The Stone
“My Lord?”
“Regulus. Enter.”
Regulus pushes the door to his father’s study open, stepping inside silently. He keeps his eyes on the Dark Lord, watchful. Waiting.
Voldemort smooths his hands over the desk in front of him, dark robes shifting. “I wanted to talk, quickly. Before you go back to school.”
Regulus nods, hesitating by the chair. The Dark Lord nods. “Sit.” He sighs. “How do you like Hogwarts?”
Regulus just stares at him. “Uh- in general?”
“Yes. ‘In general.’”
Regulus ducks his head, slightly confused. He can’t quite tell what answer the Dark Lord’s looking for. “It’s fine, my Lord. May I ask why?”
“Hm.” The Dark Lord rolls a small stone between his fingers, looking him over. “After this year, you won’t be returning.”
Regulus freezes. He can feel his breath coming in short pants. “What?” He clears his throat, remembering himself. “Why not?”
Voldemort shrugs, tucking the stone back in his pocket. “It serves no purpose. I have use for you here, permanently. I can not afford to keep you so far out of my reach.”
“Is this-” Regulus almost caves, almost asks about Harold’s power, but reigns it in. That conversation has never gone well. “For potions?” He finishes instead.
The Dark Lord stares at him. “In a sense. Yes. Your skills will be useful. Though, you might’ve heard, your classmate Severus Snape intends to help us with those as well.”
“...Snape.”
“Yes.”
Regulus doesn’t pull a face, but it’s a close call. “Very well. And- there’s no way- I’d-” he lets out a soft hum, looking down. “If there’s any way to finish my schooling, my Lord, I think-”
“I’m telling you that you won’t be returning next year. Is there something about that sentiment you aren’t fully understanding?”
“Of course not, my Lord.”
It hurts, though. He thinks of the castle at night in the winter, snow piling up on the turrets, owls shaking off their rustled feathers. Pandora’s smile in the dining hall, eyes glittering as she lifts a mug of pumpkin juice to her lips. The smell of the fire in the common room, crackling away into the evening.
He’s going to miss the quidditch pitch, the way his heart flips when he first lifts off the ground.
He’s going to miss his friends.
He’s going to miss James.
Voldemort nods. “Good. Good. I need to keep my eye on you. You understand, of course.”
Regulus can do nothing but nod.
“And besides,” The Dark Lord says. “There’s only around two months left, right? I’m sure you can manage to say your goodbyes in that time.”
Regulus presses his lips together. He nods, hands clasped in his lap.
“And, Regulus, listen to me when I say this.” The Dark Lord narrows his cruel eyes, fixing in on the boy in front of him. “Be careful. Stay out of unnecessary danger. I need you unharmed.”
Some part of Regulus notes the irony of that coming from the same man who sent him to rip the fangs from an actual real life basilisk. Another part of him can’t ignore the spark of confusion at what appears to be concern from the Dark Lord. “I’ll do my best,” Regulus says eventually. “Can I ask… is there another attack planned for Hogwarts?”
Voldemort lets out a low hiss. “If there was, it wouldn’t affect you.”
Regulus takes a steadying breath. “But… but there might be?”
The Dark Lord lifts his shoulder in a half shrug. “It’s not something to concern yourself with at this time.”
Regulus nods, stepping back. “Alright. Thank you, my Lord.” The urge to ask about Harold and his power burns hot inside him, as it always does. He shoves it down.
The Dark Lord pushes to his feet, eyes fixed on Regulus’s face. “You’ll receive instructions.”
Regulus nods and Voldmort turns to go, heading for the entrance. At the last second something slips out of his pocket, bouncing across the floor and resting at Regulus’s feet. It’s the small stone the Dark Lord had been fiddling with earlier.
“My Lord-” Regulus stoops to grab it, looking up to find the Dark Lord already gone.
He studies the stone carefully. There seems to be an inscription on the front, some carved rune Regulus doesn’t recognize. Around the stone's circumference there’s a ring of rusted metal, as if it had been attached to a band.
After a moment of indecision, he slips it into his pocket.
