Archive of Our Own

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place had never liked being crowded.

The house tolerated occupants the way a coffin tolerated a corpse: silently, resentfully, and only because it had been built for the purpose.

That evening, it was being asked to tolerate far too many.

The dining room had been stretched by magic until the long, scarred table could accommodate everyone gathered around it, though the additional space had done nothing to lessen the suffocating closeness. Candlelight shuddered against the dark green walls. The silver instruments displayed inside the cabinets clicked and twitched whenever voices rose. The old chandelier trembled above them despite the absence of any breeze.

Voices had been rising for nearly twenty minutes.

“This is exactly what I meant,” Molly Weasley said, leaning across the table with both palms planted against the wood. “It is too dangerous. Far too dangerous, and I cannot believe we are even considering performing it while the children are in the house.”

“We’re in the room,” Ron muttered.

Molly’s head snapped towards him. “Ronald.”

“I was only saying—”

“You were only being quiet,” Hermione said through her teeth, elbowing him sharply.

Ron grimaced and rubbed his ribs. “I was quiet. That was barely sound.”

Harry sat on Ron’s other side, staring at the complicated arrangement in the centre of the table.

A broad silver bowl had been placed upon a square of black cloth. Around it stood seven tall candles, each burning with a thin flame that appeared colourless until one looked directly at it. Strange symbols had been drawn around the bowl in dark ink. Some resembled letters, others winding branches, serpents, hooks or open eyes. A narrow groove had been carved into the silver rim, and something dark moved sluggishly inside it.

Harry did not know what the liquid was.

He was not certain he wanted to know.

Across from him, Ginny and Luna were wedged between Fred and George. Neville sat beside Hermione with his shoulders drawn in, watching the bowl as though expecting something to crawl out of it. Percy occupied the far end of the table near Arthur, sitting rigidly enough to look as though someone had transfigured him into a chair ornament.

Bill and Charlie stood behind the seated Weasleys because there was no room left along that side. Bill had his arms folded. Charlie had spent much of the meeting leaning over Fred’s shoulder and quietly asking irritating questions whenever Molly paused to breathe.

The Aurors had taken the section nearest the door.

Kingsley Shacklebolt sat calmly with one hand curled around the back of his chair. Tonks was half-perched upon the edge of the table, one boot swinging beneath her, while Mad-Eye Moody had positioned himself where his magical eye could inspect the room, the hall and, apparently, the inside of the cabinet behind him all at once.

Dumbledore sat at the head of the table.

McGonagall was at his right.

Snape was at his left.

Sirius had chosen the seat directly opposite Snape for no reason other than to make the evening unbearable.

Remus sat beside Sirius and looked increasingly as though he regretted every decision that had led him there.

“The children,” Sirius said, lounging back with one ankle resting across his knee, “have already fought Death Eaters, survived attacks, escaped monsters and attended Hogwarts under several dangerously incompetent teachers.”

Snape’s mouth flattened.

Sirius’s smile widened.

“I wasn’t talking about you specifically,” he said. “But it’s interesting that you assumed I was.”

“I did not assume anything, Black.”

“No? You’ve got that wounded look.”

“This is my ordinary expression when forced to endure you.”

“Your ordinary expression looks wounded?”

“It looks disgusted.”

“Does it?”

“Yes.”

Sirius turned to Remus. “Does it?”

Remus pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m not participating.”

“You are sitting between us.”

“I am surviving between you.”

“You’re not doing a particularly good job,” Snape said.

Remus lowered his hand and stared at him. “Would you like to switch seats?”

“No.”

“Then let me suffer quietly.”

“Quietly would be a welcome change,” McGonagall said.

Sirius looked affronted. “I’ve hardly said anything.”

“You have been talking without pause since the meeting began.”

“I’m the host.”

“You are the primary disruption.”

“That is also part of hosting.”

McGonagall’s nostrils flared.

Tonks snorted into her hand.

Moody’s magical eye rotated towards her.

“What?” Tonks asked.

“Constant vigilance.”

“I laughed.”

“Laughter is distracting.”

“It’s a dining room, Mad-Eye.”

“Dining rooms can kill you.”

“Not usually.”

“This one could,” Sirius said pleasantly. “The curtains tried to strangle me when I was twelve.”

Molly drew herself upright. “That is not helping.”

“It wasn’t meant to.”

“Sirius.”

“Oh, come on, Molly. We are not summoning Voldemort into the pudding.”

Ron’s gaze dropped to the untouched pudding farther down the table.

“Could we move that?” he asked.

“No one is summoning Voldemort,” Hermione said.

“I know, but he said the pudding, and now it feels involved.”

George reached over Ginny and slid the pudding several inches away.

“There,” he said. “Protected.”

“Thank you,” Ron said.

Fred nodded solemnly. “No one deserves to be possessed before dessert.”

“Will you all stop?” Molly demanded.

Every Weasley child fell silent.

Charlie’s mouth twitched.

Molly pointed towards the silver bowl. “Albus, tell them. Tell them this is not something to joke about.”

“It is certainly not something to undertake carelessly,” Dumbledore said.

His voice was quiet, but the room settled around it.

Even Sirius stopped smiling.

Dumbledore placed the tips of his fingers together and regarded the ritual markings. “The spell is old. Older than many of the protections surrounding this house, though the version preserved within the Black family records appears to have been altered over generations.”

“Altered how?” Hermione asked immediately.

Sirius waved towards a stack of brittle parchment beside the bowl. “You’re welcome to work that out. Half of it is written in family cipher, a quarter in Latin, and the rest appears to have been recorded by an ancestor who hated vowels.”

Hermione leaned forward. “You said it was meant to gather information.”

“It is,” Dumbledore said. “Or it was.”

“That is reassuring,” Neville whispered.

Luna tilted her head. “Perhaps it changed its mind.”

Hermione glanced at her. “Spells don’t change their minds.”

“Houses might.”

Several people looked towards the walls.

The old silverware inside the cabinets rattled.

Ron shifted closer to Harry. “She’s doing that thing again.”

“She might have a point,” Harry whispered.

“She usually does,” Ginny said.

“That doesn’t make it less unsettling.”

Arthur adjusted his glasses as he looked over the parchment. “What does the ritual actually use?”

“Blood,” Sirius said.

Molly made a furious sound.

“Family blood,” Sirius clarified. “Not buckets of it. A drop.”

“One drop too many.”

“It’s my blood.”

“That does not improve matters.”

“It improves them for everyone who isn’t me.”

Remus reached out and pushed Sirius’s raised boot off the edge of the table.

Sirius looked at him. “What was that for?”

“You were going to put your foot beside the candles.”

“I knew where my foot was.”

“You rarely know where any part of you is.”

Sirius’s eyebrows lifted. “That sounded personal.”

“It was.”

Snape gave a quiet, unpleasant laugh.

Sirius turned towards him at once. “Something funny, Snivellus?”

“Yes. Lupin.”

Remus closed his eyes.

“Do not call him that,” McGonagall said sharply.

Snape’s expression did not change. “I called Lupin by his name.”

“She meant me,” Sirius said.

“Obviously.”

“You sounded disappointed.”

“I am perpetually disappointed whenever you continue breathing.”

“And yet I do it so beautifully.”

“Enough,” Kingsley said.

The word was not loud. It did not need to be.

Sirius settled back into his chair, still looking pleased with himself.

Kingsley glanced between him and Snape. “We have limited time. If the ritual can provide information on Voldemort’s movements, his plans or his protections, it is worth examining. But we need to know exactly what may happen if it fails.”

“That,” Sirius said, tapping the parchment, “is the interesting part.”

Moody’s normal eye narrowed. “Meaning?”

“Meaning the Blacks were not good at recording failures.”

“Because they considered failure shameful?” Percy asked.

“No,” Sirius said. “Because they tended to kill anyone who witnessed it.”

Percy stared at him.

Sirius smiled.

Arthur cleared his throat. “You might have mentioned that earlier.”

“It seemed implied.”

“It was not implied,” Molly said.

“It’s a Black family spell involving blood and death magic. What did you think happened when it went wrong? A mild rash?”

“Death magic?” Harry repeated.

Hermione’s head whipped towards him. “You didn’t say death magic.”

“I said it was unpleasant.”

“That is not the same thing.”

“It is in this family.”

Dumbledore lifted one hand before Molly could begin again. “The purpose of the magic is not to cause death. It uses what the records call the memory of death.”

“The memory of death,” Neville echoed faintly.

Luna looked interested. “That sounds lonely.”

Snape spoke without taking his eyes from the parchment. “Death leaves traces. Particularly violent death. Places remember it. Objects remember it. Bloodlines remember it.”

Harry looked towards him. “And the spell reads those traces?”

“In theory.”

“And in practice?” Bill asked.

Snape’s lip curled. “We are about to discover that.”

“Comforting,” Charlie said.

Tonks leaned towards the markings. “The symbols around the bowl are Black family wards?”

“Some are,” Sirius said. “Some belong to the house. A few are meant to direct the spell beyond the wards and towards the target.”

“Voldemort,” Ginny said.

The colourless candle flames bent towards her.

Everyone watched them.

Ginny frowned. “Was that supposed to happen?”

“No,” Sirius said.

The flames straightened.

Molly moved half out of her chair. “That is it. The children are leaving.”

“Mum—”

“No, Fred.”

“That was George.”

George looked wounded. “Coward.”

“You sound identical when you’re whining,” Molly said. “All of you, upstairs.”

“We’re part of the Order,” Ginny said.

“You are not.”

“We’re here.”

“You should not be.”

“Neither should half the adults,” Ginny shot back.

Tonks raised a hand. “She has a point.”

“Do not encourage her.”

“I’m not. I’m agreeing independently.”

“Which is worse.”

Harry looked towards Dumbledore. “We’re staying.”

Molly stared at him.

Harry held her gaze, though it became significantly harder to do when her expression shifted from anger to hurt.

“We need to know what’s happening,” he said. “It’s about Voldemort. We’re already involved.”

Ron nodded. “He’s right.”

Neville swallowed. “I’d rather know too.”

Luna smiled faintly. “I don’t think the house wants us to leave.”

A dull thud sounded inside the wall.

Ron looked at it. “Could you stop agreeing with the building?”

“I’m not agreeing. I’m listening.”

“What’s it saying?”

Luna’s pale eyes moved slowly across the room.

“Not much yet.”

Sirius drummed his fingers on the table. “The spell needs witnesses.”

“That sounds like an excuse,” Molly said.

“It needs magical presence outside the family line to stabilise it.”

Hermione frowned at the parchment. “I thought it was based on Black blood.”

“It is. Black blood opens the path. Other magic anchors it.”

“And death magic does what?” Harry asked.

Sirius’s fingers stopped moving.

For the first time since the meeting began, his expression became serious.

“It finds what is hidden.”

Silence spread along the table.

Dumbledore looked at each of them in turn.

“We will proceed with caution,” he said. “No one will touch the bowl except Sirius. No one will cross the markings once the ritual begins. Should anything behave unexpectedly, you will follow my instructions immediately.”

Moody grunted. “Wands out.”

The room filled with the soft scrape of wood against cloth.

Molly remained standing for several moments before lowering herself back into her chair.

“This is madness,” she whispered.

Arthur reached for her hand.

She gripped his tightly.

Dumbledore rose.

McGonagall and Snape stood with him. Kingsley moved from his chair to the end of the table, while Moody shifted until his wand had a clear line towards the bowl. Tonks hopped down from the table and nearly caught her sleeve on a candlestick.

Sirius smirked.

She pointed her wand at him. “Not one word.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Your face did.”

“My face is innocent.”

“Your face has never been innocent.”

Remus rose beside Sirius. “Just do the spell.”

Sirius looked at him. “You sound nervous.”

“I am nervous.”

“You hide it poorly.”

“I’m not attempting to hide it.”

“You usually do.”

Remus stared at him until Sirius’s smile softened.

Then Sirius pushed himself to his feet.

The house creaked.

It was not a natural sound.

It travelled from somewhere deep beneath them, rising through the foundations and up behind the walls. The floorboards tightened. The chandelier chains groaned. Dust sifted from one corner of the ceiling.

Luna turned her face upwards.

“There,” she whispered.

No one asked what she meant.

Dumbledore moved the bowl into the exact centre of the symbols. “Sirius.”

Sirius held out his left hand.

Snape passed him a narrow silver knife.

Sirius examined it. “Did you sharpen this personally?”

“I hoped you might slip.”

“How sweet.”

“Black,” Moody growled.

“All right.”

Sirius dragged the blade across the tip of his finger.

A bead of blood welled against his skin.

The candles flared.

The house inhaled.

Harry felt it.

The sensation swept through the room like a sudden drop in pressure, pulling at his ribs and tightening around his lungs. Beside him, Ron gripped the edge of the table. Hermione’s eyes widened. Neville sucked in a breath.

Sirius held his bleeding finger over the bowl.

The drop fell.

It struck the silver with a sound far louder than it should have made.

A deep note rang through the dining room.

The symbols ignited.

Black light moved through them, sharp and shining, crawling along the tablecloth in every direction. The flames of the seven candles bent inward until their tips nearly touched above the bowl.

Dumbledore began to speak.

The words were unfamiliar. They seemed to scrape across the air rather than travel through it, each syllable pressing against Harry’s skin. Sirius answered when the parchment required it, his voice steadier than Harry expected.

The walls began to whisper.

Thousands of tiny voices gathered beneath the wallpaper.

Some sounded furious.

Some sounded afraid.

Some sounded hungry.

The bowl filled with darkness.

Not liquid. Not smoke. Something denser than either, folding into itself as the blood spread through it in bright red threads.

Snape murmured another line.

McGonagall answered him.

The candle flames turned black.

Remus placed one hand against Sirius’s shoulder when the floor shuddered beneath them.

“I’m fine,” Sirius said under his breath.

“I didn’t ask.”

“You were thinking it.”

“I was thinking you’re an idiot.”

“That too.”

Dumbledore raised his wand.

The darkness in the bowl began to spin.

“Now,” he said.

Everyone lifted their wands.

Sirius pressed his bleeding finger to the silver rim.

Magic erupted.

It burst upwards from the bowl in a twisting column, smashing into the chandelier and spreading across the ceiling. The candles blew out. The walls groaned. Every door in the house slammed at once.

Molly shouted.

Someone knocked over a chair.

Harry’s scar burned.

He gripped his wand with both hands and stared as the twisting column of magic changed.

The darkness had been reaching outward.

Now it recoiled.

It snapped back into the house like a chain pulled taut.

Dumbledore’s head lifted sharply.

“Sirius, remove your hand.”

Sirius tried.

His palm would not move from the bowl.

“I can’t.”

Remus seized his wrist. “Let go.”

“I’m attempting to!”

The symbols around the bowl shifted.

Harry watched them tear themselves apart and reform. The hooks became circles. The winding branches knotted into chains. The open eyes closed.

Hermione stood abruptly. “Those aren’t the same symbols.”

“No,” Snape said.

For the first time, he sounded alarmed.

The black light spilled off the table.

It raced across the floorboards, slipping beneath chairs and around shoes, carving new shapes into the wood. Everyone staggered back except Sirius, who remained trapped against the bowl with Remus pulling uselessly at his arm.

“What’s happening?” Tonks shouted.

“The house has taken control of the ritual,” Dumbledore said.

Sirius gave a strained laugh. “Of course it has.”

“Can you stop it?” Arthur asked.

“I am trying.”

The silver bowl cracked.

The noise silenced every whisper in the walls.

A thin fracture appeared down its centre.

Black water leaked through it.

Harry stared.

It poured over the table, but rather than dripping to the floor, it rose. Long ribbons twisted upwards, carrying the smell of salt, stone and stagnant depths.

Cold flooded the room.

Ginny gasped.

Ron’s breath fogged white before his face.

The walls changed.

For one impossible second, the dining room vanished.

Harry saw rough stone glistening beneath green light. He saw black water stretching into darkness. He saw pale shapes moving beneath its surface.

Then Grimmauld Place slammed back around them.

Neville stumbled into Hermione.

“What was that?”

“A memory,” Luna said.

The house shook again.

A low, terrible sound travelled through the floor.

Not a groan.

A call.

The blood in the groove around the silver bowl flashed bright red.

The magic abandoned Sirius.

He was thrown backwards into Remus. Both of them crashed against the table, knocking two chairs aside.

The black water suspended above the bowl rushed towards the centre of the room.

It struck the floor.

The impact sent a ring of freezing air blasting outwards.

Harry threw up one arm.

The candles shattered.

The chandelier went dark.

For a moment, there was nothing but blackness and the sound of water.

Then someone gasped.

It was a human sound.

Sharp.

Desperate.

Alive.

A body fell out of the darkness.

He struck the floor hard, one shoulder first, then his hip, curling instinctively as he slid across the wet boards. Black robes clung to a narrow frame. Dark curls were plastered across a pale face. Water streamed from his sleeves and hair, spreading beneath him in a shining pool.

He choked.

His entire body convulsed.

A second gasp tore through him.

Then another.

He rolled onto his side, coughing violently, one hand clawing at the floor while the other flew towards his throat.

Everyone stared.

The young man dragged in a ragged breath.

“What—”

His voice broke.

He coughed again, spitting water onto the floor, then shoved himself upright on one elbow with a furious, wounded sound.

“What the fuck?”

No one moved.

His eyes flew open.

They were grey.

Wide, wild and alive.

He stared at the room without seeing it, breath coming in frantic bursts as he grabbed at his own robes.

