Mortal Once More

February, 1983 - Hogwarts Castle

Blinking a little as he staggers to his feet, still slightly disoriented as he adjusts to being back on solid ground, Regulus jumps at the sound of his older brother’s voice. 

“Moony!” Sirius cries, his voice coming out as a desperate sob as he flings himself towards Remus. 

Remus winces slightly as Sirius’s weight slams into him - he’s still looking more than a little pale and clammy - but Regulus doesn’t miss the look of pure relief and joy on his friend’s face as he drops the ragged Sorting Hat and the destroyed diary onto the grimy bathroom floor, wrapping both arms tightly around his boyfriend in turn and squeezing him. 

“Lo, Pads,” he croaks, his voice hoarse and cracked, as he gently strokes the shorter man’s long dark hair. Regulus can tell he’s struggling to hold back his tears. 

“Regulus?” whispers another familiar voice. He glances over before he can stop himself…and oh. 

Fabian is just…standing there. Staring at him, as though frozen to the spot. Those gorgeous, bright blue eyes are wide with shock - with relief. He’s looking at Regulus as though he doesn’t quite dare to believe that he’s really standing there in front of him, alive, in one piece. Regulus supposes that’s understandable - he’s having a little trouble believing it himself, at the moment. 

The thing is, he had never expected to see either of these people again. He had come to terms with that fact, down in the Chamber - or at least, he thought he had. He had said his goodbyes. 

Only now…here he is. Staring at Fabian Prewett, Fabian who is looking back at him with that tremulous look on his face. And he can’t seem to will himself to tear his eyes away from the taller man - he’s not sure he could, even if he wanted to. Regulus can see tears glistening on Fabian’s cheeks, his myriad of freckles standing out starkly against his pale skin. For one insane moment, Regulus is almost overwhelmed with a sudden yearning to stride across and close the distance between the two of them, to press a gentle kiss to every single one of those freckles, to linger in his arms and trace a finger over each one, mapping out constellations between them. 

I love you, he thinks. God, I love you. 

He has no idea how he managed to deny it to himself for so long. Everything seems brighter after emerging from the Chamber; but looking at Fabian Prewett is like staring at the sun. 

“Hi,” is what actually comes out of his mouth. It’s embarrassingly breathless, too. 

“Uncle Fab?” Bill pipes up from behind him, sounding stunned. “Wh…what are you doing here?” 

Fabian blinks and looks away from Regulus, finally, glancing over at his nephew. Regulus feels a ridiculous sense of loss as the moment shatters. 

“Oh my god, Bill,” Fabian mutters. 

Glancing around, Regulus realises how pale the boy is still, only the tiniest hint of colour having returned to his cheeks. He’s still trembling, his own blue eyes swimming with tears. 

Fabian hurries over, kneeling down so that he’s at the kid’s eye level, hugging his nephew tightly. For a split second, Regulus feels an absurd surge of jealousy. 

“Thank god, thank god,” he whispers. He pulls back, so he can see Bill’s tearstained face properly. “Hey,” he murmurs. “You okay? What happened?” 

Bill stares up at his uncle, and Regulus clearly sees the fear and guilt that flickers across his features. He can’t bear the thought of Fabian being disappointed in him. Regulus can certainly understand that feeling. 

“It’s sort of a long story,” he says quietly, trying to spare the kid. 

Fabian glances up at him. The look in his eyes makes Regulus’s heart squeeze. 

“A long story?” Sirius suddenly bursts out, finally releasing Remus as he turns to glare at Regulus. For a moment, he looks like he hasn’t quite decided whether he wants to pull him into a hug or punch him in the face. Regulus is certainly familiar with that conundrum. “Where the fucking hell were you?” 

“Chamber of Secrets,” Remus pipes up, before Regulus can respond. “Oh, and I destroyed a Horcrux. And killed the Basilisk - using that.” 

He points to the huge ruby-encrusted sword still dangling from Regulus’s hand, sounding more than a little pleased with himself, despite the fact that his voice still sounds much fainter than it usually would. 

“You…what?” says Sirius, staring at his boyfriend incredulously. Fabian, too, looks utterly bewildered. “How could you have…isn’t the Horcrux locked upstairs in your office? And where the bloody hell did you get a sword?”

“Like I said,” Regulus replies calmly, “it’s a long story.” 

“It seems that you have both done rather admirably tonight,” a familiar deep voice interjects suddenly, cutting Sirius off before he can retort. “I believe that we are all in your debt.”

Regulus whips around, his mouth falling open in shock. 

Albus Dumbledore has just walked into Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, his long purple robes trailing behind him, a twinkle in his eyes, looking perfectly at ease, as though he hadn’t left Hogwarts without a word of explanation a month ago. Fawkes lets out a low, musical cry of welcome, spreading his beautiful scarlet wings and flying over to him. Almost absentmindedly, the headmaster holds out an arm for his phoenix to perch on, stroking the bird’s head with one finger, without taking his eyes off the burnt, ink-stained husk in Remus’s hand that had once been a diary. 

“Do I take it that this little black book is the Horcrux that Remus destroyed?” he asks, nodding towards it. “It was this book that was having an effect on young Mr Weasley, I assume?” 

“Well…yeah,” Regulus replies, still feeling completely lost as he boggles at the old man. “Sorry…what are you doing back here? How did you know to come to this bathroom to find us? In fact,” he adds, frowning as he turns back to his brother - looking at Fabian seems to be a bit too much for his brain to cope with, at the moment - “how did you two know we were here?” 

It’s Fabian who answers. 

“Remus sent us a Patronus about two hours ago, remember? A pretty bloody vague one, too - all it said was that you’d seen Bill on the Map, heading to this bathroom, and that something ‘didn’t seem right’, so you were following him to see if he needed help.”

Bill lets out another sob, and Fabian squeezes him again. 

“In my defence, that was about as much as we knew at the time,” Remus protests. 

“So, obviously, we came pelting here as fast as possible,” Sirius continues, taking up the story from Fabian, “but there was no sign of any of you, and you two dickheads had the Map with you, so we couldn’t even bloody check if you’d gone somewhere else in the castle. We were worried out of our minds, we didn’t know what the hell you two were up to, or if you were safe, or…”

He trails off, wincing as he glances at his boyfriend again, who is still looking pale and shaky on his feet.

“So I suggested we send a Patronus with an emergency message to Professor Dumbledore,” Fabian supplies. “I figured, if anybody would be able to help us find you, it would be him.”

“And here I am,” Dumbledore interjects, twinkling at them over his half-moon spectacles. “As you see.” 

“About half a bloody hour after we sent you the message,” Sirius mutters mutinously. “But better late than never, I suppose.” Fabian elbows him sharply in the ribs. “Ow!” Sirius complains, shooting the redhead an indignant look. Regulus bites back a grin.

“And yet,” Dumbledore continues, still determinedly twinkling at the two of them, as though he hadn’t even heard Sirius’s interruption, “it appears that my sending Fawkes ahead was all the help that the two of you needed to make it back out of the Chamber - not to mention bringing young Mr Weasley back with you. All three of you alive and well, it would appear.”

He turns his twinkle on Bill now, who winces and shrinks back slightly, as though the headmaster is shouting at him. 

“Well, they’re alive, thank Godric,” Sirius grumbles, without looking away from his boyfriend, his grey eyes clouded with worry, “but I would hardly say they look well. I mean, look at Moony - he’s practically dead on his feet, he clearly needs the hospital wing!”

Remus, predictably, rolls his eyes at this statement as though it’s ridiculous, even though Regulus is fairly certain he’s never heard his brother say something so reasonable in his life. 

“I am fine, Sirius,” he mutters mutinously - 

“You are not bloody ‘fine’!” Sirius and Regulus hiss, at the exact same moment, both glaring at him. 

Remus blinks, looking rather shocked as he stares back at the two of them. Dumbledore, on the other hand, seems to be trying to hide a small smirk behind his hand - and if Regulus didn’t know better, he might have sworn that Fabian is doing exactly the same. He shoots the redheaded man a dark look, at which Fabian tries to school his face into a neutral expression. 

“Alright, fine, I’ve been better,” Remus concedes, with great reluctance. “But I’m doing much better than I was about half an hour ago!” He turns to the headmaster. “See, when I stabbed the basilisk with that bloody awesome sword, which appeared out of nowhere by the way” - he points to the ruby-encrusted sword that Regulus is still holding - “the basilisk did die, pretty dramatically too. Only I sort of accidentally got one of its fangs wedged into my arm first.”

“You…you got bitten by a basilisk?” Sirius asks, his face deathly pale, sounding almost as faint as Remus had done down in the Chamber, before Fawkes had got to him.

“Well…yeah,” Remus admits sheepishly. “Sort of. Oh,” he says, more brightly, as if trying to wipe the horrified look off his boyfriend’s face, “and Regulus wanted to tell you, ‘I told you so.’ About the basilisk, that is.”

“Oi,” says Regulus, scowling at him, “I said I was going to say that, Lupin.” 

Remus only shrugs, the look on his face more smug than Regulus feels is really necessary. 

“Uhh…is that why you’re both covered in blood, then?” Fabian asks awkwardly, looking as though he’s desperately trying to keep up with all this. 

“Yep,” Regulus answers shortly. 

“But…but Basilisk venom is deadly, Moony!” Sirius almost shrieks, looking like he’s on the brink of heart failure. 

“Is it? Huh. I was thinking it didn’t feel all that healthy - but then I thought maybe it was just the flu. It is the season for it, and Madam Pomfrey’s been a bit too busy recently to think much about Pepper Up Potion.” 

Sirius practically growls at him, sounding almost like his Animagus form for a moment. Regulus can’t really blame him. 

“Oh, stop it, Pads,” Remus responds, rolling his eyes, apparently not intimidated by his boyfriend’s antics in the slightest. “As if you’ve never done anything reckless and stupid before. I seem to remember a certain green potion, in a dark and creepy cave?” Regulus winces at the memory. So does his brother. “Y’know, I thought it was Regulus’s fault at the time,” Remus continues, “and I was too worried and furious to believe him when he told me it was entirely your idea to drink it. But, in hindsight, that sounds like exactly the kind of idiotic shit you would pull. Pretty typical, really. So, you would know better than to try and lecture me on making sensible choices, wouldn’t you?” 

He raises one eyebrow at Sirius, who splutters for a moment before scowling at him, apparently having no comeback. 

Touche, Regulus can’t help but think, as little Bill stares back and forth between the two of them, his blue eyes wide. 

“And anyway, like I said, I am fine now,” he repeats firmly. “Fawkes helped me out a bit,” he adds, nodding at the magnificent phoenix, still perched on Dumbledore’s arm. “Didn’t he, Bill?” 

Bill nods vehemently, looking a bit happier at the chance to expand on his knowledge again. 

“Because phoenix tears have healing powers!” he exclaims excitedly. 

Remus’s mouth twitches up into a grin at the kid’s sudden, momentary enthusiasm. Sirius and Fabian are both looking more than a little stunned again. 

They are spared from having to think of a response, however, as a huge silvery Patronus soars suddenly into Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, making everyone except Dumbledore jump. Looking around, Regulus realises the Patronus is in the shape of a weasel; a moment later, he realises that he recognises it as belonging to Arthur Weasley. Fabian’s brother-in-law. 

Fabian blanches again, his beautiful eyes widening in alarm. 

“Oh, shit,” he mutters, more to himself than to anyone else, as the weasel Patronus opens its mouth. 

“We are both waiting in your office, Albus.” Regulus can hear an edge of frantic tension, almost desperation, in Arthur’s voice. “Please, if you could join us as soon as possible, give us any new information you have about our son, anything at all… Molly is starting to crumble, and I have to admit I’m not doing much better. Please, Albus.” 

The silver weasel dissolves into thin air, as suddenly as it had arrived, leaving Bill and Fabian still staring at the place it had vanished. 

“My…my mum and dad are here?” the kid asks in a small, disbelieving voice, eyes wide, lower lip trembling. 

“Well, it certainly sounds like it, doesn’t it?” the headmaster responds, twinkling down at him over his half-moon spectacles. 

“Oh Merlin…” Fabian mutters. “I panicked, I was panicking about Bill, and about…well, anyway,” he cuts himself off, flushing slightly. “I forgot to bloody tell Molly!” 

“I, however, remembered,” Dumbledore replies. “And, shortly after I arrived back here at Hogwarts, having received the message that you and Sirius had sent, I sent a message of my own to Arthur and Molly. It seemed to me that, whatever happened tonight, the two of them would want to be on the scene - or at least, as close to it as possible. Just a moment, I shall send a message ahead, to ease their minds a little…” 

His blue eyes still twinkling, he murmurs something to himself; a split second later, a silver phoenix bursts out of the headmaster’s wand, soaring away over their heads and out of the eerie bathroom, like a ghostly echo of the solid red and gold phoenix still perched on Dumbledore’s arm and blinking peacefully.

