Mortal Once More

July, 1981

“I am so, so sorry, Fabian…Gideon has been killed…”

Dumbledore’s words seem to echo through the little living room, long after the phoenix Patronus has faded into thin air. 

Regulus feels frozen to his seat; his brain, everything, suddenly going into slow motion. It’s almost as though he’s underwater again, struggling to kick out against an overwhelming tide. 

It doesn’t make any sense. It had only been a routine mission, standard…how could Gideon Prewett possibly be dead? How could somebody so confident, so brave and cheeky and cheerful, suddenly just…stop existing? 

Trembling, Regulus looks over at Fabian, the man who’s always grinning, ready with a joke or a witty comment…and feels his blood turn cold. 

Fabian is standing there, staring at the spot where Dumbledore’s Patronus has just faded. The expression on his face is so unfamiliar that he looks almost like a different person. There’s no trace of his trademark sunny grin, no amusement, no bright flicker of mischief in those blue eyes. 

His face has completely drained of colour, his freckles standing out starkly against his skin. Those usually bright blue eyes are clouded with a look of horrified shock. He looks as though he’s just woken up from a nightmare, a nightmare that he’s struggling to make sense of. 

“Oh my god…Fab…” Lupin murmurs. 

Regulus struggles to say something, anything that will console him, this kind, funny, wonderful man who’s just saved his life …but his mind has gone completely blank. Just emptiness, as he stares at Fabian shattering in front of him. 

Why are you so shocked? He chides himself. There’s a war going on. You should know that better than anyone. 

“Can I…?” Lupin starts, moving forwards, reaching out to place a gentle hand on the redhead’s shoulder - but Fabian flinches away from him sharply. 

“No,” he says, and his voice sounds so raw, so jagged, that for a moment Regulus scarcely recognises him. “I need to…I shouldn’t have…” 

“Fabian,” says Lupin quietly. “It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known.” 

Regulus stares at him for a moment, wondering what he means by that - and then his stomach seems to fall through the floor as he remembers. 

Fabian had volunteered to help them get the Horcrux tonight -but he was supposed to have been on that mission with Gideon. 

Oh god …

Mingled with his shock and guilt, Regulus feels a sudden, giddy surge of relief, of absurd gratitude that it had only been Dorcas and Gideon who’d been ambushed tonight, that Fabian hadn’t been with them. 

Immediately, he feels sickened with himself, his self-loathing almost as strong as it had been an hour ago, when he had force-fed that vile potion to his brother - his brother who is still lying completely still on the sofa opposite, in his Animagus form, the tiny rise and fall of his chest the only indication that he’s still alive.

What the hell is wrong with you ? Regulus demands of himself furiously, his own voice silent but deafening, overwhelming. What sort of person thinks that, when people have just been murdered ? 

Fabian just stares back at Lupin, his face gaunt with grief. 

“Well,” he responds, his voice still jagged and harsh, a stranger’s voice. “Whoever’s fault it is…I need to go to my sister.” 

Lupin swallows and nods.

“Of course,” he murmurs. “Go to the Burrow, send Molly our love. We’ll be fine, Fab, don’t worry about us.” 

Fabian nods in return. He looks suddenly like a small, lost child, as though he has no idea where to go, or what to do.

Regulus’s brain, still working in foggy slow motion, suddenly registers a glinting thing clutched in Fabian’s fist. 

“Wait a moment,” he says, his voice coming out much sharper and louder than he’d intended. 

Fabian and Lupin both blink, staring at Regulus as though they’d forgotten he was even in the room. 

“The…the locket,” he says awkwardly. “The Horcrux. You’re still holding it, Fabian. You should probably…leave that here.” 

Already, it feels like an eternity since Fabian had pulled it off over his head, dragged him from the water. 

Fabian stares at him for a moment, his blue eyes cold. Regulus feels his heart twist and contract strangely at his look - it feels hard to believe, right now, that the other man had been so gentle with him before, looked at him with such worry in his eyes. 

You’re not ‘just’ Regulus. You’re not ‘just’ anything. 

“Right,” says Fabian, with a hollow laugh that makes Regulus’s blood turn to ice in his veins. “That’s the most important thing, isn’t it? No matter what else happened tonight…at least we managed to get this creepy little locket.” 

He holds the Horcrux out towards him, the golden chain dangling from his clenched fist. Regulus steps forward hesitantly, holding his hand out for it; Fabian lets it fall into his palm unceremoniously, careful not to let their fingers brush at all this time. 

He stares at Regulus, his jaw clenched tightly, and Regulus forces himself not to look away. The spark in the other man’s blue eyes seems to have flared and gone out. 

Fabian turns away abruptly, giving Lupin a stiff nod - then he turns on the spot and Disapparates, without a word of farewell. Regulus thinks, distantly, that he feels something shatter inside him.

Pathetic. 

With Fabian gone, a billowing, deafening silence seems to settle across the living room for a moment. Regulus doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t even know what to think.

“Fuck,” Lupin says finally, rubbing a hand across his forehead. Regulus has never heard that one word imbued with so much feeling before.

“Yeah,” he agrees. 

The two of them stand there in the little living room, determinedly not looking at each other, both struggling to process everything that’s happened over the course of one night. Even though Fabian has left, his grief and anger still seem to be with them, pressing down on them - and Regulus is doing his best not to glance around at the black dog, lying completely still on the sofa. He thinks he might break if he looks at him for too long. 

It feels like they’re both hovering, neither of them having any clue what to do next. Finally, Lupin breathes out a long sigh, turning back towards Sirius and tucking the blanket more closely around him. Regulus watches his movements out of the corner of his eye, not daring to turn around and watch properly. 

“Is there anything I can -” 

“You know what, Regulus?” the other man interjects. Lupin’s voice is quiet, but Regulus can hear the fear and rage seething underneath, and knows that he’s just as close to breaking. “I think you’ve done enough.” 

Regulus bites his lip and nods, throat tight as he stares down at the ground. 

He can’t stop picturing the way Fabian had looked at him before he’d left, the way his blue eyes were suddenly cool and distant, rather than bright and warm. He doesn’t think he’d even realised how much he’d been relying on the redheaded man’s kindness, until now, when he seems to have lost it. 

It will be alright , he tells himself desperately. He’ll come back to us, the same old annoyingly cheerful Fabian Prewett. He was just in shock, that’s all. 

But when he remembers that hollow, bitter laugh, so unlike the Fabian he’s come to know…he can’t quite bring himself to believe it.

He tries desperately to think of something else, other than the way Fabian had looked at him, something happier that might calm him down…but the next moment, Dumbledore’s message is playing on repeat in his head. 