“Inferi,” he gasped. “Where—where are they? Get them off—”

There was nothing on him.

No pale hands.

No wounds.

The magic moved over his body in thin, glimmering threads.

The soaked cloth dried instantly. Torn fabric repaired itself. Mud and dark stains vanished from the sleeves. The angry marks around his throat faded. Scratches disappeared from his hands.

The young man noticed.

He looked down.

His breathing stopped.

“What?”

His fingers pressed against his neck.

He stared at his own palms.

Then he looked up.

His expression changed from panic to pure offence.

“Where am I?”

Sirius had not moved.

He was half-supported by Remus, one hand still gripping the edge of the table.

All colour had drained from his face.

Remus looked much the same.

McGonagall’s wand had lowered by several inches.

Snape stood rigid beside Dumbledore, his black eyes fixed on the figure on the floor.

Dumbledore’s face was unreadable.

The young man’s gaze moved around the room.

Over Harry.

Over Ron and Hermione.

Over the Weasleys.

Over the Aurors.

He looked at Moody’s eye, Tonks’s pink hair and Kingsley’s raised wand with increasing confusion.

Then he saw Sirius.

His face went blank.

Sirius whispered, “Regulus.”

The young man screamed.

It was not dignified.

It was not restrained.

It was a sharp, horrified noise that made Tonks jump and Ron nearly drop his wand.

Regulus Black scrambled backwards across the floor.

“What happened to you?”

Sirius stared at him.

Regulus pointed with a shaking hand.

“You’re old!”

Silence.

Sirius’s mouth opened.

Nothing came out.

Regulus’s horror deepened. “You’re so old.”

“I—”

“And ugly.”

Tonks choked.

Fred made a strangled noise and turned it into a cough.

Sirius finally found his voice. “Ugly?”

Regulus continued staring at him as though Sirius had personally committed an unforgivable crime against time.

“You look dreadful.”

“I do not look dreadful.”

“You look like someone left you in a cupboard for thirty years.”

Remus’s hand slipped from Sirius’s arm.

Regulus’s eyes snapped towards him.

He froze.

Remus froze too.

Regulus stared.

“Oh, no.”

Remus’s eyebrows lifted.

“You too?”

“Hello, Regulus.”

Regulus recoiled. “What happened to your face?”

Remus looked almost offended. “It aged.”

“Badly.”

Sirius let out an abrupt bark of laughter.

Remus turned towards him. “You’ve no room to laugh.”

“He called you old.”

“He called you ugly.”

“Yes, but he called you old second.”

“That does not make it better.”

Regulus’s gaze had already moved again.

It landed on Snape.

His eyes narrowed.

“Severus?”

Snape’s face had gone so still that he might have been carved from stone.

Regulus stared at his hair, his robes, the deep lines around his mouth.

“You look exactly the same.”

Sirius laughed louder.

Snape’s eyes flashed. “He has been alive for less than two minutes and is already intolerable.”

Regulus blinked. “Your voice is deeper.”

“Tragic.”

“And you look tired.”

“I am.”

“Did you continue selling illegal potions to idiots?”

The entire table turned towards Snape.

Snape’s expression darkened.

Sirius slowly looked at him. “You sold my brother illegal potions?”

“They were not illegal.”

Regulus tilted his chin. “They were.”

“They were restricted.”

“You charged extra because they were illegal.”

“I charged extra because you were irritating.”

“You gave me a discount.”

“To make you leave.”

Regulus looked smug. “You liked me.”

“I tolerated your money.”

Sirius pointed at Snape. “We are coming back to this.”

“We are not.”

Regulus looked past him.

His gaze reached McGonagall.

All the sharp offence slipped from his face for a second, replaced by something very young and very startled.

“Professor?”

McGonagall inhaled.

“Mr Black.”

Regulus stared at the silver now threading her dark hair, at the lines around her eyes and the severe set of her mouth.

“You’re old too.”

Her lips tightened.

Sirius covered his mouth with his hand.

McGonagall turned her head very slowly towards him.

He lowered it.

Regulus’s gaze moved to Dumbledore.

He went quiet.

Dumbledore stood beneath the dark chandelier with his wand lowered, looking down at him over his half-moon spectacles.

Regulus stared at the long white beard.

Then at the white hair.

Then back at the beard.

“You’re extremely old.”

Dumbledore’s eyes glimmered. “So I am.”

Regulus frowned. “You were already old.”

“That is also true.”

“How long was I gone?”

No one answered.

The words seemed to pull the room back into place.

The overturned chairs.

The shattered candles.

The water beneath Regulus that was already vanishing into the floorboards.

The spell markings fading from the wood.

The stunned faces surrounding him.

Regulus’s breathing slowed.

He looked at Sirius again.

Really looked.

His expression sharpened as he took in the hollowed cheeks, the longer hair, the worn face, the eyes that were familiar and not familiar at all.

Sirius stared back.

Regulus pushed himself carefully to his feet.

The repaired robes hung heavily around him. He was slight and pale, shorter than Sirius remembered and younger than anyone in the room had expected. His curls had dried into soft, disordered shapes around his face, interrupted by a streak of pale blond through the front.

He looked eighteen.

Not close to eighteen.

Not almost eighteen.

Eighteen exactly.

Young enough that Harry, Ron, Hermione and Neville did not appear much younger than him at all. Young enough that Ginny and Luna were only a few years behind him.

Young enough that Sirius looked less like his brother and more like someone who might have been responsible for him.

Regulus looked down at himself, then at Sirius.

“How long?”

Sirius swallowed.

“Seventeen years.”

Regulus’s face did not change.

The room remained utterly still.

“Seventeen,” he repeated.

“Yes.”

Regulus looked at Remus.

Remus gave a small nod.

Then McGonagall.

Then Snape.

Then Dumbledore.

Each face confirmed it.

Regulus pressed his lips together.

He seemed to consider this for no more than two seconds.

Then his gaze dropped to Sirius’s face again.

“That explains the ugliness.”

Sirius made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

“You little shit.”

Regulus’s chin tipped up.

“You’re the one who aged.”

“I didn’t do it at you.”

“It looks personal.”

Remus covered his eyes.

Molly stared between them. “Sirius.”

“What?”

“Who is he?”

Sirius turned.

It appeared to take genuine effort for him to remember that anyone else was there.

Every unfamiliar face was watching Regulus.

Regulus watched them back with an expression of distant suspicion, like a cat dropped into an overcrowded room.

Sirius’s voice came out rough.

“This is Regulus.”

No one responded.

Sirius gestured at him.

“My brother.”

Harry’s head snapped towards Regulus.

Ron’s mouth fell open.

Hermione’s eyes widened.

Fred and George looked at each other.

Percy stared.

Molly’s hand rose to her chest.

Arthur blinked behind his glasses.

Tonks whispered, “Regulus Black?”

Regulus turned towards her. “You know my name.”

“Everyone knows your name.”

“Why?”

Sirius answered before she could.

“Because you died.”

Regulus looked back at him. “Yes. I noticed.”

“You were presumed dead,” Remus said carefully.

“I was dead.”

“We didn’t know what happened.”

Regulus stared at him.

“No one knew,” Sirius said.

His words were clipped now. Tightly controlled. “You disappeared. There was no body. No explanation. Nothing.”

Regulus’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“That sounds inconvenient.”

Sirius laughed again, but there was no humour in it. “Inconvenient.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“You vanished.”

“I died.”

“That is worse.”

“Only marginally.”

“Regulus.”

“What?”

Sirius looked as though he wanted to grab him, shake him, embrace him and throw him through a wall, all at once.

Regulus looked mildly bored by this.

McGonagall recovered first.

She stepped around the table, keeping her wand lowered but not putting it away.

“Mr Black,” she said, “do you understand where you are?”

Regulus glanced around.

“At home.”

Sirius’s face twitched.

Regulus looked at the walls. “The dining room.”

“Yes.”

“The wallpaper was darker.”

“It faded,” Sirius said.

Regulus frowned. “You let it fade?”

“I was imprisoned.”

Several faces tightened.

Regulus looked at him.

Sirius looked back.

Neither said anything.

The silence lasted only a moment before Regulus turned away.

“That also sounds inconvenient.”

Sirius’s eyes shut.

Remus put a hand against the back of his chair.

Dumbledore moved closer. “Regulus, do you remember what happened before you arrived here?”

Regulus’s gaze shifted to him.

“Yes.”

“Tell us.”

Regulus’s eyebrows lifted.

“Why?”

“Because we performed a spell intended to seek information concerning Lord Voldemort. The magic altered itself and brought you here instead.”

Regulus glanced towards the broken bowl.

His eyes rested upon the faded Black family symbols.

“The house did that.”

“We believe so.”

“Of course it did.”

Hermione leaned forward. “Of course?”

Regulus looked at her.

Hermione went very still beneath his attention.

“You’re sitting in my house,” he said.

She glanced at Sirius.

Sirius folded his arms. “Technically mine.”

Regulus laughed.

It was a small, sharp sound filled with disbelief.

“No.”

Sirius’s eyebrows rose. “No?”

“You were disowned.”

The room went quiet again.

Regulus looked towards the walls.

The house gave a low creak.

“Mother removed you from the line,” he continued. “I was the heir.”

“You died.”

“And yet.”

Regulus spread his hands.

The chandelier trembled above him.

One of the cabinet doors opened by itself.

Sirius stared.

Regulus’s mouth curved faintly.

“You’re still disowned.”

“I own the house.”

“The house disagrees.”

As if in answer, Sirius’s chair scraped backwards without anyone touching it.

Fred snorted.

George covered it with a cough.

Sirius pointed at the chair. “Traitor.”

The chair tipped over.

Regulus looked deeply satisfied.

Harry glanced at Hermione. “The spell called him because he’s the heir.”

Hermione nodded slowly. “Black blood opened the ritual. The house redirected it towards the strongest claim in the family line.”

“The last recognised heir,” Dumbledore said.

Sirius’s expression soured.

Regulus raised his chin.

“And,” Snape said, “the death magic found a dead Black.”

Everyone looked at him.

Snape’s gaze remained fixed on Regulus.

“The ritual reached for hidden knowledge connected to the Dark Lord,” he said. “The house gave it a direction. The blood gave it a name. The death magic found him.”

Harry looked at Regulus.

“What did you know about Voldemort?”

Regulus’s face changed.

Not much.

Only enough for the last remnants of disorientation to sharpen into understanding.

His gaze dropped towards Harry.

For the first time, he truly looked at him.

He stared at Harry’s untidy black hair.

Then at his glasses.

Then at his face.

Regulus’s entire expression twisted.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Harry blinked. “What?”

Regulus looked at Sirius. “Why is Potter here?”

Sirius stared at Harry.

Then back at Regulus.

“That’s Harry.”

“I can see he’s a Potter.”

“He’s James’s son.”

Regulus’s eyes narrowed at Harry with immediate, instinctive irritation.

“He looks exactly like him.”

“I know.”

“That is unfortunate.”

Harry frowned. “You knew my dad?”

Regulus looked more offended by the question than necessary.

“Unfortunately.”

Sirius’s mouth twitched.

“You didn’t like James,” Harry said.

“No.”

“Why?”

“He was loud.”

Sirius gave him an incredulous look. “You like me.”

“I tolerated you because we shared blood.”

“You followed me around constantly.”

“I was keeping watch.”

“You cried when I went to Hogwarts.”

“I was ten.”

“You slept in my bed for a week before I left.”

“I was ensuring you did not escape early.”

“You bit my ankle when I tried to get on the train.”

Regulus’s face went cold. “That did not happen.”

“It did.”

“You’re senile.”

“You were feral.”

“You were abandoning me.”

Sirius’s expression faltered.

Regulus stared at him.

Something passed between them, too fast and too old for anyone else to understand.

Then Regulus looked away.

His gaze moved along the table and stopped on Fred and George.

Both twins were staring at him.

Regulus stared back.

His eyes narrowed.

Fred smiled.

George lifted one hand.

Regulus groaned.

“Oh, no.”

“What?” Fred asked.

“There are two of them.”

“Usually,” George said.

Regulus looked towards Sirius. “Why are there two Prewetts?”

Molly inhaled sharply.

Arthur’s eyebrows rose.

Fred leaned forward. “We’re Weasleys.”

Regulus continued staring at them. “You look exactly like Fabian and Gideon.”

Molly’s eyes shone instantly.

The twins’ smiles faded into surprise.

“You knew our uncles?” George asked.

Regulus gave them a disdainful look. “Everyone knew them. They were impossible to avoid.”

“That sounds like them,” Fred said.

“They once enchanted every door in the west corridor to scream whenever a prefect approached.”

George brightened. “Brilliant.”

“It was not brilliant.”

“You remember how they did it?”

“No.”

“You do.”

“I don’t.”

“You hesitated,” Fred said.

Regulus turned his back on them.

George looked at Fred. “He knows.”

Fred nodded. “He definitely knows.”

Regulus’s eyes moved over the remaining Weasleys, lingering briefly on Molly, Arthur, Bill, Charlie, Percy and Ginny. Then he looked at Luna and Neville, then the Aurors.

His expression suggested that the room contained too many strangers and that this was everyone else’s fault.

Harry stepped away from the table.

“The ritual was meant to find information about Voldemort.”

Regulus looked at him again.

“Yes.”

“What information did you have?”

Sirius’s head turned. “Harry.”

“What?”

“He’s just come back from the dead.”

“And he knows something.”

“I am standing here,” Regulus said. “You don’t have to discuss me as if I’m a particularly interesting vase.”

Harry met his gaze. “Then tell us.”

Regulus studied him.

The resemblance seemed to irritate him more with every second.

“You have his face.”

“I’ve been told.”

“It’s unnerving.”

“You’ve mentioned it.”

“And his tone.”

“What tone?”

“That one.”

Sirius barked a laugh.

Harry glared at him.

Regulus looked faintly pleased.

Dumbledore spoke. “Regulus, whatever occurred before your death may be of great importance.”

Regulus’s amusement vanished.

He looked towards Dumbledore, then around the room.

Every face was waiting.

He sighed.

It was a delicate, deeply put-upon sound.

“I discovered that the Dark Lord had created Horcruxes.”

No one moved.

The word seemed to fall into the room and remain there.

Harry felt Hermione stiffen beside him.

Snape’s face lost what little colour it had.

Dumbledore’s eyes sharpened.

Regulus glanced between them.

“You know what those are.”

“Yes,” Dumbledore said.

Regulus nodded once. “Good. I would rather not explain basic magical theory while dressed like this.”

He plucked distastefully at one damp-looking sleeve, though the fabric had already dried.

Sirius stared at him.

“You knew about Horcruxes?”

Regulus looked at him. “I just said that.”

“You never told anyone.”

“I was busy dying.”

“You could have left a note.”

“I did.”

Sirius went still. “What?”

Regulus frowned. “I left a note in the locket.”

“What locket?”

“The Horcrux.”

Harry stepped closer. “You found one?”

“I found out the Dark Lord had hidden something in a cave. Kreacher had been taken there.”

At the name, the house gave another low creak.

Sirius’s expression hardened.

Regulus continued before anyone could interrupt.

“The Dark Lord needed a house-elf to test the protections. He ordered Kreacher to drink the potion in the basin and left him there to die.”

Molly covered her mouth.

Hermione’s face went white with fury.

Regulus’s voice remained calm.

Too calm.

“Kreacher returned because I had ordered him to come home.”

Sirius stared at him.

“He told you?”

“Yes.”

“And you believed him.”

“Of course I believed him.”

Regulus said it as though there could never have been another choice.

Sirius’s jaw tightened.

Regulus turned towards Dumbledore.

“I understood that the object in the basin mattered. I did not know how many Horcruxes there were, only that he had made at least one. I ordered Kreacher to take me back.”

“You went alone?” McGonagall asked.

“I went with Kreacher.”

“That is not what I meant.”

“I know.”

Her expression sharpened in a way that made Regulus look, very briefly, like a student again.

He lifted his chin.

“I could not risk anyone else.”

“You were eighteen,” McGonagall said.

“I was aware.”

“You were a child.”

“I was not.”

Sirius laughed without humour. “You were.”

Regulus shot him a look. “You are not allowed to agree with her.”

“I’m older than both of you.”

“You look it.”

“Regulus.”

“Stop saying my name like that.”

“Like what?”

“Wrinkly.”

Tonks made a sudden choking sound.

Kingsley glanced at her.

“I’m fine,” she whispered.

Sirius glared at Regulus.

Regulus ignored him.

“I made Kreacher take me to the cave,” he said. “I drank the potion. He exchanged the lockets. I ordered him to return home and destroy the Horcrux.”

Harry’s heart hammered.

“You stole it.”

“Yes.”

“You defected.”

Regulus’s mouth flattened. “Yes.”

“From the Death Eaters.”

Regulus looked pointedly at his left sleeve.

No one could see the Mark beneath it, but everyone understood.

“Yes.”

Sirius’s face had become utterly blank.

Remus watched him from beside the table.

Snape looked at Regulus as though trying to find a person he had once known inside the eighteen-year-old standing before him.

Dumbledore asked, “What happened after Kreacher left?”

Regulus’s grey eyes went distant.

“The Inferi came out of the water.”

The room seemed to grow colder.

“They dragged me into the lake,” he continued. “I drowned.”

His tone was almost bored.

It made the words worse.

Harry remembered the pale shapes beneath the black surface during the ritual. He remembered the cold water rising. The frantic way he had awakened, clawing at his throat.

Sirius pushed away from the table.

