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Chapter Text

One week out from the end of the school year at Hogwarts, Regulus Black was bored and pushing his breakfast around on his plate. Exams had finished and now there was nothing left but to wait on the results and say goodbye to friends he didn’t have. After five years at Hogwarts, Regulus had it down to a science. He got up, ate breakfast at a deserted table, attended classes without ever raising his hand, and studied in a forgotten corner of the library until he physically couldn’t keep his eyes open. More than once, he’d found himself wishing something would come along to shake things up before his brain eroded. 

Later, he would regret putting that thought out into the universe. 

Before he could finish his tea and drag himself off to Herbology, a Black family owl swooped down over the Slytherin table. Bred specifically for its formidable size and pitch, black feathers, it was a distinctive bird that drew the eye of several students. Most notably, Regulus’ brother’s band of idiots.

“Isn’t that a Black bird?” James Potter asked, loud enough to reach Regulus’ ears clear across the great hall. 

“Well done, Prongs, you’re finally learning your colors,” Sirius guffawed, and his entire table joined him, including the butt of the joke, James Potter.

Regulus wasn’t sure he saw the point of friends if they were just going to laugh at you.

Ignoring Sirius’ group, he took the letter from the owl, getting his fingers nipped in the process. He wiped off the blood on his dark trousers before breaking the black, wax seal.

Regulus,

Your father and I will be meeting with a few business partners in France for the next month. I have instructed Kreacher to pick you up from the train station upon the end of term. After that, you are not to leave the house for any reason. 

After your father and I return, we will host an important guest at Grimmauld, and you will swear your loyalty to him. Remember that you are to behave as befitting the Black family heir.

I expect to hear that you have received Outstandings in all your subjects.

Walburga Black

Though Regulus usually read through his mother’s missives multiple times for ensured accuracy and compliance, he couldn’t bare it this time. He shoved the letter into his bag, effectively burying it. The words were branded to his mind’s eye anyway. 

Important guest…swear your loyalty…I expect…I expect….

His mother’s expectations were like water rising over his head. Pretty soon, he wouldn’t be able to breathe.

When he was able to refocus on his surroundings, he realized that breakfast was almost over and most of the students had vacated the great all. Sirius and his friends still sat around like royalty, however, giggling without a care in the world.

Briefly, Regulus wondered what it would be like to be seated over there with them. To, like Sirius, get to go home to the Potters’, instead of back to Grimmauld where his mother’s anger and father’s indifference waited for him. He thought it’d probably be nice.

But wondering and wishing wasn’t going to get him an O in Herbology, so he headed off towards the greenhouses without another glance at the Gryffindor table.

_____

Once he’d been released from the prison of classes for the day, Regulus made a bee-line for the library. He’d had a bit of time to mull over his mother’s letter and thought he had a solution. There was no way he could stand up to his mother without ending up dead or worse. But what if the Dark Lord couldn’t induct him as a Death Eater? He’d absolutely be punished within an inch of his life but he might get to keep said life.

Although, whether that was a like worth keeping was still to be decided.

Putting off Hamlet’s famous question for another day, he walked over to the Defense Against the Dark Arts section and grabbed every book off the shelf that mentioned warding and magic brands. He ended up with a stack that he almost couldn’t see over as he struggled over to an empty table.

“Tell me you’re not going to try and read all of that, Reggie,” an annoyingly familiar voice said behind him.

Whirling around, Regulus stepped in front of his pile of books, hoping he was obscuring the titles from nosy, Gryffindor eyes.

James Potter, with his adorably messy hair and thick glasses, leaned against a bookshelf and grinned at Regulus Black like they were old friends. To be fair, Regulus was pretty sure that in James’ mind, they were. Unlike his brother, who has been pretending Regulus doesn’t exist since he ran away last summer, James likes to pop into the Slytherin’s life periodically, pester him, and then pop back out for a few weeks.

The time in between pesterings was never long enough for Regulus to get over the mortifying crush he’d had on the Potter heir since third year. Luckily, he’s the only one who knows his shame, and he’ll take that secret to the grave.

“I know you’re illiterate, Potter, but those of us who can read sometimes enjoy doing it,” Regulus said, sending a scathing look at the older boy.

“You’re so mean to me, Reggie.” 

Why did James sound practically gleeful as he said that?

“Feel free to never darken my doorstep again, then.”

Instead of leaving, however, James’ mirrored Regulus as the younger boy sat down at the table. He watched as the Slytherin opened the first book on the pile and chattered on about his week and professional Quidditch. 

For the most part, Regulus tuned the Gryffindor out and focused on the book about removing magic signatures from witches and wizards. It wasn’t exactly what he was looking for; he’d rather not be branded with the dark mark in the first place, but he took notes on the contents never-the-less.

Regulus was about three books into the stack when James’ blabbering stopped, causing the Slytherin to look up from his meticulous notes.

“Well,” James said, reaching out and slamming Regulus’ book shut. “I’ve got Quidditch practice.”

Regulus raised his eyebrows at the action and swatted the Gryffindor’s hand away from the book. “Why does that mean I have to stop reading?”

For the first time that afternoon, James’ expression grew serious. “Those dark circles under your eyes are starting to look permanent.”

“You really know how to flatter a guy,” Regulus drawled.

James nodded. “I’m a charming man,” he said. “Take a break. Take a nap.”

“Absolutely not.” 

“Pretty please?” James batted his eyelashes like an idiot, giving Regulus heart palpitations. “For me?”

“I’d rather drown myself in the Black Lake.”

“Great, I knew you’d come around,” he said like he’d won the argument.

But maybe he had won because Regulus didn’t fight the other boy as he helped him pack up his bounty of books and notes.

Once they were both standing, James reached out and ruffled Regulus’ hair, then skipped out of range before he could get hit or hexed. “See you around, Reg.”

“Don’t threaten me.”

James laughed, loud and bold like he had during breakfast that morning, and then he was gone. The warmth he’d brought with him faded by the time Regulus had walked back to the dungeons.

Feeling bone-tired, he nodded at Crouch and Rosier before crawling into his bed. From behind the curtains, he could hear them whispering about a rising Dark Lord and the wonderful changes he would bring. 

Regulus cast a quick silencing charm. He didn’t need to hear trash when he was trying to sleep.

_____

Most of the time, Regulus really enjoyed being in Slytherin. He liked being surrounded by cunning people, his favorite color was green, and he enjoyed the privacy afforded by living in the dungeons.

Unfortunately, being in Slytherin also meant dealing with toe-rags like Severus Snape.

“Black,” Snape said as he fell into the green, leather chair across from Regulus. His mouth was turned up in a slight sneer like he was extra satisfied with himself.

Regulus took and breath and let the quiet roar of the common room fireplace soothe him before he responded. “Bother someone else, Snape.”

Maybe he should have taken two calming breaths.

“Guess you don’t want to hear what I have to tell you,” Snape said, mocking.

“Not especially.”

A slow grin overtook Snape’s expression. “Even if it’s about your brother?”

It took effort to keep his poker face intact. “What about my brother?” Regulus asked.

“I’ve decided to put an end to our little back and forth,” Snape said. “So I’ve left him tied up in the Shrieking Shack. There’s an entrance under the Whomping Willow. Full moon, right next to the Forbidden forest. No telling what might befall him before sunrise.” The older boy smirked. “Chin up, Black. By morning, you’ll officially be an only child.”

Regulus knew there weren’t really werewolves in the Forbidden Forest. Even Dumbledore wouldn’t be so careless with students’ safety. Still, the idea of Sirius alone in that creepy building, helpless….

But he wasn’t about to let Snape in on his moral dilemma. 

“I’ve been an only child since my parents’ disowned that blood traitor,” Regulus said cooly. “Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to my book.”

Snape shrugged, but he still look far too gleeful for Regulus’ taste. “Suit yourself,” he said, and then took off towards the dormitories.

Regulus tried to settle back into the chair and focus on his reading. When he couldn’t manage that, he tried to think of all the horrible things Sirius had ever done to him. Abandoned him. Ignored him. Stole his dragon stuffy when they were six.

After all that, so what if Sirius was in trouble? Regulus didn’t care. He’d already sacrificed his entire future for Sirius’. He was going to take everything their parents threw at him for the rest of his life, including the dark mark, for Sirius. At what point were they even for all the times Sirius had protected him as children?

Never, Regulus thought bitterly, as he rose from his chair and headed out toward the grounds.

Chapter Text

The full moon was just beginning to rise in the night sky as Regulus Black cast a warming spell over his shivering body. Too much inbreeding had turned the Blacks into a bunch of anemics, which was the last thing you wanted to be in Scotland–even in late spring.

When he came upon the Whomping Willow, he cast a quick disillusionment charm over himself. The tree remained peaceful, swaying in the wind, as Regulus found the dark opening beneath heavy roots. It was impossible to see where the tunnel went in the darkness, so Regulus just had to trust that Snape was telling the truth.

He wasn’t a very trusting sort, but he didn’t have much of a choice. After taking a fortifying breath, he entered the tunnel and started hurrying along. Every sound echoed in the space, making him flinch.

Instead of giving into fear, Regulus tried to focus. He needed to find Sirius, rescue him, punch him in the nose for inconveniencing him, and go back to his nice, warm bed.

As if on cue, a figure appeared at the end of the tunnel. It was difficult to make out in the dim lighting, but there was something humanoid about it.

“Sirius?” Regulus whispered, voice wavering.

But it wasn’t Sirius at all. The shadowy figure started moving towards him, quickly, running on all fours. As it got closer, he could hear the grunts and growls coming from its now-clearly-defined snout.

Two piercing, golden eyes came into focus only feet in front of him. They were cold and predatory and strangely reminded Regulus of his mother, but there wasn’t even time for a shiver to run down his spine before the monster was on him.

He went down in a flurry of fur, the werewolf snapping its teeth inches from Regulus’ face. He was literally numb with fear, unable to move as the creature’s weight crushed him. In fact, the only part of his body he could feel was his wand hand, which was terrifyingly empty.

Scrambling backward, he tried to kick out at the werewolf. His feet connected with ribs, but it didn’t seem to phase the beast. Regulus had a brief moment to feel for his wand while the wolf half-circled him in the enclosed tunnel.

Trembling fingers wrapped around his wand just as the wolf lunged. Razor-sharp teeth sank into his shoulder and chest in one bite. He screamed. It felt like one hundred cruciatus curses hitting him at once, like fire in his veins. He thought he might die just from the pain.

But Regulus Black wasn’t lucky enough for that. The wolf bit down harder, and he felt his collarbone give way with a crunch. Holding the boy in its jaws, the monster shook him like a dog toy. 

Regulus’ head was spinning, and he couldn’t draw a complete breath. Black spots formed in his vision, and he knew that if he passed out right now, he wouldn’t wake back up.

Before he could close his eyes in surrender, he heard the growl of another animal coming from the direction he came in.

The wolf released Regulus’ shoulder, and then a giant, black dog was barreling into the werewolf, herding him away from Regulus and barking fiercely.

Isn’t the Grim supposed to kill me, not save me? He thought hysterically as blood pooled on the dirt beneath him.

Arms slipped under his from behind and started to drag him back toward the entrance. They dug into his wound, and he cried out, voice threadbare and almost used up from screaming.

They cleared the tunnel, and Regulus could see the night sky again. Someone was whispering hoarsely in his ear, but he couldn’t register any words. 

His eyes drifted south, trying to catch one last glimpse of his star before everything went black. 

_____

When he next woke, everything was red, and he was on fire. Someone was holding him down by his arms, and he could hear multiple voices but couldn’t understand what they were saying.

He thrashed weakly against his capturers’ hold, trying to keep his heavy eyelids open. Distantly, he realized that the surface he was lying on was a lot softer than the ground in the tunnel.

His mind skirted away from thoughts of the tunnel, and he was back in the present with his brother staring down, inches from Regulus’ face.

“Reg, you’ve got to calm down,” someone said near his ear. It didn’t sound like Sirius, and the older boy’s mouth hadn’t moved.

The more he struggled, the harder he was pressed into the bed. It made him remember a different weight, crushing him into the ground as the wolf went for his throat.

“You’re in Gryffindor tower,” Sirius said, eyes full of something Regulus couldn’t parse out at the moment. “You have a fever. There’s been…there’s been an accident.”

He wanted to ask, What accident?

“Relax, Reggie,” the voice from earlier said as a wet flannel was pressed to his flaming forehead.

“Should we get Moony from the hospital wing?” The third voice was small and whiny.

Looking up, Sirius said, “No. Moony still needs to recover, and we…we need to explain what happened.”

Regulus felt reality slipping away from him again. The comforting voice said, “We need to clean the bite before….”

‘Bite’ was the last thought the Slytherin had before passing out again.

_____

“...so sorry–”

“Sorry? You used me like a weapon. This was my biggest fear, and you knew that.” The boy let out a sharp sob. “Greyback made me a werewolf, but you made me a monster.”

Regulus must have let out a noise of pain, because both boys stopped arguing, and he heard footsteps moving closer to his bed. When he tried to sit up, his brother was there, pushing him back against the pillow. The older boy’s hand felt ice cold against the white hot skin of his shoulder.

“Don’t move, Reg. You’re still feverish.”

The other boy said, “We should clean the wound again. Werewolf bites can easily become infected.”

Sirius volunteered to get a clean flannel, and then his brother’s hand was no longer pinning him to the bed. It didn’t matter. Regulus was frozen, mind replaying a phrase over and over.

Werewolf bites…werewolf bites…bite…bitebitebite—

“No!” The word burst out of the younger boy, and he gathered enough strength to weakly slap away the hand that went to clean his bite.

Hisbitehisbitehiswerewolfbite–

“We have to clean–”

“No,” Regulus moaned again, trying to turn away, but the pain in his shoulder was too great. “Let me go….I don’t want it–don’t want to live like this….”

The other boy turned away, making a wounded sound that was barely human. His brother, as always, ignored him and preceded to clean his shoulder with a grim expression on his face.

Regulus had no strength left to physically fight, so instead, he said, “Please–just let me go. I want to go.” 

He was crying by the end of it, and he knew he was close to losing consciousness again. His brother shushed him, pushing the hair away from his sweaty forehead.

He lost a bit of time, because the next thing he knew, his brother’s hand was gone, and he was alone in the bed, though not in the room. He could hear voices a few feet off.

“Moony…I’m so, so sorry. I love you.”

“You don’t know what that word means.”

_____

The third time Regulus woke up in Gryffindor tower, his skin was cool and his head was clear. After his eyes slowly blinked open, he laid there for awhile, staring up at the red, gaudy canopy. His mind was purposefully blank.

“I know you’re awake,” Remus Lupin, his brother’s boyfriend and Cassanova of Gryffindor tower, said.

“What of it?” Regulus grumbled. He wanted to lie in peace a little longer where the world couldn’t touch him.

“We…we should talk,” Lupin said, voice uncertain.

Reluctantly, Regulus sat up, ignoring the twinge in his shoulder. He did not want to that place in his mind.

Once upright, he locked in on a pair of haunting, golden eyes, and his body betrayed him. An inhuman squeak escaping his mouth, he scrambled as far away as the twin bed allowed, heart beating out of his chest.

When Lupin brought his hands up in a show of peace, the Slytherin flinched, seeing only claws and fur where there were currently fingers and skin.

Lupin pulled his hands back to his chest. “Please, Regulus, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Hurt me anymore, you mean.”

The eyes coupled with the scars littering the Gryffindor’s body had painted a clear picture. Remus Lupin was a werewolf.

And now Regulus was too.

The younger boy’s face crumpled, and he buried it in his hands before Lupin could see his tears. The full magnitude of everything had yet to come crashing down, but he was still stuck with the feeling that his whole life had been turned upside down. He felt unbalanced and just as unsafe as he’d been in that tunnel.

“I don’t think there are enough ‘I’m sorrys’ in the world for what the wolf did,” Remus said, words heavy. “But I never meant to hurt you. When you change, you’re not yourself anymore. I usually only remember bits and pieces. Tastes, smells.”

“So you remember the taste of my blood,” Regulus said into his hands. He looked up just in time to see Lupin look away.

They sat there in silence for what felt like an eternity. Regulus had time to wonder where his brother was. As if having him there would fix anything.

Still, there was a part of him that just wanted Sirius to wrap his arms around him and make all the bad stuff go away for a few minutes. But he wasn’t a child anymore, and Sirius would likely rather be struck by lightning than hug his estranged brother.

Lupin was the one to break the silence. “I got bit when I was four. Have you ever heard of Fenrir Greyback?”

Paling, Regulus nodded.

A humorless smile ghosted over Lupin’s face. “Figured. Well, my da said some stuff about him and werewolves in general in the Daily Prophet that Greyback didn’t like, so he snuck in my bedroom window one night and turned me.

“I don’t remember much of it. Just pain and teeth. I don’t really remember what it’s like to not be a werewolf either, since I was so young. Being what I am, I never thought I’d get to go to Hogwarts. But Dumbledore came to my parents, set up everything with the Whomping Willow and the Shrieking Shack.”

“Thank Merlin for that,” Regulus said sarcastically. “I’d hate to think where we’d be if you’d never set foot on Hogwarts’ soil.”

Sighing, Lupin said, “The wolf is only a danger to itself locked up alone. No one was supposed to be in the shack. It was supposed to be a secret.”

“I guess Snape didn’t get the memo.”

Lupin pursed his lips. “James, Sirius, and Peter already went to Dumbledore about Snape. They’ll keep you out of it. We’re the only ones that know what happened in the tunnel.”

There was something angry about how Lupin said his brother’s name, but Regulus didn’t comment.

“Is that why they didn’t take me to the hospital wing? To keep you out of trouble?”

“Partially, probably,” Lupin said, wincing. “But there’s also…do you know about the Werewolf Registry?”

Regulus shook his head, a feeling of dread spreading throughout his body, making him feel cold.

“Well, it’s basically a list the Ministry keeps of all the British werewolves and their locations. It’s mandatory, and it’s public record, so–”

“Public? Like–” The Slytherin shrieked, voice high with tension. Without regard for his shoulder or other wounds, he leaped up from the bed. Only Lupin’s grip on his forearm kept him from storming out of the room.

“Public like potential employers, anti-werewolf fanatics….” Lupin trailed off when Regulus started to struggle more against his hold, sensing he wasn’t helping the situation.

My family would know, Regulus thought, terror in his veins. They’d be able to see my name amongst other half-breeds.

“Calm down, Reg, you’re not going on it. I’m not on it either. We don’t have to tell the Ministry about you, but we do have to tell the professors. They’ll recognize the signs anyway, and you’ll need to be escorted to and from the shack each full.”

Regulus ripped his arm from Lupin’s grasp, wincing as his shoulder screamed in protest. “Don’t call me Reg and don’t tell anyone about this, or I swear–”

Really, he couldn’t think of a threat with enough magnitude at the moment, so he settled for running out the door. Lupin called out for him to wait, that he was still injured, but he didn’t listen.

Once in the common room, he faltered upon seeing his brother and company sitting around the fireplace. Sirius’ eyes were puffy, and Regulus could see obvious tear tracts. Potter, ever the Gryffindor, was rubbing circles into the distraught boy’s back.

“Reg,” Potter sputtered, glancing towards the stairs Regulus had fled down. “You should be resting. You–”

Regulus plowed over whatever Potter was going to say. “Stay away from me,” he grit out, glancing between Sirius and James. “I blame all of you for this.”

He was out the door and halfway to the dungeons before any of the Gryffindor boys could think of a response.

