The Chamber of Secrets
February, 1983 - Deep underneath Hogwarts Castle
As the pale, dark-haired stranger gazes at them, with a hint of a smirk playing on his thin, bloodless lips, Regulus feels his breath seem to solidify like ice in his chest.
This man - or perhaps boy would be more accurate, given that he doesn’t look a day older than sixteen - appears remarkably unfazed by the fact that they’re currently stuck down here in a freezing cold, ancient and eerie chamber hundreds of miles under Hogwarts, with no clearly evident way out. Not to mention the fact that Bill Weasley’s small body is lying completely still and deathly pale at the feet of Slytherin’s huge statue. In fact, the stranger isn’t just calm - he seems downright amused by their situation. That alone would have been enough to set Regulus’s alarm bells ringing - but he’s still twirling Remus’s stolen wand between his long fingers, which is also a bit of a giveaway, now he thinks about it.
Regulus hears Remus’s sharp intake of breath, and darts a glance at his friend out of the corner of his eye, not willing to take his eyes off the stranger completely. Remus’s face is pale, making the scars on his face look all the more prominent - and yet, despite the fact that he’s at a rather obvious disadvantage here, he’s looking directly back at the dark-haired stranger who is currently holding his wand, without flinching, as though he’s simply staring down a schoolyard bully. His face is set, his jaw clenched defiantly, and Regulus can tell that, no matter how terrified Lupin actually is right now, he’s determined not to show it. Somewhere beneath his own icy fear, he feels a surge of mingled frustration, affection and pride.
Bloody Gryffindors.
“So,” says Regulus, drawing himself up to his fullest height as he breaks the silence, making a desperate stab at haughtiness as he wills himself to draw from his friend’s courage. “Do I take it that we are making the acquaintance of Tom Marvolo Riddle?”
Remus frowns slightly at this, evidently remembering what Dumbledore had told them. He looks uneasily at Regulus, who gives a small nod towards the little black book, still lying open next to Bill’s feet and displaying the name in delicate calligraphy. Remus’s mouth falls open a little at the sight; apparently he’d been too preoccupied with everything else to notice it until now.
The stranger’s lip curls at his question, the amusement vanishing from his face. Regulus takes that as a yes.
“I prefer not to be called by the name of my filthy Muggle father,” Riddle sneers. “I have, in fact, fashioned a new name for myself. A name which, some day, wizards everywhere shall fear to even speak . They will call me -”
“Lord Voldemort?” Remus interjects, having apparently gotten over his shock - or at least, doing a very good impression of it. “Just a stab in the dark - did I get it right?”
The sarcasm is quite remarkable, coming from a man trapped hundreds of miles underground and speaking to the person who had just stolen his wand, Regulus muses. But then, he supposes, that’s Remus Lupin for you. It isn’t a particularly good method of self-preservation, granted - but the momentary look of blank shock that crosses Riddle’s face, followed swiftly by irritation and rage, makes it worth the stupidity as far as Regulus is concerned.
“You are well informed, I see,” Riddle remarks, recovering enough for the sneer to reappear.
“Yes, we’re quite good at that,” Regulus replies, imitating Lupin’s deadpan tone.
He glances at his friend, catching Remus’s eye and nodding very slightly towards the little black book at Bill’s feet again.
“That’s another Horcrux,” he mutters in an undertone.
Remus’s hazel eyes widen in shock as he stares at the book.
“ Another one?” he murmurs, out of the corner of his mouth. “You…you sure? ”
“Yep,” Regulus mutters back. “I’d stake my life on it.” Not that gambling with his life will make much difference, at this point.
Remus swallows, and Regulus knows that he, too, is thinking of the locket currently locked in a drawer hundreds of miles above them, which they’d gone through hell to obtain over a year ago, and which they still haven’t managed to destroy. Regulus supposes they’ve rather lost their chance, now - they probably won’t ever even see it again.
“If you’re discussing how the two of you are going to get out, along with the little redheaded brat,” Riddle pipes up, smug smile returning, apparently having caught their muttering but not their precise words, “I am afraid you might find that that is rather a lost cause.”
Remus turns back to Riddle, his face defiant again, his jaw jutting out in a way that Regulus is fairly certain he’d picked up from Sirius.
“Sorry, where are our manners? I suppose we should be introducing ourselves too; Remus Lupin,” he says, gesturing to himself, “and this here is my friend Regulus Black.” Regulus winces slightly as his best friend gestures towards him. “But there are still one or two things I’d like a bit of clarification on, if it’s not too much trouble,” Remus continues breezily. “If you really are Lord Voldemort,” he continues, tone dripping with irony, “how exactly is it that you look like you should be handing me essays along with my sixth-year class? Last time I checked, Voldemort was quite a bit older than you. Lot less hair. Lot less nose, too.”
Riddle’s self-satisfied smirk broadens.
“I am a memory, you see,” he answers softly. “Preserved in a diary for forty years, through a powerful enchantment of my own invention.”
Well, Regulus muses, slightly stunned, that at least explains the strange way he seems to be blurred, smudged around the edges, neither a fully solid human, nor an insubstantial ghost. For a moment, he finds himself wondering if the present-day Dark Lord can access the thoughts and memories of this past version of himself; perhaps, he thinks, with a jolt of icy horror, the Dark Lord can see, through the eyes of this shadow version of himself, that Regulus is defying him at this very moment?
But then, with a sensation like a leaden weight settling in his stomach, he remembers Malfoy’s blackmail, his unnerving knowledge of everything that’s been happening at the castle. The trap is already closing rapidly around him anyway - so really, what difference does it make whether the Dark Lord can see all of this or not?
“Not all that much you can do to hurt us, if you’re nothing but a memory, is there?” Regulus asks coolly, affecting far more haughty bravado than he feels.
Riddle’s smirk widens impossibly at that, a look of triumph flickering in his grey eyes, and Regulus shivers despite himself, the hairs on his arms standing up again. There’s something deeply unnerving about that taut smile; it’s more threatening than a look of rage.
