No Greater Sin

The worst pain Regulus's ever experienced has been at the hands of the cruciatus. It’s the worst pain anyone’s ever experienced- because it’s designed to be. There’s nothing you can do once it hits you but wait for it to be over. There’s no making peace with the pain. There’s no breathing through it. There’s only waiting. 

Regulus crumples to his knees in front of the door. This isn’t the cruciatus. It can’t be. Because in this state he can still see the ground infront of him, still focus on sucking air into his lungs, still try to wrap his head around what the fuck is happening. It's a different pain- not sharp and all consuming but dull and aching, lingering in his chest, surrounding that feeling of horrendous rot and decay and pulling it to the surface. 

He clenches his hands into fists on his knees and tries not to cry. His eyes sting as the pain forces him to bite his lip. It’s fine. It’s bearable. Someone’s speaking, he realizes distantly. 

“Black? What the fuck was that? Is the doorknob cursed? Should we turn around?”

“No,” Regulus chokes, because they’ve made it this far. “No. I just. No.”

Snape grabs his arm and pulls him to his feet, steadying him when Regulus stumbles shakily. “I’m not touching that door.”

Regulus gives him the sharpest look he can manage in his current state. “I don’t know how to break whatever curse that is,” He says. “Do you?”

“No.”

“Then we’re going in.”

“You’re going to get us killed.”

“You don’t have to follow me,” Regulus says, turning back to the door and gathering his courage. The worst is over, surely. It has to be.

Before he can think better of it, he reaches out and twists the handle, pulling it open. Immediately the pain comes back, swarming his every nerve and dulling his senses till all he can feel is one large ache somewhere behind his sternum. He sways on the threshold, leaning onto the door frame for support. It feels like there are bugs in his head, or maybe ghosts, crawling around his mind and whispering echoes that bounce off the walls of his skull. 

Then someone’s pushing him and he stumbles through, feet connecting with the floor on the other side of the door. The pain recedes dramatically- not gone, not even close, but less . Regulus sucks in a deep breath, wrapping his arms around his middle and looking around. The shack appears to be just two rooms, judging by the side door to the left. It’s all wood paneling and cracking paint, everything covered in at least two inches of dust. 

He takes a shuddering breath and turns to look back at Snape. “Coming?”

Snape stares at him from the threshold. “How bad did it hurt?”

“It’s nothing like the cruciatus. You’ll be fine.”

“I’ve never been crucioed.”

“Oh. Then yeah. It hurts a bit.” Regulus sways slightly. “Come on.”

Snape squeezes his eyes shut and grits his teeth, pushing through the door. Regulus stays rooted to the spot, making no move to be ready to catch him if he falls. It wouldn’t matter anyway- Regulus doesn’t think he’s in any position to help. Most likely they’d both go down. 

In the end, Snape doesn’t fall. He simply steps through the door, stands stock-still for a minute, and then opens his eyes. He blinks. “Uh.”

“Are you kidding me?” Regulus hisses. 

“Well.”

“Nothing?”

“Maybe I’m less susceptible to pain than you.”

“I really don’t think that’s the case.” Regulus sways again. “We can examine this later. Where do you wanna start?” 

“Of our two options?” Snape asks, looking around. “I’d say the room we’re currently in wouldn’t be a bad choice.” 

Regulus takes a step and grounds himself, raising his wand and catching a detection spell. Immediately the entire place lights up, every surface buzzing with magic. It overwhelms both of them, flaring up around the room and making it hard to see. 

“Ok,” Snape manages and Regulus pulls back the spell. “So. We won’t find it like that.”

“Maybe not,” Regulus breathes in awe, looking around. “This place is covered in charms and curses. More than we thought. The Dark Lord went all out. I didn’t even know he was capable of magic like this.”

“He managed to split his soul a number of times,” Snape mutters. “I don’t think this is the extent of what he can do.”

“Four,” Regulus says. “Four times. That’s… not that many.”

“You and I both know how much pure dark magic it takes to split your soul even once. But four?” Snape clicks his tongue.

Regulus sways again. “I need to get out of here soon. We should hurry up.”

Snape gives him an odd look. “Why is this affecting you so strongly?” 

“I don’t…” Regulus presses a hand to his head, trying to get himself under control. Everything aches. “I don’t know.”

Snape nods. “I’ll check the other room. You wanna search this one?”

“Fine.”

Snape walks away, each step sending the floor complaining loudly. “Scream if you need help.”

Regulus flips him off and turns back to the room, taking a few steps before reaching into his pocket and pulling out the stone. This time when he turns it, both Merope and Harold appear instantly.

“Merope,” Regulus whispers, watching her take in her surroundings.

“No, no, no-” She hisses. “I can’t be back here. I can’t- I can’t-”

“It’s okay, nothing can touch you,” Regulus says. “Literally nothing can happen to you. It’s good you found me so quickly this time. It’s you I’m looking for.” He glances at Harold. “No offense.”

Harold waves him off and looks around, shivering a bit. “Where… where are we?”

“The shack,” Merope chokes. “The shack in Little Hangleton. My… my family home.”

“Do you see anything out of place?” Regulus asks. “We’re looking for the ring.”

“The ring,” Harold says with a small breath. “You… you’re doing it?”

“I told you,” Regulus says, holding his gaze.

“I didn’t think you’d go through with it.”

“Nothing’s out of place,” Merope says, after a moment. Her voice stays shaky. “There’s a dark energy here, though, that’s new.”

“Yeah,” Regulus grits as a new wave of dizziness passes over him. “Yeah, I noticed that.”

Harold frowns. “Are you alright?”

“I…” Regulus moves towards a desk, attempting to steady himself but instead gripping on to it as he sinks to the ground. “It’s…”

“What’s going on?”

Regulus can’t lift his head, letting it drop to his chest as he works on getting air into his lungs. He can’t imagine what he must look like, weak and defeated on his knees next to the wall. “‘m fine,” he mumbles when he can manage. 

