Mortal Once More

August, 1981

“Is he here yet?” Regulus demands, almost the moment that Lupin opens the front door for him.

“Good evening to you too, Regulus,” Lupin deadpans - although, for once, he grins slightly. It’s strange to see even a vaguely welcoming expression on his face. “And yes, of course he’s here - he runs the bloody meetings, doesn’t he? We’re just waiting on a few more people before we can get started, I think.” 

He opens the door wider, gesturing for him to walk into the flat.

“Good,” Regulus replies, stepping over the threshold, “we can have a little chat with him first, then.” 

Lupin closes the door behind him, casting him a wry, sceptical look. 

“You didn’t actually tell him you were coming today, did you?” 

“Nope,” he says unconcernedly, shrugging. “He’ll figure it out when he sees me - he’s reasonably intelligent, so I hear.” 

Lupin heaves a weary sigh.

“Real bloody flair for the dramatic, you Blacks,” he mutters, rolling his eyes. 

Regulus chooses to ignore this.

“So how’s Potter doing?” he asks quietly, as they walk towards the living room, Regulus struggling slightly to keep up with the other man’s longer stride. 

“He’s alright, I think,” Lupin answers, humour vanishing in a moment, his face creasing with concern. “Well…as alright as can be expected. Seems like the concussion wasn’t too bad , considering….everything. And you putting Murtlap essence on the wound seemed to help, so we passed that on to Lily. Obviously, she’s been threatening to hex the poor bastard’s bollocks off whenever he tries to get out of bed.” Regulus snorts. “He’s mostly just…sad, I think,” Lupin continues. “Heartbroken, even. But Lily said he’s been reading to Harry a lot, since she had to threaten him with a wand the last time he tried to jump out of bed and chase the kid around on his broom. Apparently Harry’s obsessed with Babbity Rabbity and her Cackling Stump at the moment, keeps giggling at the names? Lils says Harry laughing is the only thing that really seems to help, right now.” 

“Oh,” says Regulus awkwardly. “That’s…good, I suppose?”

“Yeah,” Lupin responds. “I s’pose so.”

Regulus truly has no idea how to converse about children. Or happy families. But then again, judging by the somewhat baffled, helpless expression on his face, Lupin doesn’t have much more of a clue than he does. 

“Anyway,” the taller man continues, apparently trying to pull himself together, “you won’t be needing to ask me about James any more - you’re going to be rather more in the loop now, aren’t you?”

“What?” Regulus asks, frowning at him. 

“I give you,” Lupin declares, raising his arms in a sweeping gesture, even as his tone remains completely deadpan, “Regulus Arcturus Black, the Potters’ unlikely Secret Keeper.” 

“Oh…right, yeah,” he mutters, flushing at the slight sarcastic smirk on the other man’s face. He should never have told him about the middle name. 

He still can’t quite believe it himself. He had prayed that the others would believe him about Pettigrew, of course, and he’d hoped that Sirius and Lupin might finally stop glaring at him with such blatant distrust every time they caught sight of him. But Regulus had never imagined in a thousand years, it had never even occurred to him, that Potter would be so grateful to him for saving his family that he would ask him to be the Secret Keeper. At the time, he had been so stunned that he’d accepted without really thinking - but having considered it, it makes sense. After all, the Dark Lord is hardly likely to ask him about the Potters - and he’s already tested his Occlumency skills against the man. 

“I suppose you’re going to question Potter’s sanity?” he asks Lupin now. “He must have hit his head harder than you thought?” 

But the other man just shakes his head, unsmiling.

“No.” 

“No?” Regulus echoes curiously.

Lupin hesitates for a moment, as though searching for the right words. 

“I think it’s an excellent idea,” he says quietly. “I don’t know if you realise it, but…we’re so grateful to you. For letting us know the truth, before Sirius made the mistake of making him the Secret Keeper. He could have destroyed…” 

He goes pale for a moment, clearly imagining what might have been. “Well…everything. And the truth is, Regulus, that I owe you just as much of an apology as Sirius does.” 

“Oh,” Regulus replies awkwardly. He doesn’t really know what to say to that. 

He feels a sudden swell of something in his chest, something that makes him feel stronger, braver, makes him lift his head a little higher as they walk towards the little living room. Perhaps it’s pride, or something akin to it. He wouldn’t know - he’s not really very familiar with the sensation. But if Potter and Lupin - and above all, his brother - have finally decided to put their trust in him, then he’s determined not to squander it. I’ll prove myself worthy of it, he vows fiercely, silently. I will. 

Of course, if Pettigrew has already gone straight to the Dark Lord to report him, then the others finally trusting him won’t be much use to any of them. But Regulus is trying not to think about that. 