---
“Dad?”
“James. Come in.”
James pushes the door open slowly, taking a few hesitant steps into the room. His father looks frail and weak, cheeks grey. His eyes find James’s, moving his head slightly to look at him. James swallows, hating the sight in front of him. “How are you feeling?”
“...The doctors gave me some potions for the pain. It’s not so bad.”
“Good. That’s… that’s good.”
“Are you all packed?”
James shifts on his feet, fidgeting with his hands. “I don’t want to go back to school.”
Monty smiles. “Explain.”
“I can’t go back there while you’re- I mean. I don’t want to waste my time, when I could be here with you.”
Monty’s sigh sounds like he knew this was coming. “You need to finish school. You need a career. This is exactly why I didn’t want to take the potions- I can’t have you waiting for me.”
“There’s nothing for me there,” James pleads, taking a step forward.
Monty looks up at him. “What about Regulus?”
James frowns, steps faltering. “What about him?”
“Don’t you want to go back for him?”
“What are you talking about?” Does he know? How did he find out? James didn’t tell anyone he’d asked Regulus to help his father. He doesn’t think he can quite take that blow to his dignity. Especially after he’d been rejected twice.
He has to resist the urge to try again the next time he sees him. There’s just something about him, something about the sound of his voice, that makes James think with a little more pressure he might agree. If nothing else, he doesn't seem to hate him as much as he thought, so. That’s a bonus.
Monty shakes his head. “If you don’t want to talk about it, fine. We don’t have to.”
“That’s not-”
“Finish packing, James. I’m fine.”
“You look… decidedly not fine.”
Monty waves a weak hand. “It’s nothing. Just a rough patch. I’ll be better by morning.”
It’s a lie, but maybe one they both need to hear. James takes a step back, rubbing his hands through his hair. “You’ll write?”
“Of course I’ll write.” Monty pauses and looks away, evidently realizing the irony of that statement.
Sirius knocks on the door before James can say anything else, leaning an elbow on James’s shoulder. “You packed, Prongs?”
“No.”
“Yeah, me neither.” Sirius hums and looks back to Monty on the bed. “We’ll see you for summer break?”
It’s a loaded question, and everyone in the room knows it. James takes a deep breath, and shoves down the trepidation in his chest. Monty would hold out a little longer. They’d have more time.
“Yeah.” Monty looks up, eyes watery and pale. “Naturally.”
Like nearly everything else he’s said, it’s a lie.
---
“Pass me the coloured pencils.”
Regulus puts a hand on the pouch before he pauses, turning to face Lupin. He waits.
Remus rolls his eyes. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“Please. Pass me the coloured pencils please.”
Regulus slides them over and Remus, muttering, takes them. He gets to work colouring in the constellations while Regulus flips back through the astronomy textbook. They’ve tucked their desk into a far corner of the classroom, closest to the windows.
“I’m gonna miss this.” Remus says after a moment, and Regulus has to contain an eyeroll of his own.
“Astronomy class?”
“Nope. Our little chats.” Remus looks up at him. “I don’t like you.”
Regulus blinks. “I think the feeling’s mutual.”
“But you do provide a certain broody, overdramatic element to my day.”
“Happy to help.”
“And you’ve made passing this class incredibly easy, as loath as I am to admit it.”
“You could’ve asked Sirius,” Regulus murmurs, scanning the table of contents for the information he needs.
“I’d still have to do the work in class on my own. Besides, I like to think it’s brought us closer together.”
“Really.”
“Yes.”
“Fascinating.”
Remus watches him. “James says he ran into you at the concert.”
Regulus freezes, chest aching from the sudden topic switch. “Oh.”
“Did he?”
Regulus looks back down at his book, flipping through the pages. “Yes.”
“And?”
“And, what?”
“What did he want?”
Regulus doesn’t look at him. “Same thing he wanted the first time. To help his dad.”
“Why did you storm off?”
Regulus’s head snaps up. “He told you I stormed off?”
Remus shrugs. “He has no reason not to tell me. There’s nothing to keep secret anymore.”
“Did he tell Sirius?”
