Mortal Once More

Hogwarts Castle - Late February, 1983

Regulus stays exactly where he is for a few minutes - or days. Or quite possibly weeks. 

Honestly, it’s sort of difficult to keep track of something as insignificant as time when Fabian Prewett’s soft, warm mouth is pressed against his own, his tongue gently, tentatively tracing over the seam of Regulus’s own lips, strong arms wrapped securely around him as though he never wants to let him go. Regulus is enveloped in that familiar sweet, fiery scent, like woodsmoke mingled with treacle tarts. It’s intoxicating, the way his heart is bounding, soaring. Regulus doesn’t think he’s ever felt quite so…free. In this moment, everything seems suddenly so much clearer, brighter than usual; almost as though Fabian has lent him a little bit of the sunlight he seems to carry everywhere with him. 

Usually, the thoughts inside Regulus’s head are non-stop - not always jeers directed at himself (although more often that not), but always constant noise, a rush of thoughts and worries that often come so thick and fast upon each other that it’s a struggle to untangle them, let alone tune them out. He’s gotten so used to this sensation that he can’t remember the last time he’d considered what it might be like to be free of it; he’s not sure whether he’d ever even considered that possible, in fact. 

And alright, it’s not as though the noise disappears completely, here in Fabian’s arms, feeling the taller man’s shaky breath against his lips. But, for the first time in his life, the deafening, overwhelming babble seems to have faded to a soft, almost inaudible murmuring. An unobtrusive background hum. Suddenly, even after everything that that bloody locket had just put him through, Regulus feels…if not exactly relaxed, then as close to it as he ever has been. It’s…peaceful. 

“You know, Reg, you’ve gotta admit,” Fabian whispers against his mouth, still peppering soft, gentle kisses on his lips, “after all these sodding Horcruxes…nice to have something bloody good happening for once, isn’t it?” 

“Mmm,” Regulus murmurs, not entirely sure whether he’s humming in agreement with Fabian’s actual words, or just with the sensation of his kisses pressed against his lips, making his eyelashes flutter in contentment. Honestly, it’s sort of difficult to focus at the moment, awed as he is both by the man holding him, and by the sudden lack of noise and chaos inside his own head. Still, though, he manages to register at least one word of what Fabian had said. 

Horcruxes…

Perhaps it’s because of that absence of chaos, the usual overwhelming tangle of thoughts and worries - and because of that bright, warm clarity that Fabian seems to have generously given him - that the thought which comes to him next seems to click so suddenly, so effortlessly into place, with no doubts, nothing to distract him from it.

“Oh,” Regulus says aloud, his voice sounding much brighter and more open than usual, as he pulls back from Fabian’s mouth, without really meaning to.

“Leaving already?” the redhead asks him, with a teasing pout on his face. 

There’s that familiar warm mischief dancing in his bright eyes - and something else, too. Something with heat. Something that makes him yearn to pull the other man’s mouth back to his, to bury his fingers in those soft coppery curls. 

“Is my kissing really that bad?” Fabian continues, mock pout still firmly in place, as though begging Regulus to kiss it away. 

Focus, he chastises himself. 

“Don’t be an idiot,” Regulus huffs, rolling his eyes. “It’s…you’re…wonderful.” 

He can feel his face burning - he can’t believe he just admitted that out loud. But when he sees the way Fabian’s entire face lights up, looking quite possibly the happiest he’s ever seen him - practically glowing - he thinks maybe his own embarrassment might be a pretty reasonable price to pay.

“You already knew that you’re a bloody good kisser, didn’t you?” he accuses, trying to deflect. 

“Maybe,” Fabian replies - and oh that grin. “But still…nice to hear you say it.” 

Regulus huffs again, trying and failing to look annoyed. 

“So, what is it?” Fabian asks, his lips still turned up in that infuriatingly gorgeous grin. “You’ve got your clever face on. Or your even-cleverer-than-usual face, I should say. It’s pretty sexy, actually - I’m allowed to say that now, right?” 

Regulus ducks his head - but he smiles a little, even as he feels the heat climbing his cheeks. He’s not sure he could stop smiling, at this moment, even if he wanted to. 

“Yeah,” he mumbles, “you’re allowed to say it.” 

“Good,” Fabian declares with a broad grin, leaning down to press another brief kiss to his lips before Regulus can stop him. Not that he would have stopped him. 

“So?” the taller man prompts, as he leans back again, his arms still curled loosely around Regulus’s waist. “The sexy clever face?” 

Regulus blinks, trying to recover his previous train of thought, still a little flustered from the feeling of Fabian’s mouth against his.

“Oh, right…well, I just realised something else. Well, remembered something - when you mentioned Horcruxes. And I think…I think it might be important. Not to bring the mood down, or anything, but - I think I should probably tell Dumbledore.” 

“Ugh,” says Fabian, scrunching up his nose in an expression of mock disgust, “you’re right, that old git does bring the mood down, doesn’t he?” Regulus struggles to hold back his grin. “Alright then,” the redhead continues, heaving a long-suffering sigh, “I know you don’t exactly enjoy hanging out with him any more than you actually have to - understandable, really - so if you say you need to speak to Dumbledore, I believe you. Oh - we might wanna inform him that we’re officially two Horcruxes down now,” he adds, finally releasing Regulus so he can pick up the shattered oval locket from his desk. He dangles it gingerly by its long golden chain, the revulsion on his face entirely genuine now as he glances down at it. “That’s probably pretty important information too, right?”

“Oh…right, yeah,” Regulus mumbles, averting his eyes from the locket. 

Even though it’s very clearly destroyed now, the sight of it still gives him a crawling feeling under his skin, an echoing sensation of shame, almost strong enough to overshadow the peaceful joy he had felt in Fabian’s arms a moment ago. Certainly strong enough to make the babble in his head a little louder again. Yes, he’d managed to destroy it - but only after the thing had come very close to destroying him. 

“So, am I allowed to boast about you? Just a little bit?” Fabian asks. 

Regulus flinches slightly before he can stop himself.

“Um…actually…I think I’d prefer it if the old man knew as little as possible about the specifics,” he admits quietly. “We used another basilisk fang, so we’re another Horcrux down - that’s all he needs to know. And…and the same goes for my brother. If that’s okay.” 

“Hey,” says Fabian, the softness in his voice coaxing him to look up and meet that beautiful blue gaze again. “Of course it’s okay, Reg - it’s more than okay. You don’t have to ask permission - you know that, right? I’ll always keep your secrets for you. You know I will.”

He’s looking at Regulus with that look on his face. That Earnest Fabian Prewett Look. Regulus has never met anybody else like him. 

“I…thank you,” he murmurs, desperately trying to keep his voice steady. 

“Any time,” Fabian replies, giving him another soft smile. 

For a moment, the two of them are silent, just looking at each other. Regulus, for his part, is taking his time drinking in every inch of the taller man’s face, drawing imaginary constellations between his myriad of freckles, relishing in the knowledge that he can finally just gaze, at his leisure, without the constant fear that he’s going to reveal too much of himself. 

“So,” says Fabian, his tone suddenly businesslike, mock-formal, as though somehow sensing that Regulus - still somewhat new to this whole ‘emotional openness’ thing - is on his way to getting overwhelmed, and rather desperately in need of a subject change. “Speaking of your brother” - “Talk about bringing the mood down,” Regulus grumbles, and Fabian grins, but continues on as though he hadn’t heard him - “we could swing by the hospital wing on our way to Dumbledore’s office, if you like? I assume whatever it is you want to tell Dumbledore, it’s pertinent information for Sirius, too?”

“Yeah,” Regulus huffs, “I suppose so.” 

“Plus, you don’t wanna pass up on the opportunity to rub it in your brother’s face that you’ve just destroyed another Horcrux in his absence, do you?” Fabian adds, waggling his eyebrows in a way that should be ridiculous, but somehow makes him even more endearing. Merlin, but he’s absolutely gone on this man. “Oh, and I suppose we can check in on Remus and Bill, too, while we’re at it.” 

Regulus lets out an embarrassingly breathless laugh - how is Fabian so good at making him do that? It’s not as though he’s particularly inclined to laughing, usually.

“Yeah, alright,” he agrees. “Sounds like a plan.” 

Fabian flashes him a triumphant grin. 

Despite everything that he’s been through today - it’s hard to believe that Lucius Malfoy had been falling apart at the seams in his office scarcely two hours ago - it’s hard work for Regulus to hold back a grin of his own as he walks down to the hospital wing to pick up his somewhat insufferable brother. 

It doesn’t exactly help that Fabian is practically bouncing along at his side, looking happier and more carefree than Regulus has seen him since the news of Gideon’s death. 

“I know I’m very exciting,” he mutters sarcastically, as they reach the doors of the hospital wing - “You are,” Fabian replies immediately, his tone completely earnest as he looks back at him, and Regulus feels his foolish heart do a backflip, but he tries his best to press on as though he hadn’t heard this response - “but maybe you should try to tone it down just a smidge.” 

“Oh,” says the taller man, looking slightly crestfallen, and Regulus wrestles against the sudden urge to reach up and stroke his face until that giddy, beaming look reappears. “Why? Am I making you uncomfortable? I’ll stop.”

“No, it’s not that,” Regulus mutters back under his breath, “it’s definitely not that.” As he pushes the door of the hospital wing open, he can’t stop a soft smile slipping across his face at the look of sheer relief on Fabian’s. “It’s just that, if you walk in looking like that, my brother is definitely going to take the piss -”

“What am I going to take the piss about?” Sirius asks loudly, as they walk in. 

Regulus curses internally, wondering just how much of that conversation Sirius had heard. He turns to him, working to make his expression haughty, impassive.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he huffs, “you’re always taking the piss about something, aren’t you?”

“What? No, I’m not!” Sirius objects indignantly. “Moony’s the one who takes the piss, not me!”

“That’s true, actually,” Remus pipes up, sitting up in bed behind Sirius and sounding mildly amused already. 

Regulus curses to himself again; he’d almost forgotten to consider bloody Remus and how bloody perceptive he can be. Not to mention his sarcastic wit - somebody might get themself injured by that sharp tongue of his, if they didn’t know how to handle it. 

“Oh,” is what he says aloud, blinking at his best friend. “You’re awake.” 

“Yes. Astute observations as ever, Reg,” Remus replies, raising one eyebrow and smirking at him slightly.

Case in point. 

“You certainly look a lot happier than you did the last time you came in here,” Sirius announces, brow furrowed as he looks at Regulus, as though studying his face for clues. 

Regulus winces slightly, perfectly aware of the fact that, after the warning he’d just given, the fact that it’s apparently him making Sirius suspicious is making Fabian look more than a little smug at his side. 

“Why?” Remus asks, now looking curiously at Regulus too. Perfect. “What did he look like the last time he came in here?” 

“He looked like he was in a right bloody state,” Sirius responds, still frowning at him, “wouldn’t tell me what the hell was wrong, either.”

Regulus can’t help but flinch again at that, remembering just what it was that he’d been so unnerved about before. He’s still going to have to tell them about Malfoy’s parting threat - sooner rather than later, probably. 

“So then Fab went off with him, as you see,” Sirius continues, nodding towards said redhead, “to see if he could calm him down a bit.” 

Remus looks back and forth between the two of them for a moment, taking in the careful distance between them, the way Regulus is determinedly keeping his eyes on Sirius, resisting the urge to look sideways. Regulus sees the exact moment that Remus puts two and two together, those hazel eyes suddenly gleaming with mischief. 

Fuck. 

“I see,” he says, his tone remarkably mild, even as he’s clearly fighting back a full-blown shit-eating grin. “Well…seems like Fab managed that, at least, doesn’t it?”

“Well…yeah, looks like it,” Sirius replies, still looking confused, even as Regulus shoots Remus a dark look. 

He hopes it’s sufficiently intimidating; but judging by the fact that his friend simply smirks back at him, apparently not.

