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“The girl I like is a Muggle.”
Those words weren ’t what Sirius was expecting to hear when he stepped into Effie and Fleamont’s place with their son James, yet he imagined he must be pretty drunk given how his mind was sure the person he heard speaking was, in fact, his younger brother Regulus. “I—what?”
The person sitting on the stool, playing Wizard ’s chess with Fleamont, turned, revealing that it was indeed his younger brother, who stared at him quite blankly, as Regulus always did.
Sirius opened his mouth, speaking slowly, his mind still wrapping around what his younger brother had just said. “The girl you like is a Muggle?”
Regulus was startled, his usually emotionless features faltering, before he stood, pulling on his gloves, and shaking his head as he did so. “I should go.” Like always, he couldn’t look Sirius in the eye. “I shouldn’t have come.”
“Regulus,” Sirius said, his mind still spinning, knowing something wasn’t quite right that he couldn’t put his finger on.
“I’m sorry. I was being stupid,” Regulus said, heading for the door to pull out his coat while continuing not to make eye contact. “It’s not as if it matters. At all.”
“Except it does matter,” Sirius thought to himself. “Regulus wouldn’t just come out here if something—and a Muggle girl? What is…”
He watched Regulus turn, nodding his head politely at Effie and Fleamont. “Thank you. For having me. Sorry for intruding.”
“If Regulus walks out that door,” Sirius thought to himself. He took a deep breath, knowing the chances of seeing his younger brother again were slim, what with a war going on and them being supposedly on different sides. And there were questions. As Regulus’ hand reached for the doorknob to leave, Sirius reached for Regulus’ arm. They latched on simultaneously, and Regulus stopped in his tracks.
“Sirius, let go.”
“No. You owe me an explanation.”
“I’ve already bothered the Potters enough, don’t you think?” Regulus said, turning to look at his older brother; his eyes never made eye contact. Instead, he looked at some strange spot on the other wall.
“You’ve not been a bother,” Effie said, hurrying over. “Please stay for a cup of hot mulled cider. Or two. Or three. I’ll go make it right now, so back to the front parlor with you boys.”
Sirius watched James ’ mother head towards the kitchen. He heard the door click, indicating Regulus was still trying to leave, even though Sirius was still holding onto his arm. Sirius hurried forward, pushing the door shut. “You heard Effie. Stay.” He tilted his head up. “Talk.”
“I don’t want to talk,” Regulus said, looking at Sirius’ chin.
“Then why the bloody hell did you come?” Sirius muttered.
“Sirius,” James said, clearing his throat, which meant Sirius was starting to cross a line, yet Sirius paid him no mind.
“To talk.”
Sirius stared his mouth opening, and then. “Are you kidding me? You don’t want to talk, but you do?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore. So can I just go?”
“No,” James said, which made Regulus look at him. “I know you hate being impolite, so at least stay long enough for a cup of mulled cider, as my mum asked.”
Regulus swallowed, then nodded his head, heading back into the room and standing there as if unsure of what to do next. Fleamont stood up. “Let me take that coat of yours, Regulus.”
“Yes, but.”
“You’ll get too warm if you keep in on, and then it will be useless to you out there in the storm,” Fleamont said. “And you might consider staying the night.”
“Oh no,” Regulus said. “That—she’d throw a fit if she found out.”
“Regulus, she’d throw a fit if she found out you were here, period,” Sirius said. He watched his brother close his eyes as Fleamont took the coat away, watching as Fleamont whispered something to James. He watched him hand James the skin, followed by James heading out from the front door as if to hide Regulus’ coat.
“There’s a lot she’d throw a fit about,” Regulus muttered, looking around the room as if for an exit.
Fleamont motioned for him to take a seat, and Regulus did, although it was rather obvious he was reluctant to do so. Sirius let an eyebrow rise. “You mean like you’ve fallen head over heels for a Muggle girl.”
“I’m surprised you’re not jumping for joy, given you’ve always wanted me to royally mess up,” Regulus scowled, his mouth twisting in a classic Pureblood scowl. Fleamont grimaced, not liking the look, yet said nothing.
“Yes, well, you always had to be the perfect little….”
“Sirius.” The tone was firm.
Sirius looked at the man, then back at his brother, who gave him the usual death glare. His mouth twitched. “So. I’ve heard a rumor. That you finally received the mark. Show me your arm.”
“Sirius!” Fleamont said.
Sirius turned to look at the man, expecting anger, only to find frustration.
“This is serious. You don’t have to….” Fleamont stopped speaking and instead stared, which made Sirius turn his head to look at his brother, who—
There was no getting around the fact Regulus had just pulled back his sleeve and willingly shown him the Dark Mark as if doing so was the most perfectly normal thing to do. Sirius felt his eyes widen. “Regulus! You bloody idiot!”
“What?” Regulus continued holding out his arm. “I’m just being truthful.”
“Sometimes you’re too bloody truthful for your good.”
“I’m aware,” Regulus said, his mouth twisting. “And I know you’re not referring to my naive trait of being too bloody truthful, as you put it.” He pulled the sleeve back down. “Lovely sixteenth birthday present from Bella, isn’t it?”
“Bloody hell. You don’t joke about getting—having the Dark Mark, Regulus,” Sirius said. “I get you’ve got a rather morbid sense of humor, but that takes the cake!”
Which earned him a glare while Fleamont cleared his throat. “Regulus, did you receive the Dark Mark on your sixteenth birthday?”
“Yes,” Regulus muttered, looking out the window and the snow falling outside. “It hurt. A lot.”
“Why?” Sirius said, then his eyes closed. “No. You’ve got to be lying. Why would he need a Wizard or Witch who’s still under the trace?”
