Mortal Once More

October 31st, 1982 - Hogwarts Castle 

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.

Regulus stares at the words daubed on the wall, glistening in the light of the torches. 

Beneath the message, Filch’s tabby cat looks as though she’s been stuffed - he can feel cold horror creeping down his spine as he sees the flickering torch light reflected in the cat’s glassy, hollow eyes. Goosebumps rise suddenly on his arms, making him shiver. 

“Isn’t…” Remus’s voice comes out hoarse; he swallows and tries again. “Isn’t that Filch’s cat? She used to follow the four of us around everywhere.” 

“Yes. I think so,” Regulus replies. 

“Is she…dead?” Remus asks, clearly trying to sound calm.

Regulus shrugs.

“I don’t know. Looks like it.” 

“But… how? ” the other man asks. He stares back and forth between the cat and the foot-high letters on the wall, glistening in blood red. Regulus shrugs again. “ The Chamber of Secrets has been opened …” Remus mutters, seemingly speaking more to himself than to Regulus now. “But…what the hell is that supposed to mean? I thought that was just one of the weird myths in this place? One of those things students used to say to scare each other? You know…’Don’t go in the Forest, it’s full of werewolves.’ ‘Don’t wander the corridors at night, the monster from the Chamber will get you.’” 

Regulus swallows, staring at the bizarre scene in front of him, his heart pounding in his chest. Remus is right; the scene is so eerie, so absurd , that it seems like something from a child’s nightmare. None of this makes sense; it doesn’t seem real. And yet…

“Well,” he says quietly, “if it is a myth…seems like someone in this castle is taking it pretty seriously right now, doesn’t it?” 

He glances over at Remus. He looks pale and sick, still staring at the cat hanging from the torch bracket. Finally, he tears his gaze away, looking back at Regulus. 

“We have to tell Dumbledore. Now.” 

“Oh my god…” comes a voice from behind them.

“What the fuck?” someone else says loudly, amongst scattered gasps and small screams. 

“Language, Mr Thomas,” says Minerva McGonagall’s voice, though sounding much fainter and less brusque than usual; when Regulus turns around, he sees that the head of Gryffindor is standing with a hand clutched to her chest, paler than he’s ever seen her, staring at the scene in front of her with abject horror. Behind her, the corridor is quickly growing clogged as tens, hundreds of students, on their way back to their dormitories from the feast in the Great Hall, splash loudly across the wet floor, stop to stare at the macabre sight in the middle of the corridor. 

“What’s the hold up…? Uh…why is the floor soaking…? Holy shit !” 

McGonagall seems to have given up on reprimands for the moment, Regulus registers vaguely, as the teenagers behind them react in loud shock from every direction. 

“You know, something tells me we won’t need to go and find Dumbledore,” he says sardonically to Remus. “I imagine he might figure it out for himself. I give it about three minutes.” 

“Oh my god, is that…?”

“ My cat!” The hoarse, croaky voice of the obnoxious caretaker bellows suddenly, louder than any other voice in the crowd. “That’s my cat!” 

Regulus can’t help but turn towards the sound of Filch’s voice, but he winces, regretting it immediately. He can’t stand the man - nobody at Hogwarts can, really - but nevertheless, it’s hard not to feel sympathy for the caretaker after catching a glimpse of his face, eyes wide with shock and horror, face twisted in pain. Regulus looks away awkwardly, feeling like he’s intruding on somebody else’s grief. 

“What happened to you, my sweet?” Filch cries out, sobbing now. “Someone has murdered my cat…I’ll kill them!”

“Calm yourself, Argus,” a familiar deep voice interjects, somehow easily silencing the crowd.

“Told you we didn’t need to fetch him,” Regulus mutters. 

As Dumbledore moves towards the cat, hanging glassy-eyed from the torch bracket, the crowd of students quickly clears a path to let him through. Suddenly, the corridor is blanketed in a thick, terrified silence; as Dumbledore leans in closer to Mrs Norris, frowning slightly as he examines her over his half-moon spectacles, it seems like almost everyone in the castle is holding their breath, with no sound other than Filch’s dry, wheezy, intermittent sobs. 

Finally, after what seems like an age, the headmaster straightens up to his full height again, deftly detaching the stiffened cat from the torch bracket she was hanging from. 

“The Heads of Houses will please escort their students to their respective common rooms,” he announces, sounding perfectly calm. 

Noise immediately breaks out across the corridor again as the students begin chivvying into disorderly lines, firing endless questions at their professors. Regulus sighs, mentally preparing himself as he turns towards the Slytherins.

“Except for Professor Black, that is,” Dumbledore adds suddenly, making Regulus stop in his tracks, barely stifling a groan. He thinks he’d rather deal with these teenagers than with the headmaster, at the moment. “Professor Sinistra, if you would be so kind as to escort the Slytherins down to the dungeons?” 

The elderly woman looks rather startled at this, but nevertheless she gives a gruff nod, as it’s clearly an instruction rather than a request, and begins barking directions at the baffled Slytherin students. 

“Argus, you may come up to my office with us,” Dumbledore adds to the still-sobbing Filch, not unkindly. “And Professor Lupin - I would be much obliged if you would join us, too.”

“Yes, I’m sure you would,” Remus mutters under his breath; despite himself, Regulus can’t help but grin slightly at that. 

As the last of the students trail out of the corridor en route to their common rooms, many of them still darting morbidly avid glances at the huge message glistening blood red on the wall, Remus turns to the headmaster, still looking paler than Regulus has seen him in a long while. 

“Professor,” he says tensely, “Regulus and I were supposed to be meeting Sirius and Fabian this evening, they’re standing outside the front gates waiting for us…they’ll be wondering where we are -”

“No matter, I shall send for them to join us,” Dumbledore replies, giving his wand a wordless flick so that the huge, familiar silver phoenix bursts out of the tip, flying swiftly down the staircase back towards the Great Hall and out of sight. “No doubt they would have heard the news before long anyway - and I daresay it will be better for them to learn the facts from being on the scene with us, rather than hearing a garbled secondhand version later.” 

Regulus can still feel his heart skittering in his chest like a small, frightened animal, and when he glances at Remus, he sees his own anxiety reflected in the other man’s hazel eyes. They had both been so looking forward to seeing the others again, a reunion in Hogsmeade with nothing to worry about - apart from Regulus’s worries that he’d made a complete and utter fool of himself in front of Fabian, that is. Just one night free of fear - but apparently, that’s too much to ask. 

He raises an eyebrow at Remus silently - Remus sighs, giving one, small nod. Seeing no other option, they turn to follow Dumbledore wordlessly towards the spiral staircase leading to his office, Filch trailing in their wake, still heaving dry, wheezy, irritating sobs. Regulus, whose nerves are frayed enough as it is, dearly wishes he could tell the man to shut up, or at least sob a bit more quietly. But he has a feeling that probably wouldn’t go down very well. 

It sounds as though there are already a loud crowd of people inside Dumbledore’s office as they approach the door, although the cacophony of chatter stops immediately as the group of them enter the beautiful circular room. The old headmasters and headmistresses of years past all lean forwards with barely concealed expressions of excitement at the peculiar, macabre sight in front of them, with some hurrying into neighbouring portraits for a better look at the frozen cat. Armando Dippet takes out a monocle, and Regulus even spots an expression of mild curiosity flicker briefly across the familiar haughty features of his own great-great-grandfather, Phineas Nigellus Black; although when he catches Regulus looking, he hastily looks down at his fingernails, as usual determined to appear disdainfully bored. 

Dumbledore shows no sign of responding to any of the portraits’ intrigued whisperings, or even noticing them. He simply carries Filch’s cat over to his desk, laying her carefully down on top of it without taking his eyes off her. Absentmindedly, he flicks his wand so that the cushy chintz armchair sitting across from him, waiting for a guest, pushes itself obligingly out from the desk.

“Have a seat, Argus,” he murmurs. Filch, still sobbing and wheezing incessantly, plonks himself down clumsily, burying his face in his hands. 

“And I think a drink might do you some good, too,” Dumbledore adds, waving his wand again, still without looking up from the stiff cat. 

The glass drinks cabinet in the corner of the office opens, a bottle of Ogden’s Old Firewhiskey and a crystal tumbler zooming out and pausing midair in front of Filch, the bottle pouring a generous measure of amber whiskey into the tumbler, before nudging it towards the caretaker and soaring obediently back towards the cabinet. Filch barely seems to notice any of this, although Regulus can tell from the expression on Remus’s face that he’s dying to tell Dumbledore he wouldn’t say no to a stiff drink. 

Nevertheless, both he and Regulus remain silent, watching the headmaster frowning over Mrs Norris’s stiff form, gently prodding and poking at the cat, murmuring strange words in Latin which sound like spells that Regulus has never heard before, uninterrupted by any noise other than Filch’s croaky sobs. 

For his part, Regulus feels like he hardly dares to breathe. He has no idea whether they’ve been sitting there quietly for five minutes, twenty minutes, or an hour, when the door to Dumbledore’s office bangs open loudly behind them without warning, making everyone except the headmaster jump. The various portraits cry out in shock, abandoning any attempt to feign indifference or disinterest. 

