A Regulus Black Affair
Regulus Black had long ago given up trying to understand how he survived that fateful night in 1979. He was prepared to die, he had planned to die, no one survives mutiny, no one survives betrayal. And yet, when faced with his impending doom, mere seconds away, he fought.
He was a Slytherin. Maybe he forgot he was a Slytherin, when he organised his affairs the night before he set off to the cave, or maybe when he got it into his mind that he was going to defy the dark lord. But he did not forget when he felt hundreds of hands pulling him into the dark water, with, their nails digging into his skin.
And Slytherin prioritises one thing in the face of imminent danger, self fucking preservation. So when Regulus Black, eighteen years old, faced his death, he spat in its face and fought.
So here he was, seventeen years later, sat in his cottage, far away from anything magical, far away from anything Slytherin, far away from the war. And Regulus Black, the perfect son of the House of Black, was gone, a dead omen for those who dare try and retract their voice. Regulus watched as the terror and screaming ended, the war ceased, the muggles and wixen alike rejoiced, even if the muggles didn't really know what it was that was stopped. He had canceled his Daily Prophet subscription, not long after that.
In the seventeen years, Regulus Black lived quite contentedly, alone, with limited contact to the muggle town he went to for groceries. His home was small, warm, and comforting, everything Grimmauld Place was not, it didn't have dead relatives scorning you from the walls, it didn't have the wall of house-elf heads, it didn't have his mother, it didn't have Sirius, but even Grimmauld Place didn't have Sirius for long.
Regulus would often whisper to himself that he regretted the relationship with his brother, that perhaps there was more he could've done to preserve the fragile nature of the brotherhood they held in the face of their abuse. But Regulus had grown up, he had looked back on his life and had learned that there was no one to blame but their parents and the world they had created. He couldn't have done anything because he was a child, a lone child, unwelcome and fearful.
Sirius was also a child, a child who believed that he held the word of truth and logic. Sirius was impulsive, cruel, but a product of his youth, a product of their mother, so Regulus could never find it in him to blame his older brother, no matter how much scorn he held for him.
Last he heard, his brother was off fighting, fighting Voldemort, fighting him. Regulus recalled the whispers of anger at his brother's name, the scathing venom spat when they recalled the utter decimation that Sirius Black had wrought. And perhaps, when Regulus was asked if he could give them any weaknesses about Sirius Black, he would simply shake his head, praying for forgiveness for someone who would never give it.
In the summer of 1995, Regulus was confronted with a feeling he never wanted to feel. Sitting on his deckchair, staring up at the sky, there it was. The dark mark. The dark mark that stained his skin, that burned in him the curse of his choices. The call, the pain, it crawled up his arm and into his lungs. He wanted them to return. To come to his aid. The dark lord, one he believed was long dead, he swallowed.
Maybe Kreacher had not destroyed the locket? Perhaps there was more than one? But Regulus Black knew what that mark that was carved into the sky meant, it meant that Voldemort was back.
Rushing into his home, slamming the door behind him, he pulled out a worn box from under his bed, inside, were his old wand, a quill, an inkpot, and some parchment. Pulling out every object, he sat at his desk, dejected. Every cell in his body was screaming, screaming in fear, in anticipation, the curl of his muscles was raring for a fight, a fight it had wanted for over a decade. His mind had finally awoke, the soldier, the caw of a death omen.
Perhaps he should warn someone of the Horcruxes, then flee the country? Maybe get into contact with Kreacher? No. Kreacher would not deserve such a revelation of his status as alive. Who would believe him? Who knew that Horcruxes even existed? Would they kill him if they knew he lived? Would they condemn him? torture him. The dark side would vilify him. The light would toss him aside, screaming some nonsense about being a 'filthy death eater'.
There was one man. But was he alive?
And so, Regulus Black began his letter,
Severus Snape,
If what I can gather is true, then the Dark Lord has returned and has gathered his followers. If so, I do hope you have seen the error of your ways and decided to fight against the megalomaniac instead of with him.
He has Horcruxes. It is the only way he managed to return, I promise you. I am unaware of the events that have transpired since the defeat of the Dark Lord fifteen years ago, but nevertheless, I assure you that what I say is no conspiracy, and what I discovered before Halloween 1981, can be nothing but a Horcrux.
I have held it, Mr. Snape, it reeks of the evil that seeps out of his soul. If my plan went correctly, it should've been destroyed, if it hasn't it is because the person I entrusted has failed to do so. If it has been destroyed, it means that there are more to be found.
Be wary, Mr. Snape.
An old friend.
Regulus tried to sign his name, but couldn't, his hand simply couldn't write. It felt as if a knife was repeatedly stabbing himself in the gut. Folding the letter, it felt as if the muscle memory returned to him, as his hand lifted up to whistle for his owl. But there was no owl to come, his owl, Pedro, would be long dead, and the only other owls he knew had been his parents, or his brothers.
Standing, Regulus grabbed his coat, and wide brimmed hat waved his wand in a familiar fashion, before spinning on the spot and disappearing with a crack.