“No.”
Regulus hums lighty, watching Professor Sinistra pass their table. “Good.”
“So why’d you run off?”
Regulus’s throat closes up. He doesn’t say anything.
“James made it sound like you were being nice before then. Which, really, you’re gonna have to try harder if you want to make it seem like you hate him.”
Regulus stares at his paper.
“Regulus?”
“He had marks on his neck.”
Remus sucks in a breath. Neither of them speak.
“Oh.”
Something inside Regulus shrivels, crumbling at the resolute understanding in Remus’s voice. “Yeah,” he rasps, clearing his throat. “Oh.”
“I didn’t think you’d notice those.”
I’d notice anything, Regulus wants to say. I can read his mood from across the dining hall. I know every inch of him better than I do myself.
And the worst part is James used to know Regulus like that too. He’d enter the Come and Go room and immediately understand what Regulus needed. He would pass him in the hall and inconspicuously bump their shoulders, giving him what couldn’t quite be called a smile but something close to it- something soft and undetectable and just theirs.
He’s the only person who’s ever been able to see through his glamour. He’s the only person who’s ever paid enough attention to notice when it flickers.
He used to know him.
Regulus used to be known.
And now he isn’t.
Now, he’s alone in his complete understanding of himself.
Where does it go, he wonders. Where does all that memory, all that thought, all that emotion, go? It took up so much of James. He saw it. Watched it consume him. Watched it destroy him. He wonders what fills that absence now.
Apparently, some mystery lover with a pension for leaving marks.
“I noticed.” Regulus says dryly.
Remus lets out a soft sigh. “He… from what I understand, I don’t think he wanted it. If that helps.”
Regulus’s head snaps up as a blaze of anger shoots through him, turning his organs to molten lava. “He didn’t want it? Who-”
“No. Not- I didn’t mean it like that. He consented, or whatever. I just- I don’t think he felt good about it afterwards.”
“In what universe would that help?”
“I just mean- he isn’t in a relationship, or anything. They just fucked.”
Regulus flinches. “Glad to hear it.”
“He doesn’t remember you, Regulus. You can’t be mad he’s moved on from something that, to him, never existed in the first place.”
“He’s free to sleep with whoever he likes.” It aches, though, in a way he doesn’t quite know how to contend with.
“Then why do you still look like you want to kill someone?”
“I don’t.”
“Lie.”
They go quiet again. Finally, Remus lets out a breath. “Ok. I’m sorry. It sucks. I mean, honestly. It would be… rough, watching an ex move on like 2 weeks after you break up.”
“We didn’t break up,” Regulus says, still reeling over the apology.
“Didn’t you?”
“No.” Regulus chuckles, hanging his head. “That would’ve been much simpler.”
“So you don’t consider this a breakup?”
“I don’t… I don't think it can be one. James was never gonna let it get that far and I erased the possibility all together.”
Remus bites his lips. “It just- it seems drastic.”
“Drastic?”
“Yeah, but I don't know what I expected. You Blacks have always been dramatic. And the effects aren’t… disastrous.”
That, in of itself, hurts more than Regulus would like to admit.
“Right.”
“Right.”
Remus flips over their chart and starts on the back, focusing carefully on each star. They go quiet. “What are you gonna do without me next year?”
Regulus sighs. “I don’t know. I won’t be here.”
Remus stares. “What? Why not?”
Shit. He should've said anything.
“I’m… I’m staying home next year.”
“Why?”
Regulus holds his tongue this time.
“Regulus, why not?”
He stands up quickly, grabbing his bag and shouldering it as he gathers his books. He can feel Remus’s eyes on him.
Conveniently, the bell rings, and he thanks whatever god just took pity on him as he walks out.
---
“You’re dropping out?”
Regulus freezes in the middle of the hall, staring straight ahead. Barty and Evan pause next to him.
“You’re dropping out? ”
“Sirius, maybe we should-”
That fucking voice cuts him to the core.
“No, Prongs, I am not leaving this alone. He’s dropping out.”
Regulus turns slowly, glancing around the mercifully empty hall. “Sirius.”
