later? Does he conjure a handkerchief and disregard it? It'll leave his eyes red if he lets it go on for too long—Evan, at least, will notice. How pathetic would that be? He won. They won. His arm doesn't even hurt anymore. There's no reason for him to be upset, there's nothing for him to be upset about—

"Hey." Barty is in front of him now, somehow, hands on Regulus's shoulders, and he's not really pressing down but Regulus takes the weight anyway, minimal as it is, something to focus on other than the terrible gasp rising in his throat. "Okay, you don't have to say anything, just—just keep breathing, alright? I know we're under the lake but you don't actually have to hold your breath."

Regulus can't tell if Barty meant that to be a joke, and it's not even funny, but he gasps something that could have maybe been a laugh. Water trails down his jaw towards his chin. He swipes it away before it gets there, the splint scraping unfamiliarly against his skin.

What is happening? Everything was fine—Regulus was surprised by the raucousness earlier, yes, but he was fine. He managed. He—

"You were surprised," Barty says. "Regulus, you shouldn't have been."

Regulus can't stop his throat from convulsing again. He can't do this. He has to—He needs something else to focus on. He needs to feel something else.

He screws his eyes shut and takes a step in, doesn't think twice because if he thinks twice he'll have to backtrack and backtracking looks fickle at best and cowardly at worst, and he hugs Barty.

Barty doesn't even hesitate before hugging him back, tightly like he knows that's what Regulus is looking for, tight enough that Regulus gasps one more time and then he can breathe again, inhale slowly because there's no way to drag it all in at once, and he falters when he tries to hold his breath but he starts over and the next time is better. His face still feels wet, but one thing at a time. If he can solve his breathing, he can solve the rest of it.

Barty doesn't say anything, neither question nor comment, and he doesn't move away, and he doesn't let go. It's only when Regulus's face is uncomfortably dry and tight, when he's starting to notice gray, feathery tendrils of drowsiness that are probably from the swelling reducer, when the shower stops running in the bathroom, that Barty says, "I can wake you up for dinner if you want to sleep."

Regulus doesn't normally sleep in the middle of the day. It leaves his head feeling cottony, and he always has trouble sleeping that night. But he is getting tired, and the idea of lying down for a while in the relative privacy of his curtained bed does hold some appeal.

His throat still hurts, more sore than closed off, but he manages an "Alright."

And then Barty closes some of the curtains for him, which Regulus didn't need help with, but... he doesn't protest.

Notes:

regulus has a very healthy concept of his own worth i promise

TWO HUGS!!! I TOLD YOU THERE WOULD BE ONE BUT HE GOT TWO!!!!!! IT ONLY TOOK LIKE 180K WORDS!!!!!!!

not pictured: barty mouthing 'WHAT THE FUCK' over regulus's shoulder when regulus hugged him

ajfshgjsghsjf when regulus and evan are descending together and regulus is like 'evan is so pretty. i have to leave Right Fucking Now'

the entire quidditch team + friends: QUIDDITCH QUIDDITCH QUIDDITCH QUIDDITCH QUIDDITCH!!!!!!!!!!
regulus: i wonder if i'll ever speak to sirius again

pomfrey: professor mcgonagall has already provided quite a thorough update
mcgonagall: *currently sulking in pomfrey's office in cat form*

gotta love regulus's priorities. 'i could have broken my collarbone and almost fallen to my death again. or worse, we could have LOST BECAUSE OF ME again.' which really tells you all you need to know about him

i would say this definitely is a situation in which barty understands regulus's emotions better than regulus does. like the bar is on the floor here but still

next week: teenage rebellion feat. evan!! fun with aurors!! someone gets a clue about regulus liking evan!! (it's not regulus)

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 49

Regulus receives a letter in Bellatrix's large, curly handwriting at lunch on Sunday.

He doesn't open it at the table, of course, but apparently not all of his housemates share the same sense of discretion.

The first indicator of something happening is an ominous rumbling of conversation about halfway down the table. Both of the Carrow twins have letters; Amycus is gesturing at Mulciber with his, as Alecto quietly tucks hers away somewhere unopened. That could very well mean that one of the Lestranges has contacted them about the incident with Mulciber a week ago.

The second indicator of something happening is Mulciber interrupting Amycus while scowling in Regulus's direction. To be fair, he could be scowling at Barty, who's sitting next to Regulus, but given the letters, Regulus feels fairly comfortable in assuming that his name has been dragged into whatever conversation they're having.

Perhaps he should leave lunch sooner rather than later to read his letter. This seems like the sort of situation that would be vastly improved by Regulus knowing what's going on.

He's about to make his excuses when a school owl lands on the table in front of Barty and holds out a small scroll of parchment, no bigger than Regulus's finger, sealed with dark red wax.

Barty takes it, looking mildly bemused. So he doesn't know what it is either. Who would be passing notes to Barty using a school owl?

But Barty puts it in his pocket unopened, because he's sensible, so there's no reason to linger.

 

Reggie,

Rabastan's handling it. They can't very well take the Mark if they land themselves in Azkaban for Dark Arts, can they?

Bella

 

Good.

Regulus can probably expect some sort of confrontation soon. He'll have to ensure it takes place somewhere with witnesses.

The idea of getting people arrested is amusing, but he'd have to tread very carefully about it—none of the students are formally Death Eaters, and sending them to Azkaban for Dark Arts would be somewhat detrimental to Regulus's cause. Unless he could get them released later as part of his victory. That would have the side effect of making them believe they owe him a debt of gratitude. But he'd have to get them arrested before they took the Mark, to ensure that they wouldn't face charges for being Death Eaters, and he'd have to do it in such a way that they wouldn't cast suspicion on the rest of Slytherin.

Leveraging the Ministry, though...

"Does the DMLE know about Death Eaters having Dark Marks?" he says.

"How can they?" Barty says without turning away from his tangled chalk scribblings on the wall. They bear a resemblance to Professor Babbling's most recent lecture, but the rune chains keep moving around, so Regulus can't quite make sense of the structure. (It took Barty only a moment to read his tiny scroll, which he then stuffed back into his pocket without a word. Regulus will ask about it sometime when Evan isn't here.) "They haven't made any arrests."

"Suppose we helped them with that."

"Scrimgeour's the one to tip off." Evan is lying on his bed with his chin propped in one hand, textbook apparently forgotten (or at least neglected) in front of him. "He's not fussy about where he gets his leads, and he does love getting his name in the Prophet."

Regulus is... only vaguely familiar with that name, much less anything else Evan has just said. He's planning to go with it for now and make inquiries later, but Barty turns around, chalk in hand, and says, "Sorry, what?"

"Rufus Scrimgeour?"

"Yeah, I know who he is," Barty says. "My father thinks he's an egotistical glory hound who doesn't care about anything other than being hailed as the savior of the people. But I only know that because he spent all of dinner talking about it once. How do you know that?"

Evan blinks, then says lightly, "It galls me to agree with your father, but Scrimgeour's reputation has escaped the bounds of the DMLE."

"Clearly." But Barty doesn't turn back to his runes.

Regulus can't take this as an opportunity to find out what Evan knows and why. That was a non-answer clearly formulated to avoid an outright lie, so Barty's put him on the defensive. Continuing to push could work, but the answer, whatever it is, is probably not worth the subsequent aggravation.

Although it is telling that Evan's gone to the length of not answering when Barty asked a rather logical question.

Telling, and somewhat troubling. What sort of secret is he keeping?

Regulus will find out later. Right now, he has to defuse this situation. Accepting the suggestion and moving on without question should do it. "We send an anonymous tip to Scrimgeour, then, since he's certain to like the idea of making the first arrest of a Death Eater, but we'll need to pick a target. Someone who could be persuaded to give up more Death Eaters in exchange for a lighter sentence, ideally."

Evan presses his lips together and looks back down at his textbook, which is a strange enough reaction that rather than starting a list of known Death Eaters, Regulus stops talking and waits.

Silence.

Barty raises an eyebrow in Regulus's direction. Regulus shrugs as subtly as he can. He didn't think that would inspire any sort of reaction from Evan, much less induce him to go back to studying. Regulus was unaware that he could do anything to induce Evan to study, not that it's ever been a particular goal of his.

The silence draws out, longer and longer. They've clearly stumbled upon something important. Maybe Barty was right to push. There's no obvious reason for Evan to know anything about Rufus Scrimgeour, and there's certainly no obvious reason for him to conceal why he does, and that makes Regulus suspect that the truth runs much deeper than one Auror.

But why one Auror in the first place? Why does Evan know to contact him off the top of his head?

"What about a Death Eater in the Ministry?" Evan says abruptly.

Hm.

Deeper indeed.

"I imagine that would throw the DMLE into a panic," Regulus says, to play for time. How does Evan know? "If there's more than one in the Ministry, we could probably use that first one to start a chain reaction."

"My father would not rest until he'd purged the entire government," Barty says, albeit a little grudgingly. Regulus needs to talk to him alone. Regulus needs to talk to Evan alone. "He'd nab every Ministry employee with a Dark Mark."

Evan nods, the movement tighter than usual. "Exactly."

"It would be an extremely effective way to strike at the Death Eaters," Regulus says, to encourage him to say more. "And we'd be able to send the message from here."

He looks down again, but this silence doesn't last nearly so long. Evan sighs—or maybe it's a deep breath—and shuts the textbook. "Alright. We want Augustus Rookwood. He's an Unspeakable, Marked as of last summer—they wanted him because of his position, not for his fighting ability, although personally, I wouldn't gamble on him being totally incompetent in a battle. Going after an Unspeakable might be complicated, but he's the only Death Eater in the Ministry I'm completely sure of. I know there are at least a few others, though—I just don't know who they are. Barty's father can find out for us. But we can't use a school owl to contact Scrimgeour, and I'm not using Caspian."

"That's fine," Regulus says. "Heather has an owl."

"And someone needs to actually write the letter," Evan says. "I don't know if there's a way for us to persuade Scrimgeour to destroy it immediately, or if he'll keep it, or if he'll turn it over to the Auror department as evidence."

Barty looks between Regulus and Evan, then sets down his chalk and dusts off his hands. "I don't think he can destroy it, legally. And there's no law against recognizing someone's handwriting. So I will not be writing the letter."

"I can," Regulus says. "I'll need someone else's seal, though."

Evan shakes his head. "What if it goes to a trial before the Wizengamot and your father sees it?"

That would be... actually, Regulus honestly has no idea how Father would react to that. "Then I'll ask Lily to do it. We can script out the letter for her, and she can give it to me during rounds. Assuming Heather agrees to lend us her owl, I'll give the letter to her. Then all we have to do is wait. Unless there are any other factors I should be considering."

"Not that I know of," Evan says.

Barty nods subtly at Regulus, so it's true. Then he says, "If that's sorted, I should head out. McGonagall wants to meet with me."

"Why?" Regulus says.

"She said she needs to check some registration things." He shrugs. "I figure it can't be anything interesting, or else it would be Slughorn contacting me."

Fair enough, but that's still out of the ordinary. The only reason McGonagall has to talk to Barty outside of class is sorting out OWLs. But Barty already withdrew from the ones he was self-studying for, and OWLs start three weeks from tomorrow, so it's far too late for him to change anything now. She did write to Barty's parents, but Regulus thought that would be the end of her involvement.

Unless Barty's parents wrote back.

Does Regulus offer to go along? That would be a strange offer to make, so he would have to explain his reasoning, and he doesn't want to do that in front of Evan, who is not supposed to know about Barty's issues with his father—at least, not in detail. And what if it really is just mundane paperwork? Then Regulus would be wasting time that he could be spending figuring out why Evan knows so much about the Ministry.

He won't say anything for now. But if Barty is gone for over... forty-five minutes, Regulus will go to McGonagall's office to see if he's still there.

The door closes behind Barty with little fanfare, leaving his runes still slowly swirling on the wall, and then Regulus and Evan are alone.

Best not to immediately jump into the questioning, but Regulus can't delay too long, because Evan might come up with a reason to leave the room. He makes a note of the time and unlocks his journal.

Asking Heather if he can borrow her owl in the near future is simple enough. Phrasing the request to Lily is quite another, but eventually Regulus settles on being straightforward.

 

We're planning to anonymously tip off the Aurors about a Death Eater in the Ministry, and the letter can't be written by anyone whose handwriting might be recognized by a member of the Wizengamot, just in case it's presented in a trial. Could you write it?

 

That's done, and Evan hasn't left the room or disappeared into his wardrobe yet, so Regulus locks his journal and turns to look at him, only to find that Evan is already looking back.

He's barely moved since Barty left—he's pushed his textbook off to the side, but he's still sprawled out with his chin in one hand, ostensibly relaxed, but far too motionless. And he doesn't smile when Regulus looks at him, just watches in perfect silence. This is not like when Regulus gave him the box of chocolates—the positioning is much clearer here. Regulus can either defuse the situation or escalate it, and either way, Evan is waiting for him to make the first move.

"You don't want to explain how you know any of that," he says.

"I will not," Evan corrects evenly.

That is an important distinction. Very well. Regulus will work around it. "I can't think of many reasons why you'd have that information ready at the drop of a hat."

"By design."

There it is.

Evan is careful about showing his hand. But he's careful for a very specific reason.

Regulus keeps his voice calm. He doesn't want to come across as unnecessarily accusatory. Then Evan will shut down and they'll get nowhere. "Or should I say that I can't think of many reasons why your family would have that information ready?"

Evan blinks, tilts his head. "Should you?"

That won't work. Different angle. "You do realize that I don't actually care, don't you?"

"It seems like you do."

Fair. It's more a creative interpretation of the truth than actual honesty. But Regulus continues, "It could be your parents. It could be your tea leaves. It could be a conversation you eavesdropped on. I don't actually care about the source. I do care about whether I can trust it."

He stops there and waits.

Evan seems impassive, but Regulus knows better than to assume that means nothing's happening. He's thinking. That's better than another offhanded quip, which... makes sense, really. Evan didn't like it when Barty questioned him directly. There's no reason for him to respond differently to Regulus doing the same. But if Regulus makes the conversation about trustworthy sources, instead of pushing Evan to reveal the details—which are almost certainly family-related, and Regulus will have to devote some more thought to that later—then Evan can talk around whatever it is he wants to talk around and Regulus can get the most important information he needs.

It's not all the information he needs, though. If the Rosiers are doing something that requires detailed knowledge of potential Ministry connections, up to and including the identities of Unspeakables, then Regulus absolutely needs to know about it. If Evan can't or won't come to that conclusion on his own...

Evan stands up. Despite the suddenness of the motion, it still has the flowing sense of ease that is how he always moves. "I need five minutes, or we can't have this conversation."

What for?

"Alright," Regulus says, because he can't really respond any other way without being antagonistic.

He's half expecting Evan to leave the room and force Regulus to track him down later, but instead, Evan vanishes into his wardrobe.

What is Regulus supposed to do with that?

Five minutes... to think? Does he really need to go into his wardrobe for that? Regulus is perfectly capable of keeping his mouth shut for a few minutes. And unless Regulus's previous experience with that wardrobe was faulty somehow, it's just a storage room with a rug and a chandelier. Maybe he just doesn't want Regulus watching him, which is reasonable, but he could have just drawn his bed curtains.

The more important thing is what Evan hasn't denied—namely, that he got all of that from his family. From his parents, most likely, as Evan doesn't seem to be in communication with his sister, and Regulus vaguely remembers the dowager Lady Rosier retiring to France a few years before he started at Hogwarts. The Rosiers are a small family, smaller even than the Blacks have become. And Evan certainly does communicate with his parents.

If they're gathering information, what is it for?

That's the crux of the matter. It's not just that Evan knows the identity of an Unspeakable—he knows the identity of a Marked Unspeakable. Regulus doesn't remember hearing about an Augustus Rookwood from Bellatrix or Lucius, who are his usual sources for information on the Death Eaters. Bellatrix certainly would have mentioned the Rosiers taking some sort of active role in supporting Voldemort, as she knows Regulus is friends with Evan and thus has more than sufficient reason to assume that Regulus would welcome that development.

This isn't enough to draw meaningful conclusions. Regulus will have to rely on Evan. And since Barty isn't here, he'll just have to trust that Evan is telling the truth.

 

The five minutes pass excruciatingly slowly. Regulus checks the time what feels like every few seconds—after four or five times, he decides to just keep the Tempus going instead of re-casting it constantly. Is Evan keeping track of the time in there? There isn't a clock, at least not that Regulus saw, and he's never seen Evan wear a watch, and he left his wand on his desk. But the latter wouldn't necessarily be an obstacle for Evan.

At four minutes and thirty-nine seconds, the door to the wardrobe swings open again and Evan steps through, jaw set but shoulders relaxed.

Regulus hastily ends the Tempus, but not before Evan catches sight of it and raises an eyebrow at him with what could be amusement, or an attempt at it.

No matter. It's been approximately five minutes, and Evan is back, and he implicitly promised that after those five minutes, they'd talk about it.

Regulus started the conversation last time. He's not going to start it this time. But Evan hasn't sat down, and this is destined to feel confrontational if he stays standing, or if they remain on practically opposite sides of the room. It doesn't need to be a confrontation if Evan is willing to talk.

So Regulus nods at his bed, as he's currently occupying his desk chair. "You don't have to stand."

Slowly, Evan approaches.

He sits on the edge of Regulus's bed, hands planted on either side of him as if he's bracing himself. Maybe he is. Either way, it doesn't come across in his voice, as steady as it was five minutes ago. "There are things I can't tell you, and there are things I can do to make sure we win, and they have a high degree of overlap."

"Then there are things you can't tell me," Regulus says. "I can work with that, as long as I can trust what you're doing. You've said things I have no way of confirming independently. If you can't tell me why or how, that's fine, but I still need something."

"Naturally." He sighs, not in his usual melodramatic fashion, but just... just a sigh, unnerving in its simplicity. Evan isn't even looking at Regulus, but rather off into some undefined distance. "I assume it's too much for me to ask you to take my word for it."

"That depends upon the word."

"I suppose." And then Evan levels a look at Regulus, Evan as Regulus has only seen him a few times, holding the gauntlet and daring Regulus to make him throw it down. "Regulus, I'm not even meant to be taking a side in this war, much less using what I know to its advantage. But I gambled on joining the winning side early, which means we have to win. Nothing else is good enough."

"I know."

"I'll use my family," Evan carries on, "but I won't tell you secrets that you don't need to know. And that needs to be enough for you."

Evan has confirmed that he knows all of this because of his family, and furthermore that he's not meant to be taking a side, and those two things must be connected.

A Rosier family secret that Evan has already gone against for the sake of winning.

A Rosier family secret that means Evan isn't even supposed to try to win in the first place.

He's still Evan. Regulus has watched him throw himself into swaying the entire school, sowing discord among the ranks of future Death Eaters, pushing Dumbledore's focus away from Regulus. And if he happens to have information that could tear Voldemort's Death Eaters out from under him, Regulus cannot be so foolish as to refuse it.

So he says, "It is."

Evan looks at him for a long, searching moment, and then says slowly, "So in the future, when I know things I have no reason to know..."

"If they'll help us win, I think that's reason enough."

And then Evan smiles, not bright and beaming, but so suffused with warmth that Regulus can't help feeling like he's not meant to see it, like he's not meant to know that Evan is looking at him like this. He ignores how his face is heating up and focuses on Evan's hands instead, on the tiny slopes they create in the blankets. People don't normally sit on Regulus's bed. Not even Regulus himself—he prefers to sit at his desk for most things. Evan would always rather lounge, though.

They haven't been back to Regulus's office in a while. Maybe they can go sometime soon. There's not really any space for Evan's chaise in here.

"Then I look forward to it," Evan says, and something about it feels too sincere, too genuine to be pure camaraderie. "Because we will win, darling."

Darling?

Evan normally calls him dearest. Or Regulus. He's been Regulus a lot lately, and Regulus hadn't really thought much of it, but...

Darling.

That's different.

That's...

What could be an eternity ago, Evan said that he was flirting with Regulus because he thought it was amusing—because he wanted to bewilder Regulus, see what sorts of reactions he could get. And... and that was definitely flirting, just now. Or it sounded like it. But—there was no playfulness to it, not like Evan winking at him or taking his arm. Unless Evan decided those tactics were unsatisfactory? But they only just swerved away from a fight waiting to happen—how could Evan pivot so quickly to entertainment?

Regulus does not feel like being amusing at the present moment.

But...

"We will," Evan says again, more deliberate, more insistent, and he's still looking at Regulus. "Together."

But it doesn't sound like a joke.

"We will," Regulus says, and it sounds like a promise.

The words settle in the air between them, lingering—barely two syllables on Regulus's part, and yet they could be an entire speech, everything Evan has ever said to him about this war, everything Regulus has ever said back.

There's no need for a speech, or a lecture, or a monologue. Evan already knows what Regulus would say.

"Then that's settled," Evan says, lighter now by a fraction, some familiar cheer seeping into his face. "How's your arm?"

Should Regulus be reading into the swiftness of the topic change?

"It's fine," he says, because Evan asked. "It hasn't hurt since yesterday."

"That's good! We should go flying once you're cleared. It's been so long. I hardly see you during practices."

Evan sees Regulus all the time in other contexts, but Regulus doesn't point that out. It has been a while since he's gone flying just to fly, and it's always more interesting with Evan. "I should be cleared tomorrow. But I expect we'll be assigned quite a bit of homework."

He sighs, in his usual way this time, extravagantly mournful. "I suppose. But after that?"

"Alright."

"Wonderful!"

And Evan beams at him, seeming so positively delighted that despite the whiplash of this entire conversation, Regulus can't help smiling back.

Notes:

oh evan. how shall i put this? let's see: REGULUS TRUSTS HIM. REGULUS BASICALLY JUST SAID HE TRUSTS HIM AND REGULUS THINKS HE HAS GOOD IDEAS AND REGULUS IS BEING ALL PLOTTY ABOUT LEVERAGING THE DMLE TO SERVE HIS PURPOSES (😍) AND REGULUS INVITED HIM TO SIT ON HIS BED AND REGULUS DIDN'T PUSH ABOUT THE FIVE MINUTE BREAK (what do you think was up with that??) AND HE WAS TIMING IT WHICH EVAN REALLY SHOULD BE FINDING MORE IRRITATING BUT REGULUS BLUSHED WHEN EVAN SMILED AT HIM AND REGULUS IS *PUTTING FAITH IN EVAN AND MAKING THAT EXPLICIT* AND DID I MENTION HE *INVITED EVAN TO SIT ON HIS BED* AND--

and then regulus 'don't mock me even though i haven't figured out what you're mocking me for >:(' black manages to look at all of that and go 'clearly evan is trying to confuse me'

wasn't that an interesting letter from bellatrix? how do you think this is going to play out for regulus?

there absolutely was a quidditch cup afterparty on saturday night in the slytherin dorms, i just didn't write it - regulus was quite sleepy anyway lmao

this chapter brought to you by: nyquil!! 🙃

next week: fun with timing things!! mcgonagall!! barty and regulus make a discovery!!

NOTE: *not* next week but the week *after* that (march 15), i will not be updating - life is chaos, brain is soup, getting sick was really the last thing i needed and yet here we are

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 50

Evan goes back to reading on his bed, although staring at his textbook might be a better description of what he's doing, and Regulus finishes the star chart analysis they have due tomorrow night, and Barty doesn't come back.

Heather and Lily both write back to Regulus confirming that they can help, and Barty doesn't come back.

And Regulus goes over the Transfiguration homework, and Lily sends him a long anecdote about McKinnon's rage after the match yesterday that tripled once she found out about Regulus's injury—apparently Miles told her—and Evan quite possibly falls asleep, head pillowed on his arms, face peaceful, and Barty still doesn't come back.

Forty-five minutes pass.

Regulus debates leaving a note for Evan, but he's not sure what he'd say other than that he's gone out, which will be immediately obvious upon Evan's waking up. Or not, if Regulus returns before then, in which case such a note would be pointless. So he just leaves, closing the door as quietly as possible on his way out.

Forty-five minutes are a long time to discuss paperwork, especially when McGonagall hadn't mentioned the possibility of needing to do such a thing beforehand. And meeting on a weekend is strange. They have Transfiguration tomorrow—she easily could have just told Barty in class to come by during office hours. For that matter, she could have told Barty in class on Friday.

This sounds like an excuse.

But an excuse for what?

Maybe Barty's parents did write back. But his father already wrote to Barty. And he's been gone for so long—yes, McGonagall's office is quite far from the dungeons, but even with exceptionally bad luck with the staircases, the journey shouldn't have taken more than fifteen minutes.

And Regulus climbs staircase after staircase, and he never runs into Barty going the opposite direction.

Most professors have offices near their classrooms. The Heads of House are the exception, because they need to be closer to their students, which means Regulus isn't just approaching McGonagall's office—he's also approaching Gryffindor Tower. The Slytherin and Gryffindor dormitories are at functionally opposite ends of the castle; Regulus has to wonder whether they started out that way, or whether the dormitories were moved as a result of the rivalry. Normally, he only comes up here for classes and rounds.

The door to McGonagall's office is closed when he gets there, wood too heavy for him to pick out much more than the sound of McGonagall speaking, and Regulus resigns himself to waiting outside. She's probably speaking to someone, which means that eventually, they'll respond, and he'll get a clue as to whether Barty is still there or has left already. Hopefully, if he's left already, he's at least on his way back to the dungeons—otherwise, Regulus stands very little chance at finding him. Barty doesn't particularly have haunts around the castle. When he's not with Regulus, he's usually either in the dormitory or at some sort of obligatory location like Runes Club. (Although Barty hasn't complained about attending Runes Club for a while.)

McGonagall stops talking, and then there's a brief silence, and then—Barty.

How is he still here?

At least this means Regulus knows where he is. But that's only a slight silver lining.

There's no good place to wait in this hallway—every stretch of wall is equally awkward, dotted with portraits who fortunately have better things to do than talk to Regulus. So all Regulus can do is take up a position near the door and hope Barty isn't unduly surprised by his being there. He doesn't want to explain his presence to McGonagall.

Maybe this wasn't a good idea.

But he's here now, so he may as well make the best of it.

 

Several minutes later, there's the sound of chairs scraping back, and footsteps approach the door.

Regulus does his best to look as though he's meant to be here, and not a moment too soon—the door swings open, and McGonagall says, "Ah, hello, Mr. Black. Do you need something?"

Barty is right behind her, looking not particularly worse for wear, but a bit discombobulated all the same, looking vaguely off into the distance—it takes a second for him to register Regulus's presence, to look at him rather than through him, but he does, and he manages a sort of smile that's half greeting and half I have just had a very strange experience.

"Hello," Regulus says to McGonagall. "No."

"I see." She stands aside and doesn't question it further. "In that case, enjoy the rest of your Sunday, and I will see you in class."

Barty steps out into the hallway. Regulus saw him leave, and he knows Barty didn't bring anything with him, but a part of his brain still somehow expects Barty to be carrying his book bag.

They've nearly made it to the stairs when Barty says, with what must be a false air of casualness, "Figured out why my mum didn't write to me."

Ah.

"Do you... want to talk about it?" Regulus says.

Barty surveys their surroundings. They are very much out in the open, and on the Gryffindor side of the castle no less. There aren't even any convenient classrooms they could borrow, at least not that Regulus can see—it's a long stretch of corridor running to the central staircases of the castle, lined with some of the less appealing paintings Hogwarts has to offer. (They're standing right by a particularly poorly animated one—no matter how graceless trolls might be, there is simply no way that they could move that jerkily while dancing ballet.) So Regulus isn't surprised when Barty says, "Not here."

And then a door shimmers into existence on the wall opposite them, wedging its way in between a painting of nifflers frolicking in a field and one of dancers at a ball, who seem rather relieved for the separation. Something about it looks off, but Regulus can't figure out what—it's just a door, rather plain, with dark wood and a silver door handle engraved with some sort of swirling pattern.

Barty raises an eyebrow. "That's not suspiciously convenient at all."

"Hogwarts does have a history of disappearing rooms, but I agree that this seems targeted," Regulus says.

"Well, I definitely want to find out why the castle thinks we're special, and if we die, someone will come looking for us sooner or later. Shall we?"

If Barty is willing to gamble on this room being benevolent, then he must not want to wait to talk about whatever happened. "Alright."

Barty takes the door handle, which looks vaguely familiar— that's what it is.

"The castle doesn't have these doors outside of the dungeons," Regulus says. "They all have either lighter wood or different handles." Which means it could be a door into the dungeons, like the door from the staircase to the parlor at home, but if such a door truly existed then presumably some Slytherin or Hufflepuff would have found it decades if not centuries ago and passed on the secret to all of their housemates. Everyone takes Astronomy; they all have a need for a door that would improve the trip back to their dormitories in the middle of the night.

"Weird," Barty says, and then he opens the door.

It's... the Slytherin common room.

Not quite— it's far too small, with less furniture to match, and no one else is in there, but there's the fireplace, and the familiar couches and chairs and tables, and the silver lamps gleaming from the walls, and the window into the Black Lake.

"This is definitely targeted," Regulus says.

"Oh, definitely." Barty steps inside. "They even got the temperature right." He steps outside, then inside again. "That's bizarre. Try it."

Regulus, somewhat against his better judgment, walks into the room.

It is the right temperature, chillier than the aboveground parts of the castle, but with heat radiating from the fire crackling behind the grate. The temperature inside the room doesn't bleed outside of it at all—when he puts his hand back into the hallway, the difference is abrupt, like he's plunged his arm into warm water.

Barty is poking around the furniture. "Do you think this is always here and just hides itself, or disappears and reappears?"

"Let's hope it's the first one."

"It raises the possibility of there being some sort of Gryffindor miniature common room in the dungeons, which I'm not sure I want to wrap my head around, but if we didn't know about this, then they probably wouldn't know about that."

There's a voice coming from what must be the end of the hallway, distant enough that Regulus can't detect much more than someone talking, and he's about to suggest that they take their leave when all of a sudden, clear as day, Sirius's voice interrupts. "Hang on, why's that door open?"

Instinctively, Regulus slams it shut.

It's quiet in the hallway.

Too quiet. Sirius is planning something.

"Do you think this door locks?" Regulus mutters.

A lock clicks.

"Thank you," he says to the door, because it's clearly listening and it never hurts to be polite to enchanted objects.

Barty creeps over to where Regulus is standing and says lowly, "Maybe that's why this is here. Avoiding inconvenient Gryffindors."

A shoe scuffs against the floor in the hallway, closer than the voices were. Sirius, and whoever he's with, is clearly trying to be quiet.

"Either the door shut itself, or someone else did," someone murmurs from very close to where Regulus is standing. Lupin, probably—it's not Pettigrew, and definitely not Potter.

"I'm gambling on 'someone else,'" Potter's voice says. "Which means we're not the only ones who know about it. Damn."

Who know about it?

Regulus saw that classroom converted into a makeshift... laboratory, or similar. He has a hard time believing that Sirius and his friends would find this room and just leave it the way it is, especially if they thought they were the only ones who knew about it... and why would they think that in the first place?

"It's not Snape again, is it?" Pettigrew's voice says.

Sirius sounds somewhat aggrieved. "First of all, that was one time, and I already groveled to Moony over it. Second of all, the hallway doesn't smell like it came into close contact with the Potions classroom, so clearly not."

Who's Moony? And why would they be involved in, presumably, the incident with the Whomping Willow?

Sirius does like nicknames.

"It's not the end of the world if someone else knows," Lupin says. "I don't think I've even been here since we set up the lab. Speaking of which."

"Fine, yes, moving on," Sirius says, and several sets of footsteps walk away, much louder than they were when they approached.

After they've vanished, Barty says, "Huh. On the bright side, that means this room probably won't kill us."

"I can't imagine them spending time here," Regulus says.

He shrugs. "They were just talking about the door. You know, the conveniently disappearing and appearing one. Who's to say this is the only thing behind it?"

"Perhaps. And the door did lock, so I doubt we're in danger of an ambush."

The room is so completely Slytherin— how did it even get here? Things move around the castle at will, Regulus already knows that, but it's shockingly out of place. The seventh floor, near Gryffindor Tower, and a Slytherin-esque parlor just happens to pop into existence right next to two Slytherins who happen to need a place to talk. It's not like the chaise, which moved from the solarium to Regulus's office. This is an entirely separate room.

But he has concerns other than figuring out the logistics of this place.

"They left, anyway," Regulus says. "What happened with McGonagall?"

Barty sighs and sits down on the couch nearest to the fireplace.

He's taken one side, so Regulus takes the other, and Barty stares into the fire for a long moment before saying, "My mum didn't write to me because she wrote to McGonagall. She's... she's worried, apparently, because I dropped those exams so close to the deadline, and then I had McGonagall tell them instead of doing it myself, and that's not like me, or whatever, so... she asked McGonagall if anything was wrong. That's why I got called in."

"Oh."

"And she could've just asked me," Barty barrels on, "because I would have told her things are fine and I just decided to stop wasting my time, but—I guess she thought... I didn't tell her I was thinking about dropping the exams—duh—so. I don't know. But then somehow McGonagall knew about everything to do with Mulciber, and she's gotten it into her head that he's—victimizing me, or something, and obviously that's the impression I want the professors to have, but only to keep me out of trouble, and I don't want my mum knowing and I don't want my father knowing and I just wanted to drop the fucking OWLs."

He cuts himself off there, twisting his hands together, gaze still fixed on the fire.

Regulus waits for a few breaths, to give him time to think, but Barty seems to be done for the moment.

Very well. Then it's Regulus's turn to talk. Not that he's entirely sure of what to say.

There isn't really... a problem here for Regulus to solve. At least, not one he can do something about. Barty's conversation with McGonagall is over already, and... well, Regulus was at least right about Barty's mother not necessarily being angry.

"So your mother wanted McGonagall to check on you?" he says.

"Yeah," Barty grits out. "Which is only fair, I guess, since it's not like I'm really all that honest with her, but she couldn't have at least mentioned it to me? Doubt I was even supposed to know about that letter. If I was, she wouldn't have sent it to McGonagall. And McGonagall didn't say 'oh, by the way, your father doesn't give a shit about your wellbeing,' but I didn't really need her to tell me that."

That's—well, there's a lot Regulus could ask about there.

He decides to go with the most important thing. "Do you.. feel like you haven't been well?"

"Not you too."

Which is not an encouraging response. Regulus presses on anyway. "I know you decided to drop the exams after reading Nonsense Abstruse, and I know you can't tell your mother about that, but you got that letter from your father on Friday and you burned it to ashes. And... I was a bit wrapped up in other things, but it clearly bothered you, and... you don't have to wait for me to ask about things, if you don't want to. I don't want you to just be suffering in silence because I broke my arm."

"I know." Barty's fingers are white-knuckled knots around each other. "But if I talk about it, I just get pissed off all over again."

"So?"

That gets him to turn and look at Regulus. There's a tightness around his eyes that Regulus tries not to look too closely at—he wouldn't want to be scrutinized in this position.

"What do you mean, so?" Barty says. "It doesn't do anything."

"Maybe not," Regulus says. "But I think that if it makes you that angry, you have a right to it."

Barty goes back to staring into the fire.

Regulus waits.

Killing Voldemort won't fix this either, in all honesty. But at least it's something. It matters. And... if this scheme with Augustus Rookwood and Rufus Scrimgeour goes well, Barty's father will be far too busy to get involved in Barty's life for the foreseeable future.

Beyond that, Regulus will have to take the days as they come.

But... really, he just broke his arm yesterday. Everything else was some sort of... overextension, the stress of the final followed by the pain and the outburst of celebration that surrounded him. He'd been high above the ground, trying to figure out how to get down, for quite some time. Many things happened very quickly, but that was all. When Barty woke him up for dinner, he was fine. It's unclear whether Barty had anything he wanted to talk about yesterday, or whether this is all a result of the conversation with McGonagall, but either way, Regulus is available.

"There's nothing I can do," Barty says eventually. "Unless I just do what he wants all the time, he's going to keep being like this. I just... not taking twelve OWLs is normal."

"It is."

He sighs, abrupt, more than audible over the crackling of the fire. "Maybe I will go for an impromptu extended stay at Evan's house this summer. Unless something's up with him too."

Ah. Right.

"I talked to him while you were out," Regulus says. "He didn't tell me everything, but he dropped hints. His family is... well, they're the source, and they don't want him taking a side in the war, and he didn't say why they know this. But we've trusted him thus far. I think we can afford to send an anonymous tip using his information and see how it plays out. If it doesn't work, all it costs us is time. And if it does..."

"Then something weird is going on with his family," Barty fills in, a little slower than usual. "But we benefit."

"We do. And I'll have to talk to him about where the boundaries are. He may drop more hints. I think he's walking a line between what he isn't supposed to tell outsiders and what he wants to do for us. It will happen again."

"But we wait and see how this turns out before we take him at his word for everything else."

"Certainly." It's the reasonable thing to do, and Evan has no doubt realized that if this thing with Scrimgeour and Rookwood doesn't work, there will be a repeat of the conversation he and Regulus just had. He didn't seem worried about that, though, if his immediate shift to talking about flying was any indication.

Unless Evan just meant that as a gambit to secure another time to talk to Regulus without risk of interruption.

Hm.

Well, Regulus is accustomed to making time for quidditch practice on Mondays. He can do the same for Evan, as long as Madam Pomfrey clears him to fly.

"If this turns out well, though," he says, "I suspect we'll have quite a bit of work to occupy our time after OWLs. It would be nice to set things in motion for the summer. Dumbledore can attack Death Eaters much more effectively when school isn't in session, and if the Ministry is cracking down as well, then He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's position begins to look increasingly precarious. I can use that. My parents want me to join him because they think he's going to win. If Dumbledore gains the upper hand, or at least seems to, I'll make sure they develop some reservations. But that's easier to do when I'm at home."

"And you'll be able to persuade them?" Barty says.

"In all honesty, it depends on the state of the war."

"Okay." He exhales. "So, game plan—keep my father busy and your parents skeptical."

"And He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named deeply unhappy."

Barty smiles a little. "Right. I see the vision."

That's better.

Notes:

evan: regulus said he would go flying with me and then he smiled at me. all is right with the world. i am going to think about this all day every day--*gets too comfy and falls asleep*

(but in his defense the quidditch cup afterparty ran VERY late last night)

mcgonagall is fairly sure that regulus and barty are a Thing. as is pomfrey. fair enough tbh

THE ROOM OF REQUIREMENT!!!!! and of course the marauders already know about it, because of course they do. gotta love that when sirius said 'why is that door open' regulus's first instinct was to go 'NO ITS NOT' like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar

and the room decided to give barty the slytherin common room (or something like it) as his comfortable place to talk. fairly logical choice, yes? but the room choosing a hogwarts-based location means the room did not choose a *different* source of locations. is it the fidelius stopping the room from giving barty a place resembling home? or is the fidelius not stopping anything? much to think about

regulus will now kill voldemort to make barty happy

NOTE: next week (march 15) i will NOT be updating, to give myself time to get ahead on chapters. honestly i would have made the skip week this week but. it's my birthday so i wanted to post lmao

next time: regulus and evan write a letter!! someone calls regulus an idiot to his face!! HEADS ROLL IN THE SLYTHERIN COMMON ROOM

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 51

Regulus does intend to do the Potions reading after dinner.

Really. If he does that today, he'll have time to go flying with Evan tomorrow after class, especially if he finishes his Defense essay during History of Magic.

But he brings his textbook to the common room and sits down in his customary central position, surrounded by whichever of his friends feel like being in the common room at the moment (right now, Barty and Heather), and he's barely gotten through two pages when conversations begin to fall silent.

Hm.

Footsteps approach, not so loud as to be stomping, but noticeable.

Regulus notes the page number he stopped reading at, and then flips the page to make it seem as if he's not paying attention.

The footsteps stop a short distance away.

Regulus continues pretending to read his textbook.

The silence in the room is slowly progressing from ominous to awkward.

Let it. If someone—presumably an enemy—wants Regulus's attention, they'll have to ask for it. He's not going to cater to their whims by dropping everything whenever they get near him. (Well. Not obviously, at least.)

Someone giggles, a little nervously, and that seems to be the incentive Amycus Carrow needs to say, "Black."

Regulus does not insert a bookmark, close his textbook, or do anything else that might indicate he expects this to be a long conversation. He just looks up. "Hello to you too."

Carrow's mouth twists down at the corners, not quite a grimace and not quite a sneer, but some sort of unpleasant middle ground. "Don't tattle. It's not a good look."

Regulus lets silence fall again for the space of precisely one breath, then raises an eyebrow. "Do you intend to provide context, or is this the product of a spontaneous desire to make conversation?"

Not that he actually needs context. This is more for the purpose of putting Carrow in as awkward a position as possible—in front of a substantial percentage of their house, no less.

Carrow lowers his voice. "You know who you talked to and why. Julius fucking up doesn't mean you have to shove the rest of us into the fire as well."

Ah. So it would seem that Regulus has managed to get all of them in trouble with the Lestranges. That's nice.

"I did no such thing." Regulus will have to keep this vague, because he doesn't actually want all of Slytherin to know the specifics of his conversation with Bellatrix, but it's a worthwhile opportunity to continue to position himself as someone publicly going against the Carrows and their ilk. "In fact, I might have chosen to speak to you about it directly, had I not already attempted to do so earlier in the term and found my efforts quite unwelcome."

"You 'did no such thing'? Rabastan told us—"

That's more information than Regulus wants people to have—their various connections with current Death Eaters are a bit of an open secret, but that's no reason to speak as if nobody is listening.

He interrupts Carrow. "Told you what, exactly? That you and your friends' habit of hexing students in the corridors was bound to come back to haunt you sooner or later? Or was it that anyone who wants to create curses and use them on others should at least do the bare minimum necessary to prevent their headmaster from finding out about it?"

There is no longer even a trace of the awkward silence from earlier. Whispers bubble and hiss from every direction. Out of the corner of Regulus's eye, he can see subtle movement—Barty putting down his quill on one side of him, Heather examining her nails with studied deliberation on the other. Undoubtedly, they're not the only ones preparing for something to happen.

Regulus doesn't look around, though. He keeps his gaze squarely fixed on Carrow, expression as unimpressed as he can make it. Waiting.

Carrow folds his arms and opens his mouth like he's going to speak.

And Regulus calmly cuts him off. "If you're bothered by how his behavior reflects upon you, I suggest taking steps to address the actual problem." And then he looks back down at his textbook. "Best of luck."

Carrow doesn't take the hint. "I think you need to put some serious thought into what your life is going to look like once everyone around you stops just doing whatever you want."

Arguing. Lovely. Of course this is happening when Regulus actually has homework to do.

"That's a bold claim," he says. "If it were true, you wouldn't still be standing here."

Barty snickers.

"Okay, what the fuck has gotten into you this term?" Carrow demands. "Did you wake up one morning and decide you wanted enemies? You overthink things more than anyone else I have ever met. Even this new superiority complex of yours shouldn't be enough to make you act like this much of an idiot."

Regulus knows what he means. If he were actually intending to join the Death Eaters, antagonizing everyone joining alongside him would, in fact, be rather stupid.

But is he going to acknowledge that? Of course not.

"What a world you must live in," he says. "I'm sure speculation will run rampant within the castle walls." That is simultaneously a cloaked warning to Carrow about referring to the Death Eaters too openly and a hint to Heather about aftermath, not that she needs his help in coming up with those things. "As I've told you multiple times by now, you and your friends disgrace yourselves regularly and enthusiastically. I have better things to do. I fail to see why this continues to come as such a surprise."

"The world is bigger than the Sacred Twenty-Eight," Carrow says.

Alright. Regulus needs to end this conversation. If Carrow keeps pushing, enough to start actually talking about the war and whose side Regulus is on, he might back Regulus into a corner.

"A thrilling insight," he says. "Barty, did you know that?"

"I had no idea," Barty says with mock fascination. "You're really blowing everyone's minds here, Carrow."

"What about you, Heather?" Regulus says. "Did you know?"

"Hadn't the faintest!" she says. "Imagine my relief at finally understanding why there are more than twenty-eight different surnames to be found at Hogwarts. I was going mad trying to puzzle it out."

"Let that satisfy you," Regulus says to Carrow, more quietly. "As I said, Mulciber brought this upon himself. There's no reason for you to let him drag you down too."

"You take the 'cunning and ambition' thing a little too far," Carrow snaps back. "We have to unite."

"Is that so? Only a few minutes ago you were annoyed with me for treating you and your friends as a collective. You can't have it both ways. Come back when you've put together a coherent argument."

Regulus should have known better than to assume that would actually work.

"I'm sick of this." Carrow takes a step forward, which puts him closer to Regulus, enough so that Regulus has to look up at him—it's that or standing up, and standing up is tantamount to admitting he's losing ground. Besides, Carrow is taller than him. "You don't get to keep lording it over the rest of us—you're Heir Black, so fucking what? Your family was powerful a thousand years ago and you just cling to that. You haven't done anything to earn it, you haven't proven yourself, you—"

"Oh?" Regulus says, coolly, but cuttingly enough to bite through Carrow's tirade. "What am I meant to be doing to prove myself? Getting hauled to Dumbledore's office over an ill-considered hex? Dueling people who quite literally wipe the floor with me?" (Barty grins at that one.) "Or am I meant to lose my place on the quidditch team as a result of being placed on academic probation? As I recall, you're rather an expert on that one."

Carrow lunges.

He doesn't even have his wand out—just reaching—like he's trying to throttle Regulus—

Before he can get there, he's blasted backward. He hits a table, hard. Lands on the floor.

And doesn't get up.

"That looked like it hurt," Barty remarks. He puts his wand away and stands, crosses the dark stone, prods Carrow with one foot. "Wakey-wakey, Carrow. I just want to talk."

Carrow's friends are assembling in their corner of the common room, readying their wands. Not all of them, though—Snape stays seated.

So does Alecto Carrow.

Mulciber is at the front of the cluster. Interesting—he and Amycus didn't seem to be on the best of terms before. "You've brought this upon yourself, Crouch."

Now it's time for Regulus to stand. "I beg to differ. Carrow attempted to attack me. He should have realized that would have consequences."

"They do teach the Knockback Jinx in fourth-year Defense," Barty adds, wickedly delighted. "I so love benefiting from my education." He takes a neat step back and addresses his next comment downward. "Don't try to trip me from the floor. That's just embarrassing."

Regulus raises his voice. Not enough to shout, not enough to sound anything less than composed—just enough to make sure absolutely everyone in the room will hear him crystal clear. "You make enemies and accuse them of baseless aggression. You prey on others and swear revenge when they fight back. You never once consider the idea that perhaps you carry the blame for every single time someone has turned on you."

He pauses to let that sink in, and to give himself a chance to think. How would Father end this situation? No—Father doesn't deal in this sort of conflict. How would Mother end this situation? Or Bellatrix, who has made more than one person leave a ballroom in tears?

Regulus can't copy Bellatrix, really. She's too gleeful as she tears into people. That's not the image he wants.

Mother, though—he can copy Mother.

"Any respect I once possessed for you, I have now lost," Regulus says. "I am sure you can imagine the consequences of continuing to provoke me. Goodnight."

They're at a standstill for a moment, Regulus in the center of the common room, Mulciber in the corner.

Then Alecto Carrow sighs, still without standing up. "This isn't the hill we should be dying on. Black, tell Crouch to back off. I'm in the unfortunate position of needing to take my brother to the hospital wing."

"As is only reasonable," Regulus says.

Barty retreats to stand next to him, grinning at their opponents. "Nice talking to you."

Alecto Carrow collects her brother from the floor with more exasperation than sympathy, and they leave the common room, with Mulciber, Travers, and Warrington trailing behind them. Snape stays. Hardly a second passes before Alexander Yew drops into the seat next to him and says something quietly.

That's worth noting, but it's not necessarily a problem. The group is splintering. If Snape is splitting off from them, so much the better.

Regulus sits down.

As soon as he does, it's like a bubble bursts—nobody is making an effort to keep their voice down anymore. Regulus's name is everywhere, but not the way it was after the train debacle. This is... well, it's more akin to the state of the common room yesterday, after the quidditch final, to be honest—Regulus is not the intriguing twist to the story, but the star of it.

If Mother finds out about it, Regulus can just tell her that Carrow insulted their family.

Alternatively... she did ask about feuds in her last letter.

It's obviously beneath Regulus to start feuds with lessers, but Mother would agree quite fervently with the sentiment that Regulus ought to quell dissent when and where it arises.

He picks up his textbook and returns to the beginning of the chapter, since the first couple of pages have flown out of his head already. Hopefully, people will continue to talk about him rather than to him, so he can do this reading in peace.

 

It's not Regulus's most diligent reading of a textbook ever, but he does get it done and manages to retreat to their room only about half an hour later. (Normally, he'd stay in the common room for another hour or so, but what with recent events, he's asserted his position quite thoroughly enough for tonight.)

Evan is there, but he's not holed up in his wardrobe doing whatever it was he was doing when Regulus and Barty left earlier. Instead, he's sprawled on his bed, staring up at the canopy—but he immediately props himself up on his elbows when Regulus returns. The way he smiles at Regulus, as if Regulus has walked in bearing chocolates, throws Regulus back into that increasingly familiar off-balance feeling. It's... not entirely unpleasant. "You're back early."

