Eclipse (You Should Find Another Guiding Light)

by LuluParadise

Summary:

We know how the story goes. Sirius and Regulus grew apart, the relationship between the siblings torn by strife and resentment due to their years at Grimmauld Place. Then Sirius left, turning his back on the Blacks and fully replacing Regulus with James as his brother and never looking back.

But what if Regulus didn’t take Sirius’ abandonment lying down? What if he gets a new sibling of his own, one that fills the void Sirius left?

_

Constantly editing!

Notes:

Hi, everyone! Welcome to my first time ever posting on AO3! This is my take on the characters in the Harry Potter lore, as well as some of my own original characters added to the mix. Every single one of them holds a very dear place in my heart. Please treat them well! ❤️

(TW: mentions of off-screen murder, attempted murder)

Updates bi-weekly/monthly!

Chapter 1: He Did It

Prologue.

 

The paper crinkles in his grip from how hard he’s holding it. With a sigh, he relaxes his grip and finally looks up.

“It’s finally over then,” he remarks with a world-weary sigh.

Because that’s all it can be — over. After months and months of planning, leaving no stone unturned and no possible scenario unexplored, Orion and Walburga Black were finally dead.

Corpses verified, cooling and currently composting. Unable to make a surprise return from the grave and fuck everyone over — unless all the karma he’s accrued in this life for some reason decrees he deserves such a miserable fate. Wouldn’t be surprising, really.

But for now, they were home free.

The fact that their plan had actually been successful is making his brain tingle. He can scarcely believe this is really happening.

Thankfully, she yanks him back to the present.

“What now?” She asks, looking at him curiously. The same light of victory dances in her eyes, but he’s had a lot more riding on the operation — being the brains behind it all. So, while she obviously shares in the sentiment as she was half the reason the plan was executed so successfully, she didn’t have nearly as much emotional stake in the matter as he did.

Regulus sighs again and folds the paper in his hand, putting it away. At times like this, he wishes he had a cigarette. There was a brand Sirius loved to smoke around school that released puffs of coloured smoke when exhaled. It looked cool — probably why he did it.

Sirius…

Nom de Dieu, he really needs a cigarette.

“Now,” he releases another weary sigh, running a hand through distressed locks, “We meet the rest of the family.”

 

 

1.

 

— — — — — — — — 3 years later — — — — — — — — 

The bed is cold when Sirius Orion Potter née Black finally deigns to get up for the day.

Glaring up at his open window, which was letting in all of the London morning cold, he wonders exactly how he is supposed to go about actually giving a fuck about anything he has to do.

The bed is also decidedly empty when he wakes. Remus has been regularly going on ‘intel gathering missions’ supposedly, orders from Dumbles who the guy worships like the second coming of the Messiah. Sirius is pretty familiar by now with his significant other’s feelings of gratitude-induced loyalty towards their former Headmaster, who in a way had been his saviour…

He still can’t help but resent both of them though. Dumbledore, for taking his very-warm-and-cuddly partner away from him. And Remus, for letting him.

With an expressive groan he gets up, throwing back the blankets in a huff. Remus would crack a joke about how dramatic he’s being if he was here, but Remus isn’t here, now is he?

Having fucked off to places unknown under orders unknown without so much as a by your leave.

Yeah, his day is looking like it is going to be absolute shite. And it isn’t even seven am.

He washes his face, brushes his teeth more aggressively than necessary, puts on his slippers and drags himself to the kitchen.

The smell of frying bacon placates his mood somewhat. Relaxed now, he starts whistling Dancing Queen by ABBA, contorting his bacon this way and that along to the beat of the music. He’s feeling the groove, and so is his food. So what if Remus isn’t here to bless his day with one of his super special fond-yet-exasperated grins he never fails to give him at least once before the morning runs out? He can entertain himself just fine. Who needs affection when you can make bacon dance?

The ringing of the phone interrupts his mindless concert/pathetic pity party, and he turns down the heat while reaching for his phone and a plate.

There’s a limited amount of people who know the telephone number for his apartment. The mere sound of the line connecting manages to lift even more clouds from his brow.

“Sup, Prongs!” Sirius cheerfully greets, flipping some of the bacon out of his pan.

“Padfoot.” A sleepy yawn. “Are you up already?”

“Already?” He raises a mocking eyebrow.

“I’ve been up for quite a while now, almost an hour. Early bird catches the worm and all that.” It has been 10 minutes.

He sniffs haughtily. “What excuse do you have to be lazing about, Princess Prongs?”

A growl echoes from the speakers. Sirius snickers. So easy to rile up, his James.

“Padfoot,” his brother in all but blood deadpans, “I hate you.”

“Princess,” He turns off the heat, making sure to keep his voice extra condescending. “No, you don’t.”

A grumble filters through the line. He can almost feel James pouting. Pissing his brother off is working like a balm for his wounded soul.

He can hear the sound of the sheets being flung back. “I’ll forgive you if you make me coffee,” James says petulantly, still sounding like he belongs in the land of sleep.

Sirius’ brow lifts. “You’re coming over.”

“You bet. So you better make sure my coffee’s ready by then. Popping over in fifteen.”

The line abruptly disconnects. Sirius stares down at his now subdued bacon. On one hand, he got to make someone else grumpy. Misery shared is misery halved, after all. But knowing his brother, James definitely figured out why he was being such an arsehole so early and was now on his way to make him talk about feelings…after having breakfast of course.

Sirius sighs heavily. Could nothing go his way, even once?

He looks up at the wall clock, calculating James’ ETA and how long it will take to eat against when they would need to leave to get to work on time. Results showed they would be anywhere between 10–15 minutes late, or even more depending on how quickly James could get him to spill out the depths of his deeply wounded heart.

Buggering hell, he misses Remus.

With an uncaring shrug, he goes to start up the coffee machine. The hospital could wait. If Dumbles could take away his partner willy-nilly, then he could take back some 10–15 minutes of his own morning, fuck you very much.

He finishes setting out another plate right as he hears his front door unlock. James stumbles into his house with all the grace of a three-legged baby goat. Sirius calmly sips his coffee and watches in amusement as James’ scarf gets trapped behind the door just as he slams it, resulting in a brief battle between the door’s wits and James’. James comes out the victor and succeeds in freeing himself and his clothing from the door’s snare, falling against the frame and panting with exertion once he finally shuts it for good.

James looks up and meets Sirius’ eyes, scowling at the open amusement he finds in his sole audience. Sirius makes sure to take an extra loud sip of his coffee.

“Padfoot,” James growls menacingly.

Sirius smirks, completely unbothered. James was always an absolute mess in the mornings. During their school years when they shared a dorm at Hogwarts Academy, Sirius had to help James find his glasses first thing in the day. He can’t see a threat in someone who isn’t even able to tell their fist from their nose most of the time. Really, it was a surprise he’d even managed to find Sirius’ apartment instead of somehow ending up dying in a ditch somewhere though they only lived 10 minutes away from each other.

“Princess,” he retorts unapologetically, smirk growing wider as James pouts. He sweeps a hand elegantly at the table.

“Your breakfast awaits, my lady.”

James immediately perks up at the mention of food.

“Would you like me to escort you to the table so you do not end up fighting with my floor next?”

“Padfoot!”

Sirius can’t help it- he throws his head back in laughter. James looks so angry and yet so disoriented, reminding him of videos of those babies who’ve just walked into a glass wall and are wondering what the fuck just happened.

James stomps his foot, completing the image. “I hate you!”

“I love you too, Prongs,” Sirius manages to gasp out. James grumbles the entire way while gingerly inching towards the table as Sirius tries to catch his breath.

Finally, James is seated, and Sirius presents him with his assembled plate in a flourish.

“Voila!” He preens as he places a plate of bacon, scrambled eggs and sausages in front of James. “This is the best breakfast plate I’ve ever made,” he tells James seriously. “I’m very proud of it.”

Hazel brown eyes crinkle as they regard him with amusement. “You made the bacon dance again, didn’t you?” James asks, his lip twitching.

Sirius puffs out his chest. “You bet your arse I did! They’re fast learners and I am a wonderful teacher.”

James giggles and looks at him with such fondness and love it still takes his breath away. It has been years now since James gave him a new family, one where he could be himself rather than belittled at every turn for not fitting into a different mould, and because of James he’s never once regretted his decision — never once regretted walking away and never looking back.

“I’m sure you are,” James humours him before descending on the food. Sirius finishes up his own and makes his way through a second cup of coffee, enjoying the silence. At his family’s ancestral home, silence was dead, silence was tension, silence was cruel.

Beside James, silence is always bright.

James finally pushes his empty plate away, looking far more alert behind the eyes now. He then turns the full force of his alertness onto Sirius.

He stiffens.

James studies him, fingers tapping his cheek thoughtfully. Sirius sips from his cup and does his best to act naturally while avoiding even looking at the empty chair beside his where Remus usually sat.

His efforts, of course, are useless. Since nothing is going his way today.

“Padfoot,” James begins, then bites his lip. When Sirius says nothing, James ploughs ahead.

“Do you want to — ?”

“No, I don’t want to talk about it,” Sirius interrupts harshly.

“We should talk about it,” James insists, refusing to let the venom in Sirius’ tone deter him. Stubborn, that’s the best way to describe his best friend and brother all in one. Where Sirius would get sharp and deadly, using the unstoppable force and potency of his anger to flay alive anyone daring to get close when he’s mad, James dug his heels in and became even more bullheaded and immovable, the sharpness of his waves crashing against James’ steady shore.

Sirius loves his brother with his whole heart, and that includes every aspect of him, and he would die for him if need be but right now he does not want to talk about it.

Because he doesn’t know if Remus is okay. He doesn’t know if Remus kissed him goodbye before he left, or when he left — because Remus is just so damn quiet when Sirius is asleep — or where he left to, or what time he’s supposed to arrive at where he’s going, or if he remembered to take his medicine. He doesn’t know anything and the lack of control he has over the situation is driving him insane, but James will just say -

“Dumbledore knows what he’s doing, Padfoot.”

And here we go.

Sirius fights against every instinct he has to not roll his eyes then and there.

“Don’t be like that,” James warns, picking up on his intent. “Look,” he says seriously, scooting closer, “You know that the main reason why we might lose this war is because we don’t have a lot of numbers on our side. With us being so few, the Headmaster has to maximise all our efforts, so we can do a lot with so little. Whatever he’s sent Moony to do, it must be really important with all the secrecy around it, and it’ll definitely help us in the long run.”

He tries for a joke. “And you know our Moony, he can talk his way out of anything. It wouldn’t even be surprising if the Headmaster sent him to recruit more people to our side. Push comes to shove, he’s not a pushover. You have to believe he’ll be fine, you know that right, Pads?”

The current war situation was a nightmare and a half, which Sirius thinks is an extremely nice way of putting it. Great Britain is presently divided between members of its founding families (honourably known as the Sacred Twenty Eight) — those who believe they are the only ones in the whole of society that are allowed rights and lower-born commoners most certainly are not, and those banding together with lower-born and middle class citizens to refuse to let such bullshit slide.

Or, as he likes to put it, the battle between decrepit old farts who won’t just DIE already and take their cranky, toxic and outdated arse ways of living with them, and the rallying cry of the new generation who are done letting expired old people tell them how to live.

The latter group call the former Death Eaters, probably because their ways were honestly fit to send all of Britain into an early grave, while the Boomers call the latter group Blood Traitors out of the unfortunate belief that not having a psychotic superiority complex makes these founders traitors on a cellular level.

Sirius feels his hatred for the other side growing a little bit more everyday, and not just because the war is always taking his Moony away from him. It probably has more to do with the fact that it keeps reminding him of all the shit from his childhood that he ran away from home to escape. For fucks sake, they were fighting over fucking human rights. How fucking pathetic is that?

Sirius looks away from James, biting his thumb.

“I’m not saying that any of that is untrue,” he whispers quietly. He barely even notices as his fingernails dig harder into the flesh of his palm. “But he can at least tell us — tell me — where he keeps sending him. Moony is gone, Prongs. He’s just fucking gone.”

James doesn’t say anything to that immediately, maybe because he hears how Sirius’ voice hitches despite his best efforts. Sirius doesn’t look at him.

He changes tactics. “Would you like a hug?”

Sirius holds out for just a little over a second before pouting miserably.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, sulking.

Amusement tinges James’ smile as he scoots closer before wrapping his arms around Sirius.

“It’ll be okay,” he says, like he’s a child needing to be reassured with words, regardless of whether they’re the truth or not. Embarrassingly, it works, and the tension in Sirius’ shoulders slightly ease.

He spends a few more moments cocooned in James’ sun before he pulls away.

“Better?” James asks, placing a gentle hand on his head.

Sirius grunts as an answer, finishing his coffee in one large swig.

James checks the time.

“Oh shit, we should start leaving now if we want to get to the hospital on time.”

Sirius grunts again noncommittally. He really doesn’t care if he shows up late or early in his little way of sticking it to the man. Plus, the work was just so boring.

“Is it just us today?” He asks, getting up.

James fumbles with the buttons of his coat as he thinks. “I think so. Wormy might come later though, it depends on how it goes taking care of his mum. Lily’s supposed to come too,” he perks up then immediately deflates, “But she’ll be inside the building. We’re just on stakeout.”

Sirius slides an amused look at James. His best mate’s forever unrequited crush on Lily Evans was a great source of humour.

“Christ, Prongs,” he bats away James’ hands and starts doing the buttons up for him, “Do you need a new glasses prescription already?”

James pouts and crosses his arms, looking down. “Maybe,” he bashfully admits.

Sirius does up the last button and proceeds to ruffle James’ perpetually messy hair, making James squawk and slap at his hands. Sirius sticks out his tongue in retaliation.

What a pair of children they made. He could envision the Death Eaters shaking in their boots already.

They step out of the apartment and into the cool morning breeze. The hospital is no more than 10 blocks away, so they see no need to fill the silence as they walk. James keeps releasing short puffs of white air from his lips while he walks with his chin raised, so Sirius watches his steps for him to make sure the idiot doesn’t fall.

As they close in on the hospital, James slides his portable radio out of his pocket and mutters, “Let’s see…”

Sirius keeps his hands in his pockets. “Where is the car?”

James listens intently to whatever information is being transmitted to him for a moment, then looks up and squints.

“That one,” he points to a grey Chevrolet parked near the street.

With all their war efforts, it was inevitable that the Death Eaters were going to need medical attention sometime. For this purpose, every hospital in the state was currently being watched by the members of the Order of the Phoenix, the name their side actually calls themselves. The purpose of these hospital jobs were twofold — some of their numbers would be inside the building volunteering as assistants for the actual staff, and if any Death Eater messed up and was spotted during working hours, they’d send an alert through their private frequency to whoever was on stakeout duty for the day — which was him and James today — who would then be responsible for nabbing the Death Eater whenever they were discharged.

Their side needed more intel into the Death Eater’s workings yesterday. It always seemed like the bastards were one step ahead of them, especially recently, and have been way too good at counter attacking. It’s a little bit dodgy. Anything they could get out of even one of their agents could prove to be a crucial turning point for the war.

Sirius follows James as he heads to the car with the plate number communicated to him, indicating this was the vehicle they were to use for today. They never brought their own vehicles to the scene for fear of being too recognizable and traceable. Where Dumbledore managed to procure such a variety of vehicles on rotation for their missions Sirius doesn’t know, nor does he particularly care.

Sirius slides into the driver’s seat and James the passenger’s by unspoken agreement. It isn’t like they were driving anywhere — their job is literally just to sit in the parking lot and watch the hospital building from afar — but his brother knows how much he loves having a wheel between his hands.

James keeps his hands clenched around his radio, his job to be listening for any alerts incoming. Sirius taps his fingers on the wheel rhythmically, already bored. He hates these stakeouts.

James breaks the silence after only a few minutes. “What are you looking forward to the most after this war is over?” He asks curiously.

Sirius turns to face James, his mind already latching onto the question.

“Oh, you know — the music. Really getting the chance to settle down and get started on all the songs I want to write and perform. Also on that note, I’d like to finally settle down with Moony,” he hesitantly admits. “No, actually settling down,” he clarifies at James’ furrowed brow, as he no doubt was thinking they’d already passed that stage.

He takes a deep breath. “I want to propose to him. I know it won’t be legally recognised, but I think he’d still like to have something officially done. We could hire a fake priest and rent out a church for the day without giving the real reason or something. I’ve even been saving up a bit for a hopefully nice ring.”

James’ jaw extends so far down it nearly falls off.

“Oh my God, Padfoot!” James grabs his shoulders and shakes. “That is amazing! You have no idea how amazing that is!”

“I have some idea now, I think,” Sirius jokes, going cross-eyed the more James shakes him. James just laughs and releases him.

“It’s the best idea ever! You know we’ll definitely support you two no matter what you decide to do. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me before that you were thinking about this!”

“You think he’ll say yes?” Sirius blurts out before he can control himself.

James’ eyes soften. “Of course he will.” The words come out so fucking gentle Sirius almost wants to puke.

“Moony’s lucky to have you. And you’re lucky to have him. You’re both so lucky.” His smile turns sad and a bit wistful. Sirius hates that he knows where his best friend’s mind has gone.

“Hey,” James looks up and Sirius leans in closer to convey his point, “One day you’re going to find the person who’s for you, and they’re going to be so stupidly in love with you they won’t know what to do with themselves.”

He lets the corner of his lip curl up in a roguish smirk. “And when that happens, I cannot wait to tell you ‘I told you so’.”

He’s not discounting the fact that Lily Evans might still come around to James, but with the amount of time that’s passed he does find it…unlikely. But James wasn’t a quitter, he wouldn’t give up on her until he was good and ready, so the best Sirius could do was promise that he would find what he so desperately craved eventually. He fully believed it too — James Potter was born to be loved, and only the most terrible and cruellest hearts could ever meet James’ earnestness and freely given care with scorn.

Absolutely no shade to Lily Evans, of course. Yeah, sure.

It was worth it to see the brilliant smile return to James’ face. “Thanks, Pads! Oh, why don’t we start picking out the songs for you and Moony’s wedding!” James exclaims excitedly.

Sirius stares. “Well, there just has to be ABBA.” James nods in agreement, pulls out a pen and notepad from his coat and starts jotting it down.

“Some David Bowie, some Queen…I really do see myself performing Bohemian Rhapsody on top of a table at some point.”

“Oh wow, okay,” James grimaces but still writes it down.

“You’re going to have to join me up there you know,” Sirius waves a dismissive hand, “if you want to be my best man that is.”

He speaks right over James when he squawks in outrage, (“Who else would you ask to be your best man?! Pads!”) “Moony really loves Elton and Jackson, so put some of those too. Oh, Elvis!”

Sirius rounds on James. “I have to sing Power of My Love to Moony at some point in the ceremony! Maybe at the closing, like once we’ve said the vows and kissed and whatnot, you hand me the mic, Elvis starts playing from the speakers, and I serenade him on the spot! It’s perfect!”

While Sirius is getting more and more enthused at the idea, James, who had been diligently scribbling up until that point lowers the notepad and gapes at him with wide eyes.

“Padfoot, no,” he chokes.

“Why not? It’s my wedding.”

“You’ll embarrass Moony!”

“Maybe a bit, but you know how much he secretly loves chaos. Just look at it like it’ll be one big prank.”

James stares. “You want to pull a prank at your wedding?”

“Yes,” Sirius answers like it’s obvious. “We’re Marauders, we should have a Marauder wedding.” He’s getting more and more convinced of his idea by the minute. It only makes sense that two of the members of the biggest group of pranksters Hogwarts Academy has ever seen should be equally as troublemaking at their own wedding.

James, on the other hand, is getting more and more exasperated. “But Mum and Dad will be there. You can’t sing a song like…that…in front of them!”

Sirius considers this for half a second before shrugging it off. “Effie and Monty are very supportive. I’m sure they would not mind me being my best and most honest self at my own wedding.”

James throws his hands up. “Then what about the guests? What if I invite Lily and she actually agrees to come? She’ll never speak to me again!”

Before Sirius can retort “That sounds like a ‘you’ problem”, James whips open the glove compartment and rummages through it until he finds a cassette tape of the exact song they’re talking about and inserts it into the stereo — as though listening to it again will somehow change Sirius’ mind.

“You cannot play this in a church, Padfoot,” James says sternly, “It’s sacrilegious, and I fear that God might actually strike you down and you’d burst into flames right there in front of everyone…”

Sirius tunes James out as he starts to bob his head to the music. Such an absolutely mad tune.

Oh, break it, burn it, drag it all around
Twist it, turn it, you can’t tear it down

Sirius has listened to the song more times than he can count, mostly when he just wants to disappear into his head for a while. He’s memorised every lyric, every snare, every beat…

It’s because of this that he notices that the car they’re in isn’t that quiet anymore.

I know baby you can’t lick it
I’ll make you give in

He’s hearing a slight discrepancy in the rhythm of the song — almost like there’s two separate beats he can hear clearly at certain sections. That’s never been there before.

Baby I want you, you’ll never get away
My love will haunt you, yes, haunt you night and day
Touch it, pound it, what good does it do

When the Marauders were picking out each other’s nicknames, he got stuck with ‘Padfoot’ — Because of the bark-like quality of his laugh, his hyperactivity — which Peter always says is a probable symptom of something ADHD or other — and his strong sense of loyalty to his friends.

But Sirius has also always had acute hearing senses, and what he now knows for sure is that there’s a beeping sound coming from somewhere in the car.

There’s just no stopping the way I feel for you

It’s slight, but it’s there. He just has to wait and focus, and if he gets the timing right, he hears it. Almost like it’s a…

James is still talking, “ — and if you play this at your wedding Padfoot I swear I will never speak to you again.”

“Get out of the car.”

James’ brow furrows. “What?”

Sirius realises suddenly that it’s no surprise he’s just started hearing this beeping now — it’s getting slightly louder.

And he may have never noticed it at all without James playing this stupid song.

’Cause every minute every hour you’ll be shaken
By the strength and mighty power of my love

“Fuck, Jamie, GET OUT OF THE FUCKING CAR!”

Without waiting a second longer, Sirius reaches over James and pushes his door open then tackles him, sending them both sprawling onto the asphalt and rolling down the road.

“PADS!” James screams.

After an abnormally long beat, where it seems like time is suspended though he and James are still very much in motion, the world detonates in an explosion of fire and shrapnel.

“OH MY GOD!”

Sirius makes sure to cover James with his whole body while somehow managing to drag them even further away from the blast. Other cars are catching fire and Sirius can smell all the petrol, so he can’t stop because their lives are still in danger and James is in danger and holyfucktheycould’vediedsecondsago-

Time phases from one moment to the next, and suddenly the fire’s metres away from where they’re stopped and watching it happen and they’re both bruised and busted up and bleeding…

But they’re safe.

From his position, James is panting and staring at the fire with dilated pupils, his chest and whole body trembling with every breath. Sirens sound in the distance, and it’s a no-brainer that the members of the Order in the hospital were losing their collective heads right about now.

Sirius studies the destruction with a flat expression.

“I think I prefer Jailhouse Rock now.”

Notes:

Hope you enjoyed this chapter!

The next chapter will be up next Friday! I also post this story on my Medium blog, so if you would like to read ahead just click here

This story has soundtracks! For a cohesive Apple Music playlist, click here

For an unhinged and lengthy Spotify playlist, click here

This story also has original artwork! (Coming soon TBA)

Thank you so much for checking out my work, it means a lot. Have a great day, stay safe, and remember that you matter ❤️

Chapter 2: The Devil's in the Details

Summary:

“I don’t want whatever crack you’re peddling,” Sirius finally manages to sit up and glares at them challengingly. “It’s obviously not the fun kind.”

“Oi,” The masked man points at Sirius, “That’s fucking false. You take that back — we have wonderful cocaine.”

“Jack, please, you can’t just tell that to strangers!” The teal-haired girl seems to be on the verge of tears.

Notes:

No trigger warnings for this chapter, unless Sirius' disrespect has you clutching your pearls lol

2.

“That was a very grave accident.”

Sirius can’t help himself — he snorts, even though it makes something in his chest ache.

“You think that was an accident?” He raises a derisive brow and sneers. “You need a new glasses prescription, old man?”

Sirius almost can’t stay seated right now. There’s just too much pain and fear and rage bristling inside of him, mixed with loathing for the wizened old man in front of him that he just isn’t able to mask right now.

Not like Dumbles is helping the situation.

The headmaster sighs his old man sigh, looking strangely put out — like Sirius’ attitude is the problem here. Sirius looks to James, but his brother is still very much clearly in shock by the earlier events.

They were both lightly bandaged by on-call paramedics at the scene who let them leave when Sirius excused them as being spooked by hospitals. Which was…fair. Sirius is just surprised they weren’t in need of severe medical attention — yes, there’s a lot of scraped skin and busted knees and slight cuts from all the metal flying everywhere and first-degree and some second-degree burns from all the heat and his ribs hurt — but no broken bones, so at least he can still move.

Which he wants to do right now. Preferably far, far away from this stuffy office.

You know what-

“Screw this.” Sirius suddenly stands, pushing his chair back. The noise of the chair against the wood brings James a bit back to awareness.

“Sirius, my boy…”

He whirls on Dumbledore. “No, you listen to me! We were attacked, in the parking lot of a hospital, doing the job you gave us to do, in the car you provided for us to use! And you want us to believe it was JUST AN ACCIDENT?” His chest heaves and he knows he should calm down, he was just hurt, but he’s so livid.

Dumbledore takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes wearily, like he’s the one that was nearly catching shrapnel bits with his eyeballs today. Sirius seethes. James frowns at least, which makes him relieved to see his responses coming back to him.

“The Death Eaters are a very mysterious organisation,” Dumbles mumbles in some crap sage voice. “We cannot predict what deviousness they are up to next at this time, which was why I had you two doing that task in the first place.”

He pauses for a moment, pursing wrinkled lips. “I see I have erred slightly,” he states in an admonished tone, (SLIGHTLY?) “I should have taken more measures to protect you two from such a thing happening, but I could not have foreseen such evil…”

“With respect, Headmaster,” James interrupts, “The two of us shouldn’t have been in danger in the first place.”

Dumbles blinks owlishly as though he didn’t expect James to speak out on him, Sirius notes with petty smugness.

“I mean,” James fidgets forward, a grave look in his eyes, “They shouldn’t have known to attack us. All of our duties and rotations are confidential to only members of the Order.” He hesitates slightly, like he doesn’t want to speak the next words, but finally says,

“We have a leak.”

Dumbledore blinks a few more times, then finally seems to be actually considering the point. Sirius slouches back and crosses his arms, watching Dumbles furrow his brow and rub his lower lip in thought. His bandages itch, are they supposed to itch already? Is he supposed to be bleeding this much? They had to cut one of his favourite jackets off him to get to the scraping on his arms, and Sirius doesn’t think he’ll get over that any time soon. He’ll need to go back to the same store and buy the jacket again — hopefully they’ve not sold out and still have it in his size…

“I really have no idea how this could have happened,” Dumbledore finally breaks his silence. Sirius’ attention snaps back to the present.

James leans forward eagerly. “Do you have any suspects?” He lowers his voice, “Is it anyone we’re…close to?”

James could not make himself sound more afraid of the thought if he’d tried, Sirius thinks. He’s personally eager to nab the fucker and put them through the same hell they literally almost experienced.

Dumbledore falters very slightly, but Sirius’ eyes zero in on the motion. Seeing the look on his face, Dumbles concedes.

“There are…a few I would suspect,” he grudgingly admits. He rises to stare out the window for a few beats, hands folded behind him.

Sirius’ rage level rises the longer he stays quiet.

“I must admit there have been some individuals I noticed that seem…almost beyond my reach as of recently,” he eventually says. He turns back to them, looking wretched.

“I fear that they may have become…enticed by the Dark Lord’s side.”

“Can you tell us who they are?” Sirius demands.

“I fear I cannot, my boy.” He repositions his glasses on his face. “I must have utmost surety before I can confirm such a dastardly accusation. It requires an investigation to be carried out, with a light touch. I’m sure you understand.” He says it reasonably enough, but it sounds like a shut down if Sirius has ever heard one. He bristles.

James places a hand on his arm and leans forward again. “Is there anything we can do in the meantime?” He asks.

“In the meantime…” Dumbledore considers Sirius(?) for a moment before looking back at James.

“Be very careful of who you put your trust in these days, my boys. Especially those whose…whereabouts you cannot be certain of when things are…dire.”

Sirius stills in a shocked moment, his eyes blowing wide. Did he really just—

“I’ll make certain that this does not happen again.” His wizened face softens. “I’m very sorry about this.”

Sirius finally loses the battle and storms out of the room and right through the exit.

James is hot on his heels. “Pads! Padfoot, wait!”

“THE UTTER NERVE OF THAT BARMY OLD BASTARD!” Sirius rages, a hundred levels from calm right now, his feet mindlessly eating up the distance.

“THE FUCKING NERVE!”

“Fucking hell…” James manages to catch up to him and swerves right in front of him, making him stop. Sirius almost can’t see him for the red in his eyes.

“I can’t believe he just… He can’t be serious!”

“No, you are,” James replies without missing a beat. Sirius takes a moment to realise he walked himself right into that one when James speaks again,

“Pads, please, calm down and talk to me properly. And don’t move so quickly, you’re still hurt!”

Sirius honestly forgot about the pain, he can’t register anything else other than fury.

“He just insinuated that Remus is a traitor!”

James is taken aback. “What? No, he can’t be!”

Sirius gestures behind him wildly. “Well that’s what the old fucker just said!”

“Then he’s wrong!” James’ voice rises in response. “It can’t be him, Moony’ll never do that!”

“I KNOW!” Sirius’ pitch reaches a crescendo, and he takes a moment to just breathe otherwise he’s sure he’ll burst into a bigger explosion than the one they had today.

“After all Moony’s done for him, how dare he even suggest it,” he quietly seethes.

James tugs on his arm slightly. “Then let’s help Dumbledore find the real traitor,” he suggests, his face determined. “It’ll prove to him Moony could never be a traitor, and help to weed out the leak at the same time.”

Sirius considers James. His proposed plan would mean going against Dumbledore, who also implied in that waste of time of a private meeting that he was going to be the one to take care of the matter and that they should be leaving it alone. But here James is, prepared to go against the order on behalf of both of their shared feelings towards this insult to Remus. This would be James’ way of putting Remus first and trying to do what was right at the same time.

However, Sirius is only interested in doing one of the two right now.

He shakes his head, black curls bouncing off his face. “I’m done helping Dumbledore. I’m not lifting a single finger for that codger until I find Remus again. In fact,” he grounds out, “I’m going to go do that right now.”

“What the hell, Padfoot?” James blurts out, stunned.

“Yeah, Prongs! Fuck Dumbledore not wanting to tell me where he went to, we can find him ourselves!”

“Wait, Pads, slow down, you’re not thinking straight!”

“No I am, though.” The gears in Sirius’ brain are turning at hyperspeed. “Whenever Moony went wherever he goes, he’d leave straight from home and he wouldn’t take the car. So he can’t have gone that far.”

“Or he took a taxi.”

“No,” Sirius shoots it down, “he’s still iffy about money, and he won’t even take mine most days. He’d either take the Tube or he’d walk there. And his shoes…”

Sirius starts pacing. “His shoes always had a bit of earth stuck around the soles whenever he took them off. So he went either somewhere deserted or close to some forested area.”

“That’s still like a million possible places he could be, Pads!”

“WE ALMOST DIED, JAMES!” Sirius exclaims as he comes to a halt in front of James, throwing his hands up in the air.

“We could’ve fucking died today while I was talking to you about our wedding when I haven’t even gotten the chance to fucking propose!”

His chest is rising and falling in great heaves when he finally falls silent. The London afternoon atmosphere all around them is bright and perfectly sunny; wind whistling through the oak tree leaves and birds chirping as they flew across the sky in flawless formations. It’s positively dapper, but Sirius can’t bear any of it right now- not when he feels like he’s been thoroughly cut up inside and now bleeding out all over the pavement.

He needs to go, needs to be on the move. He can’t be here right now. He knows James sees this and he feels so bad for putting that look of worry on his face, but he can’t bring himself to feel any other way right now.

James’ expression solidifies into one of intense concentration.

“Alright then. We’re going.”

Sirius is wary. “We are?” He half-expected James to just continue trying to talk him down. Instead, James nods firmly.

“Yes. We’ll need to make a stop back home to grab some food and water to take with us in case the search drags out for a while, and more money for all the transportation. Also, my radio got destroyed in the blast,” James looks a bit sheepish at that, “so we’ll need to at least leave a written note for my parents to pass on to everyone whenever they ask where we went. I should probably leave a note for them too — Mum was at St. Mungo’s today and Dad went to his workshop. They’d seriously freak out when they find out what happened and then not have us come home for a while.”

“Okay, okay,” Sirius settles down a bit in the presence of a plan. “We’re really doing this, then?” he confirms.

James throws his hands in the air. “Apparently! I won’t just leave you to do this on your own, Pads, you know that!”

He grabs Sirius’ arm and starts dragging them off in the direction of his home. “C’mon.”

Sirius lets him lead them through back alleys and shortcuts to get them home faster from the location Dumbledore holds his Order of the Phoenix meetings. It wasn’t that far from the hospital they were scouting today, as a matter of fact. The attack happened so close to both his and Remus’ and James’ homes…

He shudders at the thought that their group of Marauders were being specifically targeted. Today was way too close.

They reach James’ home and Sirius glances at him as he goes to open his door, still looking like a man on a mission.

A helpless grin tugs up his lips. “Thanks for doing this, Prongs.”

James turns to face him and gives him a deadpan look. “Are you kidding? Pads, you literally saved my life today. I’d do anything for you, and not just because of today.”

Sirius can spot the corners of James’ eyes crinkling behind his glasses as he returns the smile.

“You’re my brother, Sirius Potter. That means I’ve got your back, always.”

Sirius’ entire heart is in his eyes when he beams at that. He can’t help it- he loves being called a ‘Potter’, being James’ brother. The words envelop him and trickle down his veins like liquid luck, something he’s still wondering to this day just how he managed to acquire. They feel so right, as though he can wear them on him like a favourite leather jacket every second of every day.

And the best part is knowing that he’ll never be made to take it off.

 

The Tube is nearly deserted when James and Sirius get off at the final stop. Pads spent the entire train ride fidgeting and wouldn’t sit still, which succeeded in ramping up James’ own anxiety.

He had to place a palm on Sirius’ knee to get him to stop. “We’ll find him,” James assures, and it’s a promise he’s willing to do anything to keep. Sirius had said nothing, only grabbed the hand on his knee and gripped it tightly enough to hurt. James hadn’t complained.

In truth, he wasn’t only doing this trip just to follow along with Sirius’ whims. Padfoot was his brother — had been ever since their first term of Hogwarts Academy when they rode to the school in Scotland in the same train compartment. They’d gone along to share a dorm room with Remus and Peter, the other Marauders, but Sirius was his first and best friend, the person he’d known he wanted in his life forever from their very first conversation. They became brothers only officially once Sirius was fourteen and had finally run away from his horrid family. James had sworn to him then that they’d never get him back, and he had been ready to keep that promise even to his last breath. They would need to pry Sirius out of his cold, dead hands if they ever wanted to take him away from James.

Because James can no longer envision a life where Sirius was not there right beside him. From planning and carrying out their pranks on the student population of Hogwarts and then sitting in detentions together, to sleeping on the same bed for months when Sirius finally came home to him and couldn’t be alone so he could feel safe at last, to now fighting side by side for the Order of the Phoenix with the goal of justice for all the lower-class citizens of Great Britain. Sirius was by his side through all of that, and James believes that every single cell of his body was so deeply entwined with the existence of Sirius Potter that it was impossible to ever separate the two. Sirius Potter was his brother, his heart, his eyes and ears and lungs, and James loved him so fiercely it has simply become a part of who he was.

But Sirius and Moony also shared a love of their own. Their love had nearly been torn apart so many times, by Sirius’ carelessness and Remus’ hurt and self-loathing, but still it had survived all those trials and thrived. Sirius’ love for Remus was a deeply encompassing thing, because he’d never thought he deserved it until he got it anyways. It was wrong for Dumbledore to separate them like this- no matter his reasons. James has watched it tear apart his best friend for far too long.

Also, he was sure that if Sirius didn’t get Remus back soon, he’d blow up like a supernova and all of the Order — and quite a few Death Eaters, certainly — would pay the price for his pain. James wasn’t concerned with any losses on the Dark side, but for the sake of keeping the peace, he would help Sirius find his heart. He couldn’t stand to watch him struggle so much without it anymore.

They rode the Tube to the very last stop before getting off. James shoulders their bag of supplies before he stands, walking beside Padfoot who’s already making a beeline for the doors.

The train car slides shut behind them and doesn’t move again.

James looks around the dimly lit station. There’s a significant lack of anybody wandering about — come to think of it, even their train car was empty. He and Sirius must have been travelling for about four hours now. Just where the hell were they?

James feels a sense of unease creep up his spine, but pushes it down immediately when he catches sight of what’s in front of them.

“Over there!” He points out, indicating what looks as if it could’ve been an information booth. It’s noticeably empty, but that’s not what spikes James’ excitement.

With determined steps, he strides towards it and plucks out one of the papers bunched up into boxes by the side of the table. He finds one that reveals itself to be a map showcasing the entire London region. He unfolds it and squints.

Beside him, Sirius snorts. “Don’t hurt yourself, Prongs.” He slings an arm onto James’ shoulder and leans in to regard the map as well.

“The spots without any road tracks should have some deserted, forested areas, right?” Padfoot says after a moment. He doesn’t sound too sure.

“I guess,” James shrugs. It sounds like a reasonable theory to him.

Pads points out a random unmarked area on the map. “Here! Moony’s close to here, I can feel it,” he says with fervour.

Sometimes James really admires Sirius’ unwavering faith in his own abilities. Right now, though, he can’t help but feel that he’s being led on.

“Alright,” he agrees, though still sceptical. However, this is Padfoot’s show to run. James is just here to keep his best friend alive to see the next day.

They find the exit and start making their way through the dark and barren streets. James keeps checking the map to familiarise himself with the area, but he’s never come across these street names or been in these parts (honestly, he’s not sure he would ever have wanted to come here without this impromptu trip), so it doesn’t seem to do them a lot of good.

The trail gets even more deserted as they travel, and it’s starting to give off the vibe that they’re stumbling through some kind of ghost town where all the inhabitants died years ago through mysterious circumstances. Like food poisoning, or some contagious illness.

After about an hour of walking, James is starting to think they’re lost.

“I think we’re lost,” he says out loud.

Padfoot shrugs beside him. “Everything looks like it’s going to plan to me,” he nonchalantly replies.

James shoots him an exasperated look. “Padfoot,” he starts, trying not to let his mind run wild with the multiple terrible scenarios he’s beginning to imagine. He blinks firmly and grounds himself back in the present.

“Pads,” he repeats, “I think we should ask the next person we come across for directions. We could even ask if anyone’s seen Moony around here!” He perks up. That’s good, finding solutions is good. It’ll help them get out of this mess as fast as possible.

Sirius’ mind spins. “Yeah, let’s do that,” he slowly agrees.

They keep their eyes peeled for any signs of life after that. With the lack of sunlight and the rundown atmosphere surrounding them, it isn’t very easy to do. James is starting to lose hope after what feels like the dozenth empty, seedy house they come across, when they turn a corner and see a man standing on a rusty wooden deck, watching them with curious eyes.

They stop and blink, turning to each other then back like their eyes are playing tricks. No, he’s still there.

They stare. He stares back.

“Er, hello there?” James initiates, taking a small step towards him.

“Evenin’,” he greets in a gravelly sounding tone, expression unchanged. He somehow seems out of place in these parts, though James can’t exactly tell why. He’s wearing neutral, form-fitting clothes that don’t seem to follow any specific trends. There’s a black cloth wrapped around half of his face, concealing his mouth and nose from view. One of his eyes is blue, the other milky white like it’s been blinded.

James quickly glances at Sirius, who lets him lead the interaction. “Um, you see, we’re looking for someone,” he tells the man.

His brows raise. “Are you?” He asks, still no inflection in his voice.

“He’s about two metres tall, has sandy brown hair and warm hazel eyes, is probably wearing a jumper and some worn boots?” James tries to explain. Sirius nods quietly beside him.

The man regards them. “You know you could be talking about anybody, right?” His tone is bordering sarcastic.

“Oh. Um,” James fidgets uncomfortably. “He has, uh, scars on his face. They look like…slashes?”

He can’t say claw marks. That’s going to raise way too many questions.

“Lots of people have scars in these parts.” A hand reaches up and deftly tugs down the mask covering half his face, exposing several strange gashes across his left cheek. James tries not to stare.

“Like I said,” he pulls the cloth back onto his nose, “You could be talking about anyone.”

“The fuck?” Sirius whispers from beside him. James elbows him in the side.

“Whoever you’re looking for, you won’t find them here,” The man says matter-of-factly. “Word of advice, you should leave as soon as possible. We don’t take kindly to surprise guests in this area.”

“Who’s we?” Sirius snorts. Exaggeratedly, he swivels his head this way and that, surveying the town with not a single other soul to be seen.

“Padfoot,” James begs, trying to make him stop with persistent tugs on his sleeve.

Sirius turns back. “There isn’t anyone here, you…”

He trails off. James faces forward as well.

The man is no longer standing in front of them. In fact, there is no sign he was ever even there in the first place.

“The fuck?” Sirius curses more profusely.

James frowns, squinting his eyes at the spot. “I think we might have just stumbled onto something we weren’t supposed to.”

Sirius, however, is like a bloodhound with a scent. “Where the hell did he disappear to?” He looks between the empty deck and the unoccupied house suspiciously. He boldly starts making his way up the steps.

James quickly follows, right on his heels.

Sirius flings open the door, causing a rain of sawdust to come crashing to the floor. The room shows no signs of any kind of life attached to it.

Sirius doesn’t trust it. “There must be some kind of secret entrance or exit somewhere.”

James is doubtful. “Pads, maybe we should just leave it?”

Sirius looks at him with disbelief. “Absolutely not. That bloke was too fucking sketchy. He could’ve been lying to us about not seeing Remus. We need to find him and ask him more questions so we can shake out whatever it is he’s hiding from us.”

James sighs. “It might have nothing to do with Moony,” he reasons, yet steps inside and helps Padfoot with his search. James is crouching down, examining the floorboards, while Sirius walks up to the wall in the corner and starts tapping on the wood with his ear pressed against it.

There’s suddenly a harsh exhale of air next to his neck.

“Hello!” Comes a jubilant greeting.

James snaps his head up so fast it nearly cracks. He thought they were alone.

Years of trauma and abuse still causes Padfoot to sometimes react badly to sudden movements. Startled, he spins and throws a punch at the new person on the scene. It’s so fast that James can’t even follow it, but the stranger dodges. Easily.

James is instantly on alert.

Sirius’ instincts must say the same because he throws yet another punch at the intruder. He evades it with the same ease as before, his body responding to anticipated violence with fluid ease.

He raises bushy brown eyebrows above the black mask covering his face. It’s the same as the one worn by the man from before, but he’s clearly a different person since his eyes are both an identical fawn colour and he has tan brown skin.

“That’s twice now that you’ve missed me. Sure you don’t need specs like your friend over there, big guy?

Then, without waiting for a response, the man twists and kicks Sirius right through the door they opened on their way in. James doesn’t even get the chance to call out for him before the man is upon him as well.

He tumbles through the door, landing roughly and almost socking an elbow into Sirius who is getting up. Sirius charges at the man who’s stopped at the landing and watching out for their next move. There’s a certain thrill that passes over his eyes when he dashes forward to meet Sirius.

Padfoot has gotten into more brawls than James could ever count in his nearly ten years of knowing him. His duelling is like he’s practising a language he’s already fluent in. But the man also clearly knows what he’s doing.

They’re almost evenly matched. It makes James feel a little bit afraid. He wants to jump in and assist Sirius, but he forces himself to wait for an opening so he won’t make things more difficult for him.

Soon, however, it appears his help is not necessary. With deft footwork, Padfoot manages to trip the guy’s legs up from under him and wastes no time throwing him to the ground. He tackles him shortly, straddling him by the waist, hands tightly curled into fists and ready to punch him within an inch of his life.

James is busy trying to figure out when exactly he’d need to step in and separate them when-

“Oh, that hits the spot,” the masked man moans obscenely from where he’s landed, hips rolling up to meet Sirius’ in a suggestive manner.

Sirius recoils.

James cannot blame him for it one bit. However, the motion unfortunately gives the man enough leeway to reach up and slam an elbow right into Padfoot’s throat.

He goes down.

Now free, the man smoothly glides right back onto his feet. Two very sharp and pointy knives materialise out of nowhere into his hands.

“NO!” James cries out. Without thinking, he throws himself between Sirius’ heaving form and the masked assailant.

“Wait! Please, we’re not here to cause any trouble!”

The man’s eyes dart towards Sirius again, and James presses himself closer against him.

“Please,” he repeats, “We were just-”

“I heard,” he interrupts. He leans closer to James, making his pulse pick up when he sees those knives near.

“They said you were looking for someone.”

The look in his eyes is sending all kinds of alarm bells throughout James’ body. His throat bobs audibly as he gulps. The man seems amused by James’ fear.

“JACK!” All of a sudden, a girl with teal-dyed hair comes sprinting towards their group, carrying some kind of box in her hands. Half of her face is also covered.

“You were only supposed to scout them out, not scare them!” She comes to a stop beside them and glares up at the guy in plain vexation. James wants to tell her to move away from him.

“Boss has already told you to stop thinking with your knives so much,” she sternly scolds.

The man raises a bushy eyebrow. In the next second, his knives disappear back to whichever realm he pulled them from.

“Crys, you know I just took that to mean he wanted me to think with my dick more,” he points out in a droll manner.

“JACK!” She yelps, wide-eyed and scandalised.

“What the hell is going on here?” Brisk footsteps and the crunch of heels on gravel announce the arrival of another newcomer.

She stands at about 163 centimetres, significantly shorter than either James or Sirius, yet the perilous heights on her heels and the imperious tilt of her head as she bears down on them all make her seem much larger than she is. There’s an air of authority around her, a sense that she is not to be crossed or there will be consequences, and it isn’t even lessened by the frankly absurd hairstyle she’s sporting. There’s a single, thick piece of plaited hair in the middle of her face, falling down to her shoulders, and James wonders how she can even see with it, or if it gets into her mouth all the time.

She surveys the scene with a scowl that seems instinctual to her.

“Ma’am,” Crys shrinks underneath the glare.

“Lady Boss,” Jack is unfazed. He waves a nonchalant hand at James and Sirius still sprawled on the ground. “Just some people snooping around.”

She looks down in the direction he’s pointing, and her face makes a complicated expression when she sees Sirius. James can understand — a lot of people took one look at his brother and instantly clocked him as some kind of troublemaker. Not that he wasn’t, but it happened quite a lot.

A moment later, her expression changes into a heated glower, face tightly pinched.

Sirius glares right back. He’s never had much respect for authority.

“Are these your goons?” Padfoot sneers.

A sharply arched brow rises. “My goons?” Her tone is derisive. She fixes her burning gaze back on their assailants.

“As if I would ever hire a pair of losers who are so shit at their jobs. How hard can it be to finish off two people who look like they should have died yesterday?” She snarls as she jerks a finger at them. “Even the old lady who does the arts and crafts shopping would have done better work than you two!”

James winces at the jab. He and Sirius must be in a truly sorry-looking state.

“Oh my gosh, that is so mean!” Crys whines, clutching her box closer to herself.

“They do look pretty bad,” Jack notes, squinting down at Sirius and James. He offers the newcomer a cheeky grin.

“Think they’re here to join the family?”

“I don’t want whatever crack you’re peddling,” Sirius finally manages to sit up and glares at them challengingly. “It’s obviously not the fun kind.”

“Oi,” The masked man points at Sirius, “That’s fucking false. You take that back — we have wonderful cocaine.”

“Jack, please, you can’t just tell that to strangers!” The teal-haired girl seems to be on the verge of tears.

Too busy watching the scene, James doesn’t notice or hear any new pair of footsteps. All he sees is a pale, black-ringed hand descend on the shoulder of the girl with the weird braid, and suddenly a new face pops into view on her other side. She doesn’t seem at all startled by this.

This random fourth person seems equally as unfamiliar as the rest to James, yet he takes one look at them on the ground and his eyes widen in shock.

“Sirius?”

James doesn’t recognize the speaker, but the way Padfoot jerks back, grey eyes inflating into huge saucers, shows that he definitely does.

“Reggie?” Sirius stares incredulously.

REGGIE? James thinks to himself, wide-eyed and a bit delirious now. There’s no way…

He’s incredibly sure he’s being put one over right now. Because standing before them, black oxfords only inches away from where he and Sirius are currently huddling together, is none other than Regulus motherfucking Black.

Who should’ve been dead.

Notes:

Dun dun dun...THE PLOT THICKENS!

Hope you enjoyed this chapter!

The next chapter will be up next Friday! I also post this story on my Medium blog, so if you would like to read ahead just click here

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For an unhinged and lengthy Spotify playlist, click here

This story also has original artwork! (Coming soon TBA)

Thank you so much for checking out my work, it means a lot. Have a great day, remember that you matter, and as one of my favorite YouTubers always says, "stay cool and attractive" ❤️

Chapter 3: My Eclipsed Sun

Summary:

Regulus’ blood stilled in his veins for the second time that day. The open door loomed in his vision, painting a future where Regulus was not a part of Sirius, one he was not sure he liked or could even survive in that moment.

“Sirius, please.”

Sirius only hesitated for a single breath, before walking out and slamming the door behind him.

Number Twelve Grimmauld Place had never known such silence.

Sirius was gone…gone and left without Regulus.

Notes:

This chapter was a real doozy to write 😅

I, presumably like each and every one of you so kindly reading my story, found myself endlessly fascinated by what could've gone down between the Black siblings. Fanon - the gift that just keeps giving, lol - has provided me with so many different theories and imaginative material, each one new and raw and so heartachingly relatable and painful that these boys took pieces of my heart with every read.

This is mine. Please proceed with caution 💖

(TW: Violence, emotional, mental and physical child abuse, gore, mentions of blood, torture and suicide ideation)

3.

— — — — — —  — -Back to the Past — — — — — — —

Ever since Regulus was born, there were two things he knew as the fundamental truth:

Sirius was the Heir, and Regulus was the spare.

Contrary to what Sirius or whoever else might think, Regulus did not love his parents so much that he spent every waking moment trying to make them proud with any chance that presented itself to him. Whatever love via proximity of living in the same house with them since birth that he might have once had died a miserable and violent death the day Regulus accidentally knocked over a vase when he was three and burst into startled tears when it loudly shattered all over the floor.

Sirius ran over to him the second he heard him cry, immediately pulling Regulus into a hug to soothe him. He had tried to calm himself down then, but he’d been so overwhelmed the only thing he’d felt like doing was wailing senselessly at the heavens…

Then Walburga stormed into the room like a tempest, saw the mess, and slapped Regulus so hard across the face he’d fallen right onto the sharp and brittle porcelain pieces.

He’d stopped crying then.

Sirius fretted over him after she left, departing just as quickly as she’d come with a few harsh words spat at them and instructions to clean up the mess. Orion hadn’t even bothered to look up once from his paper during the entire commotion. It was Sirius who’d picked up all the pieces with his bare hands, tugged Regulus to the kitchen (who was only able to follow after him, unresponsive in his shock), used a cloth to stem the bleeding on his arms from where he’d hit the floor, then pulled him into another hug, this one much tighter than the first.

“I’m so sorry she did that! She shouldn’t have done that to you!” Sirius sobbed. Regulus came back into himself then, feeling the tears from Sirius’ anguish spilling onto his shoulder. He hugged Sirius back just as hard and stayed silent as he cried, providing him comfort now though it was because of Regulus that he was crying.

He’d already loved Sirius so infinitely before that, but from then on, every single bit of love Regulus had in his heart beat only for his brother.

From then on, his parents ceased being mum and dad. They became mother and father. They became Walburga and Orion.

He no longer saw them as parents, coming to see them more as military authority figures, trainers and handlers raising and shaping them for the sole purpose of bringing honour to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

Sirius was the one who he started to see as his mum, dad, and big brother all rolled into one. He fit every single one of those roles, so he simply earned them. Walburga and Orion were unfit to be parents, so to his simplistic mind, they weren’t.

It was Sirius he turned to when he was seven and already insecure about his appearance. Walburga and Orion had hosted an event where he’d spent the evening listening to some old ladies whispering about him. His freckles weren’t a common Black family trait, and his eyes were apparently “too unsettling” in their paleness. They gossipped about how unpleasant it felt to have his “staring problem” directed at them and how “he must be a squib, what a shame” and kept sending him disapproving looks across the room.

Regulus knew Walburga would find fault in him for such comments, thus he swiftly started growing his hair out in front of his face and would sneak powder from Walburga’s purse to use and dot his cheeks, trying to counteract any punishments coming his way if the whispers grew too frequent that it reached her ears.

Sirius thought it was the most hilarious thing.

“How do you even see like that?” He’d ask Regulus, reaching out and sweeping his fringe back only to grin wider at seeing his full pout. Sirius always liked looking at him then, he never made him feel even the slightest bit discomfited by his own looks. Regulus always thought if there was to be only one person in the world who could see him and accept him, he was glad it was Sirius.

Walburga and Orion sure didn’t.

They made him attend the same lessons as his brother, about the grandiose history of the Black family and all that came with it, and how just being born a Black meant that they were to consider themselves better, to be better, than the rabble-

“The Muggles,” Mother always spat with disdain whenever she referred to the commoners she saw as no better than cattle to be taken to slaughter, diseased animals to be put down in some cases.

But Regulus never felt like he was better than anyone. How could he, when in the same breath Walburga or Orion would tell him in his own private lessons that Sirius was to be the Heir, that there was no use for him in the family line except as a far-fetched backup plan, that there was really no point to him existing at all and they hadn’t even intended for him to be born?

They didn’t see Sirius either. Sirius was a force of nature, untameable in the way he stood up to Walburga, demanded things loudly and unapologetically at the table, and insulted and refused to take corrections from his teachers. He was a Prince in every sense of the word, embodying their Black forefathers in the ways he refused to bow his head to anyone. Instead of being proud of him for upholding their values, Walburga and Orion clashed with him even more, implemented even more punishments for his behaviour, and acted like he was just going through some phase. As though it were some foregone conclusion that he would eventually break and come to see things their way and willfully do their biddings one day.

That was when Regulus began to understand that their trainers were stupid.

Enlightened by this knowledge, he began to see how really easy it was to get around them. They weren’t the type who challenged their pre-existing worldviews, anything that fit in with those was considered ‘appropriate behaviour’ and would gain no notice from them. He could lie straight to their faces that he was going to study his charts, when he really intended to go find Sirius and play, and they would accept it with minimal deliberation. He’d swap his book covers and read up whatever topic he wanted in plain sight and they wouldn’t even give him a second glance.

He’d try to offer these tidbits to Sirius as well but he’d always shrugged them off, desiring instead to go head to head with their trainers and throw their efforts at trying to make him domesticated in their faces, his chest fully puffed out to yell, head refusing to bend even the slightest inch nor fingers to ever sheath their claws; posturing like a lion, loud and proud in his defiance. He was so…bright.

It seemed incomprehensible to Regulus for someone to come so alive through pain and suffering, when all he ever wanted to do was shrink from it and bury his head in the sand whenever it was happening.

He wasn’t exempt from punishments either — Walburga and Orion’s cruelty was unending and rarely needed reason. They’d pounce on some slight infraction from Regulus or some mundane issue they decided deserved their ire, and Sirius would come running to place himself in front of the strikes aimed at Regulus.

“WHY DO YOU DO THAT?” Regulus once yelled at him, eyes filled to the brim with tears and his cheeks completely soaked from seeing his brother in pain that was meant for him.

“I CAN’T STAND IT, REGGIE!” Sirius howled back. He’d lifted himself off the ground painfully and cradled Regulus close, despite the open wounds littering his form. “I can’t stand to watch them do that to you! You’re mine, little brother, and I love you so much, and it hurts so badly to see you in pain.”

Loving someone meant protecting them from harm, Regulus learned then. He loved Sirius so much he’d tear his heart from his chest if it meant Sirius’ own would beat. But he could not protect him from the ever-present danger posed by their trainers. He was too small and skinny, not enough of a deterrent. He could not jump in front of punishments like Sirius did, as Walburga and Orion would undoubtedly kill him for trying since they didn’t need him alive as much as they needed Sirius. He’d just have to protect his brother in other ways, he decided.

Sirius would not bend, not even an inch. Regulus would just have to do it for him. He was good at that, he found.

Just like Sirius would take physical pain over watching their trainers hurt Regulus, Regulus would do and say and act however they wanted, if it would give him the means to keep Sirius alive.

They might need him as Heir, but with the frequency of how often they hurt him and starved him of food because of his disobedience, Regulus did not trust them not to kill his brother one day with their carelessness over his well-being.

The more Sirius rebelled, the darker the shadow he cast over Regulus. They were like sun and moon- Sirius became the Heir who did everything wrong while Regulus became the son who did everything right, and thus flew beneath the radar. He never did anything to rock the boat, while Sirius brought the hurricane in all by himself. And while their trainers were busy not noticing him, he was busy gathering the medical supplies and the food to ease whatever pain his brother was currently bringing onto himself.

At twelve years old, when Sirius came back home from a year spent at Hogwarts Academy with an even more intense rebellious streak, Regulus began to believe that Grimmauld Place was too small for his brother. It could not house both him and their handlers — Walburga especially — at the same time for much longer. There was a break that was going to happen sometime in the foreseeable future, and it would happen much sooner than any of them expected.

He started fantasising after that, about Sirius and him both running away together when Sirius finally had enough. With both Heir and spare gone, they could force the hand of Grandfather Arcturus somehow, who was the current Head of the Black family. Maybe they would threaten to never return until Walburga and Orion were removed from having power over them and couldn’t hurt them anymore. They’d request residence of one of the other Black properties to move into, since Grimmauld Place housed too much of their torments, and they’d start a better family together with just the two of them, and no one would ever be able to hurt them again. Sirius could freely invite his new friends from Hogwarts over whenever he wanted since they made him happy, and Regulus would invite his friends once he went to Hogwarts and made some of his own.

Naive dreams like that.

But for that to happen, he needed his brother to survive until then. He didn’t need any thanks for it, yet, he’d never imagined it would be such a thankless job. He knew it would be difficult, yet, he hadn’t realised that Sirius would be fighting him so much every single step of the way…almost trying to endanger his life at every turn.

Sirius had changed too much from whatever exposure he’d received at Hogwarts — he no longer listened even the slightest bit to Regulus, and had become even more reckless with his safety. His constant provocation only inspired Walburga to step up her own methods of so-called discipline.

Regulus’ soul nearly fled from his body the first time Walburga whipped out a gun and pressed it to Sirius’ skull, yelling at him at dinner to sit back down at the table.

Sirius didn’t even flinch.

Walburga’s eyes were daring to shoot him, and Sirius’ eyes were daring her to kill him.

Regulus couldn’t breathe.

Sirius was blazing brighter by the second, so Regulus dimmed himself even more, suppressing the tension in the atmosphere around him through sheer willpower alone. He’d get struck by the feeling that if he moved even to inhale, the violence cresting in the room would suddenly break out, as though he was the sole conductor of whichever waking nightmare he currently faced.

These thoughts always seemed to be a fulfilling prophecy, as the stiller Regulus became, the quicker Walburga would calm down. He’d grasp the tension-strings flooding the air and then hold, hold, hold, until Walburga release, release, released.

Thoughts of that gun in Walburga’s hands overwhelmed him to the point he became obsessed with it. He fixated for months on trying to find a way around it, to somehow remove the threat of the gun ever being used to harm Sirius in the event he ever drives Walburga too far that she actually snaps and kills him.

Because Sirius, driven by all of his righteous indignation in that moment, would actually let her.

Taking the gun away and hiding it was out of the question, except right before the most dire of circumstances. Doing it right then would give Walburga a clear list of suspects, and what was to stop her from just getting her hands on another gun and placing that one out of his reach? Same with removing or replacing the bullets — he would need non-lethal rounds identical to the weight of the current ones (which he had no way of getting his hands on) and would need to somehow replace them only a short while before she reached for it or she would eventually get suspicious. And if he removed the bullets entirely, she would just load in more bullets to use to pull the trigger then punish whoever removed them as well.

…The trigger then.

Regulus began sneaking out of his room in the dead of the night in the weeks that followed, finding and reading up whatever he could find about guns, then taking down Walburga’s gun from the top drawer in the living room cabinet and trying to figure out how to disassemble it and somehow disable that critical component that would decide between life and death.

It would only be a one-time success — Mother didn’t really need the gun to cause harm, but removing the threat of certain death in a tense situation would give him and Sirius time to run before she found something else to use if Walburga ever tried to pull the trigger.

It might even give Sirius the good sense to finally decide to run away for good and take them both away from this godforsaken house.

He was on the verge of a breakthrough when Butler Kreacher caught him one night.

Kreacher was a low-born commoner whose whole family had been sold to the Blacks at one or another point in his long life via the human trafficking disguised slave trade that was rampant in several parts of Britain. Those like him were derogatorily called House Elves — commoners sold into servitude to feudal families that ruled Great Britain by power of holding seats in the Wizengamot. Kreacher was the last of his lineage now, and his continued existence depended on his steadfast loyalty to the Black family — to Walburga and Orion, mostly.

He would be required to report what he’d found Regulus doing.

He’d said nothing, however, just calmly plucked the weapon from Regulus’ hands, wiped it off on a rag, then gently steered him back to bed instead of raising any sort of alarm.

Regulus didn’t dare to try again after that.

He placed all his efforts back into what he could do for Sirius right then — keep their handlers’ attention away from himself so Sirius wouldn’t have to take any of his punishments, keeping still when Walburga threatened Sirius, and getting him the supplies he would need to get back on his feet. At least those were things he could accomplish.

But during the Christmas break of Regulus’ first year of Hogwarts, he went up to Sirius’ room one night after he’d been fighting with their mother all day and found the door locked from the inside, music blaring from his record player. They’d always kept their doors open for each other to sneak in since they were young…

Yet Sirius’ door was closed.

“Sirius,” he’d tried to knock, not daring to believe anything yet, “Siri, let me in. I can help.”

A derisive laugh echoed from behind the door.

“Oh, so now you want to help.” He’d never heard his brother sound so cruel, full of such disdain directed towards him. Never towards him. Not with the same tone he used on Walburga.

“You’re such a coward, Reggie.”

He said nothing more. And the door did not open.

Regulus went up to his room afterwards and wept so wretchedly that night he didn’t manage to get any sleep in. Sirius was right — he was a coward. Most days, he couldn’t remember what it was like not to be afraid.

Afraid of their handlers, afraid for Sirius, afraid of losing his brother in any sort of way…and a multitude of other things that didn’t even affect him or his life but he couldn’t help but worry about anyways. His fear scraped out a hollow space in his bones and dwelled with him nearly every second of every day, getting so heavy and consuming it paralysed him sometimes. He didn’t know who he was anymore without fear dogging his steps ever since he was old enough to understand the emotion.

But Sirius despised his fear now — despised him. And he had no idea how to fix it.

If he could have been more like Sirius, simply stopped being afraid…he would have done it in a heartbeat. But Sirius was too bright, too radiant, and Regulus was only made of shadow. He’d never be light, it was pointless to even try.

It didn’t stop him from wanting to be so badly: Every time Sirius spoke of James Potter and how much better he was than the Black family, every time he saw Sirius sitting beside James Potter and the rest of his Griffyndor friends in the Great hall and completely ignoring Regulus’ lingering glances, every time Sirius’ laughter freely rang down the corridors and he marched around the school like he owned it — a king in his own right. While Regulus’ place was in the dungeons of the Slytherin dorms, forgotten as “the other Black”, unable to scrape the shadow from his being because it was too late — he’d been moulded by it, steeped in it, by the one parent who’d ever actually taught him how to be.

But after that break, any time he and Sirius had any kind of conversation, Sirius kept finding him wanting. Kept comparing him to his loud friends, to James fucking Potter — James who would “stand up to anyone for him” and “punch people in the corridors because they said something awful to Sirius”.

“He’s my real brother!” Sirius would spit at him. “You’re so obsessed with being mother’s puppet you won’t even speak out against her!”

“I can’t,” He would try to explain, head hanging in shame. If he could just be braver, but… “I’m not like you, Siri- Sirius.”

“You won’t even try!”

“I have!” Regulus wailed. It’s like that’s all he ever does, try and try and have it blow up in his face again and again. “I can’t!”

“WELL TRY HARDER!”

He’d get too overwhelmed and leave the conversation then, hearing Sirius calling him a coward as he walked away.

He kept leaving food and medical supplies in front of Sirius’ door whenever he needed it, though it was closed to him now. Only later did he realise that Butler Kreacher kept taking them away untouched- so whether he took them before Sirius could use them or after they’d been sitting there so long that their handlers would notice and punish him for it, Regulus couldn’t tell.

Everything came to a head one day in June, in the midst of a previously utterly unremarkable summer break. Walburga and Sirius had their biggest, loudest, most heated row yet, details of which didn’t seem as important to Regulus in that moment than getting to the bloody gun before she did.

Regulus held his breath and cleared his mind as he edged into the living room, putting all his skills of fading into the shadows into practice. They were so wrapped up in the argument they didn’t hear him slowly pulling open the drawer. His hands gingerly wrapped around the gun.

Walburga struck Sirius powerfully in the face. The sound was like a crack of lightning, sending his brother crashing down to the ground in a heap.

Regulus couldn’t help his flinch, his shadow dispelling with the movement.

“KREACHER!” Walburga shrieked like a banshee, her malicious gaze fixed on Sirius. “FETCH ME MY WEAPON!”

Sirius groaned and stirred from his position on the floor, managing to lift his head. His eyes connected with Regulus’.

“NO! REGGIE, STOP HIM!”

Regulus was frozen where he stood, completely chilled to the bone as he watched Butler Kreacher approach where he was gripping the gun tight-knuckled behind his back.

Butler Kreacher got close enough that he could look over and see the gun behind him. He just sighed, however, and moved Regulus out of the way gently. Picking up instead the braided leather whip that resided in the same place.

“The gun has been moved out of its place,” he told Walburga, handing it over.

Regulus’ heart moved up into his throat then, but Walburga just pinned her maniacal gaze on Sirius, immediately placing the blame on him.

“You ungrateful cur,” She snarled, unravelling the whip and bringing it down hard on his brother. His pain-filled yell hurt Regulus’ ears and heart.

“AFTER EVERYTHING THIS FAMILY HAS DONE FOR YOU!” Crack. “YOU THINK YOU CAN DO THIS TO US?” Crack. “NO SON OF MINE WOULD EVER BE A LIGHT FOLLOWER!” Crack. Snap. “AND HOW DARE YOU THINK YOU COULD EVER HAVE A PRAYER OF PROTECTING YOURSELF FROM ME!”

Crack. Whip. Strike. Crack. Crack. Crack.

Regulus remained where he stood, trying to keep still as usual, but his body betrayed him and he just kept trembling and trembling as the strikes persisted and his brother’s blood and screams filled the room.

He was shaking so hard he was half-convinced he would drop the gun and draw Walburga’s attention. He tried keeping a firmer hold on it with his palms now drenched in sweat.

Use it, an insidious voice in his mind whispered.

He swallowed, mouth dry as his mind churned over the new possibility. Something must have shown on his face, because Butler Kreacher slunk over and discreetly took the gun away from him, wiping it off before tucking it into his sleeve and leaving the room.

Regulus was left bereft, trembling and trembling with empty hands until Walburga’s strokes finally ceased.

Walburga huffed imperiously at the lump of blood and ripped skin that was Sirius — quiet and broken on the floor, her eyebrow twitching as she spun on her heel and left the room.

Regulus breathed for the first time in what felt like hours.

Oh God, he thought, covering his mouth with his palms. Nom de dieu… DO SOMETHING!

He sped off to his room, dashing as quietly as he could. He grabbed the med kit from where he hid it in his wardrobe then ran down all the steps back to the living room.

He got there to see Sirius had somehow dragged himself up and all the way to the front door, holding it ajar with a bloody fist.

Regulus’ blood stilled in his veins for the second time that day. The open door loomed in his vision, painting a future where Regulus was not a part of Sirius, one he was not sure he liked or could even survive in that moment.

“Sirius, please.”

Sirius only hesitated for a single breath, before walking out and slamming the door behind him.

Number Twelve Grimmauld Place had never known such silence.

Sirius was gone…gone and left without Regulus.

He had half a mind to run after him right then, but the loud sound might’ve alerted Walburga and Sirius couldn’t have gotten far yet. Instead, he ran over to the door and frantically wiped his brother’s blood off the knob and the steps leading to it before scrambling away.

Sirius deserved the chance to make a clean getaway, to get to…James Potter, before their trainers realised and started coming after him.

Sirius deserved his chance because he’d been brave enough to make it. Regulus was not brave. He was not enough. He could do this, at least.

He huddled into himself that night, his arms holding his knees to his chest. Lonely, so terribly alone and desperate for warmth. The ice from earlier must have permanently invaded his veins, that or Sirius took all the heat with him when he left Grimmauld Place because it was just. So. COLD. Now.

You must’ve known it would be like this, that nasty voice in his mind whispered again. If you were so sure Sirius would take you with him when he left, why have you never packed a bag?

I-

Regulus had no response for that. Sirius was the sun, he’d never imagined a sky without the sun before. He had never wanted to imagine that his brother would ever leave him…but deep down, he must’ve known.

Because Sirius had.

Walburga pulled him out of school swiftly after that, even farther away now from Sirius and “those horrible influences that ruined your brother.” She laid into him for months after that terrible June day, determined to make him feel the consequences of Sirius’ actions, to learn the price of leaving the Black family and noncompliance and to never think of repeating his mistakes, to never have another Heir of hers become such a disgrace — carved it into him, even. Months and months of nothing but torture and heartache and suffering that it all entwined in his mind till he couldn’t even tell what day it was.

He stopped fearing pain after that.

The constant burns on his back even started to feel quite…deserved. This is what Sirius felt whenever he paid the price for you, he thought to himself as the whip struck down. This is what he did for you that you could never do for him.

His mind sometimes felt like it was tearing itself apart, but he let these thoughts ground him. Made himself rise from the ground each time like a mangled phoenix whenever he was able to, and he made himself learn.

He drank their poison, repeated their rhetoric, pushed himself farther than he ever thought he was capable of. He couldn’t let them find him too wanting, because if they decided they would rather drag Sirius back into this hell because Regulus wasn’t good enough for them, he just might kill himself.

They let him heal for a full week before he was to be sworn in as the new Black family Heir.

He remembered kneeling in the courtyard of their ancestral home in France, surrounded by multiple aunts and uncles with Grandfather Arcturus at the head, Walburga and Orion suffocatingly looming in front of him. He’d tried ignoring the stinging of his back reignited by his uncomfortable position, and the way the cold air hurt his ribs and chest on its way down his lungs as he breathed, while also attempting to block out all the gazes focused solely on him, expressions ranging from grave to bored to contemptuous.

He’d dug his nails into his palms imperceptibly at the thought that even now, they didn’t find him good enough.

The inauguration went forward anyway.

“Do you swear to serve this family to your last breath? Do you swear to have and think only of our best interests until the day you die?”

“I swear.” The vow circled his throat as it left his lips, tightening around his neck like a noose.

Even after being named Heir, he still was not given any relief. Forced into catering to his trainers’ demands, who at this point intended to shape him into a good little soldier for the Dark Lord’s army. Not just good — he had to become great, high-ranking enough that his performance would reflect on the House of Black as a whole.

Meeting their expectations just caused the bar to be raised even higher. None of his efforts ever seemed good enough, and after a while he couldn’t even justify it to himself.

One night, as he lay broken and bleeding on the floor from yet another ‘training session’, with no sign of medical aid incoming or even just someone to help him off the ground, he sincerely began to believe they were trying to kill him.

Would Sirius ever let it get to this? He couldn’t help but wonder, delirious as he lay splayed and immobile against the ground, pain the only thing he knew.

No, a voice in his head whispered, Sirius would have walked away before letting it get this far. He did walk away. But you can’t do the same, because you’re a coward.

“…Coward.” Sirius was suddenly above him. Regulus reached for him and he sneered.

“You’re such a coward, Reggie,” He heard the hateful words leave his brother’s lips. When he blinked, Sirius was gone.

Regulus shattered for the millionth time, sobbing miserably as he was once again torn between his wretched desire for his brother to come back and save him or to even just stay with him in this isolated hell, or for Sirius to stay as far away as he possibly could and have a happier life than Regulus was ever destined for. To never ever be put through this.

He cried, also, a little bit for himself, as it was becoming increasingly clear that nobody else would.

Notes:

Hope you enjoyed this chapter!

The next chapter will be up next Friday! I also post this story on my Medium blog, so if you would like to read ahead just click here

This story has soundtracks! For a cohesive Apple Music playlist, click here

For an unhinged and lengthy Spotify playlist, click here

This story also has original artwork! (Coming soon TBA)

Thank you so much for checking out my work, it means a lot. Have a great day, remember that you matter, and stan Taylor for clear skin ❤️

Chapter 4: Give Me A Reason

Summary:

“We’re not Death Eaters, Sirius,” Regulus tells him quietly.

“You’re not?” asks Sirius disbelievingly.

Regulus shakes his head. “The Blacks are a neutral house now. We’ve politically abstained from the current war climate.”

“Neutral?”

Politically? James wonders, rolling the word around in his mind and trying to find hidden edges.

Notes:

I had a lot of fun wracking my brain for how to adapt the Hogwarts schools to a modern, non-fantasy setting such as this one, as well as the beliefs behind the Blood Purist propaganda that would Voldemort power in the first place. Hope I did a good job ❤️

Now onto the story!

(TW: mentions of prejudice, death and the afterlife)

4.

— —  — — — — — — Present day — — — — — — — —

Hogwarts Academy was a very strange boarding school, now that James thinks about it. Students were put into houses based on the results of an aptitude test they each took on the first day of school that showcased the most suitable methods for them to learn with, a model first created by the founders of the school several generations ago.

Slytherins were proposed to work best with competition. They were known for having cunning and ambition and thus were regularly pitted against each other and the rest of the school, constantly comparing their grades to others’. Ravenclaws valued knowledge and wit, and they were given more homework and supplementary material to increase their understanding of the subjects they were taught, which seemed a bit psychotic to James, but that was apparently the most important thing to them. Hufflepuffs were collaborative learners and regularly had study groups formed around them, both for them to study together and to tutor other kids about their subjects which helped them learn better as well. It worked out for them with their hard work ethic and loyalty towards others. Gryffindors — the brave and chivalrous population of students — made up mostly kinesthetic learners and usually had classes outdoors where concepts were demonstrated to them. A lot of them were athletes by nature as well, and thus were given priority access to tryouts for school teams and other sporty activities in exchange for getting good grades.

They got the best deal out of all of them, in James’ humble opinion.

Whatever the founders’ intentions were, as the years went by, each Hogwarts House gained a bit of a reputation. Gryffindor had become the house to be in mostly if you had aspirations to go pro in any sport, but also if you disliked sitting in a stuffy classroom all day. They were loud and proud, and made up the fun crowd of students. James was sure anyone would agree to this if asked, he wasn’t that biased.

Ravenclaw was for swots who liked research, and James didn’t believe there was all that much else to know. Hufflepuff seemed like it was for people who either didn’t have any aspirations whatsoever or just weren’t quite sure of them yet, he wasn’t quite sure which. It was understandable, somewhat. It was hard for some to know what they wanted to do with their lives when they were only eleven. Not for James, of course…but some.

Slytherin was the house for making all sorts of connections, mostly political, if you wanted a leg up in society after you graduated. They fancied themselves lords of the castle and looked down upon the rest of the students like they were nothing more than worthless peons.

James hated them.

He had only freshly started at Hogwarts, fat still clinging to his cheeks, when he learned for the first time that a number of the upper class members of Britain, mostly those who made up the Sacred Twenty Eight, believed themselves to have come upon their high class by virtue of being born into it as a reward for good behaviour in their previous lives. Along with this belief was the idea that those who currently lived impoverished lives or were born to families of low status had apparently been such terrible people in their past lives that these “commoners” deserved their lot and should be looked down upon.

Also, because they were so lowly, the only purpose of their lives and existences should be in service to the upper class, to be used as resources to provide them with whatever they may require, even at the cost of their entire beings.

It was the stupidest fucking thing James had ever heard. And he’d first heard it from the lips of a student in Slytherin green and silver, who he’d promptly punched in the face and earned his first detention.

It had been absolutely worth it.

It had unfortunately not been the last time he’d ever heard such abhorrent ideals. What should it matter what someone did in their previous life when they were living this life now? And how would they ever get the chance to improve their next fate, if such a tale was to be believed, if they were continuously being condemned for their past one?

It didn’t make any fucking sense. Yet, it was always a Slytherin who proclaimed such bullshit, sneering openly down at the lower-born students that got accepted into Hogwarts (any commoner who they believed dared to climb up in society in any way were disdainfully deemed ‘Mudbloods’), like they were entitled to every single thing they owned, down to each breath they took into their lungs.

James was only eleven then, but he’d felt such anger he’d never known before at that. It consumed him so much he’d needed to take it out somehow, especially when he became friends with Sirius and Peter and Remus.

Sirius, whose parents had nearly infected him too with such filthy prejudice. Peter, who only escaped commoner status due to his father being elevated to middle-class after becoming a Knight sworn to the Crown, before dying in service and leaving him with only his sick mum. And Remus, whose upper-class father married a lower-class woman yet transferred all of his prejudiced beliefs onto his own son.

How could he let them say such things, let such things slide, when the dearest people to his heart had gotten so affected by them?

James can admit that he came to view Slytherins as the personification of evil and made sure to make them the target of most of the pranks the Marauders pulled during their school years. It only made sense to make life more difficult for such bigoted people who insisted on being cruel to so many innocent students who’d only ever come to school to learn and shape their futures.

But even with his intense dislike for all things Slytherin, Regulus Black had somehow ended up flying underneath James’ radar.

He’d heard much about Sirius’ little brother before he came to the school. He immediately sorted into Slytherin, which was unfortunate, but James’ curiosity led him to approach the boy anyways the first chance he could.

He vaguely remembers being completely ignored very early into the conversation, which admittedly made him even more determined to have a full one with him after the initial brush off. He wasn’t ever able to catch him alone again after that, despite some of his best efforts. Then he got caught up in planning some major prank or other and soon forgot all about Regulus Black.

He’d catch him sometimes though, glancing over at the Gryffindor table during meals, the angle of his head tilted towards Sirius, staring at him with…longing, or something James couldn’t make out without fully seeing his expression. But then James would remember how Sirius told them his brother had bought into the Pureblood dogma and was just like the rest of the Slytherins, and he’d put Regulus Black out of his mind and focus on laughing with his friends.

When he heard that Regulus Black had died during the war, he was mostly concerned about what it would do to Sirius. His brother had very complicated feelings about his former family, but none that affected him as much as Regulus did. Everyone knew the story — Regulus Black was a Blood Purist who’d joined the wrong side of the war and died for it. Sirius had been in a right spin once he received the news, consuming endless substances and burning himself out at all the bars in town every night. He’d done his best to support him and leave him to his own devices of grief while not letting him go off the deep end completely. Fortunately, after a week he stopped drowning himself in firewhiskey and went back to normal, and James just breathed a sigh of relief and left it at that.

Yet here Regulus Black is, staring at Sirius like he’s the ghost.

“Sirius, what a… surprise,” Regulus says in a deep, smooth tenor, not sounding particularly surprised. His tone is just a little too flat for that.

He stares down at them from 183 centimetres, putting him three centimetres taller than Sirius (he’d still lose out about four centimetres to James), but he’s so clearly younger. Sirius has an athlete’s build, all taut, defined muscles he’s so very proud of, and has a look about him like he’s always seconds away from starting a brawl. Regulus looks as if someone took Sirius and made him leaner and more lithe. There was a soft, nearly delicate grace to his aristocratic features. Where Sirius’ nose advertised its breakage from one of the multiple fights he’d gotten into, Regulus’ nose was still perfectly straight, pert and narrow enough that it didn’t detract from his rosy, cupid’s bow mouth or large, upturned eyes. Where Sirius’ eyes were grey bordering on blue, which glimmered so brightly when he grinned it was like he’d captured some of the stars that shared his name in them, Regulus’ were such a pale grey it was as if someone had stuck twin bulbs of pure light right into his eye sockets.

Sirius’ cheeks and jaw were decorated with some really faint scars which he believed ‘added character’, while Regulus’ face was unmarred except for a dotting of freckles spread out like a constellation that took up half of his features. Did he ever have freckles before? James wonders. He must have been covering them up, somehow.

Padfoot’s hair has that slight, effortless wave, and he used to brag that it got all the birds chasing after him — this was before Moony became the only partner allowed to have access to his hair at all. Regulus’ hair looks almost bone-straight from the bit of it falling into his face where his head is bent towards them. Most of his hair falls down to his nape, but some of it seems tied up in a bun behind his head. The front trim which used to fall into his eyes, from what James recalls, now rests perfectly against shaped eyebrows, and it’s bleached so light it matches the colour of his eyes while also providing contrast to the rest of his dark hair. It looks incredibly fluffy too.

Padfoot’s earrings are like mini daggers protruding out from his ears. Regulus wears star-shaped studs.

They look so similar, yet nothing alike still.

James finds himself fascinated by the picture.

Wow, He can’t help but think, Baby Black got hot.

With that, James absolutely cannot make any sense of what is going on in his reality anymore. Sirius’ little brother, who is believed to have died three years ago, is instead standing in front of him and looking…hot?

James is on the verge of short-circuiting. There’s no reasonable explanation for anything, not even his own thoughts. Except if…

“Padfoot, are we dead?”

Sirius slowly swivels his head to face him.

“You know those films where the main character dies from some accident during their day but they think they’re okay and they pick themselves up and go about their life without realising they have exited their bodies yet and are walking around as ghosts? Do you think that happened to us back there, and we’ve crossed over to the afterlife without knowing it?”

Sirius looks like he’s coming around to the theory.

The sound of a deeply burdened sigh is released from someone in front of them, then Jack positively skips into their line of vision.

“WELCOME TO THE AFTERLIFE!” He booms in a showman-like voice.

“I am the Devil.” He plucks off his mask, showing off a neatly-trimmed moustache and a face that places him as not much older than they are, and executes a full 180 degrees bow with a flourish. James immediately tries to scoot as far away from him as possible. His grin sharpens at the action.

“This here,” he continues dramatically, casting a wave at the scary girl beside him, “is my mistress, my lady wife, my honey bunny, the apple of my eye…”

She whips her head to give him a look that makes James feel like running even though it isn’t directed at him, but Jack remains undeterred — which probably is not very wise.

“The Queen of hell and the underworld herself, Lilith — if theology is to be believed.” He calmly sidesteps her without fear for his health and lands at Regulus’ side.

“Which just leaves the boss man here…as Jesus. Huh.” He eyes Regulus up and down as though suddenly wondering what he’s doing in their midst.

Regulus gazes back at him flatly.

If possible, James is even more confused now. “Baby Black is Jesus?”

Regulus’ face does a funny little twitch at the nickname, but he composes himself quickly.

The self-proclaimed Devil, however, throws composure out the window and bursts into insidious laughter.

“No way, is that what they called you in school? Bloody hell, that’s fucking rich!” He gasps out amidst his devious giggling.

Regulus turns to him with a mutinous expression.

“Jack, if you do not shut up right now, I am going to murder you in the most painful way I know how,” he seethes, sounding completely serious.

Jack continues to snicker. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, boss,” he wheezes.

Lilith, apparently, steps up to Jack and proceeds to punch him powerfully in the chest.

“OOF!” He doubles over, clutching his stomach, and she karate chops him on his now exposed back, sending him tumbling to the ground. As a finale, she lifts a booted heel and plants it right on his face.

“Shut. The. Fuck. UP. ALREADY!” She growls, grinding his face into the dirt. James swallows a whimper.

“Ma’am, please stop, that’s extremely unsanitary!” Crys sounds horrified. Her words have no effect, but she’s apparently braver than James is.

Regulus just looks down at the scene with a mixture of amusement and…disgust(?) in his expression.

“Thanks, Ris,” he says, sounding completely done with the situation. Ris nods firmly, still stepping on her own comrade.

James almost wishes he could hide from these crazy people behind Sirius, but protecting him from them seems like the more honourable thing to do right now, and more in line with James’ own sense of self.

Regulus turns back to Sirius. “This is not the afterlife,” he says, and he sounds so put out that such a sentence even needs to cross his lips.

“You’re not dead,” he insists.

That’s apparently all the confirmation Sirius needs.

“YOU’RE ALIVE?”

Regulus spreads out his hands. “Surprise,” he states with no emotion whatsoever.

Someone snorts into the silence.

When they just keep staring at him, Regulus takes a moment to peer at them more closely.

“You, on the other hand,” he squints, “look like you just crawled out of your own casket. What happened?”

Is that…concern in his tone? James doesn’t know. He can’t read him. He honestly hadn’t ever expected to be in a situation where he would need to.

Sirius just keeps staring and staring at Regulus like he’s a puzzle needing to be solved. James can almost hear the sound of the mental gears in his head clicking into place.

“Did you do this?” Sirius suddenly asks.

“Do what?” Regulus blinks a few times, looking lost. “I don’t- I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“We were attacked today!” Sirius sits back onto his haunches, glaring up at Regulus with open animosity. “Then we supposedly run into you by accident on the same day? Coincidence?” He sarcastically sneers.

It does make a certain amount of sense, James supposes.

Regulus contemplates him. A moment passes, and without looking away he reaches into his pocket and retrieves a cigarette stick. He calmly places it between his lips and considers Sirius some more.

Sirius would say his expression is completely flat if he isn’t intently studying Regulus right back and catching the flickers of racing thoughts within his now exposed eyes. It’s a nostalgic sight to see his little brother thinking so deeply, but which thoughts he’s having, Sirius has no bloody clue. He feels a slight pang when it occurs to him that he can longer read his br - Regulus, or tell what he’s thinking. He ruthlessly shoves the emotion down and buries it in an unmarked grave.

“We’re not Death Eaters, Sirius,” Regulus tells him quietly.

“You’re not?” asks Sirius disbelievingly.

Regulus shakes his head. “The Blacks are a neutral house now. We’ve politically abstained from the current war climate.”

“Neutral?”

Politically? James wonders, rolling the word around in his mind and trying to find hidden edges.

“Yes,” Regulus tells Sirius. “Like the Greengrasses and the Zabinis.”

Sirius scoffs. “You really expect me to believe that?”

Regulus shrugs, the action taking surprisingly little movement. “It’s the truth. Besides,” He leans a little closer while facing Sirius, and there isn’t necessarily a change in his tone or facial expression, but there’s a sudden emotional distance that didn’t exist a second ago,

“Why would I want to kill you? Why would I even bother?”

Sirius’ eyes widen.

This isn’t his Reggie, the Reggie he grew up with and knew like the back of his hand all those years ago. It can’t be.

That Reggie huddled into himself as though always awaiting a blow, covered his face from searching eyes, buried his entire soul and personality in the graveyard of Grimmauld Place and let those wankers they called parents pull his strings however they wanted like a fucking puppet.

This Reggie looks like he’s reached the peak of self-enlightenment or some shite- there’s a confidence in his body language Sirius has never seen before, he sounds so bloody sure of himself when he talks, expresses himself however he wants, he keeps making direct eye contact with everyone, has an arm wrapped around a girl…

He smokes.

Sirius doesn’t know who the hell this tosser is. It’s got all his alarm bells tripping off at the same time.

“Would you even need a reason?” James asks, completely sceptical of Baby Black’s supposed innocence in the matter. He is a Slytherin, after all.

Baby Black’s eyes lazily trail over to meet his. James suddenly realises that this is the first time tonight that he’s even looked his way. His extremely light-hued gaze makes James feel pinned like a butterfly under their weight, staring helplessly into a grey abyss with no idea what exactly was staring back at him.

Regulus still can’t make up his mind about how he feels towards the bespectacled brother stealer. There’s an entire mixed bag of emotions — he knows he definitely hates James Potter for taking his place beside Sirius, taking away the only person that had made his life worth living at one point and causing Sirius to cast him aside like 10 years of a close childhood bond meant nothing at all. At the same time, he’s grateful to Potter for all he did to save Sirius’ life, for holding onto him and giving him a place to belong when Regulus couldn’t reach him anymore.

When Sirius wouldn’t let him.

Yet, it’s not like Potter ever offered him the same kindness. Sirius was Potter’s only priority amongst the Black family. And Regulus understands all too well the feeling of prioritising Sirius and being less important compared to him — he can’t say it’s one he’s come to like very much.

He can’t predict what would come pouring out of his mouth if he ever speaks to the brother stealer, thus he doesn’t say a single word.

“Um,” Teal-haired Crys speaks up, shifting closer to Sirius.

“Excuse me, Mr. Black — Um! I mean Mr. Sirius Dog Star sir!” She frantically backpedals, gesticulating wildly.

Sirius very slowly cranes his neck towards her.

“So sorry to bother you! I’m sure you’re very comfortable and fine with being there on the ground, it’s just…” She points at his forehead with a trembling finger. “You — your head wound seems to have reopened from…where Jack hit you, I’m guessing?” Her tone pitches upwards into a question.

She fumbles to open the box she’s been holding, showcasing an impressive selection of medical supplies.

“If I could just — maybe dab it off for you? I don’t like blood,” she sheepishly admits.

James finds himself feeling more and more sympathy for her the more she speaks. Clearly, her choice of acquaintances has done quite a number on her mentality.

Sirius gapes at her, blinking his eyes like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

“Who the bloody hell are these people anyway?” He demands, finally rising to his feet and brushing himself off. James gets up as well.

Regulus, who’d been looking amused by Crys’ spiel, sobers.

“They are my — ” Regulus suddenly stops and studies Sirius, visibly contemplating whatever he was about to say.

“We shouldn’t talk about this here,” is what he ends up saying. “Come on.”

Without waiting for a response, he spins on his heel and starts heading off in a random direction. The three strangers immediately fall into step with him- Ris sending them a backwards glower as she does so, Crys pouting and closing up her first aid box unused, and Jack, who’s also gotten up from the ground and looks…disappointed(?) to no longer be stepped on.

What a strange bunch he has following him — him, cause as Moustache Man pointed out, he’s their Boss.

Bollocks.

Sirius narrows his eyes at his former brother’s departing form.

“Pads,” James hisses as he stands to follow them. Sirius just grabs him by the arm and pulls him along before he can voice any of his many objections to their current plan of action.

“We can take them if they try anything,” Sirius whispers to him. James huffs but silently follows, knowing Padfoot wants answers more than anything right now. Plus, they’ve faced worse odds in the past, after all.

They approach a house that looks exactly like the one Sirius and him entered earlier. James honestly can’t find a difference. Regulus leans down and peels away one of the corners of the deck. It extends upwards then back, revealing a set of stone steps leading downwards into the unknown.

It’s like the beginning of every horror film ever. Despite knowing instinctively that going down there is a bad idea, James can’t help but find himself intrigued. A secret entrance to a secret community of people, who apparently live under the ground instead of fixing up the ruined buildings on the surface.

Can’t be a Marauder if you’re not up for a little adventure, he fervently believes.

They go down the rabbit hole, trailing behind Regulus’ confident steps. Sirius keeps surprisingly quiet, his eyes laser focused on Regulus. James can’t tear his eyes away from him either for more than a few seconds. He’s awestruck by the way Baby Black moves, like he’s extremely aware of every single muscle in his body at every given moment. The way he’s gliding down the steps like his feet aren’t even touching them reminds James of a pixie or some other graceful woodland creature, making him look even more supernatural than if he was a ghost.

The steps finally level out after about three flights of them, and into an open space with an interior that looks like an empty railway station mixed with a defensive bunker. There’s a bit of a dim lighting, and they proceed down a narrow corridor before James can look around too much, overhead fluorescent lights flickering on as they pass.

Along the way, they somehow acquire a shadow.

“Hey, Reg.”

“Anna,” Regulus greets her warmly, “Anything else unusual up there?”

The girl who suddenly appeared out of nowhere tilts up her square glasses with a finger, her expression neutral. Everything about her seems…muted, some way, to James. Her dark-brown hair is pulled into a rigid ponytail at the top of her head, not a hair out of place, and she’s holding a black clipboard close to her like it’s the only thing that matters in a way he’s only seen secretaries do. She looks perfectly bland and unfazed by the addition of two perfect strangers to her living space, like nothing in the world could possibly surprise her.

“No other unrecognisable signs of life in the vicinity tonight,” she states matter-of-factly. She cuts a brief, non-judgmental look at both Sirius and James. “Hopefully it stays that way.”

Nothing in her tone feels like a chastisement, but James feels himself wanting to apologise anyway. Clearly, he and Sirius intruded into a lot of people’s daily lives tonight.

Including some who weren’t even supposed to still be existing, apparently.

James isn’t sure he’ll be getting over Regulus Black being alive anytime soon. It’s not anywhere on his list of possibilities for how he expected this night to go. Sirius is keeping a narrow-eyed focus on Regulus, scrutinising him like he’s wondering if he’s some sort of imposter. He doesn’t seem to have made up his mind one way or another, which…isn’t comforting.

They turn a corner and finally stop in a room which looks like a hangout spot or a meeting room. There’s a lot of space and comfortable couches in cream and black, with signs of life all around such as crumpled papers and abandoned snacks and blankets.

It’s currently empty in here except for the five of them, Crys having separated from them sometime during the walk down. Jack immediately plops himself onto the nearest sofa like he owns it, taking up most of the space. Regulus doesn’t even bat an eye at him, his gaze instead following Anna who’s making a beeline for the huge table in the centre absolutely filled with numerous computers and telephones, a projector hanging directly above the heap.

She sets down what she’s holding and attaches a wire to it, and now James can see it’s not a clipboard but a squarish-looking device. A tablet, his mind supplies. He hasn’t seen many people he knows use it, so it’s a bit hard to place at first. Also, this one looks a bit more high tech, somehow, than the ones he’s seen.

While she’s doing whatever she’s doing with that, Regulus finally turns his attention back to them.

“So what brings you out here anyways? A bit out of the way for you, isn’t it?” He questions lazily, like he’s simply asking about the weather. The scary girl on his arm starts dragging him towards the sofa to sit down and he lets her.

Sirius scrutinises him with narrowed eyes. “A bomb blew up the car James and I were using for Order business.”

Regulus’ steps falter. “A bomb, you say?” He muses.

“You claim that you’re not responsible for it.”

Regulus faces Sirius. “I am not.” No inflection in his tone, just a statement of fact.

“Yeah, a bomb just to take out two people? Not boss’ style.” Jack shakes his head. “Too much ‘collateral’,” he accentuates the word with his fingers. He addresses Regulus, “If you want to just take out two people, you’d just snipe them from a distance or something.”

James has a hard time imagining Baby Black sniping anyone, but Regulus hums as if to concede the point.

“Seems a bit too personal, I think. Like a deeply held grudge,” he reasons. Before James can formulate any kind of thoughts on that, Regulus heads to the girl holding the tablet.

“Anna, could you look up if we have any notable bomb users in the database? Potential focus should be on known Death Eaters, but anyone who matches the criteria in the UK is fair game.”

Anna nods and starts tapping away on her screen.

Regulus looks back at Sirius. “I might have a suspect, but I’d need to confirm it first before I get back to you.”

Sirius’ suspicion has not lessened in the least. If anything, it’s only heightened now.

“You also claim that you people are not Death Eaters.”

Regulus tilts his head to the side. “We are not,” he just as calmly denies.

Sirius crosses his arms, body language projecting aggression. “Then why are all of your arms covered? Hiding your Dark marks?” He suggests sardonically.

Regulus looks down at his own concealed sleeve and blinks. “Um…”

Because I felt like wearing this shirt today? He shrieks inwardly.

Sirius stands straighter, fury burning in his eyes. “If you’re so innocent, you won’t have a problem with rolling up your sleeves for me, would you?”

“Why, so that one of us can take you in a fight?” Jack is peering at Sirius like he finds him an utterly fascinating new toy.

“Asking someone to roll up their sleeves is all well and fine but,” he squares up his fists, “What if I punch you in the face right after? Because that’s the kind of cues I’m picking up here.”

James is not ready for the rising tension in the room to be abruptly cut off by Regulus- laughing. He genuinely snorts and lowers his face to snicker into his palm. James sneaks a glance at Sirius and sees him looking equally as wonderstruck at the sound of the laughter.

Sirius is currently wondering when the last time he heard Reggie laugh was. He finds he can’t accurately pinpoint a time as that must have been so far away.

Regulus isn’t paying either of them any mind though. He turns all of his attention to Jack, plainly trying to fight back his humoured smile.

“Jack, can you please just shut up for 20 minutes? If you do, I will,” He takes a breath as if he’s about to make a huge concession, “I will give you a cookie.”

Jack lights up. “The chocolate chip ones?”

Regulus looks like he’s already regretting ever opening his mouth. “Sure,” he grounds out, clearly reluctant.

Jack looks even more eager. “And you’ll feed it to me?”

Regulus pinches between his eyebrows. “Alright,” he agrees, sounding pained.

Sirius and James have no choice but gape open-mouthed at the interaction happening in front of them. What on God’s green Earth…?

Jack suddenly jerks up in his excitement. “You promise? Even if I forget,” Jack points a finger at Regulus, “If I forget, promise you’ll still do it.”

Regulus looks so completely dead inside right now, he comes across as a ghost… floating above the debris of the man he used to be.

“Fine, you overgrown child!” He snaps out. “I promise.”

“Yes!” Jack rejoices. “You heard him promise,” he points at Anna. He faces Regulus again and beams at him.

“I’m going to go away now, because I have no self-control,” he chipperly states before whirling around and jogging off in some random direction.

“Hey, guys, I’m getting a cookie!” They hear him yell excitedly. Multiple groans ensue from the distance.

“Was that wise?” Anna monotones. “You know he should not be given sugar. He’s going to be insufferable now.”

Regulus pinches his face again. “I’ll handle him…somehow.” His hand circles the air like the answer resided somewhere in it.

Anna pushes up her glasses but says nothing else on the topic.

“These are all the results I found,” She tells Regulus, showing him whatever is on her tablet. He contemplates the screen as she scrolls.

“Yeah it doesn’t seem like it’s any of these people.” The cool persona is back. It’s like the person who just laughed seconds ago never existed. Regulus reaches over and starts tapping something. “Get me everything you can find about this person- last known whereabouts, workplaces, addresses, family…”

She nods, critically analysing the device in her hands. Sirius is looking at it as well, and James can almost see the wheels turning in directions he’s not sure they’re supposed to. He takes a breath a moment before Sirius opens his mouth. Regulus has been very evasive so far — either Padfoot finally gets an answer that satisfies him, or Regulus eventually snaps from all the questions and he gets killed by his possible Death Eater of a brother in a secret hideout where no one can find them or know that they’re dead.

“Can that thing just find anyone?”

James looks at Sirius in confusion, wondering where he’s going with this.

Regulus looks at him as well. “Yes, more or less.”

“Can you use it to find Remus?”

Oh, no, James thinks frantically.

“Lupin?” Regulus reaches out to take the tablet, raising an eyebrow. “Is he missing?”

Sirius squares his shoulders. “Yes,” he flat-out states.

James is aghast. “Padfoot!”

Sirius rounds on him. “Well, he is!”

Regulus looks like he honestly doesn’t even want to know. Still, as he’s typing he asks, “Did you two have some kind of lover’s spat?”

Sirius’ head snaps back to him so fast James almost hears it crack.

“How did you know about me and Moony?” The suspicion is back, times a million now. “Have you been stalking me?”

Regulus stares. “What?”

Sirius really is the king of jumping to conclusions like it’s an Olympic sport, he thinks. It’s not like he’s been overly concerned with his brother’s life beyond knowing whether he’s alive and healthy and happy and whatnot. With knowledge of the latter did come with finding out that he had moved in with Lupin (and his new address), but it’s not like Regulus personally performed any kind of follow-up on that information. So really, what stalking?

He blinks at Sirius for a few moments, letting his open confusion show. “I wasn’t aware you two were hiding your relationship,” he admits.

It’s Sirius’ turn to blink and say, “What?”

Regulus hands the tablet back to Anna, letting her resume his search. Facing Sirius, he says, “Remember when you came home from Hogwarts that first time, and you were telling me about all of your friends, and you specifically described Lupin as ‘rather handsome’, and I was like, ‘Oh.’ Then, when I got to Hogwarts, I noticed that you acted more tactile and annoying around him than you did with anyone else.” He shrugs. “It just seemed obvious to me that you had a thing for him, and he obviously cared about you as well.”

Sirius looks dumbstruck by the revelation. Even James is a bit blown away — he’d only noticed that Sirius and Remus liked each other in that way when Peter suggested that maybe they should leave the dorm for the two of them to be alone sometime in their sixth year. This was a year after The Prank, and James had been so damn delighted at the thought of his two best friends finally mending their friendship that he’d blurted out how he hoped their talk had brought them closer when he saw them later at dinner. Sirius had gone bright red as a tomato while Remus attempted to become one with his soup. It belatedly occurred to him once he saw the hickey at the edge of Moony’s jumper that his friends must have gotten much closer than he’d thought.

It was dangerous in these times for two men to be in love and have anyone except their closest friends and family know about it. But from what Regulus is explaining, he must’ve known even before Sirius did. What he says next only confirms it.

Regulus notices the expression on Sirius’ face and gives him a look of pity. “Let me guess, you didn’t realise you even had feelings for him until you were, what — fifteen, sixteen?”

James winces in second-hand embarrassment. Sirius was the drama king of being bad at feelings — James can already picture the gay panic and near suicidal terror that gripped his best friend once he found out he had feelings for the friend whose life he’d nearly destroyed.

Sirius flinches as though recalling it as well, then instinctively glares. “Quit talking about me and Moony already!” He yells defensively.

Ris shifts closer to Regulus at that, eyes narrowing on Sirius like she thinks he might bite. Regulus, however, peacefully raises his hands in surrender.

“Alright, alright,” he concedes easily.

Anna taps his arm and shows him the tablet. Regulus frowns.

“What? What is it?” Sirius demands, instantly alerted. “Is Moony in danger?”

Regulus hums, scrutinising whatever he’s seeing. “About…65 percent likely, yeah. What on earth is he doing there?”

“WHERE THE BLOODY HELL IS HE? I knew it! I just knew he was in danger,” Sirius mutters, starting to pace. He looks like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin from the stress of it all.

“Pads,” James whispers, reaching for him. Sirius lets him grab hold of one of his hands and squeeze, halting his frantic movements. Everything’s going to be okay, he tries to wordlessly convey. He feels gratified when Sirius returns it, the pressure of his grip digging into James’ very bones.

Sirius whirls on Regulus. “Where?”

Regulus studies him for a moment, his gaze flickering momentarily to their interlocked hands.

“I’ll drive you there.”

Sirius’ sneer is back. “I don’t want you tagging along, Reggie,” he spits. James squeezes his hand a little tighter.

Regulus’ expression is as placid as still water. “Well I don’t want you pissing off my contact by accident. I take you there or you don’t go at all. Your choice.”

Their stare-off is cut off by Ris curtly announcing, “I’ll get the keys.”

Regulus’ face softens as he turns to her. “Thank you.”

She nods sharply and marches out of the room without a word to anyone else, her shoulder bumping into Sirius’ as she passes. Sirius glares after her departing form.

“Pads,” James pulls him into a corner, his tone dropped low in a whisper. “Are we really going to do this?”

“Well, you heard the prick.” Sirius doesn’t even attempt to lower his voice. “He comes along or we can’t find Moony.”

“Not that, I mean,” James lets out a short exhale, running a hand through his curly hair, “Wherever Moony is, he’s there for a reason, right? What if we’re messing up whatever it is he’s trying to do?”

“He’s in danger, Prongs!”

“But what if we’re putting him in more danger by just showing up out of the blue?”

Sirius throws his arms up. “Then we’ll just get him out of ‘more danger’!”

They hear a snort and turn to find Ris standing at the doorway and twirling a pair of keys around her finger, a humoured smirk on her face as she watches them.

Regulus reaches for Anna’s tablet. “Can I take this?”

She nods. “I’ll just use the other one. Send a message if anything comes up.”

“Of course.” Regulus walks over to Ris and loops an arm around her shoulder again. “Car’s this way,” he casually calls out, already stalking out of the room.

Sirius and James face each other to have a silent conversation.

Are you with me? His grey eyes inquire.

Always. James’ expression turns mildly exasperated. Do you even have to ask?

