The Elder Wand
August 30th, 1983 - Hogwarts Castle
A ringing silence echoes around Dumbledore’s office, as Regulus continues to stare down at the wand in his hands, his brain desperately trying and failing to process what the old man had just told him. His thoughts are buzzing frantically, he can’t even think of what to say; luckily, Fabian breaks the silence for him.
“I’m sorry, what? The Elder Wand?? Not to bring down the mood or anything, Professor, but isn’t that something from one of those kids’ stories? The one with the three brothers wandering down an ancient road at midnight - one of Beedle’s, right? Molly and Arthur read those to the kids all the time, Ron and Gin are obsessed. Molly’s started making me read them sometimes, when they won’t stop nagging and Fred and George have exhausted her too much for reading bedtime stories to the others.”
“Yes, you are certainly not alone in thinking that the Elder Wand is a fictional invention of Beedle the Bard’s, Fabian - along with the Cloak of Invisibility and the Resurrection Stone that were given to the other brothers in the tale, of course,” Dumbledore replies, with a small, irritating chuckle. “I daresay that the majority of wizards and witches nowadays are convinced that such things are nothing but fiction, a cautionary tale to read to their children. But those of us who have actually taken the trouble to dig a little deeper know that these so-called ‘fairy tales’ are, more often than not, rooted in historical fact. In this case, the ‘three brothers’ that Beedle wrote about are almost certainly the Peverell brothers, Antioch, Cadmus and Ignotus, dangerously gifted wizards who were near-contemporaries of the Hogwarts founders. The three items they are supposed to have created - the wand, the stone, the cloak - are often referred to by those who study them as the ‘Deathly Hallows’, because, of course, they were gifted to the brothers by Death himself in the tale - although I suspect that particular part of the story may be a little fanciful.” He chuckles lightly again, as Regulus and Fabian continue to stare at him, open-mouthed. “The whereabouts - and indeed the existence - of the Resurrection Stone and the Cloak of Invisibility have been shrouded in debate and mystery for many centuries now. But as for the Elder Wand, crafted by the oldest Peverell brother, Antioch - well, that has always been rather less subtle than the other two, as it must be conquered from its previous owner, and it has often passed from hand to hand rather violently. The Elder Wand, it could be said, has left a blood-spattered trail across the pages of wizarding history - although, more recently, it has become clear that one does not need to actually murder the previous owner, in order for the wand to bend its will to a new master. Grindelwald did not kill Gregorovitch when he conquered it from him, I did not kill Grindelwald when I conquered it from him ” - a strangely melancholy look flickers in the old man’s eyes for a split second, and he takes a deep, slightly shaky breath, apparently having to gather himself, before he continues speaking - “and Regulus, you did not have to kill me to conquer it from me just now. Clearly. Although from the sounds of it, you would have been completing the task that Tom has set for you, if you had killed me. But I suppose you were not aware that I was in possession of anything worth having.”
He gives Regulus a small, placid smile, as though they’re discussing something as mundane as the weather, as though Regulus’s head isn’t reeling so much right now that he’s half-wondering if he should sit down before he falls down.
“Wait…these three brothers were called the Peverell brothers?” Regulus asks slowly, something stirring in his memory.
“Yes indeed,” the headmaster responds.
“But you said before…you said that was the reason you made the monumentally stupid decision to put that ring on,” he says, his brain whirring as he nods towards the Horcrux on the desk, the black stone cracked down the centre, the ring that’s responsible for Dumbledore’s blackened, rotted hand. “You said you put it on when you saw that it had the Peverell coat of arms on it, didn’t you?”
Dumbledore looks at him, and, in that moment, Regulus thinks he can see the shadow of something stirring behind those normally unfathomable eyes. Something that might be grief. Remorse. Perhaps even guilt.
“Nothing gets past you, does it, Regulus?” the headmaster says quietly. “No wonder you make such an excellent spy.” He heaves a sigh. “Yes. You see, when you and Remus handed me that mangled diary, it reminded me that, as a teenager, Tom had been obsessed with digging up more information on his own family history - natural, I suppose, given that he was born and raised in a Muggle orphanage, with no family to claim at all. I doubt it would have taken him long to discover that his mother’s family were the last of the Gaunts. Very few people know about this connection, of course; most wizarding families would tell you that the Gaunts had died out long ago. But that isn’t quite true - apart from Voldemort himself, who has never carried the name, I remembered that there is still his uncle, Morfin Gaunt, who has been languishing in Azkaban for about forty years now.”
“And…what in the name of Salazar does any of this have to do with the Peverells, exactly?” Regulus asks, bewildered.
“I am just getting to that, Regulus,” Dumbledore answers patiently.
“Hurry up and get there, then?” he suggests. The old man merely smiles at that.
“Very well, I shall do my best. You see, it was a curious case, Morfin Gaunt’s. He was convicted of murdering the family of Muggles who lived across the way from the Gaunt shack, in the manor that the villagers referred to as ‘the Riddle House.’”
“Riddle?” Regulus echoes, staring at him.
“Yes indeed - middle-aged Tom Riddle and his elderly parents, Robert and Mary, were found by their maid, all three lying dead on the floor of their living room, for added irony. The Ministry knew immediately that these were wizard murders, and Morfin was swiftly convicted, as he had already been convicted of a prior attack on Tom Riddle; besides which, he gave a full confession. He didn’t put up any fight at all when he was taken to Azkaban - but the Aurors reported that he was highly distressed by the loss of his father’s last heirloom, a ring, insisting over and over that his father would kill him for losing it - which was, of course, only taken as further proof of the poor man’s insanity, as Marvolo had, by that point, been dead for many years. But when you handed me the diary of the younger Tom Riddle, Regulus, I was reminded of that peculiar story about Morfin Gaunt, and the loss of his father’s ring. So I decided to pay him a visit over the summer, in his miserable little cell in Azkaban. It was only with patience and a great deal of highly skilled Legilimency - if I may say so myself - that I managed to extract a long-buried memory of Morfin’s. Forty years ago, he received a visit, in the Gaunt shack, from a pale, dark-haired teenage boy - a boy who alarmed him due to his resemblance to the Muggle Tom Riddle, but alarmed him even more with his ability to speak Parseltongue. Morfin was wearing his father’s ring when this boy arrived - but when the Ministry came calling to arrest him the next day, there was no sign of either this strange boy, or Marvolo’s ring.”
“Merlin,” Regulus whispers.
“Well, quite,” Dumbledore agrees, looking amused by his reaction. “In any case, it seemed very likely to me that, as a teenager, Tom would have had more than enough audacity, not only to steal his maternal grandfather’s ring and turn it into a Horcrux, using the murders of his own father and paternal grandparents, but to then return to the Gaunt shack to hide it - once his uncle had been carted off to Azkaban in his stead, of course. Even I, however, did not pause to consider the possibility that I might find something that was not just a Horcrux, but one of the three fabled Hallows, too. But it stands to reason - the Gaunts were one of the last remaining pureblood families. As it turns out, they were also descended from Cadmus Peverell, the brother who created the infamous - and dangerous - Resurrection Stone.
