Mortal Once More

2nd September, 1983 - Hogwarts Castle 

“Ah, Narcissa,” says Dumbledore smoothly, sounding completely calm and unruffled, even as Regulus stands frozen, staring at his cousin, his heart lodged in his throat. “What an unexpected pleasure. It seems, though, that there may have been some misunderstanding here - which is, of course, perfectly natural, considering -”

“What the hell are you doing here, Cissy?” Regulus chokes out, finally managing to get his voice working again. 

“Don’t you ‘Cissy’ me, Regulus,” she snarls at him. “Don’t you dare.” 

Regulus flinches, falling silent immediately. 

He’s always known that Narcissa can be haughty, icy even - after all, she was raised in the House of Black, just as he was. But she’s certainly never looked at him with so much pure venom before, bringing the expression ‘if looks could kill’ to the forefront of his mind. 

“My husband has been murdered,” she continues, her voice somehow icy and brittle at the same time, “not that you need me to remind you of that fact, do you? I imagine you were very well acquainted with that plan, certainly before anybody thought it necessary to inform me.” 

Narcissa’s voice cracks for a split second, the shadow of grief and pain flickering in her grey eyes, visible even behind the fury so fierce it looks alarmingly close to hatred, and Regulus can’t stop himself from flinching again. He supposes he knows now why his letters had been returned unopened, at least. “And I presume you know that Andromeda has been widowed, too?” she continues, gesturing to her older sister, who winces as if Narcissa had just struck her. 

Regulus gives a tiny nod, looking down at Dumbledore’s carpet rather than making eye contact with either of his cousins, his insides twisting with a sharp sting of guilt, as though he’s just swallowed a poisonous potion. He wonders briefly if the old man behind him feels anything of the kind, confronted with the widow of a man he sacrificed as a convenient pawn in this never-ending game of chess. He doubts it. Good men may trouble themselves about such things, but great men never seem to. Regulus isn’t sure what sort of man that makes him. 

“Yes,” Regulus whispers. “Yes, I heard about that, too.” 

“Yes, I’m sure you did,” Andromeda says quietly, with more than a hint of bitterness in her voice. Regulus stays silent. He has no response for that. 

“And you expected us to just sit and wallow in helpless grief and rage for the rest of our lives, did you?” Narcissa asks, her voice carving icicles out of thin air. “No, Regulus. I decided that I’d had enough, more than enough, of standing on the sidelines, waiting for men to fight my battles for me. So, I contacted my sister -” 

“Out of the blue, after years of complete silence,” Andromeda interjects, her voice somehow even more frosty than Narcissa’s. “I’ve been left to mourn my husband and take care of my daughter alone, for almost a year now. Kind of you to continue ignoring me completely, and come to me only when you suddenly found yourself in exactly the same predicament, Cissy.” 

“Oh, be quiet, Andromeda,” the blonde retorts irritably, “I have neither the time nor the patience to argue about this any more, it will not get us anywhere. I came to you eventually, didn’t I? That’s more than you can say for anybody else in this godforsaken family, isn’t it?” 

“You came to me when you couldn’t think of anybody else who would be soft enough to help you, you mean,” Andromeda mutters. 

“Oh, enough,” Narcissa bites back, glaring at her older sister. “I came to you so we could get revenge. I thought you were quite keen on that too, Andromeda - or would you rather just stand there bitching at me all night?” 

“My apologies for interrupting,” says Dumbledore, sounding rather more amused than apologetic, “but I would like to ensure that I am understanding the two of you correctly. Particularly you, Narcissa. It seems to me that you have accompanied your sister here this evening, with the intention of defecting to my side of the war - defecting to the Order of the Phoenix. Am I correct in thinking that you wish to join our cause? Or am I simply a foolish old man who has - not for the first time in my life - jumped to the wrong conclusion?” 

Narcissa looks at him coolly, raising one haughty, perfectly shaped eyebrow. 

“Well, I shall not do either of us the discourtesy of pretending that I suddenly have a strong investment in your cause, Dumbledore,” she answers sardonically. “As for your ‘Order of the Phoenix’, my opinion is much the same as it always has been - a bunch of stubborn, reckless and self-righteous fools, who all fancy themselves brave and noble heroes, the saviours of the wizarding world.” The sneer in her voice is really quite impressive, Regulus muses. “It is no wonder that my dear cousin Sirius was so desperate to join their ranks the moment he left Hogwarts. But, on the other hand…” she sighs, with an expression that makes her look as if she’s been forced to swallow something very bitter, twisting her beautiful features, “it seems to me that the alternative is to stay quiet and continue obediently following the man who murdered my husband and deprived my son of his father. And I have come to the conclusion that - no matter how distasteful the means, or how low I must stoop to do it - I would rather that man breathed his last sooner rather than later. And I would rather like to have a hand in his demise. And if you say that is not possible - well, I am here to make it possible.” 

“Indeed?” Dumbledore asks, looking only mildly curious as he gazes at Narcissa over his half-moon spectacles. Regulus stares at his cousin, lost for words for a moment. 

“You’re a moral vacuum, Cissy, do you know that?” Andromeda pipes up, apparently less than impressed.

Narcissa heaves a sigh, without even looking at her sister.

“Salazar, Andromeda,” she mutters, “I told you already, you can spare me the self-righteousness.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Regulus sees Dumbledore dart a glance in his direction, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. He can’t help but fidget slightly. He and Sirius don’t sound like this…do they? 

“Although I must say, given that Regulus still appears to be here with you,” Narcissa continues, fury and disgust flickering across her face again as she looks back at him, “perhaps you are not the best person to come to for help, after all.” 

“Oh? How so?” the old man asks, not sounding offended in the slightest, but politely curious. 

“Well, I would have thought you would have figured it out by now,” she says smoothly. “The fact that my dear little cousin has been placed here by the Dark Lord, to spy on you. I mean, that much is fairly obvious, isn’t it? I thought you were supposed to be reasonably intelligent, Dumbledore?”

Dumbledore merely chuckles to himself, as Narcissa stares at Regulus with icy grey eyes, twirling her wand almost lovingly between her fingers. Regulus forces himself to look right back at her, trying his best not to show the slightest flicker of unease. It doesn’t help that there’s something unreadable in her expression; she seems to be trying to come to a decision about something. The minute that passes as the two of them stare at each other seems to Regulus to be endless, both of them refusing to break eye contact; then, finally, Narcissa sighs. 

“You know, Regulus - I really should kill you,” she tells him bluntly. She sounds strangely irritated now - whether at him or at herself, he can’t quite tell. “But, unfortunately - I don’t think I can actually do that.” 

He feels a strange surge of mingled fear and relief, doing his best to cover it with a blank expression and one raised eyebrow. After all, he didn’t learn how to survive in the Black family without picking up a thing or two from Narcissa herself. 

“Why not?” he asks, as dryly as he can manage. “Afraid of the Aurors, Cissy?” 

