Friday 7th July 1978
Sirius’ pov-
His lungs were collapsing, closing in. They were folding in on themselves, reducing space, claustrophobic, no space for the air to travel through.
Doubled over, his windpipe folded in half, no space for the air to flow through.
Lungs expanding, only to constrict again, the false hope of air that never delivers on its promise.
His vision wavering, black spots dancing across his line of sight, tempting the idea of passing out, offering a reprieve, a reprieve that will never come.
But still, from the outside his body is completely still.
The oxygen depletion is debilitating even as he feels a sharp pain pushing at his head, a needle of precision trying to pry the mind open, he lifts his hands up to his neck, wrapping them around his throat, closing the access to air further, and the pain increases, eyes rolling in his head, there is no longer a needle in his mind, there are stabbing pains everywhere, from his throat up to his scalp, stabbing into his eyes and skull, merciless.
All thoughts fade out of the mind slowly, the last lingering pieces of conscious thought that had held on thus far, grasping onto the corners of his mind, now slowly fading out too.
And just as gradual as his thoughts leave him does the feeling of the needle come back, a pinnacle of pain, a focal point among all the dull aching currently covering his body, and he feels it searing its way through.
The needles dipped through hot lava before being pushed into his skull, pushing around the brain, digging for memories, coming up empty over and over again as the air surrounding his body, the air that stopped going in his lungs, the wind whistling around his body, a tempting fruit he cannot reach, is suddenly sucked away, leaving nothing, he feels the needle dropping to the floor, hitting his knee as it goes down.
Anything trying to reach his mind being deprived of oxygen too, collapsing in on themselves, itself, whatever it is.
But every reach, every needle, every attempt, every slither of oxygen that leaves his body, he stays suffering, enduring the pain over and over, an endless cycle of life, never managing to pass out, to get out of this cruel trick his mind is playing on his body, there is no reprieve.
No passing out, just pushing through over and over.
Eyes snap open, “Why do you keep pushing?” he snaps out, a bite to his tone rising tenfold as he feels the oxygen rush into his lungs, the needle leave his brain.
He realises the oxygen was always there, a mere trick he placed on his own mind that feels awful in retrospect, but he can’t regret it, it works.
“Because you need to learn!” Regulus snaps back, his eyes blazing, face impassive.
“I have learned, I have spent my whole life learning how to keep people out.”
“Not well enough!”
“I kept you out didn’t I?” Sirius fights quickly, the injustice of it all pissing him off.
“Barely.” His brother scoffs, rolling his eyes and looking to the side before his eyes snap back to his face.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, wavering but the anger still there, all the legilimency exhausting, weighing on his mind, almost as if the oxygen had actually been leaving his body, not just his thoughts.
“You felt me prodding, no?” he stares into his brothers eyes, nodding slightly in recognition before Regulus continues, “a precise needle, it’s something that could be disguised as simple pain, not someone prodding.”
“Yes, but I knew it was you, I know how people feel when they’re getting into my mind, I know it’s different per person, I fucking knew the needle was you!” he bursts out, “I know what I’m doing Regulus!”
“No you don’t! People don’t usually feel me going into their mind, that was me using little strength to get in. And if you spent even a second, a second viewing the needle as just pain, then that is a second to slip past your mental defences, all they need is a second, a second and then they are in your head-“
“What?” Sirius scoffs back, “are you saying you’re going easy on me?” he steps forward, moving into his brothers space, “as if you’re that good, prove it.”
“I can’t.” His brother bites back, looking to the side, avoiding Sirius’ eyes.
“Yeah, figures.” He finds himself scoffing, annoyed once again, as if the irritation had never left him.
“No,” and Regulus blazes, fury radiating off of him, “I can, but I can’t.”
“What?”
“I’m weak.”
“Reg-“ he furrows his brows, confusion slowly moving their way across them.
“It’s a bit hard to reach your usual stance of legilimency when you are fighting to keep up your own occlumency.”
A cold chill washed over Sirius’ body, regret stammering in his heart, pity pooling on his features, “Did mother look in your head?” he whispers out, ignoring the feeling of James’ eyes now pouring into his own head from the side.
Regulus eyes remain on him, impassive, bored, so that’s not-
“Did she crucio you?” he feels his voice getting smaller, almost completely gone, but Regulus hears it, he can tell by the way his little brother, his baby brothers eyes dart off to the side, rolling dramatically, boring into his skull.
So she did.
“Reg-“ his voice breaks.
“It’s not important.”
“It is.” He yells, Regulus flinches an inch, a millimetre, and Sirius fades back in on himself.
He doesn’t react, his baby brother has not reacted to things in such a long time, which means the crucio was recent, it means is brother is still fighting to regain control of his own body, the instincts his parents fought so hard to drill out of them.