Chapter Text

Regulus wished he could say that after he stormed out of Gryffindor tower, he only saw the Marauders at a distance. But every time he turned a corner for the next few days, one of his brothers’ cronies was there.

Pettigrew, short and plump, would shift nervously from foot to foot, open his mouth to talk to him, and then flee before he could do more than squeak. At least that was a laugh.

Lupin also had trouble actually speaking to Regulus. As soon as the older boy caught sight of the Slytherin, his gaze would drift to his shoulder, covered with jumpers and robes. Regulus didn’t want anything to do with the guilt and pity that would overtake Lupin’s expression, so he’d end up bearing his teeth like some kind of wounded animal.

Or like a werewolf, but he didn’t much like that thought.

“Reg—ulus,” Lupin said, wincing. “Just give me a few minutes. I know I’m the last person you want to talk to, but there are things you need to—“

By that point of the speech, he’d passed Lupin in the hall, leaving the older boy in his dust without breaking stride. The werewolf wouldn’t follow him. Probably trying to respect his boundaries.

After turning Regulus into a monster, it was too little, too late for respect or boundaries.

Potter was the worst of his ambushers. He wasn’t apprehensive or guilty; he was concerned, and Merlin, Regulus actually wanted to hurt him for it.

Potter also didn’t make the rookie mistake of cornering Regulus in the halls to and from class. He appeared just as the Slytherin sat down at a library table or reached the top of the Astronomy tower.

One night, tired of Regulus’ one-word answers and retreats, James joined the younger boy at the parapet, looking up at the stars.

“You have to show me your wounds,” James said after his customary greeting that involved too many terms of endearment and “Reggies.”

Angling his shoulder away, Regulus gritted, “Piss off, Potter.”

Instead of backing off and apologizing like he had every other time he’d pushed since the attack, the Gryffindor grabbed Regulus by the arms and forcefully turned him so they were face-to-face.

Regulus was too stunned to curse him out or just plain curse him.

“I will not piss off,” James said. “You’re going back to that place in a few days, and if that bite gets infected, you won’t live to see next term.”

Regulus looked away. Sirius was shining especially bright tonight. “Maybe that’s what I want.”

“Piss off,” James said cheerfully, tugging down the collar of his shirt to examine the bite. “You’re too stubborn to die, Regulus Black.”

Under a few layers of bandages, the wounds were as fresh as when he woke up. They were relatively clean, though, and after a few spells, James’ covered them back up and pulled his shirt into place.

“Any other articles of clothing you’d like me to remove for you?” The Gryffindor wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, and Regulus’ lips curved of their own volition.

“Don’t make me push you off this tower.”

The next morning, Regulus was back to avoiding his ambushers by any means. That included glancing around corners before he took them, though his classmates were starting to give him strange looks.

Sirius was never waiting for him behind a corner. Regulus wondered if his brother was too afraid to face him or if he didn’t care enough. He’d patched Regulus up after the attack. What else did Sirius really owe him?

Two days before the Hogwarts train left, Regulus found himself hiding out in the Prefects’ Bathroom, the only place he could guarantee a moment of peace. Lupin was the only one out of the four Gryffindor idiots that knew the password, and Regulus was pretty sure the older boy had enough sense not to barge in on him in the bath.

After filling up the pool-like tub with hot water and bubbles, he waded into the water with gritted teeth. The soap stung at his exposed wounds, but he didn’t put back on his bandages. He hadn’t felt truly clean since the wolf flung him into the dirt of the tunnel. A little stinging was nothing compared to his peace of mind.

He let his head fall back against the edge of the tub with a thunk. With a deep breath, he started to count the stones on the ceiling and let his mind drift. A warm, safe haze overtook him.

After an undetermined amount of time, Regulus started to notice that the water around him was cooling, meaning the heating charm had worn off. When he looked down from the ceiling, he saw that most of the bubbles had dissolved, leaving clear water behind.

For the first time since the full moon, his reflection assaulted his eyes. His features were too blurry to make much of but the giant, gory bite on his shoulder appeared in crystal clear detail. He could see each individual tooth indent into his pale skin.

His view swam but not because of the water. Rather, traitorous tears had filled his eyes. He hadn’t loved looking at his reflection before. In his opinion, he was a little too pale and puny to stand up to his brother’s good looks. Still, he’d been able to face himself in the mirror without crying like a little girl. Now, that too had been taken from him along with what little sense of self he had.

His safety had also been snatched away, he thought with a pathetic sniff. If his mother were to see even a single claw mark, he’d be joining his relatives in the Black mausoleum.

Or maybe she wouldn’t even do him that kindness. Did a half-breed really deserve more than a painful death and an unmarked grave?

Regulus vanished the water surrounding him with a wave of his hand. If only his troubling thoughts were as easy to get rid of.

In fact, he was so consumed with his own misery that he didn’t think to peek outside of the bathroom before leaving and walked straight into the four people he least wanted to see.

“I figured you wouldn’t ambush me in the bath,” Regulus said to Lupin, who seemed to be standing as far away from his brother as possible without giving Regulus a gap to escape through. “Clearly, I gave you too much credit. I always knew my trusting nature would be my downfall.”

Potter laughed, as the Slytherin knew he would. “You Blacks, so dramatic.”

Glowering, Sirius promptly kicked his best friend in the shin and then went back to studying his shoelaces like they were going to appear on his N.E.W.Ts.

Lupin cleared his throat. “We’re sorry to corner you, but you haven’t given us much of a choice.”

“Well, it’s not the worst thing I’ve had done to me this week.”

The other werewolf winced at that but refused to look away or rise to the bait. Sirius, on the other hand, was never above arguing with his brother.

“Oi, be fair, Reg,” Sirius said. “You know that wasn’t Moony’s fault.”

“Shut up, Sirius,” Lupin said, a growl in his voice that had Regulus taking an unconscious step backward. “He can feel how he wants. He’s the victim here.”

Regulus had the strange feeling that they were no longer talking about him, and he wondered if he could use the lull to slip away. His brother seemed to be blinking back tears while Potter and Pettigrew looked between their two warring friends with uncomfortable expressions.

When Regulus started edging away, James stepped forward. “Reggie, please. We need to talk about where you’re going this summer.”

The nickname earned the Gryffindor a sharp, questioning look from Sirius, but Regulus barely noticed, a flash of anger overtaking his mood.

“Where I’m going?” he said in disbelief. “I’m going home. Same place I go every summer. Nothing has changed.”

Sirius sputtered. “You–you can’t be serious. What–they’ll–the rugs, Reg.”

While the Gryffindors looked at his brother like he’d grown a second head, Regulus fought to school his expression. Grimmauld place had its fair share of dark artifacts and heirlooms that dated back centuries. It also contained not one, not two, but three werewolf-skin rugs that his ancestors had apparently acquired from live creatures they found on the full moon. Mother liked to use the one in the foyer as a conversation piece.

“I think what Sirius is trying to say is if my parents find out, they’ll hunt me for sport and use my pelt as a rug.”

“Yes!” Sirius clapped his hands together in frustration. “Why the fuck would you want to go back to them?”

Seeming to sense incoming conflict, Lupin slid in between the brothers. “Even if your parents weren’t–well, the way they are–”

“And how, exactly, are my parents?” Regulus grit out, tired of three random Gryffindors talking down about his family.

Lupin continued as if Regulus hadn’t spoken. “What are you going to do about full moons at Grimmauld? You’ll need somewhere safe and secure, and–”

“Allow me to be clear and a little hostile because it seems like that’s all you people understand,” Regulus said. “I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to see you. I’ll be going home to my parents for the summer, but even if I wasn’t, nothing that happens with me or to me is any of your business.”

For the next two days, the Gryffindorks continued to try and speak with Regulus, but he started hexing on sight. He found that afforded him the most peace.

It was a relief when he was finally able to board the Hogwarts Express, finding an empty compartment and warding the door.

The ride was uneventful, though his heart rate seemed to increase with every mile closer he got to Grimmauld Place. When the train was only a few minutes away from pulling into the station, he grabbed his trunk and headed towards the front of the train, hoping to avoid his brother and company.

He was only partially successful.

“Just give me two minutes and then you can curse me into next week,” Potter said, jerking up straight from the compartment he’d been leaning against.

Regulus wasn’t 17 yet, so cursing Potter would violate the statute for underage magic. However, he didn’t see any reason to remind the Gryffindor of this.

“Fine, but if you’re not gone at the end of those two minutes, I’m breaking out the unforgivables.”

There were stress lines marring the older boy’s face, but a grin broke out at that moment. “No need to resort to the Imperius. I’m your willing slave day or night.”

“One minute.”

James held up his hands in a show of peace. “Ok, ok, wait. I know you want me to shut up and leave you alone, but just please consider coming back to mine for the break.”

“James–”

The boy rushed through his words, likely thinking Regulus was about to go for his wand. “I want you to be safe. I need you to be safe. Please, Reg, I know you don’t like people talking about your family, but they’re not safe for you. Especially not now.”

The train whistled and started to slow to a stop.

“Your two minutes are up,” Regulus said quietly as compartments started to open, students flooding the hall.

James swallowed. “If you’re in trouble, come to me. Come to Sirius. There’s always a room for you at Potter Manor.”

“Goodbye, James. I’ll see you in September.”

Chapter Text

For better or worse, Regulus was alone at Grimmauld for the next few weeks before his parents returned from France. He was generally in favor of residing on separate continents, but being alone in the house with only Kreacher as company started to get to him around week two. He’d been given too much time to think.

Three days before his first full moon, Regulus came face-to-face with what he’d been avoiding. On the way back to his room from the kitchen, he tripped and fell onto Grimmauld’s premiere werewolf rug. The fur was dark and coarse against his pale, tender skin. He ran his trembling fingers over it.

For the first time, he wondered who the person behind the fur had been.

“Is young Master Regulus alright?” Kreacher’s doleful, scratchy voice pulled him away from his thoughts.

With effort, he smiled at the saggy elf, his only true friend in the world. “I’m alright, Kreacher. But I need something from you.”

The elf brightened at having something to do. “Kreacher will do anything for Master Regulus.”

Regulus was about to test that promise. He asked Kreacher to clear the basement of everything that was in storage, shove it into the attic or get rid of it. The elf seemed a little hesitant, but did as asked over the next couple of days.

While Kreacher was clearing, Regulus could feel his humanity slipping. His body ached and twinged, and his teeth grew sharper, slicing into his tongue when he wasn’t careful with them. He had Kreacher draw him dozens of cold baths, trying to ease the fever wrecking his body.

His temper also took a turn for the worst, and he found himself snapping at Kreacher when the elf would ask him endless questions about the heirlooms being moved.

“I need to you lock me in the basement tonight with your magic,” Regulus said gravely when the time came.

“Kreacher couldn’t possibly–”

“Please, old friend. This is an order. You need to keep me in the basement until sunrise. No matter what I say or what you may hear, don’t let me out. Do you understand?”

The house elf nodded, though his skinny fingers worried at his tattered pillowcase.

Regulus rested a hot hand on the elf’s shoulder. “One more thing, and this is the most important bit. If I do get out, promise me you’ll leave Grimmauld. Hide somewhere until morning.”

“Kreacher can’t leave young Master Regulus to fend for himself.” He shook his head vigorously, ears flapping. “Kreacher is not doing it.”

“That’s an order, Kreacher. You’re to leave me behind and save yourself if it comes to that.”

Eventually, Kreacher agreed, and before Regulus knew it, the time to go into the basement arrived. He gave the house elf a frozen smile before slamming the door closed on himself.

Without any candles or windows, the room was pitch black. For a few minutes before his eyes adjusted, Regulus just stood in total darkness, arms wrapped around his middle. For all the heat his body was giving off, he suddenly felt cold.

He couldn’t see the moon, but he could feel it in a way he couldn’t explain. It was like an awareness and a countdown he really didn’t want. Couldn’t this be like ripping off a bandage? Did he have to suffer before, during, and after?

If Regulus thought he’d felt like an animal all week, it was nothing compared to now. He was a being, a creature, just wearing a Regulus suit. His thoughts scattered around like prey running through a forest, and he couldn’t hold onto who he was.

When the moon reached its peak, Regulus’ bones started to shift and splinter. He couldn’t hold back the scream as his spine cracked in half and elongated. It was worse than a thousand werewolf bites. In his last moments before the wolf took over completely, he wished he’d thrown himself off the Astronomy Tower when he had a chance.

One moment Regulus was gone, and the next, he was opening his eyes to a dark room covered in claw marks. He felt blood pooling beneath him. Just breathing pulled at the wounds littering his body. His cheek burned like someone took a whip to it, so he stayed curled up on the dirty floor, whimpering pathetically.

While he was no longer the wolf, he didn’t quite feel like Regulus yet. A fog covered his mind, and he couldn’t quite catch up with reality.

Eventually, Kreacher came in and started to tend to his wounds. They wouldn’t close magically, so the old elf had to fetch dittany.

“What you must think of me,” Regulus said, voice barely a whisper. “Please don’t tell my parents.”

Kreacher didn’t pause in cleaning and bandaging. “Kreacher is not knowing what young Master Regulus is talking about. Kreacher knows nothing to tell Mistress Walburga and Master Orion.”

“Thank you,” Regulus managed to force out around the lump in his throat.

Once the danger of bleeding out right there on the floor passed, Regulus found himself lifted with elf magic and transported to his bedroom. On the way though the halls, he came upon a mirror and caught a glimpse of his face. A deep, red claw mark ran from the bridge of his nose to his cheek.

The fog hadn’t lifted, so he didn’t know how he felt about the marring of his face. Kreacher didn’t pause, however, so the mirror was soon out of sight again.

Almost immediately after the elf laid Regulus’ body on his bed, he was drifting off to a place between sleep and consciousness, not committing to either state.

In his mind’s eye, a hazy version of Hogwarts appeared.

“Disgusting,” James said, glaring at the werewolf scratch on his face. “You’re a monster, and everyone can see it now.”

The other boy stepped back when Regulus tried to move towards him, reaching out his scared arm in an abortive move.

“How could someone like me love someone like you?”

In all the time he’d loved James, Regulus had never once thought himself good enough for the older boy. He was too Slytherin, too abrasive. He was nothing but a shadow of a person. If James ever deigned to really touch him, he’d flitter away like smoke.

Still, he must have been holding some hope, because the bite on his shoulder was the last nail in the coffin for any kind of life with James. If he was nothing before, he was less than that now.

As much as he walked around with his nose up in the air, he wasn’t fit to lick James’ boots.

When Regulus opened his eyes again, his mother was standing in his room. His mind still addled from the transformation, he continued to lie there, thinking this was an extension of his earlier nightmare. A remix.

“Your father and I have been home for hours, you slovenly boy,” she said, lips curling in distaste at the sight of his trunk strewn on the floor. “Did you think you could hide away in your room all summer?”

This is part of the dream, he thought. His parents weren’t supposed to be home until that evening. He’d only been in bed for a few minutes. An hour, at most.

“Kreacher!” Walburga’s sharp voice, made her son flinch. When the old elf appeared near the open bedroom door with a crack, she continued. “Clean up this mess. This room isn’t fit for a Black heir.”

Whipping out her wand, she cast a quick stinging hex at Regulus, as a warning. “You will behave this summer. Or you will regret it. I won’t have you shamming this house in the eyes of our lord.”

The hex, tame in comparison to some of her other punishments, hit an open wound on his stomach, and he cried out. The sharp movement of his mouth split the scabbing cut on his face wide open again, blood running down his cheek and onto his neck in a matter of seconds.

Seemingly for the first time since entering the room, his mother focused on Regulus, taking in his visible scratches and disheveled appearance.

“Just what have you done to your face, you careless louse?” She took a step closer to the bed, eyes narrowed to slits.

Without conscious thought, Regulus’ eyes drifted towards his afflicted shoulder. It was only a flicker, a fraction of a second, but Walburga saw.

It’s not real, he thought as his mother stalked across the room. This can’t be real.

Regulus didn’t have a chance to shield himself before Walburga grabbed the collar of his jumper, yanking it down to reveal the bitemark. The teeth imprints were still raw and looked angry under the harsh light of the bedroom.

Almost comically, the woman stumbled back, wiping the hand not holding her wand on her dress like it was covered in flesh-eating beetles. Her face soured.

“You….”

He’d never seen his mother lost for words. It was a pity he couldn’t enjoy it.

Reaching out for her, he said, “Please–please, I’m sorry. I’m still–”

She didn’t strike his hand away, rather removing herself to the edge of the room.

He’d become a contagion in her eyes. Filthy. A sob stuck in the boy’s throat, and he dropped his arm back to the bed.

With the sound of his pleading and misery, the anger on Walburga’s face smoothed over into icy nothingness. “You are not my son.”

“No–no, I am….I am.” Tears and blood were running down Regulus’ face by this point.

She shook her head minutely. “No. My son is dead.” Her wand came up, but Regulus’ barely noticed, still trying to find an inkling of love in her face. “I’d rather you dead than shame the Black name as a filthy half-breed.”

“Mother….” He put every last bit of pleading he had in his body into one word. Her expression didn’t even flicker.

With a steady hand, Walburga Black pointed her wand at her son’s chest.

“Avada Kedavra.”

There was a crack and then green light filled the room, blinding both Blacks for a few moments. When Regulus blinked, he saw Kreacher standing on the bed in front of him, facing Walburga. The next blink, Kreacher fell limply to the floor with a dull thud and moved no more.

The boy stared at his only friend’s crumpled body with numb disbelief. His brain hadn’t quite caught up with itself, but Regulus couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t supposed to happen this way. Kreacher wasn’t supposed to die for him. It should have been the other way around.

“Stupid elf,” his mother spit, raising her wand once again.

Stupid. Elf. Stupid elf. Stupidelfstupidelfstupidelf–

Regulus screamed, an inhuman sound that reverberated off the walls and sounded like pure rage and grief. The lights flickered, and everything he’d kept inside these past few weeks, the attack, the hopelessness, his first transformation, losing Kreacher, exploded out of his body with physical force.

His magic hit Walburga like a train, slamming her against the wall. Immediately after, she slid to the floor, eyes rolled back in her head but still breathing.

Unlike Kreacher.

Shoving that thought aside with brutal efficiency, Regulus grabbed his wand and limped out of his room. His whole body protested moving, joints and bones inflamed and stiff. Still, he practically flew down the grand staircase, actually tripping down the last few steps and scraping his already bruised knees.

He got back up and kept running, not daring to look back and see if mother or father were after him. He spilled out onto the dark, London streets and paused for a brief moment.

He didn’t know where to go, who to turn to. The only person who ever loved him was lying dead on his bedroom floor.

Steeling himself, he picked a direction at random and continued on. He put as many blocks between himself and Grimmauld as possible and tried not to think about how he was now completely and utterly alone in this world.

Chapter Text

Looking back, Regulus didn’t really remember the first week after leaving his parents’ house. Bits and pieces existed in his memory of wandering around Muggle London until coming upon the Leaky Caldron sometime after dawn. He didn’t have any money on him, so he had to summon a few rolls and a slice of meat from the kitchen when no one was looking. He scarfed it down around back near the reeking dumpster to remain out of sight.

Little bits of underage magic could go unnoticed in a magical place like Diagon Alley, but he couldn’t stay there for long. People would start to notice an unwashed, unaccompanied teenager after a while. Especially if he was recognized as the Black heir.

Former Black heir.

He found isolated areas in the less-populated Diagon-area where he could curl up on an out-of-the-way bench or hidden nook for the night. During his waking hours, he spent most of his time in a daze, thinking of Kreacher and whether keeping himself alive was worth all this strife.

