Merope
Regulus’s house is teeming with Death Eaters.
It has been all summer, oftentimes every spare bedroom occupied in one way or another. He isn’t entirely sure how Number 12 Grimmauld Place became the back-up central hub for the Dark Lord, but his parents certainly aren’t complaining. They love the attention. They love the privilege of hosting for the cause.
Regulus isn’t such a fan. With the extra people come extra eyes, watching him constantly. He can’t remember the last time they had dinner, just the three of them.
“Regulus. Come here.”
Regulus steps into the living room, sparring Narcissa a glance on the couch before focusing on his mother. “Yes?”
“Sit.”
He takes a cautious seat on the edge of the couch. She nods. “It’s come to our attention that your name has been listed as an official follower of the Dark Lord.”
He blinks. “How… how did you find that out?”
“We have our ways.” She narrows her eyes. “You knew.”
He pauses. He’s not entirely sure what the best course of action is. “I… yes. Rabastian mentioned it.” It’s a shot in the dark, one he prays lands.
Walburga’s crisp stare reflects the moonlight streaming through the windows. “Is that the truth?”
“Yes.”
“Somehow I don’t believe you. I’m not entirely sure Rabastain has been told. I only found out yesterday, when the Dark Lord told Lucius, your father, and myself.”
Shit. Regulus shrugs casually. “Someone must’ve let him in on it, then.” He can see her reaching for her wand. He knows exactly what's coming.
And this time, he’s ready for it.
“Legilimens.”
He doesn’t even close his eyes, just stares at her as she attempts to push her way into his head. Her magic pokes and prods, but she’s nothing compared to Bellatrix. His walls stay up, and his mother stays out. He can’t help but smirk, just slightly, when her brows pinch and she frowns, lowering her wand.
It feels so fucking good to finally win.
“You’ve been practicing.” She grits.
He shrugs. “I had a good teacher.”
“I don’t remember authorizing that.”
“I do. We were at dinner.”
“I-”
“I told Rabastian,” Narcissa says from the couch. They both look at her. “Lucius told me, and I mentioned it to Rabby in passing.”
They lock eyes, and Regulus is almost certain there’s a small glimmer of pride there. He resists a smile.
“Alright,” Walburga says, settling her hands back into her lap. “Fine. Regardless, you must know what this means. You’ll be a target now. Dumbledore is no doubt well aware of your status. I imagine that’s one of the reasons the Dark Lord requested you not return to Hogwarts next year.”
“I know.”
“Members of the Order will know your face and stature. Be careful when out and about, and keep your face covered whenever you’re on official business. The more of us they identify, the easier it will be to track us down.”
“Of course.”
“Tu es très précieux. Vous êtes également en danger à cause de cela.”
“Oui, Maman. Je sais.”
She nods, looking him up and down. “Good. You’re dismissed.”
He turns and walks out, staring at the wood of the floorboards under his feet. He doesn’t notice someone’s following him till he’s shoved back against the wall, forcefully enough to temporarily knock the wind from his lungs. He instinctively pushes back but his hands are grabbed before he can, thoroughly pinned. He glares, huffing out air and trying to get a good look at his attacker.
It’s Dolohov, believe it or not. Carrow and Rookwood wait behind him, arms crossed.
“Get the fuck off me,” Regulus spits, but Dolohov doesn’t move.
“Don’t worry. We just want a quick chat.” Dolohov leans in. “You’re the Dark Lord’s little pet, aren’t you?”
“No.”
“Ah, I think you are. We all know it. We all see the secret meetings you two have. What does he want from you?”
Regulus tries to push off the wall but Dolohov just shoves him harder. Regulus ignores the rising panic, glaring at Dolohov. “What do you care?”
“We just don’t think it’s far, s’all. Why should you get special treatment?”
“Maybe because I actually get shit done.”
The hand around his wrist squeezes tighter. “Really? From what I can tell you do nothing but make his little sleeping draughts and meet him in the office. You’ve only been on one mission, far as I’m aware.”
“Guess I’m just better than you.”
Carrow sneers. “We’re out there, in the field, getting our hands dirty. Look at this.” He stalks forward and rips one of Regulus’s wrists from Dolohov, holding it up. “Soft fingers. I don’t see any blood under these nails.”
“Aw,” Regulus says in fake sympathy. “Did your mother never teach you how to wash? I know basic hygiene can be difficult sometimes.” He kicks out again, but this time Dolohov uses his whole body to press Regulus against the wall. Carrow hisses and releases his hand in anger.
Regulus fights the wave of disgust that comes with so much contact.
“So what is it?” Rookwood stalks forward. “Why do you do nothing and get all the attention while we have to make do with second hand orders?”
Regulus glares. “A non-atrocious personality goes a long way. Or maybe it’s 'cause I don’t smell.”
“Are you sucking his dick? Is that it?” Dolohov leans in to whisper, and Regulus can feel his breath, warm on the shell of his ear. He shudders under him, and knows the larger man feels it. “Is he making you his little bitch?”
Regulus can’t move.
He needs to move.
“I bet you’re good at it.” Dolohov smirks. “I bet-”
Then there’s a flash of white light and Dolohov is off him, reeling back in the corridor. Regulus lets out a choked gasp and stumbles forward, reaching for his wand.
Then he notices who sent the curse, and straightens up instantly. The Dark Lord stands in the doorway, tucking his wand into his robe. Severus Snape stands beside him, eyes wide. “Dolohov,” The Dark Lord rasps. “Care to explain what’s happening here?”
“So sorry, my Lord.” Dolohov ducks his head. “Black was saying some nasty things about you so I had to deal with it.”
The Dark Lord’s cool eyes find Regulus. “I’m perfectly capable of defending my own honor, Antonin.”
“Of course, my Lord.” Dolohov manages. “So sorry,” he says again.
The Dark Lord nods, eyes still on Regulus. “Would you care to join us, Mr. Black? I have something I’d like to discuss.”
Regulus nods, trying not to look too eager. He never thought the day would come that he’d be actually excited to speak to Voldemort. He steps away from the trio of goons quickly, following the Dark Lord as he turns and walks off.
As soon as they’re out of sight Regulus lets out a long breath, taking a moment to pass a hand over his eyes as he tries to calm the swell of adrenaline spiking in his bloodstream. They stop in the hall outside his father’s study. He presses the back of his hand against his mouth, trembling.
“Regulus,” The Dark Lord says, sounding impatient. “Were they seriously endangering you? If they hurt you-”
“I’m fine, my Lord.” Regulus ducks his head before something occurs to him and he hurriedly looks back up. “What Dolohov said, about me speaking against you, I’d never-”
“It’s alright, Mr. Black.” Voldemort sighs. “Antonin has struggled with jealousy for some time now.”
Regulus nods. “Ah. Okay.” He spares a glance at Snape, who’s currently staring at him. “If you don’t mind me asking, what’s he doing here?”
Snape immediately scowls and Regulus resists the urge to flip him off. The Dark Lord sighs. “I’ve brought Severus here to assist you in a project.”
“My Lord,” Regulus says instantly. “I’m perfectly capable-”
“I know you are. Severus is simply going to help with quantity. I need a large amount of protection potions, too many to make on one’s own. Severus offered his services.”
“I see. What kind of protection potions?”
“From gas, preferably. Something that coats the lungs. I suspect the Order plans on utilizing gaseous poisons. It’s what I would do.”
Regulus nods reluctantly. Protection potions. He can do that. At least he isn’t actively killing anyone. The Dark Lord looks them both up and down. “And you’re well?”
“I’m fine, my Lord.” Regulus lies. The Dark Lord nods once before turning and gliding off.
“I expect the potions in two weeks,” he calls over his shoulder. Regulus just sighs.
After a second of awkward silence he turns to look at Snape, frowning slightly. “You offered your services? ”
Snape immediately glares. “Shut up, Black. I’m here for the same reason as you.”
“I doubt that,” Regulus mutters, looking around. “Ok. Let's go to my room.”
“What the fuck?”
“We need to plan before we brew, idiot. I don’t have the ingredients to waste.”
They start walking, Snape jogging a bit to catch up. “Is it true? Are you not coming back to school next year?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because I was asked not to.” Regulus pushes open his door, hating the sight of Snape in his room but enjoying the privacy that comes with a lock. He pulls out a notebook and recipe book, settling on the rug. He wants Snape nowhere near his bed.
