Archive of Our Own

“Aha!” James exclaimed in glee, the map fizzling under his fingers as the charm settled into the paper.

Ink bled onto the parchment, lines upon lines forming into castle walls, each living being noted in tiny script.

He leaned forward, hovering over the parchment to take in every detail. Professor Dumbledore was pacing in his office, and Minnie was in Poppy’s office, and — he frowned. Two small dots wandered through the main hall and down towards the entrance. Not unusual, if it hadn’t been for the time and the identity of said small dots.

“Say, Sirius. Since when is your brother so close to Snape?”

“Ha?” Sirius gaped at him, Quidditch magazine dropped in favour of staring incredulously at James. “How dare you even suggest that!”

“See for yourself,” James invited.

Sirius snatched the map from the desk, squinting at it until James took pity on him and pointed at the quickly disappearing dots — fading slowly now that they were about to leave the official castle grounds that they had mapped out so far.

Sirius paled.

“Wonder what they are doing out there. It’s the full moon today.”

Sirius made an odd noise caught between a groan and a startled shriek, and James gave him the side-eye. “You good, Pads?”

“I — we need to — I —“ He looked frantic, panicked even, biting at the tips of his fingers with wide eyes.

“Hey, Sirius — I didn’t mean, I’m sure they will come back soon. And Moony is behind the Willow anyway, right? They will be fine.” James tried to reassure him.

“No — no, he knows. Snape knows.”

“Wha— “

“It's my fault. This is all my fault — I’m sorry, I’m sorry — I never meant for Reggie to get involved, what do I do — oh Merlin, what —” Sirius gasped wetly, looking startlingly young with his big wet eyes and the too large set of pyjamas he had nicked from Remus.

“What do you mean by that?” James asked. “Padfoot, what do you mean by that! What did you do?”

Sirius stuttered out an explanation, half formed sentences about how Snivellus had just been so annoying, and how Sirius had just wanted to shut him up — and how he had told him the way to get into the Whomping Willow.

Sirius was frantic at that point, sobbing and throwing their things around as he searched for his wand.

But James' heartbeat pounded in his ears, drowning out the cries and pleas of his friend.

Moony. He had to get to Moony. He had to —

James ran.

********

“This better be worth it, Snape.”

“I’m telling you, Black. Your brother is up to something! You’ll see.”

Regulus rolled his eyes. Of course, his brother was up to something. There was hardly ever a time in which Sirius wasn’t up to something.

Snape’s obsession over his brother was starting to become rather worrying, and while Regulus didn’t exactly ‘get along’ with his brother, they were still family. Better to follow Snape and keep him from embarrassing himself needlessly (and keep Sirius out of trouble).

And if Regulus’ did find out some incriminating information during this excursion, well — he was a Slytherin. He would make sure to put it to good use.

Maybe Sirius could be pressured into attending the family Yule celebration this year? Regulus was sure he was starting to get scars from all the cheek pinches he had to endure, and the least Sirius could do was to bloody damn return to their home for one lousy holiday.

“Hurry up, Black!”

Regulus looked up from where he was watching his feet in the near pitch black and snarled wordlessly at Snape’s back. He nearly went sprawling as he tripped over a root.

In hindsight, maybe this really wasn’t worth the effort.

Surely Sirius could handle Snape on his own, and Regulus’ cheeks would be able to endure plenty more pinching now that he had learned how to make a numbing balm in Potions.

Just as Regulus was coming to a decision, Snape led them out from under the forest canopy and towards the little hill that held the whomping willow.

The tree waved its canopy at them like erratic limbs, sometimes placidly peaceful, then viciously beating the ground around it. The wet grass made slick noises as it was beaten muddy.

Snape hit one of the roots with a well aimed spell, grinning smugly back at him.

Regulus rolled his eyes when the older Slytherin turned away from him, clearly eager to explore the passage hidden behind the mechanism to find Sirius and his friends and whatever new prank they might be brewing up.

He was really regretting this nightly excursion. Honestly, why was he even here? The nightly-chill was creeping through his cloak and his socks were soaked after their walk through the wet grass.

Getting blackmail material on his brother was not worth getting foot rot, or even a cold.

He sighed.

“Come on, Black.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He muttered, following mulishly. It was too late to turn back now, anyway. He could hardly walk back to the castle alone.

Snape climbed down the hole of the willow eagerly, but Regulus was hard-pressed to show such excitement for crawling down some dingy hole in the middle of the night. Who knew what lived down there.

His hesitation saved him, for Snape came stumbling back out of the hole, face painted in terror. He shoved Regulus aside, slipping on the wet grass as he tried to pull himself up the small incline out of the hole.

“Oi — What — “

Something huge slammed into him. He hurled through the air, landing a startling distance away from the willow, close to the tree line they had exited earlier. He gasped for air. What — what was —

A howl split the air, bone-chattering and terrible. Goosebumps broke out across his body and he pulled himself up on his feet, away from the howl and stumbling over the wet lawn.

Another howl, and this time Regulus knew with terrifying certainty that the beast was a Werewolf.

Panic choked his lungs.

How stupid he had been, to follow someone out into the grounds in the middle of a full moon night. Stupid.

Where was Snape?

He clenched his jaw, trying to muffle the adrenalin fuelled chattering of his teeth, desperately clenching his fingers around his wand as he hurried through the trees and back to the castle.

It was futile.

The Werewolf’s maw snapped closed around his leg, and Regulus could feel every single one of those razor-sharp teeth sink into his flesh and grate on his bone.

His wand fell from his grasp as his fingers seized.

Regulus howled.

The Werewolf shook its head, dragging Regulus along with it, shaking him like a rag-doll until Regulus’ was certain he would crack open his head on the splatter of roots and rocks any time now.

He didn’t though.

Instead, the Wolf stilled, wet breath huffing at his bloodied leg, jaw clenching minutely.

Regulus did his best to not move. Play dead. He told himself. It will let go if it thinks you are dead.

But instead of letting go, the beast ground its jaw. Regulus could feel his leg bone breaking like a twig.

As it dragged him across the forest floor, a strange calm overcame Regulus. He could see the full moon flicker through the canopy, and the rushing in his ears sounded eerily like he was underwater. Drowning, deep down in an icy lake that numbed even the ripping of his skin under the Werewolves jaw.

Someone yelled, and just for a moment, the Werewolf let go. The relief of it nearly made him black out, dizziness washing through him.

He couldn’t feel his leg, so instead he dragged himself across the forest floor. Inch by inch, teeth clenched desperately, so he wouldn’t make a noise.

Lights flickered across the tree line, and he hoped it was spell lights — someone, the Professors’, anyone — must have heard him scream.