Reaching up, he pulls open the drawer to the desk and sits up to peer inside, shifting around its contents. “Nothing,” he mutters. “We’re going to have to pull apart the walls.”

“Don’t,” Merope says. “I want Tom to have a home to come back to.”

“I think that ship has sailed,” Harold says, and she sends him a withering glare.

“You know nothing.”

“Merope,” Regulus interrupts. “If you had to hide something in this place, where’d you choose?”

Merope’s eyes glaze over, going fuzzy and having a hard time focusing on him again. “Under the floorboards,” She says eventually. “I put everything under the floorboards.”

“Should I start in here?” Regulus asks, pulling himself up. 

 “I don’t… I don’t want you ruining my home.” Merope takes a step forward. “It belongs to my son.” 

Regulus and Harold exchange a look. She was obviously going to be of no help. “Can you…. can you go back into the void?”

“What?”

“I mean.” Regulus cuts himself off and hums, searching for the words. “Well. I don’t actually know how it works, but is there a way I can dismiss you?”

“I think you have to drop the stone,” Harold says, and Regulus looks at him quickly.

“But…” Regulus trails off into nothingness, trying to sort out the conflicting emotions that surface at Harold’s words. He finds, to his absolute shock, that he doesn’t want Harold gone. His presence, while slightly nerve-wracking, has been comforting all the same. “I don’t want you to go,” Regulus voices, tone cracking and tearing at the edges.

“It’s fine,” Harold says, shrugging. “I’ll still be here. You just won’t be able to see me.”

Another round of pain washes over Regulus, sending him wilting sideways into the wall. The fear, the terror, that seeps from the boards of this place flows into every inch of him, consuming his very being. “Fine,” He mutters, because Merope has started to look slightly angry, taking a few steps towards him. “Fine.”

With one last look at Harold he drops the stone back into his pocket, taking a shuddering breath when they disappear in an instant. Alone, he pushes off the wall and searches the ground, looking for any loose boards. “This is pointless,” he mutters out loud.

He makes his way into the middle of the room, turning in circles. “Accio ring,” he mutters in a last ditch effort. Nothing happens. 

He drops to his knees again, telling himself it’s only to see the floorboards better and ignoring the creeping fatigue in his every bone. He runs his hands over the wood floor, pressing and prodding at different spots. Eventually something gives and the board dips beneath his fingers. Regulus lets out a breath and sits back, stealing himself. He leans forwards again, ready to lift the board, when something… happens. 

The entire room goes black, darkness flooding in through every window and crack of the room. It’s suffocating, engulfing and all-consuming, making Regulus scramble back and reach for his wand. “Lumos,” He whispers, waiting with bated breath. Nothing happens. “Lumos,” He hisses again, a bit more aggressive. 

Nothing.

His heartbeat picks up, breaths becoming slightly more shallow. “Uh-” He manages out loud. “Snape?”

No response.

He forces himself to suck in a shallow inhale, wincing as a pang of pain shoots through him. Crawling forward he gropes around in the dark, fingers skimming over the boards again till he finds the one that triggered this. Maybe… 

He presses it again. Nothing. 

He mumbles a curse and sits back, grip tight around his wand. He doesn’t entirely know what to do in this situation. 

And, right as he’s about to crawl towards the wall and attempt to feel for the door, something happens. A candle, plain and simple, materializes in the air in front of him. Its wick flickers to a flame, casting a soft glow in the air around it. Regulus stares at it, leaning forward slightly. He glances around, looking for some source or culprit. Finding none, Regulus frowns.

It must be a good sign, though, he thinks. Any sort of magical admission had to mean he was close to the source. Slowly, carefully, he reaches out and touches the wax gently. It’s warm to the touch, giving just slightly under his fingers. 

As soon as he makes contact with the candle, the flame jumps suddenly. It grows, flickering towards the ceiling, and once again Reguls scrambles back across the floor. His chest aches.

Clutching his wand, he watches as the flame rises and rises, growing with every second. The room, in turns, lights up, sending the entire space aglow with orange.

Regulus’s breath stutters, fear creeping in from every angle. He doesn’t- he doesn’t know what to do. He needs to get Snape out of here. He needs to get himself out of here. 

The flame licks at the ceiling, not burning, just… flickering. It morphs, changing shape and size, tendrils of flames elongating. Soon enough the fire forms itself into a rough outline of a person, large and towering over Regulus.

Regulus can’t breathe, choking on smoke. He blindly casts a spell, not caring which one. It passes through the flame ricocheting off the wall behind it. The flame-man bends at the waste, funneling from the candle like a genie from a lamp. “Regulus,” it whispers, soft and flickering. “Regulus.” It almost sounds like Parseltounge, slimy and winding, slithering into Regulus’s ear and taking route in his brain. “Touch the flame,” it says.

Regulus- confused, aching, and scared- just backs up some more, trying to force anything other than acrid black smoke into his lungs.  “N-no,” He chokes out, sending another curse through the fire. 

“Wouldn’t it be better, though?” The flame man bends lower and lower, head hanging over Regulus’s. 

“No,” Regulus manages again. “ No .” It’s a trick, he thinks. A mirage. A trap. Anything to keep him away from the horcrux. 

“Wouldn’t it be easier? Wouldn’t it be right ?”

Distantly, Regulus notices how warm the column of fire is. Warm and inviting, crackling and popping in the darkness. Regulus hasn’t been warm in a long time. Not since…

“It wouldn’t,” He forces out, begging his mind to get back on track. “I’m… I’m doing the right thing. I need to see it through.” 

The flame-thing laughs, a hissing burning sound that sends plumes of smoke billowing from the base of the candle. “You don’t think you could actually be a good person, do you? Even now?” The fire leans closer. “After what you did to Saskia?”

