Chapter Text
The Great Hall glittered in the evening in a way that gave Regulus Black a serious migraine. It was fucking annoying if you asked him. Candles floated overhead in long golden rows, their flames wavering beneath the bewitched ceiling. Rain pressed faintly against the enchanted windows high above the tables. The air smelled of rosemary potatoes, melting candle wax, and damp wool dragged in from the corridors. One element would have been fine, perhaps even two—but everything together was just overwhelming.
Regulus sat halfway down the Slytherin table with one leg crossed neatly over the other, fingers curved around a goblet he had not touched in nearly ten minutes. Conversation moved around him. It wasn't like he had many friends to begin with, anyways. Regulus had long ago discovered that remaining quiet encouraged people to forget he was listening. They spoke freely around him because they assumed he wasn’t paying attention.
Were they incorrect about that assumption? Absolutely, but they didn't need to know that now did they? After all, people revealed far more when they assumed no one around them was paying attention.
Barty was speaking beside him. “If Slughorn assigns another twelve inches on defensive potion theory,” he declared, stabbing viciously at a piece of roast chicken, “I’m poisoning him.”
“You say that every week,” Evan said lazily.
“And one day I’ll mean it.”
“You already tried once,” Dorcas muttered without looking up from her book.
Pandora snorted softly into her goblet. The sound drifted strangely through Regulus’ mind. Everything felt distant tonight. Muted. Too much going on to focus on the small things. So he had no idea what was happening. That made it more difficult for him to act normal enough to keep up conversation.
Regulus stared at the other tables. Ravenclaw table. Hufflepuff—there was a cluster of second years trying to enchant peas into dancing figures. McGonagall was speaking quietly with Flitwick near the staff table.
Nothing unusual.
Then Gryffindor. His eyes caught on Sirius almost immediately. Sirius was never difficult to find. He occupied space the way fire did. He consumed attention without asking for permission. It's why he and Potter got on so well immediately. It was why Sirius and Regulus didn't.
But tonight something was wrong with the very shape of him.
Sirius sat slouched at the Gryffindor table, elbow resting beside an untouched plate. His fingers were drumming against the wood and then went still again. His hair fell untidily into his face. Beside him, Potter was speaking in low bursts that Sirius barely seemed to hear.
Remus Lupin sat across from them and he looked furious. His shoulders were rigid beneath his sweater, expression carved into something cold. He did not look at Sirius once.
That alone was unsettling enough to snag Regulus’ attention fully. Remus Lupin always looked at Sirius. After all, he looked at Sirius the way Regulus looked at Remus (though he would not admit that. Barty figured it out one day and it was mortifying).
Regulus watched Sirius say something. A joke, perhaps. His mouth moved around the semblance of a grin that disappeared before it properly formed. Potter answered immediately, but Lupin remained still.
There was a strange tightness in Sirius’ posture.
Regulus frowned slightly before he could stop himself. “He looks stressed.” The words slipped out absently.
Five heads turned toward him. Barty blinked first. “Who?”
Regulus’ attention lingered across the Hall another second before returning to his goblet. “My brother.”
Evan twisted slightly in his seat to glance toward Gryffindor. “Black always looks like he’s about to either start a fight or kiss someone.”
“That’s just his face,” Dorcas added. “It’s a rather…punchable one.”
“You’re just mad that Marlene fancied him in third year.” Pandora hummed thoughtfully. “He does look tired though.”
Barty’s eyes narrowed immediately toward Regulus with feline curiosity. “Why do you care?”
Regulus felt irritation prick softly beneath his ribs. “I don’t.”
“You noticed him.”
“That is generally how eyesight fucking functions, Barty.”
Barty grinned wolfishly at that. “Touchy.”
Regulus finally took a sip from his drink. The pumpkin juice had gone slightly warm. “I made an observation,” he said evenly. “That isn’t the same thing as caring. He’s dead to me, you all know that.”
“Mm.” Pandora tilted her head. “People usually don’t observe things they find unimportant.”
“That’s objectively untrue,” Regulus replied. “I observe flies. I don’t particularly care about them.”
Evan snorted.
Dorcas finally looked up from her book, clearly amused. “You just compared your brother to a fly.”
“I compared the act of observation to itself.”
“Sure you did.”
Regulus ignored them.
Across the Hall, Sirius leaned back suddenly as Potter said something sharp enough to wipe the remaining humor from his face. Even from this distance, Regulus could tell the conversation had teeth.
Odd.
The Gryffindors were usually revoltingly attached at the hip. That group particularly.
The candles above flickered as another ripple of thunder moved across the enchanted sky. Rain streaked harder against the windows now. For a brief moment, Sirius looked up.
Not toward Regulus specifically. Just upward. Still, Regulus felt the familiar unpleasant jolt of recognition settle coldly in his stomach.
There had once been a time when he could read Sirius with humiliating ease. Before Gryffindor. Before running away. Before every conversation between them became another match struck. Before they ended with Regulus feeling tears prick his eyes. Before they ended with them being nothing but strangers.
As children, Sirius had been loud even in misery. Dramatic about it. He would throw himself across furniture with the agony of a dying poet if Mother scolded him or Kreacher served something he disliked. But there were quieter moods too. They were the ones where Sirius would stop speaking almost entirely and stare out windows with something restless trapped behind his eyes.
That was the version sitting at the Gryffindor table now.
Regulus looked away.
“Maybe he finally realized Potter’s insufferable,” Barty suggested.
“That would imply Black possesses survival instincts,” Evan replied.
Pandora smiled dreamily. “Maybe he’s in love.”
“With who?” Dorcas asked.
Pandora gestured vaguely, shrugging as she grinned. “Half the castle, probably.”
“That sounds exhausting,” Regulus murmured.
“It sounds accurate though,” Barty said.
Laughter drifted between them. Regulus let himself settle back into it gratefully. Their conversations rarely required anything from him beyond dry commentary and occasional amusement. There was comfort in that.
Barty resumed complaining about Slughorn. Dorcas argued with him purely for sport. Pandora began folding her napkin into the shape of some strange bird while Evan attempted to steal food from everyone else’s plates. It should have pulled Regulus fully back into the moment.
Instead, awareness kept tugging him elsewhere.
Potter had stopped talking now. His jaw looked tight even from a distance. Lupin still refused to look at Sirius at all. Sirius was picking apart a piece of bread with restless fingers.
Regulus stared before catching himself. Annoyance flared hotter this time deep within him. Ridiculous. Whatever dramatic catastrophe had befallen Gryffindor this week had nothing to do with him.
Sirius cultivated disaster. It was simply who he was. He threw himself toward chaos willingly and then acted surprised when it bit him. Regulus knew better than anyone how exhausting Sirius could be.
How impossible.
Their mother used to say Sirius had been born wrong. Too wild. Too emotional. Too disobedient. Too smart for his own good. He was someone not meant to be an heir. Not meant to flourish in wizard society the way she wanted. Regulus had spent years pretending he disagreed less than he actually did.
A cold draft slipped through the Hall as the doors opened due to some students leaving early. Regulus was stuck remembering Sirius at thirteen, grinning recklessly atop a broom despite the storm overhead while Regulus screamed at him to come down before he got himself killed.
Sirius had always laughed at danger. Regulus hated that he still remembered the sound of it perfectly.
“You’re staring again,” Barty sing-songed. Regulus blinked. Sure enough, Barty was watching him over the rim of his goblet with open amusement.
“I’m not.”
“He’s brooding,” Pandora said lightly.
“Runs in the family apparently,” Evan added, nodding toward Sirius.
Regulus exhaled slowly through his nose. “You’re all deeply irritating.”
“Oh please, you adore us and you know it,” Dorcas said.
“That feels like a strong word.”
Barty leaned closer. “So what do we think happened? Black get dumped?”
“By whom?” Evan asked. “The entire Gryffindor table?”
