Mortal Once More

Camden - September, 1981

“And just look at the way she’s grinning here!” Fabian exclaims, his face alight with pride as he hands Regulus yet another photo of his new niece. 

“Mm,” Regulus replies inarticulately. 

The tiny baby with flaming red hair is quite sweet, he supposes, if one cares about that kind of thing. Apparently, she hadn’t been very interested in sitting still for the camera; the photo shows the little girl wriggling constantly on her father’s lap as she laughs, so much so that it looks like a struggle to keep hold of her. 

Regulus would have thought that anyone trying to keep a hold of a kid like that would have a look of bad-tempered exhaustion on their face; especially someone who already had six other children to take care of (he’s still reeling a little from Fabian’s casual comment about how many nephews he has). But somehow, Fabian’s brother-in-law Arthur Weasley has a look of complete and utter pride and adoration on his face, as he struggles to get his new daughter to stay put long enough to have her photo taken. It’s not unlike the look on Fabian’s own face now, in fact. 

“She’s not very good at staying still, is she?” Lupin comments, wryly amused as he raises his mug of coffee to his lips, sitting on the sofa in a baggy oversized jumper, glancing at the photos with his chin resting on top of Sirius’s head. 

“Yeah, well, that’s because I was taking the photo,” Fabian replies, grinning smugly at Lupin, and Regulus feels something stutter slightly in his chest. “She never can sit still when she sees me, she wants to play with her Uncle Fab. Guess it must just be my innate charm and magnetism.” 

Sirius snorts, without bothering to lift his head away from where it’s resting against Lupin’s chest.
It’s been a long while since he’s seen his brother looking so content, Regulus realises, sitting there with Lupin’s long gangly limbs wrapped around him. He still hasn’t quite got used to being in a room with this version of Sirius, with a Sirius who can sit with him without casting cold, suspicious glares at him, without staring at him with a look of barely suppressed hurt written across his face. 

“Don’t flatter yourself, Fab,” he says. “Babies are just wriggly, I don’t think it would make much difference if it was you or anyone else. Harry is the same way. But then again,” he muses thoughtfully, “maybe that’s just because I’m Harry’s favourite person. I’m more interesting than Prongs. In fact, who knows, Fab - maybe your niece just thinks she’s excited about you because she hasn’t met me yet.” 

“Shut up, Sirius,” Regulus and Lupin respond simultaneously, both rolling their eyes, as Fabian casually flips Sirius off, still grinning. Lupin shoots Regulus a small, surprised smile at their shared reaction, and Regulus finds that he can’t help but smile slightly back at him, still somewhat bemused by the fact that his brother’s boyfriend doesn’t seem to hate him any more. 

Truth be told, although Sirius is being obnoxious, it’s a relief to see a bit of the brother he knows starting to shine through, to see him starting to slowly move past the guilt and self-loathing he’d been wallowing in during the weeks following Pettigrew’s exposure and escape. Regulus can tell that Lupin feels exactly the same way, despite his exaggerated, exasperated sighs. 

“What did you say her name was again, Fabian?” Regulus asks, turning back to the still-grinning redhead. 

“My somewhat strange older sister decided to call her Ginevra,” he answers, with an exaggerated grimace. “Believe it or not, Arthur told me that Molly’s been determinedly saving that name for a daughter for years.” 

Lupin snorts.

“Not sure you can talk about weird names, Moony,” Sirius tells him.

“Well at least my family didn’t insist on naming every single kid after a sodding constellation, like complete pretentious wankers,” his boyfriend shoots back.

“Touche,” Sirius responds, closing his eyes lazily as he snuggles deeper into Lupin’s chest. 

“But I just call her Ginny,” Fabian continues, now beaming at the photo again. “And luckily, her brothers have immediately caught on, because they all know that I’m always right. Though I suppose Ron probably can’t even bloody pronounce ‘Ginevra’, he’s not even two yet. At least Ginny has distracted Fred and George from constantly poking and prodding him and tripping him over, poor kid. Molly says it’s my fault the twins are like that, she says they take after me and…” He trails off, that haunted shadow of grief flickering in his blue eyes again, and Regulus stifles the strange, sudden urge to reach out to him, hold onto some part of him and ground him in the present. 

A moment later, though, Fabian seems to shake himself, fond smile slowly reappearing as he looks down at the photo of his niece again. 

“Well…anyway,” he says, evidently trying to convince them all - himself included - that he’s fine. “If anybody is a match for those two little menaces, it’s this kid. I think they’re a bit scared of her already. If they take after me, she obviously takes after her mum. She’ll have all her brothers under her thumb in no time, I guarantee it.” 

“Nice of you to pretend to care, anyway, Reg,” Sirius says, opening his eyes again to smirk at him, a slight edge of malice in his voice. He turns to Fabian. “Reg doesn’t give a shit about kids, Fab. He’s being unusually polite, given that he’s probably plotting your murder right about now.” 

Regulus glares at him. Even after everything, even though Sirius has thanked him and apologised and sworn not to doubt him any more, it seems he still can’t resist the temptation to throw in the odd jab here and there. Then again, even though he’s still immensely thankful just to be on speaking terms with his brother again, he can’t deny that he struggles not to dig his claws in occasionally, too. Maybe more than just ‘occasionally’, if he’s honest. Old habits die hard, Regulus supposes. For both of them. 

“God, sorry, Regulus,” says Fabian, his grin turning sheepish. “I’ll shut up now.” 

He’s noticed that Fabian never calls him ‘Reg’ like Sirius does. Probably because he’s worried it would be overfamiliar, because he’s being cautious about respecting his boundaries, ever since that…thing, whatever it was, that had almost happened between them, on the night that his niece was born. The night that Regulus had awkwardly drawn back. They haven’t spoken about it since. He’s used to Sirius calling him ‘Reg’ by now, although it still irritates him - which, he’s fully aware, is precisely the reason that his brother does it. But he can’t help but think that it wouldn’t irritate him nearly as much if Fabian did it. He doesn’t really know how to explain that to him, though. Or even to himself, really. 

“It’s alright,” he reassures him now. “I don’t mind, Fabian. Seriously.” 

Fabian looks more relieved at this than Regulus had expected, and he can’t help but smile back at him. Sirius opens his mouth - probably to make a stupid pun, Regulus is already regretting his use of the word seriously - but before he can say anything, Lupin smacks him gently on the back of the head.

