Chapter Text
“I see them! They’re right there!”
“Don’t let them escape!”
“Carve their heart out!”
Run.
Run!
RUN!!
As the steps behind them drew near, the only thing they could think about was not to look back. If they looked back even for just a small peek, the sight of being hunted down by people whom they once viewed as friends, shared meals, and cried with would be too much to bear. The thing they needed to focus on was not about who was leading the hunt, but how they could survive.
They were so close to getting home, too. But if they just ran faster, if they could just make it to the others, then they could live. They just needed to keep running. Nothing new. They’d been running since they were born.
Even as the air rushed past them, causing an intense amount of pain to erupt through every bone in their body, and even as the harsh, cold wind caused them to stumble, they kept running. By now, ice crystals had begun to form under their skin as they pushed past the burning pain of running barefoot through the snow. They had to forsake most of their clothes early at the start of the hunt because, during Winter, a bright neon jacket was a dead giveaway when there was nothing but white snow surrounding them. Any specter of color posed a threat to them, and so, with a heavy heart, they had to discard their bright red shoes as an extra form of precaution.
A branch snapped somewhere under them.
“Over here!”
Ah, crap. Why did this have to happen to them!? Why did they have to draw the card? On some level, they knew that this was coming; this was their karma. Since coming here, they’ve come close to dying so many times, but this once was the closest so far. They know they’re not a good person, after everything they have, all the pain they have caused, but even so, they want to live.
For several long seconds, they listened as they ran, trying to ignore the howling noises echoing behind them. And then–The ground disappeared right under them. They barely had time to grasp the situation before they found themselves falling, gasping as they were pierced not once, but a dozen times.
“Aww, I guess this is the end of our hunt.” A figure spoke; behind them were three other people, each wearing layers of clothing and holding what appeared to be a spear. “Let’s take this moment to praise the Hallow for another wonderful hunt. Once done, lift them.”
“Praise the Hallow.”
“Praise the Hallow.”
“Praise the Hallow.”
—
The Hallow was God.
They came to him in fragments, whispers, and visions.
It was their savior.
It was their executioner.
It was the being whose forest they lived in.
It had been with them since they first arrived here.
Watching.
Providing.
Demanding.
It had been with them all this time.
It. Had. Been. With. Them. All. This. Time.
The trees creaked.
The sound of something heavy being dragged could be heard even from where he was standing.
“It’s been done.”
Yes. He had expected much. The Hallow had never failed to provide for them so long as they offered something in return. Still, he was a bit remorseful about how things played out.
Regulus opened his mouth.
And then closed it.
He doesn’t need to say what must be done next.
Right when he turns around to leave, he hears something that catches his attention. “It’s about your brother. We can’t find him.”
Of course, Siri would choose to do something like this now. He was starting to get annoyed at how disrespectful his brother was acting. Sirius, out of everyone, should be the most grateful to the Hallow. Not only had it saved his life twice now, but Siri was also the Hallow’s favorite. It's only kind words to say about his brother, but even the Hallow would get tired of being disrespected. One of these days, the Hallow would stop protecting him, and Regulus would have to resort to drastic measures to keep him alive.
The trees whistled in agreement.
“Should we…” Someone asked. Regulus notices the blood staining their clothes. He has to look away. “Find him?”
Regulus shakes his head. “No. Focus on your tasks.”
“Are you kidding me? He is obviously planning something! Why else would he leave without saying anything!?”
He didn’t doubt that his brother had something planned, but if Sirius left as soon as the hunt started, there was no way they would catch up to him. If his brother truly set his heart on something, there was no stopping him.
A gush of wind ran past him. “It says that it’s bad to let food go to waste.”
The Hallow was everything to Regulus.
He worshipped it.
He prayed to it.
He made offerings to it.
Out loud, Regulus will never admit it, but the rewards hadn’t filled him with any satisfaction as they should have. Could the Hallow see through the confusion in his heart? Did they think he was a non-believer? That couldn’t be. Regulus believed in it more than anyone else.
“What do I do now, Tom…” Regulus mumbled under his breath once everyone had cleared away.
It won’t stop calling him.
19 MONTHS AGO
“Just because Potter is throwing a party and it’s an open invite; it does not mean that we have to go.” Regulus stubbornly said, glaring at the pair of idiots sitting on his bed. There was no way under any circumstances that Regulus would ever allow himself to be dragged to a Gryffindor party, and even less if that party was being thrown by that no-good brother stealer that is James Potter. He couldn’t even believe that they were having this discussion. “Plus, open invites don’t usually extend to Slytherins.” And ex-brothers. “We’re hated by every other house.”
“Don’t be dramatic, Reg.” Barty laughed. “The Ravenclaws like us.”
“They’re opportunistic suck-ups, is what they are.” He retorted with his own laughter, earning a grin from Barty. “There’s a reason why most of the scholarships or lower-class students are in Ravenclaw.”
Hogwarts was one of the most prestigious schools in the world, with a low acceptance rate. Students were sorted into one of four distinct houses, each of which had its own criteria for admission. Slytherin’s, for example, had to possess a level of social standing or be of a legacy. Of course, there were exceptions, like with Severus Snape, who, despite being a scholarship student, was allowed entry as a Slytherin because he was being sponsored by the Malfoys. Ravenclaws, on the other hand, valued knowledge above anything else, and therefore, they handed out more scholarships than the other houses.
Regulus didn’t dislike smart people. Ravenclaws, despite their lack of funds, knew they possessed a high level of intelligence. In fact, most Ravenclaws went on to work in high-level professional jobs after school, and right above them were their bosses, former Slytherin students. Smart Ravenclaws scored A’s, and even smarter Ravenclaws learned to befriend the Slytherins who would one day be running the company they’ll be working under.
“See, this is why they don’t like us.” Evan pointed out, but Regulus noted how he didn’t seem to disagree with him.
