Chapter Text
The Beginning
It was a rather cold night as Regulus Black hurried through the dark, winding passageways of Knockturn Alley. Snow had just begun to fall, dusting the cobblestones in thin white layers. He cast a silent warming charm and pulled his cloak tighter around himself.
Head down, moving quickly, he blended easily into the shadows. No one would be surprised to see him here—he had made enough appearances in this part of the wizarding world that his presence raised no alarms. And that was the point. The more expected his presence became, the less anyone would suspect his real reasons for being there.
Still, he hoped he wouldn’t bump into any of the Dark Lord’s followers.
Well…almost none of them.
He slipped into the White Wyvern, a half-hidden pub near the edge of the alley, and scanned the room. His eyes found the figure immediately: a tall, slender man hunched over a back corner table, muttering to himself. His movements were erratic, a bit twitchy, but Regulus could see through the mask.
For all his quirks, Barty Crouch Jr. had a loyalty unlike anyone Regulus had ever known.
Most believed Barty’s devotion belonged solely to the Dark Lord. But what they didn’t know—what no one knew—was that his first loyalty had been given long ago, on a train, at age eleven, to a quiet boy with a heavy name and tired eyes.
Regulus had seen it even then. While others underestimated the Crouch heir—hidden as he was beneath the weight of his father’s expectations—Regulus recognized a kindred soul. Barty didn’t seem like much at first. But what he lacked in confidence, he made up for in fierce intellect. And as the years passed, his bitterness grew along with his power.
When Regulus had started walking a darker path, Barty had followed. Not because he agreed, but because he couldn’t imagine doing anything else.
Regulus approached and slid into the seat across from him.
“Barty,” he said softly.
A rare smile spread across Barty’s face as he looked up. “Reg!” he breathed, visibly relieved. “Didn’t think you were going to show. You’re rather late.”
“Well, you know how it is. I had business to attend to,” Regulus replied vaguely, brushing snowflakes from his shoulders.
Barty quirked an eyebrow. “Business, you say?”
“Yes. I’m afraid I can’t give details, but it was important or I wouldn’t have been late.” He reached across the table, took a sip from Barty’s drink without asking, and added dryly, “You know how I detest tardiness.”
Barty rolled his eyes and pulled the glass back. “Yeah, yeah. I remember the scoldings from school.”
He took a drink of his own, but his expression turned serious. His voice dropped.
“Look… I know you. And I know you’re up to something. If it has to do with this book I’m giving you, I know it’s dangerous.” He hesitated, voice barely above a whisper now. “I don’t care what it is. Let me help you.”
Regulus’s throat tightened.
He wanted—truly wanted—to tell him everything. To unload all the secrets, the plans, the fear. He knew Barty would help, even if he disagreed. But it was too dangerous. Even asking for the book had been a risk.
“You can’t help,” he said at last, forcing the words out gently.
Barty’s expression flickered. “Do you not trust me anymore?”
“I do. You’re the only person I trust,” Regulus said honestly. “But this is something I can’t ask of you.”
Barty studied him for a long moment, eyes narrowed with hurt and frustration. Then he leaned back and crossed his arms. “Fine. But I’ll ask for one thing. And you’re not going to like it.”
Regulus gave a wry smile. “Oh? And what’s that?”
“I want you to Obliviate me,” Barty said flatly. “Wipe your request from my memory. Make me forget this ever happened.”
Regulus blinked.
“You’re right,” he said quietly. “I don’t like it.”
“But if it’s the only way I can help… then do it. It’s done.”
He couldn’t let the Dark Lord find out.
And while Barty was loyal to him, he was also loyal—perhaps more so—to the Dark Lord. And that, Regulus thought bitterly, was his fault.
The doubt crept in, sharp and cold. He wouldn’t blame Barty if he chose the Dark Lord over him but If Barty knew what he was planning… would he still choose Regulus?
Regulus wasn’t sure. He couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t risk losing Barty—couldn’t risk the Dark Lord tearing through Barty’s thoughts and discovering everything. If Barty knew too much, he might not survive it.
No… this was the only way to keep him safe.
“You’re a good friend, Barty,” Regulus said quietly, his throat tight. “The best. I owe you.”
“You owe me nothing,” Barty replied, his voice rough. “Just… don’t die.”
Regulus couldn’t promise that.
Instead, he looked at him one last time, the weight of everything they’d never say pressing down on him. Barty handed him the book under the table.
“Thanks,” he whispered.
Then he raised his wand.
“Obliviate.”