“I thought I just told you not to call me that?” she hisses at him, cold grey eyes narrowing to slits. “And no, I’m not afraid of the Aurors,” she continues, scoffing. “I just don’t actually think I can kill you, Regulus, because…because you’re my baby cousin.” She sighs again, a defeated kind of sound. “Because, no matter what you might have done in the years since, I grew up trying to protect you. As much as anyone can ever be protected in a family like ours, at least. And, well…old habits die hard, I suppose.” 

“...Oh,” Regulus answers lamely, staring at her. 

Whatever he’d been expecting her to say…it wasn’t that. 

For one brief, unguarded moment, Narcissa’s face softens - but then she rolls her eyes, standing up to her fullest height and tilting her head slightly in that arrogant, aristocratic way she’d picked up from her oldest sister, and suddenly the mask of glittering, untouchable ice is firmly back in place. Before Regulus can process this change, his cousin is pointing her wand straight at his face. 

“Narcissa, what in Merlin’s name are you doing?” Andromeda exclaims, aghast. Regulus, for his part, doesn’t say anything; his throat seems to have closed up, and although he generally prides himself on having a pretty extensive vocabulary, right at this moment he can’t seem to remember a single word of it. 

“I may be too soft for my own good,” Narcissa murmurs, not lowering her wand even half an inch, “but still - I’m not an idiot. I cannot have you running off to report me to the Dark Lord, now can I?” Her gaze traces over his face, seeming to consider him for a moment. “Modifying your memories wouldn’t hurt you too much, I suppose,” she says quietly. “I wouldn’t know - it’s not something I’ve ever experienced. Then again,” she adds, with a small, bitter laugh, “given the things that you and I have seen and experienced in our lives, you might even be happier once you’ve lost the memories, Regulus.” 

He stares at her, wondering, for a split second, if she might be right. Wondering if maybe he would be better off for it, if he didn’t know all of the things he knows now, if he didn’t constantly have to carry the weight of everything pressing down on him, didn’t have to listen to the never-ending voices in his head that remind him of the myriad of ways he’s let people down. Just for that split second, Regulus is tempted to keep his wand held loosely at his side, to just let his cousin cast the spell. There are worse things than losing himself. 

“Protego,” Dumbledore says suddenly, not the slightest hint of panic or urgency in his voice. Immediately, a huge, transparent shield erupts in the middle of the office, Regulus and the headmaster on one side, Narcissa and Andromeda on the other. 

“For Salazar’s sake!” Narcissa spits, rounding on the old man now, her stormy eyes blazing with fury. “Why in Merlin’s name are you trying to protect my cousin, Dumbledore? Haven’t I just told you that he is a spy? Were you not listening?” 

“Certainly I was listening to you, Narcissa,” Dumbledore replies levelly. “And as it happens, I am already well aware that Regulus here is a spy.” 

“What?” the two sisters ask simultaneously, Narcissa’s outraged expression shifting for a moment into one of bewilderment. 

“Regulus is a member of the Order of the Phoenix,” Dumbledore says, in the same tone he might have used to tell Narcissa that the ceiling in the Great Hall reflects the sky outside, or that the Hogwarts house elves live in the kitchens. “So yes, he is indeed a spy; he has been spying on Lord Voldemort, on my behalf, for over two years now.” 

For a moment, Narcissa simply stares at him, with an expression on her face that tells Regulus, quite clearly, that she’s wondering why anybody has ever told her this man is intelligent. 

“Well, yes,” she says slowly, as though she is explaining something to her toddler, “it stands to reason that he would have told you that, Dumbledore, doesn’t it? In order to spy on you and stay in your good graces, Regulus would have had to pretend that it was actually the Dark Lord he had turned against. Obviously. But my question is, why in Merlin’s name would you just…believe him? What possible reason would the Black family heir have to turn against the Dark Lord?” 

“I turned against him a long time ago, Narcissa,” Regulus says quietly. She turns to look at him sharply, eyes narrowed in distrust. “Because I realised that he’s a monster. You know that as well as I do, now.” 

Narcissa opens her mouth to retort, but - 

“Would you mind opening your mind for me, please, Narcissa?” Dumbledore asks pleasantly. 

“Would I mind - what?” she asks, turning back to stare at him again.

“Opening your mind,” he repeats, looking at her over his half-moon spectacles with a strangely shrewd expression on his face. 

“You mean, would I mind being a bit kinder?” she asks sardonically, raising one perfect eyebrow again. “Would I mind just considering the possibility that Regulus might not be a liar, after all?” 

“Oh, Regulus is a liar, alright,” says Dumbledore cheerfully, making something squirm in the pit of Regulus’s stomach, “though he is not lying to either of us at the moment - it is generally Lord Voldemort he lies to, these days. But no, that is not what I meant. I am asking you to literally open your mind for me, please.”

“What?” 

“If you are telling the truth about your intention of defecting to the Order’s side in this war - the side that, as I say, Regulus joined long ago - then you have nothing to hide from me, Narcissa,” the old man explains patiently, “and thus, I presume you will not object to me using a little bit of Legilimency.”

Her eyes widen in surprise at that - and, for the first time since she had come in, Regulus thinks he detects the slightest flicker of fear, if only for the briefest of seconds. He’s not surprised - he knows for a fact that Narcissa and Andromeda’s parents are no better than his and Sirius’s. Like he and Sirius, his cousins, too, grew up in a house where Legilimency was constantly used as a tool for control, where even their own thoughts were neither private nor safe. None of their parents ever took the trouble to ask permission before breaking into their minds. 

“I have used Legilimency on Regulus, many times,” Dumbledore continues. “As you said, it was imperative for me to ensure that he was telling me the truth. He does not object; he willingly opens his mind for me.” 

Regulus flinches. He opens his mind because he knows it’s a necessity he has to tolerate. The word ‘willingly’ is rather a stretch. 

“I am merely asking that you show me the same courtesy now,” the headmaster continues, oblivious, as usual, to Regulus’s discomfort, as he continues to stare at Narcissa, waiting patiently for her response. 

Narcissa glares back at him for a moment, before turning to look at Regulus again. Her eyes are still narrowed with fury and distrust - but now, Regulus thinks he can see the shadow of something else. Something that might almost be called…doubt. Uncertainty. The knowledge that he has already allowed Dumbledore to use Legilimency on him has rattled his cousin, he can tell. She seems to be searching for something in his face, some hint of the truth, and Regulus tries his best to keep himself open, make it easy for her to read him. It’s more difficult than it probably should be - but then, he supposes, he’s not exactly used to it. 

Apparently, though, Narcissa is reassured at least to some extent, because a moment later, she lets out a long-suffering sigh, finally lowering her wand and turning back to the headmaster. 

“Fine,” she says. “Go ahead, then. Have a rummage in my brain if you must, Dumbledore.” Her words are dripping with haughty disdain - but Regulus knows that tactic for masking fear and unease, having used it hundreds of times himself. “You won’t find anything there, except for what I’ve already told you. Though it seems you would be grateful for the reassurance.” 

“I would indeed,” the old man answers lightly - and then he promptly falls silent, fixing Narcissa with an intense, unwavering stare. 