I do not imagine for an instant, though, that Tom noticed the Peverell coat of arms on the stone - in other words, the sign of the Deathly Hallows - when he turned Marvolo’s ring into a Horcrux; and even if he had noticed, why should he care? Tom did not grow up hearing any wizarding fairytales, and even if he knew about the three Hallows and believed in their existence, what interest would he have in the Resurrection Stone? He fears the dead. He does not love.”
“Wait, just…wait,” says Regulus, still struggling to process everything. “You’re telling me that I’m holding the Elder Wand right now, and that ring you’ve just destroyed is set with a bloody Resurrection Stone? That’s why you decided to slide a Horcrux onto your finger?”
“Indeed,” Dumbledore sighs again. “Perhaps now, you can at least understand why I was such a fool. I spent so many years desperately looking for the Resurrection Stone when I was a young man, even more selfish and foolish than I am now, if you can believe it. I would have given anything to find it, back then - well, almost anything,” he amends. “But I had long since given up on that search, resigned to the idea that perhaps the Stone, unlike the wand, really was just a figment of Beedle’s imagination. But then, when I came across this ring in the ruins of the Gaunts’ decrepit shack, there was no denying what I had stumbled on. And I must confess, I was so carried away with longing - with hunger - that, for a moment, I forgot precisely what I was dealing with, and threw caution to the winds like a man possessed. Not the most brilliant idea I have ever had - as you see,” he adds, gesturing almost lazily to his ruined, rotted hand.
“So it’s definitely real?” Fabian croaks suddenly. Regulus looks over at him, seeing that his boyfriend’s gaze is fixed on the cracked ring on Dumbledore’s desk, as though he can hardly bear to look away from it. “ That’s the Resurrection Stone, right there? It can really bring people…back?”
His voice cracks, and something deep in Regulus’s chest cracks too. He’s never seen Fabian look like this before - he looks frightened, he has that familiar haunted look in his eyes that Regulus has never been able to bear, but at the same time he looks…hopeful. Longing. Hungry.
Dumbledore looks at him, with more understanding and kindness than Regulus has ever seen in his expression.
“You said that you have read the Tale of the Three Brothers to your nephews and niece, Fabian?” he asks quietly.
“Yes,” Fabian whispers, without looking away from the cracked ring.
“More than once?”
“A few times, yeah.”
“Then I presume you remember what happened to the second brother in the tale, when he attempted to use the Stone to bring back the girl he had loved?”
Regulus, for his part, has no idea what the two of them were talking about - his own parents had never exactly sat down with him and Sirius to read them bedtime stories. But apparently Dumbledore’s words mean something to Fabian, because he finally looks up, very pale as he meets the headmaster’s gaze, with a strange look on his face, as though he’s just waking up from a trance.
“ But the girl was sad and cold, separated from him as though by a veil, for she did not truly belong in the land of the living,” Fabian quotes in a murmur. As he stares at Dumbledore, another tear trickles down his cheek; he makes no effort to wipe it away. “In the end, driven mad by hopeless longing, the man killed himself, so as to truly join her. And so Death took the second brother for his own.”
“No,” Regulus croaks, without even meaning to.
He stares at Fabian, horrified; he feels as though those words are burrowing deep into his chest with claws and teeth, tearing him open. All the light and warmth that this man has given him, he’s stored it deep inside him, holding it close when he needs it. Regulus glances between Fabian and the ring on the desk, and suddenly he feels more terrified of that tiny little cracked stone than he has ever been of anything. If the tale is true, if that stone has the power to get a hold of the man he loves - Regulus knows that all that sunlight Fabian has given him would spill out through the cracks left in his chest. It would seep away from him. From the world.
“No indeed,” says Dumbledore, looking steadily at Fabian. “We both know that no magic can truly awaken the dead, Fabian. The tale warns us of the dangers of the Stone. It is a trap, a lure for the grief-stricken and the heartbroken. The brother in the tale fell prey to it, and so did I. You may not think it, Fabian, but in many ways you are wiser than I am. Do not make the same mistakes. You have people who need you, in this world. Gideon is at peace. He would not want you to lose yourself in looking for him. You know that.”
“Don’t you fucking dare, Prewett,” Regulus says in a low, fierce whisper, glaring up at him.
“It seems that Regulus and I - unusually, perhaps - are in agreement on this point, at least,” Dumbledore remarks.
Fabian lets out a long, shaky breath. Regulus can’t quite bear his look of shocked devastation - he has the look of someone who wanted desperately to get through a door, only to have it slam shut in his face.
“You’re right,” he croaks, finally. “You’re both right. I know that. It’s just that…” his eyes well with fresh tears, and his voice grows thick, as though he’s struggling to get the words out, “I miss him. I miss him so much. I lost him, and I’m scared to…”
He trails off, his gaze flickering to Regulus, bright eyes wide and fearful.
Regulus’s heart squeezes painfully in his chest.
“I know,” Regulus murmurs, squeezing his hand. “I know you’re scared, Fabian. But I’m here. I’m right here, and I need you to stay right here with me, alright?” The taller man gives a shaky nod. “And wherever Gideon is now,” Regulus continues, “I know that he’s proud of you.”
Fabian’s breath hitches in his throat at that. For a moment, he just stares at Regulus; then, as though he’s completely forgotten Dumbledore’s presence in the room, he tugs on his hand, pulling Regulus into his arms, burying his face in his dark curls and wrapping his arms around him tightly, as though he never wants to let him go.
“I dunno what I ever did to deserve you, Regulus Black,” Fabian whispers into his hair.
Regulus feels his heart flinging itself against his chest, as though desperate to get to the other man, where it knows it belongs; but he rolls his eyes, scoffing at the ridiculousness of Fabian’s words.
“You’re an idiot,” he mutters against his chest.
“Yeah, guess I am,” Fabian whispers, pressing a kiss against his hair. “But I’m your idiot.”
Regulus closes his eyes and lets out a shaky exhale, relishing this tiny moment of calm amidst the storm.
Dumbledore clears his throat slightly, and Regulus reluctantly disentangles himself from his boyfriend, both of them turning back to the headmaster.
“Alright, so…” Regulus clears his own throat, trying to recover at least a little dignity. “So I have possession of the Elder Wand now, apparently.” He attempts to say it in a matter-of-fact tone, although he still can’t quite wrap his head around it. “And that Horcrux you just destroyed happened to contain the Resurrection Stone. So the three ‘Deathly Hallows’ actually exist, and two of them are in this room with us right now?”
“An admirably succinct summary,” Dumbledore replies.
“You haven’t got Death’s Invisibility Cloak folded up in one of your desk drawers or something, have you?” Fabian asks warily, looking as though he’s not entirely sure whether he’s joking or not.
“No,” says the headmaster, with a small smile, “I do not have that particular Invisibility Cloak. But I think I have a fairly good idea of who is fortunate enough to have it in their possession.”
“You do?” Regulus asks, startled by this. “Who? Who has it?”
“Well, it was your brother who told me something rather intriguing, actually, Regulus,” Dumbledore says levelly.
