promises, oceans deep

24th November, 1979

In the dead of night, Regulus’ left forearm begins to burn profusely. He knows in his gut what it means.

That old, unkillable part of him wants to keep it to himself, to hide in his shame and suffer through it alone.

But that's not how he does things anymore.

Regulus takes a long moment to lie there in the dark, staring at the beams of the light that the street lights scatter across the ceiling. 

When they were young children, Sirius had charmed the ceiling of Regulus’ bedroom to project all his favourite constellations across it. He'd sworn up and down that it wasn't because of Regulus' not-so-secret fear of the dark but they both knew he was lying.

At 12 years old, Regulus demanded he remove the spell.

He waits until his breath slows to a regular pace before moving off of the sofa. Regulus has always been well-versed in the skill of tiptoeing across creaky wooden floorboards but he finds that here, in the home that Sirius has forged for himself, he's not so scared of what will happen if he's heard.

When he reaches the bedroom door, Regulus doesn't think twice before quietly knocking on the wood.

Tap. Tap Tap Tap. 

There's a light patter of footsteps from the other side before the door swings open. 

Sirius’ hair is mussed though his eyes are clear and alert. He's not been sleeping, despite how much his weak, recovering body must need it. The bedroom is dark and still behind him, a sleeping body just distinguishable in the dim light. 

Despite Regulus’ efforts to remain blank-faced, Sirius sees something in the cracks of his composure. His brow furrows grimly, “Let's talk out here.”

He gently shuts the bedroom door behind him, making as close to no noise as is possible in a run down building like this one. 

The brothers sit on the sofa together, Sirius taking the time to turn on the lamp that sits on the coffee table, “What's going on? Are you okay?”

Regulus heaves a deep breath, trying to find the words. As compassionate and understanding as Sirius has grown to be about this topic, there's no easy way to discuss this comfortably. 

“I think… I’m being summoned.”

A beat.

“What? What do you mean?” Sirius’ gaze is intense and worried but Regulus can't bring himself to meet it.

He clears his throat, steels himself, “I am being summoned by Lord Voldemort. And I can’t get away with not going.”

-

An hour later, Regulus prepares to leave the flat.

The move between rundown London flat to abandoned countryside manor to flat again had been jarring, but Regulus hasn't been able to find it in himself to hate it. The flat is probably the most homely place he's ever found himself in for a prolonged period. Until recently, it's just been he and his brother for the first time since they were children and it’s settled something loud and lonely in Regulus’ chest. 

Of course, having the wolf here has been strange. 

His brown eyes are currently boring into the side of Regulus’ head, filled with mistrust and something resembling concern. He’s been a quiet presence in the flat these last few days, tending to Sirius’ wounds and cooking for them all each evening. They’ve formed some kind of truce in their stay here together but Regulus is hyper-aware of the years of distrust and distance that lay between him and Lupin. All they have in common is Sirius and that seems to be enough, for now. 

The aforementioned bridge between them is currently fussing over Regulus, adjusting his coat collar in a way he hasn’t done since they were children, “I just have a terrible, terrible feeling about this, Reg.”

“I'm not a huge fan of this plan either, Sirius, but I don't see another way.” Regulus snipes back, flapping his brother's hand away, “Besides, I know what I’m doing.”

Sirius nods in reluctant acceptance, though his hands are still twitching at his sides. He relents, “Okay, I know, just… stay safe? I know that sounds stupid but just try to…”

“I’ll keep my head down, I’ll speak as little as I can - I’ve got this.”

Before Sirius can start up again, Regulus takes a significant step towards the door. He spares a stern look at Lupin: Take care of him. 

The other man nods: With my life.

With that reassurance, Regulus apparates away.

-

The Death Eater meetings always happen at the Malfoy Manor.

Regulus can’t be sure why, as he's certain that Riddle lives elsewhere. He supposes that Lucius just grovelled the hardest and the most regularly. Pathetic. 

The grass crunches beneath his feet as he approaches the looming manor. The moon does little to illuminate the estate, instead barely casting a glow through the towering trees. His breath creates a mist in front of his face.

It's always strange coming here, for this. 

Narcissa has always been his favourite cousin and he’s always been sure to try and visit her at least every few months or so. They often drink tea out in the garden or the library, out of the oppressive gaze of Lucius. He's got fond memories of this manor but coming here for these meetings is… something else.