Regulus whips around so quickly that he cricks his neck; rubbing it, he sees that the dramatic new arrivals are none other than Sirius and Fabian, both looking far paler than usual.  

Figures, he muses to himself dryly. Who else but those two would burst in like that? 

As Fabian’s bright blue gaze briefly meets his own, Regulus feels his heart begin to pound even harder. He hasn’t come face to face with the man since Fabian had asked him that question that had made his head spin… Do you want to leave? And as for his brother…he and Sirius haven’t said a word to each other since that awful argument at Godric’s Hollow. 

It already seems like many hours since he had been heading down to meet the two of them with Remus at his side, feeling giddy, excited butterflies in his stomach at the thought of seeing Fabian again. But everything has changed since then, and now…Regulus really doesn’t know if he’s prepared to deal with these two, on top of everything else. 

“What the fuck is going on?” Sirius demands abruptly, not bothering with any greetings. “Fab and I were waiting at the gate, and then when we got your Patronus we ran up here, and on our way up we saw a message that looked like it was written in blood on the wall of the first floor corridor, saying something about the fucking Chamber of Secrets being opened, and… Merlin!” he finishes, grey eyes wide with shock as he notices the tabby cat lying glassy-eyed and stiff as a board on Dumbledore’s desk. 

Given that Mrs Norris seems to have an unnerving way of scenting anybody who is doing the wrong thing or breaking some rule or other - when she’s capable of movement, at least - Regulus is hardly surprised that his brother seems to recognise the cat immediately. Filch’s reaction to the sudden intrusion is not exactly shocking, either.

“What is he doing here, Headmaster?!” he croaks, finally halting his irritating sobs as he stares at Sirius, his jowls aquiver with rage. 

“ Splendid to see you too, Argus old chap,” Sirius shoots back at him, apparently unable to stop himself, despite the seriousness of the situation. “I’ve missed you dreadfully these past few years, you know. Been meaning to write, but daft as I am, I seem to keep losing my quill.” 

“ Merlin, Padfoot, not now ,” Remus says through clenched teeth, shooting his obnoxious boyfriend a dark look, as Filch swells wordlessly with indignant fury. Sirius lapses into silence, with what Regulus can tell is an enormous effort. To this day, Remus Lupin is the only person Regulus has ever known who can successfully shut his brother up.

“Sirius’s irritating comments aside, though,” Fabian pipes up, “we would rather like to know just what the hell is going on, Professor.” 

Although he’s speaking to Dumbledore, Regulus can’t help but notice that the freckled man’s gaze is still resting on him, blue eyes wide with anxiety. 

“We were just waiting to hear that when you two idiots barged in,” Remus replies, frowning at the headmaster. “With remarkable patience, given the circumstances, if I do say so myself.” 

“My cat has been murdered ,” Filch howls, his face twisted in misery again, “ that’s what’s going on.” 

He promptly starts up with his creaky sobs again, and Regulus stares at the frozen cat, twisting his hands together in his lap and willing himself not to snap. 

“No,” says Dumbledore suddenly.

Everyone stares at him.

“No?” Filch echoes, so dumbfounded that for a moment he - mercifully - stops his incessant sobbing. “What do you mean, ‘no?’”

“I mean that Mrs Norris has not been murdered,” the headmaster clarifies, perfectly calm. “After investigating her closely, I think I can safely say that she is still alive.” 

The caretaker lets out another startled sob, but it sounds very different this time; suddenly, his red, veiny face is suffused with hope. 

“Really? Truly?” he croaks, looking as though he hardly dares to believe it.

“Really and truly,” Dumbledore confirms, with a small smile, and Filch releases a hoarse, shaky breath. 

“I’m glad that Mrs Norris isn’t dead, of course,” Remus pipes up tentatively. “But with all due respect, Headmaster - and without wishing to cause Mr Filch any more shock than he has already suffered through tonight - she certainly doesn’t seem to look very alive, either. So, if she’s not dead - then what the hell is wrong with her, exactly? Any ideas on that?” 

“It would seem that she has been Petrified,” Dumbledore answers, still in that same perfectly calm voice.

“I - what? Petrified ?” Filch echoes blankly. 

“That is, rendered immobile and unresponsive to the world around her, through highly advanced Dark magic,” the headmaster explains gently. “Mrs Norris is alive, but totally unconscious and insensible. She has, effectively, been turned to stone.”

“Christ,” Remus mutters, as Filch draws a hoarse, rattling breath, the look of horror firmly back on his face.

“But…but…” he stutters. 

“But how? ” Sirius demands, voicing what they’re all thinking as he stares down at the unfortunate feline on Dumbledore’s desk. “What the hell would be powerful enough to do that?” 

Dumbledore seems to hesitate for a split second before answering; though Regulus is not sure if anyone notices this besides him.

“As to that,” the headmaster says quietly, “I am afraid I cannot be sure.” 

A long, tense silence greets these words.

“But…if she’s not dead,” says Filch desperately, “then…she can be cured, can’t she, Professor?” 

“She can indeed,” the headmaster replies, bowing his head gravely. “As soon as I inform Pomona, she can begin preparing her Mandrakes for a Restorative Draught.” 

Regulus almost groans aloud. That means yet another incredibly complex potion he’s going to have to brew once Sprout’s Mandrakes are ready, with the life of Filch’s beloved cat depending on him making it perfectly, and possibly a painful caretaker-induced death if he messes it up. But he supposes that’s a problem for another day. 

Filch, on the other hand, still looks utterly baffled.

“A Restorative…what?” he croaks. “But…but how long will that take to make?”

“About two weeks,” Regulus answers. “But it can’t be started until the Mandrakes are fully mature, and at the moment Sprout only has seedlings, as far as I’m aware - so it will probably take a few months.”

“A few months? ” the caretaker croaks, outraged. “But..Professor…” he pleads, turning back to Dumbledore, as though desperate to be told Regulus is lying to him, “surely there’s another way to -”

“I am afraid not, Argus,” the headmaster replies gravely. “Or at least, not that I am aware of. Regulus is right - there is nothing we can do for Mrs Norris until Pomona’s Mandrakes have matured.” 

“But…my cat…” Filch moans, breaking into desperate, wheezy sobs again. “My sweet…”

“I am truly sorry, Argus,” says Dumbledore, sighing as he carefully lifts the stiff, lifeless form of Mrs Norris from his desk, proffering her to Filch. “I think that the best thing for you to do now is take her down to the hospital wing - I am sure Poppy will do her utmost to ensure that no further harm comes to her. And it might be a good idea to ask her if she can provide you with something as well, to help with the shock. I imagine she can ensure you have a dreamless night tonight, at least.”

The caretaker takes the glassy-eyed cat in his arms as carefully as though she might snap in two with the slightest pressure. His loud, wheezy sobs continue as he makes his way out of the circular office, tears falling thick and fast onto Mrs Norris’s fur - even Sirius has an uncomfortable, pitying look on his face now. Even after the door closes behind him, they can still hear Filch’s wails echoing off the stone walls all the way down the spiral staircase outside.

“‘Come visit us at Hogwarts,’ Remus said,” Fabian mutters. “‘It will be fun,” he said.” 

Regulus lets out a small huff of laughter at that, despite himself. There’s something soft in Fabian’s eyes as he shoots him a little grin, a dimple creasing his left cheek. Suddenly, Regulus feels just a tiny bit warmer and safer than before. 

“So?” Sirius demands brusquely, fixing Dumbledore with a challenging stare and giving no sign that he’d even heard Fabian’s words. “Care to give us a bit more information? What’s with that huge message on the wall? How can the ‘Chamber of Secrets’ possibly be open? I thought that was a myth!” 

“That’s what I said, too,” Remus mutters, frowning at the headmaster too. “But even if that message was just a lie from someone trying to draw attention to themselves, or to scare people… there must be someone pretty bloody powerful hanging around this place, to inflict that kind of Dark Magic on the cat. Or some thing .” 

Another long, tense silence greets these words. 

“But why target Filch, of all people?” Sirius asks blankly. “Aside from the fact that he’s an arseface, I mean.” 

“Sirius,” says Remus warningly. 

“What? It’s just the truth, Moony!”

“I know,” Remus hisses back at him, “but that’s not exactly relevant right now, is it?”

“Well, maybe it is!” Sirius shoots back. “Maybe Filch just pissed off this mysterious culprit one time too many! In which case, I can sympathise with the motive, even if I don’t condone the method…”

“For god’s sake,” Remus huffs, rubbing a weary hand across his forehead, looking to Regulus for help. 

“Well, if the person behind this is masquerading as the supposed ‘Heir of Slytherin,” Regulus says, “then I expect Filch has been targeted because he’s a Squib. I would have thought that was obvious.” 

Everyone apart from Dumbledore stares at him with looks of blank shock.

“Filch is a Squib?” Remus echoes.