“What - Sirius?” he asks, with no small amount of astonishment. “Sirius knows about the Cloak of Invisibility?”
He can’t imagine that his brother would know much more about fairytales than he does - after all, they’d both grown up in the same house, hadn’t they? That house had a way of forcing them both to be old, cynical and world-weary before their time.
“Well, he knows of a Cloak of Invisibility,” the headmaster answers, looking amused now. “Though I highly doubt it has ever occurred to him that that Cloak might be one of three. Sirius simply mentioned it to me in passing - on the night that Voldemort first demanded that you spy for him, actually. He and Fabian here were arguing that they should be allowed to go with you, if you’ll recall - and Sirius told me he knew of an Invisibility Cloak they could use. An old one, which had been passed down through the generations - bear in mind that most Invisibility Cloaks, woven from Demiguise hair, will become translucent within five to ten years - but, according to Sirius, this Cloak still worked perfectly.”
“Oh my god…James,” Regulus mutters, staring at him, as Fabian continues to look bewildered. “James’s Cloak is…?”
Something clenches suddenly in his chest at the mention of James Potter. He had been rather distracted by the twists and turns of the evening; but now he remembers, with an awful sinking feeling, that he has still not told the headmaster everything he needs to tell him.
“It does seem rather remarkable, doesn’t it?” Dumbledore murmurs, apparently oblivious to Regulus’s turmoil. “But yes. I paid a visit to Godric’s Hollow, following Sirius’s comment. I told James that Sirius had mentioned the Cloak, and that I was curious to see it. He was more than happy to oblige, of course; he is rather proud of it. As he should be, of course; although I do not believe even James appreciates just how remarkable his Cloak is. As I understand it, it has been passed down through the Potter family for centuries now. Again, a very old pureblood family, as I’m sure you know - even if, according to some families, they have not ‘earned’ the right to call themselves pureblooded.”
“So…the Invisibility Cloak….it will keep him safe?” Regulus asks quietly. “Even if the Dark Lord discovers where the three of them are?”
Dumbledore looks at him for a long moment.
“The Cloak is remarkable, in that it can shield more than one person from attack,” he says slowly. “But nevertheless, it is still not infallible. It is fortunate that James has it in his possession, indeed; but I do not think it would be wise to rely on the Cloak alone to protect the Potters. Luckily, we have other measures of protection in place at Godric’s Hollow, as you know. A Secret Keeper, for instance.”
He inclines his head pointedly in Regulus’s direction.
Fabian looks sideways at him, an uneasy expression on his face, and Regulus feels cold dread and guilt twisting, coiling in the pit of his stomach.
“The thing is, Dumbledore,” he whispers, fear clogging his throat, “I’m not so sure they can rely on me, either.”
Dumbledore raises one silver eyebrow at him.
“And what exactly do you mean by that, Regulus?”
He sighs, closing his eyes.
“When the Dark Lord ordered me to kill you, I tried to raise the objection that doing so would be sure to destroy my ‘cover’. I pointed out that I would never be able to ‘persuade’ Sirius to tell me where the Potters are, if I had killed you. But then he just smirked at me and said that, obviously, it meant he was giving me a deadline. My orders are to kill you - but first, to tell him where the Potters are hiding.”
A moment of ringing silence follows this confession. Fabian, of course, already knows this, but that doesn’t make voicing it again any easier; it makes it worse, if anything. Regulus doesn’t miss the way the taller man looks down at the carpet, blinking rapidly, clearly trying - and failing - to hide the fear in his eyes.
“I see,” says Dumbledore finally. “That does make things rather more complicated, I must admit.”
“Just the tiniest bit, yes,” Regulus responds, once again trying to shield himself with sarcasm.
Fabian huffs out a weak, humourless laugh, and Dumbledore leans back in his chair a little, silently considering Regulus over his half-moon spectacles. Regulus can feel impatient anxiety bubbling just under his skin, rising to the surface, like a dam threatening to burst.
“Well?” he demands sharply. “Any bright ideas, Dumbledore? Those are supposed to be your speciality, aren’t they?”
“Well,” the headmaster replies slowly, with not even the slightest flicker in his expression to suggest he’d noticed Regulus’s rudeness, “in general, this seems to be falling out rather to your advantage, does it not, Regulus? After all, you have been ordered to kill me - and you came here tonight to find that I have already been courteous enough to put on a cursed ring and give myself a mortal wound that will eventually take that job out of your hands - even if your intervention has given me a little more time. On top of which, you have, purely by accident, armed yourself with the most powerful wand known in wizarding history. I daresay that, if you do choose to kill me, there is not a great deal that could stand in your way.”
“But I’m not choosing to kill you - irritating as you may be,” he adds, unable to resist. “I am being forced to kill you, but I…I really don’t know if I can,” he finishes in a hoarse whisper, his voice seeming to get stuck in his throat.
“Well, you are not being forced by me,” says the headmaster, after a moment’s silence. His voice is gentler, kinder, than Regulus was expecting - Dumbledore has never looked at him with sympathy in his expression before. “After all, we both know that I am dying anyway - though I confess that the thought of a quick, painless death is rather more appealing than a slow, drawn-out one.” Regulus can’t help but flinch a little. “But we do not need to worry about that just at this moment,” Dumbledore continues, still more gentle than usual. “I imagine you will come to a decision eventually, one way or another - but if you decide that you cannot do it, Regulus, then far be it from me to mark your soul with any more stains. I certainly will not force your hand. I give you my word on that.”
“Thank you,” he says quietly, after a moment of silence, trying to gather himself. “I…appreciate that.”
It’s harder than he expects, sounding sincere, even though he is. He really is. A side effect of using sarcasm as often as he uses oxygen, probably. He certainly isn’t used to speaking to Dumbledore without instinctively putting all his defences up first.
“You don’t need to thank me for that, Regulus,” the headmaster says quietly.
“Right,” he mutters awkwardly, not knowing what else to say. “And…the Potters? What am I going to do about that?”
Dumbledore looks at him over steepled fingertips.
“Well, as I said, that part is certainly a little more troublesome,” he murmurs eventually. “But you said that Tom has given you a deadline of a year, correct?”
Regulus nods, trying to ignore the look on Fabian’s face, not to mention the panic scrabbling frantically at his chest.
“Well, given that both of us are quite clever, I imagine that we will manage, between us, to find a solution before the year is over,” the old man continues wryly. “And after all, you have been given plenty of warning, have you not? If worst comes to worst, I am sure that we will be able to set our affairs in order, to ensure that the others can continue their work, finding and destroying the remaining Horcruxes, even after you abandon the Order and openly return to Voldemort’s side - or at least pretend to. If all goes according to plan, you should not have to remain at his side for too long. No longer than a year, at most.”
Regulus just stares at the headmaster for a moment, before turning to exchange a horrified look with Fabian. Is…is that supposed to be reassuring? Because it’s most definitely not.
“Although, of course,” Dumbledore adds, suddenly grinning rather more mischievously than this occasion calls for, as though something highly amusing has just occurred to him, “you may find that you have some explaining to do to your brother, Regulus, before we start thinking about anything else.”
