Not Inevitable

Chapter 2: The World as it’s Meant to Be

Regulus is the first to regain control over himself, though he has the advantage given that those were his memories and therefore he did not learn anything new. Though, he supposes that’s not entirely true. James’s reactions to his memories have piqued Regulus’s interest. His focus had been almost entirely on James and Sirius. As it should have been, he  rationalizes, they’re the ones I most need to convince after all. Their friends will follow their lead. Regulus is perhaps a little smug that he accurately predicted all of Sirius’s reactions. He knows his brother, despite them being estranged for years now. He tries not to think too hard about that, forcing his mind back to James.

James had been way calmer than Regulus would have predicted. He knows that James knows about what goes on in that house. After all, he’s the one Sirius ran to when he left it all behind. But there was less anger in him than Regulus would have guessed. He’s been watching James get angry on behalf of his friends since he was eleven, generally at Severus, but sometimes at Regulus and sometimes at other students too. Regulus had assumed he would have been angry at the memory on Sirius’s behalf, but he wasn’t. He was calm. He could see the older boy intentionally radiating warmth and calm and support to try to help Sirius. He even tried to look over at Regulus and do the same for him, but Regulus doesn’t need to be rescued by James Potter.

He was calm and rational in Grimmauld Place, where his anger was expected. And then, in the middle of the Great Hall after he won Gryffindor the house cup, James Potter was furious. Regulus doesn’t have enough information to piece that one together, he probably never will.

By the time Regulus comes to this conclusion, the rest of the group has found their footing and are looking at him.

“And what the hell was that supposed to show us?” Sirius shouts. Loudly. As expected. Sirius was always one to lash out when he’s confused or frustrated or scared. Regulus on the other hand goes quiet. Those opposing reactions are probably the root of their problems. Or at least one of the many roots to some of their many problems.

“That they’re the same,” Regulus responds, fighting to maintain his composure. “Voldemort and Dumbledore are both using children as pawns in their stupid games. I’m not even entirely sure what they’re fighting about. I don’t know what we’re fighting about. Do you?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe we’re fighting for our rights?” Lily spits. “He wants me dead, Black. And by following him, you do too.”

“First of all,” Regulus starts, “I’m not following him. I think you may have missed that part of my plan, where we follow neither of them, but I guess I can’t blame you for that. Muggleborns are being attacked. I’m not blind to that, and you have the right to be upset by it, to be furious about it. But believe it or not, I am too. And so is Voldemort.”

Lily grabs her wand and points it at Regulus’s chest. The Slytherins move to stand right beside him, wands drawn. The Gryffindors mirror them immediately. “Be very careful what you say next, Black,” Lily says.

“I’m going to tell you the truth,” Regulus says. He may not know the girl personally, but he’s grown up watching Sirius across the room, so he’s grown up watching her as well. At the least, she’ll hear him out. At best, she’ll know the truth when she hears it. “The way the war is framed to us is about blood purity. That is not something I care about. And it’s not something Voldemort cares about. I can’t deny that it is something many of his followers believe in, but he does not. He’s a half-blood himself.”

“Voldemort hates muggles,” Regulus clarifies. “This is not a belief I am defending, but it is at the core of a fundamental misunderstanding. Voldemort hates muggles, thinks they are inferior. Many of his followers falsely equate this to hating muggleborns. But he doesn’t. He values magic, all magic, no matter where it comes from. And he looks down on those that don’t have it. But it’s different from the belief that muggleborns aren’t real wizards or don’t deserve to have magic or don’t deserve the opportunity to learn it.”

He looks at Lily and he can tell she believes him. She doesn’t seem to know how she feels about it, but she believes him. She lowers her wand, though keeps a firm grip on it. The others follow suit.

“If that’s true, then why doesn’t he stop it from happening? Why doesn’t he clear up the misconception?” Lily demands.

“He can’t afford that. A majority of his followers believe it. Voldemort has a bigger army than Dumbledore, but overall its members aren’t as truly loyal. He needs them on his side. And, well, he’s not a good person. I don’t think he has very strong feelings about the situation. But Dumbledore isn’t a good person either. Dumbledore pulls the same moves. Why isn’t Dumbledore helping the  children he’s supposed to be teaching and protecting? He’s getting the whole school  to paint Slytherin house as an enemy even though we’re just kids. He did nothing to get me or Sirius out of that house and he does nothing to get any other Slytherins out of abusive situations either. He keeps us there because it helps him.”

“They’re both power hungry, manipulative bastards,” Regulus concludes, “And I want them both to lose.” Lily finally drops her gaze from his and puts her wand back in her pocket. He looks around the room. The Slytherins have all obviously accepted Regulus’s statement as the truth and are looking at the Gryffindors as they process the information.

Sirius’s anger is still simmering just below the surface, but that’s probably got more to do with Regulus as a person than with anything he said. Remus is looking between Sirius and James. James looks like he’s not processing anything, he’s just looking at Lily. Regulus wonders if that means he already made up his mind one way or another or if he’s waiting to see Lily’s reaction before he makes his own conclusions. Regulus guesses it’s the latter. Peter is also looking at Lily, which surprises him, as Peter always seems to be looking at James. Though maybe that’s why he’s looking at Lily, imitation is a form of admiration after all.

“I think there’s something I need to show everyone,” Pandora whispers, the first thing she’s said since the Gryffindors entered the room of requirement. Regulus looks over at her. She looks scared. Regulus doesn’t think he’s ever seen her scared before.

“No.” Evan says forcefully.

Regulus is confused. He’s never seen them disagree. They’re always a team, you don’t get one Rosier without the other. And beyond that, he doesn’t even know what they’re arguing about. He glances around to see what everyone else makes of this situation and locks eyes with James, seeing his own confusion mirrored in the other boy’s eyes. This is what Regulus gets for not telling the Slytherins first–surprises. He looks back to the Rosier twins. “Whatever you think you have to do, you don’t. You can’t,” Evan pleads.

“Okay. You’re right, I don’t have to.” Evan can tell that’s not the end of her sentence, even though she pauses. “But I’m going to,” She looks away from her brother to the rest of the group. “I get visions. Like, prophecy, destiny, ‘it’s written in the stars’ visions.” She says this sarcastically, but Regulus knows she’s being entirely sincere. He didn’t know that about her. He’s a little disappointed, honestly. Regulus isn’t sure he really has any friends, but if he does, then she’s one of the best.

She turns her focus to Regulus. “How did you get your memory out of your head?” she asks.

“I can teach you,” he replies,” But if you want to show us now, I should probably do it for you. It’s not a simple spell.”