“Well, now, Black, it’s funny you should say that,” he replies. His tone is quiet, almost polite; and yet Regulus still feels something cold crawling down his spine at the sound of it. Whatever Riddle is about to tell them, he’s fairly certain he doesn’t want to hear it. “One would think there isn’t much I can do, as a memory - but the child has been rather convenient, you see.”
He nods towards Bill’s unconscious form, little Bill who looks so tiny and so vulnerable lying by the feet of Slytherin’s statue. Regulus feels Remus stiffen at his side.
“Little Bill Weasley has been pouring his poor little heart out to that diary - to me - for months now,” Riddle says softly.
There’s a dark shadow flickering in his eyes, something that unnerves Regulus more than anything else has. It’s a look of triumph - but it’s not just that. It’s elation, Regulus realises. There’s pleasure in Riddle’s eyes; a vindictive joy in the knowledge of his own power, the knowledge that he’s hurt someone helpless.
“Poor Bill has been so very nervous, you see,” Riddle continues, smirk widening, eyes gleaming. “He wanted to do well in his first year at Hogwarts, he wanted to make his parents proud of him…’ I have to cheer my mum up, Tom!’” Riddle adopts a whiny falsetto, imitating a child. ‘“I have to cheer her up - you don’t understand how sad my mum’s been, Tom, because my uncle just died… How do I make friends? How do I make sure I’m not making any mistakes? Can I be good enough to make my mum happy again, Tom?”
Riddle abruptly drops the mocking child’s voice and lets out a cold, empty laugh that makes goosebumps rise on Regulus’s arms again.
“It was rather tedious, you know,” he continues, “being subjected to all the foolish little fears of a pathetic eleven-year-old boy. But still, I listened. I sympathised with the little blood traitor brat, I encouraged him to confide in me and pour out his soul to me. Until, finally, I started growing strong enough to return the favour - to pour a little of my soul back into him. ”
Fabian, Regulus finds his brain whispering, as he stares blankly at the tiny figure of Bill, lying prone and pale as marble on the ground. God, Fabian, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
“No,” says Remus, the sound barely a whisper. His face has turned deathly pale - there’s no sign of defiant sarcasm in his expression now.
“Yes,” Riddle contradicts, his entire face alight with sadistic glee now. “It was Bill Weasley who opened the Chamber of Secrets. Bill Weasley who daubed threatening messages on the walls, who set the Basilisk on all of those Mudbloods. I can be rather persuasive, you see. Of course, poor stupid little Bill never realised that, as he was growing weaker, I was growing stronger - or, at least, not until it was already too late.”
“Too late?” Remus chokes out, staring down at Bill.
“Oh, the boy is still alive,” Riddle clarifies casually - Remus reaches out to clutch Regulus’s wrist in relief, squeezing him so tightly for a moment that it hurts.
“But only just. He has graciously given me his own soul, you see. His own life. And now the process is almost complete.”
Regulus blinks, realising with another shock of horror that Riddle is no longer quite so blurred around the edges. He no longer looks as though he’s standing on the other side of a misted window. Even as they’ve been talking, he has been steadily growing more substantial. More solid.
Riddle gives him a cold, self-satisfied smile, as though he knows exactly what Regulus is thinking, as though he’s glad he’s caught on.
“Shouldn’t be too long a wait now,” he says softly, almost gently. “And as soon as the boy dies, I will cease to be a mere memory. He informed me that that Muggle-loving old fool, Albus Dumbledore, has fled the school. That was what persuaded me it was time to finally bring the child down here, wait patiently for him to die, so that I can live. And with the boy dead, and Dumbledore gone, Hogwarts will finally bow under the reign of the Heir of Slytherin.”
“He’ll be back,” Remus says suddenly, very quietly.
“What?” Riddle snaps.
“Dumbledore. He’ll be back,” Remus repeats, his voice louder now, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “Sorry to break it to you, but Albus Dumbledore will never truly be gone from Hogwarts. Not until the day when nobody here is loyal to him.”
Regulus darts a sideways glance at his friend, wondering what the hell he’s up to. Is he trying to frighten Riddle with some kind of bluff? Or does he really have that much faith in the old man?
Riddle’s lips curve into a smirk again.
“Albus Dumbledore,” he says silkily, “has been driven out of Hogwarts by the mere memory of me.”
Regulus opens his mouth to reply - but he stops in his tracks, freezing as a strange, piping, haunting yet beautiful kind of music suddenly fills the room, swelling all around them, reverberating off the Chamber’s walls.
All three of them turn, searching for the source of the unearthly music.
Somehow, out of nowhere, a magnificent phoenix is soaring over them, its beautiful scarlet and gold plumage seeming even more vivid amidst the bleak, muted greys and greens of the Chamber.
As the bird continues piping its haunting music across the vaulting chamber, Regulus suddenly feels something he had never expected to feel down here; hope, blossoming bright in his chest. He knows it’s stupid, knows that a bird is hardly going to help them much in this situation; but for a moment, he almost finds himself grinning. Because he recognises this phoenix. Fawkes. And Fawkes means…
“Dumbledore,” he and Remus breathe in unison, staring at each other.
“What?” Riddle says blankly. For a moment, there is nothing but undisguised shock on his face as he, too, stares up at Fawkes.
The phoenix soars directly towards Remus, who lets out a small yelp of shock. Fawkes drops something black and bedraggled at his feet - Regulus hadn’t even realised until that moment that the bird had been carrying anything - and then, still piping that beautiful music that fills Regulus with that strange sense of hope, the phoenix turns and soars away from them again, perching himself neatly on top of one of the snake statues.
For a moment, none of them say anything, all staring down at the limp, ragged object Fawkes had just dropped at Remus’s feet. The Sorting Hat, Regulus realises, stunned and more than a little bewildered. If Dumbledore really does, somehow, know that they’re trapped down here, then what the hell is the point of sending them the Sorting Hat , of all things?
Apparently, Riddle agrees with this sentiment, for he throws back his head and lets out a peal of cold, malicious laughter.
