The Exchange Student

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“No, Master!” “Kreacher will do it for the Master!” “Please, let Kreacher do it!” “No, Master!”

The last things he could remember were water and pain. And slowly they came back. The visions he felt like he saw a lifetime ago. The visions of his failures, because that’s what his life was composed of… and what he was. A failure.

His biggest failure was as a brother. Because he hadn’t been able to keep Sirius by his side, and, in the end, it only took Sirius but a week to replace him. He had been angry back then, but how could he be mad for being replaced by James Potter? It was but the logical action for anyone.

And oh, well, Regulus had been perhaps too naïve to think that, even for a moment, James Potter would be his, because it felt like it. Back then, a lifetime ago.

But as he remembered the water of the cave, he realized he had been Icarus, too entranced and desperate for warmth. And perhaps that’s how his life was supposed to go about. Because back then, in his sixth year, when he extended his arm for The Dark Lord to brand with his ugly mark, Regulus knew his wax wings were done for, and the only thing waiting for him was the fall; the coldness, the guilt, and the regret that stuck to him like a second skin.

“No, Master!” “Kreacher should have done it!” “Let Kreacher take the Master back!” “No, Master!”

Everything in him hurt, from the tip of his hair, all the way down to the tips of his toes. His eyes were pressed closed, but he couldn’t say if it was a conscious action or rather his body’s response to the pain.

His body tried to writhe, but the lack of energy was barely enough to produce hard tremors from his chest and outward. There was a burning sensation coming from his coccyx, all the way up to his head. For minutes it burned badly, making it feel like his entire spine was melting, but after that, the heat started to subdue and spread through his body.

In his comatose state, he could feel a dampness in his forehead, the small pressure of something soft — almost as soft as the sound of a loving voice that accompanied him sometimes. A cloth, that’s what it probably was. The cloth was sometimes on his forehead, other times it was moved down to his neck and chest.

For a while, his face burned. But it was very located, like… like the burning left after Mother’s long nails pierced his skin. His chest burned just like that too, and sometimes his legs. What was that for? It didn’t really matter, after a liquid of sorts was dropped on them and a few muttered words, the burning subdued and was gone.

After what felt like an eternity of darkness and nothing but physical sensations, his weary brain had enough strength to move his fingers, and as they gripped, they grabbed a cloth of sorts, maybe a blanket? It was very soft to the touch, and warm, and through the fog of lassitude of his brain, he was able to catch the smell of baby lotion.

But that smell…

It’s been so long since the last time he smelt it, probably five years. Back when things were not so complicated. Times when he didn’t have to give up his life to follow a cause he didn’t believe in. The smell from the only family he’s ever known that felt like a real family, not an assembly of people with a social motive. It should’ve never surprised him the way Sirius was so desperate to be welcomed there.

But that… they were so far away… maybe that was his mind’s way of comforting him: reminding him of the little times when he was happy.

A small pulse on his solar plexus prompted a pained whine out of his mouth. He pressed his eyes harder. His two hands were gripping the blanket underneath him, as he arched his back. There was a rustle of movement around him before the sound of a closing door prompted his tired eyes to open.  

It hurt to open his eyes, only the heavens may know how long they had been closed, given by the irksome sleep crusts that found it funny to poke his eyeballs, bringing a quick layer of tears to them, turning the world blurry and watery.

Everything around him was brightly lit, and it felt like a lifetime ago the last time he had seen the sunlight and felt warm under it, for the room was enveloped in a summery heat like London had never known, and Regulus had only felt in one place… but it couldn’t be. Why would his mind be so cruel as to replay for him the warmest place — literal and metaphorical — he’s ever known?

He opened his mouth to breathe, and less than a breath later regretted it, for the air he swallowed came like the touch of the roughest sandpaper down his throat, which only worked to bring even more tears to sting in his eyes and throw him into a coughing fit. More than coughs, they were really gasps.

He heard the door open once more as his shoulders shook by the force of his coughs, and soon, warm hands grabbed his shoulder, and only in contrast with them did he realize just how cold he was, which was curious, as the only sensation he remembered was his body burning.

The warm hands that seemed to belong to what seemed to be a woman wearing a baby blue blouse, maneuvered his body, letting him sit with his back against the wooded headboard of the bed, before they brought a small wet cloth to his eyes, and helped clean them in gentle strokes.

As he tried — and failed — to hide his small gasps for air, as most of his tears spilled down his cheeks, the hand’s warm thumbs rubbed them away, cleaning them too.  

“Open up,” said the voice, one that sounded so familiar and so distant, but probably just as warm as the sun outside.

He barely had time to open his mouth before a liquid was thrown down his throat, probably a potion, given that it didn’t taste like water. And after a short breath, he felt his dry throat finally generate some moisture, and his gasps ceased. 

It was a moment later that his lethargic mind remembered that cave, the coldness of the Inferi creeping out of the water, and their bony slicky fingers gripping him and dragging him toward the water. In autopilot, his body trashed back, away from the contact, hitting the back of his head against the headboard.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, you’re no longer in danger,” the gentle voice reassured him as he moaned softly, wishing to have enough energy to rub where he hit his head.

“How—” he croaked; his voice was rougher than he expected. Just how long had he been out of it?

Once his body finally seemed to come back to itself, his sight finally cleared. In front of him was a woman. But she wasn’t just any woman. This was Mrs. Angela Cardona. Carolina and María’s mother — and oh, the pain of having ruined those friendships didn't abate, not even years after.