To her credit, Narcissa does not flinch even slightly; she simply juts out her chin defiantly, in that gesture so characteristic of their family, raising one haughty eyebrow as she wordlessly stares right back at the headmaster.

For all that Regulus has experienced it so many times, he’s never actually witnessed this from the outside before. It’s more intensely uncomfortable than he had expected it to be; he feels almost as though he is watching something indecent, some crime or assault being committed, without lifting a finger to stop it, or to help. This does nothing to alleviate the squirming, twisting guilt he feels, trying desperately to avoid eye contact with Andromeda in the tense, heavy silence, terrified that she might glean an inkling of the truth from his face, even without the ability to wield the same power that the headmaster is currently using on her sister. 

Finally - after what might have been a few minutes, or possibly a few hours of silence - Dumbledore speaks. 

“Very well, Narcissa,” he announces, smiling slightly. “It would seem that you are, indeed, being genuine - or at least, as genuine as somebody like you is capable of being.” 

Regulus barely manages to restrain himself from rolling his eyes as Narcissa glares at the headmaster.

“Cauldron, have you met kettle?” he mutters under his breath. 

Dumbledore, of course, continues as though he hadn’t heard a word. The old man is rather prone to selective hearing when it suits him, Regulus has noticed. 

“Well then, with that out of the way, it seems we can start getting down to business,” he announces, now addressing both sisters. 

Narcissa blinks, looking startled for a moment by the abrupt end to the mental interrogation. She still looks noticeably paler than before; opening up your mind and baring your thoughts for the old man to see -  and judge -  is never exactly the most comfortable of experiences. 

“I feel I am duty-bound, before we go ahead with anything,” the headmaster continues, apparently oblivious to Narcissa’s discomfort, or perhaps simply not caring, “to ensure that you are both fully aware of the extremely dangerous positions that you will be putting yourselves in, if you join us. Particularly you, Narcissa.” 

She stiffens.

“And why me in particular?” she demands, once again using a mask of hauteur to cover her moment of shock. 

“Well, your sister here” -  he nods courteously in Andromeda’s direction - “is already affiliated with the Order, even if she has not technically been a member herself until now; besides which, she has of course been a key target of the Black family for many years now, along with her cousin Sirius - as I’m sure you are all too aware, Andromeda.” 

Andromeda grimaces, her jaw tightening, fury flashing in her grey eyes; Narcissa looks sideways at her, and for a moment Regulus sees a shadow of guilt and regret cross her face, before she quickly pulls her mask on again. 

“But you, Narcissa,” Dumbledore continues, “have, until now, been safely enjoying the favour of both your family, and Lord Voldemort. No doubt you, like Regulus, had to learn how to keep yourself safe from your earliest childhood.” Narcissa winces slightly at that. “But I must emphasise that you will be leaving that comfort, certainty and safety behind if you do this, if you join us. Not to mention, putting your young son at risk.” 

“Which is precisely what Lucius was trying to avoid,” Regulus murmurs.

Narcissa freezes at that, the colour rapidly draining from her face as she stares at him.

For just a moment, she looks as though she’s seen a ghost. 

“What?” she whispers. “Lucius spoke to you before he died? About…about me and Draco?” 

There is a desperate, haunted look in his cousin’s grey eyes now - as though she both urgently needs to hear this from Regulus, but is simultaneously terrified of what he might say. It makes something tug at his chest. 

“He came to see me,” he admits, “here at Hogwarts. He already knew he was in trouble with the Dark Lord, because of that diary. I think he was hoping that I would be able to help him in some way; he never knew that I’d already defected. You have to understand, there was nothing I could have done for Lucius,” he adds, hearing the begging note in his own voice, even as he feels the guilt clawing at him, sees the horrified look on Narcissa’s face, “he was already in too deep, I think even he knew it by that point. But I told him to go into hiding, do his best to save himself, and I suggested he should take you and Draco with him. But he…” Regulus’s voice cracks slightly; he swallows and tries again. “He refused to do it. I assume that you didn’t hear anything from him at all, in the weeks before his death?” 

Narcissa shakes her head slowly, unshed tears glistening in her eyes. 

“Not a word,” she whispers. “I didn’t even have a clue where he was.” 

“I’m sorry,” Regulus tells her quietly. “But I promise you, it wasn’t because he was trying to abandon you and your son - it was the opposite. He would have decided not to contact you, for fear of drawing attention to either of you. He told me that it was his mess, and he refused to drag you and Draco into it. He wanted to keep the two of you safe.” 

In the ringing silence that follows these words, his cousin stares at him, her grey eyes wide and shimmering with unshed tears, her face completely bloodless, her breathing ragged.

Finally, after a moment that seems endless, Narcissa draws in a long, shaky breath, lifting her chin defiantly again. 

“I know that Lucius would have wanted us to stay safe,” she says quietly, her expression haunted, yet strangely soft, somehow. “He probably would have told me to follow my self-preservation instinct by staying quiet, staying obedient to the Dark Lord to ensure I don’t bring any more danger on our heads. But the truth is - my husband made mistakes. Perhaps if he had not made mistakes, he would still…” Her voice trembles and cracks; she clears her throat and tries again. “He would still be with me. He would be able to protect me and Draco from harm himself. And the fact of the matter, Dumbledore, is that I will not stand quietly by and let my husband’s murderer continue his reign, without putting up a fight. I cannot do that.” 

Narcissa lifts her chin again, that stubborn Black family defiance gleaming in her eyes.

For a moment, the headmaster simply peers at her, not a single flicker in his expression betraying his thoughts. 

“Admirably put, indeed,” he says finally. “And your son? I presume, given that he is around three, if I am not mistaken, he was not consulted on this highly important matter?” 

Narcissa flinches a little.

“No, of course I did not ‘consult’ Draco,” she snaps, with an abrupt return to her haughty tone, “but obviously, I wish to keep him safe -” 

“And Dora, too,” Andromeda interjects. “I will not permit anyone to touch a hair on my daughter’s head.” 

“Yes, obviously, ‘Dromeda,” Narcissa snaps irritably. “Neither of us want our children to be anywhere near danger,” she continues, turning back to Dumbledore. “But that is another reason that we have decided to come to you. We know that we need to fight, and neither of us will rest until we have. But we also need the security of knowing that our children are as carefully protected as it is possible for them to be.” 

“Understandable,” the headmaster murmurs. “Well, you have my word on that. The Order - and myself, of course - will do everything in our power to keep both Nymphadora and Draco safe.”

Regulus just barely manages to restrain himself from scoffing at that. 

But perhaps he should give the old man a little more credit, he muses bitterly. After all, Narcissa’s son and Andromeda’s daughter are innocents - untainted. They’re still young enough that, if the headmaster plays his cards right, they will grow up grateful for his protection, considering themselves to be in his debt for their own survival, as well as the survival of their mothers. Two more child soldiers, raised to serve in this war. Small wonder then, if Dumbledore considers it more worth his time and effort to protect them than it ever was to protect him. 

“And what about him?” 

With an effort, Regulus pulls himself out of his cynical thoughts, only to find that his cousin is glaring at him fiercely again. 