“You sent Kreacher home.”

“Yes.”

“You knew you would die.”

Regulus looked at him.

“Yes.”

Sirius crossed the distance between them.

Remus said his name quietly, but Sirius did not stop.

He stood directly in front of Regulus.

Regulus had to tilt his head back to look at him.

“You knew,” Sirius repeated.

Regulus’s expression remained composed. “It was necessary.”

“You were eighteen.”

“We have established that.”

“You went into a cave, drank poison and let a horde of Inferi kill you.”

“I did not let them. I objected quite strongly.”

“Do not joke.”

“I’m not joking.”

“You died alone.”

“I died with an excellent plan.”

“It didn’t work.”

Sirius stopped.

Regulus’s shoulders had drawn back.

His chin was high, every inch of him beautiful, haughty and offended, but the fingers at his sides had curled into tight fists.

“I gave him every instruction I could,” he said. “I made certain he returned. I made certain the real locket left the cave.”

Hermione looked towards Dumbledore. “Then the locket may still be here.”

Every head turned towards the door.

The house creaked around them.

Sirius’s eyes remained on Regulus.

Regulus looked past him towards the dark hall.

“Kreacher,” he called.

The name rang through the house.

A crack split the silence.

Kreacher appeared in the dining room.

He was hunched, wrapped in his filthy cloth, his large eyes already narrowed as though prepared to insult everyone present.

Then he saw Regulus.

The house-elf froze.

His mouth fell open.

Regulus’s expression softened.

Only slightly.

“Kreacher.”

Kreacher made a sound no one in the room had ever heard from him.

A broken gasp.

His enormous eyes flooded with tears.

“Master Regulus?”

Regulus smiled.

It transformed his entire face.

“Yes.”

Kreacher screamed.

He launched himself across the room with such force that Sirius stepped aside. The house-elf struck Regulus around the waist, clinging to him with both arms and sobbing so loudly that the silverware rattled.

Regulus staggered back half a step.

Then he placed one hand gently against Kreacher’s head.

“There you are,” he murmured.

“Master Regulus has returned!” Kreacher wailed. “Master Regulus has come home! Kreacher knew—Kreacher waited—Kreacher kept everything—”

“I know.”

“Kreacher tried, Master Regulus! Kreacher tried and tried and tried, but Kreacher could not destroy it. Kreacher failed Master Regulus.”

Regulus’s smile faded.

He crouched in front of the elf.

Kreacher’s hands twisted in the fabric of his robes.

“You did not fail me,” Regulus said.

Kreacher shook his head frantically. “Kreacher could not obey.”

“You brought it home.”

“But Kreacher could not destroy it.”

“That was not your fault.”

“Kreacher should have—”

“No.”

The word was quiet.

Kreacher went still.

Regulus placed both hands on either side of the elf’s face.

“You returned from the cave when I called you. You took me back when I asked. You carried the locket home. You kept it hidden. You did everything I commanded.”

Tears streamed down Kreacher’s long nose.

“You did not fail me,” Regulus repeated.

Kreacher stared at him.

Then he began sobbing all over again.

Regulus sighed and pulled him closer, allowing the elf to bury his face against his shoulder.

Everyone watched.

Hermione’s eyes were wet.

Molly was openly crying.

Even Moody’s magical eye had stopped moving.

Sirius stood beside Regulus with an expression Harry could not read.

Kreacher finally pulled back.

His gaze darted over Regulus’s robes.

“Master Regulus is wet.”

“I’m dry now.”

“Master Regulus is wearing cave clothes.”

“I am.”

“Master Regulus must eat.”

“I would like that.”

Kreacher’s ears lifted.

“Master Regulus must wear clean clothes.”

“I would also like that.”

“Kreacher kept Master Regulus’s room.”

Sirius blinked.

Kreacher glared at him for the first time since appearing.

“Kreacher kept it pristine,” he said viciously. “Untouched by filthy thieves and blood traitors.”

Sirius’s mouth twisted. “There he is.”

Regulus rose.

“You kept my room?”

Kreacher turned back towards him, instantly adoring again.

“Kreacher cleaned every day. Kreacher dusted Master Regulus’s books. Kreacher washed Master Regulus’s sheets. Kreacher polished Master Regulus’s shoes. Kreacher did not allow unworthy hands to touch Master Regulus’s things.”

Regulus smiled again and patted his head.

“Good Kreacher.”

Kreacher nearly collapsed with happiness.

Harry looked towards Sirius.

Sirius’s face had gone strangely pinched.

Regulus straightened.

“I want something comfortable.”

“Kreacher will bring Master Regulus’s clothes.”

“And food.”

“Kreacher will bring everything Master Regulus likes.”

“Not the almond biscuits.”

“Kreacher remembers Master Regulus hates almond biscuits.”

“I do.”

“Kreacher will burn them.”

“That seems unnecessary.”

“Kreacher will throw them away.”

“Acceptable.”

Kreacher snapped his fingers and vanished.

Regulus turned back towards the room.

Every person was still staring.

He frowned.

“What?”

Ron opened his mouth.

Nothing emerged.

Fred recovered first.

“So,” he said, leaning one elbow against the table, “you’re Sirius’s younger brother.”

Regulus regarded him coolly. “That has been discussed.”

“And you stole a Horcrux from You-Know-Who.”

“Yes.”

“And died fighting Inferi.”

“Yes.”

“And now you’re Lord Black.”

Sirius made a disgusted sound.

Regulus looked pleased. “Apparently.”

Fred glanced at George.

George nodded slowly.

“That’s quite a lot for one evening,” George said.

“It was a busy death,” Regulus replied.

Fred grinned.

Regulus’s eyes narrowed.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re staring.”

“So is everyone.”

“I’m asking you.”

Fred’s grin widened. “You’re very direct.”

“You’re very irritating.”

George leaned around Ginny. “He likes you.”

Regulus looked at him. “Which one are you?”

“George.”

“No, he’s Fred,” Fred said.

Regulus stared at them both.

“Fabian and Gideon used to do that.”

“Did it work?” George asked.

“Not after I hexed them.”

The twins’ eyes lit up.

Regulus’s expression darkened. “Do not.”

“We didn’t say anything,” Fred replied.

“You were about to.”

“Can you read minds?”

“No. You simply have transparent faces.”

“Gorgeous and cruel,” George murmured.

Ginny kicked him beneath the table.

George jolted. “Ow.”

Molly snapped, “George.”

“What? I said nothing improper.”

Regulus looked from George to Fred.

Then to Percy.

Percy had been staring at him with the intense focus of someone desperately attempting not to stare.

Regulus raised one eyebrow.

Percy immediately looked at the parchment.

It was upside down.

Regulus’s mouth twitched.

Fred noticed.

“Oh, Percy.”

Percy’s ears turned red. “Be quiet.”

“You’ve gone scarlet.”

“I have not.”

“You’re reading ancient Black family notes upside down,” George said.

Percy flipped the parchment around.

Regulus watched him.

Percy became redder.

Sirius looked between them.

His eyes narrowed.

“No.”

Fred blinked innocently. “No what?”

“No.”

George looked at Regulus. “He’s become remarkably articulate with age.”

“You are not flirting with my brother,” Sirius said.

Regulus turned towards him. “You do not control who flirts with me.”

“I absolutely do.”

“You absolutely don’t.”

“You are eighteen.”

“I was eighteen before you became hideous.”

“You died.”

“That was temporary.”

“It lasted seventeen years.”

“I did not experience those years.”

“Well, I did.”

“That sounds like your problem.”

Sirius stared at him.

Regulus smiled sweetly.

Sirius turned towards Remus. “He’s worse.”

Remus folded his arms. “He’s exactly the same.”

“That is worse.”

Snape gave a quiet scoff.

Regulus glanced towards him. “You’re still here.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed. “Regrettably.”

“Did you become a professor?”

The room shifted.

Sirius looked delighted by the question.

Snape looked suspicious.

“Yes.”

Regulus stared.

“At Hogwarts?”

“Yes.”

“What do you teach?”

“Potions.”

Regulus considered this.

“That seems unsafe.”

Harry coughed into his hand.

Ron looked down.

Snape’s expression became murderous.

Regulus continued, “You once melted your own cauldron trying to improve a clotting draught.”

“I was fifteen.”

“You were sixteen.”

“The cauldron was poorly made.”

“You bought it from me.”

Snape went silent.

Sirius slowly turned. “He sold you a cauldron?”

Regulus smiled faintly. “I sold him many things.”

“Why?”

“Money.”

“You had money.”

“I wanted more.”

Sirius looked offended. “You were running some sort of school black market?”

“Only occasionally.”

“What did you sell?”

Regulus counted on his fingers. “Ingredients. Essays. Restricted books. Cauldrons. Jewellery. Answers.”

McGonagall’s eyes widened.

Regulus noticed.

“That last one was a joke.”

“No, it was not,” Snape said.

Regulus glared at him.

McGonagall drew herself upright. “Mr Black.”

“I’m dead,” Regulus said.

“You are quite clearly not.”

“I was dead.”

“That does not erase them.”

“It should.”

“It does not.”

Regulus looked towards Sirius. “She has become unreasonable.”

“She was always unreasonable.”

“Both of you will be silent,” McGonagall said.

The brothers obeyed instantly.

Harry stared.

Tonks whispered to Kingsley, “That was terrifying.”

Kingsley nodded.

A crack sounded beside Regulus.

Kreacher reappeared carrying a folded stack of clothes taller than his head, followed by three trays floating in the air.

The smell of warm bread, soup and roasted meat filled the room.

Ron’s attention shifted immediately.

Kreacher saw him looking.

“This is for Master Regulus,” he snarled.

Ron lifted both hands. “I didn’t touch it.”

“Greedy blood traitor boy must not stare at Master Regulus’s supper.”

Regulus glanced at Ron.

Then at Kreacher.

“Kreacher.”

The elf stiffened.

“Do not insult people while carrying my food.”

Kreacher bowed so low that the stack of clothes nearly toppled. “Yes, Master Regulus.”

He glared at Ron from beneath the fabric.

Ron looked at Harry. “That barely helped.”

“It helped a little.”

Kreacher set the clothes carefully on an empty chair.

Regulus touched the top garment.

His fingers paused.

It was a dark, soft jumper folded with perfect precision.

Beneath it lay loose black trousers and a pair of thick socks.

His face softened again.

“These are mine.”

“Kreacher kept them safe.”

Regulus picked up the jumper and held it against himself.

Sirius stared at it.

“I remember that.”

Regulus glanced over. “You stole it.”

“I borrowed it.”

“You stretched the sleeves.”

“They were already too long for you.”

“They were meant to be.”

“You looked like you had no hands.”

“I liked it.”

“I know.”

Regulus went still.

So did Sirius.

Again, something passed between them and was immediately ignored.

Regulus laid the jumper back down.

“I’ll change later.”

“Kreacher can remove everyone from Master Regulus’s dining room.”

Sirius scoffed. “It’s my dining room.”

The chandelier swung.

Regulus looked at him.

Sirius glared upwards. “Stop encouraging him.”

“The house likes me.”

“The house has terrible judgement.”

“It kept you out of the family.”

“I ran away.”

“You were blasted off the tapestry.”

“You remained on it and became a Death Eater.”

Regulus’s expression sharpened.

The room tensed.

Sirius went still.

Regulus stared at him for one long second.

Then he smiled with exquisite sweetness.

“And I still inherited everything.”

Fred made a choking sound.

George turned away.

Remus’s mouth twitched despite himself.

Sirius pointed at Regulus. “You are unbearable.”

“You missed me.”

Sirius’s hand dropped.

Regulus turned towards the food before anyone could answer.

Kreacher pulled out the chair for him.

Regulus sat.

The house-elf arranged the plates with frantic devotion, placing the bowl at precisely the right angle and moving the spoon twice before deciding it was acceptable.

Regulus tore a piece from the warm bread.

Everyone remained standing or seated around him.

He looked up.

“Are you all going to watch me eat?”

“Yes,” Sirius said.

Regulus took a bite.

Sirius dragged the overturned chair upright and sat opposite him.

Remus returned to his place beside Sirius. Dumbledore resumed his seat at the head of the table, though his attention never left Regulus. The others settled slowly, wands still in hand.

Kreacher stood beside Regulus’s chair like a furious, overprotective guard.

Regulus ate several spoonfuls of soup.

No one spoke.

Finally, he lowered the spoon.

“This is absurd.”

“You returned from the dead,” Arthur said gently.

Regulus looked at him.

Arthur smiled awkwardly. “People are bound to stare.”

Regulus considered that.

Then he took another spoonful.

Hermione leaned towards Dumbledore. “Is he truly alive?”

Regulus glanced at her. “I can hear you.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“He is alive,” Dumbledore said. “Not a shade, spirit or Inferius.”

Neville looked uneasy at the final word.

Dumbledore raised his wand and moved it slowly through the air. A thin golden light passed across Regulus from head to foot.

Regulus continued eating, apparently unconcerned.

The golden light gathered around his chest.

A steady pulse glowed there.

“His body has been fully restored,” Dumbledore said. “The magic has repaired the damage caused by his death.”

“Then he’ll age normally?” Remus asked.

Dumbledore’s expression shifted.

Regulus lowered the spoon.

“What?”

Dumbledore studied the golden light.

“The spell did not merely restore your body,” he said. “It anchored it.”

“To what?”

“To the state in which the house remembers you.”

Sirius frowned. “Meaning?”

“The house remembers Regulus as he was when he died.”

Regulus leaned back in his chair.

Dumbledore let the light fade.

“I do not believe he will age beyond it.”

Silence followed.

Sirius stared at Regulus.

Regulus stared back.

“So,” George said slowly, “he’s eighteen forever.”

“It appears so,” Dumbledore replied.

Fred looked impressed. “That’s useful.”

Percy shot him a look. “Useful?”

“No wrinkles.”

Sirius made an outraged noise.

Regulus smiled into his soup.

Remus looked at Dumbledore. “Can the spell be reversed?”

“I do not yet know.”

“Do we need to reverse it?” Regulus asked.

Everyone looked at him.

He shrugged one shoulder.

“I have been dead for seventeen years. Remaining eighteen is not the most inconvenient part.”

Sirius leaned forward. “You cannot stay eighteen forever.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m thirty-five.”

Regulus looked at him carefully.

“No.”

Sirius blinked. “No what?”

“You cannot be.”

“I am.”

Regulus’s eyes moved over his face.

Then his mouth fell open in genuine horror.

“You are thirty-five.”

“Yes.”

“You’re seventeen years older than me.”

“Yes.”

“You were one year older than me.”

“I remember.”

Regulus stared.

Sirius seemed to realise it at exactly the same moment.

His expression changed.

Remus noticed first. “What?”

Sirius did not answer.

He looked Regulus up and down.

Eighteen.

His younger brother was eighteen.

Close enough in age to Harry and his friends that Regulus looked more like one of them than any of the adults.

Sirius’s eyes widened.

“Oh, no.”

Regulus frowned. “What now?”

“I’m responsible for you.”

Regulus stopped moving.

The entire table listened.

Sirius sat upright.

“I am your nearest living relative.”

“You are disowned.”

“I am still your brother.”

“You are not responsible for me.”

“You are eighteen.”

“I am legally an adult.”

“You came back from the dead twenty minutes ago.”

“That does not make me incompetent.”

“You don’t know what year it is.”

Regulus opened his mouth.

Closed it.

His eyes narrowed.

“What year is it?”

“Exactly,” Sirius said.

Regulus looked towards Dumbledore.

“Nineteen ninety-five,” Dumbledore answered.

Regulus stared.

The spoon slipped from his fingers and clattered against the bowl.

“Nineteen—”

“Ninety-five,” Sirius repeated.

Regulus’s face went blank.

His gaze moved slowly around the dining room.

At Harry and Ron.

At Hermione and Neville.

At Luna and Ginny.

At Fred, George and Percy.

At the adults whose faces had altered around him while he remained exactly the same.

His eyes returned to Sirius.

“Seventeen years,” he said again.

“Yes.”

“And you are responsible for me.”

Sirius’s expression became grimly triumphant. “Yes.”

Regulus rose from his chair.

“No.”

Sirius rose too. “Where are you going?”

“To my room.”

“You can’t simply leave.”

“I live here.”

“So do I.”

“That can be corrected.”

“You are not throwing me out of my own house.”

“My house.”

“Regulus.”

“Sirius.”

“You don’t even know what has changed.”

“I will ask Kreacher.”

“Kreacher thinks electricity is a personal insult.”

“What is electricity?”

Sirius pointed at him. “See?”

Regulus looked at Kreacher.

“Kreacher?”

“Kreacher does not trust the Muggle fire trapped in walls.”

Regulus nodded. “Reasonable.”

“It is not reasonable,” Sirius said.

“You never liked Muggle inventions either.”

“I was fourteen.”

“You tried to dismantle a wireless with a fork.”

“I wanted to know how it worked.”

“You exploded it.”

“That was part of the process.”

“You cried.”

“I did not.”

“You did.”

“I had smoke in my eyes.”

Regulus smiled.

Sirius glared at him.

Remus sat with one hand over his mouth.

McGonagall said, “Sit down, both of you.”

They sat.

Again, instantly.

McGonagall looked faintly satisfied.

Regulus resumed eating.

Sirius folded his arms and watched him.

“You’re not leaving my sight.”

Regulus ignored him.

“I mean it.”

Regulus buttered another piece of bread.

“You died the last time no one was watching you.”

Regulus looked up.

