cause of death
He treaded the thick water as he blinked around at his surroundings- at the cave, the murky water, the shore- the shore James was currently kneeling on, motioning him over with great sweeps of his arms. Through the rise and fall of the waters’ surface, he could see that he was shouting but Regulus couldn’t hear him as he had to cough up lungfuls of water and the moans of the undead slowly started rising again, pushing and pulling the water beneath his legs as well.
He was weak, incredibly so. Even making it above water took herculean effort and his legs had already begun slowing of their own accord and the sheer fact that any of this was even real was so infinitesimally low that the idea of just letting go instead of chasing this hallucination had seemed sweet as honey.
His eyes fell shut as all the water in his lungs caught up to him and he stopped breathing.
__________
He gasped for air as he threw up bits of bile and water that had been lodged in his throat and lungs. He turned over to his side as he did so, his oesophagus burning, and his body ached with the movement but he felt, miraculously, in one piece.
The gravel biting under his palm, the chilled air breezing past him, the dreary colours of the cave all felt so vibrant and tangible and real- he couldn’t even believe life could possibly feel so saturated until it had been taken from him.
He heard heaving breaths from behind him and turned to see James soaking wet and keeled over, head bowed and hanging heavy between his shoulders. His eyes were slammed shut as he hugged himself, his hair and clothes sticking to him. As though sensing his eyes on him then, he lifted his chin and stared at him through his brows with red-rimmed eyes, any sort of emotion completely indiscernible. He seemed to be in shock.
He made to move, to go towards him, but his sleeve caught on a stray rock and ripped and when he looked down at the dark mark, as scratched and scarred as ever, the realisation of what James had done crashed into him and forced him to redirect and scramble back towards the water.
His fingers slipped and tore on nearby rocks as he hauled his heavy body away, wanting to go back under the sweet embrace of the water but a hand wrapped around his ankle and the memory of the Inferi grabbing at him assaulted him and he began kicking wildly, screaming and shouting through his raw and burned throat.
“Reg!” he heard James shout but he was too far gone.
He was meant to be dead. This was hell. There was no other option for him to go on like this- he had said his goodbyes, made his peace with those he needed to- there was no going back for him. The only thing that being alive would bring him was a painful death at the hands of the dark Lord.
His foot connected with something hard and he kicked off of it, propelling himself forward.
“Stop!” James shouted, his voice strangled to his own ears.
“You don’t understand what you’ve done- I- he’ll kill me” he cried out as he looked up then back around- he couldn’t focus on James’ face for too long, he couldn’t even be entirely sure what was happening. He touched the water and the groans from the Inferi had increased to a roar now as they woke up from whatever it was that took them down.
“Let me go,” he shrieked madly as colours and shapes whirled in his mind. His blood was rushing through his ears and he felt like his entire body was engulfed in flames.
He had died, he knew that- he had greeted the darkness like an old friend, like a lover, and being dragged back to the mortal world felt a misconstruction of all that he had known.
“Gods,” he heard before he felt a curse strike and rack through his body and he was out cold again.
___________
He slowly blinked his eyes open to a dark and quiet room. His eyelids felt weighed down but after a few long minutes, he gathered the strength to keep them open as sensation slowly flooded into him, seeping from his core out to his numb extremities.
He was laid on a rickety bed, crisp white sheets pulled up to his chest, and he looked up to see a magi-screen beeping rhythmically above him.
Turning to the side, cringing, he saw Sirius bowed over his bed, his head resting in the nook of his bent arm. His other hand was free and resting atop his own, his grip limp in sleep but still fully enclosing his.
Gathering himself, he twitched his fingers and the instant his index finger moved, Sirius’ grip tightened and his head snapped up. His silver eyes were red and tear stained, his face blotchy and soft and his eyes slowly widened into saucers upon seeing him. Instantly tears filled them,
“Regulus,” he hoarsed out, unmoving.
He couldn’t respond, couldn’t form the words but Sirius lunged forward to hug him, circling his body and holding fast as he cried into his ear but he left just as fast as he came, “I’m sorry- I’m sorry I just-” he floundered, his eyes dancing all across his face.
He tried to speak again but it felt like he had sand dumped into his mouth and reading this, Sirius turned and filled a glass from a pitcher of water on his bedside. He gently reached forward and cradled his head, holding the glass up to his chin and slowly tipping it back, moistening his throat.
“Sir-,” he tried.