“You are absolutely certain that he is spying for you, Dumbledore? He is not spying for Him? Because if he goes running to the Dark Lord about this, then Draco and I are both -”

“Yes, Narcissa,” Dumbledore sighs, with just the tiniest hint of impatience in his voice. “For one thing, Regulus has shared the most highly confidential information with me, of the sort which makes Lord Voldemort very vulnerable - and I highly doubt that Tom would have consented to sharing matters of such importance with me, purely for the sake of spying.” 

“Tom?” Andromeda repeats, sounding bewildered.

“What sort of ‘highly confidential information?’” Narcissa demands, frowning curiously as she looks back and forth between Dumbledore and Regulus. 

“We shall get to that,” the headmaster replies mildly. Despite his own irritation, Regulus almost grins at the indignant expression on his cousin’s face. “And secondly,” Dumbledore continues, still in the sort of casual tone most people would use when discussing the weather, “I myself have witnessed Regulus falling in love with a prominent member of the Order of the Phoenix, in the years since he joined us. Even if he was initially intending to betray the Order to Lord Voldemort, I do not believe for a moment that Regulus would do anything that might endanger Fabian in any way.” 

At that, both sisters whip around to stare at Regulus again. 

“Fabian?” Narcissa repeats slowly. “Surely you don’t mean Fabian Prewett? Not that thoroughly obnoxious Gryffindor boy? The one that your brother and his stupid little friends used to practically hero-worship back at Hogwarts? He used to run around pulling ridiculous pranks all the time, along with his twin brother, didn’t he? Probably gave your brother and his motley crew the idea, now that I think about it…surely you’re not telling me that Regulus Black has fallen in love with him?” 

She looks positively gleeful now; next to her, Andromeda is still gazing at him in blatant astonishment. For his part, Regulus can feel his face positively burning. He would quite like to sink through the floor and vanish right at this moment; although the idea of throwing a hex at the old man certainly has its merits, too. 

“Shut up, Narcissa,” he snarls instead. So much for trying to keep the peace. “Mind your own damn business, for Salazar’s sake.”

Narcissa, unfortunately, does not seem fazed by this hostile response in the slightest; on the contrary, her delighted grin only widens. Well, Regulus supposes, this is one way to distract her from her grief and rage, if only temporarily. He makes a mental note that he should never let this woman and Remus Lupin within half a mile of each other. 

“Oh Merlin, he is,” she crows. “Did you really abandon the Dark Lord for the sake of Fabian Prewett, Regulus? He must be very good in bed…” 

He does his best to glare at her, although given that he can feel his face practically melting, he suspects that he doesn’t look quite as intimidating as he would like to at this moment. 

“Wait, does Fabian Prewett know that you’re in love with him?” Andromeda asks curiously, raising her eyebrows as she frowns at him. 

“Oh, I doubt it,” Dumbledore replies matter-of-factly, before Regulus can open his mouth and tell Andromeda to back off as well. “Not unless Regulus here has told him so in as many words - and that isn’t really his style, is it?” 

Regulus glares at him, determinedly trying to ignore the lurch of guilt in his stomach. 

“Alright,” says Andromeda suddenly, mercifully deciding to come to his rescue, “I think that’s probably enough about Regulus’s love life now.” He sends her a look, which he can only hope conveys gratitude and not just pure mortification. “He’s right, Cissy, it isn’t any of our business - and besides, we didn’t come here just to embarrass the poor boy, no matter how much you might enjoy it.” 

He wrinkles his nose a little at that; he might appreciate what Andromeda is doing, but that doesn’t mean he wants to be referred to as ‘poor boy.’

“Well?” Andromeda continues, turning to him with an expectant expression. 

Regulus blinks.

“Well what?” he asks. 

“Well, are we allowed to know what this ‘highly confidential information’ is, that apparently makes You-Know-Who so vulnerable?” she clarifies. “That seems like quite an important thing for us to know, if Cissy and I are going to help bring him down.” She pauses. “Can we help?” 

Regulus stares at his older cousin for a moment - and as he properly takes her in, with the long dark curls tumbling down her back, her grey eyes and aristocratic pallor, he thinks he can feel the beginnings of an idea starting to form somewhere in the back of his mind. But…no…could they possibly…?

“If you two really are serious about this…” he begins slowly.

“We are,” the sisters respond immediately, in unison.

“Well then,” he continues - and, to his own surprise, he feels himself starting to grin a little. “I think perhaps, between the two of you, you might actually manage to be quite useful. Tell me…exactly how devastated would you be, if your older sister was angry with you?” 

“Merlin,” Fabian whispers later that evening, sitting by the fireplace in Regulus’s office, having just been regaled with the tale of the Black sisters. “So…d’you think your cousin was telling the truth? About betraying You-Know-Who, turning spy for our side? Is she really that bent on revenge?”

“Seems to be,” Regulus responds, sipping his wine wearily. “She even let Dumbledore use Legilimency on her, and believe me, letting someone in like that isn’t exactly a bundle of laughs, when you grew up in a family like ours. Although I’m still not sure the old man was entirely convinced, given that he was still interrogating her when he dismissed me and Andromeda.”

“Wait - what?” Fabian blinks at him, startled. “Narcissa Malfoy is still here? At Hogwarts?” 

“Well, she was still with Dumbledore when I left, anyway,” Regulus clarifies “Andromeda left ages ago to go check on their kids, so clearly he had no issue with her - not that he’d have much reason to take issue with her, I suppose, she’s never been happily married to a Death Eater. But Narcissa might have left too by now, I don’t know. Something tells me she wouldn’t bother going out of her way to seek me out and say goodbye.” 

His voice wavers slightly, and he clears his throat; the look of disgust and betrayal on his cousin’s face is still affecting him more strongly than he’d ever thought it would. 

“What do you mean, Reg?” Fabian asks quietly, somehow knowing, as always, when Regulus needs him to be soft.  

He sighs, ducking his head a little so that Fabian can’t see his expression. 

“At least I know now why she was returning all my letters unopened. She didn’t know I’d defected; she thought I knew about the Dark Lord’s plan to kill Lucius, and approved it, Fabian. She even implied that I helped to orchestrate it.” 

Fabian lets out a low whistle. 

“Shit, Reg,” he says, very coherently. “So she doesn’t trust you?”

Regulus lets out a sharp, humourless bark of laughter at that. He can’t help himself, even if it does remind him irritatingly of his brother. 

“No,” he replies, “no, she absolutely does not. Or at least, she didn’t,” he amends, with a scowl. “Now that Dumbledore’s started sharing my private business with her, perhaps she might be more willing to be open-minded.”

“Your ‘private business’?” Fabian echoes, raising one eyebrow. 

Regulus winces a little before he can stop himself. Right. He really should have known better than to bring that up. He sighs, knowing he’s just backed himself into a corner.

