The Return
Narcissa was pissed.
First, Andromeda thought she was being mature by apologizing despite not even being able to explain herself. Then she’d asked dozens of questions, trying to act like things were normal between them. And now, Sirius was trying to accuse Druella of killing Orion and Walburga.
She knew coming back here wouldn’t be everything she’d hoped it would be when she was younger. At eighteen, she was desperate for all of them to be back under one roof. Now, she understood why that didn’t work.
It didn’t stop the lonely little girl in her heart from getting upset.
Her emotions were all over the place right now, volatile from everything that had happened recently. She wanted to curl up in her bed and cry. She wanted to scream. She wanted to lay her head on Druella’s lap and have a mother take care of her.
Realistically, she knew Sirius’ theory made a lot of sense. If she wasn’t so fiercely protective of Druella, she would’ve said as much.
But Narcissa knew that things looked bad for Druella the moment she stepped foot into the Black Manor. It was dark. Night had already fallen when she’d gotten the notification about Orion and Walburga, so it was pushing eleven when she finally arrived at the manor. Kreacher let her in, not even batting an eye as he greeted her, bowing low and murmuring, “Mistress Narcissa.”
Narcissa immediately moved across the floor and began climbing up the stairs, headed towards the third floor. She poked through Orion’s room, having known better after realizing Walburga’s was empty, combing through everything out of curiosity. She’d never been inside, so it felt strange to go in now. The sheets had been stripped and everything was freshly cleaned, so she wasn’t going to find anything here.
She checked Orion’s office next, finding a few interesting things that led her to Cygnus’ office before ultimately deciding none of it was enough. She needed to talk to Druella or Kreacher. She needed to know what happened outside of the evidence, which didn’t look too great. After dropping her stuff in her fairly unchanged room, she descended the stairs.
Druella was dusting the lower floor despite the late hour when Narcissa came back downstairs, humming a song to herself that sounded like some ABBA song she vaguely recognized to be about Napolean or something. “Couldn’t escape if I wanted to,” Druella sang to herself in a mumble under her breath. She swayed as she brushed the feather duster around, elegant with her movements.
“Druella?” Narcissa whispered, fidgeting with her necklace absentmindedly.
The robot looked over and broke into a smile upon seeing Narcissa. “Is the funeral over, dear?”
Narcissa frowned. Had she missed something?
“What funeral?” she asked.
“Why, Cygnus’ of course, my love,” Druella said light-heartedly.
“It’s been over for four years,” Narcissa said calmly. She’d never known Druella to slip up like this, but she had a fondness for the robot that in turn gave her grace. “I’m here because Orion and Walburga died. I came to check on things.”
Druella’s smile tightened. “Oh, that’s right. Are you hungry, dear? Tired?”
“No,” Narcissa said, shaking her head. She reached out and grabbed the feather duster from Druella and set it down on the counter. Then she slipped her hand into Druella’s, and said, “We should talk.”
“I have things to do,” Druella reminded Narcissa, never mind the fact that it was eleven at night. There was a strange panic in her eyes that shouldn’t have been possible.
“Later,” Narcissa insisted. “You can do them later.”
Reluctantly, Druella agreed. She allowed Narcissa to pull her into the library and onto the couch, both of them twisting to face each other.
“Do you know what happened today?” Narcissa asked.
“Of course,” Druella said, smiling. “Today is the twentieth of March. It was sunny this morning, but it grew cloudy this afternoon, dropping the temperature by five degrees. There were no major events that happened today, but the top news headline was about minor crimes in the area. The hardest word to find in the crossword today was DOOM, with the hint being, ‘to pronounce a sentence on someone in a court of law’. It was an easy day for the crossword, all things considered, so Orion completed it faster than normal. The sunset was at 7:48. The moon was in Waning Gibbous. The day went by smooth and boring, with nothing really happening at all.”
Narcissa let Druella speak, her mind racing. It wasn’t the twentieth. It was the twenty-first. Someone had tampered with Druella’s memory. The only other person here when Orion and Walburga died was Kreacher, though it would be like pulling teeth to get him to talk. He would’ve been sleeping wherever it was he holed up at night when they died, so out of the two of them, Druella was the closest.
She'd been hoping for an actual rundown of the day’s events. Like maybe Orion and Walburga had gotten into an accident and suffered from migraines that they didn’t take precautions with. Or maybe they’d gotten a bad case of food poisoning. (Though of course, both possibilities could not be so easily written off. Druella remembering nothing neither confirmed nor denied any theories about “normal” ways they could’ve died.)
“Thank you,” Narcissa said gently once Druella finished speaking. It was useless information, but she wasn’t just going to say that. Maybe if Kreacher had been the one who gave her absolutely nothing she would’ve.
She knew what the others would think. They weren’t stupid, much to her chagrin, so they were bound to come to the same conclusion she did. Especially if Druella continued acting in such a way.
It didn’t look good.
“Did you ever get upset,” Narcissa continued, “with Cygnus, Orion, or Walburga?”
Druella squeezed Narcissa’s hand. “They were good people. Kind people. They did so much for me.”
“It must’ve been hard alone here, though,” Narcissa pressed. She didn’t need a murder confession. She just needed to be sure she was on the right track here, that way she could help cover it up.