It means Regulus did give a weak attack on his mind, and he could still feel him lodged on the outskirts of his own consciousness, waiting, looking for a way in.
And he did that as a weak attempt.
“You’re right,” he watches as his brothers shoulders deflate slightly in relief, “I’ll keep going.”
“Good.” His little brothers monotone voice breaks through, face impassive once more, and Sirius cant tell if that’s a relief or not, but he doesn’t comment as Regulus turns back to James and says just one word, before James’ eyes snap shut and he is falling to the floor.
“Again.”
“Can’t-“ James’ voice manages to rasp from where he is laid on the floor, hunched in on himself.
He is shaking all over, his body a trembling mess as Regulus stares him down, roaming through his mind like an open catalogue most likely.
“Stop it.” Sirius snaps out, but he doesn’t move forward to grab Regulus or pull him out of James’ mind, if he does it could be too rough, it could tear.
“No.” Regulus responds, “This is necessary.” There is no strain to his voice, no trouble, no nothing, as if he isn’t looking through another person’s mind with such ease. .
James mind must be a street full of memories, signposted clearly with what you’re looking for if Regulus is communicating this easily whilst looking through it.
It’s not good, if they are going up against Voldemort in a secret keeping competition and James’ mind is this easy to read- fuck! Sirius knows he is too easy to read, that boy is an open book even without having access to his mind, to Sirius he essentially shares a brain. Occlumency, well how was James ever going to master that?
As his thoughts start to spiral, mixing around and around James lets out a groan, his whole body convulsing and Sirius quickly grabs Regulus’ chin and snaps his head to the side, breaking the spell linking him to the other boy.
Regulus doesn’t protest, just rolls his eyes stalking off.
“What, leaving now that you didn’t get your way?” he scoffs, watching as his brother bends down to rummage through his bag, but instead of shouldering it, he grabs something and walks back over to James, side eyeing Sirius the whole time, before bending slightly to place the bottle into a flinching James’ hands.
“Lets go again.”
“What? No-“ Sirius goes to protest, astounded that his brother could show such care one minute and ignorance the next, he looks down at James’ form on the floor, guzzling water down so fast it’ll make him sick, even as his body continues to shudder every few seconds, the lingering after effect of the spell.
“Not him, idiot.” Regulus turns to face Sirius, ready to go another round, seemingly taking them in turns.
“Don’t you need a break?” comes James’ scratchy voice from where he has slowly pushed himself up from the floor.
“I’m fine James.”
“I meant Reg.”
And Regulus must pity the poor boys shaking form because he doesn’t call him out for the nickname, “I’m fine.”
“No offence, but that phrase means very little when coming from a member of the Black family.”
“None taken, but I am fine, and my wellbeing has nothing to do with you.” he turns back to face Sirius, “Again.”
“Fine.” And he lets the similar feeling of suffocation take over him as he feels his brother start to pry his way into his mind, and before the oxygen depletion takes over, stealing all his focus away, splitting him from his memories, he notes that the legilimency Regulus is placing on him is certainly weak for the strength Sirius is used to seeing in his brother.
When Regulus finally pulls out of his mind once more, he heaves in another breath, once again trying to remind himself of the contrast between his head and reality, remind himself he is not suffocating.
“Again?” he asks weakly, panting as he looks up to see his brother, Regulus standing before him, slightly unsteady on his feet before he pulls himself together.
“No.” he states bluntly before turning back to James.
“No? No?” he tries again, confusion gripping his mind, “James is a mess, he needs a break.”
“You’re a mess too.”
“I can handle it.”
“You can, but you don’t need to be completely weak when we go to the meeting later, you need some strength left over to keep him out.” Regulus protests, not even saying Voldemort’s name, as if that will help, as if that will stop this whole nightmare from being true.
“And what about James? He barely has any strength to stand.” Sirius spits, coming to his friends defence, his brothers? It’s all confusing really.
“James doesn’t have a defence, it doesn’t matter if he has the strength to maintain one if he cant even figure out how to make one.” Regulus states bluntly, as if this is all boring to him and not deeply worrying.
“He needs a break.”
“No Sirius,” he steps forward once more, moving into Sirius’ space, “what he needs is to either figure this out, or I am obliviating him and he is out of this mission.”
“No-“ and it’s James’ voice this time, cutting in slightly stronger than Sirius thought he would’ve been able to, as if the possibility of being kicked out of this plan gave him some strength back, “no you are not doing this by yourself.”
“I could-“
“No you couldn’t.” James bites back, his usual composure lessened slightly, as if Regulus is breaking it down, emotions other than happiness breaking though his mask in a way Sirius isn’t used to seeing.
“I told you I had it handled-“ his little brother spits out, glaring at the other boy.
“And I told you to stop bullshitting me, it puts us all at risk.”
“Fine.” His brother snaps, conceding, and it shocks Sirius for a moment, the quick defeat, the lack of a proper argument, “So what do you want me to do?”