“Bloody hell, there’s no need to treat it as though it’s some big mystery,” Fabian huffs, mercifully coming to his rescue. “Regulus was anxious before because of what Dumbledore told us, about how many of those things You-Know-Who actually made. And it’s pretty understandable that he’s looking a lot happier now, given that he just managed to destroy that bloody locket, finally.” He holds up the shattered husk, dangling it by its chain to show the two of them, grinning at their identical little yelps of shock. “So I guess we’re two down now.” 

“Christ, Reg,” Remus murmurs, moving forwards to inspect the destroyed Horcrux more closely. “Another basilisk fang, I assume?” 

Regulus nods, just relieved that his best friend seems to have been distracted for a moment. 

“But how did you even get the thing to open?” Sirius asks, moving forward too. Regulus is probably enjoying the look of shocked awe on his brother’s face just a little bit too much. “None of us have been able to get that stupid thing to open for almost two years - what, you suddenly found a secret password, or something?”

“Sort of,” he replies blithely. “I tried asking it to open in Parseltongue - and it worked. Obviously.” 

“What - Parseltongue?” Sirius echoes, looking just as baffled as Fabian had done. “What are you talking about, Reg? Since when do you know how to speak Parseltongue?” 

He hesitates, glancing sideways at Bill Weasley’s bed. Thankfully, the kid appears to have fallen asleep. Still, though…it doesn’t feel quite right to explain all the gruesome details of Bill’s possession right in front of him, even if he is asleep. He could wake up at any moment, after all - and now Regulus comes to think of it, he’s not even entirely sure the kid realises he was ever speaking Parseltongue. 

“I’ll explain it to you later, Pads,” Remus mutters under his breath.

“But -”

“Later,” Remus repeats, sternly this time, in a tone that clearly brooks no argument. 

Sirius’s Adam's apple bobs sharply as he swallows, and Regulus could swear he practically sees his pupils dilate. 

“Okay,” he says, giving in immediately. 

Regulus barely holds back a snort; he’s not entirely convinced his brother even remembers precisely what he’s agreeing with. 

“So…so this locket,” Sirius continues, shaking himself hastily in a motion very reminiscent of his Animagus form, as though desperately trying to recover his train of thought. “You stabbed it with the basilisk fang, and the Horcrux part of it just…vanished? Just like that?” 

Regulus feels something clench tightly in his chest. As his brother frowns at him curiously, he averts his eyes, reminded too sharply, too vividly, of the shadow-Sirius that had emerged from the locket to taunt him, to confirm all the fears that have always haunted him most. 

“Well, it…it screamed,” Fabian replies awkwardly, when Regulus fails to say anything at all. 

He darts a sideways glance at him, and Regulus can tell from the soft, anxious look on the taller man’s face how much he’s longing to reach out to him. He manages to restrain himself - which is lucky, as Remus is only just barely holding back his smirk as it is. 

“Anyway…yeah, Horcrux is destroyed now,” Fabian finishes, somewhat lamely, brandishing the locket again as though the other two might need more proof of this. “As you can see.” 

“Bloody hell,” says Remus, reaching out so he can hold the weight of the shattered locket in his hand, inspect it properly. “Well done. Seriously, amazing work - both of you.” 

“Oh, don’t look at me,” Fabian responds, smiling softly down at Regulus now, “it was all Reg.” 

Like hell it was all me, he wants to counter. I’d be a weeping mess on the floor of my office right now, if it wasn’t for you. 

But he supposes he can’t really say any of that in front of these two; so he settles for a noncommittal shrug, feeling the heat climbing his face again. 

“I’m assuming you two have already mentioned this to Dumbledore?” Remus asks loudly. 

Regulus knows he, too, can see that Sirius is about two seconds away from asking more questions, and he feels a rush of gratitude towards his best friend for forestalling him. Remus can obviously tell that Regulus is not willing to discuss it - he knows both of them too well, it seems. 

“Actually, we were just on our way up to inform the old man,” he replies, “just thought we’d swing by and pick Sirius up on our way.”

“What about me?” Remus asks indignantly.

“Well, we didn’t know you were awake,” Regulus answers, rolling his eyes.

“Well, I am awake,” Remus says stubbornly, his lower lip poking out, “as you so astutely observed before. And I am perfectly fine now, so I am coming to see Dumbledore, too.” 

“But Moony, you’re still -” Sirius begins to protest, gesturing at the hospital bed which Remus is currently clambering out of.

“And my boyfriend won’t try to stop me, if he knows what’s good for him,” Remus cuts him off, his voice perfectly calm, but the warning note still clear.

Sirius huffs.

“Fine.” 

Regulus bites back a grin.

“There’s also something else we need to tell Dumbledore about the Horcruxes, apparently,” Fabian pipes up.

“What’s that?” Sirius asks curiously. 

“Dunno yet,” Fabian answers, rolling his eyes a little even as he beams down at Regulus. “Reg apparently remembered something important, with that massive brain of his. Hasn’t told me what it is yet, but knowing him, I’m sure it is important.” 

“What is it, Reg?” Sirius asks, staring at him. 

“Well, if you three hurry up and come to Dumbledore’s office with me, I’ll tell you up there,” Regulus answers shortly, already striding back towards the doors of the hospital wing. “Don’t really feel like explaining myself twice over.” 

“So bossy, isn’t he?” says Fabian, sounding almost absurdly enthusiastic. 

“Yes,” Sirius mutters, the scowl clear in his voice. 

Remus snorts, apparently highly amused, catching up to Regulus and raising an eyebrow at him.

“Shut up, Lupin,” Regulus mutters without looking at him. 

When they get to the headmaster’s office, Regulus doesn’t so much knock politely on the door as barge right in, the other three trailing behind him. 

“Ah, good evening, gentlemen,” says the old man with a small smile, not sounding the slightest bit surprised to see them, despite the lack of warning. 

He seems to be pointing his wand tip to his own temple; Regulus does a slight double take, before realising that there’s a silver Pensieve sitting on the desk in front of him. As he watches, the headmaster lifts his wand away from his temple; the silvery thought clinging to the end flutters, like a strand of gossamer, down into the Pensieve. Characteristically, he offers no explanation of his behaviour at all.

“Am I correct in assuming, Regulus,” Dumbledore asks calmly, looking up at him over those half-moon spectacles, “that our friend Lucius went directly to speak to you, after he had finished his tirade at me? I presume that you have managed to get rid of the man by now, and have not left him alone in your office while you came here to speak to me?” 

“Wait - what?” Sirius asks, staring blankly at Regulus. “Malfoy was here? When? You didn’t think to mention this?” 

Regulus hesitates, feeling his chest tighten with anxiety as Remus turns to look at him too, an identical look of shock on his face. It seems Dumbledore is bringing this up, whether Regulus is ready or not. 

“Yes,” he admits with a small sigh, “Malfoy was here. And yes, he came storming into my office,” he confirms, turning back to Dumbledore. “Looked a bloody awful state, too.” 

“Yes,” the headmaster agrees cheerfully, “poor Lucius certainly didn’t seem too happy, did he? Especially the moment that he caught sight of this.” 

He nods towards the burnt, ink-splattered husk of the diary.

“But…why?” Remus asks, frowning down at the Horcrux he had destroyed two days ago. 

“Because he was the one who planted that diary on Bill,” Regulus explains heavily. “Remember that day that you two ran into him in Diagon Alley, when you were taking Bill to get his new school books from Flourish and Blotts?” he asks, turning to Sirius and Fabian. “The day that Arthur Weasley punched him? That’s when he did it. That’s why he was there in the first place - looking for someone to foist it off on.” Sirius and Remus both stare back at him, looking utterly stunned.

“Apparently, the Dark Lord gave it to him, about a year and a half ago now - though he didn’t actually tell Malfoy it was a Horcrux, obviously,” Regulus clarifies, “he just ordered him to keep it safely locked away in his manor, unless and until he was given explicit instructions otherwise. But as it turns out, as soon as Crouch passed that law allowing Aurors to search the homes of Ministry members at random, Malfoy decided to throw caution to the winds and get rid of the diary as soon as possible. It was too incriminating. I don’t think he minded in the slightest that the Chamber would be opened, or that innocent Mud - Muggleborns - would be hurt. Probably thought he was killing two birds with one stone. Idiot.”

“Bastard, you mean,” Fabian snarls, his hands curling into fists at his side, despite the fact that he’s already heard all this. 

“Well, yeah,” Regulus agrees, “that, too.” 

“So…this was all Malfoy’s doing?” Remus asks blankly, staring at him with wide eyes. “Voldemort didn’t know anything, about any of this?”

“Apparently not,” Regulus replies, as usual trying not to wince at the casual use of the name. 

“So…so he still doesn’t have a clue that you’ve defected?” Sirius pipes up, his voice coming out as a hoarse whisper. “It wasn’t a trap?” 

Regulus shakes his head.

“Oh,” says Sirius, exhaling a shaky breath; and when Regulus looks back at him, he sees it clearly in those stormy eyes, the mirror image of his own - relief. 

It’s evident even in the way Sirius’s posture shifts slightly, as though a burden has suddenly been lifted from his shoulders, one that perhaps even he hadn’t noticed he was carrying. It had never once occurred to Regulus that his brother had been scared for him. 

A whirlwind of feeling rises in his chest, so overwhelming that it constricts his throat, making Regulus worry that he might choke on it if he doesn’t force it back. 

He’s had his guard up around Sirius for so long now. For all their differences, Regulus is fully aware that they share a stubborn streak a mile wide - they’re both far too proud for their own good. 

There had been that one time, after Sirius had drunk that terrifying potion in that godforsaken cave, that Regulus had made an attempt to approach him, to bridge the distance that had grown between them. That offer of an olive branch had taken every ounce of courage he possessed. And for what? Sirius had shot him down, told him point blank that he didn’t trust him. That had been before Regulus had discovered Pettigrew was the spy, of course - but even after that, Sirius hadn’t exactly hesitated to voice his doubts. 

Which was fine with him, Regulus had told himself, he was perfectly happy to keep his distance from Sirius, too. He had told himself that over and over, until he almost even believed it. After all, his brother couldn’t hurt him, couldn’t shut him out, if Regulus shut him out first, right? 

And he certainly can’t afford to let his guard down now. Not when he’s going to have to explain the threats that Malfoy had made against the love of Sirius’s life. When he’s going to be forced to admit that he had just…left Remus to take the fall. Yes, he’d had to maintain his cover, he had had his logical reasons for it…but he’s not convinced those excuses will hold much weight with Sirius, somehow. 

Regulus can’t bear to hope for anything from his brother right now, because he knows exactly how Sirius is going to look at him when he hears. 

“Fucking hell,” Remus pipes up, thankfully interrupting his inner turmoil, “so Malfoy deliberately went against Voldemort’s orders? And now he’s been in here and seen for himself what happened to the diary? Christ, surely he must know that’s going to get back to Voldemort sooner or later? No wonder the bastard was in a bloody awful state!” 

“Yeah, he was,” Regulus replies, averting his eyes from Remus as he feels the familiar sharp twist of guilt and fear in the pit of his stomach. 

Oh, they’re coming far too close to the topic - in fact, if he’s honest with himself, they’ve basically already come to it - but the thing is, he’s just not ready to say it yet. He’s not ready to see the looks on their faces. 

“Hey,” Fabian says quietly, giving Regulus a gentle nudge. Turning to look at him, Regulus sees that he’s pointedly holding up the shattered locket. “I believe there were a couple of other things you wanted to tell the headmaster, right?” 

His eyes are soft, understanding, and Regulus realises, with a rush of gratitude and affection, that the other man is helping him stall. 

“Right,” Regulus replies, releasing a slightly shaky breath as he takes the destroyed Horcrux from Fabian, dangling it in front of Dumbledore so he can see it more clearly. “Well, first things first - we’re one more Horcrux down. Finally.” 

“Ah,” says the headmaster, and Regulus sees a triumphant gleam in his blue eyes as he reaches out to examine the shattered locket. “Excellent work, Regulus.” 

“And Fabian,” he says stubbornly. 