“Well…yes?” Regulus replies, bewildered by their surprise. “I thought everyone knew that? Mulciber found correspondence from a Kwikspell course once when he was hauled into Filch’s office, years ago; so naturally every single student in Slytherin knew about it within hours. It’s true, isn’t it, Dumbledore?” he adds, turning to the headmaster for backup.

Dumbledore sighs.

“It is hardly something that Argus wishes to be common knowledge - but I suppose there is not much point in my denying it to the four of you now. Yes, he is a Squib.” 

“See?” Regulus says, turning back to the others. “Can’t believe none of you knew - that was why everyone was always whispering about him and mocking him behind his back, wasn’t it?” 

“Speak for yourself,” Sirius replies indignantly, still looking more than a little thunderstruck. “ We were only ever mocking him behind his back because he’s an annoying arseface!” Remus sighs again, but doesn’t bother to reproach his boyfriend this time. “Anyway,” Sirius adds, raising a haughty eyebrow, “you Slytherins were always talking crap, spreading rumours about someone or other. You really think anyone else listened to you all?” 

“That is enough, Sirius.” The stern words come from Dumbledore this time, as he fixes Sirius with one of his piercing stares. “Yes, Argus is indeed a Squib, and I believe Regulus is right in thinking that is the likeliest reason he has been targeted like this. Even so, I feel that I need hardly remind you all that that information should not be repeated outside this room. I do not think it wise for it to become common knowledge around the castle, any more than it apparently already is.” 

“Not to point out the blindingly obvious,” Sirius pipes up, having been obediently quiet for a grand total of about ten seconds, “but surely all this proves that the culprit behind this must be someone in Slytherin? I mean, Reg has just told us that almost every single student in Slytherin knew about Filch being a Squib, at least when Mulciber was a student here. There could easily be kids amongst the older Slytherins who were in their first or second year when we were students and Mulciber was strutting around the place; or even for the Slytherin kids who weren’t at Hogwarts yet, they could have been told about it by an older cousin or sibling. Besides, the whole ‘Heir of Slytherin’ thing is a bit of a giveaway, no?” 

Dumbledore tilts his head to the side, gazing at Sirius over his half-moon glasses as he considers this. 

“I don’t know, Pads,” says Remus sceptically. “I’m not sure I can see a kid having enough knowledge or power to use this kind of Dark magic.”

“I don’t know,” Sirius mutters, “they’re training new recruits from a pretty young age these days, as I recall.”

He casts Regulus a dark look as he says this, his expression threaded with anger and hurt so that, for a moment, he looks once more like the teenage boy who had run away from home. Regulus feels that familiar, cold and sickening twist of guilt in his stomach.

Fabian steps forward, none-too-subtly, so that he is standing between the two of them.

“Shut up, Sirius,” says Remus, in a tone that brooks no argument, narrowing his eyes at his boyfriend.

Sirius glances at him, looking rather surprised by this reaction, but he falls silent again nonetheless.

“I still don’t really get it, though,” says Fabian, evidently keen to skate over the sticky tension between the brothers. “Clearly, whoever is behind this is an awful, prejudiced shit - nobody is disputing that. But if they were intent on attacking Filch’s cat…why not just do that? Why go to the effort of writing a huge message on the wall, claiming that the ‘Chamber of Secrets has been opened’, when everyone knows that’s just one of the legends of this place? I mean,” he continues, turning to Dumbledore with one eyebrow raised sceptically, “there’s no mention in the records of the Chamber ever having been opened before, is there, Professor?” 

“There is no mention in the records, no,” the headmaster replies slowly. “But as a matter of fact, it has been opened before - precisely forty years ago, when I was working as the Transfiguration teacher here.” 

“What?!” the four of them exclaim simultaneously, staring at Dumbledore as though he’s suddenly speaking a different language. 

 “Or at least,” the headmaster amends, “a message announcing its opening was left on the wall, written in blood, much like this time. No solid evidence was ever found that the Chamber itself actually existed, it is true. But several Muggle-born students were attacked - Petrified, to be precise, much like Argus’s poor companion Mrs Norris - and eventually, one unfortunate Muggle-born Ravenclaw girl, young Myrtle Warren, was found dead in one of the girls’ bathrooms.” 

“Wait… Myrtle?” says Remus slowly, a look of comprehension dawning on his face. “She died in a bathroom? You don’t mean…”

“She is now more commonly known among the school’s students, staff and ghosts as Moaning Myrtle, yes,” Dumbledore confirms. “Though I doubt she is particularly fond of that moniker.” 

Regulus stares at the others, who all look just as thunderstruck as he feels as they stare back at him.

“So what happened?” Sirius demands. “How did Hogwarts even stay open after something like that? And why the hell isn’t this in any of the records?” 

“It is not in the records because the Ministry, the school board, and my predecessor Professor Dippet'' - he nods towards Armando Dippet’s portrait, who, having been listening intently to their conversation, seems suddenly to be fast asleep - “wished for the whole incident to be swept under the rug, erased from history - and preferably as quickly as possible. Myrtle Warren’s parents were told that their daughter’s death had been a tragic accident, and were persuaded to keep quiet. Armando - not to mention quite a few of my other colleagues - were concerned that, if news of a series of attacks on Muggle-borns within Hogwarts were to be leaked, the public might assume that the school staff were in sympathy with the aims of Grindelwald, who was, at the time, taking over much of wizarding Europe and steadily making his way closer to Britain.” 

Dumbledore’s expression flickers for the briefest of moments, and Regulus catches a glimpse of something that looks almost like grief in his piercing blue eyes. A moment later, though, the headmaster’s expression is as inscrutable as ever as he continues his story, and Regulus wonders if he had merely imagined it. 

“As for your question of how Hogwarts managed to remain open in the wake of these events, Sirius,” Dumbledore continues, “the attacks suddenly stopped, after a student was accused of being responsible for them, and was swiftly and quietly expelled.”

“Who?” Remus asks.

“The student’s name was Rubeus Hagrid.” 

“Hagrid?” the four of them echo, all staring at the Headmaster in utter disbelief again. 

“Yes indeed,” Dumbledore says heavily. “Luckily, after Hagrid’s expulsion, I was able to persuade Armando to keep him on at the school as gamekeeper, given that his father had died and he had nowhere else to go.” 

“But that’s clearly bullshit!” Fabian exclaims furiously. “Hagrid wouldn’t hurt a fly, anyone can see that!”

“Well, not on purpose, anyway,” Remus amends.

“And without wishing to be rude - I’m sure he’s very sweet and friendly and all of that”, Regulus adds, “but Hagrid has never exactly struck me as a manipulative evil mastermind, to put it kindly. I can’t exactly see him being competent enough to pull off a series of attacks like that, even if he had wanted to.” 

“I’m sure he’ll be delighted to hear you say that, Reg,” Sirius replies, raising an eyebrow at him. “But you’ve got a point, even if you are being a dick about it as usual. It obviously wasn’t Hagrid,” he adds, turning back to Dumbledore. “Didn’t anybody bother to look into this before expelling the poor bastard?” 

“I am afraid that nobody other than myself saw much of a need to look into the matter further,” the headmaster replies gravely. “He had no parents left to speak for him, and the rumours that he had giant blood and was therefore inherently brutal and violent were circulating widely, even if they had never been proven. Besides which, Hagrid did have a knack for getting himself into trouble every other day, what with his tendency of venturing into the Forbidden Forest and attempting to befriend the various dangerous creatures in there; most people did not consider it much of a stretch to believe he was somehow controlling a vicious creature living inside the castle. And on top of all that, the person who reported Hagrid to Professor Dippet was not only a model student, but the Head Boy at the time. The attacks did immediately stop after poor Hagrid was expelled. The Head Boy, whose name was Tom Riddle, received a Special Award for Services to the School - which I daresay was given to him as much to dissuade him from publicising the story, as to reward him for catching the supposed culprit.”

Regulus frowns. Tom Riddle …he’s heard that name somewhere, he’s sure of it…only he can’t think where…

“Well, I still refuse to believe any of it had anything to do with Hagrid,” Sirius pipes up staunchly. “And if you ask me, this bloody Head Boy, Tom Riddle, sounds like he was a bit of a shit.” 

“Well, yes, one could certainly say that,” Dumbledore agrees wryly. “As it happens, Riddle is still around today; although these days, he much prefers to go by the name of Lord Voldemort.”

A ringing, deafening silence follows these words.

“ What?” Sirius demands, finally shattering the silence. “Are you trying to tell us that it was Voldemort who got Hagrid expelled and opened the Chamber last time? When he was a teenager?” 

“Well, there was never any solid evidence found that the Chamber even existed, let alone that it was opened,” Dumbledore replies. “But yes, there is scarcely a doubt in my mind that, whatever did happen in this castle forty years ago, it could have been traced directly back to Voldemort - or, as he was known at that time, Riddle - were it not for the fact that he took great pains, as you can probably imagine, to cover his tracks. Although, as I said, nobody was much interested in looking any further for a culprit than poor Hagrid, anyway. He presented rather an easy target. Besides which, I imagine Voldemort would have rather enjoyed referring to himself as ‘the Heir of Slytherin,’ even if there was no concrete evidence for such a claim.” 