Regulus chokes, the sound torn straight from the dark part of his chest he’s been doing his best to ignore. The bag at his hip seems to burn. The flame man shifts, arms changing form, and Regulus can’t tell if it’s Harold or James that he reminds him of, but it doesn’t matter. It’s still changing, no longer a man, elongating and forming into something else. A serpent. A snake. No- a basilisk.

Regulus screws his eyes shut. 

“Little Prince,” She hisses, the words drenched in a burning honey. And, oh. How long he’s waited to hear her say that name. Closer and closer she slithers, the flames of her body licking the floor. Impossibly, Regulus crawls even further back. Her fiery jaw creaks open. “You think, after everything you did to me, you don’t deserve to burn?”

And he does.

He really, really does.

But somewhere through the haze, distant and fuzzy and all too far away-

For you I would burn, Regulus Black. 

Once, a long time ago, Regulus was loved. Entirely, wholly. Even if that’s gone now, even if that hardly even happened in the first place, Regulus is still the same person he was then. He’s still the boy James Potter used to love. That, in of itself, means there has to be something in him worth saving.

There’ll be a time, Regulus is sure, when the call of the flame will be sweet enough for him to reach out and grab it. But that day is not today, and if he can help it, won’t be any day soon. He has a job to do.

“You aren’t her,” he spits, and shifts, crawling forward, diving across the floor, shimmying under the flames that lick at his back. He sees the fire, sees it source, and pushes closer, ducking down, and then- 

And then he blows the candle out. 

Instantly the pillar of flame disappears, gone with a gentle breeze. Only a tiny trail of smoke drifts from the fantom wick. 

“Oh,” Regulus says stupidly, sitting back. He blinks, attempting to get his heart rate back under control. He tries to rub soot out of his eyes, which proves to be a bad idea. When he regains his vision, the candle’s gone. 

He bends down and pulls up the floorboard, cursing embarrassingly loudly when he’s greeted by nothing but dust and dirt. A distraction, then. Quite the deadly one. Making his way to his feet, Regulus sways and immediately tips over. He catches himself on the wall, groaning as another wave of that god-awful rotten pain shoots through him. Without the rush of adrenaline fed by the fire monster, he’s left exhausted and drained.

He needs to get out of this shack.

“Snape?” He calls, coughing up another round of soot. “You alright?”

No answer. 

Carefully Regulus pushes his way towards the other room, keeping one hand on the wall just in case he goes down. He shoves the door open, stumbling in. And then he pauses. 

Snape is on his knees on the floor, an ornately carved wooden box sitting in front of him. Judging by the state of the boards around him, he had to pry it from the dirt under the shack. 

“Snape?” Regulus whispers, stepping farther in. Snape's eyes are closed, though Regulus notices the rapid movement behind his eyelids. Regulus kneels next to him, snapping in his face. “Snape. Wake up.”

He’s not stupid. He knows it’s a curse. He just has no idea what it is or what to do about it. Tentatively, he reaches towards the small wooden box. As soon as his fingers close around the lid, everything changes. Suddenly the world melts away, the floor and ceiling and walls of the Gaunt shack disappearing and fading into nothing. Regulus doesn’t have time to panic before he’s materializing somewhere else, and the floor and sky come into focus. But this isn’t the shack- no. 

The sky above him burns blue, complementing the gentle wind that whips around them. There are trees, he realizes as everything fades in. Trees he knows. Voices chime in surrounding him, people materializing out of thin air. Regulus turns in a slow circle, already overwhelmed. “What the fuck,” he hisses under his breath. His first thought is that the box is a portkey, taking them somewhere else. But he’s not here, not really. It’s like stepping into a pensive, foggy mists of someone else's memories surrounding them. No, not someone- Snape.

Regulus turns to his side, finding Snape standing stock still next to him, eyes locked on the scene ahead. “Snape,” Regulus whispers. The other boy doesn’t move, greasy black hair hiding his face. After a second he turns, just a little, to glance at Regulus. 

He swallows harshly. “Guess you decided to show up.”

“Where are we? What’s going on?”

“You touched the box, didn’t you.”

“Where are we?” Regulus repeats. A crowd of giggling children push past him onto the grass. He knows those robes- Hufflepuffs. They’re at Hogwarts. 

“Fourth year.” Snape answers, shifting on his feet. “The box was… cursed.”

“I picked up on that,” Regulus says dryly, taking a step forward. “So this is your memory?”

“Not this,” Snape motions. He lets out a long breath and points. “That.”

Regulus follows his finger, blinking at the sight in front of them. The students have gathered into a circle, forming a ring around a much younger Snape in the center. He’s got his wand drawn, clutched in shaky fingers. “Stay back!” he shouts, and his voice rings out nasally and high as ever. Regulus grabs Snapes arm and draws them even closer, until they’re among the first row of kids. That’s when he sees him.

James.

Younger and boyish, the angles of his jaw have yet to sharpen. His glasses, different frames then he has now, sit only slightly crooked on the bridge of his nose. He’s grinning, happy, and Regulus can’t help but think he looks pure like this. Uncorrupted. Untroubled. Regulus’s heart aches, throbbing at the sight of him. James, too, has his wand drawn, advancing on Snape. “What’s happening?” Regulus murmurs. 

“Watch,” The Snape next to him spits. 

“Fuck off, Potter,” Younger Severus cries. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I saw you with Mulciber when he wrote that shit on the wall.” Sirius steps out from behind James, and Regulus is almost sure Snape’s memory has diststored his brother’s face. He never looked that self-satisfied at that age. Not when Regulus saw him. 

“Would it matter if I was?” Snape crosses his arms, taking a few steps back. “It’s not like it isn’t true.”

“What was it you wrote, again?”

Young Snape narrows his eyes, shoulders stiffening. “Mulc-”

“No.” James steps forward. “What did you write?”

Snape lifts his chin. “End the Mudblood menace.”

