Archive of Our Own

Regulus never considered himself to be a violent person.

Sure, his name was still Regulus Arcturus Black, and that alone came with a legacy heavy enough to bend a spine. The Blacks were not known for gentleness. There were stories—whispered, laughed about, or spoken with pride—that curled in the corners of family gatherings like smoke. Madness, cruelty, devotion taken too far. It had to live somewhere in his blood.

But Regulus had been different.

As a child, he had been soft in ways no one ever talked about. Quiet hands, big eyes, a habit of clinging to Sirius’ sleeve like the world might slip away if he let go. He cried easily, laughed easily too. Loved fiercely, without reservation.

Sirius still remembered that boy. Sometimes Regulus could see it in his brother’s face—the faint, disbelieving sigh whenever Regulus snapped at him now, sharp and venomous. Like Sirius was mourning something long dead.

How did that sweet child turn into this?

Maybe it had always been there. Maybe the madness just slept longer in him than in others. Bellatrix, after all, had never bothered hiding it. Even as a child, she had been unhinged—jealous, vicious, smiling too wide. Regulus could still picture her ripping the heads off his dolls, burning their plastic bodies with a lighter because they were prettier than hers. He’d cried. She’d laughed.

Maybe his turn had simply come later.

These thoughts drift lazily through his mind as his hand comes down again. And again.

The girl beneath him is screaming—high, broken sounds that bounce off the tiled walls of the bathroom, echoing too loudly in such a small space. Regulus barely registers them at first. His grip is firm, almost clinical. Detached. As if his body knows what to do even if his mind is somewhere else entirely.

It’s only when warm blood splashes against his wrist and stains the fabric of her robes that he really looks.

Blue.

Ravenclaw blue.

The realization lands with a dull thud in his chest, not quite horror, not quite relief. Just… information. Filed away.

Her screams falter, dissolve into wet gasps, then into nothing at all.

Silence stretches, thick and suffocating.

Blood pools beneath her body, spreading slowly across the tiles like a living thing, dark and glossy. Regulus freezes, staring down at her face—eyes open, glassy, already empty. Whatever had been her is gone.

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck—

He scrambles backward, nearly slipping in the blood, heart slamming violently against his ribs. His breathing comes too fast, too shallow. He presses a hand to his mouth like that might stop the reality of it from spilling out.

He actually did it.

There’s no undoing this. No charm, no spell that can rewind time far enough.

He needs to be fast.

His friends would be looking for him soon. He’d told them he was going to the library on the first floor—said it casually, convincingly. Right now, he was very much not there. He was in the girls’ bathroom on the third floor, standing over a corpse.

“Okay,” he whispers, voice trembling despite himself. “Okay. Calm.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, dragging in a breath.

“Remember what Sirius said…”

His brother’s voice echoes in his head, irritatingly calm. Don’t panic. Panic makes mistakes.

Regulus opens his eyes and moves.

Cleaning charms first. Precise, efficient. Blood vanishes from his sleeves, his hands, his face. The metallic smell fades. The knife gleams again, innocent as if it hadn’t just been buried in someone’s chest.

“Evidence,” he mutters, as if saying the word out loud gives it power.

An idea sparks, sharp and bright.

With a levitation spell, he lifts the knife and carefully places it into the girl’s limp hand. He hesitates only a second before casting another charm—one Narcissa had taught him in a rare moment of sisterly kindness. The sensation is unpleasant, like his fingertips are being peeled away from the world, but when it’s done, there’s nothing left of him on the blade.

No prints.

He exhales shakily.

He should have used a killing curse. Clean. Efficient. This—this was sloppy. Emotional. He hadn’t planned it; he’d just reacted. The knife had been there, resting by the sink, and his mind had gone terrifyingly blank.

Too late for regrets now.

He checks his watch.

Ten minutes before his friends start actively searching for him. Fifteen, maybe twenty, to make it to the library without looking rushed.

He scans the bathroom once more.

Did he forget anything?

A memory surfaces unbidden.

Remember, Reggie—an Obliviate should finish the work.

Even if the girl is dead?

Yes. Leave no trace. Even memories can be pulled.