“Ow!” he says indignantly.

“Shut up,” the taller, scarred man tells him sternly. “And stop being a dick.” 

“I was just saying!” 

“Well, don’t,” Lupin replies, smirking slightly.

Sirius lets out a disgruntled huff and folds his arms, but obediently closes his mouth again and settles quietly back into his boyfriend’s chest. 

Regardless of what his brother might think, Regulus is telling the truth. Alright, yes, small children are hardly his favourite thing, and usually he could probably think of about a hundred things he would rather do than sit and be regaled by tales of their escapades. And yet, he truly doesn’t mind when Fabian gushes on about his new niece - he’s very far from minding it, in fact. 

The thing is, even though the spy in the Order has been uncovered, even though Sirius and Lupin have finally stopped glaring at him with blatant suspicion and hostility all the time, and even though Potter has put his trust in him enough to make him Secret Keeper…well, there’s still a war on. 

The headlines in the Daily Prophet are still grim and frightening more often than not, the Order seems to be growing ever more exhausted by the fighting, and the empty places in the Order meetings where Marlene McKinnon, Dorcas Meadowes and Gideon Prewett had once sat seem on some days like gaping wounds that those who remain can’t ignore, no matter how hard they try. Caradoc Dearborn is the latest casualty - his death hasn’t actually been confirmed yet, but given that he was supposed to report back to Dumbledore after a mission two weeks ago, and nobody in the Order has seen or heard any sign of him since, they have little option but to assume the worst. 

And of course, the Potters’ absence is still hanging over the meetings like a dark shadow. Thankfully, they’re still safe - in the village of Godric’s Hollow, as Regulus now knows - but now that the Dark Lord has heard that prophecy about their little boy, he isn’t likely to stop hunting for the three of them any time soon. Which means that Lily and James are living in a state of constant anxiety - on top of James’s heartbreak about his oldest friend’s betrayal - rarely venturing outside of their small cottage, for fear of accidentally exposing their tiny son’s whereabouts to anyone outside the Order. Regulus can see how much James’s absence is taking a toll on Sirius. Back at Hogwarts, he remembers, it was always Potter who seemed to have a knack for breaking the others out of their dark moods, somehow able to make Sirius laugh even when he was in one of his most brooding tempers. Even though the three Potters are safely hidden away - for the moment, at least - there are some days that Regulus can tell his brother and Lupin are scarcely able to hide their worry. The fact that they still don’t have a clue where Pettigrew is hiding doesn’t help matters much, either. 

Sometimes, Regulus feels as though for every small step forwards that they make, they take at least five huge steps back. He doesn’t think it’s just him feeling that way, either. Over the past month or so, ever since the night that Dorcas Meadowes and Gideon Prewett had been ambushed and killed - or perhaps even longer, since the Potters had gone into hiding - a gloomy, almost hopeless weight seemed to have settled over almost everyone in the Order. Optimism felt much more difficult, somehow, what with James Potter in hiding and reeling from betrayal, one Prewett twin murdered and the other retreating into stunned grief. 

Regulus supposes that he, Fabian, Sirius and Lupin have been struggling even more than the others in the Order, because on top of everything else, they still haven’t even figured out how to open the locket that the Dark Lord had turned into a Horcrux, let alone destroy it. While Regulus keeps researching, frantically trying to find some way of destroying Horcruxes that doesn’t involve Fiendfyre (which would be too stupidly dangerous to risk), or somehow locating a bloody Basilisk (and preferably a dead one), the four of them are still stuck passing the bloody locket back and forth between them in the meantime. It’s an ominous cold weight that they all dread, as it always seems to increase their anxiety and paranoia all the more - as though any of them need that right now. Regulus can see the Horcrux now, in fact, the gold chain glistening under Lupin’s collar. 

It’s strange, he muses, how something as seemingly insignificant as a baby being born can have such an impact; especially as Arthur and Molly Weasley aren’t even officially Order members, having chosen to prioritise and protect their ever-growing batch of young children. And yet, somehow, amidst all of the uncertainty and fear, the news of little Ginny Weasley’s arrival seems to have brought with it a fresh, sorely needed wave of hope for everybody in the Order, Regulus included. Tidings of new life, rather than the more frequent reports of deaths and mysteriously missing people, are exhilarating. And nobody has been buoyed up by the news of Ginny’s birth more than her uncle. 

When Regulus had seen the look on Fabian’s face on that awful night, the night they’d heard the news of Gideon’s murder, he had found himself wondering if he would ever see that trademark Fabian Prewett easy grin again. It had really seemed as though some part of him had died along with his twin. Even now, Regulus sometimes sees that haunted look of grief flickering in his blue eyes, like a shutter closing, dimming a bright light. Fabian doesn’t laugh as joyfully or as genuinely as he used to do when Regulus had first met him; he holds himself differently now, as though he’s constantly carrying some invisible burden that weighs him down just a little. Sometimes he turns quiet and solemn, staring absently into the middle distance, as though he can see something that nobody else can. And sometimes he’ll suddenly stumble a little, hands shaking so that he breaks or drops things, or he’ll laugh loudly when nobody has said anything funny, and Regulus will know that he’s been turning to firewhisky again to try and distract himself. 

But Regulus has also noticed that whenever he starts talking about his new niece - which is, admittedly, rather often - Fabian’s shoulders seem to lift, his pain forgotten, if only for a few moments. He seems utterly besotted with the little girl, leaping at the slightest chance to speak about her, his face genuinely lighting up with hope and happiness for the first time since Gideon’s death. It seems to Regulus that little ‘Ginny’ is precisely what Fabian needs at the moment; he even seems to forget about the firewhisky whenever someone asks him about her, or so much as mentions her name. And, no matter what, he always seems to have at least five photos of the little girl stored somewhere on his person. 

Despite his general distaste for children - particularly very small children - Regulus has noticed a strange flutter of warmth in his chest, every time he watches the redheaded man gushing over those stupid bloody photos. He’s trying not to interrogate that feeling too closely; he’s got enough to think about as it is. They all have, really. 

Sirius is partially right, at least; Regulus has been feigning far more of an interest than he actually feels in baby Ginny Weasley, and the seemingly endless photographs of her. But if it means that he gets to see a glimpse, even a ghost of that old familiar grin on Fabian’s face…then it’s worth it. 

