Summer 1978
The house was silent. His mother was out on constant missions, at constant meetings, his father bedridden and weak. At Christmas, they had looked so much older, less impressive than Regulus remembered. He hadn’t been scared of them in a long time, let alone intimidated. He was more powerful than both now. Or so he believed when they weren't in the room.
Kreacher was the only thing in the house that remained stable.
“Master Regulus,” Kreacher's voice rang out loud in the cobwebby silence.
“Hi Kreacher,”
“Master's parents have relocated to a new headquarters. Kreacher has messages from them for you,”
“Go ahead,”
“You is not to return to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, according to your parents, and the beliefs of the Dark Lord, it is a waste of death-eater potential. They is wanting to station you here in charge of weapons manufacturing and potions,”
“Not go back to Hogwarts?”
His home away from home? What about his friends? He was meant to have another year, before their “Freedom” (poorly disguised ) He didn’t particularly enjoy the place with its scratty children, or the ever-watchful eye of Albus Dumbledore that had been trained on him for a few years now. However, the lessons themselves, his friends, even the new-found power of the dark mark had made the last year had made Hogwarts all the better. Regulus had been looking forward to his last year, the year without Sirius, and his final year of “Childhood” before the world became his reality. The news that Reg wouldn’t get this honestly filled him with a sense of loss, though he had lost something that had never really been his.
“I’m afraid not, Master Regulus,”
“Any specific reason or just the Dark lord,”
Bitterness filled his voice at the name, and Regulus was glad Kreacher was the only other person to hear it.
“I is not be knowing. I have only these messages Master,”
“Right, well, thank you Kreacher. What’s for dinner?”
“Would his mastership like to help?” Kreacher smiled
Regulus nodded, slightly embarrassed that the elf knew him so well. Without Walburga, he could help Kreacher as much as he liked. Freedom made Regulus slightly uncomfortable. He was all too aware that it couldn't last for long. Nothing good ever did.
The next few weeks were probably the best of Regulus’ life. Even if it wouldn't last, he tried to enjoy it.
The house was always cold, and Regulus couldn't seem to heat it up, no matter how many fires he lit. There were people in and out, but most of the time it was just him and Kreacher. Regulus got into a comfortable routine of cleaning, reading (he got Kreacher to go into the library for him as he still couldn't face it). He was still awaiting orders from the Dark lord.
Evan and Barty were frequently busy with missions, so their visits were infrequent. Regulus didn’t leave the house for weeks. His hair grew longer and he couldn't be bothered to cut it back. He began to unconsciously think of 12 Grimmauld Place as his own.
Eventually, Regulus told himself, things would change, he would feel adult, in this cold, lonely house full of cobwebs and ancient tomes. They did, one moody August Tuesday, as Bellatrix apparated into his living room. (Regulus happened to be in the basement with Kreacher sorting through mouldering photo albums. He had spent the last three days down there searching. For what he didn’t know.)
Bellatrix, upon not being greeted immediately, started screeching the place down demanding his attention (pretty much). Reg sighed and made his way to her,
“Morning Bellatrix,” he stayed well back, leaning against the fading wallpaper.
“You! What in Merlin’s name have you been doing? I’ve been waiting here for ages,”
“It’s been les than ten minutes”
“It is not wise to keep one of the Dark Lord’s most devoted servant waiting”
“Oh don’t be so entitled, Bella, you know you’re just put out because I didn’t rush over to congratulate you on the engagement,”
Bellatrix scowled but didn’t deny it.
“What do you want?” Regulus wanted her gone already. He grew up seeing Bellatrix way too much. She was a bully with too much hair and the most maniacal, scary laugh he had ever heard from a human. Andromeda was the nice one, but she preferred Sirius (who wouldn’t?). Apparently Black sheep stuck together. Narcissa always preferred Regulus, and the same with her. They were both quiet with huge eyes. Reg liked her because of this, Narcissa liked him because he was the baby of the family and she desperately wanted to be a mother.
“How dare you talk to me like that!”
Regulus didn’t reply. He was tempted to leave the room and go back down to the basement.
“I am here to give you your orders,”
That grabbed his attention. “Orders?”