"Amycus Carrow thought it was in his best interest to start a fight with me." Regulus sets his Potions textbook on his desk. "It was not."

"Oh, I know. I saw." Evan sits up—for a moment, Regulus thinks he's going to stand up, maybe approach Regulus's part of the room, but he just leans towards Regulus, bright-eyed, and his words tumble like water cascading from a fountain, sparkling in sunlight. "I almost missed it—I was deciding whether to start another phase on my wardrobe or go out to the common room, and if I hadn't chosen the latter I wouldn't have heard anything. But I think I got to experience most of it—I got there well before you got Barty and Heather involved, which is to say, well before Carrow tried to strangle you—at least, that's what it looked like from where I was standing. I would have joined you, by the way, but I didn't want to distract people with unnecessary movement— did he try to strangle you?"

"Possibly," Regulus says. "He didn't get close enough."

He tried, though.

He tried, barehanded, and it was a good thing Barty had the presence of mind to do something—not that it would have been disastrous, politically speaking, for Carrow to really attack him, but.

Regulus doesn't want anyone's hands around his neck.

Regulus doesn't want anyone trying to kill him, and especially not like that, a storm of graceless, raging suffocation, meant to hurt above all else.

And nobody needs to get the idea that he could be so easily taken down.

All at once, Evan stands, crosses the room, until he's in front of Regulus. Whatever he was doing in his wardrobe has left him smelling a little like smoke, lingering traces that mingle with the familiar citrus of his soap. More steadily, he says, "Nor should he, and we'll eviscerate him for trying it."

Hearing him say that is... it probably shouldn't be as reassuring as it is. Evisceration is not a pleasant concept, and it doesn't sound pleasant, exactly, from Evan's lips, but Regulus wants to lean into it anyway.

"The rest of his cohort won't be happy with that," he says.

"They're walking the wrong path of life for happiness." It's almost kind, the way Evan says it. "You're so fond of telling them that actions have consequences. I think it's only fair for us to follow through. They don't get to think that they can harm you."

That, too—of course Regulus has to seem untouchable, that's how he maintains his position, but Evan saying it makes it sound more appealing, more secure, than just a simple fact would.

"Barty may have concussed Carrow," he says. "Or something to that effect."

Evan smiles, and again Regulus feels that desire to lean into it, somehow. "That's a good start."

But Regulus has more than just a start. "Heather and Lily have both agreed to help with the tip-off. So now all we need to do is write that letter, and we'll be that much closer to pushing Barty's father into doing our work for us. It's not quite the same thing as eviscerating our housemates, though."

"Oh, but that makes it all so much better," Evan says. "Imagine devoting yourself to Voldy at Hogwarts, to the point of alienating your social betters, not to mention the rest of your schoolmates, only to graduate and discover that the Death Eaters are in tatters." He says it with no little satisfaction, a radiant sort of vision that makes absolutely everything possible. "Of course, we'd have to be very quick about it to make that happen to the Carrows, but I'm sure we can make it happen to Mulciber and Snape. It depends on how quickly Scrimgeour works, but I think he'll want to get it sorted right away."

"As will Barty's father. Death Eaters in the Ministry won't reflect well on him."

"How lucky for us," Evan says brightly. "Shall we?"

 

They need to come up with a coherent draft before Regulus sends it to Lily, which results in Evan pulling his chair up to Regulus's desk so they can work on the same piece of parchment.

It is not a large desk. Regulus's desk in his room at home is larger. And when they're both looking at one piece of parchment, their chairs have to be quite close together, close enough that Regulus's knee brushes against Evan's and he has to fight not to freeze awkwardly. Which is strange in and of itself. It's just Evan. (Even if being near Evan has become bizarrely complicated recently.) They share a room. They're Divination partners. These things mean that they will inevitably be in close proximity sometimes.

But in the past, being near Evan has been... well, a negligible fact, really. Now, it's as if Regulus can't stop noticing. If he moves only a fraction of an inch to the left, their knees might touch again. When Evan rests his elbow on the desk to write out details, the gap between his arm and Regulus's chest seems simultaneously hopelessly infinite and dangerously infinitesimal. Regulus has never felt less able to take a deep breath in his life.

Regulus has never felt anything like this in his life. And all he's doing is sitting next to Evan.

Maybe he should...

Enough. He needs to focus.

Augustus Rookwood, vaguely around thirty years of age, Unspeakable primarily focused on questions of magical inheritance, Death Eater as of the summer of 1976. Prior to taking the Mark, his research aimed to understand the existence of pureblooded Squibs. Now, though...

"It's the flip side of the coin, really," Evan says. They're on their third draft by now, and the parchment is covered with both of their handwritings in the same ink, with the same quill. (Offering the quill to Evan was simple. Taking it back from him was not.) "I imagine he was very easily able to justify researching it to his superiors. If magical inheritance in humans only has one cause, after all, then presumably it could be found through studying either pureblooded Squibs or Muggleborns. And if magic can be re-started, that means it can be stopped, so..."

Fortunately, no matter what is going on with Regulus's body, his cognitive functions seem to be mostly intact. He only needs a moment to comprehend what Evan is saying. "That would be as simple as looking through the Hogwarts register each year, identifying the Muggleborns, and blocking off their magic before they so much as received their first letter. Beyond the difficulty of gaining access to the Hogwarts register. Or the magic that operates it. But I suppose if they got Dumbledore out of the way, that would be fairly simple."

"So much better for public morale than just killing people, isn't it?" Evan finishes the last sentence of this draft with an emphatic period. "There. Edits?"

Regulus skims the third draft, although he's been reading along as Evan writes it, so there aren't any surprises. "I think this works. It communicates all the information we have without making it sound like it's coming from a Death Eater."

"Lovely." He holds out the quill. "To Lily, then?"

"To Lily." Regulus manages to take it without letting their fingers brush, unlike last time, and the fact that he's thinking about it at all is—is strange. He endeavors to open his journal to Lily's section as casually as possible. They'll have to wipe some pages clean soon; Lily was going through them at an alarming rate earlier, talking about McKinnon. (It was amusing, though.)

"I've been talking to Rosendale, by the way," Evan says as Regulus writes. "And Foxworth, naturally."

"Naturally?" Are they actually friends? Evan hadn't gone into that with the goal of befriending him.

"I can't really talk to one of them without talking to the other. You and Barty used to be like that."

And yet here Regulus is, so it's clearly possible.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Evan propping his chin in one hand, looking at Regulus. Regulus doesn't look back. The letter they've crafted has somehow turned out to be rather long for something that amounts to saying 'Augustus Rookwood is a Death Eater, go arrest him.' He might need to go onto the next page.

"I can't recruit Rosendale without recruiting Foxworth," Evan says. "Will that be a problem?"

"Why would that be a problem?" Regulus starts on the last sentence. "How is it going?"

"Swimmingly. Rosendale says she's reserving judgment until she can learn some Dark Arts to see for herself what they're like, but I think that's just an excuse on her part to muscle her way into a study group. Where are we on that? Because I told her I'd get back to her."

Ravenclaws and Gryffindors have easy access to the seventh floor.

That room Regulus and Barty found wasn't particularly large, but it would suit their purposes, if they could sufficiently ward it.

"I think I have a location, so all we need is membership and a way to arrange meetings." The ink on the message is dry. Regulus closes his journal. Hopefully Lily will get back to him soon.

"Then we have both of them in the bag," Evan says. "Especially once they hear about what happened with Carrow."

Yes.

What happened with Carrow.

A fight, a jinx, and Regulus has stolen all of Slytherin's attention, and most likely the rest of the students' as well.

Hiding does not win wars.

He'll just have to sabotage Voldemort quickly enough to weaken him substantially before Mother and Father find out.

Notes:

I TOLD YOU HEADS WOULD ROLL

everyone cheer for barty he finally got to Do A Violence

regulus is making enemies<3 look at him go<3

alecto and amycus are not on the same page, it seems......... what's up with that?

regulus: i fought with amycus carrow and he tried to attack me
evan: yeah it was hot--oh wait was i supposed to respond to that in a comforting way? hang on let me start over

we learn more about what evan knows!! i WILL keep harping on the 'but how and why does he know this' question until it's actually answered in the story lmao. regulus would be putting thought into it but he's a little distracted right now

evan: i was talking to foxworth--
regulus: >:((((
evan: do you have a problem with that
regulus: no of course not

AND THE INTER-HOUSE DARK ARTS GROUP IS TAKING SHAPE!!!!

VERY IMPORTANT NOTE: the next month-ish is like. hell for me school-wise, so i'm going to temporarily go back to EVERY-OTHER-WEEK updates. that means that the next update of ttdl will be on april 5. wish me luck y'all my professors all decided to give me huge deadlines at the same time

next time: regulus becomes a figure of legend!! the room of requirement shows its allegiances!! regulus comes to some interesting conclusions about his relationship with evan!!

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 52

Monday is a whirlwind.

Lily writes back in the early morning saying she's finished the letter, so Regulus coordinates a time for her and Heather to meet in the owlery in the afternoon. He leaves for breakfast later than usual as a result, and when he enters the Great Hall, there's a... ripple.

It starts with the people closest to the doors—a few heartbeats of silence, then murmuring that grows until they're talking over each other. And the Slytherins aren't the only ones.

It's everyone.

Well, maybe not the professors, many of whom are occupied reading newspapers. Their dais is far enough from the students' tables that they may not be able to hear the conversations.

But the students know.

Regulus does not shrink away from their curious eyes. He raises his chin and settles his shoulders and does not rush over to the Slytherin table, but walks over with measured steps, the way he's supposed to. Barty's saved him a seat in the middle.

"Morning," he says when Regulus sits down. "Apparently there were some Hufflepuffs in the hospital wing last night when they brought Carrow in, and Megan's been telling all her friends about it at the top of her lungs, so I feel like we've broken some sort of record for how fast absolutely everyone's found out. Tea?"

 

Charms proceeds as normal—well, the new normal, which Regulus much prefers to the old—and the fifth-year Slytherins descend to the Great Hall for lunch as a group. It's a relatively short journey, but they still pass plenty of people in the corridors, and the staring and muttering indicates that despite almost the entire school finding out at breakfast, the fight is distinctly not old news.

"Does everyone feel like a zoo animal, or is it just me?" Maeve says as they're entering the Great Hall.

"Don't worry, they're not actually looking at you," Evan says.

"That doesn't stop it from being weird!"

Regulus doesn't particularly feel like a zoo animal. How can he, when so much of that muttering is tinged with awe?

 

Transfiguration is the same as it always is. If Regulus hadn't known for a fact that Barty spent close to an hour talking to McGonagall about his life yesterday, he would have no idea.

In History of Magic, Regulus receives a note.

It's passed to him by Emily Zhu, with whom Regulus has never exchanged more than a few words despite them sitting next to each other all year. The parchment has been folded twice, and when Regulus unfolds it, he finds that it's less than half filled with writing.

 

Black,

Everyone's saying Carrow tried to kill you in the middle of your common room— what the hell happened???

-Technically Ruby Stuart-Lane wrote this but everyone wants to know, trust me

 

Interesting.

Saying that Amycus Carrow tried to kill him is speculation. Regulus doesn't know what his goal was or even how clearly he was thinking at that moment. And he doesn't want to garner too much attention from professors, which talking about attempted murder would certainly do.

But there is merit to the angle—at least, to encouraging people to think along those lines.

He writes, Perhaps he did. It was all very quick. He certainly wished to do me physical harm, and judging by our prior conversation, I believe he was outraged by my opinions on his extracurricular activities.

Once the ink is dry, he folds the parchment up and places it on Zhu's desk.

That will make its way through Gryffindor like wildfire.

 

Arithmancy is the last class of the day, and Arithmancy means Foxworth and Rosendale, but the other Ravenclaws take an interest too, and Regulus nods along with Evan's retelling of the events, which does very much lean into the 'attempted strangulation' aspect, but mainly as a byproduct of Carrow knowing he was outclassed on an oratory level. In Evan's version, Regulus slices Carrow into miniscule pieces in front of all of Slytherin, turning it into simultaneous spectator sport and heroic battle, a scene that only ends when Regulus says it does. And Evan says all of this in hushed, animated murmurs, asking Regulus to supply exact details of how he phrased things, returning over and over to the end: Carrow on the floor. Regulus standing.

It's a nice image.

And it's even true.

 

Regulus is rather expecting Evan to continue talking to the Ravenclaws through all of office hours, because he seems to be enjoying himself greatly, but as soon as Regulus says he has to go to the hospital wing, Evan bids them farewell in order to accompany him.

"That was fun," he says once they've turned a corner. "Between this and the correspondence we're initiating, I think we can count this week a success, and it's only Monday."

It has been quite a day, following from quite a weekend. And that means it's a good time to keep pushing—gathering support, denouncing enemies, training allies. Gathering support and denouncing enemies can be done anywhere, but training needs a location, and that room Regulus and Barty found yesterday would be a good place to hold inter-house study group meetings, provided it exists consistently.

"I want to check something on the seventh floor after going to Madam Pomfrey," Regulus says. "It shouldn't take long."

Evan nods. "And then flying? Provided you're cleared."

"Yes."

 

Going to the hospital wing doesn't take long—Madam Pomfrey casts a few diagnostic spells, congratulates Regulus on refraining from interfering with the healing process, and removes the splint, and then he's free to go.

She doesn't say anything about Carrow, not that Regulus particularly expected her to, but it's a strange shift after spending all day thinking and talking about last night. Maybe Carrow didn't say what happened; maybe he did but didn't mention Regulus's involvement; maybe the news just hasn't circulated among the professors.

They'll have to be ready in case it reaches Dumbledore.

"What's on the seventh floor?" Evan says as they're leaving.

"That," Regulus says, "is a good question."

"Thank you, I try. Are we plunging entirely into the unknown or is there something you're looking for?"

"It's a room Barty and I found yesterday. I want to see if it still exists."

He blinks. "How so?"

 

There is no door.

They're standing in between the correct paintings, the nifflers and the ballroom on one side, the trolls on the other, just like Regulus and Barty were yesterday, and there is no door.

"It didn't appear last time until we needed somewhere to talk," Regulus says.

Evan tilts his head. He's looking expectantly at the wall with an admirable degree of conviction, considering that he only has Regulus's word that a door was there yesterday afternoon. "Do you think it was listening?"

"Probably. It locked itself when I asked."

"Why did you need to lock the door?"

"As an avoidance measure."

"I see." He looks up and down the hallway. "And nobody else is here."

"Not at the present moment, no."

"But that wasn't why it appeared, was it? If you needed somewhere to talk—so maybe that's what does it. The door or room or whatever hears that you need it, and then it appears. Quite gallant of it, really."

"I suppose so, yes." In which case... does it have to be the same (unknowing) request Barty made? Regulus approaches the wall and says, "I need a place to hold a study group."

And a door appears.

"Voilà!" Evan says.

But...

"This is a different door," Regulus says. Rather than something out of the dungeons, it more resembles the classroom doors aboveground—lighter wood, a brass handle. "Barty thought it might open into multiple places. I think he's probably right."

He opens it.

This time, the room is vast—easily twice the size of Professor Flitwick's classroom, with an enormous blackboard along one wall, chairs alongside work tables of the sort they use for Potions, and bookshelves, all completely stocked, under a high, vaulted stone ceiling that looks... vaguely familiar, extending to a window that looks out onto—

"This is Black Manor," Regulus says.

Evan, who had been gazing at the bookshelves, turns to him with raised eyebrows. "I beg your pardon?"

"Well, not exactly, but it is, in the same way that it was the Slytherin common room yesterday." Regulus has to navigate around the chairs and tables to reach the window, which just confirms what he'd thought from afar— "Those are the grounds. I can see the stream, so we're looking out from the south side of the house." He and Sirius used to play in the stream whenever they visited their grandparents, which soaked their robes and rather exasperated Mother. Their grandmother could be relied upon to laugh and cast drying charms. "But that's... it can't possibly actually know where this is. It must have gotten the image from me somehow."

That, combined with the fact that Barty didn't actually request a miniature Slytherin common room last time, means that the room clearly isn't dependent on what they say out loud. He'll have to experiment more with that.

Not now, though. He already told Evan this wouldn't take long.

"I can't imagine how else it would have known to give us so many of these." Evan pulls a dark red, pocket-sized book Regulus knows very well off of one of the bookshelves.

The only other place he's seen so many copies of A Brief Introduction to Wielding the Dark is in the library at the manor.

"There are half a dozen of them," Evan says. "The room knows that your study group is going to involve teaching a lot of beginners how to use Dark Arts. Do we find that concerning?"

"Salazar Slytherin helped to build Hogwarts," Regulus says. "The castle will never be as anti-Dark as Dumbledore would like."

 

It's a nice day.

April is nearly over, and the grounds are edging towards the latter part of spring—patches of wildflowers spread over the grass in white and yellow and pink, dimmed occasionally by cottony clouds drifting in a wind Regulus can't feel from down here. A butterfly swoops past in a flutter of jeweled wingbeats, as agile as a Snitch in the air. There are plenty of other students outside, but they're scattered across the grounds in small groups, more than a few with books and parchment balanced in their laps.

Regulus, however, is here to fly.

Evan always has the same look about him right before he kicks off, an endless upward aspiration glimmering with rosy confidence. The first thing he ever did with a real broom, after years of hovering a few feet off the ground, was test how high he could go—the answer was 'high enough that his parents got concerned and sent his sister to fetch him before he fell.' Thinking back, Regulus can't actually recall if Evan made it much farther than the rooftop of Rosier Manor—like most of the attendees at that birthday party, he would have been impressed by Evan flying over the adults' heads, as that alone seemed so impossibly distant at the time. (Regulus had been stuck with a toy broom until late August, the halfway point between his and Sirius's birthdays, when Mother and Father gave both of them real ones. The first thing they did was make Bellatrix teach them how to play quidditch.)

In second year, the first year that they were allowed to have their own brooms at school (which really just meant the first year they didn't have to smuggle them in and be extremely cautious about using them), Regulus and Evan went flying together quite often. Neither of them were on the quidditch team, not that they'd tried out for it, and Evan professed with apparent conviction that he preferred racing anyway. But then third year arrived, with its thrice-weekly team practices and its additional classes, and they stopped flying together quite so often. It feels as though they've only gotten busier in the meantime.

Regulus kicks off while Evan is contemplating the sky, climbs almost vertically until a breeze buffets his face, high enough that the wildflowers below turn into watercolors that run into the green of the grass. A direct stop from moving this quickly is difficult, so Regulus turns out into a wide circle, skimming the breeze until Evan's joined him.

"You're really putting that healed ulna to the test." Evan's eyes shine. This high up, it's like they're the only people outside—the students on the grounds might as well be scenery. "Commentator's booth?"

The stands of the quidditch pitch are in sight, but the commentator's booth is on the opposite side from where they are. They'll either have to fly over the pitch and dive, or weave between the stands. Regulus can take the lead there—the acceleration and top speeds of the Nimbus and Starsweeper are close enough to even that it'll be a tight race, but he'll always have the advantage on agility—turns don't slow him down. As long as Evan doesn't maneuver him into an awkward position, he can win.

"Commentator's booth," he agrees. "You can count off."

"How kind! Threetwoonego."

 

Regulus loses.

Barely.

"I love momentum," Evan says cheerily. They almost collided—Regulus had noticed Evan peeling off to fly over the stands as he went between, but he hadn't expected Evan to come hurtling down so fast, enough so that he must have climbed far higher than was necessary to clear the stands. He never moves like that for quidditch—he always has to stay near someone else, whether an ally or an enemy, and that means there are very few opportunities for Evan to really show how well he can fly. "Don't worry, you're a very graceful loser, dearest."

And Regulus is dearest again, light and maybe even affectionate, which...

Which shouldn't matter.

It shouldn't. Evan is like that. He flirts with Regulus for fun, for amusement, because he wants to confuse him, not because it means anything.

But he called Regulus darling yesterday, weighty, in a conversation laden with trust and loyalty and the promise of victory in a matter much bigger than the two of them.

How could that possibly be meaningless?

 

They pick more arbitrary endpoints for races, weaving past each other, around the castle—up past the Astronomy Tower—down again, skimming over the treetops of the Forbidden Forest, soaring above the Black Lake. Eventually, though, racing turns into just picking new directions, following breezes or turning against them, with no goal beyond enjoying it.

Just flying.

Up here, it's difficult to even imagine a dormitory under the Black Lake, much less comprehend that Regulus himself lives there, or that Evan does. The world is infinitely bigger than that.

But time does pass, and eventually they have to land for dinner. The prospect of going back inside, to the stares and the rumors and the war, isn't unpleasant—in fact, it's immensely satisfying—but a sense still lingers in Regulus's mind that it's... a trade-off. He only has so many hours in one day, and as soon as he and Evan return to being surrounded by other people, their respective attentions are necessarily pulled in different directions. And... it's nice, to be able to focus on Evan, to know that Evan is focused on him.

"We should do this again," he says, and Evan agrees with that familiar unbalancing smile.

 

They find the other fifth-years already at dinner, most of them leaning in to better hear whatever Lucinda is saying. Charlotte is flipping through a textbook, as usual, but she's the first one to notice their approach and greet them with, "Where were you? Ceres's orbit is listed as matching the insomniac phases for moondrop shrubs in our textbook, and Professor Kuiper didn't say whether it was inverse or proportional in class."

"Flying," Evan says cheerily.

"Proportional, most likely," Regulus says. "He would have specified if it were inverse."

"Yes, but Professor Sprout told us there was a two-day delay, and that's nearly enough to make it inverse, especially in the winter."

"Delay is proportional to distance."

"True." Charlotte worries at her lip, then sighs and turns the page of her book. "I'll just ask him in class."

This is a fairly normal outcome of Charlotte asking anyone for academic help. Regulus takes the seat Barty's saved next to him, which also happens to place him near enough to Lucinda to hear what she's murmuring to everyone else.

"It's possible that he's realized," she's saying. "I mean, Smith is hardly being subtle."

"Subtle about what?" Evan says.

"Carrying a torch for Macmillan," Maeve says. "Not that I know why. He's practically the embodiment of wet parchment."

Lucinda shrugs. "Some people like that sort of thing, I suppose. Macmillan is very... Hufflepuff, and so is Smith, so it follows that she'd find that appealing."

"What's the evidence?" Evan says.

"Oh, so much. Look at her."

Regulus doesn't particularly care about the intricacies of Rachel Smith's innermost feelings, but everyone else (except Charlotte) is looking, so he might as well stay informed. It's easy to see Smith and Macmillan—they're sitting next to each other, facing the Slytherin table, but neither of them so much as glances over at the group of fifth-years watching them.

"She's staring at him," Lucinda says.

"They're having a conversation," Regulus feels the urge to point out. "Who is she supposed to look at?"

"There's looking at someone, and there's staring at them," she proclaims. "And this is definitely the latter. Besides, look at how close they're sitting. She has to absolutely crane her neck to look at him at all, much less keep it up like she has been."

That's a fair point. They're sitting about as closely as Regulus and Evan had to sit to write that letter to Rufus Scrimgeour, and it was far easier for Regulus to look at the desk than it was for him to look at Evan.

"That's all small potatoes, though," Lucinda continues. "Just wait until he smiles at her. That's the real evidence. She stops looking at him."

"In what way?" Evan says.

"Flustered."

"Just from him smiling at her, too," Maeve says. "She's down bad. For Macmillan of all people. I'll never understand it."

"Oh, there she goes now," Lucinda says.

Macmillan is indeed smiling at Smith, who ducks her head, suddenly intensely focused on her plate. It doesn't entirely hide the way that her whole face has turned red. Blushing.

But isn't that normal, in such close quarters? Regulus doesn't really look at Evan, when Evan smiles at him from that close. Although Evan's smile is... strange, in a way that Macmillan's isn't.

In a way that nobody else's is, honestly.

And it's not even completely dependent on proximity.

"I'm actually surprised she's gotten this far without dropping her fork or something," Maeve says. "If she weren't sitting down, I'm positive she would have swooned by now."

"It does make me relieved that this sort of thing doesn't happen to me," Lucinda agrees. "I'd hate being thrown off-balance all the time like that."

Wait.

Wait.

"What do you mean, 'off-balance'?" Regulus says.

She waves a hand. "Flustered. Yearning. Head over heels. You know."

No, Regulus does not know, but he's already talked more than he usually does in this sort of conversation, so all he can do is accept it and take a sip of water.

Off-balance. Flustered. Yearning. Head over heels. You know.

What is he supposed to know?

What has he missed?

"She doesn't even know what to do with herself when he smiles," Lucinda says. "I don't know how she'd cope with actually dating him. Then again, Priam used to be like that with Heather, and he seems to be doing fine."

Smith sits close to Macmillan and turns red and looks away when he smiles at her, and Lucinda calls it off-balance, and... and Regulus has been using that same exact word.

Has been doing that same exact thing.

"I suppose it gets easier for them to handle their feelings once they don't have to worry about hiding them," Evan says, and is it Regulus's imagination, or does Evan glance at him? "Although if Macmillan's noticed, he's probably finding it endearing."

"Most likely," Lucinda says. "At the very least, I imagine it's flattering to know she fancies him. And it's certainly not as if he's left either of them any personal space."

"A Sickle on them being a couple by the end of the term," Maeve says.

"By the end of May," Evan counters.

Regulus has to talk to Barty.

Notes:

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA *air horns* *sirens* *people screaming in the streets*

i love regulus's relationship with attention

hmmmmm what do you think the consequences will be of him telling a gryffindor it's possible amycus carrow tried to strangle him? he states himself that it's going to absolutely tear through gryffindor, and i can tell you this much: he's right about that

talking about regulus!! one of evan's favorite hobbies!!!!!!

idk if i've said so before but i'm taking some creative license with how the room works (specifically, making requests of it) - we know that it canonically doesn't REQUIRE the 'pace back and forth thinking about what you need' due to fred and george, so we're going to have a funky fun time with it!

hogwarts' ties to house black my BELOVED. love grounding the super old families in the history of wizarding britain

and in case you're curious - the room of requirement can stock copies of the brief introduction to wielding the dark because it doesn't have spells on it to prevent duplication, on purpose - most dark books do, though

more in the next chapter on bellatrix teaching regulus and sirius to play quidditch!!

'maybe even affectionate' REGULUS. IT'S BEEN AFFECTIONATE SINCE DAY 1 (well maybe not day 1 day 1 was a little passive aggressive, but like. DAY 2) THE ONLY QUESTION HAS EVER BEEN HOW MUCH OF IT IS TEASING YOU

charlotte cannot BELIEVE that regulus is just letting evan CORRUPT HIM LIKE THIS. WHERE IS HIS WORK ETHIC. HOW DARE HE GO FLYING WHEN CHARLOTTE WAS STUDYING FOR ASTRONOMY!!!!

lucinda: *having a fun time roasting fellow students who have the misfortune of crushing on people*
regulus, literally 2 seats away: *fighting off a mental breakdown by sheer force of will*

next time: lily sends some complicated messages!! regulus climbs a bunch of stairs!! SOMEONE says the fuck word!!

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 53

He doesn't get a chance.

When they get back from dinner, the bookmark in Regulus's journal is bleeding from gold to black. It can't be Barty writing to Regulus, because he's only just gotten back—although there's an idea—and, by the same logic, it can't be Evan. That leaves Lily or Heather, both of whom were meant to meet up to mail the letter to Scrimgeour this afternoon, which is really far more important than—than anything that happened at dinner.

Heather's section has nothing new, but Lily is writing to Regulus in shimmering violet ink.

 

Are you free to meet tonight? It's

 

She stops there.

Regulus waits for more, in case she's collecting her thoughts, but the next mark to appear on the page is a droplet of ink that gets hastily blotted.

This is clearly important. And Lily is fully aware that Regulus has rounds tomorrow night, so if she doesn't even want to wait until tomorrow, it must be urgent. Perhaps it's related to the aftermath of last night's drama.

But there's a reason that Regulus doesn't have rounds on Mondays.

 

I have Astronomy at midnight. People will notice if I split off from my housemates on the way there or back, so I'd have to make a separate trip to meet. How urgent is it?

 

"Is something wrong?" Evan says.

Regulus fights to sound normal—not that he can really remember what his normal sounds like, especially when he's talking to Evan, and it might come out a bit abrupt. "Possibly. Why?"

Evan is leaning against his desk, head tilted slightly. The stark black of their uniform looks impossibly rich on him, velvety darkness instead of plain, sturdy fabric—oh, Regulus is an idiot. "You look a bit perturbed."

There are a few reasons for that. Regulus carefully selects only one of them. "Lily wants to meet with me. She hasn't said why yet, but it seems important."

 

It doesn't have to be after curfew—could be now, honestly. If you have Astronomy tonight I don't want to cut it too close, so maybe sooner is better than later. Do you remember how to get to that room we all went to after Dumbledore's office?

 

That's ominous.

Because the last time Regulus checked, Lily does not have access to that room.

The only people who do are Sirius and his friends.

 

No. What is this about?

 

Another long pause. Then—

 

I passed along your message. The fifth-years were talking everyone's ears off at dinner about you almost getting your neck snapped in front of all of Slytherin. Saying Sirius is concerned is putting it mildly.

 

Oh.

That...

Regulus doesn't want Sirius's concern. Regulus wants Sirius's help. Admitting that much is grating enough, even though he knows it's the best path forward for the war. He doesn't need more of Sirius assuming he knows everything and telling Regulus he's going to fail.

Before he can figure out how to respond, Lily writes more.

 

But he would like to make it known that he is "very much down to kill You-Know-Who."

 

Well.

Alright.

That's good, at least.

Regulus got ahead on homework so he could go flying with Evan, and they have hours before he even needs to think about getting ready for Astronomy. Logistically speaking, he could go talk to Sirius now.

But last time... it wasn't the sort of conversation Regulus could just walk away from.

Making that trip from the sixth floor back down to the dungeons was bad enough after curfew. Before it, when people are still crowding the corridors...

And that classroom is Sirius's territory, anyway. It's not neutral ground.

"Do you know if anyone's using our practice slot right now?" Regulus says to Evan, who hasn't moved since their last exchange.

"I doubt it," he says. "But if you're looking for a place to meet right away, the stands will definitely be empty. Is it that urgent?"

The sooner Regulus goes, the sooner it's over. "Yes."

 

Tell Sirius I'm going to the north-most stands at the quidditch pitch. He should bring that Invisibility Cloak he had at the Whomping Willow if he can. There are enough rumors circulating at the moment without me being seen with him.

 

Seconds later, Lily responds with, He'll be there in fifteen, max.

So Sirius was there as she was writing to Regulus.

Regulus... doesn't know how to feel about that.

He closes his journal. "I'm going to the quidditch pitch. I should be back well before curfew."

"Alone?" Barty says.

Well. Sirius will be there. But if Regulus says that, he'll have to explain what's going on, and Barty and Evan don't know that Regulus asked Lily to contact Sirius. They don't know that Regulus has decided to bring Sirius into the plan. It's... not really something he wants to explain. Not until it's all settled, at least.

"Just because Alecto Carrow talked all the other baby Death Eaters down last night doesn't mean she's going to do it again," Barty says. "And it's only been a day, and it's not like Amycus Carrow got any satisfactory answers from you in the common room. You're not walking out to the pitch by yourself."

"This meeting needs to be private." Although Barty raises an important point.

He's already putting his shoes back on. "You know plenty of wards. I'm perfectly fine with sitting out of earshot—I have to do the Potions reading, anyway. Evan?"

"Oh, I wasn't planning on doing the Potions reading," Evan says. "But I can find some way to entertain myself, I'm sure."

"It'll be a long meeting," Regulus says. (Not that he knows for sure, but it seems like a safe assumption.) "You'd be committing to sitting around and waiting for quite some time."

"Even more reason to do it," Barty says. "The longer you're out there, the more time the baby Death Eaters have to plan something."

It appears that Regulus is not getting a choice in this matter.

Hopefully Sirius arrives under that Invisibility Cloak.

 

The walk to the quidditch pitch is over in the blink of an eye.

One moment, Regulus is closing the door to their room—the next, he's at the bottom of the stairs up to his chosen section of the stands, knowing he's meant to climb them but not quite understanding how he got here.

Is this really happening? He already did his talking to Sirius—his confronting Sirius—it doesn't feel real, is the point, like Regulus is about to go sit in the stands by himself for an hour, and when he finally gets back to his room, the bookmark will be black, with a scribbled message in bright purple: Actually, Sirius says never mind.

Lily says Sirius is concerned—alright, but is he? Or is this some sort of half-considered whim, a reflexive urge to stick his nose in Regulus's business that he'll abandon once he remembers that he left?

It'll be ten months on Thursday.

And yet here Regulus is.

The stairwell is yawning darkness above him, the last dregs of sunlight dragging themselves over the dust and the splinters and the stairs, well-worn—twice, now, people have climbed these stairs to watch Regulus and Sirius fight, Slytherin and Gryffindor, Seeker and Beater—it was Bellatrix's favorite position, and she squished Regulus's face and told him to watch out for people like her, because the rival Seeker is a challenge, but the rival Beaters are a threat. Sirius landed a hit on Regulus, once and only once, because Regulus didn't see it coming and didn't duck or dodge or shift his weight and it knocked him off-balance—there was a moment, as he slipped over the side, when he knew he was about to fall, with the instant clarity that came of knowing there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

Some children bounce, when they fall. Some levitate, like Sirius did once, jumped into the air and stayed there—not his first accidental magic, not by a long shot, but the first Regulus remembers.

Regulus just fell.

Bella was too slow to catch him—he'd never heard her swear before—and he landed hard on his arm, hard enough that if he'd fallen from any higher he probably would have broken it, or maybe that was a burst of accidental magic, leaving him with bruising and aching but nothing meriting medical attention, and Bella ran over and asked if he was hurt and the only possible answer was no because if the answer was yes then maybe they wouldn't be allowed to play quidditch anymore. So no, Regulus was not hurt, but Regulus's arm was in pain and he wasn't very good at hiding it. And Regulus crying made Sirius cry and vow never to hit him again, and Regulus told him that would make him an awful Beater, and it didn't make him laugh the way Regulus thought it would.

Sirius stuck to his word, as it turns out.

But Regulus has gotten better at dodging, too.

It's for Barty. This is because Regulus needs to move faster, needs the people, needs the firepower, needs the freedom to act in order to win, and he needs that for himself, and he needs that for Evan, and he needs that for everyone else who's joined him, but he needs to win this for Barty, because Regulus said he didn't need to join the Death Eaters to get out from under his father's thumb, and Regulus said he had a better option, and Regulus is not going to leave him behind.

Barty, who insisted on going to the quidditch pitch with Regulus, just in case.

He's not here now—he and Evan went over to the next set of stands, to give Regulus the privacy he requested for this conversation he is not having with Lily. And that's where they'll be, the whole time, whatever happens here—well, unless something goes very badly, in which case Barty will find a way over. But if Regulus never surfaces from the stairs into the stands, they'll come back down to find out if something's gone wrong.

Lily says Sirius is concerned.

Fine.

Regulus starts climbing.

 

When he reaches the rows of wooden benches under the sky, he is alone.

Barty is sitting in the next section over, textbook open in his lap, far enough that Regulus would have to shout to get his attention, and Evan is lying on the bench next to him—his lips are moving, and if Regulus concentrates, he can hear the familiar cadence of his voice, rising and falling with the wind. Without a broom, the gap between these stands is impossible, deep enough that the grass could be a whispering sea of green water below them, and each wooden tower a cliff's edge.

The seat Regulus takes in the middle is hard, smooth, cold, and even the wind tugging at his hair and his sleeves can't compare to how the pitch normally sounds, alive with plotting and anticipation. Regulus has never been here alone before. He's not sure he likes it.

But it doesn't last.

As always, Sirius finds a way to announce his presence—this time, it's through footsteps thundering up the stairs, causing hollow rippling echoes underneath Regulus, until they clatter to a stop somewhere in front of him.

"Right," Sirius's voice pants. "So, what's the policy on the Cloak—is this a whole-conversation sort of situation, or...?"

He's actually here.

He's here—he ran, from the sound of it, all the way up to the top of the stands, and Gryffindor Tower is far from the quidditch pitch, far enough that making it in fifteen minutes...

"Hello?" Sirius's voice adds, with a familiar undercurrent of impatience. "Regulus? Cloak? Wards? Are you alive?"

Regulus has no clue what to say to him.

Backtrack. This conversation was Regulus's idea, but only in a very general sense—it was Sirius who wanted to rush a meeting, Sirius who couldn't even wait a day. Regulus doesn't know what to say, but that's not his responsibility in this situation.

"I'll set up wards, and then it won't be necessary," he says. "I still want to know how you have access to a perfect Invisibility Cloak."

"Can't say, big secret." Sirius drops onto a bench—the one in front of Regulus, from the sound of it. "You'd have to get the owner to tell you directly, and like I said last time— ce n'est pas moi."

Assuming Lily wrote to Regulus from Gryffindor Tower, and Sirius came straight here from there, that means it's a Gryffindor—definitely not Lily, and definitely someone willing to let Sirius run amok with a near-priceless, personal, secret belonging. So. "Potter?"

He sighs. "Fuck, Regulus, at least let me take a breath."

That's a yes. "Why does Potter have an Invisibility Cloak?" Although that does explain why they only rarely seem to get caught breaking curfew.

"More interesting than the uniform. Can we change the subject? That's not why I wanted to talk to you."

Right into it, then.

"Wards first," Regulus says.

And Sirius must recognize the ones he uses, because as soon as Regulus sets up the visual shield, he yanks off the Invisibility Cloak. "Are you okay?"

He asks it like he's been practicing it in his head over and over, just waiting for the opportunity to spit it out—like he ran down here, not because he could, but because he had to, staring at Regulus like he thinks at any moment purple-black bruises will smear over Regulus's neck. Like even now, a day after it happened, it's not over.

Sirius asks like it's life and death.

Whatever smugness Regulus had over guessing the owner of the Invisibility Cloak crumbles in an instant. Sirius isn't here to fight—Sirius isn't even here to argue. He told Lily he was 'down' to kill Voldemort, but he ran all the way down here, just to ask if Regulus was alright. To know for himself.

He's not here about Voldemort.

"I'm fine." The wind almost tears the words away from him, rushes over them in a drowning, silencing river, but Regulus raises his voice and presses on. "Carrow didn't even touch me. Barty was too fast for him."

"But he had to do something," Sirius says. "Because Carrow tried something."

Well. Yes.

"I don't know exactly what," Regulus says. "The telling people he was going to kill me is a bit of an exaggeration."

"A bit?"

"I doubt he was thinking especially clearly."

"That doesn't make it better," Sirius says. "I know he graduates soon, yeah, but he graduates and runs straight to You-Know-Who if he hasn't already, and having that kind of information about your loyalties? If he can prove to You-Know-Who that you're not going to join him—I'm assuming that's not your plan given the everything about this term—then You-Know-Who won't just give up on you. Or House Black."

"As far as the Death Eaters are concerned, this is a difference of opinion on subtlety," Regulus says. "Bellatrix is backing me up on it."

Sirius blinks, then groans. "Of course she is. And when she's not?"

Well, that depends on the circumstances. "That won't happen for some time."

"But it will happen, and—and you would not be the first or the last person to die in this war!" His hands are white-knuckled on the edge of the bench—silver rings shine as he clamps his fingers tighter, and that's not something Mother ever taught them to do, just in case someone looked at their hands at the wrong moment— "Do you get that, Regulus? You could die. You-Know-Who knows that House Black's allegiances matter—I mean, I dunno, not like I've been speaking to him personally, but he's got to know—and if you don't give him what he wants, do you think he's just going to shrug and move on?"

"Of course not." Regulus pulls back, takes a breath before he starts sounding argumentative—he needs Sirius on his side. He needs that. "I could die as a Death Eater too. I don't get to stay out of the war." And whose fault is that? "It's this or that—don't say a word about Dumbledore, I'm not giving him more power."

"I wasn't going to," Sirius says. "Just—" And he stops.

Regulus waits, two breaths, but Sirius is staring at the bench, jaw so tight Regulus can see the muscles working, and he doesn't say anything, so. "I'm not going to sit around and wait for him to kill me. Nobody expects me to join until I come of age. I have over a year to prepare."

"That's not much time."

"It's what I have." Regulus resists the urge to tack on 'and what would you suggest I do about it?'

"Because of me," Sirius bursts out. "You're stuck because of me, and it had to be one of us, and—and I'm so sorry, Reg, I can say a million times I didn't know what you wanted but fuck, that wasn't a reason to assume the worst of you."

Oh.

"And you've always been really weird about victory at all costs, and I can't just sit back and watch you do it." Sirius's voice is rising, over the wind, over the silence of the empty pitch. "You want to kill You-Know-Who, great. You want to set yourself up as the reigning dark lord, fine. But I can't risk this being how you die. Understand? I'll kill him myself if that's what it takes, I'll shove his wand through his eye and I'll fucking smile about it, but nothing comes at the cost of your life. It doesn't mean anything if you're not there to see it."

"I haven't—" Regulus's throat closes up. He has to take a breath. "I haven't been there, Sirius. Or you haven't, or—"

"I know," Sirius says. "I'm sorry."

"Not just this year. Years. Why did we stop talking?" Regulus sounds painfully, pathetically childish, he can hear it, but he's started and he can't stop. "You were my best friend."

And Sirius says quietly, "I didn't think you cared."

The wind rushes past, blows Sirius's hair into his face. Regulus has never had to grow his hair out to know what it would look like.

Of course Sirius didn't think Regulus cared. Regulus wasn't going to be the pesky little brother, demanding to be ushered into the life Sirius already had—and it only mattered while they were at school, he thought, because at home Sirius didn't have his friends and Regulus didn't have Barty and so they'd be back to normal, Sirius and Regulus, one of them younger but hardly by enough to matter.

Only they weren't.

"Would you have stayed?"

He doesn't specify. He doesn't need to.

"No," Sirius says. "But I wouldn't have left you there by yourself."

Regulus can't tell if that was the answer he wanted—because Regulus wouldn't have left, Regulus doesn't leave, not if there's any other way, and Sirius does. Sirius leaves. Sirius left.

Sirius ran here to meet him.

Regulus is not known for being an impulsive speaker. If he spent more time with Sirius, maybe that would be different, because Sirius has always had a way of yanking words out of him. But Regulus is not known for being an impulsive speaker, and it's a relief to choose his words, to know what he's going to say before he opens his mouth, to say it without bracing to regret it.

"I accept your apology," Regulus says. "And I'm sorry too."

"I forgive you," Sirius says without even a shred of hesitation. "Just... please let me help."

There have been times when Regulus has refused those requests, times when he was determined to do something by himself, not to need help from his brother or his cousins or his parents or anyone else who might have swooped in to tie his shoes, or read complicated words to him, or get things down from high shelves. He got older, though, and people stopped offering quite so often. After all, what could Regulus Black possibly need or want help with?

Regulus says, "Alright."

 

But of course it's not that simple.

It's still Sirius, is the thing—the discussion goes smoothly until Sirius says "Wait—Marlene's in on this too?" and then they have to pause and go over McKinnon's recruitment in exhaustive detail, and then Sirius puts together the whole thing about McKinnon finding out his stance on Dark Arts, which he's somehow irritated by, and that gets him onto the topic of the family specialty, and while Regulus is attempting to find the best place to jump in and retake control of the conversation-turned-monologue, Sirius says, "I bet Bellatrix uses it for battles."

Finally. "She does. Only the big ones, though. She told me her system—"

"Bellatrix is good with it."

"She told me her system," Regulus repeats, louder, "and she only ever uses it when they're ambushing the Order of the Phoenix."

"Who can't even remotely compete, because it's Bellatrix but more, and they can barely handle Bellatrix herself."

This seems patently obvious to Regulus. He decides not to point that out. They do not need to start fighting again. "Bellatrix doesn't have the same degree of affinity that we do. Besides, we can take her by surprise, and then it won't matter."

Sirius scowls. "It'd better not. Unless you've managed to figure out whether twice the affinity for the specialty means twice the affinity for the madness."

"What? That's not how the specialty works."

"Are you positive?"

"Yes," Regulus says. "We have centuries of proof that a stronger affinity means it's safer to use."

"And a hell of a lot easier." He shakes his head. "We don't know where our limits are. Avoid Bellatrix."

"Obviously." (Sirius has this way of making the objectively correct conclusion sound somehow teeth-grindingly dictatorial. Regulus is not going to succumb to the urge to reject it out of spite.) "She's his right hand for a reason. If things go as planned, the Aurors will do most of that work for us."

"Beg pardon?"

 

They agree on the Auror plan, at least, but Sirius keeps pushing Regulus to find out how the plan came into existence, and Regulus is not going to argue with him about the merits of trusting Evan's word, and Regulus avoiding the question is definitely not making Sirius happy, but he'll just have to make his peace with that.

This is Regulus's war.

Notes:

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SIRIUS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

love when lily's friendship with sirius starts impacting how she interacts with regulus (and vice versa!!)

barty and evan were basically just discussing regulus that entire time. barty did maybe a page and a half of the potions reading

ah, siblings<3

things are not SOLVED between regulus and sirius, but THEY'RE TALKING NOW SO THEY AT LEAST HAVE A SHOT AT SOLVING THINGS

next time: scheming!! regulus writes a letter, as is his habit these days!! i get to ramble about the sacred 28!!!!!!!!!

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 54

When Sirius's footsteps on wooden stairs fade away, Regulus waits—five breaths, measured—and then takes down the wards.

Sirius has been recruited.

He did it.

It's... now that it's over, now that Sirius is gone and Regulus can hear his own pulse thudding in his ears, it already feels dreamlike. Ten months, and so much of it has been silence, and he's not really sure how he's supposed to feel about this—the war bringing Sirius back.

Because it was the war that did it, the war and Regulus's hand in it, that made Sirius come running. And he showed up, did what Regulus asked of him. He said he forgave Regulus.

And Regulus didn't.

Sirius is helping, Regulus got what he wanted—what he needed—Regulus should be happy, probably, or at least satisfied, but just... why did it take Amycus Carrow trying to throttle him? They agreed to stay out of each other's way before, yes, but that was only a couple of weeks ago, only when Snape threw them together. And on the train—they wouldn't have said a word to each other if Regulus hadn't left his compartment to find out what the disturbance was about.

There was that time at the beginning of the semester, when Regulus caught Sirius out after curfew, but... what if he hadn't? What if it had been someone else on patrol, or Sirius had been a little faster on the stairs, or he'd had Potter's Invisibility Cloak? Would Sirius still have stopped to say something?

As far as the war is concerned, it doesn't matter.

But the war is meant to serve Regulus's interests, not the other way around, and he wants to know.

He wants to.

It's probably best that he doesn't.

 

He meets Barty and Evan on the stairs, which is an odd place for them to be.

"We saw you leave," Evan says by way of explanation.

This does not clarify why they opted to climb up the stairs to meet him instead of just waiting at the bottom, but Regulus doesn't question it further—they're here now, and the stairwell is a little hidden from the outside world, a good place to say, "Dumbledore is personally recruiting students."

"Beg pardon?" Barty says.

"Seventh-years, all Gryffindors so far." The Prewett twins, at least according to Sirius, and Longbottom and Jones, the Gryffindor seventh-year prefects. "They were all recruited this spring, but I think we should be prepared for him to start recruiting anyone who's of age, just in case. There are plenty of sixth-years who are by now. Most of them, I should think."

"Lily is, isn't she?" Evan says.

Regulus... hasn't the faintest idea of when Lily's birthday is. "Possibly. Even if he waits until the fall, we need to be ready for him to approach our people, both in the sense of preparing them to be approached and in the sense of ensuring nobody decides to change their loyalties. To that end, we'll need to begin inter-house study group meetings this week." It serves several purposes—preparing Regulus's side for the war, bringing more blood traitors and Muggleborns into the Dark network (if unofficially at the present moment), and giving them a sense of a group to belong to, which is much harder to betray than an idea. The people Regulus has recruited are unlikely to go over to the Death Eaters; the Order of the Phoenix is a greater threat to his base at school. (During the social season, the opposite will be true, which will mean an interesting reversal of his usual pitch.) "We'll use the room Barty and I found yesterday. Later in the week will give us enough time to make sure all the relevant people know when and where. This first meeting will mainly be about Dark Arts, but at the next one we should start working on dueling, especially for those who are already familiar with the Brief Introduction."

Now all he has to do is figure out when and how to mention that Lily and McKinnon will not be the only Gryffindors present.

 

The owlery isn't exactly close to the Astronomy Tower, but Regulus would rather climb all those stairs only once, so he writes his letter before they leave for class.