“Oh, Reggie,” the woman lamented in that maternal voice that used to make Regulus want to kneel and cry when he was in his first year; among his current physical and emotional vulnerability, he realized it was no different.

She cupped Regulus’ cheek in her hand, her warm thumb gently stroking his cold skin.

Regulus could still remember the first time he met her; their families greeted — rather tensely —, just before they boarded the Hogwarts Express for Regulus' first year.

He remembered his father had a strange obsession with the Cardona family, something about their legacy and their family gifts. For years, he made it his goal to sign two betrothal contracts. At first, as his parents saw the way Sirius embarrassed the family and refused to uphold their values, he was adamant about setting Regulus with any of their daughters, but the Cardonas found the practice utterly archaic and refused.

At the time, his father worked at the Ministry and had his seat at Wizengamot — the Black family was the one with the most seats in it, and they needed to secure that a new line of succession came after them.

When Mr. Cardona refused to sign any contract for his daughters, his father started to see that Sirius might not have been the lost case he thought he was. They saw how Sirius's affections for one of the Cardona girls, María, grew, the only thing Orion needed was to make sure his son, under any measure necessary, realized his duty to the family. Of course, his father's plan and twisted hopes crashed when they decided that increasing their torture sessions for Sirius would do the job, for this was the reason Sirius ended up in the Potters' place, never to return; disowning them, as much as his parents disowned him.

Regulus had been their friend, but never had any romantic feelings for either sister, even if he could realize that whoever ended up marrying them would be most fortunate. His sights, his heart, and his very being only belonged to one. James Fleamont Potter. The only son of one of the families his family looked down upon.

And he was one lucky bastard, because even when he was painfully aware he would never deserve someone like James by his side, Regulus tried his damned hardest. And he got him. Even if it was for only a few years. Because James Potter was the sun’s manifestation on the Earth, and Regulus had been lucky enough to hold him in his hand; only to end up crashing him with his poisonous touch. Because Regulus was a cursed child, and every single thing he touched was cursed to be sick with sadness.

But James — James had married Lily, because it was obvious. Lily was just the perfect person for James, someone who could equal the sun, albeit with more brains. And they... they had had a son. Regulus remembered that… but… what was it about that son…

The Dark Lord wanted him! A mere baby! And Regulus had to do something; he had sworn over his magic that he would protect James as the only proof of his love for him, and he couldn’t let anything happen to his son.

He told… he told Sirius and Maria to protect him — their family!

“Sirius—!” Regulus said, trying to get out of the bed, but Mrs. Cardona wasn’t having any of that. With a gentle hand, she pushed him back down as a thunder of pain rocked his body, and stood up.

“You stay there, young man,” she said, before walking out.

Could it... could it be that he somehow tricked death? Up until a few minutes ago, he had weighed the possibility that this was nothing but the limbo he got to be in after death, but now...

Because he was sure he had signed for his death the moment he entered the cave, and the moment the first Inferi grabbed him, and after the first gulp of water he was forced to swallow.

A moment later a man entered. Mr. Cardona. Just as tall and imposing — yet welcoming as Regulus remembered him —, if albeit a bit older, with a bit more grey in his ink-black hair.

When he saw him, the man smiled widely, as he always did, because if the Cardona family was something, it was welcoming. And Mr. Cardona had been one of, if not the only adult man — father —, that Regulus regarded as welcoming with no hidden motive or scheme.

“Regulus, ma’ boy,” the man greeted him, a big hand coming to squeeze his shoulder; Regulus felt his eyes water again.

“Mr. Cardona,” Regulus greeted, at a complete loss of words; what was he supposed to say?

“What happened to you?” the man asked, looking at him with worry all over his face. “One moment you disappeared, and now… after so many years… you’re back… how…?”

“Years?” Regulus croaked.

“Regulus, the war ended more than a decade ago. You went missing, given up for dead,” Pedro explained.

“What — what date is it?”

“July 25th, 1994.”

After that, Regulus explained to Pedro what had happened in the cave, everything he saw, how he sent Kreacher away with the Horcrux, and how he left himself to die at the Inferi’s hands, and Pedro explained to him how the war had ended and Voldemort was gone, but still not dead thanks to his damned Horcrux.

“But you didn’t die, Regulus. You were trapped in a crystal. A friend of mine says that the crystal was made with your blood, your magic acted on its own because you had something to do — a binding contract of sorts — and it couldn’t let you just die without fulfilling it, so it saved you. My grandchildren found you there, and they brought you back.”

That was a lot to unpack. First of all, Regulus was completely sure he hadn’t signed any kind of contract over his magic; and certainly, accepting the Dark mark wasn’t it, he had seen plenty of Death Eaters die without any issue. But then, what could’ve been that kept him in the world of the living when he had been face-to-face with death herself?

And second of all, Mr. Cardona’s grandchildren? Regulus could remember Sirius’ son’s birth, at the beginning of December — because no matter how much his parents hated to admit it, he was the only one who would continue the Black bloodline —, and Carolina also had her son with Remus during those days; those kids had to be around sixteen, and if Voldemort was gone, they had no business searching for a Horcrux.

When the rhythm of his heartbeat started to pick up, and his hands started to sweat, Regulus knew his anxiety was rising. If Voldemort was still out there, then he must know Regulus was still alive, that he had betrayed him… he would probably go after him.

