Chapter 6
“The first order of business is to remove the mark,” Regulus says over breakfast the next day. Sirius chokes on his orange juice. Regulus would think it was funny if Sirius wasn’t currently coughing on him.
Remus furrows his brow, rubbing circles into Sirius’s back almost absentmindedly. “Is that even possible?”
“I have no idea,” Regulus says with a shrug. “But we still have to try. It has the added bonus of being a homing beacon as well as a telepathic connection between the Dark Lord and whoever has it. I’m safe in the wards, but the moment I step outside he could find me.”
James frowns into his porridge. “I… may have an idea. There’s a potion that my dad came up with before he— that my dad wrote down in one of his journals. He explained it to me one time: it was basically a high-grade corrosive, except it would destroy all traces of dark magic imprinted on someone: werewolf scars, vampire bites, and the dark mark.”
Regulus’s eyes flit from Remus to James. Remus doesn’t seem surprised at the news, but his scars are clearly visible on his face, neck and forearms underneath the loose t-shirt that he must have worn to sleep. “Clearly, it doesn’t work, or Lupin wouldn’t look like a used chew toy.”
Remus blanches. “I don’t— I’m not— Sirius, you told him?” He swivels his head to stare at Sirius with a horrified expression on his face.
“Relax, Lupin,” Regulus holds up his hand. “I figured it out myself in second year. I walked into the infirmary and I saw you with your shirt off. It didn’t take too long to guess why you were always absent on the full moon.”
Remus looks distressed, but Sirius takes his hand and some of the tension leaves his body. “Does anyone else know?” Remus asks softly.
Regulus purses his lips. “I didn’t tell anyone, but anyone could have figured it out themselves if the evidence stared them in the face long enough.”
“We never tried the potion. My dad only finalized it the day before he got sick. And when we tried later, we were missing a key ingredient.” James looks straight into his bowl as he speaks.
Regulus feels a wave of pity for James, despite himself. Everyone heard within hours when the Potters passed away, at the beginning of Regulus’s sixth year. It was sudden, and James and Sirius were wrecks for months. Regulus doesn’t think he saw either one of them in public until after the winter holidays.
“Right,” Remus says, clearing his throat. “Centaur bone dust. It’s too volatile of an ingredient to be kept at Hogwarts, and we never had time to visit Diagon Alley while we were in school. And then once we were out of school—”
“You joined the Order.” Regulus finishes. “Just as well, I suppose: you never would have found it at Diagon Alley. Truthfully, I doubt you would have found it in Knockturn Alley.”
Sirius scowls. “Why is that?”
Regulus fixes him with a flat stare. “A disowned ex-heir to one of the oldest families in wizarding Britain, a blood traitor, and a werewolf. Who do you think would be selling expensive and incredibly rare potion ingredients to you who wouldn’t turn around and report straight back to Voldemort?”
Remus grimaces. “How are we supposed to get the ingredient, then?”
“Hopefully word won’t have gotten back to Voldemort that I’m missing yet, so he won’t know how to track me through the mark. I won’t be more than an hour or two.”
Sirius shakes his head. “Absolutely not, for several reasons. Firstly, like fuck am I letting you walk into Diagon Alley alone. What if you run into one of the Death Eaters? Voldemort might not know you’re missing, but the students do, and eventually they’ll tell their parents. Secondly,” he says, speaking over Regulus’s protest, “what if whatever potioneer you visit tells Voldemort that you were there? You’d be forming a trail, and that would be terrible. We want you to have disappeared cleanly. No witnesses.”
“There are spells and potions to change the way you look,” James blurts out. “I mean, sleekeazy will do it to a certain extent. Regulus and I can transform into other people and get the ingredient. That way, he’s not alone, and he’s not at risk of being spotted by anyone else.”
Regulus tries not to look too put off by the idea. It’s not that he has anything against James, he just doesn’t want to be forced into close proximity with him while also keeping up appearances effectively. “What makes you think you’re the one going with me, Potter?” He says aloud.
“The spells don’t work on werewolves, and you and Sirius can’t be near each other for more than two minutes without arguing—that is, if you even talk at all.”
Regulus frowns, irritation seeping into the gesture. Merlin, James doesn’t quit. Much to his displeasure, however, James is right: this is their only option. Regulus can’t go alone, but he has to go. None of the others would know where to look, even if they changed their identity with the potion.
Sirius doesn’t look happy about it, but he gives James a stiff nod. “If you have to go, I trust you to take care of him.”
Regulus opens his mouth to say that he doesn’t need to be taken care of, thank you very much, and that Sirius can fuck right off, but Remus interrupts him.
“Should we wait for Dumbledore? I’m sure he knows a spell or something that can counteract the effects of the mark, and even if he doesn’t we should at least let him know what we’re planning.”
“No,” Sirius says immediately, which surprises Regulus until he remembers the not-so-shocked expression Sirius had worn yesterday when Regulus said he didn’t trust Dumbledore. “He doesn’t know Regulus is here, and if we tell him there’s no way that we’ll be able to convince him to let the two of them leave. If it works, we’ll tell him then.”
He tilts his head at the last word, and Regulus tries to keep his face neutral. It’s a signal from back when the two of them used to live in the same house. They haven’t talked about it, how Sirius left and Regulus refused to, but it doesn’t erase the shared experience.
The tilt means they’ll talk about it later. The tilt means he doesn’t want to tell Dumbledore.