“Tell me how to properly ward my mind.”
“I told you-“
“No, you told me what you were happy to tell me, tell me the rest, you’re smart Regulus, I know you know how I need to do it.” James argues, his own eyes strong, determined, not backing down.
A much stronger James than Sirius is used to.
He watches as Regulus eyes him up for a moment, considering, contemplating, “Fine.”
“I told you, it needs to be specialised to you.”
“It is.”
“No Potter, it’s not.”
“Call me James.”
“Not part of the deal.”
They face off for a minute, contemplating each other before they both seem to agree at the same time, continuing their conversation, analysis of James’ mind, Sirius ignored- casted off to the side.
“You’re using safes, how is that specialised to you.” Regulus argues.
“It’s muggle,” James immediately protests, weirdly stubborn, “Why would the Dark Lord think of that?”
“He wouldn’t, however he probably would find it weird that someone trying to kill off muggles is using muggle inventions to seal their mind, and-” he rolls his eyes, scoffing, “how is a safe specialised to you.”
“Well what do you do?” James asks.
“I drown.”
“What?”
“Sirius suffocates, I drown, I hide memories in boxes, let them loose at sea and then I drown.”
“How is that specialised to you?”
“When we got crucioed as children,” Regulus starts, ignoring James’ flinch at the admission, “My fear was drowning, so it was always somehow mimicked into the spell, it was the worst pain imaginable whilst drowning, I can make my mind feel real, I know what it’s like to drown so I can let it consume me, makes the other memories harder to get to.”
“So if I hide it in broom lockers and chasing snitches-“ James starts, not questioning what Regulus just said, seemingly knowing the other boy wouldn’t want him to.
“No, that’s not you.” Regulus rolls his eyes, his façade cracking slightly as his frustration seeps through.
“Yes-“
“No, you are open, and embarrassing, and you wear you’re heart on your sleeve. Everyone knows what you’re thinking because you have nothing to hide, or you don’t care to hide. You make a fool of yourself daily for other people’s entertainment, so why hide the smaller less embarrassing things? You grew up loved and cherished, so why hide your family? You have good friends, so why keep them a secret. You love everything, so why act like you hate it, you need to be open.” Regulus rants off, exasperated as he lists observation after observation of James that Sirius didn’t know he had been making. Listing off these qualities, the truth falling seamlessly from his tongue as if he just knows who James is just like he knows nature, like he knows magic.
“So what do I do?” James asks, confused, clearly missing how much Regulus just revealed about himself in revealing James.
“You stay open. You think about your embarrassing moments, and how you put them on display, you think about your worst memories, how you would tell Sirius them anyway, you think about the truth and how it is the secret to life, and you focus so much on these things. Focus on thinking every single little thought that most people would choose to hide, you focus on the absolute worst thing you ever did, and then no one will look further, no one will investigate that little quidditch game you did in 3rd year when you played me for the first time and you lost. No one will see the snitch fluttering in my hand all the way down from where I’m stood on the pitch, and no one will know how you have hidden the memories of our mission in the snitch I’m holding because they have flesh memory, no one will know because you weren’t ever looking at me in the original memory, and you can hide it all, hidden in plain sight in a memory that you never had a need to cling to in the first place.” Regulus finished, tired, defeated.
“What if I was looking?” James asks, his expression weirdly unreadable.
“What?”
“The first game we played together, what if I was looking? In the original memory?”
“Then make them think you were looking at me,” Regulus starts, before turning around and moving further away from James, bracing himself to cast the spell again, “you’re best friends little brother.”
James’ Pov-
Having someone inside your mind is an awful feeling. It’s like a parasite, making your body fight itself, trying to get out this foreign being, this threat.
Realistically, he knows Regulus is doing this to help him. Knows Regulus is actually going a lot easier on him than Sirius thinks he is, even without the Cruciatus curse weakening him.
But it hurts him anyway, because James is weak.
For the first time in his life he feels truly weak, vulnerable. And he hates it.
Not just for himself, but for these two boys in front of him. These two boys taking and giving away parts of their mind as if it’s nothing, as if they’ve done it all before.
Gone through much worse probably, the caster not holding back. Using even their well skilled occlumency minds as a playfield.
And if they can do it, so can he. In a safe place, where no one is actually trying to hurt him (as much as Regulus pretends he is).
Because, as much as Sirius hates to admit it, as much as he protests it. Regulus is right, and they all know it. If he cant keep his mind shut out, he can’t do this mission.
Can’t put them at risk, not his best friend, the other half of his soul, his brother.
Not the boy who is finally trying to get out of that house- even by staying in it,
He isn’t going to mess up his chance to be good for him. Not when he has seen this boy laugh, seen him scowl to hide his happiness.