“Well then,” says the old man in a satisfied tone, as he turns back to Bill, who is still looking rather dazed, “let us all go up to my office, shall we? I do not think it would be kind of us to deprive Molly of the chance to see you with her own eyes any longer.” 

Regulus can see about a thousand different emotions flickering across the kid’s little freckled face. Dumbledore gestures courteously for Bill to lead the way; the boy looks up at the old man, alarm clear on his face. Immediately, Fabian hurries forwards, wrapping one of his long arms gently around his nephew’s shoulders. Bill looks up at him, registering the soft, reassuring look on his uncle’s face, and seems to finally exhale, letting out a breath that Regulus hadn’t even realised he’d been holding. Fabian grins down at the kid - though Regulus can tell that it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, it’s one of those smiles he gives when he’s sacrificing his own needs to take care of somebody smaller than him, someone who needs some of his light. He looks up and nods at Dumbledore, and the headmaster seems to take his cue, sweeping out of Myrtle’s bathroom ahead of them with Fawkes still perched on his arm, Fabian and Bill following in his wake.

Sirius, for his part, seems barely to have registered any of this, still staring at Remus with undisguised worry etched across his face. Glancing back at him, Remus huffs out a sigh, rolling his eyes again, but Regulus can see that he’s grinning a little, despite himself. He holds out a hand for his boyfriend to take, and Sirius’s face lights up, practically glowing with relief and gratitude and joy as he reaches out to twine their fingers together. Remus smiles softly at him in return, as though he can’t quite help himself, just as he had done on the night when Sirius had finally woken up after his ordeal in the cave. 

Regulus hangs back a little, figuring that the two of them will want some space, that they’ve probably already forgotten his presence. But, to his surprise, they pause at the door, turning back to him, both of them seemingly waiting for him to catch up.

“And what about you, Reg?” Sirius asks suddenly, his voice low.

Regulus frowns, perplexed for a moment. 

“Me?” 

“The basilisk didn’t get you too, did it?” his brother clarifies, his voice hoarse with some suppressed emotion. “I mean, you’re…you’re alright, aren’t you?” 

For a moment, Regulus just stares at him, wondering if Sirius is mocking him, being sarcastic. But his older brother’s expression is utterly sincere as he looks at him, albeit a little awkward. After all, they had lost the habit of being open and vulnerable with each other over ten years ago. 

Regulus feels a lump swelling in his throat, a flood of memories rushing up to the surface. He swallows, praying that his voice will come out steady. 

“I…yeah. Yeah, I’m fine, Sirius.” 

Sirius looks at him for a moment, those stormy eyes, so similar to his own, scanning his face as though looking for any signs of damage. 

“Alright,” he says finally, his voice still much quieter than usual. He takes a deep breath, as though trying to steady himself. “Well…good, then.” 

Regulus nods awkwardly, finding himself suddenly unable to maintain eye contact. Desperately, he casts about for a change of topic. 

“After all, I had your boyfriend down there to protect me,” he says. “And he’s actually sort of cool.” 

Sirius’s face lights up with another ridiculously soppy grin at that - Regulus makes a mental note to take the piss out of him for that later, when things are feeling a little less fragile. 

“Finally, something you and I can agree on,” he replies, turning back to Remus, just in time to catch the little smirk on the scarred man’s face as he looks back and forth between the two of them.

“Oi,” says Sirius, scowling at him and elbowing him very gently in the side. “Shut up, Moony.”

“Shut up about what, exactly?” Remus retorts, hazel eyes widening, the very picture of innocence. “I didn’t say a thing, Pads!”

Regulus bites back a grin, despite himself. 

He’s still reeling from the interaction a little when they walk into Dumbledore’s office a few minutes later. Really, all Regulus wants is to sit down quietly, to try and process just what the hell has happened over the past few hours - although he wouldn’t say no to Fabian’s company, or to some of the wine from Grimmauld Place stashed away in his own office, for that matter. But it seems that, as usual, the universe doesn’t much care what he wants. 

“Bill!” shrieks a voice, far more loudly than necessary in Regulus’s opinion, practically the moment they cross the threshold.

Next moment, a small redheaded woman is hurtling towards them, heading straight for the kid, who looks for a brief second more like a deer caught in wandlight than he had done down in the Chamber. 

The woman’s flame-coloured hair and the myriad of freckles scattered across her face leave Regulus in no doubt that this must be Fabian’s older sister, although she’s almost a foot shorter than him and, from the brief glimpse he caught before she threw herself at her son, burying her face in his shoulder, her eyes are a warm shade of brown, rather than her brother’s bright blue. 

“Oh, thank god, thank god,” Molly Weasley sobs, clinging onto the kid as though she’s never going to let go of him - which is quite an impressive feat, really, Regulus muses, seeing as she’s still clutching a baby in her other arm. “We thought you were…we thought…” she breaks into a fresh storm of sobbing. 

Regulus shifts awkwardly, darting a sideways look at Remus as he tries his best to make himself small and inconspicuous. Honestly, he thinks he might feel more out of his depth right now than he had done when he had seen the basilisk slithering out of Slytherin’s statue. 

“Merlin, Molly, let him breathe,” says the man behind her, his voice shaking slightly. 

He has horn-rimmed glasses and hair almost as bright a red as Molly and Fabian’s, though rather thinner than either of theirs. Regulus recognises Arthur Weasley’s voice from his Patronus immediately. He had hurried towards his son right behind his wife, though unlike her is hovering, holding back a little, as though anxious about giving Bill any space he might need. 

He too is carrying a small child on his hip, Regulus notices; a boy, a toddler with a shock of bright red hair, a multitude of freckles and bright blue eyes, just like his older brother and his uncle. The kid looks about the same age as the Potters’ son, the boy the Dark Lord is so obsessed with finding. 

“You did give your mother and I quite a scare there, Bill,” Arthur continues, smiling tremulously at his older son, crouching so that he’s at his eye level just as Fabian had done. 

“I know,” Bill whispers, his lip trembling as he looks back at his father. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” 

Arthur Weasley blinks rather rapidly, drawing a deep breath before he speaks.

“Don’t be silly. We know you didn’t. The important thing, Bill, is that you’re okay.” 

“Yeah,” Bill replies, nodding and plastering on a smile, despite the fact that his eyes are glistening with tears again, his breath shaky. “Yeah, I’m fine, Dad. Promise.” 

“He’s about as convincing as you were,” Regulus mutters to Remus in an undertone. His best friend shoots him a dark look, while Sirius raises one eyebrow, as though in silent agreement. 

“As you see, Arthur, Molly,” Dumbledore interjects, twinkling at Bill again as he lowers himself into the chintz armchair behind his desk, “the events of this past night seem to have reached a rather happy conclusion.” 

Arthur doesn’t look around at the headmaster, still looking at his oldest son with worry written across his face. It’s clear from his expression that he wasn’t convinced in the slightest by Bill’s attempt at reassurance, but he seems to decide not to push the issue, for the moment. 

“Right,” he says quietly. He pauses, eyes scanning over his son’s face. “Can I have a hug too, then? Please?” 

Bill half-laughs at that, his smile looking much more genuine now. 

“Yeah. If you ever manage to get Mum to let go of me, that is.” 

Arthur lets out a small chuckle. 

“Hey,” he says, nudging his wife’s shoulder gently - she still has her face buried in Bill’s shoulder, hiccuping between sobs. “Budge up, Molly. My turn.” 

Reluctantly, she releases Bill, moving aside a little so her husband can reach him properly. As Arthur gently wraps his free arm around Bill, the toddler on his hip whimpers a little, reaching out for his brother, clearly knowing that something is wrong, even if he doesn’t understand what it is. 

“Hi, Ron,” Bill says quietly, finally starting to look a little calmer as he gazes down at his little brother. “Missed you too.” 

“Want me to hold Gin for a bit?” Fabian asks tentatively, as Molly slowly stands up and moves back, her face still streaked with tears. Regulus realises, then, that the baby in her arms must be Fabian’s niece, the one he’s utterly besotted with. 

As soon as he speaks, Molly Weasley turns to look at her younger brother with such a ferocious glare on her face that Fabian takes half a step back. Regulus is pretty sure he’s never seen him do that before. Not even when they were in the cave. 

“Would you care to tell me why we had to get the news from Albus, when you were apparently right here, Fabian?!” she demands, her eyes flashing fire. 

Fabian winces. 

“I’m sorry, Moll!” he pleads, holding his hands up in surrender and looking somehow like a small boy being told off, despite the fact that he towers over his sister. “I know I was an idiot, I just…I panicked, okay?” 

He casts Regulus a sideways look, returning his full attention to his sister so quickly that Regulus wonders, for a moment, whether he had simply imagined the glance. 

“Oh, you panicked, did you?!” Molly snarls - Regulus swears he can practically see the hackles rising on her back, and for a moment he has a mad urge to fling himself in front of Fabian. Not that he’s particularly keen to put himself in her path - she’s rather terrifying, for such a small woman. She reminds him a bit of Lily Evans - or Potter now, he supposes. “Fabian Prewett, I am going to murder you!” 

“I’m sorry!” he insists, taking another step backwards, hands still raised in surrender. 

“Oh, leave him alone, Molly,” Arthur pipes up - he’s clearly a braver man than Regulus. “He’s been having the same horrible night that we have, after all.” 

Fabian lets out a small huff, and mutters something under his breath.“You have no idea.” 

Arthur turns his head to look at his brother-in-law.

“You okay, Fab?” 

“I…yeah,” Fabian responds, giving him a shaky, grateful smile. “Think so. I will be, anyway.” 

“So,” Arthur pipes up, as his wife continues to glare at her younger brother, “is anybody going to explain to us what actually happened tonight?” 

A tense silence falls across the office in the wake of these words, heavy with unease. 

“Hey, kid,” Sirius blurts out, turning to little Ron Weasley, in a wildly transparent attempt to break the tension, “that’s not a Chudley Cannons t-shirt, is it?” 

He points to the bright orange shirt the toddler is wearing, which clashes violently with his shock of ginger hair. 

“Chuddy Cannons!” Ron confirms, his anxious expression vanishing as he positively beams up at Sirius, nodding vehemently. Regulus doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to understand how his brother seems to connect with tiny children so effortlessly. He’d thought maybe his godson was a special case - but apparently not. 

“Thought so,” says Sirius, nodding solemnly back at the toddler. “Looks like you’ve got pretty great taste, kid.”

Little Ron beams even wider, and Sirius looks up to find both Regulus and Remus staring at him with raised eyebrows. 

“What?” he asks defensively. “He does!”

 “Bill?” Arthur asks, looking directly at his son and speaking gently but firmly, evidently not at all distracted by Sirius’s attempt to diffuse the tension. “Your mother and I have been worried sick tonight - your Uncle Fab, too. And we’re all very, very glad that you’re safe - but I think we all have the right to know where you disappeared to.”

Regulus sees Fabian shifting awkwardly from foot to foot; he already knows where they’ve been, of course, but apparently he doesn’t think it’s his place to explain. Or perhaps he’s just reluctant to give his sister any further incentive to murder him. 

Bill looks back at his father, his lower lip trembling, wide blue eyes shining with tears again. 

“I was in…in the Chamber of Secrets,” he whispers, finally. 

“You - what?” Arthur Weasley stares at his son, and for a moment there is nothing but blank shock on his face. 

“But I didn’t…I didn’t mean to go there, Dad,” Bill adds hastily, panic-stricken, “I swear!”

“But…” Arthur exchanges an utterly bewildered look with Molly. “But what do you mean, you were in the ‘Chamber of Secrets’, Bill? Isn’t that just…a legend?” 

“Apparently not,” Regulus interjects, unable to keep the edge of sarcasm out of his tone. 

Arthur and Molly both jump slightly as they turn to look at him, as though neither of them had registered him until this moment. 

“Regulus Black?” Arthur asks, looking even more baffled than before. 

“That is my name, yes,” he replies shortly. 

He supposes his presence isn’t made any more reassuring by the fact that he’s still holding a giant sword and an armful of huge fangs, to be fair. 

“But…what are you doing here?” Molly demands, shooting Dumbledore a look that’s more than a little accusatory. Regulus sees Fabian bristle - and so, to his surprise, does Sirius.

“Regulus works here at Hogwarts, Molly,” the headmaster answers calmly. “He has been teaching Potions classes to the students since the beginning of the school year. In fact, I gather that it was Regulus who accompanied Remus down to the Chamber tonight, to rescue your son.” 

Molly shoots him another suspicious look, opening her mouth to speak again, but -

“Leave it alone, Molly,” Fabian interjects, his tone much sharper than usual. 

His sister glances over at him, looking more than a little taken aback by the fierce expression on his face; but, to Regulus’s relief, she obeys, albeit reluctantly. 

“Well,” says Arthur shakily, breaking the rather uncomfortable silence, “if it’s really true that the Chamber exists, and that you two gentlemen are the reason our boy is back here with us - then I suppose Molly and I cannot thank you enough.” 