“Maybe McGonagall finally strangled him.”
Pandora gasped softly. “Don’t say that. I like Professor McGonagall.”
Dorcas smirked. “I think Lupin’s the interesting part.”
That caught Regulus’ attention immediately despite himself. “What about him?”
Dorcas shrugged one shoulder. “He looks murderous.”
Regulus glanced over again automatically. She was right, honestly. Something quiet sat inside Lupin tonight. His expression had the unnerving stillness of a blade laid flat against a table.
And Sirius looked…frightened? No—wary, perhaps.
Potter said something else and Sirius answered shortly. Lupin stood abruptly from the table before either could respond and walked out of the Hall without looking back once.
Potter scrubbed a hand across his face. Sirius stared down at the ruined remains of the bread in his hands. Something unpleasant curled in Regulus’ stomach again. “Definitely a breakup,” Barty decided.
“They weren’t dating,” Dorcas said.
“You don’t know that.”
“I would know that. Marlene would’ve told me.”
Pandora watched Lupin disappear through the doors with thoughtful eyes. “Maybe someone got hurt.”
Regulus looked sharply toward her, though she seemed unaware of anything unusual in what she’d said.
Across the Hall, Sirius finally rose from the table. Potter caught his wrist immediately, saying something urgent enough to stop him for half a second. Sirius pulled away anyway and then he disappeared through the doors after Lupin.
The Hall swallowed the moment almost instantly. Conversation surged back into place around the absence they left behind. Regulus stared at the doorway a second longer than he should have.
Barty nudged his shoulder with exaggerated suspicion. “You are alarmingly invested in this.”
“I’m really not.” Regulus tore his gaze back toward the table. “And if I was, forgive me for briefly noticing public human behavior occurring directly in front of me and ruining my meal.”
“Ah yes,” Evan said solemnly. “Purely academic interest.”
Dorcas smirked into her drink and Regulus resisted the urge to hex all of them. Instead he leaned back slightly, expression smoothing once more into practiced indifference. The silver serpent rings on his fingers caught candlelight as he folded his hands loosely in his lap.
But silently, for reasons Regulus could neither explain nor entirely suppress, the image of Sirius sitting alone at the Gryffindor table lingered stubbornly at the edges of his mind long after the conversation had moved on.
***
The castle after curfew felt like a living thing.
Not dead, as first years often whispered. Despite the spirits that roamed the halls, it simply felt awake in a different manner than during daylight hours. Torchlight flickered against stone walls in long amber ribbons. He could hear footsteps from floors above. But Regulus moved through the corridor beside Remus Lupin in near silence.
Their footsteps echoed together in an uneven rhythm across the stone that bothered Regulus far more than he would like to admit.
Prefect rounds were rarely pleasant, but tonight they felt particularly absurd. Slughorn had stopped Regulus after dinner with a reminder that the Head Boy had adjusted patrol schedules due to “recent incidents,” spoken in the sort of tone adults used when pretending students were too stupid to notice something serious had happened. Regulus had not bothered asking questions. Perhaps he should have now that he thought about it.
He had arrived outside the Prefects’ bathroom to discover Lupin waiting there already, hands shoved into the pockets of his robes. His expression was unreadable beneath the dim torchlight. Neither of them had looked especially thrilled by the arrangement.
Now they walked side by side through the sixth-floor corridor while silence lingered comfortably enough between them not to qualify as hostile. Which—considering House rivalries—was practically friendship.
A suit of armor near the staircase twitched as they passed. “Password?” it demanded suspiciously.
“We’re Prefects,” Remus said tiredly.
The armor stared at him. Then at Regulus. Then harrumphed loudly. “Suspicious.”
Regulus continued walking. “You’re made of metal.”
“And you’re out after curfew.”
“We are prefects and you are literally standing in a hallway.” Regulus said blankly. Lupin snorted softly beside him before quickly disguising it as a cough. Regulus glanced sideways briefly. Lupin looked exhausted.
It was like fatigue was layered over something actively consuming him beneath the surface. There were shadows beneath his eyes dark enough to bruise. His robe sleeve was fraying near one wrist. Despite the mild weather tonight, he kept tugging absentmindedly at the cuff as though cold.
“You missed Slughorn’s quiz this morning,” Regulus said eventually.
Lupin glanced over, mildly surprised. “You noticed?”
Regulus immediately regretted the phrasing. “You sit directly in front of me,” he replied flatly. Sometimes, despite it being better in the long run, he regretted being a year ahead in everything. His mother made a fuss, insisting that the Black Family’s tutoring must account for some things, so he was allowed special permission to be practically considered a year above then he actually was. It was annoying however, mostly due to Barty constantly mocking him for it as Barty’s family never bothered yet that boy was smarter than Regulus by a mile. The special permissions even allowed for Regulus to get a temporary prefect badge—meant to allow him to work on his studies more effectively.
He was looking to become a professor after all.
Nonetheless, the permissions did mostly preserve the sanctity of the classrooms he was in. Regulus hated being bored, and most of his professors learned from that quickly. He was Sirius Black’s brother after all, and—even if he hated to admit it—they were not dissimilar. “It would’ve been difficult not to.”
“Right.”
Silence settled again.
A draft slipped through the corridor ahead, stirring torch flames sideways. Somewhere far below them came the distant crash of something large hitting stone followed immediately by Peeves cackling with delight, but neither reacted.
They turned down another staircase. Lupin moved with the quiet caution of someone accustomed to navigating the castle at strange hours. There was very little wasted movement in him. Even tired, he carried himself carefully.
Regulus had always found that odd. Fascinating, but odd.
Most Gryffindors occupied space loudly. They announced themselves to rooms before entering them. Potter practically vibrated with existence. Sirius had once seemed physically incapable of walking anywhere without attracting attention from half the castle. Pettigrew thought he was subtle, but could probably trip over everything in his path if given the option. Lupin moved like he preferred not being perceived at all.
“You know,” Lupin said after a while, voice light with obvious insincerity, “most people would be thrilled to spend an evening in my company.”
“Most people are easily entertained by you and your little group.”
“There he is.”
Regulus frowned faintly. “Who?”
“The terrifying Black family charm I hear so much about.”
“You hear people describe my family as charming?”
“No,” Remus admitted. “Usually they use words more adjacent to violent curses.”
Regulus huffed a laugh before he could stop himself. The sound surprised both of them slightly. Lupin smiled faintly.
Regulus had noticed before, objectively speaking, that Lupin was attractive. It was difficult not to. Half the school noticed that at least one of the boys in his friend group were attractive. But unlike Sirius or Potter, who weaponized attention, Remus seemed almost unaware of himself most of the time. Which definitely made it worse.
Moonlight spilled pale and silver across the corridor as they passed a tall window overlooking the grounds. Rain had stopped sometime after dinner, leaving the glass fogged faintly around the edges. Beyond it, the Black Lake gleamed. The Whomping Willow stood motionless on the grounds in the distance.
Regulus’ gaze caught on it briefly before moving on. “You’re unusually tolerable tonight,” Remus observed.
“You’re unusually conversational.”
“I’m trying something new.”
“How unfortunate for both of us.”
Lupin laughed quietly again and the sound echoed strangely in the empty corridor, only to fade. Something in his expression dimmed afterward. It was brief enough that Regulus might have imagined it if he hadn’t been watching carefully. The exhaustion returned almost instantly.
Regulus hesitated. He generally avoided unnecessary emotional involvement with Gryffindors whenever possible. They were exhausting creatures even at the best of times. But the tension hanging around Lupin tonight felt impossible to ignore.
…Especially paired with Sirius earlier.
“You and my brother seem upset with each other.” The words emerged calmly.
Lupin’s expression closed immediately. Lupin was better at subtlety than his friends, that was for sure. Still, Regulus saw the shift. “I wouldn’t say upset.”