I regret to say that there was an ambush lying in wait…

“He said there was an ambush,” he says, without really meaning to speak aloud. 

“What?” Lupin snaps, looking away from Sirius only reluctantly.  

Regulus takes a deep breath, glancing up to meet his gaze.

“Dumbledore said they were ambushed . So the Death Eaters must have already known they would be there.” 

“Yes, I do actually know what the word ‘ambush’ means, thank you,” Lupin says sharply, his nerves evidently stretched to breaking point. 

“I was just thinking…how could they have known that Gideon and the other one were going to be there...unless someone had told them? When Dumbledore said ‘ambushed’...he made it sound like there’s…a spy. In the Order, I mean.” 

Lupin looks at him for a moment, his face tightening as his hazel eyes flicker over Regulus’s face. 

“Yes,” he murmurs. He sounds more like he’s talking to himself than replying to Regulus. “Yes, he did make it sound like that, didn’t he?”

The thoughtful way the other man is looking at him makes Regulus shiver a little, and he suddenly wishes he hadn’t brought it up. 

The two of them lapse back into silence. 

Could it be true? Could it really be that, at the same time he is passing information about the Dark Lord to Dumbledore, somebody else is doing the same in reverse? He remembers again what Dumbledore had said when he’d told the Potters he knew of a good hiding place for them. ‘I am pleased to say that I already have a place in mind; though, for obvious reasons, I shall not disclose it right at this moment.’ 

He already knew, Regulus realises, feeling like an idiot as it sinks in. Dumbledore might not have enough evidence to know exactly who the spy is , but he already knew there was one. Of course he did. 

He feels a sudden sharp jolt of fear, mingled with anger. Why has the old man been inviting him to openly attend Order meetings, if he’s known all along that there is a spy reporting back to the Dark Lord? Does this mean the Dark Lord knows he’s defected? Is the game already up? 

But no, surely, that can’t be, Regulus reassures himself, trying to slow his breathing down as his logic catches up to his panic. Surely, if the Dark Lord knew, then he, Regulus, wouldn’t even be alive to panic about it by now. 

So that must mean that the spy in the Order - whoever they are - either doesn’t know about Regulus yet, or, for some reason, has decided to stay quiet about him. But why would they stay quiet? he wonders. Perhaps they’re waiting for him to slip up? Playing some long game that he doesn’t understand? 

No, it seems more likely that he simply hasn’t crossed paths with them. After all, he hasn’t even been to three Order meetings yet, and various members of the Order seem to be in and out on various missions for Dumbledore at any given time. The same, in fact, is true of Death Eaters; the Dark Lord has always preferred to shroud his operations in secrecy.

Who is it, then? he asks himself in frustration. 

It can’t be either of the Potters, given they’re already in hiding. Besides, it’s almost impossible to imagine either James or Lily doing anything like that, they’re both too bloody heroic. The same goes for Fabian - and anyone who had ever spent two seconds with him would know he would never , in a million years, have willingly put his brother in danger. Or anyone else, for that matter. 

Regulus lets out a long sigh, trying to push away any thoughts of Fabian, of the terrible pain on his face and the way he’d looked at him just now. The spy is not Fabian Prewett - and Regulus needs to stop thinking about him right now, or he’ll crumble. 

He puts his head in his hands, screwing his eyes up, trying to think, trying to concentrate; who could the spy be? Has anyone said anything particularly suspicious recently, has anyone been missing from the meetings? He almost growls aloud in frustration; he just doesn’t know most people in the Order well enough to make any sort of guess. He doesn’t have a clue. 

What’s more, whoever it is, it’s probably sheer luck that they don’t know about him yet. But if Dumbledore was already certain, before this ambush, that there’s a spy…what the hell is he playing at? The headmaster had promised Regulus that he would do his best to protect him, but it certainly doesn’t seem like that now. 

Is this another one of the old man’s strange gambits, that nobody except him understands? Has he been inviting Regulus as some kind of bait , some attempt to make the spy slip up and accidentally reveal themself? 

Regulus feels a potent combination of fear and fury bubbling under his skin. He can’t go to any more Order meetings, he realises. Not until this spy has been caught and exposed. It isn’t safe. 

He turns to Lupin, meaning to ask him what he thinks; but when he sees the way the other man is staring down at Sirius, still lying prone on the sofa, as if nothing and nobody else exists in the world, Regulus feels the words catch in his throat. 

All at once, the self-loathing returns - bitter, burning, all-consuming. 

Here he is, obsessing over the spy, worrying about how much danger he might potentially be facing - and meanwhile, his brother has barely stirred at all since they returned from the cave. Regulus had thought - or hoped , at least - that Sirius would wake up quickly once they got away from that horrific place; but it’s difficult to ignore the ticking of the clock.

Fabian had told him - about a thousand years ago, or so it seems - that this wasn’t his fault, that he shouldn’t be blaming himself for giving in and feeding Sirius that potion. But it’s getting harder and harder to believe that, as the clock ticks loudly in the otherwise silent room, Regulus’s skin prickling with anxiety as he tries to avert his eyes from the black dog, silently begging his brother to wake up, just bloody wake up …

But what if he doesn’t? Regulus feels an icy weight of terror settle in his stomach at the thought. He doesn’t even know what exactly that green potion was …but what if it was too much for Sirius to recover from? He knows that Lupin is silently begging Sirius, screaming at him, just as much as he is…but what if it doesn’t make any difference? What if Sirius slips away from them quietly, here and now? It would be all Regulus’s fault, he knows that, Lupin knows that, he shouldn’t have let Sirius drink it, the stupid, brave, reckless idiot …

He closes his eyes, haunted by the look on Fabian’s face when he’d heard about Gideon, and the realisation slams into him. I have no idea how to exist in a world that doesn’t have Sirius in it . 

Fabian and Gideon had been far closer than he and Sirius are now, of course - perhaps closer than they had ever been. But still, Fabian hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye to his brother - Gideon was gone so suddenly, he hadn’t even known he would need to say goodbye. What if Regulus is too late to say goodbye to his brother, too? What if he’s already missed his chance? 

There’s a war on, and there’s a spy somewhere out there - whoever it might be - and everything seems vicious and brutal. Gideon’s sudden death reminds Regulus that nobody is safe, nobody knows what might happen in the next moment. Fabian’s face when he’d heard the news is more proof that it’s dangerous to care about people, dangerous to love them. Love can break you, Regulus knows that. But this is his stupid, infuriating, obnoxious, brave, wonderful brother - and he can’t stop himself from loving him. He’s never been able to stop, despite everything. 

Wake up, Regulus thinks furiously at Sirius. I have so many things I still need to tell you. I’m sorry. I love you. I’m sorry…God, wake up!

