Hearts on Pile

Regulus knows they’re watching – mother, father and cousins. He can’t see them directly, but all of his senses are aware of their heavy presence. He’s pretty sure he’d recognize each of them just from the way they’re breathing.

Go away, he thinks as if they could hear him. And as if they would do what he told them. You weren’t supposed to be here.

Stop this. You’re distracting yourself. Right. He has to focus. He has a tournament to win.

For now it’s just been a lazy play of cat and mouse, really. He and Sirius circling each other, shuffling in small steps, their knees bent and swords drawn out forward. They’ve been only exchanging fake cuts and feints, testing themselves, looking for weaknesses and gaps in defence. No one said it’s pointless even though it really is. They have trained together since they were six, they knew each other’s thoughts, habits, actions and reactions better than anyone else. Duelling was more like breathing than an actual exercise. They’ve done this countless amount of times – so it’s not a surprise when Sirius finally snaps forward, pirouetting to gain momentum and makes a slash towards Regulus’ arm.

What a show off, Regulus thinks.

But that’s what his brother has always been. He preferred spectacular fighting style to Regulus’ cautious and more balanced, which often led him to recklessness. When Sirius attacked, Regulus withdrew and focused on his defence instead, waiting for his opponent to get tired and then destroyed him with all the power. Sirius loved splurging and teasing. Regulus chose cold calculation and rationality. While Sirius was the fire, Regulus was water and that made them complete perfectly, like two sides of the one coin. Unless it didn’t. Then their arguments could cause the whole world to burn and turn into dust by the power of Black brothers’ anger.

Regulus sidesteps, cutting shallowly the other boy’s hip and kicking his ankle simultaneously. He watches as Sirius falls over on his back and lies, panting harshly. He comes closer and brings the tip of his sword to his brother’s neck. He doesn’t worry about the cut – it’s just a small injury and they are both adjusted. Their parents made them train with real swords when they were still little kids, so worse things happened.

“Right, you won,” Sirius grumbles and then groans with faked agony. Apparently he’s having a bad day – winning was rarely that easy. Regulus wants to put his sword down and help his brother get up, but then someone intrudes.

“Hold on.” Walburga’s sharp voice resounds right behind him, like a whip blow, almost making him flinch. It always takes too much effort to stay still.

You’re a stone. Indifferent, cold stone. You’re not a human. You don’t feel. You’re empty, he tells himself. It helps when he doesn’t think of himself as a person. As a human being. When he’s a dead form he can just fade and do what he’s told to. So now he just grinds his teeth and obeys.

“Reggie, what’s going on? “ Sirius asks with unease written all over his face. “You won, put the sword down.”

“Cut his throat,” Walburga whispers in Regulus’ ear. His hand is trembling now under the weight of the sword and pure fear writhing in his stomach.

“No. Reggie, no. Don’t listen to her,” Sirius panics.

The shadows are growing darker and tightening around them. Suddenly they’re all speaking – Walburga, Orion, Bellatrix, Narcissa, Lucius. Yelling and screaming. Or whispering and humming gently. All at once, drilling into Regulus’ head, trying to tear him apart.

“Cut his throat.”

“Do it, now.”

“Slash him.”

“Dirty traitor.”

“You’re even worse, Regulus. You’re weak.”

“You’re a taint. A stain on the honour of your family.”

“Rotten.”

“Poor boy.”

“Even his own brother abandoned him.”

He can’t breathe. He can’t move, but he can’t stop shaking and his head is throbbing with insufferable pain, burning his mind out. He feels like he’s already half shattered in pieces and he’s still falling.

He wants to do something, he really does. But the shadows are holding him firmly and they won’t let him go, so he watches.

He watches as Bellatrix tears Sirius’ shirt and presses the tip of her knife to his chest. He’s drowning in the terror in his eyes.

He watches as she makes the first cut. And then the second. And third, and-

T

The blood starts running down.

R

Red tears dripping lazily.

A

Bellatrix bursts out laughing uncontrollably.

I

Sirius screams.

T

Crimson pool on the floor.

O

Darkness is suffocating.

R

Everything’s gone.

Regulus can’t see nor hear anything.

“Sirius?” he asks quietly.

No one answers.

“Sirius?!” Now he’s yelling into the emptiness, still shaking and sobbing. “Sirius, where are you?! Please, don’t leave me here!”

Echoes bouncing off each other. Silence. And then…

“Don’t leave you here? Why wouldn’t I leave you? Have you ever helped me? Have you protected me? You left me, Regulus.”

“No, no, please, I’m sorry, I’ll be a better brother, I promise, just don’t leave me here, don’t-“

“You left me first.”

You left me first.

You left me first.

You left me.

✦

Regulus wakes up, panting harshly. It takes him a long while to realise that he’s not dreaming anymore, but even then he can still feel the dread clinging to his heart and coating it with a thick layer. But it never really disappears, does it? Not if you belong to the House of Black.

He lies in his bed for a while, frozen and almost not breathing, contemplating the silence. He doesn’t dare to make even the slightest move, afraid to shatter this beautiful peace. But he knows he can’t indulge himself. He has a feeling that his rest after returning to Camelot won’t last long.

Eventually he manages to get himself up and put on his robes, still refusing to think about the nightmare. He can’t do this - not today, not when he has to attend the Dark Lord’s meeting. Seeing his whole family and their acquaintances in one place is terrifying enough, let alone muses about his brother.