Sirius chuffs, but his shoulders relax as he and James head for the door at the same time. They follow Regulus and Ris down another long corridor, this time making their way skywards once they reach halfway along their path. Baby Black unlocks a heavy metal door in front of them and they walk past it and into a garage filled with different models of cars, all in tip-top shape.

Sirius whistles, eyeing up some models. Especially the sleek ones that look like they can go fast.

“You own all of these wheels?”

He sounds awestruck. Even James has to admit it’s a bloody wicked collection. He’d love to get behind the wheel of some of them as well, though he knows if there’s ever even a chance Sirius would be hogging them all. Padfoot loves nothing more than going fast at times.

“Obviously,” Regulus replies, not even giving the cars a second glance. He glides over to where Ris is unlocking a black Ford motor and pops the driver’s door open for her before crossing over to the passenger’s side and getting in. Sirius ducks into the seat directly behind him.

James heads to his other side, hesitating with his hand on the handle. His worry for Moony has been eating him up inside, but he’s been pushing his feelings down since he needed to be strong for Sirius. Right now, he just needs a single moment to take a breath.

Ris narrows her eyes at him from where she’s standing and waiting.

“Get in, loser,” she commands, her black eyes boring into him with a flinty stare. James exhales, sending up a prayer as he does so to whoever might be listening.

He gets in.

The engine quietly starts, the wheels not making too much noise as they back out of the garage, up a descending ramp and onto the road. It’s so pitch black outside they can’t see more than a few metres in front of them even with the headlights.

Sirius starts getting jittery the longer the ride progresses. James takes his hand and he squeezes back, but it’s clear he desperately needs a distraction from his racing mind.

Before James can think of a topic to bring up, Sirius speaks.

“Are you sure you’re not just taking us somewhere to kill us off?” He asks, eyes narrowed on the back of Regulus’ seat.

Not this again! James despairs. Baby Black has been completely harmless so far, not rising to any of Sirius’ taunts and remaining patient in the face of his demands, but James does not want to be in an enclosed space with him if he snaps and decides he’d like to end Padfoot’s life after all.

There’s not enough space to fight off a known Death Eater in a moving vehicle! Black isn’t even supposed to be alive, who knows what he’s capable of?

“Ah, yes, this is all part of my grand masterplan,” Regulus states absently, his eyes fixed on his tablet. “You two show up unannounced and unexpected, and after all these years I decide I simply must kill you, right here and now, in the most obvious way I possibly can without any guarantee that it won’t be traced back to me.” James sees him wrinkle his nose from his reflection in the window, as though in contempt of the very idea.

Sirius is still sceptical. “Would that even be enough to deter you?”

Regulus finally looks up, meeting his gaze in the rear view mirror. “You tell me. If I wanted you dead, why are you still breathing?”

Their stare holds for a few long seconds. James is beginning to believe that Sirius just wants Regulus to look at him — trying to piss him off and annoy him enough to hold his attention. Maybe he needs the constant assurance of the weight of his brother’s gaze to really begin to believe that his brother is alive and here, some deeply buried sentiment he won’t even admit to himself. Or maybe he‘s still trying to determine whether Regulus is an imposter.

James gives his hand another squeeze. I’m here, he channels silently. Padfoot squeezes back and subsides.

Regulus’ stare cuts away from Sirius. “Turn here,” he gently instructs.

Ris swerves the car off the road, and they can hear the soft crunch of gravel as they start to head into a thicket of trees. She masterfully manoeuvres around them before coming to a slow stop, the crunch of leaves echoing amidst the silence.

She shuts off the engine, and from the window they can spot what looks like a campfire burning in the distance.

Sirius’ gaze locks onto it. “Is that where he is?” Without waiting, he takes off his seatbelt and opens the door. James scrambles to follow.

“What’s the plan?” He hears Ris ask as he manages to unclasp his seatbelt.

“There’s no plan alive that can survive Sirius when he’s like this,” Regulus calmly remarks, his own seatbelt smoothly returning to its spot. “We’re here for one thing only, and that’s damage control.”

Well, he’s not wrong, James thinks, getting his feet out of the door to chase after Sirius.

Regulus watches them go, then turns to Ris who’s still waiting on him.

He smiles. “Have my back?”

“Always, Starboy,” She replies simply.

He grins wider, and together they open their doors and step outside.

Notes:

Hope you enjoyed this chapter!

The next chapter will be up next Friday! I also post this story on my Medium blog, so if you would like to read ahead you can visit my publication Hood Up or just click here

This story has soundtracks! For a cohesive Apple Music playlist, click here

For an unhinged and lengthy Spotify playlist, click here

This story also has original artwork! I should be uploading the first character design next week. Stay tuned!

Thank you so much for checking out my work, it means a lot. Have a great day, remember that you matter, and be kind to yourself ❤️

Chapter 5: It Was Like Slow Motion

Summary:

She slowly lifted her dirt-filled face up to the dealer’s, dark gaze burning with hellfires, then bared her entire set of teeth and hissed. One of her canines extended much farther than the other and was very pointy.

Regulus’ world stopped. The feeling was reminiscent of the day Sirius left — he knew it in his bones that something important was about to happen.

Notes:

New character introduction...or is it? 😉

Just an FYI, everyone has issues in this story. Except maybe James, he's a bean.

(TW: Dehumanisation, mental and emotional child abuse, mentions of trauma, slave trade and captivity)

5.

— —  — — — — — — 5 years ago — — — — — — — —

“Well met. You’ve arrived exactly on time, Heir Black. Shall we start the tour?”

Regulus nodded and began to follow the certainly very dodgy man around the dimly-lit, sterile and not at all suspicious warehouse. The man droned on while Regulus tried to keep an ear, but it was astronomically difficult for him to do so.

There was this loud screaming going on in his head.

A near fragment of his personality still existed up there. He’d had to bury so much of himself with his handlers- and now with being around Death Eaters so often, he’d confined all the parts of himself that he wished to preserve in a mental cage and it just screamed its head off 24/7.

It was very distracting.

He tried counting the number of windows and exits he spotted as they passed in an attempt to ground himself in the present.

“…the spaces have enough room and natural light to support uninterrupted life, and the metal we use for the bars is of the top-most quality you can’t just purchase anywhere. It’s very reinforced so there wouldn’t be any unpleasant accidents happening…”

The demonic creature speaking to him and currently showing him around was a human trafficking dealer, who was trying his best to present his services in the best possible light to Regulus so he would put in a good word for him with the Dark Lord.

Because the Dark Lord that his handlers offered him up to serve, amongst advocating for the torture, enslavement and eradication of all lower class citizens, also believed in putting a price on their lives and exchanging them for money like pieces of meat at a market.

Regulus couldn’t figure out how his life could ever get worse than it was at that moment. He knew, realistically, it could, but it was hard to think of any scenarios right then.

Just standing close to this demon wearing human skin was making his inner self scream LOUDER. He wanted to take a bleach bath, but instead he had to hum and nod and say agreeable things at the right time.

“…and here we have our only current occupancy…”

Regulus completely phases back into himself. What?

He slowly twists towards the bars of the cage they just stopped at.

“We got it in a very profitable batch, but there’s always going to be a few bad eggs now and then,” the dealer was saying. Regulus squinted his eyes, trying to see into the darkness of the cell if there was actually somebody alive there.

“That’s the only one that never made us a profit, but not for lack of trying. It refuses to be domesticated…”

Something shifted in the shadows of the cage. The displacement was so slight, he’d have sworn they were a part of the bars until they moved.

The dealer also spotted the motion. “Oh, is it waking up now?”

He stepped up to the cage and harshly banged a fist against the bars.

They shot right up. ‘It’, as the demonic creature so affectionately termed, was a small and frail slip of a…girl? She was so entirely covered in dust and grime that her complexion blended in with the black, raggedy clothes she was wearing.

She slowly lifted her dirt-filled face up to the dealer’s, dark gaze burning with hellfires, then bared her entire set of teeth and hissed. One of her canines extended much farther than the other and was very pointy.

Regulus’ world stopped. The feeling was reminiscent of the day Sirius left — he knew it in his bones that something important was about to happen.

The dealer, however, was unimpressed. He slammed another fist at the bars but she refused to be spooked, her eyes damning him to all seven circles of hell.

Which was more than fair.

He scoffed in disdain and turned back to Regulus. “This isn’t indicative of our usual stock. We’re usually better able to manage them, but for some reason this thing just refuses to be tamed. It’s a biter, as well, and I- well, I’m ashamed to say I’ve lost some good, hardworking men to it. It’s been an ongoing problem for five years, but not to worry, we’re working on an adequate solution that should be implemented soon.”

Five years? Regulus thought to himself hysterically.

Her narrowed eyes strayed towards Regulus as the dealer kept talking, and his attention was also more focused on her, thus he saw the exact moment when her eyes widened.

“Brother…” The word came out in a broken whisper as though she didn’t use her voice a lot.

Regulus blinked. Um, what?

He surreptitiously glanced behind him to see who she was referring to, and turned back to meet her entreating gaze directed at him.

“Brother, don’t leave me.” A severely thin hand stretched between the bars towards him.

The dealer noticed her pleading towards Regulus. “Ignore whatever it says. It’s not fully there in the head anymore.” He sighed. “A huge disappointment of what was once a promising asset. Let’s move along now.”

He strode forward and Regulus automatically followed him.

“Over here is where we will keep the new shipments when we receive a new stock…”

Curiously, the screaming in Regulus’ mind had finally stopped.

“Just how reinforced are these bars exactly?” It was the first question he’d asked all day.

The dealer blinked as though he wasn’t expecting Regulus to actively engage with the tour. He had been humming and hawing all along, he supposed.

“They’re impermeable, I assure you.”

Regulus tilted his head to the side. “You say that, but I can’t just take your word for it. Dealing for the Dark Lord is serious business, after all.”

He stroked his chin. “How about you demonstrate for me?”

The dealer floundered for a moment, then stepped up to the bars of the nearest cell as they turned a corner. He grabbed them with his hands and yanked. “Like this?”

Regulus gave a put-out sigh. “That shows me nothing. Get inside,” he ordered imperiously.

The dealer blanched for a second, then nodded.

Once in the space that wasn’t even enough room to hold a small dog, much less a human being, Regulus shut the doors.

“Do you have the keys on you?”

The dealer nodded. Regulus quietly stretched a hand out towards him. He obediently passed them over.

Regulus slid the lock shut, then nodded in satisfaction. “Now, attempt to break out of this space.”

Internally, he was sporting a wide sadistic smile at seeing the richly-attired creature, who dismissively called other human beings ‘it’, try to escape the same cage he’d put them in to no avail.

Outwardly, he showed no reaction at all.

The dealer finally stopped kicking and rocking against the bars (which actually didn’t move an inch the entire time) and panted lightly.

“See?” He composed himself, spreading his palms out. “They’re the best type money can buy.”

Regulus hummed noncommittally, stroking his chin again. “I’m still not sure if it would be the best decision to do business with you.”

“Why not?” The dealer whined almost imperceptibly. Does he perhaps have slight claustrophobia? Regulus pondered, watching him slightly fidget inside the cage. Interesting line of work he decided on, if that was the case.

“There are no problems with your capacity or your equipment, it’s the handling of your occupants that…discourages me. The state of that one- completely atrocious. The Dark Lord values pristine hygiene. I can’t in good conscience recommend you to him.”

Or to anyone, really.

The dealer gulped, tugging at his fingers. “I told you, that wasn’t indicative of our usual batches!”

“Never raise your voice when you speak to me,” Regulus coldly replied.

His mouth closed with a snap, complexion turning pale again.

“You say that’s not your usual, but I have no contrary evidence to measure against. It makes me wonder whether you don’t actually know what you’re doing.”

The dealer gasped and exhaled it lightly. “I promise, we’re very capable of taking care of our occupants.”

Regulus folded his fingers, running a finger over the obsidian Heir ring glinting on his ring finger. “Prove it.”

Taking a step closer to the bars, he visibly pocketed the keys. “You are going to stay in there for a bit, and I want to see how ‘hygienic’ and ‘taken care of’ you are when I come back. If you don’t,” he added when the dealer looked like he was about to protest, “we won’t have a deal, and I’ll tell Lord Voldemort not to even waste his time on you. He might even be angry at you for wasting my time when I could have been doing something else to serve him.”

The dealer squeezed his eyes shut, then nodded. “When will you come back then? Later today?” He asked hopefully.

“Today’s Thursday, isn’t it?” Regulus thought for a moment, then spun on his heel and started walking away.

“I’ll see you in a week,” he called over his shoulder, disregarding whatever might have been said in response.

She was right where he had left her, clutching the bars of the cage with a white-knuckled grip, her head downcast.

She perked back up again when she heard the sound of the lock start to clink.

Regulus had the key set he’d gotten from the dealer, but it would’ve taken him too long to filter through all of them for the right one. He instead made use of his pair of lock picks he hadn’t ever parted with since the age of ten.

Grimmauld Place was certainly a place for learning new skills.

Regulus inwardly huffed at how easy the lock was to open, after all that big talk from that devil in disguise. He opened the cage, wondering whether he should just leave the dodgy prick in his own cell and never come back when she barrelled into him.

Regulus blinked, surprised at the amount of force coming from such a tiny person. Also because he cannot remember the last time he was hugged, or even touched by another person without an intent to harm. For a long time, his existence consisted only of pain and even more pain. He blinked a lot more rapidly, trying to avoid embarrassingly bursting into tears and crying all over this random girl.

Though that might also be because of the…stench…coming off of her. Good thing too that he mostly wore black clothing, else his clothes would be visibly smudged right then.

He placed a gentle hand on top of her head. “Hey,” he whispered kindly. “You’re free now.”

She gripped him tighter, her face buried into his chest and her petite frame slightly shuddering. He wrapped his arms around her and gingerly moved them to a corner, out of sight and close to one of the exits he’d counted earlier.

He finally let his shoulders relax and stroked her hair lightly.

“I don’t have any food on me, I’m sorry.” He didn’t know why he apologised — it wasn’t like he was planning to run into somebody more bone than human today.

She shook her head, then raised her face up from where she’d planted in his torso. She really was so small and underfed. It made him so angry, he felt like marching back to the dealer right then and beating him black and blue till he really couldn’t breathe.

Her previously burning eyes fixated on him and she looked wonderstruck, eyes roaming and memorising his features like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

“Hey,” he tried for a reassuring smile, “The exit’s right here, alright? It’s unlocked.” He cradled her shoulders, trying to bring himself eye-level with her.

“You need to get out of here, alright? Just run, and hide, and never let anyone catch you, no matter what you need to do.”

Her gaze softened further in a kind of hopeless sadness. “You’re leaving me?”

“That’s not- That’s not it at all!” He shook his head, wanting to explain clearly and not upset her further. “You need to leave. I can’t bring you where I’m going, it’s too dangerous.”

Regulus would’ve pushed the issue if she had disregarded his warning. He would have guided her to the exit, opened the door, then nudged and encouraged her until she’d heeded his words and run.

But he was facing her fully, intently watching her expressions, and he saw the exact moment she considered his warning, turned it fully over in her mind, and then just…didn’t care.

“I want to come with you, brother,” she said more firmly, gripping tighter onto his clothes like she would dangle from him like a monkey if he even tried to leave without her.

Regulus blinked at her slowly. To choose between certain danger instead of only potential harm, even after the life she’s led here?

That’s…really sad. He wondered to himself what would drive someone to make that kind of choice.

Regulus could tell that she was looking at him and seeing another image superimposed — someone else she used to call ‘Brother’. But he couldn’t help the way the word tugged at his heartstrings, looking at this lonely little girl who reminded him of…himself.

Besides, it wasn’t like he was unused to not being seen as himself. He couldn’t exactly tell her to piss off anyways.

He knew he was just rationalising what he was about to do — there should be no excuse for even thinking of bringing her along to somewhere as evil as Grimmauld Place…

But one look at her imploring eyes and all logic flew out of the window. Right then and there, Regulus did something very stupid.

He tightened his hold on her right back.

 

“Mother, Father,” he said later, bringing her into the parlour where Walburga and Orion were lounging, “I picked this up from the assignment designated to me by the Dark Lord.”

His Heir mask was on, cool cadence and rhythmic articulation to his tone with no emotion to be found.

She was huddled into herself beside him, looking very out of place in the sterile splendour of Grimmauld Place. Walburga and Orion looked down their noses at her in disgusted sneers.

Out of sight, he ran a reassuring finger down her arm, but only glanced at her outwardly with the most dismissive gaze he could manage.

“She was a very sought after commodity in the place she was kept. I’ve found her to be a treasure trove of rare and obscure information on human trafficking dealers and customers, which I’m sure when I offer to the Dark Lord he will definitely advance me in his ranks and give me a favoured position at his side. I could also use a spotter for my duelling training,” he added like an afterthought.

“She’ll be useful,” he assured them.

He lightly stroked her arm in another concealed movement. She tightened her fists as she kept her eyes focused on the fancy carpet.

I’ll be useful, she promised herself then.

Walburga sniffed, turning back to her drink. “It will be your responsibility to look after that thing, boy. She’ll be your problem, as you deserve for bringing it here.”

Orion flicked his paper up, making the pages flutter. “Get it out of my sight and go make it look less…ghastly. Kreacher, I want the carpet it’s stood on washed three times by tonight,” he remarked disinterestedly.

Regulus had a sudden intrusive thought of placing Walburga and Orion together with the human trafficking dealer behind bars. He erased it from his mind as fast as it came.

“Yes Mother, Father.” He dipped his head in deference, then jerked his head for her to follow as he headed up the stairs. She crept beside him on silent feet.

“Sorry about them,” he told her immediately when his bedroom door closed behind them. “They’re awful.”

She shrugged. It obviously wasn’t the first time she was spoken about like that, and unfortunately, it wouldn’t be the last.

Regulus pursed his lips, then scanned the contents of his room. “Come sit over here,” he beckoned, pulling out the chair by his bedside table. She meekly sat, her bare feet not even touching the floor.

“We’re going to have to get you some new clothes to wear, but for now I’ll give you some of my old things that might fit you.”

He’d started shooting up in height now that the dicktators somewhat prioritised his health, with him being the only Heir. Butler Kreacher was now allowed to bring up multiple food trays for him in a day.

He was still getting used to it. He’d never imagined a day would come when he would be tall.

She shifted on her seat, eyes tracking him as he crossed his room and opened a door in the corner.

“This is the washroom,” he explained. “I’m just going to prepare a bath and grab some flannels, alright?”

She nodded her head after a moment. He smiled reassuringly and stepped in, leaving the door open. He quickly turned on the taps in the tub, mixing in some oils and bath salts, then filled a basin with water at the sink and wet a couple of face cloths before returning to the room.

Her eyes were still trained on the door, and she relaxed back into the seat when she saw him emerge. He walked over and knelt on the floor right beside her.

He held up one of the flannels. “May I?”

She gave another nod. As tenderly as he could, he began to scrub off all the grime from her exposed arms and legs. It took quite a long time for someone with such short limbs. Regulus couldn’t help but wonder when was the last time they took her out to bathe. Probably before she started biting them, he thought, humoured despite himself.

Still, she must be dying for a proper bath. He started working quicker so she could do that as soon as possible. He dumped the previous flannel into the basin and picked up the cleanest one he could manage. After wringing it out, he raised it gingerly to her face and resumed scrubbing with care. She squeezed her eyes shut so he could get at the areas around her eyes and temple.

He ran the cloth a few times over her hair before finally pulling away. In the bright lighting of his room, he takes in her unblemished face for the first time.

Regulus blinks. “Oh,” he remarks softly, taking in her snowy white eyelashes and brows that practically paled in comparison to her alabaster-hued skin. She had small, delicate features- a rosebud mouth, lightly arched brows, a tiny pointed thing of a nose that made her look regal, and slender, upturned, cat-like eyes.

He didn’t think he would be surprised if he found she had royal blood somewhere in her lineage. But as he looked closer, he noted a dark violet tint to what would have otherwise been completely black irises, and things suddenly made a different sort of sense.

Regulus still remembered how he was believed to be a squib when he was younger because of how his looks differed from the rest of his family. Squibs were scions and offsprings, mostly noted in the Sacred Twenty Eight noble Houses, who shared completely different features from the current members of the family and their ancestors. This was mostly due to unique genetic mutations, and in some cases, suspected infidelity.

It was an undesirable reputation for a House to have, in both cases. Squibs were usually done away with, either hidden away or killed off, and were never spoken of again — as though they had never even been born in the first place.

Before her, Regulus would have said Pandora had the lightest-coloured hair he’d ever seen. But hers was platinum blonde and a trait passed down from her family, same with the Malfoys. The little biter’s hair, on the other hand, didn’t seem to even hold a single pigment of colour.

Maybe her biting anyone who came near and her thoroughly soot-stained appearance was deliberate. Good instincts, hiding her striking features underneath all that grime.

She started shifting again in her seat, uneasy with his continued scrutiny.

He was quick to reassure her. “No one’s going to do anything like that to you here. I’ll make sure of it.”

His foray into hiding his own features had taught him a lot of things, including how to make hair dye. It would be a quick and easy fix; Regulus didn’t want to find out what Walburga and Orion thought of squibs otherwise.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” he repeated. “I think the bath’s ready now.”

He stood and gently led her into the washroom. “Here’s a towel and some clothes you can change into,” he said, setting those down near the tub. He reached over and switched off the taps.

“You can pull that,” he pointed at the metal inside the bowl, “and drain the water as much as you want. Don’t drown. I’ll just go downstairs for a bit and get some food and things for when you’re done, alright?”

He waited for a nod before stepping out and leaving his room completely, slinking down the steps towards the kitchen. It was second nature for him to creep everywhere as silently as he could, as though he was an intruder in his own house.

He opened the cupboards and grabbed some henna and a bottle of vinegar, before reaching over for the coffee. Orion only drank it rarely, so he wouldn’t notice if a bit of it was missing. He also grabbed a few cups and spoons, then pilfered through the fridge and pantry stock for varied portions of food that wouldn’t upset her stomach to eat.

He put everything on a tray then turned around to find her standing right behind him.

Regulus thanked the stars that he’d learned the art of being silent long ago, else he would have jumped out of his skin.

She, however, was just too small to make any noise at all.

Separation anxiety, or just touch-starved? He wondered, tilting his head to scrutinise her. She’d clearly finished washing, bundled in his old clothes and her snowy-white hair falling in wet strands around her shoulders.

Regulus shifted his tray onto one hand and held out his free hand to her. She grabbed it unhesitantly.

He looked around the corner before sneaking her back up to his room. He placed the tray on the table in front of her once she was reseated. “Help yourself to whatever you’d like to eat from there. Try not to eat too fast or too much, you’d make yourself sick,” he advised. “While you do that, I’ll be putting this on your hair to dye it darker.” He held up the cup containing the coffee and henna mixture for her to inspect.

She scrutinised the contents carefully, then nodded.

“Your eyes should be fine though,” he told her. “I mean,” he swiped most of his hair from his face, allowing her to peer unobstructedly into his own strange eyes.

She gaped at him, an expression of childlike appreciative amazement on her face. It made Regulus feel slightly embarrassed. He released his hold, letting his hair fall back again.

“Just don’t look at them directly too much, and you’ll be fine.” He quickly grabbed a comb and a brush from his drawer then got to work. She munched on an apple, making quick work of it in a few bites while he sat behind her and gently tugged the tangles out of her hair then carefully added the dye, watching coffee black seep into her ivory locks.

He remembered a crucial piece of information he was missing then and nearly smacked himself.

“What’s your name anyways?” He asked casually. Smooth, Regulus. Really smooth.

“Lydia,” she mumbled around the bread in her mouth. It was the first word she’d spoken since coming to Grimmauld Place.

Regulus glanced at her surreptitiously. She couldn’t still believe that he was her brother, could she? He didn’t even know her name! Yet, here she was, still letting him keep combing out her hair, her shoulders fully relaxed.

Maybe she thought he simply didn’t remember her after however long they’d been separated, or that he’s been bought into this family and was keeping up an act of sorts, or a number of different things.

Maybe she just didn’t want to admit to herself that she went home with a literal stranger.

Self-delusion could be a powerful thing. He wouldn’t forcefully take that away from her if it brought her comfort.

At least, not right then. She would need all of her wits about her to survive Walburga and Orion if she stayed here.

Speaking of…

“If you ever decide that you want to leave, just tell me and I’ll help you, alright?”

Regulus was determined not to have another Sirius situation on his hands. He still couldn’t help but wonder sometimes just how different his life could have been if he’d told Sirius that he would help him run away instead of just waiting for him to be ready.

He swallowed the lump of hurt the thought caused in his throat. He’d gotten very good at not breaking down every day, he couldn’t relapse now.

Lydia stopped chewing and was quiet for a long time. “I will let you know if I ever feel that way,” she told him eventually, her tone curt.

Regulus convinced himself to feel nothing but relief that he’d gotten that off his chest, and that she’d listened to him. He finished the rest of her hair in silence, letting her eat uninterrupted.

In the weeks and months that followed, Regulus would ask himself several times why she never took him up on his offer.

Notes:

For those who didn’t fully catch it, Lydia has albinism. In this world, people like her are called ‘squibs’, whether or not they are from Pureblood or Commoner/Muggle descent.

_

Hope you enjoyed this chapter!

The next chapter will be up next Friday! I also post this story on my Medium blog, so if you would like to read ahead you can visit my publication Hood Up or just click here

This story has soundtracks! For a cohesive Apple Music playlist, click here

For an unhinged and lengthy Spotify playlist, click here

This story also has original artwork! I should be uploading the first character design in a few days, sorry for the delay. Stay tuned!

Thank you so much for checking out my work, it means a lot. Have a great day, remember that you matter, and stan Stray Kids for clear skin ❤️

Chapter 6: Please Leave Me Stranded

Summary:

Remus stared at him neutrally.

“I don’t see the problem,” he calmly told him, flexing and unflexing his bloodstained hands. He’d smiled then, copper red flecks falling from his lips with the motion.

“It was weak, and I was strong.” In his mind, it was a perfectly reasonable explanation.

Notes:

Since this is a Harry Potter fanfiction adapted to a modern setting, I needed to give Remus a non-magical affliction that still mirrored his lycanthropy and all the baggage that comes with it in canon. The things I've written in this chapter here should not be taken as an accurate depiction of real world mental health issues. Read at your own risk!

(TW: Violence towards humans and animals, physical and emotional child abuse, mentions of trauma and captivity, suicidal ideation, prejudicial attitudes towards those with mental illnesses, possibly unrealistic and inaccurate depictions of bipolar disorder)

6.

— — — — — —— —  Present day — — — — — — — —

Remus isn’t unfamiliar with the wild.

That stopped being an option when his earliest and most salient childhood memory single-handedly warped him from a relatively normal human being, into one who repeatedly preferred discarding all veneers of civility to frolic through the woods as though he were one with it.

They say “music hath charms to soothe the savage beast”. However, the cure isn’t that simple for Remus.

Matter of fact, there isn’t one.

He was only four years old when his father, Lyall Lupin, a distinguished Ministry official, decided to very publicly share his views on how all mentally afflicted people should not, in actuality, be institutionalised — rather, they should be euthanized because they obviously contributed nothing to society and thus should be put down instead of taking away hard-working taxpayer’s money to care for them.

It was a rather inflammatory remark, and predictably, public reception was equally as chaotic.

Voices rose up in assent, dissent, protest and consent. Many approved, the ‘hard-working taxpayers’ in question who suddenly claimed that their families were starving because all their money was going towards ‘those loonies’. Equally as many disapproved, those who didn’t mind putting forward a chunk of their money towards helping out ‘those poor dears’. A portion of the population didn’t even care — those who never had any concerns about money and never will.

However, some people didn’t just restrict their displeasure over Lyall’s remarks to mere spoken opposition; it was truly unfortunate that the people most affected by his words were the mentally afflicted themselves.

In another series of unfortunate events, Remus himself ended up becoming the target for one Fenrir Greyback, who swifty broke out of the institution he’d been holed up in, for years by then, solely to get revenge on Lyall by attacking his almost five-year-old son.

That night, Remus felt the worst pain he could ever have imagined in his life. He still has no problem recalling it whenever he tries- remembers how Greyback didn’t even need a weapon, how he used gnarled nails and teeth to rip and tear Remus’ fragile form apart. Remembers how he’d felt the ghost of Greyback’s fingers on his intestines — can still feel them sometimes. Remembers how he’d wailed and screamed his little heart out while Greyback loomed over him, hair matted and vicious eyes burning with madness and glee at Remus’ misery.

His father returned home early enough to save him from bleeding out all over the kitchen floor, but the damage was already done. Remus had to be hospitalised for months afterwards, but that was the easy part — it wasn’t only his body that was heavily scarred. He was nearly catatonic all throughout his hospital stay, and even more so when he was finally discharged. His parents had to buy another house and move all the way to Wales just to get him away from the scene of the crime. When that only minimally helped, they rang up every doctor in the area, unabashedly begging them to come take a look at Remus and find out why he wouldn’t talk anymore and fix him already.

Truthfully, Remus doesn’t remember much of this time. In his mind, he was in a two year long haze, detached from everyone and everything, only barely aware of his surroundings and its inhabitants. Coming out of it was like waking up one day and suddenly being seven years old, while his mother and father looked like they’d aged a decade in the same period.

If he thought things couldn’t get any worse after that, he could never have been more wrong in his life.

At first, there was obvious delight from his parents when he seemingly bounced back on his own, filled to the brim with energy and so high-spirited it was as though the attack had never even happened. Hope and Lyall were so grateful that they had gotten their son back. They believed their prayers had been answered, that Remus had both recovered from ‘The Incident’ and had even gone so far as to have even forgotten about it completely.

“Children’s minds are like holes,” everyone from the neighbours to their milkman reassured them. “Stuff leaks through and leaks out of it all the time. That’s the beauty of it- they won’t remember most of this when they’re older.”

They were all so, so wrong it wasn’t even funny.

Remus had not forgotten about his attack, not by a long shot. What was really happening was that while everyone else saw this hyperactive, boisterous boy, in his mind he was replaying the event over and over again like an abused motion picture reel, getting more and more fascinated by the memory.

Because it wasn’t Fenrir Greyback that was starring on the screens of his subconscious — it was Remus himself.

He was imagining himself crouched over something weaker than him, tearing apart his prey with only his bare hands while they whimpered helplessly against his strength. His thoughts made him feel invincible, untouchable, a god among men only limited to the mortal coil by the weak flesh that constrained him. But he refused to let that stop him — by his estimation, he was immortal and thus had no limits. In fact, the more he dwelled on them, the more incentivized he became to enact his fantasies (i.e. delusions).

I can take him, he thought to himself with apathetic resolve, and a second later he pounced on and proceeded to grapple with his neighbour’s pet cat.

His parents were first on the scene, attracted by the sound of the cat’s yowling and Remus’, well, growling. But unlike with Greyback, they were too late this time.

The cat quickly succumbed to its injuries, Remus standing over it covered in blood dripping down from his hands and mouth.

His mum fainted on the spot.

It was Lyall who covered up the cat and restrained Remus, carrying both him and his mother into the house with both arms before locking all the doors tight and the curtains shut. His mum was deposited on the couch with a blanket tenderly draped over her, while Remus was hauled roughly away to another room.

“What were you thinking?” His father hissed at him once they were out of hearing range, staring at Remus with an expression of incredulous desperation.

“How could you possibly have done this? Do you have any idea what you even look like right now, or what people would think of you if they saw what you did?”

Remus stared at him neutrally.

“I don’t see the problem,” he calmly told him, flexing and unflexing his bloodstained hands. He’d smiled then, copper red flecks falling from his lips with the motion.

“It was weak, and I was strong.” In his mind, it was a perfectly reasonable explanation.

Remus would never forget how Lyall looked at him after that, love morphing into open disgust.

“Then you’re twice cursed,” Lyall had spat at him, before bodily dragging him down to the basement and boarding up the door.

Remus thrashed in the room like the caged animal he believed he was, flinging his premature body against the door, embedding scratches into the wood with his short fingernails, and howling at the top of his lungs till his throat gave out.

For days it was just darkness, the only signs of life being his own animalistic growls. Lyall surfaced every once in a while to sling food at him, like one does to a caged lion at the circus. His mum never appeared, and he had no idea what she was told to stay away, or if she’d even been in the house at the time.

Only after a week did clarity start to return to him. To this day, Remus still can’t find it in himself to put into words the horror he felt when he saw the claw marks all over the door, and remembered what he’d done to the poor neighbour’s cat.

Lyall’s boots thudded ominously all the way down to the basement. He opened the door, not to throw food this time, and looked at Remus like he was no longer his son.

“What am I?” Remus had whimpered, his entire frame quivering.

He’d found no sympathy in Lyall’s eyes. Instead, the words his father spoke ripped out his heart and claws and left them bleeding out on the floor.

“A monster,” Lyall replied unhesitantly. “You are a danger to everyone up there, so for their sake you shall remain here.”

With that, he’d closed the door and left Remus back in the dark.

Hope apparently pleaded with Lyall for weeks so Remus could be let outside. But that didn’t matter to him — his life was over. He used to be a boy, now he was a beast. He used to be a son, now he was a foreigner in his own house and his own skin.

Hope tried to pretend nothing was wrong, but there was a new quiver to her smiles that was never there before. And of course, it was impossible to ignore the blaring shroud of animosity that emanated from Lyall whenever Remus was in the room.

Remus promptly returned to his previous state of catatonic apathy. Only this time, his parents let him.

For the next four years, Remus regularly seesawed between being god and being miserable. His immortality was chained down by adamantine wood and cuffs, fit for only the most dangerous deities. His misery was unenthusiastically checked with chicken soup offerings.

He spent most of his days — in either mood — wishing for death to finally end the cycle.

When Dumbledore knocked on his door one day and offered him a place at Hogwarts, he didn’t want to accept the offer. For the first time in years he mustered the courage to beg his parents for something: not to send him away. He was terrified that he’d end up hurting someone somehow.

Lyall was on board with shutting Remus away till the end of his days. His mother, however, objected and put her foot down. It was startling to see the tiny woman filled with such ferocity.

“Enough is enough,” she’d snarled at them, looking like an animal herself. She took in Remus fully and her face softened with love, still half of what he was used to, but enough of it that Remus suddenly wanted to bend over backwards in any way to please her and make her continue to love him.

“You cannot go on this way, annwyl. This is no kind of life to live.” She’d placed a hand against her chest.

“Seeing you like this is breaking my heart.”

Thus, Remus went to Hogwarts.

On the first day, he ended up sitting beside three other people on the Hogwarts Express, and by the time they reached the school they were all best friends. Suddenly, Remus had a lot more to lose, and it terrified him.

James, Peter and Sirius were the first friends he ever had. They all shared a dorm room too, so he couldn’t escape them.

And they couldn’t escape him.

He tried to present as normal of a front as he could, speaking politely all the time and returning questions with other questions whenever he had the chance. His soft spokenness ended up coming across as shyness, which he honestly had no issue with being seen as. James and Sirius were loud enough for the lot of them — he wanted to be able to slip away to Madame Pomphrey for the monthly treatments Dumbledore assured his parents he would be getting, free of charge, without being noticed.

He succeeded, for the most part. But even the best laid plans can go awry.

Despite every possible preparation Remus had put in check to prevent discovery, his untameable dark side could only rear its head and flip a switch in his personality every so often before it formed a pattern. Eventually his friends — who’d started calling themselves The Marauders as a group name — figured it out.

“Alright, Moony?” James asked him at breakfast one Monday morning that had started like any other, watching Remus from the corner of his eye as he fiddled with his fork, looking deeply contemplative.

The Marauders had started calling him Moony based on Sirius’ suggestion, who kept joking that Remus’ silent, broody nature and his way of ‘mooning about’ Hogwarts with his facial expression filled with the deepest melancholy made him akin to a ghost haunting the halls.

Which was…fair.

However, Remus didn’t care about Sirius right then. He also didn’t hear James’ question. All his focus was pinpointed on the fork he held. Remus had a slight allergic reaction to silver, and he was too busy wondering why such an inconsequential thing would dare cause a sting to a god like him-

Which was when James reached over and tapped him on the arm to get his attention.

His neck snapped towards James immediately, a glare already in place.

“Don’t touch me so casually,” he sneered, shoving off James’ hand. He didn’t notice Peter and Sirius’ side glances at the exchange — he’d immediately turned back to the silverware, thinking the matter settled.

His preoccupation with his cutlery continued well into dinner, where he was interrupted once again — this time by a messenger.

“Madam Pomfrey humbly requests your presence in the hospital wing tonight. She would very much appreciate it if you could come as soon as you’ve finished your dinner,” a nondescript first year student whispered to him.

Just as Remus was about to refuse, a bottle containing some brown substance was slipped to him.

“It’s chocolate. She promises there’s much more where that came from.”

This is an adequate payment for my esteemed presence, Moony thought to himself as he swallowed it down. I shall go see this ‘Madam Pomfrey’.

He stood from the Gryffindor table, and headed out of the Great Hall without telling any of his friends where he was going.

Madam Pomfrey was waiting with a kindly smile when he entered.

“Take this, please,” she gestured, handing him a cup. He threw back its contents without another thought and grimaced when he noted the taste of pills in the back of his throat.

He shot her a scowl but she cut him off before he could form one of the many insults staining the tip of his tongue.

“Tastes nasty, doesn’t it?” She tutted sympathetically. “Never mind that, dearie. Here, have some of that nice chocolate I promised.”

He grunted and chugged back his bottle, licking his lips at his favourite flavour. But before he could really savour it, he felt himself getting disoriented all of a sudden.

“Why don’t you lie down?” He heard Madam Pomfrey ask, her voice sounding murky as though travelling through sludge.

Then all of a sudden, everything went dark.

Moony awoke to find himself lying on a comfortable bed, his arms criss-crossed on his chest like a corpse. All of his surroundings were padded white, but he immediately refused to believe he’d crossed over to the afterlife.

After all, he was immortal. Gods can’t die!

But they can be contained, he noted with rage. Filled with fury, he shot up from the bed as best as he could with a straitjacket constraining his upper half.

“LET ME OUT!” He bellowed, taking a running leap to throw himself at the door. It didn’t budge — he stumbled instead from the impact, which sent him crashing down to the floor.

He writhed against his restraints, trying to pick himself back up to bang against the door. Alas, his efforts were futile. He contented himself instead with screaming himself hoarse at the top of his lungs.

“Moony?” He heard a voice from the other side of the door call out. He fell silent, eyes narrowing at his barricade, wondering who was there and if they were going to open up the place and enter.

His questions were answered in the next second when the door to the Shrieking Shack creaked open. It was Sirius and James and Peter, the people he was usually surrounded by.

“Oh,” James gasped softly, surveying the scene and his frame practically immobile on the floor. Sirius’ face took on a disturbed frown as he stared at Moony restrained. Peter gawked at him for only a second before glancing about in furtive gestures, as though nervous of being discovered — or of Moony himself.

He cared not one bit for any of their emotional distress. “What are you doing here?” He snarled at them.

James’ fingers fluttered about, as though wanting to touch Moony but unsure whether to get close.

“We… I…” He swallowed. Moony raised a disdainful eyebrow at James’ stuttering. At his expression, Prongs inhaled then forced himself to straighten to his full height.

“We’re your friends, Moony. We wanted you to know that we’re here for you, whatever it is you’re dealing with.” He glanced at Sirius and Peter for support, who both nodded unhesitantly.

“Also,” James continued, his voice stronger now, “We don’t think it’s right for you to be treated like this.”

Moony scoffed.

“I care not for your petty reasons or your silly mortal feelings. I demand you to release me at once!”

“Of course we’re going to let you go!” James’ feet finally stepped across the room, stopping right beside Moony. He crouched to face him so he wouldn’t be hovering.

“But before we do, you have to agree to follow our lead when we get you out,” he said sternly.

“No,” Moony deadpanned.

Instead of getting angry, James’ face softened. “Moony,” he murmured softly, reaching out to stroke his hair. For some reason, this didn’t spark his ire, so he let it happen.

James tenderly thumbed the scars marring his cheeks. “You know we’ll never do anything to hurt you, don’t you? Please let us help get you out of here. It’s so painful seeing you like this.”

How adorable to think you can hurt me, Moony mused, sardonically amused. But the feeling of Prongs’ hands stroking his face was…nice, so he stilled the words struggling to escape his throat.

Unbidden, his eyes trailed across the room and locked onto Sirius’. His dark obsidian gaze was already focused on Remus, and as their eyes held it felt as though Padfoot was seeing right into his soul, spotting the concerns and questions there that Moony hadn’t even known he had.

Yes, you can trust us, Sirius’ nod seemed to say.

“Fine,” Moony finally replied to James, eyes still fixed on Sirius’. “I will follow your lead — you have my word.”

He fully intended for it to be a facade of only pretending to be agreeable. Moony was ready to make a break for it the moment he was out of the Shack. Maybe he’d even overpower these idiots who thought they could bring him to heel — they’d certainly learn their lesson after the first fool got their throat ripped out by him. But surprisingly, he found himself cooperating.

That was probably due to his friends — idiots the whole lot of them — donning very realistic animal costumes and frolicking in the woods beside Moony when he began his quest for something to hunt. It was so freeing to be so fully accepted, he couldn’t even be afraid or regret his decision to trust them when he returned to his senses.

This became a tradition for the Marauders — whenever Moony was locked up for mental reasons, his white knight, saviour-complexed friends would bust him out of there while wearing Halloween-worthy gear.

Moony began to see them as fellow members of his pack, with himself being the alpha. The Marauders adopted animal personas to match the costumes that they wore (Prongs was a majestic stag and Wormtail was, well, a worm), and would engage in play fights with Moony — Sirius, especially, who dressed up as a big black dog fashioned after the myth of the Grim — whenever he was getting too close to some poor woodland creature.

Sirius…

Remus had known from the moment he’d met the noble on the train that he would love Sirius forever, no matter how little of a chance he had of Sirius returning his feelings. The ‘moony’ looks Sirius teased him for all stemmed from his realisation that he would love Sirius till he died, at which his intense feelings would then proceed to eat him alive.

It didn’t matter that Sirius was straight — that he’d fucked nearly every girl in their year and then some. That Remus had seen him put his hands up more girls’ skirts than he could count, or that he’d sometimes bring them into their dorm where they could all hear their lovemaking. Remus’ brutal heart had decided that Sirius Black was the one for him, because while Remus was haunted to hear Sirius fucking some girl from their Chemistry class, the sound of Sirius weeping in his bed from nightmares of his horrible family equally shattered him.

That must’ve been why Remus was so helpless to do anything other than forgive Sirius after his betrayal — after The Prank that nearly cost Severus Snape his life and Remus his freedom. Snape had apparently been suspicious about Remus’ frequent disappearances, and in a fit of dogmatic defensiveness which Sirius tearfully confessed had been caused by a slight said by Snape that undermined Remus’ honour, Sirius had revealed to him the location of the Shrieking Shack.

“If you really want to know what’s wrong with Remus, go under the Whomping Willow,” he’d jeered while dangling Snape from a nearby balcony by his ankles, as he was wont to do.

Sirius had later defended himself, that Snape shouldn’t have been as stupid as to follow his directions. But Remus Lupin knew Sirius Black — he knew the nearly psychopathic viciousness that could hold his love hostage in a vice grip, usually provoked by anyone daring to attack the ones he held dear, either directly or indirectly.

So he knew that Sirius had meant for Moony to kill Snape… because Sirius knew that Moony had killed before…

Because Remus had trusted him with that information.

He knew…yet he’d tried to turn Moony into a tool, fancied him as a blade he could wield with its point aimed straight for Snape’s heart.

Remus still cannot describe just how much that knowledge hurt — knowing that Sirius could never love Remus as much as Remus loved him, even just as a friend. Someone who loves you should not — would never — do that to you.

The thought of hurting Sirius in any way, even just with his words, was so repulsive it made him sick to his stomach. He had thrown up — every time he’d seen Sirius come back from a break with a new wound and a brokenness in his gaze.

Sirius was a star who should never have his light dimmed, not for anything. He deserved the whole world, not the pieces of shit called family that had been picked for him.

So when James and Peter had been so disgusted by Sirius’ actions that they shunned him for months, Remus kept loving him and forgave him and, eventually, got the others to give him another chance.

And when Sirius finally confessed to him, Remus told him that he loved him too — even though it was significantly harder to trust him. Even though he could feel his whole being bracing for the impact of another betrayal occasionally, Remus forced himself to move past it in order to give Sirius the highest and purest amount of love he could offer.

Sirius was a star who was in love with a monster. His light should never be dimmed for anything — especially not for Remus Lupin.

When James convinced Sirius to sign up for the Order, Remus signed up with him. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for him, not when belonging to Sirius Black was the one thing that made him consistently happy, even during his mood swings.

Even now, when Remus hasn’t had a proper bath or safely closed his eyes to sleep for days, and keeps getting bit by bugs in unmentionable places, he can’t bring himself to regret it

Remus has finally started to believe in his luck. He has the best friends in the world, saint-like souls who loved and would stick by his side through thick and thin, even for a monster like him.

He’s also aware that his friends were some of the stupidest people in the world, but he accepts it with grace. Life is nothing but an endless cycle of misery with few exceptions — whatever isn’t is but a nice surprise that Remus is always fully willing to seize with both hands.

…However, tonight, as he looks up from his campfire where he’s sat amongst people he’s been assigned to scout undercover for weeks only to see Sirius and James heading straight for him, Remus realises that maybe being caught off-guard by the idiocy of the most wonderful people he knows shouldn’t really be the trending pattern of how his life goes.

Notes:

Hope you enjoyed this chapter!

The next chapter will be up next Friday! I also post this story on my Medium blog, so if you would like to read ahead just click here

This story has soundtracks! For a cohesive Apple Music playlist, click here

For an unhinged and lengthy Spotify playlist, click here

This story also has original artwork! I plan on making character designs for every main character of this story, hopefully in color when I get a more manageable schedule. Thanks for all the love and support!

Thank you so much for checking out my work, it means a lot. Have a great day, remember that you matter, and stream GUTS for clear skin 💜

Chapter 7: Sadness Became My Whole Sky

Summary:

“What I’m trying to say, if you’ll let me finish, Sirius, is that — I looked up to you. You were the one who pretty much raised me. The first instincts I ever trusted were to always believe anything you said. So when you came back from Hogwarts that first summer and told me that our parents were lying to us — that blood purity was a bunch of hogwash and we weren’t actually inherently better than people born into the lower class — I believed you.”

Notes:

Here's yet another little broken, angsty moment between the Black Brothers to go with your Friday morning! 🖤⭐ I really enjoy writing angst lol.

Their relationship does eventually get better, but it won't be any time soon hehe 🤭 I'm not a miracle worker ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

(TW: physical and emotional child abuse, mentions of trauma and captivity)

7.

Remus rises to intercept them, his feet taking him as far away from the campsite as he can manage in an attempt to mitigate the damage.

“Padfoot! Prongs!” He hisses through gritted teeth as he stomps towards them. “What the fuck?”

“Moony!” Sirius stares up at him wide-eyed with stars in those beautiful black eyes, so obviously happy to see him. If Padfoot had a tail, it would be wagging right now. Remus refuses to let his boyfriend’s charm sway him right now.

“How did the two of you get here? How did you even find this place? Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?” He glances about himself nervously as he speaks, trying not to let his voice get too loud.

“I pray you didn’t bring anyone else here. We can stem whatever information leak the two of you caught onto, but anymore people would cause way too much harm and I would be done without getting to finish my mission-”

“It’s a little too late for that,” a droll tone finally cuts off his rapid-fire questions.

Remus stops speaking to stare at the two newcomers on the scene that were currently bringing up the rear. One is a girl he’s never seen before, the haughty expression on her face automatically making him want to wince in abashment at how filthy he must look at the moment.

The other -

He honest-to-God stumbles backwards, a hand grasping his now thundering heart. “REGULUS BLACK?”

Regulus studies him. “Remus Lupin,” he returns.

Remus is apparently quicker on the uptake. “You’re alive?”

“Evidently.” There’s a tinge of amusement in his tone that tells he’s clearly thinking about the conversation from earlier that evening. James ducks his head to hide his blush.

Remus’ eyes are swinging from Regulus to Sirius and back, like he can’t figure out what’s happening. He finally notices the bandages and cuts all over Sirius’ frame and his eyes widen even further.

“You’re hurt?” Remus’ mind is whirling from conclusion to conclusion. “Did he do this?”

Regulus quietly exhales an exhausted sigh.

Sirius is affronted. “You think Reggie can take me in a fight?”

Now Regulus can’t help his snort, though he tries to muffle it. He looks away, clearly attempting to rein in his amusement.

However, he mustn’t have been quiet enough. Sirius suddenly rounds on him.

“Why the hell do you keep laughing at dumb shit?”

Regulus sobers in order to think about the question.

“It’s because of all the trauma,” Regulus explains to Sirius seriously. “It’s given me a rather large sense of humour. I think it overdid it by a tad, though. Like, gosh, you can’t take me anywhere,” He shakes his head, looking bewildered by himself.

Sirius…doesn’t know what to do with that answer.

Remus and James find themselves in a similar boat.

The girl beside Regulus, however, curls her lips up at him in amusement, the first smile he’s seen from her yet. Regulus smiles back at her in appreciation, squeezing her hand gently.

At least someone thinks I’m funny, he thinks to himself.

Sirius narrows his eyes at her. There’s a certain look in her eyes that she’s giving Regulus that makes something under his skin prickle -

She stares at him like he hung up all the stars and the moon in her sky.

It’s eerily similar to the look Reggie used to give to him, once upon a time.

She turns back to them and the expression is wiped off her face before he can comment. The look she sends Remus’ way is far from impressed.

“This is the loser we’re here to extract?” She asks, a barely-hidden sneer in her voice.

“Extract?” Remus splutters. He whirls to face Sirius, his presence the only thing his brain can make sense of right now.

“How are you even here?” He repeats.

“That would be my fault,” Regulus interrupts once more. His arms are crossed, looking casual and unbothered by Remus’ scrutiny.

“I had to give them a ride, or else they would’ve hitchhiked all over London looking for you,” he explains.

“You brought them here,” Remus’ eyes narrow. “How did you know where I was?”

Regulus slightly tilts his head to the side. “That’s classified.”

“Classified?” Remus scoffs. “By whom? Your master, the Dark Lord Voldemort?”

James shifts uncomfortably on his feet, bothered by all the negative energy and hostility. Regulus’ expression doesn’t even twitch, remaining as placid as the sea.

“No,” he replies simply.

Remus is now thoroughly confused. “What do you mean, ‘No’?”

When Regulus refuses to elaborate any further, it’s Sirius’ turn to scoff.

“He says they’re not Death Eaters.”

Regulus gives him a brief side-eye, before looking away.

Remus furrows his brows. “You trust him?”

“Of course not!” Sirius sharply retorts. “But no one would tell me where you’d gone, and for some reason, he’s the only one that offered to give me any information.”

Regulus carefully doesn’t react to any of these statements. He stands calmly in the middle of the forested field as though he was partaking in any random daily activity.

Remus throws up his hands. “Well he shouldn’t have! You weren’t supposed to know! This mission required the utmost secrecy, and I need to get you guys to leave before you completely blow my cover. Dumbedore sent me here to get these people on our side!”

Sirius can’t control the nearly animalistic growl that erupts from his mouth at the mention of Dumbledore’s name. Regulus raises a slim eyebrow at him, then at Remus.

“Dumbledore sent you here…without any way to receive contact? Or get you out if things go wrong? Isn’t that a bit too irresponsible?”

Remus straightens in affront at the jab to Dumbledore’s good name.

“He trusts in my abilities, that I can handle myself and get out of a bad situation if need be,” he retorts tightly.

Regulus considers him for a moment with unfathomable grey eyes.

He plucks out a cigarette from where it was tucked behind his ear, tosses it down then grinds it into the forest floor. He begins to take a few silent steps in Remus’ direction.

“Or maybe he just finds you disposable enough,” he murmurs as he glides past the taller man.

That stops James cold, as well as the rest of them — except Ris who struts after Regulus without a second glance to any of them. Just as Remus picks his wits back up, he turns and finds Regulus heading towards the centre of the camp, making a beeline for the boy in charge. He seems to have been watching them for a while with his arms crossed, and Remus’ mind discombobulates once more.

Regulus comes to a respectful stop a few feet away from him. “Good evening,” he greets, executing a half-bow under the leader’s raised eyebrow. He feels Ris come up beside him as he rises.

“So sorry to have disturbed your night.”

The head of the WolfGang — a group of stray commoners who decided to defect from civilised society, led by a mere youth of twelve years with baby fat still adorning his cheeks — only grunts dismissively.

“‘S that the taff you came for?” He demands roughly.

“He is,” Regulus responds neutrally, seeing Sirius and his group draw closer. “Thank you so much for providing his location. We will be getting out of your hair as soon as possible.”

“Wait,” the leader barks, eyes roiling with animosity. “He’s one of you posh blokes, innit? Sure sounded like it too — like he’d wipe his rear with a stack of dosh. Tell me what brought one of your ilk here in the first place, ’cause he sure don’t look like some betwaddled grockle.”

As his followers around the campsite draw closer, Regulus promptly decides that honesty is the best policy.

“It seems as though our mate was simply wondering whether he could get your lovely crew here to…volunteer any efforts you could spare towards the ongoing war.”

Sirius watches his brother speak with conflicting thoughts. He sees how Regulus talks to these people, how carefully he thinks over his words before he says them, how different this respectful persona is from the Regulus he met the first time this night and from the Regulus who spoke to them only minutes ago.

He used to hate his brother so much for doing that (still does?) — for not saying what he thought or really meant, for crafting himself into the most socially acceptable version that their wretched parents wanted him to be in that moment. Be it for family dinners or for hosted political parties, a different Regulus emerged every time.

Yet, the leader and the girl beside him seem totally fine with him acting this way, although it should be fairly obvious that it was a facade. Not like it was what they expected of him, but more like they’ve accepted it as another side of Regulus. They don’t have a problem with all of that cunning at all.

With a pang, Sirius realises that he’s made his brother out to be absolutely unlovable. Because why else would he have left him behind, abandoned him in that house without looking back, if there was still a part of him that could be loved by Sirius that wasn’t tainted by their parents’ tender loving care?

“That all?” The leader looks unimpressed. He focuses his stare on Remus next, making his heart jump, then clearly enunciates, “Hard pass.”

Remus’ heart falls.

“Leave. Now.” The gang leader turns around without waiting, fully expecting them to follow his command.

Regulus is fully willing to oblige. “Of course.”

He dips his head again for the other members who are still watching, grabs Ris’ hand and starts heading back the way they came from.

Sirius, James and a morose Remus follow.

“I failed,” he whispers quietly. “I’m going to have to tell Dumbledore that I failed to complete the mission he assigned to me.”

James lightly places a hand on Remus’ shoulder for comfort. Sirius manages to retrain his bristling at Dumbledore’s name this time.

Regulus turns to look at Remus over his shoulder.

“Don’t take it too personally.” He sounds sympathetic, but James can’t tell whether he really is or just feels responsible.

“Levi has very outspoken issues with following under authority, and with British society in general,” Regulus explains. “You would never have managed to convince him — you were wasting your time from the start. And the people who follow him are very pack oriented. They would never willingly choose to go against their leader.”

Remus takes in this information, gears spinning in his mind.

“Do you think they would accept to join the war under a different leader?” He asks hopefully.

Regulus’ footsteps crunch to a sudden stop. As Remus watches, those eyes that look slate grey in the evening light visibly sharpen.

Remus Lupin never had much of an opinion about Regulus Black. When they all first became friends, Sirius used to tell them all about his little brother, the only good thing in the house he grew up in — how sweet and soft he was, curious about everything under the sun, cried when he stepped on a bug. From his tales, when Sirius promised they were going to meet him the next year, Remus was eager to get to know him, if only to meet the person capable of putting so much joy on Sirius’ face.

Then Regulus started his schooling at Hogwarts and was sorted into Slytherin, and suddenly the fond stories stopped coming up so much. Now, there were snide remarks of “He’s too obedient” and “He fits right in with the Slytherins, he’s such a swot,” with Sirius’ tone bordering between open contempt and anguished pride. Sirius kept looking to the Slytherin table across the hall over the years, his glances almost always involuntary.

Remus only looked at Sirius.

Remus didn’t end up meeting Regulus face-to-face until his third year, when he walked into a deserted classroom and found Regulus Black atop the teacher’s desk, crouched on top of a stack of books, fiddling with the light bulb hanging from the ceiling. He remembers stopping in his tracks and just staring at the incomprehensible sight for several minutes.

Regulus stared right back at him.

At least, he assumes he did. The fringe cut Regulus used to sport really did hide most of his eyes from view. Regulus only looked his way for a few seconds before going back to his task.

Just when Remus had finally worked out the words to ask him just what he was doing, Regulus had seemingly finished the job, leaped off the tabletop, grabbed the stack of books and darted past Remus out the classroom door at light speed. When Remus looked behind him, Regulus had already disappeared, like he was never there.

Remus remembers thinking he was so tiny…and quick.

Regulus had been the youngest seeker on the school’s Quidditch team. But even then, he was somehow quite forgettable…right up until he appeared from nowhere with the snitch in his grasp.

Fingersmith, Remus had thought during one match, when he’d made a point to be on the lookout for Regulus Black. He’d lost sight of him many times during the game despite his conviction, only barely managing to catch Regulus materialising out of thin air and deftly plucking the snitch right out of its path to end the game.

Dangerous, he’d thought next.

He’d never told his friends about what he saw in the classroom that day, had forgotten about it even…until a week later when the Ancient Languages teacher kicked up a fuss about her classroom being haunted because of the flickering lights that only affected her lecture room out of the whole school, and proceeded to lock herself in her quarters for the rest of the day. All of the students had a free period for her subject due to this, and with the halls and courtyards being so crowded by idle students wandering everywhere, the Marauders weren’t able to freely slip away to set up their prank they had been planning to pull on the Slytherins that day.

Remus had put the pieces together then…but the full picture caught him so off-guard he second-guessed himself for days. Had Regulus messed with the lights in order to sabotage their prank? Was that his end goal?

If not — why else would he do it?

He hadn’t shared any of his hypotheses with his friends, unsure whether they would be able to follow all the logical leaps he’d made to reach a conclusion he wasn’t even sure of. He decided he needed more data and tried to catch Regulus in the act again…but he never did.

But whenever some inexplicable reason caused them to be unable to follow through with a prank, he couldn’t help but have a suspect.

He’d made the unilateral decision to never tell Sirius about his suspicions. Anyone with eyes and ears could’ve told from a glance that he had very complicated feelings about his brother. As the years passed, Sirius made a point to conspicuously not look towards the Slytherin table, to not watch his brother playing on the pitch, to not make it seem like he was yearning to seek out glimpses of his brother at all.

Then Sirius ran away from home in their fifth year, and he’s said only one thing about Regulus: “He’s one of them.”

From then on, there were no more mentions of Regulus Black, and no Regulus Black to be seen at all.

Two years later, Sirius’ brother was reported dead at sixteen, and there was nothing more to talk about.

…Though apparently not.

With the way Regulus’ eyes were currently boring into him, Remus is starting to think that he might be the one ending up dead in the not-so-distant future.

He never knew how expressive Regulus Black’s eyes could be. He’s starting to wish he never did.

“Whatever you’re thinking about, whatever plot you’re planning to hatch, don’t you even dare try it.” Regulus’ words match the look in his eyes, every single syllable able to cut like a knife.

“Those people you think of as pawns, like some kind of chess game, are under my protection. If they don’t want to fight, and they don’t want to follow, you are not going to orchestrate anything to take that choice away from them. So drop it, Lupin.”

He tilts his head upwards slightly, making Remus feel like the smaller man was staring down at him from a great height.

“Cut your losses and walk away. You at least still have a life to get back to.”

“Hey! You can’t talk to Remus like that!”

Ris takes a deliberate step forward and fixes Sirius with a thousand-yard stare that makes even someone as audacious as him take a step back.

Regulus isn’t even fazed by Sirius’ outburst. He still only has eyes for Remus, sizing him up and down like he views him as a significant threat. The look on his face makes James feel small even only at the proximity of his gaze.

“You won’t be able to find any of them after tonight,” he calmly announces. “If I have to make it seem like they’ve disappeared off the face of this earth, then I will if that’s what it takes for you and your Lord Master, the Headmaster, to leave them alone. There is no one alive who can prevent me from protecting whoever I want to anymore. And if you ever even think about getting between me and those I’ve sworn myself to ever again, I will go through you — with a knife or otherwise.”

His eyes are hard as flint. “Believe me, you don’t want to find that out for yourself.”

Remus flinches back, his expression filled with fear, wounded and contrite.

Regulus finally looks away. “Get in the car or make your own way home. I don’t care anymore.”

Sirius can’t contain himself a second longer. “You, Reggie?” He blurts out, so filled with protective rage at the perceived threat issued from his brother towards his significant other.

“You swore yourself to a bunch of commoners? Fucking get off of it already! Who the fuck do you think you’re fooling?”

Regulus regards him neutrally, which only increases his ire.

“YOU WERE THE POSTER CHILD FOR ALL THEIR PROPAGANDA!” He yells in his brother’s face, reaching out to poke a finger into his chest roughly, but Ris steps in front of him so fast he abruptly halts his movements.

Somehow, she seems significantly more deadly than Regulus from just seconds ago.

“Back the fuck up, or I will cut you,” she snarls, a single protruding canine glinting ominously as she bares her teeth.

Regulus’ eyes slide towards her. He reaches out and tugs her behind him via their interlocked hands — to defend her from Sirius or to keep Sirius away from her, James doesn’t know.

“Alright, fine,” Regulus tells Sirius evenly. “You’ve been prodding at me all night. You want to talk? Let’s talk. After all,” a hint of bitterness creeps into his tone, “Whatever Sirius wants, Sirius gets, right?”

James plants himself at Sirius’ side, seeing the open hostility in Regulus’ eyes increase. Regulus’ gaze flickers so quickly towards him and then away that James has to wonder if he only imagined his attention flip.

“I find it extremely insulting that I even have to explain this, but alright. I’ll bite.” Regulus inhales audibly before continuing.

“Do you remember when you told me that the sky was purple?”

Sirius instantly has a flashback to the memory — Reggie had just turned five and Sirius, prankster that he was and always will be, regaled him with wild tales all day. He’d told him about the sky being purple because it was filled with unicorn wings just for shits and giggles.

Reggie had then turned his eyes upwards and searched the sky so intently for the purple that it made him lose the gig mere moments later.

He tunes back into the conversation as Regulus keeps speaking. “My first theory was that there were photons in the sky on a purple wavelength that were beyond what the human eyes could perceive, but were still present. My second theory was that you were colour blind.”

He shakes his head. “I never guessed that you were lying to me for kicks, until you came out and told me that you were lying to me for kicks.”

Ah, those were the days — when Reggie always gazed at Sirius like he was his personal hero, capable of hanging up all the moon and the stars in his sky. He feels a pang in his chest as he takes in the cold and distant gaze his brother aims at him now, and wonders to himself just where that little boy went.

He tries to focus past all these annoying feelings resurfacing in him. “Why are you bringing this up?” He sneers sardonically. “You think talking about our childhood is like taking a fun little trip down memory lane?”

Regulus snorts. “Hardly.” He raises an eyebrow.

“What I’m trying to say, if you’ll let me finish, Sirius, is — that I looked up to you. You were the one who pretty much raised me. The first instincts I ever trusted were to always believe anything you said. So when you came back from Hogwarts that first summer and told me that our parents were lying to us — that blood purity was a bunch of hogwash and we weren’t actually inherently better than people born into the lower class — I believed you.”

Sirius feels like he’s just been pistol-whipped, staring wide-eyed at his brother as he continues.

“I did my own research, of course, when I could manage to get my hands on anything. I reached my own conclusions about the whole thing — the ideology behind blood purity is highly illogical and only spurred by bigotry and hearsay. Blood and ancestry don’t dictate whether someone is good or bad — only those with enough gold in their pockets do, and none of their reasons matter in the least. You were the driving force that helped me confront that.”

Sirius thinks his entire world just flipped on its axis. Reggie wasn’t a fucking blood purist? “How come I never knew that you’d changed your mind?” he accuses.

“How would you have?” Regulus easily retorts. “After that first summer, you stopped looking at me. Whenever you managed to bring yourself to, it was like you kept expecting me to suddenly become somebody else.”

This time, James is sure that he sees Regulus Black’s eyes flicker to him. The ‘Somebody Else’ now feels very awkward being a part of this conversation.

“You used to know me better than anyone else, so if you’d really looked, you would have seen that I was always on your side! But I don’t think that you ever bothered to after…I started school at Hogwarts.”

When stupid, fucking House placements that were supposed to be for facilitating learning in that dumb, fucking school, had instead driven a wedge between genuine sibling bond, and ruined so many other lives as well.

“You leaving me behind all those years ago was just your way of dramatically slamming a door shut that had already been closed for ages already! You think I was surprised when you left?”

He laughs then, the single most chilling thing he’s done all night, because it sounds like there’s glass scraping against his throat. He puts a palm on his face, only managing to cover one eye from view.

A humourless smile graces his features, and his one visible eye burns with something that looks eerily like madness.

James has heard stories about the insanity rumoured to affect members of the Black family — he never thought he’d ever witness it in person though. His throat feels too tight, as though Regulus was currently reaching over the space and strangling him.

And the way he looks at James clearly shows that he wishes to.

“I don’t know why I was so affected by it, still,” Regulus concludes, resigned.

His hand falls to his side, harmlessly.

Notes:

Fun fact: I found this article that explains that the sky is actually violet, it just appears blue due to the limitations of our eyes.

So Sirius wasn't exactly wrong, even though he was only trying to prank his little brother because he's always been a little shit even when as a kid. Prank failed successfully 👍

Also betwaddled = addled, confused.
Grockle = rural England slang for tourist.
Sorry if that part didn’t come out sounding very right, I’m not from any part of England, though I was colonized by them :)

_

Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed this chapter!

The next chapter will be up next Friday! I also post this story on my Medium blog, so if you would like to read ahead just click here

This story has soundtracks! For a cohesive Apple Music playlist, click here

For an unhinged and lengthy Spotify playlist, click here

This story also has original artwork! New art should be released in the next week or two!

Thank you so much for checking out my work, it means a lot. Have a great day, remember that you matter, and stream Good Riddance for clear skin 🤍

Chapter 8: Mosaic Broken Hearts

Summary:

Then Lydia suddenly released his hands and he could exhale.

“I had a brother, once.”

The words were whispered so quietly, and so at odds with the loudness of her emotions that Regulus for a second thought he’d imagined them.

Still not looking at him, she threw a dirty rag onto her shoulder and turned around. “I need to get back to work.”

Notes:

We have a little backstory for Regulus' new sibling!

The kids most definitely aren't alright. Yeesh 😬

(TW: Dehumanisation, physical, mental and emotional child abuse, mentions of trauma, slave trade and captivity)

8.

— — — — -- — — — 5 years ago — — — — — — — —

His dicktators were predictably awful to Lydia.

They spent the first few weeks making sure she knew her place in the household, calling her hateful slurs and assigning her way too many useless, menial tasks that weren’t even necessary to complete.

She kept her head bowed whenever they spoke to her, but Regulus always caught the covert, hate-filled glances she directed their way whenever their attention slipped. It reminded him of how Sirius used to behave — when he was still here — but she was different from him in many fundamental ways.

“She’s a biter,” he remembered the scum dealer saying the day he’d found her in the cage. He’d half-expected her to be a handful, inspiring Walburga and Orion’s savagery anew or for them to be dead within the day — and her stares clearly demonstrated that was her preferred outcome as well. However, she remained obedient, and finished the tasks they gave her without fighting back.

He didn’t know whether it was because she was smarter than that, or if all the prejudice against commoners had coloured her perceptions into always seeing nobles as superior. Either way, her forced humility made him feel uncomfortable.

“You’re not that,” he made sure to tell her every night when they were alone, making an effort, however small, to stave off the vitriol she heard every day from their dicktators.

She looked at him like she believed him, like his word alone was the gospel truth.

That also made him uncomfortable.

Whenever she wasn’t working, she took the opportunity to wander around Grimmauld Place, her alabaster skin making her look like a ghost of his past and present mistakes. She looked generally unimpressed by the wealth and finery of the place, and was so at-ease with some of the menial duties such as carrying platters of food and cleaning soot from the fireplace that it made him wonder what kind of life she’d lived before he’d met her.

…and what kind of life he’d wittingly subjected her to.

Guilt wracked his soul every second she was in sight, even as loneliness no longer accompanied every beat of his heart. She fit into his life a little too perfectly, like a puzzle piece that had been missing and had only just been found.

Even though he knew it wasn’t entirely up to him, he decided to do his best — no, better this time — to make sure that he never lost her. He refused to sit back and let Walburga and Orion drive another piece of his soul away any longer.

To that end, he shifted his form again. Whereas before he’d tried to slip beneath their notice, not doing anything to arouse any interest so they’d not use any of his behaviour to punish Sirius (and, oh, how well that worked), this time, he decided to become what they’d always yearned for — a dutiful version of their firstborn son.

He’d had more than a lifetime’s worth of knowledge from studying Sirius — when he was in pain but trying not to let it affect him, when he was bored out of his mind and about to start shit for the hell of it…

…when he was talking to James at school while pointedly ignoring Regulus’ gaze…

He knew all of his mannerisms — the cocky swagger and roguish grin he adopted when he was being both charming and boastful, the way he tilted his head to the side in a slightly canine manner when he was half-listening and half-eating, his effortless way of posturing like he owned the place while doing something as normal as sitting or leaning against the wall.

Regulus knew all of it. This made the process of absorbing every single trait ridiculously easy.

The purpose of this shape-shifting was not to cast off his shadows. No — that ship had already sailed. It was too late for him to disassociate the identity of Regulus from the dark. So he went with a simpler route — Sirius was bright, thus, he would become Sirius.

He became louder, took up more space at the table, cheerfully regaled the trainers with tales of every single dastardly thing the Dark Lord mentioned or asked of him and how willing he was to offer up everything to his service. He revised and repeated their doctrine of bringing glory to the Dark side and having the Muggles tremble at their feet, all the while wearing Sirius’ grin and tapping the table to the tune of Sirius’ beat.

Walburga and Orion began to look at him with what could have been love, if they were at all capable of it.

Lydia looked at him too, fully ignored by the dicktators now which made it all worth it to him. Her gaze was always measuring, but never condemning. He’d wonder what she saw in the moments when he had more courage.

Sirius hated his cowardliness, and he couldn’t imagine that he’d do anything but be even more repulsed with his cunning. It was easy to slip into Sirius’ mind whenever he acted like him, a different but irresistible sort of torture.

It was also something that made him wonder whether Sirius’ persona of being the brightest star in the room was as equally contrived as his own — whether he started acting like that to protect Regulus from their dicktator’s attention, and the starlight he continued to cast eventually slipped beneath his skin and wouldn’t let go.

He made sure to shed his twisted version of Sirius’ skin when he was alone with Lydia, cautious not to let the same happen to him. She accepted his personality change with much more grace than deserved, making him hang his head in silent shame at the lengths he would go to, the rot he would let fill his mouth, just so he could do the bare minimum of protecting her from a plight he’d damned her to in the first place.

Sirius would have never let it get this far. Sirius was always better — even now that he’d morphed himself into a mediocre version of his brother that somehow pleased the monsters they’d once called parents, Regulus knew he still didn’t compare.

He caught Lydia staring up at a portrait painting of Sirius one day, the only one spared from Walburga’s wrath. Her head was tilted to the side in thought when he sidled up beside her.

“That’s Sirius, my older brother,” he replied to her unasked question. He felt her gaze stray from the painting to the side of his face, but his eyes never left that of his brother’s. Gazing at them and looking out for Sirius’ star in the sky were the only two things providing him with that much-needed connection to the first person who ever loved him.

“This was taken when he was fourteen.” He reached out and lightly trailed his fingertips across his brother’s cheek.

“If only I’d known then how little time I had left with him,” he mused, nearly forgetting about his sole audience. He removed his hand and placed it in his pocket, fighting the urge to touch the painting again.

“It’s been about a year now, since…” He trailed off, throat closing up.

Lydia spoke then, her voice gentler than he’d ever heard it. “Were you there when he died?”

The question makes him double-take. He turns to her, automatically blinking in shock. Why would she think…oh, he can see how he might’ve accidentally led her to that conclusion.

“He’s not dead,” he clarified, tone full of surety. Even though he’d gone a year without hearing even a whisper about his brother’s existence, he was certain he would feel it in his soul the exact moment Sirius stopped being alive — like a ticking time bomb abruptly counting down to zero and detonating every little bit of happiness and joy he’d ever known.

The information made Lydia pause. “He’s not?” Her breath hitched slightly. “Was he…taken?”

“No, nothing like that,” He was quick to reassure her. “He just, um…he ran away. He left,” he shrugged, a bit uncomfortable under her narrow-eyed scrutiny.

“Left you here,” Lydia interjected, her eyes narrowing further.

Regulus felt compelled to correct her, to inform her of how little his existence meant in Sirius’ decision-making process before she got the wrong idea.

“He didn’t leave me,” he explained. “There was nothing for him here that could’ve made him stay, so there was nothing for him to leave. I wasn’t the brother he wanted,” he lowered his head, shame overcoming him.

“I failed him, never spoke up for him against them or stopped them from hurting him like he did for me because I was so afraid,” he confessed. “That’s why he didn’t want me anymore, because I wasn’t brave.”

He looked up at her, tears clouding his vision which made it okay because he couldn’t bring himself to fully face her.

“And I’m still a coward, Lydia.” He reached out and gripped her hands urgently, needing to spill every single one of his dark secrets now or else he’d never would, which wasn’t fair to her. She deserved to know what kind of monsters surrounded her so she would finally make the sensible choice to leave this place.

“I still can’t tell them no, or stop myself from trying to make them nicer all the time. I don’t even have the strength to just leave through the door like Sirius did, because unlike him I don’t have anywhere to go. I didn’t make any friends in school that would have protected me — I barely even had any friends at all. It’s just me all on my own, and I’m not good enough for anyone as I am. So please,” he clenched her hands in his own tightly, tears dotting their interlocked fingers, before letting go.

“Please leave me. Because it would destroy whatever’s left of me if I failed you too.”

He could no longer avoid blinking the tears out of his eyes, and his vision cleared enough for him to see her expression. He braced himself for revulsion, surprise, second-thoughts, or in his best-case scenario, a slight hint of pity.

Instead, she just studied him neutrally.

He was the one surprised when she only stared at him with a stone-faced demeanour. Calmly, she grabbed the hands that had fallen to his sides uselessly, and squeezed.

And squeezed.

Her grip got tighter and tighter, reminding him of a boa constrictor. He didn’t complain, finding solace in pain which now felt as familiar to him as his own name. He was slightly concerned, though, at how bloodless her hands had become.

It was only when he glanced back up that he noticed the fire in her eyes…and all that purple rage.

A veritable tsunami of it, which bowled him over because it wasn’t directed at him — but at Sirius.

Her eyes had strayed once more to his brother’s portrait, and the look she gave it was not out of place with the amount of heat Walburga wielded the day she had blasted his name and birth date off the family’ tapestry.

For a moment, Regulus couldn’t breathe. He was suddenly back to being twelve years old, sitting at the dining table and turning to stone to stave off the threat of violence in the air.

Then Lydia suddenly released his hands and he could exhale.

“I had a brother, once.”

The words were whispered so quietly, and so at odds with the loudness of her emotions that Regulus for a second thought he’d imagined them.

Still not looking at him, she threw a dirty rag onto her shoulder and turned around. “I need to get back to work.”

She said nothing more, just left him standing there with aching hands, watching her departing form.

But something between them fundamentally changed after that, caused by the words she didn’t say. She stopped looking at him as though seeing a mirror image of a worthier counterpart who just happened to share his face, and started looking at him like he was Regulus. Even when he was Sirius, this look didn’t deviate from her gaze. And her attitude towards him remained unchanged — she still for some reason remained devoted to him, though he was sure she was now fully aware that he was not even slightly related to her.

He’d never been chosen over someone else before, even if just a memory of a person. It was quite a novel, inexplicable feeling.

Her attitudes towards the other members of his family, however, did change. Her hostility towards his dictators increased tenfold, no longer directed only towards slights against herself but also those she perceived as directed at Regulus himself. Déjà vu struck him, telling him that Grimmauld Place was too small of a space to contain both Lydia and his trainers for long.

Also, where before he’d managed to sneak her into Sirius’ room at night to sleep, she now refused to continue doing so with a curt, “I don’t want to stay there.” Instead, when it got late enough that their dicktators were no longer awake, she’d creep into his room, having since memorised all the creaks in the floor, and open up his door.

Being a light sleeper, as it was truly impossible to feel safe in Grimmauld Place, he’d awaken to her stare and hold open the other end of his duvet, inviting her to dive in. She’d swiftly crawl beside him in the next second and fall asleep holding tightly onto him as though fearing he would go away.

It all made him even more determined to keep her by his side, but continuing to keep her in this house wasn’t fair to her.

Which meant he needed to figure out a way to get them both out of here. Think, think, think, he desperately persuaded himself, pacing back and forth on his worn wooden floors while running his hands through his hair.

At first, he tried to go the ‘What Would Sirius Do?’ route, but immediately fell short. For him, the solution can never be as simple as just walking out the front door. Like he’d already established with Lydia, for one he had nowhere to go and no one to go to. Only a House like the Potters, one of significant noble renown and ancient status (though not as Ancient as the Blacks) could be powerful enough to shelter a scion from another Noble house with little consequence.

The only friend he could consider running to — the only friend he had, really, was Pandora, and unfortunately the Trelawneys weren’t as respected. The Blacks would crush her.

Because — and here was where the second major problem lied — Regulus was Sirius’ backup. The Blacks could afford to let him go. But Regulus didn’t have a backup.

Anyone he tried to run to would be put in significant danger because of him.

Those — and other significant reasons — made it impossible for him to follow Sirius’ footsteps.

He thumbed his Heir ring as he continued to pace. So if he couldn’t think like Sirius, maybe he should think like…himself?

Regulus immediately shook his head. His self-identity was so fractured these days it was extremely difficult to tell who he was anymore.

Think like…a Death Eater?

No, that way lied too much unnecessary bloodshed. He didn’t want to become an actual monster.

Think like…a Black?

Hmm — there was some potential there. He wracked his brain for any significant knowledge all his tutorings from childhood of how to be a dignified uppity noble and serve the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black had taught him.

The cogs of his brain wheels abruptly stopped turning when he remembered the right of conquest.

It was exactly what it sounded like: “If a member of a Noble House or other sufficient individual wished to take over a title belonging to a member of a Noble House, one which they do not belong to or in order to move up in hierarchy of that which they do belong to, they can submit an official proposal before the Wizengamot in which both parties agree to the terms of the duel.”

It sounded right and proper from his lectures, but he knew most of these duels were carried out informally — where the documentation was only filed once the other party was deceased.

Invoking a right of conquest would not be an easy thing to do at all. For one, he wasn’t given that many opportunities to move about freely, especially now that he bore the Dark Mark. Going to the Wizengamot to personally put forward a motion would do nothing but land him in Azkaban the very same day.

For another, he was far from the best dueller in the family. Maybe he might have a chance against Orion, if he worked up the courage, and Grandfather Arcturus would be simple enough to take on if he succeeded the first battle, but Bellatrix could cut him down and carve circles into his flesh before he’d even get his weapon in hand, and what was to stop either Orion or Arcturus from having her represent them in the duel to make sure Regulus had no chance of winning?

So no luck there either. But still, it was something to consider.

If he was Head of House Black, he would be able to protect Lydia and himself, no question.

Intriguing as the idea was, he still had no idea how to get there.

His pacing stilled, eyes blown wide as yet another epiphany occurred to him.

What if he tried thinking like a Slytherin?

He’d known from the moment Sirius told him all about Hogwarts that Slytherin was where he wanted to end up. Being cunning and ambitious was his bread and butter, but Sirius had framed it as something so…negative, so evil, that he hadn’t been able to bring himself to confide in Sirius the very real possibility that he’d end up there before he was sorted.

Maybe their relationship wouldn’t have crumbled so quickly, if he had.

He shook his head frantically. Less thinking about Sirius, more thinking about yourself and Lydia, he inwardly chastised.

With his Slytherin thinking cap on, several different ideas sprung into his mind of how to achieve his goals. None without certain risk, but all with significantly higher chances of success than his previous ideas.

…all with lengthy amounts of time before coming to fruition as well.

He bit his nail harshly. It was doable, but he would have to be patient. He could do patient — he’d been patiently waiting to meet his death before he met Lydia. It wasn’t a problem for him.

But he didn’t know how long he could have her stay in this house before his guilt ate and swallowed him whole.

His eyes strayed towards his door. It would probably be best to get her opinion on the matter. He really does NOT want another Sirius situation on his hands.

“Hey, I need to talk to you,” he whispered lowly after finding her and scurrying them both back to his room.

“Yes, Brother?” She asked curiously. She still slipped up and called him that sometimes, but never seems very bothered by her mistake. Regulus got the feeling that he’d somehow been adopted without his explicit consent.

…He wasn’t very bothered by it either.

He grabbed her hand and pulled them away from the door, until they were basically huddling together in the corner. Then he made sure to whisper in a volume certain to only reach her ears, “I want to get us out of here.”

She just stared at him with an open purple gaze.

“These people — my parents,” he swallowed against the bitterness of acknowledging that fact. “They’re not good to you or to me. They treat us both horribly, and I don’t want you — want us — to remain here much longer.”

Lydia continued to stay silent, watching him intently.

“I have a plan — well, maybe a few of them now,” he explained. He was currently leaning towards the ‘create-the-problem-offer-the-solution’ strategy, or Hegelian dialectic.

Basically the oldest trick in the book.

If he could find something in Orion’s files big enough to blackmail the House of Black with by sending the information to one of their undoubtedly numerous enemies, while also keeping the key to the problem for himself, then he could wield that power when it came to it by forcing Grandfather Arcturus to hand over the Headship to him before he helps them out of the hot water he’s landed them in.

Of course, such variables would have to exist in the first place, and there were many ways it could go wrong — the enemy might be more formidable than he anticipated, and he would be leaving the House of Black vulnerable — an issue that could persist even after he secured the Headship.

Not a perfect plan by any means, but he’d go along with it for now and revise it as needed.

“It still needs work, and it might take some time…” He trailed off nervously.

“Will it work?” Is the only thing she asked.

He analysed his strategy across numerous angles, calculating the probability of success against the numerous odds they faced. It wasn’t looking good at all, but one look at her face and the confidence she usually inspired in him surged.

“I’ll make it work,” he promised quietly, squeezing her hands.

She squeezed back. “Then I trust you.” She already knew he was capable of opening locked doors for her — she had every faith that he could do it again.

Regulus was once again so blown away by the extent of care and devotion she held for him that he couldn’t find any words for several seconds. He really had no clue what he’d done to deserve it…

But this was no time for self-doubt. She was counting on him to get them both out of this hell hole, and he would not let her down. Not on his life.

He wouldn’t fail another sibling.

“What do you need me to do?” She asked next.

He blinked. “Right.” He thought for a moment, mind spinning every which way.

“It would be troublesome to do this alone, it would involve me having to sneak around a lot, so it would be great if you could watch my back, but…”

He gnaws on his lower lip, looking away. “If you- if I get you get caught, they would do…absolutely horrible things to you, and I- I won’t be able to live with myself. It would be better if I did this myself for the both of us if I can, or — ”

He swallowed hard. He would NOT be a coward again.

“Or, if they ever tried to hurt you when I’m there, I’ll just surrender myself to take the punishment for you. Because I- I don’t think I’d be able to stand it.” His hands slightly shook.

Be brave, Reggie.

He took a fortifying breath and forced himself to continue. “I’d use myself as a shield if need be, in order to protect you.”

He cleared his throat before slowly looking up, hoping to read her expression. She had her head bowed, artificially dark hair covering her face and her hands were slack in his grip.

“Don’t.”

Regulus was confused. “Don’t what?”

Lydia looked up then, eyes filled with wild, blazing fury.

“DON’T YOU DARE PROTECT ME!”

Regulus found himself…honestly stumped at that.

She broke his uncomprehending gaze after a moment, the mouth that was just bared in a snarl starting to quiver.

“If…if older brothers have to go away just because they wanted to protect us then…” her voice cracked, “Then I don’t want you to do that for me!”

Tears welled in her eyes and began to spill over. She gripped his hands so tightly that her nails dug into his skin, and squeezed her eyes shut so even more tears fell.

“I don’t want to be alone again!”

---

The door to the cage suddenly clanged open, signifying danger. They were instantly on the alert as the greasy head guard with a belly bigger than his head immediately penetrated the small space. He leered down at her where she was huddled with Dorian on the dusty floor.

“It’s your lucky day, you swine,” he bellowed, spit flying. He grinned a full set of yellow teeth down at them. “One of you young’uns is being requested by this rich gentleman right here.”

A man in a tailored black suit, whose face she couldn’t fully make out behind his black sunglasses, stood to the side, seemingly surveying them.

Around his neck he wore a huge gold locket with a green Snake emblem decorating it.

The greasy guard’s beady eyes slid towards her. “Be a good lass and go make me a profit, would you?”

She shrank away, gripping tightly to Dorian for dear life as more guards advanced to take her away. She thrashed and fought when they put their hands on her, ready to scratch and claw and bite every one of them to death when…

“No! Not my sister!” Dorian’s innocent grey eyes implored them. “Please no, just take me instead!”

The hands stilled, the extra guards looking to the greasy guy for approval. The pot-bellied git shot a questioning glance at the man with the fancy sunglasses.

An imperceptible head nod was all it took.

“NO! Brother, don’t!” She struggled anew and even more passionately as she watched her brother obediently rise and walk over to the man with the locket.

“DON’T LET THEM TAKE YOU!”

He turned and gave her one last glance as the cage doors closed behind him, his black locks falling directly into his eyes like they always did.

“Don’t worry about me, Sissy — I’m protecting you. You’ll be safe now.”

That was the last time she saw her brother, one final glimpse through claustrophobic cage bars that she would go on to preserve in her memory forever.

Dorian made good on his word: she remained safe — and isolated — for years.

But she lost her brother — gone because of her. And that made none of it worth it.

---

Regulus’ heart broke for her. He never would’ve guessed that her pain was so similar to his.

“But I need you to be safe, Lydia,” he said haltingly. “How am I to keep you safe, then?”

She wrinkled her nose a bit, as though she found something he said unpleasant. Perhaps she didn’t like the sound of her name — or maybe she just didn’t like hearing it coming from him.

“Just give me the tools that I’d need to protect myself and I’ll do that,” was her response. So he obliged.

Here in Grimmauld Place, it was another time and another sibling. And here Regulus was again, offering up all of the tips and tricks he’d learned to use against his trainers — what made them tick, what time of day to avoid them, how best to de-escalate and make sure they don’t go too far, what signs to watch out for that show they’re in a certain mood, also what steps on each floor to avoid and how to smuggle food and keep extra rations and valuables in a hidden place for a rainy day.

He shared with her the same edges he’d once tried to arm Sirius with.

But, unlike Sirius, she listened.

And, like Regulus, she learned.

Notes:

Did y'all peep that little Horcrux mention towards the end? Is your curiosity piqued??? 👀

I haven't fully figured out where I'm going with this, but I have a pretty solid idea. You guys won't be disappointed for sure 😊

_

Hope you enjoyed this chapter!

The next chapter will be up next Friday! I also post this story on my Medium blog, so if you would like to read ahead just click here

This story has soundtracks! For a cohesive Apple Music playlist, click here

For an unhinged and lengthy Spotify playlist, click here

This story also has original artwork! I plan on making character designs for every main character of this story, hopefully in color when I get a more manageable schedule. Thanks for all the love and support!

Thank you so much for checking out my work, it means a lot. Have a great day, remember that you matter, drink lots of water, and stream So Much (For) Stardust for clear skin 🐶💚

Chapter 9: Could've Been, Would've Been…What Should've Been You

Summary:

Sirius could not have been more puzzled if he’d been kicked in the head by a horse. “But why?”

“Because I said so,” Regulus snaps curtly. He sits up. “I’ve been waiting for you to notice, which I now see was a mistake on my part. Fact is — I’m no longer their Heir.”

Sirius’ heart starts thumping furiously. Does he mean -

Notes:

The Marauders are on so many different pages in this chapter it shouldn't even be funny 🤣

(TW: Peter Pettigrew lol)

9.

— — — — — —— —  Present day — — — — — — — —

Thankfully, Regulus soon calms down after his outburst, expression turning flat and back to his dead-inside look that James felt safe getting into the same car as him.

“I’m bored,” he’d abruptly declared, his face doing a statue imitation. He’d turned to Ris and held out an arm in a clear plea for help.

“Please, get me out of here before I die of boredom.”

She’d grabbed his offered hand and started marching him back to the car with one last glare directed at them. Neither James nor any of the gathered Marauders were confident that she wouldn’t leave them behind, so they all swiftly piled into the backseat before they got stranded.

Now the car is quiet, each Marauder carefully reminiscing over the events and revelations of the night.

James is sure Padfoot’s the one that’s been hit the hardest by all he’s heard tonight. His brother’s been a bit too quiet and still after what his…other brother said to him, which is usually quite impossible for someone like him.

James finds his gaze straying over to the back of the passenger’s seat where Regulus was sitting, tapping furiously on his tablet — God knows what he’s doing.

A pang thrums in his chest when he realises that he could’ve had both Sirius and Regulus in his life all along. If he’d known the Slytherin wasn’t actually evil during their time at Hogwarts, he could’ve managed to persuade him somehow to run away from his awful family with Sirius.

He’s sure he would’ve been successful — nobody would want to stay in an abusive home. It didn’t make any sense.

He should have seen that before.

But he didn’t — he ignored him and judged him in one go and never even tried to show him that Potter Manor was somewhere he would’ve been welcome if he had nowhere to go. Sirius would’ve loved to have his brother with him — he’d been so morose the weeks after he’d run away, and part of it must’ve been his disappointment at leaving his brother behind, though at the time James had thought it couldn’t have been helped.

But it could.

Regulus was good all along. How could Sirius have missed that?

James folded his fist under his chin as he thought. He’s never grown up with another person who he’d call a sibling, though James believes he stopped being an only child at eleven when he met Sirius, and officially at fifteen when Sirius ran away.

He knew Sirius like the back of his hand — they’d shared a dorm, even slept in the same bed many times, and there was nothing they didn’t tell each other.

James’ eyes stray over to Regulus once more. Maybe that’s the problem.

The way Sirius described Regulus from before, he was pretty shy and quiet, though that’s definitely changed since then. Maybe, after realising he was wrong to ever believe their parents, he was too shy to own up to Sirius about it — he was probably too ashamed to have ever believed them in the first place.

James feels himself growing more and more sympathetic towards Regulus with the picture his mind paints about him. He’s now ashamed himself, and deeply regrets not trying harder to establish a relationship with him in Hogwarts. He could’ve helped him communicate all the things he wasn’t able to tell Sirius directly — their relationship problems could’ve been solved just like that!

But now he hates James’ guts. James truly can’t blame him for it. But still, there has to be a way to fix this somehow…

Sirius can’t shake himself out of his current state of suspended disbelief. Reggie — his Reggie, perfect son Reggie — had believed him over their parents?

How could he have missed it?

His mind is stumbling over all the memories of their last conversations, memories he’d ruthlessly shut away and refused to revisit for nearly four years now.

He remembers the fights — always started by him. Reggie would be trying to talk to him but he’d always speak over him, the red haze clouding his eyes and ears and mind completely towards anything his brother had to say. He remembers when he stopped loving his brother, because his brother was of Grimmauld Place and Grimmauld Place was pain.

…But was it really all just an act all along?

When Reggie sat beside him at dinner and agreed with his mother that torturing mudbloods for sport was a perfectly acceptable pasttime, was he really on Sirius’ side even then?

How could he say stuff he claims he didn’t mean with such conviction?

Was he just that great of an actor?

His mind conjures up Reggie wearing an old-timey wig on a great theatre stage reciting Shakespeare. He furiously shakes the errant thought away — this isn’t a joking matter.

He clenches his fists as confusion fills him. Damn Reggie, why couldn’t he have just said what he actually meant instead of hiding behind lies all that time? Didn’t he know Sirius would’ve backed him up and faced any punishment those pricks for parents threw at them beside him?

James had no problem doing that for him while they were at school, why couldn’t his own blood?

Remus truly doesn’t know what to make of tonight. A member of the Black family rose from the grave — a dangerous one at that — returned Remus to the awaiting arms of his lover (who just so happened to be his estranged brother) then heavily threatened him for trying to complete his mission.

He needs a strong pint of firewhiskey. And he needs one yesterday.

He also feels so overwhelmingly grateful to be an only child after the shitshow that went down tonight he can’t even properly process the thought.

When he takes the time to reflect, he realises that Regulus Black was what he’d always suspected — a man of many faces, and peculiar talents. It takes quite a deal of finesse to fake one’s own death.

Neither Sirius nor James seem to have caught onto this bit yet, but he’ll be on-guard enough for the both of them.

Though, from all the younger Black said, he can’t discern exactly how much of a problem he’s going to be.

On one hand, he seems to have held Sirius up on a pedestal once, and Remus knows from experience that it’s difficult to fall fully out of love with Sirius Potter. He likely posed no threat to Sirius’ life, but he’d need to watch him closely from now on to make absolutely sure of that.

He had a feeling they’d be seeing quite a bit of him going forward.

As for James, it was abundantly clear that Regulus hated him, but as to whether or not that meant harming him, Remus was also uncertain. He’d probably just be happy with James out of his direct line of sight forever.

What wasn’t confusing to Remus, however, was that the Black Brothers definitely had a severe case of miscommunication. Yes, Remus was guilty of taking Sirius’ word that Regulus was as evil as the rest of his family, and yes, he did feel slightly bad about that. But he didn’t really owe Regulus any charitable feelings or goodwill; he didn’t know the bloke. They’d never had an actual conversation — he couldn’t have properly judged Regulus as not exactly a terrible person if he didn’t know him.

His lover, however, did.

To the person he’s known since they were both in nappies.

Despite the undoubtedly terrible situation, Remus couldn’t help finding himself growing wryly amused as he darted a glance towards his partner.

Sirius was always the life of the party — could talk his way into any pub and could charm the socks off absolutely anyone whenever he put his mind to it.

Yet, despite these gifts, his Sirius was…not the brightest when it came to certain social situations that called for a deeper reading of the matter.

For Godric’s sake, the idiot thought that Remus was prancing about their dorm topless for two years simply because he was ‘feeling too warm’.

Dear Padfoot needed things spelled out for him. His starlight was the furthest thing from a mind-reader. Even if the brothers were once close enough to tell what the other was thinking, that would’ve stopped the moment Regulus’ words stopped matching his actions or even feelings.

Sirius listened with his ears and not with his heart, but he often acted on the impulses of his heart rather than the sound advice filtering into his ears from his friends.

Quite the conundrum, these two brothers. And so much hurt that could easily have been avoided.

He sighs lightly, his stare shifting to the window. He wonders what Peter would think of the situation. The two of them were usually the sole voices of reason for many of Sirius and James’ harebrained schemes…

Remus sits up with a jolt, suddenly remembering their missing piece.

“What happened to Wormtail?”

James and Sirius are instantly on alert. “Something happened to Wormtail?” They shriek in unison.

He gives them a very deserved look. “How the bloody fuck would I know when I’ve only had twigs for company for the past week? But the two of you are here without him,” he scrutinised their abashed expressions, “Which makes me think something’s happened to him? Has it?” He arches an eyebrow.

James and Sirius just stare for a moment.

“I think we honestly just forgot about him,” Padfoot is the first to admit.

Moony blinks. They blink back.

“He is rather quiet, isn’t he?” Remus muses to himself.

“We were just in such a rush to get to you because Sirius and I were so worried,” James explains. He glances at Padfoot and then back to Moony.

“Last we heard, he was checking on his mum this morning. I’m sure he’s fine.”

Sirius’ eyebrow rises. “Just like we were supposed to be fine? And Moony as well?”

James stills as he finally notices the trend of Marauders being targeted.

“Fuck.” He turns to Sirius wide-eyed. “You think someone’s targeting Marauders specifically? That means Wormtail might be in danger!” He answers his own question, tone loaded with terror.

“Or something’s already happened to him and we wouldn’t know because we forgot to check in on him!”

Regulus’ lazy drawl finally cuts through the space. “Who the fuck is Wormtail?”

The Marauders jolted, having forgotten where they were for a moment.

“Er,” Remus glances at James and Sirius nervously, before turning his attention to Regulus.

“It’s Peter. Peter Pettigrew.”

“Oh.” Regulus turns the name around in his head for a moment. Peter Pettigrew — the fourth and final member of the Marauders. He was…severely overshadowed by the other three, even though they were well-known as a quartet.

Even Regulus forgot about his existence, although he’d gone to great lengths to pay attention to all of his brother’s dealings while they were in school.

Interesting.

Especially as it seemed to not be an uncommon occurrence.

He taps on his device for a few moments.

“Pettigrew’s fine,” he tells the bloke’s frankly terrible friends. “The system I use shows me that he’s made about six credit card payments today, the last being about an hour ago.”

Almost like he’s leaving a definitive trail, Regulus notes. He might be spooked and trying to get someone to notice if something suddenly happened to him. Yeah…if he was Peter, he wouldn’t bet on his friends for that.

Remus’ relief mingles with wariness at the potential of Regulus Black’s abilities. Regulus chooses that exact moment to lock eyes with him, and he doesn’t doubt that the Black scion caught onto his unease.

“Oh, good,” James exhales. “He’s alright.”

“We should still check on him.” Padfoot reaches into his pocket and produces a portable radio.

“Anyone got any spare batteries on them?”

Regulus stares down at Sirius’ handheld, brows furrowed as though he actually can believe his brother just up and went on an impromptu road trip without packing any necessities. He still pops open the glove compartment and rummages about before handing Sirius a handful without a word.

“Cheers.” Sirius can be — civil — to his brother. It’s not impossible.

He immediately inserts them and tries to reach Wormtail on the Order’s private frequency, as Moony and Prongs both lean in.

It takes a few tries before the line finally connects.

“Peter? Wormtail, are you there?”

A nervous voice filters through the line. “Er, who is this?”

“Forgotten my voice already, Wormy?” Sirius jokes, even as his shoulders slump with relief. “I’ve got Prongs and Moony here with me, we were all shitting ourselves that something might’ve happened to you.”

“S-Sirius?” Surprise is evident in his tone. “You’re alive? James too?”

“‘Course,” Sirius snorts. “It’s gonna take more than a bomb to take care of me and Prongs.”

“A BOMB?” Remus shrieks. Sirius and James both realise at the same time that they might’ve left out a few things in their reunion with Moony.

Prongs pulls him to the side and frantically begins to fill him in while Moony just stares, mouth agape and face ashen.

“Oh,” Wormtail finally replies after a period of silence. Sirius presses the radio harder to his ear in order to hear him.

“W-where are you guys now?”

Sirius looks up and meets the light-grey eyes of his brother who is calmly regarding him.

“We-”

The car lowers into the underground entrance right at that moment, cutting off the signal. Sirius glances at his radio, then back at his brother.

Regulus thoughtfully studies the communication device, chewing on his lip slightly.

“I might have a phone you can use to reach him. I’ll get it for you later.”

Sirius stares. He doesn’t know how to interpret his brother’s behaviour — apparently he never did. But he really doesn’t know why someone who was just yelling at him not too long ago with years worth of pent-up resentment would be acting so helpful now.

Maybe he shouldn’t even try. Sirius swallows and slightly jerks his head in a nod. “Thanks.”

Reggie’s eyes linger on him for a spell, then abruptly cut away as though he suddenly can’t bear to look at Sirius.

He gets out of the car, Ris immediately doing the same.

James thinks fast. “Wow, it’s gotten so late. You know, I really don’t think the Tube would still be running by this hour. Don’t suppose we could spend the night here, if you’ve got the space?” He directs the question at Regulus.

They couldn’t lose sight of Baby Black, not now that they’d just found him. Sirius still needed to talk to his brother, and have several certainly tough conversations before they could both make up with each other.

And they would make up — they shared the same beliefs this entire time. Regulus was good.

The Slytherin stops in his tracks, turning his head to stare at James with that unsettling gaze. Beside him, Ris does the same, pinning him in place with a more heated glower.

Lord, but these two were creepy.

Oh, joy, Regulus thinks sarcastically. James Potter being in my space for an entire evening without being able to escape him. What jolly good fun.

Sirius snorts. “Of course they have space — there’s nothing here but space. Didn’t you see all those empty houses we passed, Prongs?”

Regulus’ deadpan expression morphed into one of mild amusement.

“If you want to spend the night in an unfurnished shack that could collapse on your heads in the middle of the night, be my guest,” he said, striding towards the door they’d exited from earlier while grabbing Ris’ arm and dragging her along. “It would give me something lovely to laugh about in the morning.”

Sirius splutters, taking off after him. Remus and James follow more sedately.

Just as Regulus reaches for the metal door it abruptly bangs open.

“Boss! You’re back!” Jack greets, as excitedly as a dog whose owner just returned. Or their Boss, James supposes, though he can’t quite figure out whether the term is meant respectfully or condescendingly.

Regulus gives him a serene wave, one side of his lip quirking upwards as Jack comes skipping over and attaches to his side.

Sirius’ eyes narrow into slits, something akin to hatred in his gaze.

“That’s the bloody berk who was rubbing his dick against me earlier!”

Regulus slow-blinks while Remus has another mini-seizure. Baby Black turns to Jack and raises a questioning eyebrow.

Jack has the gall to roll his eyes. “It was a joke. What, nobody can take a fucking joke anymore?”

Regulus adopts a humoured expression. “I should’ve known you’d do something like that.” He plucks the cigarette from behind his ear.

“It’s quite disturbing to have to repeat this, but I guess we’re doing this tonight — Jack, I will save you from everything except a sexual harassment charge.”

Jack bobs his head. “Got it. Thanks for the refresher, Boss!” He says with a cheerful salute.

Sirius is flabbergasted. “Shouldn’t you fire him for that?”

Regulus and Jack both snort.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Jack is mine, I won’t just let him go,” Regulus declares, like the very idea is absurd.

Before Remus can finish deciphering the exact meaning of the possessive term, Jack interrupts.

“You realise a case can be made that you came onto me?” Both bushy eyebrows rise, a smirk tearing at his lips as he eyes Sirius up and down.

“I distinctly remember being straddled by those thick thighs of yours.”

Remus, James and Regulus all choke at that. Jack merely huffs, shit-eating grin in place.

“I was just being nice by reciprocating your mediocre moves, you know? But don’t worry, babe. Your chastity is safe with me. You’re not my type anyways.”

“Oh no,” Regulus mumbled quietly, sounding dead inside.

Sirius blew up. “Did you just call me mediocre? ME?” Flames shone in his eyes like burning stars, his rage evident. He looks ready to explode.

Jack looks like Christmas had come early, his Cheshire smirk only growing wider at seeing Sirius get red in the face.

“Did you not hear clearly the first time? Would you like me to repeat that for you?” He asks, gleefully poking the bear that is his brother.

Regulus turns his eyes heavenward, praying for patience.

Moony shoots Padfoot an exasperated glance. “Sirius-”

“You’ve never gotten a single piece of arse in your life and you know it!” Sirius cuts him off, glaring venomously at Jack.

That wipes the smile off Jack’s face. “Did you really just call me a virgin?”

Regulus facepalms, relying solely on Ris to guide him as they keep walking inside, her brisk footsteps the only sound he wishes to hear right now.

James’ heart goes out to him — he’s personally witnessed Padfoot shooting his mouth off and getting into a fight a near unhealthy amount of times, and Regulus’ mate seems equally trigger-happy and not helping the situation at all.

Jack bursts out laughing. “Did I hurt your feelings, darling? I don’t know what you want me to say, I just don’t want to fuck you, mate. I’m not the type to hold your hand and baby you in bed, if you get what I mean. But hey, I’m sure it’s doing it for whoever you’re sticking your dick into these days.”

He suddenly gets up in Remus’ face faster than he can blink. “Is it you, big guy?” He eyes Remus up and down in a way that makes all the hair on his arms stand on end, then grins like a devil.

“Just between the both of us,” He mimes lowering his voice while doing no such thing, “Does your knob actually get off on telling Posh Boy over there that he’s doing a good job when he actually fucking sucks and can’t even do that right -”

“Nom de Dieu,” Regulus swears, reaching over and dragging Jack away from a scandalised Remus before Sirius can deck him. Regulus pins his brother in place with one look, then turns to the other troublemaker.

“Must you be your most unsettling self with every new person you meet?”

“Yes,” Came his immediate response, as though the answer was undeniable.

Regulus snorts. “Who even let you outside today?”

Jack looks amused. “I don’t know, Boss, you tell me.”