He hushed him, “Don’t try to talk, it’s okay, you’re safe,” he cooed, brushing back his hair softly like he was a child. His long fingers were so gentle, barely brushing his skin as if Regulus was thin glass and he’d shatter upon contact.
He sat back down in the plain and uncomfortable looking chair and grabbed his hand in both of his own, holding it close to his chest, “You always said I had a flair for the dramatics but clearly it’s you who is the drama queen,” he laughed but it came out wet and pained, “Gods Reg, you scared me so much I-.”
Watching Sirius like this, so undone, shattered his heart that was somehow still beating, “‘M sorry,” he broke out.
He felt guilt and shame roiling in him but he felt tired above all else, “How long?”
Sirius, looking out a window somewhere to Regulus’ right, answered, “You’ve been out for about a week.”
His heart rate on the monitor instantly shot up and Sirius hastened to quiet it, “The healers had to put you under sedation while you healed, your injuries were- extensive and we wanted you to heal as much as possible before you woke up again” To him, it felt like he had been out maybe an hour or two- a week was unfathomable.
He didn’t even care about himself so much as he did about, “James?”
His brother only nodded, hastily tucking a curled lock behind his ear, “He’s okay too.”
He didn’t offer any more information on that front and instead stood up, “The Healer told me to tell her the minute you're awake- I’ll go get her now, you just wait here,” he said unnecessarily before leaving. He couldn’t really even feel the lower half of his body so he didn’t have to worry about him up and leaving any time soon though he understood why he had said it- he had proven himself to be a flight risk.
Healer Caskut, she introduced herself and he had to stifle a laugh at such an ironic surname, filled him in more on the medical side of things. He had a mild case of hypothermia, heart palpitations, and while there was no telling what damage had been done to his brain based on how long he had gone without air, she said the fact that he was awake and alert was a very good sign.
He also found out that when James came here with him and ordered her over here from her assigned station, he had to be sedated for about twenty-four hours because he couldn’t calm down or leave his side when he was first being treated. He was also then notified of his own mental breakdown upon arriving but he couldn’t remember any of it, his memories after sinking under the water were all hazy and unfocused but he felt shame and guilt burn his face nonetheless.
When he finally asked where exactly ‘here’ was, Sirius told him it was an Order safehouse. It had only just been cleared and warded and the Order didn’t exactly know about it yet so it was the safest and most neutral bet as a place to keep him safe and hidden. They didn’t know all that he’d done but at least they knew he needed to be hidden away. He was glad for the sedation now because he was sure he would’ve already had a panic attack without it.
All the activity came to a halt when his stomach loudly growled and they finally brought him something to eat.
It was a clear chicken broth soup, simple and light for his stomach, but he couldn’t even bring the spoon to his mouth without it clattering back to the tray and spilling hot soup everywhere.
“I believe your issues in holding the utensil tie back to your initial drowning as motor weakness is associated with hypoxia, or loss of oxygen to the brain. Your prognosis for a full recovery seems good but it’ll take time and practice, in the meantime, we can use magic to help you,” Caskut had told him.
He felt like an idiot as he was being spoon fed soup by an invisible hand Sirius had conjured up.
“So everyone got my letters and thinks I’m…gone?” he asked once he’d finished.
Sirius nodded, “The whole world seems to think you’re gone,” he corrected and pulled a folded up newspaper out from his bedside drawer.
‘ Heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black declared Dead’ was written across the front in bold lettering above a still picture of him. ‘Regulus Black was declared dead on Wednesday morning by his House. His cause of death is currently unknown but sources believe it may have been in conjunction with the dark Lord.’
“Wow,” he whispered, reading his own epilogue.
“And then this happened,” Sirius whispered, pulling out another paper dated two days after the first one,
‘Walburga Black Pronounced Dead at 57. Her cause of death was determined to be suicide by the Aurors Office. They suspect no foul play to be involved at this time. As the Black family do not have any living descendents, her title goes to her next of kin, Narcissa Malfoy née Black.’
“No,” he gasped out and he didn’t even realise how hard his hands were trembling until Sirius took the paper away from him and he had nothing to hold on to. He clenched and unclenched his hands on the white bed sheets as his head started to swim. She…she had killed herself, and it was all his fault.
Suddenly not saying goodbye to her, not staying in the house for a minute longer, it all seemed a mistake.