Very interesting.
Remus’s lips flatten, but he agrees. “Fine.”
– - – - –
“I hope you know,” Regulus hisses as they push through the throng of people at Knockturn Alley, “that I hate you. Truly and deeply.”
James stares at him amusedly, looking irritatingly put together even with his newly-straight chestnut hair and much slimmer jawline. His nose is set higher, and his eyebrows are much thinner—he looks completely different, but if Regulus squints he can still see James. “Why ever is that so, baby Black?” James’s eyes are a piercing blue, which are almost startling to look at—they make his stare seem a bit less friendly, almost as if he’s judging Regulus. Regulus pushes the thought away: he’s never cared about the opinions of others, and he’s not about to start now. Especially not for James middle-name-imbecile Potter.
Regulus scowls. “Don’t even think about calling me that. For Merlin’s sake, Potter, I’m a ginger. And I have freckles.”
James, the bastard, just grins again. “What’s wrong with that?”
“You’re a terrible person.” They pass shop after shop, and the deeper they travel into the area the grayer the air seems to get. He suppresses a shiver as they pass a shop with a preserved wolf head on the door, his mind going to Sirius and Remus back at the manor.
“You wound me, Regulus,” James says, heaving a melodramatic sigh. “What’s the name of the place we’re looking for?”
Regulus fights the urge to bury his face in his hands. “For the last time, Potter, it’s the Avery family Apothecary. It really isn’t difficult to remember, though I am continuously baffled by how you retain any information at all in that pea brain of yours.”
James is silent for a moment, and the thought crosses Regulus’s mind that maybe he’s been a bit too harsh, before James says, “You sound exactly like Remus did when we first met him.” He sounds amused.
Regulus raises a brow. “I always knew he was the smart one.”
“He hated us, really, at least for the first few weeks. We won him over, though,” he adds with a smug grin.
“Pity,” Regulus sighs. “I think we would have gotten along rather well if it weren’t for that.”
“Here, is it?” James says suddenly, pointing to their right at a large building made from charcoal-black cobblestone. The sign naming the place is made entirely of emeralds. “Bit ostentatious, don’t you think?” James mutters under his breath.
Regulus pushes his hesitation aside, channeling his inner Black haughtiness. He steps towards the doorway, flicking it open with a wave of his wand. He doesn’t trust anything the Averys have to offer.
The person at the counter is a lanky boy with a shaved head and a scowl etched deep in his features. He gives them a quick once over, face twitching in irritation, and turns back to the book he’s poring over, largely ignoring them.
Regulus instinctively makes his way to the back: he’s stepped foot in the apothecary before, and he knows how things are organized: the most dangerous—and expensive—ingredients are always kept out of sight upon first entry.
It’s not difficult to find, of course, given the apothecary’s prompt organization. The most difficult hurdle is yet to come, however, and that’s ensuring that the other boy will sell the ingredient to them.
An idea begins to take shape in Regulus’s mind, and he turns towards James. “Let’s go.”
James arches a brow. “Already? I had assumed this would be more action-packed,” he jokes. Regulus rolls his eyes. “Not everything is a muggle film.” He lowers his voice, just in case one of the others in the store is within earshot. Getting exposed as a so-called ‘muggle sympathizer’ wouldn’t do well for Regulus’s goal of staying under the radar, and he wants to avoid as much confrontation as possible in case the transformation spells wear off early.
Wordlessly, Regulus walks back to the counter; he knows James will follow. He places the phial down on the counter in front of the boy—Regulus recognizes him vaguely as one of the Avery children, not the heir but still important enough to have attended a few Black-hosted dinners back when Regulus was younger.
The boy raises a scornful eyebrow. “No.”
“No?” Regulus repeats, trying to sound outraged and not like he’d predicted that outcome.
“No.” The boy repeats stiffly. “We have strict guidelines about who’s allowed to purchase what, and you’re not exactly part of that clientele.” His lip curls up in near-disgust. Regulus wants to slam that sneer into the dust.
“Fine, then,” Regulus grits out. “My family won’t be returning to lend support for this shop.”
“And who would that be?” The boy asks with a disdainful roll of his eyes.
Regulus can’t help the smirk that surfaces then, even if it isn’t as biting considering his freckles and newly-ginger hair. “I suppose you’ll find out.”
Without another word, Regulus pushes out of the apothecary and into the street. The wind is bitingly cold, now, though the spring weather is supposedly warming in the days to come. Regulus has to stifle a shiver as James follows him out of the shop, muttering a hasty apology to the still uncaring attendant.
“Fuck,” James hisses. “Now how are we supposed to get the ingredient?”
With an arched brow, Regulus pulls another identical phial of powdered centaur bone from the pocket of his robes. “You really thought I didn’t have a backup plan, Potter?” He makes a ‘tsk’-ing sound of disapproval. “The only thing I loathe more than a Death Eater is someone who has the ego of one with none of the social status to back it up. If you’re going to be a bloody prick, you’d better have a reason to.”
“Of course you’d use the word ‘loathe’ in casual conversation,” James complains. “Have you ever used a contraction in your life?”
Regulus raises a brow at James. “I’m surprised you know what that is.”
The boy wrinkles his nose at him. “Hilarious as always.” There’s a smile tugging the corners of his lips upwards. “Now, shall we?” James raises his arm for side-along apparition, and for some reason it doesn’t seem too dreadful to Regulus.