He can’t stop the way his lip twitches at that, though he manages to muster up a stern look, placing his ring-adorned palm atop Jack’s hair. “Behave.”

Jack tilts his head to the side. “Do I get another cookie?”

“No,” Regulus bluntly shoots him down. He gives Jack’s nose a light flick. “Just do what I tell you.”

Jack rolls his eyes, stepping away from Regulus’ reach. “I’ll consider it,” he says slyly, opening the door to the room Sirius and James were in earlier and flopping onto the couch like before.

They certainly have an interesting dynamic, James thinks.

Sirius scoffs in disbelief at their entire banter-filled conversation. “So much for always being on my side,” he snarks pointedly, crossing the room with annoyed footsteps.

Regulus blinks at him in confusion from where he’s lowered himself onto a seat beside Ris.

“I got him off your dick, didn’t I?”

Jack snorts loudly. “Twas the other way around!” he sing-songs. Regulus cuts him a warning glance.

“Sorry, poor choice of words. Besides,” his tone shifts as he turns to face Sirius again, “That was in the past. We’re not kids anymore.”

Before that no doubt incites another heavy discussion, Remus pipes up with the question he’s been chewing on for a while. “So, where are we, anyways?”

Those eerie grey eyes slide over to him and evaluate him for a moment. He has no idea what Regulus Black keeps measuring him up for, and he doesn’t think he wants to know.

“This is the official headquarters of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black,” Regulus answers directly for the first time in the evening. He lightly drums his fingers on the tabletop. “As you can see, we’re underground now.”

Sirius instantly crashes to a halt.

This…was the main base of operations of the wretched family he’d walked out on years ago? And he’d just walked right back in willingly and without a second thought?

Sirius thinks he’s going to be sick. He needs to get out of here and get out NOW.

Before he can move an inch, Regulus idly adds, “If you’re worried about bumping into certain members of our extended family, relax. They don’t come here. You wouldn’t be running into anyone…else…you never wanted to see again.”

Sirius stares at him uncomprehendingly.

Remus narrows his eyes. “What do you mean they don’t come here? You just said this is Black family headquarters.”

“I did.” The corner of Regulus’ mouth tips up in a slight smirk. “However, they aren’t aware that this place exists, or that this is where I am.”

“Why?” Sirius’ mind spins. “Because they don’t know you’re alive?”

Regulus’ brows raise. “Oh, they know,” he replies, and doesn’t that just sting — “But they aren’t allowed to know about this place. In fact,” he reclines in his seat lazily, twirling his ring around his finger, “They’re not allowed to leave their homes much these days. Just in case you were wondering why you haven’t noticed any Blacks out and about anymore.”

Sirius could not have been more puzzled if he’d been kicked in the head by a horse. “But why?”

“Because I said so,” Regulus snaps curtly. He sits up. “I’ve been waiting for you to notice, which I now see was a mistake on my part. Fact is — I’m no longer their Heir.”

Sirius’ heart starts thumping furiously. Does he mean -

Reggie lifts his hand to display the obsidian ring on his finger, and it only just dawns on Sirius that he’s wearing what looks like an expensive heirloom ring on his right hand.

Such an inconsequential thing, but what a world of difference. Left hand is where the Heir ring sits, but the right is for -

“I’m the Head of House now, Sirius.” The words hit like a gunshot aimed right between his eyes. “As the law of succession goes, my word is now absolute. So if I say they can’t leave their homes, unless they want to be excommunicated, they won’t.”

Sirius’ mind is like a speeding train crashing and falling off its tracks as he watches his little brother flaunt everything he absolutely rejected.

The little prick knows it too. “I’m sure this must be very awkward for you,” he says with a straight face, still twirling that damned ring.

Beside him, he can see Prongs and Moony similarly recoil in shock, but he only has eyes for the rock glittering evilly on Reggie’s finger.

He doesn’t even try to hide his distaste. “Old Man Arcturus approved of you, then?” He snarls, his gaze fixated on the ring in aversive awe, a kind of wonderstruck repulsion.

Reggie stares at him quietly for a long moment. Then he throws his head back and damn near laughs it off his shoulders with how strongly he shakes.

Sirius throws up his hands in frustration. “What’s so bloody amusing to you now?”

Regulus bit back his next chuckle, cheeks straining as he regarded his brother with laughter dancing in his eyes. “You know, Sirius, sometimes I wish I could join in whatever fantasy world your mind conjures up for you. It must truly be entertaining.”

He shakes his head. “You think it was a matter of him just passing the reins over to me?” A sardonic grin parts his lips, even as his eyes suddenly turn cold.

“Oh, it was nothing so simple.”

Notes:

Hope you enjoyed this chapter!

The next chapter will be up next Friday! I also post this story on my Medium blog, so if you would like to read ahead just click here

This story has soundtracks! For a cohesive Apple Music playlist, click here

For an unhinged and lengthy Spotify playlist, click here

This story also has original artwork! I have a lot of things in the works, so please be patient. Thanks for all the love and support!

Thank you so much for checking out my work, it means a lot. Have a great day, stay safe, and remember that you matter ❤️

Chapter 10: They Are The Hunters, We Are The Foxes...

Summary:

Regulus’ careful scheming came to a crashing halt one unsuspecting evening. Lydia burst into his room and nearly slammed the door behind her, looking like a pack of wolves were after her. Her snowy white skin looked even paler than normal, which shouldn’t have been possible.

“Lydia?”

“I heard them,” she blurted out. “Just now, they had a visitor, he just left.” Her tiny chest heaved up and down.

“They called him Malfoy. He said he was in need of a House Elf and they’re planning on selling me to him.”

Notes:

I don't mean to be mean to Reg, really 😭 Please don't hate me 🥺

(TW: Dehumanisation, mental and emotional child abuse, gore, mentions of trauma, slave trade and captivity)

10.

— — — — — — — — 5 years ago — — — — — — — — 

Once the first steps of their plan had been hashed out, there was suddenly no time to lose.

Regulus had to adapt his nighttime schedule in order to start sneaking into Orion’s study after he’d gone to bed to rummage through the family documents, looking for something he could use to incriminate them.

He was sure whatever he found would further add to his sleeplessness, but it wasn’t like he’d ever gotten a good night’s rest in Grimmauld Place anyway. It had always felt too unsafe to fully relax in.

Lydia stayed up as well and helped him keep a lookout to make sure no one was coming. She adamantly refused to be left behind in the room alone while he risked himself.

And it was risky, because at the same time he was carefully pilfering from the family coffers, secreting away some of their stash bit by bit which he was sure they were going to need on a rainy day, and shifting the numbers around on the books to hide any trace of his actions.

If their plan fell through, he wanted to have enough money stashed away that it would be able to break their fall.

It was too easily discoverable to hide the stolen goods in the house, so whenever he could, he made sure to detour on his missions before returning to Grimmauld Place, spending that extra time combing London for empty and abandoned houses he’d stash his lot away in and make note of afterwards.

He made sure to relay all of his progress to Lydia when he came home to her, keeping her in the loop as a compensation for being gone so long. She barrelled into him whenever he returned, wrapping him in these boa constrictor-like hugs when they were safely up in his room, which at first used to make it hard to breathe but now made him feel like it was the first time in weeks that he could.

Regulus hugged her back just as earnestly, dipping his head to hide his face in her neck. It hurt to look at her sometimes, because it made him miss Panda and Siri like a fresh stab wound, and the days where he still had something akin to naivete, and being happy — though happiness was never something he could hold onto.

He knew he really shouldn’t be projecting all of his self-pity onto her, she must’ve already endured more than her fair share of it already. But despite his efforts, a few tears dripped onto her shoulder as she hugged him.

“Sorry,” he immediately apologised, attempting to pull away. He didn’t mean to lose control of himself — he’d just had such a wretched day…

Her only response was to tighten her hold on him even further, refusing to let him move from his position.

Regulus bit his lip and finally allowed himself to cry, trying to pretend he was being hugged by three people at once. Stars, he prayed he could always hold onto her just like this, and that she’d continue to let him.

There were exactly four people in the world that he had love for, and only two of them were within reach. Panda’s hugs used to provide him with just as much comfort and surety, but she would’ve graduated Hogwarts by now and he has no idea where she’d gone afterwards.

And his brother’s arms were lost to him….even more permanently so.

His tears finally run out, and this time she lets him pull away to wipe his face.

There’s a knock on the door.

“Master Regulus, the Mistress is asking that you come dine with her and Master Orion so they can hear about how you performed on the task you completed for the Dark Lord today,” Butler Kreacher’s voice informed from the other side of the door.

His fucking shite day…

Regulus could only sigh and say, “I’ll be right there, Kreacher.”

As he left Lydia’s side and opened the door, he couldn’t help the way his heart warmed upon catching sight of his butler, one of his earliest protectors who had always been — and even now, still remained — on Regulus’ side.

He wasn’t anywhere near as loud as Sirius or as daring, but he was every bit as brave.

Which was why he had to get him out of this place.

“Kreacher, wait,” he called out as the butler made to turn away.

“Yes, Master Regulus?” Came the croaky response.

Regulus softened his expression, trying to put the old servant at ease- and hopefully not shock him into a heart attack with what he was about to say.

“I want to tell you something very important, and I ask that you consider my words carefully and make sure not to repeat them carelessly.”

The butler frowned. “Very well, Master Regulus. Though, Kreacher doesn’t believe Master Regulus should be telling this lowly one if it is so important.”

“Kreacher, I must inform you because this concerns you as well.”

Reaching out, he did something he’s never done — he gently grasped Kreacher’s gnarled hands in his. They were rough and contorted from overwork, but so warm.

Not as nice as a hug, but it would do.

Kreacher startled at the contact, staring at their interwoven hands before raising his wizened face to peer concernedly at Regulus.

He doesn’t pull away. “Is everything alright, Master Regulus?”

“No. Nothing has ever been alright in this house.” He took a deep breath. “Kreacher, I want to be free.”

Kreacher was silent for several seconds. “Like former Master Sirius?”

Regulus shook his head purposely. He would always be a Black — there was no point fighting against it. Not with it carved into his bones and marrows — as well as the vow he swore binding him.

“No, not like Sirius,” he mused. “Kreacher, I don’t want to run away — I want to fight for it.”

“Master Regulus?”

He made sure to lower his voice even further. “The old laws state that I can actually challenge my father for his power with a duel. Though what I’m planning is hopefully less…drastic. If I held my father’s title, and later my grandfather’s, no one in this family will challenge my right to do as I please. I can leave.”

He gazed intently into Kreacher’s eyes to make sure he was following.

“I’d never have to step foot in this house ever again if I don’t want to. With Lydia, I could go to one of the nicer villas and hole up there and we’d wait out the war. And…I want you to come with me.” He gently squeezed Kreacher’s hands.

“You wouldn’t have to slave away or do back-breaking work around the place every day. You could rest, however long and often as you’d wish.”

Regulus was pleased to see a slightly wistful look enter into the old butler’s eyes. “That sounds nice, Master Regulus,” Kreacher replied, the wrinkles around his cheek deepening as he smiled.

Regulus struggled to contain his reaction — it wouldn’t do to make a noise that alerted his dicktators after all his hard work.

“You’ll come with me then?” He confirmed.

Kreacher bowed as much as he was able to with Regulus still hanging onto him. “Kreacher lives to serve Master Regulus,” he solemnly responded.

Regulus frowned. ”You wouldn’t need to serve me anymore, Kreacher. And you don’t need to call me Master when it’s just the two of us; just call me Regulus.”

“I will take that into consideration, Master Regulus,” Kreacher replied without missing a beat.

Regulus huffed a short laugh. He never would’ve guessed his butler could lie to him with such a straight face.

“Well, I’ve kept you long enough.” With another heartfelt squeeze, he finally releases Kreacher. “Time to go make my report now.”

As he turned away, between one second and the next, his Heir mask slipped seamlessly back onto his face.

As well as everything he was scheming in regards to his dicktators, His Death Eater duties were yet another thing running him ragged — specifically keeping up his ‘dutiful’ façade. He’d always been a very high-ranking Death Eater without much effort, something he could “thank” his family name and Walburga’s constant donations to the Dark Lord’s cause for.

But one thing he refused to contribute to the Dark Lord, despite its risks, was the dead bodies of innocents.

Regulus was self-aware to know that he wasn’t very solid — he didn’t have something he stood for and refused to bend on like Sirius. No matter his punishments, Sirius refused to abandon his beliefs, roaring them loud enough that they always echoed around the house and formed a presence of their own.

In comparison, Regulus’ form rippled like water. He usually just moulded himself into the most acceptable version of whatever people wanted him to be and stuck with that. It was probably why he was so good at being invisible — people didn’t exactly know what to look for with him.

He hadn’t yet figured out what the shape of the hill he would die on would look like, what his own personal line in the sand he would refuse to move for anything was.

But not murdering defenceless people was a good place to start.

Barring Bellatrix, he was the best dueller the Dark Lord had due to all the training Walburga and Orion had put him through. But he made a point not to show off his abilities, and thankfully, the Dark Lord decided that flaunting the Black scion about and having Regulus open doors for him in highly respectable places was more worth his while anyways.

Of course, he was not the only noble Heir the Dark Lord had, nor the only one from a Sacred Twenty-Eight family — just the one from the oldest and most renown family. He still needed to pull his weight in other ways, which is why he made sure to hold the Dark Lord’s ear as his most reliable informant.

From being sent on missions all the time, he made sure to keep his ear to the ground and report any interesting tidbits back to the Dark Lord — mostly about the Order’s movements. He considered himself a sort of defence specialist for their side — informing the Death Eaters on where the Phoenix members were planning an ambush or attack, which Dark family was being suspected of dealing with Voldemort and was likely to be raided by Aurors, which areas their forces were diminishing or weaker, things such as that.

Any one of those reports could be the one to put his brother in danger, which caused him no shortage of self-incrimination and even more insomnia, but that was the price he had to pay. He just had to have faith that Sirius was undefeatable, which came easier to him than sleep.

And with Lydia’s presence in his life, he had even more knowledge to feed Voldemort with, this time of human trafficking subjects — something the Dark Lord was so interested in for a reason that escaped Regulus. Though he could guess it wasn’t for anything good.

Maybe he would be trusted enough to know if he gained enough of the Dark Lord’s favour. It could be something he could hold over his head someday, if the knowledge proved vital.

Lydia had no problem disclosing all she’d learned from her captors — their habits and the information they’d freely leaked since they believed her unimportant enough to censor themselves around. She told him all about the seasons they found profitable for capturing and selling off human livestock, special features they looked for in the children they took, the kinds of people they mostly sold the special ones to, even what they expected to happen to them — and didn’t some of that knowledge just curdle his stomach?

He definitely wasn’t passing everything she told him over to Voldemort, keeping the secrets he could to himself. He had no idea how she was able to recite everything she told him with a straight face.

He’d expected to need to persuade her of the necessity of proving her usefulness to the household so Walburga and Orion wouldn’t get rid of her.

He didn’t expect her not to need convincing — or to be so blasé about giving up other potential victims.

Because he couldn’t unsee it now — every time he visited another of these devils incarnate on the Dark Lord’s orders, greasy gits who were always so bloody proud of themselves and so eager to show Regulus how good they were at putting humans in cells like sardines…

Every single captive he saw sitting in a cage looked like Lydia.

A fire had been lit under his feet now, an urgency to do something for these people because he knew from experience that no one else fucking would.

He wasn’t willing to give up on his efforts to keep Lydia safe with him, but he could at least try to undo some of the damage he was doing.

He kept records of every single location he was sent to, the names of the dealers there that he talked to, the total number of the prisoners he could see…

His hands were tied on getting them free. Some of these places had a truly astounding number of captives that couldn’t just get smuggled into Grimmauld Place, not that he was very keen on sentencing anyone else there.

He had to find another way to help them, and Lydia, smart little spitfire that she was, had already provided him with the answer — he would give them the tools they could use to free themselves.

Literally.

So whenever he was sent to these trafficking rings, he would make sure to break away from whoever was showing him around the moment he could. He’d make up some excuse or bluntly tell them that they were excused, it wasn’t like they could refuse him. Then he would scan the rows and rows of cages for someone suitable for what he intended — just one.

Most people he passed by were dead-eyed, not much fight left inside them. Not like the veritable spitfire Lydia was. That was okay — their drive to live could come back. They didn’t need to stay broken down forever.

They weren’t the type he was looking for, however.

He needed one that had bright eyes purposefully dulled, one who actually dared to raise their gaze and look him directly in the face instead of flinching away as he walked by. He was looking for that someone with a hint of calculation in their eyes, who’d let their gaze stray to whatever he was fiddling with in his pockets before quickly darting it away… wondering if it was perhaps something they could use to unlock their cage.

Someone who looked like they would be able to get through to the others better than he’d ever be able to.

Regulus remembers finding that first someone.

He looked about the same age as Regulus, much much skinnier which was not an easy feat at all. He sat apart from the other prisoners, his lanky legs stretched out towards the opposite wall near the bars of the cage. Three other people resided in the cage that was about as big as a box, their faces buried in their arms or each other’s necks for warmth.

Most of them huddled even closer together when they heard footsteps approach. But not his someone — he would’ve said they didn’t react at all if he wasn’t such an expert at discerning and then reacting to people’s facial expressions.

It was a less than a millisecond look. His eyes, which were lowered at half-mast, giving him a purposely lazy look, flashed between Regulus’ face, then the hand he had in his right pocket, back to his face, then straight ahead.

He continued stubbornly staring ahead even as Regulus came to a stop beside him. Thoughtfully considering him, Regulus slowly lowered to the ground so they were at the same level. He still didn’t react till Regulus held out a pair of lock picks directly in his face.

“Know what these are?”

His eyes came to rest on the objects with a completely neutral expression.

“It’s like this,” Regulus pulled out a small lock he’d brought to accompany his demonstration. “Be gentle with it,” he instructed, inserting one pick at the bottom of the keyhole and the other right in the middle. “Just slide this one up, be careful with it, then twist the other one. If you listen closely, you can hear all the tumblers clicking into place.”

The lock snapped open.

A glint of something greedy flashed across his someone’s eyes.

Regulus removed the picks from the lock. “Would you like to try?”

The boy spread his cuffed palms open, letting Regulus turn the tools over to him. It took a bit of effort for him to manipulate the tiny picks with the iron weights around his wrists, but faster than Regulus would’ve expected, the lock snapped open again.

His eyebrows rose in delighted surprise. “You’re a natural,” he marvelled.

The boy finally turned to face Regulus fully, mismatched eyes of blue and milky white taking him in without giving anything in his expression away, burn-like marks taking up the other side of his face.

Regulus swept away the hair covering his face, deeming it only fair that he got to see the extent of Regulus’ as well, and let him look his fill.

The sound of approaching footsteps made him snap his gaze towards the currently empty corridor, though not for much longer. He turned back to see that the lock picks and padlock had completely vanished from the boy’s hands, and he was back to looking like he would fall asleep at any second.

Regulus smothered his smile as best as he could as he stood.

“My name is Regulus Black,” he whispered as he walked past. “When you’re free, come find me.”

Because he planned to be free as well by then.

“I will,” he heard his someone speak for the first time, directing the words to his retreating back. It was a promise.

It even sounded a little bit like a threat.

He found other someones in other trafficking rings, depressing god-forsaken places that somehow hadn’t quite managed to suck the life out of them:

A girl with slanted eyes who he was sure no one would’ve looked twice at if they never noticed the steel hidden in her squinted gaze.

A child who bravely reached for him as he passed by, with way too much innocence in her eyes that he immediately wanted to protect or die trying.

An elderly man with weathered hands who looked worked to the bone, but his twinkling eyes shone as though he was holding back the best joke to ever be told.

Every someone got handed a set of picks, and Regulus fervently prayed to whoever would listen that they all got out safe — and that he might get to see them again.

Maybe those prayers were heard, only time would tell. He’d like to believe that they were.

But he quickly came to realise that not all his gods were kind.

Regulus’ careful scheming came to a crashing halt one unsuspecting evening. Lydia burst into his room and nearly slammed the door behind her, looking like a pack of wolves were after her. Her snowy white skin looked even paler than normal, which shouldn’t have been possible.

“Lydia?”

“I heard them,” she blurted out. “Just now, they had a visitor, he just left.” Her tiny chest heaved up and down.

“They called him Malfoy. He said he was in need of a House Elf and they’re planning on selling me to him.”

Regulus shot to his feet, his world crumbling down around him.

“What? No, they can’t.”

It made no sense for Walburga and Orion to sell Lydia off, not after he’d made sure to highlight just how much deeper he was in the Dark Lord’s favour thanks to all the information about dealers she’d provided that he’d passed along.

They weren’t even supposed to notice her anymore. This couldn’t — shouldn’t — be happening.

“The ponce said he needed more help around the place now that his wife is pregnant, and they offered me up just like that,” Lydia sneered.

The words broke through his dismay. “Wait, Cissy’s pregnant?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Cissy?” She pointedly asked.

“My cousin,” he explained. “We were close, she was my favourite out of all her sisters. She’s the second-born as well, so she could understand…” His voice trailed off as he recalled how he hadn’t received a single letter from Narcissa since she married Lucius Malfoy.

He supposed she’d gotten out of being a Black in her own way, and he couldn’t do much more than respect that if what she wanted was to completely cut contact with the members of her former family.

Lord knows her older sister Andromeda did. Only Bellatrix continued to unfortunately grace them with her presence though she was a Lestrange now.

Lydia let him muse for a bit before breaking him out of his thoughts.

“Well, I won’t go,” she bluntly declared. “I won’t let them take me from you. I also hate snot-nosed brats.”

She turned towards the sword rack situated beside his dresser, where he’d placed all the weapons he regularly made use of in duelling practice.

His stomach dropped like a stone when he saw her pull out a tanto that he’d gifted her to use for practice with him.

“Lydia, what are you doing with that?” He dared to ask, the slightest tremor in his voice.

She looked at him with nearly glowing eyes. “I am not going to let anyone put a price on my life, brother. I refuse.”

Ah…so that was her own personal line in the sand.

Regulus was suddenly so terrified.

“Lydia please,” he begged, reaching out to her. “Give me the blade.”

She scrutinised him, and it could’ve been seconds or days before she finally made her way to him and placed the blade in his hands.

Before he could let out a breath of relief, she tightened his own hand around the hilt and raised the sharp edge towards her face.

“You do it, brother. You’ll be careful.” She closed her eyes, welcoming the bite of the steel.

“Slice just deep enough to ruin me so no one will want me anymore.”

There was suddenly not enough air in the room. His breathing hitched shallowly as though he’d been plunged into a black hole he couldn’t find a way out of.

“I- I don’t want to hurt you,” he stammered, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

He never wanted to hurt her. The whole reason behind all of his efforts was to create a space for her where she’d never have to get hurt again.

“You have to.” She looked completely calm. Where the hell did he keep finding people who didn’t feel fear?

“Just do this and I wouldn’t be sold and they wouldn’t take me away.”

“There has to be another way!” He pleaded, trying to drop the sword from his hands but her grip was a steel trap.

“I could talk to them, advise them that it would be madness to sell you!”

Her gaze bored into his. “Would that work?”

He turned it over in his mind. If all of his glowing reviews still led to this, what would another do?

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his shoulders slumping.

“We can’t leave any room for uncertainty. This is the only way that’s infallible,” she maintained, pulling the blade even closer.

“No!” He cried out, getting desperate now as he spotted faint beads of blood on her face.

“You- you don’t have to stay. Just…go to one of the safe houses I told you about. Leave this place. I’ll come and find you, I promise.”

“Will you be coming with me?”

He bit his lip hard. There were still many preparations he’d need to put in place before he ever permanently left Grimmauld Place.

“Not immediately. It would take some time before I can properly get out from under their thumb, you know this.”

“Then no, I’m not going anywhere,” she refused to budge. “This way is easier — just one quick cut and everything will be solved,” she coaxed gently.

He stared at her. “Lydia, I can’t. You’re my sister.”

“And as your sister, I’m begging you to do this for me!” Her eyes welled with tears. “They’ll take me away and I’ll never get to see you again!”

The ground was opening up under his feet, casting him straight into a hell he’d already crawled out of once. Regulus didn’t think he could survive losing another sibling.

But his hand still didn’t move.

“I can’t.” His own tears fell, dotting his cheeks like raindrops. No matter how hard he tried, it was still never enough for the people he loved.

He was still just not good enough. And she was finally able to see it.

“I’m sorry.”

Lydia shut her eyes, and he felt her inhale deeply. She opened them again….and he was close enough to see how the look in them had changed — how she gazed up at him with an expression he’d never before seen her direct his way.

“Regulus,” she growled out, every syllable sounding like a damnation.

“Just DO IT already, you fucking coward!”

His eyes — and the scabs that had finally patched themselves over his heart from Sirius’ leaving — blew wide open.

He flinched, right down to his very soul, and couldn’t control the way his hand spasmed.

In a whirlwind of motion, Lydia flew back and crashed onto the ground near the door. She didn’t even make a sound.

It was so…silent. So at odds with the horror that just occurred.

Regulus himself was frozen to his feet, that cold feeling creeping back into him.

It was just. So. COLD in this place.

He watched, almost detached from himself, as she slowly propped herself up onto her arms, letting out short painful gasps.

She turned towards him, and he would’ve heaved at how her face looked like it had been split open if he remembered how to move…or even feel.

Her eyes met his… and there was finally fear in them.

He dropped the blood-soaked blade and dropped to his knees.

“I’m so sorry.”

He couldn’t hear her — the voices in his head were back and they were LOUDER, screaming at him for causing this, for ruining it with the one person who knew of his shame but still believed something of worth remained… who actually wanted to stay.

“You’re such a horrible person,” the voices crooned malevolently. “Why can’t you just be better?”

“Sirius would never have let it get to this. He’d put a blade in himself before he ever put one in you.”

“If you can’t make the problem disappear before it’s there then what are you even good for?”

“Unworthy spare. You should never have been born.”

The bloody tanto was perfectly within reach…

Regulus snapped out of it when Lydia crept her arms around his neck, having crawled all the way across the room to him.

“Starboy, Reg, I didn’t mean it,” she sobbed, peering into his face earnestly. There were traces of blood in the whites of her eyes.

“I swear on my life I didn’t mean it. You believe me, right?”

When she blinked, the tears rolling down her cheeks were crimson.

“I don’t think you’re a coward.” Her voice broke, and she turned to bury her face in his shoulder, her body shaking as she sobbed. Even that she did silently — just like him.

He remembered how to move and wrapped his arms around her, cradling her as she cried. The sentiment was nice, he supposed. He’d never gotten an apology before so it was quite a novelty, but it really wasn’t necessary.

Though brutal, but what she said to him worked — it got him to do what needed to be done. And she really didn’t need to apologise for saying that — he already knew what he was.

After all, she only said it because she wanted to stay with him, not as a reason for leaving him. There was a huge difference. Of course he’d forgive her.

He tenderly stroked her back, soothing her. “It’s okay,” he said, pressing a kiss to her head — and he meant it.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

She was a child who never should’ve been in this position to begin with. Not her, not him, and not Sirius either.

The only persons at fault were the monsters he shared blood with.

They couldn’t be reasoned with. Their actions never followed a definitive pattern, he couldn’t predict what they would do based on a normal cause-and-effect arrangement.

All his planning was wasted. He didn’t have a prayer of blackmailing them anymore, they’d just proved that they weren’t guaranteed to do the normal thing and concede their positions on Regulus’ demands. The options now ranged from everything between them ordering an assassination on the entire family of whoever he offered the sullying information to — to them offering up all their wealth to charity and declaring themselves bankrupt instead.

They’d lost their marbles, which had then proceeded to roll off the ends of the fucking world. Every day he spent in this place he felt his own screws come more and more loose.

No, he had to think of a more permanent solution to them. He should’ve done so from the start, he was naïve to think he could leave without any bloodshed…

But they were his parents, no matter how much he denied it.

With a heavy heart, he snipped the final lingering threads of attachment away, feeling his heart fade just a shade darker.

“If I killed them,” he whispered, finding the bravery to voice out loud something he never dared mention to Sirius, “Would that be alright with you?”

She pulled back and stared at him, face no longer weeping blood but the gash had inflamed to a screaming red. It hurt just to look at — Regulus can’t imagine how painful it was. She looked near unrecognisable.

Yet, the flames brightly burning in her eyes, even then, were unmistakable.

She leaned forward and pressed her bloody forehead to Regulus’.

“Listen, brother. We will do whatever we need to do. It- might not need to be that, or it might. But whatever you decide,” she reached out and gripped his hand, digging her nails in hard enough to draw his blood, a blood pact forming between them,

“I’ll be right there beside you. You, and Kreacher, are my family now. So we’ll get through this. Whatever it takes.”

She jerked her head firmly, and Regulus copied the motion, gripping her hand tightly back, desperate for something to hold onto.

“Nothing else matters as long as we’re together.”

“Yes,” he agreed, a new conviction searing right into his soul.

Notes:

If it's confusing for anyone as to why Lydia knew to use 'that' word against Regulus...I mentioned she stayed in Sirius' room for a bit. She's a bit of a snoop, probably read through his journal or any correspondence letters between him and Regulus she saw lying around, and did the same thing whenever Reg wasn't home and she was missing him.

She's not perfect by a long stretch, but that's what I love about her. But that's just me, feel free to express your opinions down below in the comments!

_

Hope you enjoyed this chapter!

The next chapter will be up next Friday! I also post this story on my Medium blog, so if you would like to read ahead just click here

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For an unhinged and lengthy Spotify playlist, click here

This story also has original artwork! I have a lot of things in the works, so please be patient. Thanks for all the love and support!

Thank you so much for checking out my work, it means a lot. Have a great day, remember that you matter, and stan Tay and Bey cuz they're BOTH queens 👑

Chapter 11: Paper cut stings from my paper thin plans

Summary:

“Bloody hell, Reggie, I thought you were dead for three years because of that? Why didn’t you just come to me?”

“Come to you?” All of a sudden, the space seems to get quieter. Regulus’ gaze bears down on Sirius with oppressive force.

“And what would you have done, exactly?”

Notes:

Here's that good ol', free-for-all verbal sparring we've all been waiting for 🤩

(TW: Mentions of trauma, physical, mental and emotional abuse, slave trade and captivity)

11.

— — — — — —— —  Present day — — — — — — — —

“I won’t bog you down with all the unnecessary details,” Regulus drawls, completely unsympathetic to the fact that Sirius’ shock hasn’t abated in the least.

“To make a long story short: You left, the dicktators died, and it was either I remained Heir or took over from the old sac de merde who really shouldn’t have as much breath left in him as he still does.” He flicks at a piece of lint on his sleeve. “I chose the latter.”

Sirius stares at him, the short speech somehow still managing to make his eyebrows knit together in incomprehension.

“Dicktators?” He asks, not sure he heard properly.

Regulus eyes him evenly. “Our parents, Sirius.”

Remus snorts at that. It was a fantastic pun, if he did say so himself.

“In doing so, I finally managed to get myself out from under their thumb,” Reggie continues. “They no longer have any say in my actions. It’s actually the other way around now. If I tell them that I’m moving our House to the Grey faction, rescinding any support we’ve given to the Dark side, and to stay holed up in their houses until the war is over, then that is what they will do.”

A cruel smile tilts up the corner of his lips. “After all, I’ve made them keenly aware of what it means to defy me.”

Sirius just stares at him. He’s known Reggie to be many things (and how well he actually knew his brother was now being called into question), but this is the first time he’s ever known him to be ruthless. It makes his hackles rise.

James pulls out a chair and almost collapses into it with Moony following suit beside him.

When he was eleven, shocked and so heartbroken to find out about the things Padfoot’s parents did to him (may they rest in…peace?), the only solution he’d thought of was to give Padfoot better parents. Ones that didn’t treat him cruelly — and James’ parents were and still are the best in the world.

Naturally, his only goal from then on was to make Padfoot his brother in the most literal way, which he finally accomplished when he managed to convince Padfoot to run away from them.

James never even thought there could’ve been another way to go about it. That Padfoot could’ve bid his time in that haunted house, waiting for an opportunity to seize power and then be the one making the rules.

Sirius could’ve kept his inheritance that way. All the power and prestige that came with being a Black, as well as the wealth that was his birthright. The Potters were well-to-do, and Padfoot’s Uncle Alphard had left him some money and a house after passing away, but it was nowhere compared to what he should have been entitled to.

He could’ve bought Moony a ring the second he wanted to, instead of saving up for it like he’s doing now. The thought makes James feel sad and a little guilty, despite knowing there’s nothing he could’ve done to fix it.

Because Sirius shed the Black name the second as he was able to, like he was sloughing off dead, disease-ridden skin to reveal the real person underneath all that muck. He wouldn’t have wanted to buy Moony a ring with money attached to the Black name anyway.

Also, Sirius doesn’t do patience. This entire trip to the ends of the earth to find Remus basically proved it. As they’ve grown, James feels like he’s become the more mature of the two, usually in the role of attempting to rein Padfoot’s worst impulses from seeing the light of day — especially after The Prank.

Sirius would not have wanted the path Regulus chose. It was smart, so brilliant it made James marvel at Regulus’ mind. Maybe the younger Black had even had an easier time escaping his parents’ cruelty…

But Sirius did not look like he envied Regulus one bit.

Sirius cocks his head at his brother, as though a different angle would help him understand him better.

“So you really didn’t want to be like our parents,” he thinks out loud, absentmindedly wondering when the burn of his guilt would fade.

“But then, why would you want to be like Grandfather Arcturus of all people?”

The Black family patriarch — former patriarch if what he’s hearing is true — was, in his opinion, the most terrifyingly evil person to ever exist. His eyes were the darkest shade of grey, beady like a bird of prey inspecting carrion when his gaze fell upon you.

They remind him of those he’d seen in history books about their ancestors of old, the first Blacks who’d spilled blood and left countless bodies in their wake during their harrowing reign of power.

Sirius had been conditioned, even as a child, to fear the striking sound of the antique cane Arcturus wielded as he walked. The elder had a way of sucking the light out of every single room he entered, even somewhere as dark as Grimmauld Place.

Whenever he visited, even Walburga went quiet.

He ruled The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black with cruelty and an iron fist, and his little brother — sweet little Reggie who used to set food out for the birds in their backyard — became his successor.

The girl beside Regulus, who’s been apathetic all this while, suddenly flares up in affront. “Watch your tongue,” she snaps, a rather excessive amount of venom falling from hers.

“Reg is nothing like him!”

“Yeah, don’t compare Boss to that bent wanker,” Jack pipes up. He’s pulled out those knives again — and James still can’t figure out exactly where he conceals them — entertaining himself by tossing them back and forth between his hands.

“That’s just wrong. Boss doesn’t even have a single wrinkle.”

Regulus snorts gracefully. “Jack, your input — while appreciated — is wholly unnecessary.” He scoots closer to Ris and grabs her hand, squeezing it gently.

“Please don’t bring up our Grandfather around her,” he tells Sirius, “They don’t get along.”

Ris sniffs haughtily, confirming the statement.

Regulus peers at his brother curiously. “I’m not sure exactly where you’re misunderstanding me, Sirius. Me being the new Head of House doesn’t mean I want to be like the old one. I similarly despise Arcturus, and I don’t want to be like him,” he states flatly but firmly.

“Maybe it would help him understand if you told him what kind of Head of House you are,” Remus pipes up before another misunderstanding could brew between the two.

“What exactly is it that you do?”

Remus isn’t just asking to prevent another fight between the pair. Regulus Black was a puzzle he needed more pieces to — between being an ex-Death Eater, having a solid information network spanning across London and Godric knows where else, and being aggressively protective over people one would usually seek protection from, Regulus may well prove to be quite dangerous indeed if provoked.

Regulus leans his head back in thought, silent for a lot longer than Remus would’ve expected.

Jack moves from the couch to the seat beside him and places a casual arm on his free shoulder.

Regulus looks at him, then at them.

“I’m trying to end human trafficking,” he nonchalantly announces as Jack resumes playing with his knives.

The three Marauders are dumbstruck.

“What?” Sirius jerks back in shock, eyes blown wide.

“On the planet?” Remus asks, feeling faint. Everything new he finds out is equally as jarring and only leads to more questions than answers. It’s starting to give him a headache.

“Ideally.” Regulus frowns. “But that’s too much of an undertaking for right now, so I’m starting small and aiming to wipe it out in the whole of the UK for now.”

SMALL? James thinks hysterically.

“And how exactly are you…accomplishing this?” Remus asks, rightfully afraid of the answer.

“How?” Regulus shrugs, and he’s suddenly holding up a pair of picks that WEREN’T IN HIS HANDS BEFORE AND HOW DO THEY KEEP DOING THAT?

James looks frantically at his friends’ faces, noticing a distinct lack of surprise in them.

WHY IS HE THE ONLY ONE WHO SEEMS TO CARE THAT THEY WERE APPARENTLY SURROUNDED BY MAGICIANS??!

“Lots of lock picks.” Regulus explains. “Back when I was a Death Eater, I found a lot of trafficking rings. Did you know they’d put actual people in cages?” He segues. “It’s barmy. Anyways, I’d just pop the locks off.” He shrugs, and the lockpicks disappear from his hands.

James decides to focus his attention on this fascinating facet of Baby Black’s life rather than intently watching his hands to see how exactly he does that. He doesn’t feel like he’s smart enough to figure it out.

Jack rolls his eyes at Regulus. “You’re underselling the story.” Turning to them, he says in an appropriately dramatic voice, “It was wicked. Boss just swooped in and took out all the guards with his impressive silent ninja moves…”

“I did no such thing,” Regulus interjects, amused.

“…then freed us,” Jack barrels on without remorse, “And gave us this pretty speech about how our lives were our own now and we should never have been deprived of our right to be free from the beginning.”

Regulus turns to him and grins. “You think my speech was pretty?”

Jack smirks. “The prettiest.”

“Why thank you. I made it specifically for you, darling, did you know that?” Regulus winks.

Jack places a hand on his chest, grin growing wider. “You really know the way to a man’s heart, boss.”

“I do, don’t I?” Regulus shakes his head in mock incredulity. “I shock myself, sometimes, with how irresistible I am.”

They both dissolve into snickering laughter.

It’s like Sirius and James, Remus notes, taking in the scene with slowly growing horror.

From what Regulus just told them, he rescued this…Jack fellow, and gave him a safe place to belong. Regulus is Jack’s James — and this whole time his brother, James’ best friend, has believed him to be an evil Blood Purist.

What a severe blunder indeed.

They’re both very silly with each other, James thinks, watching the pair banter in a manner that makes a fond smile tug his lips upwards. It just seems so familiar…

Ris rolls her eyes at the playful pair but sits closer to Regulus, taking up his hand to fiddle with it. He lets her.

The threesome seemed so close, like they shared a bond just as close as the Marauders. Like family.

James feels happy for the younger Black for having found that…but he can’t help the sudden, painful realisation tugging on his heartstrings, as he finds himself wishing that Regulus was his family too.

Sirius still isn’t sure what exactly is going on.

He remembers exactly where he was the day he got the news his younger brother was dead. He remembers the date, the exact time, the musty atmosphere of the London pub where he’d been drinking firewhiskey and chatting up Marlene from high school.

He remembers how he’d cracked a joke at the table, at finally being deemed the “good guys” since the majority of the Dark side was filled with slimy Slytherins. He remembers Marlene, chuckling just as hard, sharing her enthusiasm at putting every single one of them in prison.

He remembers them laying bets of which one of them would go down in history for the most arrests, showing each other what face they’d make for their Daily Prophet photo then absolutely losing it.

He remembers tossing back his firewhiskey then ringing up Tom the barkeep for another.

He remembers Tom placing it on the table with the front page papers and a gentle tap on his shoulder.

There, in screaming letters, the Daily Prophet read: HEIR TO THE HOUSE OF BLACK DECLARED DEAD.

He remembers how time had stopped at 9am, because he’d stared at that front page for no less a century.

He remembers how he was only pulled out of his trance because Marlene had glanced over his shoulder, nudging him, then grinned.

“Cheers, that’s one less person to have thrown in Azkaban,” she crowed.

He hasn’t talked to Marlene since…

None of the lads were there with him that day at the Leaky Cauldron — there was no one to catch Sirius as he sat there, feeling ready to implode.

It was good news, a loss for the Dark side was always a win for the Order. Didn’t matter that Regulus was only sixteen…didn’t matter that he was his little brother…

He’d never felt so alone.

But when he finally looked up and locked eyes with Lily Evans, he felt a little less so. Because she’d also just read the front headlines, and her expression held genuine sorrow.

As they stared at each other, the only two people who felt any negative impact from the news, sadness made way to feeling…confused.

He and Lily weren’t close — he thinks he might hate her actually, for her constant rejections of James. He was sure Lily was aware of his distaste, so he didn’t understand why she would be feeling sadness on his behalf.

On Lily’s face he saw a similar confusion emerge — probably puzzled as to why he would be grieving in the first place, since everyone knew Sirius had loudly and proudly denounced his brother from day one of Reggie’s first day at Hogwarts.

But he had no reason to explain himself to her, so he’d just stormed off moments later…never telling her how grateful he was for that small second of making him feel better.

A few months later, he’d seen the printed obituary for Walburga and Orion Black, who had seemingly died in a fire inside their miserable house, and he’d laughed himself hoarse. He’d gotten so hysterical he’d actually thrown up.

Then Uncle Alphard somehow suddenly perished, and after that none of the members of the Black family were ever spotted in public again.

Even Andy, who’d been discussing with him up till that point about joining the Order of the Phoenix, suddenly backed out. Sirius had understood- she had a family, a child to take care of now. She couldn’t risk dying and leaving them behind.

Personally, Sirius was just glad that James and his family had saved him from the Blacks before whatever curse they’d incurred had finally fallen upon them. The downfall of the Black family in such a way was music to his ears, a precious lullaby he hummed to himself before he went to sleep.

But apparently, it wasn’t a curse. His baby brother, his little Reggie, had faked his death, performed a hostile takeover of the family head position, banished Arcturus and Druella and Pollux and Cygnus and the rest of the gloomy bastards from society, then proceeded to mingle with people who were decidedly not Purebloods from all walks of life… in the goal of undertaking one of the most tireless feats known to mankind.

It made Sirius’s head spin every which way just thinking about it.

“Why?” Sirius asks.

“Why what?” Regulus cocks his head to the side.

“Why anything? Why are you doing this?”

Why didn’t you tell me you were alive?

He feels like pulling his hair out. “Just why?” It comes out just desperate enough to sound like a prayer.

Regulus reaches up and seems to fiddle with something, a necklace of some sort, looped around his neck.

“Something that has hurt the people I consider my family so much should not exist anymore,” he says, like it’s just that simple.

That was possibly the worst thing he could’ve said. Sirius feels a surge of resentment, glaring balefully at his brother while wondering where the bloody hell this conviction was when it was Sirius on the receiving end of their parents’ abuse.

All those times when Reggie just stood by…

Regulus notices his reaction. Coolly, he says, “You had three years of thinking that I was dead. Three years of believing the Black family was finally dying out and we were going to be lost to the bowels of history. If I had my way, you would’ve spent your whole life believing that. You were the one who came to me. So don’t say I never did anything for you.”

The words fall like stones in the spaces between them, strengthening the wall of distance they’d built up.

Sirius stares at him. “Are you taking the piss right now? You’re actually being fucking serious?”

Regulus tilts his head to the side, visibly contemplating making the joke.

Sirius finally gives in and runs his hands through his hair in frustration. “Bloody unbelievable. You- you think I liked believing that you were dead? That it was some kind of favour, that I- I somehow wanted that?”

He hates himself for the way his voice cracks.

“Yes.”

Sirius stares at him. Regulus narrows his eyes, looking closer at his brother’s face.

“You’re upset?” He sounds genuinely baffled.

“WHY WOULDN’T I BE?” Sirius screams out. Who wouldn’t be, after hearing that? This entire conversation was batshit.

He pins Regulus with his slate grey eyes.

“I don’t understand you at all.”

Regulus raises an eyebrow regally. “I know,” he calmly responds, finding no trouble holding Sirius’ gaze. “You more than proved that when you left me behind to die in that house.”

Sirius flinches back as if struck. “I-I didn’t…” he stutters out, swallowing hard. “I never wanted you to die, Reggie.”

Regulus pushes his chair back, detangling himself from the comforting arms of his family. He stands and walks across the table, lightly toeing the metaphorical wall separating them.

He says nothing for a moment, crossing his arms and scuffing the floor lightly with his Oxford shoes.

“That day,” he says, eyes downcast, “Before you walked out…didn’t you hear me calling you?”

“I-“ It’s Sirius’ turn to look down at his shoes in shame. “I did. But I was upset.”

“So…you didn’t look back. You didn’t even let me finish begging you not to leave.”

Sirius winces, filled with regret.

James’ heart breaks for the two. He’s feeling overwhelmingly guilty as well that he’s broken something sacred, meddled in something he didn’t fully understand.

This won’t be the last time he comes to realise this.

“That’s what killed me first, you should know.” Reggie’s voice is back to being cold. “You did, and nobody else.”

He snorts humourlessly. “Walburga and Orion were just whipping a corpse after that, thinking they were doing something.”

Sirius’ head snaps right up at that. Because no, he couldn’t have heard right…

“They hurt you?”

Regulus’ brows rise. “You think they became saints once you were gone? Probably converted to Christianity and started treating children like gifts from God?”

Sirius can’t even be offended at the sarcasm. “Why would they have ever hurt you? You were the perfect son!”

“I was,“ Regulus agrees immediately, “And yet…I wasn’t good enough. They only brought up my supposed ‘perfectness’ when they were trying to use me against you. Once you left, all I ever heard was ‘Sirius should’ve been here’, ‘Sirius would have been a much better heir’.”

“What.” Sirius blurts out flatly.

“I know, it used to keep me up at night, worrying that they’d decide to drag you back after all once they ‘accidentally’ killed me off somehow.”

James reels at that, thunderstruck. It didn’t even occur to him that Padfoot’s parents could’ve… could’ve tried to sacrifice their remaining child in order to drag the other back. To get his brother back. 

“They didn’t really need a reason to be cruel most of the time, as you well know,” Regulus continues with a scoff. “What fucking perfectness? What fucking favorite son? Walburga and Orion were crackpots and pathological fucking liars, you taught me that! You were the one always telling me that our parents’ talk was all bollocks and not to believe them!”

“HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW YOU DIDN’T BELIEVE THEM?” Sirius bellowed in a pent-up mix of rage and guilt. “You were always saying the fucking ‘proper’ things that they wanted you to say -”

“I LIED, alright!” Regulus roared back. “I was a lying liar who lied! I lied to them every fucking second I ever spoke to them!”

“Why didn’t you just stand up to them? You never stood up to them about anything!”

“You told me once that you couldn’t stand seeing me hurt. What, was me not getting myself hurt suddenly not good enough for you anymore?”

Reggie’s eyes are basically glowing with all the ice behind them. “What the fuck did you want from me?”

“I wanted you to do something other than just stand there and watch like some piece of furniture! I was always taking the hits for you, taking the blame for your mistakes, but you never even stood up for me! But you’d rather do that for a bunch of strangers and hoodlums living in the woods!”

“I WAS ON YOUR SIDE!” The rage emanating from him could’ve burned villages. “But you wouldn’t have believed that unless I made a target of myself, would you? And then what, have Walburga pick up that gun she used to point at you all the time and shoot me? I don’t think you’re very aware of this, Sirius,” he says, taking several steps forward, “Or maybe you just prefer to remain purposefully obtuse, but before you left, I was just the spare! Do you know how many times they told me growing up that they didn’t need two children? They could’ve really killed me at any time if I’d pulled half the shit you did- but I guess I sure came in handy when you ran away, huh?”

He bristles. “Is it impossible for your tiny brain to fathom that the sentiment went both ways? Do you think I enjoyed watching you get hurt either? But you could never leave it alone- you just had to scream and pick fights with them whenever you felt even the slightest urge to- and I accepted that about you! I was just always concerned about what comes after — what am I going to have to do for Sirius to help get him back on his feet once he’s done making life significantly harder for himself for the trillionth fucking time! And far be it from me to ruin your fun! You loved driving that crazy woman even crazier and you know it,” he scoffs, his voice dripping with derision.

They’re nearly nose to nose now, snarling in each other’s faces like wild animals. James wants to get in between them before someone really ends up dead, but Moony beats him to it.

“He really did take it hard when he heard the news,” he speaks up, gently walking over to place a hand on Padfoot’s shoulder.

“Did he?” A humourless smirk curved up the corners of his mouth.

He walks backwards to resume leaning against the desk. “Let me guess- you went straight to the pub for a bottle, didn’t you?”

Sirius’ silence was answer enough.

Regulus tips his chin onto the back of his hand, staring his brother down.

“You’d get drunk at a party, you’d get drunk when you hear I’ve died, you’d get drunk on a random Tuesday.” His voice is so dry it seems to be sucking water out of the air. “Am I supposed to feel special?” He straightens out his legs casually.

“Did you enjoy yourself, at least?”

“You’re being cruel,” Sirius whispers.

“No, I’m being fair.” Regulus shoots Sirius an incredulous look. “How did you expect me to take that knowledge — that I meant so little to you that my death would only result in a casual event for you — with any amount of grace?”

“But why would you fake your own death in the first place?” Lupin questions, exasperated by this confusing man.

Regulus tilts his head to the side, tapping his fingers on the table. “You know, there’s a surprising amount of things you can get done when everyone thinks you’re dead. It’s very economical,” he lightly remarks.

The change in tone once again gives the three Marauders whiplash.

“I suppose…” Remus says hesitantly, eyebrow rising. “Is that the only reason?”

“No, but it’s none of your business, is it?” Regulus stares, mimicking him by raising an eyebrow as well.

“What about me?” Sirius boldly challenges. “Don’t I deserve to know?”

Regulus stares at Sirius, then tilts his chin in thought, facing upwards. After a moment on pondering the answer, he replies,

“I was trying to get away from someone- a few someones even- who I couldn’t take in a fight at the time. It seemed like the best option.”

The Marauders exchange glances. “Voldemort?” Remus guesses.

“Correct. Mother signed me up as a baby Death Eater-in-training, as I’m sure you probably guessed,” he explains, addressing Sirius. “I wanted out, and he’s not exactly the type to let people tender their resignations from his ranks.”

“Bloody hell, Reggie, I thought you were dead for three years because of that? Why didn’t you just come to me?”

“Come to you?” All of a sudden, the space seems to get quieter. Regulus’ gaze bears down on Sirius with oppressive force.

“And what would you have done, exactly?”

“I would have taken you in! Helped you, hid you, whatever you needed!”

“Would you?” He raises a single, cool eyebrow. “Because this is news to me. I genuinely didn’t know that. Whenever I thought of coming to you… I pictured you slamming a door in my face.”

Sirius doesn’t know how many more flinches he has left in him.

“Bollocks, so you took your chances with those monsters instead of me? Do you know how long I wanted for you to have come after me and told me you were willing to give up on our parents and that whole rotten family, that you wanted to toss away everything they’d taught us and spit in their faces and no longer be a Black?”

Sirius is panting at the end of his passionate delivery. How could Reggie ever think he’d even…?

“Stop being a Black? Toss it all aside?” The cold words cut like a knife across his system. Reggie suddenly seems to loom over him, making him feel every centimetre that separates them.

“Who the fuck do you think I am?”

Sirius’ mouth goes dry.

“You complete and utter fucking baffoon. You were all ‘Don’t think like our parents, Reggie! Think like this instead, Reggie!’ Honestly, it’s like none of you people expected or even wanted me to be able to think for myself! Did it ever occur to you that maybe I liked being a Black?”

Sirius’ heart sank. Maybe he wasn’t wrong about his brother after all…

Regulus facepalms. “Not in the way you’re thinking! I liked the French ancestry and the constellations naming tradition and the passed-down Black genes — not the inbreeding, obviously — but the fact that I could trace my nose or eye shape or hair colour back through generations of other family members. I liked knowing I was part of something so much more than myself. I just hated the things that became attributed to being a Black- the torture, of course, and the prejudice and the inbreeding… but I always thought that those could be changed, thought we- that I could change that, maybe, and then it wouldn’t be so bad to be a Black. But you just completely hated everything- to you being a Black meant being Walburga and Orion’s son! But those monsters didn’t even matter in the grand scheme of things! They were just placeholders because I thought you would be the one to take over one day. But you never saw things that way- you would’ve let the Black name end with you if you had the power. You would have damned us all then laughed all the way to the grave!”

Sirius considers. Yes, he would have.

“I don’t blame you for how you felt,” Regulus is still talking, “but that wasn’t my vision. I wanted to make it better. And that’s a big reason why I would never have wanted to leave the family completely like you did.”

His eyes are sharp enough to cut. “I’m not like you. It’s not easy for me to just abandon my family.”

James tries to imagine what he would do if he had a sibling whose fervent desire was to end the Potter line.

If the Potters’ were bad people, wouldn’t that be justified?

But, like Reg, wouldn’t he want to make it better? They would be awful, but…they were still family, after all.

“You think it was easy for me to leave? They had to nearly break me before I decided I was cutting ties!”

“Well, did you give even a single thought to what you leaving would mean for me? You think Walburga and Orion were bad when you were there, after you left they got worse, if you can believe it. You ask me why I didn’t tell you I was alive all this time? When you heard I’d died…did you even cry?”

Sirius must admit that after he learned of his brother’s death in the paper, the most he’d done was get rip-roaring drunk and thrown himself into the biggest ragers he could find, for a full week, before pretending it never happened the next day. Pretending he was fine, that he’d never had a brother apart from James, so there was no one to miss.

Except here was Regulus now, staring at him now and asking him “Did you even cry for me?” without his eyes covered like usual, the expression in them damning him to the depths of hell. He can already tell that this memory of his brother is going to haunt him for many nights to come.

Something in Regulus’ eyes cooled, hardened and solidified.

“I didn’t think so.” There’s a finality in those words.

“I am done apologising to you for who I am, Sirius. Especially since I have never, not even once, asked you to do the same.”

Notes:

This is just my take on the whole situation. Sirius and Regulus are wildly different people who both went through things they didn't deserve. There's a lot of hurt feelings, but there's a lot of grey areas, since I don't really think either of them are wrong. They both just have a lot of things neither of them got to say before that's fucked up their relationship. And there's more where that came from! :)

Let me know what you think! Love reading your comments 💖

_

Hope you enjoyed this chapter!

The next chapter will be up next Friday! I also post this story on my Medium blog, so if you would like to read ahead just click here
- For those that follow my blog, sorry I'm not that fast with writing. I'll try and keep up but I really have a lot on my plate these days :(

This story has soundtracks! For a cohesive Apple Music playlist, click here

For an unhinged and lengthy Spotify playlist, click here

This story also has original artwork! I plan on making character designs for every main character of this story, hopefully in color when I get a more manageable schedule. Thanks for all the love and support!

Thank you so much for checking out my work, it means a lot. Have a great day, stay safe, and remember that you matter 💖

Chapter 12: Now my name is up in lights...

Summary:

“We would have been perfectly positioned to ensure an accident happened during her pregnancy if the situation became dire enough. How dare that harlot get herself knocked up when darling Sirius hasn’t even been wed yet!” She huffed.

It would be easy to assume from her response that Walburga’s concern and sentiments were directed towards her first son — Regulus’ older brother.

However, you would be mistaken. She was actually referring to Regulus himself.

Notes:

Just a little bit of canon compliance 😔 Sorry!

(TW: Dehumanisation, mental and emotional child abuse, gore, mentions of trauma, slave trade and captivity, murder)

12.

— — — — —  — — — 5 years ago — — — — — — — — 

CRACK!

With a strike the sound of thunder echoing in the living room, Walburga sent his little sister to the ground with a powerful backhand.

Regulus made himself survey the scene with a casual expression, looking almost as bored as Orion, who idly watched from his comfy chair — as he always did — while his horrible wife abused a child.

“You revolting little vermin,” Walburga hissed in an eerily serpentine manner, lifting one heavily heeled foot and nailing her right in the chest.

Regulus breathed shallowly through his mouth as he heard something crack. Lydia still hadn’t made a single sound — she just huddled her thin arms around her chest and face in a meagre form of protection.

The sale of his sister had obviously fallen through. Lucius Malfoy had taken one look at her the next evening, gaping, pulsing red hole in the middle of her face and lips bitten through to deal with the pain of it, and his face had immediately screwed up like she was a bad odour.

“I cannot bring this — thing home to Narcissa,” he sneered caustically, the corner of his lip curling. “She’d lose her lunch more than she already does just looking at it.”

With that, he’d spun on his expensive leather heel and strode through the doors, muttering about bothering Bartemius Crouch instead.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Walburga banshee-screeched. “What your stupidity has cost us, you beastly little imp!”

“It was a mere duelling accident mother,” Regulus spoke up, pitching his tone just so to make it akin to Sirius’ lazy drawl.

“She couldn’t dodge fast enough.” He inspected his nails in a pompous manner, taking a moment to take his eyes away from the scene just so he could breathe.

“Obviously I’ve gotten better and now she can’t keep up. You need not make such a fuss.”

It was futile — Walburga had never had an issue with blaming the victim, and she wasn’t about to start now.

She rounded on Orion. “It was imperative to have eyes in the Malfoy household! We needed someone there monitoring Narcissa, that foolish girl is reaching above her station!”

She paced back and forth across the parlour like a trapped hellhound.

“We would have been perfectly positioned to ensure an accident happened during her pregnancy if the situation became dire enough. How dare that harlot get herself knocked up when darling Sirius hasn’t even been wed yet!” She huffed.

It would be easy to assume from her response that Walburga’s concern and sentiments were directed towards her first son — Regulus’ older brother.

However, you would be mistaken. She was actually referring to Regulus himself.

Regulus had noticed the increased drinking activity, how Walburga’s shrieks were getting louder and she was flying off the handle for more nonsensical reasons.

Whatever the Black Family madness was, Regulus was convinced Walburga Black was best friends with it.

If he was being charitable, he could admit that his charade of being Sirius was more believable than he’d expected. With all the wires crossed in Walburga’s mind, she might as well have gotten her own children mixed up too.

However, the harsher (and probably more honest) explanation was that he was never exactly important enough for her to remember him by name.

Before, he was always called “Boy.” Now he was addressed as “Sirius”…and Regulus hadn’t yet decided which moniker was more tragic.

For a moment, he could only stare at Walburga, too aghast to think of some appropriate sweet nothing to murmur in hopes of appeasing her.

Of course she would’ve tried to murder an unborn baby. He shouldn’t have put it past her in the first place.

“What if her brat goes on to inherit the House of Black? Our bloodline, falling to that peacock Malfoy?” She shuddered so hard Regulus swore he heard her bones clash against each other.

Orion, who had been altogether expressionless during her tirade, now twisted his mouth in mild distaste.

“Now that would be…unsuitable.”

The dicktators locked eyes with each other for a single blissful second of silent contemplation. Then Walburga turned her burning gaze back to Lydia, who still hadn’t moved.

“You could’ve been pivotal in assisting my son to guard his position as Heir to this family, finally been important for one moment of your wretched existence — but you failed.”

Her sneer looked hellish. “You are not worthy to stay by my son’s side.”

Regulus finally heard a sound come from her — a whimper that shot right like an arrow to his heart. He let his eyes flicker closed for just a millisecond, fighting the burn of tears building up behind his retinas.

“To the kitchens with you, imp. For your own sake, make yourself scarce. I don’t want to see your abominable face about, especially not at meals. You will eat whatever scraps we leave for you, and nothing else.”

Turning to Regulus, her ire melted and she softened in an almost motherly way.

“You’ve made wonderful progress so far in your duelling, my darling.” She stroked his cheek tenderly.

“Why don’t you go practice some more, Sirius?”

Regulus made himself smile at her with care. “Yes, Mother.”

It took a monumental amount of effort to turn away and leave his sister lying there, but he caught Kreacher’s eyes just before he left, and the butler’s subtle nod was what got him through the door without looking back at her crumpled form.

Kreacher would attend to her — he could trust him with her care.

He went through the motions of his practice, uncaring of how effortless and picture perfect his movements were — that he wasn’t lying about. He’d staggeringly improved, something that would usually boost his confidence…

But he couldn’t care about anything till he was sure Lydia was okay.

He paced in his room after dinner, wearing down the last bit of unmarked carpet as silently as he could.

Not even five minutes had passed — though it felt like a century — when Kreacher came in carrying Lydia in his arms.

He flung himself towards them, reaching out and engulfing her gently but urgently in a heartfelt hug.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry,” he blubbered like a baby, only then realising he’d been crying for quite some time.

Her arms reached up and tightened around him. “I don’t blame you, Reg.” Her voice was faint, but the conviction was there.

Regulus’ eyes watered anew at the casual nickname.

There were tightly wrapped bandages around her chest peeking out from under her shirt. Regulus wasn’t stupid enough to ask her if she was hurting. He just squeezed her as softly as he could, offering comfort.

“Just a little bit longer,” he whispered imploringly, looking up to take in her and Kreacher’s faces. His entire world shoved into two breakable people, a fact he was intimately aware of.

He’d figured out how he was going to make his escape from Grimmauld Place. It was a complicated plan, because first he needed to escape the Death Eaters.

He just needed to be sent on a mission, something tasking enough that he could request the use of his House Elves. And then he’d just…disappear.

With all the stolen money he’d stashed in the multiple safe houses he’d found and made livable, they would be able to survive. In near squalor, but it would get better once the world pronounced him dead.

He wasn’t very remarkable in life, so he was positive there wouldn’t be an uproar about it. His “death” was only necessary so the Death Eaters would not look for him.

And when no one was looking for him, when no one was expecting it — he’d come back to the House of Black.

For Walburga and Orion. And for the Headship.

As Head, his first order of business would be to appoint Lydia as his Heir. He couldn’t give the other members of his family any opportunity to take over the position again and continue their reign of terror. He’d write her into the family legacy and tapestry right beside his name (and Sirius’ singed one).

She’d need an appropriate star-based name. He could put the weight of his position into getting her added, but he wouldn’t put it past them to clamour about something as fickle as a name making her illegitimate.

Kreacher would be added too — he’d lived his entire life as a Black asset, it was about damned time he was afforded the respect it came with.

Everything would be perfect.

“Just a little longer,” he repeated, as though that would make the time pass faster.

The tasks he continued to perform for the Dark Lord were still routine, nothing that would require the use of two helpers without raising eyebrows. So far, Regulus had only been sent on solo missions, something he’d been glad for but was desperately trying to change now.

But he couldn’t have his Death Eater peers involved. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad working with his former roommates Barty and Evan, or…even Severus, but he couldn’t risk bringing them into his quest for freedom.

Not that they would necessarily be uncooperative, but so far, they’d shown no qualms towards the Dark Lord’s crusade. Their loyalty was to him, however self-serving. He couldn’t have them being loose ends later on.

No — as always, he was on his own. But it shouldn’t take that much longer. Soon, he should be able to leave and bring Kreacher and Lydia along for one reason or other, and simply never be heard from again.

He held onto that hope as he held onto her. And for one fleeting, foolish moment….he really believed they could all make it through.

But he wasn’t fireproof. Like Icarus, flying up to the hottest, brightest star in the sky, his wings melted, hot wax searing into the skin of his back, and he crashed and burned all the way to the ground in blazing glory.

The fall started one evening when Regulus returned to Grimmauld just in time to hear a ceramic plate crash against the wall, hurled by none other than Walburga.

And lined up against the wall, knelt on the ground like prisoners before a firing squad, were Kreacher and his sister.

The shards of the broken dish had scraped against their thin clothing, cutting skin. He could spot several red slashes on his sister and Kreacher’s faces and arms from where he stood.

Regulus’ first reactions were fear and panic, followed shortly by exasperation because what the fuck was it now?

Orion was calmly watching from his armchair, being no help as per usual.

“Mother,” Regulus raised his voice tentatively, creeping closer. “What have our Elves done to displease you this time?”

Walburga sneered, not looking over, her beady eyes still fixed like a hawk on his family.

“Our house seems to be having an infestation problem, darling.” Her eyes narrowed into a truly diabolical leer.

“One of these rats,” She picked up another piece of expensive fine china from the living room dresser and hurled it at them. Regulus reined in his flinch.

“…these diseased vermin who we have so hospitably housed for months and years now…”

Another crash, another series of cuts. Lydia had her arms lifted to protect her eyes while Kreacher had his head bowed.

“…has been rooting through our wealth, putting their disgusting paws on whatever funds from our vaults their little vermin hearts desired.”

Regulus’s heart just about froze, his stomach dropping like a stone because NO.

NO…they should never have found out. They weren’t supposed to know, how did she…

She suddenly whirled to face him.

“STEALING! FROM THE HOUSE OF BLACK! And they thought they wouldn’t be caught! What mockery!”

She flung another plate, harder this time, channelling every inch of her fury into the projectile. Regulus snapped out of his daze as he watched Lydia and Kreacher flinch and curl further into themselves.

He made a move as he saw Walburga pick up forks and knives from their bone china cutlery set.

“Stealing?” He repeats in a cool tone, stepping forward to examine the two before turning to face Walburga, strategically placing himself between her and them.

“Surely you jest, they wouldn’t dare. They know their places.”

“Oh, apparently not.” Walburga’s beady gaze zoomed in on his sister with frightening precision.

“You think I haven’t seen the way you look at me, Imp? With those devilish eyes of yours burning with envy as you covet my fortune, my station, and my beauty?”

She steps closer, ignoring Regulus as she leans towards her.

“It was you, wasn’t it, Imp? You thought that stealing from me would make you become me?” Her lips curled to reveal razor-sharp teeth that matched the cutting look in her eyes and the steel in her hands.

“You won’t live long enough to regret it,” she promised ominously, raising her handful of pointy objects, arm poised to throw.

NO.

Regulus raises his foot to take a step forward, a plea for her to “STOP!” at the tip of his tongue. This was his fault — he got cocky and got caught and now his sister was about to pay the price. He needed to confess, he couldn’t let her take the fall for his mistakes.

….But if he did, all his plans for escape would go up in smoke.

They would surely ask why he took the money, and he might not be able to cook up a believable lie quickly enough. He would be punished, the torture resuming, and all his work to make his parents leave Lydia alone would be undone as a result.

He couldn’t distract their attention away from her if he was too busy getting hurt.

Worse still would be if they began to question his loyalties to the Dark side. If they thought his allegiance was not fully with the Dark Lord and informed Voldemort of this belief, Regulus had full confidence he might never be heard from again — and not as he planned this time.

All these thoughts raced through his mind in only a fraction of time, bringing the consequences of his admission fully to bear, but he was still prepared to come clean if it meant she wasn’t the one staring death in the face.

He was finally being brave. If only Sirius could see him now.

It would’ve been nice, huh, he thought wistfully, just before he opened his mouth.

But then she darted her hand out and grabbed his arm in the nick of time, digging her nails in so deeply he could feel blood running down his fingertips.

And in that pause, in that single span of hesitation, it was Kreacher who stepped forward.

“Mistress, it was I who erred. This filthy Kreacher never meant to insult the House of Black. I beg of you to forgive this lowly one.”

And then he bowed his crooked back in a perfect 180 degrees.

Regulus’ eyes went wide.

Silence erupted in the room.

There was no sound as Walburga slowly craned her head towards him.

His shallow breaths made no noise as they left his mouth, chest rising and falling in quick succession.

For one single, peaceful moment, he kept soaring, the air currents cradling him and the sun’s warmth only welcoming.

Walburga’s eye twitched. “You… Forgive…”

Her cutlery charges clattered to the ground. She seemed truly speechless.

“Mother,” Regulus began tentatively, his heart beating fast.

Her following shriek nearly ruptured his eardrums. She whirled towards the dresser, this time reaching not towards any kitchen armaments…

No…not for that.

“HOW DARE YOU BEG FOR FORGIVENESS FROM ME!”

BOOM!

Regulus’ wings burnt down to skin and bone at the sound of the first gunshot.

BOOM!

Kreacher’s body fell, but Regulus couldn’t see it happen. He’d left his body as well, and was currently plummeting down to the ground in a miserable fall from a sky he found himself suddenly exiled from.

BOOM!

BOOM!

BOOM!

Walburga sneered — sneered — down at the massacre of blood and brain matter on their carpet. “What a filthy creature he was.”

She snapped her fingers at Lydia. “You, clean this place. Have everything spick and span by the time we return.”

With another disgusted grimace, she spun on her heel and left the room in a huff, her expensive silks billowing out behind her. Orion stood and followed her, neutral as usual, only glancing where Kreacher once stood with a note of idle curiosity in his gaze.

Regulus only vaguely registered Lydia’s hand dropping from his arm, instead curling around herself as she trembled.

He was still falling, falling…what a long way down.

The front door slammed shut just as he finally crash-landed back in his skin.

And he screamed.

Notes:

Sorry for the late update today. This week has been crazy 😪
_

Hope you enjoyed this chapter!

The next chapter will be up next Friday! I also post this story on my Medium blog, so if you would like to read ahead just click here
- For those that follow my blog, sorry I'm not that fast with writing. I'll try and keep up but I really have a lot on my plate these days :(

This story has soundtracks! For a cohesive Apple Music playlist, click here

For an unhinged and lengthy Spotify playlist, click here

This story also has original artwork! I plan on making character designs for every main character of this story, hopefully in color when I get a more manageable schedule. Thanks for all the love and support!

Thank you so much for checking out my work, it means a lot. Have a great day, stay safe, and remember that you matter 💖

Chapter 13: They strike to kill and you know I will

Summary:

Later, Regulus would try to put the pieces together. He’d make a frenetic scramble for Orion’s study, flitting through the carefully manufactured documents he’d doctored in order to find the loose thread where it all went wrong.

They’d been so careful.

What he found was that there was none. There were no mistakes made by him. No traces of his handiwork that he could see anywhere.

Notes:

Okay, hear me out...

(TW: Suicide ideations, mental and emotional child abuse, gore, mentions of trauma, murder, possibly inaccurate depictions of mental illness)

13.

Regulus broke.

That could be the only word for it as he fell to his knees and shattered on the floor, amongst the broken plates and bloody remains of Kreacher.

His friend.

His surrogate father.

His family — one of the only ones deserving of the word.

No…it wasn’t supposed to be like this.

He’d messed up, but why was he not the one paying?

WHY WAS HE NEVER THE ONE PAYING FOR HIS OWN MISTAKES?

A sob broke through his throat, tears blinding him as he tried to find Kreacher’s hand amidst…everything.

His fingers glanced across the gnarled appendage. He grasped it.

It was once so warm — now it would never be warm again.

“No,” he choked out, threading his fingers between them and squeezing desperately.

“No, please don’t go.”

Please don’t leave me.

He shivered and Kreacher’s hand shook within his. It was so cold.

Kreacher would never feel the cold again. All because of him.

He whimpered and buried his head in Kreacher’s open chest cavity, tears dripping directly onto his unbeating heart.

He heard her come up behind his bowed form, fingers gently glancing across his shoulder in some form of comfort, before her hand came down on where his and Kreacher’s were intertwined.

She tenderly but firmly tugged him away, separating him from that needed touch.

Then Regulus…drifted away from himself for a little while.

_

When he finally came to, he found himself staring up at Canis Major.

In his most beaten and broken down, he’d hung the stars on his bedroom ceiling, their subtle glow in the dark giving him a reason to cling on and not just end his misery.

Now he just felt numb.

He was vaguely aware that he wasn’t alone in his room. There was a presence by his bedside, a soft hand lightly stroking his hair.

Someone was still there, next to him. But he just didn’t care.

He didn’t care that he didn’t know how he’d got to his room or how long ago it was since he’d eaten food. He didn’t care that he was losing time.

Nothing mattered. Not even the stars he gazed on now were bright enough to chase the dark from his mind.

They were just a poor substitute for a boy who would never return, who no longer loved him.

And now he’d lost his second father.

He wished he could scream and cry about how it wasn’t fair, but he had no energy to spare.

So what if it wasn’t fair? It was all his fault in the end. Did a useless spare like him really promise to get them free? How laughable.

Maybe Kreacher would still be alive if he’d never dared to dream…never offered to take him with him.

Regulus knew he was poison — he gathered loved ones like flowers but all of his tender loving care only made them wither away. And if they hadn’t done so yet, then it was only a matter of time.

He was the problem. Like a weed, he’d clung so painfully to life, desperate to survive and thrive in a place where he knew he was never wanted.

He just wanted so badly to be in the garden with everyone else…Yet all he managed to do was take life away from those who were more deserving. It was sickening.

He closed his eyes, shutting out the Dog Star. It wasn’t worth holding on anymore — it never was. He needed to remove himself from the picture before he managed to kill someone else. It would be safer.

He’d be doing them all a favour really if he just died.

He must’ve said the last bit out loud, because the hand in his hair stilled for a beat before it started shaking, light breaths turning into choking sobs. Then two thin arms are flung around him and she was so close to him he could hear the sound of her heart breaking.

“NO! Don’t please!” She cried, only the second time he’d ever seen her do so.

“Please don’t leave! You’re my only, the only one I’ve got left! I can’t lose you too!” She sobbed, thin shoulders shaking.

“Please don’t go! I need you.”

Regulus’ eyes snapped wide open, heart restarting.

At that very moment, their heartbeats perfectly synchronised, his fate and hers completely intertwined. The name of her soul etched itself right into the marrow of his bones, and Regulus suddenly knew with startling clarity that he would not be leaving this world while she was still alive.

Sirius had cast him aside, and Kreacher had…died, but none of those tragedies changed what he’d just discovered to be the meaning of his life: Being needed.

As long as there was someone, just one person who needed him to exist, then he would continue to do so. No ifs, ands or buts about it.

He needed to get up and find the will to keep trying — he had no other choice anymore.

He could feel the change in his lifespan, numbers rearranging to mirror hers down to the hour she'd meet her maker — the minute, the second, even to the length of her last breath.

His life had never been his own, and neither had hers, but now they belonged to each other. As though that was how it was destined to be all along.

The Regulus that slowly sat up and wrapped his arms around his sister that night was not the same Regulus that existed before Kreacher died. His resurrection was that of a Phoenix rising from the dead without all of its ashes, a truly weary and broken survivor…yet still burning bright.

“I’m sorry,” he soothed, his voice sounding different even to his own ears. A part of his soul had died, gone to the grave to be with Kreacher, but the entirety of his heart seemed to live on within hers, judging by how he held her with the same gentleness he always had.

“I‘ll do better, I promise. Please don’t leave me.”

He might just drop dead on the spot, if she did.

She shook her head furiously where she still had it buried in his chest. “Never,” she vowed.

“Nor will I,” he replied in the same severe tone. “I swear it on my life.”

_

Later, Regulus would try to put the pieces together. He’d make a frenetic scramble for Orion’s study, flitting through the carefully manufactured documents he’d doctored in order to find the loose thread where it all went wrong.

They’d been so careful.

What he found was that there was none. There were no mistakes made by him. No traces of his handiwork that he could see anywhere.

Because, he realised as he stared at the sheet in his hand, blood freezing in bone-chilling incomprehension, none of it was his.

Uncle Alphard was the one in charge of managing the Black family’s finances. All of the statements in Orion’s study bore his unique penmanship.

Growing up, Sirius was Uncle Alphard’s favourite.

The two exchanged many letters back and forth between each other, even up until Hogwarts, and Regulus had always wondered what the two could possibly have to talk so much about.

He’d gotten the chance to sate his curiosity when Sirius left, rummaging through all his brother’s letters he could find which he read to himself to fall asleep every night.

It was all so quintessentially Sirius — yammering on about the Marauders and their many exploits and consequent detentions, talks of making the Hogwarts team and being the Beater, several inappropriate remarks about women’s body parts and whoever he was taking into the locker room that week. It was all quite comforting — albeit mildly disgusting — to read.

When Regulus began his pilfering scheme, he’d made use of all those letters and practised and practised until he could imitate Uncle Alphard’s handwriting to a tee. Down to the light but confident hand he applied with his pen, the distinguished flourish to his ‘l’s and ‘b’s, and the way the ends of his ‘g’s and ‘y’s sloped just so.

This was not Uncle Alphard’s handwriting.

It wasn’t even Regulus’ handwriting shabbily peaking through a botched up job of forging Uncle Alphard’s handwriting…though someone had clearly attempted to.

But it was so…so bloody careless. The person who did this had put in barely any effort, like they hadn’t cared about whether or not they got caught.

It wasn’t Kreacher. His butler had never been taught how to read or write.

Only a person fully lost to insanity could look at the counterfeits and believe he was the culprit.

…No, this penmanship pattern, though clumsy, was so distinct that there was only one person it could ever belong to.

After all, his handwriting covered nearly every surface in the room — it was his study.

For a long time, Regulus could only sit there stumped, surrounded by several stacks of paper.

Now why would Orion need to forge his brother-in-law’s handwriting on his own private documents?

That was the question, now wasn’t it? One that was worth exactly the cost of his butler’s life.

Suddenly overcome by a manic urge to find something that would help him make sense of the situation, that would help him understand why Kreacher had died, Regulus promptly began to rip apart the room.

Find it! It’s here, it has to be here, a little voice in his mind drove him on as he pulled out every drawer, every book on the shelf, then started on the floorboards.

There was a loose one right under the table.

He stopped to catch his breath for a second, chest heaving like he was looking down from a precipice with no end in sight. Just nothingness, a dark void of antimatter that promised to unmake him.

But he’d already fallen before so what was one more.

Slowly, he reached out his bleeding fingertips and lifted the top.

He stared at the contents he saw. He stared some more.

Then he reached down and picked up a single, blaring, fire-engine-red and white poker chip.

He cradled it gently. It was such a small thing, but it was suddenly all he could see.

Such a small thing, yet the sight of it blew him up like a trigger in his brain had just been sprung.

Such a small thing, yet it undid and redid his seams and rewrote the scars on his soul with such speed that his mind couldn’t keep up.

He felt it split as he fractured apart. It wasn’t his fault.

It wasn’t his fault…itwasn’thisfault…nothisfault…fault…

Kreacher hadn’t died because of him…Kreacher had died because Orion was gambling.

Kreacher died because one of the richest men in the world wanted to make more money.

Kreacher died because the noble was abusing the family’s funds and didn’t want to own up to it.

Kreacher DIED because Orion deemed his life of less worth than the SINGLE CHIP Regulus was holding.

…KREACHER DIED BECAUSE ORION WAS A F̶̛͓̀̎͊̈́͗̒̆̆̆̾̚͠͝İ̷̡̠̫̝̝̘͍̜͙̖̰̹̟͙̱̃̊͆̄̇̑̄̾͊̔͘ͅL̵̼̇͂ͅT̵̗͈͇͎̥͎̘̳̕Ḥ̷̽̇͋̈́̄̓͛̊́̈́̐̄͘̕Ỳ̵̖̜͎͕͙̤̯̟̂̀͋ ̷̡̢̡̮̤̗̦̠͂͌̊͑̚̚͝C̵̭͚͍̲̯͓̞̞̭͖̺͛̉͊̅́̂̅̓̍͒́Ó̴̩̪̳̊̿̓́̒͗̐̆͊͆͐̚̚͠͝W̴̪̆̉̌͒̄̏Å̴̢̡̧̛͖̼̝̩̼͍̟̤̜̯͒̊͑̇̈́̊͐̆̀R̵̡͈͉̲̙̊̀̀̌͑̉̋͊͊̅̆͝D̴̞̮͙͉̰͍͎̪̹̙͖̝̘̾́́̚!̴̧̨̨͕̬̪̥̬̖͓̰̲̪͎̗̐̃̈́͊̒̄̅̃̈́͐͋̆͘͜͠

Regulus gripped his head, bloodied palms pressing into his temples as his mind started a riot, ripping and tearing at itself. A maelstrom that spoke to something intrinsic (something…genetic) rampaged through his psyche, wreaking havoc on all his self-constructs and unlocking doors he’d never imagined before.

And the impossible became suddenly, limitlessly possible.

The voices he’d grown so used to hearing all his life — the ones that usually wrapped around him like weights dragging him down, making every miserable situation infinitely more tragic — suddenly changed.

That formerly degrading undertone seemed to dissipate as though it never was. Now he felt only empowered as he was overtaken by whispers dark, twisted and cruel.

Ancestral.

“PUNISH HIM!” They raged, voices clamouring in a battle cry filled with hatred.

“ANYONE WHO DARES TO OPPOSE US MUST PAY THE PRICE IN BLOOD.”

Regulus could not find it in himself to refuse. He was caught, suspended mid-spiral as several scenes flashed in his mind’s eye. Of fields desolated with corpses, dead bodies all one could see for miles.

“WE’RE AT WAR! ENEMIES ARE ALL AROUND! WE WILL MAKE THEM REGRET EVER STANDING THEIR GROUND!”

Some dangled from where they’d been impaled on spears, their bodies hung up like trophies. Each displaying fatal injuries that told tales of their brutal massacre — though they were silenced forever.

It was graphic and gruesome and it felt like he was there, though it seemed like a fight won centuries ago. He could smell the blood in the air and felt that bone-deep ache that always came from battle exertion, and his chainmail armour was truly getting too heavy to bear — who was he? His skin felt larger, stronger, suited for one more powerful than himself — yet he ignored it all and stood tall and proud as the last survivor. He raised his sword in the air that had claimed immeasurable lives and threw his head back and roared his victory.

He was indomitable. He reigned supreme. He feared no being and was absolutely certain that Death feared him.

As it should be.

What a fucking thrill.

Regulus threw his head back and laughed. He laughed and laughed and laughed, full body shaking with the force as that sense of conquest reverberated through him.

Who was he? He was a Black; how could he have let himself forget what that truly means? How could he have ever felt fear or let himself be a victim?

Didn’t he know that he was born to win? His bloodline had done so for generations.

Nothing and no one felt like an obstacle anymore. Not death or Voldemort or Bellatrix, not even Walburga or Orion.

Because if he mote it be, they would both be dead by evening.

The door slowly creeped open, and Lydia slinked into the room from where she’d been keeping a look out for him while he searched.

There was something unquantifiable in her eyes as she took him in, huddled on the floor with a blood-streaked face and papers strewn everywhere while he cackled with maniacal laughter.

He stopped to look up at her, eyes still burning from that battle high, and grinned wide.

“We’ll make them pay, sister,” he swore, reaching out to her with bloodied hands and pressing their heads together.

“We’ll make them all pay. Every single one of them will die.”

“WE MUST CONQUER!”

She said nothing, just stared at him for a long moment. Then she nodded, the decision was made, and there was suddenly nothing left to say.

Notes:

My take on the famed Black Family Madness, is that members of the Black family gene pool - usually after strong provocation - start hearing the voices of their bloodthirsty, batshit crazy ancestors in their minds, urging them to commit unspeakable deeds. Because Blacks are born to win.

It sounds crazy, yes, but that's par for the course methinks 🤷🏿

Let me know what you think! Love reading your comments 💖

_

Hope you enjoyed this chapter!

The next chapter will be up next Friday! I also post this story on my Medium blog, so if you would like to read ahead just click here
- For those that follow my blog, sorry I'm not that fast with writing. I'll try and keep up but I really have a lot on my plate these days :(

This story has soundtracks! For a cohesive Apple Music playlist, click here

For an unhinged and lengthy Spotify playlist, click here

This story also has original artwork! The next character design sketch will be up soon! Sorry for the delay ♥️

Thank you so much for checking out my work, it means a lot. Have a great day, remember that you matter, and stream 1989 (Taylor's Version) for clear skin 💙💎

Chapter 14: It's Coming Back Around

Summary:

“You Gryffindors, so fucking self-righteous,” he snarls, voice full of condemnation as he looks down on them from his seated position. “Thinking that by targeting Slytherins all the time you were leading some kind of crusade against evil. Tell me, did it make you feel good about yourself to bully other students who also came from abusive homes?”

Notes:

Regulus every minute of every day: *sings while dancing and shaking his ass in the air* ♫ I'm traumatised, I'm traumatised ⌑~♬♪܀⊹🕺🏽

(TW: Mentions of trauma, bullying and physical, mental and emotional child abuse)

14.

— — — — — —— —  Present day — — — — — — — —

The next day dawned with less fanfare than expected, given recent events.

Well, it didn’t exactly dawn, they were still underground. James, self-proclaimed morning person that he was, wonders how anyone gets anything done here if they wake up every morning without seeing the sun.

They’d been escorted to one of the “bunker” rooms to rest for the night, and it honestly looked nicer and more spacious than expected.

Remus had echoed his wonder, examining the room and remarking on the complex architecture needed to create such space from a seemingly narrow entryway.

Sirius hadn’t cared about any of it. He’d flounced onto the huge bed designed to fit three and curled up in the furthest corner of it, back facing them.

He and Remus had exchanged glances before silently deciding that Remus would be the one to go to him.

“Sleep well, Pads,” James had murmured, curling up in the opposite corner to give them as much space as possible. He’d closed his eyes and tried not to listen to the hushed whispers that filled the room, and later, the silent sobs.

By morning, it’s evident that Padfoot had not in fact slept well.

His under eyes are red and slightly swollen, and his lips look terribly chapped in the warm-toned artificial lighting. He glares blearily at the teal-haired girl from before, who pokes her head into the room to cheerily announce that breakfast is ready.

James can no longer resist the urge to go to him once she leaves.

“Hey, Pads,” he smoothly manoeuvres around a still sleeping Moony to sit next to his best friend. “How are you holding up?”

Sirius blinks pitifully up at James. “He hates me. I’ve fucked everything up, Prongs.”

“No, you didn’t! That’s not true!” James wraps an arm around his shoulders and draws him closer, fervently wishing he could take even half of Padfoot’s burdens away.

The world had not been kind to his brother at all. Not for the first time, he feels that smarmy, bitter feeling of hatred towards the former Black matriarch and her husband, but immediately centres himself and shakes it away.

It did no good to carry that sort of energy with him, especially since they were already dead.

He strokes Padfoot’s hair, letting Sirius nuzzle into him and feels his shoulders relax. “I really don’t think he hates you. He wouldn’t be helping us or letting us stay if he did,” he muses thoughtfully.

So far, Baby Black had proved to be the antithesis of everything they’d believed about him — and even Slytherins — for years. It was true that he had a large chip on his shoulder towards his brother, and not even Remus or James had been spared from his icy disdain.

James even had to admit that some of it was deserved.

Yet, he hadn’t kicked them out and was still letting them stay. That had to count for something. James feels certain that it would all work out in the end, and his instincts almost nearly never proved him wrong.

Not when he’d befriended Sirius in first year, or when he’d reached Remus when he kept slipping away in that time when none of them knew why.

It hadn’t even proved wrong about the girl he loved. He knew he would love Lily Evans forever…even if she never felt the same.

He could feel Sirius struggling to believe him, he’d tensed up once more at James’ reassurance.

“You both just need to talk some more,” James soothes gently, running his fingers lightly through Padfoot’s long hair. “Come on, we can go right now. He’s here, and he’s alive. As long as he is, you’ll never run out of chances to fix things.”

Sirius mutters something under his breath then sits up. “Alright, fine,” he grouches. “Don’t need any more of your peppy talk. I’ll go talk to him.”

James beams. “Great! Now, we just need to wake Moony.”

They both glance down at their tall friend’s unconscious form.

“He’s sleeping like a log,” Sirius remarks, his voice containing that note of syrupy-sweet affection it always held for Remus.

“This is probably the first night he’s spent in a proper bed in a bit,” James replies, feeling a little subdued. He reaches out and gently shakes him.

“Moony, hey Moony, wake up. There’s breakfast.”

Remus’ eyes slowly part. He blinks up at the both of them hovering over him, once, twice, then says, “Were you comforting Sirius right before I woke up?”

“Yeah,” James is confused, “Why?”

“Thought I heard you in my dreams,” Remus mutters, swinging his long legs over the side of the bed. “Your brand of tender loving care is rather hard to miss.”

James grins wide, feeling proud of himself. “Thanks!”

Sirius and Remus both snort.

They all freshen up a bit before leaving the room. James doesn’t even bother with his hair — it’s been a losing battle since he was born, and he’ll like to think that he’s learned quite a bit about picking his battles by now.

They step out to see Anna waiting outside their door. She looks like she’s been up for hours already, dressed smartly in a turtleneck with dark slacks and holding a tablet to her chest. There’s not a single hair out of place in her tight bun.

She tips her glasses up at them in some form of greeting.

“This way,” she states without any pleasantries, and immediately turns and starts leading the way.

They follow her, glancing at each other with a shrug. There isn’t a single other soul on their way to what James believes will be the kitchens or a dining room, though they pass many bunkers like the one they roomed in. James starts to wonder just how many people actually live here, where they came from, and what they do here in the professed Black headquarters.

Anna leads them to a doorway and gestures for them to go first. They step in to see an ornate dining table spanning the length of the room, piled with what basically constitutes a feast.

There’s also no one else there.

They each take seats while Anna hangs back, looking like she’s waiting for someone. She taps in something on her tablet.

James reaches over the table, filling his plate with scones while Remus helps himself to coffee and Sirius pouts down at his bacon, definitely disappointed Regulus isn’t here yet. James thinks he would’ve been cheered a bit if he got to prepare the bacon himself this morning.

He bites into a buttered scone which positively melts in his mouth and makes him miss his mum’s cooking.

About five minutes later, Ris and Regulus walk in.

Or rather, Ris does. James freezes mid-bite as the shorter girl struts to the table, carrying Baby Black on her back…who still seems to be asleep.

Padfoot and Moony also stop eating to gape at them, not like she pays them any mind. She carefully eases him into a seat, at which Regulus immediately faceplants into a nearby napkin.

Completely unfazed — Almost like she does this everyday, James thinks with trepidation — she plucks his head up and shoves a croissant into his mouth before settling into the seat beside him.

Eyes at half-mast, Regulus mildly chews, a huge chunk of the pastry hanging from his lips, and stares at the three of them across the table with a clear lack of life behind his grey eyes.

Dumbstruck, they goggle back, helpless to break that lifeless gaze. Sirius feels his eyebrows climb to his hairline in disbelief.

Ris pours coffee into his mug, and the smell of it seems to tether him back to the land of the living.

He swallows the last bite of croissant, looking at them with clearer eyes and actual recognition. “Morning,” he greets, propping his chin on one hand while the other reaches for the mug.

“Good morning,” they each return with different levels of wariness.

“I thought you were an early riser,” Sirius blurts out.

Regulus raises one eyebrow over his mug, taking a sip.

“It was the tr-” The word gets caught in his yawn. “It was trauma, Sirius,” he manages to say. He shrugs. “It didn’t feel safe to sleep past 6 am, so I just didn’t.”

Sirius falls silent at that.

Remus can’t help but marvel at how effortlessly and uncaringly Regulus calls attention to his past. Some days it still feels like pulling teeth to get Sirius to open up about things.

How exactly does one go about mastering the art of not giving a fuck? Does he have to somehow fake his own death too? There seems to be real merit to the idea now.

Anna approaches then, making a beeline for Regulus.

“Good morning, Anna,” he greets, smiling warmly at her. She nods back.

“It’s finished, Reg.” She hands him the tablet.

He takes it. “Thank you so much. You’re magic.”

She doesn’t appear particularly impressed by the praise, but she leans down and presses her lips briefly to his cheek before walking away.

Sirius blinks, then glances at the girl sitting beside him who doesn’t even react in the slightest. So, is she not his girlfriend….or are they both his girlfriends?

James stares after her departing form in concern. “Isn’t she going to stay for breakfast?”

Regulus again just directs that cool look his way. Right, he’s forgotten that him speaking at all just makes Baby Black go quiet.

James isn’t quite sure what the extent of Regulus’ grudge towards him. Yes, James knows it was wrong to ignore him now, and that it was cruel to convince Sirius to choose him over his own brother, but it isn’t exactly James’ fault that Sirius had also decided to constantly compare him to James.

James doesn’t want anyone being compared to him outside of an athletic perspective. He doesn’t support Sirius doing that at all!

He wants to reach out to Regulus, maybe show him that they’re really not so different. After all, he’s come to know intimately just how it feels to try his best to win the approval of someone special, yet always fall short. No matter how much he flattered her, how many birthday gifts he showered her with or Quidditch wins he dedicated to her, Lily Evans always refused to give him the time of day. He was never considered good enough for her, and that was a truth he is still struggling to swallow.

He isn’t sure if Regulus will appreciate his words though. He’ll most likely be skewered for the effort.

Ris pauses with a fork and knife in her palms, poised over her plate of omelettes. There’s a rueful look in her eyes as she narrows them at James.

“If she does not feel comfortable eating her breakfast amongst strangers, then that is her prerogative.” Those catlike arched eyebrows shot upwards, staring him down even though they’re both seated.

“She does not have to accommodate your feelings on the matter.”

Right, scratch that — this girl is more likely to skewer James than Regulus, for some reason. Her stare makes him feel about two feet tall; she could just pluck him up with her fork and slice him up for breakfast.

James cringes slightly into himself. “I — we didn’t mean to intrude! I was just -”

“It doesn’t matter what you meant,” she cuts him off mercilessly. She turns to Regulus, dismissing James entirely.

“Can’t we just kick them out already?” She grumbles. “They’re annoying.”

Regulus flits his eyes over their group before turning to her. “Not yet. There’s still a mad bomber out there out for their blood.”

So he’s consciously sheltering them, Remus thinks. Interesting.

Ris is unfazed. “Why does that have to be our problem though?”

“It doesn’t.” Regulus concedes. He tilts his head to look directly in her eyes, causing light strands of hair to tickle his face.

“Sorry. It won’t be for too long.” The expression in his eyes is imploring, as though she has the final say. After a seconds-long silent conversation, Ris bristles again but subsides with a slight pout, and Regulus shoots her a happy smile.

Sirius lets out a loud snort. His idiot little brother goes and gets himself cucked the moment Sirius isn’t around to give him advice about how to handle girls.. He can’t even make this up.

Granted, Sirius has been — understandably — slacking in his elder brotherly duties, but there’s no time like the present to start fixing that.

Just as he opens his mouth, Moony beats him to it before he can say anything.

Remus is aware that his lover doesn’t always have the forethought to think before he talks, so he hastily leads the conversation where he knows Sirius’ interest is in — before he does get them kicked out, bomber or no.

“The two of you seem…” frighteningly co-dependent “…very attached to one another,” he says carefully. “Just out of curiosity, where did the two of you meet?”

“Oh, we do, do we?” Regulus replies in a mild tone, setting down his nearly finished cup of coffee. There’s an undercurrent of something darkly amused in his tone.

He threads his fingers together, looking very relaxed but his eyes are as intense as always. “It’s because of all the trauma bonding,” he casually reveals. “Ris, well, she met Walburga and Orion, unfortunately. She was made to serve as a House Elf for a bit.”

“A House Elf?” Sirius feels deeply perplexed, as well as disturbed. His brother is dating his House Elf?

Also — ”What happened to Krea-”

Ris’ head snaps upwards, shooting Sirius several sharp looks that could kill. But before he can even finish his sentence, the most aggravating voice known to man trills from somewhere removed from visible range,

“I was promised cookies.”

Regulus’ expression looks frozen over for a second, a hand delicately fingering the necklace dangling across his chest. But as his head perks in the direction of the voice he noticeably thaws.

“Jack, no,” he groans, head thumping back on the table.

“Jack, yes!” The man in question steps through a doorway into view, dressed in what James is coming to see as his typical black leather wear, with a chaotic air already about him.

He examines the contents of the breakfast table in disgust. “Where the bloody hell are my cookies?”

“Jack, it really is too early for this.”

Jack advances and dramatically slams an open palm on the table.

“I’m tired of your fucking excuses, Black!”

Regulus rolls his eyes so hard James is half-surprised they don’t get lost in the aether of his eye sockets.

It’s the fight of Remus’ life to keep from bursting into laughter at the montage in front of him, especially since Padfoot looks like he wants to start full-on growling at his duplicate.

“Look,” Regulus says as Jack melts into the seat beside him in a fluid motion. “We’re currently having a chocolate chip cookie crisis, alright? There’s none left anywhere in the base.”

One eyebrow went up. “Or surely, I don’t have to remind you of the day you went and locked yourself in the pantry and inhaled them all by the dozens like an underfed racoon?”

“I was hungry!” Jack defends.

Regulus is unimpressed. “You traumatised Crystal.”

At that, Jack snorts, reaching over to swipe some jam on a nearby scone. “Well, that isn’t particularly hard to do,” he states, his tone full of wry, unapologetic amusement.

Regulus looks like he tried not to laugh but does it anyway — and the sound is just as startling to Sirius as it was the night before.

He can’t wrap his head around it, that joy bursting freely out of his brother when he’d been so sure it had all dried up in Grimmauld. When he’d thought Reggie had chosen their parents and that ugly house over him and killed the brother he’d loved without Sirius getting to say goodbye.

His laugh — he was the only one who could ever draw it out of Reggie before. Sirius clenches his fork harder, feeling his anger stir up. At least that’s familiar — rage has always been the easiest emotion to process.

Jack sighs dramatically, pushing the scone away after only a bite. “If there’s no cookies right now, then just bake more. You promised.”

“And you’ll never let me hear the end of it.” Regulus runs a hand over his face. “Alright, fine, but not today! I have important things to deal with,” he curbs the eager male.

“You bake?” Sirius asks, trying to reconcile the brother he knew with the brother he’s been reunited with now. He also wants him to stop paying so much bloody attention to this wanker. It’s like everytime this git steps in the room everyone else ceases to exist to Reggie.

“Yes,” Reggie props his chin on his palm, “It’s become a necessity for issues such as this.”

“Well, excuse you. I am not an ‘issue’, I am a goddamn delight.”

“Uh huh.” Reggie’s tone is drier than the Sahara.

Jack flips his knife in his hand as Reggie takes a sip from his mug. “That’s what your mum was calling me last night when she had her legs wrapped around my- ”

Regulus and Sirius both do a spit-take, Regulus spitting out his coffee while Sirius chokes on boring saliva.

Prongs and Moony are too stunned to do anything but stare.

“Fucking hell, get away from me,” Reggie manages to gasp out, eyes watering. “You are a hazard to my health and to my breakfast.”

“Hey, don’t blame me.” Jack raises a glib eyebrow. “You’re the one who decided to spit instead of swallow.”

Regulus bursts out into choking laughter all over again. “You’re a crime. My mother’s dead, you disgrace.”

“Yes, she is,” Ris cuts in, her tone slicing through the jovial mood in an instant.

“And her death was a mercy that she did not deserve. Do cease from bringing up such uncouth subjects while we’re having breakfast, Jack,” she snarls, eyebrows narrowing at Jack.

Regulus’ smile is instantly wiped off his face, but Jack just rolls his eyes, unheeding of her tone.

“Don’t be such a sourpuss, Lady Boss. I was only joking. Of course the bitch is dead, and even if she wasn’t I wouldn’t fuck her anyways.”

Regulus facepalms while Ris’ eyes just narrow further.

Sirius has had enough. He stands, slamming his palms on the table in a rather deja-vu evoking manner, and glares down the trio across from him.

“Right, what the bloody fuck is this?”

The three turn to him. Regulus is the one to reply. “What are you on about now, Sirius?”

Sirius sends him a flinty-eyed glare for obviously taking the piss. “You know what,” he snarls, pointing a finger.

“Just who the fuck are these two and why the hell do they feel so comfortable talking about…about family matters?” He throws his hands up. “Why are they even here?”

Regulus slow-blinks. “Well, they live here. I told you this was the headquarters of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, didn’t I?”

Sirius’ eyebrows creep towards the ceiling. “So they…are members of the House of Black?”

Regulus blinks again, like he really can’t understand Sirius’ confusion. He turns to Jack, who just stares back.

“Well, are you?” Reggie asks him.

“Technically yes, but also no.” Jack turns to Sirius. “Look Posh Boy, it’s true Jack Black has a certain ring to it, yeah?” He makes a wave motion with his hand. “Just has that certain flow when you say it.”

Sirius is so overcome with disgust at this lunatic bearing a name that was once his that he almost doesn’t hear what he says next:

“…But I chose not to take Boss up on his offer since it wasn’t a proper proposal.”

Now Regulus is also confused. “Not a proper proposal?” He echoes, eyebrows knitted.

Jack whirls on him. “Of course it wasn’t! Where was my ring? I’ve seen your vaults, Black, I know there’s more than enough to afford one. The only way I’m taking up your last name is through marriage, you fucking tease,” he huffs, settling back in his seat.

Everyone stares at him, speechless for a long moment.

“…Was that a proposal?” James asks gingerly.

Sirius can’t help his humourless bark of laughter. “Unbelievable. You have a lot of balls to proposition my little brother right in front of me! And right in front of his little girlfriend too!”

Regulus’ soul seems to ascend right in front of them, exiting his body. Conversely, Jack descends into a bout of hyena-like laughter.

Ris’ eyes narrow in on Sirius with a glare capable of lighting volcanoes.

“What the fuck are you yapping about?” She breathes, hands clenching tightly around her sharp cutlery. She looks seconds away from attacking Sirius.

“Oh this is gold,” Jack is truly sobbing with hysterics. “He- he really believes you’re c-carrying on the f-f-family tradition.” He collapses in his seat as another wave of laughter overcomes him, sinking to the floor and laughing the whole way.

Regulus looks like he’s contemplating digging himself a grave right then and there and climbing right into it.

“Er, what does he mean by ‘carrying on the family tradition?’” Remus bravely asks.

Regulus rubs his eyes tiredly. “He means it would be just like a member of the Black family to consider dating their own sister.”

The Marauders sit up like they’ve been zapped. “Sister?” All three ask in unison.

This has been the most confusing morning of Sirius’ life.

He squints as the so-called sister, trying to make sense of the situation. “Did Wally and Orion throw away a squib?”

Now that Sirius points it out, James notices that her eyelashes are really light, and there’s a purple tinge to her eyes in this lighting. The paleness of her skin suddenly seems more prominent.

Regulus’ eyebrow twitches. “She’s adopted, Sirius. Jesus.”

Sirius cocks his head. “They adopted a squib?”

“Stop calling her a squib, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Sirius is taken aback. Regulus takes a deep breath to calm himself. “No, I adopted her. She’s written into the family will and documents and everything. She is Polaris Lydia Black, she is my heir, and she belongs here.” His tone brokers no argument.

Sirius feels like he’s glitching from how many curveballs he’s been thrown in such a short amount of time. “You…adopted her?”

“Yes. With my possession of the Headship, I can do that.”

Sirius glitches again. “I thought you said she was a House Elf.”

“Are the two mutually exclusive?” Regulus’ tone is calm, but his eyes are those of a hurricane, threatening to crash down upon those who don’t tread carefully.

“Can’t House Elves be in respected positions of power?”

James and Remus glance at each other at that. Remus doesn’t know much about the situation with House Elves, since his family hasn’t ever been wealthy enough to own or need one. He does know that there’s a number of House Elves working in Hogwarts, but that’s about it. So he doesn’t find anything particularly extraordinary about what Regulus is saying, but the way it seems to strike a nerve with Regulus, as well as the look of shock on James’ face, seems to speak to the statement being something that’s… just not done.

Sirius doesn’t give one bloody fuck about House Elves having better rights or not. In fact, as he rounds on her, there’s only one prejudice he feels as he lets his anger slip free.

“So this is my replacement?” He sneers, masking all of his hurt behind it.

Regulus stares at him. “I’d like you to know that what you just said is very dumb,” he calmly replies.

Who the hell could ever replace Sirius? You couldn’t just take down the sun from the sky and hang up another one. And Regulus has never wanted another.

Polaris doesn’t take Sirius’ remark calmly at all. Rather, she blows up like the firecracker she is.

“YOU THINK I’M SOME KIND OF STAND-IN FOR YOU?” She erupts from her seat, molten lava flames pouring out of her eyes and mouth. She also slams her palms on their breakfast table, since everybody in this family is fucking dramatic.

“If anything, you’re the low budget, bargain value, thrift store version of me!”

And then it’s just chaos.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Better than you, obviously.”

Regulus tries to interject before they start ripping out each other’s hair. “Girls, girls, please. You’re both pretty.”

He starts petting his sister on the head like a cat, and for a moment this seems to subdue her. But then -

“Objectively speaking, both Regulus and Polaris are much more physically attractive than you,” Jack throws in his two cents.

Sirius growls like a twenty-pound rottweiler. Ris’ expression turns smug like the cat that ate the cream and Regulus… looks like he wants to evaporate.

James is now firmly of the belief that Jack is the type of man who waits around for the optimal time to throw more kerosene onto an already blazing forest fire.

“Name one fucking person in this room that asked for your opinion,” Sirius barks, rounding on him.

“Calm down, Posh Boy, I’m just stating facts here. Lady Boss has bigger boobs than you,” Jack points out.

“Exactly,” Polaris nods firmly like it’s a valid point.

Sirius’ rage is incandescent. “I’m a guy!”

Jack raises his hands, the picture of innocence. “Just saying, hers are better to look at. Objectively,” he defends.