Or maybe Snape had gotten help, or —

He swallowed a sob as his leg caught on a root, the ripped pant leg tangling him against it. He tugged, feeling skin rip as much as fabric, but couldn’t get himself unstuck.

Please. He thought. Please — please.

It wasn’t meant to be.

The spell lights’ vanished and the Werewolves' heavy paws made loud pat pat pat noises against the mossy forest floor as it made its way back to its meal.

He pulled again, blood rushing to his head. And finally, finally, he managed to get himself free. His leg felt like it was sitting loose in its socket, hanging at an odd angle and painfully numb beyond belief. But he was finally free.

Regulus heaved himself over a thick and tall tree-root poking out of the ground. When he was halfway across it, he caught sight of the Werewolf.

It hadn’t been behind him.

Instead, it was inches away from his face, maw open and dripping. Blood smeared across its snout. Regulus’ blood.

Its breath smelled stale.

The Werewolf sank its teeth into his shoulder.

Regulus screamed, nails cracking as he clawed at the ground and the beast as he tried to dislodge it.

He felt light-headed, and with the beasts’ teeth so close to his throat, he didn’t dare to hope to make it out of the night alive.

But — Sirius. The thought pushed its way through the blurry sludge of panic and pain. Wasn’t Sirius out here?

His brother —

Everything turned black.

********

"I think he’s waking up."

Regulus blinked the sleep out of his eyes, limbs feeling as though someone had dunked them into a bucket of thick tar and set them to dry. He blinked heavily.

"Can you hear me, Regulus?"

Regulus tried to answer, but his throat was so dry that only a vague, unconvincing groan came out instead. Oh well. Regulus didn't think he was quite up for being awake anyways.

But alas, whoever was talking to him seemed to be rather determined to see him awake because cold fingers touched his cheek and then his forehead.

He grumbled, but the fingers remained nonetheless. He tried to dislodge them, shuffling his legs to squish his face into the pillow, only to hiss at the vicious pain that ripped through his lower leg.

Regulus stilled, holding his breath, counting his heartbeats until his leg’s throbbing calmed. He opened his eyes, only to be faced with the wet and startled, blotchy faces of his brother and Potter.

“Wha— “ He winced, his leg throbbing viciously.

“What happened?” He croaked. “Why am I — Why do you look like that?” Sirius sniffled into his sleeve, wiping his tears and snot. Regulus grimaced, faintly disgusted. Mother had told him not to do that.

Potter shuffled awkwardly. “What do you remember?”

Regulus frowned. Trying to make sense of his memories.

Snape had asked him to go out into the grounds after curfew to catch Sirius … and there had been —

“There was a —” Werewolf. There had been a Werewolf. He had been bitten. A Werewolf had bitten him — had dragged him through the forest to eat him until —

“I was bitten?”

He looked at Potter, waiting for him to disagree. But the Gryffindor wilted under his eyes, lips pressed into a pale line.

Sirius was crying, and he wouldn’t meet Regulus’ eyes, no matter how hard he tried to catch them. Oh.

All at once, Regulus felt dizzy with the need to prove his own conclusions wrong. His hands were shaking violently as he tried to unbutton his shirt, but when Potter reached out to help him, Regulus slapped his hands away.

Potter was silent, and even Sirius had stilled, quiet tears dripping down his cheeks. Which was worse. They should’ve been trying to calm him— they should be telling him that everything was fine and that he was going to be fine. Why weren't they saying anything?

He ripped at his shirt and a button went flying, and finally he peeled it away from his skin. His shoulder was bandaged heavily, his skin littered with cuts and bruises. He tugged on the bandages, and they fell away easily, only stuck to him via the goo like substance smeared on his skin below. The putrid smell nearly made him gag.

Regulus' breath stuttered.

The bite was inflamed against his skin. Thick puncture wounds and ripped, swollen, flesh. He heard an echo of his DADA Professor in the back of his mind, Werewolf bites cannot be healed by magical means.

Regulus' hand hovered over the bite. Eventually, he touched it.

Someone made a startled noise, but he didn’t look up to check who, eyes set on the grotesque map of scarring on his shoulder.

The puckered flesh was hot against his fingers, the goo like cream sticking to his hand and mixing with fresh blood when he pressed his nails into the line of ripped flesh.

“Stop — stop that,” Potter said.

He didn't.

Blood dripped on the blanket. Regulus' breath rattled in his chest, and suddenly he found himself crying, thick hot tears dropping on his lap, staining the fabric a dull gray beside the flecks of mud-colored blood and putrid goo.

“Mr. Black!” Madam Pomphrey came storming in, and Regulus couldn’t breathe.

It was all over — his life, it was over.

The mud-stained blood taunted him.

He was as good as dead.

********

Lupin was wringing his hands, looking exhausted and ill and damaged. Was that how Regulus would look like too? Was he looking at his own future?

If so, it looked dreadful. How funny, just a day earlier he would have argued that that would hardly be a change.

“I’m really sorry.” Lupin offered again.

Regulus didn’t reply. Did he have to, really? What was he supposed to say to the beast that had nearly killed him? That might as well have killed him. ‘No worries, all good, mate’ — hardly. Regulus frowned.

Dumbledore stroked his beard, the little bell tied around it chiming softly. “Please leave us for a bit, my boy.”

Lupin left.

“Mr. Lupin feels terrible about what happened.”

Regulus' laugh sounded hollow. “He feels terrible? For what, ruining my life?”

“Your life is not ruined — “

“Yes it is.” Regulus cut him off. “Of course it is.”

Dumbledore looked at him silently, and Regulus could taste a breakdown rising in his throat.

“What do you want? Spit it out already.”

Dumbledore didn’t react to the disrespect, but if he had, Regulus would gladly have bullied his aching limbs out of bed to sink his fingers into that old man’s eyes.

"I can protect you, just as I've protected Mr. Lupin," Dumbledore offered.

“Protect? Is this what you call protection? He infected me. You let him infect me. You let a werewolf stay in a school full of children, and now I’m —“ Regulus swallowed heavily.

Dumbledore smiled, peering over his glasses down at him.

“This was a tragic event that nobody could have predicted.” Dumbledore said.

Regulus cut him off again. “Oh yes, how could anyone have predicted that a Werewolf would go and bite the first student it comes across? How shocking.”

The twinkle in Dumbledore’s eyes hardened.

“I ask you not to share the knowledge about Mr. Lupin’s condition with anyone else.”

Regulus felt like his chest had been hollowed out and filled with hot, sticky tar that made his insides churn viciously. He felt hollow and moody and vicious, but he could not move a muscle at the audacity of the old wizard in front of him.

“You want me to protect that beast?”

“Mr. Lupin is no more a beast than you, Mr. Black.” Regulus flinched. That slight had been deliberate.

