Chapter Text
Before that day, Remus remembered Regulus as the shy, pale boy who hid behind his brother all the way to Hogwarts — and when the Sorting Hat called out Slytherin, a shadow of sadness crossed his face as his older brother looked at him with disappointment.
The young man sitting in an Azkaban cell now was nothing like the boy he’d seen back in 1972. He was consumed — not only by the constant presence of dementors, but by a burden that should never have been his to carry. Not for an eighteen-year-old. And yet, to Remus’s surprise, Regulus kept his back straight and his gaze cold and proud, even as his skin and body bore the marks of what two months in Azkaban had done to him.
Mr. Crouch unlocked the cell, his Patronus floating close behind. He stepped forward and told Regulus to stand. Regulus did so without needing to be pulled up, holding himself steady even as his legs trembled slightly.
His expression of indifference didn’t change while Dumbledore explained that he’d negotiated a new sentence with the Ministry of Magic for his actions: exile.
While Regulus signed the paperwork authorizing the modification of his memory, Remus noticed how steady his hand remained. Despite everything, Regulus didn’t look at anyone — not James, not Sirius, not Lily, not Mr. Crouch’s son. He didn’t even look at Remus when Dumbledore explained that Remus would be the one to stay close to him as he adjusted to his new life as a Muggle in the United States.
The only time Regulus looked at — and spoke to — Remus was while they were preparing to remove his memories, erasing every trace of magic. Dumbledore and Mr. Crouch were setting up the Pensieve; a St. Mungo’s nurse handed Regulus a few potions and fluffed his pillow. Remus stood there in the middle of the room, unsure of what to do. His only task was to take the vials containing Regulus’s memories and keep them safe, in case of an emergency.
Regulus was lying down with his eyes closed when he spoke. “Lupin,” he called.
Remus flinched at the sudden sound of his voice and stepped closer. “Tell me.”
“I don’t want Sirius in my mind.” Remus froze. He turned toward Professor Dumbledore, who gave him a quiet nod.
Remus had expected Regulus to ask for certain memories to be erased, but he’d assumed he would at least keep his brother.
He sighed before replying. “They’ll remove him…”
Regulus cut him off. “Not James either.”
Remus frowned, about to speak, but the nurse placed a hand on his arm. “The potion’s starting to take effect.”
Remus closed his mouth and nodded.
Almost instantly, the tension left Regulus’s face — though there was no real peace in it. Remus watched the long, dark lashes brush softly against pale skin, the pink lips that had been tight with restraint now slowly relaxing. He looked younger, more fragile. And Remus could already feel the crushing weight of his future task: to care for Regulus Black, to guard the fragile memories that would remain in his mind, and to help him build a life as normal as someone like Remus could possibly offer.