Hope
“Mother.” Regulus knocks on the doorframe, nodding at Kreacher to take his bags upstairs.
Walburga looks up sharply from her desk. “Regulus. You’re back.”
“Yes. Did they warn you I’d be coming?”
“Unfortunately they did. Muggle-sympathizing cowards, sending you back over a small attack. The only children harmed were Muggleborns, but that doesn’t matter to them, does it? No, they…” Walburga trails off and presses her lips together, frowning at Regulus. “When are you leaving?”
“Monday.”
“Hm. I’ll cut your hair before then. It’s getting too long.”
“Alright.”
“How are your grades? You just took your OWLS, yes? When do you get those back?”
Regulus looks down. “Next week, Maman.”
“How do you think you did?”
He tells her the truth- coincidentally it happens to be exactly what she wants to hear. “I doubt I got anything less than an E.”
Walburga looks him up and down, nodding once. “Fine. Anything else? Any meetings with Dumbledore?” Her eyes glitter. “I advise you not to lie to me again.”
“No, Maman. No meetings.”
“Good.”
Regulus takes a deep breath. “I would like to speak to the Dark Lord this weekend, if there’s time. I have some questions about my task.”
“Questions? He did not thoroughly explain?”
“He did. I have more anyway.”
Walburga eyes him suspiciously. “There’s a meeting tomorrow evening. I’ll take you after.”
Regulus nods. “Thank you, Maman.”
“You will not disrespect him by questioning his orders, do you understand? Anything you ask him will be simple clarifications.”
Regulus’s resolve stutters but he keeps his face on careful lockdown. Cold and impassive as ever, he agrees. “Of course.”
“Go. Kreature has lunch waiting.”
He bows his head. “Thank you.”
As quietly as he came, he slips out the door.
---
He finds the book he’s looking for in his father’s study. It’s dark, the rest of the house sound asleep. Kreature had woken, stopping him at the top of the stairs. It hadn’t taken much for him to be dismissed, though he gave Regulus quite the suspicious look on his way down.
Regulus slides the book off the shelf, biting his lip when the wood creaks. He tucks it carefully to his chest, folding his arms around it and backing out of the study quietly. He makes it to his room in peace, lighting a candle and settling down on his bed.
Wiping the dust off the cover, Regulus flips it open. Secret of the Darkest Act by Owle Bullock. He skims through the first few chapters. It’s interesting, sure, but nothing he doesn’t already know. Preliminary intro-to-the-dark-arts stuff.
The Basilisk had said the word Horcrux like a taboo, like some secret that needed to be guarded because of its ugly and brutal nature. But here it was: a whole book on them, information laid out in clear neat chapters. In this world, in this house, it didn’t seem taboo. It seemed perfectly natural.
As it turned out, Horcruxes were fairly straight forward. Commit a direct murder, the most sinful act, and use the resulting split in your soul to create an object that ensures your immortality. Regulus leans forward, pulse quickening.
“It’s the darkest form of magic,” the book reads. “ To force yourself into two pieces, to split your very essence down the middle, is unthinkable. The only wizard known to accomplish this feat was Herpo the Foul from Ancient Greece.”
Not anymore, Regulus thinks bitterly. He wonders if Voldemort read this same book. He wonders if he too sat crouched near a candle, insides tingling not with dread but excitement. Maybe, Regulus thinks, he read it outloud to the Basilisk. The thought sends a surprisingly angry thrill of possessive energy through him. He thinks of the scar on her cheek, the one Tom gave her, and squeezes his eyes shut.
Before he can tunnel down that particular angry rabbit hole, Regulus sets the thought aside for tomorrow night and keeps reading. “Horcruxes render the creator nearly undefeatable. There are very few known counters, as Horcruxes themselves are indestructible. The objects are often protected by a numerous amount of curses and charms, and the very nature of a Horcrux itself fends off ordinary attacks.” Regulus narrows his eyes and pinpoints on a word. Nearly. Nearly undefeatable. So…
Quickly he flips back to the table of contents, working his way down. Introduction, What is a Horcrux, Instructions on Creation, Falts and Counters. There. Regulus finds the chapter quickly, tucked near the end of the book.