“No,” Evan says again, stepping closer to his sister, closer to Regulus. “You’re not putting a wand anywhere near her head.” Pandora puts her hand on the back of his neck and his hostility drains away. He is clearly still protective of her and angry at the idea, but that one touch was all Pandora needed to convince him that this wasn’t his battle to fight, it was hers.

“What do I need to do?” She asks Regulus.

“Not much really. Just put the memory you want to share in the front of your mind and that’s the one that the spell will grab.”

“Okay.” She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Then another. She shudders and flinches. Whatever she wants to share obviously isn’t very pleasant. She takes a third deep breath and lightly squeezes her brother's neck where her hand still rests. “Do it.” Regulus does.

This strand is much longer than the one Regulus pulled out of his own head a few minutes early. Has it really only been a few minutes? he thinks as he drops it into the pensieve.

“Are you sure?” Regulus asks. Pandora looks more fragile than he’s ever seen her. She nods. “Alright. One, two, three.” And then Regulus is tipped and spun and spit out standing on the Hogwarts Express staring at eleven year old Sirius Black.

Sirius is at the other end of the car, storming away as poshly as possible from their older cousins, Bellatrix and Narcissa. He looks into each compartment as he passes them, clearly looking for something specific and moving on when he doesn’t find it. He stops just in front of their circle, looking into the compartment on his right before an hint of a smile appears on his lips and he slides open the door.

Inside the compartment is a sandy haired boy in threadbare robes with a fading black eye. He’s scowling at the empty seat across from him until Sirius opens the door and then he’s scowling at the dark haired boy instead. Sirius doesn’t seem to care that the boy would clearly rather be left alone, gleefully taking a seat on the bench across from him.

“Greetings,” he says, trying to contain his excitement to a level befitting of the Black heir. “I’m Sirius.” Sirius sticks out his hand for the other boy to shake. At first, the other boy doesn’t seem inclined to do so. But then he tilts his head and mocks Sirius’s excitement as he shakes his hand, revealing scars up and down his arms, and says, “Hiya Sirius. I’m Joking.”

Sirius laughs and grins, though he brings a hand up to cover his mouth quickly. Regulus doesn’t think he’s ever seen Sirius smile that wide. The other boy breaks into a small smile as well. Sirius takes a few seconds to catch his breath then says, “I like you! You’re funny. But my name actually is Sirius– S I R I U S. Like the star. what’s your name really?”

“Remus,” the boy replies. Regulus feels his mouth drop open and looks around to see similar shocked expressions on all the Slytherins faces. They’re all 5th years, so none of them were at Hogwarts until the next year. Since when was Remus not an obvious nerd? Regulus thinks. Then he catches James’s eye, who is watching him with amusement, chuckling lightly at him. Regulus decides he doesn’t have to watch James mock him and looks at Remus instead. He looks exasperated by his younger self, but he seems fond of the memory. Regulus very pointedly does not look at Sirius.

Suddenly, two more eleven year olds join young Sirius and Remus in the compartment. Regulus looks down, realizing their circle is blocking the doorway and little James Potter just walked right through him. James and Peter are much easier to recognize as eleven year olds than Remus and even Sirius, who physically looks very similar but whose mannerisms and way of holding himself couldn’t have changed more.

“Hello!” Little James says, sticking his arm out the same way Sirius had just moments before. “I’m James and this is Peter.” Sirius reaches out to shake James’s hand but doesn’t get a word out before something in the hall catches their attention.

Standing in the middle of their circle is eleven year old Lily Evans.

“Greetings,” Sirius says.

“You’re beautiful,” James says. Their entire circle rolls their eyes along with the young Lily Evans while James– now James– just shrugs and grins.

“Well I wasn’t wrong,” Now-James says, resulting in another round of eye rolling.

As little Lily walks down the corridor the walls fall away and mist swirls around them until it solidifies into the Great Hall. It looks much the same as it had in Regulus’s memory, only this time with no house banners and a gaggle of first years standing at the front waiting to be sorted.

“Sirius Black,” Professor McGonagall calls. And then little Sirius is walking up and taking a seat on the wooden stool as the sorting hat is placed on his head. He closes his eyes. And he sits there. And sits there. And sits there. Until finally the hat calls out “Gryffindor!” and Sirius’s eyes widen with terror as the hat is removed from his head and the walls go back to mist.

When the mist solidifies this time, there are no walls, just earth and sky and a lot of water. It’s a good thing they can’t physically interact with their surroundings, otherwise they would all be sinking to the bottom of the lake right now.

Regulus knows this memory, he has this memory. He’s on the boat, going across the lake as he sees Hogwarts for the first time. With him are four other kids, the same four kids who walked into the room of requirement with him not even 30 minutes earlier. They don’t speak or joke or laugh or roll their eyes as the five Gryffindors in their circle had at eleven years old in a train car. But they sit in comfortable silence as they look up at the stars waiting for the castle to come into view. Regulus remembers looking for Sirius up in the sky. He once again does not look across the circle at his brother.

The next time the mist clears they are back in the Great Hall, but this time Professor McGonagall is calling his name. “Regulus Black,” she says. Regulus doesn’t look at his younger self cross to the stool and put on the hat. He already knows what happens, he knows what the hat tells him and how he responds. Regulus still doesn’t know if he regrets it or not. Instead he looks at his brother, the twelve year old version. Eleven year old Regulus had very intentionally not looked for his brother the first time around. Twelve year old Sirius reaches out and grabs James’s hand with one of his own and with the other crosses his fingers. He looks hopeful.

“Hmmm,” Regulus hears. His eyes snap back to the younger version of himself. This isn’t fair, he thinks, I didn’t get to hear what the Sorting Hat told Sirius, so Sirius shouldn’t get to hear what it said to me. “You have the potential to live up to your namesake Regulus,” the hat says. “The heart of the lion.”

“Please,” young Regulus whispers, and now-Regulus hates the terror in his voice. “Don’t put me there. They’ll kill me. Please. I can be cunning and ambitious, I promise. Please.” Now-Regulus turns back to look at little Sirius as the hat announces to the room “Slytherin!” Sirius’s face drops. And then the walls are shifting once again.

When the walls reform, their circle is still at Hogwarts, just in a hallway this time, rather than the Great Hall. The Potions hallway, specifically. And there’s James, standing at the front of his little gang, probably their third year, by the looks of it, with his wand pointed at one Severus Snape. Potter always has his wand pointed at Snape, Regulus thinks, exasperated.

The two boys throw some insults back and forth and then eventually James shoots a hex of some kind at Snape. Regulus doesn’t particularly care about the details. He’s seen this in person on multiple occasions.

