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It started small. It started innocently.
He had missed his brother, the previous year, when he had gone off to school. He'd had to listen to his parents talking about him, saying horrible, nasty things. He'd tried to believe them, or at least pretend, he just wanted to be good, be who his parents wanted him to be. But he was ten years old and he missed his brother.
When summer came, he was delighted. But things had changed. Sirius had changed, how his parents treated him, treated them both, had changed. Suddenly he was a poster child, put on a pedestal for the sole reason of ridiculing his brother. There was more shouting in the house, there were more bruises on Sirius' face. Sirius was twelve, Regulus turned eleven that summer. By the time they left for Hogwarts, Sirius was barely speaking to him. His parents made a show of doting on him at the train station, of neglecting Sirius. But Sirius didn't care, not as much as they wanted him to. He got on the train without a word.
Regulus thought it was a show. He was excited when he got on the train. He was eleven years old and he still missed his brother. He knew the boy he'd spent the summer with wasn't him, not really, and he was looking forward to seeing him be Sirius again, now that they were away from their parents. He had practically bounded down the train carriage, turning excitedly towards the compartment his brother’s laugh could be heard booming from. He was in there with another boy, laughing and joking with a grin wider and brighter than Regulus had ever seen him sport before, and when Sirius turned his head and met his eye, the grin slipped from his face in an instant, his expression grew dark, and he averted his eyes to the window of the train. Regulus stood, stunned, speechless and confused. He only snapped out of his daze when another student politely tapped him on the shoulder with a muttered “Excuse me”, and he turned and ran without looking at the boy, trying to ignore the sting in his eyes as he searched for somewhere else to sit, to hide.
He didn’t like Hogwarts as much as he was supposed to. His parents had been thrilled to learn he was sorted into Slytherin, just like any true Black would be. But he didn’t like the other Slytherins, not one bit. He didn’t make friends. He didn’t feel pride for his house or his family. He kept to himself, quiet and alone, and spent his days with his face in a book, holding back his tears, pretending not to be afraid. He spent his meal times eating alone, with a book on the table beside him but really watching the boy sitting on the opposite side of the Gryffindor table. Watching him laugh, watching him grin, watching him wave his arms wildly as he told a story of one of his escapades and half the people around him swooned while the other half rolled their eyes. And then one day he noticed someone was watching him back.
And that was how it started.
Sirius was thirteen, Regulus was eleven. Remus was twelve.
Over the next few months, he noticed that he watched Sirius less. Sirius was getting in trouble more and more often. Most of the professors hated him, the prefects saw him as a nuisance, the Slytherins despised him, but the rest of the school loved him. Him and his group, his marauders. And Regulus saw them all the time, he saw them causing commotions, he saw them brightening up their section of the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, he saw them walking through hallways telling stories and jokes and laughing, he saw them playing pranks, he saw them lazing about. They were hard to miss. He still watched , but the focus of his attention gradually shifted from Sirius to the quietest of his friends. The one who rolled his eyes at Sirius’ actions, but still let a small smile slip through. The one who could be seen reprimanding the others for not doing homework, who ducked around Sirius’ madly gesturing arms with ease while focussing his gaze on a book or some parchment.
He never saw Sirius without an entourage. But he did see Remus. In the library pouring over books, in nooks and crannies around the school looking like he’d been dragged through hell backwards and just needed five more minutes to complete an essay, asleep outside classrooms with his quill in his hand and ink smeared on his face. And for that first year, that was all. Just… noticing.
That summer was the same as the last. He turned twelve, and he told himself he didn’t miss his brother anymore, even though he knew that wasn’t true. Sirius didn’t speak to him, Sirius didn’t look at him.
In his second year, he was pretty much the same. He kept to himself, he kept to his books, he didn’t make any friends. He learned that he looked less young, he blamed it on having to be the better son when his brother was a disappointment. The first years were afraid of him. He started to excel at certain subjects - Potions, History of Magic, Defence Against the Dark Arts.
He found Remus asleep in the library once, his face in a Potions book, and a half-written essay beside him. He started reading up on the third year Potions curriculum, it wasn’t like he had anything else to waste his time on. The next time he found Remus asleep (this time, in the dungeons), he checked over his shoulder to see what he was working on, and left a parchment page of his own notes beside him.