The words hung between them.

Sirius’s face tightened.

Regulus’s expression remained composed, but the bread stilled in his fingers.

“I managed myself perfectly well,” he said.

“You died.”

“I accomplished what I intended.”

“You died.”

“I removed a Horcrux.”

“You died.”

“Yes,” Regulus snapped. “I did. Repeating it will not make me feel guilty.”

Sirius recoiled.

Regulus’s grey eyes flashed.

“I knew what would happen,” he said. “I made the decision. It was mine.”

“You were my brother.”

“I still am.”

“Then you should have told me.”

“You had left.”

“You could have found me.”

“I did not know where you were.”

“You could have tried.”

“I was not going to drag you back into this family.”

Sirius went silent.

Regulus’s voice dropped.

“You got out.”

No one else moved.

Regulus looked at the table rather than at Sirius.

“You hated the house. You hated Mother. You hated everything connected to us. You left, and I was not going to call you back because I had finally understood that the Dark Lord was a monster.”

Sirius’s throat moved.

Regulus picked up the spoon.

“I handled it.”

“You shouldn’t have had to.”

Regulus’s hand tightened.

He did not answer.

Sirius leaned back slowly.

Neither acknowledged the wet shine in Sirius’s eyes.

Neither acknowledged the way Regulus’s shoulders had drawn tight beneath his robes.

After a moment, Regulus said, “You still look ugly.”

Sirius laughed shakily.

“You still look twelve.”

“I look eighteen.”

“You’re short.”

“You’re grotesquely tall.”

“Remus is taller.”

Regulus glanced at Remus. “He always was.”

Remus lowered his hand. “Thank you for remembering something that isn’t insulting.”

“You look exhausted.”

“There it is.”

Regulus returned to his soup.

The room breathed again.

Bill moved around the table and rested one hand on the back of an empty chair.

“The Horcrux,” he said. “Kreacher still has it?”

Kreacher’s expression became guarded.

Regulus looked at him.

“Kreacher?”

The elf wrung his hands.

“Kreacher hid it, Master Regulus.”

“Where?”

Kreacher glanced towards Sirius with obvious distrust.

Sirius rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to steal it.”

“Kreacher knows the blood traitor stole from the noble house.”

“I threw away cursed rubbish.”

“Kreacher rescued the treasures of Master’s family from the unworthy hands of thieves.”

Regulus held up one hand.

Kreacher fell silent.

“Is the locket safe?”

“Yes, Master Regulus.”

“Bring it only when I ask.”

Kreacher bowed.

Dumbledore watched them.

“You understand that it must be destroyed.”

Regulus looked at him. “Obviously.”

“Harry has already encountered another Horcrux.”

Regulus’s gaze moved to Harry.

Harry touched his scar without meaning to.

“The diary,” Hermione said. “It belonged to Tom Riddle.”

Regulus’s brows drew together.

“He entrusted a Horcrux to someone?”

“It was placed in the possession of Lucius Malfoy,” Dumbledore said.

Regulus looked appalled. “That was foolish.”

Ron snorted.

Harry stared at Regulus.

“You really turned against him.”

Regulus’s expression cooled. “I said I did.”

“You were a Death Eater.”

“Yes.”

“But you stole the Horcrux.”

“Yes.”

“And no one knew.”

Regulus’s eyes narrowed. “Are you struggling with the sequence of events?”

“No.”

“You look as though you are.”

“I’m trying to understand.”

“That may take a while. You have Potter’s face.”

Sirius laughed.

Harry glared at both of them.

Regulus looked smug.

Ginny leaned forward. “What made you change your mind?”

Regulus glanced at her.

“Kreacher.”

The answer was immediate.

Ginny looked towards the house-elf.

Kreacher stood straighter.

Regulus tore another piece of bread.

“The Dark Lord considered anyone beneath him disposable,” he said. “I had thought loyalty would be rewarded. Kreacher proved otherwise.”

Hermione’s voice was quiet. “Because Voldemort left him to die.”

“Yes.”

“And that was enough?”

Regulus looked at her as if the answer were obvious.

“He hurt someone who belonged to me.”

Hermione’s expression shifted.

Regulus noticed.

“Do not misunderstand me,” he said. “I was not noble. I did not suddenly recognise every cruelty I had ignored. I knew what he was because he harmed what was mine.”

Sirius watched him.

Regulus’s chin lifted.

“I had been loyal. He repaid it with contempt. So I decided he would lose something.”

“You decided to steal part of his soul,” Snape said.

Regulus looked towards him.

“Yes.”

Snape’s black eyes remained fixed upon his face.

“You never told me.”

“You would have tried to stop me.”

“Yes.”

“Then I was right not to tell you.”

“You might have lived.”

Regulus’s mouth curved without warmth. “You were not especially persuasive at seventeen.”

“I was nineteen when you died.”

“Still not persuasive.”

Snape’s jaw tightened.

Sirius looked between them again. “How close were you two?”

“We were not close,” Snape said.

“He sold me potions,” Regulus replied at the same time.

“You sold him potions,” Sirius said.

Snape looked murderous. “I have already explained this.”

“You have explained nothing.”

“I provided certain compounds.”

“For what?”

Regulus raised his hand.

Sirius turned. “What?”

“I purchased them.”

“I know.”

“Then ask me.”

Sirius stared at him. “What did you buy?”

Regulus took a drink of water.

“Things.”

“What things?”

“Useful things.”

“What useful things?”

“Potions.”

Sirius leaned across the table. “Which potions?”

Regulus leaned back. “You’re nosy.”

“I am your guardian.”

“You are not my guardian.”

“I am thirty-five.”

“That is not a qualification.”

“I have a house.”

“My house.”

“I have cared for Harry.”

Harry looked at him.

Sirius paused.

“For portions of time.”

“Poorly,” Molly said.

Sirius looked offended. “I’m doing my best.”

Regulus glanced at Harry. “He is alive.”

“Thank you,” Harry said.

Regulus nodded. “A moderate success.”

Sirius pointed towards him. “You see? He respects me.”

“I said you failed to kill him.”

“That is respect from Regulus,” Remus said.

Regulus gave him a cool look.

Remus smiled faintly.

The tension slowly eased into something stranger.

Not comfort.

Not yet.

But the sharpest edges had dulled.

Regulus finished the soup and allowed Kreacher to replace it with another plate. The elf cut his food despite Regulus being perfectly capable of doing it himself. Regulus did not object.

Questions began cautiously.

Arthur asked what Regulus remembered about the cave’s protections. Hermione asked about the note he had left in the false locket. Bill asked how the basin reacted to the exchange. Moody demanded exact details about Voldemort’s use of Kreacher. Kingsley asked whether any other Death Eaters had known of the cave.

Regulus answered with brisk precision.

“No, the boat did not respond to Kreacher’s weight.”

“Yes, the potion caused visions.”

“No, he did not see what I saw.”

“Yes, I remained conscious until the Inferi pulled me beneath the surface.”

“No, I do not know where the cave is geographically.”

“No, I never heard the Dark Lord mention another Horcrux.”

“Why would I have asked him directly?”

“Because you were already planning to betray him,” Moody said.

“I was not planning to announce it.”

“Could have tested his reaction.”

“He would have killed me.”

“He killed you anyway.”

“The Inferi killed me. Technically.”

Moody’s magical eye spun.

Regulus stared back at it.

“Does that hurt?”

Moody frowned. “Does what hurt?”

“That.”

Regulus pointed at the eye.

“No.”

“Can you see through walls?”

“Yes.”

Regulus looked briefly impressed.

Then he glanced at Sirius.

“Why don’t you have one?”

“Because I still have both eyes.”

“Not for long, if you continue ageing like this.”

Sirius threw a balled napkin at him.

Regulus caught it.

Kreacher shrieked in outrage.

“Sirius attacks Master Regulus!”

“It was a napkin.”

“Kreacher will remove Sirius’s fingers.”

“Kreacher,” Regulus said.

The elf stopped.

“No removing his fingers.”

Kreacher glared at Sirius. “Yes, Master Regulus.”

Sirius stared at him. “You had to specify fingers.”

Regulus placed the napkin beside his plate. “I know him.”

Fred and George were still watching Regulus with open fascination.

Percy was attempting to disguise his interest behind repeated adjustments to his glasses.

Every time Regulus looked his way, Percy found something urgent to inspect elsewhere.

Eventually Regulus leaned back and regarded him.

“Do you have a problem?”

Percy straightened. “No.”

“You keep staring.”

“I do not.”

“You do.”

Fred leaned towards Regulus. “He thinks you’re pretty.”

Percy went scarlet.

“Fred.”

“What? You do.”

“I said no such thing.”

“You didn’t have to.”

George nodded. “Your entire face said it.”

“My face does not speak.”

Regulus looked amused. “It is quite expressive.”

Percy stared at him.

Regulus raised one eyebrow.

Percy’s ears became even redder.

Sirius slapped both hands against the table.

“No.”

Regulus sighed. “We have returned to this.”

“You are not encouraging Percy.”

“I have said three words to him.”

“That was enough.”

Percy cleared his throat. “I do not require Sirius’s permission to speak to anyone.”

“You absolutely require my permission to speak to him.”

“I am not a child.”

“Neither is Regulus, apparently, which everyone keeps telling me despite the evidence.”

Regulus looked at Fred.

“Does he always behave like this?”

Fred grinned. “Usually worse.”

“I was afraid of that.”

George leaned closer. “You could always speak to us instead.”

Sirius rounded on him. “No.”

George blinked. “I wasn’t asking you.”

“You are twins. That makes it twice as bad.”

Regulus looked at Sirius. “You used to spend all your time with three boys.”

“That was different.”

“How?”

Sirius opened his mouth.

Nothing came out.

Regulus smiled victoriously.

Harry watched him.

The smile, the sharpness, the way he provoked Sirius simply to watch him react—it was difficult to connect this Regulus with the name Harry had heard spoken like a failure.

A loyal Death Eater.

A coward who had become frightened and attempted to flee.

That was how Sirius had described him.

Yet Regulus had walked willingly into a cave and died stealing a piece of Voldemort’s soul.

Harry looked at Sirius.

Sirius had not taken his eyes off his brother for more than a few seconds at a time.

He watched Regulus eat.

Watched him speak.

Watched him argue with Snape and evade McGonagall’s questions.

Watched as though Regulus might disappear again if he blinked.

Remus noticed too.

He leaned close and murmured something Harry could not hear.

Sirius shook his head.

Regulus immediately looked towards them.

“Are you whispering about me?”

“Yes,” Sirius said.

“What did you say?”

“That you’re spoiled.”

“I was not spoiled.”

“You had an elf cut your food.”

“He offered.”

“You had three rooms.”

“One was a study.”

“You were fourteen.”

“I required space.”

“You required supervision.”

“You set fire to your curtains.”

“That was an accident.”

“You used a Fire-Making Spell.”

“I did not expect the fabric to catch.”

“It was fabric.”

“I was eleven.”

Regulus looked at Remus. “He was always stupid.”

Remus nodded. “I know.”

Sirius looked betrayed. “Whose side are you on?”

“Mine.”

“You were my friend first.”

“And yet I’ve learnt nothing.”

Regulus smiled faintly at Remus.

Remus’s expression softened.

“You really haven’t changed,” he said.

Regulus studied him.

“You have.”

The room quietened slightly.

Remus glanced down at his hands.

Regulus’s gaze remained on him.

“You look tired,” he said again, but there was less insult in it now.

“I am.”

“Why?”

Remus looked up.

Sirius tensed.

Harry saw it.

So did Ron and Hermione.

Regulus waited.

Remus gave a small shrug. “Seventeen years.”

Regulus considered him.

Then he nodded.

He did not ask again.

Sirius’s shoulders loosened.

The meeting had long since ceased to resemble a meeting.

The ritual bowl lay broken at the centre of the table. The candles were ruins. Black symbols marked the floorboards, though they faded a little more each minute.

Dumbledore continued asking questions between interruptions.

“What did the note say?”

Regulus recited it without hesitation.

“To the Dark Lord. I know I will be dead long before you read this, but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more.”

No one spoke when he finished.

Regulus looked around.

“What?”

Harry felt something twist painfully inside his chest.

“You knew someone might defeat him.”

“Eventually.”

“You didn’t know who.”

“No.”

“But you died for it anyway.”

Regulus frowned. “I died to make it possible.”

Harry stared at him.

Regulus stared back.

The resemblance to James seemed to irritate him again.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Earnestly.”

Ron turned his cough into a laugh.

Harry scowled.

Regulus reached for his water.

Dumbledore’s eyes rested upon him with quiet intensity.

“You believed Voldemort would one day meet his match.”

Regulus shrugged.

“Every tyrant believes himself eternal. They are usually wrong.”

Sirius stared at him.

Regulus noticed.

“What?”

“You sound like Uncle Alphard.”

“Uncle Alphard was intelligent.”

“He left me money.”

“He liked you better.”

“He did.”

“He thought I was unsettling.”

“You were.”

“I was quiet.”

“You collected dead insects in jars.”

“They were organised.”

“You labelled them with people’s names.”

“The resemblance was striking.”

“You named a beetle after Mother.”

“It bit me.”

Sirius laughed.

Regulus smiled.

For a few seconds, they looked so alike that Harry could finally see them as boys born one year apart.

Not the wasted prisoner and the dead Death Eater.

Not the rebel and the heir.

Just brothers.

Then Sirius’s gaze dropped to Regulus’s left arm.

The smile left his face.

Regulus followed his eyes.

His hand moved instinctively over his sleeve.

Neither spoke.

Sirius looked away first.

Regulus’s fingers remained against the hidden Mark.

Kreacher appeared to notice and moved closer to his chair.

Regulus rested one hand on the elf’s head.

The motion steadied him.

Dumbledore folded his hands.

“We must examine the locket.”

“Later,” Regulus said.

Sirius looked at him. “Why later?”

“Because I have been dead for seventeen years.”

“That didn’t stop you answering questions.”

“I was being polite.”

Snape made a disbelieving sound.

Regulus looked towards him. “You can leave.”

“I live elsewhere.”

“Then why are you still here?”

Snape’s eyes narrowed.

Regulus smiled.

Sirius began laughing again.

Snape stood.

Regulus watched him.

“Are you actually leaving?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

A strange flicker crossed his face.

Snape paused.

Regulus picked at the edge of his sleeve.

“You can come back tomorrow.”

Every person in the room looked at Snape.

Snape’s expression remained unreadable.

“Why?”

Regulus shrugged.

“You used to bring me calming draughts before exams.”

Sirius looked sharply at Snape.

Snape ignored him.

“You claimed they were for headaches,” Regulus added.

“You complained incessantly about headaches.”

“I was anxious.”

“You were insufferable.”

“You still brought them.”

Snape stood very still.

Then he sat back down.

Regulus’s mouth curved.

Sirius stared between them with renewed suspicion.

“I dislike this.”

“No one asked,” Regulus said.

“You are not allowed to like Snape.”

Regulus looked at Dumbledore. “Can I go upstairs now?”

Dumbledore glanced at the ruined ritual.

“There are still matters we must discuss.”

“Discuss them tomorrow.”

“You may be experiencing delayed effects from the spell.”

“I feel fine.”

“You drowned,” McGonagall said.

“I feel better than I did then.”

“That is hardly a useful measurement.”

Regulus sighed.

McGonagall’s eyes narrowed.

He sat straighter.

“I would like to change my clothes,” he said with exaggerated politeness, “and inspect my room.”

“That is reasonable,” Dumbledore said.

Sirius stood at once.

Regulus looked at him. “Why are you standing?”

“I’m coming with you.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“I told you, you are not leaving my sight.”

Regulus rose.

“You cannot follow me into my bedroom.”

“I can stand outside.”

“That is unsettling.”

“I used to sleep in your room.”

“When we were children.”

“You used to crawl into my bed.”

“You keep inventing stories.”

“You drooled on my pillow.”

Regulus gathered the folded clothes from the chair.

“I’m going to kill you.”

Sirius followed him around the table. “You tried that when you were six.”

“I pushed you down three stairs.”

“You cried harder than I did.”

“I thought Mother would blame me.”

“She did.”

“That was your fault.”

“How?”

“You fell loudly.”

Regulus reached the dining-room door.

It opened before he touched it.

The dark hallway beyond seemed to brighten, though no lamps had been lit.

Kreacher hurried after him.

Sirius followed.

Regulus stopped in the doorway and turned.

Sirius nearly walked into him.

“What?”

Regulus looked up at his face.

For once, there was no insult ready.

His grey eyes moved over Sirius’s features, taking in all seventeen lost years again.

Sirius stood quietly.

Regulus reached out.

He touched one finger to the corner of Sirius’s eye.

Sirius stopped breathing.

Regulus traced one of the fine lines there with a faint frown.

“You really are old.”

Sirius’s mouth twisted.

“Yes.”

Regulus’s hand dropped.

“You were not supposed to become old without me.”

The words were almost inaudible.

Sirius stared at him.

Regulus looked away immediately.

Then Sirius grabbed him.

Regulus made an offended noise as Sirius hauled him into his arms.

“What are you doing?”

“Hugging you.”

“Stop.”

“No.”

“Sirius.”

“You’re alive.”

“Yes.”

“You’re actually alive.”

“You’re crushing my clothes.”

“I don’t care.”

“I do.”

Sirius held him tighter.

Regulus remained stiff for several seconds, his arms trapped between them.

Then he exhaled.

His forehead rested against Sirius’s shoulder.