The walls shift and now they’re in the hallway around the corner from the Gryffindor common room. A group of older Slytherins are leaning against the wall, one of whom is Lucius Malfoy. James stiffens across from him and his hands clench into fists. What? Regulus thinks. Potter didn’t bat an eye at seeing a memory of Snape, but Malfoy sends him into a rage? Maybe Malfoy is the common denominator with James’s anger. He was there in Regulus’s Great Hall memory too. Regulus gets the hatred in an abstract sense. Regulus hates Lucius Malfoy. But Regulus has reasons to hate him that James couldn’t possibly have, so why is he angry on first site?

From behind them, a fourth year Gryffindor girl is walking towards her common room. Mary MacDonald. She falters a step, just one, when she sees the three Slytherins in her path, but she takes a breath and reaches for her wand and keeps on walking.

She puts up a good fight, especially considering she’s one fourth year taking on three seventh years, but ultimately she loses. Lucius and his friends leave her bleeding on the floor as the walls shift again. James is vibrating with rage.

The walls come back up for the second time today in Grimmauld Place. This time they’re in the library.

“Fuck!” Sirius yells. Fuck, Regulus agrees. Because Regulus knows this scene. He knows exactly what day this is. It was the last time before the last time. The winter holidays during Regulus’s fourth year, Sirius’s fifth. Seven months before Sirius runs away for good the following summer. Nearly one year ago from today.

The scene skips over the worst of the details, which Regulus is thankful for. Memory-Sirius is sitting limply in a chair, doing his best to keep the back of his calves from touching anything so as not to add more pain to the cuts Mother had just put there. She must have just left the room based on where the memory starts. Memory-Regulus is there too, frozen in place. Now-Regulus doesn’t even remember why Sirius was punished this time. But he knows that, one summer from this moment, there will be so much more blood. That knowledge actually makes it harder for Regulus to look at the tiny drops falling from his brother's legs onto the carpet. Next summer there will be more than drops, there will be a puddle– enough blood for a crime scene.

“Just go Reggie,” Sirius says from the chair with a sigh. He doesn’t plead or beg or shout or demand. He just says it, and Regulus just goes. Sirius sits still for a few moments, breathing deeply.

Now-Regulus looks over at his brother for the first time. He’s staring blankly at the wall above his own head, the head of him bleeding in a chair. He is tucked tightly between James and Remus. Remus has one hand while James has the other, just like last time the pensieve brought them here. Remus’s other hand is rubbing circles into Sirius’s back. James’s fury from the last memory has disappeared without a trace, back to being a calm and warm presence, a safe presence, for Sirius. James is breathing at the same pace as Sirius. Or, rather, James is breathing evenly and Sirius is doing his best to match him.

Regulus looks down as Pandora’s fingers brush his. They lock eyes for a moment and she reaches out to twist her little finger with his, before they both look back to Sirius in the chair.

Sirius is the picture of calm. He stands up and walks over to the desk in the middle of the space to collect his wand. He doesn’t even wince as he continues across the room to the fireplace. Regulus always envied that about Sirius. He never let them see when he was weak, apparently not even when he was alone. Regulus isn’t any good at that, he always winces.

Sirius reaches into a pot on top of the fireplace for a handful of floo powder. He walks into the fireplace, calmly stating “Potter Cottage.” Then the green flames reach out to whisk him away, the ten observers along with him. They exit the fire in a cozy living room. James is sitting on the couch polishing his broom. He throws it to the side as soon as Sirius appears, running the few steps it takes to get to him and enveloping him in a hug immediately. Sirius sags into his arms.

The next scene is unfamiliar, even though Regulus is looking right at himself. They’re in the dining room of Grimmauld Place along with many other people. Memory-Barty is right next to Regulus, the seat on Regulus’s other side is empty. Regulus doesn’t recognize everyone at the table but there are plenty of familiar faces, including Lucius, Narcissa, and Bellatrix.

Now-Regulus looks at Now-Barty, who looks equally confused. Well at least I’m not losing my memory, Regulus thinks. I guess this is the part of the vision that hasn’t happened yet. The door on the far side of the dining room opens and half of their circle flinches at the same time every person seated at the table sits up straighter. Memory-Evan, or more accurately, Vision-Evan, walks to the middle of the table, taking the empty seat next to Regulus. The boy looks over at the two boys next to him nervously. He raises an eyebrow in a question. Regulus and Barty both nod. Simultaneously, the three boys roll up the sleeves on their left arms revealing identical Dark Marks.

Now-Regulus, Barty, and Evan all freeze. The Dark Lord walks through the still open dining room doors right before the mist takes them away.

When the walls solidify again, they’re back in James’s living room. None of the Gryffindors are looking at him, more focused on Vision versions of themselves sitting on the couch across from Dumbledore. Regulus tugs the sleeves of his sweater up, revealing his bare arms, just in case any of them happen to look over. Evan and Barty quickly do the same.

“I have to warn you,” Dumbledore says, “This is not a game. This is a war. Joining the Order is dangerous– you may watch those you love die, you could die yourselves.”

“We know,” James responds from the middle of the couch. “We want to help.” Dumbledore looks to the other kids on the couch who all nod in agreement.

“Nobody else is gonna fight for us,” Lily says, “So we’re going to fight for ourselves.” Dumbledore smiles. He knew the answer all along. These five children have made it clear that they would fight this fight years ago, just like Dumbledore intended.

“Very well.” Dumbledore says. “In that case, welcome to the Order of the Phoenix.”

The room swirls.

When they land this time, all ten of them duck. Spells are flying in all directions. Peter is the slowest to sense the danger and a jet of green light hits him right in the chest.

“Peter!” multiple voices scream up from their places on the ground.

“AAAAAaaaahhhh” is all Peter can say as the stream of light goes right through him, followed by his own crouch to the ground.

“Jesus Peter,” James says, pulling the boy into a hug, quickly joined by their fellow Gryffindors. The ten of them slowly stand now that it is clearly safe to do so. Spells will go right through them. That doesn’t make it any less terrifying.

They all turn in small circles taking in everything around them.

They’re inside the Ministry of Magic. Regulus has never been inside the Ministry before, but the big sign tells him that that’s where they are. Well, that’s what the sign says before a rogue spell hits it and it comes crashing to the ground in big chunks, pinning half a dozen witches and wizards under them.

Upon further observation, it’s clear to Regulus that this is the Order versus the Death Eaters. What’s unclear to Regulus is who is fighting from inside the ministry and who is fighting from outside of it. Regulus sees lots of people he knows. Vision-Remus is off to his right, Vision-James to the left. He doesn’t see Sirius, Lily, or Peter. Pandora is absent too. Dorcas is there though. Regulus can’t tell which side of the war she’s on. A lot of the Death Eaters are wearing their masks, but not all of them. Dorcas isn’t wearing one.