“A Horcrux can be defeated using two main weapons: Fiendfyre and Basilisk venom. While Fiendfyre is dark enough magic to permanently burn the soul itself, Basilisk venom will melt straight through the outer core and dissolve the entire thing. While Fiendfyre takes some concentration and control, the right wizard is able to manage it successfully. Basilisks are thought to be extinct, so there’s little threat posed on that end.”
Regulus stares at the page before slowly shutting the book, setting it on his nightstand. Pieces were rapidly clicking into place, blocks aligning. That's why the Dark Lord wanted the Basilisk fangs. Not to destroy his Horcrux, but to ensure no one else could. If Basilisks were thought to be extinct, then the last threat to his soul would be the only one left. Which meant…
“Shit,” Regulus whispers, letting his hand trail over the cover. Her mutilation wouldn’t actually accomplish anything. It would be a preventative measure, working towards no actual change. Ensuring the status quo. Her pain, her loneliness, would all be meaningless. Pointless.
He takes a shuddering breath, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes.
There had to be another way.
He could seal the Chamber completely, maybe. Lock the door nice and tight, never to be released. It could only be opened by a parselmouth anyway, so what exactly was Voldemort worried about? Which Parselmouth, which descendant of Slytherin himself, would be willing to go against the Dark Lord? Except- Regulus glances at the book on the table, at the information he’s definitely not supposed to know. He thinks about the fury that swirls around somewhere deep down whenever he meets Voldemort’s eyes.
Maybe the Dark Lord’s right to be cautious.
He slides off the bed, grabbing the book as he goes. The stairs creak a bit as he goes down, but he knows which steps to avoid. When he finally deposits the book back in his father’s study, his mind is churning, answers much less forthcoming than questions.
When he finds his way back to bed, it’s late. Too late. He’ll be tired in the morning, and his mother will get upset about the dark circles under his eyes. He’ll have to use Glamour, which is fine, but takes more energy.
Groaning, Regulus buries his face in the pillow. He wraps his arms around himself, squeezing tightly. About as tight as James would.
Well.
That’s embarrassing.
Regulus concentrates on sleep. He’s just so tired. When he finally slips off, it's to the thought of Horcruxes and the Basilisk's green scales.
---
“Again.” Walburga is perched primly on the couch, black dress arranged neatly around her. Orion sits in the armchair opposite, reading.
“Nothing else?” Regulus lowers the violin, fingers and arms starting to ache.
“You’re fumbling on the final section. Again.”
So he plays it again. And again, after that. Till even keeping his eyes closed does nothing to ebb the blurring of his vision. His fingertips begin to burn. Finally:
“Stop. I’ve heard enough.” Walburga waves her hand and Regulus lets out a silent gasp of relief, letting his arm drop. She studies him carefully. “I really should’ve started you on the piano.”
“I like the violin.”
“You don’t play an instrument to like it, Regulus.”
Regulus looks down, still holding his violin. “Can I put it away?”
“Mm, no.” She sighs, leaning back into the couch. “Play it again.”
“You said you’d heard enough-”
“Play it again.”
Regulus does.
When he’s finally released, Regulus slips the violin back in its case and moves to head upstairs. He’s stopped by the doorway, Orion’s hand tight on his arm. “Wait a minute.”
“Yes?”
“Come with me.” Orion turns and heads down the hall, taking a seat at his desk. Regulus awkwardly stands across from him, hands folded. “I want to discuss your plans for next year.”
Regulus eyes the book he stole last night, hoping his father doesn’t notice the odd lack of dust. “What do you mean?”
“After you complete the Dark Lord’s task, we expect him to grant you The Mark. You already make his potions when his normal potioner isn’t available. I’m sure you’ll be granted more duties after that.”
Regulus takes a deep breath, unfeeling. “Alright.”
“Do you wish to return to Hogwarts after this summer?”
“I- what?” Regulus binks, taken aback.
“I’m quite certain you heard me.”
“It’s my choice? I still have two years left.”
Orion raises a brow at him and Regulus nods. “Can I decide later?”