Polaris nods again, apparently alright with Jack objectifying her in order to win an argument.

Sirius squints so hard a vein starts throbbing in his temple. “That’s sexist and fucking disgusting, you bloody perverted wanker.”

“Oi!” Jack calls out. His expression is stern as he jerks a thumb at Polaris. “Watch your fucking language in front of the lady.”

‘The lady’ reaches up and smacks the back of his head.

“Ow!”

“A whole bloody circus,” Regulus mumbles from beneath his palm-covered face.

Jack abruptly turns his attention towards Regulus like a shark smelling blood. “That’s true, where do I even begin to describe how attractive Boss is?”

He rakes his eyes up and down Regulus’ form with such an indecent leer it serves to rile Sirius up further — which is probably the point as it makes his mischievous grin grow.

“Legs for days, a slutty waist, and a jawline so sharp it could slice up my scones and feed them to me.” He wolf-whistles, sending Sirius a mocking wink.

“You don’t even measure up by half, Posh Boy.”

James has to stand and physically restrain his friend, unassisted by Remus who seems to be loving the chaos.

Jack has completely put Sirius out of his mind as he examines Regulus.

“Are you blushing, Boss?”

Regulus’ response is to further hide his face, though the redness at the tips of his ears give him away.

“Bloody hell, you are!”

“Stop embarrassing me!” Regulus whines pitifully.

Jack smirks. “How precious.”

“Fuck you, Jack.”

“Yes, please.”

Regulus looks up, all redness wiped from his face to be replaced by a confident grin. “At least you’re polite about it.”

“Does that win me any points?” Jack asks hopefully.

Regulus snorts, then reaches out and ruffles Jack’s head.

“How about you shut up now, huh? Good boy.”

They’re certainly a strange pair, Remus thinks, amused and content to watch from his seat while spooning tasty eggs in his mouth.

But it’s not like he could talk. From experience, he knows his friends are definitely more absurd.

Case in point, Sirius once again tries to convince Regulus to fire his friend.

“I don’t like him, and I don’t think he’s worth having around! Just tell him to get the fuck away from you!”

Regulus directs a steely gaze at his brother. “It is not up to you to decide who is worth my time, Sirius. In fact, you have greater worries than who I surround myself with.”

He pointedly throws his tablet to the middle of the table. “Have you forgotten there’s someone currently trying to kill you?”

The mood abruptly shifts to something more serious, pun intended. “Oh, have you got information on who the bastard is?” Sirius seems to be gleefully plotting their murder already.

Regulus doesn’t share his enthusiasm. “You’re saying you haven’t got the faintest clue of anyone who would have a revenge plot against you?” He asks, unamused. “One strong enough that they’d be willing to set a bomb off so close to a hospital just to take you out?”

Chills run down Remus’ spine as he finishes speaking, something Regulus’ eyes don’t seem to miss. Because there was only one person that came to mind. And with that- memory of events that nearly destroyed Remus forever.

Sirius is still clueless. “It’s probably a Slytherin, likely one of your former Death Eater buddies,” he replies dismissively. “We’re currently fighting in a war, and quite frankly, I wouldn’t put it past any one of them to stoop to such levels.”

James agrees. “They’ve always been willing to fight dirty since Hogwarts. It’s not out of the ordinary for Slytherins to act this way. Uh, no offence or anything.”

Regulus doesn’t even look at James. His head slowly rotates towards Moony, who is looking pale-faced.

“How about you, Lupin? You’re quicker than your friends. You know who it is, don’t you?” Regulus’ grey eyes seem luminous and expansive, as though he’s peering right into Remus and reading all of his sin and shame with a glance.

“Moony?” James calls out to him, concerned.

Remus swallows hard and looks away. Another day, another reminder that just existing as a monster was enough to put his loved ones in danger. If he wasn’t such a wretched creature, Sirius would never have done what he did — would never have tried to kill someone to protect Remus’ secret from getting out. Because now that someone was trying to kill him back.

“For the lot of you that are slow on the uptake, I’m talking about Severus Snape.”

Silence descends upon the room like a loaded gavel. As one, James and Sirius turn to each other, having a rapid exchange with no verbal conversation.

James speaks first. “We have to tell Dumbledore.”

“We can’t let him get away with it!” Sirius immediately snarls back in frustration. “Dumbledore won’t be willing to give him what he deserves for almost killing you, Prongs.”

“Dumbledore is the safest person to take care of this matter,” James insists, crossing his arms. “There’s…too much history between us and Snape. I don’t want you getting hurt going after him.”

“We’d just need to get the drop on him! That greasy dungeon bat can’t take either of us in a straight fight, that’s why he ran to his prized chemicals to mix up something to kill us! If we find him and confront him, he won’t even stand a chance!”

“Or he could lure you all into a trap when you try chasing him and try to blow you up again,” Regulus drawls. “His approach has proven to be extremely methodical — he studied where you’ll be, in what car, what time you’ll arrive, the timeframe he’d need to hopefully turn you into a burnt crisp, and also consulted his notes to brew something potent enough to make that happen without actually affecting the hospital. He’s shown preparation, planning, and strategy, which shows he’d probably have a plan in place for possible retaliation as well. In contrast, you sound like a bumbling fool willing to hop, skip and leap towards certain death.”

Polaris snorts, drawing their attention. “So what I’m hearing is, you went and pissed off the weird antisocial Chemistry prodigy in high school, and you didn’t even remember the grudge existed or even have a backup plan for if he tried blowing you up one day? Are you stupid?”

Regulus turns and shoots her a look. She grumbles at it but subsides.

“Instead of turning to violence as your first option, might I suggest another solution?” Regulus continues. “I could just talk to him and tell him he should back off and leave you alone.”

“Just talk to him?” Sirius is incredulous. “He’s an attempted murderer and you want to, what, just scold him and let him go?”

“‘Attempted murderer’ means he failed at murder. I don’t see what the concern is, he’s an amateur not a threat,” Polaris says with the unsettling certainty of someone who’s killed successfully before.

“Wait,” Remus interrupts. “Does Snape even know you’re alive?”

“Hmm. No, he doesn’t,” Regulus muses nonchalantly.

“He still serves the Dark Lord, unlike you. What if revealing yourself to him jeopardises your safety and all you’ve built here? Are you so willing to take that chance?” Remus wonders. For a brother you don’t seem to decide whether you love or hate, he doesn’t add.

Regulus scrutinises him with an inscrutable look. “I don’t think it’ll come to that.”

“Why not?”

Even Regulus isn’t quite sure what he’s going to respond with till he speaks again. With that faraway look in his eyes, like he’s vividly reliving a memory, Regulus murmurs, “Because he’s my friend.”

Sirius is astounded. James and Remus aren’t far behind. “Snivellus? You’re friends with Snivellus?”

“Severus,” Regulus corrects. “What are you, twelve?”

“Snape is your friend?” Remus has to clarify, to make sure he’s hearing properly. 

Regulus seems offended by their surprise. “Yes, we used to do homework together a lot back in Hogwarts. I had friends in school, you know?”

If possible, Sirius’ shock triples. “You did?”

Regulus gives him a look so deadpan they could almost hear crickets.

“You’re friends with him…even though he’s a Death Eater, a side you so passionately disavowed yourself from?” Remus asks curiously.

Regulus tilts his head. “My friendship with him is not dependent on his moralities. I don’t expect you Gryffindors to understand, what with all of your lack of need for independent thought.”

Jack and Ris let out twin snorts at that.

“Besides, he’s a person, and people deserve friends who at least give a shit about them,” Regulus says with a frown, that faraway gaze returning.

“But it’s Snivellus!” Sirius objects. “He tried to kill us!”

“And I’m sure you have absolutely no idea why that is,” Regulus retorts sarcastically. “This is happening to you completely out of the blue.”

“What makes you think I started this?”

Regulus rests his chin on his threaded fingers, a cheshire tilt to his head. Lazily, he drawls, “Have you met you?”

Sirius inhales deeply. “So you’re on his side then,” he spits bitterly, wondering why he’d ever hoped things would be different between them now. It seems Reggie would take anyone’s side besides Sirius’.

Regulus furrows his brows and sits up straight. “Sirius, Severus was my friend in school, and I can recall you putting him in the medical ward more times than was ever necessary. All I’m saying now is that I don’t want you to kill him, and I don’t want him to kill you, and I wish to instead pursue a peaceful resolution between you two. That’s not picking his side. In fact, I don’t believe I support either of you in this matter.”

He shakes his head in bafflement. “I really don’t understand why you hate the guy so much. You two are actually rather similar.”

Sirius can’t help his full-body shudder.

“Don’t compare me to Snivellus. Fine, I’ll admit I’m not perfect either, but me and Snivellus are absolutely nothing alike.”

Regulus’ expression froze for a second, before a sardonic half-smile took over his face, setting James on alert.

“So you really didn’t know?”

“Know what?” Sirius demands.

A curtain seems to fall upon his face, his expression suddenly growing dark.

“You Gryffindors, so fucking self-righteous,” he snarls, voice full of condemnation as he looks down on them from his seated position. “Thinking that by targeting Slytherins all the time you were leading some kind of crusade against evil. Tell me, did it make you feel good about yourself to bully other students who also came from abusive homes?”

Everything inside James comes to a grinding halt.

Is Regulus talking…about Snape? Snape had an abusive home life?

“Go on, tell me all about how much better than Snape you are,” Regulus dares, jerking his head to the side in a sharp motion, hair flying away from his face.

And James’ eyes are helpless to resist following the eye-catching motion.

Absently, he wonders what it is about him that makes him attracted to people who are friends with Snape, before the full weight of the conversation dawns upon him.

He remembers how furious he got when he first heard that Sirius’ parents used to hit him, how protective he’d become about putting himself between Sirius and anything that could cause him harm. Somehow he’d missed that Snape went through the same thing, and yet he’d made things worse for him?

He feels sick.

Beside him, Sirius doesn’t seem to be doing much better. “How did you know that?”

“How didn’t you?” Regulus returns. “It was so fucking obvious.” He looks incredibly irritated with the lot of them, but when he turns to Sirius, it’s with this expression of rueful disappointment — like he was watching an angel’s wings fade to black in real time.

“There were actually a surprising number of us in the Slytherin house. Hmm, I wonder why that is? It’s almost as though growing up in a shitty home can teach children how to be cunning, who would’ve thought? Not you, certainly, but when have you ever thought about the consequences of your own actions? And you have the nerve to stand here and question me when I’m just trying to keep your bloody stupid arse alive?”

There was a collective flinch at his tone. Instead of getting louder, he got quieter in his rage, sending shivers down the spines of each Marauder facing the freezing tundra of his disparaging gaze.

“I didn’t know,” Sirius insists, “that he was such a miserable git, alright? And him being miserable at home doesn’t make him any less of a rotten, snake-faced bastard who ran off to join a merry band of murderers the first chance he got. It doesn’t change anything.”

Again, that disappointment skittered across Regulus’ eyes.

“Hogwarts was your solace from our horrible home life, wasn’t it?” Regulus begins, and oh, how it makes Sirius want to rip his skin off at how easily he keeps bringing that stuff up!

His ire fizzles out when Reggie continues with, “It wasn’t mine.”

That hurts something deep inside him that he swiftly decides not to examine.

“I can’t say it was that for anyone like us in Slytherin House either. You lot ensured a significant proportion of the student population couldn’t have any sort of peace, not at home and certainly not at school, and after terrorising them for years is it any wonder many of them would rather not fight on the same sides as you? You targeted Snape all because of…Evans, right? Because he dared to be friends with one of you Gryffindors? Do you know how miserable and fucking pathetic that is? Severus didn’t have a Potter to get him out of his bad situation, he just had me — however much good that did for him.”

Regulus shakes his head. “The fact that he’s finally snapped and is actively trying to kill you does not surprise me in the least. So, you’re not going to do anything to him. You’re going to sit down and shut up and let me handle it.”

“If — ” Remus stammers, “If we’d known he was… we would’ve… I mean, we could’ve…”

Regulus gives him a pitying look. Remus shuts up.

With a tiny eye roll, Regulus swivels around and starts walking away.

“Wait!” James doesn’t know what possesses him to step into Regulus’ path.

Regulus’ light grey eyes glint ominously once they set their sights on James. It’s truly terrifying seeing it up close.

“Look, you’ve made some very important points — ” James fidgets fretfully under Regulus’ stare.

“It’s just — we need information from the Death Eaters side because there’s a leak from our side, and he would be the closest we’ve gotten to a Death Eater in a long time…so if you can…get something out of Snape…anything, really…”

Regulus’ gaze bores into James, completely apathetic except James can see the calculation and thoughts swirling in his grey eyes.

Regulus visibly contemplates him for a long moment, then he abruptly steps to the side and walks right past James. He gets an odd sensation of déjà vu from that.

Ris follows right on Regulus’ heels, but slows and narrows her eyes when she nears James.

“Stay the fuck out of his face, already. He clearly doesn’t want to talk to you,” she bites out before stalking past.

A low whistle is heard. “Wow,” Jack drawls with sardonic glee, “There has been so much theatre since you three got here. And you, Posh Boy, are so incredibly talented at riling up Boss. You could just breathe in his direction and he’d lose his shite.”

He pouts. “I’m so jealous.”

He springs up from his seated spot and merrily jaunts out of the room, leaving the three Marauders behind in burdened silence and a half-eaten breakfast spread.

Notes:

So Regulus just blew open a huge can of worms in this one. He rightfully called out the Marauders for their bullying and hypocrisy, and revealed sensitive information in the process.

Now I'm a Regulus stan, and I'm willing to defend him for anything, but I also think I need to defend James a little bit here too.

James had no experience with dealing with kids from abusive homes before Sirius (Remus also included but he's not really the type to talk about it). He took to his friend's situations so personally because of their closeness, and ended up directing a lot of resentment towards other kids spouting the same prejudice and hatred that affected Sirius' life. He didn't delve into why those kids would say and do such things, or seek for similar abusive situations, but he was eleven and he's a Gryffindor so jumping the gun is kind of their thing.

Whereas Regulus had tons of experience with noticing signs of abuse, as a child coming from an abusive home himself. He was able to spot the signs in his peers, and had an innate understanding that a lot of the Slytherins were just repeating propaganda their abusive parents had taught them. It was obvious to him because he'd lived that life as well, so he mostly bears no grudge towards other Slytherins.

Sirius isn't as empathetic as Regulus or James. He does try to be good, I'll give him that, but it doesn't always work out for him :(

Let me know what you think! Love reading your comments 💖

_

Hope you enjoyed this chapter!

The next chapter will be up next Friday! I also post this story on my Medium blog, so if you would like to read ahead just click here
- For those that follow my blog, sorry I'm not that fast with writing. I'll try and keep up but I really have a lot on my plate these days :(

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Thank you so much for checking out my work, it means a lot. Have a great day, stay safe, and remember that you matter 💖

Chapter 15: It's Nice to Have a Friend

Summary:

“I’ve been curious about upper-year’s studies. It would give me a decent edge to be ahead of my peers even before the next year begins. Word is you’ve got one of the best grades in the entire school in Chemistry, and don’t do too poorly in other subjects either. If you’d share your notes with me, I’d consider it a beneficial exchange.”

If possible, Snape looked even more dubious. “You mean to tell me that you’re… allying yourself with me… because you want more homework?”

Notes:

Sooooo sorry for the long delay 🙏 Now lets get back into it!

(TW: Mentions of trauma, bullying and physical, mental and emotional child abuse)

15.

 

Regulus remembers when Severus Snape gave him an existential crisis.

Not his first, definitely, but certainly a significant one.

 

— — — — — —  — -Back to the Past — — — — — — —

He’d just arrived at Hogwarts, and spent his first week dodging the uproar caused by him sorting into Slytherin while Sirius, who’d already had a reputation even then, had been sorted into Gryffindor the year prior. 

The only Black to have done so ever.

He spent days trying to slip past all sorts of people attempting to approach him, until they concluded that he hadn’t done anything else noteworthy or dramatic like his brother and finally left him alone.

As usual, the only light ever cast on him came from Sirius.

He sighed to himself one day as he stalked through the ancient corridors of the school, wondering how to get Sirius to start talking to him again. There’d been radio silence since his sorting, his existence going completely ignored by his brother, as though Regulus was just air.

Did it really come as such a surprise to Sirius that Regulus fit in with Slytherin? Was he supposed to have made himself something other than what he was before coming to Hogwarts? He suspected Sirius just wanted him in Gryffindor for the solidarity of both of them pissing their parents off, no matter what consequences followed or what Regulus would have to do to minimise them. Or was there some other reason?

The stone cold silence seemed a bit extreme. He knew he and his brother hadn’t been very close in the year since Sirius started going to Hogwartds, but still…

He could only wonder at his questions, since the one person who could tell him the answers wasn’t telling him anything at all. He let his mind wander as he walked, believing himself safe from his former assailants, and unsuspectingly turned the corner…

…only to bump right into James Potter.

“Oh! You’re Sirius’ little brother, aren’t you?”

Regulus could only stare back, dumbstruck behind his curtain of hair. James peered at him thoughtfully from round gold-rimmed glasses.

“You’re pretty small,” he hummed, rubbing his chin. Then he beamed. “It’s kind of cute.”

What the heck? Regulus frantically thought to himself, eyes growing wide enough to spill from their sockets. He is way too bright!

That single smile alone could compete in degrees with the sun. Regulus had grown used to Sirius’ brilliance that cast him in long shadows by contrast, but James was something else entirely. 

His childhood isolation and lack of exposure to people outside of his family made Regulus uncertain on how to respond to James’…comment, and he didn’t know whether or not it was appropriate to tell James to dim his shine a bit so that Regulus could gather his wits.

Luckily, James didn’t mind his silence, and soon resumed talking.

“You have a lot of hair covering your face though,” James noted. “How do you even see like that? Wouldn’t it be better to just,” he reached a hand out towards Regulus’ face, “move it…?”

Regulus saw the hand advancing towards him, and had the irrational thought that if James touched him he was going to burst into flames.

He shot a leg out behind him and took a giant step back.

James blinked.

The bell had just rung, students milling about the corridors, and Regulus followed up his retreat with a jerky step to the left that conveniently placed him amongst a cluster of first years passing by…

Then vanished from sight like a magician.

He heard James yell in confusion, followed by footsteps giving chase and the Gryffindor calling out his name. Regulus pressed himself flatter against a doorway he’d ducked behind, frantically breathing in and out.

This incident inspired his first order of business at Hogwarts - he was going to discover all the passageways and hiding spots to become a master of the quick getaway.

James was persistent, as Regulus had known he would be from all the times Sirius had spoken to him about his best friend. So he set about becoming a very willful mouse in the cat-and-mouse chase he’d suddenly found himself in. 

But just because he was desperate to escape James didn’t mean he disliked him or wasn’t curious about why he so insistently wanted to talk to Regulus.

He’d just prefer that their interactions occurred on his terms - once he managed to summon up the nerve. Truth was, he was shy.

Sirius had painted an almost godly picture of the Gryffindor. Regulus was sure he hadn’t been described quite so impressively by his brother, because Regulus was not an impressive person at all. But he still wanted to leave a good impression on the friend his brother regarded so highly, and worried that he wouldn’t be able to stand to be in the same space as him without melting on the spot, or doing something else embarrassing.

But he still couldn’t stop himself from wanting to! Whenever he saw his brother and James and Remus and Peter and their other Gryffindor friends all having a laugh together and being so at ease in each other’s presence, Regulus couldn’t help but wish he was there beside them.

Sitting between James and Sirius at their table…adorned in Gryffindor gold. 

But he could only watch from afar. In those moments, he regretted being a Slytherin, and hated his existence a little more.

One such evening found Regulus morosely eating at the Slytherin table, with most of his attention fixated on the boisterous Gryffindor table, when he suddenly felt unfamiliar eyes on him.

He straightened, immediately on the alert. He’d faded into the shadows by now, no one seeing hide nor hair of him unless he wanted to be seen. And no one particularly sought him out either. James had ceased his chase weeks ago and no longer bothered even looking in Regulus’ direction now…

Just like Sirius.

So whose radar had he ended up on this time, and why did their gaze feel so…hostile?

Regulus dared a glance out of the corner of his eye, and found himself turning towards the Slytherin second-years. One stood out as responsible for the perceived resentment he’d felt, and Regulus recognised him as someone who shared quite a few classes with his brother and his friends.

Regulus knew of Severus Snape. How could he not, when his name passed through many lips and much gossip because he was the only Slytherin in the whole school to befriend a Gryffindor, their supposed arch-nemeses?

Regulus had never imagined he and Sirius would ever become enemies, much less because of something as useless as a House label, yet here they were. In his heart, he’d wished his fellow Slytherin better luck in his dealings with Gryffindors than he himself had. 

No doubt such a friendship would weather its own share of adversity from onlookers, but he believed, in his little naive way, that the two friends could surely make it work if both were determined enough.

So what on earth was Snape glaring at him for? He was rooting for the guy and had been cheering him on this whole time!

Regulus even peered discreetly behind him to make sure there wasn’t some other recipient of Snape’s ire. But no, the honour was his and his alone. 

Thanks to his handy curtain of hair, Snape couldn’t tell that Regulus was staring at him just as intensely, except in complete bafflement. When Snape finally eased up and turned back to his food with a sneer, Regulus decided it was time to actually start getting answers about some of his questions.

So he walked over to the Ravenclaw table.

“Panda,” he whispered as he silently slid into the seat next to her. Not even her seatmate noticed his approach.

Pandora Trelawney, however, did.

“Reggie,” She beamed at him so happily her cornflower blue eyes formed sparkling crescents, pale blond hair falling like fresh snow over her shoulder as she turned to him, “You came to see me!”

Regulus felt his cheeks flush with colour at her obvious delight.

Pandora was his first and truest friend - his only friend, if he was being honest with himself. They’d sat together on the train to Hogwarts, in a carriage that was so out of the way Regulus didn’t think anyone would spot it. She came in and sat beside him, and though their conversation was minimal as they’d both had their noses in books throughout the trip, Pandora kept seeking him out when they got to Hogwarts. 

They’d ended up sorted into different houses, and she’d looked for him after the sorting ceremony. He’d been hiding behind the thick curtains in the Astronomy tower that dismal first night when he’d been declared a Slytherin and Sirius’ love for him disappeared. She’d sat beside him on the cold floor, letting the curtains envelop them both, and told Regulus he’d been a “lovely conversation partner on the train and she’d love to talk more with him”. 

There and then, she’d officially extended an offer of friendship to Regulus - even though she was fully within her rights to make fun of him for the stream of tears covering his cheeks and his snot-filled appearance.

Talk they did that night, until all of Regulus’ tears had slowly dried up.

Ever since then, Pandora kept finding him even in his hiding places no one else knew about.

As he came to know more about her, he discovered that Pandora could see things others couldn’t. It was only natural she saw Regulus, even when his brother couldn’t - wouldn’t anymore.

Their dynamic was one where Pandora usually made the first move to seek him out, and she did so often enough that Regulus had never had reason to come find her. But this was important.

“Panda, why does Severus Snape hate me?” He asked her in a hushed voice. “What did I ever do to offend him?”

Pandora blinked her baby blues at him, then giggled and tapped him gently between the eyes.

“You’re always looking, but you’re not looking, Starlight,” she whispered back, and she sounded sad. “You’re only seeing one part of the picture. Take everything in next time.”

He rolled that over in his mind, finding that it made a surprising amount of sense. He was already quite used to watching and observing people from afar, piecing together theories of the kinds of lives they led through short glimpses in order to sate his never ending curiosity without being observed in turn.

But they were just that - short glimpses. Obviously, he was missing a large part of some puzzle, if Panda’s words were anything to go by. What he needed was to carry out his stalking  people-watching more often, and since there was no one he sought out more than his brother, Panda was clearly steering him in that direction. There must be some connection between the issue with Severus Snape and his older brother.

Bolstered by his desire to learn even more new things - he’d come very close to being sorted into Ravenclaw, not that anyone except Panda knew about that since Sirius still wouldn’t talk to him - Regulus began his quest to see things more clearly, even skipping classes sometimes in order to ferret out what he’d missed.

What he found proved just how blissful ignorance truly was. 

Seeing his brother hurt someone else for the first time had been…life-changing; subsequent events no less traumatising.

Because it was a frequent occurrence. 

His older brother, who had up till only a few weeks ago been Regulus’ protector from harm, someone who Regulus looked up to with the unshakeable certainty that he would never be able to measure up, was ganging up on Severus Snape with his best friends and acting…

Acting like Walburga.

Siri, why? Regulus wondered from his perch as he watched, eyes burning as he beheld his brother and for the first time did not immediately want to be by his side.

You’re acting like her, but you hate her so much, so why…? 

There had to be some explanation for this!

He continued gathering intel, way more subdued than before.

The answers to his latest set of questions were decidedly unsatisfactory.

It turned out the Gryffindor Snape was friends with, one Lily Evans, was a girl James Potter was smitten with. Lily Evans did not return these feelings, was even outspokenly against everything James Potter stood for, and preferred the company of Severus, who so happened to be a Slytherin.

The abysmal reputation of Regulus’ Hogwarts House apparently made it justified for James Potter and his own brother to carry out countless attacks against Severus for the sole crime of being preferred - even targeting him sometimes in broad daylight without anyone apart from Evans showing an ounce of care for the situation.

It even extended to them regularly targeting members of the Slytherin House as a whole while the whole school looked on. Why didn’t anyone care?

To his credit, Horace Slughorn, the Head of Slytherin House, did seem to constantly attempt to get justice for the wronged members of his house, especially more protection for the younger students.

But all his efforts were blocked for some reason or other…

Regulus narrowed his eyes at the Head table, where the Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, sat on a gaudy-looking chair shaped like a throne. His perch allowed him to oversee all the students in the dining hall, but his focus mostly stayed on the Gryffindor students, dismissing nearly everyone else.

…Or maybe it was because of someone.

The Headmaster’s favouritism for those sorted into Gryffindor was not a secret, him being rumoured to have been a Gryffindor himself as a student, and later their Head of House before being appointed as Headmaster.

Equally, his prejudice towards Slytherins was also not concealed. Regulus wondered how such an obviously biassed person was allowed to be in charge of so many impressionable children, but he also often wondered how Walburga and Orion were allowed to be parents, and had no answers for either. 

He was still only eleven. Maybe he’d discover those answers when he was older. He really hoped so.

Regulus focused all his attention towards studying Severus Snape, not minding his brother anymore. The sight of him made Regulus feel heartsick, and not with longing, which was a truly horrid and out of place feeling for him.

As Regulus snooped on Severus, which wasn’t very difficult since they both spent most of their time in the same House quarters, Regulus discovered Snape’s situation was even worse than what he’d already seen.

Snape was a half-blood - his mother was a noble who had married downwards. Her family effectively disowned her after that, so she and her family now lived a completely commoner lifestyle as evidenced by the quality and state of Snape’s robes.

Having no noble title or status to his name, in a House that prioritised ambition and power over all things, Snape was…not having a good time amongst his peers, and his friendship with a Gryffindor did not help matters for him in the least. He was being shunned at the very best, and at worst…

Slytherins were not the type to display public conflicts within themselves, or for such obvious displays of cruelty as the Gryffindors were wont to do. But their tactics often proved worse, as any victim targeted had no proof of the wrongdoing if they even dared to report it. 

Such was the case of Snape.

Stolen belongings that could easily be framed as being misplaced due to carelessness. Whispered insults behind his back disguised as simple banter between friends. And a constant relegation of near back-breaking duties that "all firsties got assigned."

And from the way Snape constantly carried himself as though expecting a blow, tamped down on a flinch whenever someone raised their voice when he wasn’t expecting it, and bundled himself up from head to toe even when it wasn’t cold, Regulus had an inkling that all was not well at his house either.

Regulus never thought he’d ever find someone more miserable than he was…but bloody hell, Severus Snape sure took the cake.

At least he had his powerful family name for protection. He’d even amassed a number of Slytherin minions followers when he first arrived, but he’d given them the slip over and over till they got the hint and left him alone.

However, Snape had nothing and no one in his defence - except Lily Evans, who yelled and disparaged ‘the Marauders’ as they called themselves every time she discovered their newest crime. It seemed an altogether useless endeavour to Regulus, as they continued to harm Snape despite her reprimands, but she also took them to task for bullying the younger-year Slytherins and for that she had his respect.

Now that he knew all this, Regulus was unsure what to do. He was unsure if he should even do something- it wasn’t his place. Snape hating him because he hated his brother was a logical implausibility he wasn’t responsible for.

So, why did his stomach churn whenever he remembered the look on Snape’s face that day he’d glared at Regulus?

Yes, there’d been anger, and a lot of unwarranted hate. But there’d also been this look of frustrated hopelessness, as though Regulus had this power over him that he could not take away no matter what he did.

It was the same way Regulus now looked at James Potter - the person who’d stolen his brother from him and twisted him into the person he’d always despised. 

And Regulus didn’t know how to turn away from that.

“Panda, what should I do?” He asked his friend, at a crossroads with himself.

She laughed and tapped him between the eyes again. “You already know, don’t you, Starlight? I can see that you’ve already come to a decision.”

Regulus chewed his lip. He did not need to get involved, and yet, it seemed like the only possible way forward.

“We’ll be hanging out a lot less now,” he told her sadly.

Pandora nodded, looking sad as well, but mostly proud. “Do whatever you need to do, my Regulus star. No matter what, I will always support you.” 

Regulus’ tiny heart soared. If Panda believed in him, what wouldn’t he be able to accomplish?

So that night, he set about putting his plans in place. In the common room, right after dinner, he made a beeline for and sat down right next to Severus Snape.

Severus had been painfully ostracised by his housemates. It was subtle, of course, outside of Slytherin spaces, but within the dungeons they were placed in it was clear as day. But Regulus' steps didn’t falter as he headed for the little deserted corner where Severus had sequestered himself away.

Conversation stopped the minute he sat down. Beside him, he could feel Snape stiffen in shock but he didn’t look up, taking out a book and beginning to read like he dallied there on a daily.

He knew exactly how this looked to the other Purebloods of his House. He, Regulus Black, who abstained from interactions with most other Purebloods - or anyone really - in a ridiculously introverted manner, and thus stayed out of the politicking of his peers, had all but declared an alliance with Severus Snape - the black sheep of Slytherin House and a nobody.

They would not take this lightly. Someone of his standing was supposed to only have allies who were high standing as well, though his former commitment to making no alliances at all had been grudgingly tolerated. But for his first to be Severus - he knew there’d be consequences.

He would have to effectively defend his stance, or he’d have doomed them both.

This was fine. This was all fine. No pressure, really.

But he was prepared for such an outcome, and had already started planning how to retaliate as he idly flipped through his textbook.

Conversation haltingly resumed when he didn’t proceed to feed it any attention. Severus was still sitting as stiff as a statue, and didn’t seem to know what to do with himself, or with Regulus who didn’t offer any kind of explanation.

Frankly, Regulus didn’t quite care to. He was busy with predicting and preempting attacks from his fellow mates, which he knew would start as soon as possible as they’d have shifted their attention from Snape to him.

He wasn’t wrong.

The next morning, he was singled out before he even left the dorms and asked about his thoughts on the new bill passed in the Wizengamot, proposed by a Minister of one the Grey Houses that favoured the Dark side politically. It would’ve been an innocent inquiry, if the bill hadn’t only just passed and news of it hadn’t even been put in print yet.

The only way to have heard of the news was if his parents had written to him in a letter. So what was really in question…was how much regard his parents held him in. Since he was only the spare after all.

He couldn’t very much wield the Black name without any real weight behind it.

But lucky for him, he’d always been a dutiful spare, and as his parents were still furious with Sirius for being himself, they wrote Regulus rather often to purposefully spite his brother. He passed the first test without incident.

His next major ordeal was being moderately coerced to join the Quidditch team, as it was remarked within his earshot that it was just “such a shame the Gryffindors had a Black on their team and the Slytherins didn’t.” 

Getting onto the Slytherin Quidditch team was no small business. It wasn’t as simple as just trying out - one would need to have impeccable grades, enough wealth to purchase all the latest equipment, and considerable connections to even be allowed to tryouts - all that before even factoring in skill. 

It was probably quite different for other Houses, but Quidditch was quite political in the Slytherin House. A game where one could go on to reap international wealth and prestige could not be taken lightly as just a fun Inter-House Sport. Students and parents made bets on the games, and having connections to the winning side was no trifle matter with the amount of doors it could open.

All that was a bit beyond Regulus at the moment. His major concern was the need to avoid being seen as the ‘lesser’ Black. If he couldn’t achieve what Sirius already had, he’d definitely be branded as such. 

Regulus already knew he was the less impressive sibling, but frankly, that wasn’t anyone else’s business. On his own, he would’ve ignored the comments and tactical manipulation, but as it was such a delicate conflict and someone else’s well-being depended on his standing, he didn’t have the choice of letting it slide.

It was a good thing he’d always desired to play the sport, then.

Regulus would go on to become the youngest Seeker in Hogwarts history, and when he led his team to victory in his very first game the attempts to undermine his status would finally cease. 

But before that happened, he was stuck dealing with minor nuisances and subtle needling from his peers as they tried to make life difficult for him in a million nonsensical ways. It was annoying, but he knew how to play the game. He knew that just rising to their challenges wouldn’t be the most effective deterrent for their antics. True respect would only come if he showed his teeth in turn.

And his habit of stalking observing his peers meant that unfortunately for most of them, he knew exactly where to hurt.

Letters ending up in the wrong hands, important secrets whispered about in the air, grades dropping all of a sudden from misplaced homework.

They stopped messing with him after that.

Another thing he’d banked on was them leaving Snape alone during the mini power struggle. The entire time Regulus was running circles around the Slytherins and having circles run around him in return, Snape had watched the proceedings take place with an air of stupefied disbelief. When Regulus had addressed Snape that first night, it was to say, “They should be leaving you alone now, but I’ll still sit with you whenever you want.”

Snape had narrowed his eyes at him but said nothing. Regulus eyed him with a speculative look before standing to walk away.

He’d gotten a handle on the Slytherins now, but there was still the matter of his brother and the other Gryffindors.

They were a bit trickier since dealing with his brother could never be in a straightforward manner. But Regulus kept his head, confident he could find a way to handle this. 

He followed Pandora’s advice and let himself 'see' and 'take everything in'.

He went back to studying the Marauders, this time looking for signs of when trouble was on the horizon.

Detecting danger was second nature to Regulus, what with all the times he’d had to intervene just as Walburga was about to go nuclear. This skill had only been refined by his stalking people-watching habits.

It was easy to note when any of the Marauders were not where they were supposed to be (Regulus had all their timetables memorised, don’t ask how). Discrepancies such as being even a few minutes late were calculated. He’d mark these instances in his mind, and drastic increases in their frequency would alert him to the fact that they had begun planning something nefarious.

He also noted whenever he saw them in places they should not have been, lurking in some corridor or other when he knew their schedules meant they should’ve just finished classes in another wing. He was able to discover and foil a lot of their plans in the making this way.

But the most reliable indicators always came from the Marauder’s faces - eyes shining with predatory glee and ill-disguised expressions of anticipation as they waited for their ‘pranks’ to deploy and completely destroy someone’s day - the intended someone more often than not being Snape.

That was when Regulus would act. 

He’d slither out of the shadows to intercept Snape, tug him by his sleeve and usher him away to safety. Snape never even gave so much as a token protest, lightning quick on the uptake. 

Regulus would sequester them both away and lay low in whichever hiding place was closest that day.

“Why are you doing this?” Snape finally snapped one evening as they squatted at one of Regulus’ favourite hidey holes - an undetectable balcony situated opposite to the greenhouses where most of the school had Agriculture lessons, doing homework to pass the time. Well, they should have been doing homework - Regulus was holding out a handful of bird seed by the railing, hoping to attract some birds.

Regulus looked over at Severus then, saying nothing. Truthfully, he’d been expecting the question to come much earlier. Snape must have been trying to puzzle it out on his own the whole time before ultimately giving up.

“My brother is hurting you,” he replied.

Severus raised an eyebrow. “So?”

Regulus was silent, his long-suspected theories confirmed. His reply held the weary note of one long accustomed to the knowledge that no one was coming to save him. The indifference of his peers and teachers would only have solidified this in his mind.

Snape was still waiting for an answer, his expression growing more and more aggrieved the longer Regulus didn’t speak.

Regulus had to pick his reply carefully. Saying something along the lines of “I wanted to help because what he’s doing is wrong”, though true, would be akin to showing his underbelly to Snape. If the senior was any bit of a true Slytherin, he would ruthlessly exploit the perceived weakness it was, and could even manage to turn the tables and place Regulus under his thumb if he adeptly spun the situation into one where Regulus was in need of repaying a debt to Snape. 

A diplomatic answer such as “I didn’t want you to think his actions spoke for all members of the House of Black”, would not only garner him even more suspicion and make Snape not trust him, but would also be laughably ironic since his family was known for even harsher treatment.

In the end, he went for a sort of middle ground.

“If you’ll forgive my presumption, I thought you’d prefer my company to his,” he stated in his politest tone.

Snape stared. 

Regulus waved a hand elegantly. “You’re not a bad companion. And school gets so crowded sometimes, so isn’t it nice to be able to just get away to a place like this?” 

Snape’s features could have been hewn from granite. “I have been waiting for Potter to show up,” he abruptly announced. Regulus tilted his head to the side, frowning slightly.

The older Slytherin’s eyes pierced into him where he stood, not letting up an inch in their intensity - as though from his gaze alone he could read Regulus’ mind.

“Or your brother,” Regulus masterfully concealed his flinch, “Or even that unfortunate Peter fellow. Yet, they are nowhere to be found. I’ve finally discerned that you aren’t plotting to lull me into a false sense of security before letting those Gryffindors have the last laugh, yet I still cannot determine your reasoning - and I find your explanation rather paltry. So, if we may both speak clearly,” Snape shifted in his crouch, raising himself just an inch higher-

“What exactly are you looking to gain from this?” 

Snape’s mind was as sharp as a steel trap and thrice as dangerous. Regulus needed to give him something to work with or he’d keep at it like a dog with a bone. Demanding something to ‘settle the score’ would only lower Snape’s hackles and - hopefully - put him at ease.

“I’ve been curious about upper-year’s studies. It would give me a decent edge to be ahead of my peers even before the next year begins. Word is you’ve got one of the best grades in the entire school in Chemistry, and don’t do too poorly in other subjects either. If you’d share your notes with me, I’d consider it a beneficial exchange.”

If possible, Snape looked even more dubious. “You mean to tell me that you’re… allying yourself with me… because you want more homework?”

Regulus remembered reading a tidbit once about how maintaining eye contact made one seem more sincere. Pushing aside his insecurity, he pushed his hair away from his face.

Puzzlement briefly flashed across Snape’s face.

“I’m of the belief that knowledge is power, Severus,” He announced, his inner Ravenclaw on full-display. “There’s nothing trivial about it. Making connections is important, yes, but I’d rather avoid surrounding myself with daft people. You might not be very politically powerful now, but that doesn’t mean you can't be in the future.”

Regulus abruptly turned away from Snape’s stare back towards open air, partly because he was getting increasingly uneasy from the unveiled scrutiny, and partly because he was - rather uncharitably - getting bored of the conversation. 

He held out the bird seed again, directing all of his interest towards the swifts flying overhead.

“Become great enough to even the playing field yourself. That is what I want from you,” he tossed offhandedly over his shoulder.

The next half hour was filled with blessed silence, though he was almost certain he could hear the gears turning in Snape’s skull. He seemed mollified at the moment, so Regulus didn’t concern himself with what he might be thinking as long as he didn’t start questioning him again. 

A little dove flitted over and landed on his palm.

Regulus didn’t hold back a delighted gasp, holding his palm steady in order not to spook the bird while internally jumping for joy. As the bird settled in to feed, he waited several seconds before lightly stroking its feathers with a finger from his free-hand.

The bird didn’t startle, so he did it again. The dove let out a soft chirp and he softly chirped back, hoping for some easy camaraderie. It seemed simple, being a bird. They probably made friends easier than Blacks did.

“You’re not much like your brother, are you?”

Regulus’ head snapped up at the question. He'd almost managed to forget Snape was still there.

“No, I’m not,” he replied quietly, letting his hair fall into his face as he stared down at the dove. He still found himself wishing he was more like Sirius, though he knew there were aspects to his character that left much to be desired.

Snape glanced from his face to his hands. “I see,” he stated, and left it at that.

Do you? Regulus couldn’t help but wonder, staring at him solemnly. Do you really see me? You'd be the second, he thought sadly. 

There should’ve been three of you.

Still, two turned out to be not such a bad number. He still kept Panda as close as he could, but with Snape being a Slytherin and involved in dealings with his brother, however unwillingly, Regulus inevitably began to interact more with him. 

And he liked Snape. He hadn’t lied about him being a good companion. He enjoyed having a sounding board for half-formed theories while he did his homework, and being able to pick the brains of someone whose thoughts could follow a straightforward order, an intriguing contrast to Panda who could find nuance in all things. 

He even liked the secrecy of it all, sequestering themselves away into little nooks where they were never discovered, where they were able to shed their individual masks for a little while as trust slowly but surely formed between them over time.

He showed Snape all of his hiding spots, and even let him in on the location of the kitchens, a most precious place he often squirrelled away to whenever he could.

There, he let himself be openly affectionate towards the house elves and servants, who’d done a lot to soothe the aches in his heart whenever he missed Kreacher deeply. In return, they piled him with savoury sweets and biscuits while chattering his ear off with questions about how he was liking the school, how his friends were doing and if he was eating properly, not minding the newcomer in the least and even going so far as to make Snape feel included.

Snape watched Regulus allow himself to be mothered by servants - and said absolutely nothing about it. Not a single word, though he was well within his rights to use Regulus’ frequent associations with those of lower status as weapons to wield against him if he wished.

And Regulus began to believe he'd managed to make another friend - this time all on his own.

This fantasy was short-lived, and soon died a quiet and painful death, just like all Regulus’ hopes and dreams.

There came a day where he was asked to stay a bit behind after classes, as he'd raised an interesting point and his professor wanted to outline a project proposal with him for extra credit outside of the curriculum. He'd gotten carried away with the planning and lost track of time, and the sun was going down when he finally made a dash for the dorms to get changed for dinner.

It was there he learned that Snape had been hospitalised just a few hours earlier, and carted away to the Hospital Wing. The culprits were obvious.

His guilt was not insignificant as he instantly changed directions and headed there instead. He should've been there, he could've stopped it - nothing like that had happened for months since he'd been looking out for Snape.

He expressed these sentiments along with his apologies when he made it so Snape's side, and received a biting reply in return.

“Why are you here? What are you even doing?” Severus spat with overflowing vitriol, eyes flashing like a serpent ready to strike.  

“You’re not helping, you’re not making him stop, you’re not solving anything, you’re just useless, so why the hell do you keep wasting both of our time like this?”

Regulus raised his formerly bowed head, lips pursed. Oh, that stung - and Snape had definitely intended it to.

“What is it with people thinking I’m somehow responsible for my older brother?”

Filled with rage, Regulus pinned a helpless Snape in place with his glowering gaze.

“I can’t control Sirius - not even our parents can control him. He refuses to listen to them no matter how much they punish him. Nobody can. And if you didn’t know, he doesn’t even listen to me. You’re not special.”

That said, Regulus spun on his heel and stormed away, all the way back to his dorm room where he flung himself onto his bed to brood.

What upset him the most was that Snape had been right.

He wasn't solving anything, he wasn't actually providing Snape with a safe Hogwarts experience, which would only happen if he got Sirius and his Marauder friends to stop their bullying completely. 

He just didn't know how to do that, short of getting them expelled, and the Headmaster's favouritism of all students Gryffindor ensured that, short of killing another student, there was no chance they'd actually face severe disciplinary action.

All Regulus had done was provide a stopgap against their antics, which didn't ensure a permanent reprieve as that day had proven.

So what could he do?

He knew he couldn't talk to Sirius, that hadn't worked in years and there was no outcome where Sirius would actually take his wishes into account without making things worse. Sirius Black did not deign to listen to anyone - except James Potter and maybe those new friends of his.

Even if he could somehow crush his soul enough to appeal to James Potter, the bespectacled brother stealer seemed similarly disinclined to leave Severus alone, and had no reason to do a favour for Regulus, a ‘slimy Slytherin snake’ as proclaimed by the self-righteous Gryffindors.

So no, Regulus could not provide the solution to Severus’ troubles. But he'd known that going in, he must've, and he'd tried to help anyways.

He treated “lowly” House Elves like family, even though historically their only purpose was to serve other families and there were no laws being arranged for that to change anytime soon. He wasn't in a place where he could give them the rights they deserved, but he could treat them right, so he did so. And that was how he'd decided to live his life.

Even if one could not solve world hunger, does that mean it was justified to do nothing but look away when starving people begged for money for food? 

No, he decided. He wouldn’t just walk away, even if he couldn’t directly change the root of their problem. Because not providing any help at all would just mean they’d die faster, even if he couldn’t prevent them from dying completely.

Because when he'd first laid eyes on Severus, who at the time seemed the epicentre of the world's hatred, it had looked to Regulus then like he was dying…slowly, and in plain sight.

Resolved, he got up and headed for the door in search of Sev.

“Hey, Reg?”

Regulus startled as he turned, coming face to face with Barty and Evan who were staring at him with concerned expressions. He’d never even noticed them come in.

“You were thinking pretty hard just now,” Evan said, scratching his head. “Do you need some advice on something?”

Regulus shook his head. “No,” he nonchalantly responded, his mind millions of miles away again. “I think I’ve got a solution on how to move forward.”

Barty and Evan exchanged glances, then Barty walked up to him and clasped him firmly on the shoulder.

“If she breaks your heart, you know you can tell us, mate?”

Regulus stared. “I beg your pardon?”

“The one you’ve been sneaking off everywhere to,” Barty clarified. “Just know if things don’t work out, we’ve got your back.” He inclined his head towards Evan, who nodded in agreement.

Regulus wasn’t sure he understood what was happening. Barty and Evan had always been too absorbed with each other to take notice of Regulus or what he was doing - or so he thought.

But the way they’d both just extended their support, was it possible that they saw him as a friend?

His lips slowly tilted up at the corners. “Thanks,” he told them, meaning it. He’d have to remember that.

He ended up giving Severus space for a few days after thinking it through, figuring it would do the both of them good. When he went to sit beside him in the common room the following week Snape visibly startled.

It was clear that he’d made certain assumptions about the road forward. Regulus gave him a look that hopefully conveyed that he had no quarrel with him any longer, as well as a silent apology for his part in the matter.

Snape didn’t look exactly reassured…and despite the hidden remorse in his eyes no apology was forthcoming.

However, Regulus was determined to keep his white flag extended, so chose not to take it to heart. It would be awkward for a while, he told himself, but things would go back to being fine again in no time.

…As the weeks progressed it quickly became clear that things were not fine between them.

Snape…became distant. Silences stretched on whenever they hung out, despite Regulus doing nothing to put them there and his best to take them away. Severus began to associate more and more with the likes of Mulciber and Avery, hardcore Pureblood Supremacists who claimed to follow the “true Slytherin ways”, growing colder and meaner as he did. It became the new normal to hear him spouting the same Pureblood rhetoric Regulus had heard too often growing up. Regulus looked on and tried his best not to let his disgust show.  

Slytherin House members started to treat Severus differently by his association, as through verbally disparaging his own identity and shedding it like snakeskin truly made him “one of them.” 

…It probably did, thinking about it.

But it meant that he did not need Regulus anymore.

Regulus would’ve been glad that he’d taken his instructions to heart, as his friend now no longer had to fear falling asleep in his own dorm room now that he’d elevated his own position so successfully…if it hadn’t come at such a cost.

Oh Sev, Regulus thought regretfully, watching their friendship slip from his fingers like so much fine sand.

Barty and Evan flocked to his side, deducing that he was suffering from some premature heartbreak with the way he looked “so mopey and lonely these days” - Barty’s words, which Evan nodded to in agreement.

The amusement they provided didn’t fully cure him of the ache he felt watching Severus drifting further away from him.

He’d just started to wonder if this wasn’t some way of nature winning, if Severus was destined to associate with these dregs regardless of Regulus’ constantly extended offer of friendship…

Then with the threats he’d faced from Slytherins now subdued, Severus moved on to another target. He turned his attention to the Marauders. And he began to exact retribution.

Using his position as Slughorn’s favourite student to muck up their Chemistry assignments, producing undesirable results. Ganging up on any Marauder caught by themselves in the corridors, and performing torments nearly equal to torture with ideas surely inspired by his new co-conspirators. Even coercing younger students from different houses to accuse the Marauders of…unspeakable acts to their Heads of House.

It was not less than their due, as they had done some truly horrific things to Severus in past years, but still…

But still …

Regulus felt a frisson of cold panic run down his spine.

‘Don’t hurt my brother.’ The words were on the top of Regulus’ tongue, to demand it, to plead it of Severus.

He found he could not.

He had not asked Sirius, or Potter, or any of the rest to stop bullying Severus. He’d recognized the futility of the action, and thus chose to wallow in cowardice instead. 

Surely there could’ve been another way to end the bullying, some blackmail or other he could’ve held over the Marauders’ heads to restrict their actions, but he had not been clever enough to think of one, nor found one in time. And now it was too late.

It would not be fair to do unto Severus what he’d failed to do before. It might even prove equally futile.

His unease remained - he just knew that this pattern wouldn’t end up leading anywhere good. But he’d proved he wasn’t good enough to stop it, and any further involvement on his part could just make things worse.

And so he stepped back.

Said nothing to Severus when he saw the signs of a new vicious prank being planned by the Marauders. 

Didn’t speak up when James and Sirius were loudly protesting their innocence in the Great Hall from being accused of a crime they didn’t commit. He just watched them with knowing eyes while he spooned porridge into his mouth.

James happened to catch his gaze, and for a moment, their eyes connected. Regulus looked away first, not wanting to give away the self-blame he felt.

But was he even responsible for these people? Why had he even gotten himself involved in the first place?

And for what? He’d changed nothing - solved nothing - as he was apparently wont to do. Really, he’d save himself some heartache in the future if he expected the worst from his efforts as a general rule.

And if Severus really was destined to go down this path and there was nothing he could do, wasn’t he just a cog in the wheel? A useless spare, part of a whole but wholly unnoticed, better off back in his box because take him out of the picture and nothing would bloody change, would it?

Why was he even so determined to try?

It wasn’t until he got locked up in Grimmauld Place for months upon months that Regulus finally found out the answer. It was as if Regulus just could not leave well enough alone- doing nothing was simply anathema to his very existence. Even death might be easier for him to achieve.

The years passed, and Severus became a bully in his own right. And Regulus found himself smuggling a new set of students into a new set of hiding spots to get them away from the threat of Severus.

His unease only grew stronger over the years, as more and more Slytherin students started sounding like Walburga, as more and more students of lower origin suffered from “pranks” which weren’t really pranks at all, as more and more lines were drawn between Slytherins and Griffindors and the rest of the school.

But he got pulled out of Hogwarts before that song and dance reached its terrible crescendo, before a student’s life was threatened on school grounds and the war of Houses could no longer be ignored. 

Before he got to find out whether Pandora and Evan and Barty would eventually pull away from him as everyone who he ever cared for seemed destined to.

 

— —  — — — — — — Present — — — — — — — — —

Regulus would think back on this the next time he sees Severus…

As he prepares himself to do something he had failed to do before.

Notes:

Snape: *sticks entire foot into his mouth*

Reg: … -_-

(Some time later)

Reg: *gingerly poking at the foot* Hey Sev?

Snape: …

Reg: *tries to yank out foot* SEV!

Snape: …

Chapter 16: Weave Your Little Webs of Opacity

Summary:

Peter looks to be suffering from several mini apoplexies. He stutters, stumbling over himself as he scrambles to form a sentence.

“B-b-but he’s the one responsible for nearly killing Sirius and James! H-how could you invite him here?”

“Because I want to ask him nicely not to do that anymore.”

Peter just stares at him. Regulus stares back.

Notes:

(TW: Mentions of trauma, murder, and actually Peter Pettigrew this time)

Jack is his own warning at this point. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

16.

“And just why do you think I have even the slightest mind to put the two of you in the same room together?” Reggie asks, his brows arching mildly.

“Do you want this quaint little establishment to become the next epicentre of destruction?”

Sirius scowls. The questions aren’t asked in an accusatory tone - far from it. Ever since their argument, Reggie hasn’t let out any hints of the anger (or even the disappointment) he’d so memorably shown on those nights. In fact, every word or question he’s posed to Sirius since has been laced with a…mild curiosity. 

He’d sound like he doesn’t really care for Sirius’ answer, like he’s asking just for the sake of speaking, yet his pale grey eyes would be boring into Sirius the entire time. As though he’s a lab rat to be studied or gawked at - like he wishes to peel back the layers of Sirius’ skin to reveal every hidden sin and secret for his viewing pleasure.

He doesn’t know what the little shite’s angle is, if he’s doing this intentionally to irritate him or if it's something else altogether. He can’t figure it out, and it’s slowly rubbing away at his sanity. At this point, he’ll prefer the vitriol, or even a vulgar curse every now and then.

”Nooo,” Sirius draws out the word just to be petty, “I’m just saying, if you’re going to be talking to Sni- Snape about me, then I’d rather know exactly what’s being said. I don’t think that’s too much to ask.”

Reggie raises his cup to his lips, leaning back slightly as he takes a sip. They were again at the breakfast table, where all important discussions were held it seems. His mates are beside him and so are Regulus’ - as well as his “sister” who Sirius is stubbornly ignoring and who is stubbornly glaring at him in return.

Reggie sets down the cup. “Of course it’s not. Not at all. But I must repeat, your direct involvement will only end in catastrophe. I have more pull and goodwill with him than you do. Just think of me as your solicitor during this discussion - someone representing your interests.” 

“Representing my interests,” Sirius echoes in a low murmur, trying to conceal his disbelief. That’s a lot of trust he would be placing in his brother, and he isn’t quite sure how to feel about that. 

It’s not like he believed Reggie would be making the situation worse on purpose - but what if it isn’t on purpose?

“I was always on your side!” He remembers him saying.

At the time, hearing Reggie rant and throw those words at him that he’d been surely holding in for a long time, Sirius had felt stricken with shame. Reggie is his brother, but more than that, he is the little kid he’d practically raised. How couldn’t he have seen the loyalty Reggie claims was always there all along?

…But then again, why didn’t he see it?

Reggie claims he’d just been performing a role for those monsters they’d called parents, but…he’d performed it too well. The way he’d fed them everything they wanted to hear, like his mind was perfectly in tune with theirs despite his alleged dislike for them…could he really trust someone who could do and say things like that?

Sirius knows he should be giving his brother more credit, after all he couldn’t have gotten Moony back so quickly without him. Yet his distrust lingers..

Reggie eyes him like he knows what he’s thinking - and how, how, after three years of being “dead” and countless miscommunications can he still look at him like he knows Sirius when Sirius still has moments where he doesn’t believe the person sitting in front of him is actually Reggie (and when he doesn’t feel like he knows himself either)? Just as he’s about to speak, Moony cuts in.

“Perhaps one of us could represent Sirius’ interests?” He hesitatingly says. “James maybe, or.. perhaps I-?”

Regulus looks sardonically amused before Remus even finishes speaking. He sets his cup down with finality.

“If we’re trying to avoid the worst case scenario here, then none of you Musketeers or whatever will be speaking with Severus.” Sirius hears Jack snort further up the table. “I’m not exactly sure why you find this so hard to grasp. Do you have a death wish?”

Jack leans over his seat, a wry twist to his lips.

“According to you Boss, everyone has a fucking death wish.”

“Yeah, and you’re top of the list,” Reggie retorts, but there’s no heat in it. His eyes and voice always seem to take on a lighter tone whenever he’s talking to this bloody sod.

“I just think I’m a bit of an expert on these things,” Regulus continues, “Since I’m the only one here that’s actually wanted to be ‘dead’ and succeeded at it.”

James looks heavenward at that, staring sightlessly at the ceiling while also mindlessly stirring his tea. Prongs has been quieter, something that makes Sirius worry but also to wish he’d just snap out of it already. Without James’ regular input, Sirius feels like he’s been set adrift, to deal with thoughts and feelings that feel like knives in his mind without his comfort shield that is James.

Sirius knows they’re just taking the piss, not being serious in their jests, but mentioning his brother’s death always has that same bullet punch feel that it did the first go-round.

“The fact is, Severus won’t listen or reconsider his actions if it's coming from someone he doesn’t trust. I’d be representing his interests as well in our conversation.”

“How are you so bloody sure of him?” Sirius growls out, turning to anger like he always does when he can’t and won’t fully examine or deal with his feelings.

“Why do you like him so much, hah? What has he ever done to deserve you being so bloody nice to him?”

Reggie stares at him for a moment. His eyes look faraway, like they did the other day, and Sirius desperately wishes he could go back and fuck up his past self for not noticing bloody Snivellus Snape being attached to his baby brother.

“What did he do?” Sirius is jolted back to the present as his brother resumes speaking. 

“Nothing.” Reggie sets down his cup and threads his fingers together delicately. “I’ve told you - the two of you are actually quite similar. I believed in him once, and he let me down.” He says this rather matter-of-factly.

“But, for the sake of old times, he’ll come to me if I call, and hear me out, hopefully.” 

“And you’ve… called on him already?” Remus inquires.

“Yes, he knows where to meet us.” Regulus only has eyes for Sirius. “This will work.”

Despite himself, or maybe in spite of everything that’s happened between them, Sirius believes him.

“You are free to doubt him,” Ris finally cuts in, annoyed at the topic having dragged on this long. “Just know you look stupid doing it.”

Jack snickers, his shoulders bouncing up and down.

Sirius resists the urge to growl at them both.

The corner of Regulus’ lips quirk - there and gone so swiftly James could’ve sworn he imagined it.

“Besides, you should be able to oversee and hear our discussion from this room, just not participate. You only need to move closer to the glass.”

Regulus gestures with a flick of his wrist towards the opposite end of the room, where their private space was separated from the rest of the cafe by a thick wall of transparent glass partially concealed by red chequered curtains.

The cafe Regulus drove them all to that morning is a plain red-brick building about two-storeys high, with interior walls painted a bright amber-yellow. The colour matches its small, square tables and contrasts nicely with the vibrant red floors and forest-green cupboards. There’s chequered curtains at every corner, handwritten menu boards and snapshots adorning the walls, and friendly looking staff and diners. It looks homely.

It doesn’t seem like the kind of place Regulus would frequent - the younger Black had a posh, upscale aura that won’t be out of place in the wealthiest parts of London. Considering he’s the successor to a Noble house (or is that no longer the case since he’s presumed dead?), the classically royal demeanour fit him like a glove.

James is a scion of a Noble house too, but he’s never been able to present himself as one by simply breathing the way Regulus does.

This place, like their last location, looks completely untouched by the war. When Moony asked why he picked the cafe for the meeting place, Regulus gave him a flat look and sarcastically asked if the meaning of ‘secret headquarters’ was lost on the lot of them. He also japed that since the place was closer to central London, he could use it as an excuse to kick them out of his personal space faster.

At least James would like to think it was a joke. The thought of not knowing whether or not he’ll get to see Regulus again after today makes him really uncomfortable.

There’s still so much he wants to ask, the curiosity is driving him half-mad. But Regulus won’t talk to him.

“Wouldn’t he see us through the glass? That’s what you’re trying to avoid, isn’t it?” Moony wonders. 

Regulus shakes his head. “It’s only a one-way glas. No one can see us in here. They shouldn't be able to hear us either through the soundproofing.” 

James focuses, and finds that the chatter coming from the diners in the slightly filled cafe sounds muted from where he sits. Remus does too, judging by how he gapes and looks around. 

“Are rooms like these normal in other cafes?”

Regulus shrugs flippantly, downing the rest of his coffee. Remus narrows his eyes at him.

“Then how did you know this was here?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Lupin.”

Anna steps into the room, bearing a jug. “More coffee?” 

At Regulus’ eager nod, she starts filling his empty cup.

“Like clockwork, everytime,” Jack snarks with a chuckle. “You’ve got to teach me how you do that.”

Anna stoically pushes the bridge of her glasses up her nose. “I don’t have the patience to teach you shit, Jack,” she flatly tells him, causing him to laugh.

“Besides, I’m not an idiot. If I ever tried to tell you to do anything you’d just immediately do the exact opposite.”

Jack pouts exaggeratedly. “You’re no fun.”

Anna rolls her eyes, takes the jug and leaves.

Sirius looks at Reggie, his grey eyes steely. “Snape doesn’t know we’re going to be here?”

“No, he doesn’t, and I certainly won't be volunteering that information. This is a safe, neutral zone, and I’d strongly prefer for it to remain that way. He won’t be coming this way to launch an attack, and you lot don’t get to ambush him either.”

His brows furrow in contemplation. “I suppose it is possible he might somehow sense your presence if you’re ‘Marauder-y enough’, but for the most part you should be covered.”

Jack barks a laugh. “Ha! He’s that paranoid?” 

“He is a known Death Eater. It comes with the territory.” Regulus knew that firsthand.

Jack smirks, turning fully to face Regulus. “Imagine this - the bloke steps into the building, immediately stops in his tracks and starts looking left and right with this constipated look of suspicion on his face. Then, he starts speaking in a voice like some chain-smoking, demonic lord of doom, and it goes like: ‘Fee fi fo fum, I sense the presence of my victims, Don’t give a fuck who dies or who lives, I’m blowing them all to kingdom come’.”

Regulus cracks up. He really does look much nicer when he smiles.

“Your imagination truly knows no bounds, Jack. No one is blowing anyone up.”

“Hey, you just said that there’s a chance your mate’s going to get triggered no matter what. I’m just saying, if this place pops like an atomic firecracker I’m leaving you all to die.”

Regulus tilts his head. “So certain you won’t perish with the rest of us?”

“Of course not! I’m Jack, you know? People like me can beat giants. A lunatic dropping bombs around doesn’t even count as a threat.”

“So now you’re comparing yourself to a giant killer? Humility truly is your greatest virtue,” Regulus drawls, his voice as dry as sandpaper.

Jack squints at him. “You know what your problem is, Black?”

“I assume you’re about to tell me.”

“I think you carry a lot of embarrassment and shame inside your soul, because there aren’t any cool fictional characters named after you. Also because the only other Regulus you know was a repressed wanker who died without ever getting it on in his life.”

Regulus’ eyebrows rise. “Ah.”

“And I think you know your ‘Rents set you up to fail by naming you after him.” Jack thoughtfully flips his cutlery knife, now fully on a roll. “In fact, you might believe the reason so many of your relatives went barmy is because of your fucking circle of a family tree, but would you like to know what I think?”

Sirius, his eye twitching, finally snaps. “NO! No one wants to hear what you have to say. Shut the bloody hell up.”

Jack smiles his shark grin - it's like he’s sensing blood in the water whenever he manages to get somebody riled up. Regulus knows there’s no stopping him now.

“I think it starts with the tradition you lot have of naming yourselves after stars at birth. And that’s both first and middle names. But that part I think I can actually respect, the claiming of the celestial as something of your own.” 

Jack nods. “I’m a big fan of astrology myself. I’ve been named an Aquarius, so I suppose it would be hypocritical of me to whinge about your own names.”

Sirius is horrified. “That’s not even nearly the same thing!”

Ris picks up Regulus’ cup and places it strategically against her lips. Regulus is attempting to sit very still, his lips pursed, taking in deep measured breaths.

James finds his lips twitching upwards, and glances over at Moony to see him looking openly humoured.

Jack mercilessly continues, “…But then, those same names keep getting passed down to other members in your family after those ones die? I mean, the last Regulus had a Sirius for a father and an Arcturus for a brother, and yet here we are, in another generation, and we have all three here in the same room with us.”

Regulus snorts. Jack turns to him. 

“Look the inbreeding is one thing, but that? That’s the real problem right there. That’s taking ‘keeping it in the family’ to a whole different level.” He looks at Regulus pityingly, “It’s got to give a guy a complex.”

“Wow, thank you, Jack. I was just trying not to think about that actually,” Regulus says dryly.

Jack gives him a heartfelt salute. “Anything for you, boss!”

Regulus tries, but inevitably loses the fight not to puff out a laugh.

Sirius struggles to come to terms with all that. It doesn’t work, so he casts it from his mind and focuses on something else. What Regulus said about Snape rubbed him the wrong way somehow, but what was it that made him so uneasy?

The pieces slowly fall into place as his gaze darts about the room. It’s all this - the hidden room, the secrecy and schemes, and the lies of omission. For someone who so vehemently stood up to Sirius on behalf of a person he claims as his ‘friend’, Reggie seems completely alright with lying to him and hiding things from him…

Just as he’d lied to both Sirius and their parents for years.

He keeps trying to please two very different groups of people at the same time, and each time Sirius finds his frustration at his brother rising.

At least this time he’s being informed about the scheme, but what if it was him on the other side of this door? What if Reggie had - Godric forbid - run into Snape first, then concocted this stupid plan with him to ‘make peace’ with Sirius while bloody Snivellus huddled in here with his fat ear pressed against the wall?

Sirius grits his teeth so hard a vein in his forehead throbs. 

“I’ve got a question for you, little brother. Do you know that you are lying when you lie?”

It’s not a conscious choice he makes to confront his brother, rather a reaction borne from all his feelings going into overdrive at the same time.

Regulus blinks at him, looking bewildered. “Excuse me?”

But now that he’s started, it’s like he can’t stop. His conscience re-exerts itself, and the decision to keep quiet and not cause any more of a fight dangles in front of him like low-hanging fruit, but he deliberately ignores the bait. He feels Prongs and Moony stir beside him.

“Pads,” James murmurs under his breath in warning.

“You’re too fucking convincing, it’s absolutely mental. You lie, and people who’ve known you for years can’t even fucking tell that you’re doing it because there aren’t any bloody tells. So I want to know if you’re aware of it yourself when you go around deceiving people.”

Ris’ eyes flash, and she clutches at her silverware threateningly. “Fucking hold your tongue, you-!”

She’s cut off mid-snarl by Regulus raising a hand at her. It’s completely quiet in the room when he lowers his palm and focuses on Sirius.

Again, that look - it's like he’s trying to figure out what shaped hole to fit Sirius into. Sirius openly glares at him for it this time.

Regulus sighs heavily, and suddenly it’s like he’s back in Dumbledore’s office, made to feel like he’s being too much of a problem. Sirius feels an unexpected pang at that, because it’s not like he bloody wants to make his brother sound like that, but he shoves the feeling away since he can’t be sure if Reggie’s being genuine or if this is just another manipulation.

“Sirius, perhaps when I was a child, I assumed you knew everything. But I’ve since come to realise that you are not omniscient. In fact, you’re often not even the smartest person in the room. You cannot intimately know the workings of my mind if I don’t tell you, and I’ve come to share my own part of the blame in how we fell apart, since I expected too much from you.

“But to answer your question - yes, I do. I am aware of when I do something wrong, and when I do something right, and I don’t lie to myself about the in-betweens either. Now, a question for you.” 

Reggie’s tone changes, his eyes turning stone cold. “Are you aware that you’re stabbing people in the back when you do it? Or do you somehow trip and just find you’ve got a knife stuck between the shoulder blades of people you claim to care about?”

Sirius’ ego staggers as if stabbed, stumbles, then splatters all over the carpet. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He retorts defensively, hackles raised.

Reggie’s voice was bitingly arctic. “You raised me all my life, then convinced yourself I was irredeemable before I’d even reached adulthood so you won’t feel bad about leaving me to the tender mercies of our abusive parents. I won’t soon forgive or forget it. I personally consider that the highest form of betrayal you could ever do to someone...”

He pauses, squinting at Sirius, “Though I suppose I could be wrong.”

The Marauders simultaneously stiffen. 

Jack whistles under his breath, long and low. “Heavens above.”

No, James thinks, beside himself as his mind races frantically. There’s no way he could know about that - 

Anna re-enters the room. “Peter Pettigrew is here.”

Seeing an opportunity to change the subject, James pounces on it.

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” He pipes up cheerily, and not a little desperately. “I didn’t think he would come here, he must’ve been really worried.”

Peter’s a worrier, James knows. Ever since he first met the boy when they were just little kids, his friend has almost constantly been in a state of anxiety. He’d worry about getting called on to answer questions in classes, of getting caught skiving off on those classes, and if his roommates would randomly decide to shank him in his sleep one day. 

Other than Remus, Peter was the hardest for them to integrate into their friend group. If James wasn’t as stubborn as he is, he’s sure that Peter would’ve scurried as far away as he could from everybody and kept only to himself.

James couldn’t have that though, and he was ultimately successful in bringing their flighty roommate into the fold. Peter fit in like a missing piece, someone without whom the Marauders would’ve felt incomplete. His cautiousness had curbed several of their wilder prank ideas, and he proved to be a fantastic lookout - fitting into crevices the others couldn’t to spy for potential onlookers, and making sure to escape in the face of trouble in order to provide an alibi for anyone who wasn’t caught.

James’ habit of constantly having to reassure Peter about one thing or another forged a bond between them with lasting feelings of protectiveness towards the smaller man. His mousy nature eventually earned him the nickname of Wormtail, and though he isn’t a stereotypical Gryffindor, James believes his friend is incredibly brave in other ways. 

He knows a lot of his constant worry stems from having a sick mother, always having to wonder whether that day would be her last day. James can’t imagine ever leaving his mother’s side if she was as sick as that, and Peter had spent several periods of time away from home every school year, constantly resisting the urge to sprint back to her side and see for himself that she was okay. Peter’s commitment to living his life without letting his fears rule him made him one of the bravest people ever in James’ book.

Regulus takes another sip from his cup, turning thoughtful. 

He allowed Sirius to use a phone to contact his friend just earlier this morning, right before they left for the cafe. It hasn’t even been up to an hour since then, his meeting with Snape right around the corner. He knows firsthand how busy a schedule his friend keeps as a Death Eater, with the additional responsibilities of being both spymaster and chemist. A rendezvous at daybreak would be the only time Severus could get away.

He listened in on his brother’s conversation, obviously, and Sirius hadn’t said too much incriminating information over the line, just that something important had happened and he would fill Peter in when they met in person. He’d repeated that they were all alright and they had Remus with them, and mentioned that they were currently heading out for breakfast and where. There hadn’t been an invitation to meet them for breakfast exactly, but he hadn't been told not to and it seems that was good enough for Pettigrew.

Regulus waves Anna over, and she hands him a polaroid picture depicting the front of the building. Near the doors, a hunched figure waited, his body language screaming of nerves.

Regulus studies the nondescript face, a brown-haired, wide-eyed bloke with a prayer of a moustache looking frightfully back at him. So this is Peter.

Jack looks over his shoulder, and Regulus lets him for a moment before turning the picture for the rest to see. “Is this him?”

“That’s our Wormtail,” Remus confirms.

“Wormy boy looks lost,” Jack observes. He stands abruptly, chair scraping back. “I’ll go get him.”

Regulus hasn’t yet decided whether or not to allow him in, but it's not like they could turn him away for no reason. Besides, whether now or later, Peter is going to figure out that Regulus is alive. His friends all knew, and they seem the type to share everything with each other.

Remus startles. “Maybe someone else should-”

Anna pushes up her glasses. “I don’t think that’s-”

It's too late. Jack bounds from the room in a whirlwind of maniacal laughter.

“-go.”

“-ideal.” Anna turns to squint at Regulus. “Shouldn’t you stop him?”

Reg shrugs. It may be that he just doesn’t care, or is glad to have Jack even temporarily out of the room.

“Here, come sit. You’ve been on your feet all day.” He gestures to Jack’s recently vacated seat while dragging an empty cup over to start filling it with coffee. Anna lets out a tiny put-out sigh before sitting down and reaching for the beverage.

Seconds later, a small, mousy man scampers into the room, a look of terrible trauma on his face. Jack meanders in after him with a feline look of satisfaction.

What he could’ve said or done to imprint mortal fear into the man in such a short time, Regulus doesn’t even want to guess.

“S-Sirius,” Peter calls out, sighing in relief as he spots a friendly face. Then he notices the rest of them and squeaks.

James rises, waving a hand. “Hey Wormy, over here, there’s a seat beside me.”

Eyes transfixed on the rest of the room as though afraid to take his eyes off the strangers, Peter awkwardly shuffles around the table till he reaches James.

“Er, Prongs…w-who are they?” Peter whisper-shouts, eyes still bulging out and unblinking.

“They, uh, helped us to find Moony. That’s Anna, Polaris, Jack and Regulus.”

Regulus observes the exact moment Peter’s attention shifts from eyeing Jack fearfully to lock onto his name.

“Regulus?” Peter peers at him inquisitively. “Regulus Black, as in Si-Sirius’ dead younger brother?”

“Do I look dead to you?” Regulus retorts, sounding bored.

Peter gapes at him. He swivels his head to look at Sirius, who nods in confirmation.

“It was a surprise to all of us, believe me.”

Peter blinks repeatedly, brows furrowed in confusion. “I thought You-Know-Who killed you.”

Regulus stares at him. “Why?”

He’s heard all the rumours of what supposedly caused his death. Several presume that he was killed in action (when it was actually Missing in Action) - that he either got in too deep with something and got shot for his trouble, or he was stranded undercover somewhere unable to call for backup and got killed when discovered. Some even proposed that he passed away from a terminal ailment - the work of karma, presumably. 

The one about Sirius having hunted down and killed him for being a Death Eater was a lovely one, truly. Really gave him the warm fuzzies to hear.

But hearing that he’d apparently died at the hands of Voldemort was new.

Peter backtracks at the question, frantically wringing his hands. “Heard it spread around, is all!”

Regulus blinks at him. Curiouser and curiouser.

He puzzles over the man sitting across from him, who visibly grows more and more distressed the longer Regulus’ gaze remains focused on him. 

Almost as though he wasn’t used to people looking so closely at him - or went to great pains to avoid it.

Regulus knows all the signs of someone who wishes to hide in plain sight. It takes one to know one, after all. But such a strategy - adopting and executing an incompetent persona - is not one he’s ever considered stooping to. 

The urge to study Pettigrew under a magnifier and peel off his layers like an onion is nearly overwhelming, but since the subject of his study looks close to bursting like a ripe tomato at his appraisal, Regulus feigns taking pity on him and finally looks away, his eyes sliding to the left. 

Beside him, Ris’ eyes are narrowed on Peter, a suspicious scowl on her face that looks a lot like her normal facial expression to anyone who doesn’t know her well. He turns to his right.

Jack meets his gaze. He wiggles his eyebrows playfully. Fishy, right?

Regulus gives him the barest head tilt, pretending to deeply ponder his cup of coffee. True. Let’s try not to give away that we’re onto him.

Jack tips back his chair, barely raising his feet from the floor. Roger that, Boss.

Even non-verbally, Regulus swears he can still hear the sass.

“So what- what happened to you?” Peter asks him.

“Is it any of your business?” Regulus responds politely.

Peter squeaks and leans back in his seat as if struck. Regulus keeps his gaze carefully absent of the fascination he feels as he watches Peter splutter, nearly choking on nothing, before he manages to say, “N-n-no, of course not, I meant no offence.”

“None taken,” Regulus acquiesces easily.

Peter apparently decides it's smarter to only converse with his friends after that.

“I- I heard about the explosion,” Peter breathes shakily. “I would’ve come over as soon as I could, but they- they told me you were nowhere to be found. You didn’t even stay to receive any treatment!” He scolds them.

“We shouldn't have disappeared like that without telling you, we’re really sorry Wormtail,” James seems truly regretful.

“Sorry Wormy,” Sirius doesn’t sound like he means it. He tips his chair back, unknowingly mirroring Jack. “I just didn’t see the point, and considering the bomb went off close to a hospital, that didn’t really make me want to stick around. Besides, I was worried something might’ve happened to Moony.”

“D-Do you kn-know who was behind it?”

“We figured out it was Sni-” He clears his throat harshly, “ Snape . Seems obvious now, looking back.”

Sirius' mood darkens. “And it’s no thanks to Dumbledore…useless prick refusing to tell us shit.” 

“Padfoot!” James exclaims, exasperated. “We’ve been over this, Dumbledore just…”

Prongs and Padfoot start to squabble, and Wormtail tunes them out as he turns to face Remus.

“What about y-you, Moony? Did anything happen? Were you able to complete your a-assigned mission from D-Dumbledore?”

Remus grimaces, the motion tugging at one of the scars on his face.

“Er, no. Unfortunately, it wasn’t possible. Sorry for getting you so worried though, Pete. You didn’t need to rush over here. Honestly, these two tossers should know how to communicate properly by now.” 

He glares heatedly at Sirius and James, who immediately shut up, chagrined.

“Sorry,” they both mumble.

Peter nods. “I’m really glad you guys are okay.”

There’s something - in his tone, the way he speaks, the look in his eye… something , Regulus isn’t quite sure what, but it instantly sets him on edge. Because he’s suddenly filled with the certainty that Peter just lied .

He doesn't show any of it outwardly, however, having more than enough experience controlling his facial expressions by now. He doesn’t even look up from his coffee cup, but in his mind’s eye, he’s burning holes right into Peter Pettigrew’s unassuming figure.

Just what are you hiding?

“Would you like some tea or coffee?” Anna belatedly offers, rising from her seat.

“Er, uhm, some coffee would be fine,” Peter replies, once again wringing his hands.

“Milk and sugar?”

“...Is there perhaps any salt?”

Jack, Ris and Regulus stop what they’re doing and stare. James flushes, feeling a creeping sense of second-hand embarrassment.

Anna stops as well. Quickly surveying the table, she notes the absence of any salt shakers. “Apologies, there should be some spare salt shakers in the kitchen. I shall go and ask for one.”

“Th-thank you, that’d be great.”

“What meal would you like paired with that?”

“No, no, I- I haven’t quite worked up an appetite yet. Just the salt is fine, thanks.”

Anna stares at him. “...For your coffee?”

“...Yes?”

Anna finds herself flummoxed by the unfamiliar request. Blank-faced, she runs through the entire interaction in her mind while Regulus watches her with concern. Ris is scowling harder at Pettigrew, and Jack has been studying him this entire time with a smirk she shudders to wonder at. 

Maybe Pettigrew’s intention should have been apparent to her much earlier on, but Anna’s mind works systematically, her thoughts and actions coordinated by schemas compiled both from accurate and/or reliable personal experiences, and universal customs.

She finds this very useful. It's organised, has rules and logical equations that she faithfully abides by because they make her feel better. (Also because she refuses to live as a lawless heathen like Jack. They live in a society.)

Sugar plus coffee equals true.

Milk plus coffee equals true.

Sugar plus milk plus coffee equals true.

Salt plus coffee equals…

Equals…

Equals…

Nothing comes up. Anna is honestly stumped. The clearest course of action would be to simply carry out the request… but what the heck is salt doing in coffee?

When in doubt, Regulus usually proves to be a valuable resource of reason. Anna gingerly cranes her neck over to face him.

“I don’t know what to do,” she truthfully admits.

Thankfully, Regulus already seems to understand her dilemma.

“Just give him the salt, then back away slowly,” Regulus suggests, his tone quiet in order to offend as little as possible. In contrast, Jack cackles openly at the situation, Regulus trying to shush him fruitlessly.

Predictably, Anna finds this very reasonable, and leaves to do just that.

Foolish to do something so bizarre if you’re trying to stay off the radar, Regulus thinks, fixing his eyes back onto his cup. But why? Is there some other agenda he’s pushing? Does he want me to dismiss him entirely as a threat by playing up his ditzy buffoon persona? 

Or…could it be that he genuinely takes his coffee that way? 

Regulus feels a frisson of fear at the thought of being in the same room with a psychotic madman.

Remus stares at Regulus, wondering just what he is thinking right now.

Noticing his gaze, Regulus looks up then and raises an eyebrow at him. Remus has to look away first.

Anna returns, bearing a fresh jug of coffee and a salt shaker she's holding like it might bite her. She sets both in front of Peter then backs up all the way to the other side of the room, watching him the entire time as though facing a striking python.

James feels his awkwardness fade into amusement at how dramatically they were reacting to Wormtail. Yeah, he’s a bit strange… but his weirdness is mostly endearing!

Peter’s throat bobs jerkily and he reaches for the items, murmuring his thanks. 

Anna watches him carefully. As he starts to drink, she calmly announces, “Severus Snape has arrived.”

Peter does a spit-take, instantly bathing his three friends in his salty backwash.

Jack completely loses it, his dying chuckles revived into a high-pitched hyena-like laughter. 

Ris permits herself a wide smirk, while Regulus has to screw up his lips completely to contain his amusement at seeing Potter’s lenses painted in coffee brown. His brother flipping the hell out about spit in his hair is just the icing on the cake.

As for Anna…well, Regulus would say she’s trying extremely hard to appear innocent. He’d never say that aloud, of course. For what just befell Potter, he would take her dirty secret to the grave if need be.

A thousand and one stammered apologies later, Petttigrew issues yet another one. “I’m sorry, did I just hear that Snape is here?”

“Yes, he is,” Regulus answers, leaning forward to fix Peter with a deceptively pleasant expression. “Unlike you, he was actually invited for breakfast.”

Peter looks to be suffering from several mini apoplexies. He stutters, stumbling over himself as he scrambles to form a sentence.

“B-b-but he’s the one responsible for nearly killing Sirius and James! H-how could you invite him here? ”

“Because I want to ask him nicely not to do that anymore.”

Peter just stares at him. Regulus stares back.

Peter shoots up from his seat like an aimed missile. “I need to use the lavatory!” 

At the sight of everyone staring at him, he squeaks feverishly, “Mus- must’ve been all that coffee that’s done me in, heh.”

Regulus, on his fourth cup by now, nods blithely. “That’s completely understandable.”

Peter needs no further permission before fleeing the room with the same haste he first entered it with. 

“Watch him,” Regulus quietly murmurs to Anna, using his coffee cup to cover his lips as he says so before proceeding to drain its contents. Anna makes no outward acknowledgement of his command, just quietly proceeds to follow the Marauder.

James has a mind to go make sure Peter is alright, but then Regulus stands from his seat and he gets distracted by the eye-catching figure he makes in his full-length jacket.

The garment is almost fully white, disturbed only by a pattern of dark green and navy blue arrow stripes near the hem. Maybe he couldn’t see it before, but now that he’s cleaned his glasses he sees how perfectly it moulds to his frame, highlighting his lithe upper body and only flaring out towards the feet. The fabric sways elegantly with his movements, making his every step a thing of wonder. 

The colour somehow makes his eyes appear even lighter, emphasising that ethereal air James noticed about him that first night.

James still hasn’t unpacked what he’s feeling, all he knows is that Regulus is gorgeous and he’s riveted .

But then Regulus looks back at them after heading to the door, and his gaze scans over everybody at the table, making eye contact with each one but completely skipping over James like he is nothing but air. And James aches .

It hurts , and James finds himself struck by the realisation that maybe… maybe he’s always going to be rejected by these sorts of people. People whose approval somehow always matters to him the most, yet who never ever give him the time of day. People who, it seems the very fabric of his being calls out to and wants to get closer to, but they never let him.

People like Lily, and now Regulus as it turns out.

It’s like he’s cursed, or… or maybe it's that they’re able to so clearly see right through him, and whatever they find deems James unworthy.

That’s probably it. James always felt unworthy of Lily - of being in her presence or even being her friend when he decided to go that route, even though every single cell in his body screamed for her. 

And now the same is happening with Regulus. 

James doesn’t know what it means, all that he knows is that the only person to blame is himself, because he is unworthy.

“Ris, could you do me a favour?” Regulus’ eyes crinkle up as he smiles at his sister seated right in front of him, facing the door.

“Could you make sure nobody comes in here or leaves the room while I’m in the meeting? It’s really important that he doesn’t realise he’s being spied on.”

Ris nods solemnly. “I’ll make sure of it, Starboy.”

Regulus smiles again, and with one last glance, he exits the room.

Notes:

Honorable mentions:

Jack "Aquarius" not-Black: I mean, I can excuse inbreeding, but I draw the line at recycling boring dead people's names.
(Clearly, I've been deep-diving into the Black family tree. Interesting stuff.)

_

Peter: I am the invisible one!

Regulus, the grandmaster invisible one: *notices him* I'm about to end this man's whole career 😈

Peter: *visibly sweating*

Chapter 17: You Drew Stars Around My Scars

Summary:

“This was all shortly after you’d left Hogwarts. And right before that, Lily and I,” Sev’s throat bobs painfully, his eyes squeezing shut. “We fell apart.”

Regulus can’t help his wince at that.

Notes:

(TW: Mentions of psychological trauma, bullying, attempted murder, physical, mental and emotional child abuse)

Well this one's a real doozy...Enjoy!

17.

It takes them all a moment to realise that Jack has not yet stopped laughing.

“Oh, that was golden,” he finally gasps, slumping over in his seat in order to catch his breath. “Absolutely beautiful.”

“It was really not,” Sirius states flatly. He’s got his long hair pulled up into a bun now, showcasing the full range of tattoos all across his neck and shoulder blades, some peeking out from under his white sleeveless shirt where they disappear into his chest.

Jack ignores him, using his foot to shove his chair across the empty space now that the seating is a bit less crowded.

“Hey, Curly.” James turns to face Jack who is now right beside him. 

“Your friend,” he says, jerking his head towards the door where Peter disappeared, “Is he slow?”

James studies him for a moment. He’d sensed a familiarity about him when they met - when Jack almost beat Padfoot in a terribly rigged fight - and again while watching him and Regulus interact. Jack reminds James very strongly of his brother seated at his other side, with the same devil-may-care attitude and an unshakeable belief in their invincibility that Sirius shares.

But their differences are also extremely hard to ignore. Jack’s edges are sharper and more abrasive, though James has an inkling that the root cause of them is possibly very similar to what Sirius went through. Not only that, but his broken pieces are a bit more focused and stable somehow (though the man in front of him is anything but). Almost as though they were arranged in a fixed formation or orbiting around a defined axis.

Less likely to spontaneously break free and cut deeply into him the way Sirius’ shards did.

James belatedly processes his words and the implied offence to his friend within them, and now Jack is looking at him in an almost amused way like he thinks James might be slow too.

“What? Of course he’s not,” James splutters.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I am! Why would you even ask that?” 

Jack hums, leaning back in his seat, looking pleased by James’ outrage.

“He’s one of you guys, right? One of your…Order of the Phoenix?”

James stares at him. “How do you know that?” 

The Order of the Phoenix is actually a vigilante group, as they operated outside of the Auror Divisions and the Ministry’s Law Enforcement Department. Since they're (technically) criminals, they don’t really go around publicising their actions or membership within the group for fear of being detained.

It helps that some high-ranking Aurors such as Mad-Eye Moody and Kingsley Shacklebolt are also part of the Order, and cover up their tracks whenever necessary, making everything run smoothly. 

So it's quite a shock to find out that people who are literally living under the ground know about the Order and who belongs in it.

Jack looks momentarily indignant. “Hey! I know stuff. Anyways,” he breezes on, “What you’re saying is that he’s a soldier, right? Look, no offence…”

The Marauders all brace themselves to be severely offended.

“...but your guy is the kind of person I would target to torture for information if I was your enemy. Every soldier or guard I’ve ever met would’ve rather died than ever reveal they were scared of something.”

James shifts in his seat, discomfited by the statement.

“Well, Wormy’s special!” He declares, looking to his best friends for back-up. Remus readily nods, “Mhm, swell guy,” but Sirius - the traitor! - looks like he’s actually considering Jack’s words.

Jack grins secretively. “I bet he is.” 

He leans back, crossing his legs on the table top in a languid manner. Polaris reaches over and brutally shoves his feet off the table, making them crash to the ground with a painful thud. He shoots her a wounded look.

She gives him a scornful one back. “Can’t you act civilised?”

Jack pouts pitifully. “I don’t know how.”

He launches into a long-winded whinge about how hard his life is and how he didn’t ask to be born, all the while Polaris looks at him like he’s a disappointment.

James turns away from them to face Sirius. “What the hell, Padfoot?” He asks in disbelief. “It’s Peter.”

Peter, who’s watched their back more times than he can count and them some, for years , who they’ve never doubted would look out for them in every harebrained scheme they leaped headfirst into. How could Sirius ever let anyone plant doubts into his mind about Peter? 

Sirius shoots him a level gaze. “Exactly, Prongs, it’s Peter.” Before James can open his mouth, Sirius continues. 

“We need to keep a closer eye on him and make sure nobody captures him and tortures him for information. I mean, we should do that for all of us really…but mostly for him.”

That’s…not a bad idea. Peter could always do with more protection, and James is nothing if not eager to defend the people he cares about.

“That sounds like a really great plan, Pads. I’m sorry for snapping at you,” he mumbles guiltily.

Sirius shrugs in a carefree manner, reaching over to playfully ruffle James’ hair.

“It’s okay Prongs, I’ve had my fair share of difficulties being a misunderstood genius,” he quips cheerily.

James’ lips tilt up fondly before his mood turns thoughtful. “He’s been gone for a while now. Maybe I should go check on him…”

He starts to rise from his seat, but doesn’t even get up past an inch before finding Polaris’ raptor gaze pinned on him. Remembering Regulus’ order, James hastily sits back down.

“I- I mean, I’ll just go find him later!”

Sirius cockily plants both of his feet onto the table, an intentional swagger in his movements. Her gaze shifts from James to his brother, making James simultaneously sigh in relief and worry for his brother in the same breath.

Of course, Sirius meets her gaze head-on, a challenge in his eyes. Their gazes clash, spiking the tension in the room, making James shift in his seat with the urge to scratch at his skin.

Polaris stares at Sirius with a look of controlled distaste, as though she would’ve preferred to sneer but found the action beneath her. Commoner status or not, James thinks she must’ve always had those snobbish elitist airs down pat.

“Oi, what happens if one of us wants to take a piss? What then, hah?” Sirius demands, pushing boundaries as he’s always ready to do.

“Do it in your coffee mug,” she deadpans in a tone that doesn’t give the slightest inch. 

“And then, if you get thirsty, you can take a sip.”

Jack’s obnoxious laughter fills the space once more.

In the main room, Regulus easily spots Severus by his pale, alabaster skin that offsets the billowing black cloak which passes for his signature garb. The man always manages to look like a vampire who managed to miraculously step out into the sun - it must be a special sort of talent.

He’s sitting at a booth positioned in a corner far enough away from the rest of the patrons, where he can watch them and all the corners and exits at the same time while not completely standing out. It’s opposite to the windows facing outside (Regulus believes he did this to account for any unexpected external attacks), putting him much nearer to the opaque glass that sectioned off the diner’s hidden room. 

This definitely makes Regulus’ work easier, but truth be told he doesn’t really care if his brother gets to overhear their conversation or not. His main concern is Ris being able to react swiftly in the case that their discussion goes… awry.

Severus definitely notices him the moment he steps into the room, and Regulus feels his eyes track him as he moves - gaze travelling from his hands to his feet then focusing on his frame, trying to discern any weapons he may be hiding, lingering momentarily on his huge topcoat with several pockets, before finally moving to his face.

There they remain as Regulus continues his languid approach, keeping his palms down and out, until he reaches the opposite chair that would position him with his back facing the numerous exits and potential strangers. Calmly, he kicks out the seat slightly with a booted foot and slips into it, keeping his motions lax.

Slowly, in order to telegraph his movements, he raises a hand to prop up his chin and watches Severus back.

Seconds seem to drag on forever, then Regulus unapologetically slices up the tension with a smile.

“Hello, Sev,” he greets, beaming. “You’re looking well.”

It’s the nicest lie he’s ever told. Severus is gaunt, cheeks hollowed, complexion yellowed upon closer examination, his lips so dry and flaky that Regulus makes a note to call for a batch of their finest tea as soon as he can - though perhaps a hospital IV drip would be more appropriate. 

His eyebags are brutal, the similarity with a raccoon's visage not unmistakeable. Most of the deep bruises under his eyes seem days old though some look recent. Regulus wonders how many of them are a result of the Dark Lord overworking his spymaster and how many are there because of him. 

Severus’ eyes flicker, as though he’s thinking about calling out the lie but decides not to bother.

“You look…different,” he replies, his grave, nasally tone sounding uncertain as he peers at Regulus, who nods with a hum. 

“It’s the hair, isn’t it? I thought of trying something new.”

“Not just that. You look…lighter,” Snape clarifies. “Less burdened and…healthier. Alive - just as I thought you might be.” 

There isn’t a single speck of resentment in those words. Shit, did Sev actually fucking miss him?

“It’s as though one day you were there, and the next you were gone. The only word was that you were missing, then a funeral a few months after. But they’d never said they found a body, and I’d searched a bit myself and I couldn’t find one either…”

Snape chews on his next words, biting his lip. “It didn’t - feel accurate - to think you were dead.”

“Oh,” Regulus can’t fully control the soft grin that slips onto his face. “I should’ve known that wouldn’t have been enough for you.” 

His friend has never been a fan of abstract concepts like ‘conjecture’ or ‘uncertainty’.

Regulus drums his fingers lightly on the tabletop. “Being dead has been way more busy than being alive ever was, so I’m truly sorry it’s taken me so long to reach out.” 

“Why did you?” Severus deadpans, eyes narrowing slightly. “If I’m presuming correctly that you faked your death to escape the Dark Lord, you were doing a wonderful bloody job at it before I received your message. So, why am I here?”

Ah, to business then. The time for a lovely and heartfelt reunion is over. Shame, they haven’t even gotten to hug.

Regulus briefly wonders how to go about starting the conversation. He’s not overly worried about Snape ratting him out to Voldemort - after all, he came here alone without any backup Regulus can see, and he’d also kept the news that Regulus might not be very dead to himself for years. 

But he’s not just banking on sentimentality. Severus was one of the truest Slytherins their house had ever spawned. Unless Regulus plays his cards just right, Severus would exploit any possible weakness he saw and would decisively act against him if Regulus failed to measure up to Severus’ current master. Alternately, Severus could be swayed over to his side, and be a useful crack in Voldemort’s armour if Regulus ever decided to exploit that.

Because at his heart, Severus Snape is a double agent.

That in mind, Regulus takes the deep-end approach to diving into the topic.

“Well, you see, there I was, living my almost peaceful not-dead life, only minding the business that was mine…and one day I received news that Sirius and James Potter had almost been blown out of existence by an explosive planted into an anonymous car they’d only recently entered.”

Severus carefully doesn’t react, but Regulus’ eyes pinpoint the slight stiffening of his shoulders.

“My first reaction, of course, was ‘Wow, weird luck. Surely, this won’t have anything to do with my friend, the Chemistry prodigy with a known grudge against these individuals, who once theorised about and then proceeded to experiment with the molecular components of C4, now would it?’”

Severus is wound up so tightly, not even a minuscule expression escapes him now.

“You have no proof,” he drawls every word out slowly. Regulus doesn’t think he’s even blinking.

He thoughtfully hums at that. “No, I don’t.” he responds. After all, he wasn’t anywhere near the explosion that day, and he hasn’t taken the time to investigate whatever carcass is left of that car.

“But I don’t need proof. Because I know it was you. What I’m saying is: every time my brother’s life is endangered from here on out, I am going to automatically assume it was you, and proceed with that belief in mind. That might be quite the list, what with the war that’s going on. So wouldn’t it be simpler for you to admit to what you’ve actually done?” He asks gently.

He’s not trying to intimidate Snape, just reason with him, but his friend still looks unnerved nonetheless.

Oh well. It’s been a long time since Regulus had to pretend to be harmless. He’s probably lost his touch a little bit.

Snape slowly exhales, his gaze lowering, letting some of his greasy locks float into his face.

“Fine,” he snaps, the sound like the crackle of thunder. Like a boulder falling into the sea from a great height. “Yes, it was me.”

Ironically, once he's gotten the admission Regulus hesitates. There’s something in Snape’s tone - something off that he doesn’t think he has a basis for, and it’s telling him to proceed carefully. 

“Look, I lived with him for many years, and I can more than understand that Sirius can inspire a…truly impressive level of animosity. I can also understand holding onto a grudge like it’s everything you’ve got - but, it’s not, is it?” Regulus sweeps some hair away from his face, trying to lock eyes with Snape who’s still looking downcast.

“You’re no longer in Hogwarts, where they’d gang up and pick on you every chance they’d get. You’re a soldier, and you’ve got - maybe not comrades, but people who’d fight on your side if that happened. You have a team, and the protection that comes with that, and you’ve garnered a lot of respect outside of that for the brilliant things you’ve invented. You made it into your twenties, Sev…so why not leave your high school days behind?”

Severus huffs, a grating, twisted, shattered sound escaping him as he finally looks back up at Regulus.

“IT ISN’T THAT SIMPLE!” He snarls, eyes aflame with something that’s burning him from the inside out.

Well. Regulus is nothing if he can’t relate to those words.

“Enlighten me then. I’m listening,” he says genuinely.

Severus struggles with it, but even though he shouldn’t trust Regulus Black, even though he disappeared on Severus for years and only seeks him out now because of his fucking Blood Traitor brother - it’s been so long since anyone’s looked at him with true consideration or care, or wanted to lend an ear to his woes. In the end he’s too selfish not to unload.

“When we were in fifth year,” he breathes out, “Sirius tried to kill me.”

There's not much of a reaction from Regulus. In fact, he’d daresay there might have been more surprise if Snape had said literally anything else. 

“You don’t seem surprised,” Severus notes sceptically, scrutinising him.

Regulus sighs, and it's heavy, some of that weight returning to him. He still tries for a light shrug.

“I’ve always known who Sirius is,” he says simply, drumming his fingers on the table, eyes faraway as he reminisces. 

In the warzone that was their childhood home, part of the reason Walburga had hated Sirius so much must’ve been because she was afraid of him. He’d matched her levels of viciousness to a tee, never taking any of the punishments as his due. Instead, he’d sought out to punish her as well; ripping apart her paintings and smashing her favourite vases, and that one memorable time he’d thrown all her expensive makeup into the trash then set it all on fire. The smell of smoke had been stuck in Regulus’ nose for days.

Regulus shakes himself out of memories of fires, forcibly tuning back into his discussion.

“I know it’s not my place to apologise for Sirius, but I’m sorry that happened to you,” he says, voice soft enough to touch a spiderweb.

Severus swallows, and after a moment he looks away. Regulus subtly eyes him with concern. Has no one ever told him that? No one in years?

“How did it happen? Did they go too far with one of their misguided pranks?”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s the word they used. They’ve probably reframed it ‘The Prank Gone Wrong’ or something equally as juvenile in their minds, rather than what it actually was - attempted murder,” Severus grits out. “Make no mistake, there was nothing accidental or misguided about it. Sirius Black fully intended to kill me, and he used his pet monster to do it.”

Regulus has no idea what he means by that last part, but it doesn’t sound good. He leans back in his seat, an old frustration rising in him.

“I had a feeling back then, that it was going to lead to this one day. That someone I cared about was going to try and severely hurt someone else I cared about…and that there was nothing I could do to prevent it no matter how hard I tried.”

“Well, then you were right,” Severus responds curtly.

Regulus tastes the rage burning on his tongue and is shocked to realise how angry he still is at how it all went down. He swallows it back, letting the embers die in his throat - it won’t do anything to help the situation now.

“Was anything done?” He asks when he can manage it without his voice cracking.

A sneer. “Just him getting kicked off the Quidditch team and having to spend a year in detention - as though that’s what passes for Scotland Yard or the local penitentiary in Dumbledore’s book.”

Huh. Regulus thinks he’s starting to see why Sev is so filled with homicidal rage.

“So you felt that that was unfair?”

Snape gives him a flat look. “When have my feelings ever mattered? I didn’t waste any time bemoaning the injustice of it all because there was no point. I already expected nothing less. A Gryffindor nearly kills a Slytherin student on school grounds…why would Dumbledore ever expel them for that? He was probably disappointed that Sirius didn’t succeed.”

Regulus feels his lips threaten to quirk upwards in inappropriate humour. Dumbledore’s bias against Slytherin students is rather well known in their house.

“Why didn’t he? Succeed, I mean. Did someone help?” Regulus asks with a naively hopeful tilt of his head. 

Severus stares back at him for a loaded moment, his dark eyes glinting like black diamonds.

Then he mercilessly pulls the trigger. “Right before I would’ve died, James Potter… just so happened to pull me out of the way.”

Regulus’ eyebrows fly upwards. “Well shit.” 

He can’t stop the curse before it leaves his mouth, but it’s certainly warranted by the situation. Because if he’s understanding this correctly - and he’s terribly certain that he is - Snape now owes James a Life Debt. 

Owing or being bound to a Life Debt was mostly a culture amongst Purebloods, and it held so much power and weight that there was even a full section on it in the Wizengamot Charter of Rights. To owe someone a Life Debt was serious business - many House wars had been fought and several Noble families dissolved out of adherence to or the defiance of a Life Debt owed. 

Being indebted to one of the people who made his life a living hell…Regulus cannot imagine a worse position to be in. He finds himself rather eerily impressed by how horrific his friend’s life is turning out to be.

“This was all shortly after you’d left Hogwarts. And right before that, Lily and I,” Sev’s throat bobs painfully, his eyes squeezing shut. “We fell apart.”

Regulus can’t help his wince at that.

Lily Evans - in another life, perhaps she might have been Severus’ saving grace. She must have been the only other person in that school apart from Regulus himself who’d actually cared for Severus Snape as a person. Regulus doesn’t think ever held a candle to the bond the two of them shared; there was obvious history there he didn’t have which would never have made him as important to Sev as Lily is. 

But the way Snape is speaking - it’s as though he lost two of his important people, his anchors, in such a short time, and then everything went to hell.

That must’ve been so lonely.

No wonder he became a Death Eater. Not that Lily Evans would’ve ever been enough to make Severus a good person - not like Regulus is either - but voluntarily joining a cult group of mass murderers was something a person did when they saw no good in the world anymore.

“I- I shouldn’t have said that to her,” Severus croaks, his eyes misting over. “I should never have called her that blasted word, I know , and maybe I deserve to be cursed but…” 

His nostrils flare out. “But at the same time I never would have if, if they hadn’t …” His voice trails off, anger flickering out as quickly as it rose, and Snape puts his head in his hands. 

“I never wanted her to see me like that. I’m not stupid, I know she feels nothing for me and never will now, but I love her. God knows I always will. So for them to put me on display like that for all to see, and for her to witness it - I couldn’t deal with it, I couldn’t. I said something unforgivable, then I immediately tried to apologise, every single day for months on end I apologised but she still won’t talk to me. She’s finished with me now, and I more than deserve it…”

Snape finally lifts his head up, making eye contact with Regulus. “But that’s still not the reason why I want them dead.”

“It’s not?” Regulus asks incredulously, his tone filled with disbelief. 

He’s aware he doesn't have the full story - there are things Sev is omitting out of shame or trauma, or maybe some other reason - but Regulus was there once. He had a front row seat to all the despicable bullying and torment his friend was subjected to (and later subjected others to) so he can fill in some of the blanks.

In his opinion, any one of those acts would have been a justifiable reason for wanting revenge. Regulus is, after all, a zealous believer in killing one’s tormentors, for obvious reasons. It’s just truly unfortunate that in this situation he has to prevent that, again for obvious reasons.

Just knowing there’s somebody out there in the world that can hurt you, has hurt you before, and not knowing if or when or where or how they plan to hurt you again… it’s enough to drive someone undone. 

“Right before I graduated Hogwarts,” Snape explains, “Dumbledore called me into his office. My Dark Mark was fresh, only days old by then, and he so graciously informed me that I owed a Life Debt to James Potter for him saving my life in fifth year. And he told me exactly what that meant.”

Regulus blinks, confused at the sudden turn of the conversation. Wait… Is Severus saying that he didn’t know about the Life Debt before that?

He almost smacks himself right after having the thought. Of course, it’s definitely possible that he had no idea! Severus, though a Slytherin, is only a Half-Blood, which is where his original woes began. Eileen Snape had been a Pureblood once, but she must’ve left that side of her life entirely behind when her family cast her out.

So Snape wouldn’t have known…and Albus Dumbledore had done him the dubious honour of enlightening him.

“He did, did he?” Regulus echoes, in a tone that promises nothing good for Dumbledore.

“He told me that I am absolutely beholden to a person on the opposite side of the war I had just pledged myself to, that I will have to spend the rest of my days devoting myself to repaying the worth of my life.” 

Snape licks his lips, a tremor running through him. “That if the Dark Lord ever finds out about it I am finished.”

Oh. Oh . Oh, God, Sev.

It makes an unbearable amount of sense now. 

“I could’ve left it if the torment during our school years was all there was. If it just had ended at my constant humiliation, my spilled blood and my broken bones… if the very worst of it was them destroying my friendship with Lily, the purest and most wonderful soul this world has ever known, I could have left it behind me and just prayed on my knees every night that the war would take them. After all, my father had done much worse than those idiotic dunderheads could’ve ever hoped to beat. After all, what hadn’t I already endured?” 