That’s all it takes. James flicks his wand, spitting a curse, watching with glee as some invisible force yanks Snape’s feet out from under him and lifts him, upside down, into the air. He dangles there, kicking, and James just laughs.

“I didn’t mean it,” The older Snape mumbles next to Regulus. Regulus glances at him. 

“You still wrote it, though, didn’t you.”

Snape shrugs, staring as his younger self struggles midair. “Mulciber said he’d tell the whole house I was a traitor if I didn’t. That I was weak.”

“And that was enough for you to ruin everything with Evans,” Regulus says. “Your reputation.”

“Wouldn’t you have done the same?” Snape hisses, and Regulus stays silent. 

“Let me down!” The Snape in the memory thrashes, robes falling over his head.

James grins, sharp, predatory, and Regulus sees something he doesn’t recognize in his eyes. 

“James, leave it. It’s fine. Let him go.” Evans pushes her way through the crowd, sparing Snape the sharpest of glances. The Severus next to him stiffens.

“Lily!” James gives her a blinding smile. “Welcome to the show.”

“I’m being serious,” she hisses, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

Sirius’s face lights up. “No, I’m-”

“Shut up,” at least half the circle groans. 

“Merlin. Fine.”

“James,” Lily repeats, and James looks back at her. “Please.”

“He- you saw what he wrote.”

“Yeah, and it was awful, but I can fight my own battles. You don’t have to speak for me. Just- just let him down.” 

James looks back up at the struggling Severus, obviously conflicted. Lily reaches out, catching his arm. He immediately turns all his attention back to her, eyes fixed on the point of contact. Regulus actually watches him soften, gaze melting and lips parting slightly. Something in Regulus crumbles. He feels Snape stiffen next to him as the two of them take in the scene. 

“We need to focus,” Regulus whispers, gaze locked on James’s. “We need to find a way out of here.”

“I can’t figure out how.” Snape mutters miserably as Sirius laughs.

“Occlumency,”  Regulus says, getting an idea. “The box- the curse- it’s trying to distract us, right? Keep us busy? It’s showing you one of your worst memories to trap you in here. Look at your hands.”

Snape glances down, surprised. Where Regulus’s body is see-through, slightly transparent, Snape’s fingers are starting to fill in with real color. “You’ll be stuck unless we get out of here now,” Regulus hisses.

“How?”

“I know Occlumency, but there isn’t really time to teach you. I don’t-”

“I learned Occlumency.” Snape interrupts. Regulus glances at him, surprised.

“Really?”
“I can manage a few things on my own, Black.”

“And you didn't think to use it to get out of here? Ok. Fine. Whatever. Just focus on finding the connection obviously tied to this memory and sever it. Can you feel anything intruding on your mind?”

Snape closes his eyes, flinching when his younger self lets out a shriek above them. “Concentrate,” Regulus hums. 

Sirius groans, pressing his hands to his temple and screwing up his face. Regulus sincerely hopes he doesn’t look like that when Bella’s in his head. “I can’t,” Snape mutters. 

“This memory is at the front of your mind, right? Bury it, isolate it, do whatever you do to temporarily banish it. Don’t give the curse any access.”

Slowly, the world around them begins to shift, the edges of the scene fraying and disbanding. 

Regulus looks back at James, wrapping his arms around himself and wishing he could talk to him. Wishes he could see what he was like, really like, before everything fell apart. 

The sky cracks above them, turning to mist and raining down as the floor drops out from under them. Then Snape and Regulus are falling, down, down, back into a world that’s almost definitely worse. They snap back into their bodies with a sort of sick undulating feeling that accompanies pulling out of a pensive. They take twin gasping breaths, adjusting to the multiple harsh jumps through reality.

Then Snape shouts in warning and Regulus blearily looks down, eyes going wide when he sees he’s still touching the box.

Shit.

And immediately reality gets ripped away again, throwing them through space as they’re projected into another memory. “I’m gonna be sick,” Snape groans when they land, clasping a hand over his mouth and groaning.

Regulus, in muted horror, finds himself agreeing.

They’ve found themselves in the living room of Number 12 Grimmauld Place standing by the door. Regulus knows exactly where they are. He knows exactly what night it is. He can’t feel his limbs, can’t feel anything as he stares at the scene before them.

Sirius, on his hands and knees on the carpet, swaying from side to side as he trembles. Walburga standing over him, wand pointed at his back. Orion next to the couch. And in front of him, Regulus. 

“Agree,” Walburga hisses, jabbing Sirius in the back of the head. “Take the Mark. You knew this was coming.”

“Never,” Sirius spits, and his words come out coated in blood.

Regulus, the real Regulus, can’t move. He can’t breathe. Because this- this night, this scene- this is the last thing he wants to see. The last thing he wants Snape to see. 

“What’s- what’s happening?” Snape whispers, but he sounds nervous, unsure, staying rooted to the spot. 

“I- I don’t-” Regulus can’t get a real word out, doing his best to focus on staying upright.

“Well. Crucio’s are boring.” Walburga says, raising her wand. “I guess we’ll have to get creative. Start experimenting.”

Regulus looks at the younger version of himself for the first time, taking in his expression. His face looks torn apart, eyes wide and full of unshed tears. 

“Regulus,” Snape whispers. “What’s happening.”

Regulus swallows harshly. “I. My brother-”

“Oh.” Snape looks at him. “You need to get us out of here.”

Regulus doesn’t respond, staring at his younger self. He can see his father leaning in, opening his mouth, and the real Regulus takes a step as if he can do anything about it. Little Regulus’s eyes glaze over, and he’s gone. Lost. He moves forward, raising his wand, and Snape sucks in a breath. “What-”

“Diffindo,” Memory-Regulus says, cold and mechanic, wand pointed at Sirius. The blood pours out of him, and there’s so much more than Regulus remembers, soaking the carpet and leaking across the wooden floorboards.