He hated her, he knew that, he remembered all the times she had cursed and spat and tortured him and yet…through it all, she was his mother .
And now he was an orphan .
He bit his lip and turned away from Sirius and he took that as a sign to leave, quietly shutting the door behind him and basking Regulus in silence once more.
____________
“I’ll let you in to see him but he really needs rest okay?” Healer Caskut whispered to him out in the corridor while his eyes kept darting to the wooden door that was still shut behind her. His body physically ached with the proximity he had to Regulus right now and the fact that she was standing in his way was driving him mad.
“I understand,” he nodded quickly.
She gave him one last stern look before stepping aside and bowing her head in permission to let him enter.
The door smoothly opened and when he saw Regulus, he could’ve collapsed, his knees already wobbling. He hadn’t been allowed to see Regulus for the past week, Caskut and Sirius both concerned for his mental state, but neither of them understood what it had been like for him to see Regulus in that cave.
No one else had to watch him be dragged under the lake those cruel human-like monsters that looked like they had crawled out of some nightmare, no one watched as he took his last breath of air before being dragged underwater, the way the water had gone completely still above him as he sank deeper into its’ depths.
And the way he had fought him off after like he was one of them vying to kill him. His arms and legs were both covered in bruises with how hard Regulus had fought him off and he had to admit it had messed with him a bit, fear that Regulus had forgotten who he was or maybe he really did just not want him there swam in his mind as torrential as the Lake he had apparated to.
Gods, above all, he just wanted an explanation for all of it.
But for now, he was willing to take sitting at his bedside again. Having gone from seeing Regulus everyday to school, to sometimes in the mirror, to once every few months was like coming off a drug but he’d never get over his withdrawals, he needed a hit every time he was near.
Regulus, sleeping like this again, reminded him of a very late night he’d had all the way back in his Second year. It was the first weekend of the school year and while he and Sirius were doing some research for an upcoming prank, someone had started knocking rapidly on the portrait door. He heard the Fat Lady trying to turn away whoever it was away but they were insistent.
Sirius went over to push the portrait open and after a quick and hushed conversation, the door opened wider to reveal Sirius and Regulus right behind him, clearly upset. When he saw him, surprise flashed across his face and he scrubbed at his eyes with his sleeves before schooling his expression once more.
He led Regulus over to one of the sofas in the corner and James didn’t intrude, he didn’t even ask what had happened to lend them privacy, but he looked over every once in a while to check in on them. Regulus was speaking quickly, his lips barely moving, whereas Sirius harshly, one hand hitting the other fiercely, moved his whole body as he spoke. Their conversation ended with Sirius shaking his head and Regulus awkwardly shrugging and looking away.
After a bit of back and forth, the two came over to him and Sirius carried on like nothing had happened, poring over his book again, while Regulus sat back and watched. His wide silver eyes darted around the room and he remembered making some sort of joke to lighten the mood but Regulus hadn’t laughed. It was only when he looked up at him again a moment later that he saw his cheeks had turned pink and his fingers had curled in on his jumper.
Regulus ended up falling asleep curled up on the sofa like a cat and he went upstairs while Sirius roused him, not wanting his brother to be caught by an early riser from either house.
He remembered how young Regulus had looked in sleep, even then, and how calm he had seemed, all harshness melted away, and even now Regulus looked the same to him. He wondered how he might look at Regulus in five years, ten, fifty- would he ever change?
He sat and stared at Regulus for a long time, drawn to the shallow rise and fall of his chest as though it would stop if he simply looked away.
At some point, he had begun to go cross-eyed as sleep threatened to pull him under, his body slumping in the chair, and he had managed a few moments of sleep he was sure, but he was quickly pulled back into reality by Regulus.
His sheets were strewn about, his eyelids twitching and lips moving as he spoke under his breath. He thrashed against some invisible force, his face construed in horror, and James quickly jumped into action.
“Reg?” he asked, coming in close.
He reached out a tentative hand to his forehead and the instant he made contact, Regulus’ eyes burst open, his pupils blown wide as he looked dazedly around the room.
“James,” he breathed out but instead of looking at him, he seemed to look through him. His hand curled around his wrist tightly, his own knuckles going white.
“Reg,” he repeated, desperately happy to see him awake again but confused and already starting to feel pain in his wrist.