When he enters the Council chamber, he traces with his eyes his friends - Barty and Pandora, and settles down next to them. They exchange concerned looks and stare at him hesitantly.

“You look awful,” Pandora whispers. “Another nightmare?”

Regulus gives her a sharp glare.

“You know you can talk to us,” she starts but he interrupts her.

“Not here,” he hisses. He sends them meaningful glances and then looks away, focusing instead on analysing the rest of the room.

His parents are there, naturally, whispering in the corner with Bellatrix, Narcissa and their husbands. The Minister of Finance sips slowly wine from his glass, listening to lady Greengrass talking to him vividly. After a while Lestranges join and enter their discussion, smiling and nodding politely. Half of the gathered are already sitting at the table, contemplating paintings on the wall (even though they’ve seen them a thousand times - Regulus could probably point all of them with his eyes closed and name the authors awoken in the middle of the night ) or making quiet conversations. Younger members have taken their seats next to Regulus, Barty and Pandora - at the end of the table, according to hierarchy. They are useless, in fact - they’re not really engaged in the Council’s actions, they only belong to the inner circle because of their parents' status. The one thing they’re capable of doing, is unnerving others - of course, excluding the aristocracy. They can’t risk infuriating them, so they vent their emotions on servants instead. Pathetic.

It’s all a performance. And the death eaters are just puppets, and also fools if they don’t see it. They’re all puppets and the king holds all the strings, making them dance however he likes it. If he likes them alive - he’ll have them alive. Until he doesn’t. His mercy never lasts long, if it’s out there somewhere at all.

And there he comes. Speaking of the devil.

King Voldemort enters the chamber with a sweeping step, filling the room with his majestic presence. By the time he arrived, everyone’s already been sitting in their places and greets their monarch with respectful nods. At first glance, he doesn’t look like the most powerful man in Albion. He’s not especially tall, or attractive. He doesn’t have those royal, aristocratic facial features. Without his expensive robes, no one would be able to recognize him as a king. But, apart from his appearance, there was still something in him - as if he was born ready to rule the world. That something caused you to suffocate under his glance, made your insides twist, blood freeze in veins and terror crawl under skin in its greatest endeavour to tear you apart in thousands of the tiniest pieces.

“I am honoured to welcome you to the next Royal Council meeting,” he begins, after settling down. This sentence is carved inside of Regulus’ mind until his death. Its irony sometimes almost makes him laugh. He knows that it means everything excluding what it seems to mean. He clears his mind and tries to listen closely, when the Dark Lord continues, “Today we have many things to discuss. But first, let's welcome Lady Minerva McGonagall to our circle.” He grins at her politely when she stands up, so everyone can see her now.

Shit, thinks Regulus. He must’ve been in worse shape today than he thought. There’s a new member, and he didn’t notice her at all. About Regulus Black you could say almost everything but the inattention. It just didn’t happen to him. He was probably the most observant person in this whole bloody castle, how could he just overlook a stranger? Pandora was right, those nightmares were really killing him.

It’s all Lupin’s fault. If he wasn’t so stubborn about the dreamless sleep potion-

Shut up.

McGonagall seems to be a blunt and strong woman. She has this special aura with Voldemort in common - the power pours all over out of her - but unlike the king, it fills you with respect, but not fear. That’s a good sign. Or maybe not. The more competent people, the less idiots. The less idiots, the more effective Dark Lord’s actions will appear.

“Lady Mcgonagall is a witch hunter,” the king says, and the silence falls. “In conjunction with the last rebels’ attacks approaching Camelot, I have decided to increase the restrictions and the intensity of the magic hunt. Lady McGonagall will take charge in the investigation. Every chamber in the castle will be searched and every inhabitant examined. If any sign of magic is found, the guilty will immediately end in flames. Is that clear?” His eyes are like little daggers and drill thousand holes in every single body, one by one. Regulus doesn’t reciprocate the glare - no one does, no one dares to. They just tilt their heads down and wait until Voldemort finally looks away.

Regulus is trying very hard not to vomit and his friends give him dreadful stares again.

Things are about to get interesting.

✦

“We need to talk,” Barty hisses as they’re leaving the chamber the fastest they can without looking suspicious.

“Yes, I gathered,” Regulus replies. “We have to talk to Re-”

“Boys,” says Pandora cautiously, tapping their arms gently.

They all stop and watch McGonagall approaching them with grace.

“Regulus Black, Barty Crouch Junior and Pandora Lestrange, if my eyes aren’t wrong. I think we haven’t been properly introduced yet,” she says, arching an eyebrow.

“Lady McGonagall,” Regulus replies, nodding in greeting. He can’t kiss her hand as he was taught, because McGonagall doesn’t give him a chance to. A very blunt woman indeed.

“If you’re free now, I would like to talk to you, mr Black. And with your friends when we’re done. Follow me.” She doesn’t even leave him a time to reply as she starts marching through the corridor.

Regulus exchanges anxious, quick gazes with his friends. Pandora tries to smile reassuringly, but she fails and instead makes something in a shape of terrified grimace. Barty only looks at him and Regulus can almost hear his sarcastic “good riddance”.

Good riddance, indeed. He’ll see them in a while if he manages to stay alive.

He follows McGonagall hurriedly, in complete silence. He tries to act naturally and calm his breath. He shoves off his fear, remembering all of the times when he desperately attempted to keep his expression unwavering and stop hands from shaking frantically. His parents made sure to teach him how to give an impression of a cold stone. He knew how to lie, how to act, fake and pretend - sometimes he pretended so convincingly that he could fool himself. He could frame his brain into believing that he’s emptiness, and an emptiness can’t feel, can it? The problem is, he often drained so deep in his simulation that he didn’t know how to drag himself back up to the surface.