It became something he did from then on. Once or twice a month, he would stumble upon Remus Lupin asleep on a textbook. If he could help with the subject, he would. For when he couldn’t, he started leaving little notes of encouragement. He thought about leaving him instructions on how to brew a potion to keep him awake, but for some reason he rather liked coming across the sandy-haired teenager drooling on his books. He couldn’t quite put his finger on why, but when he overheard Sirius and James teasing a very red-faced Remus over having a secret admirer, he felt his own face flush as well.
That summer, he turned thirteen. He no longer felt like he had a brother, not really.
In September, he found himself standing out in the cold wind, broom in his hands, trying out for the Slytherin quidditch team. He’d been to a few games the previous year, and seen how intently Remus had watched his friends and cheered for them. He knew he wouldn’t cheer for the Slytherin team, but it might at least get him noticed. He’d practiced during the summer, when Sirius wasn’t looking. Questions were best avoided.
He was small, slim, light, and as it turned out he was quite quick with a broom. All his time spent watching and observing turned out to be helpful too. He could easily pick out a particular mop of mussed sand-coloured hair in a crowd, and he could just as easily pick out a glint of gold in the murky sky. He was brought onto the team as the new seeker without question. And he was good at it, and found that he enjoyed the sport more than he had expected to. He even built something that resembled a friendship with some of the other players, though by then he already had a reputation as someone who prefered spending time alone and studying.
Remus didn’t cheer for the Slytherin team. He barely even looked Regulus’ way. When they played against Gryffindor, he was sure there was an unusual amount of bludgers directed straight at him, but he never made eye contact with Sirius while he was playing. Or at any other time, for that matter.
In third year, he was allowed to go to Hogsmeade on certain weekends. He had noticed by now that Remus had an affinity for chocolate, especially when he appeared to be stressed or upset. On his first trip to Hogsmeade, he stocked up on the most expensive chocolates he could find in Honeydukes - money was no issue for the Black family. From then onwards, when he would find a sleeping Remus in the library or an empty corridor, he would leave a chocolate along with his usual notes.
In November, Regulus woke up flustered and sweating to a wet patch in his underwear and an image of Remus Lupin fresh in his mind. He was mortified and confused and found himself sneaking to the bathroom to clean up and change, tempted to burn the sullied article of clothing. The dreams became common after that. And if he let his mind wander in classes, he ended up with a problem that was harder to will away than it should have been.
In March, Remus turned fifteen. Regulus felt braver than usual. He sent him a whole box of expensive chocolates, used an owl from Hogwarts’ owlery so Sirius wouldn’t know who it was from. He watched Remus from the Slytherin table, paying close attention to the bright flush that covered his cheeks and the tips of his ears, storing the image away to recall at a later time.
One week, Remus looked even more exhausted than usual. Regulus worried for him each time he saw him, and when he finally found him napping in the back corner of the library toward the end of the week, he relented and gave him full instructions on how to make the potion to help with his sleeping pattern. He scribbled a note at the bottom to say he’d miss seeing him asleep in his books, but he’d be happier to see him look more healthy. And he weighed the page down with four little heart-shaped chocolates in the corners.
Afterwards, he felt glad that he told him how to make the potion. Not just because he did look healthier, but because he was embarrassed and ashamed of what he had implied. He had seen Remus’ friends imply the same thing on several occasions, but he had yet to admit to it himself. That he had some kind of romantic infatuation with this boy, this half-blood Gryffindor boy. He didn’t leave him any more messages or chocolate for the rest of the year.
Regulus turned fourteen. Sirius spent as much time away from the house as possible, and the rest of the time in his room, decorated with as many Gryffindor banners as he could fit. They didn’t interact.
In his fourth year, Regulus started to hear whispers from his quidditch team mates. Whispers of a War and a Dark Lord. He had heard such tales outside of school, knew he had relatives that were involved, that his parents had clear opinions on the matter even if they didn’t officially follow anyone. He hadn’t heard before now of people so young being recruited, but sure enough one of the beaters on the team had a Mark branded on his forearm. A dark, sinister thing that marked him as one of Them. And he was loved for it. And Regulus began to look into the War, to watch the newspapers for mentions of this Dark Lord and His doings.