Regulus freezes, feeling his stomach fall through the floor. Fabian gives him a sideways, uneasy look.
“Fuck.”
August 31st, 1983 - Godric’s Hollow
“So would you mind telling us all just what is so urgent, Reg?” Sirius demands, raising one eyebrow at him impatiently, sitting perched on the arm of Remus’s armchair.
“Give him a minute, Pads,” says James, frowning over at his best friend reproachfully. “I’m sure he was just about to tell us, he doesn’t need you nagging him.”
His three-year-old, Harry, takes full advantage of his moment of distraction, snatching his father’s glasses off his face with a bright peal of laughter and rapidly toddling over to present them to Sirius. Despite the nausea and anxiety roiling in his stomach, Regulus takes a moment to muse about what a menace the kid is already - as evidenced by the absurd look of pride on Sirius’s face as his godson offers him James’s glasses, looking rather ridiculously pleased with himself. Perhaps the Dark Lord is onto something, being alarmed by this small boy.
“Well, if you were about to tell us, you might want to hurry it up a bit, Reg,” Remus pipes up mildly, giving his wand a little flick so that the glasses that Sirius had just eagerly taken from his godson’s grasp sail out of his hands, neatly landing back on James’s face, causing Sirius and Harry to emit near-identical indignant huffs. “We’ve all been just a little on edge locked up here in this cottage, you see - and while it is very nice to see you again, until you spit out whatever it is you need to tell us, you’re not exactly helping.”
“Seconded,” Lily agrees, looking at Regulus with her bright green eyes narrowed.
Regulus swallows, stomach twisting itself in knots, his heart seeming to lodge itself in his throat. He glances over at Fabian, sitting uncharacteristically silent at his side, and his boyfriend gives him an encouraging nod, squeezing his hand. Regulus takes a deep breath. No time like the present, he supposes.
“Well, the thing is,” he says awkwardly, “the Dark Lord has given me a…a job to do. Well…two jobs, technically, I suppose.” He can feel the weight of their stares, and he doesn’t feel prepared to meet them yet, so he fixes his gaze on little Harry, the only person in the room who isn’t looking at him, and fidgets absentmindedly with Fabian’s fingers. “One of these jobs was given to me recently, but the other one…” Regulus’s voice is coming out hoarse, the anxiety and fear seeming to claw at his throat; he clears his throat and starts again. “The other one was given to me a long time ago now. Some of you already know about it, and some of you…some of you don’t,” he croaks, finally looking up to meet James’s gaze.
He feels a lurch like a hook in his navel, similar to how he used to feel as a teenager, every time he accidentally looked into those hazel eyes - and although that infatuation has mostly faded with time, the nerves feel a thousand times worse now than they had done back then, because Regulus knows that James has put his trust in him, and he’s let him down.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, still staring at James, “I should have told you a long time ago, but I -”
“Should have told us what, Regulus?” Lily demands suddenly, her voice as sharp as a whip crack, making him flinch instinctively.
“Should have told you that almost two years ago now, the Dark Lord ordered me to find out from Sirius where the three of you were hiding, and pass the information on to him,” he whispers, feeling his breath catch in his throat and wondering distantly if he’s about to have a panic attack right here in the Potters’ living room. “I was backed into a corner, and I…I promised him that I would do it. That I would tell him where you were hiding.”
The ensuing silence is somehow louder than any Regulus has ever heard. Fabian, Remus and Sirius all know this part already, of course - the former two are both determinedly avoiding his eyes, while Regulus can tell from Sirius’s body language that he’s struggling to decide whether to hex him or shield his best friend first - but Lily and James are both staring at him, wide-eyed, with pure shock and horror on their faces. Regulus thinks he can see a trace of disappointment and pure hurt on James’s face, as unguarded as ever, reminding him vividly of the night that Pettigrew had been revealed as a traitor, and somehow, that expression makes him feel smaller than he’s felt in a very long time. He finds himself wishing, suddenly, that he could vanish, just sink through the floor and disappear.
“You…you promised Voldemort you would tell him where we are?” Lily repeats faintly, as her husband continues to stare at Regulus silently. “You promised him this almost two years ago? And then you agreed to be our Secret Keeper? It didn’t occur to you to mention this to us until now?”
“But Regulus hasn’t told You-Know-Who anything, Lily!” Fabian says fiercely, glaring at her, for the first time that Regulus can remember. “He would never tell him, you know he wouldn’t! Just think for a moment - Reg has known exactly where you three were, this whole time, and You-Know-Who still doesn’t have a clue! Doesn’t that prove that Regulus is trustworthy?!”
“So trustworthy that it slipped his mind to actually mention any of this to Prongs and Lils, for almost two years?” Sirius points out, his voice cold, his expression stony as he stares at his brother.
Fabian opens his mouth and closes it again. Regulus doesn’t miss the uneasy look on his face.
“You’re right,” Regulus admits quietly, his voice trembling more than he would like. He speaks directly to Lily, unable to bear the disappointment on James’s face, or the anger on Sirius’s. “I should have told you as soon as I knew. That would have been the right thing to do, wouldn’t it? Only I’m not sure I’m very good at doing the right thing.” He takes a deep breath, struggling to steady himself. “The thing is…I was scared. And I know that’s not a good excuse, but I’m not an honourable bloody Gryffindor like the rest of you, alright? And I’ve never pretended to be. I couldn’t see a way out, and I knew that you two had put your trust in me, and I was so terrified of…of letting everyone down.” His voice cracks a little; any other time, he might have been mortified, but right at this moment, he’s just desperate for them to understand, to offer him even the tiniest morsel of acceptance, forgiveness. “I didn’t know how to escape, I felt like I was drowning - and that’s why I leapt at the opportunity to teach at Hogwarts.”
“Wait - what?” James asks, looking slightly bewildered now.
“Taking up a post at Hogwarts gave me an excuse to claim that I was spying on Dumbledore,” Regulus explains. “Which meant that the Dark Lord accepted - for a while, at least - that I was focusing my attention on the old man, not on your whereabouts. Only…it seems like that plan isn’t working anymore.”
“What do you mean, Reg?” Remus whispers, looking at him with wide eyes.
“I mean that, after everything that happened with Malfoy, the Dark Lord doesn’t seem to be in a very forgiving mood,” Regulus says quietly, feeling himself trembling, desperately trying to keep himself from crumbling. “In any case, he certainly seems to have run out of patience with me. He’s ordered me to kill Dumbledore before the year is out.”
A billowing, deafening silence settles over the Potters’ little living room, as though what Regulus had just told them all had somehow been heavier than mere words. Then -
“Well, fuck,” announces three-year-old Harry, with fervour.
Regulus and Fabian turn to blink at the toddler, who looks rather pleased by the attention.
“I didn’t teach him that,” James and Sirius protest, in perfect unison, both raising their arms in surrender as they look at Lily.
“I know you didn’t,” Lily growls, without looking at them. “I know perfectly bloody well who he learnt that from.”
She glares directly at Remus, who shrinks into his armchair a little, looking sheepish.
“I didn’t know Harry was listening to me that closely,” he mutters.