Snape wrinkles his nose before joining him cautiously. “I don’t want to be here.”
“Glad we agree.”
“I’m only doing this because the Dark Lord asked me too. I thought- I thought I’d be working on my own.”
“So did I.”
Snape huffs. He looks down. “Fine. Where do we start?”
They study for hours, talking as little as possible. Sometimes Snape makes a suggestion and Regulus doesn’t hesitate to shut it down. Other times it’s Regulus that offers an idea only for Snape to provide a surprisingly logical counter. Around three hours in, they’ve filled about half a notebook with ideas.
They sit back against his bed, taking a break. Regulus asks Kreature to bring them some water as they stare at the wall across from them.
“Why weren’t Potter or other Black in school the last week?” Snape asks after a moment. He manages to spit James’s name with such a vicious fury Regulus is taken aback.
Regulus blinks. “Potter’s father died.”
“Oh.”
“Why’d you ask me?”
Snape fixes him with a stare. “You and Potter are quite close, aren’t you?”
Regulus blanches. “What? Why-”
“Remember that time I found you two after hours in the corridor that one time?”
“That was… so long ago.”
Snape shrugs. “Still. Interesting. Firepox, right?”
“Yeah.”
Regulus doesn’t tell him he tried to stop it.
Doesn’t tell him his potions never fully worked, no matter how many trials they ran.
Doesn’t tell him if he’d dedicated more time, if he’d tried a little harder, maybe something would be different.
Doesn’t tell him that because he didn’t, because he let James let him go, because he refused him when he asked again, it’s his fault Monty died.
“Dolohov,” Snape says suddenly. Regulus frowns.
“What about him?”
“Does he… do that often?”
The suppressed swell of disgust he’s been pushing down since the hallway incident comes crawling back up. He lets out a shaky breath, curling his hand into a fist on the floor. “No. That was an isolated incident. And- it’s fine. I had it handled.”
“Looks to me like you needed the Dark Lord to handle it for you.”
“I’ll have it handled, then.”
Snape stares at him. “What did he say to you? Right before we came in?”
“Nothing that matters.”
“They-” Snape lets out a frustrated huff, looking away. “I can’t believe you wern’t doing anything.”
Regulus narrows his eyes. “Why the fuck do you care so much?”
“I’m just saying- you have such this haughty, know it all, pretentious as fuck attitude at school, and here you just let yourself get shoved against walls and pushed around?”
Regulus wrinkles his nose. “You’re making it sound like-”
“Wasn’t it?”
“No.”
“Well.”
There’s a sudden rap at the door and then the lock clicks and it swings open, revealing Walburga on the other side. “Are you ready for dinner?”
Regulus looks at Snape, trying to force his hand to relax. “Is Snape staying?”
“Yes.” Walburga furrows her brow. “Has the Dark Lord not told you?”
“...What?”
“Severus is staying with us for the two weeks it’ll take you to brew the potion the Dark Lord has requested.”
Regulus can do nothing but stare at her. “Is there room?”
“The guest bedroom on the third floor is empty.”
He doesn’t curse, but it’s a near thing. “No. No one mentioned that.”
“Well. Dinners on the table, Kreature is waiting. Move.”
They stand, pointedly not looking at each other as they follow Walburga down to the dining room.
Dinner is a solemn affair, rarely broken by a comment or two about the food. Snape and Regulus eat across from each other, still hostile. Regulus keeps his fury to himself, but can’t help shooting the occasional long glance at the boy on the other side of the table. He misses Evan and Barty.
Why hadn’t anyone told him Snape would be staying? Why hadn’t they even told him this project was happening?
“Oh, I have news.” Lucius says, looking up from his plate. “Another mission was successful.”
Regulus pauses, staring at his food. His stomach clenches. His father hums from the head of the table. “Good.” he says, swallowing some wine. “What happened?”
“It was an attack on an Order intel gathering mission. They were attempting stealth- well.” Lucius chuckles cruelly. “They were unsuccessful. No deaths, unfortunately, but… it was enough.”
“Who?” Orion asks casually.
Regulus can’t hear anything except the rushing in his ears. Not him, not him, not him, not-
“Longbottom and Dearborn. They’re both gravely injured- close to dead. They’re currently in St. Mungo’s. If we wanted to, we could probably send someone in, undercover, to finish the job.”
Regulus swallows, works on his breathing. Longbottom and Dearborn. No- Frank and Cardoc. He went to school with them. He saw them every day. They were in a lot of the same classes.
They’re only a year or two older than him.
Regulus, unable to stop himself, looks across the table. Snape stares at his food with a sort of focused determination, but Regulus can see the hollow look in his eye. It’s detached, haunted, scared . When Snape looks up and meets his gaze, Regulus finds a whole lot of fear, and, hiding behind that- just a hint of sadness. Of anger. Its strength surprises Regulus, making him blink as they stare at each other.
And that’s how Regulus figures out that Severus Snape is a traitor.
No one who supports Voldemort’s cause would have that look in their eyes. Not after a mission as successful as this. No, they’d be more like Lucius- smirking, triumphant, twinkling with the elated air of someone who just won . Snape certainly isn’t twinkling. He just looks horrified. His hand is trembling on his fork.
Fascinating.
Regulus looks back at his plate, pushing his food around quietly. Why was Snape here, if he's so disgusted by this kind of violence? What did he think he was getting himself into?
“Regulus.” His mothers voice, stern as ever, sends him straightening up instantly. “Eat your food.”
“Oui Maman.”
“As-tu fait des progrès avec le potion?”
He exchanges a glance with Snape, who might not speak French but knows the word potion when he hears it. “Oui. Mais… ce n’est que le début.” He looks down at his plate. “May I be excused?”
She sighs, evidently giving up. “I suppose.”
Regulus looks back to Snape. “I’ll see you when you’re done?”
“Fine,” Snape says, still looking mildly ill.
Regulus nods and takes his leave, spending the rest of his evening working on better locking charms for his door.
---
“Well. There are certainly a lot of flowers.”
James crosses his arms. “It’s… extravagant.”
Marlene hums. “That’s one way to put it.”
“My mother may have gone slightly overboard.”
“Potentially.”
Another garland of flowers blooms down the walkway at their feet, the smell of Effie’s magic hanging low in the air. “I think it’s nice,” Lily says, walking up next to them. “Very. Er. Flowery.”
James looks down at her, smirking. “Flowery?”
She glares at him. “Leave me alone.”
“I’m so sorry, flower queen. Marlene, what do you think? Too much?”
“...No.”
“It’s definitely a bright event.”
“Breaking norms one petal at a time.”
“Yeah. Well. Dad always had Mum grow her flowers around his room.” James looks down at the petunias at his feet. “I like the smell.”
“It’s a nice smell,” Marlene concedes.
“I still think it’s sweet.” Lily says. James nods, watching as Effie moves to the front of the room, wand drawn. Flowers grow up the legs of the table next to her and then start to twine itself around the coffin on top of it. Bright pink against dark wood.
He likes that. The flowers. He doesn’t like the vines that come with them. What if they wrap themselves around the hatch and then it can’t open? Monty wouldn’t be able to get out if he needed to. He’d be trapped in.
It’s fine, James reminds himself. It doesn’t matter. Dad’s not going anywhere. It’s okay if there are flowers on his tomb.
Still, he tenses when his mother sends another bout of roses and vines crawling across the coffin. Maybe he should stop her. Just in case.
He takes a step forward.
There’s a hand on his arm, and Lily points to the bar. “You think they’ll serve us?”
“Of course.” James snorts. “It’s my father’s funeral. They’ll give me anything I want.”
The bar, to no one's surprise, does serve them. However, true to the theme of the event, all drinks are fruity and light. Walking away while sipping on some purple sparkly concoction, James looks around for Sirius.
“Do you know where Pads is?”
“He and Remus disappeared a bit ago. Why?”
“Just wondering.”
Lily casts a tempus charm. “Guests will be arriving soon.”
James swallows. Nods. Adjust his robes. “Okay.”
He can feel Lily’s eyes on him. “Okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah, good. Lets… let’s get this over with.”
Lily catches his arm as Marlene drifts away. “James.”
“Hm?”
“Are you okay?”
He can feel his smile slipping, just a bit. “I…”
“Come on. We have time.” They put their drinks down before she pulls him through a door and down a hallway, taking a seat on the floor and looking up at him. He joins her after a moment. “It must be a lot,” She says softly. “It’s only been three and a half weeks. It’s okay to still be feeling it.”