Fabian tilts his head slightly, looking at Regulus with a small, intrigued grin, making him wonder how much his thoughts are showing on his face. The redhead opens his mouth to speak; but before he can say anything, there’s a knock at the front door.

“I’ll get it,” Lupin sighs in a resigned sort of way, putting his coffee mug down on the table and untangling his long limbs from Sirius’s. Sirius makes a noise of protest, and his boyfriend makes a show of rolling his eyes. Despite that, Regulus doesn’t miss the giddy grin creeping across Lupin’s face, the warmth and affection and pure relief in his hazel eyes. Those two are still in the process of rebuilding things between them, it seems - it’s evident that every moment of renewed intimacy is precious. 

“You two have made up then, I take it?” Fabian asks wryly. 

He’s grinning at Sirius, but there’s something strange in his tone; for some reason, he glances sideways at Regulus for a moment, with a fleeting expression that he can’t quite read.

“Well…we’re getting there,” Sirius answers, for a moment sounding much more unsure of himself than usual. “Still can’t really believe Moony’s forgiven me for being such a dick; I wouldn’t, if I was him.” He sits for a moment, twisting his fingers together, anxiety and guilt flickering in his grey eyes; but a moment later, seeming to force himself back to the present, he offers Fabian a smirk. “But if making up and apologising means doing more of what we did last night, then I certainly won’t be filing any complaints…”

“Sirius!” Regulus splutters, glaring at him, as Fabian laughs.

It’s not that he’s a prude, per se; at least he doesn’t think so. But he’d really rather not hear the details, in this case; he’s perfectly happy knowing that his older brother has made up with his boyfriend, and just leaving it at that. 

“What?” Sirius replies, attempting to look like the picture of innocence, though rather ruining it as he gives Regulus a slightly vindictive smirk. “It’s not my fault that my little brother is so delicate and virginal, is it? Although that Crouch kid always used to sniff around you quite a bit, as I recall. I’m assuming nothing ever happened there - you’d have been reaching for the smelling salts before long, wouldn’t you, Reg?”

“Well at least I didn’t sleep with half of Hogwarts just to prove that I could,” Regulus fires back at him.

“Oh, is that why you’re such a virgin? Too worried that whoever you tried for, I’d already have got there before you?” Sirius crows smugly, darting a strange look at Fabian, who for some reason flushes slightly. 

“Fabian,” Regulus growls through his teeth, fists clenched at his side, still glaring at his brother. “Can we go back to talking about your niece again? Please?” 

“Nah, I can’t always talk about Ginny,” the redhead says, with a small smile. “Don’t want you to end up strangling me. And Sirius?” he adds.

“Yeah?”

“You know, it’s actually pretty great, having a brother,” he says quietly, his tone suddenly solemn as he stares down at his hands. “You might want to try being a little kinder to yours.” 

Sirius and Regulus both tense. Regulus feels as if the air around them has suddenly frozen solid.

“God…Fab…” Sirius starts awkwardly. “I didn’t…I’m sorry…”

Fabian shakes his head, still not looking up at them.

“Don’t be thick, you don’t need to apologise,” he murmurs. “Just…” He takes a deep breath, steadying himself. “Remember not to waste what you have, yeah? And that goes for both of you,” he adds, finally looking up to meet Regulus’s gaze. 

Regulus exchanges an awkward look with Sirius, wondering if his brother is thinking exactly what he’s thinking. What do they have, compared with what Fabian and Gideon had had? He opens his mouth, but hesitates, not quite knowing what to say. 

Luckily, the tense, swirling silence is broken by Lupin’s re-entrance, closely followed by none other than Albus Dumbledore. Regulus is thankful for the interruption; but still, he can’t help but grimace at the sight of the headmaster. 

“Look, Sirius, we have another visitor,” Lupin announces, pointedly narrowing his eyes at his boyfriend, his face a little flushed. 

Glancing at Dumbledore, Regulus notices the slight amused twinkle in his eyes, despite his expression being otherwise serene. He suddenly realises how loudly they had been talking before, how much their voices must have carried into the corridor…Shit. He can feel the colour creeping up his own cheeks now. 

“Good evening, Sirius,” Dumbledore says calmly. “Ah…I see that Fabian and Regulus have arrived for tonight’s meeting even earlier than I did!”

“Yes, sir,” Fabian answers, attempting a greeting smile, although Regulus can tell he hasn’t quite recovered yet. 

As Dumbledore’s light blue gaze moves to rest on him, Regulus narrows his eyes at the old man, remembering every word that the headmaster had said to him during their last conversation, everything he had confessed. He can already feel the rage starting to bubble under his skin again at the sight of that infuriatingly calm face. He can hardly believe Dumbledore has the audacity to greet Sirius so casually, as if nothing is out of the ordinary, when only a few weeks ago he’d admitted to believing that Sirius was the spy, admitted to using Regulus as little more than bait to manipulate him. Sirius still has no idea, of course; he still looks up to the headmaster as the old hero of his childhood. 

Fabian glances sideways at him, a look of concern on his face. Regulus vaguely remembers that he had almost confessed to him, that night, about what Dumbledore had said. Now, Fabian frowns between them for a moment, before shifting subtly, almost imperceptibly, closer to Regulus on the sofa, so that their thighs brush together just slightly. Something stutters in Regulus’s chest again. 

“Are those more photos of your niece I see, Fabian?” the headmaster asks, turning back to the redhead with a smile, nodding towards the photos on the coffee table.

“Of course,” Fabian replies, though he doesn’t look quite as warm as he had when he’d been gushing earlier. Regulus wonders if that’s anything to do with him; then whether he’s pathetically overthinking things. “Ginny.”

“Very sweet,” Dumbledore says approvingly. “And I take it Molly is doing better now?”

“Much better,” he answers, grinning - although Regulus doesn’t miss the flicker of pain in his bright eyes. “She’s obsessed with the kid.” 

“Pot kettle, Fab,” Sirius interjects. 

“Alright, fine,” Fabian replies with a laugh, grinning genuinely again for the first time since his allusion to Gideon. “Point taken, Black.” 

“I am glad the baby has cheered you both up,” Dumbledore says, giving Fabian a much kinder smile than he’s ever bestowed on Regulus. 