“You keep saying it, right in front of him!”
“You’re the ones that invited me to live with you! You know I’m not good with kids!”
“You were literally employed as a teacher, Moony?” James points out.
“Yeah, I can handle teenagers ,” he grumbles. “Anyway, I think we might be getting a bit distracted from the most important thing here,” he continues hurriedly, when Lily opens her mouth, still looking at him with narrowed eyes. “Harry is right . You’ve been ordered to kill Dumbledore, Reg?” he repeats, turning to Regulus with wide eyes. “Before the end of the year? Well…fuck, indeed.” Lily huffs, but lets it slide, fixing her gaze quickly back on Regulus. “What the hell are you going to do?”
“Yes,” Sirius agrees, staring at Regulus too. “What are you going to do, Reg?”
His voice is uncharacteristically quiet, which unnerves Regulus.
“I…I don’t get it,” James pipes up in a small voice, looking uneasily at Sirius, as though he’s a bomb about to go off. “Why would Voldemort tell you to kill Dumbledore, if he’s also counting on you to gain Sirius’s trust and ‘find out’ where we live? That doesn’t make any sense - obviously Sirius wouldn’t tell you anything, if he knew you’d killed Dumbledore! There’s no way in hell you would be able to keep spying on the Order after that - surely Voldemort must realise that?”
“Yeah,” Regulus responds dryly, “that has, in fact, occurred to him.”
“Then why -”
“Oh for Merlin’s sake, Potter,” Regulus snaps, much more sharply than he’d intended, his nerves stretched almost to breaking point, “he’s set me a deadline. He knows that killing Dumbledore would mean declaring myself - so he’s expecting me to tell him where the three of you are before I kill the old man, and then openly go back to him afterwards. As in, he wants me to do all of those things, before the year is out.”
“Oh,” says James quietly, exchanging a look with Lily. The two of them glance over at their son, who’s now staring curiously around at all the sombre adults - with pure fear written across their faces.
Another ringing silence. Regulus flinches, somehow feeling deafened by the unspoken reproaches hanging heavy in the air - although, judging by the expression on Sirius’s face, they’re not likely to remain unspoken for long.
“But there’s good news as well!” he adds, loathing the note of pleading in his own voice. “Well, I mean…sort of, anyway.”
“Sort of?” Remus echoes sardonically, raising one eyebrow.
“We’re one more Horcrux down!” Fabian exclaims, his voice a little overloud in the quiet room.
Despite everything, Regulus feels a momentary swell of warmth in his chest, realising that his boyfriend is desperately trying to relieve a little of the pressure on him at the moment. He’s pretty sure it’s not going to work - Sirius is near-impossible to distract when he has that look on his face - but still, it’s the effort that counts, right?
“We’re…what?” Remus asks, finally looking away from Regulus to blink at Fabian. “Who…how? What was it?”
“It was a…a ring,” Fabian says hesitantly, a shadow of grief falling across his face for a moment. “Dumbledore destroyed it. Using the Sword of Gryffindor.”
“Where did he…?” Lily begins.
“In the abandoned shack of the Gaunts,” Regulus replies.
“The who?” Remus asks, looking baffled.
“They were one of the oldest wizarding families, but the name’s died out now,” he explains. “Well, apart from Morfin Gaunt, who’s serving a life sentence in Azkaban - for killing the Muggle Riddle family, who lived across from him. Only he didn’t, apparently - the Dark Lord killed them. The Riddles were his father and grandparents; Morfin Gaunt is his maternal uncle. Dumbledore apparently visited him in Azkaban to get information.That ring is a Gaunt family heirloom.”
“Shit,” James murmurs, very coherently, looking stunned.
“Quite,” Regulus replies dryly. “But that’s not the point.”
“Then what is the -” Sirius starts aggressively.
“The point ,” he says forcefully, cutting his brother off, “is that the old man, for reasons best known for himself” - something tells Regulus that now isn’t the best time to get into the true story behind The Tale of the Three Brothers - “decided to put the Horcrux on his hand, before he managed to destroy it.
“He what?!” Remus exclaims.
“Yep,” Regulus says grimly. “And the Horcrux - surprise, surprise - was carrying a powerful curse on it. Dumbledore’s hand went completely black, his skin putrefying immediately. If I hadn’t made it there on time, he would have been dead in a matter of hours.”
James and Lily both gasp simultaneously, staring at him in horror; little Harry frowns up at him too, looking like a miniature version of his dad, apart from the wide green eyes staring at Regulus, an exact mirror image of his mother’s. Sirius and Remus both go noticeably paler, but they don’t gasp. Regulus sees his brother’s jaw tighten, and then Sirius asks;
“And how is it that you knew you needed to help him, huh, Reggie?”
“Because he sent me a Patronus asking for help, Sirius,” Regulus answers impatiently, narrowing his eyes.
“But I thought you said he was really badly hurt?” Sirius presses. “So how did he manage to get the message to you?”
“Because he obviously used the last of his strength to send the Patronus, knowing that Regulus would be the best person to help him,” Fabian snaps, glaring at him fiercely. “He was barely even conscious when we got there. He was delirious, tried to fix his hand for himself; probably would have caused himself even more damage if Regulus hadn’t Disarmed him. So shut up, Sirius.”
“Fab’s right, Pads,” Remus agrees, as Sirius glares stubbornly back at Fabian. “You probably should shut up right about now.” He turns back to Regulus, ignoring the indignant look Sirius gives him. “Go on, Reg. What happened after you Disarmed him?”
“Well, um…I sort of Stunned him,” he says sheepishly.
“You Stunned Albus Dumbledore?” Lily repeats incredulously.
“Well, he was sort of hysterical!” Regulus replies defensively.
He doesn’t miss the bewildered looks passing between the others at that; there are many words that could be used to describe the headmaster, and he’s capable of a myriad of things beyond anyone else’s capacity - but, until he’d seen it with his own eyes, Regulus too would have sworn that an Albus Dumbledore who was hysterical, who had lost control, was beyond the realms of the possible.
“Alright, fine, so you Stunned Dumbledore,” says Remus in a voice of forced calm, shooting Sirius a warning glance, one cautious hand resting on his boyfriend’s shoulder to keep him in place. “Then what?”
“Well,” Regulus mutters, acutely aware of everyone staring at him, “I tried my best to stop the curse from spreading - after Fabian had talked me down from a panic attack, at least. But the curse on that Horcrux was bloody powerful Dark Magic, I don’t know anywhere near enough defensive magic to cure him completely. I contained the curse in his hand to make sure it didn’t spread through his body, that…that was the best I could do,” he says shakily, once again hating the pleading note in his own voice, hating the way his throat tightens and his eyes burn. “I thought it was best to be blunt with him when I woke him up. I told him that the curse on that ring was a death sentence. He already knew that - didn’t seem to faze him much. And I told him that I’d done my best to trap the curse in his hand, but I’m fairly certain I’ve only managed to buy him a few more months - a year, tops. That didn’t seem to faze him much either.”
A thick blanket of silence, as everyone except Fabian stares at him in horror.