And then he spots himself, along with Barty and Evan, all with masks, being backed into a corner by a couple aurors. I’m about to watch myself die, Regulus thinks rather calmly.

Regulus does not watch himself die. He watches Evan die instead, which is so much worse. Regulus didn’t even catch who fired the spell, he just sees Evan go down. Vision-Regulus catches him in his arms, chanting his name. Someone else fires a spell at the aurors from a different direction, distracting them from the remaining two thirds of the trio.

The ten of them run through the room, right through spells and witches and wizards to get to where Evan’s body is, still wrapped in Regulus’s arms. Regulus and Barty are both crying and then the scene shifts again.

Pandora is hugging Evan before the mist even settles. She doesn’t let go, even when the walls of the Potter’s living room are firmly in place, but eventually switches to clutching his arm rather than his whole torso. She watched her brother die,Regulus thinks. The first time, the time she had the vision, she watched him die. All alone. And she couldn’t do anything about it. Regulus doesn’t think he would still be on his feet if he had to watch Sirius die right in front of him, even if it was only a vision.

Lily is the only person in the room in this vision-snippet. She’s pacing the length of the room, looking much the same as she does now so they’re still not very far into the future. She turns to walk back across the room in the other direction, facing them for the first time and Regulus notices two things. First, she is wearing a wedding ring. Second, while Lily may not look any older physically, her eyes look like they’ve aged 50 years.

And then she freezes in the middle of the room, seeing through them, eyes locked on something behind them.

“Hey,” James says, concern overflowing in his tone. He runs the few steps to Lily right through them until he has her in his arms. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

“What’s wrong with me?” Lily exclaims. “Look at you! What’s wrong with you?”

She has a point. James is covered in dirt and soot and his eyes are tight and guarded. He has a few bruises already forming on his face and he’s bleeding from some cuts that Regulus can’t precisely locate on his abdomen somewhere.

“I’m fine,” James says. “I promise. Just a couple scrapes and bruises. Nothing we can’t fix.” James holds her face in his hands, looking her in the eye. “Nothing we can’t fix,” he repeats before kissing her gently. “Now can you tell me what’s wrong please?”

“James,” she starts, his hands still cupping her face. Tears well up in her eyes. She holds onto his wrists and looks at him like he’s the only person in the world she trusts. “James, I’m pregnant– we’re pregnant.”

Regulus turns to look at Now-James and Lily, seemingly just as they turned to look at each other. Their eyes meet for less than half a second before they both find something very interesting to look at on the floor. That is, before the floor melts away.

The next location is completely unfamiliar. It’s dark and the ground is uneven. They’re clearly not inside any sort of building but when Regulus looks up, he can’t see the sun or the stars. He looks around again– A cave, he realizes. A big one. The others are all staring at him, or just behind him, and Regulus turns to see what they’re seeing.

And it’s him. Him and Kreacher. What are Kreacher and I doing in a cave? Regulus asks himself. Vision-Regulus is on the ground, clearly in pain. He pushes something into Kreacher’s hands. “Go,” Regulus tells the elf, “Destroy it. That’s an order Kreacher. Leave, destroy it, and never speak a word of this to anyone.” With a loud CRACK, Kreacher disapparates, leaving Regulus alone in the near-dark.

Vision-Regulus groans and turns over so he’s on his stomach. He crawls the few feet away from the basin he and Kreacher had been near to the edge of the water. “Water,” he hears himself croak. He sounds like he might die of dehydration if he doesn’t get to the edge. But he does get to the edge and Now-Regulus feels himself breathe. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath.

Before he can fully fill his lungs his breath gets caught in his throat as he watches a pale white hand reach up out of the water and pull. Vision-Regulus panics. He has his wand in the other hand and shoots off a spell but it doesn’t do much. and then there’s another hand, and another, and another. And they’re grabbing and pulling and scratching and Regulus is bleeding and he’s being forced closer and closer to the water until his face is right at the edge. “I’m sorry,” he whispers looking up, just as he had in the boat that brought him across the lake to Hogwarts for the first time, but this time there are no stars to see. “Sirius, I’m sor—”

And then Regulus is pulled under the water. He sees himself being dragged deeper and deeper.

He can feel his nine classmates looking at him, their eyes boring into the back of his head. He can hear them all start to breathe again. They must have been holding their breath, Regulus thinks. I’m holding my breath, he thinks. I should probably breathe now.

Vision-Regulus doesn’t resurface. Now-Regulus doesn’t breathe. The cave disintegrates around him.

Regulus is gasping for air when the walls of the Potter living room become solid once again.

Dumbledore is sitting across from the five Gryffindors on the couch once more, this time with a sixth little addition. A baby with jet black hair and green eyes on James’s lap. Dumbledore’s mouth is moving, he’s talking to them, but Regulus can’t hear him over his own pathetic wheezing.

Regulus closes his eyes. Forces himself to take smaller breaths. It works enough that he can hear now.

“Voldemort believes the prophecy is referring to Harry,” he says. Harry? Regulus asks himself, his eyes still closed. Who is Harry?

“He’s just a baby!” James explodes. Regulus’s eyes shoot open. James is vibrating again. The baby in his arms– Harry– starts to cry. James pulls the small boy closer and his boiling rage settles to a simmer. Lily jets up from her place beside him on the couch and starts pacing the room again, the same path she made the last time they saw her.

“I know,” Dumbledore says. “Which is why you have to go into hiding.” Lily and all the bodies on the couch except for the squirming child freeze. Regulus knows why. All of them know why. James Potter would never go into hiding– he wouldn’t let other people get hurt, get killed, just for him. But he looks at the James Potter on the couch and he sees that he will. Not for himself, but for the life he holds in his arms.

“I recommend the Fidelius Charm.” Dumbledore says. No one in the room seems to understand what that means, which is good because Regulus doesn’t either. “A simple concept, but a very powerful spell. One person is tasked as the Secret Keeper. That person is the only one who would have the ability to reveal your location and they could only do so willingly. This person will hold all three of your lives in their hands, so you must choose wisely. And the person you choose will be hunted by Voldemorts’ followers if their identity is revealed, so they must choose knowing the risks. I will volunteer myself for the task, if you would like.”

“No.” Sirius. Of course it would be Sirius to paint a target on his back for James Potter. “I’ll do it.”

“Sirius–” James starts to argue

“I’ll do it,” Sirius repeats forcefully. Dumbledore nods. He knew that would happen. Regulus could have predicted it if he knew what the spell entailed.

“I will be in touch with the details at the earliest opportunity,” he says before disapparating with a CRACK.