“Thank you,” the redhead replies, his voice cracking a little. 

“Right,” says the headmaster, sounding suddenly businesslike as he checks his ridiculous celestial pocket watch. “I think perhaps we had better start setting up, gentlemen, we can expect the others to start arriving in the next ten -”

Regulus suddenly hisses through his teeth in shock and pain, making everyone else turn to stare at him. 

“What?!” ask Sirius and Fabian simultaneously, sounding equally tense and alarmed.

Regulus grimaces, holding his left forearm out pointedly. Fabian frowns, still looking bewildered for a moment, but Sirius stares at him, looking pale and more than a little disgusted. 

“Your…Mark? You mean…He’s calling you again? Right…right now?”

He nods, staring down at the ground, the familiar fear and self-loathing writhing like live snakes in his stomach again.

“Would somebody care to explain to me what the hell is going on?” Fabian asks, worry making him sound much sharper and more impatient than usual. 

“Regulus is branded with a Dark Mark tattoo on his left forearm,” Lupin says dryly, in answer. “Apparently it works as a convenient little calling card, whenever Voldemort wants to see him.” 

“...Oh,” says Fabian quietly, sounding rather stunned by this information, as Regulus flinches. 

“Voldemort wishes to see you, Regulus?” Dumbledore asks, peering at him over his half-moon spectacles, as inscrutable as ever. “Now?” 

Regulus meets his eyes determinedly, jutting his chin out. He can’t look at Sirius right now, and he certainly can’t look at Fabian, even though he’s acutely aware of the redhead’s gaze still resting on him. It’s bad enough seeing the revulsion in his brother’s face; he doesn’t think he can bear seeing it in Fabian’s expression too. At least Dumbledore has already left Regulus in no doubt about his opinion of him; and given what the old man had confessed about his own machinations, he doesn’t care too much about his judgements. 

“Looks like it,” he replies, hoping that he sounds much more cool and haughty than he feels. 

“Well then,” says Dumbledore, sounding just as calm as ever, “you must go to him. At once.”

Regulus nods stiffly.

“Yeah. I know.” 

“Wait,” says Fabian loudly. “Wait just one bloody moment. You’re just - sending him off to You-Know-Who? Just like that?” 

“Voldemort has summoned him, Fabian,” Dumbledore replies. “Regulus is fully aware that it is not wise to keep him waiting - it is imperative that he stay in Voldemort’s good books for as long as possible.”

“But…but this is insane,” the redhead answers, worry written across his face. It reminds Regulus of the night in the cave, when Fabian had come back for him. “I mean, can we just stop and bloody think about this for a second? Pettigrew escaped, didn’t he? And these three have no idea where he is right now. What if he ran back to You-Know-Who and told him that Regulus has joined the Order? I mean, bloody hell, what if that’s why he’s being summoned?” 

Regulus swallows, trying to keep his expression neutral even as his heart pounds in terror. That had been his first thought, too - somehow it seems much more real, more of a plausible possibility, now Fabian has voiced his fear out loud. 

“Fuck,” Sirius exclaims, looking back and forth between Fabian and Regulus. “That’s…actually a really good point. What if that is the reason Voldemort wants him?” he demands, turning to Dumbledore. 

Dumbledore looks at Sirius and Fabian for a moment, his expression blank.

“It is certainly a possibility,” he concedes, bowing his head a little. “But at this point, I do not think it is very likely. Peter escaped weeks ago now, and he has known about Regulus all that time. It seems to me that if he was planning to go back to Voldemort and tell him, he would have done it by now, and Regulus would likely not be standing here with us now.” Comforting as always, Regulus thinks sardonically. “It seems more likely to me that Voldemort has some information for him, something that will be valuable to us,” the headmaster continues. “Either way, Regulus won’t know until he goes. And I think you are forgetting, Fabian, that he is a wizard of prodigious skill and ingenuity; I am confident that, if he does find himself in danger, he will use all of the considerable talents at his disposal to get himself to safety. Besides which - assuming that Voldemort still believes him to be a faithful Death Eater - he does not have much choice, other than to answer his summons quickly. As I told Regulus a few weeks ago, he has made his own bed; now he must lie in it.” 

“That’s what you said to him?!” Fabian exclaims, looking more furious than Regulus has ever seen him - it’s a strange expression, on that familiar freckly, good-natured face. “I have to say, Professor, that seems like pretty shitty advice, particularly coming from a wizard famous for his so-called wisdom.”

Dumbledore merely considers him, as though Fabian were a mildly interesting book he had picked off the shelf, and he’s wondering whether it’s worth the effort of reading it. 

“It was not intended as ‘advice,’ Fabian,” he says quietly. “It was simply a statement of fact. Regulus knows it to be true as well as I do.” 

“Fab is right, though,” Sirius pipes up unexpectedly, narrowing his eyes at the headmaster. “It wasn’t a great thing to say, was it?”

“I think at least one of us should go with him, Professor,” says Fabian stubbornly. “Regulus might need back-up.”

Dumbledore shakes his head. 

“I understand this is difficult, Fabian - but that would be sheer foolishness, and you know it. If, indeed, Voldemort is still ignorant about Regulus being in the Order, it certainly will not do Regulus any favours to meet him with a known Order member in tow, as his ally. How would he explain how someone from the Order even knew about his summons?” 

“I don’t know,” Fabian replies impatiently, “we could just…pretend we were tailing him as part of our guard duty, or something!”

“Before immediately stepping forwards to protect him?” Dumbledore asks sceptically, and Fabian’s face falls.

“The Cloak!” Sirius exclaims suddenly. 

Dumbledore turns to look at him, raising one eyebrow slightly.

“I beg your pardon, Sirius?” 

“Prongs - James, I mean - he’s got this Invisibility Cloak, Professor, he got it from his dad when he was a kid, but it still works really well, and -”

“James has an Invisibility Cloak?” the headmaster asks, staring at Sirius with a strange, almost hungry look on his face. “An old one?”

“Yes,” says Sirius impatiently, “but it’s still brilliant. I could quickly go get the Cloak from him and come back, and then maybe Fab and I could use it and go with -”

“No,” Dumbledore interrupts, seeming to shake himself a little. “I’m sorry, Sirius, but it simply isn’t feasible. Being invisible would not make you immune to attack. No Invisibility Cloak is invincible.” 