One hand released the clothes and caught in the back of Sirius’s shirt.

Sirius shut his eyes.

Neither mentioned the years apart.

Neither mentioned the last conversation they had shared before Sirius left the house, or the family that had split them apart, or the Mark beneath Regulus’s sleeve.

Sirius swayed him once, instinctively, as though Regulus were still small enough to be soothed that way.

Regulus’s fingers tightened.

“You smell strange,” he muttered.

Sirius laughed into his hair.

“You smell like cave water.”

“The spell dried me.”

“You still smell damp.”

“You smell ancient.”

“There he is.”

Regulus pulled back.

Sirius kept both hands on his shoulders.

Regulus looked irritated by this but did not move away.

Sirius examined his face.

“You’re really eighteen.”

“Yes.”

“I’m seventeen years older than you.”

“You have said.”

“I could be your father.”

Regulus’s expression became appalled. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.”

“You would be a terrible father.”

“I’m an excellent godfather.”

Harry coughed.

Sirius glanced over Regulus’s shoulder. “I am.”

Harry lifted his eyebrows.

“I am trying.”

Regulus looked back at Harry.

Then at Sirius.

“You are responsible for Potter?”

“Harry.”

“Potter.”

“Harry.”

“Does he live here?”

“Sometimes.”

Regulus considered this with visible displeasure.

“Can he be quiet?”

“No,” Sirius said.

Harry frowned. “I’m quieter than you.”

“That’s not difficult,” Regulus said.

Sirius looked delighted. “See? He’s settling in.”

“I am not settling in. I live here.”

“My house.”

Regulus looked towards the ceiling.

The floor shifted beneath Sirius’s feet.

He stumbled into the doorframe.

Regulus smiled.

“My house.”

Sirius straightened. “You’re abusing family magic.”

“I’m the lord of the family.”

“You have been Lord Black for half an hour.”

“And I’m already better at it than you.”

“I was never Lord Black.”

“Exactly.”

Regulus turned and walked into the corridor.

Kreacher hurried beside him.

Sirius followed at once.

Remus rose from the table.

Regulus glanced back. “Are you coming too?”

Remus hesitated.

“If that’s all right.”

Regulus looked him over.

“You may come.”

Sirius scoffed. “He gets permission?”

“He asked.”

“I’m your brother.”

“That is why you don’t.”

They disappeared into the hall, still arguing.

The house listened.

Then the staircase groaned beneath their steps, the sound travelling upwards towards the rooms that had waited seventeen years for one of them to come home.

For several moments, no one in the dining room moved.

Fred leaned towards George.

“He is gorgeous.”

George nodded. “Painfully.”

Percy adjusted his glasses.

Fred looked at him.

Percy stared at the broken bowl.

George looked at him too.

Percy’s face reddened.

“Do not,” he said.

“We said nothing,” Fred replied.

“You were about to.”

George smiled. “Transparent face.”

Percy glared at them.

Ginny folded her arms. “Sirius will kill all three of you.”

“Not if Regulus stops him,” Fred said.

“Regulus might help,” Harry replied.

Fred considered this.

“Worth the risk.”

Molly smacked the back of his head.

Upstairs, something crashed.

Sirius shouted, “You kept that?”

Regulus’s voice rang down through the house.

“It is mine!”

“It tried to bite me!”

“You touched it without asking!”

“I was twelve!”

“You were always stupid!”

Remus’s laughter followed them.

Kreacher began shouting about unworthy hands.

Another door slammed.

The dining-room chandelier flickered back to life.

The broken ritual bowl split completely in two.

Across the floor, the last of the necromantic symbols faded into the dark wood.

Dumbledore looked towards the open doorway.

His eyes were grave, though a faint smile touched the corners of his mouth.

“The ritual did provide information,” Kingsley said.

Dumbledore nodded.

“More than we expected.”

Snape continued staring at the doorway through which Regulus had vanished.

McGonagall watched him.

“You knew him well,” she said.

Snape’s expression closed.

“He was a customer.”

McGonagall lifted one eyebrow.

Snape stood.

“He was irritating.”

From somewhere above them, Regulus yelled, “Severus!”

Snape froze.

Regulus’s voice carried down the stairs.

“Did you steal my silver scales before I died?”

Every face turned towards Snape.

Sirius shouted, “He stole from you?”

Snape closed his eyes.

Regulus yelled, “I knew it!”

“They were mine,” Snape called back.

“You lost them to me in cards!”

“You cheated!”

“You were bad at cards!”

Sirius shouted something indistinct.

Regulus shouted over him.

Kreacher joined in.

The old house shuddered with voices it had not held together in seventeen years.

For the first time that evening, the noise did not sound like an argument trapped inside a tomb.

It sounded alive.

They lasted perhaps three minutes downstairs.

Three minutes of listening to Sirius and Regulus argue somewhere above them.

Three minutes of Kreacher shrieking whenever Sirius touched anything.

Three minutes of Remus laughing with an ease none of them had heard from him in months.

Then something heavy thudded against the ceiling.

Sirius yelled, “Why is that still alive?”

Regulus shouted back, “It was never alive!”

“That makes it worse!”

“It’s decorative!”

“It has teeth!”

“Most things do!”

Fred pushed back his chair.

“I need to see this.”

George stood with him. “Immediately.”

Molly frowned. “You do not need to go barging into that young man’s bedroom.”

Another crash sounded overhead.

Kreacher’s voice pierced through the floorboards.

“Sirius must put Master Regulus’s things down!”

“I barely touched it!”

“Sirius contaminates everything!”

Regulus said something muffled.

Sirius replied much louder.

“You cannot keep a dead crow in your wardrobe!”

“It isn’t in the wardrobe!”

“That is not the important part!”

Charlie had already moved towards the doorway.

Bill followed him.

Molly stared. “Where are you going?”

“To make sure Sirius isn’t being attacked by a dead crow,” Charlie said.

“It cannot attack him if it is dead.”

“Then Sirius is safe and we’ll be back quickly.”

Fred and George slipped after them.

Percy stood with considerably more dignity, carefully straightening the front of his robes.

“I should ensure that no structural damage has been caused to the house.”

Ginny looked at him. “You want to see Regulus’s room.”

“That is not remotely what I said.”

“It is what your face said.”

Percy glanced towards Regulus’s abandoned chair and went faintly pink.

Then he followed his brothers.

Ginny was out of her seat before Molly could turn back.

Luna drifted after her.

Neville hesitated, looked at Harry, and rose as well.

Ron immediately stood.

Hermione sighed.

“We should not invade his privacy.”

“You’re coming,” Ron said.

“Of course I’m coming. Someone has to stop all of you from touching cursed objects.”

Harry looked towards the adults.

Arthur was already smiling apologetically at Molly as he moved towards the door.

Tonks hopped over the leg of an overturned chair and followed him.

Kingsley rose with far less obvious enthusiasm, though Harry noticed that he did not suggest anyone remain downstairs.

Moody’s magical eye rolled upwards.

“Could be dangerous.”

“That’s why we’re going,” Tonks said.

“Didn’t say I objected.”

Molly looked towards Dumbledore.

Dumbledore stood.

Her shoulders fell.

“You too?”

“I confess,” Dumbledore said, “I am rather curious.”

McGonagall’s expression was stern enough to suggest she was not curious at all.

She nevertheless rose from her chair.

Snape remained seated.

Everyone reached the doorway.

Sirius shouted from upstairs, “Remus, get it off me!”

Remus answered, “It’s a scarf.”

“It moved!”

Regulus’s laughter spilled down the staircase.

Snape stood.

Harry glanced back at him.

Snape swept past without looking at anyone.

They filed through the dark hall and towards the staircase, a slow-moving crowd filling nearly every inch of space. The lamps along the walls brightened as they climbed, their pale flames bending towards the upper floor as though the house itself were guiding them.

The higher they went, the louder the argument became.

“You have no reason to own that many knives,” Sirius was saying.

“They are letter openers.”

“One is shaped like a scorpion.”

“It is ornamental.”

“It is sharp.”

“That is how it opens letters.”

“You could open a person with it.”

“If they were folded correctly.”

Fred stopped halfway up the staircase and gripped George’s shoulder.

“I love him.”

Sirius’s head appeared over the upper banister.

“No, you don’t.”

Fred looked up. “You can hear through floors now?”

“I heard you because you announced it to the entire staircase.”

George leaned around Fred. “We were coming to check on you.”

“You were coming to nose through his room.”

“That too.”

Sirius folded his arms over the banister.

His long hair was disordered, and a dark knitted scarf hung from one shoulder like the remains of an attempted strangling.

Behind him, Regulus walked across the landing carrying an armful of books.

He had changed.

The high-necked black robes were gone, replaced by a huge charcoal jumper that slipped low over one shoulder and nearly swallowed his hands. The hem fell past his hips, though the loose black shorts beneath it were just visible when he moved. Thick dark socks covered his feet.

He looked even younger dressed that way.

Eighteen rather than a ghost torn from a cave.

His curls had been pushed back from his face, though the pale streak through his fringe had fallen free again. His cheeks had regained a little colour after eating. He carried the books against his chest with the serene confidence of someone who had already decided the rest of them were intruders.

He stopped when he saw the crowd ascending the stairs.

“No.”

Sirius looked over his shoulder. “I told them not to come.”

“You did not,” Remus said from somewhere inside the room.

“I thought it.”

“That’s rarely useful.”

Regulus stared down at the gathering.

“You are not all coming into my bedroom.”

Fred reached the landing.

“Why not?”

“Because it is mine.”

George stepped up beside him. “We only want to look.”

“That is worse.”

“We won’t touch anything.”

Sirius barked a laugh.

Regulus’s eyes narrowed at the twins. “You look exactly like two people who would touch everything.”

“That’s a very unfair judgement,” Fred said.

“Based entirely on appearances,” George added.

Regulus turned to Sirius.

“Get rid of them.”

Sirius leaned against the banister. “It’s my house.”

Regulus looked at the nearest wall.

A long crack appeared in the plaster directly behind Sirius’s head.

Sirius moved away from it.

“Fine. Your house.”

“My room.”

“I’m not throwing them down the stairs.”

“You used to throw me down the stairs.”

“You pushed me first.”

“I was seven.”

“You had surprisingly good upper-body strength.”

The others reached the landing.

It was narrower than the staircase, and the crowd compressed into an awkward mass of shoulders, robes and elbows. Moody’s magical eye vanished briefly beneath Bill’s hair before rotating out the other side. Ron was trapped between Hermione and Charlie. Neville had Luna behind him and Ginny in front, leaving him nowhere to step without standing on someone.

Molly climbed the final stair.

“No one is throwing anyone down anything.”

Regulus looked at her.

Molly looked back.

He seemed to recognise the tone of a woman who had already raised seven children and did not intend to negotiate.

He shifted the books higher against his chest.

“They cannot all fit.”

The door behind him swung wider.

The corridor stretched.

Everyone felt it happen.

The walls pulled apart with a low wooden groan, widening the landing by several feet. The carpet lengthened beneath their shoes. Two framed portraits shifted sideways to make room.

Regulus glared at the house.

“Traitor.”

Sirius grinned. “It likes them.”

“It likes irritating me.”

“It learnt from me.”

Regulus turned and walked towards his door.

The crowd followed.

They did not make it far.

Fred stopped first.

George walked into his back.

“What—”

Then he saw it too.

A polished black plaque had been fixed squarely to the centre of the door. Silver letters curled across it in elaborate script, large enough to be read from the other end of the corridor.

DO NOT ENTER WITHOUT THE EXPRESS PERMISSION OF
REGULUS ARCTURUS BLACK

Beneath the words, in much smaller lettering, someone had added:

THIS INCLUDES SIRIUS.

The corridor went silent.

Then Fred folded over laughing.

George grabbed the wall.

Charlie read it twice and began laughing too.

Bill covered his mouth, though it did nothing to hide his grin.

Ginny pointed. “It specifically names you.”

“I can read,” Sirius said.

Ron squinted at the smaller line. “Was that always there?”

“No,” Sirius said.

“Yes,” Regulus said at the same time.

They looked at one another.

“It was not,” Sirius insisted.

“It was.”

“You weren’t allowed to forbid me from your room.”

“Why?”

“I was your older brother.”

“That was the reason.”

Remus leaned closer to the plaque.

“There used to be another line.”

Regulus went still.

Sirius looked at him.

Remus’s mouth twitched. “Something about punishment involving boils.”

Regulus’s face remained blank. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Snape stepped around Kingsley and inspected the lower edge of the sign.

“It was scratched off.”

Regulus glared at him.

Snape pointed to faint marks in the polished wood.

“You can still read the beginning. ‘Trespassers will be—’”

“Do not.”

“‘—hexed until—’”

“I said do not.”

“Until what?” Fred asked eagerly.

Regulus turned the handle.

“Nothing.”

“Until what?” George repeated.

Regulus pushed the door open and slipped inside before they could crowd him.

Sirius followed.

Fred and George immediately pushed through after them.

Molly made a disapproving sound.

Then the rest entered.

And stopped.

Regulus’s room did not look like a room.

It looked like an entire private wing of the house had folded itself behind a single doorway.

The ceiling rose at least twice as high as the corridor outside, painted midnight blue and scattered with tiny silver stars that shifted faintly whenever anyone moved beneath them. The walls were a deep, velvety green, nearly black where the light did not reach. Heavy curtains framed three tall windows overlooking the square, though there should not have been enough outer wall for more than one.

A broad window seat had been built into the largest window.

It curved deep into the wall, piled with cushions, folded blankets and at least a dozen books. Shelves had been carved into either side of it, all packed from end to end. A small brass lamp hung over the nook, its shade shaped like a crescent moon.

Books were everywhere.

They filled towering cases along two entire walls. They were stacked on tables, beneath chairs and along the floor in precarious columns. Some had polished leather bindings and gilded pages. Others were thin, battered paperbacks held together with string.

A large chair hung from the ceiling in one corner.

It resembled a woven black cocoon suspended from a thick silver chain, lined with dark cushions and surrounded by smaller strands of beads, feathers and tiny metal charms. It turned slightly in the air despite no one touching it.

Ron stared upwards.

“You have a hanging chair.”

Regulus put his books on the nearest table.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“To sit in.”

Ron looked at the ordinary armchairs around the room.

“You already have chairs.”

Regulus looked at him as though Ron had asked why he owned more than one sock.

“That one hangs.”

Ron nodded slowly. “Right.”

Opposite the windows stood the bed.

It was enormous.

Four tall carved posts supported a canopy of layered fabric, dark green and silver, the curtains looped back with long braided cords. The mattress appeared deep enough to lose someone inside it. Pillows covered nearly half the surface, arranged beneath a carved headboard that displayed the Black family crest.

The whole thing looked less like a schoolboy’s bed and more like something prepared for a princess in a particularly gloomy fairy tale.

Sirius pointed at it.

“I told you it was ridiculous.”

Regulus kicked the door shut behind the last person.

“You were jealous.”

“I was not jealous.”

“You had a smaller bed.”

“I chose a smaller bed.”

“You complained about mine constantly.”

“Because you had thirteen pillows.”

“I had nine.”

“There are at least twenty now.”

Regulus glanced at the bed.

“Kreacher.”

The elf appeared beside the canopy.

“Master Regulus?”

“Why are there so many pillows?”

“Kreacher replaced the old ones when they softened. Kreacher did not throw away the originals because they belonged to Master Regulus.”

Regulus considered the mountain of pillows.

“Acceptable.”

Sirius threw up his hands. “Of course it is.”

A door stood open near the bed, revealing a walk-in wardrobe large enough to have its own lamps, mirror and cushioned bench. Rows of dark clothes hung inside in exact colour order. Shoes lined the bottom shelves. Boxes were stacked all the way to the ceiling.

Ginny looked into it.

“Your wardrobe is bigger than my bedroom.”

Regulus glanced over. “That sounds inconvenient.”

“It is.”

“You may use it.”

Ginny turned towards him.

Sirius stared. “She may use it?”

“I don’t know her.”

“That should make it less likely.”

“She has not annoyed me.”

“You’ve known her for twenty minutes.”

“And she has managed not to annoy me.”

Ginny smiled smugly at Sirius.

Sirius looked betrayed.

Regulus crossed the room, checking shelves and drawers as he went. He opened one cabinet, inspected the contents and closed it again. Then another. He pulled a box from beneath a table, looked inside and returned it exactly where it had been.

Kreacher followed close behind him.

“Kreacher kept everything.”

“I can see that.”

“Kreacher did not let Sirius throw things away.”

“I threw out mouldy potions,” Sirius said.

Kreacher rounded on him. “Sirius destroyed Master Regulus’s property!”

“They had eaten through the bottles.”

“They belonged to Master Regulus!”

“They were crawling.”

“Then they were still active!”

Regulus looked at Sirius.

“You threw away active potions?”

“They had legs.”

“That does not mean they were useless.”

“It means they were leaving.”

Regulus sighed and opened another drawer.

The crowd slowly spread through the room.

No one seemed to know where to look first.

There were pinned insects displayed beneath glass along one wall. Beetles with iridescent shells. Moths broad as hands. Butterflies with wings like stained glass. Long-bodied insects with curved pincers and delicate silver legs.

Beside them stood a tall glass cabinet filled with taxidermy.

A fox sat on one shelf with its head tilted.

A raven perched above it.

Something small and sharp-toothed crouched in the shadows near the bottom, its glass eyes catching the light whenever anyone passed.

Neville noticed it and jumped.