Not when he spent years trying to break his façade in the back of an ancient ruins classroom, trying to prove he is trustworthy,
Not when he has nearly risked him once less than a month ago.
The night before he saved him. Risked him, saved him, he doesn’t want it to become a pattern.
So, he goes again, and again, and again. They’ve been running this drill for a week, trying to get James some semblance of mental control.
So far they have made no progress. So as doubtful as he is about Regulus’ new theory, he is running with it.
He is making his mind, open, welcoming to his entire life. And he is hiding his memory of this entire problem, entire mission, in Regulus’ eyes. Eyes are a window to the soul, no one will look for James’ soul in Regulus’ eyes. And Regulus will be too busy looking at the snitch to notice it there.
He feels Regulus pulling through his mind like it’s a clothes rack. It’s like a big open field, a quidditch pitch with tens of overlapping memories, translucent like ghosts playing over and over again on a loop.
His entire conscious life in front of his eyes, everything faded, everything slightly blurry, except for a small boy with dark curls holding a fluttering snitch in his hand, staring down at it the same way he did a mere half a month ago.
But this boy is younger, the crowd around him isn’t there, gone to younger James and Regulus’ minds, and so to their memories too.
James feels his mind focus in on the boy, ready to go in for the kill, in for the information.
He feels Regulus direct his memories towards his own face. The younger version of him going from the only opaque memory in his field of vision to startling clarity.
As if it wasn’t 4 years ago, but last night, right now.
He felt Regulus pulling at the snitch, tearing it, felt the needles in his mind, and finally, he felt the precise cutting stop, when suddenly Regulus pulled out of his mind, James rocking forward slightly from the force of the extraction.
He felt two arms wrapping around him, stabilising him.
Sirius.
He pulled his mind back into focus with the room around him.
“Gentle Reggie!” Sirius hissed at his younger brother, scolding.
But he doesn’t process the voice.
Because Regulus is staring at him, and he is staring back.
The other boys mask broken, shock and disappointment? Littering his features.
“He did it.” The other boy responds, whispering. Not taking his eyes off of James’ face.
“What?” Sirius asks, surprise and joy tinging his voice, but Regulus doesn’t look to him, he keeps staring at James, until his mask falls back on his face.
No don’t go, he thinks.
“How do I make it better?” he asks.
Because that is what he is here for, not to crack Regulus, but to help him.
Breaking his shell can come later.
Regulus blinks at him for a second, a break in his mask even as his face remains impassive.
“You need to make it believable, I know you’re open, your friends do, the school does. The death eaters don’t.”
“OK…” James trails off, unsure where this is going waiting for Regulus to finish his train of thought.
“You need to push forward memories of your brutal honesty, brutal openness, show your worst moments, show how you make them public, shame, but not regret. Make it so they don’t question your mind being so open, that they don’t feel a need to dig deeper.”
“That’s all it’ll take?” James blinks back, disbelieving.
“For some people, yes. For Voldemort, no. He will dig deeper, but this is a start.”
“Ok.”
“Now the biggest problem is your focus on me.”
“You told me to-“
“I told you to use me to hide your secrets, not shine a beacon to me in your memories.”
“I didn’t shine a-“
“You all but did, I could tell it was your main focus. And even if I couldn’t, a quidditch pitch?” Regulus asks, scoffing, “Really?”
“What?” Sirius’ voice questions.
“His memories are all laid out on a quidditch pitch.”
“That’s practically asking Voldemort to look at your quidditch memories.” Sirius complains.
“Yes Potter,”
“James.”
Regulus rolls his eyes briefly, considering before complying, “James-“
James feels his face lighting up, before watching Regulus’ own twist into a scowl and he forces his expression back under his control- well as best as he can, he doesn’t want to push it.
“James,” Regulus tries again, a stern tone to his voice, “if you want to be a sentimental sap,” a smile slips on his face involuntarily at the insult, “Make it the whole of the Hogwarts grounds not just the bloody quidditch pitch.”
“Alright, alright,” James concedes, holding up his hands in mock surrender, “and what about the focus on you?”
Regulus pauses before a grim smile twists his face, “Lie, make it look like a schoolboy crush, infatuation.”
“What-“ James chokes out, the suggestion shocking him, had he been too obvious? Is that why Regulus is suggesting it? He can’t know, can he?
But before he can spiral any further Sirius’ voice joins the mix.
“It’s brilliant actually,” Sirius interjects, and James whips his head around to stare at him, mouth open in betrayal, “It explains why you’re joining the death eaters, me and Regulus. Love and love.” He wiggles his shoulders suggestively at the second love, before grimacing and going back to his train of thought, “Your mind is open, showing you as a loveable puppy, that covers him thinking your hiding things, and you liking Regulus explains why a loveable puppy, would be willing to kill.”
“I have to act like I like him-“ James chokes out, sure his face is flushing red.