Diagon Alley looked... the same. The morning light shining over the early shoppers, the cool English air squirming its way underneath his clothing. Shops were opening, and owls were fluttering. Regulus strolled down Diagon's cobbled streets, it had been over a decade since he stepped foot in this place, long ago accepted the wide belief that he was dead.
He could faintly see the imposing building of Gringotts standing tall at the end of the alley, and the dark opening to Knockturn. He saw memories of running alongside his brother as they ventured off into nooks and cranies, searching for adventure. Regulus smothered the ache and longing for those simpler times, when all he and his brother had to worry about was not making Narcissa cry. Keeping his head down, making his hair fall like a curtain from his hat. His large grey mugglish coat stood out in Diagon Alley, where the common garb was a cloak, but his cloak had long been burned in one of his grief filled episodes.
Gringotts neared. The ever present goblin guards stood stalwart at the entrance, and Regulus felt his wand grow heavier where it sat in his pocket less than a centimetre away from his twitching fingers. The sound of his boots hitting the stones grew loud in his ears, and his vision went in and out of blurriness.
Up one step.
Two steps.
Three steps.
Regulus looked towards the door before steeling himself, and pushing open the doors. Gringotts looked comfortingly familiar; grumpy, scowling goblins, patrons all getting slowly more irritated at their selected teller. Regulus strolled towards an empty teller, his script forming in his mind, as he landed in front of the goblin, he waited patiently until the beady black eyes of the teller met his.
"I wish to make a withdrawal from my vault." His voice was soft, just louder than a whisper. No matter how long he spent holed up in that cottage, nothing could truly smother the upper class London drawl he inherited from his family.
"And which vault would that be?" The goblin sneered, Regulus bristled, anxiety making his stomach twist and contort unpleasantly,
"The Black Vault, Master Teller."
"Bah, no one can access that except the lord and the heir-" The goblin spat, before Regulus held up a hand,
"Then it would be fruitful to inform you that you are in the presence of one. My name is Regulus Black, and I would like access to my vault now."
It seemed as if the world around them turned mute, the suffocating shock of his quiet announcement causing the goblin to splutter.
"Do not be foolish, Regulus Black is long dead!"
Regulus hissed under his breath as he felt several pairs of eyes swivel his way, glaring up at the teller, his wand twisting between his fingers. Fucking goblin his mind spat out.
"I will submit to a blood test, Master Teller, and I would appreciate if you kept some of your decorum."
If goblins could blush, than the teller certainly would, but red with rage or embarrassment, Regulus couldn't place. The sneer was more pronounced, long nails scratching against the desk, and the beady eyes twitching.
"Very well, follow me."
And he did.
Regulus followed the goblin silently, through doors and corridors, before the teller stopped at a specific one, that said, pressed onto the wood, 'Black - Toujours Pur'. The teller pushed open the door to an empty study. A dark coloured desk was sat in the middle, with two chairs in front of it, and a fireplace that looked like it hadn't been lit in years. The goblin gestured to one of the chairs in front of the desk, before taking a seat behind it.
"If you are Regulus Black then you would not recognise me, and it was pure chance you even waltzed up to my booth." The goblin started, pulling out a ornate dagger and some old parchment from a drawer, and placing them in front of Regulus.
"Seven drops."
Regulus breathed in deeply, picking up the dagger, not too dissimilar to the one he used during the war, before pressing the blade to his palm. It sliced through his skin as if it were nothing, the bubble of his blood erupted from the wound, he held it over the parchment.
One drop.
He wondered what he would do after he sent that letter.
Two drops.
Would Snape even listen to him?
Three drops.
Would he have to return to Kreacher? To the Horcrux?
Four drops.
What happened to Sirius? Was he even alive?
Five drops.
Would Sirius believe him if he had to tell him? Would he believe that Regulus defected?
Six drops.
What if he ran into his old comrades? What if they handed him over to the dark lord?
Seven drops.
He pulled his hand away, pulling out his wand, and muttered a healing spell, watching as the skin knitted itself back together. The blood seeped into the parchment, before words began to scrawl along the pages. The goblin picked up the parchment and read its contents, before dropping it with a sigh,
"Hello Regulus Black."
Regulus almost smiled, "Hello Master Teller."
The goblin pushed the parchment towards Regulus, and the man quickly took it, looking for the only piece of information that mattered.
Family:
Sirius Orion Black III - Brother Status: Alive, ineligible
Narcissa Black-Malfoy - First Cousin Status: Alive, ineligible
Bellatrix Black-Lestrange - First Cousin Status: Alive, ineligible
Andromeda Black-Tonks - First Cousin. Status: Alive, ineligible
Nymphadora Tonks - First Cousin once removed. Status: Alive, eligible
Draco Lucius Malfoy - First Cousin once removed Status: Alive, eligible
Harry James Potter - Adoptive Nephew Status: Alive, eligible
Not even the presence of the goblin could stop the sigh of relief that ripped from his lungs. He was alive. Sirius was alive, his mind crooned. He slumped back in his chair, before trailing his eyes along the rest of the information, most he already knew, some he didn't. He peered up at the goblin,
"What does it mean if someone is eligible?" He asked, the goblin squinted,
"It means that they are eligible to become your heir, should you take up the Black lordship." Regulus' breath caught, he forgot he was heir apparent, it had been so many year since his brother ran away and he had to even think about becoming the prized Black heir. His father hadn't passed by the time Regulus had defected, though Regulus knew it wouldn't of been long after, Orion Black by 1979 was a relic of his former glory, ruled by the iron fist of his mother.