Dumbledore is already sitting in a chintz armchair in the middle of Remus and Sirius’s living room, solemn-faced and deep in conversation with Alastor Moody. Sirius is hovering near them, looking unusually tired and anxious. He looks up as Lupin and Regulus come in, relief crossing his face for a moment - swiftly followed by an expression of guilt that settles over his features as he looks back and forth between the two of them, just as it had done on the night of Pettigrew’s escape. Regulus has never seen his brother looking quite so awkward and wrong-footed before - it’s a strange sight. 

Dumbledore, on the other hand, just raises one curious eyebrow as his gaze lands on Regulus, looking politely puzzled. That’s as close as he’ll ever come to eliciting a reaction of surprise from the old man, Regulus figures. 

“Well - good evening, Regulus,” he says smoothly. “I was not expecting to see you here. I understood from the letter that you sent me, almost two weeks ago now, that you would not be attending any more Order meetings. Not until…circumstances had changed.” 

He hesitates for a moment. The letter he’d sent hadn’t been exactly polite - upon realising that the headmaster had been inviting him to meetings while almost certainly knowing that there was a spy, Regulus had not been feeling particularly warm towards him. But there’s no point in dwelling on that now, he supposes. 

“Well, as it turns out,” he replies stiffly. “Circumstances have changed, Dumbledore.”

The headmaster raises one eyebrow again, looking more curious than ever. But Moody just glares at him.

“Oh?” he growls sceptically. “Care to elaborate, laddie?” 

“Actually, Alastor, we were wondering if we might discuss it with Professor Dumbledore privately first,” Lupin pipes up awkwardly, gesturing at Sirius and Regulus and giving Moody an apologetic sort of grimace. “The rest of the Order will be informed shortly, I’m sure, but if you’ll forgive us, there’s just…rather a lot to unpack. Sirius and I are both still processing it.” 

He looks nervous, fighting back his emotional response to the still-raw betrayal, trying to sound matter-of-fact. Sirius grimaces, looking down at the floor. 

Moody glares at Lupin, too, before looking sideways at Dumbledore for his response. The headmaster, however, simply stands up gracefully from his chair.

“Lead the way, please, Remus,” he requests, with a sweeping gesture. 

Moody scowls.

“Fine,” he growls. “But hurry up about it, Albus. We’re supposed to be starting in five minutes - if the young people can actually bother to show up on time this week…” he adds darkly. 

Once they’re ensconced in Lupin’s little library-office, Dumbledore flicks his wand so that the chair behind the desk slides out, gesturing for Lupin to sit there. He shakes his head silently, expression still anxious as he buries his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth slightly on his heels. Dumbledore just shrugs, giving his wand another casual flick so that three chintz armchairs appear from nowhere. He settles himself down in the middle one, but neither Regulus nor Sirius mimic him. Regulus knows he has too much nervous energy to sit still for long - and knowing his brother, he’s sure Sirius feels exactly the same.

“Well, I’m all ears,” says Dumbledore pleasantly, peering up expectantly at the three young men over his half-moon spectacles. “Why is it that you are back with us earlier than expected, Regulus? How is it exactly that ‘circumstances have changed?’”

Regulus hesitates for a moment. He can practically feel the anxiety and tension rolling off the two men next to him in waves. Is there any way to explain this without prodding at wounds that are clearly still open? He takes a deep breath.

“It was Pettigrew,” he blurts out. “Pettigrew was the spy.” Sirius and Lupin both flinch at his side, as Dumbledore’s bright blue eyes widen. “He admitted it himself. I saw him when the Dark Lord summoned me to Malfoy Manor, but he didn’t know I’d defected, so we made a plan to take him by surprise…”

Dumbledore keeps looking at him solemnly over those ridiculous spectacles as he explains the whole story. The other two interject occasionally, but Regulus does the bulk of the talking. He knows that, however uncomfortable it is for him to recount what had happened, it’s a thousand times worse for them. As he speaks, the headmaster’s face betrays barely a flicker of emotion. Regulus might wonder if he was even taking in his words at all, in fact, were it not for his face turning slightly paler. 

“But then he transformed,” he finishes. 

“Transformed?” Dumbledore echoes, speaking for the first time since Regulus began the story.

“He can turn into a rat, Professor - he’s an unregistered Animagus,” Lupin explains, shamefaced. “They all are - Peter, James, Sirius,” he adds, nodding awkwardly towards his boyfriend. “Since they were fifteen. They learnt to do it so they could help me on full moons.” 

His voice cracks slightly - evidently, remembering those adolescent adventures during full moons at Hogwarts has torn the wound of Pettigrew’s betrayal open afresh.

Dumbledore raises an incredulous, somewhat impressed eyebrow. 

“I see,” he says, apparently deciding there’s too much to unpack there to make any further comment. “So Peter escaped while in his Animagus form, I take it?” 