Regulus's role as heir has primarily been outward-facing. At home, it means obligations more than it means power—some leverage, yes, but he hasn't truly tested how much. (Not yet, anyway.) It's outside of Grimmauld Place where Regulus can wield his status as a weapon, as is to be expected; Regulus's status as a Black is the real weapon, and at home, they're on equal footing in that regard. But he can't just be his parents' child—they need to start seeing him as someone with deserved influence, and that will take time. Regulus has been the youngest Black for his entire life, after all, and he will need to counter fifteen years' worth of 'youngest' and 'spare' and 'child' that have left their marks on his parents' impressions of him.

Being right about things will be a good start.

Perhaps using black wax for correspondence is a bit on the nose, but Regulus has always liked the stark contrast of it, the dull black shine against cream-colored parchment, a distinctive absence of the splash of color seen on most letters. The darkness of the wax makes the intricacies of the seal on his heir ring a little difficult to make out, but there are few such intricacies to be found in the first place; the Blacks have never needed curlicues and flourishes to distinguish themselves. All they need is a seven-pointed star, stylized in the way of medieval art, and a banner with the family motto on it. (The letters reverse themselves for the purpose of sealing letters, to ensure that there are never mirror images.) There are no subtle details to be observed, no running through mental lists of similar family crests to figure out which one it is—the star and the motto say it all. The black wax is just for the sake of consistency. Sirius always used far too much; Regulus used to make a point of being far more restrained with it, and the habit stuck, but even so, the first letter he sealed with the heir ring still looked like it was coming from Sirius. He's accustomed to it now. He doesn't know if anyone else experienced similar confusion, if Sirius has—

Anyway.

Scrimgeour has been contacted, which covers the Ministry. Regulus will send this to Mother tonight, which should help with managing the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Dumbledore is recruiting reinforcements, which is good as long as he doesn't encroach on Regulus. A three-pronged approach to dealing with Voldemort is ideal—all of Britain turning against him, piece by piece. But taking away the Sacred Twenty-Eight's support is crucial. Aurors can be evaded, and Barty's father is only one man; likewise, Dumbledore can't be everywhere at once, and the Order of the Phoenix lacks the Death Eaters' resources.

The Death Eaters' current resources.

And therein lies Regulus's strategy.

He doesn't know the exact state of Voldemort's finances, but the cause is most likely primarily bankrolled by House Lestrange and House Malfoy. Lord Abraxas Malfoy is a supporter, and the Lestranges must be as well, seeing as Rodolphus, Rabastan, and Bellatrix occupy privileged positions in the Death Eaters. They've proven themselves useful to Voldemort—Regulus has no illusions about that, not with the stories Bellatrix has told—so their specific positions are almost certainly due to merit, but if House Lestrange is willing to have both their heir and spare take the Mark, they're clearly giving Voldemort their full support. The other Noble and Anciente houses either haven't had any scions take the Mark or, in the case of the Notts, disapprove of the one who has done so. Thus, the Lestranges and the Malfoys.

Taking away Voldemort's financial support entirely would be extremely complicated. But Regulus can isolate him and the families working with him. The Bulstrodes and Notts will be helpful in that regard; the Rosiers don't seem like they'll be an option, from what Evan has implied about his family's stance, and the Zabinis and Greengrasses are anyone's guess, but the Parkinsons might be willing. He'll have to talk to Heather about talking to Priam about talking to his parents. As for the other Anciente families, the Browns don't have much pull with the Dark network (except for Heather's mother being a Macmillan), and the Weasleys are worse than useless. Having them on his side would do a lovely job of alienating the vast majority of the Dark network. Dumbledore can have them.

The Lestranges and Malfoys are influential, but they're only two families. Unfortunately, House Black is closely tied to both of them, even if only via their cadet branch. That means they can be the bellwether, though—if they pull away from Voldemort, and the Bulstrodes and Notts follow, then the rest of the Sacred Twenty-Eight (barring the ones who have already chosen their graves) should be simple. Without their financial, ideological, and physical support, the damage inflicted by the Ministry and the Order of the Phoenix will be that much greater. Voldemort won't be able to replenish his forces, and his current supporters will begin to have trouble maintaining their positions in pureblood society. The Anciente houses did it to the Weasleys centuries ago—they can do it to the Lestranges and Malfoys now, and House Black will be there to collect their spoils of victory.

Thus, writing back to Mother. It's no sure thing, but it's a start.

 

Sending the letter goes smoothly—none of the other Slytherins bat an eyelash at the notion of Regulus detouring to the owlery on the way back from Astronomy. It's technically against the rules, but all of them have done it at least a few times. Evan comes with him, since Regulus is borrowing Caspian, and Barty comes with him, since Barty does that. (Which is a bit of a relief—Regulus is good at keeping secrets, Regulus has always been good at keeping secrets, but when he tries to imagine wandering around the castle alone with Evan, well after curfew with practically nobody else around, his mind goes completely blank. Evan would strike up a conversation, of course, but how would Regulus respond?)

All of that means it's nearly two in the morning when they get back to their room, and normally Regulus would be more than ready to go to sleep, but Evan's hand brushed his when Regulus was giving him the letter to give to Caspian, and—Regulus would like to resolve at least one thing that's happened today before going to bed.

But Evan shares their room too, and he undoubtedly wants to go to bed as well which means Regulus can't just hope that he'll vanish into his wardrobe for a time, and yes, there are the journals, but Barty doesn't keep his out like Regulus does so there's no guarantee he'd see a message waiting before going to sleep himself, and even so, Regulus doesn't want to just be overtly writing in his journal where Evan can see, because sometimes Evan asks about it. And if Regulus delays too long, then Barty might fall asleep, and then they won't be able to talk until tomorrow, which wouldn't be such a disaster in the grand scheme of things but if Regulus doesn't get Barty's help in making sense of his thoughts then he's not going to be able to sleep and OWLs are only three weeks away, not to mention the war and keeping vigilant for any sign of retaliation from Amycus Carrow, and maybe it was a complete coincidence that Lucinda just happened to describe Smith and Macmillan the same way Regulus has been internally describing himself and Evan, or maybe it wasn't, but either way not knowing is the worst of both worlds.

And... if it wasn't a coincidence, then what is Regulus supposed to do?

He can't just sit around with—with feelings written all over his face in the Great Hall where anyone could see. That's fine for Smith and Macmillan—nobody cares, really; they're Sacred Twenty-Eight but only Noble, and their families are of similar standing, and honestly the only remotely interesting thing about them is that Macmillan is Dark and Smith isn't, which isn't even unheard of, just of note because it could mean a new person marrying into the Dark network—and that's Regulus getting ahead of himself, because Smith and Macmillan aren't even dating, much less engaged, and Regulus is in no hurry to see people his age getting married—as Barty would almost certainly say, yikes.

But Regulus is the only Black left in his generation—Evan is the only Rosier, come to think of it, and that means they will both come under scrutiny, and perhaps more importantly, there's the war, and there's leverage, and there's Regulus being a leader, and if he's going to be gossiped about, it has to be with regard to that. Not... vulnerabilities. Not anything that could be used against him, not anything that could distract him, not anything that could negatively impact his likelihood of success in the war, because that is far, far more important than Regulus's personal feelings toward Evan, whatever those might be.

And yet, their hands brushed, and Regulus felt the ghost of it the whole way back to the dungeons, tried not to ask himself if he'd reacted naturally, tried not to overthink what a 'natural' reaction would even look like, and they have Divination tomorrow and Regulus can't remember if their last palmistry review is this week or next week and he absolutely needs to have this sorted out before then because he needs to start planning what he's going to do in class, how he's going to behave, what on earth he's going to do to keep control of himself—in all Mother's lessons on maintaining composure, not once did she talk about anything like this.

So Regulus takes his time putting away his Astronomy materials, packing his bookbag for tomorrow morning's classes, letting Barty and Evan jostle for space at the one sink in their bathroom while Regulus takes out his journal, flips to Barty's section, and writes, I have to talk to you about something. Evan can't know. Then, just to be sure Barty sees it, he leaves it open to the correct page on Barty's bed, almost completely hidden by the covers.

Now all he has to do is act natural until Evan goes to bed.

 

Regulus only has to sit around waiting in the bathroom for five minutes or so before the door opens quietly and Barty comes in, holding Regulus's journal. He shuts the door and locks it before whispering, "Do we need to put up wards? I brought my wand."

Oh, that's a good idea. "Better safe than sorry."

Barty does, and then says, brow furrowed, "What's this about? Did you figure something out while you were flying earlier?"

"Not exactly." Although that certainly had something to do with it—Evan, and flying, and sunlight, and teetering on some kind of precipice and not entirely hating the feeling. But it wasn't the flying itself that did it, and so Regulus barrels on, following the script he composed while brushing his teeth. "It was more at dinner. What with everything Lucinda was saying."

And...

Barty doesn't get it.

He's watching Regulus like he's expecting there to be more, one finger tapping against the black leather cover of Regulus's journal, a slight pinch at the corner of his mouth that means he's confused, something Regulus mostly saw from him when he was attempting to self-study for the Muggle Studies OWL, because Barty is hardly ever actually confused—even with Nonsense Abstruse, he always knew exactly what he was doing, and he hasn't looked at Regulus like this since before they were able to complete each other's sentences.

"Lucinda spent all of dinner talking about Hufflepuffs you find incredibly dull," Barty says eventually.

And he doesn't need to ask, but Regulus... isn't quite sure how to answer.

He'd assumed—hoped, really—that he wouldn't really have to put anything into words, that he could just show Barty his thought process and they'd reach the same conclusions, that Regulus wouldn't have to say it.

But Regulus can adapt. Of course he can.

He starts with, "It sounded familiar." Then, to elaborate—"The phrasing she used."

Barty's brow knits further. "The balance thing you asked her about? 'It sounded familiar,' as in, you've heard it before, or as in, you've used it before?"

Alright. They're getting somewhere. "Used. I've been..." This is far more descriptive than Regulus thought he would need to be. "Framing my interactions in similar terms. With Evan."

He can see the moment it clicks—when Barty's mouth slackens, his eyes widen, and a long moment passes before he says, "Oh."

The revelation has been made, so he can continue. "But I'm not sure whether we meant the same thing by it, and even if we did, I don't know what I'm supposed to do with that. Ignoring it seems simplest, in many dimensions, but..." Regulus doesn't know where that sentence is meant to end.

But Barty doesn't pick up the thread of it, just says slowly, "So... you like him."

Plain and stark.

"I don't know," Regulus says. "I only have my opinion to go on, at the moment, which is why I wanted to talk to you—that, and figuring out what to do."

"What to do? Don't you just... ride off into the sunset together or something?"

That's an odd response.

Barty isn't on the same page as Regulus. That much is obvious. And this isn't really how Regulus thought this conversation would go—he'd anticipated something more... efficient, as if Barty had come to the same conclusions at dinner and all they had to do was confirm it with each other, and then they could move on to next steps, but Barty didn't come to those conclusions and now they're at next steps and he said ignoring it seemed simplest and yet Barty...

Barty doesn't look very happy right now.

Over the years, he's gotten better at schooling his expression, keeping reactions under wraps the way many of his housemates do, the way Regulus does, but Regulus has been here since the beginning, and he's been paying attention, and Barty's face is just... a little too blank. Trying a little too hard.

"What is it?" Regulus says.

It leaves silence in its wake, hollow under the glare of the bathroom light, and Barty looks away, at the counter, adjusts his grip on Regulus's journal. "Nothing important. What do you want to do about Evan? Because you're bringing it up, so it doesn't sound like you want to ignore it."

"It seems important." The rest of it... well, fair enough, but one thing at a time, even if one thing at a time has led Regulus down a bit of a rabbithole already, because he can't just abandon what might very well be the least convincing lie Barty has ever told. It is important, and it's relevant, because Barty wasn't acting like this until Regulus brought up Evan, and now he's asked about it and Barty's sidestepped which means it's important and relevant and perilous, because there is so little that they do not tell each other, especially when asked directly.

"Not important now," Barty says.

As much as Regulus normally appreciates when people are able to prioritize... "Why not?"

"Because it's not." Barty holds Regulus's journal out to him, Evan's bookmark sparkling in the light. "Just don't ride off into any sunsets. We have a lot to do here."

There it is.

The 'we.'

The summer after first year was like being plunged into a freezing lake. Regulus had spent the whole year with Barty—they had all the same classes, they were the only people in their room once Emma moved to the girls' side at the start of the spring term, and it was just... easier to have someone to count on. Regulus got used to it. Then he went home, back to the room he had all to himself, and Sirius was still right across the hallway, but Regulus had a creeping, ugly sense that Sirius wasn't someone to count on anymore, and Mother and Father were skeptical of Barty, and Barty's father was downright suspicious of Regulus, and Regulus had never gone against his parents before and he was unaccustomed to the sour, stinging taste of it, his biggest secret like a weight on his tongue every time the topic of blood purity came up. When September returned, Regulus was a bit disappointed that he and Barty no longer had their room to themselves, but Evan spent so much time in the common room or outside with Emma that it hardly mattered. Regulus could breathe around Barty. Regulus can breathe around Barty.

He just...

"I wouldn't ride off into a sunset without you," Regulus says. "I wouldn't like it."

Barty exhales, a looser set to his shoulders. "Right. Then... the rest is details."

"Details," Regulus agrees. "Important ones, though."

"These particular ones are not in my wheelhouse." He sounds a bit more like his usual self now, wry even if tired. It must be after two by now. "Is it really urgent, or can we reconvene when the sun is up?"

It doesn't make much difference when they're in the dungeons, but that's quite clearly an I would like to go to sleep right now, so Regulus compromises. "Tomorrow is fine. Goodnight."

 

Dear Mother,

Mulciber and his ilk do not simply believe in the Dark Lord's cause. They are of the opinion that the war will usher in a new social order, in which pureblood society will be completely restructured according to the Dark Lord's desires. They feel that as a result, our family's dominance in Britain is coming to an end. I know you and Father are already aware of the advantages that could be obtained by securing the Dark Lord's trust; those advantages seem to be all-encompassing, to hear the Carrow twins tell it. Essentially, our power and influence is to be eclipsed by the Dark Lord choosing favorites among his servants.

I hope that this is an idea they have developed of their own accord. However, I do think it would be in our best interest to investigate who might be suggesting such a thing, as it is being taken extremely seriously by the other students. Amycus Carrow in particular seems to think that he will face no repercussions for injuring me. (He seems to have thought that, I should say; he was thoroughly disabused of the notion on his first attempt, as is only appropriate, but the attempt was quite blatantly made.) Mulciber sided with him. It is normal to expect some shifts in society after a war, of course, but their boldness suggests to me that we may want to reassert why, exactly, we have maintained our standing for a millennium. I have found that they expect us to be complacent.

As for that standing: the Dark Lord styles himself as singular, despite Dark lords being numerous and powerful for centuries. Have you and Father discussed this choice of his? If so, I would be interested in learning the conclusions you drew. Painting himself as a lord of all Dark Arts lends him credibility, but is that credibility a stepping-stone to tearing Britain apart and remaking it in his own image? Any sensible person knows not to cross us; nor would he need to, if he could absorb our family under the guise of championing our interests. In order to rule over Britain, he must destroy his competition. We have never needed others to fight our battles for us. I admit I have become concerned that the Dark Lord wants us to fight his for him.

Regulus

Notes:

raise your hand if you think regulus and sirius will never have another emotionally charged conversation again!!! they talked!!! they agreed to work together!!!! there is nothing else to work through!!!!!!!!

regulus simply does not need to think about how going against house malfoy means going against narcissa 😌

re: romantic feelings/issues of inheritance/sacred 28 - the question of black heirs beyond regulus isn't going to be a huge impact on the story - it'll come up, certainly, but it's not going to become a pressing issue or a big thing in the plot. more just a reminder of the eyes on regulus in ways that he isn't a fan of

regulus is preoccupied with evan but not SO preoccupied with evan that he's going to fail to notice barty acting off - they're gonna have to talk about that more as well but the reaffirmation of the pair-bond is at least enough for barty to relax a little and move on to more interesting questions: namely, how the FUCK does all this nonsense work

and THE LETTER TO WALBURGA!!!!!!!!! how do you think that's going to go????

next time: gonna be honest y'all, i am not done writing chapter 55 (yay finals), but i can tell you that it features quite a lot of Regulus Overthinking Everything 2: Electric Boogaloo (Concealing Crushes Edition)

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 55

They spend Divination reviewing astrology and the crystal ball, which means Regulus has an excuse to focus on the table instead of on Evan, but that small, two-person table still feels treacherous, what with all of its opportunities for knees or hands to touch, and even though it's a good thing that they're not doing palmistry today Regulus can't stop thinking about it—about Evan taking his hand, holding his hand, which is hardly a momentous occasion given that it's happened dozens if not hundreds of times already, but Regulus can't even clear his mind to look into the crystal ball properly because out of the corner of his eye he'll see Evan sigh or blink or do anything and he's pulled off course, back to imagining Evan's fingertips resting against his wrist, and it is not productive.

 

He doesn't exactly enjoy double Herbology, seeing as he's trapped in a greenhouse on a warm day performing manual labor while suppressing a headache that is probably the result of lying awake most of the night, but he can at least mostly focus on repotting. Evan's table is diagonal from Regulus's, reasonably far away, so if Regulus stares at the plants, he can't see him.

He can hear him, though, chatting with Emma, complaining about having to touch wet soil, reprimanding one of his plants for trying to escape its new pot, laughing at something someone else said—Regulus doesn't know what, and he does not look over at Evan's table to try to find out.

To compound it all, it's practical Herbology on a warm day and normally Regulus goes directly back to the dungeons afterwards to clean up, but class ends at four and then he has less than an hour before Barty normally leaves for Runes Club and historically, that has been a time in which Regulus interacts with Evan alone, and yes, he did go flying with Evan yesterday for an extended period of time, but somehow he feels ludicrously unprepared to be alone in a room with him now—which he could blame on Lucinda, but that seems a tad misdirected—less because Regulus wouldn't know what to say and more because he wouldn't know how to say it. Evan is like Lucinda, he pays attention to these things, and that means Regulus has to be careful.

But some time away from him should help Regulus clear his head, so when Herbology ends, he tries to sound casual and spontaneous about asking whether Barty wants to go to the Black Lake.

 

It isn't really a black lake. Wine-dark, certainly, but on a reasonably sunny afternoon, the water sparkles in a way that reminds Regulus of a jeweled comb Mother wears sometimes for formal occasions. Students tend to gather at the shore nearest to the castle, due to convenience, which is exactly why Regulus pushes further on, past a rocky area to a copse of trees a short distance from the water. The trees provide shade and a degree of privacy, both of which are extremely welcome.

"Seven more class periods to go, then the OWL, then we're done." Barty drops his bookbag unceremoniously on the grass and sits down. "Fewer, if we count each double period as one instead of two."

"One would give me excessive hope," Regulus says.

"Can't have that. But either way, we never have to purchase Herbology textbooks again."

"That's certainly a positive development." He sits down next to Barty, who has picked a blade of grass and is methodically shredding it, perhaps as a way of expressing his sentiments about Herbology. "What do you think you will continue?"

"Runes." Barty drops the shreds of grass on the ground and picks another one. "Charms. Transfiguration if you're taking it."

"I will. Runes as well."

"Not Charms, I hope."

Obviously. "What do you mean, you hope?"

"You've hated the subject since first year, and I can't think of any good reasons for you to continue with it." He drops the grass bits, picks another blade, and sets about tying it into a knot. "A few bad reasons, though."

"I'm not continuing Charms. I've been looking forward to dropping it for years." Despite Regulus's recent improvements in the area, Charms leave a bad taste in his mouth, and even his newfound adequacy is not enough to incentivize him to practice on his own. Evan will definitely take NEWT Charms, and Evan would probably help Regulus through the class, but Regulus can't get through an entire NEWT class by relying on Evan being willing to spend time sitting around watching Regulus cast charms and offering suggestions.

He does still need to get through the Charms OWL, though—and that means he needs to review, and that means he needs to ask Evan to review with him, and if that means another trip to Regulus's office...

Will that chaise still be there? Furniture has never disappeared from Regulus's office before, but he doesn't know what induced the castle to send him a chaise longue anyway, and it's very possible that things will have changed by the next time he visits. Evan would probably be rather disappointed by a disappearance—then again, they don't go to Regulus's office very often, so maybe it wouldn't make much of a difference in Evan's life, unless he does want to go more often, but that seems like an inordinate amount of effort for just a chaise, and really, the only other contents of the office are some chairs, empty bookshelves, a desk, and Regulus.

Charms tutoring with Evan means being alone with Evan in a way that nothing else does—walking around the castle at night means being practically out in the open, and there's always the possibility of Barty being in their room, but Regulus's office is... very private.

Before Regulus can figure out what to do with that realization, Barty says, "You've loathed Charms less, recently."

He doesn't expand on this point, but Regulus gets it anyway. "Not enough to make me want to continue it. I've just been... Evan's been helping me."

"Ah," Barty says wryly. "Suddenly, it all becomes clear."

"He knows what he's doing," Regulus feels compelled to say. "He figured out the problem with my casting within ten minutes."

"Not that. The less loathing."

"I can more easily resign myself to having to attend Charms when getting through class is simpler."

"Sure you can." The blade of grass has now been knotted so many times that Barty is evidently having difficulty tying it into itself again; he drops it and plucks another one. "I'm not really sure... what you want from me here."

"In what sense?"

"Dealing with Evan. I mean, it's not like I know shit you don't."

"I didn't think you did." Not that Regulus really had put much thought into it when he decided to talk to Barty. It was simple—the logical next step, once Regulus made the initial realization. Barty was the first person he told about his plan for the war, the only person he told about Sirius's disownment, and, for a long time, the only person who really knew Regulus's secrets. Not the lightweight ones Sirius grew up with, but the ones that grew heavier the older Regulus got, the more what he thought and felt started to matter. He's never told Barty everything, but then, he's never told anyone everything.

"It changes things," Regulus says. "Or it could. That's why I wanted you to know, so we could plan out how to address it. He can't turn into a liability."

There's the fact that Evan is very distracting, which automatically makes him a liability to Regulus in and of himself, but... Regulus is going to draw the line at discussing his recent experiences in Divination. That's far too much information. He'll focus on leverage.

"So act normal around him," Barty says. "Nobody needs to know."

Ah.

"I... don't know if that will work," Regulus says.

"Why not?"

Regulus weighs his options. There's explaining everything (mortifying), explaining nothing (unproductive), and explaining some things (by process of elimination, the best path forward).

But what?

He settles on, "I think I've forgotten how."

"I see," Barty says, in a tone of voice that indicates that he does not see at all. "You've seemed reasonably normal to me, though."

"It's different when I'm... with him."

"So don't do that."

This is an entirely logical suggestion. Unfortunately, something in Regulus rebels violently at it, which is frankly hypocritical of him seeing as he could barely get through an hour of them sitting at the same table.

"That might raise his suspicions," he says instead.

Barty frowns. "Yeah, I guess. But maybe you're better at acting normal than you think. I didn't know until you told me, so I doubt he knows either."

 

Evan is in the common room when Regulus returns to the Slytherin dormitories alone, Barty having left to go to Runes Club.

Regulus stays in their room and does homework for the next hour and does his best to act normal when Evan walks in to ask if Regulus wants to go to dinner, and when they end up sitting next to each other in the Great Hall, and when Evan complains about doing dream interpretation in Divination tomorrow because it's incredibly dull and he'd rather spend more time on palmistry.

He has one week to figure out how to exist around Evan properly before they do review palmistry.

Lovely.

 

On Wednesday morning, the Fawcett siblings are pulled out of class to go to Dumbledore's office. The next anyone hears of them is when they're spotted leaving Ravenclaw Tower with their trunks about an hour later.

Regulus isn't particularly familiar with either of the Fawcetts; he finds out about all of this via a message in his journal from Heather. There's not much he can do with the information, though, both because it's vague at the moment and because he doesn't have time. The fifth-years have a free period in the afternoon before Transfiguration, and Regulus's original plan for it (reviewing for Arithmancy) has already been thoroughly tossed out the window due to Barty receiving a letter from his mother during lunch.

It's a long letter, multiple sheets of parchment stuffed into a straining envelope with an amount of bright yellow wax that on any other letter Regulus would call unnecessary. When they return to their room for their free period, Barty doesn't open it until Evan has exchanged his bookbag for his broom and left for 'early Chaser practice' with Emma and Lucinda, the latter of whom likes to remind them that she is still very much not an official member of the team and they should at least attempt to hold proper tryouts for Geoff's spot in September.

As soon as the door's closed behind Evan, Barty cracks the seal and tosses the envelope vaguely in the direction of his desk. He misses by quite a bit, so Regulus picks it up from the floor and places it approximately where he thinks Barty was aiming. Behind him, bedsprings creak, and he's unsurprised when he turns around and finds Barty sitting on his bed hunched over the letter.

Regulus has seen him skim through pages from his father, dropping them on the floor one by one as he goes. It's nothing like how he reads this, almost as quickly, but tucking each piece of parchment in at the back of the small stack he's holding, like he intends to read them again, or like he's afraid they'll vanish if he lets go.

Even a long letter isn't very many pieces of parchment, though, especially when they're covered corner to corner, front and back, and Barty is a fast reader even when he's not skimming. He only has to flip through a few pieces of parchment before he stops reading, drops his hands (and the letter) into his lap and takes a deep, shaky breath.

Regulus doesn't say anything, in case that would be an interruption to whatever Barty's thinking, but he sits down next to him. Hopefully Barty will indicate if he wants Regulus to do anything else.

They sit there like that for a while, quiet and still, Regulus keeping his gaze studiously turned away from the letter in Barty's hands. If Barty wants him to know what it says, he'll tell him.

But it's a letter from Barty's mother, very long, and he hasn't lit it on fire, so it's probably not bad.

Barty shuffles through the parchment again, flips through the whole thing, folds it up, doesn't make any move to put it away but keeps it in his hands. "She's okay with me dropping the extra OWLs."

Given the length and density of the letter, there is absolutely no way that's everything, which Regulus does not point out. "That's good."

"Yeah." He exhales, runs his thumb over the parchment. "Yeah, it is."

 

Before they leave for Transfiguration, Barty tucks the letter back into its envelope and puts the whole thing in a desk drawer. He doesn't say anything else about what was in it, but keeping the letter says everything.

 

Dear Regulus,

It is one thing to aspire to control Britain, and quite another to actually accomplish it. Naturally, this is what the Dark Lord desires and expects. He is not particularly unusual in this respect. What makes him noteworthy is his success in capturing the attention of the Dark network. Yes, as you hinted, he must not be one of us; he would not go so far to conceal his origins otherwise. However, in many ways, his origins are irrelevant compared to his position at present, and his position is relevant in the sense that it provides us with a tool with which we may benefit.

He has garnered fervor in a way that nobody has since Grindelwald. People are willing to kill and die for him, as well as to risk sentences in Azkaban, neither of which are small favors. That kind of following makes him valuable. You are not meant to follow Bellatrix's example and devote yourself to him wholeheartedly; you are meant to gain his trust and favor and use him. He may try to absorb us, but he will fail, for the simple reason that he does not know who we are or what we have done over the last thousand years.

Those who believe they will replace us will learn their lesson in due time, with our assistance in providing the lesson if desired or necessary. Do keep me apprised of the... situation in the dungeons. In addition, I require more information as to the specific circumstances under which Heir Carrow attempted to injure you. You are most likely correct in your assessment that someone has made certain suggestions to him. However, while I hesitate to entertain the notion that he has had an original idea, I think it likely that he has heard what he wished to hear and acted upon it accordingly. Subtle rhetoric is wasted on some people, and I would not be remotely surprised if Heir Carrow has wandered down his own path in the mistaken belief that the Dark Lord (or someone else) has encouraged it. Perhaps this Mulciber is following him. It warrants further investigation. There is no need to worry about Alecto Carrow; it seems she and Bellatrix have struck up a correspondence. Whatever her personal expectations for the future might be, her position in the Death Eaters will be a result of Bellatrix's patronage, which means she can be controlled. Bellatrix has neither need nor desire to turn against us.

Finally, the Dark Lord is aware of the importance of having our support. Bellatrix has implied as much. I think it reasonable to expect him to solicit our aid, rather than us approaching him, if the hierarchy among the Death Eaters is as ambiguous as you say. It must be carefully done, to ensure discretion is not mistaken for reluctance (and to avoid developing a conflict with Bellatrix), but in case of risk to our standing, it could prove extremely useful. He needs us in order to win, and that same devotion I mentioned earlier will inspire his followers to think along the same lines.

Respond with the requested information about the state of affairs in Slytherin, with such detail of which I know you are capable. I shall need it in order to identify the cause of Heir Carrow's behavior.

Remember that we have withstood the destructive ambitions of outsiders for a millennium. One Dark Lord is not enough to ruin us.

Mother

 

Does Mother actually think Voldemort is going to call on them to attempt to recruit Regulus personally?

Destroying him from the inside would be effective, if not for the fact that taking the Mark would destroy Regulus's credibility with his own supporters, not to mention being a rather grim inversion of his original goal. And Regulus can't imagine Voldemort putting effort into recruiting any one individual, even Heir Black; like Mother said, he has strong support. People come to him.

But if Mother (and Father) were willing to work with Regulus to ensure that Voldemort had to come to them...

Then Regulus would have to figure out what to do when confronted with Voldemort himself trying to get Regulus to take the Mark. Who knows what methods he would resort to?

It's the sort of power play that would work best if Regulus were planning to take the Mark in the end. Without that guarantee of a safe outcome, it's risky.

But it's worth remembering. Leverage is always useful.

He'll have to word his response very carefully. The tide is turning against Amycus Carrow, but Regulus has to give Mother enough of the right kind of evidence to persuade her that he does not deserve anything even remotely resembling their friendship. (It would also be nice to give her some doubts about Alecto, but that's probably too much to accomplish in one letter.)

It's a shame he doesn't actually know where these ideas are coming from. Directing Mother towards a specific target would be useful. As it is, he'll just have to hope she finds out that it's coming from within the Marked Death Eaters, as opposed to Amycus Carrow's imagination (or similar). That would give Regulus plenty of reason to suggest that they proceed with more caution regarding Voldemort—or wait for him to come to them, if that's the angle he needs to take to persuade Mother and Father.

Mother's letter exudes confidence, though. And, really, why wouldn't it? She's right about them surviving plenty of aspiring Dark Lords. They'll survive this one too, Regulus knows that much.

Maybe this is a sign that Regulus should focus less on Voldemort posing a real threat and more on Voldemort needing to be crushed to prove a point, if he wants to actually get through to his parents.

But like Mother said repeatedly, Voldemort has people who are devoted to him. If he's encouraging the rhetoric about the pureblood hierarchy of Britain changing, and Regulus can prove it, that makes him an enemy who needs to be dealt with.

He'll see how the investigation goes.

Notes:

'i don't think evan knows you have a huge crush on him' - barty crouch jr, 1977

DISASTER REGULUS DISASTER REGULUS DISASTER REGULUS

dream interpretation is boring because evan doesn't get to hold regulus's hand

THE SAGA OF BARTY'S RELATIONSHIP WITH HIS PARENTS CONTINUES WOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, he gets a reprieve for now but just wait until it's time to pick newt subjects and talk Real Actual Career Plans

and WALBURGA!!!!!! what do you think the fallout of that is going to be?

next time: y'all i'm so behind on chapters 😭 like i know the plot points i'm covering next (my outline is DETAILED and UNWIELDY) but i don't actually know how far through them i'll get in the next chapter? FORTUNATELY i'm done with school so that chaos is over and i have way more time on my hands. will be continuing the every other week update schedule for a while since i want to get a chapter backlog going. my dream is to get 20 chapters ahead before i go back to weekly updates but y'all know i frequently impulse post when i have a lot of chapters stored up so we'll see what happens

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 56

Notes:

tomorrow's going to be hectic for me, so updating early!

Dear Mother,

Regarding the incident I mentioned previously, Amycus Carrow had received a letter from Rabastan Lestrange instructing him and his friends to be a little more cautious about using Dark Arts at Hogwarts, since they cannot become full Death Eaters if they are sent to Azkaban. (I have not personally read this letter, but Bellatrix summarized its contents for me.) Carrow took strong offense to this message, blamed me for its being sent, and attempted to bait me into a shouting match about it in the middle of the common room with a substantial percentage of Slytherin watching (and listening), indicating that he had failed to grasp the concepts delineated in Rabastan's letter to a rather impressive degree. I refused to sink to his level, so he tried to turn it into a physical altercation. I should note that it was not a well-thought-out attempt at a fight; if he had gotten his way, it would have practically been a street brawl. He attacked with his hands, not his wand. As I am sure you can imagine, he lost.

Regulus

 

The room on the seventh floor provides a similar setting to the last time Regulus visited: worktables, bookshelves, floor-to-ceiling windows showing the grounds of Black Manor in the early evening. However, this time, it's added something new.

"It's smaller than the courts they use for professional dueling tournaments," Evan says.

"I doubt any of us will be fighting anyone in a stadium," Barty points out.

The dueling court isn't blocked off from the rest of the room, which is unusual. Regulus has only attended one dueling tournament, when Sirius wanted to go for his tenth birthday, and while he doesn't remember it very well, he remembers the wards, crystal clear in the center but glimmering purple around the edges, shielding the audience from the competition. (Ricochets are popular defensive moves, but they're risky for spectators.) This court has no such thing. It's sunk slightly into the floor, and the red squares marked in the pale hardwood floor indicating starting positions clearly identify it as a dueling court, but the lack of wards...

Wards need to be cast, though. Hogwarts can do more than any other building Regulus has encountered, but it's still a building. The wards on the castle and the grounds were set by the Founders, and they're maintained by people, not the building itself. There's no reason why this room should be capable of anything different.

But Regulus isn't particularly concerned with the specifics of the room, to be honest. The three of them have arrived well before the meeting is set to begin, and there is a very important reason why.

"I recruited someone else this week," he says, and both Barty and Evan immediately cease their inspection of the dueling court.

And look at each other.

Hm.

It's brief—only a moment, a blink from Evan, an infinitesimal shrug from Barty, and then Barty says, "Who?"

Logically, Regulus knows Barty and Evan speak to each other when he is not present. He is not always present, after all, and there's no reason for them not to talk to each other when he's showering, or doing rounds, or talking to Sirius in the stands and pretending it's Lily.

But does that mean they speak to each other about him?

Again, that's a completely normal idea—he and Evan have spoken about Barty. He and Barty have spoken about Evan quite a lot. It's something people do. All three of them are people the other two have in common.

Regulus is not going to ask about it.

Right now.

He has other priorities. He can't be derailed by something that shouldn't even have surprised him.

So.

One breath, shoulders settled, chin raised—this is a decision he's sure about, even if he hasn't completely sorted out the details, because someone likes to defy being sorted out, and everything will be fine if Regulus can simply point him at the enemy and trust that he will do something useful for the cause.

"Sirius."

For a moment, Regulus isn't sure he's even said it out loud—maybe he just thought it very loudly and mistook that for speaking, because Barty and Evan are looking at him with a faint air of expectation, but then it... morphs.

Barty's brow furrows.

Evan blinks a few times—the sun setting outside the window casts red and orange rays on his eyelashes, which Regulus is not thinking about right now—and says very neutrally, "Alright."

Regulus waits.

That's it.

As nice as he thought it would be to not have this particular path questioned, now that it's happening the way he hoped for, it's decidedly disconcerting. Or maybe that's less about the agreement and more about the looks on their faces—Evan is obviously thinking, or else he wouldn't be trying so hard to hide it, and Barty is...

"Are you telling us this now because he's coming to the meeting?" Barty says—just as neutral-sounding as Evan, but his face betrays him, the line between his eyebrows, the stiffness of his jaw.

Barty, at least, does not like this.

"He—" Regulus has to pivot to the truth at the last moment, can't go through with the optimistic version— "probably is. When I spoke to him, he was particularly motivated by hearing about what happened on Sunday. Time has passed since then, but the overall situation has not changed."

"Monday," Barty says. "The quidditch pitch."

It's not a question. "Yes."

"And is he with us, or just coming to the meeting?"

"With us." Now is probably the right time to explain his thought process. "Sirius left because of conflict stemming from blood purity. I can talk about going against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and what he stands for, but it'll be more convincing if I can prove that Sirius believes me, and he can find out what Dumbledore is doing more easily than I can—more easily than Lily can as well. And he can get to the non-Dark portion of the Sacred Twenty-Eight."

"That's all well and good," Evan says, "but does he understand where he fits into this? I mean... not to put too fine a point on it, but this is Sirius we're talking about."

"He knows he's not in charge," Regulus says. "I think he'll have some difficulty adjusting, but the process will be sped up dramatically once he realizes that he's a late addition compared to most of the people who will be attending." That prospect is mildly unsettling—as much as Sirius needs to know that Regulus is in charge, it's simply... never how their relationship worked, which makes this uncharted territory, and Regulus can't really envision how it would go poorly, but he also can't really envision how it would go well, so he's reduced to hoping that Sirius will at least save any drama for after the meeting.

But this needs to happen. So he'll figure it out.

"Well!" Evan claps his hands. "In that case, I think this will all be very interesting. Do let us know if McKinnon tries to stab you—it's not what I would do in her shoes, and it's not the most chivalrous thing in the world, but I don't think it's entirely out of the question, seeing as it's been six days."

"Lily says she's mostly over the Cup by now."

"Lily," he says airily, "sounds like a liar."

 

It's rather an assortment of people—Heather arrives with Antony and her friend Amanda Chen, who has been acting as a source of rumors in Hufflepuff for quite a while but to whom Regulus has never actually spoken properly despite them both being prefects. Jessica is next, followed shortly by Maeve, who is wearing significantly more jewelry than she had on at dinner—they have double Potions and Defense last on Fridays, neither of which are particularly friendly to valuable belongings. Amanda Chen is the odd one out so far, the only one who isn't in the Slytherin Dark Arts study group; she sticks to Heather like a burr for about two minutes before Evan wanders over and engages her in conversation about Arnold Macmillan of all people. However, said conversation is unduly interrupted by Foxworth and Rosendale, who arrive precisely when Evan has managed to circle around to Macmillan being Dark and Regulus has figured out his point—Macmillan and Chen are co-prefects, so Chen might be able to recruit him. Evan is dragged off course via Foxworth rambling about the room, so Regulus has to step in to pick up the thread of the conversation with Chen.

"We're friends, but it's awfully hard to get him alone," Chen explains. "At least, not subtly. I'll have to make up some sort of prefect issue when none of the other prefects are around to question it. Or something like that."

"In my experience, prefect responsibilities work quite well," Regulus says.

That makes her smile for some reason. "It's Smith who's the problem. They're impossible to separate recently. Unless you're about to tell me that she's Dark too and it's all fine."

Ah.

Them again.

"She is not," Regulus says. "Her family is rather anti-Dark Arts."

"That's kind of what I thought." She shrugs. "I'll see if I can get him after class."

 

Regulus isn't really surprised that the Gryffindors are last.

Lily and Marlene and Sirius all show up together, along with Dorcas Meadowes, who seems a little bewildered by Foxworth's presence, and he hers. But except for the Ravenclaws, everyone in the room seems much more interested in Sirius's arrival.

This is a key moment. If Regulus lets Sirius's presence steal the spotlight, it's tantamount to letting everyone think that Sirius's endorsement of Regulus's plan is more important than Regulus's plan itself. He's not here on Sirius's permission.

Time to make that clear.

He pulls away from the crowd, takes a few steps and turns to face them, enough motion to draw people's attention, purposeful enough that it doesn't look like he's just wandering around the room. Sirius showing up has contributed to this, somewhat ironically, by putting a damper on conversations. People are already prepared to stop talking in favor of observing—Regulus just has to make himself the center of attention. Straightforward enough.

"All of you already know why you're here." Creating a sense of group identity—not just shared goals, but exclusivity; everyone here has been personally recruited with Regulus's approval, if not his direct intervention. "We live in a time when Dark Arts are used as shorthand for evil magic. They are decried as wicked by some and embraced as tools of fear and control by others. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has used Dark Arts as a rallying cry to draw support from those who would otherwise reject his promotion of blood purist practices. This conflation of Dark magic with pureblood supremacy is unacceptable." Basic? Yes. Necessary to ensure everyone is on the same page? Also yes. Many people in this room have not heard these sentiments directly from Regulus. Heather or Barty or McKinnon arguing against blood purity sounds, by default, significantly more plausible than Regulus doing it. They have to see the ideological consistency for themselves. "However, it is true that the practice of Dark Arts has been historically restricted to a very small, almost exclusively pureblood subset of magical Britain, which only serves to enable fearmongering rhetoric against it."

Meredith Rosendale's hand shoots into the air, which presents Regulus with a dilemma. Does he interrupt himself to answer whatever question she has, risking moving away from his main points and finding himself unable to circle back, or does he ignore her, risking presenting himself as self-absorbed?

Image is more important in this case. He bundles together the remainder of what he intended to say and gives it a prominent place in his mind, to minimize the chances of him forgetting something. "Yes?"

"Is it a formal restriction?" she says. "Are there specific things people need to do in order to join whatever... cohort does practice Dark Arts?"

At least it's a simple question. "They need to be trusted not to get caught. The Ministry has only grown more anti-Dark in the wake of Grindelwald, and the rise of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named hardly helps the situation."

"Is he in the Dark..."

"Network," Regulus fills in. "No. If he were, I expect he would be using Dark Arts for far more useful purposes than causing harm to others. His tendency towards violence suggests a superficial understanding of why Dark Arts exist."

"Why do they exist, then?" Carlisle Foxworth chimes in, without bothering to raise his hand.

It seems they have entered the question-and-answer portion of the study group meeting. Very well. "That's more a question of why the category exists than a question of why the magic itself does. Dark Arts used to be quite common. Hogwarts has certainly been familiar with them since its founding. More recently, in the sixteenth century, particularly fundamental or large-scale acts of magic were blamed for sparking witch hunts; 'Dark Arts' as a term came into use; and the type of magical practice deemed 'acceptable' has narrowed more and more ever since." This is more of a dispassionate rendition of events than many people in the Dark network would provide, but Regulus simply does not have time to get into House Weasley's role and the founding of the Ministry. Or rather, he does, but that is quite far from being the point of this meeting.

"I want to go back to the useful purposes," Rosendale says. "Do you have any diagrams handy? I'm a visual learner."

Regulus summons up his best imitation of Narcissa's composure in all situations. "I think you will find many of your questions answered by the introductory text to practicing Dark Arts, several copies of the latest edition of which have been provided by the room."

"There are books?!"

 

Having thus sufficiently distracted Rosendale (and Foxworth) with a copy of A Brief Introduction to Wielding the Dark, Regulus is able to walk everyone else through the difference between general Dark Arts and specialties, aided by an impromptu demonstration from Maeve of how casting the same spell— Incendio, in this case—has different results for her depending on whether she uses her diamond earrings or her amethyst necklace as a power source.

In both cases, the burst of flame is large enough to make Regulus silently question her choice of spell, but it certainly makes her point—the former burns blue at its core, hotter than any other Incendio Regulus has ever seen, while the latter reaches rather too close to the ceiling for comfort. He doesn't see Maeve actually use her family magic very often—in Slytherin study group meetings, she's spent much of her time helping Lucinda through the basics. It's fortunate that she was able to do so; the Black specialty is difficult to demonstrate, and Regulus doesn't want to be frivolous about using it, anyway. The Flint family specialty is in such early days that Regulus doesn't even know what it is, so Antony couldn't have demonstrated, and from what he's heard, every single McKinnon casting requires more than one person contributing.

Fire is showy, and so are precious gems, and a demonstration captures the group's imaginations in a way that simply speaking does not. As soon as Maeve has tucked her necklace back under her robes, the mood shifts—this is a study group, after all, and its attendees are now quite inspired to do just that.

 

Regulus makes rounds, moving between groups to answer questions and offer suggestions, which is not interesting. Most people don't start learning Dark Arts along with the alphabet; however, Regulus is not most people, and repeating the exact same things every few minutes is even more tiresome when they're things he could recite in his sleep—but he's determined to do a good job, which is how he fails to notice Barty and Maeve on the dueling court until he hears Barty cackling.

"I can't even be mad," Barty is saying to Maeve as Regulus approaches. "Dual wielding is underrated."

"Everything we learn in Defense is so wobbly." Maeve is indeed dual-wielding—but instead of a contrasting wand, her off-hand weapon seems to be a very sharp rock, which explains the pile of pieces of rope scattered around her feet. "I have to drop it after the OWL because my ability to keep from raising my hand and suggesting hitting your enemy over the head with a brick is getting so worn down."

"It's like they don't even want to encourage violent problem-solving," Barty says.

"Explains a lot of the issues Dumbledore's side has been having, I guess. What was that stance you used?"

They seem to be doing fine, so Regulus resigns himself to going back to the other side of the room. He saw Evan and Heather and Lily discussing something, aided by someone either requesting, conjuring, or discovering writing materials, which has the potential to be intriguing.

But when he turns around, he finds Sirius.

"Hello," Regulus says, because they haven't actually spoken yet today (or at all since Monday, really—Lily has been the point of communication for all of Regulus's Gryffindor recruits, as well as Meadowes, as is only reasonable).

Sirius's version of a greeting is a nod. If he intends it to look casual, he fails, because last Regulus checked, Sirius was with McKinnon rooting through the bookshelves on the other side of the room.

And it is a large room.

"Nice speech," Sirius says, and Regulus's mood goes from vaguely bored to sour in an instant.

It was a mediocre speech at best. He's not really sure how to rally the masses—the days of the lords of House Black commanding vassals are long, long, long over. Regulus can speak to individuals, and to small groups; he can construct arguments or tear them down, be persuasive or derisive, even manage entire rooms of people, but that is not the same thing as motivating people to fight.

Not that fighting is the goal for today—the goal for today is establishing the group and its power structure, as well as following through on his deal with Lily to ensure that Muggleborns wouldn't continue to be locked out of the Dark network. And, apparently, making sure Maeve does not light anyone or anything on fire. (Regulus was unaware of this particular proclivity of hers before today. It may or may not be a good thing that he has provided a suitable venue in which she may express it.)

But this group-building, making deals, following through on them, bringing recruits, expanding his support base, none of it means anything if they don't hold steadfast, if they're fractured by other deals that sound more exciting. Voldemort is skilled at this; he's the greatest orator in the world, to hear Bellatrix tell it, although she's biased. And Dumbledore... Regulus doesn't know, but people are more than willing to die for him. And that requires faith, loyalty, and mortal conviction.

Loyalty means little more than blood, in his family. The rest is leverage.

On some level, he's totally unsurprised by the idea that he will have to seek out strategies beyond what he's learned from watching his relatives. On another level... well, it's deeply unsatisfying.

So it was not a 'nice speech,' a fact of which Sirius is almost certainly aware. Flattery is stupid when both parties know what it is, and Sirius doesn't have any reason to attempt to flatter Regulus in the first place, and that makes it a taunt, and then Regulus will have to talk Barty around to the idea of Sirius working with them while also not being entirely happy with it himself and that endeavor might actually be more painful than being cornered by Foxworth and Rosendale again, who have gotten through an astonishing two whole pages of the preface to the Brief Introduction and seem to have more questions than answers. Or they did five minutes ago.

Sirius presses on with this conversational opening gambit. "Did you ask for Black Manor, or did it just know?"

A strange pivot, but a better topic than the speech, and the switch is rapid enough that Regulus suspects he's actually getting at something else and is just working his way around to it in an uncharacteristically circuitous fashion. "I didn't ask. I don't believe the room draws any particular inspiration from the manor house. It's just the grounds."

"Have you... been there, recently?"

"No." Regulus refrains from adding an Obviously not. "Father's long-standing opinion on the matter has not somehow changed over the past ten months."

That is a mistake, and the moment he hears it, he wants to claw it back into his mouth.

It hasn't been ten months, of course—it's been ten months and one day, but even that precise of an estimate is too precise for Sirius to hear.

"Guess not, no," Sirius says. "Do you think it could do the Manor, though, if we asked?"

Regulus does not ask what Sirius's point is.

But he's not sure how to respond. 'No apparent point' means one of two things—either pure socializing or a point he doesn't understand. Regulus knows how to deal with the former.

The latter never used to be an issue with Sirius.

"I don't know," he says, and he can't decide whether to suggest that they try it or not.