Sirius stalks towards him, flipping his hair over his shoulder. “What are you doing?”
James steps up behind him, rubbing sheepishly at the back of his neck. He has the nerve to send Regulus an apologetic glance, one Regulus furiously ignores. Dorcas and Peter stand next to them, looking incredibly uncomfortable.
“Lupin never has been good at keeping secrets.”
Barty crosses his arms, muttering. “What’s he talking about?”
Regulus closes his eyes briefly. “I might… not be coming back next year.”
Evan goes stiff next to him, turning to look at him. “What?”
“My parents.” Regulus offers in lieu of an explanation.
“But-”
“Oh, did your mates not know either? Wow, Remus must be real special.” Sirius stops right in front of him, planting his hands on his hips.
“Sirius. Is there a point you’re trying to make?”
“You can’t… Reg. What are you doing?”
Regulus shifts, staring at him. “Attempting to have a conversation.”
“No. I mean- I mean what are you doing? How is this a smart decision? Throwing away your education-”
Regulus frowns, hating the genuine concern in Sirius’s voice. Hates it more than anything. “It’s not up to you.”
“Did she ask you to do this?” Sirius asks finally. “You don’t have to. I know-” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I know what it’s like when she-”
Regulus almost wants to laugh. It's been so long since his mother was the largest threat in his life. He almost misses it. “You have no idea what it’s like. She’s said nothing.”
Sirius stares at him for a long moment, eyes piercing. “I keep forgetting. You’re one of them now. I’m so… I keep forgetting.”
Evan hisses through his teeth. “Not so loud, Black, eh? You don’t know what you're talking about.”
Regulus feels his arm burn, a brand reignited by his brother’s furious gaze. “Just leave it alone.”
“Reg,” James steps forward, reaching out slightly, and Regulus can’t stop himself from physically recoiling. “Look.” He glances up, brow furrowed, and sighs. “Can we just… can we have a moment here?”
Barty and Evan both laugh. “Absoulutely not,” Evan says, at the same time Barty says “No fucking way.”
“It’s fine,” Regulus says after a moment. He needs to control himself, really, but something about James’s presence is just so intoxicating. “I’ll see you at dinner. Just go.”
Barty and Evan don’t move, so Regulus turns around to give them a look. “I can handle myself.”
That, at least, is true. And evidently, they know it. After a moment both of them turn and walk off down the corridor, obviously muttering to themselves. With a sinking heart, Regulus turns back around to face James. This might’ve been a mistake.
“What?”
“Does he have some sort of secret plans?” Sirius asks. “Does Voldemort need you for something? Is there going to be another attack?”
Regulus says nothing, taking a step back.
“Sirius,” Dorcas says, and her voice washes over him like an all-too familiar blanket. He misses her. “Maybe-”
“No, because I know…” Sirius groans, tugging at his hair. “He knows something. He has the mark. And now he wants to drop out of school? Do none of you find it suspicious?”
“None of this is any of your business,” Regulus offers. Sirius ignores him.
“I don’t know why we’re pretending he’s not an active threat.”
“So what are you gonna do?” Regulus snaps, anger tearing through him. “Turn me in? Take me to Moody? Take me to Dumbledore?”
“No,” James says quickly. “Not Dumbledore.” Immediately after they leave his mouth, he looks surprised at his own words.
“We could skip all of that and you could just tell me,” Sirius says, splaying his hands. “Is Hogwarts going to be attacked again? Do you know when?”
“I know nothing. Now, if you don’t mind, I have to get to the common room.”
“Why are you dropping out?”
“Why do you care?”
“Because-”
“Sirius,” Dorcas interrupts. “What are you doing? What do you want?”
“He knows something.”
Regulus narrows his eyes. “I know I need to study for final exams.”
“This is ridiculous. How can I be the only one that sees what he’s doing?”
“I-”
“James,” Dorcas hisses, getting his attention. “Can’t you…”
And then she pauses, evidently rethinking whatever she was about to say. It’s too late, though. Regulus noticed. James turns to look at her, confused, and she widens her eyes slightly, indiciating Regulus with her chin. James just stares.