“Oh, whatever. Reg is just telling it like it is.” Barty waved a dismissive hand. “As if you're not tired of them trying to form a fake friendship with you as well.”
The Rosiers, while not nearly as wealthy as the House of Black, still possessed a large amount of wealth to their name. However, most of their money stemmed from their monopoly on the cosmetic industry, where Rosier-branded perfumes were considered a luxury status symbol. At least, that’s what the general public thinks, and well, the Rosiers have never been ones to limit themselves to perfumes alone. Just like how a flower can be used for its scent, it could also be used for its toxins.
The Crouchs, on the other hand, were significantly lower in the social hierarchy. They weren’t poor by any means, but most of their money was earned from government salaries, donations, and carefully arranged “favors”. If Barty's father could become the Head of the Home Office, their social standing would surely go up in the ranks. However, that’s only if they win. But what they lack, they make up for in connections.
“No, but do you two have to be so blunt about it?”
“There’s no one here but us, Eve.”
“Wait.” Evan suddenly said, like he finally remembered something. “Stop trying to change the subject, Reg.”
Barty frowned, realization flickering across his face. “Dirty trick. Trying to use trash talk so I forget.”
Regulus was aware that Barty tended to get lost in himself when the subject involved talking down to other people. Regulus blames it on him being a politician’s son. It was a rather poor attempt on his part, but Barty should have known better. “Can’t it because I hate him be enough of a reason not to go?”
“Normally, yes.” Evan agreed. “But let’s not forget that Potter personally invited you to go.”
“No, he did not.”
Technically, Potter hadn’t asked him to go to the party–probably because he knew Regulus would flat out reject him without a second to spare before pushing him down the stairs for even asking a request like that. Potter had to have known that Regulus wanted him dead. If not for stealing his brother like a phantom thief in the night, then for just being annoying. Rather, he pestered Barty and Evan regarding Regulus’s plan for their final night before leaving. Like the dirty traitors they are, after a week of asking, they had finally given in and told Potter that Regulus planned to spend his final night all alone. Potter had then managed to slip a note containing his address when he hadn’t been looking.
Regulus had been infuriated at the sight of it, so much so that he had torn it to shreds.
As if he didn’t already know where Potter lived!
He was certain that Potter knew he knew where he lived—and equally certain that James knew it had been him driving past his house during the summer. It was like he was purposefully rubbing salt into the already raw wound.
Barty cut in before his thoughts could ramble even more, “That’s not what this is about, and you know it. This has to do with the fact that you can’t keep running away from him forever, Reg. You’ll have to deal with tomorrow, and then six months at that. Might as well face him tonight while you have access to free booze.”
“As if I would ever run away from Potter.”
Regulus was a proud member of the Black family. While other kids his age were still learning who they were, he had been raised on legacy, expectation, and reputation. Regulus knew when to keep his head and who to lower his head to. Running away from someone of a lower status than him would be disgraceful.
“I wasn’t talking about him.” Barty’s eyes gleamed in amusement. Regulus hated it when Barty looked at him like that with those eyes of his, who always seemed to know where people’s weak spots were. He detested being near someone capable of seeing through him. At the same time, he couldn’t bring himself to tear away from his gaze. Barty was perhaps the only person who didn’t react to him the way everyone else did, like he could fix whatever was wrong with him. The only person who could see straight through–– and still smile. “Like you care what Potter thinks about you.”
He took this moment to glance back at Evan, who was watching them with that look of his whenever he and Barty spoke. Regulus could try to decode what that look meant, but he doesn’t think it would solve anything by doing so. Not when some part of him already knew the answer. It was just another one of those things that Regulus refused to give a voice to because the moment he said them, things would start to feel too real.
“I’m not running away from him either.” Regulus scoffed, but even he could hear how fake it sounded. “Running away means avoidance, and avoidance implies effort. Planning. Intent. All things that require time, and my time is too important for it to be wasted on someone who neglected his duties.”
So what if at one point Sirius had been his brother? So what if Sirius was the only person who could understand what it meant to live in that house with Walburga and Orion Black as parents? That was in the past.
What he and Sirius were now was simple: two people who once orbited the same night sky, both pretending the other no longer existed in it.
Sometimes, Regulus will hear about him from word of mouth. Sirius got detention again. Sirius broke up with Mary Macdonald. Sirius punched Avery in the corridor after saying a slur. It was a little bit of this; a little bit of that. Nothing too personal because who was Regulus to Sirius to know about his business? The only thing they shared was a last name, but even that would change once Sirius left school.
Upsettingly–and almost heartbreakingly–was that not so much had changed between. The way things are between them isn’t so much different from what they had before Sirius left. They had already been drifting long before he ran away from Grimmauld Place. It had felt like years being trapped in the same cycle, always doomed to repeat the same pattern, until Regulus could hardly tell the difference between now and then. Sirius being gone should have felt like having his limbs torn apart, or at the very least, he should have had a bigger reaction to the news of his brother’s disownment. Instead, Regulus had only felt numb to it all. Possibly because deep down, he had always known how things would end between them.
That was perhaps the cruelest part of it.
Sirius, the brightest star in the night sky, burns far too brightly to be satisfied with staying.
And Regulus, a quieter star that learned how to orbit with the other constellations. Always outshining just a little bit more than the rest, but never enough to be seen on his own.
“Right.” Barty raised a brow, clearly unimpressed. “So we’re definitely not getting wasted tonight, and possibly trashing Potter’s home, and it has nothing to do with the fact that the party’s at Potter’s home, the same place your ex-brother ran away to.”
A sharp irritation curled beneath Regulus’s lip. This only seemed to make Barty more amused. “So that’s why you want to go, huh? To get drunk and make a mess of Potter’s house. If that’s the case, why don’t you go by yourself?”