Notes:

regulus misses the good old days when his only problem with carlisle foxworth was his crush on evan

on the one hand curiosity is important, gotta support learning and all that. on the other hand if i were making a speech and someone raised their hand to ask if i had any diagrams on hand for an impromptu answer i gave to an impromptu question that was ALREADY interrupting my speech,,,,,,,,,

(glahdkjghf foxworth and rosendale and regulus's opinions re: them bring me much joy, they're just living their lives with wild abandon and he Cannot Stand It But He Has To)

regulus: prefect duties work pretty well as an excuse in my experience
amanda chen, experiencing flashbacks to a LONG conversation she had in double potions with her potions partner ottoline colfax, who had some interesting tidbits to share about regulus black's 'prefect duties': uh huh i bet they do

regulus, game face on: i recruited someone new
barty: >.>
evan: <.<
regulus:
regulus: do you guys talk about me 🥺

walburga in her letter: give me a detailed account of how your fight with amycus carrow went down
regulus's version of the details: *just roast after roast after roast*

'point him at the enemy and trust that he will do something useful' is also regulus's interpretation of gryffindor's beater strategy re: sirius, make of that what you will

also sPEAKING of sirius: wow i'm so glad that he and regulus sorted out all their problems and will never have another emotional conversation ever again<3

ALRIGHT DISCUSSION QUESTION TIME!!
1. what do you think is going through barty's head re: sirius's recruitment?
2. how tired is regulus of his study group's shenanigans on day 1, on a scale from 'bellatrix casting her very first unforgivable' to 'dumbledore trying to hire a new defense professor'?
3. why DON'T they just bash their enemies over the head with bricks?
4. what do you think sirius's point is?

next time: evan talks ducklings!! regulus and barty finish each other's sentences!! barty begins to have fun with the 'regulus likes evan' bombshell, which regulus is very happy about (not)!!

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 57

Notes:

once again posting early bc tomorrow will be chaotic for me

That night, in their room, Regulus says, "Sirius has thrown his lot in with McKinnon, with regard to war positioning. I think that will render the dynamics of our side quite straightforward."

Barty pauses in the middle of untying his shoes. He doesn't say anything.

Evan, rummaging in his desk for something, says, "I concur! Not that I thought he'd try to stage a coup, because that has really never been his style, but, you know, people get accustomed to being the elder—he seems at least aware of that, so now we just have to worry about the Gryffindors forming their own little contingent, but Lily was networking a fair bit and McKinnon will follow her, so if Sirius follows her— most of the way, that is, I don't think we'd ever get a perfect match—then we'll have a nice row of lion-y ducklings making friends with Heather and Antony, and proceeding from there, they should be very well enmeshed in the group, especially seeing as McKinnon has Meadowes and Meadowes knows Foxworth and Foxworth and Rosendale could not be pried away from the study group for anything less than private lessons in Dark Arts by now—well done on that, by the way!"

It's said more like an afterthought than anything else, certainly not meant to be particularly deep or meaningful, but immediately, Regulus is marginally less disgruntled with how the meeting went. Evan's right that it was a success in terms of inspiring group cohesion, and Regulus did manage to stop Foxworth and Rosendale from attempting to drain the nearest object (a table) 'to see what would happen,' on the grounds that jumping right into wielding external power sources was a terrible idea and there was a distinct risk that using anything supplied by the room would start a vacuum and then they would all die. So everyone got along, and nobody died or was even injured. That's quite a bit better than many of the family gatherings Regulus has attended.

Before he can try to come up with an acknowledgment, though, Evan resurfaces from his desk with a small glass bottle of ink that—that Regulus is positive was dusty only a moment ago. "Naturally, there's always our direct intervention to make sure the Gryffindors disperse a little, but I meant beyond that—micromanaging interpersonal relationships doesn't scale very well, does it? But I think it's on a good course to self-sustain. And Lily says she likes yellow ink—I suppose the lighting is better in Gryffindor Tower." He inspects the ink bottle, perfectly clear glass and dandelion-yellow ink that could almost look like Felix Felicis out of the corner of Regulus's eye. Regulus has only seen Evan perform that one wandless Summoning Charm, which could have potentially infinite uses—but if each wandless spell has to be learned individually (which it may or may not—Regulus doesn't know how it works), then why put in the effort to learn a cleaning charm? Evan has probably never been called upon to clean anything in his entire life. "Do you think it'll provoke an interesting reaction from Potter if I wrap this up very nicely and have Caspian deliver it to Lily at dinner?"

"Probably not," Regulus says.

He sighs, in the elegant way that means he doesn't really mean it. "Pity."

Evan is certainly capable of crafting some sort of elaborate giftwrapping that would provoke an interesting reaction from Potter, if only bewilderment, but Regulus suspects that 'bewilderment' is not the sort of reaction Evan means.

And he'd be more than capable of achieving the other effect as well, probably.

But that's not the sort of attention they need on who is corresponding with Lily and why. So even though it's possible, that does not make it a good idea.

"I don't think Sirius is going to cause problems in the group," Barty says quite suddenly. "But he's dependent on Potter, and we all know Dumbledore will be trying to recruit him, even if Sirius didn't say as much on Monday, and I don't trust him to—I don't trust him not to prioritize Potter, when things come down to it. He can't have both."

Hm.

It's a reasonable concern. But Regulus depends on his parents, who want him to join the Death Eaters, and Barty depends on his parents, at least fifty percent of whom most certainly do not want him anywhere near Dark Arts, and House Potter is financially supporting Sirius right now, that's true, but... that doesn't mean it has to be forever.

And it's not just about Potter—Sirius has a stake in this conflict for himself too. He has opinions about Dark Arts, and a history, even if he's not currently an especially avid practitioner. Which could change.

But Sirius would live to see the other side of the war either way, wouldn't he? As long as Voldemort didn't win, and even then, he'd have a shot, unless he decided to go down in a blaze of glory rather than surrender quietly, which he very well might—

"That's exactly the point of making sure he has personal ties to multiple people on our side," Evan says to Barty. "We have to build that pull. Nobody's actually trustworthy, if you're looking at them from the wrong angle. So it's a factor, not a dealbreaker, and we can account for it. Make our angle the right one."

"I didn't say it was a dealbreaker," Barty says. "Just that him showing up doesn't mean he's earned our trust. He's already—"

He cuts himself off.

But Regulus has quite a bit of practice at following Barty's thought processes.

"Left once."

Saying it makes Barty whip around to look at him, sharp, almost guilty—but he doesn't contradict Regulus, and he doesn't back down.

"I know he has." It's easier not to think about it at Hogwarts, where Regulus's life before the disownment and after it have looked very similar, where they've never shared a class or a meal or a quidditch practice. "But—" He channels Narcissa, keeps his voice measured, even— "I didn't expect familial loyalty to be a factor in his decision-making then, and I don't expect it to be one now. It's not like he's a Hufflepuff." And it's been a long time since Regulus was able to rely on Sirius because of the simple fact that they were brothers.

Somehow, this only makes Barty's face fall. "Reg. I didn't mean that I don't think he cares."

"That is the assumption that we have to make." Regulus's throat is growing strained. He takes a moment, mentally lists everything he needs to shower before bed, one breath. "Evan is right. We have to be realistic. That includes making sure he has more reasons to remain with us than he does to go over to Dumbledore. I will not gamble."

"Don't assume the worst," Evan says very brightly. "He did come back. Excuse me."

And then he's gone, stepping into his wardrobe and closing the door all the way. It shuts with a definitive click. The bottle of yellow ink gleams on his desk, sparkling clean but set down askew, and Regulus remembers Katherine and feels a little ill.

Does he go after him? Evan shut the door instead of leaving it ajar, which is practically the same thing as locking it, and that suggests no, but—he shouldn't have to just be alone in there, and the conversation wasn't going in any productive directions anyway, so if he's just trying not to interrupt, it's unnecessary, but maybe he doesn't want to see Regulus right now—maybe he doesn't want to talk about it, but Regulus—Regulus never wants to talk about Sirius. And Evan offered anyway, after spring break.

He could write in his journal. Then Evan could ignore it if he'd prefer not to.

 

If you want to talk about it, I'll listen.

 

Hopefully Evan will know what he's referring to.

Hopefully Evan will see it—Regulus actually isn't sure where he keeps his journal. It turns up when Evan needs it, and then away it goes. He's never seen Evan open a drawer or his trunk or wardrobe to put it away, and it doesn't stay on his desk, but it obviously goes somewhere, and Evan has proven in the past that he can be creative with space.

He blots the ink, waits a little for it to dry, closes his journal, and Barty says, "Regulus."

Regulus looks up.

Barty's managed to complete the job of removing his shoes, obvious in how he walks over, quiet footsteps against the dark gray carpet. It's thin, and honestly, Regulus thinks the only reason it's there is to reduce the chill of the stone floor underneath—not good for muffling anything. The rug in Evan's wardrobe is nicer.

Barty leans against the edge of Regulus's desk, fingers tapping on the corner. "When I said he couldn't have both, I meant the war."

That doesn't change the fact that Sirius has never had both, and Regulus doesn't pretend to guess at why. They barely spoke even before Sirius was disowned, locked into some sort of icy stand-off behind opposite closed doors, and when the doors opened, they never produced anything better than a stalemate.

"He can't straddle the line between you and Dumbledore forever. But you know that."

He does.

"I don't know him," Barty says, and it's fact. "I don't know what he'll do. We're choking on variables a little here. But he came back, like Evan said. He showed up tonight, too. No matter what he thinks about the war, it says something about how he feels about you, doesn't it? That he was there at all."

Maybe.

"You don't have to try to put a nice veneer on it," Regulus says, and it comes out wryly, the way he wanted it to. It helps that Barty isn't saying anything Regulus doesn't already know, isn't pulling at any threads Regulus hasn't already unraveled. "He's been choosing Potter since well before he had to choose. And you're right. We can't just ignore that and hope for the best."

"I don't—" Barty makes a frustrated noise. "Look, I don't actually think he's going to gut you and run off to Dumbledore. It's possible—same as I'd say for anyone else with his history and his connections—but I just mean... you treat every word he says to you like it matters so much, even if you hate it, and fine, yes, he's your brother. Of course he matters. But—I'm worried."

"Yes, you've made that clear."

"Not about that. About you."

What?

Barty is still tapping on the desk, with the pads of his fingertips, not his nails, so Regulus can barely hear it over the normal sounds of the dungeons—muffled footsteps and conversations outside their room, water somewhere, because there's always water. Did Slytherin want his students living in the dungeons? Maybe he did. There's that stained glass window in the portrait gallery that shows him by the Black Lake, so maybe he liked the idea of being near it. (Or practically in it, as the case may be.) And Gryffindor's window shows him on the open portion of the Astronomy Tower, so close to the edge that the wind threatens to push him over it, and Gryffindors live in a tower nearly as tall, and all of that just seems perfectly appropriate.

"You get in your head about him, and then you stay there." Barty's not looking at him, chin raised like he's talking to the other side of the room. "You don't have to."

"I wasn't sure how to tell you I'd recruited him."

"You weren't sure how to tell me you were considering it."

Well. That too.

"That's alright," Barty says. "But if you're going to overthink anyone, let it be him. Not me. I don't want to be that to you."

Regulus didn't mean to overthink it, or even to conceal it, really. He just... found it very easy to keep his mouth shut.

"He'll be useful." Out of the corner of his eye, he sees black trailing over the gold bookmark in his journal. Evan, hopefully, but—Evan can wait a moment. "I don't want to drag out the war, Barty. Neither of us needs that."

"I," Barty says, "don't want you spinning in circles over Sirius because you're trying to work it all out in your own head. I think..." He hesitates, presses forward. "I believe you. That he'll help us win. But I think that wasn't your only reason to recruit him. And if that's true, you don't have to talk around it. I'm not going to think badly of you for wanting him on our side."

Oh.

"Just—it's okay," softer now, still towards the other side of the room, but Barty is close enough that Regulus can hear every word. "Whatever's going through your head, it's okay. I'll help."

Regulus could respond in infinite ways, from a rambling speech to nothing at all, but his mind is blank, and the only possible accompaniment to the swelling in his chest is, "Thank you."

"Oh, and speaking of things going on in your head." Barty raises an eyebrow at Regulus, lowers his voice even more, almost to a whisper. "So, about your rather convenient declaration that you don't think there's any point in Evan trying to make Potter jealous."

Any relief Regulus had that they were past the murky, emotional part of the conversation evaporates.

"We don't need any outsiders trying to figure out how they know each other," he points out with a reasonable amount of dignity.

"That is true. And yet, not how you chose to respond, curiously enough." He's beginning to smile in a way that reminds Regulus of the time when he hit Sirius in the face with a pillow, aged seven or so, for some sort of embarrassment-related crime Regulus doesn't remember now. This mental association is not putting him at ease. "Is this what feelings do to people? Yikes. I feel like I should be taking notes on the progression of your symptoms."

Regulus chooses to reply with as much icy composure as possible. "I feel like you should be keeping your voice down."

"I could do an anthropological study. I could conduct experiments."

"No."

"I could do field research."

"Absolutely not." Regulus doesn't even want to know what that would entail.

But Barty is grinning, clearly enthralled with his own humor (they'd better be jokes), so he opts to open his journal and hope that Barty will run out of inspiration very quickly.

Sure enough, there's a message from Evan, two lines in swooping handwriting.

 

I'd rather not. I do appreciate the offer.

Maybe another time.

 

Well.

That's... anticlimactic.

Regulus writes back anyway.

 

Did you use wandless magic on the ink bottle?

 

The response, immediate, is It was filthy and I have standards.

Which isn't quite a yes, but definitely isn't a no, and more importantly sounds less uncharacteristically... subdued. Regulus is probably on the right track with the topic change.

 

That's an evocative non-answer.

 

Oh, I trust that you're more than clever enough to extrapolate.

 

Regulus is dimly aware of Barty going back to his side of the room and shuffling through his desk.

What he's not expecting is for Barty to come back, slap a piece of parchment down on Regulus's desk, and start writing, narrating in a (thankfully) hushed voice. "On this day, April the twenty-seventh, 1977, Regulus used his journal to write what I can only assume is a love letter, based on—"

"Barty."

"—the sudden onset of a sunburn-like tinge to his face, which I associated heretofore solely with practical Herbology and quidditch—"

"Burn that."

"—although now that I think about it, quidditch does have a certain confounding variable."

Regulus takes his fate into his own hands via snatching the quill from Barty's. "Maeve cast quite a few fire spells at the meeting. Don't make me jealous of her."

"Please." Barty snatches the quill back, scribbles a rather complicated rune chain on the corner of the parchment, then turns it towards Regulus. "Activate? My wand's over on my desk."

It's almost a standard obfuscation chain, but there's a starburst of fire runes around it. "What is this going to do?"

"The first layer makes it look like homework. The second layer makes it explode if Evan touches it."

"It explodes?"

"Only a little bit." Barty grins. "Everyone needs a failsafe."

 

On Sunday, fifteen days before OWLs begin, Regulus takes a break from quizzing Barty on object bindings (which is, in and of itself, a break from slogging through a review of jinx theory) to go for a walk.

Not for the sake of taking a walk, of course. Both Fountain Court and the solarium are absolutely overrun with students at this time of the year, and Heather refused to meet somewhere without natural light, seeing as she does most of her studying in the common room and has gotten thoroughly sick of the dungeons. The grounds are busy too, with scattered clumps of students all over the place, but Heather circles around the castle until they're on the side opposite the Black Lake, which is nearly deserted—there are a pair of Hufflepuffs who look like first-years poring over a textbook, but they're far enough away that the muffling ward Regulus casts is practically unnecessary.

"Fideline Fawcett never came home on Tuesday night," Heather says. "That's why the Fawcetts left on Wednesday. She's their mother. Political opinion writer for the Daily Prophet, so, I'm sure you see the connection there."

"Blood traitor?" Regulus says.

"Well, half-blood, actually, but politically speaking, yes." She worries at her lip. "There's nothing we can do, is there?"

It's been almost a week. If the Death Eaters have her, which they definitely do, then... she's either dead or close to it. "Not for her, I think. But you sent the letter to Scrimgeour on Monday, so if the DMLE moves fast enough, they may be able to do something."

"Thistle didn't get back until Friday morning."

Ah.

So, assuming the trips there and back were about the same length, Heather's owl arrived on Wednesday.

The problem with the DMLE is that it's headed by Barty's father, who will never permit a single breach of procedure. This is an excellent trait when one is on trial for some sort of crime, as a sufficiently competent defense lawyer can find a breach wherever it is most convenient (or so Regulus has been informed; it's been a long time since any of the Blacks were arrested, much less put on trial), but it's bad for speed.

The Order of the Phoenix doesn't have that problem. (Or, well, not to the same extent. They still balk at Unforgivables, and while Regulus understands and frankly shares the lack of interest in the Cruciatus, the other two do have useful applications in warfare.)

But tipping off the Order is different from writing to the Ministry. Regulus doesn't want to give them any sort of ground. If Voldemort beats Dumbledore, Regulus can organize his own coalition to beat Voldemort, with the Ministry as grudging allies against the blood purists. If Voldemort and Dumbledore tear each other to pieces, Regulus can deal the final blow to both. But if Dumbledore beats Voldemort, then Regulus will be forced into filling Voldemort's shoes—heir to the cause of promoting Dark Arts in Britain, painted as evil for his magical practice, with the link to blood purity following intuitively for most people. Especially if Dumbledore pushes that narrative. Which he will, if he gets the chance.

It's too late to save Fideline Fawcett.

But what about everyone who comes after her?

Regulus doesn't know where they keep captives. He has ideas—it'll be a Lestrange or Malfoy property, unless Voldemort has some sort of hidden estate—but even if he could draw a map on Dumbledore's desk, there are still the wards to consider. Breaking through those takes either incredible skill with cursebreaking (and some blood from the right family) or wanton destruction on a scale that neither the Ministry nor the Order seems willing to commit.

Although if Regulus could persuade the Order to burn a Sacred Twenty-Eight property to the ground...

It would probably take Fiendfyre to break through the wards for any Dark family, and the best wards can resist that to a certain extent anyway. Never mind.

"We'll see what Scrimgeour can accomplish with the letter from this week, then create a plan to move forward," he says. "The Ministry has struggled to identify Death Eaters, but when they get one handed to them, that may break a barrier." If Scrimgeour's smart, he'll capture Rookwood alive, notice the magical bond in Rookwood's Dark Mark, and get a team of Unspeakables and Aurors onto tracing it immediately.

If he's not, Regulus will have to get creative.

Notes:

i love evan with my whole heart but if you handed him a mop and a bucket of soapy water he'd need instructions

but why clean things by hAND when you have MAGIC AYYYYYYYYYYYY

evan: hey regulus :) do you think it would be funny if i worked my absolute hardest to make james potter jealous of me :) do YOU think that would be funny :)
regulus: no.
barty: *snrk*

speaking of barty, what do you think of his concerns re: sirius?

i am now taking bets for where you think evan keeps his journal

poor regulus takes one (1) miniscule step in the direction of flirting with evan via magic journals and immediately gets SLAM DUNKED by barty with the field notes

and the return of bexplosion<3

when you have certain political ambitions for yourself, you have to weigh those against humanitarian concerns for other people - regulus needs to decide how much of a chessmaster he's going to be, and how long he can delay that decision. and he will face external pressure as well to go a certain way

next time: PALMISTRY. MESSAGES IN ALL CAPS. BREAKING NEWS???????

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 58

The last palmistry review arrives before Regulus is ready for it.

He's not entirely sure he would ever be ready for it, but he didn't even come up with a plan for how to cope—there were too many items calling for his attention last week, and as a matter of fact, it completely slips his mind until they're walking to Divination after lunch and Evan says casually, "It's terribly unfortunate that I don't get to read your palm on the OWL."

He doesn't wait for a response from Regulus, which is good, because Regulus has not the faintest idea of what to say to that. "The examiner's hand is probably going to be all... elderly, and I'll have to make grim predictions about their life line in the interest of being honest, and their love line will say something disappointing like Get your heart broken at twenty-three and prove yourself utterly incapable of getting over it. Reading your palm is always much more interesting."

It's only interesting because Evan looks at Regulus's hand and makes up whatever he feels like predicting in the moment.

But even knowing that Evan is just going to say something melodramatic and fictional, Regulus has a very bad feeling about how today is going to go.

 

He's right.

It's horrible.

The tables in the Divination classroom have to be small; students are constantly exchanging teacups or sharing a crystal ball or reading palms, and Professor Cato says that the cluttered, close environment of the classroom better reflects the circumstances in which most divination is performed, compared to more traditionally arranged classrooms, which he regards as sterile and overly objective.

Regulus discovers somewhat of a previously unrealized fondness for those sterile and objective classrooms the moment they sit down. Because Evan's knee brushes his under the table—just barely, Evan probably hasn't even noticed—and it's as if Regulus suddenly forgets how to sit normally. He's an expert at sitting. He's been doing it for years. And yet he can't figure out how he's meant to react, because if he shifts closer Evan will certainly notice, but if he moves away it might come across as rude, so the best option is to stay where he is, as if he's unfazed, but staying exactly where he is turns out to be quite a lot of work, more along the lines of freezing in place than casually refraining from moving, and Professor Cato hasn't even started class yet.

Once he finally does, Regulus turns toward the front of the classroom to pay attention, but he can't help noticing Evan propping his chin in one hand, staring off into some sort of dreamy distance—and Cato finishes giving instructions, and Regulus expects Evan to immediately admit to not listening to a word of them, but that doesn't mean he's prepared for Evan to lean over the table, close enough to Regulus's ear to whisper, "What are we doing? I forgot to pay attention."

 

It gets worse from there.

Regulus volunteers to read Evan's palm first, with some sort of half-formed idea that it'll be easier than the reverse because he can just focus on Evan's hand and not Evan himself.

This goes poorly. Evan offers his hand easily, and Regulus promptly overthinks how to hold it, where precisely his fingers should rest, whether Evan's noticed that Regulus's hands feel a bit sweaty—that prospect is unsettling enough that Regulus does his best to casually avoid letting his palm touch the back of Evan's hand, and as it turns out, holding someone else's hand steady using only one's fingertips is uncomfortable— and how closely Regulus is meant to look, because despite the hours he has spent reading Evan's palm in the past, he suddenly can't remember the proper distance, because he can't see the lines on Evan's palm if he's too far, but if he's too close then he's too close. To top it all off, even when staring determinedly at Evan's hand, Regulus can feel Evan's eyes on him, and it's all he can do to remember which planets correspond with which parts of the hand, much less interpret them with any degree of insight.

And then, of course, they switch.

When Evan takes his hand, it's simple, as if they've done this a hundred times (they definitely have), but how is it possible that Regulus has practiced palmistry so many times and never truly noticed how it feels to let his hand rest in Evan's? (Well. He's trying to, at least, focusing on breathing slowly and evenly through his nose and keeping his fingers relaxed.) Evan's palm is flush against the back of Regulus's hand, warm, steady, with quidditch calluses just slightly rougher than the rest of his hand, and Regulus finds himself wondering if they have the same patterns—do their hands show the same kind of wear? If their palms were pressed together, would they match? And Evan's index finger curls around Regulus's wrist, the tiniest bit, not enough to mean anything except that Evan could have held his hand more loosely and didn't.

Very unlike what Regulus did, and he has to push down the bewildering urge to ask to try again.

Evan studies their hands—Regulus's hand—for a long moment, a hush against the sound of the other students discussing predictions and techniques, the fire crackling, someone's foot tapping against the floor—all of it melts into a background painted in caramel and honey.

Then Evan says cheerily, "I am endlessly fascinated by your hands," and Regulus remembers that there is no way this will be anything other than a painfully enthralling flavor of awful.

"That's why I always want to practice with you," he continues, because apparently today is the day when Evan has decided what his 'predictions' really need is a preface. "If we're being honest, I don't think I'll ever get tired of it—holding your hand is just so very educational, and really, I think my own personal devotion to the art of palmistry is due in large part to having you as my partner. If not entirely so." He beams at Regulus, sparkling like sunlight on waves, clearly immensely pleased with himself although Regulus cannot possibly fathom what for. "And you listen to the directions so I don't have to. Where on earth would I be without you?"

In response, Regulus manages a deeply uncreative, but hopefully acceptable, "Where indeed?"

"Nowhere fun," Evan says solemnly. "Possibly detention. We'll have to be sure to take all the same NEWTs."

Regulus is dangerously close to just— agreeing, which is a ludicrous idea because Evan will not want to continue Transfiguration and Regulus is definitely not continuing Charms, but this year, they're in almost all the same classes, almost all the same groups. Aside from Ancient Runes and prefect duties, not to mention early Chaser practices, they can easily spend a whole day together.

And that will change.

Regulus doesn't want it to—he wants to go on worrying about how close to sit, about going off alone for tutoring, about whether Evan's looking at him or not—

"Did you know that your fate line intersects with your love line?" Evan adds, and Regulus wants to die.

 

He does not, but it's a near thing. Evan barely deviates from the topic of Regulus's love line for the rest of class, devoting quite a bit of time to destiny, and at one point he asks Regulus whether he thinks it's possible for soulmates to exist and Regulus has to ask him to repeat the question just to play for time. Evan doesn't seem at all bothered—his eyes crinkle up at the corners, and Regulus can't look away.

It's their last review of palmistry. Regulus can't tell if he's relieved or not.

 

Maeve persuades Theophania to join the next meeting of the Slytherin Dark Arts study group. (Since not all of them are in the inter-house one, Regulus is in the position of having to run two study groups concurrently, both of them secret. It eats up enough of his time that he's strongly considering just studying for OWLs during these meetings, because he has to do it somehow.)

"She knows Horatio is a Death Eater, and she's worried their parents will cut him off," Maeve says later, chewing on her thumbnail. "I think she's hoping he'll come to his senses and find a way to quit."

That won't happen, but Regulus doesn't need to say it. Maeve obviously knows.

 

The next day, the war breaks open.

When Regulus wakes up, he has a message waiting in his journal, bright red capital letters from Lily that just say SCRIMGEOUR!!!! HOLY HELL!!!!

Regulus wastes no time in writing back. What happened?

 

HE ARRESTED ROOKWOOD LATE LAST NIGHT—IT'S FRONT PAGE IN THE PROPHET.

WELL, IT JUST SAYS 'A DEATH EATER IN THE MINISTRY' BUT WE KNOW!

STATEMENT FROM BARTEMIUS CROUCH (WHAT DO YOU CALL HIM? FEELS WEIRD SINCE I KNOW BARTY NOW) IN THE ARTICLE AS WELL—HUGE MINISTRY PURGE.

 

Does the article say anything about what's happening to Rookwood, trial-wise?

Also, how do you already have today's Prophet?

I just call him Barty's father.

 

TRIAL COMING ONCE DMLE INVESTIGATORS HAVE HAD THEIR CRACK AT ROOKWOOD, BASICALLY.

 

So presumably they're trying to find something to charge him with besides simply being a Death Eater.

 

YEP—BUT JUST BEING A DEATH EATER IS ENOUGH FOR AN AZKABAN SENTENCE!

MY ROOMMATE SHREYA GETS THE PROPHET DELIVERED, IT ALWAYS GETS HERE AT THE CRACK OF DAWN, IT'S USUALLY HUGELY ANNOYING. I GUESS OWLS CAN'T FLY THROUGH THE LAKE TO GET TO YOU?

 

Even if they could, it's not like we'd be able to open the windows to let them in.

 

YOU CAN'T? WOW. GOD FORBID ANY SLYTHERIN HAS CLAUSTROPHOBIA.

 

Should he wake Barty and Evan up to tell them? It's not that early—Barty would have to wake up soon anyway, and Evan is probably already awake and just not getting up, and they'll want to hear this.

Barty's bed is near Regulus's desk. He knocks on the bedpost, for lack of a better idea. "Barty, your father is doing something useful."

An unintelligible grunt emerges from within, followed shortly by Barty making several attempts to find the gap in his bed curtains. Eventually, he succeeds and pushes one to the side, bleary-eyed with pillow creases on his cheek. "Did you say something about my father?"

Regulus can feel a smile tugging at his mouth. He lets it happen. "He's purging the Ministry of Death Eaters, after having been confronted with the unfortunate realization that there's been at least one right under his nose."

"Rookwood's arrested?"

"As of last night."

"Wait, what?" Evan tumbles out of bed, far more alert than Barty seems, awake enough to beam as he rushes over. "He did it?"

They wrote to Scrimgeour entirely on Evan's information—information he didn't want to give too many details on.

Whatever Rosier family secret is lying under the surface here, Regulus said he'd trust Evan, and trusting Evan has gotten one Death Eater in the bag, with the promise of more to come—they've given the DMLE a trail, and if Regulus knows anything about Barty's father, he will follow it to the fullest possible extent.

And that's because of Evan.

"He did it," Regulus confirms. "Thank you."

Evan smiles—not his normal smile, though. This one is small, not nearly so glittering, something Regulus would call halfway to a smirk if he'd ever seen that expression on Evan's face—and then it's gone, replaced in a flash with his usual grin. "Anything for you, dearest."

 

The Great Hall is loud when they arrive for breakfast, even though they're earlier than usual. Lily is audible from the Gryffindor table, reading aloud quotes from the Daily Prophet to an ever-growing cluster of her housemates (who frequently interrupt). Up and down the students' tables, people gather around spread-out copies of the newspaper, breakfast going somewhat or entirely ignored. (Meredith Rosendale is gesturing rather enthusiastically with a spoonful of porridge, which makes Regulus grateful that he is able to sit a table away.) The teachers' table is buzzing too—Dumbledore is engaged in conversation with McGonagall, several of the teachers have pulled their chairs closer together to talk rather than maintaining the usual stately distance, and even Madam Pomfrey is there, on McGonagall's other side, although she seems to be more focused on eating than talking, occasionally nodding along with whatever McGonagall is saying. (Somehow, Regulus had been under the impression that Madam Pomfrey never took meals in the Great Hall, but she must leave the hospital wing sometimes—life would get exceedingly dull otherwise.)

The Slytherin table is, as ever, mixed. Many people seem relaxed—it's possible that they haven't heard the news, but given the clamor in the rest of the Great Hall, that's unlikely. (Lily is still very much audible when Regulus, Evan, and Barty get all the way over to the Slytherin table.) But the overall atmosphere in Slytherin is quieter, and there is one sullen clump at the end of the table.

This could get complicated.

If Regulus were intending to join the Death Eaters, or even simply supportive of them, he would not be happy today. Before, the Death Eaters were shadows, slipping away before the Aurors could grasp them, a faceless mass that could melt into any crowd, impossible to trace.

It was a veneer of immunity, nothing more, but it still must be unsettling to have it ripped away so suddenly.

Of course, for everyone else, this is a cause for celebration. For many of Regulus's friends, this is a cause for celebration, and it's good for them. Regulus can't and shouldn't pretend to be irritated by the news—it would damage his credibility.

But if he's too celebratory, he'll do more damage to his shield—pretending that he's not going against his family. Regulus can't talk Bellatrix into considering Rookwood's arrest a good thing, and he's been leaning on Bellatrix's opinion to justify his other actions.

Neutrality, then.

But the people around him won't want to stay neutral—Evan was practically bouncing off the walls getting ready for breakfast—and Regulus can't avoid them.

Well. He could. But he wants to borrow Heather's Daily Prophet, and he can't exactly do that without speaking to her. (He should probably take out his own subscription, but that still won't get him today's copy.) Besides, disappearing would look strange. This is a victory for their side—Regulus needs to act like it, within the bounds of what he can get away with in front of people who still think he's going to take the Mark after graduating from Hogwarts.

Those bounds are only going to get narrower.

He only has so much time before he has to make it clear where he stands. He knows that. And he'll need a plan for when he gets there.

A very good plan.

Fortunately, the school year is nearing its end. OWLs start in less than two weeks; after those end, there are NEWTs, and then final exams for the other years, and then they'll all go home, and Regulus's public image will become much simpler. He's not any sort of leader at home, so he doesn't need to walk quite so much of a line, and he can focus on how he's going to turn the Sacred Twenty-Eight to his side. Including his parents.

It's a battle for after OWLs. Right now, he's dealt a significant blow to Voldemort, and even if he has to look blank-faced in public, he can still enjoy it in the privacy of his own head. And the more damage they can do now, the easier it'll be for Regulus to sway the Sacred Twenty-Eight over the summer.

Of course, they rushed to get to breakfast (Evan either could not or would not understand how Barty was anything other than completely awake and excited to start the day), so Heather isn't actually there yet, which puts an unavoidable delay in Regulus's plan, but he already got the most important pieces of information from Lily, so he can wait for the details.

"I almost don't mind that we have History of Magic today," Evan declares as they sit down. "It's our second-to-last Thursday History of Magic. And our second-to-last nine AM History of Magic. And our third-to-last History of Magic ever, not counting the OWL. And I have a double free. And we have Charms. Today is a fabulous day."

Somehow, Regulus doubts that Evan's good mood is actually because they're nearing the end of their acquaintance with Professor Binns. (Although Regulus has been toying with the idea of taking the NEWT for the easy O.) But he does appreciate the attempt at subtlety, so he'll play along. "Just think of how many double free periods you'll have next year."

"It'll be glorious. Tea?" He's already pouring it, but when Regulus nods, he drops a sugar cube into the cup and pushes it Regulus's way along with the milk.

Evan keeps talking, but Regulus doesn't catch the words.

It's just a cup of tea. Regulus is perfectly aware that Evan takes his black. It only makes sense that Evan would know Regulus does the opposite. They've had tea together so many times that it would honestly be stranger if Evan didn't know. And as for Evan pouring the tea for Regulus, well, he's obviously feeling energetic today, so it doesn't necessarily mean anything other than that the teapot was within arm's reach and Evan felt like doing something.

But Regulus wants it to mean something.

This is ridiculous. Evan is Evan, and he will behave as such, and Regulus should be thinking about Scrimgeour and Rookwood and the war, which is the entire reason that Evan is in such a good mood to begin with. It's just a cup of tea.

But Regulus is fighting a losing battle with himself, and he has been since the moment Evan picked up that sugar cube.

 

Professor Slughorn hosts a party on Saturday. It's the last Slug Club event of the year, since exams will begin to dominate everyone's time shortly, and since it's a party instead of a sit-down dinner, the guest list is longer.

And it includes Barty.

Regulus is familiar with Slughorn's normal choices of students for the Slug Club: Sacred Twenty-Eight scions, anyone connected to prominent scholars or celebrities, and people Slughorn thinks have potential to become especially high achievers on their own merit. Barty is connected to someone important, but knowing the head of the DMLE isn't useful in the ways Slughorn wants. He cares about social prestige and special privileges, and Crouch Sr. is extremely unlikely to provide either.

But the DMLE is rising in the headlines, with Crouch Sr. at the helm, so perhaps Slughorn has decided that 'extremely unlikely' is good enough. (That, or he never taught him and has formed entirely the wrong impression of his character.)

"Is it too late to say we can't make it?" Barty says in their room that evening. He's managed to unearth a set of suitably 'dressy-casual' robes from the very bottom of his trunk, underneath a spare pair of dragonskin gloves, three broken quills, and a box of chalk. Miraculously, they're not too badly wrinkled.

Barty is almost certainly joking, because they're supposed to leave in ten minutes, but Regulus answers anyway. "Yes. Slughorn is our best shot at networking with thought leaders outside of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. There will be people there who can have a hand in shaping public opinion. We need to meet them."

Maeve, Heather, and Lily will all be doing the same, with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Complicating the situation, it's the sort of party to which people bring dates, which is why Evan's already left—he's taking Lucinda, since she's never gone to one of these and Evan seems to regard it as an absolute crime to leave anyone alone with Charlotte in OWLs-preparation mode. (Charlotte refused her invitation, as usual.) But Lucinda is an unknown factor; she might be fine with spending the evening making connections, or she might make it more difficult. In addition, the Gryffindors have done some sort of deal that involves Lily showing up with Sirius and Potter showing up with McKinnon and all of them switching immediately upon arrival, and Regulus should be giving them all a wide berth anyway for appearances' sake, but he's hardly going to walk around alone at a party where Sirius and Potter are together.

There may not be anyone particularly important attending tonight, but if Regulus wants to leverage Slughorn's connections to their fullest potential, then he needs to go and socialize and look like he's enjoying himself at least a little bit, and make sure Barty talks to Slughorn so they can make the most of his invitation (and see if they can get him more fully into the Slug Club, which is really for selfish reasons, but two birds, one stone).

"Think of it as a warm-up round," Regulus says. "You may have to speak to more members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight before this war is over. Slughorn is at least predisposed to like you."

 

The party goes well until Barty finds out that Slughorn knows Cyprian Silkwood personally and could very possibly introduce them, which is lovely for Barty but will probably be horrible for Regulus, as he will have to listen to Barty talking about Cyprian Silkwood, which will be extremely lengthy and convoluted (if the man himself has anything in common with his novels).

"I didn't know you were such a littérateur, Mr. Crouch!" Slughorn says once Barty has managed to express that he enjoys Silkwood's writing a normal amount. "That's why I hold these little gatherings, you know—we teachers may seem like we think school is everything, but the world is much wider than the classes you take here at Hogwarts... and, frankly, a little culture goes a long way, I've always thought. Is that something you're interested in pursuing? Because I do remember our career meeting—but your mother used to be an art critic, wasn't she?"

Regulus also remembers that career meeting—he wasn't part of it, but he sat and listened to Barty monologue about possible career ambitions to tell Slughorn about other than 'stick it to my father and never set foot in the Ministry ever again.' He settled on 'something to do with runes,' obviously.

(At Evan's career meeting, they apparently talked about crystallized pineapple and other favorite Honeydukes offerings for ten minutes before Evan excused himself to go flying.)

"More of an art historian writing Daily Prophet columns on the side," Barty says. "She's working on a book now."

Slughorn nods knowingly. "Words matter quite a bit, Mr. Crouch—even the Prophet forgets that in favor of lurid photographs these days. My best to your mother with her work."

The press.

Dumbledore can't control the narrative surrounding Regulus if Regulus controls the channels that would otherwise publicize it.

...How on earth is he going to manage that?

Maybe Evan and Heather will have ideas.

Notes:

evan: anything for you dearest :))))))
barty, Right There: 🤨

also evan: *pours regulus a cup of tea and puts the right amount of sugar in it*
regulus 'acts of service and gift-giving' black: aaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

(evan is having the GREATEST DAY)

SCRIMGEOUR PULLED THROUGH!!!!! but will that be enough??? more importantly, what are the ripple effects going to be????? regulus is throwing rocks at voldemort's window to serenade him with a funeral march and voldemort's gonna lose patience with that REAL quick - or at least, he will once he's not quite so busy.

ah, lily and james collaborating to get their besties into the slug club party. teamwork makes the dream work.

slughorn's career meetings with the 5th year slytherins were. really something

discussion question time!!!
1. when do you think regulus's cover will be blown?
2. thoughts on the DMLE's increasing prominence, how it relates to barty's position at hogwarts, and crouch sr's public image?
3. on a scale of 1 to 10 how much do you think it pained me to write the phrase 'networking with thought leaders' in my escapist fanfiction

next time: owls!! time speeds up!! voldemort vs the ministry begins to escalate!!

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 59

The second half of May passes in a blur.

Regulus has spent so much time thinking about OWLs that in the moment, they don't even feel real—a dress rehearsal for an opening night that never happens. Most of them are fairly easy, albeit long. The Herbology practical is characteristically unpleasant, Runes is second nature (Barty completes the written exam in about a third of the allotted time and then falls asleep at his desk), History of Magic is boring, and Charms is...

Charms is uneventful, which is, in and of itself, monumental.

Most of the spells on the practical are things Regulus learned in fourth year or earlier, with a handful of fifth-year spells: a Warming Charm, which Regulus practiced quite a few times in his (unheated) office, because Evan was cold; a Color-Changing Charm, which doesn't go as quickly as one of Evan's would, but the teapot goes from white to a vibrant cobalt blue, which means it's a success; a stasis charm on a bunch of bluebells, which are placed off to the side and checked by the examiner ten minutes later—and not a single petal drops.

Barty claims he was hearing Regulus's voice in his head for the entire Astronomy exam, and three more Death Eaters are arrested—two in low-level positions at the Ministry, one tangentially connected with Fideline Fawcett's disappearance—and then they just have to deal with Potions, and then it's over.

Fifth year completed.

They still have a few weeks before they go home, but Regulus is fine with that—he still has study groups and prefect duties to occupy his time, not to mention quidditch. Megan, Thomas, and Theophania are busy with preparing for their own final exams (which doesn't stop Megan from joining the fifth-years on the pitch—Regulus occasionally wonders if it's his duty as a prefect to tell her to study, but he suspects that would not go well for him on a Bludger level), but Emma has decreed that the fifth-years (including Lucinda) will be resuming a normal practice schedule, so that they can win back-to-back Quidditch Cups and crush Gryffindor so humiliatingly that the Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry is renewed at full strength for another thousand years.

This will undoubtedly continue to be her philosophy once she actually has the captaincy, so it's better to get used to it now than experience a rude awakening in September because Regulus hasn't practiced properly since April.

Evan wins a Sickle from Maeve because of some bet to do with Smith and Macmillan, and Regulus primarily deals with them discussing it by talking to Barty and trying not to eavesdrop. His level of success is mixed, but Smith and Macmillan have a short tenure as a primary conversation topic—a couple of days, and then everyone is bored.

And then June hits with a front-page article about the torture and murder of an entire family in their home in Muggle London.

Regulus has taken out his own subscription to the Prophet by now, so he doesn't need to wait for Heather to finish with her copy, but he's unprepared for the sheer quantity of people who try to read over his shoulder—simply having a copy of the Daily Prophet seems to make him a target for anyone who doesn't, and as soon as he starts summarizing the article for a few people, more descend upon him to listen.

The family had a magical father and a Muggle mother; that's why they lived in Muggle London, on a relentlessly ordinary street that the picture shows swarming with Aurors, both Muggle and magical—so many Muggles saw the Dark Mark over their home that the Ministry had to deploy the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad to do a proper mass Obliviation. By then, it was already too late to stop Muggle newspapers from printing stories, although Muggle law enforcement will be attributing the deaths to a 'gas leak.'

The obituary for the whole family is on page four. Regulus doesn't read it aloud, but he does read it. The father worked for Ogden's; the mother was a teacher at the primary school their children attended. There are no details about a funeral. Presumably, the risk would be too high that the Death Eaters would pay a visit.

 

A few days later, another Death Eater is arrested.

"I think that's the whole Ministry cleaned out," Evan says in their room. "But they'll try to get more in, and presumably Voldy won't be stupid enough to Mark them this time. That, or go for people who have already been cleared."

"Ditto with the Marks, though," Barty says.

"Do you think you'll have any more names to send to Scrimgeour?" Regulus says to Evan.

He shrugs. "Over the summer, maybe, but it's not like Lily will be able to write the letter and borrow Heather's owl to send it then."

Over the summer makes sense, if he's getting this information from his family—besides, there simply isn't much time left in the school year, and it might raise eyebrows if Evan sends a letter asking about new Death Eaters in the Ministry and then they all proceed to get arrested on the strength of anonymous tips sent to Rufus Scrimgeour.

Regulus still doesn't know where the Rosiers stand. That would be good to find out. They're not taking a side in the war, or at least that's what Evan's heavily implied, but is that set in stone? Or are they not siding with Voldemort or Dumbledore?

"There's always cutting and pasting letters from a copy of the Prophet," Barty says.

"But that's so menial."

"It's cutting and pasting, Evan."

"And?"

 

Priam joins the inter-house study group for the last meeting of the year, just after NEWTs end; he is, of course, about to graduate, but it's nice as a gesture and cements him as a member of their side. One more Sacred Twenty-Eight heir, and Regulus is able to point Foxworth and Rosendale in his direction for information about cursed objects, which keeps them occupied for the entire meeting.

Finals for everyone not taking OWLs or NEWTs follow, and Regulus finds himself in the position of writing out summaries of news stories for Lily instead of the other way around—the establishment of a task force meant to identify, track down, and arrest Death Eaters, headed by Scrimgeour; the beginning of Rookwood's trial, presided over by Barty's father, the first trial in quite some time to use dementors for security; controversy over the use of said dementors that is shut down the next day by an opinion piece from none other than Albus Dumbledore, pointing out in exceedingly gentle language that the last thing anyone wants is a Death Eater attack on the Ministry, and dementors are a powerful deterrent.

The Department of Mysteries is being pressured by the DMLE to reveal what Augustus Rookwood was working on at the time of his arrest. The Minister is waffling, attempting to avoid picking a side, but he's likely to come down on the side of letting the Department of Mysteries resolve things internally rather than giving the DMLE any sort of oversight, which will make him miserably unpopular and practically ensure that there will be someone else in that office relatively soon. (Admittedly, that's not from the Prophet; that's Regulus's expectation, based on what Father has said about Harold Minchum in the past.)

So the DMLE is at least attempting to make the most of what Regulus's side has given them.

Regulus doesn't know enough about Voldemort yet to predict how he's going to respond; fortunately, this will be an excellent opportunity to learn.

 

The day before they go home for the summer, Regulus is intercepted by Alecto Carrow on his way to lunch. "Got a moment?"

She's alone, which means this conversation will probably be interesting. "Certainly. Barty, would you save me a seat?"

(Which serves two purposes—the obvious one, and subtly telling Barty not to stick around for this. His presence would probably put a damper on whatever Carrow wants to say; at the same time, he'll be waiting for Regulus to surface alive and well from this interaction within a relatively short period of time, which hints at consequences if anything goes poorly for Regulus.)

Barty doesn't make a big deal of it, nodding and going on ahead, and Carrow indicates a poorly-lit side hallway. "Here's fine."

Regulus follows her a few steps into the shadows, and he's expecting her to cast some kind of ward, but she doesn't bother, just lowers her voice. "I don't want us to end the year on a bad note just because Amycus is being completely boneheaded. I don't plan on letting him drag me down."

Hm.

Regulus can draw a fairly simple line from Bellatrix talking to Alecto Carrow to this conversation. The Carrow twins are... well, they're twins, and they get lumped together in a way that even Regulus and Sirius never did. Amycus, at least, has being heir to their family to distinguish him; Alecto has basically nothing.

Unless, of course, she can get in with a higher caliber of Death Eater.

Bellatrix practically is that higher caliber, and she's been on Regulus's side for everything to do with Amycus, and thus, here Alecto is.

Regulus isn't actually interested in rushing to cement any sort of high status for himself in the Death Eaters, or doing any sort of maneuvering within the Death Eaters in the first place, so whatever networking Alecto wants to do doesn't really matter to him either way. And he does have a certain image to maintain, so he says, "If he's going to implode, we might as well let him. There are more important things to be done."

"Yep." Then she grins, which is an expression Regulus is accustomed to seeing from Alecto Carrow, but not aimed at him. "All the same, though, I still think you should give lightening up a try. Just to see what it's like."

Regulus indicates his black non-uniform robes. "I doubt I will." (As they're not attending classes, they're not required to wear school robes. Evan's delved into the pastel portion of his wardrobe, and Barty would be wearing the exact same clothing every single day for convenience reasons if he weren't living with someone dedicated to stopping him.)

Carrow shrugs. "If it suits you. Have a good summer."

"You as well."

Then Regulus continues his path to the Great Hall and finds Barty around a corner no more than thirty feet away, leaning against the wall and watching seconds tick by on a Tempus.

 

The Evening Prophet's headline is about the Wizengamot convicting Augustus Rookwood of a variety of charges including domestic terrorism and aiding in kidnapping and murder.

In and of itself, that isn't actually that interesting, but on the second page, there's a chart of how the Wizengamot voted—and that is very interesting indeed. Many of the votes are as expected; the blood traitors and the moderates all voted to convict, as did Bulstrode and Nott, which would have been enough to tie the Wizengamot on its own. Dumbledore, as Chief Warlock, a position appointed by the Minister that has been held by Dumbledore ever since the end of the war with Grindelwald, would have been the tiebreaker in such a situation, which would have meant a guilty verdict for sure.

But his vote wasn't needed.

Lord Rosier abstained, tipping the scales towards a guilty verdict, and four more conservative lords, after an apparently lengthy discussion in a side chamber, voted to convict.

Zabini.

Parkinson.

Greengrass.

Black.

As in, Orion Arcturus Black, Regulus's father, voted to convict Augustus Rookwood of a variety of crimes that boil down to being a Death Eater.

Father sent a Death Eater to Azkaban.

That... is quite the revelation.

It makes dinner a little awkward. Emma's cousin, the current Lord Vanity after her father's abdication, voted to convict (no surprises there, they're a consistently moderate family), but Charlotte's grandfather voted to acquit, and Regulus doesn't want to discuss the trial out in the open because saying the right things will be far too complicated, and Barty's father presided over the whole thing, and Lucinda is the only person in the group who doesn't have some sort of personal tie to the trial—which is probably why Charlotte spends most of dinner talking to her.

Regulus drifts in and out of the conversation. He's busy trying to figure out what sort of political climate he will enter when he returns home tomorrow—and it all hinges on why Father voted to convict.

The Blacks aren't formally a Death Eater family, the way that people like the Lestranges or the Malfoys are, but they're closely connected to those families, and Mother's been quite consistent in her letters. The Notts do have a Death Eater in their family, but Maeve says they disapprove, and Lord Nott's vote aligns with that claim. There's an alliance between the Zabinis and the Lestranges, but it's between cadet branches, and the Zabinis themselves don't have any Death Eaters at the moment, so maybe this is telling about the stance they're planning to take. Parkinson and Greengrass voting the same way makes sense, as they're allied almost as closely as Greengrass and Rosier—and Rosier abstaining makes perfect sense, if they're adopting a policy of neutrality.