“From the Dark lord. You know you can’t hide forever, Regulus. You are a Black, like me, you should be proud to fight for him,”
Regulus feigned calm, pretending to pick his nails.
“You won't be a Black much longer”
“I am carrying on the family, a noble baby is needed since Narcissa is useless,”
“Useless is she?”
“Married a year and no baby!”
This was the first that Regulus had heard of Narcissa since the wedding. Were her and Lucius having trouble conceiving? A flash of panic swerved through Regulus. Something like that could get Narcissa alienated from the family. It was dangerous to be barren. Perhaps she would be better disappointing them and escaping. Perhaps that was just Regulus' own wishful thinking.
“So Lestrange was the answer?”
“Yes! Rodolphus is a suitable match! We are in love,”
“This is getting boring now Bella, orders?”
Bellatrix was visibly seething from his nonchalance, the lack of celebration at her engagement, and Regulus’ tone. He knew exactly how to annoy people.
“You are to develop a potion to keep Inferi alive,”
“What?”
Bellatrix sighed dramatically, but Regulus could tell she was fighting a smug smile. She loved knowing more than him, and even more, relished having to explain.
“Inferi can only last a few hours at most-”
“I know. I am not an imbecile,”
“The Dark lord requires a more extensive use,”
“Why?”
“You dare to question him!?” Bellatrix’s voice grew to an angry wail. She reached over for her wand, pointing the twisted stick at Regulus, who still stood across the room.
“Not a chance, that was a test for you,”
“You test me?” Bellatrix laughed like a rabid dog, “I should kill you where you stand!”
Regulus ignored the fact that she could kill him in seconds and raised one eyebrow.
“It’s not wise to threaten one of the Dark lord’s most devoted servants,”
Bellatrix glared as he threw her words back at her. She grumbled, but the wand lowered. Regulus was alone once again. He noticed that Bellatrix had left a faint scent of flowers and blood. She had smelt like that since she was a child.
Kreacher skulked in not long later, while Regulus was trying to even his heart rate. It was easy enough to act unbothered, but had been shitting it.
“Is Master Regulus okay?”
“Fine,” Regulus stood up straighter, adjusting his collar “Just a visit from my ever-lovely cousin,”
“Miss Bella, or Miss Cissy?”
“Bellatrix,”
“Well, Master must forget it at once if he becomes ill after Miss Bella’s visits.”
“I’m perfectly fine Kreacher, thank you. Now, do we have any good cauldrons? I’ll need one, some basic supplies, and a lot of notebooks. I have orders,”
“Orders, Master Regulus?”
“I don’t think I can say, Kreacher, sorry.”
“Of course not sir, Kreacher lives to serve. I will set up Master's required items immediately,”
“Thanks,”
Kreacher left again and Regulus couldn’t help himself. He sank into a chair- it happened to be his father’s arm chair- and ran his hands through his hair. He stopped after a seconds, realising how very Sirius that was. The idea of Inferi sent shivers through his spine, the undead should be peaceful shouldn’t they?
Recently, rumours of the unnatural beings had been circulating in the magical world. Despite it being said that Voldemort was building an army of them, nobody seemed to know much, not even the most trusted Death-eaters seemed to know what the fuck was going on half of the time.
The lonely days passed slowly. Regulus converted one of the many spare rooms into a potions room for his experiments. Thank God, no inferi were actually needed for these experiments, just a lot of complicated brewing and working out quantities. It was mostly maths, to be honest.
It was oddly calming work, therapeutic almost. Potions brought Regulus the same calm as cleaning did. As long as he could forget what it was that he was brewing, he actually enjoyed the work.
However, with only Kreacher (who was permanently around the house) Regulus had nobody to talk to. His friends were barely ever home, and when they were, they slept as much as possible before the next mission. Sometimes, he felt bitterly jealous of their busy lives while he skulked around the empty house, but mainly, Regulus was glad he wasn’t on the front lines. Sometimes people were sent to him with horrific wounds, which Reg then had to work out cures for.