“Yes,” Regulus mutters reluctantly, seeing Sirius’s fists clench out of the corner of his eye. “He used some spell to throw Potter across the room, transformed, grabbed some Floo powder and escaped through the fireplace.”

“Rather risky to use the Floo network while not in human form,” the headmaster comments.

“Well, he was rather backed into a corner at that point,” Regulus says dryly. “And it was pretty clever, too. He figured out in about a second that there was a bigger risk of one of us grabbing him and Side-Alonging if he tried to Disapparate, but if he used the Floo in animal form without speaking, it would be next to impossible to know where he was going. And he was right.” 

“Yes,” Dumbledore muses, seeming to speak more to himself than to Regulus. “Clever, indeed. Rather cleverer than any of us gave him credit for, it would seem.” 

He looks up at them again, his bright blue gaze sharper and more piercing than before.

“Do you think it likely that he has gone back to Voldemort, for protection?” the headmaster asks, his face very solemn. “Because if so, I am afraid that Regulus may be in rather grave danger.” 

Regulus swallows, fear tightening his throat for a moment. Sirius glances sideways at him, looking almost as anxious as Regulus feels.

“Well, we can’t know for sure, can we?” he says shortly. “But…no, I don’t think he will.” Regulus can tell he’s trying to convince himself. “He knows full well that if he tried that, Reg would report back to us the moment he caught wind of it. I don’t think he’d be stupid enough to try it; he’d be too scared to face us again.” Sirius’s face twists again into that menacing expression of rage, the one that makes him almost seem like a stranger. “He knows that if it wasn’t for bloody James Noble Potter, Remus and I would have…”

“Sirius,” says Lupin quietly, placing a gentle hand on his arm, looking at him with tired, guilty eyes. “No matter what happens now…Prongs was right to stop us. You know he was.” 

Sirius’s menacing look fades, uncertainty and exhaustion flickering across his aristocratic features. 

“Well…whatever,” he mutters. “Suffice it to say, we might not be so bloody merciful the next time we see him. And the cowardly little rat bastard knows that.” 

“He won’t risk it,” Lupin confirms, his voice quiet and soothing, clearly speaking more to Sirius than Dumbledore now. His gaze doesn’t leave his boyfriend’s face as he rubs small, gentle circles into Sirius’s forearm with his thumb. 

Sirius’s grey eyes soften immediately as he looks back at him, his expression falling again into that guilty, apologetic, pleading look. Lupin gives him a small, private smile, as if they’re the only two people in the room, and Sirius inhales shakily, blinking fast to stop himself from crying. Regulus looks away.

“Very well,” says Dumbledore after a moment, shifting in his chintz armchair to make himself more comfortable, resting his chin on steepled fingers as he gazes up at them. “So, in short - we do not know what Peter’s current whereabouts are, but we are fairly certain that he will not be attempting to return to Voldemort’s side at any time in the near future?” 

Sirius and Lupin nod, their fingers now entwined. 

“I see,” the headmaster says thoughtfully. “Well - I cannot deny that it is an improvement, knowing for sure who the spy was, and that they are no longer privy to any Order information. But the situation is certainly not ideal. As I’m sure you are all aware.”

An uncomfortable silence.

“I’m an idiot ,” Sirius blurts out, apparently unable to contain himself, his expression miserable again. “It’s my fault , Professor, I should have known it was Peter all along, I mean, god, it seems so obvious now…”

“Pads…” Lupin murmurs, concern etched across his face as he squeezes his hand. “Don’t be stupid - none of us knew.” 

“Remus is quite right,” Dumbledore says quietly. “Do not be too harsh on yourself, Sirius. After all, even the best of us can miscalculate sometimes.”

There’s something strange about the way the headmaster’s gaze lingers on Sirius as he says it - though Regulus seems to be the only one who notices, with Lupin busy trying to soothe his boyfriend. And then, all of a sudden, something clicks into place in his brain. Finally. 

Forget Sirius, he’s the idiot…how did it take him this long to realise? 

“Well,” says Dumbledore, with a sigh, “there is no use in worrying now about the signs we should not have missed. As the Muggles like to say, ‘what’s done is done, and cannot be undone.’ Thank you for bringing me this news, gentlemen; it is certainly one less weight on our shoulders, knowing that we may talk freely. Now, I think we should probably go and greet the new arrivals and get the meeting started, or Alastor may -”

“Wait a minute,” Regulus interjects loudly. “I would actually rather like a word with you, Dumbledore.” 

“I see,” the old man replies, his brow slightly furrowed, as the other two glance at him in surprise. “Ah…another one, you mean?”

“Yes, another one,” he confirms brusquely. “ Alone, preferably.” 