Looking down at his left forearm, he saw the Dark Mark almost translucent, and it was as ugly as the day it was done, as every time it burned, taking the darkest jat black when the Dark Lord called. But that wasn’t all, his forearm, and up his arm were covered in small scarred wounds made by nails, by the Inferi.

Looking apologetic, Pedro stood up, handing him a small hand mirror before exiting the room to give him some space. He made sure to leave a small goblet on the bedside table with a potion to help calm him.

With trembling hands, he raised the mirror to look at his face, and oh, God. Across his face were scarred cuts too. Two on the left side of his forehead — complemented with other two in his left cheek —, one on his right cheek, and another one on his chin. It should probably make him panic to see his once-handsome face like that, but he had experienced so many emotions in the last hour, that he felt completely drained.

With a quick look, he saw that his right arm also had the same type of scarring; made by the Infer’s nails. His chest and abdomen too, and his legs. There wasn’t a part of him that had been forgiven; he could bet anything that his back was just as scarred. Lastly, he decided to drink the Calming Draught, and as the potion made effect, he fell asleep.

•─────⋅☾☽⋅─────•

The next time he woke up it was, again, to the sunlight entering the room. This time there was no wet cloth over his brow, and his body didn’t feel a degree away from melting, nor did it ache to the cells.

With slow moves he took off the warm cover and stood up, walking to the only window in the room. Beyond the windowpane was a view he thought he would never see again.

It was a multicolored view, where the colors and wildlife changed according to the habitat it served. Trees and bushes created a green forest, next to it, was a desert, and next to that was a large lake. So many years had passed, and the Cardona Magical Reserve hadn’t changed much, it still held to the very magic that had created it so many centuries ago, and it was still a sacred place for Magical Creatures.

Regulus couldn’t remember what he was wearing the last night — no, the night at the cave had been over a decade ago; but someone had changed him into some cozy black sleeping pants with black bats in yellow circles and a black shirt with a red S inside a diamond — weird, perhaps it was some kind of muggle imagery?

On the bedside table, he found a black cardigan. Putting it on, he walked out of the room. As he slowly walked down the stair steps, he realized there was no one inside. What could an entire family be doing at 7 a.m.? Ah, of course, taking care of the Magical Creatures. He could still remember how once upon a time they had taken him to feed the Hippogriffs and the Erumpents.

Now, what was he supposed to do? Go and search for Mr. or Mrs. Cardona?

Before he could stop his overthinking brain to make a choice, the front door opened, and someone entered. When they came from behind the wall, Regulus’ breath got caught in his throat.

The last time he had seen Sirius had been months before the cave night, the night he had taken him and María and Apparated them to a forest, all to warn them about The Dark Lord being after the Potters. Back then, Sirius had looked like any normal Black in their early twenties, but now… he looked so much older, almost like a man in his forties.

He had been told over a decade had passed, but how could Sirius look so much older than that? He was supposed to be in his early thirties, only one year older than Regulus himself, and even with his horrible scars, Regulus looked much younger.

And why was Sirius in Colombia? Where all of them in Colombia? That would be a very awkward reunion.

“Regulus,” Sirius breathed as he came to a halt.

“Sirius,” Regulus greeted him, noticing how his voice felt much better, if a bit deeper than it was.

“H-how — W-when —?”

“I just… I just woke up,” Regulus signaled the second floor with his thumb. This was the first time he saw his brother in months for him, but it had been over a decade for Sirius, years of thinking Regulus was dead. “I take it you and your friends are marauding around here? At least I expect Potter and Lupin.”

“Not Peter?” Sirius asked, before he stopped to think. “You knew he was the spy, didn’t you?”

Regulus gave a noncommittal shrug.

“And you didn’t tell me?” Sirius half-growled, taking a step forward. But Regulus was all too accustomed to this stupid side of Sirius who often didn’t bother to stop and think.

“Because, of course, you would’ve believed me,” Regulus retorted, raising a brow.

Sirius seemed to deflect. “It doesn’t matter.” He walked past Regulus and into the kitchen.

“Where are Potter and Lupin?” Regulus asked, and by the sound that came, Sirius probably broke some plate or something.

“What?”

“Where are James and Remus, Sirius? I would like to see them,” Regulus clarified, entering the kitchen.

Sirius was grabbing the bits of a mug he broke. His face was pale, and heavy waves of pain crashed around his eyes as they looked up to Regulus.

“J-James?”

“Sirius, where is James?” Regulus asked in a heavier voice.

“They — they didn’t tell you — James, he’s — James.”

“Sirius!”

“He’s dead!” Sirius screamed as if he was confessing his biggest sin. “He’s dead! Voldemort killed him!”

“What do you mean he’s dead?” Regulus growled, feeling a surge of panic creep up his stomach. “Sirius, I risked my neck to tell you to protect him! I trusted his life in your hands! What have you done?!”

In the darkness of the forest, after a soft pop sound, they materialized at the edge of a forest. Sirius and María looked at him alarmed. In a second Sirius had his wand pointed at Regulus, but María was stopping him by grabbing his arm.

“Regulus,” she said. “What—”

“He will go after the Potters,” Regulus cut her off. “Someone took a prophecy to The Dark Lord about a baby being his greatest enemy. You have to take James and his family away from here,” he stressed out.