Regulus feels dazed by this information, his mind reeling. How can it be possible that nobody in the past forty years, apart from Dumbledore, had thought to connect this mysterious Tom Riddle to the very same Dark Lord who has been terrorising wizarding Britain and building up his army for over a decade now? Or had those who had known him in his youth simply been too frightened to connect the dots? How is it that this entire incident had been completely expunged from the Hogwarts records? He thinks about the fact that, to this day, there is a special award dedicated to Riddle sitting somewhere in this very castle, and feels a surge of mingled disgust and fury in the pit of his stomach. 

“But,” Remus pipes up, with a look of bemusement on his face, bringing Regulus back to the present, “how could Voldemort possibly be behind the attack this time? How could he have written that message on the wall? Not to state the obvious, but…he’s not at Hogwarts anymore. There’s no way he can be directly behind it this time - he would have to be ordering somebody else to carry out the attacks and write threatening messages on his behalf, surely?” 

“Very true,” Dumbledore replies, bowing his head to Remus courteously, “which brings me to my next question.” 

He turns to Regulus. 

“Well, Regulus?” the headmaster asks him, perfectly calm. “Is there anything you wish to tell me?” 

Regulus freezes, his heart seeming to stop for a moment as he stares back at Dumbledore, still gazing at him unblinkingly over the top of his half-moon spectacles. He can feel the weight of the others’ stares, too - his brother’s in particular. 

“What?!” 

It isn’t Regulus but Fabian who speaks, in a tone of furious indignation, looking at the headmaster with an expression of undisguised outrage. 

“What the fuck?” Fabian continues, still glaring at Dumbledore - out of the corner of his eye, Regulus can see that Sirius is looking vaguely impressed now. “What sort of question is that? What the hell are you -”

“Fabian,” Regulus says quietly, cutting him off. “It’s okay.”

“No it bloody well is not -”

Regulus raises an eyebrow at him, and the taller man reluctantly stops speaking - although he still crosses his arms, raising himself to his full height, evidently continuing to silently fume. Regulus, for his part, takes a deep breath, willing himself to remain calm, and turns back to the headmaster.

“If you’re asking what I think you’re asking,” he says haughtily, jutting his chin out, “then the answer is no , Dumbledore. I have nothing to tell you. First of all, I wouldn’t have the slightest bloody clue how to even find the Chamber of Secrets, even if I wanted to; until about an hour ago, I was pretty convinced it was nothing but a legend. And secondly,” he continues, trying to ensure that his tone is positively dripping with disdain, so that the headmaster won’t sense just how wounded he is by the insinuation, “don’t you think I would have mentioned it to you at some point, if I had been given orders to set some kind of monster loose in the castle and paint messages in blood on the walls?” 

For a moment, Dumbledore says nothing - he merely continues to look at him searchingly over his half-moon spectacles. Regulus feels as though he is holding his breath, along with Fabian, Sirius and Remus beside him. 

For a moment, he feels a slight twinge behind his temples, as though somebody is tugging at his brain. He recognises the sensation, from his various encounters with both his mother and the Dark Lord; he doesn’t struggle against it, but opens his mind, defiantly daring Dumbledore to try him.

Finally, the headmaster gives a small nod. 

“Very well,” he says quietly. “I believe you, Regulus.” 

“About bloody time,” Fabian mutters at his side. Regulus feels another rush of affection for his friend. 

“But, in that case,” Dumbledore continues, his expression still grave, “I am afraid that we are presented with a different problem altogether.” 

“We are?” asks Remus, looking perplexed.

“Yes indeed,” the headmaster replies. “If Lord Voldemort is indeed behind these macabre events - as I have little doubt he was last time - then, as you pointed out, Remus, he must be directing somebody within this castle to act on his behalf. At the moment, we have no way of knowing who that person might be. But if you truly did not know anything about this, Regulus - and I believe that you did not - well then, it would seem that Voldemort has decided, for some reason best known to himself, to keep you in the dark about this particular plan, and entrust the particulars to somebody else at Hogwarts.” 

Regulus feels a sickening, plummeting sensation in his stomach.

“You…you mean…” he croaks, his mouth suddenly very dry. He swallows and tries again. “You mean the Dark Lord might be having doubts about whether I am trustworthy?” 

“It is possible,” the headmaster replies, his tone still perfectly calm.

Regulus feels his heart frantically pounding against his ribcage, like a small frightened bird trying to escape from its cage. He feels as though the ground has suddenly fallen away beneath his feet. He wishes that he could just scoff at Dumbledore’s words, tell him that he knows what he’s doing, remind him that he’s had the Dark Lord fooled for over a year now - but he can’t. Because, when the headmaster puts it like that, Regulus can see that he’s right. If the Dark Lord really is behind this, then why else would he have neglected to tell him about it, despite knowing (or at least believing) that he already had a spy positioned at Hogwarts? 

Desperately, Regulus tries to sift through his memories, thinking back over every word the Dark Lord had said to him over the past few months, every look he had given him. Regulus has been lying to him for so long now, and yet no matter how many lies he told, how many risks he took, he had still seemed, miraculously, to stay in favour, the monster had kept welcoming him with open arms. So what could have changed? Regulus demands of himself silently. What gave me away?

“But then, what the hell should Reg do?! ” Sirius pipes up suddenly. Regulus darts a glance at him; his brother sounds far more panicked about this than he would have expected. “Does he just…just go to Voldemort, and ask him who has been ordered to open the Chamber? And maybe he can ask for some tips on how to close it again, while he’s at it?”

Despite himself, Regulus lets out a breathless laugh through his panic, causing the others to shoot him a look that suggests they’re worried for his sanity. But he can’t help himself - his brother’s suggestion is just so ridiculous. So reckless. So very Sirius. 

The headmaster, to his credit, does not laugh, but ponders Sirius for a moment, as though seriously considering his idea. 

“No,” he says slowly, “I do not think it will do Regulus much good to ask Voldemort about this, I am afraid. My concern,” he adds, turning to address Regulus, still wearing that uncharacteristically grave expression, “is that Voldemort is expecting you to ask about it. This could, in fact, be a trap, specifically designed to make you slip up and reveal that you have been reporting back to me all along. I sincerely hope that I am wrong, but unfortunately - and without wishing to appear lacking in humility - the occasions when I am wrong are rather rare.” 

Regulus can feel the others staring at him - but he keeps looking steadfastly at Dumbledore, refusing to look around at them. He can’t bear to see the expressions of horror on their faces. 

“I see,” he says, trying his best to breathe evenly, willing himself not to break down. “Well then, if it’s not too much trouble to ask, headmaster - what the hell do you suggest I do?” 

Dumbledore lapses into a thoughtful silence for a moment, seeming to ponder his question as he gazes at Regulus over steepled fingertips. 

“I think that, for now, the best option is not to draw any attention to the incident at all,” he replies slowly. “It seems to me, Regulus, that you should simply act as though you already knew perfectly well that this was going to happen, as well as exactly who it is that has been ordered to carry out the plan. If someone else at Hogwarts has been ordered to open the Chamber - if, indeed, it exists - then they are likely already reporting everything they do directly back to Voldemort. It would be very risky for you to give any reports that did not tally precisely with their version, whoever they may be. So, in short, you shall act as though Voldemort has already briefed you, and informed you that this is not your jurisdiction. As for the rest of us,” he continues, heaving a sigh as he turns back to the other three, who are all staring at him with their mouths agape, “we shall do our best to keep this news out of the Prophet for now, I think. It would simply cause more of a panic, and that is the last thing we need at present.

For a moment, it seems as though everybody has been struck speechless. 

“Great plan, Professor,” Fabian pipes up, finally. “ Very low risk. Completely foolproof.” 

“I am aware that it is far from perfect, Fabian,” Dumbledore responds calmly. “But unfortunately, it seems to me that it is the best we can do, at the moment. Unless anybody has any other suggestions?” 

An awkward silence greets this pointed question. The headmaster gives a small nod, as though he had expected as much.

“But what are we supposed to do in the meantime?” Remus bursts out, looking as frustrated and helpless as Regulus feels. 

“Well,” Dumbledore replies, his tone infuriatingly mild, “for now, our priority will be, of course, to figure out the culprit behind this and take them out of action, preferably without alerting them, and before they have the chance to attack again.”

“Great,” Remus mutters darkly. “Glad I checked. For a minute there I was worried we didn’t have any solid plan.” 

Regulus feels his lips twitch for a moment, despite himself. 

“But where is the bloody ‘Chamber of Secrets’, for Merlin’s sake?” Sirius bursts out impatiently, as per usual voicing what everybody else is thinking. “And what’s this mysterious monster that can apparently fucking Petrify and kill people and animals? I mean, if we’re trying to find the culprit, surely knowing those things would be a pretty good starting point?”

“I am afraid that those are two questions that I cannot answer, Sirius,” Dumbledore sighs,“any more than I could answer them forty years ago. Pomona will ensure that the Mandrakes are ready as soon as possible, in order to revive poor Mrs Norris. In the meantime, it seems that the only way we can prevent more attacks is to collectively keep our eyes as wide open as possible.” 