“And Fabian,” Dumbledore agrees absentmindedly - Regulus can tell he’s not really listening, too intent on examining the remnants of the Horcrux. “This is the very Horcrux that the four of you retrieved from the cave two years ago, is it not? The one that you first became aware of, Regulus?” 

“Yep,” he replies shortly.

“Very good work indeed,” the headmaster breathes. “May I ask how you figured out how to open it?” 

“Used Parseltongue,” he says brusquely. “Same way Remus and I got into the Chamber after Bill. We heard him speaking Parseltongue, while he was being possessed.”

“Godric,” Sirius mutters, as Fabian flinches violently at his side. 

Dumbledore, on the other hand, doesn’t seem startled at all; he merely looks at Regulus steadily over those half-moon spectacles. 

“I see,” he says. “Ingenious, Regulus.” 

Regulus just stands there stoically, telling himself it’s ridiculous to let this old man’s praise have any effect on him.

“So?” Dumbledore prompts. “First things first?” 

“What?” Regulus asks, frowning at him. 

“You said ‘first things first’ before showing me that you had successfully destroyed the Horcrux,” the headmaster clarifies. “Which, naturally, led me to believe that there was also something else that you wished to tell us?”

“Oh…right, yeah,” Regulus replies awkwardly. He focuses his gaze determinedly on the headmaster, rather than looking at his brother or his best friend. 

“Well, Malfoy telling me that the Dark Lord had entrusted him with the diary - it made me remember something. About a year and a half ago, at Malfoy Manor - the night that the Dark Lord asked me to replace Pettigrew as his spy - I walked in on the tail end of a meeting that he was having, with Malfoy and Bellatrix. From the little bit that I overheard, he said ‘keep it safe for me’, or something along those lines. He said that to both of them. I didn’t pay much attention to it at the time, I was too busy being terrified that Pettigrew had exposed me. But knowing what I know now…well, if he’d just given Lucius the diary, then it seems pretty likely that he also gave Bellatrix a Horcrux to take care of, doesn’t it?” 

A ringing silence greets these words, as everyone stares at him in dismay. 

“Fuck,” says Sirius, with feeling. “If that’s true…then how the hell are we supposed to get at that one?! Bellatrix isn’t as stupid as Malfoy, nowhere near! Nobody in the world could be as bloody paranoid as that bitch! Especially when she’s worried about letting her precious Dark Lord down,” he adds, scorn mingling with the panic in his tone. 

“I’m aware,” Regulus sighs, rubbing a hand across his forehead wearily. “I could try to steal it from her, I suppose - only I’m fairly certain Bella doesn’t trust me as far as she could throw me, as it is.”

“What? You mean she’s suspicious?” Fabian asks, alarm in his voice. 

“Oh, Bella is suspicious of everyone, if she thinks they might try and steal her spotlight,” Regulus responds, rolling his eyes. Fabian doesn’t look altogether reassured by this. “Anyway, it might not even be in her manor anymore. She’s probably moved it somewhere with better security - the Lestrange vault at Gringotts, maybe?” he muses, speaking more to himself than to the others for a moment. “But anyway, Sirius is right,” he adds, shaking himself slightly, “if Bellatrix was given a Horcrux to safeguard, then she wouldn’t be fool enough to take such a risk with it as Malfoy did with the diary.”

“Brilliant,” Remus replies, with a humourless laugh. “I second Sirius’s question, then; how the hell are we going to get at it?”  

“I imagine that between us all, we will be able to come up with some solution or other,” Dumbledore interjects calmly. “But thank you for telling us, Regulus. You are an invaluable source of information, indeed.” 

Regulus shifts a little, feeling something prickling under his skin. There’s something lying underneath the headmaster’s amiable words - something pointed that he doesn’t care for at all. 

“Meanwhile, the events that have occurred here over the past two days have set me thinking, too,” Dumbledore continues. He reaches out to pick up the destroyed husk of the diary, turning it over in his long hands, opening it up so he can read the inside front cover. “Tom Marvolo Riddle,” he murmurs, seemingly speaking more to himself than to any of them now. “It has certainly been a while since I thought about Voldemort as an ambitious young student here at Hogwarts. I had almost forgotten that, once upon a time, he was utterly obsessed with researching his own family history.” 

“You don’t mean…?” Regulus asks, staring at the headmaster.

“I feel there may be quite a few leads to follow there,” Dumbledore muses, still staring down at the diary, acting as though he hadn’t heard Regulus at all. “Perhaps, in fact, it might be worth my while if I were to pay a little visit to Azkaban…”

“What? Azkaban?” Sirius echoes, looking completely bewildered. Regulus has to admit he feels much the same - not that he would ever say that out loud.

“Mm,” is Dumbledore’s only response. 

Evidently, he’s not intending to explain himself any further. 

Fabian nudges Regulus slightly, distracting him from glaring at the headmaster in irritation. When he looks up at the taller man, he nods significantly towards Remus, before turning back to Regulus and raising one eyebrow. 

Immediately, Regulus feels his chest clench with guilt and panic. God, he’s still not ready. But he supposes he doesn’t have much of a choice. He nods back at Fabian, taking a deep breath to prepare himself. Fabian brushes the backs of their hands together, clearly trying to make the touch as subtle as possible. Strange, how soothing Regulus finds that tiny gesture. 

“Remus?” he starts, his voice much smaller than usual. “There’s…there’s something else I should tell you.” 

“Oh?” Remus asks, looking at him curiously, raising one eyebrow. 

Sirius looks up expectantly, too, frowning slightly. Regulus swallows. You can do this, he reminds himself. 

“Malfoy…Malfoy knows that it was you who destroyed the diary,” he admits, his voice coming out as a hoarse croak. “He thinks it was all you. I couldn’t…I couldn’t tell him that I was down in the Chamber with you. And before he stormed out, he said to me…” Regulus takes another deep breath. “He said that he would make you pay for destroying his life. ‘Even if it’s the last thing I do’, he said.” 

“He said WHAT?!” Sirius barks immediately, his expression predictably furious. Menacing, even. “You’re telling me that absolute bastard threatened Moony?!”

“Yeah,” Regulus whispers miserably. “Yeah, he did.” 

Remus, on the other hand, betrays barely any reaction at all. Regulus might not even have known his friend was frightened, if it weren’t for the clench of his jaw, the way his face turns a shade paler.

“Calm down, Pads,” he says quietly, without looking at Sirius.

“No, I will not bloody calm down!” Sirius rants, turning his outraged glare on him. “Who does the bastard think he is?? He can’t just go around threatening -”

“He was just panicking, Sirius” Fabian cuts in hastily. “He knew perfectly well that he’d been backed into a corner, through his own stupidity. Not like he has any cards left to play, really.” 

Regulus can’t help but fidget a little at that. He’s just… not quite convinced it’s true. 

“I reckon it was just an empty threat, Remus,” says Fabian, smiling at him kindly. 

“I reminded him that the Ministry will already be putting two and two together, about that diary and how it got to Hogwarts,” Regulus adds, looking at Remus with wide eyes. “I told him he can’t afford the added risk of going after you, especially not with the Dark Lord on his trail, too. I…I don’t think he’s actually going to hurt you,” he whispers, trying to convince himself to believe his own words. 

He looks pleadingly at his best friend, needing forgiveness. Begging for forgiveness. 

“Remus,” he whispers, his voice hoarse with unshed tears, “I…I tried to talk him out of it, I swear -”

“It’s alright, Reg,” says Remus, cutting him off. “I believe you. Besides…it’s not your fault I stabbed the damn thing, is it?” 

His attempt at a reassuring smile doesn’t actually reach his eyes. 

Regulus feels a sob catch in his throat. Relief. Forgiveness. He’s not so sure he deserves it. 

“I’m so…I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “I should have…”

He’s not even sure how to finish that sentence. Luckily, Fabian comes to his rescue.

“Hey, no,” he says, his voice soft and so gentle, “we talked about this, Reg.” Before Regulus knows it, Fabian has slipped his hand into his, twining their fingers together, squeezing gently - a warm, grounding pressure. 

“This isn’t your fault,” Fabian whispers, looking down at him, gazing at him as  though there’s nobody in the room but them. “Remember?” 

Miraculously, Regulus feels a little of that calm again, the same peaceful feeling he’d felt earlier when he was wrapped in the taller man’s arms. That incessant babble of voices in his head fading to an unobtrusive background murmur again, just for a moment. 

“Right,” he whispers, feeling a soft smile spreading across his face without his volition. Without even thinking about it, he squeezes Fabian’s hand back, returning the gentle pressure.

“Wait a second…” says a loud voice, breaking into his moment of peace. 

Regulus turns, still feeling slightly dazed, to find Sirius staring down at their entwined hands, with an expression on his face that could only be described as horrified indignation. 

“Fabian Prewett,” he says slowly, raising his glare to Fabian’s face, “please tell me you didn’t shag my baby brother?” 

“I…what?” Fabian splutters, his face turning almost as red as his hair. 

“Baby brother?!” Regulus echoes incredulously, shooting Sirius a death glare. Unfortunately, Sirius doesn’t seem fazed by this in the slightest; he simply crosses his arms, raising one eyebrow expectantly as he continues to glare at Fabian. 

“Well?” he demands.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” Fabian huffs, his face still such a bright scarlet that Regulus can practically feel the heat radiating off him in waves. “No, I did not shag Regulus! Happy?” 

“Even if we’d shagged all through the night,” Regulus pipes up, feeling his own skin heating up and his pulse racing at the very thought of it, “it wouldn’t be any of your business, Sirius, now would it?” 

Sirius had been starting to calm down again - but at these words, his head snaps around to look at Regulus, horrified expression firmly back in place. 

“What?! You’re not…are you saying…?” 

“Oh, shut up, Pads,” Remus intervenes, looking like he’s enjoying this conversation far too much. “Leave them alone. Reg is right, it’s their business, not ours. Besides, Fab wouldn’t lie to you - if he says they haven’t been shagging, then they haven’t been shagging.” 

“Yeah,” Sirius agrees, the absurd tension lifting from his shoulders as he looks at his boyfriend gratefully. “Yeah, good point, Moons.” 

“Though of course,” Remus adds, his face lighting up with a mischievous smirk, apparently unable to resist, “given how very happy your brother looked when they came bouncing into the hospital wing earlier, I can’t speak for what they have been doing…”

“I…what?!” Sirius demands, looking at Remus in horror now. “What do you mean, Moony?!” 

Regulus scowls at Remus, who simply smiles innocently back at him. 

“Sherbet lemon, anyone?” asks Dumbledore, smiling around at everyone serenely as he proffers the little bowl. 

March, 1983 - Hogwarts Castle 

The question of how much damage Lucius Malfoy can do is answered the very next day, the moment that Regulus opens his copy of The Daily Prophet at breakfast in the Great Hall. 

“Fuck,” he hisses sharply when his gaze falls on the front page. 

“What?” Fabian and Sirius demand simultaneously, from either side of him (Regulus still isn’t entirely sure how the two of them managed to sneak their way into sitting at the staff table, but he isn’t complaining about it). 

He swallows, still staring in horror at the paper, wondering if he even dares to break the news to Sirius in such a public space. He might not like to hear it, but his brother certainly inherited his temper from their mother; Regulus wouldn’t put it past him to turn the entire staff table over, right here in the middle of the Great Hall, if the mood should strike him. 

As it happens, Remus, sitting on Sirius’s other side, takes the unpleasant task out of his hands. 

“Well,” he says, his voice shaking slightly even as he aims for his usual wry tone, his face very pale so that his scars stand out in stark detail, “I can’t be sure, but I have a feeling that Regulus’s expletive was in regards to this.” 

His hands trembling even more than his voice, he puts his own copy of the Prophet down on the table in front of Sirius. Frowning curiously, Fabian leans across Regulus, trying to see Remus’s paper properly; with a small sigh of defeat, his stomach writhing with that familiar guilt, Regulus puts his paper down in front of him so that Fabian can see it. Together, the four of them lean in to read the headline blazing in capital letters across the front page.

REMUS LUPIN: DUMBLEDORE’S PET WEREWOLF.