“Touching,” he says, his face once again alight with vindictive triumph, “the weapons that Albus Dumbledore provides for those foolish enough to insist on fighting for him. It seems that the old man is not prepared to come down to the Chamber and fight me himself - but he can reward the pair of you for your loyalty, by sending you a songbird and an old hat.”
Regulus exchanges an uneasy glance with Remus. Riddle makes rather a good point, but neither of them can admit that. They have to cling onto some shred of hope right now, no matter how tiny or feeble it might be.
“You know,” Riddle continues, and Regulus sees that dark shadow flickering in his eyes again, “I actually have a weapon at my disposal too, and I flatter myself that mine is a touch more effective than a patched hat. Allow me to introduce you…”
With that, he turns his back on them, facing the enormous statue of Salazar Slytherin. He opens his mouth, and a strange hissing sound seems to emanate from him, like the noises that Bill had made up in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. A moment later, the statue’s stone mouth begins to slide slowly open, the bearded jaw sinking down towards the floor of the Chamber, leaving a huge, gaping chasm. Suddenly, Regulus feels as though he is rooted to the spot, an icy thrill of terror coursing through him from head to foot as he glimpses movement, hears the sound of something enormous slithering, gliding closer to them. He catches a glimpse of vivid green…
“Oh, Godric Fucking Gryffindor,” Remus mutters at his side - or perhaps the word whimper would be more accurate.
“Yeah, not sure he’ll be much help right now, Lupin,” Regulus replies. His own voice comes out far smaller and shakier than he had intended, which sort of ruins the sarcastic vibe he had been going for.
Regulus likes to believe that he’s gotten at least a little braver since he joined the Order. Likes to believe he’s learnt something after spending so much time with Remus. With his brother. With Fabian. Or at least, he hopes so.
But he’s also not an idiot.
“Fucking run! ” he practically screams at Remus, having already turned around, before the basilisk has a chance to make eye contact with him, and started sprinting as fast as his legs can carry him back towards the Chamber’s entrance.
“Yeah, no shit , Regulus!” Remus yells back at him, sprinting just as fast, the entire Chamber shaking around them as the serpent’s massive weight slithers onto the floor.
Not that running is going to do either of them much good at this point, Regulus quickly realises, his eyes squeezed tightly shut as he sprints. Sure, it feels more effective than just standing on the spot waiting for death - but it’s not like either of them are likely to get very far before the enormous snake catches up to them. They don’t even know how to get out of this place, for Salazar’s sake.
He fires hexes at random over his shoulder, desperately, though he doesn’t even dare to open his eyes to see if any have hit their mark - although judging by the fact that he can still hear the serpent slithering rapidly closer, they haven’t. Remus, of course, doesn’t even have a wand in his hands; Regulus can hear the other man muttering frantically to himself between gasps as he runs.
“Fuck shit fuck, SiriusIloveyou, fuck, SiriusI’msorry, fuck… ”
And then, his eyes still squeezed shut so tightly that it hurts, Regulus feels his foot catch on the hem of Remus’s robe, and he’s falling, bringing Remus tumbling down with him, the cold stone ground slamming sharply into him as his wand tumbles and clatters out of his hand.
Riddle’s cold laughter is echoing off the walls around them, and Regulus can feel the basilisk sliding to a stop behind them. He can practically sense the serpent’s triumph, watching its shadow on the ground as it rears up…
So this is it, then, he supposes.
For a moment, the fear seems to have vanished, replaced by a strange sensation of numbness, as though his brain or consciousness or soul, or whatever it is, has already parted company with his body. Regulus has always been pretty certain, deep down, that he was going to die young - in fact, on his very worst days, he had almost longed for it. But, of all the ways he had thought he might die over the years - murdered by the Dark Lord as punishment for defecting to the Order, drowned by Inferi in that cave, killed by his mother for giving in to the temptation to chase after Sirius, god, even taking matters into his own hands because he’s finally had enough - Regulus has to admit, ‘devoured by an enormous snake’ had never been among the possibilities he’d considered. It’s a little bit ridiculous. Sort of embarrassing, really.
Unbidden, Fabian’s face swims to the surface of his mind, bright blue eyes glowing with something soft and warm, those full lips twitching with the sort of mischievous grin that suggests he has a secret he wants to share with Regulus, and Regulus alone. I’ve bloody missed you.
His breath is coming in sobs now, although he’s dissociated to the extent that they almost seem to be wrenched from someone else’s chest. He’s not going to have a chance to save little Bill Weasley. He’s failed Fabian. But at least he won’t be around to see the accusing look in those beautiful eyes. At least he won’t have to watch as the man he loves shatters again.
Wait…love? Some small, desperate part of his brain protests. Where the hell did that come from?
Fuck it, the rest of his brain replies vehemently, and Regulus hears a startled, hysterical laugh bubble past his lips, even as he lies on the cold ground next to Remus, staring at the shadow of the rearing basilisk. Who are you kidding? Who have you ever been kidding?
Regulus gives a tiny, resigned nod, not entirely sure if he’s resigning himself to being in love, or to his impending painful death, or both. He closes his eyes and sucks in a breath, instinctively clutching Remus’s wrist as he tenses, waiting for the basilisk to strike, sink its fangs into him.
Only it doesn’t.
The sound of wings and a strange, piping call startles him; it sounds almost like a battle cry. A moment later, he hears hissing, snarling and spitting from the monster behind him, jaws snapping; and then a yowling shriek that makes his blood run cold. It sounds as though the basilisk is in agony. Regulus and Remus both flinch as huge droplets of scarlet blood shower down around them.
Regulus has no idea what’s happening; he’s still frozen on the ground, holding his breath, waiting for the death blow. He hears Riddle let out a startled shout, a cry of fury. It’s the first time he’s sounded as though he might be losing control, and it’s that which gives Regulus the courage to slowly turn his head, trembling from head to foot, his eyes open only the tiniest sliver so he can try and make out what’s going on.
In a whirl of red and gold feathers and steely talons, Fawkes seems to be diving furiously towards the basilisk’s face, viciously clawing and pecking, expertly dodging foot-long fangs even as the serpent screams and snaps in retaliation.
