Padfoot Returns
2nd September, 1983 - Hogwarts Castle
Fabian is still staring at Regulus, the light from the torches in their brackets flickering across his horror struck face.
“But…” he whispers, “surely your cousin wouldn’t…she couldn’t …?”
He gestures at the barely conscious girl he’s carrying in his arms, glancing briefly at the fingerprint marks on her neck and then quickly looking away again, flinching as though he can’t bear the sight.
Regulus grimaces, his gaze scanning the unfortunate girl.
“I…I don’t know,” he admits finally.
He hates that, can’t believe he’s saying it. He wishes he could say with absolute certainty that Narcissa hadn’t had anything to do with this - but he’s not sure what his cousin might be capable of, in her current state of grief and rage. He can’t think why she would suddenly be attacking random Hogwarts students - but then, she is in rather a vengeful mood at the moment…
“It’s strange…this doesn’t really seem like Narcissa’s style,” he muses, speaking more to himself than his boyfriend, as his eyes run over the scratch marks on the girl’s face. “I mean, she can be pretty vicious when she wants to be, and it certainly isn’t the best idea to get on her bad side, but she isn’t usually this…direct. Physical violence for the sake of it isn’t really her forte; that’s much more Bellatrix’s thing. And it’s weird - Dumbledore used Legilimency on her in his office, right? And he seemed to think she was in the clear - I mean, he shared information on the Order with her afterwards…”
“Didn’t you say You-Know-Who still tries to use Legilimency on you sometimes?” Fabian asks, grimacing at the thought. “And he hasn’t worked out that you’ve switched sides yet, has he?”
“Well, no,” Regulus admits, “but I’m pretty good at Occlumency, so -”
“And do you think Narcissa might be good at that too?” Fabian interrupts.
Regulus flinches at that, shutting his mouth abruptly. He doesn’t just think she ‘might’ be an accomplished Occlumens; he’s almost certain she is. It was almost impossible to survive with your sanity intact in the Black family, without teaching yourself Occlumency as best you could. Regulus knows it’s something that Sirius always used to struggle with; his thoughts were always so big and loud and all-consuming that he couldn’t keep them hidden away, no matter how hard he tried. Sometimes Regulus thinks that was one of the main reasons his brother ended up having to run away - he would have been eaten alive if he had stayed. But Narcissa - Regulus is fairly sure that she, like him, is a natural at it.
He doesn’t have to voice any of this; Fabian seems to gather his doubts from the look on his face.
“Sorry, we can worry about that in a bit,” he says, with an apologetic sort of grimace. “Right now we should probably be focusing on getting this girl to the hospital wing, shouldn’t we?”
“Oh,” says Regulus, shaking himself. “Right, yeah. Probably should take her -”
“Evelyn Turner,” the small girl hovering at their side - Abigail Abbott, was it? - pipes up suddenly.
Both men turn to look at her.
“Sorry?” Regulus asks blankly.
Abbott had been glancing between the two of them with a look of utter bewilderment on her face when they’d been discussing Narcissa, Legilimency and Occlumency - understandable, Regulus supposes - but now, despite her nervousness, she looks far more sure of herself than before.
“I’m pretty sure that’s her name,” she says. “This girl. I think she’s called Evelyn Turner.”
“Right,” says Regulus, thinking that it would be a lot more useful if she were able to give them the attacker’s name, not the victim’s. Probably not the most helpful thing to point out right now, he supposes. “Fine, let’s take Evelyn Turner to the hospital wing then.”
Unsurprisingly, Madam Pomfrey is less than thrilled at the sight of Evelyn Turner’s unconscious form in Fabian’s arms - in fact, she shrieks, clutching her face in horror.
“Merlin’s saggy b -” she cuts herself off abruptly when she notices little Abigail Abbott walking in behind them. “What on earth has happened to Miss Turner?” she asks faintly instead.
“An excellent question, Poppy,” Fabian responds.
“Something else is attacking students in this castle now?” she demands incredulously.
“Apparently,” Regulus replies grimly. “Or some one, at least.”
“Someone?” Pomfrey whimpers.
“Miss Abbott here saw a young woman attacking this girl,” he clarifies, nodding towards Abigail. “Not much point in asking her who it was,” he adds, as Pomfrey opens her mouth. “Apparently, she only caught a glimpse of the attacker from behind, didn’t see her face - and she was too scared to run after her.”
Abigail flushes blotchily, looking at him with wide, guilty eyes brimming with tears.
“Shush, Reg,” Fabian chides, narrowing his eyes at him, so that his myriad of freckles crinkle up under his eyes and around his nose - Regulus tries his hardest not to get distracted by that. “I told you before, leave the poor kid alone, she’s in shock.”
Pomfrey is still blinking at them; she takes a moment to recover before she speaks.
“Well, I have to admit, Mr Prewett, I am still a little perplexed as to why you are even here in the castle at this hour, given that you neither teach nor work here as far as I -”
“He’s here because he’s mine,” Regulus interjects without thinking, glaring at her. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Fabian’s scowl fall away completely, his beautiful eyes widening in shock - and something more, perhaps - as he stares at him. Not to mention the fact that both Pomfrey and the twelve-year-old kid, Abigail, are both staring at him too. Regulus’s heart immediately begins pounding at triple speed - he has no idea how that slipped out.
“I see,” says Pomfrey, taking a moment to recover again. “Well…regardless of why he’s here, I was going to say that Mr Prewett is right. Miss Abbott is clearly in shock. I will do my best for Miss Turner here” - she pauses, her face paling again as her gaze scans over the fingerprint marks on the unconscious girl’s neck - “though I can’t say for sure how long I will have to keep her in here. But as for you, Miss Abbott, I think we can sort you out with a bit of rest and Pepper-Up Potion, how does that sound?”
The nurse turns to look at Abigail, her expression kinder and gentler than anything Regulus is capable of. The girl nods nervously, still darting glances between the two men. Regulus feels himself flushing slightly at the scrutiny. Stupid, he curses himself .
Pomfrey immediately busies herself with placing Evelyn Turner into the closest bed, drawing the curtains around her unconscious form to hide her from the prying eyes of any other students who might come wandering into the hospital wing, before gently chivvying Abigail over to another bed, fussing over getting her tucked in comfortably and flicking her wand so that a small bottle of Pepper-Up soars through the air from the direction of her office.
In the sudden absence of an immediate task to complete, Fabian and Regulus are left standing together in the middle of the hospital wing, every inch of Regulus’s body hyper aware of the weight and importance of the words he’d just let slip.
“We need to tell Dumbledore,” he blurts out, without even really meaning to say it.
“We…what?” Fabian asks, looking bewildered for a split second. Regulus supposes he can’t blame him.
“We need to let Dumbledore know there’s been another attack,” he clarifies, his face still ridiculously hot. “He’ll need to see, he’ll need to be told about the timing and everything. Just in case…”
He grimaces, trailing off. Judging by the sympathetic, worried look on Fabian’s face, he gets the gist without Regulus having to finish the sentence aloud.
“Right, yeah.” He pulls out his wand. “Expecto Patronum.”
A huge silvery labrador bursts out of the end of his wand. For one brief moment, the Patronus curls itself around Regulus’s chest - he can feel its warmth, the happiness it radiates seeming to soak through his skin, similar to the sensation he feels when the caster is holding him - then, the silver labrador lets out a joyful bark and bounds through the wall of the hospital wing, heading - Regulus assumes - for the headmaster’s office.
He can feel Fabian’s gaze on him, and he looks up to see that his boyfriend is looking at him with something delicate in his expression. Something almost unbearably soft.
“What?” he asks quietly.
Fabian shakes his head slightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Regulus wants to press his thumb into it.
“It’s just…casting my Patronus is difficult for me sometimes, these days,” he murmurs. “Much more than it ever used to be, before…” He trails off, taking a deep breath. “But you, Reg…you make it so much easier.”