“What is that?”

Regulus glanced over.

“A stoat.”

“It has too many teeth.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“It does from this angle.”

“That is how many teeth it had.”

“You counted?”

“Yes.”

Neville moved away from the cabinet.

On the opposite side of the room, porcelain dolls occupied three narrow shelves.

Every one of them was facing the door.

Some wore lace dresses. Some wore miniature robes. One had a cracked cheek. Another had no eyelashes. A particularly pale doll in a black bonnet seemed to be looking directly at Ron.

Ron shifted sideways.

Its eyes appeared to follow him.

He shifted back.

The doll continued staring.

“Why do you have those?” he asked.

Regulus looked towards the shelves.

“The dolls?”

“Yes.”

“They are funny.”

Ron stared at him.

“They’re horrifying.”

“That is what makes them funny.”

Hermione approached one cautiously. “Are they enchanted?”

“No.”

The doll’s head tilted.

Hermione stepped backwards.

Regulus’s mouth twitched.

Sirius groaned. “That one is enchanted.”

Regulus looked innocent. “Is it?”

“You enchanted it to follow people.”

“Did I?”

“You made it crawl into my bed.”

“You screamed.”

“I was thirteen!”

“You woke the whole house.”

“I woke the dead.”

While they argued, Harry moved farther into the room.

Photographs covered nearly every free surface.

They were tucked into the edges of mirrors and pinned between shelves. Framed pictures stood on desks, tables and the broad mantel above the cold fireplace. Long strings had been hung across one section of wall, photographs clipped to them with tiny silver pegs.

They moved, laughed and shoved one another inside their frames.

There were dozens.

Hundreds.

Regulus at different ages.

Regulus standing beside Sirius as a small child, both of them dressed in dark formal robes, Sirius grinning while Regulus looked solemn and held tightly to his hand.

Regulus at Hogwarts in green and silver.

Regulus surrounded by a group of students Harry did not recognise.

Regulus sitting on a library table while a dark-haired boy tried to pull a book from his hands.

Regulus asleep against a blonde girl’s shoulder.

Regulus laughing so hard in another picture that he had folded against the person beside him.

Regulus on the Quidditch pitch, wind tearing through his robes as he held a broom in one hand and a silver cup in the other.

The photographs showed a person none of them had expected.

Not solemn.

Not cold.

Not alone.

Regulus in the pictures smiled constantly.

Not the small, sharp smiles he had given downstairs.

Wide smiles. Careless ones. His head thrown back. His hands clutching at other people. His entire face softened by laughter.

Harry moved closer.

“Who are they?”

Regulus glanced over from the drawer he was inspecting.

“My friends.”

Luna had gone very still beside the wall.

She was staring at one photograph clipped near the centre of the largest display.

A blonde girl with long braids sat cross-legged on Regulus’s bed, her pale eyelashes startling against dark skin marked with patches of vitiligo. She was holding a glass jar filled with glowing blue moths, smiling dreamily while Regulus tried to stop one from escaping.

Beside her stood a boy who looked enough like her to be her twin.

He had blonde dreadlocks, the same patches of vitiligo across his face and hands, and a grin that suggested he had caused whatever chaos was taking place. In the photograph, he reached over and released the lid of the jar. The moths burst out. Regulus threw a pillow at him. The girl clapped.

Luna stepped closer.

Her fingers touched the edge of the frame.

“Mum.”

The room quietened.

Regulus turned.

Luna stared at the picture as though she had forgotten everyone else was there.

Regulus’s face changed when he looked at her.

Not recognition.

Something close to it.

Luna lifted the photograph carefully from its clip.

“That’s my mother.”

Regulus crossed the room.

He stopped beside her.

For the first time since entering the bedroom, he did not look annoyed by someone touching his things.

“You’re Pandora’s daughter.”

Luna nodded.

Her pale hair fell forward as she studied the moving photograph.

“And that’s Uncle Evan.”

Regulus looked at her more closely.

“You have her eyes.”

Luna looked up.

“You knew them.”

“Yes.”

“How well?”

Regulus glanced at the photograph.

“Very.”

Luna’s fingers tightened around the frame.

“What was she like?”

Regulus looked at the image of Pandora as she caught one of the glowing moths between her palms and whispered something to it. The tiny creature flickered green. Evan reached over to poke it. Pandora slapped his hand without looking.

“Strange,” Regulus said.

Luna smiled.

“She thought everything was alive. Not metaphorically. She believed objects became lonely if they were left in the dark too long.”

Luna looked back at the photograph.

“She used to say spoons preferred being kept together.”

“She organised all of mine into families.”

“Did she?”

“Yes. She became upset when Kreacher polished them and returned them to the wrong relatives.”

Kreacher nodded solemnly. “Mistress Pandora was very particular about spoons.”

“What else did she do?”

Regulus moved towards another section of the wall.

Luna followed immediately.

“She braided charms into everyone’s hair before exams.”

“Did they work?”

“No.”

“Maybe they did something else.”

“They made Severus sneeze.”

Snape, standing near the doorway, looked deeply displeased.

Luna turned towards him. “Was it a feather charm?”

“No.”

Regulus glanced at him. “It was.”

“It was not.”

“You sneezed for two hours.”

“That proves nothing.”

Luna smiled.

Regulus stopped before another photograph.

Pandora sat in the hanging chair, her braids spilling over one shoulder. Regulus was squeezed beside her, half-buried beneath a blanket, while Evan hung upside down from the chain above them.

“This was after she decided the chair could predict the weather,” Regulus said.

“Could it?”

“It creaked before storms.”

“That sounds useful.”

“It creaked constantly.”

“Maybe it knew there were storms somewhere.”

Regulus stared at Luna.

Luna stared back.

A small smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.

“Pandora used to say that.”

Luna smiled too.

From then on, she followed him.

When Regulus crossed to the desk, Luna crossed with him.

When he crouched to check beneath the bed, Luna crouched beside him.

When he opened a box of old letters, Luna leaned over his shoulder.

She asked questions quietly but without pause.

“Did Mum like Divination?”

“No. She said the future objected to being stared at.”

“Did she draw?”

“On everything.”

“Did Uncle Evan sing?”

“Badly.”

“Did Mum ever get angry?”

“Yes.”

“What did she do?”

“She smiled.”

Luna nodded. “That sounds like her.”

Regulus looked at her.

His expression softened further.

He handed her a photograph from inside the box.

Pandora stood in a greenhouse wearing protective goggles far too large for her face. Her braids had been tied up messily, and she held a smoking plant at arm’s length while Evan laughed behind her. Regulus stood at the edge of the picture with his jumper pulled over his nose.

Luna held it carefully.

“Can I keep this?”

Regulus did not hesitate.

“Yes.”

Kreacher made a tiny alarmed sound.

Regulus glanced down.

“She may have it.”

Kreacher bowed. “Yes, Master Regulus.”

Luna tucked the photograph against her chest.

“Thank you.”

Regulus nodded once and continued checking the contents of the box.

Luna followed.

Sirius watched them from beside the bed.

“She likes you.”

Regulus did not look up. “She is quiet.”

“She has asked you thirty questions.”

“They were sensible questions.”

“She asked whether the chair predicted weather.”

“It might.”

Sirius stared.

Regulus’s expression remained serious.

Remus’s mouth twitched.

Harry continued along the photographs.

A second figure appeared nearly as often as Pandora and Evan.

A tall boy with brown hair cut unevenly around his face, several streaks dyed vivid green through the front. His features were sharp, his grin sharper. In every picture he seemed to be in motion.

In one, he had Regulus thrown over his shoulder while Regulus kicked furiously and tried to grab his hair.

In another, he carried Regulus beneath one arm like luggage while Evan walked beside them laughing.

Another showed Regulus asleep against the boy’s chest in the window nook, a book open across both their laps.

Several were less ambiguous.

The boy had Regulus lifted against a wall in one photograph, Regulus’s legs around his waist as they kissed.

In another, Regulus sat on the edge of the desk while the taller boy stood between his knees, one hand tangled in his curls.

A third showed them lying across the bed. Regulus was half on top of him, both laughing into a kiss as the photograph looped.

Ginny stopped beside Harry.

“Oh.”

Ron arrived behind them.

“What?”

Then he saw the photographs.

“Oh.”

Fred and George appeared on either side.

Fred tilted his head. “Interesting.”

George nodded. “Very.”

Percy approached more cautiously.

His eyes landed on the kissing photograph.

His face became completely blank.

Regulus looked up from the box.

“What are you all staring at?”

Six heads turned towards him.

Fred pointed at the wall.

Regulus followed his hand.

He showed no embarrassment.

“That’s Barty.”

Sirius made a disgusted sound from across the room.

“Yes,” he said. “That’s Barty.”

Harry glanced towards him. “You knew him?”

“Unfortunately.”

Remus moved closer to the photographs.

His expression softened with recognition.

“Barty Crouch.”

Ron’s eyes widened. “Crouch?”

Regulus looked at him. “Yes.”

“As in—”

Ron stared at the picture of Barty carrying Regulus over one shoulder.

“Was he always like that?”

“Worse,” Sirius said.

Regulus’s chin rose. “You were worse.”

“I was never him.”

“You once hung James out of a tower window.”

Harry turned sharply. “What?”

Sirius pointed at Regulus. “We are not discussing me.”

Regulus looked back into the box.

“Convenient.”

Hermione studied the photographs.

“You dated him.”

Regulus gave her a dry look. “Observant.”

“For how long?”

“Most of school.”

Sirius’s head snapped around. “Most?”

Regulus frowned at him. “You knew.”

“I knew you were making bad decisions. I did not know how long the bad decision lasted.”

“Four years.”

Sirius looked appalled. “Four?”

“Almost.”

Remus glanced towards Sirius. “You definitely knew.”

“I had blocked it out.”

Snape stepped nearer, his eyes lingering on a photograph where Barty had Regulus perched on his shoulders while Pandora tried to tie ribbons into his hair.

“You complained about him constantly.”

Regulus looked over. “I liked complaining.”

“You threatened to poison him.”

“He stole my essays.”

“You continued dating him.”

“He gave them back.”

“After selling copies.”

Regulus’s mouth twitched. “He was enterprising.”

Sirius put both hands over his face.

Regulus watched him.

“You’re being dramatic.”

“You dated Barty Crouch.”

“Yes.”

“He used to bite people.”

“So did I.”

“That is not a defence.”

“It is a compatibility.”

Fred laughed so suddenly that Molly glared at him.

George pointed towards another image.

“Did he always carry you?”

“No.”

The photograph immediately looped.

Barty swept Regulus off his feet and carried him away while Regulus continued reading as if nothing had happened.

George raised his eyebrows.

Regulus looked at the picture.

“He did that occasionally.”

Another photograph showed Barty lifting Regulus onto a high shelf in the library and walking away while Regulus kicked at the air.

Fred looked delighted.

“Occasionally.”

Regulus’s eyes narrowed. “You are enjoying this too much.”

“Your life was fascinating.”

“It was normal.”

Every person in the room looked at him.

Regulus stared back.

“What?”

Sirius dropped his hands.

“You kept a tooth collection.”

“That has nothing to do with Barty.”

“You labelled it by owner.”

“Again, unrelated.”

Neville looked faintly ill. “Human teeth?”

“Some.”

Molly closed her eyes.

Regulus turned back to Luna as though the conversation were over.

She held up another picture.

“Mum cut his hair.”

Regulus glanced at it.

Pandora stood behind Barty with a pair of scissors. Barty’s green-streaked hair had been cut into several wildly uneven layers. He appeared delighted. Regulus, seated beside him, looked horrified.

“She did.”

“He liked it.”

“He was an idiot.”

“You dated him.”

Regulus looked at her.

Luna smiled faintly.

Regulus stared for a second.

Then he laughed.

It was soft, surprised and genuine.

“You really are Pandora’s daughter.”

Luna beamed.

The room moved around them.

Charlie had discovered the Quidditch photographs.

He stopped so abruptly that Bill nearly walked into him.

“Wait.”

Bill looked past his shoulder.

The photographs in that section were larger than the others, framed in green and silver. Regulus flew through them in Slytherin robes, his slight figure folded low over his broom.

In one photograph, he dropped vertically from the sky with one hand stretched beneath him.

In another, he hung upside down from his broom and snatched the Snitch inches above the grass.

There were team photographs. Trophy photographs. Newspaper clippings preserved beneath glass. Medals hung from green ribbons along the side of the shelf.

Charlie stepped closer.

“You played Seeker.”

Regulus looked over.

“Yes.”

Harry immediately moved towards them.

“You were a Seeker?”

Regulus’s eyes dropped to Harry’s glasses.

Then to the shape of his hands.

“You are too.”

Harry blinked. “How do you know?”

“You stand like one.”

“What does that mean?”

“You lean forward when you look at moving things.”

Harry frowned.

Regulus picked up a small silver Snitch from the desk and tossed it without warning.

Harry caught it before it reached his face.

Regulus nodded.

“Seeker.”

Harry looked down at the Snitch in his palm.

“How old were you when you joined the team?”

“Twelve.”

Charlie turned sharply. “Twelve?”

Regulus shrugged.

“I was eleven when I tried out. They said I was too small.”

“Were you?”

“Yes.”

Harry looked at the photographs again.

Regulus’s mouth curved. “The youngest Slytherin had had in nearly a century.”

Charlie stared at the medals.

“I know your name.”

Regulus glanced at him.

Charlie moved closer to the wall.

“Regulus Black. The Black Dive.”

Sirius groaned. “Not that name.”

Regulus looked pleased. “I liked it.”

“You pretended to fall off your broom.”

“I did fall off.”

“You jumped.”

“I returned to the broom.”

“After falling seventy feet.”

“I caught the Snitch.”

Charlie pointed towards a framed clipping.

“You set the school record for fastest successful dive recovery.”

Regulus’s eyes brightened.

“Yes.”

Bill approached the display.

“I remember this too.”

Regulus looked between them.

Bill read from one of the old clippings.

“Three hundred and twelve catches.”

“Three hundred and seventeen,” Regulus corrected.

“The article says three hundred and twelve.”

“The article was published before the final five.”

Charlie laughed.

“You still hold the record for most catches in consecutive matches.”

Regulus raised his chin.

“Obviously.”

Harry stared at him.

“How many?”

“Forty-one.”

Harry’s mouth fell open.

“You caught the Snitch in forty-one consecutive matches?”

“Yes.”

“No one does that.”

“I did.”

“What broom did you use?”

“A Silver Arrow until third year. Then a Comet Two-Sixty.”

Harry looked appalled. “You did those dives on a Comet?”

“It was responsive.”

“It was slow.”

“Only if you lacked technique.”

Harry narrowed his eyes.

Regulus narrowed his back.

Sirius looked between them.

“Oh, no.”

Remus glanced at him. “What?”

“They’ve found common ground.”

“That seems good.”

“They’re both competitive.”

Harry pointed at one photograph.

“How did you turn that sharply without throwing yourself off?”

Regulus stepped beside him.

“I did throw myself off.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

“I hooked one knee beneath the handle and let momentum carry me around.”

“That would dislocate your hip.”

“If done badly.”

“You were twelve.”

“I was talented.”

Harry scoffed.

Regulus looked offended.

“I still hold the record.”

“You haven’t flown in seventeen years.”

“I have been dead.”

“Exactly.”

Regulus stared at him.

Harry stared back.

Fred leaned towards George.

“This will end in racing.”

“Definitely.”

Sirius pointed at both Harry and Regulus.

“No.”

Neither looked at him.

Charlie was still examining the awards.

“You won the Slytherin Star three years in a row.”

“Four.”

“The fourth isn’t here.”

Regulus turned towards Kreacher.

“Kreacher?”

“Kreacher polished it last week. Kreacher will bring it.”

The elf vanished.

Charlie laughed.

Bill looked at Sirius. “You never mentioned any of this.”

Sirius folded his arms.

“He was already arrogant enough.”

Regulus glanced over.

“You attended every match.”

“I attended Hogwarts.”

“You wore green scarves.”

“I was cold.”

“You shouted at the referee.”

“The referee was blind.”

“You threatened a Hufflepuff Beater.”

“He hit you.”

“That was his job.”

“He hit you after the whistle.”

Regulus smiled.

Sirius noticed.

His expression softened despite himself.

Harry looked at a team photograph.

Regulus stood at the centre, the silver cup held above his head. He was smaller than nearly everyone around him. Barty stood at the edge of the frame despite wearing no team robes, screaming louder than any of the actual players.

“Barty wasn’t on the team?”

“No,” Regulus said.

“He appears in half the photographs.”

“He appeared everywhere.”

“That sounds annoying.”

“It was.”

“You liked it.”

Regulus gave Harry a sharp look.

Harry smiled faintly.

Regulus looked away.

Near the Quidditch photographs, several framed portraits showed Regulus with a blonde woman.

She appeared older than him, elegant and pale, with long light hair and a streak of white near her temple. In one picture she sat behind Regulus, arranging his curls while he read. In another, Regulus had stolen a wide-brimmed hat from her and wore it at an angle while she tried to retrieve it.

Ginny noticed first.

“Is that Narcissa Malfoy?”

Regulus’s head lifted.

“Yes.”

Ron frowned. “You were friends with her?”

Regulus looked genuinely confused by the question.

“She is my cousin.”

“We know,” Ron said.

“Then why are you asking?”

“Because she’s horrible.”

Regulus’s expression cooled.

Sirius shifted.

Ron noticed and added quickly, “Her son is horrible too.”