He feels so helpless; he wants to scream aloud, to hit something. His fist tightens around the chain in his hand, and he blinks down at the Horcrux; he’d almost forgotten he was still holding it. 

Absent-mindedly, more to give himself something to do than anything else, he tries to prise it open. It won’t budge. He tries harder, glaring down at it. Nothing.

A desperate frustration builds in his chest, a helpless fury that has nowhere to go, and suddenly he’s tempted, even after everything they’ve just been through to get it, to throw the locket hard at the wall - or better yet, in the bin. 

Without meaning to, Regulus lets out a sound somewhere between a hollow laugh and a dry sob. He can’t help Sirius, he can’t figure out who the spy might be, he can’t even open this stupid thing. All this, to get at one ‘creepy locket’, as Fabian had called it, which Regulus doesn’t really have a clue how to destroy, which he can’t even bloody open . Was it really worth it?

Regulus sits there in the silent living room, head bowed, the clock ticking loudly as he tries not to drown in his own fear. He’s losing track of how much time has actually passed, now; he can’t bear to actually look at the clock, he doesn’t want confirmation of exactly how many hours it’s been since Sirius last stirred. He feels like he can barely breathe as it is. 

So he just sits there, trying to breathe evenly, his head in his hands so he doesn’t have to look at his brother lying so still. The only sounds are the ticking of the clock, and the constant rhythm of Lupin's footsteps as he paces back and forth across the room. 

Regulus wonders vaguely how many times he’s paced the length of the small room; it must be hundreds, by now. Lupin had always seemed by far the most levelheaded and calmest of Sirius’s friends, but right now he seems completely incapable of standing still for more than a second. Regulus thinks he understands; with every second that Sirius’s eyes stay closed, the weight of anxiety in the living room grows heavier, both of them sharing that sense of helplessness, as well as the inescapable frustration of it, that fury and terror that has nowhere to go. Lupin’s relentless pacing is making the little room feel even more like a cage. 

Once or twice, Regulus half-considers telling the other man to just bloody stand still - but he’s not sure he’s brave enough. Or stupid enough. Despite the all-consuming anxiety, he could hardly fail to notice the cold glares that Lupin keeps shooting in his direction, every time he so much as shifts slightly in his seat. He’s making no secret of the fact that he still blames Regulus for all of this; though right at this moment Regulus doubts that even Lupin can hate him as much as he hates himself. 

If he’s not bouncing around and back to being a stubborn dick within the next few hours…I will kill you myself, Regulus. Do you understand me? 

Regulus shivers slightly.

He wonders why his brother’s boyfriend is even letting him stay here, now that Fabian isn’t here any more to reprimand him for rudeness. He’d expected to be told to get out, long ago. But then he realises - Lupin needs somebody else in the room with him, while he waits for Sirius to wake. Even if that person is Regulus. Better that than being left alone with the crushing weight of his own fear. He supposes he can understand that. 

Although he’s long since lost track of time, Regulus notices, distantly, that the darkness outside is gradually starting to lighten, turning to a cool greyish blue.

But it’s not until the light seeping through the thin curtains illuminates the room in a rosy glow, shot through with gold, that Sirius finally, finally stirs. 

“Sirius?” Lupin croaks, his voice hoarse as he speaks for the first time in hours. Regulus looks up, alerted by the sudden hope in the other man’s voice. He feels his heart leap as the black dog slowly stretches his legs out on the sofa, blinks a few times - and cracks one eye open. 

“Sirius!” Remus says again, his voice overflowing with relief. 

He hastily throws himself down onto his knees next to the sofa, reaching out to stroke the dog’s head. Regulus can see his hand shaking. 

“You’re…are you…you’re alright,” he breathes, sounding just as stunned as Regulus feels. “You’re safe. Are you…how are you feeling, Padfoot?” 

Sirius makes a small sound, more a tired, affectionate huff than a bark, and licks Lupin’s hand. Lupin laughs, quietly, and Regulus laughs too, despite himself. Typical Sirius. 

For a moment he feels almost dizzy, lightheaded with relief, his legs so weak that he’s not sure they would support him if he tried to stand up from his chair. 

“You want water, Pads?” Remus asks, cupping the dog’s head in his hands. 

The Sirius-dog presses his nose into his hand gently, and Lupin grins down at him, his entire face lighting up in such a way that his scars, usually so prominent, seem barely noticeable. Regulus feels slightly stunned at the change. He’s never seen the man looking so happy. 

“Be right back,” he promises, pressing a fervent kiss to the top of the dog’s head before he stands up, heading towards the little kitchen. Regulus sees him scrubbing at his eyes as he goes. 

The black dog turns its head, staring at Regulus. He swallows, suddenly feeling the knot of anxiety in his chest tighten again. 

How much does Sirius remember? Is he going to blame him for all of this, too? Regulus can’t stop himself from shuddering as he remembers the way that Sirius had cried and screamed in the cave, the way he’d begged. The black dog keeps staring at him, and he wonders whether Sirius is seeing the cave and the potion again, too, thinking about how Regulus had kept making him drink that…

“Are you…” his voice cracks. He swallows and tries again. “You alright?” 

Another small huff. Regulus assumes that means yes. 

“Fucking hell, Sirius,” he says shakily. “You scared us half to death, you know.” 

The dog cocks his head at that, looking at Regulus curiously, as though trying to work out what he means. 

He’s spared from having to find something else to say as Lupin reappears from the kitchen, carrying a dog bowl full of water. 

Regulus catches the momentary look of panic in his eyes, before he catches sight of Sirius and his face relaxes again. He was scared to have his boyfriend out of his sight, Regulus realises, even for a moment.

“Here,” says Lupin quietly, giving the dog a shaky smile as he proffers the bowl of water. 

Regulus is tempted to laugh at the absurdity of it, for a moment - he can’t believe Lupin actually keeps a dog bowl on hand - but when Sirius laps at the water urgently, drinking almost the entire bowl in one go, he remembers again how desperately thirsty the green potion had made him, the way the water in the goblet had kept vanishing until Regulus had had no choice but to go to the Inferi-infested lake. The urge to laugh vanishes immediately.

“Better?” Lupin asks, his hazel eyes soft as he strokes the dog’s head. Sirius barks, a much clearer, stronger sound than the quiet little huffs he’d been making before, and wags his tail a little. 

“You feeling strong enough to transform?” asks Lupin. He looks at the dog, eyes wide and hopeful. 

Sirius blinks back at him for a moment, looking uncertain. A moment later, the black dog has vanished, Regulus’s brother sitting in its place on the sofa next to Lupin. He looks pale and exhausted, dark shadows under his eyes, but safe. Regulus feels a surge of relief so strong it makes him dizzy. He looks down, biting his lip, so that the others won’t see him smiling. Although, at this moment, he doubts that Lupin would notice him, even if he were to start twirling around the room and singing. 