Regulus began to miss his family. Walburga and Orion had been permanently relocated. Cissy apparently tied up in trying to get knocked up. Bella and her mental fiance Rodolphus were killing people left right and centre (not that Regulus wanted a visit from them). Most of all, he missed Sirius, however hard that was to admit.
Sometime, in the dead of night, when Regulus would wake up screaming, he would half-expect Sirius to come running in to hug him. Or when he would hear some melodramatic family gossip, he would make a mental note to let Sirius know, just to see that wicked, wolfish smile. Then, Regulus would remember that he couldn’t, wouldn’t tell Sirius. What would his brother want to know that for anyway? He had his new family- Reg told himself, when he missed Sirius- He had James and his parents, and Moody Lupin and that ratty one and the ginger, etc etc. Sirius Black definitely wasn’t short of people to lean on. Just another way they were opposites.
Regulus took to staring into the mirror. The same mirrors he had avoided for years, because of those sharp memories. He would spend hours staring at his own reflection. Not in a vain way. It was the eyes he was interested in. The blue-gray of his eyes- of Sirius’ eyes- of his mother’s eyes. They all stared back at him and Regulus felt like he was drowning.
He wouldn’t change those eyes for the whole world. They were like his own portal back into the past. The only link he had to Sirius. The only thing he had left.
So, when he wasn’t staring at Sirius’ eyes, or working on the potions, Regulus was in the basement with old photos.
One day, early September (just about the time when he should be on the train back to Hogwarts) Regulus was in the basement. He was humming to himself, looking at old photos from the 1950’s of his parents. He found one of Orion leaning against a wall, his own black curls as long as Sirius’ the last time Reg saw him. There was a startling similarity in all three of them. Regulus was looking into the photo carefully when Kreacher suddenly appeared at the door.
“Master Regulus might be wanting to look at the newspaper today,”
“What? Kreacher I’m busy,” he said, not impolitely. Regulus never had the heart to be mean to the aged elf.
“But Master,” Kreacher offered the paper. There was something in his quivering voice that made Regulus finally look up.
“Page seven”
He took the Daily prophet. Looked down at the page.
It was so familiar, that lined, stern frown and salt and pepper hair. So much older and thinner than the image clutched in Regulus’ other hand. Orion had aged twenty years in the last two. It wasn’t until about five minutes after he first saw it and was still examining the photo that Regulus realised what a picture in the paper meant.
The text was miserably small.
“Orion Regulus Black, (dec) discovered dead in the early hours of this morning. No suspected foul play. His estate (Black Family Estate) passes not to his first-born child (the disowned and notorious black sheep Sirius Orion Black) but to the second- born son. It was said that Sirius black…”
Scanning quickly, Regulus realised that the rest of the article was centred around Sirius. Rage curled at his chest like an angry cat. Orion’s name had only been mentioned once, himself and Walpurga not even given names. They had probably wanted to keep it quiet, but the pain of Sirius getting the spotlight was achy.
Then it transformed, not into the pain of that, but of Orion. Even though the grim face had hardly smiled, Regulus felt a war suge of love for his father. It was debilitating. He staggered a little and ended up sitting on one of the mouldy cardboard boxes.
Something was clawing its way out of his chest.
He needed yo breathe. He needed to get up and pretend that this wasn't happening. He needed to stop. Now. He needed to...
Regulus heard his own breath. He squeezed his eyes shut and heard the soft flump as the paper fell to the floor.
“I’m sorry Master Regulus,”
He couldn’t answer,
“I'll leave now, Master. Would you like me to take the paper?”
Without opening his eyes, Regulus nodded tightly. He was trying to hold it together, telling himself to breathe, to unclench, to pull up that ever-important mask and survive. Survive.
That picture of twenty year old Orion was still in one hand. He had another picture in his pocket, a worse one. He had been carrying it around for weeks. Regulus couldn’t bring himself to take it out. He was focusing on the dull pain in his ribs, trying not to fall apart in this dusty, disgusting basement.
Survive. That’s all he had ever been trying to do, even since Sirius left him alone when he was eleven and Walpurga nd Orion were all he had. He just wanted to survive. That night in the library, even getting this mark seared into his arm, it was all for survival.
Regulus had to survive. He wanted to live.