December, 1982 

“Not much Christmas spirit around this place, is there?” Remus comments wryly, brushing bits of snow off his cloak and onto the carpet as he steps into Regulus’s office. 

“Yes, well, threatening messages daubed on the walls and mysteriously paralysed cats might have a side effect of dampening the festive cheer,” Regulus answers, flicking his wand carelessly to dry the patch of carpet that the other man is carelessly dripping on. 

“You may have a point there,” Remus agrees grimly, throwing himself down into the chair across from his desk with a sigh. “Although technically it’s only been one paralysed cat, and one threatening message. So far, at least.” 

He looks completely exhausted; but Regulus supposes they all look like that, these days. Immediately, Regulus taps the kettle in front of him with his wand so that it instantly boils, and then gives his wand another little flick so that two mugs soar over to the pair of them, followed swiftly by tea bags that settle themselves neatly into the mugs.

“You’re a hero among men, Regulus,” Remus sighs gratefully, as the kettle flies up into the air and begins to pour them a mug of steaming hot tea each. 

Regulus laughs bitterly at that. 

“Don’t let my brother hear you saying that.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t,” Remus responds with a small grin as he lifts his mug to his lips. The grin fades a moment later, though, as he leans back in his chair with a sigh. “I remember when we were kids, I used to always look forward to seeing Hagrid pulling those massive Christmas trees across the snowy grounds towards the castle. But now he’s practically locked himself away in his cabin. Seemed a bit reluctant to even let me in, just now.” 

“And?” Regulus asks anxiously. “Was he able to tell you any more about what happened last time?”

Remus sighs again, shaking his head. 

“Completely clammed up the moment I so much as mentioned the Chamber - but you know Hagrid, he isn’t exactly subtle when he wants to change the subject. Asked me loudly if I wanted a bite to eat - which, believe it or not, I didn’t, as his cooking is less than fabulous - so I said yes to make him feel better. But after I brought up the Chamber, he was so white and shaking that he could barely hold the plate properly, poor bloke. I suppose this whole thing is bringing back traumatic memories for him.” 

“I suppose so,” Regulus agrees awkwardly. He’s never really had anything to do with Rubeus Hagrid. “So, trying to talk to him is a dead end?” 

“Well, I don’t know if it’s a dead end,” Remus replies with a shrug, “but certainly looks like we’ll have to explore some other options.” 

“If only we’d thought of that before,” Regulus answers, deadpan. 

Remus flips him off lazily, grinning a little despite himself. 

“And I went to chat to Sirius and Fab as well,” he continues, “see if they’ve found anything suspicious while poking around and talking to people in Hogsmeade. But nothing, apparently.” He sighs heavily. “Seems they’re just as much in the dark as we are.”

“Right,” Regulus answers quietly, suddenly very intent on his tea.

Fabian and Sirius hadn’t returned to London after the events of Halloween, but instead had booked themselves rooms at the Three Broomsticks; both of them have been staying in Hogsmeade ever since. Fabian had claimed, when Regulus had asked him about it, that Dumbledore had instructed them to stay in the village, as extra protection for the school, an extra pair of lookouts during this troubling time. For Regulus’s part, he’s sure the headmaster hadn’t objected to this plan - but he also has the distinct feeling that it had been their idea, and not Dumbledore’s. 

“Fab seemed a bit disappointed not to see you,” Remus says suddenly. To Regulus’s surprise, his tone is neither sarcastic or teasing; he sounds earnest, for once. “He wanted to know if you’re okay.” 

“Well, I hope you told him that I’m fine, ” Regulus mutters, avoiding the other man’s eyes. 

“Aha. Right.” The trademark sarcastic tone is back. “Regulus, he knows you’ve been avoiding him, he’s not an idiot.”

“I am not avoiding him,” he huffs, still not meeting the other man’s eyes. “I’ve just…got a lot on my plate right now. We all have. I’m sure Fabian understands that.”

Remus opens his mouth to speak again - Merlin , he really has been dating Sirius for too long - but Regulus forestalls him.

“Look, just drop it, Lupin,” he says tensely. “Alright?”

He never calls him by his last name these days, not unless he’s very stressed, or really and truly pissed off with him. Remus looks taken aback for a moment, his hazel eyes scanning over his face, analysing him. To Regulus’s relief, though, he obediently falls silent, although he can still sense the other man’s concerned gaze, even as he determinedly avoids his eyes. 

Regulus knows full well that Fabian has been worrying about him. But he’s been doing his best to push this knowledge to the back of his mind, to ignore the warmth he feels at the thought of his friend’s concern - because right now, Regulus feels like he’s starting to fall apart at the seams, and quite frankly he doesn’t think he can deal with Fabian Prewett at the moment, he doesn’t feel like he has enough space left in his brain to figure out his own stupid feelings. Or perhaps to admit that he’s already figured them out. 

Because the fact of the matter is, Regulus still doesn’t have a single bloody clue who the culprit behind the attack could be - none of them do. 

He and Remus have been constantly on edge walking through Hogwarts, scrutinising people left right and centre to try and figure out who’s acting suspiciously; but whoever the culprit is, they must be a remarkably good actor, because everyone else in the castle seems to be every bit as anxious and fearful as they are themselves. Fabian and Sirius, roaming around the grounds and the village, are consistently reporting that they haven’t seen anything remotely suspicious either.

Admittedly, the general atmosphere of unease has been lessening slightly over the past few weeks; partially, Regulus assumes, because people want to feel hopeful in the lead-up to Christmas, but mostly because there haven’t been any more attacks since Mrs Norris was Petrified. The Mandrakes are still in the process of maturing, though, so the cat still looks exactly as frozen as she had been on the night of Halloween. Sirius had suggested, hopefully, that perhaps it had just been a one-off attack; perhaps the culprit, whoever they were, had simply been trying to draw attention to themselves, or had lost their nerve. Perhaps it had nothing to do with Lord Voldemort at all. 

But Regulus feels he doesn’t have the luxury of letting his guard down like that. Until they catch the person responsible for this, then he has to assume that they’re going to strike again at some point - he just doesn’t know when or where. And if Dumbledore thinks that this is being done on the Dark Lord’s orders, then he simply can’t afford to ignore the headmaster’s theory, until something conclusively proves it wrong.

Meanwhile, he’s also following Dumbledore’s advice by omitting any mention of the Chamber of Secrets whatsoever whenever he communicates with the Dark Lord, acting as though he’s already been informed that it’s somebody else’s responsibility. He has frequent sleepless nights, waiting for the Dark Lord to mention something about the Chamber and the culprit himself, anything - but the man is completely silent on the subject, merely asking questions about Dumbledore, the odd question here and there about McGonagall. He is giving absolutely nothing away, and Regulus finds himself lying awake at night, searching fruitlessly for clues, signs that he has somehow lost the Dark Lord’s trust, until he wants to scream with frustration and fear. What is the man doing , what is he thinking ? Is he simply toying with him? Has Regulus somehow become caught in some strange, terrifying game of cat and mouse that won’t end until they either catch this culprit, or he slips up and accidentally reveals his hand out of sheer unease and panic? 

The paranoia seems to be constantly gnawing at him, night and day; and that’s another reason that Regulus is trying to pull back from Fabian. The main reason, really, although he’s not keen on admitting it to Remus. If there is someone else at Hogwarts reporting on him - what consequences might there be, if that person were to realise how he feels about Fabian Prewett, how precious the man has become to him? Regulus isn’t prepared to underestimate this mysterious culprit; and if the person, whoever they may be, were to realise that Fabian could be used as a pressure point for him, or Sirius for that matter… No. He can’t dwell on that thought, he can’t go down that road. He’s too close to breaking point as it is. Better by far that he keeps his distance, for their sake as well as his own, and gets on with figuring out just what the hell is going on at Hogwarts right now. 

Which is easier said than done, of course. What with the mysterious Chamber and the rumours swirling inside the castle, and the spectre of the Dark Lord outside , Regulus is starting to feel that he’s spending every waking moment glancing over his shoulder. 

“I presume you haven’t found any new leads, either?” Remus asks, pulling him back to the present.

“No,” he snaps back, without really meaning to. “Obviously I’d have told you if I had.” 

Remus raises an eyebrow at him, and Regulus immediately feels a surge of guilt.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “I didn’t mean to be a dick, it’s just…”

“I know,” Remus says quietly. “Things are a bit rough right now. I get it.” 

Regulus sighs, burying his head in his hands. 

“God, it just…it just feels like we’ve looked everywhere for answers,” he mutters. “We’ve both been staring around all the time, trying to find anybody acting remotely suspicious, you’ve tried speaking to Hagrid, Fabian and Sirius are patrolling Hogsmeade and the castle grounds, we’ve combed through what feels like the whole library, we even went to have a look at Riddle’s bloody award to see if it contained any clues!”

“That last idea was a bit of a stretch, to be fair,” says Remus. Regulus glares at him. “Sorry.” 