“You’re a loving person James, you love everyone, just try focus on it a bit more when thinking of me. You may be a shit liar, but you are the best person for this.” Regulus adds.
And how easy it would be for him to do, fill his mind with care and love and lust for Regulus Black, but that’s precisely the problem, how easy it would be.
“Don’t look so pained,” Regulus cuts in, making James realise he has been silent much too long, “I know I’m unlovable-“
“You’re not” Sirius and James cut in at exactly the same time.
“You’re not-“ James repeats, “I do love you-“
“You love everyone-“
“I love you, we were friends
“Well-“
“We were friends,” James says, firmer this time, “I just, you want me to lie to this level?” he asks again, knowing just how easy it would be.
“Well the meetings in and hour, so, obliviation or this, yeah,” Regulus looks off to the side, “they’re your options.”
"Fine." James concedes, if it's being faced with his feelings or leaving Regulus and Sirius to do this all alone, he knows the easier option.
The easier option being peace of mind, keeping a lookout for his friends.
That will always be James Potters easier option.
So he clambers to his feet, from where he's sunk into the couch after Sirius let him go, looks Regulus in the eye, and chooses him, chooses both of them, chooses to help.
"Go again."
"Ja-" Sirius starts, before being cut off again. James cutting in his voice stern.
"Again."
After another half hour of Regulus pushing in and out of his mind, they finally take a break, sitting around, supplying James with water and snacks to replenish his health before they need to head to their first death eater meeting.
They all group together after getting dressed, Regulus' eyes raking over his body, assessing, looking for any creases or blemishes in his robes, anything to call him out for and fix last minute.
"Let's go." Regulus says when he seemingly finds no glaring faults on their outfits, his voice blunt, emotionless. His mask falling back into place, and for the first time, James was somewhat grateful for it.
He followed the other boy out of their house (the one they now share with Barty too, because apparently he needed somewhere to go and chose to mooch off of them), walking until they could finally feel the rush of magic cross over them, the feeling of leaving the wards, the apparation block gone.
"Blank face, posture perfect, no talking unless spoken to, no offering yourself up for missions, stand up when he enters the room, no eye contact, no avoiding eye contact."
"How the fuck am I meant to do that?" James protests, unwelcome stress he had been shoving down starting to eat at him.
"Relax," James freezes, "you’re working yourself up, you’re an idiot, not dumb. You can handle this, trust yourself, trust what I've told you."
"I do." James forces out, almost choking on the words, so focused on the fact that Regulus is somehow reading him, his distress, in ways even his friends can't.
Yes he showed concern over this plan, but he did it composed, he did is as a question, a concern, a mere theory to cover.
And Regulus saw him for what he was, a bundle of unprepared nerves.
He does trust him though, and he lets that fact consume him, filters the thought into the non-act/act of loving Regulus that he has been told to fill his mind with and moves on.
"Don't look for his eyes, but if he seeks your eyes out, don't avoid him either, look where his nose is."
"The nose he doesn't have?" Sirius laughs out, his regular banter easing James a bit more due to the pure normalcy of it.
Regulus only pauses, as if he has something to say on the tip of his tongue before he thinks better of it and simply nods, holding out both arms for them to grab onto, waiting to leave, waiting to aparate, and Regulus turns to Sirius.
“Face. " is all he says before they are whipping of into the night, James only having a second to see his best friends face fall into one of blankness, the perfect Black facade.
The two brothers, side by side, so chilling.
When they land again, all handling the fall out of the apparation with ease as purebloods who have known this way of travel their whole lives, James finally looks up, taking in the looming walls of Malfoy Manor, the one he has heard of so many times before.
The doors open down the long pathway outside the house, waiting for people to enter, two death eaters- likely foot soldiers, waiting to let people in.
Without another word, Regulus drops both their arms, and starts walking up the pathway, leading the way, both James and Sirius trailing slightly behind, either side of him. Like bodyguards.
To be fair, that’s kind of what they were here for.
"Mr Black." one of the masked men at the door greets as they both incline their head slightly, "New recruits?" he asks slowly, his gaze flickering over James and Sirius, and James feels his body tense up.
As if merely looking at him will make his mind be put out on display.
And for the first time in his life, he doesn't want it to be on display.
It can't be.
So he tries to mask his face, neutral, thinks of how serious this all is and lets the determination to not fuck up take over.
Because not fucking is a neutral thought, the thought can't be observed and have him exposed, he could simply not want to mess up, simply be desperate to make Voldemort happy.
Determination is a neutral, honest thought he can use.
Just like Regulus taught him.
He stares back at one of the two death eaters, their eyes frozen in place through the mask, assessing.
"Are you letting us in?" Regulus asks, voice bored, and the guard that was staring at James quickly looks away, nodding again in reply to Regulus' mere existence it seems.
Heir of Black can have one perk it seems.
"Of course."