He kept newspaper clippings, and he found himself drawn to the restricted section in the library, though he didn’t dare to go in, not yet. He upped his study of Defence Against the Dark Arts, learning what he could from the books in the regular library but always curious about what more there was to learn.
He wondered where he fit in in the War. His parents ideologies were clear, and as a Black he knew what was expected of him. But was there room in His organisation for someone who could feel so drawn towards a half-blood, someone impure and his own gender to boot? He knew to be accepted into the organisation, nothing could ever happen with him and Remus, not that he expected Remus to ever reciprocate his feelings in the first place.
Remus had been made a prefect. No-one was surprised. Regulus was often tempted to break rules or stay out of the common room after curfew, just to let himself be caught, to see if Remus Lupin even knew his name. But he didn’t.
He didn’t catch Remus asleep anymore. Whether the boy was resting better or they just did not cross paths as often, he didn’t know. He kept to his studies and found himself buried in a book half the time, and at quidditch practice for the other half. He still kept a stash of chocolate, just in case. Once or twice he left them in alcoves about the castle, in areas he knew Remus patrolled, in areas where he had seen him sleeping in previous years. He never left any notes.
That summer, Sirius left. Regulus had told himself long ago that he did not miss his brother, that he did not have a brother. But then he turned fifteen. He was fifteen years old and he missed his brother more than ever.
When he received his prefect badge, his parents had been so happy. His first thought hadn’t been enforcing rules or gaining a reputation, it had been patrolling secluded hallways with a particular Gryffindor, having access to him out of hours and in prefect areas away from the prying eyes of Sirius Black. It became his main fantasy for the last couple of weeks of the holiday.
In his fifth year in Hogwarts, Regulus Black was a good student, a good prefect, and a good seeker. He was invited to join the Slug Club - proof of his academic prowess and the fact that his Head of House expected him to go far in life.
He didn’t get to do any rounds of the castle with the object of his affection at first, although he soon came to realise that part of the reason he had not found him sleeping in the library or any corridors the previous year was that Remus had found a new place to doze off (and study) - the prefect lounge. He debated leaving notes or chocolates by his resting head more than once, but he knew that he would be narrowing down Remus’ field of potential admirers to only eight students, and he wasn’t ready for that quite yet.
Instead he took to studying in the lounge himself. He worked hard to keep his grades at the high level that was now expected of him. And when he didn’t have work to do, he stayed with his books and kept his eyes on his favourite sandy-haired teen. He watched him chew on his lips while reading with a frown, watched him stick his tongue out of the corner of his mouth when concentrating on writing, watched him glare at his parchment as he scratched out words, watched him fist his hands in his hair like he wanted to rip it out of his head. If Regulus ever had a doubt that Potions was not Remus’ strong suit, it was erased by his expressions and actions as he worked on Potions homework. It was no wonder he wasn’t in the Slug Club himself - Regulus would have expected him to be, as he seemed to be an excellent student, but falling short in Slughorn’s own classes would explain it.
The lounge was small, and comfortable - more so than the library. He could see why Remus favoured it. And on that particular day, it was also rather empty. He cleared his throat and kept his expression neutral as the sixth year student looked up at him, brow still creased and one hand still clutching tightly at his scalp.
“Do you need any help?” He’d asked - his first sentence uttered out loud to a boy he had admired for several years now.
Remus had looked embarrassed at first, glancing back to the parchment in front of him. When he looked back up, he narrowed his eyes slightly at Regulus.
“You’re Sirius’ brother,” he had stated, scrutinising him, “Aren’t you a year below me?”
Regulus had swallowed and nodded, and followed it up with, “I’m good at Potions, though. I’ve been reading ahead, Slughorn thinks I’m a prodigy… or something.”