The mist swirls again but the walls don’t move. They’re still in the Potter’s living room, but now it’s just James, Sirius, and Lily, holding a sleeping baby in her arms.

“It has to be Peter,” Sirius says. James and Lily both open their mouths in confusion, or maybe to argue. Probably both. But Sirius beats them to it. “I’m too obvious.” He looks at James, really looks at him. “I would die for you and your family in a heartbeat,” Sirius says. “But they’re going to know it’s me. And once they kill me, the spell will be broken and they’ll find you and kill you too. It has to be Peter. No one would ever suspect him over me.”

“Sirius,” James says, tears falling down his face. Sirius doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to, he knows he’s right. He just opens his arms and lets James fall into them as the walls melt away.

Regulus knows what’s going to happen next, and he doesn’t want to see it. Sirius is going to do exactly what he said he would– he’s going to die for his best friend. He is so sure of this that he is momentarily disoriented when he realizes he’s back in the dining room of Grimmauld Place. His eyes automatically move to the seat he was in last time. Of course, Vision-Regulus isn’t there. He’s dead. Evan’s dead. The only one left is Barty.

Or so he thought. Regulus isn’t sitting in his chair, but someone else is. Dorcas. Guess she was on their side at the ministry after all. The dining room door is already standing open this time and a few seconds later Lord Voldemort walks through the doors. His face has changed compared to the last time Regulus saw him. Actually saw him, in real life, rather than a memory or a vision. He is clearly the same man, but he’s paler and it looks as if his skin has been stretched tighter across his face.

He takes his place at the head of the table. “Regulus Black was killed,” he announces to the room. “He attempted to betray me.” He pauses to let the information sink in for those around him, to make it clear that that is the fate awaiting anyone who tries to work against him. “And he had an accomplice.”

No, Regulus thinks. No, no, no. Leave Kreacher out of this. “Someone at this very table.”

Kreacher isn’t sitting at the table, obviously. But there was no one else in the cave. And then, before Regulus can ramp up to panicking about how he died, or will die in the future, or who’s about to die because of him now, Voldemort is shouting “Avada kedavra,” and Dorcas drops from a jet of green light, her head bouncing on the table as she goes limp.

What the fuck is happening? Regulus thinks, properly panicking now as the mist shifts under their feet again. They don’t even look any older. This has to be only a few years from now at most. And three of the people in their circle are going to be dead. Probably four because Regulus is still waiting, dreading, when Sirius will die for James.

It doesn’t seem like Regulus will have to wait long. The walls of the dining room turn into a lawn and a sky full of stars. He looks up, his eyes automatically going to Sirius, the brightest star in the sky. He looks back down at the scene in front of him and immediately wants to throw up.

Standing right in front of him in his stupid muggle leather jacket is his older brother. His hair is just a tad longer, but he doesn’t look much older than he did walking into the room of requirement, how long ago now? Regulus feels like he’s lived half a lifetime in this pensieve but it probably hasn’t been more than 15 minutes.

The leather-clad Sirius is running down the street, freezing for a moment, looking right at Regulus. No, he thinks, looking right through me, not at me. And then Regulus turns around, at the same time the rest of the group does, at the same time Sirius runs right through them to the front door of a little house. A house with a portion of an upstairs room visible through a giant hole that has been blasted through the wall. A house with the front door ajar, Regulus can see as Sirius gets closer, as they all get closer by following him.

He tries to push open the door, but something must be leaning against it from the other side. Sirius walks through the small opening to the other side and screams. Regulus doesn’t bother trying to make his way through the gap, he simply walks straight through the wall. The rest of them follow his lead.

On the other side of the wall, Sirius is crying on the floor clutching James Potter’s shoulders, shaking him. James Potter is dead. His eyes are open but vacant. Regulus doesn’t even see where the boy’s wand is. Sirius does not calm down. But he stops shaking him. James’s round glasses fell a little off center, though if it was from Sirius shaking him or from his fall to the floor, Regulus doesn’t know. Sirius takes them off, closing his best friend’s eyes before replacing them, making sure they’re straight.

And then Sirius is running. Running to the stairs, then up the stairs. Regulus scrambles to follow him, and his classmates scramble to follow Regulus. He feels the urge to check on James– Now-James– but he can’t. He can’t take his eyes off Sirius or else Sirius is going to die. And Regulus doesn’t want to witness it, but he refuses to not be there for his brother this time.

At the top of the stairs Sirius turns and walks into a room, the room that Regulus could see into from the street. A room with a crib inside. And in front of the crib is a body on the floor with bright red hair. Sirius sinks to his knees and sobs. And sobs. And sobs.

And then he very abruptly stops. The tears keep falling of course, but the sobs stop in their tracks. He stopped breathing. Just as they all stopped breathing. Because a baby started crying.

Sirius is off his knees and standing over the crib faster than Regulus would have thought possible. And he picks up a baby with dark hair and emerald eyes. A baby whose arms reach out for Sirius, clearly knowing who he is. A baby who is bleeding from a cut on his forehead. But a baby who is very much alive.

Sirius holds the baby tight to his chest, keeping him from seeing his parents’ lifeless forms on the ground, and goes back down the stairs, avoiding the front door by exiting out the back and walks around the house back to the street.

“The rat,” Sirius hisses. “I need to kill the rat.” Regulus doesn’t know what that means exactly, but Sirius is standing, staring at the house, rocking on his feet to try to calm down the baby, the orphan, in his arms.

A large man joins Sirius on the street from around the corner– Hagrid, Hogwarts’ gamekeeper.

“What bloody happened?” Hagrid asks. “Dumbledore sent me to collect a baby, but he didn’t say anything else. Why does the baby need collecting?”

“Because they’re dead,” Sirius says. He’s staring straight ahead. It doesn’t seem like he’s really looking at anything. The anger is gone. Or, not gone, exactly. Transformed. Transformed into a plan for revenge. And Regulus understands now. Sirius wasn’t the secret keeper. And James and Lily are dead. Which means someone told– Peter told Voldemort where they were, of his own free will.

Regulus can’t believe it. Those four boys have been inseparable since that very first day on the train. Peter wouldn’t do that, especially to James. He couldn’t. They’re missing a piece of the puzzle. James and Lily must have switched secret keepers again, that’s the only possibility.

“I’ll be right back, Harry,” he says, kissing the baby’s head. “Nothings going to happen to you, I promise. I’ll be right back.” And then Sirius hands the baby to Hagrid and takes off running down the road.