But it doesn’t matter when it comes to survival. It doesn’t matter that Regulus constantly feels like he’s drowning, stuck among the waves, imprisoned in his own mind. It doesn’t matter that he can’t trust not only others, but even himself - because he can’t tell what’s an illusion, a trick and what’s real. Perhaps nothing is. Perhaps that’s the point.

What matters is that he’s still alive. And he doesn’t intend to change it, so he covers himself up with his invisible armour once again. And pretends.

He looks up, observing the surroundings carefully, determined to memorise the way to McGonagall’s office. He could tell where almost every inhabitant of the castle lives and he’s not going to make an exception now. Especially after his long absence in Camelot.

And then he sees this.

He forgot how much he hates this corridor.

The walls are covered in all of the ex-monarchs pictures. So, naturally, they’re full of Blacks. Regulus loathes watching paintings presenting his ancestors - because until he sees the similarity between him and his family, he can just deny himself again. He can just ignore the truth and pretend he’s not like all of them. But in fact, he is. Not only regarding his appearance - also his personality. His family repels him, but he can’t help that he notices himself in every Orion’s breath, every Walburga’s move, every word coming from Narcissa or Bella’s mouth. They are here, with him, forever. He likes to run. He likes to pretend that one day he’ll be free, but he won’t. Because they will always stay hidden somewhere in the back of his mind - crammed in the darkness, pushed into the boxes with childhood mares and shadows.

He likes to comfort himself with the knowledge that he’s everything the House of Black has always despised. He’s degeneration. If they only knew, they’d kill him without hesitation. But that fact doesn’t change that people will never perceive him as anything but the Black.

There’s one painting that Regulus hates particularly. He can bear his namesakes - Reguluses and Arcturuses. Surprisingly, they’re not the ones who hit him the most. The real torture is Sirius Black - Grindelwald’s predecessor. Because he looks exactly like his brother. As if someone tore skin off him and put it on the canvas. Watching this picture, these dark curls and blue eyes, like raging waves, ready to devour you, pull you into their cold embraces - this suffocating feeling of death. These eyes giving you this stabbing, lingering look. You can nearly sense someone’s breath brushing your neck, causing you to shiver uncontrollably. You can nearly hear someone’s dry cackle, that sarcastic laugh without happiness used by people drained of hope. You can nearly hear him whisper, “You left me first.”

You left me.

You did it.

This is all you.

It’s always been.

Not enough. Never fucking enough. Forever so close, so desperate to catch a glimpse, brush it with the tip of finger, but never close enough.

What are you even looking for?

Happiness?

Escape?

Your brother?

Since Sirius ran away, Regulus has been making his own investigation. When he was younger, he used to sneak out of the castle and search the town in the pathetic attempt to get his brother back. He hoped Sirius was staying somewhere there, hidden, waiting for Regulus to contact him. Some days this stupid belief was the only thing that could force him to get out of the bed. The hope that he’ll see him again.

Well, he saw indeed. But not the way he intended. In the nightmares.

Regulus has never told his brother he’s a wizard. He was too scared. Even though those were times when they meant everything to each other, he was still too terrified to trust Sirius. He wonders what he would say now.

Magic wasn’t always forbidden in Camelot - but many years have passed since people like Regulus or Remus were free. It became illegal when Licorus Black’s family was murdered by his own wife, who turned out to be a witch. She found out that her husband cheated on her with his lover, so in an act of revenge Magenta Tripe killed her and Licorus’ sisters. Eduardus, the younger brother who took over the throne, extremely reformed the law, terrified of all the damage it has done. He convinced people sorcery was a sickness, a poison ruining all that has even a spark of good in itself, leaving it rotten and spoiled. As if spells weren’t just a weapon, like a sword.

The Black family has chased after witches and wizards for centuries. They were the most famous rhodium of magic hunters in Camelot. Since they were little kids, Regulus and Sirius have been trained to become murderers in future. Just like Minerva McGonagall. Which is why she makes his breath hitch in his throat with one look.

Grindelwald’s reign brought a bit of peace. Well, at least peace regarding the magic. Certainly he wasn’t a good king, and he made ruling the world his life goal. Sorcery was still illegal, but Grindelwald wasn’t afraid of it, and he didn’t put pressure on destroying it. That’s why some people like to create theories about him being a wizard in secret.

But then Voldemort emerged with a prior of his hunters - Death Eaters - who appeared as saints because they were the only ones that could get rid of all those dangerous and devastated, dark creatures, wandering freely around the world and killing innocent people.

Bullshit. There were no worse murderers than them.

Regulus almost sighs with relief when McGonagall finally stops and opens the door to her chambers. She lets him inside and points to the desk in front of a window.

“Sit down,” she says as she takes her own seat.

Regulus sits down.

“Can I get you some tea?” she asks politely.

“No, thank you.”

“Are you sure? It will be a long talk,” she arches an eyebrow at him. She doesn’t even give him a chance to reply (again) as she continues, “Let’s start with a routine examination. It’s not the major point of this visit, but since you’re here we can do this now to clarify some things.” She gives him a lingering look from behind her long eyelashes.

“Not the major point?” Regulus narrows his eyes. “What’s the major point then?”

