The execution
Regulus doesn’t sleep well.
The nightmare starts quite ordinarily - they always do. It could have been a nice dream, actually.
Regulus is in the garden. He knows it, of course - it’s the garden in Blacks’ residence - that’s where they had lived before Orion fell sick. Regulus had hated this house - huge, dark and so empty, that it could swallow you as a whole. Being inside, he had that constant feeling that walls were getting closer with every breath, approaching, tightening as if they wanted to trap him and never let go. Every rustle, bang, every sound of footsteps drawing near made him shiver uncontrollably. Every next minute spent in that house formed a lump in his throat, and every next hour stiffened it.
But the garden was different. It was like ripped out of completely another, mystical and magical world. It was miraculous, beautiful, warm and sunny. Behind the gate, among all the trees and flowers there wasn’t even a glimpse of that suffocating and overwhelming presence. It was a paradise - a medicine for Regulus’ miserable soul. The soothing lullabies of birds, sun kissing his skin and warmth melting layers of coldness coating his heart.
When Regulus sees the garden, he’s in euphoria. But he doesn’t know what’s inside of the box yet. A monster masked with sweetness and kindness. Another good memory - so rare in his case - thrown to the ground and trampled. Crushed and buried, to never see the light again. That’s what Regulus’ mind does - destroys himself.
It all looks beautiful, as it always does. But something is wrong. Regulus can feel it in his bones. Those familiar shivers shooting down his spine, that lump in his throat. That pressure, as if the air suddenly is too thick, weighs too much. It’s dragging him down to the ground, squeezing the blood out of his body and thoughts out of his brain, bringing chaos with it.
No. No, no, no, no.
It can’t be like that. Please. Everything screams inside of his body, because it’s so wrong.
Regulus feels betrayed. It wasn’t supposed to be like that. It’s his garden, his paradise. He’s entitled to have this one, safe place, just for him. Isn’t he?
He looks around and he sees the source of heavy presence. The germ of rottenness.
Rose bush. Black roses.
He’d never seen it here before.
He approaches them cautiously, his body stiff and wary, a tight string meant to snap. He draws his hand forward, fingers nearly touching the flowers, ghosting over the dark blossoms…
Scream.
He sees the vines twirling and writhing, thornes drilling into his hand in an attempt to break through the muscles. He tries to wrench his arm out of the plant’s handle, but the grip is too strong. It’s pulling him inside, sucking in, absorbing. He can’t see anymore. He can’t breathe. He can only feel a tight embrace of roses.
When he wakes up, his body is all sticky from sweat and shaky, and his mind bewildered. It’s not like he hadn’t expected a nightmare at all - he’d abandoned vain hope a long time ago - but he’s startled by the form it took this time. He’d reckoned much more on a view of Greengrass’ head rolling down the wooden dais.
What surprises him even more this morning is the envelope lying on the floor by the door.
It’s an invitation. For dinner. From his loving family.
He really should’ve expected it. Well, he’s partly been waiting for it since he returned from Northumbria. He was actually lucky to get that much time. But he also hoped that Walburga’s forgotten about him as a result of his year’s absence.
In Grimmauld Place he always tried to disappear. He’d been more of a ghost than an actual child then, as if hiding could make him fade into the walls. But it wasn’t really possible to run away - he had to attend the training every single day. That situation changed a bit after Sirius’ escape. They moved to the castle in conjunction with Orion’s sickness. Walburga wanted him to be under the constant care of the best medic in the whole kingdom - Madam Pomfrey. Mother has become more cruel, but also gave him more freedom, if you could ever call it that. Daily training came to an end - instead Regulus was supposed to work together with Bellatrix and Narcissa in the field.
It was a relief and a nightmare both at once. He wasn’t doomed to spending so much time at the house anymore, but he finally had to face the reality. By this time he’d been pretending that he'd never kill anyone. That he’d just refuse, if they made him. That he wouldn’t contribute to someone’s death - to innocent people’s death, people whose only committed crime was being different.
That was tremendously ambitious of him. Regulus had been a fool, pretending there could exist such a thing as honour. There couldn’t. Not when it comes to survival. And, killing his first victim, Regulus had learnt that he’s capable of everything to survive.
It wasn’t much different in Northumbria, excluding the privilege of not seeing his family anymore. Regulus missed his friends, but he was happy to rest from Grimmauld Place. From that suffocating pressure. And he wasn’t entirely alone - he met Dorcas and Evan. He really hopes he’ll get to see them ever again.
The call to Camelot had caught him off guard a bit. He hasn’t adjusted to the castle yet - he’d been there before many times, of course, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to make the map with Barty, Remus and Pandora’s help - but it still felt new after Northumbria. He hoped he’d get more rest, but it wasn’t the point of his visit here, was it? Walburga has something planned, that’s obvious. First McGonagall, now the invitation.
Well. He’s going to find out everything today either way.
✦
“Hello, Regulus,” he hears Madam Pomfrey’s warm voice welcoming him when he enters the room. “Here to see Remus?”
“Yeah,” he murmurs, settling down on the chair. His mind still feels foggy, thoughts are mixed up and chaotic, body sluggish and bemused.
“He’s still asleep. I heard you lot had a rough night,” she frowns with concern. “Regulus, dear… If you need to talk, I’m here for you. For all of you. I know things are… pretty complicated now.”