Beneath the headline are two large photos. One of Remus himself, carrying his brown suitcase emblazoned with the words Professor R.J. Lupin, which Sirius had so gleefully painted for him. Remus is ducking away from the camera with one of his shy, self-deprecating smiles. Next to this is a photo of a page from a textbook, which Regulus immediately recognises as an entry from Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. 

WEREWOLF - MINISTRY DANGER CLASSIFICATION: XXXXX, the caption proclaims, complete with an illustration of a wolf howling at the moon. 

For a few moments, the four of them simply stare down at the Prophet, too stunned and appalled for words. 

“Well,” says Regulus dryly. “I don’t want to leap to conclusions or anything, but I think you may have been wrong about Malfoy making ‘empty threats’, Fabian.” 

The others turn to stare at him, Fabian’s freckles standing out starkly against his pale skin. 

“He called you a ‘half-breed’ just before he stormed out of my office, Remus,” Regulus admits with a sigh. “Not ‘half-blood.’ ‘Half-breed.’ He knew.”

“But…but…how the hell could Malfoy have known about this?” Sirius demands, still staring down at the paper in horror.  

“Well, that seems pretty simple to me, Sirius,” Remus replies in an undertone, his jaw tight, not actually looking over at him as he speaks. “He might have got it from Wormtail, of course - but Malfoy and Snape were always pretty close too, weren’t they? I imagine Severus would have had plenty of opportunities before he was arrested to tell Lucius Malfoy all about my furry little problem, if the urge had struck him.” 

Sirius lets out a small, sharp gasp, as though he’s just been punched in the stomach; Regulus watches as all the colour drains from his brother’s face. Suddenly, he remembers a conversation he’d had with Dumbledore almost two years ago, when he’d discovered the headmaster’s belief that Sirius had been the spy. 

He did something to Snape, didn’t he? Sirius did something to him back at school. Something bad. 

He tried, Dumbledore had replied calmly. 

One look at his brother’s horrified, guilt-stricken expression now, and Regulus is pretty sure he’s solved that particular mystery. 

As Regulus and Fabian quickly look back down at the newspaper article in front of them - Regulus suddenly becomes aware of just how many whispers and mutterings are carrying around the Great Hall. With an ominous sinking feeling in his stomach, he remembers just how many people get the Prophet delivered every morning. 

Looking up, he sees students on every house table - and even a few staff members - murmuring to each other, walking across to other house tables for discussions, many of them not even troubling to keep their voices down. All of them staring directly at Remus - some wearing expressions of horror, some looking at him as though he’s something repulsive they’ve found on the bottom of their shoe, others looking outright terrified, as though he might turn and savage them at any moment. Some of the smaller students seem to have dispensed with subtlety altogether, kneeling or even standing up on the benches to get a better look at Professor Werewolf Lupin over other students’ heads. Regulus can even see a few students here and there who have the absolute audacity to look betrayed, as though they think their favourite teacher owed it to them to be someone better. Someone other than who he is. 

Regulus feels an icy fury spreading under his skin. How dare they all look at Remus Lupin like that? After everything he’s done for this school? For his students?

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you all that it’s bloody rude to stare?” Sirius snarls loudly, glaring around at them all. 

Perhaps some of them are successfully intimidated by this - but Regulus knows his brother well enough to see clearly that the guilt still hasn’t faded from his face. 

Looking back at Remus again, Regulus sees that his best friend is making an admirable - if futile - effort to keep his expression perfectly neutral, as if to pretend he neither sees the stares, hears the whispering, or has any clue what anybody is talking about. But Regulus can see the way a muscle is clenched in his jaw, the way his knuckles are white and trembling as he grips his copy of the Prophet - and most of all, he sees the way his best friend has shrunk into himself just a little, as though some part of him thinks he doesn’t deserve to take up as much space as he does. Regulus doesn’t think he’s ever seen Remus do that before. It sort of breaks his heart, if he’s honest. 

“Well played, Lucius,” he mutters, seemingly more to himself than to them, with a humourless little laugh. 

As the whispers and stares around the Great Hall somehow manage to increase, Remus heaves a sigh, taking Regulus aback - as well as the other two, by the looks of it - when he suddenly pushes his chair back and stands up. 

“Well. That’s me gone, then,” he says quietly, his tone calm, almost businesslike. Anyone other than the three of them might even have missed the crack in his voice. “I’d better go tell Dumbledore.” 

“Gone?” Regulus echoes, staring at his best friend, feeling suddenly much more panicky than he could have anticipated. “What do you mean, ‘gone’? Tell Dumbledore what?” 

Remus gives him a small, sad smile. For a moment, Regulus almost feels like he’s the one being pitied here. 

“Come on, Reg,” he says gently, “you’re just as much of a realist as I am. The Howlers from horrified parents will be absolutely pouring in by this time tomorrow - hell, by lunchtime today, even. I’m going to have to resign. You know I am.” 

Regulus feels a small, sickening lurch in his stomach, as though his foot has fallen through the infamous trick step outside the prefects’ bathroom. He is as much of a realist as Remus - more, even. But sometimes…sometimes he really wishes he wasn’t.

“What?!” Sirius, who is decidedly not a realist, and never has been, is staring at his boyfriend, guilty expression mingling with outraged indignation. “Moony, no!”

“Moony yes, I’m afraid,” he responds, with another small sigh. 

“What are you saying?” Sirius demands, his voice rising dangerously, considering the amount of people still staring at them avidly. “You mustn’t…you can’t just let that utter bastard drive you out of the castle, if you don’t want to go! We’ll…” he casts about, looking desperate, distraught, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with angry tears. “We’ll all speak to Dumbledore about this, that’s what we’ll do! I know he’ll be able to fix this!”

Regulus barely stops himself from rolling his eyes at that. Whatwill it take for these people to stop hero worshipping the old man?

“I wouldn’t bet on it, Sirius,” Remus replies. “But fine, you three can come with me to Dumbledore’s office, if you like.” He casts another look around the Great Hall, his expression still impressively neutral, other than the muscle twitching in his jaw. “It will certainly be better than hanging around in here.” 

Regulus nods. The four of them stride out of the Hall as quickly as possible, Remus keeping his head down, still shrinking into himself, the other three glaring fiercely around at everyone. 

“Enter,” says Dumbledore’s voice, sounding rather weary when Sirius pounds aggressively on his door. 

When Sirius storms in, the other three following close on his heels, the headmaster looks up at them all and sighs heavily. 

“Ah. I thought I might be seeing you four this morning,” he says, carefully folding a copy of the Prophet and placing it down on the desk in front of him. “Do I take it that you have come to hand in your resignation, Remus?” he asks, giving him a piercing, knowing gaze over his half-moon spectacles.

For a moment, they all just stare at him, taken aback. 

“I…yes,” Remus huffs. “That’s exactly what I’ve come to do.” 

“I thought as much,” the old man says gravely. 

“I mean, I haven’t written a letter, or anything,” Remus clarifies awkwardly, “but I thought, with the situation being what it is -”

“Hold on a bloody second,” Sirius interrupts, staring at Dumbledore with a look of outrage on his face. “‘I thought as much?’ Is that it? Aren’t you supposed to be telling Remus that he doesn’t bloody need to be resigning? That you’ll find a solution, sort out this stupid mess that Malfoy has made?”

“Well, I should say that it is up to Remus, if he wants to resign,” the headmaster replies, infuriatingly calm as always as he looks back at Sirius, “and it seems rather clear to me that he has already made up his mind.” 

“I have, yes,” Remus answers, still looking a little started nevertheless. 

“Well then, Sirius, I am not entirely sure what you wish me to do,” says Dumbledore, with a small shrug. “The fact of the matter is that Remus has now been publicly exposed as a werewolf. This is an event we were all hoping to avoid, of course, but nevertheless, it is too late to change it now. I am not telling him to go, of course; I should very much like him to stay. He is a natural, excellent teacher, and it is clear that his students admire him immensely - or at least, they did.” Remus flinches a little at that, despite his efforts to appear unfazed. “But Remus and I both know, I’m sure,” Dumbledore continues steadily, “that the owls will start arriving from parents, demanding his resignation before the end of the day. If he did stay, I imagine he would have an immensely difficult time teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts, with more than half of his students convinced that he himself is a Dark creature.” Sirius glares at him, moving closer to Remus. “I am not suggesting they would be correct in that belief, Sirius,” the headmaster clarifies, with a small sigh, “but many of them will believe it, nonetheless, and they will not be easily swayed. And while it may be true that our friend Lucius has decided to ‘make this mess’, out of a spiteful desire for vengeance - I feel it must be pointed out that there are certain people, here in this very office, who made this particular mess rather easier for him to make.”

There is something icy in his gaze as he says these words, looking pointedly at Sirius. Sirius blanches, an expression of guilt and self-loathing crossing his face, blinking rapidly. 

For one insane moment, Regulus has an urge to swear at Dumbledore for upsetting his brother - even if his brother happens to deserve it.

“You love teaching, though,” Regulus says quietly. “Hell, you’re a natural at it - you belong here, Remus. More than I do.” 

“Wait…was that actually a compliment, Reg?” Remus asks in a tone of mock astonishment, raising a wry eyebrow and grinning at him. “A compliment without any sarcasm, even?” 

Fabian sniggers slightly - the traitor - and Regulus shoots him a sharp look before turning back to Remus, rolling his eyes in an attempt to hide how affected he is. 

“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it,” he snarks back, “that will only happen about once every six months.” Sirius makes a sceptical noise. “Or every six years in your case, Sirius,” Regulus adds, without turning to look at him. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees his brother grinning a little; he feels a tiny surge of pride at lifting his mood, even for a moment. He ignores this feeling completely, of course.

“You know, I really did love teaching here,” Remus murmurs, the sarcastic expression fading from his face, replaced with a wistful look that makes something in Regulus’s chest ache. “More than I expected to, really. And I appreciate you saying that, Reg, I really do - but the headmaster’s right. Now that Malfoy’s made the charming decision to tip the Prophet off about my furry little problem, there are going to be plenty of people queuing up to tell me that I definitely don’t belong here.” He heaves a sigh, rubbing a hand exhaustedly over his forehead. “This is the precise reason that I never registered with the Ministry, of course - but I suppose there’s no use crying over spilt potion, is there? The way I see it, I really don’t have any feasible alternative, other than to resign.” 

“But -” Regulus begins, feeling strangely close to tears. 

“I’ll be fine, Reg,” says Remus quietly, cutting him off with a small, tired smile that doesn’t reach his hazel eyes. “I’ll just…go back to helping the Order, I s’pose. I can give you more help outside of Hogwarts, Professor,” he adds, turning back to Dumbledore with a brave attempt at a casual expression, “especially now we know there are four more bloody Horcruxes to find, somewhere out there.” 

“Yes indeed,” the headmaster replies, with a courteous little nod. “I shall greatly appreciate your help, Remus - as ever.” 

Sirius makes a small, sad sound. Regulus has a feeling that the lump which seems to have lodged itself in his throat might make him sound a little like that too, if he tried to speak. Remus turns back to his boyfriend, his face softening. 

“Besides,” he says quietly, “be quite nice to be back in the flat again, won’t it, Pads?” 

Sirius’s face finally lights up at that. Remus gives him a soft smile, reaching out to twine their fingers together. 

A small sniffle escapes Regulus before he can help himself. He hadn’t really thought about how important it had become for him, to see Remus around the castle every day, to spend the evenings unwinding with wine, gossip and sarcasm in each other’s offices, coming by Remus’s classroom to sneak him chocolate and cigarettes while the students were distracted. He’s been taking it for granted without realising; but now that he thinks about it, he’s certainly never had any other friendship this close. Perhaps it’s selfish, given the situation, to be thinking about how lonely it’s going to be, teaching at Hogwarts without him. But he can’t help it. 

Without a word, Fabian slips his warm, calloused hand into Regulus’s, soothingly stroking his thumb in small circles across the back of his hand. Regulus takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself - this is getting embarrassing. 