Regulus expected many things to happen next. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but it wasn’t Barty's grin softening into something more genuine. Barty gave him a long look–the kind of look that was usually reserved for when they were alone, and they could pretend there wasn’t this unspoken thing sitting between them pressing into their lungs. The silent agreement not to say that thing they both could sense but never voice out loud. “It’s no fun if you aren’t there with me, Reg.” He blinked once. Then again, slower this time, as if he could blink away the implication of his sentence.
He can’t recall when this shift happened between them. When Barty stopped being just another voice in the background and became someone Regulus had to consciously ignore instead, because his eyes couldn’t look away whenever Barty looked at him. To his own annoyance, he didn’t dislike the awfully crude Barty Crouch Jr., the menace of the school. He should have, but he didn’t.
Regulus almost let out a sigh of relief when Evan made a coughing sound, interrupting whatever Regulus was about to say.
It wasn’t subtle. It was sharp, deliberate, and sort of childish, cutting through whatever tension had been building up. “Stop being a little shit, Barty,” Evan said flatly. “If Reg says no to the party, then it’s no. Anyways, it’s best if he doesn’t go to a party where there’s so much alcohol.” Evan, unlike Barty, had common sense and remembered why Regulus couldn’t be at a party where he could get drunk, and for a moment, Regulus had forgotten too; too busy thinking about Sirius. It wasn’t something they often discussed—the reason why Regulus couldn’t drink. The good thing about Evan was that, despite being a huge gossip and a cunning snake, he also knew when to keep his mouth shut.
“But,” Evan quickly added, “Barty does bring up a good point. You can’t keep avoiding him. What are you going to do when you have to see him tomorrow?”
Regulus knew they had a point. Whether or not Regulus liked it, he would have to deal with being near Sirius again and all the complicated feelings that he had been suppressing since his brother left. It was easier to pretend like his brother didn’t exist when they were at Hogwarts. At school, not only were they in different houses, but also in different grade levels, which meant that their schedules never aligned with each other. Now that both of them had been accepted into the student exchange program with Durmstrang, Regulus was going to be seeing more of Sirius in the coming months than he had since his brother left the family.
Dumbledore had gotten it into his head that Hogwarts needed to branch out more and form closer bonds with other schools. It’s a pretty stupid idea if you ask him. Everyone knew about the long, intense rivalry between the two schools. This wasn’t the first time someone proposed a way to bring the students from the two schools closer together, but they all ended in a disaster. Both schools were equally stubborn and prideful when it came to representing their schools, making cooperation unlikely. And even knowing this, both principals still agreed to send twenty students each to learn under the other’s educational system for six months, hoping it would form a sense of community and friendships between the two schools.
Secretly, Regulus thought that this would end with one student being shoved down the stairs.
He didn’t know what was going through Dumbledore's head when he agreed. House rivalries were already intense enough; there was no need to add Drumstrang students to the already chaotic pot.
When the sign-up sheets had first been passed around, Regulus scoffed at the mere idea of going. He might not be the biggest Hogwarts fan nor one of Dumbledore’s weird cult followers, but that didn’t mean he wanted to spend the next six months at a different school. Granted, he could see the appeal for other students. For many, it was an all-expenses-paid trip to another country, regardless of the school attached to it.
Had Regulus been poor, he too would have shared in their excitement, even if that meant enduring questionable weather, foreign teenagers with more brains than brains, and shared living arrangements that came in the form of small cube rooms with a communal bathroom. Drumstrang was old school like that.
But Regulus spent his early childhood living in a grand estate located in France, complete with a butler to take care of him. They might have had only one, and said Butler was rather old, but it had more to do with his mother not liking the idea of having too many people in her house than not being able to afford more servants. It wasn’t like they were a big family anyway, and when his cousins and uncles would come over, they had their own servants with them. That is to say that while an all-expenses-paid trip might seem exciting to a scholarship student like Remus Lupin to Regulus, it was hardly worth feeling anything towards. He’d been traveling abroad his entire life.
Barty and Evan agreed, both equally tired of flying. However, his parents seemed to disagree, citing that Durmstrang was an old traditional school that happened to be located in the far north of Europe, where the Black’s had many connections dating centuries ago.
Regulus was good at reading between the lines: Find a good wife. Not a romantic wife that he will love and cherish for the rest of his life, but one with wide hips who could carry the next heir of the House of Black.
He had agreed because he hadn’t honestly expected Dumbledore to choose him.
The one time he hoped someone didn’t choose him, he got chosen.
Over the years, Regulus had made it obvious that he neither trusted nor particularly liked Dumbledore—for goodness sake, he had dumb in his name. In return, Dumbledore had never bothered hiding where his favor rested. Gryffindors were always being rewarded for the minor things. Potter and his gang had spent years pranking the whole student body and terrorizing the first years, but their only punishment was weekend detention.
Regulus had assumed Dumbledore would take one look at his application and quietly toss it aside, but apparently, Slughorn had been very insistent that Regulus was the perfect choice— and wherever he went, Barty and Evan followed. He doesn’t know how Barty got picked with his track record of picking fights with other students, but Regulus thinks it has something to do with the recent donation his father gave to the school. How did he convince his father? Regulus supposes the man just always wanted to ship Barty away, even if it’s only for six months. Evan was the easiest to guess because originally, the Rosiers came from far north of Europe before they migrated once they started making more in the UK. Most of the Rosiers can still be found there to this day.
Regulus hadn’t even known that Sirius had applied until the day of selection, when his name was listed beside Sirius’s.
Dumbledore must think of himself as the funniest person alive.