“Complicated.” A shadow of a grin brushes his lips. “Yes, I guess they are a bit complicated now.”
“If you blame yourself for Greengrass,” she starts hesitantly. “There’s nothing you can do. You can’t prevent it, and if you tried, it would be more silly than bold of you. We both know that courage without deliberation is nothing more than foolishness.”
Regulus releases a sigh, staring at the floor intensively. “I’m aware of that. I don’t blame myself, I don’t even know this man. If he’s going to die, we have to let him.”
Poppy shakes her head with sadness in her eyes. “Being aware of it isn’t the same as accepting the truth. I know you, Regulus. I know what you’ve been through. And I know it has changed you. But you’re still a human being, even though you tend to forget it sometimes. Don’t be so hard on yourself. Let yourself grieve if you need it. And let yourself be happy too, because you deserve it. Whatever you think, you do. You do deserve it. I can’t force you to love yourself. You need time. But I hope someday you’ll see yourself the way I see you.”
Regulus feels his heart clenching in his chest. His eyes are itching, like he’s about to cry.
This isn’t good. Oh, why today? He can’t lose it today. He can’t let himself mourn, because there’s no time. The war is coming. And he has to build his inner walls the strongest he can. He doesn’t have the privilege to wear them down, not anymore.
He looks up and meets her soft gaze. “Thank you, Poppy. I appreciate it, I really do. But I don’t think it’s time for this now.”
“There’s always time for yourself, my dear,” she says with this sincere expression. Regulus hates it, because it always leads him to meltdown. No one’s ever been supportive to him, no one’s offered help. No one, excluding Sirius. But he didn’t know. He didn’t know the truth, and Regulus is not sure it would’ve been the same if he knew. And that eats him alive.
“Poppy?” he asks after a break of silence. “You told me that if I need something I can come to you,” he starts.
Madam Pomfrey, obviously, knows. She sees through him. It makes him feel vulnerable every single time, this strict, meaningful glare of her. “No, Regulus. I’d give you everything but a dreamless sleep potion.”
He heaves a sigh.
“You’re addicted. And you have to learn how to fight your nightmares without magic.”
“I’m honoured you care so much about me, but-”
“No. The answer won’t change. If you stopped using the potion during your stay in Northumbria, as I had told you, you wouldn’t be in this situation,” she lectures him firmly.
Regulus sends her an exasperated gaze, screaming internally. She reciprocates with a judging glare flitting over him, and sighs with concern. He must look as awful as he’s feeling right now. “But, I can give you some infusion. You seem to need it.”
✦
Regulus shoots his careful gaze over the crowd gathered in front of the dais. He’s under the impression that the buildings surrounding the Main Square are one step away from exploding under the pressure of a mob.
Execution is not a rare event. Not in Camelot. It happens usually once a month - all witches and wizards caught during this amount of time say goodbye to their lives and march on a stack. For a few hours, the castle is filled with victims’ terrifying screams and that awful smoke smelling with charred flesh. It made Regulus vomit afterwards every single time, no matter how many performances he’d already seen. He has no doubt he’ll return his breakfast today too.
Execution is not a rare event - but this one is rather special. It always takes place at the castle’s courtyard, unlike today’s one. But the king needs the show - and he needs as many people as possible to watch it. What would be a performance without an audience?
Regulus can hear people’s disturbed whispers floating in the wind. He can sense this dark, gloomy, sinister atmosphere hanging above the crowd. It’s thick and overwhelming, and he knows - he has this feeling that something bad is about to happen. He almost laughs at the mere thought.
Of course something bad is going to happen. This is a fucking execution.
No, it’s not that. It’s not the execution. People aren’t just worried or scared - they’re excited.
Why would they be excited?
Regulus drills through the mob with his sharp, cautious stare. He moves it along, slowly, unwilling to omit any detail. He reaches Voldemort stepping onto the platform with Greengrass already waiting for his sentence, surrounded by the guards keeping an eye on him.
“People of Camelot,” the king starts with a strong, ringing voice. “We’re all gathered here in unpleasant circumstances. Although I am truly upset to do it, it’s my duty to introduce you to this man’s crimes.” He sounds almost sorry, but Regulus is perfectly aware of what’s hidden behind that mask. “Cyrus Greengrass has been sentenced to death as a result of his services for an organisation called the Order of The Phoenix. He’s been spying for rebels for almost a month.” Voldemort flits his firm gaze over the crowd. “I want all of you to know what the punishment looks like. I want you to be perfectly aware of what is waiting for whoever will be sent in his place next. Whoever the daredevil will appear, I want you to watch, absorb the view with all your soul and rethink your life choices. I want you to see what’s happening to this pathetic man,” he points in Greengrass’ direction and continues, “and feel it as if it was you suffering here instead of him. And I also want you to know who else will face consequences of your mistake.” His eyes flicker with a sadistic pleasure, when he orders, “bring in the rest of the prisoners.”
Crowd makes a sound of astonishment and Regulus finds his heart galloping frantically. He watches as the guards drag on the dais a woman and two girls. Greengrass makes a choked noise, like he’s suffocating. He tries to wrench his arms out of the guard’s grip, but he’s too weak after hours of torture in the dungeons. He screams and jerks himself forward, shaking uncontrollably, but his effort remains fruitless.