“Well, yes, some days were worse than others,” Druella admitted. “You children kept me so busy when you were younger. And after Sirius was hurt, things were different. And then there was—”
Druella cut herself off, looking uncertain.
“There was what?” Narcissa asked.
Druella smiled again. “Nothing. There was nothing.”
“Maman, tu peux me dire la vérité,” Narcissa whispered.
“There’s nothing to tell,” Druella said softly. She reached up and cupped Narcissa’s cheek with her free hand, smiling. “I’m here if you want to talk about anything. What happened was a tragic accident, a fluke, which can take people by surprise. I’ll be just around the corner from your room if you get up in the middle of the night.”
It was an invitation to stay.
Narcissa blew her breath out slowly. She could come back to sleep. Right now, she had something to do.
“I’ll be back,” she promised. “Will you have tea ready for me when I return? Lavender, please, with sugar stirred in.”
Narcissa had Kreacher direct her toward the coroner's office, and then she walked down there. The cold air was biting, and she shivered as she walked, arms wrapped tightly around her body.
She knew the coroner’s office was probably closed even if someone was still working inside, but she had a trick up her sleeve, and it came in the form of the unnerving ability to cast illusions. Her powers had freaked out some of the others when they were younger, which was always an upsetting experience. She didn’t necessarily like that she could do it either, she just could.
“Five?” Number Two whispered when they were eight. This was before they had names, which was always jarring to remember. “Will you paint the stars?”
That was code for: can you illusion the whole galaxy on the ceiling?
Number Five was more than happy to oblige. It wasn’t often that someone wanted her to use her abilities for fun. She poked out the tip of her tongue in concentration, picturing the star maps Druella poured over in her free time in as perfect detail as she could. Then she closed her eyes and imagined it all above them. She projected every star, every constellation, the moon, everything, onto the ceiling.
Number Two gasped, which was how she knew she had succeeded.
Number Five opened her eyes and let out a delighted giggle at the sight. She wasn’t quite strong with it yet, but she managed to keep the image of the stars up for about thirty seconds before it began flickering. Then it completely disappeared.
“I want to go to space,” Number Five whispered. A confession.
“I’ll go with you,” Number Two promised very seriously. “We’ll be space explorers! I’ll discover all kinds of planets, and I’ll let you name them, but only if they’re important.”
“Are we important enough for names yet?” Number Five asked, rolling onto her side to look at Number Two with wide, sad eyes.
“I’ll name you,” Number Two said excitedly.
“Okay!”
“But show me a trick first,” he said, eyes twinkling with mischief. Though he was a quiet boy, he was nevertheless just as sly as the others. He just didn’t advertise it as much.
Number Five flipped her hand palm up on the floor. Concentrating hard, she illusioned a small daffodil to bloom, the petals slowly unfurling. Small illusions were easiest for her. It was making them realistic or big that took a lot of effort.
Number Two always found her abilities amazing. He was endlessly entertained by them in their youth, always begging for her to use them. He was the only one of the children who wasn’t disturbed by the capacity for danger they possessed. For that, she was endlessly grateful.
“I’ll name you Lily!” Number Two declared merrily.
“This isn’t a lily, though,” she protested.
“Fine, you can be Daisy then.”
“But it’s not a daisy either!”
“What do you have there, Five?” Druella asked, suddenly leaning over them where they lay on the floor. “Is that a narcissus flower?”
“It’s a daffodil,” Number Five corrected, pouting that no one could recognize it. She’d been practicing her French by reading the French translation on the seed packets Kreacher left lying around – they were planning to plant them here soon. She’d thought the daffodil on the front was absolutely beautiful, and she quickly decided it was her favorite flower.
“Narcissus is the genus of Daffodils,” Druella explained. “Kind of like the parent.”
“Okay,” Number Five said, shrugging.
Number Two tugged her sleeve. “Show Maman the stars!”
Number Five did, concentrating even harder than before. She wanted Druella to love it. While Cygnus, Orion, and Walburga were clinical in their appreciation for her abilities, Druella always seemed to genuinely like them. She was always quick to praise and happy to indulge the children in celebrations of their achievements.
“Wow,” Druella exclaimed. “You’ve done amazing, they look just like my charts!”
“I’ve been practicing,” Number Five shyly admitted.
“I can tell,” Druella said, her voice warm and fond. “Well, I think it looks just lovely.”
Number Five beamed.
Just as she always did whenever she used her abilities, Narcissa thought about the pride she used to have about them in her younger years. While she never quite forgot the strangeness and awfulness that they were capable of, she would choose to instead focus on the amazingness and impressiveness of it all. She used to practice certain illusions over and over again, needing them to be perfect, needing them to be beautiful so she could ignore the harm they caused.
At twenty-four, she was just neutral to them. They served her well, regardless of her purposes, but she rarely used them for entertainment anymore. Her biggest goal with her abilities was to stay undetected whenever she used them. Now more than ever.
As Narcissa walked, she created an illusion over her clothes. She wasn’t sure what she needed to be wearing, but she figured something generally professional would do. A casual blazer and jeans would probably suffice. She changed her hair color as well, adopting the tumble of black curls Andromeda had growing up. She made her eyes brown instead of blue, her nose smaller, and her lips red.