And they part, allowing Regulus and even Sirius through, only the guard in front of James staying in place, forcing him to walk around them instead of moving to give James the same grace and respect.
When they get past, they step into the hallway, long and sleek, so devoid of personal touches.
It looks freshly renovated, filled to the brim with pieces of high quality history and culture, paintings and pieces of value framing the never-ending hall, all painted in the same sleek white.
He pauses for a moment, his steps stilling, and Sirius pauses with him, before Regulus taps them both on the arm, urging them forward and into motion.
"Fill your mind." he whispers into James' head, shocking him slightly, not having even realised that Regulus had entered his mind once more to keep an eye on him.
But it feels different this time, less invasive, like he is on the cusp of consciousness, refusing to look, but close enough to talk.
James doesn't respond, acknowledge, simply starts walking again until he has fallen in step with Regulus instead of behind him.
Regulus’ Pov-
Everything is just nerve racking.
Regulus has never been so glad to have mastered a mask so many years ago, what felt like in infancy but was probably perfected around age 12.
It makes sitting at this table now so much easier. He has Sirius to his left and James on Sirius’ other side and he can feel the nerves radiating off of the two of them.
Sirius may have a perfect blank mask for his face, but he is his brother, if Regulus can see through anyone it’s him.
His brother has always has a certain level of anxious energy around him, so Regulus has gotten used to noticing it under layers of masked emotions, and pureblood etiquette.
James however, isn’t quite as good at keeping his face closed off, instead of displaying a mask of indifference he has more determined expressions crossing his face, his lips pulling tight and his eyes roaming steadily around the table around him, more similar to Barty than anyone else at this table.
Regulus knows what he’s doing, cataloguing for risk. He just hopes everyone else sees it as a new determined death eater.
He thinks that’s James’ plan anyway, despite what he says he knows the other boy isn’t thick, he could easily be the smartest in their years at Hogwarts, if he had tried that is-rather than spending his time gallivanting around with his brother.
He hopes all the smarts the two boys have hidden away all these years will come out tonight, if they don’t, they’re fucked.
Without moving his eyes too much, trying to stick to peripheral vision instead of moving his head, he clocks the rest of the table.
Evan is directly across from him, being a new recruit means they are only half way up the table- Regulus knows after only a few missions the title of Black and potentially the title of Rosier could move them further up the table- but for now, they’re sandwiched in the middle, sitting next to the other new recruits, sat next to the specific recruits that have apparently already been deemed ‘their problem’.
Evan was Bartys in, and Sirius and James- although had their own stupid declaration in the hall- are still technically classed as Regulus’ problem, his responsibility.
He can be deemed the reason they’re here, and once Voldemort looks into his mind- if James is successful- it will be even clearer that James and Sirius are his responsibility.
It makes his gut twist, not only did he not want these people here in the first place, not want Sirius, his friends, at risk.
But now, not only are they risking themselves, they are risking him, and usually he wouldn’t care that much, but Pandora is in a safe house somewhere waiting for him to end this war.
So he cant mess this up, they can’t mess up.
It’s one of the many reasons he drilled James so relentlessly. A big reason why he told the other boy to use him in his mind to hide his real intentions.
And now it gets tested, to see if it all gets fucked up.
See if they will actually be able to achieve something in this war, or if they will be stopped at the 3rd hurdle.
Finally, after what feels like forever of waiting for James to itch himself out of his skin in nerves, Voldemort turns up.
All of a sudden there is the push of people standing up, no sliding of chairs as everyone sat down exactly the right amount away from the table that they could sit and stand without making ‘unsatisfactory sound’, even James gets this right, Regulus having popped another message of warning into his mind just before he sat down.
Regulus moves his eyes to the opposite side of the table, eyes conveniently back on Evan, no one looking directly at Voldemort, they all stand to attention instead as if they are soldiers to war, which, they are, that thought just further twisting the nerves in Regulus’ gut, the vines wrapped around his throat since he realised James and Sirius would be joining him in this war.
The fear of wrong, wrong, wrong. Everything is wrong, going to go wrong, they are in the wrong place. Wrong, wrong, wrong.
“Welcome, my loyal followers, how nice it is to see you all once more, so determined to do well by our world. I could not be happier with the selection of people in this room.” Comes Voldemort’s airy drawl, easily cutting into his thoughts, the voice clearly one of charisma, the one that grants him such an easy ability of collecting followers, of making them numbly loyal and blind to the punishments that will come with every minor mistake made.
He watches as, in unison, the entire table nods, and finds himself trying to keep his eyes forward but unwillingly looking to James in the corner of his eye to make sure he is following along correctly too.
He may be a pureblood, but he is a very different one to the ones at this table, Regulus can’t even be sure he learnt a singular one of the actual traditions. And that thought alone is terrifying.