Remus had continued to stare at him, and Regulus had to use an embarrassing amount of willpower to stop himself from flushing under his gaze. But then he had relented, had told Regulus what he was having trouble with, and Regulus had moved to the seat beside him to go over the issues with Remus’ work and how best to correct them. Remus had offered him help with Defence Against the Dark Arts in return - Regulus hadn’t the heart to tell him it was one of his best subjects. He found aspects of the subject to pretend to struggle with so that he could keep him as a tutor, and they continued to help each other with their respective subjects throughout the year. It helped with the extra Dark Arts lessons he wanted to learn - Remus assisted him with everything he would need for school, and he would find himself going to the library’s restricted section to learn about everything he needed for when he was no longer a student. All the darker corners of the subject that were not contained in regular textbooks, but were a need to know for someone expected to become a follower of someone proficient in Dark Magic.
And then something changed.
Regulus was never quite sure what had happened, but Remus’ behaviour changed, his pattern changed. He was no longer seen with Sirius and James and Peter, he didn’t eat with them, he didn’t walk through the hallways with them, he spent more time in the prefect lounge than ever - to the point that Regulus was sure he was sleeping there at night, he had come across him there very early in the morning on more than one occasion. And the prefect areas were no longer the only place he saw him. Regulus found Remus pacing the hallway outside the Slytherin common room more than once, and he always looked embarrassed to be found there, hurrying away soon after. And he began showing up in the restricted area of the library. He’d thought at first that perhaps Sirius had caught wind of the rumours (that were not mere rumours) of Slytherin boys as young as sixteen being branded with His Mark, and that perhaps he had asked Remus to keep an eye on him. But he dismissed the thought quickly, knowing from the careful way that Remus kept the titles of the tomes he pulled from the shelves hidden that he was in there for his own intents.
They didn’t acknowledge each other in there, among dark shelves of old, dusty books that no-one should have a need to look through. And when they interacted outside of the library, neither of them ever mentioned it.
A couple of weeks after the change, Regulus found him having a hushed but heated argument with Lily Evans, who looked distraught at the next Slug Club meeting. That week, the prefects were told that there would be some unscheduled changes in rounds partners, and they were asked if anyone wanted to volunteer to switch partners. Regulus volunteered, and he and Evans were switched. Remus had made a request to not be paired with her, and whatever reason he had given was enough for Dumbledore, but not something he wanted to share with anyone else. Regulus chalked it up to having something to do with the change, with distancing himself from the other marauders. It worked in his favour.
He and Remus now spent at least one evening a week in each other’s company, patrolling the hallways of the school together. They were both quiet individuals, but they made small talk, and then talk about school, and eventually talk about themselves, their interests, their lives. Regulus found that getting to know the object of his affection didn’t make him any less interested. In fact, it gave him more to be interested in. Remus was pleasant to be around, an enjoyable conversation partner, but full of secrets and little things left unsaid, and it intrigued him. Not that he would ask.
His downfall (or so he thought, at the time) came at the hands of some cheap chocolate frogs. Remus offered one to him one night, as they were patrolling, and he declined, telling the other boy that he didn’t like chocolate. He had asked then what sweets Regulus did like, and he shrugged and said he didn’t really like any, and Remus had stopped in his tracks, a furrow in his brow.
“But you’re in Honeydukes all the time,” was the statement that fell from his lips when he finally chose to speak.
Regulus had stared at him, mouth slightly ajar as he tried and failed to come up with a reasonable excuse in time to sound convincing.
“I was buying for someone else,” was what he eventually landed on, cursing himself internally even as he said it.
Remus’ expression had shifted slightly at that, morphing from confused to curious as he regarded Regulus. They stood in silence for what felt like an eternity before Remus spoke again.
“You bought them for me.”
Regulus had shrugged, not willing to admit anything but not wanting to lie outright. Remus hadn’t really made it sound like a question anyway. And when he asked why, Regulus had shrugged again and suggested they continue their rounds, already moving away from the other boy. Remus had not objected.
He had looked at him differently after that. Like Regulus was a puzzle he needed to figure out. Perhaps a bit like he was only seeing him now for the first time.
Regulus had to cut back on his habit of watching, of observing, for fear of meeting Remus’ eye - which seemed to be much more likely after that conversation. He could feel those amber eyes on him from across the Great Hall or the prefect’s lounge. He spoke less while they were on duty together, limiting conversation to school-related topics, and Remus never pushed the topic of Regulus leaving him treats and notes.