“And still nothing,” Regulus groans, burying his head in his hands again. “The  only thing I’ve seen that’s even remotely out of the ordinary is an unusually large amount of spiders crawling on the windowsills - and call me crazy, but I’m fairly certain that none of those tiny spiders are the culprit fleeing the scene of the crime. It just…it feels like I’m failing here, Remus. This feels like -” He swallows, feeling for a moment small, insignificant and incompetent. “This feels like the Horcrux, all over again. I can’t open that stupid little locket, and now I can’t seem to find anything on the Chamber, either. And if Dumbledore is even halfway right about what’s going on here - and unfortunately I have the feeling he is, the bastard - then the Dark Lord has chosen somebody else in Hogwarts to follow his orders, because he’s lost his trust in me, which means I can’t even spy right any more. I keep failing, Remus.” 

He’s breathing hard as he finishes his outburst, as though he’s been running. Remus is looking at him with a mingled expression of amusement and concern.
“Well, I think that’s the most I’ve ever heard you say in one go,” he comments, with a small grin. “Got everything out of your system now, d’you reckon?” 

Regulus huffs a reluctant, humourless laugh.

“Yeah. Think so.”

“Good,” Remus replies. He hesitates for a moment, his grin vanishing as his hazel eyes scan over his face. “And just to let you know, Regulus - you’re not failing. I know that things seem overwhelming right now, and I can understand why you would feel that way - but you are not failing. We are not failing. We are just going to keep trying, and looking for answers, and when one lead turns out to be a dead end, we are just going to move on and find the next one, and keep going like that, until eventually we have a breakthrough and reach the right answer. Alright?” 

Regulus stares at him for a moment, slightly stunned. Somehow, he does feel a little more reassured, a little lighter, the knot of anxiety in his stomach loosening ever so slightly. And he recognises that look on the other man’s face, recognises the tone he was using.

“For god’s sake, Remus, I’m not one of your students .”

Remus grins at him.

“Well, I am technically your senior -” 

“By a year ” - 

“But I know you’re not my student. I just figured…everyone could use a morale boost sometimes, right?”

Regulus can’t help but give him another reluctant grin.

“Right. Well…thanks.” 

“Anytime.” 

“So do you ever give yourself these motivational speeches?” Regulus asks slyly.

Remus looks at him darkly, and he smirks. Thought as much. 

“No. I usually just beat myself up about everything, if you must know. Probably why it’s easy for me to understand you. ”

“Oh, fuck off, Lupin.” 

“But Sirius usually gives me motivational speeches, whether I’ve asked for them or not, so it’s fine.”

Remus drains his tea, puts his empty mug carelessly down on the desk in front of him, and stretches. Regulus, much more familiar with the other man now, spots the telltale way that he shifts his shoulders, bringing a hand up to rub at the nape of his neck, which looks rather stiff, and knows immediately that he’s still sore from his last transformation. 

“Right,” Remus sighs, standing up. “If we’re going to keep looking for more leads, what do you say we make another quick trip to the library, find some books to bring back here? We can have a little late-night research session, be fun.” 

Regulus groans. They’ve already searched through the library, at least ten times - or so it feels - but he supposes Remus is right that they have to keep looking until they find something useful. It’s not as though they’ve read every single book, after all.

“Fine,” he says, sighing heavily as he follows suit, putting his mug down and standing.

“That’s the spirit,” Remus grins. 

“By the way,” says Regulus a few minutes later, as they walk down the stairs towards the library, “I hope when you suggested ‘late night research’, that was not in fact code for ‘ all night research. Because you definitely look like you could do with some sleep.”

“Coming from you,” Remus scoffs back at him. “You look like shit right now, Regulus. You’re all pasty.” 

Regulus rolls his eyes at the other man, unwilling to acknowledge the hit, though he can’t stop himself from grinning.

“That’s just my aristocratic alabaster, Remus. Not that you would know anything about that.” 

Remus rolls his eyes right back at him, also grinning - but he stops in his tracks once they reach the bottom of the staircase, the grin sliding off his face. 

“Oh shit ,” he breathes, staring over towards the library.

Regulus follows his gaze - and feels his stomach immediately plummet through the floor.

Just in front of the library doors, there’s a student lying on the floor. 

Regulus recognises the girl from his classes. Meggie Brown, a sixth-year Muggleborn from Ravenclaw; relatively tall for her age, with long blonde curls, which he's forever having to tell her to tie back while she's working with a cauldron.  She’s very chatty in Potions classes, but she certainly doesn’t look much in the mood to chat at the moment. She’s frozen like a board, her limbs stiff and rigid, green eyes open and glassy - just like Mrs Norris. Except that, on a human face, the expression of utter shock and terror etched on her face is much easier to see. 

And Meggie isn’t even the most macabre, bizarre part of the scene in front of them. There’s something strangely black and smoky, hovering in midair just in front of her. For a moment, Regulus can’t even understand what it is - but as he and Remus tentatively edge closer to the scene, he realises that the column of black smoke is a human form. One of the ghosts. 

“That’s…that’s Nick,” Remus says, his voice quiet and hoarse. “Nearly Headless Nick.” 

He’s right, of course; as they edge closer, Regulus recognises Nick’s trademark feathered hat, now made of black smoke, rather than pearly white and transparent. He suddenly realises that the ghost is giving off a faint aroma of burning, a scent that makes his stomach turn. 

He turns to Remus, whose hazel eyes are wide with terror. Regulus can feel his own heart beating so hard it seems like it’s trying to escape his chest.

“But…what could possibly hurt a ghost?” he whispers, feeling completely stunned. “What the hell could be powerful enough to harm someone who’s already dead?”

Remus stares back at him, looking every bit as lost as Regulus feels. 

 January, 1983

Unsurprisingly, perhaps, Christmas spirits had not improved in the castle after the second attack. 

As Regulus had expected, the panic had reached a fever pitch once the news had spread about poor Hufflepuff Meggie Brown and Nearly Headless Nick. The only small mercy was that Dumbledore had quickly determined that Meggie was merely Petrified like Mrs Norris, not killed - but it still doesn’t seem like they’re any closer to finding answers. If anything, Regulus feels as though they’re groping in the dark even more than they were on the night Filch’s cat was attacked. 

Obviously, that first attack was not a one-off - even Fabian, in his relentless optimism, was forced to admit when he heard that it looked like the culprit was going to keep attacking until they were stopped. And nobody at Hogwarts seems much reassured by Mrs Norris and Meggie’s survival- because the fact remains that, whoever or whatever it was that had Petrified those two, it had also somehow managed to cause severe damage to someone who isn’t even alive in the first place. Even Regulus isn’t sure that he’s ever encountered magic quite as Dark as this before. 

Understandably, there had been a frantic rush amongst the students to book tickets home on the Hogwarts Express for the Christmas holidays - amongst those that had not already been completely panicked by the Halloween attack on Mrs Norris, that is. Even some of the teachers were going home to their families, while they could. Regulus supposes he can hardly blame them - although it seems ironic, given that in the midst of the war raging on endlessly outside the castle walls, Hogwarts has consistently been referred to as one of the last remaining bastions of safety. Wherever Dumbledore is, that's where it’s safest, Hagrid had once told him confidently. Regulus can’t help but snort a little at that idea. Evidently not. 

Regulus wishes he could have focused on the small handful of people who had stayed at Hogwarts over the holidays, confident in the knowledge that the culprit must be among them. But unfortunately, he’s fairly certain that, whoever they are, they aren’t that stupid. It would, after all, be rather a giveaway to have stayed at Hogwarts looking completely at ease while almost everyone else fled in panic. And even if the guilty party had been among those who’d remained, they didn’t strike during the holidays. He assumes they’ll be more active now the new term has begun. More victims to choose from, this way - and more people to blend in amongst.

“Regulus?” 

Remus’s voice startles him out of his thoughts, and he jumps slightly, realising that he’s been standing in the middle of the corridor and staring absent-mindedly out of the rain streaked window for…Merlin knows how long. 

“You alright?” Remus asks him quietly. Regulus just narrows his eyes at him in disgust. Remus lets out a small sigh. “Right. Stupid question.” 

The two of them lapse into silence for a moment, both of them watching the rain pelting the window, their thoughts far away. 

“I thought coming back to Hogwarts was supposed to give us a respite from this stupid war,” Regulus mutters.

Remus lets out a hollow, humourless laugh. 

“McGonagall was telling me earlier that they’ll probably have to shut the school down soon, if this doesn’t stop,” he murmurs.

Regulus looks at him, feeling a sharp twist of anxiety at his words.

“That can’t happen ,” he says, through gritted teeth. The thought of Hogwarts closing down, on their watch, is…unimaginable. “We can’t let this person win, whoever they are. You know we can’t.” 

He glares at him defiantly. Remus looks back at him, a small grin lightening his otherwise exhausted features. 

“Yes. I know that. And I hate to break it to you, Regulus, but you really do sound just like your brother sometimes, you know.” 

Regulus scoffs, unwilling to admit to the brief rush of pride he feels at the comparison. 