“ Fuck,” Remus mutters, squeezing Regulus’s arm tightly - although this time, the word is trembling with the smallest shadow of hope. “I think he’s blinding it, Reg…”
Regulus realises with a shock that Remus is right - the basilisk can’t see them any more. It can’t see anything any more.
His legs trembling beneath him, he half-crawls backwards, snatching up his wand as he goes, moving further away from the serpent. Remus is scrambling desperately at his side, both of them taking advantage of this brief moment while it’s completely distracted, shrieking in pain as streams of blood run down its face.
Regulus has to admit, it’s a rather small ray of hope - but given their situation, he’s prepared to take anything he can get at the moment, and judging by the look on Remus’s face, he feels much the same way.
“Your bird may have blinded the basilisk,” Riddle hisses, “but it can still hear you! It can still smell you!”
The feeble flicker of hope vanishes abruptly at that, as Regulus realises that Riddle makes an extremely good point. The sixteen-year-old hisses something else in Parseltongue - another order to kill them, he assumes. The basilisk, despite the fact that it’s still hissing in pain, dark gaping holes where its eyes had been, obediently begins to move again, slithering steadily closer towards them, its huge, powerful body gliding sinuously along the floor with a rasping sound, tongue flickering out to taste their scent on the air.
“Shit shit shit, ” Regulus mutters to himself, running backwards, shooting every hex and curse he can think of at the serpent - but if being savagely blinded didn’t stop it, he’s not sure what will. His spells seem to be bouncing, rebounding off its scales as he runs, desperately praying that he doesn’t trip again. If he is causing it any pain at all, the basilisk barely seems to even register it, continuing to glide inexorably towards them.
Maybe this is the end, after all. Maybe he’s already seen Sirius and Fabian for the last time.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he sees Remus suddenly begin to sprint in another direction, doubling back and around. Instinctively, he follows him; he doesn’t have a single clue what his friend is thinking, what he’s planning, but if he’s managed to have any ideas at all then he’s doing better than Regulus.
To his bewilderment, he realises that Remus is sprinting towards the ragged bundle that Fawkes had dropped on the ground - the Sorting Hat. Grabbing it, he straightens up again, backing into the shadows behind the closest snake statue. He jams the Sorting Hat over his sandy curls, squeezing his eyes shut. Regulus can see him whispering frantically to himself, as though praying for something.
Even as he sprints over to him, Regulus feels a wave of irrational, incredulous anger at his friend. Yes, he knows Remus doesn’t currently have a wand, he understands that they’re both panicking and this is frankly a pretty fucked up situation to have landed themselves in…but how is this supposed to help anything??
“What the fuck are you doing, Lupin?!” he screams as he pelts towards him, his voice splintering with terror and fury.
“Well, his options are rather limited,” Riddle pipes up smugly, somewhere behind them, sounding thoroughly amused and entirely in control again.
A moment later, Remus suddenly stumbles, as though he’s just suffered a blow to the head. He tilts backwards a little, grabbing hold of the snake statue to stop himself from falling. The Sorting Hat slips off his head, and Regulus feels his mouth fall open in shock as he catches a glimpse of silver and scarlet, falling to the ground with a loud, metallic clang.
Well…didn’t see that one coming , he thinks to himself nonsensically, dazed, as he and Remus both stare down at the huge, magnificent ruby-encrusted silver sword lying on the ground, which appears to have just fallen out of the ragged Sorting Hat.
“ What -?” Riddle says blankly, staring down at the sword too; but Remus, apparently moving past his shock and dizziness, quickly bends down to grab it. Regulus tugs on his friend’s sleeve, silently imploring him to move - the basilisk appears to have finally noticed their change of direction, gliding sinuously towards them again.
As they stumble backwards away from it, Regulus hears Remus hiss in pain, almost dropping the sword. Glancing down in alarm, he sees that Remus’s hands, already lined with scars, are suddenly covered in angry red welts, as though he’s been burned. Oh, he realises, slightly dazed, his brain seeming to move much more slowly than usual. Werewolves. Silver. Not good.
For a split second, Regulus considers taking the sword from him. He knows that if they ever make it out of here alive, Sirius will probably kill him anyway if he finds out that he let Remus get hurt - but then, that seems like a bit of a moot point at this stage. As Regulus glances at him, he sees Remus stubbornly tightening his hands around the huge silver sword even as it hurts him, grimacing as he tries not to cry out, that familiar defiant look suffusing his face as he clenches his jaw. Bloody Gryffindors, Regulus finds himself thinking again. He supposes that, given that Riddle has Remus’s wand, a giant sword will have to do, even if it’s searing his skin. And besides…he has a strange, instinctive feeling that this sword isn’t meant for him. After all, it had presented itself to Remus. That probably suggested some powerful magical connection or…something. He’s not too sure, he’s having a bit of trouble thinking clearly at the moment, for some reason.
His mind fogging with panic as the blind basilisk glides ever closer, while Remus clumsily grips the sword with shaking hands, Regulus desperately shoots more hexes and curses at the serpent - but nothing seems to be doing much damage. If anything, the mild pain he’s causing seems only to be infuriating the snake.
“Sectumsempra!” he screams, waving his wand wildly as he suddenly remembers the spell he had once watched Snape teaching Evan Rosier. They had stolen a mouse from McGonagall’s Transfiguration classroom, determined to find more creative ways to cause pain than boring old Crucio . The result had been fairly gruesome, as Regulus recalls; but that had been a mouse, and the king of serpents is probably a different story altogether.
But to his astonishment, Snape’s curse works as nothing else had done. Immediately, dark blood begins to spurt in jets from the basilisk’s stomach; writhing and shrieking in agony even more than it had done when Fawkes had blinded it, it sinks slowly down to the ground, its tail thrashing wildly. His heart pounding in his chest, unable to believe that it had worked , Regulus backs swiftly away, giving the serpent a wide berth as it collapses, making the ground shake, the cold stone already slippery with its own blood.
Remus, on the other hand, runs towards the basilisk, his expression utterly determined, vengeance written across his scarred face.
