Chapter Text
"Lucius," a voice interrupted his thoughts. Soft, laced with curiosity, perhaps even concern.
Regulus stiffened.
From behind a marble pillar emerged Narcissa Malfoy, Lucius’s wife, Regulus’ cousin, cool and composed as ever. Regulus reminded himself to breathe, to stay in character. She wouldn’t recognize him. She couldn’t. The glamour held.
Lucius turned to her, offering a brief kiss to her forehead before making his way through the room. But Narcissa’s gaze lingered. Her eyes they were colder than he remembered. She studied him too long.
It was almost as if she knew.
Regulus fought the urge to flinch, to cast a shield or flee. For a moment, he thought she would call Lucius back, reveal him. But instead, she simply tilted her head and offered a polite nod, a faint smile at the corner of her lips.
“Tout va bien?” she asked softly.
Regulus hesitated. A trap ass the Parkinson's were not a French family.
Recovering, Regulus stepped forward and took her hand with an elegant bow. “Mrs. Malfoy. ”
Her gaze didn’t waver. He felt the weight of her unspoken thoughts pressing on him, but she said nothing more. Instead, her attention shifted as another voice called out.
“Maman—”
Regulus turned. A boy with sharp features and platinum-blond hair was approaching unmistakably the son of Lucius and Narcissa.
“Yes, Draco, dear?” Narcissa said with a gentleness that softened her normally frosted tone.
Together, they followed Lucius deeper into the manor.
Regulus exhaled. His mask had held for now.
But Narcissa...
She had always been his Favorite cousin, once. There had been laughter in the old days, distant warmth beneath the formality. But now she had a son. Draco. A boy just like Regulus had been once. Young, privileged, and trapped by legacy. Another innocent soul shaped into a soldier.
Regulus shoved the thought aside and followed.
The manor opened into a dimly lit drawing room, where the air buzzed with low conversation. When Lucius entered, the murmurs stopped.
“Gather round,” he commanded. The weight of his authority fell like a spell.
Regulus blended into the crowd, quiet, watchful. He listened as Lucius spoke of recent Ministry activity, of looming trials and political games.
Azkaban, Lucius said, would not hold him for long.
So confident. Regulus had always known that was Lucius’s greatest strength, and flaw.
As Lucius spoke, Regulus leaned subtly toward a masked figure beside him.
“The Order of the Phoenix,” he whispered. “Are they still a problem?”
The figure hesitated before replying in a low voice. “Yes. But most are dead now. Only a few remain.”
Regulus’s chest tightened. Sirius...
He dared another question.
“And what of the traitor, Sirius Black? And the Potters?”
The man looked at him with mild confusion.
“The Potters died. Sirius Black escaped Azkaban two years ago. It was all over the Daily Prophet.”
Regulus froze. Sirius was in Azkaban?
“Sirius was in Azkaban?!” he repeated, louder than he intended.
The room fell into brief silence. Lucius turned sharply.
“Name?”
Regulus swallowed, forcing calm. “Conan Parkinson, sir.” His palms were slick with sweat. His wand slid slightly in its holster beneath his sleeve.
Lucius stepped toward him, eyes narrowing, studying him like a hawk watching prey.
“He spent twelve years in Azkaban. How is this news to you?”
Regulus scrambled for an answer, mind racing. Then:
“I thought he was one of us,” he said smoothly. “After being disowned for blood betrayal, and after Regulus Black died - I assumed he returned to the family. If he had joined our cause, we wouldn’t have left him to rot in Azkaban.”
Lucius paused, considering. Then nodded once.
“True. We never would have. But no, Sirius Black was never ours. He fought with the Potters.”
He said Potters like it was venom on his tongue.
The conversation resumed. Regulus leaned again toward the masked man, who offered more quietly:
“The Ministry thinks both Potters died... but only Lily’s body was found.”
Regulus’s heart skipped a beat. Only Lily’s?
“What about James?”
The man shrugged. “Some say he’s still alive. Some say he vanished. A waste of time, if you ask me.”
James Potter alive? The Ministry had claimed both were killed. Could the boy Harry have survived while his father disappeared?
Lucius wrapped up his speech. As he exited, his gaze brushed across Regulus once more, but he said nothing.
Instead, Narcissa approached. Her eyes still held that piercing depth.
“You’ve been quiet,” she said coolly. “I trust everything is to your liking?”
Regulus nodded, feigning calm. “Everything is... just as I remembered.”
Silence lingered between them. Then, slowly, she reached out and rested her hand lightly on his shoulder.
“Good,” she murmured. “It’s good to see you here, Conan. Even if we’re not supposed to know each other.” She emphasized the name deliberately, her voice barely above a whisper.
Regulus’s breath caught.
She knew.
But she didn’t expose him. She stepped back and slipped into the shadows, vanishing like a ghost.
Regulus remained rooted to the floor, the mask heavy on his face, his thoughts a storm.
He had come to Malfoy Manor seeking answers. And he had found some.
The Order was weakened, nearly broken.
Sirius had survived—but at a terrible cost.
The Potters were dead... but perhaps not all of them.
The truth, it seemed, was far more complex than anyone had dared admit.
There were multiple questions he had, but one that outweighed the others.
Why was Sirius in Azkaban.
But that was not the focus now, there was something else he knew beyond all doubt:
Narcissa knew who he was.
And she had chosen, for now, not to say a word.
The night stretched on, and as the last of the Death Eaters dispersed, Regulus found himself facing the inevitable: the past would always come for him. And it was only a matter of time before his secrets would be exposed.
He couldn’t run anymore.
And the truth? It was closer than ever.