“You looked ready to kill him at dinner.” Regulus said blankly.
“That’s a strong interpretation.”
Regulus shrugged. “It seemed accurate.” Lupin looked away toward the windows. Torchlight flickered gold against the sharp line of his jaw before slipping back into shadow again. “For what it’s worth,” Regulus said carefully, “Sirius also looked miserable.”
That earned him a glance. “You sound concerned.”
Regulus frowned. “I’m curious.”
“Mm.”
Regulus resisted the urge to sigh. Talking to Lupin sometimes felt like attempting conversation through several locked doors. “What happened?” he asked finally.
Lupin was quiet long enough that Regulus thought he might refuse entirely. Instead he said, “Sirius made a mistake.”
The simplicity of the answer immediately made Regulus suspicious. He narrowed his eyes. “Sirius makes several mistakes a day. You’ll need to narrow it down.”
A faint smile tugged briefly at Lupin’s mouth before disappearing again. “This one was worse than usual.”
Something in his tone settled coldly in Regulus’ stomach. He studied Lupin more carefully now. Exhaustion. Tension. The anger from dinner. Fear.
Regulus slowed slightly as realization brushed the edges of his thoughts. “Sirius got hurt?”
“No.” The answer came too quickly. “Not physically.” Regulus frowned. That clarified absolutely fucking nothing. How utterly useless. Ahead of them, a cluster of portraits had fallen asleep together. One wizard snored loudly enough to rattle his frame. Lupin spoke again before Regulus could press further. “He did something reckless.”
“That also doesn’t narrow it down.”
“I’m aware.”
Regulus sighed, realizing they were going to get nowhere at this pace. “And now you’re angry with him.”
Lupin’s jaw tightened slightly. “Yes.” The honesty of it surprised Regulus more than anything else. For several moments, only their footsteps filled the corridor.
Then Regulus asked quietly, “did he hurt someone else?”
Lupin stopped walking. Regulus halted automatically a few steps later. Torchlight crackled softly between them. For a second lupin said nothing at all. But the expression on his face changed in a way that answered the question far louder than words could have.
“He didn’t mean to,” Lupin said finally, voice roughened at the edges. “That’s the problem. He expects me to forgive him but…I can’t.”
Regulus stared at him. A strange unease unfurled slowly beneath his ribs. Sirius could be cruel sometimes. Reckless certainly. Thoughtless in that infuriating Gryffindor way where consequences seemed optional until they arrived.
But genuinely hurting someone—Regulus struggled to picture it.
Which was ridiculous, really. Sirius hurt people constantly. He hurt Regulus only a month prior when he decided to leave Grimmauld Place for good.
Lupin scrubbed a tired hand across his face. “Forget I said anything.”
“That seems unlikely.”
“I mean it, Black.” The exhaustion in his voice had sharpened now into something more brittle.
Regulus held his gaze for a moment before nodding once. “I won’t pry.”
“That sentence alone proves you’re a better person than I am.” The words slipped out so quietly Regulus almost missed them. Before he could respond, Lupin started walking again.
Regulus followed. “What did Potter think?” he asked after a while.
Lupin made a soft sound halfway between amusement and despair. “He thinks Sirius is an idiot.”
“That’s not exactly groundbreaking insight.”
“He also thinks Sirius needs someone in his corner.”
“And you disagree?”
Lupin was silent. Then said, “I think caring about someone doesn’t mean pretending they haven’t done terrible things.”
The words landed with uncomfortable precision. Regulus looked at him sharply, but Lupin was staring straight ahead, expression unreadable once more. A fourth-year Hufflepuff came scrambling around the corner moments later looking horrified to have been caught out after curfew. The interruption dissolved the conversation immediately.
By the time they finished deducting points and sending the student back toward their dormitory, the moment had vanished entirely. Neither mentioned Sirius again.
Still, the unease lingered.
As they descended another staircase, Regulus found himself thinking unexpectedly of childhood summers at Grimmauld Place. Sirius grinning with bloody knuckles after fighting Mulciber. Sirius laughing during punishments like he couldn’t help himself. Sirius burning too brightly against everything around him.
Their mother always said Sirius would destroy himself one day and Regulus had spent years assuming she meant metaphorically.
“You’re brooding again,” Lupin observed quietly.
Regulus blinked. “Am not.”
“You get the same expression every time you’re thinking too hard.”
“You’ve apparently been studying my expressions.”
“You’re not subtle.”
“That feels objectively false.”
Lupin shrugged one shoulder lightly. “Maybe to everyone else.” Something about that answer unsettled Regulus more than it should have. Before he could decide how to respond, the clock tower chimed midnight overhead. The sound rolled through the castle low and resonant. Lupin exhaled softly. “Merlin.”
“Tired?”
“I’d sell Barty Crouch to a sea witch for eight uninterrupted hours of sleep.”
Regulus almost smiled. “That’s probably fair.”
“I’m serious. She can take him.”
“I assumed she’d reject the offer.”
Lupin laughed again, quieter this time. The tension between them eased slightly afterward.
They reached the final corridor of their patrol near the Astronomy staircase where moonlight spilled across the floor in long silver bars. For a moment both slowed instinctively.
The castle had gone nearly silent now. Lupin looked exhausted enough to collapse where he stood. Regulus hesitated before speaking. “For what it’s worth,” he said carefully, “Sirius usually realizes when he’s crossed a line eventually.”
Lupin looked at him for a long moment. “That’s supposed to be reassuring?”
“I didn’t say he was quick about it.”
A tired smile flickered briefly across Lupin’s face. Then faded. “I know he’s your brother,” he said quietly. “And I know you probably don’t want to hear this. But sometimes Sirius acts like he thinks being sorry afterward fixes everything.”
Regulus did not answer immediately. But he understood exactly what Lupin meant.
That’s what worried him.
***
Regulus woke before dawn to the sound of rain against glass. For several long seconds he remained still beneath the heavy green curtains of his bed, staring upward while the symptoms of his sleep dissolved. The dormitory around him was dim and blue with early morning shadow. Somewhere nearby, Evan snored with enough force to qualify as a medical condition.
Rain tapped steadily against the tall windows. Regulus pushed the blankets aside and sat up slowly, rubbing one hand across his face. His feet hit the stone floor with a quiet thud. Across the dormitory, Barty’s bed curtains were half-open.
Empty.
Regulus frowned faintly. That alone was concerning enough to wake him fully. Barty Crouch Jr. did not rise early voluntarily. The last time he’d witnessed sunrise consciously, he had complained about it for three consecutive days afterward.
Regulus dressed mechanically, buttoning his uniform while pale dawn filtered weakly through the rain-streaked windows. The silver serpent pin at his collar caught the dim light briefly before disappearing beneath the shadow of his tie. By the time he stepped into the common room, a fire had already been lit despite the hour. Barty was sprawled sideways across one of the sofas with all the elegance of a corpse thrown from a carriage. “There you are,” he said immediately.
Regulus paused near the bottom stair. “You look terrible.”
“I feel terrible.”
“That implies self-reflection.” Barty made a rude gesture without opening his eyes. The Slytherin common room glowed softly green beneath the lake water outside the windows. Regulus crossed toward the sofa. Barty looked genuinely exhausted. “You’re awake early,” Regulus observed.
“I haven’t slept.”
That caught his attention.
“Why?”
Barty opened one eye slowly. “Because apparently the castle has decided to become entertaining at three in the morning.” Regulus waited. Barty sighed dramatically before sitting upright enough to steal the abandoned teapot from the table. “I went down to the kitchens,” he explained. “Which, before you become judgmental, was a matter of survival. Evan ate my chocolate.”
“A tragedy.”
“I’m still grieving.”
“You’ll endure.”
“Heartless.” Regulus sat opposite him, stretching one arm along the back of the chair. The fire crackled softly between them. Barty pointed accusingly with the teapot. “Anyway. I was returning peacefully from my noble quest when I heard shouting near the Entrance Hall.”