Regulus bit his lip until he could taste blood, trying to let the familiar taste soothe him. Instead, it only served to set him more on edge, like his newly infected body was starving and lusting for more.

“Mr. Lupin is no less a wizard and student of Hogwarts than you, Mr. Black.” Dumbledore said, and Regulus understood. He understood just fine.

There was nothing he could do.

He couldn’t tell anyone. Couldn’t find justice. Couldn’t even seek revenge. Because however they treated Lupin, they would treat him too.

He had stopped being the second son of the Ancient and Noble house of Black as soon as the beast had carved his teeth into him. He was a half-blood. A creature that barely qualified to own a wand.

“Get out.”

“Mr. Black—“

“Get out.” Regulus threw a glass at him, and then the metal pot filled with reeking goo that Madam Pomphrey had left at his bedside. “GET OUT! LEAVE ME ALONE — GET OUT! OUT OUT OUT.”

His chest rattled, a noise caught between human and animal, and he choked on the sob that followed.

The door closed with a soft click and Regulus crumbled.

*******

Dumbledore returned the next morning.

He did not mention Regulus’ swollen eyes, nor did he question the state of the room — only acknowledging it as far as twitching his wand in a silent gesture that set the broken glass shards back into their original form and undented any surface Regulus had tried and failed to break.

They watched as the blanket on his lap rewove itself, the ripped threads fusing together as if Regulus had never ripped them apart in the first place.

“Don’t tell my parents.”

The old man’s beard twitched, but he inclined his head eventually.

The concession was a relief, if only a small one. The Black family was not known for their tolerance, and Dumbledore seemed to be more than aware of it.

As long as his parents’ didn’t find out about his — his disease — he had time. He would plan. He would be prepared.

*******

Regulus knew that Pandora would know the truth as soon as he met her eyes.

Which is something he had planned for, prepared for even, during his two-week-long stay in the Hospital wing — a private room, thankfully, one which he kept locked and empty of guests for the entire time no matter how disapproving Madam Pomphrey looked.

So, Regulus decided to avoid his friends. Pandora specifically — an impossible task, but one made easier by their lack of shared classes.

He could do it. Keeping his distance or passively sitting beside her with only vague agreements or nods given in return to her inquiries. Avoiding eye contact as if his life depended on it — for it very well may be, their continued friendship certainly did.

He knew it wasn’t fair.

But when was life ever fair?

And he was scared.

If she found out — once she found out — would she hate him? Be scared of him? If Pandora left him, he didn’t think he could go on.

Perhaps if she did, he would really take that tempting plunge down from the Astronomy tower.

More so than Barty and Evan, Regulus was scared that Pandora would leave. Steady, calm, ever star-gazing Pandora who was as much a steady pillar in his life as she was the starlight that had always filled him with hope for a future beyond their families expectations for them.

But Regulus had always been a coward, and so this was no different.

Of course, Pandora was having none of it.

As soon as he had been released from Madam Pomphrey’s tender mercies — two days earlier than she'd wanted to let him leave, but he was nothing if not persuasive, and he had things to get done — he found himself cornered and herded into an empty classroom by his friends.

He wasn’t sure if he was surprised.

Pandora had apparently rallied the others behind her for a combined attack.

Regulus was rather regretting the two weeks of silence now — it had only given her more time to prepare for when he left the Hospital Wing.

“Reggie.” She looked ghostly in the low light, her pale blond hair a bland white. Her smile was wobbly, and that, more than anything, told him that she knew.

Barty and Evan shifted behind her, looking tired and worried in their own right.

He looked back at Pandora. “You know?” He couldn’t help but ask.

She smiled at him, eyes watery and red rimmed. “How could I not, you are my best friend.”

“Yeah.” He huffed, looking up and away from her to try and blink his tears away. “Sorry.”

Pandora’s arms squeezed around him and the sob that ripped out of him caught him by surprise. This time, he didn’t care to muffle his tears though. He hugged her back, squeezing her to his chest and breathing in the lavender scent of her hair.

“You don’t hate me?” You’re not scared of me?

“Never.” She said, sounding strong and steady and like all the starlight in the world. “I could never hate you.”

And Regulus wanted to believe her. He wanted to believe her so bad.

And with Pandora’s hand squeezed his own, it wasn’t quite as hard to tell Evan and Barty. He probably hadn’t even needed to — he could’ve lied to them for months, years perhaps, if he was lucky. They would never have to find out about his dirty little secret. Even Pandora hadn’t told them, leaving him to make the decision on his own.

But was there a choice, really? Did he want to hide such a thing from his friends? If they were going to leave him over this, then he wanted it to happen now. While he was still injured. Then it wouldn’t be quite so bad once he looked back on it in the future — probably.

But more than that, he knew his family was going to disown him. Burn him from the family tree and rid their archives of his name once his newfound blood-status came to light — if it ever did. His family would disown him — but would his friends?

“I went out to the forbidden forest with Snape. There was a Werewolf.” He said, holding onto Pandora’s hand tightly.

Evan’s face turned a shade whiter — a low, unbidden sound rising from his throat. Barty, for his part, only swayed dangerously on his feet for a moment before his face seemed to shutter closed.

“It bit me.” Regulus pulled up his pant leg, the deep scarring of teeth a violent purple-red that hadn’t vanished yet — that likely wouldn’t, even in the next few weeks or perhaps months. It ached worse than the bite on his shoulder, twinging and pulsing with every step he took.

“It … bit you?” Evan asked, looking lost.

“Yes.”

“It — “

“You got infected?” Barty cut Evan off.

Evan turned a concerning shade of gray-green, and Regulus could feel Pandora squeeze his hand.

“Yeah,” he said. “I did.”

“Shit.”

Regulus agreed with the sentiment.

And that was that.

Barty squeezed his shoulder and neck with clam but steady hands and Evan reached out to right Regulus' robes, smoothing them even though the charms woven into them would not allow even the faintest wrinkle.

His friends held him steady.

Regulus felt warm.

*******

Regulus had honestly kind of forgotten about Snape’s involvement in this whole fiasco.

It appeared that Snape did not have the same issue.

“Black.” Snape hissed at him, skin a waxy shade of gray and hair greasy beyond the usual. He made for a rather drab greeting back into the regular Hogwarts schedule.

“Snape.” Regulus greeted him. He had not yet decided on what to do about Snape, primarily because he had sort of forgotten about him — had Snape seen the Werewolf? If so, did he know that Regulus had been bitten?

“Where have you been?”

Ah.

Regulus smiled soothingly at him. “A family emergency — after Potter found us that night, I was busy taking care of some things at home.”

Snape shoved aside the jug of pumpkin juice that Regulus offered him. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

Evan frowned at Snape, irritated — for Regulus’ sake, probably — with his lack of manners.

“I don’t particularly care whether it makes sense to you, Snape. Now, do you mind?”