The next time it was brought up, they were in the library. In the restricted section they both usually pretended they never saw each other in. Remus had been scanning through books on a shelf, and Regulus had been sitting at a table scribbling notes on some parchment and pretending not to notice the glances he was getting from across the aisle. He had curled in on himself slightly when he heard Remus coming his way, keeping his notes well-hidden. And then Remus had sat down in the chair opposite him, seemingly having given up on finding whatever book he was looking for.
They had sat in silence for a while before Remus spoke up in a hushed whisper, “Is that why you’re always here? Are you following me?”
Regulus had been startled at the accusation, and looked up with a frown. He stared at Remus for a moment before glancing back down at his notes and then up into the deep, amber eyes of the boy in front of him with a scoffed, “Clearly not.”
They had stared at each other long and hard after that, before Remus had given in and slumped forward with a defeated sigh, elbows on the table and fingers carding through his own hair.
He sounded desperate when he whimpered, “Please just don’t tell anyone I come here.”
Regulus had taken a moment to watch him then, to take in the haggard breathing, the ruffled hair and bags under his eyes, the chapped lips that looked like he had spent far too much time chewing at them, the way his fingernails dug into his scalp. Remus was clearly stressed, and distraught. Whatever reason he visited the restricted section was different than Regulus’, it was something personal. And there was no way he would even consider giving Remus up like that.
He cleared his throat and spoke evenly, “I always thought we had an unspoken agreement. Neither of us asked what the other was reading, and neither of us ever mentioned seeing each other in here.”
Remus had looked up at him then, eyes bright with hope and what looked like a glimmer of unshed tears. And he had nodded, pushed himself up straight and closed his eyes with the ghost of a sigh breathed through his nose. He didn’t say thank you, but he didn’t need to.
They had gone back to normal after that. They ignored each other in the restricted section (though now they often sat at the same table), Regulus helped Remus with Potions, Remus helped Regulus with Defence Against the Dark Arts, they patrolled together in the evenings and went back to normal conversation, they pretended not to notice each other’s glances in the Great Hall. And then on Remus’ birthday, Regulus decided to be bold and give him a box of chocolates again, this time in person.
They were patrolling an empty hallway towards the end of their shift. Remus had taken the box very gently and stared at it for a few moments before looking up at Regulus with curiosity and wonder in his eyes.
“So it was you.”
Regulus didn’t say anything in return, and was about to continue walking when Remus carefully placed the box on a windowsill. Regulus opened his mouth to ask what he was doing, but was caught off guard when he found Remus’ fists in the collar of his robes, and his lips against his own. He had stiffened at first, shocked, and then had practically melted into the kiss, bringing his hands up awkwardly to Remus’ elbows.
They pulled apart in what seemed like no time at all, and Regulus stared wide-eyed at Remus, watched as the amber eyes in front of him changed, his expression changing from one of excitement to some brand of confusion coupled with what looked like disappointment or regret - maybe both. And he panicked, he didn’t want Remus to think he didn’t want this or didn’t enjoy it, so he pulled him back in, one arm still loosely gripping Remus’ elbow and the other hooking uncomfortably under his armpit in an attempt to yank him closer.
Their faces smashed together with a bump of noses and a clash of teeth, and Regulus screwed his eyes shut in embarrassment or shame, his face flushing and his heart seeming to beat inside his head instead of his chest. And Remus had tilted his head a bit, and his breath huffed across Regulus’ lips as he laughed - Remus wasn’t sure if he was amused or relieved or both, but it didn’t matter because the lips started moving against his own, softly pressing against them and then pulling at his bottom lip and then gently pushing his lips apart. He only realised he wasn’t breathing himself when he found himself gasping for air right before something soft and warm and wet found its way into his mouth. And he had been unsure of what to do with it, but followed Remus’ lead and did what was natural, sure now that he was still wanted even with his obvious inexperience and cluelessness. It hadn’t lasted long, not in reality (even if to a part of him it had been an eternity), but it had been good. And they had stayed pressed together for a short while after their faces stopped merging - he was never quite sure how or when their arms had gone from their awkward original positions to where they were at the end, with his arms wrapped around Remus’ shoulders and Remus’ hands grasping his waist.