Regulus doesn't bother knocking when he reaches the front door, instead just letting himself in. Anything that could draw attention is a death wish, even something as simple as knocking on the door.

Inside, candles light up the way to the dining room - clearly indicating where the action is. Regulus scoffs at the irony of it all.

He follows the warm glow down the endless corridors, hand gripping his wand inside his pocket.

A voice stops him just before he turns the last corner.

“Regulus! I’m so glad you’re here!”

He whips his head around, body taut and ready to attack until he recognises his favourite cousin. 

Narcissa is standing there, gaze open and relieved. Her pale hair is hanging limp down her shoulders and her dress is of dark lace, hands resting on… her rounded stomach.

“Oh, Cissa.” He gasps, feeling rooted to the spot, “You’re…”

She smiles widely, stepping closer, “Three months pregnant. Don’t tell Lucius but I’m hoping for a little girl.”

“Oh, you know I don't speak to Lucius.” Regulus replies, distantly. His stomach is dropping lower and lower by the second. A baby? His heart breaks to think of a little baby being born into all of this mess, all of this darkness. He can't bring himself to speak.

Narcissa lets out a laugh, “How foolish of me. Hell would freeze over before you get along with my husband.”

He forces out a laugh of his own, but can’t quite unstick the words from his throat. A little born-and-bred Death Eater. 

She furrows her brow slightly, and slips an arm through his, “Well, no matter. We should head in, I’m sure it's starting soon.”

Regulus allows his cousin to lightly drag him into the dining room, the movement jarring some kind of sense into him. Right, he’s here for a purpose.

Entering the threshold of the dark, dank dining room causes Regulus to instinctively hold his breath, as though entering a torrential ocean. He can’t help the feeling of clawed, undead hands grasping at his body as he moves to sit next to Narcissa at the left side of the long, mahogany table. 

Three seats down from him sit Barty and Evan, shoulder to shoulder. He forces his gaze away, scared of what his face will reveal if he engages. 

The chair opposite Regulus screeches slightly as a familiar figure takes a seat. 

“Pettigrew.” Regulus grits out, relishing in the slight flinch that the other man makes at the sight of him. His wide blue eyes are surprised, disbelieving, “What? Think I was someone else for a second there?”

A slight laugh leaves Pettigrew’s lips, “You look remarkably like your brother, that's all.”

Regulus wants to scream. His hands shake with a kind of fierce rage, the kind that he's only ever seen on the faces of his mother, his brother, his father. That fierce, animalistic rage that he knows all too well.

Who the fuck are you? He barely resits shouting, Who the fuck are you to talk about my brother? 

Instead, he smiles. 

“I’m glad you’ve finally seen sense, Pettigrew. A choice like this takes a lot.”

Peter doesn’t smile back. Because he knows. He knows what this choice takes. He knows that he can’t ever go back, not after this.

Betraying all your loved ones is pretty irreversible. 

When a dark figure stands at the head of the table, Regulus refuses to look away from Pettigrew. He holds his gaze, smile still fixed, until the older man is forced to face away. Regulus doesn't feel like he's won anything. 

“My loyal followers!” A clear voice rings out across the dining hall, causing the entire room to still completely.

Tom Riddle had once stunned Regulus. 

He’d been introduced to the older wizard when he was 14 years old by his father at a dinner party, of all things. Riddle had been dazzling, all glowing smiles and ambitious promises. He'd made Regulus feel like the most important person alive, in only their single short conversation. He’d had Regulus convinced of a plan to change the Wizarding World for the better, to revolutionise magic beyond what anyone had deemed to be possible. 

Regulus knows better, now.

All Tom Riddle is is a fraud. Under the dim candlelight, he looks gaunt and sickly - ghostlike. All Regulus sees is a desperate man hiding behind a flimsy, nonsensical cause, whose only real goal is total world domination. He feels sick to his stomach.

“You must be wondering why I’ve gathered you all here, under such frenzied circumstances.” Riddle rasps out, arms spread like some sort of self-proclaimed god, “I regret to tell you that it's not good news.”