Real Regulus lurches forward, gagging, the stench of hot iron filling the air. Snape wrenches him back, shoving him in the chest. “Focus,” he hisses, and Regulus tries, he really does, because he doesn’t want Snape to see him like this. Doesn’t want anyone to see him like this.

He sinks to the ground, turning his back to the commotion on the carpet, and shuts his eyes as tightly as he can. He’s gotten so good at occlumency that he can usually do it instinctively- normally he doesn’t really have to think about it. Now, though, he has to find the door in his head and yank it open. It’s old, dusty, but he shoves everything in it anyway. All the pain of hunting the Horcrux. All the embarrassment at having Snape see. All the hope that they might actually get through this alive. 

Everything that's happening behind him. 

It all goes in the room on the other side of the door, packed tight. Far away from reach- out of sight and mind. Regulus grits his teeth, clearing his head and putting everything into envisioning the door closing. 

Please , he begs. Please let me put this away. At least for now. 

I can’t be here anymore.

The muffled cries of his younger self begin to fade, and with them the floor beneath them starts to vaporize. 

Focus. 

None of this matters anymore. 

Picture the ocean.

Picture everything slipping beneath the waves. 

You have a job to do, and it isn’t here. 

He’s cutting off the curse’s access to the memory from the root.

And then he’s falling, vaguely aware of Snape next to him, and he opens his eyes to watch as memory-Regulus stares at his brother on the carpet. Don’t let him go, Regulus wants to scream. And then: forgive him when he does . For a split second, as the world above them melts away, young Regulus’s eyes flick to his, and their gazes lock. 

And then Snape and Regulus are shoved back into their bodies, kneeling on the cold hard floor of the shack. Reality spins around them, disorienting and confusing. Both boys instantly shove away from the box, scrambling backwards on the floor. 

Regulus crawls towards the wall and gags once, twice, before the rush of bile in his throat becomes too much to hold back. The smell of his brother’s acrid blood lingers in his nose, hanging in the air around him. 

When he’s done he hangs his head and takes a few deep breaths. Closing his eyes, he sinks back on to his knees. He puts a hand on the bag at his hip.
Snape shuffles behind him awkwardly. 

“We need to get out of here,” Regulus says quietly. He turns, moving back towards the box in the middle of the room. Something in his stomach pulls him towards it, like a tether tying him to the essence of the object. Snape eyes him warily.

“What the fuck is all over your face? What happened in the other room?”

Regulus blinks at him, realizing he must be covered in soot. He attempts to swipe at his cheek, but judging by the way Snape winces he guesses he just succeeded in smudging it more. He sighs, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “I don’t even know,” He grouses. “There was an evil candle. I called for backup but I guess you were busy.”

Snape makes a face and turns back to the box. “I was a little preoccupied, yeah.”

They go quiet for a moment.

“We need to open it.” Regulus says eventually. 

“We don’t even know the ring is a horcrux,” Snape mutters, not looking at him. 

“Yes we do,” Regulus says instinctively.

Snape does look at him then, confused. “How? On what evidence?”

Regulus shrugs. The rot in his stomach twists and turns, the ache that’s been there since the night Voldemort killed Harold infesting every inch of him. “I know.”

“That’s hardly-”

“It only makes sense,” Regulus says hurriedly. It’s a lame excuse, but the weird effect this house is having on him is getting worse by the minute and he desperately wants to be done with this. “Let’s just- let’s just hurry up.”

“How? We can’t touch it. Magic would only provoke it.”

“Billions of people live without magic everyday. We can just…” Regulus looks around, leaning over and grabbing a wooden shard that had been torn loose when Snape ripped up the floorboards. With the sleeve of his sweater covering his hand he grips the bottom of the box, using the wood to pry the lid off. 

As soon as the box opens, Regulus cries out, a shock of pain ripping through his entire body. He doubles over, wrapping his arms around his recently-emptied stomach and gritting his teeth.

“What’s happening?” Snape asks, hovering behind him. Regulus can barely hear him, weak and exhausted.

“I- I’m fine. It’s nothing.” Regulus forces himself to straighten, forces his eyes to focus, and brings his attention back to the box.

There, nestled on a bed of dusty black velvet, lies a small golden ring. 

Neither of them say anything, staring. It’s so plain. So simple. Just a gold band, one side slightly defaced where the stone obviously used to be attached. It doesn't look like a vessel carrying a piece of the Dark Lord's soul. 

“Shit,” Snape mutters. Regulus nods in agreement, reaching a shaky finger towards it. Snape slaps his hand. “Idiot. Don’t touch it.” 

“Right.” Regulus braces an arm on the floor, supporting himself. Another wave of exhaustion washes through him and he works to stay sitting upright. Snape gives him an odd look. 

“You need to do this now. You’re about to pass out.”

Regulus nods, dimly thinking he may be right. Snape grabs the piece of wood from him and carefully extracts the ring from the box, laying it on the floor in front of them. Regulus reaches into his bag and closes his fingers around Saskia’s fang. He extracts it slowly, biting his lip and examining it. It’s yellow, spotty, long and sharp. It should do the trick. That, or they’ve been wrong about everything and the Dark Lord is already after them.

“Just do it,” Snape whispers, and Regulus brings the fang slowly towards the metal. Every inch of his body resists, begging him to end this pain and just put the tooth down. Instead he presses the tip of the fang to the gold, ignoring the devastating flash of pain that sears through him at the contact.

He takes a deep shuddering breath, and thinks of Dorcas.

Whatever it takes. 

He shoves the fang down.

It sinks into the gold like butter, but the second it breaks the metal’s surface Regulus’s arms go limp as he drops forward, suddenly unable to hold himself up. Every inch of his body is screaming, a horrible weakness tearing him from limb to limb. Snape closes his hands over Regulus’s, shoving the fang down further. 

Through the waves of pain, Regulus sees the gold begin to smoke, to bubble, popping and spitting as the venom from the fang infests it. Then it melts into a puddle of metal, an inky black substance polluting the liquid before the entire thing evaporates with a disgusting hiss of smoke. 