“You shouldn’t have done it,” he choked out, “No no no you don’t understand, you don’t know what you’ve done. ”
He was repeating the same sort of stuff he had been in that cave. Gods he still felt horrible about having to hex him then but it was the only way he was able to get them both out of there. He knew now he had made the right decision but he wasn’t willing to do it again.
“ Why ?” he shook his head, trying to pull a coherent thought from him.
Finally, with his eyes glued onto his and in a voice far graver than he’d ever heard from Regulus, “He will kill me for what I’ve done.”
“What have you done?” he whispered.
His face crumpled then, “I only meant to do the right thing,” he whimpered before starting to cry.
James remembered Caskut saying she wanted to ease him off the sedation and he figured this half-awake and confused state was a result of everything coming back to him at once.
He instantly climbed into the bed and pulled Regulus into his chest, wrapping his arms around him. He’d read once that that helped with panic attacks and prayed it worked to calm him down now.
And for him, holding Regulus was enough to calm him down so now that they were just a tangle of limbs, he felt like he could breathe just a slight bit easier now. However, without his panic, he was left feeling empty and caved in, seeing Regulus so weak and defeated and at odds with who he usually was.
But he was alive and he repeated that to himself long after Regulus had fallen asleep in his arms and the moon had arced across the sky.
____________
He woke up the following morning confused and weary still. He remembered seeing James last night at some point but wasn’t able to connect when he had come in or left, just that he had embraced him…or was that just a dream? He couldn’t be sure of much any more.
Though it didn’t matter as he could hear James and Sirius whispering to each other out in the corridor. He couldn’t make out what they were saying too well but he caught pieces of his name and other random words so he just called out to them.
They anxiously walked in one after the other and neither of them said anything for so long that it had gotten uncomfortable and really, he knew that he had to do most of the talking. He knew they were all tired of dancing around the obvious and it was better to just get it all out at once and deal with it.
And so he started talking, he talked about the first time he had ever laid eyes upon Voldemort, how uncomfortable his constant declarations about immortality made him, how he had delved into his research- how he looked for some way out of this darkness he had found himself in.
“And in the Room of Requirement, I found Rowena Ravenclaw’s diadem,” he explained.
To him, finding the diadem was a massive feat, but to them,
“What’s a diadem?” Sirius asked.
“It’s a crown sort of thing,” he answered.
“Okay you found a crown? But back to the research so you-,” James started, clearly jumping ahead in the story.
“But that’s just it- the diadem was a horcrux .”
Then he went into telling them what a horcrux even was, how he had found multiple, how there were likely some more out there that even he didn’t know about.
“So as long as he still has those horcruxes…he’ll be immortal?” James asked, the colour draining from his face.
He nodded.
Then he was caught up to the present moment.
“And when Kreacher came back, half dead, I had him tell me the whole story again and I- I don’t know what I was thinking. I think I had deluded myself into thinking I didn’t already have a plan when I decided to make a copy of the locket but when the time came, I knew what I had to do.”
Now Sirius and James were still as statues as they listened to him, he wasn’t sure they were even breathing anymore.
“But he found out about us,” he turned to James, then to Sirius, “He saw memories of us when we skipped class, of me at Effie and Monty’s funerals. He knew I had been lying to him- he knew I wasn’t staying true to the cause,” he breathed. “He wanted to kill me.
“So I ran,” he said simply, “I took the horcruxes I already had and fled to France and started looking for more which I did find in the form of the cup which was in Bella’s vault. That’s why I had to leave so suddenly- why I disappeared.”
James, worry etched into every line of his face, “So, someone betrayed you- a death eater?”
When he was in that Lake, he experienced some sort of revelation. While succumbing to the water surrounding him, he retreated back to the lighthouse in his mind and the more air he lost, the more the bricks started to burst. He had lost his grip on the one place in his mind he had control over- he assumed that was why he’d initially attacked James when he saved his life- he was losing his grasp on reality.
In the process of doing so, he unlocked, in a manner of speaking, a lot of memories he was unaware he had even been holding- one of his mum on christmas morning when he was around five years old where she was humming along to a song while mixing some sort of batter- he’d never really seen her cook so he had no idea what it was but he was enthralled. Another was of him catching Sirius in the Owlery in second year on his birthday- he’d left the minute he walked in but when he approached the perches, he realised Sirius was looking to see if their family owl had anything for him- he didn’t. Lastly, was a memory of being chased across a garden lawn, someone yelling at him and begging him to understand.
“It was Peter Pettigrew.”
Silence rang in the room.