“Ah, now I can see your curiosity,” she lifts the corner of her lips in imitation of a smile, suddenly satisfied. “As I said, later. Now, can you tell me… Have you seen any signs of magic in the castle?”

Every day. You have a sign in front of yourself.

“I have not.”

“Have you heard anyone talking about magic?”

Oh, if you knew.

“No.”

“Have you seen any books connected with dark arts? Any artefacts, and tools that seemed suspicious or emanated with strange energy?”

Yes, I’ve read them all. I’ve studied them. I’ve casted my own spells and I’ve brewed my own potions, and I’m proud of it.

“No.”

“Have you seen some of your friends, acquaintances behaving strangely? Leaving meetings too soon? Having too many secrets? Disappearing without explanation? Often suffering from lingering pain? Getting distracted too easily? Too sensitive about noises and lights? Especially when the symptoms worsen for a few days in a month?”

You mean do I know any werewolves? Yes, I do.

“No, I haven’t,” he says but McGonagall looks as if she expects more. “I haven’t noticed any of the people I know showing any signs of unusual behaviour.”

“Good. I have no more questions,” she says, clearly content.

That leaves Regulus relieved, but startled.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. You’re a Black, we both know you’re not a wizard. I have already suspects to torture, and I assure you’re not on the list. Now, let’s get to the more interesting part of the conversation.”

Regulus can finally breathe. He knows it’s not the end yet, but he feels an intense urge to laugh and cry simultaneously out of relief and irony both.

“Since when have you been training for a hunt?”

“Since I was six.” Regulus wonders where it is going, and he thinks he already knows the answer. But he refuses to accept it fully until he’ll receive a confirmation.

“Thirteen years of practice, then. Have you attended any missions yet?”

“I’ve been an assistance to my parents and cousins since I was thirteen. When I was fifteen, I completed several missions. At the age of eighteen I was sent to the Northumbrians and learned from their hunters. I was meant to stay four years, but my parents requested for me to come back to Camelot in relation to the rebellion. They thought I might be helpful. I arrived a week ago.”

McGonagall hums. “That’s a pity you haven’t finished your apprenticeship with Northumbrians. They apply innovative techniques, very useful, but that’s what I’m here for. I’ve lived with the northern tribes for fifteen years, and was summoned by the king to our homeland as well as you in conjunction with the rebels' actions. Walburga and Orion Black asked me if I could lead you to the end of your apprentice’s path, and I agreed.”

That is something interesting. And terrifying.

“So, since now you are my apprentice. Your education will resume next week. I expect to see you at six o’clock Monday morning waiting for me by my office. I will not tolerate any tardiness or disobedience. Is that clear?”

Her eyes are inspecting Regulus thoroughly, searching for any signs of rebellion. It’s almost like physical touch, harsh and brutal.

He replies with an unwavering expression of a cold stone and unshakable glare. “Yes, it is clear.”

“Good,” she nods with satisfaction. “You’re dismissed now. Tell your friends they’re next in line for interrogation.”

✦

“God, Reg, what happened? You look like a ghost,” Lupin comments on Regulus’ paleness as he enters his chamber with Barty and Pandora. “You all actually look as if you’re going to faint.”

They fall into chairs, exhausted by the dose of stress they took today.

“I’ll make you some tea.” Remus stands up and starts bustling around the kitchen. He tries to carefully bypass all of the flasks, beakers and bottles full of medicines, poisons and potions but he fails and accidentally nudges one of them, sending it down off the table. Barty saves the bottle with his reflex, catching it right by the floor. Just a split second later and it would be a wreck.

“Oh, thank God, it was archangelica officinalis decoction, my supplies are running out of it and I can’t find any of it near Camelot. I’d be ruined without it.” Remus sighs with relief.

Barty snorts with laughter. “You should be thanking me, not God. And none of us did understand any of what you just said.”

Regulus clears his throat. “Actually, I did-”

“Shut up, don’t you even dare to finish this sentence. You are all awful little nerds.” Barty throws his hands up in indignation, still holding the bottle with archangelica officinalis, clearly oblivious to this fact. Remus scowls at this view with pure terror.

“Bartemius Crouch, put this fucking bottle down right now or I’ll tell Regulus to hex you,” he snapps at him.

“And I’ll do it with pleasure,” Regulus confirms and watches Remus smirk meaningfully.

Pandora looks like she’s suffocating. She clearly attempts to stop herself from laughing.

“Is it a threat, Lupin?” Barty arches an eyebrow at Remus.

“Do you want it to be, Crouch?” he answers with the same expression, teasing.

Regulus grins and shakes his head. He feels as the fear slightly melts and lets go of his body. He knows it’ll return, but now he’s happy to just be there with his friends.

He’s known Barty and Pandora for ages, since they were little kids. They used to play together with Sirius and after he had left they’ve been unimaginable support to him. And shortly afterwards, Remus Lupin arrived at Camelot. He was madam Pomfrey’s - the castle medic - apprentice. He always seemed to be a quiet, sensible and mysterious child - and Regulus liked him almost immediately. Well, after they made up.

Their first meeting didn’t go in a friendly atmosphere. It was actually pretty harsh and finished with threats. Regulus remembers it as if it was yesterday.

He used to sneak into the medic’s chambers to steal books. About medicine, anatomy, herbology - and mainly about sorcery. He knew Poppy must have noticed it, but she never said anything, so he kept doing it and studied them as if his life depended on that. He was horrified when some day he saw in the office a tall, lanky boy with dark blond hair and scares crossing his face instead of an older woman with a warm smile. As it turned out, Lupin wasn’t fond of this unexpectable meeting either. When he caught Regulus with a book in his hand, he cornered him by the bookcase and started interrogating him.