“The last words?” Voldemort asks lazily, as if he was bored. He makes a familiar lump form in Regulus’ throat.
There are no last words.
Greengrass’ wife goes first. Regulus watches as she kneels. He watches as the executioner approaches her. He watches as he raises the sword and lowers it, aiming at her neck.
A crash.
Blood spatters.
Greengrass shrieks in agony.
Dead silence falls over the crowd.
The next are daughters - Daphne and Astoria.
Regulus doesn’t even flinch. Not even once - he’s dead inside, his body made of stone, stuck to the ground. He’s carved in a block of ice. He can’t feel his stuttering breath nor racing heart anymore. He can’t even feel the terror freezing his blood in veins. He’s numb to the world. When it’s time for Greengrass, Regulus barely registers the surroundings.
If not for Narcissa, he would have probably been dead.
The moment the sword brushes Greengrass’ neck, the world starts burning. Regulus hears a deafening bang and then someone’s arm is dragging him down to the ground. He feels shards of concrete and glass bouncing off him, scratching his clothes and skin. He smells the smoke slipping into his lungs and itching his insides. He coughs and looks up, lifting his head slightly.
There’s panic around him - pure chaos. People are screaming in terror, running circles and bumping into each other, trying to find a way out of the square. Children are crying, calling out for their mothers. Someone kicks Regulus’ leg accidentally, so he stands up, afraid of getting trampled by the crowd. Narcissa rises behind him and puts her hand on his shoulder.
“Can you see anyone?!” She yells and Regulus still barely hears her.
He searches the mob with his eyes and sees Lucius with Walburga helping the king to get up. He points in their direction and starts running at the same moment as Narcissa. Suddenly he hears an odd noise, as if something’s flying in his direction. He dodges, pushing Narcissa on the left and registers with the corner of his eye a vague figure of a dagger bypassing him to sink with a splash in one of the guards’ back, ripping a muffled scream out of him.
Regulus freezes motionless. He’s seen this dagger before. Narcissa curses under her breath as he runs up to the guard and kneels beside his dead body.
“We really do not have time for this now!” she hisses, scowling.
Regulus pulls the dagger out of the body, releasing a stream of blood. He looks at the handle and his heart hitches in his chest and stops beating for a moment. A symbol of a lion engraved on the silver.
No. No, this must be a joke. It’s not really happening. Regulus must’ve stuck in his dream. He’s still sleeping and it’s just his imagination. There’s no other sensible explanation. That is all in your head.
But everything feels too real. The explosion, people screaming in panic, guards being slaughtered with the next dose of daggers flying around. Narcissa tugging his arm harshly and yelling at him, threatening to leave him here. The adrenaline pumping his blood jerkily like he’s about to burst. Half of the guards are already dead along with the executioner, someone’s set the platform on fire. The town hall has turned into ruins. Aristocracy invited to the event is running away through the narrow alley.
This is not a dream, but it still doesn’t mean anything. It can’t. Regulus refuses it. It’s just a casual, cheap dagger bought at the market. Stalls are really full of those.
He eventually reigns himself in and gets up, following Narcissa while she shoves people away with her elbows to open herself the way. They join Lucius, Bellatrix, Walbura, Orion and others, retreating, protected by the soldiers who managed to stay alive and leave the Main Square immersed in chaos.
✦
“How many dead?” Remus presses his lips into a thin line.
“Fourteen out of thirty soldiers are still alive. The rest is either dead or under the debris. There’s been five civilians found thus far. Anyway, they’re still looking,” Regulus explains, sipping his tea slowly.
They’re sitting in the Come&Go room. It’s been about an hour since the accident and the castle is burning with gossip. There’s not a single person that wouldn’t be talking about the execution which turned into an act of rebellion. The king has sent his people into the town to help with searching the ruins and ordered McGonagall to take charge in investigation.
Regulus scowls as he feels the cut on his shoulder suddenly pulse with pain. Madam Pomfrey took care of him, obviously, but it’s still aching.
Pandora shakes her head and frowns with concern. Barty and Remus are too stunned to speak, so they just stick their bewildered stares into Regulus.
“Wait, but like… Explosion?” Barty eventually says. “I mean, how did it even happen?”
Regulus heaves a sigh, exasperated. “I don’t know. But it was the Order's doing. Probably some wizards were involved, too.”
“But still, how did they do that? Do you know how to blow up things?” Barty throws his hands up in a gesture of confusion.
“Is Greengrass alive?” Remus asks.
“Probably not. No one has technically seen his body, but he had no chance. If the executioner hasn’t killed him, then the explosion has,” Regulus muses. “But it’s not really important, considering that his whole family is dead,” he shrugs, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. He clenches his fingers unconsciously on the dagger’s handle.
Remus flits his gaze over Regulus’ palm, and sends him a questioning look. Regulus ignores it. “What’s this?” he eventually asks, pointing in his direction.
“This?” Regulus mumbles, playing with the dagger, sliding it between his fingers, shifting it from one hand to another. He remembers the sticky texture of blood on the silver. Now the knife is all clean and shining in the rays of the sun slipping into the room through a window. No one would be able to claim it contributed to someone’s death. “Nothing… I, uhm, found it.”