“You're rapidly depleting my patience.”
“I’m sorry. I’m going to have to talk to my professors and see what my grades are. I’ll tell you this summer.”
Orion sighs but nods. “Fine. Your mother believes we should pull you out now, but I insisted the choice be yours.”
Regulus ducks his head. “Thank you.”
“Out. I have work to do.”
Regulus nods and turns, leaving Orion at his desk. He grabs the violin case from the couch and climbs the stairs slowly, lost in his thoughts.
He wishes he could talk to James without everything blowing up in their faces. Wishes he could explain everything, ask for advice. Maybe he’d understand this time. Maybe-
No.
Sirius is off the table.
Regulus shakes his head and pulls out a textbook, sitting up against his pillows. It occurs to him that he spends a lot of time in bed. Too much, probably.
Eventually, he gives up. Trying to read feels pointless. He shuts the book with a groan and sits up. He has four hours till the meeting- that’s more than enough time to figure something out.
Regulus finds his way down the stairs and pulls on a jacket, slipping into his boots. Kreacher appears with a pop beside him. “Master Regulus is going somewhere?”
“Yes, Kreature. Just to a friend's house. I doubt Maman will ask, but if she does, tell her I’ll be back in time and that there’s no need to worry.”
“Of course, Master.” Kreature blinks up at him and offers a crooked smile.
Regulus softens. “Thank you. Take some time for yourself this afternoon, yeah? You work too hard.”
“Kreature is being fine, Master. He thanks you very much for your kindness.”
Regulus nods and carefully closes the door behind him.
Pandora’s house isn’t far- just a few neighborhoods away. Regulus takes the Muggle tube, enjoying the shift and sway of the crowded train. No one looks at him as he tucks himself against the far wall, keeping a tight grip on the pole.
A small baby, wrapped tightly in a cloth and pressed against his mother’s chest, stares at him with wide eyes.
He stares back.
Eventually the train screeches to a stop and Regulus joins the throng of people pushing out. He knows Dora’s address- like James, she’s made him memorize it. The small garden spills up instead of out, wrapping around the windows and roof of the house. Flowers crack through stone, winding themselves around the stairs. It’s such a striking sight Regulus is sure Muggles can’t see it.
When he knocks, Pandora’s mother answers. “Yes? Hello?”
Regulus swallows, looking down. “I’m sorry to come unannounced, Mrs. I was wondering- is Pandora home?”
“Regulus Black.” Her mother’s expression tightens and she glances behind him. “You’re here alone?”
“Yes.”
“You’re sure? I don’t want anyone-”
“Reg!” A blur of white hair pushes out from under her mother’s arm. Pandora smiles at Regulus brightly, taking him in. “You’re here.”
“Yeah. I didn’t say I was coming. Sorry.” He half-directs that at Pandora’s mother, still glaring from the door.
“Oh, I knew. Come on. We’ll go to the park.” Pandora tugs on his arm and Regulus tries to force himself to relax.
“Right. Ok.”
She pulls him down and onto the street. “We should make this a tradition, you know? Going on walks over breaks.”
“Yeah.” He glances at her out of the corner of his eye. “Your mother doesn’t like me.”
Pandora’s expression sombers a bit. “She doesn’t like your family.”
Can’t blame her, Regulus thinks. He says nothing though, pressing his lips shut. Pandora nudges him with her elbow. “What did you want to talk about?”
“I- how did you know I wanted to talk?”
“You wouldn’t come to me unless it was urgent. So I’m ready. Go.”
Regulus lets out a tense breath. “I don’t have long. But I… um. I need to run something by you.”
“Go for it.” They cross the street, entering the park.
He looks around, still on edge. Pandora, of course, notices. “Don’t worry,” She smiles. “There’s no one here that knows or cares what we’re talking about.”
“Ok.” Regulus looks away. “I need to- I need to get out of the task the Dark Lord gave me. I can’t go through with it.” It’s terrifying, saying it out loud. It sounds childish. Selfish.
“Ah.” Pandora nods, looking up at the branches of a tree. “I suspected it might be something like that.”