Regulus’ stomach tightened faintly before he understood why. “Who?”
“Potter.”
Of fucking course.
“Specifically,” Barty continued, “Potter yelling at your brother with the sort of emotional devastation usually reserved for widowers in tragic operas…or those Muggle shows on the telly.”
Regulus stared at him. “…What?”
Barty nodded solemnly. “Forgot you don’t engage with that…tragic. Anyways, I considered staying to listen longer, obviously, because I’m a curious and compassionate person—”
“You’re neither of those things.”
“—but then McGonagall appeared and ruined everything.”
Regulus frowned slightly. “Sirius and Potter were fighting though?”
“Oh, violently.” Barty leaned back again. “Emotionally. Which is arguably worse depending on the person.”
That uneasy feeling from the night before returned immediately. Regulus thought suddenly of Lupin’s exhausted expression beneath torchlight. Sirius made a mistake. Worse than usual.
“What were they saying?” he asked carefully.
Barty grinned immediately. “Ah. There it is.”
“What?”
“The interest.”
“I’m asking because you brought it up.”
“You asked follow-up questions.”
Regulus considered hexing him. Instead he said flatly, “Continue before I kill you.”
Barty looked delighted by the threat. “Potter kept saying Sirius ‘could’ve gotten him killed,’ which honestly narrows things down less than you’d think with your brother.” The words landed heavily. Regulus felt his posture still subtly. Before he could ask, Barty continued. “And Sirius kept insisting he ‘didn’t think he’d actually go.’”
Regulus frowned harder.
Go where?
Something about the phrasing scratched unpleasantly at the edges of his thoughts. Barty shrugged. “Then Potter called him reckless and Sirius told him to fuck off. Standard friendship rituals.”
But Regulus was no longer really listening.
Memory shifted suddenly into place. Lupin stopping dead in the corridor when Regulus asked if Sirius had hurt someone.
He didn’t mean to. That’s the problem.
Cold understanding began unfurling slowly beneath Regulus’ ribs. “Sirius sent someone somewhere,” he said quietly.
Barty blinked. “Presumably, yes?”
“And they almost died.”
“That does seem to be the implication.”
Regulus stared into the fire. Its light fractured gold across the polished silver of his ring. Who? What in Merlin’s name had Sirius done badly enough for Potter and Lupin both to look at him like that afterward?
Barty studied him curiously now. “You know,” he said, “most people would hear ‘someone nearly died’ and become significantly less calm-looking.”
“I’m not calm.”
“You look calm.”
“That’s because I was raised correctly.”
Barty snorted loudly. Regulus leaned back slowly into the chair. Sirius had always possessed an astonishing talent for catastrophe. He used to leap from staircases simply because someone told him not to. Once, at age eleven, he’d attempted to duel a fully grown cousin during Christmas dinner because the man insulted Andromeda. Walburga had screamed for nearly an hour afterward while Sirius sat bleeding onto the carpet looking unbearably pleased with himself.
Recklessness lived inside him like another heartbeat but this felt different somehow. And if Potter was angry too—
Regulus exhaled slowly.
The door to their dormitory opened suddenly behind them and both of them turned automatically. Evan stumbled inside looking half-dead and entirely annoyed. “Why are you both conscious?” he demanded.
“Barty’s emotionally invested in Gryffindor drama,” Regulus replied.
Evan stopped short. “Disgusting.”
“Thank you,” Barty said.
Evan collapsed bonelessly into the armchair nearest the fire. “If either of you speak to me before sunrise, I’ll kill you”
“Noted.” Silence settled briefly. Then Barty looked toward Regulus again with visible mischief. “So,” he drawled, “you and Lupin had rounds together last night.”
Regulus immediately sensed danger. “Yes.”
“How romantic.”
Evan perked up instantly. “What, you’re still on that?”
“It wasn’t romantic.”
Barty ignored him completely. “They wandered the halls together beneath moonlight discussing feelings.”
“We discussed curfew violations…because we’re prefects. It’s sort of our job.”
“Same thing, fundamentally.”
Evan looked delighted now. “Did you hold hands?”
Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose. “I hate both of you.”
“That’s not a denial,” Barty pointed out.
“We had one conversation.”
“Oh?” Evan leaned forward. “About what?”
Regulus hesitated half a second too long. Barty gasped theatrically. “You asked about your brother!”
Traitor.
Evan looked between them immediately. “Wait seriously?”
“It was relevant to the conversation.”
“Mm,” Barty said. “And how many times did you stare dramatically into the middle distance thinking about Sirius afterward?”
“None.”
“Liar.” Regulus glared at him. Unfortunately, Barty had known him too long to be remotely intimidated. “You’re curious,” Barty said more quietly now. “About whatever happened.”
Regulus looked away toward the fire. The flames snapped softly against blackened wood. “Yes,” he admitted finally.
The honesty surprised all three of them.
Evan tilted his head slightly. “You worried about him?”
“No.” Too fast. Barty smirked. Regulus sighed sharply through his nose. “I’m capable of finding something concerning without descending into hysterics.”
“That was an aggressively Black family answer,” Evan observed.
“Thank you.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
Regulus let the warmth of the fire settle against his skin while rain continued hammering softly against the windows. He thought again of Sirius sitting alone at the Gryffindor table. Of Lupin’s exhausted anger. Of Potter shouting in the Entrance Hall at three in the morning. Sirius regretted it all of course, but the problem was that Sirius often treated regret like a solution instead of a consequence.
The entrance door slammed open hard enough to rattle the silver-framed paintings nearest the entrance. All three of them looked up automatically.
Severus Snape stood just inside the common room looking like something the rain had dragged in and regretted afterward. His robes were damp around the hem despite the dry corridors, black hair hanging untidily into his face as though he’d been running his hands through it repeatedly. There were shadows beneath his eyes darker than usual, skin pale to the point of looking almost grey beneath the greenish light filtering through the lake windows.
Snape looked shaken.
The realization hit Regulus immediately because Severus Snape was very rarely visibly anything at all. Barty, unfortunately, possessed all the tact of an exploding curse. “Merlin,” he said bluntly. “You look horrible.”
Snape’s gaze snapped toward him with immediate hostility. “Somehow I am still more preferable to your face, Crouch.”
“See? That’s normally the energy I expect from you. Much better.”
“Barty,” Regulus said sharply.
Barty looked over innocently. “What?”
“Be nice.”
Evan made a strangled sound somewhere between a laugh and choking. Barty stared at Regulus in open disbelief. “Why?” Regulus met his eyes evenly. Something must have shown in his expression because Barty’s amusement faltered slightly. “Oh,” he said after a second.
Regulus did not dignify that with a response.
Snape still stood near the entrance like he regretted walking into the room at all. His eyes moved briefly between the three of them before landing on the fire instead, expression tightening faintly. The common room had gone strangely still.
Evan, apparently sensing something genuinely unpleasant beneath the surface of the situation for once in his life, sat up straighter in his chair. “You alright?” he asked cautiously.
Snape laughed once under his breath. It wasn’t a pleasant sound. “Define alright.”
Barty leaned back into the sofa cushions. “That’s usually not a promising answer.”
Snape ignored him. He crossed the room stiffly instead, dropping into the armchair nearest the fire with visible exhaustion. The warmth painted shifting gold across the sharp edges of his face, but it did little to soften him.
Up close, Regulus noticed fresh scratches along one of Snape’s hands.
Very small, like brambles had dug into his hands.. A cold suspicion unfurled quietly in his stomach. “Snape,” he said carefully. Snape did not look at him. “What happened?”
Silence.
The fire crackled softly.
Barty, to his credit, remained quiet now. Curious in the wary way cats watched injured things. Snape leaned forward slowly, elbows resting against his knees, eyes fixed somewhere inside the flames. For several long seconds Regulus thought he simply wouldn’t answer.