Snape continued to hover as Regulus buttered his jam toast, but it appeared that Barty had more than enough of the Half-blood for one day and tugged him rather forcefully away from Regulus. Snape landed with a loud ooof on the Great Hall’s stone floor.

“Move on, Snape.” Barty recommended, slotting into the opening left behind by Snape’s removal and reaching for some beans. “Or I’m gonna make you.”

Regulus saw Snape bristle from the corner of his eye. How amusing. Barty would have to watch for potions in his food for the next few weeks.

His stomach growled noisily — two weeks in the hospital wing on their painfully tasteless and bland diet was about as nutritious as eating a bludger. He was glad to have been able to ditch that particular horror two days early.

But rather than the subtle sweet-sour taste of strawberry jam on toast, Regulus was met with a mud-like foul and overly sweet tasting mouthful. He gagged, pressing his hand over his mouth.

What in the world had they done to that jam?!

“You okay?” Evan asked softly.

Regulus spit the foul-tasting mixture into a napkin, deciding that he really wasn’t that hungry.

“Great.” It was a terrible start to a terrible day.

One could only hope that classwork wasn’t going to follow that particular trend.

*******

Regulus was having a panic attack.

Or he thought he was having one anyway. Maybe he should have listened more closely when Evan was talking about the assortment of mental healing studies he had been pouring over for the last few weeks.

And maybe he should have listened when Madam Pomphrey had told him to stay in the Hospital Wing for another two days. Just maybe.

Regulus' breath came in short gasps, which he knew was bad because he was dizzy and black dots were creeping in on him like something was sucking the light out of his vision.

He tried to take deep breaths, but his chest ached and any air he did manage to breathe in felt like it wasn’t air at all. Like his lungs had decided to give up on him.

He could still see Lupin in his mind, pale and withdrawn with dark smudges under his eyes and a criss-cross map of white-pink scars on his face, on his hands — anywhere that his cloak didn’t hide. Regulus had only had to walk by him, his class being only one corridor further, it was hardly difficult. He had just needed to put one foot in front of the other.

But looking at Lupin, tired and guilt ridden, made Regulus think about how tired he was and why that was. And he could still feel the needle sharp teeth buried in his flesh, ripping at his leg until he was sure it would be yanked right out of its socket. Perhaps it even had been, his hip sure ached enough for that to have been the case. Thinking about it made him woozy.

He could faintly hear Mulciber ask him whether he was alright, but didn’t bother replying. Mulciber was about as close to Regulus as a venomous and very, very dumb, porcupine. Which was to say, not at all.

His mouth felt dry and his head throbbed. Sweat trailed a cold line down his back, and he had to swallow down the bile rising in his throat when Lupin looked up and spotted him.

Next he knew, Regulus stumbled along the wall, the old stones keeping him upright until it gave way to a familiar indent. The voices had quieted, a throbbing hum that was further away from him, unlikely to hear whatever breakdown he was going to have.

He tumbled through the hidden door, landing on his knees.

Regulus head throbbed viciously, dizziness dragging him to the floor. His forehead rubbed against the rough stone, dust smudging against his nose, stained dark and clumped by his tears.

His gasps sounded wet.

He felt like he was drowning, only he was on land — and maybe that stupid bite had messed up and turned him into some sort of aquatic werewolf instead. That would be typical. Just his luck.

The first aquatic werewolf.

He would have to go and live in the lake and everyone would start talking about Regulus Black, the aquatic pet werewolf of the merfolk.

He laughed breathlessly, pressing his forehead against the dusty floor, tears dripping onto the dust. He tried to keep looking at those dark blots of water on dusty stone. That was supposed to be calming, right? Repetition and focus.

Or, Regulus thought it was repetition and focus — he really was regretted not listening to Evan more.

It certainly didn’t feel calming, so he probably remembered wrong, or something was wrong with him, which was typical too. Maybe he was an outlier and all the studies were done on normal people with normal brains, or maybe Regulus was just too stupid to do it right and that was why he couldn’t breathe.

…

……

………..

He had passed out.

From a panic attack.

How pathetic. This was a new low, even for him.

Regulus uncrumpled himself from the floor and took stock of the state he was in.

He felt shaky and tired, but his chest didn’t ache any more, which was good. His face was tear blotted and his eyes swollen, and he could still taste snot and blood, so he couldn’t have been out for too long. Probably.

What time was it anyway? Had he missed class? He hoped so. Fuck class.

What did he need class for anyway? It wasn’t like anyone would offer a job to a werewolf, no matter how good their grades were.

Fuck. He was so tired.

Regulus pressed the palm of his hands against his eyes.

“Black?” Ugh. Of course, it was Potter. Bloody saint Potter to the rescue. Who else would've found him. Potter had probably even ditched class specifically to find him, fuelled by Lupin’s own guilt. Regulus' mouth tasted stale, bitter. “Regulus?”

“What?”

“Are you okay?” Potter leaned over him, close enough that Regulus could smell sweet apples on his breath. He shoved him away, glaring when his arms were too weak to actually achieve a satisfying shoving.

“Go away, Potter. Leave me alone.” Even to Regulus’ own ears, he sounded tired. Though perhaps his exhaustion was even more apparent because he couldn’t find it in himself to cringe at it.

Potter tittered like a worried mother hen, hands flailing in front of him for a bit before he settled on squeezing them together tightly. “But — “

“What part about ‘leave me the fuck alone’ was unclear?”

“Just about everything.”

“Fuck you, Potter.”

“So you’ve said.” Had he? Good. It clearly bore repeating.

Another whiff of sweet apples, and Regulus growled, incensed enough to not care to catch himself from letting the inhuman sound rumble in his chest.

But instead of flinching or backing off or even apologizing, Potter lit up at the sound.

“Are you purring right now? Moony does that too sometimes!”

Regulus was stunned. That — that imbecile.

“I’m not purring, Potter. I’m growling.”

The Potter heir wrinkled his eyebrows in doubt, and Regulus wanted to jump him and shake some sense into the Gryffindor. “If you say so.”

“I do say so. Now get fucking lost.”

“So crude, Reggie!”

“Don’t call me that.”

Potter laughed, barely audible over the deep growl rumbling in Regulus' chest. That idiot had the audacity to look positively delighted.

“No? Then how about Reg? Reg is cute!”

Regulus had about enough of Potter for one day and was honestly beyond caring about whether he would get in trouble for ditching class.

He pushed Potter aside, this time with a bit more strength, and left the dusty classroom behind.

As he walked down the hallway, he imagined Potter’s face on the old stone and brought his feet down with just a bit more force for the sheer joy of it. Stupid Potter.

“I won’t call you Reg if you don’t want me too.” Potter caught up to him easily, long legs taking one step when Regulus’ took two. It was infuriating.