“Hi there,” Lupin whispers breathlessly, his eyes tracing hungrily over Sirius’s features.

“Hi, Moony,” Sirius replies, gazing back at him. His voice sounds low, gruff, almost like a dog’s bark. 

Still studying him, Lupin reaches up to tuck Sirius’s long dark hair behind his ear, looking as though he hardly dares to believe his eyes. 

“Love you,” he whispers. His voice is so soft and private that Regulus wonders, for a moment, if he should just get up and leave them to it. 

Sirius doesn’t say it back - just gives him a small, tired smile, his own grey eyes tracing over his boyfriend’s scarred face. Regulus can’t help but think that there’s something sad in that smile. Something uncertain. Something hurt. 

Lupin blinks, and Regulus sees a flicker of anxiety cross his face. Before he can say anything, though, Sirius looks away from him abruptly, frowning around the living room. 

“How did…” His voice is very hoarse; he clears his throat and tries again. “How did we get away? From the cave?” 

Regulus and Lupin exchange a brief look.

“We used Incendio,” Regulus answers quietly, deciding it’s probably best to cut a long story short. 

Sirius nods, though he still looks lost. No, worse than lost…haunted. 

“And…the Horcrux?” he asks anxiously. “Did you get it?” 

Regulus nods. “Yes.” 

He leans over, holding the chain out to him; tentatively, Sirius reaches out, and Regulus drops it into his palm.

The three of them fall silent for a moment, Regulus and Lupin both watching Sirius as he gazes down at the emerald-encrusted locket. Sirius looks back up at Regulus, eyes wide. 

“It’s weird…it almost feels like it’s got its own heartbeat, or something.” 

He nods again, his heart in his throat.

“I thought that, too. But then I thought maybe I was just going a bit insane, what with…everything.” 

“Everything?” Sirius echoes, sounding confused. Then he blinks, suddenly frowning in bewilderment as he glances around the room again. 

“Wait…where’s Fab?” he asks. “Thought he’d be huddled around my sickbed with you two. Has he gone to report to Dumbledore?” 

An intensely uncomfortable silence.

“What?” Sirius asks, looking back and forth between the two of them. 

“He hasn’t gone to Dumbledore, Sirius,” Lupin says gently. “He’s gone to Molly’s place.” 

“Molly?” Sirius repeats blankly. “As in, his sister?” Lupin nods. “Why?” 

Lupin takes a deep breath. 

“Fabian has gone to see Molly because…because Gideon was killed last night.”

Sirius stares at him, his expression one of blank shock. 

“Gideon?” he whispers. “Killed?” 

Lupin nods. Regulus tries not to dwell on the look Fabian had given him as he’d left earlier, tries not to wonder how he’s coping now, at his sister’s house. 

“Not just Gideon,” Lupin adds. “Dorcas, too.” 

Sirius still looks bewildered, as though he’s struggling to process the words, but can’t quite manage it.

“But…that was just supposed to be a standard mission, wasn’t it?” he asks. “Like the one that Gid and I were sent on the other night? It…it wasn’t even supposed to be dangerous!” 

“They were ambushed, Sirius,” Lupin replies quietly. 

“ Ambushed?” Sirius echoes. A look of horrified comprehension dawns across his pale face. “But then…that means there’s definitely…”

“Yes,” Regulus says, looking at him solemnly. “It does mean that.” 

Sirius looks back and forth between Regulus and Lupin, his expression darkening. Regulus feels a chill creeping down his spine.  

Slowly, Sirius looks down at the Horcrux, still clutched in his hand. He lets out a hollow, mirthless bark of laughter. 

“Well,” he says. “At least we got this creepy little locket, right?” 

Regulus shivers. Sirius’s voice is dripping with sarcasm, just as Fabian’s had been; and just like Fabian, he stares at Regulus, his eyes cold and distant. 

One Week Later

“What will it be for you, mate?” the grubby-looking barman asks, raising one eyebrow suspiciously as he looks Regulus up and down. 

Regulus gathers from the look on the man’s face that his attempt at a Muggleish outfit to help him blend in isn’t working too well. He shifts uncomfortably on the spot. 

“Uhh…” 

 He glances up at the dusty drinks menu on the wall, frowning in irritation. 

He could certainly do with something strong right now - preferably a Firewhiskey - but there doesn’t appear to be any Firewhiskey on offer in this place. In fact, none of the drinks look familiar at all; he’s never even heard of most of them. Tequila, scotch, prosecco, jagermeister… Why are Muggles so peculiar? 

The barman tuts, evidently annoyed by his dithering. 

“How about a beer to start? That alright?” 

Regulus hesitates. A ‘beer’ is presumably something similar to butterbeer. Not as strong as he’d had in mind, but better than nothing.

“Uh...yes. Thank you. Make it two, my, uh…friend is joining me, in a minute.”

“Two pints?” the barman grunts. 

Regulus frowns. “Um…yes?” 

The barman nods, taking out two glasses and filling them from a tap on top of the bar.

“Ten pounds for those.” 

“Oh…um…sorry, just a moment…”

He looks down, pretending to rummage in his pocket for a wallet. Instead, he takes out his wand as subtly as he can, silently transfiguring the napkin he’d just surreptitiously slipped off the counter. 

“Here you go,” he says, attempting a friendly smile as he pushes the note across the bar. 

The barman is still frowning at him suspiciously - but apparently Regulus has at least observed the Muggle money around him well enough to cast a convincing spell, as he accepts the transfigured napkin as payment without any comment or complaint. 

“Cheers,” the barman says gruffly. “Just grab any table, lad.” 

“Thanks,” Regulus mutters as he takes the beers. 

He can feel the man’s eyes on his back as he walks away - and he isn’t the only one. As Regulus walks over to a little booth hidden away in the corner, trying not to grimace in distaste at the tacky faux Victorian decor of the place, wincing as his shoes stick to the inexplicably sticky carpet, he can sense the Muggles around him staring in open curiosity, as though he’s an exhibit. So much for trying to blend in. 

He scowls a little, keeping his gaze averted from all the stares as he slides into the little booth in the corner. 

Trust Sirius to be late, to leave him alone in this Muggle dive, when he was the one who’d insisted that if they had to meet, they would meet here. 