“Your brother,” Snape said softly, “is even more of an arrogant bastard than I originally thought.”
The room went still.
Regulus felt it immediately—that strange shift conversations sometimes took when they wandered too close to something dangerous. Evan glanced toward him carefully. Regulus kept his voice level. “What did Sirius do?”
Snape’s jaw tightened. The firelight caught harshly against the angles of his face, hollowing the shadows beneath his eyes even further. “Why?” he asked coldly. “Planning to defend him?”
“No.” The answer came immediately. Regulus held his gaze.
After a moment, some of the hostility in Snape’s expression shifted into something more uncertain. “He thought it would be funny,” Snape said at last.
Regulus frowned faintly. “Funny?”
Snape gave another short humorless laugh. “Apparently.”
The unease in Regulus’ stomach sharpened further. “You’re being vague.”
“Yes.”
“That’s irritating.”
“I don’t particularly care.”
Barty spoke suddenly from the sofa. “Did Black hex you or something?”
Snape’s expression darkened instantly. “No.”
“Then what?”
Snape looked toward him with open contempt. “Have you considered minding your own business for once in your deeply unfortunate life?”
Barty grinned. “No.”
Under different circumstances the exchange might have been amusing.
Now it only made the tension in the room feel tighter.
Regulus watched Snape carefully. There was anger there certainly. But beneath the anger sat something else. It was like someone who had only recently realized how close they came to something terrible. “You nearly died,” Regulus said quietly.
The words landed heavy in the room. Snape’s eyes snapped toward him instantly. Barty straightened slightly on the sofa.
Regulus realized he was right.
Snape looked away first. “That’s dramatic,” he muttered. But he sounded tired now instead of dismissive.
Regulus leaned back slowly into his chair, pulse suddenly loud in his ears. The pieces clicked together one by one with sickening clarity. Sirius sends Snape somewhere. Snape almost dies. Potter furious. Lupin devastated. Sirius drowning in regret afterward.
“Snape,” Regulus said carefully, “where did he send you?”
Snape’s expression closed immediately.
“No.”
“Just tell me what happened.”
“No.”
“You’re clearly upset.”
“That tends to occur when people attempt manslaughter as comedy.”
Regulus felt something unpleasant twist hard beneath his ribs. “Sirius wouldn’t try to kill someone.”
Snape looked at him for a long moment. “You should ask yourself why that sounded uncertain.”
The words struck harder than Regulus expected. Because he could suddenly picture Sirius doing something reckless enough that death became possible anyway. Snape stood abruptly from the chair before anyone could speak again.
The movement was restless.
He paced once toward the windows before stopping sharply beside the dark lake glass. Green light drifted across his face in shifting patterns from the water outside. “I’m not discussing this,” he said flatly.
“Then why bring it up?” Barty asked.
Snape shot him a venomous glare. “Because you started interrogating me the second I walked in.”
Barty shrugged. “Fair.”
Regulus rose more slowly. “Snape.” Snape stiffened faintly at his tone. Regulus crossed toward him carefully, stopping several feet away. Up close, he could see just how exhausted Snape really looked. Whatever happened that day had genuinely rattled him and Severus Snape was not easy to rattle. “You don’t have to tell them,” Regulus said quietly. “But tell me.”
Snape’s expression flickered. For half a second he looked almost tempted. Then something colder settled over him instead. “If you’re so curious…” he said. “Ask your brother.”
The bitterness in his voice cut like broken glass. Regulus frowned. “Snape—”
“Ask him,” Snape repeated sharply. “Since apparently everyone expects me to pretend this was all some harmless joke.”
“No one said that.”
“No?” Snape laughed harshly. “Potter certainly seemed eager to.”
That caught Regulus immediately. “Potter defended him?”
Snape looked furious now.
“Of course he did. That’s what they do, isn’t it? The four of them are bloody annoying, they excuse each other.”
Something complicated flashed briefly across his face then. Hurt beneath the anger. Regulus suddenly understood that this wasn’t just about Sirius. Snape had expected better from Potter, or perhaps from Lupin.
Barty finally rose from the sofa, unusually subdued now. “Alright,” he said carefully. “What exactly are we talking about here?”
Snape turned toward the exit immediately. “No.”
“Snape—”
“Drop it, Black.”
Regulus stepped forward instinctively as Snape reached the exit. “Was Lupin involved?”
That made Snape stop. When he turned back, his expression had become unreadable again. “That,” he said softly, “is definitely a conversation you should have with your brother.” Then he shoved through the exit and disappeared.
Silence crashed into the room behind him.
Regulus stood motionless near the windows, staring at the place Snape had vanished through while rain-muted light shifted across the common room walls.
Ask your brother.
The problem was that Regulus already knew exactly how that conversation would go. It wasn’t worth it.
“What the fuck,” Evan said finally.
Barty exhaled slowly through his teeth. “Well. That sounds significantly worse than I initially assumed.”
Regulus did not answer.
Somewhere far above them, hidden beyond layers of stone and rain and distance, the Whomping Willow stood waiting on the grounds like a secret too large to bury properly.
***
The realization did not arrive all at once. Which, in hindsight, was probably fortunate. If every piece had clicked together simultaneously, Regulus suspected he might have walked directly into a wall.
Instead, it began on a Tuesday afternoon with Emmeline Vance complaining.
Regulus sat at the far end of the library surrounded by a fortress of books he had absolutely no intention of reading. Sunlight filtered through the towering windows. Somewhere nearby, Madam Pince was stalking between shelves with the expression of a woman actively seeking victims.
It should have been peaceful. Unfortunately, Emmeline Vance had unnecessary opinions.
“And I’m just saying,” she announced from two tables away, “if you’re going to become a Prefect, perhaps actually attend your rounds.”
Regulus did not look up. Years of Slytherin survival had taught him that appearing uninterested encouraged people to keep talking. Beside Vance sat another Ravenclaw Prefect whose name Regulus couldn’t immediately remember.
The boy groaned. “Still?”
“Still.”
“Maybe he forgot.”
Emmeline laughed. “Forgot?”
“Well—”
“He missed my rounds in September.” Regulus turned a page. Continued listening. “And then again in October.”
The boy she was talking to winced. “Oh.”
“And November.” Interesting.
“That’s not great.”
“No,” Emmeline agreed. “It’s deeply annoying.”
Regulus finally glanced toward them through the gap between two books. Vance sat with her arms folded tightly across her chest, expression thunderous. Most students treated Remus Lupin as though he personally descended from heaven carrying educational pamphlets and excellent moral judgment. Watching someone genuinely irritated with him felt strangely novel.
“I mean,” the other Prefect said carefully, “Lupin usually has a reason.”
“I’m sure he does.”
“You sound unconvinced.”
“I am unconvinced.”
Regulus smothered a smile. Emmeline leaned back in her chair. “And it’s always the same thing.” That caught his attention immediately.
The other Ravenclaw frowned. “What is?”
“He gets sick.”
Regulus’ fingers stilled briefly against the edge of a page.
“Sick?”
“Every single time.”
The guy blinked. “Wait.”
“Exactly.” Emmeline pointed dramatically with her quill. “Exactly.”
Regulus’ brain immediately started calculating. Prefects usually were placed on a rotating, regular schedule. Four weeks apart, roughly. The same pattern.
Regulus only got to see Lupin once a month as well. The same nightly walks. The same…Moon. Regulus stared blankly at the page in front of him.
The full moons.
He always got rounds with Lupin after the full moon and he looked exhausted every time. His pulse quickened slightly. The corridor conversation with Lupin resurfaced instantly.
You missed Slughorn’s quiz.
You looked exhausted.
Sirius made a mistake.
Then Snape. Then Potter. Then all the strange disappearances. Regulus leaned back slowly in his chair. The books surrounding him suddenly felt very far away.