“Remus, what are you -?!”
But before Regulus can even finish his question, Remus has raised the huge ruby-encrusted sword, gripping it tightly in both hands even as the silver blisters his palms. As the blind, wounded serpent writhes on the ground, still spurting blood from its stomach, opening its jaws wide as it shrieks, Remus takes his chance, driving the sword right through the roof of the basilisk’s mouth, impaling it.
The basilisk isn’t just shrieking now; it screams in agony, the terrible mangled sound echoing off the walls of the Chamber, so that Regulus actually claps his hands over his ears. For a second he feels a leap of disbelieving joy in his chest, as though he’s swallowed warm Firewhiskey; no, better, as though he’s in Fabian Prewett’s arms. God, we won.
But a moment later, he hears another yelp of pain, a far more human one this time, and Regulus’s heart seems to stop. The basilisk had ripped its head away from Remus when he had recklessly plunged the sword through the roof of its mouth; but Regulus sees now that, in the serpent’s desperation, it had left something behind.
Lodged almost an inch deep into Remus’s arm, just below the crease of his elbow, is a foot-long, dirty yellow and highly venomous fang.
“No!” Regulus hears himself scream desperately, even though he knows it’s stupid. Knows it’s pointless. It’s too late, the damage is done.
Remus sinks down to the ground, his whole body shaking, wrenching the basilisk fang out of his own arm with a gasp of pain, shockingly scarlet blood running down his arm in rivulets as he involuntarily releases the silver sword, which clatters loudly down onto the ground beside him.
The basilisk itself is swaying wildly, drunkenly now - Regulus hastily runs to pull his friend out of its path, not trusting that he’s capable of moving quickly enough under his own steam. The serpent lets out one final awful, yowling scream that echoes around the entire Chamber, its eyes rolling all the way back in its head…and then it collapses onto the stone floor in a pool of its own dark blood, completely still, the eerie silence echoing almost as much as the screams. For a moment, Regulus just stares at the wreck of the monster, its empty shell. He doesn’t know what to think, or feel. But looking at the ruin of the basilisk is certainly easier than glancing sideways, at the ruin of his best friend. The only sound in the Chamber now is Remus’s terrifyingly faint, shallow breathing.
“Well, that was certainly a more entertaining show than I had expected,” Riddle muses, his voice tinged with amusement again as he breaks the unnerving silence. “I must admit, I did not think you would put up such a fight against my weapon.” He nods towards the enormous corpse on the ground. “I applaud you for your courage .” His mouth twists with a sneer, his implication perfectly clear. Regulus glares at him, hatred and terror coursing through him, freezing him from the inside out. Riddle completely ignores him, turning to Remus instead, his self-satisfied smirk firmly back in place.
“Fascinating, isn’t it?” he says softly. “The speed with which basilisk venom penetrates the body?” His head is tilted to the side, examining Remus with a kind of detached curiosity, as though he’s considering a Potions experiment.
Regulus is about to snarl back at him, but his retort dies in his throat as he, too, looks over at Remus, immediately wishing that he hadn’t.
His best friend is paler than Regulus has ever seen him, paler even than he looks immediately after his transformations, almost the same shade of alabaster as the stone snakes surrounding them. Remus is shaking, trembling all over, sweat beading on his forehead, taking small, shallow and rattling breaths that sound like agony.
Regulus can practically hear what his friend would have said, any other time. Bugger, he might have commented on his own shallow breathing, knew I should have listened to Prongs when he nagged me to quit smoking. Or perhaps, catching the look of fear and concern on Regulus’s face, he might have smirked and said Careful, Reg, I’m taken, remember? Don’t know if you’ve met my boyfriend?
Oh god, Regulus thinks, suddenly overwhelmed with a new kind of grief and guilt. Sirius. Sirius won’t survive this.
“Rem…” he chokes out, reaching out to him desperately before he can stop himself. “Remus, please…”
He can’t think past the whine of panic in his head. He can’t lose his friend. He’s had so few of them in his life, so few true friends who have actually cared about him and tried to help him, he doesn’t even need five fingers to count them. Typical of him, not to even realise how much he needs somebody, until he’s on the brink of losing them.
“Please,” he whispers again, the weight of fear and grief already cracking something inside his chest, “you can’t do this to me…to us. ”
Something in Remus’s expression shatters at that, a different kind of pain seeping through. When he meets Regulus’s gaze, his hazel eyes are haunted with such heartbreak and regret that it makes him ache.
“Tell him…” he begins faintly, clearly struggling to form words. He takes another shaky, rattling breath and tries again. “Tell him I love him. And I’m sorry.”
“No,” Regulus snaps, grabbing Remus’s shoulders fiercely. He might have shaken him, if he wasn’t so terrified it would break him. “Don’t do that. Don’t you bloody dare, Lupin. We are going to go back up there together, and you’re going to tell him that for yourself, and he’s going to yell himself hoarse at both of us, and hold you and sob with relief, and I’ll take the piss out of him a little bit, and then he’ll hex me - or quite possibly try to murder me - and I’ll let him. And we are both going to be there to witness my idiot brother’s meltdown, do you hear me?”
Remus lets out a laugh at that - or at least, it might have been a laugh, if it wasn’t so faint. Another grimace crosses his face, his whole body still trembling.
“It bloody hurts , Reg.” It comes out as a tiny whimper.
Regulus stares at his best friend, his blood freezing in his veins.
Remus Lupin is hardly a stranger to physical pain - he’s probably suffered through more of it than anyone else Regulus knows. But he always, always shrugs it off, plays it down, rolls his eyes or huffs or makes a sarcastic quip whenever anyone expresses their worry or tries to make him rest.
Which means that this pain must be something worse, beyond the bounds of what’s normal, even for a werewolf. Regulus can’t bear to imagine what his best friend must be going through.