The thought makes him smile, small and involuntary.

He raises his wand one last time and casts the spell. The magic hums softly, pointless yet necessary, wiping clean whatever final terror might have been etched into her mind.

Then he turns away.

At the door, he pauses, listening. Footsteps? Voices? Nothing.

The corridor is empty.

Regulus smooths his robes, schools his expression into something calm, almost pleasant, and steps out. He walks—not runs—down the stairs, each step measured, controlled.

By the time he reaches the library, his breathing has evened out.

If his friends are already there, he’ll smile and apologize lightly. Say he stopped to greet James. Maybe Sirius too. No one will question it. They never do.

Regulus Black takes his seat at a table, opens a book, and disappears back into the world—leaving blood, screams, and a lifeless body behind him, as if they were never there at all.

—

The next morning, breakfast begins like any other.

The Great Hall is loud in the familiar way—cutlery clinking against plates, chairs scraping over stone, laughter bouncing off enchanted ceilings painted in soft winter light. Nothing feels wrong yet, and that’s the most unsettling part.

Regulus eats quietly.

In front of him sits a red-berry muffin, still warm enough that steam curls lazily from its cracked top. He breaks it in half with neat fingers, crumbs collecting on the edge of his plate. Beside it, a cup of tea, untouched, the surface trembling slightly every time someone laughs too loudly nearby. Tucked beneath the saucer is a folded scrap of parchment.

I have Quidditch practice till late morning.

Enjoy breakfast, love.

Regulus allows himself the smallest smile before slipping the note into his pocket, right over his heart. James always wrote like that—simple, affectionate, as if loving Regulus were the easiest thing in the world.

Around him, his friends are anything but quiet.

Pandora leans close to Evan, her voice soft and patient as she explains a complicated charm for their next Charms lesson, tracing invisible wand movements in the air. Evan listens with a furrowed brow, nodding as though he understands more than he actually does.

Across the table, Barty and Dorcas are halfway to standing, arguing heatedly about the new Slytherin Quidditch team.

“I’m telling you, Dorcas, if you’d seen Mulciber fly—” “Oh please, Barty, raw speed isn’t everything. Technique matters.” “You’d make a terrible Chaser.” “And you’d make an insufferable captain.”

Regulus lets the noise wash over him. He’s halfway through his muffin when the sound in the Hall shifts.

It isn’t silence—not immediately. It’s more like the room holds its breath.

Dumbledore clears his throat.

The sound is quiet, but it carries. Conversations falter, laughter dies mid-breath, and heads turn one by one toward the staff table. Regulus straightens instinctively, fingers tightening around his teacup.

“It is with great sadness,” Dumbledore says, his voice measured and heavy, “that I must announce the death of a fellow student.”

The words land wrong. Too blunt. Too final.

“A young witch from Ravenclaw House—Alomeda Abernathy.”

Gasps ripple through the Hall, sharp and immediate. Someone drops a spoon. Somewhere, a chair scrapes loudly as a student stands too fast.

Regulus feels his face betray him for half a second—his mouth twitching, instinctively trying to form a polite, distant smile, the kind he’s been trained to wear since childhood. He catches himself and smooths his expression into something blank. Shocked. Appropriately stunned.

Around him, his friends have gone utterly still.

Pandora’s hand freezes mid-gesture. Evan’s mouth hangs open. Dorcas slowly lowers herself back onto the bench. Barty stares straight ahead, jaw clenched so tightly Regulus can see the muscle jump.

At the Ravenclaw table, a girl breaks down sobbing, her face buried in her hands as someone wraps an arm around her shoulders. Regulus recognizes her from a distance—dark hair, red-rimmed eyes. He’s sure he saw her holding Alomeda’s hand just yesterday.

“We did everything we could,” Dumbledore continues, sorrow etched deeply into his features. “However, it appears that the perpetrator cast an Oblivion spell. There is no evidence left behind. No memories. No traces.”

A murmur spreads. Fear, confusion, anger.

“This evening,” Dumbledore says, “we will hold a memorial dinner. Those who wish to speak in Alomeda’s memory may do so.”