“Who the hell are you? And what are you doing in madam Pomfrey’s office?” he snapped.

“What are you doing here? Madam Pomfrey allows me to come here. But I’m pretty sure I have never seen you here before,” Regulus huffed, scowling.

“I’m her new apprentice. And I won’t explain myself to you. I’ll ask politely just one time - who are you?”

“Regulus Black,” he choked out, clenching his jaw.

Astonishment along with suspicion flickered in Lupin’s eyes. “And I’m a fairytale.” He scoffed. “Am I supposed to believe that a Black family heir is wandering around Poppy’s office like it was the most ordinary thing to do?”

Regulus heaved a sigh, rolling his eyes. He drew out his palm towards Lupin. “See, this ring. Recognise our symbol?” He pointed at the signet with a figure of a crow carved on silver, glistening on his finger in the soft light emanated by the fireplace.

Remus squinted and shot his sharp glare through Regulus, again. It started to be tiring. He snapped the book out of Regulus’ hand and read the title. He looked up, now clearly scared instead. “Witchcraft?” he whispered so quietly, that Regulus had barely caught it, before the soft sound faded into the air. “What are you playing at, Black?”

“Look, just give it back,” Regulus started panicking. He felt his breath stutter and hands sweat uncontrollably. “Just let me take it and I’ll go, you can ask Poppy, she knows I’m borrowing books.”

“This is not just some book! This is…” Lupin burst out. “How does even madam Pomfrey have it?” he asked, as if Regulus could know the answer. “I’m not going to let you go with this anywhere.”

“Alright,” Regulus said slowly and warily. “Can I just go without it, then?”

“You’re not going out of this room until you explain yourself.”

Regulus remained silent.

“I’m listening,” Lupin pushed.

Just silence, cold and still.

The air was too thick.

“I’ll tell you what it looks like. And it looks like you’re doing something extremely illegal under the death punishment, whatever you’re actually doing.”

Regulus didn’t make even the slightest move. He didn’t blink, he didn’t breathe. He didn’t even dare to think, terrified. He just stared at Remus with a blank expression.

Lupin sighed. His glare was piercing Regulus - intense, full of angst but also…

But also… Excitement?

“Are you a wizard?” he asked.

“I would’ve been dead until now if I were,” Regulus replied calmly.

“So what’s all this then?” Lupin made an undefined move with his arm.

“I’m a hunter. I’m trying to find something out about the enemy. You think they don't teach us about sorcerers?” He tried to sound sensibly and convincingly.

“If you’re not a wizard, as you maintain, then why are you so scared?” Remus asked.

“Why would I be scared? What could I be scared of? You?” Regulus mocked him nonchalantly, lifting up his jaw slightly, praying to sound confident enough.

“You are a good actor, Black, I admit it. But you won’t fool me.”

Regulus looked him in the eyes and saw it. The confirmation. And he knew that indeed, he couldn’t deceive Remus Lupin. He hadn’t found out why yet. He hadn’t known about Remus’ unusual senses - that all this time he’d been able to just smell his fear, hear his heartbeat. He had him figured out the minute he entered the chambers.

That was the first lesson he’d even learned about Lupin - don’t try to play with him.

That evening they waited for Madam Pomfrey, tensed and frozen in silence. And when she came back, they had a small chat. Regulus found out that Remus was indeed a wizard, too. And Poppy’s books weren’t actually hers - she stored them for an old friend.

Probably dead by now, Regulus claimed.

And since that evening Regulus has been visiting Poppy’s chambers almost every day. Sometimes they didn’t talk at all. Sometimes they laughed together or had meltdowns together. There came into being something in the shape of a silent and ineffable pact between the two of them. They had never really talked about it properly, but they knew they could trust each other.

One day Regulus stopped smuggling books, and instead he stayed with Lupin and studied them with him. Remus tested the spells with Regulus, made his own notes, pointed out his mistakes and suggested better solutions. And when Regulus found out about Lupin’s lycanthropy, he worked with Barty and Pandora in secret until they sorted it all out and discovered the perfect denouement which included becoming animagi to keep Remus company on the full moons. Well, only Regulus could manage it, but Barty and Pandora helped with the process.

The moons were something Regulus missed the most during his stay in Northumbria. This feeling like he was finally free. Like he’s broken out of his cage and didn’t have to come back ever again. Like he could just fall off the world, into the emptiness. The feeling of wind stroking his fur and moonlight caressing his skin. Sleeping under the blanket sewed of stars. Diving under the black canvas, so close that he could nearly touch the sky. The taste of existence. Enlightenment. Fierce. Passion. The feeling of being someone else. The feeling of finally living instead of surviving.

Remus probably didn’t realise what a precious treasure he gave to Regulus. That he gave him a reason to live.

And their trust, their mutual support, it all led to this moment.

“Alright, children,” Pandora reprimands them, stifling a laugh. “Remus, are you sure you’ll manage with the tea?” she asks innocently.

Lupin sends her an unimpressed look. “Yes, I will, thank you for your concern.” He turns his back on them and reaches for cups.

Pandora coughs. “We actually have a serious problem.”

“Well, technically only Reg and Lupin have-” Barty starts.

“Be careful, Crouch, you might not manage to wake up next morning,” Regulus stabs him with a sinister look.