He lets out a stuttering breath. “But - for them to plan an attempt on my life, just so they could claim it for their own and leave me ignorant of the fact until the moment of no return, for them to orchestrate my ruin so masterfully… It makes it worse if they’d only conceived of it as a prank. If it was something they’d laughed about, snickered behind their palms as they planned, as saw me walk past ignorant of the fact that they now held my beating heart within their hands. That is what I cannot let go of. That is the reason I cannot sleep, I cannot move on, I cannot eat. I cannot kill myself, because I am not suicidal enough and I lack the courage for it, and I cannot just wait around hoping that the Dark Lord never finds out about it because I am not stupid enough either. I can only try to kill them so it never happens, but it seems I cannot even do that successfully.”

Severus’ eyes turned glassy. “Sometimes I wish he’d just let Lupin kill me.”

Now Regulus sits up, moving to grab Severus’ hands in his, his face outwardly portraying calm and none of his inner, near frenetic desire to go into the other room and knock three heads together.

“Sev, listen to me.” He waits until Severus’ eyes are focused on his, and he doesn’t know how many times in his life he has to say this - 

“Your life is your own. You don’t ‘owe’ it to anybody.” He says this as though the mere idea is ludicrous.

Severus looks at him tremulously. “But the Life Debt…”

“Fuck. That. I’ll get it rescinded.”

That stops Severus in his tracks. “You will? How?”

Regulus shrugs, projecting an irrefutable sense of self-confidence. “Give me a few days. Just don’t worry about it anymore.”

He already has a few ideas on how to go about it, some of which he’s sure he’ll greatly enjoy. After all, it’s been a while since he’s defenestrated someone.

Distracted by his musings, he pats a now mute Snape on his hands gently before he lets them go.

“Would you like some tea? I also really love the scones here, they’re truly delectable.” 

Regulus waves over one of the waitstaff and rattles off an order while Severus sits quietly. He looks a little bit numb as he nibbles into the strawberry jam and cream-filled scone, and Regulus waits a few bites for some signs of life to return to his eyes before he resumes speaking.

He knows that just promising Snape freedom from his debt still wouldn’t be enough to satisfy him. That’s the problem, isn’t it, with having people in the world who hate you? As long as they live you would always be looking over your shoulder, never truly having peace of mind. Never truly being free.

Regulus can easily put himself in Severus' shoes. In his place, Regulus knows he would feel the same things, would act (has acted) in the same way. He’d rather kill everyone who hates him than everyone he hates. Other people could prove unpredictable in the worst of ways. 

Stars, if it were anyone else, Regulus would be signing up to assist Snape in turning them into bloody bits. A part of him fully loathes himself for what he’s about to do, but unlike before, he can’t just take a step back and hope they all come to their senses one day. Not when it’s become a matter of life and death.

Unlike before, he’s prepared to protect Sirius from the consequences of his own actions even if Sirius doesn’t deserve it.

“Severus,” he begins, his grave tone of voice indicating a serious shift in the conversation.

Snape’s focus snaps back onto him, eyes sharpening as he takes in Regulus twisting his Black family ring around his finger. 

Snape might not be a Pureblood, but even he can recognise the distinctive jewellery and exactly what it means.

“Sirius is…of my blood.” His brother does not belong to his House, not anymore, but the blood they share still holds weight. 

“Any attack on him will be taken as a personal insult to myself, and I will react accordingly.”

Severus’ eyes shutter, his gaze akin to one watching a hangman’s noose reaching closer. Regulus sympathises, so much so he aches with it. He would submit himself to a thousand torments to not have to be put in this situation, but life rarely gives you what you want.

“I can’t kill him?” Severus exhales quietly. “What about Potter, then? Can’t I kill him?”

Regulus would love nothing more than to blurt out an enthusiastic ‘Yes!’, and he almost brings himself to do it…but then the moment passes and reason re-exerts itself and Regulus’ face twists in a grimace at the unfairness of it all.

“Unfortunately, James is Sirius' brother, which sort of makes him family in a very twisted and highly unflattering way,” he grits out, partially shielding his face in embarrassment at the words leaving his mouth. “So, no, you can’t kill kim. And the same goes for Lupin, too.”

He hasn’t forgotten Snape’s words about wanting Remus Lupin to kill him. He’ll get to the bottom of everything eventually, but those words particularly are too worrying to leave alone. Yes, the best solution would be for Snape to never seek Lupin out for any reason.

Severus looks at Regulus as though he just jumped up onto the table and spun off several elaborate pirouettes. 

“Are you serious?”

Regulus stares at him. His lip twitches.

“You don’t want me to answer that,” he jokes dryly.

He pushes an amused facade to the forefront while inwardly letting his mind delve into the fact that Severus hasn’t said a word about wanting to kill Peter Pettigrew. Could it be that he didn’t hold him as responsible for the events that occurred that day? That might be true - again, Regulus has no way of truly knowing what went down because he wasn’t there, and Peter very well may not have been there either. 

Or is there some other reason he excluded that particular Marauder?

He can’t discount such a theory, not when Peter has already proven himself much too variable today.

As for Snape, internally, he’s screaming.

There is nothing he hates more than being cornered, his back pressed against the wall, and that is what Regulus, no matter how apologetically, has just done. A situation already out of his control has just been taken further away from him, and he’s reeling, watching his plans to regain even an iota of a sense of being burn away into so much cinder. 

He wants to curse at Regulus, curse his own self and his life all in the same breath, but has too much practicality to realise just how useless that would be.

Maybe he deserves this fate, but he still can’t go down without a fight.

Can’t he just work around Black, ignore his preposterous ban on Snape’s autonomy and try and kill them anyways?

No, he discards the thought as soon as it surfaces. Because Severus was being completely honest earlier - he’s not suicidal enough to seriously risk his life.

And Regulus Black - his friend, his opposition, a man he somehow even now cannot manage to hate - is one of the deadliest risks in the entirety of London.

It’s an exceptionally common saying that you never want to meet a Black in a fight. Simply because they never lost.

Bellatrix had been a nightmare to behold the last anyone saw of her, and the fact that Sirius Black is still breathing despite his bestial tactics of throwing himself right into the thick of incoming attackers on the battlefield more than proves the renown Black fortitude.

And right before he’d disappeared, Regulus’ contributions to the war efforts cemented him as one of the best duelists in the country, right up there with the rest of his relatives.

Thus, Severus knows that if he wants to preserve his skin he cannot go up against Regulus’ direct order.

Not after what he’d done to Alastor Moody.

Notes:

I know I usually switch between multiple POVs throughout my chapters, but for this particular scene I didn't want there to be any commentary from the Marauders. It felt...voyeuristic? Idk. We all know they're listening in obviously, but I thought it best to wait to reveal what they think about it because the situation here is already so sensitive. Also because their opinions don't really matter here.

Apologies to anyone if any of this is triggering.

Anyways, let me know what you think! I appreciate all your comments :)

_

Honorable mentions:

Regulus: *listening to Snape's tale involving several (but not all) self-inflicted miseries and woes with sympathy* Wow, that's rough buddy. Wish I'd been there.

Also Regulus: *conveniently forgets exactly how terrible his own life was going around the same time*

Chapter 18: I was gentle till the circus life made me mean.

Summary:

The sound of steel clanged throughout the street as Regulus met Moody’s downwards thrust with a block of his own sword, the impact ringing in his ears and jittering all the way down into his bones but he didn’t even feel it, pain an emotion so far removed from him at that moment because his blood was on fire and all he could see was red.

“Do you,” he breathed, voice trembling with blinding, insurmountable rage, “Have any idea who you were just about to kill?”

Notes:

(TW: Mentions of war, blood, GORE, attempted murder, violence, death, physical and psychological trauma, etc. etc.)

PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION!

18.

— — — — — —  — -Back to the Past — — — — — — —

Halfway through the extravagant (and highly exclusive) dinner party being hosted at his house, the merriment of the evening was suddenly shattered by the sound of an entire tray of wine glasses dumping onto the floor with a loud crash.

Instantly on alert, Regulus took three seconds to evaluate the situation.

In one blink, he took in the crowd of unmasked Death Eaters, allies of the Black family, and members of the Black family themselves unhurriedly turning towards the commotion.

In the next, his gaze narrowed in on the Dark Lord — Voldemort — seated on the plushest and most comfortable settee in the parlour, staring at a small figure standing a few feet away from him with a look of mild curiosity.

With the third, he focused on the figure that caused all of the commotion — Lydia. She…was standing within range of the Dark Lord, a new haircut hiding most of the scar on her face as well as her eyes from view. The Dark Lord had his eyes fixed on Lydia, not looking particularly interested but still. Still.

She was not moving away from the Dark Lord’s gaze. He could see the rigid stillness of her figure from where he stood, her pale knuckles bleached white from fisting them so tightly. Something had set her off, he could tell, but here was neither the place nor the time for it.

A pause. Then she finally dropped to her knees, reaching over to start picking up the broken glass with her bare hands.

Regulus moved.

“What a fucking imbecile,” he growled, crossing the space in three large steps and roughly dragging her back by the back of her shirt away from the sharp shards of glass.

“Did anybody feed it alcohol?”

That got a few laughs from this hateful crowd, the nobles tittering into their hands and leaning across each other to exchange flighty whispers.

Regulus ignored them all, surreptitiously checking Lydia’s hands for any cuts while he pretended to glare down at her.

“My sincerest apologies for this disgraceful display, my Lord. Excuse me while I go to teach my House Elf some manners.”

He bowed low, not making any eye contact with Voldemort as he turned to visibly — though not forcefully — drag Lydia out of the room.

He also carefully avoided making eye contact with Kreacher’s mutilated head staring down at him from where he was taxidermied and pinned up at the top of their wall.

A lot of things had changed after — after Kreacher died, and not just the decor of the house. A lot of these changes seemed to come from within him.

He’d cut his hair, trimmed a few inches off the fringe he’d kept in his face for as long as he could recall, just enough to reveal his eyes. Regulus didn’t think it was proper for him to hide behind it anymore — from himself. From anyone.

‘This is the face of the man who let Kreacher die!’ He wanted to broadcast to the world. And without it blocking his sight it made it all the easier to see Kreacher’s lifeless head — the price of his arrogance and the cost of his love.

But he’d noticed that he couldn’t look at Kreacher’s head — which Mother had so steadfastly nailed to the wall right above the bookcase — without getting a splintering headache.

Every single time his eyes were drawn there and he stared a second too long, it felt like someone had just taken a hammer to his skull. The vision behind his retinas would white out, a cold assaulting his bones he’d only ever felt once before, and Regulus would have to dart his gaze away with a sniffle, raising his hand to wipe at his nose only to find his fingertips streaked with scarlet.

He’d looked at the blood with a debilitating sort of irony the first time he saw it, wondering if the universe was attempting to right the state of things. If whatever being out there knew it was Regulus that was supposed to die, and was somehow attempting to kill him by shutting down his organs one by one or something like that.

Lydia had not shared his humour the first time she’d witnessed it happen. She’d looked properly scared — scared for him, he knew. His sister’s love for him was not something he could ever afford to doubt. Not when it was the only thing still keeping him standing.

Another thing that had happened was that Grimmauld Place had become quieter. Not currently, what with the ridiculous bash that was being thrown, but in a general, everyday sort of way.

He’d finally figured out how to get his mother to stop speaking.

Before, he’d indulge her ridiculous desire for a son she could love, a son who would repeat everything she said like it made sense, who would uphold her version of the Black family’s supposed virtues and would treat her with a measure of tenderness a dutiful son reserved for their mother, somehow disregarding the years of abuse and torment they had suffered at her hands for the entirety of their childhood at the same time.

Before, Regulus would indulge her, draw her into a conversation, always try to distract and appease her ever-constant state of hungering fury.

Now, Regulus doesn’t give a single flying fuck.

If he ever deigned to dine with his parents at the dinner table — which was becoming a rarity now — and his mother opened her maw to let some inane chatter or other spill out, to jabber away as though she hadn’t just killed his surrogate father and then refused to let him rest in peace, to let him stop serving the family he’d toiled away for all his life even in death — oh no, now he must still serve as some sort of demented, necrotic ornament for laughs or just for shock value because his mother was a mad fucking harlot -

Now, whenever she ever even dared to speak to him, he would raise his off-coloured eyes from his food or the daily paper and just give her a look.

And that look would contain his most manifest desire: for her to JUST GIVE HIM A REASON.

It was a look that surely surpassed hatred.

If he’d had godlike powers, he would’ve erased her then and there, wiped her from existence and from the memories of anyone in this world who’d ever had the unpleasant honour of knowing her, of birthing her. Cleaned up the stain she’d left on the past, present and on any future knowledge, then never let anyone in on the terrible secret that she had ever been, had ever dreamed.

If he’d had the power to unmake her he would’ve exercised it, exorcised her like a ghost whose history no one would ever know or ever care to even attempt to recall.

If Regulus couldn’t do any of that — and oh, how he thrummed with regret that he wasn’t born a true celestial being — then the least she could do was give him one wonderful reason to ignite all this inherited fury in his bone marrows, this new craving in his stomach that spelled out something undeniably resembling bloodlust.

The old Regulus would’ve cautioned him about showing his cards like this, his conscience throwing things like ‘logic’ and ‘consequences’ at him in order to make him adapt his behaviour and walk the straight and narrow.

The new Regulus did not see one good reason why he shouldn’t kill this pest blemishing his senses, because his former reasons no longer seemed to matter or weren’t so constricting anymore. Because it did not matter anymore if the circumstances weren’t yet ideal, or if he should get more money out first, or behave himself so that his mother does not hint of his “lack of belief in the cause” to Voldemort, or if he should hide his anger, hide his face, not act out of turn, not be like Sirius. It mattered not if everyone knew he’d murdered his parents at the dinner table, if he was branded as a kinslayer, one of the worst sinners, his name spat upon and reviled for generations, because if his mother let out one more whisper Regulus would kill her despite all of that.

He would reach out and backhand her so strongly it would knock out her teeth and snap her neck on the way down. He would take the bread knife he was holding and carve out her heart right next to the fruit platter. He would rip out her spinal column and flog her with it. He would murder her in a thousand gruesome and increasingly appealing ways.

JUST GIVE ME ONE SINGLE BLOODY REASON, he would almost beg, leaning forward to pin her in place with his gaze, limbs ready to enact violence.

JUST. ONE. MORE.

Surprisingly, his mother would not acquiesce to his silent demands. Her eyes would meet his, and as he watched the words would wither in her throat.

It was like the madness inside of her glimpsed the madness inside of him and just…recoiled. Quailed like a frightened fucking kindergartener.

And Regulus would lean back into his chair with one part relief and nine parts disappointment, and go back to his meal in perfect peace.

Now he could will her into silence and it would actually work. Goes to show you could teach an old dog new tricks.

Conversation between his parents would now halt whenever he stepped into the room, only resuming after he left it as though they were tiptoeing around him. Wary of him.

It made him start to wonder if he — and Sirius — had gone about this all wrong from the start.

No use thinking about that now.

The only words he’d spoken to either of them since- since Kreacher’s death was, “You’re not killing anymore House Elves.”

Mother had tried looking affronted by his audacity, her mouth opening to retort, but he’d simply repeated in a tone that gently curled the way his palms did around his favourite practice sword — “You. Are. Not. Killing. Anymore. House Elves.”

She swallowed and nodded.

Now, whenever he wasn’t on Death Eater duty, he’d grab Lydia and sequester them both in his room, the both of them mostly just lying there in silence. And thinking.

Regulus was doing a lot of thinking these days.

The newfound intrusion in his psyche was particularly fascinating to him. He’d noticed when it wedged itself into his head that night — when he’d fractured and fell into so many pieces on the floor — and Regulus had not been able to ignore it since.

His mind space was now…disorganised. Everything was out of order: the dimensions and the language and the rules he governed himself by. He kept running his mind over and over the new crevices and seams, trying to find where the boundaries of his former self lay and where this new self started and how they interacted.

The new addition seemed wholly separate from everything else. The edges around it were tender, like a fresh bruise, and within it Regulus found a forest filled with several dozen sharp objects hovering in the air space, waiting for something to strike.

Regulus started experimenting with it, trying to discover just who he was now. He would begin a thought at the margins of where he last knew himself, and as he guided it into this new thicket the thought would spiral into several inky-black directions he never would’ve imagined before, with no rhyme or reason in-between.

Every ‘or’, every ‘if’ and ‘maybe’ was now being answered with a resounding yes; yes, why the ever loving fuck not?

It should scare him, he knew, to no longer be fully in control of his mind or his future actions, things he’d always prided himself on, but he wasn’t scared and he believed that might be part of the insanity.

So he kept thinking and thinking, trying to find the limits to his now limitless conscience, pressing against the knives in his mind and delighting when everything came back bloody.

Lydia wasn’t a fan of this either. It was as though she could sense his mind straying further away from himself, and she’d grip onto him tighter, fingernails grinding into him, like she could keep him from going with it.

She was still afraid of him dying, he knew, by his own choice or otherwise. Which was silly, she had no reason to be afraid. That night, he’d placed all of his life and himself in her hands. It was she who now commanded him. And she had forbidden him to die, so his body could try and shut down all it wanted, he wouldn’t stop breathing till she gave him the go-ahead.

He didn’t think she would fully understand this, because his new way of comprehension was inexplicable to any rational person, so he’d just gently stroke her hair to provide comfort. To say ‘I’m still here.’ That often proved to be enough, judging by how the tension would leave her limbs like a cat being petted.

No words would need to be said, and Regulus would continue to think and think and think until he fell asleep.

Even now, he recognised his disordered thinking as he dragged his sister off to the kitchens. Was it likely that Voldemort would order his sister killed for breaking a few glasses? Maybe… and that was all Regulus needed to decide his next actions.

The kitchens stored a lot of their knife sets, and Regulus blinked the hologram of Kreacher chopping away at the sink from his eyes as he tugged Lydia towards it. He turned the tap on, cupping her hands gently and placing them underneath the stream to rinse away any little shards of glass that had gotten embedded in them while his mind raced.

There were a maximum of 30 people in the room — a larger than normal size for a dinner party, but not even the most the Grimmauld Place could host. There was a wonderfully sharp steak knife collection to his left — the smallest size he could slip into his sleeve would have to do.

Go back out there. Head towards Voldemort. Pretend to lean in to whisper something. Slip the blade neatly into his heart. Slice open his throat for good measure. Kill three more people while everyone stood around in shock. (People always got disorientated when their leader was taken out.)

Grab one of the decorative swords hanging above their fireplace that one could always reliably find in the homes of the ridiculously wealthy. Prove they were not only decorative by using it to slaughter more people. Cut down anybody who came at him. Cut down Walburga and Orion Black even if they weren’t trying to attack him. Grab his sister. Grab the gun from the dresser. Shoot any former non-combatant in the head if they suddenly decided they could take him on.

Start a new life in France.

The last part didn’t have to be set in stone, it was just what he’d come up with at the moment. They could iron out the details later.

His thoughts finally slowed when he noticed Lydia’s hands were trembling where he held them.

He looked up with a frown. He hadn’t turned the water temperature to cold, so that couldn’t be why she was shivering.

“What’s wrong?”

She parted her lips, letting out a hiccup-like sound. “It- It was him,” she stammered, her tremors intensifying.

She gasped, as though needing to catch her breath. Like she was drowning — dying — on dry land.

“That’s the man who took — him.” The last word got caught in her throat like a fish flaying about on a hook.

Regulus’ vision sharpened. He knew who ‘him’ referred to — a name she’d only whispered once on some forgotten night when she’d thought he was sleeping.

“I’ll miss you… Dorian.”

Dorian — her other brother. He didn’t know all the details, just that he’d been taken away somewhere after offering himself up in her place, but Lydia had always viewed his leaving as an abandonment. He couldn’t find it in him to blame her for thinking that way.

“Who?” Surely, she didn’t mean the Dark Lord, did she? Otherwise things were about to get even uglier.

Lydia was shaking so severely he started getting worried. He pulled her into a hug, scared she might actually be hypothermic. She tilted her head so her bloodless lips were placed right beside his ear.

“Behind the chair,” she whispered scratchily. “He was the one with — the necklace.”

Regulus closed his eyes, conjuring up the scene in the living room behind them. There was Voldemort, the most attention-grabbing figure in the vicinity. Around him everybody looked washed out, but then there was Lydia, in bold, standing right in front of him, a much smaller figure.

Behind him — Regulus hyperfocused — there was a man. He seemed to fade into the background as well, but as he was now a person of interest Regulus coloured him in with all the details he could remember from his split-second scan of the room. He wore a typical all-black garb, nothing noteworthy. He was also wearing sunglasses indoors, which was noteworthy, and Regulus had no idea what his eyes looked like. Lydia had also said something about a necklace…

He remembered it now. It was… green; no, there was a huge letter ‘S’ in green embossed on the front of the locket, the surrounding material a golden hue. The ‘S’ was carved like the body of a snake.

Regulus opened his eyes. Hmm. He was sure he’d seen that necklace somewhere before. Where though? It didn’t escape him that it looked like something a Slytherin would wear…

Slytherin.

He’d seen what looked like that locket in one of the sole portraits of Salazar Slytherin that hung from the wall of the Slytherin common room. The man himself was wearing it.

Surely that couldn’t possibly be Salazar Slytherin’s actual necklace?

The impossible became possible and his cognition rewrote itself. Okay, new working theory: that was in fact Salazar fucking Slytherin’s locket.

That wasn’t important right now.

What was important was a need to find out more about this man who had taken his sister’s other brother from her. All his previous plans went down the drain — this took precedence. He unfortunately couldn’t slaughter everybody in the room now, he needed this man alive and a chance to draw him away from sight in order to pump him for information.

And once they’d gotten what they needed…

Regulus pulled away slightly to look at his sister’s face. He didn’t linger on the scar marring her features, the scar he’d put there, because she’d always glare at him fiercely till he’d stopped.

He looked at her eyes. They weren’t focused on his — her attention pivoting towards the next room, as though she could look through the walls somehow and keep the man in her sight. The expression on her face was one of broken and helpless rage. He could tell the only thing she desired in this moment was to go in there and rip him apart, piece by piece, till there was nothing left of him, but that desire was being dwarfed by the knowledge that she couldn’t commit the murder that easily: He was larger than her, likely way stronger, there were too many people in the way that could and would easily cut her down in a millisecond if she showed even a fraction of murderous intent.

That she would never even make it to him.

He wanted to tell her he would help her, that if she wanted a clear shot at him he would make one. But he didn’t, because he knew it would tear at her even more to never get any of her questions answered.

Why did they take him? What did they do to him?

WHERE IS HE?

So he just squeezed her back into the hug. “We’ll get him,” he promised fiercely.

He didn’t know which ‘him’ he would come to mean: her brother or the man who’d stolen him. Ideally, he would get both of them back somehow. He would try his very best to- he never gave his word to her lightly.

“We’ll get him,” he repeated just as fervently, holding her until the tension finally seeped out of her shoulders. Reaching behind him, he turned the tap off.

“Go make yourself scarce, I’ll tell them I’ve shut you in a broom closet or something. I’ll also figure out what to do about the mess. Just go, I’ll take care of it.”

I’ll take care of everything, he swore, every fibre of his being echoing the sentiment. Even if he had to will it into being true. He knew he wouldn’t be able to survive letting anybody else down.

 

---

It was time to reformat his approach.

Before, he’d been working at slowly gaining Voldemort’s approval and trust; through his perfect completion and success rates, through reliably following orders, and through never acting out of turn.

By doing this, he’d hoped to eventually be entrusted with more, to steadily gain more of the Dark Lord’s ear and favour.

Now though, that plan seemed a little bit too…sensible.

The ‘wait-and-hope’ approach was taking way too much waiting, and Regulus no longer held hope as a commodity. No, if he wanted Voldemort to take note of him, he would force him to. He would throw everything he could do in his face in a way of saying ‘LOOK AT ME’.

So the next time a Death Eater raid was scheduled, Regulus took to the battlefield.

Despite all of his commendable experience training with a sword, he didn’t step into open combat very often. Much like Severus, he was stuck doing odder jobs for his lord. Neither of them were constrained by an obligation to participate in random attacks or raids.

No, Severus just created incredibly potent poisons and other chemical weapons of warfare, while Regulus provided information on the most favourable areas to attack — places he’d noted to have the least Auror jurisdiction. They may not have been mere foot soldiers, but they were both still murderers.

All of that to say, Regulus wasn’t expected to be there that day.

Thus, while the carnage raged around him, he took a few moments to simply observe from the corner of an inconspicuous alley he’d ducked into.

…To simply watch as innocent civilians were slaughtered by the numbers.

Doors were kicked off their hinges, Death Eaters in their hooded black cloaks and silver masks pouring inside, their sadistic laughter a chorus to the shrill, horror-filled screams that followed.

Doors were barred shut, canisters full of gasoline produced and poured liberally onto the structures before an ignited match followed, heedless of the visible innocents pounding on the windows and begging for their lives.

Families were dragged out of their homes, some still in their sleep clothes… only to discover they need never wake up again.

It was those being killed in the streets, so close to where Regulus was standing, that he couldn’t look away from, no matter how brutal the sight.

The Death Eaters doing the butchering were all masked, but he could still recognise distinctive aspects of them, their builds and weapons of choice allowing him to easily identify them.

Dolohov always acted like a real butcher, preferring to wield a pitchfork as his weapon of choice. Regulus saw him raise it and thrust it into the stomach of a civilian man wearing pyjamas, who had been struggling desperately to get out from the grip of a Death Eater cohort.

Regulus saw Dolohov drive the pitchfork into the wall of the nearest building, the man speared on it like a fish, squirming and screaming as Dolohov continued to drive it forward, inch by agonising inch, then abruptly rip it out along with half of the man’s bloody entrails.

Regulus looked on as a group of four — what had to be Mulciber, Avery, Crabbe and Goyle — held down a civilian woman in a dire state of undress, her limbs splayed out and pinned down at all sides by the four, and she shrieked and shrieked her throat raw as Rabastan twisted and twirled a katana plunged deeply inside what had to be her kidney.

Regulus spotted Yaxley and Carrow a little ways away from him, about four or five breaths, and they had just dragged a resisting civilian mother and son duo from their home amidst the little boy’s frightened sobs and the mother’s breathless pleas.

Yaxley roughly grabbed the boy then threw him onto the ground with force, a sharp thunk resounding as his fragile head bounced on the pavement. The boy didn’t even have time to catch to cry before Yaxley descended on him, raining blows down upon that innocent face, blonde hair flopping back and forth with bits of blood now because Yaxley wore fucking knuckle dusters to make his hits really hard, Carrow restraining the woman easily with his bulk as she cried and screamed herself hoarse.

Regulus focused on her. He looked and didn’t stop looking even as her screams faltered once the little boy’s body stopped twitching, even as they began anew, a grief-filled howl this time, louder than ever before, even as Carrow reached down and scooped up some of that little blond head’s remains and shoved it into her mouth to shut her up and she gagged, forceful and violent, blood and brain matter and vomit spewing from her mouth as she tried not to digest her own son and then her hair was being pulled back, pale slender throat jutting out, and Carrow jabbed his preferred serrated blade underneath then across it, a red fountain cascading out fit to drench the entire world, green eyes going blank with delayed tears spilling forth.

Regulus looked and kept looking as she was finally released, allowed to fall into her vomit and her son’s carcass, with her severed head hanging by a tiny strip of skin to the rest of her corpse.

Her dull green eyes seemed to look right towards where he was standing, boring right into him.

He met that gaze, searched it for even the slightest hint of the person this woman once was.

There was nothing.

Regulus continued to look anyway, feeling the tar gather onto his soul in surplus.

The Order of the Phoenix soon arrived. They always did, even if sometimes they got there too late to save anyone (Regulus’ intel ensured that was the case more often than not) and they started duelling the Death Eaters.

Regulus finally straightened, letting out a breath into his silver mask, and stepped out into the open.

Several battles clashed around him, the world split into two parts locked in a deadly quest to dominate, and as Regulus easily dodged blades, redirected blows and deftly sidestepped fallen corpses, he felt like he was in his element, a little thrum tingling down his spine that carried a sense of homecoming.

The bloodlust in him, though mollified, wasn’t exactly enticed. It seemed his madness still had a moral code.

Goes to show he was never cut out for this shit.

Still, Regulus lost himself to the rhythm of a proper battle. His sword — a tactical, long-handle wakizashi with a slim, honed edge made of cold steel, slightly decorated with stars along the crossguard — felt like an extension of himself as he gripped its pommel and swung, using it on wrists, ankles, and any other extremities he could reach, aiming to put up space or lightly maim but never kill. Its scabbard doubled as a defence to trip assailants up at their feet and keep away others who would try to join the fight and gang up on him.

The copper-rich stench of fresh blood, scorched corpses, and expelled bodily fluids faded away as Regulus slipped into the haze, letting his body’s newly enhanced reflexes do the thinking. The only things he tried to cling onto — apart from his sword and the now familiar sense of self-loathing — were the main objectives he had coming into this raid: He needed to somehow impress the Dark Lord, and make sure he returned home safely to his sister.

Just as he twirled, knocking the next group of attackers to the ground with ease, he suddenly heard a scream.

And his mind was completely cleared of everything except from that sound.

He stopped thinking about the fallen innocents. He stopped thinking about how much he hated his parents for selling his soul to the devil when it was never theirs to sell. He even stopped thinking about whether he might catch a glimpse of his brother for the first time in almost two years on this very battlefield, and whether his brother might try to kill him. All of his senses honed in and narrowed on the sound of that scream.

He knew that scream — he’d recognise that voice anywhere. He would always recognise the voices of the people precious to him.

It was Barty’s.

“EVAN!”

It was a titanic roar, borne of sharp, desperate panic.

He ignored the Phoenixes who were getting back up to try and attack him again, instead expanding his awareness, taking in the entire fight in an instant.

He saw Barty, struggling to push through a horde of Aurors who were pushing him back.

He saw Evan, bloodied and slumped on the floor, mask fallen off, staring up at the weapon-wielding Auror in front of him with fatalistic fear in his eyes.

He saw Alastor Moody standing in front of Evan, gripping a thick black baton high in the air that he was about to crash down right onto Evan’s skull.

Regulus knew he was several metres away, about to be swarmed on all sides, and with countless other people besides that he would need to cut through. It would be impossible to make it there in time.

He did it anyway.

The sound of steel clanged throughout the street as Regulus met Moody’s downwards thrust with a block of his own sword, the impact ringing in his ears and jittering all the way down into his bones but he didn’t even feel it, pain an emotion so far removed from him at that moment because his blood was on fire and all he could see was red.

“Do you,” he breathed, voice trembling with blinding, insurmountable rage, “Have any idea who you were just about to kill?”

Moody snarled at him like a mad dog.

“Death Eater scum!” A fanatical light shone in his eyes.

“You deserve to die, the whole rotten lot of ye!”

Regulus scrutinised him. “You’re not going to like how this ends,” he said flatly.

And then they were duelling.

Alastor Moody was good, there was no doubt about that. The Head Auror fought like he’d won several dozen battles, scores of them maybe.

Regulus Black, however, fought like he’d won several hundred wars.

Like he’d been fighting — and winning — for generations.

It was unnatural for him to be that good in his first actual combat.

It was the most natural thing he’d ever done.

Alastor Moody was good. But Regulus was exceptional.

The Auror swung his baton in fast, forceful blows, each one brutal and utterly capable of incapacitating Regulus if they ever landed.

Regulus didn’t even bat an eye. The Black Heir met each single slash with ease, operating with a sort of forward focus as though he was living the current moment one second ahead — as though had seen the attack coming before Moody even made it.

He had to wield the wakizashi two-handed, the backlash from every block hammering at his arms, Moody doing his best to knock his sword out of his hands but he would not drop his sword; Did this suckling think this was the first time he’d danced with another man for his life???

The voice in his head, purely a phantom of ages past, was accompanied by another one that was solely Regulus.

And this voice had a very different stake in their skirmish.

It wasn’t spurring him on to defend himself, or Evan. It wasn’t goading him to win the duel in order to prove himself as he’d planned.

No — what Regulus Black wanted the most, right in that very moment, was to p̶̨̝̫̱̪̿͗̓͒ṳ̸̡̧͍͂̎͘͝n̵̙̮͕̬̞̍͝ị̵̡̳̝̞̎̈́͛ş̷͓̺͎͓͑̒̌h̸̙̅ ̸̜̂͑̍͂͠Ṃ̴͙̌ō̷̡͓͍̲̲̒͛̑͑o̸̼̟̗͘d̴̯̼͉̻̿͝y̸̛̤͎̣̤͔̔͐̈́͠.

How dare he presume to hurt what was his?

Moody had him placed firmly on the defensive with his overpowering strikes… or at least that’s what Regulus led him to believe.

The next series of attacks came, and Regulus blocked, parried, then deflected, twisting the baton sharply to the side with the flat of his blade and closing in, swift as a striking serpent, slicing at the Light General’s slightly open midsection and retreating before he could bring down his baton again.

The Auror quickly recalibrated, tightening up his guard, now throwing in jabs and feints and aiming for more critical places — his joints, his nose, his neck. Regulus snaked away from all of them, it was child’s play really because Moody tried but he was just too fucking slow.

Thrust. Block. Swipe. Parry. Flow with it. Cut across his wrists.

Feint. Slash. Dodge. Duck with it. Slice at his shins.

Jab. Grab the baton. Spin with it. Stab into his armpit.

Regulus adorned him with a thousand tiny, incessant cuts, not even working up a sweat while Moody started to look like he’d been showered in shrapnel.

The general grunted at the next swipe, face turning a bloated purple hue, and brought his baton down powerfully, putting his all into the blow.

Regulus readily — eagerly — matched it, rising up to meet the unstoppable force without holding back any of his own.

He overmatched it.

The tip of the wooden baton, where his sword had intercepted, chopped clean off its end and went flying.

To give Moody credit, he immediately backed away, trying to create space, but Regulus darted forward, refusing to give him any chance to breathe.

Moody lifted the baton again, but it was too high — overcompensating — and Regulus got in close and easily swiped the wakizashi across his exposed forearms.

Moody yelled, but Regulus pressed the offence even more as he tried to jerk back, moving fast and snatching Moody’s right wrist with his free hand, raising it up and higher, pivoting under the space and into Moody’s exposed flank with an elegant twirl, pressing into his side, his back now plastered against Moody’s unguarded right torso, raising his sword arm again-

From this angle, he could’ve easily struck at Moody’s neck, slithered in and bit it with his bladed fangs.

He aimed higher.

Alastor screamed as the wakizashi sliced across his eyeball, feeling it briefly penetrate his sclera before the entire organ was tugged right out of its socket.

His right eye hole wept bloody tear tracks down his face in rivulets, mixed in with crushed white-and-brown yolky remains. Regulus followed up by forcefully twisting the arm he still held behind the Auror’s back, arching his sword in a downward sweep now to slice across the back of his knees.

Moody knelt, kneecaps crashing onto the ground in an abrupt, submissive motion.

Regulus kicked him in the head, finally releasing his hold on his wrist.

The general thudded onto the floor, mutilated and grievously wounded. Regulus gripped his sword with both hands, hovered it over his hobbled form, then drove it right into the injury he’d inflicted on his leg.

The Auror screamed, kicking and writhing his feet in mindless anguish, heedless of how it widened his wound and haemorrhaged his blood.

Regulus mercilessly twisted his sword.

Alastor Moody abruptly fell still, like a puppet whose strings had been cut, mouth still open in a half-scream, a pain-filled rictus of shock as though he’d fallen asleep to a nightmare.

“Stay down or I’ll take out your other eye.”

His surroundings reanimated, the sounds of battle flooding back into his senses.

There was shouting everywhere, the Death Eaters crowing in delight and sadistic glee as the Phoenixes screamed and scrambled every which way, frenzied at the sight of their fallen commander.

A bunch of them made a mad dash towards him, in a quest to exact revenge or to rescue he didn’t know. Or care.

He was still shielding Evan — he couldn’t let them get too close.

Regulus yanked his sword out of Moody’s leg, spun slightly, then kicked the Auror’s unconscious body towards them as he whirled, propelling it forward like a missile.

It crashed into them head-on and they went down.

They got up, bruised and battered and coated in Moody’s blood, and one of them — that was Frank Longbottom — barked something at the rest and they all ended up carting Moody away as gently yet swiftly as possible, the Phoenixes all beginning to retreat.

Well, most of them.

Regulus felt a familiar gaze boring into him, and as he turned its way he already knew who he would see.

Across the street, Sirius stood out like a beacon, his presence scorching every single one of Regulus’ nerves as he stared his way, entirely engulfed in Black fury.

Regulus drank in the sight of his brother, unflinching at the hatred burning in his eyes. It was deserved, he deserved it, but Stars — Sirius was right there, and Regulus could go to him and touch him and likely get impaled for his trouble but that was okay, he wouldn’t mind for just a split second of that sweet reunion.

Did Sirius know it was him — his once brother, once best friend, once son? Could he recognise the blood?

Sirius was suddenly distracted by the sound of an eerie cackling. With a grimace, he turned towards it.

Regulus looked as well.

There, to Sirius’ left — to Regulus’ right — was Bellatrix Black, now Bellatrix Lestrange.

Wearing some poor commoner’s intestines wrapped around her neck like a garish jewellery piece, her upraised arm waving a severed hand wildly in the air while maniacally giggling at the retreating Light forces in savage victory.

Sirius’ fury intensified, the very air crackling with it.

They should’ve known Cousin Bella would be on the same damn battlefield as her psycho husband.

From each of their positions, the Blacks formed an equilateral triangle of terror. A collision between any of them would be creating a catastrophe of cosmic proportions.

A hand reached out and gripped Sirius’ shoulder. James.

He murmured something in Sirius’ ear, tan face streaked with dust and sweat but no blood anywhere, then jerked his curly mop to the side. ‘Come on.’

And Sirius listened, swallowing his rage and stepping away. They both turned and chased after their fleeing comrades, giving nary a backwards glance towards Regulus.

Only the Death Eaters lingered now, most of the casting curious gazes his way, wondering whose face sat beneath the mask. Wondering just who had beaten and brutalised Alastor Moody.

Regulus breathed out, took off his mask, then proceeded to turn his back on the lot of them because he really didn’t care whatever they were thinking.

Right now he only had eyes for Evan.

He crouched down. “Hey, Evan, are you okay?” His former roommate looked dazed, staring at him blankly with blood streaked all over his face.

Regulus frowned at his lack of cognisance. “Can you stand?”

Barty finally made it to their side. “I’ve got him,” he said gruffly, reaching out to tenderly wrap an arm around Evan.

Some clarity finally returned to his friend’s eyes. “Regulus?” Evan gasped, gaping at him, gaze incredulous and disoriented.

“I’m here,” Regulus reassured him.

Evan frowned, like he was seeing something troubling. Regulus was about to suggest that Barty have him checked for cranial damage when he spoke again:

“Are you alright? Regulus, did something happen?”

He tilted his head slightly. ‘Something’? What a… mild choice of words. How could it possibly encompass the entirety of what had happened- how his actions were what had gotten Kreacher killed, because Kreacher had put his faith in him, had believed him when Regulus confided that he was planning to get them out of that house and so he’d stepped forward and sacrificed his own life instead of letting Regulus take the fall for it, how Regulus had shattered like glass afterwards then became different and now didn’t even know himself anymore?

Barty darted a questioning glance towards him, and whatever he saw in Regulus made him halt his frantic fussing over Evan.

He scrutinised him with an intense hazel gaze. “Is there anything we can do to help?” Barty slowly asked.

How did they know something had happened? He’d become completely skilled at keeping any discernible emotions from his face and voice, so they shouldn’t be able to tell just by looking at him.

Maybe cutting his hair was quite a drastic indicator in and of itself.

Should he even try to tell them? They must’ve killed tens of Kreachers by now. What would his deceased Butler even matter to them?

But… they looked so damn concerned — and suddenly his grief was flooding him anew, biting at him, a monster with razor sharp teeth and a spiteful grudge to last lifetimes, and he opened his mouth to share it, to finally speak it, his eyes slowly misting over for the first time since that night-

“MORSMORDRE!”

Regulus remembered where he was, whom he was, what he’d done, and he blinked, tears forcefully swallowed back.

He schooled his face back into the Death Eater mask without even needing to put it on, looking back at the murder of Death Eaters jubilating, breaking things, traipsing about spray painting the Dark Mark everywhere, and generally being rowdy with an air of sardonic amusement.

“Ah, duty calls,” he snarked, smoothly rising to his feet and picking up his fallen scabbard as he spotted the crowd beginning to filter out.

“Hey, wait!” Barty called out as he started to turn away. “You haven’t told us shit, Reg!”

Regulus shot him a backwards glance. “If you want to help me, then don’t die on me. Neither one of you. Alright?”

He paused briefly. “And… promise not to come after me.”

“What does that mean?” Evan’s soft voice questioned.

Regulus inhaled, breathed out heavily, then kept walking.

“REG!”

He kept walking. He ignored the way his boots tracked Moody’s blood every single step of the way.

 

---

‘Regulus, did something happen?’

The question kept haunting him, even as he stood amongst the throng of Death Eaters in Lucius Malfoy’s manor, a charge of feral excitement in the air as they rejoiced over the day’s success. The Prewett twins were only a few of the large losses the Light side had suffered. He shook the debris of the thought away as he tried — almost begged himself — to pay attention to the Dark Lord’s lengthy speech.

He was in a fine mood today, droning on about promises of more death, more pain and torture to the disgusting muggles who still dared to breathe air, giving baseless assertions of just whose blood was superior and why they simply must inherit the earth, going off on a tangent about his greatness and how he didn’t even need to lift a finger to squish the Light side like a bug.

Each point was met with raucous applause and shouts of agreement.

Regulus was just bored of it all. Voldemort gave the same bloody speech every single time, rinsed and repeated, and he could not for the life of him understand why the others were always just as excited to hear it as they were the first time.

At least this was going better than most of their prior meetings. Only one person had been casually whipped and tortured so far — truly a groundbreaking development.

His ears perked up as he was suddenly addressed-

“And you, Black?”

Regulus felt his stomach roil as all eyes turned towards him, gazes speculative and eager. He kept his face carefully neutral, his own eyes fixed only on the Dark Lord, who was currently looking at him with an inquisitive expression.

He desperately hoped he hadn’t tuned out and missed some question directed at him.

Voldemort curled his serpentine lips up in a pleased smile. “You truly distinguished yourself today. I’ve heard all about how you… educated that neanderthal about what it actually means to wield a weapon. That fool has been a thorn in our sides for quite some time.”

His head cocked to the side in an unnatural motion, and Regulus fought a wave of repulsion at the sight. Nobody’s neck should stretch like that — like they didn’t have any bones.

“Can you tell me why it was that you left him alive?”

Regulus replied after a second. “I thought it more fitting, my Lord.”

“Fitting?”

“To take his eye, to cripple him, to show him the true meaning of what it means to be powerless. Because all of those rebels of the Light are just that — powerless. Powerless in the face of our cause and in our truth. I thought they might do well to remember that.”

That was all bullshit, of course. The truth lay closer to the fact that he didn’t want to kill Moody, even though he couldn’t bring himself to regret what he’d done to him. The Head Auror was an instrumental part of the Light’s crusade, even as wounded as Regulus had left him. He couldn’t hurt the cause his brother so fiercely believed in, fought for with so much conviction — a conviction he’d partially absorbed as well and desired to protect — as devastatingly as that.

Plus, it had caused the Order to effectively retreat, preferring to preserve their general’s life and safety instead of carrying out more of a bloodbath while trying to avenge him, as would’ve surely happened if Regulus had killed him.

Regulus waited, discreetly holding his breath. The Dark Lord usually punished independent thinking, but if Regulus was reading his mood right, then today wouldn’t be one of those days.

He was rewarded for his presumption with a burst of heinous cackling. Small icy fingers crept down his spine at the guttural sound. The feeling faded when the rest joined in, chortling like a troop of howling circus monkeys.

Regulus wished he could just leave already. But he hadn’t yet been dismissed.

Maybe this was hell.

Laughter abruptly cut off when Voldemort raised his hand sharply. The air seemed to thicken as everyone held themselves still, desperately awaiting his next words with admiration (or self-preservation).

Voldemort surveyed them, eyes slitted as they peered over the crowd, going from face to face.

“It would be… a harsh truth,” he spoke in slow, venom-coated words, “for that insipid leader of the Light to swallow…”

He sneered, pasty skin crinkling with the movement, “But soon he will!”

The Death Eaters cheered.

“Death to the Light!”

“Death to all muggles and Blood Traitors!”

“No stopping until we’ve killed them all!”

Regulus despaired.

The Dark Lord barked a few more orders and nonsensical things at them before giving the official order to disperse. Several Death Eaters spun around and left immediately, moving with swift cloak-and-dagger movements.

Regulus staunchly ignored any eyes he felt lingering on him, also turning to leave when -

“Ickle cousin Reggie!”

Bellatrix bounded up to him cheerfully, reaching out to grip his forearm. She gazed up at him with pride and madness swirling within her coal-black eyes.

“Look who finally became one of us!”

One of them? One of whom? Did she mean the Death Eaters or the Blacks?

Regulus had a strong suspicion that she meant the latter. As she loomed over him, her eyes spearing right into his own though he physically towered over her now, Regulus wondered if she could see the hints of insanity in their depths.

He tracked his gaze downwards, locking onto the fingertips Bellatrix was digging into his arm.

It felt wrong.

“Bellatrix,” Voldemort’s slithery voice called out, “Give us a moment in private. I would like a word with Black.”

Bellatrix looked reluctant to leave — probably eager to finally be able to relate to her cousin.

“I will summon you to my side later, darling Bella,” the Dark Lord crooned.

She dropped his hand, eyes shining with a fanatic light.

“My Lord,” she curtseyed, shooting the monstrosity a soppy look before she twirled her blood-soaked skirts and departed.

Their interaction made Regulus wonder, thinking back to before as well with Sirius and James…

Maybe all Blacks were just attack dogs who could be brought to heel under the right influence.

Before he could think more on that disturbing revelation, Voldemort gave the signal for him to approach. He went.

Once he’d covered the appropriate distance to Voldemort’s seat of power, Regulus…stiffened.

Only very subtly. He knew what he was supposed to do, that he was supposed to prostrate before his lord, but he found he couldn’t move.

His spine now felt like it was made of steel. Ever since that night when something fractured and fell apart in his mind, his usual — restraints — no longer worked as they should. Yet, he knew the action was still possible. He just had to put his back into it, so to speak.

After a minuscule pause, which he fervently hoped hadn’t been noticed, Regulus dropped to his knees with practised ease.

He knelt, bowing deeply.

He was a Black, after all.

The Dark Lord reached down and placed a hand on his temple, forcing his head back. Almost gently, he swept most of his hair away from his face, completely exposing his eyes.

Regulus did not react. He made sure his gaze only reflected the submissive Black Heir that his parents had painstakingly crafted him to be.

Voldemort searched his eyes, staring intently for many seconds, and Regulus so badly wanted to be away from under this monster’s grip, physically and metaphorically, but he tamped the urge down, down so it never saw the light of day in his eyes.

Whatever Voldemort saw in him seemed to satisfy him.

“You’ve pleased me greatly, Regulus,” The Dark Lord crooned, finally releasing his hold. His fingertips turned to stroke the side of his face almost absentmindedly.

Regulus refused to permit his breath to shudder at the feel of those moist, clawed fingers grazing his skin.

“Your parents should be very proud.”

Regulus imagined telling his parents about the Dark Lord’s comment, watching them preen at the praise.

He forced down his bile before it even had a chance to rise up.

“Thank you, my Lord,” he quietly said instead, gaze absent of everything but blind obedience. His voice sounded just as dead as that woman’s green eyes from before.

The Dark Lord finally pulled away. “Come. Rise. I have a very special assignment for you… and I trust you won’t disappoint.” His voice echoed with sibilant tones curled around his ‘s’s.

Regulus breathed out shallowly, not daring to hope.

“It would be my honour, my Lord.”

 

Notes:

Hope you guys like this chapter! I was literally tearing up and gagging as I wrote it 🥹 It’s like any way I could’ve made it all more tragic I made sure to do so.

Regulus is DOWN BAD CRYING AT THE GYM!!! 😭😭😭 I feel so bad for him omg

Oh well, I never liked Moody anyways 😌 My boyfriend (who is now my beta reader) and I got into an argument about the proper way to pronounce 'baton'. I say BAton, and he says baTON. It got pretty heated. Pillows were thrown. We had to bring in Google as a mediator.

We were both correct. I still think my way is better. Argue with the wall.

_

Fun fact: the wakizashi is a sword that was traditionally used to commit suicide. Thought it was a fitting sword for Regulus, with the way he’s currently feeling about himself.

Chapter 19: Showed You All of My Hiding Spots

Summary:

“So, will you do it?” He asks once he’s done.

Severus blinks. “Do what?”

“Go see your grandparents. I really think this is a good thing, Sev. Just a word of advice: get out of town for a while. No one else would be able to find you there.”

Notes:

AHHH! THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH FOR OVER 6K VIEWS AND SO MANY KUDOS! I'm so very happy and excited, thank you! 😄

Link to a new drawing in the end notes, be sure to check it out!

(TW: Mentions of war, bullying, attempted murder, violence, blood, psychological trauma)

19.

— —  — — — — — — Present — — — — — — — —

Sirius can’t believe what he’s hearing.

This idiot dungeon bat thinks James planned on trapping him into some outdated, stuffy Pureblood binding contract of lifelong subservience? James Fleamont Potter?

The bloke has clearly lost the plot, no doubt about it. Cause what the fuck?

But then he stops and thinks about it, and looking back on their past interactions with Snape… Sirius can  (slightly, if he squints)  see why Snape would get that sort of idea.

But still, it’s horrifically off-base and completely untrue! Prongs would never! The very idea is something so contrary to who James is, Sirius knows with certainty that the idea of even using the Life Debt is one James would never have thought of.

But in James’ position, Sirius won’t lie that it may have occurred to him. He certainly won’t bat an eyelash at using a condemned Death Eater to win this war, no matter how unconventional the method might be.

That’s irrelevant, however, because he isn’t in James’ position. And he’d just intended for the fucker to die, period.

Glancing at his best friend out of the corner of his eye, Sirius sees the stricken, contrite expression on his face and instantly feels his temper flaring.

That bloody bastard! James saved his life and this is the thanks he gets for it? Almost getting blown to pieces and then accused of unspeakable things?

“But the Marauders — mostly you — were the ones to cause the situation to spiral so badly in the first place and fucked everything to shit.”

“Yes, it was a misguided attempt to protect your Moony, but James doesn’t deserve this torment! This wouldn’t be happening if you’d just found a better way to succeed!”

Sirius grabs some of his hair and pulls hard, trying to drown out the conflicting noises in his head.

Ever since he was little — old enough to know his parents’ full names by heart and that they were poison, but young enough that he hadn’t yet started at Hogwarts or met James — Sirius has always been aware of the mesh of contradictory voices in his head.

The voices were two-fold: An incendiary one, that urged him to defend his deep-rooted sense of pride and not let anyone make him lower his head; and a cautionary one, that warned him about his decisions and patterns of thinking while simultaneously belittling him with every word.

Sirius refused to pay heed to either of them. He absolutely refused to recognise that there was something wrong with him, that most of the time his head was split into two equally troubling parts and neither sounded anything like him.

He wasn’t like Mother, he hasn’t lost his fucking marbles.

He isn’t mad.

So, he simply convinced himself that they weren’t there. Most of the time, it actually worked. Only in times of stress did he find it easier to follow the suggestions of whatever voice in his head was screaming the loudest.

No surprise which one that was.

But when he went to Hogwarts and met James, Sirius quickly learned that in order to stay friends with James, he had to fix his thinking. All of them.

And Sirius wanted so badly to have James Potter in his life that he went with it.

He couldn’t stop the voices, nothing he tried worked (though he hadn’t really tried anything apart from ignoring them), so it was just easier to let James think for him. It made him proud to follow in his best friend’s footsteps — James is good and Sirius wanted to be good.

And most importantly, he wanted to be nothing like his family.

With every step he took to align himself with James, he felt further and further away from them, and closer and closer to James. It was also a wonderful way to piss off his parents, particularly his mother, by telling them all about his new Blood Traitor ways and his Gryffindor exploits.

He relies on James to be his True North, the direction he turns to when he doesn’t want to do something wrong and mess up all of the work he’s done trying to be different from the family he hates.

But he wasn’t with James the day he’d decided to execute Severus. He didn’t run it through him, he hadn’t even thought of him — he just saw a threat and acted, all his neurons screaming at him not to let Snape get away, not to allow him to cause more harm. It had seemed a perfectly reasonable thing to do, and in the aftermath, that was what had scared him the most.

The knowledge that he couldn’t trust himself — that left to his own devices he would truly regress into the person he hated the most — had terrified him to his core.

Nearly losing James and Remus — nearly losing all of his friends, his anchors — imprinted a mortal fear in him, and every day since then Sirius feels like he’s been living in a desperate sort of limbo, loving them as excessively as they would allow him to out of fear they might one day change their minds and abandon him to that fate.

James is the furthest person from Walburga that he can even think of. That’s why Sirius latched onto him so strongly, soaked up his sun rays and tried to bloom into a different type of plant than the seed his parents had sown.

So, to hear James’ good name being slandered in such a toxic way has him seething, and he so badly wants to go in there and SHUT SNIVELLUS UP.

Remus’ heart hurts.

Why?

Why can he never escape his curse of being a dangerous person?

Why were others all too eager to make him an executioner?

On his own, Remus has never wanted to take another human life. He even still mourns his neighbour’s cat to this day. He became a vegetarian shortly after that. Without the darkness taking over his mind, the idea of ending the life of any sentient creature only fills him with a sense of overwhelming repulsion.

So why couldn’t the others see that? Why is Severus Snape professing a desire to be killed by Remus right now?

He’d much rather end his own life than anyone else’s if it ever came to it. But no one’s ever asked him — they’ve just shoved him into this box he’d been first shoved into by Fenrir Greyback when he was only four years old.

But- He swallows as he comes to the realisation that it wasn’t the darkness in his mind that made him plan those pranks against Severus, that aided and abetted his friends whenever they ganged up on the boy. No, those were the times when he was filled with the most clarity.

They were all so young back then, caught up in this idea that they needed to fight a holy crusade against the Slytherin students. They had been wrong, maybe; as they were still fighting that same war now but under different names — no longer Gryffindors vs. Slytherins, but the Order of the Phoenix vs. the Death Eaters. And the Slytherins, now Death Eaters, were a very real threat, had been a very real threat even back then with the way some of them viciously targeted the low-born students and spread horrible Blood Purist propaganda.

But the Marauders could’ve done with a different approach, definitely.

And now their actions have overreaching consequences they could’ve never foreseen.

They hadn’t cared to check in on Severus in the aftermath of Moony attempting to kill him — of course they hadn’t. They’d been too concerned with the fractures within their friend group, too taken up by the people they actually cared about, to reach out and see if he was suffering too.

They’d moved on from it soon afterwards, their friendship now reforged with deep, jagged scars but still intact. Severus, quite apparently, had not moved on.

As Remus watches the cold rage descend on Sirius’ brother’s face, he thinks they’d deserve whatever bit of darkness is headed their way.

James feels like he’s just been gutted.

This is the second time now that he’s viewed his actions from an outsider point of view and felt — sickened — by the part of himself he’d portrayed to others.

James has never liked Severus Snape, and he’s confident he never will. He was filled with jealousy-driven hate from the moment he met him, this person who was bad for Lily, whose gaze always lingered on her in a too-long way that was creepy to see, who knew way too many horrible words and offensive tactics and wasn’t shy about using them.

Who Lily still called a friend anyways. Who she would always rather be around than with James, always pick over James, while never giving James a chance to be her friend instead.

James — spoiled, arrogant, eleven year old James — had thought Snape had brainwashed her somehow. How could the prettiest and nicest girl in all of Hogwarts willingly be friends with someone who was so horrid?

It made sense that he was a Slytherin. James hated Slytherins. They were all filled with evil tricks, wicked words, and smarmy demeanours. All of them were capable of brainwashing innocent people like Lily.

He had to protect her from them, from all of them. But mostly from Snape.

But he’s older now, matured from the war and from being best friends with an almost-murderer at sixteen, and James can now realise that his younger self… had no respect for Lily. Hadn’t seen her as a person fully capable of making up her own mind, or making her own friends and decisions. If he’d thought he was a precocious eleven year old, then he should’ve known that Lily was always smarter than him, the brightest female student of her age Hogwarts Academy had ever seen.

He was just a stupid kid, he didn’t have any right to decide who Lily could be friends with. He had no right to intrude, and he’d made sure to apologise to Lily after the whole thing went down in their fifth year, sobbing while saying he’d never meant for it to go that far.

Lily had been hurt, both by James and by Severus. James still seethes at the fact that Snape had called Lily that disgusting word, had hurt someone so loyal to him so strongly (though at the time he’d mostly been happy it finally caused her to see his true colours). She’d asked for some time alone, and James had finally accepted her boundaries and stopped coming on to her so strongly, had finally allowed her to decide on whether to be his friend rather than bombarding her with ceaseless requests driven by a idiotic sense of entitlement. They finally became close, though never as close as James wanted. But James has now learned to be more grateful for the people in his life.

He never apologised to Snape.

He’d never gone so far as to want him dead, but he had found their treatment of him justified after Snape hurt Lily so grievously, so permanently, because he thought it meant he was right about him all along.

Snape joined the Death Eaters straight after graduation, and James thought he was right about him all along.

But… he’s already established his past self was an idiot, hasn’t he? Snape… hadn’t deserved to be hurt over and over again just because James thought he was brainwashing Lily… did he?

“I believed in him once, and he let me down,” he remembers Regulus saying. The younger Black admitted he’d been friends with Snape before and gotten burned for it, just like Lily was. But he’s still calling Snape his friend, and telling him that Snape didn’t deserve to die at the hands of his brother when they were students.

Of course he didn’t! James doesn’t know why it’s this line of thinking that finally leads him to that realisation, because it should be obvious. His feelings towards Snape, towards Snape’s actions that have hurt the people he loves, should not define what right and wrong is. James isn’t the law — neither him nor his circle of people important to him should ever define that.

Lily used to call him a ”self-absorbed, functionally illiterate knobhead” at the height of some of her tirades taking him to task for one thing or the other that he’d done wrong. James loved — loves — Lily Evans, but he never believed any of those words applied to him — just something she was saying because she was angry.

He still doesn’t believe he’s self-absorbed — he cares way too much for the people close to him, for those who work with him and those who look up to him. He feels their every burden is his to take on, their problems something he can fix if he discovered them, their wins and their losses his own. Even the pranks he pulled (the non-malicious ones) were always aimed at cheering people up and relieving the stress from school, especially during exam periods. He feels like his heart can encapsulate the entire world if he tries to, and it’s a constant battle against himself not to try, because it’ll end up hurting too much.

But, James can see that maybe — maybe he’s just selfish enough.

He feels too possessive, too clingy, with the people he loves the most. With Sirius, there must’ve been a time he was jealous of Regulus, because he never encouraged his best friend to try and make amends with his estranged brother, instead enthusiastically encouraging him to continue keeping his distance. Wanting to keep his new brother all to himself, and damn whoever got hurt from his actions because Sirius was his, he deserved Sirius and Sirius deserved him.

This possessiveness, of wanting to almost absorb all of his loved ones into himself, is what’s now causing this mess.

If he had taken the time to think outside of them, outside of what James believed was the best thing for them, he probably would’ve never bullied Snape. He probably would’ve apologised to him earlier. He wouldn’t now have a sleep-deprived Snape thinking that James is the boogeyman under his bed who wants to own him and control his life, like he’s some… some kind of Blood Purist.

His self-recrimination is made even worse when Jack slides over to him and loudly whispers, “Hey, just checking — you guys are supposed to be the good guys, right?”

That might’ve possibly been the most hurtful thing he could’ve said right then. James clenches his jaw so hard he hears his teeth grind.

Sirius snaps his head in their direction, and there’s a rage clear to see brewing in his eyes, but James speaks before Padfoot has a chance to somehow make things worse.

“It’s a misunderstanding,” Prongs grits out, ignoring his hurt feelings. “I’ve never claimed a Life Debt from somebody before — hell, with where we’re at in this war that would be too bloody many to count — and I’m not about to start doing it either! He’s got the wrong idea.”

Jack looks puzzled. “Well if it’s a misunderstanding, then I’m probably not the bloke to hear it, now am I? Should be one of them- ooh, but look at that.”

He jerks his head towards the see-through wall, where they were all watching the discussion intently, Polaris more fixated than the rest of them. She hasn’t looked away from Regulus once, not even to give them a judgemental look.

“Boss looks pissed,” Jack continues, pointing. “Look at those smoothed-down brows, that jut to his chin. He is furious.”

He whistles in open admiration. “You have got to teach me your secrets, Curly.”

James abruptly scrapes his chair back, jumping to his feet to start pacing back and forth, and also to get away from Jack, who he finds himself strongly wanting to punch in the face right about now.

He has to explain, he has to find a way to fucking explain everything! None of this is right! He can’t let Regulus — let either of them — think he knowingly tried to trick Snape into some evil pact of perpetual servitude.

He really does want to clear things up to Snape, but it’s Regulus’ opinion that he cares most about right now.

Regulus Black — he must be the least possessive and most selfless person James has ever met. He acknowledged the sibling bond that James and Sirius shared, when they never acknowledged his own. And he just called James ‘family’.

James staunchly ignores all the words he said right after.

From what little James has gathered about him in the past, like, three days, ‘family’ is a word Regulus holds in high regard.

“I’m not like you. It’s not easy for me to just abandon my family!” He’d snarled in Sirius’ face. And he meant it —  he didn’t leave Sirius vulnerable when he knew someone was out to kill him, despite their fraught history. He’s even extending that protection to James now, though he has more than enough reason to want James dead.

James doesn’t want Regulus to think that he’s a monster. It might be too little too late for that, but maybe he can still at least try.

Polaris looks over and narrows her eyes at James when he strays too close to the door, but seeing he doesn’t make a move to open it, she turns back to listening attentively to the conversation.

“Does the cease fire go both ways?” Severus wants to know.

“Of course it does. I’ll make sure he leaves you alone as long as you hold up your end of the bargain.”

“And how exactly would you manage to do that? Because I recall you trying to do so back when we were in Hogwarts, and you failed,” Severus’ voice is hard with anger.

“And then you kept failing.”

Remus has an epiphany. “The lightbulb,” he mutters aloud, looking deep in thought.

James and Sirius are confused. “What lightbulb?”

“Shhhh,” Jack shushes them. Moony makes a hand-wave motion to indicate that he’ll fill them in later.

“I was failing because you started hurting my brother,” Regulus retorts, his words snapping out like a whip.

“Then I need some kind of proof that you actually mean what you say this time, or I’ll make a career out of it! Prove to me that you can actually make it happen this time, or you’ll just be wasting both of our time again!”

Regulus exhales slowly, trying to keep his calm. Severus is such a fucking cynic, and Regulus completely understands why the man is the way he is, but bloody hell it doesn’t make him any less infuriating.

When he’s breathed out the last of his rage, he slowly reaches for the little spoon right next to the vintage porcelain set in front of him.

Moving slowly, so as not to spook Sev, he taps it to the side of his teacup with a clink.

The din coming from the other patrons in the room seems to imperceptibly reduce — or is that just Severus’ imagination? He’s frowning in thought when a server suddenly appears beside them, places a dish with a folder on Regulus’ side of the table, then vanishes just as abruptly.

The normal noise level resumes.

Regulus looks down at the folder, then back up at Severus.

“Did you know you have grandparents, Sev?”

Snape’s frown grows more pronounced. He doesn’t know what to make of the sudden subject shift.

“I assume everybody has them, at some point. Mine, however, are deceased.”

Regulus studies him with far too-knowing grey eyes. “Did Tobias tell you that?”

Snape’s eyes narrow fully. “Where are you going with this, Black?”

In response, Regulus deftly opens the folder, reaches in, then pulls out a photograph. He briefly examines it, flipping it over, then pushes it towards Snape.

“Ladislaus and Berenice Prince, at their family home in Hampstead. This was taken on Friday.”

Snape stares down at the picture. He makes no move to reach for it.

“From what I’ve gathered, your mother ran away from them because they were too controlling, and then proceeded to marry your father out of love and a personal vendetta against the way she was raised. She would have had a perfectly happy ending after that, if your father wasn’t, well, your father.”

Regulus shrugs. “Honestly, your grandparents might have been very controlling, but they seem to have appropriately mellowed in their old age. They sent out lots of letters to your mum and to you once they heard about you, asking for some kind of reconciliation. They were willing to allow you both back into the family, despite your mother’s choices — probably out of a newfound fear of their own mortality and of their legacy fading away, which apparently affects the elderly with alarming frequency. Every letter was sent back, though. I don’t think it was all your mother’s doing before she passed away. That’s because they keep getting sent back — unopened — even now. The most recent one was about five days ago.”

Regulus passes the entire folder over to Snape, who is still frozen.

“These are all the letters I managed to collect. I haven’t looked at any of them that weren’t already opened. They seem… rather earnest about providing you with financial and familial support. Even if you don’t want any of that, they’re still willing to pass on the family lineage to you, which is your rightful inheritance.”

Regulus looks him right in the eyes. “You could wield the Prince family name, Sev. You could be a Lord, have House seats. Vote.”

That finally snaps Severus out of his stupor, and he looks up so fast Regulus hears his neck crack. As he watches, greed and disbelief flash across his friend’s eyes.

Snape joined the Death Eaters partly out of a quest for power, Regulus knows. He must believe that serving at the Dark Lord’s side is his best ticket to having that. Regulus only wishes his friend had looked a bit closer to home.

Fucking Tobias Snape. That’s someone Regulus definitely wouldn’t mind killing, if Sev wants him to.

The best part is Regulus isn’t even holding any of this over Snape’s head — it’s all there for him already to verify and claim if he wants to. He — hopes — this might give his friend the proper incentive to at least start planning a way to exit this war and come out on the other side alive.

Snape finally manages to speak. “How- do you have all this information?”

Regulus blinks. “I mean, I can tell you… but are you sure you really want to know?”

Severus’ face takes on a complicated expression. Picturing Regulus raiding a post office would only be partially correct. When gathering information, Regulus ruthlessly switches into a “respecting privacy is only a thing other people do” mindset with relative ease.

“What you should know, however, is how easily I can find people,” Regulus goes on, the hard tone of a threat creeping into his voice.

“Anyone, anywhere, at any time, could be watching you and reporting back to me. I’ll say this very clearly, so there’s no room for you to misunderstand anything: If you defy me, I will find you. And I will make you regret crossing me.”

Severus swallows, going back to freezing in place as though locked in the gaze of some apex predator.

Regulus tones it down a notch. “It also means that I can easily keep an eye on Sirius. If I searched for even a second, I would instantly know of his whereabouts.“

And that would be quite simple to do, considering Regulus already knows he’s in the next room.

“If he even begins to try something against you, I will stop it from happening at once.”

Severus unhinges his jaws. “And how am I supposed to hold you to that?”

Regulus muses momentarily before responding, “I swear it to you on my name and on my life.”

Sev bristles. “Don’t swear it on your life, you’re not the one I want dead!”

Alright then. Regulus angles his head, conceding to Snape to suggest different terms.

The spymaster inhales heavily. “I want a Blood Vow.”

With their current culture, to the nobility, blood is everything. Blood status, blood purity, even tangible blood spilt — none of it is taken lightly. After all, that’s the major reason why a fucking war is being waged right now — people were being judged by the blood in their veins, and were either found wanting or not.

(Nobody seems to really win either way.)

Regulus descends from a Pureblood lineage that could be traced back to other Purebloods for generations. His blood is one of the purest in the entirety of Great Britain at the moment (all of the inbreeding very much caused that, thanks a lot), which makes it a very priceless commodity.

So for any Pureblood to swear upon it — even more so for one with blood as pure as Regulus’ — was the highest oath they could ever make on this side of the veil. It was sacrosanct. They were taught as children that you should never, not ever in your entire life even think of making one, and if you did it must be for the most calamitous of situations.

Because if you broke it — it didn’t just affect you, it affected your entire family line. Your complete genealogy would be rendered impotent. Your name, your titles, and class, would be stripped away from you and invalidated. Your properties would be repurposed and distributed to other noble families. Your children and children’s children and their future legacies would bear a curse that anyone who shares their blood would be doomed to inherit.

You would be a Blood Traitor, in the truest, most fundamental meaning of the word, and will forever be known as such.

Snape knows as he says it that it is absolutely hypocritical of him to bemoan the fate of his life being placed in Potter’s hands, while in the same breath asking for Regulus to place his future in his own. But, then again, he’s never claimed to be a good person.

Regulus doesn’t even hesitate. He flicks up the metal knife at his side, grabs it, places it on his left palm and slices into it, cutting deeply.

Because it’s a truly wild moment to be alive, as he realises the man in front of him fears his brother more than even Voldemort.

Ris and Sirius shoot to their feet simultaneously, their chairs screeching back against the floor with a hair-raising volume.

“FUCK!” Ris curses loudly, banging her fist against the tabletop.

“FUCKING HELL, STARBOY!”

“Right, I have had enough of this farce,” Sirius states coldly. He starts heading to the door.

Ris swiftly intercepts him. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing!” She yells at him, barring the door entrance with her arms braced outwards.

“I am going to put an end to this shit, that’s what I’m doing! Move aside!”

Ris scoffs. “And let you ruin all of his hard work? I don’t think so!” She snarls, glaring at him with the heat of the sun behind her gaze.

“Back off!”

Sirius looks at her incredulously. “So you’re just going to let him hurt himself?”

“I SAID BACK THE FUCK UP! Besides, what do you care if he gets hurt?” She seethes, her chest heaving.

“You weren’t the one there, trying to stop his cracking! Holding his life together in your fucking hands! No! You. Left. Him. There.”

Sirius is bombarded by a nightmarish cocktail of feelings at her accusation. Of guilt, that now persistent guilt from abandoning his brother; of apprehension because he still cannot picture what they did to him, how they could’ve hurt his precious little brother when Sirius wasn’t there to step in; and of rage, the old familiar sense of boiling wrath that bubbles right to the surface and chases everything else away because HOW DARE SHE?

And because he still cannot handle such a loud mix of negative emotions without feeling like it’s tearing his head apart, Sirius does what Sirius does best and deflects it all outwards.

He lets out a dark, humourless chuckle. “What do you care if he gets hurt?” He asks, turning the question back onto her.

He stares her down like she’s a two-inch tall insect.

“You’re not his sister. You’re a nobody.”

Her form rocks backwards, body curving as though absorbing a blow. She does not take her eyes off of him.

Oh shit, she is going to rip him apart, Jack notes with a clinical intrigue.

Outwardly, she makes no further movements.

Within, she’s a whirlwind.

“Don’t speak when you’re not being spoken to, Lydia.”

“Didn’t I tell you to stay out of my sight?”

“Why does Dorian keep sneaking you dinners?” A curious head tilt. “Doesn’t he know you don’t deserve food?”

And the most recent-

“Know your fucking place, you worthless Imp.”

Polaris washes out all the words in a crescendo of rage, because Fuck. That and FUCK THEM ALL!

Not a single one of those rotten husks deserves even a second of rent-free space in her mind.

And the waste of a heartbeat currently breathing air in front of her needs to fucking die.

“Do you… see him in there… making a deal to protect you from me?”

She calmly exhales, slowly lowering her arms to her sides.

Then takes a step forward.

“You think his friend is the only one who wants you dead?”

Another step.

“That would be incorrect.”

She’s unaware of how her eyes are glinting ominously, or of how detached her voice sounds like it’s coming from a drone. In fact, her rage has crested to such a peak that she feels only tranquil with it.

So far, Starboy has simply trusted in her restraint when interacting with his brother. But, Polaris Lydia Black does not feel like restraining herself any longer.

Her hand spasms, as though reaching for a weapon but finding none. That’s quite alright, this would just have to be done with a cruder method.

Deliberately, her fingers form the practised arch of the Tiger Claw.

“You really want to push your luck right now, you fucking mutt?”

She raises her hands, beginning to reach for him.

Polaris almost can’t remember what was holding her back before. All she knows now is that this fucking useless piece of shit loser is within striking distance, and she will strike. Starboy may never forgive her for it, but Stars, wouldn’t it be satisfying -

Sirius watches her approach, claws out and a promise of deadly violence in her eyes. But he has stood his ground against Walburga, on battlefields while the rest of his comrades were retreating, and it does not occur to him to do anything differently now.

James is standing the closest to Sirius. Remus gets there first.

He wraps his arms around Sirius and rips him away, retreating all the way to the other end of the room.

Ris steps forward again, ready to give chase. The thick, knife-edge tension in the room is suddenly ripped into pieces by the sound of a throat pointedly clearing.

“Uh — EXCUSE ME?”

Jack places his hands on his hips and glares at them all.

“I am trying to eavesdrop on Boss’ conversation! Could you keep it down please? If you are going to kill each other, do it quietly!”

Polaris gives him a long sideways glance, then scrutinises her claws. Gradually, regretfully, she straightens them out, gently rubbing the backs of her fingers.

The final glance she darts at Sirius is full of vitriolic loathing, but it also bears a dismissal, like she’s suddenly remembering he’s not even worth her time.

She stomps away to join Jack in facing the screen, turning her full attention back to Regulus.

James notices how Jack’s shoulders slump slightly, and he wonders.

Remus fastens his grip more tightly around Sirius when he tries to move.

“Padfoot,” he whispers, watching Polaris’ form intently, not taking his eyes off her for a single second. “Sirius, please — stop antagonising her.”

Heedless of the drama going down in the next room, Regulus looks at the blood pooling in his palm, currently trickling towards his fingertips. He lifts his gaze up to see Severus looking shell-shocked.

“Um, do you have a pen and paper?” He asks sheepishly, a bit embarrassed that he’d forgotten to ask that before dissecting his own hand.

Numbly, Severus pulls out a leather notebook with a pen tucked into the front from his cloak and pushes it across the table. Regulus tentatively opens it, careful not to let any of his blood soak into the cover.

It seems like where he stores all of his jottings of chemical formulations and theories. Regulus quickly flips through, making sure to make note of anything of interest, until he finally arrives at a blank page.

For a moment, he just stares at it in thought, tapping the pen on his chin. How to phrase this?

Figuring it out, he lifts his bloody palm and gently imprints it on the paper, placing the pen directly underneath it.

I promise to prevent Sirius Orion Potter (and whichever names he may subsequently hold) and Severus Tobias Snape (and whichever names he may subsequently hold) from carrying out harmful, personal and intentional grudges/vendettas against one another.

I, Regulus Arcturus Black, solemnly swear to abide by the spirit and the entirety of this Vow.

There, that should do it. He hopes this doesn’t mean he’s expected to mediate if the two of them get into a childish name-calling row with each other. Because then, the simplest thing would be to just keep them locked up in different houses for the rest of their lives.

He signs and dates the document, then proceeds to repeat the process on another sheet and rips that one out of the sheaf, pocketing it.

Regulus passes back Snape’s notebook, then frowns at his wound. It’s going to bleed for a while, he knows. Best to wrap it up somehow to staunch the flow. That and Severus has lost even more of the colour in his face from seeing him bleeding. He fears the man might faint.

He snatches the white serviette off the table, manoeuvres it into a knot around his palm and pulls it taut with his teeth.

“So, will you do it?” He asks once he’s done.

Severus blinks. “Do what?”

“Go see your grandparents. I really think this is a good thing, Sev. Just a word of advice: get out of town for a while. No one else would be able to find you there.”

Pureblood family homes weren’t exactly the easiest to find, for anyone without an address. They were generally built in very out-of-the-way and almost unplottable places. Secrecy does rank the second-most valuable currency of the elite.

“Make your excuses to your Dark Lord, say whatever you need to say, just do it. I have a hunch that things are about to go sideways, and I’d — ” he stumbles briefly over his words, “I’d really like you to still be alive at the end of all this.”

“…I’ll think about it,” Snape says after a moment, finally reaching over to take the folder.

Regulus studies him. He knows the man in front of him is a Death Eater, willingly became one even, and has to this day committed several atrocities and crimes against humanity. But at the same time, he can’t help but still see that twelve-year-old boy with a chip on his shoulder, the entire world at his throat and only one person at his side — who is now gone.

That’s what makes him say: “And if anything comes up, or if you ever need any assistance, you can just let me know. I’ll pass along a method for you to be able to contact me the same way I got my message to you.”

Severus pauses in his act of rising. He looks back over his shoulder at Regulus with an unfathomable look in his black irises.

“You know, you care way too much about those you shouldn’t.”

Regulus mulls over that for a bit. “Perhaps,” he responds, “But I don’t see any reason why I shouldn’t care about you.”

Severus’ expression briefly spasms, before he fully turns away.

“Goodbye, Regulus.”

Regulus watches the way Sev’s cloak effortlessly billows around him as he walks away, with an awestruck ‘Damn, he’s so cool’, and ‘Sweet Salazar, he finally called me by my name!’ and he couldn’t have been happier about how their meeting concluded.

Severus, however, can’t help but feel a conflicting stir of emotions as he exits the meeting place unharmed.

Regulus Black … Severus has never been able to make sense of him.

All those years ago in Hogwarts, Severus had wanted to label the royal a naive, sentimental fool for wanting to help him with no real practical benefit to himself. Just because he ‘could’.

That wasn’t proper Noble behaviour. That wasn’t even proper Slytherin behaviour.

But even then, Severus had known he was wrong. Regulus was the farthest thing from an idiot. Case in point: Severus can currently feel the back of his shoulder blades itching from the warning aim of a sniper’s rifle.

Severus now believes in Regulus’ kindness — as well as in his ruthlessness.

So similar to Lily, except hers mostly stems from a Gryffindor-typical chivalry. And she doesn’t speak to him anymore.

Severus pushes back the pain welling in his eyes at that thought.

When he first saw Regulus after he graduated, they’d both been enlisted into the Death Eater ranks.

He’d felt stricken at the sight of him. There was something fundamentally wrong about watching him wearing the Death Eater mask; receiving the Dark Mark inked onto his flesh without even making a sound.

Regulus was kind; ruthless, yet accepting. Too accepting. He wasn’t — he wasn’t cruel. He couldn’t be cut out for this.

He didn’t even feel an expected pang of jealousy at seeing Regulus rise up in the ranks so fast. There was just… worry.

And it had been warranted. Regulus had seemed to just be going through the motions. He did his job, gave progress reports, and didn’t really interact with any of them aside from the times he was partnered with somebody else for some task at the Dark Lord’s behest.

Severus had not been able to stop worrying. He’d rather pathetically scrutinised him for actual signs of life for months.

That was when he’d noticed his hands.

They were littered with many deep cuts and blisters. Regulus had not seemed to be in any pain, but they had to be painful. And every time he saw him, Regulus had even more of them. Snape feared he might soon lose movement in his hands if they weren’t treated.

So he went into his lab, locked himself up in it for days, and concocted a specialised healing elixir that would target deep scarring and stimulate muscle regeneration in the upper phalanx region.

Then he’d put it on the market, because he was too much of a cowardly prat to just give it to Regulus directly.

The Dark Lord soon found out what he had done, and summoned him to Lestrange manor. Regulus had been there briefly to provide some kind of report, and was just leaving the room as Severus entered it.

His Lord master hadn’t even waited for the door to close before he started ripping into Severus for creating such a pointless concoction. He did not keep his best chemist around for him to be wasting time on frivolous projects!

The reward for his efforts was a broken wrist, which the Dark Lord explicitly told him he was only allowed to heal when he was ready to “make something useful.”

Smarting with humiliation and shame, he’d stumbled out of the manor and onto the street to find Regulus turning towards him, as though he’d been waiting.

“I liked it.”

Regulus hadn’t been partnered with Snape… Yet he was speaking to him anyway.

And in a mostly healed palm, he held a clump of bird seed which a swallow was enthusiastically pecking at.

“I thought it was a very lovely healing balm you made.”

So he still fed the birds. A sense of… relief …settled into the scientist at that.

Severus stared at him, feeling the weight of the distance and unspoken words between them, and didn’t know what else to say except, “Thank you.”

Regulus’ lips curved up in a smile — a real smile — then he spun to walk away, taking the bird with him. It fed for a few more moments before soaring into the sky.

“Hang in there, Sev,” he’d thrown over his shoulder with a wave.

‘Hang in there’. Those were the last words Regulus had said to him.

Then he was dead — presumed dead — for three years, with no whisper of him anywhere.

He must’ve had his reasons. But whatever those reasons were, he had not seen fit to share them with Severus.

Because Regulus Black could not trust Severus Snape. And Severus Snape cannot trust Regulus Black.

But now, he thinks to himself, Maybe, just maybe, I can somehow become someone Regulus could depend on as well.

Notes:

In canon, there are Blood Pacts (Grindelwald and Dumbledore), and there are Unbreakable Vows (Narcissa and Severus). Since there is no magic in this story - though it still has somewhat fantastical elements - I decided to just mesh the two together and create something a bit different. Hence: Blood Vows. Something that would very seriously (pun intended) hold your life at stake.

Polaris and Sirius really give me vibes of “When an unstoppable force meets an immovable object.” But who is the unstoppable force? And who is the immovable object? Or is it unstoppable force vs unstoppable force, or immovable object vs immovable object? 🤔

I finally got around to drawing her, btw! I was planning to draw Sirius next, but it's very in line with the theme of this story that she took a place directly beside Regulus instead. You can see it here.

And to clarify, Polaris does not care about the Blood Vow. I mean, she probably would, if she knew all of its consequences. I think she’ll just go out and kill either Snape or Sirius if she found out. Or both.

No, she just cares that her Starboy got hurt.

P.S - For where I got the names of Snape's grandparents, I found it on the r/SeverusSnape thread, and you guys I think I am slowly but surely being converted into a stan of the man. Here is a look at the very lovely family tree I found.

Chapter 20: I Would’ve Died For Your Sins

Summary:

“I have a vested interest in your continued existence, so I must ask you to stop being so bloody reckless with your life. But it’s been a while since you’ve listened to me, and I do not believe in miracles anymore, so if any further situations like this are necessary,” he examines his bloody hand, then nonchalantly shrugs,

“So be it.”

Notes:

You didn't expect me to be back so soon, now did you? 😏

(TW: Mentions of war, bullying, attempted murder, violence, blood, psychological trauma and hallucinations)

20.

Regulus steps back into the hidden room. His gaze instantly hones in on James Potter.

The Gryffindor is immediately overcome with mortal terror.

“It is a complete misunderstanding!” James desperately pleads his case.

“I have never, ever wanted Snape to owe me a Life Debt — I’ve never wanted that from anyone! And I definitely didn’t plan it either, I swear! I swear it on everything that I am! And if I can rescind it then I absolutely will! Please, you’ve got to believe me!”

Regulus reaches out and James instantly flinches back, but the Lord of House Black only presses a hand against his chin, craning his neck from one side then to the other.

Two satisfying snaps followed.

I need a fucking nap, Regulus silently bemoans.

Polaris shoves her way to his side and snatches up his injured wrist.

“You idiot,” she practically hisses at him, making sure to carefully cup his hand in hers.

Her scowl deepens at the clear lack of remorse on his face. She lets out a tiny sigh, turning to inspect the bandaged wound.

How is she supposed to protect her Regulus from any and all threats of harm when they came from himself? She hasn’t felt that useless just sitting here and watching it happen in years.

Regulus turns towards the still-open doorway. “Anna!”

She materialises in seconds.

He reaches into his overcoat and pulls out what looks like a pen. He clicks the top, and the instrument lets out a tiny beeping noise.

Remus blinks at it. Did it just beep?

Regulus hands the pen which might not be a pen over to her. “I would like you to make a transcript of our entire meeting. That file should be placed in my office for storage purposes.” And for any future uses it might require.

“As for what was said in this room after our meeting: that should be transcribed as well, and also converted to cassette form. Both the written copy and the audio copy should then be dispatched to the Potter household with a written request for Lord Potter to provide a stamped seal that supports Heir Potter’s rescission of the Life Debt owed to him by one Severus Snape, and for the contents of the envelope to then be forwarded to the Ministry’s Department of Records, specifically the office of Amelia Bones for further handling. She’s the only one I trust to deal with this matter properly,” he mutters.

She won’t let the fact that Severus is a suspected Death Eater get in the way of her doing the due diligence.

James staggers back even further. This is… going to involve his Dad?

Sirius of the same mind. “You’re bringing Monty into this?”

Regulus gives him a sideways glance. “He is the highest authority in the Potter line at the moment, since your friend here hasn’t yet taken up his Wizengamot seats. And he wields the House seal. Thus, it’s the most logical option for him to be the one to sign off on this — we wouldn’t want any further misunderstandings.”

“For Godric’s sake, it is NOT. THAT. DEEP. None of this is fucking necessary. James never meant to put Snape in a Life Debt, so that wanker has himself twisted into knots over nothing. It’s nothing, Reggie.”

“You know, you keep proving to me, Sirius, that I have not missed much about you in the years we’ve been apart. You don’t fucking grow up. Do you even have any idea what the hell you’ve done?”

And it’s that tone, laced with disappointment and recrimination, with the reminder of his failure, his absence, the fact that he can’t fucking do anything right in his brother’s eyes — and combined with a still-cloying sense of guilt that threatens to grip Sirius and drag him down into a bottomless abyss, which activates his fight-or-die instincts.

“Who even gave you the right?” He snarls. “None of us begged you to stick your nose in our fucking business!”

“I will do as I see fit,” Regulus hisses, and his voice is quiet but at the same time it sounds like he just yelled into a microphone.

“And you don’t have any room to talk, since you clearly did the same to someone who had never done anything to deserve it in the first place! What, was ‘Snivellus’ just some moniker you made up for how many times you made him cry as a kid?”

“Oh, don’t fucking preach at me, Reggie!” Sirius sneers. “I only told him where the location was, I didn’t bloody knock him out, hogtie him and drag him there! He took his blasted self there all on his own because he wanted to get one leg up on us, then got his fucking stupid life buggered to hell and backwards! So really, I think the prick can stand to cry about it a little bit more.”

James stares at Sirius. After it all went down, his best friend had been desperately apologetic, apologising over and over for betraying Moony trust and for putting James in possible harm’s way and for ruining so much about something that was meant to help Moony trust himself, love himself, feel like himself.

But now, the realisation is slowly dawning on James that Sirius never felt sorry about what he tried to do to Snape.

James can’t unpack that right now because he is too fragile, so he decides not to, putting it into a box to inspect for another day. And it seems the same realisation is dawning on Regulus.

His eyebrows disappear almost into his hairline. “Wow,” Regulus whispers, pressing his fingers hard against his temple as though he can massage away the numbness in his brain from absorbing Sirius’ bullshit.

Jack also whistles. “What is it with you, Boss?” He pipes up, looking charmed.

“Always going straight for the fucking jaguar.”

Everybody stares at him. Regulus slowly lowers his hand.

“It’s… jugular,” he tentatively corrects, with an expression of supreme concern.

Jack pauses for a beat, then shrugs. “Jaguar sounds cooler.”

Regulus finally cracks a smile, feeling some much needed tension release from his frame.

“It does,” he acquiesces.

Anna taps him on the shoulder, and he leans in so she can whisper in his ear.

“He went straight out the back, avoiding crossing paths with Snape. Once he exited the building, he started talking into his radio about holding off on some attack, and that he might soon have some better information to share. He only came back in once Snape was gone.”

Regulus furrows his brows, dismissing her with a nod of his head. Well, this confirms that Peter Pettigrew is some kind of spy — but is he the leak that Potter spoke of before? It’s safer to assume that he is, but he’s going to need a bit more concrete proof — which should be in the process of being gathered right about now.

Did these idiot Musketeers really not know that their best friend might be a Death Eater? Then again, it could be easy to overlook or rationalise. Only the ones closest to us could be capable of doing the most harm.

And right on the heels of that thought, Remus Lupin steps forward and bows deeply in his direction.

“Thank you,” he chokes out, voice laden with self-flagellating sincerity.

“I am very grateful to you for correcting this unfortunate situation which I caused, and I deeply apologise for dragging you into this mess.” Each of his words are laced with unconcealed self-loathing.

Regulus’ face goes completely flat.

Somehow, he feels that Remus Lupin was a victim, at least in this. This shitshow seemed solely orchestrated by his brother, who managed to do irreparable harm to both his preferred brother and to his partner. That has to be the reason behind the looks on their faces from earlier, when Regulus was talking about betrayal.

Fucking hell, Siri. Just how fucking far would you go to ruin your own life?

The sight of their friend kowtowing and in obvious pain snaps both Sirius and James out of their respective funks.

For Sirius, especially, the red haze clouding his sight instantly disappears.

Fuck… I’ve done it again.

“Moony, fuck Moony, please stop apologising! It was my fault, it was all my fault, you didn’t do anything wrong,” he pleads, pulling Remus towards him, desperately wishing he could take back all of his past words and actions in the same way.

“There’s nothing wrong with you! And I’m so fucking sorry I made you feel like… like you could ever be a monster. You’re not. You’re my Moony — you kept chocolates stashed in your teddy bear in first year, you cry when reading Oscar Wilde, and you’ve got two left feet. If you ever tried to stab someone, you’d probably fall over on the knife and impale yourself, then beg one of us to kill you from the shame. You’re not a monster. So don’t let anyone ever try to tell you otherwise.”

Remus’ expression cycles from teary to touched to mortified, and Sirius has always taken great pride in putting a blush on that face. He absolutely hates seeing Remus sad. He’d take literally anything else over seeing his Moony in pain.

“Sirius,” Remus hisses, flushing even further. Sirius just beams at him, every inch of his grin spelling out ‘I love you, please still love me.’

At least Wally and Onion did one thing right in giving him such an absolutely magnificent face. It goes a long way in keeping his Moony captivated with him.

He soon sobers, turning to James. “Prongs, I am so fucking sorry for everything. We were targeted and almost killed because of me. I never meant to put you in any danger — not back then and not now.”

He knows he keeps poisoning every single thing he touches. Yet, selfishly, he keeps hoping they’ll still keep him around anyways.

“Pads, you don’t have to keep apologising. I’ve already forgiven you for everything,” James says gently, reaching out and squeezing his shoulder. The touch sears right into his skin, injecting his veins with a warmth that burns more brightly and comfortably than his rage ever did. All his negative feelings are chased away.

Sirius thinks to himself for the ten billionth time that he is so bloody grateful for James Fleamont Potter.

“We were all at fault,” Prongs states. “None of us ever thought the situation would get this out of hand.” No, they’d all rather stupidly assumed that it would end with their failed murder attempt and them stopping their bullying towards Snape.

James wants to fling himself from a high window.

Sirius then takes a deep breath and turns to Regulus, who has just been observing the conversation with a neutral expression.

“And I’m… really sorry about your hand. I- you didn’t have to go so far for me.” I don’t deserve it, he doesn’t say.

The words he does say already feel like glass shards scraping his throat, but he feels the urge to say something to wipe that blank expression off Reggie’s face. He always looked like that back in Grimmauld Place, like he was constantly waiting for someone to give him permission to feel.

Regulus’ features deliberately rearrange themselves, and it takes Sirius a moment to identify his new expression as mocking.

“Sirius Orion,” Regulus drawls, peering into him with glinting grey eyes, “I do not care whatever family name you’re calling yourself these days. You’re still mine.”

The sheer possessiveness loaded into that word actually rocks James back a step.

“I have a vested interest in your continued existence, so I must ask you to stop being so bloody reckless with your life. But it’s been a while since you’ve listened to me, and I do not believe in miracles anymore, so if any further situations like this are necessary,” he examines his bloody hand, then nonchalantly shrugs,

“So be it.”

Sirius actually feels his mind shred up into spaghetti. There is no possible way he can misunderstand those words, but he still tries his damndest.

Was this- Is Reggie serious? This Reggie that he abandoned back in Grimmauld Place? That he left to the hands of the worst people he’s ever met? That he completely wrote off without regret? This Reggie that owes him nothing? He’s still claiming Sirius?

And what is this declaration that he will continue to put himself in harm’s way for Sirius? Why would he say that? Reggie is — was — a scared little boy who hated pain! And even if he’s not that person anymore, what in the seven hells has Sirius ever done to inspire this kind of devotion? It’s absurd. Even after The Prank, it took James a full year before he even talked to Sirius again, and Prongs is the best person he knows. For the longest time, he’d been so sure that he’d burned that bridge and lost his new brother forever, and he’d deserved that... yet Reggie is out here claiming mutilated familial bonds and slicing open palms WITH NO QUALMS ABOUT IT?

What, is Reggie some kind of fucking saint???

Well… at least I got the selfless part down right, James thinks to himself dazedly.

Polaris comes to a different conclusion. She stares up at Regulus, down at his injured palm, then over at Sirius.

No, she suddenly realises, The biggest threat to Starboy isn’t himself. It’s this motherfucker right here.

Remus sees Polaris shift in front of Regulus, trying to block him fully from Sirius’ sight while staring at Padfoot like he’s the antichrist, and he thinks he might actually understand where she’s coming from.

Every single year at Hogwarts, Sirius would find a birthday card and a small slice of cake tucked into his school bag. The cake was always his favourite flavour — strawberry shortcake — and the note was always short; just a ‘Happy Birthday, Sirius — x, R.A.B’ in elegant, artistic penmanship.

It never went further than a cake and a card, no impersonal or personal gifts followed, but Sirius always would get this look in his eyes like someone had just murdered his dog.

He would rant and rave at the fact that Regulus could even dare send him birthday wishes — as if they were actually family, something they didn’t even pretend to be back in Grimmauld. No, Regulus was dead to him, they didn’t have to pretend at all here in Hogwarts, no brother who truly loved him would be a slimy Blood Purist and a puppet to their parents. And giving him a cutesy little card and some cake wasn’t going to cut it — it didn’t even hit the bare minimum.

The thing was, none of them were sure how Regulus was getting these gifts to Sirius. Padfoot wasn’t exactly leaving his bag unattended for anyone to root through. He was quite touchy about his personal belongings actually.

And Sirius never reciprocated any of the efforts. He consistently threw the offerings away.

Yet they still kept coming. Year after year. James even swapped bags with Sirius for the whole day on one of his birthdays, only to find the results bizarrely remained the same.

Then the next year, their fourth year, James suggested that Sirius should just go without a bag for the day. Padfoot complied, and when they returned to the Gryffindor dorms that night, a signed birthday card and a slice of strawberry shortcake was peacefully waiting for him on his bed.

Remus won’t soon forget how Sirius had just stared silently at the sight for several seconds, then stepped out into the corridor and screamed.

Prongs’ face was one of deep concern, but he’d also looked the tiniest bit impressed by the youngest Black’s persistence. Even the slightest hint amused.

However — entertaining — the situation had become, Prongs, Wormtail and Remus himself decided it had gone on long enough. Padfoot’s birthdays could not continue being ruined. That was when the trio secretly decided to approach the matter as Marauders.

They would just find Regulus Black and have a…little chat with him about respecting the boundaries Sirius had set between them, and if he refused to listen then they’d prank him until he did. A pretty simple plan.

Only one problem — they couldn’t find him. The boy was a fucking ghost. They’d even drawn up a map of the entire school, searched every possible nook and cranny of it, and still couldn’t catch a glimpse of him. Baby Black was not in the library, not in the food hall, not in the Slytherin dorms nor the Quidditch pitch.

Not even in the Forbidden Forest.

And it was always at the times that they were searching for him that he was nowhere to be found.

He was not with Barty and Evan, his two roommates and constant companions. When Prongs asked them — during their initially successful Slytherin House break-in — the two had exchanged knowing smirks and told him that they weren’t about to give up their dorm member because they “weren’t getting in the way of true love.” And, in a fascinating display of loyalty, they then proceeded to scream every Slytherin student awake, screeching their lungs hoarse about “Gryffindor Intruders Violating Salazar’s Most Sacred Hole!”

They’d barely escaped the dungeons with their lives.

For the next month, the inter-House war was the most chaotic it had ever been. No Gryffindor could turn a corner without running into a Slytherin prepared to commit dastardly deeds against them in order to reclaim their founding father’s honour. Snakes were stabbing Lions with quills in classes. Homework and hair were both being dyed in ink with equal prejudice. There was biting. The then-Gryffindor seeker had a very public case of diarrhoea during a Quidditch match and shortly transferred to Durmstrang.

None of this helped them in finding Regulus Black, by the way. It was mind-boggling. Even if they could’ve somehow tracked him with magic, Remus still isn’t sure to this day that it would’ve worked.

But even when Regulus Black did not return to Hogwarts in their fifth year, Sirius was still not able to fully relax on his birthdays. There was always an undercurrent of a foul mood, even when he tried to mask it with loud jokes and uproaring laughter; the bitterest hint of something whenever he glanced at the Slytherin tables seeking someone who was no longer seated there.

In his darkest, most uncharitable moments, Remus used to wish that Regulus Black had never existed. He would wish that he had died before ever being conceived, this boy who had done nothing to him but everything to his lover.

Because Regulus had the power to hurt Sirius like no other. Hogwarts was supposed to be safe for Sirius — Walburga and Orion could not hurt him there, they could not reach him there, but Regulus Black could.

Could hurt him without even being there. Without saying a word. Without being alive.

But now here is Regulus Black, back from the dead, a man who has verbally rejected all of his parents’ values, has just saved Sirius’ life at a great expense to his own, and has asserted that it won’t be a one-time occurrence. That he will continue to do whatever it takes to protect his brother from immense harm.

And Sirius… still looks like he is falling apart.

Remus is so unbelievably glad that he is an only child — he cannot even find the words.

“I think we should leave,” Polaris bluntly states, her stare still locked and loaded on Sirius.

“Mhm, sure,” Regulus agrees, pressing his fingertips against the space between his brows. He shouldn’t be feeling any dizziness — it was only a little bit of blood.

He loops his other arm around hers and starts marching out of the room.

“I am so fucking glad I am an only child,” Jack murmurs as they step out, unconsciously echoing Remus’ thoughts. He turns to him.

Jack makes a face. “At least I think so? I never actually knew my Mam and Dad. They could’ve had a football team of children for all I know. There might be several mini-mes in the world right now that I’d never get a chance to terrorise.” He mimes wiping away a tear. “Such sweet, poetic sadness.”

…Good Gryffindor.

Regulus makes a beeline for the front counter.

“Hey, Paddie,” he greets, addressing the waitress who delivered the folder to his table.

Adhara Priya Black turns towards him with a grin. “Hi, Reggie!”

Such an infectious smile — it never fails to make the corners of his own mouth tilt upwards. Her red, heart-shaped lips split her face all the way across, exposing brilliant white teeth that provide a lovely contrast against her chestnut dark skin and pin-straight, long black hair. It seeps into her eyes as well, making her warm mocha gaze glow even further.

“Busy morning?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” She playfully quips back in her rich, lilting accent. “That was quite the excitement during your meeting. I felt so cool, like a spy from a James Bond movie!”

His eyebrow slightly quirks up. “Well, I’m glad I got to make your little kiddie dreams come true,” he says wryly, causing her to giggle.

Her grin fades when she stares at his hand. “That needs changing,” she points out.

He looks down to see that his makeshift bandage is already completely soaked. Every drop of his fucking ‘pure’ blood keeps making a valiant effort to flee his body the moment he gets so much as a paper cut. Toujours fucking pur indeed.

When he looks back up, Paddie has a bottle of antiseptic and bandages on the counter and is gesturing for his hand. He lets her take it, and she makes deft work of cleaning the wound and wrapping it back up neatly. He hopes it doesn’t need stitches; he’ll never be able to live it down.

“Thank you,” he grins, and her smile returns.

“So everything’s going alright? No problems, or anything you guys need?”

“No, it’s all smooth sailing,” she reassures him.

“Great. I’ll be heading out now. Make sure you all get back in before curfew. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” he strongly cautions.

She gives him a level look. “What kinds of things wouldn’t you do, though? That must be quite a narrow list. You do realise you’re giving us a lot of freedoms here?”

Regulus is stunned. He has to balance himself by placing both hands on his hips, that’s how stunned he is.

“Are you calling me a bad influence?”

Nearly every head in the room turns to look at him, all their faces mirroring the same deadpan expression. Regulus can’t believe this.

It only takes one sassy back-talk of “Reg, be for real,” before they all dissolve into fits of laughter at his expense.

Regulus can’t conceal the indignation he feels. He is only trying to make sure they act like responsible adults!

“Well, fuck you all!” He responds like the responsible adult he is, flipping them the bird. It only makes them laugh harder.

He starts strutting away with a huff. “Clowns, the lot of them. I have never been so insulted in all my life!” He pouts, smarting mightily from the encounter.

Jack snorts, throwing an arm around his shoulder. “Yes you have? I make sure to insult you all the time.”

James can’t imagine being friendly with someone who makes a mission out of putting you down, but he’s discovering that there are all kinds of friendships in this world.

Regulus slides Jack a humoured glance. “I suppose you’d better get good at it.”

“Are you challenging me?” Jack asks disbelievingly. He tilts his head to stare at him full-on. “You might come to regret that, Black.”

“Perhaps,” Regulus responds airily, not sounding concerned in the slightest because he knows it’ll mess with him further.

Then he abruptly stops walking.

He hears footsteps stumble slightly behind him and ignores it, instead craning his neck towards the shadowy corridor he was just about to pass.

He can feel eyes peering out at him from within it, though he can’t fully see them. But he knows they are there. His paranoia is too effective to fail him.

And- there. Partially concealed by the cute potted houseplant he placed there as a decoration, he can make out a white-coffee stained sleeve and the edge of a brown vest.

Uh oh, it seems I have a rat infestation, he muses sardonically. Peter Pettigrew is proving himself to be a problem.

Left to his own devices, he would detain this suspicious man and keep him in headquarters for a lovely night of interrogation, but the idiot has friends who would fight and make everything difficult. No, he’ll just have to send the proof over to the Order as soon as possible once he gets his hands on it, and let them deal with their mess that is now trying to take a crap on his own doorstep.

What the fuck is he even doing hiding behind Regulus’ precious potted plant? Just eavesdropping for the sake of it? Regulus feels embarrassed to even be witnessing this pathetic attempt at subterfuge. But, Peter hasn’t gotten himself exposed as a spy just yet, so he must have at least two brain cells to rub together. Best not to underestimate him.

Luring him into a false sense of security it is then.

“Pettigrew,” Regulus calls out gently. They do say you catch more flies with honey than vinegar.

“Did you get lost on your way to the restroom? I hear that can happen to some people,” he inquires, a deeply sympathetic and not-at-all condescending tone in his voice.

The Marauders all crane their heads to look, seeking out their missing friend. Peter jumps out from behind the wall with a squeak.

James frowns. Has Wormtail been hiding from Snape this entire time? He probably thinks he’ll be out for their blood in particular now that he’s a Death Eater, and unfortunately, James can’t even tell him he’s wrong about that. But he can tell him it’ll be okay now — not that he did anything to fix the problem.

He bites into the corner of his cheek morosely.

“YES!” Peter readily agrees, which Regulus thinks is quite a mad thing to do.

“I-I actually still haven’t found it,” he admits, shuffling on his feet.

Regulus’ gaze drifts from him to the restroom sign at the opposite end of the corridor with a hum.

Jack peers around his shoulder. “It’s directly to your left, you dumb fuck.”

Regulus jabs him with an elbow. “Hey, be nice!” He chides before James even has a chance to.

Jack snorts. “Like that isn’t exactly what you wanted to say, you were just trying to find a nice way to put it.”

Regulus pokes him with vehemence. “Stop exposing me!”

Peter looks unnerved (and mildly offended) at the exchange. “I’ll j-just go in th-then!” He stutters out before scampering off. Regulus watches him go by idly.

So much for lulling him into a false sense of security. The man moves like he’s constantly stepping on pins and needles. Regulus wickedly hopes it’s his guilty conscience pricking at him every step of the way.

They hear a door slam closed.

“Your friend won’t somehow manage to drown himself in there, would he?” Regulus asks, directing the question to the Marauders.

Despite himself, Sirius snorts. “Oh, I’m sure Wormy can manage,” he says dismissively. Then he squints at Regulus.

“How are you so familiar with this place?”

“There is a restroom sign right there,” Regulus says flatly, pointing at it.

The Marauders turn to look. So there is.

“Then what about these people?” Sirius persists. He didn’t miss a second of that intimate interaction with that cute waitress, though he’d still been slightly zoned out.

“Why are they acting so familiar with you?” Is this the company he kept all along? People who knew he was alive in the three years Sirius was drowning in the belief that his brother was dead?

Regulus can’t help his evil smirk. “It’s because we’re all one big happy family, of course!” He gushes happily, then shoots his brother an angelic smile.

Sirius’ head appears to be slightly smoking.