“You found it?” Barty replies with a startled expression. “During the execution?”
“During the escape, actually,” Regulus corrects him casually. “I pulled it out of the dead guard’s body.”
Barty looks at him with disbelief and spark of amusement in his eyes, then busts out laughing. “People were running in panic, trying to save their lives and you just thought, “oh, this dagger seems nice, I’ll take it” and stole it?”
Regulus gives him a dry look. “It wasn’t for my entertainment, Barty,” he says flatly.
“Wasn’t it?”
Regulus stabs him with his eyes, wishing he could do it with the dagger instead.
“Don’t look at me like that!”
“Like what?” Regulus raises his eyebrow.
“Like you’re thinking about stabbing me.”
“Oh, that’s exactly what I’m thinking right now,” Regulus is still drilling him with his death stare. He starts tossing the dagger and swivelling without even looking at it.
“You look pretty terrifying when you do that thing.” Remus grins and chuckles under his breath.
“That’s the point,” Regulus answers.
“Can I see it?” Pandora asks, drawing her hand out. Regulus suddenly feels a sting of possessiveness, but he forces himself to put the dagger into her palm. Her gaze flits over the ornaments carved in the handle and almost instantly brightens with comprehension. She looks up at him, concern and apprehension written all over her face. “Oh,” she chokes out eventually.
He clenches his jaw. “Yeah. Oh,” he repeats faintly.
Barty and Remus exchange confused glares. Pandora wordlessly passes the knife to Barty, so he can take a look closer. “Shit.” Barty’s reaction is quite similar to Pandora’s. He hands the dagger over to Remus.
“It’s a dagger,” Remus frowns.
“Congratulations,” Regulus huffs.
“Nice one,” Remus adds with hesitance and looks up. “Okay, I don’t understand what’s going on. Am I supposed to be bewildered?”
“You’re supposed to be terrified,” Barty corrects him. “We’re terrified.”
Pandora swats his shoulder. “No, we’re not. I mean, we are, but not exactly, ” she’s tangled up. “We’re startled,” she eventually settles on.
“It’s… It looks like…” Regulus begins, and gets infuriated with himself. He doesn’t usually stutter. “It looks like my brother’s dagger,” he manages to choke out.
“It doesn’t just look like Sirius’ dagger. It is his dagger,” Barty points out.
“There are lots of knives like that. We bought it at the market. It doesn’t mean anything. It just brought some memories,” Regulus says dryly, taking the dagger from Remus’ palm jerkily.
“Reg.” Pandora gently touches his shoulder. “It has his initials.”
Regulus stares forward blankly, with indifferent expression. “It doesn’t mean anything,” he repeats stubbornly.
“It does,” she says firmly. “And we all know it.”
“What? What does it mean?” He mocks and drills his furious glare through her.
She lifts her chin. “You know what.”
“No, Pandora. Tell me, what does it mean to you? Because it surely doesn’t mean anything to me,” he snaps at her.
“Your brother is somewhere in the town and we’re going to find him,” she announces.
Regulus raises his eyebrows. “Oh, are we?”
“Yes, we are, and either you reign yourself in or we’re doing it without you,” she replies calmly. “So stop being a prick about it.”
“This is not your business, Pandora, so I’ll ask you politely to back off.”
Barty and Remus peeks at them with concern.
“Alright, I think that’s enough for today. Regulus, you need to rest, you’re clearly knackered,” Remus interrupts.
“No, it’s fine,” Regulus says abruptly with fake joy. “It’s brilliant, actually.” He stands up slowly. “Go and find my brother. Just don’t be surprised if he murders you in greeting,” he taunts as he approaches the door. He sends them one last spiteful look and leaves the room.
✦
“Reggie!” Bella’s mouth widens with a predacious grin and eyes spark with enthusiasm when she spots Regulus. She approaches him eagerly and puts her arms around him. He tries not to flinch while she gives him a quick peck on his cheek. “Cissy, come here and welcome our favourite cousin!” she calls out for her sister, letting go of Regulus.
Narcissa gives him a hug too, but a more gentle and subtle one. She knows he doesn’t like physical touch.
She’s always been his favourite - quiet and refined, not as loud and overwhelming as Bellatrix. They both are opposites, like Regulus and Sirius used to be. While Bella was woven of shadows and lost souls following her faithfully, bringing chaos wherever she went, Narcissa gave an impression of an innocent flower. Snow-white, delicate blossoms, fragile beauty - a miracle meant to be watched from afar - because even a brush could shatter it into tiny pieces.
Nothing more wrong. Narcissa has claws and was taught how to use them. And she also knows how to pretend, as well as Regulus, as well as every other Black. Because Blacks are a family of frauds and liars - and no one should ever forget it, but it still happens. People see what they want to see - they let themselves get deceived by appearances. And Blacks have been well informed in their youth how to use it. They play the game and when the right time comes - they change the rules. Blacks are not to be controlled.
And if Lucius Malfoy thinks he can reign Narcissa - he is a fool. Sooner or later he’ll learn his lesson and find out that he’ll be dead long before he lays his fingers on his beautiful lily.