“I just- I can’t.”
“Ok.” She looks back at him. “Is there any way to accomplish what he wants without going about it the way you currently intend to?”
“No.” Of course he’s thought about that. He dismissed any sort of fakes or duplicates of the fangs almost immediately.
“Right. Then…” She studies him carefully. “What happens if you don’t follow through?”
“I-” he takes a short breath, picturing his parents' reaction to the failure. “They would… not be happy. They’d- I-” He cuts himself off with a sharp shake of his head. He refuses to meet her eyes. “That would be bad.”
“Hm.” Pandora hums gently. “Reg.”
“Yeah?”
“What if you don’t go back there this summer?”
His whole body stiffens. He hates having this conversation. Hates how many times he has to. “Pandora. I can’t. You know that. I have duties to fulfill. She’d find me-”
“Would she?”
“She wouldn’t stop until she did.”
“Alright.” Pandora settles down on a stone wall and after a moment, Regulus follows her. “Tell me anyway. Tell me where you’d go, if you left.”
Regulus looks out across the park. “I… I would follow Sirius.”
“The Potters, then?”
“Yeah. The Potters.”
“What would you do once you got there?”
The answer comes instantly. Regulus has pictured it so many times in his head he knows exactly how it would go down. “I would tell Euphemia and Sirius the situation. I would warn her Walburga would be looking for us. I would have her and Fleamont put up defensive charms and wards. They’re powerful people. The wards would probably hold.”
“And the Dark Lord? What if he comes looking for you himself?”
Regulus shakes his head. “The Dark Lord has a lot of enemies. He’s too lazy to seek them all out individually. There’s thousands of places to hide, and I know how by now.” He thinks about the Horcruxes and the Basilisk’s fangs. “I know his secrets. Too many, probably.”
“And your brother?”
Regulus swallows. In all his thinking, in all his imagining, he’d never quite found a way over that particular hurdle. “We’d… we’d make up, eventually. He wouldn’t kick me out. He wants me there. I know that.”
“What about James?”
“James would be fine.” Regulus answers without thinking, letting out a small chuckle. He looks up to find Pandora’s eyes locked on his, sparkling.
“And your mother? How would you handle her?”
“Like I said. Charms. I don’t think she knows where the Potter's house is, and by the time we finished with all the wards, it’d be very difficult to find.”
Pandora leans back on her hands. “So how would you do this, then?”
“I would… I would go back to school. Talk to Sirius, maybe, or Potter. Get off the train with them, probably.” Leave the Basilisk unharmed and with promises to return.
“So, Reg, I have a question.”
“Mm?” Regulus looks up, meeting her glittering eyes.
“Why the fuck don’t you?”
His thoughts stall. “...What?”
“You have everything figured out. You have all the kinks and issues smoothed over. You know exactly what to do in any given scenario. You’re smart enough to know it’ll work. So why don't you, Reg? Why not go with them? Why not run?”
“I… can’t.”
She rolls her eyes. “You keep saying that. You keep saying that, and you still can’t give me a single reason. In fact, you just spent around three minutes explaining why everything would work out perfectly.”
Regulus opens his mouth to respond and… pauses. He considers her point. Considers everything he’s just said. “I…”
“Go, Regulus. Get out of that house. Join your brother. Your heart is winning out over your mind.”
He almost laughs at that, because no. That’s not quite right. His heart is very much already at the Potter’s, cupped gently in the hands of another boy. It’s his stomach that’s tingling with nerves.
“I… I wouldn’t know how.”
“Yes you do. You just told me-”
Regulus gives a sharp shake of his head. “No. I wouldn’t know how to talk to Sirius. What if Euphemia and Fleamont don’t want me? What if they refuse and I have to face my parents again? They’d know what I’d done. I’d be punished.”
“It’s the Potters. They’re known for their generous hearts.”
“I just…” He trails off, watching a squirrel get chased up a tree by a small dog.
“Reg. You don’t want to do whatever the Dark Lord has asked you to. Really, really don’t, because you wouldn’t have asked for help if there was anyway you could bear it. Here’s your out. Take it.”