“Shut up.” 

“Never,” Remus retorts, his grin widening. 

Regulus rolls his eyes, but he can’t help giving the other man a small, reluctant smile in return, before they both lapse into a companionable silence again, thinking hard. 

“It can’t really be a student behind all this, can it?” Regulus asks after a moment. 

He’s hesitant to even voice the question - but he can’t shake the fear that there’s someone else being brainwashed, in much the same way he once was. 

Remus sighs. 

“We certainly can’t rule out the possibility,” he replies. “But I just can’t see any student being able to wield this level of Dark magic. I mean, I’ve never seen any power that could harm a ghost before, have you?”

Regulus shakes his head, and Remus nods, as though he had expected this answer. 

“Unless a student has somehow managed to gain control over something that’s far more powerful than they are…” Remus muses, frowning, clearly lost in thought.

A moment later, both of them stiffen slightly and turn around, feeling the sensation of somebody watching them. 

A small, redheaded boy is standing in the middle of the corridor, staring at the pair of them, his blue eyes round and wide, his multitude of freckles standing out starkly against his pale skin. Regulus recognises the quiet, shy boy immediately; Fabian’s nephew, Bill Weasley. He’s the spitting image of his uncle. 

He can’t help but frown slightly, feeling a little unnerved by the way the kid is staring at the two of them, as though he’s terrified of them. 

“Everything alright, Bill?” Remus asks him, his tone just as kind and patient as it always is whenever he speaks to his students. 

Bill blinks, looking suddenly startled and confused, as though he hadn’t entirely realised that he was staring at them until Remus had spoken. 

“Oh, yeah…fine, thanks, Professor,” he says hastily, stumbling over his own words. “I mean, Professors, ” he amends, nodding towards Regulus, avoiding his gaze as though he’s too frightened to look at him directly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to - I’d better…” 

He trails off, evidently having no idea how to finish his sentence. With another nervous nod at the pair of them, he hurries away down the corridor. 

“That was weird,” Regulus muses, frowning after him. 

Remus shrugs slightly. 

“The poor kids are just as worried as the rest of us,” he replies, staring after Bill Weasley too. “The first-years especially, I suppose. I mean, this isn’t what they signed up for, when they were getting all excited about Hogwarts, is it?”

“S’pose not,” Regulus agrees absentmindedly. 

There had definitely been something strange about the way the kid was looking at them…but Remus is right, they can hardly start investigating every student who looks scared. Maybe something. Probably nothing. 

“Right,” he says with a sigh, “shall we keep researching? I don’t have any more lessons to teach today, and there’s a stack of books waiting on my desk that aren’t going to read themselves, sadly.” 

Not that Regulus has much faith in any of these books, at this point - but then, he hasn’t forgotten what Remus had said to him, about how they have to keep trying. The answers have to be somewhere. 

Remus frowns, thinking. He shakes his head. 

“We can go back to the books later. I want to try talking to Hagrid again,” he says. 

Regulus stares at him, bewildered.

“What? Why? You told me that Hagrid was a dead end when you spoke to him before, you said you couldn’t get anything out of him, remember?” 

“But that was before the second attack,” Remus points out stubbornly. “He clearly didn’t want to talk about it, but I definitely got the impression that he knew more than he was letting on.”

“I thought we were in agreement that he was framed last time it was opened?” Regulus asks, frowning at his friend. 

“Of course we are,” Remus huffs impatiently. “But he was still there when it happened, he would still have seen and heard things, right? He’s one of the only people in this castle that would be able to see patterns, spot things that might be linking this time to last time. And yes, he was very uncomfortable talking about it - but things have gotten substantially worse since the last time I spoke to him, haven’t they? I reckon he’ll want to do his bit to help out if he can, even if it’s upsetting for him.” 

“Fine,” Regulus sighs. He’s fairly certain this will be a waste of time - but given that they haven’t managed to find anything else of use, he’s willing to humour his friend.

As it transpires, Hagrid isn’t too pleased to see them.

“Oh,” he says, looking and sounding very tense as he opens his cabin door the tiniest sliver after Remus’s knock, looking at them through the gap. “It’s yeh two.”

“Evening, Hagrid,” says Remus cheerfully. Regulus does his best not to roll his eyes. 

“Sorry, I don’t wish ter be rude,” says the huge, bearded man, “but I’m in no fit state ter entertain -” 

“We won’t trespass on your time for very long, Hagrid,” Remus interrupts him hastily, “but I’m afraid this is rather important.”

“Yeah, though’ it might be,” the gamekeeper mutters darkly in response. He lets out a weary sigh, finally opening the door wide enough to admit them into his cabin. “Well, come in then…” 

“Thank you,” Remus says gratefully, leading the way in. Regulus gives Hagrid an awkward nod as he follows. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the huge man’s face darken as he passes; evidently Hagrid is still perplexed as to why Dumbledore had let him return to Hogwarts in the first place. 

“Tea?” Hagrid grunts, speaking more to Remus than to him.

“Tea would be lovely, thanks,” Remus replies, with a rather forced smile. 

As the gamekeeper stomps around the kitchen, still muttering darkly to himself, Regulus can’t help but gaze around. He’s never been inside Hagrid’s cabin before. He can see the fireplace with a cauldron sitting ready, the tiny kitchen area where Hagrid is brewing tea in a burnished copper kettle, a few massive armchairs next to the fireplace, a range of pots and pans hung up on the wall, and a motley assortment of things hanging from the ceiling including dead pheasants, herbs and plants, and something glinting and silver that looks like it might be a skein of unicorn hair. There’s an enormous quilted bed in the corner that looks like it would fit about five people in it, and…Regulus looks around, trying for a moment to figure out where the doorways to the other rooms are. 

Is this it? He finds himself thinking. His whole house consists of…one room?

He catches Remus raising a meaningful eyebrow at him, as though he can tell exactly what he’s thinking. Slightly sheepish, Regulus looks down at his lap. Alright, so he hasn’t entirely shaken off his upbringing yet, it seems. 

“Yer tea,” says Hagrid abruptly, slamming their mugs down on the table in front of them without ceremony.

“Thank you, Hagrid,” says Remus, smiling at him reassuringly again as he picks up his mug. Regulus gives another awkward nod as he follows suit. 

“Well?” the gamekeeper prompts, still sounding disgruntled as he settles himself down in an armchair near the fireplace and picks up his knitting. 

“It sounds like you already know why we’re here,” Remus says gently, apologetically. “I’m sorry, Hagrid, but I have to ask you about the Chamber of Secrets again. We need to know everything that you know. Please. You know how bad things are getting inside the castle.” 

“Yes, I ruddy well do know,” Hagrid agrees, his face creased with worry. “An’ I wish I could be more ‘elp, Remus, but the trouble is tha’ I don’ know anything more abou’ it than you do, really. I promise you, it wasn’t me wha’ opened the Chamber . This time or las’ time.” 

The annoyance in his expression has vanished now; he’s looking at them with wide, pleading eyes, his expression pale and fearful. 

“We know that, Hagrid,” says Remus immediately. “We believe you - and so does Professor Dumbledore. We just wanted to know if there’s anything else you remember from the last time the Chamber was supposedly opened, or if there’s any little connections, or coincidences, or links that you’ve noticed, between this time and last.” 

“Well…” Hagrid croaks, his eyes welling with tears, “all I know is, it’s a ruddy nightmare, just like last time, right enough. Kids were being attacked, jus’ like now - only there weren’t no ghosts tha’ got hurt last time. An’ then there was that Ravenclaw girl tha’ died, in the bathroom…an’ Riddle blamed it on me. An’ nobody even questioned it much, ‘cause he was the ruddy Head Boy an’ all…” The tears are starting to trickle down into the gamekeeper’s bushy beard now. “After I was expelled, the attacks stopped,” he croaks. “Whoever it was, I’ve no idea wha’ stopped ‘em. Don’t know what’s gonna stop ‘em this time, neither…” 

Hagrid is sobbing in earnest now, burying his face in his massive hands.

“An’ I’m scared for all them poor kids, an’ I dunno when I’ve seen Dumbledore so worried, an I’m confused , because whoever it was tha’ were up to no good forty years ago, they can’ be the same person that’s up to no good now , an’, an’...somethin’s been killin’ off all me’ roosters, an’ I know tha’ don’ matter to no one, not with all them horrible things happenin’ up at the school, an I know them things are much more important, but I’ve jus’ been stressed enough as it is, see, an’...”

“Hagrid, I’m sorry, we didn’t mean to upset you like this,” says Remus, reaching out towards him awkwardly, but -

“Your roosters are being killed?” Regulus repeats, suddenly sitting bolt upright in his chair.

“Yeah, tha’s right,” Hagrid hiccups, still sobbing into his hands. 

“What, just your roosters? No other animals?” 

“Well…yeah,” Hagrid replies, finally raising his head from his hands and looking up at Regulus. “I though’ it was strange, see - I’d assumed it were just a fox, bu’ the hens are all fine. Didn’ wanna bother anyone with it, though, not with everythin goin’ on in the castle.” 