“I’m just saying-”

“No one here asked about your opinion, thanks,” Remus hums. “Alright, so what’s all this about then? You lot stink with fear like you’ve been chased by a giant bear.”

Silence falls in the room.

“The king has made some… new decisions,” Pandora eventually settles on.

“He hired McGonagall,” Regulus says bluntly.

“Oh,” Remus manages to choke out. “Wait, you mean… That McGonagall? The hunter McGonagall? She’s even more famous than your bloody family, Reg, that’s-”

“A tragedy,” Regulus interrupts him. “As Pandora said, we have a pretty serious problem now. But it’s not the end.”

“God, what else?” Remus muffles a groan.

“She dragged us for an interrogation straight after the Council meeting into her office and announced I’m her apprentice now.”

“Shit.” Remus looks at him bewildered.

“Shit indeed,” he confirms.

“Your parents never found out despite years of training,” Pandora tries to comfort him. She’s always been the optimistic one. Regulus often wonders how she does this. “Even Sirius didn’t find out.” She smiles reassuringly.

“Well, there’s another problem,” Barty points out. “Inspections.”

Remus’ glare flits around his bookcase and a cupboard with potions. They all exchange anxious looks.

“I have potions in my chamber too,” Regulus says.

“Just throw them away,” Barty suggests.

Regulus and Remus look at him with pure horror in their stare.

“Oh, don’t look as if I told you to murder a child.” Barty rolls his eyes.

“You did,” Remus assaults him. “They’re our children. Years of work.”

“You can just make new ones-”

“It will take months! What if we need them abruptly?”

“Well, it’s either this or burning on a stack,” Barty snaps.

“No one’s burning on the stack, okay?” Pandora tries to reign the chaos in again. “And no one’s throwing anything away.” She squints at Barty as he opens his mouth. He mutters something under his breath and scowls, but stays quiet.

“Remus, can you remember those spells we learnt a week ago?” Regulus muses.

“The illusion one?” he asks and a lopsided grin blooms across his face when he gets the idea. “We could just charm the magic books so they’ll look like the ones about herbology. And potions.”

“I don’t think there’s a need to charm potions,” Barty says, apparently done with sulking. “They look exactly like all of your brews. No one will notice. And Regulus can just bring his potions here.”

“Who will command those inspections?” Remus asks. “Soldiers surely won’t see a difference between a potion and a medicinal decoction, but what if McGonagall will be there?”

“Shit,” Regulus hisses. “She will be there, believe me, especially in your chambers.”

“What’s special about his chambers?” Barty frowns.

“He’s a medic. They are always the first suspects.” Regulus heaves a sigh. “It’s all pointless, even with books. I was taught how to recognise charmed objects. I’m sure she can do this too.” He pierces the floor with his gloomy stare. He feels like fate is mocking him. Like the whole world had made an ineffable promise to impede his life. He’s overwhelmed and he knows he’ll crash soon.

Pandora squeezes his hand and starts drawing small circles on his skin. She always does it to calm him down. No one says anything for a long while.

Lupin serves them the tea and drops to his chair, sipping slowly from his cup. “How much time do we have?” He eventually breaks the silence.

“I don’t know. McGonagall didn’t say anything. But considering how fast she started examinations, not much,” Regulus replies.

Suddenly, Lupin bursts out laughing. “We’re all so stupid!” he gasps, with tears in his eyes, and a frantic look.

“You have an idea,” Regulus’ lips curl up.

“Oh, I have a bloody brilliant idea. We’ve been all so stupid, all this time. We should have done this years ago.”

“Lupin, spit it out or I swear-” Barty threatens.

“Come & Go room, you idiots. We’ll hide all evidence.”

✦

“Who’s that?” Regulus flinches jerkily at the sound of Bellatrix’s sharp voice echoing through the corridor. He barely contrives to hide the map in the internal pocket of his robes, whispering as quietly as possible, “mischief managed”. He hurriedly reigns himself in, smoothing facial features into a blank expression with a dead stare. He ignores his heart racing in his chest as if it’s going to tear apart skin and break free. Blood pulsing so intensively that his skull is ready to explode under its pressure. He sweeps it all under the carpet, tugs in trunks and shoves away.

Bella approaches him slowly with suspicion written all over her face and an oil lamp in hand. Her features soften a bit, when she realises it’s Regulus and instead her lips curl up in a lopsided smirk. “Oh, little Reggie. What are you doing here, in the middle of the night? Are you up to something?” she asks, but rather fondly than accusingly. She’s always liked Regulus much more than Sirius, because he knew the rules. He knew how to dance when she told him to, and how to bite when she expected entertainment.

“I could ask you the same question, Bella,” he replies flatly.

“Then ask,” she grins mischievously.

“I could,” he repeats lingeringly, “but it’s none of my business.”

Bella laughs hoarsely. Like a crow. Regulus has imagined her as a meaner and bigger version of a bird engraved on her signet since he laid his eyes on her for the first time.

“Puppy’s grown claws.” Her eyes shine frantically. “There’s no need to be so grumpy, baby Black. I’ve missed you, you know?” she hums. “You didn’t even say goodbye to your favourite cousin. Personally, I feel pretty insulted.” She gives him a look of a hurt dog. “It really pains me, Reggie. I just wanted to inform you that you owe me now, if you haven’t realised it yet by yourself.”

Fucking Bellatrix. He really does not have time for this. He can feel the bottles full of potions digging into his body through the material of pockets.