Sirius and Lupin are staring at him, looking bewildered. Dumbledore, on the other hand, seems to be considering him, one eyebrow raised again. As usual, Regulus has no idea what he’s thinking at all. 

“As you wish, Regulus,” he says finally. “Sirius, Remus - please assure Alastor that we will be out shortly.” 

Sirius is clearly reluctant to leave, but Lupin tugs him firmly by the hand and he obeys, his guilt making him more pliant than usual; but both of them shoot curious glances back at Regulus and Dumbledore as they go.

“So,” says Dumbledore, as soon as the door is closed and their footsteps have receded. “What is it you wished to speak to me about, Regulus?”

“You thought it was Sirius,” he answers, breathing hard, the revelation still catching up to him. “You thought Sirius was the spy. That’s why you were reluctant to let him be the Potters’ Secret Keeper. That’s why you tried to arrange to speak with me and Lupin about the Horcrux when you knew he was supposed to be occupied out on a mission. You were frustrated when he got back earlier than expected and demanded to know what was happening, but you tried to hide it, because you didn’t want Sirius to figure out that you suspected him. ” 

Dumbledore bows his head.

“Yes,” he says, admitting it freely. “I believed that Sirius was the spy. I was wrong. As I said a moment ago  - even the best of us can miscalculate sometimes.”

Regulus can feel rage beginning to bubble underneath his skin again as he looks into that placid old face, as Dumbledore speaks in that infuriatingly calm tone. 

“May I ask why you thought it was him?” he asks, trying to force himself to speak as calmly and evenly as the headmaster.  “Could it possibly have been because he’s a Black?” 

Dumbledore sits back in his chintz armchair, considering Regulus for a moment. 

“Perhaps it was partially that,” he concedes. “But there is also the fact that I know Sirius to be extremely clever and competent. And he has also shown me, in the past, that he has the capacity to hurt others. Sometimes without fully considering the consequences of his actions.” 

Regulus frowns at him for a moment, trying to work out exactly what he’s referring to. Then a memory stirs. 

“He…he did something to Snape, didn’t he?” he asks slowly, thinking back, sifting through the rumours that had circulated about Sirius and Snape, back when Regulus had been in his fourth year. He remembers the sudden tension between the four Marauders that had been visible from a mile away, that had taken almost two months to dissipate. He remembers the way Snape had seemed to glare at them all with even more vicious loathing than usual, how he’d seemed to burn with a kind of impotent rage, as though there’d been something he desperately wanted to say, but couldn’t. “Sirius did something to him back at school. Something bad.” 

“He tried,” Dumbledore replies mildly. “And failed, very luckily for everybody involved, and thanks to James’s timely intervention.” 

Regulus’s fury is almost bubbling over now, forcing him back to the present. 

“With all due respect, Professor, ” he says, his tone dripping with sarcasm, “if you believed that my brother was reporting everything from Order meetings back to the Dark Lord, then why the hell did you invite me to join the meetings?”

“Astute as ever, Regulus,” says the headmaster, and he has the absolute audacity to chuckle. “I must confess, I was fully aware that you have always been rather a vulnerable spot for Sirius. He has always loved you, even if he has never quite known how to express it. I thought - I hoped - that if Sirius had been tempted over to Voldemort’s side, then realising that you had come over to our side would cause him to realise the graveness of his mistake like nothing else could have done. I believed that Sirius would not be able to face the prospect of hurting you - and so I hoped that, if he was indeed the spy, his seeing you at Order meetings would incapacitate him, perhaps even force him to repent and rejoin us.” 

Regulus stares at him. He can’t help but let out an incredulous, humourless laugh. 

“That was a bit of a bloody gamble, wasn’t it, Dumbledore?” 

“Yes, I suppose it was rather,” the old man replies agreeably. “But then, being - forgive me - rather clever - my gambles do tend to pay off more often than not.” 

“Pretty lucky I saw Pettigrew before he saw me, really.”

“Yes,” Dumbledore agrees. “Given my miscalculation in this instance, that was rather lucky, wasn’t it?” 

“So, basically, you were using me as bait,” Regulus summarises, his voice shaking now as he glares at the headmaster.

Dumbledore considers him coolly again. 

“You gave me extremely valuable information on Voldemort, Regulus, and I was - and am - very grateful to you, and I wanted to make you feel included in the Order. And I still do want you to feel that way, though of course I understand if you have qualms. But yes, I also saw that you could be very useful as a strategy, so I used you. I am sure that you, of all people, can understand that.” 

Regulus swears under his breath, breathing hard, his hands involuntarily curled into fists, trying to resist the overwhelming temptation to punch the old man in the face. Or wrap his hands around his neck and squeeze. 

“And what about Snape?” he asks, trying to calm himself so he can speak at least somewhat rationally. “His arrest was a ‘miscalculation’ as well, I take it?” 

