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Chapter Text

"It's always so windy here..." this whisper barely escaped the dry lips. Even the chattering of teeth was louder, "But it's probably colder in the ground, right?"

The grave, every detail of which he knew by heart, didn't answer him in any way. Thus making him feel even more sad and pitiful. Before he could allow himself to show weakness, the guy quickly left the cemetery. Almost ran away, without looking back.

It was one thousand nine hundred and seventy-ninth year, and Regulus Black was about to turn eighteen. He had never been a fan of birthdays, and for good reasons. Every year, time after time, the "gifts" he received became increasingly worse: either his older brother got sorted into Gryffindor instead of Slytherin, or that very brother ran away forever, or the love of his life, disappointed beyond imaginable, turned away from him, or suddenly... his father died.

Not that Regulus loved him dearly, but still, there were some bright feelings for him. For some unknown reason, even despite the fact that all life this man was... just there. And nothing more. He existed both in portraits and in the house itself as a ghost. Only occasionally did he show signs of life, buzzing and repeating, "Listen to your mother, do not disgrace our noble family, Toujours Pur." Sirius, the older child, couldn't stand his father for such indifference, but Regulus... Regulus respected his family from birth, no matter how awful it truly was.

"Since your father died..." it was still tough for mother to talk. Even though three whole weeks had passed since the funeral. Regulus thought that such a steel woman should've recovered on the very first day, "And we burned the traitor from the tapestry," she no longer even called him by name. It was, in fact, really sad. What would Sirius feel if he found out? "From now on, the only heir of the Black family is you, Regulus."

If she had said this literally a year or two ago, he would've probably jumped and hopped joyfully, like a hare. Maybe he would've even hugged her (and then received a scolding in response instead of affection). After all, once it seemed like there was nothing more important than becoming the heir, the pride of the family. It seemed like he had to live for this purpose only. And now? Absolute indifference, not a single emotion.

Now he was worried about much more important things — those that went beyond the borders of Grimmauld Place. He didn't care about his childhood feud with his brother for the title of heir anymore. Regulus was more worried about what would happen to the world if he continued to sit idly by. What would all of magical Britain turn into?

"Don't you dare let me down," and here were the angry notes in her voice again. Gradually, his mother blossomed from a withered flower into a cruel snake again, "You're the only hope now, Regulus."

She was right. Now he actually was the only hope left, because he knew a terrible secret. A secret that could rid the world of the so-called Dark Lord. The guy barely restrained the desire to wince, the taste of contempt lingering on his tongue. Lord, yeah, as if. There's nothing oh so wonderful about that little pathetic man.

It's a pity that Regulus realized this only now. It's a shame that all this time he was so obsessed, so devoted. Especially to the bastard who dared to hurt someone important and valuable — his beloved house el– his friend. The Blacks don't forgive things like that. Just as they don't forgive terrible goals that require numerous victims.

"...you yourself understand, Regulus... if at least someone dares to betray me, to disobey me, they and their families will not see another day. Even pure-blood wizards will not be pardoned. Remember this, as it applies to you as well. I will stop at nothing."

When Regulus finally saw the light, he understood why his loved ones reacted so badly to the mark in the past.

Nevertheless, he still hoped that at least one person had not yet written him off. The very one, who came into this world through the woman he hated deeply; the one, who had never even said goodbye properly. The very one who had been a disappointment to Walburga, and a dear brother to Regulus, despite everything.

"...I didn't expect you to actually come," in fact, he wanted to say completely different words. He wanted to thank Sirius, to ask how's life going, to spend a couple of minutes just like in their childhood, yet nothing but learned politeness escaped his mouth. And this, apparently, infuriated the guy opposite even more, "I have to tell you something."

"Figured that out myself. C'mon, spill it quickly, 'cause I'm already tired of you," in response there was almost a growl, like of a dog's.

"This is important. Really."

Before he might die a horrible death, Regulus wanted to talk to him, his older brother. There was also another candidate, but even a fool could understand that he'd never look the Slytherin in the eye again. Neither would he have any conversations. So that left only Sirius.

As it seemed, Sirius hated his brother as fiercely as he once hated Severus Snape. But... maybe that wasn't really true. After all, he came here today to talk.

"You have to believe me," the guy looked at him like at a madman, "That Pettigrew of yours, that "Wormtail"... he's not who he claims to be."

"What are you talking about, brat? Have you completely lost your mind after living with maman?"

"Sirius, I'm not joking. I see him at the Dark Lord's meetings. He has a mark. He's a Death Eate–"

He didn't even have time to finish speaking, when suddenly his brother slammed him into the wall with all might. He didn't break any bones, but definitely did trample Regulus' heart and soul. All that was left was to spit on them and then take a French leave.

"Barking mad, is what you are! What the actual hell are you talking about?!" Sirius tugged at robes, barely holding back from punching his brother in the face, "It's not April Fools' Day today, if you suddenly got lost in the dates!" in fact, it was he who got lost in the dates. He even forgot what date it was today.