The road gives out from under Regulus as the vision moves on yet again. They’re less than five years into the future and half of the children that walked into the room of requirement tonight are dead. Regulus can’t wrap his mind around it. How does Pandora do this? He looks around, trying to find her. She’s standing behind her brother with her arms around his waist and her face buried in between his shoulder blades.

The sky stays the same above them, but Regulus can taste salt in the air. The ground below him is hard, packed earth. He’s staring at rows and rows of steel bars. Azkaban. In front of him, Barty is being led by aurors to one of the cells to their right. He’s shivering and his eyes are hollow. Barty’s eyes are never hollow. His emotions are so easy to read, his eyes practically spell them out. But this Barty’s eyes are hollow.

Regulus takes a step forward, but stops in his tracks as he glances at the cell directly next to him and sees his brother rocking back and forth on the wooden cot. He’s murmuring to himself but Regulus can’t make out what he’s saying. Five dead and two in Azkaban. And as the aurors leave, the dementors close in and the sky dissolves above his head.

The walls built out of the mist next are unfamiliar. But he knows the boy on the ground. Remus.

He’s  shaking, shaking so violently Regulus thinks he may be having a seizure of some sort. He’s holding a copy of the daily prophet in his hand, the front says ‘Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lives, Defeats He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.’ The print date is November 1st, 1981.

Remus stills quite suddenly. “They’re all dead,” he whispers, turning the paper over to stare on the top of the fold, giving Regulus the chance to see below the fold. To see his brother, laughing behind bars like he has lost his mind. He probably has. “Dead or —” Remus can’t seem to bring himself to think of Sirius. Regulus doesn’t know what happened to Peter, but if he really did betray James, Sirius certainly killed him. Maybe that’s how he ended up in Azkaban.

Remus tears the newspaper to shreds. Then he stands up from his place on the floor and trashes the room. His apartment. He pulls mugs out of the kitchen cabinets and smashes them on the floor. He tears pictures off the fridge, though he leaves one of James, Lily, and the baby untouched. Then he goes to a shelf against the wall full of muggle records– Sirius’s muggle records, Regulus thinks– and smashes those too. And when that's not enough, he picks up the record player and smashes that. There’s nothing else in the room for him to destroy and he probably can’t even see very clearly with the tears flooding his eyes. But he spots his wand in a corner on the floor and walks over to pick it up. He holds it in his hands gingerly, one hand on each end, before getting a firmer grip and snapping it in half.

What the fuck? Regulus thinks, in complete shock. You don’t just snap your wand!

But you do when the only people in the world you love are dead and gone. Dead and gone because of magic. Remus sinks back down to the floor where he starts shaking once more. And then the walls are shaking with him before disappearing with a swirl.

Their original circle of ten has turned into more of a clump, two clumps if we’re being technical about it. Pandora doesn’t seem to have moved from her spot behind Evan, but Drocas has moved closer, rubbing small circles into her back. Evan seems frozen, like he couldn’t bring himself to move even if he wanted to. Barty has taken to being Regulus’s shadow, moving everytime he does. The Gryffindors don’t seem able to look at each other, but they’re all connected one way or another. James has Peter’s hand in one of his and is gripping Sirius’s arm with the other. Sirius has his other hand linked with Remus’s  and Remus is holding Lily to the front of his chest. Regulus thinks he’s the only reason Lily has remained upright. Every single one of them has tears in their eyes.

Regulus blinks at the bright light streaming through the kitchen window. He’s never seen this kitchen before, but it’s white and clean and pristine. There’s a tall woman standing in it with sharp features and two children enter from behind her. One is chubby with brown hair and blue eyes, while the other is skinny with dark hair and green eyes. Both boys hold crayon covered cards in their hands.

“Happy Mother’s Day,” the boys chorus. The woman looks at the larger boy and gives him a big hug and lots of kisses on his cheeks.

“Oh thank you, Duddy-kins,” she croons. “Why don’t you go watch the telly with your father and I’ll bring you a snack,” she says as she accepts the card and leads the boy out of the room. The other smaller boy is staring at her brightly, holding out his card as well. The woman takes the card and rips it in half and smacks his hand away. “I am not your mother,” she says harshly.

The boy's face drops and his eyes become dull and resigned. “Sorry Aunt Petunia” the boy says. The woman simply points towards the other side of the kitchen and the boy walks away, looking remarkably like a kicked puppy. He exits the kitchen, Regulus pulling his clump along and Lily pulling hers along after the child. Now she’s the one vibrating with rage. She doesn’t take her eyes off the boy. Her son, Regulus realizes abruptly. Harry.

Harry walks into the hall with the front door and the stairs to the second floor. He pulls open a door under the stairs and climbs inside.

It’s a good thing they can stand in walls because there’s no way they would all fit into the cupboard under the stairs. As it is, Lily is the only one of them to be fully in the room with the boy. She moves away from Remus, though he keeps a hand on her shoulder. She kneels down in front of the boy who now has his head buried in his knees as he cries. He looks up and Lily goes to touch his face, hovering right in front of it, knowing she can’t actually touch him or comfort him. This version of her isn’t real. And the real version of her is dead. The boy reaches out his hand, as if to touch Lily’s face, but instead reaches just past her to touch the wall where he has written ‘Mom and Dad’ in crayon inside a heart.

He puts his head back between his knees and cries some more. Lily cries with him. The boy can’t be more than five years old. Regulus doesn’t know how Harry ended up in a house with an abusive aunt who doesn’t love him, but he wants to find whoever is responsible and give them a piece of his mind. Preferably with his wand in their face. Because there is no way that Harry would have grown up as anything less than the most loved boy on the planet if he had gotten to be raised by his parents and their friends. Anything less than that is unthinkable.

The walls fall away with the tears of the mother and son, and the mist builds them into a forest cottage. The room is covered in things– plants and pictures and cauldrons, vials and toys and half-empty mugs. There’s a young woman with long blonde hair sitting at a desk covered in cauldrons and vials and mismatched jars of ingredients. Behind her is a young girl with the same blonde hair, maybe eight or nine years old. She seems to be playing with some sort of fruit, or maybe a vegetable? Regulus doesn’t know. But it’s clearly some kind of flying something or other in the eyes of the young girl. She looks happy. Finally, Regulus sighs, at least one good thing might come out of this mess.

“Luna, why don’t you go find out what your father’s up to?” the woman says as she turns to look at the girl, presumably her daughter. And then Regulus is staring at Pandora. An older version of Pandora, by about a decade, Regulus would guess. A Pandora who seems less carefree, less whimsical, less vibrant. But very much alive, with a husband and a daughter and laugh lines around her eyes. Two good things, Regulus amends. Pandora makes it out and her daughter is happy.