The Ravenclaw across from Emmeline frowned. “That’s weird.”
“Thank you.”
“No, seriously.”
“I know.”
“Did you tell McGonagall?”
Emmeline snorted. “What am I supposed to tell her? Professor, Remus Lupin is mysteriously ill once a month?”
Regulus looked down quickly before either could notice his expression. Once a month. Merlin. How had nobody noticed?
That wasn’t true. People noticed. They just accepted the explanations. Lupin was ill. Lupin was tired. Lupin was in the hospital wing.
Again.
Nothing suspicious about that. Except now Regulus knew better…actually he suspected better. That distinction mattered.
He glanced toward the library windows. Bright afternoon sunlight spilled across the grounds beyond. Everything looked normal. Yet his thoughts refused to slow.
Because if Lupin was disappearing every full moon, then Sirius and Potter and Pettigrew knew.
Obviously.
McGonagall?
No. Maybe. Dumbledore certainly.
Dumbledore.
Regulus stared down at his notes. He hadn’t read a single word in nearly five minutes. Across the room, Emmeline sighed dramatically. “I swear if he misses the next one, I’m making him write the entire patrol report himself.”
The other Ravenclaw laughed. “I’d pay to see that.”
“You can help.”
“No.”
Coward.
Their conversation drifted elsewhere afterward. But Regulus barely heard any of it because his mind had become occupied with a much larger puzzle.
He thought back to every interaction he’d had with Lupin this year. The way Sirius watched him sometimes like someone guarding a secret. It was not unlike the way Sirius had once watched Regulus during childhood whenever Walburga’s temper began turning dangerous.
Sirius loved people recklessly. It was the sort of love that made him throw himself between danger and anyone he cared about. Which meant if Snape had gotten close to discovering Lupin’s secret…Sirius would have panicked.
And disaster would naturally follow.
Regulus closed his book. His heartbeat sounded unnaturally loud. Across the library, Emmeline finally gathered her things. “Come on,” she said. “I’m starving.”
For a long time Regulus remained seated at the table after the two left. Because he was realizing far too much in a short amount of time. Maybe Sirius’ mistake had simply exposed something much bigger.
It was something the entire castle had been looking at for years without ever truly seeing. Or perhaps—Regulus thought as he gathered his books—they had seen it.
They just never realized what they were looking at.
***
The library corridor smelled old…just old. Regulus stood beside one of the tall arched windows with his arms folded loosely behind his back. The castle beyond the corridor had settled into late-evening quiet now.
He was early. Regulus preferred arriving before everyone else whenever possible. Waiting alone felt significantly more tolerable than forcing others to wait for him. Torchlight flickered softly against the stone floor.
Regulus glanced toward the clock mounted above the corridor arch. Lupin was late. Which, admittedly, was unusual enough to be mildly concerning. Remus Lupin possessed the deeply irritating habit of being responsible.
Footsteps echoed around the corner. Regulus looked up automatically and blinked. Lily Evans stopped short a few feet away looking equally surprised to find him there. For a moment neither spoke. Then Lily frowned slightly. “Black?”
Regulus straightened away from the window. “Evans.” She held several rolls of parchment tucked against one hip, red hair escaping its braid in loose strands around her face. Moonlight spilled pale silver across the corridor windows behind her, catching copper against her hair like threads of fire. “You’re my patrol partner?” she asked.
“I was under the impression Lupin was.”
Lily sighed softly. “He’s ill.”
Something about the answer tightened immediately in Regulus’ chest. Ill. Again. “He looked exhausted yesterday,” Regulus said before he could stop himself. Full moon was only two days prior, although Lupin usually seemed to gather himself before then.
Lily’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly. “Did he?”
“Yes.”
The pause that followed felt oddly careful.
Then Lily smiled faintly. “Remus tends to overwork himself.” Regulus nodded once, though the explanation settled strangely in his mind. “Shall we?” Lily asked after a moment.
Regulus gestured lightly toward the staircase. “After you.” They began walking through the corridors together in silence broken only by the echo of their footsteps against stone.
It felt vaguely surreal.
Regulus rarely interacted with Lily Evans beyond occasional classroom conversations and distant observations across the Great Hall. She existed largely in the orbit of Gryffindor chaos.
Still, Regulus had always found her interesting. Mostly because she seemed entirely unimpressed by people who expected to impress everyone. “You look disappointed,” Lily observed suddenly.
Regulus glanced toward her. “Do I?”
“A little.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
“You were expecting Remus.”
There was amusement in her voice now.
Regulus considered denying it before deciding that would probably sound more suspicious than honesty. “We had a conversation during rounds last time,” he said carefully. “He’s tolerable.”
Lily laughed softly. “Tolerable,” she repeated. “High praise from a Black.”
“I try not to be excessive with compliments. People become spoiled.”
“That explains Sirius then.” Regulus snorted unexpectedly. Lily smiled. The corridor curved left ahead into a long gallery lined with sleeping portraits. One wizard cracked open an eye as they passed before deciding neither student looked interesting enough to remain awake for. “So,” Lily said after a while, “I’ll admit something.”
“How brave.”
“You’re significantly more civil than I expected.”
Regulus arched an eyebrow. “What exactly were you expecting?”
She looked mildly sheepish. “Honestly? Another version of your cousins.”
That was fair enough, unfortunately. Regulus slipped his hands into the pockets of his robes as they descended another staircase. “I’m not a bigot,” he said simply.
Lily glanced at him sideways. The sincerity in his tone must have surprised her because some of the teasing left her expression afterward.“I know,” she said quietly.
The answer caught him slightly off guard. “You do?”
“You’ve never acted like one.” The simplicity of it unsettled him more than outright suspicion might have.
Most people assumed things about Regulus immediately after hearing his surname. Some assumptions were earned. Others less so. Either way, he had grown accustomed to it. Lily, however, sounded entirely matter-of-fact.
They crossed through a narrow stone bridge connecting two sections of the castle. Moonlight poured through the high windows in cold silver sheets, illuminating drifting dust. Outside, the grounds stretched dark beneath the storm-cleared sky.
And above them the moon hung enormous and white. Not quite full. Not anymore. Regulus slowed instinctively near the windows. Lily took another few steps before noticing. “What is it?”
Regulus stared upward. The moonlight painted the entire corridor silver-blue, washing color from the stone beneath their feet. “It was full a few days ago,” he murmured.
Lily’s expression changed. Her shoulders tightened almost imperceptibly. Regulus felt something click quietly into place somewhere deep in his mind. Confirmation. “Lupin was sick last month too,” he said slowly.
Lily looked at him too quickly. Regulus saw it immediately. That split second of alarm before she masked it. And suddenly every conversation from the past month rearranged itself violently inside his head.
Regulus stopped walking entirely. Lily did too a second later. The corridor had gone very still around them. Far below, thunder rolled faintly beyond the mountains. “You should probably stop thinking,” Lily said lightly.
Unfortunately for her, the statement itself confirmed everything Regulus already knew was true. Regulus stared at her. “No,” he said quietly. His mind moved rapidly now. “He’s a werewolf, isn’t he?” Regulus asked.
Lily closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, her expression had become carefully neutral. “You’re clever,” she said softly. “But no, he’s not. Missed the mark I fear.”
Liar.
Ceverness suddenly felt deeply unpleasant. For several seconds neither spoke. He thought suddenly of Lupin standing beneath torchlight last month looking exhausted enough to collapse. Of the scars crossing his hands.
Of Sirius.
Of course Sirius would do something catastrophic to protect someone he loved. The realization arrived so abruptly it almost knocked the breath from him. Snape found out. Or nearly found out. And Sirius panicked.
“Oh,” Regulus said softly. Everything made horrible sense now.
Lily watched him carefully. “You’re thinking too much.”