He looks at her and takes a deep breath. She reminds him of the Basilisk in a weird way. They’re both logical when they need to be without dismissing their emotions. They’re both kind.
He loves them both in similar ways.
Regulus doesn’t say anything. He stares at the tree, at the dog barking at its base. The squirrel remains mercifully hidden in the leaves.
“You’re not going to agree verbally, not now. I know. But if you do decide to go through with it, know that I’m with you. Know that you’re safe.” She smiles and grips his arm gently. “Good luck, Regulus.”
He nods, still unable to find words. That kind of thinking, that hope, is dangerous. It’s mislead him before. She hops off the stone wall, waiting for him to follow. “Don’t worry about my mum, remember. She’ll be ok.”
He finds his voice, crackly but there. “How are you? I’ve been talking so much I forgot to ask.”
“I’m fine. I’m… worried.” She dances her fingers in the air. “I don’t like where this war is going. Or what it’s doing to our friends. Barty’s slipping. I know you can see it. And Evan’s following him, because he wouldn't be Evan if he didn't. Dorcas is straying in the opposite direction, which I support, but it’s creating... devisions. So, I'm worried.”
He nods, staring off over the rooftops as they walk back. “I see it.”
“I’m trying not to think about it.” She sighs. “My mother is making that difficult.”
“Mothers.” Regulus mutters, sighing. Pandora laughs softly.
“Mothers,” She agrees.
They’ve reached her door.
Their goodbye is simple, a quick kiss on the cheek from Pandora and a tight nod from Regulus. By the time she makes it to her house, Regulus is at the end of the block.
The return journey on the tube is a lot quieter. Regulus finds himself missing the press of unconcerned bodies. He closes his eyes, trying to let the sway of the train carry away his thoughts. He tries to leave them back in that park, on that stone wall.
He fails.
When he steps inside, Walburga finds him instantly. “Regulus. We must go. Now. You shouldn't have gone out.” She moves past him to grab her overcoat and Regulus flinches back against the wall. She shoots him a glare as she passes. “Control yourself.”
He nods and follows her out. He thought he had more time. He thought… well. It doesn’t matter now, because before he can speak she grabs his arm and turns on the spot, apperating them away.
The stone building where Voldemort holds his meetings is large and lofty, a cold breeze constantly blowing out the candles that relight instantly. There’s a bench in the hall outside the meeting room. Regulus takes a seat and watches as his mother brushes over her jacket and dress, straightening as she prepares to go in. He can still feel her grip on his arm, tight and bruising. He rolls his shoulder.
“I’ll be back.” She hisses, taking a few steps towards the door. “Stay quiet.”
He nods and stares at his feet, watching as the shadows of other death eaters entering the meeting pass him by. He tries to guess their name by their outline.
He thinks about Pandora.
He thinks about James.
He thinks about the Basilisk.
He counts the minutes, counts the seconds. He examines his palms, starting intently at the little half-moon dents that are more scars than callouses now. Despite himself, he wonders if Sirius’s hands match. Maybe if he pulls this off right he’ll get to find out.
He knows when the meetings end. People start to file out, talking quietly beneath raised hoods. Someone stops in front of him, and he looks up to meet his mothers icy stare. “Now?”
“Now. Up. Don’t keep him waiting.”
The Dark Lord is still seated at the head of the table, his snake winding around in front of him. “Regulus.”
“My Lord.” Regulus ducks his head. “Thank you for meeting with me.”
“Your mother said you had… questions, about your assignment. Which tells me you have yet to succeed. So now I ask: Why?” Voldemort’s voice sends a shudder down Regulus’s spine, but he forces himself to answer.
“That’s why I’ve come to you today.”
The Dark Lord tilts his head, indicating for Regulus to continue. Regulus clears his throat. “Removing the Basilisk’s fangs will ruin her- it’s- trust. It has information that I believe could be crucial to your cause.”
“Our cause.” Voldemort corrects, though his eyes narrow as if he’s considering what Regulus said. “Those fangs are very important. More important than someone like you could comprehend.”
Regulus wonders if the Dark Lord knows exactly how much the Basilisk picked up from their time together.