Then, from Sirius, “ Fuck! ” He sprang into action but there was nowhere to go, he pulled at his hair as he paced in the small space. “Oh fuck,” he repeated, quieter now, more contemplative.
“What is it?” James asked, reaching out a hand but Sirius sidestepped him. He looked concerned too, of course he did, but Sirius made it seem like he was just waiting for this confirmation.
He spun around with a pointed finger, “The memories Reg, that Voldemort saw- what did they look like?”
“Er, just- they were memories,” he stuttered, trying to figure out the meaning of his question.
“Who’s perspective ?” he urged like he already knew the answer and just wanted him to catch up as well.
Then it all clicked- they had all been from Sirius’ perspective. The memory of him at the funeral was from Sirius, who had remained at the front by the coffin the entire time, lending him a perfect view of them in the back corner. The memory of him on the day out with Sirius was from his perspective as Voldemort showed him the memory from a first person view which only happened when memories were taken from the source.
“Yours,” he whispered in horror.
James’ mouth dropped as he looked at Sirius then he looked back to him and he could practically hear the conversation and thoughts rushing between them. They both needed more information.
“Voldemort knew I had dropped out of school and you two were the only people that knew…” he continued.
“No,” Sirius pushed, then reluctantly, “The night Fabian died, I- I went to Peter’s. He said I could come back to get a drink and I did and I felt a bit funny but when I woke up he told me that I had just had too much too quickly, I- I didn’t even think-.”
It was Sirius’ fault then, not Sirius’ but his memories. Peter had found his opportunity to oust him before Regulus could do it to him first and had usen Sirius to do it.
“Pads,” James sighed sadly.
“I’m so sorry Reg,” he breathed out and he had turned and left the room before he had a chance to say anything else.
Regulus had called out to him but his name was cut off by the sound of the door slamming shut.
“It’s not his fault,” he said to James right off the bat to make sure it was clear he didn’t blame him, shaking his head in defeat. Pettigrew was ruthless, that much was clear- he couldn’t fault Sirius for still having faith in his friend when he invited him over for just a drink.
With James left, he explained the entirety of his recovered memories- how Peter had attacked him, yelled at him, wiped his memory in an attempt that had clearly failed and he patiently listened through it all and by the end of it, his hand was in his own, and repeated I love you s spilled from his lips.
“I’m going to kill him,” James whispered.
“No,” he shook his head, “That would be far too easy.”
____________
“I want to go home,” he demanded two days later.
“Reg, I don’t think…”
He was currently upset and embarrassed and all around needing space.
After James had left him alone that night, he had to go to the bathroom, and he thought he might’ve been able to manage it but he was clearly wrong because he got up and after two steps he’d fallen to the floor in a great heap.
The Healer mentioned his motor issues and apparently the Inferi had done more damage to his leg than he initially thought because it was practically unusable. He remembered the way it had torn into his leg and pulled at the wound but he thought that with a bit of potion and time, it would be healed, but he forgot that that was the nature with most dark wounds- they never heal.
He was more upset than he’d like to admit when she brought over a cane for him to use.
“Everyone thinks I’m dead anyways,” he countered with the obvious.
They finally resolved on taking him to Potter manor, with about a dozen more wards put up around it, courtesy of his own memory and Kreacher, who was part of the deal, bringing over all of his belongings, including his magical texts.
Kreacher was…understandably upset with Sirius around, glowering at him when he entered the room, making his tea just a bit too cold or sweet, and for some reason, lowering his seat at the table by just a bit at every meal until his chin was practically hitting the table. Though if he had the time and energy to be petty, that meant he wasn’t upset anymore. He also had expended a lot of energy on trying to rewire Opal who seemed allergic to any real sort of work. She was helpful enough but contained none of the usual simpering that came with most elves so while Kreacher thought her a freak of nature, she thought him an uptight rag.
But Kreacher had wailed upon seeing him, cried and ran to him, wrapping his arms around his body before profusely apologising. He hadn’t left his side for hours until Regulus had to give him a list of tasks to do just to busy him again. It was then that he learned he had died according to the tapestry as well and apparently, once it changed, it never changed back- as most people do not usually tend to die and come back to life.
It was the tapestry that had caused his mother to find out what happened and end her own life.
He found out that in the end, she had taken a potion and simply gone to bed. Kreacher also told him the potion recipe was from one of his personal books on dark potions, a fact that guilted him for longer than he’d like to admit afterwards.