James lets out a dry laugh. “I imagine I’ll be feeling it for a long time yet.”
“Probably.” She hums, green eyes fixed on the wall opposite them. “When Petunia and I were younger, our cousin died. Cancer, if you can believe it.”
James blinks. “Cancer?”
“It’s a muggle disease. It’s… horrible. There’s no cure.” She smiles, dropping her chin and shaking her head. “It must be so lovely living in a world without it.”
“I’m sorry,” James offers quietly. “Were you close?”
“Yeah, actually. She lived next door to us. My aunt… we had family dinners, every night. My cousin would attend less and less of them until one day she just… didn’t show up anymore. We went next door and ate around her bed after that.”
She leans into him, resting her head on his shoulder. “That’s the hard thing about an illness, isn’t it? Watching them waste away and knowing there’s nothing you could do to save them.”
“I should’ve tried,” James whispered. “When I first found out. Why the fuck didn’t I try? Why didn’t I do anything? That’s so… unlike me. What was I thinking?”
“There was nothing to be done.”
“But I didn’t even try,” James says.
“The doctors tried a lot of things for my cousin. Chemotherapy, medicine, different cures. There were a lot of new breakthroughs surrounding cancer at the time, just… not enough. Sometimes there isn’t anything anyone can do. Nature will have its way.”
“Could we… with magic, I mean, do you think-”
She shakes her head, letting out a long sigh. “I thought of that. I’ve asked. Cancer’s incurable- magic or no. I used to think, you know, maybe if I’d known I was a witch sooner I could’ve…”
“No,” James says instinctually, ducking his head to try and see her face. “Don’t do that. You couldn’t have known. And you said it yourself- there was nothing to be done.”
“It took me a long time to realize that.” She looks up at him, eyes fixed on his. “That’s what I meant earlier. It’s okay if it takes you time to realize there’s nothing you can do.”
He lets out a long sigh. “I just wish I tried.” Because why wouldn’t he? He asked Regulus to make a cure when it was probably already far too late. He should’ve acted sooner. God, he thinks, I could’ve done something.
Lily nudges him gently. “You know there’s a reason you’re in Gryffindor, right?”
“Hm?”
“If there was an angle, you would’ve found it. Don’t blame yourself for the inevitable.”
“But-”
“You don’t need to save everyone, all the time.”
“I could’ve at least saved my dad.” He looks away. “I could’ve at least tried.”
“You’re one of the most optimistic, hopeful people I know. Try not to lose that to the war.”
“I won’t.”
“Won’t you?”
He shakes his head and she nods approvingly. “Good. I admire you for what you do, so much. Just try and remember to leave a little saving for yourself sometimes.”
They go quiet for a while, just breathing in the silence of the corridor. James can hear the guests start to file into the seats out in the main room. He looks down at her, ever grateful. “I used to be in love with you.” he says softly. “What happened?”
She smiles, eyes slightly watery. “We grew up,” she says, shrugging.
James nods, focusing on the wall across from them. “I suppose we did.” A pause. “Did you ever…”
“Not in the way you wanted me to.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright, James.” She looks at him. “Nothing to be done.”
The ceremony turns out sweet. Nice. Gentle. Everyone smiles, teary and weak but genuine all the same. His mother talks for a while, her soft voice carrying over the crowd. She looks at James when she’s done, raising her brows in a final confirmation that he has no intention to speak. He shakes his head and she nods, taking her seat in the audience. Sirius squeezes his hand. The flowers above them rain down petals.
It’s nice.
It’s pretty.
And James has nothing pretty to say.
Which is why, after the coffin has been lowered into the ground and most of the guests have wandered away, James leans against Monty’s headstone and pulls out a joint. “I know you wouldn’t care,” he says around the spliff hanging from his lips. “But I still feel a little guilty. Maybe don’t mention it, yeah?”
Monty, naturally, says nothing. James takes it in stride and fishes out a muggle lighter. The smoke feels good in his lungs. “I… ah. I’m sorry I didn’t speak, Dad. I probably should’ve. Mum wanted me to.” He shoves a hand into his robes pocket, pulling out a crumpled piece of parchment. “I wrote a speech,” he says, smiling weakly. “It’s not very good.”
He unfolds it with slightly shaking hands, persistently ignoring the slowly growing black hole in his chest. “It’s hardly legible, honestly.” He takes a drag, scanning the paper. “Mm. Yeah, no.”
He shoves the parchment back into his pocket and looks down at the coffin in the grave below him. “Are you alright?” He manages, staring. “Is it ok if they put dirt on you? I know- I know I’d hate that. To be smothered like that forever.”
Monty says nothing.
“When I die, I want to be cremated. Spread about on the wind, maybe from a broom.” James attempts a smile. “None of this dirt business.” he looks down, clearing his throat and kicking gently at the ground. He can feel the tears gathering behind his eyelids. “I’m, uh, sorry that the doctor’s potions weren't good enough. I really thought- well. I really thought I could save you, Dad. I’m so sorry I didn’t pull through.” His shoulders shudder and he takes a long drag, coughing slightly. The dark, angry thing that’s been brewing in his chest for the past three weeks starts to raise its ugly head. “I wish you would’ve told me they were hurting sooner. We could’ve talked to the doctors. We could’ve figured it out.” He sighs, long and tired.
“Then again, you were pretty dead-set on this, weren't you?” He grimaces. Poor choice of words. “I mean you were pretty insistent that we just let you die. I hope. I hope that worked out for you how you wanted it to.”
“Honestly, I bet you’re happier now.” James sinks into a squat. “That sounds awful, but I’m sure you understand.” He pauses, looking down. “Do you want me to cry? Would that… I don't know. Is that fitting? It’s a funeral, so. Probably. Sorry.” he sighs. “It’s just… I did a lot of crying, initially. Like, a lot. And now… I don't know. Now I have things to say.”
The coffin below him stays horribly still.
“Uh. I think I’m lucky, in a way. Like- I knew you were going to die. I knew for a while. I think I knew when I first found out you got sick. Not that that makes it better, but… it may have made it easier, at least. Is that weird?” James looks away. “I don’t even… I don’t know what I’m talking about right now. Whatever.” He stares at the coffin for a long moment, then drops his voice to a whisper. “Do you think… I mean, is that feeling going to go away now? Was it you? Was I just… internalizing this is some weird fucked up way? Is my head going to clear up?” He feels a bit guilty, laying this all out at his fathers grave, but still. He needs to say it sometime.
He looks up, biting his lip. “I guess not. Oh, look. There’s Sirius. Hey, Pads!”
He waves Sirius over, shuffling sideways to make room for him next to the grave. Sirius sinks down next to him, staring at the coffin. His hair is wrapped up in a tight bun, the pieces that have gradually fallen out tucked securely behind his ears. “What’chu up to?”
“Just… you know. Having a chat.”
“Ah. I see. Hey Monty. How’s it going?”
When Monty, fairly predictably, doesn’t reply, Sirius lets out a breath. They go quiet for a moment. “I wish it was Orion in there.”
“Yeah?” James smiles faintly. “Me too.”
“I would be significantly happier right now.”
“Wouldn’t we all.”
“One day,” Sirius sighs, and James laughs.
“One day.” he agrees.
Sirius pauses. “Do you think there were too many flowers?”
James chuckles, ducking his head. He passes Sirius the joint. “Uh. Yeah, honestly, but it makes Mum happy and I know Dad would never mind. He’d probably love it.”
Sirius takes a drag. “True.”
James and Sirius sit for a long time. The guests leave at some point, drifting by the grave to say their goodbyes to both Monty and the boys. Marlene lingers for a bit, sitting and talking with them as the sunlight fades. Then she too disappears and Effie finally comes to get them.
“They’re going to fill it in,” she says, nodding to the grave. Her eyes are red, but she doesn’t look sad. Not really. Not entirely.
“Oh.” James and Sirius stand, shuffling back as the grave diggers raise their wands to lower the dirt back into the grave.
When the coffin disappears, James does cry. And when Effie wraps her arms around them both, so does Sirius.
All together, it’s a good funeral.
