Prologue
Regulus Black has never been a very honest person. In fact, he’s pretty sure that he has spent most of his years, at least the ones he can actually remember - telling lies. He’s quite sure there can be a very logical explanation for this annoyingly comfortable habit - the house he grew up in being the main reason why. But if he’s being honest, he’s sick of trying to explain everything away with reasons that don’t make sense to anyone who didn’t grow up in that house. Maybe there isn’t any special reason as to why he’s like this. Maybe he just is.
Fifth year has been tough on him. He keeps trying to make sense of his life since Sirius left Grimmauld a few months back, but without any meaningful success thus far. Growing up as an adult man in the body of a child has taught him a lot - mainly that he can’t count on the abstract and ridiculous idea of love to get him out of Grimmauld like Sirius did, or out of the tangled and messy routine of self pity that he spends most of his time lying in. He knows he’s smart, exceptionally pretty (some might even say beautiful) and can be very loyal when he puts his mind to it, but he just can’t seem to get himself out of that house or the rules that have imprinted themselves onto his mind, no matter how far away he runs.
It is also important to state that numerous weeks after Sirius left, his mother cornered him and forcibly put veritaserum in his drink one afternoon. He had heard his parents whispering ever since Sirius left. Doors closing as soon as he would enter a floor in the house, silencing charms being tightly put to place around each of his parents’ offices. He felt the danger that was living as an only child in that god awful house creeping up on him, choking him, making him gasp for one last simple breath of fresh air.
“Regulus”, she said, that one afternoon.
“Yes, maman?”, he obediently answered.
“I wish for you to take a wife very soon. Right after you finish this school year. I don’t wish for you to go back to that school next year”.
“Oh”, he whispered. “I’m afraid I can’t, really”.
“And why is that?”she asked, her eyes piercing him like a knife, choking him. She had that power over him, making him feel worthless and god-like with a simple glance.
As he hovered, trying to fight the potion, he could see the corners of her eyes tightening as anger quickly made its way to her face. Her cheeks turned flushed moments after that.
Idly, he thought himself a fool for not catching on to her little idea earlier on. It was not common to spend time with one another when not attending a family meal in his house. Maybe he thought she just wanted to check up on him, and that’s why he pure heartedly believed her when she said she only wanted to talk to him. He should’ve known better. He never does.
He was no stranger to the art of mind control, as it was his mother’s favorite of the dark arts. She had raised her children to fear their own shadows and mistrust each other’s truest and deepest emotions. Sometimes, Regulus was so sure most of his teenage years had been another one of the dreams his mother had planted in his head, and that he would wake up, face flushed and body quivering at the sight of her cruel smile, and would have to undertake a lifetime’s worth of beatings.
And then the answer came crashing out of his mouth like a tide. Later, he would think it was luck, him not being able to fight the potion, for this answer changed his life.
“I cannot marry a woman or fulfill a marriage in the way you wish me to. I’m gay”.
He was out not long after that. The memory of him leaving the house he grew up in was quite hazy. He mainly remembers stepping out of the front door with a small bag in hand, containing a few books and one blurry picture of him and Sirius.
He always wondered what Sirius felt the moment he was out. His first step as a free man. Did he laugh, manically? Did he weep for the loss of his mother? He feared that his mother may have utterly destroyed his entire perception of reality, and that he would spend his life carefully tiptoeing around childhood trauma and wondering if he ever really got out of that house.
But even in crisis, Regulus remained surprisingly practical. He shoved a few galleons in his pocket that Sirius had kept before leaving. He would always save any change left as a child and take as much as he could without their parents noticing. ‘One day’, he would say, ‘We’ll have a thousand galleons and we’ll get out of here. I’ll buy us that old house you would always stare at whenever we went to France, you know the one - with the red door and the green shutters - we’ll get so far away from here that they’ll never be able to catch us, I swear’.
Regulus dwells in these words as he waits for the knight bus, shivering from the cold December air and his lack of warm clothing. He’d have to buy some tomorrow. A plan quickly formed itself in his head - he would take the knight bus all the way to the Leaky Cauldron back in London and would wait there for the remaining two days of Christmas. From there he would find his way back to school and then… Well, he hadn’t really thought of any of that yet.
The knight bus made a quick appearance right in front of Grimmauld place, where he had been waiting for the past few minutes, and stopped. He hardly paid any attention to the weird man who welcomed him to the dirty bus (that seemed mere seconds away from completely falling apart) and offered to take care of his luggage. He politely refused and quickly gave the man the address and took a seat next to a soundly sleeping old man, with a very peaceful expression on his face. For a second he thought to himself that the old man might not be sleeping at all, but this trail of thought was quickly disrupted by the odd conductor.
“Hey, aren’t you that fancy Black heir or something?”
“Yes, I am”, he mumbled quickly, silently cursing himself for forgetting the veritaserum potion was still very much working.
“Well well, isn’t that somethin’. I’m Stan, by the way, Stan Shunpike. What did you say your name was?”, he asked.
“I didn’t”.
“Well, help a fellow out. Can’t expect me to know all your fancy pureblood names. Especially when you all keep marrying one another”.
The corners of his mouth twitched in a small smile. On any other day he would have found that joke incredibly dull, but today of all days it seemed oddly fitting.
“Regulus. Regulus Black”.
“Well, M. Black, what are you doing here on this chilly Christmas evening? I’d expect a fancy pureblood bloke like you would have places to be”.
Well, what’s the harm, he thought - the news would clearly be all over the papers the very next day. He could practically see the headlines. Regulus Black, heir to the noble and most ancient house of Black has been disowned for being bent.
Jesus Christ.
“Normally I would have”, he said while carefully considering his usage of words to not reveal too much to this clearly very chatty bloke, “Got kicked out”.
“Oh, bugger”.
“Bugger indeed”.
Stan humed.
“Say, didn’t you have a brother that was also kicked out? I could’ve sworn I saw something like that in the paper a few months ago. Had the same last name and looked an awful lot like you”.
The calming feeling of the veritaserum has been lifted. He was so used to it by now that he could feel the changes in his body. His mother must’ve put a very small amount of the potion in his tea for it to last for a short period of time like this. It couldn’t have been more than a few hours since he drank it. She must not have wanted him to go around telling anyone who dared to ask what happened for him to be staying out on the street like this. Clever, he thought bitterly.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he replied coldly, relieved that he didn’t feel the annoying urge to answer every question pointed at him.
“Odd. Could’ve sworn you two were twins”.