He didn’t ask any more questions about her.
And living this new domesticated life with James was…nice. It felt too nice for the situation they had found himself in but he couldn’t deny the bliss that came with complete and utter freedom with James.
So often he had imagined this sort of life, where no one needed him, where every day wasn’t a risk, and he could spend as long as he’d liked lounging next to him, reading a book in the Library for as long as he’d liked, making food alongside Kreacher without being yelled at for how improper it was- and now he finally had it.
It was when he remembered that the world continued spinning without him that brought him back.
“Can you please bring me the box Kreacher?” he requested on a gloomy afternoon while sitting with James and Sirius in the lounge.
Kreacher levitated the large black box inside, seemingly too afraid to touch it, but he had no such fears as he plucked it out of the air and set it on the table between them all.
He pulled back the lid and stared at each of the items in turn- the diary, Helga Hufflepuff’s cup, Rowena Ravenclaw’s diadem, and Salazar Slytherin’s locket- all laid side by side.
“And so each of these have a piece of his soul in them?” Sirius whispered like the dark Lord could somehow hear him through the objects,
“Half of it to be exact, or less depending on the order they were made in,” he corrected.
“And how many are there exactly?” James then queried, leaning forward and picking up the golden cup, the most innocuous object of the group.
“At minimum, five, and most? Seven,” he sighed without explaining how exactly he knew that number.
“He did this seven times?” Sirius’ eyes bulged and it was like watching himself from an outsider’s perspective as he had gone through all these questions and emotions on his own when he had first found himself going down this path.
“And there’s no way to destroy them?”
Well, considering the fact that he’d literally almost killed himself because of that fact- “Not that I know of.”
“Look Reg, I’ve been holding off on saying this for you but,” James trailed off, chewing his lip as he seemed to contemplate his next words, “I think we should…talk to Dumbledore.”
“No,” he refuted instantly.
“Reg please-.”
“I have nothing to say to him ,” he protested petulantly.
“I understand you don’t like him but don’t think of him as the Headmaster or anything, think of Albus Dumbledore, one of the most powerful wizards alive . He is, realistically, the only one that could match Voldemort in a duel and he’s, unfortunately, incredibly smart. I really think we could use him as a resource,” James urged and he was, much to Regulus’ dismay, right.
It made sense to contact Dumbledore. He wasn’t ready to be inducted into the Order or anything, if it was up to him he’d never be a part of anything again, but he wanted to put an end to all of this.
If he had a chance to defeat Voldemort now under the freedom from death, should he not take it?
“Okay fine, I’ll talk to him but on one condition,” he said, crossing his arms.
Wearily, Sirius asked, “And what’s that?”
“I want to see my friends first.”
____________
And so that is how, four long days later, he was allowed to step through to floo from James’ sitting room directly into Dumbledore’s office.
When he entered, he thought it might be empty but then Dumbledore turned a corner and looked up at him expectantly, his blue eyes assessing him over half-moon spectacles.
“Mr. Black, back from the dead I see,” he said, crossing his hands in front of him and resting them on his silk purple robes.
“Yes, well,” he replied blankly, awkwardly steadying himself on the cane. He hated using it, he hated how weak it made him feel no matter how nice it might be. James and Sirius made haste in replacing the standard issue cane Healer Caskut had given him and replaced it with a sleek black model with silver and emerald embellishments on the head. It looked like something that might have come from a regal portrait but it was meant for a man far older than he.
“I am happy to see you well,” he chirped, stepping up to a large bowl of candy and plucking up a pink coloured sweet.
“Are you happy to see me well or happy that you’ll now get to interrogate me for what I know?” he replied sourly. He knew he was being unnecessarily difficult but Dumbledore had always managed to get under his skin and he knew at first it must have been conditioning from his parents but even now, he could rationalise disliking the man for playing a direct hand in converting his students into soldiers for a war that shouldn’t even exist in the first place.
He sighed stiffly as he popped the twisted candy in his mouth then, recovering, “Would you like a sugar twist?”
Walking further, he answered less harshly, “No.”
He looked around and remembered the last time he had been here, running out with Tom Riddle’s folder and truly wondered if Dumbledore had ever found out about it. He seemed the type of man to notice and just not say anything to watch it play out and see if he went anywhere with it. He really only needed it for information and hadn’t let any of it out to the public but he was sure he could’ve gotten in a lot of trouble for it still if he reported it.