Remus flushes a little. Regulus just nods awkwardly. How the hell is he supposed to respond to something like that? 

I didn’t do it for you, is the first instinctive response that comes to his mind, or even for your son, really. I did it for Fabian. 

But he can’t say that. Obviously. 

“But I still don’t understand,” Arthur continues, apparently oblivious to Regulus’s discomfort as he turns back to Bill, frowning. “How did you even get into the Chamber in the first place? How on earth did you know where the entrance was?” 

Bill hesitates, looking back and forth between his parents’ expectant expressions, his guilt written in bold across his face. 

“I believe,” says Dumbledore quietly, apparently taking pity on the kid, “that the book in Remus’s hands played rather a key role in tonight’s events - and, if I am not much mistaken, in many of the events happening at this school over the last few months. Though it’s in a rather sorry state now, as you see - Remus’s doing, as I understand it.” 

“A…a book?” Molly asks, staring at the destroyed husk of the diary doubtfully. “What does that book have to do with our Bill, Albus?” 

Another awkward silence as Remus and Regulus glance at each other, not knowing where to even start. 

As far as Regulus is concerned, broadcasting the fact that the Dark Lord has created Horcruxes - plural, which is a first for wizarding history as far as he knows - is the last thing they should be doing. Every extra person who’s in on this means one more person whose life could potentially be compromised. 

Besides, he reminds himself, the average wizard - even the average Pureblood - doesn’t even know what a Horcrux is. He and Sirius had had to explain the term to Fabian, as far as he recalls - no doubt they’d have to explain it to his sister and brother-in-law, too. It seems like a bit much to put on the poor kid, too - Bill Weasley is not quite twelve, after all, and he already seems pretty traumatised, even without understanding the full extent of what’s happened to him. 

“Well…” Remus begins hesitantly - 

“It would appear that that innocuous-looking little book contained a substantial amount of dark magic within its pages, Molly,” Dumbledore interjects smoothly, rescuing Remus - Regulus notes how he’s neatly gliding past the explanation of precisely how dark that magic was. “Poor Bill here had no way of knowing that, of course, and I must add that he can hardly be blamed - after all, he is only eleven, and this kind of magic is intentionally designed to ensnare the innocent. This little diary has a name on the inside front cover - Tom Marvolo Riddle. There was no way that Bill here could have known that the young man called Tom Riddle opened the Chamber of Secrets here at Hogwarts forty years ago, and proceeded to frame our own Hagrid for it. Nor could Bill have known that, these days, the young man once known as Tom Riddle far prefers to be known by the title he has since fashioned for himself - the title of Lord Voldemort.” 

The headmaster’s voice remains perfectly calm, even as all the colour drains from both Molly and Arthur’s faces, and Bill lets out a gasp of horror, his hand flying to his mouth, and bursts into a fresh bout of crying.

“Tom was…was…You-Know-Who? But I…I didn’t know, I swear, I didn’t know!!” 

“It’s alright, Bill,” says Remus gently. “Nobody is blaming you. There’s no way you could have known.” 

“But…I still don’t understand, Albus,” says Molly Weasley, faintly. “Even if that book once belonged to…to You-Know-Who..why should he choose to target Bill, out of…out of all the students at Hogwarts?” 

When he’s not even Muggleborn? Regulus clearly hears, even though Molly does not say it. 

“Because I’ve been writing in that diary all year,” Bill whispers, looking up at his parents, his expression horror-struck, his face streaked with tears. “And Tom - You-Know-Who - was writing back to me.” 

“What?!” Molly practically shrieks, staring at her son as though she can’t believe her eyes. 

“Bill,” says Arthur, his jaw tense, his voice cracked and shaking, “have your mother and I taught you nothing? You know what I always say - ‘never trust anything that can think for itself, if you can’t see where it keeps its brain!’ Don’t tell me you’ve never heard me say that, young man!” 

“I’m sorry, Dad!” Bill gasps through his sobs. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” 

Little Ron’s lip begins to tremble, his eyes filling with tears, clearly distressed by his parents’ raised voices and the anguish on his older brother’s face. At the same time, the baby, Ginny, begins to wail in Fabian’s arms. 

“Shh, shh, Gin,” Fabian murmurs, cuddling his tiny niece tighter, pressing a soothing kiss against the vivid red fuzz on her head. Regulus feels his heart squeeze in his chest at the sight. Focus, you idiot, he chastises himself. 

“Hey, kid,” Sirius pipes up, kneeling down so he’s at Ron’s eye level, grinning reassuringly at him. “Wanna tell me more about those Chudley Cannons?” 

The toddler looks back at him, blue eyes still brimming with tears, and nods. Sirius glances questioningly at Arthur, who gives a brief nod too, without taking his eyes off his oldest son; with that, Sirius holds out his hand invitingly and Ron toddles towards him, taking it. 

Regulus glances across at Remus, just in time to catch his best friend staring at Sirius, his hazel eyes soft and warm, with quite possibly the soppiest expression Regulus has ever seen on his scarred face. God, he hopes he wasn’t looking at Fabian like that - that would be bloody embarrassing. 

Remus looks up at him, apparently sensing his gaze, and Regulus raises one eyebrow at him, smirking slightly. Remus glares back at him and quickly flashes him his middle finger; thankfully, Molly Weasley is still too preoccupied with her oldest son to notice. 

“We know, sweetheart,” Molly says now, kneeling down and throwing her arms around Bill, hugging him tightly again. “We know you’re sorry. We know you never meant any harm. Dad and I are just so glad you’re safe.” 

Bill makes a muffled sound against his mother’s shoulder; half sob, half hiccup. 

Arthur’s face softens, and he wraps both arms around his wife and oldest son. 

“I still don’t quite understand though, Albus,” he murmurs after a moment, looking up at Dumbledore. “How did Bill even get that diary? How did it get into Hogwarts in the first place?” 

Regulus frowns, exchanging another glance with Remus, who has finally torn his eyes away from Sirius. He’s been wondering exactly the same thing himself - and from the looks of it, so has Remus. 

“As to that, Arthur,” the headmaster replies quietly, “I’m afraid I know no more than you do, at present.” 

“I just…I just found it…inside one of my school books,” Bill sobs into Molly’s shoulder. “You know, one…one of the secondhand books we got from Flourish and Blotts, back in August? I just figured….I figured whoever owned that schoolbook before had left the diary inside it, and forgotten about it. But I swear, it never even occurred to me that it might be dangerous. I never - ” his voice is very small now - “I never meant to hurt anybody.” 

“Hurt anybody?” Molly echoes, leaning back so that she can see her son properly, frowning slightly, her own cheeks tearstained. “What do you mean, Bill? You were the one in danger - but you’re safe now, thank Merlin. Nobody else was hurt, were they?” 

Bill’s breath hitches, and he looks up at his mother, eyes wide, guilt written crystal clear across his features as he realises his slip-up. He doesn’t answer, evidently struggling for words - but his parents could hardly fail to notice the way that all the other adults in the circular office have tensed up, carefully avoiding each other’s eyes, the atmosphere heavy with the weight of everything they haven’t explained yet. 

“Nobody else was hurt,” Molly repeats, turning now to address her question directly to Dumbledore, narrowing her eyes at him so dangerously that Regulus takes a slight step back, even though her gaze isn’t directed at him, “were they, Albus?” 

Arthur looks at Dumbledore pointedly, too, his jaw clenched tightly again. The headmaster, however, looks completely unruffled, considering them both levelly over his half-moon spectacles. 

“I think, Molly, Arthur,” he says quietly, “that it may be time to take Bill down to the hospital wing. He needs rest, and possibly hot chocolate too. He has earned it - after all, older and more experienced wizards and witches have been hoodwinked by Lord Voldemort before him, and will no doubt continue to be hoodwinked after him. I do not believe there is anything else he needs to explain to us. At least, not at the moment.”

Neat way to avoid giving any explanation of your own, old man, Regulus muses. 

“Hot chocolate sounds nice,” says Bill, in a very small voice.

“Yes, I thought it might,” Dumbledore replies, twinkling down at him.

Molly and Arthur exchange a meaningful glance. 

“He’s right, Molly,” Arthur murmurs. “Bill definitely does need some rest. Just look at him.” 

She glances back at her son’s tearstained face, biting her lip, and nods.

“Alright. Let’s go and see Madam Pomfrey, shall we, sweetheart? I’m sure she’ll be able to get you that hot chocolate - and perhaps some kind of potion for dreamless sleep might be a good idea too.” 

Bill gives a shaky nod, and his mother smiles slightly through her tears, kissing him on the forehead. His breathing evens out a bit. 

Is this what mothers are supposed to be like? Regulus finds himself wondering, out of the blue. He shakes himself. 

As Molly gets to her feet, Arthur puts a gentle arm around Bill’s shoulders, holding out his other arm as he passes Fabian, who reluctantly hands his baby daughter back to him.

“Time to go now, Ronnie,” Molly announces, walking over to her youngest son, who’s still excitedly showing Sirius his bright orange shirt. 

The toddler turns around, pouting up at his mother with a look of outraged indignation on his face. 

“But…but…” 

“It’s alright, kid,” Sirius tells him - though Regulus notes with amusement that he looks more than a little put out himself. “You can always keep teaching me about those Cannons another time, eh? Besides,” he adds, “I think your big brother looks like he could do with your help, don’t you?”

“But Bill is my big brother,” Ron replies, looking doubtful. 

Sirius smiles a little sadly, darting a fleeting glance in Regulus’s direction.

“I’ll let you in on a secret, Ron,” he says, leaning in closer to the toddler and lowering his voice to a confidential whisper. “Sometimes big brothers need their little brothers, too.” 

“Oh,” says Ron, his little face lighting up, as Regulus swallows and looks confusedly down at the carpet. “I help Bill!”

“That’s the spirit, kiddo,” Sirius responds, grinning at him. 

The toddler gives him a brief hug goodbye - which, judging by the expression on his face, takes Sirius by surprise - before hurrying over to clutch his older brother’s hand.

“I help you!” he announces brightly. Bill smiles down at him through his tears. 

“Thanks, Ron,” he says quietly, squeezing the kid’s hand slightly in return.

The Weasleys make their way out of the headmaster’s office - except for Molly, who stops at the door.

“Oh - and by the way, Albus,” she says. “I know full well that you haven’t told us everything yet - so don’t think that this conversation is over.” 

And with that, she walks out, trailing after her husband and children. 

Regulus stares after her. Okay, so he has to admit that he’s a little bit impressed. 

“My older sister has seven kids, Professor,” says Fabian, sounding more than a little proud as he breaks the silence. “You can’t get anything past her. I would have thought you’d know that by now.” 

“Oh, I do,” Dumbledore murmurs, smiling slightly despite himself. 

“Well, if you wanted to hide the extent of the damage from them, maybe you shouldn’t have encouraged them to go down to the hospital wing,” Regulus points out sardonically. “You know - the place where Bill’s Petrified victims are lying at this very moment?” 

“I have no intention of trying to hide anything from Molly and Arthur,” the headmaster sighs, “and, as you say, it would be an exceedingly pointless endeavour if I did try. I merely hoped to take some of the pressure off Bill, for a few more hours at least. He has done nothing to deserve it, as you know, and he certainly does need some rest. Now,” he continues, his tone suddenly businesslike as he focuses his piercing gaze on Remus and Regulus, “if you please, gentlemen, I should like to hear a full account of everything that happened down in the Chamber - and I have a feeling that these two” - he nods at Sirius and Fabian - “have been thinking much along the same lines as I have.” 

Regulus glances sideways at his friend. Together, they plunge into the story, filling in the gaps for each other whenever one of them pauses to take a breath, Regulus acutely aware of the fact that Fabian’s gaze never leaves his face while he’s speaking. 

“Moony…you didn’t actually sass Voldemort?” Sirius asks faintly, staring at his boyfriend in awe. 

“Well…the teenage version of Voldemort,” Remus replies, shrugging slightly. “Honestly, the entitled arrogance of that adolescent prick, you wouldn’t believe it - he thought he was so clever, but I swear I’ve got students here who are smarter than he was, and they’re not utter dicks about it, either. He was more infuriating than terrifying, really.” 

“So anyway,” says Regulus hastily, before his brother can spot that Remus is playing it down to try and reassure him, “Fawkes here came and bloody blinded the basilisk, which bought us a few extra seconds. Unfortunately, it still had plenty of pretty sharp teeth, so I didn’t fancy our chances much. But it was definitely distracted for a moment, and that’s when Lupin here randomly ran off to grab the Sorting Hat and pulled it onto his head. I didn’t know what the fuck he was playing at -”

“Neither did I, to be honest,” Remus admits, grimacing a little. “I think I was just acting on sheer desperation, at that point. I actually closed my eyes and begged a bloody hat to help us, like an insane person. But then, next thing I know, something heavy and metallic slams into my head, and when I take the Sorting Hat off, I find that this badass sword has just appeared inside the hat, from nowhere!”