“Anyway,” Regulus forces himself to continue, staring down at the floor, feeling the weight of their gazes like something solid pressing against his chest, “I told him what the Dark Lord had ordered me to do. And he just…laughed. Said it was rather convenient timing for me. He said…” his voice cracks, and he clears his throat and tries again, “he said that he wouldn’t have trusted the job of killing him to anybody else. And that, as that curse is killing him slowly anyway…he would prefer me to get it over with sooner rather than later.”
The others are all staring at him, as though they don’t even know where to begin with processing what he’d just told them. Regulus knows the feeling.
“Regulus,” says Remus, speaking in that slow, clear tone he used to use with his students, when he wanted them to realise their own mistake and correct it, “are you trying to tell us -”
“That Dumbledore has given me his permission to kill him?” he interjects bluntly. Remus, James and Lily all wince. “Yes. That’s exactly what I’m trying to tell you. Hell, he hasn’t just given me his permission, he’s given me his blessing .”
The taut silence that settles this time is agonising. Regulus can feel their stares, like the sharp blade of a knife peeling away his skin, leaving him completely unprotected and vulnerable before them.
“So,” says Sirius suddenly, his voice breaking the silence so sharply that everyone flinches slightly. “That’s it then, is it? You’re just going to kill him?”
Ah. Regulus had been thinking that Sirius had been quiet - worryingly quiet. When Sirius is silent for that long, it’s never a good sign - it’s like putting a lid on a fiercely boiling cauldron. But there’s only so long that the explosive heat of Sirius Black’s anger can be contained.
“I’ve been ordered to kill him, Sirius,” Regulus retorts, lifting his chin defiantly, hoping Sirius can’t tell that a heavy weight of dread has already settled in his stomach, because he knows exactly what’s about to happen here, and he’s not going to be able to prevent it. They’ve been treading close to the edge of it, teetering on the brink, for too long now.
“Oh, I see - well, that’s alright then,” Sirius replies, his tone positively dripping with sarcasm, and right there. There it is. Regulus can see this coming from a mile away, in the tightness of his brother’s jaw, the glint of something hard and sharp in those grey eyes, a mirror image of his own - that flash of danger that tells Regulus the storm isn’t just on its way - it’s already here. “Well, you’ve also been ordered to pass Lily and Prongs to Voldemort, and Harry too. So, if you’re so keen on following orders to save your own skin, Reg - you planning to obey that one, too?”
“Of course not,” Regulus shoots back, “but I’ve just bloody told you, Sirius, the situation with Dumbledore isn’t the same! It’s not just an order from the Dark Lord now, the old man has told me to kill him! I did my best to contain the curse on his hand, but he’s still going to die slowly, agonisingly, if someone doesn’t do it first! Killing him would be an act of mercy, Sirius!”
“Oh, well, at least you’ve found a convenient excuse for murder now,” Sirius snarls, his eyes burning with anger as he glares at him.
Fabian makes a noise of outrage, taking a step towards Sirius - but Regulus puts a hand against his boyfriend’s chest, shoving him backwards none too gently, without taking his eyes away from his older brother.
He had fully expected this encounter to leave him feeling small, vulnerable, disgusted with himself - as per usual, really. But Sirius’s harsh words seem to have stirred up something that’s less familiar to him. Suddenly, Regulus can feel red hot rage bubbling under the surface of his skin. He’d known all along that his brother was going to explode in fury, that was inevitable - but he hadn’t realised until this moment how close he was to spilling over, scalding everyone around him. He’s had enough of this, he realises. More than enough. He’s sick of constantly trying his best, trying to atone for his countless mistakes and shortcomings, only to have his brother turn around and doubt him, shoving him back whenever he tries to take a step forward.
“How could you even bloody consider this?!” Sirius is shouting now, his hands balled into fists, apparently oblivious to the danger he’s just unleashed. “Is there anything you wouldn’t do to keep your cover, Reg? Moody can die, Frank can die, Ted can die, Gid can die -” Fabian flinches sharply, and Regulus feels his rage burn even hotter against his skin, searing him - “and now you’re going to kill Dumbledore? Our leader? ”
“ Sirius!” James and Remus warn simultaneously, both almost shouting - but Sirius ignores them both, wrenching his arm away when Remus tries to take hold of him.
“You’re just going to destroy him, are you?” Sirius demands, breathing heavily as he glares at Regulus. “Our best hope - hell, our only hope - of winning this bloody endless war, and you’re going to kill him, just to save your own skin?”
Sirius is scraping, clawing at the most vulnerable parts of him, the things that hurt most - and he knows it. Usually Regulus would curl up, shut himself off, hide himself away - but at this moment, he’s overwhelmed by a sudden, vicious desire to strike back, to return the favour, to hurt his brother as much as he’s hurting him.
“You know, Sirius,” he sneers, his voice coming out as sharp and cold as a shard of ice, making his brother suddenly fall silent, “you really do seem to worship that old man. It’s a bit pathetic, honestly. And it’s rather a shame that he doesn’t seem to think quite so highly of you, isn’t it?”
That stops Sirius in his tracks. Regulus isn’t proud of the vindictive surge of satisfaction he feels, watching his brother’s furious expression fade slightly as his forehead creases in confusion. He knows he has the upper hand now, even if only for a moment, and he certainly won’t be relinquishing it to Sirius without a fight.
“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” Sirius asks, as usual trying to pull on a mask of bravado to cover his moment of insecurity.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Regulus wonders distantly why none of the others have come between the two of them yet; usually by this point, James and Remus would have come along and forcibly steered Sirius away, before he could do something stupid they might all regret. But right at this moment, the whole room seems to be holding its collective breath, even little three-year-old Harry, wondering what’s about to happen, which of the brothers is going to win this long overdue battle. And, as Regulus is just discovering, Sirius isn’t the only one capable of recklessness.
“Have you still not figured it out? The reason that Dumbledore sent you off on other missions, in the hope that you wouldn’t hear his plans? The reason he didn’t want you coming to that cave with us?” he breathes, not looking away from Sirius for a moment, relishing the stunned look on his brother’s face. “Merlin, Sirius, I didn’t realise you were quite this thick.”
“What are you talking about??” Sirius demands.
He’s starting to sound desperate now, horrified - Regulus can see the realisation dawning on his face.
“He thought it was you,” Regulus says bluntly, watching as his words land, hitting their target with force. “Before I exposed Pettigrew and saved you all - Dumbledore was convinced that the spy was you , Sirius.”
Sirius actually reels back a little, stumbling slightly, as though Regulus had slapped him hard across the face.
“I…no…he…you’re lying,” he croaks, staring at Regulus with wide, terrified eyes.
Regulus lets out a sharp, cold laugh, dimly aware that everyone else in the room, even Fabian, is staring at him in shock and horror now.
“No,” he replies quietly, “no, I’m not. Dumbledore thought that you were on the brink of selling these three” - he gestures to James, Lily and Harry - “to the Dark Lord. Told me so himself. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time you’d put yourself first without thinking of the consequences. Wouldn’t be the first time you’d hurt the people who loved you most.”
The last trace of colour drains from Sirius’s face at that, as Remus and James trade a swift, uneasy glance behind his back.