But he kept eating where he could, despite his dark thoughts. The old house elf gave up his life to save Regulus. Wasting away seemed like a pretty poor way to repay him.

When he found the mental energy to contemplate his situation, he thought about running to his brother and James. If he closed his eyes, he could picture a warm hearth, the handmade sweaters both boys wore around Christmas, and a table full of Mrs. Potter’s spicy dishes that James had described to him time and time again.

These fantasies were especially alluring when he was cold and hungry, which was most nights, once the sun set. If there weren’t any adult wizards around, he couldn’t risk a warming charm without bringing the ministry down on his head. Though, he’d probably get three square meals in Azkaban.

Inevitably, he would discard all plans of going to the Potters. Chief on his concerns: his mother tracking him down, endangering himself and everyone in the house. As long as he breathed, Regulus threatened to sully the Black family name. He’d be surprised if she allowed him to see another full moon.

The thought of a full moon always reminded him that his mother wasn’t the only threat to the Pottters if he joined their household; they’d have a werewolf on their hands. As much as he resented his brother for his abandonment and ignoring him all these years, Regulus didn’t want to ruin the life Sirius had built for himself with his mere presence.

Apart from Sirius, he’d ruled out turning to the rest of his family. Bellatrix would sooner kill him than shelter him, and she wouldn’t be as quick and merciful as Mother. Though he believed Narcissa cared a bit about him, she was living in Malfoy Manor now. Lucius wouldn’t let the likes of Regulus taint those ancestral halls.

Andromeda might have taken him in, once upon a time. But it’d be unfair to put her in danger now that she was finally free of the Blacks. Besides, they hadn’t exchanged letters in years.

Truly on his own, Regulus hung around Diagon Alley for most of the first month, sleeping on the streets and stealing just enough to keep himself alive. The time passed quickly, and before he knew it, he was staring down the reality of another full moon.

He knew he needed to find somewhere secure to transform, and quickly. He’d Avada himself before he’d inflict this curse on anyone else. In honor of Kreacher’s sacrifice, he hoped it wouldn't come to that.

The day before the full moon, Regulus found himself in Burgon and Burk’s, trying not to look like a ruffian. By anyone’s definition, he was one, but he needed to look mundane enough not to be kicked out before he could access the fireplace.

He swiped a handful of floo powder, and threw it into the flames. Quietly, so he wouldn’t be followed, Regulus muttered, “The Three Broomsticks.”

After swirling through the heat of the floo network, which didn’t do wonders for his achey body, he was spit out onto the floor of the bar.

The man behind the counter barely spared him a glance. “We’re not serving underage wizards today, kid.”

“No problem,” he said, struggling to his feet, a wave of light-headedness crashing over him. “Don’t have any money anyway.”

Instead of heading straight for the Shrieking Shack, Regulus stuck around Hogsmeade for a few hours, swiping whatever food he can get his hands on. At one point, an elderly woman with rosy cheeks saw him drooling at the window of a bakery and tossed him a few knuts. Her pitying gaze made him feel about two feet tall. His pride wanted to spit on her money, but if the last moon was anything to go on, he’d need food stashed away. Without Kreacher, he could be laid up for days.

So he swallowed his bitter words and took the knuts. There wasn’t much in the bakery that he could afford with his unforeseen landfall, but he fished a few loaves out of the day-old bread bin.

The sun was still a few hours away from setting when Regulus started for the shack. Its intimating shadow stood resolute against the backdrop of the Forbidden Forest, and he grew colder and colder the closer he got.

Crossing the threshold presented more of a challenge than he’d anticipated. It took minutes of standing on the rickety porch before he regained control of his feet.

Once the door slammed shut behind him, he came face-to-face with a wall sporting deep gauges made by five claws.

“At least I know I’m in the right place,” he said to himself, trying to break up the eerie silence in the house.

After a quick walk-through of the first floor, which contained too much dusty furniture for his taste, he headed up the condemned stairs to a far more open bedroom. He had no doubt that the wolf would tear into whatever was handy, and he didn’t want to leave more evidence of his visit than necessary. At least in this bedroom, there was only a busted bed and a leaning table to destroy.

After a little further investigation, Regulus found a loose floorboard near the door. He pried it up and shoved the spread and scraps he’d been able to ferret away today. After a month of living on the street, he barely even winced as the food touched the dirt and dust hiding under the floor. If he was lucky, food poisoning would get him before his mother did.

With the floorboard back in place and the food safely hidden, he leaned against the bed and risked casting a quick tempus. It was still a few hours before moon rise. With a sigh, Regulus made himself comfortable on the creaky floor and tried to get a few extra minutes of sleep before the wolf tore him apart again.

The first thing Regulus became aware of after the moon set was that he wasn’t alone in the Shrieking Shack. Secondly, he realized he’d been bitten again, this time on his forearm.

“Really, Lupin,” Regulus said, voice a mere rasp. “Once could be an accident. Twice is a troubling pattern.”

The older boy, naked and kneeling a scant foot away from Regulus, winced. “Sorry about that. And for–for invading your space, I guess. I know you want to be left alone.”

Merely humming at the boy’s words, he studied his new wound as best he could in the dim lighting. Really, it was more of a lovebite than anything. The teeth indents were hardly bleeding.

“I think I’m the one invading your space actually,” Regulus said, surprising Lupin, if the other boy’s expression was anything to go on.

All the Slytherin’s stubbornness and hurt where the other werewolf was concerned was gone. The Regulus who had spit venomous words at Lupin and his friends didn’t exist anymore. There wasn’t enough fight left in him.

“I don’t remember you coming in…before,” Regulus said after a moment of silence, still flat on his back.

“I only got here half an hour before the transformation,” he said. “You were still asleep. I didn’t want to wake you. It’s…easier if you don’t see it coming.”

Memories of bones breaking and his spine twisting in agony had Regulus tensing. Lupin, seemingly reading his mind, said, “Easier. Not easy.”

As tempting as it was to lie on the floor of the Shrieking Shack forever, Regulus sat up and then tried to heave himself to his feet. His body protested violently and a fog clouded over his vision. Next thing he knew, he was flat on his back again with Lupin looking down at him with worried eyes.

“Are you alright? You’re not hurt anywhere, are you?”

“Never better,” Regulus muttered. Instead of attempting to get up again, he surged onto his hands and knees and crawled towards the door. He only made it a few feet, however, when he realized the loose floorboard had been flipped on its side and the food he’d hidden was gone.

Kneeling over the empty cubby, he closed his eyes for a few moments, hoping when he opened them again, a loaf of stale bread would be there. No such luck.

“They ate it. The wolves ate it all,” he said numbly.

He felt rather than heard Lupin shuffle over toward him. “Ate it? You mean food? Yeah, you can’t lock anything edible in with yourself during the transformation. The wolf will find it.”

Collapsing back onto his bottom, Regulus let his head hang in defeat. “It was all I had. I don’t–”

How could I be so stupid? Why didn’t I hide the food outside? Tears welled in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. Maybe once he was alone again, he’d allow himself a few moments to break down.

After a few minutes of silence, Lupin said hesitantly from behind him. “Maybe you could have your elf whip something up. Sirius used to talk about him sometimes. Kritter, right?”

“Kreacher.” The correction exploded out of him like accidental magic. “And…he’s gone.”

It was the first time Regulus had said it out loud, the first time he truly admitted his elf was dead. It felt like a weight was lifted from his shoulders right as a new, heavier one was tacked on.

He started to cry, and he didn’t stop. Before long, his breaths were coming in harried pants, struggling to get enough air as tears poured down his face. Distantly, he was aware of Lupin whispering soothing nothings to him, but he couldn’t be consoled.

“I–I w-was going to eat–eat that b-bread.”

Through his tears, he watched Lupin scratch the back of his head. “Er–I’ll buy you a new loaf of bread. Ten loaves, even, just please don’t cry, Reg.”

Slowly, Regulus fought to regain control, equal parts devastated and embarrassed at breaking down in front of his brother’s friend. His voice, when he calmed enough to speak, wobbled. “I guess it’s silly to cry over spilled bread.”

Lupin, showing an astounding amount of wit for someone that hung out with Sirius, said, “I don’t think you’re crying about the bread, Regulus.”

With what little energy the young boy had left, he tensed, calculating the remaining distance to the door.

Lupin held up his hands in a show of peace. “You don’t have to say anything. Just listen for a moment. I’m trying to give you your space here, but you look like shit.”

“Thanks.”

Rolling his eyes, Lupin continued, “You’re dirty, your hair’s overgrown, and seriously, I think I can count every single rib you have. You’re clearly going through something, and I don’t mean being turned into a werewolf. At least not entirely. Plus…” The Gryffindor bit his lip. “Well, you were ready to eat bread that’d been sitting in dirt, dust, and who knows what else all night.”

“Was there a point to me sitting through all that?” Regulus’ voice was surprisingly dry, though his eyes were still red.

“Yes,” Lupin said simply. “Reg, I’ve gotta ask…are things alright at home?”

Home, Regulus thought, wistful. It’d only been a month, but it was hard to even remember what having a safe heaven felt like. Maybe because Grimmauld was never safe for him, even before he grew fur and claws.

But he certainly wasn’t going to share any of that with the Gryffindor.

This time, when he struggled to his feet, he stayed upright. The transition took too long because Lupin had enough time to beat him to a standing position and move to block the door.

“Wait, wait, please,” he said, a drop of desperation coloring his words. “Come home with me.”

Regulus couldn’t have heard him correctly.

“Just for a night or two,” Lupin said, seeming to pick up on the other boy’s incredulity. “You can sleep in a nice, warm bed, and we’ll feed you all the loaves of bread you want.”

“I don’t need your charity.” The Slytherin went to bite out the words, but instead, they just sounded hollow and tired.

“It’s not charity. I owe you, really.” A sheepish grin overtook the boy’s face, pulling at a couple of scars. “There’s a 50/50 chance I ate that food last night.”

And really, what was Regulus to do with that? He had no money, nowhere to go, and he didn’t have the strength to find either of those things after the full moon. He either went with Lupin, or he lied down on the dirty floorboards and died.

“One night, one meal,” Regulus said slowly, already regretting the words. “After that, I’m gone.”

Chapter Text

As Lupin had already turned seventeen, he was able to aparate Regulus and himself to a small cottage on the outskirts of Wales. The house was two floors and leaned heavily to the left with a small vegetable garden around the back. From what Regulus could see, there wasn’t a neighbor for miles.

“So, this is home,” Lupin said as he opened the front door to reveal a cramped but homey living room. A newspaper Regulus didn’t recognize was folded up on the coffee table. With a start, he realized the black and white pictures weren’t moving.

The older boy walked halfway into the room. His hand fell over a rip on the green couch self-consciously. “It’s probably a bit small compared to what you’re used to.”

Lupin seemed to be waiting for a response, so Regulus simply said, “Yes.”

Because what else could he say? He truly didn’t know what to make of this shack the Lupins lived in, and he was too world-weary to pretend to be comfortable. Why should he expend the effort to put the older werewolf at ease?

“Right,” Lupin said. “My room’s upstairs. Da has probably left for work by now, but Mum should be around here somewhere.”
With that, Lupin took off towards the back of the house with Regulus in tow.

When the pair of werewolves entered a small, dingy kitchen that overlooked the back garden, they found a short woman with laugh lines and Lupin’s eyes. She seemed to be making a pie, which was too strange for Regulus’ mind to make sense of after the night he just had. His own mother had never stepped foot in a kitchen in her whole life.

Mrs. Lupin was half turned away from the entrance, eyes on the crust she was rolling out. “Before you sit, dear, could you grab me the extra bag of flour? I’ve underestimated these sticky counters again.”

While Lupin moved over to the cupboard to do his mother’s bidding, the woman turned toward her son and, by extension, Regulus. “How was–oh.” She blinked at the stranger in her kitchen. “Hello, dear. I didn’t know Remus had invited company.”

Mrs. Lupin shot her son an annoyed expression, to which Lupin only scratched his head sheepishly. Regulus, however, went cold. He realized now that Lupin had never sent along any sort of message. How could he have just walked into these people’s house uninvited?

“I should go,” Regulus blurted out before the hexing could start.

He started to back out of the room, but Lupin grabbed him by the arm. “No, wait–”

Ignoring her son’s panic, Mrs. Lupin breezed by Lupin and took Regulus in her unyielding arms. She pulled him to the uneven, wooden dining table and sat him down in a mismatched chair.

“Codswallop,” she said. “You haven’t even had breakfast. I’ll whip something up, shall I?”

She didn’t wait for a response, turning back to the counters and contraptions without fear that he would run off. Her will was absolute, and there was no escape for Regulus. Though there was no escape, there was also no pain. Yet.

While Mrs. Lupin prepared enough food to feed an army, Lupin joined Regulus at the table and started to fill his mother in on last night. His version of events was a lot different from Regulus’. The Gryffindor glossed over the breakdown, the tears, and the bargaining it’d taken to get the Slytherin into this house.

“...so since Regulus didn’t have any plans, I invited him to stay with us for a few days.”

“That sounds lovely, annwyl,” she said, sounding like she didn’t believe a word coming out of her son’s mouth. Instead of anger, her mouth turned up with bemusement and affection. “I know you get lonely without your friends over the summer.”

Lupin tensed for some reason, but all he said was “Well, now a friend can come to me.”

Mrs. Lupin hummed and brought out a pan for bacon. Behind her, Regulus raised his eyebrow at the mention of the word “friend.” Lupin, in a rare show of defiance, grinned, unrepentant.

“One meal and we’re friends,” Regulus said, far too quiet for Mrs. Lupin to hear. “I shudder to think what liberties you’ll take after a night together.”

“Don’t worry. Your virtue is safe with me.” Lupin wiggled his eyebrows. “I wouldn’t want to step on James’ toes so to speak.”

Regulus went bright red at that. He didn’t get a chance to ask what Lupin meant because Mrs. Lupin turned and carried over half a dozen plates overflowing with food.

Merlin, there was a plate filled with just bacon and another with eggs. The smell hit him like a ton of bricks, and he was grateful to be sitting because he would have keeled right over in front of Mrs. Lupin. It was embarrassing enough that his stomach grumbled loud enough for both Lupins to blink in surprise.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Mrs. Lupin said as she placed the plates between the two boys. “Remus is always starved first thing in the morning too.”

Back when Regulus had access to regular meals, he’d often stick to just black coffee for breakfast, his appetite not kicking in until lunch. Now, he couldn’t imagine skipping a meal. When he got back to Hogwarts, he planned to practically live in the kitchens.

Both boys fell upon the feast like ravenous pigs. In between shoveling food into his mouth, Regulus noted that Remus saved the lion’s share for the younger boy. He didn’t know what to make of it, but he was too hungry to question the Gryffindor’s motives.

When all the food was gone, Remus made to help his mother with the dishes. Regulus froze, panicking inside because he didn’t know his role here. How did one wash a dish?

To his relief, Mrs. Lupin waved her son away. “I’ve got these.” She brushed the hair from his forehead with a gentle motion. “You look beat, dear. Why don’t you and Regulus catch a nap? I’ll call you down for lunch.”

Lupin led him up the stairs and into the last room at the end of the hall. The older boy’s bedroom had a single, twin bed with flannel sheets. The rest of the available wall space was filled with tall, mismatched wood bookcases and a desk that was barely big enough to fit one chair and was covered in opened letters and discarded quills.

The older boy pulled some spare bedding out from under his bed and laid it directly on the floor. “I’ll sleep down here. You can take the bed.”

Regulus hesitated. He wasn’t sure what manners dictated in this situation. Was he supposed to insist on the floor? His aching joints didn’t like the sound of that.

A half smile spread across Lupin’s face at the younger boy’s hesitation. “Just take the bed. I’ll probably be too wound up to sleep much anyway. From the look of the bags under your eyes, I don’t think you’ll have the same problem.”

He was right. Regulus was practically falling asleep on his feet already. He felt warm and full for the first time in weeks, and the bed, while unmade, looked more comfortable than anything he’d slept on since leaving Grimmauld.

“I suppose giving me your bed is the least you can do, Lupin,” Regulus said, turning up his nose while he adjusted the comforter.

“You’re sleeping in my bed, Black,” Lupin mocked. He plopped down onto his makeshift nest. “Seems like you could call me by my first name.”

“Wouldn’t want you to think we’re friends.”

Regulus slept on and off for the rest of the day, while Lupin read through a couple of tattered books. Both boys briefly joined Mrs. Lupin for lunch before being shooed back upstairs to relax some more.

“Isn’t your mother going to be upset we’re lazying about?” Regulus asked once they were alone, and he’d found the courage.

Lupin turned the page on the mustard-yellow paperback he held. “What else should we be doing?”

“I don’t know,” Regulus mumbled, going back to staring at the ceiling. “Something–something befitting…?” He’d been about to say “something befitting a Black heir”, but stopped himself just in time.

He wasn’t the Black heir anymore. With a pang in his chest, he supposed he wasn’t even a Black.

Instead of commenting on Regulus’ obvious discomfort, Lupin said dryly, “We only practice calligraphy and walking around with books atop our heads on Wednesdays.”

Regulus had the feeling the other boy was joking but couldn’t be sure.

The next time the boys left Lupin’s room, it was for dinner. The table was set for four, but only Lupin, Regulus, and Mrs. Lupin sat around the pot roast.

At Regulus’ questioning glance, Lupin looked over at the empty chair at the head of the table. “We’re waiting for Da.”

Something in the older boy’s voice put Regulus on edge in a way he hadn’t been most of the day. It was like settling back into an old, familiar piece of clothing.

“He must be running a few minutes late,” Mrs. Lupin mused but made no move to start dinner.

Before the food had a chance to fully cool, a tall man with sandy hair and meticulously mended robes walked through the front door. He dropped his briefcase by the coat tree with a clunk and shrugged off his outer layer.

“There was a mess of boggarts found over in Surrey today,” Mr. Lupin said as he joined them in the kitchen. “Took Prickle and I almost four hours to dispatch them all.”

The man plopped down into his chair with a big sigh and seemed to do a double take when he spotted Regulus in the chair to the right of his son. “Who are you, then?”

Mrs. Lupin saved him from having to respond. “This is Regulus, one of Remus’ friends. I sent a letter to your office this morning, but you must have been in the field.”

For a moment, Mr. Lupin just studied the Slytherin. “Regulus, huh? That’s a star, isn’t it?” He tapped a finger against the table edge. “Interesting name.”

Regulus swallowed hard around the lump in his throat. “Yes, sir.”

“Interesting scar you’ve got there too.”

Unconsciously, Regulus’ hand started to drift up towards the claw mark he’d left on his face during his first transformation.

“Da–” Lupin started, but his father held up a hand, effectively silencing the boy.

“I’m not running a halfway house for werewolves,” the older man spat.

His hatred-filled eyes pinned Regulus to his spot like a bug with a needle through the middle. His hands clenched and unclenched under the table.

He knew this was too good to be true. The shelter, the food, the warm looks Mrs. Lupin had gifted him all day. It was like a dream, and now he had to wake up.

Regulus half rose from his chair before Remus put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. The other werewolf’s focus wasn’t on Regulus, though. He was staring at his father with barely disguised animosity.

“You don’t want werewolves under your roof, fine,” the Gryffindor grit out. “But if Regulus goes then so do I.”

Feeling like he’d slipped into a parallel world, Regulus audibly gasped. Why would Lupin say that? Why would he challenge his father for some boy he barely knew? From what Regulus had seen, Mr. Lupin seemed to hold the same position of power in this house that Walburga held in Grimmauld.

Why was Remus putting himself in harm’s way for Regulus?