“I don’t know. But I can’t do it tonight, because let’s say I go, and then what? He’ll just spend the night with Lupin and Potter.” It wasn’t like he didn’t want to talk to his brother. It was Sirius who didn’t want to talk to him. He had made it pretty clear this past Summer when Regulus’s letters had gone unreplied. At first, he figured Sirius needed time to adjust to his new life, or maybe his mother found out that Regulus was writing to his brother and got to his letters before they reached Sirius. However, had that been the case, he would have been punished by now. Which meant that Sirius got his letter, but he just didn’t want to talk to him. “You two will be drunk, and I’ll be there, standing awkwardly in the corner because I don’t know anyone else. Then, I’ll have to drag you guys back to the car, kicking and screaming, while Potter gets to gloat about how much Sirius loves spending time with him.”
“Dorcas will be there. You can talk to her.” Both Barty and Evan shrugged, not denying how difficult they can get when they’re drunk. And then Barty’s eyes narrowed slightly like a predator stumbling upon prey, “Unless...”
And there it was. The other topic that Regulus had so desperately tried to avoid talking about. “Barty.” Regulus’s voice tightened.
“Oh, wait. You can’t talk to her either.” Barty finished with a sly grin and a twinkle in his eye.
Dorcas, like Sirius, was a sensitive topic for him to talk about: “Go to hell, Barty.” He snapped, frowning at the mention of it.
“Maybe starting tomorrow, love.”
Evan hummed his turn to narrow his eyes, and there it was again—that same look from before. “How long has it been since you last spoke?”
Three weeks and four days–Not that Regulus was counting. He just tended to notice things that other people didn’t–in a normal way. “She’s never alone.” He wants to blame this on James Potter too, but somehow, Regulus gets the feeling it has more to do with Marlene McKormick, which is equally worse because in his eyes, she’s just the girl version of him—If he were blonde and white.
“And you’re just okay with that?” He isn’t sure which of them asked.
“You expect me to ask for her forgiveness while she’s surrounded by a bunch of Gryffindors?” Regulus asked, “I’m not walking into a lion's den.”
A year ago, Regulus would have called Dorcas one of his best friends. It was rare for Regulus to find people he genuinely enjoyed being around without feeling like he had to think about every word he said before speaking. With her, Regulus could just let his walls down in a way that he couldn’t with Barty or Evan. But towards the end of last year, Dorcas had started to pull away from them and started hanging out with the girls from Gryffindor. The same girls who were his brother’s friends, the brother whom he wept to her about when no one was around. She knew things about him that he had never shared with anyone else—that’s why, when she pulled away from him, it felt like a burning sting of betrayal.
Regulus still made an effort to talk to her, and she responded, but it wasn’t the same as before. She still rolled her eyes as she did before whenever Regulus said something rude or pretentious, but he couldn’t shake this feeling that there was something wrong, like she was faking her reaction as if not to alert him.
“I told you it was a mistake to let her take part in that study group.” Barty chastises him for remembering how he had warned Regulus that it was a bad idea to let Dorcas start studying with a bunch of Gryffindors. Regulus had simply rolled her eyes at him because at that time, it made sense. Dorcas was a year older than they were. Of course, she would want to study with people who were also preparing for the same exam as she was. “They’ve gone and brainwashed her like I knew they would.”
Regulus wonders if he should have taken Barty’s advice back then.
“Poor Dorcas was always so susceptible to what others thought of her.” Regulus hated the way Barty said it, like it was something worth laughing at. “She tries too hard to impress. Her biggest weakness, really.”
Barty really did enjoy talking trash about others.
What he hated the most was how he couldn’t disagree with what Barty said. Dorcas, despite presenting herself as confident, tended to care a great deal about what others thought of her. She was a legacy student, but her family had long since gone bankrupt, leaving her unsure of her place with the Slytherins.
His mind goes back to the last time he and Dorcas spoke. Everything had seemed fine at first, until Regulus caught the way she had glanced at him. He isn’t sure why that set him off, but he had taken it as a threat.
He wanted to ask her what had happened; had he done something wrong to drive her away? Had she gotten enough of seeing the darkness in him? Had that been it? Did he finally say something chilling enough that she couldn’t bear it anymore? Or did the opinions of her new friend matter to her more than he did? Was she too Gryffindor that she couldn’t be seen with a snake like him?
Regulus wishes that he had voiced his concerns to her. He wishes that he had done a lot of things differently that day because he said none of that to her. Rather, he had compared her to Sirius before he threatened to out her to the entire school. Looking back, Regulus couldn’t tell you why it had been the first thing he thought of. Perhaps he had simply been angry that she was distancing herself from him despite promising him that she would always be there for him. Because if he was always destined to lose Dorcas Meadows, he wanted to be the one to cut the rope that connected them. He wouldn’t let her walk out as Siriud did. Maybe he was too tired of hurting, and for once, wanted someone else to carry it for a while. Either way, he had wanted her to hurt as much as he did, and that was something he could never take back.
“That has nothing to do with this.” He reminded them. “I’m the one who messed up.” Who keeps messing up. “I should have just taken my meds that day. I know how I can be without them.”
Barty stared at him for a moment before letting out a sharp laugh. “Right. Because that’s the only reason you did it.” Regulus stiffened. “Come on, Reg. Missing a single dose doesn’t turn you into a new person—not for you, at least. It lowers your filter. Makes it harder to stop yourself from saying things you shouldn’t, things you’re already thinking about. You didn’t compare Dorcas to Sirius because you forgot your meds. You compared her to Sirius because, without the meds, you finally said what you’d been thinking all along. Not because they changed who you are. But because they made it harder to hide. And for the first time in a while, the real Regulus came out.”
Had Regulus mentioned how much he detested being near someone capable of seeing through him? If he didn’t know better, he would have thought Barty suffered from some sort of condition like his. Unfortunately, as Barty likes to claim, his test results came positive. This was just who Barty is as a person, and apparently, he’s more twisted when he takes an interest in someone.