He gestures towards the huge ruby-encrusted sword that Regulus is still holding.

“Indeed,” says Dumbledore, sounding almost amused. “The sword of Gryffindor, to be precise.” 

Everyone freezes at that, staring at the headmaster.

“The…what did you just say?” Remus asks, wide eyed. 

“It has always been said that Godric Gryffindor not only enchanted the Sorting Hat itself,” Dumbledore explains, “but also placed an enchantment upon it to ensure that any future Gryffindors would be able to call upon the assistance of his very own sword, if they were in a moment of great crisis, and if they were demonstrating the kind of courage that would have made him proud. It seems that more than one legend has been confirmed as fact, tonight.” 

“Godric,” says Fabian, after a moment of stunned silence. 

“Literally, it seems,” Regulus adds. 

“That’s my boyfriend!” Sirius practically shouts, looking at Remus with an expression on his face that makes Regulus sorely tempted to tell them to get a room.

“Calm down,” says Remus, though he’s grinning, blushing slightly despite himself.

“Calm down?” Sirius echoes incredulously. “When we’ve just found out that you’ve been officially approved by Godric Bloody Gryffindor himself? Not likely. Though I still can’t believe you went off and got chosen to wield Godric Gryffindor’s sword, and left me and Fab stuck waiting for you in a bloody bathroom.”  

“Oh, shut up, Pads,” Remus replies, rolling his eyes at his boyfriend, despite the fact he’s still grinning broadly. He turns back to Dumbledore.

“So, long story short, I took that sword - Gryffindor’s sword - ran forward, and managed to somehow stab the basilisk. Only I’m not all that used to wielding a sword, so I didn’t do it very well - got a huge fang embedded in my arm for my trouble. Which, admittedly, was not fun.” 

“No,” Regulus agrees through gritted teeth, as Sirius blanches again, “it was not bloody fun.” 

“Everything started to go sort of…blurry,” Remus continues, and for a moment Regulus feels his chest tighten in fear again, even though he knows they’re out now, knows Remus is safe. “And I don’t mind admitting that it hurt like hell. I didn’t think…” his voice cracks, and he glances over at Sirius. “I didn’t think I would be making it back here, to be honest.” 

Sirius makes a small, choked sound, his face tight with pain, and reaches out, grabbing Remus’s hand. His touch seems to steady Remus, who squeezes his boyfriend’s hand in return, taking a deep breath before he continues speaking. 

“Everything seemed to be fading, but I could still make out Riddle standing there, gloating - smug prick. And then I realised that the fang I’d yanked out of my arm was still lying next to me, and so was that diary. I just figured…well, if I was going down, I was gonna make damn sure I took that bastard down with me. So I picked up the basilisk fang, and stabbed the diary.”

“That’s when the Horcrux started spurting torrents of ink everywhere,” Regulus explains, unable to keep the edge of pride out of his voice as he grins at his best friend. “And Riddle screamed - a lot. Almost looked like he was made of pages, y’know? And the pages were burning. Next moment - he was gone. And Bill woke up.” 

“And Fawkes thanked me for my trouble by crying on me,” Remus adds. “See?” He stretches out his arm for them all to see - no sign of the dark wound at all, only the silvery scars he’d already had from his transformations. The absence of the blood is still a little disconcerting for Regulus - the scarlet had been so vivid, scarcely an hour ago. It almost makes him wonder if he’d just imagined the whole thing. “Good as new. Well, good as before, anyway. So…thanks, Fawkes.” 

He gives the phoenix on Dumbledore’s desk a little salute; the majestic bird gives him a little nod, as though acknowledging his thanks. 

Sirius raises the arm that Remus is baring up to his lips, kissing the silvery scars gently, reverently, locking eyes with Remus as he does it. 

“I love you so much, Moony,” he whispers. 

Remus blinks, his gaze distinctly watery as he looks back at him. 

“Love you too, Pads,” he whispers back, his voice still a little cracked. 

“And I’m so proud of you - Merlin’s beard I’m proud - but d’you reckon maybe you could leave the reckless death-defying stunts to me from now on? Just for the sake of my sanity? I mean, that’s supposed to be my thing. You’re meant to be the responsible one here.” 

Remus lets out a laugh that sounds like it’s almost a sob.

“Not all that responsible, apparently,” he says softly. “But…yeah. I can try. No promises though.”

Sirius laughs softly too, and for a moment the two of them close their eyes, pressing their foreheads together silently. 

The moment between them feels so private, so intimate, that Regulus doesn’t know where to look, glancing around Dumbledore’s office awkwardly. He accidentally meets Fabian’s gaze - Fabian who is watching him with a strangely soft expression on his face, something that looks almost like a question in his bright eyes - a question that Regulus doesn’t know how to answer. 

He hastily looks down at the carpet, feeling like an idiot as heat rises in his cheeks. 

Nope. Looking at Fabian definitely doesn’t seem like a good idea, right now. 

Dumbledore clears his throat and Remus and Sirius open their eyes and look up at him, stepping away from each other slightly - Remus looking mildly embarrassed, Sirius looking put out by the interruption.

“Your quick thinking down in the Chamber was remarkable indeed, Remus,” he says quietly, “particularly given the immense danger that you were in. But I confess I am curious - how did you realise so quickly that the diary was another Horcrux?”

“Oh, I didn’t,” Remus clarifies. “Wouldn’t have had a clue. That was Reg - he told me it was a Horcrux about a second after he saw it.” 

Everyone turns to look at Regulus at that - well, except for Fabian, who hadn’t looked away from him in the first place. The headmaster raises one querying eyebrow at him, asking the question wordlessly. 

“I…don’t really know how I knew,” Regulus mutters. “I just sort of…sensed it, I guess? I realise that’s not a great explanation,” he adds hurriedly, “but it just…made all my hair stand on end, from the moment I saw Bill holding it. And Riddle was gloating a lot about how he had ‘preserved himself’ in that diary. With every word he said, I was more sure. That wasn’t just your standard dark magic. It was a Horcrux. A Horcrux he made at sixteen.” 

“Reg told us, almost two years ago, that Basilisk venom is one of the only surefire ways to destroy a Horcrux,” Remus pipes up. “So I just…put it together, I suppose. Bit last minute, but it seemed to work out. Helpful of old Sally Slytherin to store a basilisk in the castle for centuries, really.” 

“May I?” Dumbledore asks, holding out his hand. Remus nods, passing the mangled remains of Riddle’s diary to him. 

Dumbledore turns it over in his hand, examining the thing closely over his half-moon spectacles. Regulus can almost hear the myriad of cogs whirring in the old man’s brain. This is one of those moments when he wishes he had taught himself Legilimency, too, rather than just Occlumency.

“There’s more than just this and the locket,” he says quietly. “Isn’t there?” 

The headmaster looks up at him, the expression on his face showing that his thoughts are many miles away - for a moment, he seems almost surprised to find them all standing in front of him. 

“I’m afraid that you are almost certainly right, Regulus,” he murmurs. “I have suspected, for a while now, that the locket was not the only Horcrux Voldemort had made. And I very much doubt that, once he started, he would have been content to stop at creating just two. Two is not a magically powerful number - no grandeur, no poetry,” he adds, with an edge of scorn in his tone. “Merely creating two Horcruxes would not have appealed to Tom Riddle.” 

“So…how many did he make, then?” Remus asks.

“I cannot know that for certain, Remus.” 

“Have a guess, then,” Regulus and Sirius reply sardonically, at the exact same moment. Again, Fabian and Remus seem to be fighting back smirks. 

“Very well, then, I shall have a guess,” says the headmaster, smiling slightly himself at their identically impatient expressions. “It is a well known fact that the most powerfully magical number is seven. And aiming for optimum magical power would certainly have appealed to Voldemort. So, let’s say he was aiming to split his soul into seven pieces. One part would have to remain in his body, of course…so I would say that his aim was to create a total of six Horcruxes.” 

“Six?!” Fabian and Sirius echo incredulously.

“Six,” Dumbledore confirms, with a heavy sigh. 

“So, what…one down, five to go?” Remus demands, his previous excitement and pride vanishing as he stares at the mangled diary with a crestfallen expression. 

“I said that his aim was most likely to create a total of six,” Dumbledore clarifies. “We cannot know for certain that he has yet succeeded in that lofty goal.”

Small bloody comfort, Regulus wants to snarl, feeling as though the ground has fallen from under his feet. 

“On the other hand, it is better to be safe than sorry,” Dumbledore continues. “So, going forward, let us operate under the assumption that he did succeed in creating six, until proven otherwise. In other words, yes, Remus - one down, five to go.” 

Regulus fights down the impulse to swear at the old man, startle him out of that infuriatingly calm expression. 

“And just where the hell are we supposed to start looking for these other Horcruxes?” Sirius growls, apparently thinking along the same lines as he is. “They could be anything, they could be anywhere!” 

Dumbledore just looks back at him over his half-moon spectacles, perfectly serene. 

“A very good question, Sirius,” he says quietly, “and one that none of us yet know the answer to. But it is getting late,” he sighs, “and after the ordeal that Remus has been through tonight, I think it would not be an altogether bad idea if he were to follow young Mr Weasley’s example, and spend a few hours resting in the hospital wing.”

“I’m fine,” Remus mutters, irritated - but from the look that Sirius shoots him, his forehead creased with worry, Regulus knows immediately that Dumbledore has successfully distracted his brother. For the moment, at least. 

“But -” he begins. 

“Later, Regulus,” Dumbledore says, calmly but firmly. “We shall have more time. Sirius’s question can wait for another day.”

Regulus scowls at him - but Dumbledore’s piercing gaze rests on him, showing no hint of wavering in his resolve. Regulus lets out a small sigh, recognising that he is being dismissed. 

Two Days Later 

Well, Regulus muses with a small sigh, as he screws the stopper onto the last bottle, that’s one less thing to worry about, at least. 

Sprout’s Mandrakes having matured at last, he’s finally been able to finish brewing the Restorative Draught to revive the victims of the basilisk - or at least, he corrects himself with a small jolt, those of the victims that still can be revived. 

Of course, as with brewing the Wolfsbane Potion for Remus, it’s rather difficult for Regulus to test it for himself and see if he’s made it right. But he’s feeling pretty certain, this time. He’s certainly agonised over it enough.

If he’s honest with himself, finishing this Restorative Draught, complicated and frustrating as it’s been, has been a welcome distraction from his thoughts these past two days. 

Regulus had really thought that they were finally getting somewhere, when Remus had destroyed that diary. For one shining moment - perhaps even a whole shining hour - he had even started to feel the beginnings of hope. In that brief window, destroying the Dark Lord, following through on the warning he had anonymously left behind in a locket, in that eerie cave full of green light, had actually felt possible for the first time. Perhaps even achievable. 

But Regulus had never once imagined that the man could have split his soul into seven pieces. He doesn’t think anyone had imagined that, perhaps not even Dumbledore. He’s still trying to wrap his head around the idea; it still makes him feel sick to his stomach. It seems almost too monstrous, too obscene - and the idea of a bunch of inexperienced kids like them being able to take the madman down seems even more laughable than it did before. 

Yes, Remus, the headmaster’s voice echoes in his head. One down. Five to go. 

Lost in thought as he is, a sudden, violent pounding at the door of his office causes Regulus to jump almost out of his skin, only just managing to keep the glass potion bottle in his hands from falling and shattering on the stone floor. 

He feels as though the ground has fallen out from under him, the blood rushing from his face, completely and irrationally certain for one foolish moment that the person currently hammering on his door is none other than the Dark Lord himself, here to collect him now that he knows without a doubt that Regulus has betrayed him. 

No, he realises a split second later, his logic finally catching up to his terror, how would the Dark Lord have crossed the defences of Hogwarts? How would he have got past Dumbledore? Surely Regulus would at least have heard the sounds of a battle outside his office; and besides any of that, if Lord Voldemort was intent on killing him, would he really bother to knock on his door first? 

He swallows, willing his heart to stop pounding so violently that it’s painful.

“Enter,” he calls - though it sounds embarrassingly close to a terrified croak. 

The word is barely even out of his mouth when the door of his office bangs open so hard that it rebounds off the wall - and in storms, to Regulus’s astonishment, Lucius Malfoy. 

But it’s not the same Lucius Malfoy whose head had appeared in Dumbledore’s fireplace a month ago. Not the same Lucius Malfoy that Regulus has known for almost as long as he can remember - cold, haughty, unruffled, utterly self-satisfied, not one silvery blond lock out of place. 

This version of Lucius looks even paler than his usual aristocratic alabaster; his long hair dishevelled, falling half out of the usual sleek ponytail. He appears to have a shadow of stubble on his jaw, and as he comes closer, Regulus detects a powerful smell of Firewhiskey. There is fury in the man’s face; but his rage isn’t strong enough to hide the desperation in those cold grey eyes. For the first time in Regulus’s memory, Lucius Malfoy looks out of control. Almost as though he’s coming apart at the seams. 