That moment had set a precedent for their relationship from then on. Their fleeting glances became lingering gazes, their study sessions and tutoring became something more intimate and precious. Regulus started leaving notes and chocolates for Remus to find again, now that he knew who they were from. Their evening patrols featured hand holding, arms around waists, stolen kisses and sweet smiles. Remus came to quidditch practices and matches, he cheered for Slytherin from the Gryffindor stands (so long as Sirius and James weren’t playing). They talked about their hopes and dreams - even if they both knew that really, the world outside of Hogwarts was not a place where hopes or dreams thrived for now. They spent lazy afternoons in the dappled sunlight beneath trees, arms around shoulders, smiling lips pressed gently against each other, eyes shining brightly and happily, books discarded by their sides, one straddling the other or both laying in soft grass, when nothing around them seemed to matter.
They didn’t see each other at all that summer. Of course they didn’t. Remus was a half-blood, a Gryffindor, and a boy, and Regulus didn’t know which of the three was most likely to get them both murdered by his parents if they suspected they were even talking, never mind whatever it was they were actually doing. Regulus turned sixteen, and he missed his lover.
They saw each other first on the Hogwarts Express. Remus’ amber eyes grew darker, but they only exchanged curt nods as they passed each other in the corridor of the carriage. They barely made eye contact during the prefect’s meeting on the journey. Regulus suspected Remus would have spent far more time looking in his direction if his brother’s best friend hadn’t been appointed Head Boy, sitting beside him with a stupid grin on his face.
He tried not to be disappointed when they were given their timetables for prefect duties - he was not paired with Remus at all for the first semester. But they spent time together in the prefect lounge, studying as per usual. When there was no-one else around, they would intertwine their legs under the table, but nothing more for fear of being caught.
Two weeks after the term started, they found themselves staying late in the lounge studying on an evening when neither of them were on duty, and Regulus looked up into dark eyes at a nudge of his leg. Remus leaned across the table to close Regulus’ book, and stood with a quiet “Follow me”.
He had followed him, intrigued and excited, and found himself led directly to their exclusive bathroom. The bathroom had protections in place to ensure that no student could enter while another was already inside, preventing anyone from having their privacy disturbed, but Remus had grabbed his wrist as the door opened and pulled him in with him quickly before it slammed shut again. He suddenly found his back pressed against the door and dark eyes boring into his own, his arm pinned to the door beside his head by the hand that Remus still had clasped there.
“I missed you,” Was the first thing to fall from Remus’ lips, and it made his heart soar. Those were words he had felt so many times and pushed away from his mind, and he never thought they would be words that someone else would use for him of all people.
He felt a surge of gratitude course through him, and he tilted his head as he leaned forward to push his lips against the ones in front of him, waiting for him, missing him. It was the first time they had kissed in months. He felt Remus’ hand leave his wrist and migrate to his neck, pulling him closer, deeper. He draped his own arms over Remus’ shoulders as he felt another hand caressing his waist. He brought his fingers up to run through the hair at the back of Remus’ neck as he parted his lips and slid his tongue into his waiting mouth, eagerly tasting every bit of what he had been missing for so long.
He wasn’t quite sure how long they had stood there before the hand at his waist had begun to push up his jumper. He shrugged out of his robes and helped Remus to pull off his jumper, and then quickly began to unbutton his shirt while Remus attended to his own clothing. It was only when their lips were together again and he was being led away from the door by the same hands undoing his trousers that he became aware of the sound of running water. He kicked off his shoes as he fumbled with the button on Remus’ trousers, stumbling slightly and tasting a huff of a laugh breathed into his own mouth.
Remus pulled apart from him to pull off his own trousers, then his socks, and then turned away from Regulus with a smirk as he pulled off his underwear and dropped them behind him before stepping into the bath - that would be better described as a small pool. The taps had turned themselves off when the water had reached its optimum level, and Regulus was left staring at the water full of swirls of different colours and foams, his school trousers hanging about his knees as he took it in. And then he followed Remus’ lead, stripping off the rest of his clothes before stepping in after him.
That night in the bath became one of his favourite moments in his life. It wasn’t the last time they spent an evening there, and it wasn’t necessarily the best - at least in terms of skill - but it was his favourite. That first time, with awkward exploration and nervous excitement and a shared lack of experience. When it felt like they had all the time in the world.