Narcissa is a firm woman - but she’s never been cruel to Regulus, she’s never mocked him or taunted, not even once. She was a strict teacher, but understanding. She respected him, so he always responded mutually. And she saved his life. Regulus owes her at least thanks.
“Thank you,” he says solemnly, looking her straight in the eyes when she pulls away.
She nods, not breaking the gaze between them. “We’re even. You saved me too, the dagger.”
Bellatrix rolls her eyes. “Yes, truly heartmoving. Now, come with me.” She leads them to the table. Regulus greets the rest of his family - Lucius, Rodolphus and his brother Rabastan, and obviously Walburga. Orion was probably in too bad shape to be present.
“Regulus,” she says with a spark of contentment in eyes and a smug tone, after she lays her hands off him. He sincerely hates all these hugs - because they’re fake, as well as everything in the House of Black. Walburga’s never been there for him when he needed her - the only physical touch he had contact with was either beating or this, during the banquets.
“Mother,” he replies dryly, his body stiff and tense.
“Today we’ll have a very special guest,” she looks him in the eyes. It’s one of those interrogating stares which makes your skin crawl, as if she could see right through you and read you like an open book. “Our king’s agreed to honour us by leading the ceremony.”
The ceremony.
Regulus feels like the time has frozen around him. He’s staring at Walburga with a blank expression, barely acknowledging anything else. Seconds seem like hours, cold waves of infinite waters sucking him in.
So, that’s it.
He’s going to be a hunter. He’s going to become another doll in the collection, a copy of his relatives. He’s going to kill innocent people in the name of the greater good and watch their skin peel off their bones on the stack. And at the end of his miserable way he’s going to be remembered as a Black. He’s going to become a memory painted on a canvas and hung on the castle walls.
“You’re going to take the mark, Reggie!” Bella’s smug voice eventually breaks him out of his trans. She grins proudly at him, the same smile used to brighten her face when she tortured an eight-year-old girl in front of her mother. Regulus swallows harshly.
“I thought I was supposed to finish my apprenticeship with Lady McGonagall.”
“We’ve decided that you’re ready to become a full-fledged hunter,” she answers, her expression unwavering. “However, it does not mean that you’re exempt from further training.”
“Of course, mother,” he agrees obediently, still not fully aware of surroundings.
Walburga nods, satisfied. “Now, shall we?” She points at the table to her guests, arching an eyebrow. “The king is about to arrive soon.”
✦
“Do you swear your hands and sword to me, as your superior and king?”
“I do.”
“Do you promise your mind, your heart and your soul to the Noble House of Black and sacrifice to uphold the honour of your family line?”
“I do.”
“Do you pledge your undying faithfulness to Death Eaters and our Noble Goal?”
“I do.”
“Do you swear to protect and defend your brothers and sisters until the very last breath leaves your body?”
“I do.”
“Do you swear to stand up for the weak and defenceless, and guard them from the dark and evil creatures crawling in the shadows of the night?”
“I do.”
“Do you sacrifice your belief, devotion, loyalty and obedience to our rules, code and our matter?”
“I do.”
Voldemort hands him a ceremonial dagger with engravings of snakes and skulls, and a silver cup, sparkling in the light spread by flames dancing at the top of candles. Regulus takes them and sinks the tip of blade in his palm, then watches the stream of blood dripping lazily into the goblet. It’s an age-old tradition - every Death Eater had to do the same thing, in a symbol of unity. Aristocracy is all just a bunch of dramatic gits.
“I, Regulus Arcturus Black, the heir to the Noble House of Black, swear by the blood of our ancestors my whole existence to the superior matter of the Death Eaters, and devote myself to protect our homeland and our brothers and sisters from enemies or death shall take me,” Regulus numbly recites a familiar phrase carved on the walls of his brain - his parents made him and Sirius learn it when they were still only children. They were punished for every break, every stutter, hitch or even a shadow of hesitation in their voices, thus Regulus would be able to sing it in french or latin, if he was asked to.
“Ex cruore vindicta. Ex sanguine venias. Ex ira, potestas. Ex dolor, potentia.”
“Ex cruore vindicta. Ex sanguine venias. Ex ira, potestas. Ex dolor, potentia,” Regulus repeats, putting his hand to his chest, right above his heart. He feels the eyes of the gathered stinging his back.
“Nos edimus hunc timorem hostium nostrorum.”
“Nos edimus hunc timorem hostium nostrorum,” the Death Eaters’ motto burns his throat and tongue as it slips out of his mouth.
The king smiles proudly and brushes gently his shoulder. Regulus takes it as a permission to stand up, so he drags himself up from his knees. “Welcome to our circle, my boy,” he hears a soft - almost tender and fond, as the sweet promises shared between lovers - whisper right behind his ear. He feels a breath of death on his neck as the cold shudder shoots down his spine.
✦
Regulus watches cautiously black lines of ink on his skin, forming a pattern of a skull engorging a writhing snake. It’s genuinely a bit terrifying and makes him feel the coolness clinging to his skin every time he looks at it. It’s a bit like glaring Death itself in the eyes - two big, dark, empty holes of rottenness.
He’s still under the impression as if his forearm was assaulted by a swarm of bees. His skin is irritated, raw and sore, itching and burning after a dose of a thousand stings. It’s honestly unnerving, but nothing he couldn’t bear, so he just grinds his teeth and focuses on the surroundings.