But the Blacks are tied most closely to extreme blood purist families. The Blacks are an extreme blood purist family. And Father voting to convict doesn't do their family any favors with Voldemort.

Or with Regulus's cousins.

On the other hand, if Father had voted to acquit, it would have been awkward in an entirely different way, not to mention signaling further difficulty for Regulus in persuading his parents to back away from Voldemort and the Death Eaters.

But why did he do it?

 

The train ride blurs by, loud and chaotic—it always is, going home for the summer, when people are making plans or reminiscing or just making the most of what might be the last time they see their friends until September.

Regulus never sees Barty over the holidays. Their fathers are in the same room for some Wizengamot proceedings, and honestly, that's more than enough of that. The less often Mother and Father think about Bartemius Crouch Senior, the simpler it is for Regulus to mention Barty at home.

And he can't not mention Barty, the way he can strategically fail to mention people like Megan. Barty is a central and obvious part of his daily life at Hogwarts. If Regulus didn't mention him, someone else would.

Mother and Father have gotten used to the idea of Barty being in the Dark Arts study group, but the Ministry has entered the war. Barty's father, and his relentless anti-Dark stance, will be on their minds.

It's probably best for Regulus to keep the mentions to a minimum.

 

Dinner at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, is... bizarre.

Father subscribes to the Evening Prophet, but he normally doesn't read it over dinner, and he especially doesn't spread the whole thing over the table and get his face stuck in what appears to be a permanent cycle of eyerolling. Mother's lips have been pinched continuously since Regulus first laid eyes on her and Father at King's Cross. Even Kreacher seems on edge, zipping in and out of the dining room faster than usual between courses.

Regulus is not particularly one to linger over his meals, especially when they're this silent, but this is clearly a special occasion, so he kills as much time as he can, and when he's picking at the last leaves of his salad, Father says, as if carrying on a conversation, "It's idiotic."

Well. This sounds interesting.

"Salvageable." Mother sips her wine. "We were already perfectly aware that subtlety was never his goal. This sort of thing was bound to happen."

Voldemort, then.

"He responded to a minor setback with a highly publicized quadruple murder counting young magical children among the dead," Father says. "A minor setback which he created, what with his apparently irresistible urge to slap Dark Marks onto his supporters. Has the Order of the Phoenix been caught running about with enormous birds on their arms?"

"Has the Ministry received anonymous tips about members of the Order of the Phoenix on their payroll?" Mother counters.

Are they arguing?

Regulus tries to chew as unobtrusively as he can, to avoid calling attention to his presence. Father seems exasperated with Voldemort—he can work with that—and Mother, though she's playing defense, doesn't seem that enthused either, if she's using words like salvageable to describe the situation.

"Crouch has failed to catch anyone noteworthy in the slightest, save Rookwood, of whom I had never heard a word before I had Bellatrix over for tea," Mother says. "Wheat and chaff."

"And when he has enough popular support to demand to screen the Wizengamot?" Father says. "When he deepens his search beyond a simple check for a Dark Mark? Or when he begins screening every visitor to the Ministry? The Lestranges and the Malfoys would be destroyed. They already look suspicious for voting to acquit, what with Rookwood's left arm. Unspeakables are trained to resist all kinds of magical coercion. Anyone claiming it was insufficient evidence of guilt is a fool or a Death Eater, and his campaign is not sufficiently advanced to go public, especially when he insists on committing pointless acts of terror to vent his frustration."

"Or," Mother says, "expanding beyond the artificial limits imposed on us by the Ministry. He has to do it at some point. Why not now?"

"Because now, the Ministry of Magic still has strong ties to the other side."

"They're Muggles."

"And the Ministry of Magic in its current form will side with them. The Death Eaters are embarrassingly outnumbered, and he has only made it worse for himself by handing Crouch the perfect way to identify them. If it is salvageable, I await such a reversal with bated breath. Perhaps he'd like to break into the Macmillan library to look for a ritual for developing one's common sense. That seems no less logical than the other ways he has chosen to occupy himself of late."

Excellent.

Mother cracks a small smile. "If he leans more on his counsel, I think such a measure will be unnecessary. It is normal to be caught up in one's ambitions; no leader has ever gotten very far without trustworthy advisors to help to guide that ambition in the most effective direction."

"Indeed." That's when Father looks directly at Regulus. "Take this as a lesson. It seems that you may often need to counsel restraint in calculation."

Substantially less excellent.

"If he shows such an inclination towards accepting advice as is apparently necessary to prevent him from losing all of his Ministry employees because of one letter," Father adds, and then Kreacher arrives with fruit, and the conversation is over.

 

The good news is that we struck a severe blow against the Death Eaters with that letter, as far as my parents are concerned. The bad news is that, reading between the lines, they seem to think He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named will lash out in ill-thought-out but still extremely destructive ways.

Regulus waits for a few minutes, but no response from Barty appears on the page. He must be speaking with his mother. That's the only time when Barty isn't reliably holed up in his room at home.

He tries Evan next, with much the same message, and gets a reply moments later in letters that swoop like a bird gliding in the wind. That's all good news, though! Paint him as irrational while he self-destructs, destroy his support base, and turn Dumbledore into an aging schoolteacher-turned-vigilante pitifully hungry for the glory of the good old days, and we win. Simple.

It means more violence, Regulus writes. Dark Arts will become even more unpopular as a concept.

The self-destruction will help with that. Especially if certain upstanding Dark families have a track record of opposing him.

There's no guarantee that Father will continue to vote this way in the Wizengamot. Would your family ever do it?

The response is immediate. Not if there's a chance of him winning. Come find me right away at the solstice ball. There's something I need to show you.

Notes:

WOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!

things are getting a little messy - are those cracks appearing in house black, or have they already been repaired?? what's going to happen when amycus carrow figures out that alecto's decided they're not each other's #1 anymore?? as always, what the everloving fuck is going on with house rosier??

agslghsdlkfj this chapter is PACKED with stuff

but YAY REGULUS HE GOT THROUGH OWLS!!!!!!! HE DID IT!!!!! EVEN CHARMS!!!!!!!!

🚨IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT🚨

i'm going to put ttdl on hiatus for about a month - this year has been nonstop for me despite multiple illnesses and the next month in particular is very chaotic, and i just need to take a step back from updating so i can take the pressure off of myself and remind myself this is a hobby not a job ajflsgkjsdkjf

tentative return date will be august 16, subject to the vagaries of life (even as i'm saying august 16 now, i'm thinking 'hmmmm actually it very well could be the 23rd')

i'm not vanishing - i'll still be around if you want to talk in the comments or on tumblr! talking to you about the story honestly keeps me going on this monster-length fic ajflsgkdgd, i don't know how far i would have gotten without you and i really, really appreciate it

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 60

Notes:

WE'RE BACK BABEYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

Evan refuses point-blank to provide any more details about whatever is going on—Regulus tries to at least narrow it down, but he changes the subject to dress robes, and then to the DMLE, and then back to dress robes because he's debating requesting a last-minute change to his collar—Evan is particular about these things, especially for the summer solstice ball, because it's his family's signature party and he's set to inherit it, not to mention that it's absolutely crucial for everyone to appear well-dressed at the first event of the season. He has to care—but he also just cares of his own accord.

Regulus doesn't, really. Beyond being black and fitting properly, the only consideration he usually gives to his dress robes is whether they look appropriately Noble and Moste Anciente. No matter what he puts on, he looks the same in the mirror: Heir Black, true to his title. And Heir Black's clothing is selected and tailored to fit a very particular image, which happens to fit neatly with Regulus's personal agenda. He doesn't have to put much thought into what he wears as a result.

But the way Evan talks about it—he makes it sound so much more complex than Regulus's usual checklist of 'black, tailored, elite without trying too hard.' And part of that is probably due to the fact that Evan is working with a significantly wider range of both color and cut options, but part of it...

Regulus wants to have things to say.

He doesn't, but Evan seems happy enough to write at length about palettes and sleeves and summer trends in response to Regulus's somewhat hapless questions—words are suddenly underlined in an emphatic slash of ink, and parentheses are nested within parentheses, and as Evan's handwriting continues to appear, it stretches out, sprawling across the page in grand swoops of midnight blue that Regulus can almost hear—he forgets to dot an i once, absorbed in discussing embroidery and walking the line between gaudy and boring, and something about it makes Regulus want to touch his fingertips to the page.

It's only been a few hours since they disembarked from the train, but... he'd have gone to find Evan at the solstice ball right away even without Evan asking him to.

The fact remains, though, that Evan did ask him to.

Under very particular circumstances.

 

Barty's response comes about an hour later. Are your parents still on the Death Eater train, or reconsidering?

Still on it, Regulus replies. They're of the opinion that I should counsel He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named on how not to do stupid things. We'll need to go further to convince them that being a Death Eater won't be an advantage in the future.

Yeah, let's keep my father busy. I've had enough of him for the summer.

Seeing as they've been home for about four hours, that's impressive but not totally unprecedented. What did he do?

Spoke words in my direction, what else?

That's obviously not everything, so Regulus waits.

Told me all about how 'they' strongly considered grounding me this summer, by which I assume he meant he really wanted to but my mum objected and they've been discussing it at least once a week since April. Not that it would make much of a difference, what with the Aurors and the Fidelius and everything. He could try to keep me from writing to people, but nobody clocked this as being anything other than a normal journal, so he'd fail.

They went through your things?

Not really? Just scanned for Dark magic. Moody gave me a few weird looks, but I think that's just how he looks at people. Didn't feel particularly hostile, which was basically friendly considering how he was looking at people for breathing too closely to my father on the train platform. And he didn't stay very long once we got home. Pity, he would have been an interesting addition to the OWLs conversation.

 

Regulus's dress robes for the summer solstice ball were commissioned while he was at school in the midst of OWL exams, which meant he couldn't take much of a hand in their design—not that it mattered, because he never has. He hadn't thought much of it at the time. He hadn't even known what they were going to look like, aside from the usual requirements.

And the usual requirements are fine. The black makes him stand out from everyone dressed in summer colors, the robes fit perfectly, and the cut... is what it is. His wardrobe is near-immune to fashion, which is exactly what it should be.

It's not very interesting, though. He looks largely the same as he did last year. Just a little taller.

There's nothing to be done about it now—there's nothing that should be done about it now. He looks the way he's supposed to, he presents a visually unified front with the rest of his family, and everything's fine. Evan's certainly not going to expect Regulus to arrive wearing anything other than this. It's fine.

 

He's halfway into the Floo by the time he realizes that this time last year, the Black heir ring was still on Sirius's hand.

It feels like it's been so much longer.

Sirius hated—Sirius hates all the black, always griped about it and about not having any room for creativity, ingenuity, and every other word ending in -ity that he could think of off the top of his head, of which there were quite a few, which gave Regulus plenty of time to come up with mental retorts about where Sirius's -ities tended to land him (arguments and detention) and leave them securely tucked away in his head because unlike some people, he was capable of keeping his mouth shut and not stirring up pointless drama.

That's why Sirius bought those scarlet dragonhide boots.

Not because of anything Regulus did—because they were loud and red and when Bellatrix shot a burst of flame at them Sirius just laughed it off because they were dragonhide and she might as well have cast an Aguamenti at the giant squid.

And because he likes them. Regulus has seen him wear them at Hogwarts, even this past year, even when there was no reason to rebel against House Black anymore.

Regulus doesn't not like black. It suits him and it's easy.

Does he like it, though?

When the green fire clears to reveal the foyer of Rosier Manor, he doesn't have an answer.

 

The summer solstice ball is the most extravagant event of the year, every year, because it's practically House Rosier's raison d'être. They set the tone for the entire season—fashionable colors and drinks and hors d'oeuvres, fashionable music, fashionable dances, fashionable people. An invitation to the summer solstice ball may as well be a ticket to the rest of the social season—not that it's a guarantee of any further invitations, but if one doesn't attend the solstice ball, one certainly won't be attending anything else.

Stepping into the foyer is like stepping into a world where even the air glitters. Brilliant light glints off of gilded mantels and cut-crystal chandeliers and champagne flutes and the polished white marble of the floor, threads of gold running through it, obscured constantly by the hems of the finest clothing one can afford—satin shimmers and cloth of gold gleams and they're not even in the ballroom yet, why are there so many people out here?

Mother surveys the foyer, eyebrow raised a fraction of an inch. "The Rosiers have always been... liberal with invitations, but this is rather generous even for them."

It's always been the biggest party of the year, the sort of thing only the Rosiers could pull off—much to House Malfoy's disgruntlement, as it's less a question of ability and more one of image. No Malfoy ball will ever be as extravagant and lavish as the Rosiers' summer solstice ball, because the Malfoys, no matter how wealthy they may be, are simply too responsible with their money. They can't compete.

How on earth is Regulus meant to find Evan in all of this?

 

They're greeted by a house-elf seconds later, and their arrival is announced as they enter the ballroom, which puts Mother's eyebrow back down to its normal level. It's a large crowd, populated with many people who are not familiar faces in high society, but heads still turn when the Blacks arrive, so nothing really important has changed.

Logically, Regulus knows there's no reason for people to be packed in more tightly this year—the foyer was clearly set up as a space for guests outside of the large ballroom (which, while large, does not expand to fit the required number of guests—although at some point the Rosiers must have considered it), and all of the French doors that lead from the ballroom onto the terrace are wide open, so they're clearly using the terrace as an extension of the ballroom rather than its usual status as the place people go to escape the ballroom. Regulus will have to find another retreat. There are more people than usual, and the Rosiers have compensated by expanding the space for the event, and they're very good at this and must have figured out exactly how many people they could host before things started to get claustrophobic, so the ballroom shouldn't actually be more crowded than it was last year—but there are so many new people that he feels like he's been plunged into a room of strangers.

There are a few Greengrass cousins, obvious at a distance from the fresh flowers twined into their hair, and the Marchbanks siblings, looking characteristically drab, except for Pandora, the middle one, whose cuffs crackle with blue electricity whenever she moves her arms—and that's strange, because after she married a Lovegood and moved out to become neighbors with the Weasleys of all people last summer, Mother was of the firm opinion that she'd made a clear exit from high society with no intent to return, and Mother's normally right about these things. Pale pink flashes from the dance floor—that could be Heather. Kingsley Shacklebolt was in the foyer, and Lord and Lady Smith are by the musicians, so it's not like everyone's vanished—

Julius Mulciber is on the terrace.

He's with the Carrows, because of course he is, and Horatio Nott, and Warrington's there, all clustered together with champagne flutes, looking like this is normal.

"Perhaps I'll find Evan to express my amazement at this... achievement," Regulus says, because it'll make Mother nod and let him vanish, which is exactly what she does. (Father already has the expression of someone who is ready for this to be over.)

The black robes don't garner as much attention as they used to—it's a Sacred Twenty-Eight thing, really, that anyone wearing black to the solstice ball is part of House Black, just like the Greengrasses with the flowers, and there's no reason for all of these people to just know that. Eyes don't follow Regulus as he makes his way across the room, aimless, taking paths as they open up through the crowd and looking for any trace of sky-blue robes and golden hair—but there's far too much of both. He's climbing the stairs to the balcony for a better view when someone falls into step next to him—

It's Narcissa.

Her lavender silk robes have flared sleeves, the cuffs dripping with seed pearls, which is exactly what Evan said would be popular this year—not the pearls necessarily, but the flare and the ornamented cuffs. They must have some enchantment on them to keep them from clicking against each other whenever she moves—like when she clasps her hands together, which is something Narcissa always does right before saying something she thinks is important.

"Hello, Cissa." Regulus keeps climbing. The balcony seemed less crowded from the floor—if she has something to say, that's a better place for it. "How have you been?"

"Busy," she says lightly. "We only heard about House Rosier's guest list yesterday, so there's been a minor bit of confusion about what this means for the rest of the season."

So Narcissa heard about it in advance somehow. "In what sense?"

"The... composition of it." Narcissa draws a little closer, letting two of the minor Selwyns pass them on their way down. "Surely Lady Rosier can't expect perfect decorum if she insists on putting certain people in the same room as Rufus Scrimgeour."

Scrimgeour is here?

Narcissa carries on in an undertone. "Cordelia Zabini told me Thalia Pryde is here, and I saw Millicent Bagnold myself; celebrity musicians are one thing, but we don't tend to consort with Ministry officials the likes of Bagnold, do we? I haven't the foggiest clue as to what they think they're doing. Showing off, I suppose."

Regulus also hasn't the foggiest clue, but if the Rosiers are inviting Aurors and Death Eaters to the same party, then...

He really does need to find Evan.

The balcony provides a better view of the ballroom, but Evan's not on the dance floor, nor is he by the refreshments, and Regulus spots his sister Katherine but obviously Evan's nowhere near her—

"You seem preoccupied, Regulus." Narcissa's wedding ring sparkles as she settles her hands on the gilded railing. "It wouldn't do for you to become distracted from your duties."

That's strange.

Regulus keeps quiet.

"Lucius is an only child, you know." She sounds perfectly casual. "He can't fathom the appeal of siblings, because he never had the fortune of having them. His parents have no spare, so their hopes for the future of the family rest on his shoulders. I hope he understands how lucky he is that his personal ambitions have never particularly contradicted those hopes. With no spare, there is... far less tolerance for misbehavior."

"I imagine the situation might have become tense otherwise," Regulus says.

What is she getting at? Obviously, Regulus is now the heir with no spare.

And Narcissa thinks he's preoccupied with something... contradicting what his parents want for House Black.

Fantastic.

"When there is a second option, the first can be dismissed, should it prove itself unsuitable," Narcissa says. "When there is only one choice, suitability becomes a question of when, not of whether. Had Lucius set himself in opposition to his parents, the tension would have been... corrected, sooner or later. Do you understand?"

Narcissa knows something.

"None of us are invincible, and there is so much life to be lived." She laces her fingers together. Her nails match the pearls on her sleeves. "I would advise anyone against ruining it for themself."

"Through what? Self-sacrifice?"

"Selfishness and shortsightedness." Narcissa turns back towards the stairs. "I have always considered your inheritance of the title of heir to be a vast improvement over the previous state of affairs. I believe you will make your parents, and the rest of our family, very proud. Enjoy the ball."

Then she's gone.

 

Eventually, Regulus has to catch Heather and Priam in between dances, but Heather points him out to the terrace, where Regulus had been selfishly hoping Evan would not be. Mulciber and the Carrows are still out there, and Regulus has had enough tense conversations for one night.

Fortunately, Evan is on the other side of the terrace, holding court on a marble bench surrounded by a cluster of people Regulus actually knows— finally— Evan's telling some story involving a Quaffle, gesturing somewhat perilously with a flute of champagne, and Emma is snickering and interrupting him, much to Maeve's amusement. A few other people from their year are there—Alphonse Guerrier and Ian Lovett in Ravenclaw, Rachel Smith and Nicholas Goodwin in Hufflepuff. This is still an improvement over the Carrows, but not by much—Goodwin and Lovett are from newer Dark families, and Regulus doesn't particularly want to be friends with them or have any use for such a friendship, which tends to render their interactions awkward. (On the rare occasions that Regulus can't simply avoid them.)

Evan's wearing sky-blue robes, like he said he would be, with delicately embroidered gold roses climbing from the hem up to his shoulders and down his sleeves—the way he's holding the champagne flute makes his wide sleeve slip back to his elbow, revealing his wrist, his forearm, the light from the ballroom dancing over his skin as he almost splashes champagne on Goodwin. Hopefully he remembers that he told Regulus to come find him—Regulus isn't sure how to pull him aside for a private conversation in anything resembling a discreet manner.

As it turns out, he doesn't need to worry, because as soon as Evan sees him, he pushes his champagne flute into Emma's hands and springs up from the bench. "Regulus! I thought you'd never get here—" he weaves through the people around him and narrowly misses stepping on Smith's hem— "you have to come see your birthday present, obviously I'm not giving it to you now but you have to see it, I'm so sick of not being able to say what it is—" and he links their arms, half leaning on Regulus and half pulling him back towards the ballroom. "Bye!" he adds to the others, in the manner of an afterthought.

If Regulus didn't know better, he'd think Evan actually had been drinking that champagne—which might have been easier to deal with, honestly, because Evan wraps his arm around Regulus's and it's all Regulus can do to let his arm hang as naturally as possible at his side—as if he doesn't remotely care, as if this is simply something that happens, as if he can't smell the orange-blossom soap Evan had in their bathroom at school.

Evan freewheels through the ballroom, winding his way around the dance floor, out into the foyer, veering sharply to the right and dragging Regulus with him down the hallway to the family's private wing—and as soon as they're out of sight and earshot of the party, he straightens up and walks faster, dress shoes padding against the plush carpet that runs down the length of the hallway.

He doesn't say anything, so Regulus doesn't either, and they go all the way to Evan's rooms at the far end. The door leads into his private sitting room, which he basically never uses, as far as Regulus is aware—whenever he's come over to Rosier Manor, Evan has been on the ground floor. That's where things happen here—flying, tea, receiving guests. But Evan's sitting room is still nice, furnished with dark wood and emerald green chairs that seem like they'd be good for reading.

The few times that Regulus has been up here, they've gone straight through the sitting room to the bedroom, always so Evan could get a different pair of shoes or a cloak or a box of Chocolate Frogs or one of the many other things he stores up here.

This time, Evan stops as soon as they're inside the sitting room.

And he locks the door.

"What is it?" Regulus says—should he have said hello? He hasn't said hello to Evan. The moment has probably passed by now.

"Wards, please." Evan's almost cheery about it.

First Narcissa, now this—whatever this is.

Regulus wards them in.

"Okay." Evan shoves his hands in the pockets of his robes and looks over Regulus's shoulder. "First things first—no birthday present, sorry. I mean, obviously I got you one, and it's great, that's just not what this is about and you will unfortunately have to wait until your actual birthday."

"I assumed so."

"Second of all." Evan takes a slow breath. "I'm supposed to pick gouging out my own eyeballs over telling you this. Telling anyone this. But—you have to know, it'll make sense once you know, and it matters to how we do things—we have to prioritize. We've had this conversation before. Some things are more important than just... doing what our families want, so here I am—erm." He digs around in the pocket of his robes, pushing his arm in past the wrist, and then resurfaces holding... a rose.

It's just the flower, smaller than the palm of Evan's hand, petals a deep sunset pink. Roses are everywhere whenever the Rosiers host something—on their robes, in the decor, even in the drinks.

But Evan digs his thumb between the petals, pulls them apart, and the rose opens like a pomegranate, splitting neatly into sections, and on the sections...

"I disabled this one, so, nothing to worry about, in a very limited sense." Evan pushes until all the petals lie flat, and then he holds it out to Regulus. "You're good at Runes. What do you think those do?"

The inscriptions are small, etched lightly into the surface—and they don't form a channel Regulus has ever used, but he's familiar enough to pick out the pieces. Target objects in bindings have to follow similar rules in order to receive the signals.

Regulus says, "They listen."

"Yes." Evan folds the rose back up. It vanishes into his pocket. "Times are changing. We almost doubled our guest list, so my parents had to make some changes to keep up, and these are one of them."

This is beginning to form a picture, but—Regulus doesn't have enough pieces to put it together. "To keep up with what?"

"The war." There's no trace of the Evan who was merrily telling quidditch stories to everyone who would listen on the terrace. His lips are pressed together, shoulders square like he's holding them that way on purpose. "That's why I brought you here to talk."

Regulus has a terrible feeling that he knows where this is going.

Evan knows things he should have no way of knowing. Evan's family won't join the war. But they had to almost double the number of guests at the summer solstice ball to keep up with it.

Evan says, "My family's wing is the only part of the manor that hasn't been bugged."

Notes:

OH SHIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

i've mentioned this in some other places but for those of you who don't know, i just moved and started a new job, so life's a little hectic right now - i'm going to keep updates to every other week until i'm confident that i can sustain weekly updates. but we are BACK BABY

ahgsljkgsjkdhf evan rambling about dress robes and regulus just being absolutely Mesmerized even though it is literally only words on a page that happen to be in evan's handwriting

moody is mostly the auror assigned to guard crouch sr for order of the phoenix reasons, but i also chose him because i thought the notion of the crouches feat. alastor moody would make for a GREAT sitcom. also, as an FYI, he has not yet had the eye injury that causes him to need a replacement - i'm of the general opinion that that happens when the fighting is really in full force. same with the wooden leg. i feel like he must also get poisoned at some point due to the whole flask thing jslgkhsjdkf

regulus, wearing fancy new clothes literally made for him: but is evan going to think i'm pretty 🥺

OH MY GOD FINALLY A PANDORA REFERENCE. sometimes people ask me if she's going to be in this story and like, she's not ajflshgkdf. the cast of important characters is already enormous. but she exists!! she's alive!! she's the same age as evan's sister in this universe

orion hates society events even when they're full of people he knows, this is basically his worst nightmare JFWOIGHWOKGJDF

narcissa banging pots and pans together: CAN *ONE* FAMILY MEMBER IN MY GENERATION NOT FUCK UP THEIR ENTIRE LIFE AND END UP DISOWNED OR MURDERED BECAUSE OF IT

(but what do you think she knows? does she *know* anything, or is she guessing? what does she think regulus is up to?)

and then EVAN. DRAMAAAAAAAAAAAAA

as always i love hearing your thoughts - excited to be back!

next time: i haven't written it yet 😭 but i shan't just leave this conversation on this cliffhanger

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

OH ALSO - small self promo moment - can't remember if i've mentioned this here before, but i have another longfic in progress about seer regulus who gets forced into the death eaters via an unscrupulous divination professor - it's a bit of a different vibe from this fic but if you're interested in seer regulus, stories with a lot of regulus and voldemort interaction, and you are also looking for a new rosewater fic to read, check it out! it's called lachrimae and it's the second most recently updated fic on my profile

Chapter 61

"Why?"

That doesn't seem to be what Evan was expecting Regulus to say. He blinks, startled out of the rigid set of his mouth—that's an improvement, at least. "Why don't my parents feel the need to eavesdrop on the zero people who are supposed to be here during the ball?"

"Why the information collecting, if your family's supposedly neutral?" Regulus feels almost as if he's reciting a script—as if it's not actually happening, or he knew it would, or both—there had to be something. He knew there was something, and now here it is, in the unhappy carefulness of Evan's stance—waiting.

Barty has to know—Heather has to know—Lily has to know, or at least they have to know something, depending on what he can actually say about this, depending on how it impacts them, and then there's Evan, who's told Regulus something he wasn't supposed to tell anyone, ever—Regulus has to respond calmly, with no bite in his tone. It's not an interrogation or a confrontation. They're here to talk.

Evan sighs, short and sharp, and the gold threads on his shoulders shimmer—the robes are buoyant, roses the color of sunlight, perfect for Heir Rosier hosting the summer solstice ball, but they look wrong now. Flippant. They suit Evan so well—just not like this, and Regulus doesn't know what he's supposed to say to put the pieces back together.

But Evan's telling him this because of the war. Because of their side, because he wants to win even if it means going against his family—he easily could have just chosen not to tell Regulus, to assume that it wouldn't matter, because it's not like Regulus would do something like have a conversation of a sensitive nature in the middle of a crowded ballroom...

Well.

That's a problem.

Getting more information from Evan can wait for a bit. Right now—"Is there a way to wipe those?"

Evan's gaze sharpens. "No. Why?"

 

Regulus explains the bare bones—Narcissa, the balcony, a conversation not quite subtle enough to escape the Rosiers' notice—and Evan stares at the floor, brow furrowed, chewing on the inside of his cheek—then he pulls the rose out of his pocket again. "Alright. I don't remember how many there are on the balcony. At least two. Maybe three. So you're going to have to do some Geminios. This one's from the dais where the musicians are set up, so my parents might notice something's off if they listen area by area—I don't know, we haven't done this before—but I can just volunteer to do the balcony ones and then tell them nothing useful happened. We take those to the balcony, set them up, activate them, and then I can take the others back to my room."

"The runes might not transfer correctly if I just duplicate them," Regulus feels the urge to point out.

Evan doesn't bat an eyelash. "Then we don't activate them at all. Malfunctioning instruments, this is why we should be more careful about how we scale up, et cetera. My parents won't be all that bothered by losing three—we never get everything all at once. People normally have their most interesting conversations by the statues, anyway. Illusion of privacy."

"Not in the gardens?" They're full of alcoves and isolated benches and trellises to block other people's views, not to mention that most people tend not to go so far from the ballroom, so there's a lower risk of eavesdroppers in general.

For some reason, that makes Evan smile. "I'm sure plenty of private conversations happen in the gardens, but they're not the sort we need to hear about. When people are worried about their absence being noted, they tend to just duck into a corner and pretend to be discussing the art."

But he said this is the first time they've done this.

Maybe he just meant the roses, but still, how would he know what happens where without some way of finding out?

 

Making copies of the rose is finicky but doable—Regulus goes over the process perhaps once or twice more than he really needed to before actually doing it, but he doesn't want it to turn out haphazard, and Barty's not here to consult on the runes. Duplication isn't a particularly complex transfiguration, once one understands the mechanics behind it, but Regulus hasn't had to duplicate enchanted objects before—it's frowned upon, actually, because the risk of the enchantments going wrong is so high, but it's just runes. Regulus knows runes. And even though Evan said it would be fine if the duplicates didn't work...

Evan mostly hovers around, searching his memory for any information he has on how the roses work, hunting for parchment so Regulus doesn't have to resign himself to mental notes—somehow, he has to go through three drawers to find any. Regulus could find the stack of blank parchment in his own desk blindfolded on the first try. But Evan does locate some, along with an albatross quill and black ink that sparkles slightly in the light, and Regulus tries not to think about how for all he knows, this could be the quill Evan was using to write to him about dress robes, and now Regulus is holding it, and Evan is relying on him to do this transfiguration, so he's going to do it properly.

His first attempt produces something that does look exactly like the original, and Evan has been sitting in the other chair looking as though he's not sure what to do with himself for at least five minutes, so Regulus hands the duplicate to him and pretends he doesn't notice when their fingers brush—he's getting better at that, hopefully. "Check the inside?"

Evan opens it.

The rose unfolds into segments as easily as the original did... and the inscriptions do seem to be there. Whether they're accurate is another question, but if all the runes have transcribed correctly, which they probably have because it would be stranger if they hadn't, then this copy should be just as functional as the original.

Good.

Regulus goes back to the beginning of his notes to start on the second one, but then Evan says, "Regulus."

He looks up.

But Evan's not frowning at a problem—he's staring at the rose, still unfolded, brushing his thumb gently over the runes. "This is... perfect."

Regulus has to look back down at the parchment. He was hardly going to provide something mediocre. "You asked me to duplicate it."

"I mean it." Evan folds the rose back up—the split petals meld back together, the runes disappear under layers of deep pink. The rose looks real from here—it felt real when Regulus was making it, the petals silky and cool to the touch, something that could have just been plucked from the gardens and brought inside. "Me asking didn't suddenly make it easy."

Of course not. But it was why he refused to fail.

"It's impressive," Evan says softly. "Thank you."

 

Somehow, Regulus gets through the second duplication without making any obvious mistakes, although he does have to catch himself a few times—he feels clumsier with Evan watching, even when all he's doing is reproducing something that has already worked once. It doesn't help that Evan's pulled his chair closer to the side table Regulus is working at, chin propped in one hand as the second—third rose takes shape.

It's complicated work, drawing threads of magic together to build an enchantment out of thin air. He didn't write this part down in his notes, really—just the vaguest references in his worst handwriting, and he'll destroy the notes as soon as he's done. Evan won't object; they shouldn't be lying around. Runes can be little more than scratches on a surface if they're not done properly—intent is what turns them into something other than a string of scribbles, and intent is shaping magic. So is transfiguration. Regulus can do each of them on their own perfectly fine, but doing both of them together—by the time that the last rose is sitting on the side table complete, identical down to the number of petals, he's a little over-warm.

Only a little. It'll pass in a few minutes a long as he doesn't do any other magic. He didn't channel anything, just forced shapes into place a bit, so it's not like he actually took any magic into his body—that's where things start to get risky.

Evan doesn't notice. Regulus stows his wand and takes a slow breath, and Evan unfolds the last rose, checks it, and folds it back up with care. "McGonagall would be giving you enough points to win the House Cup if she saw these."

"I think we both know that's an exaggeration."

"Only because she's stingy with points—if Flitwick taught Transfiguration he'd be over the moon, and rightfully so, in my correct opinion." He beams, which is really more than Regulus should be expected to handle at the moment. "Are these all done, or do they need... something?"

"They're done. I just need to destroy my notes."

 

Evan doesn't take Regulus's arm again when they get back to the ballroom. Regulus tries not to care—they have something important to do—but Evan lights up as soon as they walk back in, as if the past twenty minutes haven't happened, the secrets and the listening falling away and leaving him bright-eyed and buoyant and... sparklier than he was in his sitting room, even when Regulus got the transfiguration right, and Regulus pushes down a stab of unreasonable irritation—Evan enjoys this sort of thing. Leaving, even for something important, would obviously have been a low point of the evening, and it almost certainly has nothing to do with Regulus himself. Not to mention that Regulus responded to Evan's reveal by immediately having a problem that needed to be solved, so.

The roses are in Evan's pocket (he apparently charms all of them to make them bigger on the inside), and their plan is simple: go to the balcony, find all the listening roses in the decor there, and swap them out for the new ones under the guise of wandering around the balcony making small talk about the ball. It's a very simple plan, and it should go perfectly.

Which is naturally why they find Mulciber, Warrington, and Amycus Carrow at the top of the stairs.

The last time Regulus spoke to Amycus at a society event was over the winter holidays, at a dinner party at Lestrange Abbey. They were seated next to each other, presumably so they could bond over being future Death Eaters or something of the sort; not much bonding happened, but it was generally amicable. Regulus didn't say much, as he was eavesdropping on Narcissa's conversation with Father about a particular Knockturn Alley bookshop. Things were uncomplicated between them back then—Amycus assumed they were on good terms and the same career path, and Regulus let him.

That is no longer the case.

The addition of Mulciber and Warrington doesn't help. In the Slytherin common room, Regulus would know exactly what to do—at the summer solstice ball... he can't start an argument, but he also can't give ground. He and Evan have stronger claims to their invitations than any of them do. (Implied invitation, in Evan's case. He probably didn't actually receive one.)

He could just walk past them—but that might inspire them to stick around on the balcony and refuse to let him push them out with his mere presence. His ignoring them might provoke them. That could be very bad, considering the company they're in.

Or it could provide further ammunition for Regulus to push the narrative of the Death Eaters as upstarts who don't respect the institution of the Sacred Twenty-Eight and seek to supplant them.

Hm.

The thing is, he doesn't actually have another option—he's certainly not turning and leaving, nor is he starting something. They have to swap out the roses, and he doesn't want to be painted as the aggressor.

Forward it is.

The balcony is spacious, so Regulus doesn't really have to push past so much as simply walk by them—Evan trails behind him without so much as a hello to the others, which hopefully communicates that they don't feel the need to interact. A flower arrangement overflows its lacy vase on a marble pedestal, and Regulus counts at least six of those deep pink roses as they walk by—they can't possibly all be listening devices, right?

He could try reaching out with his specialty, but it wouldn't do any good. Rosier Manor is swamped with magic of all kinds, and the roses that aren't listening devices probably have high-quality stasis charms on them. Regulus wouldn't be able to pick out the correct ones casually; not that he has to, really, because Evan's the one carrying the roses, but it's still disconcerting.

Regulus proceeds all the way to the other side of the balcony, as far as he can get—leaving his back turned, yes, but if that becomes a problem in the short term, it will become a huge advantage for Regulus's image in the long term.

Evan props his elbows on the railing, apparently at ease, which maybe he is. It is his ballroom, and he's hardly going to be afraid of falling over the edge. "Your cousin is exceedingly irked by the festivities this year."

Making conversation. That's a reasonable thing to do while Regulus tries to figure out how to get Mulciber, Warrington, and Carrow to leave. "Which one?"

"Oh, Narcissa." He sighs. "She's such a Malfoy now."

"She is married to their heir."

Another sigh, even more mournful than the last. "A tragic fate. She's condemned herself to a lifetime of being outdone at parties. She should at least accept it."

They're being watched. Regulus doesn't have to turn around to know it. There is no other conversation happening on the balcony, even though there are three other people here.

"I mean, it's what we do," Evan continues. "They can't lobby the government and such and also expect to throw the best parties. It's a full-time job. Are you busy in August? Heather's planning a combination birthday party and sendoff for Priam since he'll be going to the Continent for a few months, and I expect it will be quite something, because she wanted to know about our usual vendor for fireworks—I said I thought Priam might have opinions on those, but she said what's the point of her planning it if he has to do things and he's not supposed to know in the first place even though he probably does already because Heather wanted to speak to me out of earshot which is, frankly, a dead giveaway that there's some sort of surprise being planned—the only question is whether Priam's anticipated the fireworks, and if so, whether he does actually have opinions—I suppose that's not my problem, though!"

He pauses there, possibly to breathe, so Regulus says, "It doesn't seem to be, no."

"Naturally not. My problem," Evan declares, "is that fireworks don't work very well during the day, but since Heather mentioned them I've been thinking about having them at the garden party—everyone's outside, after all, so it seems ideal except for the time of day, but I might be able to commission something—hello, how are you enjoying the ball?"

This last part is said to Julius Mulciber, who's helped himself to a spot on Evan's other side. Warrington and Carrow haven't joined him—but they're watching, stonefaced enough that Regulus can't tell if they support this gambit or not.

"Well, thanks," Mulciber says, which is surprisingly civil of him, or it would be if not for the scowl sent Regulus's way as he says it—and then, "Thanks for the invite, by the way."

Evan dimples at him—how has Regulus not noticed for fifteen years that he has dimples? "We're broadening our horizons. One can't associate only with one's own kind, you know—it does funny things to your head, and then you turn into a Malfoy, and they're terribly uptight. I think a snob is a perfectly horrible thing to be, so I'm really quite pleased that you and your ilk seem to have accepted your invitations! Especially since I thought you'd be more of a..." He waves both hands vaguely in Mulciber's direction. "'Blah, blah, death to tradition, culture is useless, all I care about are curses' type. Are you and Warrington still together? I'm afraid I don't remember exactly when that tidbit came out—no matter! Have you danced yet? That was my point in asking—you should dance, the concertmaster is American but he's actually very good and he'll be playing at a few of Alphard Black's salons this summer—oh, I suppose you'd have no reason to know—Regulus's great-uncle is very influential among those with an interest in the finer arts, so his stamp of approval is nothing to sneer at! Take advantage! The summer solstice ball is the best time to dance." Evan beams. "The ballroom at Malfoy Manor has poor acoustics—aren't I right, Regulus?"

The acoustics at Malfoy Manor are perfectly fine. "I happen to be seeing Narcissa tomorrow, so I'd prefer to refrain from commenting."

Evan bursts out laughing, golden peals that morph into, "But you have to comment. I have to brag to her at your birthday." He turns slightly away from Mulciber as he says it—not much, but enough for Regulus to understand the game. Make Mulciber feel uncomfortably out of his depth at a society event— that part was simple.

Part two is pretend to forget that he's here.

"You could brag about the Quidditch Cup," Regulus suggests—Carrow is still listening. "The team struggled the whole time she was on it—it wasn't her fault, the captain had no head for strategy and didn't take constructive criticism, but I imagine it would do the job. If you talk about the acoustics too much, she might have the entire ballroom redone just to spite you."

"Oh, I'd love that." Evan's eyes shine—he's turned a little more towards Regulus, and of course it's part of the plan to get Mulciber to leave, but part of Regulus wants to believe that Evan's doing it just because he wants to turn this way. "I'd be able to hold that over her head for the rest of our lives. We'd be at the winter solstice banquet fifty years from now and I'd bribe you to sneak in and change the seating arrangements an hour before it began so I could sit right next to her and talk about the ballroom the whole time. And even if she tried to change it to keep me from talking about it, then I'd be able to talk about how she changed it just because she wanted to stop me from talking about it, and so on and so forth, and it would be glorious. I'm absolutely going to talk about the acoustics—but I'll talk about the Quidditch Cup too! Will we be seated next to each other?"

Probably not. It would go against the best practice of seating guests near others with whom they have common interests. This year is one of the rare ones when the summer solstice is two days before Regulus's birthday, so Mother has taken it upon herself to arrange something more elaborate than simply having some family over for tea—she'll want to control the seating chart properly. "If you'd like to be, certainly."

"Don't think I'll brag about the Quidditch Cup just to make her feel bad," Evan adds earnestly. "I wouldn't do that. I just think that not enough people know that you caught the Snitch with a broken arm, and Barty said he was sick to death of me telling him."

 

It takes another five or so minutes to drive Mulciber, Warrington, and Carrow off the balcony by sheer force of aggressively minding their own business, but it feels like forever. If it weren't for them, Regulus would be able to just talk to Evan up here, without knowing for a fact that people were scrutinizing him for... something.

After that, the rest of the mission is easy. Evan trails his fingertips over each of the roses in the arrangement, as well as the ones garlanding parts of the railing, telling Regulus about how they chose this particular color for the ball this year—twice, he slips a rose out of his pocket, tucks it into the greenery with a deft twist, and removes another in the same moment, and his path naturally takes them back to the top of the stairs, so anyone who happened to be looking couldn't possibly be surprised by them proceeding back to the ground floor.

Then they take a sharp turn back into the foyer, aided materially by Evan taking Regulus's sleeve and pulling him that way. He weaves through guests, stopping often to exchange greetings and ask how people are, with the sort of easy smile Regulus has never understood—and then, like they somehow arrived at the stairs on the balcony, they're suddenly wandering back into the family's wing.

He must want to put the extra roses away. Regulus won't question why he's been brought along—they left Evan's rooms on such a... goal-oriented note last time, which wasn't at all... it felt rushed. Because it was rushed, really. This can be different, even if it's only a few moments.

Once they're back in Evan's sitting room and the door is securely shut, Evan lets out a breath and smiles. "Mission accomplished." He digs around in his pocket and comes up with four roses, almost too many to fit in one hand—three of them are set delicately on a side table, and then he holds out the last one to Regulus. "For you."

For him?

Regulus must take too long to respond, because Evan steps closer and takes his hand, palm up like they're doing palmistry—that could have been the last time they ever did palmistry—places the rose in his hand, curls Regulus's fingers around it—his hands are warm, and he's standing barely a foot away, and he doesn't let go— "You're not going to crush it. It's not as delicate as it looks."

Right. Regulus duplicated one of these. He should know that.

He's dimly aware that this is the point at which he's probably supposed to say or do something, but his head is full of a stunning lack of ideas—anything Regulus could say feels as though it has the potential to break... whatever is happening, interrupt or strain it somehow, and just... he's already dreading the moment when Evan will let go and step away, but he doesn't know what he's supposed to do to get that to not happen—at least not yet, not soon, because they are still very much at the summer solstice ball, and their absence will be missed—Regulus knows how to make someone go away.

He doesn't know how to get them to come closer.

"Thank you," is the only thing he can think of that doesn't sound horrifically stupid, and it's still banal—the most obvious possible response to any kind of gift.

But Evan smiles at it anyway, a soft thing that unfurls like a silk scroll.

And then they stand there, long enough that Regulus really can't justify his not moving away as anything other than... not moving away. This far from the ballroom, they can't hear the music or the conversation, and if it weren't for their dress robes, Regulus might even be able to forget that roughly half of wizarding Britain is only a short walk away—as it is, they still feel impossibly far, separated from Regulus and Evan by a closed door and... something else.

They can't stay here forever, though, and he can't say he's surprised when Evan sighs. "We need to be getting back, darling."

It's not like Regulus can argue.

 

He stays late, later than he did last year—Mother and Father don't particularly care, since he's more than capable of Flooing home on his own and they have no plans for tomorrow. By the time that he gets back to his room, he knows he's tired, but when he closes his eyes his head spins with pink roses and orange-blossom soap and darling, over and over with every time their eyes met afterwards, Evan taking his arm or his sleeve or his hand, and it's a long time before he falls asleep.

Notes:

gotta love that sheer awkwardness of just standing there like 'is he going to say something or am i going to say something or is he going to say something or am i--'

except evan's internal monologue is more like 'wow regulus is such a disaster 🥰' and regulus's is more like '?????????????????????'

agshgkhkdjf evan is so mean in this chapter. to mulciber and to regulus. god how DARE he compliment regulus's transfiguration work and then unleash the famed rosier oblivious passive aggression on regulus's enemies and then GIVE HIM A PRESENT and HOLD HIS HAND and--

not regulus using his family specialty the teeniest tiniest bit to Aid A Critical Intelligence Mission (impress evan) - it was truly a teeny tiny bit he's not going to spiral down the madness route because of it, but dude 🤦♀️ failing at things is ok sometimes

since i've mentioned priam has an august birthday i can now point out something that rlly irks me, which is that we assume hogwarts letters arrive on your 11th birthday but a) what about the late august babies and b) harry's hogwarts letter wasn't sUPPOSED to arrive on his 11th birthday, the delivery attempts started days before, it was just dramatic timing

so i think there's a system where muggleborns receive letters earlier than everyone else since they probably haven't been Planning on attending hogwarts in september and need to make arrangements, and everyone else generally gets them over the summer, although the times are a little staggered just b/c that's how mail is

also a bunch of you commented on the last chapter about how when evan took the rose out you thought it was going to be some kind of gift/confession and i was like holy shit you're right, what is evan doing getting regulus alone with flowers if not making moves, so that's what inspired the last part of the chapter aghslgkjhdfk

discussion questions for this chapter!
1. what kind of ~private conversations~ are people having in the gardens afjsghljkf
2. has maeve mentioned to emma her Thoughts about regulus, and also what did she think of that 'i simply MUST go off alone with regulus because. uh. BIRTHDAY! yeah :)' from evan
3. how DID regulus not notice evan had dimples for the past 15, almost 16 years of their acquaintance?
4. how much of what evan said on the balcony was true? has he really been rambling to barty about the snitch catch for months? if so how do you think barty responded aghlsdkjghj

next time: iiiiiii also have not written this chapter but! june proceeds! the summer is a little less plot-dense than the school year, so things should move along relatively quickly for a bit. barty does feel like a fly stuck in amber atm but it's ok he's found a new way to annoy his father (wait on the stairs for him and moody to come home every day and completely ignore crouch sr in favor of bothering moody about his field work and repeatedly attempting to get a straight answer about how many people he's killed)

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 62

Maeve tells Evan, who tells Regulus, that she's gotten her brother on board, which increases their number of Hogwarts graduates from one to two. It's small, but it's not nothing, and it means another Sacred Twenty-Eight heir on their side; Regulus intends for the Death Eaters to have a summer that leaves quite a bit to be desired, so increasing that number will grow easier and easier.

His birthday arrives without much fanfare; the dinner conversation largely stays away from politics and the war, for which Regulus is grateful—Evan brings up quidditch, but not Narcissa's ballroom, so the atmosphere doesn't get combative. Bellatrix does whisper "One more year!" and tap at her left forearm with a grin on her way out, but other than that, it's an uneventful evening.

One more year.

That's how long Regulus has to turn the Death Eaters into a terrible option.

If he doesn't do it by then, there's nothing in between him and the Dark Mark.

 

"You are aware, of course," Mother says at breakfast one day, "that the Dark Lord is no longer restricting his acceptance of current students to a... select few."

"Naturally." Regulus wasn't aware of anything of the sort. "Why do you suppose that is?"

He can fill in some blanks—Voldemort suffering from a sudden blow to his forces, looking for a way to replenish; Mulciber and Warrington suddenly at the summer solstice ball. The only question is whether both of them were Marked, or just one.

And when it happened.

And how the Rosiers knew to invite them.

Invitations to the summer solstice ball arrive well in advance; for many families, they're a given, but such is not always the case. Those who aren't always invited need time and notice to make the necessary arrangements for things like clothing, and it would be a horrible faux pas to invite the likes of Mulciber before inviting House Black. A pair of goldendoves tapping at the dining room window was the ritual of early May before Regulus started at Hogwarts.

Either Voldemort was Marking students over spring break (unlikely; Regulus would have heard about it), or the Rosiers knew (or guessed) who he would Mark this summer.

"He desires reinforcements," Mother says. "They are of age."

Father picks up the thread without looking up from the Daily Prophet. "They will grasp at any morsel of power he will grant them, which makes them eager to please. They will certainly attempt to recruit more students in order to gain favor."

Yes. That's not ideal, but they're not well-liked in Slytherin, so Regulus will be able to counteract it; he doesn't even necessarily have to wait until September to start. "Thus increasing their likelihood of drawing Dumbledore's attention tenfold. I should think taking a risk like that would only serve to make the Dark Lord seem... desperate."

"Or overconfident," Father mutters.

Mother taps twice on the table; the teapot pours her another cup, and one sugar stirs itself in. She takes a long sip before responding. "Be that as it may, he is not complacent. Nor should we be content to watch as others claim the glory that should be ours. The Lestranges are rousing the rabble, Regulus, and the new Death Eaters are indications of their success. If your father is correct, and the Dark Lord's foundation is crumbling, then they shall face the consequences. However, if the Dark Lord continues to rise, then they shall reap the benefits, and we may find our prominence... questioned." She dabs at her mouth with her napkin. "A new generation of purebloods rises. They do not know our ways. They barely know our history. If they do not understand why we occupy the position that we do, we will teach them."