“What if we sealed the Chamber, then? That way no one could get in yet we’d retain the information she possesses.”
“What information do you speak of?” The Dark Lord leans forward and Regulus takes a step back. “What has it told you?”
“Nothing of importance, my Lord, but-”
It’s far too late.
Voldemort’s already prying into his mind, diving straight for his memories of the Basilisk. Regulus barely has time to rip James out of his path, summoning the ocean of calm to wash away everything he doesn’t want the Dark Lord seeing. He offers up bits of the Basilisk talking about Slytherin, about Gryfindor, about her Master's beliefs. He keeps everything about the Dark Lord, about Tom, about the Horcruxes, drowned in the sea.
When Voldemort backs off, Regulus is shaking slightly, trying his best to keep himself composed. He feels raw, defenses weak. The Dark Lord sits back, sighing. “Bella has been teaching you well, I see.”
Regulus notes the comment for what it is. A threat hidden behind a false compliment.
He hates it.
“Thank you, my Lord.”
“Anything that snake has to say about Slytherin or the old ways has no use to me. It told me everything already. Slytherin and Gryfindor hated each other, he drove him out for the noble act of refusing mudbloods from the school. Anything else the Basilisk has to say can be read in books.” The Dark Lord sets his long-nailed hand down on the table. The snake slithers up his arm and wraps around his shoulders.
Regulus keeps his face neutral, realizing they met two very different Basilisks. Regulus’s Basilisk trusted him. Showed him Slytherin’s room, his letters, his love. Tom’s Basilisk only told him the necessities, only told him what was safe to tell. Regulus relishes in the burst of warm gratitude at the realization. He hadn’t quite understood the extent of the Basilisk’s trust in him till now.
It only serves to harden his resolve.
He cared more for immortality, he remembers the Basilisk saying. For Voldemort, blood purity was a secondary goal. He valued protecting his horcruxes over actually furthering his cause. Regulus curses himself and his stupidity. He should’ve realized that sooner.
“Why is it that you insist on leaving the Basilisk unscathed?” The Dark Lord hisses.
Regulus forces himself to refocus. “My Lord?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve grown fond of her.”
“Of course not.”
“Then why the reluctance, Mr. Black? Your mother already provided you with a sufficient knife, yes?”
“Yes, my Lord.”
Then why is it taking so long? Voldemort hisses in parseltongue, flicking his wand under the table. He sends a sharp curse directly into Regulus’s shoulder like an arrow, hitting him before he can deflect it. Not that he would if he could- that would only anger the Dark Lord further. He learned that lesson from his parents.
He stumbles back with a short and sharp cry at the sudden pain. It’s not deep, he can feel that much, and it will heal with a few spells. But God, does it sting.
As blood begins to trickle down his shoulder, Regulus forces himself to answer. “I- Apologies, my Lord. I should’ve-”
“You return to school Monday, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Then you will get it done Monday night. You will retrieve the fangs. You will write to your mother that same night. You will receive a response the next morning with instructions on what to do with the fangs.”
The words hit him like a bludger to the stomach.
That’s not fair, Regulus thinks. You said I had more time.
I thought I had more time.
Instead, he gives the Dark Lord a curt nod. His shoulder throbs.
Voldemort waves his hand and the snake hisses. “Go. You have your instructions. Do not disappoint me further.”
Regulus forces himself to bow then turn, walking with stilted steps out of the hall. As soon as he clears the threshold he grabs his shoulder with a hiss, trying to stem the blood flow. The emotions he’d been shoving down start to surface and his mind begins to reel.
“What did you do?” Walburga’s voice forces him to straighten up.
“I- nothing.”
“Do not lie to me.”
“It was just a warning. It doesn’t matter.” Regulus keeps his grip on his shoulder tight, praying she’ll let him heal it. His conversation with the Dark Lord leaves something inside him torn, ripping further with every step.
She turns up her nose, looking at him with unconcealed disgust. “We’re going back now. Don’t drip on the carpet.”
Permission. He raises his wand and quickly stems the bleeding, trying his best to sew the skin back together. It’s shoddy work, but it’ll hold till he gets home.