---
The graveyard’s cold at night. Regulus isn’t entirely sure if it’s the hour of the evening or just the nature of the place casting a chill across the grounds. The dirt over Monty’s grave is still fresh, aromatic and dark against the grass. There are flowers blooming across the entire thing, vines wrapping themselves around the headstone and bursting into peonies that make the morbid stone surprisingly beautiful. The smell of warm and gentle magic exudes from each petal.
Regulus stares at the tomb, choking on all that effort. All that love.
In comparison, the blood-red roses in his hand feel limp and lifeless. He lays them by the grave anyway, crouching down to arrange them in a way he hopes doesn’t clash with the rest of the tomb. He casts a charm to make them last, then sits back on his heels.
“Hi,” He whispers softly, feeling slightly stupid. “Uh. I don’t know if it’s weird to talk to you like this. I doubt you can hear me.” he looks down. “I just. I thought I should stop by. I feel like I’ve known you, even if we never met. James talked so much about you.”
He adjusts a peony, smiling as another one blooms beside it. “Your grave is beautiful,” he says softly. “Did Euphemia do this? Did James?” He runs a thumb over a dark green leaf. His smile falters. “You don’t know me. Not really. I know your son. I helped brew those potions he made you take. I don’t know if he told you about me. He probably did.” Emotion pushes against his throat, forcing him to swallow down ancient and long lost memories. “He always wanted to shout our love from the rooftops. I never let him.”
“Anyway. I just. I thought I should say I’m sorry. Don’t worry.” He leans his head back, stares at the sky. “I won't disgrace your graveside too much longer. I just… I don’t know. Thought I should say goodbye. And apologize.”
He smiles against the night as another flower blooms from the earth. The care in this grave, the light, is astonishing. It smells, not necessarily like James specifically, but what he imagines the Potter household to smell like. Gentle and comforting, slightly magnetic. The same way it feels to be tucked in James’s arms. “You were loved,” Regulus whispers as softly as he can manage. He reaches out to cup the flower. “So loved.” The night’s silence wraps around him again, making him pull his jumper a little tighter and cross his arms against the chill.
“Reg?”
Regulus goes still, looking up at the stars above the chapel. The moon shines above the cross, a steady pulsing light against the darkness of the graveyard. He takes his time turning around, allowing himself the peace of the night. There’s no rush, he thinks. Whatever will happen has already become inevitable.
“Sirius.”
His brother stares at him, dark mourning robe making him look ghostly in the pale light. His hair is pulled back into a low tight bun, putting his sharp face on full display. His eyes, deathly familiar, bore into Regulus. “What are you doing here?” There’s a hint of accusation in his tone.
Regulus stands slowly, wiping his hands. “I just wanted to pay my respects,” he says softly, motioning to the roses by the grave. Sirius stares.
“Oh.”
“Why are you still here?”
“Effie and James are just… cleaning up inside. I thought I’d have one last moment.”
Regulus looks towards the chapel. “I’ll go. I’m sorry.”
“Wait.”
Regulus freezes. He didn’t expect that.
Sirius walks towards him, sinking into a seat by the grave. He reaches out and brushes the roses with the tips of his fingers. “I didn’t think you knew him.”
“I didn’t.”
“Ah.”
Regulus looks down at him. “Why are you still here, Sirius?”
Sirius lets out a soft sigh, humming gently. “Everyone else is inside,” he says, and Regulus thinks he understands.
In this moment, in this one singular point in time, it’s just them. There are no eyes, no judging friends or classmates to pick over their every interaction. It’s like that time they met in the astronomy tower- private and just theirs. The rules are different here.
So Regulus takes a seat next to him, and for a minute, they breathe the same air. Each breath, each silent inhale, fills something deeper inside him than he cares to look.
When they were little, really little, their parents would put them in the same bed and Sirius would wrap himself around baby Regulus, pressing their chests together. Regulus would fall asleep to the feeling of Sirius’s lungs expanding and contracting, his own personal lullaby. This, he thinks, is the closest he’s ever going to get to that feeling.
“Maman’s stopped showing me my boggart,” Regulus says. He doesn’t know why he brings it up, but it feels relevant, and, anyway. They’ve never been ones for subtlety.
“Why?”
Regulus shrugs lightly. “No point.”
“Is it still the same?”
Regulus’s silence is damning enough.
“Mine changed back.” Sirius says, and Regulus thinks he might make some sort of choked little noise in the back of his throat. He grips the grass at his side, staring at the grave in front of them.
“Did Potter do something unforgivable, then?” He forces out, trying not to drown in the insinuations packed into the bombshell Sirius just dropped on him.
“He’s still there.” Sirius sighs. “There’s a whole pile of bodies now. Isn’t that lovely?”
“Not… really.”
“I think it is.” Sirius nods after a moment, more to himself than Regulus. “James told me once. He said ‘how lucky you are that you have so many people to miss’. ”
James once told Regulus his boggart was Sirius and Regulus covered in blood and torn apart on the floor. Regulus wonders what it is now. “Well.”
“I’m glad she stopped, though. I hated those days.”
Regulus knows. “We don’t talk much at all anymore, really. She keeps to herself.”
“Good.”
The stars glint above them- slightly mocking but entirely honest, as stars tend to be.
Sirius lets out a shuddering breath. “Are you really not coming back to school?”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
“Did she ask you to, or did he?”
Regulus digs his fingers deeper into the dirt. He wonders if he reaches all the way down, will he find another hand, cold and skeletal, to pull him into the ground? He wonders how much of a fight he’d put up if it did. “It’s not her mark on my arm, is it?”
Sirius hums. “Can I see it?”
Regulus pauses, taken aback. With steady fingers, he pulls up his sleeve. He isn’t afraid to show Sirius his mistakes. He’s certain his brother has already committed each and every one to memory.
Cool fingers take a hold of his forearm, turning it left and right under the moonlight. The skull and snake look out of place against the flowery tower that is Monty’s grave.
Then Sirius keeps pulling his sleeve up, higher and higher, till he pushes it past Regulus’s shoulder. Regulus can’t move, finding himself frozen to the spot.
He’s certain Sirius remembers all of Regulus’s mistakes. He isn’t so sure about Sirius’s own. A thumb, far too gentle for the situation, for their relationship, runs over the scars coating Regulus’s shoulder.
“Did they hurt?” Sirius asks, and Regulus can hear the tremble in his voice. “Or- how badly?”
“Not too bad,” Regulus says, finding himself wanting to alleviate Sirius’s guilt. It isn’t his fault. Not entirely. “They aren’t deep. They weren’t meant to hurt. Just to scar.” This, at least, Regulus is telling the truth about. The cuts never hurt as much as the sight of them did.
“Why didn’t I notice?”
Regulus shrugs. Sirius’s hand falls away from his shoulder. “You had your own things going on. And Walburga can be discreet.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“Well.”
“You said she had a silencing charm on you?”
Regulus winces. “I might’ve misled you about that one.”
He can feel Sirius’s hard gaze, pinned to his every facial expression. “Then why, Reg?”
Regulus tugs on the grass, pulling it up in bunches like a little kid. Everything in him aches. “At first, I didn’t want you to feel guilty.”
“And then?”
“And then. And then I didn’t want you to leave.”
He knows Sirius is watching him. Hell, even the stars seem to bare down with extra force. He glances at the chapel, just to ensure they remain in this odd bubble. He likes it here, even if he’ll regret everything later. Sirius breaks the silence. “You thought if you told me, I’d leave?”
Regulus looks away. “I’d hear you talking, or I’d read your letters to Potter, and the things you’d say to me… You always wanted to go, didn’t you? You told James once you were only staying for me.” The memory burns, aches, stabs as nothing has before. He remembers holding the letter in his hand, staring down at the words with watery eyes. Gripping the parchment so tight it shook.
“I… you weren’t supposed to see that.”
“But I did.” Regulus shrugs, wrapping his arms around himself. “I knew I was the only thing tying you to that house. So…”
“Tell me you didn’t, Reg.” Sirius says, evidently unable to keep the dismay out of his voice. “Tell me you wouldn’t.”
The admission feels like a precipice, a cliff, something not to be descended but to be fallen off of, crashed down, torn apart by. After a moment of indecision, Regulus steps off the ledge. “I thought if you knew your actions were hurting me, if you realized you weren’t entirely protecting me as you thought, you’d have nothing keeping you there anymore.”
“So you didn’t tell me.”
Regulus nods. “So I didn’t tell you.”
Sirius draws his knees to his chest, burying his head between them. “I can’t fucking belive you.”