“And who’s the real me?” The question left his mouth before he could stop it. “Do you mean the unmedicated version of myself, or perhaps—” Regulu wasn’t entirely sure who moved first. One moment, there had been space between, and then the next, he found himself face to face with Barty, close enough to feel his breath. “You want the real me to be the version only you get to see.”
Regulus could see the pure, unguarded bliss on Barty’s face, and frankly, it was an addicting sight to behold.
“Can you guys not fuck in front of me?” Evan said, sounding thoroughly done with both of them. “Like, please.”
Ah, Evan had been too silent that Regulus had forgotten he was here. He suddenly felt his cheeks turn a slight pink shade. Barty, however, felt no sense of shame, as indicated by how his hand was still wrapped around Regulus’s waist. “You’re free to watch, Eve.”
“I’m not going to watch as you fuck my cousin.” Regulus would kill himself before it came to that. “And Reg, stop using sex to avoid talking about the real issue. What are you going to do when you have to see Sirius and Dorcas tomorrow? Actually, forget about Sirius. Let’s focus on Dorcas. Do you still want to be friends with her?”
He knew that nothing could get past smart and clever, Evan. “Of course, I do.” He had known for years that Sirius would leave him for James Potter. His heart had known it too, and was prepared—It wasn’t prepared to lose her. Not yet, anyway.
“Then be honest with her. Tell her about your situation. It’s Dorcas. She’ll understand.”
Regulus loved Dorcas in the way he hadn’t with Barty or Evan; as cruel as it was, he enjoyed being with her more than anyone else. She was warm and bright, like a comet streaking through the dark. However, because of that, Regulus had never told her about the things he used to see or much of what his childhood had really been like. He knows that had he told her the truth, she would have never been able to see him the same way again. Not to be mean, but because she was kind.
He wouldn’t know what to do if she started looking at him like how Sirius did.
.
.
“You can’t just drug him into obedience!” Sirius screamed, holding a tight grip on Regulus’s hand. It was like he was afraid his parents would snatch him any second. Regulus had been too busy being awed at the way his brother was defying their parents to pay attention to the actual topic. “He needs to see a doctor! A real doctor!”
“We did take him to a doctor.” His father flatly said. “Stop being so selfish, Sirius. Can’t you see that your brother needs help?”
“Then take him to a therapist! Regulus is only ten!” His brother begged. “Drugging him isn’t helping!”
“No amount of therapy will ever fix what he is.”
Sirius believed that if Regulus were to follow through, it would strip him of his personality, leaving him an empty shell of who he is. The fear in his brother’s tone as he explained what would happen had nearly convinced him not to go through with it. Because Sirius had genuinely looked terrified for him, for his little brother, who would spend the rest of his life relying on pills and refills. But Sirius didn’t see the things Regulus saw.
He couldn’t understand why Regulus’s eyes would drift away for long periods of time, staring deeply into old family paintings as if he was actually conversing with them in his mind—Just staring, for what seemed hours at nothing.
Siri saw nothing.
Regulus saw so much more.
He didn’t hear the whispers the way Regulus did. His brother didn’t hear when the house would whisper the secrets of life to Regulu’s ear. Sirius had once tried to explain that what Regulus was hearing was the creaking sound from the floorboard because they lived in a rather old house. Regulus would then spend the next ten minutes explaining how they were actually a sign. He didn’t understand the panic that followed when Regulus snapped back and was faced with a new reality, one different from what he had just seen. The panic that came with trying to organize his mind while his heart continued to race as if he had narrowly escaped death.
Or why he’d grown terrified at the sight of water.
If his brother could understand, he would understand why Regulus had chosen the medication.
It had nothing to do with pleasing their parents or keeping the family image clean.
The only thing Regulus wanted was to be the one in control of his own mind.
.
.
“Just forget about her,” Barty said, unkindly. The softness from a moment ago is now gone, replaced with a look of annoyance as if she was just another passing inconvenience in their lives—someone Regulus could easily discard into the back of his mind. Which, if you asked Barty, she probably was to him: an inconvenience.
Regulus had never been naive to Barty’s and Dorcas’s friendship, or lack of one. Barty resented Dorcas’s need to fit in, and Dorcas resented how ruthlessly Barty treated other people. The tension between them had always been there. Regulus couldn’t think of a time when he saw two of them hanging out by themselves. They were friends because they happened to hang around the same people.
Regulus had tried asking Barty once why he couldn’t give her a chance before Barty shut him up by pressing him down against the bed. It was a refusal to answer disguised as a beautiful distraction in the only way Barty knew how to do.
To anyone else, that might not have seemed like an answer, but to Regulus? It had been enough—not because Barty explained himself to Regulus using his words, but because everything he did revolved around what he refused to lose—behind Barty’s sharp teeth and rough demeanor was a boy who had lost his mother, and never quite learned how to let go again; afraid that he’ll lose them again.
In that way, they weren’t really different from one another.
Regulus wasn’t just another person to Barty. And Dorca—Dorcas was different in a way Barty didn’t like. Evan once said it had to do with how she quickly managed to carve a place into his heart when Barty was still trying.
“She’s obviously forgotten about you—”
“Just because you don’t want to speak to her doesn’t mean Reg or I do.” Something in Barty’s expression shifted, subtle, almost as if the words had hit a nerve he hadn’t realized was there.
“I never said you couldn’t.”
“You act like we can’t have friends that aren’t you.”
Barty tilted his head, “Friends.” He repeated, “Right, and as your friend, I’ll support whatever you want, Reg. I’ll even help you get Dorcas all alone.”
Regulus exhaled slowly, rubbing the temples on his forehead with his fingertips.
It did very little to help.
The trip hadn’t even started, and he already had a migraine.
“So, now that’s out of the way. ” Barty leaned back slightly, watching Regulus up and down. “You wanna fuck?”
“Get the hell out of my room.