“We, of course, have some new recruits today. Heir Black, Heir Rosier, Mulciber, Snape and Avery of course.” He nods to each of them, a slither of respect he feels the others eat up, the rest of the table, jealous, craving it. “Then we have Mr Barty Crouch-“
“Junior.” He hears his best friend reply instinctively, and he can only find reprieve in the fact that there was no bite in his tone this time, that fact might just let him live.
“Excuse me?” Voldemort inquires, his voice curious, satisfied almost, but not cruel.
Yet.
“I am not my father,” Barty emphasises, “He is weak, I am not weak,” and then- with an intense look Regulus quickly directs at him, he tacks on a My Lord.” At the end.
And Regulus lets out a breath, a moment of reprieve before he starts holding it to the point of passing out again.
“I see,” Voldemort hisses out, from where he is sat on his chair, Nagini curling up and around it, her scales somehow managing to glint in the low lighting, “my apologies, of course you would not want to be linked to that man.”
Barty bows his head, another sign of submission and respect, and Regulus tries not to choke on air.
He knows Voldemort is good at getting followers, there would have to be something appealing about him for that. but still, hearing the Dark Lord apologise?
Bone chilling.
“And two more, unexpected potential recruits,” he continues, head turning to the side, the slightest sneer making its way into his voice on the word potential, making Regulus pause the breathing he had only just managed to begin again.
He can’t already see through them.
Surely?
Not that quick.
He senses the tiniest bit of movement to his left, James tensing and Sirius resisting, reaching into his Black family upbringings, to freeze himself impossibly still so that he won’t reach out to James.
He breathes out a steady, undetectable breath, and pushes his way back into James’ mind.
"Breathe," he whispers, “he isn’t suspicious yet, this is his natural state.”
“But what-“ and he hears James talk back, unlike earlier when he had kept silent, almost in shock from Regulus’ entry into his mind.
“No, it’s fine, act normal, calm, your mind open. The snitch.” He reminds him of the last bit, as after a bit of discussion they decided it was safer to put his memories in the snitch rather than Regulus’ eyes, especially if he is trying to convince Voldemort he likes Regulus, and Voldemort himself is obsessed with souls, it could be the first place he looks.
“Stay.” James whispers, and it’s the quietest Regulus has ever heard him, even from just within his mind it’s shocking.
“What?” Regulus finds himself snapping back, before softening slightly, he can’t scare James, not here, not now, he needs him calm, “What?” he tries again, kinder, gentle almost.
“Stay, please.” And Regulus hears it for what it is, desperation, a request for chatter and something other than this table to fill his head.
James Potter being so nervous he is actively choosing to be vulnerable.
He wants Regulus to stay in his mind, he wants company.
“Until he joins.” Regulus replies, not wiling to hide in the- very open- depths of James’ mind when Voldemort inevitably joins them.
“Thank you.” James responds, and Regulus goes quiet, pushing gently into James’ mind, a lingering presences, the legilimency/occlumency equivalent of holding someone’s hand.
And he brings the rest of his consciousness in focus, back to the meeting, the situation at hand.
“There will be a raid next week, in a muggle town off the coast of Cornwall.” Voldemort is beginning when Regulus focuses in
“Bella,” Regulus watches as he turns his head to face his cousin, his side profile making his lack of a proper nose blatantly obvious, the fact that no one has (seemingly) put two and two together and figured out something is now unnatural about the supposed man before them- the lack of a nose, the pale almost translucent skin- is both unbelievable and concerning, it’s also why he didn’t point out to the two idiots to his left why his nose is missing.
He is worried their immature brains would focus in on his lack of a nose the second they saw him, and then when he finally looked into their minds he would immediately be alerted to their knowledge of his horcruxes.
And Regulus doesn’t want to risk it.
“You will lead the raid,” he continues, looking around the table, as if assessing who to send her with. He watches as the other death eaters perk up, sitting impossibly straighter, begging to be picked. And Regulus almost wants to scoff, they think this man hasn’t perfectly planned out everything already? That he doesn’t know exactly what he is doing.
“Take with you, Rabastan, Rodolphus, Mulciber, Evan, Avery, Snape, Barty,” he turns to look at James and Sirius then, his eyes piercing, staring through them, and Regulus pushes harder on James’ mind, getting ready to pull out the second Voldemort goes in, but he doesn’t do anything, “Sirius and James.”
And Regulus freezes, that’s a classic recruit tester raid, and he isn’t going? He is the only new recruit that hasn’t been asked to go with.
He feels himself loosening his grip on James’ mind ever so slightly before speaking up, “My Lord?” he starts, waiting for Voldemort to look his way, inclining his head slightly, giving permission for him to continue, “May I join the mission,” he tries, “I am eager to prove myself.”
He feels James emotions tense, and slip into worry through where they are connected, worry for him?
