Chapter 1
It has been over a year since Sirius Black first appeared in the Potter Family’ Floo. He was bloody and bruised. There was a small note crumbled in Sirius' weak palm. “Help him. - R.A.B.” Euphemia and Fleamont Potter didn’t hesitate. It didn’t matter that the young boy was a Black. They’re parental instincts took over. Euphemia used supply from work to heal Sirius and Fleamont assisted her. Gully, the Potters’ House Elf, fetched medicine and prepared tea.
Within 24 hours it could be confidently said Sirius Black would make a full recovery. Physically. Mentally, no one knew for sure. The next day, Sirius detailed his parents torture by using the Cruiatus Curse on him repeatedly when he refused to take the Dark Mark. Euphemia had to leave the room after hearing that. Fleamont had stayed with Sirius as he talked to Dumbledore about the rest of that night.
More than a year later, no one would know the broken boy who appeared in the Floo was Sirius Black unless they were in the room when it happened. Sirius has blossomed into an amazing young man who is firmly a Potter boy in everything but name and blood. Euphemia and Fleamont see him as their own son. Which is why they are both pacing holes in the living room carpet. “Masters, would you like some tea?” Gully asks from the living room entryway. Fleamont shakes his head. “No thank you, Gully.” He tries to smile. The expression quickly washes away into concern. Gully nods and heads back into the kitchen.
“Oh my Merlin, Fleamont! What if they can’t remember how to set up the tent?!” Euphemia covers her mouth. Her eyes are wide with panic as she stares at her husband. Fleamont guides Euphemia to the couch. The slump down on the cushions. Fleamont pries Euphemia’s hands from her mouth. “They have muggle borns with them, love. Sirius and James will be fine.” Fleamont assures. Euphemia bobs her head a few times and collapses into her husbands’ chest. She breathes in Fleamonts’ scent. Bergamot and Lavender mixed with something smoky. Euphemia exhales shakily. “You’re probably right. They’ll be fine. Everything’s okay.” She relaxes in Fleamonts’ embrace. They cuddle together in silence.
Of course, that’s when everything goes to Purgatory.
The empty Floo roars to life. Euphemia and Fleamont immediately perk up, thinking the worst. What happens next is indeed, the worst. An unconscious, limp body collapses in the empty fireplace. A series of black, ink curls, cover the body's face. When Euphemia hesitantly edges closer and brushes back the hair, the boys’ face is revealed. Regulus Arcturus Black is bleeding from several orifices in the middle of the Potter’s Floo. Euphemia sucks in a breath. She looks back at her husband and they exchange a look.
Regulus’ state is so much like his brother’s two Christmases ago it's unnerving. Remembering everything about that night, Euphemia unfolds the boys’ hand. There is no note this time. “Fleamont, send for Dumbledore immediately.” She demands. Fleamont rushes from the room swiftly. “Shhh… you’re okay, love. You’re okay.” Euphemia whispers assurances to the boy as she waves her wand over the open wounds. She hums as she works. Skin knits back together and blood stops spilling on the carpet. There are scars. Evidence of the Cruciatus Curse is never fully erasable.
Fleamonts’ footsteps echo throughout the room. “Effie dear, I don’t think you should be that close to him. What if this is a trap? The Blacks’-”
“-Abandoned him to us. I will help this boy, Fleamont Henry. I don’t care what Albus said.” Euphemia waves her husband over. Fleamont wordlessly scoops up the fraile boy and lies him on the couch. The same couch Sirius spent the night on when he first arrived at the Potters’ permanently.
Speaking of Sirius, informing the younger boy about his brothers’ ‘arrival’ is not possible until James and him come back from camping. One of the two could Apparate to the campsite but that would raise suspicion. The boys’ deserve a week getaway without worrying. They will be back this weekend. Regulus will be in no shape for company until Friday at least. Today is Wednesday.
It’s very late on Wednesday. Almost Thursday. Euphemia and Fleamont were just about to watch a film. Euphemia struggles to sleep whenever James or Sirius are not in the house. The film was supposed to be a distraction. It must be some maternal trait that kept her up because Fleamont looked about to fall asleep on the couch before Regulus arrived. Now that the boy is here, Euphemia doesn’t know what to do. Regulus’ condition is stable. Aside from the few twitches of the boys’ sleeping form. Which is a result of the severe trauma. Sirius did not flinch like this though. That means Regulus probably experienced the Cruciatus more times than his brother.
Regulus should be okay to be left alone. Physically, he is fine. There is nothing more Euphemia or Fleamont can do for him at the present time. Yet, something keeps both of them rooted in place. What if Regulus wakes up and doesn’t remember coming here? What if he doesn’t recognize Gully, Fleamont, or Euphemia, and attacks them magically? The Potter’s are a pureblood family. One of the more powerful ones. However, the Black’s are a pureblood family as well. Two, full blooded, wizarding family members going head to head can get messy. That’s why a lot of purebloods stopped marrying each other. At this point, they’re all too closely related, disgustingly rich, and dangerously powerful.
The wizarding community has been spinning hot gossip about the specific Black lying on the Potter’s couch. The rumours all point to Regulus being the most powerful Black in history. Euphemia and Fleamont don’t want an angry, teenage wizard with enough power to bring down the house, roaming lost in the Potter Manor. Not to brag but the Manor is one of the largest in London. It’s easy to get lost in.
“Dumbledore asks for us to ring him when Regulus wakes up. I’m going to bed.” Fleamont hands his wife a blanket. He knows Euphemia won’t leave her patients side until they wake. He’s seen this behaviour while Euphemia is on shift. Euphemia smiles and nods. She takes a seat on the chair diagonal from Regulus’ feet. Fleamont drapes the blanket over his wife and kisses the top of her head. “Love you,” Fleamont mumbles into her hair.
Euphemia groans sleepily. “Love you too. Night,”
Fleamont hums in acknowledgement and heads to the bedroom. Euphemia looks back to sleeping Regulus. Soft, pained mewls and whimpers come from the boy. Euphemia feels terrible. She can’t imagine doing something like this to her own son. Let alone two if she had so many.
She scrubs a hand down her face. Frankenstein is playing on the television. The film is just over halfway done. This is going to be a long night.