He’s sitting in his mother’s office with Walburga and Voldemort, still wondering how it actually happened and where it’s going. Since the initiation he’s been convinced his ceremony was the only purpose of this ridiculous family dinner. It wasn't an apt conclusion, as it appears now.
“As Minerva McGonagall’s apprentice and assistant, you are obliged to help her with the investigation as part of your training,” Walburga announces. “However, as a full-fledged hunter now, you can start your own mission.”
His own mission.
Of course he’s received a task. Why wouldn’t he? He didn’t really think that he was summoned to Camelot just to lie in bed and do nothing?
He wonders how many people he’ll be forced to kill.
“You’re going to be our… observer,” Voldemort informs him. “After the last events we suspect that the Order’s headquarters is located in Camelot. We need to get to the source. And the fastest we do this, the best for us. The rebels have become a lot braver recently, and we can’t let them have more.” He pierces Regulus with a firm glance.
“So you need a… a spy, my lord?” Regulus asks warily.
“Yes, my boy,” the king confirms with a satisfied nod. “You’re going to be my little spy.”
Silence falls in the room.
“I am truly honoured to serve you with all my help, however surely there are other, more experienced hunters available, my lord?” he suggests, trying to make his voice sound respectful and obedient.
Walburga’s eyes drill him into his chair. “Are you questioning our lord’s decision?” Her voice is so cold that it almost pains Regulus physically. He feels as the dread catches his stomach in its claws and starts squeezing.
Voldemort gently lifts his hand in a gesture of reassurance. “I’m sure your son didn’t mean to insult me in any way, did you, my boy?” He looks straight into Regulus’ eyes. It feels more as if he was penetrating his soul, searching his core.
“Of course not, my lord, I wouldn’t dare to.” He tilts his head down, dreadfully. It’s all humiliating, how he’s indulging Voldemort ready for his every whim, exactly the same as the rest of Death Eaters. The king’s little doll. However, he values his life a lot more than his pride, so he manages to hide it and dance how he’s told to.
“Good.” The king nods, laying his heavy glare off Regulus, letting him breathe again. “It was a justified question, my boy. I understand your doubts and I’m sure they’ll fade once you get everything you need to know. I already have my other people taking care of this case. But yet, they are only capable of gathering information outside the Order. Startlingly, you’re the only member of Death Eaters that can accomplish this mission.” His lips curl up with disregard. “Yes, my boy. You are the only one who can reach the core. If you sell Albus Dumbledore a convincing and heartbreaking story, he’ll accept you into the ranks of his little order. He’ll never trust you, he’s not that stupid. But he won’t pass up the perfect chance to get to the snake’s cave.”
A heartbreaking story. Oh, he knows what’s going on now. He’s perfectly aware.
He’s going to be a pawn - torn and tossed between the both sides of the chessboard, until he loses his senses and any semblance of control. Until his soul gets smothered out of his body and burnt on the stack along with his victims. Because we get what we deserve - and go all the way down, immersed in our sins.
You’ll get what you’ve earned.
“I’ve received an information which made me reckon,” the king continues, “that your traitorous brother is working with the Order.” Regulus feels as if he's going to throw out his own heart if it keeps racing that fast.
Narcissa. Bloody Narcissa. She must’ve seen the dagger. And obviously she told Voldemort, because why wouldn’t she?
Exactly - why wouldn’t she? Regulus respects Narcissa, but it doesn’t mean he trusts her. She’s still a Black, and a Death Eater, after all. A hunter. She would’ve never saved him if she knew he was one of the creatures she was obliged to kill. However, for some reason, it still feels like a betrayal.
“They will likely believe you when you tell them that you want to join your brother. Their leader - Dumbledore - will think you’re his spy, not ours. And you must do everything you can to let him believe that. Is that clear?"
Regulus acknowledges his head nodding automatically. “Yes, my lord.”
“Brilliant. Lady McGonagall will give you all the information you need. Now Walburga, if you were so kind to…”
✦
“Regulus.”
He stops and slowly turns his head in direction of a quiet, but still firm voice. He watches Narcissa Black approach him, stepping through the empty corridor noiselessly - he’s always admired this skill. When he was a kid, he begged her to teach him, because even Walburga couldn’t do it that perfectly. Narcissa was a true embodiment of grace and silence.
“Narcissa.” He peeks at her suspiciously.
“I wanted to ask you something, but I couldn’t do it earlier,” she says solemnly. “Was it his?”
He opens his mouth, ready to tell her politely to fuck off, but she interrupts him. “I mean it, Reg. Seriously. Don’t ignore me,” she threatens. Regulus wonders why she would care. “Was it his?”
“Why are you asking? You already know,” he answers. What is she playing at now?
“How would I know? I didn’t check,” she hisses.
“You told him,” he says with an accusing tone.
She frowns with visible consternation. “You mean…?” She shakes her head. “I never told anyone.”
“So how did he know?” Regulus muses, confused.
Silence falls.
Narcissa curses under her breath abruptly. “There’s only one explanation. Someone must’ve seen him.”
Shit.
Regulus refuses to accept it. He can’t accept that his brother is back, because he’ll shatter if he does. He does not have the privilege of time much enough to gather the pieces and glue them together. If he crushes now, he’ll stay broken. He’ll get trampled and buried under the ground. And no one will ever find his grave.