“I don’t want you to call me Reg.” Regulus said.

“Okay,” Potter said. “What do you want me to call you, then?”

Regulus wanted to tell him to not call him anything. To stay the hell away from him and call him ‘Black’ like he was supposed to. Instead, he found himself stunned with the words that tumbled out of his mouth.

“Regulus. Call me Regulus.”

Potter smiled brilliantly, tan face lighting up in delight.

Regulus was a fucking idiot.

But something in his chest unclenched the longer Potter smiled, and Regulus was greedy enough to ignore his common sense in favour of the odd sort of calm he had developed around Potter lately.

*******

Evan had seemingly decided that having a Werewolf as a friend was about as life-changing as having a Black as a friend was, which was to say — only minimally life-changing. Barely enough to make him pause.

It was a relief.

Of course, Barty thought the new development was extraordinarily interesting and deserved some sort of celebration of freedom from his ‘lousy ass family’ even if it meant he himself was now a quite literal ‘moon-yapping dog’.

He wasn’t sure if Barty had been sniffing too many potion fumes as of late, but again, his carefree attitude was enough of a relief for Regulus’ that he decided to give Barty the benefit of the doubt and some time.

Barty would tell him once he was ready.

And until then —

“So — It’s like … drugs?”

“It’s better than drugs, Regulus. It’s wolfnip!”

Right. Whatever that meant.

“Wolfnip, Regulus!!! Like catnip but for wolves.”

“Why do I spend time with you?”

“Because you love me!”

“Debatable. Highly debatable.”

“So cold! You see this? I’m getting frostbite!” Barty held out his hand in demonstration, pointing at his fingers.

Gillyweed wasn’t actually catnip — wolfnip. Or at least Regulus didn’t think so. But it was a good time.

It made him feel high and woozy and comfortable, the constant painful throbbing of his scars becoming a numb sort of ache instead, as he pressed his back against Barty to let him braid his hair. It was good. Excellent even.

And eventually he drifted into a hazy and much needed sort of sleep in Barty’s arms that left him energized for hours after.

Regulus made sure to steal the remaining Gillyweed from his friend, it really wasn’t good for Barty’s health anyway.

*******

No matter how hard he tried to avoid them, Regulus appeared to have the unfortunate honour and talent of finding both his brother and Potter at the most inopportune moments, one of which, was now, when he should have been high on freshly pilfered Gillyweed rather than stuck in a nook under the stairs in the Astronomy tower.

Oh, how unfair the world was. Not even his new dinner-time high was sacred any more.

And Regulus couldn’t even blame anyone but himself, for his excellent situational awareness — the irony was not lost on him — and reaction speed, because his body had moved before his mind had caught up. Typical. Very, very typical.

Why in the world, those two Gryffindor dolts were disturbing his calm in the Astronomy tower — during dinner! Will wonders never cease?! — was anyone's guess.

“Have you told him yet?” Potter asked.

Regulus poked his head out of the nook, squinting in the low light. He could make out their figures fairly easily, both of them lounged across the Astronomy class benches. They were half facing the stairs, but neither of them seemed inclined to look across the room and spot him.

Clearly, they needed to work on their situational awareness. Surprising, considering Sirius’ upbringing. He should have been able to sniff out an eavesdropper easily.

Sirius shook his head.

“You need to tell him. The longer you wait, the worse it’s going to get.”

“He will hate me.” Sirius said, sounding choked. Regulus swallowed a snort. “He won’t ever forgive me.” Was his brother talking about his pet wolf, Lupin? Or — or were they talking about him? It was possible. Likely even. More so now that he had time to consider it. Sirius had been behaving awfully odd towards him lately, but Regulus had just assumed it to be a general dislike towards dark creatures — a silly notion, considering the company he kept, though then again, maybe he started feeling uncomfortable after said creature infected his little brother. If so, wonders would never cease.

Regulus may even expect pigs to fly soon.

“… Maybe.” Potter leaned against Sirius, the only acknowledgment of how close of friends they had been before this whole fiasco. Not that Regulus had figured out how their friendship went to shit over his shitty lot in life. “But you still have to tell him. He will find out eventually.”

And Regulus would, if this was about him, he would find out. Of course, he would.

Primarily because he didn’t care for other peoples’ privacy enough to not eavesdrop shamelessly, especially if they were talking about him. And honestly, Regulus was rather sick of all these secrets and all the damn people treating him like spun glass when he was the exact opposite — when he had become a beast so unlike them, so much more dangerous than he had been before.

And maybe it was the dose of Gillyweed he had managed to smoke before they had so rudely startled him away from his spot in the Astronomy tower, but he found himself rather incensed all of a sudden. Incensed and rather determined to finally do something about it. Beasts’ hardly needed manners.

Which — talking about —

“Tell me.” Regulus stepped out of the nook, stiff knees creaking as he stretched to his full — rather unimpressive, sadly — height, and both Gryffindors’ startled loudly.

Sirius’ eyes shone wet in the low-light, making him look like a kicked dog. It set Regulus’ on edge, but somehow amused the part of him that was high on Gillyweed greatly.

“Tell me.” He repeated.

“What — “

“The thing you were talking about. Tell me.” He demanded. “You were talking about me, were you not?”

The way Sirius’ face pinched in dread was answer enough.

Potter shifted from one foot to another, and Regulus considered telling him to get lost. But that wasn’t a polite thing to do to someone who he technically owed a life-debt. And because that thought grated him so much, he bared his teeth at Potter anyway. “Get lost.” Because really, he told himself again, Beasts need no manners. Or perhaps, he was simply entering his rebellious phase. Whichever.

Potter huffed, but complied, hand raising and then dropping as if he had considered patting Sirius’ shoulder in support.

Potter left the door open behind him, likely to try and encourage them to not kill each other on such a mild night. A lost hope, in Regulus’ opinion. Blacks were rather immune to public opinion when it came to murder and mayhem.

“Tell me.” Regulus repeated, again, when his brother stayed mulishly silent, his stupid dog-like eyes dripping pathetically. It made Regulus’ angry.

What right did he have to keep something from him?

To cry, when he hadn’t been turned into a beast only worth its weight in pelt. A creature worth even less than a House elf. Suddenly, the pleasant remnant taste of Gillyweed became rather choking in his mouth. Even that stupid weed was worth more than him now.

“I’m sorry.” Sirius said.

Regulus took a second to remember what they had been talking about. Maybe Barty had been right about not smoking Gillyweed on an empty stomach.

“For what?!”