“Lucius?” Regulus asks blankly.

Not the most articulate or eloquent greeting, granted, but it feels like the best he’s capable of at this moment. 

“Yes, Regulus,” Malfoy snarls, “that is, indeed, my name. Well done.” 

On any other day, that might have made Regulus feel small and stupid - but Malfoy’s sarcasm hardly carries much venom while he’s in this sorry state.

“But what are you -?”

“Doing here, in your cosy little office?” Malfoy supplies, grinning maniacally at him in a way that looks almost unhinged. “Well, I heard a rumour that the Mudblood-loving old fool had arrived back at Hogwarts, you see, so I thought I would come and investigate for myself. Unfortunately, it would seem that the rumour was not mistaken, given that I have just been to see him in his office.” 

Regulus frowns.

“Who told you Dumbledore was back? How do you know that already?” 

“Well, I must say, I was rather disappointed not to hear the news directly from you, Regulus,” Lucius sneers, sounding for a moment almost like his old self; Regulus blinks, cursing himself as he realises his mistake, but luckily Malfoy doesn’t seem in the mood to dwell on it. “But you would be surprised how easy it is for me to have eyes and ears inside the castle. There are plenty of students in Slytherin who are keen to have their prospects lined up for them the moment they leave Hogwarts, who know me by reputation and are desperate to assist me, in the hopes that I might put in a good word for them with the Dark Lord. You remember the feeling, I assume.” 

He tries not to flinch.

“So that was how you knew about the Muggleborns being attacked?” he asks, his brain working furiously. “That was how you knew the Chamber had been opened?”

Malfoy laughs humourlessly, still sounding manic. 

“Well, they were certainly good at keeping me informed,” he concedes. The mirth vanishes from his face as quickly as it had appeared, as suddenly as a wand being extinguished. “But Dumbledore has just told me that the Chamber has been closed, the monster defeated.”

“Yes,” Regulus replies, struggling not to smirk. “Yes, I heard that, too.” 

“But that’s not all,” Lucius whispers. There isn’t a hint of colour in his cheeks now as he looks at Regulus, and when he speaks again, his voice is a hoarse croak. “The diary, Regulus. He showed me the diary. It’s been destroyed. Butchered.” 

Regulus stares at him. The diary is the reason Lucius Malfoy is coming undone. And suddenly, he remembers something Remus had told him, months ago, on the very first day of the school year, when he had first brewed Wolfsbane for him - and another puzzle piece clicks into place. It’s so obvious, now that he thinks about it - he truly can’t understand how it could have taken him this long to connect the dots. 

“It was you,” he says slowly. “You went out of your way to bump into Arthur Weasley at Flourish and Blotts, back in August. You slipped that diary inside his son’s school book.”

For a moment, Lucius looks taken aback at the amount of details he knows. Recovering from his shock, he glares at him, apparently trying to regain some semblance of dignity. Bit late for that, Regulus muses.

“Yes, I did,” he snaps impatiently. “The Dark Lord gave it to me for safekeeping, about a year and a half ago now. He told me it held the key to opening the Chamber.” 

But did he tell you it was a Horcrux? 

Regulus would bet anything that Malfoy is still in the dark about that part; he can’t imagine the Dark Lord letting anyone in on that secret. And Lucius would hardly have bothered to investigate the thing; he would have just preened at the status it gave him, the confirmation that he was truly part of the Dark Lord’s ‘inner circle’, if such a thing actually exists. 

Regulus looks at Malfoy closely. Something still isn’t quite adding up. The Dark Lord’s plan has backfired, yes - but why should that make Lucius look so desperate? So terrified?

As he stares at him, the pure fear in his grey eyes, he realises suddenly who the man is reminding him of - Peter Pettigrew. At the moment he had looked around at the boys who had once been his best friends, and realised that he was cornered. And finally, the truth begins to dawn on him.

“So?” he prompts quietly, fighting to keep his tone neutral. “What did the Dark Lord say to you? When he heard that his plan to open the Chamber of Secrets had backfired on him?” 

“For Salazar’s sake, Regulus,” Lucius practically screams, his voice raw, sounding as though it’s being ripped from him against his will, out of his control, “don’t you understand? This wasn’t his plan, it was mine! He never knew the Chamber had been opened again, he never even knew the diary was back at Hogwarts - he didn’t have a single fucking clue! As far as he knows right now, the thing is still safe and bloody sound, locked up in my manor - because he told me to keep it there, unless and until I was given explicit instructions otherwise, on pain of death!” 

For a moment, Regulus can do nothing but stare at him, feeling such a dizzying wave of relief that he just barely stops himself from laughing out loud. 

Over these past four months, he’s lost countless hours of sleep, feeling as though he’s constantly looking over his shoulder, fear so thick in his throat that sometimes he thought he would choke on it. He’d been convinced that the Dark Lord hadn’t told him about the plan to open the Chamber because he had lost his trust in him, certain that this whole thing was a test; no, a trap, specifically designed to ensnare him. Constantly wondering why the man hadn’t once asked him for news of the Chamber. Trying to gauge whether his ominous silence was simply part of the trap, intended specifically to torment him, the Dark Lord carefully and patiently giving him enough rope to hang himself with. 

All those months of torturing himself, and now he has his answer - Lord Voldemort had never said a word to him about the Chamber or the terrible happenings at Hogwarts, for the simple reason that he hadn’t had a clue about it himself. As it turns out, everything that’s been happening in the castle, all of that suffering, was due to the man standing in front of him now, trembling, unadulterated terror in his eyes. 

“I see,” Regulus says steadily, as though Malfoy’s confession hasn’t just caused his entire world to spin on its axis. “Well then, if the Dark Lord warned you over a year ago not to take the diary out of your manor, unless he explicitly told you to - was there any particular reason that you decided to foist it off on an unsuspecting Hogwarts student anyway? Or was that a mere whim? Bored of having it in your home, were you? What, did it clash with the rest of the decor?”

Lucius glares at him, evidently not appreciating his sarcasm at this moment. 

“For god’s sake, I had to get rid of the bloody thing somehow,” he snaps. “That bastard Crouch had just announced those damned raids, remember? He was authorising his Auror squadron to search people’s homes at random, even the homes of high ranking Ministry members! How the hell would I have explained that diary away, if they’d found it at my manor? The thing practically radiated Dark magic, they wouldn’t even have needed their Sneakoscopes or whatever other stupid little toys they have - knowing Crouch, I would have been thrown straight into Azkaban, without even a trial! Look what happened to Severus!”
Regulus had almost forgotten Lily Potter reading out that article about Crouch’s new law, until this moment. The massive argument he’d had with his brother immediately afterwards had driven it out of his mind - not to mention the moment with Fabian, which Potter had cut short so unceremoniously. 

“I see,” he says again, pulling himself back to the present. “Well…” he shrugs. “All in all, that probably wasn’t the cleverest decision you’ve ever made, was it, Lucius?” 

“Thanks,” Malfoy snarls at him. “Wonderfully helpful, Black. Honestly, I don’t know why the hell my wife is so damned fond of you.” 

Regulus blinks, taken by surprise a little. Narcissa had certainly been kind to him when he was a child, protective even - realising, perhaps, that anybody who orbited around Sirius as much as he did was likely to become a target, if only because of their proximity. But it had never really occurred to him that she might still have a soft spot for him, even now. Then again, Narcissa, like him, had been taught from an early age to discard any part of herself that was soft - or, failing that, to conceal those parts as best as possible. 

“But,” he says, shaking himself a little again as he focuses on Lucius again, “when you spoke to Dumbledore through his fireplace, you made it sound as if you were going to report the Chamber opening, if he didn’t leave Hogwarts…”

“Yes, well, that was rather my intention, Regulus,” Malfoy replies, managing for a split second to sound like his usual condescending self again. “Have you ever known me to let an advantage pass me by?” 

Regulus raises an eyebrow at him. 

“So that was just a bluff?” 

“Obviously,” Malfoy answers, through gritted teeth. 

Regulus has to give that one to him - it had been a pretty convincing bluff. He might even have gotten away with it, if not for - 

“Dumbledore just told me that it was that grubby half-breed he recruited from the Order, who somehow went down to the Chamber and managed to destroy the diary,” Lucius continues, evidently following a similar train of thought. “The one who was always so obsessed with your dear brother…Lupin, isn’t it?”

For a moment, Regulus feels a hot flare of anger in the pit of his stomach; for a split second he considers smugly informing Lucius that actually, he had been  there too, proudly fighting alongside that ridiculously brave ‘half-breed.’ 

But no, he realises; Dumbledore had omitted him from the story for one very obvious reason. As far as Malfoy knows, he and Regulus are still on the same side of this war - technically speaking, at least. He chastises himself for almost giving in to that reckless, stupid urge to gloat - Merlin, I have been hanging around these Gryffindor idiots for too long. 

“That’s right,” he replies coolly, keeping his face completely blank. “Or at least, that’s the story I heard. It will be all around the castle soon, I don’t doubt - clever Professor Lupin. Brave Professor Lupin.” 

Malfoy’s face darkens, his icy grey eyes narrowing - for a brief moment, his rage seems to eclipse his fear. 

“Bastard,” he snarls, his shaking hands balling into fists at his sides. “I’ll get him for that.” 

Despite the haughty facade he’s aiming for, Regulus feels a lurch of sickening fear deep in the pit of his stomach. He thinks of his best friend, who had escaped death so narrowly only two days ago, who is recovering in the hospital wing at this very moment, no doubt with Sirius still stubbornly refusing to leave his bedside. 

“You know, Lucius,” he replies, glad that he sounds much calmer than he feels, “I think I would be rather careful, if I were you.”

“Is that a threat, Black?” Malfoy spits. 

Regulus shrugs, an almost bored gesture. 

“More of an observation, really. No doubt the entire story of what’s been happening here at Hogwarts will end up all over the Prophet soon enough. As things stand, you’ll be very lucky if the Ministry doesn’t trace that diary back to you - are you sure you want to push your luck even further? Risk going on trial for attacking a Hogwarts teacher, too?” Malfoy stares at him wordlessly. “Besides,” he continues, feeling a small curl of satisfaction in his chest now as he pushes his advantage, “even if Crouch and his Aurors don’t manage to figure out how that little diary made its way into Hogwarts…well, the Dark Lord certainly will, won’t he?” 

Malfoy’s face immediately drains of what little colour it had left, the threatening look of rage swiftly snuffed out like a candle. He looks absolutely haggard, gaunt with terror, as though he’s aged at least thirty years since the day he’d gloated so smugly at Dumbledore from his fireplace. 

Despite himself, Regulus suddenly finds himself feeling the tiniest twinge of pity for the man. Not that he deserves it, of course - Regulus has never been able to stand Lucius Malfoy for long. For good reason. But still…he doesn’t think he’s ever seen anybody look quite so defeated as Malfoy does right now. 

“Lucius,” he says quietly. “I think it might be wise if…if you went into hiding.” Malfoy blinks at him, as though he’s struggling to comprehend the words. “Perhaps you could take Narcissa with you? And your son, too?” 

He’s certainly more concerned about his cousin’s safety than her husband’s. And he supposes the kid, Draco, hasn’t done anything to deserve any of this - he’s only about the same age as Sirius’s godson, as far as he recalls. 

Lucius is clutching the back of the chair across from Regulus’s desk, so tightly that his knuckles are turning white. He bows his head for a moment so that his uncharacteristically dishevelled locks fall across his face, obscuring his expression.

“No,” he says suddenly.

Regulus blinks.

“No?” he echoes. 

Lucius takes a deep breath and raises his head, meeting his eyes; when he speaks, his voice sounds steady, sure, for the first time since he’d barged into Regulus’s office. 

“I don’t mean ‘no, I won’t hide,’” he clarifies. “I mean no, as in I will not take Narcissa and Draco with me. This is my mess - and I will not be responsible for putting targets on my wife and son’s backs.” 

Regulus stares at him. Malfoy’s thin lips are set, his expression resolved. Well, he muses. People can always surprise you. 

Lucius turns to leave his office, walking slowly, his shoulders hunched as though he’s carrying a great weight. Regulus assumes that’s the end of the conversation - but just as Malfoy reaches the door, he turns back, his face pale and set. 

“But mark my words,” he says, his voice low and dangerous, pale eyes gleaming with vengeance, “I will make that half-breed pay for destroying my life. Even if it is the last thing I do.” 

Regulus feels his breath hitch in his throat, as the impact of Malfoy’s malicious words hits him. He hadn’t fully registered, before, that Lucius wasn’t just sneering at Remus for being a half-blood. Half-breed, he’d said. Had he simply misspoken, in his terror? Or had he spoken very deliberately?

“Goodbye, Regulus,” says Lucius Malfoy, with a small smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I hope you make wiser choices in your life than I have in mine.” 

With that, he’s gone, leaving Regulus alone with the leaden weight of fear. 