Some Ravenclaws are already standing, voices raised in tearful protests, demanding answers that will not come.

Regulus doesn’t look at them.

He focuses on his tea until the surface stills.

—

By the time classes end, the castle feels different. Heavier. Like the walls are listening.

Potions runs long, and when Regulus and Barty finally escape the dungeon, the air in the corridor feels warmer than it should. Regulus barely has time to inhale before strong arms wrap around his waist from behind.

Warm. Familiar. Safe.

He gasps, then laughs softly.

“Mon cœur.”

“Mi vida!” James’s voice is bright and unburdened, and he presses loud, exaggerated kisses along Regulus’ cheek, his jaw, the corner of his mouth. Regulus can’t help it—he giggles, shoulders shaking as he tries and fails to push James away.

“James,” he murmurs, smiling despite himself.

Barty groans. “You’re disgusting,” he says flatly, though there’s no real bite to it. Regulus knows that look—Barty’s pretending not to care, and failing spectacularly.

Sirius appears a second later, already scowling. “Prongs! Unhand my brother immediately and let me hug him!”

James, ever mature, sticks his tongue out and tightens his grip. “Finders keepers.”

Regulus shakes his head, amused, warmth spreading through his chest despite the knot that hasn’t left since breakfast.

They start down the corridor together—toward the library, where Regulus and Remus plan to study, and where Sirius and James fully intend to be a menace.

They don’t get far.

A figure storms toward them, footsteps sharp and unsteady against the stone. Regulus recognizes her instantly—the Ravenclaw girl from the morning. Her eyes are wild, red from crying, her wand already clenched in her fist.

“You!”

The shout echoes.

Sirius moves without thinking, stepping half in front of Regulus, wand raised. James freezes entirely, staring like a stag caught in wandlight.

“What?” Regulus asks calmly, crossing his arms, though his heart is racing so hard he can feel it in his throat.

“I know you did it!” she screams. “You, Regulus Black—you’re just as mad as your family! You killed my girlfriend, you fucking piece of shit!”

She points her wand at him, hands shaking. Her friends rush up behind her, grabbing her arms, pulling her back.

“Leah, stop!” “You don’t know that!” “This isn’t helping—please!”

Regulus barely hears them.

It’s over, his mind supplies coldly.

They know.

Azkaban.

Chains.

No James. No Sirius. No friends.

Then—

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Sirius’ voice is sharp enough to cut glass.

“Alomeda died yesterday,” he snaps, fury blazing in his eyes, “and my brother was with me the whole time.”

Regulus turns so fast his neck protests.

“What?” The word slips out before he can stop it.

James and Remus stay silent behind them, faces pale, eyes fixed on Sirius.

A professor arrives just in time, pulling Leah away as she sobs and thrashes. Her friends apologize frantically as they’re dragged down the corridor, their voices echoing long after they’re gone.

The hallway empties.

Regulus and Sirius stare at each other.

We need to talk, Sirius’ eyes say.

We do, Regulus answers back.

—

After a long stretch in the library—where Remus and Regulus actually managed to study, Sirius did everything in his power not to, and James laughed far too loudly at every whispered joke—it was finally time to head to dinner.

Books were packed away, chairs scraped softly against the floor, and the low hum of students moving through the corridors drifted in through the open doors.

Regulus stood.

And then promptly froze.

His stomach twisted, sharp and sudden, and he swallowed hard. The Great Hall felt impossibly far away.

Before he could say anything, Sirius caught his wrist.

Not rough. Not hurried. Just firm enough to keep him there.

“James. Moony,” Sirius said easily, already pulling Regulus a step aside. “Go on ahead. Me and Reggie need to talk.”

He smiled as he said it—too bright, too casual—and shot Remus a playful wink.

Remus hesitated for half a second, eyes flicking between the brothers, before nodding. James followed suit, though his brows were pinched with concern. He leaned in anyway, pressing a quick kiss to Regulus’ cheek.

“See you in there,” James murmured softly.

Remus leaned down to kiss the top of Sirius’ head, fingers briefly brushing the back of his neck, grounding him. Then they were gone, footsteps fading down the corridor.

Regulus stared after them.