“I told Snape — I knew he was eavesdropping — and I thought he needed to be taught a lesson and — And I just, I let him overhear the mechanism for the Whomping Willow. It’s all my fault.” Sirius wept noisily. “It’s all my fault. I’m sorry, Reggie. If I hadn’t let him hear, none of this would have, — “ he hiccuped, wiping his tears and snot with his sleeve. “None of this would have happened. You would have been fine. It’s all my fault.”

Regulus felt oddly hollow. Thoughts slow to catch up, and when they did, he wasn’t sure if he felt any less hollow. What was he supposed to say to that?

Someone must have taken his body and emptied out everything inside to leave him an ugly shell, a shell full of Gillyweed and numbness. A numb Gillyweed shell. How funny.

He laughed at that, and Sirius’ looked so startled that Regulus couldn’t help but laugh more.

He laughed and laughed and laughed, until his stomach ached with it and his lungs screamed for air and even then he continued to laugh.

What a joke.

All of it — was his brother’s fault?

It was ridiculous. Hilarious and stupid all at the same time.

And he felt so hollow, so numb.

He wished he hadn’t smoked the Gillyweed because he wanted to be angry. To be furious. But he was so numb, and it all seemed so stupid without that fury, and honestly he knew, somewhat, that it wasn’t really Sirius’ fault. He couldn’t have known that Regulus would go with Snape.

As vicious as his brother was, caring naught for the other Slytherin he had put in danger with his actions, he was still blaming himself for the wrong thing.

Regulus knew that Sirius wasn’t responsible.

In the same way that he knew Lupin wasn’t responsible.

Neither of them could have known better, their nature embedded too deeply in their blood.

And it was just so fucking funny. Because why had Sirius been running from their family all this time? When he so clearly was the picture-perfect heir to the Black family.

Vicious, drooling madness was in their blood.

It was how they had been born.

And Regulus’ could feel the madness dripping in his veins, more so now than ever before.

What did it say about him that he felt more like a Black now that he was no longer a child they would lay claim to?

He heaved in a breath, lungs seizing.

Sirius had wandered closer, hands twisted in his cloak.

Regulus considered breaking him. Considered telling him all the bad things he had ever thought. Considered smashing his brothers’ heart into tiny, irreparable pieces.

But of course, he didn’t. And he couldn’t even blame the Gillyweed for it.

Not entirely, anyway.

“I forgive you,” he said. “You couldn’t have known.”

In the end, neither of them could do anything against the madness in their veins. Be it born from their family or from the maw of a beast.

Regulus laughed, and his brother wept.

And a beast clawed at his insides.

*******

As much as he couldn’t blame Sirius, and as acceptable as Potter’s presence had become — Regulus was no closer to forgiving Lupin. For rather obvious reasons.

Especially because Lupin seemed determined to ruin Regulus' life beyond just turning him into a bloody beast.

Detention!

For fighting in the hallways! When Regulus hadn’t even been part of the fight!!!

Lupin practically reeked of guilt when he entered the classroom. Whether it was the usual ‘sorry for biting you and ruining your life’ sort of guilt or the ‘sorry for getting you stuck with me in detention’ sort of guilt was anyone's guess.

Though, evidently, Professor Dumbledore was trying to force Regulus into forgiving his pet werewolf by the sheer force of a near constant exposure to him.

How Gryffindor.

Then again, Two weeks of detention!!! When Regulus hadn’t even done anything! The absolute nerve of that man.

Regulus would have to be satisfied with the knowledge that Professor Dumbledore was unlikely to get what he wanted from their detention.

Unlike Sirius, he was more than capable of carrying a grudge until the end of time, and he took a rather sick delight in shooting one biting comment after another at the pale-faced Gryffindor.

“I can’t taste things right any more. All my favourite foods — they make me sick.”

Regulus didn’t look at Lupin. The Gryffindor was probably guilt-painted, staring at him like he was some sort of pathetic child.

Good. Regulus hoped he would choke on his guilt.

“Our taste buds change depending on how close we are to the full-moon — Strong tastes are better, sometimes. Like dark chocolate or sweets in general. But don’t eat chocolate close to the full-moon, or you will get sick.”

Regulus grunted out an acknowledgment. Blinking harshly. So this was permanent.

Fuck Chocolate. Regulus didn’t even like chocolate.

But —

Fuck all of this.

Regulus scrubbed the ash-stained floor harshly, the brush making ugly creaking sounds sporadically. He imagined the brush as Lupin’s bones. Having them creak and crack under his hands. Would that make him feel better?

Probably not.

“Stop staring.”

Lupin startled, tripping over the water bucket.

Great.

Regulus met Lupin’s eyes.

“Seriously.”

“I’m sorry — I didn’t mean to — “

“Just get to work, Lupin. I’m tired, I want to get back to the dorms before curfew.”

Lupin winced. That dimwit had likely misunderstood it as another hit towards his part in turning Regulus’. He wasn’t even entirely wrong. Regulus had been feeling tired since that night, a bone chilling exhaustion that followed him around like a persistent, vicious house-cat. It curled up on his chest when he tried to sleep at night, jammed its claws into his flesh and sank its pin-needle teeth into his leg over and over and over again until he would wake drenched in sweat and more exhausted than ever before.

Could someone die of exhaustion?

Maybe.

If so, Regulus hoped it would happen sooner, rather than later.

“Get on with it, Lupin.”

Finally, the Gryffindor obeyed, gathering the brushes that had flown out of the bucket and kneeling right beside Regulus to start scrubbing the floor. As opposed to the other bloody damn side of the classroom, where Lupin could have worked just fine without grating on Regulus’ nerves. Instead, Regulus was the unwilling recipient of several guilt filled glances that did nothing to calm the beast inside his chest.

But he was tired, so bloody-damn tired, so he let it be.

Which, honestly, turned out to be a huge mistake.

*******

In hindsight, Regulus should have thought better of confronting Lupin right before the full moon. Though to be fair, he was hardly well versed in such matters — and honestly, he had kind of lost track of time, the days until the next full-moon had seemed to rush by. Alas, it was too late to regret it.

At least he knew what to expect for the next time. The image of Lupin jumping him, teeth bared and eyes glimmering a deep gold, already seemed less unsettling than it had only minutes before. Good.

“Boys.” Madam Pomphrey said sternly.

Regulus did not hunch in guilt, primarily because Lupin was doing so and that meant it was very much beneath Regulus to do so. He did, however, avert his eyes from the exasperated nurse.

“Mr. Black, the full moon can have a great deal of influence on your emotions. But you need to keep control of those emotions, or you might injure someone who can’t fight back.” Lupin flinched beside him, and Regulus huffed.

“And you, Mr. Lupin, you should know better.” Lupin sagged, shoulders hunching forward as he mumbled a few lines of mulish excuses. It was so far from his normal ‘polite model student’ behaviour that Regulus couldn’t help but give him the side-eye.