“Oh, come off it, Reg,” Remus tells him quietly, with a small, reassuring grin. “You won’t be getting rid of me this easily. We’ll see each other soon. You know that.” 

Regulus makes a small, choked sound, almost identical to the noise his older brother had made a few moments ago. Without meaning to at all, he drops Fabian’s hand, striding across to his best friend, pulling him away from Sirius and yanking him into a hug, squeezing him tightly. 

“Well, look at you, Reg,” Remus teases, grinning as he squeezes him back. “Going soft, I see.” 

“Shut up, Lupin,” he mutters into the taller man’s shoulder, without looking up.

“Oi!” Sirius protests, although Regulus can’t help but notice that he doesn’t actually sound all that annoyed at all. “Hands off my man, Reg!” 

As Regulus releases his best friend - making a point of rolling his eyes at his brother as he does so - the silvery blur of a Patronus soars suddenly into Dumbledore’s office. As it lands gracefully on the headmaster’s desk, Regulus sees that the Patronus is in the form of a tabby cat, with distinctive square spectacle markings arounds its eyes. When it opens its mouth to speak, the voice emitting from it is very familiar. 

“That insufferable Skeeter woman from the Prophet has just arrived, Albus,” the silver tabby cat announces, with the clipped, no-nonsense voice of Minerva McGonagall, “Quick-Quotes Quill and all. I did try to inform her that you were far too busy to speak to her, but as usual, she did not seem to grasp the meaning of the word ‘no.’ I presume Remus is up in your office with you now?” McGonagall’s tone changes, becoming noticeably softer, more sympathetic. “Remus, I know you’ve got enough on your plate as it is - but she’s on her way up to the headmaster’s office now. I’m sorry - I tried to head her off. It…”  - her voice sounds hoarse, almost tearful now - “it has been a pleasure teaching with you, Remus. Please…take care of yourself.” 

With that, the silver tabby cat vanishes. 

“Fuck,” Remus mutters, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“But how did she know you were…?” Fabian begins, trailing off as he stares at the empty space where the Patronus had been mere seconds ago. 

“Can’t get anything past Minnie,” Sirius replies, with an attempt at a casual tone, which is rather ruined by the expression on his face. “Thought you’d know that by now, Fab.” 

“Right,” Remus says tightly, with an anxious glance towards the door. “S’pose I’d better hurry up and get going, then.” 

“Indeed,” Dumbledore agrees sombrely, getting up from his desk and walking swiftly towards Remus. “You may use my fireplace.” 

“Right,” he mumbles. 

The headmaster holds out his hand, and Remus shakes it, looking more than a little lost. 

“Goodbye, Remus. You have been a wonderful Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, and you have shown more courage and skill this year than I could have dreamed of. I am immensely proud of you, as well as incredibly grateful for all you have done for your students. I am truly sorry that your time at Hogwarts has to end so abruptly, and in such circumstances. I wish you all the best - and I imagine I shall see you shortly, back in London.” 

Remus nods, looking more than a little awkward, as though he has no clue how to respond to that much praise. As he drops Dumbledore’s hand, Fabian steps forward, pulling him into a brief bear hug. 

“I’ll see you soon, too. Please take care, yeah? Remember that none of this shit is your fault. I mean, I know you can be a proper bastard to yourself, but -” 

“That makes me your type then, doesn’t it?” Remus quips, shooting Regulus a smirk as Fabian releases him. Regulus narrows his eyes at him, as Fabian flushes, shoving him playfully. “Tell you what, Fab, I’ll cut you a deal; I’ll try to take care of myself, if you promise to take care of that sarcastic little prick over there, yeah?” 

He nods over at Regulus, even as Regulus continues to glare at him. 

Fabian looks over at him, too, his entire face softening.

“Course I’ll take care of the sarcastic little prick,” he says quietly, somehow managing to make that sound like an adoring endearment. “You know I will.”

“Yeah,” Remus replies, grinning back at him. “I do know that.” 

Regulus feels himself melting - which, he chastises himself, is entirely inappropriate, given the current situation. 

“Thanks for defending me there, Prewett,” he attempts to snark, fully aware that the heat blooming across his cheeks is probably taking the edge off slightly. 

“Any time,” Fabian responds, his grin growing brighter, making Regulus’s heart promptly do a backflip. Pathetic. 

Remus takes another step towards Dumbledore’s fireplace, but he pauses before he gets there, turning back to the others with an anxious expression on his face. 

“Shit,” he says, slapping a hand to his forehead. “My stuff, it’s all in my office, I haven’t even bloody packed anything -”

“Don’t be a prat, Remus,” Regulus sighs, wishing he sounded a bit more sarcastic and a bit less worried, “we can send it all on for you, that’s hardly an issue, is it?”

“Oh. Right,” he replies sheepishly, taking a deep breath, apparently trying to steady himself.

“And I can keep brewing the Wolfsbane Potion, I’ll still send you some every month,” Regulus adds hastily. “I see no reason that you should lose access to that, just because Lucius Malfoy is a colossal arsehole.” 

“Look, Reg, I’m grateful that you put in the effort to brew that for me, I really am,” says Remus, shooting him a mischievous grin which doesn’t quite reach his weary eyes. “But honestly…I think I might prefer to run around and howl at the moon from now on, rather than having to knock back that godawful shite once a month.” 

“God, Lupin, you are such a drama queen,” Regulus complains.

“Pot, kettle?” Remus replies, raising one eyebrow at him and smirking. 

“Oh, just hurry up and go already, you dick,” Regulus huffs, rolling his eyes. 

But, despite himself, he can’t help but grin back at his best friend, just a little. 

Remus grins too, before taking another deep breath and squaring his shoulders. He turns to Sirius, his hand outstretched. 

“Coming, Pads?” 

“I’ll follow you in a minute,” Sirius replies, his jaw tight, taking Regulus by surprise - Remus too, by the looks of it. “I’d just like to have a word or two with this dear Skeeter woman, first.” 

This will end well, Regulus thinks to himself. Apparently, exactly the same thought crosses Remus’s mind, if the apprehensive look on his face is anything to go by. Normally, Remus certainly doesn’t have any issues arguing with his boyfriend - but he is running pretty short on time at this point, and Sirius is wearing his most steely, stubborn expression. Regulus knows well enough that it’s borderline impossible to shift him when he’s in this mood. 

Clearly Remus knows it too; for once, rather than arguing his point, he simply heaves a sigh and steps forward, wordlessly pressing a kiss to Sirius’s forehead. With one darkly meaningful look at Regulus, and one brief parting squeeze of his boyfriend’s hand, Remus steps forward, takes a handful of glittering powder from Dumbledore’s mantelpiece, and throws it into the fireplace. 

A moment later, the best friend Regulus has ever had has vanished in a roar of emerald green flames. 

The knock on Dumbledore’s office door comes barely three minutes later, an irritating little rat-tat-tat pattern that sets Regulus’s teeth on edge immediately; the door bursts open before Dumbledore has even finished the word “Enter.” 

Regulus remembers well what Rita Skeeter had been like at school, as a Slytherin student a few years above him. He couldn’t claim to have known her well, by any stretch; but from what he did know of her, he had always been baffled - and a little offended - that the Sorting Hat had put both of them in the same House. Oh, Skeeter certainly had ambition, and plenty of it, always trading gossip and rumours like currency that would accrue her as much power as possible. But it had always seemed to Regulus that she possessed not an ounce of the style, the sophistication that he associated with Slytherin House and its denizens. She had been so desperate to collect her gossip, in fact, to know things that other people didn’t, that she had always seemed to pop up everywhere around the castle, incessantly, especially where she was least wanted. She had certainly understood other people’s hints for her to fuck off; she had just completely ignored them. 

It only takes one glance at the woman standing in front of him now for Regulus to see that she hasn’t changed the slightest bit since graduating from Hogwarts. Rita Skeeter’s blonde hair is set in tight ringlets that look like they must have taken her hours, and she’s wearing a pair of bejewelled cat-eye spectacles and a ridiculously sparkly bright green ensemble - with nail polish to match - which puts Regulus in mind of an oversized, poisonous beetle, one of those incessantly buzzing, humming insects that you can’t seem to squash no matter how hard you try. As if the image in front of him weren’t insufferable enough, Skeeter is also holding a notepad, with a large green quill levitating in midair above it, vibrating as if with excitement to start writing. She’s also wearing an extremely self-satisfied grin. 

“Ah, good morning, Rita,” says Dumbledore, smiling politely at her as though they have a long-standing arrangement which involves her bursting into his office whenever she feels like it. 

“Hello, Albus,” Skeeter responds; her voice sounds every bit as smug and grating as Regulus remembers. She glances around the office, taking in Regulus, Fabian and Sirius, none of whom look quite as serene as the headmaster - in fact, Regulus can practically feel the fury radiating from his brother like an invisible forcefield; impossibly, her smirk broadens. “Having a little party, are we? Minerva did mention that you might be a tad busy; but you know me, I can be quite determined when I want to be.” 

Regulus is forcibly reminded of the smugness radiating from Lucius Malfoy on the day he had suddenly shown up in Dumbledore’s fireplace to gloat and blackmail; incredibly, he feels his fury at this stupid woman somehow increase even more. 

“I do indeed know how determined you can be, Rita,” the headmaster answers, with that welcoming smile somehow still miraculously in place, looking almost genuine. His face doesn’t betray even the slightest flicker of annoyance. “It was rather discourteous of you to ignore Minerva like that, I must say. But no matter; you are here now, and both of you are welcome to join us, given that you seem so keen on it.” 

Both of you? Regulus internally echoes, baffled for a moment, until he notices the short wizard wearing dark robes and holding a huge camera, hovering behind Skeeter. His appearance is so unobtrusive compared to her ridiculous exuberance that Regulus is hardly surprised he hadn’t spotted the man until now; from the bemused looks on Sirius and Fabian’s faces, he would hazard a guess that neither of them had spotted the photographer until that moment, either. 

“Please, sit,” says Dumbledore courteously, giving his wand a little twirl so that two chintz armchairs appear from thin air behind Skeeter and her photographer, zooming forward so abruptly that their legs collapse from under them, leaving them little choice, indeed, other than to sit. 

“Would either of you care for a sherbet lemon?” the headmaster asks, placidly offering them the bowl of confections that sits on his desk. Regulus has the distinct impression that the old man is rather enjoying himself now. 

“No thank you, Albus,” Rita replies in a sugary sweet voice; she’s not quite as successful as appearing unruffled as he is. “Believe it or not, Bozo and I actually came here to chat about something a tad more important than sherbet lemons.” 

“Indeed?” Dumbledore asks, sounding only mildly intrigued. He shoots a brief warning look at Sirius - Regulus can tell that his brother is seriously considering transforming into his Animagus form, purely so he can bite the woman - before turning back to Rita, steepling his fingers under his chin and gazing at her steadily over his half-moon glasses. “And what was it, precisely, that you were hoping to chat about, Rita?” 

“Oh, I’m sure you can make quite a good guess, Albus, if you’re half as brainy as you like to boast about!” she replies, with a gleeful little cackle. “It seems you’ve been shushing up quite the scandalous story here over the past few months, and you know how our readers love to read about scandal, don’t you? Apparently, not only have you been covering up a series of dreadful attacks on your students, but you also knowinglyhired an unregistered and dangerous werewolf to teach said students ‘Defence’ Against the Dark Arts this year! Honestly, Albus, I hardly even know where to begin with all this! Do you deny that these things happened under your watch?” 

Fuck, Regulus groans internally. Apparently Malfoy had decided to throw caution to the winds completely when he had contacted Rita - the man doesn’t go in for half-measures when he’s intent on vengeance, it would seem. 

To his credit, Dumbledore doesn’t look fazed in the slightest; he simply continues to regard Skeeter calmly. 