“When Dumbledore was trying to convince Narcissa that my loyalty to the Order is genuine, the bastard decided to mention you,” he mutters, choosing to fidget with the stem of his wine glass, rather than actually look up and meet his boyfriend’s gaze. “My, uh…my feelings for you, I mean.” He can feel the heat burning in his cheeks again - Merlin, why can’t he just sink through the floor right now? Surely someone has invented a spell for that? “Dumbledore decided, for reasons best known to himself, to introduce the topic of our relationship to my cousins. And I…well…I might not have responded very well to that.” 

“Ah,” Fabian replies, very quietly. 

There’s a seemingly endless moment of silence, during which Regulus feels rather than sees the other man draw a little further away from him, taking the warmth he always carries away with him. The room seems, to Regulus, to drop suddenly in temperature. “Right. Makes sense. After all, that’s the easiest way to make Regulus Black squirm, isn’t it? Make him confront his feelings?” 

Regulus feels the heat rapidly drain from his face at that, replaced by an awful tight, cold feeling in his chest. He looks up at Fabian, finally, to see that he’s moved across to the other end of the sofa, putting more distance between himself and Regulus. 

“You’re angry with me,” he says quietly. 

This time, it’s Fabian’s turn to let out a short, humourless laugh. Regulus hates the sound of it - it makes him sound uncharacteristically bitter. 

“What gave it away?” the taller man asks sardonically. 

He drains the rest of his wine glass in one, before flicking his wand to Summon the bottle from Regulus’s desk, uncorking it and wordlessly pouring himself another rather full glass. 

Regulus can’t stop himself from wincing slightly as he watches his boyfriend; given the way Fabian has been around the flat lately, the old habits he had used to cope in the immediate aftermath of Gideon’s death which seem to have been resurfacing, Regulus probably should have known better than to offer him wine now. He’s fairly certain Fabian does not need to be drinking another full glass. But something tells him now probably isn’t exactly the best moment to start pointing that out. 

“Do you want us to stop being…whatever it is we are?” he asks tentatively, trying to ignore the way his heart clenches painfully at the very thought of it. 

He can’t lose Fabian. He can’t. But maybe Fabian would be better off without him. Maybe he should stop being so selfish, for once in his life. 

Fabian glares at him, which makes some small, pathetic part of Regulus curl up and whimper. 

“We’re together, Regulus,” he says. “That’s what we are. That is usually what people would call it, when they’ve been living with each other and making out and sleeping with each other for over two months. And no, I don’t want to stop being together, you idiot.” Regulus feels a rush of relief coursing through him, as though he’s just released a breath he hadn’t even realised he was holding.  “I told you before, I love you,” Fabian continues, his face softening slightly, causing Regulus to take a deep, steadying breath as his heart swells in his chest. How does he say things like that, so easily, so simply, as though it doesn’t cost him anything at all, offering up the most vulnerable pieces of himself? “And the fact that I’m pissed off at you right now doesn’t negate that. Even if you are a bit of a dickhead sometimes. Well. Maybe more than a little bit, on occasion. But that’s not news to you, I imagine?” 

Regulus flinches again. No, it certainly isn’t news to him. Still, it’s not exactly an easy pill to swallow, knowing that the worst parts of himself have been so visible lately that even Fabian Prewett - the kindest, warmest, most forgiving person he’s ever known - can see them clearly. 

“So is that why you’re angry with me?” he whispers, looking down at his glass again. “Because you told me…that? And I…I didn’t?” 

Merlin, he can’t even say the bloody word. Everything inside him is tensing up, freezing like some small, weak creature terrified of attracting a predator’s attention. Even now, he’s fighting back the instinct to say something sarcastic or hurtful, just to shut down this conversation, just so he doesn’t have to lay himself bare like this. God, what is wrong with him? Why can’t he just be normal, for Salazar’s sake?

Fabian just stares at him for a moment, clearly startled by this question. For a split second, there’s something completely unguarded and vulnerable in his expression, which tugs sharply at something buried deep in Regulus’s chest. 

“I…no,” Fabian says quietly, apparently finding his voice again. “No, I’m not upset with you about that. That wouldn’t be fair of me.” 

Regulus isn’t convinced that’s true; and judging by the slight tremble in his voice, the way the taller man is suddenly ducking his head to avoid eye contact, Fabian doesn’t quite believe his own words, either. But he decides not to push it - that’s a discussion that will only make them both more upset with each other, at the moment.

“Alright,” he says, hoping he sounds calmer and steadier than he feels. “So why are you upset with me, then, Fabian?”

The other man makes an indignant, disbelieving noise. 

“Come on, Reg, I know how bloody clever you are - are you really going to make me spell it out?”

Regulus does his best not to wince. He is starting to get a pretty shrewd idea of where Fabian is going with this - not that he’s particularly keen to admit that. 

“Apparently so,” he replies, narrowing his eyes at his boyfriend. “Go on then, Prewett. Whatever it is, don’t be shy; spit it out.”

Fabian glares back at him. 

“Alright, Reg, I’ll spit it out. Are you planning on apologising to your brother any time soon?”

And there it is. He’d known this conversation was coming, he’s been dreading this for days now - but even so, Fabian’s pointed question makes Regulus feel as though a huge, leaden weight has suddenly dropped down into the pit of his stomach. 

“Apologise to Sirius?” he asks, making a desperate stab at a coolly surprised tone. “Is there any particular reason I should be apologising to him?” 

Fabian’s eyes narrow even more.

“Don’t play stupid, Regulus. We both know it’s beneath you.” 

“You want me to apologise to my brother because he drew his wand on me?”

“No, well, obviously he shouldn’t have drawn his wand on you,” Fabian huffs, “we already know Sirius is a reckless idiot. Although let’s not forget that you also drew your wand on him. And you looked pretty eager, from where I was standing.” 

“So you’re saying I should apologise for retaliating when he tried to attack me?” Regulus asks sardonically, raising one eyebrow. 

“No.” Fabian sounds so frustrated now that the word comes out almost like a growl. “Why don’t you cast your mind back a little, Regulus? Do you not remember what happened directly before Sirius drew his wand?” 

“You mean when Sirius asked me if I was really planning to kill Dumbledore just to save my own skin?” he asks bitterly. “When he told me that I’d found a convenient excuse for murder?” 

Fabian sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes for a second, as though praying for patience. 

“I swear, between the two of you, you’ll be the death of us,” he mutters, raising his newly full glass to his lips - Regulus isn’t sure how many this makes - and taking another long swig. 

“Us?” Regulus echoes, frowning. 

“Me and Remus,” the taller man clarifies. Regulus stares at him. 

“Why are we suddenly bringing Remus into this?” 

“Because what Sirius said was completely out of line,” Fabian replies, heaving another sigh. “You’re right about that much, at least. And you can bet that Remus is going to be having words with him about it, just like I’m trying to have words with you now.”

“Wait,” Regulus says slowly, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at his boyfriend now. “Remus is in on this too? You two planned this? What is this, a coordinated attack?” 