Regulus had completely forgotten about a certain person’s party, who, unknown to him, was waiting for him.
— — —
Later, when Evan came back from the convenience store with a bag of liquor and snacks in hand, neither Regulus nor Barty was to be found.
— — —
[JAMES]
Despite what anyone might say, James did not spend the entire night pouting at his own party. That would be pathetic and lame of him to do after all the time he spent planning his final party. And if he had spent a questionable amount of time being sour at his own party, which he did not, it had more to do with how a certain couple, that will not be named, had used his bed for dirty adult activities, and to make matters worse, they didn’t even have the decency to lock the door. So when James had entered his own room, yeah, his room, his space, his childhood bed, James was met by the sight of cheeks.
Not just anyone’s cheeks, but the cheeks of his best friend being eaten out by his other best friend. If this were on a porn site, it would have hit a million views by just how filthy and horny the whole thing was.
If asked why he looked like someone ran over his dog, he could say that, yes, in a way, his dog had been rammed.
His grummy appearance had nothing, and he meant absolutely nothing with the fact that he had spent the entire night waiting near the door in case Regulus decided he wanted to join. James had figured it was only nice of him to be the one to greet Regulus first since it was his idea to indirectly invite him behind Sirius’s back.
He was trying to be a good host, a thoughtful host, considering this involved his best friend's little brother. Was he upset once he realized that Regulus wasn’t coming? Of course not. It’s not like he was entitled to Regulus’s time. Heck, James was fairly certain Regulus hated him. Wait, no. He was certain that Regulus despised every inch of him. He didn’t need Sirius to point out to him how Regulus felt about him.
James could see it in his eyes; that boy loathed him, and strangely enough, James didn’t hate it.
Unlike Sirius’s, whose eyes were a lighter blue-gray shade of color, almost silver under the right lighting. Regulus’s eyes were a deep, stormy gray; cold and uninviting; as if his eyes alone were all he needed to convey how dangerous he could be. There was nothing warm about the way Regulus looked at people. In fact, James would even go as far as to say that it was unnerving how he could make a person feel so seen, but in the worst way possible. He wasn’t like Crouch, who picked apart every word and action someone might say or do and twisted them into something for his own amusement.
No, when Regulus looked at you, it felt like he wasn’t just looking at you. It felt like he was looking past you, seeing something that you yourself aren’t seeing, like he knew more about you than you did.
They weren’t the kind of eyes you wanted to stare directly into. It was different when you compared them to Sirius’s eyes, who evoked a sense of yearning; a sense of wanting to be seen by something so beautiful and warm.
Not James, though. Perhaps it was because he was dropped as a baby, but he liked the feeling of being stared at by someone so lovely. Regulus had a certain way of looking at the world that piqued his interest. He wanted to know more about the world from Regulus’s stormy gray eyes' perspective. Was it as alluring as the host?
Somewhere around the start of last year, when his crush on Lily began to fade, James found himself wanting to be looked at by Regulus. It wasn’t weird, he told himself. Regulus had gone from looking like a sick Victorian child to someone who needed to be shirtless on the front cover of a magazine to give wet dreams to millions of people across the world. It wasn’t as if he was the only one who noticed the change; even Remus commented about Regulus’s new appearance to the disgust of his boyfriend. But then, one day, he got detention with Regulus, and life hasn’t been the same. James started catching himself searching for anything that reminded him of Regulus, and whenever Regulus’s gaze drifted in his direction, James would pretend—even for just a pathetic second—that Regulus was looking at him and not Sirius.
Mortifying, he knows, but he tended to make a fool of himself when it involved Regulus Black.
So maybe James could secretly admit that he had more than one motive when he decided to invite Regulus to the party that didn’t have to do with getting the brothers to talk than he initially told himself. It was clear to him that both of them missed the other, even if Sirius avoided anything relating to Regulus. However, had that been the truth, Sirius would have never signed up to begin with. It was their final year, they should have been spending their last moments as students at Hogwarts, but Sirius insisted that he had to do this; he just couldn’t let Regulus fly away across the world. When James had asked why, Sirius hadn’t really answered. Just shrugged and mumbled something about that’s what big brothers do.
James hadn’t pushed.
He knew that while it was obvious they still cared for each other, James also knew that it wasn’t that easy for them to just fix their relationships. Nothing about the Black brothers ever was simple. Even without adding how horrible their childhood has been, because yes, James has seen the scars. Not just the physical ones, but also in the offhand comments Sirius would make, like it was normal to go days without eating because you talked back to your parents. Their relationship was already so complicated enough that by the time Sirius had walked out of that house, it didn’t feel like the beginning of something new, like it should have. It felt like the continuation of something that had already been breaking for a very long time, and this was just the breaking point—Years of hostility between them finally clashing together, till both sides were left hurt.
Come to the party.
Sirius wants to talk to you, too.
He misses you, too.
I want you there.
Or he would have, had Regulus not looked at him with those eyes of his. The same pair of eyes that James thought about in the morning, and the thing he thought about before falling asleep.
Frankly, Regulus needs to start covering them again, or Sirius will just have to deal with whatever incredibly stupid choice James chooses to act upon.
Of course, that would imply Regulus liking him back, and as James mentioned before, Regulus seemed not to really like him. He didn’t seem to like any of Sirius’s friends, but he seemed to especially have it out for him. And James certainly hadn’t earned himself any points when he slipped his address into Regulus’s bag when he had his back turned.
He just found it hard to muster up any words to say to him, and this seemed like the best choice. Dumb mistake on his part because he knows that Regulus knows that James knows about the car that would sometimes drive by his house at random hours of the day during the Summer. He also knows about the mail, but he doesn’t think that Regulus knows about that.
And as much as he wants to believe Regulus was there because of him, he’s not that full of himself.
“James!” His head snapped up.
The shout cut through his thoughts and brought him back to the present.
