Chapter Text
June 1976
Regulus’ 4th Year
Regulus Arcturus Black did not have time for friendships.
A wasting heat wilted the usually mild valley around Hogwarts Castle. Even the Forbidden Forest lacked its usual gloomy lustre. The summer had barely begun, but it had dug its claws into them all.
Regulus ignored the bead of sweat that crawled down his face as he quietly extended his arm. His grip on the camera wavered as his muscles and bones reorientated themselves. The dugbog had yet to notice him from where it presided over its leafy burrow. The creature resembled a log coated in a beautiful array of lichen and moss. Its little webbed hand clung to the side of the tree. Regulus had been hunting for it for weeks, ever since he’d seen it during riding practice. He hadn’t been carrying his camera and the dugbog had left the lake shore by the time he got back.
Regulus snapped a picture now. The camera flashed brightly as chemicals mixed. A puff of smoke rose from the top. Regulus retracted his hand as the dugbog screeched. It spotted him as it turned and tried to bite his hand off with its sharp teeth.
Regulus took another picture.
The dugbog leaped from the trunk and buried its teeth into his sleeve. Regulus hissed as the bite sunk deep. He regretted taking off his outer robes. They would have provided some protection. He took out his wand and hit the creature with a stunning spell. It froze where it was, maw still grasping his sleeve. Another wave of pain ran up Regulus’ arm. Aggressive tendencies and these prodigious teeth were why tiny creatures such as the dugbogs were classed as ‘dark’ – it seemed a crude delineation to Regulus, but there it was.
“Ah, Merlin.” Regulus shifted into a smaller form and sat up. He blinked, reorientating himself. After several minutes upside down, all the blood in his head suddenly rushed into the rest of his body. He peered down at the dugbog. “What was the plan here? You can’t fly, you realise, and we’re very high up.”
Regulus slowly eased the creature’s jaw off his arm. The blood had soaked through the white silk now. Kreacher would not be impressed.
“I’ll take this bite as my repayment. Fair?”
The stunned dugbog did not reply, naturally. Regulus set it on the branch beside him. He tucked his camera into his bag and fished out a vial. He had stocked up on healing potions the last time he had been at the hospital wing – the Hufflepuff beaters had deduced their best chance at defeating Slytherin was to kill him, or so it seemed. Potion downed, Regulus glanced up at the sky and realised, with a sharp flutter of nerves, that he was almost certainly running late.
If Regulus had friends looking out for him, they may have noticed he wasn’t walking with the others to the station. They would have gone after him and shouted his name until they found him. Spooking the dugbog in the process, no doubt. Regulus would have been on time for the train – but without two new photographs to add to his collection. Luckily, Regulus had another solution. He had a flying broomstick.
Regulus summoned his broom with a spell and stepped aboard. He planted one foot on the bundle of twigs at the head and another halfway up the shaft, where an invisible cushioning charm had been affixed. It made balancing on the narrow wood easier.
His bag over his shoulder and his most recent subject slowly blinking into motion again, Regulus shot upwards. With a twist of his feet, Regulus dodged the leaves of the canopy and broke into the sky above. He skimmed across the treetops, thankful for the breeze against his skin. The hot sun bore down on him with an unjustified vengeance now he’d left the shadows.
At the edge of the forest, Regulus scooped up his trunk and owl cage from where he’d left them using a levitation spell and shot across the Black Lake towards Hogsmeade Station.
Smoke was already billowing from the train.
He was very, very late.
In a rush, Regulus alighted onto the tiny platform. The conductor blew the last whistle. The doors began to close. Regulus leapt aboard with an inch to spare.
Auriga, his owl, squawked with indignity as Regulus almost dropped him. “You’re fine,” Regulus reassured the bird – and fed him a treat for his troubles. The owl calmed quickly.
The Hogwarts Express started chugging out of the station as Regulus regarded the empty hall before him. Well, he was aboard, at least. A perfectly timed arrival without a moment wasted. No one was there to be impressed, nor Regulus supposed any witness would be, but he still took satisfaction in his efficiency.