Regulus tips over, curling into himself. It’s like there’s a dark mold in his chest, a growing rot that reaches out with unfurling tendrils that wrap around each nerve ending and pull until they snap, one by one, turning his soul inside out. 

This, he thinks, might be worse than the cruciatus. 

Snape’s shaking his shoulder but he can hardly feel it, insides ripping themselves apart. Through bleary eyes he sees the box, tipped on its side and gloriously empty. And as the world around him fades into blackness, Regulus smiles. 

---

Tom feels it when it happens. It tears through him, sending him stumbling to the nearest chair. His every cell screams in confusion and he reaches out with his magic, feeling for the cause.

Ah. 

They got one.

The ring. 

He lost the stone a while ago, but he thought the ring itself would be safe.

He curses, anger threading through him. He doesn’t know its limit, drowning in rage. Of course that wizened old man figured it out- he always asked too many questions back when Tom was still at school. 

It’s fine, he tries to tell himself as he pants through the pain. It’s fine. This was their mistake. They’ve signed their own death warrant. 

For this, he’ll destroy them. 

---

James steps out into the garden, rubbing his eyes and yawning. The sun of the dewy english morning, rare and sweet, sends the flowers glowing. His mother, elbow deep and dirt, knees by the stone wall on the other side of the grass. He crosses to her slowly, standing above and looking down at weeds. “Getting all of ‘em?”

Effie glances up, smiling when she sees who it is. “They’re a little stubborn.”

He sinks into a squat, helping her rip up the small plants. “Not too bad.”

They weed in silence for a moment, taking comfort in the sound of their breaths and the early morning bird calls. “School starts in two days,” Effie says. “Are you sad not to be going back?”

James bites his lip. “A little. You know. But I’m doing more here.”

 “Have you talked to Dumbledore recently?”

“No. Should I have? Is there a new mission?”

She shrugs. “There might be. You’ll have to ask him.”

He sighs, digging his fingers into the dirt in front of him. “He never gives me any details.”

“Knowledge is power, and power is dangerous.”

“So he doesn’t trust me?”

“He doesn't trust anyone. He’s learned not to.”

“I just know we could be doing more. He’s not letting us actually do anything important.”

Effie gives him a long look. “You’re young, James. All of you. He doesn’t want to risk losing you.” She shrugs. “I happen to agree with him on that one.”

“That’s not… he needs us.”

“He needs you to do what he tells you. So far, you’re doing a great job.”

James flops back in the grass, staring at the sky. “Ugh.”

“I know.”

“Plus, Sirius and Remus are always going on missions together. Or doing things. Or knowing things. I feel like I’m being kept in the dark.”

Effie struggles to find something to say. “You all have different… skill sets.”

James rolls his eyes. “According to Dumbledore, I have none.”

“That’s not true. You’re incredible with people. Moody’s told me he’s planning on bringing you in for questionings when we detain death eaters.”

“I am not incredible with death eaters.” 

“You get along with Slytherins.”

“Dorcas doesn’t count,” James rolls on his side, playing with the grass in front of his face. “She’s practically a Gryffindor.”

“I was talking about Regulus,” Effie says, yanking on a particularly stubborn dandelion. “But Dorcas works too.”

James turns onto his back, staring at the sky and frowning. “Me and Regulus aren’t that close. I’ve only really talked to him a few times and I’m fairly certain he still hates me.”

Effie laughs. “You and I both know that’s not true.”

“What d’you mean?”

“Well-”

And then she says something but James doesn’t quite catch it, a soft buzzing in his ears making it hard to focus. It’s like there’s cotton filling his brain, fuzzing out all her words. When she’s done speaking he turns, screwing up his face and burying it in his hands. He groans out loud, tipping forward and rocking on the grass. 

Effie pauses, looking at him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he spits in frustration. 

She gives him a long look. “Alright. I-”

“I feel like I’m losing my mind,” He interrupts, “All the time.”

She pauses, setting her gloves down. “How do you mean?”

He lifts and drops a shoulder, sighing. “I mean I can't remember the last time I wasn’t, like… confused. I’m going mental. I can feel it.”

She hums softly, dusting off her lap. “I don’t think you are.”

“So you haven’t noticed anything?”

She pauses, pressing her lips together. He nods, looking away. “Right. That’s what I mean.”

“Maybe… your father’s death was very-”

“This isn’t about dad,” James says defeatedly. He thought it was, maybe even hoped it was, because at least that would be an explanation. But… “It started before that.”

“What is it, exactly?”

He half-heartedly shrugs. “I go fuzzy. My brain shuts down and I can’t think. It’s like my head gets filled with mud. And my chest…” He rubs his sternum absentmindedly. 

“Your chest?”

He runs a hand through his hair, squeezing his eyes shut. “Something’s missing.” He mutters, so softly he would be shocked if she picked up on it.
Miraculously, she does. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. I have no idea. There’s just… I don’t feel whole. I sound mental, I know, but I… it’s like I’m always looking for something, reaching for something, and it’s just not there.” He lets out a long breath, opening his eyes. “I’ve been looking for it everywhere.”

“I don’t think you’re mental,” Effie says, leaning back down to pull up another root. “You’ve gone through a lot, James. You all have. With the war, and your father- Merlin knows no one is handling any of this well.” 

James nods distantly, draping his arms over his face. “Yeah. Sure.”

“It’s true. Give yourself a break.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, wrestling with the simultaneous desire to get her opinion and not freak her out. The former wins, and he takes a small breath. “What if… what if I’m getting sick?”

Her hands freeze in the dirt. “What?”

“What if that’s why I can’t think? What if that’s what’s wrong with me?”

She takes turns to him, expression pinched. “The doctors cast charms to protect us. You know they did. There’d be other signs. You’re fine.”