Regulus sucks in a breath.
Dorcas looks at him.
And they both know.
Their eyes lock, understanding rushing through Regulus like a punch to the gut. She found out. Somehow, some way, she found out. It must’ve been before Regulus… before he did what he did. Did Lupin tell her? Did James? It doesn’t matter now, he supposes. She knows.
And now she knows he knows.
Neither of them say a word.
“Regulus,” Sirius says, stepping forward. “I just. What are you doing?”
“What I have to,” he says without thinking, backing up. He wants to get out of here, suddenly consumed by the need to be free of these prying eyes and oppressive emotions. He takes one last long look at Dorcas before he turns, ignoring Sirius’s calls as he walks off.
He can feel Peter’s eyes following him out.
---
James frowns, watching Regulus leave. He looks back at Dorcas, who’s still staring after the other boy.
Sirius throws his hands up and stalks off, huffing. James blinks before running to catch up with him.
“Sirius. Hey. Wait up.”
Sirius doesn’t look at him, staring straight ahead as he walks. “I’m so fucking done with this.”
“He’s… ignore him.”
“I’m trying. I’m trying so bloody hard. But you can see what he’s doing, can’t you?”
James blinks. “Uh-”
“He has the mark. He’s a registered death eater. And I thought- I thought since he’s still at school, he can’t get up to anything too dangerous. Do anything too dangerous, I mean. But now he’s dropping out.”
“You can’t keep an eye on him anymore,” James offers.
“Yes. No. I have no idea. He just…he bothers me. He gets under my skin so fucking well.”
“I don’t think Regulus is planning an attack against the school.” James says after a moment.
“I wouldn’t put it past him.”
James frowns, thinking about Regulus’s flushed face in that bathroom, eyes wide and fixed on his. He seemed so… gentle. So soft. He’d spoken in low tones, leaning towards James like it was only natural.
And, yeah. Maybe James was a little into the way his hair looked. Whatever.
Then something happened and he’d gotten so cruel, saying the exact words James needed him to refute before storming out.
He wishes he knew what did it.
He wonders if he can get Regulus to look at him like that again.
“James,” Sirius says, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Are you listening?”
“Yeah. Yeah. I just… I don’t think he’d do that.”
“Then why’s he dropping out?” Sirius asks, pausing in the hall to stare at him.
For once, James has nothing to say.
---
It takes Peter a few days to find him.
Regulus has tucked himself into a small corner of the library, books spread out on the table in front of him. Barty and Evan study with him sometimes, but they tend to get distracted and Regulus prefers the quiet of solitude anyway. They still drop by, sometimes. Just to say hi. Which is why when the chair across from him gets pulled back, Regulus looks up with an instinctual glare. “Will you two not-”
Then he cuts himself off. Because that’s not Barty or Evan. Not at all.
Peter Pettigrew has always been a background figure in Regulus’s life. He has a meek sort of air about him that leaves him easily ignored, brushed over in group settings. He’s a master at fading into the background, entirely nondescript but eternally there. Regulus doesn't notice him. Sometimes he thinks James and Sirius don’t either.
“Hi,” Peter says, sliding into the seat across from him.
“Pettigrew?” Regulus stares at him. “What do you want?”
Peter braces his elbows on the table, tipping his head. “I want to talk.”
“Right. Well, I’m a bit busy, so-”
“Is there going to be an attack soon?”
Immediately, Regulus’s resolve hardens. He grits his teeth. “My brother sent you, did he?”
“No.”
“So-”
“Look.” Peter holds up his hands, eyes glinting. “I’m just asking. You don’t have to tell me the truth.”
“Why…”
“If there is,” Peter says slowly, holding Regulus’s gaze. “I wouldn’t tell anyone.”
And that sentence sends Regulus’s world spinning. They stare at each other across the table. “You wouldn’t?”
Peter shrugs. “I don’t think they’d listen if I did.”
“What do you want?”
“I told you. I want the truth. I just don’t know what that is yet.”