Regulus didn’t revel for long. Instead, he turned his attention to the next challenge of the day: finding a seat. He double checked his face – it wouldn’t do to scare another first year – before sorting out his luggage and starting down the hall. He glanced inside each compartment as he passed: three Ravenclaw girls pouring over a dusty tome, a couple of sixth years snogging, a mudblood already out of their robes, four Gryffindors... Regulus pushed on.
He had made his way through most of the train when he ran into a group of older Slytherin boys. Regulus, unfortunately, knew each of them well. They were ambitious types, to be sure. They had to be, considering their backgrounds. Mulciber was in his riding club. Wilkes was in his year. Rosier was his cousins’ cousin. And Snape, their latest crony, was Sirius’ rival and occasional victim.
The quartet were making a similar journey down the walkway, only slower, with more hexes. Wilkes hit the glass windows of one compartment with his wand, causing it to shudder violently, as he passed. His fellows cackled at the cries of dismay that followed it. Rosier jinxed the curtains of the next compartment to billow wildly. And so on. Nothing that would get them in trouble, but certainly enough to spook whichever students were inside. These four never seemed to worry who they targeted. They saw themselves as above everyone.
All the while, Mulciber read through a letter. “Looks like Avery finally got in.”
“Well, he would,” Wilkes said. “His dad was one of the first.”
Rosier flicked Wilkes’ arm with his wand. “No one likes a little whinger.”
“I’m not whinging.”
“Sounds like whinging.” Rosier tapped the handle on the next compartment, turning the metal bright red with heat.
Regulus listened intently, even as he pretended to check for empty seats. He had an ongoing private project and his research had recently been bolstered a fair way by eavesdropping on these four. They knew several Death Eaters; of that Regulus had no doubt. It was an open secret at the school they were the Dark Lord’s believers.
It seemed foolish to Regulus, to allow oneself to garner such a reputation when one wanted to join an anonymous organisation, but that was they probably because they were fools. From a family of fools. There was a reason their houses had all declined or been polluted over the generations. Could any of them claim to be truly pure? Unlikely. Still, their loose lips had become a valuable source of information.
“You’ll get your chance soon, I’m sure,” Mulciber said. He was the eldest among them, a graduated seventh year now. “In fact, you can join me if you’re up for it. Avery says they’re off on a raid this weekend. It’s the perfect opportunity to catch his eye... He likes the proactive sort.”
“Well, I’m not... I’ve still got the Trace.”
“Oh,” Mulciber said, as if he’d forgotten. Regulus didn’t think he’d forgotten. “Another time then. I’m sure there are plenty of muggles with notions for us to– take care of.”
Rosier sniggered. “I’m going to take such good care of them.”
The others laughed.
Muggles with notions? Regulus frowned. This wasn’t just a regular muggle hunt, then? But why would the Dark Lord care about targeting muggles? What are you planning? Regulus wondered, listening all the more closely.
As ever, the Dark Lord’s intentions were cloaked behind a hundred layered schemes. The truth of his vision, of his ultimate gameplan, remained unattainable. Even the Aurors at the Ministry were finding his movements impossible to predict. Regulus longed to be the one to finally untangle the Dark Lord’s plots, to know and understand the genius who crafted them.
“Can we help you?” Snape drawled. He had been quiet while the others talked. He probably had very little to add, being a half-blood with no connections.
“You can move.” Regulus gestured to the side.
Rosier glowered at him. “Who do you–?”
“I know that owl,” Wilkes said. “That’s Regulus Black... Why did you give yourself a unibrow?”
Regulus only had a few more hours before he was forced to conform to his mother’s good taste. He wasn’t going to waste them. “Why shouldn’t I?”
“Are you... bleeding?” Rosier pointed at his arm.