He’s still shuddering by the time they land on the doorstep of Grimmauld Place. All he can picture is the knife back at school, ready and waiting for use. Tomorrow. Waiting to be used tomorrow. He wants to vomit at the thought.
“Maman- I-” His voice is shaky, he knows, too shaky to be proper.
“What? What is it?” She turns, staring at him.
He’s standing on the inside of the door, shoes and coat still on. When she meets his eyes he’s hit with a feeling so strong it nearly sends him reeling. He has memories, distant recollections, of when she didn't look at him like that. When her gaze was kinder and all he wanted to do was bury himself in her arms. Was she always like this? He doesn’t know.
He’s crumbling, quickly, and it’s too late to hide in his bedroom. The Dark Lord's legilimency has left him open and exposed, making it harder to shut everything out as he normally does.
He doesn’t want to hurt the Basilisk tomorrow. He doesn’t want to drop out of school. He doesn’t want to be confined to this life, violent and dark.
He wants Sirius. He wants James.
He wants his mother.
“I can’t do what the Dark Lord asks,” he says, his voice cracking. He doesn’t expect her to understand. He doesn't expect her sympathy. He just needs to say it.
“What?”
“I can’t- I can’t do it.” Before she can respond, he sinks to the floor, wrapping his arms around his knees, his back still pressed against the door. He refuses to look at her, doing his best to get his splintering emotions under control. He’s trying to pull himself together, trying so goddamn hard, but everything's slipping out of his grasp. He’s normally better than this.
Then again, he’s never been asked to do something so hard before.
He’s not crying, but it’s a close call. He doesn’t understand what's happening. Doesn’t understand why he can’t control himself.
She takes a few steps closer and he flinches, closing his eyes. Ready for the pain.
When it doesn’t come, he takes a shuddering breath and blinks. Walburga, miraculously, sits kneeled on the ground in front of him. Her eyes, while not quite gentle, are softer than he’s ever seen them.
“Regulus,” She murmurs. “Regulus. Child. You think I wanted this for you?” He forces himself to meet her gaze. She continues. “This was supposed to be Sirius’s job. This was supposed to be Sirius’s life. You were never meant to bear this burden.”
The words cut deeper than he expected them to.
“I want to raise you right, Regulus. I want to keep you safe, all that I can. I’ll do whatever it takes. I am your mother.” Her hand drifts up to touch his curls and he, despite himself, flinches back. She frowns. “But someone has to be the Black heir. Someone has continue the line. And because he left, that’s your job now. I always thought you were too soft, anyway.” The corners of her mouth twitch and the unfamiliarity of the sight scares Regulus more than her proximity “I was right, I see. Much too soft.” She pulls her hand back. “We all have to do things we don’t want to. I never asked for this life. I never asked for this responsibility, yet here we are.”
Standing up, she looks down at him. “Do not say that you can’t complete the task. You can. You will. You have to. It doesn’t matter what it means or how it affects you. You simply haven’t got a choice.”
He stays silent, staring at her. He’s never seen her like this. She goes for her wand first, words later. This is new. She leans forward and with an uncharacteristic gentleness, pulls him into her arms. Every muscle in his body goes stiff, waiting, ready-
But a soothing hand starts rubbing circles into his back and he melts into her, parting his lips silently. She hasn't done this since he was a kid, crying over a skinned knee or broken glass. She used to let him hug her, used to let him cling to her legs as she rested a hand on his head. She does the same now, fingers carding through his hair. It feels- if not familiar- comforting. He wishes he could trust it- but her touch has rotted since then. "It's alright, child." She hums.
He lets out a choked breath as she pulls back, holding him by his shoulders. "You can handle this?”
He can’t, of course, but that’s not what she needs to hear. Pandora’s right, is his first thought. There really may be only one way out of this. And then: James will be happy.
Because he won’t hurt the Basilisk.
Which means he needs to run.
If not to the Potters, then anywhere else. Away from her.
Hope is dangerous, but it’s all he has.