Regulus leans back. It’s an interesting tactic, he has to admit. Sending Peter, lowly, boring Peter, to play the part of spy. “Interesting. You might want to work on your bluffing skills.”
“Sirius is right,” Peter says. “You know more things than you let on. Which is understandable, considering your position. I rather think the Dark Lord’s potioneer knows enough to be dangerous.”
Regulus’s heart skips a beat. They don’t break eye contact. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Did he say where the attack would happen?”
Regulus narrows his eyes. “Leave.”
Peter ignores him. “Listen. If he does attack Hogwarts, I want you to give him this.” He slides a little peice of paper across the table. “It’s a spell Remus made.”
Regulus stares at him, stomach sinking. Shit. “What does it do?”
“It counters the lockdown spell and opens the doors.”
The way Regulus sees it, there are two options here. Option one, Peter is bluffing. This is the most obvious answer. He’s lying. Sirius or Moody or Dumbledore sent him with a real mission and a fake spell, luring Regulus into a trap. It’s most likely a tracking curse, activated when cast, or some sort of nasty jinx. He’s testing him- sussing out the depth of his loyalty to the Dark Lord. Ready to report back to whichever superior he can find first. That’s likely what it is. No, that’s definitely what it is.
There’s another option, of course. But. That one is so far out of logic and reason that Regulus dismisses it immediately. Peter, against all odds, might be telling the truth.
The thought terrifies him.
Peter stands, pushing the chair back. “Good talk. I’ll see you around.”
Regulus watches him go, the little paper clutched firmly in his fist.
He’s lying. He has to be.
Either way, Regulus is quite certain Peter won't be fading into the background anymore.
---
It takes another week for Regulus to remember the stone.
It’s dark out, but the weather’s getting warm enough for the astronomy tower to be tolerable. Regulus goes up with the intention of finishing his astronomy chart, laying it out in front of him and everything.
As he stands up from the bench to unroll the scroll on the floor, a quill and something else slips out of his pocket. It bounces on the ground once, twice, before coming to rest against the far wall.
Regulus stares at it for a long moment, crossing the tower slowly and bending to grab it. It takes him a moment to remember it as the stone that had slipped out of the Dark Lord’s pocket all that time ago.
He picks it up, examining it carefully. The inscription, some sort of rune, was cut deep into the stone’s surface. The band of rusted metal residue around it’s flaky and slightly silver, glinting in the pale moonlight.
Regulus crosses back to the bench, studying the stone carefully. He rotates it, turning it between his fingers as he inspects its ridges and inscription.
“What-”
It’s a male voice, shockingly close and hovering right over Regulus. Heart leaping into his throat Regulus drops the stone and scampers back on the bench, searching wildly for its source. There’s no one there, the astronomy tower just as empty as when he entered. A ghost? Most of the ghosts stuck to the lower floors of the castle.
Heart rate spiking, Regulus tentatively reaches for the stone again. Had he done something? He picks it up slowly, furrowing his brow and rotating it carefully. What had he been doing right before he heard the voice? He turns the stone in his fingers, once, twice, three times-
“Hello?”
This time, Regulus just manages to keep ahold of the stone as he whips his head up, flinching back in surprise. What he sees, though, sends him scrambling till his back is pressed up against the wall of the tower. “What the fuck,” he hisses.
The man, shimmery and slightly translucent, stares at him with a similar expression of pure shock.
“What am I doing here?” he whispers.
Regulus can’t speak, can’t think, the blood he’s never fully managed to scrub off his hands suddenly burning, consuming him entirely. Everything in him shudders. “Harold?”
“It’s you,” The man says, wide eyes locked on Regulus.
Neither of them breathe. Regulus, out of fear, and Harold- well. For another reason entirely.
Then the dam breaks. “Why am I here?” Harold asks, and it comes out as a gasp. He backs up, nearly tripping on himself in his need to get away. “Why are you here? Why- what-”
“I don’t know,” Regulus croaks finally, not moving from his spot against the wall. He’s drawn his knees up to his chest in an attempt to make himself as small as possible. “I don’t- I don’t understand-”
But he can’t get enough breath into his lungs to force the rest of the words out. His heartbeat is irregular, he realizes. Suddenly that’s all he can think about. Why isn’t his heart beating normally? Why’s there a weird stutter? Does it have something to do with the sudden lack of oxygen or the way his chest has tightened up? Why-
“You killed my daughters.”