“Yeah?” He asked, turning towards Peter.
“I’ve been calling your name. Are you okay?” James blinked, wondering how the hell he didn’t hear Peter. It was probably because he was thinking about Regulus again. “You look tired.”
James loved that about his friend. While Sirius is his best friend, he will always have a soft spot for Peter. “I’m fine, Wormtail. If you don’t include how my bed was used as a love nest by two dirty
freaks.”
At that, Peter seemed to let out a sigh of relief. The tension left his shoulders so quickly that James chuckled, because if there was anyone who could relate to his pain, it would be Peter. James might have walked in on them, but Peter had once made the mistake of rooming with Remus, before they were official—Poor Pete, James thinks, whipping an imaginary tear away from his face. James will always remember the way Peter screamed as he ran down across the hall in his underwear. To this day, Peter still refuses to talk about what he saw.
“Oh, god.”
Indeed. Oh, god. Sirius’s favorite words to say.
“Speaking about them,” By now, most had arrived, with the exception of a few. From where he was standing, he could spot Marlene and Mary speaking with one another. “I’m surprised they haven’t arrived yet. It’s not like him to arrive late.” It seemed something Sirius would do, as he often enjoyed arriving fashionably late. “He was so excited for this, too. I thought you three were going to come together?”
James had thoughts so, too, but then Sirius said something about Moony needing to stop by his mother’s house to get a few items. James explains this to Peter, who just shrugged. “It should be fine. So long as Regulus doesn’t get here first.”
James had been just as surprised as everyone else when he’d learned they’d be flying using the Black family's private airline. It wasn’t that he wasn’t used to flying or going on trips; James had been very fortunate to have parents who wanted him to experience the world. He had grown up knowing that he was rich. Not in the obnoxious way some people assumed, his parents always made sure to remind him about his privilege. The Potters had wealth, but they also used their wealth to donate to charities, fund community projects, and sponsor scholarships that went to students in need. They had taught him that money was a tool, not a way to measure a person’s worth.
The Potters were what many would call new money. It was Jame’s great-grandfather who had built the family’s fortune through a combination of successful investments, business ventures, and hard work. There were no centuries-old estates passed down, no ancient family jewelry, no long list of ancestors with ties to other wealthy families.
The Black family, however, was an entirely different story.
The Potters could buy things.
The Blacks could shape things.
They were old money. Ancient, even.
They possessed the sort of wealth that no one could accurately calculate anymore because it had existed for too long. Their money wasn’t tied to a single company, investment, or contribution. It had accumulated over centuries and passed from one generation to the next. And that wasn’t even counting all the blood money they have earned over the years.
The Black family was also woven into the foundations of society itself. Certain laws still in effect today could be traced back to members of the family. Their names appeared in history books, government records, and the plaques hanging in museums. Sometimes James wonders if someone dug deep enough into the country’s history, they would find a Black lurking somewhere behind every major event.
The Black family was many things; generous was not one of them.
Which was why, when they offered to provide free transportation for everyone, James almost couldn’t believe it. That was until Sirius informed them that Dumbledore probably didn’t allow them to separate Regulus from the group to go fly by himself.
“Crap.” He hears Peter mumble under his breath. “I didn’t know Mr.Riddle was coming with us.”
“There was a last-minute switch-up after Slughorn broke his leg,” James explains, repeating what Lily had informed him.
Tom Riddle, Hogwarts new history teacher. James didn’t have history this year, so he didn’t personally know how he was as a teacher, but according to Peter and all the stories he’s heard, he was brutal. Not in the sense that he assigned a mountain of homework–He did, but that was the norm when you attend a prestigious school like Hogwarts—but in the way he taught. Riddle expected perfection and seemed to get annoyed whenever students failed to meet his standards. According to Peter, answering a question in Riddle’s class felt less like participating in a classroom and more like trying not to crumble in front of him. On more than one occasion, James found himself comforting Peter after class.
Nonetheless, Riddle was still considered a popular teacher among the student body. For whatever reason, the Slytherin students seemed to really like him and his teaching methods. Based on the way Peter described his class, he didn’t think that a group of students from the most wealthy families would take too kindly to being talked down to, but it seemed that the opposite was true.
James also thinks that it has to do with the fact that Riddle was a young, attractive man. Not his type, but he can see the appeal. Slytherins, despite having a sense of superiority, are still teenagers with hormones, he supposes.
Wait.
Was Mr. Riddle Regulus’s type? He did see them talking by themselves a few times, and Regulus was one of his top students, but that couldn’t be. Riddle was old. He was thirty, basically someone’s grandfather.
“It’ll be okay, Wormtail.” James isn’t sure who he’s trying to reassure. “He’s been assigned to the Slytherins and Ravenclaws.”
But house colors didn’t matter once they arrived at Durmstrang. So, hypothetically, Regulus didn’t have to stay with that group with Riddle.
Peter didn’t look convinced. “I wish Minnie had come with us.”
James had hoped so, too: “At least Remus’s dad will be here.”
Remus’s father was the coach of their soccer team. James didn’t play soccer, but from what he’s heard from Remus, his dad was sorta of a legend when he was young. Good enough to go pro with a major team, or had been until Remus’s mom got pregnant and had to get a real job. Since then, Lyall has worked at the school.
“I wonder how they’re going to hide their relationship now that Moony’s dad will be closer than ever.”
James hummed in agreement.
Minutes later, the pair in question had finally arrived, followed by Lyall Lupin.
He wonders what is taking Regulus so long?
— — —
[REGULUS]
“Morning, Kreacher,” Regulus said, nodding at the plate of breakfast placed in front of him. “There’s no need. It will be just me.”
Kreacher nodded, taking away the extra plates he was about to set down. “Understood, Master Regulus. Shall I start bringing your luggage down?”