“What are you talking about?” Sirius asked, scandalized.

“The Dark Lord won’t have mercy on any of them, Sirius! You have to take James and his family far from here!” he looked at María, and idea in his mind. “Take them to your country, to your family home, María, he’ll never find them there.”

“Why should we even trust you,” Sirius demanded.

“I would never play with James’ life!”

“Since when do you even call him ‘James’”?

“That’s none of your business, Sirius, all you have to do is take them far away from here,” Regulus tried his best to stress out his desperation, which was probably what surprised the other two. “Please,” he pleaded at last, before grabbing their arms and Apparating them all away, back to the place he found them before he went away, back home.

“No — no — no” Regulus repeated, his hands grabbing his hair.   

“He betrayed us! — Peter was the one who handed him to Voldemort — he’s dead — he’s dead” Sirius cried.

From his insides, Regulus felt how every part of himself started to crumble. He failed. He had sworn to protect James, to do as much as he could to help him, even if he was with the Death Eaters; he passed so much information to the Order to help them, he warned Sirius and María, he even gave his life to destroy that damned Horcrux, and it wasn’t enough. Not even doing everything, Regulus had been able to save the one he loved the most. 

He was a failure. As a son, as a brother, as a Death Eater, as a pureblood, as a friend, as a lover. He had failed in each and every single one of those categories.

As Sirius seemed to wallow in his own misery, Regulus decided that if he was going to crumble on the floor and cease his existence, he was better off doing it in the forest of the reserve, where only the magical creatures and nature would be his witnesses.

He walked out, just as María was about to enter. She gaped at him, but before she could utter a single word, Regulus walked ahead and away.

The sun shined down on him, laughing at him for having lost his own sun, his James. The sun, up above, taunted him for being a naïve Icarus, because now the fall was even harder than when everything came crashing down at Hogwarts. James was dead, and he had been useless to stop it.

A failure.

•─────⋅☾☽⋅─────•

After fifteen minutes of running, Regulus was surprised to not have run into anyone. Where was everyone?

One thing he wondered as he passed tree trunks, was what happened with the rest of the Potters. Sirius only confirmed James was dead, but what about Lily? What about their son?

As his mind ran across the endless possibilities, he came to a clearing. In the middle, five Hippogriffs were surrounding a boy who had his back to Regulus, he looked to be around sixteen, pretty tall and with ink-black hair.

One of the Hippogriffs nudged the boy’s shoulder and let out a soft screech, but the boy shook his head.

“No, Buckbeak, lo siento,” the boy said, in a soft voice. “Tendré que limpiarte con mis manos.”

The Hippogriff tilted its head, looking at him questionably. It screeched again.

“No, mi magia aún no ha regresado por completo. Si quieres eso tendrás que ir con Nicolás,” the boy explained, moving to the next Hippogriff in line. The same Hippogriff, Buckbeak, seemed to sigh — if Hippogriffs were able to do that, of course —, before he seemed to notice Regulus’ presence. Looking at him, the animal screeched, and the rest of the Hippogriffs turned to look at him, each of them screeching.

Slowly, Regulus gave a few tentative steps towards the boy; the Hippogriffs started to move, forming a shield in front of the boy while they screeched in warning. At last, because of all the noise, the boy turned to look at him.

Seeing the boy’s face punched all the air out of Regulus’ chest. That boy… he looked just like him. Or at least he looked just like Regulus had looked at that age, back in Hogwarts. The same hair, black as the night’s depth, eyes grey as the ocean in a storm, and his skin just as pale as the most expensive porcelain. This boy was, with not a single doubt, a Black. He had to be Sirius’ son.

His nephew.

“¡Despertaste!” the boy exclaimed. And just now did Regulus realize he never got to know the name of Sirius’ son.

And before Regulus had any chance to answer — or searched in his rusty Spanish the meaning of what he said —, the boy turned back to the Hippogriffs and said, “Busquen a Nicolás y díganle que voy a estar ocupado,” and as if they understood his every word, the animals walked away.

Once the Hippogriffs were out of the clearing, the boy looked back at him and smiled. “Hi,” he greeted.

“Hi,” Regulus answered back, paralyzed.

 “You’re Regulus,” the boy said, and Regulus knew he was María’s son with that way of pushing forward in the most awkward conversations.

“Yes.”

“I’m Caelum,” the boy finally introduced himself. “That means you’re my—”

“Uncle,” Regulus finished for him. it felt weird how that word tasted in his mouth. Yes, he knew María was pregnant and that their son was born very healthy, but he also assumed he would never be in the position of being his uncle. He had assumed, from the moment he chose to join The Dark Lord that he would never have a place in Sirius’ family, no matter his intention for joining in the first place.

“Yeah,” the boy, Caelum, said.

And silence stretched around them.

“Heh, you really are not a talker, are you?” Caelum asked. And instead of waiting for Regulus’ answer, he changed the topic. “You seem upset, did you run into my dad? Mom sent him to make some lemonade.”

“We… exchanged words,” answered Regulus.

Caelum chuckled. “Yeah, that’s what we were all afraid of.” The boy looked around, scratching the back of his head. “Mhm, are you busy?”

Regulus raised a brow at the boy. “No.”

“Great! Why don’t you come with me? I was going to feed the Thestrals,” said Caelum. Well, don’t ever let it be said the Cardona family didn’t work.