He looked to the phoenix in the corner of the room and remembered the conversation he had with Dumbledore all that time ago in the Hospital Wing when he was receiving treatment for one of his various ailments- when he was suffering so seriously that they required the use of his phoenix’s tears just to stabilise him.
“You once told me that help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who deserve it,” he said.
“I did,” Dumbledore nodded contemplatively, looking up to him.
“How do you decide?”
He was quiet for a moment, the only noise Fawkes preening his feathers in the corner and something ticking on one of the shelves.
“How do you mean?” he asked, apparently at a loss.
“How do you decide who deserves it? You told me yourself that you knew that my injuries were a result of dark magic and you purposefully didn’t help me because you wanted to use me for information. I hadn’t even done anything wrong then, didn’t I deserve help?” Regulus hated the way his voice had started to break, his hand trembling on the cane head.
“I didn’t mean for you to think you didn’t deserve it, I merely meant to bolster you into action,” he countered, splaying his hands wide.
“How could I have? You only pushed me further away, allowing me to get hurt instead of just helping me because it was the right thing to do.”
He rested his hand on a shelf and Regulus could see it then, a hint of the shame he had been waiting years to see. It was useless now, a small comfort to the years of pain he'd undergone right under his, and others', noses.
“I should like to see my friends now,” he finished and began walking towards the door.
He left without either of them saying another word and under James’ invisibility cloak, he made his way to the Slytherin Common Room with ease.
When he walked in, slipping behind a pair of first years, he was greeted with the familiar sight of the Common Room and all was fine until he had just made it to the stairs. On a small table to the side, he saw a picture of himself surrounded in flowers and chocolates- some sort of shrine or memorial he supposed. He certainly hadn’t felt this love when he was still a student.
Ignoring that, he went up to his dorm and didn’t exactly know how to enter now that he was faced with it. Deciding ripping off the plaster was the best plan, he threw the cloak off and just opened the door.
Thankfully, both Evan and Barty were inside and at his entrance, Barty’s head snapped up.
When he thought he would be met with happiness, excitement, some shock as well- anger was not an emotion he had considered.
Instantly, Barty pulled out his wand and was on his feet rushing towards him, “You think this is some fucking joke huh?” He brought an arm up and pinned him against the door, his arm pressing against his sternum hard enough to bruise. “Who the fuck are you, how the fuck did you get his hair you psychopath?” he ground out, his face already red and angry.
Evan was behind him, his wand similarly raised, his eyes shining.
“Give me one reason not to hex you right now you fucking animal,” Barty seethed.
“Because I’m not,” he gulped, “I’m not under polyjuice Barty- you’re starting to hurt me,” he winced.
His eyes softened but his face remained hard as he stared at him but Evan had stepped forward, tilting his head and his mouth rounding out as he really looked into his eyes and he willed him to see the sincerity and genuity in them.
“What was the first thing you ever said to me on the train in first year?” he asked, voice low.
He knew it in a heartbeat, “Can I sit with you please, my brothers friends are all pricks so I should like to make some prickly friends of my own.”
He gasped and put a hand on Barty’s shoulder, “He’s right.”
Barty still hadn’t moved but the fact that he hadn’t hexed him yet was a good sign and he brought his free hand up to his hand and gently manoeuvred it away, “It’s me Barty, I swear it.”
“You died,” he whispered gravely, like he might be dreaming.
“I did,” he nodded gently, “But James brought me back.”
“Your mother- you died-” he repeated numbly but he had dropped his hand and taken a step back.
He merely opened his arms wide and Barty ran into them now pushing him against the door with the force of his love instead of his hate, “It’s really you.” He couldn’t tell whether it was a question or a statement so he just nodded,
“It’s really me.”
He looked at Evan over Barty’s shoulder and he was crying now and he just jerked his hand for him to join in as well and they all stood, embracing one another, as they sobbed at the sheer joy of being alive and together once more.
____________
“And so you actually need the cane? It’s not just for aesthetics?” Barty asked, looking suspicious.
“You’re joking right?” he deadpanned.
He merely shrugged, “Well it’s only that’s quite an ornate piece and considering you resurrected yourself, I wouldn’t put it past you to come back with a little cane for a new look,”
“Perhaps he was too embarrassed to incorporate the cane into his look so he figured if he died and came back, everyone would be so focused on that that they wouldn’t even ask about the cane,” Evan pointed out.