“Oh,” Regulus croaks, his voice embarrassingly hoarse, as his heart throws itself violently against his ribcage, apparently desperate to crawl over to the other man. Regulus knows the feeling.
The two of them look at each other silently for a few moments, something seeming to pass between them, something too big to be contained in mere words. Fabian extends his hand wordlessly; without thinking, Regulus reaches his own out in return, twining their fingers together. Fabian tugs him in gently - glancing briefly around and seeing that Pomfrey is still occupied with the students, Regulus gives himself permission, for once, to relax into his boyfriend, instinctively laying his head against the solid warmth of the taller man’s chest for a moment. He can feel Fabian’s lips curving into a smile against the top of his head, as he presses a gentle kiss against Regulus’s curls, and he can’t help but let out a small sigh, closing his eyes.
He feels the knot of anxiety in his chest begin to slowly untangle itself, all the parts of him that have wound themselves up tightly beginning to settle as he listens to the calming, steadying sound of Fabian’s heartbeat. Just for a few minutes, standing there with his head against his boyfriend’s chest, listening to Fabian’s breathing grow steadier and calmer as he buries his face in his hair, Regulus can almost pretend that he doesn’t have the weight of the war, of these suspicions, of whatever the hell this latest attack might mean, all pressing down on his chest. He can almost convince himself that he can stay safe, with the man he loves, in this tiny little moment of peace and quiet they’ve found together.
It can’t last forever, of course. When the doors of the hospital wing open and the headmaster strides in - with Professor McGonagall at his side, to Regulus’s slight surprise - his moment of calm amidst the storm is shattered rather abruptly.
“You called for me, Fabian?” Dumbledore asks mildly.
The headmaster shows no hint of a reaction whatsoever as Regulus hastily disentangles himself, standing up straight again as he lifts his head from his boyfriend’s chest. Dumbledore, of course, appears blissfully oblivious to his discomfort, although Regulus notices McGonagall looking rather startled for a moment as she glances back and forth between the two of them - though she hastily assumes a neutral expression when she notices him watching her.
“Oh…right,” Fabian replies somewhat awkwardly, looking startled for a moment by the headmaster’s sudden arrival. He looks a little lost, too - though that might have something to do with the way Regulus had pulled away hastily upon Dumbledore and McGonagall’s entrance. “Yes, well, there’s, um…a situation. Quite a bad situation. It’s…there’s been another attack, sir.”
“Another attack?!” McGonagall repeats, her carefully neutral expression instantly shifting into a look of horror. “But you don’t mean…not another student?! ”
“Is that Minerva I hear?” Pomfrey calls out. A moment later, the nurse is bustling in their direction, looking thoroughly relieved at the sight of the new arrivals. “Oh, Albus, you’re here too - thank Merlin! Professor Black summoned you, I take it?”
“It was Fabian, actually, Poppy,” Dumbledore replies, looking at her curiously over his half-moon spectacles.
“Never mind who summoned you,” McGonagall snaps impatiently, still looking pale and terrified. “What’s all this about somebody else being attacked, Poppy? Another student? Surely Mr Prewett here must be mistaken?”
She sounds almost as though she’s pleading with Pomfrey, desperate to be reassured that nobody has been attacked, that something must have been lost in translation.
“No, Minerva, Mr Prewett isn’t mistaken,” Pomfrey answers, still looking rather pale and shaky. “It’s Evelyn Turner, from Hufflepuff. She was brought here by Mr Prewett and Professor Black. She is still unconscious, hopefully she will wake up some time within the next few hours, but…well, she’s not looking too good at the moment.”
“ Not looking too good?” McGonagall repeats faintly. “What do you mean by that, Poppy?”
Pomfrey looks back at her, her eyes welling with tears.
“I suppose you had better come and have a look, both of you,” she whispers. “She’s over here…”
She leads them over to the bed on the far side of the hospital wing, the curtains of which Regulus had just seen her drawing closed. She takes a deep breath and flicks her wand so that the curtains pull themselves open again.
McGonagall lets out a sharp gasp of shock, her hand flying to her mouth; even Regulus, despite the fact that he’s already seen the state Turner is in, feels a fresh shiver of horror creeping down his spine at the sight of her. Those scratch marks gouged into the girl’s face, the way those black and blue fingerprint bruises stand out so starkly against the otherwise deathly pale skin of her throat. Students being Petrified was bad enough, but this attack feels…different, somehow. It feels more vicious. More visceral.
Dumbledore, predictably, does not cry out in shock or surprise. His brow does at least furrow in concern slightly, as he leans down to examine Evelyn Turner more closely, reaching out to lift the unconscious girl’s arm up, his gaze flicking from the scratches across her arms to the almost identical scratches on her face.
“Merlin, Albus, your hand! ” Pomfrey cries out suddenly.
It’s only then that Regulus realises Dumbledore had reached out to examine the girl’s arm with his cursed hand, which is looking just as blackened, rotted and dead as it had done on the night he had deliriously summoned Regulus to his office - and Pomfrey is currently staring at it with a look of utter horror and revulsion on her face.
“Ah - nothing to worry about, I assure you, Poppy,” the headmaster says lightly. “Just a rather irksome injury I foolishly managed to sustain over the school holidays.”
“But…but Albus, that looks bad ,” Pomfrey insists. “That looks like magic of the darkest -”
“As I said, Poppy, it is nothing for you to concern yourself with,” Dumbledore repeats, speaking just as calmly, but with a definite note of finality in his tone now. Despite his clear effort to sound casual, he shakes his long sleeve so that it falls forwards to hide his hand from view. “I have already discussed this injury with Regulus, and he is helping me to deal with it.”
Regulus could swear that Dumbledore sends him the shadow of a wink , and he feels his stomach twist nauseously. Regulus wouldn’t exactly call the discussion they’d had ‘dealing with’ the problem. How can he possibly be so calm about it? What in Merlin’s name is wrong with the old man?
Pomfrey and McGonagall are both staring at him suspiciously now; Regulus gathers from the look on McGonagall’s face that Dumbledore has refused to give her any clear answers on his hand, as well. Figures, he supposes.
“Besides, I believe we are getting sidetracked here,” the headmaster continues, apparently oblivious to all the tension he’s causing - or pretending to be oblivious, at least. “I am fairly certain it is Miss Turner’s injuries we should be discussing here” - he nods towards the unconscious girl in the bed - “not my own.”
“Right,” says Pomfrey, still looking rather flustered and unnerved - clearly, she wasn’t convinced by Dumbledore’s airy dismissal of his injury, but apparently she’s deciding not to push it. “Well, as I said, it was Mr Prewett and Professor Black who brought Miss Turner to me -”
“Why is it,” McGonagall interjects, sounding thoroughly stressed and exasperated as she turns to frown at Regulus, “that when something happens, it always seems to be you, Professor Black?”
Regulus almost laughs at that. If only she knew just how pertinent a question it is.
“Believe me, Professor,” he answers dryly, raising a sardonic eyebrow at her, “I’ve been asking myself the same question for twenty-two years.”
She doesn’t seem amused by this, judging by the tightness of her jaw and the way her mouth forms a thin, tight line, her eyes flashing fire at him from behind her square-rimmed spectacles.
“In Regulus’s defence,” Fabian pipes up hastily, “we weren’t actually the ones that found her, it was little Abigail Abbott. She just came running to Regulus’s office for help because he was the closest teacher, I suppose.”
“Well, she didn’t ‘find’ her, so much as she literally saw her being attacked,” Regulus mutters.
McGonagall’s glare vanishes at that, swiftly replaced by a look of pure shock. Even Dumbledore frowns slightly, focusing his full attention on Regulus at last.
“Miss Abbott saw Miss Turner being attacked?” McGonagall echoes faintly.
“Yep. Apparently,” Regulus replies grimly.
She goggles at him for another moment, before turning to Pomfrey.