“Can you blame me?”
“Yes.” Sirius turns his face to glare at him, eyes red. “Yes, I can. Do you know how manipulative- do you know how many hours- how much torture -”
Regulus feels his insides crumbling. “There you go.”
“What?”
“You said it. You would’ve left earlier if you’d known.”
Sirius scoffs. “Yeah, I might’ve. And it might’ve saved us both a hell of a lot of pain.”
Regulus blinks furiously, staring straight ahead. He wants Sirius to understand. He wants him to get it without making Regulus say the words, like he used to. “I knew it,” he whispers.
“So you just… what? Endured?” Sirius spits, and each word hurts so much more than he thinks it does.
“I needed you to stay,” Regulus says, determinedly ignoring the crack in his voice. “I needed- fuck, Sirius, I was perfectly capable of taking some paper cuts to the arm if it meant I wasn’t alone in that house.”
Sirius goes still, blinking at him. He looks slightly confused, a little surprised. “I would’ve taken you with me. Wait. You do know that’s what I meant, right? I wouldn't have stayed, and you wouldn’t have either. I would’ve gotten us both out.”
Regulus frowns deeply. “No. That’s not-”
“I would’ve done something. I would’ve stopped them. I mean- whatever I had to do, I would’ve done it. My entire life’s mission was to keep you safe. That’s all I cared about. That’s all I care-”
“Don’t. Don’t say that. You don’t mean that. If you meant that, you wouldn’t have left.”
Sirius makes a horrible sound next to him, entire body shuddering. “You know I had to go. You know I was always going to go. They were killing me, Reg.”
The worst part, the absolute worst part, is Sirius is right. They were killing him. If he’d stayed, he’d never have had a chance.
“I knew.” Regulus bites his lip. “I just… I just wanted a little more time before you did.”
“You screwed me over too, you know? By keeping me there. Every ache, every pain, that was all partially on you.”
“You could’ve left earlier.”
“No, I couldn’t. Not while-“
“Not while what?”
“Not while I thought you were still worth saving.”
“Fuck.” Regulus thinks he might throw up. “Sirius.”
“No- no. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. Not like that. That’s sounds- that sounds worse than I wanted it to.”
Regulus says nothing.
“It was always the plan,” Sirius whispers, and Regulus thinks he might be talking entirely to himself. “I was always going to leave.”
Regulus nods, unable to stop himself. “And was I ever a part of that plan?”
Sirius sucks in a breath. “Yes,” He says, and to his credit, it’s almost immediate. “Always. If you had told me, we could’ve gotten out together, James would’ve taken us both-”
“That never would’ve worked. They might’ve let you go, but the both of us? To lose both their heirs? That would’ve been unacceptable.” He blinks, harsh against the dark of the night. “I never felt like… It never felt like you were thinking about me too.”
“I was. I was until you cut my chest open on the carpet.”
Regulus curls his fingers in the dirt. “I was imperioed.”
“Yeah, well. I didn’t know that, did I?”
“You never even considered it. You immediately thought-”
“Of course I considered it. Only- I thought it would’ve been Walburga. And we both know how easy her curse is to throw off. I never even thought about Orion.”
“Right.”
Sirius lets out a long sigh, folding his arms over his knees and laying his head on them, turning it sideways so he can look at Regulus. “Besides. You always- you always shut me down. Even just now, when I suggested leaving and you told me it would never work. You always did that. I just assumed you didn’t want to try. After a while I gave up mentioning it.”
“It wouldn't have worked.” That's the truth. Regulus trusts that much, at least.
Sirius lets out a bitter chuckle. “Yeah. You said.”
“Doesn’t mean I wanted to be left behind.”
“That’s not fair. You weren’t left behind. You chose to stay.”
“I didn’t-”
“Did you come looking for me? Did you show up on James’s doorstep?”
“I couldn’t.”
“You didn’t know that, though. Not for sure. You didn’t even try.”
And Regulus… Regulus knows he’s right.
But.
But he couldn’t.
“Why do you never tell me things, Reg? Why did it take so long to find out you’d been imperioed? Why wouldn’t you tell me immediately? I would’ve thought about it, we could’ve talked, I could’ve forgiven you-”
Regulus shakes his head, violent. “I was angry. I didn’t want your forgiveness.”
“Angry enough to get the mark?” Sirius says, voice hard, gaze aggressive. This. This was no longer just a talk. “Angry enough to follow Voldemort? Fucking Voldemort ? Angry enough to help kill innocent people?”
Regulus would tell him about Monty. He would, honestly. It’s the time. It’s certainly the place. But James’s face pops into his head and he remembers all the reasons that would be a bad idea. So, instead: “I- that night the Dark Lord took me, I saved two little girls he wanted me to kill.”
“Well. Good on you for not murdering children, Reg.”
“No. You don’t- you don’t get it.”
“I get enough.” Sirius shakes his head. “I never thought- I mean. The worst part of all this is not that you have that mark on your arm, it’s that you wanted it. I mean, you have to, right? That’s what Maman always said.”
Regulus stares at him. “You called her Maman.”
“Merlin, Reg, that’s what you took from that? How far gone are you?”
Regulus’s mind goes blank for a second. He doesn’t know the line- doesn’t know how far they’re going. But the others are still in the chapel and the stars are still out, so Regulus figures now is as good a time as any. His chest feels raw, in a way he wasn’t expecting. The waters around him rise, swallowing his knees and waist. He wonders when he’ll go under. “I didn’t kill them,” He says softly. He doesn’t think anyone understands the weight of that sentence. They don’t understand how fucked he’d be if the Dark Lord found out. How dead.
“Godric,” Sirius spits, and Regulus feels each word like venom, eroding his skin and burning holes into his skeleton. “I can’t believe you tolerate any of this. I can’t believe- how are we related? Honestly? Give me any excuse you want, Reg, but you’re a horrible person for even looking Voldemort in the eye. You listen to them make their plans, even help on some of them. You- you tolerate it. You’re a Death Eater. You’re a Death Eater. I don’t know why the weight of that is only hitting me now. My baby brother is a Death Eater.” Sirius laughs, and the sound cracks and tears down the middle. His eyes are swimming, angry and red. Regulus distantly wonders how he has any tears left, it being the night of Monty’s funeral and all. Then he stops thinking about that, and focuses on Sirius’s words. And he opens his mouth.
“I know. I know that this- all this- it’s wrong. You think I don’t hate the Dark Lord? You think I don’t hate everything about this system? About myself? I could give two fucks about blood supremacy. But I was so scared, Sirius. I was so scared. And you weren't there to help me through it. I made the best choice for myself because I had no other options. You were gone. You were gone, and I was alone, and I was scared.” Regulus can’t breathe, both hands buried in the grass, torso turned towards his brother. His throat feels raw, like he’s been breathing smoke. Like he’s been swallowing water.
“I only left last year,” Sirius whispers, eyes wide.
Regulus shakes his head. “Not really, though. Not really. You left when you were eleven and boarded that train and met James Potter. That’s when you left.”
“You- you don’t support him?” And Sirius looks so, so hopeful.
Regulus laughs, bitter and aching. Distantly, he wonders if he should tell Sirius about his plan- or whatever the weird twisted concept he’s been thinking over can be called. He wonders if he should get it over with, lay every part of him bare for Sirius to pick over and judge as a whole. He so wants to. Fucked up as their relationship may be, they’re still siblings, and that burning, all consuming desire to prove his brother wrong has never fully exited that special place in his chest. But Regulus is a logical person, and he knows what would happen. He knows Sirius would want to help. His brother is a Gryffindor- it’s like he looks for battles to throw himself into. Regulus refuses to let him get himself killed. Not after everything he’s done to keep him alive.
Not after Saskia.
Besides, right now he has the asset of unpredictability. Sirius is a known member of the Order, Regulus is a known Death Eater. One of those has the element of surprise on their side, one of those doesn’t. Regulus plans to use that to his advantage.
So, once again, for the millionth time, he keeps his mouth shut. “No.” He says eventually. “No, I don’t support him.”
Sirius lets out a long breath. His eyes glint bright. Then words are tumbling out of him, long overdue and rushed, like there’s no more room for them inside. “Then come with me. I didn’t ask you then, but I’m asking now. Come with me. We’ll put you up at James’s. I can get you out, Reg. Let me get you out.”