“Ah, Professor Black,” Madam Pomfrey greets him, when he barges into the hospital wing ten minutes later, still feeling sick with fear, his heart pounding. “You have the Restorative Draught for me, I take it?” she asks, beaming at him.

Regulus blinks at her; the woman makes a valid point, now he thinks about it, although that certainly wasn’t the reason he’d come here. 

“Oh…right, yeah,” he mutters, “Accio Restorative Draught.” 

He gives his wand an absentminded flick; a moment later, the potion bottle that he’d filled and stoppered a moment before Malfoy had pounded on his office door zooms through the open door of the hospital wing towards them. Pomfrey pulls it from midair.

“Thank you,” she says sincerely, “you have done a wonderful thing by brewing this, Regulus.” 

He doesn’t miss the bewildered look she gives him; no doubt wondering why he should have needed to summon it.

“No problem,” he mutters, not meeting her gaze; frantically, he looks around for Remus’s bed. He has to tell him, has to warn him…

“Oh,” he says, his voice coming out slightly choked as he spots his friend - his friend who is currently fast asleep, his fingers entwined with Sirius’s, who is, predictably, sitting at his bedside. 

“What, Reg?” Sirius asks, frowning slightly as he looks up at him. 

It’s not the aggressive glare he frequently directs at him, though; the soppy expression hasn’t quite faded from his face yet, the one he’d been wearing a moment ago as he’d gazed down at his sleeping boyfriend. 

Clearly, his brother is still basking in his certainty that Remus is safe, that he’ll make a full recovery - and as for Remus himself, Regulus isn’t sure he’s ever seen his friend looking quite this calm and peaceful, this unguarded. Sirius must have been making him laugh, just before he fell asleep; Regulus could swear he’s still grinning slightly even as he snoozes, his mouth lifting at the corners. 

“I…uh…”

Regulus has to tell Sirius. He has to. Merlin, he can’t do this. He can’t shatter his brother’s happiness, can’t bear to see the fear in his eyes. Not here, not now. Not again. 

And what if it’s more than just fear? What if Sirius is furious with him? What if he blames him, pushes him away again, calls Regulus a coward for not admitting his part in all of this to Lucius, and letting Remus take the fall? And if Sirius said that…he’d be right, wouldn’t he? Isn’t Regulus just a coward - and a selfish one, at that? 

As Sirius stares at him, his expression becoming increasingly concerned, Regulus starts to feel a little dizzy, realising distantly that his breathing is starting to creep towards hyperventilation. 

Then, out of nowhere, he feels a warm hand on his shoulder - a very gentle pressure, but somehow still grounding.

“D’you fancy a walk, Regulus? I could do with some air - looks like maybe you could too, yeah?”

He blinks, not quite sure why he suddenly has tears in his eyes. He glances up to see Fabian grinning reassuringly at him, although the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, as he gazes down at Regulus in concern. Despite himself, he feels his heart do the same backflip it always does when he’s in the vicinity of this man - god, he’s pathetic. 

Regulus takes a deep breath, trying to seem less like he’s on the verge of a nervous breakdown. 

“But…your nephew…” he protests, darting a glance over at Bill. 

Unlike Remus, the kid is sitting up in bed, wide awake, sipping from what looks like a mug of hot chocolate, both his parents sitting at his bedside. Molly narrows her eyes slightly in suspicion as she looks back at Regulus, while Arthur simply looks curious, looking back and forth between him and Fabian. 

“You can do without me for an hour or so, can’t you, kiddo?” Fabian asks, turning to grin at Bill. “I mean, I know it will be dead boring for a while, but -”

“Oi!” says Sirius indignantly. “I’m a bloody riot, I’ll have you know, Prewett!”

Bill giggles.

“Yeah. I’ll be okay, Uncle Fab. Thanks.” 

“Any time,” he grins. Regulus can tell that Fabian’s talking loudly and cheerfully to try and draw attention away from him, and his rapidly approaching anxiety attack; he wishes he had the words to express his gratitude properly. “Well then, I shall leave you in Sirius’s capable hands for a bit, shall I?” Molly glares at him. “And your mum’s alright too, I suppose,” Fabian adds hastily, already guiding Regulus gently out of the hospital wing. 

It feels a little easier to breathe already, he muses, away from his brother and his expectant look. 

Blindly, he lets Fabian guide him through the corridors and out the oak front doors, paying barely any attention to where they’re going, focusing instead on trying to control his breathing - in, out, he reminds himself. 

When Fabian gently nudges him to sit down under an enormous beech tree, the grass dappled with warm golden sunlight, Regulus blinks, feeling a little disoriented as he gazes out at the smoothly rippling surface of the lake. For a split second, he almost feels like he’s gone back in time. 

“I used to sit here. Watching Sirius acting like a prat with his friends,” he murmurs, not quite meaning to say the words aloud. “Used to wonder how I’d managed to lose him. If I’d ever get him back.” 

Fabian hums slightly as he sits down on the grass directly opposite him. The expression on his face is a little too understanding for Regulus’s liking.

“Bit better out here?” he asks gently.

Regulus nods, realising only in that moment how true it is. 

“Yeah.” His voice sounds a little hoarse; he clears his throat. “Thanks.” 

“Any time,” Fabian responds, with a small, soft grin; Regulus finds he has to look away, overwhelmed. Fabian allows a peaceful silence to linger for a moment, before he speaks again.

“So…d’you wanna tell me what it is that’s upset you so much? The thing that you couldn’t tell your brother?”

Regulus looks up at him again, startled.

“You don’t have to,” the other man adds hastily. “Obviously.”

“But…how did you…?”

Fabian gives him another smile - soft, but something about it is a little sad, too.

“I know you, Regulus,” he says quietly, shrugging slightly - and oh. 

Regulus feels his breath hitch in his throat, something warm flooding through his veins, like molten gold. Could drown in you, he thinks, not for the first time. 

“Right,” he replies. He’s not sure why it comes out as a whisper.

They’re both silent for a moment, looking at each other. 

“It’s just,” says Fabian, shifting a little, “I know that you and Sirius aren’t exactly gentle with each other, as a rule. But you looked so scared to tell him, back there - I figured it must be something pretty big.”

Regulus swallows, twisting his hands together a little as the anxiety starts to rise inside him again. 

“But like I said, you can tell me to piss off and mind my own business, if you like,” the other man reminds him, his voice gentle, as though he’s worried of scaring him off. “You don’t have to tell me anything.”

“It’s alright,” Regulus replies, taking a deep breath, looking up to meet those bright blue eyes. “I want to tell you.” 

As Fabian looks at him, with no judgement in his eyes, only concern, Regulus spills out the whole story, speaking so fast that he barely pauses for breath - explaining how Malfoy had just shown up in his office, terrified and desperate. Explaining how everything that’s been happening at Hogwarts over the past few months can be traced back to Malfoy’s choice to rid himself of a highly incriminating dark artefact, by foisting it off on a child. Fabian’s face darkens at that, an uncharacteristic look of rage flickering across his features as his hands momentarily curl into fists at his side. On the other hand, when Regulus clarifies another of the implications of Lucius’s confession - the Dark Lord doesn’t suspect him of defecting, there never was a trap - Fabian’s eyes widen, and he swears that, for a split second, all he can see in those bright blue depths is sheer relief. 

“And just before he left, he said, and I quote, ‘I will make that half-breed pay for destroying my life - even if it’s the last thing I do’”, Regulus whispers, his heart pounding with fear again. “And I…I didn’t tell him that I was in the Chamber too, I let him think that it was all Remus’s fault.” He can feel the familiar sensation of shame crawling under his skin, clogging his throat so that his voice comes out hoarse. “I don’t know what Malfoy meant by ‘half-breed’, I don’t see how he could know…” he swallows, before looking desperately up at Fabian again. “He sounded pretty bloody determined to do some damage. I don’t know what the hell he’s planning, but if something happens to Remus now, when he’s only just recovering…it would be my fault, Fabian. And Sirius…” his voice cracks. “Sirius would never forgive me. Hell, he shouldn’t forgive me, I wouldn’t, in his shoes.” He blinks, wishing his vision wasn’t blurring with these stupid tears again. “I should have done more to shield him. Except I’m too fucking selfish for that.” He laughs at himself scornfully; a bitter, hollow sound. “You wouldn’t think I’d still be surprising myself with my own selfishness, would you? And yet.” 

“Hey.” Suddenly, Regulus feels those hands holding his shoulders again, the weight of them warm, gentle. Grounding. The moment he looks up and meets those bright blue eyes, he’s caught; he’s not sure he could look away, even if he wanted to. “Breathe, Regulus.” 

He obeys, trying to concentrate on a steady rhythm; in, out. 

“That’s good,” Fabian tells him, his tone encouraging. 

“God, how do you put up with me?” Regulus chokes.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Fabian responds immediately. “That’s my job. And my right as a Gryffindor.”

He makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. 

“Look,” Fabian continues gently, rubbing tiny circles into Regulus’s shoulders with his thumbs - it’s honestly embarrassing how soothing he finds that tiny gesture. “Remus Lupin is made of bloody strong stuff, you know that - I mean, Merlin, he was bitten by a sodding basilisk two days ago, and he’s already back to bickering with Sirius! And speaking of your brother - seems to me that he’s always on the warpath where you’re concerned anyway, so what are the odds?” 

Regulus laughs weakly again, despite himself. He has no idea how Fabian is so good at making him do that; maybe he’s just magic, in a way that nobody else is. 

“I reckon we should try to be logical here - isn’t that supposed to be your area of expertise, with that massive brain you’ve got in there? You know you couldn’t have told Malfoy that you were down in the Chamber with Remus - that would have completely blown your cover, Regulus. It would have completely screwed up everything you’ve been working for for nearly two years now - remember?” 

“Right,” he mutters. It’s harder to argue, when Fabian puts it like that. 

“And as for that complete bastard Malfoy” - the redhead’s face darkens momentarily again with that uncharacteristic rage - “it seems to me like he was just making empty threats, Regulus. You said he admitted to going against a direct order from You-Know-Who, right? And you reminded him it won’t be long before he figures that out?” 

He nods. 

“Well then, he was just terrified, that’s all,” says Fabian, with far more confidence than Regulus feels. “He knows bloody well that he’s cornered. And snakes lash out when they’re backed into a corner,” he adds with satisfaction. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I understand why you’re freaking out,” he says hastily, “but it seems pretty unlikely to me that Malfoy will actually manage to do anything, in his situation. You and Remus have outplayed him, pure and simple. Besides - I know it’s easier said than done, but there’s really not much point in worrying about that pathetic git now, is there? If we really have to worry about something, and I know that’s your raison d’etre, as you poshos like to say” - Regulus can’t help but grin a little at his butchered pronunciation, picturing the look on his mother’s face if she could hear it - “well then, can’t we worry about something that is in our control to change?” 

“Like the locket,” Regulus murmurs, freezing as the realisation hits him like a bolt of lightning. 

“Like…what?” Fabian asks, looking slightly unnerved by his sudden change in tone. 

“The locket,” he breathes, his anxiety finally beginning to drain away as a heady sensation floods through him, intoxicating in its unfamiliarity - hope. “The other Horcrux, Fabian, the first one - the one we took from that cave, the one that’s been hanging around for nearly two years! I think…I think we might finally actually be able to destroy the bloody thing!”

“Christ,” the taller man replies, staring at him with wide eyes, looking as though he hardly dares to believe his ears. “Are you…are you sure?” 

“I…yeah,” he answers, gazing back at him. “Yeah, I think so. We could destroy it the same way Remus butchered that diary; I took some basilisk fangs back from the Chamber, remember?”

Fabian lets out a stunned laugh, and for a split second he beams at Regulus excitedly, his entire face lighting up like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. Regulus wishes he had a Pensieve at hand, so he could go back and replay this moment endlessly. But then Fabian’s grin fades, and he’s looking at Regulus with a doubtful, almost awkward expression.

“I…not to bring the mood down, or anything,” he says hesitantly. “But…wouldn’t we actually have to be able to open the stupid thing, in order to stab it? Isn’t that the whole reason we haven’t been able to destroy it in the first place - because none of us could figure out how to open it?”

Regulus just stares at him, feeling as though the bubble of hope in his chest has been savagely punctured, vanishing as swiftly as it had arrived. Fabian’s expression is apologetic, as though he knows exactly how he’s feeling. 

Idiot, Regulus chastises himself, that’s a pretty obvious flaw in the plan, isn’t it? 

Frantically, he casts about for a solution, some way around the obstacle that’s been blocking their path so infuriatingly, for so long.

And then, to his shock, he thinks of it, in one sudden, glorious stroke of inspiration. In that moment, he can’t stop himself from grinning at Fabian - who, rather than looking reassured, only looks more concerned, as though worried Regulus has finally cracked. Reasonable, he supposes.

“You know what?” he says, his voice trembling a little with excitement. “I think I might actually have an idea.”

“Would you mind giving me a little clue as to just what the hell is going on, please, Regulus?” Fabian huffs a few minutes later, once they’re back in his office and the door is firmly shut behind them. 