Regulus can see Remus frowning at him out of the corner of his eye, evidently wondering why he’s getting caught up on this - but Regulus suddenly feels as though he’s frozen to the spot, his mind whirring so fast that he can scarcely keep up with his own thoughts. 

Mrs Norris and Meggie Brown, frozen as if turned to stone…Dark magic so powerful it could burn a ghost…Spiders scuttling in hordes away from the castle…Roosters being killed…

“Regulus?” Remus asks slowly, sounding a little unnerved now. “You alright?”

“I…” He swallows. “We have to go,” he says, standing up abruptly as he decides on the spot, his mind still racing a mile a minute.

“What?” Remus asks, staring at him in bewilderment. “Right now?” 

“Yes,” Regulus replies immediately. 

Remus, evidently seeing that Regulus is on the brink of running off whether he comes with him or not, lets out a long-suffering sigh and stands up, too.

“Sorry for the unceremonious departure, Hagrid. And for bringing up painful memories, too. Thank you for giving us your time, though - we really appreciate it.” 

“Yes - thank you ,” Regulus adds, with utmost sincerity. 

Hagrid blinks at him, looking so astonished that he forgets his tears, but Regulus is already on his way out of the cabin. Remus gives Hagrid a quick, apologetic shrug, before turning and hurrying after him.

“Regulus, for Merlin’s sake, wait! ” 

Intent upon his goal, Regulus doesn’t slow down until he reaches his office, bursting in and making a beeline for the pile of library books still piled precariously on his desk. A moment later, Remus comes in behind him, panting slightly and glaring at him.

“What the fuck was that about?” he demands furiously. “Would it be too much trouble for you to tell me what the hell is going on, Regulus?” 

“Hagrid made me realise something,” he mutters, without looking up, still searching through the pile of books.

“Well, yes, that much I’d gathered for myself, thanks,” the taller man retorts. “ What did you realise?” 

“Roosters,” he mutters, speaking more to himself than Remus. 

“ What?” 

“I know I’ve got it here somewhere…” he says, still riffling feverishly through the books on his desk. “It must be…just… yes!” 

Triumphantly, he pulls out the precious volume, Moste Macabre Monstrosities, and flips quickly to the page he needs. He scans down it, that strange sense of triumph still swelling in his chest - finally, some answers - before shoving the book towards Remus, tapping his finger on the heading. 

“Basilisk?”  

Remus frowns up at him. 

“Just read it,” Regulus urges him impatiently. 

Still frowning, Remus flicks his wand slightly, murmuring something under his breath that sounds like a spell, although nothing seems to happen.

“What…?” Regulus asks, distracted for a second.

“Helps me to read,” the scarred man mutters, flushing slightly. Regulus can tell it isn’t something he’s keen to admit. “I’m usually alright these days - Sirius helped me a lot, when I was a kid - but I still struggle with it, sometimes. Especially when I’m stressed.”

“ You struggle -?” Regulus asks, baffled, but Remus shoots him a dark look, and he lapses into silence. 

He watches as the other man’s eyes scan down the page, the colour steadily draining from his face as he reads. 

“May live many hundreds of years,” he murmurs aloud. “All who are fixed with the beam of its eye shall suffer instant death…” His eyes widen with horror. “Spiders flee before it…” 

“It flees only from the crowing of the rooster, which is fatal to it,” Regulus points out, jabbing his finger at the passage. “I’ve been reading so many books recently trying to find answers, they were all beginning to blend into each other, and most of them seemed completely irrelevant and useless so I was throwing them aside before moving onto the next one. But then when Hagrid told us his roosters are being killed, I suddenly remembered this. This must be it, Remus - there’s a bloody basilisk roaming around this castle, somehow, and whoever is behind these attacks is controlling it! Why else would they bother to kill Hagrid’s roosters? They’re trying to get them out of the way, because their crowing is one of the only things that could kill it! And I dismissed the spiders swarming out of the windows - but they’re desperate to get away from the basilisk! And no wonder; if it can kill just by looking at you, spiders would have no chance at all of surviving, they’ve got eight eyes all around their heads! It all fits, Remus!” 

The other man stares at him, his mouth hanging open slightly. 

“There’s a giant serpent slithering around this castle?” he croaks. “You’ll die if you make eye contact with the bloody thing?” 

“Yep,” Regulus replies with a humourless laugh, although he’s not sure if he’s ever felt less amused. “Looks like it.” 

“But…how can that be right, though?” Remus asks, and Regulus can tell he’s desperately looking for a reason that it can’t be true, looking for an excuse to find another answer, any other answer. “Mrs Norris and Meggie were just Petrified, they didn’t die !” 

Regulus pauses at that, thinking carefully back to the attack scenes, trying to picture in his mind exactly what they had looked like. And then, finally, the missing puzzle pieces click into place. 

“That corridor was flooded on Halloween, remember?” he breathes. “Because that ghost girl was having a tantrum. Filch’s cat didn’t die because she never saw the basilisk directly that night - she saw its reflection.” 

Remus stares at him, hazel eyes wide.

“And Meggie Brown…” he croaks. “Meggie saw it through Nick?” 

“ Exactly,” Regulus agrees, staring back at his friend, his heart pounding with some strange, overwhelming combination of adrenaline and fear. “Nick must have been the one who looked directly at it - but obviously the basilisk couldn’t kill someone who was already dead. But you saw him - the basilisk’s stare was so powerful that it still managed to burn him.” 

Remus shivers. 

“So…whoever is controlling this thing…they must be a Parselmouth?” 

“I suppose so,” Regulus murmurs. “I don’t see how knowing that is going to get us any closer to finding them, though - I doubt it’s an ability they shout about.” 

“But,” Remus croaks, “how the hell is it getting around Hogwarts? It’s a dirty great snake, Regulus, you’d think someone would have seen it properly by now!”

He frowns, thinking hard.

“I…I don’t know,” he mutters reluctantly. “That part I don’t understand.” 

The brief flare of triumph has vanished; Regulus feels like he could scream from sheer frustration. They’re so close now, so tantalisingly close…and yet they still don’t have all the pieces they need to complete the puzzle. Meanwhile, as they grapple for the final answers, there’s a bloody basilisk roaming the school, somehow…

“So,” says Remus, evidently trying his best to keep his voice steady - and failing. “To summarise: there is currently a giant snake moving around this school, which has the ability to kill people just by glancing at them…and we still don’t know who’s controlling it, how the hell it’s travelling around the place, or where it will show up next at any given moment?”

“Yes,” says Regulus bluntly, his heart in his throat. “That sounds about right.”

Remus nods, taking a deep, shaky breath. He looks just as lost as Regulus feels. 

“Can we just…tell Dumbledore what we know?” he croaks. “That seems like it would be a good place to start. And I wouldn’t object to warning Sirius and Fab, either.” 

Regulus feels his blood run cold at the very thought of what might happen, if either of those two…

“Yeah,” he chokes out, trying to swallow his heart, force it back into its proper place. “Sounds like a good plan.” 

They barely say a word to each other as they make their way to the headmaster’s office, practically sprinting through the darkening halls. Regulus can practically sense the fear rolling off Remus in waves, and he’s not faring much better himself. His heart is pounding so hard it feels like it’s trying to escape his ribcage, and he can’t help but dart frantic glances around the corridors through narrowed eyes, both he and Remus flinching sharply every time they catch the smallest sign of movement out of the corner of their eyes, even if it turns out to be nothing but flickering candlelight…

But neither of them are looking down at the floor. 

“Fuck!” says Remus loudly, as he trips over something large and solid, making Regulus stumble in turn. 

Both wincing as they right themselves, they blink, disoriented, slowly processing just what the obstacle in their path is. 

“No….” says Remus quietly. “No…no no no…”

They both stare at the pale, stiff figure on the ground, eyes wide open and glassy, reflecting the flickering candlelight. Regulus feels the blood rushing in his ears as he recognises the boy; Alfie Thomas, a Muggle-born Gryffindor student in his sixth year. Always very cheeky in classes, rarely bothering to show up on time, yet never seeming to get a single answer wrong, and eminently likeable despite his disregard for the rules. Alfie had always reminded Regulus a little of his brother, in fact. 

“Alfie…” Remus whispers. He looks over at Regulus. “God, we need to be quicker , Regulus, that’s one cat and two students Petrified now!” 

“I don’t think he’s Petrified,” Regulus murmurs, so quietly that he can barely hear himself. 

“What?” Remus asks.

“He’s not Petrified,” Regulus repeats a little louder, still staring at Alfie, finding himself unable to tear his eyes away. “I don’t think so, anyway - there’s nothing around here that he could have seen the basilisk through , is there? No water to reflect…no mirrors…no ghosts…”

“You don’t mean…?” Remus whispers, his voice suddenly very hoarse. 

His heart pounding, battering against his chest, Regulus reaches out a shaking hand, holding his fingertips against Alfie Thomas’s wrist for a moment. Tentatively, he puts his other hand over the boy’s heart. Nothing. 

“Remus...he's dead.”