He’s going to ask, his mind screamed.

He’s going to know.

He turned slowly to face his brother, dread coiling tighter in his chest. Regulus had never been good at lying to Sirius. He could lie to professors, to friends, even to himself—but Sirius had always seen through him.

And if Sirius knew—

Azkaban flashed behind his eyes. Cold. Stone. Forever.

“Reggie. Hey.”

Sirius’ hands came up to rest on his shoulders, thumbs pressing gently as if to anchor him in place. His smile was gone now, replaced by something softer. Something worried.

Regulus’ mismatched eyes—one grey, one green—burned as tears welled up despite his best effort. He hated that. Hated feeling weak.

Sirius sighed quietly and flicked his wand, murmuring a silencing charm. The world seemed to shrink around them, the noise of the corridor dulled to nothing.

“I did it, Siri,” Regulus broke, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I can’t believe I did it—”

His voice cracked, and then he was sobbing, hands shaking as he wiped at his face uselessly.

“Shh. Reggie, no—don’t cry.”

Sirius pulled him forward without hesitation, wrapping his arms around him, one hand coming up to cradle the back of Regulus’ head. It was the same way he’d held him when they were children—after nightmares, after their parents’ shouting matches, after Regulus pretended he didn’t need comfort.

“I—I didn’t know she had a girlfriend,” Regulus choked. “Merlin, I— I can’t even feel bad. I almost smiled in the Great Hall this morning when they announced she was dead—”

His breath hitched, and Sirius quickly covered his mouth, pressing Regulus’ face into his shoulder.

“Stop. Enough. Not another word like that.”

Regulus went still, chest heaving.

“Look at me,” Sirius said quietly.

Regulus did, reluctantly.

“Breathe,” Sirius continued. “Count to ten. Slow. With me.”

They stood there, counting under their breaths. Once. Twice. Three times over. Gradually, Regulus’ shaking eased, though the tension didn’t fully leave his shoulders.

Sirius exhaled deeply, then leaned down to press a gentle kiss to Regulus’ forehead.

“Okay,” he said at last. “Why?”

The question was simple. No judgment. No accusation.

Regulus’ jaw tightened.

“She hovered around James,” he hissed, anger flaring now that the panic had settled. “Constantly. I don’t think Leah knew—but her girlfriend might as well have been cheating with how much she stared at my boyfriend.”

For a heartbeat, Sirius just stared at him.

Then he burst out laughing.

Not a chuckle. Not a snort.

Full-on wheezing, doubled over, one hand braced on the wall.

Regulus blinked, utterly stunned.

“What—what’s so funny?” he demanded weakly. “I killed a girl in a fit of jealousy!”

“No,” Sirius managed between gasps. “It’s just—Merlin, Reg—I would’ve done the same.”

Regulus shoved him lightly, scandalized. “Shut up! I’m a murderer!”

“Are you?” Sirius straightened, laughter fading as he raised an eyebrow.

“What—of course I—”

“Regulus Arcturus Black,” Sirius cut in, voice suddenly firm. “Did you kill Alomeda Abernathy?”

The words hit like a splash of cold water.

Regulus opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Then—

“No,” he said slowly. “I didn’t. I spent most of yesterday afternoon with you. And then I went to dinner with my friends.”

The lie slid off his tongue so smoothly it startled him.

Sirius’ mouth curved into a proud smirk.

“See?” he said softly. “You’re fine. Just like Dumbledore said—Oblivion, no witnesses. They’ll let it go.”

Regulus nodded, pulse still racing, adrenaline humming beneath his skin.

Sirius shook his head with a quiet laugh as they started toward the Great Hall.

“She really should’ve kept her eyes to herself,” Regulus muttered under his breath.

Sirius nudged his shoulder. “Most people would’ve told the girlfriend instead of killing.”

Regulus glanced up at him, lips quirking into a small, unapologetic smirk.

“I’m not most people.”

Sirius smirked right back. “No. You really aren’t.”

—

It happened again.

This time, there was no panic. No shaking hands, no frantic excuses whispered to the air.

This time, it was intentional.