And somehow, even though that’s the one thing Regulus has been waiting to hear since last year, it still hurts like a knife in the stomach. Like a cut on an arm. “I can’t,” he whispers, and watches Sirius’s face fall. “I need to stay.”
The fragile moment of hope comes crashing down around them, a bubble broken.
“That’s- fuck. Okay. I don’t- I can’t.” Sirius drags his hands over his face. He looks tired, Regulus thinks. He must’ve had a long day. “So you don’t agree with him yet you won’t do anything about it. Okay.”
Regulus stares at him. “I told Dorcas I’d do whatever it takes to make it through this war alive. This is what it takes.”
“That’s such a Slytherin thing to say.”
“Funny how that works out, huh?”
“Okay.” Sirius says again, taking in a long shuddering breath. “Okay, I don’t think I can do this anymore. You’re not coming with me?”
“I’m not coming with you.”
Sirius nods, and Regulus just watches him. When Sirius stands, Regulus rises too. Sirius won’t (can’t?) look at him, staring up at the night sky. “I think you should go,” he croaks. “I want to- I need to be alone. I need to say goodbye to Monty.”
Regulus says nothing, nodding and taking a step back. Sirius keeps his face turned away, hands shoved deep in his pockets. “Thanks for the flowers,” Sirius says eventually. “They look nice.”
Regulus backs up more, heart in his throat. Everything burns, but it feels good to have it out. It’s freeing, in an oddly horrible sort of way. He should consider being honest more often. The waters, everpresent, recede a bit.
Regulus is angry. Of course he’s angry. He’ll always be angry, at least a little, at his brother for leaving. But, to his deep chagrin, he understands. He really does. He thinks of Sirius, laying bleeding on that carpet, believing everyone he loved betrayed him. Of course he’d run the second he got a chance. He’d be stupid not to.
Regulus wants him alive. He’s gone to such great lengths, made such horrible choices, just for him- and yet. And yet the one decision that really kept his brother safe was Sirius’s own. He can’t fault him for that.
Both Sirius and Regulus chose to live.
And they hate each other for it.
Sirius says nothing else. Neither of them do. Instead Regulus sends one last look at the chapel, sends one last thought out to James, and turns on the spot, disappearing into the night.
When he makes it back to his room he collapses onto the bed. He thinks it’ll take a while to get to sleep, but his eyes fall closed the second his head hits the pillow.
It was nice, he thinks as he drifts, to see his brother.
---
Snape, in Regulus’s opinion, spends too much time in Regulus’s room. He doesn’t have a choice, of course, but that hardly matters. They spend hours each day bent over books and parchments, ink stains blooming across the carpet.
They make progress at a surprising rate, and by the fifth day they’re ready to start brewing. Before that can happen, though, Regulus has a hypothesis he needs to put to the test.
“Kreature,” he summons, not looking up from his notes.
A pop. “Yes, Master?”
“Can you bring Snape and I some tea, please?”
“Of course.” Kreature gives Snape a truly malicious look before vanishing.
Snape frowns, narrowing his eyes at the elf before focusing back on his work. “He doesn’t like me.”
“Can you blame him?”
“I’m literally working with you. I don’t get it. What’s his issue?”
Regulus shrugs, running a hand through his hair in an effort to get it away from his face. “We should re-write the final recipe. Do you have good handwriting?”
“...You should do it.”
“Right.”
Kreature appears with the tea, setting it in front of them and eyeing Regulus with squinted, narrow eyes. “Will Master Regulus be requiring anything else?”
“That’s all, Kreature, thank you.”
They drink their tea in silence while Regulus starts copying down the messy recipe they scribbled in the margins of their potion book. After he gets about halfway he pauses, looking up. “Enjoying the tea?”
“Yes.” Snape says immediately. Then he looks up, confused. “I mean-”
“How do you usually take your tea?”
“Milk and three sugars,” Snape says, like the words are being yanked from his mouth involuntarily. His eyes find Regulus’s, and go cold with anger. “Usually with a little less Veritaserum.”
Regulus winces apologetically. “I’m testing something.”
“You fucking spiked my tea?” Snape is trembling with anger now, and there, just there, not a small amount of fear.
“I learned from the best.” Regulus says, hoping Snape doesn't do something rash like knock over the ink pot onto their notes. “Why does it matter? Do you have something to hide?”
“Yes.”
“I see.” Regulus hums, looking the other boy over. He doesn't know how to approach this. He has a suspicion- but that’s all it is. He based it off a single look, shared over a dining room table. If he’s wrong… maybe this is too risky.
No. He needs to know. And even if he's wrong, it wouldn't hurt to get a better read on Snape's intentions. He can always just say it’s a loyalty test. It is, in a way.
“Do you want to be making this potion?”
“No.” And then: “Shut up. Stop talking. I can’t believe- I- you’ll never get away with this.”
“Why don’t you?”
“I don’t want to hurt anyone.”
Regulus raises his brows as Snape shrinks back in shame, seemingly trying to melt into the wall behind him. “A pacifist. I see.” He smirks, only letting himself relish a little in the power currently resting in his hands. He leans in for the kill. “Do you support the Dark Lord?”
Snape claps a hand over his mouth, shoving himself farther away from Regulus. “No,” he spits, perfectly audible even through his fingers.
And that.
That’s something.
He thought that maybe Snape just didn’t like the idea of anyone getting hurt. At the most, he thought he was just hesitant about his role in all of this. But this, a total detestation for the Dark Lord, isn’t what Regulus was expecting.
Regulus smiles, slow and cruel. Snape looks terrified. “Are you a spy for the Order?”
“N-No.” Snape chokes out, starting forward. “Regulus, please-”
“Why not?”
“I want to gain his trust before I go to them. I need to have more to offer.” Snape says miserably, slumping back.
“Ah. That- yeah. That makes sense.” Regulus nods. “So- why don’t you support the Dark Lord?”
“Lily Evans is a muggleborn. I need her alive.”
Oh.
Huh.
“I see,” Regulus says slowly, studying the dark red flush creeping up Snapes cheeks. “That’s all?”
“It’s enough.”
“I guess it must be.”
“Regulus,” Snape manages, and he sounds so broken. So defeated. “Regulus. Please. I’m sorry. I’ll go, I’ll never come back, just please. Please don’t tell anyone. I can’t- he’d kill me.”
Regulus blinks. He can’t say he doesn’t enjoy Snape begging for mercy. “I won’t.” He says carefully.
Snape goes still. “You won’t?”
“No.”
They stare at each other. Something passes between them. Regulus hums. “Do you want him to succeed?”
Snape shakes his head, and Regulus nods. “Right.” He takes a steadying breath. This is where it counts, he supposes. “I’m going to kill him,” he says, and enjoys the look of complete and utter surprise on Snape’s face. Regulus isn’t entirely sure why he told him. Maybe he just wanted it out, preferably said to someone alive.
A beat.
Another.
No one moves. No one speaks.
Slowly, ever so slowly, Snape blinks. “Really?”
“Yes. Or- or I’m going to figure out how, at least. Find someone who can.”
“You’re a traitor?”
Regulus frowns. “So are you.”
“Yeah, but I’m not the heir to the Black throne. Though, maybe that makes sense, considering your brother.”
Regulus doesn’t like that one bit. “I’m not doing this to spite my family.”
“Then why?”
Regulus pauses. “...Same reason as you, I guess.”
Snape nods, beady eyes fixed on Regulus’s face. “I see.”
“Why did you decide to come here, then? If you didn’t support him? Why not stay away?”
“I couldn’t… I mean. If there was something I could do, I couldn’t just sit by. And besides, as a Slytherin in this day and age, I had a special opportunity. It would be more suspicious to join the Order than the Death Eaters and besides. I don’t think they’re going about this the right way.” He pauses, grimacing. “I forgot about this stupid potion. I hate you. Did you have to-”
“Would you have told me the truth otherwise?”
“No.” Snape bites his lip. “You- this isn’t a trick? You really- I find it hard to believe that you-”
“It’s not a trick.”
“You have the mark.”
Regulus flinches. “I had- that- yeah. Well. That was part of it.”
“How do you mean?”
“I couldn’t very well refuse it. Not if I wanted to seem fully committed to this.” And besides, it’s not like his parents would very well let him go without it.
“Your friends. Do they know?”
Regulus holds his gaze. “No.”
“So they’re really committed, then.”
“In some way or another.”