"And why is my brother not eligible?" He asked, curious.
"He is older than you. An older member of the family cannot be made heir." The goblin answered smartly, Regulus hummed before returning back to the parchment, resting on the three eligible names. He already knew about Nymphadora, having witness the absolute rampage his Aunt Druella went on when she discovered her runaway child had given birth. But it seems that Narcissa had gotten knocked up then, and Sirius had adopted a Potter?
"Harry Potter-?" Regulus voiced, the goblin responded with a huff,
"It seems your brother adopted the whelp late last year, the Black Family magic accept the child as one of your own."
Regulus rolled his eyes, of course it did. Shoving the paper back at the goblin, who tucked it back into the drawer, he sucked in a deep breath,
"Now may I make a withdrawal, Master Teller?"
Not twenty minutes later, Regulus Black stepped foot out of Gringotts, his pockets filled to the brim with galleons and his destination carved into his mind. The crowds were largely than when he entered the building, crowds of eager shoppers, children and adults alike, all bustling around preparing for the school year. He shouldered past people, ignoring the grumbles of those he jostled.
Too many people, his mind whispered unhelpfully. It had been nearly twenty years since he had seen so many people. And every brush he made with them, made his throat close and his chest squeeze ever tighter.
His grip on his wand loosened, as Eeylops Owl Emporium came into view. The shop was open, the cacophony of screeches and hoots flowed out through the windows and door, and Regulus stepped inside. To his surprise and delight, it was mostly empty, with nobody but two other people inside, one who was manning the till, and another who was admiring the owls.
"You're no Hogwarts student." The man standing at the desk crowed as soon as his swivelling eyes landed on Regulus. Calloused and scarred hands beckoned Regulus forward, "I'd say that you'd be someone quite far away from home."
Regulus hummed, "I am looking for an owl."
"Well then, you are in the right place." The man, gestured towards the shelf of owls, all either squawking or staring pensively. Regulus strolled towards the birds, one had caught his eye. It was a black owl, with flickers of white spattered around its breast. It's eyes were a bottomless cavern of darkness watching him approach. He stood in front of the owl, cocking his head to one side,
"Hello there."
"She would be 15 galleons!" Called the man from behind him.
"She got a name?" Regulus threw back. He turned his head just in time to catch the man shaking his head,
"No, I have been calling her Sooty though. Not the most creative." Regulus turned back to the owl, Sooty? No, this owl was far too regal, far too proper to be called... Sooty. He lifted his hand, and picked up the cage, pulling it off the shelf, the owl cawed startled, obviously not expecting to move.
"I'm sorry, dear." Regulus hummed to the bird, before moving towards the counter. and placing her down. He fished out 15 galleons, counting them before pushing the tower of coins towards the man.
"Not gonna call her Sooty, are ya?"
"No," Regulus snorted, "I'm going to call her Elvira."
The newly dubbed, Elvira stared up at him, fluffed her feathers, and he smiled. Yes she certainly fit the moniker of mistress of the dark. He grabbed her cage, and left the shop, the suffocating terror returning as he remembered the crowds. Regulus pushed through everyone, trying to block out the screams and shouts of people as they called for their family, who had obviously disappeared. He was so close to knockturn, where he could safely disapparate from, where he could return home, where it was peaceful and quiet.
"PADFOOT!"
Regulus froze, his grip on Elvira tightened, his back straight. A hand had latched onto his bicep and it was taking every ounce of his self control not to punch whoever was behind him. Regulus turned slightly, taking in the chit who had grabbed him. An average sized teenager, with voluminous hair, that crackled menacingly, dark skin and glaring brown eyes, she was mad. As soon as they made eye contact he could see her short circuit,
"May I help you?" He pushed out, eyes darting between her and the hand still gripped on his arm. Suddenly she seemed to have noticed, and ripped her hand away, turning a violent shade of red. She stuttered out an apology, before turning and disappearing into the crowd. Regulus' eyes tried to follow her, the crow of threat from his mind still ricocheting from ear to ear. He stumbled backwards, his knuckles turning white against Elvira's cage, before stepping into Knockturn Alley, and swiftly disapparating.
It was only as he landed in his living room that he recalled what the chit had screamed at him, padfoot, she called him padfoot. That annoying nickname that fell from James Potter lips when he threw his arms around Regulus' brother. The girl thought he was Sirius Black.
Regulus knew he looked like his brother, there were moments where they could've been twins, but Regulus Black knew the differences, craved the differences. His eyes were brown, instead of grey, his hair was curly instead of wavy, he was taller, and darker, and there was nary a doubt in mind, that the tattoo on his left arm was something his brother did not have.
After he sent his letter off with Elvira to Snape, he sunk into his lounge, thoroughly knackered. He ran his hands down his face, with his mind only muttering one word,
Fuck.