“We’re usually back at headquarters, but we like coming here a lot too. And since I kind of bought the building, we come over whenever we want. It’s not like anyone can kick us out.”

There are varying levels of shock from the Gryffindors at this statement. Sirius is the first to gather some semblance of his wits enough to speak.

“You kind of… own a cafe?” It’s true Sirius didn’t try very hard to spare any thoughts for his brother since he turned twelve, but imagining Reggie as a… small business owner is such a height of absurdity it would never have crossed his mind even back then.

Owning small shops is the kind of frivolous pastime that wives of royal Houses did to look busy and not like they were constantly bored to tears. It’s not something Heirs do, and definitely not Heads of Houses themselves.

“How do you ‘kind of’ own a cafe? Why would you even buy one?”

Regulus tries to retrace his thinking to when he made this decision and can only come up with, “Why not? It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Sirius stares. There are times when he sees the Reggie he once knew and it’s too much to take in, striking every single nerve ending in his body and leaving them quivering.

And there are times like this, when he is 99 percent sure Reggie is gone forever and has now been replaced by a mutant clone.

Regulus shrugs, continuing in a chipper tone, “And you know what they say about Blacks: ‘We’ve got more money than sense’! Or is it- ‘We’re as pretty as we are crazy’?”

Jack shoots him a smirk that reads more like a leer. “You are very, very, very pretty, Boss.”

Sirius turns towards him with the promise of a painful death plastered on his face, but Regulus simply gives him a sunny smile. “Thank you!”

“And speaking of deep pockets,” Jack pouts, “Boss, I’m hungry.”

James does not expect Regulus to just reach into his coat, whip out some dosh and simply hand it over like he’s trying to prove a point.

Jack beams and snatches the note before racing off in the direction of the counter.

Polaris lets out an aggrieved sigh. “Of course it’s now he wants food, just when we’re about to leave. Not like we’ve been here all morning or anything.”

Regulus chuckles. He cups a palm at the side of his mouth.

“Jack!” He yells. “Get it to-go, we want to go!”

Jack gives him a backwards thumbs-up.

“And no sugar, or I swear to the Stars the next time you are hungry I will make you chew on your own foot!”

A mischievous cackle is her only response.

Regulus turns to Ris. Grey meets violet. He grins, the corners of his eyes crinkling up.

“You sound like his mother,” he jokes.

Polaris lets out a violent full-body shudder at that. “I am never having children,” she grimaces.

“Never?” Regulus tilts his head at her with a wide, innocent gaze. “But we have so many already.”

She rounds on him. “No, they are not! You’re the one who insists on spoiling them and tolerating their disrespect like they’re children instead of what they actually are!”

Regulus looks amused. He already knows where this is going. “Which is?”

Ris doesn’t disappoint. “A horde of faithful minions,” she declares, an unholy fire burning in her eyes. Regulus presses his lips together not to laugh. She has such interesting dreams, his sister.

She starts pacing on the spot. “If we whip them up into shape, in a few months they might even manage a semblance of dignity and proper coordination. Right now, they are a disgrace.”

“But Ris,” He reaches out and tugs on her braid to make her stop walking, inserting a petulant whine into his tone. “Look how happy they are!”

Sirius watches their interaction, gritting his teeth to control the urge to butt in and rip him away from her. He cannot for the life of him understand why his brother is acting like he’s fond of this hateful harpy.

James is instead studying the room. When he first stepped in, he’d thought it looked nothing like the type of place someone like Regulus would come to often, not even taking into account his Death Eater past. It’s even more shocking to know that he owns it.

There’s so much brightness everywhere, vibrant colours dotting every corner with little restraint, and a diverse blend of accents coming from the patrons (who are also Regulus’ family) as they chatter away merrily. It’s much more fitting for a Hufflepuff space, really.

Nothing that speaks of someone who grew up in a childhood home such as Grimmauld Place, and then lived in Slytherin dungeons for nearly four years.

Baby Black really makes a habit of subverting expectations huh? Maybe that’s why James had so much trouble finding him back in their Hogwarts days.

But now James wonders if that isn’t the point. If Regulus isn’t still trying to hide in plain sight somehow…

Or maybe he’s just trying to overcome his original circumstances and make something better of his life? Become someone better for the new family he has?

James closes his eyes momentarily, soaking in the cheerful ambiance that even lifts his own spirits, and thinks he must be succeeding.

Polaris does not look similarly moved. “This ‘happiness’ you so value,” she says it like it’s a dirty word, “Is the reason why Caelum freely detonates everything in sight, Crystal thinks it’s alright to make a nuisance of herself every other day mourning over some plant or another that she forgot to water, and Matilda keeps putting crayons into her mouth — though she’s only three so it’s expected — but then Jack joins her, because he is a beast.”

“Yeah, I should probably do something about that,” Regulus states with too much nonchalance. “He keeps telling me that the colours all have different flavours. Says he can ‘taste the rainbow’. I think they’re somehow getting him high.”

He grabs her arm and starts tugging her to the doors. “Come on, we can wait for those slackers outside.”

Jack will catch the rat if he tries anything.

James glances back at the room, feeling an aching sense of nostalgia in his chest. He finds himself reluctant to leave, but he knows he won’t be welcome if he stays.

He’s always been the kind of person to want what he can’t have, and it doesn’t seem like he’s ever going to learn his lesson.

“Come on, Prongs,” Sirius reaches for him the same way Regulus is holding Polaris. “Let’s go figure out this area and see how we can get home from here.”

He takes one last backwards glance — To check if Peter’s coming out yet, he tells himself, before he turns around and leans into Padfoot’s side.

Remus has been taking it all in as well, but unlike James, his emotional heartstrings are being pulled in a different direction.

He looks at these people, Regulus Black’s associates, all of them keeping calm and carrying on without a care in the world, their shoulders light and their laughter bright, and he feels…. disbelief. Like he’s stepped into an alternate reality.

Then vexation blooms.

Did they all just somehow forget that there’s a war going on?

It’s not possible for so many people to be so unaffected by possibly the most brutal war to ever hit the UK. Especially not when so many of them appear to come from… common origins.

Or… is it possible that they’re all former war criminals of some sort, like Regulus? He did just invite a Death Eater in here, and no one batted an eye.

How long has he owned this building? Did he ever organise it into the kind of place where his Death Eater comrades could come to be fed and treated, or to receive sensitive information? Was this some type of subunit for the Death Eaters? Could it still be? Is he really out of this war? He has too many obscure information sources and contacts within the Dark side for that to truly be the case.

Should he tell Dumbledore of this place? Remus looks at the nameplate of the building, which reads ‘The White Cat’, and squints. Is there some sort of hidden message there?

“Hey, Lupin. I can hear the gears in your head whirring from over here,” Regulus says, turning to him with a raised eyebrow.

“You are thinking too loud. It’s suspicious.”

Remus looks at him, seeing those frighteningly intelligent grey eyes that don’t seem to miss anything boring into him, and feels a now-typical sensation of unease.

But he tempers it, because Dumbledore entrusted him with gathering information, and even though his first mission failed he can still manage to bring something back. Regulus Black is his best ticket to doing that.

But first, he has to determine his allegiance.

“So does it just not bother you that there’s a war going on?” He prods, bravely meeting that stare and holding it. “You’re just satisfied with the state of things?”

“Satisfied?” Baby Black is wearing the most flummoxed expression James has ever seen. He himself frowns, darting a questioning look at Moony, then back.

What exactly are you trying to do, Moony?

“Am I satisfied?” Regulus repeats, as if doing so would somehow provide him with more clarity. It does not.

“What the fuck kind of question is that? Who the fuck likes war?”

He might have been born and bred for war, every strand of DNA and every Black blood cell in his body hungering for it, but the life he’s led has made him more of a pacifist than anything.

The voices in his head always scream at him to reap, pillage, and conquer. But then he’ll have moments like this, where he’ll blink and find nearly headless corpses in the corners of his eyes.

A mother and her infant son, stained in blood like his hands always are, wondering why Regulus didn’t save them.

“You claim to hate it so much, but I don’t see you doing anything about it.”

He tunes back into the conversation. “Ah yes, because you’ve been making headlines everyday for your work in keeping the ‘evil’ Death Eater forces at bay.”

Remus bristles at the sarcasm. “I have been doing important covert work for Dumbledore, gathering information and allies that would help our cause!”

Regulus gives him a sidelong glance. “Then I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that wars aren’t only about the ones fought on the front lines?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, have any of you been evacuating the civilians before bringing even more death to their doorsteps? You must recognise the increased rate of casualties that result from not clearing the battlefield first?”

There’s a hardness to his tone, like he’s talking from experience. James thinks he is. He wonders which battlefield Regulus was on, and if he was there at the same time, watching the same devastation unfold.

He wonders if one of them was causing it.

For almost an entire year, the Order has been getting frequent reports of thwarted Death Eater raids on muggle homes. Where they were met with only skeleton cities and neighbourhoods absent of any inhabitants.

Dumbledore had tried to look knowing when he’d addressed it in one of their meetings, saying that it was a beneficial situation perfectly under their control, but Remus had glimpsed a glint of confusion in his eyes that he couldn’t quite conceal.

That was Regulus?

“You’re the one who’s been behind that? How do you know to get people out so quickly if you aren’t part of their side anymore?”

Regulus’ eyes are completely apathetic. “Their movements are very predictable, if you know what to look for.”

Especially not if you were their former spymaster. Then it’s even laughably easy.

Still, it’s not like Regulus caused this war to be filled with stupid people.

Far from satisfying Remus, this knowledge only makes him angrier because they don’t know what to look for. Despite all of their efforts, they’re still on the back foot and might be losing this war and more of their friends by the day! And the only aces seem to be hidden up the sleeves of the most dubious people possible.

“You should still be doing more,” Remus grits out. It’s not enough to simply be moving muggles around — there isn’t exactly a shortage of commoners for Voldemort to target. Regulus can’t keep it up indefinitely, and all it’s really doing is angering the Death Eaters even more as they’ve grown more violent in their attacks towards members of the Light.

No, real meaningful effort has to come from taking steps to truly end this war. And Regulus has proven to have the means to do it — the money he’d so frivolously spent on this place could have gone a long way for the Order.

They were hard-pressed for funds at the moment — not too many Purebloods were fighting on their side after all. Padfoot lost his inheritance, and Prongs was hiding the fact that he was a vigilante from his parents because they’d keel over if they knew. He’d sunk almost all of his trust fund into the Order already, and it must’ve been all used up by now. So no money.

Regulus seems highly entertained by this remark.

“So says the great Remus Lupin. Alright then, tell me exactly what it is you think I should be responsible for.”

“I know you must have a lot of information about the Death Eaters.”

James had begged Regulus — bravely and naively — to get information from Snape, and he had not. Granted, their conversation had been loaded enough, but still. He has all these informants that he seems to just be sitting on, so many methods that could help to provide valuable intel for their cause!

“You were once on their side. You know a lot about how they operate. You might have been unwillingly conscripted, as you say, but you still did — very terrible things.”

Regulus’ eyes shift subtly to the side, his gaze connecting again with those dead green eyes.

It seems she’ll be accompanying him for the entire day then.

“Things you might want to make amends for, even if you never receive forgiveness. If you shared your information, that could be a good place to start,” Remus presses.

Regulus goes back to fully facing him. His eyes are now completely frosted over.

“My sins, whatever and however numerous they may be, are between me and my god. I won’t be atoning for them just because of what some human thinks I should be doing.”

Remus takes a deep breath, clenching his fists so he won’t end up reaching out and hitting Regulus. He doesn’t think it will end very well for him.

Regulus seems to notice his struggle, because his lips curve up in a daring smirk then he laughs — laughs right in Remus’ face.

James feels the hairs on his arms all instantly rise at that. Because that laugh, that tone of flippant, audacious disrespect, is all Sirius.

“So what are you waiting for, divine intervention?”

“I am waiting for the two idiots who started this war to finish it,” he says, and now he just sounds bored, oscillating through different emotions like he’s doing the see-saws. “You don’t really think this war is only about your simple, little, self-serving sentiments, do you?”

“I don’t get it,” James blurts out, unable to help himself. “What else could we be fighting for? Aren’t we basically on the same side?”

Regulus turns and looks at James like he’s studying a well-meaning but rather stupid child.

There’s the usual animosity there too. This once, James chooses not to let it get to him.

“Look, I know you don’t like me,” he says, maintaining eye contact. “But this war is bigger than… our problems with each other, isn’t it? We’re trying to stop a genocidal maniac who thinks he’s right in spreading discriminatory, prejudiced ideas about people who’ve done nothing except being born without ‘pure’ blood in their veins, and he’s oppressing them and encouraging people to kill everyone like them! It’s so stupid. And you care for these people too! So doesn’t it just make sense for us to help each other in taking him down along with everybody who agrees with him?”

Regulus’ gaze goes distant, and he turns to the side, seeing something only he can see.

“Oh, is that what this war is about?”

He lets out a humourless laugh. “Not a single one of you knows a single thing about anything.”

Notes:

So, I was thinking, if there can be 'The Black Dog' pub in the UK, then there can be 'The White Cat' cafe, no? 😌

Hope you enjoyed this chapter! This is my first time updating twice in a week, since originally I wrote everything as one long chapter before deciding to cut it. Also, you guys deserved it because of how much love you showed my last chapter, and I'm really so grateful 🤗

Anyways, I won't be updating again for a while, since I've gotten kind of burned out. I won't be disappearing again though, I don't think. The next chapter should be out within a month.

And for anyone who has been checking out my playlists, I've been adding/modifying them quite a bit recently since I listen to them all the time when I'm writing. My linear and cohesive Apple Music playlist here; My unhinged and very lengthy Spotify playlist here

_

Honorable mentions:

Sirius: *thinks that Regulus is either a mutant or a saint*

Saint Regulus: *is imagining pricking Peter Pettigrew with a peck of pickled peppers*

Chapter 21: Sometimes to run is the brave thing

Summary:

He had promised his two precious people who stuck with him through thick and thin that he would get them out of this house one day. And he was about to keep his word.

Finally about to be worth something.

He tightened his grip on them both, seeing Kreacher’s spectre blink into existence right beside him.

Be brave, Reggie…

Notes:

The angst is strong in this one 😓 I used up all of my brain cells to write this chapter. I stupid now 🫠

(TW: Graphic depictions of human experimentation, body modification, fictional medical inaccuracies, mentions of war, slavery, GORE, mass murder, violence, vomiting, death, physical and psychological trauma, LOTS OF SELF HARM and suicidal ideation)

21.

— — — — — — — — Back to the Past — — — — — — 

Regulus followed Voldemort as he descended down the stairs of the Malfoy manor. The Dark Lord’s swirling black cloak trailed ominously behind him with every step he took into further darkness.

Regulus tried not to fixate on the open spot in-between his shoulder blades; tried not to feel the weight of the sword and scabbard hanging from his sides. All it would take is one smooth, sharp thrust and it would all be over. He would be free.

The temptation was clawing at him, almost choking him, refusing to be tempered by the fact that he knew he wasn’t able to take on Voldemort just yet, though the man appeared unarmed. That if he failed he would never be able to return home to Lydia and she would be alone forever. The siren song singing in his veins was still urging him to try, to fight, to kill, and he had to keep his eyes fixed on his feet and his breathing as shallow as possible without making a sound so he wouldn’t give into it.

He let his curiosity about what the monstrosity wanted from him temper his bloodlust, desperately casting his thoughts into a different spiral before Voldemort could sense the threat behind him.

“Tell me, Heir Black,” Voldemort spoke, slippered feet still slithering onwards.

“Do you know what a chimaera is?”

Regulus threw all of his thoughts in that direction, scanning his brain for any information it could produce.

He frowned when he came up blank. “I don’t believe I’ve come across that term before, my Lord.”

Voldemort’s footsteps didn’t falter, unsurprised by his answer. Regulus let out a quietly relieved sigh.

“A chimaera,” The Dark Lord began, in a tone of a lecturing school professor, “Is a specimen whose organic matter has been fused with that of another biological organism, in order to produce a somewhat yet-not-completely different species. A hybrid creature, if you will.”

Regulus…did not like where this was going. He swallowed, saying nothing.

His reticence was apparently perfectly acceptable, because Voldemort continued:

“In my spare time, when I am not listening to the excuses and pathetic whinings from the idiots I call followers, I have dedicated myself to researching this phenomenon which most seem to have written off as a fantastic notion…”

The staircase was getting lighter now, finally levelling out. They were approaching the basement.

“I first learned about it in the private reading materials of one of my school professors, many years ago. It was fascinating. Chimaerism is something that can occur naturally, though very sparsely. However, it is the artificial processes I am interested in. To create another living thing, to form it with your own hands…you would be shaking hands with God, would you not?”

So…Voldemort was a mad scientist with a god-complex on the side? Interesting, interesting. Know thy enemy, and all that. Regulus was suddenly way more riveted by the conversation, his murderous musings finally ceasing their clamour.

“Most artificial chimaerism occurs within the same species, though human-to-animal chimaerism has been proposed to be possible. A scientist, one of the only ones worthy of the title, recently conducted an experiment with mice, where she took parts of the brain out from one mouse and inserted it into seven others successfully. Quite the groundbreaking feat…although she is an American commoner,” Voldemort bristled in distaste, and Regulus could not work out which word disgusted him the most.

He soon settled and went back to sounding thoughtful. “And seven… Yes, seven is a good number.”

Regulus let out a little listening hum, marking his words down in his mind for further pondering.

“But I have still bested her, because I already worked out that something like that is possible…with humans.”

His feet finally hit flat ground, and Regulus could no longer ignore the sensations assaulting his senses. The smell… NOM DE DIEU, WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT???

Voldemort kept moving forward, unbothered, and Regulus forced himself to match his pace, trying to acclimatise himself with the stench as quickly as possible so he wouldn’t end up retching.

He looked around, trying to figure out what was down here. There was only a subtle amount of light, and with it he was able to see…cages. Cages upon cages upon cages, in the fucking dungeons Lucius Malfoy apparently kept sequestered beneath in his residence. A little too on brand with the Slytherin theme, if you asked him. Regulus was surprised he never knew of them before; the Malfoy Heir was usually quite eager to brag about his worldly possessions.

Fucking peacock.

There were people, human beings in those cages. What, was the Dark Lord running his own private human trafficking ring or something?

Regulus took a closer look and immediately slashed that thought all the way across.

No… These people were all dead.

There was a stash of cages filled with corpses in Lucius Malfoy’s basement, too numerous to count, and the Dark Lord was leading him on a merry tramp through the place like they were taking a casual walk in the park.

Regulus was digging his fingernails into his palms as they kept passing more and more cells filled with dried blood, partially naked corpses discarded about with skin so rigid their bones stuck out, some of them even missing various body parts. ALL of them had expressions of utter horror and heart-clenching misery on their faces.

Regulus’ stomach roiled and roiled as they continued to walk. Voldemort…really saw these people as cattle, didn’t he? What kind of heartless demon would do this? Why wasn’t this place filled with flies as thick as a wall surrounding them, attracted to all the death and decay? What PERVERSION OF NATURE was he using to keep them away???

The cages faded away as Voldemort took a sharp turn in the corridor, and now Regulus could spot various rooms with glass screenings enclosing them and white lights dangling from their ceilings. There were people trapped inside them as well, but they appeared to be alive — or some form of it. Like living dolls, part of whatever horrific collection Voldemort was keeping.

Regulus spotted a man, his slightly greying head of hair ensnared in a pillory. There was a gold ring with a black gem affixed onto his finger.

Regulus passed another container, one with a girl strapped to a semi-upright bed, several tubes stuck into her arms. Her face was blissfully unconscious…while her hands clenched an amber goblet tightly in-between them like it was adhered to her skin.

The third room was the one Voldemort led him into. Regulus dutifully brought up the rear, bracing himself for whatever he might find there.

This room, he observed as Voldemort slid the screen aside and led him into it, seemed like the Dark Lord’s current workspace. It was more spacious than the rest, and had shelves and surfaces swarmed with jars made up of brown and light glass, filled with countless components of biological origin that Regulus really did not want to think too much about. There were several silver and plastic lab apparatuses littered about; something bubbling at the corner in a beaker.

It was like being back in Slughorn’s Chemistry class.

And right at his flank, just a few metres away, there was a girl, lying in an elevated bed.

She was… asleep. Her chest moved up and down in a regular, rhythmic movement. None of her limbs twitched even the slightest bit.

Her eyes were open.

They stared sightlessly at the ceiling. Unseeing. Unheeding. Completely white.

Her irises…appeared to be missing. There was just…sclera…and the vaguest hint of a pupil.

The hairs on his arms rose up all at once. Because — that wasn’t even the worst part.

Her skull cap…had been peeled back…exposing a large amount of her brain. There were…things inside it, clips holding some parts of the skin apart from the rest, a tool that looked like it had been drilled INTO HER HEAD near her ear.

And to complete the macabre picture, a sapphire crown was sown into the flesh around her brow.

If Regulus was even the slightest bit of an amateur, his jaw would be hanging open.

Selene, Hera, Jupiter, JESUS CHRIST. What on EARTH was happening here???

“Still breathing, is she?” Voldemort leisurely crossed the room in front of Regulus, turning to peer down at his captive with idle curiosity. Regulus’ pulse jack-rabbitted against his ribcage as the Dark Lord walked past.

It was smart, healthy even, to be afraid of Voldemort. But Regulus had not known this sort of bone-deep terror for a while.

“Hmm…excellent. This specimen is coming along…nicely.”

Voldemort then slowly craned his head around and looked at Regulus.

He went as still as a statue, pausing even in his breathing.

“Do you know when it was disproved that the human soul did not in fact reside in the heart, but in the brain?” The Dark Lord asked evenly.

Regulus could feel his own heart beating against his throat. “When, my Lord?”

“In 550 BC. Pythagoras argued for cephalocentrism, a theory Alcmaeon of Croton proposed that states that the soul of a man actually resides in his brain, not his heart. The brain is what is immortal. The heart is…nothing more than an engine powering the body’s functions. If the heart dies, then the brain should be able to keep functioning regardless. The body is just a prison, a useless sack for the brain. Everything that you are, everything that you will ever be…”

Voldemort raised a claw-tipped finger and pointed it at Regulus’ temple, creeping closer. Regulus desperately prayed to every deity he even remotely believed in that he wasn’t sweating.

“…is in here.” He lightly tapped Regulus on the forehead, a sort of playfulness to his actions.

He bit down on his cheek hard, not daring to let out a breath till the Dark Lord pulled away. Voldemort went back to studying the girl on the bed.

“These…subjects of mine, are not simply chimaeras. I am evolving them into higher, more immortal forms. You see, I call them — soul containers.”

He turned those slitted pupils towards Regulus once more. “Horcruxes.”

Horcruxes. A nightmare of the Dark Lord’s own twisted invention. Something so horrible it required the sacrifices of mountains of human corpses in order to be achieved.

“The process has been…difficult, but it is fairly simple in theory. Retract the scalp. Trepanate the skull. Cut open the meningeal membrane. Create a lesion in the frontal cortex in order to erase the other soul from the body. Insert enough of one’s own stem cells to create an immunoconditioned clone. This part is the most important, as you cannot adequately inhabit another form if it would be rejecting your essence the entire time. Once that part is successful, sever enough of the spinal cord so that when the time comes, the brain can be effectively…replaced.”

Regulus’ eyelids briefly flickered. What? REPLACED?

“When this succeeds, which enough of them do as I always get results, I have them trained in my practices, in my desires, and in my purpose. In my absence, they will carry out my will, and in the case of my death, they will take my brain into their bodies and I will return…reformed.”

Voldemort was…talking about…passing down his brain…into a different body. Bodies.

This…was insanity…of a different scale.

“Such a simple thing, and yet none other has been intelligent enough to imagine it,” The Dark Lord sneered, “In over two thousand years. Although…”

He tilted his neck to the side again in that unnatural motion. Like his neck didn’t have any bones.

Like he has a partially severed spinal cord! Regulus thought, shrieking inwardly.

“…Not any ordinary simpleton would be capable of carrying out such a procedure. It requires enormous amounts of sacrifice. And precision — ugh. It can be so hard to achieve when they fight back. When their soul tries to cling on. But, if they’re too passive then they are more likely to succumb to bloodletting before the process is even finished. Or their DNA is too incompatible with my own, too unworthy, and they foolishly reject it until they die. Countless subjects have gone to waste this way. It’s been a delicate balance of trial-and-error.”

Regulus wasn’t quite sure why Voldemort was telling him all this. Did he…want Regulus to recognise his efforts? Appreciate all of the hard work he put into experimenting on and then bleeding civilians to death without anyone to hear their cries for help?

Regulus was too horror-struck to say a word, careful to keep it off his face…but too mute to even think of a response.

“It is a good thing I had such a bountiful supply of specimens…” Voldemort’s eyes slid over to Regulus, a smirk tinting his lips.

“Isn’t it…Regulus?”

…This is what Voldemort has been doing with the information he’d sent Regulus on missions to so many trafficking rings to gather? Stealing people so broken down by slavery that he could just… eject their souls from their bodies without too much trouble?

He turned back to the girl on the bed, too cowardly and filled with self-hatred to risk meeting the Dark Lord’s gaze a second longer.

There were — silent tears — streaming down her face.

Holy Hesperides, was she still conscious?

If Lydia’s brother hadn’t sacrificed himself for her, would Regulus be looking down at her right now? Her soul unrecognisable to his own, her body being prepared for a psychotic madman to parasitise?

He found he could not follow that line of thinking too far. His abused stomach finally lurched, and it was the goddamn fight of his life to keep his mouth closed and swallow everything down without giving any indication of his revulsion.

He wanted to kill himself. He wanted to reach for his wakizashi right now and slit his own throat. But no — he couldn’t. She wouldn’t let him die. She needed him.

He stared at the crying girl, fighting to keep clinging onto himself and not shatter into a million pieces right there.

“Look at her crown, so pretty,” The Dark Lord crooned, pleased by what he perceived as admiration from Regulus. “My Horcruxes must have nothing but the best of finery. I’ve nearly gotten the complete set.”

Sirius would kill this man, right here and now, or die trying and DAMN THE CONSEQUENCES. He would trash his lab and burn his research papers and set everything on fire, including this madman, so this evil can never be replicated.

Regulus just…stood there and watched it happen.

“What only remains is — the sword.” Voldemort’s eyes darkened in anger. “The sword…it eludes me.”

Regulus tentatively tested his ability to talk. “The sword, my Lord?”

Voldemort gave him a look like he expected his stupidity. “I speak of the sword of Godric Gryffindor.”

The sword… complete set… Wait.

Regulus’ eyes blew wide open inside his mind. Slytherin’s locket — this must be Ravenclaw’s diadem — was that Hufflepuff’s cup back there?

Voldemort was collecting the Hogwarts founders’ items…then stitching them onto living beings?

The Dark Lord was still regarding him with silent disdain. “And that will be your next mission,” he spoke after a moment. “I want you to locate the sword and bring it to me.”

His condescension turned pointed, aimed at somebody who was not there to receive it. “That is the last object I will need in order to finally crush that filthy Light Leader fool. His army will be destabilised the moment he sees Godric’s sword, a man he so idolises, in the hands of one of mine. Yes, it should be brought onto my side as quickly as possible. And you will find it for me.”

This self-proclaimed elusive sword — it would take a while to find. Voldemort would not expect him to bring it back so quickly — especially since he admitted it has been hard for him to find. And this was clearly a job that could justify the use of a helper.

This…was what Regulus has been waiting for all along. A longer leash…and a way to spirit Lydia away with it.

All of his year-long goals culminated into that single moment. He had to be sure he would not leave even a fraction of a chance of messing this up.

He inhaled, visualised the words he was going to say, repeated them a few times in his head till he had them memorised, then exhaled.

The world held its breath.

“May I make use of my House Elf, my Lord?”

“Your House Elf?” Voldemort frowned in thought. “That trippy little thing?”

“…She is very good at fitting into very small spaces, my Lord,” Regulus replied.

He wasn’t even lying about that, unfortunately. Lydia had filled in a bit, but she was still so tiny.

Voldemort mulled it over further. “That is always useful,” he finally remarked. He focused his full attention back on Regulus.

“You will make use of your House Elf to accomplish this task.”

“…Your will is my command, my Lord,” Regulus conceded, bowing low while privately perplexed on how he went from requesting to bring her along to being ordered to do it.

Voldemort gave him a secretive serpentine smile. “Yes. It is. Also…” He spun around, his robes licking at his heels as he strode to the corner of the room and pressed a button on the wall, right underneath a set of communication receivers.

Then he hissed into it, a guttural, snake-like sort of language emerging from his throat.

Regulus did his best to maintain his blank expression. What the fuck?

The screen door slid open after several seconds. Then a man walked inside.

Wearing sunglasses. With Slytherin’s locket looped around his neck.

Regulus’ bloodlust powerfully reawakened.

KILL IT! A thousand different voices shrieked inside his head, their fury too potent to ignore.

Regulus winced, but thankfully the Dark Lord had his eyes fixated on the newcomer right then.

“You will take him along with you as well.”

Damn… The Dark Lord was the gift that just kept on giving today.

This meant Regulus didn’t have to seek out whatever monstrosity this was in order to get revenge for his sister. Here was Voldemort just offering him up to Regulus’ tenderless mercies on a silver platter.

He was so close to fulfilling his promise to her now, he could almost taste it.

Regulus literally had to swallow back the saliva build-up from his bloodthirst in order to speak. “Yes, my Lord.”

“I am giving you six months to locate the Sword of Gryffindor and bring it to me,” Voldemort continued. “If you do not accomplish this, then I will have no further use for you. He will see to that. If you do manage to locate the sword,” He exchanged a glance with the — the Horcrux.

“Then he will carry out the necessary next steps. This mission is of utmost importance. Do not fail me.”

“I am very grateful for this opportunity, my Lord.” And oh, how he was. “I will do my best to succeed.” No, he will not.

‘Farewell, you fucking freak.’

“Good. Find the sword then return to my side.”

Regulus recognised a dismissal when he heard it. With one last bow, he turned to leave.

Then Voldemort said something that made Regulus falter in his steps momentarily.

“I am sure it will find a good home in your hands.”

---

Regulus kept a calm, unhurried pace as he returned to Grimmauld Place.

He stepped inside, closed the front door, headed straight for his room, gently sidestepped Lydia’s awaiting arms, made a beeline for the washroom, locked the door, dropped to his knees, then vomited violently.

He clutched the toilet bowl, gasping and heaving up everything that could possibly come out of him. The stench, the sights, the smells…all of it was so horrible he wished he could dunk his face in acid and lose his senses permanently so he could never remember any of it. Just thinking of it again made the bile rise up, and he clutched the cistern in his hands like a lifeline as he once more bowed into it and puked.

Lydia was banging on the door, hearing his distress. He groaned, wanting to get up, wanting to get a grip, not wanting to worry her.

But every time he’d try to open the door, he’d picture her face peering directly at him, and his mind conjured up the sight of her strapped to that bench, her brain exposed and the purples of her eyes bleached white from Voldemort’s experiments…

… And his stomach would lurch right back up into his throat.

He convulsed again, his form crumpling up like a squeezed paper bag. He was dying, he thought, as the sickness attacked him in all-encompassing waves again and again, not letting up for even a second. And there was always more to hurl up. No part of him was spared. He was convinced he would soon start spewing up his own entrails.

The door frame flew off to the side and crashed against the wall.

Right. He’d taught Lydia how to use lock picks.

She stormed into the small room, marched right up behind him and dug her fingertips into his collarbones.

“Reg, Starboy, let me help,” she murmured. The familiar weight of her nails digging into him already felt grounding, and he raised his face up, fighting the pressure to sink back down again.

She raked those nails through his hair, slipping his black locks behind his ears and away from his face, while he focused on trying to take in one breath, then the next.

When no more bile was forthcoming, she reached out and flushed, then filled a cup from the sink with water and brought it to him.

He made himself sip, then spit, wiping away the traces of his nausea from his mouth. He shakily raised his wrist, pressing it against his quivering lips.

His eyes overflowed with tears.

Regulus shattered.

All the work he’d put into holding himself together in Voldemort’s torture chamber fell apart right there on his washroom floor.

He wailed in agony, screaming while slamming his palms again and again on the edges of the ceramic bowl and then against the floor, trying to break his bones. Trying to make himself bleed.

Because he needed to see it, to fully visualise just how much blood was staining his hands now. They should look mangled up and monstrous, flooded with crimson by the boatloads, constantly haemorrhaging it out of him — and HOW WAS HE EVER SUPPOSED TO WASH IT ALL OFF???

“STOP.”

He stilled.

Lydia grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around. “Starboy, look at me.”

He looked. He had to keep blinking every millisecond in order to see her, fresh tears spilling out of his eyes and streaming down his face, pitiful whimpers escaping his mouth as his chest caved in and his lungs reduced in size and his heart strangled itself inside of him.

He wanted to die. He wanted to die so badly.

“You are fine. It is alright. Regulus, snap out of it!”

He could feel the racing of his lungs start to slow, his body trying to follow her command, but it was still so hard to catch his breath.

Nothing was alright. Not a single thing.

Lydia raised her palm and slapped him.

His head rocked to the side. The sting brought some much needed clarity back to him, knocking some of the dark, cavernous thoughts from his mind.

Pain made sense. He deserved all of it and more.

She cupped his cheek gently and turned his face back to hers, erasing the burn in the next second.

“YOU ARE ALRIGHT,” She asserted, so firmly it could only be the truth.

“Here, breathe with me.” Picking up his throbbing hand, she placed it directly over her steadily beating heart.

“Always breathe with me. Just like this.”

She watched him measuredly as he began to match her breaths, calming as he drew strength from her iron resolve.

There was a hint of something rueful in her eyes as she watched him, like she was seeing somebody else at the same time.

Not for the first time, Regulus wondered what kind of brother Dorian was. Surely, he couldn’t have been such a pathetic one like Regulus?

When his breathing calmed, she used her tiny thumbs to attempt to wipe up the tears soaking his face.

“Do you…want to talk about it?” She tentatively asked.

Regulus froze in place, his pupils blowing wide as he remembered the horrors he’d witnessed.

Mountains of deceased corpses… There were OCEANS of innocent blood on his hands.

He whined, tears raining down again as he shook his head frantically, then leaned forward and buried himself into the crook of her shoulder, blocking out the world.

She let him hide there, stroking his hair and down his back with a kindness he did not deserve.

“Whatever it is, I am here. Alright? I am here.”

He trembled, nearly crushing her as he held on for dear life. She didn’t utter a sound of complaint, continuing to offer him unearned yet unwavering comfort.

He knew he did not deserve her, that he was just a pathetic, unworthy spare who only managed to step up when it was too little too late to save everybody he wanted to — but he still —

“I got us out,” he choked out, hardly able to believe it. His voice quaked like the London Bridge was falling down all around them, and he had to tighten his grip on her for a stable purchase to cling onto.

He felt her stiffen.

“Ma sœur, mon cœur, I got us out,” he helplessly repeated.

“We can leave.”

---

One week till they were to depart.

Regulus shut himself up for days in the Black family library.

The…soulless kidnapper had arrived at his front door on the eve of the day he’d been given the Dark Lord’s assignment. He had to invite it inside and explain to his parents that this would be his companion on the new quest the Dark Lord was sending him on, which would require him to be away for a minimum of six months.

Oh, and he was taking the House Elf with him. Since Voldemort had ordered it.

They hadn’t questioned anything he said, instead staring at the Horcrux with varying expressions of consternation. They could probably sense the abomination for what it was. As such, they refused to allow it to remain in the house, and the Horcrux was now taking up residence in his backyard. It didn’t seem to mind, taking up an almost military position as it stood outside in the same spot, day and night, rain or shine.

Regulus pitied it.

Lydia had taken up watching it from the closest window she could find, thumbing her tanto while she did so.

He left her to it.

Now he was in the library, investigating whatever he could find about Voldemort.

The Dark Lord had given him a lot to work with — now he just needed to start putting the pieces together.

Obviously, there was no word of ‘Voldemort’ in the history sections. The man had to come from somewhere, yet the enigma surrounding his origins was clearly something he wielded in order to exert power through mystique. No one could find a weakness from his past to use against him if no one could find him.

But Regulus was a spymaster — it was his job to find out obscure knowledge. He would find this out too.

He gathered all of the notes he’d taken down for his current research into the monstrosity and stared at it.

The Dark Lord was a man obsessed with legacy. His fixation on the Founder’s items and the inhumane experimentations he carried out on human beings had proven that.

He literally wanted to live on in the bodies of countless people, continuing to pass down his propaganda and malicious agendas for generations. If he had his way, the world would never be rid of him.

But, Regulus knew quite a bit about legacies. He was a Black, after all.

The Black family shared almost the same preoccupation with perpetuity that Voldemort did — Toujours Pur this and that and whatnot. With their practice of marrying cousins only a few times removed and naming their family members after constellations whose names were passed down only after a few generations — keeping the bloodline ‘pure’ (and their madness assured) — Regulus could say that yes, his relatives and ancestors hadn’t quite descended into human experimentation, but they had very much achieved a terribly twisted natural form of it.

No one could ever forget that the Black family existed. And they never would.

So Voldemort and the Blacks had this in common… except the Blacks were a Noble and Most Ancient House. ‘Voldemort’ was not.

He would know. He was taught every single thing about every Noble House ever spawned since the founding of Great Britain, and that name had never come up. He would’ve quite easily remembered it too, since it was French. But nope. Rien du tout. Nothing.

It had to be an alias.

This seemed to be a very big clue.

Maybe he was biassed, since he himself descended from a legacy, but he thought that if one wanted to go about making a legacy, they should just…make one.

Yes, his family did go about it very…excessively, but the basics of it consisted of passing down their name and lineage onto other descendants of their family and expanding their genealogy.

Even his brother and his Gryffindor friends made the Marauders into a legacy — even only by making legendary nuisances of themselves.

They didn’t do…whatever Voldemort was doing to those poor people trapped in Lucius Malfoy’s basement, and to himself as well.

It came across like he was trying too hard.

Was he possibly infertile?

Regulus quickly steered away from that line of thinking. He did NOT want to start speculating about Voldemort’s bloody bits.

Though…any sterility he may have incurred in this life, Regulus didn’t doubt it was probably self-inflicted.

He recalled that Voldemort had a god complex, and what he’d said about people being simpletons who’d never thought of extending their own lifespan for thousands of years.

Yes, people did not think about extending their own lifespans if they were secure that their teachings and traditions would get passed on anyways. Nobles married, had children, and let them inherit the wealth they’d built and the titles they’d earned and the properties they’d carved out from the rest of the world. Commoners did so as well, if they managed to make something of themselves. They let their children pass on their memory, and that ancestral history was more potent than any one living man could ever be. Extending your own life WAS NOT NECESSARY.

Voldemort had tried to prop himself up as this figure who couldn’t trust others to be able to carry on his vision properly…but it just read as an excuse.

It had to be bullshit. Either that, or he was even more of a coward than Regulus himself.

Vol de mort — Flight from death. It was all in the name, huh.

Couldn’t be him. Regulus was properly suicidal, thank you very much.

So far, his thoughts were revolving around the fact that Voldemort was not acting like a Noble, though he’d claimed the title of being a ‘Lord’. And he couldn’t very well pass on a fake name if he ever decided to inflict any of his offspring on this already apocalyptic world.

But — didn’t he often boast and refer to himself as the Heir of Slytherin? There must be something there.

Somehow, being the Heir of Slytherin and Dumbledore’s sworn nemesis made too much sense.

Regulus rolled over and reached for the thick tome on the Slytherin family line.

The earliest and most notable member of the Slytherin line was Salazar Slytherin himself, whose direct line died out because of inbreeding (‘These motherfuckers never fucking learn’) and was combined with the direct line of Cadmus Peverell to create the House of Gaunt.

The Peverell line actually had connections with the Potter family…

Regulus felt chemical rage burst aflame in his brain and quickly squashed that thought. NO thinking about Potters if he wanted to get any work done.

Okay, so the Gaunt family line sparsely intertwined with the Sayre family, who were said to be descended from Morrigan herself. Pretty cool, actually. There were also recorded inter-marriages with the Boots and the Stewards’ families before…

Well…before the Gaunts started marrying sibling to sibling. As one does. Obviously.

Their family gene pool became very unstable after that, and they squandered their wealth and descended into an annihilating sort of madness which eventually caused them to die out.

Personally, Regulus was just proud that his own family weren’t the most tragic cases in the whole of Great Britain, and actually produced a perfectly moderate amount of basketcases.

It was towards the end of the Gaunt line that Regulus focused his sights.

Morfin and Merope Gaunt. One was serving out a sentence in Azkaban for the murder of a commoner, and the other was a squib said to have run away from her family without a trace.

They were brother and sister. Either one of them could’ve had a child. With each other, even.

So where was this Heir of Slytherin?

The Gaunts lived in a little shack in Little Hangleton. Regulus went to the section where all of the newspaper collections were stored.

Births to Noble Houses were the kinds of things that made the front page news (the Gaunts were members of the Sacred Twenty Eight, though they were a royal disgrace). Even if this blasted baby’s name wasn’t recorded, he might at least read up on any news from Little Hangleton to see if there was a marriage announcement regarding one of the Gaunt siblings.

Any name at all would suffice — even that of a spouse.

What he found instead was a record of a trial carried out against Morfin Gaunt, for a hate crime where he’d installed a hive of vicious wasps inside the home of a commoner man named Tom Riddle.

Electricity zapped down his spine as he read.

Tom Riddle. He slowly circled the text with his fingertips.

That…was a name he had seen before.

Where? WHERE?

He started pacing, up and down and up and down, so deliciously close to something.

It was…written on a plaque.

Regulus stopped, gears spinning around like tops in his mindscape.

There was a trophy room in Hogwarts, where he’d secluded himself several times when needing to make a quick getaway from some Gryffindor git.

He’d sat down and read a selection of the Brontë sisters’ novels right beside a huge ‘Special Award for Services to the School’ accolade bestowed upon a ‘Tom Riddle’.

Tom Riddle… He’d looked into him one day out of passing curiosity.

He was a member of Slytherin House…around the same time that Dumbledore was only the Head of Gryffindor House.

Voldemort had said it was from one of his old professors that he had been introduced to the concept of chimaerism. He hadn’t said what school he’d attended…but was it possible that Voldemort had gone to Hogwarts?

He had an obsession with the Founders’ artefacts…and called himself the Heir of Slytherin. It fit. In fact, it would’ve been unthinkable had he not gone to Hogwarts, in retrospect. One could only properly loathe Albus Dumbledore after sharing the same space with him for a regrettable amount of time — he would know.

Now, there had to be two Tom Riddles.

That trial for the assault of a commoner was in 1925. The award for Special Services was given in 1943.

Time travel was improbable. The possible sister-fucker could not have spent three years in Azkaban for attacking a commoner who had somehow gone back to his youth and become a distinguished student at Hogwarts Academy. His father, Marvolo, had also received a sentence around the same time, apparently for strangling Merope, his daughter, in front of a law enforcement officer.

Bloody hell, these people were barmy and so fucking stupid.

Why did he strangle Merope?

Why was the only baby in the picture Tom Riddle Snr’s? He lived in Little Hangleton as well…maybe he and Merope knew each other. Were entangled with each other.

Maybe she ran away to marry him.

Imagine — the Dark Lord who ruled over most of the Sacred Twenty Eight families in Great Britain, who had Purebloods quaking in fear at his name — being a Half-Blood.

An ironic chuckle escaped Regulus’ lips. He resumed his previous position of being sprawled across the floor, wrote down the name ‘Tom Riddle’ and circled it idly with his pen while he thought.

This was all still just conjecture. Nothing was solidly connecting Tom Riddle with Lord Voldemort. Even considering that he could be descended from a commoner was absurd, but Regulus’ brain worked in very mysterious ways these days.

His thoughts branched off into a new direction.

What if there was some kind of bridge between the two that he was missing? A… middle name, maybe?

It was a Pureblood tradition to give male children middle names after one of their direct paternal relatives.

Tom Riddle Jnr’s father was also called Tom — was his name Tom Tom Riddle?

Tom Tommy? Tom Thomas?

Regulus started to snicker, entertained by his own musings.

Alright, that was enough ludicrousness. If Merope was the mother of Tom Riddle Jnr, she might’ve named him after…her father, most likely.

So Tom Marvolo Riddle. That was a mouthful. Though he didn’t really have room to talk — being Regulus Arcturus Black.

Regulus thoughtfully wrote ‘Marvolo’ in between Tom Riddle’s name.

There was still no record of such a person. He needed more.

He poked the first name over and over with his pen, hoping to injure it into giving him something more concrete.

Tom, Tom, TOM.

Unbidden, his mind flipped the word around. MOT.

Regulus slowly sat up.

MOT- That almost sounded like…

He glanced at the full name again. There was an ‘R’ in Riddle.

He added it to the other three letters…now spelling MORT.

DE- Again borrowed from Riddle.

VOL- It was right there in Marvolo.

He was now looking at a completed spelling of ‘Voldemort’.

It was LITERALLY in the fucking name?

What do the other letters spell?

Regulus feverishly worked on deciphering the newly discovered anagram, and it wasn’t much longer before he put his pen down.

I — AM — LORD — VOLDEMORT.

He sat on his knees and stared at his frantic scribblings for a long time…then slowly looked up with a deadpan expression.

Sweet Salazar… What a dramatic fucking DUMBARSE your descendant is.

He raised his palms and buried his face in them from the cringe of it all.

The Dark Lord, ruler over majority of the Dark factions and an all-around menace to society — was a fucking baby who was crying out for attention.

And a Half-Blood.

Regulus started to laugh.

Shoulders shaking, he fell back to the floor amongst all of the notes and newspapers and laughed uncontrollably.

If his mental castles hadn’t already crumbled to dust, he just might have become a racist Blood Purist right then and there.

Because — he’d been kneeling to a Half-Blood?

Bowing and scraping — to a HALF-BLOOD??

BRANDED BY A HALF-BLOOD???

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”

He laughed himself sick, feeling his lungs burn and enjoying the pain that came along with it.

Laughed at the fact that Voldemort was leading the whole country about by the nose and all these rich, uppity fools were basically slicing it off their faces in order to let him do it.

Laughed at the fact that Walburga and Orion, so high above the earth upon their pedestal of self-importance, had offered up their only Heir to the same type of man they’d stepped on to climb up there.

Laughed at the fact that Albus Dumbledore must’ve known this former student with a profound grudge against him, had known he was the farthest thing from a Pureblood, yet allowed him to go about spreading Blood Purity propaganda and gaining a zealous following without letting out even a whisper of the truth.

His breaths were coming in wheezes now, his ribs aching with every movement. He felt like they were getting crushed, like they would splinter apart inside his chest if he let out any more cackles but he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t even properly inhale, and as he tried blinking away the tears caused by his hapless mirth he could see spots dotting his vision.

No. He was not about to asphyxiate and die on the floor of this fucking house.

With enormous effort, he pushed himself up then slammed his face into the nearest bookcase.

He could feel the wood slightly breaking the skin on his forehead, and he rested it there for a moment, absorbing the coolness to calm his racing pulse even further, before flopping back down again.

Now he just felt boneless. Empty. Where a moment ago he’d been filled with too much feeling, now every nerve cell in his body attested to its numbness. It was like his brain had suddenly been swapped with a cloud.

Maybe he shouldn’t have told Lydia to give him space while he researched. How was he supposed to get up off the floor now?

He imagined her voice in his mind, sharply demanding for him to get up at once.

He got up.

Calmly, he swiped the trickle of blood from his brow. The lethargy clung to him like the warm embrace of Death, but he couldn’t just sink into it — he had work to do. Mindlessly, he packed away all of his papers then floated out of the library.

Regulus ignored his recent and wholly unwelcome shadow, lightly striding down the corridors of Grimmauld Place till he reached the laundry room and shut the door in his mother’s face.

He made sure it was locked before he sat on a stool — Kreacher’s stool — and thought.

They were setting out in less than two days now. He’d started packing already, though truthfully there wasn’t much he wanted to take with him.

He needed their getaway to be as clean as could be.

He hummed, eyeing the ironing board where he’d set out some of his clothes to be pressed. Dragging his seat towards it, he reached over and switched the iron on then grabbed a nearby clothes hanger.

Holding it in one hand, he pushed back his sleeve and exposed his Dark Mark with the other.

Getting branded by the Dark Lord’s symbol was a two-fold process; A skull with a vivid green snake creeping out of it was tattooed onto each Death Eater’s arm.

First though, there was an incision made. And an implantation.

Regulus could admit that he was pretty out of it while it was being done, his mind only scattered into pieces back then instead of this devolved situation he now had going on.

Some type of transmitter had been sewn into his skin, right beneath the curve of the snake, and it sent an electric shock down his arm whenever the Dark Lord needed him.

Because he couldn’t just use a pager like a normal person.

The pulse grew stronger — more painful — if he was kept waiting. Or furious.

Carefully, Regulus angled the tip of the metal hook towards the point of his arm where he frequently felt the summon — then dug deep.

He breathed out slowly, feeling forgotten stitches being ripped apart, then heard something clatter onto the ground.

With blood-stained hands, he picked it up and scrutinised it, wondering how the thing worked. He wanted to study it, if possible.

He had no idea if it had a tracking device. Regulus doubted it, but he couldn’t discount the theory entirely. So he decided he would test it.

He had informed the Dark Lord of his intent to begin the search for Godric’s sword in Godric’s Hollow. The founder’s hometown was as sensible a place as any to start looking.

He wasn’t expected back for six months. The Dark Lord shouldn’t be shock-summoning him before that time was up — or even at all anymore.

But he might…if Regulus never went to Godric’s Hollow.

And the only way he would know that was if the thing had a tracker.

Regulus’ role required discretion — it was expected that he would remain unseen during his search. Voldemort couldn’t find his whereabouts through simply asking around — and he was planning to escape him this way.

But if there was a tracker, that would make things complicated. He would have to ditch the thing as soon as possible somehow. Couldn’t very well stay on the run with someone who knew your exact movements.

If there wasn’t a tracker though, the Dark Lord would just assume his Horcrux had taken care of Regulus after he failed to accomplish the mission, or that some other terrible thing had befallen him. The goal was to never be found and forced to return.

He would have to take the risk in order to know for sure. So he would not be heading for Godric’s Hollow. They would make a detour the second that they could…then dispose of the Horcrux.

The thing was supposed to kill him, after all, if Regulus didn’t find this stupid sword. A fail-safe to keep Voldemort’s secrets, no doubt. Well, he had no intention of finding that weapon for the Dark Lord to use. Much less use through him.

It also didn’t escape him that Voldemort must have more aces up his sleeve. “Seven is a good number”, he’d said…but there were four founders. What could the other three items be? What was the deal that man strapped to the medieval torture device in that one room? That ring he wore had to have some significance, so was it one? How many of these Horcruxes had he already made?

If Regulus was…to be made into one…then he could safely assume that there were six others already in some form of existence. Locket, ring, cup, diadem — that made four. Two were missing — hidden?

Regulus was the sword that would make up the seven.

He would sooner burn into ashes than ever allow Voldemort pervert his body with his disgusting DNA.

He was not somebody else’s soul container. He was a Black, and one day he would teach that parasitic vermin exactly what that means.

For now though, he was nearly home free. For now, he could savour the sweet taste of victory on his lips.

…However, there was still one other matter he needed to attend to.

He looked down at his bleeding arm, at the unsightly ink branding him like a piece of chattel.

The clothes iron was currently steaming nicely. With steady hands, he picked it up and pressed down.

He heard the iron sizzling as it made contact with his blood, felt the heat roasting his flesh.

He continued holding it down for as long as necessary.

He didn’t scream.

---

One night till they were to depart.

While everyone was asleep, he took a lamp and went into the parlour.

There was a step-ladder right beside the bookcase. He slowly climbed up, till he was face-to-face with what remained of his butler.

The nail fixing him to the wall had been hammered into his mouth, casting it wide open in what should’ve been a frozen expression of horror.

But somehow, he looked more peaceful than anything.

Regulus sniffed once, then fastened the lamp handle against the tip of the protruding nail and started to tug.

Pain burst inside his brain, completely blinding him. Blood dripped down his nose like a leaky faucet.

He didn’t stop.

---

One hour till they were to depart.

Mother was stalking him — had been for a while now. He could feel her presence constantly lurking at the edges of his eyes, but he’d had too much on his mind to pay her any of it.

Right now, she stood by his door, watching him as he packed his few remaining things into a medium-sized travel bag.

Undergarments, socks, slacks and shirts were all folded up and packed neatly into one half of the sack, Kreacher’s head already taking up the opposite half. He put some of his smaller clothes in for Lydia, as well as a thick, warm blanket which folded up nicely. A water bottle and a lighter were tucked into a smaller compartment, where he’d already snuck in Mother’s gun, as well as a few bullets. Cereal bars and insect repellant accompanied them.

“I don’t want you to go.”

Regulus’ hand twitched just as he zipped up that section, but after a moment he continued. He was almost out of this hellhole; he could just ignore her then leave.

Ignore, ignore, ignore.

He packed a knife. Then another knife. Spares could be useful sometimes.

To take or not to take any of his ties? He hated wearing the things, but they could provide adequate binding materials in a tight spot.

“I hate that you’re leaving for so long,” she muttered, more insistently. “You shouldn’t leave. You’re supposed to stay here, and take care of me because you love me.”

Regulus chuckled quietly.

He reached over and grabbed his Slytherin green tie, gingerly rolling it up around his palm before placing it inside.

There was still a bit of space.

He cocked his head thoughtfully. What else would he need?

Batteries and a torch, maybe?

Mother sighed. “Alright, I know — you have to go. You need to go forth and bring honour onto our House. The Dark Lord trusts you so much, doesn’t he? That’s why he asks so much from you. Such a dutiful, wonderful son you are. You are my pride and joy.”

Huh. She actually sounded like she meant it, too.

Regulus tossed in the utilities, as well as a pocket knife he found in his dresser. Wait, he might need to take some of his books.

He threw in a map of England, as well as his copy of Sense and Sensibility which he absolutely refused to leave behind. Anything else he might need was already stashed in the safe houses he’d marked out, which they were sure to pass along their way.

His Death Eater mask rested on top of the pile. He was going to fling that thing into the first body of water he could find.

He was all set.

“I know he gave you six months to complete this task, but you can complete it in a fraction of that time, can’t you? And then you can come back sooner?”

Regulus fastened up the kit and secured it, shutting away his view of Kreacher’s dead face. Slinging the strap over his shoulder, he spun around and started walking out of his room.

Mother grabbed him, wrapping her arms tightly around him and burying her face in his chest.

“Sirius, my darling boy, you’re going to come back to me, right?”

Instant revulsion crawled all over him. Regulus grabbed her wrists with bruising force and shoved.

She flew back, tripping over her feet and crashing against the outside wall.

For a second, Regulus loomed over her, so filled to the brim with an inferno of rage that he was SHAKING.

Then he crossed the distance between them, surveyed her fallen form for a beat, then crouched down.

Mother tried to back away but his hand snapped out too fast, squeezing around her slender throat. Her hands came up and tugged weakly at his grasp. He ignored her pathetic attempts to get free and jerked her closer, scrutinising her, wondering just how lucid she was. Just how far the madness had already taken over.

She had the audacity to look betrayed, like he was the one not fulfilling his role in this family.

Definitely not fully there.

Regulus looked past her kicked puppy expression, peering into the depths of her eyes. There was a brokenness in there, something vicious and violent and hungry. There was also loneliness — aches and breaks all over her soul. Who broke her, Regulus didn’t know, nor did he particularly care. His rage was howling a symphony inside of him to Break. Her. Even. Further.

Because there was still a glimmer of awareness in her — the simplest speck of clarity. She was lucid enough to call him by the name of the son she’d nearly killed; lucid enough to crack his sister’s ribs with a heeled kick; lucid enough to nail his other father’s head to the wall!

Lucid enough to HATE.

He tightened his grip even more, watching her eyes bulge out.

Her eyes —

…They were the exact same shade as Sirius’.

The same grey-blue hue of a cloudy night sky just as the storm rolled in with a thunderclap.

Tension flowed out of his hand.

…Now how was he supposed to kill her while she was looking at him like that with Sirius’ eyes?

Instead of crushing her windpipe like he wanted, he let go and gently reached up to stroke her hair and face like he did with his sister.

“Of course I’ll come back for you, Mother,” he promised sweetly.

Y̵̭͕͕͚̟̗̽̽͑ŏ̸̤̺̳̋̄͘͝u̸̧̻̰̹̙̲̯͒̾̆̄͒̆͝ ̷̜̣͇͆̍̆̌f̶̠̝͕̙̠̊̈̚ų̶̜̝̣̯̦̋͜͝ć̴̪̦͉͍̳͆͆͐͠ͅḵ̸̨͔̦͖̚i̴̧̞̪̖̔̾̍̍͜ͅṅ̷͚͚̫̣̃̃̿̆͋g̶̩͉̪͆̈́ ̴̟͈̂̔̉̒̏̒ͅr̴̫̹̖͛̍̊̚o̷̢̼̪͂̅̈́͒̀͜a̵̤̟͎̾c̸̫̣̭̳̄̈́͛ȟ̶͖̙̉͗̀.̸̨̗̟͉̼͛́͑͆̂͋͜͝

Mother’s eyes welled up brightly, and she pressed his hand closer to her cheek, soaking in his warmth.

Regulus tolerated this until he didn’t, rising to his feet in one fluid movement and ripping away from her. He repositioned the strap over his shoulder and strode past her without a backwards glance.

Lydia was waiting for him at the end of the hall, watching their exchange. She scoffed and looked down her pert little nose at the sight of his mother as he came up beside her and held her hand.

“Bitch.”

Regulus laughed, real and genuine this time.

He tightened his hold on the strap on his shoulder, keeping Lydia’s hand in his other, and together they turned and walked away.

Orion was seated in an armchair in the drawing room, doing crossword puzzles. He looked up as they passed.

Regulus met his eyes.

He didn’t look away till they turned the corner and out of sight.

I’ll come back for you too, Father.

---

One second before they departed.

Regulus held his sister in one hand, Kreacher in the other. The open door loomed in front of them like a chasm.

He had promised his two precious people who stuck with him through thick and thin that he would get them out of this house one day. And he was about to keep his word.

Finally about to be worth something.

He strengthened his grip on them both, seeing Kreacher’s spectre blink into existence right beside him.

Be brave, Reggie…

He took in a deep breath, prepared to keep clinging onto them always and forevermore.

He stepped outside.

Notes:

Link for the mice experiment article here. I realize this came out in 1982, which would be like 3 years ahead of the time period in this chapter (1979), but it was too perfect not to add it so please ignore the inconsistency, as well as any others, for the sake of good storytelling!

Regulus invokes the names of a lot of deities of the heavens while he’s flipping out, which I thought was on brand for a member of a family so sky-obsessed. Our Starboy also needs to be baby-proofed, because he will use anything he can find in his environment to hurt himself and/or others 🙃

Poor Lydia is wondering how she keeps getting stuck with bleeding hearts as brothers LOL 😆 (But then who else would do what her brothers have done for her? Who else would care enough to?)

Chapter 22: Desert All Your Past Lives

Summary:

‘I need to find something more important than you, Sirius. Because you are the most important in the world to me…and I think I need to leave you behind for now.'

‘So…this is goodbye. Till we might meet again one day.’

Notes:

Noblesse oblige: The inferred responsibility of privileged people to act with generosity and nobility toward those less privileged.

This chapter took a while, but it has my whole heart so I did my best to do it justice. This is the longest I will ever write a chapter, my goodness! I was actually so scared to post it, but I’m equally as happy to share it with you all ❤️ Link to a new playlist down below!

Thanks so much for 8K reads! 🤩

(TW: Dehumanisation, murder, physical, mental and emotional child abuse, mentions of trauma, slave trade and captivity)

22.

Sunshine crept into Regulus’ skin, heating him up from the inside. He already felt so warm, Lydia’s small hand in his only adding to the feeling.

Because they were outside. Escaping Grimmauld Place, with her, holding her hand in his.

The feeling of tension that had always wrapped tight around him — crushing him — finally released.

He could breathe again.

He did so — eagerly — closing his eyes and drinking up the air that tasted so much better when he had someone he loved beside him.

No turning back. And no need to.

He was free.

He held the tasty oxygen in his lungs for a moment, letting it permeate him and rewrite some of his wounds, then exhaled.

And opened his eyes.

The Horcrux was standing beside a streetlight a few metres down the street. Waiting.

‘In my absence, they will carry out my will…’

If Voldemort viewed this…husk as an extension of himself, then he must believe it capable enough to carry out his wishes.

Capable enough to kill Regulus, if it came to it — and he wasn’t exactly easy pickings.

How exactly did Voldemort ‘train’ this being to be so confident he could bet it against a Black? Regulus was sure he would find the answer out soon enough, when only one of them was left standing.

And surely this thing could speak? Otherwise, interrogating it first would involve a very questionable game of charades.

Lydia was squeezing his hand too tight, glowering darkly in the Horcrux’s direction. He tapped her lightly on the arm, giving her a questioning stare.

They had discussed how to kill the Horcrux the first night it had shown up at his house. Lydia had proposed luring it into the pantry and dissecting it right then and there, but Regulus argued that they needed more space — and silence — in order to subdue it then properly question it first. They needed information about her brother, as well as the other Horcruxes the Dark Lord had created.

Acting rashly so close to their escape would only hinder them, and might set the Death Eaters after them if their nearby neighbours got concerned by all the noise and decided to report it to the wrong ears.

He didn’t care if his parents were attracted by all the potential screaming though. After all, they were next in line to be murdered. He would’ve made it a free-for-all in that case — he was generous like that.

Come one, come all.

But despite the good sense and reasoning of his argument, Regulus didn’t WANT to torture his sister by making her stomach its presence for so long. The solution he’d come up with — and she’d agreed to — was that they head to St James Park in Westminster, a short distance from their home in Islington, which had a waterfront where they could eliminate it and take care of the evidence once there were no witnesses.

He had their route marked out on his map. Instead of keeping west of Pentonville and crossing into King’s Cross where they would make the four day journey to Godric’s Hollow, he would eventually be leading them east towards Upper Thames and past Westminster Abbey. It was a brisk walk from there to the park.

They would have to get there by nightfall, in order to ensure there really weren’t any witnesses. Regulus had planned a lot of detours to their route to confuse any possible followers (his mother WAS a crazy bitch); to make their trajectory unclear in case the Dark Lord was tracking him; and to ensure the Horcrux didn’t immediately realise there was anything amiss.

He doubted its intelligence — since a big part of its brain was fucking missing/substituted — but he didn’t want to take any more chances than were absolutely necessary.

Lydia looked up at him — seeing the same resolve in her eyes reflected in his — and nodded. She would not waver, or do anything to jeopardise the plan. She would be patient and wait.

Regulus squeezed her hand reassuringly. Not much longer now, he conveyed silently.

They sidled up to the Horcrux as non-threateningly as possible.

“Can you talk?” Regulus asked it, getting straight to the point.

A blank wall of black lenses stared back at him. Regulus wondered if its eyes were pure white underneath it.

The creature slowly opened its mouth. “Yes,” It spoke, the word garbled like its throat was filled with gravel.

Regulus couldn’t help his wince. That sounded like it was painful.

Lydia was still staring at it steadily with death in her eyes, a Grim Reaper ready to collect what it was owed, but Regulus wondered if he might not at least show the thing some courtesy before putting it out of its misery.

“Do you…want some water?”

Another long, awkward pause. Then –

“I…want for nothing…for I am already perfect.”

…Well then.

Regulus sidestepped it, making sure Lydia stayed close to his flank, and started walking. The Horcrux followed.

Lydia glanced back repeatedly, keeping it within her eyesight at all times. Regulus started straight ahead, picturing the route he had memorised in his mind and leading them determinedly towards it.

They must’ve been walking for fifteen minutes before they turned a corner, and Regulus glanced back to find that Grimmauld Place was no longer in sight.

Then, inexplicably, he had a near heart attack.

For so long, he’d PLANNED to be away. To be able to get out. To keep himself and his sister safe from all the monsters that surrounded them. He’d planned his escape.

And now they were here. They were actually doing it. She…was outside of Grimmauld Place…and she was with him. And she would stay — no force on this earth would be able to rip her away from his side if she didn’t want to leave.

No one could command her to do it. And no one else could command him anymore.

The enormity of those implications suddenly crashed down upon him.

They were free. They were both free — and the world was SO BIG.

He had to duck into a nearby alley in order to have his mini freak-out.

Lydia followed swiftly at his heels, crouching down to the ball on the ground he’d already curled himself into. She patted him gently on the back, letting him gradually get his new bearings and breathing under control.

She reached out with her free hand and squeezed his.

“You did good work, Brother,” she said quietly, her tone filled with nothing but all that warmth and sunshine.

“I am so proud of you.”

He huffed a laugh — a brittle sounding thing — before squeezing her hand back just as tightly.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” he whispered brokenly. And for better or for worse, it was the truth. He wouldn’t have been so promoted, so highly regarded, or so trusted by the Dark Lord to have gotten this sort of assignment without her efforts. Her knowledge. Her intel.

She had offered it up for him because he’d asked, and he’d offered it up to the Dark Lord because it had been asked of him — and together they’d offered up multitudes of innocent lives to be massacred.

He could almost see the blood drip, drip, dripping from their interlocked hands — enough red to spill over and drench all of the pavements in London.

He’d damned them both, and she didn’t seem to mind but — he couldn’t let it go.

Regulus has never been very good at letting things go.

He vowed, then, to claim all of the blame and carry it on his shoulders — to find some way to spend the rest of his life atoning for the both of them.

Her snowy-white hands didn’t deserve to be stained with all those sins.

---

Night finally fell.

Big Ben chimed ten times just as they crossed the bridge above the River Thames.

Lydia was getting restless — walking almost backwards now while facing the Horcrux that was still following obediently behind them. Although they’d spent almost the entire day leading it (as well as themselves) on a wonderfully ill-intentioned goose chase.

Regulus tapped her on the arm and pointed across the street. It’s just up ahead, he communicated with the gesture. She nodded once, sharply, then turned around, closed her eyes, and breathed out.

Their feet ate up the distance, and soon they were turning right and into the park.

The smell of grass and daffodils filled the air, leaves and bramble crunching underneath their feet as they headed down the path. London planes soared towards the sky on both sides of them, the curtain of branches enveloping them almost like a caress as they went on their way.

It was quite a lovely place. Too bad they were about to commit a murder here.

Regulus led them towards the most hidden spot he could find — near the waterside, the position obscured by a huge weeping willow.

The night was silent except for the sound of ducks splashing about in the water. No one else was here.

Regulus looked at Lydia. She craned her neck up and looked at him, red and blue flames intertwining in her eyes.

He winked.

From one moment to the next, her tanto blinked into her hands. She burst into action, spinning like a dervish in an almost too-fast movement towards the Horcrux standing a few steps beside them, dipping low and using the momentum to slice deeply across its Achilles tendons.

It staggered backwards, crimson blood spraying out and soaking the earth. Lydia backed away towards Regulus, both of them giving it space to fall before she went back in for another slice.

The Horcrux continued stumbling side to side on ungainly steps, before suddenly straightening –

Then sprinting right at his sister with such speed it didn’t seem like she’d even injured it in the first place.

Lydia froze as it hurtled towards her — too fast for her to react or for her eyes to follow — but Regulus had no trouble keeping up with its movements in the slightest.

With deft and determined steps, he placed himself right in front of her, letting his bag fall to the ground.

NO ONE FUCKING TOUCHED HIS SISTER.

Right as the Horcrux closed the distance, Regulus raised his foot and hammered it right in the balls.

It…paused, bending over slightly.

Huh. At least it still had those parts fully intact.

Regulus followed up the brutal kick by gripping its lowered neck, clutching one of its arms with his other hand, then stepping in closer, whirling around so his back met its torso, briefly tensing his arms and legs…

With decisive force, he full-body flipped it, throwing it up and over his shoulder then slamming it onto the ground as powerfully as he could.

The creature fell with a thud, the wind hopefully knocked out of its sails for the moment.

Still maintaining a tight grip on the horrendous eyesore, he called out offhandedly, “Could you get a green tie from my bag, please? It should be close to the top.”

Lydia hurried to follow his instructions just as the Horcrux began to move AGAIN.

Regulus crouched down and fastened his legs tightly around its torso, looming over the Horcrux. It raised an arm but Regulus seamlessly snatched it, wrapping his legs around the captured limb and using it to pivot himself to the side. One leg pinned it down by the neck, and his other secured it around its solar plexus.

When he had the creature locked in place and right where he wanted it, he twisted the arm he’d seized at an off-angle and cranked it, hearing its bones creak.

The Horcrux kicked its legs futilely, as Regulus was fully committed to this course of delivering it PAIN. He didn’t let up despite its struggles, bending the arm further backwards while arching up his hips.

Until-

Regulus both heard and felt the joint pop out of its socket.

The thing squirmed, thrashing around while Regulus held it down as much as he could.

WHERE WAS LYDIA WITH THAT BLOODY TIE?

The Horcrux suddenly stilled, then bent its knees back and rose to its feet in a single, sharp movement. And it heaved, twisting the broken limb in his hold so violently that Regulus let go out of pure startlement.

It proceeded to tackle him to the ground.

Regulus’ back hit the grass, the short fall only slightly disorientating him. The creature scrambled on top of him, appearing unphased by the discomfort it should be feeling from putting weight on its injury.

The unmangled arm reached out ominously towards Regulus. He manoeuvred sharply out of its grasp, but the blasted thing just flung its entire weight down and headbutted him directly.

He saw stars.

Fucking hell — what had Voldemort done to this thing? Why did the Horcrux’s head feel so fucking HARD? Why was it so bloody resilient???

Regulus ignored his temporary blindness — even fully closing his eyes — as he let his battle senses take over.

His foot shot out, sliding inside the creature’s guard and kicking its knee up and out from where it was hovering over him. The Horcrux slid away, creating enough space for him to twist his core to the side, planting his legs firmly on solid ground. Regaining his full range of motion, he swung out, jabbing a clenched fist into its side in a devastatingly precise liver shot.

The Horcrux writhed, releasing Regulus and trying to crawl away.

AS IF I’D LET YOU ESCAPE.

He reached forward and grabbed one of its twitching legs then tugged hard, making it crash down face-first.

He climbed on top of it, slipping his arms around its neck from behind and putting it into a chokehold. The Horcrux wasn’t content to hold still, rolling them over and around on the ground while trying to shake Regulus off. He maintained the grapple, still squeezing his eyes shut while desperately praying to the heavens that the thing would run out of steam at some point.

They hit the water.

The Horcrux still refused to cease moving, its death throes getting even more enthusiastic, wrapping itself around Regulus as it began trying its best to drown them both.

It was then Regulus realised one important thing — he couldn’t swim.

His lungs burned as he floundered, holding onto the Horcrux while trying to kick upwards despite its fervent attempts to send them both to a watery grave.

Just how deep was this lake? By definition, it should rank smaller in depth than an ocean, for example. Definitely not as large as the Thames. But despite the intellectual sense in his musings, he felt sure he could’ve drowned in a toilet bowl if this Horcrux was just as determined.

Drowning in a lake that was Potter’s namesake. This REALLY wasn’t how he wanted to go.

His heart slamming against his ribs, Regulus kept kicking as best as he could — and looked up.

Dark hair was splayed across the water’s surface, shooting outwards in thick gossamer strands like a halo that blocked out the moon. Lydia was swimming towards them, her tiny feet kicking so fast they left countless bubbles in her wake.

For a moment, Regulus could only stare.

She arrived at his side in no time, her cheeks puffed up with stored oxygen. In her hands, she held his tie which she fastened around the creature’s throat then pulled TIGHT.

Gripping the tie and clamping onto Regulus’ arm with her other hand, she shot them up to the water’s surface like an aimed missile.

Regulus GASPED once his head was no longer submerged, coughing and spluttering as he took in long drags of sweet, wonderful air he’ll never take for granted again.

Lydia immediately started dragging the Horcrux across the shoreline by the neck. It writhed and wriggled, flopping about like a fish caught on a hook, but his sister would not be deterred.

It was quite comical, actually, to see such a small person easily keeping the upper hand on someone more than three times her size, but Lydia’s will was apparently that overpowered.

“Oh HELL NO you don’t!” She growled, giving the tie a ferocious tug as it tried digging its fingers into the ground to halt its momentum. The Horcrux ended up clutching handfuls of grass for the trouble, still being dragged inexorably towards the nearby trees.

Regulus idly followed, having caught his breath. Lazily, he reached down and swiped up one of its legs, forcing it into an undoubtedly awkward position with merciless amusement.

He held firmly as it kept squirming in half-aborted motions, making it easier for them to drag the creature towards the Weeping Willow and hang it from a branch.

Regulus reached down and grabbed his knives from his sack, then plunged them straight through each of the Horcrux’s hands and into the tree — the completed picture looking like some bohemian crucifixion.

It kept struggling, though it should be almost suffocated by now. Regulus was morbidly intrigued, wondering what other procedures Voldemort could have put it through.

Then the Horcrux opened its eyes, its frames washed away by the water, and Regulus froze.

Yes, the creature’s eyes were white as he’d expected, no hint of a coloured lens to be seen. But…the thicket of vivid red blood vessels creeping all over the white — encroaching across the entire span of its eyeballs — more than made up for the lack of pigment.

Goosebumps rose all across his arms. Regulus was learning that there were incalculable levels to horror — just as you think you’ve reached its peak, something comes along and tops that so thoroughly you wonder how anything else could have ever made you feel afraid.

Lydia did not pause at seeing the complete state of this wretched, godforsaken creation. She snatched her tanto from the ground and sunk it harshly into the Horcrux’s cheek.

“Now, we are going to have words. And you are going to speak,” she informed it in a tone that left no room for disobedience. Her expression was arctic. The surface of the lake could’ve frozen over if she’d simply turned to look at it.

“If you try to refuse, I will twirl this knife all the way around in your mouth then pluck out your teeth. I will keep plucking them out ONE BY ONE and I can do it all night long if you would like me to prove it.”

Regulus inhaled and stepped closer to the Horcrux, which was now still, blood gushing down its face. He didn’t feel like drawing this out very long — he just wanted to ask his questions then let her kill it.

“Six years ago,” he stated calmly, “You walked into a cell in a human trafficking ring and walked out with a stolen boy. How old was he?” He asked, briefly turning to Lydia.

Her eyelids flickered, but her grip was steady. “He was ten.”

Ten years old — that’s how old he was when Sirius started at Hogwarts. When he lost him for the first time.

Regulus’ heart ached with her grief, the pain only amplified by his own. He exhaled, ignoring the pangs for the moment in order to focus on the task.

“Where did you take him — and why?”

The Horcrux looked at him, those hellish red veins seeming to crawl forward to wrap around him.

It parted its lips.

“I have taken…many little boys…and little girls…over the years. Adults…too. Lot of them…died. Screaming. Miserable. Pitiful. Souls…were weak. Unspecial. Not…like…me.”

Regulus’ heart sank. So Voldemort really had been kidnapping people for almost a decade now in order to do god-knows-what to them. He hadn’t always been so powerful, why hadn’t anyone stopped him? Where were the Aurors?

Lydia bristled, shaking with rage. She ripped her blade free and jabbed it back into the same spot.

“DORIAN WAS TEN THOUSAND TIMES THE SOUL YOU COULD EVER BE!”

Her scream was so raw it felt like she was directing it at Voldemort himself. The Horcrux just looked at her impassively.

“Only…the worthy…survive.”

Lydia looked like she was going to slam that blade right into its skull next. Regulus placed a calming hand on her shoulder and the tension bled out of her a little.

“How many more of you are there?” He asked next. “You’re the locket — I saw the cup, the diadem, and the ring.”

The Horcrux showed no reaction, so Regulus just had to proceed with his belief that the ring was part of this horrific collection.

“What are the others?”

The creature was silent for a beat, seeming to mull. This went on for nearly two minutes. Its information processing speed was definitely impaired.

Lydia stabbed it again.

“Our thoughts,” The Horcrux finally croaked out. “Our messenger.”

Its tongue curled in sibilant tones around the ‘s’s — just like Voldemort.

Regulus took a sharp breath, straightening. That was confirmation there were two others out there — but what was with these riddles? Why couldn’t this thing just be straightforward?

Did it also see itself as an extension of Tom?

He set his questions aside to contemplate later. He would get to the bottom of it all one day.

“Where are they?”

“Asleep. No use…right now. Will…awaken…when ready.”

That did not sound good. Voldemort’s ‘thoughts’ didn’t seem so awe-inspiring — not with how often he shared them — but this ‘messenger’ was sending alarm bells throughout his psyche.

What kind of messenger was it? Which messages would it be entrusted to deliver? It sure didn’t sound like the bloody postman.

“How can I find them?” He demanded.

“I…am sure…we will find…you.”

Regulus finally detected a hint of emotion in the creature’s voice — contempt.

“We are immortal…and legion. The…perfect…serpent. Our body…can always…reassemble. One part fails…we make another. Cut…one…of our heads…and others…will come after you.”

Those blank white eyes peered right into the soul it would’ve tried to tear out of him.

“Do you…truly think…you will ever know peace?”

Regulus had just about enough of this. His unease was instantly discarded, rage rising to the surface to replace it at the nerve of this patchwork entity to even dare to look down on him.

No one should EVER presume to tell a Black what they can and cannot have.

“Yes. I do.”

Closing the distance till he was nose-to-nose with the creature, he stared it down — looking directly into those bloody eyes.

“Because reality is whatever I make of it.”

And with that, he gave Lydia a single curt nod — and she twisted her blade all the way around.

Hacked off its teeth one by one.

Stabbed it in both eyeballs in quick succession.

Ripped open its chest cavity and started carving out its ribs and intestines.

Regulus gave her space for her catharsis. She clearly had some things she wanted to get off her own chest.

Striding a short distance away, he started to pick up some fallen branches and twigs to start a fire. He did not want to find out if that thing had been joking about being able to reassemble — and if it was meant in a completely literal sense.

He gathered large rocks and logs he found around the area as well. When satisfied with his loot, he hauled it closer to where his sister was still hacking away. Hunkering down and rolling up his sodden sleeves, Regulus went to work.

With the help of his lighter, the flame caught, then ignited. The fire began to grow, burning in earnest, its red and orange glow providing a distinct contrast to the still, murky waters in front of him. For a moment, Regulus just sat and watched it smoulder, shadows lengthening at his feet.

Then he felt a disturbance in the force — a projectile was heading straight for him. Unconsciously, he reached up and snatched it, then examined his prize. It was…some sort of bone. A femur, maybe?

He took in his surroundings, noting that various body parts had been flung out as far out as where he was currently sitting. His sister was still slashing the corpse into ribbons, not seeming to have run out of any steam. Regulus observed the carnage for a second, then shrugged, slinging the bone into the fire.

He got up and started picking up both calcified and squishy organic matter from the ground. Everything got fed to the flames.

He came across Slytherin’s locket lying a few feet away and picked it up, pocketing it. Then kept walking till he reached his sister’s side.

She hadn’t stopped her frenzied slashes, but there was honestly nothing left. The Horcrux had been thoroughly reduced to a bloody mist and a few mangled chunks.

Regulus felt mournful. His mind had instinctively put up a wall between the aberration and the concept of a sentient living thing. He’d been too afraid — still was — to acknowledge how far TomTom had gone to desecrate and disrespect the lives of innocent people. But…the Horcrux had been a person…once.

Maybe even…several.

The way it…he? (THEY?) had moved was…abnormal. Both he and Lydia had severed apart tendons…and the Horcrux STILL hadn’t shown any sign of impaired mobility. Like the muscles in its body had been augmented. Or…as though it had a higher number of them than any one human body should ever hold.

Maybe some of those were taken from other people…then implanted into one freak of nature in order to ensure a megalomaniac tyrant’s reign of terror.

Any agency or sense of self they could’ve once had was now gone. Subsumed by a monster with a god complex who thought it was his right to decide how other living beings should think. Forcibly ripped away so permanently they would never have recovered themselves. He’d STOLEN their SOULS — tossed their humanity into the trash like he’d seen it as GARBAGE.

It was Ù̴̧͔̌͠Ṋ̷̡̡͋̆̉F̷̰̗͙́O̵̺͐Ṟ̶͈̃G̶̝͈̬̾̾͊I̴̓ͅV̶̛̩̝̽̃A̴̡̦̮͝B̶̺̈͠L̷̢̾͗͝Ȅ̴̻̻͇. Everything about Voldemort and everything he stood for was a blight upon this earth that must be ERASED without leaving any trace.

He raised a hand and gently placed it on Lydia’s shoulder. She stilled in the action of driving her blade forward and looked up at him.

“That’s enough.”

She stared at him, face splattered with blood and breathing heavily — then gradually lowered her knife.

His tie dangled weightlessly, the green now dyed red. Retrieving it, he began picking up the other remains to feed them to the fire. After a moment, Lydia joined him.

They both sat and watched the flames burn once they were finished. Regulus thought they’d done a good job cleaning up all their evidence for their first murder.

He silently prayed to Selene that the tide would wash the remaining blood away. As for those poor, unfortunate souls, he wasn’t exactly sure which deity to pray to — so he sent a prayer to a bunch of them that they would find peace somewhere.

The fire kept burning, the smell of singed flesh scorching their nostrils. Regulus thoughtfully looked to the side towards his sister. Her expression was impassive, intently watching the flame to make sure not even a hint of the Horcrux remained on this earth. He chewed on his lip, briefly debating with himself.

There were two other Horcruxes he hadn’t seen yet. Her brother — Dorian — was most likely dead…but.

But there was a chance…a small, infinitesimal one…that a form of him might still be in existence. Should he tell her?

He quickly squashed the thoughts that rose up in dissent. He was done keeping important secrets from his loved ones. It may only be false hope…but she deserved to know.

“Mon cœur?”

She didn’t move, but he could feel her awareness shift towards him. She was listening.

“I…know what he did with your brother. I saw it. I…didn’t see him…and honestly I’m not sure if he’s still alive or not…”

“Dorian is dead,” she bluntly interrupted him. “They took him from me, and they hurt him, and they did something to make him not my brother anymore, and then they killed him.”

Every word thudded to the ground like a wet rock.

“They killed him, and he died IN PAIN…and in a place I could not protect him,” She relentlessly continued, viciously ripping open her wounds. Regulus could do nothing for her but listen.

She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, then finally turned to face him. “Starboy…if any part of my brother was still alive…NOTHING would have stopped him from coming back to me. Nothing.”

Just by looking at the fire in her eyes — blazing brighter than the flame in front of them — Regulus believed her.

“One day, I will somehow make my peace with the fact that he is gone. But…that thing said there were others. More than one…and that there will always be more.”

She swallowed. “Whoever is behind this…promise me that we will make them pay. That we will make them bleed and suffer and despair…and then we will kill them…for A VERY LONG TIME. ”

Regulus breathed out a laugh, his lips twitching upwards. How wonderful that he’d already been thinking along the very same lines.

He held out his arm and she gripped it, her nails piercing the flesh.

“I promise,” he softly swore.

She gave a jerky nod then released him, turning back to their little hearth. It finally died out into nothing but sparks of ember and ashes. The wind blowing in as the waves lapped at their campsite further cooled the night.

He rose, scooping up all of the ashes he could gather with his bare hands and blew them towards the water. His Death Eater mask promptly followed in the same direction. After dusting the soot off his hands, he grabbed the blanket from his bag and placed it around her shoulders, then went looking for more firewood.

Regulus let his mind wander as he searched. They were out — he’d gotten them away from his parents and Grimmauld Place and the Dark Lord, and they now had a new goal: defeating Tom Riddle.

The question was: ‘How?’.

Regulus was always painfully aware of his limitations ever since he was a little boy — unable to do anything other than steal his mother’s gun away instead of stepping in her way.

A Gryffindor he was not. Regulus would not be squandering his life on a hero mission without being completely certain of his chances for success — especially not now when another person so thoroughly depended on his existence. Lydia would not lose another brother.

And he would never be a hero.

He can and was willing to sacrifice himself in other ways to achieve this goal — but he needed to be sure that his efforts would actually bring about the change he was trying to implement.

He was incomparably more capable than he was as a child. So…what could he safely do as he was now?

Barging into Lucius Malfoy’s manor and taking out the Horcrux collection was out of the question. Say he did manage to infiltrate the place and kill every Death Eater he could see before making it down to the basement — he didn’t know where the rest of the Horcruxes were kept. And if Voldemort wasn’t there, or he somehow escaped? That snake would return and others would spawn if he wasn’t taken out — and he still wasn’t sure he could take on Voldemort by himself.

Lydia would want a shot at him too. As she was now, she wasn’t strong enough to help him in the fight. But she could be. Him being dead would give them both time to get stronger and get her to match his level of skill someday — surpass him even — then she could get her pound of flesh.

Regulus had spilled blood and sacrificed countless bodies in order to get them that time. She seemed willing to be patient, so they would use that time and not waste a single second of it.

But…wasn’t he thinking too narrow? It seemed wrong to be doing this with only the two of them.

He could go to Sirius. He could warn him…if his brother would listen and believe him. He could ask for his help.

But would he? Regulus was a Death Eater — Sirius surely wouldn’t trust his words. Not even if he suddenly turned traitor.

As far as Sirius was concerned, Regulus had been a traitor ever since he turned eleven and was sorted into Slytherin.

If by some miracle, he did get through to his brother — how would he handle the rest of the Order?

They’d definitely get involved, because Sirius would never pick Regulus above all others. No, he’d bring in James Potter and the rest of the Marauders…then every single Gryffindor in the world and their mum would know…

…Then Albus Dumbledore would be called in at some point to weigh in on the situation.

He imagined flinging himself and his sister at Dumbledore’s feet, begging for pardon and for his assistance.

And he remembered the one and only time he’d ever deigned to ask the Headmaster for help…

Black rage completely consumed him.

He would much rather fling Dumbledore off a steep cliff.

For the sake of the Order, he steered himself away from that course of action.

What if he didn’t go to the Order? What if he went to the Aurors instead?

…The Aurors hadn’t stopped Voldemort from kidnapping hundreds of commoners for almost ten years. That displayed a level of astounding, mind-boggling incompetence. If Regulus went to them, they might even manage to throw him into Azkaban without a trial! He couldn’t waste any time rotting behind bars; he had actual responsibilities to uphold!

So far, he and his sister had killed the creature who was stealing these people for the Dark Lord. That didn’t mean he couldn’t go about snatching up people through other means later down the line. Or for some other devilish experiment he’d dreamed up. Regulus doubted that Voldemort would be stopping anytime soon — or at all.

He…could acknowledge…that Voldemort had been doing this for years already. Regulus had…just made it easier for him…somehow. He knew not every dead body on that mountain of corpses lay on his soul…

…But that was still ONE. TOO. MANY.

And Voldemort could still go on to make more of those monstrosities using innocent people. Regulus had unknowingly helped him before…now he had to STOP HIM through any means necessary. TomTom’s plan to turn him into one of them was foiled now that Regulus defected, but that vermin would have other…options. Regulus had to take those away from him as well. He had to…get commoners off the streets before the Dark Lord could get to them. Find anyone enslaved and set them free. He had to somehow END human trafficking in the entire Kingdom.

Yes, this was how he would spend the rest of his life atoning for his sins. No rest for the wicked.

And just like that — he finally knew the shape of the hill he would die on.

He hurried back to his sister, swiftly setting up another fire that began burning merrily. Facing the warm glow, he pulled her closer with an arm around her shoulder, watching as she huddled into him and closed her eyes.

The water had seeped a lot of the dye from her hair, leaving her with a mismatch of black and white strands. She looked like a small, feral tiger that some deranged lunatic had allowed to escape and unleashed upon this poor, unsuspecting world.

With his other arm, he dragged his travel pack closer. Lydia’s eyelids fluttered open at the sound of him unzipping the main compartment.

Grief and melancholy flickered over her face as she beheld the preserved head. Regulus looked down at Kreacher’s face, memorising his features one last time, before setting him gently on the fire.

Lydia extended a palm towards the flame as he began to burn, close but careful not to touch. Regulus turned his attention towards the sky.

It was proposed that our loved ones watch over us from above once they were gone, returning to stardust and shadows. Pulvis et umbra sumus.

Regulus decided that there was some truth in that. If Kreacher was up there, he knew exactly which constellation the heroic man had inherited — he could see it watching over him even now.

‘You can rest now, my old friend. Hope you’re getting all of the kindness you always deserved.’

Lydia was finally crying, silent tears streaming down her face. She watched the fire and he watched the sky, both of them mourning in their own muted but companionable ways.

Once it died down for the second time, Regulus retrieved Slytherin’s locket and opened it.

Salazar Slytherin was apparently a renowned Blood Purist. If he had a problem with his locket being used to store Kreacher’s ashes, then he could raise his bones from the grave and take it up with Regulus.

He looped the locket around his neck once he finished, tucking it into the collar of his almost-dried shirt and letting it rest against his beating heart. Lydia still cried quietly at his side. He felt wretched that she did not have anything of her brother’s to remember him by.

But then he looked at her and found her gaze fixed on his face…her appraisal a tangible weight…

And he understood.

‘Okay. I will be your memento — always.’

He gently dabbed at her cheeks with a handkerchief, wiping away all of the blood and tears. Then he wrapped his arms around her in a firm hug. She sniffed, clinging to him tightly.

“We don’t have to go back there, right?”

“You will never step foot in that house again. You have my word.”

“Can we really move on?…I’m so fucking tired of cages.”

“No more cages. Not for anyone.”

Another sniff.

“…Where will we go?”

Where should they go? He’d always relied on something outside of himself to guide his actions. They had new goals now — important ones to plan and accomplish…

But right now they needed sleep. And a safe place to rest.

He looked up at the night sky. Sirius was the brightest — so visible the star practically screamed to be seen.

For so long, he’d chased after his brother. Even now, he was still tempted to go to him. The easiest way to find Sirius in the sky was by tracing Orion’s belt, but even then the star shifted and flickered, always changing colours and luminosity— seeming consistently inconsistent.

That instability always reminded him so much of his brother, who never did what anyone expected of him. Too bright for anyone to match — a god even amongst other heavenly bodies.

…But the Polaris star, shining right above Lydia, was glowing rather brightly tonight.

The North Star. The easiest to find in the night sky.

Ever-glowing, never rising or setting, steadfastly remaining in roughly the same spot while other stars wheeled around it. Polaris was the lodestar, a lucky star — helping navigators to locate True North across many generations. Showing weary wanderers and huddled masses yearning to breathe free the way home.

Polaris was found in Ursa Minor, the Little Dipper…

And…at a certain angle…you could actually see it pointing right towards the Regulus star in Leo Minor.

Sirius was a 1st magnitude star — it far outshone every other star in the sky by such a HUGE margin it wasn’t even funny. Polaris was a star of the 2nd magnitude and it STILL didn’t even come close in brightness.

But that night…in that moment in time…

Polaris eclipsed Sirius.

Regulus needed a new centre — a new compass to guide him forward. Maybe constancy was what he’d been missing. Maybe he could finally stop chasing after someone that never stopped moving.

‘I need to find something more important than you, Sirius. Because you are the most important in the world to me…and I think I need to leave you behind for now.’

‘So…this is goodbye. Till we might meet again one day.’

He ripped his eyes away from Sirius, blinking away fresh tears, and lifted clear eyes towards Polaris…

…Then looked down at the star made flesh.

“I’m ready now,” he told her. ‘We can both…try to move on.”

‘We can both try to let go.’

“Let’s go find ourselves a new home, Wildcat.”

‘You are my home now.’

---

Sunlight filtered into the room, turning the backs of Regulus’ eyelids red. He groaned, brow furrowing. The sound of birds chirping drove away the rest of his sleep, reluctantly dragging him back into the land of the living.

They were in an abandoned cottage Regulus had found on one of his haunts near Westminster. It was fortunately in one piece — a little dusty, but perfectly livable. They’d only needed to clean up a little before collapsing in the bedroom from exhaustion.

He sat up slowly. It was hours past daybreak — the sun must’ve been up for nearly three hours now. He’d never slept in that long before.

He hummed, parcelling away that thought to ponder over later. Shifting towards the side, Regulus saw Polaris already up beside him.

“Good morning,” he greeted, the cold weight of the locket against his chest reassuring him that it was.

She glanced at him. “You’re awake.”

Her hair looked even lighter in the sunlight. Regulus squinted at her. Had he remembered to pack their makeshift hair dye? He KNEW he was forgetting something.

“I made you tea,” She said, interrupting his thoughts. A finger pointed towards the bedside table, where a steaming teacup waited patiently.

“Drink.”

He straightened, reaching over to pick the cup. The aroma of Earl Grey wafted into his nose as he took a sip.

Regulus let out a despondent sigh. Caffeine was high on his list of things to buy ASAP.

He turned back to his sister, noting she was holding a book in her hands. His Jane Austen copy, to be precise. She was frowning down at the page, scowling like she wanted to set it ablaze.

Regulus was highly confused. Surely she didn’t have a problem with his taste?

“What’s the matter?”

She looked at him. “I learned my letters a long time ago, but…I do not know what this word means,” she grudgingly admitted, jabbing at a spot on the text.

He blinked, then set down the cup and leaned over, thoughts already spinning as his brain went into problem-solving mode.

Quietly observing him, she suppressed a sad sigh.

Looking at her Regulus was always like looking at a picture of her Dorian, an almost-but-not-quite-there mirror image. If she traced his face long enough, she was sure she might finally remember exactly what her Dorian looked like… But it still hadn’t happened and she was forgetting his face more and more each day.

It wasn’t just the looks — her Dorian also shared that innate curiosity her Regulus had too. But where Starboy was content to think in silence, always contemplating matters of great import — her Dorian was always thinking out LOUD; broadcasting his thoughts from both his mouth and his face regardless of all the manners he’d been taught. Nattering her ear off with a steady stream of nonsense like whether butterfly wings were edible or if clouds were made of cotton candy.

Not a hint of subtlety or even a drop of wit — her idiot twin.

At first, she honestly couldn’t believe they were related. In her first years of being alive, she’d thought she was completely alone.

There wasn’t much evidence to the contrary.

(Flashback starts)

The four walls of her room were slate grey. There were rarely any visitors — only stone-faced servants who came in at very specific hours of the day to feed and change her. None of them smiled. Her cries for attention and affection went unanswered. Not a single sound she made mattered, so after a while she learned to be silent.

She would just breathe, occasionally feed, then go back to breathing. She wasn’t sure how long this went on. There was no way for her to tell track of the time because she never saw the sun.

At some point, she realised her room door consisted of black iron bars. That didn’t really mean much — just that she could see when someone was coming.

A man and a woman came together once. She stared curiously up at them while they looked down at her…and the expressions on their faces were wrong.

That was the first time she realised people could talk.

The man opened his mouth and said something to the woman, then the woman said something back, tugging at her hands like she felt something painful…

The man made a harsh sound, turning to walk away. The woman spun around as well, but then she looked back with a face that made her look ugly.

“Freak.”

It was the first word she ever learned. She would practise it, babble it to herself before bedtime while trying to mimic that woman’s look.

Shortly after that visit, she was allowed outside.

A woman wearing black-and-white came in, picked her up from her crib, and took her to the kitchen. She was taught how to hold things and hand things over. She was not expected to talk, though she heard people talking around her a lot more so she soon learned to understand them. When she was done, she was taken back to her room which was in a really dark part of the house.

This became her new normal, except when she learned how to walk she was given her own black-and-white dress and expected to go back and forth on her own.

One day, she was given a plate and instructed to hold it and set it down on a big table. She obediently walked over, placing it carefully like she was taught. She also didn’t look at anyone like she was told to.

As she was walking away, she heard a voice.

“Mama! Mama!”

The speaker sounded young. She tried not to look.

“Is she staying with us for br- brick- for food?”

“No, my darling. She can’t sit at the table. She’s a freak.”

Her footsteps stalled. She knew that word.

Despite her instructions, she glanced back. That man and that woman were sitting at the table, not looking so very tall for once. That woman was holding a…boy. He was little — like her.

He looked like that man and that woman — not like her.

The boy blinked, confused. “What’s a freak?”

At that moment, that woman looked up and saw her staring. The ugly look returned, and that woman waved her hand in a way she knew meant she was supposed to leave. She left…though she really wanted to know what the answer was.

A few days later, the boy found her.

“There you are!” He said loudly, poking his head between the bars of her room. He looked…happy. It was the first time she’d ever seen someone smile.

“I finally found you! I looked everywhere! In all of the rooms and the closets and even the chimneys!” He giggled. “If we were playing hide-and-seek, you’d win, honest!”

She faintly frowned. ‘Hide-and-seek?’

She didn’t manage to get a word out before he started babbling again.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” He paused to take a really deep breath. “I asked Mister Alfred what a ‘freak’ is! He’s so much nicer than Mister Grimsley, maybe because he likes plants while Mister Grimsley only likes talking about things that put me to sleep. But guess what! Mister Alfred told me — ”

He took in another huge breath. “He said a ‘freak’ is someone who looks REALLY DIFFERENT! Or — or somebody who can do things other people can’t do!”

The boy was nearly shaking from excitement, sticking his head even deeper into the room. She spared a mild concern that he might get stuck that way, when…

In a move she still hasn’t been able to comprehend, let alone replicate, he fell forwards, holding himself up with his hands while his feet stuck straight up. Then, he twisted his body to the side so he could step between the bars and into her room WHILE WALKING ON HIS HANDS. His back curved downwards in a complete arch, letting his legs slowly fall to the floor so he was holding himself up like a four-legged spider. Then he rose, lifting off the ground without moving his feet in that same slow, fluid motion, once more resembling a human with just two legs.

The first time she’d ever seen him do that — she’d just stared.

He turned towards her with his happy smile.

“I think I’m a freak too! Mama says it’s a bad word, so don’t tell her I said that. But…she’s not here right now, so I really want to say it!”

He was suddenly in her face. “Hi! I’m Dorian, and I am a f-r-e-a-k! Just like you!”

Her Dorian…never acknowledged the existence of those bars. He saw them as a thing to be sidestepped or circumvented; a simple nuisance he could get out of his way. Whenever he wanted to, he would just slip between them in order to get to her.

Her Regulus…saw those bars as things he could remove from her path, so he simply did. Her Dorian would enter the cage with her, and her Regulus would unlock it for her.

What it came down to, she supposed, was a difference in perspective.

“What’s your name?” Dorian asked her.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought it was ‘Freak’.”

A tiny frown formed on his face. It looked…out of place.

“That doesn’t sound right. Oh, I could ask Mister Alfred!” His beam was back. “He always answers my questions when nobody else wants to. Hmm, I wonder what other freaks are like. Do you like chocolate?”

She blinked at him. She had no idea what that was.

“I LOVE chocolate! It’s my favourite snack! I would love to know how to make some! One time, Mama read me a story about a boy called Charlie who went to a chocolate factory. I was SOOO jealous! I wish I could go to a chocolate factory too! But they have these helpers called…Oompa Loompas…and they scare me.”

He pouted, shivering slightly. “I think I saw one under my bed last night and I couldn’t go back to sleep. Maybe the servants know how to make chocolate? Brownies are really yummy. Oh, Mama also read me this other story about elves called Brownies! Do you think they’re like…Santa’s elves? Maybe chocolate comes from Santa! He prob’ly sends them down the chimney if you’re not on his naughty list… You don’t think Santa eats his own elves when he gets hungry, do you?”

At this point, she had turned away and retreated to her little bundle of blankets. She wasn’t sure if they were speaking the same language, and had no desire to continue a conversation she only half-understood.

The boy followed, continuing to chatter away eagerly despite her silence. She’d never known one person could talk so much.

She just watched him talk and talk, until at one point he stood up. “I think I should go back to my room now. Mama gets very cross when she checks and can’t find me. She doesn’t really like playing hide-and-seek.”

He skipped over to the bars, once again folding himself into positions that really should be uncomfortable, till he slipped through. He waved at her from the other side.

“See you tomorrow! I’ll find out what your name is, I promise!”

When he was gone, she tried to practise smiling. It didn’t work.

“Guess what!” Dorian chirped at her the next day. “I asked Mister Alfred what your name was, and he said Mama and Papa didn’t make it pub-lic. So he doesn’t know. Sorry I couldn’t find it. But –” He gasped for air desperately, “I found out something else! Mister Alfred said he heard some servants talking one time, and they said that we were born on the same day!” He leaned in to whisper in an only slightly lower volume, “He said we shared a ‘womb’, and that makes us twins! Isn’t that cool? So you’re my sister!”

He tilted his head, looking confused. “Why have you been hiding down here this whole time?”

She stared at him.

After a moment, he shrugged easily. “Wee-ll, I found you! We can play down here if you really want to. But,” He looked around her room with a frown, “You don’t have a lot of toys. That’s okay! I’ll just bring you some of mine!”

Dorian then ran off to do just that.

From that day onwards, she was almost never alone. To be honest, she wasn’t sure if she liked it at first.

“Why do you keep coming in here?” She asked him once.

He looked puzzled by the question. “Why wouldn’t I be here? You’re my twin! We shared a ‘womb’!”

She had no idea what a ‘womb’ was…and honestly, she didn’t think he knew what it was either.

He attempted to sound wise. “Mister Alfred says twins shouldn’t be separated,” he lectured her. “That means I am right where I am meant to be.”

The full extent of this conversation didn’t really dawn on her till months later…after a Dorian-shaped lump slowly started taking over her life.

This incomprehensible being was her brother — her twin. That meant…that man and that woman…were her PARENTS. She was their child…and so was he.

So how come HE got toys — could talk and look at whoever he wanted to and eat chocolate and have stories read to him — but SHE DIDN’T? HOW WAS THAT FAIR?

Her eyes drifted over to the corner of her room, where Dorian’s toys were now stashed. There was a tight feeling in her chest, and it was only growing stronger.

Some of the toys…looked like they could hurt. She’d cut her finger once when she was chopping vegetables, and she now knew what pain felt like, as well as the sight of her own blood.

It was definitely some kind of pain she was feeling, though she couldn’t see it.

But she wanted him to feel it.

She wanted to see his blood — see if that’s what made them so DIFFERENT.

She wanted to hurt and BREAK this stupid boy who her parents would rather have than her.

…Dorian always placed himself within striking distance whenever he came to see her. All she had to do was wait.

She waited…

Dorian…didn’t come that day.

The entire house became dark, and still she heard no tiny footsteps. No one came.

She got scared.

It felt…so much worse than the pain in her chest. Her fear spread everywhere…making it hard to see or even breathe. There was water flowing out of her eyes. She tried scrubbing it away but it still kept coming, so she stopped fighting it and put her face in her hands.

And she cried. It was a long time since she’d done something so pointless.

She didn’t know how long she kept crying, silently and scared, till she suddenly heard something thunk onto the ground.

“Sissy?”

Her head shot up. Dorian was standing at the bars of her room, holding a lantern. There was…something white wrapped around his leg.

“Sissy! I’m here! Sorry I’m late! I was climbing a tree and then I fell, then Mama screamed and screamed and called a Doc-tor, then they kept me in bed for a LONG time because he told me I shouldn’t move my leg. I was SOOO bored!”

Dorian then proceeded to lift a white-casted leg and stick it right through the bars. She gaped wide-eyed.

He’d just managed to slip through somehow when she ran over to him and hugged him.

“Sissy?” He sounded confused.

She pulled back to look at him, scowling fiercely while her tears poured down again.

He blinked at her. “Why are you crying?”

Why was she crying? She sniffed, looking away.

“It was…dark.”

“Oh.” Now he looked sad too. “It was SO dark when Mama and the Doc-tor went away. I got pretty scared too. But I found us a lantern, so we don’t need to be scared anymore! Please don’t cry, Sissy.”

She sniffed again and gave a shaky nod.

He patted her back gently, then raised a leg and tried to walk forward. “Ow!” He yelped. She looked down, noticing he was attempting to walk on the leg he’d just hurt. Her face went flat.

Her Dorian…seemed to forget about pain. That wasn’t the last time her twin fell out of a tree — just his first. For him, every moment seemed to fade away by the next. Life was fleeting and full of magnificent changes, each second holding more promise than the last. He was like hope, joy, and optimism personified.

He was sunshine — slipping through even the smallest of cracks and filling her world with SCREAMING COLOUR.

Her Regulus…wore his pain so constantly — always in some form of it — that he managed to ignore it was even there. As though he’d learned to become desensitised, because he thought if he stopped pushing past it for a single second it would bury him alive.

Her main takeaway from this event was that she could not hurt this Sunshine boy. Dorian could never leave her, because then everything would become dark.

If she really wanted to even the scales in her life, what she had to do was make her twin shine even brighter — bright enough to blind her till he was the only thing she could see. So that this miserable cage would fade away from her eyes…

And maybe one day, she could steal some of that colour and light for herself too.

He did owe her for stealing it first in the ‘womb’ — whatever that was.