Regulus laughed softly as the blade slid across the boy’s throat—clean, practiced. The sound that followed was wet and startled, cut short almost immediately. Regulus didn’t look away. He didn’t flinch. He only stepped forward, fingers curling into the boy’s hair, and slammed his head down into the porcelain sink.

Once.

Twice.

Again.

The crash echoed in the Slytherin changing rooms, loud and obscene, water sloshing violently as red spread and mixed until the sink was full, overflowing, dripping down onto the tiles like a slow, patient spill. Regulus kept pushing—back and forth, methodical—until the resistance disappeared entirely.

Then he stopped.

He exhaled, a little tired now, and released his grip. The body slid bonelessly to the floor, cracking against the tiles with a dull, final sound that echoed longer than it should have.

Regulus straightened.

He brushed imaginary dust from his shoulders, adjusted his sleeves, and looked down at the mess with mild irritation rather than horror.

“That’s what you get,” he said calmly, hands settling on his hips as he tilted his head.

“For ogling my boyfriend. You weren’t subtle.”

The corpse, predictably, didn’t answer.

Regulus snorted under his breath.

A few quick cleaning charms erased the blood from the sink, the tiles, his hands. An Obliviate—clean, precise, without hesitation. He stepped back to inspect his work, eyes scanning the room like a student checking homework.

Satisfied, he sighed.

“Well,” he muttered, rubbing at the back of his neck, “I should probably try therapy instead of killing.”

Silence answered him.

Regulus paused. Then he laughed—quiet at first, breathy, before it cracked into something sharper, wrong. He shook his head, curls bouncing.

“Who am I kidding?”

Still chuckling, he turned and left the Slytherin changing rooms. His steps were light, unhurried. Anyone passing him in the corridor would’ve seen nothing more than Regulus Black—perfect posture, calm expression, not a trace of guilt clinging to him.

As if he hadn’t just ended a life.

—

The announcement came that same night, during dinner.

Regulus was sitting sideways on his boyfriend’s lap, legs draped comfortably as he spooned dessert from a shared dish, utterly at ease.

“Disgusting,” Sirius said loudly, faking a gag.

Regulus rolled his eyes. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you.”

Sirius had been the first to know about them—because Regulus, for all his secrets, had never learned how to lie to his brother. Sirius had been supportive, protective even.

Still, he insisted on this exaggerated big-brother routine whenever Regulus sat too close to his boyfriend.

Remus raised an eyebrow, pointedly glancing at Sirius’ legs, which were practically sprawled across his lap. Sirius ignored him.

Regulus laughed softly and let his gaze drift to the Slytherin table. Pandora was mid-sentence, hands moving animatedly. Barty leaned back in his chair, Evan whispering something into his ear while Dorcas listened, expression sharp and attentive.

His chest tightened—just a little.

He hated that feeling. That tug, like he was always choosing, always dividing himself. Brother. Boyfriend. Friends. There never seemed to be enough of him to go around.

Then the room shifted.

Dumbledore cleared his throat.

The Great Hall quieted, forks freezing mid-air.

“It is with great sadness,” the headmaster began, “that only a few weeks after the tragic death of Alomeda, I must announce another student’s passing.”

A wave of gasps rippled through the hall.

“Again?”

“What’s happening?”

“Is there a murderer in the school?”

Regulus lowered his eyes just in time to hide the smile threatening to curve his lips.

“This student,” Dumbledore continued gravely, “was a fellow Slytherin and a member of the Quidditch team. Alexios Nightingale.”

Regulus took a slow breath, schooling his expression into something appropriately shaken—even as his thoughts whispered, He deserved it.

He should’ve known better.

James’ arms tightened instinctively around him. “Are you okay, mi amor?”

Regulus nodded, leaning into him, voice carefully unsteady. “Y-yeah… He was on the team. He was… pretty good.”

James’ eyes darkened—not with suspicion, but something older, sharper. Possessive. Concerned. He pressed a kiss to Regulus’ temple. “I’m sorry, love.”

Regulus shook his head faintly, gaze flicking back to the Slytherin table.

Dorcas had gone still. Her eyes met his.