“Well, I just figured out that our headmaster has allowed a werewolf in our school.” Regulus frowned faintly. “Should I be screaming?”
“It would be considered a normal reaction, yeah.”
“That seems rude.”
Despite the tension, Lily laughed quietly. Then sighed. “Listen, I know you’re not an idiot but you can’t tell anyone.” The seriousness in her voice pulled his attention fully back toward her.
Regulus studied her expression for a moment before answering. “I won’t.”
“You mean that?”
“Yes.”
Lily searched his face carefully, as though trying to determine whether he understood the weight of what she’d revealed. Regulus thought of Walburga. Of the things pureblood families whispered about creatures in drawing rooms heavy with silver and bloodline tapestries.
Monsters.
Abominations.
Things to be feared.
Then he thought of Lupin laughing quietly in the corridors beside him while pretending exhaustion wasn’t hollowing him out from the inside. The contrast made something twist unpleasantly beneath his ribs. “He’s still Lupin,” Regulus said finally.
Lily looked genuinely startled by that. “You really don’t care?”
“I care that Sirius apparently tried solving a problem by nearly getting someone killed.”
“That wasn’t what happened.”
Regulus looked sharply toward her. Lily immediately looked annoyed with herself.
Interesting.
“So Sirius didn’t intentionally send Snape toward a transformed werewolf,” Regulus said slowly.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You practically did.”
She groaned softly. “Merlin, you and Sirius are infuriatingly similar when you start investigating things.”
“I’ll take that as an insult.”
“It was intended as one.”
They resumed walking after a moment, though slower now. The atmosphere between them had shifted entirely.
Regulus’ thoughts refused to calm.
He imagined Sirius telling Snape where to find Lupin and…
God.
If Potter hadn’t stopped him…a cold wave of nausea moved briefly through Regulus. “Sirius is an idiot,” he muttered.
Lily exhaled a startled laugh. “That’s probably the understatement of the century.”
“And Potter?”
“What about him?”
“He knew.”
“Obviously.”
“And he’s angry.”
“Yes.”
Regulus nodded slowly. That fit. Potter would forgive almost anything eventually, Regulus suspected. But not easily where Lupin was concerned.
“You know the worst part?” Lily said quietly after a while. Regulus glanced toward her. “He feels awful.”
The words hung strangely in the moonlit corridor.
He had seen it written across Sirius before understanding why. Sirius regretted things so violently sometimes it bordered on self-destruction. But regret afterward did not erase consequences beforehand.
Regulus looked once more toward the enormous moon outside the windows.
***
Regulus found Sirius three days later. If anyone asked, it had been entirely accidental. Even years later, that was the story Regulus was going with thank you. He could never live down the other option. And the fact that he had spent most of those three days noticing Sirius’ whereabouts with unusual frequency was irrelevant.
Completely unrelated. Coincidental really. The lie sounded weak even inside his own head.
The encounter happened after Charms.
Students flooded from the classroom in noisy clusters, voices echoing through the corridor as they spilled toward lunch. Regulus practically winced at the intensity. The castle felt brighter today than it had in nearly a week. Sunlight poured through the windows in broad golden stripes, warming the stone floors. Regulus stepped out of the classroom with his books tucked beneath one arm and immediately spotted Sirius.
Of course he did.
Sirius stood near one of the windows at the end of the corridor, hands shoved into his pockets while Potter talked animatedly beside him. Most people looking at them would probably think the scene normal. Regulus knew better.
Something remained off. Sirius smiled when Potter said something but the smile never fully reached his eyes. And Potter kept watching him. Like he was someone keeping track of cracks in a dam.
Regulus slowed unconsciously. Ahead of him, Sirius laughed at something. Potter noticed Regulus first. His expression shifted immediately. It turned into something almost wary.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Potter nudged Sirius lightly with his shoulder. Sirius turned and their eyes met. For a second neither moved. The corridor bustled around them. Students passed between them in waves of black robes and chatter.
Sirius raised an eyebrow. Regulus stared back. Sirius frowned slightly. Then Potter said something quietly beside him. Regulus watched Sirius’ expression flatten.
And suddenly he knew.
Sirius knew that he knew. Not everything. Maybe not even how much. The realization laid there between them instantly. Neither brother looked away. Eventually Sirius muttered something to Potter before crossing the corridor toward him.
Students shifted aside automatically. Sirius had always moved through crowds like he expected the world to rearrange itself accordingly. Annoyingly, it usually did. Everything usually went well for Sirius. “Reg.”
The nickname landed oddly after the weeks of barely speaking outside necessary interactions. Regulus kept his expression neutral. “Sirius.”
“You look terrifying.”
“You look guilty.”
That got a reaction.
Sirius leaned against the wall beside the window, sunlight catching silver-blue highlights in his dark hair. “Bit dramatic aren’t you?”
“Am I? Thought that was your job.”
“Usually.”
Regulus considered several possible opening statements. Most seemed likely to start a public argument. Unfortunately, the one he ultimately chose wasn’t much better. “What happened with Snape?”
Sirius went completely still. The corridor noise seemed to recede instantly. “Who told you?”
Interesting.
Regulus folded his arms. “No one.”
“Regulus.”
“Lily accidentally confirmed my theory.”
Sirius closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, he looked tired. “Of course she did.”
“She didn’t tell me anything.”
“Sure.”
“I figured it out.”
Sirius stared at him.
And despite everything, a flash of reluctant amusement appeared briefly in his expression. “That’s somehow worse.”
Regulus ignored that. “You sent Snape toward Lupin on a full moon.” The words came out quieter than he’d intended. The amusement vanished instantly.
“I didn’t think he’d actually go.”
There it was.
The exact same phrase Barty had overheard Potter yelling about. Regulus felt something tighten in his chest. “That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the truth.”
“No.”
Sirius looked away first. The Quidditch pitch gleamed green beneath late-winter sunlight. Students crossed the lawns below like scattered pieces on a game board. For a moment Sirius looked older than sixteen. “He kept following us,” Sirius said quietly. “Kept nagging. Kept trying to find a way to get us all in trouble.” Regulus remained silent. “He was obsessed.”
“Sirius.”
“I know.” The immediate response surprised him. “I know,” Sirius repeated.
The words hung heavily between them. Regulus studied his brother carefully. This wasn’t the Sirius he usually encountered these days. This version reminded him unpleasantly of childhood. Of Sirius after he’d accidentally broken something important. After arguments with Walburga. The rare moments when consequences finally caught him.
“You could’ve gotten him killed.” The sentence emerged before Regulus could stop it.
Sirius flinched.
And suddenly Regulus understood why Potter had looked furious. Because Sirius already knew. He knew exactly how badly he’d messed up. “I know.” Again.
Regulus exhaled slowly. “What were you thinking?”
Sirius laughed once. “I wasn’t.” Unfortunately, that sounded completely believable. The corridor had begun thinning now as students made their way toward lunch.
Potter remained where he’d been originally standing, close enough to intervene if necessary. Regulus filed that away. “You and Potter are fighting.”
Sirius grimaced. “A bit.”
“A bit.”
Sirius rolled his eyes. “Fine. More than a bit.”
Regulus nodded. That tracked. “And Lupin?”
Silence.
The answer appeared across Sirius’ face before he spoke. “He won’t talk to me.” The admission came so quietly Regulus almost missed it.
“Shocking,” Regulus practically spat out. “He should be angry.”
“I know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because I know.” For the first time, genuine irritation slipped through Sirius’ exhaustion. His voice sharpened. “What do you want me to say, Reg?” Several nearby students glanced over. Sirius immediately lowered his voice again. “I know I screwed up.” The old nickname sat strangely between them. Regulus hadn’t heard it from Sirius in months…maybe longer. “I know it was stupid.” A pause. “I know I could’ve gotten people hurt.” Another pause. “I know.”