Alright, so maybe Regulus had let his emotions run a bit too free the last few days. He hadn’t even really noticed, what with all the other stuff that had been going on. Honestly, he hadn’t even meant most of the things he had said to Lupin, they had just sort of tumbled out of his mouth when he had found the Gryffindor staring at him again.

“… Sorry.” Regulus said, looking at Madam Pomphrey rather than Lupin.

Her eyes softened, reaching out to pat his cheek kindly, startling back when Regulus bared his teeth reflexively at the unwelcome touch.

Lupin growled beside him, but he ignored the idiot. It wasn’t like he had meant to scare Madam Pomphrey.

He muttered another apology, and this time actually meant for Madam Pomphrey, and shuffled his outer robe back on to hurry out of the Hospital wing, only for Lupin to catch up to him and stare at him again.

Regulus very much wanted to try going for his throat this time. He was prepared. He had learned from their earlier altercation. Regulus was fairly sure he could jump Lupin and rip open his jugular before Lupin did any serious damage to him. Probably.

Regulus bared his teeth at Lupin, maddening bloodlust rushing below his skin.

“Regulus, I’m sorry about earlier — It was wrong of me to—“ Lupin shuffled a bit, tugging at his bloodied uniform shirt. “In general, I’m really sorry about everything. Please, please forgive me.”

Lupin was breathless by the end of the sentence, blinking down at Regulus through his choppy fringe.

He was infuriating. Maddening.

The audacity. Regulus wanted to break him. He wanted to scream. But instead, he bared his teeth once more, fingers clenching and unclenching as he tried to calm the animalistic rage in his blood.

He tried to tell himself to calm down, to think about his words, to move on and leave Lupin behind. To just turn away and leave in silence.

Of course, he didn’t.

"Shut it, Lupin." Regulus spat. "You don't get to do this. You don't get to unload your guilt on me or force me to forgive you. You ruined my life. You turned me into a beast. Why would I ever forgive you? Fuck you! I hope you fucking die."

As he left Lupin behind, he couldn’t help but think that Mother would have been proud of him. Oddly, his mouth tasted like bile.

*******

Perhaps he had underestimated the emotional turmoil that Werewolves were prone to experience during the days of the full-moon. Or perhaps he had just really, really not wanted to care one way or another.

Either way, Regulus found himself escaping the noisy and viciously annoying crowd of teenagers that crowded most of Hogwarts hallways lest he decided to rip out anyone's throat before he had even experienced his first ever transformation into a proper Werewolf.

None of that should have been a problem, but evidently he wasn’t the only beast to try and avoid noise — thus leaving him rather frustrated at the other Werewolf that was standing temptingly close to the ledge of the Astronomy Tower.

The very same Astronomy Tower, that Regulus had wanted to find some peace and quiet in.

“Surely you aren’t actually thinking about jumping, Lupin.”

Lupin startled, more so than Regulus had expected him too — Regulus hadn’t exactly tried to sneak up on him, what with the slamming doors and creaking old steps. The Gryffindor flailed for a moment, upper body tilting dangerously over the edge, and for a moment Regulus thought the other would truly plunge down from the tower. With a sharp breath of relief, Lupin showed himself back onto the ledge proper and stepped down from the stone, only to crouch down in front of it with his head bowed, and his fingers clenched tightly around the low metal railing.

“Regulus.” Lupin breathed, shoulders shaking.

Regulus bared his teeth but thought better than to comment. Madam Pomphrey would be furious if they got into another fight before the full-moon had even properly started.

Instead, he considered the boy in front of him more closely.

… surely Lupin hadn’t actually meant to jump from the tower? If so, he really should have chosen a better time for it. Preferably a month prior when Regulus was still a proper wizard and not some — he huffed sharply.

“You aren’t allowed to die, Lupin.” He declared. Ironic, really. But he hadn’t actually meant for Lupin to go find the nearest tower to throw himself off when he had said all those things this morning. He hadn’t actually meant anything with it — beyond, well, hurting Lupin.

Pandora would be disappointed in him once she found out.

Lupin shook, and Regulus' newly sensitive ears could hear the telltale hitching of breath that told him that Lupin was trying to calm his breakdown rather unsuccessfully. Or perhaps he was just trying to hide it from Regulus.

Regulus wasn’t sure why he found himself by Lupin’s side, rubbing circles on his back like Sirius had done for him when he was younger and still openly hurt by their mothers’ antics, but he decided it was a matter of principle, not sympathy.

Lupin wasn’t allowed to die.

Regulus wouldn’t allow it.

If he had to live like this, then Lupin would have to live too. Regulus wouldn’t allow him to run away from him, not after what he had done.

And if Regulus was holding on a bit too tightly to Lupin’s back, patting his sides softly, well, that didn’t mean anything. Because he was never going to forgive Lupin, no matter what.

It was only fair.

*******

The first full-moon night came too quickly.

Two weeks out of the confines of the Hospital Wing were hardly enough time to prepare for his inevitable removal from the Black family tree — and their substantial bank accounts which he was rather determined to pilfer — and thus upcoming lack of food and shelter, once the holidays started.

Yes, plans were underway — things were afoot, as Barty would say — but he had sort of … forgotten wasn’t the right word. Ignored. Blissfully chosen to be ignorant. Lived on a Gillyweed induced hazy and constant high that was starting to drain his allowance (and Barty’s secret stash).

Thankfully, because of that delightful new habit, even caught unaware, Regulus was high as a kite and feeling rather calm about this whole ‘turning into a bloodthirsty monster’ alongside his sort-of nearly killer thing.

In the end, he didn't even remember most of it — probably thanks to the Gillyweed. Bloody lovely little herb that it was.

There was pain, of course. Muscles ripping and stretching, bones breaking and reforming — hair growing too fast, face stretching into a snout. But it was muted, just barely, by the thick haze of Gillyweed.

And then he was free, mind wild and loud and there were flashes of fur against his own, paws hitting the ground — claws tapping against wood. A warm body curled around his own.

Sleep. A calm that sunk bone-deep. Pack and family and safe, dragging his mind under.

When he woke up, he was human again, early morning sunlight trailing his cheeks and stinging his eyes as he blinked them open. Lupin was looking at him, a soothing sound rumbling in his chest — still more wolf than human.

Regulus decided to give him a break.

Probably because Lupin was curled around him — and bloody damn naked — but also because Lupin hadn’t let go of his hand yet, hovering by his side.

He sort of even looked a bit happy, Regulus thought, like an unexpected weight had been lifted from his shoulders and he wasn’t quite sure about whether he was allowed to be happy about it.

Regulus wouldn't forgive Lupin, because that thought just didn’t sit right with him. But maybe he also wasn’t sure if there was much that needed to be forgiven in the first place.

Being a Werewolf wasn’t so bad.