Something about the way he says it makes Regulus think that he’s trying to persuade himself as much as Sirius. 

“Besides which, if you were discovered,” Dumbledore continues,  “you would be endangering your own lives, as well as endangering Regulus with your presence, when he would likely be safer without you there. I am not willing to put all three of you at such risk. Now, I think it is really time for Regulus to be answering Voldemort’s summons - we have wasted enough of his time as it is, and Voldemort expects rather prompt responses, I am told.”

Regulus feels another jolt of panic, darting a glance at the clock in the corner - how much time have they already wasted arguing?

“Professor,” Fabian croaks, staring at the headmaster with wide, imploring eyes. “This is ridiculous. Don’t make him go alone. Please. Please let me go with him.”

Regulus stands frozen to the spot, scarcely daring to look over at him. He can’t quite believe how pleading, how desperate the redhead sounds - on his behalf. Sirius and Lupin are both staring at Fabian, looking almost as stunned as he feels. His heart squeezes painfully in his chest.

“I am sorry, Fabian,” Dumbledore answers quietly. “But I have already given you my answer. I do not think we should be holding Regulus up any longer.” 

“But -”

“It’s alright, Fabian,” Regulus says quietly, wishing he could believe his own words. “I’ll be fine. I’ll be back quickly.”

Fabian hesitates, staring back at him with his bright blue eyes full of fear. 

“I…” He lets out a slow breath, evidently realising that Regulus isn’t going to let him come. “You’ll…you’ll stay safe? You promise?” 

Something about the way the other man is looking at him is causing a strange sort of warmth to spread through him, despite his terror. For one insane moment, he’s almost tempted to wrap the taller man up in his arms, to soothe him. 

Regulus shakes himself, forcing a hollow laugh. 

“Well…no, obviously I can’t promise that,” he replies, with a little shrug. “But I promise that this time, I’ll…do my best not to die, if I can possibly avoid it? Will that do?”

“‘This time?’” Sirius echoes, looking baffled. 

But Regulus doesn’t look away from Fabian, who sucks in a small, sharp breath as he registers his words. The redhead takes a small step towards him - but then he stops, giving Regulus space, twisting his hands together absentmindedly as his bright blue eyes trace anxiously over his face. 

Regulus takes a deep breath, and - before he can do anything stupid - hastily twists on the spot and Disapparates.

Malfoy Manor 

A moment later, Regulus is standing once again in front of those familiar, elaborate wrought-iron gates. His heart pounding with adrenaline and terror, skin crawling with disgust, he raises his left arm, allowing him once again to pass through the dark metal as though it were nothing but smoke. 

His feet seem practically to fly beneath him as he speeds up the driveway towards the handsome manor house, trying to just focus on the rhythm of his breathing, trying not to focus on what lies ahead of him. Once again, the front door swings inwards at his approach. 

He looks around, shivering a little; the grand foyer appears to be deserted. 

A moment later, though, his cousin appears at the top of the staircase. 

“Regulus,” she greets him, giving him a small, strained smile, which he tries his best to return.

“Evening, Narcissa,” he replies, his voice cracking slightly despite his effort to appear calm. 

“I was just putting Draco to bed,” she explains, as she walks down the staircase towards him. 

“Right,” he says awkwardly. “Um…how is he?”

Narcissa’s strained, anxious expression vanishes for a moment as she laughs, a pretty, chiming sound. 

“Oh, Regulus,” she says, shaking her head at him, her smile more genuine now. “He’s fine. And it’s sweet of you, but you don’t have to pretend to care about children just for my sake.” 

He frowns a little; why does everyone keep saying that?

“Besides,” she continues, her smile falling away, expression turning solemn again, “I suspect you have more important matters to attend to, don’t you?” She nods towards the drawing room door. “He’s in there,” she says quietly, with a look of mingled fear and distaste. “With Lucius and Bella. You can just knock - he’ll be glad to see you, Regulus.”

“Right,” he chokes out, staring over at the heavy wooden door. “Um…do you know what he…?” 

“I have no idea,” Narcissa replies with a little shrug. Perhaps she sees the fear in his face, because she reaches out to him, putting a pale, delicate hand on his arm and squeezing gently. “But I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. The Dark Lord is fond of you, Regulus, you know that.” 

He feels disgust rising in his throat at that, choking him like bile. If that’s really true…then what does that say about him? 

Regulus takes a deep breath, trying to force his revulsion and terror down, attempting to look reassured. He walks over to the drawing room door, hesitating, his own heartbeat deafening him, Fabian’s words echoing in his head. 

Don’t make him go alone. Please. Please let me go with him.

He lets out a long, slow breath, trying not to wonder when - or if - he might see Fabian Prewett again, and knocks. 

“Enter,” says that cold, clear voice that haunts his nightmares. He swallows, his heartbeat pounding against his ribcage as though trying to escape his chest, and walks in. 

“Ah. Regulus,” the Dark Lord greets him. 

He is sitting in a chair at the head of the Malfoys’ drawing room table, directly in front of the huge fireplace. The firelight is flickering over his pale face, somehow making his features seem even more inhuman and unnatural than usual. Lucius Malfoy is standing across from him, slightly stooped, his head bowed deferentially. Narcissa’s older, rather unhinged sister Bellatrix, who had terrorised both Regulus and Sirius when they were children, is standing beside him, her stance similar; although her face, unlike her brother-in-law’s, is alight with an adoring, almost worshipful glow as she looks at the Dark Lord from under her lashes. 

“I am glad to see you.” 

Regulus breathes a tiny sigh of relief; apparently, he isn’t late enough to incur this monster’s wrath. The monster in question turns to Bellatrix. 

“So you can keep it safe for me? It will not be too troublesome for you?” 

What’s ‘it?’ Regulus wonders. 

“Nothing would be too troublesome for me, if it was my Lord’s wish,” Bellatrix breathes fervently, leaning forward a little as though wishing she could move closer to him. “There could be no higher honour than fulfilling my Lord’s wishes, and I will gladly spend the rest of my life -”

“Thank you, Bella, that will do,” the tall, pale man says coldly, looking almost bored by her adoration. “And the same goes for you, Lucius,” he continues, turning to Narcissa’s husband. “You will keep it safely tucked away, unless I give you explicit instructions otherwise. Do you understand me?” 