“Please,” Regulus said weakly, trying to push Remus’ hand off his shoulder. “I don’t want to cause any trouble for anyone.”

“Remus, Regulus,” Mrs. Lupin said, her voice level, “why don’t you take your plates upstairs? You can listen to some of Remus’ records and catch up while you eat.”

The older boy seemed reluctant to leave but eventually did as he was told. Regulus trailed behind him, off-balance. Why would they send him upstairs if he was leaving? Why were they feeding him again if Mr. Lupin forbade it?

“You can eat on the bed,” Remus said quietly once the door had closed behind them. “We can always scourgify the sheets later.”

Regulus obeyed but didn’t make any moves toward his fork. Instead, he watched Remus put his own plate down on the desk and then fiddle with a slightly dented record player. Regulus had seen one once in a store window in muggle London.

“Why did you do that?” Regulus asked.

Remus replaced the record with a new one from his pile. “Do what?”

“Say those things. To your father. Are you like Sirius?”

Remus looked up sharply. “What do you mean by that?”

Shrugging, Regulus stared down at his roast. “Sirius used to talk back to Mother a lot, even when he knew it’d get him punished. He liked to be contrary for no reason.”

And then he’d hate me for not doing the same.

Remus let out a puff of air. “Let’s just table the Sirius discussion for another day.” Regulus expected that to be it, but the other boy continued. “I said those things because I meant them. If Da kicked you out, I’d go with.”

“Why?” Why would Remus throw all this way on a whim?

Remus shot him a shrewd look. “I’ve never met another werewolf before, so maybe this is the norm, but I feel like we’ve got to stick together. We’re not friends. But we could be.” He looked away. “I know you hate this–and I don’t blame you. For me, though, I think it’d be…nice…not to have to do all this alone anymore.”

Over the sound of music and through the thick walls, the boys heard two people yelling at each other. Regulus flinched while Remus winced.

“Don’t worry about Da, though. My mum will straighten him out.”

Regulus waited the rest of the night for someone to storm into Remus’ room and kick him out onto the street again. When the morning sun started to peak through the curtains, and he was still safe in Remus’ bed, he was surprised. Maybe he’d underestimated Mrs. Lupin’s power.

Chapter Text

When Regulus walked down with a barely-awake Lupin the next morning, he froze at the entrance to the kitchen at the sight of Mr. Lupin eating his eggs. The other man swallowed his last bite, grunted at the two boys, and then rushed off to work with his tail between his legs. That marked the most interaction Regulus would have with the man all summer.

Instead, he spent the last month before returning to Hogwarts surrounded by the other two Lupins. Mrs. Lupin–or Hope, as she wanted to be called–would feed the boys until their bellies bulged, enlist their help in the garden, and insist on cooking lessons for Regulus.

“You can’t send a child out into the world not knowing how to feed themselves,” the woman said sternly as she threw open the heavy door to the pantry. “How are you ever going to catch a wife if you can’t cook?”

Remus, unhelpful as ever, chuckled from the dining table where he watched on in amusement. “Yeah, Reg, how are you going to catch a wife?”

Regulus shot him a glare that could’ve dropped a lesser man dead on the spot.

“Why don’t you get off your bum and pick us a couple of courgettes from the garden, Remus John Lupin?” Hope said, raising an eyebrow at her son.

Once Remus was gone, Hope set to showing Regulus how to cut a few different vegetables and peel potatoes. He nicked his fingers a few times, but it was worth it to see the older woman’s smile and to hear her say how well he was doing.

“Why don’t you use magic for any of this?” Regulus asked as he cut. He’d only be underage for a few more months. Surely, he wouldn’t have to do too much cooking by hand before then.

Hope laughed, sounding a lot like her son. “I’d love to snap my fingers and never have to peel garlic again,” she said. “But I don’t have any magic.”

Almost dropping his knife, Regulus could do little more than blink in surprise.

“Remus didn’t mention I’m a muggle?” she asked kindly.

“No, sorry, I–not that it matters,” Regulus stumbled through his sentence. “I just didn’t know.”

Surprisingly enough, Regulus found that he meant those words. He’d never had much of an opinion about muggles, but he knew that whatever he might think about them, Hope was outside of all that. She’d taken him in without a second thought and made him feel completely at home.

In fact, sometimes, he almost felt like she lumped him in with Remus, like he was just another one of her boys. It was merely hopeful thinking on his part, but it was still nice to have something to feel hopeful about.

Outside of his activities with Hope, Regulus spent most of his time with Remus. With no other company around, they’d been forced to bond over books and sarcasm. Most afternoons found the boys reading a book, switching with the other, and then arguing about each book at length.

“You can’t seriously think Macbeth is blameless,” Remus exclaimed one afternoon.

“Not blameless,” Regulus said, “But he was clearly driven to murder by Lady Macbeth. He was trying to make her proud of him.”

Remus laughed, tossing said book onto the desk behind him. “Think you might be projecting a bit there, Reg.”

There was no push to the older boy’s words, though there was a bit of curiosity. Since that morning in the Shrieking Shack, they hadn’t discussed his mother, Grimmauld Place, or anything heavier than a Scottish play.

“Maybe,” Regulus allowed, voice becoming much more subdued.

Dinner was a quiet affair that night. Regulus had a lot on his mind, and everyone at the table seemed to pick up on that, keeping the small talk to a minimum.

That night, instead of turning to face the wall in Remus’ twin bed, he rolled over onto his other side and peered down at the still form of his friend on the floor. The candle had only been snuffed out a few minutes, so Regulus knew the other boy wasn’t asleep.

“She wanted me to join the Dark Lord,” the Slytherin found himself saying.

In a flash, Remus was sitting up ramrod-straight. “Wha–like a…?”

“A death eater,” Regulus nodded, knowing Remus’ wolf-eyes would be able to see, despite the dim lighting. “My mother wrote…I think it was supposed to happen this summer. I was trying to find a way out of it before the whole werewolf thing.”

“You would have wanted out of it?” Remus asked weakly.

“I don’t fancy a career murdering muggle-borns if that’s what you’re asking,” Regulus said. Was this why Remus hadn’t mentioned his mother was a muggle?

There was a pregnant pause. “So, what would you fancy a career in?”

Regulus could tell that this wasn’t what the other boy truly wanted to ask, but he was thankful for the change in subject anyway. “I don’t know, really. Until recently, I was just going to marry well, produce heirs, and sit on the Wizengamot.”

It went without saying that that future was off the table. Regulus didn’t quite know how to feel about it. There was relief, sure, but there was a certain comfort in having everything laid out for you.

“I’ve always wanted to work with books. Maybe at a shop or library,” Remus said, a little wistfully.

“Why don’t you?”

“It’s going to be hard holding a regular job, being what we are. I already miss a lot of school around the full moon,” he said. “Plus, well, there’s a war going on.”

He was right. There was. But Regulus hadn’t really thought about the war in terms of himself since leaving Grimmauld. He had no desire to fight–on either side. It surprised him to learn that Remus might not feel the same.

Fool-hardy Gryffindor, he thought with a shake of his head.

“Well, I think you’d be a brilliant librarian,” Regulus said after a moment. “You’d be able to reach the top-shelf books without a problem.”

Remus snorted. “Wanker.”

When September 1st rolled around, Hope saw them off with a hug and a kiss on the cheek at the front door. Mr. Lupin had long since left for work, but Regulus hadn’t expected any goodbyes or kisses from him.

“You will write me. Both of you,” she said, glancing between the two boys.

“We will, Mum,” Remus said, trying to shift away from the hands trying to smooth down his hair. He’d donned a messy, couldn’t-case-less look this morning. “Every week.”

“Oh, you’re such a little liar,” she said with a watery laugh. “You’ll write, won’t you, Regulus? You’re such a good boy.”

He hadn’t sent anyone a letter in years, but he nodded and solemnly promised to write every chance he got.

“Such a good boy,” she repeated with a sniff, and then she was shooing them off the property to aparate.

“She’s off to cry in the garden,” Remus said, amused, as they watched Hope softly close the front door.

Straightening in alarm, Regulus said, “She is?”

“Relax.” Remus half smiled. “She’s just going to miss us.”

Oh.

Remus grabbed onto Regulus, and Regulus grabbed onto the trunk he’d borrowed from an estranged uncle in the Lupin family tree. A blink later, they were on the 9 ¾ platform. Students and parents streamed past them toward the train. One excited first year almost ran over Remus’ foot, much the Regulus’ enjoyment.

Though it was a crisp, fall morning, the steam from the train started to overheat Regulus. Remus’ hand-me-down jumper hung to his knees and consisted of thick, unbreathable wool. Not for the first time, he wished he’d managed to grab more than just his wand on his way out of Grimmauld.

Before they could break a sweat or be accosted by more first-years, the two werewolves dragged themselves and their trunks onto the train. Once inside, however, Regulus froze, realizing he didn’t know his next move.

Every September since his first year, he’d found an empty compartment and read until they reached Hogsmeade. Now, however, the thought of being separated from Remus made his stomach churn. He’d come to rely on the older boy over the summer.

But he’d drown himself in the lake before he let the Gryffindor know.

“I guess you should go sit with your friends,” Regulus said awkwardly.

“Or you could just join us.”

Regulus pulled a sour face. “I’m not sharing a compartment with my brother. I didn’t survive the summer from hell just to throw myself off a moving train.”

An eyebrow popped up. “Lovely to hear, considering you spent a third of it at my house.”

“In your room more specifically, and I said what I said.”

Instead of joining his friends as Regulus told him to, Remus followed the younger boy into an empty compartment. The Gryffindor stored both of their trunks above their heads while making a crack about Regulus’ height. Then, he plopped down on the seat across from the Slytherin like he hadn’t a care in the world.

“You always sit with your band of Gryffindor idiots,” Regulus said after watching the show, frowning.

“Variety is the spice of life.” He looked up at the scowling younger boy and sighed. “Maybe I’d also rather throw myself from this train than sit with your brother.”

Not exactly the most couple-y thing to say, but Regulus didn’t get a chance to question this before James Potter crashed through the door to their compartment.

“Moony, what are you–Reg!” The bronze-skinned boy broke out into a grin. “Well, what do you know. Two of my favorite people in one compartment. Where’s my invitation?”

“Never sent,” Regulus grumbled while he fished around in his bag for a book to shield himself with.

James sprawled onto the seat next to Remus, ignoring the other boy’s personal space. His eyes and attention, however, were on Regulus.

“Is that…are you wearing Moony’s clothes?”

“Ours is a forbidden love.”

The Gryffindor’s eyes widened, and he glanced between the two werewolves doubtfully. Finally, Remus took pity on him.

“Regulus came to stay with me over the summer,” the boy said blandly.

“You left Grimmauld Place!” James looked like he was about to clap but then thought better of it. “But if you left, why didn’t you–”

Brandishing his wand, Regulus said. “You’ve used up your questions for the day. For the whole term, really. If you want to stay, you’ll have to shut your trap. Do you think you’re capable of that, Potter?”

“You’re still not 17, Reg,” Remus reminded him. “But yes, Prongs, let’s have a nice, peaceful ride into our seventh year. Would you like to borrow a book?”

“Er–no,” James said, looking rather put out. “I better go find–well, I should find–”

“The end of your sentence?” Regulus said.

Grinning, James reached across the compartment to ruffle the Slytherin’s hair. His touch sent shockwaves through Regulus’ body, thoroughly distracting him from his book.

“See you chaps in Hogsmeade.” The Potter heir made his exit before anyone could hex him.

“So threatening him with literature will make Potter leave,” Regulus mused. “That’s valuable information.”

“You know you closed your eyes when he touched your hair?” Remus didn’t glance up from his text. “Sickeningly cute.”

Slytherins had a bad reputation for being mean-spirited and unpleasant. In his six years at Hogwarts, Regulus had found this reputation to be mostly false. Within their own house, Slytherins were charming and tight-knit. After all, their unifying trait was ambition, not evil, as certain Gryffindors liked to think.

When Regulus returned for his sixth year with multiple scars and no title, he realized that he’d never experienced the snake pit as an outsider. The cool friendliness and distant comradery dried up the moment he stepped foot in the dungeons that September, and he got to see first-hand why the other houses thought them unpleasant.

Now, there seemed to be an invisible bubble keeping his fellow Slytherins a few feet away from him at all times. When he walked into a room, conversations stopped and multiple students stared at him like a circus sideshow act.

And they didn’t even know he grew claws and fur once a month.

Crouch and Rosier, usually cordial if nothing else, completely ignored him every time he was in their dorm room. He felt a little like the invisible man, though it was preferable to stares and whispers.

The rumors sped through Hogwarts’ halls like wildfire that first week. Every student had a theory about why he’d been disowned and why he’d shown up for classes in faded, patched robes with second-hand books. He heard one rumor while passing the Hufflepuff table that he and Remus were lovers who’d eloped in France over break.

“A Ravenclaw girl did ask me if you were planning on taking my last name in Herbology yesterday,” Remus said when Regulus shared this particular rumor with him. He grinned. “Should have told her we’re hyphenating.”

Remus’ glib irritated Regulus but never failed to cheer him up after a long day as a social pariah. Unfortunately, the Mauraders were starting their final NEWT year, and Regulus rarely saw any of them outside of meal times.

Last year, being left alone by Sirius and his idiot friends would have been cause for celebration. Now, it just shined a light on how lonely he’d been during his Hogwarts career. Going back to his old ways after spending weeks with Remus and Hope was proving to be harder than anticipated.

That first week, the one person who broke his solitude was the one person he wished would leave him alone.

“Oi, half-breed,” a slimy voice called behind him as Regulus made his way towards the Quidditch pitch for practice.

It was the one thing the Slytherins still included him in. Apparently, he was a good enough player to make up for being a nameless blood traitor.

Regulus reluctantly turned to face his persistent pest: Severus Snape. The greasy boy stood a full head taller than him and sneered down his giant nose at the younger Slytherin.

“What do you want, Snape?” Regulus’ words were monotone and pointless.

Snape didn’t want anything but to remind Regulus that he knew his secret and could divulge that information to the student body at any time. If Regulus closed his eyes, he could picture the gleeful expression on Snape’s face when he’d stepped off the train, revealing the scar that run from his nose to his cheek. The other students assumed his parents marked him, or he got into a fight over the summer.

But Snape knew a werewolf scratch when he saw one.

“Full moon tonight,” Snape said.

“You don’t say,” Regulus replied while his body burned and ached.

“It’d be a shame if the whole school found out how you and Lupin spend it.”

When Regulus didn’t reply, the older boy grabbed a potions book from his bag and handed it over. “10 inches on unicorn horns by Monday.”

Regulus grit his teeth. “Anything else?”

“That’ll do for now.”

The younger Slytherin headed off for the pitch and spent the rest of practice enraged. Snape had been shoving random tasks off on him all week. Used to being at the bottom of the food chain, the older boy got off on the power trip. Regulus, on the other hand, wasn’t used to taking abuse from anyone that didn’t share his last name.

After a grueling workout, he was relieved to put away his broom and peel off his uniform. His canines were starting to elongate, and it became harder and harder to think like a human being. When Flint knocked into him on purpose on the way out of the locker room, he almost growled.

As the last Slytherin to leave, Regulus was surprised to hear voices outside the main entrance. He drifted closer to the door, listening.

“Please, Moony, let us come with you.”

With a start, Regulus realized James and Remus were arguing outside the locker room. In a very Slytherin move, Regulus stayed concealed to listen in.

“Not a chance in hell,” Remus grit out, sounding angrier than Regulus had ever seen. “He’s not coming within 10 yards of the shack.”

“Ok.” James audibly swallowed. “What about just Pete and me? Or just me? I know the trust has been damaged a bit–”

“The trust has been destroyed,” Remus said bluntly. “Besides, Reg doesn’t know about you all, and I wouldn’t invite you without his consent.”

Everything went quiet, and Regulus could only conclude that James gave in to whatever Remus was talking about. With a sigh, he turned the corner and revealed himself to the two older boys.

Like someone striking a match, James lit up at the sight of the Slytherin. “Heya, Reg. Alright?”

“Alright,” Regulus allowed. He wasn’t ripping into his skin yet, after all.

Remus stuffed his hands into the pockets of his corduroy pants. “Fancy a game of Wizard’s Chess before I sneak you into the shack?”

Lips curling, Regulus said, “Yeah, I fancy it.”

Chapter Text

Regulus woke in the hospital wing, screaming and writhing. His entire right side burned. When he moved, he could feel where his skin was split: right under his armpit to the lowest point of his hip.

“Shh, Reg, it’s okay,” a familiar voice said. “You’re going to be okay.”

A kind woman’s voice said, “Have him drink this. It’ll dull the pain while the skin knits back together.”

Cool glass pressed against his lips, and part of him knew he should drink whatever it was, but that wasn’t the part in charge. Right now, he was a wounded animal, curled up in the corner and swiping at everyone that came near him. They would hurt him. He knew they would.

People loved hurting Regulus.

“Reggie, please drink.” He recognized his brother’s voice and stilled.

Arguably, Sirius had hurt him more than anyone else. The people you love wield that power. But a child-like part of Regulus still existed that trusted his brother to protect him.

“The potion will help. I promise it’ll help,” Sirius said, desperation coloring the words.

Regulus drank, and the pain in his side eased to a dull throbbing. When he opened his eyes, he had a small crowd surrounding his hospital bed. Sirius, holding a copper-colored potion, stood at the head of his bed. Madam Pomfrey occupied his other side with James and Peter at the foot of the bed.

A freezing burst of panic shot through his body. “Remus–”

“Not to worry, dear.” Madam Pomfrey shuffled a bit to reveal the boy lying on the hospital bed next to Regulus. “He’s fine.”

‘Fine’ was relative. Though Remus didn’t sport any obvious wounds, he closely resembled an old, rung-out flannel. His skin was a dull grey, and he slumped listlessly back against his pillows like he lacked the strength to sit up.

“Just fatigue and a few scratches.” The other werewolf attempted to smile reassuringly. “It’s you I’m worried about. Had to levitate you here from the shack.”

“You’ll both be fine,” Promfrey said, face soft before it went a little stony. “That is if I don’t throttle the both of you for trying to keep this a secret.”

After Remus groveled a bit for both of them, Madam Pomfrey set out to grab them both dinner. Apparently, Regulus had been unconscious for hours.

Regulus watched the door Pomfrey disappeared through for a moment. “So I guess the staff knows now.”

Remus shot him a waned smile. “They’ll be discreet. They were for me…. I’m sorry it wasn’t on your terms.”

Shrugging would hurt too much, so Regulus just inclined his head. “S’alright. I’m getting used to it.”

From the foot of the bed, James, whose face was drawn and pale under his dark skin, rested a gentle hand on Regulus’ ankle. “We think wolf-you got agitated being cooped up.”

Regulus winced and hoped the others would chock it up to physical pain. In reality, he didn’t like James talking about the wolf or touching him so close to the moon. Every inch of him felt unclean, and now James was tainted too.

“You should wash your hands,” Regulus blurted out.

All four Gryffindors looked at him like he’d grown a second head.

“Before Pomfrey comes back with dinner,” Regulus finished lamely.

Peter, speaking up for the first time, waved his words away. “We’ll eat in the Great Hall, so you two can rest.”

Probably for the best. Regulus could feel his strength failing, and beside him, Remus seemed to be fighting to keep both eyes open simultaneously.

After gifting Regulus with an uncomfortable smile, Sirius followed Peter out. James fell behind, however, coming up to the head of the bed before leaving.

“Don’t worry about next month, Reg,” James said quietly. “I’ll be there to make sure the wolves don’t do any damage.”