The semester passed much like the last had, but more so. They studied together, but closer. They encouraged each other and cared for one another, but more intensely. They kissed each other whenever they got a chance, whenever they got a moment to themselves, but their kisses were more heated, more passionate. They watched each other across rooms, along hallways, out on the grounds, at the quidditch pitch, and their gazes were more fervent. Their whispered praises became promises. Every moment in each other’s presence was cherished. Everything was magnified, amplified. Their feelings - both romantic and carnal - seemed to be enhanced, double what they were in the previous year.
Their relationship wasn’t the only thing that intensified. Murmurs in the common room were greater, the atmosphere in the school was more agitated, the seventh year Slytherins’ grins were more cocksure, the pull to one side or the other was magnetic, impossible to draw away from. For Regulus, there was never a choice. There might have been, if things had been different, if the brightest star in the family had been obedient, had been a Slytherin, had been malleable. If that had been the case, things might have been shared. Instead everything was on Regulus, the pressure, the expectations, the praise, the whispers and encouragements, the surety in what his fate would be. His destiny was never his own, somewhere along the line he became two sons in one, and he had to be the epitome of a perfect Slytherin, more of a Black than any one person could reasonably be. And that weighed on him more than ever.
That year, for the first time, he did not spend his Christmas break at Hogwarts. In previous years, he had used that time for more study, and for further observation of other students. That year, he was sixteen, and would be of age in a matter of months. He left under the pretenses of going home, and he did visit his home for some of the time. But his main reason for leaving the school was something else. Something more dark.
He had been speaking with some of the seventh years, and he had been speaking with some of his family members. It had seemed like the right time. So he had left with them, at the least conspicuous time of the year, and he had gone to meet Him. His cousin was already one of His devout followers, and had spoken highly of Regulus. Not all of the students who went were chosen, most were admirers, followers, people who just wanted to see Him and bask in His glory. Regulus was different from them. He was smart, he had power in the school - something He did not - and was well-respected, he came recommended, from a well-known family. And he was chosen. He was Marked.
He kept it hidden from Remus for as long as he could, his arm covered when they snogged in corridors and alcoves while on duty - the first half of their second semester saw them patrolling together twice a week. There was no risk of it making itself visible while Remus’ socked foot pressed at his crotch under the table in the prefect’s lounge, his knuckles white as he gripped the book in front of him and tried to keep his face free of any sign of what was going on beneath the wooden surface. It wasn’t seen at meals, it wasn’t seen in the library, it wasn’t seen on the occasions when Remus sat in the desolate stands while Slytherin practiced for upcoming quidditch matches.
In fact, he’d had it for almost two months before Remus saw it at all. They had found themselves back in the prefects’ bathroom again, the one on the fifth floor. And Remus had been so eager to ravage him that Regulus had let it slip his mind altogether. They were already naked before it happened, Remus had stilled while Regulus’ teeth were pressed to his throat, and he’d pulled back, brows furrowing in confusion, and was startled at the cold look on the other boy’s face. It was only when he followed his gaze to his own arm - bracing him against the wall he’d pinned Remus to, on the opposite side of Remus’ head to where his own lips had been moments before - that he realised what had caused the reaction. He’d pulled back then, dropping his arm to his side, breath gone from his lungs and his expression schooled into neutrality as he regarded the seventeen-year-old in front of him.
They hadn’t talked about it that night. Neither of them had had anything to say, not really. And the mood had dissipated, so there was no more kissing, and no intercourse. Instead they’d bathed together, the most innocent “bath time” they’d ever had in that room. They had stayed close, but silent, had washed each other slowly and gently and laid in the water for longer than was necessary. And Regulus knew even then that it probably wouldn’t last.
The War was what split them up. The Mark had its hand in it too. It had branded Regulus as a soldier for one side and one side only, and it was not the side that Remus was on. They had stuck together for another six weeks or so after he’d first seen it, but they never undressed again. Regulus figured it was too much of a reminder to Remus. A reminder of how different they were, how different their lives would be when they left that place. They still kissed, they still cared for one another, Regulus still bought Remus chocolates on his birthday - brought him to Honeydukes himself this time, to pick out his favourites. It had been a date, their last proper one. And the War had split them up in the end. It was something they would never be able to agree on, and they didn’t need to talk about it to know that.
