Regulus
Laughter met his eardrums as soon as he stepped into the room. It was not the kind of laughter that came with a good joke.
He gritted his teeth, eyes hardening as the persona of whom he was supposed to be slipped on his face. He strode into the room, his steps purposeful and his head held high.
Everyone he passed had their eyes on him. Even with his mask on, they seemed to know who he was.
The crowd that had formed around whatever caused the laughter parted when he came closer and his eyes took in the scene before him.
On the floor, in the middle of the circle, was a man. He couldn’t see who it was because he was face-down on the floor. Groans of pain left his lips. The clothes he was wearing were torn and blood-soaked, but clearly, they were muggle clothes.
“Who is this?” he asked the person next to him.
It was Evan Rosier, one of his best friends, who turned to him with a grin. “Remember a few weeks ago, that meeting you missed? Well, the Dark Lord has captured Dumbledore’s pet werewolf.” His eyes flickered with joy as the person let out a particularly pain-filled groan.
Across the circle, Barty fired a curse at the body with enough force that he was lifted off the floor. He skidded a few centimetres closer to where Regulus was standing.
Blood was seeping out of a cut on his back and his fingers were digging into the marble floor. His body convulsed when another streak of magic hit him and Regulus clenched his jaw at the noise that came out of him.
The person lifted his head, strands of curly brown hair falling over his forehead and into his eyes. The white lines on his face seemed to glint from the sweat covering his skin and Regulus recognised him immediately. Something twisted in his stomach.
“Lupin’s a werewolf?” he asked Evan. He’d suspected, yes, but had never been able to confirm his theories at Hogwarts.
Evan hummed before firing another curse at the man on the floor.
Lupin’s eyes met his and there was a flicker of recognition, even though that was impossible, before a scream tore from his lips and he dropped his head.
Regulus kept staring, not sure how to feel. This was one of his brother’s best friends. And Regulus had hated them the minute Sirius returned home that first summer.
But he’d always hated Lupin the least. The few times they’d spoken, Regulus had found himself not minding the other boy’s presence. He was sarcastic and rude, yes, but he was also quiet and gentle. He wasn’t loud and arrogant like Potter, or annoying and fidgety like Pettigrew. Lupin had this air around him that Regulus liked. He hated to admit it, but he knew that under different circumstances, they might have been friends.
He'd also never liked witnessing the torture sessions Regulus knew the other Death Eaters had. Barty had bragged about them for weeks now, how the half-blood they’d captured screamed so loud and reacted beautifully but never seemed to break. And Regulus just felt disgusted. Because he knew that it was wrong. He had known for a while now, he had come to realise that all he had been taught by his family was wrong and bigoted. But it’d been too late. He’d already gotten the mark, he’d already lost his chance to get out.
That’s when he started his plan. And as he watched Lupin writhe on the marble floor, his blood staining the dark tiles, an idea came to him. It may just be exactly what he needed for his plan to succeed.
*
The meeting was long and tedious.
The Dark Lord gave out missions and discussed the several new murders of Muggle Born wizards and witches.
Lupin was kept in the room, bound by invisible robes. He’d passed out after Mulciber shot a particularly nasty hex his way and Regulus forced himself to keep his eyes off of the limp body.
There was a new Death Eater at the table. Regulus had never seen the man, he was twitchy even with his face covered by his mask and he kept glancing sideways. His fingers twitched where they lay on the table. There was something about him, Regulus couldn’t quite shake the fact that he knew the man.
But Evan and Barty were sat next to him, Lucius was on the other side of the table and Severus was closer to Voldemort. None of the other Death Eaters were close to Regulus but there was no one missing from the table.
Regulus watched the man, puzzled as he told them about a raid the Order was planning. His voice was definitely disfigured. Regulus could recognise that slightly husky tone of voice modulation magic easily.
He filed the information away, wondering how the man could have gotten it. They were clearly secrets. Dumbledore wouldn’t share them with just anyone. The old man was too clever for that.
Regulus’ eyes widened for a fraction as a thought crossed his mind. No. No, it couldn’t be. No one in the order would betray Dumbledore.
But yet, as he watched the man, the feeling that he knew him brought dread with it.
If it was him, then Regulus would have to put his plan into motion quicker than he had planned.
If it was him, there was no telling what would happen.
Regulus clenched his jaw, feeling anger bubble up inside of him.
This changed things. The Order was too full of themselves to see that they were being betrayed by one of their own. They were too close, too oblivious. Too naïve. They wouldn’t notice until it was too late.
If Regulus didn’t do something then he feared for the outcome of the war. He feared for the lives of the ones he loved.
Because if it really was Peter Pettigrew, then he needed to warn his brother.