“Yes,” says Riddle, sounding almost bored. “It does hurt, doesn’t it? But luckily for you, there’s a silver lining, an escape clause, if you will - the pain will be gone in a few minutes. In fact, you won’t feel anything any more - which I imagine will be rather a relief? It will certainly be a relief for me - touching as it has been, watching the two of you say your goodbyes, I’m afraid it hasn’t been quite as entertaining as your previous show. Rather tedious, in fact. So I think perhaps I shall speed up the process a little. Obviously, I don’t need to worry about you ,” he continues, nodding at Remus, whose eyes are starting to sink shut, “the basilisk has already done my work for me, where you are concerned. No hurry, of course,” he adds, as though worried he’d been rude, “you are welcome to die as slowly as you’d like over the next ten minutes or so, I must confess that part is rather fascinating to watch. But, in the meantime…” He raises Remus’s stolen wand slowly, pointing it directly at Regulus’s forehead, “I think I am quite strong enough by now to deal with you.”
Regulus’s entire brain seems to jam with terror as he stares back at Riddle. He had been so scared for Remus, he had almost entirely forgotten his fear for himself. His own wand had clattered to the floor again when he had reached out to his friend.
Now, as he looks blankly back at this monster, the monster who will one day grow up to be the man who has twisted and controlled and damaged him so much, as well as destroying countless other lives, Regulus can barely seem to muster the strength to pick up his own wand from the floor. Really, what would be the point? Perhaps this was how it was always supposed to end, for him. He has spent almost two years now, waiting for the Dark Lord to discover that his loyalties have changed, and to kill him for it. Granted, he had never imagined that it would be the teenage version of the man that caught up to him in the end - but life, he has learnt, is full of surprises. Or death, he supposes, in this case, closing his eyes.
Unbidden, Fabian Prewett’s beautiful freckled face rises to the surface of his mind again, face splitting into that familiar, joyful grin, and suddenly Regulus finds his terror draining away.
Love you , he whispers to himself.
“What are you doing?” Riddle asks, his voice suddenly tense, alarmed - almost frightened, even.
Regulus frowns a little, bewildered - he would have thought it was quite obvious what he was doing. He’s not sure why his surrender should be frightening. He opens his eyes.
Remus is still deathly pale and shaking from head to foot - but he seems to be reaching out to grasp hold of something. The basilisk fang , Regulus realises, a jolt of shock coursing through him. It had clattered down onto the ground at Remus’s side, when he had wrenched it out of his own arm.
His fingers clutching it tightly, Remus lifts the fang with one violently trembling arm, locking eyes with Riddle as he holds it up - poised directly above the little black diary, still lying open on the bloodstained ground. The Horcrux.
Merlin, Regulus thinks, stunned.
As Remus stares at Riddle, his jaw is set, and despite the fact that he’s only just clinging on to consciousness, Regulus recognises the fierce look of determination in his face, the vengeful fury burning in his hazel eyes. It’s not even rage on his own behalf, he realises - this is revenge for all the children that Riddle has hurt. Remus’s students. In that moment, Regulus thinks he understands exactly what his brother sees in Remus Lupin.
“Stop,” Riddle demands sharply, his face livid with both fury and terror, “ NO -”
He steps forward furiously, ready to turn Remus’s own wand on him, but before he can say or do anything, Remus - who is very clearly using the last tiny shred of strength he has left - recklessly plunges the basilisk fang, point down, straight into the little diary’s binding. Into its heart.
Immediately, black ink begins to pour forth from the diary, spurting in torrents, almost as though the Horcrux is bleeding out, as a human would. Regulus stares down at it, transfixed, as Riddle lets out a terrible scream of agony, a scream which echoes around the entire Chamber, as though there are ten of him dying instead of one. Remus is shaking violently, but his eyes are still burning with defiance and rage as he lifts the fang and plunges it down into the little black book for a second time.
The thick, dark ink is pooling across the pages now, dripping down onto the floor of the Chamber, mingling with the blood, and Riddle is screaming worse than ever, as though he’s being tortured. If it had been anybody else, Regulus might even have felt sorry for him.
As he looks up, hardly able to process everything that’s happening, he has to throw one hand up to shield his eyes; a strange, blindingly bright light seems to be pouring from the teenage boy. Riddle, still screaming, has doubled over now, Remus’s wand falling to the floor. His hands are clutching his face tightly, as though he’s attempting to hold himself together, but as far as Regulus can tell that seems to be a lost cause at this point; the light is turning into flame now, pieces of Riddle catching alight, charring and crumpling. Regulus, rooted to the spot, is reminded for a moment of the Muggle trick of catching paper on fire by focusing sunlight on it through a glass. Riddle’s alabaster skin seems to be crinkling, folding in on itself as the flames catch hold and burn through him, as though he is made, not of flesh and blood, but of pages.
Glancing at Remus, Regulus can tell that he’s on the brink of collapse - but, his jaw set, a different kind of fire burning in his eyes, the scarred man lifts the basilisk fang high again, and plunges it viciously down into the heart of the diary for a third and final time. As the dark ink bleeds across the white pages, running in rivulets across the floor, Tom Marvolo Riddle lets out one final scream of agony. And then, as the flames flare up, he seems to suddenly just…shatter, leaving nothing behind but gently smouldering fragments of flame and charred paper.
Regulus blinks. He’s gone.
Remus shivers, dropping the basilisk fang and closing the ink-sodden diary as his eyes sink shut. Regulus stares down at the Horcrux for a moment - the fang has ripped a huge hole right through it. Slowly, he lifts his eyes to his friend’s face.
“What the fuck was that?” he breathes incredulously.
“Basilisk venom,” Remus mumbles without opening his eyes. His words come out slightly slurred, and Regulus is terrified by the faintness of his voice. “‘ Incredibly destructive substance for Horcruxes …you told me that, remember? I do listen to you sometimes, Reg…”
Regulus finds himself blinking stupidly at his best friend. He’s not sure how to admit how touched he is that Remus had memorised words he’d spoken over a year ago, even though back then they had been, if not exactly enemies , then certainly not friends.
“You’re welcome, by the way,” Remus adds, eyes still closed, face drained of colour.
“But…you got hurt ,” Regulus says, his voice coming out smaller than he’d intended. He’s struggling to speak around the lump in his throat. “You had a bloody great basilisk fang lodged halfway through your arm .”