He had two options: go with the boy and help him feed the Thestrals or go back to the house and inevitably run into Sirius again. Being with the mix of Sirius’ extraversion and María’s bluntness seemed far a wiser choice than being with a moody Sirius.

They walked in silence into one of the darkest parts of the forest, there, Regulus found them. The Thetrals were winged horses with skeletal bodies; they were practically horse skeletons covered in black skin with large wings. The interesting thing to them was that they could only be seen by those who had faced death and had come to peace with the concept.

Regulus had seen his own fair share of death, the name Death Eater kind of gives it away that it comes with the job. Not to mention he had come to terms with his own death at the cave.

Caelum walked down to the over twenty Thestrals, and just now did Regulus notice the large bag the boy had been carrying. He started to take out small pieces of meat and fed them, starting with the foals. 

Suddenly, he extended the bag so Regulus could grab meat and help with feeding. At first, Regulus instinctively refused, shaking his head and hands, but after a few seconds of insistence, he decided to give it a go. He was living on borrowed time, he had nothing else to lose.

After feeding a few foals, Caelum turned to him with a wide smile. “Hey, you seem to do just fine with them, Uncle Reg.”

Uncle Reg… he never thought he would be called that. No matter how much he pretended to hate it, he liked it when Sirius called him Reggie, but it was María and Carolina who started to call him Reg, and later Remus and James. He would be lying if he said he didn’t feel something warm in his chest at Caelum’s words.

Seeing the storm of emotions that flashed across Regulus’ face, Caelum grimaced. “Sorry, I—”

“How come you can see them?” Regulus cut him off, not wanting an apology for the new title that had warmed a part of him he considered dead long ago.

Caelum smiled again, and Regulus decided he quite liked it when his nephew smiled. “Family gift,” was all the boy said.

Ah, of course, the Cardona family gifts, the ones his father so desperately coveted for their own. And there Caelum was, a Black with the Cardona gift. Sirius, no matter how much he had kicked and punched, or how much he hated their family, had been the one to make their father's wish come true.

“Why did you do it?” asked Caelum after a minute of Regulus' silent reflection.

Regulus’ eyes snapped towards the boy. What exactly was he referring to?

“You’ll have to be more specific; I’ve done a lot of things in my life.”

“You joined the Death Eaters, but my mom says you didn’t really believe in their cause,” said Caelum.

“I – I was raised to believe in their cause, but I – I met people at Hogwarts that challenged those views, and I –” how could he tell his nephew that he and James had had something going on for years without actually telling him about it?

“They say you were friends with them,” Caelum kept pressing.

“We were, until – until I –”

“Until you joined them,” Caelum concluded for him.

“Yeah. Has anyone ever told you you’re your father’s son? He also had trouble with letting people say what they had to say before jumping to conclusions.”

Caelum smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, it’s just –” he stopped to think for a moment. “I just really want to get to know you, you know. All my life I’ve thought you to be dead, but it turns out you’re not, and I don’t – you’re supposed to be a Death Eater, but you also wanted to help them, you tried to protect them, I – I really want to get to know you, to – to have you as my uncle.”

“Caelum, I –” how could he explain to Caelum that he would be honored to be his uncle, but that he wasn’t worth it? Regulus had carried so much darkness inside for so long; everything he touched was cursed to become sick with sadness, his touch was poisonous, and he would never forgive himself if he ruined anyone else’s lives, least of all his own nephew's.

“I want you to be my uncle, please let me know you,” Caelum insisted.

And Regulus had never been the strongest, he had always recognized he was greedy, and he was ambitious, one of the main reasons he had been sorted in Slytherin, and why he foolishly thought to himself he could take Voldemort down alone.

With a soft smile gracing his lips, Regulus made up his mind, and he nodded. “I would like that too.”

Caelum seemed to be the most excited, nodding vigorously.

“Wait,” said Regulus. “I still want to know, how did you and your cousin find me in that cave? What on Earth were you two doing there?”

All the excitement in Caelum seemed to die, only to be replaced with that same silly shyness, perhaps it had been as stupid as Regulus had feared it would be.

“Well, you see, there’s a family of Demiguises here, they have precognitive views, they can see possible futures. One of them, the oldest, Milo, came to Nicolas and showed him the cave you were in. At the time, we thought nothing of it, but later we went to Grimmauld place –”

“Why did you go there?” Regulus asked sharply.

He was completely sure Sirius would never allow his son to go to his childhood home... or perhaps 'house' was more appropriate... 'home' had too many expectations and requirements Grimmauld Place never met.

“We needed to investigate about Voldemort–”

“Don’t say his name!” Regulus hissed, looking around like Voldemort was about to pop into existence in front of him.

Caelum rolled his eyes. “Fear of the name will only increase the fear of the thing. Voldemort holds no power here, and none of us will give him the power of our fear, get used to it,” he said. “The point is, we needed to investigate his origins, Nicolás already knew he was the last descendant of Salazar Slytherin, so we went to your house and collected some books to investigate and found out about his family and stuff, while we were there, Kreacher showed us around, I touched your bedroom’s door and had a vision of you drowning.

Ever since then, I started to have this nightmare every night. We prepared to give it a shot, and on the Christmas break, our Zouwu took us there, while Nicolas drank that potion that gives nightmares, I felt your magical trace in the place, and making use of my very formidable magical capabilities, I summoned you, or whatever had your trace – we had thought it would be some kind of possession –but it ended up being the crystal you were in, we almost died because of the Inferi and we were taken back here, end.”