“Poppy, is Miss Abbott currently conscious and in a fit condition to answer questions?”
“She’s conscious, yes,” Pomfrey replies hesitantly, “but I’m not convinced she is in a state to be interrogated…the girl has suffered quite a shock, Minerva…”
“I understand that, Poppy,” McGonagall counters - Regulus can see her concern for her student’s welfare battling with her desperation to solve the problem, to find answers. “But surely, if Miss Abbott actually witnessed the attacker in the act, then her testimony would be invaluable in helping us bring said attacker to justice?”
“Oh, didn’t I mention?” Regulus asks dryly. “Abbott only saw the attacker from behind, she never actually saw her face. And apparently she was too scared to actually follow said attacker when she left the scene, so she decided to fetch me from my office, instead. Sorry to bring your hopes down, I suppose - but that’s kids for you, they panic.”
“Reg,” Fabian hisses at him, as McGonagall’s mouth falls open.
There’s a moment of uncomfortable silence before Dumbledore speaks.
“So Miss Abbott was at least certain that the culprit was a ‘she’, I take it?”
“Oh - yes, she was sure of that much,” Regulus answers, having not even realised he was using the pronoun until the old man pointed it out.
“I see,” says Dumbledore, peering at him over those half-moon spectacles. “And were there any other details Miss Abbott was able to give you, having briefly seen this female culprit from behind?”
“Yes,” Regulus responds, feeling his stomach writhing and twisting in unease again. “Apparently, she was much taller than Miss Abbott, from what she could tell - so she would hazard a guess that this attacker was closer to a young woman than a girl. And apparently she had very striking hair - long blonde curls cascading down her back.”
Dumbledore’s expression doesn’t betray the slightest flicker of alarm at this - but Regulus thinks he sees him stiffen slightly as he looks back at Regulus, and he knows that the headmaster knows perfectly well who he is thinking of.
“It must be almost an hour ago now that Miss Abbott came to fetch me,” he says quietly, deciding to spell it out for him anyway. “Around the same length of time since -”
“Yes,” Dumbledore murmurs, before he can finish the sentence. “Around the same length of time.”
The headmaster falls silent for a moment, looking down at the unconscious girl again with a slight crease in his brow. Regulus can practically hear his remarkable mind whirring; for a split second, he wishes he had spent more time working on his Legilimency, rather than just his Occlumency.
Without warning, Dumbledore suddenly stands up.
“Regulus, if you would be so kind as to accompany me?” he asks.
“What? Why me?” Regulus asks instinctively.
“Because I would appreciate a second opinion after I have spoken to Miss Abbott about this,” the headmaster replies.
“What?” he says again, though with considerably more annoyance this time.
“But Reg literally just told you -” Fabian begins, echoing his own thoughts, but -
“I appreciate that, but I think it is important that I hear this from the eyewitness directly, given we are lucky enough in this instance to have one,” Dumbledore interrupts calmly. “Presuming she is willing, of course. Minerva, you may join us as well, I am sure your presence will be reassuring to Miss Abbott.”
“I…yes, of course,” McGonagall responds, looking taken aback for a moment, but recovering herself quickly. Regulus supposes she’s had to get used to that, given how long she’s been working alongside the old man.
Regulus lets out a small sigh as he follows Dumbledore and McGonagall, who have already set off in the direction of the Abbott girl’s bed. Fabian immediately falls into step at his side, clearly deciding to ignore the fact that Dumbledore hadn’t given him an explicit invitation, and Regulus shoots him a small, grateful smile. It reassures him a little, having him there; but still, he can’t help the prickles of irritation under his skin, given the headmaster’s refusal to simply take him at his word. But then, what else is new?
“Ah, I see that Poppy has already provided you with hot chocolate, Miss Abbott,” Dumbledore says cheerfully, as they approach the girl’s bed. Abigail jumps slightly, almost spilling the contents of the mug she is cradling as she stares up at the headmaster and McGonagall with wide, fearful eyes. “Excellent, excellent. That woman certainly does know her remedies, doesn’t she?”
“P- Professor Dumbledore? Professor McGonagall?” the girl asks in a small voice. “I don’t…am I in trouble?”
Her gaze flicks briefly to Regulus, and he realises she’s afraid she’s about to be scolded for letting the attacker slip through her fingers.
“Of course you are not in trouble, Miss Abbott,” McGonagall reassures her, her tone more gentle than Regulus has ever heard her use. “We have heard about what happened, and we understand that you have suffered a great shock. Nobody is blaming you for anything.”
Her posture relaxes slightly, though her eyes are still flicking back and forth between Dumbledore and McGonagall, wary, on edge.
“Then why…?”
“We were simply hoping, Miss Abbott, that you might be able to give us a full account of what you saw this evening,” says the headmaster, smiling down at her with a twinkle in his eyes. The girl flinches. “I understand that it may not be the easiest thing to talk about,” Dumbledore continues quietly, his voice much kinder than it ever is when he speaks to Regulus, “but I hope you will be able to explain it to us, just this once. This information will be extremely valuable to us in our search for the attacker - and it is always best to hear accounts like this directly from an eyewitness, as I’m sure you know.”
She looks up at him, her lower lip trembling slightly, eyes huge in her small, pale face.
“Please feel free to take your time and go at your own pace,” says McGonagall gently. “We are in no hurry, and it is important to Professor Dumbledore and I that you feel safe, Miss Abbott.”
“I…okay,” Abigail whispers finally.
“Excellent,” says the headmaster, his voice determinedly cheerful. “Now, Professor Black here says that you only saw the attacker from a distance? You did not see their face?”
She nods tremulously, fidgeting with her mug of hot chocolate, her gaze focused on that rather than Dumbledore - apparently the mug is less intimidating.
“No, sir. I didn’t see their face.”
“But Professor Black said you were quite certain it was a young woman?”
Her gaze flicks nervously to Regulus for a moment, as if silently asking for confirmation that she’s allowed to repeat what she’d told him. Regulus gives her a slight nod, struggling to refrain from rolling his eyes, still thoroughly irritated that Dumbledore doesn’t trust him to have his facts straight.
“Yes, sir,” she says again, her voice small. “It was definitely a girl - or young woman, I guess? I walked around a corner, and I saw her with her hands around Evelyn’s neck, squeezing, choking her.” She shudders a little, finally looking up at them with huge, terrified eyes. “Evelyn was thrashing a bit when I walked round the corner, she was spluttering, and then she kind of went limp a moment later. I…I thought she was dead,” her voice is shaking now. “Until Professor Black and Fabian came to help and she moved a little bit, I really thought that girl - or woman, or whatever - had killed her.” Abigail’s eyes are shining with tears again; she clutches her mug of hot chocolate tighter, as though it might be able to keep her safe. “I sort of ducked behind a pillar before she could turn around, it was just…instinct, I guess? But even while Evelyn was thrashing and making noises, that girl - or young woman, whatever - she was just…completely silent? Just standing stock still while she tightened her hands around Evelyn’s throat, like she wasn’t affected by it at all, like it was just…a task she had to do, like she was following orders, or something.” Regulus stares at her, feeling unease prickling up his spine as she shivers again. “It was creepy ,” she whispers. “I think she must have thought she had killed Evelyn, because she suddenly just…stood up, and walked away. It was like she’d…had a job to do, and she thought she’d finished it. I’m sorry,” she adds suddenly, “I know I should have tried to stop her, or at least followed her, but I just sort of…I don’t know, froze up, and…”
“It’s alright, kid,” Regulus says quietly, surprising himself. He feels Fabian’s eyes on him, senses that he’s surprised, too. In a good way, this time. “You’re not equipped with the tools to deal with a situation like this. And that’s not your fault.”
“Indeed it is not,” says McGonagall, her voice a little shaky still. Regulus blinks, wondering if this is the first time the older witch has ever agreed with him on anything. “And why should you be equipped to deal with it? This is not the sort of thing that students should have to stumble upon while walking around their school, is it, Albus?”