She started instructing him on how to do things properly and improve on his skills, just like the servants had taught her. If he complained about not understanding something his tutor said, she had him recite as much as he remembered so she could do her best to understand then help him learn it too. He mastered his letters — then his sums — right there beside her on the blanket. And once she could fully read, she hunted down books in the library in order to shed even more light on him.

Her Dorian was not an easy student. Honestly, sometimes she thought he was kind of dumb, because she couldn’t understand why he was still scratching his head over something that made perfect sense to her. For the most part, his problem was that he just couldn’t seem to sit still long enough before his mind, or his feet — or BOTH — began to wander. The best way she could describe it was that he was ‘scatterbrained’.

Her Regulus seemed scatterbrained as well…but not like it came naturally to him.

…More like someone had SCATTERED his BRAIN.

As she grew, she learned more about her family. That man and that woman had things called ‘titles’. Her father did such a good job not dying in the military and killing people for the Crown that he was awarded with a lot of land and money. They became ‘Nobles’. People now had to bow and show respect by addressing him as ‘Marquess’ and her mother as ‘Marchioness.’

She didn’t care.

The only person in the world who mattered to her at all was Dorian. Her parents could keep the stupid titles they were so afraid of losing that they’d shut her away. Because to her, she had the most important one of all in their family — she was Dorian’s TWIN. Besides him, everybody just looked dim and insignificant. Like the bits of scrap she found around the house that it was her job to dispose of. They were all so…ordinary.

Several years later, that man and that woman had another child. It was a girl…and it was the ugliest, dullest thing she had ever seen.

That man and that woman were so delighted. Because it didn’t have white hair that looked like the clouds her Dorian loved watching, or eyes as violet as the lavenders in the garden her Dorian picked just for her.

How boring.

She honestly could not see what all the fuss was about. The baby didn’t matter to her.

Until it did.

“It will be your responsibility to keep her quiet whilst we are otherwise engaged, Lydia,” That woman said stiffly, clutching the wailing, wrinkly thing like it was something precious.

She looked at her mother blankly. If that was her name, she didn’t want it. The only name she would ever answer to was the name her brother called her.

“Constance is our precious baby girl, and once word gets out that we’ve had a second child — another heir — we will be busier than ever. Common folk do love to gossip, and there will be numerous invitations for us to show our faces out and about so they can measure the strength of our new house. We barely had any time for Dorian when he was born.” A sigh. “Oh how my baby boy must’ve cried.”

Nothing was said about the child they’d completely neglected.

“Every teardrop she sheds is worth more than your existence. Constance must not want for anything. We can’t spare any of the servants to watch her full-time — but you can, and you will. You don’t exactly have much to do with your life anyways…little freak.”

That woman handed over the newborn while being careful not to touch her, lips tightly pursed like she smelled something bad.

The baby’s first order of business was to try and rip her hair out of her skull before puking all over itself.

She HATED it.

She hated it even more when her Dorian for some reason found the nightmarish creature ‘cute’. He would sing and coo at it while she cradled it in her tiny arms, rocking it back and forth to try and get the blasted thing to STOP SCREAMING ALREADY AND GO TO SLEEP!

It was INCREDIBLY IRRITATING. Every second was a constant struggle to not just drop it and walk away.

Her Dorian watched it with his heart in his eyes as it began toddling after her, drooling incessantly.

“Aww! Connie really likes you!” Her daft twin cooed.

She snorted, holding it steady as its weak baby legs almost made it topple onto her.

‘This thing is a demon,’ she thought but didn’t say. Though, she could admit that during this time the brat wasn’t completely intolerable.

It was when it learned how to walk and talk properly that all hell broke loose.

That woman now had more time to spend with it, and was constantly snatching it out of her arms for which she was grateful. But then that woman spoiled it rotten, filling its midget brain with grand ideas about its self-importance.

It was warned about how “Lydia’s freakishness ruined their perfect family.” After that, she almost never knew peace. Because like Dorian, Constance was not content to just leave her alone…

No! That evil brat became the devil she always knew was lurking within!

The tugging on her hair that was once careless became cruel. Constance would trip her up while she was holding plates, always making sure to steal Dorian’s attention away before doing so. The little monster would sneak down to her cage just to taunt her about how she was nothing more than a freak.

She wanted to reach through the bars and strangle that brat. The filthy animal got to sleep in a bed while she slept on the floor — yet somehow had a problem with HER?

She only restrained herself because she knew her twin was fond of it, and that if their parents found out she’d harmed their precious daughter then they would do something to make sure she never saw her Sunshine boy again. She would die before ever risking her place by his side. The devil couldn’t win.

So she gritted her teeth and bore it, her rage a steadily simmering flame beneath her skin.

The time came for Marquess and Marchioness de Mortimer to finally debut their children to the world. They threw a lavish ball and invited the whole court to their estate, where they proudly introduced their two hale and hearty children — “The only successors to their new Noble line.”

Her sweet, silly Dorian piped up to interrupt this claim. “But that’s not true! I have a twin!”

…The festivities ended rather abruptly.

She was locked in her cage for WEEKS afterwards. That woman was hysterically shrieking every single bloody second, and her brother was subjected to several lectures about “not making up stories or speaking out of turn.”

He turned a deaf ear to it all and kept sneaking down to see her, sitting criss-cross inside her cage and chattering away like she couldn’t see the red marks on his knees from where he’d been kneeling all day.

She felt useless.

When she was finally allowed outside, that woman’s glares became even more venomous, and Constance was even more of a menace. She loved her brother with all of her heart, but honestly she wished he’d just kept his mouth SHUT.

She didn’t even want her stupid birthright! Back then, all she ever wanted was to STAY.

But they wouldn’t even let her have that.

Constance barrelled into the kitchen one day where she was sweeping, alone. The little beast’s eyes lit up with predatory glee at seeing her.

She kept her own eyes fixed on the tabletop, where the handle of a steaming teapot was sticking out. The brat’s shoulder had just knocked into it, and it was slowly beginning to fall…

Impassively, she watched it happen.

Loud, piercing screams echoed throughout the room.

As she listened to the brat’s ugly, pain-filled sobs, she found her lips curving upwards into the smuggest little smile.

That man and that woman came running.

“Constance! My baby girl, what’s happened?”

Red-faced and sniffling on the floor, the demon brat lifted a pudgy fist away from its heavily watering eyes…

…And pointed a finger straight at her.

“It was the freak!” Constance wailed, the little liar’s feet scalded red like they were on fire. “She hurt me!”

…The Marquess and Marchioness slowly turned and fixed their gazes upon her.

All of her humour drained away like it had never been.

The very next day, a man drove up to their estate with a horse-drawn cart, and she was ordered to be tossed into a crate and taken away.

She did not bother to protest her innocence — her so-called parents had finally found the perfect excuse to get rid of her that wouldn’t make them lose any sleep over it. In hindsight, she found it distasteful that they hadn’t just smothered her as a babe and been done with it. Their whole charade of being a “perfect family” only made them look pathetic.

And she didn’t beg either, but she’d FOUGHT — sinking her teeth into the exposed arms of the man hauling her into the crate and managing to draw quite a bit of blood before he locked her into it. He harrumphed, tossing her into the back of the cart then closing it up.

It was dark.

She panicked, rattling the cage and throwing herself against the wood in order to escape. It was futile — the spaces were too thin for even her Dorian to slip through. Still, she had to find a way to escape!

Her breaths came faster as she felt the wheels of the vehicle beginning to move. No! She didn’t want to be taken away!

Just as she began to hyperventilate in earnest, a window opened to the side, letting in a block of sunlight. Two tiny feet followed.

Her Dorian slipped into the previously sealed space, landing lightly onto the floor. He looked her way and beamed.

“Found you!”

From what she could gather, her twin had snuck away when their parents gave the order, managing to hide under the bulk of the cart. He had then clutched onto one of its wheels, curving his little body around it like an ‘O’ and hitched himself along for the ride, fighting his giggles the entire time. When he finally tired of the carousel, he climbed up the boards and over to a hollow slit in the wood he managed to slip through.

Her Dorian — so idiotic yet so incredibly smart in other ways.

She stared at him, haloed within the light filling the previously dark space. Breathing became easy again.

He crossed the distance, walking towards her. He frowned at the crate keeping her caged up, a padlock firmly separating them. But then he managed to slip a tiny hand through the space in order to hold hers.

And he grinned.

“I have some chocolate in my pockets! Want some?”

That was the first time she ever laughed. It soon dissolved into hiccuping, helpless sobs.

His smile immediately faded. “Don’t cry, Sissy! I know you’d never do anything to hurt Connie.” He frowned. “She can be such a meanie sometimes.”

Her twin sounded more serious than she’d ever heard him…but not angry. Her Dorian had never grown familiar with the feeling of anger, and she strongly believed he never would have as long as he’d lived.

Her Regulus seemed like he was always angry — even when he wasn’t fully aware of it. That wrath only intensified after Kreacher died.

Or…maybe she was mixing that up with grief.

Nevertheless, it was a rage that made her feel validated — constantly smouldering behind those too pale, almost-white eyes that made her feel SEEN.

Her claws could always come out around him.

Her twin seemed to think she was too good to hurt Constance, or something. She couldn’t even speak, too busy crying because…OH, HOW SHE WISHED SHE HAD!

If all her restraint was all for nothing, then she SHOULD HAVE done what she was accused of! She could’ve poured a BUCKET of hot water on that brat! She would have bathed her in a vat of boiling oil!

She could have lost it all if her bullheaded brother hadn’t decided to come after her. She didn’t ask him what he was doing there, or tell him to leave, because she didn’t want him to go anywhere.

Something like this could NEVER happen again. She needed to do whatever it took to make sure he always stayed. Come what may — hell or high water — they would face it together.

The cart driver was startled when he opened up the back and found not one, but two small children. Her Dorian just blinked at him innocently, and she stayed composed when he unlocked her crate, not mauling him like before but holding tightly onto her brother’s hand, so he just shrugged and bundled them both together. They were put into another vehicle and set off again into the unknown.

She found out some time later that the Marquess and Marchioness believed their son to have been kidnapped by their enemies. This made her snort, because just how many did they have? And at the fact that they never once realised just how attached her brother was to her.

Idiots.

That first night, her and her twin were locked in a cage with several other strangers in god-knows-where. It was almost too dark to see, but she didn’t care because she had him there.

She didn’t expect him to start sniffling.

“What’s wrong, Sunshine?” She looked at him with concern. “Did somebody hurt you?”

No higher power would be able to save anyone who dared.

Her twin shook his head, fluffy black curls slapping his face. “I miss Mama and Papa,” he tearfully confessed. “And…I miss Connie too…a little.”

He shifted, shooting her a guilty look. “Please don’t be mad, Sissy.”

Well…there was no point being mad at him. All three of them were just pathetic pieces of trash in her eyes. She couldn’t even pretend to miss them…but her brother cared for them.

So she squeezed his hand reassuringly. “You have me,” she said simply.

He stared at her, tears swimming in his grey eyes. But then he grinned and with a blink they were gone.

He glomped her. “I’ll always have you! You’re my twin!”

She patted him gently on the back. “You will,” she promised him.

“Oooh! We get to meet so many new people now! Isn’t that great?” His enthusiasm had completely returned. “We can make losta friends!”

Her eyebrows rose at that. ‘FRIENDS?’ Just where did her brother think they were? There was a man in the corner who was missing most of his teeth.

But her brother’s mind had already carried him away with this new idea, and he smiled at her excitedly before turning to inflict his happiness on some unsuspecting stranger.

The cage immediately became brighter.

Her Dorian was a social butterfly, constantly straying from her side to go babble happily at anyone he took notice of. It peeved her a little, but she saw how it eased the people around them, lightening the loads on their shoulders and driving some of the darkness from their eyes, so she let it continue.

Not because she cared for their emotional troubles. But because she’d been an animal locked in a cage her whole life, and she knew it didn’t really take all that much to make someone snap. Her and her twin had no choice but to now sleep surrounded by potentially dangerous people. If he could do something to keep them pacified, then she wouldn’t stop him.

Her Regulus didn’t smile a lot — and when he did, most of the time didn’t reach his eyes. But he always had a special one reserved just for her… And when he smiled like that, he lit up the world in the exact same way, it was like he didn’t even KNOW.

The day came when she realised her Dorian’s kindness might be his curse.

“Sissy! Come quick!” Her twin rushed to her side, grey eyes wide and fearful.

“Something’s wrong with Granny!”

‘Granny’ was one of the inhabitants of their tiny cell. The elderly woman had a few grey wisps of hair — nowhere near a full head — but at their age they’d thought her ancient.

She allowed her twin to pull her to her feet, quickly scurrying over to the corner of the room where Granny lay. She crouched down, examining her with a frown.

Granny’s lips were parched, her breathing shallow and accompanied with frequent coughs.

Her brother looked frightened. “What’s wrong with her?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

His lips quivered slightly. “Is she going to die?”

She scrutinised the woman. “Maybe.”

Her Dorian was so fond of everyone. She felt saddened that he had to see this. But death was just a part of life. He would get over it in time.

Granny’s lips formed a shape, expelling an audible breath. She leaned in to hear her better.

“A…agua…”

She straightened, letting out a thoughtful noise. Once, some Spanish dignitaries had visited their villa, and she’d heard a man say the exact same thing while gesturing to a water jug. That woman had immediately snapped at her to go refill it.

“I think she wants water,” She informed her twin. He frowned, biting his lip.

They were not allowed to ask for anything. They only got what the guards were ‘kind’ enough to give them. She’d taught her brother to hold his tongue around them, because the one time someone tried to complain about wanting more food, they came into the cage and beat him up so badly he started spitting blood.

In a choice between covering her brother’s eyes or his ears — she’d chosen his eyes. She’d held him like that — shaking and whimpering in her arms the entire time.

Her brother wasn’t completely stupid. He didn’t immediately start hollering for help.

But then he did something even more idiotic.

His little face scrunched up in determination. “I’ll go find her some water!” He stated, rising to his feet and turning towards the bars.

Her eyebrows narrowed. “Brother…”

“I’ll be super careful, Sissy, I promise! Just stay with Granny, okay? I already know where the kitchens are, and everyone’s prob’ly asleep so I’ll be really quick!”

And before she could say anything else…he was already moving.

Slipping through the cage bars like the bones in his body were a mere suggestion before she could stop him.

And who could?

She took in a deep breath, held it, then exhaled. Stayed right where she was. Then, discreetly, she surveyed the expressions of the other prisoners, who’d gone from ignoring the scene in front of them to realising that her twin did not have to be in this cage if he didn’t want to be.

Some were simply surprised. Some looked speculative. But…one man in the corner had a different reaction. He had more meat on his bones than the rest of them, and he stared in the direction her brother had disappeared with a look on his face that screamed something like jealousy.

Something like HATE.

She peered at him coolly.

Her twin came back shortly with the water. Granny lived.

That waste of space did not.

That night, while most of them were asleep (and after making sure that her brother was), she…‘disposed’ of the trash.

Silently crept over to the corner where the man slept….put one hand over his mouth…

…Then bit down into the side of his neck. She sunk her teeth in as deeply as they could go and tore into him, ripping out his flesh.

She was not about to wait for this piece of trash to work up the courage to take out her brother while SHE was asleep, or attempt to snitch on him!

NOBODY WAS GETTING IN BETWEEN THEM EVER AGAIN.

His body jerked as he fought, but she somehow managed to hold down his considerable bulk and kept biting and biting till he stopped moving. Calmly, she spit and wiped away the blood on her face, then grabbed his limp fingers and dug it into his neck.

Then she returned to curl around her twin protectively. It was probably backwards, but sleep came much easier to her after that.

In the morning, the guards came in and saw him, shrugged, then started dragging him away. Probably to dump him into some unmarked grave. The jailers always looked at them like they were just dead people.

Her Dorian woke up as they were moving him. He frowned at the sight of the blood.

“What happened to him?”

“He died,” she said flatly.

“Oh.” He looked sad. “Do you think there’s anything I could’ve done?”

‘More like it was because of something you did,’ she thought, but didn’t say. That would be cruel.

Instead, she just patted his cheek. “Don’t waste any of your tears on him, Sunshine. He did nothing to deserve it.”

He still looked glum, but she quickly distracted him by mentioning his favourite book and then he was chattering away. He swiftly moved past it — just like she’d known he would.

While he prattled, she darted a quick glance back. She could feel the stares of some prisoners who had not been asleep last night. They quickly looked away when meeting her eyes… But one man held them. He returned her gaze measuredly, then mimed zipping his lips.

‘As long as they all understood,’ she thought. Satisfied, she turned back to bask in her brother’s innocent cheer.

She could not stop her brother from being kind, nor did she want to. She was not snuffing out any part of her twin. He was absolutely perfect just the way he was.

It was the rest of the world who had to pay.

When someone was stupid enough to suggest within her earshot that her brother could just sneak out and grab the keys in order to help them escape, she immediately put them in their place.

She stalked over, making sure her twin was preoccupied playing with some kid in the corner.

“You think we haven’t thought of that?” She scoffed, staring down the piece of trash who’d dared to presume they could use her brother for their own ends.

“My brother has already informed me that they keep the keys in a place that’s too high for him to reach. He’s only nine years old. If he falls he could break his neck, so I’ve forbidden him to try.”

Their lips parted but she took a step forward, her glare boring into them.

“If you want out of this cage so badly…”

Her wrath spilled into her eyes and her words.

“…Why don’t YOU find a way and risk your OWN damn self, instead of trying to get my brother killed?”

They never raised the issue again.

All things considered, being there wasn’t so bad. They were just expected to work all the time, but that wasn’t anything she wasn’t already used to.

Besides, her brother was enjoying himself. For him, the work they were assigned were like quests to complete. He always found a new way to accomplish a seemingly routine task with baffling creativity. Her Dorian took to slavery and imprisonment like a duck to water.

Maybe because he was never meant to be there, or actually trapped in any sense of the word.

Maybe he thought that once he got tall enough to reach the keys, he would bust them both out of there and take them on their next great adventure.

He kept being gushingly happy and somewhat inconveniently helpful. It was fine when he helped her with her tasks, because she never asked him to.

(And she’d more than returned the favour.)

When her skin got red and sensitive from working in the sun for too long, she hadn’t complained, but he’d taken over her tasks and gifted her “sleeves and a hat that Granny helped me make!” She’d smiled so happily that day, touched by his attentiveness, and made sure to thank Granny as well.

But some undeserving pieces of trash couldn’t just be grateful for the absolute angel that was her twin. She became incensed when she noticed some of them roping her brother into doing their work for them then completely buggering off.

She’d tried to tell him he did not need to do those stupid trash’s work for them, but he’d given her a sad puppy look and protested that — “‘Aunty this’ or ‘Uncle that’ looked SOOO tired I just HAD to help them!” — and she quickly realised she was just wasting her breath.

Again, she had to take matters into her own hands.

She didn’t mind him helping the elderly, since he had endless energy and they might as well conserve what little they had. They were expected to be weak. But for younger folk, who were purposefully putting on an act so her brother would do their work for them –

She would turn and give them a look — an unconcealed warning for them to shape up and pick up their slack before she decided to do something about it.

She curbed a lot of their rebelliousness that way and saved her brother a heap of unnecessary stress, and he didn’t even have any idea.

Some credit would have been nice. But then again, what her Sunshine didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.

She’d begun hearing whispers around nighttime of people being taken from their cages…for reasons that weren’t just work. It made her extremely wary. The stories she heard while she pretended to sleep made her determined to avoid notice. As a result, she started colouring her hair darker in order to blend in.

(She had to reassure her brother over and over that it did not matter what she looked like, she would ALWAYS be his twin, before he finally stopped pouting about her “fluffy cloud hair becoming sad.”)

While she made sure to conceal herself, the same could not be said for her twin. He got it into his head one day to start befriending their jailers. Mostly the ones that noticed how hard he worked and called him a “good boy”, which made him ecstatic to work even harder.

This behaviour of his disgusted her, though she never let him know it. Those were people who saw nothing wrong with putting both the young and the elderly equally through backbreaking work — and her brother was SEEKING their validation???

NO USELESS PIECE OF TRASH COULD EVER PRESUME TO TELL HER WHAT SHE WAS WORTH.

At first, it was harmless, though she warned him to be careful. But he kept on doing it, so she just kept a close eye on him. Sometimes the guards would give him more food, which was great.

One day, he got slapped in the face.

Some loser had been barking orders at them the whole morning while they worked. Her Dorian FOR SOME REASON thought he must be extremely thirsty, so he zipped over to offer him some water.

The guard struck him.

The last time he offered someone water, he’d probably saved their life. This time, he was hit so hard he flew about a foot backwards and tumbled across the sand.

She spared a single second to memorise the guard’s face, imprinting it into her eyeballs, before she was flying towards her twin.

Her Sunshine’s lips quivered when he saw her, and she quickly scooped him up and started to run. Her instincts were screaming at her to get him somewhere safe.

Some guards acted friendly, but she knew just how quickly people’s faces could change. Those same guards had hurt others for being too loud.

She’d just ducked into the first empty corner she could find when his sobs tore out of his body. Her arms wrapped around him and held him tightly — maybe too tightly — with his face pressed against her chest till he tired himself out from all the crying.

That or she’d accidentally smothered him into unconsciousness.

Either way, he was sleeping peacefully. She cradled him, quietly vibrating with rage.

Granny helped her find a cool cloth to soothe the burn on his face. By the time he woke up, it was like nothing ever happened. He was as bright and bubbly as always.

But she did not trust that her brother wouldn’t try and make friends with that same guard one day. He might’ve even blocked out the entire encounter from his mind.

She would not take that chance.

Later that night, she made sure she was put on the roster for delivering the guards’ meals to their quarters. And she did not forget that arsehole’s face.

They found him the next morning, lips blue and a drained bottle of alcohol beside him.

It seemed fairly straightforward. No fuss was raised.

Idiots.

In a different vein, what scared her so much with her Regulus…was that he would be fully aware he was about to stick his hand into a fire, or a viper’s pit, or some other painful thing…and would do it anyways if the bleeding heart cause meant something to him!

None of her idiot brothers could just be content with STAYING SAFE! It drove her insane!  …But maybe her crazy was just what they needed.

Her twin was born with a heart that was too soft. So was her Regulus. Maybe hers was forged just hard enough to protect them both.

For a relatively long time, she held onto her twin like that. Anyone who looked at him wrong met a different foul end than the last. Her Dorian was a handful, but he was HER handful. She wouldn’t have it any other way.

It was a marvel, truly, just how full her hands were from holding onto him.

They were working in a countryside location one day, and her Dorian saw a pretty butterfly. He started to chase it, his bare feet and long, unruly black hair making him look half-wild.

They wore collars whenever they worked outside that sent out an electric shock if one strayed too close to the borders. It was to keep the ambitious from making a break for it.

Her Dorian refused to acknowledge the existence of the boundary, too caught up in chasing the colourful insect.

He got zapped.

She was already up and moving. Her brother stopped in his tracks and looked longingly after the butterfly, his expression mournful…then hopeful…

He took another step forward.

She sighed as her twin was once again shocked by his actions. Grabbing him by the arm, she started dragging him back towards the grounds.

“Watch him, please,” she instructed Granny, depositing her unruly twin in the older woman’s arms. “He keeps trying to stray past the perimeter.”

Before her Dorian could finish complaining, Granny faithfully began showing him how to make a doll from straw. He was immediately preoccupied.

While this occurred, she grabbed a glass jar and a mesh lid from a basket of supplies and went hunting.

Making sure to locate the exact butterfly her brother had his eyes on, she began trying to trap it within the jar. The collar burned her neck. She ignored it, measuring how close she could get to her quarry before the burn became unbearable. When it did, she retreated, keeping her eyes pinned on the butterfly to make sure she didn’t lose sight of it.

It flew idly and in swooping circles, perching on a blade of grass or a dandelion before fluttering its wings a short distance away. She held her breath, waiting for it to come closer. Sometimes it looked like she was about to lose sight of it, and she’d have to take further steps and punishing shocks to stay on top of it.

This went on for such a long time that she forgot why she was even doing it in the first place. All she knew was that she had to CATCH THAT BUTTERFLY.

Finally — success! She slammed the jar on the creature, making sure to slide the mesh lid below it, then screwed it on. Inside, the butterfly floated serenely. She hugged the jar to herself, giggling a little at her triumph.

Time to go inside. Prize in hand, she hurried back to her brother.

The collar was removed from her once she was accounted for, and she found her brother already inside their little cell.

“Sissy! I made this for you!” Her sunshine presented her with a little strawman. She smiled, happy to have something to give him as well.

“Here.” She showed him the jar with the butterfly trapped inside. As she watched, he gaped at it, wonder shining in his eyes…

Then he pouted. “It’s not as fun like that.”

She just shrugged, handing it over. She’d caught it for him; he might as well keep the damn thing.

He took the jar — then thoughtfully popped the lid open. Letting the butterfly fly free.

Her eyebrow twitched. Did he have any idea how hard she’d worked to catch it?

However, her ire faded as her twin began to chase the butterfly around the cage, laughing happily the whole time. When it eventually flew through the bars, he didn’t chase after it — though he could have. He just gave it a fond look as it disappeared, then turned and flung himself at her.

“That was so fun! Thanks, Sissy! We should do that again tomorrow!”

She blinked at him. He was willing to get electrocuted for something he was just going to let go of in the end?

That seemed wasteful to her — yet it didn’t seem to bother her Dorian in the least. It almost seemed like…that was the entire point to him.

He was like a bird in a cage with the door wide open — free to beat his wings and soar into the sky whenever he liked — but still returned to the cage he called home. Free to choose — and he chose…this.

She couldn’t understand it. So many years later and her brother still seemed just as incomprehensible as he was on the first day they’d met.

But she did not need to understand her brother. All she had to understand was that he loved her, and she in turn loved him. He’d chosen her above their trash parents and their vile wretch of a sister, and would remain here at her side in spite of everything because he was her TWIN.

They shared a soul bond — it was something that could never be divided. No one and nothing else in the world was more important to them than each other. He could chase after a thousand butterflies — flap his wings several miles away — and still continue to revolve around her.

And just when she’d decided that HE was the meaning of her life — that being his twin was what she was worth in this world…

Her world was turned upside down. For the first time, it was HER life on the line. And to protect her, he’d chosen to let her go.

Let himself be taken away.

He could have fought with her — FOR her. With the both of them attacking the guards they might have managed to run out of the open door and escape. He could have escaped by himself; followed from a distance till he could find a way to free or join her. Or told them that if they wanted to take her then they should take him too.

He could have DIED with her.

…But he’d done none of that.

No — HE’D OFFERED HIMSELF UP IN HER PLACE.

He’d made her out to be a fool. All along she’d been thinking he’d seen her as his equal…

…Only for him to prioritise HER life over his — to TRADE HIMSELF for her.

Just thinking about it made her want to rip her hair out and SCREAM!

Before that, she would have forgiven her Dorian for anything. Forgiven his foolish wanderings, his reckless actions, and for wasting his time mingling with the trash.

But she would NEVER forgive him for THAT.

What happened to them both being freaks? To them sharing a womb? To being TWINS?

What gave him the right to decide she was worth more than him?

….Why did he suddenly change his mind and think she could survive being alone, when all she’d ever known was being beside him?

She’d promised him he would always have her.

He made her BREAK HER PROMISE…then broke everything else inside her.

When he was gone, everything went dark. Just like she’d known it would. Admittedly, she might’ve lost her head a little bit. She cried and screamed but he didn’t come back, so she proceeded to break everything and everyone around her.

Pretty soon she was isolated and alone, but she didn’t notice all that much; so blinded was she by the dark. She carried on like this for quite a while, wallowing and waiting and occasionally lashing out at any perceived threats.

Then she saw him — her Regulus. A shining star so bright it cut through the dark of her never-ending night.

In a decision borne from delusion and foolish hope, she’d clung to him — and he’d clung to her right back. And he kept holding onto her, even now. If she wanted to slip inside his skin, crawl right into his chest and curl up around his heart, he would let her.

She never would’ve traded her Dorian for anything. Him and her Regulus were so different, yet so similar. She liked to think he was who her twin could have grown up to be…if he’d gotten the chance to.

But…if she had to have another brother…

She was glad it was someone like Regulus.

(Flashback ends)

She clung to him now, leaving her nail marks on his skin and placing an ear right against his heartbeat.

Regulus placed a gentle hand on top of her head, taking the book from her.

“‘Insipidity’,” he read aloud. “It means dull; uninteresting. In this paragraph, the Dashwood sisters are finding Lady Middleton so boring that, compared to her, everyone else seems more appealing. It’s like she makes everybody around her shine brighter just by being herself.”

Polaris went quiet, turning away. Slowly, she raised a hand, waving it back and forth in front of the light filtering in through the window. Sunlight warmed her skin, illuminating it, then disappearing. There and gone. Never clinging on.

“He was bright, my Dorian,” She murmured softly. “He was sunshine.”

Regulus was silent for a beat. “I wish I’d known him,” he whispered back.

“You would’ve loved him. Everybody did. They had to, or I would’ve killed them,” she said calmly. “He deserved all of the love in this world.”

She looked up at him then. “And so do you.”

Regulus smiled, kind of wryly, kind of sadly.

“I love you too, Wildcat. Thank you for staying with me.”

He read to her every night till they fell asleep, making sure to explain every word she didn’t know. He bought her clothes and shoes that would belong only to her and fit her perfectly. He got them ice cream, adoring the look of delight it brought to her eyes to taste the sweet for the first time. He took them to the park and pushed her on the swings for a while, before taking up the seat beside her.

Sometimes Kreacher’s ghost would join them too, smiling indulgently down at them as they played.

And instead of feeling grief or misery at that, he felt…content.

He felt alive.

And for the first time in a very long while…

Regulus was glad for it.

---

They spent a whole day touring Piccadilly Circus. They’d peeked their heads into every single shop and tourist attraction, and Regulus had been filled with both wonder and contentment at seeing so many large groups of commoners going about their lives unburdened by the prejudice of Great Britain’s most elite.

A travelling circus was in town as well, and Regulus had gotten them both tickets to see it. Ris had been fixated on the acrobats, and Regulus had thought she would be blown away by their brilliance, but she’d just stared at them with a forlorn look on her face.

When Regulus asked her if she wanted to leave, she shook her head, so they stayed — and she continued to watch the revelry with an aching sadness on her face.

Then she’d glimpsed a performer who had the same natural colourings as her, and she’d stared at them for a long time.

That seemed to have perked up her spirits quite a bit. But to be sure, Regulus took them to get cotton candy and other snacks.

“Can we get chocolate?” She’d tentatively asked.

How could he deny her anything? When he handed her a packet of purchased bonbons, she smiled at him.

Regulus would kill — over and over again — to protect that smile.

Now walking home at night, with her happily nibbling away at his side, Regulus could feel a lightness tinting his every step. Yet, even now, he could not stop his mind from racing.

The transmitter device had still not gone off, though they’d made no move towards Godric’s Hollow for the past week, so he was fairly certain he was not being tracked. Now, the question was how he could study it.

It seemed important, somehow, to do so. But he was no technological expert. On his own, he might be able to figure it out in time… Still, there had to be someone who could do it more efficiently.

Right on the heels of that thought, he stopped walking. Polaris stopped as well, glancing at him curiously. He tapped her arm, a silent signal to be cautious, then spun his head in the direction of the alley right beside them.

He could feel someone’s gaze staring out from there. It didn’t feel threatening, just…wary. Probing.

He held that attention, his body language exuding openness. Inviting.

There was a small step. Then another. And a boy emerged from the shadows.

He had one blue eye. One milky-white. Several burn scars on his face. And a piercing gaze fixed on Regulus.

“You found me.”

The boy gave him a flat look, one shoulder jerking up in a challenging shrug. As though to say, ‘What, like it was hard?’

It was surreal. He’d half-expected to never see him again.

Rivers of red staining his soul… But this one had not been shed.

Regulus could not help the relieved grin that split his face completely in half. “I am so glad you are alive.”

Sincerity shone through his every syllable.

The boy stared at him. He showed no outward reaction, but a peculiar light glinted in his eyes, making them look luminous.

Polaris stared at the boy, stared at her brother — then looked heavenwards, letting out a silent sigh.

The boy approached, carefully, but now a little more trusting.

“Here,” he grunted out, handing Regulus back his borrowed lock picks.

Regulus took them thoughtfully. He’d lost the ones he kept in his sleeves back at the lake. It was nice to be reacquainted with the familiar weight.

“Did you get everybody out?”

The boy looked down, ashamed. “No time. Just them.” He jerked his head towards the alley he came from. Regulus could see at least two other sets of eyes peering out at him, expressions cagey but hopeful.

Time — which had been paused for almost a week now — started flowing again.

Polaris tugged on his arm and he glanced at her. She had a resigned but expectant look on her face.

‘What do you need me to do?’

He squeezed her hand.

‘Just stay with me.’

To the boy, he said, “Show me the way.”

 

---

Notes:

The way James stays on Regulus’ mind rent-free is sooo funny to me lol 😂

Y’all, I’ve gotta be honest: I don’t really know the full scope of what I’m going to write in a chapter until I start writing it. I don’t think I even fully know the scope of this story yet.

When I started imagining this fic, I was very inspired after binge-watching Queen Charlotte, especially the final episode. Regulus is very King George-coded to me, and I thought he needed a sibling (Queen Charlotte-coded) who would stick with him through thick and thin. Something like this:

Regulus: *from day one* Leave! I order you! I am trying to protect you! You do not wish a life with me for yourself!

Polaris: No! I will stand with you between the heavens and the earth! I WILL STAY, I COMMAND IT!

So I’m not entirely sure how I now have this murderous little hellion on my hands. I did not know she was this unhinged. She doesn’t even have genetic family madness to back it up, she’s just built different. I’m scared guys. I’m very scared. She does fit in rather well with the Black family, though 🤷🏽‍♀️

_

Honourable mentions:

Dorian every time he sees Lydia: 😍 🥨 🤗

Rockstar Dorian: *pulling up into a human trafficking ring like it’s a fun party* Sup? ✌️😎 🪩

Also Dorian: YOUR HONOUR I’M A FREAK BITCH! HANDCUFFS! LEASHES! 🗣️ 🙋🏻

Okay I’m done lmao. Personal kudos to my boyfriend for helping me with the fight scene!

_

I created a playlist called ‘Regulus star and the Little Dipper’. I’ve put it on Spotify and Apple. Please leave your comments down below, I need them to survive 🥹 I hope my writing puts a smile on your face or uplifts your mood if you’re in a bad place. I know I have been recently 😞

Chapter 23: Oh, here we go again…

Summary:

Should he really have expected anything different from someone who fit in so well in the Slytherin House? They were all aloof, uncaring, and cold — just like his estranged brother.

Like a dead fucking snake.

“Of course he won’t pick a side, or actually take a stand,” Sirius scoffs, rolling his eyes.

Blood boiling beneath his skin, he levels his brother with a derisive sneer.

“That’s because he’s a fucking coward.”

Notes:

James vs Polaris or James vs Regulus? ⚔️ This chapter should’ve been named The Great War lmao

(TW: Mentions of war, suicide ideation, attempted murder, blood, torture, child abuse and psychological trauma)

23.

— —  — — — — — — Present — — — — — — — —

“Let me tell you what this war is really about.”

Regulus has been wanting to rant about this for so long that, at the moment, he doesn’t even care about the members of his target audience. His cobra hood unfurls, ready to rear up and strike.

“This horrible, horrible situation we’re in right now is happening solely because that- that tragic excuse of a nutjob wants to PISS OFF Albus Dumbledore! He is a grasping, tryhard social climber who hates rejection and cannot take no for an answer; and he is also an insecure little bitch.

“And Albus Dumbledore, instead of acting like a responsible nearly-one-hundred-year-old adult, has decided to go head-to-head with this tyrannical dumpster fire and is letting him choose the terms of this battle, because he wants to beat him at it. Publicly. So that everyone will know just how great he is; add another feather to one of his ridiculous-looking hats. Apparently, defeating Grindelwald was not enough glory for him.

“That is the reason for this war. That is all there is to it, I PROMISE YOU. Just two old men playing games and using Great Britain as their chessboard.”

James blinks, stunned at the amount of vitriol spilling from Regulus’ lips — such a degree that makes anything that’s been directed at him pale in comparison.

He really parted ways with the Dark side on severely bad terms, huh, James thinks. Wonder how that happened.

Briefly, he ponders over what could have possibly made Regulus this bitter towards everyone involved.

Sirius is quite amused at hearing this new spitfire version of his brother ripping both Dumbledore and Voldemort to bloody shreds. Anything is a nice change from his friends who all thought the sun shone out of Dumbles’ arse… Even though he has no bloody clue what the fuck Reggie is talking about.

Remus is completely aghast. He’s never heard a more incomprehensible retelling of events in all his life.

People are dying and Regulus thinks this is some kind of game?

“You sound insane,” Remus tells him.

Regulus snorts. “That is not the insult you think it is,” he counters glibly. Stars, what he wouldn’t give for a cigarette and a nap right about now…

His laidback manner is completely contrasted by Polaris who bristles, hackles rising as she finally reaches the end of her rope.

“Starboy isn’t lying!” She snarls, glaring at the Marauders viciously. “And he doesn’t owe you shit either! My brother has already given too much of himself to this war.”

A dark look flickers across her eyes. “NOBODY is entitled to ask anything more from him.”

“Your ‘brother’ is a war criminal who has not yet properly answered for his crimes,” Remus coolly rebuts.

“Oh, shut up!” Ris snaps. “SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP, you simpering, overgrown toerag! We just had somebody in here who was nearly crying about how he wanted to unalive himself from something you losers did to him before this war even started! You shouldn’t be telling anybody what they should be doing. You should be in prison, you filthy, fucking disgusting, absolutely abominable arsehole…”

She proceeds to call him every name under the sun, and Regulus can’t stop his shoulders from shaking with restrained laughter.

Moony looks like he is shrinking in height every second she continues, and Padfoot’s eyes have turned black with anger.

James reaches out to drag both of his friends behind him, acting as their pillar. He never knew he’d ever meet a girl with a sharper mouth than Lily Evans, but there’s a first time for everything.

“Whoa, whoa, there’s no need to fight!” He desperately implores.

“Well, your degenerate friend is looking for one,” Polaris shoots back, relentlessly ruthless. “Maybe he shouldn’t open his fucking mouth if he isn’t prepared to take what he dishes out. And if you can’t handle the heat then get the fuck out of the kitchen. Why are you even still here? What gave any of you the right to think you could ask my brother for anything?”

A tiny squeak is heard from behind them, and James partially turns to see Wormtail rooted in place, slightly quivering in fear while staring at Polaris. With her attitude, he must think she’s some sort of Valkyrie coming for their souls.

James shifts a little bit to also shield him from view.

“Look, we’re sorry. It shouldn’t have been phrased that way. This is just…such a sensitive situation, and it seems like we all have stakes in this,” He bites his lip, nervously meeting her gaze.

“I just don’t understand why we can’t all work together in some way; lend each other our strengths to fight back at the oppression we’re all completely against.”

“Oh, I am sure it would be incredibly easy for all of us to just sit holding hands around little campfires as we plan to tackle this great evil, then wanking each other off while the sun sets,” she says, her tone filled with biting sarcasm.

James’ mouth gapes open slightly. She always appears so prim and proper — he didn’t think Polaris could be vulgar as well.

She aims him a level stare.

“Let me spell it all out for you, so maybe you’ll finally pull your head out of your loser arse. Why the fuck should we work with you? Oppression? Does anybody in there look oppressed to you?”

She points a sharp finger at the cafe they’ve just exited. The people in there still look so happy, laughing and milling about like not a single thing in the world could ever harm them. James’ stare lingers on them, still longing for that serene atmosphere.

“Exactly. Look at what is going on with your eyes instead of whatever pretentiousness you tell yourself to get your pathetic self out of bed in the morning. Nobody in there cares about this fucking war; not because it’s not going on, but because of him.”

Her chin jerks towards Regulus at her side, who looks like he’s not even paying attention.

“He gave them that peace of mind, so none of them have any worries because they know he will take care of any problems coming their way. Do you get it now? We don’t need your help — and we don’t need to help you either. We are doing just fine handling the situations that we want to give our attention to, and if that sometimes coincides with helping with this war, then that is fine. But we are not helping the Light. The House of Black are members of the Grey faction now, get that through your thick head! If your leader is so shite at his job that he’s failing you all so much you have to come begging for help from someone who rightfully owes you NOTHING, then that’s on him. You speak about how people should be doing more, but from where I’m standing, the only person who is not doing enough for this war is your fucking Leader.”

James splutters. “Dumbledore has done so much, things not even the Ministry tries to help with! He mobilises us, playing to our strengths and sending us to the places he can use us best! So many of our friends and family have survived this long and are still able to fight because he’s organising us and rallying in new volunteers as well!”

He digs his nails into his palm, trying not to let his temper rise. “You don’t even know the half of it, so don’t — don’t just speak on things you don’t know.”

She coolly watches him. “When was the last time,” she begins slowly, “You saw your Leader come onto the battlefield himself?”

That brings James up short. “What?”

“Well?” She arches a brow. “I know absolutely nothing, so tell me, why doesn’t he fight? Why isn’t he out there subduing these threats to your friends and family by himself?” She gently tilts her head to the side in a catlike motion.

“Is he weak?”

James squints at her. “No. He took on bloody Grindelwald. He’s the best duelist since Godric Gryffindor, and Voldemort himself is said to be afraid of him. He is not weak.”

“Then why isn’t he out there fighting? Why hasn’t he shown up to take care of Voldemort and his forces?”

“It’s too risky. We haven’t been able to pin down Voldemort’s location yet because he’s too slippery, and he has so many followers shielding him. He’s not even seen on the battlefield that much either. Dumbledore likely wants to conserve his strength for when we’re finally able to confront Voldemort directly. So right now he’s helping the cause by doing his best to make sure we can put away as many Death Eaters as possible.”

Polaris just gazes at him flatly. “So we agree then. Your Dumbledore is pathetic. Equally as pathetic as Voldemort, both of them simply hiding behind their forces like shivering little rats.”

Her eyes slide up a little, making eye contact with Peter. He ducks, moving closer to James to hide from view. She sneers, her lips curling slightly.

“They are co-chairmen of the same club, the one called ‘Sit Around With Your Dick In Your Hands’.”

Remus chokes and Regulus isn’t doing much better, silently wheezing with tears forming behind his eyes.

James grinds his teeth. It’s like talking to an infuriating brick wall. “Don’t compare Dumbledore to Voldemort. That’s sick. They are not even remotely the same, don’t ever say that.”

“I’m just calling it as I see it,” Polaris neutrally states, crossing her arms. “You can all continue doing his dirty work, but I am NOBODY’S fucking servant. I will never fight with or for someone who isn’t fighting right there beside me. If you want to keep being a doormat, that’s your problem.”

Sirius cocks his head, thinking about that. Thinking of what that might mean in regards to his brother, who he now darts a speculative gaze towards…

Polaris stares Remus right in the eyes next. “Any kind of leader worth their salt would look people in the eyes when asking them to put their lives in his hands, rather than sending an errand boy. Otherwise, that’s just asking for human sacrifices — and none of us here are stupid enough to throw our lives away now that we’ve finally gotten to a point where we are okay with living them. Even just the thought of it disgusts me to my core… But you know what really pisses me off?”

Her tone gets darker, and she takes a step closer. Determinedly, James stays right where he is, bravely trying not to falter as she pins him with her predatory gaze; like a vulture spotting carrion.

“It’s that, for some reason, you think you can stand here and say so boldly, to his face and mine, that Starboy’s feelings towards you all are less important than this war. I do not agree,” she pronounces each word crisply, making sure each one sinks into him like a blade meeting flesh.

“NOTHING is more important than them. I do not care if the apocalypse descends on us tomorrow and we all have to band together to help each other survive — nothing will ever erase ANY of the suffering you horrible pieces of trash so easily abandoned him to deal with alone. You think you can simply say that and just make it true because you don’t know what it was like, but I do. I WAS THERE.”

Her eyes flit between him and Sirius. “NONE of you were. So don’t ever open your fucking mouth and say something so stupid again.”

James finally falters, chagrined because…beneath her anger, there’s a lot of pain. Pain that Regulus has not allowed himself to show — so she’s doing it for him.

“I’m — I’m sorry…”

“SHUT UP. I’m already trying so hard not to kill you as it is. Don’t tempt me even more by offering useless apologies. My brother is so very kind that he’s given you his hospitality and made you think that after everything you’ve done, you can ask him for things —that you can even address him while standing up—instead of getting on your fucking knees and begging him for mercy.”

The Marauders take a collective step back. Her gaze is so imposing that James even feels the back of his knees start to shake. Even Sirius is unnerved, because what the fuck is wrong with this chick?

Peter is desperately trying to hold in his squeaks of fright.

Then Regulus sighs. “Ris, I don’t… Let’s not talk about that right now.”

Slowly, she rips her eyes away from them and turns to him. Regulus gives her a small smile that holds no amount of happiness anywhere.

“Hey, come here.” He tugs her towards him and she goes easily, letting him wrap his arms around her shoulders and rest his chin on her head. She keeps her burning gaze on them for a few more seconds, all that fire and rage and pain just barely contained, before shutting her eyes and leaning her head back into his chest.

Remus believes he has made a grave mistake. All along, he’s seen the way Polaris complements Regulus, guiding him sometimes and being defensive over his well-being, and he thought their relationship was like what Sirius has with James — with Polaris being the one keeping Regulus in check like James does with Sirius. He thought that Regulus was the one to watch…and he’s been SO wrong it’s astounding.

It now seems as though he’s the one restraining her.

He opens his mouth. Regulus immediately pins him with a fierce look. “Zip it!” He hisses out.

Remus closes his mouth.

Regulus places a hand on Polaris’ head, trailing his fingers gently through her hair. “Better?” He murmurs.

She lets out a soft grunt and nods, still not opening her eyes.

Regulus sighs again, continuing to cling to her tightly. Coolly, he looks up at the Marauders, considering them.

“If you really want important information about this war, then there’s something you should know.”

At the corner of his sight, he sees Peter twitching, anxiously fidgeting. Gods above, what a dumbarse. Regulus still can’t believe he hasn’t been caught yet.

He takes a deep breath, then begins. “Voldemort is a -” Half-Blood, he wants to say, thinks it, imagines speaking it out loud…

…And his throat is immediately clogged by a surge of that rib-crushing laughter, so powerful he has to bite the inside of his cheek before it tears out of him and rips his throat raw and sends him back to that same state as before — seeing spots as he fights to breathe, then fights to keep all the water in his body from spilling out of his eyes, then fights to keep his stomach from fleeing his body.

He tastes the slight tang of copper in his mouth; tries again -

“He is a fraud, and a barmy motherfucking son of a bitch!” Regulus seethes, getting heated all over again. “His entire crusade is built on lies, and they’re so paper thin anyone could poke holes in them, then drive a fucking tank straight through it! And your…Leader of the Light knows this, he has to know it, it’s unthinkable that he doesn’t, and if he was willing to tell any of you anything, then he would tell you this. It would be incredibly easy for him to just open his mouth and say something — but he hasn’t, and I cannot begin to understand why, much less care for his reasons. All I know is that he could’ve ended this war before it even properly began, and he didn’t, and now that’s all you will know too.”

James’ brow furrows as he frowns in absolute befuddlement. Voldemort is a fraud? What the hell did that mean?…Is Regulus saying that Voldemort doesn’t believe in blood purity? That’s…such an absurd thought James can’t wrap his mind around it.

If he doesn’t believe in it, then why the fuck is he preaching it? Why is he going around killing muggleborns and innocent civilians? Why would he be striking so hard at members of the Light who are opposing him if he has no issue with their beliefs?

Could it all really be because of this grudge Regulus claims Voldemort has against Dumbledore?

Sirius, quite frankly, doesn’t care one whit if Voldemort is a liar or not. The man is a fucking snake, of course he would be lying about something at some point or another! Slytherins lie, the sky is blue and the sun sets; so fucking what? They still needed to take down the fucker in order to win the war.

But hearing that Dumbledore has something to do with this war dragging on is what perks his interest.

James turns to Remus, giving him a questioning look. Remus has always been able to make sense of things faster than the rest of them.

But even Remus is confused here. Voldemort…didn’t invent blood purity. It’s been around for ages; even before the time of Hogwarts’ founding, when Salazar famously declared that anyone without Pureblood wasn’t welcome in the school. Pureblood Nobles have always thought that they were better than anyone with muggle origins — that’s a straight fact.

If Voldemort is capitalising off of it somehow and pulling the wool over his followers’ eyes — then that is regrettable, but not surprising. There was a forest of hatred already laid out with ripe fruit for him to pick from, but not even Voldemort is so powerful as to have planted it all in the first place.

And Dumbledore…must have his reasons…if he could’ve stopped the situation from spiralling out of hand and chose not to. Maybe a Dark Lord emerging again was inevitable, no matter what he did. He probably learned that from experience after vanquishing Grindelwald — which was a war that also took him some time before he was able to triumph.

Dumbledore choosing to tell or not to tell them certain things couldn’t be all that important. He is their Leader, and he earned that position through his experience and his relentless conviction in taking down bloodthirsty Dark Lords. They couldn’t afford not to trust him.

Remus turns to Regulus, wanting to voice his thoughts but wary of the sleeping viper in his arms.

“Even if…what you’re saying is true…it doesn’t change that we’re still at war. Death Eaters are still believing in Voldemort to push Dark agendas in the government, and they have numbers that we don’t. And there are good people on our side that are still being targeted too often…which is something that could be…helped…”

Regulus just shrugs. “Not my circus, not my monkeys.”

Something important he realised out after finding the truth — is that EVERYBODY is fucking barmy. He was just late to the party.

“Besides, if your side is outnumbered, that is on Dumbledore!” He snaps. “There should not be that many Slytherins fighting on the Dark Lord’s side! Stars, I should not have been there either! I never wanted to be, and you idiots seem to think of me as the exception instead of part of a not-so-general rule! There are others from Slytherin House who do not belong there, and Dumbledore could have done something to prevent that. Instead — for some reason I cannot fathom — he did the exact opposite and practically drove them into the Dark Lord’s awaiting arms!”

“Wait that- that can’t be Dumbledore’s fault,” James says, flabbergasted.

The Order relies on volunteers who want to help fight for their cause or to contribute in other ways to the war efforts, and they aren’t exactly picky about who they choose. They even have a couple of Slytherins on their side! Well, one notable one — Dorcas Meadows, who was in their year and is very close with Marlene McKinnon. Kingsley Shacklebolt, who works in the Ministry and is way older than them, is rumoured to have been a Slytherin while he was at Hogwarts.

The fact that no one can confirm nor deny if this is true definitely leans towards the man having been in the Snake House.

Point being — the Order has Slytherins on their side who have joined them because they decided to pick a better side. Which means the other Slytherins Regulus is talking about can do the same thing!

“If they were forced to serve Voldemort and didn’t want to be there, they could’ve just defected, like you did!” James argues. “I mean, clearly it’s not impossible! They just need to try and do the right thing! If they’re scared about needing protection from the Dark Lord, then I’m sure Dumbledore would give it to them! As long as they’re willing to help us take down Voldemort, he wouldn’t turn any of them away.”

Regulus seems to have found a way to protect himself without Dumbledore’s help — and to protect others as well — but James thinks that just makes Regulus special. He’s strong, capable enough to wrest himself away from Voldemort’s side and turn his back on everything he’s ever been told, and that kind of strength of character and determination takes guts. Gryffindor guts, even, and James doesn’t think those other ‘unwilling’ Death Eaters have that in them.

In fact, James is highly convinced that Regulus might have been sorted incorrectly. He’s demonstrated a lot of planning and calculation, yeah, but the deep-seated bravery and conviction gleaming behind those striking grey eyes heavily outshines his Slytherin cunning.

He should’ve been one of them. If things had just been slightly different, he could’ve been at James’ side from the very beginning!

Regulus is quiet, taking in James’ words. He thinks of all it took for him to get here — the whippings and the brandings and the training sessions and the full year of complete and utter loneliness. He thinks of the periods of time when he dissociated, leaving his body behind and letting his mind go somewhere else while his mouth vomited out words that made him a traitor to humanity. He thinks of the times he’s seen the people he knows — his dorm mates, his friends — being whipped and burned at the Dark Lord’s behest simply because Voldemort didn’t like their performance or their tone. He thinks of watching the torture and not stopping it; watching the civilians fall on the battlefield and not stopping it; seeing captives having their heads opened and their minds torn out of them and not stopping it.

He thinks of the times he tried to put things to rights — planning his escape and having Kreacher die for him; freeing a little girl from a cage she’d been in for far too long and having to rip her face open to save her from a worse fate. Trying to win the love of his mother and father, failing miserably…then finally succeeding when he wanted nothing to do with them.

(What he had to do after that…)

Flash forward to what he’s doing now — trying to stop the poison that has spread far and wide throughout the entire Kingdom, one that so many people seem content to ignore — and still having a long way to go. Still not having completely stopped it. Every breath, every step, every day, for him, is an uphill battle. Trying, and failing; ad nauseam.

‘They could’ve just defected,’ James says. ‘Like you did,’ James says.

As if he wasn’t supposed to have died three years ago — drowned in a watery grave or from opening his own throat! As though he got here simply by standing on his own two feet, instead of being hauled every step of the way by this tigress at his side who wouldn’t just let him die.

James sees the expressions flickering through Regulus’ eyes, and suddenly realises he might have picked a very poor choice of words.

“Is that so?” Regulus finally drawls, his voice soft.

“You know something, Potter?”

He looks James right in his hazel-brown eyes, holding his gaze so that James has no doubt he is talking directly to him.

“You bore me.”

James freezes. The animosity he’s become accustomed to in Regulus’ silvery gaze is gone. Completely removed — only to be replaced by frost as thick as a snowstorm, blanketing everything James can see in the depths of his eyes for miles.

“This is why I have never seen any value in having a conversation with you,” Regulus continues, his words coming out in hushed, intimate tones like a whisper.

James has never been gutted so gently before. This is so different from Lily — with her it was fiery rage, while Regulus’ disdain has frozen even his bones in place.

“And I don’t see that much value in your cause either. I moved the House of Black into the Grey faction for a reason, and that is because I don’t align with the Light’s politics, or with the Dark’s. The way I see it, they both promote erasure, just in different ways.”

He shakes his head. “Neither our Pureblood customs nor our commoner population need to die. There must be a third solution, but nobody has bothered to find it yet. And I didn’t fake my death to free myself from under the thumb of one megalomaniac just to put myself at the beck and call of another one. I extracted myself from this war on my own terms, and I won’t be throwing myself back in again to support a side I don’t truly believe in. I already have my hands full with the matters I do find important.”

Sirius snorts, finally rousing from where he’s been silently listening to the entire discussion.

Now this is familiar.

Same old Reggie — never wanting to offend any side or stir the pot. Always thinking his stupid little fantasies about the way life should be were oh-so-much-more important than what Sirius was currently bleeding for; putting his whole fucking life on the line for.

Should he really have expected anything different from someone who fit in so well in the Slytherin House? They were all aloof, uncaring, and cold — just like his estranged brother.

Like a dead fucking snake.

“Of course he won’t pick a side, or actually take a stand,” Sirius scoffs, rolling his eyes.

Blood boiling beneath his skin, he levels his brother with a derisive sneer.

“That’s because he’s a fucking coward.”

Polaris’ eyes spring wide open. Colour seeps out of her already pale face, making the partially-visible scar by the side of her nose look more prominent.

Regulus…slowly lowers his arms from where he’s been enveloping her, moving away slightly. His arms feel…completely burned through. Like someone just poured hot, molten wax all over them then peeled it off so aggressively it ripped out parts of his skin in the process.

However, the only sign of his distress is a slight shifting to his jaw.

Oh no, James thinks, alarm bells blaring in his ears. Peter squirms, feeling discomfited by the tension, jerking his head every which as though seeking a means of escape, and Remus slowly turns to shoot his lover a look of dismay.

Regulus doesn’t look at anyone else — not even Ris who is staring up at him with trepidation in her eyes. His gaze is tightly adhered to his brother, ignoring everything else.

“So you’ve always said.”

His tone is icy, unflinching. He raises his walls so sky high, none of his weakness is permitted through. Mother did manage to teach him some useful things.

“Now you’ve got your Lupin back, and I’ve gotten Severus off your back. In other words…”

His eyes are filled with such powerful contempt he seems to loom over Sirius from a great height.

“Get the fuck off my property.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer before spinning deftly on his heel, giving Sirius a cutting backwards glance.

“Just leave, Sirius. That’s what you do best, isn’t it?”

Sirius feels his rage overtake him. He just can’t understand why it’s so hard for him and his brother to agree on something as simple as this! His fury burns a red swath right across his mind, too hot, too much, his agitation and tension rising through the roof in response.

In this world, the only two things of worth were to FIGHT or to DIE.

To not fight is to die. To give up, give in, concede, surrender, retreat — any of the following is Ï̷̢̼͗̅̿̈́́̀͘̚ͅM̶̢̗̭͚̫̯̤̀P̶͇̭͈̱̒̒̉̑Ȩ̵̱̺͚̇̿̋̀͜R̷͍̣̽͂͆͋͒́̔̓̓͊̚̚͘M̸̨̧͖̹̞͙͔̪̼̰̳̝̫͇̌̌̑̀I̵̢̯̭̹̖̣̙͙̠̒̎́́͗̾͗̄̔̆̈́̈́̀̕͝S̸̹̭̔̇̂̓̈́̋͊͛̽̈́͌̀͐̏͜ͅS̷͇̩̼̩͔̠̙͍͌̃̐̓̽̋͘I̸̡̢͉̬͉͖̰̎͂̽̄͐͑̃̓̀͂͛̈́̚͜Ḃ̸̨̥͕̥̫̲̳͔̳͐̃̃͂̍̔̉̑̍͜L̸̖͍̖̦̔̈́͂̌̃̆͋͑̒E̶̠̭͕̬͗́̋.̸̨̫͚̘͇̬͍̼̘̊

And if one is not going to fight, then-

“Since you’re such an expert at it, maybe you should just go die.”

His friends are looking at him like they can’t believe he just said that. Seven hells — even Sirius can’t believe he just said that.

Regulus’ steps, his thoughts, and his breathing all come to a crashing halt. Oh Gods, it HURTS.

It hurts like every single scar he’s ever received and painstakingly healed has been blown wide open and is screaming from remembered pain. The torture, the pain, the cold freezing ache — it’s EVERYTHING all at once; all turned raw again and too potent to ignore.

It hurts like his brother has just shoved a red-hot poker through his back, stabbing right through his chest and liquefying his heart. He can almost see the stream of bloody red rivulets descending down the front of his clothes.

He clutches at his heart, feeling it pounding weakly, heartbeat slowing. He doesn’t know whether to just follow the order or start to hyperventilate.

Oh, to hell with this. Starboy is just going to have to find a way to forgive her.

Polaris moves.

One step, swiftly reach into her Regulus’ long coat, another step, swipe the gun from his holster in a motion too quick to stop, third step, place her fingers in all the right positions while continuing to advance-

Final step, place the gun right against this motherfucker’s temple.

“SAY THAT AGAIN.”

She stares Sirius right in his eyes as she clicks off the safety, stabbing the barrel harder into his skull.

Peter lets out a startled squeak. Everyone else just seems frozen in shock.

Sirius is…rooted to the spot, his pupils blown wide from feeling the sharp bite of metal against his head. His mother is…dead? No, she’s alive; she’s right here, why would he think that? How could he ever be free of her? They’re at the dinner table, at Grimmauld Place, and he’s just said something that she doesn’t agree with, and she’s daring him to repeat himself, bearing down on him to try and intimidate him into keeping his mouth shut, all while holding the gun-the gun-the gun-

James instantly reanimates at seeing the look on Padfoot’s face, and he’s shoving him backwards, taking his brother’s place in front of her.

Sirius stumbles back, feeling strong hands catch him.

James can feel the storm clouds brewing behind his eyes as he faces Polaris down. If anyone wants to hurt Padfoot like that again, it will be over HIS DEAD BODY. They are going to have to go through him.

Polaris…is looking at him like she is willing to make that happen. Like she wants to go through him.

In her eyes, he sees his certain demise. He sees her pulling the trigger and him falling, bleeding all over the ground with mortal wounds; her stepping over him like he’s a pebble on the pavement, going after Sirius next-

He’s never seen his life flash before his eyes so vividly before, not even once throughout this entire war. In this millisecond of being sure he is about to die, he pictures his whole range of life experiences speeding through his mind like a movie reel.

His tooth falling out; getting his first broom; being spoiled rotten by his parents; going to Hogwarts; meeting Sirius; sorting into Gryffindor; falling for Lily; HATING Snape; becoming Marauders; playing Quidditch; winning again and again and again; the countless high fives; looking across the Great Hall once and meeting Regulus’ eyes…

Then Regulus is standing right in front of him, the white expanse of his coat and his softly billowing black hair the only thing James can see anymore.

“Hey, Wildcat,” Regulus says almost lazily, placing a hand on top of the gun and slowly lowering it. She stares at him, letting him slip it from her hold and tuck it back into his side. Then he settles a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Let’s just go home, okay?”

He’s inwardly berating himself for not expecting the worst from his efforts like he usually does. Trying can be soooo beautifully pointless sometimes. Still, he never thought the situation could get this bad. More fool he. When will he ever learn, honestly?

Ris is looking at him like she can see the blood on his chest. No wait — he isn’t just imagining that. There’s actual blood on his chest.

His nose is bleeding again.

He sniffs, raising his bandaged hand — now soaked through again — and trying to staunch the flow.

Her eyelids flicker and she blinks. As he watches, a tear rolls down her now-darkened amethyst eyes.

He’s suddenly filled with sadness, reaching out to try and catch the tear from falling. One of the most sensitive souls in this world has decided to throw in their lot with him, a pathetic defective spare, for reasons he surely doesn’t deserve, and he can’t even keep her happy. Can’t keep a sparkle within her eyes.

Yet, even now, she refuses to leave him. She snatches his outstretched hand from the air and spins around, her hair cutting through the air like a wind blade, and marches them across the lot to where their car is parked.

She seethes, tears still falling as she drags him away.

Fucking Severus Snape. If she ever sees that useless loser again IT’S ON SIGHT! If that idiot hadn’t just done a better job blowing these people up then they wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place!

Regulus obediently follows, glancing back one final time…

…Towards Peter Pettigrew.

Time has stopped for James as he watches them go…because he has just fallen completely and utterly in love with Regulus Black — fallen for the second time ever in his life…and has to come to terms with that as he sees his stolen heart getting further away.

Alternatively, Sirius blinks, coming back to himself. Prongs protected him, of course James did. He’s the one who got him away from Walburga in the first place.

He thought Moony caught him when he was shoved back, but now he’s realising that the hand gripping his arm is too…tight.

Slowly, he glances over his shoulder. Jack peers back at him.

There is something distinctly malevolent in his gaze — but then he blinks and it’s gone like he just imagined it.

Calmly, Jack chews on a piece of French toast, appraising him with satirical amusement.

“I’ve never met somebody who’s already on their third life in a single day before,” He drolls. “You really are impressive, Sirius.”

He lets go abruptly, stepping away and brushing the crumbs off his hands.

“Shame I don’t get to play with you anymore. I was rather looking forward to our rematch.”

Jack walks past him, and Sirius doesn’t see his hands move or reach for anything, but he feels the sting — a sharp blade cutting right through the bracelet wrapped around his wrist that Moony got him for his birthday.

Which now falls to the ground in a cluttered, broken mess.

Tentatively, he raises his arm to inspect the wound, seeing a trickle of blood run down his skin.

“Oh, by the way…”

Jack directs a lazy look his way. “Did you really just call Boss a coward?”

He gives Sirius a look reserved for people who religiously wore tin foil hats and yelled at the sky.

“Bless your heart. You must be new here.”

With a wink, he fully turns away. “Hey, Boss, wait up!”

Jack runs after him. James watches as Regulus lifts his free arm and Jack moves as though to duck under it…only for Regulus to reach out and flick his forehead.

“Ow!”

The Marauders stare as they slide into their car and drive away, still overwhelmed by all the recent events.

Then Sirius’ radio crackles.

“Attention all units! There is an attack at Elm Park! I repeat, an attack at Elm Park! Death Eaters are swarming the streets! All capable members of the Order are requested to provide back-up if nearby!”

The Marauders turn for a split-second to exchange glances — then they’re sprinting and on the move.

 

Notes:

Look, you either get a sibling who wants nothing to do with you, or a sibling who wants to kill everybody for you. Pick a struggle.

_

If the Black family were a Game of Thrones house, they would be the Baratheons, easy. ‘Ours is the Fury’ fits them much better than ‘Toujours Pur’ imo. Sirius would be a great fit for House Martell too- ‘Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken’, or even House Lannister with ‘Hear me Roar!’. As for Regulus, he definitely has the ‘Fire and Blood’ energy the Targaryens have going for them. So does Polaris, though personally I’ll give her the House Bolton words- ‘Our Blades are Sharp.’ Let me know what you think though!

Regulus is the world’s most underpaid and under-appreciated PR manager. I said what I said.

As for Polaris, I’ll say she’s actually mellowed down quite a lot since her childhood. Nevertheless, she stood on business for her Starboy in this chapter 🙌🏽 😮‍💨 I told y’all you wouldn’t be disappointed by her response 🤭

James is a bean, but he’s got it all wrong. It’s not Gryffindor guts that makes Regulus think the way he thinks. It’s BLACK AUDACITY BITCH! Honestly, that note he left behind for Voldemort to find in canon already showed he had it in spades 💅

_

Btw, I think I should mention this story is angst with a happy ending. I will somehow make this story have a happy ending 😤

Chapter 24: Never Gave A Warning Sign (I Gave So Many Signs)

Summary:

James glances up curiously. “Off by yourself again, Petey? You know, you really shouldn’t be going off on your own so much. We were actually talking about this earlier — how we all need to keep a closer eye on each other.”

He scoots forward, looking at Peter imploringly. “We’ve been really lucky so far that no members of the Order have gone missing, but we can’t just…expect that luck to hold, can we? These are dark times we’re living in — anything can happen, to anyone, really. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”

Peter stares at him with something indecipherable in his dark-brown gaze.

“Nothing’s going to happen to me, Prongs.”

Notes:

Just a little bit of Marauders fluff before the angst starts up again. And look, y’all, I TRIED to humble James. You all saw how much I tried. But he refuses to stay humbled! 😭😭😭

WARNING ‼️ INTENSIFIED PINING AHEAD! 😈

(TW: Mentions of suicide baiting, attempted murder, and anxiety)

24.

Battered and exhausted, the Marauders stumble into Potter Manor, fighting to not fall over each other as they squeeze in through the door.

James is struck with a pang at realising that he has been away from home for far too long. His London flat is very cosy and very close to the homes of most of his friends — Padfoot’s most importantly — but his home, where he grew up, took his first steps, was first surrounded by safety and unconditional love, still cannot compare to the place he doesn’t even stay in all that much because he’s no good at living alone.

And — if any of the attempts on his life had been successful — he might never have stepped foot into his home again.

He blinks back the tears slightly starting to form as he breathes in the near-permanent scent of rosemary incense, which valiantly tries to drown out the whiff of his Dad’s motor oil he somehow always brings in with him from his workshop; or the familiar spices his Mum uses whenever she makes her world-class butter chicken and naan recipe for family dinners.

Stepping away from the door, he moves deeper into that house in order to let his friends pass. They make sure to take off their shoes and leave them outside — a habit Mum thoroughly drilled into them after realising she would be housing four unruly boys — now men, on a regular (lifetime) basis.

All the better not to track any of the blood or grime from the war into his home.

His parents aren’t home yet, but they will be later this evening. That gives them time to unwind from running themselves ragged for almost three hours — him and Padfoot immediately taking to the battlefield, while Moony communicated positions of their allies needing assistance and enemies lying in wait to ambush them over the comms, and Wormtail fluttered over the wounded.

Several members of the Order sustained injuries, but no losses on their side. They’ve fully adapted to wearing gas masks during the fight, in order to combat those Death Eaters who took a sick pleasure in spraying tear gas everywhere and lobbing even more destructive substances at innocent people’s homes.

James personally knocked a few of them out for the Aurors on-scene to nab, not holding back much in his strikes.

Hopefully they would be locked up and charged then never seen again; instead of somehow slipping through the fingers of the law like they always did these days.

No civilian casualties. No civilians to be seen anywhere.

Before, James would just take this as the new, unusual, but highly welcome norm.

Now it just brings to mind a pair of dazzling grey eyes, and a delicate face blessed with high cheekbones and bright grin — which was never, ever aimed at him.

Slumping onto the couch, he shuts his eyes, breathing deeply. He can feel his heart thudding against his chest — whether from the battle or from its recent theft is anyone’s guess.

He hears his friends crashing beside him, and after a moment he lifts a single eyelid to take a peek — wanting to make sure his friends are alright but too bone-weary to move.

Remus is stretched out, his sandy-brown hair falling backwards as he rests his head against a cushion. Peter looks like a bug someone has flipped over on its back, with the way he’s lying still with his limbs all entwined in the air. He looks dead.

Sirius is nowhere to be seen.

James’ eyes spring open.

“Padfoot?” He calls out. Moony and Wormtail reluctantly stir beside him.

James hears footsteps getting closer from somewhere beneath them — surely Padfoot didn’t just make a beeline for the wine cellar immediately they stepped into the house? — then Sirius emerges into view.

He is holding a — truly astronomical amount of liquor bottles in his beefy arms. He ignores their gaping looks as he goes over and sets everything on the table, drinks sloshing about as he does so. Then he picks one up, pops it open and immediately throws it back, his throat bobbing readily.

Moony’s eye twitches.

“SIRIUS POTTER!”

James purses his lips, trying not to laugh at how much Moony’s tone perfectly echoes his Mum’s. Peter must notice it too, sitting up while and trying — and failing — not to look wary.

Padfoot plops his lips off the bottle in order to speak. “Yes, Moony?”

He sounds completely casual — in fact, he’s reaching over to grab another drink!

Remus is even more irate. He cycles through the many, many things he would love to scold his partner for, then finally settles on-

“You can’t just tell people to go die just because they don’t agree with you!”

James winces, remembering that moment in all of its heart-rending glory. He wasn’t able to see Regulus’ face, but the way he’d just stopped walking… He couldn’t have taken that well.

He wishes he could go back and undo that moment — say something better, cleverer — so that Regulus and Sirius would never come to such hurtful verbal blows.

Padfoot’s eyes flicker briefly, his expression hooded. Then he lifts the bottle and takes another long swig.

Moony rises to his feet.

“Can you hear me? What could’ve possibly been going through your mind to make you say something like that?”

He’s outraged at Sirius for practically encouraging his brother to — do what, commit suicide? That’s disturbing on many levels, no matter what his feelings are or who the target of his anger is. And he nearly got himself killed for saying that — James too, because his two idiot friends take the words ‘ride or die’ to the most extremely literal sense!

They could’ve both died today after almost both dying just a week ago! Didn’t they care about their lives? Doesn’t he have enough grey hairs???

“I don’t know why I said that.”

Sirius is finally looking at him, still clutching the bottle like it’s a lifeline. His voice is so…quiet.

“I’ve never wanted him to die.”

Remus’ shoulders slump, anger draining out of him like a hot air balloon. Because…that expression on Sirius’ face…

He looks lost.

He had that same look on his face in the weeks after leaving Grimmauld Place, and running away to the Potter household. Some kind of…confusion, like something had broken inside of him or right in front of his eyes, and he had no idea how to fix it.

Remus sighs heavily, cursing everything. See, this is why he can never stay mad at Sirius Potter. All it takes is one look and he starts to fold like wet paper.

Exhausted, he looks at James while gesturing towards his brother. Prongs is the Padfoot-whisperer — he always seems to know just what to say or how to act to bring Padfoot out of his funk faster than Remus ever could.

James sends Sirius a thoughtful glance. Then he sticks a hand out, beckoning him closer. Sirius’ lips twist slightly to the side, but he obediently saunters over.

James grabs one of the bottles out of his arms and clinks it against the one Padfoot is holding.

“Cheers, mate!”

Then he starts guzzling it down as well.

Remus is aghast.

Sirius gives James an odd look, but he’s clearly glad to have been spared from whatever lecture he thought Prongs was about to give him, because he relaxes against the armrest of the couch and resumes drinking more relaxedly.

See, even his shoulders are lighter! However, Remus cannot comfortably condone this method of stress relief. He crosses his arms and glares down at them while they determinedly avoid his eyes.

“U-Uh, um,” Peter pipes up nervously, “C-could I h-have one?”

Sirius glides back to the table, grabs a smaller drink, and tosses it into Peter’s awaiting arms.

“Th-thank you.” Wormtail twists the top off in an almost frantic movement, placing the drink shakily to his lips before sighing deeply. This newfound ease flees his body the moment he catches Remus’ disapproving gaze.

“I n-n-need this, Moony!” He desperately appeals. “I need it!”

“Aw, come on, Moony,” James drawls from his position of being rather shamelessly sprawled out on the couch. He wiggles his red-and-gold socked feet at him.

“Please! Join us! Become one of us! Don’t- ” hiccup “-ruin the vibes of this party!”

“And what, pray tell, are we celebrating?” Remus asks, in his trying-my-best-not-to-explode voice.

Prongs’ danger sense has been completely turned off from all the alcohol. “LIFE!” He cheers, hoisting the bottle higher in a Scottish salute.

“To being alive! That’s always worth celebrating!”

Before Remus can retort, “Yes, you’re alive, no thanks to you,” James goes on to say, “And yes, we could’ve died several times in the past few days, but we didn’t!”

“We’re all alive!” He hiccups again. “All alive, all of us, hallelujah!”

He suddenly sobers. Remus doesn’t realise just how uplifting the mood has become until James goes quiet.

Then he takes a deep breath. “And I’m sure Padfoot is very happy his brother is alive, aren’t you, Pads?” He turns to Sirius, his wild, curly hair tilting to the side.

“It’s just…taking you some time to get used to it.”

That’s a very generous way of putting it, in Remus’ opinion. The two brothers had fought like cats and dogs the entire time. Or maybe like Snakes and Lions.

Sirius doesn’t reply — simply carries on chugging away like a steam engine.

Remus squints at him. “That doesn’t mean you should tell people to go die.”

“Well, he didn’t mean it! It’s already eating at him, look how hurt he is! Look Moony!” James waves his hands around Sirius, who looks very absent of signs of life, then at the centre table filled with half of Monty’s stash.

All in all, a rather pathetic sight.

“I shouldn’t have said it,” Sirius finally speaks. “I wish I could take it back.”

He does sound sincere.

“And you will,” James says firmly. “You will try your best to do just that the moment we see — your brother again.”

Oh fuck, when are they going to cross paths again? James thinks, panic rising within him. He absolutely refuses to think in ‘if’s.

They will meet again and it will go better than the shit show that went down today. James won’t permit — nor survive — anything else.

Padfoot nods his acquiescence at Prongs’ demand, causing Remus to finally lose the last bits of his anger. He sighs, looping an arm around Sirius’ own and dragging them both to sit on the carpet.

“Give me that,” he grumbles, swiping Padfoot’s bottle. After a careful sniff, he takes a sip.

Sirius gives him a lazy smile. “That’s my Moony.”

The heat that curdles in his stomach isn’t just from the liquor. Remus blushes, looking away as Sirius wraps his arms around him and curls into his neck, letting out soft breaths.

“I really, really missed you, Moons,” Padfoot whispers, clinging to him like a limpet and looking perfectly at ease doing so. Remus sighs, raising a hand and running it through his lover’s hair.

In times like this, he truly believes that Sirius loves him. But would that — that faith — ever stick? Love could disappear — gone with a puff of air on a candle’s wick.

Just like Lyall’s did.

He looks up to see Prongs watching him carefully.

“You know, Moony,” he says tentatively, “You were out of line too.”

His eyebrows fly up, James’ words distracting him from his lover’s warm weight.

“How so?” He asks, feeling curious.

“I mean, we were all very out of line, I think. Not you, Petey,” James says to Peter who has just opened his mouth to protest. “You, I think we ought to feel very dreadful for, with the way you had no idea what you were walking into. But Moony-!” He drags himself back to the point.

“You shouldn’t have told him Regulus should be doing more! Especially not after he just told us how much he actually does!”

Peter shoots James an inquiring look, but he doesn’t notice — his focus solely on Moony.

Remus feels like he’s just made a false step.

“I…realise that wasn’t a fair thing to say…”

And really, he does realise he’s been unfair to Regulus Black for years, both in his words and his thoughts.

He used to approach the thought of Sirius’ little brother with the same black-and-white thinking his friends did — he was good back when he made Sirius grin to talk about him; then he was nothing but bad when he was sorted into Slytherin.

Now, Remus is conflicted. He can recognise that there’s depth to him — so much of it he doesn’t think he’ll ever find the edges of it. And something about that, for some reason, makes him afraid.

He tries to lock the thought back up where it came from. Even now, he still can’t stop his unfair biases.

“I — I was just trying to see if I could get him to give us — or give Dumbledore — some useful information about the Dark side that could help us with this war,” he explains, nibbling at his lower lip.

Sirius snorts beside his ear. “Yeah, ’cause we all just dream of being useful to Dumbledore.”

Remus turns to give Sirius an offended look.

“Hey! No fighting about this,” James says sternly. “Look, we all decided to join this war for our own reasons, alright? For things we believed were right, or that we couldn’t turn away from. R-Regulus…”

Even just speaking his name makes his heart palpitate. James feels strangely lightheaded.

“From what he said, he didn’t join this war for his own reasons. But-” he hastily adds as Sirius’ face begins to sour, “He took himself out of it for his own reasons. Which is just as good — I think. That’s one less Death Eater out there planning to attack us, or innocent civilians. It’s…too bad that he doesn’t want to help us or want our help, but I think that’s just because he doesn’t trust us. None of us have really given him a reason to, so that’s on us.”

James shrugs. “If we do, maybe that will change.”

Remus expels a sigh. Prongs really is too good for this world.

“Yeah, that’s more than fair. Of course you’d defend him, even though he hates your guts.”

James splutters. “He doesn’t hate me!”

The other Marauders all turn to look at him. Sirius feels his eyebrows peak at his hairline. He doesn’t think even he is this delusional.

“He doesn’t!” James argues vehemently. “We’re just not friends right now! That doesn’t mean we can’t be somewhere down the line.”

“You truly believe that, don’t you?” Remus drawls.

“Of course!”

If there’s one thing James Potter places his absolute faith in — apart from Sirius — it’s in his unparalleled ability to make friends. He and Lily get along very well these days, despite years of her one-sided animosity. Why, he could probably even befriend Snape if he tried hard enough; or ever at all wanted to!

He realises he’s said this last part out loud as his friends all start cracking up hard — the kind of laughter that splits up the insides.

“Godric’s knickers, Prongs,” Sirius gasps out, his eyes watering, “I want some of whatever the fuck you’re drinking. Give it here!”

He reaches over and snatches the bottle from James, then starts drinking with fervour.

“I could!” James protests, his cheeks burning. “I’d just need to apologise, like a lot, and clear things up with him — then give him some…kind of gift. Something Snape-themed.”

“You are out of your fucking mind,” Sirius tells him, thoroughly amused. He also sounds a little impressed by this development.

James ignores him. “Anyways, I’m sure Regulus and I could be great friends someday.”

Friends… Yes, he could be — content — with that, at least. With Regulus giving him that same warm smile he gives Polaris, or Jack, or Anna…

Wormtail attempts to burst his bubble.

“He c-called you b-b-boring,” Peter points out, keeping a tight leash on his schadenfreude so it doesn’t leak into his voice.

James’ brows furrow. “No, he said ‘I bore him’.” He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget that exchange as long as he lives — but there’s still a chance it could be replaced by better ones!

Which is why he goes on to say — “That just means I haven’t said anything interesting enough to him yet.”

Remus is staring at him like he’s remembering a very unpleasant memory. Even Sirius begins slowly pulling the bottle away from his lips.

Distracted as he is by their reactions, he doesn’t notice Wormtail shooting him a resentful glare.

“Quit crushing on my little brother, you twat,” Sirius barks, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

James balks, waving his arms about in the air like a chicken.

“I do not have a crush on your brother!” He shrilly defends.

No, he’s just fallen completely, jaw-droppingly, heart-thumpingly, knee-slappingly in love with him. And — obviously — not doing a great job at hiding it.

“Oh, really?” Sirius looks sceptical. “Because this is the same type of shit I used to hear over and over again when you were chasing after Evans’ skirts.”

“I don’t- he’s not- Look!” James is frustrated by how tongue-tied he’s getting.

He crosses his arms, glowering at his friends. “All I’m saying is we don’t need to be enemies! Regulus isn’t a bad guy, and I think we’re actually all on the same side. Even if he doesn’t want to admit it.”

If the Marauders along with the rest of the Order are fighting for a better world, Regulus is making sure that there’s still some of the world left untouched when the dust all settles. It’s definitely a team effort.

“Prongs, I really don’t think he sees it that way,” Remus states carefully. “Did you know he used to ruin our pranks back in Hogwarts?”

“He what?” Sirius demands.

“R-R-Really?” Peter asks.

James blinks at Moony, once, twice. “You’re putting me on.” He rises up so fast, grabbing Remus’ arms and getting so close in his face that he nearly jostles Sirius off him.

“Which ones?”

He looks…excited. That is pure delight shining from Prongs’ eyes.

“Errr…” Remus glances askance at Sirius for help, but his partner only straightens and lifts a curious eyebrow, clearly wanting to know as well.

“Uh, well, I’m not exactly sure how many of them there were,” He explains slowly. “Mostly the ones targeting the Slytherins, I presume. I only caught him the one time, then never again.”

Remus shakes his head, truly baffled to this day. Baby Black must be some Houdini-incarnate.

“Prongs? Er, J-James?”

Remus is feeling very nervous at the way James is taking in loud, audible breaths, his pupils dilating and his grip tightening all completely unconsciously.

“Don’t you see, Moony? Don’t you see?” James says in a frantic almost-whisper.

“Do I want to?” Remus replies, honestly afraid for his life.

He feels tears of fright starting to form behind his eyes as Prongs begins shaking him.

“That means he studied us, watched us almost constantly! He could have been trailing any one of us at any given time throughout the day!” James gushes, an manic glint in his hazel-brown eyes

Sirius snorts. “Little stalker.” Is that a hint of pride in his voice?

James barrels on. “He might know a lot more about each one of us in this room than we could ever realise!”

And he…doesn’t sound at all freaked out by this. Lord save us, Remus thinks despairingly, in-between being flung every which way like a rag doll.

However, Peter goes still at that — still unnoticed by his friends. Could it be? Does Regulus…know?

He suddenly remembers the way those freaky eyes kept finding him again and again all morning, when even his friends couldn’t tell he was there.

He begins to squirm, panicking at the possibilities.

James, on the other hand, feels like he could burst with happiness. These past few days spent with Regulus have been a test of his willpower, because before this week James would’ve honestly said that he couldn’t survive being ignored.

But Regulus doesn’t think James is just air! How many times had Regulus been looking his way in Hogwarts and James hadn’t noticed? How many times had he been close enough to touch him right before he slipped away?

James doesn’t realise he’s still shaking Moony until Padfoot finally takes mercy on his boyfriend and lifts him in a bridal carry before spiriting them across the room, putting a table between themselves and James.

“Hey, come back!”

“No, Prongs. You’re scaring me, Prongs. I’m scared,” Padfoot flatly refuses.

“But I want to know more!”

Remus, partially recovered, sends James an exasperated glance. “Prongs…please take this gently. You need help.”

James scrambles to his feet. “Just come back here for a sec!”

He starts chasing them all around the room, Sirius calmly evading him while carting Moony about like a delicate flower; Remus clutching onto him desperately for survival. At some point, Padfoot snatches the back of Wormtail’s shirt and brings him into the chase, wickedly refusing to allow him escape the madness.

Nearly half an hour later, they all collapse from exhaustion. They sprawl out on the carpet, huffing and puffing for precious oxygen.

Wormtail hits the floor in a dead faint, perilously close to passing out.

“Oh, m-my legs! Oh, my b-b-back!” He wails like an old man, having a very woeful time indeed.

Padfoot stops gasping in order to snicker at him.

“Moony,” James groans, his glasses fogged up. His eyes still haven’t lost that eerie light in them.

“I still can’t believe I never knew about this! How could you keep this from me, Moony?”

“Oh, for Godric’s sake!” Remus is completely exasperated. He’d keep silent because he was worried about Sirius’ reaction to the news; never imagining it was James’ he’d have to fear!

Time for a dose of some common sense. He sits up, pinning Prongs with a look.

“Would you still be so — fixated — on Regulus, if he was going around killing people?”

That stumps James a bit, making him finally go quiet. Remus waits as he mulls over the question, crossing his arms and praying to the higher powers that be that Prongs is busy gathering his brain cells back together.

“I think he would need a reason to do something like that.”

Oh, what vain hope!

James sits up as well and begins playing with his sleeves. “I mean, it’s still a horrible thing to do, and I would never support…doing that. But, like I said, Regulus isn’t a bad guy. He doesn’t seem like he enjoys that sort of thing, and he really hates what this war is doing to innocent people. If he does things like that,” James shrugs, “maybe he has his reasons.”

‘Maybe he has his reasons…’ Prongs is completely gone already. Because what reasons could possibly justify murder?

Right, like your friends are always so innocent in that regard. A smarmy voice rears its head.

…That was a slip-up, Remus returns. Sirius didn’t fully think about what he was doing at the time. The Marauders have never played God with people’s lives!

No, you’d just target Slytherins you don’t like enough till they start thinking about whether to take their own lives.

Remus feels his neck underneath his collar getting hot.

Well, they stopped doing all of that back in school! That has to count for something!

Remus doubts that Regulus has turned over a brand new leaf. There’s always been something in his eyes whenever Remus caught his gaze; something that told him a lethal intent lurked beneath the surface.

He remembers calling Regulus mad and him just completely shrugging it off. As if he knew he was mad and didn’t see any problem with it. Relished in it, even. Instead of keeping that side of him locked up tightly, he seems willing to unleash it at a moment’s notice.

Which makes him DANGEROUS.

Remus knows it’s something passed down in the Black family line — and Sirius shows signs of it too — but that’s a line James would never allow Sirius to cross. James stopped him back in fifth year, and James will continue keeping Sirus in check for as long as he lives…

(Sirius who, right now, does not seem very perturbed at the thought of his little brother being a murderer.)

And that girl…the one Regulus calls his sister…she seems even more willing to murder than he does. If Regulus wanted to kill someone, she would help him. If she wanted to kill someone, Regulus wouldn’t stop her…

No wait. Remus is already forgetting…he did.

Regulus is an enigma—so infuriating in his complexity. Which lines won’t he cross, and which ones will he? Remus can’t be sure…

But what he is sure of now is that Regulus isn’t a danger to James. Which is…mollifying, at least.

The only danger to Prongs continues to be his complete and utter lack of common sense.

“Ah yes, speaking of — James Fleamont Potter.”

James looks up, wide-eyed at the sudden, icy seriousness in Remus’ tone. Good, he still has some sense left.

He pins James with his most quelling look, satisfied at seeing him swallow nervously.

“The next time someone points a gun at Sirius, I suggest you come up with a better strategy than simply jumping right in front of it!”

“M-Moony, I’m sorry.” James cups his hands together like a prayer, his eyes pleading. “My body just moved! I-I didn’t stop to think-”

“You shock me tremendously,” Remus says dryly.

“And you!” He glowers at his lover next. “Stop trying to piss off people who want to kill you!”

“I wasn’t exactly trying to piss her off!” Sirius retorts. “How the fuck was I supposed to know that crazy bint would react that way to me simply expressing my opinions? And I didn’t even mean what I said, it just slipped out that way!”

Remus gives them both such withering looks that they instantly shut up. He tries to keep his calm.

“I’m sure it can be hard,” he says slowly, “to go through life while being such instinct-driven animals.” He nods. “In fact, I can relate.”

There’s a collective wince.

“I can even respect this whole ‘same soul in two bodies’ thing you’ve both got going on. But Prongs? If you ever do that again…”

Remus takes a deep breath. James looks ready to piss himself.

“I will tell your mother.”

James’ mouth drops open, a goose-like honk exploding from him. He looks speechless.

“Moony!” Sirius is stunned by his boyfriend’s viciousness. “You might as well just dig Prongs’ grave yourself! Do you want to get him killed?”

Remus’ eye twitches. “No, I am trying to make sure Effie doesn’t end up burying both of her sons while she’s still alive! Do you know what it would do to her to lose the both of you on the same day? She might have had to experience that for herself today!”

Peter just watches, listening to them talk impassively. He doesn’t let himself imagine Prongs’ mother in pain.

He doesn’t let himself feel anything at all.

“Nothing’s going to happen to me if I have James there to back me up, and I’ll back him up as well!” Sirius argues obstinately. “That’s the kind of shit brothers do.”

He scoffs, bitterly taking another sip of alcohol. “I’m sure Reggie just stood there and watched without moving a finger, like he always does. He’s never liked violence — as if simply hiding from it will make it go away or actually change anything.”

Remus stares at Sirius for a beat. Briefly, he wonders what it must be like to be Regulus and have Sirius as a sibling. Then he remembers Lily’s contant, effusive complaints about Petunia, and thinks he might have the answer.

“Sirius, your brother stopped Polaris from killing James. He took the gun away from her.”

Padfoot blinks, halting his drinking. “The fuck you say?”

“It’s true, mate,” James confirms. “She was about to shoot me. I think I actually saw my own death,” he muses thoughtfully. “It was pretty scary.”

Peter finally feels the first stirrings of his chasm-deep anger at James’ words. How regrettable that Regulus stopped that from happening. How regrettable indeed.

Sirius is still coming to terms with this revelation. The moment James stepped in front of him, he’d thought ‘safe’. It felt okay to retreat into his head for a little while, because Jamie would take care of anything trying to harm him. Just like he’s always done.

And James did protect him. But he didn’t completely remove the threat.

No, that was Reggie.

Sirius finally allows himself to remember everything that happened today, as well as in the previous ones — Reggie finding him, sheltering him and James, finding Remus for him, meeting with Snape on nothing but ‘good faith’ even though he’s someone who could sell Reggie out to Voldemort (still might, should Sirius do something about him?), slicing open his palm to make a fucking Blood Vow to stop Snape from murdering them—

And now, apparently, protecting James.

None of these are things he’s ever thought his little brother was capable of. Not meek, mild-mannered Reggie, who he once loved then grew to hate —

No, wait, does he hate him?

…He doesn’t want him to die, so he mustn’t, right? He just wants him to pick Sirius’ side, which Reggie never does!

But Reggie protected him. Got Remus out of danger. Stopped that cow from killing James. And no one got hurt.

No one…except him.

So is he a coward, or isn’t he a coward?

Buggering hell. Sirius grasps at his skull, his tumultuous thoughts writhing around in his brain and causing him turmoil.

“Um, are you o-k-kay?”

“Give him a moment, Pete. His mind is trying to get him to process things outside of his stubborn tunnel vision,” Remus gently quiets him.

James slides closer to Sirius, bumping his shoulder with his own.

“I don’t think your brother is a coward, Padfoot,” Prongs says gently. “I think it’s pretty cool that he does what he believes in, rather than what you or any of us want him to.”

And James is being completely honest, because he’s certain one of the things Regulus believes in — like he does — is Sirius. Oh, and world peace.

With so many things in common, why wouldn’t they be friends when they finally get around to talking?

Sirius furrows his eyebrows, his jaw loosening. A series of thoughts instantly cut through the mess in his head, bringing him much-needed clarity.

Reggie protected James — which means he is on my side.

He isn’t a coward.

“Fuck, okay I was wrong about him. That’s another thing I have to apologise for,” Sirius sighs, a fresh round of self-recrimination rising within him. Christ, he really can’t do anything right by his little brother. With his luck, he’d probably bollocks-up the apology. Better save that as a problem for future-Sirius.

For now, he can do simpler things. Like get drunk.

James and Remus are discreetly high-fiving over Sirius’ head when Peter finally decides he’s had enough.

He stands, dusting away the debris from lying on the ground.

“I-I should leave.”

James glances up curiously. “Off by yourself again, Petey? You know, you really shouldn’t be going off on your own so much. We were actually talking about this earlier — how we all need to keep a closer eye on each other.”

He scoots forward, looking at Peter imploringly. “We’ve been really lucky so far that no members of the Order have gone missing, but we can’t just…expect that luck to hold, can we? These are dark times we’re living in — anything can happen, to anyone, really. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”

Peter stares at him with something indecipherable in his dark-brown gaze.

“Nothing’s going to happen to me, Prongs.”

His friends blink, startled by the certainty and strength in his words. Idly, he wonders if he’s just given himself away. Or are they smart enough to tell…?

James bounds up, clapping him on the shoulder with a bright grin.

“That’s the spirit, Wormy!” He proceeds to ruffle Peter’s hair, messing it up.

How delightful. He was worried for fucking nothing.

He sighs, some of his aggravation slipping out.

“P-Prongs, stop touching m-my hair.”

James just snickers fondly.

“Where are you off to, anyways?” Remus asks.

So bookishly smart, their Moony. Yet so wilfully blind.

“J-Just going to v-visit my Mum. You k-know how she m-misses me.”

“Want one of us to come with you?” Sirius pipes up. He sounds bored — and really, it’s a miracle he isn’t slurring his words. But the way he raises an eyebrow and holds Peter’s gaze tells him he is serious.

Out of all of the Marauders, Peter’s relationship with Sirius is his most impactful — followed very closely by the one with James.

James, who took poor little Peter under his wing ever since they were kids — his perpetual charity case.

James, who refuses to admit he has outgrown Peter, his once best friend, and continues keeping him around like a children’s blanket that has gotten tattered.

He knew from the moment he saw James and Sirius meet on the train in their first year that he had been replaced. That he was never meant to have been by his side in the first place, or ever bestowed the title of his best friend.

James and Sirius fit, like two jigsaw puzzle pieces slotting together. Like two magnetic halves snapping into place to make a full heart. They completed each other so thoroughly that they didn’t need anyone else.

It might have been…kinder, if James had cut him loose right then. But James refused — and Peter honestly thinks it never occurred to his ex-best friend. James wouldn’t let him be, and fate was equally as unkind when they all ended up sorting into Gryffindor then sharing the same dorm.

It was torture. Peter had to watch every single step of James replacing him with front row seats. He never talked a lot when it was just himself and James, and he’d never seen the need to, because James chatted excessively enough for the both of them.

But Sirius could carry on a conversation just as strongly as James, which James surely loved because he’d never worn such a look of absolute delight on his face around Peter. He’d never had someone whose brain waves flowed the same way, whom he just clicked with.

Peter could not be that for him. He didn’t fit. He wasn’t enough.

All he could do was remain by his side, silently sidelined and feeling very sorry for himself.

In the nighttime, whilst everyone slept, Peter often found himself wide awake. It was so very new, being in a boarding school. Thoughts of what lurked in the shadows kept him up, shaking with fear and trying not to whimper but failing miserably.

He never had sleepless nights in his own house — not with his Mum’s familiar breathing interspersed with rattling coughs coming from around the corner; or the times James came for a sleepover and curled up beside him in his bed.

But his Mum wasn’t there, and James no longer felt…within reach. So Peter stayed right there on his bed, slightly shielded by his curtains, and stared into the darkness, quivering in fright all night long till he eventually passed out.

One night, that all changed when Sirius ripped back his curtains to glare at him.

“Do you have any fucking idea what the time is?” He harshly whispered, so as not to wake the others.

Peter swivelled his head to stare at him like he was a brand new phobia.

“Well? Why the fuck are you keeping me up? What’s the matter with you?”

Padfoot’s hearing has always been incredibly sharp. Peter had looked up at those perfect, aristocratic features twisted in mild annoyance while glowering down at him, a fierce light shining behind his stormy grey eyes, and gulped.

“Th-th-there’s- there’s s-s-some th-thing-” He stammered.

“Oi, speak clearly, would you?” Sirius deadpanned. “I can’t fucking understand you.”

Peter swallowed again, throat bobbing.

“Th-there’s something in that corner!” He squeaked, too fearful to raise his voice even with the mindless terror overcoming him. “I-In the shadows!” He tried to explain.

Sirius nonchalantly turned in the direction Peter was pointing at — then just as slowly turned back to give Peter a look like he was a few teaspoons short of a cuppa.

He’d fully expected Sirius to say something futile like, “There’s nothing there, you dolt. Now stop being a bother.”

Instead, he just scrutinsed him some more with that nerve-wracking gaze, then clicked his tongue, and with a wry twist of his lips made his way towards the corner Peter pointed at.

There, he crossed his arms and gave the frightening shadows his very best stink-eye. Peter can attest to it being very humbling indeed.

Then Sirius rolled up his sleeves, squared up and started throwing punches.

For a long second, Peter had been sure that Sirius had taken leave of his senses. Was this the famed Black family madness in action?

He watched, mouth agape as Sirius gave the shadows what Peter could only describe as a sound thrashing. Fears forgotten, he was instead filled with fascination as Sirius twirled, spun and kicked. At some point he even mimed grappling with something then throwing it to the ground and raining hefty blows down upon it—

As though he was actually fighting Peter’s demons instead of figments of his imagination.

“There,” Sirius finally grunted out, “I’ve fucked it up six ways to Sunday. If it shows its fucking face again, I’ll park my boot up its arse then too. Now go to bed!”

And Peter did, head so filled with thoughts of how Sirius had fought — so bravely, so fearlessly — that he no longer felt afraid to fall asleep with him in the room.

This …pantomime … repeated itself on nearly all of his sleepless nights. He would just be starting to whimper when Sirius would suddenly be there, drawing back his bed curtains with a long-suffering, “Where is it now?”

The one time he’d told Sirius the shadow-creature was under his bed and he immediately took a swan-dive beneath Peter’s mattress was nothing short of comical.

Sirius’ protection extended even outside of their dorm. He and the lads got into a lot of trouble together before they officially became Marauders, but there were several times that Peter alone got late-night detention.

(Times when his mind accelerated down multiple panicking lanes all at once, speeding past red lights as his thoughts ran on nightmare fuel and combusted all of his capabilities so badly he couldn’t even put himself together enough to do his homework.)

During those nights, Filch was Thanatos; Hogwarts was Hades’ lair; and after serving his detention, Peter would wonder whether he shouldn’t just sleep there instead of braving the darkness to return to his dorm.

But then he’d open the classroom door and find Sirius waiting there — always unasked — fidgeting and tapping his feet the entire time.

“Fucking finally,” he would grumble. “Come on!” He would bark next, then start marching in the direction of the Gryffindor dorms, leaving it up to Peter to follow closely after him if he wanted to make it back safely.

Standing behind Sirius was like standing behind a beacon so bright all the shadows fled from it. Sirius would aim heated glares into the corners Peter shrunk away from, and it was eerily like the darkness would shrink away from him in return.

Sirius was the only one who knew about his fear of what lurked in the shadows during the night.

…But it was never his choice to reveal his fear to Sirius.

(And he never told Sirius about how it often took the form of the Grim Reaper — appearing to give him a heads-up right before going to take his mother away.

Even if it was the actual Grim Reaper, Peter was sure Sirius would have still tried to fight it.)

It was…advantageous that Sirius had found out and committed himself so thoroughly to scaring the shadows away — but Peter never deluded himself that Sirius took care of him any of those times for his sake.

He knows how Padfoot’s simplistic mind operates — his actions were borne from something along the lines of: ‘James has decided that you’re worth a damn, so I’ll treat you like you are till the day he changes his mind.’

He knows that, without James’ influence, Sirius would look at Peter and see someone he would rather prey on than protect.

Because he never acted in that curt, offhand manner with any of the others whenever they were in need.

Not James, who faced his countless rejections from Lily and defeats in Quidditch matches or in fights against the Slytherins with a new plan for prank or an attack — constantly bouncing back…

Not Remus, who flung himself at every available surface he could find in the Shrieking Shack whenever he was in the throes of his “Moon madness” as they called it. Who splintered his bones and ached all over yet never once complained about his pain, putting on a brave face like a soldier who knew he always had more to endure — a true martyr…

Both James and Remus had earned Sirius’ respect and undying love. He would sacrifice himself for them without a moment’s hesitation.

But he was different with Peter, and just Peter…

Who never once tried to take a swing at the shadows himself. The only Marauder who didn’t get fired up in the face of fear, or belligerently ask it for seconds.

The others were content to act like they were a smooth, running engine with complete moving parts. But Sirius always looked at him like he knew he didn’t belong. Like he wasn’t truly one of them.

It was in the thought written all over his face whenever he saved Peter from his own worst fears; in that sidelong gaze he would give him as though thinking — ‘Why must you be such a pathetic little nuisance?’

So many times, he dreamed of yelling in Sirius’ face, “If I’m inconveniencing you so much then leave me be! Let me be afraid in peace!”

But he couldn’t do it. He knew he would never mean it.

Selfishly, shamelessly, he needed Sirius to keep driving the shadows away. He needed his braver friends to keep protecting him and having his back.

It was a much better place to be than being their target.

So he clung to them desperately while resenting them in equal measure — because it was so much easier than resenting himself.

But that was all back in Hogwarts. Everything happening now — being out in the world as adults, this war — is on such a macro scale that it blows silly things like school friendships and petty rivalries completely out of the water. Peter has not stopped being disoriented by all of the changes for a single second…

Yet, his ‘friends’ have not changed. Have not stopped being brave, or believing that the whole world is theirs for the taking if they simply put themselves out there.

Sirius has not stopped trying to fight death — or looking at Peter like he is a disgrace for not doing the same.

Sirius is strong. Peter believes in this fact.

…But he is not the strongest in the entire Kingdom.

So Peter easily pulls on that pathetic facade Sirius has never once tried to look past.

“S-Sirius, you s-s-smell like an alehouse,” He points out. “No-nobody in their right mind would l-let you into a h-hospital.”

James and Remus nod their heads in agreement.

Sirius scrunches up his face slightly. “Killjoys.” There’s a slight hiccup at the end of his statement.

Remus looks at Peter. “I could come with you.”

“M-Moony, you hate hospitals.”

“Yeah,” Remus sighs, squeezing his eyes shut. “I was trying to forget that fact. I could still…?”

“I could go!” James pipes up, already on his feet. “Moony, you should stay here and babysit Padfoot.”

Sirius immediately wraps his arms back around Remus tightly. “Babysit me, Moony!” He croons, batting his eyes at his boyfriend.

“Get off me, you shameless-!”

“Prongs…” Peter exhales, now feeling hollowed out. Being around them is always such an exercise in controlling his feelings — the anger, anxiety, shame, even the slightest hint of guilt — and trying not to let any of them slip out or sway him. He just wants to be away; and longs for the day that them being in his life is no longer an option.

“N-Nobody is going to grab me on the st-streets while I’m g-going to v-visit my Mum. I d-do this all the time. I’ll a-also be staying till v-visiting hours are over. Th-there’s n-no need to tag along.”

James looks ready to argue, but soon deflates towards the end of Peter’s speech.

“Fine,” he pouts, “But at least let me walk you to the door.”

Peter acquiesces. What follows are the longest five steps of his entire life.

“Hey, Petey?” James says as he steps outside and starts putting his shoes on.

Peter glances back. The beam on James’ face is so bright, so unburdened, like he’s never pictured a life where he can’t get everything he wants through sheer willpower. Every part of him remains golden, kissed only by sunshine.

“You know, if you ever need anything, for any reason, you can just ask me, right?” He tilts his head like a cocker spaniel, giving Peter a questioning look — yet his mouth is smiling as though he’s already received a positive answer.

Peter takes him in for one last time.

The thing is, James… I can also decide that you are not enough.

Peter nods slowly. “Goodbye, Prongs,” he says finally, giving his oldest friend a tight-lipped smile.

And, for the last time, he closes the door of Potter Manor.

 

---

James reaches the end of the block then stops, placing a hand on a nearby wall as he doubles over to catch his breath.

Their senseless mini-party had fizzled to a halt a while ago. Through their combined efforts, both him and Moony had finally managed to get Padfoot to stop drinking and returned Dad’s liquor back to the cellar.

Which might need a padlock in the near future.

Afterwards, they piled into Padfoot’s room, then James had left the lovebirds alone together to enjoy some private time, deciding to go for a jog around the block.

To clear his head…and to think a bit more about just how fucked he is.

Of course he fell in love with Regulus Black. Of fucking course.

Maybe his friends are right. Maybe he does have some…deep-rooted issues.

Because he can’t just fall for someone who actually fucking likes him, can he? No, it can’t just be that easy.

Before last week, he’d never spared a single thought towards Regulus Black. Now, Regulus’ name clamours through his mind like a thousand church bells ringing all at once. It echoes with every beat of his heart, every rise of his chest, and every kiss of wind on his face.