Dumbledore looks at him for a long time, betraying no expression at all. 

“Like you, Severus could not be seen to be neglecting Voldemort’s missions too often,” he says finally. “Spying is a dangerous business. You already know this, Regulus.” 

“You’ve left him in bloody Azkaban!” Regulus shouts, losing his temper completely now.

“Yes, I have,” Dumbledore replies calmly. “And I regret it. Hopefully, when - or I suppose I should say if - we manage to win this war, I will be able to get him released. But, as things stand at the moment, what would you have me do, Regulus? Break him out myself? Vouch for him to the Ministry, announce publicly that he had already turned spy for our side before his arrest? You know as well as I do that, if I did that, he would be as good as dead the moment that he was released.”

Regulus lets out another shout of incredulous laughter. He can’t believe he’s been so stupid. 

“You promised me, if I turned spy for you and your bloody Order , that you would protect me!” he yells, shaking with fury now.

“Not quite,” Dumbledore corrects him, still infuriatingly unfazed. “I promised that I would do my best . And I will. But I have never once told you that I could guarantee your protection. My apologies if you are only just realising this now - I thought that you were clever enough to understand the risks. 

“You -” Regulus begins, practically incoherent with rage now - but Dumbledore cuts him off. 

“By all means, shout and storm at me if it makes you feel better, Regulus,” he says coolly, blue eyes icy now as he looks at him over his half-moon spectacles. “If you no longer wish to spy for the Order, if you have decided that the risks are too great, then you can bow out - I would not dream of trying to stop you. But it seems to me that your choices are rather limited, at this juncture. You could leave the Order and return completely to Voldemort - in which case, you would also renounce my protection and increase your chances of arrest. Besides which, you have already informed me that you cannot, in good conscience, return to him. If you prefer, you could leave the Order, but refuse to return to Voldemort. In which case, he would soon know for certain that you had deserted him, and you will likely find yourself in much the same position that poor Peter Pettigrew is in right now, knowing that you have nobody left to turn to and that Voldemort will kill you the moment that he finds you. The only other option I see available to you is to continue in the Order, as my spy, with the full knowledge that there are risks, and that on occasion I make miscalculations like the next man. I am sorry to point it out, Regulus, but I am afraid you have made your own bed. Now you must lie in it.” 

Regulus glares at him, fear, resentment and self-loathing mingling with helpless rage in his chest, tightening his throat, choking him. 

“You’re a bastard,” he says quietly, his voice still shaking. “Do you know that?”

Dumbledore just gives him a small smile, looking rather sad and tired now.

“I do know that, yes,” he answers. “But still - it does me good to have somebody like you around, who isn’t afraid to remind me of it.” 

Silence falls between them. Regulus is still shaking with anger, unsure if he can trust himself not to hit the headmaster, or jinx him.

“Well, if that’s all,” says Dumbledore quietly, making to get up from his ridiculous chintz armchair, “I think we had best be getting back to the others so that we can actually start tonight’s meeting, don’t you, Regulus?” 

He turns on his heel, storming out of Lupin’s little study, not bothering to wait for Dumbledore or hold the door for him. It occurs to him, as he strides back into the living room, fuming to himself, that he probably seems as overdramatic as his brother to any onlookers; but he can’t really bring himself to care much at the moment. 

The little living room is certainly fuller than it had been before, most of them muttering to each other about why the meeting might be starting so late. All eyes turn to him as he walks in, most looking almost as shocked at the sight of him as they had been at his very first Order meeting. Sirius and Lupin are watching him curiously, clearly desperate to know what had happened, but knowing full well that he’s not about to tell them. Regulus flings himself down into a chair on Lupin’s other side without looking at either of them.

“You alright?” Lupin asks him quietly. 

He simply gives a noncommittal grunt. 

“About bloody time,” Moody growls, as Dumbledore walks in behind Regulus, clearly realising that he needs to keep his distance at the moment. “D’you mind if we actually start the meeting now, Dumbledore? Only some of us have got Death Eaters to catch.” 

“My apologies, Alastor,” says the headmaster wearily, sitting in the chintz armchair that has been left vacant for him - which, inconveniently, is directly opposite where Regulus is sitting. He scowls, looking pointedly away. At his side, Lupin frowns, looking back and forth between the two of them. 

“Thank you for your patience, everyone,” Dumbledore adds, giving the room one of his signature twinkling smiles. Regulus clenches his fist on the arm of his chair. “I shall endeavour to make tonight’s meeting a little shorter than usual, given the circumstances. Firstly, Kingsley has reported overhearing Rookwood frequently make strange comments to other members of the Ministry, including none-too-subtle requests for information on Barty Crouch. Kingsley suspects - and so do I - that he may have joined Malfoy in passing Voldemort information.” 