The words sound like a soft, dangerous hiss. 

“Of course, my Lord,” Lucius murmurs, head still bowed. His expression is much warier than Bellatrix’s, Regulus sees. More cautious. Calculating. 

The Dark Lord considers the two of them for a moment, before giving a small, satisfied nod.

“Very good. Leave us now, both of you,” he says unceremoniously. “Regulus and I have things to discuss.” 

Regulus swallows, staring down at the carpet, terrified to meet that merciless red gaze. Lucius bows, backing out of the room with poorly hidden relief, giving Regulus a cold, appraising look as he leaves. Bellatrix seems far more reluctant to go, throwing him a none-too-subtle glare as she passes him; but he can clearly see the bitter envy in his cousin’s grey eyes, as she’s forced to make way for him. That gives him a tiny shred of hope. 

As Bellatrix shuts the drawing room door rather harder than necessary, Regulus stands frozen opposite the Dark Lord, his head still bowed. 

Clear your mind, he tells himself, make it blank.  

Fabian’s voice is still echoing in his head, the expression on his face as Regulus had left imprinted on his mind’s eye, and emptying his thoughts so that he can look up and meet the Dark Lord’s eyes feels more difficult than it ever has before. He takes a deep breath.

“You wished to speak to me, my Lord?” 

He nearly chokes on the deferential words, revulsion and terror clogging his throat. 

“Yes,” the other man sighs, twirling his wand absentmindedly in his long, pale fingers. “There is something troubling me. Wormtail has disappeared, Regulus.” 

Regulus blinks at him, stunned. Despite his attempt to reassure Fabian, he hadn’t really believed Dumbledore’s half-hearted attempts to reassure him; he had truly been bracing himself for the worst. But…if the Dark Lord hasn’t seen Pettigrew either…then surely that means…

“He has not responded to my summons for weeks now,” the tall, pale man says quietly, still considering the wand that he’s toying with. “I would hazard a guess that he has fled somewhere, worried that his little friends were starting to suspect him. I suppose it would not be altogether surprising if he had let something slip, weak and incompetent little fool that he is.” 

Strange to hear this man sharing an opinion with my brother, Regulus thinks to himself, still reeling a little, hardly daring to believe that he’s still safe. 

“A shame, really,” the Dark Lord muses. “Weak as he is, he certainly had his uses, for a while. But I admit that I was foolish not to predict this. I should have known that a treacherous little coward like that could never be relied upon. He is hiding from me in some sewer or other, I don’t doubt, like the vermin he is. He has been disloyal - and the Dark Lord does not tolerate disloyalty. Wormtail knows this. He knows as well as I do that he is going to die, the moment that I find him. And I will find him.”

For a fleeting moment, Regulus almost feels pity for Pettigrew - wherever he is, he must know that he’s completely alone in the world, with nobody left to turn to. With a chill, he remembers what Dumbledore had said to him a few weeks ago. 

If you prefer, you could leave the Order, but refuse to return to Voldemort…in which case, you would find yourself in much the same position that poor Peter Pettigrew is in right now.

Regulus forces himself back to the present, finally allowing himself to release the breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding. He feels as though a death blow has missed him by barely an inch, the heat of the curse singing the top of his hair. 

He blinks, suddenly registering something else, something strange that he’d missed in his shock and relief. 

“I am sorry to hear of Pettigrew’s falseness, my Lord,” he says cautiously. “But…forgive me…why did you wish to see me?” 

The pale man leans back in his seat a little, considering him with those snakelike eyes. Regulus forces himself not to shudder.

“Severus is already in Azkaban,” he says, without a hint of pity. “And if Wormtail is not already dead, he soon will be. But it is still essential for me to have a spy within the ranks of the Order of the Phoenix, Regulus. Now more than ever. And it has occurred to me that there would be nobody better suited to the position than you.” 

Regulus stares at him, his mouth suddenly dry. He wonders, for a moment, whether he had heard right.

“Me, my Lord?” 

“You,” he replies, looking at him without a flicker of a smile. 

“But…but I am not in the Order, as Pettigrew was,” he protests hastily, wondering whether this is all some kind of trap.

“I am aware of that, Regulus,” the Dark Lord says coolly. “But your brother is, as we both know. You are in a perfect position to go to him, claim that you have ‘seen the error of your ways’, are you not? Given that his ‘friend’ has vanished, I’m sure he would not turn down a new ally. And Dumbledore is a trusting old fool, I imagine you would not have the greatest difficulty in convincing him of your loyalty. Once his hero is convinced, so is Sirius, don’t you agree?” 

Regulus has to bite back an incredulous laugh at that; clearly, the Dark Lord doesn’t understand either Dumbledore or Sirius nearly as well as he thinks he does. Regulus remembers only too well how long it had taken to get to the tentative truce that he finally seems to have reached with his brother, how painful the process had been. And as for his relationship with Dumbledore…

“It is imperative that I have someone keeping an eye on the old fool,” the snakelike man continues in a soft hiss. “But there is another matter that needs to be attended to.”

“Another matter?” Regulus echoes, his voice somewhat hoarse. 

“The Potters,” the Dark Lord explains, in that same sibilant hiss. “I know that they are in hiding, trying to keep their son safe from me - unfortunately, the prophecy was made to Dumbledore, so he was able to warn them, knowing I would have received word of it from Severus.” Regulus blinks, feeling like he doesn’t have enough space left in his brain to process another revelation. “I do not know where they are, but I know - thanks to Wormtail - that your brother is their Secret Keeper. Wormtail could not tell me where to find them, but before he disappeared, he told me repeatedly that he felt sure he could persuade Sirius Black to tell him. To be fair to the rat, he did pass me useful information on the Order - but he never managed to give me the Potters’ location. Perhaps his little friends never cared about him as much as he thought they did; I would not be surprised. But you, Regulus…I have a great deal of faith in your powers of persuasion and cunning. I am sure that, if you can win him over - and I trust that you can - your brother would be far more willing to share information with you. You are no pathetic, snivelling little Peter Pettigrew. You are Sirius Black’s blind spot, I am sure of it.” 

Regulus shivers a little. Why is it that both Dumbledore and the Dark Lord are determined to use him as a pawn to manipulate his brother? 

“Well, Regulus?” the tall, pale man in front of him asks, raising one eyebrow as he looks at him expectantly. “What say you?” 