“You bloody well will not,” the Slytherin said, words slurring slightly.

Tentatively, James brushed a curl away from Regulus’ sweaty forehead. “Don’t fret. I’ll explain everything later.”

Promfrey didn’t let the two werewolves leave the hospital wing for two days, which left both boys playing catch-up. Regulus had to practically beg his astronomy professor for an extension on his paper. Slughorn, as always, was extremely lax about it all.

“Just brew a makeup potion for me this weekend, my boy. In fact, I was meant to resupply Poppy with Skele-Gro….”

While on his mission to gather his missing work, he learned Professor McGonagall was one of the teachers informed about his furry, little problem.

“Sit, Mr. Black,” she said instead of giving him a practice teacup to turn into a gerbil. “Have a biscuit.”

Helpless under her steady eye, he sunk onto an uncomfortable chair in front of her desk. “I’m meant to go see Professor Hamston about a paper on flesh-eating slugs….”

“They’re slugs who eat flesh,” she said. “There, paper done.”

Regulus blinked. He couldn’t be sure, but he had the outrageous idea that Professor McGonagall was joking.

When she looked between the Slytherin and the biscuit tin on the edge of her desk again, he got the message and numbly selected a small one with raisins. He found it a bit stale, and the crumbs stuck to his collar. But really, what was one more indignity at this point?

“I understand you had an interesting summer,” McGonagall said.

The official story Remus had given Madam Pomfrey was that Regulus encountered an unknown werewolf over summer break. His parents kicked him out shortly after, and he went directly to the Lupins. The arsehole even had the gall to tell the nurse they’d been friends for years, that he looked up to the older boy.

As soon as the opportunity presented, he was going to curse all of the Gryffindor’s hair off.

“Interesting,” Regulus confirmed once he’d finished the biscuit.

The professor pushed the tin towards him once again, and he wondered if this was to be his punishment.

“Apart from Madam Pomfrey, only myself, Dumbledore, and your head of house have been made aware of your condition. If you have any trouble with your other classes near the full moon, let me or Professor Slughorn know.”

Regulus nodded, though he had no intention of talking to anyone about anything at any time. Ever.

As if she could read his thoughts as easily as ink on a page, the older woman smiled slightly. “You and your brother share more similarities than looks, I see.”

Regulus face contorted into a glower. So this was his punishment.

“You’re dismissed, Mr. Black,” she said, peering at him over her glasses. “But I urge you to come to me if you need anything or if you just want to talk. I’ve been a listening ear for Sirius once or twice.”

“Thank you, Professor.” Regulus was relieved his mother wasn’t around to hear him mumble.

“Take a biscuit for the road.”

The raisen-infested ‘treat’ went into the bin as soon as he was out of McGonagall’s sight. Her words, however, stayed with Regulus for far longer.

Commonly, you’ll meet people who hate other people but love animals. Regulus Black was not one of those people. While he had a special place in his heart for cats, he preferred to be left alone by both animals and people. Apart from the occasional pet, he’d found Hogwarts to be animal-free in his six years there.

That Monday after the full moon smashed Hogwarts’ animal-free record as far as Regulus was concerned.

It started on his walk back from herbology. He’d fallen behind his classmates because he stopped to ask Professor Sprout a question Venomous Tentacula. Do not get that woman started on plants with teeth. You’ll inevitably miss lunch.

Trying to get to the Great Hall before all the treacle tart vanished, he almost missed the giant, black dog standing between him and the castle. The beast sat right in the middle of the path, staring Regulus down. Though the dog was familiar, the Slytherin couldn’t put his finger on where he’d seen it before.

“Er–hello,” Regulus said doubtfully, judging the distance on either side of the dog. Conclusion: still within biting range.

He flicked his hands toward the grim-looking animal. “Shoo. Scat.”

Like he was a puzzle to be solved, the dog tilted its head while continuing to stare. After a moment of contemplation, the giant animal started to growl, baring its fearsome teeth.

Unfortunately, Regulus didn’t have canines to match at the moment.

“Nice doggie,” he said. “Good boy.”

Regulus took a cautious step back, not ready to die for pudding. The dog followed this movement with his piercing, grey eyes. Then, without warning, the dog was up and running straight at him.

“Oh, shite.”

Regulus shrieked so loud it carried back to the castle. He turned on his heel and raced away from the rabid dog. Sometime during his escape, he dropped his bag with all of his work and textbooks, needing extra speed.

Without turning around, he ran all the way from the greenhouses to the hill just in front of the Whomping Willow. His breaths came in short pants, and there was a stitch in his side that he felt might be fatal.

When he risked a look back, the dog was only a few yards from the start of the chase. The horrid animal wagged his tail and then trotted off toward the back of the castle.

“Came back around on the full moon, mutt,” he grumbled to himself as he stomped through Hogwarts’ main entrance. “Then we’ll see who’s chasing who.”

The Grim wasn’t his last close encounter that day. After scarfing down lunch and checking that the dog was truly gone, he ventured back outside to enjoy the wind through his hair while revising.

Before turning into a werewolf, you couldn’t have paid Regulus to spend time outside, provided he wasn’t on a broom. The transformation awakened something primal inside him, and now he enjoyed the smell of grass and the feeling of the sun heating his pale skin. It was possibly the only part of being a werewolf that he didn’t hate.

He’d made it halfway to his favorite reading tree when he realized his shoulder was empty. He’d left his bag on the ground by the greenhouses after fleeing from the dog.

When he turned to retrieve it, he saw Sirius jogging towards him with the bag in his arms. Regulus almost blinked to make sure it wasn’t a mirage. Sirius hadn’t sought the younger boy out one-on-one for years.

“Forget something?” Sirius said once within earshot. “I found it in the dirt.”

The older boy’s eyes glimmered with a mirth Regulus hadn’t seen since returning to Hogwarts.

Sirius rocked back on his heels after forking over the bag. “Any special reason you chucked that onto the ground?”

After a pause, the Slytherin shook his head. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Really.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Might surprise you.”

“You’re certainly good at that.” Regulus rolled his eyes and then started off toward his reading tree. To his surprise, Sirius followed at his heels.

About to ask his brother what the hell he was doing, his words died on his tongue when he turned a corner and found his favorite tree was already taken.

There, standing a head or two above Regulus, was a giant, regal stag. Its coarse fur shone in the sun, and its eyes pierced Regulus like a lance. While he watched, the stag scraped its impressive antlers against the Slytherin’s tree, gauging the bark.

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Friend of yours?”

“Hardly.” To the stag, Regulus said, “That’s my tree. Away with you.”

The forest creature continued to stare, but the boy hadn’t really expected it to understand.

When the animal took a brazen step forward, Regulus’ patience snapped. “Alright, that’s it. No more nature today.”

He left for the library on his own, Sirius trailing off in the opposite direction. This, at least, was routine. Regulus couldn’t remember seeing his brother in the library once in his six years at Hogwarts.

Once he reached an isolated table free of animals, he dropped his bag unto it with a thunk. With a contented sigh, Regulus reached into the bag to retrieve his Defense Against the Dark Arts notes but stopped short, yanking his hand back.

He’d touched something fuzzy. There was nothing fuzzy in his bag.

Like a nightmare come to life, a fat, ragged rat burst out of his bag and ran along the table towards Regulus.

“eEeeeEk!”

The squeak came from Regulus, not the rat, a fact he would deny until his dying day.

“Oh, Merlin, oh Merlin.” He wiped his hand vigorously on his robes and then a thick, nearby curtain. “Oh, it touched me. It touched me. I touched it. Salazar’s sweaty ballsack.”

Before his eyes, the rat transformed into a boy. For a moment, he thought he’d contracted some kind of rodent disease that gave him hallucinations. Then, he realized the rat-turned-boy was Peter Pettigrew.

The short Gryffindor grinned at him from his perch on the library table. “Oh, your face. I miss pranking Slytherins.”

“Face?” James Potter said from behind a nearby shelf. “I’m still caught up on that squeak you made, Reg. Sounded like someone stepped on a niffler.”

One by one, the rest of the Mauraders came out of the woodwork and gathered around Regulus’ secluded table. The Slytherin watched them with his jaw on the floor.

“You–”

“We?” Sirius grinned at him, grey eyes crinkling.

Dumbfounded, Regulus pointed to Sirius, then James, then Petter. “Dog, stag, bloody rat.”

Remus piped up and gestured at himself. “Werewolf.”

“We became animagi back in fifth year to help Moony with his transformation,” Peter said.

Regulus took a moment to digest that information. On one hand, he wanted to yell at the Gryffindors that becoming an animagus was a dangerous process, and there was a reason that the ministry regulated it so closely.

On the other hand, his heart clenched at the idea of a friendship so strong that the boys would risk Azkaban or worse for Remus.

“So you three are joining us as animals next month?” he asked instead of lecturing.

A slight tension invaded the atmosphere. “Pete and I will join you,” James said slowly.

Regulus frowned and looked at Sirius, but the other boy was studiously avoiding his gaze. The older boy’s body was angled away from his brother, seeming like he’d rather be anywhere but next to Regulus.

This time, Regulus’ heart clenched for an entirely different reason. His brother loved Remus enough to risk his safety and break the law for him. But when it was Regulus who needed help, Sirius couldn’t stomach being around him long enough to join on the fulls.

Worse, Regulus felt he understood. It was one thing to accept lycanthropy in a stranger-turned-friend-turned-boyfriend like Remus. But Sirius couldn’t stomach seeing a similar face to his own covered in claw marks.

Or maybe it wasn’t about shared blood at all. Maybe it was as simple as Sirius loving Remus enough to look past his fury, little problem.

Most days, Regulus wasn’t sure if Sirius would spit on him if he were on fire, let alone love him unconditionally.

Before Regulus could do anything irrevocably embarrassing like begging Sirius to come on the full, an animated paper bird flew over their heads and landed on the desk in front of the Slytherin.

“Uh-oh,” Peter said. “I recognize that bird. Did one of you blow up the second-floor toilets without me?”

Ignoring Peter, Regulus unfolded the paper and read the message inside.

Mr. Black,

Please join me in my office at your earliest convenience.

P.S. I’ve been rather fond of acid pops lately.

Headmaster Dumbledore

Everyone looked a little grave at the summons, and no one wanted to be left out of the loop. Regulus was beginning to realize that Gryffindors traveled in packs.

After a quick discussion, they agreed that Peter would run to the kitchens, as they were likely to miss dinner. Remus would accompany Regulus formally, while James and Sirius tagged along under the invisibility cloak.

“It’s really not fair Potter gets the cloak,” Regulus said quietly to Remus while Sirius and James trailed behind, invisible. “All you lot do is use it for stupid pranks. Imagine it in a Slytherins’ capable hands.”

“I try not to.”

After getting past the gargoye by muttering “acid pops,” they found Professor Dumbledore sitting behind his clutter desk. Wrinkled hands stroked his long, white beard, and his eyes sparkled when they fell on Remus and Regulus and then just behind them to where Sirius and James were concealed.

Though the Slytherin had a feeling Dumbledore knew their party of two was really a party of four, he said nothing about the extra guests and merely motioned for the two werewolves to take a seat.

“Thank you for coming to see me, boys,” he said. “I’ll try not to take up too much of your night with unpleasantness.”

Weakly, Regulus said, “Unplesantness?”

Was he being expelled for being a werewolf? It was a bit hypocritical, considering who sat to his left, but Dumbledore was known for his double standards where Gryffindors were concerned. Slytherins had no such buffer.

Dumbledore pulled open a desk drawer and brought out a crisp, heavy parchment. Regulus recognized the letterhead immediately and paled as the Headmaster handed it to him.

“Your mother wrote to me,” Dumbledore said. “You’re welcome to read it.”

He didn’t, opting to pass it to Remus before he tore the paper into bits with his white-knuckle grip.

After scanning the letter, Remus said, “She wants Reg kicked out of Hogwarts.”

“Yes, she’s petitioning me before going to the ministry.” The old man peered over his spectacles at the Slytherin, dissecting. “I’m sure you realize that as your mother is still your legal guardian, and you are not yet 17, I have very little grounds to refuse her.”

He wouldn’t be of age until after winter break, months away. Not that it mattered. If they returned him to his mother, he wouldn’t last minutes, let alone months.

“So we get her removed as Reg’s legal guardian,” Remus said, voice thin. “Sirius is already 17. Couldn’t he take custody?”

“My mother could stall that paperwork for years and not make a single dent in the Black vault,” Regulus said.

Dumbledore spread his hands out in front of him. “Yes, it’s quite a predicament.”

Regulus knew this part. This was the part where the Headmaster asked for some kind of payment in exchange for Regulus’ life. He found it laughable that the leader of the “Light” side thought like a Black.

“Regulus,” Dumbledore said, “can you tell me how you came to leave your parents’ house this summer?”

Beside him, Remus tensed, but the younger boy gave no physical reaction. Dumbledore’s price was starting to take shape.

He met the Headmaster’s eyes squarely and recited in a monotone, “Mother and Father came back from a business trip to France the day after the full moon. Mother came into my room that night and hit me with a stinging hex. The floor was dirty. She doesn’t like when we’re not tidy.

“The hex opened up one of the wounds from the night before, and she ended up seeing my werewolf bite. She said something about not letting me shame the Black name, and then she cast the killing curse at me.”

There was an auidible intake of air behind him, but he kept his eyes on Dumbeldore and his focus on getting this out.

“Obviously, the curse didn’t hit me. My elf–Kreacher–he….”

Stupid elf.

It was easy to talk about what happened to him; it was near impossible to talk about what happened to Kreacher.

Remus reached over and covered Regulus’ trembling fingers with his own steady ones. The heat from his hand gave the younger boy something pleasant to focus on.

“Kreacher saved me. He aparated in front of the curse before it could hit me. I didn’t ask him to, but….”

Before he could lose his momentum, he briefly outlined knocking his mother out and fleeing Grimmauld with only a wand and the shirt on his back.

Dumbledore swiveled his chair toward the window, going back to stroking his beard. He seemed to think on Regulus’ story for a few minutes, though the boy wasn’t sure if it was for show.

“You’ve been through quite an ordeal, my boy,” Dumbledore finally said. “But I think I have a solution that might keep you at Hogwarts. That is, if you’re willing to be brave.”

Regulus drew in a cleansing breath before replying. “What do I have to do?”

Dumbledore considered the boy for a moment. “Are you willing to press charges against your mother?”

His body tensed, and he avoided looking anyone in the eye–especially Remus. He knew what everyone wanted him to say, but he wasn’t sure if it was the truth.

Because even after everything she’d done to him and everything she wanted to do, wasn’t Walburga Black still his mother? She might not see him as her son, but Regulus still possessed a son’s love for his mother. Her actions couldn’t snuff it out, though he wished they had.

And was she really so wrong for what she did? Murder was wrong, but she was right in a way. He did dishonor the Black name just by breathing. It was hard to fault her for saying the ugly truth.

Finally, Regulus said, “I’ll think about it.”

“Very well,” Dumbledore said, only a inkling of displeasure seeping ino his tone. “I will write back to your mother and hint at formal charges. The threat of your condition going public should buy us some time, but I strongly urge you to consider what I’ve asked of you. It’s the only way to keep you safe long term.”

Once they were back in the corridor below the Headmaster’s office, James and Sirius reappeared from under the cloak. Without a word to Regulus or his friends, Sirius took off towards Gryffindor tower, glowering and stomping.

James watched him go, surprise etched onto his face. “I’m sorry, Reg. He’s probably just…. He probably just needs to think.”

“I don’t need you to apologize for my brother. His actions are his own.”

Remus glanced between Regulus and James before squeezing the younger boy’s shoulder and promising to find him later. Then, he took off after Sirius with a determined look in his eye. Regulus almost felt sorry for his brother.

“If you don’t want me to apologize for Sirius, can I at least say I’m sorry about Kreacher?” The older boy shifted from foot to foot. “Really, I’m sorry about all of it. That was–that was horrible, Reg. Are you okay?”

“Monologuing wasn’t any harder than living it.”

James seemed to see right through Regulus’ words, because he spent the next twenty minutes coaxing the Slytherin down to the kitchens for pudding and cocoa. It didn’t heal his wounds, but it was a start.

Chapter Text

After the events of the full moon and the subsequent day in Dumbledore’s office, Regulus’ Gryffindors set out on a mission to cheer the Slytherin up. Normally, Regulus wouldn’t encourage their behavior, but he couldn’t spend one more second dreading what might come with his mother and everything else.

“If we’re to do this–and I’m still not sure we should,” Regulus mused while pacing in front of the Gryffindor fireplace. Their common room was beyond tacky, but it sported friendlier faces than the dungeons.

“We’re doing it,” James said firmly. His words were serious, but a grin spread across his face.

“They’ve been treating you like hippogriff shit, Reg,” Remus said from his perch in an overstuffed, blood-red chair. “They deserve a little karma.”

“Isn’t karma dealt out by the universe?” Pettigrew said.

James cracked his knuckles. “We’re just helping it along.”

“If we do this,” Regulus repeated, speaking over the other boys. “We can’t get caught.”

“A little detention is good for the soul,” James said.

Glowering at the older boy, the Slytherin spit out, “It’s not the detention, wanker. I won't live down the shame of pranking my own house with you lot. If I’m caught, I’ll have to throw myself off the Astronomy Tower.”

James looked distraught, but Remus just chuckled. “I’ll miss you, but I understand.”

“Oi! No one is chucking themselves off the tower.” James waved away Regulus’ concerns. “We’ll just be discreet.”

Regulus wasn’t interested in practical jokes or petty antics. He was, however, interested in vengeance. Eventually, the marauders pitched an idea that he could get behind. Minimal collateral, minimal chances of getting caught.

Surprisingly, when it all came down to it, Regulus’ brother had very little to do with it. He’d been suspiciously absent from all the planning sessions, though they had taken place in his own common room and dorm. When it came time to put the plan in action, Sirius hung on the outskirts of the group.

In fact, it seemed to Regulus that Sirius had been avoiding him since storming off after their meeting in Dumbledore’s office. Regulus, for his part, stayed close to Remus while James cast the groundwork spells on the Slytherin table. When the Slytherin would act, his brother would react, moving away like their was some polar force keeping them apart. Apart from keeping his distance, the older Black Brother didn’t deign to speak to the younger or meet his eyes.

Shaking his head to free himself of his melancholy thoughts, he and the marauders went their separate ways to watch the fireworks of their prank go off.

The crux of it was, if the Slytherins could manage not to be boorish, blood supremacists for one night, nothing would happen. Unfortunately, with the state of his house as it was, Regulus had no doubts about the outcome of the night.

When Regulus settled into his spot at the Slyterthin table a few minutes late, he received a few glares and unfriendly, whispered words. He couldn’t hear what they were, but from the lack of chaos, he knew they weren’t the magic words.

Then, like clockwork, a young Ravenclaw passed too close to the Slytherin table on her way out the hall. Mulciber, a few tables down from Regulus, hissed, “Filthy, little mudblood–”

The rest of his words were lost, because his mouth exploded with soap bubbles. He gagged, half rising on his feet before falling over the bench on his bum. The bubbles foamed over his jaw and down his shirt.

Then, like dominos, Avery to Mulcibers left came down with a case of pink bubbles. The troll-like boy seated across the table got purple, until all the death eaters and wannabe death eaters were choking through rainbow bubbles instead of hateful words.

The Great Hall, after a moment of stunned silence, burst out into laughter. Someone shouted something about cavities.