He stares at her. “What if the charms didn’t work, though? They’re not perfect. I was around dad so much. There’s something wrong with me, Mum, I know there is. I can feel it.”

She shakes her head. “Monty wasn’t like that. He was fine, at least mentally.”

“Yeah, if you call partially ignoring your son mentally sound.”

She snorts, looking down. “You and I both know that was complicated. And either way, he didn’t say things like that. It was nowhere near what you’re describing. You’re fine, James. Let me know if you start growing scales. Then we can talk.” 

He nods, directing his attention back to the clouds and letting out a breath. “Okay.”

“You’ll sort yourself out, love. Don’t worry about it.”

Maybe she’s right. Maybe everything will be fine. He rubs his chest again, absentmindedly wondering if the absence inside him is real or imagined. He’s missing something, he’s certain, but he doesn’t know what it is or where to find it.

He can say, at the very least, he won’t stop looking. 

---

There’s a faint buzzing in the back of Regulus’s head, low and gentle. It’s like a soft sort of static, comforting to a point. He emerges from the darkness slowly, opening his eyes the smallest amount possible. 

For a minute, he has no idea where he is. By all accounts, he should still be lying on the floor of the shack, staring at the crumbling walls. Instead the bed he’s on is, if not comfortable, familiar, and the wall he’s staring at is a well-kept ceiling. He’s in his room, he realizes. Someone took him home and put him on his bed.

The second thing he registers is a hand in his hair, gently stroking it away from his face. His first thought is that Kreature’s hands somehow got a lot softer. He then dismisses the idea entirely and turns his head on the pillow, eyes still half-lidded. He blinks, though, upon seeing his mother seated at his bedside, a strange expression on her face and one hand in his hair. 

“Maman?” He whispers, trying to speak but finding his voice heavy and thick with sleep. 

“Regulus,” She says, combing his hair away from his face one last time before retracting her hand. “How are you feeling?”

“Qu'est ce qui s'est passé?” He mumbles, French seeming a little easier than English at the moment. 

“Tu t'es évanoui en préparant la potion avec Snape. Something about the fumes…” She shrugs a little. “Tu devrais être plus attentif.”

He looks back at the ceiling, taking a shuddering breath. So Snape had brought him back. Good. The rotten feeling inside him has receded, giving way to an overwhelm of exhaustion. “How long was I asleep?”

“Through the night, and it’s noon now.” 

“Noon?”

“I thought you knew what you were doing, Regulus. You’re no use to the Dark Lord if you’re dead.”

“Of course,” he manages, pushing up in bed and leaning against the headboard. He wants her out of his room, acutely aware of the basilisk fangs waiting under his mattress. 

She sighs, standing up and giving him a long lingering look. “Get dressed, have Kreature bring you some water, and then come downstairs. Your friends are here.”

He snaps his head up to look at her, frowning. “Friends?”

The friends she’s referring to, as it turns out, are Barty and Evan. He finds them seated together on the couch in the living room, Evan’s back straight while Barty slouches into the pillows. 

“Reg,” Barty says, sitting forward when he sees him. “You’re awake.”

“I am.” Regulus looks them over. “Are you here to see me?”

Something glints in Barty’s eyes. “Not exactly. Can we go to your room?”

Regulus rubs his forehead. “...Yeah. Fine.”

After he makes it back up the stairs, Regulus collapses onto his bed, frowning. “So.”

“Are you okay?” Evan asks, looking genuinely concerned. “We got here, did… what we needed to do, then asked to see you. Your elf told us you were unconscious. Also- did you know Snape is in your basement?”

Regulus groans, flopping onto his back. “Yeah, he’s been here for a bit. We’re working on a project together. Not by choice, believe me. I’m fine. Just…fumes. Slight miscalculation.” He lifts his head, suddenly suspicious. “Wait. What did you need to do ?”

Evan and Barty share a glance. “Well.” Barty’s face splits into a manic grin and he rips up his sleeve. 

Regulus’s stomach sinks. 

The Dark Mark, clear as anything, has been inscribed into his pale skin. Under it, in some sick, ironic twist of fate, Regulus can see the faint scars of the lines he’s been scratching into his skin.

“Oh,” he says dumbly. Instinctively he looks up at Evan, who lowers his gaze and rolls up his sleeve to reveal the same thing. 

“Oh,” Regulus says again. “When did that happen?”

Barty shrugs. “About an hour ago. We decided to wait and see if you’d wake up. The Dark Lord only left like 30 minutes ago.”

Regulus breathes a sigh of relief. He doesn’t think he could face him right now. Not after what he just did. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Barty shrugs. “We tried, mate. We wrote. You never responded.”

“I’ve been… busy.”

“Yeah, well.”

Regulus sits all the way up. “How does it feel?”

“Good,” Barty says at the same time as Evan says “It hurts.”

“In a good way,” Barty clarifies. Evan says nothing. 

“And he just did it?”

“Pretty much.”

“He seemed angrier than usual,” Evan interjects. “It was creepy.”

Ah.

It worked. 

“Interesting.”

Barty sits down hard on the bed next to him. “He’s planning something big. A full scale attack.”

Regulus stiffens. “What?”

“I know, right? Exciting stuff. Anyway.” 

“Wait, no. Expand.”

Barty shrugs. “Apparently the Order has some bases near the sea in Dartmouth. We found them.”

Regulus stares at him. His first thought, embarrassingly, is that he needs to tell James. His second is that he needs more information. “When?”

“No idea.” Evan leans up against his door, crossing his arms. “I’m guessing that’s need-to-know stuff.”

Regulus clears his throat, trying and failing to sound casual. “How did we find out about the bases?”

“That’s the interesting thing,” Barty says, leaning in conspiritorialy. “We’re pretty certain there’s a spy.”

Regulus, at least, knew that much. “Who?”

“No idea.”

Unhelpful. 

“It would have to be someone close to the center of the Order, what with the way Dumbledore guards information. Someone trusted.”