“Did I?” the scarred man muses, somehow managing to raise a sarcastic eyebrow despite the fact that he can’t even muster the energy to open his eyes, or sit up properly. “Huh. S’pose that would explain why it twinges a bit.”
Regulus nearly growls at him, anger leaping up inside him now, like a flame searing his chest. How can Remus be so bloody cavalier about this? How dare he be sarcastic now, when Regulus has never been so scared that he’s going to lose him?
“For Merlin’s sake, you should have told me to do it,” he hisses.
“Well, you seemed pretty busy panicking,” Remus murmurs.
Regulus scowls at him, unwilling to acknowledge the hit.
“Pulling a stunt like that, in your condition…you’re not strong enough right now, Remus, you’ve probably hurt yourself even worse, and…”
He tries and fails to hold back a sob, and winces. He’s supposed to be better at this. At hiding himself. He never meant for Remus to mean so much to him - and he certainly never meant for Remus to know it.
A small grin flickers across the other man’s face at his words, despite the fact that he’s clearly still in agony. Finally, Remus opens his eyes and - much to Regulus’s shock, reaches out to take his hand, squeezing it gently.
“Probably did, yeah,” he mumbles. “Felt like the right thing, though. Y’know?”
Regulus tries to huff at him sarcastically, but all that comes out is another sob.
“ Bloody Gryffindors.”
“We’re the worst,” Remus agrees, grinning at him again, and Regulus can’t help but laugh a little through his tears. “Hey, Reg?”
“Yeah?” he whispers.
“Think…maybe Dumbledore was right.”
Regulus frowns, bewildered.
“About what, in particular?”
Remus’s eyes flutter closed again, and when he speaks his voice sounds fainter than ever before.
“We do make a bloody good team.”
For a moment, Regulus is lost for words - but luckily, he’s spared the necessity of finding any, as he’s distracted by a low groaning noise coming from the direction of Slytherin’s statue.
Glancing over, he feels a leap of hope and relief, for the first time since he had seen the fang sinking into Remus’s arm; little Bill Weasley is finally stirring.
Slowly, the kid opens his eyes, struggling to sit up, a tiny hint of colour returning to his cheeks. For a moment, as he glances around the Chamber, blinking, his expression is completely dazed and bewildered.
“What…where…?”
Slowly, his bright blue eyes - so like his uncle’s - widen with realisation, with fear and horror, as his gaze travels over the enormous dead basilisk, the floor stained with mingled blood and ink, the little black diary with the hole ripped through its binding - and then he gives a start as he sees Regulus staring at him.
“Professor Black!” he gasps, his lip trembling, his face full of guilt and terror - apparently everything has come back to him. “It…it was me , all of it…but I didn’t mean to, I swear , I never wanted to do any of it! It was that diary, it’s so dangerous - there was a man called Tom Riddle, and he made me…do things, hurt people…please, please, you have to believe me! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean for it to happen, I just…”
The boy begins to cry in great, heaving sobs, clearly overwhelmed. His terrified, guilt-stricken face tugs at something deep in Regulus’s chest, as he imagines how much the sight would hurt Fabian.
“It’s alright, Weasley,” he says quietly, trying his best to sound reassuring, soothing - though he’s well aware that isn’t exactly his forte. “You’re not going to get in any trouble.”
“You promise?” he whispers, blue eyes wide, turning a tear-stained face to Regulus.
“We promise,” Remus pipes up, his eyes closed again, his voice fainter than ever.
Bill glances over, apparently only just having noticed him. Regulus watches the kid’s expression grow even more terrified as he takes in the pale sheen of Remus’s skin, the way his body is still trembling violently from head to foot - not to mention the blood still trickling its way down his arm.
“Professor Lupin?” he asks, his voice tiny and fearful. “Are…are you alright?”
“Yeah,” Remus mumbles, eyes fluttering open again as he gives the boy a small smile. “M’okay, Bill.” The most blatant lie Regulus has ever heard. “You just…go with Professor Black, find some help. Don’t worry ‘bout me, I’ll be…right behind you.”
He closes his eyes again, apparently drained from the effort of speaking those few words.
“For Merlin’s sake, don’t be such an idiot ,” Regulus hisses at him, feeling fury rise up inside him again - he really isn’t prepared to tolerate any of Remus Lupin’s self-sacrificial bullshit right now. “You are dying, Remus” - he sees Bill’s eyes widen even more, but he pushes on - “you need to go to the bloody hospital wing. ”
“Great idea, Reg,” the other man mumbles. “One tiny question, though - how exactly are we supposed to get out of here?”
Remarkable, really, the amount of sarcasm that Remus can muster, even while fading out of consciousness.
“I…well…” Regulus stutters, his mind completely blank.
Before he can say anything else - not that he’d had any particularly useful words in mind, admittedly - he suddenly hears the sound of wings. In a blur of red and gold, Dumbledore’s phoenix gracefully lands, directly in front of Remus. Regulus blinks - with everything that’s happened in the past twenty minutes alone, he had almost forgotten the bird was still in the Chamber.
“‘Lo, Fawkes,” says Remus quietly, smiling at the phoenix as though he’s proud of him. “You were brilliant.”
Fawkes looks at him with his dark eyes, in the same way that Dumbledore might have looked at him - there’s something almost unnervingly perceptive in his bright gaze. He bends his beautiful head over Remus’s arm; a moment later, silvery tears begin falling onto his wound.
Slowly, the bloody puncture begins to shrink away, the trickles of blood seeming to vanish without a trace as the tears fall.
“Wait…what’s he…?” Regulus asks, staring. Hope is flaring up inside him again, warming him from within - but he doesn’t dare give in to it yet.
“Ohhh, ” says Bill, his eyes lighting up with understanding as he, too, stares at Fawkes and Remus. “Of course. Phoenix tears have healing powers.”
“They do?” Remus murmurs, staring down at his own arm.
“Yeah,” Regulus breathes, wondering how the hell he could have forgotten. “Yeah, they do.”