“I shall not deny that there have been attacks happening on my students over the past months, nor that I made the decision not to alert the Ministry of this,” he answers. “I hoped that the situation could be resolved, and the culprit caught, without causing an unnecessary panic outside the walls of Hogwarts. Perhaps this was not the correct decision; but in any case, it is done now, the culprit has been taken out of action, and Professor Black here -” he nods slightly in Regulus’s direction - “has expertly brewed a Restorative Draught, with the help of Professor Sprout’s Mandrakes. Madam Pomfrey has used this Draught to revive those students who were attacked over the past few months; it seems we have cause to hope that any lasting damage will be minimal.” 

Try telling that to Alfie Thomas’s parents, Regulus thinks darkly. He can picture the precise disgusted look that Remus would be shooting at the headmaster for that, if he were here. 

“As for knowingly hiring an unregistered werewolf to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts,” Dumbledore continues, raising his voice ever so slightly, as Skeeter is showing every sign of being about to interrupt, “I fully acknowledge this, too. Professor Lupin decided long ago not to register with the Ministry, for reasons which, I think you’ll agree, have become abundantly clear even in the few short hours since his condition was made public without his consent - and he had my full support in this decision. However, I’m afraid I do not agree with your claim that Professor Lupin was a danger to my students, just because he happens to be a werewolf.” 

“Oh, come now, Albus,” says Rita, looking at him with an expression of scornful disbelief on her face. “I know that you have some…eccentric ideas, shall we say, but even you have to admit -” 

“There is a relatively new invention, called the Wolfsbane Potion,” the headmaster continues, as though Skeeter had not even spoken, “which, when taken during the week preceding a full moon, allows a werewolf to retain his own human consciousness during his transformation, ensuring that he can spend the entire night curled up as a docile, harmless wolf, who poses no threat to humans whatsoever. The ingredients are expensive, but Hogwarts has the funds; it is, admittedly, a rather complex potion, but Professor Black here has been taking great pains to brew the potion correctly for Professor Lupin every month since the two of them began teaching here. There has not been a single full moon, since September last year, that he has posed any danger to any of his students; besides which, I should add, Professor Lupin has gone above and beyond all of my expectations while he has been here, and proved himself to be a most excellent and dedicated teacher.” 

“And where is dear Professor Lupin, might I ask, Albus?” Rita asks in a sugary sweet voice, her lips curling up into a smirk that tells Regulus she’s quite sure she’s just taken out a winning card. “I was rather hoping I might get some of the story directly from him, you see. I’m sure our loyal readers would be fascinated to know some of the finer details.” 

Sirius takes a furious step forward; Fabian, at his side, quickly reaches out to grab his arm, holding him back with another warning glance. Dumbledore merely looks back at Skeeter steadily, raising one eyebrow, any hint of warmth vanished from his face. 

“Remus has, unfortunately, made the decision to resign his teaching post here,” he replies. “Understandable, of course, given the circumstances. I’m afraid that you have just missed him, Rita.” 

“Have I, indeed?” Skeeter asks, her face alight with malicious glee. “Well, now…that seems like slightly suspicious timing, doesn’t it?” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Regulus demands loudly, unable to stop himself. 

“Well,” she replies, still in that same sugary voice, her smirk widening impossibly, “given that Albus has just told me the students who were attacked have only just been revived with a Restorative Draught - it seems a little strange, does it not, that Professor Lupin should have chosen this moment to resign and flee from Hogwarts? Guilty conscience, perhaps?” Regulus freezes, staring at her, too appalled to speak. “After all,” Skeeter goes on, “werewolves do have a notorious tendency for brutality, Albus, regardless of whether or not they drink this Wolfsbane Potion. Surely, with his very sudden resignation, it must have at least occurred to you that there might have been a direct link between Professor Lupin, and the terrible attacks on students that have been happening over the past months? They didn’t start until he began teaching at Hogwarts, did they?”

Regulus feels a surge of icy fury flooding his chest, making him feel suddenly very capable of violence. He takes a step forward, unconsciously clenching his hands into fists at his side, not even knowing what he’s going to do. Unfortunately, Sirius - wrenching his arm free of Fabian’s grip and quite visibly shaking with rage - gets there before him. 

“You utter bitch,” he snarls at Skeeter.

“Sirius,” says Dumbledore, in a warning tone; but, predictably, Sirius completely ignores him. 

“You think Remus was behind the attacks on the students? Just because he happens to be a werewolf? It was nothing to do with him, you bigoted cow - it was this!” 

Without warning, he moves to pick up the destroyed, ink-splattered diary, which is still sitting innocently on Dumbledore’s desk, brandishing it at the journalist. 

“You see this little book, right here? This is a” - Regulus elbows him, hard; Sirius glances over to see his pointed glare and changes tack only slightly, undeterred from his mission - “this book was full of Dark magic! This was what triggered all the attacks in the castle; Remus Lupin was the one who destroyed it, for Merlin’s sake! He’s the reason that the attacks stopped, he saved everyone - so you can bloody well think about that, before you come in here trying to feed your poisonous, prejudiced accusations to everyone who reads the bloody Prophet!”

Skeeter doesn’t look alarmed in the slightest by Sirius’s ranting; if anything, she looks downright amused, which only appears to be enraging him further. 

“You want to know who the bastard was, who pawned this book off on an innocent kid, to make sure it made its way into Hogwarts this year? Lucius Bloody Malfoy, that’s who!” 

Regulus groans internally, exchanging a look with Fabian behind Sirius’s back. 

“Lucius Malfoy?” Rita echoes, looking highly sceptical, yet at the same time delighted by the accusation. “Well now, that seems rather unlikely. After all, he was the one who alerted us to the presence of a werewolf at Hogwarts in the first place!

“Well, he had a pretty obvious agenda with that, didn’t he?” Sirius growls. “He was just trying to get back at Moony for destroying the weapon that he smuggled in!” 

“Moony?” Skeeter repeats, sounding highly entertained - Sirius blinks, apparently only just registering what he had said out of habit. “Well, that’s rather a sweet little nickname for a violent werewolf, I must say.” 

This time, it takes both Fabian and Regulus to stop Sirius from lunging at her - but Skeeter just steps back a little so she’s out of range, still looking infuriatingly unfazed. 

“Goodness,” she says, smirking wider still, “they dosay that the Black family is not exactly the most stable of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, don’t they?” 

Regulus and Sirius exchange a brief, uneasy look at that, because…well, they can’t exactly argue with her there, can they? 

“It is a teensy bit far-fetched to claim that that little book was behind all of the attacks on students,” Rita continues, “not to mention, accusing a highly respected member of the Ministry of being the culprit.” 

Despite her sceptical words, though, Rita looks positively gleeful. She doesn’t actually care in the slightest whether Sirius’s accusation is true, Regulus realises; she just lives and breathes scandal, she thrives off of destroying reputations. The higher someone’s position in society, the further they have to fall, the better. 

“Well, you could always try to get a direct quote from Malfoy on the matter,” Regulus comments wryly. “But I would hazard a guess that you might find it difficult to get a hold of him, at this point.” 

“You think so?” Skeeter asks, looking even more delighted at the prospect of interrogating Lucius. 

Regulus just looks back at her stonily, still keeping a firm grip on his brother to ensure he doesn’t curse the woman. Or punch her. 

“Well,” says Rita, with a little fake sigh, “I can see that I’m not going to get any more out of any of you - but this has been a most enlightening conversation, so I thank you anyway. Better get a photo of this silly little book, anyway, Bozo,” she adds gleefully, reaching out to pluck it from Sirius’s grip - Regulus can’t help but marvel at her audacity - and turning to the unobtrusive photographer next to her, “just to go with the report.” 

The man raises his camera and immediately begins clicking away with a thoroughly irritating sound. 

“Oh, I can see it now,” the journalist continues, her voice positively brimming with excitement. She nods at her green quill, which promptly begins to zoom across her notepad of its own accord. “‘Remus Lupin’s conveniently timed disappearance; Hogwarts staff members desperately blame respected senior  Ministry member and school governor, Lucius Malfoy, for a series of attacks on students, claiming that Malfoy committed his crimes with the aid of a small book.’”

“Sirius isn’t a Hogwarts staff member,” Regulus points out, deadpan.

“Close enough!” Skeeter replies, in a singsong voice, her green quill still zooming back and forth while the photographer takes yet more photos. 

“Are you quite finished?” Regulus asks through his teeth a moment later, the temptation to let go of his brother and strangle this cow himself becoming almost overwhelming. 

“Yes, I think we’ve got enough of a story to be getting on with,” she crows, flicking her wand so that the green quill stops writing and tucks itself neatly behind her ear, reaching out to clutch her notebook in one long-taloned hand. “Come on, Bozo,” she adds, heaving a sigh as she turns to the photographer, “I think I can see where we’re not wanted.” 

“Oh, you can, can you?” Fabian mutters darkly, still struggling to restrain Sirius. 

“Until next time, Albus!” Rita calls over her shoulder, still smirking as she and her photographer head towards the door. 

“Yes,” Dumbledore replies, with a quiet sigh. “Yes, I don’t doubt it, Rita.” 

The office door snaps shut behind the pair of them, with no sign that either had listened to a word of the headmaster’s response. 

“Brilliant work there, Sirius,” Regulus says sardonically, the moment the door closes. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sirius snarls back at him immediately, wrenching his arms free from both his and Fabian’s grip, glaring fiercely.

“I believe what your brother is trying to say, Sirius, perhaps a tad dryly,” says Dumbledore, sounding more tired than Regulus has heard him in a while, “is that it may not have been the best idea to tell Rita about Lucius. Or, indeed, to show her the destroyed diary, and tell her that it was Remus’s doing.” 

“What?” Sirius retorts indignantly. “Why the hell shouldn’t I have told her about Malfoy?! She was standing there blaming Moony for everything that’s been happening here, but it’s Malfoy’s bloody fault, all of it! If the Prophet is going to print awful shit about anyone, then it should be him, surely - he bloody well deserves it!” 

“If you were capable of considering the fact that your actions might have consequences lasting more than one minute into the future, Sirius,” Regulus tells his brother acidly, “you might realise that, regardless of what that prick undoubtedly deserves, he’s not going to be the only one Skeeter will be mentioning in her article, now that you, as per usual, have failed to keep your mouth shut.” 

“For Godric’s sake, Reg,” Sirius barks, turning to glare at him, shoving Fabian aside as he none-too-subtly tries to step between them, “if you’re trying to insult me, then why don’t you just get to the damn point and explain what the hell you’re getting at?” 

“Alright, I’ll explain precisely ‘what the hell I’m getting at’,” he retorts. “I already told Malfoy that he’ll need to go into hiding, because the Dark Lord will inevitably find out that he ignored his orders and smuggled his Horcrux into Hogwarts, rather than keeping it hidden away as he was told to do.” 

“Still not seeing the problem here, Reg,” Sirius growls. “You’ve just admitted that the bastard deserves everything he gets. Way I see it, my telling Skeeter just ensured that Voldemort will give him what’s coming to him sooner rather than later.” 

“Merlin, Sirius, you really are an idiot, aren’t you?” says Regulus quietly, staring at his brother, feeling a strange surge of mingled fury and pity. “You didn’t just tell that bitch about Lucius; you also informed her that it was Remus who destroyed the diary. You heard her; she’ll print everything you said even if she doesn’t believe a word of it herself, if only to encourage her readers to laugh at you, and sell more papers. And you were right about one thing - the Dark Lord is just as capable of getting his news from the Prophet as everyone else is. So, if Malfoy is going to have to go on the run when the Dark Lord discovers that he sent the Horcrux off to Hogwarts - what the hell do you imagine is going to happen to Remus, once the Dark Lord reads that he’sthe one who destroyed it? I mean, Christ, Sirius, don’t you think that your recklessness has already hurt him enough?”

Every trace of colour abruptly drains from Sirius’s face. For a moment, as he stares back at Regulus with a look of horrified fear and guilt on his face, he looks like a hollow ghost of himself; he looks every bit as gaunt and frail and small as he had on that night in the cave. 

“Reg,” he whispers, those mirror-image grey eyes wide and glistening with tears. His brother sounds suddenly like a small, frightened child, desperate for comfort and reassurance; which, again, sends Regulus forcibly back to the memory of that awful cave. “I…I didn’t think, Reg.” 