Like she’d previously suspected, the coroner’s office was closed. But the lights were on. She tugged on the door, unsurprised to find it locked, and waved to get the attention of the extremely bored-looking front desk lady.
The lady caught sight of her and got up, walking over and unlocking the door. “Unless you need to be here, I’m afraid I can’t quite let you in,” she said.
Narcissa flashed an easy smile. “I’m a detective looking into the Black case. I’ve just come for the reports of their deaths. I’ve been hired by a private client.”
“Alright, follow me then,” the lady said uncertainly, opening the door wider to let Narcissa in.
The aircon was pumping in the building despite the chill outside. Narcissa could hear the loud hum of it. She shivered in the cold. Though she had an illusioned blazer on, it wasn’t real, so it didn’t provide any warmth.
The lady brought her to an office in the back. She knocked, looking at Narcissa awkwardly as they waited.
Then the door swung open, revealing a dark-skinned woman with long braids. She looked back into the room and muttered something Narcissa couldn’t quite hear, and then an older man appeared in the doorway as well.
“Who have you brought to me, May?” the older man said, looking at the front desk lady.
“She’s a detective hired by a private client investigating the Black case. I figured since Miss Meadowes over here is looking at the same reports, I could bring Miss. . ?”
The lady faltered, looking to Narcissa once she’d realized she’d never even asked for a name. “Miss Sanders,” she offered, thinking on her feet.
“I figured I could bring Miss Sanders to you as well,” the front desk lady finished.
Miss Meadowes narrowed her eyes at Narcissa, but the older man smiled and said, “Why, of course, come in, come in!”
“Thank you,” Narcissa murmured to May before slipping into the office.
“I’m Mr. Byrnes,” the older man said, reaching out to shake Narcissa’s hand. “This is Miss Meadowes.”
“Call me Dorcas,” the other woman said, also shaking Narcissa’s hand. “I’m a detective here in London. I’ve never seen you before. Are you new to the job?”
“Drew,” Narcissa greeted, then laughed. She didn’t know shit about being a detective, so she hoped her lie would be sufficient: “I’m a private detective. I just came from France.”
“Parle-tu français?” Mr. Byrnes asked, grinning, clearly proud of himself for knowing that.
“Oui,” Narcissa answered smoothly. “J'ai grandi là-bas la plupart du temps.”
Mr. Byrnes looked lost, so he must’ve already exercised the extent of his knowledge.
“Alright,” Narcissa said awkwardly. “Well, if I could see the report, that would be very lovely.”
“He was just looking for it when you knocked,” Dorcas informed her.
“So I was,” Mr. Byrnes said merrily, returning back to his files. He rifled around for a little bit before emerging with an “Aha!”
Narcissa thought that was a little inappropriate all things considered, but she let it slide.
Mr. Byrnes put the report on his desk and slipped a pair of readers on. He scanned through the document quickly, double-checking a few things before turning to Dorcas and Narcissa. “The causes of deaths were deemed to be natural: boring old heart attacks that just happened to come about at similar times. Mr. Black died forty minutes to an hour or so before Miss Black did.”
“That doesn’t suggest foul play,” Dorcas noted.
“No,” Narcissa agreed. Though she didn’t know anything about being a detective, she did have some leftover knowledge from her strange childhood. After running around playing hero for so long, she had a bit of an understanding of what sounded strange or not regarding deaths or injuries. “I wouldn’t have guessed that all things considered.”
Dorcas hummed noncommittedly.
“I can make photocopies of this,” Mr. Byrnes offered.
“Yes,” Narcissa said immediately.
“For your client?” Dorcas asked.
Narcissa nodded. “And I’m also interested in double-checking everything.”
“Is it one of the Black children?” Dorcas pressed, looking curious.
Narcissa said nothing.
“You know, I actually know one of them,” she continued once she realized Narcissa wasn’t going to speak. Narcissa figured the woman liked to fill the silence. “My girlfriend introduced me to him when we started dating, and he’s become one of my friends. What happened to those kids seems pretty fucked up to me, but I’m not in the kind of place to really say that to him. I’ve always wanted to talk about it with him, but I don’t think we’re close enough for that.”
“No, probably not,” Narcissa said blandly, trying not to react to that information. Dorcas was friends with Sirius. What a strange and small world. Her luck was impossibly terrible. “It’s interesting, though.”
“I won’t press on your client,” Dorcas said. “But I already kind of guessed it the minute you said you were a private detective.”
Narcissa pressed her lips together and didn’t say anything. She didn’t know how much she could admit without coming across as insincere. Getting caught now would be detrimental.
After what felt like hours, Mr. Byrnes came back with a copy of the report. He'd slipped it inside a folder, so she felt kind of stupid tucking it under her arm. “Thank you,” she said, smiling gratefully. “Nice to meet you, Dorcas. I’ll see you around?”
“Hopefully,” Dorcas said.
Narcissa turned around, pushing the door open and leaving the office.
She hoped Dorcas didn’t actually care too much to see her again considering how disappointed she’d be when Drew Sanders never showed her face again.
As she walked back to the manor, she undid her illusions, rolling her shoulders back as though she could physically shed the image she projected onto herself. She read the report in the light from the streetlamps, catching a few phrases here and there as she passed into the golden glow. Everything looked normal, just as the coroner had reported.
That was nice to know, she supposed.