“Someone else to keep an eye on then, eh?” Moody growls, already jotting down notes. 

“Indeed,” Dumbledore replies solemnly. “Secondly -”

But he is cut off as the flames in the fireplace suddenly flare up, turning bright emerald. Regulus blinks, reminded forcibly for a moment of Pettigrew’s escape. But it isn’t Pettigrew who climbs out of the fireplace onto the living room carpet a moment later, brushing soot off his robes - it’s Fabian Prewett. 

A frisson of palpable shock runs around the living room at the sudden, belated arrival of the tall redhead. Evidently, nobody was expecting him; and judging from the mingled expressions of surprise, awkwardness and pity on people’s faces, Regulus is assuming that Fabian hasn’t been seen at any Order meetings since the night of the cave, either. The night that he’d lost Gideon. 

Something seems to twist painfully inside Regulus as he sees that the redhead’s face is still lined with grief, just as it had been when he had first heard the news; although some of the blank shock has lessened, giving way to something in his face that seems harder, more world-weary. He looks somehow much older than he had been when he’d grinned at Regulus, in that first Order meeting. 

Fabian looks up, suddenly meeting his eyes. A strangely distant expression crosses the redhead’s face, and Regulus’s chest twists even more tightly, so that he feels he can barely breathe. Hot shame drips down his spine, and he looks down at the carpet quickly, feeling tears burning in his throat as he remembers what Sirius had said to him back in that grubby little Muggle pub. 

He did mention that it was a strange coincidence. The ambush happening on the same night. 

Nobody has told Fabian about Pettigrew yet, Regulus realises, feeling cold. He doesn’t know that they’ve discovered the spy. 

“Fabian!” various people around the living room greet him, overeager in their awkwardness. Nobody seems to know quite how to meet the redhead’s eyes, now that the light of mischief has completely vanished from his face. He looks strangely solitary, standing there without his twin making quips at his side. 

Fabian nods back at them all, looking too worn out by grief to even attempt his old grin.

“Evening, all,” he says brusquely. “Sorry I’m late. What have I missed? Anything important?”

“Yes,” says Sirius quickly, kneeling up on his chair and ignoring Moody’s glare, looking desperate to cheer up the boy that he had hero-worshipped when they were teenagers. “We have something really important to tell you, actually, Fab - we know who -” 

“Sirius,” Regulus interrupts, making up his mind on the spot. “Do you mind if I explain it to him? In private, I mean? It’s just…it’s a lot.” 

Fabian and Sirius both stare at him in surprise. He’s not even sure what made him say it - he just knows that he can’t bear Fabian looking at him like that for a second longer.

Sirius hesitates, glancing at Lupin for help; Lupin gives him a stern look. 

“I…sure. Go ahead, Reg,” Sirius mumbles, looking shamefaced again. 

Fabian looks even more surprised at this reaction; but then he doesn’t know, yet, that Sirius is being unusually pliant out of guilt. Regulus is sure his brother will be back to arguing about everything before long; still, he thinks wryly, he can enjoy the peace while it lasts. 

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Moody growls frustratedly. “We’re running late enough as it is, Black, we don’t have time to wait for you and Prewett to have a little conference -”

“Fine, don’t wait for us,” Regulus answers dismissively, already standing. He can feel Dumbledore’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t really give a shit right now. “I’m sure we’re both clever enough to catch up - or maybe Lupin can take notes for us, I hear he’s quite good at that.”

Lupin throws him a dark look, but Regulus isn’t paying attention; his anxiety is twisting his stomach in knots as he gestures to Fabian to follow him. The redhead arches a curious, sceptical eyebrow, and Regulus wonders for a moment if he’s going to refuse to come with him. 

A moment later, though, Fabian lets out a small sigh, frowning as he follows him out of the living room.

“Muffliato,” Regulus mutters, as soon as the door of Lupin’s study has shut behind them.

“Well?” Fabian asks shortly. “What is it that’s so important to tell me ‘in private’, Regulus?”

He winces at the new coldness in the other man’s voice. He forces himself to meet Fabian’s bright blue gaze, wondering why his heart is beating quite so hard. Regulus never used to feel this nervous around him, before…that night.

He takes a deep breath.

“We found out who the spy in the Order was, Fabian,” he says quietly. “Or, well… I found out, I suppose.” 

Fabian blinks at him, his cool, hard stare vanishing.

“Wait…what ? ” he breathes. “ Who? Who was it?” 

“It was Peter Pettigrew. My brother’s old friend.” 

For a moment, there’s nothing but blank shock on the other man’s face.

“ Pettigrew?” he echoes incredulously. “You mean that pudgy, quiet little blond bloke? The one who used to trail behind James all the time at school? The one who was working late a lot?” 