He’d been asking him to explain himself all the way up from the lake, but Regulus had been so intent on his purpose that he had barely registered the other man’s questions. 

“I mean, Merlin, Regulus, you can’t just go pulling a bloke into your office like that without even slightly explaining yourself - he might get ideas!” Regulus feels heat flooding his face at that, and he quickly bends over so the other man won’t see, tapping his desk drawer with his wand to unlock it. “Besides, you’re stronger than you look - you nearly tore my bloody arm off!” Fabian complains, although his teasing grin ruins the effect slightly.

“Oh, shut up, you’re fine,” Regulus retorts, tapping his wand again and muttering another spell under his breath; instantly, Slytherin’s locket appears in the drawer as if from nowhere, the invisibility spell Regulus had cloaked it with lifted. 

Pulling it out, he places the Horcrux in front of Fabian on the desk; then, withdrawing a single basilisk fang from the mokeskin pouch he had secreted them in, he places it next to the locket and steps back, grinning up at the taller man. For a moment, there’s silence. 

“...Alright, I’m still confused,” Fabian confesses, looking utterly bewildered. “Maybe I’m just not as clever as you - but didn’t we just agree that we won’t be able to destroy the damn thing without being able to open it first?” 

“We did, yes,” says Regulus, a little smug. “But, thing is, I think I might have just figured out a way to open it.” Fabian raises one eyebrow, clearly trying his best not to look sceptical, and Regulus takes a deep breath, knowing this might sound more than a little insane. “I think I might be able to command the locket to open. Using Parseltongue.” 

Whatever the redhead had been expecting him to say, it wasn’t that, apparently. His sceptical expression falls away, and he stares at Regulus with pure astonishment on his face.

“I…what…Parseltongue? You mean, like…snake language?” 

He nods. “Yeah.” 

Fabian’s frown only deepens, as though Regulus isn’t clarifying very much.

“But…you can’t speak snake language, can you? Or at least, you’ve never once mentioned it…did you just assume it was a given? Is this some special secret talent that your batshit family inherited from Salazar Slytherin, or something?” 

“No, I can’t speak it,” Regulus huffs, rolling his eyes at this question. “Or at least, not in normal circumstances.”

“So…?” Fabian prompts. 

“I think…” he hesitates a little. “I think I might at least be able to use the command ‘open’. Remus and I followed your nephew the other day, when we saw him on the Map. We heard what he said to open the Chamber, and I copied the word so we could get in for ourselves, because the entrance closed behind him pretty quickly. So, I figure, if I really focus, I should be able to use that same word to open the locket.” 

“What?” Fabian asks slowly, eyes wide, still looking utterly bewildered. “But Bill can’t speak Parseltongue either?” 

Fuck. He’d forgotten, in the thrill of his epiphany, that he and Remus had agreed to try and keep the worst of it from Fabian. After all, ignorance is bliss…apparently. Regulus wouldn’t really know, personally. 

Perfect. Well done. 

“Well…no,” he says awkwardly. Fabian is still staring at him, looking desperate to understand what he’s missing here, and Regulus sighs - too late to go back now. “At least, I’m sure he can’t speak a word of it now. But he was certainly fluent while he was under the influence of that diary. Your nephew was sort of…being possessed and controlled by that Horcrux. As in, he had a piece of the Dark Lord’s soul embedded in him? Since the beginning of September?”

Every trace of colour vanishes from Fabian’s face as he stares at Regulus with an expression of blank horror. Regulus winces; he looks completely frozen to the spot. For a moment, he wonders if he’s broken him, somehow. 

“Fabian?” he asks anxiously. 

“Godric fucking Gryffindor,” the redhead croaks, his voice hoarse. 

He sinks down into the chair opposite Regulus’s desk, burying his face in his shaking hands for a moment; Regulus is reminded of the night he’d told him who the spy in the Order was. The man responsible for Gideon’s murder.

“You’re telling me, Regulus,” he demands, finally lifting his head from his hands after a few moments of agonising silence, “that my nephew was being controlled by You-Know-Who, having his free will completely stolen from him, for almost six months? While I just pissed around in Hogsmeade, exchanging stupid, ridiculous theories with Sirius, being completely fucking useless and clueless?” 

Well, it doesn’t sound great when he puts it like that. 

“You weren’t being ‘useless’,” Regulus protests, choosing not to address the first part, “you were trying your best to help us!”

Fabian laughs, a bitter, scornful sound. 

“Right. Fat lot of good that did. Merlin,” he mutters, splaying his hands over his face again. “Molly is going to murder me. And I’ll bloody well deserve it, too.” 

Regulus flinches. Fabian is just as much of an open book as always, and he can see all the emotions flickering across his face. Guilt. Shame. Self-disgust. He’s never seen those sorts of feelings on Fabian Prewett’s open, sunny, honest face. They look profoundly wrong. Like they don’t belong. 

Regulus feels something twist viciously in his chest, something deep inside him crying out at the sight of Fabian hurting. Without meaning to, without consciously thinking about it, he steps forward and reaches up, gently prising the taller man’s hands away from his face. Merlin, he’s so warm; like he has sunlight coursing through his veins. 

“Hey,” Regulus says softly, not quite sure why his voice comes out as a whisper. Fabian looks up, blinking, looking a little startled at the contact. “Stop that. You don’t wallow in self-loathing, that’s my job. And my right as a Slytherin.” 

Despite the worry in his eyes, the corner of Fabian’s lips twitch in a small, reluctant grin at that. It’s a bit pathetic, perhaps, but Regulus honestly thinks he’s never felt prouder of anything in his life. 

“Look,” he admits quietly, “I don’t know for sure that this will work. But, if Dumbledore is right - and he usually is, unfortunately, the old bastard” - Fabian huffs out a small laugh at that, and Regulus feels another tiny swell of pride in his chest - “then we still have five Horcruxes left to destroy before we have any chance of winning this war. And if I have a chance now, even a tiny chance, of getting rid of this damned thing that’s been haunting us for almost two years, of whittling it down so there’s ‘only’ four Horcruxes left…well, I have to at least try, don’t I? I mean, if we don’t destroy this locket once and for all, then everything we went through in that cave - everything Kreacher went through - will be for nothing, won’t it?”

Fabian grins at him, those beautiful eyes glistening with tears. 

“Y’know, you’re sounding more like a Gryffindor every day,” he says.

“Oh, piss off, Prewett,” Regulus replies, rolling his eyes - though he can’t manage to keep his own grin at bay. “You know this is just because I don’t want Lupin getting all the glory.” 

“Right, of course,” the redhead agrees, humouring him. “Must be that.” 

He takes a deep breath, all traces of humour vanishing from his face. 

“So?” he asks anxiously, nodding at Slytherin’s locket and the basilisk fang lying next to it, his myriad of freckles standing out starkly against his skin, as always when he’s frightened and trying not to show it. “How are we gonna do this, then?”

Regulus swallows, feeling suddenly like his heart is trying to claw its way up through his throat. He’s really going to do this. Well. He’s going to try, at least. 

“Well, assuming I can actually manage a close enough approximation of Parseltongue again,” he murmurs, eyes fixed on the heavy gold locket as he lifts up the basilisk fang, almost absentmindedly, “then you can help me by making sure the thing actually stays open, and I’ll do my best to stab it.”

“Okay,” Fabian croaks, looking very far from reassured by this vague semblance of a plan. 

“Oh, I should probably give you a heads up,” Regulus adds awkwardly. “Even if I do manage to get this thing open with Parseltongue…this isn’t going to be exactly easy.”

“Meaning?” Fabian whispers.

“Well, obviously I don’t know exactly what’s going to happen - but this thing is designed to protect a piece of the Dark Lord’s soul, remember? So whatever’s in there…I’m fairly certain it will put up one hell of a fight. Might even try to kill me.” 

The other man stares at him with a look of pure terror, any last vestige of colour draining from his face. 

“Regulus…” he whispers. “I don’t know if…”

“We need to get rid of this thing, remember?” Regulus reminds him, hoping that he sounds a lot braver than he feels. “I’m going to try this - but I’m not telling you that you have to help me.” Fabian blinks. “I’m asking you to help me. Please, Fabian.”

The taller man simply stares at him for a long moment, those bright blue eyes tracing over his face. Regulus waits patiently. 

Finally, Fabian gives a small nod, moving closer to the desk, still gazing, not at the locket, but at Regulus. 

“Ready when you are,” he whispers. 

Regulus nods, too, letting out a slow, shaky exhale as he lifts the basilisk fang higher. Still feeling Fabian’s gaze, he stares down at the coiled serpent carved in gold on the locket, with its tiny emerald eyes; he tilts his head a little, so that it almost looks like it’s moving slightly. 

Focusing hard on the sounds he had heard Bill make, back at the entrance to the Chamber, Regulus opens his mouth, distantly surprised by the chilling, inhuman hiss that emerges from him, as though the unnerving sound is coming from somebody else. He’s vaguely aware of Fabian’s flinch, but he doesn’t look up at him, still focusing intently on the locket in front of him, which - to his astonishment - finally swings open with a little click. 

 Regulus can’t help but recoil slightly at the sight in front of him; behind both of the glass windows within the locket, a living, human eye blinks at him, dark and handsome and eerily familiar. Riddle’s eyes, he realises. With one shaking hand, he raises the basilisk fang higher, preparing to strike - but a chilling voice hisses from the Horcrux, freezing him to the spot. 

“I have seen your heart, and it is mine.” 

Fabian lets out a strangled yelp of horror, his knuckles whitening as he holds the locket in place. 

“I have seen your dreams, Regulus Black, and I have seen your fears. All you desire is possible, but all that you dread is also possible…”

“Ignore it, Regulus!” he hears Fabian yell, as though from a great distance away. He knows the other man is probably right, knows he should probably listen to him - but the problem is, that hissing voice is strangely compelling. He can’t seem to tear his gaze away from those dark eyes within the locket. 

“Regulus, stab it!” Fabian cries.

Stab…yes… 

Shaking himself furiously, he blinks, lifting the fang still higher - at that moment, Riddle’s eyes gleam scarlet. 

Without warning, a silvery figure suddenly blooms out of the locket’s window; Regulus lets out an involuntary exclamation of shock and fear at the same moment Fabian does, backing away instinctively as Fabian snatches his fingers away from the locket sharply with a grimace. Apparently, it had done something to hurt him. For a moment, Regulus can’t seem to do anything but stare up in appalled horror as the figure blossoms into being, first chest, then waist, then legs, until the figure of a middle-aged woman is towering over the two of them. A middle-aged woman who is beautiful in an icy, remote way, with high cheekbones and silvery eyes even colder than her flesh-and-blood counterpart, gazing down at Regulus with an expression of utter contempt on her aristocratic face. 

His mother. 

“I should have known, I suppose, that you would prove an utter disgrace to this family, too,” says the spectre of Walburga Black, gazing down at her son as though he’s nothing but a bug, as though she’s debating whether he’s even worth the effort of squashing. “Chasing after that blood traitor brother of yours again, I presume? I had rather hoped you would have grown out of that when you stopped crying every time he left for Hogwarts; but no, still a pathetic, weak little boy, I see. What do you hope to achieve, Regulus, running off like this, betraying the Dark Lord, just so you can feel yourself included in Dumbledore’s motley gang of blood traitors, Mudbloods and half-breeds? What, do you want to consider yourself some sort of brave hero, seeking redemption, forgiveness for the things you have done?” 

Walburga lets out a shrill laugh that echoes around the small room, and Regulus stares up at his mother, wishing he could turn away but utterly transfixed, even as hot shame curls under his skin, digging its claws into his chest. 

“Oh, but even if you could fool them, Regulus, you cannot fool me!” Walburga declares gleefully, her silvery face shining with vindictive triumph. “I know you! You are nothing like your brother, even though you desperately wish you were. Sirius may be a stupid fool who betrayed this family, but at least he actually had the guts to pull away from us, to stand up for the things that he believes, in his deluded naivete, to be right and noble. Whereas you, Regulus - didn’t you ever realise, you pathetic little boy, that we only ever told you you were a good heir, a credit to this family, because we knew it made you even easier to control? You never could stomach the responsibilities we gave you, that the Dark Lord gave you; deep down, you were always just as sickened by it all as your brother was. But you still stayed, still tried to do the things that were demanded of you, pretending all the while that your conscience wasn’t telling you otherwise - because you were so terrified of what might happen to you if you disobeyed, weren’t you? You never truly believed you were on the right side of this war - you were just too frightened to change course. Because you are still exactly what you have always been, Regulus - a weak, pathetic coward.” 

He stands, staring up at her, feeling as though she is slowly peeling his skin away, until there’s nothing left of him but the most vulnerable, repulsive parts, the parts of himself he yearns to tear away, pretend were never there in the first place. “And it’s already too late for you now,” Walburga crows, “you can’t suddenly pretend to be a hero - you have the Dark Lord’s mark on your arm, don’t you, boy? None of them trust you - you realise that, don’t you? Sirius certainly doesn’t want you there.”