She glares at him, as though holding him responsible. Which is probably fair actually, now Regulus comes to think of it. After all, Dumbledore is the one who is supposed to be in charge of this place. His utmost duty is care of his students - or at least, it should be, in theory.
“Indeed not,” Dumbledore agrees courteously, bowing his head, apparently completely unfazed by his colleague’s stern look. “Nobody is blaming you for going to fetch an adult rather than trying to intervene yourself, Abigail. Indeed, you did the right thing to avoid endangering yourself.”
Abigail blinks, looking startled that the headmaster isn’t scolding her.
“Now, may I ask you what this young woman looked like, Abigail? From the little that you could see of her?”
“Well…she was taller than me, and a bit, um…curvier?” She blushes slightly. “So I would guess she was quite a bit older than me. And she had these long, blonde curls that caught the light when she moved - it was really pretty hair, actually, kind of cascading down her back?”
Regulus looks at the headmaster pointedly, raising one eyebrow. See?
“Indeed?” Dumbledore asks without looking back at him, sounding politely curious, as if this is new information to him. “And may I ask - could you see what this young woman was wearing, Abigail?”
Regulus blinks. Instinctively, he looks over at Fabian - his boyfriend looks back at him, looking just as surprised by the question. Neither of them had actually asked her that one.
Abigail is frowning slightly at the headmaster now.
“Well…she was wearing her school uniform,” she says slowly, as though this fact is so obvious that she’s wondering if Dumbledore has given her a trick question.
Regulus freezes.
“She was wearing what? ” Fabian asks, staring down at her in bewilderment.
“Her school uniform,” the kid repeats, looking all the more confused by his incredulity. “I have no idea which house she was in, though.”
“But…” Regulus feels like his mind is reeling a little now, trying to think back over everything she had told him and Fabian. “But you said she looked at least a few years older than you!”
“Well yeah,” the girl replies, now looking at him as though he’s slow. “I’m thirteen. This girl looked like she was in fifth, sixth - maybe even seventh year?”
“Oh,” Regulus says weakly. “But you said she had…blonde curls…cascading down her back…”
“Yeah…” the kid answers, still looking at him like he’s an idiot. Which, at this point, he’s starting to think he might be. “Because she did. She had long blonde curls. You asked me what colour hair she had, and I told you.”
Dumbledore clears his throat slightly, and Regulus looks over at him, infuriated that he has the audacity to look amused by this.
“But…but we thought it was…”
“I know perfectly well who the two of you thought it was, Regulus,” the headmaster says, perfectly calmly. “I, on the other hand, was almost entirely certain that it was not her - though of course, I understand why she would have been the first person who occurred to you, given that you had encountered her in my office so recently.”
“Encountered who?” Abigail asks, looking even more bewildered now - McGonagall looks just as lost - but Dumbledore acts as though he had not heard the question.
“You see, I was almost certain it was not Narcissa who attacked Miss Turner, but it seemed clear to me that you were growing steadily more suspicious that it was Narcissa.”
“Narcissa?” McGonagall asks sharply, staring back and forth between the two of them. “Narcissa Malfoy? Was in your office, Albus? ”
“The very same,” he replies cheerfully. “Narcissa Malfoy, nee Black - as you no doubt recall, Minerva.” McGonagall opens her mouth, clearly having about a thousand more questions to ask - Regulus can’t say he blames her, really - but the old man has already turned back to Regulus. “This is, of course, why I thought it would be prudent to question the witness myself,” he continues. “I wondered if, perhaps, there were some details that the two of you had forgotten to ask young Abigail here, thus leading you down the wrong track. As it turned out, I was right,” he concludes, sounding far too satisfied with himself. “Though of course, I do not blame either of you for leaping to the wrong conclusion,” he adds hastily. “As I told you once before, Regulus - even the best of us can miscalculate.”
Regulus glares at him, not appreciating the reminder of that conversation the tiniest fucking bit.
“But…but how can we be certain ?” he asks stubbornly, not yet willing to concede that he may have been an idiot. “I mean, Narcissa does have long blonde curls, which could definitely be said to ‘cascade down her back’ - and she might have put on a student’s uniform, to disguise herself, right?”
“She might, indeed,” Dumbledore replies. Regulus can tell he’s being humoured right now. It does not make him feel any less stupid.
“And the timing is so suspicious! She had just left your office, and then Miss Abbott here immediately sees a girl being attacked by a young blonde woman -”
“Yes, Regulus, Narcissa had indeed just left my office,” the headmaster answers. “She did not, however, walk out through my door and wander through the corridors of Hogwarts. I offered her the use of my fireplace. She used Floo Powder to go back to Malfoy Manor.”
Regulus blinks at him. It takes a moment for his brain to restart.
“But…but how can you be sure she didn’t just Floo to a fireplace somewhere else in the castle?”
“Oh, come now, Regulus,” Dumbledore says, his lips twitching slightly as he looks at him over those half-moon spectacles, as though expecting better from him. “Do you honestly think, after you, Sirius and Remus told me the tale of Peter Pettigrew’s escape from justice - not to mention, after Lucius butted into my own fireplace without warning or invitation last year - that I would neglect to place stringent and highly advanced security and tracking spells on the Floo Network within Hogwarts? I can promise you this much - your cousin went straight back to her home once I had dismissed her from my office. She had no opportunity whatsoever to wander the corridors of this castle, attempting to strangle passing students, even if she had been struck by the urge to do so - which I highly doubt she would have been. And, knowing your cousin as you do, Regulus, I am sure you must doubt she would do such a thing, too - if you actually stopped to consider the likelihood of it, beyond your first instinct of suspicion, that is.”
Regulus opens his mouth - and closes it again, glancing uneasily at Fabian.
His mind had leapt to Narcissa immediately, partially because the kid’s description had reminded him of her so vividly, and probably mostly because he’d just seen her. But it’s true, something about this had felt…off, somehow. He still isn’t entirely certain he trusts his cousin and her motives - but hadn’t he known , deep down, that a vicious physical attack like this simply isn’t Narcissa’s style, isn’t a part of her modus operandi? Hadn’t he told Fabian as much?
“Of course, if you are still unconvinced of your cousin’s innocence in this matter, I’m sure that I can ask her to return to my office tomorrow,” Dumbledore says mildly. “I can employ Legilimency against her again - or, if you are not certain that my Legilimency skills are adequate for the task, I presume that an expert potioneer like yourself has some Veritaserum of the highest quality in your stock cupboard? Narcissa would be bound to realise what we were doing in either case, of course, and I cannot imagine that it would make her feel inclined to continue helping us in our fight against Voldemort, knowing that we had meddled with her without her consent. It would certainly be a shame - as I’m sure you know, a woman with Narcissa’s considerable talents and brainpower making the decision to defect to our side of this war is rather an invaluable asset. But, if you really think it best that we leave absolutely no stone unturned here -”
“No,” Regulus admits finally. “No, I don’t think that’s best.”
The old man looks very satisfied with himself at that, just as Regulus knew he would. Bastard. But he has to admit, the headmaster makes a fair point. Narcissa had made it perfectly clear that she was turning to Dumbledore and the Order against her better judgement, only because she hadn’t been able to think of a better solution - this alliance is already on delicate ground. She would indeed know immediately if they were to use Legilimency or Veritaserum against her - and Regulus knows his cousin well enough to know that her reaction to either would not be favourable, to say the least. And he knows already, deep down, that it wouldn’t be worth it anyway. Because she didn’t do this. Narcissa didn’t do this.
Regulus lets out a long breath, a breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding.
“It wasn’t her,” he says quietly.
“No,” Dumbledore agrees. “I do not believe it was.”
First comes the relief - Regulus can almost feel a tangible, invisible weight being lifted from his shoulders. He hadn’t realised just how much it was cutting him up, the thought that his cousin might have done something like this, until this moment. But then, almost as soon as that feeling of relief has settled, a renewed sensation of unease comes flooding in, twisting his chest into knots.