Pandora doesn’t wait for her daughter to respond before she turns back to her work bench. Her eyes are tight. She adds one of the ingredients from her jars to the cauldron in front of her, pointing her wand at the potion inside and saying some sort of incantation under her breath. Her daughter has just stood up from her place on the floor and Pandora is gone. Not gone. Worse than gone. In pieces.

Pandora was blown to pieces. Pandora is dead and her daughter is screaming.

Regulus spoke too soon.

He looks over at Pandora, Now-Pandora, as the walls fall away. She still has her arms wrapped around Evan’s waist with her head buried between his shoulder blades. Evan is clutching her arms with his own as if she is the only thing keeping him in one piece. Pandora is shaking. Or maybe Evan is shaking. They’re both shaking and crying. And dead. They’re both dead.

The walls swirl and they’re back on the Hogwarts Express, staring at eleven year old James Potter. Thank God, Regulus thinks. We can go back and fix it. And even though he’s the one that had the thought, Regulus knows it’s not true. You can’t mess with time, you can’t go back and change the past. And he also knows, at least on some level, that this is all just  a vision. All the bad stuff hasn’t happened yet.

Regulus is ripped out of his thoughts as he looks at young James and truly sees him for the first time. And sees that that’s not James Potter. The boy in front of them has the same dark, unruly hair. The same tendency to fidget in his seat. The same hint of mischief in the eyes behind his round glasses. But his eyes are the wrong color. They’re green. Lily’s exact shade of emerald green. And then Regulus’s eyes trail up to the boy’s forehead where he’s pushing his hair out of the way to show the red-headed boy across from him a scar shaped like a lightning bolt. The boy isn’t James– it’s Harry.

The other boy introduces himself as Ron Weasley moments before a young bushy-haired girl opens the compartment door asking if they’ve seen a lost toad– the boys have not– and announces to them that her name is Hermione Granger.

The walls of the train car fall away and reform into the shape of the Great Hall once again. Though this time there are less than half the normal amount of first years to be sorted. These were children born during the height of the war, Regulus realizes. Not exactly the greatest time to start or expand a family.

The boy– Harry– seems to have stuck with his red-headed friend from the train for the journey to the castle. But as they’re walking to the Sorting a pale blond boy with delicate features gets in their way. He tells Harry he’s the right sort of wizard to associate with and sticks out his hand for Harry to shake.

“I’m Draco,” he says, “Draco Malfoy.”

Harry doesn’t shake little Malfoy’s hand. “I think I can tell the right sort for myself, thanks,” he retorts as he turns away with the red-head to keep walking. Regulus doesn’t know which feeling is stronger— blissful amusement that Lily Evans’s son is clearly putting his inherited sass to good use or hatred that, of all people, Lucius Malfoy got the chance to grow up and raise a kid.

And then Regulus’s feet are ripped out from under him. Really, they’ve been being ripped out from under him for a while now, but Regulus wasn’t expecting it to happen in that moment. They didn’t even get to see the boy’s Sorting. Also, unexpectedly, his feet don’t land on solid ground this time. Instead, they see a short series of events in quick succession. Presumably there’s not enough time for the pensieve to give them a solid place to step before it’s time to move on.

The red-headed boy atop a giant knight, a chess piece. The bushy-haired girl pointing to a vial on the table in front of her. Harry standing in front of a man with two faces, one of which has the same pale stretched skin as Lord Voldemort. The man with two faces goes to grab Harry, but is burned in every place his body makes contact with Harry’s.

Harry, kneeling on the ground in a large stone chamber by an unconscious red-headed girl. A teenage boy stands in front of them, using his wand to spell something in the air. ‘Tom Marvolo Riddle.’ The letters shift around until they spell ‘I Am Lord Voldemort’ instead.

Harry, and the red-haired boy, and bushy haired girl standing in a very misused room with Remus and Sirius and Peter. Not dead then, Regulus thinks. There’s a lot of wand pointing. The three kids point their wands at each of the three adults. And Remus and Sirius are pointing their wands at each other too. And then they’re both pointing wands at Peter. Harry doesn’t seem to know who to trust. How should he? He didn’t grow up with any of these people, not like he should have.

Harry, clutching the body of an older boy, a boy who is nearly a man, and a trophy, surrounded by hedges. “He’s back,” Harry says. “Voldemort’s back.” And then Harry is being dragged away by a crazy looking man with scars and a wooden leg and an eye that’s whizzing around in its mechanical socket. And then they’re alone in a room together but the crazy man’s skin is bubbling and he’s holding on to Harry, shaking him. And then the crazy man isn’t the crazy man any more, he’s Barty Crouch. And then Barty Crouch is in a professor's office in Hogwarts when a dementor is let inside.

Regulus can feel the temperature drop in the room. If he were really here, his breath would fog. There’s no fog in front of Barty’s mouth. He must be holding his breath. And then the dementor comes closer and closer and Barty slumps to the floor. The dementor leans over his mouth and a little blue ball of light is pulled from Barty’s body and swallowed by the darkness hovering over him. Barty still hasn’t taken a breath. The room’s temperature goes back to normal and Barty still hasn’t taken a breath. He never will again.

What’s that now? Regulus thinks. Seven out of ten dead.

Harry, solidly a teenager now, in a dark room with five other children his age, clutching a glowing crystal ball. Regulus’s feet find solid ground again and the room swirls solidly into place. Regulus recognizes the red-haired boy and the bushy-haired girl from the train car. The red-haired girl from the chamber floor. An older version of the blonde girl who watched her mother die in front of her– Luna. And another boy that Regulus hasn’t seen before.

And then Lucius Malfoy, a proper grown-up now, is standing in front of Harry demanding he hand over the crystal before he kills all his friends. Okay so maybe, ‘proper’ was the wrong word. And suddenly there’s a death eater appearing out of black fog behind each of the children, wands to their throats. Harry’ eyes reveal his panic for his friends, but his demeanor remains unfazed. At some signal Regulus doesn’t see, all the kids start fighting, shooting off spells. And they’re joined by adults– thank God, they can’t be more than fifteen– including Remus and Sirius*.* They’re also officially grown now, maybe thirty years old. And then spells are flying and Sirius and Harry are side by side. They stay side by side right up until a blast of red light hits Sirius in the chest and he falls back into a filmy arch and disappears.

Harry screams. It’s the most bone-chilling sound Regulus has ever heard. And Harry is rushing after Sirius, nearly at the veil until he’s stopped by a pair of strong arms around him. Remus holds the boy against his chest, not unlike how he’s been holding Lily ever since they left her dead body behind. And Regulus can tell the only thing keeping Remus from following after Sirius is the boy in his arms.