“I appreciate your eagerness Regulus, however, you do not need to worry, as I have a task for you too.” Is the response, the mans eyes glinting with… humour? Curiosity for what’s at play, the deeper plan, burns through him.
“My Lord?” Regulus tries again.
“Potions Regulus,” he feels Snape still from across the table, they were always head to head in potions, a constant competition, he could’ve chosen either of them for this, Regulus knows it’ss all planned, and that just makes the gnawing feeling worse, “I heard you are the best in your year?” he asks, offering, waiting to see what Regulus responds, chooses to go with.
“Joint first, yes my Lord.” Regulus responds, feeling his stomach twist when he notices the knowing glint in the other man’s eyes, it’s a silent competition, questioning each other.
Why do you want me not him?
“Perfect, then I’m sure you will be glad to help in any way you can. Give Mr Snape a chance to prove himself.” He offers once more, daring Regulus to fight back, but he concedes.
The war is far from over, he can’t fight, not quite yet.
“Of course My Lord.” He concedes, inclining his head again, a routine he is so numb to by now, it’s practically second nature.
The rest of the meeting passes by in a flash, Regulus not having to leave James’ mind once.
When finally it is time for the raid people to leave, Regulus sends a nod across the room at Barty and Evan, a mental nudge to James, and then lets the corner of his lips pull up the slightest amount for Sirius, before quickly withdrawing from the room and James’ mind, trying to ignore the way Bella was looking at the new recruits hungrily, like they were play things she could throw around as cannon fodder and scare into submission.
There is a hierarchy in the death eaters, and Bellatrix stands very firmly at the Dark Lords right hand side, not willing to risk her place for anything.
He wishes he could depend on her, at least see her as the kind of ally he used to, but that all went away years ago, when his parents went one punishment too far.
Cissa and him were always the quiet ones, submissive, they kept their heads down. Fell in line, it was a method of survival. But Bella and Sirius, they were loud, vivacious, they knew how to bring all the attention in the room to them, in a way only perfect pureblood heirs could manage.
They had spirit, to them surviving was not about making it out alive, but actually living, enjoying experiences, not walking on eggshells, and that belief was made so clear simply by the way they acted.
And because Bella always tended to buy into the lies fed by most of pureblood society, more than Sirius did, more than even Regulus did. Her rebelling, was more due to the fact she was a girl, loosing out on inheritance, everything, simply because of her gender, so she followed the rules, the traditions, the ideas and ideals, but she did it loudly and proudly, in a way that was frowned on for who she was, it was her own mini form of rebellion.
One that used to make Regulus think, one day she would see the light. Sirius lost hope for her years ago, when Bella broke. But Regulus didn’t for a long time after, sometimes he cant help but think there’s still that stubborn bit of hope lingering around in his mind. Waiting for her to come back to him. because surely, if she can see the mistreatment of women, she can apply the same thoughts to the muggles, the house elves?
Because he could see her in the quiet, see her in the rare yet far too frequent moments when she mirrored him and Cissa, where she too broke.
Only ever for a second, a minute or two. When one of her sisters, or when he or Sirius was getting hurt, being adequately punished’, did she shut up, go silent, still, fade into the background. Bring to the forefront of Regulus’ mind her striking resemblance to Narcissa.
Because she knew, she knew talking up would make it worse. A thing Sirius never seemed to understand. Where he would step in front of spells for others, for Regulus, Bella never did.
She shut down, she would back off. And Sirius could never comprehend why, to him- as far as Regulus could tell- he used to see kinship in Bella, even if she believed in ideals he didn’t, she was a similar spirit, a twin in rebellion. A person in this family he could look up to, one he didn’t need to protect, because she was older, she was like him.
Except not enough, never enough. Nothing would ever be enough for Sirius.
So when she finally broke, one spell on her sisters too many, when she started manically laughing at others pain instead of folding in on herself at the mere sight of it, Sirius finally gave up on her.
Like he had been waiting for a reason to for years. And she presented the perfect one.
Regulus though, he couldn’t betray her like that. Lose faith in her so easily. He has never stood up to anything, not once, nor has he protected people, so how could he begrudge someone who achieved what he couldn’t for so long that it broke her.
It was an adequate way, if any, to give into the legacy of the Black Family madness.
Regulus doesn’t think it’s quite real per say, more an excuse the family can use to excuse their own behaviour, and other disinherited members.
A legend that can be told around campfire when warning others of the children of Black.
But he thinks Bella deserves that explanation for now, though he’s not sure how far into his war that excuse can last.
But he isn’t one to take it away from her, after all he has done nothing to give him the right to pass judgement on others.
That’s what he’s trying to fix.
So, he lets Voldemort play out his plan, his own working in the background, and goes home to brew potions, not staying to watch the send off of his friends and family into war.
They’ll be home soon enough, and if they’re not, he’ll start another one.
Another war, another fight.
But for now, he has a game to play and a horcrux to send.