However, there was still something overly suspicious about Druella. Could causes of death be made to look natural? She grimaced and reminded herself that she didn’t really care. All she needed to do was make sure to defend Druella’s innocence against the accusations that would most certainly be thrown at her. Narcissa felt like she had an obligation, almost, to Druella since the woman had given her the most love that she was able to give without being a person. She had to protect her, to keep her safe, to repay those acts of kindness she’d been gifted as a child.
And Narcissa loved Druella like a mother, so there was that as well.
As promised, there was lavender tea waiting for her when she got back. She thanked Kreacher and Druella before retiring upstairs, exhaustion making her limbs heavy.
When Regulus first disappeared, Narcissa had stolen nearly all of the clothes in his closet, terrified that Walburga would have them taken away. They were all mixed in with her own closet, so she wasn’t entirely sure what used to be hers and what used to be his, but she knew the large shirt she tugged on was undoubtedly his. She’d taken some of Sirius’ things as well – various pictures, clothes, records, or anything she thought Walburga might get rid of. Andromeda had taken nearly everything of hers with her when she left, so Narcissa was unable to keep her close in that regard.
Narcissa curled up in her old bed, cradling the warm cup in her palms as she looked through some other papers she’d unearthed.
It was late when she finally fell asleep, and it was far too early (in her opinion, at least) when Bellatrix and Sirius decided to have a fight in the middle of the kitchen. The yelling had woken her up – an all too familiar experience – and she’d padded down the stairs curiously.
She’d walked right into a dumpster fire.
The whole fucking family was a dumpster fire.
Narcissa knew she’d flown off the handle a little bit when Sirius accused her of loving Cygnus, Orion, and Walburga. It made her so angry partially because there was truth to it. She had loved them in some strange, twisted way. She'd wanted so badly to be loved by them that she worshipped them, and that was synonymous enough to love for her to get them mixed up. She'd wanted so badly to believe that there was good in them. She wanted so badly for the terrible things she endured to have come from a place of love and endearment instead of sick fascination and morbid curiosity. It was a lost cause, she later knew, but the lonesome little girl cradled in her ribcage couldn’t let go of the hope for something better.
Hearing the reminder of her leftover adoration was like someone pressing down hard on a bruise. The echo of pain was overwhelming. Every ache they’d caused, every tear they’d made fall, it was all coming to the surface again, raw and renewed.
She curled up on the living room couch, resting a hand on her stomach and letting the other dangle, her fingertips brushing the ground.
Sirius had stormed upstairs after their fight; she could hear his footsteps when he stomped up the stairs and could recognize the heaviness in his steps to be from leftover anger. She tensed up when she heard it, curling protectively around herself before she realized he wasn’t coming towards her. He was, in fact, actively moving away from her.
It was weird to realize that.
Narcissa was silent as she lay there waiting for the funeral to commence or something.
Above her, she could hear faint talking. Sirius was probably on the phone installed in the room above this one. It wasn’t loud enough for her to make out the words, but she could guess who he was calling. Who he always called, even when they were young children. James Potter, the boy who lived close enough to be considered a neighbor. They'd all been friendly enough with him, but Sirius and James had struck up a close friendship that Narcissa was never able to understand.
She never had a friend like that. She still didn’t.
It was an incredibly sobering realization.
She slipped into a sleepy haze as she lay curled up on the couch, and eventually, she was pulled into the clutches of sleep. She'd been more tired than usual lately. The constant exhaustion was annoying, but there was something comforting about the warm feeling of it.
Narcissa didn’t dream. Or at least, she didn’t remember if she did.
One moment she was awake, then she was asleep, and then she was awake again, startled by a loud clap of thunder.
It was a very confusing series of events.
It was darker outside than she could’ve sworn it was a few moments ago. She pushed herself into a sitting position, frowning.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and then Andromeda poked her head into the room.
“Did you hear that too?” she asked.
Narcissa clarified, “The thunder?”
“Then you did,” Andromeda decided, nodding. “It didn’t sound like thunder to me.”
Narcissa was too tired to argue.
The noise came again, but it didn’t stop. It sounded more like a roar now that it was drawn out and going nonstop.
“The fuck?” Narcissa said, swinging her legs off the couch and standing up.
She followed Andromeda through the house and out of the back door. She could hear two sets of footsteps behind them, which meant Bellatrix and Sirius were coming outside as well. She thought it would’ve been quite silly if the noise turned out to be nothing.
Of course, they were never lucky enough to have that be the case.
The roar crescendoed.
When Narcissa looked up into the sky, she could see a ripple of bright blue. It spread like spiderwebs – cracks in the sky above them, bleeding a bright blue. She frowned up at it, her lips parted. It was fascinating to look at.
The bright blue cracks rippled, warping in the air, and then a face appeared.
A familiar face.
What the fuck was going on?
The roaring grew louder and louder just as the bright blue cracks burst and someone fell from the sky.
And then everything fell silent.
The man – boy? – groaned from where he landed on the ground, and then he stood up, his back to the rest of the Black Academy.
Narcissa could’ve recognized him anywhere. You don’t just forget your family no matter how badly you might want to.
The man turned around finally, his face contorted with annoyance and confusion.
“Stop being mean,” Sirius suddenly snapped, turning to Narcissa, eyes swimming with emotions she couldn’t decipher.