She knew Alexios. She’d watched Regulus’ practices more times than she’d admit. She understood what this loss meant—at least, what it should mean.

Regulus mouthed, We’ll talk later.

She nodded once.

Sirius was staring at him now—face blank, unreadable. Not accusing. Not ignorant. Just watching.

Regulus didn’t react.

He took another bite of his red berry mousse, sweet and rich, then twisted around to hug James properly, arms wrapping tight.

“Oh, sweetheart,” James murmured, fingers sliding through his dark curls.

Regulus buried his face into James’ shoulder, smiling where no one could see.

One word echoed warmly in his mind, possessive and absolute.

Mine.

---

“J–James—”

Regulus’ voice broke on the name, breath hitching as his boyfriend moved against him with a fervor that bordered on desperate. Everything about James felt overwhelming in moments like this—his warmth, his weight, the way he said Regulus’ name like it was something sacred and ruined all at once.

“Fuck, Reggie—”

James sounded breathless, unguarded, lips brushing along Regulus’ jaw as if he needed the contact just to stay grounded. His pace faltered only to pick up again, messy and uncoordinated in the way that meant he’d stopped thinking entirely.

It always came back to that moment.

The punch.

James’ fist colliding with that bastard’s face without hesitation, without fear. For him.

Regulus’ chest tightened at the memory. James hadn’t even looked angry afterward—just protective, incandescent with the kind of devotion Regulus had been taught only monsters were capable of.

He deserved to be rewarded.

Regulus tugged James closer, kissing him back with bruising urgency, heat and hunger tangling together until there was no space left for doubt.

“You looked so hot,” Regulus murmured, voice shaking, breath warm against James’ ear.

James let out a strained laugh that dissolved into a groan, forehead dropping into the curve of Regulus’ neck. “You’d look hotter too,” he breathed, words barely coherent.

Regulus stilled, just for a second.

“Even if I’d killed someone for you?” he asked softly.

James didn’t pull away. Didn’t hesitate. He only pressed a kiss to Regulus’ collarbone, lazy and trusting.

“Especially then.”

Something dark and blissful unfurled in Regulus’ stomach.

He moved again, silently begging with his body, craving more—always more.

“I’d kill to watch you kill someone for me,” he confessed, the words slipping out like a secret he’d been waiting to share.

James groaned, rhythm growing frantic, breath uneven. “Yeah?”

Regulus nodded, eyes bright, feverish.

“I’ll kill someone for you,” James said, half-laughing, half-gasping, sincerity bleeding through every word. “As many times as it takes, if this is where we end up.”

“Please,” Regulus whispered, hands digging into James’ back as the world narrowed down to warmth, sound, and sensation. “Do.”

---

Later, everything was quiet.

James had always been gentle afterward—helping him clean up, kissing him slowly, holding him close as if afraid Regulus might disappear if he loosened his grip. Their routine was soft and domestic, almost absurd compared to the violence of their words earlier.

Now James slept, arm heavy around Regulus’ waist, breath deep and even.

Regulus lay curled against his chest, leg draped possessively over James’ thigh, staring into the dark.

The words echoed in his mind.

Did you mean it?

Would you really do it?

And worse—would you let me?

The thought of James with blood on his hands, eyes wild and devoted, a lifeless body at his feet for Regulus’ sake, made his stomach twist pleasantly. His breath caught, thighs tightening despite himself.

A dream worth making real.

With a lazy flick of his wand, parchment appeared in the air—a familiar list, edges curling faintly as if eager. He scanned it, lips curling into something sharp and pleased.

Another name was added.

A girl this time. One of Lily’s acquaintances. Penelope… something. The surname hardly mattered. What mattered was the way she lingered too close to the Gryffindors, the way her eyes followed James, the way she’d had the audacity to ask if he was single.

Unforgivable.

Regulus smiled softly, nestling closer to James’ sleeping form.

She would have to go.

---

“Reg, you need to stop.”

Sirius’ voice cut through the fog in Regulus’ head like a blade through silk.