It had taken Regulus days to work up the courage to ask Sirius if they could talk, privately. After that awful night, when he had finally left Sirius and Remus’s flat, he had tried to convince himself that he was being ridiculous and over-emotional. But it was no good. He couldn’t seem to stop himself from remembering the broken look on Fabian’s face, remembering those endless hours when he and Lupin had sat in silence, desperately waiting for Sirius to stir, to show any sign of life. Over the past week, those images had seemed to play on repeat in Regulus’s head, and every time, he’d felt a fresh surge of icy terror. 

There’s a spy in the Order - and until they know for sure who it is, and catch them, then nobody will be safe. Perhaps the chance of a reconciliation with his older brother is already long gone. But, after everything that had happened that night, Regulus has finally reached the inconvenient, inescapable conclusion that…he has to try. 

Of course, Sirius hadn’t been exactly keen, when Regulus had finally worked up the nerve to ask him if they could talk. If anything, the revelation about the ambush seemed to have made him even colder than before. 

Come to the bloody flat then, if you need to, he’d responded grumpily. 

But Regulus can’t bear to sit in that little living room again - not after the other night. 

Well, where would you suggest, then? Sirius had demanded angrily, when he’d refused. That had stumped Regulus a bit. They could hardly go and sit in the Leaky Cauldron, or the Hog’s Head - what if another Death Eater saw Regulus sitting with his brother, a known member of the Order? Or what if the spy saw them? 

When Regulus hadn’t had an answer to give, Sirius had sent a message to say that, if he was so keen to talk to him, but he wouldn’t come to the flat, then he’d have to let Sirius find some ‘neutral ground.’ As soon as Regulus had approached this dingy little Muggle dump, though, following the directions Sirius had scribbled down, his suspicions had been confirmed - this place is definitely not what he would describe as ‘neutral.’ But he also knows his brother well enough to know that he has to pick his battles. If he’d refused to come to this shitty little place, he’s fairly certain Sirius would have been too stubborn to speak to him at all. And at least it’s true that nobody is likely to recognise either of them in here. 

He sighs, ducking his head to try and avoid the sideways glances from the men sitting around him. More for something to do than anything else, he takes a sip from the glass in front of him; immediately, he struggles not to spit it back out. It tastes stale, bitter. Muggles drink this crap for fun? 

As he pushes the glass away, grimacing, he hears the door of the little pub open. Looking up, he feels a wave of mingled relief and anxiety as a very familiar man walks in, his long dark hair tied back in a ponytail. It looks like his brother has finally deigned to show up. 

Regulus waves to signal him. Sirius smirks a little as his gaze lands on him, before strolling over to the little corner booth, clearly taking his sweet time. 

He pauses when he reaches him, standing over the booth with his hands in his pockets, his smirk widening as he takes Regulus in properly.

“Bloody hell, Reg,” he says. “I thought I told you to try and blend in. You look like you’ve just come out of the pages of a Charles Dickens book.” 

Regulus frowns, bewildered.

“Who the hell is Charles Dickens?” 

Sirius rolls his eyes, as though this were a ridiculous question.

“A very famous Muggle author? Who was writing about a hundred years ago?” 

“Oh,” Regulus replies, flushing slightly. Now he understands a little better why the Muggles around him are staring. Sirius, on the other hand, wearing his usual black leather jacket and ripped jeans, looks as though he’s just come from a Muggle rock concert. Regulus remembers the Muggle records he used to bring home to infuriate their mother, with strange titles like Diamond Dogs and Electric Warrior. “Well, not all of us took Muggle Studies,” he mutters in a defensive undertone. 

Sirius’s face darkens suddenly.

“No, I’m aware of that,” he says. “Then again, you’ve always been pretty observant , haven’t you, Reg? When you want to be, that is.” 

Regulus frowns at him. From most people, that might have sounded like a compliment - but not the way Sirius says it. 

He sits slowly down in the booth. Close to, Regulus realises that he’s still much paler than usual, with dark shadows under his eyes; he looks drawn, ill, exhausted. He winces a little as he sits down.

“Are you…?” he starts awkwardly.

“I’m fine, Reg,” Sirius hisses at him, his jaw tightening, steely grey eyes flashing him a defiant warning look. 

But Regulus knows perfectly well when his brother is lying. He always has been too stubborn for his own good, terrible at admitting to any weakness or asking for help - Regulus supposes it’s one of the few ways the two of them are similar - but he’s evidently still in pain, even a week later. That bloody potion. He feels his chest tightening with guilt again. He pushes Sirius’s pint glass towards him - he’ll probably pretend to enjoy it, just to prove a point - and shakes himself a little, hoping that he isn’t quite as easy to read as Sirius is. 

“So?” Sirius asks bluntly, raising his glass to take a sip. As he leans forwards a little, Regulus glimpses the golden chain of the Horcrux around his neck, though it’s hidden under his black t-shirt. “To what do I owe the pleasure of being summoned by my dearest little brother? What did you need to tell me? Or were you simply longing for the pleasure of my company?” 

He laughs sardonically, a short, humourless bark.

Regulus hesitates, chewing his lip as he stares at his brother. He’s been mulling this over for almost a week, imagining all the different ways the conversation could go, trying to think of how to phrase it in a way that won’t immediately make Sirius fly into a rage. Trying to work up the courage to just…be open, for once. To tell him the truth. 

But now that he’s actually here, with Sirius sitting across from him, expression cold and haughty, one eyebrow raised expectantly, Regulus finds that his mind seems to have gone blank. The words he’d prepared so carefully seem to have completely flown away. He takes a deep breath, trying to gather himself. 

“Well…yeah. Sort of,” he says quietly. 

“Sort of what?” Sirius asks impatiently. 

“I…I sort of did…want your company,” he mutters, looking down.

Sirius stares at him, his mouth open, his haughty expression falling away, replaced by a look of blank shock. 

“ What?” 

“I just…I just mean…” Regulus panics, cursing himself. “Fuck, I’m saying this wrong.” 

“Say it right, then,” Sirius demands. 

He takes another deep breath. 

“I just…I’ve just been thinking…since Fabian lost Gideon…” They both flinch at the memory, but Regulus forces himself to press on. “Well…we never really know when we’re going to lose the next person, do we?” 

Sirius’s face tightens.

“No,” he answers shortly. “We don’t.” 

“Well, that’s what got me thinking,” Regulus continues hurriedly. “I just…saw the look on Fabian’s face, that night, and I thought about…how I would feel if that was you.” He stumbles over the words, and looks down at the table in front of them, his heart in his throat. Somehow, he feels even more vulnerable now than he had done in the cave. He doesn’t dare look up at Sirius, so he keeps speaking to the table instead. “Don’t you think we should at least try to…to just be brothers again?” His brain is screaming at him to just stop talking , telling him he’s only making himself vulnerable to attack; but he forces himself to keep going. It feels like the hardest thing he’s ever done. “I mean…we used to be close once, remember? When we were kids. We used to actually know each other. And when you got hurt in the cave, when Lupin and I spent hours waiting for you to wake up” - his voice breaks slightly - “I suppose I just sort of realised that…well, I don’t even know what I’d do , if you…” 

Regulus’s breath hitches, his throat suddenly burning with tears, and he trails off, finding that he can’t finish that thought. Finally, he risks glancing up at Sirius. 