Evan nods. “You don’t know? We thought you might be a bit more in tune than the rest of us.”

Regulus shakes his head. “No, I’ve- I haven’t actually talked to anyone other than Snape in a long time.”

Evan gives him a pity-filled look. “You poor thing.”

Regulus lets out a dry laugh, pulling himself to his feet. “Yeah, well. Duty calls, and all.” He looks up. “Term starts tomorrow, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“Right.” Regulus crosses to his door, pulling his coat off it and rummaging through the pockets. His fingers close around the slip of paper and he pulls it out. It’s a possibility he’s never truly considered until now, but suddenly the weight of his neglect weighs heavy on his shoulders. What if… “Dumbledore is definitely going to have you go into a lockdown within the first few days, just as a test.”

“I’d say so.” 

“I have a spell I need you to try. It should break through his charm and unlock the door.” He hands the paper to Evan. “Just… just give it a go. If it works, it could be really helpful.” He doesn’t tell them that if it doesn’t, there’s a good chance they would’ve just laid a substantial and dangerous tracking curse on themselves. 

There’s an unpleasant twist in Evan’s mouth, but he takes it just the same. “This would mean the Death Eaters could attack anytime.”

Regulus swallows. “Yeah. It would.”

They lock eyes, and Regulus sees the last little part of Evan’s hope flicker out. He realizes what this looks like. He realizes he’s sacrificing the small hint of connection he established between them. 

For the sake of the war, he decides, it’s a worthy loss. 

“Fuck that’s smart,” Barty says, eyes glinting. “I never even thoguht about trying to find a counterspell.”

Regulus makes a noncommittal sound and nods. “I need to know if that works. Write me as soon as you try it.”

“Course. You sure you don’t want to come back with us? We can sneak you into a trunk or something.”

“I’m needed here,” Regulus says calmly, as much as his heart aches to go. He hates it in this house, alone in the dark. He reminds himself, to the best of his ability, that there’s nothing waiting for him at Hogwarts. Not anymore. “Or at least my talents are.”

Barty frowns, rubbing at his arm. “How long till it stops itching?”

Regulus remembers the first weeks after he got the mark, how he had to sit on his hands to stop himself from peeling his skin off. “A while,” He says drily.

“Lovely. Do you think they have a cream or…”

“No.”

“Right.”

Regulus takes a deep breath, another sudden wave of exhaustion sweeping through him. He sways a bit, pinching the bridge of his nose. He can’t remember the last time he ate something. 

“Reg?” Evan asks.

“I’m fine,” He says instinctively. “Is Snape still in the basement?”

“Uh… I think.”

“Okay.” He nods, moving towards the door. “Sorry to do this to you, but I need to speak with him.” He glances back at the two of them. “I need you to try that spell. And write to me immediately. Also if you hear anything about this attack. It’s important.”

“Sure.” Barty grabs his coat and turns. “Hey, Reg?”

“Yeah?”

“I just realized something.” He holds up his forearm, mark on full display. His face splits into a grin. “Now we all match.”

As he leaves, Evan's face burns fresh in Regulus's head. 

---

“Ok, well, be careful with-”

“I’ve obviously got this under control.”

“You obviously do not. Can you just-”

Marlene levels him with a glare. “Let me do my job.”

James raises his hands in surrender. “Your job is to covertly search for the document, but sure. Go ahead and dump everything on the floor.”

“I swear to merlin, Potter, I will-”

“Okay! Let’s just focus up, shall we?”

Marlene huffs but goes back to searching the desk, lit wand raised above her. The ministry official’s office they’re in is crowded and messy, papers stacked high on each and every available surface. Moody sent them to find some sort of report on the numbers of magical creatures recruited to Voldemort’s cause, and so far, it’s proving difficult.

“How do we know it’s even here?” James hisses, digging through another pile of parchment.

“This is this guys like, only job.” Marlene turns up her nose, looking around. “He makes lists. That’s why there’s so much shit here.”

“Couldn’t we have applied for a permit or something? Or just requested to see the numbers?”

“Less fun.” Marlene shakes her head. “And besides, it’s super confidential. The Ministry doesn’t want how little control they have over magical animals to get out. It’s a bad look.”

“Yeah, because they have so much of the public’s respect right now,” James mutters, rolling his eyes. 

“Do you even know what we need it for?”

“No,” James says honestly. “I think it has something to do with whatever Moony’s working on.”

“And Remus really won’t tell you?”

“He can’t,” James defends, shifting on his feet. “I guess it’d be more dangerous if more people knew.”

“It’s something near the sea, right? To do with werewolves?”

James blinks at her. “...Yeah. How…”

“Sirius told me.”

“Course he did.”

“So?”

“Yeah, I think that’s it. I have no idea what he’s up to, though.”

She nods, flipping over a few papers and humming. “That’s the tricky thing about this war, isn’t it. It… devides us, for lack of a better word. I know Cas knows things she’s not allowed to tell me, and it’s just… odd.”

“How is Dorcas? I haven’t seen her in a while.”

Marlene shrugs. “She’s fine. Dumbledore has her running around doing all sorts of odd jobs. Moody thinks she knows more than she lets on, all because she’s in Slytherin.”

“Do you think she does?”

Marlene just shrugs again, and James drops it. He steps up next to her, smirking and playfully elbowing her. “And how’s that going? Between you two?”

She matches his smirk. “Good.”

“Good? What, are you like, official now?”

“I have no idea. It’s just… good.”

James nods, ducking his head and smiling as he riffles through another stack. “Good.”

She laughs and then gasps, straightening up with a paper clutched in her fist. “Yes. Found it. Guess my method works.”

“Yeah, if you don’t care about the mess you leave behind. Look at the state of this office.”

“Whatever. Not our problem. I got the paper. Let’s go.”

He sends her one last wink before grabbing her arm and disapperating, vanishing on the spot.