Slowly but surely, the bloody wound on Remus’s arm keeps shrinking as Fawkes continues blinking tears onto it - until finally, the puncture mark vanishes completely, leaving old silvery scars as the only blemishes.
Remus blinks a few times, the dull fog of pain fading from his eyes. Tentatively, as though he’s not quite sure he trusts his own body, he pushes himself into an upright sitting position.
“You…” Regulus’s voice is thick; he swallows and tries again. “You okay?”
Remus stares down at his arm as though he can’t believe his eyes.
“I…yeah,” he replies. His voice is louder now, clearer, although he certainly doesn’t sound like his normal self yet. His breathing doesn’t sound like it’s causing him agony anymore, either. He glances up at Regulus, meeting his gaze. “Yeah, I think I am.”
A wave of pure relief sweeps through him, so powerful that it leaves him lightheaded, dizzy. Regulus lets out a sound that’s embarrassingly close to a choked sob; without planning it, he leans forward and throws his arms around his best friend, hugging him tightly.
For a moment, he can sense Remus’s shock; but then he relaxes against him, and when he speaks Regulus can hear the grin in his voice.
“Not very professional in front of a student, Professor Black,” he mock-tuts. “I know I’m pretty, but do try to control yourself. And besides, you need to be careful with me - I am delicate , remember?”
“Oh, fuck off, Lupin,” Regulus mutters under his breath as he releases him, hastily wiping his eyes. He feels like he couldn’t stop grinning if he tried.
“No, but seriously though,” says Remus, his brow furrowed. “How the hell do we get out of this dump? I mean, sure, I appreciate the ambience old Salazar was going for, but I’m still not all that keen on the three of us spending the rest of our lives down here.”
Regulus feels the grin slide off his face. He’s still pretty stumped on that one.
Fawkes doesn’t appear to be stumped, though. Cocking his head to the side, the phoenix holds out one leg expectantly. When Regulus and Remus both stare at him, bewildered, the bird blinks his beautiful dark eyes at them slowly, as though trying to inform them that they’re both very stupid.
“Phoenixes can carry loads much heavier than their own body weight, too,” Bill pipes up suddenly. The two adults turn to stare at him, and the kid shrugs, looking shy. “My brother and I really like Care of Magical Creatures. Charlie likes dragons best, but I think goblins are pretty cool. Although I think they don’t technically like to be classified as ‘creatures’, right, Professor Lupin?”
“I…if you say so, Bill,” Remus replies with a shrug, still looking stunned. “You really think this will work?” he asks, nodding towards the phoenix, still holding out his leg expectantly and somehow managing to make it remarkably clear that he’s unimpressed with them.
“One way to find out, I suppose,” Regulus answers. “Not like we’ve got all that much to lose, is it?” He glances at Remus. “You feeling strong enough to carry the Sorting Hat and the Horcrux?”
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Bill frowning in bewilderment. That will have to be another story for another time.
“I wanna carry the sword, too, it’s cool,” Remus complains.
Regulus rolls his eyes, though he can’t quite hold back his grin. Sometimes he forgets how many years this man has spent hanging out with his brother and James Potter.
“Well, you can’t, that’s far too heavy for you right now,” Regulus rules firmly. “And there’s also the fact that it will literally blister your skin , you idiot.”
“Still cool, though,” he mutters, and Regulus narrows his eyes at him.
“ I will carry the sword,” he announces. Remus scowls at him. “Oh, and…just a second… Diffindo,” he mutters, pointing his wand carefully at the open mouth of the dead basilisk. With a horrible wrenching sound, another huge fang parts company with the serpent’s gums, clattering to the floor. Regulus repeats the spell several more times, so that six more fangs split and fall away. “Accio,” he says, waving his wand again; a moment later, his arms are full of seven enormous, dirty yellow fangs.
“I’m starting to get a sneaking suspicion that he didn’t stop at just two Horcruxes,” he explains, in answer to Remus’s raised eyebrow. And I don’t think we’re going to be slaughtering an ancient basilisk every other day.”
“Let’s bloody well hope not,” says Remus fervently. Regulus grins.
“Well then - having our own supply might come in handy, don’t you think?”
“Yeah,” Remus replies, a grin spreading across his own scarred face. “Think you might have a point there.”
Regulus awkwardly turns back to Fawkes, feeling more than a little ridiculous as he clutches the phoenix’s outstretched leg with his free hand, holding the huge ruby-encrusted sword and an armful of basilisk fangs in his other arm.
Remus grasps his elbow - his grip still isn’t nearly as strong as it would usually be, Regulus notices, but he supposes they’ll worry about that once they’re out of this hellhole.
“Hold on to me tightly, Bill,” says Remus, smiling at the boy kindly.
Regulus suddenly feels a leap of mingled joy, excitement and panic in his chest. They’ve saved Fabian’s nephew, they’re bringing him back. Which also means that Regulus is going to have to speak to Fabian, knowing what he now knows. Or what he’s now admitted to himself, at least. Another thing to deal with once they’re out of here, he supposes, his stomach doing somersaults.
“Do you remember,” he asks conversationally, trying to distract himself as he turns back to Remus, holding his wand out to him, “when Sirius told me I might be wrong about the basilisk?”
“Yeah?” Remus replies, frowning slightly as he takes his wand. “But you weren’t. Obviously.”
“Obviously,” he repeats, deadpan.
“So…what’s your point, Regulus?”
“Oh, nothing,” he says airily, despite the fact that he can feel his face splitting into a grin again, giving him away. “It’s just that I can’t wait to tell my brother ‘I told you so.’”
Remus lets out a startled laugh at that, grinning mischievously back at him.
“You know, you’re right,” he muses. “It is kind of satisfying saying that to him, isn’t it?”
Regulus laughs, too.
Fawkes lifts off with a piping, joyful note, and then they’re soaring into the air, leaving the Chamber behind them, flying back up through the long, dark tunnel - though it doesn’t seem half so terrifying this time around, Regulus muses.
A moment later, the phoenix is depositing them gently onto the floor of Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, the flickering candlelight reflected in the cracked mirrors, the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets gliding closed again behind them.