Regulus stares at him, heart pounding violently, hardly able to believe that this is what he’s being asked to do. It seems somehow too simple and too complicated, all at once. 

The Dark Lord is unknowingly asking him to do something that he had already done, months ago. If he agrees to this, it will, in many ways, take a burden off his shoulders; he won’t have to sneak around any more. He won’t have to be so terrified of being late to answer a summons; he can just say he was at an Order meeting with his brother and Dumbledore, and pretend it was on the Dark Lord’s orders. 

On the other hand…can he really balance this? Passing Dumbledore information on the Dark Lord, figuring out how to destroy the Horcrux, while at the same time passing the Dark Lord valuable information on the Order - or at least appearing to? If he agrees to spy for the Dark Lord, then he’ll have to give him at least some intelligence on the Order, or else risk the consequences of failing him…but how will it be possible to do that, without putting people in the Order in even more danger? What if he’s forced to hurt Sirius? What if he hurts Fabian? 

And as for the Potters…little does the Dark Lord know that Regulus already knows exactly where they are. He has absolutely no intention of betraying their whereabouts, of course…but how long will he be able to go on pretending to be as clueless as Pettigrew was, before the Dark Lord loses patience with him too? 

Dumbledore’s cool voice seems to be echoing in his mind again. It seems to me that your choices are rather limited, at this juncture. 

Lord Voldemort may be framing this as a request, just an idea that he’s running past Regulus…but they both know that it’s an order. There’s only one response he can make.

He takes a deep breath, emptying his mind of thought. It costs him more effort than ever before. 

“I will not disappoint you, my Lord,” he murmurs, bowing his head, doing his utmost to keep his expression blank. 

As soon as he’s dismissed, Regulus bows out of the room, utterly sickened with himself, and practically runs out into the garden, past the softly playing fountain, up the pebbled driveway and back through the wrought iron gate. Once he’s beyond the boundaries of Malfoy Manor, he barely even thinks consciously about his destination before Disapparating. All he knows is that he needs to see Fabian. 

The moment that he lands on the doorstep of the - by now familiar - little flat in Camden, with the dirty white paint peeling slightly from the walls, he seizes the greenish copper knocker shaped like a lion and raps it loudly, frantically against the door. 

Almost immediately, he hears footsteps hurrying, practically pounding up the corridor. The front door is wrenched open; to Regulus’s relief, he’s face to face with exactly the person he most needs right now. 

“Oh, thank god,” Fabian whispers. 

His freckles are standing out clearly against his pale skin, and the look of relief suffusing his face is almost overwhelming. His bright blue eyes look distinctly watery and red-rimmed; Regulus looks down awkwardly, pretending he hadn’t noticed. 

“You’re…are you…alright?” Fabian asks him, his voice hoarse. 

“Yeah. Think so. Well…” he gives a small shrug. “Sort of. Not dead, anyway. Though I guess you probably worked that much out for yourself. You are quite clever.” 

The redhead lets out a small, choked sound that might have been a laugh. He makes a small movement, but stops himself, hesitating. His eyes trace over Regulus’s face, his expression almost nervous.

“Can I…is it alright if I hug you, Regulus?” 

Regulus stares back at him, completely thrown by this. Nobody has asked if they could hug him since…well, actually, he’s fairly certain that nobody has ever asked him that. His heart is pounding in his chest again, but it feels very different to how it had felt back in the drawing room of Malfoy Manor. He does want a hug, he realises suddenly - no, he needs one. He’s a little shocked at just how much he needs it, in fact.

He shrugs a little, giving Fabian a small grin. 

“Well…” he replies, trying desperately to sound nonchalant. “If you insist.” 

Fabian definitely laughs this time, more a sound of relief than anything else. 

He steps forwards quickly, as though worried Regulus is going to change his mind, wrapping his big arms tightly around him, as though he’s still trying to convince himself that Regulus is really standing there, still in one piece. The taller man closes his eyes and exhales slowly, as though he’d been holding his breath until this moment, pressing his face into Regulus’s dark curls. 

For a moment, Regulus just stands stock still in his arms, not quite knowing what to do with himself. He isn’t quite as inexperienced as Sirius seems to believe - but somehow, even though he knows Fabian Prewett is only hugging him as a friend, like they’d agreed they were, this still seems like the most intimacy he’s ever had with anybody else. But Fabian’s arms feel so warm, so gentle, so safe, that he finds he can’t help but relax into the taller man’s embrace after a moment, his arms coming up to wrap loosely around his waist without conscious thought.

His face is level with Fabian’s broad chest, and he leans his face against it without really meaning to, closing his eyes, allowing himself to breathe deeply in and out as his heightened anxiety slowly begins to ebb. 

Fabian has a kind of fiery scent, almost like woodsmoke; and yet there’s an edge of something sweeter mingled with it too, something that almost reminds Regulus of the treacle tarts he always used to look forward to at Hogwarts feasts. It’s intoxicating. 

Wrapped in Fabian Prewett’s arms, the Malfoys’ drawing room and the Dark Lord’s orders, those merciless red eyes, seem suddenly very far away. Regulus finds himself wishing that he could just stay here forever, not have to face Dumbledore and Sirius and all the implications of what had just happened at Malfoy Manor. But he knows that’s impossible.

With a small sigh, he extricates himself from Fabian’s arms. Almost immediately, the guilt and self-loathing comes flooding back to him. Perhaps the redhead won’t be so inclined to embrace him again, once he hears what Regulus has just agreed to do. 

“Better go inside, right?” Fabian asks, reaching up to brush at his eyes, smiling softly down at him. 

I could drown in you, Regulus thinks, out of nowhere, before wondering if he’s finally cracked. 

“Shall we report back to Dumbledore?” the redhead prompts.

“Ugh,” Regulus groans, grimacing. Fabian laughs quietly. “Yeah. I s’pose so.” 

He takes a step inside the flat - but hesitates, turning back to Fabian, who is still hovering in the doorway, looking almost…shy. 

“It’s…it’s sort of…bad,” he says awkwardly, feeling as though he owes him some kind of warning. “What I’ve been asked to do. I just…thought you should know. Before I tell Dumbledore, I mean.” 

The redhead looks at him for a moment, those bright blue eyes tracing over his face thoughtfully; then he shrugs slightly, giving Regulus a small grin. 