Snape frowns. This is a lot to take in, Regulus thinks. Probably. He isn't sure. He’s been processing all of this for the past year. “I can’t… I don’t trust you,” Snape says. “How can I?”
“Look.” Once Regulus has started being honest, it’s hard to stop. It feels so fucking good to finally share this with someone. He turns to his bed, lifting the bedskirt and pulling out the fabric bundle. He unwraps it carefully, trying not to look at the yellowing fangs. He hates the sight of them, clings to what they represent. “These are basilisk fangs. I’m saving them. The Dark Lord has no idea.”
Snape blinks. “What the fuck do basilisk fangs have to do with anything?”
“Ah,” Regulus says, then proceeds to explain all he’s learned about Horcruxes and dark magic. He sits back and drinks the rest of his (unspiked) tea as he speaks.
When he’s done, Snape is staring at him with horrified eyes. “You… that’s… what ?”
Regulus rolls his eyes. “What part do you need clarifying?”
“He… he split his soul? There’s something out there, probably an object- if you’re right about this- that has half his soul?”
“Well,” Regulus says, and thinks of his conversation with Saskia. “I’m not sure about half. Sa- someone told me that you can do it multiple times. I don’t know how many.”
“So he has, what, an undetermined number of objects floating around with sections of his soul inside them? And thus, he’s immortal?”
“Only if I’m right,” Regulus says.
Snape hisses, sitting back. “Fuck.”
“Are you surprised?”
“Incredibly.” Snape shoots him a glare. “Do you have an antidote to this fucking potion?”
“...No.”
“I hate you.” he puts his head in his hands, greasy long hair falling around his fingers. “Ok. Ok. Wait.”
“Yeah?”
“You haven’t told anyone else this?”
“No.”
“Bloody hell, Regulus, why not?”
Regulus stares. “Who would I tell?”
“Someone from the Order?”
“And risk more lives? You’ve seen how they’re handling this war. You said it yourself, they aren’t going about this the right way. This information is too crucial to be that careless with.”
“A Gryffindor, then. Someone who knows how to handle this.”
“I don’t trust any Gryffindors. Sirius is part of the Order as well, now.”
“And Potter?”
Regulus swallows. Even now, he can’t make himself meet Snape’s eyes. “Not Potter.”
“Interesting.”
“He’s also in the Order.”
“Sure.”
“It’s… I’m not certain about any of this. It’s all theoretical. I think the Dark Lord made a Horcrux or a few, and I think he’s immortal till they’re destroyed.”
“I have to do my own research.” Snape says. “Before I can trust you.”
Regulus sighs. “I think. I think I might’ve found one already.”
Snape freezes, planting his hands on the ground on either side of him. “What?”
“It’s… I don’t know. I wish I could ask Saskia about this.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the stone inscribed with a rune. “It fell out of his pocket a while ago. I took it. It does… something really strange. Like, really strange.”
“Who’s Saskia?”
Regulus ignores him, setting the stone on the floor in front of him. “I don’t recognize the symbol on it, but the metal traces around it looks like it was once set into something. I-” Then he pauses, because Snape is being weird. He’s gone completely still, staring at the stone.
“Merlin,” he breathes, and Regulus shifts uncomfortably. There’s a certain awe in Snape’s expression that scares him a bit. “What- is that real?”
“...Yes. Do you know what it is?”
Snape looks up, eyes wide. “How do you not? That’s- I mean, if that’s the actual thing, that’s one of the Deathly Hallows.”
“The what?”
“You know, the three magical objects from that story? Have you really not heard of it?”
Regulus doesn’t like not knowing something Snape does. “No.”
So Snape tells him.
When he’s done, Snape leans forward, pointing at the rune. “See, that triangle is the Cloak of Invisibility. And then that line is the Elder Wand, and that circle is this stone.”
Invisibility cloak. Interesting. Regulus tucks that away for later and refocuses. “So-”
“That’s the Resurrection Stone. Merlin. Salazar. That’s. Wow.”
Regulus looks back down at the stone, picking it up carefully. “The Resurrection Stone. What…”
“If turned, it brings people back from the dead. Temporarily, of course.” Snape looks up, zeroing in on Regulus’s face. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”
Regulus sucks in a breath and thinks of Harold, shimmery and pale in the astronomy tower. “Yeah. I figured that bit out for myself.”
“What- who- I have so many questions.”
“So do I,” Regulus murmurs, sitting back against his bed and examining the stone.
“It just fell out of the Dark Lord’s pocket?”
“Yes. I thought it may be the first Horcrux.”
“How did he get it?”
“I have no idea. I didn’t very well ask him for the backstory to the object I stole.” Regulus stares down at the inscription. “The Deathly Hallows?”
“Yeah.”
Both Snape and Regulus say nothing, staring at the stone. Slowly, before he can think better of it, Regulus begins to rotate it between his fingers- once, twice, three times.
He feels Harold’s presence behind him before he hears Snape’s gasp. The other boy’s face has drained of color, staring at the space next to Regulus.
Regulus turns to see Harold sitting on the floor next to him, just as shimmery and translucent as ever. “Hello,” he says.
Harold stares at him, then at Snape, then looks around. “This isn’t the astronomy tower.”
“No.”
“Regulus-” Snape chokes out, and Regulus suddenly realizes how odd this must be for him.
“This is Harold.” Regulus says looking between them.
Harold nods, staring at Snape. “Who’s this?”
“Snape. Don’t mind him.”
Snape makes an ugly sort of breathless sound in the back of his throat, gripping the carpet. “Uh-”
“I found out what this stone does,” Regulus says, not looking at Harold. “Brings people back from the dead. It’s part of a set.”
“You couldn't have guessed that first part?”
“Well.”
Snape swallows. “So- you’re dead?”
Harold nods. “Yeah.” He points to Regulus with his chin. “He killed me.”
Regulus glares at him. “That is not true.” he looks back at Snape. “The Dark Lord did it.”
“That’s right.” Harold says. “He just helped.”
“Really? You’re doing this now?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. When would you’d rather me bring it up?”
“Just-”
“Regulus.” Snape interrupts. “How long have you had this stone?”
“Two months. Give or take.”
“How many times have you met with… Harold?”
“Twice. Three times, now.”
Snape glares, hair hanging in a curtain around his face. He looks a little ghostly himself, Regulus thinks. “I can’t believe you.”
“I didn’t know what the stone was.” Regulus says. “I couldn’t find anything in the library about it.”
“Because it’s usually told as a children’s tale. And you know, widely known.”
“You two are… friends?” Harold asks.
“No,” Both Snape and Regulus say in unison.
Harold raises his brows. “I see.”
“Why did you-” Snape drops his voice to a whisper, as if that will help anything. “Why did you bring him here?”
Regulus shrugs. “I needed to see if it still works. And it’s different, now that I know what it does.”
He looks at Harold. “Do you choose to come when I turn the stone?”
“No. The pull- it’s like there’s a line tied to my chest and you’re yanking on it. I hardly have a choice.”
“Okay. Interesting.”
“You really think this is a Horcrux?” Snape hisses, still eyeing Harold suspiciously.
“Now I’m not sure.”
“May I ask why I’m here?” Harold looks around. “I’d rather not be.”
“Too bad.”
“So then, if you killed him,” Snape says, ignoring the resulting protests from Regulus, “Who’s she?”
“What?” Regulus follows Snapes finger and sucks in a sharp breath.
There’s a woman, young, sitting on Regulus’s other side, deathly still. She too is translucent, only left with traces of color. He doesn’t recognize her.
He jumps back, flinching hard. He could’ve sworn she wasn’t there when he first turned the stone. “I- I don’t- who-”
“She appeared about thirty seconds ago.” Snape looks between them nervously. “You don’t know her?”
The girl turns her head slowly, focusing large sad eyes on Regulus. He can’t breathe under the weight of her stare. “Am I alive?” She whispers through cracked lips.
“No,” Snape offers, and Regulus doesn’t know how he’s so calm right now. Harold he expected. Harold he knows. But this woman- she’s a stranger. It freaks him out. “But this is the land of the living.” Snape finishes.
“Who are you?” Regulus manages.
“I…” she looks down at her hands. “I just felt the pull of my family and had to see. But I don’t know you. Any of you. Or where we are.”
“Family?” Regulus stares at her. “What’s your name?”
“Merope. Where am I? Is Tom here?”