“Yes. Except he wasn’t working late at all. He just told you guys that whenever he had a clash between Order business and Death Eater business. He’s been given a Dark Mark, we forced him to show us when we confronted him.” Regulus winces a little, fingers unconsciously brushing over his own left forearm. He hopes Fabian doesn’t notice. “ He was the one who tipped the Death Eaters off about the mission that night, Fabian. Meadowes and…and your brother,” he adds hesitantly, suddenly unable to meet the other man’s eyes, unable to bear seeing his pain afresh, “they were ambushed that night because of the information that Pettigrew gave.” 

Fabian’s freckles are standing out sharply against his pale face; he’s sitting stock still as he processes Regulus’s words, breathing hard. 

“So where is he now?” he demands through gritted teeth, his hands curling into fists. 

Regulus blinks; it’s still strange to see something like fury coming from Fabian Prewett. 

“Well…actually, we don’t know,” he admits sheepishly. “He transformed, right after we confronted him - well, after Potter stopped Lupin and my brother from killing him - and then he ran for it. Could be anywhere now.” Fabian stares at him with horror on his face. “But we don’t reckon he’d risk going back to the Dark Lord,” Regulus adds hastily. “He’ll probably be too scared that I’d report straight back to the Order.”

“Tranformed?” Fabian croaks. 

“Yeah - he’s an Animagus, remember? Like Potter and Sirius.” 

“What animal?” the redhead demands fiercely.

“A rat.” 

Fabian gives an uncharacteristic, harsh bark of humourless laughter, sounding almost like Sirius for a moment. 

“A rat,” he mutters, sounding as though he’s speaking more to himself than Regulus now. “Figures, doesn’t it? Of fucking course that little bastard would turn into a rat.” 

He lets out a long, shaky breath and sinks slowly down into one of the chintz armchairs that Dumbledore had conjured barely half an hour before, burying his head in his hands. 

A moment later, Regulus suddenly realises that the other man’s shoulders are shaking with silent sobs.

Christ , he thinks, feeling suddenly painfully aware of how awkward and useless he must seem, just hovering here while Fabian cries. He’s really starting to wish that he hadn’t decided to break this news one on one like this. Why did he think this was a good idea? He has an insane urge to call for Lupin - even Sirius would be better at this sort of thing, for god’s sake. He has absolutely no idea how to deal with crying people - especially not when it’s Fabian Prewett, of all people, who’s crying. 

“I’m…I’m sorry,” he mutters awkwardly. Because what else is he supposed to say?

“ You’re sorry?” Fabian echoes incredulously, looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes.

“Well…yes?” he replies, panicking even more now - was that wrong? “I…I just meant…”

“Fucking hell, Regulus,” says the redhead, laughing a little through his tears now. Regulus feels a swell of something warm in his chest. Relief, perhaps. “ I’m the one who should be sorry. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own pain, these past few weeks, missing Gid so much …” 

His voice breaks. He takes a deep breath, pushing on. 

“I really wondered, sometimes, if I’d just…forgotten how to smile, or laugh, y’know? I mean, god, Regulus, I haven’t even felt like I’ve recognised myself, whenever I’ve looked in the mirror. And then I would keep hearing Gid, in my head, teasing me. Grumpy git these days, aren’t you, Fab?” 

Regulus doesn’t know what to say, as Fabian reaches up impatiently to scrub at his eyes again. 

“And then there was your brother,” he continues, “being even more of a dick to you than usual, because he was suspicious. And I suppose I just…well, I let him get into my head a little bit, too. I was just…so lost, Regulus, and so angry, and I started to think…well, yeah, it was your idea to take us to that bloody creepy cave. And it was strange timing, how Gid and Dorcas were ambushed on the night that they were meant to have more back-up, that I was meant to be with them, but I didn’t go because I was convinced that you needed me. And then I remembered what you said to me, when I…when I came back for you. Those two are never going to forgive me. They shouldn’t forgive me. Nobody should . And I started to wonder if you had known something we didn’t, if that was the reason you were so angry with yourself that night, if that was why you…”

Regulus can’t stop himself from flinching violently at that, tears burning the back of his throat as he remembers. 

“It wasn’t like that, Fabian,” he whispers, his own voice cracking now. 

“No,” Fabian agrees, shaking his head, looking up at him with wide, apologetic blue eyes. “No, I know it wasn’t, Reg. I know now that it wasn’t fair of me at all to think those things about you,” he says earnestly. “And now, finding out that the little bastard was right under our noses, all along… Christ. ”

He swallows, looking down at the carpet. When he looks up at Regulus again, his eyes are shining with fresh tears. 

“I told you, when we first met,” Fabian whispers, “how brave I thought you were. And I promised that I wasn’t going to treat you like shit, just because certain other people didn’t trust you. I promised that I wouldn’t get caught up in all that.” 