“But you came back, like you said you would,” he murmurs in response. “Like I told you, Regulus - whatever you need me for, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, alright?” 

He can’t help but grin at that, feeling his heart seem to grow three times in size.

“Alright.” 

The pair of them walk into Sirius and Lupin’s living room together, their shoulders brushing slightly. It’s clear that the meeting is just winding up; there are at least fifteen people sitting around the room, and Moody is brusquely announcing the guard duty schedule, as well as reminders for everyone for the next meeting. Everyone except Dumbledore and Moody - who seems very determined to get through all of his announcements - swivels around to stare at Regulus, clearly bewildered about why he’s showing up only for the very end of the evening. Fabian flushes a little as people turn to look at him, too, and it occurs to Regulus that he must have jumped up in the middle of the meeting - most likely completely ignoring Moody’s death glare - and run out of the room to get the door, the moment he’d heard Regulus knocking. 

Sirius, still looking pale and anxious, makes a move as though to get up off the sofa the moment he catches sight of them, and Regulus can tell that he’s about to start interrogating him in the middle of the announcements. Lupin, however, catches Dumbledore’s warning look, and although he looks worried himself, he puts a gentle hand on Sirius’s arm, shaking his head slightly. Sirius looks more than a little irritated, but he huffs and stays silent, folding his arms and glaring pointedly at Moody, tapping his foot impatiently. 

It seems to take forever before the meeting finishes, even though it’s clearly in its final stages. Perhaps it’s just the ever-increasing anxiety - although feeling his brother’s impatient stare doesn’t help matters much either - but Regulus doesn’t know how much longer he can bear to keep his news to himself, bottled up inside him. 

Finally, Moody tucks his notes away and the Order members begin to get up, moving around the living room and saying their farewells to each other, some taking a glittering handful of Floo powder, some simply Disapparating. By the time Moody gruffly shakes Dumbledore’s hand and twists on the spot, vanishing - although not before casting Regulus a darkly suspicious look - Regulus can tell that Sirius is practically vibrating out of his skin with impatience.

Dumbledore, however, seems infuriatingly calm, as usual. He just sits there in his chintz armchair by the fireplace, gazing at Regulus over the rim of his half-moon spectacles, his expression as inscrutable as ever. He waits until he, Regulus, Fabian, Sirius and Lupin are the only ones left in the living room before speaking. 

“I am glad to see that you appear safe and sound, Regulus,” he says, with a small smile. 

Only because it would make things more complicated for you if I was killed, Regulus thinks, narrowing his eyes at the headmaster. 

“So?” Dumbledore prompts, when Regulus doesn’t reply. “What news from Voldemort?” 

He flinches. The others are all staring at him expectantly - even Fabian, although his gaze is considerably softer than the others’. Now that it comes to it, Regulus finds that he’s not quite sure how to say it. 

“Well,” he begins, “Pettigrew definitely hasn’t reported me. In fact, the Dark Lord doesn’t have any idea where he’s gone, either.” 

An almost tangible sense of relief ripples around the room at this - although apparently Lupin still can’t resist the urge to be sarcastic. 

“Well, I think we figured that part out for ourselves, Regulus,” he says wryly. “Given that you’re…y’know, here. Telling us things. In a way that indicates you’re still alive.” 

“Good to see you again too, Lupin,” Regulus shoots back at him, and Lupin grins slightly despite himself. “He also promised me that he will find Pettigrew - and that when he does, he’ll kill him.” 

Sirius and Lupin exchange a look at this, a look full of mingled shock, guilt, rage, satisfaction, triumph, pain. Dumbledore just heaves a sigh.

“Yes,” he says wearily. “I am afraid that was to be expected. But I fear you have not yet told us the main point, Regulus. Why did Voldemort wish to see you? I assume it was not just to inform you of his disappointment in Peter?” 

“No,” Regulus says quietly. His throat has gone dry again; he doesn’t know how to get the words out. He takes a deep breath. “He…he wants me to be Pettigrew’s replacement.” 

A moment of stunned silence.

“But…” says Lupin slowly, “...when you say ‘replacement’....you don’t mean…”

“I mean that the Dark Lord has asked me to take Pettigrew’s place, as his spy in the Order,” Regulus clarifies, letting out a choked laugh, even though there’s nothing remotely funny about this situation. “Well, I say ‘asked’; it wasn’t really a request. It was an order. Obviously.” 

His words seem to reverberate in the silence, echoing around the little room as the others all stare at him.

“Voldemort wishes you to infiltrate the Order?” Dumbledore repeats quietly. He nods. “He wishes you, in Peter’s absence, to keep an eye on me, I presume?” 

Regulus nods again. 

“And on me, too?” Sirius asks slowly.

Regulus hesitates, before nodding again. He speaks to the floor now, finding that he can’t look at him. 

“He told me to go and convince my brother that I had ‘seen the error of my ways,’” he says, hating himself more and more with every word. “And…and Pettigrew had already told him that you were the Potters’ Secret Keeper, Sirius. So the Dark Lord has tasked me with persuading you to tell me their whereabouts. I…I told him that I would not fail him. There wasn’t really anything else I could say.” 

He can feel Sirius’s gaze practically burning into his skin, horrified, hurt. Lupin and Fabian are both staring at him with blank expressions of shock, too, despite the fact that he’d tried to warn Fabian how bad it was. 

God, it was only a few weeks ago that they’d stopped suspecting he was a liar, that he was trying to hurt them, that he was only pretending to be in the Order. How on earth are they supposed to recover from this? How is Sirius ever going to maintain that tiny bit of trust between them that Regulus had finally managed to rebuild, knowing that he’s literally promised the Dark Lord he’ll find out where the Potters are, and tell him? 

Dumbledore, however, does not look shocked or horrified. He’s still looking thoughtfully at Regulus over his spectacles, as though he’s an intriguing book. 

“So Voldemort did not appear to suspect a thing? He does not have a clue that you already defected to our side months ago?” 

Regulus shakes his head. 

“Doesn’t seem like it.” 

For a moment, the headmaster just keeps looking at him with that piercing blue gaze, considering him over his steepled fingertips. Then, he gives a single, satisfied nod.

“Well then,” he says with a small smile. “It seems to me, Regulus, that we have everything to play for.”