“So…there’s another student, somewhere in this castle, attacking people?” Fabian whispers, his blue eyes wide with horror as he echoes Regulus’s thoughts.
“It would seem so,” Dumbledore murmurs, his gaze drifting over to the bed where Pomfrey is carefully tucking in the blankets around the still-unconscious Evelyn Turner. “A student who - according to Miss Abbott here - has long blonde curls, and who may be in the fifth, sixth or seventh year, who might be in Gryffindor, or Slytherin, or Hufflepuff, or perhaps Ravenclaw. Unfortunately, that still leaves us with rather a wide pool of suspects; though, of course, we are still in Abigail’s debt for providing us with her testimony.”
He gives the kid a courteous nod. She flinches as though he’d scolded her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I know I haven’t been very useful…”
“Don’t be absurd, Miss Abbott,” McGonagall interjects, somehow managing to sound simultaneously reprimanding and reassuring - an impressive feat, if you ask Regulus. “There is absolutely no need for you to apologise.”
“So…if this was a student…” Regulus asks slowly, his mind whirring as dread creeps down his spine, “whoever she is…do you think she’s acting of her own free will?”
He’s not sure which option makes him more uneasy, really. Whatever the hell is going on here, it’s making his skin prickle, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
“Well,” Dumbledore replies, still looking thoughtfully over at the unconscious girl, “that is the question, isn’t it?”
4th September, 1983 - The Hog’s Head, Hogsmeade
“Holy shit , Reg,” says Sirius hoarsely, staring at him, expression thunderstruck. “So Dumbledore just…shut you down? He’s convinced it wasn’t Narcissa?”
Regulus finally pauses to take a swig of his mulled mead, trying not to visibly grimace at the dusty state of the pewter tankard. He certainly needs a drink - he’s just talked himself hoarse for almost forty minutes, catching his brother up on all the insane happenings at Hogwarts since Andromeda and Narcissa had shown up in the headmaster’s office.
“Merlin, Sirius, could you at least try to keep your voice down, for once in your life?” he mutters, narrowing his eyes. “I swear, that old barman keeps staring at us - and you’re not helping.”
Sirius glances briefly over at said barman before turning back to Regulus, rolling his eyes dramatically.
“Silencing Charm, remember?” he reminds him, his voice more than a little smug as he twirls his wand lazily.
“Right, yeah,” Regulus mutters - he had in fact forgotten that, caught up in telling Sirius the story. Not that he’s going to admit that, of course.
“Abe can’t actually hear us, y’know - he can probably just tell we’ve got a Silencing Charm up, and he’s a nosy old bastard,” says Sirius gleefully. “Kind of like his brother, actually. Come to think of it, it’s probably lucky he didn’t hear me say that, don’t think he’d appreciate the comparison.”
Sirius shoots the barman a smug grin that makes it crystal clear, Silencing Charm or not, that they’re now talking about him. The lanky old man shoots him a dark look before turning away to fetch some more tankards, clearly muttering to himself. Regulus frowns at Sirius.
“‘ Abe?’ You’re on first name terms with him now, are you?”
“Well, yeah,” Sirius replies, looking even more smug now, apparently just from the sheer pleasure of knowing something that Regulus doesn’t, “he’s a member of the Order, Reg. Aberforth Dumbledore. Not that he ever bothers to show up to any meetings any more. Nominally an Order member, I guess.”
“Oh, shit,” Regulus murmurs, now staring at the sullen old man with renewed interest. “He’s Dumbledore’s …?”
“Yup,” Sirius answers gleefully. “Why, can’t you tell? Two peas in a pod, aren’t they?”
Regulus knows his brother is being sarcastic; everything about the way this man carries himself, even down to the scowl on his face, is essentially the polar opposite to the Hogwarts headmaster. Yet, now Sirius has pointed it out, Regulus is surprised he hadn’t spotted it for himself; he’d just thought the man looked vaguely familiar. But the shape of his face, the curve of his nose, those bushy eyebrows - and above all, those piercing blue eyes that give Regulus the somewhat uneasy sensation that the man can see right through him, as though he’s a pane of glass…of course that’s who the barman reminds him of.
“Yeah, well,” he says with a small shrug as he turns back to Sirius, some stubborn, childish part of him still refusing to give his older brother the point, “not all brothers are similar, you know.”
Sirius’s face immediately darkens at that.
“You can say that again,” he mutters.
Regulus sighs a little as Sirius lapses into a moody silence, a little exasperated at both himself and his brother for somehow having found something to snipe about already.
“But yes, Dumbledore is convinced that, whoever it was that attacked that girl, it wasn’t Narcissa,” he says quietly, fidgeting with the tankard in his hands again. “And you know how much I hate saying this, but…I think, in this instance, the old man is right.”
“Really?” Sirius asks, pulling a sceptical face. “You don’t think it’s pretty suspicious that Narcissa, of all people, turns up in Dumbledore’s office, and someone with ‘long blonde curls’ is literally seen attacking a student, barely an hour later?”
“Well…yeah, obviously I thought that was suspicious,” Regulus concedes. “That was the first conclusion I jumped to, in fact.” He grimaces a little - he doesn’t especially enjoy admitting to his brother that he was wrong. Especially when, in hindsight, it seems like such a ridiculous conclusion to have leapt to on such little evidence - as far as he’s concerned, the fact that Sirius is thinking along the same lines only further reinforces how stupid his theory was. “But after what Dumbledore said, I have to admit - it’s almost impossible for it to have been her. For one thing, he literally watched Narcissa use Floo Powder to leave the castle, and he’s tracking the Floo Network to make sure nobody can get in or out of Hogwarts without him knowing, so he knows she went straight back to Malfoy Manor. For another thing, the kid - Abigail, or whatever her name is - told us that the attacker was definitely wearing a Hogwarts uniform, and I can’t picture Narcissa trying to pass herself off as a student. Plus, trying to strangle a random kid? Scratching at someone’s face? Even if Narcissa was determined to hurt people, that’s just…not her. She might manipulate, she might pull some strings behind the scenes, but she doesn’t do vicious, physical things like that. That’s Bellatrix.”
“I mean…I suppose so…” says Sirius reluctantly, frowning.
Regulus can tell he’s not willing to concede that he was wrong yet. Merlin, but they really are brothers, aren’t they?
“I should have known it wasn’t her from the beginning,” Regulus mutters, still frustrated with himself. “So, this girl happened to have blonde curly hair - so what? That doesn’t prove anything, really. I know Narcissa. Even if she was lying to Dumbledore, and got away with it - this would never be her move.”
Sirius leans back on his chair for a moment, evidently deep in thought as he chews on the inside of his cheek, tilting the chair back on its hind legs in a way that Regulus just knows drove McGonagall insane for seven years straight.
“Alright, fine,” he says finally. “So you’ve ruled out Narcissa as a suspect in this newest insane attack. So that narrows down your list of suspects to…every single girl at Hogwarts with long, curly blonde hair in fifth, sixth and seventh year? And maybe throw in the fourth-year girls as well, just to be on the safe side?”
Regulus lets out a humourless laugh.
“Pretty much.”
“So basically…you’re fucked?”
“Very helpful take there, Sirius, thank you,” Regulus snipes. “But…yes, basically.”
Sirius pulls a face at him, some strange combination of grin and grimace.
“Merlin, Moony and I leave you people alone at Hogwarts for two minutes, and look what happens,” he says, shaking his head.
“As I recall, you weren’t all that much help last time students were being attacked,” Regulus shoots back at him. “Actually, no, I’m not including Remus in that statement, he was pretty incredible down in the Chamber. It was sort of hot, actually - and you can even tell him I said that, if you like. Shame you weren’t there to see it, really.”
Sirius narrows his eyes at him, scowling.