“That’s what he said about you, behind your back,” Regulus continues relentlessly. So there you have it. That’s what your hero thinks of you , Sirius.”
The silence that falls in the wake of these words is deafening, like the eerie quiet after a bomb goes off. For a split second, it seems that the Potters’ cosy, modest living room is its own little world, a world that’s just been shaken to its’ core. In that same split second, Regulus’s older brother is staring at him with shock and hurt written vividly across his face - he never could hide himself away, no matter how hard he tried.
But before Regulus even has time to react, Sirius’s face contorts, the open, vulnerable look smothered by rage. The storm is back, only now it’s not merely a storm fuelled by righteous fury - this, this is vengeful fury.
“You’re a fucking liar, Regulus!” Sirius screams, his voice torn with rage, pain and humiliation.
Then, before Regulus knows it, his brother is raising his wand.
The blood is still pounding in his ears, rage and adrenaline rushing through his veins, so Regulus raises his own wand without even thinking about it, a hex already on the tip of his tongue. Oh, let Sirius just try it, he has no idea what he’s messing with right now. Regulus is ready for this, he’s more than ready, he -
“EXPELLIARMUS!”
Regulus feels a sudden sharp tug, his wand flying out of his hand. Baffled, he looks around, blinking, as Sirius does the same, his wand apparently having soared out of his hand at the exact same moment.
James and Lily are both standing with their own wands outstretched, looking immensely relieved as the brothers’ wands soar towards them.
“I…what the…?” Sirius splutters, looking bewildered. “Did you just Disarm us, Prongs?!”
“Nope,” James replies, catching Sirius’s wand in one hand. “I only Disarmed you. Lils Disarmed Regulus. See?”
He grins down at Lily, looking absurdly proud as she snatches Regulus’s wand out of the air.
Sirius’s face immediately darkens again.
“What the fuck , Prongs?” he growls, breathing hard as he storms over to him, as though he’s just been running. “Give me my bloody wand back, you bastard!”
James snorts.
“Not bloody likely, Pads,” he retorts, sticking both his wand and Sirius’s firmly in his belt and glaring sternly at his best friend. “Not until you and your brother have stopped going absolutely mental, at least.”
“ Protego,” says Lily quickly, putting up a shield charm between Sirius and Regulus as an extra precaution - using Regulus’s wand, the audacity of this tiny woman - before tucking it, along with her own wand, into the pocket of her jeans.
For a moment, Regulus just stares at her, adrenaline still pounding against his skin, his brain frantically trying to process what the hell has happened just in the last ten seconds.
“The Elder Wand must be conquered from its previous owner,” Dumbledore’s voice echoes in his head. “One does not need to actually murder the previous owner, in order for the wand to bend its will to a new master…”
And then, without meaning to, without any conscious thought, scarcely even knowing what he’s doing, Regulus throws back his head and laughs.
He laughs and laughs and laughs, harder than he thinks he ever has done in his life. He feels lightheaded, he’s laughing so much he can scarcely breathe as he sinks down into the armchair behind him. Is this how Dumbledore had felt? Strange, he thinks distantly, that he should find this so hilarious, but he’s not sure he could stop laughing if he tried. Of all the things that could have happened here, when he delivered his news…
“Uhh…Reg?” Remus asks nervously. “What, exactly, is so funny?”
It’s then that Regulus notices that everyone else in the room is staring at him as though fearful for his sanity. The kid, Harry, appears to be trying to hide behind James’s legs, as he looks up at him with those big green eyes.
He supposes it’s fair for them to be looking at him like that; after all, that’s probably how he’d been looking at Dumbledore. Besides which, the old man is certainly more prone to merriment than Regulus is. Not to mention the fact that he’d been two seconds away from duelling his brother in a fit of rage and spite, about a minute ago.
“God, sorry, it’s just…” Regulus stares at Lily, trying to get a hold of himself, wondering how the hell to explain this. “Merlin, Evans…”
“It’s technically Potter now, actually,” Lily corrects him, looking a little irritated now, as well as baffled. “This idiot did actually manage to get through to me somehow, remember?” She jerks her head towards James, who beams broadly, as if his wife being in love with him is somehow news. “Hence this little menace.” She points down at Harry, still trying to hide behind his dad.
“Whatever,” Regulus replies, finally starting to get himself under control. “Point is - you just Disarmed me.”
“Yeah…?” Lily replies slowly, raising one eyebrow at him, looking at him as though he’s slow. “I know that, Regulus. I was there, remember?”
“But I don’t think you do know, though,” Regulus contradicts her. Lily folds her arms, narrowing those vivid emerald eyes at him, and Regulus feels himself beginning to grin. “I don’t think you have any idea what you’ve just gotten yourself into, actually…”
Hogwarts - 2nd September, 1983
As Regulus finally finishes recounting the ‘Tale of Godric’s Hollow’, as he’s taken to calling it in his head, and trails off into silence, Dumbledore says…absolutely nothing. For almost thirty full seconds, he simply sits behind his desk, gazing up at Regulus over his half-moon glasses, his expression just as smoothly inscrutable as ever.
Regulus stands fidgeting in front of him, full of restless energy; he had started pacing while telling the story, it had taken him a few seconds to even realise he was doing it, to stop and stand still again. He’d told the headmaster absolutely everything , and as per usual, the old man is sitting there and giving him nothing. Regulus has absolutely zero clue what’s going on in his head.
“Well?” he demands, when his patience runs out - which, admittedly, doesn’t take all that long. “Haven’t you got any comments to make, old man? Any wise observations to make?”
Dumbledore blinks, looking mildly surprised for a split second, as though he had expected Regulus to be perfectly happy standing there forever while he silently thought important things to himself. Or perhaps his thoughts were so important that he’d forgotten he was even there. For a moment, Regulus is visited by a not-altogether-unfamiliar urge to throttle the headmaster. It’s not as though the old man would be able to complain about it; he had given Regulus full permission to kill him, after all. He had never specified what method he would prefer.
“My apologies,” Dumbledore says, inclining his head and not sounding the slightest bit apologetic. “I was just thinking…I am not entirely sure that it was a very good idea for you to inform Sirius about something that I told you in confidence, Regulus.”
“I… that’s what you got from everything I just told you?” he asks indignantly.
He tries to push down the sharp twinge of guilt, determined not to let the headmaster see it. He knows that he had been cruel. He knows he had crossed some invisible line. He knows full well that, for a few minutes there, he had been all of the worst parts of himself, all the parts he’d been trying to convince himself didn’t even exist anymore - and everyone else in that room had seen it.
Including Fabian, who hasn’t quite looked him in the eye since, who had turned down Regulus’s offer to come with him to report to Dumbledore, trying and failing to sound airy and lighthearted as he made his excuse. The knowledge that he’s disappointed the man he loves - that Fabian might perhaps be wondering, even now, if Regulus is the person he thought he was, whether he can really love someone capable of such venom - is eating away at him, tearing at his insides. But he does his best to lock it away, because he can’t deal with that right now. Can’t handle the prospect of sitting down with Fabian and having that conversation.