James knows he’s the type of person who loves forever. Maybe it’s something he got from his parents, who never let him go a single day without knowing how loved he is. To him, love is oxygen. He needs to feel it from someone, share it with someone, or he won’t know how to function.

His parents spoon-fed him every drop of their love without restraint as a child — and still do. He grew to expect it — demand it of people even — when he turned eleven and started living away from their roof.

And when some people didn’t instantly give him that love he demanded — people like Lily — instead of throwing a tantrum, he became…determined. For the first time in his life, James discovered what a challenge was — and what a thrillthe chase could be.

A part of him had LOVED getting Lily riled up, because when she’d explode at him the fires in her eyes would match the inferno of passion raging within him. It felt like their flames would combine in a perfect chemical reaction — and he’d thought that if he kept it up, her rage and hate would eventually turn into romantic love.

But it never did…and then he’d taught himself to stop treating Lily like a toy.

It had taken a very long time, and a vast amount of self-control he never imagined he could possess.

But now — bloody hell, he’s falling in love all over again!

And Regulus is oh — so — SHINY!

He has laughter, and warmth, and fire, and frost all burning inside him!

His inner circle got the first two. Most of his fire was directed at Sirius.

It makes James feel a little jealous of his brother, to be honest.

All he got was frost. Which he doesn’t want!

…Okay, maybe he does.

Really, James wants it all.

He wants to draw out all the parts of Regulus, wants to open him up and sink into every depth there is to discover in him, wants to see if he can take it all in and swim, or drown…

(Or will he be completely devoured?)

He wants to be cheered by his laughter, warmed by his smile, burned by his anger — wants to feel his frostbite again.

He wants, he wants, he wants.

The fact that Regulus is a guy — and Sirius’ little brother at that — fails to register as very consequential at the moment. His thoughts are filled only by that familiar, overwhelming sense of longing and loving — leaving no room for anything like reason.

James wonders what it will take for his disdain to fade — what he could possibly do to make Regulus thaw. If… no, whenhe manages to get close, will Regulus melt? If he touches his face, will it be warm under his hands?

If he leans in and captures those lips that have been flashing through his mind for the past four hours —

Will their kiss scorch his skin raw?

James feels his breaths coming faster, now panting from an exertion that has nothing to do with exercise. His pulse speeds up, thudding at the side of his neck in tempo with his heartbeat; his temperature rising while most of the blood in his body rushes downwards.

Oh, fuck.

Get a grip! He scolds himself, yanking a rough hand through his curls. We will be friends — just FRIENDS!

He whispers this mantra over and over, pathetically pleading with his own thoughts to behave for once. Instead, as though trying to spite him, more images flash behind his eyes that make his head swim — new cravings unfurling within him like a garden of wildflowers blooming out of control. But finally, he manages to wrestle his desires back down.

With effort, he peels himself off the wall and starts jogging back home. He needs to lie down — but first, a cold shower.

Thankfully, Moony and Padfoot are probably preoccupied. He can take his time.

As his feet pound against the pavement, retracing the familiar steps back home, he frowns. There’s something…a little off about the atmosphere in his neighbourhood. Something he’s never noticed before, that certainly wasn’t there at the beginning of his run.

The air feels taut like a bowstring; nocked with an arrow and waiting to fly free.

It has James’ guard rising up. He doesn’t feel unsafe — will never feel unsafe in the area where he grew up — but he increases his pace to get back indoors faster.

He briskly jogs back up the hill to his front door — then stops. Lying in wait on his welcome mat are two thick, white folders clearly addressed to his house.

The postman couldn’t have come by in the short while he was gone.

Cautiously, James crouches down to peer at the text. The font is clearly professional, likely written with a keyboard.

‘To Lord Potter,’ one folder reads.

‘To Heir Potter,’ states the next.

A lightbulb goes off in his head. Regulus.

James picks them up, toeing off his trainers then stepping inside. He makes sure to lock his door, then turns his attention to the folder addressed to his father.

Flipping it over, he sees a wax seal on the flap — the type stamped with a signet ring. Must be the same one Regulus is always wearing. A pattern of stars brushes against his fingertip as James lightly strokes the wax.

He hears something clatter inside the folder when he shakes it, probably the tape recording Regulus mentioned. He beelines towards Dad’s office and places the package on his desk. He’ll properly explain everything to him when he comes home.

James is left holding the one addressed to him. He contemplates it, lightly chewing on his thumbnail. What could be in it? He wonders. Is there something Regulus wants from him? He did save James’ life back there…maybe James now owes him a Life Debt?

The thought is…highly enticing.

If his life is now in Regulus’ hands — the new Lord of House Black — what might he ask James to do to…serve him?

He sticks a leg out to trip that thought before it proceeds any further; then blinks hard.

Huh… Maybe Padfoot was onto something all those times he’d bug James to shag around back in Hogwarts, instead of saving himself for ‘the one.’

He places the folder on the kitchen table, downs a cold glass of water from the fridge, then bolts to his washroom to take that shower before he explodes.

James feels A LOT calmer by the time he’s done. He’s running a small towel through his hair as he descends the stairs, heading back towards the kitchen when he hears the phone ring.

Slightly shifting his trajectory, he goes to pick it up.

“Potter Residence. Hi, this is James.”

“Hello. It’s Anna speaking. We’ve met.”

His heart skips a beat. Is she calling on behalf of Regulus?

“Just letting you know that because of the security breach, we’re having your house watched.”

James nearly drops the phone. “What?”

“Your flat, Sirius’ flat, and Potter Manor are all marked as high risk,” Anna elaborates. “Any threats to these places of residence will be preemptively neutralised, so feel free to come and go as you please. Anyone inhabiting these spaces will be safe as well. We don’t have the manpower to spare to watch more places than those three, so your other acquaintances will have to figure something out for themselves.”

“My other acquaintances…” James is too dazed to take in most of what she’s saying.

“What’s the extent of this — security breach?” He asks breathily.

There’s a pause, then a tiny sigh. “Haven’t you opened the folder?”

“…Not yet.”

“Then the information will all be in there. It’s quite self-explanatory. Goodbye.”

She hangs up.

He stares at the phone for a second, then another. Security breach, his acquaintances, house being watched…

‘There’s a leak,’ he’d told Regulus — not that long ago.

His eyes widen. Shit.

He sprints to the kitchen and grabs the folder, muttering curses while internally kicking himself the entire time, then races back up the stairs. The folder he’s holding is a ticking time bomb in his hands, and he needs his friends to be there with him when it goes off.

“Be decent!” He yells at Padfoot’s door before flinging it open.

Sirius and Remus startle at his appearance. Thankfully, nothing untoward is happening — just Remus braiding Sirius’ hair while he munches on some snacks.

Padfoot immediately hones in on his distress, alarm flickering in his eyes.

“Jamie! What’s happened?”

His breathing is coming so fast.

“Anna called — house being watched — Regulus — the leak—” He’s stumbling over his words, trying to get them out a mile a minute while waving the folder in front of him like a crucifix.

Sirius is staring at him like he’s listening to an Elvish recital. After a moment, Remus gets up and — very slowly — reaches out to grab the folder from James.

“YES, THAT!” He finally takes a breath, happy to have gotten the most important point across.

“It’s from Regulus! I think he found — information — about who the leak is.”

All three of them exchange glances. Then Remus rips the seal open.

They hover above Padfoot’s bed as papers — so many of them — come spilling out from the folder. Tentatively, James picks one of them up —

And his world is immediately torn asunder.

He’s looking at printouts of pictures taken from files stored in God-knows-where. The original pages look crinkled from being passed around however many times — but the flowing script filling up the white space is one he’d recognise anywhere.

And it’s everywhere.

All of the pages are filled to the brim with knowledge… that he had been freely given — been entrusted with. That’s what rips James apart the most as he stares and stares, unable to quite believe what he’s seeing…

These were all secrets shared with him.

Doubts divulged to him.

Habits known to him.

Routines he was included in.

Homes he was INVITED in!

Years worth of intel gained from bonds he formed with everybody within their social circle — that’s seven years; no, ten now; no, James has known Peter since he was five — that’s fucking fifteen!

And Peter has betrayed him.

James cracks right down the middle, splitting apart. His hand is shaking too much to hold any of this — this evidence. He slumps to the ground, huddling into himself and pressing his knees against his chest as though that might make him stop bleeding.

Moony is staring off into the distance, unseeing. Equally in as much shock as he is.

Padfoot calmly keeps looking. Methodically running his eyes down every page, placing one paper down in order to pick up the next.

James fixates on his brother, unable to look away since he’s the only one moving.

Then Sirius stills, freezing as he reaches the final page.

Curious, James rises to his feet to go look over his shoulder, a sort of masochism driving him to discover what could possibly have finally stumped Sirius.

The handwriting on this page is different, but one James also recognises…

…From a collection of thrown-away birthday cards.

__

‘Here,

I’ve solved your rat problem.

NOW EXTERMINATE IT.

Cheers,

R.A.B’

__

“…You know something, Prongs?”

Sirius’ voice is quiet. A quiet Sirius is never a good thing.

His brother lifts his eyes towards him, and there is a veritable maelstrom brewing in them — a tempest rising with howling winds and blown back tree trunks.

The words that follow sound like something he’s always wanted to get off his chest:

“I have never liked that rat bastard.”

 

Notes:

I initially planned for James to have met Peter at Hogwarts for the first time, but them being childhood friends seemed like a better angle for ✨nuance✨ I have some more Peter POVs planned out, we’ll see how it goes!

You guys, it is my personal head-canon that Sirius Black never liked Peter Pettigrew. He would never have suspected Peter was a traitor before it was revealed, but I think that Sirius generally has an almost ‘might makes right’ mentality.

That isn't to say he only respects strong people and thinks those who are weak or flawed aren't deserving of respect - he's best friends with some really flawed people after all. But in regards to Peter, I believe that Sirius has always held a sort of disdain for him because of how passive he is (or portrays himself to be). Sirius respects those with strong opinions, who aren't afraid to fight or take up arms to defend their stance. Basically, you aren't worth shit if you don't have ideals (which align with his own) that you’re not afraid to back up. If Peter hadn't gotten sorted into Gryffindor, I don't think Sirius would've ever associated with him. He has put Regulus in the latter box for the same reason, because he perceives his brother's neutrality as being passive regardless of his reasons.

But we also know how wrong Sirius can be and how severely he can misjudge people, so he is also very flawed.

_

Honourable mentions:

Sirius helping Peter fight the fearsome shadows: 😊✅

Sirius not being nice enough to Peter while doing it: 👿🕰️🧨🔥🤬❌

Chapter 25: I've Never Seen Someone Lit From Within

Summary:

Hair as dark as the night sky, long lashes like strokes of shadow sweeping against his high cheekbones which were dusted with freckles - painting uncharted constellations across his face. A slender, regal nose, full and perfectly moistened lips with a soft curve to them, and his eyes -

Jack thought they were just a trick of the light, but no - they really were just that luminous.

It was as if two full moons were set right there in his face, glowing with a soft, celestial fire.

Notes:

PROOF OF LIFE!!!

Soo sorry, I’ve been busy with courses for two very unrelated programs, preparing for a second language exam that I only started learning about a year ago, and writing a poetry book. Oh, and I just ended my two-year long relationship. Burning out, but I’m back!

Pls WHY did I listen to ‘Dial Drunk’ (with Post Malone) about a million times while writing this? 😭 It just seems like Jack’s personal anthem - you’ll see what I mean.

Again, sincere apologies for making you wait so long for this. Without further ado, here’s some angst, fluff, and found family stuff!

Warning: This chapter has some non-con elements that are not explicitly described. Read at your own risk ‼️

 

(TW: Dehumanisation, child abandonment, mentions of trauma, slave trade and captivity, murder, torture, gore, murder, inappropriate and NON-CONSENSUAL touching/rape elements)

25.

— — — — — — — —Back to the Past— — — — — — — 

The silence felt personally offensive.

With every passing moment, as only the sound of his own breathing filled his ears, Jack felt himself growing more and more gravely insulted.

From his reclined position on the floor, he exhaled heavily, trying not to completely lose it.

Pacing the length of the cramped space had grown utterly boring. So had kicking his feet against the wall, though that at least had produced some entertaining groans from his cell mates. Too bad they quickly learned to ignore him, too used to his antics by now.

That, and the lack of a voice yelling at him several cells over to fucking knock it off already made him too disappointed to continue.

He let out another heavy sigh. Time was crawling by too slowly, in contrast to the multiple thoughts whirling in his head. He needed a way to let out all his pent-up energy, instead he was stuck in here, just staring at the spaces in between the bars that loomed right in front of him.

What he wouldn’t give to be able to slip right through them right about now.

Where he would go if he managed to escape though, he had no fucking clue. There were a lot of things he had no answers to, which was another constant source of his aggravation.

For one, he still wasn’t sure how he’d even ended up here in the first place. One moment, he’d been sleeping outside in the cold under some bridge that felt like it might collapse on him in the night and kill him in his sleep, and instead of dying he’d woken up the next morning trapped behind bars like an animal.

That must’ve been seven years ago… maybe. Time wasn’t a concept he’d ever fully managed to grasp, so all of his days sort of smudged into one another. What he did know was that he was now old enough to have started growing a moustache, which was new!

Having the thing was quite the game changer. For one, it gave him a steady source of amusement during conversations — he could now stroke his chin just so, pretending to deeply ponder whatever-the-fuck was being said — just to see how much he could waste other people’s time — before responding with the most inane, unrelated answer he could think of. But more importantly, he could now clearly divide his life into two distinct halves: A.M and P.M.

After-Moustache and Pre-Moustache.

Pre-Moustache Jack did not really like the outside world. Everything was a blur of being constantly hungry, and cold, and having to pack up his shit and run whenever someone got offended by him existing in the same space as them. Which happened quite a lot.

He wasn’t stupid enough to believe that being in here was any better though. Yes, he was fed regularly and it wasn’t as cold as sleeping outside, and of course nobody wanted him to (be able to) leave this place. But he wasn’t about to believe he was kidnapped from the streets out of the kindness of their hearts.

It was just — sometimes, he could forget the fact that he was literally locked up inside a cage. After long days of being constantly put to work, scarcely having a moment to think, much less breathe, and being surrounded by people all in the same boat, his prisoner status would be the last thing on his mind.

(Especially on days with less guard supervision.)

It also helped that no one ever looked at him like he didn’t have a place here. Hell, some of them were actually pretty entertaining. There was this one fucker who somehow always managed to make something explode whenever they were assigned to the workshop. It was fucking fantastic. Jack became such a fan of his that he’d approached him one day and asked if he could blow things up more often just to shake things up a bit more.

He’d looked at Jack so acidly that Jack had become helplessly endeared, and began going out of his way to seek him out every chance he got to pester him to his heart’s content.

Those moments where Cyclops was so close to flipping his shit and bringing the whole building down upon them were some of the true highlights of his life. In those fleeting moments where he was sure he was about to die a very gruesome death, he felt truly alive.

…Of course, that was before the FUCKER somehow managed to FUCKING ESCAPE with TWO OTHER FUCKING PEOPLE, which made all the guards proceed to collectively LOSE THEIR FUCKING MINDS.

Normally, Jack would have relished the absolute chaos that followed — and let it not be said that those first few hours of watching the tools in charge run around like a swarm of uncoordinated ants weren’t extremely entertaining. But, once they got their shit together, they put the whole place on lockdown.

Which meant that not a single person had been allowed to step a foot out of their cell in fucking ages. There was nothing to do, and there was no more Cyclops to drive up the wall. Just complete and utter silence.

It was torture.

Honestly, Jack thought their panic was a bit excessive. Because God forbid anybody ever try to fucking leave this place. Yet they had no problem with people leaving in body bags. There was that one time some poor schmuck passed away in their cell, and it took the guards three whole days to give a proper shite before taking his body away to wherever he would undoubtedly be buried with respect and whatnot.

Jack hadn’t really minded at the time — it was three whole days where he got to watch a corpse rotting in real time, getting to closely study what happened to the human body when its owner was no longer there. It was quite fascinating.

And if his cell mates started giving him a wide berth after that, it was no skin off his back. Honestly, Jack thought they were the weird ones. All they ever managed to do was stare at the walls all day every day with these lifeless eyes — yeesh. It was obviously way more fun to watch a body decompose than to watch paint dry.

But that was besides the point. Currently, After-Moustache Jack has not had a literal breath of fresh air in who knows how long, has no one exciting enough to talk to, nothing to do, and could no longer ignore just how small the space he was trapped in was.

He was stuck with just his thoughts to keep him company, and they were starting to go off the rails again.

Every single time he laid eyes on the bars of his cell, he couldn’t help but feel…confused. There was always this feeling that he was supposed to be somewhere else, doing something else, but he didn’t know what, or why he felt so strongly about it, and whenever he tried figuring out whatever the fuck he was subconsciously searching for his thoughts couldn’t seem to narrow down on anything. Instead, it was like a floodgate of everything imaginable would follow, and his thoughts would turn into a swarm of small, winged creatures flying every which way in his brain, mucking everything up and leaving him even more confused and in desperate need of a distraction — but there were no distractions to be found this time and it was all Cyclops’ fault and if he ever fucking saw that fucker again he was going to thoroughly fuck him up because HOW FUCKING DARE HE FIGURE OUT A WAY TO ESCAPE AND KEEP IT TO HIMSELF?

He wanted to rip out his hair to clear out some space in his skull. Instead, he did the more reasonable thing and started screaming himself hoarse.

More groans ensued.

“Oi, shut the fuck up!”

Jack perked up slightly, but the voice was all wrong. The heavy tread of the guard’s boots warned him even before he came into view. The useless toolbag he didn’t even bother to recognise fixed him with a look of harsh admonishment.

Jack just glowered back. “LET ME OUT. I need to take a fucking piss.”

The guard sneered. “Oh shut up. There’s a bucket right there.”

Jack decided, then and there, that he would absolutely not be shutting up now.

He sat up, craving the heavenly fix that always came from fucking with people.

“Do you even know how long I’ve been holding it in? It’s been days, maybe even a week. A bucket is not going to fucking cut it, you dipshit. If I let loose now, I might drown everybody in here. Do you really want that kind of flood on your hands?”

He watched as the guard’s face grew more and more disgusted. “Use the fucking bucket, you fucking cad.”

Jack changed tactics. “How about this — you let me out right now or I’ll whip it out and spray you with it.”

He made a grab at his trousers and the guard immediately stepped back, a strangled scream leaving his lips. Jack pitched his head back and roared with laughter. Sour-faced, the guard whipped out a remote and slammed his finger against a button.

Sharp, burning pain filled his senses, electric needles digging into the skin of his neck where his collar rested. Still he kept on cackling, too used to the feeling by now, growing even more entertained from watching the dipshit slowly turn purple from rage.

The guard opened his mouth, no doubt to scream slurs at him, when-

“Here, I’ll take him.”

Hearing that voice, Jack’s laughter immediately died. He didn’t even need to look. He would recognise that voice even with his eyes closed.

The former nobody just harrumphed and walked away. He felt the pain around his neck slowly fade, but that did nothing to put him at ease. He would take that over Him any day.

Slowly, he lifted his gaze to the figure standing outside his cage.

He didn’t look like much. A head full of brown hair that looked like sand, blue eyes so light they might shatter if you threw a rock at them, placid permanently placed smile on his face. It was the face of someone built to be forgotten. It was really too bad that the same offer hadn’t been extended to Jack.

He admittedly didn’t know a lot about a lot of things, but he’d managed to learn some things throughout his life.

One of them was that there was something wrong with this man.

Jack watched Him like a hawk as he calmly took out a set of keys and inserted one into the lock. The door swung open with an ominous creek.

He slowly raised an eyebrow when Jack didn’t move.

“You wanted to take a piss, didn’t you?” He asked lightly, daring Jack to change his mind. To show his fear.

Like hell.

With his fists tightly clenched, Jack stepped into the open space, giving Him a wide berth as he passed. He heard the sound of the lock sliding back into place and then felt more than saw Him come up right beside him.

Casually, he placed a hand on Jack’s shoulder.

Every single nerve in his brain fired off all at once.

Jack nearly dislocated his shoulder from how harshly shrugged the hand off, practically ripping himself away. He would have torn his shoulder from his body if he could. Already, his heart was making a valiant effort to crush itself against his ribcage, he was so wired.

His only response was that damned smile as he let the offending hand fall to his side.

“This way,” he commanded, and Jack followed because he couldn’t think of what else to do. He muted his thoughts, unconsciously making himself smaller while still not taking his eyes off Him.

A chill ran down his spine when their eyes connected.

A lazy barring of teeth, like the flash of a knife in the dark. “What, no longer have anything to say?”

Jack’s jaw worked, but his lips stayed shut. Yes, he was actually capable of shutting the fuck up. And yes, it surprised him too.

“You haven’t caused any trouble in a while. It surprised me,” He remarked absently. “I thought maybe it was possible that muggles could learn. But I suppose there’s no bettering your true nature.”

Jack vividly remembered the last time he ‘caused trouble’.

He remembered having a day where everything felt like too much, even the feeling of sweat against his skin. A day where boredom was pressing down on his brain like a physical ache. The sudden unwelcome touch of a guard gripping his shoulder flipped a switch in his skull and he completely lost his shit.

Lashing out was instinctual — he hadn’t thought about what he was doing. He didn’t even get the chance to process the little thrill that came from his fist connecting, from the fuzzy edges around his eyes fading —

He remembered immediately getting tackled by four other guards — because the fucking cockroaches could never fight fair.

He remembered being him down at the feet of Him, the feeling of hands all over his body making him almost lose his fucking mind. He remembered glass-stained blue eyes boring into him, a gaze that felt like another unwanted touch staring down at him with idle contempt.

He barely remembered the question, “What made you think you could raise a hand to your betters?”, and responding by letting loose the nastiest, filthiest slurs he’d ever picked up on the streets. But he did remember spotting a glimmer of something within that barren blue gaze, before He ordered a bucket of water and soap to be brought over.

He still remembered the burning pain in his eyes that meant too many things all at once. He still remembered screaming his throat raw and not even making a sound.

He still remembered the quiet that lasted a short eternity.

What he didn’t remember was the rest of it. And there had been more, because the first thing you learn in a life like this was that it could always get worse.

At the time, he must have blacked out as a method of escape, but he woke up the next morning forced to acknowledge the new state of himself. Again finding himself in a place he didn’t remember sleeping in. Discovering his body marked with pain that his mind didn’t remember learning.

(He still remembers how it hurt.)

Ever since that day, He would smile when he saw him. And every time He did, Jack felt his throat close up.

There were cracks in his brain, across his throat, and on the rest of him in the shape of that smile. Some days, when they ached, he wouldn’t even wish to be free. No, more than anything else, his one desire would be for the whole world to go up in flames, and for that smile to fucking melt off His face so he never has to see it again and never has to remember.

(He would still see it whenever he blinked.)

But he’s never gotten a single thing he’s ever wanted. Why would it start now?

“You know what they say about those like you, don’t you?” He kept on talking. “They say you were all born with the devil in you. That this life is to be your punishment for all the unforgivable things you did in your past one.”

Huh. Now that actually made a lot of sense to Jack. If this was supposed to be hell, then the guards were doing almost flawless impressions of demons. He wasn’t unreasonable, he could appreciate the effort if nothing else. Personally, he wasn’t sure what he did in a past life to have warranted all this, but being him, Jack was sure must’ve done something.

What he didn’t know though, was if that was the truth.

There were several things he had no idea about, but another thing he’d learned was that people’s eyes were more honest than their words. And staring into His eyes as he spoke was like staring into a dark, empty well. There wasn’t a single flicker of emotion, nothing to say he even believed what he was saying. He could have been reciting what he’d heard from someone who heard it from someone who heard it from someone else’s dog and trying to pass it off as the truth.

Those were the kinds of people Jack hated the most.

But then He continued with, “Which means you are meant to be punished.”

Jack saw how a strange light flickered to life in his eyes, something he’d seen only twice now but couldn’t fully place it the first time, and he knew without a doubt that He meant this part. That He fully believed He had the right to hurt him, that He enjoyed having a reason to hurt him, and that He might even prefer having no reason at all.

Cold was creeping back into his bones. He suddenly longed for the safety of his cage, which was a thought he frankly never imagined having. In fact, he would plunge his face eyes-open into soapy water right now if it meant he could time-travel back to about ten minutes ago when he made this decision. He clearly didn’t know what the hell he’d been thinking if this was the end result.

Jack’s footsteps slowed to a halt, then just as slowly started to backtrack. He stopped walking as well and just watched him retreat with the most plastic smile on his face. But those eyes…

“If you hate the thought so much,” He sounded amused, “I think there might be a way for you to escape your fate.”

Jack didn’t trust it. He didn’t stop trying to put a healthy distance between them.

“Why don’t you let me shape you into someone who can be good? Maybe then you’d have a shot at earning the right to exist in your next life.”

For the second time that evening, Jack froze in his steps. Because he could not have just heard that right.

He knew that he didn’t know a lot about things about life, which was partly why he found it easy to believe in the unknown.

Maybe there was a reason he’d been abandoned since before he could remember.

Maybe he did deserve every single horrible name he had ever been called.

And maybe, just maybe, it really was his fault for being born wrong, made wrong.

Jack knew he was a piece of shit. His life had no value to anyone other than himself, and if the world wanted him to believe he was nothing more than a scumbag, well they’ve been more than successful.

But…did all that really mean he had no right to exist? Even if he was damned, was he just supposed to accept that was all he could ever be in this life?

Because — and he felt that this was important — he was also born a dreamer.

Even when it was futile, when the size of his dreams couldn’t fit through the spaces of his cage — even though he didn’t know all of the words or have a single reference point to name exactly what his dreams were made of…

He still wanted a better life — still yearned to have everything he’d never known.

He wanted to sleep and wake up in an actual bed. He wanted to find out if all apples tasted the same, despite being different colours. He wanted to feel the soft touch of a woman. Of multiple women. Preferably all at the same time.

Or did he? That might actually feel a little too well-earned.

…Maybe he just wanted to know what it was like for someone to touch him without wanting to hurt him.

And most importantly, he wanted to know what it was like to be alive without wanting to die.

What was fate to his dreams, to the thoughts that haunted him when he closed his eyes? What was destiny but another collar round his neck, keeping him chained to this miserable place? Every inch of him felt unclean, packed with sin and oozing filth — even more so now. Yet, he still wanted to be seen. He needed it.

And if they wouldn’t look, he’d make them.

But he couldn’t do that, stuck here in the dark like a rat. It was possible to escape, to want a better life and go chase it, they’d just seen it…

So why should he have to wait for the next life to get everything he wants right now?

Jack stared at His smug, smiling face, at those eyes that prick-prick-pricked all over his skin, and felt that familiar irrepressible desire to be an absolute cunt bubbling to the surface.

Now Jack knows better, he does, but he really just can’t help himself.

“Why don’t you suck my fucking GIANT commoner cock?”

The moment the words were out of his mouth, he knew they were a mistake. He wanted to snatch them right out of the air like flying money, but the deed was done.

The air around them stilled, then suddenly gained an oppressive weight.

His smile curved along His face like a scythe, testifying to his impending doom.

“That was a test.” He took a step towards Jack.

“You failed.”

Jack stepped back so quickly his legs burned, nearly windmilling his arms to keep his balance…

Then his back hit the wall, and there was suddenly nowhere to go.

“The truth is… I don’t need your permission to do whatever I want to you.”

Jack pressed himself against the wall, his breaths audible as his chest heaved up and down, but no other sound left him. His throat had locked up so tightly that he couldn’t force out any other words. Like ‘Please’, and ‘Please don’t…’

He just kept coming. If eyes were the window to the soul, then inside of this man was a monster, a grotesque, nightmarish, writhing beast that wanted to claw him apart and devour him whole. They blazed a bright blue streak across his mind, reminding him of a time of blinking soapy water from his eyes and seeing this same flash of… of excitement.

Unlocking memories he didn’t want to keep.

He was so close now that Jack could feel His breath against his skin, and the sight of the hand slowly inching towards His belt ensured that his breath was trapped — frantically flitting about in his throat with nowhere to go. Jack’s fists were still tightly clenched, nails digging so deeply into his palm he could feel blood drip down his knuckles.

‘Isn’t this what you wanted?’ A dark part of himself whispered. ‘Weren’t you always bitching about them not fighting fair? This is your chance — nobody else is around.’

‘So why don’t you fight like you’re always raring to do?’

Jack didn’t move. He could try to duck, flee, push past Him, take a swing, anything! But no matter how much he screamed at himself he remained stuck in place, like a butterfly with its wings pinned. He’d never felt so betrayed by his own mind and his body, trapped inside the cage of his own skin, every limb a dead weight, reduced to praying to a silent god who’d never once shown Jack his face.

There was no feeling quite like lowering yourself to beg yet still being ignored.

‘You’re all bark and no bite. Full of shit, yet no substance.’

‘Really, is it any wonder nobody gives a fuck about you?’

Jack felt the ghost of a touch run up his arm, then start to close around his neck. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out everything so it wouldn’t get imprinted on his brain.

Maybe that’s why he didn’t hear it, at first.

But the hand jerked away, then fell. The breaths warming his face suddenly stuttered.

Slowly, Jack peeked an eye open… and his vision was consumed by red.

He saw Him clutching at his chest, gasping out sharp, broken sounds. A dark bloom of red was spreading all over, staining his torso with bleak promise. His face was painted in matching panic.

Jack just stared, wondering if he’d started hallucinating again. Honestly, what better timing?

Then he heard it — three near silent Pop!s, and with each one, something inside Him came undone. First, His body convulsed, limbs jolting about like they were filled with nothing but gruel. Then His knees collapsed, slamming onto the stone, His spine bending over in a violent arch before His mouth ripped open and vomited a thick gush of blood onto the ground. It spewed from His lips like something had burst inside Him.

Jack watched Him struggle to breathe, looming above Him in His newly submissive position, and felt a shiver of sadistic delight thrum in his veins.

‘How good does this feel?’

The guard made one last desperate, dying attempt, clawing at the ground, leaving white streaks amongst the red, before finally succumbing to fate. He slumped forward then went still, like a puppet with its strings cut.

His lone visible eye looked like a dull blue marble.

He was no longer a monster or a man — just an object.

‘He’s not there anymore’, Jack realised. The ice surrounding his lungs melted. Finally, he inhaled.

He started to crouch down towards the body — just to check, to make sure. But someone beat him to it.

A booted foot came out of nowhere and kicked the corpse over, exposing the now lifeless gaze to the world.

An unfamiliar voice cut through the deathly silence. “Ah, how annoying.”

Jack slowly looked up.

 

— — — — — — — —Earlier that night— — — — — — — 

“T’weren’t just as easy as poppin’ the locks,” the boy was explaining to them. They were currently back in their Westminster cottage, along with the three additional people they’d picked up, seated around the tiny dinner table in what passed for the kitchen.

“I mean, the picks did help get me outta the shackles, sure,” he immediately clarified, “But the real trouble was that bloody collar.”

“Collar?” Regulus asked, intrigued. He didn’t remember ever seeing anything like that.

The boy tilted his head to the side, two-toned eyes boring into him. “It’s this thing they made us wear when we were out workin’. Stops any of us from leggin’ it — ’less you fancy scorchin’ ya neck to the bone. The further ya go, the worse they crank up the pain.”

Regulus’ eyebrows furrowed, deeply unsettled by what he was hearing. They really were just treating them like…livestock. Beside him, Polaris made a motion as though rubbing at her neck, her eyes distant. When he looked at her, she simply nodded, affirming the boy’s words.

Cold rage ignited behind his eyes.

“S’posed to be just for when you’re workin’ outside,” the boy continued, dragging Regulus’ attention back to him, “But they’d leave it on ya if they thought you ain’t acting right. This one bloke I know had his on all the time, even slept in the damn thing. Not a lick o’ sense in the skull, that one. Turned it into a game, pissin’ off the guards for fun. Reckon he were tryin’ to start a line o’ folks ready to lop his head clean off.”

Regulus snorted, his lips twitching upwards. “Sounds like an interesting guy.”

The boy gave him a deadpan stare. “‘Bout as interestin’ as havin’ yer teeth pulled. I’ll tell ya somethin’ — if he’s still breathin’ when ya get there, which’d be a bloody miracle, reckon most’d thank ya kindly for leavin’ him right where he is.”

Moved by the passion in his speech, Regulus could only think, ‘Wow, he must be so worried about his friend.’

“We were in the same boat, sorta,” The boy scratched at his neck awkwardly. “Weren’t really my fault, but I kept cockin’ things up in the workshop. They’d want us buildin’ stuff, and I’d get carried away fiddlin’ with it and tryin’ to improve it. Sometimes it worked out alright… other times, well, it fucking exploded. ”

He shrugged. “But what can ya do? Just teething problems, that’s all. It’s part of the process. Happens to the best of us.”

Polaris shot him a weird look. Regulus stared at this half-blind, scrawny-looking teenager and could not believe his ears. From what it sounded like, he was doing all of this without any protective equipment. ‘And he thinks he has less of a death wish?’

“Anyway, yeah, the main thing was gettin’ that bloody collar off. Wore the damn thing so much I got used to fiddlin’ with it, figured out how to get it off. Had to do it two more times for these two,” He gestured towards his younger companions — a boy and a girl — who were seated a bit further away, watching the conversation with wide eyes. “Then we legged it before they could cook up somethin’ nastier. Picked a day we were out in the fields, sneaked round some barley stacks, then ran like hell — they didn’t even spot us movin’. T’was a risk, but we pulled it off.”

He pinned Regulus with a serious gaze. “That’s to say — if you want to go help the others, that bloody collar’s gonna cock it all up. The guards’ve got some fancy button to trigger it whenever they want, just for the hell of it, and they’ll happily fry the lot so you can’t get to ’em — just to make a point. So you gotta take the guards out first, yeah. Otherwise, no one’s gettin’ out of there.”

Nonplussed, Regulus slid his gaze towards Polaris to gauge her reaction. If she was disturbed by anything that was being said, she didn’t show it, calmly stuffing one chocolate after another into her mouth. The other girl was tracking her movements closely.

Regulus thought carefully before what he was about to say, pondering if it could really be a coincidence.

“You know, I actually had something like that in my arm. Not a collar, just a piece of metal.” Taking a breath, he rolled up his sleeve and exposed his burned Death Eater Mark.

The boy stared at his scar with a dull expression, then lifted a brow at him.

“Had? What did you do with it?”

“Oh, I just — I took a hanger and dug it out.”

“You — did what now?”

It was the boy’s turn to look at him like he was mental. Regulus caught the edge of Polaris’ disapproving gaze from the corner of his eye and shrunk a little, chagrined.

“That’s bloody barmy, mate.” The boy looked unnerved, and a little bit impressed. Tucking a hand underneath his chin, he studied Regulus. “You still have it?”

Regulus dug into his pocket then placed it onto the table. Quick as a whip, the boy snatched it up. He held it between his thumb and forefinger, bringing it up to his good eye and turning it this way and that.

“What d’you say it does?”

“It delivers an electric shock every time he wants to summon one of us,” Regulus explained. “I was wondering if it might also have a tracking ability.”

“Huh.” The boy tossed it up and caught it. He squinted.

“Doubt it. Thing’s too light — no weight to it, no bumps or nothin’. See, for me, machines are dead simple. If it only needs one thing t’do one thing, then that’s all there is to it. Like a pen, right? Keep it basic, it stays light. Stick more bells and whistles on ’em, the heavier and bulkier it gets. Same goes for guns — pistol’s one thing, rifle’s another, even wi’out a single round in ’em. This thing,” he held it out, “weighs like a feather, ‘bout the size of a pea. So I’d reckon it does just what you said it does. I mean, it could’ve had a tracker built in, sure, but I’d say he ditched that in favour of just shockin’ the bloody shite outta you.”

“That’s very reassuring to hear,” Regulus told him, his tone wry dryly.

The boy placed it back on the table, shoving it slightly towards him. “I could take it apart t’ be sure if you’re that bothered. But I ain’t wrong.”

Regulus hummed, taking a moment to think. “Go ahead,” he decided.

The boy’s eyebrows rose, but he withdrew his hand, the unassuming object following. And with that, Regulus finally felt a quiet relief settling in at the prospect of solving the mystery once and for all.

Their exchange seemed to have emboldened the little one. Standing up, she gingerly approached, gaze fixed on the box of chocolates in Polaris’ arms.

Polaris half-turned to look at her.

The girl immediately stilled, edging away from the warning looking in her deep violet gaze.

Regulus dug into his pockets, finding a handful of bonbons from their trip to the marketplace. He pulled them out and spread them on the table, then gestured towards her. She turned away from Polaris, and at his encouraging look, slowly pattered towards the table and picked up two of the sweets. Returning to her sitting position, she placed one in the other little boy’s hand. A curious look shone in his eyes as he immediately started rubbing it in his palm, making the wrapper crinkle.

The boy in front of him was watching them as well. “That’s Aster an’ Cara, me little brother and sister. Pair of twins, if you can believe it.”

Beside him, Polaris abruptly stopped chewing. As he sent her a glance, she resumed after a moment’s pause. Trying to pretend that her nerve endings weren’t currently screaming, that a hand hadn’t just reached inside her chest and squeezed.

Their exchange didn’t go unnoticed. The boy narrowed his eyes at them, seeming to come to the wrong conclusion.

“Look, I know what it must look like. Like I’m just some selfish bastard, only botherin’ to save meself and the only people I give a toss about. And maybe that’s true. But they’re me family. I’m not sorry for it. I’d never leave ’em behind in a shithole like that, not for anything.”

Regulus stared at him, remembering the sound of a slammed door, permafrost making a new home in his bones.

“Of course not,” he immediately assured. He even managed to get the words out sounding right, like the very idea was unthinkable.

“We have no reason to think less of you. Forgive me, we haven’t introduced ourselves properly. I’m Regulus Black, and this is my sister, Polaris Black. We both just got ourselves out of a bad situation, so — we were a little bit in the same boat as you…sort of.”

The boy’s eyes dissected him, relentlessly searching, then did the same to Polaris, who met his gaze measuredly. There wasn’t a single trace of judgement on her face, just benign boredom.

“‘Right then,” he finally said. His tone was noncommittal, but Regulus saw his ruffles visibly settle.

Regulus had a thought and suddenly wanted to kick himself. Blushing slightly, he asked, “I can’t believe I’m just realizing this, but I never got your name?”

“Me name, aye?” Light fingers drummed against the tabletop. “That rotten plonker I told you about always used t’ call me Cyclops, he did. If it’s all the same t’you, I’d rather not be called that.” His expression bore a jadedness Regulus could only try to imagine. He carefully kept a tight rein on his amusement.

“Name’s Simon.”

Regulus nodded, holding his gaze. “Well, thank you so much for all your help, Simon. I think we’re all set. Feel free to help yourself to anything you want in the kitchen. Just, er, please don’t blow it up. We need it.”

Simon’s dry look could’ve curled his hair. “I’ll try me very best — honest.”

Regulus stood, and Polaris rose with him, clutching her box of chocolates. She strode over and placed it on the nightstand, shooting the girl another reproachful glance, before returning back to his side. Regulus left the rest of the sweets on the table where they were.

Was it wise to give them so much sugar? Maybe not — but what did he know? He was never raised properly.

After grabbing his gun and making sure it was loaded, he turned to his sister.

“Hey, Ris, are you sure you want to come?” He asked in a hushed voice, looking at her intently. “You know you never have to go back to a place like that if you don’t want to.”

She gave him a look like she thought he was being silly. “I am coming with you,” she said firmly, shutting down the conversation.

He nodded and straightened, then glanced back, taking in each of the occupants of their home. “We’re off.”

They were nearly out of the door when Simon called out, “Oi! Don’t bloody die, mate. Or do. I ain’t yer mam.”

With those encouraging words, he turned away.

Regulus grinned.

 

— — — — — — — —Back to Jack— — — — — — — — 

The first thing Jack thought when he looked into the new pair of eyes was, Oh, there’s a monster inside of him too.

There was something old — primordial — staring back at him, cruel intelligence glinting from its steely depths like a hail of diamonds, its gaze alone enough to slice and rend apart. A creature of myth or magic, no longer supposed to walk the earth — and probably never should have. Great wings were poised on both sides, ready to ruin whatever it saw as prey.

That stare scoured every inch of him, fractured and reassembled him, keeping his heart waiting for permission to beat. Just when Jack thought he was about to be monster chow for the second time that day, he felt more than saw the beast retreat.

Still lurking, but no longer seeing him as a target.

He blinked away his daze, now able to fully take in the person’s face.

He blinked again.

Holy fucking shit, this was the prettiest man he’d ever seen in his life.

Hair as dark as the night sky, long lashes like strokes of shadow sweeping against his high cheekbones which were dusted with freckles — painting uncharted constellations across his face. A slender, regal nose, full and perfectly moistened lips with a soft curve to them, and his eyes—

Jack thought they were just a trick of the light, but no — they really were just that luminous.

It was as if two full moons were set right there in his face, glowing with a soft, celestial fire.

This- was this a person? How was he even here? Jack would have remembered seeing him before — and never in his most fevered hallucinations could he have dreamt him up.

Regulus took in the guy standing in front of him, eyes narrowing on the collar around his neck, then finally lowering to the man he just shot.

He tapped the gun against his thigh, lips pursed in thought. Well, this just proved that he clearly needed a better gun. Using a silencer for the element of surprise was a handy trick, but the firearm was quite lacking in terms of power. Firepower, that is.

And he needed a gun, since using a sword would just give him away. Preferably something a little bit more…instantaneous. No need to prolong the kill when he wasn’t meaning to. He could already feel a familiar exhaustion creeping up on him.

(This same gun needed seven bullets to kill an old man, after all.)

Turning back to his sole audience, who seemed to be intently studying him, Regulus stared at them in return. There was something untamed about him — wild, frizzy curls that gravitated towards partial obedience, a face chiseled with precisely cut angles, warm bronze skin that bore a light trace of stubble around his mouth and jaw, perfectly bow-shaped lips made for talking oneself into or out of trouble. Peering into dark amber eyes — the colour reminiscent of liquid gold, but sharp with an edge of mania — Regulus felt like he already knew him.

Or of him, at least.

Still, better to be sure. “Did you escape from your cell?” He bluntly asked.

‘Do I lie or tell the truth?’ Jack wondered. What answer would not have him staring down the barrel of that gun next?

Deciding to fuck with his chances, like he frequently did with his life, Jack feigned a nonchalant shrug. “Not exactly. ‘Said I needed to take a leak.”

Regulus was intrigued. “And they let you out? Just like that?” ‘They must’ve been feeling lenient,’ he thought.

He was thoroughly disabused of that notion in the next second.

“It’s ’cause I told them I’d point my pecker at them and spray away if they didn’t let me out!” Jack cheerfully retold, only too happy to volunteer this information.

At this point, people usually looked at him with disgust or alarm, cringing away from the taint he chose to proudly wear like a coat. The newcomer bloke did none of those.

Instead, Jack stared as the previous glint in his eyes melted into something softer, a swirl of emotion that left him feeling warmed to the bone. A sound followed, strange and bright, and Jack almost couldn’t pinpoint it at first.

‘Did he just…laugh? Wait, did I do that? And why does it sound so…’

Jack was now thoroughly convinced that even if this wasn’t just all in his imagination, this — entity — was for sure still not fucking real. Not human, at least. Nobody ever fucking laughed at his jokes — unless you counted his army of adoring fans inside his own brain. Maybe the bloke was some misplaced fallen angel who’d slipped through the cracks and stumbled right into their hell, somehow.

Nothing before had ever captured all of his attention and wonder in one fell swoop quite like him.

“Oh, he must’ve loved that,” the stranger was saying, white teeth flashing and eyes crinkling cutely at the corners.

“What are you?” Jack blurted out, unable to hold it back any longer.

His only response was the slow raising of both eyebrows, moonlit eyes locked onto him.

“…doing here?” Jack felt the need to tack on.

Regulus tilted his head, gathering his thoughts before speaking.

“Well, one of my friends escaped from this place. I didn’t want him feeling guilty for leaving anyone behind, so I offered to come get the rest of everybody out.”

Was it too forward to call them friends? In the old days, the offer would’ve been made with bread and salt. But, Regulus had offered up his entire pantry — and candy — which should be more than equivalent.

“Escaped? Wait — CYCLOPS IS YOUR FRIEND?” Jack spluttered, his jaw practically unhinging.

Those lips curved upwards, eyes laughing at some inward joke only he heard.

“I am acquainted with Simon, yes.”

This night could not get any more confusing. Shaking his head, wide-eyed, Jack asked, “Who the fuck is Simon?!”

Those glowing starbursts regarded him with obvious amusement, eyes dancing in the dim light. Then, with zero explanation, the guy spun on his heel and strolled off.

“Wait! Wait! Where’re you going?”

In moments like these, Jack was once again made aware that his body sometimes moved faster than his brain. He stepped over the corpse — forgetting all about Him in the space of a heartbeat — and sprinted to catch up with the handsome devil.

Maybe there was something too natural about walking beside him. Something in the way he automatically stepped to the side to make room for Jack.

“To do what I said — get everybody out,” came the serene reply, his face a mask of complete calm.

Jack raised an eyebrow. “By yourself?”

Was his shiny new fixation hiding six extra arms under that slight frame or something?

The stranger glanced around. “Actually, my little sister should be around here somewhere.”

Jack still felt like he was missing pieces of the plot. “Is she — does she happen to be built like a tank?”

Their head slowly turned towards him, blinking slightly. “Er, no?” He seemed confused by this line of questioning. “She really is rather little.”

He held up his hand, squinting thoughtfully before spreading his forefinger and thumb a few inches apart.

“Like this tall,” he described, showing it to Jack with a perfectly stoic expression on his face.

Jack looked at the fingers, then back at him. Honestly, he didn’t think he would even blink at seeing some mushroom-sized person walking about right now.

Booted feet turned the corner ahead, then stopped. “Oh, there she is now,” the stranger said, nodding towards the corridor.

It was like the air had suddenly electrified.

She stalked out of the shadows with the grace of a jungle cat on the prowl, each movement potent with dangerous intent. Her black-and-white streaked hair only gave credit to his theory of having a full-on mental breakdown, but if this was all just wishful thinking he never wanted to wake up.

She was pretty small, as described, yet was dragging behind her what looked like a man three times her size with alarming ease. The body was limp and leaking a steady trail of blood in her wake. Her hands were coated with it up to her elbows, a red swath like war paint slashed across her pale cheek — yet none seemed to have tainted her frilly lavender dress, as though she had taken great pains to keep it clean.

Jack was mesmerised.

Her eyes brightened as she spotted them, making a beeline for Jack’s mystery bloke who simply met her halfway, whipping out a handkerchief and pressing it against the smear on her cheek.

The skin underneath was unblemished. It wasn’t hers.

“Did any of them give you trouble?” Regulus asked, tucking the handkerchief back in his pocket.

“Not at all,” Polaris replied with a glib shrug. “I’ve taken care of all the guards in that direction. Some of them thought I was a new toy for them. They died quickly.”

Jack was caught between horror and happiness. Guards were getting murdered like mosquitoes by this pint-sized princess?

Oh, this was the greatest day of his life.

She let go of the leg she’d been dragging, allowing it to fall to the ground with a thud. “I’ve been using him as a doorstop,” she said coolly, tilting her head to the side.

Jack looked in her eyes and saw no hint that she was joking.

“The doors here lock automatically when they close. It got tiresome having to pick them all the time.”

The bloke pulled out a bunch of keys from his pocket. When Jack looked at him, he murmured, “Swiped them from the guard back there,” which somehow explained even less.

Squinting at the body on the floor, Jack was genuinely surprised to find that he recognised him. Truly shocked, because the girl had done quite a number on his face.

“Bugger me blind, it’s Toolbag Number Three.” Hopping over to the body, Jack couldn’t resist from giving it a few hearty slaps.

Polaris stared at him, then slowly turned her head towards Regulus. He gave a desperate shrug, hoping to convey, ‘Hey, don’t look at me! He came like this!’

Polaris’ gaze stayed firmly judgemental. She knew him too well.

“Can’t believe the fucker’s dead,” Jack continued. “You know, he used to give us extra food sometimes — very, very rarely, but on days that he’d say we’ve worked really hard and deserve a reward for good behaviour.”

She slid her gaze towards him, acknowledging his presence for what felt like the first time. Scorn filled her violet eyes, heavy like a boot against his neck, and a flash of sharp canine teeth peeked out as she curled her lip.

She looked at him like he was a speck of dirt on the ground. “We’ll be sure to light a fucking candle.”

Jack stared at her. His eyes widened.

It was like a gunshot had just gone off inside his brain.

He felt hot, then cold. His heart stilled, then stuttered, then started to pound against his ribcage like it was trying to fucking break them. The swarm of frenzied flying things in his brain suddenly settled in his stomach as equally manic butterflies.

His vision suddenly sharpened, relentlessly pounding images into his head like he was on the brink of death. The smooth curve of her jaw. The shapely tilt of her chin. The cat-like slant to her eyelids. The tiny mole underneath her right eye. The dainty down-curve of her sneering lips.

It was like she was being burned into him.

Jack swore she must be a witch — because that was the only word for what he was feeling.

He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. He wanted to puke.

Simply put, Jack was fucked.

Lost in his reverie, he missed the way Regulus’ eyebrows slowly inched into his hairline as he watched him.

Her gaze dismissed him in the next second, leaving him to try and screw his head back on.

“Come on, there might be more over there,” She tugged on the bloke’s sleeve. “Let’s get this over with and go home.”

Grey eyes flickered from her to Jack, calculating.

“Hey,” the guy said, holding out a hand. “Do you want to come with? We could use your help.”

Jack just blinked, because — what?

He didn’t know how much this bloke had seen back there, but surely he’d seen how spectacularly Jack had choked. The only reason he hadn’t screamed for help like a frail damsel was because his vocal chords had decided to abandon him — the same way his sanity and maybe his parents had done a long ago. Sure, he liked to talk himself up as hot shit, but only because it was funny. Not because it was true.

Nobody believed in him — not even himself.

So why the hell did this walking enigma of a man look at him like he might be worth a damn?

The girl barely spared him a glance, looking like she couldn’t care less if he dropped dead in the next second. But he — he kept his hand outstretched, his expression still open and inviting.

Like he could wait forever for Jack to take it.

Curiosity was a beast biting into him with teeth. Jack figured there was no point just thinking about it — he needed to get close, pry apart that mysterious facade and hunt for the answers himself. He didn’t think he would be able to rest otherwise.

Rising as casually as he could, he strolled over to them. “Hell yeah, I’m down. Sounds like a laugh.”

The guy grinned, the curve of it looking like something proud. The outstretched hand flexed, and suddenly there was a knife in it.

“Here, I had a spare.”

Jack grinned back, his smile edged with something feral.

As he reached for his hand, he got the weird feeling that he wasn’t going to regret this.

Which, of course, meant he probably would.

 

 

 

 

---

— — — — — — — —Bonus Scene— — — — — — — — 

---

Their front door crashed against the wall. “YOU!”

Simon was huddled in the corner, feeding his little brother a bowl of oatmeal with a soft expression on his face that they were clearly not meant to see. As he glanced up, spotting Jack, the gentle look was immediately replaced by one that screamed DANGER.

Then again, Jack seemed to be the kind of person who took warning signs as invitations.

“You arse-faced, limp-dicked, stinkin’-bollocked, shit-sniffin’ Cyclops scumbag,” He seethed, stalking closer with every word.

“HOW DARE YOU JUST FUCK OFF WITHOUT TELLING ME SHIT? I’M GOING TO FUCKING RIP YOUR HEAD OFF!”

With that, Jack lunged at him, making a rather impressive leap in the air.

Simon took two steps to the side, grabbed the nearest chair, then slammed it right across Jack’s spine.

He went down.

Regulus slapped a hand against his mouth, watching it all go down from the rear.

The twins glanced at each other then back at the scene in perfect synchronicity, scandalised expressions of their faces. Regulus bit down on his lip.

Simon brought the chair down once more, this time with relish. Propping it over his shoulder, he surveyed Jack’s fallen form like he was staring at the entrails of a bug.

“For fuck’s sake, couldn’t you have just left him there?” He asked, with all seriousness.

Regulus just gaped at him, eyes wide above his half-hidden face. He didn’t dare betray whatever expression he was currently making.

Jack groaned, unmoving.

Polaris was not impressed. “Oi, Mister Fiddler,” she said, narrowing her eyebrows at Simon. “Don’t just use our chairs in such a distasteful manner. We clearly don’t have that many. If you break it, you better fucking know how to fix it.”

Simon looked deeply insulted. “What d’you take me for? ’Course I know how to fix a bloody chair!”

Jack made a gasping noise on the ground. “All this fuss about a chair? What about me?” He scuttled about pathetically, looking for all the world like a squished worm.

“What about my health? My dignity?”

Polaris slid him a sideways glance. “What about it?”

Regulus watched Jack turn two shades lighter as though some of his soul had just left him, and felt the stirrings of deep, deep pity overflow in his chest.

Don’t worry, I’ll light a candle for you in my heart! Regulus inwardly vowed, his determination immense.

Notes:

In the first half of this chapter, I will admit I was inspired by the words, “If you wanna be a hero so bad, why don’t you take a swan dive of the roof and pray for a quirk in your next life?” To which Jack is obviously like “Fuck no, go to hell bitch!” And then…yeah 🙃

I’ve put Jack through a lot in this chapter, I’m sorry to say I’m only sorry for some of it.

There’s a lot of jokes in this chapter, but the bonus scene really had me rolling for a whole day so I just had to include it 🤣

Jack: Next time I see that fucker, I’m definitely gonna fuck him up!
Also Jack: *gets folded by a chair in 0.2 seconds*

A wild Simon - soon to be Caelum - returns and DOES NOT think leaving his siblings behind is the best way to keep them safe! Regulus and Polaris are both FINE, your honor!

Also, I’m so horrible at tagging 😭 It took a commenter to finally make me realize that this is not a modern setting AU as advertised, more like a No Magic AU. I’ve edited the tags (again) and I’ll be responding to comments soon!

I’ve written most of the next chapter already, since I was planning on following the Marauders again before this chapter but I’ve literally rewritten that chapter like five times now, no joke. I was getting so frustrated and it just wasn’t fun which led to my writer’s block. I’m in a better space now, so I’ll try again and see how soon I can get that up and posted.

Thanks for all the love and kudos! Stay healthy and remember that you matter 💖

_

The main trio can be described as follows:

Polaris: WILL start a fight. WILL finish it.

Regulus: WON’T start a fight. WILL finish it.

Jack: WILL start a fight. WON’T finish it.

Chapter 26: Was It Something I Did?

Summary:

“Gosh, thank you for warning us about this, James…”

“It’s a shame that Peter turned out to be a traitor, but that’s none of your fault, James…”

“It’s bloody despicable what he’s done, offering us up to the Death Eaters — but there must be some of the Peter we know still left in him if he couldn’t bring himself to betray his closest friends… Don’t you think, James?”

Being boiled alive, feeling his flesh bubble then peel and melt into broth, might hurt less than this.

Notes:

So this chapter is coming quite a bit later than intended, and its quite longer than intended 😅 ‍It's probably the hardest chapter I've ever written. I got tired of having this in my drafts, so here you go ~ ENJOY!

(TW: Mentions of war, bullying, attempted murder, psychological trauma)

26.

— — — — — — — — Present day — — — — — — — — 

James’ mind spins, a cyclone of memory crashing past and present against each together, leaving his stomach stirring with nausea.

Peter, the first friend he’s ever made in this life.

Peter, who he has grown up with — celebrated birthday parties, broken teeth, getting bigger and bigger Quidditch brooms, then the Quidditch wins that followed. Who has shown up to every single moment that matters in James’ life with a pride-filled, beaming smile.

Peter, who has known James since before he was old enough to know anything. Who has seen James at his most vulnerable, has slept curled up beside him at times when he didn’t even know he needed it, and has had his back in more literal ways since they started fighting in the war together.

Peter, who has now stabbed him in the back, and sentenced all of them to death.

Years and years of memories and milestones, built off every shared moment, treasured and shaped into castles of faith, and love, and trust…

And Peter has just shattered every single one.

It might have hurt less if Peter had just sliced his throat while he was sleeping. At least then he wouldn’t have time to realize that none of it mattered at all.

Was it truly all just lies? What about all the dreams they’d tenderly weaved with the silent shadows of the night?

What happened to arranging playdates for their future kids? To raising the next generation of Marauders?

How are they all supposed to see that future now that Peter has pledged to the side trying to kill James and everyone he loves?

What the fuck even is he fighting for?

He doesn’t understand. It’s not fair.

How can everything he’s ever known and believed in change so quickly? They were just monkeying around moments ago. They’d promised to remain best mates for life. But now the script has been ripped up and rewritten right before his eyes.

He can’t accept it. There has to be some way to fix this, to somehow turn back time. Peter is his friend, but Peter is a… He is someone James is supposed to be putting in fucking AZKABAN, and he does not want to do that.

Maybe they can just…get him back on their side? If he’s really defected from the Order, couldn’t he just…defect back? Of course, they’ll need to tell Dumbledore about all the information that Peter leaked before anyone gets seriously hurt, and Peter might have to serve some kind of punishment or even get kicked out of the Order, and the others are going to be so mad at him for what he did — but surely they wouldn’t just let him be potentially get killed by either side of this war?

No, there has to be a way to… put Peter under… some type of protection. Perhaps, they could paint him as a valuable witness to the Dark side’s despicable deeds. After all, there isn’t really any proof that Peter’s been involved with the crimes that they’ve committed. James can figure this out — he has to.

Dumbledore would know of a way…or maybe he could take a page out of Regulus’ book and start looking into how to place him under House Potter’s protection. Fuck, he’s never taken an interest in Pureblood politics before — he’s forgotten everything his dad ever tried to teach. Still, he has to try something…

“Where are you going?”

Moony’s question ripped through the thick silence like a knife. Glancing up, James saw that Sirius…was marching towards the fucking door.

“Where the fuck else would I be going?” Sirius snarls without stopping. “I am going to fucking kill that rat.”

James’ thoughts still, his blood turning to freezing ice-cold water in his veins.

“You can’t do that,” Remus’ tone is completely flat. “He’s at the hospital right now. You’ll be disrupting the staff.”

Sirius barks a humourless laugh. “That is the last thing I could give a single fuck about right now. In fact-” He whirls around.

“It’s a great fucking thing he’s at a hospital! All those healers can just fucking try to put that fucking numpty back together once I’m done with him!”

James’ anxiety is getting closer and closer to spattering lava everywhere the more Sirius keeps walking. He claws frantically at the egg-shaped lump in his throat, trying to get out ‘NO! STOP! DON’T!’

The sound of the front door opening, followed by a chorus of loud, frenzied barking freezes everyone in place.

James clears his throat once, twice, then rather uselessly announces, “Mum and Dad are home.”

Sirius’ eyes narrow as though peering through the door, his hand still wrapped around the doorknob.

“You reckon it’s time we let them know about the Order, and fighting Death Eaters?” There’s a wild glint in his eyes when he turns back to look at them. It makes James uneasy.

Sirius’ words shred apart his skin like paper cuts carved from every page of damning evidence casually littering their bed, when he bites out, “They should know that Peter is no longer welcome in this house.”

James can’t hide his flinch at that. There are pictures of Peter tucked lovingly into nearly every visible corner of his house. His parents painstakingly documented moments of Peter’s life since he was five whenever they could — both the important and the irrelevant. From before two became four, then became Marauders. The photos told stories all of their tongues knew well, the four of them so intertwined they couldn’t even tell where they each began and ended.

James…had…loved that.

This is Peter’s second home. These are Peter’s second set of parents.

He stares at Sirius. How the fuck is he supposed to explain any of this to them?

“We can figure out what to say to them later. Right now, I’m going to go take care of him.”

Sirius twists the knob.

“NO! Padfoot, stop! Don’t!” James flings himself forward and grabs his shoulder, holding him in place. Sirius looks at him with barely veiled impatience.

“I just think…that you might be…jumping the gun a little,” James measures out each word with unusual care, having never felt this nervous to speak to his brother before.

“A lot of people have a right to know… about this information. But first… we need to tell Dumbledore.”

A meeting with the Headmaster would take more than a few hours to arrange. Hopefully, everything could just — pause — till morning. Sirius might be a little bit calmer then, too

“That sounds like a better idea,” Remus agrees, blatantly ignoring the betrayed glare Sirius shoots him.

But then he says, “The Aurors should be notified as well, so they can bring Peter in for questioning.”

There’s a dullness tainting the letters of Peter’s name as they leave his mouth.

James’ stomach churns at the thought of Peter being ‘brought in for questioning’ by Alastor Moody. They know how his interrogations go, how it never ends well for any allies of the Dark side who are caught in sight of Moody’s fake eye.

How they all end up more like lifeless husks than people.

Moony would really be okay with that happening to Peter?

James glances at him and sees nothing in his eyes anymore, not even the faintest flicker of attachment to Peter — as though he is nothing but a perfect stranger who never meant anything to him.

He feels an indescribable pang in his chest. How are they both so ready to throw everything away already, while he’s still stuck staring at all his castles crumbled to dust, confused as to why his heart keeps beating and time keeps crawling on when it feels like the end of the world?

Peter already feels alien to him, now so do they. He has never felt this alone in his entire life.

Sirius suddenly scoffs. “Call Dumbledore? Bring him in for questioning? You want us to just let somebody else handle this?”

“We can’t be the only ones who decide what happens to him, Pads,” James says quietly. “He’s betrayed all of us. He should at least get to face everyone and tell us why he’s done what he’s done.”

A skeptical eyebrow goes up. “Are his reasons all that important? James, he tried to kill you. It’s all right there, isn’t it?”

He jabs his thumb at the papers on the bed without breaking eye contact. “How he snitched out all our rotations to his Death Eater buddies and nearly got us fucking blown up in a parking lot — on a Monday morning! Don’t forget — he could have done literally anything else with that information… but he made sure to give it to Snape. To fucking Snape, Prongs. The same bastard that’s been howling about killing you one day since the psycho was eleven years old! Sure, Peter ratted out the fucking Order, but with us, it’s personal. Which means, we need to hunt that rat and put him down, or he might try and hit us again where it hurts, this time while we’re fucking sleeping!”

James chews his lip, flicking his gaze away. A very small part of him, one that’s currently trying to burrow its head in the ground where Sirius’ voice can’t reach it, knows his brother has a point. Bloodthirstiness aside, Padfoot has every right to be furious with Peter. It’s not his fault that James is still a step behind. He doesn’t quite know how to make that smooth transition from loving someone one moment to hating them so much you want them dead in the next.

He feels stuck, like the idea of being Marauders has just sprinted off and left him behind. There are lines now drawn in the sand with Peter decisively on one side, Remus and Sirius taking the other in retaliation, while James is just floating somewhere, still wondering where all the earth around his feet has gone.

It’s like fifth year all over again. Fuck.

“Peter won’t be a threat to us tonight, Pads,” he says softly.

“Why, because he’s holed up in the hospital?” Sirius’ tone is potently acidic. “Is that even where he’s gone? He’s a fucking liar, Prongs. He was here today and the whole time he was lying to our faces!”

“He’s not lying about his mother being sick,” James retorts. They could trust in that, at least — they’ve seen Mrs. Pettigrew with their own eyes.

“And no, I mean, he won’t be a threat because — we’re currently protected. The house is being watched.”

“You said that before,” Moony pipes up. He’s been listening to the exchange quietly, a closed-off look in his eyes. James can’t read him right now.

“What do you mean?” Remus presses.

James licks his lips. “Regulus,” he says simply.

Sirius makes a complicated face, all the steam blowing out of him. James knew that bringing Regulus up would take the wind out of Padfoot’s sails. It makes him feel — dirty — to be knowingly wielding the fractured relationship between the siblings against Sirius, even in as small of a manner as this, but that’s yet another feeling James doesn’t let burrow in too deeply.

Right now, he’s trying to stop his brother from running off to once again try to become a murderer — and this time with their parents close by.

“He said the Manor, your flat, and mine are all being watched for threats, which would be… er, ‘neutralised’,” James tries not to think too hard about that either, “so anyone staying at those places would be safe.”

He pushes his glasses up his nose. “Well, he wasn’t the one who called — Anna did, but the message was definitely from him.”

Sirius is silent, looking off to the side, a battle of emotions playing out across his face — most of which he can’t even name. Remus slowly rocks his jaw to the side.

Funnily enough, this is the one time that Baby Black having more information than he should doesn’t fill him with bone-chilling terror.

“Didn’t he say that his greatest wish, or whatever, was to stay out of this war?”

James can actually hear Sirius’ teeth grinding against each other. Predictably, he looks pissed.

“What the fuck is he playing at then? Why would he just say one thing then do another thing? What’s the matter with him?”

Someday soon, James will need to sit down with Sirius and help him see — let it really sink into him — that his brother loves him, a fact he steadfastly insists on denying. Right now, all he manages to say is, “Maybe he decided that — this — was worth fighting for.”

Regulus, who has made no secret about hating James, is protecting his home. His family.

Peter, who was James’ family, has slapped a big red target on the place where his parents sleep. People who have always loved him unconditionally.

He’s going to need a day to come to terms with all of that as well, it seems.

“Alright, so my brother — a former Death Eater himself — also knows where all of us sleep,” Sirius claps his hands sardonically. “That is just fucking grand. But hey, at least I don’t need to worry about him snitching to Voldemort, since the real snake was sitting at our own fucking table.”

His storm-grey eyes pierce through James’. “At least we know where Peter is. There’s no denying what he’s done, that’s he’s the reason we need protection. Letting everybody else weigh in on this is pointless, and you know it, James.”

“But don’t you think there might be something more going on?” James pleads desperately. “Maybe they got to him somehow, threatened him into giving us up? I mean, if he really wanted to kill us, he’s had a lot of opportunities. He could’ve done it so many times, but he didn’t.”

“That is because he wanted to use somebody else to do his fucking dirty work for him,” Sirius deadpans. “He is just that shit at everything. He can’t even hold a bloody grudge right. At least Snape put in some actual fucking effort.”

At this point, James is starting to feel mildly hysterical, because he doesn’t think he’s ever heard Sirius say something even remotely positive about Snape, and could not have predicted that this would be the context that prompted it.

“Gryffindor’s gilded gherkin… Well, newsflash, Pads, it didn’t fucking work!” James abandons all claims to reason and yells, throwing his hands up.

“He might have tried to kill us, but it didn’t work, right? We’re both still here, so it doesn’t matter!”

“It doesn’t matter?” Sirius echoes incredulously.

“NO! IT DOESN’T!” James staunchly ignores the slight tremor in his voice. “I mean, we survived, and it’s not like we were all that hurt, so there’s really no need to make such a big deal-”

“I’m just saying we shouldn’t LET HIM TRY AGAIN-”

“If the both of you do not shut up right now, I am going to be sick.”

Both of their lips immediately snap shut. As one, they both turn to look at Moony, who’s demeanor no longer seems so indifferent. In fact, he looks…rather pissed off.

“What is it, Moons?” Sirius tilts his head, gazing at his partner in concern. “Are you not feeling well?”

Remus generously inhales, places his hands against his nose, counts to ten, and tries to remind himself how much he loves everybody in this room. Strangling them both would only hurt him in the long run, really.

“Sirius, get the hell away from that door. Nobody is killing anybody tonight.”

Under the sharpness of his gaze, Sirius takes two shuffling steps deeper into the room. James doesn’t even get a chance to feel relieved as Remus turns to him next.

“James, regardless of whether you… ‘survived’ it, what Peter tried to do is still a very serious issue. He almost killed you. He almost killed Sirius. It doesn’t matter that he didn’t succeed, or had somebody else do it.”

And Remus is trying really hard not to think of where Peter might have gotten that inspiration. Bloody hell, Sirius was right, this is personal.

“But-”

“You cannot just wipe betrayal away, James. That’s not how it works.”

Now they’re both looking at him like he’s just slapped them. Remus takes in deeper breaths and tries to dig out the fragment of his own hurt piercing his throat — especially when he sees the flash of hurt that crosses James’ eyes.

Just when is he going to get over that? He thought he did… but maybe it’s just one of those things you never get over. Their current situation certainly isn’t helping matters, ripping apart all of the scabs he’d painstakingly formed around the scars marking his heart not so long ago.

But now he’s had two of his most precious people betray him. Like hell he’s ever getting over it. All he can do is make his peace with that fact, and stop lashing out at Prongs.

Remus pinches his fingers tighter around the bridge of his nose, half-temped to peel off the skin altogether. “Right, this is what is going to happen,” he lets out a breath, squaring his shoulders.

“Sirius, James is right. We can’t make any hasty movements tonight.”

Padfoot doesn’t respond, just stares at him with quiet grey-blue eyes. Remus files away the need for a proper talk in his mental catalogue, slotting it among the other things he’d rather bleed than revisit.

“But -” he firmly continues, “we also cannot take all of this information to Dumbledore.”

He waves a hand at the bed, turning to James. “If Anna wasn’t pranking you, and I can’t imagine why she would, then this situation is going to lead to a lot of questions down the line. The most problematic being: How did we get this information? So, we’ll need to through everything carefully, agree on what story we need to craft before we go public with this, and which pieces of evidence will fit within it.”

James ponders for a second before hesitantly speaking up. “Why do we need a special story, exactly?”

“Well,” Remus turns to Sirius, “Do you want Dumbledore to know your brother is secretly alive?”

Remus still has unresolved feelings about Regulus Black — but he can recognise an act of goodwill when he sees one. In fact, the Marauders have racked up quite the tally of favors from him now, and he would rather not be indebted to Regulus any more than strictly necessary.

“Fuck no,” is Sirius’ immediate reply.

Remus nods. “Thought so. That means we will need to…omit the parts where our addresses are written down, if there’s no risk of any danger, and to hide Regulus’ involvement. There’ll be less questions down the line that way.”

He dimly notices that his parents’ house in Wales was not on the list; then again they’d bought a home in a very secluded area because of Remus’…affliction, and the danger he posed to living beings everywhere simply by breathing. He’d never invited any of his friends to his house before, the same way Sirius never invited them to Grimmauld Place.

There could’ve been other ways for Peter to find out their address, but it seems he didn’t bother. Maybe he thought letting Lyall live was punishment enough for Remus…for whatever deep, boiling hatred he apparently carried and hid during shared meals, and study sessions, and prank plannings, and getting sloshed at Hogsmead — but never ONCE showed towards him or any of the people he was FRIENDS and FUCKING DORM MATES with FOR SEVEN YEARS!

Remus effortlessly wrangles his anger back down. Luckily, he has a lot of experience doing that. Letting his own fuse loose would help absolutely nothing about the situation.

“It might not even raise any questions with the others when we inform them,” Remus states apathetically. “We won’t need to make up a cover story — they’ll just draw their own conclusions if they see none of our addresses listed.”

Sirius considers him for a moment, then struts over and starts rooting through the pages. Decisively setting some of them apart.

Ironically, it’s now James who is left blindsided and lacking crucial information.

“What are you saying, Moony?” He whispers, his apprehension growing.

Remus gives him that unreadable glance again.

“I’m saying we have to convince everyone that Peter may have betrayed the Order…but he did not betray the Marauders.”

_

The morning comes quickly.

Sooner than James would prefer, they’re sequestered into a private room at the Three Broomsticks, long before opening hours.

Dumbledore solemnly dips his chin in greeting as they pile around the small round table in the room. There are small, fine lines around the corners of his mouth, and he is stroking his beard in a constant, restless manner. Clearly, the Marauders aren’t the only ones unsettled by the recent events.

Without ceremony, he calmly focuses on James. “I hear you have information about the spy in our ranks?”

“Yes, sir.” James sits up, loosening his white-knuckled hold on the ordinary beige folder they brought all the — shareable — information in.

James’ gut twists at how much they’re lying to their leader by omission, but he tries to remember that it wasn’t any of their lies that caused this — Peter’s did… And Regulus decided to lie to the entire world — and his own brother — about being dead for the better part of three years. If James ever wants to become someone Regulus trusts — and he wants that very much indeed — keeping his secrets is a small price to pay. Focusing on that wipes away most of his shame.

“It’s all in here, sir.” He doesn’t let himself react as the white lie falls from his lips. “All of the leaked intel about our rotations, our members, their connections, and their…home locations. It’s all written down in the spy’s handwriting.”

He licks his lips, then continues, “It’s Peter, sir.”

A faint note of disbelief flickers through Dumbledore’s gaze. “Pettigrew?” He inquires, as though expecting another Peter-named mastermind.

“Yes, sir,” James responds blandly, ignoring Sirius’ snort of amusement.

A mild frown creases the headmaster’s lips, then he reaches out a hand in silent demand. James hands over the folder.

The Marauders are silent as Dumbledore scans each page slowly. The rustling of flipping papers is the only sound in the room apart from Sirius’ feet drumming up a constant rhythm on the floorboards.

Finally, Dumbledore sets everything down with a weary sigh, folding his hands on top of the stack.

“How troubling,” he muses, his thoughts a million miles away.

James takes a moment to glance over at his friends while Dumbledore is silent. Sirius’ face is a mask of mild irritation, and Remus is wearing a tightly pinched expression. None of them look like they got any sleep.

James’ heart aches. Regardless of the outcome of this meeting, his friends will never be the same. This discovery has broken them down in ways they will never recover from.

“Is Pettigrew aware that his cover has been blown?” Dumbledore finally asks, peering at each of them over his half-moon spectacles.

Sirius shifts in his seat, scowl deepening. “Not at all. In fact, I’m sure the fucker had no trouble falling asleep last night. He’s probably still passed out right now, snoring his traitorous arse off while dreaming up even more ways he could possibly betray us.”

At Padfoot’s response, Dumbledore nods slowly, then with a sharper decisiveness.

“Good. We must ensure that remains the case, for now at least.”

James leans forward. “Will you be calling for a meeting with everyone to let them know…about Peter being the spy?” He isn’t sure if he hopes for or dreads that outcome.

“Just a moment, my boy. I must be sure I understand the full scope of this…security breach.”

James’ slight pang of relief at the non-answer is quickly replaced by panic. Does he suspect that they’re keeping things from him?

His worry doesn’t ebb as Dumbledore’s wizened gaze lands on Moony.

“Remus, my boy…”

Remus dips his chin low. “Headmaster,” he answers, his tone filled with fervent respect.

“I did not expect you back so quickly. It was quite a surprise to find out you were present at yesterday’s skirmish…and with your missing friends in tow.”

Moony stiffens under Dumbledore’s probing gaze.

“I would have expected a full report on your assignment before you so diligently resumed contributing to the war efforts.”

He pauses, letting the silence build, its weight pressing down on the three Marauders.

“I must inquire how you managed to conclude your task with such remarkable speed…”

His gaze cut sidelong towards Sirius and James.

“…and where, exactly, the two of you disappeared to.”

Remus’ mind spins furiously to come up with the right excuse, ashamed he forgot to plan a cover story for this part.

Padfoot, on the other hand, doesn’t even miss a beat.

Sirius rolls his eyes. “Isn’t it obvious?” His tone drips with contempt.

“We went to find Moony.”

Dumbledore folds his fingers together. “And why would you do that, my boy?”

“Oh, I don’t know — maybe because there was a fucking leak and our lives were in danger? Because Jamie and I were almost blown up in a car while on shift? Because you — ” Sirius leans in closer, venomous syllables sliding off his tongue, “ — fucking told us we should be wary of people in the Order whose whereabouts we didn’t know? Well, you can pat your fucking self on the back, old man!”

He slams a hand on the table, the crack echoing. “We always fucking knew where Peter was! That rat stayed close, always lurking, always listening in on our conversations and collecting information he was basically nutting himself to go feed to the fucking enemy! We never once suspected him … yet he’s the one who got to stay here while you sent Moony off to the middle of the fucking wilderness!”

His words permeate the room like a strong odour, impossible to ignore. Padfoot is practically vibrating, so charged with hurt feelings he’s scalding James’ senses. He reaches over to place a soothing hand in the crook of his elbow, then places a hand on Moony’s arm too because he’s staring ahead with a very defined question mark on his face.

James hopes Dumbledore doesn’t take Padfoot’s tone too harshly — he must understand that this is a very trying time for all of them.

Indeed, Dumbledore looks completely unphased by Sirius’ acerbic words and his vulgarity.

“How did you find him?” The headmaster asks. Remus straightens at the insinuative nature of his question.

“I walked,” Sirius responds flatly.

Dumbledore stares at him, silent for several long seconds.

“You…walked?”

“It’s this thing where you put one foot in front of the other, then just keep doing that. Children learn how to do this in their first year of life. But I suppose that might be too far back for you to remember.”

With that, Sirius crosses his legs on top of the table, aiming a dull, heated glare Dumbledore’s way. He doesn’t give a single damn if he’s being difficult — not after everything Dumbles has put them through.

Remus scrambles to replenish some of the lost sanity in the room.

“Headmaster, I apologise for not immediately heading back to make my report. That was wrong of me. I- I also shouldn’t have shared my location with my partner before I left.” He dips his eyes in displayed remorse. “It was only meant for worst-case scenario situations. I made sure to stress the importance of secrecy with these missions you entrusted to me. I am deeply sorry if I’ve disappointed you.”

Dumbledore is quiet for a long moment. “You have.”

Remus flinches and Sirius bristles heatedly, but Dumbledore holds a hand up before either of them can speak.

“But you are not the one who has disappointed me the most. That honour rests solely with Peter Pettigrew, who I dare say has disappointed all of us greatly.”

The headmaster rises, pacing shortly before stopping in front of the window. Remus bites his lip, ignoring the dull ache blooming in his chest as he peers at Dumbledore from beneath lowered lashes.

Because his lie worked. He was foolish not to realise how catastrophically their planned cover-up could have backfired — how it almost led Dumbledore to believe one of them might have been in league with Peter this whole time.

Dumbledore was ready to pin Sirius as Peter’s accomplice, Remus could see it in his eyes. Now, all he could blame for yet another breach of classified information is Remus’ own loose lips and apparent lack of dependability.

Losing this bit of Dumbledore’s favour stings — but it’s better than the alternative. There isn’t much he wouldn’t do for Sirius after all. Remus just prays his lover starts helping his own case one day. This naked hostility towards Dumbledore is really not helping matters.

“What were your findings?” The headmaster prompts.

Remus lifts himself up from his sad slouch. “They don’t want to fight, sir. In fact, they flatly refuse to. I learned this shortly before my own cover was blown — then I was ordered off their territory.”

“Are they not being enticed to join Voldemort’s cause?”

Remus shakes his head. “No, sir. They don’t wish to fight for anyone. They care little about who wins this war, or who ends up at the seat of Britain’s power.”

Dumbledore strokes his beard some more. “These rebels are so content with living unmoored? They must know that if Voldemort cannot use them, then he will dispose of them by the numbers. Only the Light side can offer them protection and any necessary assistance.”

The headmaster resumes pacing. “You must return and resume negotiations with them, or with a different rebel group. One much more sensible. Perhaps if we convince one group, they may help us to convince the others.”

Remus’ face feels hot. “I believe all the rebel groups are of the same mind, sir. They seem to be… communicating with each other.”

The headmaster pauses mid-stride, turning to Remus with an owlish stare. “Communicating? How so?”

“With, er, electronic devices, sir.”

Dumbledore seems incredibly dismayed to learn that the rebels aren’t just a bunch of savages frolicking around naked in the woods.

“From where did they procure these…devices?” He inquires, blinking furiously.

“It was not mentioned within my earshot, Headmaster,” Remus states carefully. “But they took great offence at my attempts to enlist them into the war, and I doubt they would allow me another chance. They’ve most likely warned other groups about me and gone into hiding. It would be…difficult to locate them again.”

Difficult, if not impossible. And Remus isn’t exactly chomping at the bit to proposition the WolfGang again. Regulus’ threat of what he would do if Remus didn’t leave his people alone makes his blood grow cold at the memory.

“How troubling,” Dumbledore repeats, brows furrowing.

Remus feels like such a failure. He earnestly wishes he was able to bring back some better information to their leader, something more positive than one of his best friends being a traitor.

“Well, they are of course free to refuse. If they believe themselves so formidable that they can permanently escape Voldemort’s designs — ” His tone tells them exactly what the Headmaster thinks of this belief, “ — then it is unfortunate, but we cannot save everyone, my boy. It is not easy to bring some towards the Light, or place them on the right path if all they seek is darkness.”

This, absurdly enough, makes Remus think of Regulus. Someone walking down neither path, and yet both at the same time. A shadow flitting between Dark and Light, unseen, unpredictable, and with hidden schemes that just might end up inconveniencing both sides. Remus wonders what Dumbledore would think of such a dark horse.

With him being so focused on securing a victory for the Light, Remus doubts that Dumbledore would approve of a Lord firmly aligning themselves within the Grey, refusing to view the war as anything other than shades of it.

Then again — it’s not like Regulus yearns for Dumbledore’s approval. No, that’s all Remus.

Still, Remus thinks that Regulus must fancy himself an overachiever, because surely taking care of Voldemort should be the priority? Sheltering rebels, muggles and all civilian non-combatants in-between, while a noble goal, can’t be a lasting solution with Voldemort still at large, vying for uncontestable power over them all. One way or another, it would all come to a head. Regulus couldn’t dedicate himself to hiding them forever.

Something itches at Remus’ brain at that thought — something he thinks he should already be worried about — but he doesn’t fully process it before Dumbledore recaptures their attention.

“A disappointment and a traitor he might be, Pettigrew might still have some use in all this mess. Hmm, yes, allowing him to wallow in ignorance for a while longer may prove fruitful,” Dumbledore says thoughtfully.

The Marauders exchange stunned glances.

“I’m sorry,” James says tentatively, “Are you saying you won’t be calling a meeting to tell everybody about Peter?”

“We need not reveal him just yet,” Dumbledore replies smoothly. “You see, my boy — spies can prove vital in the information trade, regardless of which side of the war their true allegiance lies. Peter has passed on influential knowledge about the Order to Voldemort, but now -”

His eyes gleam as he turns to James, “- now we know what Voldemort knows. And, in turn, we can decide exactly what further information reaches his ears.”

A sudden silence fills the room.

“….What the fuck?” Sirius whispers finally, his incredulity shredding apart the stillness.

“Headmaster, are you saying that you want Peter to remain a member of the Order?” Remus feels completely thrown. “That we should continue keeping him close?”

“The saying goes: ‘keep your friends close and your enemies closer’, my boy,” Dumbledore nods, fingers weaving through beard. “A more apt phrase, I’ve never found. Such wisdom may prove… applicable here.”

“Applicable?” Sirius echoes in disbelief.

“Indeed. We’ve already seen how useful such… arrangements can be, haven’t we?” Dumbledore shifts, turning to James. “James, my boy…”

James slowly turns, face slack, head stuffed with cotton wool. He feels like he’s underwater.

Peering over his half-moon glasses, Dumbledore pins him with a look.

“Pray tell — who exactly was it that sent you this folder?”

There’s a glint in the Headmaster’s eyes, as though he already knows something, he’s just waiting for James to confirm it.

James maintains eye contact, forcing himself not to acknowledge the way his hands are shaking in his lap.

“I believe…it was Severus Snape, sir.”

Yet another lie thrown into the pile — but James doesn’t really think this counts as one. Too many of the pages had comments in the margins scrawled in a rather recognizable hand, which ranged from bitingly acidic remarks to crows of sadistic glee at their predicament.

One in particular stood out: ‘Those dunderheads could never tell their pipettes from their penises in Chemistry; of course they’re equally as dimwitted to the fact that one of their precious crew is loyal to the Dark Lord. With such staggering mental deficiencies in the Light, is it any wonder that the Dark would prove so easily victorious in this war?’

However Regulus had gotten the evidence, James doesn’t doubt Snape was involved somehow.

his gaze locked on Dumbledore. And because he’s looking for it, he sees the exact moment a glimmer of satisfaction crosses Dumbledore’s eyes.

An eerie blankness descends on him.

“Why would he do that, Headmaster?”

Remus and Sirius are shooting him glances out of the corners of their eyes, but he doesn’t pay them any mind, too focused on getting answers.

“It is as I said — the lines between friend and enemy are fickle during wartime. Men often find themselves doing things they once swore they would never do. Humans are neither as rigid, nor as complex, as they’d like to think they are,” Dumbledore replies with a nonchalant hand wave.

“No, no.” James shakes his head, leaning forward and keeping his eyes pinned on Dumbledore’s, his fingers gripping the arms of the chair so tightly the wood creaks. He doesn’t get to just dismiss this.

“It can’t be that simple, Headmaster. Snape would rather have our heads on pikes than help us.”

“Why can’t it be simple?” Dumbledore gazes down at him, his blue eyes glimmering with calculating intelligence. “Does Mr. Snape owe you a Life Debt or does he not, Heir Potter?”

The world slows. James exhales a sharp, ragged breath, his lungs seizing.

“I would never have held him to it,” he whispers. He should never have had any claim to it at all.

“That would have been a waste,” Dumbledore tells him gently; condescendingly. “One I took it upon myself to rectify. You see, my boy, what I’ve learned since the last war is that there are certain people whose sole purpose in this world is to turn the tide of war. Allow me to put things into perspective…”

Dumbledore clears his throat.

“Envision it like a game of chess: A pawn can become a queen and force the opponent’s king into an easy checkmate, if it is moved from one side of the board to the other. And in order to reach that other side, it must be guide — its path painstakingly planned out with a firm hand. Severus is one such person.”

James stares at him. Regulus’ earlier words circle around in his brain hauntingly.

‘Just two old men playing games and using Great Britain as their chessboard.’

He’s not exactly sure what expression his face is making, but Dumbledore is too wrapped up in his explanation to be concerned by it.

“Now, Peter… may not be so formidable as to influence the outcome of this war, but he may still prove a vital piece in this battle nonetheless.”

Sirius considers Dumbledore, his dark gaze slowly widening in realisation. “Wait a minute — you wanted us to find the spy. You hinted that it was someone we knew, and now we’ve gone out and basically delivered him to you on a silver platter. This is all part of your plan, isn’t it? You’ve been anticipating how to make use of the spy for a long time, haven’t you? And fuck knows how long you’ve been planning to use Snape. You want us to work with two fucking spies while keeping the rest of the Order in the dark, and for what? Because having another dong to bugger Voldemort with is what matters most to you in all of this?”

Padfoot sounds extremely disgusted, but Dumbledore doesn’t let it bother him — just sighs heavily, a martyred expression overtaking his features.

“I understand your feelings, my boy,” and oh, how that instantly summons the rage Sirius always feels simmering beneath his skin. “I knew that this would be difficult for everyone involved. But, sacrifice, like all things, must be made — for the greater good.”

Sacrifice…

Sirius thinks of his brother slicing open his palm, bleeding scarlet for Sirius’ mistakes. He thinks of Dumbledore keeping the rest of the Order in the dark, keeping a traitor in their midst, letting them still trust him even after he’s served up their lives on a silver platter to Britain’s boogeyman.

Sacrifice, he realises, means two different things to the two of them.

Sirius feels completely done. His monthly allowance for bullshit has just exceeded its maximum quota.

“Yeah, no, I’m not putting up with any of this shit.” He stands, making sure to scrape his chair back as loudly as he can. He shoots Dumbledore another look, as though he’s staring at a piece of dogshit on the pavement.

“I don’t work with traitors.”

He starts to make for the door — deadset on dragging Peter out of his safe bubble and onto the streets to let everyone see him for what he is. This time, nobody is stopping him.

“A shame,” Dumbledore addresses his retreating back.

“After all, no one had any problems working with you… when it was believed that you were the traitor.”

James and Remus’ necks snap up so fast they nearly snap, eyes widening to the size of dinner plates.

Sirius stops. Slowly looks back.

“What did you say?”

Dumbledore’s faintly colored brows arch upwards, mildly climbing towards his hairline. “Is that really so surprising?”

James feels the bottom of his stomach give out. For the second time, in the span of just a few hours, he is once again realising that he’s been blind to the true nature of someone he thought he knew. All along, he believed that Dumbledore suffered from an overload of benevolence — that he must be the most patient, saintly, and forgiving person to ever exist for never begrudging Sirius’ scornful attitude or holding his venomous words against him…

Looking into his eyes, James can tell he was very, very wrong. Dumbledore really, really hates Sirius. The twinkle in his eyes shows how much he’s enjoying breaking this horrible revelation to him.

“It was all just speculation, of course,” Dumbledore states mildly, “but there were…theories. Enough that a number of our ranks came to me with their concerns. Several of your relatives did join the Dark Lord’s side. It was thought that you couldn’t possibly be as neutral as you claimed.”

He tilts his head, eyes glinting over the rim of his half-moon spectacles. “After all, even your brother, Regulus Black, was a most loyal Death Eater — even tragically dying for his beliefs.”

Something in Sirius’ mind detonates, spraying everywhere like an overly ripe watermelon. His pulse stutters. He sees red.

James winces prematurely.

“Keep my brother’s name out of your fucking mouth.”

Dumbledore sighs, exhaling an exasperated gust of wind. “Mr. Sirius Black…”

“THAT IS NOT MY NAME!”

Remus and James cringe at the thunder in his voice, fingers flying to their ringing ears.

Dumbledore appears unruffled. “Apologies,” he says coolly. “I am aware you go by Sirius Potter now. I just assumed you reconsidered your previous familial allegiances… however briefly….”

This old fuck is trying to make me angry, Sirius realises. Dumbles is watching him like he’s waiting for Sirius to blow his top and prove something to his two best friends.

Even Prongs picks up on it. “Headmaster, is this necessary?” James demands, fury sparking behind his eyes. “You said it yourself — Sirius isn’t the one in the wrong here!”

Dumbledore inclines his head, gracious in his false concession.

Instead of letting his rage evolve, Sirius tilts his head all the way back, breathing in deeply. After all, he’s mastered the art of not giving people what they wanted from him.

“So, all the work I’ve done for the Order — all the scars and blood and sweat and tears I’ve given — meant nothing?”

There’s a rusty knife lanced with the pain of unexpected betrayal aiming for his heart — one he’s fighting to keep at bay with his controlled breathing in and out.

“I would never discount your efforts, my boy. But Peter was quite the dutiful soldier, as well. Hard work does not make one not a traitor. In fact…” Dumbledore steeples his fingers. “Without your evidence, I would’ve been hard-pressed to identify who the real traitor was. Just yesterday, Pettigrew informed me he had ‘urgent matters’ to take care of out of town and would be gone for a few days. I thought nothing so extraordinary of it until you brought this to me.”

Remus frowns. “What time did he tell you this?”

Dumbledore hums. “Around four in the afternoon.”

The Marauders all exchange glances. “But he was just with us yesterday — and when he left told us he was going to visit his Mum,” James hesitantly says. “He’d always spend the night with her at the hospital. Why would he tell us that… and then skip town?”

Dumbledore regards him with something akin to pity. “I fear he may have led you to believe he saw her more often than he actually did.”

Out of everything he’s discovered recently, this really and truly throws James. He even feels a bit sick. What kind of person lies about visiting their sick mother?

Sirius barks a caustic laugh. “Unbelievable.”

This is who his so-called comrades thought he was? A traitor who could lie about wanting to be by their ailing mother’s bedside? He would’ve told anyone about how he’d rather rot that step a foot near Walburga’s deathbed after his disownment — may she continue to burn in hell — not even for all the money in the world.

If he’s been fighting beside people who think he’s a traitor, yet didn’t have the guts to accuse him to his face — then either Dumbles is lying or he’s been surrounding himself with a bunch of cowards. They could all go hang like Peter for all he fucking cares. He doesn’t need the Order — he only joined because of Prongs and Moony, and because he’d rather die than allow Death Eaters take over the fucking kingdom.

Whatever they think of him doesn’t matter, anyways. He’ll show them soon enough.

Nobody gets to fucking define him other than himself. Not as a Black, not as a traitor, and sure as hell not as some bloody sheep who’s supposed to keep their mouth shut just because some old bastard high on the smell of his own farts said so.

Dumbles continues to drone their ears off. “As it stands, Pettigrew is out of town and unaware that his status has been compromised. We must begin making preparations for how to bend this situation to our advantage — ”

Sirius interrupts with another bark of dark laughter.

“You keep playing your fucking games, old man. Just be sure to leave me the fuck out of them.”

With that, he snatches the folder off the table and storms out of the room before Dumbledore can tell him anything else.

He hears the hurried footsteps of James and Remus behind him.

“Sirius, what was that?” Remus hisses. “The meeting wasn’t over — he was about to let us in on the new plan. And why did you take that with you?”

“Where are we going?” James asks, coming up to his side.

“Prongs, sweet precious Prongs,” Sirius says, absentmindedly tapping the folder against his palm. It’s so hard to think around the tunnel vision driving him towards his next actions.

“We are going to a print shop. Then a post office. Because we’re making photocopies of this evidence and stuffing them in everyone’s mailbox, so they can learn who the real traitor is.”

Prongs and Moony gape at him. Sirius narrows his eyes.

“I am going to clear my name.”

They thought to call him a traitor? Some kind of fucking closeted Death Eater in hiding? As if he didn’t have any fucking standards?

If he ever felt insane enough to buy into the Blood Purity bullshit, he’d be loud and proud about it like everything he fucking did.

He slaps the folder again. “I mean, just look at this shit! Their addresses are listed here — they need to start moving themselves and their families to safe houses or something! But he just wants to fucking leave them in the dark?” He scoffs, shaking his head. “Nah, I’m doing my own thing. Besides, it’s not like he said we couldn’t expose the rat.” And I wouldn’t have listened if he did.

Remus groans, exasperation seeping from his very pores. “It was implied!”

Sirius blinks, making his eyes wide and innocent. “Well, I’m not a mind reader, Moony.”

James stares at him, chewing on his lip for a moment. “He’s right, Moony. They should know about this, sooner rather than later.”

He swallows against the thick lump in his throat. He still wants to protect Peter…but Peter isn’t the only person he has to protect. His friends are in danger, too. Peter should be somewhere safe…hopefully. He could figure the details out later, but right now he needs to be there for the friends he truly has.

“I’ll ring them,” he says quietly, “so they don’t just learn about it the same way we did.”

At that, Remus deflates.

“Fine. You’re both right. I know this is the right thing to do.”

He runs a distressed hand through his hair. “But we are going to get in so much trouble for this.”

Sirius’ eyes sparkle with pure glee, his smile glittering, entrancingly lighting up his features — and Remus is suddenly completely on board with helping Sirius do this stupid thing.

“We’re Marauders, baby. Troublemaking is our fucking anthem. We solemnly swore we’d be up to no good, after all.”

_

James is officially having the worst day of his life. And it isn’t even ten a.m.

Padfoot and Moony are out plastering the world with copies of the evidence, as well as putting up posters featuring a rather unflattering photo of Peter where he was caught picking his nose at some Hogwarts Christmas party.

Beneath it read: ‘If you see this rodent, please call XXX XXX XXX ASAP for immediate containment.’

So yeah. The cat — or rat, in this case — has been thrown out of the bag. The bag has been ripped apart and shredded into confetti. The bag does not exist anymore.

Sometimes, James still tries to delude himself that the past twelve hours have been nothing but his overactive imagination. That he could unspool time and wind them back to that moment they were chasing each other around his dining table without a care in the world, if only he blinks hard enough.

But when he eventually does open his eyes, he sees Peter’s handwriting spelling out the address of Potter Manor in a clear, firm hand.

Anything could’ve happened to Mum and Dad. At any moment. And he would never have known who was responsible. All he would’ve known — was that he could lean on all three of his Marauders to keep him standing at the funeral.

Trying not to drown in the what-ifs, he uncradles the telephone from its receiver and begins dialing, one click at a time, every friend whose information Peter sold out. Each click of the dialpad sounds like its own death sentence.

And this is where James learns the second definition of hell.

With almost every person he rings up to tell them that Peter is the spy, there is a moment of stunned silence. A silence where James can’t help but fill in the line: “So it wasn’t Sirius?”

It only gets worse when they don’t even yell or get angry when he tells them that the Marauders’ residences ‘aren’t compromised’, so anyone who needs a safe refuge could head over to his flat or Sirius and Remus’, or even come to Potter Manor so they aren’t just sitting ducks for Death Eaters to attack.

No — they’re so damn understanding about it.

“Gosh, thank you for warning us about this, James…”

“It’s a shame that Peter turned out to be a traitor, but that’s none of your fault, James…”

“It’s bloody despicable what he’s done, offering us up to the Death Eaters — but there must be some of the Peter we know still left in him if he couldn’t bring himself to betray his closest friends… Don’t you think, James?”

Being boiled alive, feeling his flesh bubble then peel and melt into broth, might hurt less than this.

He wants to scream at them: How can you still trust me? Why don’t you hate me for not catching this earlier?

About half an hour after he called Marlene and got her to flee, there were reports that Death Eaters raided her house. She could’ve died this morning. James might’ve been too late — and never have known why.

He trembles, crushing the papers in his fist until the edges crumble. Tilting his head back, he blinks hard, refusing to let his tears ruin the page. He tries to focus on the fact that they were all safe now — he wouldn’t need to mourn anybody he knows.

Blinking hard, he begins feverishly reading through the names again, noting all of his friends that could have been what-ifs…

And those whose names aren’t on the list.

Not Frank Longbottom’s. Not Kingsley Shacklebolt’s. Not Lily’s.

Frank makes sense — they were close, but not so close that the Marauders had an open invitation to Longbottom Hall. Peter had never been there, only James and Sirius had attended some of Frank’s birthdays when they were all younger. Kingsley Shacklebolt also made sense. If anyone could figure out where that man lived on their own, James would eat his broom.

But Lily…

He chews on his already sore lip.

She should have been on the list. They all know where she lives.

So why isn’t she?

The answer comes to him like a flash of cursed light: ‘I love her. God knows I always will.’

James slumps to the floor, still clutching the phone like a lifeline.

Nothing makes sense anymore. Not anything he knew about the world… or about himself.

It used to be so simple to understand, back then. When Sirius’ brother looked to be fitting in too well with the Slytherins; when Snape called Lily a mudblood…

Their betrayal had been so clear cut.

It had been so easy to tell his friends how those Slytherins weren’t worth their time and didn’t deserve the care they’d shown in the past. Why would they even still want to be around them after they finally showed their true colours? It only made sense to cut them out of their lives.

And yet… despite their broken bond, Snape protected Lily. And Regulus is protecting Sirius.

And Peter — who James would’ve believed in for life, as a Marauder, a Gryffindor, a friend — has done what no Death Eater could. He managed to gain all of their trust, then shattered it.

And even after everything — James still wants to keep being friends with him.

Without needing to look, he dials Lily’s number and waits.

The line rings twice, before it clicks.

“Hello?”

Her voice filters into him, light and unbothered, musical in a way that makes his chest ache.

“Lily?” James croaks, sounding like a frog has replaced his vocal chords.

Lily pauses. “James? Is that you?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” His throat bobs painfully. “Can you talk right now?”

“Just a moment.” There’s the sound of footsteps, then a door opening and closing.

“Yes, I’m here. Sorry about that. Petunia’s been an absolute cow lately. Just a bloody nightmare living with her. I wish I could blow her up and send her drifting through the roof and into space, where she can’t bother me again.”

Lily bristles, her aggravation audible through the line. James almost-smiles.

This is the part of their routine where James would offer her a room at his flat — just as roommates — and she would ugly-snort and change the topic with a hint of subtlety.

James hugs himself. He wishes she was here.

“Lils?” He whispers. I have to tell you something.”

She picks up on his tone. “What is it?” She asks, softer now.

He tells her everything he can — about finding out Peter is the spy, nearly all of their friends being compromised, Marlene almost dying. He tells her that their homes are safe but stops there — he doesn’t need to tell her to run.

Her silence is so loud through the phone. James breaks then.

“Lily, please d-don’t. Please don’t t-tell me it’s b-because he still c-cares about me. I can’t take hearing it again. I c-can’t.”

“James…” Her sigh is so heavy he wishes it could pick him up and blow him into space.

“I would never say that. I mean…” She laughs, sounding hollow and joyless.

“I have some idea of what it’s like…to have a friend like that.”

James grips the phone so tightly the shape of the handle might forever be imprinted on his palm. Again, he thinks of Snape.

“Jamie?” Lily’s voice softens again. “Are Sirius and Remy there? Are you alone?”

Unable to answer, he just shakes his head.

She must understand, because she hesitates then says, “Do you want me to come over?”

James swallows again. Sometimes, the knowledge that Lily loves him — though not in the way that he wants — is the only thing that keeps him going. Other times, it rips him into a million pitiful pieces.

“No,” he shakes his head again. “It’s okay, you don’t need to come. Just…”

He takes in a stuttering breath, “…can you tell me about him? What it was like…when you were still friends?”

A pause. The silence is loaded now, like a noose just before it drops.

“About…Sev?” Her voice is too delicate, on the wrong sound of light.

“I know I cocked it up between you two.” James switches the phone to the other ear, tracing the margin notes Snape had scrawled. “It was mostly my fault your friendship was ruined. But I never thought I was in the wrong before — and I never listened to you all those times you were telling me to stop. I’m… I’m ready to listen now, if you want to tell me about it.”

There is another pregnant pause. This time it goes on for so long that James worries Lily didn’t even bother to hang up — just set down the line and walked away.

Just when he is about to lower his phone, Lily speaks.

“Well, Sev, he… was the first friend I made who was also going to Hogwarts. He was the only person who ever told me I could get in. Mum and Da wanted me to go to a culinary school, or a finishing school, and focus on being a good wife to someone one day. Tuney told me that I should ‘know my place in society’ — but I found out that she’d secretly applied to Hogwarts the same and just didn’t get in, so I’m still not sure what to make of that. But Sev…he didn’t just believe in me, he also shared my dream of one day becoming more than just a person from Cokeworth. It was nice, feeling like you’re no longer alone in something, you know? It was like that for the both of us. So, for a whole year before Hogwarts started, we were inseparable. He was my best friend. And, I suppose I thought, in that funny little way children believe in fairytales, that since we shared the same dream… and would be working towards it in the same place… that we’d eventually achieve our dreams together. And that everyone who ever doubted us would be sorry… But then we actually got to Hogwarts. And everything, um, unravelled.”

For a long, silent moment, there was just the sound of telephone static. And then…

“You know, for the longest time, I couldn’t even look at you,” Lily says bluntly.

James presses the receiver so hard to his ear it hurts. He doesn’t flinch at her words, doesn’t defend himself. He just listens.

“I couldn’t stand to be around you when you’d say those things and act so nice to me, then be so cruel to my friend. So hateful, when he’d never done anything bad to you.

“And Sev — he was nice to me too. For a long time, I thought he was the only one who truly understood me — who saw me for the person I was instead of what everyone thought I was or wanted me to be.

“And then he…” Her breath hitches. “He went and made friends with people who… h-hate everything about me. Pledged himself to the other side. It was- it was like a part of me had been ripped away. I couldn’t stay by his side and w-watch him do and say those horrible things about people who could’ve been me.

“I’ve lost so much faith in people, James, because I- I don’t understand how people I’ve come to know and love can be so two-faced. And yet I still…”

She sobs. “I s-still ca-can’t help b-but care s-so mu-much about you guys, e-even though you-you’ve b-both broken m-my h-h-heart.”

Each sob splinters James further. He didn’t think he had space for more agony, yet it still keeps piling on. He can’t take it.

“I saw him, Lils,” he blurts out suddenly. “He was in some pub in the middle of nowhere, and I heard talk about how his grandparents on his Mum’s side want to take him in. I think…he might not be fighting in this war for much longer. He — he’s going to be okay.”

“Oh my God.” Her voice turns muffled, like she’s placed her hands to her face. “Oh, thank God, James…”

He doesn’t know how long he stays there, her messy sobs pouring through the line while he fractures silently against the hardwood. Both of them breaking, with nothing but their shared understanding and the solid weight of the receiver to hold their hands.

Notes:

Sirius literally being like:

There won't be any far-reaching consequences of his actions at all... OF COURSE NOT! 🙃

But fr, if this is what Sirius was like to Dumbledore in canon, it's really not that surprising that Dumbles left him to rot in Azkaban for ten years over a crime he didn't commit, THEN locked him up in his childhood house of nightmares when he got out till he lost whatever was left of his sanity.

Anyways, this is my first time writing Lily's dialogue for this story! 😊 I'm really proud of the scene I wrote for her. I have a 'no Lily Evans Potter Bashing' policy 😤. She's pretty hated in the HP fanfic community (but when isn't a fictional female character widely hated on for her immature actions - looking at you TSITP!) but I really can't hate her, y'all.

She had every right to end her friendship with Snape over him calling her a mudblood. That's just a fact. Some fanfics try to reduce it to 'just a word', which I really can't get behind and I find that reasoning super disgusting. You can end a friendship with someone for several smaller reasons than them calling you a racial slur. So no, I don't blame her for cutting ties with Snape.

But I do blame her for wanting to laugh when James did what he did.