Regulus looked down at his bloody sleeve. In his hurry earlier, he had forgotten to pull on his outer robes. “I suppose I am.” Wounds from dark creatures were resistant to most healing potions, but the pain had dulled. “I doubt it’s life threatening.”
The four boys stared at him with a mixture of wariness and confusion. Regulus was used to the look. He could guess what they were all thinking: can he get any stranger? Yes, Regulus would have answered. He liked the challenge of besting himself. And he enjoyed being a little strange. No one bothered him then.
Well, almost no one.
Some weeks ago, there had been a hubbub about the school. A rumour so pervasive that it reached even Regulus’ ear. Severus Snape had almost died and James Potter, Gryffindor’s star chaser, had saved his life. Snape had been avoiding the Gryffindors ever since. Cowed by his usual detractors, he’d decided to hound Regulus instead. What’s one Black to another?
This turned out to be a mistake on Snape’s part. All Regulus’ had had to do was mention the ‘harassment’ to his Quidditch team captain to have most of Slytherin come down on Snape. The half-blood had been thrown out of the dorm four nights in a row until he’d finally gotten on his knees and begged forgiveness. Regulus had simply regarded him with confusion and asked, “For what?”
It had been the easiest way to deal with Snape but it hadn’t won him any friends among this gang. Annoyingly, they were the sort to hold grudges.
“What do you want?” Rosier asked, before puffing out his chest and adding, “Freak.”
“For you to move.” Regulus raised his unibrow. “I did just say that.”
Mulciber adjusted the collar of his robes – he had replaced his green Slytherin tie with an embroidered cravat. It had to be enchanted, as he wasn’t sweating everywhere in this weather. Or maybe he was made of hardier stuff than Regulus gave him credit for.
No. Definitely not.
“You’d do well to tone down that arrogance of yours, Black,” Mulciber advised. “Things are going to start changing soon enough. A good Slytherin makes sure they’re on the right side of things. Isn’t that right, Snape?”
The thin boy nodded.
“What makes you think we aren’t on the same side?” Regulus asked.
Mulciber frowned.
Wilkes picked up his slack. “If you think he cares about the old guard, you have another thing coming.”
Once more, the idiots proved themselves unable to rise above their inadequacies. Power was power – they could call him a freak all they wanted, but when the dust settled, the House of Black would still command magic in a way than no one else could.
“Well, time will tell,” Regulus said. If they couldn’t understand what had been obvious for centuries, there was no saving them.
Mulciber stepped into his space. “Or we could find out now.”
“What’s going on here?”
Regulus looked over his shoulder at the approaching third party. The auburn-haired hag of Gryffindor known as Lily Evans strode down the corridor toward them, no back up in sight. Her prefect badge shone brightly where it was pinned on her lapel. What exactly did the mudblood think she could do here?
The other boys looked pass Regulus with withering stares. Regulus wasn’t privy to most drama that happened in the castle but he had heard how Snape had embarrassed himself outside of Gryffindor a couple weeks ago. Snape had begged and pleaded for hours – all over this girl.
Evans scanned their faces, marking each one. Naturally, she wouldn’t recognise Regulus’ face. Her lips set into a line; she had identified him as a damsel in distress, no doubt. Only a heroic Gryffindor could rescue him now.
“You shouldn’t be walking around the train.”
“What are you going to do about it, bloodstain?” Wilkes asked.
Any use of the term ‘mudblood’ had a penalty of twenty house points – the Defence teacher this year had gone so far as to survey the memories of students when it was reported. Regulus doubted that would last into next year. Their teacher had an unfortunate accident ahead of exams. But necessity breeds innovation, and even these four had started coming up with alternatives.
“As you’ve been harassing the other students, I’ll be docking ten points from Slytherin.”
Rosier huffed.
“Each.”
Regulus pinched his brow. Each? Why was he getting implicated? “I’m not associated with these people.”
“Oh,” the Gryffindor glanced at his collar and spotted the green. She did not hide her surprise while. “Not you.”