“Merlin,” Fabian responds, rolling his eyes, “you two are as bad as each other sometimes, you know that?” That earns the taller man a death glare; he raises one hand in surrender, the other still holding his glass. “Bloody hell, Reg, there’s no need to Avada me with your eyes - I just meant you’re being unnecessarily dramatic, that’s all. Okay, yes, Remus and I may have discussed this a little, but that doesn’t make it a ‘coordinated attack.’ We just figured that the two of you were never going to listen to each other, but there might be a chance that you would listen to us. Yes, Sirius crossed a line accusing you like that; I’ve already admitted that, and Remus is probably talking to him as we speak. But that doesn’t mean that you’re off the hook, Reg.” 

“‘Off the hook’?” he repeats scornfully, raising his chin defiantly. “What in the name of Salazar would I need to be ‘let off the hook’ for, Fabian? For defending myself?” 

“Oh, enough already, Regulus,” Fabian snaps, and the sudden flash of warning in his bright eyes makes Regulus snap his mouth shut abruptly. It also makes a quiver of heat run down his spine so that he shivers slightly, although he supposes now isn’t exactly the best moment to focus on that. “Stop pretending you don’t know what you’ve done wrong. I think we both know that you did. You didn’t just ‘defend yourself’; all that would have entailed would have been an explanation that Dumbledore gave you his permission, and that You-Know-Who backed you into a corner.” 

Despite the stern expression on his face, Regulus doesn’t miss his boyfriend’s wince as he says that last bit.

“I did explain that!” he replies indignantly. 

“Yes, you did,” Fabian agrees. “And? What else did you say to Sirius, Reg? Remind me, because I’m fairly certain that part hasn’t escaped your memory.” 

Fabian raises one eyebrow as he stares Regulus down, just to make it clear that he’s waiting for him. Regulus glares back at him for a moment (trying to ignore the heat pooling in his stomach, because now is definitely not the time). Finally, he sighs, conceding defeat. 

“I told him that Dumbledore thought he was the spy in the Order,” he mutters reluctantly. 

“And we got there,” says Fabian. “So the question is - why did you tell him that, Regulus?” 

“I - it was just the truth!” he splutters. 

Fabian just scoffs at that. Which is…a pretty reasonable response, now Regulus comes to think of it. 

“Come on, Reg. That excuse is absolute bullshit, and you know it. Yes, it’s true that Dumbledore once got the wrong end of the stick and thought Sirius was the spy - but that was over two years ago now. And what of it? Nobody managed to get it right and figure out it was Pettigrew, did they?”

“Um, I’m fairly sure I figured that part out, if I recall correctly,” Regulus retorts. 

“Actually, if I recall the story correctly, you didn’t so much ‘figure it out’ as ‘bump into him having a meeting with You-Know-Who at Malfoy Manor,’ Fabian shoots back at him. “Face it, Reg - you just had a stroke of luck running into the spy, otherwise you would have been just as much in the dark as the rest of us, until it was too late. So maybe it’s about time you got down from that high Hippogriff of yours, huh? I mean, it’s not as though Sirius was the only one who was wrongly suspected back then, was it? Remus thought it was you, for Godric’s sake!” 

Regulus sucks in a sharp breath, glaring at him. 

“Do you really have to bloody rub it in, Prewett?” he mutters.

“See, that, right there!” Fabian exclaims, gesturing at him indignantly. 

“What, right where?” Regulus demands. 

“You just got pissed off at me for reminding you that Remus suspected you, once!”

“Well, obviously that would piss me off, Fabian,” he retorts, thoroughly nettled, “that was over two years ago, and Remus was obviously wrong when he thought it was me, and he’s apologised since, so what’s the fucking point in drudging up all that shit now, how does it help anyone, all it does is make me feel like…”

Fabian raises one eyebrow, looking at him with a very pointed expression, and Regulus trails off as the weight of his own words hits him.

“Shit.” 

“And the Sickle’s dropped,” says Fabian, heaving a sigh - a rather exaggerated one, in Regulus’s opinion - as though this conversation has exhausted him. “Now do you see how you crossed the line?” 

Regulus opens his mouth and closes it again, scrabbling for a response. It’s a rare thing, Fabian using his own logic against him to back him into a corner. Bloody infuriating, too.

“He was being a dick to me!” he tries. “Sirius bloody started it!” 

“Yes, he was, we’ve covered that, Reg,” Fabian says, raising one eyebrow at him as though he’s acting like a stubborn, petulant child. “But haven’t you ever heard the expression ‘two wrongs don’t make a right’?”

Regulus snorts. 

“You know, I don’t remember my parents ever teaching me that, funnily enough.”

“Right,” says Fabian, with a grimace. “Your parents are mental. That explains a lot about you two, now I come to think of it.” 

Regulus glares at him. Alright, yes, it’s a fair point, but he didn’t have to just say it, did he? 

“Yes, Sirius crossed a line too, nobody’s denying that,” Fabian continues. “But the point is, you had absolutely no reason for telling Sirius what Dumbledore thought about him two years ago, other than a spiteful desire to hurt him worse than he hurt you. I mean, when you said it ‘wouldn’t be the first time he’d hurt the people he loved the most’ - while Remus and James were both standing right there, I might add - I mean…” he lets out a stunned, humourless laugh. “Merlin, Reg, you really wanted to twist that knife in, didn’t you? I understand that you wanted to take your brother down a peg, but…I don’t think I’ve ever seen Sirius’s face crumple quite like that. That was below the bloody belt, and you know it. You might as well have kicked him in the chest.” 

Regulus opens his mouth and closes it again, blinking at his boyfriend. The guilt is scrabbling frantically, viciously at his chest now, like a creature with sharp claws trying to break free of its cage. 

“Look, Fabian,” he says, doing his utmost to keep his voice quiet and steady, despite the tears he can feel burning at the back of his throat. “Sirius and me, things are….complicated, between us. They always have been.”

“I understand that, Reg,” Fabian replies quietly - and there’s something else in those bright blue eyes now, besides anger and exasperation. Something that looks almost…haunted. Regulus can’t stand it. “But you only have one brother, and there’s a war going on. None of us know what’s going to happen, do we? I mean, I certainly didn’t.” 

Regulus stares at him, not knowing how to respond to this sudden shift in their argument.  

“Fabian…” he says, stumbling a little on his name, searching for the right words, wondering if there are any ‘right’ words for this. “Look….I know how much that still hurts. Well, I mean, obviously I don’t know know,” he amends hastily, already cursing himself for being an insensitive prick, “I just mean…I know how much you still miss your brother, even on your best days. But the thing is, Sirius and I….we’re not you and Gideon. I mean, things weren’t…broken, between the two of you. Hell, you probably never even argued with -” 

“Actually,” Fabian interjects coldly, “we did argue sometimes. In fact, if you must know, we lost our temper with each other, just before I came with you to that godforsaken cave, and he left for his ‘standard’ mission with Dorcas. I slammed the door when I left, told myself I would apologise later. I had no idea I would never get the chance to.” His voice cracks on those last words. “So, if you don’t mind, I would appreciate it if you didn’t talk about me and Gid as if you knew everything there is to know, Regulus.” 