“Watch it, Reg,” he says warningly. “That’s my man you’re talking about. Get your own.”
“I’ve already got one, idiot,” he retorts, rolling his eyes.
“Oh - you mean the man I hooked up with multiple times, before he even knew you existed?” Sirius asks, his attempt at an innocent tone rather ruined by the shit-eating grin spreading across his face. “Is that the man you’ve got?”
Regulus glares at him. Why had he asked Sirius to meet him here, again? He can’t quite seem to remember, right at this moment; he just knows he has a very strong urge to punch his older brother right in his smug mouth.
“You absolute b-”
“Oh, and I’ve just remembered, I was useful last time!” Sirius crows, cutting him off. “It was me who reminded you three that we could steal the Map back from Filch’s office, remember? Without that, you would never have been able to track Bill and follow him, you’d probably never have even figured out where the Chamber entrance was! And you still have the Map in your office, don’t you? We told you how to use it; you can use it again to keep an eye on any kids who are lurking around in places they’re not supposed to be!”
“We could compile a list of every single blonde girl from fourth to seventh year and track the movements of each one, you mean?” Regulus asks.
Sirius raises an eyebrow at him.
“Well, it’s a good start, isn’t it? And it will help you to work out who’s acting strangely!”
“I suppose,” Regulus mutters, as always reluctant to concede a point. He sighs. “Alright, fine, it’s a good start. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” Sirius says, grinning again as he takes another swig of his mead.
But as he looks absentmindedly over at the barman - Aberforth Dumbledore, apparently - his grin slowly fades.
“I still can’t even believe Narcissa just…showed up in Dumbledore’s office like that,” he murmurs, almost more to himself than to Regulus. “I mean, Andy offering to help the Order, that makes perfect sense; I’m only surprised it took her so long, really. She was busy grieving, I s’pose. But Narcissa?”
“Well, she wasn’t exactly thrilled about offering Dumbledore her services,” Regulus replies, “she made that much pretty clear. It’s not like she had a sudden change of heart, or some kind of urge for redemption, or whatever. She’s just consumed with rage over what the Dark Lord did to Lucius. She wants revenge, at any cost. That’s what’s driving her.”
“Godric knows why she’s so torn up about Malfoy, ” Sirius mutters. “I mean…Lucius’s death was hardly a tragic loss to the world, was it? He was a complete and utter bastard. But I guess taste in men was never one of Cissy’s strong suits.”
“Well, at least you and I can agree on something ,” says Regulus, with a small, wry smirk. Sirius doesn’t respond to that, still looking deep in thought.
“So Andy has just decided to, what…forgive her?” Sirius asks, looking baffled at the prospect. “After all the shit the family gave her when she and Ted eloped? When they completely froze her out for years, never showed the slightest bit of interest in her daughter, and didn’t bother to reach out to her when she was widowed? Even if Narcissa wasn’t the instigator of any of that shit, she certainly never bothered to help her, to stand up for her own sister.” Regulus doesn’t think he’s imagining the edge of bitterness in his brother’s voice. “What, that’s all just…water under the bridge now?”
“Well…no, I don’t think it’s anywhere near as simple as that,” Regulus replies, with a slight grimace. “But…they just decided that getting revenge on the man who’s destroyed their families is more important than any grudges or vendettas they might have with each other, I suppose.”
Sirius nods, chewing on the inside of his cheek again.
“So…how were they?” he asks.
Regulus frowns at him, lost for a moment.
“How were they?” he echoes. “I mean…not fabulous? They’re both widowed, grieving, raising their kids alone and desperate for revenge?”
“No,” Sirius replies, grimacing, “I didn’t mean how are they doing generally - obviously I’m aware neither of them are doing great, I’m not that much of an idiot, Reg. I meant…” He sounds suddenly much more awkward and unsure of himself than usual, as though the conversation has suddenly turned delicate - which only makes Regulus more bewildered. As far as he knows - and he knows Sirius pretty well - his brother doesn’t do ‘delicate.’ Sirius takes a deep breath. “I meant, how were they doing with…y’know, being around each other? Existing in each other’s space? Cooperating with each other, being on the same side again?”
“Oh,” says Regulus. Alright, now he understands Sirius’s hesitance. “Well…they weren’t doing particularly well with that either, really. I mean, it was pretty clear they still have a hell of a lot of baggage to sort through between them. Lot of arguing, insults and jabs being thrown back and forth, trying to get under each other’s skin, more out of habit than anything else I think, even when it was counterproductive. But…y’know.” He shrugs. “They weren’t all that different to - ”
“Us?”
He looks into those mirror image grey eyes, something half mournful, half hopeful flickering in his chest at the unusually sincere expression on his older brother’s face.
“Well…yeah,” he replies, raising one hand to rub at the back of his neck, feeling distinctly uncomfortable himself now.
Merlin, he’s thankful they’ve got this Silencing Charm up. Probably a stupid thing to be grateful for, really. After all, it’s hardly a secret that they’re incapable of building a functional relationship without hurting each other, is it?
“Right,” says Sirius quietly, with a small grimace.
Regulus can tell his brother is feeling just as vulnerable as he is, and loathing the feeling just as much.
Sirius lets out a long, slow breath, finally blinking and breaking eye contact, allowing Regulus to feel like he can breathe again without struggling against a heavy weight on his chest.
“So… Dumbledore decided he’s just going to go ahead and trust Narcissa on this? He believes she’s fully defected, even though she basically admitted she’s only helping him because she wants revenge?”
“Well…yeah,” Regulus answers. Embarrassingly, his voice comes out a little shaky; he clears his throat and tries again. “I mean, he didn’t ‘just’ believe her - he used Legilimency on her, like he always used to with me. I don’t know exactly what he saw, obviously; but apparently it was enough to convince him that she won’t be a threat.”
“Right,” Sirius mutters, sounding far from convinced. “Well…I guess we both know that the old man’s judgement isn’t exactly perfect, don’t we?”
His voice is full of bitterness now, and he gives Regulus a pointed look, grey eyes glistening with anger. Hurt, too.
Regulus feels his stomach squirm sickeningly with nerves and sharp, cold guilt. So. They’ve finally stopped weaving around it then, got to the crux of the matter, the reason they’re sitting here in the first place. Trust Sirius to drop that invisible weight onto the table between them, so that Regulus can’t look away, regardless of whether he’s ready to deal with it or not.
“Look,” he says quietly, fidgeting with his tankard, suddenly finding it almost impossible to meet Sirius’s eyes. “Fabian and I had…a talk. He wasn’t very impressed, I guess. With the things I said to you, back at the Potters. And I was resistant at first, but as it turned out, he was right. He usually is, the git.” Sirius snorts a little at that, which gives Regulus the courage to finally look up at him. “So I suppose what I’m getting at is something along the lines of…” He takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Sirius.”
The words feel strange and unfamiliar in his mouth. He can’t remember any other time that he’s said those words to his brother. He’s aware that that’s probably…not great.
Sirius is looking back at him with a strange expression on his face; something between startled and wary.
“Are you saying that because Fab told you to?” he asks finally, narrowing his eyes slightly.
“Well…yes and no,” Regulus admits, grimacing. “I mean, we both know I probably wouldn’t have sat down and tried to swallow my pride like this, if it weren’t for Fabian - or at least, it would have taken me a bloody long time without him. Because…well, you know. I’m a stubborn prick.”
“I do know that, yes,” Sirius replies.
Regulus has to make a physical effort to hold back all the biting responses that rise instantly to the tip of his tongue, reminding himself that starting another stupid, petty argument is exactly the opposite of what he’s trying to do here.
“There you go, then,” he says instead. “Another point we can agree on.” Sirius actually cracks a small grin at that. “But…” he takes another deep breath. Salazar, this is harder than he’d expected it to be. “I shouldn’t have told you that Dumbledore thought you were the spy. I was immensely pissed off at you - what else is new - but that’s not really a valid excuse for what I said.”