“The Cup has already been awarded, Evans,” Snape said dully. “There aren’t any points to take.”
The girl’s lips curled into a vicious smile. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll let McGonagall know to start your house in the negative next year.”
This was why Slytherin never won the House Cup. I don’t care, Regulus reminded himself. Focus on what you can control. Ignore all else.
“You can’t do that.” Rosier reached for his wand again.
The Gryffindor’s eyes flashed with anticipation. As if she could best three purebloods and a half-blood in a wand battle. On a train. With Regulus blocking her way. “Would you like to make that fifty points each?”
Mulciber lumbered passed Regulus and his trunk, drawing his own wand. “Try us, b–”
The Gryffindor hit him with a stunning jinx before he’d even started an incantation. She faced the others. “Anyone else?”
The other three did not move to avenge their friend. With the path down the train somewhat cleared, Regulus continued on his way. The Gryffindor continued to threaten the others – warning them against causing more trouble. Then she kindly released Mulciber from her jinx and sent them all on their way. It left a bad taste in Regulus’s mouth. A mudblood should never have been given power over her betters. She wielded it like a tyrant.
“Wait.”
Regulus couldn’t have imagined she was speaking to him – until she had chased after him and caught his arm. Regulus felt a shudder of revulsion run through him. He detested being touched. He shook her off. “Can I help you?”
“Are you looking for a place to sit?”
“No,” he lied. It seemed the simplest way to get rid of her. Imagine – sharing a compartment with a mudblood. He’d never live it down.
“Are you sure…? I’m Lily, by the way. What year are you–”
Down the corridor, a second year cried out as they were forcibly removed from their compartment. Their friend tumbled out behind them, then their luggage. The first child was already crying before the door was slammed in their face and the curtains were drawn. There would be no prizes for guessing the culprits.
“Jesus H. Christ! Why can’t they lay off for one minute?” The Gryffindor prefect stormed back down the corridor – and Regulus went the other way.
Eventually, he found a small, solitary cabin at the very end of the train. He piled his things on the pew and settled in. His camera bag drew his eye, but he knew there would be little point in getting anything out. The train moved too fast to capture anything good and he didn’t have the materials to develop the photos he had already taken. Instead, he pulled out his sketch book and started ripping it apart.
He hid each sketch inside the pages of his old textbooks. It was a tricky bit of magic, to encase them completely without any extra thickness, lumps, or ripples but Regulus had plenty of practice.
His parents didn’t mind his artistic pursuits. His uncle had been a portraitist – a very respectable profession for a pureblood. It was the subjects Regulus chose that would raise their ire. Most recently, he’d taken to drawing the castle’s small army of house elves. Their faces had such interesting angles. Regulus’ mother would never approve.
Some hours into the train ride, Regulus noticed a small spider spinning its web beneath the other seat. He took out his camera and snapped a picture. Another piece for his collection.
*
Sirius did not get off at King’s Cross, which was fairly predictable. He hadn’t come home all year. And so, Regulus walked to their London house alone.
He navigated his way through the heinous green canopy the muggles put up a few years before and onto the chaotic streets of London. He wore an illusory cloak over his regular robes, to keep muggles from noticing a wizard walking in their midst.
Without anyone to hurry him, Regulus stopped a few times to take a picture or draw a rough sketch. Rain had once more graced London with its presence, bringing out all sorts of vibrant colours.
Each time Regulus stopped, he had to rearrange his grip on his belongings. In one hand, he carried his umbrella and lead, while the other hurled his trunks – arranged in a way that required deft manoeuvring to keep it all from toppling over. Out here, Regulus was forbidden to use magic, which meant his broom had to stay strapped down rather than float along beside him, shouldering the burden. Luckily Hippo, his pegasus, was willing to take his camera bag and Auriga’s cage.
The winged mare clopped along unhappily behind him; her wings were wrapped in an illusionary cloak of her own. To the muggles around, she appeared to be a regular horse. She attracted some looks but no one cried, “Magic!” or called for a witch hunt.