“I’m not doing anything!” she defended. And she genuinely wasn’t. What a cruel illusion this would be. It was like a knife between the ribs to be accused of such awfulness.
The man studied the four of them for a second, then he looked down at his body, taking in the too-long sleeves and too-big pants.
He looked back up.
“Fuck me,” Regulus Black cursed.
Regulus Black grew up playing every instrument you could think of.
He learned piano, which was the easiest for him. He was practically raised on the piano bench, his back straight and his head bowed as he pressed the keys. This was Walburga’s favorite instrument he played. This was decidedly his least favorite instrument he played.
He learned to play the harp, but that didn’t last long. It didn’t really suit him. Orion agreed and practically made Walburga get rid of the thing. Regulus could just never get the hang of plucking the strings. Also, his arms weren’t long enough for it when he was younger, so he struggled to play it, and that always made Walburga mad.
He was taught the guitar, which was boring considering nearly everyone can play something on the guitar. This one was the most practical, though. Guitars are quite common, strangely enough, so he always had access to one, even at the end of the world. Literally.
The flute was harder to learn, but only because he didn’t like it. He wasn’t interested in it in any way, but Walburga thought it was a beautiful-sounding instrument (Regulus vehemently disagreed), so she had him learn it. As expected, he succeeded with it, but his heart wasn’t in it.
He picked up a few other instruments, but his favorite of all time was the violin. Maybe it was the capacity for both sweetness and deep regret that the instrument possessed. Maybe it was the romantic way it was played: propped on his shoulder with the bow across his body dragging along the strings. Maybe it was because a certain person loved hearing Regulus play it almost as much as they loved Regulus himself. Almost.
There were a lot of reasons Regulus loved the violin, but maybe the biggest reason was the dramatic sound of it. It was such a deeply expressive-sounding instrument capable of building suspense and easing into sadness. It could build empires and destroy them almost as easily as it could draw smiles and tears. It was unapologetic in its expression of sound. He could convey anything he wanted with it: happiness, sadness, remorse, jealousy, anything at all. Things he couldn’t convey when he was just himself. But with the violin in his hand, he was able to say everything. Every score was his heart laid bare.
He loved it so much.
He practiced for hours leading up to his audition for the Royal Academy of Music. His fingers were torn up and bloody, and his shoulder ached all the time, but it was worth it as he perfected his audition pieces.
Regulus was good at everything he did, really, but nothing mattered to him as much as music did. All the fighting, all the French lessons, all the focus on his powers, it was all nothing compared to playing music.
He prepared his audition in secret. He didn’t tell anyone – no one at all. He couldn’t handle the embarrassment that would follow having to tell people he didn’t make it in should he fail. Per usual, his silence was his protection.
On the day of the audition, Regulus slipped out of the Black manor, violin case in hand.
He played the best he’d ever played. Every note was sweet and lovely. The building of the music was laced with passion and tender adoration. The heaviness of the second half of the piece was palpable in the air. Regulus knew he had done well, and he didn’t stop himself from grinning when the people assessing him gave him a standing ovation. He let himself be happy, for once.
It was a few months later when the letter came in the mail.
Kreacher slipped it under Regulus’ doorstep – usually, all mail was filtered through Cygnus, Orion, and Walburga. They reviewed anything and everything. But Kreacher favored Regulus, and it was easy for Regulus to convince him to sneak around just this once.
Regulus ripped the letter open eagerly. He scanned the first paragraph, his heart pounding in his chest when he saw the word “accepted”. He’d done it. He’d made it in.
He could leave this place.
The acceptance letter in his hands was his ticket out of there.
Regulus sprung up out of bed and threw his door open, tearing down the hallway. Druella’s charging room had a phone plugged into the wall.
He took it off the hook and dialed the number from memory. Nothing could’ve made him forget that number. Nothing. Not even years and years without being able to use it.
“Hello?” the person on the other end answered.
“It’s me.”
“Regulus?”
“I did it. I made it in,” Regulus whispered into the phone, unable to hide his excitement.
“Oh my god!” The other person laughed in disbelief. “That’s so exciting. Why didn’t you tell me you were applying?”
“So I could surprise you by getting in.”
Another laugh. “That sounds like you. Are you going to go? Like, for sure?”
He nodded, forgetting the person on the other end of the phone couldn’t see him, and said, “I think so. I want to. I just have to. . . I don’t know.”
“Get the courage to leave?” the other person guessed.
“Yeah,” Regulus said, blowing out his breath. “It’s harder than I thought it would be. To get the courage.”
“I know.”
Then it was just breathing on the other end of the phone. Regulus and the other person were silent for a while.
“I miss you,” Regulus finally whispered.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” came the reminder.
“I still miss you, though.”
Regulus wouldn’t be there tomorrow, though. He wouldn’t be anywhere. At least, not anywhere anyone else was.
At breakfast, Orion cleared his throat. He, Cygnus, and Walburga all sat at the other end of the table from the children, with several seats between them left empty. They never acknowledged the children during meals. Ever. They talked amongst themselves in low murmurs and ignored everyone else. This change in routine was dangerous.
Regulus looked to Narcissa sitting next to him, frowning slightly, before leaning forward to look down at the table at Orion.