Bella rolls her eyes when he doesn’t react. “When did you become so dull? It’s because of the Northumbrians, isn’t it? They’ve spoiled you. You didn’t even come to visit me after your return. You didn’t talk to us at the meeting.” She flits her gaze around him once again and makes a disappointed noise. “Well, have fun. Don’t get any girls pregnant,” she winks with a smirk, as she turns and walks away.

God, Regulus screams internally. She thinks I’m seeing a girl.

Well, at least she doesn’t consider him as a gay wizard. Double crime.

He exhales slowly, checks the map to make sure nobody’s around, and heads in the Come&Go room direction.

Meanwhile, he muses about Bellatrix. What is she doing so late at night? What is she up to? She could be possibly seeing someone herself, but she was married. Would she risk being caught?

Abruptly, a thought pops into Regulus’ head.

Maybe she was spying on him?

Maybe she knows.

Maybe they all know-

Calm down. Now you’re just being paranoid.

Perhaps she just has trouble with sleep. How many times did he sneak into the astronomy tower at night? It has to be it, right? It had to be just an accidental meeting.

But there’s no such thing as coincidence in the Black family.

Maybe I should follow her? Regulus almost stops at the mere thought.

No, this is a stupid idea. Very stupid idea.

But he has to know. If Bella suspects anything… And even if she doesn’t, she is definitely plotting something. He needs to know what and that is a foregone conclusion. But he can’t do this right now, not when he’s practically coated with potions, so he just speeds up. He rushes into the room nearly running and empties his pockets on the table in hurry. Barty, Remus and Pandora stare at him, bewildered as if he's grown a second head.

“What the hell happened again?” Barty asks.

“Not now,” Regulus snarls, taking out the map. He traces Bellatrix and narrows his eyes abruptly.

She’s in Cyrus Greengrass’ chambers. So she’s really just meeting a lover? No. Cyrus is not with her.

His friends sit at the table, exchanging confused glances, peeking at Regulus.

“What are you looking for?” Remus murmurs, as Regulus swivels the map, searching it thoroughly.

“Cyrus Greengrass,” he mumbles, fully engaged in the quest, without paying attention to the surroundings.

“Why him?” Pandora’s startled.

“That’s what I’d like to know.” Regulus frowns, infuriated. “I can’t see him anywhere.”

“Maybe he’s not in the castle,” Remus suggests.

Regulus hums. “Maybe. But what is he doing there in the middle of the night?”

“Why does it matter?” Barty gets inpatient and squirms.

“Bellatrix is in his chamber,” Regulus gives him a vague answer.

“What’s she doing there?”

“I’m going to find out.” Regulus folds the map. “I’m following her.”

Pandora presses her lips into a thin line and looks at him with concern. “Reg, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

He sends her a fierce glare. “She’s up to something. I need to know.”

“Why? It’s none of our business, really. We have our own problems,” Barty points out.

“If there’s a chance to find out something more, I have to take it.”

“Regulus-”

“Don’t lecture me, Crouch,” he snaps.

“You don’t have to keep an eye on her just because you’re related. Are you feeling responsible or what?”

Regulus quietens, his furious stare pins Barty to his chair.

“Why do you want to get involved suddenly? You haven’t seemed to care about this whole rebellion by now. What has changed? Why do you want to risk your safety? Do you realise you’re risking our lives too?!” Barty shouts.

“Barty, I think it’s-” Remus tries to calm him down.

“Don’t interrupt me, Lupin!” Barty yells at him and focuses back on Regulus. “Why do you need to play a hero so badly? Do you think it’s going to bring your brother back? Are we going to join the Order now?” he mocks.

Suffocating silence falls in the room.

Remus and Pandora exchange uneasy glances. Barty looks like he already regrets what he’s just said. He knows how sensitive Regulus is about Sirius, but he can’t take back his words.

Regulus is frozen. He can’t move.

You left me first. You left me, Regulus. You left me, you left me, you-

If he didn’t feel so dizzy, he’d punch Barty. However, he’s barely able to breathe, so he only stares at him, with emptiness carved on his face. He snaps up, grips the map and leaves the room, avoiding his friends’ worried looks. Outside he checks the map again, which makes him instantly forget about the argument with Barty.

Bellatrix is not in Greengrass’ chamber anymore. She’s in Voldemort’s.

✦

“...good…find out…his accomplice” muffled whispers are floating in the air, whirling and trying to slip into Regulus’ ear, but they’re reduced by the fat, cold, stone castle walls.

Come on, Regulus urges them internally. Just a bit louder. He’s trying to combine all the vague hints, words ripped out of context - but it’s not really efficient. He needs to hear the whole conversation.

He releases a small, stuttering breath and takes out his wand carefully. This is a dangerous game. This is lethal. Barty would kill him - throwing charms in the castle full of magic hunters right under Voldemort and Bellatrix’s noses. He hopes his friends weren’t dense enough to follow him, because in that case they’re going to drag him by force back to Come&Go room.

But no one shows up. The corridor is still entirely empty and dark. Lanterns are hanging on the walls, swaying gently, lulled to sleep by a little breeze dancing jauntily in the space. Flames are jiggling and flickering with a soft light, undisturbed for now. Regulus knows they’ll die soon, when the oil runs out. The air stays fresh, cold and unwavering. Silence is unmoved, excluding soft, foggy whispers mixed up together. It’s so peaceful that Regulus could be devoured and swallowed by the surroundings as a whole. And he wouldn’t even resist. He’d let it be, and he’d delight it. He would indeed, if he hadn’t had a job to do.