Fabian glares at him, and Regulus stares back at him. The other man looks much older suddenly, his face lined with grief and regret, and Regulus feels something shatter deep inside him at the sight. 

“What were you arguing about?” he whispers, before he can stop himself.

Fabian’s breath hitches in pain, and he looks away, a shutter seeming to come down behind his eyes. 

“That’s…it doesn’t matter,” he says with a small shrug, his voice brittle with grief, making Regulus ache. “That’s beside the point. It’s not as if Gid and I will ever be able to discuss it properly now, is it?” 

Me, Regulus realises, stunned, as Fabian reaches up to impatiently brush at his cheeks. They were arguing about me. 

Finally, he allows it to sink in, how stupid he’s being about Sirius, how petty and vindictive; he almost reels back from the sheer weight of his guilt as it hits him with full force. But it isn’t just guilt, he realises suddenly - there’s pain there, too. Pain and longing, longing for a reconciliation with his brother, a long-buried wish to rebuild the bridge between them which seems, at this point, to be shattered almost beyond the point of repair. God, no wonder he’s been running away, trying so desperately to ignore this, to pretend he doesn’t care. 

“I…” His voice cracks, and he swallows, taking a deep breath and trying again. “I’m sorry, Fabian. You’re right. Of course. You’re always right.” Fabian lets out a small huff of laughter, though nothing is very funny about this. “I should never have…said those things to him.” 

“No, you shouldn’t,” Fabian agrees. 

Regulus nods. 

“I’m gonna apologise to him.”

Fabian looks up at that, looking startled. 

“You will?” 

“I will,” he confirms. “I promise.”

“Even if he doesn’t apologise to you first?” the taller man asks, sounding rather doubtful. This time, it’s Regulus who lets out a little huff of laughter. He can’t exactly blame Fabian for doubting him, can he?

“Yeah,” he replies, looking up at his boyfriend, meeting those beautiful blue eyes. “Even then.”

Fabian raises an eyebrow at him. 

“Well, if you two do actually manage to apologise to each other, without biting each other’s heads off first…I’ve gotta admit, I’ll be pretty impressed.”  

“Good,” says Regulus quietly. “I much prefer it when you’re impressed.” 

At that, Fabian finally cracks a small grin. This expression is much more familiar on his face, and Regulus can’t help but give him a tentative smile in return, feeling as though he’s finally giving himself permission to release a breath he hadn’t even realised he was holding. 

“I um…I kind of hate it when you’re disappointed in me, to be honest,” he admits awkwardly, looking down and fidgeting with his fingers. “Though I realise that you have every right to be, and I probably give you a new reason to be disappointed almost every day, but…” 

“Hey,” Fabian interrupts, his voice much softer now. “Don’t be thick. I mean yeah, I am upset with you about the Sirius thing - but you have to understand, that wouldn’t have stood out for me so much, if it weren’t for the fact that I spend almost every single day being so bloody proud of you, Reg.” 

Regulus makes a choked, highly embarrassing noise before he can stop himself, feeling a surge of love so powerful that he barely manages not to fling himself at his boyfriend. 

“I really am sorry,” he whispers.

“I know,” Fabian answers, with a small, soft smile. “I believe you, Reg.” 

“Can I…?” he trails off, gesturing at the other man, not knowing how to explain that he might shatter if he goes another second without touching him. 

Luckily, Fabian seems to understand what he needs, as usual; he nods, his smile widening, the spark returning to his eyes as he puts his wine glass down and opens his arms. Regulus hears himself make another small, embarrassing noise as he practically flings himself forwards into the other man’s embrace. He probably looks completely pathetic right now, but as he buries his face in his boyfriend’s chest, inhaling his familiar scent, somehow smoky and sweet at the same time, he can’t quite bring himself to care how he looks. 

Fabian tightens his arms around him with a small laugh, almost as though he’s just as relieved to hold him again as Regulus is to be held. The taller man bends his face down into Regulus’s dark curls, breathing him in.

“I can be angry with you sometimes, you know,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “But that doesn’t mean I stop loving you. I love you so much, even when I’m pissed off at you. It isn’t conditional, Reg. You know that, right?” 

Regulus feels his breath hitch in his throat. He bumps Fabian’s freckled nose slightly as he tilts his head to look up at him, his heart swelling to five times its usual size in his chest. And suddenly, he finds himself wondering if…maybe this time…can he…?

“I don’t know that I know very much about love, really,” he murmurs. “I’m not…I’m not sure that I’m very good at it. But…” He takes a deep breath. “I think I - ” 

Without warning, there’s a loud, frantic knocking at Regulus’s office door, causing the two of them to hastily disentangle and step back from each other.

“God, what is it now?” Regulus calls out - whoever is knocking, he’s not exactly thrilled with their sense of timing, or lack thereof. Usually, Fabian would reproach him for his rudeness; but judging from the expression on his face, he’s not feeling especially warm towards this person either. 

“Oh, for fu -” he begins to growl, but when the door swings open to reveal a young girl, he hastily changes tack - “goodness sake,” he amends. 

Regulus frowns at the girl, taking her in properly. She must be in second year at least, because he’s pretty sure he recognises her as a Hufflepuff student who was in some of his Potions classes last year, although he’s completely blanking on her name at the moment. It was always Remus, who had a knack for remembering everything about all of his students. Now he looks at her closely, he sees that the girl - whoever she is - has a look of utter terror on her face - which explains why her pounding at his door sounded so desperate, he supposes. He feels unease creeping up his spine as the kid looks at him. 

“To what do we owe this unexpected visit, Miss…?”

“Abbott, sir,” she tells him, “Abigail Abbott.” Regulus winces a little, wishing there was some way he could have asked a little more subtly. “I’m sorry to burst in on you like this, Professor Black, it’s just that…someone’s been attacked, sir. She’s lying out in the corridor. She’s bleeding. And I just figured…it was you and Professor Lupin who saved everyone last time, so…” 

Regulus feels a horrible, sickening lurch in the pit of his stomach, as though he’s missed a step going downstairs in the dark. 

“What?Another attack?” Fabian demands, staring at the kid in horror, echoing Regulus’s thoughts exactly.

“Yes, sir,” Abigail whispers, nodding, looking like she’s extremely close to breaking down in tears. 

Fabian turns back to Regulus suddenly, his eyes wide and terrified. 

“Merlin, you don’t think…Bill can’t have…it will destroy him if…”

“No, it can’t be Bill,” Regulus replies in an undertone, shaking his head. “Remus completely destroyed that diary, its hold on him can’t have lingered this long.”

Fabian breathes out a small sigh of relief, before looking immediately sickened with himself. 

“But then…who…?”

“Well I’ve got no idea, do I?” Regulus retorts, his voice tight and strained. “I think I need to at least see what’s happened, before I start leaping to any conclusions.” He turns back to the girl. “Don’t be shy, Miss Abbott - lead the way.” 

Abigail leads the two out of them out into the rapidly darkening corridor. As it turns out,  they don’t have to go very far to discover what the kid was on about; as they pull up short at the sight in front of them, Regulus hears Fabian inhale sharply through his teeth, a hiss of shock. 