“Number Two,” Orion called, “come over here.”
Shit, Regulus thought, his heart leaping into his throat. They must’ve somehow found out about the acceptance letter. He'd gone to extensive means to keep them from seeing it, so something must’ve been leaked. Maybe they’d been listening to his phone call. But he’d never even elaborated beyond “I got in”. His hands shook in terror as he stood up, avoiding the eyes of the other children.
He walked down to the other end of the table, his back straight and his chin high. He refused to be ashamed of himself. Maybe they’d just throw him out now. That'd save him the trouble of planning to run away.
Orion looked up at Regulus, his eyes cold and empty. “Have you been practicing your time jumps?”
Regulus frowned, confused, not quite understanding what Orion was asking him. Then the realization hit.
“Yes, sir,” he lied.
“Good,” Orion said. “Then I’ll see you six years ago on the second of April at two in the afternoon. You’ll shake my hand and introduce yourself, I imagine.”
“But, sir, I haven’t done jumps beyond a few days—”
“You chronically hold yourself back, Number Two,” Orion snapped. “I’m requesting you to push yourself. How can you be of use to me if you refuse to improve? You’ll be just like Number One at this rate, and I’m asking you to be better. Do you understand me, boy?”
“Yes, sir,” Regulus said, shrinking into himself.
“Six years ago, on the second of April at two in the afternoon, please.”
Regulus glanced back at the others desperately, waiting for someone to cut in, but they were silent. Bellatrix watched him, eyes wide and fascinated. Both Narcissa and Andromeda looked worried.
He didn’t think.
He turned and ran, needing air. He didn’t think to explain himself. He thought he’d be back in time to tell them why he’d gone away to do it.
Regulus pushed the front door open, ignoring the frantic calls of “Number Two!” behind him. He burst out onto the front steps, listening as the front door swung shut with a bang behind him.
He made it out of the iron gate as well, hearing it rattle as it closed, and kept running once he made it to the street. He needed to clear his head. He wasn’t a dog; he couldn’t just do tricks on demand.
His heart pounded in his chest.
He rounded the corner and slowed down to a normal pace, trying to even out his breathing.
Okay, he could do this. He needed to do this. He shook out his hands, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
A lady on the street glanced over at him, but he ignored her strange look, and she eventually focused on something else.
He could do this.
It was just time travel. Nothing hard, right?
Regulus had jumped through space enough times, and he’d been slowly working on jumping ahead or back a few minutes at a time. This was years. But it wasn’t that different, was it? It couldn’t have been. Surely not.
He pressed his lips together, trying to silence his thoughts. He couldn’t be distracted if he was going to jump. He had to be focused and ready.
The second of April at two in the afternoon, six years prior.
He could do this. He had to do this.
Regulus clenched his hands into fists. Blue light warped around his hands, and the air between them rippled as he bent reality into a portal that he could break through.
A dog barked and he flinched, thinking instinctively of Sirius.
He had to stay focused.
He pulled harder, squeezing his eyes shut, and then flung himself forward, throwing his body into the hole he’d made in time.
It was quiet when his feet hit the cement.
He could hear the tell-tale sound of a fire crackling.
Hesitantly, Regulus opened his eyes. He could tell instantly that he’d fucked up. This wasn’t the right day. Shit, this wasn’t the right year, either. This was a time that didn’t exist yet, a time he was horrified to realize would eventually exist.
The end of the world.
Ash floated through the air. The sun was a bright red, unsettling and unnatural. Smoke plumes drifted along the horizon and curled from the small fires burning in front of him – like the whole world was ablaze. The smoke burned his nostrils. It was silent. The buildings were all destroyed, broken down into rubble and ash and broken pieces. Shards of glass littered the cracked sidewalk, and he had to do a complicated dance to avoid stepping on any of the pieces.
Terror struck him. He turned around and ran back towards the Black manor, hoping it might still be standing among the ruins.
It was crumpled just like the rest of the street. He could see familiar objects in the wreckage: pieces of furniture, family portraits, scraps of Walburga’s dresses, and, strangely, one of Druella’s heels.
Nothing could stand against this tragedy, not even the Black Academy.
His throat was dry. Tears were hot against his cheeks, but he didn’t realize he’d been crying.
Everything was just so overwhelming.
“Sirius?” he called out instinctively, looking around, hoping the other boy might appear from the rubble.
No one was there.
“Cissy?”
Silence again.
He swallowed hard. What came next was in a broken whisper: “James?”
Still nothing.
They were all gone.
Regulus tried to jump back. He clenched his fists and squeezed his eyes shut, but even the blue light that usually accompanied his powers ignited. He was stuck.
He was stuck.
He was fucking stuck at the end of the word.
“Please, is anyone here?” he screamed, voice raw and cracking.
He searched the street frantically, trying to find a payphone that was still functioning. He moved aside large pieces of cement and bricks and everything else that had fallen where the payphone usually was. After two unsuccessful attempts, he finally found a phone that still had a dial tone, albeit glitchy.
He dialed the first number he thought of.
The phone rang and rang and rang.
He hung up and dialed again.
Once more, the phone rang and rang and rang.
No one was coming to pick it up. No one was left to pick it up.
Regulus sat down on the ground, tucking his knees to his chest, and stared off at nothing, tears tracing tracks through the soot collected on his face. Everything was gone. Everyone was gone. It was just him here.