Remus had mended his relationship with the others, with his marauders, or at least it appeared that way to Regulus. He supposed maybe it was just the War bringing them together, he was sure that any stance taken by the Black family would be immediately opposed by Sirius, whether he had a real opinion on it or not. Remus certainly had an opinion.
Regulus had stopped watching him after that. He didn’t look up at the Gryffindor table at meals. He didn’t make eye contact in the prefect lounge. They didn’t sit at the same table in the library. They didn’t communicate at all. And then the year was over, and Remus was finished with school for good, and Regulus had another year of study to look forward to without him there.
On his seventeenth birthday, he sat in his room and glared at the Mark on his arm. A Mark that represented a life that he hadn’t really had a choice in. A Mark that represented everything that he wished he could have had, but that he never really had a chance at in reality.
His seventh year in Hogwarts was his worst. There was no more Remus. There was no more Sirius. There was no more laughter in the hallways, no more pranks and pleasantries. There was darkness, and fear. There were students from other houses eating meals in solemn silence as half the school read the daily newspapers, read of a War that there was no protection from, not anymore. There were his fellow Slytherins, his quidditch team mates, his fellow Slug Club members, sneering and bragging about their involvement in His army, His War. And Regulus was one of them. And he acted like it. He looked down his nose at other students (whether they were taller than him or not). He was superior, because he was chosen as one of His followers. He was a prefect and a seeker and an outstanding student and he was better than the others, and he let it show.
He told himself he didn’t miss them. He didn’t miss his brother. He didn’t miss Remus. And while he was in school, while he was surrounded by others with the Mark, who saw him as a perfect Slytherin, he could almost believe it. He had the illusion of friends. And he was in charge.
He was seventeen when he realised that his brother had been right all along, that Remus had been right too. He was seventeen when he left Hogwarts, when he finally joined the War he’d been conditioned for. When he saw it all first hand - The cruelty, the torture, the killing. None of it was necessary, none of it was provoked. It was slaughter. It was attacks on muggles who didn’t know anything of their world, hunting down mudbloods and half-bloods and people who were impure or vulnerable, controlling people by turning their children into monsters, destroying all willpower of people who failed to comply. It was systematic chaos. And it was not where he wanted to be.
He turned eighteen that summer, and he wished he had a way out. He wished that this was not his life. He wished that he could have been like his brother, that he could have gotten away from it all - From his family, from Slytherin, from the Dark Arts, from Him. And for once instead of missing his brother, he wished so damn hard that they could trade places. Even if the other side was losing the War, they were honorable, they were noble, they fought for something, they cared about each other and protected each other, they fought on behalf of people who didn’t even know there was a War. But instead he worked for Him, he did his deeds without question for fear of ending up worse himself, for fear of being on the wrong side of the curses he had seen destroying the souls of good people, of innocent people. And he thought of what could have been.
When he figured out what He was up to, he knew Remus would be proud. He’d almost written to him, when he’d finally come up with a plan, to tell him what he knew or even just to say goodbye one last time. He considered it right until the moment he was leaving, right up until he took Kreacher’s hand and gave him his orders. And when he was standing on the rocks outside the cave that he knew would be his tomb, a part of him wished he really had, but he knew it was too much of a risk - He couldn’t risk being found out, he couldn’t risk this plan going awry, he couldn’t risk Remus being harmed or mistrusted because of a letter from a Death Eater, he couldn’t risk the thought that maybe Remus wouldn’t even care, not anymore. But as he made his way through each of His defences, he knew that the Remus he had known in his school days (he thinks of them as his school days, but it hasn’t even been a year since he left) would be proud of him, for his prowess in Defence Against the Dark Arts, for his talents at observing, at noticing things that others had not, and for finally, finally standing on the right side of the War, for sticking up for what was right. Even if it was likely that no-one would ever know it.
And now here he is. He's not sure if the water is killing him or the thirst is. He's acutely aware of the fact that the pain is ebbing away, but he knows it's not because he's getting better. If he had a chance, there are a million things he would change about his life. Meeting Remus Lupin is not one of them. And his last thought, as ghostly hands grip him tightly and the world grows dark and cold, is that he hopes he knows.