And as for Sirius…yes, alright, Regulus knows he needs to apologise. But Sirius hasn’t apologised to him yet, the stubborn, prideful git. And quite frankly, if his brother is sitting there thinking that Regulus is going to be the one to apologise first…well, he can go and fuck himself, that’s what he can do.
“Sirius was being a complete dick to me,” he snarls at Dumbledore now, “as usual. So I’m sorry, Professor, but I don’t really care what you think. My darling brother deserved a taste of his own bloody medicine.”
Some small, reasonable part of his brain tells him that he sounds a little like a petulant child right now. Perhaps even more than a little. Regulus ignores it.
“Yes, I am well aware that you do not care what I think, Regulus. You never have, really,” the headmaster replies, his lips twitching slightly for a moment. “It’s rather refreshing. Nevertheless, I am still not convinced that it was the wisest thing you have ever done. It is hardly likely to make your brother any more willing to cooperate. With either of us.”
Regulus just shrugs moodily.
“ You’re the one that decided not to trust him. All I did was pass the message along.”
Dumbledore sighs wearily again.
“And Sirius? Has he calmed down a little since then?”
“Probably not, he’s a childish twat. I assume he’s still sulking,” Regulus mutters sulkily. “But I’ve no idea. We haven’t spoken to each other since. Pretty sure Fabian and Remus and James wouldn’t let us be in the same room right now, even if we wanted to be. Which we don’t .”
“Yes, I think I had gathered that much by now, thank you, Regulus,” says the headmaster wryly. Regulus scowls at him. Dumbledore’s lips twitch again. Regulus really wishes the old man wasn’t quite so amused by his irritation.
“And Lily?” Dumbledore asks, his brow furrowing slightly in concern now. “You say that you explained everything to her?”
“I…yeah,” he replies, a little thrown by the sudden change of topic. “I mean, I didn’t go into everything you told us about the ring, and James’s Cloak, so they don’t know it’s one of three. I felt like that would have been a lot to process - and there was plenty to explain as it was. But yeah, she knows about the wand.” It’s his turn to sigh now. “I never meant to give her a burden like that.”
He’s still not sure how he feels about it. Part of him is furious at himself, unable to believe he was stupid enough to let such a powerful weapon out of his grasp, after such a short time possessing it. He hadn’t even had a chance to use it yet. But another part of him, all too aware of the things he’s capable of when pushed - especially after what had happened at Godric’s Hollow - is almost relieved that the Elder Wand had been taken from him so quickly. Before he could do any irreparable damage with it.
“Hmm,” Dumbledore murmurs, looking lost in thought again. “As accidents go, I would say that was rather a happy one.” Regulus says nothing, still trying to decide whether he agrees or not. “Have you considered -”
But he never hears the end of the question; for at that moment, Dumbledore is interrupted by a sharp, sudden knocking on his office door.
Regulus immediately feels his whole body tense, heart pounding, fingers instinctively tightening around his wand as he turns to stare at the door.
Surely it’s not normal to be so on edge, just from an unexpected knock? Regulus doesn’t know if it’s the war that’s made him so paranoid and anxious, or this whole double agent situation, or maybe just the way that he and Sirius were raised. Probably some fucked up, tangled combination of all of them, if he had to guess.
“Were you expecting any other visitors tonight?” he whispers, turning back to Dumbledore.
“Not that I recall,” the headmaster replies, looking curious, but not even the slightest bit worried, which is rather stupid of him, in Regulus’s opinion. “But then, I am, as you so eloquently said before, an old man, and my memory is not what it once was.” Regulus looks at him incredulously, and Dumbledore has the audacity to look amused by him again. “Whoever it is, it would seem that someone deemed them trustworthy enough to give them the password to my office - that is, assuming I did not make this appointment myself and forget about it entirely, which is, as I said, a distinct possibility.”
That’s a fair point, Regulus acknowledges, feeling the tight knot in his chest loosen slightly. Maybe Fabian decided he would join them, after all?
“Come in!” Dumbledore calls out, sounding far too cheerful, in Regulus’s opinion.
The door opens immediately. But it’s not Fabian who comes in - it’s two people, both wrapped tightly in travelling cloaks with their hoods up, one of them hanging back a little behind the other.
“Professor Dumbledore,” says a woman’s voice - a familiar voice - as the one standing slightly in front of the other lowers her hood, long dark curls cascading down her back as she reveals her alabaster face.
For a split second, Regulus freezes, his heart skipping a beat in alarm.
Who the hell was stupid enough to let Bellatrix into Hogwarts, to give her the password to Dumbledore’s office, no less? And he himself had jinxed her across the room the last time they’d spoken, so Merlin only knows what she has in store for him …
Wait. No. This isn’t Bellatrix, he realises suddenly, his heart settling a little as he looks at the woman properly. She looks extraordinarily like her, it’s true; but her curls are a slightly softer brown, not jet black, and her eyes, though the same shade of grey as her older sister’s, are wider, softer. Warmer.
Regulus supposes it makes sense that he wouldn’t immediately recognise Andromeda Tonks; after all, he, unlike Sirius, hasn’t laid eyes on her in years, ever since their family disowned her as a blood traitor and he was forbidden to communicate with her. She’s a widow now, of course, Regulus remembers, with an almost overwhelming surge of guilt. Although apparently, outliving her Mudblood husband wasn’t enough to earn her a welcome back into the Black family fold.
“Forgive us for this intrusion,” Andromeda continues, still addressing Dumbledore, sounding nervous and a little breathless, “we realise it is late, and we probably should have at least sent an owl ahead. But the thing is, we could not think who else to go to, and…well, I admit, it did take us a little while to agree on it, but when I finally managed to convince her, I -”
She stops suddenly as she fully registers the scene in front of her. For a moment, she just stares at Regulus, open-mouthed, looking just as surprised to see him as he is to see her.
“ Regulus?” she asks, sounding utterly bewildered. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I was about to ask you the same question, actually,” he replies, frowning back at her. “And who -”
“Oh, fuck ,” the other woman curses, with fervour - another very familiar voice which both answers Regulus’s question, and raises about a thousand more.
The woman standing behind Andromeda finally lifts her hands to take her hood down, shaking her blond curls back as she does so. She stares at Regulus with familiar grey eyes - but he’s never seen them narrowed in anger and disgust like that before. At least, not directed at him.
“Fuck,” says Narcissa Malfoy, again. “I knew coming here was a stupid, reckless idea.”
“What are you talking about, Cissy?” Andromeda asks, still looking bewildered, her gaze moving back and forth between her cousin and her younger sister.
“He’s a spy, Andromeda,” Narcissa announces, still looking at him with a fierce, steely glint in her stormy eyes. The look on her face is quite terrifying, if Regulus is honest. “Our dear sweet little Reggie here,” she sneers icily, “has been keeping himself safe in this war, by spying for the man who murdered my husband.” Andromeda’s eyes widen, staring at him in shock.
“He’s been spying for the Dark Lord for years now,” Narcissa continues. “I’d keep an eye on him if I were you, Dumbledore. He’d do anything to keep himself safe.”