Sirius stares at him, and Regulus is surprised to see something in his expression that almost looks like…hope.
“So…you were lying about that?” he asks hoarsely. “Dumbledore never actually thought it was me?”
“Oh,” says Regulus, feeling something inside him crack as his older brother looks at him with wide eyes. Merlin, he hadn’t expected this apology to entail hurting him all over again. “No. No, Sirius, I wasn’t lying. He really did think you were the spy.” He watches his brother’s face fall, watches him take a deep breath as though willing himself not to cry, his expression suffused with fresh anger and hurt. “In fact,” Regulus continues, desperate to distract him somehow, “he admitted to me that a big part of the reason he allowed me to join in the first place was as an incentive to try and tempt you ‘back’ into the Order. Of course he knows about our…baggage, or whatever the hell you want to call it. He thought he could use me as bait for you, basically.”
“What?” Sirius breathes, looking both horrified and outraged now. “ Merlin, that’s…that’s pretty fucked up.”
“Yep. It is,” Regulus agrees grimly. “So there you have it,” he concludes, heaving a sigh, “turns out the Order’s hero isn’t all that heroic. But, as Fabian reminded me - Dumbledore was obviously wrong when he thought that, and there was literally no point in me dredging it up again, other than digging my claws in and trying to hurt you worse than you hurt me. It was a pointless, petty, vindictive thing to say. It was all the worst parts of me, basically.”
He winces a little - it never gets easier, laying himself open like this. That’s what happens when you’re forced to grow up building walls to keep yourself from being hurt, he supposes. No matter how old you get, no matter how aware you are that you’re only causing more pain, some small, scared part of you will just keep fighting constantly, tooth and nail, to stop anyone else from knocking those walls down.
“So, yeah. I really am sorry. I’ll do better, Sirius. I’m…I’m trying to be better.”
Sirius looks back at him for a moment, so many different emotions flickering so quickly across his face that Regulus can’t keep track of them.
“Alright, I’ll admit,” he says quietly, “I probably wouldn’t have agreed to meet you here, if it wasn’t for Prongs and Moony nagging me. Oh, and also Lils. I’m a stubborn prick too, turns out.”
“Runs in the family?” Regulus suggests wryly.
“Yeah, something like that,” Sirius agrees, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. “But…” he sighs. Now he’s the one awkwardly fidgeting with his tankard. “S’pose they’re right. It probably is about time I ‘got off my bloody high Hippogriff’, in Moony’s words.”
Regulus snorts.
“Fabian said the same thing to me, actually.”
“Did he, now?” Sirius asks, grinning a little despite himself. “Clever and sexy, isn’t he? Nobody but Moony could have persuaded me to let a man like that slip through my fingers, really.”
Regulus narrows his eyes at him again. Sirius smirks playfully at him for a moment, but Regulus isn’t fooled; he’s perfectly familiar with his older brother’s playbook when it comes to avoiding his own emotions, the things that make him feel most vulnerable. Sure enough, the smirk fades from his face a moment later, leaving an extremely nervous, uncertain expression in its place. Sirius takes a deep breath before continuing.
“Anyway, point is - I don’t have all that much moral high ground. You really hurt me when you said I have a tendency to hurt the people I love, and that was why Dumbledore thought I was the spy -”
“I shouldn’t have said -” Regulus starts, but Sirius shakes his head.
“No, you shouldn’t have, but the thing is…that wouldn’t have hurt me so much, if it wasn’t true. I do hurt the people I love - and I hate that about myself, Reg. Always have.”
His voice cracks a little, and for a moment there’s pure devastation on his face, making Regulus feel, for a split second, like the child he once was. The child who wanted so desperately to stop his big brother from getting hurt, but didn’t even know which way to turn, when the monsters seemed to be not just under the bed, but all around them.
“I was angry at you, Reg,” Sirius croaks, his voice hoarse with unshed tears. “I’ve been angry for a long time. Sometimes for things that actually are your fault - but I also get angry at you because…because sometimes it feels easier than turning the anger inwards, examining all the ways I’m fucked up, the ways I hurt the people around me, even when I desperately want to keep them safe. And yeah, I was kind of horrified when you told us you might have to kill Dumbledore - but I was stressed, and I lost my temper, and I said some really stupid shit, too. I should never have suggested that you were looking for excuses to kill. The moment I stop and breathe, think about it, I can see that you never asked for any of this. That it’s tearing you apart. And here I am, constantly giving you shit for it, making it all even harder than it already is. So… I guess what I’m trying to say is…I’m sorry too, Reg. I’m sorry for all of it. I’ll try to be better, too.”
Without warning, Regulus feels something warm and bright swelling in his chest, almost overwhelming him. He hasn’t felt anything like this, with his brother, for such a long time. Hasn’t felt anything so closely resembling…hope.
“Thanks,” he says finally. To his horror, his voice comes out a little choked, his eyes welling up slightly; he clears his throat hastily. “That, uh…that means a lot, Sirius.”
Sirius nods. He turns his head away, but not before Regulus sees him raising an arm to dab his eyes with the sleeve of his leather jacket.
“Godric,” he says, turning back to Regulus, with a brave attempt at a grin, “why are we both such dickheads, Reg? Why can’t we ever seem to get things right with each other?”
“Good question,” Regulus replies, shrugging a little. “Poor life choices? Emotional incompetence and abandonment issues caused by a shitload of childhood trauma, perhaps?”
Sirius lets out a stunned laugh. Regulus is slightly reassured to hear that his brother’s voice sounds choked, too.
“Huh. Maybe you are smarter than me, after all.”
“Obviously,” Regulus responds, deadpan. “That’s not a revelation, Sirius, that’s just a known fact.”
Sirius laughs again, sniffling a little and dabbing his eyes before he looks up at Regulus again, seeming to settle slightly.
“You’re not actually going to kill Dumbledore, are you?” he asks quietly.
Regulus tenses up immediately, and Sirius hastily raises his hands in surrender.
“I’m not gonna blow up at you again, Reg, I swear. I just…I want to know.”
Regulus isn’t entirely sure that’s true. Sirius looks a little nauseous, as though he’s not sure he can handle the answer.
“I…I honestly don’t know, at this point,” he says slowly, his stomach twisting itself in anxious knots again. “I mean…he literally gave me his permission to do it, Sirius. And like I told you back at the Potters, that curse from the Horcrux is already killing him anyway - slowly, painfully.” Sirius flinches. “Trapping it in one hand was the best I could do,” Regulus reminds him, hearing the pleading note in his own voice. “I didn’t have the skill or power to cure him. So…wouldn’t giving him a quick, painless death be the better option here?”
Sirius is quiet for a long time - by his standards, anyway - chewing on the inside of his cheek again.
“I don’t know,” he says finally. “Even if he is a bastard, even if he’s done some pretty fucked up things to try and win this war, I’m still not sure that it…feels right.”
“No, neither am I,” Regulus murmurs.
“And…you don’t actually want to be that kind of person, do you?”
He lets out a short, humourless bark of laughter.
“Isn’t it a bit late for me to be worrying about that?” he asks bitterly. “Aren’t I already ‘that kind of person’?”
He feels the weight of it all sitting heavy on his chest - the guilt, the grief. He’s tired. He’s so, so tired of all this.
Sirius looks at him for a moment. Really looks at him, considers him, without judgement, for what feels like the first time in over ten years.
“I don’t know if you’re that kind of person, Reg,” he says finally, his voice much quieter than usual. “But I know that you don’t want to be. You never did, really.”
Regulus looks back at him, a burning feeling at the back of his throat, tears stinging sharply at his eyes.
Oh. So Sirius can still see him, even under this cold, hard shell he built to protect himself after his brother ran away. Or maybe that shell was the reason Sirius had run in the first place. He’s never been quite sure which came first. But he also never realised his brother could still see him. Maybe Sirius hadn’t realised it either, until he looked carefully enough.