The Death Eaters let out sounds of protest, sympathy, anger. Regulus remains silent, heart racing. As far as he's aware, there is only one person in this room actively trying to bring this madman down. The chances of this ‘bad news’ being related to him and his brother are higher than he'd like. 

Riddle shushes the murmuring, “Ladies and gentlemen, I have discovered an enemy.”

Regulus is convinced that his heart is going to stop. 

“A dangerous, dangerous enemy.” He scans the room, seeming to land right on Regulus as he says, “Which means we have a new task, my disciples.”

The air is completely still around the dining table. Regulus is afraid to even breathe.

“A child will be born in July,” Riddle rasps, shaking his head, “A child that is destined to destroy me. To destroy us, our cause! So I must ask, all of you, I must ask you to help me.

“In the coming year, we must take action. We must come together and find this child! Because we’ve all worked far too hard to let a child, a baby take this from us! Dumbledore’s little Army thinks that they have the upper hand, that they have unlocked a secret weapon with this child but we must prove them wrong ! Nothing can stop us from doing what's right! Nothing can stop us from completing our goal of rectifying the evil that lives in the Wizarding community. Let's rid them of this weapon, once and for all!”

The room erupts into thunderous cheers, shaking the table. Barty is on his feet clapping, eye glinting with a hint of mania that used to be so rare. Evan is motionless beside him. Narcissa curls her hand protectively over her barely-showing bump. Snape, where he's standing by the doorway, is nodding grimly. Pettigrew… looks scared. Moreso than he should be. 

Regulus is suddenly struck by the notion that the other man knows something about this. Something he hasn't yet told Riddle. 

A heavy hand clamps on Regulus’ shoulder.

“Black!” Antonin Dolohov jeers, face split with a smile too wide to be real, “Haven't seen you around these parts for a while.”

Regulus has never liked Dolohov. He was a fourth year when Regulus joined Hogwarts, and was always picking on anyone he deemed below him - pure-blood or not. Regulus keeps his face cool, blank as he answers, “As I’ve informed the Dark Lord, my mother’s taken a turn for the worse. With my father dead, it's become hard for the elves to manage her.”

Dolohov lets out a frankly insensitive chuckle, patting Regulus' shoulder a few times, “Well, we’ll be looking forward to your participation in this manhunt, anyhow. You always were a good little wizard, weren't you?”

“As soon as my mother is well enough, I’ll be right there with you, Antonin.” Regulus replies in what he hopes is a reasonable tone, molding his face into a grin. 

Dolohov laughs, finally letting go of Regulus’ shoulder, “Or maybe the old bint will just finally fucking die!”

Regulus can't quite get himself to laugh along with that one, “Mm, maybe.”

The smile slowly fades off of Dolohov’s face, being replaced by a look so blank that the other man doesn't even look human anymore, “You’ll be there, Black. Or people are gonna start getting pretty fucking suspicious of you. Hm?”

Regulus nods along, smirking, “Nothing to worry about with me, Dolohov. I was born and bred for this shit.”

The air between them is terse and still, until Dolohov breaks into a grin and claps him on the shoulder one last time. He disappears as quickly as he arrived. 

“Nasty one, him.” Narcissa quips from beside Regulus, startling him, “Just because you don’t get off on the violence of it all like they do… Unbelievable.”

Regulus hums distantly in agreement, though his heart is pounding furiously in his chest.

His cousin squeezes his elbow gently, “Do you want to stay here for the night? It’s a bit of a journey home.”

He smiles genuinely for the first time all night, “That’s alright, Cissa. I need to be home with Mother, you know how she's been. Next time, though.”

“If you’re sure.” She grimaces, though she’s already gently leading him towards the doorway.

Narcissa kisses him on the cheek when they arrive at the foyer, clearly resisting the hug that she knows he'll squirm away from, “Get home safely, alright, my love?”

“Of course.” He replies, returning the kiss on her hairline. She gives his arm one last squeeze before descending up the spiral stairs. 

The sounds of pompous laughter and chatter still echoes through the house as Regulus lets himself out. The door slams firmly shut behind him. A white peacock squeaks in the distance. 

Apparating away feels wrong somehow, so he presses firmly onward, all the way down the front lawn into the woods that surround the house. Regulus can’t quite rid himself of the feeling that he’s being watched. 

It’s not until the house has disappeared in the trees behind him that Regulus lets himself breathe.