“I can only guess how many details you left out in that explanation,” said Regulus, raising a brow.

“Doesn’t matter," Caelum prompted perhaps too quickly, "what matters is that you’re here now.”

“You told the Hippogriffs that you couldn’t make magic, how's that so?”

Caelum scratched the back of his neck, looking extremely uncomfortable with the topic.

“Well, I don’t know how much I can tell you... but nobody told me not to do it, so I suppose it doesn’t matter... I hope.

"After we brought you back in that crystal, Abu Pedro brought a friend of his who knows too much about dark magic and forbidden practices, and he realized you had done some kind of binding magical contract, and so, when you were dying, your magic acted on its own and used your blood to create that crystal and protect you. He offered to realize a Breakout Ritual to free you.

"We did it and mine and Dad’s magical cores were very weakened, so we won't be able to do any magic for a few days”

Sirius… Sirius did that for him? Why would Sirius put his own kid at risk just for Regulus? The last thing Regulus could see when he thought of Sirius was his disgusted and distrustful eyes, filled with nothing but disappointment and rage, all directed at him.

Unless… no, Regulus couldn’t bear to give himself hopes only to be tarnished by the truth.

“I – I don’t know what to say but – thank you – thank you for doing that for me,” said Regulus, feeling speechless as little times before.

Caelum looked at him with a smile. “You are family, Uncle Reg, that’s what we do for each other,” he said, before taking his bag and making his way back home, leaving Regulus standing alone amidst the Thestrals; he probably realized Regulus would need one hell of a time to clear his mind and his thoughts.

•─────⋅☾☽⋅─────•

After Caelum left, Regulus decided to stay back in the forest, amongst the darkness granted by the tall trees.

He dropped his back on the soft grass, appreciating how, in between the trees, small Fairies and Pixies flew. Some of them, driven by their curiosity, approached him to take a better look at him. He supposed that made sense, he was the newest addition to the place. Most of them only got close enough to take a close look, he supposed they took pity on him before flying away once more.

He supposed he could relate to them. After all, he too, was taking pity on himself. He always tried not — too proud for that — but sometimes it was inevitable.

He didn’t know anything about this new world. If what Mr. Pedro told him was true, then he was in the future, over a decade at least. And that meant everything had changed. If Voldemort had been defeated, then his only two friends — not counting all the ones he left behind when he joined the Death Eaters, of course — were either in Azkaban or in a grave. He couldn’t decide which one was worse.

Evan, he had known ever since they were children. He was basically a distant cousin of them. Barty, he had met in Hogwarts, very desperate to stray away from his father’s shadow — a man who worked at the Ministry and was abusive at home, what a surprise.

Evan had been condemned to join The Dark Lord ever since he was born, considering his own father had been one of the original Death Eaters, and Barty had only done so because he wanted to be the opposite of his father and do as much as he could to tarnish the man’s reputation.

He didn’t know anything about his family, though. His father had been extremely sick when Regulus had gone to search for his death, he supposed the man was already dead. His mother, he didn’t know. Not that it would make any difference. His father, if it didn't involve firing dark curses at his children, had been as useful as a piece of furniture and his mother was but a walking nightmare in a perpetual state of dissatisfaction, with long nails and a ready wand for torture sessions, or, as she called them, refining sessions.

He knew he should stop wallowing in his self-pity the moment the memories flowed back to him.

“You shouldn’t brood on your own, Reggie,” Regulus heard a voice behind him.

The clock was high at midnight, and he was sitting on the rails of the Astronomy Tower. It was his sixth year, and he wanted to be alone, knowing very well that sooner than later, all the good in his life would die, by his own hand.

“I don’t brood, Potter,” Regulus retorted, not looking back. He tried to fight it, but a small smile crept up his lips, and it only made his stomach feel worse.

“Oh, is that so, Black,” said James, and just by the sound of his voice Regulus knew the oaf was smiling, probably widely. “I don’t like it when you wallow in your self-pity, Reggie,” he continued, taking a seat next to Regulus.

Regulus tried to fight it off, but it was an instinctual move by now — after three years of this between them —, and he leaned and rested his head on James’ strong shoulder.  

“I’m sorry I don’t — I — I don’t really feel like myself right now,” said Regulus. James wrapped his arms around Regulus’ shoulders, bringing their bodies closer, and only now did Regulus notice that James was wearing his Invisibility Cloak. He enveloped the two of them in a small warm cocoon.

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” said James, kissing the side of Regulus’ head. “But you’re not alone.”

Not for now at least, Regulus added to himself in his mind. “I suppose not,” he chose to say, hiding his face in James’ neck so as to not let his tears fall right there.

He shook his head harshly. His cheeks were damp, wet lines coming down his neck. With the sleeve of the cardigan, he dried his face before standing up.

He was still in the dark part of the forest, but the Thestrals were probably walking around, giving him his space. By the look of the sun, it was probably close to lunchtime, and Regulus didn’t even want to start imagining how that was going to unfold. Would they notice if he simply stayed away until they were finished?

With that thought in mind, he decided to walk a bit more into the forest. No more than five minutes later he stumbled out of the thickness of the trees, coming out to a small clearing, where the sun, in all its power, fell upon his frame.

While his tired eyes fought to see properly again, Regulus heard a bubbly voice ahead of him.