Until now, there’s been a chance - a chance that it wasn’t Sirius, after all. Regulus assumed that he must’ve sold the dagger to someone else, or just simply lost it. He ignored the fact that Sirius would have never got rid of his favourite weapon - purposely or accidentally.
And there it is. Confirmation. Someone has seen him. He is there. His brother. His older brother. In Camelot. Hidden somewhere in town, just inches away from Regulus. He feels like he could catch him and never let go again, if only he tried hard enough.
“Who?” he manages to choke out.
“I’ll find out.” She looks him deep in the eyes. He does the same, and he sees fervour. He sees a promise. It seems so real, so tangible that he wants to actually believe it.
“Why? Why would you do this?” he asks her.
“I am a Black, Regulus. But I’m not a monster. He’s my cousin. I grew up with him, too. I do actually care about him,” she declares.
“He is a traitor,” Regulus says faintly. His hands are sweating and he feels a familiar lump in his throat, causing his breath to hitch. He knows that he’s going to have a serious breakdown in any second.
She shakes her head. “You don’t really believe this, and neither do I. I don’t believe that being gay is a crime.”
He arches an eyebrow at her. “But you think that being a wizard is?”
“The law says it is, so it is. Maybe someday someone will change it.” She gently brushes his shoulder. “We all do what we have to do,” she whispers. “I’ll tell you when I find out something,” she says and turns to leave. She sends him one last, meaningful glance around the bend and then she’s gone. She fades into the air like a ghost.
✦
When Regulus enters his chamber, he knows he’s about to cry this evening. But he wanted to do it at least alone. That’s why the view of Remus Lupin sitting on his bed while reading one of his books makes him abruptly exasperated.
“What are you doing here?” he hisses.
Remus rolls his eyes. “Reading a book.” He raises it so Regulus can see the title - the fantastic beasts and where to find them.
“I see,” Regulus comments wryly. “You know it’s actually one of the books legal for hunters? Walburga made us read it at least twenty times.”
“Is it really that useful?” Remus arches an eyebrow.
Regulus’ lips curl up in a shadow of a smile. “No, it’s not. We’ve never actually caught any of them. But we did try. Once we sneaked out with Sirius, Bellatrix, Narcissa and Andromeda to hunt for a hippogriff.”
Remus chokes out a surprised, muffled laugh. “For a what?”
“Hippogriffs. Haven’t gone that far yet?”
“Yes, I’ve read about them. And that’s why I’m so startled. Why would there be any hippogriffs around Camelot? And what were you actually planning to do? Even if there were any, you would’ve been dead long before-” he abruptly stops, making an unidentified gesture with his hand.
Regulus shrugs. “Children have strange ideas.”
“How did your hunt end?” Remus asks with an ironic smirk on his face.
Regulus clears his throat. “Pathetically.”
“Oh, don’t be so shy, Reg-”
“Shove off, Lupin. You’re only tolerable because you give me books,” Regulus sends him a stabbing look, which makes Remus chuckle.
“Nah, you love me,” Remus claims with a smug grin.
“Don’t indulge yourself.”
“No, how would I dare?” he asks with a fake astonishment and indignation.
Regulus throws a pillow at him. Remus catches it and arches an eyebrow at him in this famous, lecturing expression. “There’s no need to be so aggressive, Reggie.”
“Don’t call me that. I swear I’ll smother you in your sleep.”
“You wouldn’t get to do that. My werewolf senses, remember?”
“I’ll poison you, then. As a hunter I have access to the whole reserves of poisons.”
“I’m a medic. I’d know the second I’d get the food-”
“Who said it would be the food?” Regulus gives him a pointed glare. “And there are some undetectable poisons, you know.”
“Not for me. Again, werewolf senses,” Remus’ mouth is still widened with this annoying grin of his. “I’m unreachable. Just accept it, Regulus.”
“You’re not immune to avada. I could avada you by surprise and you wouldn’t have time to even flinch,” he cuts with an infuriated expression, even though he’s actually amused, but he couldn’t show it and give Remus satisfaction.
“Sure, whatever you say, Reggie,” Remus replies with an unimpressed look.
They are both quiet for a while.
“Are you feeling better now?” Remus eventually asks, breaking the silence.
Regulus heaves a sigh but a slight grin spreads across his lips. “A bit.”
“You know, Pandora didn’t mean to push. Neither of us did.”
“I know. I’ve overreacted.”
“You had a right to.”
Regulus shakes his head and exhales sharply. “Can we not talk about this? I’ve had a rough day.”
“We will have to talk about this at some point,” Remus glances at him meaningfully.
Regulus flits his gaze over the room. He stares blankly through the window, watching the brown, dried leaves floating carelessly in the air, dancing on the wind to eventually softly meet the ground. “I miss him,” he abruptly blurts out. “I’ve been missing him all this time, really. Every day. Like some kind of lack in my chest.” The words slip off his tongue, but he doesn’t acknowledge them. Those things - expressing emotions - aren’t easy for him. He knows that if he starts analysing what he’s saying he’ll just shut himself down again. “I want to see him. I have to see him, just to be sure that he’s alright. But I don’t want to talk to him. I can’t. I’m genuinely terrified.” He feels Remus’ glare flitting over him, but surprisingly, it doesn’t upset him. Remus’ gazes are soft and understanding. Encouraging. Not insistent, drilling nor even painful - like Walburga’s.