Despite himself, Regulus’ giggle turned into a full-out guffaw. Tears started running down his face as he watched his tormentors’ mouths get cleaned out with soap. For the first time in weeks–hell, years–he felt the levity that came along with hope. He felt his age. He felt young.

Joy, like misery, loves company, and without his leave, Regulus found his eyes seeking out James’ at the Gryffindor table. To the young boy’s surprise, the Gryffindor was already looking at him, a dopy smile on his face.

“Great job, Baby Black,” James mouthed across the hall, eyes twinkling.

Heat started in his belly and spread throughout his body. In all the resulting chaos, he managed to clear his plate for the first time in months. And when he laid his head down on his green, silk pillow that night, he fell into a peaceful, heavy sleep.

Slytherin’s mouths stopped foaming randomly by the next day. When the suds faded, so did Regulus’ elation. Maybe he was starting to understand why his brother pulled so many pranks.

In a vain effort to recreate the feeling of last night, Regulus found himself seeking out James’ gaze during supper. Instead of locking eyes like they had the night before, Regulus watched James lean in close to Lily Evans and then throw his head back laughing at something she said.

There was the reality that Regulus was trying to escape.

His stomach curled, and he pushed his plate away without taking his attention off the Gryffindor table. They looked so right together, and it made Regulus sick. While he watched Evans flip her crimson hair behind her shoulder, hitting James in the face and sparking another round of laughter, he saw years into the future.

James Potter had been after Lily Evans since first year. The whole castle knew it. Though the muggleborn Gryffindor had resisted at first, it was only a matter of time before she saw James like Regulus did: one of the few pure lights this world still possessed. James embodied the sun, casting warmth and happiness on everything he encountered. Lily matched him in that regard. She was bright, charming, and incredibly kind.

Regulus could see them walking hand-in-hand to Hogsmeade, standing under a flowery, white altar, cradling a beautiful baby with James’ hair and Lily’s eyes. In his mind, it was picture perfect. James belonged in that kind of setting, but Regulus could never fit into that frame.

Unlike either Gryffindor, Regulus was a black hole, consuming light but never contributing any of his own. Even James Potter, the literal sun, couldn’t eluminate Regulus. And if Regulus truly loved the other boy, he wouldn’t ask James to settle for his inferior love.

Dinner was far from over, but Regulus pushed away from the Slytherin table. He needed to be alone, so he left the castle behind to breathe in the crisp, fall air. The moon had risen high in the sky, but for once, he didn’t feel the pull.

He settled into an alcove and watched the still, dark Forbidden Forest for awhile. Keeping his mind deliberately blank, he started to count visible stars.

“Is this a private brooding?” Remus asked, looking down at the younger boy with an eyebrow raised.

Regulus didn’t ask how the Gryffindor found him. All of his brother’s friends had the uncanny ability to track him down like dogs after a rabbit.

Instead of shooing the older boy, Regulus inclined his head, and Remus settled next to him on the cool grass.

“Want to talk about it?”

“How do you know there is an ‘it’?”

Remus leveled the Slytherin with an unimpressed stare, and the boy conceded.

“How did you and my brother get together?” Remus nearly flinched at the unexpected question, so Regulus elaborated. “You two danced around each other for years. Whole bloody castle knew. What finally did it?”

Remus sighed, eyes taking on that far-away quality they often did when Sirius came up. “One too many drunken hookups after Gryffindor parties.” Laughing at the face Regulus made, the Gryffindor continued. “I take it this is about James, then?”

“Don’t perceive me. I hate it.” The younger boy buried his face in his hands, cheeks pink.

“What can I say? I’m a bloody Black brother expert.” He breathed out a laugh. “Say that five times fast.”

“I saw him with Evans tonight,” Regulus said slowly. “I guess I’m….”

“Jealous?”

“Shut up.” The younger boy looked away. “But yes. That.”

Remus sighed and toyed with a blade of grass at their feet. “You and Sirius are too much alike. Have you considered just telling James how you feel?”

The Slytherin became very interested in his shoelaces. “I don’t think he'd…. It just wouldn’t work out.”

“Listen, Reg.” Remus drew the other boy’s attention back. “I can’t give you guarantees about what will happen if you put yourself out there. But I can guarantee that if you keep quiet, you’ll miss your chance. Don’t let whatever is fucking about in your head mess up a good thing.”

Chapter Text

With midterms breathing down the Hogwarts’ students’ necks, the Gryffindors decided to throw a raging party for all of their house, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and a singular Syltherin. When the day of the party rolled around, most of the Marauders were busy with procuring alcohol and helping the other seventh-years charm the common room to hold over one hundred drunk teens.

Remus, however, was stuck in his dorm, watching Regulus try on every scrap of clothing he could get his hands on. By the time the younger had gone through most of Remus’ clothes, he’d worked himself into a frazzled state.

“Just wear whatever, Reg,” Remus said, reclined on his bed while Regulus turned frantically in front of the smudged mirror. “Everyone’ll be too pissed to notice your outfit.”

“This is my first and likely only Gryffindor party, Lupin,” Regulus said, wrestling with his borrowed shirt collar. “It has to be perfect.”

Remus raised an eyebrow at the last name. “Why would it be your last Gryffindor party? We’re—well, you know….”

It was Regulus’ turn to eye the older boy doubtfully. “We’re…?”

Cheeks getting redder by the second, the Gryffindor looked away. “Sort of brothers, I guess. Kind of. I mean, you live with me. We’re pack at least, right?”

Out of Remus’ eyeline, Regulus made a sour face at the mention of werewolves. “Packs party together, do they?”

“Piss off,” Remus said. “Go with a pair of Sirius’ bell bottoms. We can roll up the hem a bit. Mine’ll dwarf you.”

Whirling, Regulus pointed a finger at the other wolf. “You take that back. Sirius is not taller than me, and there’s maybe a couple inches between you and I.”

“Sure. If ‘a couple’ is actually ‘a foot’ to you.”

Electing to ignore the older boy, the Slytherin slid into his brother’s slacks and a jumper Remus gave him after it shrunk in the wash. The younger suspected the article of clothing’s shrinking had been helped along by magic after Regulus admired the pattern and soft fabric over the summer. He wouldn’t have accepted it if the jumper could still comfortably fit Remus. He took enough from the Lupins.

After examining himself in the mirror, Regulus nodded curtly. “Alright, these clothes will do.”

“Thank Merlin.”

Pulling open Sirius’ end table drawer, he said, “Now, we just need to decide on accessories.”

Remus collapsed back onto his bed and groaned.

In contrast to the older boy’s dramatics, Regulus decided on a few coordinating rings and was fully dressed less than fifteen minutes later. As soon as the last ring slid into place, Remus dragged the Slytherin down to the already roaring party.

“Blimey,” Pettigrew laughed from near the stairs to the dorms, sloshing around his almost-empty cup. “Didn’t think you two were ever coming down.”

“Baby Black takes even longer to get ready than Big Black,” Remus said, as he grabbed two cups of firewhiskey from the drink table.

“Call me that again,” Regulus hissed, “and you’ll be wearing those drinks.”

“Don’t be silly. One of these is for you.” The older boy handed over a cup, unbothered by the infamous Black temper.

Regulus blinked. Despite all their time together, the other boy’s small acts of kindness still threw him.

“Don't drink that yet,” Remus said as he grabbed hold of Regulus again and craned his neck over the crowd, looking for something.

Eying the cup doubtfully, the younger boy allowed himself to be pulled along once more. “What, is it just for decoration? Did you do something to it?”

“No and no.”

They came upon a small group of Gryffindors sitting in a circle near the roaring fireplace. Remus fell into a break in the circle, bringing Regulus down after him. They both tucked their legs underneath them. Regulus reluctantly as he eyed the circle of older students doubtfully.

“We’re playing Wizard,” Remus said to him, quietly enough that only the closest circle members could hear. “It’s a Gryffindor party tradition.”

“And you’re late, Remus Lupin,” Lily Evans said from across the circle, turning her nose up and hiding an impish smile.

A black girl Regulus vaguely recognised playfully pushed the redhead and then reached behind her back to pull out a worn, creased wizard’s hat. Unlike everything else in the room, the hat was a puke yellow instead of red.

“Who’s first?” the Gryffindor asked.

Remus slapped Regulus on the back, lurching the Slytherin slightly forward. “Youngest first.”

Eyes widening, Regulus choked. “But I don’t know how to play!” His voice took on an unappealing, squeaky quality.

“Don’t worry, Reg, you’ll get the hang of it. Clever lad, you,” Remus said, grabbing the hat and placing it on top of the Slytherin’s head.

The girl who’d produced the hat took pity on him. “You need to say ‘so mote it be’ and then assign someone a dare.” She reached out a hand across the circle with a careless grin. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Mary MacDonald.”

“Allow me to kill myself,” Regulus muttered and the group laughed.

His words seemed to break the ice because all the seventh-years went around the circle and introduced themselves. The blonde–Marlene–he recognized as the Gryffindor seeker. He also recognized her as Dorcas Meadows’ girlfriend, though he didn’t see the fellow Slytherin in the crowd.

“So I just,” Regulus started uncertainly, “dare someone to do something?”

“Something they wouldn’t want to do,” Remus added, most unhelpfully, earning a glare from the younger boy.

“Very well, Lupin,” Regulus said. “Why don’t you go tell MacMillon you’d like to hear more about his family’s Abraxan ranch?”

Remus groaned, and the circle broke out into laughs again.

“Bloody hell, Baby Black,” Lily Evans said. “Don’t pull any punches.”

The MacMillon heir was famous for trapping unsuspecting innocents into long, boring conversations about his winged horse obsession. There were certain factions of the student body that were pretty sure the MacMillon’s love for Abraxans crossed moral boundaries.

Dutifully, Remus rose from the ground and sought out MacMillon. The group watched as the werewolf, grim as death, sat through a fifteen-minute, one-sided conversation with the shorter boy.

When the Gryffindor finally returned from his dare, he said, “Drink up, wankers.”

They were all forced to drain a quarter of their cup while the wizard’s hat went to Remus. Not used to alcohol, the whiskey started to immediately go to Regulus’ head, and before he knew it, he was grinning and giggling along with the older students.

“So mote it be,” Remus said, stroking his chin and glancing around the circle for his first victim.

Regulus realized fairly quickly that the game could stretch into hours. None of the Gryffindors were willing to forgo a dare, so no one was ejected from the game. Most of the dares were funny and embarrassing. Regulus could only imagine how this game would go if played in the dungeons.

The youngest player had moved on to his third drink by the time the hat landed back on Remus’ head, and the older boy turned to him with a smug, drunk twinkle in his eye.

“You’ve been mostly unscathed so far, Reg,” Remus said, grinning.

“If you don’t count having to sing along with that stupid song for everyone to hear,” Regulus mumbled.

“Watch what you say about Bowie if you still want to sleep in my bed this summer,” the older werewolf said.

“Make it a good one, Rem,” Marlene slurred. Her top was stained with firewhiskey she’d sloshed down her front a few rounds back.

“My pleasure,” the boy said. “Regulus Black, I dare you to find James–he’s probably dancing on a table around here somewhere–and kiss him right on the lips.”

This was not the first kiss-dare of the night. In fact, every seventh year in the circle had kissed their classmates twice by this point. Earlier in the game, Regulus had wrinkled his nose in distaste, glad to be left out of the lip-locking.

After all the firewhiskey, however, Regulus had changed his mind about kissing a Gryffindor. But not just any Gryffindor–this was James. Involuntarily, he let out a sigh, focus drifting inward toward the picture of James he kept constantly at the back of his mind.

Regulus heaved onto his feet, almost tipping forward, which made the circle laugh. He ignored them all, however, and wandered off in search of James’ lips.

Contrary to Remus’ guess, James wasn’t dancing on a table at all. He was off in a corner with the Gryffindor team, laughing and talking about Quidditch.

Regulus stumbled up to the older boy, whose eyes widened at the Slytherin’s dishevelled state.

“Alright, Reggie?” He set his drink aside in favour of steadying the youngest Black.

“I am brilliant, thank you,” Regulus slurred, causing a few of James’ Quidditch friends to chuckle.

James bit his lip for a moment and then said goodbye to the group. Grasping both of Regulus’ hands, he lead the younger boy away from the party and out onto the deserted balcony. The frigid air did little to sober the Slytherin.

“I came here,” Regulus said, thinking hard. “to find you….”

“To find me…?” James prompted him to continue.

“Yes, I was trying to find you!” Regulus bobbed his head enthusiastically. “How did you know?”

“Oh, Reg.” The words were fond, and the fingers that brushed the curls away from his damp forehead were gentle.

“‘fraid I’d find you with Lily….”

“Why would you–”

“Remus told me to kiss you, but he also told me to talk to you, so I’m not really sure which Remus to listen to.”

James blinked, seeming to process slower than Regulus, who was three sheets to the wind. “Remus told you to kiss me?”

“And talk to you. Probably not at the same time.” Regulus giggled at the mental picture of someone speaking into another’s mouth. “He tells me lots, really.” A frown. “He’s not the boss on me just because he’s been a werewolf longer.”

“Not so loud, love,’ James said, glancing around to make sure no one overheard.

Regulus ignored him and promptly decided it was high time to put it all out there.

“I like you–maybe even more than like you but I definitely like you. A lot.” Regulus sucked in a deep breath, feeling a bit more coherent. “And I know I’m not–well, just not. But I still feel like there’s something here. Right?”

“Er….” James scratched at the back of his head, looking paler by the minute.

Apparently, Regulus wasn’t done, however.

“We flirt, right? I mean, I flirt, and it feels like you flirt. And you smile at me a lot. Me, not so much, but I think about smiling sometimes. Even if I’m not smiling, you must know that I like you, right? Hell, I kind of–well, I lo–”

“Reg!” James said, cutting off the boy’s ranting, which the Slytherin was grateful for. Regulus waited for the other boy to continue, but to his horror, he didn’t.

Suddenly, he found a terrible kind of sobriety crashing down upon his shoulders. Staring at James, Regulus became aware of the fact that the other boy hadn’t said a thing to any of his declarations. In fact, now that the Slytherin wasn’t talking, a deadly silence settled over the balcony.

“Oh.” The realization hit Regulus square in the stomach, making him want to double over.

In the boy’s worst-case scenario, Regulus thought James would reject for any number of reasons. He was a Slytherin, a Black, a monstrous werewolf, and had many unredeemable traits. He never entertained the idea that he’d completely misread the entire situation.

James hadn’t been flirting with him at all. He hadn’t made a move, but it wasn’t because he thought Regulus wasn’t worth it. It was far worse than all that. He’d never even consciously considered the Slytherin’s worth, because Regulus was never in the running for his affections. He didn’t feel a thing for Regulus Black, and the realization felt like a direct hit with the cruciatus.

And why should he? What could Regulus Black possibly be to James Potter?

Foolish boy, Regulus thought, the voice in his head sounding just like his mother.

With a sharp nod, the younger boy turned on his heel and walked away as steadily as he could with the firewhiskey still coursing through his veins.

“Reg, wait–” James made a grab for the Slytherin’s hand, but the other boy was already gone.

Regulus pushed his way toward the portrait hole, not looking back and biting his lip bloody to keep the tears from his eyes.

His pride had taken enough of a beating for one night.

Chapter Text

Regulus Black didn’t show up anywhere the next day. He was absent from Quidditch practice, missing from the Slytherin common room, and skipped the pre-planned butterbeer with the Marauders at the Three Boomsticks.

No reality existed where Regulus could bare facing James or his brother after the beating his pride and self-worth took the night before. Still, there was only so much time even a Black could spend in bed, feeling sorry for yourself.

The morning two days after the party found Regulus on the Quidditch pitch as the first rays of sun cascaded over the castle. The field was blissfully silent and empty of all students. Regulus soaked in the solitude like a sponge. Funny how not too long ago, he would’ve given anything for his solitude to end. Now, it was the balm to his bruise.

Other people were much more trouble than they were worth.

Mounting a broom almost never failed to lift the Slytherin’s spirits, but his black mood didn’t lift when his feet left the ground. If anything, he felt bleaker as the sharp wind cut his face, making his eyes water.

Ignoring the discomfort, he rose higher and higher into the air, watching the grounds and the castle become a distant memory. He expected to find solace in the clouds, but he felt nothing.

After a scant moment of thought, Regulus Black narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips. 

Then he dropped from the sky like a stone.

The air roared around him as he sped toward the ground. All the bitter emotions cleared, and all he could experience was exhilaration and terror.

Almost reluctantly, he yanked his broom up, coming parallel to the grass before you could slam into the pitch and become a Regulus crêpe. 

The good feeling that came along with the blood rushing through his veins didn’t last for long, so he climbed and fell again and again until he could barely tell the ground from the sky.

“Oi!” A voice so like Regulus’ own, but deeper and–in his opinion–more annoying. “Stop dicking around up there!”

Sirius glared up at him from the edge of the pitch, hands on his hips and chin defiant. Standing like that, he looked like their mother. Even Regulus wasn’t cruel enough to point that out, however.

Hoping to avoid his brother mounting a broom and coming after him, he touched down, slightly unsteady from the dives, on the grass a few yards away. Both brothers paused, waiting for the other to break the stalemate and walk over.

Sirius caved first, unable to handle even a few minutes of silence.

“Stubborn git,” he said once he was within spitting distance of his little brother.

“You want something from me,” Regulus said, shrugging. “Not the other way around.”

It wasn’t true, of course. The Slytherin doubted he could enumerate everything he wanted from his brother. He wanted the older boy to treat him like Regulus, not a Slytherin or a werewolf. He wanted to talk more and argue less. He wanted comfort from the only source he’d had prior to Hogwarts.

And though he’d deny it to his dying day, he really wanted a hug from Sirius as well.

“You stood us up,” Sirius said. “Made Prongs upset.”

“Merlin forbid.”

There must have been something in his voice because the older boy’s eyes narrowed. “Did something happen at the party? He’s been a miserable sod for two days.”

“How should I know what happened or didn’t happen to your best friend at a party?”

Sirius didn’t back down. “What did you do?”

Direct hit, Regulus thought. He schooled his face into a disinterested expression. 

“You’re ridiculous. Bother someone else,” he said as he turned on his heel and headed back towards the locker rooms.

He only made it a few feet before Sirius scurried after him. “Don’t walk away from me!”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Is that solely your trick?”

The older boy halfway reached for the Slytherin’s arm to keep him in place before letting his hand drop back to his side. Regulus felt the aborted move like a stinging hex in an open wound.

“Don’t bring that into this,” Sirius said quietly. 

But Regulus wasn’t in the mood for quiet anymore. He was a fizzy drink bottle people had been shaking up for years, ready to explode. He had a feeling the fallout was going to be akin to Pompei.

“Oh, I get it. You only came here to talk about your real brother, not the one you can’t even bring yourself to touch.”

Taking a step back, Sirius said, “I don’t know what you’re on about.”

“Merlin, Sirius, you barely even look me in the eyes these days. Avoid me like the plague whenever you get the chance. I repulse you. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?” Regulus laughed bitterly. “Tell me, is it because I’m green or because I’m furry?”

“What? Neither! I’m not–you don’t disgust me, Reg–”

“Then why have you been treating me like the gunk on the bottom of your shoe?” Regulus' breaths came in short, sharp inhales, working himself into a frenzy. “I know you used to go as a dog to the Shack for fulls. You loved Remus enough for that, but now that I’m there, you aren’t. Do you hate me more than you love him?” 

Sirius winced, which only fueled Regulus’ fire. 

“If you didn’t–if you didn’t want to see me like that, I’d understand. But what about everything else? I ran away from home, just like you wanted. I thought it would count for something, but you despise me more than ever.”