Regulus answered with silence.
“What did I miss?” James asked.
“I don’t know,” Effie said, coming in with the trey of hot mulled cider. She placed one near Regulus. “Here you go.”
Regulus looked at the cup, then at Effie.
“You’re supposed to drink it, silly. Sip it as if it were tea.”
“Oh.” Regulus lifted the cup, savoring the drink, letting out a deep sigh of contentment, still not answering the question as James took a cup and sat on the couch on the opposite side of Regulus.
Fleamont took a deep breath. “Effie, we may have a problem.”
“Oh? And what’s that?”
Fleamont walked over and whispered something in her ear, and she looked at him, then at Regulus. She took a deep breath. “Sirius did pose a rather good question, Regulus.”
“It’s complicated,” Regulus said, taking another sip. “I can’t go into details. I shouldn’t even be here. I should be….”
“What? What do you do for him?”
Regulus pointed at his head, suddenly laughing. “It’s my fault for reading the entire family library. And the Prewetts. The Malfoys. The Lestranges.”
Sirius ’ eyes widened suddenly. “Bloody Merlin, no.”
“I mean, why else would they keep around some sort who bloody believed….” Regulus lowered his hand. “It doesn’t matter what I believed and still believe. I was an idiot.” He took another sip of the drink, his hands trembling. “Anyways, I really should go. And, this is goodbye.” Regulus smiled at Sirius. “I’m happy I got the chance to say goodbye.”
“Bloody, Merlin. You’re not saying goodbye to me,” Sirius said, his hands clenching. “Whatever mess you’ve gotten yourself into….”
“Is mine to get out of,” Regulus said, twisting the cup in his hand. “And I won’t bloody put anybody I care about in danger. So I should leave before….”
“Before I call you out on the fact you’re going to go and do something to get yourself killed?” Sirius snapped. He watched Regulus stare at him. “Because that’s what you’re going to do?”
“What I’m going to do,” Regulus said firmly. “Is the right thing to do.”
“Why? To make up for all the people you tortured and killed?” Sirius said. “Except, you didn’t, did you?”
“I as good as did,” Regulus said, setting his hot mulled cider down.
James set his down. “Can someone please explain to me what’s going on? Because I’m missing a critical piece of the conversation here.”
Sirius sucked in his breath. “Do you remember me telling you about Regulus’ annoying habit of never forgetting anything he reads, ever? And you brushed it off as me exaggerating how studious he is? I actually wasn’t joking. Regulus is a living library of any book he’s ever read.”
“So, wait. Voldemort made Regulus a Death Eater because of that?” James said. “We should contact Dumbledore.”
“Don’t,” Regulus said. “Only my life should be forfeit.”
“Oh dear,” Effie said. “Then you really are—Sirius was right when he said you’re planning on doing something that will likely get you killed.”
“Not likely,” Regulus said, taking another drink of his hot mulled cider. “Will.” He frowned. “I should not have been so candid about that.”
“Oh, you think?” Sirius said. “And you do realize that mulled cider has alcohol in it, right?”
“Since when?” Regulus said. “I doubt we would have been served this when we were younger if that were the case.”
“There’s an alcoholic version and a non-alcoholic version, and this is the alcoholic version, my dear, but I thought you were aware of that,” Effie said. “That it’s the alcoholic version that is served at the holidays for older Wizards and Witches.”
“Oh,” Regulus said.
“And are you really going to,” Effie said.
“You mean about the not likely, but will?” Regulus said as if he didn’t care. “I’m not going to get the people I care about killed.”
“And what about the people who care about you?” Sirius snapped. “Like that Muggle girl?”
Regulus stared, then muttered. “They’d be better off without me, and I thought you’d be happy, given you hate me.”
“Regulus! You bloody idiot!” Sirius said.
“That’s what you always say,” Regulus said. “And I won’t get the family killed.”
Fleamont took a deep breath. “The Black family can very well take care of themselves.”
“No, they can’t. Not when,” Regulus frowned. “I know something I shouldn’t. I know why Voldemort is immortal.”
“Regulus, Voldemort is not immortal.”
“Yes, he is,” Regulus said. “So even the Black family can’t fight him while he’s mortal—I mean immortal.” His eyes closed. “I’m drunk.”
“And you’re not going to do this on your own,” Fleamont said.
“Better to be dead than,” Regulus frowned. “I die by his hand, the hand of the family, or those hands.”
“Or not at all,” Sirius said. “And the only person in the family who is likely to kill you would be Bella. You just get blasted off the tapestry, which isn’t a bad thing. I mean, look at me. Still alive, right?”
Regulus looked up at him. “Right.” He then stared. “I guess I should add starving to death or freezing to death to the list, so I choose those hands.”
“What do you mean starving to death or freezing to death to that list?” Sirius said, wishing he’d picked up one of Ellie’s mulled ciders as he watched Regulus continue to sip his.
“Because I don’t have anywhere to go.”
“Yes, you do,” Fleamont said. “Here.”
“Did I mention my Slytherin housemates? Some of them are libel to kill me as well?” Regulus said. “ I have—“
“No, you have not thought this through,” Sirius said. He threw his hands up and went into a corner.
“Regulus, if you die, you’ll kill a part of Sirius, you know,” James said.
“What do you mean?”
“When someone you care about dies, that’s what happens,” James said.
Fleamont sighed. “I’m contacting Dumbledore.” He pointed at Regulus. “And you’re not leaving.”
“I simply need to get my coat,” Regulus said.
“Oh, no, you don’t!” Effie said. “Don’t you break my heart either! No, you’re already breaking my heart!”
“But,” Regulus swallowed, then shrunk down. “Yes, ma’am.”
Sirius gave Effie a thankful look.