His brother is staring at him, his eyes narrowed slightly. The expression on his face is strange; his gaze is searching Regulus’s face, almost as though he’s trying to figure out the solution to a puzzle. 

“I…I wish it was that simple,” he says slowly, his voice more earnest than Regulus had expected. “I wish I could believe you.” 

Regulus stares back at him, feeling something shatter deep inside him. He hadn’t thought there was anything left to break, between him and Sirius. But as it turns out, he was wrong.

“You still don’t trust me,” he says flatly. 

He wonders, distantly, why he feels winded. Why it hurts so much. 

“Well, no,” says Sirius, frowning at him. “I mean…is that really a surprise? You were a Death Eater , Regulus!”

“Yes, I’m aware of that, thanks,” he snaps, trying to cover up the familiar, sickening, overwhelming rush of guilt with anger. “I don’t really need a reminder.” 

“I mean, bloody hell,” Sirius continues, “you still are a Death Eater!” 

Regulus gapes at him, feeling hot tears burning in his throat. 

“I…that’s not…I’m only doing that on Dumbledore’s orders, Sirius!” 

But Sirius shakes his head. 

“Yeah, you can tell yourself that. You can tell everyone in the Order, if you like. But I remember what you were like, Reg. I gave you a chance, I gave you so many chances, because I didn’t want to lose you” - his voice breaks - “but by the time you were eleven, it was already too late, wasn’t it? You believed all the poisonous shit our parents ever said to us. You were desperate to join Him , for years, you were obsessed! I mean, you had a bloody collage in your room, for fuck’s sake!” 

“Yes, I remember that too,” Regulus snarls back at him. 

His hands are trembling, cold guilt swirling nauseatingly in the pit of his stomach. He feels like he might choke on his own self-loathing, he feels like Sirius is effortlessly finding the most terrified, vulnerable parts of him and digging his fingers into them viciously, making him bleed. He blinks rapidly, willing himself not to show Sirius how much it hurts. 

“I was brainwashed, Sirius! I grew up being taught that the Dark Lord was trying to bring wizards out of hiding, that he was trying to build a better world. I was taught, for years, that he was fighting ‘for the greater good.’”

Sirius lets out another harsh bark of laughter.

“You know, if you want people to trust you, little brother, you might want to stop calling him ‘the Dark Lord.’ I’m pretty sure it’s only Death Eaters who call him that.” Regulus blinks. “Besides,” Sirius continues, “I grew up with exactly the same bullshit being constantly spouted in my ear, Regulus. But only one of us was actually stupid enough to believe it.” 

“God, it’s easy for you to say that!” Regulus fires back, glaring at him. 

The Muggles around them are starting to stare even more now, and Regulus makes an effort to lower his voice a little. His brother has always had a knack for making him feel furious, vulnerable, out of control. 

“You don’t get it, Sirius, you never did!” he hisses. “ You were handed a whole new family at the age of eleven! You had friends, people who actually cared about you - all I ever had was Kreacher!” Sirius’s eyes widen a little at that; but Regulus finds that he can’t stop, the words are pouring out of him, as though they’d been waiting for years. Perhaps they had. “All I ever heard was that it was my job to uphold the family honour, to be the perfect son - if I didn’t do that, I’d have had nothing!”

“You’d have had me!” Sirius argues.

“You left!” Regulus exclaims. It’s never been so difficult to hold back his tears; he feels as though he’s tearing himself open, finally showing Sirius all the most broken parts of him. “You left, Sirius, and you never turned back! You never thought, for a moment, how much easier it was for you to escape, did you? Don’t want to be a part of this family? Just run along to another one, they’re waiting for you with open arms!”

He glares fiercely at his brother, breathing hard as though he’s been running. For a moment, he sees shock in Sirius’s grey eyes, and maybe something else…something that almost looks like…

But a moment later, his brother’s face has hardened again, eyes narrowed in suspicion, and Regulus wonders if he’d just imagined his moment of hesitation.

“Why couldn’t you have told me all this at the meeting?” he asks abruptly. 

“Why…what?” Regulus asks, disoriented by the sudden change of topic. 

“You insisted you had to speak to me in private. But there’s an Order meeting later this evening - so why couldn’t you have just pulled me aside before it began? Why did you have to meet me separately?” 

Regulus stares at him.

“I…I’m not going to the meeting tonight,” he says slowly. “I’ve told Dumbledore I can’t go any more. There was an ambush. That means there must be a spy.”

“Yes,” Sirius agrees. “It does.” 

“Right,” says Regulus impatiently. At least they can agree on something. “So, until Dumbledore knows for sure who the spy is, and he’s caught them - I can’t attend the meetings any more, can I? It’s not safe.” 

“I see,” Sirius replies, his grey eyes colder than ever as they trace over his face. “Had a change of heart, have you, Reggie? Afraid to show your face in the Order now?” 

Catching his brother’s implication, his fury rises so suddenly that it’s all he can do not to lunge across the table and hit him, right here in this dingy Muggle pub. He clenches his hand into a fist under the table. 

“For god’s sake, Sirius,” he growls quietly, through gritted teeth. “ I’m the one who gave Dumbledore the information about the Horcrux. I’m the one who got us to that bloody locket.” 

He gestures towards the chain glinting around his brother’s neck. 

“Yeah - the bloody locket that none of us can even open ,” Sirius shoots back at him.

It’s true. After Sirius had finally woken up that night, he, Regulus and Lupin had all spent what felt like hours trying to prise it open, using every spell that they could think of between the three of them - to no avail. 

What’s worse, they’ve noticed over the past week that whoever wears it seems to be quickly weighed down, not just with the locket itself, but with dark, suspicious thoughts, making them even more edgy and paranoid than usual, more prone to lashing out. For the first few days, Regulus had been the only one wearing the stupid thing - but after the snapping between he and Sirius had become even worse than usual, Lupin had eventually ordered Regulus to pass it over to him. Amazed at how comparatively light he felt without the locket, an icy burden lifted that he’d barely even realised he’d been carrying, he’d quickly agreed with Lupin’s suggestion that, until they figured out how to destroy the damn thing, they should take turns wearing it. Of course, that also means that whenever one of them takes it off, they immediately start dreading the moment they’ll have to put it back on again. 