-can’t he breathe? Shouldn’t it be one beat, then another, then another, on a rhythm? Isn’t it going too fast?
“You killed them.”
Maybe if he forces it back into tune, then… Regulus presses a hand to his chest, trying to regulate the wild thumbing beneath his palm. He’s a little light headed. He can’t he can’t remember the last time he took a full breath. That would probably explain the dizziness, he thinks.
“And you tortured me.”
The stone in his hand burns slightly and Regulus squeezes it tighter instinctually, focusing on its warmth. He could drop it, he thinks. Let it go and watch Harold disappear. He’s in control. He’s in control.
He’s in control.
“Your daughters are alive,” He chokes out. “They’re alive.”
Harold goes still, staring at him. He’s a little transparent, Regulus notices dimly. He can see through him to the other wall. He can’t hurt him. He probably can’t even touch him. He’s safe.
“I got them out,” Regulus manages, words tumbling from him. “I made my house elf take them to their mother. They’re fine. She’s fine. They’re in America.”
Harold sucks in a harsh breath. “Why am I here?” he says eventually. “How am I here?”
Feebly, Regulus raises the hand with the stone in it. “I… magic, of some sort. I’m not sure yet.”
“So I’m still dead.”
Regulus swallows. “Assumedly. Yes.”
“Why you ? Why am I here?”
“I have the stone,” Regulus whispers, still staring at him.
Harold takes a few steps and Regulus flinches hard, turning his face away. When he glances back, he finds Harold has taken a seat on the bench. “My daughters,” he says.
“They’re safe. I got them out. They’re with their mother.”
“I thought you killed them.”
“He wanted me to.”
“But you didn’t.”
“I couldn’t.”
Harold lets out a sigh so full of relief and exhaustion that a thousand years more guilt settles on Regulus’s shoulders. “I don't believe you.”
“They’re alive.”
“Does he know what you did?”
“No.”
“Oh.” A pause. “Can I… can I ask why?”
Regulus sucks in a shuddering breath. “I couldn’t do it.”
“No, I mean- why he did it. Why you did it. Why me.”
“You wrote an article,” Regulus whispers, voice cracking.
Harold’s eyes find his. “I wrote an article.”
They sit with that for a long time.
“Why did he stab me? Why not the killing curse?”
“I don’t know.” And then… “Maybe- he. Well. He did something. A ritual.” Regulus looks up. “He said he transferred your magic to me.”
Harold lets out a soft hiss. “What?”
“I don’t understand it anymore than you. He refuses to… I mean, I’ve gotten no other information. I wish I could tell you more.”
“But… my magic? What’s so special about me?”
“I have no idea.”
“What does that mean?”
Regulus just shrugs, still watching him. The horrible rot in his stomach starts to make its way up his throat.
Harold stares at the far wall. “My girls are ok?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you do it? Why are you on his side?”
“I don’t have a choice. I never had a choice.”
“Oh.” Harold looks down. “You stole everything from me. You tortured me.”
“I never had a choice,” Regulus murmurs again.
“I’ve never felt pain like that.”
“It’s horrible, I know. I’m so sorry. I didn’t- I didn’t want to do that. I never wanted to do that.”
Harold shakes his head, tired. “Don’t do that. Don’t pretend you have any idea what it feels like. I wanted to die.”
“I asked- I mean, I tried to… I don’t know.”
They go quiet.
“I don’t want to be here anymore,” Harold whispers.
Regulus nods, fingers loosening on the stone. He’s shaking, all over. “I’m so sorry,” he manages finally, the words he's been waiting months to say finally crawling off his tongue.
Harold looks up slowly, familiar golden brown eyes finding their way to Regulus’s face. “I don’t forgive you.”
Regulus lets the stone fall from his fingers and collapses into himself against the stone of the wall.