Regulus sighs, trying to ignore the sudden familiar surge of guilt, the impulse to apologise for being too harsh. 

“I know you didn’t, Sirius. That’s the problem, isn’t it? You never do.” 

Sirius just stares back at him, tears rolling down his cheeks. He doesn’t bother to wipe them away, or pretend they’re not there. 

When they were teenagers, constantly bickering and forever at each other’s throats, Regulus used to relish in the victory every time he won an argument, especiallywhen he succeeded in getting Sirius to actually admit that he was wrong.

But standing here in Dumbledore’s office now, overflowing with anxiety and exhaustion and fear for his best friend, staring at his older brother’s guilt-stricken, tearstained face…well, Regulus muses, this might be about the furthest from victory that he’s ever felt. 

Two Weeks Later  - March 1983, Hogwarts Castle 

He had been right, of course. 

Rita had published almost every single word Sirius had shouted at her in Dumbledore’s office - both his accusations of Malfoy, and his declaration that it was Remus Lupin who had destroyed a little black diary that was supposedly the source of all the attacks at Hogwarts. 

The article had appeared as front page news in the Prophet only a day after Skeeter’s smug appearance in Dumbledore’s office. Regulus had been prepared for it, of course - but it had still left a strange pit in his stomach seeing it printed starkly in black ink, hearing the whispers of students around the corridors pondering how it could possibly be true that Professor Lupin was both a werewolf and their saviour from the mysterious attacks. Surely, one of those things had to be a lie, right? It sickens him, honestly, hearing these people who had once looked up to Remus as their favourite teacher speaking about him in such a cold, detached way, when Remus isn’t even here at Hogwarts to defend himself any more. Then again, when Regulus remembers the way his best friend had seemed to shrink in on himself when the article outing him had first appeared…he’s not entirely convinced that Remus would be making much of an effort to defend himself, even if he was still here. 

Sirius, still crying, had immediately taken the Floo from Dumbledore’s office back home to the flat he and Remus share in London; to apologise on his knees for his own idiocy, Regulus can only assume. 

According to the last update Regulus had received, Remus and Sirius had come to the conclusion - Sirius still crying and apologising profusely all the while - that the best option now would be for Remus to go into hiding, just like the Potters. Apparently, when James had heard the story - Regulus is assuming that Sirius had called him over their mirrors, crying desperately at his best friend - he had turned to confer with Lily for all of thirty seconds, before insisting that, if Remus had to go into hiding, then he had to come and stay with them at Godric’s Hollow. 

Regulus is fairly certain this was partly because Potter has been going slowly insane without seeing his friends - the four of them had always been alarmingly codependent back at Hogwarts - although, to be fair to him, he also knows Potter well enough to understand that he’s almost as worried about Remus as Sirius is, and that he would do anything in the world to keep his loved ones safe. 

Remus had told Regulus that he’d had his doubts, wondering if moving into Godrics’ Hollow would only put a bigger target on all their backs; but Potter, apparently, had insisted that they could take care of each other, that there could be nowhere safer for Remus to go. 

“After all, Regulus is our Secret Keeper,” he’d argued, according to Remus, “and if Voldemort still doesn’t suspect him at all after nearly two years, I don’t see why he should start suspecting him now. We can trust Regulus, Moony - he’s proven that, hasn’t he?” 

Which is all very well, Regulus finds himself thinking bitterly, but it’s far more praise than he deserves. James Potter may sing his praises - but he still doesn’t know that Regulus, having his hands tied in a terrifying and uncertain moment almost two years ago, had promised the Dark Lord that he would, in fact, hand over all three of them. And he still hasn’t actually figured out how to back out of that promise without getting any of them hurt. Running away to teach at Hogwarts was only ever going to be a temporary solution; Remus’s abrupt departure has been a stark reminder of that. 

“You’re thinking about him again, aren’t you?” Fabian’s calm, soothing voice interrupts his thoughts. “Remus.” 

Regulus glances sideways at him - though he has to twist around a little, given that he’s currently leaning against his side. 

The two of them are sitting on the sofa in front of the fireplace in Regulus’s office, relishing in a small moment of quiet calm after the utter chaos of the past two weeks. It’s hard to remember, sometimes, that the threat of the Heir of Slytherin has been vanquished, that they successfully saved the students of Hogwarts from that crisis - because this new crisis seems to have followed so swiftly on its heels that Regulus feels like he’s barely had time to catch his breath. 

“Might be,” he admits with a small grimace, in response to Fabian’s question. “Just…worried, I suppose.” 

“I know you are,” the taller man murmurs, curling one warm arm around his shoulders, gently rubbing small circles into his arm with his thumb. Regulus has no clue how this one tiny gesture can be so soothing. “But you said he’s going to be moving in with James and Lily and their kid, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Well, I’m certain that Lily won’t let anything happen to him,” says Fabian quietly. “She adores Remus. Has done since they were first years, long before she learnt to tolerate Sirius - not to mention the man she ended up marrying, whom she spent many happy years threatening to hex, as I recall.” This coaxes a reluctant grin out of Regulus. “And speaking of James,” Fabian continues, looking entirely too pleased with himself for making Regulus smile, even just slightly, “I hear he’s pretty fond of Remus, too. Come on, Reg, you know what your brother’s best mate is like - he’ll dive in front of anyone who tries to hurt his friends, without a moment’s hesitation.” 

Even when those friends are trying to hurt each other, Regulus remembers, thinking back to the look on Potter’s face when he had shielded Pettigrew.

“That’s true,” he muses. “It’s sort of hot, actually.” 

It’s only when he spots the wide-eyed look of shock on Fabian’s face that he registers he’d said that last part out loud. Shit. 

“Regulus Black,” Fabian whispers, after a long moment of silence - and to his astonishment, Regulus sees the beginnings of a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Did you just say what I think you said? About James Potter? About your brother’s best friend?!” 

Regulus can feel his face starting to burn now. 

“Alright, it’s possible that I had a…thing. For Potter. Back at school. Quite a big thing, actually, for a few years. In fact, uh…he may or may not have been the impetus for my discovery that I was very gay, when I was about fourteen? It was only ever from a distance, though. Used to piss me off quite a bit that I felt that way, given…the situation.” 

“Oh my god,” says Fabian, still looking stunned. “Does Sirius know?” 

“No,” he hisses, tensing up immediately. “No, Fabian, Sirius does not know, and he will never know, and if you ever get it into your head to tell him then I swear to Merlin I’ll -” 

“Okay, I get it, Reg,” Fabian interjects, still grinning as he holds both hands up in surrender. “You know I would never tell your brother anything you didn’t want me to tell him.” 

“I…yeah,” Regulus admits, starting to relax, already a little embarrassed by his overreaction. “Yeah, I do know that. Thanks.” 

“You don’t ever have to thank me for keeping your secrets for you, Reg,” Fabian responds, the look on his face turning suddenly very soft. “That’s a given, okay? I promise.” 

Regulus feels his heart perform the familiar backflip at the look in the other man’s eyes. Nobody else has ever looked at him quite the way Fabian does. 

“Yeah. Okay,” he croaks, trying and failing to sound unaffected.

“Anyway, you’re over him now, right?” Fabian asks. 

Regulus can tell he’s trying his best to sound airy, casual, as though it’s just a throwaway question; but Fabian Prewett has always been a shit liar. He can plainly hear the wavering edge of uncertainty in the taller man’s voice, and it makes him melt that little bit more. 

“Yes, Fabian,” he answers, with an exaggerated huff and an eye roll, trying his best to reassure him that his question is ridiculous, “it’s been a very long time now since I looked at James Potter with any thought other than ‘Salazar my brother’s friends are obnoxious.’ Although he is still hot. Objectively speaking.” 

“You’re right, actually,” Fabian replies, grinning at him again - Regulus sees the slight tension in his shoulders vanish. “James is objectively hot. Good taste, that Lily has - once she finally admitted she was into him, at least.” 

“Mm,” Regulus says noncommittally. Fabian tilts his head a little, studying him curiously. 

“So what was it that turned you off him in the end, then? If you fancied him for years?”

“A number of things,” Regulus answers, shrugging. “For one, it finally dawned on me that James Oblivious Potter was never going to have eyes for anyone whose name wasn’t Lily Evans; as I recall, he had people throwing themselves at him left, right and centre, but if it wasn’t Lily - which it never was, of course - he barely even seemed to notice. For another thing, by the time I was in sixth year and Sirius had left, my life was starting to get sort of…intense.” 

Instinctively, he goes to touch his left forearm; he sees Fabian’s gaze follow the movement. He takes a deep breath, trying to shake off the familiar self-loathing coiling in his chest. 

“I started to feel like my life was turning into a struggle for survival around that time, if I’m honest,” he presses on, struggling to keep his voice even - Fabian makes a small, choked sound, stroking soothing circles into his arm again, and Regulus attempts to give him a reassuring smile. “So any stupid feelings or thoughts I might have had about my brother’s best friend - sort of just…faded into the background. I didn’t really have time to think about stuff like that any more, I suppose. And then, once that lot all graduated, I obviously didn’t see Potter again until I came to my first Order meeting, about three years later, by which time he was happily married with a kid. Who knows, maybe that pathetic old crush might have resurfaced again - except, as I recall, a certain tall, loud redhead strode over, grinning at me despite the fact that everyone else was glaring, inviting me to come sit next to him. And that quite successfully distracted me from James Potter, to say the least.” 

“Oh,” Fabian breathes - and then he’s beaming at him, blue eyes bright and warm, pure happiness radiating from him like sunlight. 

“Anyway,” Regulus continues, shaking himself a little, hoping that he doesn’t look too ridiculously lovestruck right now, “I don’t see why we’re talking about the fact that I pined pathetically over Potter for a few years, when you literally made out with my brother.” 

“Oh Merlin,” Fabian groans, his face immediately turning almost as vivid a scarlet as his hair. He leans forward, taking his hand away from Regulus’s arm so that he can hide his face in both hands. “When did Sirius tell you that, the prick?!” 

“He didn’t, exactly,” he responds wryly, arching one eyebrow. “He just very heavily hinted at it, right in front of you, and you turned just as bright red as you are now and quickly avoided his eyes. I’m not an idiot, Fabian. I didn’t know for sure - but you’ve pretty much just confirmed it for me, haven’t you?” 

“Shit,” the taller man mutters into his hands, and Regulus huffs a humourless laugh. Fabian finally takes his hands away from his face, still blushing and looking more than a little mortified. “We only snogged once or twice, I swear!” 

“I figured,” Regulus replies, more amused than anything now.

“And it wasn’t like it meant anything,”  the redhead adds hastily. “Your brother has always been head over heels for Remus, but it took him quite a while to figure that out, as I recall - and in the meantime, he was making out with half the people in Gryffindor Tower. Although, to be fair, so was I, if I remember correctly.” 

“I’m so glad I know that,” says Regulus, deadpan, “that makes me feel so much better.”

Fabian grimaces sheepishly for a moment. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, leaning in closer, the expression on his face suddenly soft again, “you know I’ve never felt the same way about anyone else as I feel about you, right? I’ve never even come close, Reg.” 

“Oh,” Regulus chokes, suddenly struggling to breathe. 

Who cares, he doesn’t need oxygen, he muses absurdly - all he needs is to look at that smile forever. Merlin, what has this man done to him?? 

“Can I…?” Fabian asks, holding his gaze as he stretches his hand out carefully. 

Regulus gives a shaky nod, and Fabian cups his cheek in his hand, stroking a thumb across his cheekbone so, so gently. He leans in, pressing a soft kiss against his forehead, and Regulus’s eyes flutter closed as he relishes in the sensation. 

“Anyway,” Fabian says, sounding almost businesslike as he leans back again - Regulus accidentally lets out a small whine of protest, and Fabian’s grin turns slightly smug - “think we got a bit sidetracked by talking about how hot James and Sirius are, didn’t we?” 