“No! Buckbeak! Get back there!” it was the voice of a boy, that much Regulus could deduce, still seeing everything in a white filter. But that voice… no… it couldn’t be… could it?

Something landed harshly on the ground, and the boy kept laughing. Once his eyes finally saw right, Regulus saw the boy next to a Hippogriff, and his heart jumped straight to his throat.

The boy’s skin was the most perfect hue of bronze, one he had known for so many years, one that was his absolute favorite. The boy’s head was a mop of rebellious black that seemed to be alive, and again, it was a hair he fought but never could actually style quite right.

“J-James?” Regulus croaked.

The boy jumped and looked back at him. “Oh! Hi!” he greeted him. “Did you say 'James'?” the boy asked with his head tilted to the side.

“I — I — I knew someone called James,” was all Regulus brain could conjure.

“My father was James,” the boy revealed, “I’m Harry. Harry Potter.”

Ah, that made much more sense. This was James’ son. Why did Regulus feel his eyes wet? The world started to get foggy once more, but he was so tired of crying. And now here, he had James’ son in front of him. The last thing in this world from the man he loved the most. Because James was dead, and had been so for many years now.

“I’m Regulus,” Regulus said numbly.

“So they said. Do you feel better now? You slept for quite some time,” James’ son, Harry, said. The boy eyed him curiously, probably taking in how many scars Regulus’ face had.

Harry nodded softly. “It’s almost time for lunch, we should go back. I was only checking on Buckbeak,” he pointed at the Hippogriff, who, in turn, turned around and galloped away.

“No, I just —”

“Come on, Abu Angela doesn’t like it when we skip lunch,” said Harry, grabbing the cloth of Regulus’ cardigan with confidence. “She doesn’t like it when we skip any meal, but still.”

Oh yeah, that was very much true. Regulus still remembered when he was thirteen and had spent the whole summer in Colombia with the Cardonas. His mother had not been thrilled to see he had gained weight after the trip.

“They said you knew my father,” Harry said suddenly.

“Everyone in Hogwarts knew your father,” Regulus retorted. Which wasn’t a lie, but also not a good way to keep a conversation flowing. Not that he wanted to speak about James.

“Well, maybe, but you were friends with him, were you not?” Harry looked at him, and Regulus only nodded. How was he supposed to explain to the boy that he and his father had been together for years behind everyone’s backs?

“Sort of,” Regulus offered.

“Great! Then you’re our friend too,” Harry decided.

They arrived at the cottage shortly after. The table was ready, with all the necessary seats, although lunch was still in the making. Seeing as Harry went straight to the kitchen, probably to help Mrs. Cardona with the food, Regulus walked out and onto the porch.

After taking a few breaths, he saw three figures approaching. Carolina walked with her arm interlocked with Remus', while the latter wrapped his arm around a boy's shoulder — he assumed that was their son, Nicolás.    

•─────⋅☾☽⋅─────•

The least he expected from Carolina — her heartbroken face had haunted him for endless nights after he ended their friendship — was an indifferent look, maybe a huff directed at him — a slap if she felt overly angry. But no, he forgot this was Carolina Cardona.

The moment her eyes fell on him, a storm of emotions flashed through her face.

“Reggie!” she exclaimed, and letting go of Remus’ arm, she half-ran to him. He braced himself for a slap — he knew he deserved it —, but instead, she enveloped her arms around him.

Suddenly, he was back to being eleven years old, and having a much younger Carolina — and her sister — promising to be his friends, hugging him just as tightly and warmly, like she thought she could mend all his broken parts with a hug, just like James used to think.

He buried his face in her hair, making use of the couple of inches he had on her.

“Oh, Reg,” she cupped his face, looking at his scars. “What happened to you?” she asked softly.

“I don’t know,” he croaked. “I’m sorry,” he added with a watery voice. She simply shook her head, enveloping once more, perhaps a bit softer this time.

Behind her, Regulus saw Remus and the boy arrive, both stood in silence, smiling softly.

Once Carolina deemed it was enough time for being emotional, and both had calmed enough — Regulus hadn’t even noticed the moment they started crying —, she let go of him, before punching him in the arm with a frown.

“Ouch! What was that for?”

“Why didn’t you tell us?!” oh, and there it was, Carolina’s mother-hen mode, and how had Regulus missed it. “You, idiot!” she punched him again. “I should flog you!”

“Love, I think Reggie would appreciate it if you explained yourself,” Remus cut in with a grin.

“Remus,” Regulus greeted.

“Regulus,” Remus nodded.

“Why didn’t you tell us about Victor and Leliana?” asked Carolina.

“I was double-crossing The Dark Lord! I couldn’t very well risk to throw up my cover,” Regulus explained. “And I’m glad I didn't, you had your own treacherous rat in your group.”

They stood there in silence for a moment, he guessed it was still hard for them to think of who they once considered a friend being really a traitor. The boy huffed and muttered under his breath something about his parents losing their manners.

“I’m Nicolás, by the way,” he finally said, extending his hand for Regulus to take. “But people call me Nico too.”

“Regulus Black,” he said, shaking the boy’s hand.

“It’s great to see you survived; would’ve hated it if it had been a waste of time,” said Nicolás, smiling at Regulus, but he couldn’t know what he did to deserve his smile. Perhaps it was in his blood, all the Cardonas loved smiling at people.