He was eighteen. He was supposed to go to the Royal Academy of Music.
He had so much to do still.
When he finally stumbled back to his feet, he walked around inspecting everything. Newspapers were littered on the ground by tipped-over mailboxes. The date on them: the first of April.
Based on everything around him, he figured the destruction was probably a day or so old. If he had to guess, he would say it was the second of April. Just like he’d been asked to go to.
Only, instead of going six years back, he’d gone six years into the future.
For days, he wandered through the wreckage of the end of the world. The apocalypse. Doomsday. Whatever you wanted to call it.
He found absolutely nothing. Not one living creature – no humans, no dogs, no cats, no birds, nothing at all. The rivers were void of fish. The forests had nothing but charred trees in them, and eventually shoots of new plant life, but nothing that really felt living.
Time felt frozen.
It wasn’t real. It couldn’t have been.
Narcissa was playing a joke on him. She was surely exhausted at the effort of keeping the illusion up, and she’d definitely let it down soon.
Cygnus, Orion, and Walburga were trying to teach him a lesson. They'd knocked him out and brought him somewhere they made to look like the end of the world. He would find the end of the set soon, and everything could go back to normal.
It wasn’t real, it wasn’t real, it wasn’t real.
It was real.
At the end of the world, Regulus was really considering just killing himself and getting it over with. It'd been a week or so by then, and he was losing the delusional hope he’d clutched tightly to his chest.
One shard of glass could do it.
Falling and hitting his head could end it all.
Drowning in the river could take all the feelings of grief and loneliness away.
But just as he was seriously considering it, he heard a faint pop.
He froze.
“Number Two?”
Regulus whirled around, eyes bright and wild and feral and, strangely, hopeful. He probably looked insane. He was dirtier than he’d ever been in his life, and he hated it, but there was nothing he could do about it. Everything about him looked deranged and dangerous.
He flinched upon seeing the man standing in front of him, disappointment filling him when he realized it wasn’t Orion or Cygnus. The man wore a nicely pressed suit with a tie knotted just under his throat. He clutched a briefcase in his hand. His hair was dark and neatly combed.
The man didn’t look as if he’d been wandering through the apocalypse.
“Who the fuck are you?” Regulus demanded, backing away from him. He never had much trust to begin with, and this whole apocalypse thing was making that worse.
The man smiled. “I’m here to help you.”
“What?”
“You’d be a very valuable asset to me, Number Two, and I think we could be very good business partners,” the man said. “You can call me the Dark Lord.”
Regulus never regretted agreeing to go with the Dark Lord.
Anything was better than this endless limbo.
His body aged slowly, as did his mind, throughout his time with the Dark Lord as a Death Eater. He was still growing, strangely enough, so he had to get refitted for suits every once in a while. He completed mission after mission, steadily making a name for himself, and it felt like he was back at the Black Academy sometimes. He'd imagine that it was Orion giving him orders, that it was Andromeda he was comparing notes with, that it was Walburga quizzing him on his French instead of an overly eager language learner. He pretended so many things to get by. They were just small indulgences to make the days bearable.
During his downtime, Regulus researched and studied ways to get his powers back to working again. He’d try them experimentally, but he was never confident enough to step through the portals through time he created. He read book after book, made equation after equation, and studied chart after chart, all in the hopes it would help him.
He had to stop the end of the world.
He was obsessed with figuring out ways to stop the apocalypse from ever occurring.
He supposed that was why they never put him on those cases; they didn’t trust him not to mess up the timeline. But he didn’t care. Fuck the timeline, he wanted his family to live. He wanted to find a way back to normal life so he could continue living.
When Regulus finally got the equation right, he was physically around twenty-two. He didn’t know how many actual years it had been, but that didn’t matter, not in the grand scheme of things. Time wasn’t even real enough to move in a straight line, not with the way he moved through it carelessly.
He was on a mission.
He was supposed to complete his mission.
The only way to leave the Death Eaters was to die or retire, but Regulus didn’t really plan on doing either. He didn’t plan on leaving in the first place. Until he thought he cracked the code on the equation.
He made the portal, ignoring what he was supposed to be doing, and watched the air ripple as he stretched it thin. Blue light flickered around his fists and made cracks through the air, glowing brightly. He could see faces through the portal. Four, to be exact, and they all looked hauntingly familiar.
Regulus swallowed the bile rising in his throat and threw himself into the portal.
But something was wrong.
He landed hard on the ground, and it knocked the wind out of him.
He stood up, his back to the rest of the Black Academy.
Then, slowly, he turned around, frowning.
“Stop being mean,” the man snapped at one of the women he was standing with. Sirius. He looked so different than when Regulus had seen him last. He was older and more mature. Something was softer about his expression – it seemed more vulnerable, like he was more willing to be expressive.
“I’m not doing anything!” the blonde girl defended. It was Narcissa, no doubt about it.
Sirius was accusing her of illusioning Regulus, which was fair enough all things considered. They probably thought he was dead. And dead people don’t just randomly drop from the sky looking – well, how did he look?
Regulus glanced down at his body, feeling like something was off. His sleeves were too long on him; his pants were too big. He was back in his eighteen-year-old body, which was extremely aggravating.