The dagger left Regulus’ hand on instinct— a sharp flick of his wrist, pure reflex — and embedded itself in the wall where Sirius’ head had been a second before. Sirius jerked back with a sharp inhale, heart pounding, staring at the weapon vibrating inches from his face.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then Regulus blinked, as if waking from a trance. His shoulders sagged, the tension draining from him all at once, and he dragged a shaky breath through his teeth.

“…Sorry.”

He turned away, back hunched slightly, and began casting cleaning charms over his robes with mechanical precision. Blood lifted from the dark fabric in wisps of crimson smoke, vanishing into nothing. The floor, the sink, his hands — all of it erased, neat and controlled.

Sirius didn’t move.

His eyes were fixed on Penelope’s body crumpled on the bathroom tiles, hair fanned out like a halo in a widening pool of red. The silence rang louder than any scream.

“You scared me, Siri,” Regulus muttered quietly, not even looking at him.

With a careless flick of his wand, he cast a swift Oblivion on Penelope’s lifeless form, sealing memories that would never be recalled.

Sirius finally exhaled, arms crossing tightly over his chest as if to hold himself together.

“Regulus,” he said, voice low, strained. “This is the sixth person you’ve killed. Sixth. Merlin— she was one of Lily’s friends.”

Regulus paused.

He frowned slightly, as if doing mental arithmetic.

“…Only six?” he murmured to himself.

Sirius stiffened.

Regulus swallowed, irritation flickering across his face. Fuck. That meant there were still at least ten more names left on his list. Ten more people who had looked at James the wrong way. Ten more who hadn’t gotten the message.

“What did you just—” Sirius stopped himself, running a hand through his hair. “Merlin’s sake, Reg, do you even hear yourself? You’re losing it.”

He stepped forward and grabbed Regulus by the shoulders, forcing him to turn around.

Regulus looked up slowly.

Something in his gaze shifted — the softness draining away, leaving something colder, heavier. Ancient. His mismatched eyes locked onto Sirius’, unblinking.

“Maybe I’ve always been this way.”

Sirius faltered. “I— that’s not true—”

“Isn’t it?” Regulus challenged quietly.

Their foreheads were nearly touching now. Green and grey eyes stared into Sirius’ stormy grey ones, searching, accusing.

“You’ve always been different,” Sirius said, voice unsteady. “But different in a good way. Not like them. Not like our parents. Not like the rest of the family—”

Regulus let out a soft, humorless laugh.

“All my life, I’ve been waiting for something,” he said slowly. “Something that would make me feel… real. If it wasn’t for you, Sirius, I would’ve grown into someone who couldn’t even understand what love is.”

His voice wavered, just barely.

“But because of you, I know it. I know how it feels. And I want all of it. Every shape it comes in.” His lips curved faintly. “One of those shapes is James.”

The darkness in his eyes softened, replaced by something bright and terrifyingly devoted.

“I loved him the moment I met him. At first it was hate — pure, burning hate — but he grew on me. Wormed his way into me. And now he’s my boyfriend, and I’ve never been happier.”

Sirius took a step back, shaken.

“I’ll do anything,” Regulus continued, voice almost reverent, “to make sure he stays mine for the rest of his life.”

The words settled heavily between them.

“He. Is. Mine,” Regulus said dreamily.

Sirius’ stomach twisted.

“No matter what anyone says. No matter who tries to get in the way.” Regulus smiled faintly, recalling bloodied hands and silenced mouths. “They always pay for it. Trust me. They did.”

Sirius stared at him, pain and horror warring in his eyes.

“I don’t care about anyone else,” Regulus said suddenly, urgently. “Only him. And you. You’re my family, Sirius. You’re all I have.”

His gaze was frantic now, pleading beneath the madness.

Sirius swallowed hard. Slowly, carefully, he reached out and cupped Regulus’ cheek, thumb brushing away a tear Regulus hadn’t even realized had fallen.

“Oh, Reg…” Sirius whispered. “That house ruined you. It really did.”

That was all it took.

Regulus broke.

He collapsed forward, pressing his face into Sirius’ chest, fingers clutching at his robes like a drowning man. His shoulders shook as silent sobs tore through him.

“Please,” he choked. “Help me, Siri. I don’t want to end up in Azkaban.”