Regulus is shaking now, breathing in shallow gasps.

“Ignore her, Regulus!” Fabian shouts, far away in the distance. “She’s lying, none of it is true!” 

“It is true, actually,” says another all-too-familiar voice. 

Regulus feels his hands trembling violently as the eye in the locket gleams scarlet again, and a second silvery figure blossoms from it, straightening up as it emerges, so that he finds himself staring up at towering, ghostly versions of both his mother and his brother, standing side by side and looking down at him with equally contemptuous expressions - although the look Sirius is giving him is laced with fury, too. 

“The mad old bitch is actually right, for once in her life,” the silvery echo of Sirius announces. “Merlin, Reg, why the hell do you think I ran away in the first place? It wasn’t just Mum and Dad - I was desperate to get away from you. You disgust me, Reg, always have. You’ll do whatever it takes to stay safe, won’t you? No matter how many people you hurt? 

I couldn’t wait to get away from you when I went to Hogwarts, but then I still had to put up with you whenever we were back at Grimmauld Place. You never could manage to stand up for yourself - and you certainly couldn’t be bothered to stand up for me, could you? I used to try and protect you, when we were kids - never returned the favour though, did you? Not when it inconvenienced you. Is it really any wonder that I ran to the Potters? James is certainly a better brother than you ever were - he actually manages to care about people other than himself.”

“Don’t listen to it, Regulus, that isn’t Sirius!” he distantly hears Fabian shout - but still he can’t manage to tear his eyes away from the silvery, sneering version of his brother towering over him. 

“And then,” Sirius jeers,  “as if you hadn’t done enough damage, you decided to follow me to the Order - realised that Dumbledore could shield you better than your precious Dark Lord, did you? There was me thinking I’d finally managed to get rid of you, and suddenly you’re everywhere I bloody turn, trying to convince people to trust you - trying to ingratiate yourself with my boyfriend, my friends. It’s pathetic, really - but then, what else is new? I mean, take Fab, for instance - you don’t honestly think he’s stupid enough to actually care about you, do you, Reg?” 

“Of course I don’t care about him,” says another voice as familiar as the back of his hand - next moment, a third silvery figure is blossoming out of the locket, straightening up on Walburga’s other side. 

Next to him, Fabian lets out a cry of shock, staring up in horror and confusion at his own ghostly echo, towering over the pair of them. 

The silvery version of Fabian is grinning down at Regulus, somehow even more beautiful than the real Fabian at his side, mischief in his gaze. But there’s something profoundly and unnervingly wrong in that grin, as though he’s looking at a distorted picture. It’s not just playful, it’s mocking, sharp, cruel even - there’s a strange, dark edge to that mischievous expression, as though this echo of Fabian is laughing gleefully at the prospect of making Regulus small. 

“I don’t care about you at all, really, Regulus,” he says, still grinning that knife-sharp grin. “Sorry to break it to you like this, and all - I just felt a bit sorry for you, to be honest. To begin with, anyway - but then as soon as I said one polite word to you, you were all over me, clinging, so clearly desperate for me to touch you, smile at you, even look at you. And look, I know you’ve had a pretty fucked up life, and you’re clearly a bit touch-starved or something; but, the way I see it, Regulus, that really isn’t my problem. Honestly, why would I ever want to touch you? Hell, why would anyone? I mean, you’re not just screwed up - you screw other people up. From where I’m standing, it seems like you destroy everything you touch, Regulus. Just look at you, standing there with that mark on your arm, still running to You-Know-Who when he whistles, still happily sending people off to get hurt or killed, ‘on Dumbledore’s orders’, of course, just so you can keep feeling safe and secure. I bet you think my brother’s death was a necessary sacrifice, don’t you?” The silvery Fabian’s face is twisted with bitter scorn now. “What would you care, as long as you’re still alive and safe? As long as you can convince me to keep feeling sorry for you, maybe even to touch you?” He laughs mockingly, the sound echoing around the room, his grin widening. “I regret ever trying to be kind to you, Regulus Black. You’re a lot more effort than you’re worth, has anybody ever told you that? I look at you… and I feel sick. These two are right, y’know,” he adds, nodding towards the figures of Sirius and Walburga. “You are pathetic.” 

Regulus is shaking from head to foot now, crying in great, gasping sobs, praying that it will just stop, that the echoes of their jeering voices - of his own jeering voice - will stop pounding in his head, wondering if it’s actually possible to be eaten alive by your own shame and humiliation. 

And then, suddenly, he feels a hand, warm and steady in his spare one, fingers gently twining with his own.

“Regulus,” says Fabian - not the silvery version towering over him, taunting, but the warm, solid version at his side. The other man’s voice is shaking slightly, but he’s looking determinedly at Regulus, forcing him to look back, squeezing his hand with a gentle, grounding pressure. 

“You can do this,” he says fiercely, those bright blue eyes seeming to blaze with fire. “I know you can do this. I believe in you, Regulus. Always have. Always will.”

Regulus stares at him. 

“Really?” he whispers. “You’re sure?” 

“Never been more sure of anything,” Fabian replies. “I promise.” 

Something sparks alight in Regulus’s chest at that - something hopeful, defiant. Maybe even brave. Or something close enough to brave, for now. 

Without letting go of the taller man’s hand, Regulus turns back to the locket. Gritting his teeth, he grips the basilisk fang tightly in his other hand, raising it high, high above his head…and then, with all the strength and determination that he can summon, he plunges it straight into the heart of the Horcrux, just as Remus had done with the diary. 

A long, drawn out scream emanates from the locket, the towering silver figures of Walburga, Sirius and Fabian vanishing abruptly. 

Still shaking, Regulus backs away, stumbling slightly, the basilisk fang falling from his slackened grip. 

The glass inside the locket has shattered completely. No trace of Riddle’s eyes blinking at him now. The stained silk lining is smoking slightly. There’s no sound in the room at all now, other than the fading echoes of the locket’s scream of agony, pounding in his ears. The thing that had lived inside the Horcrux - whatever it was, and honestly he’s not keen to dwell on it - has vanished. Torturing him had been its final act. 

“Fuck,” Regulus says, with feeling. 

He’s still shaking, almost uncontrollably; without really meaning to, he sinks down onto the carpet, withdrawing his hand from Fabian’s as he buries his face in his knees.  He’s still crying, still trying to get his breathing under control - he doesn’t really want the other man to see the tear tracks on his cheeks. Though it might be a bit late to worry about that now, he supposes.

He senses Fabian kneeling down opposite him, tentatively, as though he’s worried about scaring him with any sudden movements. He can’t work up the strength to look up at him, though; he’s not entirely sure he’s got any strength left to draw from, in fact. 

“You know,” he mumbles to his knees, “could have sworn the diary wasn’t that much of a dick to Remus, when he stabbed it.” 

Fabian laughs quietly, awkwardly, as though he’s not quite sure if that’s the response he was looking for. He goes silent for a second, as though trying to find the right words. 

“Regulus?” he says quietly. He doesn’t respond, his face still buried in his knees. Fabian seems to take that as permission to keep speaking. “You know that everything they said was a lie, right? All of it? Especially the things that I…I mean, that…that thing, was spouting. Honestly, that was the most vicious load of utter bullshit I’ve ever heard. It made me sick. And I…I’m so sorry you had to go through that. I’m sorry that I didn’t do more to help. I didn’t…I didn’t know what to do.” 

His voice breaks, and Regulus finally looks up at him - only to find Fabian looking at him with wide, apologetic eyes, as though he’s the one who should be feeling ashamed. 

“What are you talking about?” he asks, genuinely bemused. “You did help me! There’s no way in hell I could have destroyed that thing, if you hadn’t been here!”

The redhead grimaces a little, as though he thinks Regulus is cutting him too much slack.

“And no.”

“No?” Fabian frowns. Regulus sighs, looking back down at his knees.

“No, it wasn’t just bullshit. Sadly. Those things, whatever they were…they made some pretty solid points, Fabian. I’ve been told those kinds of things before. Merlin, I’ve told myself those kinds of things often enough.”

Fabian looks at him, a strange expression on his face. 

“Regulus…you know that just because people are telling you toxic lies, it doesn’t make those lies true, right? Even if you’re the one telling them to yourself. I mean, I’ve told you before, you’re brilliant. And you were so brave, and I’m so proud of you. I just wish…” He sighs, an edge of sadness creeping into his tone. “I wish I could get you to believe me. To see yourself the way I see you.” 

Regulus swallows. 

“I wish I could believe people when they’re kind, as easily as I believe them when they’re vicious,” he whispers. “You have no idea how much I wish that, Fabian. But it’s…it’s hard.” 

Fabian nods. “Yeah. I understand.”

The two of them lapse into silence for a moment, Regulus still slowly getting his breathing under control. 

When Fabian speaks again, the expression on his face is almost nervous. 

“I didn’t…I didn’t realise the way I felt…meant so much to you,” he says quietly.

Regulus looks up, staring at him.

“What?” he asks, feeling a little lost. 

“Well,” he says, speaking very quickly now, as though half-hoping Regulus won’t be able to understand what he’s saying, “I mean, I figured the Horcrux would be able to torture you with vicious crap from your mum, and from Sirius - I mean, that stands to reason. But I guess I never thought it would try using a fucked-up version of me to hurt you. I suppose I didn’t…realise. That you cared that much. That it was so important to you that I care.” 

Regulus looks at him, drinking in the sight of him. For a moment, he considers lying, trying to save any tiny shreds of dignity he has left. 

But what would be the point? This man - this beautiful, wonderful man - has already seen him at his most vulnerable. He’s not sure anyone has ever seen him so clearly as Fabian has, including all the parts of himself he desperately tries to hide. And yet…here he is, still sitting here. Still giving him that look - as though he wants to shoulder his burdens for him, make his world brighter. 

“Yeah,” Regulus sighs, maintaining eye contact. “Yeah, I care that you care. I really care.” He can feel heat rising up his cheeks now - his instinct is to back away, change the subject, put a wall up. He keeps going anyway, laughing at himself a little. “Honestly, it’s sort of embarrassing how much I care.” 

This time, it’s Fabian who looks hastily down at his lap, fidgeting with his fingers. If Regulus hadn’t known better, he could have sworn that he was blushing, just a little. 

“But I…” he’s speaking so quietly that Regulus has to strain a little to hear him. “I thought you just wanted to be friends?”

“You…what?” Regulus asks, staring at him. 

Is it really possible that Fabian is so oblivious? And here he was, tying himself up in knots about ruining everything, being embarrassingly obvious - ‘pathetic’, as the Riddle-Fabian had said. 

“How did you…did I ever say that?”

Fabian finally looks up at him, those gorgeous eyes wide, expression indignant. And yeah - he’s definitely blushing. 

“Well, you implied it!” he answers defensively. “I reached out to you - ages ago - and you moved away from me! Bloody hell, Regulus, you’ve shut me down every time I even tried to broach the subject!”

“What…that’s because I was scared!” he splutters. “I’m emotionally stunted, I have some intimacy issues, I thought we’d covered this! It’s not because I didn’t want…Merlin, I thought you just wanted to be friends! And sometimes I wasn’t even sure about that!”

Fabian stares at him, his features flooding with relief. With something warm. 

“Think you’ve got the wrong end of the stick, somewhere along the line,” he says quietly. “Because, honestly…it’s sort of embarrassing. How much I care.” 

“Oh,” says Regulus weakly, overwhelmed by his own words being quoted back at him. Overwhelmed by all of it, really. 

He’s never felt this sensation before, this explosion of warmth in his stomach, his heart seeming to swell to five times its size. It’s relief, he thinks. Or…no, maybe it’s more than that. Maybe it’s joy. 

Fabian laughs, a sound of pure happiness. Regulus wishes he could bottle that laugh, keep it forever. 

“God, Reg,” the other man whispers, reaching out, cupping his face in his warm hands, so gently - Regulus shivers slightly, surprised by how much he relishes in the sound of that nickname on Fabian’s lips, even though it always irritates him when anyone else says it. “And I thought you were supposed to be the clever one!”

Regulus huffs out another laugh, and Fabian catches it with his mouth. He can feel the vibrations of laughter in the other man’s chest, he can finally taste that familiar grin against his own lips. 

Regulus twines his arms around the redhead’s neck, curling into him, trying to wrap himself in the other man’s warmth, hungry to share his sunlight. Fabian wraps his arms around him tightly in return, enveloping him. Generous with his warmth, his light, just as he’s generous with everything he shares. 

Regulus isn’t quite as inexperienced as his brother seems to think - but he certainly doesn’t remember anything ever feeling quite like this before. He’s never felt this safe, never had such an instinctive, overwhelming certainty that he’s doing something right. 

A thought rises to the surface of his mind, a giddy, ridiculous, joyful thought, one he’s never thought before in his life.

I’m home.