“Alright,” Remus says gently. “You don’t need to talk to him. Not until you’re ready. Just let us help. We’ll find him, and then you can do whatever you want with that knowledge.”
Regulus looks up at him. “Thank you. But if you don’t want to do this, you don’t have to. Narcissa’s already working on it.”
“Narcissa? You two are talking?” Remus seems startled.
“Yes, since now. We talked after the family dinner, and she told me-”
“Wait, what family dinner? You’ve been to a family dinner?”
Regulus screams internally. Shit. Shit, shit, shit… This is really too much for a day. “Uhm…Yes?” he chokes out.
“And you didn’t say anything?”
“Oh, I am truly sorry I didn’t get a chance to,” Regulus snaps at him, unnerved.
Remus presses his lips together. “Right, sorry. How did it go?”
Regulus huffs out a dry laugh. “Perfectly.”
Remus replies with a concerned glance. “Oh, no. I know that look. What’s happened?”
Regulus is calculating persistently for a while. Should I tell him? No. Definitely not. But he’ll find out either way, so Regulus just clenches his jaw and rolls up his left sleeve, and shows Remus the mark.
He stares at it blankly, bewildered. “Okay…” he starts, slowly. “That is unexpectable.”
“I hadn’t expected it either. Not until my mother announced that we’re going to have Voldemort himself as a guest.” Regulus gloomily pierces the tattoo with his eyes. “It’s over.”
“What?” Remus suddenly asks, glaring him straight in the eyes.
Regulus blinks and turns his face to him. “What what?”
“What’s over?”
“Everything,” Regulus whispers.
“And what is everything?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then how can you be so sure it’s over when you don’t even know what it is?”
Silence fills the room. It feels insistent to Regulus, like it’s trying to ease his mind off. He eventually scoffs with impatience. “When did you become a philosopher, Remus?”
He shrugs and grins. “So you admit I’m clever.”
“Not every philosopher is clever,” Regulus huffs. “Some of them don’t make any sense.”
“We both know you love philosophy. In every form.” His grin eventually fades and a solemn expression spreads across his face instead. “Regulus, I mean it. What do you want? That mark,” he peeks at his forearm, “is just a tattoo. It doesn’t limit you. The only thing that’s limiting you right now is you. Maybe you think you don’t have a choice, but you do have it.” These words make a thick lump form in his throat. He feels the familiar itching in his nose and eyes.
He swallows harshly and winces. “And what are you trying to imply? That I should run away, like Sirius? My mother would’ve never let it happen again. She would’ve been looking for me everywhere.”
Remus gives him a gentle look. “No, you’re not able to escape yet. But the war is about to start. We all need to choose our sides.”
“I’ve received an…assignment today,” Regulus starts. “From the king himself. I’m going to be his spy in the Order.”
Remus blinks in startlation. “Alright, you’ve had a really rough day.”
“I’m telling you this because I’m going to be a puppet in this war, Remus,” Regulus continues. “I just don’t know whose yet.”
Remus glares at him intensively. “Do you want to fight for Death Eaters?”
“No, obviously not.”
“Do you want to fight for the Order?”
“I don’t know. Their leader - Dumbledore - I haven’t met him yet, so I don’t have the full perspective, but he doesn’t seem to be a nice guy either. He planned a riot and an explosion at the square full of civilians. Innocent people got injured, let alone those who are dead and buried under the ruins.” Regulus shakes his head. “And what do you want? Who are you going to fight for?”
“For myself,” Remus says simply and shrugs. “We can both fight for ourselves. You don’t have to be anyone’s pawn. As I’ve already said - the only thing that limits you is yourself. Don’t let your mind play with you, Reg. Know your value and stand for it.”
Regulus releases a stuttering breath and realises he’s been holding it by now. He feels his eyes watering. He chokes out a shaky laugh and looks at Remus accusingly. “I knew I was going to cry. It’s all your fault, Lupin.”
Remus smiles apologetically. “Come here, you idiot.” He draws out his arms and embraces Regulus, pulling him closer. If anyone else tried it - maybe except for Pandora - Regulus would have them dead or at least earnestly injured almost immediately. However, this is not anyone - this is Remus, his best friend. Thus Regulus gives up and clings to him, resting his chin on Remus’ shoulder. He sniffles as he feels a tear running down his cheek. “You’re the biggest sap I’ve ever known, you know that?”
Regulus stifles a chuckle and nudges him in the ribs.
“Oi!” Remus hisses, flinching. “That hurt,” he says with resentment colouring his voice. “What was that for?”
“For making me cry. And then insulting me instead of comforting,” Regulus replies, his voice muffled.
“It’s not my fault. And you deserved it,” Remus murmurs.
“Obviously it’s your fault.”
“Obviously,” Remus grumbles. “You’d say it’s my fault even if it was the end of the world.”
“I would,” Regulus admits.
They’re both quiet afterwards - there’s nothing more to say. They just enjoy each other’s company, soaking into the moment and listening to the peaceful silence around them.
There’s no nightmares that night. Not even one.