“So it was you and Caelum who went to the cave, huh? Caelum mentioned you drank the Drink of Despair, what did you see?”

Nicolás shrugged. “You know, the usual; my family dead, the house burning, Hogwarts burning, the Dark Mark, Voldemort—”

“How is it that everyone in your bloody family says his name without a care in the world?” it wasn’t the first time a Cardona named The Dark Lord.

He saw Carolina and Nicolás roll their eyes.

“Fear of the name only grows the fear of the thing,” Carolina said, and it was the same thing Caelum had said.

“He’s not some unnamable myth, and he’s nobody’s lord,” said Nicolás harder than a teenager should. “I still find it funny how all of you, proud purebloods, called a half-blood ‘My Lord’.”

“Excuse me?” Regulus prompted, what was this kid talking about?

Nicolás considered him for a minute. “You… you don't know, do you? But of course, why would Voldemort promote being a half-blood to his pureblood lackeys?” the last part was said more to himself than to Regulus, and the boy sprinted inside the house without another word. Regulus looked back at Carolina and Remus.

Carolina counted to ten with her fingers before Nicolás stepped out of the house once more and pushed a few papers into Regulus’ chest, they were some paper clippings and letters.

The letters were written by Regulus, who had theorized The Dark Lord was a Gaunt, given he claimed to be a descendant of Salazar Slytherin, and the papers — newspaper clippings — were from the forties: a muggle one where they told the story of the murder of the Riddle Family, and the Daily Prophet about how Morfin Gaunt had been convicted for that very murder.

Then, Nicolás took out his wand, and tracing in the air, he wrote the name ‘Tom Marvolo Riddle,’ and waving his wand, the words rearranged themselves, now it read, ‘I Am Lord Voldemort’.

Regulus' eyes opened widely as his heart thrummed in his chest.

“Voldemort is the son of Merope Gaunt and Tom Riddle Sr., and yes, you — just like all the other purebloods — allowed a half-blood to brand you like cattle,” said Nicolás, pointing at the Dark Mark in Regulus’ scarred arm.

And wasn’t that the revelation of the century? It was almost ironic to remember the way Bellatrix used to prostrate herself at his feet and kiss them with devotion like the good lap dog she was. To think that the man she idolized so much was in fact a half-blood — subhumans she considered beneath her — well, that was hilarious.

Not just that. The Averys, the Lestranges, the Rosiers, the Mulcibers, the Notts, the Dolohovs, they would all crumble to shambles if they knew the real blood status of their master; hell, even the Blacks and the Malfoys, bloody hell, Regulus would pay any sum of Galleons to see the face of Lucius Malfoy when he hears the news. 

“And what do you plan to do with this? What part am I supposed to play in all of this?” Regulus decided to ask.

“Well, Voldemort’s return has been prophesied, but it still hasn’t happened; it will probably soon, though,” Nicolás thought out loud. “As for you, I don’t really know, what part do you want to play in all this?”

What part did Regulus want to play in this? He didn’t know. He had played his part in the first war; it had been inevitable for him to join Voldemort; not only because of his family's pressure, but because it was vital for his mission, the mission he had trusted Regulus with, but… wait, where was he? Nobody had mentioned him.

Regulus had given his all in the war, doing his job as a Death Eater, pretending to be faithful to the cause, while secretly aiding the Order of the Phoenix, passing down information for them and all. That clearly hadn’t been enough. He had trusted Regulus with destroying the Horcrux, but he failed, maybe… hopefully, the damned thing was safe with Kreacher. Wait, Kreacher! He needed to see Kreacher as soon as they left Colombia, but… did he want to leave Colombia at all? Here, at least, the chances of Voldemort finding him were scarce.

His love for James had led him to trust that man, with his apparent wisdom if perhaps disregard of the life of those who he deemed to serve less. But James was dead, so he didn’t need to trust that man, and apparently, given by the lack of his mention by anyone, the Cardonas probably didn’t trust him either. He needed to get all the facts right.

While he was deep in his thoughts — he hadn’t even noticed that he was alone on the porch — Mrs. Cardona called for lunch.

Well, his stomach’s noises revealed how hungry he felt, and he was dying for some food made with actual love and care. His thought process could be held for a few hours, and hopefully, he could make it through without some argument or whatsoever.

⋆｡°✩°｡⋆

Author's note

Most interesting chapter this one was, to write and edit. It's the only chapter that has no Nicolás POV, so I hope I did Reggie justice with this one! Would love to hear your thoughts on him! I know some of you may not like Jegulus, but they're canon here, still hope you guys can overlook them and enjoy the story!!

Here's a small translation of the Spanish dialogue!!:
“No, Buckbeak, lo siento”: No, Buckbeak, I'm sorry. 
“Tendré que limpiarte con mis manos”: I'll have to clean you with my hands
“No, mi magia aún no ha regresado por completo. Si quieres eso tendrás que ir con Nicolás”: No, my magic hasn't come back fully. If you want that, you'll have to got to Nicolás. 
“¡Despertaste!”: You're up! 
“Busquen a Nicolás y díganle que voy a estar ocupado”: Go and look for Nicolás and tell him I'll be busy. 

I forgot to add this the first time, but here's the reason my face claim for Regulus is Ben Barnes!!

Hope you guys liked today's update!! See you next week!!

- 𝐣.𝐟. 𝐜. 🐼💜