“What’s your point, Sirius?” Regulus demands aggressively, folding his arms. He has to fight back, just so he doesn’t shatter. 

“I’m just saying, none of us actually have any proof that this thing is actually a Horcrux - except for your word,” Sirius points out. “I almost died drinking that fucking potion, Regulus, because you said it was so important - all for this stupid locket that doesn’t open, and that makes everyone feel even shittier than we feel already. Obviously it’s infused with some kind of dark magic, but that’s really all we know about it. And you taking us to that creepy cave certainly kept us all occupied that night, didn’t it?” 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Regulus asks slowly.

“Contrary to what you might believe, I’m not stupid, Reg,” Sirius answers. “Did you honestly think nobody would notice that Dorcas and Gid ran into an ambush, on exactly the same night that you distracted us with a mission to that godforsaken cave? Fabian certainly did.”

Regulus stares at him, his fury ebbing away, replaced by a cold, creeping sense of horror. 

“What..what do you mean?” he stammers. “Did…did Fabian say something to you?” 

Sirius shrugs, the muscle in his jaw tensing. 

“Well, he told me he wishes he’d been on the mission with Gid, to protect him,” he mutters. “Obviously. That’s where he would have been, if not for this whole scheme of yours, which you convinced Dumbledore was so important. And he…he did mention that it was a strange coincidence. The ambush happening on the same night.” 

Regulus stares unseeingly at his brother. He feels suddenly as though there’s ice slowly creeping across his chest, freezing him from the inside out. It’s as though he’s close to drowning again, gasping for breath. 

He hasn’t seen or heard anything from Fabian since that night. He’s missed him more than he would care to admit; but he’s given him space, assuming Fabian was still processing his grief, that he wasn’t speaking to anyone at the moment. But he’s been speaking to Sirius , apparently. About him. 

Regulus feels stupid for being so shocked. After all, most of the people in the Order don’t trust him, and he knows that perfectly well. 

But Fabian Prewett…Fabian who had grinned at him, reassured him, saved him…

He turns his head away from Sirius, desperately trying to force back the tears pricking at his eyes, burning his throat. He doesn’t want to give his brother the satisfaction of knowing how pathetic he feels, how much it hurts. 

“So that’s it?” he asks, turning back to Sirius finally. He tries his best to sound haughty, defiant, as though he couldn’t care less what Sirius - or Fabian - might think of him. “We can never be properly brothers again, because you don’t trust me?” 

Sirius gives another humourless bark of laughter - but Regulus glimpses something in those familiar grey eyes. If he didn’t know better, he might think that Sirius was trying almost as hard as he is to seem unaffected, indifferent.

“Don’t take it too personally, Reggie,” he replies bitterly. “I don’t trust anyone , these days.”

“What, not even your precious Moony?” Regulus shoots back at him, his tone mocking. 

He expects Sirius to roll his eyes, to huff at him in irritation. Obviously I trust him, I live with him, don’t I? 

Instead, his brother responds with a moody shrug, looking down at the table. Regulus sees pain flicker across his face. He stares at him, appalled - he hadn’t thought Sirius could shock him any more than he already had. He remembers suddenly what he’d said to Dumbledore, the night he’d barged in on the meeting in Lupin’s study that he wasn’t invited to. 

If you think I’m going to leave those two alone together, you can bloody well think again.

Regulus feels another puzzle piece clicking into place, as he finally realises precisely what his brother had meant with that comment. 

“You have got to be joking,” he says quietly.

Sirius shrugs again.

“Not really a joking matter, little brother,” he says sardonically, without meeting his eyes. 

“He loves you, you idiot - anyone can see that!” Regulus hisses. 

“He says he does,” Sirius mutters, still avoiding his gaze. 

He’s trying to sound nonchalant, but he’s failing miserably. Regulus can see that the very thought of Lupin betraying him is breaking his heart. 

“For god’s sake, Sirius,” he exclaims, running a hand wearily through his hair. He can hardly believe he’s about to sit here and defend Lupin, after the way the man had treated him the other night - but someone has to, it seems. “You just don’t get it, do you? As per usual. That night, when we came back from the cave, when you were too weak to transform back for hours…god, Sirius, if you’d have seen him...he was going insane…” 

Sirius swallows and turns his head away, evidently not wanting Regulus to see the emotion on his face. 

Regulus stares at him, wondering how to get the truth through his brother’s thick, stubborn skull. For a moment, he feels almost as frustrated and helpless as he had done the other night, waiting desperately for Sirius to wake up. 

His gaze falls on the chain of the Horcrux, glinting around Sirius’s neck. 

“Give that here,” he sighs.

“What?” Sirius frowns.

“Give me the bloody Horcrux,” he clarifies impatiently, holding out his hand. “I think you’ve had a long enough turn now, you’re being even more of a dickhead than usual.” 

Sirius snorts derisively. 

“Gladly,” he snipes, reaching up to pull it off over his head, and dumping it into Regulus’s outstretched hand, where the chain coils into his palm like a miniature snake. 

Regulus glares back at him as he places the locket around his own neck, wincing as the icy weight of it presses against his chest. 

A moment later, he jumps violently, almost knocking his barely-touched glass of beer flying, as his left forearm suddenly sears. 

“What the hell is your problem?” Sirius hisses at him, as Regulus lets out a small yelp of surprise and pain, and the Muggles sitting around them turn to stare at him again. 

“It’s…He’s just called me,” Regulus mutters, his heart pounding violently.

“What are you on about, who’s…?” Regulus raises an eyebrow at him pointedly, and his brother’s eyes widen. “Oh.” 

He looks away, knowing that Sirius’s confused expression has turned to one of revulsion. At least he’s fairly certain that his brother can’t hate him any more than he hates himself, right now. 

“What does Voldemort want?” Sirius mutters, searching his face suspiciously. Regulus can’t help but flinch, as though the use of the name might somehow summon the man himself to this tiny little pub, in this dirty corner of Muggle London. 

“How would I know?” Regulus hisses back at him. “I can’t bloody read his mind, can I?”

But his heart is in his throat, his skin suddenly crawling with cold terror. Is it possible that the Dark Lord has already visited the cave, found the locket missing, and worked out exactly who ‘R.A.B’ is? Or has the spy in the Order already seen him, after all? Have they just reported him? 

Regulus exhales slowly, trying to calm himself down. For a moment, he considers just ignoring it. He doesn’t think he can bear to see that monster again, let alone go running to him, be at his beck and call. But, immediately, he hears Dumbledore’s voice echoing in his head. 

It will be even more dangerous if you do not return to him at all. He would know immediately that you had abandoned him. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, more to himself than to Sirius. “I have to go.” 