“Fuck me,” he cursed, looking back up at the others with a frown.
One of the women cackled at that, and he recognized her laugh. Bellatrix. She hadn’t changed one bit, it seemed.
Which meant the other woman standing there was Andromeda.
They were all here. Why the fuck were they all here?
He'd been aiming for the Black manor, and a quick look past the strange quartet told him he’d been successful in his attempt, but the rest didn’t make sense. Sirius had left years ago. He thought the girls would leave eventually as well – especially after he disappeared. Had Sirius come back? Was Regulus wrong about the whole situation?
Andromeda hesitantly walked forward, almost like she was approaching a wild animal.
“Is this real?” she asked, seemingly directing the question at him, but it could’ve been anyone she was talking to.
Regulus rolled his eyes. He took a step forward, Apparating with a faint pop, and reappeared behind the four of them. He kept walking, not looking behind him despite the faint snort Sirius let out.
He tugged the back door open, searching for the kitchen. Though it had been a while since he’d stepped foot inside the Black manor, muscle memory was enough of a guide to keep him from getting confused. His heart was pounding anxiously in his chest; also muscle memory. Being afraid was so physically engraved in him here, even after the name he’d made for himself back as a Death Eater.
He supposed he wasn’t one anymore.
They'd come looking for him soon. People don’t just desert. Especially not people in such a prime position as Regulus.
Kreacher gasped when Regulus pushed his way into the kitchen, his eyes growing wide. “Master Regulus?” he whispered.
“Kreacher,” Regulus greeted as warmly as he could muster.
“So Kreacher gets a ‘hello’, but we don’t?” Narcissa asked, her arms crossed. The others must’ve followed him through the house.
Regulus turned around, exasperated, and said, “Yes, hello, Cissy. And everyone else, I suppose.”
“We thought you died,” Andromeda whispered, her eyes wide and watery. He grimaced. He wasn’t the best when it came to people crying in front of him. Especially when they were crying because of him.
“I should’ve died, but I didn’t,” he said without elaborating. He turned back to the housekeeper. “Kreacher, could you please make some food or something? I’m half-starved.”
“Have you aged at all?” Bellatrix asked, poking him in the arm. She was closer to him than he’d expected, and he flinched away. He hadn’t heard her approach. It was eerie. It was just Bellatrix, though, so he probably should’ve expected it.
“I did some calculations, but I must’ve messed up,” he admitted, looking down at his body. “I was older than this. And taller, mind you.”
“Hold on,” Sirius interrupted. “Calculations? What kind of calculations?”
Regulus pointedly ignored him. He'd been fostering this grudge for a while, and it wasn’t just going to end now that Sirius was standing in front of him. He'd left. He'd run away without even telling Regulus or anyone else. He'd abandoned them all to fend for themselves, and he’d had no remorse in doing so. Though Regulus’ grudge had softened over time, it was still a sore point in his life that he wasn’t so sure would ever heal. At one point, he’d thought they might be able to rekindle eventually, but it’d been so long for Regulus that he wasn’t so sure anymore.
Besides, he could focus on fixing his relationships later.
Right now, he had something to do.
“What’s the date?” he demanded. “The exact date.”
“The twenty-first of March,” Andromeda supplied.
He did the mental math. Okay, he could make this work. He had eleven days to save the world from ending.
“Why?” Narcissa asked, trying not to sound curious. Regulus knew her too well, though. He turned a pointed look at her, hoping she still remembered him well enough to realize he wasn’t interested in explaining himself.
A newspaper on the counter caught his attention.
Orion and Walburga were dead. He knew that they died, of course – he'd found newspapers in the apocalypse detailing their deaths, and he hadn’t found it in himself to celebrate considering everyone was dead there.
“Did I miss the funeral?” he asked, tapping the paper.
“No,” Sirius said. “A few hours from now and you would’ve.”
“Damn,” Regulus muttered.
“Why so many questions, mon chaton?” Bellatrix inquired, grinning. The tip of her tongue poked out from between her teeth.
Regulus’ nose wrinkled at the childish term of endearment, anger sparking in his chest at her purposeful dig. He was eighteen again. He wasn’t even a child. But he was now six years younger than the others – physically, mind you – so of course Bellatrix would find that fun to poke at. “None of your fucking business,” he snarled.
“Quelqu’un est un colère,” Bellatrix said, cackling.
“Quelqu’un cherche à mourir,” Regulus replied, holding up a knife he carried in his pocket. He pointed it at Bellatrix’s chest, eyes dark and cold.
“No more death threats before a funeral, please,” Andromeda begged.
Regulus looked her up and down. Slowly, he put his knife down.
Bellatrix lunged forward.
“Arrêtez ça, Bella,” Narcissa snapped.
“I was joking,” she whined.
Sirius turned his gaze onto Regulus. “Where did you go?” he asked, sounding concerned.
“The future,” Regulus said. “It’s shit, by the way.”
“Called it!” Bellatrix announced.
Narcissa gave her a weird look and then looked at Regulus. “How far in the future did you go?”
Regulus considered his options. He could tell them all right here and now, hopefully securing their help in stopping the end of the world. Or he could let them live their lives and save them before they needed to involve themselves.
The decision was easy, really.
“Far enough to hate it,” was all he ended up saying.