"What if the Dark Lord does not wish to be taught?" Regulus says.

Mother's face twists. She opens her mouth—

Father closes the Daily Prophet with a snap. "We are not speaking of the Dark Lord, Regulus. He is one man. Men die."

And Mother takes another sip of tea, expressionless.

 

The next day is June twenty-sixth, exactly one year since Sirius left.

That eagle quill he gave Regulus is still sitting in Regulus's desk, untouched, the last birthday present either of them gave each other. Regulus has messages to write—Heather's responded to his summary of yesterday's breakfast conversation with a long list of ideas about how to cut off any more formalized recruiting efforts before they start, complicated somewhat by the fact that they don't know exactly who to watch out for, but they have a general idea—and it's just a quill, and he and Sirius are talking now, or they have been. It's not like they can keep in touch when Regulus is at home, and he's not entirely sure what he'd say, anyway.

It's just a quill.

 

He uses another one anyway.

 

The rest of June is uneventful. Emma seems to have obtained blanket permission to use the grounds of Rosier Manor for quidditch, judging by the summer practice schedule Regulus receives from her. He remembers just in time that the Bulstrodes aren't going to China this summer, since they're fully occupied with wedding preparations, which means that they're celebrating Maeve's birthday in July instead of August and as a result he needs to get her a present very, very soon.

July begins with a message from Evan.

 

The Order of the Phoenix has started using the Taboo on Voldy's name to set traps for Death Eaters. Body count of at least seven—all the casualties are on Voldy's side so far, but he'll catch onto this strategy very fast. I don't think it'll hit the papers since it's vigilante activity, so no public image stuff necessary—I just thought you should know.

 

There's no way he got that from the roses at the solstice ball.

Does Regulus ask?

It's a family secret. He can't push too hard—if he tries to force Evan to tell him, it'll go badly. Besides, he said he wouldn't—he said he trusted Evan, and he does, but... it's Evan's parents he's not sure about. They have so much information about so many people—Regulus doesn't know why they do it, which means he doesn't know how they use it, which means he doesn't know how to account for them in his plans.

 

How many people know about this?

Outside the Order? You're one of a select few. But like I said, Voldy will know soon.

You sound certain.

I know for a fact.

I thought your parents were against taking sides.

They are.

Regulus can't figure out how to pivot into a question from there in a way that won't cause more harm than good, so he lets it be.

 

OWL results arrive in the middle of lunch, a screech owl with a violet band around its leg dropping an envelope next to Regulus's plate and leaving immediately, which is possibly the worst time for them to arrive, because it means that Regulus is going to have to open the letter, read his results, and immediately share them with his parents with no time to think over what he's going to say—not that he thinks anything went particularly badly, but he's never been gifted at Herbology, and the Charms practical was fine, which does not necessarily mean it was outstanding, and OWL results aren't like his end-of-year transcripts—he can't amass a year's worth of written work that will counterbalance however he does on the practical at the end of the year. He only got one chance at the OWL, and written and practical work are weighted equally.

But he can't hesitate, and he can't seem to hesitate. He's Heir Black. He needs to look as though nothing in this envelope could possibly be bad news.

The Ministry seal breaking sounds like a firecracker in the silent dining room. There isn't much inside—two flimsy pieces of parchment, the mass-produced kind that only takes certain cheap inks, barely a step up from newspaper. They crinkle when Regulus unfolds them.

The first page is a form letter— To Mr. Regulus Black, Enclosed you will find your results from the Ordinary Wizarding Level examinations, et cetera. It's signed by the head of the small, generally inconsequential Department of Education—the Ministry has to have one, but the important decisions are made by Dumbledore and the Hogwarts board of trustees—and that's it.

Regulus sets it aside.

The second page is results.

He reads it.

Reads it again.

"Well?" Father says.

He can't sound surprised. He cannot sound surprised. This is only to be expected. He's not the type who does poorly in school. Anything less than this would have been odd. This is nothing out of the ordinary. It could be practically any other Wednesday.

"All Outstandings," Regulus says.

Father nods, and Mother changes the subject to a dinner party the Zabinis have invited them to, and that's the end of that.

 

I got an O in Charms.

Evan responds in moments. Congratulations!! (Told you so.)

Thank you.

You are most welcome. I don't suppose I can convince you to take the NEWT? We could set a time for standing weekly Charms practice; I do so worry that your office will get lonely.

 

Regulus is not nearly as repulsed by the idea of NEWT Charms as he should be, but that's not a good reason to take the class. It would mean two years of being unable to drop the subject, after he's spent years waiting for this opportunity—besides, NEWT classes are far more labor-intensive, so he'd have to spend even more time working on Charms.

 

I won't be continuing Charms, but we could make similar arrangements if you continue Transfiguration. I doubt my office cares one way or the other.

I would rather die than write one more essay for McGonagall, but the offer is appreciated. Also, Divination? I'm signing up for that, but I would feel bereft if I had to find a new partner.

Divination is easy enough. No need. I'll take it too.

Excellent! Reading some random examiner's palm on the practical was horribly disappointing.

 

Barty's OWL results are stuck at the Ministry waiting to be scanned for Dark magic, which Regulus finds out when Barty responds to his question about NEWT subjects with surprise, then irritation.

 

My guess is that they'll get here by tomorrow—it's usually pretty quick, unless we've gotten a lot of stuff at once. Runes and Charms for sure, I know those were fine. I'll take Transfiguration if I did well enough. If I only take three classes my father will have an aneurysm, so I probably need to mentally brace for four and arguing him down from five.

Do you have strong feelings about Potions one way or another?

Not beyond the fact that it's close to our dorm which is nice. Are you continuing?

I want to stay on Slughorn's good side.

Fair enough. I suppose that's as good a reason as any.

 

There's not much about the Death Eaters or the Order of the Phoenix in the news. That doesn't really mean anything on its own—just that whatever they're doing, they haven't caused much collateral damage. Or it's just to Muggles.

The exception is an article the day after Mother's birthday about another family murdered in their home. Regulus finds out about it at breakfast because Father remarks drily that at least the optics of this one are a little better than the last.

What he means is that everyone who was killed was an adult, legally speaking. The Harrington family had no young children whose faces could be splashed across the Daily Prophet in a bid for pathos.

They did have a seventeen-year-old.

Regulus never spoke to Xavier Harrington. Geoff probably did—they were both quidditch captains last year. It was Harrington's first year as captain, his third or fourth as Keeper. He should have been returning to Hogwarts for one more.

Both of his parents were Muggleborns, according to the article. The Prophet doesn't identify any other reasons that they might have been targeted.

Regulus Occludes through breakfast to make sure he looks appropriately unfazed.

 

His life doesn't change.

Somehow, Regulus feels as though it should—he knew Harrington, albeit from a distance, and now Harrington is dead. The war has already touched Hogwarts, but now it can't be ignored.

And yet every day in Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place is the same. It's as if it hadn't happened. The war is a political question, the stakes hardly life-and-death, but... they are life and death. Mother and Father might be able to pretend otherwise, but they're not the ones who might be targeted, or the ones who might fight. They intend for Regulus to do that part, and of course he won't die—that only happens to unimportant people. Just look at the Death Eaters. Bellatrix is fine—better than fine, really.

Regulus has to do more. He has to figure out some way to end the war faster—get fewer people killed, shut down Voldemort, shut down the possibility of another war like this ever happening again. But to really work on the Sacred Twenty-Eight, he needs his parents' backing or at least their tolerance, and to get that...

Being at home doesn't help him think. The war buzzes under his skin, and he can write to people, but it's not the same thing as being able to speak to them, and it's all too slow.

He needs Voldemort to do something stupid and impulsive. He needs Voldemort to snatch at power and leave himself open for another blow. He needs Voldemort to...

Do something like Marking a current Hogwarts student, perhaps.

 

We need to tip Dumbledore off about Marked Death Eaters at Hogwarts. Without incriminating ourselves.

 

Okay, Barty responds. Number one, yikes. Number two, are we turning in specific names, or just letting him know they exist?

I'm working on getting the names. (Or rather, Evan is.) It's Mulciber, Warrington, or both, most likely. I don't want him screening all of us even if he's only looking for Dark Marks, or bringing in Aurors. We don't know what they check when they're investigating for evidence of Dark Arts.

Wish I could help on that front—I've tried to figure out how they scan our letters and stuff, since I have approximately jackshit else to do, but apparently the process is classified and all Moody told me is that you have to tune devices to do it and then take a big step back so your magic doesn't confuse it.

In that case, I'll ask Priam, but the point still stands. We have to point Dumbledore straight at the Marked Death Eaters, without making it look like a Slytherin problem, with making it seem urgent.

Does it have to be Dumbledore? He wouldn't stand in the way if Scrimgeour had probable cause, would he?

Probably not, but it's a risk, and I don't want Aurors coming near Slytherin if possible. Also, it might raise the question of who at Hogwarts is willing and able to send Scrimgeour this type of information, and whether they're connected to the mystery informant who told him about Rookwood, and if so, how one person knows all of this and why they haven't approached the DMLE to offer their services in a less anonymous fashion.

 

Barty thinks on that long enough that Regulus flips to Lily's section for an update on Meadowes, who took the news of Harrington's death very hard—she's apparently been convinced to go stay with McKinnon for a few days as a way to get out of her own bedroom.

Roommates are probably the way to go, then, Barty's written by the time Regulus flips back. Dark Marks aren't exactly subtle, are they? Should be pretty easy to claim to have seen one while someone's changing, and then it looks organic. Although that doesn't by default shut down the possibility of there being any other Death Eaters in Slytherin, which means we might get investigated anyway.

And there's always the possibility that it's occurred to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named that perhaps he shouldn't put a Dark Mark on someone who's about to go back to Hogwarts, regardless of their allegiance.

That too. Maybe we really will need someone to spot something.

 

Regulus puts the same question to Lily, Heather, and Evan, to see if any of them have other ideas, and then he gathers what remains of his school-year allowance from inside his desk.

Before each term for the past three years, he's been given an amount of Galleons that is estimated to be sufficient to buy whatever he wants on Hogsmeade trips. (It wouldn't do to look as though he has to be frugal.) It's never much, because he's mostly expected to order things from their usual suppliers and charge the family bank account, not wait until Hogsmeade weekends to go out and purchase them himself. But Regulus also rarely buys anything other than butterbeer and sometimes sweets, neither of which are particularly expensive. He always comes back with some extra, and Mother and Father have never asked about it, so Regulus has just... kept it.

He's permitted to withdraw money from their Gringotts vault, but then Father might ask why, and Regulus doesn't want to have to answer that, hence using the money he's stashed. He's 'visiting Evan' this afternoon, which is true, although he has strategically failed to mention that they will be leaving Rosier Manor to go to Diagon Alley. Evan doesn't know what Regulus wants to buy, or for whom, although he claims the curiosity is driving him mad.

Regulus doesn't really intend to keep it from him—Evan did agree to let him borrow Caspian for the delivery without prodding for details—he's just not sure how to explain... why.

Three years of Hogsmeade trips mean that Regulus has to dig through a different desk drawer to find the coin purse he received as a birthday gift a few years ago with an Undetectable Expansion Charm on it. This might be an excessive amount—but he's not sure how much it'll cost, so better to bring everything he has. He's chosen one of his new sets of robes for today—summer is always the season of getting new clothes and having measurements taken for whatever he'll need over the winter holidays—and that's really all he needs, which means it's time to go.

Regulus is long past wondering whether this is a good idea. It's a good enough idea for him to do it, which is what matters. If it doesn't go over well, then...

That probably won't happen.

 

As soon as they've stepped into Diagon Alley, Evan claps his hands. "Okay! I've languished in ignorance long enough, where are we going?"

"Somewhere that will sell me a decent wristwatch for under sixty Galleons," Regulus says.

Evan blinks.

Blinks again.

Then he says, "I think Barty's mother will find a way to get him one despite the Fidelius, if that's what you're worried about. Also, isn't it a tad early?"

"It's not for him." They're in the middle of a crowded street—Regulus doesn't really want to just say it. Evan will figure it out.

He doesn't push. "Capital! Then let us find a moderately priced wristwatch."

 

There's a side street Evan knows that's almost entirely jewelers and watchmakers, and they end up going to three—the first one is too fancy, and the second has a few viable options but nothing Regulus is particularly happy with. The third one has a wide selection of watches with dragonhide straps, including a red one, which is what he was looking for, with a gold face, which makes it perfect, and he buys it with a sinking feeling in his stomach.

Maybe it's too simple. Maybe it's too much. Maybe it's ludicrously belated. Maybe it's an empty gesture. Maybe it pales in comparison with whatever the Potters undoubtedly got him. Maybe it's a waste of time and money.

But he's bought it now, so he's stuck.

"You should come over properly," Evan says over the jingling of the bell in the doorway as they leave. "I mean, Caspian and everything, but properly, not just to drop that off. It's a bit late to request anything special for tea, but we can acquire provisions while we're here and then just ask for a pot of tea once we get back, that'll be easy—as long as you're joining, of course!"

"I will." As the words are leaving Regulus's mouth, he becomes aware that he's responded very quickly, and perhaps he should have pretended to think it over a little, but he has nothing else to do today and he did set aside the whole afternoon for 'visiting Evan,' so...

Evan beams. "Provisions, then."

 

The note Regulus sends with the watch is extremely brief, especially considering the amount of time it took him to write it, and then he didn't know how to sign off, so he just... didn't. Sirius will recognize his handwriting, or he won't. Besides, it's not like there will be scores of people sending him things like this. His birthday was in November.

Caspian departs with the parcel, becoming a white speck in the sky in seconds, and Regulus watches him leave with the rocky feeling in his stomach that he's done something wrong.

Evan's hand settles on his arm, steady, which somehow makes Regulus's chest feel tight.

Neither of them says a word.

 

Happy belated seventeenth.

Notes:

haha this chapter hurt me

tense and polite family meals are a hallmark of house black. the crouches just go for 'tense with the occasional detour into openly hostile' and the rosiers are more of an 'everything is fine ^-^' family

regulus expresses himself with gifts, which can become really, really uncomfortable when you're not sure what the right gift is to fix things. how does he make sirius like him again? what if that's impossible and he's just embarrassing himself by sending something so obviously sentimental? what if sirius does not give a shit?

(of course, regulus is never a reliable source when sirius is involved. also, evan's idea of 'moderately priced' is not what i would call 'in touch with reality'. sixty galleons is a LOT)

another clue about what's up with house rosier - how much of the puzzle have you put together? (if your answer is 'AAAA VERY LITTLE OH NO AM I BEHIND,' never fear, all will be made very clear eventually ajglshjds)

the owl results. ouch. regulus is having a great time and a fabulous summer

and getting death eaters out of hogwarts... how do you think that's going to go?

next time: the one-two punch of scrimgeour-crouch sr continues to prove uncomfortably effective...

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

EDIT 9/26/23: i don't think i'm going to be able to update tomorrow - i got sick over the weekend and i doubt i'll have the chapter done. it has really been a Year for my immune system lmao yikes - i'll update when i can! but first sleep

Chapter 63

Regulus doesn't get a response, not that he really expected one. Sirius shouldn't be writing to him while he's at home—it's too risky.

But 'shouldn't' has only rarely stopped him before, so.

It's fine. He'll let it fade away along with the rest of July. He has other things to worry about, anyway.

Evan has confirmed that along with the Carrow twins and Stephen Travers, all of whom just graduated, Mulciber and Warrington were Marked in June. That means there will be at least two Marked Death Eaters in Slytherin this upcoming year. They may still be communicating with the Lestranges, or they may have a direct line of communication to Voldemort—Regulus has to be prepared for either.

More importantly, them being Marked means Voldemort approves of them. If Regulus continues to publicly go against them, he is, by implication, going against Voldemort.

Publicly.

That's what he's wrestling with. Because the easiest way for Regulus to proceed is for him to turn into the invisible hand putting pieces in place. Retreat from the common room, retreat from confrontation, run the war from a locked journal and a secret room and vanish into the shadows.

He can't do that.

He can't. He's supposed to be the face of Dark Arts in Slytherin, the clear and reasonable alternative to the Death Eaters, someone specific to turn 'anti-purist Dark Arts' from a hypothetical to a reality. Blood purity and Dark Arts have been synonymous in the popular imagination for so long; they need a concrete counterexample. And that's Regulus.

But he's not ready to go public.

And yet...

He can make enemies and go up against future Death Eaters and teach Dark Arts to Muggleborns. He can tip off Aurors and get Death Eaters arrested. He can even, hopefully, get them expelled from Hogwarts.

But if he can't figure out how to make sure everyone knows about it, then all he's doing is helping Dumbledore.

 

Heather has thrown herself into planning Priam's combination birthday party and sendoff, and she writes to Regulus to ask for his input on the guest list, of all things.

You know everyone I know, Regulus responds. Not counting some of my extended family.

Not quite! She dots the i with a little circle. First of all, I need to consult on strategy. Second of all, I need full names. I can't exactly rent a flock of owls to deliver invitations if I don't know who they're supposed to be delivering them to.

Whose names do you need?

So glad you asked.

 

When Bellatrix comes over for tea, Father isn't home.

Regulus finds himself halfheartedly wishing he were; he has trouble figuring out what Mother is thinking, sometimes, especially with regard to Voldemort. Father is more predictable, even if he'd probably keep his thoughts to himself with Bellatrix around. The person who chooses the time and place for a fight is almost always the one who wins it.

Today, in the parlor, is neither the time nor the place.

"This year's crop of Death Eaters is such a riot," Bellatrix says, not long after arriving. She's back in her usual armchair, eyeing a footstool like she's trying to persuade it to move closer to her with sheer willpower. (It won't. Furniture that obeys mental orders tends to start getting things disastrously wrong as soon as there's more than one person nearby. They don't have any.) "Of course, some of them have been set to join for years, it's natural they're a little excitable, but Mulciber and Warrington are desperate for some huge thing they can do while they're at school. Mulciber in particular. If the Dark Lord asked him to kill Dumbledore, I think he'd cry tears of joy."

Does Regulus insult Mulciber, or should he be more reticent? He's a Death Eater now, and Regulus isn't. There are new lines to walk, and he's not quite sure where they are. "That seems like quite the assignment for a new Death Eater. Proximity would only get him so far."

"I want to let him try anyway," Bellatrix declares. "Either he'll succeed, or he'll do something very funny, or both."

Regulus wouldn't call 'fail, get caught, and go to Azkaban' particularly funny, but to each their own. If Bellatrix is confident, then she's either wrong or knows something he doesn't, and in both cases it makes more sense for him to go with it than to push back. "Do you think the Dark Lord will actually let him?"

"Well." She grins at him. "There's a big gray area between asking him to do it and telling him not to, isn't there?"

 

The next day, Barty writes, Shit going down in the DMLE. Not sure what. My father basically came home to sleep and left again around five in the morning.

That could really mean anything. I assume he didn't say anything notable. Was Moody more forthcoming?

Nope. I didn't see either of them leave—my mum told me about it at breakfast. Today's a big day, it seems.

Which means Regulus will have to ask Evan if he knows what's happening, although today is probably too soon for an answer. He's not quite clear on how quickly the Rosiers get information, or how they do it, really, but it doesn't seem to be ahead of time.

Speaking of shit going down, Bellatrix hinted yesterday that Mulciber and Warrington might be encouraged to attempt to kill Dumbledore, he writes back to Barty.

Wow. Okay. Do we let them?

That's an interesting question.

Regulus's instinct is to counteract whatever Mulciber and Warrington try to do. But they'll get themselves into quite a lot of trouble for making an attempt on Dumbledore's life, and even more for succeeding, and it'll keep them busy.

But what if they do succeed?

Dumbledore will become a martyr. The Order of the Phoenix might fall apart without its leader, but it also might rally behind someone else—Moody, for example. Perhaps someone a little less scrupulous about avoiding the Unforgivables. Less beloved in the popular imagination, for now, but that could change, especially when they could be framed as heroically taking up the mantle of leadership in the wake of the loss of Dumbledore. It might be a death blow to the Order of the Phoenix—or it might spur them on.

I'm quite happy to let them fail, he responds. If it looks like they might actually manage it, then let's discuss. And it's a hypothetical, anyway—there's no guarantee they'll actually try, or that they'll do so anytime soon.

 

Barty's next update comes late that night—if he'd been a few minutes later, Regulus would have already turned the lights off to go to sleep, but as soon as he flips to Barty's section of his journal, he's wide awake.

My father's back—seems like it'll be another night of sleeping and departing, I heard him telling whoever was with him to come back at five. But it's not Moody. I don't know who this one is.

Moody isn't guarding Barty's father. At least, not right now.

It sounds innocuous enough; even bodyguards get days off, probably. But that's the way that it's been for months, Moody shadowing Crouch Sr., and combined with the late nights and early mornings...

Do you think something happened to him?

To Moody? Don't know. My father sounded basically the same as always, but all that means is that the country's not in total shambles.

 

It doesn't hit the papers until two days later.

Regulus has continued his subscription to the Daily Prophet at home, even though Father gets it too—he got a nod of approval when he mentioned that he'd made a habit of reading it, and it means that he doesn't have to wait for his parents to be finished with certain sections before he can read them.

For example, today's front page, which has a photograph of Crouch Sr. and Moody shaking hands under a headline reading, NEW LEADERSHIP IN ANTI-TERRORISM TASK FORCE; SCRIMGEOUR CRITICALLY INJURED APPREHENDING SUSPECTED DEATH EATERS.

That's not good.

Regulus probably won't find anything particularly disturbing in the article, but he brings up an Occlumency shield anyway; that way, he can better plan out how he's going to respond to the news in front of his parents.

He should probably write to Lily to tell her; he's not entirely sure how she gets news about the magical world over the summers. Everyone else will know by the time Regulus could get a message to them, since he can't exactly rush out of the dining room to send updates.

The good news is that the Aurors tracked down the Death Eaters involved in the deaths of the Harrington family in record time. The bad news is that, reading between the lines, it was a trap. The article is light on details, but they got about half the Death Eaters they were looking for and Kingsley Shacklebolt's received a commendation for getting Scrimgeour out of there alive. One casualty on Voldemort's side. Multiple Aurors being treated for aftereffects from Dark Arts—which is a terrible way to phrase it, they could have at least said Dark curses. And Alastor Moody taking over the task force while Scrimgeour is recovering.

That probably signals a shift in Dumbledore's priorities—if Moody is moving from protecting Crouch Sr. to actively going after Death Eaters, then he either doesn't think Crouch Sr. is particularly under threat anymore, or he thinks the task force is sufficiently advanced that it won't be a waste of Moody's time.

It does mean, of course, that the Order of the Phoenix will be able to organize its activities to complement whatever the Ministry is doing. They'll be working together without Crouch Sr. even realizing it.

That could be an avenue to cause some damage, if Regulus could find the right person to tell.

But would that be worth it? The Death Eaters are more than willing to kill people. It's better if Regulus lets the Ministry and the Order of the Phoenix go up against that, instead of turning his side into a target. Some dueling practice during inter-house study group meetings isn't the same as regularly going on raids or ambushes. They're not ready to fight like that.

Aftereffects from Dark Arts, though.

It's nothing new. Dark Arts have been synonymous with all things evil in the popular imagination for centuries. Grindelwald and Voldemort have only made it worse.

But Regulus reads the sentence again, and he's tired.

He still has his Occlumency shield up, so it's simple to modulate his voice to have just the right amount of subtle annoyance. "I fail to see how attacking Aurors with Dark curses is going to do anything other than inspire further popular resistance against legalizing Dark Arts. The last thing we need is more ammunition against us."

"Dark Arts are our advantage," Mother says. "Advocating to legalize them will immediately render oneself suspicious to the DMLE. Words mean very little without power to support them."

"It will inspire resentment."

"Resentment is envy concealed under pride."

He's clearly not going to get anywhere with that argument.

This is exactly why they need to draw a line separating Voldemort and Dark Arts. The longer they're synonymous, the more damage Voldemort does to Regulus's chances of success. But in order to separate them, there needs to be an obvious Dark movement against Voldemort, at least somewhat sympathetic to the general population, which means Regulus just circles all the way back around to his problem.

When, and how, does he go public?

 

The Bulstrode-Nott wedding is held, as is traditional, on the grounds of the groom's family estate. (Indoor weddings used to be more common, but as the guest lists grew and grew, summer weddings began to migrate outdoors, and now it's a bit of a statement to have one inside. Winter weddings are still usually indoors due to the inconvenience of maintaining heating enchantments outside for hours; Narcissa and Lucius's wedding was an exception, but then, the Malfoys are very experienced in the area of holding outdoor gatherings in December.) Mid-August is hardly Regulus's favorite time of year to be sitting outside practically all afternoon, especially in all-black dress robes, but he has to be here, so sit outside he must.

At least once the ceremony's ended, it's late enough in the afternoon that the air is starting to cool off. The reception will be the long part of the occasion, as always—that's when the agendas really begin to take shape.

Regulus has an agenda of his own this evening—well, two, actually, but they tie into each other, in a way. Besides, one of them will be easy.

And the other will be significantly easier than he thought it would be.

In order to cut off Voldemort's recruitment in the Sacred Twenty-Eight, Regulus has to do here what he did at Hogwarts—ostracize those who have already been recruited, and turn them against each other if possible. Maeve threatened to Vanish every bone in his body one by one if he incited anything here along the lines of what he's done in the Slytherin common room in the past, but there are plenty of things he can do beyond starting fights.

(Besides, Barty's not here. It wouldn't be the same without him.)

The most important thing is to avoid speaking to any Death Eaters, in as discreet a manner as possible. Regulus can't exactly turn his back if Bellatrix starts speaking to him—but he can go the entire reception without seeking her out, and if she speaks to him, he can politely slither out of the conversation as quickly as possible and go talk to someone else. Today won't be a miracle; it will likely have a very small impact on the structure of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. But if they keep doing it, it'll slowly begin to matter. People will notice the shift, even if they can't articulate exactly what it is right away. Regulus has Sacred Twenty-Eight heirs who are out of Hogwarts on his side now. Priam will keep this up; so will Felix and Cressida, and anyone they can subtly persuade to do the same. And when Regulus and the other students return for the winter holidays, they'll get back to work.

It doesn't solve Regulus's problem. But it's a step on the way there. The more unpopular the Death Eaters are among the Sacred Twenty-Eight, the easier it will be to publicly proclaim his opposition.

And executing this step won't be simple, but the seating chart the Bulstrodes and Notts put together for the reception has made it considerably simpler.

Seating for ceremonies tends to be very inflexible; the families are always at the front, and behind them are the most important Sacred Twenty-Eight families, sometimes followed by whoever the hosts want to build stronger alliances with, and then everyone else in rough order of importance. Regulus sat between Mother and Abraxas Malfoy, a few rows from the front, directly behind a very tall Nott cousin. He didn't actually see very much of the ceremony, but he did see the bridal party's tangerine-colored dress robes, so Maeve and Theophania lost that battle.

Seating for the reception offers far more room for creativity; quite a bit of social maneuvering can be disguised or justified with the excuse that people should be seated among others they'll want to speak to. Naturally, this means that the hosts can seat people at the same tables as others they should speak to, which means that any sort of party with a seating chart is a prime opportunity for the hosts to forge or break connections—even for other people. There are also many opportunities for power plays based on proximity to the hosts, or in this case, the bride and groom. The closer someone is, the more important they are.

And Regulus looks at the seating chart at the entrance to the reception pavilion, and he almost wants to laugh.

 

"Welcome to the most prestigious kids' table," Maeve says when Regulus arrives. They're three away from the dais where Felix and Cressida are sitting; normally, that would be an odd place for a table of eight Hogwarts students (well, six, plus Priam and Giada Zabini, who just graduated), but there are two bridesmaids at the table, and several heirs, which bumps them up the ranks. "You're welcome, by the way."

Regulus takes his seat next to her. It truly is a prestigious table. They're closer to the dais than every Lestrange and almost all of the Malfoys. The Carrows are practically on the other side of the room. The other known Death Eaters sprinkled among the attendees—Heir Goyle, a few of the Crabbes, one Selwyn—are spread out, isolated from each other, at tables just far enough away to feel distant without being so far as to seem like a slight. And certain families have been brought closer to the front, too—the Browns aren't too far away, and the Macmillans are only a little beyond them, and the Rosiers are nearer than the Malfoys are, which will probably drive Lady Malfoy up the wall for the entire reception. "You surpassed my every expectation."

"Felix and Cressida helped. And our parents were all for it—not that we gave them the details. Felix said something very genuine-sounding about building new connections, they understood that he actually meant pushing away undesirables, and here we are." She raises her champagne flute at him, which makes the citrines in her bracelet glitter. "To a productive evening."

"You can't be sitting next to each other," Evan's voice bursts out—and then Evan appears, in shimmering gray robes that catch the light as he darts over to their table. "You look like a jack o'lantern."

Maeve grimaces. "Can you believe this color was a compromise?"

"Between what, orange and orange?" Evan drops into his chair on Maeve's other side. "This combination is going to distract me all night. It's not even September, much less October. Maeve, you must have been perfectly aware that Regulus would show up in black, how could you do this?"

"Oh, no," she says blandly. "I suppose we ought to switch seats, then. What a shame."

Evan glances at the place card for the empty seat next to him, then beams. "A pity indeed! Emma shall simply have to tolerate not sitting next to me for an evening, but I'm sure you can help her cope."

"More importantly, as far as my parents are concerned, I tried very hard to evenly distribute the boys and girls at this table and was foiled by the whims of Heir Rosier, who flouts proper dinner party etiquette whenever he feels like it." Maeve shrugs. "The color combination was unacceptable in his eyes. I had to change the seating arrangement to better suit my guests. Couldn't be helped, sorry, Mum."

"You already put Heather and Priam next to each other. That's a faux pas." Evan picks up his place card and stands up again, and once they've swapped seats, he sends a twinkling smile in Regulus's direction. "My apologies for my positively reproachable manners. Hello, how are you?"

"First of all, they're not married, so it's a gray area," Maeve says. "Second of all, you say hello to him and not to me? Let the record show I was offended. Also, we need to switch place settings too, they're linked to the place cards."

 

Regulus gets an opportunity to carry out his second agenda later in the evening, when the dancing is in full swing and people have begun to move between tables to socialize. Half of his table is gone—Lord and Lady Parkinson have called on Priam to take over wrangling his younger siblings for a while, Heather and Evan are dancing, and Giada Zabini slipped away not long after dinner ended to join a Selwyn who occasionally showed up to the Slytherin Dark Arts group when Regulus was a fourth-year. Maeve, Emma, and Theophania are perfectly capable of socializing without him, so he makes his excuses and departs.

Felix and Cressida were both Slytherin prefects, so it's unsurprising that they invited Professor Slughorn, and this makes it easy for Regulus to speak to him without Barty around. He's not alone at his table, but the other person there is Great-Uncle Alphard, who won't blink an eye at Regulus's request. (Great-Uncle Alphard has made an entire life out of networking with people who aren't in the Sacred Twenty-Eight, even if he does it through arts patronage. He's one of the less traditional members of their family. Regulus is on decent terms with him, but they never seem to have anything to talk about, so they don't speak very much.)

Slughorn likes being in other people's good graces, especially people like Heir Black, and it's a rather simple favor to ask.

This will be easy.

Notes:

LOOOOTS happens in this chapter!!!!!!

student death eaters!! heather making Plans!! is someone gonna try to kill dumbledore?? will scrimgeour recover?? did maeve actually anticipate evan objecting to the black and orange next to each other?? what favor does regulus need to ask of professor slughorn??

whenever i'm trying to figure out wtf sacred 28 dinner parties (or just. dinner in general lmao) would be like, i look to victorian england - hence the balancing out boys and girls in seating arrangements. really, they should have had 4 and 4 instead of 5 and 3, but none of theophania's friends were posh enough to be invited, hence putting her and maeve at the same table, and horatio nott is with lord and lady nott since he's the heir, and they couldn't NOT put regulus and evan at that table for rank reasons which meant they also couldn't not put priam and giada zabini there, heather's a brown, and then that means the real outlier is emma and maeve and theophania won that battle by arguing that even if emma isn't noble and anciente she's still main-branch house vanity and also close with both of them

but actually maeve and theophania just did a venn diagram of their friends, maeve added heather and priam for War Reasons, and then they used giada zabini to fill in the last seat. the above is just how they justified it to their parents lmao

evan is definitely a pastel blue aficionado but i also like putting him in pale gray. for Reasons

next time: priam's birthday/sendoff party!! some surprise appearances!! voldemort not settling for just putting an auror in st mungo's 😈

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 64

Notes:

posting early because the day will be busy for me

Regulus arrives at Parkinson Manor on the twenty-fifth not quite knowing what to expect.

He supplied Heather's requested names, most of which were just spelling checks—all members of the inter-house Dark Arts group, so while he's fully aware that it'll be a more diverse gathering than Parkinson Manor is accustomed to, and it isn't a formal occasion, as evidenced by the casual dress code, and there will probably be fireworks... that's it.

The Floo takes him into the foyer of Parkinson Manor, which has intricate patterns of dark and light hardwood instead of the more common stone flooring. As soon as Regulus steps out of the fireplace, two of the floorboards open up, and a small scroll of parchment bursts out from under them, flying up to his eye level and unrolling itself with a flourish. It contains directions to the party, which is being held in an outdoor pavilion, and invites him to take the scroll with him and drop it into the appropriate basket once he reaches his destination.

It makes sense for the Parkinsons. They don't rely on house-elves as much as other families do; instead, they use objects, casting finely detailed enchantments on as many things as possible with their specialty. Parkinson Manor is absolutely soaked in Dark Arts as a result, although the only people likely to notice are the Blacks and Aurors with delicately tuned Dark detection instruments that can't be used without a warrant. Regulus can feel the magic, if he stops to pay attention—like a faint hum that brushes over his skin, familiar in the same way that the taste of a cup of tea is.

The front doors to the manor are wide open, revealing a stone path winding down a gently sloping hill, lit by violet and gold lights that glow against the darkening sky. Regulus is meant to follow this path to the first intersection, then take the path on the left all the way to the pavilion. Simple enough.

He barely gets past the door before he's stopped in his tracks by a familiar voice. "Regulus!"

Regulus spins around. "Barty?"

"In the flesh!" Barty grabs the scroll of parchment that's hovering in front of him and bounds out of the foyer. He's dressed in rumpled mossy green—obviously having had no difficulty figuring out what 'casual' entailed—and his pockets clink with what sounds like quite a bit of money, and he's here. "Surprised?"

Regulus has never, not once, seen Barty over the summer—even with the journals, there's always been a clear line between Regulus's life during the holidays and his life at school, heavily influenced by Barty not being there—even if his house hadn't been under the Fidelius, and even if he hadn't been under Ministry protection—which he is— Barty is possibly the last person Regulus would expect to see at a summer party. "Obviously. I didn't think Heather would even attempt to invite you—how are you here?"

"Hopped the fence, called the Knight Bus, then Flooed from the Leaky Cauldron," Barty rattles off, eyes shining. "Figure I'll just do the same thing in reverse to get back—my mum thinks I shut myself up in my room to sulk about not being allowed to go, and she already tried to have one conversation with me after dinner about how my father 'just wants to make sure I'm safe,' as if it wasn't actually about consorting with you lot—so she'll leave me be until breakfast tomorrow, and my father showed up for dinner and then went straight back to the Ministry, so it's not like he knows I left. Winky probably does, but she won't tell anyone unless she's asked, so we're good to go! I don't have my wand, though, so if anything goes down, it'll have to be fisticuffs. But I thought I was running super late—how did you just get here?"

Regulus was hoping he wouldn't have to answer that question. But at least it's Barty asking. "I wasn't sure how to interpret the dress code, and then my mother wouldn't let me leave the house in the first outfit I chose."

What she actually said was, You are attending a social event at Parkinson Manor, not carousing in your common room, as if Regulus has ever 'caroused' a day in his life. But he couldn't show up in something semi-formal, and Mother rejected his attempt to wear something he would wear on the weekends at Hogwarts, so he had to retrieve the dress robes he normally wears to Slug Club events, which would be an adequate middle ground if not for the fact that they are better suited to January in the dungeons than they are to August outside. It's evening verging on nighttime, so there's that, but if Heather knows anything about holding parties outside she'll have arranged climate enchantments around the pavilion to keep people from getting cold.

"You probably could've just shown up in whatever," Barty says. "I think everyone knows you don't have a casual bone in your body."

Most likely, yes, but... "There's a dress code for a reason."

"Oh, yeah, because I can so clearly see Heather kicking people back into the fireplace if they dared to arrive in dressy-casual instead of casual. The whole party would be ruined. In fact, she'd probably just kill you. Should we flee before you meet your untimely demise, or do you want to go down fighting?"

"Go down fighting, if it comes to it." The pavilion is visible in the distance, draped in purple and lit up in gold. It's... not packed, exactly, but definitely quite full—well, they are late. Everyone else must be here already. "I'd hate to deprive you of your fisticuffs."

 

They've barely reached the pavilion before Heather descends upon them, wearing something that looks more like a Muggle dress than it does a set of robes—it has flowing, bell-shaped sleeves and a long skirt that's gathered at the waist with a sash instead of just being tailored to fit. Pink, naturally. "You made it! Directions go in the green basket—or you can keep them if you want, I've learned Lily's a scrapbooker, although neither of you particularly strikes me as the type."

The House of Black is not renowned for its long history of arts and crafts. Regulus drops his parchment in the green basket, where it joins a flock of identical scrolls, and Barty's follows a moment later.

"Fabulous!" Heather says. "Refreshments are next to the fountain—keep in mind that there'll be cake later—and there is champagne, although since you're both underage I'd advise you to limit yourselves so you're not stumbling out of the Floo dead drunk at the end of the night, for my sake if not yours. There'll be fireworks in..." Two of the vines in her gleaming gold bracelet twist apart to reveal a watch face. "Thirty-eight minutes almost exactly. Then a few toasts and cake! Oh, and don't be surprised by any attendees you might stumble across—I'm of the opinion that we need to be forging as many connections as we can before my year graduates and everyone goes off into their own little worlds." She smiles in a way that makes Regulus feel suddenly, enormously underprepared. "I think most of your yearmates are over in the far corner of the tent—you can probably just follow the sound of Evan's voice. Good luck! Enjoy! Don't do anything to make me look like a bad host!"

And then she melts into the crowd.

"That was ominous," Barty remarks. "Who do you think is here?"

"She specified her year." Regulus tries to let his arms hang normally at his sides—they want to seize up. He knew Heather was inviting the entire Dark network, sans current and aspiring Death Eaters, but her wishing them good luck is a bad sign, to put it lightly.

"Ah," Barty says. "Gryffindors?"

"Gryffindors." Some very specific Gryffindors, at that. Unfortunately, Heather has a point, and even if she didn't, it's not like Regulus would be able to just leave. "Shall we?"

 

Heather is right—once Regulus gets about halfway across the pavilion, he can easily follow the sound of Evan's voice, a little too indistinct for Regulus to make out what he's saying, but animated enough that he must have an audience. Evan lights up when there's attention for him to capture, and there's plenty of it here, when Heather seems to have invited something like half the upper-years at Hogwarts and then some. Robes outweigh Muggle clothes, but not by much; Regulus has to wonder what Priam's parents think of the guest list. If they're aware of it and didn't attempt to do anything to stop Heather, it bodes well.

He knows most of the people here—between the Dark network, the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and Slytherin in general, he knows almost everyone, actually, although there are many people he's never held a conversation with.

Heather probably intends for him to change that.

Hopefully Evan's already working on it.

"So this is what you do all summer?" Barty says as they weave through the crowd. "Go to big parties at each other's houses and try not to get too sloshed?"

"This is a tad unusual," Regulus says. "Normally, everyone is in dress robes and all of our parents are present."

"Yikes."

"Better or worse than how you've spent your summer thus far?"

"Reg, I have been in my room for at least eighty percent of the past two months. My mum's been owl-ordering books because it's so much of a hassle to get a special Auror detail just to go to Diagon Alley, and we can't even owl-order things properly because if we sent a bunch of mail directly from our house the owl's point of origin could be approximated over time. It's ridiculous. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I cannot wait to go back to school."

That's not particularly surprising to Regulus. Barty's always seemed glad to be back on the Hogwarts Express. "Have you gone school shopping?"

He rolls his eyes. "I could've, if I wanted an Auror breathing down my neck the whole time. We just ordered everything. I've been packing and unpacking my trunk for the past week."

"You're packing before the last minute?"

"I know," Barty grouses. "I don't even recognize myself."

"I have confidence that you can remedy the situation in December."

"That's if I don't just stay at school." He sighs. "I can barely stand the idea of another week of this, much less every time I go home for the foreseeable future."

Regulus is going to have to network, then.

Not just with other students—maybe the Parkinsons, and finding out where the Rosiers actually stand, and anyone else who could be persuaded to participate in the high society side of the overall pincer movement Regulus is working on. The Ministry is making headway, as evidenced by Voldemort going to all the effort of striking back against Scrimgeour—he's unlikely to stop there, and fighting the Ministry will take resources, so Regulus has to prevent him from retreating into the Sacred Twenty-Eight for replenishing and reinforcements, and ideally put the Sacred Twenty-Eight on the offensive as well, so Voldemort is boxed in. (This is all on top of what the Order of the Phoenix is doing, naturally.) Regulus's side has to come out into the open early enough that they'll have a visible hand in Voldemort's defeat, but late enough that they're basically guaranteed a win. Getting Voldemort to spread his diminishing forces thin will give Regulus an opportunity.

He intends to say something about remedying the situation next June if necessary, but it flies out of his head when he spots a cluster of people directly in their path that he normally tries very hard to avoid.

"Look at that." Barty veers in a different direction. "Gryffindors."

Regulus follows him.

They're all there—Sirius, yes, but Potter too, and Lupin and Pettigrew, looking various shades of vaguely ill at ease—Lupin and Pettigrew, that is. Potter's back is turned, and Sirius has never looked ill at ease in his life. He's good at covering it up. Or just leaving.

They've never actually spoken with Sirius's friends around—not counting the time after Dumbledore's office, which Regulus doesn't want to. Even before Sirius left, it was like that. He seemed like a different person, surrounded by Potter and his ilk, like a wall of Sirius is busy now that it would have been humiliating to try to push through. And if Regulus had tried, even if he'd succeeded, it would have meant interacting with Potter, which wouldn't have been much of a victory. Regulus isn't sure how he'd conduct himself in such a situation, and he's in no hurry to find out.

Sirius and his friends will probably travel in an impenetrable pack for the whole evening. And... he might have worn the watch Regulus sent him, or he might not have.

Regulus isn't sure he wants to know.

He hadn't even really considered the fact that sending something to Sirius meant sending something to Potter's house by default. In the moment, he'd been too focused on Sirius himself to remember, even though owls meant for Regulus always seem to arrive when his parents are around. He'd forgotten—does Potter even know that they've been—that they were speaking to each other? Sirius must have kept that from him, because of Dark Arts, and Regulus can almost hear Potter's voice, Why would he be sending you anything?

A blank space in his mind where Sirius's response should have gone.

Regulus needs to stop thinking about this. He's at a party. His friends are here. Barty is here. Heather says she wants to make connections—so she can. Regulus will do it too.

Just not those ones.

Sirius probably doesn't even want Potter to know about Regulus's side, much less try to recruit him to participate in it. That would make things complicated. He has a line to walk if he wants to be welcome in Potter Manor, and until he can get himself a source of income, he has no other options. It's not that different from Regulus mostly keeping his mouth shut at home. He can hardly expect Sirius to be willing to take greater risks than Regulus is—it was often the case in the past, yes, but that doesn't mean Regulus gets to expect it. Sirius has to consider his own situation. Regulus certainly doesn't want him to be thrown out.

So, there's no reason for Potter to know about Regulus's side, which means there's no reason for him to know about Sirius speaking to Regulus. It would only raise questions that shouldn't have been raised.

Enough. He has to stop thinking about it. He's supposed to be enjoying himself.

Barty's craning his neck to look over the crowd as they keep moving. "Oh, Lucinda's here too! And some other people from our... study group. And Smith and Macmillan—still going strong, it would seem. Gross. I can't even hear what they're saying but I know it's some mushy bullshit."

"Lucinda would probably be happy to speculate," Regulus says.

He's beginning to feel a little ill—well, not really ill, but Sirius is right there—even swerving out of his path, he can't be more than halfway across the pavilion—and Regulus cannot possibly look at him because he doesn't want to see. Not here, not now, maybe not at all, because realistically, it would be very difficult for him to see Sirius without Sirius catching him, which shouldn't even be a problem, except for how it is, and Regulus told himself he was going to stop thinking about it.

Maybe if he Occludes...

Yes. Clearing his mind is as easy as breathing, it has been since he was very young—he'll do that, and then he'll bring up a lightweight shield, just enough to organize his thoughts a little better, and he'll take it down in a few minutes so he's not Occluding all night. Simple.

Regulus inhales, gathers all of his thoughts tightly together, and then clears them away as he exhales.

Already better.

He brings up his shield on the next inhale, like a paper-thin sheet of perfectly clear glass, and then another exhale and inhale to stabilize it, and then... he's alright.

Good.

He can still hear Evan, although now his voice pops in and out of a conversation, always sounding like he's barely holding shimmering laughter at bay. Regulus will probably stay in whatever corner Evan's holding court in for most of the night—there's a dance floor he intends to stay far away from, and Evan will undoubtedly end up there at some point, but even when he does—Regulus knows these people, and they know him as something more than just his parents' son. It is an opportunity. He can't make his corner the center of attention, as that would be rude to both Priam and Heather, but he can still take a seat and wait for people to come to him, just like in the Slytherin common room.

Barty snickers suddenly, loud enough that Regulus can hear it from behind him over the sound of the party.

"What?" Regulus says.

"Oh, nothing. Just placing a mental bet with myself."

"You can't make a bet with yourself. The stakes are meaningless."

"Maybe so, but it does mean I win by default."

"Win what?"

"Some fantastic new material for our written correspondence. And my field notes."

"What field—" Unfortunately, Regulus remembers. "No."

Barty spins around to face him, clearly fighting a grin. "But Regulus, I'm so bored. You wouldn't deprive me of a little entertainment, would you? What if it's the missing ingredient to transform my summer from mind-numbing to amazing?" He spins back around without waiting for a response. "Anyway. We carry on. Evan's got a whole couch to himself, but if you ask nicely I'm sure he'll move over so you can sit."

Regulus is not proud of the moment when he has to stop himself from walking a little faster.

 

Barty neglected to mention that the way Evan got a whole couch to himself was by sprawling across the whole thing so nobody else could sit there unless they wanted to sit on him. His legs are propped on one armrest, crossed at the ankles, and he's laced his hands together on his chest—Regulus would think he was stargazing, if not for the fact that they're under a marquee and Evan occasionally turns his head to respond to something someone else says with a brilliant, laughing smile. The chaise at Hogwarts might suit him better than a couch for conversing; its rich purple velvet would go with his lavender robes, maybe. A study in gold and purple. He looks cozy, somehow, the flowing fabric of his robes draping over him like a blanket, lounging as easily as if he's in their dorm room distracting people during a Slytherin Dark Arts study group meeting. Regulus almost doesn't want to disturb him—but then Barty calls out, "Guess who's alive," and Evan scrambles up to greet him before herding both him and Regulus over to the couch to sit.

Regulus ends up in the middle, between Evan and Barty, and as soon as they sit down, he hears the faintest whisper from Barty's direction of, "I win."

 

It's not a bad party, now that Regulus has established a secure position in the corner. He can't even see Sirius or any of his friends from here—he saw Lily at one point, dancing to a Thalia Pryde song with some of the other Gryffindor girls, but she's friends with Sirius, not one of his friends. (Regulus can only be confident that it was a Thalia Pryde song because Lucinda said so with great enthusiasm while pulling Maeve towards the dance floor.)

He'd never let himself consider what the social season would be like with Barty around, because it just never seemed like something even vaguely within the realm of possibility, but having him here is... easy. Regulus takes down his Occlumency shield, and he isn't immediately filled with dread at the idea of Sirius being in his vicinity with a herd of Gryffindor boys. Sirius may be here with his friends, but Regulus is too, and it's easier not to worry about a potentially awkward conversation with him when there's Barty making up increasingly outlandish stories every time someone asks him how he's here. (It's not common knowledge that the Crouches' house is under the Fidelius, as far as Regulus is aware, but it is common knowledge that Barty's father doesn't get along with most of the Sacred Twenty-Eight and that he's never been to something like this before.)

He even finds himself glad that Heather didn't tell him she was inviting Barty—Regulus would have assumed Barty wouldn't be able to attend, and then he would have been looking around for him all night anyway.