Regulus looks between her and Snape, at a loss. “Tom?”
“How am I here?”
Regulus silently holds up the stone. She focuses on it instantly, tired eyes going wide. “What- Where did you get that?”
Regulus stares at her, thoroughly confused. “You know what this is?”
The air around her vibrates with her intensity. “Where’d you get that?” She demands again.
“The Dark Lord… gave it to me,” Regulus settles on.
“The Dark Lord?”
“Voldemort?”
Merope shakes her head and Regulus pauses, considering. “...Tom Riddle?”
And that does it.
She leaps to her feet, looking around. “Tom? Is he here?”
Regulus stands too, and after a minute Snape joins him. “No. No- but wait, just- just calm down. How do you know him?”
“My husband. My love. Where is he? I have to see him.” She chokes, voice cracking.
Regulus and Snape exchange a glance. “You’re Voldemort’s wife?” Regulus asks cautiously. He didn’t know he was ever married.
“I- but-” Merope goes still, turning slowly. “What year is it?”
Regulus tells her and she lets out a sad, rather pathetic whimper, bunching her hands in her ratty dress. “Then my Tom is gone,” She whispers. “My son. My child. That’s who you mean, isn’t it?”
“I don’t…” Regulus’s brain has been reduced to a single buzz of static at this point.
“Tom Marvolo Riddle. My son.” Merope looks down. “That stone. That was in our family. That was set into a ring. He must’ve taken it. Good. It belongs to him.”
“Why are you here?” Snape says, speaking for the first time in a while. “If none of us know you?”
Merope looks up at him. “I felt the pull of my family. It has to be that stone. It was a beautiful ring, you know.”
Regulus looks down at the metal traces surrounding it. That must be where it was set into a band. “This belonged to a ring owned by Tom Marvolo Riddle, your son?”
“Yes.” She looks around. “Can I see him?”
“No.”
“But-”
“Why didn’t you come earlier? I’ve used this stone before.”
“I… the pull was stronger today. Closer to home. I felt like I could touch it.”
“I don’t understand anything that’s happening right now,” Snape groans, lowering himself to the ground and putting his head in his hands.
“Neither do I,” Harold croaks. Regulus forgot he was there.
“So you felt the pull of this stone and followed it, despite not being attached to any person here.”
Merope nods. “My father loved that ring more than he loved me. I’m glad my son owns it now. He deserves it so much more.”
“Did you know about the Deathly Hallows?” Snape asks cautiously.
Merope blinks. “The what?”
Regulus hums. “Right. Did you know about the Resurrection Stone?”
She shakes her head, and Regulus sighs. “It’s this. It’s why you’re here. It’s why Harold is here. I don’t understand why the Dark Lord had it, but Snape says it temporarily brings people back from the dead.”
She sniffs. “I didn’t know that. It was our family ring. That’s our crest.” She indicates the rune. “It was set into silver.”
“So somewhere there’s a band that this was once in, right?”
Merope nods, still fixated on the stone in his hand. He thinks if he lets her take it she’d never give it back. “Probably still in the family shack in Little Hangleton. I don’t know when or how it was broken. Maybe… oh.”
“What?”
“Maybe after I left… maybe my son went looking for it in the shack. It meant a lot to his grandfather, you know. Maybe he found it but only wanted the stone. I never knew it was a magical object.” Merope’s eyes, pointed in slightly different directions, widen slightly. “I knew the band was protected with charms. Maybe they restricted the magical potential of the stone.”
“That would do it,” Regulus says, nodding. This is good. This is something . He turns to Snape. “So Riddle goes back to his mother’s home and finds the ring she mentioned. He knows about the resurrection stone, because, as you said-”
“-Everyone knows,” Snape says, and Regulus tips his head.
“Right. He must’ve put two and two together, figured out it was the same thing. But it won’t work with the band, so he gets the stone out and leaves the ring there. Why?”
“I need to see my son,” Merope says. “I need to see the ring.”
“No.”
“But-”
“Maybe he wanted to contact someone,” Snape says. “You know. On the other side.”
Regulus thinks about that. “Maybe.”
“That’s my son’s ring,” Merope says, taking another step forward. Regulus stares at her.
“Not anymore.”
“I need. I need to give it back to him.” She lurches towards him, reaching, and he simply lets the stone fall from his hand. Both she and Harold disappear in an instant.
Regulus stoops and grabs the stone from the carpet, slipping it back into his pocket. “Well.”
“I don’t like her,” Snape says.
“She seemed… sad.”
“Was she really the Dark Lord’s mum?”
“I guess she must’ve been, right?” Regulus sinks back on to his bed, staring at the far wall. He’s so tired. “She really liked this stone.”
“Sounds like the ring was very important to her family.”
“I wonder if Voldemort knew that.” Regulus says stiltedly, looking over at Snape. “Maybe-”
“No.”
“Maybe we should go to Little Hangleton.”
“ No .”
“That’s got to be it, though, right?” Regulus falls back on his bed, eyes locked on the ceiling. The paint is chipping, he notices. “Why would he specifically remove this stone from the band if it wasn’t important?”
“Obviously the stone’s important,” Snape says. “It’s the bloody Stone of Resurrection. But the band? I mean, we don’t even know it’s still there.”
“No. But. That’s the main bit, right? This stone is special, but it was the actual ring that was significant to his mother’s family. Look, we don’t have any other leads. Let me read up a bit about Horcruxes and then we can look into this more.”
Snape lets out a defeated breath. “You really are a traitor, aren’t you?”
Regulus lifts his head to give him a quizzical look. “It took you this long to believe me?”
“There was a lot happening. It was all very fast.”
“Is the Veritaserum wearing off? I only had Kreature put in the smallest dose.”
“Yeah, I think so.” Snape drops his chin. “Did you really have to do that?”
“Yes.”
“Fine.”
“I need to sleep.” Regulus says. It’s true. His head is swimming with new information, too much to take in all at once. It’s making his eyelids droop.
“Me too. I can’t believe…”
“What?”
“Any of it.”
“Me neither,” Regulus mutters.
Snape pauses in the doorway. “We’re going to Little Hangleton, aren’t we.”
“Oh, absolutely.”
“...Right.”
“Now get out of my room.”
The door shuts quietly behind him.
---
Dolohov is passed out on the couch when Regulus creeps into the living room, mouth slightly open and head tilted to the side. That’s one of the perks of your house being overrun by Death Eaters: easy access. He looks like a pig, Regulus thinks, a bag of skin spread out across the cushions.
Regulus kneels carefully, adjusting his knees on the rug and steadying himself on the couch. He can smell Dolohov’s breath, greasy and rank. “ Occausi ,” he breathes, wand pointed at Dolohov's face. He watches with a sick sort of amusement as Dolhov’s mouth vanishes, leaving behind a smooth expanse of skin.
A second later the older man blinks awake, eyes going instantly wide as he thrashes on the couch. Regulus leans over him, drinking in the fear in his eyes.
Slowly he reaches out, grabbing Dolohov’s jaw and squeezing, watching his cheeks bunch. “Maybe,” He murmurs slowly. “This will teach you to be quiet.” He trails his wand down the side of his face. “ Stupefy .”
Dolohov stops thrashing.
“I think, for someone so bold, you look awfully scared right now.” Regulus leans forward, squeezing his face tighter. He wants to leave bruises in the shape of fingerprints. He wants him to remember this. “You want to know why the Dark Lord favors me?”
Dolohov doesn’t respond. He can’t even move. Regulus nods for him. “He likes me because I can handle my shit. I get my work done and keep my head down. I don’t complain.” He releases Dolohov’s jaw and slowly moves to pinch his nose, cutting off his one supply of oxygen. “I don’t whine. I’m not a… what did you call it? A little bitch.”
Dolohov blinks rapidly, eyes full of fear. Regulus drinks the sight in. “I think I’ll have to leave that honor to you,” he says. Dolhov’s chest rises and falls as he tries and fails to get any air. “I bet if you could talk right now, you’d be begging.” Regulus tips his head. “I almost wish I could hear it.” He leans in dangerously close. “In the future, keep your dirty fucking hands off me. Tell Rookwood and Carrow. Can you do that?”
Dolohov nods furiously and Regulus releases his nose, watching him inhale desperately. “Good,” he says. “Find someone to uncurse you tomorrow. See you at breakfast.” Then he stands and walks away, falling back into his bed.
He sleeps well that night.