Walburga has always been able to tell when he’s lying- so he nods instead. She gives him one last long look, something indiscernible flickering across her cold face. “Go to bed, Regulus. Make sure you’re packed. The Dark Lord tells me you have a long day tomorrow.”
He nods again, already detached. Already lost in his head. Distantly he hears her heels on the floor as she walks away. Part of him doesn’t understand why he’s not writhing in pain right now- by her standards, what he said should be considered blasphemy. It’s not right, he thinks. Too easy.
But she’s right, it’s late, and he needs to sleep. Needs to make a plan. His heart pounds as he makes his way to his bedroom, breath caught with a growing dread that seems to drag everything in him down. It’s hard to fall asleep, most of the night spent staring at the ceiling.
He'll wait till they go home, ask his friends to help hide him. He'll sneak out, maybe even skip the train. He'll find a different way out, one his mother can't track. The Knight Bus, maybe? He'd start on foot, get as far as he could, then summon the bus, and ask it to take him... where?
There's only one answer, really.
He'll go to James's.
And then what? Regulus rolls over, staring at the wall. And then anything, he supposes.
He spends most of the night wide awake, letting scenario after scenario run on a loop through his head. He doesn't have too much work to do- it's nothing he hasn't thought of before. Something warm hums just under his skin.
For the first time in a very long time, he's excited to see his brother.
---
In hindsight, he should’ve seen it coming. He probably did, on some level, deep down.
---
When he wakes up, his shoulder throbs viciously. He hasn’t had time to properly heal it. He’ll do it later, he tells himself. On the train. While he tells his friends his plan and finds James. He hopes that room's still available.
He lets his mother fuss with his shirt buttons before Kreature apperates them both to Platform 9 & ¾. He looks for James, as he always does, and finds him instantly. He’s standing with his mother and Sirius, Effie trying repeatedly to get his hair to stay down under her brush. It doesn’t work.
“Pay attention.” His mother snaps.
“Yes?”
“I expect good results from your OWLs.” She says. He nods.
“Me too.” He wonders if he could get on the train now, leave her standing alone on the platform. He dismisses the idea ruefully. His shoulder hurts.
“Regulus."
"Yes?"
"One last thing.”
He looks at her then, and sees it in her eyes. Sees the glittering satisfaction. She pulls him in, clasping his arms. To anyone watching, it’d look like a hug. Like a motherly embrace, a sick mockery of the one from last night.
Don't, he thinks. Don't do this.
“If I don’t get a letter by midnight tonight, just know…” Her thumb digs into the wound Voldemort gave him, sharp nail piercing the already aching flesh. Her other hand grips his arm tightly, in the exact place she’s been leaving scars for years. He has to muffle his sound of pain, ducking his head and gritting his teeth. She leans in, venomous breath against his ear. It makes sense why she was so gentle last night. She was saving up. No wonder he thought her touch was rotten.
Regulus knows what’s coming then, realizes it a few days too late. He’s such a fucking idiot, he thinks.
“Fifteen Meadow Lane, Godric's Hollow. Sirius’s bedroom is third from the right on the second floor.”
And all the hope he’s been cautiously accumulating, stacking like rungs of a ladder towards a distant safety, come crashing down under him. Its absence leaves him flat on his back, gasping for air. Shattered.
The threat is obvious. He couldn't have put it simpler himself.
Walburga pulls back, giving him a sweet smile and tucking a piece of hair behind his ear. The train whistles and he turns, vision blurring. He can't focus on his feet or the compartment he chooses at random. He thinks distantly that Evan might be there, or Dorcas, but he can't see anything other than his feet and the floor. They try to talk to him, whoever it is, but he's far beyond that now. Their words bounce off, lost. He's probably bleeding through his shirt at this point, but he can't feel that either. Someone touches him, touches his shoulder, and he shudders so hard that the pressure of the hand disappears instantly.
He’d been stupid. So fucking stupid. Of course she knew where the Potter’s manor was. Of course she knew where Sirius lived.
Of course she’d use his life as a bargaining chip.
He should've known.
He was never going to get out.
Forgive me Saskia, he thinks.
Hope was better left to the Gryfindors anyway.