Hippo also provided Regulus a fantastic excuse to come home through the mews. All of 12 Grimmauld Place was hidden behind a physical enchantment which repelled anyone who did not know the address, and sometimes those who did. That included the back door.
Regulus stabled Hippo beside the carriage steeds, brushed her down, and gave her an apple for being a good sport. Train travel didn’t agree with her whatsoever, but she still came with him to Scotland and she still won him gold in the pegasus races this year. With Hippo taken care of, Regulus hung up his broom and walked through the garden into the house proper.
As bad luck would have it, his mother – Walburga – was coming down the stairs just as he stepped through the garden door. The moment she noticed him, she looked towards the foyer. When she saw no sign of Sirius, she pinched her lips. Without a word, she made her way into the parlour. She was dressed nicely. She probably had a party tonight.
Regulus let out a breath and knocked on the door into the kitchen. With a pop, Kreacher appeared. Regulus smiled at the little house elf. Ever since Kreacher’s mother died, he had taken over the household duties. Regulus had suggested they buy another elf, to ease his burden, but Kreacher had firmly denied needing any assistance.
“Welcome home, young master.”
“It’s good to be back.”
Kreacher took Regulus’ things, including his cloak and outer-robes, and sent them upstairs with a snap of his fingers. Regulus longed to hug the elf; to tell him how desperately he missed him and how much his absence had weighed on Regulus these last few months, but that would only interfere with his work and Kreacher would not appreciate it. Instead, Regulus made his way upstairs, stomping silently.
Sirius had been acting out even more this year. Despite that, their parents had stopped trying to discipline him. They ignored his antics no matter how brazen. Sirius was a disgrace to the family, yet they refused to acknowledge it. They seemed to think if they just pretended it wasn’t happening, it would stop happening.
Lunacy.
All around him, the house was still and quiet. A stark contrast to the home Regulus had known in his childhood. A decade ago, Grimmauld Place had been filled to the brim with Blacks. His cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandmother had all lived in this house while their country estate had undergone renovations. Even after the work was completed, only his reclusive uncle Cygnus had moved back. No amount of engineering would rid Elder Ridge House of its many ghosts.
Grimmauld Place, centuries newer and with running water, was the perfect nexus between the estate; the ministry; and the pegasus network, for travel over the Channel. But over the years, the rooms had all emptied out. Regulus’s cousins had all married. His aunt Lycoris had died. Auntie Druella had divorced her husband. She travelled the world now. Last Regulus had heard she was India.
No one spoke about Uncle Alphard.
Regulus doubted his father, Orion, was home either. The longer this war waged, the more time he spent at the office.
At the top of the stairs, Sirius’ bedroom doors stared down at Regulus. A golden plaque which proudly proclaimed the room as Sirius’ still hung on its face. A silent statement of belief that Sirius was still coming back.
Would he come back?
Without an answer, Regulus refrained from ripping the name off the door himself and proceeded to his own room.
Regulus had been given a little plaque, made of silver, of his own when he first moved into the room here – growing up in had belonged to Granny Mel – but one day Sirius had made off with it is as a joke and Regulus had not seem it since. Instead, he had stuck a note upon the door.
Do not enter without the express permission of Regulus Arcturus Black.
It was a fair warning, he figured, considering he had lined the entire entrance with curses. His bed waited from him, freshly made with emerald sheets. Regulus had made a permanent exception for Kreacher.
Regulus made his way directly to his desk and unrolled a new scroll. He jotted down a quick note: attacks on muggles ‘with notions’? purpose? And stuck it up on his wall – beside a growing cluster of memos, newspaper clippings, and transcribed letters.
He stared at his clues, feeling at once satisfied with his work and disappointed by his lack of process. The answers were here somewhere. He just needed to see it.
Regulus peeled himself away from his research and went to shower. He couldn’t be late for tea on his first night back home, as unappealing as the prospect may be.