He stands up, ready to walk outside and Disapparate. 

“Wait,” says Sirius sharply, standing up too.

“I don’t have time to wait, Sirius!” he hisses at his brother, icy panic washing through him. 

“I know,” Sirius agrees, surprising him. “But, assuming that actually is his Horcrux,” he says, pointing at the locket now around Regulus’s neck, “you can hardly go and see him while wearing it, can you? I think he might just notice.” 

“Oh. Right,” Regulus agrees. His whole brain seems to have jammed. 

Sirius tuts.

“Just give it back, Reg,” he says, holding his hand out for it. “I’ll wear it again.” 

He hesitates for a split second - he’s pretty sure wearing the Horcrux hasn’t been doing Sirius any favours - but he can’t see that he has much choice, at the moment. He fumbles clumsily with the chain for a moment, his palms clammy with fear, before handing it back to his brother. 

“Oh, and I’d probably change before going, if I were you,” Sirius adds, his gaze raking critically over Regulus’s attempt at a Muggle outfit again. 

“Thanks,” he snarls, desperately trying to cover his terror with sarcasm. “I’d worked that much out for myself, funnily enough.” 

He strides out of the little pub as fast as he can, almost running. 

As soon as he’s outside, Regulus turns into the nearest dark alleyway. Looking quickly around to check that there are no prying Muggle eyes out here at least, he turns on the spot, Disapparating back to Grimmauld Place. 

“Master Regulus?” Kreacher croaks hopefully, poking his wizened head out of the living room, evidently having heard the telltale crack.

“Not now, Kreacher!” he calls hurriedly, dashing up the stairs to his room as fast as he can. Crossing to the wardrobe, his heart still pounding violently, he strips off his Muggle  clothes and takes out a set of his normal robes, putting them on with violently trembling hands. 

Regulus glances at his watch - it’s coming up for ten minutes already since he’d felt the Mark burn. He swears under his breath - if the Dark Lord is already furious with him, being late to answer his summons is hardly likely to put him in a more forgiving mood. He takes a deep breath, trying to force his heartbeat to calm down a little. It doesn’t help much. 

He’s so shaky that he knows he’s in danger of Splinching himself. Still, he turns on the spot again, fixing his destination in mind as firmly as he can. 

When Regulus opens his eyes, he’s standing in a wide, moonlit driveway, bordered on the left by wild, low-growing brambles, on the right by a high, neatly manicured yew hedge. Barring the way ahead of him are a pair of tall and elaborate wrought-iron gates; beyond them, he can hear the sound of a fountain playing. 

Silently, hating himself more than ever as his heart thunders painfully in his chest, Regulus raises his left arm, enabling him to pass straight through the closed gate as though the dark metal is merely smoke. 

He practically sprints up the driveway, vaguely registering the rustling movement of a pure white peacock strutting along the top of the hedge as he passes. 

A handsome manor house seems to grow out of the darkness as he nears the end of the driveway, lights glimmering in the diamond-paned downstairs window. Gravel crackles beneath Regulus’s feet as he speeds towards the front door, which swings inwards at his approach. 

The hallway is large, dimly lit and sumptuously decorated, with a magnificent carpet covering most of the stone floor. 

A familiar, beautiful blonde woman is hovering anxiously at the foot of the grand staircase, looking even paler than usual, holding a small blond boy in her arms, no bigger than the Potters’ son. 

“Narcissa,” he greets his favourite cousin breathlessly.

She frowns at him.

“Regulus? Are you alright?” she asks, sounding concerned. The child - Draco, if he’s remembering right - looks up at him curiously, with those grey eyes inherited from his mother’s side. 

He nods impatiently. The lie is probably obvious, but he doesn’t have time to care.

“Where…?” 

“He’s in there,” Narcissa answers his question before he can finish answering it, nodding towards the drawing room door. She looks frightened. “Lucius is in there with him.” He grimaces a little at that, hoping his cousin won’t notice - she never takes too kindly to any criticisms of her husband. “Wait here, I’ll let them know you’ve arrived…” 

She crosses over to the heavy wooden door leading into the next room, Regulus trailing in her wake, his traitorous heart pounding so deafeningly in his ears that he’s certain everyone will be able to hear it. Narcissa hesitates for the space of a heartbeat before knocking.

“Enter,” says that familiar high, clear voice. 

Regulus can’t stop himself from shuddering, feeling a potent combination of terror and loathing crawl down his spine. Narcissa opens the door, but does not go in; she simply sticks her head in, murmuring something. Regulus doesn’t quite catch what she says, though he hears his own name. 

“Ah. At last,” says that high voice, with more than a touch of cold impatience. “You may send him in, Narcissa. And as for you, Wormtail,” he adds, “you have done well - better than I would have expected from you, I admit. But you may leave us now - you have another meeting to attend tonight, have you not?” 

Regulus freezes, wondering whether he can possibly have heard right. 

Wormtail? 

“My…my Lord,” says a trembling, somewhat squeaky voice from inside the drawing room. That voice is vaguely familiar… “Thank you, my Lord, you are most gracious, my Lord -” 

“That will do,” says the high, cold voice, and the other man abruptly stops speaking. “Join us, Regulus,” calls the Dark Lord. 

Regulus feels rooted to the spot for a moment, wondering if he might have a heart attack - but Narcissa nudges him gently, and he takes a deep breath and moves forwards. 

As he walks slowly into the Malfoys’ drawing room, another, shorter man brushes past him in the doorway as he backs out, still bowing low and obsequiously. The man looks briefly at him, giving him a small, awkward nod, before finally turning and hurrying away.

For a moment, Regulus forgets entirely what he’s supposed to be doing, feeling as though the room is spinning dizzyingly fast around him. There’s a large mirror facing him, across the huge drawing room - but he knows without looking at it that all the blood has drained from his face.

No wonder that man had looked so awkward at the sight of him - and no wonder he had ‘another meeting’ to get to. Regulus might not have seen him for years, but he’d recognised him immediately. 

He looks almost exactly the same now as he had looked back at Hogwarts, when he’d been nervously trailing everywhere in Sirius and James Potter’s wake - short, with thin blond hair plastered to his head, watery-eyed, weak-chinned, a little on the pudgy side. The man looks every bit as pathetic and insignificant now as he had always looked back then. Now Regulus thinks about it, he’s exactly the sort of person who would have the curse - or gift - of constantly escaping other people’s attention. Small, bland and seemingly inconsequential enough to be almost invisible - and to take full advantage of that invisibility, if it was convenient for him. 

No wonder Regulus had almost forgotten about him; in fact, he’s prepared to forget that Sirius had almost forgotten him, too. His other friend.

Peter Pettigrew.