“No, that will be okay.” Kreacher had served this family since Walburga was a little girl, back when she’d been full of life. “It’s been handled.”
In the past, the Black’s used to have dozens of servants back when it was common for the wife to give birth to multiple children rather than just two or three. Regulus’s great-great-grandmother had given birth to nine boys and four girls, all of whom died before they reached the age of thirty. Since then, the number of children being produced has significantly dropped, making the future of the Black fortune unpredictable.
His uncle Alphard, despite the intense family pressure, never went on to get married or have children. And while his uncle Cygnus went on to marry Druella Rosier, they could only give birth to girls—something that his father went on to mock them for. His mother, on the other hand, gave birth to two boys. After completing what she viewed as her duties, she handed the rest over to Kreacher.
As though cooking, cleaning, gardening, and maintaining the entire house by himself wasn’t hard enough, he was also expected to raise two bratty children. Kreacher had fed them, dressed them, tended to them when they fell sick, tucked them into bed, and handled every scraped knee, forgotten assignment, while doing everything else at the same time.
The least Regulus could do for his old servant, who had taken care of him, was to bring down his own luggage. No need for Kreacher to hurt his back when Regulus was capable of doing it himself. “I had Barty carry them to his car before he left.” Just because he could didn’t mean that he wanted to. “They went to get their own luggage from their homes, but they should be here for me any minute now.”
Despite what Evan might think, Barty and he did not go off to have sex in another room. Even at Barty’s insistence, Regulus had remained firm even in the face of striptease. No, Regulus had disappeared with Barty for something else. He didn’t think that Evan would be against it, but he knew that Barty needed no convincing if he asked him.
“Mistress wanted me to remind you before you left that she went to great lengths to make sure that you had six months' worth of–”
“I know, Kreacher.” Says Regulus, trying to cut him off as gently as he could, but failing to do so. He never liked coming across as rude to Kreacher. “Sorry...I just–’m still tired from last night. Can you bring me my pills, please?”
“Of course, Master Regulus.”
Everything the House of Black did served a purpose, even offering to let them fly using their private airlines. Mother had thrown a fit when she learned Regulus had to travel with the others. No commercial airline would allow Regulus to travel with so many bottles of medicine without raising an eyebrow, and that’s before anyone started looking too closely at the prescription labels. Some of them were attained legally, and others, not so much. His mother had been very strict that he must not miss a single dose, and she knew how difficult it could be trying to get a prescription refill while traveling. She had planned for delays, complications, even the possibility that he might not have immediate access to a doctor if he ever ran out—all while trying to make sure people never find out.
If Regulus closed his eyes hard enough, he could almost pretend it was done out of motherly love. Perhaps, this was her way of expressing her love for him. Maybe, to her, love looked like arranging six months' worth of illegal drugs for her only son so he could be in control of his own mind because she cared for him. If he were being honest, there were worse ways to be loved.
Perhaps that was unfair, but perhaps she simply didn’t know another way.
She was a woman, born in the House of Black. She’d been a disappointment the second she was born, and the only good thing about her was her womb.
Regulus almost felt pity for the women who did everything right, and now spends her time alone, in a giant manor with nothing but an old servant to keep her company as the world moves on without her. He thinks about everything she could have been, and everything she’s not. He also thinks about why he can easily hate his father, but loves his mother, despite her treatment of him.
Cause he knows this was not done out of motherly love on her part.
She did it because she was afraid of what would happen when he was not medicated. She was afraid that he might embarrass the family, bring shame to her name if the tabloids were to ever catch wind of this, and all the hard work of everyone who ever carried the Black name would cease to matter. Generation of carefully calculated prestige, centuries of influence–None of it would matter. Not when people loved a scandal far more than a legacy that wasn’t theirs.
“Tell mother that by the time I return, I will have found a respectable partner that she would have approved of.” He would rather have had a good cock, but a good cock won’t produce any heirs, at least, not for him. “She need not worry.”
“Master Regulus is a good son. Unlike–”
He exhaled slowly. “No need to waste your breath saying his name. It’s bad for your health, Kreacher.”
There’s a long moment of silence that follows Regulus as he tries to ignore everything that is coming. Unfortunately for everyone, not thinking had never been one of his strengths. How is he supposed to act like Sirius didn’t exist while trying to repair his and Dorcas’s relationship? That alone felt impossible. They occupy the same social circle now. On top of that, how was he supposed to find a wife? Regulus was never good at talking to women and had even less interest in being in a relationship with one. And there was no way he could ever tell any of this to his two friends. For one, Barty was never one to share, even if their relationship was ambiguous, at best, and Evan?
BEEP!
BEEP!
BEEP!
Better late than never, Regulus thinks. One could never know with Barty Crouch if you’ll get there early or late to your destination. He does wonder what took them so long, considering Evan’s home isn’t that far from his, but Regulus doesn’t really care to know the more he thinks about it. If Evan thinks that he doesn’t know, then there’s nothing to say regarding the matter.
He does pity that fool if only because Regulus truly loves him.
“I'll be going now, Kreacher,” Regulus said, pushing his barely eaten plate of food away. “Do try and take care of yourself.” The words were meant to be casual. Something that Regulus always said to Kreacher every morning before he left for school. Yet the moment that he locked eyes with him, something twisted unpleasantly in his stomach.
For whatever reason, he got this distinct feeling that this might be the last time he would ever see him.
The last time Regulus had ever felt something like this was when his uncle Alphard had been alive. Regulus had only been nine at that time, but he had known for certain that if he let his uncle get in that car, something bad would happen. So he cried, and cried, and begged for his uncle or anyone to listen to him, trying to explain about the black fog that covered his uncle, but no one would. Three hours later, his uncle was dead–he had let go.
It’s similar to that day, but at the same time, it’s not.
“Kreacher will be here when Master Regulus returns.”