Regulus falls to his knees. He wants to look away, he doesn’t want to keep watching. But he can’t look away and he does keep watching. There’s a hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t know whose, doesn’t really care. He keeps watching as the room falls apart around him.

They’re back to nebulous mist as the images keep coming in quick bursts. The Malfoy boy, a teenager now, crying in his bedroom. A dead bird in a cabinet. A necklace and a bottle of mead.

Harry and Dumbledore in the cave. The cave where Regulus died. His vision gets a little spotty. Fire, a lot of fire. And then they’re on top of the astronomy tower and Draco, with tears in his eyes, is pointing his wand at Dumbledore, Bellatrix egging him on from behind. “I have to kill you,” the younger Malfoy says, “Or he’s going to kill me.” With his arm extended, and his sleeve riding up, Regulus can see the Dark Mark branded into the boy’s skin.

Dumbledore doesn’t make a move to stop the Malfoy boy. And then Snape is there. Snape is there pointing his wand at the headmaster of Hogwarts, the so-called greatest wizard in the world, and then he’s whispering “Avada Kedavra” and Albus Dumbledore falls over the side of the tower. Regulus looks up to find Sirius’s star only to see a large Dark Mark floating over the school.

Then the flashes start coming even quicker. Harry in the sidecar of a motorcycle, flying through the clouds watching a stream of green light hit a snowy white owl that had been flying beside him before it plummets down to earth. A celebration of some sort, followed by the arrival of death eaters and a lot of screaming. Harry and his friends, the red-haired boy and the bushy-haired girl, sleeping on the floor of Grimmauld Place. Then setting up a tent in the woods. Harry diving into a frozen pond, pulled out by his friend, now holding a sword. The three teenagers riding through the countryside on top of a dragon. The two boys trapped in a basement while their friend screams in pain a floor above them. Peter, with a silver hand, staring at Harry. That silver hand wrapping around his throat, strangling himself to death.

Then Regulus is landing again, still on his knees with an unknown hand on his shoulder, as the Great Hall forms in front of him once again. But something is terribly wrong this time. Streams of light are flashing. People are screaming or running or frozen in shock. And Remus is dead on the floor, hand still curled around his wand. His second wand, at least.

Harry runs by in front of them, and the pensieve pulls them all along to follow. None of them are walking anymore. Maybe they’re all on the ground like Regulus, simply too exhausted to move. But apparently they never had to, the pensieve would’ve done the work for them all along. They follow Harry as he runs around the castle and the grounds, flinging spells as he goes. Helping those he can, running when he can’t. Regulus looks up, desperate to see Sirius. But he can’t see the stars, the smoke is too thick. And the castle is in shambles. And there are so many dead bodies littering the ground. Behind him, one of his classmates throws up. He doesn’t know who. Not that he blames them– it seems like an appropriate response to everything they’ve seen tonight.

And Harry is running and running until he stops in front of Severus Snape, who is lying in an expanding pool of blood. Blood coming from the giant gash in his throat. He doesn’t seem able to speak, although maybe Regulus is just in too much shock to make out the words. And then he’s handing Harry a vial and pointing his wand at his temple, pulling silvery strands from his mind and giving them to Harry. He takes a couple more breaths, Harry holding his hand, until his chest rises for the last time.

Harry must know what to do with the strands because he’s running again, through the wreckage and the carnage of what was once a school and is now a graveyard. He’s climbing the stairs to Dumbledore’s office, turning to one side and opening a cabinet to reveal a pensieve. He pours the memories in and sticks his whole face into the basin.

And then Regulus feels a vague sensation of tumbling, but also can tell that his knees don’t leave the ground. How strange. Dumbledore is standing behind his desk, Severus on the opposite side, and Harry watching, unseen, from behind Snape.

“And there’s something else,” Dumbledore says. “Something Harry will need to be told. That night, in Godric's Hollow, when Voldemort killed James and Lily, when he failed to kill Harry, I think he transferred some of his power to Harry. The spell rebounded, and the sliver of Voldemort’s soul that remained latched onto the only thing left in the room– Harry himself.”

“One cannot live while the other survives,” Harry says under his breath, from where he’s observing.

“So the boy must die?” Snape asks. Dumbledore doesn’t respond. Severus raises his voice. “You have kept him alive so he can die at the proper moment?! You have been raising him like a pig for slaughter!” Snape spits.

There’s the vague tugging sensation again and Harry’s back on the move, though more subdued this time. He makes his way down the stairs, towards the front doors of the castle. He passes the red-haired girl on his way, still a child, but no longer delicate the way she seemed on the chamber floor. From the look in her eye, Regulus can tell she’s a force to reckoned with. And with one look at Harry, she can tell exactly what he plans to do. She doesn’t like it, but she doesn’t try to talk him out of it either. She simply kisses him softly before she continues on her way up the stairs and he continues on his way down.

At the bottom, he meets up with the red-headed boy and the bushy haired girl. Both have tears in their eyes. “I’ll go with you,” the girl offers as she pulls him into a hug. He shakes his head, clapping his other friend on the shoulder before walking out the front doors and across the grounds, right into the Forbidden Forest.

As Harry walks, he squeezes a stone between his hands, and ghostly apparitions of four people now walk beside him.

James Potter and Lily Evans, frozen in time at 21. Only a few tiny years older than their orphaned son who is actively walking towards his own death. Remus is there too, looking younger than he had when he died, closer to his friends’ age. And then there’s Sirius, also a little younger, a little less war-torn than he had seemed when he fell into the Veil.

“Does it hurt?” Harry asks him. Death, Regulus thinks. His stomach churns. That child is asking if dying hurts.

Sirius simply shakes his head. “Quicker and easier than falling asleep,” he says softly.

Harry keeps walking. And then he’s standing in a clearing, surrounded by death eaters, facing Lord Voldemort. A shout, a burst of light, a boy falling to the ground, dead.

The world swirls again and Regulus doesn’t know what more there is to see. Everyone’s dead or dying. That’s it, that’s all there is to it. It seems so simple to say, but it’s devastating to witness.

They’re back in the Great Hall now. Voldemort is pointing his wand towards Regulus, just above his head. At the chest of some poor soul who is about to die. But Regulus doesn’t hear a body drop. And there’s a jet of light colliding with Voldemort’s. And Voldemort is losing. And then he’s dead. Just another body on the floor.

Regulus is ripped out of the memory, the vision, before he can turn around and see who had won. I guess it doesn’t really matter. We’re all still dead.

Regulus lands on his feet, technically, but he falls slowly to the floor as it’s clear his legs will not support him. They’re all so close together now, Regulus can’t tell which limbs are his and which are somebody else’s. He doesn’t care. He closes his eyes and tries his best to breathe.