“And…Prongs? Lils? Harry?” Sirius asks tentatively. Regulus is grateful; for once, this topic feels easier. “You said he’s given you a deadline, for telling him where they are?”
“Yeah,” he murmurs, flinching again as the memory of that pitiless red stare sends cold fear dripping down his spine. “Seems he’s run out of patience with me. Which makes sense; I mean, it’s been quite a while now since I told him I’d persuade you to tell me.”
Sirius snorts, making an obvious effort to hide the worry on his face.
“You’ve literally never persuaded me to do anything in your life, Reg.”
“Oh, I know,” he admits, with a dramatic, put-upon sigh. “Though, in my defence, literally nobody has the ability to persuade you to do anything you don’t want to, as far as I’m aware, with the exception of Remus. I should really ask him to teach me that trick, the bastard.”
“But you’re not going to give them up, right?” Sirius whispers, every trace of amusement gone from his face now. His eyes are tracing Regulus’s face now, as though frantically searching for something he might have missed. “You wouldn’t…you’d never… please, please think about this, you’d be giving him Moony into the bargain too!”
Regulus sighs, his heart beginning to skitter in panic again, like a small animal trapped in a cage.
“I have no intention to give any of them up, Sirius,” he says quietly. “I promise I don’t. I honestly don’t think I’d be able to live with myself if I did. But I’m not stupid. I know when I’ve been backed into a corner. From where I’m standing…it looks like I either hand them over, or hand myself over.”
Sirius blanches, looking at him with wide, distraught eyes. For a moment, he looks like a lost, terrified child.
“No,” he says.
“‘No’ isn’t going to help anyone, Sirius,” Regulus responds, rubbing a weary hand across his face. “Look, I’ve been thinking about this for weeks now. Those are the only options.”
“ No ,” Sirius repeats, more insistently this time. “They can’t be the only options, Reg. Because I can’t live in a world that doesn’t have James and Remus in it, and I can’t live in a world that…” His voice cracks and breaks as he looks at Regulus. He clears his throat, starting again. “Anyway, point is - there has to be another way, Reg. There just has to be.”
“Well, if there is, I haven’t thought of it yet,” Regulus retorts, his voice sharp in an attempt to cover his fear. “And, as we’ve covered, I’m smarter than you , so…”
“Look,” Sirius says, raising a shaking hand, “we can’t give up yet. If we just stop and think , we can find a -”
He cuts himself off abruptly, staring into the middle distance. For a moment, he just looks stunned, his eyes widening.
“Sirius?” Regulus asks, frowning in bewilderment.
“Oh,” he says - and then, to Regulus’s astonishment, a grin slowly starts to spread across his face. “Oh.”
“What?” Regulus demands, staring at him. “Why the hell are you grinning right now?”
“Oh, but you were wrong, Reg,” Sirius breathes, his grin growing wider. “I am clever.”
“Would you mind explaining what you’re on about, please?” Regulus asks through gritted teeth. “Before I strangle you?”
Sirius lets out an exhilarated bark of laughter, turning back to him.
“All these things keep coming at us, right? Nothing is the way either of us planned it, everything seems to be beyond our control.”
“Well…yes,” Regulus agrees, his chest twisting itself into anxious knots again. “An astute observation, Sirius. I’m sorry, is this supposed to be reassuring?”
“Yes!” Sirius exclaims. “Because - sure, we might not have the pieces we expected for this game -”
“ Game?” Regulus echoes incredulously.
“ - but don’t you see? We can still take the pieces we’ve been given, and use them to our advantage!” Sirius continues, as though Regulus hadn’t spoken, practically bouncing up and down in his seat now.
“What are you saying, Sirius?” Regulus asks, staring at him. Inexplicably, he feels a strange surge of confidence. Excitement, almost. Even though he has no idea what Sirius is on about. His brother’s emotions have always been like that. Loud. Infectious. “Are you saying…you don’t…?”
“I do ,” Sirius says, still looking dazed by his own brilliance. “At least, I think I do…? Yeah, no, I do. I’ve got an idea.” His grin grows even wider - and now Regulus can’t stop himself from grinning back at him. “Oh, we can win this game, Reg…”
4th September, 1983 - Hogwarts Castle
An hour later, having sent a Patronus ahead to tell Fabian to wait for them in his office, Regulus is still reeling as he and Sirius dash up the moving staircases together. He’s not quite sure whether he’s breathless from rushing up from Hogsmeade, trying to keep up with Sirius’s slightly longer stride, or if he’s feeling breathless from sheer excitement. He certainly isn’t used to feeling this…light. He’s almost giddy. Ahead of him, Sirius is laughing in exhilaration as he practically bounces up the stairs, taking them two or three at a time. Usually, Regulus would roll his eyes and tell him to shut up; but right now, he can’t help but grin, almost tempted to join in.
He doesn’t want to inflate Sirius’s ego - not to mention throw away the last remnant of his own dignity - by actually joining in with his ridiculous display, of course, but…holy shit. Holy shit.
His brother might be many things, but Regulus had always felt comfortable in asserting that he was the cleverer of the two of them. Never in a thousand years would he have predicted it would be Sirius who found a way to fit the puzzle pieces together, who, out of nowhere, managed to take all the accidents and disasters that they’ve both been struggling against over the past year and a half, and somehow tie them all together into a cohesive plan that might just save them all, the Potters included. Regulus is almost tempted to tell Fabian that it was his idea - he’s supposed to be the strategic one here, after all - but no, he reminds himself reluctantly, he’s trying to be a better person. He needs to let Sirius have this - not that his brother would let him get away with trying to pass the idea off as his own for a second, anyway.
They shouldn’t be getting their hopes up too high, of course, he knows that. The idea is very, very risky, with multiple elements that might go wrong, causing the whole plan to shatter and likely take them all down with it - but then, it wouldn’t be an idea of Sirius’s if it wasn’t risky to the point of sheer recklessness. There are some plans that are so insane, they just might work - and Regulus is pretty sure this is one of them. If they actually manage to pull this off…
“Oh, shit,” Sirius says suddenly, ahead of him, his ridiculous exhilarated laughter abruptly cutting off. Still coming up the staircase behind him, Regulus can’t see what his older brother is looking at - but judging from his tone, it isn’t anything that bodes well. “What the hell is going on?”
Already feeling his stomach beginning to fall, Regulus speeds up, finally coming to the top of the staircase to stand next to Sirius, who’s suddenly standing stock still.
“Sirius, what…?”
Regulus frowns, following his brother’s gaze to see a gaggle of about ten or fifteen students huddled together in the middle of the corridor in front of them. They seem to all be crowded around something, something Regulus can’t see from this angle - and all of them are now staring back at Sirius and Regulus with pale, horrified faces, their eyes wide with shock.
“Professor Black,” one of the students pipes up, moving forward slightly - a red-haired Gryffindor girl that he recognises only vaguely. Emily…Thomas, is it? Thompson? “I swear, we didn’t do it - we just got back from Hogsmeade, we were on our way back to the common room, we just…we just found him like this!”
“What are you talking about?” Regulus demands sharply, his previous excitement vanishing on the spot as his heart crawls up into his throat. “Found who ? What…?”
The group of students move aside hastily as the brothers move towards them, clearing a space so that both Sirius and Regulus get a clear view of what it is they were crowding around. Well… who it is, Regulus amends internally, his breath seeming to freeze and solidify in his lungs as he fully registers what he’s seeing.
This student, he definitely recognises - in fact, he’s fairly sure he and Sirius are distantly related to him. Henry Rosier, a burly blonde Slytherin in fifth year. He’s a bit of a piece of work, actually - not that that justifies what’s happened to him.
Rosier, like Evelyn Turner before him, is lying on the ground, apparently unconscious. Vicious scratch marks on his face. Dark fingerprint bruises marring his pale skin, all the way across his throat.