Regulus looked at him for a long moment. For a second, he looked painfully familiar. Not Gryffindor Sirius. Sirius. His brother. The realization irritated Regulus immediately. Because it would have been significantly easier if Sirius remained impossible all the time. Instead he kept doing deeply inconvenient things like looking human. “You should apologize.”
Sirius barked a humorless laugh. “You think I haven’t tried?”
That surprised him. “Oh.”
“Repeatedly.” Regulus blinked. Repeatedly? Sirius scrubbed both hands through his hair. “Moony won’t even stay in the same room as me if he can help it.” The words carried genuine misery.
Suddenly Regulus remembered Lupin’s expression the last time he paid attention to him. It was the kind of anger that came from being deeply hurt. “Give him time,” Regulus said finally.
Sirius looked at him. And for a strange moment, neither of them seemed entirely sure how they’d arrived at a conversation that almost resembled brothers speaking normally. Then the moment broke.
A group of third-years rushed between them. Potter called something from down the hall. Sirius glanced toward him automatically. When he looked back, the old distance had returned slightly. “You’re annoyingly reasonable about this.”
Regulus arched an eyebrow. “Because attempted murder is generally frowned upon.”
“See? Annoying.”
Despite himself, Regulus almost smiled. The idiot looked pleased by it. Then Potter shouted again. “Lunch,” Sirius said.
“Tragic.”
“I’ll survive.”
“A shame.”
A laugh escaped Sirius before he could stop it. Then Sirius stepped backward toward the corridor. For a second, it seemed like he might say something else. Instead he simply nodded once and then he turned and headed toward Potter.
Regulus watched him go.
***
The first time Regulus saw Lupin after the full moon, he nearly walked straight past him. Not because Lupin looked different. Because he looked exactly the same. The castle had settled into the lazy gold of Sunday afternoon. Students lounged everywhere. A group of third-years sat cross-legged beneath a window playing an aggressively complicated game of exploding snap while several Ravenclaws argued over Arithmancy nearby.
Then Regulus spotted Lupin sitting alone at the far end of the corridor, reading. The sight should have felt ordinary.
Remus occupied a window alcove with one leg stretched awkwardly in front of him and a thick book balanced against his knee. Sunlight spilled over the pages, illuminating pale scars across his hands and wrists. He looked tired.
The bruised shadows beneath his eyes had faded slightly since the previous week, but they hadn’t disappeared entirely. His movements still seemed careful, like every joint hurt.
Regulus slowed and then stopped. Fuck, Lupin sometimes looked ethereal. The sensible decision would have been continuing toward the library. The sensible decision would have been minding his own business. Unfortunately, recent events had apparently destroyed his ability to do either.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he crossed the corridor. Lupin looked up immediately. For a brief moment surprise flashed across his face. Then amusement. “Black.”
“Lupin,” Regulus said. Lupin marked his place in the book.
“I feel like we’re developing a pattern.”
“Concerning.”
“Very.”
Regulus remained standing. For several seconds neither said anything. Eventually Remus tilted his head. “Was there something you needed?”
Regulus considered several responses and most were terrible. Unfortunately, honesty won. “I wanted to see if you were alive.”
Remus blinked and then laughed. “I appreciate your concern.”
“It wasn’t concern.”
“Of course not.”
“It was curiosity.”
“Naturally.”
Regulus sat down opposite him before he could reconsider. The alcove wasn’t particularly large and their knees nearly touched. The realization arrived a second too late to be useful. Lupin seemed entirely unbothered by it anyway, annoyingly. “What are you reading?” Regulus asked.
Remus turned the cover slightly. “The Time Machine.”
Regulus stared. “The Wells novel?”
“You’ve read it?”
“I own it.” Now it was Lupin’s turn to look surprised. For some reason, that irritated Regulus. “I can read.”
“I didn’t say otherwise.”
“You implied it.”
“I really didn’t.”
Regulus narrowed his eyes and Lupin smiled. There was something unfair about how much healthier he looked while smiling. The observation was deeply inconvenient. “Lily said you figured it out.” The words arrived so suddenly that Regulus almost missed them.
He looked up. Lupin had closed the book now. The amusement had faded from his expression. Regulus knew immediately what he meant. For several seconds neither spoke. Students moved through the corridor around them, oblivious to the conversation unfolding in the alcove.
Eventually Regulus nodded once. “Yes.”
Remus looked unsurprised, which somehow felt unfair. “You don’t seem shocked.”
“You’re clever.”
“Lily said the same thing.”
Lupin winced slightly. “That sounds ominous.”
“She meant it as a compliment I think.”
“That’s how you know it’s ominous.”
Despite himself, Regulus almost smiled. The moment passed quickly. Lupin looked out the window and sunlight caught the side of his face along with the old scars along his jaw.
Regulus followed his gaze automatically. The grounds stretched below them. Students scattered across the lawns. “You know,” Remus said quietly, “most people react differently.”
Regulus looked back toward him. “Differently how?”
Lupin shrugged one shoulder. “They get nervous.”
“Did Sirius?”
Lupin frowned. “No.”
“Then why do you care how others react? Why would they even be nervous? You’re a nerd, not scary.”
That made Lupin smile softly. “You’re questioning the werewolf on why people get nervous around werewolves?”
“When you phrase it like that, it sounds obvious.”
“Because it is obvious.”
Regulus frowned. Maybe it should have been obvious. Maybe years of growing up around pureblood ideology should have left some lingering instinctive fear. Instead all he could think about was Lupin looking exhausted after every full moon while somehow still completing essays on time. Which—honestly—seemed more impressive than frightening. Lupin studied him carefully.
Regulus frowned. “What?”
“I think I expected you to have more questions.”
“I do have questions.”
“Only some?”
“Several.”
Remus leaned back against the stone wall. “Go on then.”
Regulus hesitated. Not because he lacked questions, just that suddenly they all felt inappropriate. How long have you been like this? Does it hurt? When were you bitten? How do transformations work? Did Sirius tell Snape because he panicked or because he was angry?
Too many.
Instead he settled on, “How often does Madam Pomfrey threaten to murder your friends?”
Lupin blinked and then barked out a surprised laugh. “Frequently.”
“There we are.”
“That was your question?”
“It seemed polite.”
“Regulus Black, you’ve just discovered I’m a werewolf.”
“Yes.”
“And your first question is about Pomfrey.”
“I was curious!”
Lupin shook his head slowly. The smile lingering at the corner of his mouth remained stubbornly present. For some reason, seeing it felt unexpectedly satisfying. The realization was alarming enough that Regulus immediately ignored it.
“You don’t care.” Lupin said it quietly.
Regulus looked at him. “No,” he said simply. “And I won’t tell anyone, don’t worry.”
Lupin held his gaze. Eventually he nodded. The corridor remained warm around them. Regulus thought of how exhausting it must be to guard something like that every day. To build your life around protecting it. His thoughts drifted inevitably toward Sirius.
Remus followed his expression immediately. “You talked to him.”
Not a question either. Regulus sighed. Lupin seemed too aware. “Unfortunately.”
Lupin laughed softly but the sound faded quickly. “He told you?”
“Enough.”
Lupin looked down at the book resting in his lap. For the first time since Regulus sat down, genuine sadness crossed his face. Lupin was furious because Sirius had been the last person he’d expected to do it. Trust broken always hurt worse than secrets revealed.
Finally Lupin reopened his book. “I should back to reading.”
“You probably should.”
“You should probably stop investigating everyone.”
“That’s unlikely.”
“I know.”
Regulus stood. As he turned toward the library, Lupin spoke again. “Regulus?”
He paused. Lupin called him Regulus. “What?”
A faint smile appeared on Lupin’s face. “Thanks.”
Regulus stared at him for a moment and then rolled his eyes. “Don’t make it weird.” And then he walked away before Lupin could see the corner of his mouth twitch upward.