“That’s not true,” Sirius said, raising his voice slightly.

“Yes, it is!”

Sirius’ nascent patience seemed to snap. “Merlin, Reg, I’ve been avoiding you because I feel bad.”

Regulus blinked, stunned. “You’re treating me like a leper because you feel bad for me?” 

Sirius shook his head, a mournful expression flooding his face. “I don’t feel bad for you; I feel bad about you. It’s all my fault. Everything that’s happened: the bite, mother almost killing you, living on the streets, the scars. Everything.”

There was a moment of silence, deafening throughout the quidditch pitch. 

Finally, Regulus sputtered, “What the bloody hell are you talking about? If it’s anyone’s fault for the bite and…everything that came after, it’s Snape’s. He’s the one who sent me to the passage under the Willow.”

With a start, Regulus watched as tears started to stream down his brother’s face. He couldn’t even remember the last time he saw Sirius cry. Maybe when they were children. He’d always been more of the grin-and-bitch-about-it type. 

“I told Snape about the tree and the Shack,” the older boy choked out, words almost obscured by the wetness in his voice. “He only knew where to find Moony during the full moon because of me.”

The words “I told Snape” echoed through the pitch and through Regulus’ mind on repeat. He wished he could unhear them.

“Reg–” Sirius reach out to him, but Regulus swatted his hand away.

“No. Don’t you dare try to touch me now,” Regulus hissed.

As Regulus hurried away from the pitch, his mind was an angry swarm of bees. He didn’t know what to think or feel, but he knew he needed to find Remus before he had a complete mental breakdown. The older boy had the right to know what Sirius had done, even though it would break Regulus’ heart to tell him.

Besides the obvious transfer of information, Regulus found that he just…wanted Remus in a similar way that he craved Sirius when he was upset. The only difference was that the other werewolf had actually proven himself worthy of Regulus’ loyalty and trust, unlike his brother.

He found the other werewolf, thankfully alone, in a forgotten corner of the library. The Gryffindor’s head snapped up at the sound of Regulus’ harried footsteps, and his face blanched at the younger boy’s disheveled appearance.

“Reg,” Remus began slowly, putting his book to the side, “have you been cry–”

Regulus, panting from his run, trampled over the boy’s words. “Sirius! Remus, it was Sirius. ”

“Sirius made you cry?”

Regulus shook his head so hard it hurt his brain a little. “No! Well, kind of but no.”

Gripping the younger boy by the shoulders, Remus steered him into a seat. “Deep breath and then talk. You’re not making any sense.”

“Sirius was the one who told Snape about the Shrieking Shack. And then Snape told me, and I…” He trailed off. Regulus wasn’t really one for casual touches, but he felt the situation warranted something, so he grabbed Remus’ hand.

Recognition sparked in Remus’ eyes but no surprise.

“You already knew,” Regulus said. 

He knew my brother got me bit by a werewolf and didn’t tell me. The Slytherin dropped the other boy’s hand like it was a hot poker, standing on unsteady legs.

Remus held up his palms in peace, eyes pleading. “I wanted to tell you. Just–when you first woke up…after…it didn’t seem like the right moment.”

“And what about every moment after that?” Regulus demanded. 

Remus looked away. “I didn’t want to lose my friend.”

“No,” Regulus said, a deadly calm setting over him like a thick duvet. “You didn’t want to lose your pack.”

And wasn’t that the crux of his issues? No one loved Regulus, they loved what he was to them. His mother wanted an obedient heir. Someone who would marry well and continue the glorious Black family line. She didn’t want Regulus. She’d tried to kill him when he could no longer be what she wanted.

Sirius wanted a brother who was like him: a brash Gryffindor. Someone who wouldn’t quiver in front of their abusive parents. Someone funny, loveable. That’s why he’d replaced Regulus with the Potter heir when the younger boy had been sorted into Slytherin.

James wanted a love he could show to the world, a love that would stand proud and strong. That wasn’t the sort of love Regulus Black could offer. His devotion was a broken whisper to Lily Evans’ resounding chorus.

And Remus….Remus, by his own admission, wanted a loyal pack member. He wanted someone who could stand by him through the moon’s pull but would never betray him as Sirius had. 

That person didn’t have to be Regulus Black. He was a cardboard cutout among real people. He filled the space for the ones he loved until he didn’t anymore. Then, he was little more than rubbish, cluttering their lives.

“Reg, wait–” Remus said, an echo of James’ words the other night.

“Don’t call me that,” Regulus said, monotone as he sidesteps Remus’ attempts to grab him. “I’m not your pack. I’m not your friend, and I’m certainly not a brother–not to you or Sirius.”

While Remus paled and fell still, Regulus delivered the final blow. “You deserve each other.”

Chapter Text

Every time Regulus Black thought he found his new rock bottom, he was proven wrong. First, he was sorted into Slytherin, and his brother refused to look at him. Eleven-year-old Regulus cried himself to sleep for a month.

When Sirius abandoned him to their mother’s loving care the summer before last year, there had been no tears. Instead, he’d walked around in a fog, barely eating, sleeping, or thinking about anything other than schoolwork. This time, it was he who refused to glance his brother’s way for fear of being emotionally gutted each time.

Then, of course, there was the werewolf attack and subsequent turning. After waking up a monster, Regulus thought he couldn’t sink any lower. That was before his own mother tried to kill him, and he watched Kreacher drop dead before his eyes. 

He’d worked so hard to stay alive after that, for the elf. Keeping himself fed and safe on the streets until he ended up at the Lupin’s. And for what? So he could reach this new level of misery?

Now, he drifted around Hogwarts longing for the days when his circumstances made him feel numb. Each step and every breath brought with it the stabbing pain of fresh loneliness. Barely a thought entered his head that didn’t center around James’ rejection, Remus’ lies, or Sirius’ betrayal.

If there was one good thing that came from all his misery it was that he was finally able to hide from the marauders. He'd finally mastered the art of avoiding the group. It mostly involved skipping the majority of his classes and hiding in his dorm. When he did go out, he made sure to move with the crowds, never being caught alone. Due to his skill, he hadn't had a run-in with his brother or anyone else since the Quidditch pitch encounter.

Or maybe the Gryffindors weren’t trying very hard to find him these days. He tried not to linger on that thought.

There was a lot he tried not to linger on. In fact, which winter holidays looming upon them and the Hogwarts workload petering out, Regulus was desperate for a distraction from it all.

That distraction would him on a bright, chilly Saturday morning. He was reading peacefully in the library when Severus Snape came up to his table, sneering. The older boy pushed his books off the table, luxuriating in the power he held over the younger Slytherin.

“Haven’t seen you around with your pack of blood traitors lately. Trouble in paradise?”

“Leave me be, Snape,” Regulus said, not looking up from the book in his hands.

“Sure.” Snape shrugged, but his expression was far too gleeful for Regulus to believe his agreement. “Just thought you might be interested in this.”

The greasy boy dropped a copy of the prophet on the table with an audible smack. The headline read “Walburga Black Wanted for Questioning”.

“Looks like you would rather flee the country than admit to whelping an abolition like you.”

The newspaper caught fire while Regulus’ knuckles went white with tension. Snape stepped back from the flames, but he was wearing a smirk, knowing he got to the youngest Black.

Regulus doused the paper, and Snape finally left him alone, though he had succeeded in ruining whatever peace the boy had been able to cultivate. Instead of reading the article that was sure to send him into a spiral, he found himself frowning thoughtfully in the direction Snape exited. His mind drifted back to the prank he'd played on the Slytherins with the Gryffindors. Specifically, he thought of how blissful he'd felt, the sense of relief that came along with humorous justice.

For the first time since the Gryffindor party, his spirits soared and a plan fell into place.

_____

He was taking a chance with this, a calculated risk. All the animosity Snape held for Regulus and Remus had to stem from somewhere. Hopefully, Regulus was right about the core of his hate.

And really, Regulus considered himself a bit of an expert on hate, being a Black.

Unaware of the coming storm, Snape--along with half the student body--lounged out on the greenery in front of the castle. The approaching-summer sun shone down on his greasy head and that of his wanna-be death eater friends, Mulciber, Avery, and Mcnair. The four boys were laughing nastily and kept sending snide glances toward a group of Hufflepuff first-years.

Regulus circled around the front lawn, so he could sneak up to the group, unseen, through the forest. Luckily, the older Slytherins were sitting under a tree not far from the forbidden line, giving the younger boy easy access.

He summoned a shrunken trunk from his school and bag and enlarged it silently just behind a bit of shrubbery. The lid lurched, the lock rattling while the contents tried to free itself. Regulus couldn't help the satisfied grin that spread across his face. He'd spent the better part of last night searching every cranny in Hogwarts for the creature.

Leaving the trunk, Regulus slunk back into the woods. He made sure the container was closer to Snape than to him but that he was still close enough to watch the show.

"Alohomora," he muttered, pointing his wand at the trunk.

Eeriely, the trunk went still for a long moment while Regulus waited on bated breath. Then, the lid flew open and a werewolf flew out, charging toward the group of Slytherins.

The beast was covered in grey tufts of hair with long, drool-covered fangs and wiry muscles that contracted and expanded as its clawed feet pounded against the Hogwarts' grounds on its way to seemingly tear into Severus Snape. The unpleasant boy looked up just when the wolf was only a couple of yards away. His eyes went wide, his mouth dropping open.

Snape struggled to stand, tripping over his robes and screaming at the top of his lungs. "We--werewolf! Werewolf!"

Students whipped around, hands flying to their mouths as the wolf leaped through the air.

Denying himself the pleasure of watching the beast sink its teeth into Snape would be, Regulus cast one last spell before the older boy could become dog food.

"Riddikulus!"

As quickly as the werewolf appeared, it was gone, replaced by a fluffy, pink wolf stuffie. The plush animal fell from the air onto Snape's face, and he batted it away with a quiet shriek. He frantically rummaged through his robes, before emerging with his wand and pointing it at the stuffie, lying harmlessly on the ground.

There was a frozen moment of silence before the events caught up with everyone.

"Oh, Merlin, Snape." Mulciber wrinkled his nose in distaste. "Did you wet your bloody pants?"

Sure enough, a large, incriminating wet spot covered the front and back of the Slytherin's pants, dripping down his legs as the nearby Hufflepuffs burst into laughter. The rest of the students followed, and Snape turned an unhealthy purple color, threatening to hex everyone within spitting distance. Unfortunately for him, that only made them laugh harder.

Regulus used the chaos to summon the boggart back into its trunk and made sure the thing was secure once more. Once the lock clicked into place, he went back to watching the show of Snape trying to do damage control when a familiar laugh sidetracked the younger Slytherin.

A healthy distance away from the Whoomping willow sat Sirius, head thrown back in laughter, Remus, James, and Peter. A couple of moments after Regulus' gaze found the group, the rest of the boys started guffawing as well, pointing over at Snape and slapping their knees. There was a time when his brother's laughter warmed him to his core. Now, his veins ached with a bitter chill at seeing them all together without a care in the world.

It was like Sirius abandoning him all over again. He was being forced to watch life go on for his brother and company with his nose pressed up against the glass.

_____

The elation of giving Snape a taste of his own potion lasted most of the week, but the sight of the Marauders laughing and having a grand time without him eventually caught up, weighing down his mood once more. In an effort to, once more, take his mind off of everything, he left for Hogsmeade the next Saturday morning before most students took their first sip of morning tea.

An early snow coated the roads and roofs, untrodden by hundreds of Hogwarts students for the moment. The Slytherin avoided patches of ice while watching store owners spell their sidewalks clear and turn over open signs in their doors.

It was still a bit too early for the Three Broomsticks, but Regulus had just enough pocket change from Mrs. Lupin for a small pack of sugar quills. Avoiding some of the harsh wind, he ducked into the alley behind Honey-Dukes and walked toward the side entrance. Just before Regulus reached the door, he heard a crack behind him.

When Regulus spun around, he came face-to-face with the severe, imposing figure of Walburga Black, his own personal boggart. He stiffened, backing up against the brick of Honey-Dukes, eyes wide with disbelief. She couldn't be here. She shouldn't even be in the country. But when he blinked, she was still there, staring down at him with a blank expression on her face.

"Hello, Regulus." Sharp, talon-like fingers grabbed him by the ear. He opened his mouth the scream--for his brother, James, Remus, anyone--but in a split second Hogsmeade spun and disappeared. His insides roiled from the unexpected side-along apparition.

When he opened his eyes again, he was back at Grimmauld Place.

Chapter Text

Regulus Black was back within the dank, gloomy halls of Grimmauld Place, staring up at Kreature's mounted head. The elf looked just as miserable as he had in life, but hanging in the entry hall had really added insult to injury.

Regulus's stomach rebelled, but there was nothing to retch up.

"Imperio."

Just like when the full moon rose into the sky, control of his body was ripped from him. The pain though was all mental. There was a certain kind of agony in being completely trapped inside your own body, unable to lift a finger to defend yourself against the onslaught he knew was coming.

"Stand there, Regulus," Mother hissed, still brandishing her wand at him. She'd dropped contact as soon as the apparition ended.

At least I don't have to worry about her killing me with her bare hands, he thought bitterly.

"You were very naughty, running away like that." Satisfaction dripped from her words. "Good boys take the punishments they earned."

He'd grown enough to acknowledge that good mothers didn't sound gleeful when discussing murdering their children. Thinking of mothers made him fiercely wish Hope was here, imagining her soft arms wrapping him up and taking him away from Grimmauld. She'd hold cooking lessons in the kitchen while a summer breeze drifted in through the window. Remus would ignore the whole thing, reading at the kitchen table and adding dry comments where appropriate.

But Regulus soaked up the attention Hope freely gave like a flower seeing the sun for the first time. He was pants at cooking, but he'd do anything to be back in that kitchen right now with two of his favorite people. Even though he hated them right now, he couldn't help wistfully imagining inviting Sirius and James over. They'd behave like idiots, and Hope would threaten to whack them with her wooden spoon, a threat she'd never follow through with.

Now, he was going to die right here in the gloomy halls of Grimmauld, and he'd never seen any of them again. It was as if none of the strife and suffering in the last few months amounted to anything. Kreacher's sacrifice was going to be in vain, because Walburga was flicking her wand again, and it was going to happen now, and he was so so so scared. Please--

She summoned his wand from his robes, catching it. "Who else knows about your affliction, boy?" The words came out instead of a curse., though stung just as much

The answer seemed to rise up in his belly, trying to escape. His body jerked with the effort it took to keep it in. But in the end, there was no power strong enough to get him to name Hope, his friends, Pomfrey, or even Dumbledore. He knew his own life was forfeit, but at least he could spare them this.

He wasn't as concerned for McGonagall. She'd chew his mother up and spit her out without pausing her lesson plan.

"Answer me." The full force of the imperius curse hit him with these words.

He didn't need to obey her. That wasn't quite right. He was Walburga's will, nothing but a tool for her to order around as she saw fit. His resolve started to crumble, and he could feel the names on his tongue, burning to get out. The longer they sat there, the more he lost his grip on his sealed lips.

Could he hold out if she asked again?

"Piss off," James said from the back of his mind, words echoing from the past. "You're too stubborn to die, Regulus Black."

Yes. I. Fucking. Am.

He ripped out the tendrils of Walbura's control like guts out of a pumpkin. When he could move, he made a break for the imposing front door. His legs moved stiffly under him, but he limped and staggered as fast as he could. Once again, freedom lay only a few feet away.

But this time, it was a few feet too far.

The "crucio" hit Regulus in the back, and he went down hard, head knocking against the ground. The daze from the head wound did nothing to mask the unbridled pain that shot through his body. He screamed, the sound echoing up through the floors of Grimmauld. When he was gone, the sound of his anguish would still haunt these halls.

Then, as quickly as the pain came, it was gone, leaving him trembling on the floor.

"I suppose it doesn't matter who you told anymore," his mother said. "After we're done here, I'll join your father in France, and we'll start anew. I hope the next Black heir doesn't take after the last two." A sneer. "Else, they'll meet the same sticky end you're about to."

Regulus shuddered as her heels clicked against the wood, moving closer to him.

"Don't worry, Regulus. I'm not going to kill you. Dumbledore has already made too much of a stink at the ministry about our little altercation. If you showed up murdered, they'd track your father and me down and throw us in Azkaban. I suppose that thought pleases you."

He didn't let any kind of feeling of relief surface at her admission, because he knew Walburga wasn't done.

Walburga's wand leveled at Regulus again. "No, I'm not going to kill you; you're going to kill yourself. Imperio."

A blanket of compulsion fell over him, and this time, when it was his own life on the line, he couldn't fight it. With a flick of his mother's wrist, he was toddling off to his father's office and retrieving the cursed dagger hidden in the bottom drawer of his desk. A green, metal snake wound around the hilt of the weapon. The serpent had two, sharp rubies for eyes, that seemed to stare at Regulus as he walked back out to the hall.

To his shame, he couldn't even dredge up enough resistance to take his time. Only a few moments later, he was kneeling before his mother, glaring up at her, and knuckles white with tension around the dagger.

She didn't even look him in the eye when she said, "Be a good boy now, Regulus, and slit your wrists."

He did.

Regulus watched the blade move up and down each forearm, detached from everything but the pain. The dagger clattered to the ground a few seconds later, but it wasn't over. The dagger was no ordinary kitchen knife. The cuts he'd made widened to the edge of his arm, deepened into the muscle, and stretched toward his bicep.

The blood practically poured from the wound, staining his pants and puddling underneath his knees. Watching this macabre display and knowing he didn't have long before he'd pass out from blood loss, his thoughts drifted back to the people he loved.

Sirius. He'd abandoned Regulus, treated him horribly, and played a key part in destroying his life. But still, the knowledge that they would never make up now gutted him. He wouldn't even get a chance to dress that git down again. Which was truly tragic.

Then there was Remus and Hope. Hell, he'd even miss the unpleasant Mr. Lupin. They made him a part of their family without asking for anything in return. If there was one person he knew he could forgive anything, it was Remus Lupin.

Regulus' mind skirted around thinking about James. Despite everything that had happened in the past few weeks, his rejection still burned. All the words he'd never get to say were about to literally die on his tongue. If he could have one more moment with the older boy, Regulus would tell him he forgives the Gryffindor for not loving him. In the end, there was nothing to forgive.

Maybe he'd forgive them all if he was being honest with himself. And the opportunities for honesty were quickly running out.

Would they even know what became of him?

His skin was now so pale he couldn't tell where his white school shirt stopped and his arm began. Even seated on the floor, Regulus found himself swaying back and forth, almost unable to keep upright anymore.

Then, a thought struck the Slytherin. If this was really the end, he didn't want to die on his knees.

He clawed his way to his feet, fingers scraping at the wallpaper and staining it red. The imperius curse didn't stop him, and neither did his mother. She merely stood by, raising a stiff eyebrow at his meager resistance.

"I hate you, you know," he gritted out. "You've never acted like a mother to me a day in your life."

"Imitating Sirius, now?" she said, a snide smile curling the edges of her lips. "You always did walk in his shadow. You're not very convincing, I'm afraid. What kind of Black can't lie? Even on their deathbed."

She was right. He didn't hate her. He didn't think he could. That didn't mean he was going to give her the last word.

"I wasn't going to become a death eater for you." He half fell back against the wall, head drooping slightly down to his chest. "I was working out a loophole from day one. How's that for a Black?"

"Your only worth was in your subservience," Walburga said, eye glacial. "Now, you're worth nothing at all."

She had his wand; she had all the power. He wasn't getting out of here. Not in this life. There was only one last thing he could think to do, and it was really a shame that none of the Gryffindors were around to see it.