“Can we not say that my brother is -” 

“The point is,” Fabian continues, as though Regulus hadn’t interrupted, “I know you’re worried about Remus - but James and Lily will do their utmost to keep him safe, Reg. I know they will.”

Regulus sighs, throwing his head back against the sofa and rubbing a weary hand across his forehead. 

“But there’s only so much they can do,” he mutters. “I’m the Secret Keeper for Godric’s Hollow - it’s my responsibility to keep them all safe. Including Remus now, I suppose.”

“Because James trusts you,” Fabian says immediately. 

“He might trust me a little less, if he knew that I’ve already promised the Dark Lord that I would deliver them all to him,” Regulus responds heavily, avoiding his eyes. “I had no choice, I had to say it, remember? And I still haven’t figured out how to get out of that one.” 

“Right,” Fabian replies, after a long pause. Regulus looks over at him, raising his eyebrows. Fabian looks deep in thought, his brow furrowed with worry. Finally, he sighs, looking back at Regulus. 

“Look, Reg, I’m not gonna sit here and pretend that I know the solution to that. It’s a mess, I won’t lie to you. But I do know that we’ll eventually figure out a solution. Together. And I know you’ll keep protecting them all until the last breath leaves your body, because that’s who you are.” 

“Is it?” he mutters bitterly. 

“Yes,” Fabian says firmly. “I have faith in you, Regulus. I just wish you had a little more faith in yourself.” 

“Believe me,” he replies, rubbing a hand across his forehead again, “I wish I did, too.” 

Sighing slightly, Fabian gets up from the couch; Regulus makes another small noise of protest, which promptly vanishes when he realises that the taller man is busying himself with getting out a bottle of his favourite elf-made wine and pouring out two glasses. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, as the other man passes one of them to him. In response, Fabian wordlessly presses another kiss to the top of his head; gently, he shifts Regulus’s legs aside, arranging them carefully across his lap as he sits back down with his own glass in hand. 

“This okay?” he asks, looking earnestly at him. 

“Oh, if you insist,” Regulus replies, aiming for nonchalance, the effect somewhat ruined by his embarrassingly breathless tone. Fabian grins, and for a moment the two of them lapse into a contented, peaceful silence, both sipping their wine. 

“It’s not just that you’re worried about Remus, though, is it?” Fabian asks suddenly. 

“What do you mean?” Regulus asks, frowning slightly. 

“I mean, you’re worried about his safety, obviously,” the redhead continues, “but…you’re worrying about how much you’re going to miss having him here, aren’t you? You’re missing him already, in fact.” 

Regulus blinks at him, taken aback for a moment. He hadn’t realised he was quite so transparent. 

“Yeah,” he admits quietly. “I do miss him, actually. Quite a lot. I never expected I would…I mean, when I first joined the Order, Remus hated me, because of everything that happened with Sirius, and I wasn’t exactly thrilled about spending time with him, either. But after everything that’s happened over this past year at Hogwarts…” He tails off, shrugging slightly. “I don’t know exactly how it happened, Fabian. But…I really think he’s the best friend I’ve ever had. It’s sort of hard to imagine being here without him, if I’m honest.” He swallows around the lump in his throat, feeling Fabian’s gaze on him, calm, no judgement. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I will never understand Lupin’s taste in men,” he adds, and Fabian sniggers a little, “but other than that, we just…I don’t know, get each other.” 

“Yeah, I could see that,” Fabian murmurs thoughtfully. “The two of you seemed like you could communicate with each other, understand each other in some ways that nobody else could. Made me really happy to see, actually.” Regulus tilts his head a little, looking at him inquiringly. “Think you really needed a friend like that,” he clarifies. 

“Thought you kept telling me that we were friends?” Regulus counters, arching an eyebrow at him. 

“It’s true, we were,” Fabian concedes. “But still - best to have at least one friend who doesn’t fantasise about shagging you every time they look at you, I think.” 

Regulus nearly chokes on a badly timed sip of wine at that, feeling his face immediately start to burn, and Fabian smirks, looking rather pleased with himself.

“Anyway,” Regulus presses on, trying his utmost to recover quickly, “yes, you’re right. I’ll miss him. A lot.” He sighs. “Maybe if my idiotic brother had managed to keep his mouth shut for once -” 

“You’re missing Sirius too though, aren’t you?” Fabian interjects slyly. Regulus stares at him, his mouth hanging open. He still has that mischievous, knowing grin on his face. “Come on, Reg, I can tell. You got used to having your brother around all the time, especially since he stopped picking fights with you all the time. You weren’t ready to say goodbye to either of them, were you?” 

For a moment, Regulus considers flatly denying it - but he can see already that there’s no point. Damn Fabian Prewett and his uncanny ability to see right through him. 

“If you ever tell him,” he says in a low, dangerous voice, narrowing his eyes at him, “I promise you that I will dump your arse, Prewett.”

“Noted,” Fabian responds, shooting him that trademark grin that always makes his heart do a backflip. “I’ll keep all your secrets for you, Regulus, I told you that already. Besides, you’re quite scary sometimes, and I’m not willing to take the risk.”

Regulus can’t help but smile a little at that, despite himself. 

“You’re worried about being lonely again,” Fabian murmurs, his expression suddenly serious again. “Aren’t you?”   

Regulus blinks at him for a moment. He doesn’t remember ever telling Fabian how many years of his life he had spent feeling alone, isolated from everyone around him. But apparently, this is one of those things that the other man just…knows. 

“Yeah,” he admits, taking a deep, shaky breath. “Yeah, a bit.” 

Fabian nods with a small, sad smile, not seeming surprised in the least by this response. 

“I thought so,” he says quietly. “But I think there might be one thing you’re forgetting, Regulus.” 

“Oh? What’s that?” he asks, not entirely sure why he’s whispering. 

“I’m still here,” Fabian replies, looking at him with earnest bright eyes. “I’m not planning on going anywhere, Regulus. Not as long as you need me.” 

“Oh,” Regulus chokes out again. 

The lump in his throat is back; as he blinks back tears, he feels a rush of love and gratitude so strong that it almost makes him dizzy. He truly has no clue what he’s ever done to deserve this man. He readjusts himself, taking his legs out of Fabian’s lap so he can shuffle closer to him, resting his head against his shoulder. 

“I…thank you,” he whispers. “That…means a lot to me.” 

He can feel the other man’s smile as he kisses the top of his head. 

“I know. Means a lot to me too, Reg.” 

They lapse into a comfortable silence for a moment, Regulus sniffling a little as he buries his face in the redhead’s shoulder. 

“Hey,” Fabian murmurs, and Regulus looks up. “I was just thinking…have you thought about where you’re going to go? During the summer holidays, I mean?” 

“Not really,” Regulus responds, a little taken aback by this subject change. “Back to my parents’ place, I suppose.” He can’t help but grimace at the thought. 

“You don’t want to do that, though,” says Fabian. “Clearly.” 

“No, not really,” he agrees. “Why? Did you have a better idea?” 

“I…I might, actually.”

“Oh?” 

Fabian nods, looking uncharacteristically nervous now as he reaches out to take Regulus’s hand, playing with his fingers and concentrating his attention on them as he talks. 

“Well, I know I might make a good show of being confident,” he says quietly, “but the truth is…well, I definitely know how it feels to be lonely. To be isolated. Been a relief in some ways to be up here in Hogsmeade, to tell you the truth, because my flat has felt pretty quiet and empty, ever since Gid…” 

That unbearably sad, haunted look flickers in his eyes for a moment. He takes a deep breath, apparently trying to gather himself, before he looks back at Regulus. 

“Anyway,” he says, “plenty of space. If you’re interested.”

Regulus stares at him, trying to remember how to form words. 

“Are you saying…?”

“It just feels like an empty house at the moment,” Fabian says, finally looking up again to meet his eyes. “But I reckon you might make it feel a bit more like a home again.” 

Regulus feels a strange, tightening sensation, as though his heart has suddenly grown three sizes too big for his chest. 

“Fabian,” he chokes out, “we literally just had our first kiss two weeks ago. I’m not even sure that we could be classified as dating yet. And…you’re asking me if I want to move in with you?”

“Bit embarrassing, right?” Fabian replies with a sheepish, self-deprecating grin, a delicious flush spreading across his freckled face. “I’m just a little bit gone on you, I guess, Reg. Alright, fine, maybe more than a little bit. Hell, I’d move in with you tomorrow, if I could.” Regulus stares at him, speechless. “I just meant over the summer, we can start with that,” he adds hastily, starting to look anxious now. “But obviously…if you’d rather not…”

“Are you joking, Prewett?!” he demands. 

Fabian blinks at him, looking confused for a split second - until Regulus practically throws himself at him, cradling the taller man’s freckled face in his hands and kissing his lips fiercely, before moving to kiss across his cheeks, his long freckled nose, his forehead. 

Fabian lets out a startled laugh, his entire face lighting up as he wraps his arms around Regulus’s waist, holding him in place on his lap. 

“Do I take it that’s a yes, then?” 

“Yes,” Regulus breathes, pressing even closer so that there’s barely half an inch of space between them, feeling heat spark through him as he slips his tongue past the seam of Fabian’s lips. 

“Merlin, Regulus,” Fabian mutters, his voice sounding a little choked as he pulls him even closer, warm hands resting on his thighs - 

A sharp tapping sound on the window makes them both jump slightly, bumping their foreheads against each other. They both glance towards the source of the noise, Regulus feeling more than a little irritated by the interruption.

To his surprise, he sees his own owl, Persephone, perched on the windowsill outside, a newspaper attached to her leg. She stares back at him, hooting indignantly. 

“Merlin, Persephone, not now,” he mutters. 

“You would name an owl ‘Persephone’,” says Fabian, sounding vaguely amused despite the clear disappointment on his face. 

“What’s she doing here now?” Regulus huffs. “Why didn’t she just deliver my paper in the morning as usual?” 

“She did, remember?” Fabian responds. He glances over at the snowy owl, glowing bright white against the darkness outside the window. “Must be a copy of the Evening Prophet she’s got there.” 

Right. Regulus would usually have connected the dots a bit more quickly there - but, in his defence, he’s a little distracted at the moment.

“Well,” he mutters, turning back to Fabian, beginning to fiddle with his collar, “she’s tough, she’s quite capable of waiting outside for half an hour or -”

“Reg,” Fabian interrupts, prising his hands off with clear reluctance. “I appreciate the enthusiasm - and believe me, it’s reciprocated,” he adds, his gaze sweeping over Regulus from head to toe in a way that makes him shiver, “but you know they only rush out editions of the Evening Prophet if something big has happened. News so big they won’t leave it till the regular morning edition.” There’s an anxious edge to his voice now. “I don’t want to panic you or anything, but what if…” 

“Remus,” Regulus groans, feeling suddenly as though somebody has poured a bucket of ice cold water over him. 

Nothing but worry for his best friend could have persuaded him to extract himself from the warmth of Fabian’s arms at this moment. Sighing heavily, he disentangles himself and stands up from the sofa. 

“This had better be bloody important,” he grumbles to himself as he crosses to the window. He can feel the warmth radiating from Fabian, hovering behind him as he opens the latch with trembling, impatient fingers.

“What?” he mutters irritably, as he unties the newspaper from Persephone’s leg none too gently. 

She lets out an indignant hoot, nipping his finger as she swoops off towards his desk, her outstretched wing cuffing him around the head - but Regulus pays no attention, unfurling the Evening Prophet and glancing at the front page. 

“Merlin, that was quick,” he breathes. 

He feels strangely surreal reading this, almost wondering for a moment if he’s caught in a dark dream. Or perhaps this past hour with Fabian was the happy, warm dream, and now he’s just waking up to reality again. 

“What?” Fabian asks tensely. Regulus moves the paper towards him, so they can both clearly read the headline blaring across the front page. 

SENIOR MINISTRY MEMBER, LUCIUS MALFOY, FOUND DEAD IN A SHACK IN YORKSHIRE. DARK MARK CAST ABOVE THE BODY. 

***

END OF PART TWO