“Sweet Merlin,” he mutters. 

The dark-haired girl lying on the floor looks vaguely familiar to Regulus, too - he’s pretty sure she’s a third-year Gryffindor, or perhaps fourth-year, though he can’t remember her name either. But right at this moment, he’s less concerned about what her name is, and more concerned with the fact that he can see the red imprints of what look like fingerprints on her neck.  Abigail was right about the bleeding, too; it looks like someone - presumably the same someone who had pressed their hands around the girl’s throat - has also scratched viciously at her face, leaving bloody fingernail marks across her cheeks. The girl looks, at first glance, like she might be dead, or at the very least unconscious; but as Regulus kneels down to examine her more closely, she stirs slightly, making a faint groaning noise. Conscious, then - but only just, it seems. 

“Well…at least she’s not Petrified?” Fabian mutters. 

“Hey - can you hear me?” Regulus asks quietly, trying his utmost to keep his voice calm, steady, unalarming. The girl just gives another little moan, her eyelids flickering slightly, like she’s trying to open her eyes and look at him, but she doesn’t have the strength. Regulus, for his part, doesn’t think he’s ever felt quite so out of his depth as he does right now; he doesn’t even know where to begin with this.  

“Um…how do you feel? Do you, uh…remember what happened?” 

The girl cracks her eyes open ever so slightly, making a tiny whimpering noise. 

“Merlin, Reg, the kid’s been strangled half to death, by the looks of it,” Fabian interjects, his voice shaking as he looks down at her, his freckles standing out starkly against his pale skin. “Give her a minute, yeah?” 

“Right…yeah,” Regulus mutters, wincing. “Hospital wing, you reckon?” 

“Obviously,” Fabian answers, rolling his eyes. He kneels down next to Regulus. “Hey kid,” he says softly to the girl, “I promise I’m not gonna hurt you. We’re just gonna take you to Madam Pomfrey, she’ll be able to fix you up, okay?” 

God, Regulus wishes he knew how to sound soft and soothing like that. Not that the girl seems to particularly appreciate it; she doesn’t make any response at all, in fact. It’s impossible to tell whether she even understands that Fabian was speaking to her. Regulus exchanges an uneasy look with his boyfriend. Fabian shrugs at him, before leaning down, carefully and gently lifting the barely conscious girl into his arms. 

“Alright then,” he says, standing up straight again, and Regulus can tell he’s trying his best to sound calm for the benefit of Abigail Abbott, still looking pale and terrified as she hovers awkwardly at their side. “To the hospital wing we go.” 

“I just don’t understand why she would have done that,” the Abbott girl whispers in a shaky voice, falling into step behind Fabian as he carries the unfortunate girl. “Why would she just…attack her like that, and then leave?” 

Regulus freezes, turning and staring at the kid as he registers her words. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, surprised by how steady his own voice sounds, “you’re going to have to run that by me again. Did you just say that you didn’t understand why she attacked her?”

“Um…yes?” the girl answers uncertainly, looking even more frightened, now that both men are staring at her. 

“And how exactly do you know that this girl’s attacker was a ‘she’?” Regulus demands, raising an eyebrow at her. 

“Oh…well, I saw her,” the Abbott girl replies in a small voice. “She was…she was wrapping her fingers around the girl’s throat, and then she…she stood up, and walked away?” 

Regulus exchanges another look with Fabian, this one far more incredulous than before. 

“I see,” he says slowly, trying and failing to make sense of this. “Well, if you saw the attacker, Miss Abbott - would you be so kind as to tell us who she was, please?” 

“Oh,” says the kid, looking as though it’s only just dawning on her why they’re looking at her like that. “No, I didn’t mean - I have no idea who she was, I only saw her from a distance. From behind. I never caught a glimpse of her face.” 

“Right,” says Regulus, trying his utmost to sound calm and reasonable, not to shout or hit something in frustration.  “So, let me get this straight; you saw, from a distance, a mysterious girl, who was in the process of strangling this girl,” he gestures towards the barely conscious kid in Fabian’s arms, “but you never saw the attacker’s face. And then you watched as this mysterious girl stood up, leaving her victim on the floor with fingerprints across her throat and scratch marks on her face, and…walked away?” 

“Yes,” the Abbott girl whispers, nodding. 

“Right. Good. Then may I ask, Miss Abbott, if it isn’t toostupid a question, why the fuck you didn’t call out to stop this mystery girl?” If James Potter was here, he would probably frown reproachfully at him for swearing at a twelve-year-old girl - but Regulus doesn’t really have the mental or emotional capacity to worry about what James Potter would think, right at this moment. “Or you could have at least, I don’t know, followed her, to see where she might be going, just in case she might get it into her head to attack somebody else?” 

The kid just blinks up at him, looking startled, her eyes wide and glistening with tears. 

“Well…I…I…” 

“Christ, Reg, give the kid a break,” Fabian pipes up suddenly, frowning at him. “She would have been in shock; I mean for Merlin’s sake, she’d just witnessed this girl doing her best to strangle someone, it could hardly have been much fun to watch. And if the attacker didn’t seem to have spotted her, and was walking away in the opposite direction, Abigail can hardly be blamed for preferring to run to the nearest professor’s office for help, rather than trying to run after somebody that violent by herself, can she?” 

Alright, so maybe Fabian has a pretty valid point. Again. He’s good at that today, it seems. 

“Fine,” Regulus sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose and praying for patience. “Well then, Miss Abbott, if you want us to be able to help here, it might be useful if you could at least give us some kind of description of what this mysterious girl looked like? What colour hair did she have, for instance? How old did she look?” 

“Um…” The kid sniffles, looking up at him with wide, frightened eyes. Regulus supposes he isn’t exactly doing a wonderful job of making the witness feel at ease - but he has more important things to worry about right now. “Well, she was quite a lot taller than I am, and from what I could see, she seemed more, uh…developed?” She goes slightly pink. “In her, uh, figure, I mean. So I would guess she was at least a few years older than I am.” 

“Alright,” says Regulus slowly, trying his best to refrain from making a sarcastic comment about how little that observation will help them in narrowing down the pool of suspects. 

“But I do remember her hair pretty clearly,” Abigail continues, sounding fractionally more confident now. “It was blonde - it sort of caught the torchlight and gleamed a little. It was really pretty hair, actually; she had these long blonde curls that sort of…cascaded down her back, y’know what I mean?” 

Regulus freezes at that, his stomach once again jolting with unease before his brain can even consciously make sense of the instinctual reaction. He does know what she means. He’s fairly certain he’s used almost that exact phrase before, in fact, in his head, almost every time he’s looked at - 

“Reg,” Fabian says quietly, turning to him, his eyes wide with alarm, and it only takes one glance at his boyfriend’s expression to see that the other man is thinking much along the same lines that he is. “Did you say that your cousin was still in Dumbledore’s office when you left?” 

He swallows. 

“Yeah,” he says, his voice cracking slightly, as Abigail Abbott looks between the two of them, her expression of fear now mingled with bewilderment. “Yeah, she was.”