When McKinnon asks the inevitable question, Barty spins a tale involving being carried off of his roof by a flock of Rosier goldendoves, and Evan leans over a little so he can participate—his shoulder touches Regulus's, and Regulus is thrown back to Evan's private sitting room at the summer solstice ball, over two months ago by now, standing there in perfect silence with Evan's hand on Regulus's, something fine and shimmering and breakable in the air—and now it's Evan laughing and leaning against him, just a little, just enough that the briefest idea of reciprocating flits through Regulus's mind—but he's still surrounded by people who need to see him in a certain way.

If they were in their dorm room, or Regulus's office, maybe.

He just wants to know what it's like.

 

There are picnic blankets set up a short distance from the pavilion to view the fireworks, and Heather begins herding everyone over there a few minutes before they're meant to start. Regulus is following along with everyone else and beginning to entertain the idea of sitting very near Evan when Priam emerges from the general mass of people and beelines for Barty.

"My mother says someone Floo called asking for you," he says, politely blank-faced, and then he steps close enough to mutter something Regulus can't hear.

Whatever it is, it turns Barty's spine into an iron rod. He jerks his head in a nod, then whips around and sets off across the lawn so fast that Regulus has to hurry to catch up.

"It's an Auror," Barty grits out when he notices Regulus next to him. "Someone has sent fucking Aurors after me."

"That's... excessive."

He folds his arms like he's forming armor, scowling at the approaching manor house. "How'd he even know I wasn't home? Some irresistible urge to make sure I could not do a single thing this summer? I can count on one hand the number of times he's tried to come to my room after we've argued—he's been working nonstop since Scrimgeour was attacked, why did he have to pick tonight to think about something other than his job? I shouldn't have even mentioned getting the invitation—then he wouldn't have checked. Fuck."

Regulus doesn't doubt that Barty's father is willing to send Aurors to bring Barty back within the Fidelius Charm—but the fact that the Aurors are actually doing it is unsettling. Barty's only been here for half an hour or so, and it's just a birthday party, even if it is at the ancestral home of a Sacred Twenty-Eight family. Maybe they're warier about security in the wake of the Scrimgeour attack.

"He's out of line," Barty mutters. "He's on a power trip. He cannot stand being disobeyed—he never got to ground me for the OWLs thing, I'm sure he's thrilled to have a new reason—great, now we have something to talk about at dinner for the rest of August. Fantastic. I probably wouldn't get arrested for throwing a fork at him, right?"

"Probably not, but better to make it a spoon just in case, I think."

"Urgh."

"One more week, and then you can be free through June if you want to be," Regulus offers. "I could try to stay at school over spring break."

"I may take you up on that." Arms folded, Barty storms back into the foyer. Lady Parkinson is there, gracefully pretending to ignore the head in the fireplace, which is—

"I do not care what you think you're doing or why you're doing it," Alastor Moody growls. "You are Flooing to the meeting point I drilled into your head now."

Notes:

:)

part of me wants to just end the author's note there but wJFOWGHJOKWF i have more to say i'm not going to attempt to contain myself. first of all: wow!!!!!! i let barty be happy for an entire 30 minutes!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

second of all: WHATTHEFUCKISHAPPENINGWHYISMOODYTHEREWHYDOESHENEEDBARTYWHATISTHEMEETINGPOINTWTFFFFFFFF

okay now on to the rest of the chapter. casual dress codes are regulus's worst enemy. he's never had to confront one before. heather selected that specifically because she knew she'd be inviting a bunch of people who almost certainly didn't own dress robes, and possibly zero robes other than their hogwarts uniforms - so, best to keep it flexible!

hashtag give lily her own hobbies. and also her own friends. ok that's enough of that soapbox moving on

heather's bracelet-watch-thing was her 17th birthday present :) and this party is high-stakes for her because it's the biggest thing she's organized, especially Solo. like, the parkinsons were involved - absolute 100% total failure at keeping the party a secret from priam - but she was really in charge of it all

there was literally no reason for this to be in the chapter but i want you all to know that i thought about it so - when heather was sending out invitations, she paired every muggleborn on the list with a friend of theirs who had a magical parent, so that she could say (for example) 'hi lily, please come to my party, you're probably not on the floo network which is why i asked marlene to either apparate to you herself or have a family member do it so you can go to her house and use her floo :)'

and the sirius angst. alas. the horrible sick twisted thing about long-distance vulnerability is the moment when it's not long-distance anymore. there is a part of regulus that will never stop feeling like sirius's little brother no matter how hard he tries, and it will always come out to play when sirius's Hogwarts Friends are around

fortunately, regulus has really healthy methods for dealing with that! like repressionocclumency!

barty sees evan Clearly having reserved An Entire Couch and goes 'hmmmmmmm i wonder who he could possibly be saving that for'

ahglsghjskjdf regulus needs a hug so bad. barty needs a punching bag

what do you think? will he get the cutlery-throwing opportunity of his dreams?

next time: :) :) :)

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 65

Barty blinks once, twice, and then his scowl is back with a vengeance. "Don't you have better shit to do than chase me around?"

"Yes," Moody grinds out.

"Then tell my father—"

"Meeting point. Now."

Barty opens his mouth to say something else—

Moody says, "Your mother is already there."

Those five words drop the air to freezing temperatures. Barty goes still—Lady Parkinson's gaze flicks from the mantel over to him, but she doesn't say a word. Neither does Regulus. Neither does Moody.

"Alright," Barty says, very, very calmly. "Then move so I can go."

"You have sixty seconds, Crouch." And Moody is gone in a flash of green fire.

"Time for me to take my leave," Barty announces to the room at large, which is just Regulus and Lady Parkinson. "Sorry for the disturbance." He grabs Regulus's arm—just a press of his fingers against Regulus's sleeve, and then he lets go— "See you on the flip side." And an aside, to Lady Parkinson: "Where's the Floo powder?"

She nods at the mantel, and a silver box helpfully pops open its lid. Barty doesn't even thank her—just grabs some, says something Regulus somehow doesn't quite hear—the fire flares acid green, and he steps in, spine straight, without a backward glance.

He's gone.

A meeting point—obviously a safe location of some kind or another. Moody has better things to do. Barty's mother is already there.

Only her? Or did Moody just say that because he thought it would work?

"Aurors at my door." Words flow from Lady Parkinson's mouth instead of being clipped out one by one. She's a Greengrass by birth—first cousins with Evan's mother, but less effusive. "Do you know anything about this, Heir Black?"

Regulus could just say no. That would be the easy, useless answer.

So, obviously, he's not going to do that.

He chooses, "I can only speculate. But I think it fair to say that whatever put Alastor Moody practically inside your home was the result of the Dark Lord doing something... intemperate."

A pause, just to make sure the words land—and they do, in the tightening around her mouth.

She taps on a pearl bracelet several times, which Regulus takes for a surprisingly open display of agitation before she says, "I have informed Priam that the situation has been dealt with. Will you also be taking your leave, or do you intend to return to the party?"

"I will return." Evan and Heather and Lily are all there. Heather's busy—Regulus can't pull her aside—but Evan and Lily, he can do.

Lady Parkinson nods and taps a few more pearls. "Enjoy your evening. Do inform Priam if you see Penelope and Percy in the vicinity of the party. I believe they've snuck out to watch the fireworks, but they should be encouraged to go to bed immediately afterwards, as it is well past their bedtime. Pallas may stay if she wishes."

Regulus honestly doesn't know which of Priam's siblings is which, and he has no intention of looking for them on the grounds, but he nods. "Goodnight."

He's already walked out these open doors onto the grounds once tonight—the first time, he barely made it to the path before Barty called out to him, and the second time, there's no point in turning around.

Something is wrong.

Moody isn't a bodyguard anymore. He's not looking after the Crouch family—he's going after Death Eaters. If it were a matter of finding someone who could get Barty to listen to them, his mother could have called, probably. And since they went to the effort of tracking him down...

Each step he takes bites away at the path in front of him until he's back at the pavilion, empty, a boom and a shower of light from off to one side.

Fireworks. Right. Everyone's out there.

The pavilion's empty, so... so Regulus just has to find Evan, find Lily, and then they can talk here, near enough to melt back into the crowd before everyone starts to come back. He'll tell them what happened—and maybe Evan will know something, and maybe Lily will have ideas, and they'll come up with a plan to do... something. Something other than just sitting around and waiting.

Evan is sitting near the back of the group, leaning back on his hands—his lavender robes twinkle under the starlight with every burst of fireworks above, or with every shift in the fabric as he keeps turning towards Emma. There's space on his other side, which makes it relatively simple for Regulus to move close enough to whisper, "I need to talk to you and Lily."

He startles, subtle enough that nobody else notices, then whispers back, "Now?"

Regulus nods.

Evan looks at him, and whatever he sees persuades him to dust invisible dirt off of his robes and stand up. "Lily's sitting with a bunch of Gryffindors. I'll extract her."

 

Regulus doesn't see much of the extraction process from where he's standing near the edge of the pavilion—Evan throws himself into a cluster of people, vanishes for a few seconds, and resurfaces pulling Lily by the hand. She's dressed in extremely Muggle clothing—striped trousers and a button-down shirt not unlike what they wear for their school uniform, except for how it's bright green.

It's not a fast approach. Evan picks his way between a few people, then reaches the edge of the picnic blankets and wanders back in the direction of the pavilion. Whatever he said to Lily, she's not moving any faster than he is, and even though the journey can only take them thirty seconds at most, it feels like forever—especially since once they get there, Regulus has to cast a muffling ward, which is another delay.

Lily has an eyebrow raised. (Either she or Evan dropped the other's hand the second they got to the pavilion.) "I knew the rules about underage magic were different for purebloods, but I didn't know they were this different."

"It depends on your parents," Evan says. "Barty's father sticks his wand in a safe over the summers. Speaking of, where is he?"

Regulus tries to answer and realizes that he's been clenching his jaw shut. "An undisclosed location. Alastor Moody came to fetch him. Urgently. Which is unusual, to say the least, because Moody is supposed to be fighting Death Eaters, not tracking down members of the Crouch family, and Barty was positive he wouldn't be caught at all."

"Shit," Lily says. "That's a bad overlap."

"Quite." It sounds clipped to the point of rudeness, but Regulus can't correct the tone once it's already out of his mouth. "I don't know what's happening, and we need to find out. Whatever it is will change the state of the war." Probably. It's better to frame it this way—a sense of urgency. Besides, the only way it won't change the state of the war will be if it's some kind of false alarm. "I assume it's related to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, as Dumbledore wouldn't try to take down someone doing his work for him, and the Death Eaters already went after Scrimgeour; they could have tried to finish that job, but attacking a Ministry official has better optics than attacking a hospital. Or gaining leverage over him via his family instead of attacking him directly. My cousins almost certainly know, but I can't just come out and ask them—we generally avoid discussing Barty." But what Dumbledore could do is manufacture a threat against the Crouches to give them a sense of being in danger and allow him (via Moody) to stage a rescue of some sort. It would be ludicrously easy to give the Death Eaters just enough information to put the Crouches in a reasonable amount of danger; Moody is their Secret-Keeper. And it would ensure that the rescue would be perfectly timed with the attack. "It could be the Order, and they almost certainly know about it through Moody, but they'll be using the Death Eaters as scapegoats if they've put in any thought whatsoever. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named attacks people like a niffler tracks down gold. All he'd need is a hint. At the very least, the Order will have some idea of what Moody is doing to secure them—or some of the Order will. It would be idiotic of them to share everything with each other. The Death Eaters are far too good with the Imperius—"

"Regulus," Evan says, louder than necessary. "Slow down."

"It's a legitimate concern. It could be the Order. It's definitely the Death Eaters. He doesn't even have a wand." Not that it would matter much if he did. Bellatrix could probably duel professionally—did she have plans tonight? Regulus can't remember. He needs to pay more attention when she talks about the mundane aspects of her life. "And he's Dark, which we don't think they know—it could be a ruse of some sort. There are too many possibilities. We need to narrow them down."

"And then what?"

"I don't know. Something. That's the whole point of finding out what's happening. Do you know?"

"I would have told you right away if I did," Evan says, which is reasonable but also not helpful.

"We think Moody's competent, right?" Lily says. "As in, you normally talk about him like he's a huge pain in the arse?"

"And the last thing Dumbledore will want is for one of his students—another one of his students—to not come back to school because of the war, especially when it would be this fresh in everyone's minds," Evan says. "If the Order were behind it, it would've been earlier in the summer, not right before the term starts—which means it's Voldy, which makes it worse, but also means Dumbledore's invested in keeping Barty safe, and we already know the Order knows."

"Morale's going to be shite enough at the welcoming feast already," Lily mutters.

"Barty is not going to be safe with the Order of the Phoenix," Regulus says. "He has Dark magic written into his thought patterns. Moody hasn't noticed yet, as far as we know, but that doesn't make him safe."

"Barty," Evan says, "had that Dark magic in his head when we all sat in a room with Dumbledore for a ridiculous amount of time after spring break. Do you remember that? Barty had that Dark magic in his head when he went home for the summer months ago and they scanned all his things for Dark magic. And Barty is a current Hogwarts student without any Death Eater ties, is the son of the extremely anti-Dark head of the DMLE, and went through practically the whole summer seeing Moody face-to-face multiple times a week and not getting caught. Anyone who tried to accuse him of Dark Arts would be laughed off the witness stand. And how would Dumbledore look, letting someone like Barty get involved in Dark Arts right under his nose? He wouldn't want that getting out either. You know that. You just need to slow down and think. Occlude, or something. Get it all in order."

Regulus probably isn't supposed to hear Lily's whisper of, "How the hell is he going to clear his mind?"

He's definitely supposed to hear Evan's response of, "With the force of ten or eleven years' worth of practice. I actually don't know—Regulus, when did you start learning mind magic?"

It's an easy question, which is somehow annoying. "When Sirius did."

"So, it's been forever and you're great at it," Evan says. "Give it a try? Then we can strategize."

It's not a bad idea.

Regulus nods, gracelessly—he can feel it. Evan's right. This isn't productive. He's had at least half a dozen conversations with his parents about why he doesn't think Barty will get caught practicing Dark Arts by his father. All those points still apply. He just needs to think instead of being dragged around by nerves.

Not outrunning, then—it's good for avoiding unanticipated effects long-term, but it'll take up too much of his attention. Narrowing will have the same problem. He put up a façade earlier, but that's better for dealing with external stimuli, and turnabout and resisting are non-options for the same reason, which leaves locking.

He doesn't use it very often; the more emotions he locks, the harder it is to keep them from spilling over, and while he may have some affinity for Macmillan mind magic, it's not enough to make his box much stronger than average. Unnecessary mental strain is frowned upon in the House of Black. Regulus is meant to use locking very, very sparingly, and then to ensure that he opens his box again within a week to release its contents. That prevents him from needing to reinforce the closures to keep everything inside. Emotions don't like to be locked away; they build pressure until they burst out.

But he has to think.

Locking it is. He'll deal with the box once this situation has been resolved.

Inhale, gather thoughts, exhale to clear his mind—there's still slippery concern seeping around the edges of his mind, but that's what locking is for—pull them all together on the next inhale, sharp exhale and inhale—they're forced into the box, and the box is closed. One exhale, one inhale, slower, to stabilize, and the box stays closed, whole, peaceful in a distant corner of his mind.

"Right," Regulus says, and he sounds normal again. "Regardless of the details of the situation, there's very little we can do without knowing what's happening. We know that Moody, and thus either the Ministry or the Order of the Phoenix, has taken Barty and his mother to some sort of secret meeting point. Barty didn't tell me anything—Lady Parkinson was in the room, and there wasn't time for a conversation, but he did leave quickly, and the fact that Moody told him to go to a meeting point instead of going home suggests that some sort of contingency plan has been put into action. The most logical explanation is that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named either is or will be striking against Barty's father. If he is, Bellatrix will know, but I don't know when I'll see her next, and if I do see her before we have more information, I'll need a tactful way to ask. On the other hand, if Bellatrix knows where this meeting point is, or anything like that, it's a bad sign, which means we need an alternative flow of information, either from the Ministry or from the Order, to find out what's happening on the other side, assuming Bellatrix—and thus He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named—doesn't know. Ideas?"

"I mean, same problem," Lily says. "We can figure out who's likely to know, but we can't just ask. There's no reason for us to know about anything the Order's doing. Or the Ministry."

Evan's bottom lip pushes into the slightest hint of a frown. "That's the fastest way, though, isn't it? Especially with some sort of active operation—the details will be kept hushed up until they're not considered sensitive information anymore, and then we'll find out along with the rest of the country about twelve hours behind some lucky Daily Prophet reporter. So we need to ask someone if we want to know, and a Ministry employee will risk losing their job if they tell an outsider anything, which means asking a member of the Order of the Phoenix—and if we want them to tell us, then we need to be careful about choosing who's doing the asking. Pick someone they'll trust—someone who could logically know about them being in the Order without it being a threat, which means not me, definitely not Regulus, not the sort of thing you want to ask about by owl... Lily, you're out, unless we get back to school and still don't have answers—McGonagall might be a weak link, which means Gryffindors—I'd say Pomfrey, but to be honest, I still don't know whether she's actually in the Order or just spends time around them."

"Professor McGonagall is in the Order?"

Regulus then becomes aware that Lily's said roughly the same thing.

Evan blinks. "Naturally she is. Why do you think Dumbledore started recruiting out of Gryffindor first? McGonagall identifies the likely candidates, and she starts in her own house because those are the students she knows best. I wouldn't be surprised if there are other professors who are involved as well. I doubt she fights. She's far too nitpicky about essays to be spending her nights fighting Death Eaters. There are only twenty-four hours in the day. I suppose she could file a request for a Time-Turner, but she'd have to come up with a very good explanation for why she wanted it, and the Department of Mysteries probably wouldn't approve a request mentioning any sort of vigilante activity. Maybe if she could connect it to her teaching somehow—Regulus, you pay attention in Transfiguration, does McGonagall conduct any sort of time-related research?"

"If she does, she's never worked it into a lesson plan." Not every professor is willing to spend valuable minutes of class time discussing the rest of their work like Flitwick is, and Regulus doesn't attend office hours as a rule. "Who can we reach before the school year starts? It's only the twenty-fifth."

"We've exhausted my knowledge of Order members," Evan says. "Maybe if we wrote McGonagall a very, very sad letter—"

"The Potters are in the Order," Lily says.

It lands with the delicacy of a brick.

"What, all of them?" Evan says, as if Sirius isn't living there.

"Not James."

"Oh, he's James now."

She rolls her eyes, which does not disguise how her face is reddening. "I can't exactly say 'all the Potters are in the Order except Potter,' can I? It's his parents. He's dropped hints. I'm expecting every meeting we have with Dumbledore this year to turn into 'recruit Lily into the Order' time."

"Why are you meeting with Dumbledore?" Regulus says.

"Oh—I'm Head Girl, somehow Potter's Head Boy—I blame Remus and Dumbledore—so maybe I could ask Dumbledore, or Potter, or both, but... if I do that, I need a way to do it without making them think I'm signing up."

"We'll need spies," Evan says.

"Not me," Lily retorts. "If I'm with you, then I'm with you. I have friends in the Order. I'll side against them—I've been siding against them—but I'm going to do it with some integrity."

A bad idea is taking shape in Regulus's head.

Bad, but better than nothing.

Sirius is here at the party right now, and he lives with the Potters. He'll see them tomorrow, maybe even tonight, and he'd be able to come up with some sort of plausible lie about why he was asking. It's not guaranteed that they'll know anything, but... with enough of a sob story about Barty being in danger, they'd probably try to find out.

It does make Regulus feel like he's swallowed a bucket of flobberworms.

He has to think, though. This isn't about how Regulus feels. This is about Barty. Regulus needs to know if he's safe—and if he's not, Regulus needs to plan some sort of intervention with Bellatrix fast.

"Lily," he says, and he forces the words out in a neat row before he can decide to take them back. "Would Sirius talk to the Potters?"

She grimaces. "Honestly, I think the only person who knows the answer to that is Sirius."

Fantastic.

It's for Barty, Regulus reminds himself, and he exhales slowly before that can turn into another spidering emotion that he'll have to lock away. "Then I suppose I'll have to ask him."

 

Extracting Sirius from the cluster of Gryffindors the same way Evan extracted Lily would draw too much attention, so they have to wait, sitting back down on the picnic blankets to at least look like they're thinking about the fireworks. Regulus distantly notices his knee brushing against Evan's, a shower of pink light overhead cascading into the shape of a bird that circles and circles and bursts into a brilliant sun surrounded by pink clouds, and then more things happen which are presumably very spectacular, but all Regulus can see is the black sky behind the bright, colorful afterimages.

Where is Barty now? If he Flooed to a meeting place, it can't have been very secure—probably just a stop on the way to another destination, somewhere for Moody to pick him up. Maybe he's in some kind of Ministry-approved safehouse that's just been waiting to be needed, or an Order hideout—if it's that, hopefully he's being subtle about his snooping.

Or maybe he's home. Maybe it was a false alarm, and Regulus will return to a message in his journal, Barty's cramped scrawl complaining for a full page about the lecture he got for sneaking out.

Maybe.

The fireworks end. People don't get up right away—they lounge on the picnic blankets, laughing, chatting, not moving in the way Regulus needs them to move so Lily has a good opportunity to separate Sirius from his friends. It has to be during the toasts, when everyone has a reason to look in the same direction and Regulus can talk to Sirius behind them all, and Heather is moving, standing up and starting to usher people back in the direction of the pavilion, and it's like they're all wading through sand. Regulus wades too, gets swallowed up in the crowd and cuts a sideways path across—he tries to wind through, the same way Evan maneuvered them through Rosier Manor at the solstice ball, a circuitous route that gets him to the other side of the pavilion without making it too obvious that he has a destination in mind. Hopefully it works.

He's retreated back to the corner where he and Evan were sitting before—but it's too brightly lit, so he has to step slightly outside. Regulus doesn't want people to just be able to glance over here and see him talking to Sirius. It would be fine in a Dark Arts study group meeting, but here it's not. Potter is here.

Which is exactly the problem.

Sirius could absolutely come up with a sob story for Potter's parents. He always spun out good ones whenever they broke things as children. True, he's not eight anymore, but it's not the sort of thing one forgets how to do.

Potter, however...

Regulus doesn't even know how Sirius was explaining leaving to go to study group meetings.

Lily's approach is obvious, red hair and a green shirt, not to mention that she's taller than a fair number of the attendees. Sirius stands like he's taller than he is, helped by his wearing the scarlet dragonhide boots—Regulus can see them from all the way over here, poking out from under denim trousers. He has some sort of leather jacket, too, hands stuck in his pockets in a way that makes his elbows stick out, but it's black. Mother would be appalled by the mismatched leathers. That's probably exactly why Sirius chose them.

He doesn't look surprised to see Regulus waiting.

Lily doesn't even walk the whole way—she stops at the edge of the crowd, near Evan, and Sirius proceeds, closer and closer until Regulus can hear the hard soles of his boots against the floor and then the way they press against the grass.

Sirius says, "You're warding us in, I assume?"

Regulus resists the urge to say something along the lines of no, I thought we might try this brilliant invention called whispering. Tempting as it is, he is actually going to ward them in, because that's the reasonable thing to do, and Regulus is being reasonable.

"I am," he says, and he swallows back any doubt before it can creep into his voice. Regulus is being focused, and efficient, and goal-oriented, and they're supposed to be talking to each other again. "I need to speak to you about something important."

Notes:

i am back!! october was super busy and then i got sick, still kind of feeling it but we carry on. i'm just going to restart my 'every other week' update schedule from today - so the next chapter will be in 2 weeks.

the way that evan left space for regulus to sit next to him during the fireworks and regulus zoomed in to go 'WAR TIME' and then left again. regulus & barty are the first relationship listed on this fic for a REASON ok

there are many ways to repress your emotions with occlumency<3

i don't intend to make it easy for sirius to walk this line between james and regulus lmao. i'll say again that ttdl is only the first part of this story (what have i gotten myself into 😭) - regulus is experiencing pressure about taking his stance public, and sirius will be as well. no james bashing though i love james

what do you think is going on with barty? perhaps more importantly, who do you think is going to have answers?

afshjkjf i feel like there's more to say about this chapter but my brain is still a bit foggy so! we'll leave it here.

next time: regulus looks for answers. careful what you wish for

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 66

"Where's Crouch?" Sirius says as Regulus is finishing the muffling ward. It's strange to see him with his hands tucked into his pockets, as if he's cold—Sirius normally isn't one for stillness. "I heard him talking about finding a mirror in his attic that pulled him into a portal and dropped him in the middle of Ollivander's?"

That was when Maeve asked. How did Sirius hear him? He never came anywhere near the corner where Regulus and Barty were sitting.

Not important right now. What matters is that Sirius has asked where Barty is—the same way Evan did, first thing once the wards were up, and it's not as if Regulus doesn't have time to spare—he's in a position where he can do very little other than wait for news—but he doesn't want to make this take longer than it needs to. The longer it takes, the greater the risk that Regulus will say or do something ill-considered.

He summarizes it by rote—he's thought through the situation so many times that speaking it aloud feels trite by now, repetition of something everyone should already know, rattling off his lines. "Alastor Moody came to retrieve him. I suspect foul play regarding his father. Moody's involvement implies that the Order of the Phoenix is at the very least aware of the situation, and it has been suggested to me that you may be in close proximity to members of the Order who could be persuaded to share what they know."

Some expression flashes over Sirius's face, too quickly for Regulus to make sense of it before it's gone. "I'm guessing you mean James's parents."

Like it's practically common knowledge.

Maybe it is in Gryffindor.

You should have told me, Regulus wants to snap, and then he says, "Unless you have someone else in mind." And, not without a distant, insufficient twinge of satisfaction, "Other than Dumbledore or McGonagall."

Sirius doesn't react to that piece of information—Dumbledore's an open secret, but McGonagall must not be news to him either, the way she was to Lily, the way she was to Regulus. Potter probably told him. He should have said.

"They might not know anything," Sirius says carefully, as if Regulus hasn't already considered that, as if Sirius thinks this is the planning phase and not the execution, as if he thinks he knows better. "You know that, right?"

"As I have retained my lessons about the value of compartmentalizing sensitive information, yes, I am well aware." Too much. Regulus forces his ribs to expand, then contract—soften his tone, think before he speaks. He can't snap at Sirius in the middle of asking for a favor. He just needs to make it clear that he's already done the strategizing and there's no need for Sirius to butt in. But in a tactful way that won't make Sirius want to refuse out of spite. "The other options are inferior with regard to feasibility, aside from asking Bellatrix, which would show too much of my own hand." And, in the worst case, indicate some level of interest in Death Eater operations that might inspire Bellatrix to start planning his initiation.

"Yeah, and coming from her, no news is good news anyway."

That's off topic. They're not here to discuss whether Regulus should talk to Bellatrix—they're here to discuss whether Sirius will ask the Potters. Regulus can't say that, though; telling someone they're not contributing tends to engender hostility. "So you understand my thought process regarding the Potters."

"I do, but—" Sirius sighs, extricates his hand from his jacket pocket to rake it through his hair—a flash of scarlet leather, a gold face —he stuffs his hand back into his pocket, back to standing still. Back to watching Regulus. They both have Father's eyes, flinty gray, but Sirius has always been quicker to narrow his to a sharp point—Regulus knows this, can tell he's doing it without looking at him just from the years and years of observation. Even if he looks past Sirius's shoulder, at Evan who's not even pretending to pay attention to the toasts, he knows exactly how Sirius is watching him. "Just be prepared to wait, yeah? If something big is going down, they'll all be keeping their mouths shut until it's over. Nobody wants to be the one who got overconfident and fucked it up."

Again, all things Regulus has already considered, but he has to just move past it. At the last moment, he remembers to make it sound like a question. "But you'll ask?"

"Yeah. I will."

In another light, maybe it would sound like a promise. Here, now, it just sounds like... words.

But he's wearing the watch Regulus got him.

What does Regulus say? Why can't he think of anything? There should be years to catch up on. There should at least be small talk to make about the party—not that it's what he wants to discuss, but it should still be there, the same way it would be for anyone else—but Sirius has never been just anyone else, and all Regulus can think of is a horribly banal, "Thank you."

"Of course," Sirius says. Easy.

Regulus digs his fingernails into the palm of his hand— "Is it really that simple?"

The words are out before he can claw them back in, dubious enough that Regulus wants to scream at himself—Sirius agreed, Regulus should be leaving, not challenging him, not making him think twice about it, not pointing out the obvious.

Sirius's brow furrows. "Do you not want it to be?"

He doesn't have an answer for that.

Not a good one, anyway.

And silence is apparently an insufficient response, because Sirius says, "He matters to you, you want to know if he's okay, why would I say no to that? You said yourself the other options are shit. It's simple to me."

But there's Potter.

There's Potter, and there's Sirius's entire life, holed up in an Order house, probably with no backup plan, and he was lucky enough that they were willing to take him in—how can Sirius call that simple? Any member of the Order with sense wouldn't want to feed information to someone like Regulus, even in a vague sense, and the more complicated a lie is, the more fragile it is, and Sirius is good at explanations, but there's still no way that actually getting an answer and then getting it to Regulus would be that easy.

Of course, expressing a resolution to do it, with intent to fail, would be simple enough.

Regulus can't think like that. There's no way for him to verify whether Sirius tries or not—he'll only know whether Sirius succeeds, and if he doesn't... well, how would Regulus know? All he has is Sirius's word. If Barty were here, he'd be able to find out if Sirius meant it. But Barty's not here, so Regulus will just have to... accept it, because the alternative is assuming that no matter what Sirius has said about his allegiances, they're always subject to what Potter won't object to, and if that's the situation, then recruiting Sirius in the first place was pointless—he has to at least try to believe it wasn't.

"Alright," he says, because if Sirius isn't bringing up Potter then Regulus certainly isn't doing it, not here, not now. "In that case, we should rejoin the party."

Sirius doesn't move. "The watch was you, wasn't it?"

"Yes." Not that Regulus put any great effort into concealing it, and not that he wants to discuss it right now, really, but now that Sirius has mentioned it he can't just change the subject—but he also can't do something as stupid as ask whether Sirius liked it—Sirius wore it, maybe only because he expected Regulus to be here, but maybe not, and Regulus will never know so he needs to stop thinking about it. "I borrowed Evan's owl."

"Makes sense, I couldn't really get myself to believe that you'd suddenly gotten one for yourself."

It's hardly necessary, especially now that Regulus can write to Evan using their journals to ask to borrow Caspian.

Sirius knowing Regulus doesn't particularly like owls isn't a surprise—Regulus explained his thoughts on the matter at some length at least once when he was five or so—but Sirius remembering is...

He'll attempt to make some conversation. It's not like he has anything else to do. "There's no need. Caspian is normally available. Evan doesn't often write to people, except to invite them over." He writes to Regulus more often in the journals, but Regulus has always thought that the reason Evan barely uses his owl is because he doesn't like the long delay between writing and getting a response. Writing in their journals is only a step below face-to-face conversations in terms of immediacy.

"How long has he been working with you?" Sirius says. "I didn't expect him to care that much about Dark Arts. Or the war, honestly."

"He was one of the first people I recruited," Regulus half-lies. (Evan recruited himself, really.) "Before Lily."

"And Lily's been around for a while."

"Since February or so."

"Wow," Sirius says, mostly to himself, and then he doesn't add anything else, which is strange enough that Regulus waits for him to keep talking, until a ripple of laughter from the pavilion reminds him that their absence probably shouldn't be noticed.

"I need to talk to Evan," he says, which is more of an exaggeration than a lie—Evan will certainly want to know how this conversation went. "I'll see you at school."

"See you then, yeah."

And Regulus takes down the wards, and Sirius walks away, and he doesn't know why he stands there in the dark for a long moment before joining Evan at the edge of the crowd.

 

Is everything alright?

 

He's awake to see the sun rise, because he's barely slept. Every second after he got home felt like another moment that could be when the bookmark in his journal turned black, Barty writing to tell him that he was fine—but the seconds ticked by, and Regulus forced himself to get ready for bed, and then he set his journal on his nightstand and cast a Lumos so he'd be able to see the bookmark as soon as he woke up, no matter when or how often that happened to be.

But the bookmark stayed a stubborn gold, as Regulus tossed and turned, as the journal and the Lumos swam before his eyes, as the light behind his curtains grew, and when his alarm rings, there's nothing he can do but get up.

 

Breakfast in Grimmauld Place normally borders on silent, as none of them are morning people, although they can pretend otherwise for the sake of things like early morning quidditch practice and hosting houseguests. Neither of these factors are relevant to today, which is why Regulus is... thrown a bit off when he hears Mother's voice wafting up out of the dining room. She doesn't sound annoyed, or anything like that—just more awake than he'd expect before ten in the morning. Even when they've discussed the news at breakfast, the actual speaking has always bore with it a sense of grudging acceptance that they've reached the 'talking' part of the day; it never sounds sociable. He doesn't want to make conversation; his head feels packed with cotton.

Then someone responds.

Someone whose voice Regulus recognizes instantly.

He can't delay—they've probably heard him coming down the stairs—but he takes a second to put up a strong façade, resigning himself in advance to the headache he'll probably get later. The locked box in the corner of his mind hasn't been emptied yet; there's no point in it until the situation is resolved, which it very much is not, so he'll be pulling his mind magic in two different directions, but façades are simple, and he's not actively channeling more emotions into the box, and it only has to last until Bellatrix goes away.

 

"Good morning," Bellatrix singsongs when Regulus enters the dining room. She's sitting across from his normal chair, drinking tea that probably has an obscene amount of sugar in it, spreading strawberry jam on toast like she lives here. "Oh, you look tired, Reggie. Late night?"

At least he doesn't have to pretend to be alert. "I was at Parkinson Manor for a birthday party. Good morning." Regulus sits down and taps on the table to call the teapot over without asking what she's doing here. Bellatrix won't need prompting, and he has to be polite, but not that polite. Grandfather Arcturus kept the branches of their family close. They've never been under any obligation to impress each other, or be on their best behavior. Regulus can pretend to ignore Bellatrix in favor of stirring milk and sugar into his tea.

"Late night for me, too," she says without being asked, and a chill creeps up Regulus's spine. Father, reading the Daily Prophet, doesn't react; Mother looks politely interested, which could mean anything. "I was just telling your parents—it's so funny, one never knows what's going to come in handy, and it must have been almost four in the morning when I realized you could be the solution to a little problem we're having!"

Slow breaths. He can't afford to destabilize his Occlumency. He's Bellatrix's cousin Regulus, future Lord Black, future Death Eater—Regulus takes a sip of tea to prevent his mouth from twisting—he added far too much milk, he wasn't paying attention—Bellatrix's cousin Regulus doesn't have any reason to care beyond the fact that she's bringing it up to him, and Regulus retreats behind his façade and keeps his voice as nonchalant as he can make it. "What sort of problem?"

"Starts with a C, ends with an ouch, and it's not a synonym for sofa." She crunches her toast.

Expecting it doesn't keep Regulus from wanting to crush the porcelain handle of his teacup.

Death Eaters.

He was right.

Bellatrix's cousin Regulus doesn't care. "Coming over for breakfast seems an extreme course of action." He sets down his teacup and puts some berries on his plate just for something to do with his hands, but they might as well be marbles for how appetizing they look. "Exactly how dire is this crossword puzzle?"

She huffs. "Reggie, you're of no use to me in this state. Finish your tea, then we'll talk."

"Well, now I'm curious." The truth of it seems somehow worse than if it had been a lie. He drinks more tea, to make it look like he'll do what she wants, and also for something to distract him, picking apart the flavors of the milk and the tea and the sugar on his tongue.

Maybe the silence lasts forever, or maybe it only lasts long enough for Father to flip to a new section of the newspaper—there's another copy, Regulus's copy, lying on the table, its crisp folds untouched. The headline on the front page is about a coalition of real estate developers lobbying to reduce the size of a dragon reserve in Wales. Regulus wants to pick it up and shake it until the real news falls out from wherever it's hiding—but it's too soon. He'll have to wait for Father's Evening Prophet to arrive, and even then... who knows?

Bellatrix treats every silence as a gap waiting to be filled. She's like Sirius in that way, or maybe Sirius is like her. It means that despite her previous orders, she starts talking again before Regulus has even finished half of his cup. "So, we kidnapped the head of the DMLE last night, but he's all clammed up, and the Dark Lord's considering how to break him."

Just like that.

Regulus forces himself to nod—chin down, chin up. It's not exactly a surprise, although it's probably supposed to be; she doesn't know he saw Moody; but before he can decide whether to say something, she keeps going. "Can't use the Cruciatus too many times in twenty-four hours, or they go nonresponsive, and we tried the Imperius but it was like throwing pebbles at a brick wall according to Antonin, and he's no slouch. That leaves using his family as leverage, which was the Dark Lord's original plan, but we have an itty bitty problem on our hands with that one."

Another sip of tea, pretending his blood hasn't started to thrum in his veins. A problem with using Barty and his mother as leverage could be anything—it could be anything— but it means that whatever Voldemort wanted to do, it's gone wrong.

Wrong enough that Bellatrix showed up to talk to Regulus over breakfast.

And Regulus's only connection to the Crouch family is Barty.

He could get away with seeming invested in the conversation at this point, but he's already sustaining two types of mind magic on very little sleep, and it's easier to just continue sounding vaguely interested. "What does 'itty bitty' mean in this scenario?"

"We've got Crouch, like I said, but we seem to have..." Bellatrix sucks at her teeth. "Misplaced the family, sad to say."

They don't have Barty.

They don't have Barty, or his mother, and they don't know where to find them.

Regulus has to fight to take slow breaths, for a different reason this time—relief wants to make his chest collapse, his shoulders sag, and that isn't how Bellatrix's cousin Regulus, future Death Eater, would respond.

"Moody's squirreled them off somewhere, which is deeply irritating, since we did all that work to separate him from Crouch in the first place." She prods the berries on her plate into an arrangement, blackberry and raspberry alternating in a circle, before popping one into her mouth. "We could just go kill him, but that'll take time and planning and a teeny bit of cannon fodder, which is why I'm here!"

Something wry. Confident. Regulus isn't supposed to have anything to worry about in this conversation. "What, for cannon fodder?"

"A little birdie told me that you've got the kid up to his elbows in Dark Arts," Bellatrix says. "Very interesting, Reggie." She grins at him, red-stained teeth in a bright red mouth. "So, how much does he hate his dear old dad?"

Regulus weighs the possible responses.

If he says Barty hates him, Bellatrix will want Barty to play pretend, act as leverage to break his father's will and then probably turn around and take the Mark straight after—he's only a few weeks away from being of age, after all. If he says Barty doesn't hate him, then it's a lapse in Regulus's judgment for teaching Barty Dark Arts—and it probably doesn't render Barty any safer. Thus, he has to take the third road: apathy.

"They barely speak, what with Barty being at Hogwarts most of the year and his father spending almost all his time at the Ministry," he says. "But you can't put his mother in danger and expect him to cooperate, and I'm sure they're being kept in hiding together."

"So the mum's the important one," Bellatrix muses.

Even through his façade, Regulus has to fight to keep from flinching.

"To Barty," he says. "He's always made it sound as though his father is married to the DMLE."

It's a flat-out lie, but hopefully it's a believable one. He's Occluding too thoroughly to look nervous about telling it.

"No wonder he's not cracking." She shrugs. "Well, it's only been the one night!"

What does Regulus say to that?

If he wanted to join the Death Eaters— really wanted to—he'd suggest that they just kill him and not waste their time looking for Barty and his mother. Crouch Sr. is too devoted to the Ministry to ever be of use; if Bellatrix is here to ask Regulus for his opinion, the Death Eaters clearly don't have Veritaserum on hand. (Unsurprising; the ingredients aren't just highly regulated, but also difficult to find, and the potion itself is so likely to accidentally become poisonous that it should really only be brewed by a master. Compounding the issue, it requires at least one moon cycle, depending on the batch size.) And if Crouch Sr. is dead, then there's no point in hunting down his family.

But...

Regulus can't be the one who pushes for that.

Barty would never suspect he'd had a hand in the decision, and killing him is probably kinder than whatever else Voldemort might come up with.

But Regulus can't do it.

"How much do you care about getting information out of him?" he says instead. Maybe it'll help him figure out how close Barty is to being safe. "Removing him from the DMLE must be a sizable blow in and of itself."

"Oh, the Dark Lord doesn't believe in missing opportunities," Bellatrix says. "But the longer we have him, the more time the Ministry has to try to get him back, do we set a trap, do we just kill him to spare ourselves the trouble, do we kill him but not tell anyone he's dead so we can still set the trap, et cetera, et cetera. Like I said, that's why I'm here. If we can get anything from him, it tips the scales towards keeping him alive." She clicks her tongue. "The kid being Dark, though, and everything with the mum... that complicates things. Unless they're not being kept together—then it's simple enough, although you might need to do some damage control with the kid, since you're friends. We'd find a place for him, being Dark and whatnot, but not if he's going to try to kill us and such."

What does Regulus say? He knows Barty and his mother are being kept together, but he can't say that without telling Bellatrix that he was with Barty last night. Any sort of clue as to his whereabouts, even just places he's been recently, would be helpful for her. There is no way that any sort of 'damage control' would just make Barty fine with his mother being taken captive, but if he says that, then Barty becomes a liability to the Death Eaters, and Voldemort will want to deal with him and everything will come crashing down.

But Bellatrix is Regulus's cousin.

And Bellatrix wants Regulus to join the Death Eaters, which means that unless she thinks he's being unreasonable, she won't want to make him upset about what they're doing.

And Barty is Regulus's friend.

He takes a breath and gets the words ready.

"I'd prefer if you didn't harm him," Regulus says, with a veneer of calm candor that doesn't match the way his heart is pounding against his ribs. "He's the good sort, despite his father. It would be a shame to let that go to waste."

 

By the time that Regulus is walking with Bellatrix to the fireplace in the foyer, he has a splitting headache. They must have passed at least an hour talking about the Crouch family, then Bellatrix's new off-hand dueling wand, then the Slytherin quidditch team, and a host of other topics that made Regulus's head spin, and he just wants to shut himself into his room and read the Daily Prophet in between checking his journal for updates, and Bellatrix is still talking.

"—and I keep telling Narcissa that she should surprise Lucius with a snake for their anniversary, and I have a feeling that she's going to say no again this year, so I'm enlisting you this time." She has to reach up to ruffle his hair, which unfortunately doesn't stop her from doing it. "Just write to her in a month or so, tell her pet snakes are all the rage this year, lie and say Rosier's got one or something like that, and if that doesn't work I'm buying the snake myself and forging her handwriting on a card. I can picture his face so clearly and it's hysterical, Reggie. It needs to happen."

"She'd never believe Evan having a snake," Regulus points out.

"Unless she had photo proof. When's his birthday?"

November twenty-eighth, and that would never work. "I think buying Lucius the snake yourself is a much more realistic plan."

"The victory of persuading Cissa to do it, though." Bellatrix takes a pinch of Floo powder and lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Oh, and don't worry—I don't think your parents noticed you're hungover."

Regulus is so caught off guard that a "What?" escapes his mouth before he can stop it.

Bellatrix winks at him and tosses the Floo powder into the fireplace.

 

The headline about the dragon reserve refuses to shift into something more interesting for the entire trip back to Regulus's bedroom, but at least he's not completely out of the loop.

Barty's still effectively missing, which isn't a bad thing in this case, although it's not what Regulus would call reassuring either. The situation could very well change. All he knows is that Voldemort is debating whether to keep looking. Bellatrix didn't give Regulus any hint of what she plans to pass on.

Debating is better than determined, but regardless... Regulus needs to be ready for Barty's father to die.

It was inevitable from the moment they captured him. It's only a question of when.

That's not something he can address until his head has stopped pounding, and he's considering leaving the Prophet for later in favor of closing his curtains again and trying to sleep, but he shuts his door, goes to set the newspaper down on his nightstand—

His bookmark is black.

Regulus almost tears a page flipping through. It's not Barty—that makes sense in hindsight. It's not Heather.

It's Lily, scrawling in pencil.

 

Sirius just showed up at my house. The Order has them.

Notes:

YAY FOR SIRIUS KNOWING HOW TO APPARATE!!!

ahgkwghjkdsf this chapter is long but there was no good place to cut it. alas. i am finally mostly recovered from what i think was covid actually 😬 yikes. we carry on. let's proceed chronologically:

regulus and sirius are having just sliiiightly different conversations, and it all hinges on how sirius sees regulus right now. but hey, he's wearing the watch!!! too bad regulus can't just accept the fact that that probably means he appreciated it. no sir, we must consider the possibility that sirius only dug it out of the back of a drawer because regulus might see him, and then completely ignore the corollary of 'if he cares enough to put in the effort to make you *think* he likes it, than that's a statement all on its own,' as well as the competing piece of evidence 'you got him a watch that matches his favorite boots regulus oh my fucking god' (which has been thoroughly shot down by the concern of 'as his younger sibling it's not really my place to give him something like that even though our parents never did and what if he thinks it's patronizing', to which i have to say, regulus, bud, you're the one thinking everything is patronizing)

'evan just writes to me more often using the journals because it's fast' dude

aghhkslgkhjkjf i love bellatrix - she sucks but she's so fun

it's always been my personal belief that crouch sr is exceptionally good at resisting the imperius - i feel like canon directly contradicts that statement, but i don't remember for sure, and anyway even if it does i simply do not care sjgkshjlf. someone casts imperio on him and he just goes '🤨why would i do that.' real wrench in voldemort's plans there

and regulus. having a bad time. you did say asking bellatrix would show your own hand - aren't you glad she came to you instead???

and SIRIUS PULLED THROUGH. *REAL* FAST. (fleamont is the order's potioneer, meaning he's the one you go to for some calming draughts for your new friends who are having a real bad time. all the potters know sirius is in contact with regulus at this point. like sirius said - it's simple to him. or was it?? what was going through his mind at that point?? what did he think of regulus asking in the first place??)

i'll leave you on a more humorous note: petunia evans, all accustomed to lily's magic friends being 1) severus snape, who sucks and hasn't shown up in years, and 2) marlene mckinnon, who petunia hates on principle for being lily's magic best friend (even though marlene's always been about as polite to petunia as she possibly can be given that she also would like to get a stepstool so she can strangle her), suddenly being confronted with SIRIUS BLACK SHOWING UP in all his rp-accent-leather-jacket-expensive-rings-long-hair-bare-minimum-of-courtesy-because-he-needs-to-talk-to-lily glory. petunia already had to deal with mckinnon last night. what the hell

next time: fallout

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 67

Regulus isn't sure how to breathe.

He stares at the words, in unchanging smears of gray lead— The Order has them— the Order has them, and Lily stops there.

The Order has them.

Not the Death Eaters.

The pressure in his chest and his throat increases and increases until he has to suck in a breath—but even that momentary lapse in focus doesn't unravel the lead, change the words on the page. They stay still. No but or although appears to ruin them.

And they stay still when he looks away for an instant to pick up quill and ink, and they stay still when he writes back.

Are they safe?

Safe as they can be, I guess, Lily writes back. It's odd to see her handwriting in such a dull color—Regulus is accustomed to much louder ones in Lily's section of his journal. Sirius says: Monty (Fleamont, James's dad) had to make some Calming Draughts last night, gave them to someone who's guarding the Crouches, that's all he could get. Monty wouldn't tell him who the guard was, said it was safer that way. It all happened while we were at the party.

No one bothers to hand out panic suppressants in the middle of a battle. And if Fleamont Potter was brewing Calming Draughts before Regulus even got home, then the Order's had them practically the entire time that the Death Eaters have been looking for them, hidden away to the point that Bellatrix came over this morning to ask Regulus whether the search was even worth the effort.

Barty's alright.

Thinking it pours air back into his lungs, like he's cascading over the edge of a waterfall—something that was choking him all rushes out at once and leaves him room to breathe properly for the first time since he saw Moody's face last night, in a dizzying gust of air. Barty's in some sort of undisclosed location, yes, but it's an undisclosed location controlled by the Order, who won't be interested in hurting him. His mother's safe too. It's probably mind-numbingly boring, but at the moment, that sounds much, much better than the alternative.

Tell Sirius thank you.

 

But days pass without any more news.

Bellatrix doesn't come back. Sirius, through Lily, doesn't write. The Daily Prophet doesn't have a single article about the DMLE, which means the Ministry (and the Order) is keeping things very hushed up. Understandable; they wouldn't want to tell the entire country that they failed to keep one of their top officials safe, or that they don't know how to get him back.

And Barty's section of Regulus's journal remains utterly unchanged.

Their house is under a Fidelius. It was supposed to be safe.

Regulus waits, and he keeps his mouth shut, and he reads the newspaper, and he packs his trunk for school, and on August thirty-first, he writes another message.

I hope you're not too bored. I don't know if I'll see you on the train tomorrow. It's probably for the best if I don't, but the dorm would be strange without you there. If you do miss any classes, I'll see if I can send you my notes through this. I'm not sure if Evan takes notes in Charms, but perhaps he can be persuaded to do so until you get back.