“I’m killing myself, for real this time,” he threatened.
“Have you told Dora yet?” Evan then asked, bringing them back to reality, a feeling he hated deeply.
He shook his head, he had come here first and frankly, he was scared to see her. She had predicted his death to him, told him in detail how it was he would die the day before he’d actually done it and the idea was terrifying. He wasn’t sure how he’d be able to come back from that.
“She’ll be more happy to see you alive than anything else, the acceptance…that’ll come with time,” Barty assured him, putting a hand on top of his own.
He nodded, hoping he was right.
“Now what the hell were you thinking running off into a fucking cave in the middle of the godsdamned Atlantic Ocean? I mean do you honestly think you’re some fucking hero who thinks they can go off in the night and save the world? In case you no one’s reminded you yet, you’re not! You are a pureblood six foot nothing skinny fucker who can barely keep himself upright yet you had the gall to-,”
Barty’s lecture continued for a very very long time after that.
____________
“I believe I’ve fulfilled my end of the deal Mr. Black,” Dumbledore said when he came back to use the floo to go back home. He sincerely wondered if Dumbledore actually did anything productive with his time or if he just lingered in corners, coming up with convoluted pieces of advice to throw at innocent passerbyers.
“So you have,” he sniffed.
“I won’t ask you to-,” the wizened man started but frankly, he wasn’t interested in hearing any of it.
“Voldemort has created horcruxes, information given to him courtesy of the Restricted Section here at Hogwarts as well as the Potions professor that still works here under your command, Horace Slughorn. He initially envisioned creating seven but it’s unclear whether or not he’s made that many thus far. I have collected four myself and have reason to believe that there are five, the fifth being one of his personal possessions. I have no idea how to destroy them but he cannot die until they are destroyed. Help me destroy them and kill him and we can all go about our merry way, understood?” he finished without even taking a breath, having to hide the way he was heaving now.
It was quiet for a long while before he simply nodded and replied, “Understood.”
He turned to leave but not before he added, “Do you plan on returning his file back to me at any point?”
Over his shoulder, “No I don’t think so. Clearly you’re lacking in security measures if a wizard such as myself was able to take it so easily.”
Only once he crossed back home did he mutter, “ Hogwarts is the safest place on earth my arse.”
James entered the room then, a hopeful smile blooming on his face, “How’d it go?”
He hobbled over to the safety of his presence, gripping his shoulders tight and pulling him in close, pressing a kiss to his lips in an action that will be forever familiar and exhilarating at once, “It went good,” he murmured.
“Did Dumbledore…?” he asked.
Nodding, he looped his arm with his and spoke, “I never realised how much I had left to say. I mean I know I wrote those letters but I can barely even remember what I said in them now. At the time each word seemed so important but now I’m just thinking about everything I had left out.”
“You have a lifetime of words and memories and thoughts ahead of you, you can’t possibly have thought you cleared it all out in a few pieces of parchment,” James sighed, kissing his forehead gently.
“No, but I hoped it would’ve helped you all,” he sighed.
“I understand why you did what you did now but Regulus, I never would have forgiven you for it, I never would have gotten over it,” he said seriously.
“I never wanted you to have to stay stuck on me, I would’ve wanted you to move on, to live your life-.”
“I don’t want to live a life that you are not in,” he burst out, passion interlacing each syllable and hitting him right in his ever beating heart. “I don’t even remember my life before you entered it, you made my life something rich and vibrant and colourful in a way I never even knew possible and to have almost lost it- gods that week you were asleep felt like I had died as well.”
“Never again,” he choked out, bringing a hand up to touch at the silver necklace around his neck, his golden skin smooth and supple under his wandering fingers.
James then grasped his hand and brought it up to his lips to press a kiss to his knuckles, “Never again.”
When they were in bed again, just on the cusp of sleep, he whispered, “How did you find me anyways?” He realised he never actually asked, so caught up with everything else going on that it wasn’t even on his mind.
“I put a tracking coin in a false pocket I sewed into your favourite cloak. It rings whenever the person it’s assigned to is in mortal danger so the coin, connected to mine, began ringing and it doubles as a portkey device so I answered the call and came right to you,” he explained easily.
“So you didn’t even need my cloak when you took it…?”
“Nope.”
He well and truly realised he might have found someone just as mad as he was.
All he could do was kiss him again.