He whispers a spell so quietly that it sounds more like a sigh than words, and almost instantly the voices connect into a harmony instead of previous deformed scraps.

“I can follow him next time, my lord,” Bellatrix says eagerly.

“No, I don’t think it is necessary,” Voldemort muses.

“But, my lord… We still don’t know who his liaison with the Order is.”

“We don’t need you to spy on him anymore to get this information. We have everything we need.” Regulus can hear disregard in his voice.

“Of course, my lord. What are your next orders?”

There’s a bit of silence, as if the king is pondering over something persistently. Regulus suspects he has already everything planned, and it’s all performance again. “Wait until he returns. Arrest him. Throw in the dungeons. But not in the farthest cell. Somewhere closer, I need everybody to hear him shrieking. Get out of him everything you haven’t found out yet by yourself.”

“Yes, my lord.” Regulus feels sick at the sound of pure euphoria in her voice.

“But don’t kill him. He has to be still alive until tomorrow noon. We’ll prepare a public execution.”

Regulus removes his spell and every trace it could possibly leave, and comes back to his friends, treading carefully.

“Reg,” Barty welcomes him with a concerned and scared expression. “I know you probably want to kill me right now, but I’m really sorry, I should have never-”

“Calm down, Crouch.” Regulus rolls his eyes. “I have no wish to kill you now,” he says, falling into the closest chair.

Suddenly, he feels knackered. Like he was trampled by a herd of elephants. Or even worse. His joints ache as if someone twisted them a thousand times and all limbs throb with solid pain. His own body is too heavy for him, it drags him down and pins into the chair so hard that he’s almost sure he could fuse with the wood if only he stayed long enough.

He had no time to rest for the whole day. Since morning, they’ve been carrying all the books, potions and magic artefacts collected by all those years to the Come&Go room. He hadn’t really got much sleep last night because of all the nightmares - which shows its consequences now. He knows he needs to go to sleep. But he’s scared. He remembers when he was a little kid, and he was convinced that monsters live under his bed. He was paralysed, he couldn’t make himself fall asleep no matter how hard he tried. One day, he wasn’t able to stand it anymore, so he sneaked into Sirius’ room.

He didn’t sleep alone again until he was twelve and his mother caught him and yelled at him. Then he had no choice left - he was forced to learn how to fight his demons himself. And he hasn’t managed it yet. He doesn’t believe in monsters hidden in gaps anymore, but it’s not a big progress.

That’s a paradox. He’s terrified of the possibility of dreaming more even than of the death threat hanging constantly above his head. That’s hilarious, honestly. His lips curl up at the thought.

“Why are you smiling?” Barty peeks at him suspiciously.

“Nothing,” Regulus shakes his head. “I have news.”

“So you did it?” Barty groans with fake despair.

“Good or bad ones?” Remus asks.

“Certainly bad for Greengrass. For us rather good than bad as we’re not suspected,” Regulus answers. “It turns out he was the Order’s spy. Bellatrix must’ve been searching his room. He wasn’t there because he went to a meeting with his liaison in the town.”

Barty whistles. “He’s fucked.”

Regulus sends him stabbing glare. “Yes, I’m aware of that fact. But I’m not sure he is.”

“So what is Voldemort going to do about that?” Pandora interrupts.

Regulus clears his throat. “Torture and execution. Bellatrix is going to… interrogate him through the night. Tomorrow at noon he’s dead,” he assumes.

“But Greengrass? A spy? He’s in the sacred 28,” Barty muses.

“So are you. And me. Look at us both, blood traitors,” Regulus hums.

“But why a public execution?” Remus murmurs.

“Why not?” Regulus arches an eyebrow.

“There was never an execution. And we know it’s not the first spy. They always eliminate the thread silently.”

“They didn’t want to reveal their weaknesses. Someone could think there’s a flaw in the system if there are spies and rebels. But now everybody knows about them, so hiding Greengrass is pointless. And if they make a good scene, they’ll arouse fear. People have been too daring recently. Voldemort thinks it will help to reign them in. If they're scared, they won’t support the Order so eagerly,” Regulus explains.

“That makes sense,” Remus agrees. “Are we going to do something?”

“With Greengrass?” Barty’s startled. “What could we possibly do?”

Remus heaves a sigh. “No, I suppose nothing.”

No one says anything else. No one really can. There aren’t any proper words to find, they just don’t exist - not in the situation when they have just decided to end someone’s life.

Regulus knows it wasn’t him who gave the order - has it registered at the outskirts of his mind, but he can’t accept it. Not when he’s able to prevent a catastrophe and ignores the chance.

You are all the same.

He’s the same as the rest of the family. He’s his mother’s son. He’s a coward. He chokes on every single word that leaves his mouth until he’s suffocating. He breathes every day with thorns piercing his lungs. He despises himself, but it’s not enough.

It’s not enough, because however strong his self-hatred would be, he still won’t do anything about it. Regulus will not change. Regulus is not a saviour. He won’t save himself, not to mention other people.

He watched when Bellatrix tortured Sirius and he did nothing. He left his brother. So when the blade will brush Greengrass’ neck, he’ll stand there and look at it. He’ll look until he’s sick of it. He’ll probably vomit afterwards, but it won’t matter that he’s sorry.

Because he’ll be still breathing. He’ll be alive while Greengrass could have been too.

Because it’s carved in Regulus’ nature to leave people.