Barty's birthday present is already in his trunk, thanks to an obliging Professor Slughorn. If he's not at Hogwarts in time... then he's not at Hogwarts in time, and Regulus will give it to him whenever he arrives. He sent Sirius a seventeenth birthday present eight months late—he can give Barty his in October, should it be necessary, but if he still hasn't heard from Barty by then, he'll need to find a way to ask Bellatrix if anything is happening.

The note doesn't feel finished, and it takes Regulus a few minutes to settle on adding, I'm glad you were able to attend the party, even though it didn't go as planned.

Then, though the situation isn't resolved, he has to clear out the locked box in the corner of his mind. Going another day... he'll need a relatively fresh mind for dealing with the return to school tomorrow, assessing the new climate and the logistics of Death Eater housemates, a situation that will become much clearer once they're actually in his vicinity. He'll raise new shields tomorrow, if he has to, but right now, he needs a break.

As soon as the lock is broken, Regulus's mind floods with worry that ducks his head underwater and makes his lungs whine in his chest. It doesn't matter that Barty's relatively safe—the emotions don't care, especially not the emotions from the night of the party, which have been locked away gathering power for almost a week now.

All he can do is squeeze his eyes shut and let them run their course, hidden away in his room where nobody will be able to see it.

 

Both Mother and Father go with Regulus to King's Cross the next day.

The platform is always crowded with people who wouldn't recognize the Blacks on sight—Muggles can't get through the barrier, so it's not like there are people who don't know who they are, but photographs of the Wizengamot lords only rarely make it into the news, and those not in high society wouldn't have any particular reason to know any of their faces. Regardless, they tend to get out of the way, which is exactly how Mother likes it. Privately, Regulus thinks this is why she wears heels—so people can hear her walking towards them. (Also, because Mother's not very tall.)

Normally, Platform Nine and Three-Quarters is boisterous on September first; students who scattered across Britain for the summer (or farther) finally see each other again, and families scramble to double-check belongings and say their goodbyes, all of it as close to the train as physically possible, or at least that's what it seems like whenever Regulus is trying to board. All of that is still happening, but tinged with anxiety—a hint of relief when a friend is spotted alive and well, families holding onto their children a little more tightly before letting them leave.

How many of them think that Hogwarts is safe?

The Blacks have never been one of those families that spend ten, fifteen, twenty minutes at the platform. Before Sirius's first year, Mother and Father took a moment to remind him that he would be representing their family at Hogwarts, so everything he said and did would reflect upon them all. Before Regulus's first year, Mother and Father took a considerably longer moment to remind him of the same thing. Now that Regulus leaving for Hogwarts has become a September routine, there's no need for such a delay.

"Keep current affairs in mind this year," is all Father says.

He most certainly will.

It's a relief to be back on the train, which is already half full by now. At home, Regulus's hands are always tied in one way or another; he's just the only son, younger than the rest of them, still expected to do what he's told, shut up in his room most of the day. Being at school will be riskier this year—unless Mulciber and Warrington have both dropped out, which somehow Regulus doubts—but at least he'll have more options.

Every burst of chatter in a distant compartment sounds like it could be Barty.

Regulus takes a slow breath through his nose, settles his shoulders, and sets off to find Evan and Emma.

 

When he locates the right compartment, Evan is the only one inside, staring out the window, dressed in cerulean robes that seem surprisingly plain until the slight rise and fall of his chest makes faint, iridescent vines shimmer over the fabric. He isn't slouching, exactly, but reclining against the upholstery; distant sunlight touches the profile of his face and casts hesitant shadows over his hands, idle in his lap. Caspian's birdcage has been set between Evan and the wall and covered with a midnight blue drape.  A wicker basket is his only other company, nestled under the windowsill, containing a carefully strapped-in potted plant with all of its leaves closed up so tightly that it resembles one enormous rosebud sticking out of the soil.

Regulus hasn't seen him since the party. They've talked using the journals, of course, but... every moment over the past week could have been the moment when Regulus would hear back from Barty, or Bellatrix would show up again. And Regulus wasn't exactly at his best that night, either.

It's only been a week, but seeing Evan now makes Regulus want to simultaneously enter without knocking and linger just outside the door.

He can't just stand in the aisle, though, especially not while staring through the glass door into a compartment. He's Regulus Black. He's not supposed to hesitate before going wherever he's decided to go.

So Regulus slides open the door.

Evan turns right away, and he beams when he spots Regulus, which makes Regulus want to smile back. "Took you long enough! You can't sit over there—that's Emma's seat, and that'll be Maeve's seat once she gets here, and if you sat all the way in the opposite corner I'd be very disappointed. Do you want help with your trunk—oh, never mind, you've got it."

Regulus has never once needed help putting his trunk on the luggage rack, but if he'd known Evan was going to offer—

No. He's never needed help with it, and he's not about to start. It's a trunk.

Evan's string of instructions about where Regulus cannot sit leaves one option: next to Evan. (Well, Regulus could sit on the same bench as close to the door as possible, but that seems unnecessary.) Unfortunately, Regulus discovers that he's spontaneously lost his gauge for 'a reasonable distance to leave when sitting next to someone,' and since there's nobody else in the compartment, there are no other examples he can reference in the moment. They normally fit three or four people on each bench, depending on whether anyone has luggage or pets they want to keep next to them, and Caspian's over by the window, which means three humans, so Evan and Regulus should be splitting the middle, and then Evan ruins all of Regulus's geometry by taking Regulus's wrist in his hand, his fingers over Regulus's suddenly jumpy pulse, and even though his wrist is mostly covered by the cuff of his sleeve Evan's little finger is against his skin and Evan just—pulls him in, and somehow Regulus is sitting on the bench.

Evan loosens but doesn't release his grip, settling their hands in the few inches of upholstery between them, and Regulus registers that he was braced for Evan to let go.

"So," Evan murmurs, and Regulus has exactly one moment of zero ideas about what could possibly be about to happen before Evan continues, "Have you heard anything from Barty?"

This is a topic Regulus is ready for, and he grabs at it with both hands—he knew he'd be asked, probably by multiple people, and he planned out what he would say while he was brushing his teeth this morning. "No, nor from anyone else, which means the situation is probably about as stable as it can be."

He sighs. "Wonder how Dumbledore's going to handle that in his welcome speech. He can't not mention Harrington, but that's over. This whole thing..."

Barty could meet us at Hogwarts, Regulus doesn't say, because if he were Moody, he'd want both Barty and his mother where a member of the Order could see them at all times. Hogwarts may have Dumbledore and McGonagall, but that doesn't solve the problem of the dorms.

Even if Dumbledore probably doesn't know just how much of a problem the Slytherin dorms are going to be.

 

Several more minutes pass with no sign of Emma, and eventually Regulus asks, because her trunk is in the luggage rack and Evan certainly wasn't the one who decided to bring a plant to school.

"Oh, she's helping her brother find other first-years he knows, as for some reason he didn't want to spend the whole train ride with us. You know the stalagmite violet Maeve got her for her birthday?" Evan nods at the potted plant in the basket, the corners of his mouth beginning to curl up. "Guess what she named it."

"She named her plant?"

Evan grins. "Violet."

Regulus feels as though he is missing something. "That's already in its name."

"Precisely. I suggested Maeve the Second, but for some reason Emma didn't like that idea. Then of course she went and chose a shade of purple."

"Why did she name the plant if she's just going to name it something that's already in its name?"

"So Maeve knows it's special to her," Evan says, as if it's obvious. "It also took months. For her to pick Violet."

That's the part that makes the most sense to Regulus, actually. "Well, nobody can accuse her of being disingenuous."

 

The first prefect meeting of the year begins as soon as the train departs, which Regulus remembers when Lucinda walks into the compartment, frowns, and says, "Regulus, don't you have the prefect meeting? Charlotte's already on her way there."

The only response Regulus can come up with is "Yes."

"Off to a great start, I see," Maeve says as he stands up. (Evan let go of Regulus's wrist as soon as Emma opened the door to their compartment, so it's no great loss, but part of Regulus wants to insist that someone save his seat.) "Let us know who the Head Boy and Girl are."

"Potter and—Evans," Regulus reminds himself to say instead of Lily.

"Potter? He's not even a prefect!"

"And he'll do a terrible job if he's working with Lily Evans," Lucinda says, looking rather cheerful about the prospect. "Have a good meeting!"

 

The prefects' compartment is at the head of the train, and Regulus shamelessly uses other students' tendency to get out of his way to clear a path so he can get there on time. He doesn't quite arrive last—Isabelle Scott and Anne Hopkins, Gryffindor and Ravenclaw prefects in his year, claim that title, but they're not far behind him. The room is slightly more crowded than usual, due to having one additional person; it seems that Potter hasn't replaced Lupin as prefect, but has simply joined in. Fortunately, there's an empty seat next to Charlotte.

It's not a long meeting—Lily tells the fifth-years what to expect this year, and Potter passes out the schedule for rounds. He manages to give Regulus a copy without looking at him, which serves to remind Regulus that there's no way Potter is unaware of Sirius asking his parents about Barty's location, and yet Regulus has no idea how Sirius justified it.

He'll have to find that out.

Regulus only has rounds one night a week this year, the early shift for the upper floors on Wednesdays, and he's been partnered with Amanda Chen, which has to have been intentional on Lily's part. Despite Chen being on Regulus's side, and in his inter-house study group, they haven't spoken much beyond Regulus answering her questions about Dark Arts. And patrolling the upper floors will give him clandestine access to the owlery, although he may need to be on better terms with Caspian if he's going to be able to accomplish anything with that, as one generally isn't supposed to invite guests to join for rounds and Evan probably wouldn't want to leave the dungeons to wander around the upper floors for two hours anyway.

After the meeting, Charlotte says she's going to share a compartment with her Hufflepuff friends, two of which are holding down the fort since Rachel Smith and Nathaniel Burnett had to attend the prefect meeting too, but since the prefect compartment is at the head of the train, they all end up going the same direction anyway, and Charlotte says, "Lucinda told me Barty snuck out to go to that birthday party and then his father deployed Aurors to bring him back home, and I can't decide whether I believe her or not."

It's... not false, but it's not exactly true, either—and Lucinda will be expecting Barty to be on the train. Emma will be expecting Barty to be on the train. Even Maeve will, unless Evan found a way to update her on what happened—Regulus didn't tell her. And the train's left now, and Barty's almost certainly not on it, which means that they're going to have questions. And Smith and Burnett are obviously listening too, not that they have any reason to pretend that they aren't.

There's a possibility that Barty boarded the train at the very last minute to avoid a kerfuffle on the platform, and Regulus will get back to find him in the compartment, complaining about his summer. But...

He normally prefers to bend the truth, rather than simply lying, for the sake of plausible deniability. He'll have to push his response a little further towards an outright lie than he normally does. "That was my understanding of the situation as well."

"Did he really tunnel out of his house using last year's Transfiguration textbook as a battering ram?" Smith says.

"I wouldn't put it past him," Regulus says, because Barty would appreciate that response.

Then, as they're nearing Regulus's compartment, he hears a low drawl of a voice that he remembers well—Mulciber, when he's not agitated.

That means if Barty is somehow on board, he's not in there, or Mulciber would be sounding very different.

But Mulciber near Regulus's compartment means Regulus needs to be on guard, because he doesn't have any good reasons to interact with any of the people in there.

And, of course, with Mulciber being a Death Eater, finding Barty on the train would be a golden opportunity for him to secure Voldemort's favor.

Regulus doesn't speed up. He lengthens his stride instead—short steps would seem hesitant, and long ones allow him to cover more ground without looking like he's in a hurry. If Mulciber's at his compartment, Regulus needs to be involved—and if he just happens to be nearby, Regulus needs to be ready for him to force an interaction anyway. It might not have been Mulciber who told Bellatrix about Regulus getting Barty into the Slytherin Dark Arts study group—both the Carrows were still in the main group back when Barty joined, so they witnessed it firsthand—but he's still very much aware of it. If he knows anything about what's happening with the Crouches, he'll do what any Slytherin would do and try to capitalize on it. The last thing Regulus needs is a confrontation with Mulciber on the first day. He has to save that for once Barty is actually safe, because if Regulus fights with a Death Eater, then Bellatrix may decide to ignore what Regulus said to her about not going after Barty.

As they're approaching, he pulls up a façade, just to make sure he won't say anything he'll regret.

Then, Evan's voice says sadly, "I wish he were here too."

The last time Regulus heard Evan sound like that, he was telling Dumbledore how tragic it was that Snape had no friends.

He speeds up.

"I was so looking forward to annoying him by talking about quidditch for the entire train ride," Evan sighs. He's standing at the entrance of the compartment, draped against the doorframe as if he's too miserable to stand upright. "And I've always thought your nose would look better crooked, but since I wasn't there when he broke it, I've had to rely on my imagination, and I was hoping to ask him for a favor for this year, and now he's not here so I can't. Hi, Regulus! Look who came by for a visit!"

Regulus would feel somewhat gratified by how quickly Mulciber turns to face him if it weren't an indication of exactly why Mulciber has chosen to come by.

"What an unexpected surprise," Regulus says. With him in the aisle, and Evan leaning against the doorframe, Mulciber can't quite see both of them at once. Regulus could try to push past into the compartment, but Mulciber might move to block him, and then it would really become a confrontation. So he stays where he is. "Do you need something?"

Mulciber tilts his head. "Just seeing who made it back from the summer holidays."

"Oh, are we joking about students dying now?" Rachel Smith bursts in, arms folded. "Is that something you find funny, Mr... whoever you are?"

"Mulciber," Evan says helpfully. "You probably heard about the time when Marlene McKinnon put stinging nettles in his robes last year."

Regulus needs to de-escalate, but he can't give Mulciber any ground, and he also can't undercut Smith's contribution. That means staying away from it altogether. "You have quite a task ahead of you if you intend to count the entire train. What inspired this undertaking?"

"A friend of mine wanted to know." Mulciber smirks at him. "See you at the feast."

Notes:

oh, mulciber. you really think this is gonna be your year don't you

side note - what do y'all think warrington is up to? why isn't she also on this particular little mission? did she just not feel like it? is she busy? did she drop out of school? is she there under an invisibility cloak? the possibilities are endless

crouch sr is having. a bad time

if regulus were like, 50% less preoccupied thinking about barty, he would have already realized that barty not being at hogwarts, for any period of time, means regulus and evan being the only ones in their room At All Times (or at least until they set up a slytherin dark arts study group meeting schedule). as it is, he has not yet realized this. poor guy i put him through so much

regulus practices speeches in his head staring at himself in the mirror while he brushes his teeth. as do we all

evan would love to give regulus a consoling hug (or like any type of hug lbr) but he is not sure if that is Allowed so almost-but-not-quite-holding-hands it is!!

emma agonized over what to name the stalagmite violet

and hEEHEE DRAMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

btw - i may change my update schedule, as it hasn't been much of a schedule recently - wednesdays used to be good days for me because i had a lot of writing time in the few days before, but now they're more difficult to manage. i'm considering making friday my new day, every other week as usual, stay tuned on that! or just put the whole notion of an update schedule out of your mind and be pleasantly surprised whenever a new chapter lands in your inbox, either works

next time: there is no war in ba sing se hogwarts :)

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 68

Mulciber slinks off, which leaves Regulus to bid Charlotte and her Hufflepuff friends farewell and step back into his compartment. Evan closes the door with a neat, final click.

Nobody's taken Regulus's spot—Lucinda has opted to sit next to Maeve on the other side of the compartment, and nobody else joined while Regulus was at the prefect meeting.

Which means Barty isn't here.

Regulus was expecting it—had been expecting it even before he saw Mulciber sniffing around—but he has to suppress the urge to slump back into his seat. This is safest for Barty. There's still the possibility that he'll meet them at school, although he probably won't. Either way, when he's not at Hogwarts, Regulus doesn't have to worry about what Mulciber might do to him.

He does have to worry about what Mulciber might do in general.

And he can't do it right now. Evan glances at him as they sit back down, expression the sort of blank that Regulus has come to associate with Evan thinking very hard about something, and then they have to just... deal with the fact that Emma and Lucinda aren't in on the war and as a result they won't be able to discuss Mulciber and planning for this semester for hours. The train ride has barely started, and then there's the feast to get through, although at least Regulus won't have to shepherd around first-years afterwards.

"So..." Lucinda says, silver fingernails tapping against the faded brown upholstery. "Barty's not here."

Everyone looks at Regulus for a response, naturally, but the only reason he knows anything about Barty's absence is because he was with Barty when Moody arrived, and then he talked to Sirius, who talked to the Order and was able to relay something back. He doesn't exactly want to trumpet the circumstances around Hogwarts; the media hasn't even gotten hold of the news about Barty's father's capture, and Regulus shouldn't showcase his special insight into it to the general public.

He says, "I expect that if he were, he would have found our compartment by now."

"You don't seem surprised."

Fantastic.

A series of carefully selected factual statements will hopefully get Lucinda to drop it. "His father is an immense target for the Death Eaters, who can and will take family members as hostages. The war has progressed over the summer. Barty being at school means that the Death Eaters know exactly where he is from September through June."

He has to stop there, as something's gone wrong in his throat and if he keeps talking it might reveal itself. But it leaves his statement at an awkward cut-off point. June hangs in the air like a semicolon with nothing after it. Movement in the corner of his eye indicates that he's somehow turned his attention from Lucinda to the doorframe—when he looks back at her, she's fiddling with an earring, face angled towards the window.

"Someone else will have to take over punching Mulciber, then," Evan says easily. "Nominations? I don't trust Megan to do it in a judicious enough manner to avoid detention."

After the barest hesitation, Emma counters, "She manages it on the quidditch pitch well enough."

"Yes, but she's expected to hit Bludgers at people there. Slughorn doesn't ever expect her to punch people."

"That can only be because of a lack of imagination on his part."

"Takes one to know one, I suppose."

She arches an eyebrow. "Implying?"

Evan grins. "Only that I wonder if he's ever named a houseplant—"

 

The carriage ride from the train station to the castle slips past, insubstantial and dreamlike.

Barty didn't meet the train in Hogsmeade, and Regulus can't quite believe that it's September first. Today doesn't feel like the beginning of another school year. Even the very first time, he sat with Barty in the boats—Maeve sat with them too, and Evan, although Regulus didn't know him by that name at the time, and Regulus introduced Barty to them both, with a tiny, not unwelcome twinge in his chest at the realization that he was the one in the middle, making the introductions, with someone to watch over by his side. He hadn't sat with Sirius on the train. He hadn't expected it to feel so different.

Every September after, stepping onto the train was like shedding a skin. This time, Regulus feels as though he's put another one on.

Maybe people try to engage him in conversation. A steady stream of it floats by, never a pause long enough to make him wonder if he's missed something. He'll have to pay more attention once they reach the Great Hall and have to sit there through the Sorting and Dumbledore's welcome speech and the feast, surrounded by witnesses, curious eyes, rumors about everything that may or may not have happened over the summer. People won't know what happened. They won't know to keep their mouths shut.

And Mulciber will be watching.

The carriage goes from rolling over dirt to rattling over paving stones, but nobody bothers to raise their voice to speak over the sound of the wheels, because they all know by now that it'll only be a few more seconds before they reach the castle. Invisible hooves clatter to a stop, and Regulus moves without needing to think about it, standing and exiting the carriage, something he's done at least a dozen times before.

The castle rises in front of him, a heap of gray stone dotted with arches that reach up towards the uneven skyline, marked with five towers of varying heights. It's always given Regulus the impression that it was symmetrical on the day that it was raised and not a single day since. Over the centuries, it's grown as it saw fit, or been expanded if someone thought it necessary to keep up with the increase in students, both from population growth in Britain and from more and more families deciding to send their children to magical Britain's new boarding school. Moss and ivy creep up some of the stone around the other walls, Regulus knows, but the main entrance is kept very tidy, without a shred of green to encroach upon the enormous arched doorway. The only times that both of the double doors stand open are at the beginning and end of each school year; for Hogsmeade weekends and other occasions that involve much of the student body entering or exiting at once, they only use one.

Anyone who hasn't already noticed Barty isn't here will begin noticing soon.

Regulus sets one foot in front of the other, and gradually, the scenery around him changes from the courtyard in front of the main entrance to the brightly lit foyer, students' chatter echoing off of the high stone ceiling until it becomes a chorus of things Regulus doesn't care about. The tide of black swells towards the Great Hall, each house table already sparsely populated with the students who were first to get carriages, and he can't stop himself from scanning the faces seated at the Slytherin table.

Barty's not there, of course. Nor is he at any of the other ones, not that he ever has been, but it would at least have been an interesting turn of events if Regulus had found him hidden among the Ravenclaws.

Emma leads their group directly to the section of the Slytherin table that she claims has the best arrangement of serving platters, plowing through the clusters of students who haven't put as much thought into their seating and are foolishly choosing to take their last opportunity to catch up with friends from other houses before the feast. They have some time before the new first-years arrive and fill the tables to their usual level. Most people take this to mean that they can meander over to their seats, because even if they wait, there won't be any shortage of room for them to sit with their friends. Emma is not most people. But then, her friends are all Slytherins anyway.

The table looks odd without Priam and Geoff. Mulciber and Warrington are at the far end, opposite Snape, who's reading and thus isn't paying the other two much attention, but none of them are objecting to each other's presence either, which is... not unexpected, exactly, but Snape isn't a Death Eater, is he? Evan didn't mention it. Neither did Bellatrix.

But he's a seventh-year, so he's of age. Unless he has a summer birthday late enough that there wasn't time for him to be Marked before the school year started, there's no logistical reason that he couldn't become a Death Eater along with Mulciber and Warrington.

They'll have to double-check that. Especially as Regulus isn't seeing any obvious signs of hostility that would indicate the development of an ideological schism—or an interpersonal one.

"Heather wants this to be the year that they break up," Evan murmurs from just behind him, leaving Regulus a tad confused before he puts together that Evan thinks he's looking at Mulciber and Warrington. "Specifically, she wants them to break up with a shouting match in the common room at the start of December. She said it was so that they wouldn't have time to reconcile before the winter holidays, but I gathered it was mainly for her birthday."

"Snape's sitting with them," Regulus responds, just as Alexander Yew is drifting over to speak to Mulciber, and then they have to stop talking about it because they've arrived at Emma's preferred section of the table.

He sits down, and... Barty doesn't materialize to take the seat next to him, which shouldn't surprise Regulus after everything, but—if Barty were here, if Barty were going to be here, there would be no reason for him not to meet them in the Great Hall. Dumbledore is right there, at the center of the teachers' table; Barty would be practically right under his nose. It would be safer than the dorms, even.

And he's still not here.

 

The Sorting slogs by, and Dumbledore gives an actual speech this year, not just a random anecdote or an exploration of some whimsical vocabulary. He talks quite a bit about Xavier Harrington, saying precisely what he would be expected to say, and the uncomfortable, solemn silence of the hall is only interrupted by Dorcas Meadowes' hurried footsteps as she gets up and strides out one of the small side doors, wiping at her eyes. Dumbledore doesn't comment on it, nor on McKinnon speeding after her, followed shortly by Professor Flitwick.

He urges all of them to think of the future, to remember Harrington as he was in life rather than as a front-page story, to believe that justice will prevail as long as they unite to work towards it, and by the time that the speech ends and the serving platters fill with food, Regulus can count on one hand the number of times he's been less hungry. Dinner conversation is subdued, especially for the first night back; even the Death Eaters keep their voices down, perhaps because they've put together that doing anything else would draw the ire of many of the Ravenclaws at the table right next to them.

Flitwick returns eventually, but Meadowes and McKinnon never do. Lily, on the opposite side of the Great Hall, doesn't seem too adrift without McKinnon next to her—a handful of Gryffindor girls surround her, a mix of years if the presence of a couple of Regulus's yearmates is anything to go by. Sirius and his friends are farther down the table. They're all seventh-years now. So is Heather. This time next year, they'll be gone.

Well. A year is long, really, compared to the amount of time Regulus has known either Heather or Lily for. And Sirius is... his own phenomenon.

After dessert has been picked at, Regulus gladly abandons the first-year Slytherins to the care of the new prefects, Rahul Misra and Audrey Seaver, who are undertaking their duties with various degrees of confidence. Seaver was sitting with Alexander Yew at dinner, but they weren't close enough to Mulciber and Warrington to worry Regulus particularly about another generation of the future Death Eaters forming. They'll need to ensure that nothing develops there, though. Misra is close with Jessica—the question of how close is one that Lucinda, Maeve, and Evan have been debating since last year—so maybe Regulus can use Jessica to get him into the Slytherin Dark Arts study group, and from there they can assess Seaver's potential Death Eater sympathies or lack thereof.

He feels almost normal, for a moment, caught up in the crowd of Slytherins and Hufflepuffs descending into the dungeons, green and yellow and black surging back into the corridors to mark the beginning of a new year, with people to be investigated and opportunities to be taken advantage of. Jessica's brother has been Sorted into Slytherin, along with a Goyle and an Archer (one of the newest families to enter the Dark network; there's one of them in Ravenclaw a few years below Regulus), and nobody else whose name Regulus recognized. The Carrows are gone, which is one fewer thing to worry about. He never has to take Charms again— he never has to take Charms again.

But he and Evan go down the boys' hallway, and Mulciber is leaning against the wall outside the door labeled SIXTH YEARS, and in the time that it takes Regulus to remember that Mulciber is a now a seventh-year, he plummets back into reality.

Mulciber doesn't even try to pretend that he's not waiting for them. "No Crouch, huh?"

Regulus aims for Narcissa at her most unimpressed—refusing to spare him a glance, flatly courteous, paying more attention to the door to his room than to the person who has attempted to engage him in conversation. "If you keep asking, I'll begin to think you miss him."

Barty would have made a point of being amused by that.

But before Regulus can glide past (difficult in robes that aren't floor-length, but doable), Mulciber steps directly in front of the door to his room. "Oh, we're not done."

Regulus stops walking—what else can he do? Attempting to push past will just give Mulciber what he wants. Giving up will give Mulciber what he wants. He has to make Mulciber leave, and fast, because a stand-off in the boys' hallway, practically at the edge of the common room, is only going to draw attention to a conversation Regulus does not want to have. He navigated the conversation with Bellatrix on the grounds that she's almost certainly never even laid eyes on Barty, much less seen how often he and Regulus are in each other's company at Hogwarts. Regulus could get away with framing his defense of Barty as being mostly pragmatic. But Mulciber isn't going to buy that, and if Regulus says something conflicting with what he told Bellatrix, Mulciber will have no qualms about reporting back, and Regulus can't afford to be discredited with Bellatrix before Barty is safe.

Mulciber holds the cards here, and he knows it.

Which means Regulus has to take them back.

He absolutely refuses to raise his voice, or even pitch it to project farther. Narcissa's elocution turns crisp and glacially delicate when she's displeased, in a way that makes each consonant slice etchings into the air. People will hear him. "I see. It's not about him. You've simply spent today fantasizing about having my attention."

"You think you're scary?" Mulciber snorts. "All you are is rich and snooty."

Honestly. If he wants to be intimidating, he could try being factually correct.

"Evan," Regulus says, "I believe he intended that comment to matter to me."

"Oh." Evan sounds faintly puzzled. "Why?"

Mulciber grits his teeth. They'll have to push further to get him to retreat, but it's starting to sting, or at least to frustrate him. "Play your little conversation games if you want. They'll be useless soon enough."

"I like games," Evan remarks absently.

"The art of conversing without making a fool of oneself is one I doubt you have ever learned," Regulus says as matter-of-factly as he can to Mulciber. "Are you going to move, or have you not yet had your fill of obstructing the hallway?"

"What are you going to do if I say no, just let me stand here?" Mulciber says. "Afraid of crossing the wrong people now that you don't have Crouch backing you up, are you?"

Regulus tilts his head. "Were you practicing that line in your head all day?"

Before Mulciber can respond to that, he raises his voice, enough that the people shamelessly eavesdropping farther down the hallway and in the common room know that this is meant for their ears. "Your clumsy attempts to offend me strike me as remarkably self-centered. Is your plan really to stand in front of the door to my room to convince me that I should care about your opinion? Such tactical genius."

"Not like you've gotten past," Mulciber points out with a smug air.

"Oh, yes, I'm so dreadfully inconvenienced," Regulus says flatly. "In fact, I will let you stand there, Mulciber. I'm intrigued to see how long it'll take before you realize how ridiculous you look."

And then he turns his back and leaves.

 

It's not particularly difficult to amass a gathering of his social circle in the common room.

First of all, Heather was already there and heard everything. Second of all, Heather and Evan laughing over the situation draws out people who were too far on the girls' side to notice something going on. That alone would be enough, but Regulus manages to fan the flames with a wry "There's an obstruction in my doorway" whenever someone expresses surprise that he's not off unpacking, just loud enough that Mulciber can hear it if he's listening.

Mulciber seems determined to be a problem this year. He's looking for Barty, so either Voldemort or Bellatrix wants to know if Barty's showed up at Hogwarts, but beyond that, he's trying to threaten Regulus, if in slightly veiled language. That means he thinks he's secure enough in the Death Eaters that he won't face repercussions for getting on Regulus's bad side.

Unfortunately, he's not wrong. Now that he's Marked, Regulus has less leeway. But that's not to say that Regulus can't do anything. He'll just have to keep their interactions as public as possible, so that Mulciber can't openly reference the Death Eaters, and make him seem ridiculous for the amount of effort he puts into gaining Regulus's attention. Tonight is a start.

After some time, Evan nods at the boys' hallway. "He went back into his room."

"And is no doubt listening at the door to find out if we rush into our room now that he's gone," Regulus responds. "That, or he's cursed the doorway and doesn't wish to be found at the scene of the crime."

"How thrilling." Evan smiles, sparkling. "I hope it's the curse. I'd love to explain that to Slughorn."

Notes:

i've put perhaps too much thought into how the founders could have created a norman-style castle in the tenth century, especially if it's based on black manor, thus meaning that black manor has to already exist. after agonizing over it i decided wizards are simply on the whole better traveled than muggles due to brooms, apparition, etc, and have an easier time getting materials for similar reasons, so why wOULDN'T the blacks pop over the english channel, check out what the frankish lords are building over there, and decide 'hey that's way cooler than what the anglo-saxons are up to right now, also seems like it's gonna last a hell of a lot longer, let's do one of Those.' oh the muggles are building stone churches??? that's cool, the blacks are going to take those architectural techniques and apply them to their house

some of you may have noticed that regulus et al go to the slytherin table together, and yet none of them have to climb over/under/go around the table to get to the other side of the table so that they can sit in a proper group. this is because i thought about the logistics of describing that, went 'nope,' and simply skipped over that part. in my heart maeve climbs over the table but she'd probably have to be in a private setting to do that, which the great hall is Not

emma can and will optimize absolutely everything

my mental image for how narcissa talks when she's in That Mood is basically just miranda priestly

mulciber really is asking for it huh. if only barty were here to show off his improved punching technique (thanks megan!!) at least evan's starting to have a good time

next time: regulus finally gets to unpack :) in a BARTYLESS ROOM :(

thanks for reading!!
-love, birl<3

Chapter 69

Notes:

heyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy

After Mulciber departs and Regulus and Evan wait long enough to make it look like they weren't just waiting for him to take his leave, it's time to say their temporary farewells to the people who have gathered around them in the common room. Regulus checks the entrance to their room for unusual spellwork, discreetly, and then he and Evan can finally get inside to unpack.

It has been a long day.

And tomorrow will be the same. And the day after. And there's no end in sight—not while Barty is gone, and when he returns— when he returns—Regulus will be playing a very different game.

He should have expected something like this.

He should have expected this.

But he can't change that he didn't.

Evan holds the door open, gestures Regulus inside with a flourish, and for a brief moment, Regulus entertains the idea of going back into the common room. The longer he stays out of their room, the longer he avoids finding out whether Barty's tucked away in there. Or not.

Most likely not.

He steps over the threshold.

The dorm rooms themselves are exactly the same from year to year; they just shift position, moving from the end of the hallway closer and closer to the common room. Adding or removing beds as needed, as the case has been a few times.

There are still three beds. That's the first thing Regulus notices.

The second is that Barty's section of the room is completely bare.

Evan and Regulus's trunks are at the ends of their beds, where the house-elves always put them, and Barty wasn't on the train and he wasn't at dinner and of course he wouldn't be in the dorm, and they haven't taken away his bed and wardrobe and desk which is a good sign, but his bed is perfectly made, his desk clean and empty, and Regulus won't even have to take a path around the parchment and shoes and other detritus that frequently accumulates on one third of the floor whenever Evan doesn't feel like making a scene about it. And Barty's side of the room will stay clean. Neat. Empty.

Waiting.

The door clicks shut behind him, and Evan's robes flutter as he goes over to his trunk, pops the latches, opens the lid. Right. Unpacking. Evan's probably been wanting to get started on that for a while, what with how thorough he is about it. Barty wouldn't have cared about the delay—he'd just unearth his books, throw some belongings on the floor, locate clothes for tomorrow, and spend the rest of the evening on something more interesting.

It's just unpacking. Regulus has done it plenty of times. He can do it now, mechanically, and it'll get done, even if Barty isn't around to lounge with a novel during the process. He unpacks without Barty around at Grimmauld Place. Easy.

And he's not alone. Evan is here too. They haven't been alone like this since the summer solstice ball—since sparkling embroidery and listening devices and a tiny bit of Regulus using his specialty—since Barty wasn't in real danger from anything more than boredom—there's a part of Regulus that wants to use this, is the problem, wants to throw everything else out the window and focus on Evan being here, and the ensuing guilt draws Regulus's gaze back towards Barty's empty bed—this is not like Barty being off at Runes Club for an hour. Regulus being able to focus on something else, even if that 'something else' is Evan, is a laughable idea.

Even if it's Evan.

Even if it's appealing, in a selfish, shortsighted way.

But Evan's being quiet, unfolding his shirts without filling the air with a flood of conversation, and Regulus doesn't have to be brilliant to realize that Evan is intentionally ignoring him.

It makes his stomach twist.

He's not entirely sure why. Peace and quiet should be a balm after the day they've both had. Regulus hasn't had a single moment without being under observation all day—but he is still under observation, even if Evan is being discreet about it. He's not trying to fluster Regulus or set him off balance. But he's Evan, which means he's paying more attention than it looks like he is, but he's looking at his wardrobe and not saying a word to Regulus, and this is an opportunity. Regulus needs to take it. He'll unpack, and if his breathing hitches once or twice during the process, Evan probably won't mention it.

Just cross the room. Open his trunk. Start putting things away. It's simple. It's familiar.

It means walking past Barty's bed.

Regulus takes a deep breath, settles his shoulders, and puts one foot in front of the other.

If he fixes his gaze on his own trunk, he can remember the end goal: unpacking normally. There will be reminders of Barty's absence everywhere he looks. He can't afford to react poorly to them. Today was an exception, because it's the first day, but Mulciber will be watching Regulus for any sign of weakness. Regulus can't give him an opening.

The best thing he can do for Barty right now is figure out how to twist recent events to their advantage. And that means he can't get wrapped up in being emotional. There's no time.

Right. Yes. He can help Barty, there must be a way, and as long as Regulus can do that, everything will be fine. He'll make it work out, and kidnapping Barty's father and forcing Barty into hiding—temporary hiding—will be the critical mistake that leads to Voldemort's destruction.

Some of the heaviness lifts from Regulus's lungs.

He's done wallowing.

"It's unnatural for you to be this quiet," he says aloud. "I'm not going to explode if you say something."

"You are many things, but explosive is not one of them," Evan replies. There's a forced lightness to his voice. Regulus doesn't comment on it. Barty is Evan's friend too, after all. "I'm happy to monologue if I have you as a captive audience. Do you have a request for a topic?"

Absolutely nothing comes to mind.

Regulus wants to destroy Voldemort, but he needs a full night's sleep before he'll be able to keep his mind neat enough to make a plan that leverages what's happened in the past week. Now isn't the time to discuss it. But what else is there? The weather? They're underground.

The rustling of fabric on Evan's side of the room whispers to a deliberate halt, and Evan says, "To be perfectly honest, that's what I thought."

That is not territory Regulus wants to enter. Not with Evan.

He doesn't turn around to look at him. "We'll discuss the war tomorrow."

"I've told you not to order me around." It's gentler than it has any right to be, and Regulus takes a deep breath and reminds himself that he's going to spin this into an advantage for their side. He's going to do something. He is not helpless and Voldemort will regret this.

But Evan isn't listening to this internal monologue. Evan is speaking, softly, feather-downy consonants gliding on vowels like an autumn breeze. "All I know how to do here is distract you, and I can't distract you from this, because then Mulciber will catch you on your weak flank and you won't be ready, and we both know you need to be ready, and I'm not Barty, and..."

Even staring determinedly at his trunk, Regulus can hear Evan sigh, can picture the rise and fall of his shoulders—not melodramatic or fluttering, the way it is when Evan wants to make a point of it.

"He'd know what to do." From the sound of it, Evan's sat down on his bed—are his fingers rumpling the duvet, the way they did one of the rare times when he put away most of his facades? Or has he folded his hands in his lap in a perfect picture of sincerity?

Regulus could find out just by turning around, of course, but.

Barty is Regulus's friend. He's Evan's friend too. That last word matters. And Barty is safe, relatively speaking, because he's with the Order, who have kept him hidden thus far and have no reason (that they know of) to betray him or harm him, and Regulus... does not find that to be up to his own standards.

Evan might not feel that way. Evan might feel that Barty is fine, and that he's indulging Regulus worrying about the situation.

"Which is the irony, isn't it?" Evan continues. "Of course Barty would be able to sort things out for you if he were here. But I don't—I mean, do you want me to talk about clothing? Gossip? Charms theory? None of that will help."

He raises a fine point there. Distracting Regulus isn't useful.

But Regulus didn't bring Evan into his inner circle to be a distraction. Not to Regulus, at least.

"So I'm giving you time and space, because I can at least keep my mouth shut, regardless of what my family would like the rest of magical Britain to think," Evan says. "I can also supply chocolate. But I can't prepare for you."

Regulus says, "How would you handle it?"

Evan doesn't answer.

"The war," Regulus clarifies, because he wants to hold onto that sense of forward movement—of being ready to do something to help Barty. Not unpacking silently in a room that's emptier than it should be. "What would you do to pivot, if you were me?"

"If I were you," Evan says, thoughtfully, rolling the words around in his mouth, and it's as if a piece of Hogwarts clicks back into place: Evan, scheming, thinking out loud with Regulus as listener and occasional participant, the way it should be. The way Evan should be. "Well, first things first, I'd start giving Mulciber rope to hang himself with."

Regulus gives up on unpacking and turns around. He'll finish later. "And how would you do that?"

 

He doesn't know how much time passes while Evan is unfurling strategy and ideas from some hidden corner of his mind. Some of it is improvised—Regulus catches brief hesitations, and Evan himself constantly circles back to earlier points, or jumps ahead and works backward, stares at the canopy of his bed while he's thinking, and a small, satisfying knot of anger is swelling in Regulus's chest, ready to cleave Voldemort in two—

And he's still not ready for Evan to say, "We have to be able to work around Barty, and even while shielding him, because he'll be a mess when they kill his father."

Regulus knows this will happen, of course.

But nobody's actually said it aloud. Bellatrix made comments about keeping Barty's father alive, even if the 'only temporarily' was implied. Regulus himself has thought it, has wondered whether it's the kindest option, has known it's not an option at all.

But Barty's father is going to die.

Soon.

It'll be a Killing Curse if he's lucky.

"—and Mulciber has an annoying sense of timing, if I do say so myself—you're not listening at all, are you?"

Regulus focuses. Regulus focuses. "I was lost in thought. I apologize. What were you saying?"

Evan is frowning, his eyebrows drawing together over intent eyes. He hasn't budged from his seat on his bed, like he's sending Regulus messages from a distant island—well, Regulus hasn't moved either, so he has no room to judge, not that judging is what he was doing. It's just... odd, for Evan to be so far away, and to stay so far away, when Regulus is accustomed to him maneuvering into a closer orbit. Like he did on the train. "Are you sure this is a productive use of your time? If you get 'lost in thought' in front of a baby Death Eater, they'll take it as an admission of weakness."

"I realize that." It comes out with more of a bite than Regulus wants it to, and he forces himself to pull back. "I've had a week to think about this myself. I haven't made as much progress as I'd like. I'm asking for your input. There are opportunities here that we can use. I don't want to let them slip by."

"Nor can you." But Evan's frown hasn't lifted. "We'll have to treat you like the Chaser in possession, I think."

That's a comment Emma would probably get immediately, or Geoff, or maybe even Lucinda, what with how many times Emma and Evan have dragged her into 'early Chaser practice,' but... "Would you elaborate?"

A flicker of a smile brightens his expression. "Dearest, you know how I love to elaborate."

Before Regulus can try to come up with something to say to that, he continues: "You're the target for the opposing side. You have something they want to take from you—in this case, status. If they all swarm you on the pitch, you'll lose possession—don't try to be heroic here, you will lose it if they hit you enough, that's why we don't send the Chaser in possession into enemy territory alone. We send people with them to run interference. And you're flying with a disadvantage, because Barty's not here and everyone who thinks about it for more than two seconds will know you'd prefer to have eyes on him. You're distracted and they know it, like flying with an injury. They'll go for your weak flank. Thus!" He spreads his hands wide, as if he's Dumbledore reciting absurdist poetry at the welcoming feast. "We get the rest of your team to cover you."

Silently, Regulus is wondering what it says about them both that Evan couched this strategy in a quidditch metaphor. He's not thinking about the comments Barty would have made about it. "What's to stop Mulciber and his people from ignoring everyone else in favor of me? We can use force openly on the pitch. It's less applicable here. And I can't... pass the Quaffle around to sow confusion about who the target is."

"No, you can't," Evan says. "But we also don't have a rulebook or Madam Hooch watching to make sure we all comply with regulations. We can sow confusion by changing the game."

"We've rather left the quidditch metaphor behind," Regulus points out.

"It's quodpot now, I suppose." He frowns, like he did when he was talking to Dumbledore about Snape—playing at melancholy, but Regulus has seen him do this enough times by now to know that he's just preparing to say something outrageous. "I don't know how to play quodpot. I shall simply have to make it up, and then the Quodpot Assassins League will come after me and cut off all my hair one strand at a time and then Banish it into my lungs and I'll die suffocating with a bad haircut. Woeful. If you see the Quodpot Assassins League coming, do kill them, won't you?" He doesn't give Regulus time to come up with a suitable reply. "Anyway! Mulciber has had months to figure out how to fight you in the Slytherin common room, surrounded by Slytherins, without a single professor or Gryffindor do-gooder around. He knows you know he's a Death Eater. He'll try to use that to corner you. He'll lower his voice and try to whisper threats and whatnot. But that doesn't work so well if you announce you couldn't hear him, does it?"

"Does that work in quodpot?"

"Absolutely," Evan proclaims with a hint of his familiar smile. "The famous 'make your opponent repeat himself' defense. He's of age and he has to have plausible deniability about being a Death Eater, especially around teachers or people from other houses who won't keep their mouths shut the same way Slytherins tend to. You're not even really attacking him, which he'll find infuriating—you're just slipping out of his grasp every time. All he can do is make vague threats and seethe and complain to the Lestranges that you don't spend enough time in the common room for him to fight you properly. They'll love that, I'm sure! And Mulciber, who feels like he's getting nowhere and isn't receiving the status he thought he would be able to lord over you from being a Death Eater, will do something drastic, stupid, and ill-informed. Maybe he'll even try to kill Dumbledore and get caught. Wouldn't that be lovely?"

They still don't know whether Mulciber or Warrington will really try that. Regulus suspects that they'd only be involved as accessories to more accomplished Death Eaters, but it's not impossible that one of them—particularly Mulciber—would decide to do it of their own accord in the hope of gaining some recognition from Voldemort. "It would certainly be useful."

"You're so poetic, dearest!" Evan puts absolutely no effort into making it sound genuine. His eyes crinkle up at the corners as he adds, "It's useful, it's schadenfreude, and it's a coup de grâce for our friend Julius Mulciber. The only question is how this fits into the timeline Heather and I have already established for making him and Warrington break up. Because that's crucial."

 

They plan late into the night, sometimes while unpacking, sometimes not, and Regulus never forgets about Barty's empty bed, but it's... a little easier to bear the weight of it. Evan says, once, that it's like they're planning a surprise party for when Barty gets back, and Regulus clings to that idea—that they're going to present Barty with schematics for how to destroy Mulciber, handled by Regulus and Evan, with room in the schedule at the end for Barty to step in and break his nose again. Or any other bones he might choose, or even vital organs, if he wants some variety. Really, that part is just in there so that Barty feels involved, because he'd definitely hate for Mulciber to vanish from the battlefield without Barty being able to get in one last blow.

So Regulus will save it for him.

He'll save it for as long as he needs to.

Notes:

soooooo. how has everyone been this past year

personally i've had an absolutely batshit wild fuckin time, featuring many surprises, including THIS CHAPTER!!! which, i will level with you, i did not expect myself to write. we are all surprised here sjfkghskjgjshkj but a pleasant surprise hopefully!

okay now onto the CHAPTER. poor evan is floundering a little here. he's never had to be this person for regulus before - he's not even sure if regulus wants him to *try*, and tbqh neither is regulus

(and even though this is not a rosewater-pining-focused chapter i did throw in that one (1) reference to regulus having the thought that i know at least one reader had, which is namely, 'evan??? me??? ALONE?????????')

(but then of course he shoots it down because he's regulus and he hates enjoying himself and loves feeling guilty about things he can't control because there is always the sense in the back of his mind that he SHOULD be able to control them. would have been, if he'd only tried hard enough)

(and evan would NOTTTTTT have staged some sort of romantic scene here anyway, it is NOT the time, he has PLANS. VERY VERY HYPOTHETICAL ONES THAT HE'S NOT SURE WILL EVER BECOME REALITY BUT STILL!!! PLANS!!!!!!! VOLDEMORT HOW DARE YOU MAKE BARTY GO INTO HIDING. DON'T YOU REALIZE HOW INCONVENIENT THIS IS FOR EVAN'S QUEST TO BOYFRIEND REGULUS)

regulus is like 'what if evan doesn't care about barty as much as i do' babe Nobody Cares About Barty As Much As You Do Except Maybe His Mom Because Everyone Else Is Normal About Him. except simon holsclaw but that's in more of a 'were it not for the laws of this land i would have slaughtered you' kind of way

but oh evan does love scheming. especially with an audience. what do you think of the glimpses of his plan thus far? (what do you think of the sports metaphors?) (what do you think BARTY would think of the sports metaphors??)

and, as always, evan's speech patterns are my favorite WFJHGKEWHJDFKS

(also, obligatory plug - i did in fact write an entire other regulus longfic this year, which is completed, and while it has different vibes i think it's a good time - for me, definitely not for regulus lmao - so if you're looking for a completed regulus longfic featuring rosewater and seer!regulus and me having loads of fun with verb tenses, check out lachrimae!)

next time: Unfortunately For Everyone, Mulciber Did Not Find Barty At Hogwarts

thanks so much for reading, and thank you SO much to those of you who have stuck with ttdl even through hiatuses, chaos in my life, and just like. the everything. y'all are superstars. your comments remind me of why i love this fic. so thank you for being here<3

-love, birl<3

Notes:

if you want to talk to me about this story, yell at me, ask questions, whatever, please feel free to drop a comment or come talk to me on tumblr @birlwrites!! i could ramble about this fic forever lmao

edit 1/1/2023: i've given up on announcing every single time i change the estimated chapter count. it's going to keep changing, but expect it to get more accurate the further we get into the story as i narrow down how long this fic will be afjslghsdkfj. the purpose of having an estimated number of chapters (when i know it's going to be wrong lmao) is to give people a sense of how much we have left, so just take it on vibes

LIST OF INSPIRED WORKS: (updated when applicable)
you can see these works linked below, but since they just show title and author, here are snippets of what they're about:
-career goals: tyrant: the original draft of this story - it diverges very quickly from this version, aside from having the same premise. they go off the rails in VERY different directions. tyrant is also more comedic lol. (completed!)
-something sweeter: alternate ending to ch 20 in which evan asks if regulus wants a kiss as a prize - getting-together ficlet
-what the fuck... is up... with that? : sirius POV, the marauders find out via the map that regulus and lily are meeting up on the astronomy tower. obviously this means they're dating, so what the FUCK does lily see in him?
-eavesdropping: the marauders overhear regulus' conversation with lily in chapter 29 (post-marlene and mulciber fighting), which leads to them trying to figure out what regulus is up to
-where in the world is regulus black: this is fic of an au of ttdl that was developed on my tumblr with the help of a bunch of other people sending me asks, in which regulus and sirius run away to the potters', regulus decides he cannot stand to cohabitate with james potter for One More Second, and opts to live in barty's wardrobe for the rest of the summer

(and you're welcome to make stuff inspired by this series as well - just be sure to give credit!)

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of a taste for hard victories