Sirius held him tightly, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other rubbing slow circles into his back.

“I won’t let that happen,” he murmured. “We’ll fix this. We always do.”

Regulus nodded desperately against him.

“We’ll find someone else to take the blame,” Sirius added quietly. “Yeah?”

Another nod. Smaller. Fragile.

They stayed there for a long time, clinging to each other in the cold, bloodstained bathroom. 

When they finally left, Penelope’s body remained behind.

Silent.

Forgotten. 

---

Gideon’s screams tore through the corridor as professors and Ministry officials hauled him away, his heels scraping uselessly against the stone floor. He thrashed, cursed, begged—his voice cracking into something animal and desperate—but no one listened.

No one ever did, once the Ministry decided you were guilty.

Away forever.

Away from Hogwarts.

Away from Regulus.

Away from Regulus’ precious small family.

It had been absurdly easy to decide who would take the blame.

Sirius had despised Gideon from the moment he learned how long the boy had been watching Regulus—following him, lingering too close, staring like he was owed something. That alone would’ve been reason enough. But Gideon had made it even simpler for them.

He’d been close to every single victim.

Every dead girl. Every dead boy.

Patterns were such convenient things.

Regulus, pale and quiet and untouched by suspicion, had never looked more innocent. His hands were clean. His expression was serene. No one thought to question the boy who spoke softly, who stood slightly behind his older brother, eyes lowered in practiced humility.

They hadn’t even needed complicated magic.

Just a few carefully placed fingertips— Gideon’s— pressed onto a parchment already prepared. A list of names, neatly written. Victims, all of them. A simple charm to bind Gideon’s fingerprints to the page, sealing his fate with bureaucratic finality.

Evidence.

The Ministry men nodded, satisfied. The professors looked away, relieved to have an answer that didn’t implicate their school further. Justice, swift and clean.

As Gideon disappeared down the corridor, Sirius leaned in and pressed a kiss to Regulus’s forehead, warm and affectionate, like this were nothing more than a brother comforting another after a long day.

“See?” Sirius murmured near his ear, lips curling into a grin.

“All done.”

Regulus hummed softly, the sound almost content. His eyes followed the empty corridor for a moment longer before he turned away, utterly calm.

“He should have seen it coming.”

Sirius snorted under his breath, shaking his head.

“Maybe,” he said lightly, “let’s lower the body count in the future, yeah?”

Regulus tilted his head, considering.

“Mhm. For Hogwarts, I’m done,” he replied, voice absentminded. Then, darker, quieter:

“But once I’m married to my dear James… and the neighbors start looking at him funny…”

His gaze unfocused, something sharp flickering behind his eyes.

Sirius groaned and rolled his eyes.

“Merlin help me.”

Before he could say more, arms slipped around Regulus’s waist from behind. James pressed close, solid and warm, his presence grounding in a way nothing else ever was. He kissed the top of Regulus’s head, fingers curling possessively at his sides.

“Mi vida,” James said softly. “Are you okay?”

He pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes blazing with righteous certainty.

“I knew that sick bastard Gideon was the murderer.”

Regulus laughed quietly and turned in James’s arms, looping his hands around his boyfriend’s neck. He kissed him—slow, deliberate, tender.

“Yes,” he murmured against James’s lips.

“I’m fine, mon cœur.”

James smiled, clearly pleased, and leaned in to tease, nipping gently at Regulus’s ear before brushing his mouth along his neck.

“Were you talking about our marriage with your brother?”

Regulus flushed instantly, color blooming across his cheeks. He shoved James lightly, embarrassed despite himself.

“Shut up!”

James laughed, delighted.

Sirius watched the whole exchange in silence.

His smile faded as quickly as it had appeared.

James would never know what Regulus had done for him. Never know how much blood had been spilled to keep him safe, adored, untouched by the uglier truths of the world. And maybe—probably—that was for the best.

Love like James’s didn’t survive truths like that.

Sirius only hoped Regulus could live with it. With the weight of the dead pressed quietly into his heart. With the lie wrapped lovingly around his future husband.

He hoped love would be enough to carry that burden.

He wasn’t sure it ever was.