Regulus stared.

“Her son?”

No one answered immediately.

Regulus looked towards Sirius.

“Cissy has a son?”

Sirius’s mouth twitched.

“Yes.”

Regulus’s face went completely blank.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“With whom?”

Everyone looked at him.

Regulus’s eyes widened.

“No.”

Sirius smiled.

“Lucius.”

Regulus recoiled as if Sirius had struck him.

“She reproduced with Lucius?”

“Yes.”

“Willingly?”

“As far as I know.”

Regulus looked horrified.

“I did not think any of them would reproduce.”

Tonks made a choking sound.

Regulus turned towards her.

She was grinning.

He frowned. “What?”

“You’ve got more family than you think.”

He looked suspicious. “How much more?”

Ginny pointed at one of the photographs.

“Narcissa’s son is called Draco.”

Regulus looked back at the picture.

“What is he like?”

Silence.

Ron said, “Awful.”

Hermione elbowed him.

“What? He is.”

Harry studied Regulus’s profile.

The sharp chin.

The pale skin.

The fine, aristocratic features.

The pale streak in the dark curls.

Then he thought of Draco Malfoy.

He stared.

Regulus noticed.

“Stop doing that.”

Harry pointed.

“You look exactly like him.”

Regulus’s expression sharpened. “Like whom?”

“Draco.”

“You do,” Ginny said.

Ron stepped closer.

He looked at Regulus from one side.

Then the other.

“Oh, that’s unsettling.”

“What is?”

“You look exactly like Malfoy.”

“I do not know what Malfoy looks like.”

“Blonde,” Harry said.

Regulus looked towards Sirius.

Sirius was staring too.

His mouth slowly opened.

“Oh, Merlin.”

Regulus glared at him. “What?”

“You do.”

“I do what?”

“You look like Draco.”

“No.”

“You do.”

Regulus turned towards the nearest mirror.

He looked at himself.

Then at the photograph of Narcissa.

Then back at Sirius.

“I look like myself.”

“Draco looks like you.”

“That is worse.”

Ron nodded. “Much worse.”

Hermione studied Regulus with uncomfortable fascination.

“It’s not merely a resemblance.”

Ginny moved around him.

“The same nose.”

“The same eyes,” Harry said.

“The same mouth,” Ron added.

Regulus’s eyes narrowed.

Ron took half a step backwards.

Harry stared harder.

“Even your expression is the same.”

Regulus’s voice went cold. “What expression?”

Harry froze.

Every student in the room did.

The voice had not merely sounded similar.

It had been nearly identical.

The same measured drawl.

The same clipped offence.

The same way each word seemed to imply the listener had personally disappointed him.

Ron pointed.

“The voice too.”

Regulus looked appalled.

“What voice?”

“That voice.”

“This is my voice.”

“It’s his voice too.”

“He took it from me.”

“You were dead before he was born,” Hermione said.

“That did not stop him.”

Sirius began laughing.

Regulus rounded on him.

“This is not funny.”

“It is very funny.”

“I refuse to resemble Lucius’s child.”

“You look exactly like him.”

“I’ll change my face.”

“You’ll confuse everyone.”

“Good.”

Ginny was still examining him.

“The only difference is the hair.”

Regulus touched one of his dark curls.

“He is fully blonde,” Harry said.

Regulus looked at the photograph of Narcissa.

“Cissy was always blonde.”

Sirius glanced towards him.

“You have her streak.”

Regulus touched the pale section at the front of his hair.

“She has mine.”

“She was born first.”

“Still mine.”

He lifted the photograph from the shelf.

His thumb brushed the edge of the frame.

“Cissy and I were the only ones.”

“The only ones with poliosis?” Hermione asked.

Regulus nodded.

“Hers was near her temple. Mine was worse.”

“It isn’t worse,” Luna said.

Regulus looked at her.

“It looks like moonlight.”

Regulus went quiet.

Then he returned the picture carefully.

“She used to say it made us match.”

Sirius looked at the photograph.

“You were always following her around.”

“She liked me.”

“She let you get away with everything.”

“She had good judgement.”

“You put a dead beetle in her jewellery box.”

“It was a gift.”

“She screamed.”

“She appreciated it later.”

“She threw it out the window.”

Regulus looked annoyed by the memory.

“Lucius gave her roses. Mine was more interesting.”

“You hated Lucius.”

“I still do.”

“You haven’t seen him in seventeen years.”

“I require no updated information.”

Harry smiled despite himself.

“What did you do to him?”

Regulus’s mouth curved.

Sirius’s eyes narrowed.

“No.”

Regulus looked towards him. “No what?”

“Do not tell them.”

Fred appeared instantly.

“Tell us.”

George moved to Regulus’s other side.

“Everything.”

Regulus considered them.

Sirius stepped forward. “Regulus.”

Regulus smiled sweetly.

“I once replaced all his hair tonic with permanent black dye.”

Fred clutched George’s arm.

George whispered, “Beautiful.”

“It took him three months to remove.”

Sirius groaned.

Regulus continued.

“I enchanted his cane to insult him whenever he touched it.”

Harry laughed.

“What did it say?”

“Mostly observations about his hair.”

“He was already sensitive,” Sirius said.

“That was why it worked.”

“What else?” Ginny asked.

Regulus’s smile sharpened.

“I placed a compulsion charm on his peacocks.”

Hermione frowned. “What did it compel them to do?”

“Follow him.”

“That does not sound so bad.”

“They screamed whenever he spoke.”

Fred nearly fell against the bed.

George had tears in his eyes.

Regulus looked pleased with himself.

“Cissy was furious.”

“Did she punish you?” Ron asked.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“She was laughing.”

Sirius pointed at him. “You also put itching powder in his formal robes before their engagement dinner.”

“He deserved it.”

“For what?”

“He arrived.”

Sirius threw his hands up.

Regulus turned back to the photographs.

“Draco,” he said, testing the name with deep suspicion.

Harry nodded.

“He is our age.”

Regulus looked at him.

“Your age?”

“Fifteen.”

Regulus went still.

“Narcissa has a fifteen-year-old son.”

“Yes.”

“I am three years older than her son.”

“Now,” Sirius said.

Regulus looked horrified again.

“This is ridiculous.”

“You were dead.”

“I know.”

“You keep being surprised by the consequences.”

“They are surprising consequences.”

Tonks had been standing near the doorway, watching the entire exchange with increasing amusement.

She crossed her arms.

“You’re going to enjoy this next bit.”

Regulus looked at her.

“Who are you?”

Tonks blinked.

Then she grinned.

“Nymphadora Tonks.”

Regulus’s expression remained blank.

She waited.

Nothing.

Tonks’s smile faltered.

“Dora.”

“No.”

“Nymphadora.”

“I heard you.”

Sirius was already beginning to grin.

Regulus looked between them.

“Why should I know you?”

Tonks hooked one thumb towards herself.

“My mum is Andromeda.”

Regulus stared.

Tonks waited.

Regulus looked at Sirius.

Then back at Tonks.

“Andromeda has a daughter?”

Tonks laughed.

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Twenty-three years ago.”

Regulus’s gaze dropped over her.

“You are twenty-three?”

“Yep.”

“That is older than me.”

“Yep.”

“You are my cousin.”

“Second cousin, technically.”

Regulus stared harder.

Tonks changed her hair.

The pink vanished.

For a moment it became long and carefully styled, framing her face in a way that made the Black family resemblance unmistakable.

Regulus’s mouth fell open.

“Oh.”

Tonks grinned.

“There it is.”

Regulus walked towards her.

He stopped directly in front of her and examined her face with no attempt at subtlety.

Tonks allowed it.

“You have Andy’s nose.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“And her eyes.”

“Sometimes.”

“You can change them?”

Tonks shifted them from dark to pale grey.

Regulus stepped back.

“What are you?”

“A Metamorphmagus.”

Regulus looked towards Sirius.

“You failed to mention that Andromeda produced a shapeshifter.”

“I was busy dealing with the news that you dated Barty Crouch for four years.”

“That was not news.”

“It was traumatic.”

Tonks changed her hair back to pink.

Regulus stared.

“You chose that colour.”

“Yep.”

“Why?”

“I like it.”

Regulus considered her.

Then nodded.

“Good.”

Tonks smiled.

Regulus looked at Sirius again.

“Does Andy know you live here?”

“She knows.”

“And she has not come to burn it down?”

“She visits.”

Regulus’s eyebrows rose.

“She comes here?”

“Yes.”

“And Mother?”

“Dead.”

Regulus stopped.

Sirius’s face changed.

The room stilled with them.

Regulus looked at the wall rather than at Sirius.

“When?”

“Ten years ago.”

Regulus gave a single nod.

Nothing else.

Then he looked at Tonks again.

“Does Andy know about me?”

“Everyone knew you died.”

“That is not what I asked.”

Tonks’s smile faded slightly.

“I don’t know what she knew.”

Regulus nodded.

His fingers disappeared into the sleeves of his jumper.

Luna moved closer to his side.

Regulus glanced down at her.

She held Pandora’s photograph against her chest.

He relaxed.

“Andy was always clever,” he said. “Cleverer than Sirius.”

Tonks snorted.

“Not difficult.”

Sirius looked offended. “Everyone is against me.”

“You make it easy,” Regulus said.

Tonks studied him.

“Mum will want to see you.”

Regulus’s expression became wary.

“Will she?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“You’re family.”

Regulus looked unconvinced.

Tonks tilted her head.

“You used to know her.”

“She left.”

“So did Sirius.”

Regulus looked at Sirius.

Sirius looked back.

Regulus’s gaze dropped.

“That was different.”

Tonks did not ask how.

She simply said, “She’ll want to see you.”

Regulus looked towards the photographs of Narcissa.

Then at the room full of people.

“Perhaps.”

It was not a refusal.

Sirius noticed.

He said nothing.

The others continued exploring.

McGonagall had reached the desk.

She inspected the stacks of books with an increasingly severe expression.

“You had restricted texts in your bedroom.”

Regulus looked over. “No.”

She lifted a book bound in cracked red leather.

“This was removed from the Hogwarts library in nineteen sity-eight.”

Regulus walked towards her.

“How odd.”

“It has a library seal.”

“Many books do.”

“It has a catalogue number.”

“Decorative.”

“Mr Black.”

Regulus held out his hand.

McGonagall did not give him the book.

“You stole this.”

“Borrowed.”

“For how long?”

Regulus glanced towards Sirius.

“How long have I been dead?”

McGonagall’s lips thinned.

“Seventeen years.”

“Then approximately seventeen years.”

“Regulus.”

“I intended to return it.”

“When?”

“Eventually.”

“You died.”

“I had not planned that when I borrowed it.”

Snape stood behind McGonagall.

“You absolutely did not intend to return it.”

Regulus glared.

McGonagall turned another book over.

“This one belonged to Professor Slughorn.”

“He gave it to me.”

“There is a note inside demanding its return.”

“He regretted the gift.”

“That does not make it yours.”

“He should have considered that before giving it to me.”

McGonagall looked towards Sirius.

Sirius raised both hands.

“I wasn’t there.”

“You encouraged this behaviour.”

“I was disowned.”

“You encouraged it before then.”

“I encouraged independent thought.”

“You taught him to pick locks.”

“That is a life skill.”

Regulus nodded. “It was useful.”

McGonagall closed her eyes briefly.

Dumbledore had moved to the shelves of pinned insects.

He examined a large blue butterfly beneath glass.

“An impressive collection.”

Regulus looked suspicious.

“You are not confiscating it.”

“I had not intended to.”

“You confiscated my venomous specimens in third year.”

“They were alive.”

“They were asleep.”

“They escaped during breakfast.”

“Someone opened the container.”

Sirius looked towards the ceiling.

Regulus pointed at him.

“Him.”

“I was curious.”

“You released seven venomous beetles in the Great Hall.”

“They were very small.”

“Professor Flitwick climbed onto a table.”

“Everyone climbed onto tables.”

“Exactly.”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled.

Regulus noticed.

“You found it funny.”

“I did not say that.”

“You smiled.”

“At the resolution.”

“The resolution was Severus stunning all of them.”

Snape’s face tightened. “One crawled into my sleeve.”

Regulus looked delighted.

“I remember.”

“Of course you do.”

Across the room, Moody opened one cabinet with his wand.

Regulus turned immediately.

“Do not.”

Moody’s magical eye fixed upon him.

“Could be cursed.”

“It is.”

Several people stepped away.

Moody grunted.

“What kind?”

Regulus crossed the room and closed the cabinet.

“The kind that activates when opened by someone who is not me.”

Moody’s normal eye narrowed.

“What does it do?”

Regulus looked at Sirius.

Sirius’s expression became wary.

“What?”

“You opened it once.”

Sirius stared at the cabinet.

His face slowly changed.

“No.”

Regulus’s mouth curved.

Fred leaned closer.

“What happened?”

Sirius pointed at Regulus. “Do not tell them.”

“He grew feathers.”

George clasped his hands together.

“Where?”

“Everywhere.”

Sirius glared.

Regulus continued calmly.

“They were bright yellow.”

“It lasted two hours.”

“Three.”

“Two.”

“You hid in the bath for the third.”

“I was removing feathers.”

Regulus looked at Fred and George.

“He cried.”

“I did not.”

“You always cried when I hexed you.”

“I had feathers in my eyes!”

Regulus turned towards Moody.

“It does something different now.”

Moody looked interested.

“What?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Useful.”

“It has been seventeen years.”

“Excuses.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes.

Moody stared back.

Then Regulus smiled faintly.

Moody’s scarred mouth twitched.

Harry wandered back towards the Quidditch photographs.

Regulus noticed and followed him, Luna still at his side.

Harry held up the silver Snitch Regulus had tossed.

“Is this yours?”

“Yes.”

“From a match?”

“My first.”

Harry looked down at it again.

“You kept all of them?”

“The ones I was permitted to keep.”

“How many?”

“Thirty-two.”

Ron, listening from nearby, stared.

“You caught thirty-two Snitches and kept them?”

“No. I caught more. I kept thirty-two.”

Harry looked at the trophies.

“What records do you hold?”

Regulus’s face brightened again.

“Fastest catch from release. Longest continuous pursuit. Highest-altitude catch. Lowest-altitude catch without ground contact. Most feints against a single opposing Seeker.”

“How many?”

“Seventeen.”

“In one match?”

“Yes.”

“That’s excessive.”

“He annoyed me.”

“What did he do?”

“He said I was too small.”

Harry smiled.

“What happened?”

“He flew into a goalpost.”

Charlie joined them.

“You forced him into it?”

“I suggested a direction.”

Harry turned towards Charlie.

“Do people still know those records?”

“Most serious players do.”

Regulus looked pleased.

Charlie pointed towards an old medal.

“You were being scouted.”

Sirius went quiet.

Regulus’s smile faded slightly.

“Several teams wrote.”

“Which ones?”

“Montrose. Puddlemere. Falmouth.”

Charlie stared.

“The Falcons wanted you?”

“They were persistent.”

“You could have played professionally.”

Regulus looked at the moving photograph of himself diving after the Snitch.

“Yes.”

The answer was quiet.

Harry watched the figure in the photograph rise from the dive, hair blown back, face brilliant with triumph.

Regulus looked away first.

“It does not matter.”

Harry frowned.

“It does.”

“I died before I could accept anything.”

“You’re not dead now.”

Regulus looked at him.

Harry held his gaze.

“You could fly again.”

Sirius opened his mouth.

Regulus pointed at him without looking away from Harry.

“Do not say no.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“You were.”

“I was going to say you need a medical examination.”

Regulus looked towards Dumbledore.

“I was examined.”

“By magic.”

“That is how examinations work.”

“Not all of them.”

“I am not going to a Muggle doctor.”

“No one said Muggle.”

“You were about to.”

“I wasn’t.”

Regulus looked at Harry again.

“What broom do you use?”

“A Firebolt.”

Regulus’s eyes widened.

Charlie laughed.

“He’s heard of that.”

“It was experimental before I died.”

“They’re the fastest in the world now,” Harry said.

Regulus stared at him.

“You own one?”

“Yes.”

Regulus looked at Sirius.

“You bought Potter a Firebolt?”

“I did not.”

“Who did?”

Sirius smiled.

Regulus’s eyes narrowed.

“You did.”

“Technically.”

“You bought him a Firebolt and never bought me one.”

“They did not exist.”

“That sounds like an excuse.”

“You had an expensive broom.”

“You complained about the price.”

“You crashed it into a tree.”

“The tree moved.”

“Trees do not move.”

“This one did.”

“It was a Whomping Willow,” Remus said.

Regulus pointed at him. “Exactly.”

Sirius stared.

“You flew near the Whomping Willow?”

“Once.”

“You told me you crashed beside the lake.”

“I lied.”

Sirius looked close to collapsing.

Regulus turned back to Harry.

“You will let me use it.”

Harry clutched the Snitch.

“That wasn’t a question.”

“No.”

“No?”

“You can race me for it.”

Regulus smiled slowly.

“Good.”

Sirius made a strangled noise.

“No racing.”

Neither listened.

The room had grown warmer.

People sat wherever they could find space. Bill and Charlie occupied the window nook. Fred had climbed into the hanging chair despite Regulus telling him not to, and George stood beside it pushing him gently back and forth. Percy had settled into one of the armchairs near the bed, pretending to examine an old school magazine while glancing at Regulus over its edge.

Molly had given up trying to keep everyone orderly.

Arthur stood before the cabinet of taxidermy, fascinated by a tiny winged lizard preserved beneath glass.