Or no, that wasn’t right. It was bad. Of course, it was. But it wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be.

He didn’t even really mind most of the changes.

Granted, he didn’t love the cravings for a bucket full of bloody meat, and he couldn’t stand the way he could smell and hear just an edge too much close to the full moon. And he really bloody damn missed his jam toasts. But it wasn’t all terrible.

He wasn’t the weak little second son of the Black family any more.

Even without his wand, he could do real damage to a grown wizard. To a grown witch. He wasn’t weak any longer.

And he had a pack now.

A satisfied rumbling rattled in his chest. A pack. His pack.

It felt right.

He squeezed Lupin’s hand, staring at the others’ face, trying to soak it all up so he would never forget the sight of it. His pack.

Being a Werewolf was a curse in their society, a disease, a death sentence even. But for Regulus, just for this moment, it felt an awful lot like freedom.

And if that made him any less human than he had been before, he thought, then maybe he wasn’t all that interested in being human in the first place.

The Black’s had always bred greedy children, after all.

*******

Cousin Andromeda’s owl — Jupiter — found Regulus sprawled across a charmed heated blanket, letting the warmth soothe his aching body and drag him into sleep.

That was the case, of course, only until Jupiter dropped right on top of Regulus' stomach with all of its minuscule amount of weight bundled into a heavy package aided by gravity.

“Oof — “

Barty snorted, traitor that he was.

Jupiter’s ambush turned out to be well worth it — the long awaited custody papers he had worked on for the past two weeks were carefully folded and signed in his cousin’s beautiful script.

The sight of it made something in his stomach unclench.

He had hoped, of course, that everything would turn out fine — but one could never be sure. Most would not want a werewolf in their home, and familial ties would hardly impact such a decision beyond the barest of sympathies. Thankfully, Cousin Andromeda — Andy — had granted his request for help easily.

It was a relief.

More so because Regulus had (thankfully) been fourteen when he had been bitten, thus leaving him a bit more leeway in the way of guardianship than someone younger might have had.

“Good news?” Evan asked, peering at him from their lounge spot, half sprawled across Barty’s lap, half curled around a misshaped pillow courtesy of their transfiguration homework.

“The best.”

Now he only had to make sure his brother wasn’t going back home either.

Regulus found his brother in a dusty corner of the library behind a wall of clearly unused books, with his mop of curls in a high bun and wand aimed at a crumpled piece of gooey looking paper.

He decided he didn’t want to know what that was about, and so followed his villainous streak to destroy his brother's book fort with a vicious sort of satisfaction.

His brother squawked in dismay, leaving enough time for Regulus’ to shove another bunch of books from the chair across from him to sit down and let his aching limbs rest.

Human bodies clearly weren’t made for turning into vicious bloodthirsty beasts, really, who knew?

“I’m not going back to Grimmauld Place.” Regulus said.

“What?” Sirius asked, rather dumbly. The quill stuck in his bun wobbled precariously.

“I’m not going back. I’m staying with Andy.” And then, adding like an afterthought — Regulus had practised this part of the conversation enough times to make sure of that — “You should ask Potter if you can stay with him.” Regulus recommended, because he was a good brother. And honestly, he was aware enough of their odd relationship to know that Sirius had primarily stayed at their ancestral home until now, because of him.

And perhaps also a bit because he hadn’t been aware that he was allowed to leave. That he could leave.

Clearly, Regulus had inherited all the smarts in their family.

“Potter will agree.” He offered, when Sirius didn’t say anything. “You know he will. He already treats you like a brother.”

And then, because Sirius was looking unsure and very teary-eyed. “And if he says no — which he won’t — you can come live with me at Andy’s, she won’t mind either.”

Sirius climbed the table, shoved the book piles aside and squeezed Regulus in a tight, teary hug.

Regulus squawked in protest, but in the end did nothing to escape his brother’s arms.

*******

There were consequences, of course, after the first full-moon. Changes even.

Not for Regulus, per se. Regulus had become rather adaptable to any sort of situation, after all. He was rather well-practiced in that regard.

Lupin, however, was decidedly not so.

“Ah — do you, can I — “

Lupin shuffled in his seat — the very same that Regulus had shoved him into only thirty-minutes earlier once he had managed to track down Lupin’s honey-chocolate like scent in the Train.

“No.”

Regulus went back to reading his book, his side pressed against a stiff-as-a-board Lupin who couldn’t seem to decide if he was pleased (Regulus ears were still rather sensitive even three days after the full-moon and the deep, soothing, rumble was hard to miss) or weirded out.

Pandora patted his arm, though he wasn’t entirely sure why, and Barty gave a loud barking laugh that startled Evan into dropping his exploding snap cards right on his sticky pumpkin pastries.

Lupin shifted beside him again, only stilling when Regulus pressed his shoulder against Lupin’s chest pointedly. He was trying to read.

Regulus did suppose he might have given Lupin a bit of whiplash — going from wishing death upon him to using him as a glorified and rather treasured arm-rest.

But Lupin was pack.

He was Regulus’ pack.

Like hell would he let Lupin leave.

Which was why Regulus did not even pretend to move a muscle when Potter, Sirius’ and their twitchy friend, Pettigrew, invaded their train compartment to demand the release of their ‘precious and innocent Moony’. How ludicrous.

*******

There was a man beside his cousin Andromeda, tall and simple looking, with a little child in his arms that must be Regulus’ newest cousin. The child was positively adorable, with a cherub face and brilliantly colourful flashing hair.

A metamorphmagus.

He swallowed a laugh. Figures. A rare magical trait that the Black family hadn’t seen in their own line for generations, found in a little half-blood girl. How fitting.

Lupin gave his hand another squeeze, saying goodbye wordlessly. They would see each other again soon enough, latest on the next full-moon to transform together.

James clapped him on the back, ruffling his hair and pecking him on the cheek with a smug grin that only grew when Regulus hissed at him.

“Andy!” Sirius greeted their cousin with a thick grin and a warm hug, shaking Ted Tonks hand in greeting and inviting smiles all around. Even little Nymphadora grinned in delight at the goofy faces Sirius’ made for her amusement.

The Potter’s called for him soon enough and Sirius squeezed them all in another hug, squishing his cheeks against Regulus and asking him to promise — again — to write, weekly, nay “daily even, Regulus. Daily! I want to know everything!”

Regulus huffed, but as always, agreed.

Then, he was alone. His fingers squeezed around the strap of his bag as he looked at his cousin’s family.

“Hello Andy.” He felt oddly choked.

“Oh, Reggie.” Andromeda hugged him and he sank into her arms. It felt warm and soft and unfamiliar, and he sort of wanted to cry but didn’t.

“Let’s go home.” She said. Home.

Yes, he thought. Let’s go home.

The End ;)