Pushing off the wall, Regulus Black used every last ounce of strength in his body and punched Walburga Black square in the nose.

The woman let out a cry of pain as cartilage crunched under her son's fist. Blood burst out of her nostrils, running down her face, and she fell backward in surprise. Her back hit the wall, just as it had done all those months ago during Regulus' escape. This time, however, it didn't knock her conscious, just put her on her arse.

Deliriously, Regulus thought that was just as good.

Though not enough to harm Walburga, the collision still shook the wall, and unfortunately for her, she'd landed just under the mounted head of a certain elf. Regulus watched as Kreacher's head (and its solid, wood base) came skidding down the wall right onto his mother's head.

Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she slumped over right where she sat.

Regulus would have laughed if there were any strength left in his body. Instead, he slid down the opposite wall. His wand was only a few feet away, but he knew he couldn't reach it. The feeling had long since left his limbs.

Just as the Slytherin's eyes were about to drift shut for the last time, the front door exploded open with a bang. Regulus was too far gone to even flinch, but his head was propped up at the perfect angle to see Sirius, James, and Remus clammer through the entrance with their wands drawn.

Was this some last-moment-before-death hallucination? If it was, it was a good one.

The trio paid Walburga no mind, running straight for Regulus. He became vaguely aware of shaking hands trying to hold his cuts together. Both Sirius and Remus uttered half a dozen counter-curses, but nothing could knit the skin back together, and he couldn't speak to tell them about the cursed dagger.

Is this real? This can't be real, he thought, as Remus said something about St. Mungos and Aurors. Why would they come to Grimmauld?

He didn't have to wonder for long, because a moment later, he floated up from the ground, strong arms wrapping firmly around him. He felt warm for the first time since popping back into these ancestral halls.

"We have magic, you idiot," someone said, but the arms didn't falter.

When they started moving towards the door, he found he had the strength to speak after all. "N-no. Kreacher..."

"Just relax, Reg."

He shook his head violently. "Can't...leave him here...again."

"Bloody hell, somebody grab the elf head."

Regulus let go of his last thread of control and faded out of existence.

Chapter Text

The first thing Regulus became aware of was a warm, soft hand pushing hair back from his forehead. The touch was gentle, bringing the Slytherin toward consciousness with patience.

When he opened his eyes, Hope sat to his left, fiddling with the edge of the hospital sheet. She smiled as his lids fluttered. On his right, in a chair, Remus reclined. A book lay discarded in his lap, and every few seconds he let out a glass-shattering snore.

"He's like a chainsaw," Hope said when she saw his attention drift to the sounds Remus was making. "Snored ever since he was a baby, actually. We moved his crib from our room to the spare within a week."

Regulus had no idea what a chainsaw was, but if it was anything like Remus' snoring, he hoped to never meet one.

"Used to it," he croaked out, remembering waking up to the older boy's sounds during the summer. He'd tried to smother the Gryffindor with his pillow every time, but now, he reminisced with fondness.

Would he be welcome back at the Lupins' after everything that had happened?

"How long have I been here?" he asked, glancing around the deserted hospital wing.

“You’ve been out for a few days. Long enough for Pomfrey to fix you up,” Remus rasped from his seat, having woken up in time to hear Regulus’ question.

Neither boy met the other’s eye. Instead, Regulus unearthed himself from the mountain of blankets piled on. The long, jagged cuts into his forearms had been sealed back together to form slightly angry scabs. When he moved, the fabric of his hospital clothes caught against the healing wound, and he winced,

“It’ll scar,” Remus said. 

Regulus motioned to the patchwork that was his body. “What’s one more bloody scar?”

“The important thing is,” Hope cut in, “that you’re ok. Mrs. Pomfrey said we could take you home tonight if your pain levels are manageable.”

“Home?” Regulus didn’t mean for the word to come out so pathetic and whiny. “For the whole holiday break?”

The woman’s face softened, and she reached out to take the boy’s hands firmly. “For Christmas, for summer…for as long as you’d like to stay.”

 Before Regulus could do anything embarrassing like cry or hug the woman, Sirius burst through the doors to the hospital wing like a jackass. His entrance made a huge CLANG that caused everyone to flinch. To add insult to injury, the older boy was panting and lopped over toward the Slytherin’s bed with all the grace of a mangy mutt.

Regulus wanted to be grateful to his older brother for saving his life, but Merlin, was that numpty making it difficult.

Sirius skidded to a stop inches from the bed and went pink under the scrutiny of the Lupins and his brother. “Saw you move on the—well, that is to say….I thought you might be awake.”

Hope cleared her throat. “We’ll leave you two alone for a bit. Remus and I can finish gathering your belongings.”

The other werewolf seemed reluctant to leave the brothers alone but followed his mother towards the Slytherin dorms nonetheless. He knew she wasn’t above grabbing him by the ear, no matter if he towered above her now or not.

In the Lupins wake, a heavy silence settled over the hospital wing. Sirius scuffed his shoe against the stone floor, and Regulus, equally uncomfortable, righted his grip around the sheets.

“So—how are you feeling?” Sirius finally croaked.

“Fine. Hope said I can go home in a few hours.”

Sirius’ lips thinned. “Home. Right. That’s—that’s great, Reg.”

After a pause, Regulus decided to do his part to address the elephant in the room.

"Can't believe you came to Grimmauld to rescue me." He let out a wry laugh. "I thought the blood loss had me hallucinating. Didn't you swear on all our graves--or something equally dramatic--that you'd never set foot there again as long as you lived?"

"Yeah, well...." Sirius turned red. "I had incentive."

They both looked away at that, becoming very interested in the stone walls they saw every day.

“Reg…I’ve been having this conversation in my head for days, and I still don’t know how to say I’m sorry—not in a way that expresses how sorry I am. And I’ll understand if you can never forgive or tell me to piss off. I messed up.” Tears were starting to gather in Sirius’ eyes, which made Regulus squirm. “I messed up so bad.”

“Stop.” Mercifully, Sirius did, and Regulus continued. “I had some time to think while everything happened with Mother…and the dagger. And I don’t know if I can forgive you.”

A wounded sound escaped Sirius’ throat but the older brother held his tongue. 

“I’m not ready to forgive you for telling Snape and everything that happened after,” Regulus said. “But I want us to be brothers again. I want….” He trailed off, looking down in shame. This was all becoming a bit too emotionally honest for two Blacks.

“I want that too, Reg. I want to make it up to you. Not just for the last couple of months but for the past couple of years. I know I haven’t been a good brother to you, but I know I can be if you give me a chance,” Sirius finished hopefully. 

“Maybe…maybe you can visit me at the Lupin’s over hols.”

"I'd like that, Reg."

"Good," Regulus said, nodding curtly. "Now get out. I've had my fill of you for the day."

_____

Christmas hols at the Lupin's was almost as good as summer. Being with people that cared about you and made an effort for you brought a kind of magic to the season that couldn't be found in any Hogwarts' book. The only thing marring Regulus' enjoyment was the fact that he and Remus still weren't talking.

They'd wake up in the mornings, avoiding eye contact, and getting dressed in matching long johns. The only sound in the room was the rustle of sheets and the noise from the kitchen below. Hope liked to play Christmas carols at full blast. Regulus actually quite liked the one with a partridge and a pear tree in it, but secret he'd take to his grave.

After spending the day reading or helping Hope in the kitchen, both boys would retire to the fireplace where Hope supplied endless mugs of hot chocolate. Every time she'd come into the living room, she'd press a kiss to the tops of both of their heads. The first time she did it, the Slytherin almost dropped his mug in surprise. That was also the closest Remus got to saying something to the other werewolf for days. He opened his mouth, likely to poke fun at Reg, but then seemed to think better of it.

Regulus honestly didn't know if he wanted Remus to talk to him or not. His feelings toward the other werewolf were all jumbled and confusing. He no longer felt as betrayed or used when he looked at the other boy, but the hurt wasn't completely gone. Remus showing up for him at Grimmauld, without asking anything in return, went a long way, but Regulus still didn't know if he was ready to bury the hatchet.

Still, whether the young forgave the older or not, it was awkward not talking to the boy you slept inches from. Regulus held out until the day after Christmas. Then, he cornered Remus on the way back from the bathroom.

"I want to have a proper burial for Kreacher," Regulus said. The other boy jolted at hearing his voice after the long silence.

The elf's head had been sitting on a tucked-away spot on the kitchen counter since they returned from Hogwarts, which probably wasn't sanitary.

"Oh--okay," Remus stuttered out. "We have some nice spots around the cottage. Maybe that big oak tree by the garden? Would he have liked that?"

Regulus made a face. "Honestly, he probably would've preferred to rot in Grimmauld Place for all eternity. He was a bit fucked in the head."

A laugh burst out of Remus' mouth before he could smother it with his hand. "Oh, that's terrible. I shouldn't laugh."

"No, you shouldn't. Have some sodding respect, Lupin. That elf died for me," Regulus said, but he smiled as he did.

They both laughed. Not because it was that funny, but out of relief to be talking again, if only briefly.

Once he got control of himself, Remus asked, "Do you want anything special for the ceremony? I don't really know much about house elf funerals in the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black."

Regulus hesitated but eventually said, "Actually, I was wondering if you could invite Sirius. I'd like him to be there."

Which wasn't exactly the truth. Or at least not the whole truth. He would like his brother there, but that wasn't the sole reason for the invite. A small part of him wanted to test Sirius, to see how serious he was about making everything up to Regulus. The older Black brother had hated Kreacher with every fiber of his being--a feeling that was returned in spades. Maybe it was petty, but Regulus wanted to see Sirius force himself to sing the elf's praises.

If there was a house elf afterlife, he knew Kreacher would also get a savage amount of pleasure from the show.

With this request, Regulus also tested Remus. He knew the two of them were on the outs. It wasn't really Regulus' business, but he'd use it to exact a little revenge.

The sorting hat didn't place him in Slytherin for nothing.

Half of him expected Remus to refuse, but he eventually said, face unreadable, "I'll write him."

"Tell him we're doing it at sunrise tomorrow, so he needs to be here before sunrise."

The corner of Remus' mouth turned up. "You know, there's such a thing as cruel and unusual punishment."

_____

Despite having to arrive at the Lupin's by 5AM sharp, Sirius was practically tripping over himself to rush through the door, face lined with anxiety and excitement over being invite. Regulus found this to be quite embarrassing for the older brother, though he did enjoy watching the boy knock over an umbrella stand on his way in. He apologized to everyone who would stand still long enough for twenty minutes after that.

What Regulus did not enjoy was watching James walk through the door after Sirius. The older boy looked just as breathtaking in person as he did in the Slytherin's memory. He allowed himself one look, and then glanced away, avoiding James' eyes while their small group headed out towards the burial site.

Everything was silent except for Sirius' chattering teeth.

Regulus hung back for a second to walk with Sirius. "You're not dressed properly." Who wears a leather jacket to an outdoor burial in December?

"I'm dressed proper cool is what I am. You wouldn't know anything about that, Reg."

In revenge, Regulus shoved Kreacher's head into his brother's hands. The older made a face and almost dropped the elf in surprise. "I think Kreacher would have wanted you to carry him," Regulus said.

Once they reached the base of the oak tree, Remus flicked his hand at the shovel he'd brought, and it started to dig an elf-head-sized hole. Once the hole was done, Sirius handed Kreacher back to Regulus. The younger boy quickly placed the elf's head in the grave before he could lose his nerve.

When Regulus stepped back, Sirius cleared his throat. "Not sure what you're supposed to say at these things, but Monty helped me make this."

The Gryffindor pulled a large, smooth stone from his pocket. It was a pretty white color with sparkles within and black lettering. The gravestone read: 

Kreacher Black

Loyal friend to the very end and beyond

Regulus bit his lip and tried to blink away the tears but they came anyway. He furiously scrubbed away the wetness on his face, though he was sure everyone had already seen.

"Do you like it?" Sirius asked, voice smaller than any of them had ever heard.

Regulus didn't have the words, so he just nodded at his brother, hoping his eyes could convey how grateful he was for the gravestone. He took it from the older boy and placed it over the freshly-dug grave.

"Is it enough?" Regulus croaked out. Kreacher spent his life giving Regulus everything. How do you repay a debt like that?

"It's great, Reg." Remus said, squeezing the younger werewolf's shoulder. "What more could any of us want?"

The four of them stood there for a while more, the world silent and frozen. They stayed at the grave for so long, in fact, that Remus wrapped his scarf around Sirius, who had started to go blue. The scene was almost enough to bring a smile to Regulus' face.

Eventually, the wizards trudged back inside for some of Hope's hot chocolate. Sirius got two mugs, three blankets, and a lecture.

"What would possess you to go out in just a jacket?" Hope demanded.

"Vanity," Regulus said while he tossed another throw on top of his brother.

The younger Black brother left his drink unfinished, slipping out into the garden while Sirius tried to work up the courage to talk to Remus, seated on the other side of the couch. He didn't think he could look at the two of them without rolling his eyes. Keeping his own company was probably for the best.

Of course, he'd barely been alone with the potatoes for two minutes before James slipped through the back door. The Potter heir stood a few feet behind Regulus, shifting from foot to foot, unsure. It was perhaps the first time Regulus had seen James unsure.

"Full moon tonight." The older boy's voice croaked a bit from misuse. This was likely the longest he'd ever been quiet.

"Hasn't escaped my notice."

"I don't suppose you'd like Sirius and me to keep you guys company?"

"Don't suppose I would." His tone dripped with metaphorical icicles. 

"Right," James mumbled, falling back into silence.

"Just it out, Potter. Whatever you came out here to say, say it."

James' voice was small and sad when he spoke. "I liked it better when you called me James."

Well, if that didn't take the wind out of Regulus' sails. His anger for James hadn't been smothered, but it did reduce to a simmer. Despite how he'd been hurt, he never wanted James to share in the pain. If the sun went out what would be left in this life?

None of this was the Gryffindor's fault anyway.

"James," Regulus emphasized, turning to face the boy. "I'm not good company right now. I'm still too...hurt I suppose." The last bit was hard to spit out. "But I'll get over it."

The unsaid words fell between them: I'll get over you. It was possibly the biggest lie Regulus never actually told, but he'd pretend for James.

"What if I don't want you to get over it? Reg--"

"I don't need your pity, Potter." 

"It's not pity. Merlin save me from the Black stubbornness." James drew in a long, nervous breath. "When you kissed me that night at the party and...said all that stuff, you kind of blindsided me."

"I gathered from your stunned silence," Regulus said dryly.

"More than stunned really." James scratched the back of his head. "I would have recovered faster if you'd hit me with a stupefy. Before that, I'd never really thought about our relationship--I know that might not be what you want to hear...." 

"Thought I made it clear I didn't want your pity or pretty lies. It's a little late to spare my feelings anyway."

The older boy's lips thinned, stricken. "I know. And I'm so sorry, Reg."

"Not your fault." The Slytherin shrugged, belaying the storm brewing in his chest. "You don't feel the same."

"But that's the thing." Getting a little worked up now, the Gryffindor started to talk with his hands, brandishing widely. "I think I do feel the same. No, no, that's not right. I know I have--er...romantic feelings for you. I just never realized until you made the first move."

"James...."

"Wait, wait--let me finish. Please. I didn't really think it through until you said you felt something for me. Then I spent the next couple weeks--when you wouldn't come around us--thinking and figuring out how I feel...how I've always felt, I think." A deep breath. "This isn't coming out well, is it?"

"No, not really." Regulus wanted to squash the hope springing up in his chest at the subtext behind James' words. If there was even a possibility he was about to be rejected again after getting his hopes up, he'd be crushed.

"Ok, how about this." James stepped forward, tentatively taking Regulus' face in his hands and staring into his eyes. "I love you, Reggie. I've loved you for so long that it snuck up on me. I'm sorry for being such a numpty. Do you--is there any chance you still feel something for me?"

Regulus made no move to extract himself from the older boy but said, "I want to believe you, James."

"So believe me."

Rolling his eyes, the Slytherin continued. "I want to believe you; I just don't know if I can. For so long, I've loved you in secret. I just didn't think I had a chance. I'm a Black, a Slytherin, a sodding werewolf." Regulus held up his hand to silence the other boy when he would've interrupted. "And then when I found out that you'd never even thought of me the way I thought of you, it just confirmed every insecurity I have. I don't know how I can believe that I can have this."

"It's already yours," James said simply, devastatingly. "And, Reggie, all those things you listed, they're part of you. And there's no part of you I don't love."

"Even my Black stubbornness?" Regulus asked weakly. 

"I guess there are some parts I love more than others." James sent him a cheeky smile. "Try this on for size: let's just give it a go. A trial run. I'll show you how much I love you to the point where you'll never doubt it again. Then, maybe you'll feel able to trust me with your heart again."

It's yours, Regulus thought. It never belonged to anyone else. But the words didn't escape his lips, because, as James said, he needed time to trust again, to put himself out there and risk total rejection once again. 

He might also need a large amount of firewhiskey, when the time came.

Stiffly, Regulus said, "Your terms for a trail run are agreeable."

James laughed, bringing Regulus' face closer to his. "Can I kiss you now or are we going to continue staring soulfully into each other's eyes?"

Regulus' mouth curved slightly. "Haven't decided. Do trial boyfriends have snogging privileges?"

"I sure hope so."

And then their lips met. It wasn't fireworks like novels might have you believe. It was warm and sweet, the feeling of coming home after being out in the cold for too long. Regulus felt his very soul let out a sigh of relief.

When they came out for air, James smirked. "So...what other kind of privileges do trial boyfriends get?"

Regulus smacked him on the back of the head. "You really are a numpty."

"Your numpty."

Regulus didn't dispute it.

_____

Sirius and James reluctantly trudged out the Lupin's front door about an hour before sunset. A few minutes after that, Remus side-along apparated Regulus to the porch of the shrieking shack. They worked like a well-oiled machine, securing the front door and preparing the upstairs room for their upcoming transformation.

"Lie down for a bit, Reg" Remus said, voice hoarse. "We've still got a bit before moon rise."

Regulus didn't have enough energy to argue, so he collapsed onto the dusty, dirty floor. "Will I be able to do that someday? Tell when the moon is going up?" He kicked a foot pathetically. "Take my shoes off, Rem?"

Remus shot him a dry look. "You're pushing your luck," he said but pulled off the younger's shoes anyway. "And I don't know. Maybe someday. I've been a werewolf for over a decade. We'll check back when you're thirty."

They sat with their thoughts for a while before Remus turned to the younger werewolf again. "Listen, Reg, we should talk...about everything."

"No, thank you."

That startled a laugh out of Remus. "Fair enough. But in case it wasn't obvious--I'm sorry for keeping secrets from you. I never meant to hurt you."

Regulus sat up slowly, joints creaking like the termite-infested wood below the boys. "Promise you'll never lie to me again."

Seeming taken aback by Regulus' change in intensity, Remus stuttered, "Y--yes, of course. I promise."

"Swear on something sacred. Swear on your recording player," Regulus said, a smile in his words. "If you ever lie to me again, I get to smash it."

"I swear on my record player," Remus laughed. "But honestly, I'd rather you smash me than it."

"Acceptable."

The moon had gotten higher in the sky. Though Regulus couldn't estimate the exact moment of transformation, he could feel his bones starting to shift and his canines elongating.

Also sensing their opportunity for words was drawing to a close, Remus asked, "Are we...good, then?"

Regulus smiled around his sharpened teeth. "We're good. I don't have so many brothers as to let the ones I do have get away," he said. "Besides, pack sticks together, right?"