Tonks had discovered a box of hair ribbons and was trying them against Sirius’s head while he threatened her without conviction.

Kingsley leaned against one of the bookshelves.

Moody continued checking every object for curses.

McGonagall and Dumbledore spoke quietly near the desk.

Snape remained at the doorway as though determined to appear ready to leave, despite having made no attempt to do so.

Regulus walked slowly around the room.

He checked each photograph.

Each shelf.

Each familiar object.

His fingers brushed the back of chairs, the edge of the desk, the carved posts of the bed.

He touched everything lightly, as if reassuring himself it was real.

Luna remained beside him.

“Did Mum sleep here?”

“Sometimes.”

“Where?”

Regulus pointed at the window nook.

“She liked the moon.”

“So do I.”

“I know.”

“How?”

“You look at it the same way.”

Luna smiled.

Regulus opened a drawer beside the bed.

Inside were stacks of old parchment, ribbons, small stones, dried flowers and several pieces of jewellery.

Luna peered in.

Regulus picked up a thin silver chain with a crescent charm.

“Pandora made this.”

“For you?”

“She said it would keep nightmares from recognising me.”

“Did it?”

“No.”

“Maybe the nightmares were clever.”

“They often are.”

He placed the chain in Luna’s palm.

She looked at him.

“You should have it.”

Luna closed her fingers around it.

“You don’t want it?”

Regulus looked at the charm.

“I remember it.”

Luna understood.

She slipped the chain around her neck.

The crescent rested against her chest.

Regulus watched her.

For one second, with her pale hair and distant eyes and Pandora’s old charm around her neck, she looked enough like the girl in the photographs that something inside his face fractured.

Then he blinked.

It was gone.

Luna reached for his sleeve.

Regulus looked down at her hand.

She did not hold tightly.

Only pinched the thick cuff between two fingers.

He allowed it.

Sirius saw.

His expression softened.

Regulus noticed him watching.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re making a face.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“What face?”

“Old.”

Sirius’s expression hardened.

Regulus looked satisfied.

He crossed towards the bed.

Kreacher hurried ahead and pulled back the canopy curtains.

Regulus stopped before it.

He looked at the mountain of pillows.

Then at the thick blankets.

Then at the carved headboard bearing the family crest.

The noise in the room seemed to blur around him.

Seventeen years.

Everything had waited.

The books.

The photographs.

The dolls.

The strange collections.

The chair that still creaked in the same place.

His bed remained made.

His clothes remained folded.

His life had been preserved inside the room even when he had not.

Regulus climbed onto the mattress.

Sirius immediately stepped closer.

Regulus crawled across the covers, shoved several pillows aside and flopped backwards into the centre of the bed.

The mattress swallowed him.

His curls spread across the dark fabric. His enormous jumper bunched around his waist, and the sleeves fell over his hands. One socked foot disappeared beneath a blanket while the other remained hanging over the edge.

He stared up at the painted stars.

Everyone watched him.

Regulus turned his head.

“What?”

Fred stopped the hanging chair.

George leaned against it.

“You’ve been checking everything for half an hour.”

“I live here.”

“Do you?”

Regulus’s eyes narrowed.

George clarified, “I mean, do you remember everything?”

Regulus looked around.

“Yes.”

“All of it?”

“Yes.”

“Even the dolls?”

“I selected them personally.”

Ron looked towards the black-bonneted doll.

It had turned to face him again.

He shuddered.

Regulus smiled.

Sirius sat on the edge of the bed.

The mattress dipped beneath him.

Regulus rolled slightly towards the hollow.

He frowned.

“You’re heavier.”

“You’re smaller.”

“I am the same size.”

“Exactly.”

Regulus kicked him in the thigh.

Sirius caught his ankle.

Regulus kicked again with the other foot.

Sirius caught that too.

Regulus glared up at him.

“Release me.”

“No.”

“I will bite you.”

“You’re proving my point.”

“What point?”

“That you require supervision.”

Regulus twisted, trying to pull his feet free.

Sirius held on.

“You are not responsible for me.”

“I am.”

“You are barely responsible for yourself.”

“I’m doing wonderfully.”

“You live in Mother’s house.”

“Our house.”

“My house.”

“Fine. Your house.”

Regulus stopped struggling.

Sirius smiled.

Then Regulus shoved both feet against his chest.

Sirius toppled backwards off the bed.

He hit the carpet with a shout.

The room erupted into laughter.

Regulus sat up, hair wild, jumper slipping farther down one shoulder.

“You fell loudly.”

Sirius stared at him from the floor.

Regulus smiled.

“You always did.”

Sirius reached up, grabbed the edge of the blanket and yanked.

Regulus slid halfway down the bed with an outraged yell.

“Sirius!”

“You pushed me.”

“You grabbed me!”

“You kicked me.”

“You insulted me.”

“I said you were small.”

“That is an insult.”

“It is a measurement.”

Regulus seized a pillow and threw it.

Sirius blocked it.

The pillow bounced into Percy’s lap.

Percy looked down at it.

Then at Regulus.

Regulus froze.

Percy’s face went red.

Fred leaned out of the hanging chair.

“Keep it, Perce.”

Percy threw the pillow at him.

Fred ducked.

It struck George.

George caught it and threw it towards Sirius.

Sirius moved.

The pillow hit Snape directly in the face.

Silence.

The pillow slid to the floor.

Snape stood motionless in the doorway.

George pointed at Fred.

Fred pointed at Percy.

Percy pointed at Sirius.

Sirius pointed at Regulus.

Regulus was already lying flat on the bed with his eyes closed.

Snape looked at him.

“You are pretending to sleep.”

Regulus breathed slowly.

Snape crossed the room.

Regulus cracked one eye open.

Snape picked up the pillow.

Regulus watched him.

Snape threw it.

Regulus caught it against his chest.

His eyes widened.

Snape turned and walked back towards the doorway.

Regulus sat up.

“You missed.”

Snape did not turn.

“I was not aiming.”

“You were.”

“I was not.”

“You have terrible aim.”

Snape’s shoulders tightened.

Regulus smiled and hugged the pillow against himself.

Luna climbed onto the bed beside him without asking.

Regulus glanced at her.

She settled cross-legged near his knees, holding Pandora’s photograph and wearing the crescent charm.

Regulus shifted to give her more space.

Harry noticed.

Ginny did too.

Fred and George exchanged a look.

Percy lowered the magazine.

Sirius climbed back onto the edge of the bed.

He studied Regulus in the middle of the pillows, Luna beside him and the room packed with people who had climbed the stairs only to satisfy their curiosity.

Regulus looked around.

His room had never held this many people.

Not even when he was alive.

He did not tell them to leave again.

Instead, he sank back into the pillows.

His head turned towards the photographs on the wall.

Pandora laughed soundlessly as Evan released the moths.

Barty carried Regulus out of frame.

Narcissa adjusted the pale streak in his hair.

A younger Sirius chased him across a lawn.

The Seeker in green and silver raised a trophy towards the sky.

Regulus watched them all.

Luna leaned closer.

“What did Mum call you?”

Regulus looked at her.

“Leo.”

“Why?”

“My star.”

“She liked stars.”

“She liked everything.”

Luna smiled.

“Tell me more.”

Regulus looked towards the painted ceiling.

One of the silver stars moved slowly above him.

He tucked both hands beneath his head.

“Pandora once tried to teach a kneazle how to read.”

“Did it learn?”

“No.”

“Maybe it didn’t like the book.”

“She said the same thing.”

Regulus’s voice softened as he continued.

Luna listened.

The others did too.

Even Sirius went quiet.

The room did not settle.

It rearranged itself around Regulus.

While he remained stretched across the enormous bed with Luna beside him, answering questions about Pandora and Evan in a voice that grew quieter and warmer with each memory, everyone else drifted farther into the preserved chaos of his room.

Hermione had fallen completely in love with the library wall.

There was no other way to describe it.

She had begun by standing politely near one of the shelves, hands clasped in front of her as though she intended only to glance at the titles.

Then she noticed the rolling ladder.

It was fixed to a brass rail that ran the entire length of the bookcases, curving around the corner and continuing onto the adjoining wall. The ladder itself was dark wood, polished smooth, with little brass wheels at the top and bottom.

Hermione touched it with reverence.

“It moves.”

Regulus glanced over from the bed.

“It rolls.”

Hermione gave it a gentle push.

The ladder glided three feet along the shelves.

Her eyes lit up.

Ron watched from several yards away.

“You look frighteningly happy.”

“There are ladders, Ron.”

“I can see that.”

“Rolling ladders.”

“Yes.”

“Inside a bedroom.”

Ron looked towards Harry.

Harry shrugged.

Hermione stepped onto the first rung.

The ladder shifted slightly beneath her weight and then locked itself into place.

“Oh.”

Regulus’s mouth twitched.

“It knows when someone is climbing.”

Hermione looked down at him.

“How?”

“Magic.”

She gave him a look.

Regulus stared back.

“You asked.”

“What spell?”

“I don’t remember.”

“You designed this?”

“I had it installed.”

“en?”

“At thirteen.”

Hermione looked scandalised.

Sirius, who had been attempting to reach one of the books with a fireplace poker, called from the other side of the room, “He threw a tantrum because he couldn’t reach the top shelf.”

“I did not.”

“You threatened to have the entire ceiling lowered.”

“The shelf was badly designed.”

“You were short.”

“I was thirteen.”

“You are still short.”

Regulus pulled one of the pillows from behind his head.

Remus caught his wrist before he could throw it.

“No.”

Regulus looked at him.

Remus kept hold of the pillow.

“You already started one fight.”

“Sirius started it.”

“You kicked him off the bed.”

“He was on my bed.”

“He is now using a poker to attack your books.”

Regulus turned sharply.

Sirius had extended the poker as far as it would go and was trying to hook a slim green volume.

“Sirius.”

Sirius froze.

He slowly lowered it.

“I was only looking.”

“You were stabbing.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You were holding a metal rod.”

“It’s a poker.”

“That is worse.”

Remus took the poker from him.

Sirius looked offended.

“I almost had it.”

“You almost knocked a bookcase over.”

“They’re fixed to the wall.”

“You do not know that.”

“I grew up here.”

Regulus rolled onto one elbow.

“You broke my shelves twice.”

“Once.”

“Twice.”

“The second time was Barty.”

“You were helping him.”

“I was trying to stop him.”

“You held the chair.”

“So he wouldn’t fall.”

Remus leaned the poker against the fireplace.

“Sirius, sit down.”

“I am not a dog.”

“You are behaving like one.”

Sirius looked at Regulus.

“He’s been back less than an hour and you’re already taking his side.”

Remus folded his arms.

“He is lying on a bed talking quietly. You are trying to spear a book.”

“The book was avoiding me.”

“Good instincts.”

Regulus smiled.

Sirius pointed at him.

“That face is why I’m doing it.”

“You were stupid before I made the face.”

“I’m older than you.”

“That has only given you longer to practise.”

Remus grabbed the back of Sirius’s shirt before he could lunge towards the bed.

Sirius twisted around.

“Let go.”

“No.”

“I was only going to move him.”

“You were going to throw yourself on him.”

“He’s my brother.”

“He’s holding a porcelain doll.”

Sirius stopped.

Regulus had, without anyone noticing, picked up one of the smaller dolls from the bedside table.

It had dark painted curls, a lace collar and a deeply unpleasant smile.

He held it upright against his chest.

Sirius stared.

Regulus moved the doll’s head towards him.

Sirius stepped backwards.

“You’re pathetic,” Regulus said.

“That one bit me.”

“It has no teeth.”

“It found a way.”

Remus maintained his grip on Sirius.

Regulus placed the doll beside Luna.

Luna examined it with interest.

“It looks cheerful.”

“It is not,” Sirius said.

Luna turned the doll towards him.

Sirius moved another step back.

Regulus laughed.

Near the wardrobe, Ginny had stopped pretending she was only looking.

She had disappeared inside several minutes ago.

Now she emerged carrying an armful of clothes so large that only the top of her red hair remained visible above them.

Molly turned.

“Ginny.”

“I’m not stealing anything.”

“You have half his wardrobe.”

“I’m showing him.”

Regulus pushed himself farther upright against the pillows.

Ginny crossed the room and dropped the pile onto the foot of the bed.

Dark fabric spilled in every direction.

There were cropped jackets, loose shirts, velvet waistcoats, chains, scarves, narrow belts, fingerless gloves and several pieces of jewellery tangled together in a glinting heap.

Regulus looked at the clothes.

Then at Ginny.

“You found the back cabinet.”

“Yes.”

“I forgot that was there.”

Ginny held up a fitted black jacket with silver fastenings.

“Did you wear this?”

“Once.”

“Why only once?”

“It scratched my neck.”

Ginny put it on.

It fit surprisingly well through the shoulders, though the sleeves were slightly long.

She rolled them back.

Regulus looked her over.

“Keep it.”

Ginny froze.

Molly said, “Ginny.”

Regulus glanced towards her.

“I don’t want it.”

“That does not mean Ginny should simply take your things.”

“It does if I give them to her.”

Ginny smiled.

Molly opened her mouth.

Arthur put one hand gently against her arm.

“He did offer.”

Molly looked at him.

Arthur withdrew the hand.

Ginny had already reached for another piece.

“What about this?”

She held up a dark green waistcoat embroidered with tiny silver stars.

Regulus wrinkled his nose.

“No.”

Ginny looked disappointed.

“It’s nice.”

“It makes you look respectable.”

“What’s wrong with respectable?”

“Nothing, if that is what you want.”

“It isn’t.”

“Then no.”

He rummaged through the pile and pulled out a shorter black waistcoat with sharp lapels and a line of mismatched silver buttons.

“This.”

Ginny took it.

“You don’t want it?”

“I hate the buttons.”

“They’re the best part.”

“That is why you should have it.”

She pulled the jacket off and tried on the waistcoat instead.

Regulus tilted his head.

“Roll the shirt sleeves.”

Ginny did.

“Higher.”

She rolled them to her elbows.

Regulus reached into the pile, found a narrow black scarf and tossed it to her.

“Tie that around your waist.”

Ginny obeyed.

“Not like that.”

She frowned.

“How?”

Regulus pushed himself off the pillows and shifted towards the end of the bed.

Luna moved with him, still holding the doll and Pandora’s photograph.

Regulus leaned forward and retied the scarf in a loose knot at Ginny’s hip.

“There.”

Ginny looked down.

“That’s better.”

“Obviously.”

She found a mirror hanging from the wardrobe door and turned side to side.

Fred looked over.

“You look like you’re about to rob a stagecoach.”

Ginny grinned.

“Perfect.”

Regulus dug through the jewellery and held up a set of small silver rings.

“Those.”

Ginny took them.

“And this.”

He added a thin chain with a dark green stone.

Molly moved closer.

“Regulus, you do not have to give her—”

“I do not want any of it.”

Ginny looked at the pile.

“You really don’t?”

Regulus shrugged.

“They are from a style I stopped wearing.”

“When?”

“When I was seventeen.”

Ginny looked at him.

“You were eighteen when you died.”

“Yes.”

Ginny smiled.

“Then I’ll take care of them.”

Regulus nodded.

“Good.”

She vanished into the wardrobe again.

Molly called after her.

“Not everything.”

Ginny’s voice floated back.

“I know.”

Regulus glanced at the mountain still spread across his bed.

“She can keep whatever fits.”

Molly stared at him.

Sirius leaned towards her.

“You won’t win.”

“I have raised seven children.”

“He was raised by Walburga.”

Molly’s expression changed.

Sirius nodded.

“Exactly.”

Arthur had wandered towards one of the glass cabinets, where Neville and Ron stood side by side in shared distress.

The fox inside the cabinet had not moved.

Neither had the raven.

The stoat remained crouched between them.

But the black-bonneted doll from the shelf behind Ron had somehow changed position again.

It now sat at the edge of the shelf with both hands resting on its knees.

Ron stared at it.

Neville stared too.

“I’m certain it was farther back,” Neville whispered.

“It was.”

“Did you see it move?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know?”

“Because I’ve been watching it.”

Neville looked at him.

“You’ve been watching it?”

“I don’t trust it.”

The doll’s painted eyes flicked towards them.

Ron grabbed Neville’s sleeve.

“You saw that.”

Neville’s face went pale.

“I saw that.”

Regulus looked over.

“What are you two doing?”

Ron pointed.

“That thing moved.”

Regulus glanced at the doll.

“It does that.”

“You said the dolls weren’t enchanted.”

“I said not all of them were.”

Hermione, halfway up the rolling ladder, turned.

“You said they were not.”

“I was referring generally.”

“You cannot refer generally when discussing potentially cursed dolls.”

“It is not cursed.”

The doll’s mouth opened.

A soft, high-pitched giggle escaped it.

Ron and Neville stumbled backwards together.

Arthur leaned closer to inspect it.

“Fascinating.”

“Dad,” Ron said.

Arthur adjusted his glasses.

“I wonder whether the head movement is controlled by a charm in the neck or whether the whole object has been animated.”

The doll turned towards him.

Arthur smiled.

“Hello.”

Ron stared at his father.

“What are you doing?”

“Being polite.”

“To that?”

“It may appreciate manners.”

The doll giggled again.

Neville looked ready to flee.

Regulus lay back against the pillows.

“It likes him.”

“That is not reassuring,” Ron said.

The stoat inside the glass case suddenly tipped forward.

Its small body struck the cabinet door with a dull knock.

Neville yelped.

Ron swore.