Something about the way he’s whispering, the way he’s looking at him, makes Regulus’s breath catch momentarily in his throat. 

“Yeah,” he replies, whispering back without really meaning to. “Yeah, I remember.” 

“But I broke my word,” Fabian whispers, guilt and pain written plainly across his face. “And I am so, so sorry, Regulus. D’you think…” he takes a deep breath, apparently trying to gather himself. “Do you think you might be able to forgive me? One day?” 

Regulus stares at him. He’s never seen anyone look so anxious at the thought that he might be angry with them. He can’t think of any other time that somebody has looked at him like that, as if - for some strange reason - his good opinion matters deeply to them. He feels something strange in his chest. Something warm.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “You’re forgiven.”

“I…what?” Fabian exclaims, looking stunned now. “Already?”

“Already,” Regulus echoes, grinning a little despite himself at the look on the other man’s face. “I mean…let’s face it, I’m not in much of a position to judge, am I? Dumbledore made that pretty bloody clear, earlier.”

“What?” Fabian asks, frowning. “Why, what did he say?”

Regulus grimaces.

“He…” He sighs, not wanting to get into it, to spoil this moment. If it can really be called a ‘moment.’ “Doesn’t matter. Don’t worry about it.” 

Something soft and concerned flickers in the other man’s eyes as he looks at him; then, suddenly, Fabian reaches out towards him.

Alarmed, Regulus immediately steps back, without even really intending to, feeling a surge of mingled panic and excitement in his chest. 

He doesn’t really know how to….touch people. He doesn’t do affection, he’s not Sirius, for god’s sake . And…this, whatever this is, with Fabian. He doesn’t really know what it is. It’s…complicated. He can’t figure it out. And he certainly can’t hug him right now. 

For a moment, something flickers across Fabian’s face again - something that almost looks like disappointment. 

But then it’s gone, and Regulus wonders if he’d just imagined it, as the redhead steps back respectfully, giving him a bit more space. He even makes a valiant attempt at his old grin, though it doesn’t reach his eyes any more. 

“So…friends?” Fabian asks quietly. 

Regulus nods back at him, giving him a small, grateful smile of his own.

“Friends.” 

Fabian’s grin widens slightly, looking a little more genuine.

“Look, we’ve both had it pretty rough, recently,” he says. “But…I’ll try to stop being such a grumpy git, all the same.” Regulus can’t help but grin at that. “And I’ll help you find that traitorous little bastard too, if it’s the last thing I do,” he adds. The grin vanishes from his face as he gazes at Regulus, completely earnest now. “Seriously, Regulus - from now on, whatever you need me for, I’m here. I trust you.” 

“I…thanks,” Regulus murmurs, fighting against the emotion clogging his throat. He wants to tell Fabian how much it means to hear that from him - but he can’t seem to find any words important enough. 

“I trust that Regulus has filled you in on the news, then, Fabian?” Dumbledore asks, as they walk back into the living room.

Fabian nods stiffly, casting him a suspicious look. Regulus knows he’s wondering exactly what it was that Dumbledore had said to him. 

“We are all very sorry for your loss, Fabian,” the headmaster says quietly. “I hope you know that you can speak to any of us, whenever you need to.” 

Fabian stares back at him. Suddenly, he doesn’t look like a tall, muscled and experienced warrior - he looks like a small, lost child in a world he doesn’t understand. 

“I…thank you,” he mutters, his voice hoarse. “I’m…I’m sorry I’ve been such a grumpy git recently…”

“Nobody blames you, Fab,” Lupin murmurs. Sirius nods earnestly at his side. 

Fabian glances sideways at Regulus, and Regulus attempts a small, reassuring smile in return. The redhead swallows and nods again, without replying this time; he sits himself down quietly next to Sirius, as Regulus sits down on Lupin’s other side again.

“Right, well I think we’ll all have time for a cosy catch-up later,” Moody growls irritably. “If we can just get back to business -”

But the momentary peace in the living room is abruptly shattered at that moment, as a large silver Patronus, in the form of a weasel, comes soaring through the window. 

Almost everyone cries out in shock - but Regulus feels cold dread stealing through his chest, remembering the last time a Patronus had come to deliver an unexpected message in this room. He glances at Fabian, whose face has completely drained of colour. Regulus can practically smell his terror.

“Oh Christ, what now? ” Lupin mutters, echoing his thoughts and looking almost as pale as Fabian.

The weasel Patronus opens its mouth, speaking in a kindly, unfamiliar voice that’s brimming with excitement. 

“Molly has given birth again ,” it announces to the silent room. “She’s completely fine, the baby’s completely fine - more than fine, in fact, she’s beautiful! We finally have our little girl; come and meet your new niece, Fab!”