"I told you I wasn't joking!.. I'm warning you, idiot, I want to help."

"Go help your head, lunatic! How did you even come up with this? Or did your pretty little friends help you?"

The older brother almost mocked him. Did not believe a word, no matter how sincerely Regulus tried to squeeze out his voice. Knowing in his mind that Sirius would never listen, he tried to convey the truth. To prove that that guy couldn't be trusted. In response, he received, "It's you that can't be trusted!".

Ah, perhaps Regulus was wrong after all. Perhaps he was hated after all.

"Sirius, I just want you all to be safe," the voice sounded pitiful. How unbecoming of an heir, "Pettigrew is a very loyal follower, this won't lead to anything good..."

"Why the fuck are you accusing my friends? Have nothing better to do? Go kill some Muggles then!!"

"Sirius! I swear, I'm telling the truth!.."

What did he expect? That his brother would trust him, then help him with an incredibly difficult task? Well... yes, Regulus was counting on that. He thought that Sirius would lend a helping hand, together they would get rid of the cursed locket, and then– then–

Perhaps James Potter himself would understand and forgive him. At least that. The Slytherin didn't dare pray for more.

"I don't know what you got into your head, but," the young man pushed him again with his bony back into the stone wall, "You won't get James back this way. He's already married to Lily, James loves Lily, do you understand?!"

Two different truths were hard to swallow at the same time. It was so painful that Regulus had to close his eyes and take a deep breath through a nose. Everything was fine. He knew it all very well. He couldn't change it, no matter how hard he tried. But the realization didn't make him feel any better.

"Now... not everything's about Ja... Potter," yeah, right. The older brother wasn't buying any of that, "I'm worried about you as well. Pettigrew will definitely–"

Sirius had always been a hot-tempered person. It didn't even take much effort to get him mad.

"Enough! Tell your little memorized stories as much as you want," the evil grin, like of a mad dog's, wasn't frightening at all. Instead, it brought a terrible, oppressive melancholy, "But I won't let you destroy my family with them!"

Ah.

So that's how it is.

In an instant, the last spark of hope in his soul died out, the youthful face stopped expressing any emotions, being able to feel something was completely out of the question. Regulus instantly forgot how to breathe after these words reached the ears. "His family," huh? A family that certainly included the Potters, Lupin, and even that traitor Pettigrew, but certainly not his own brother. Certainly not a person who had the same blood in his veins.

Right now, Sirius literally said that he didn't consider Regulus family. It would've been better to just die right here and now.

"Your family..."

"Yes, idiot," his brother recoiled from him, as if in disgust, "If it's between them and you, I'll believe them."

Regulus wanted to cry like a little offended boy. But Sirius would hate him for it even more.

He'd never believe. Even when he'd hear about such a concept as "horcruxes". No one would help, no one would extend that much-needed helping hand. Because Regulus was marked by the Lord, because he was a Slytherin, because he was born into the Black family. "It'd be better if I had never been born at all," he thought, looking at the hatred in the gray eyes of the guy opposite.

He has to get rid of the horcrux all alone. He has to swallow the sadness and resentment, then do everything himself.

"...I just wasted my precious time," Sirius was taken aback for a moment. He expected something like "fuck you, I hate you!", but definitely not this, "Well, in that case, goodbye. From now on, I'll never dare to disturb you ever again."

"Because I'm going to die today anyway," he added mentally, barely holding back a bitter smile.

When Regulus was leaving, his brother shouted, "Well then go! Go to your murderous friends and don't show your face again! I hope you drop dead!". And only when he returned home, when he accidentally looked at the calendar Lily had given him, did he suddenly remember,

"Today is... Regulus'..." a pause, "Birth... day," instant realization. With a jerk, Sirius threw the calendar and everything else off the table onto the floor, drowning out his feelings with a loud banging.

***

"...aste... lus... mast...! Master Regulus!.. Can you hear me, master Regulus?!"

He remembered nothing but pain, pain and pain. There was so much of it that it literally was murdering him from the inside, while still leaving alive. With lungs burning, with scratches stinging here and there on his body, Black was choking on both the poison and the cold dirty water at the same time. How disgusting. To be honest, he was more than ready to just pass away right now. However, the fragile palms continued to hit his chest, pressing somewhere in the heart area and bringing him back to reality. Bringing him back to life.

Regulus didn't even quite understand who was talking to him. Only after another fifteen seconds, when the water rolled up to his throat along with the vomit, he remembered: his faithful house elf, Kreacher, had come here with him. It was also he who helped to turn on the side and puke all the contents out in a stinking puddle.

"Master, my dear, brave master...!" the hands gently stroked his trembling back, like of a child's. Even his mother never did anything like that, "Master Regulus, you're alive, oh what a miracle!.."

Alive? Is he actually alive? He can't really tell by the terrible sensations.

"Forgive, oh please forgive the old Kreacher for disobedience! But– but Kreacher couldn't!.. Couldn't let you die!"

For some time, the guy was simply coming to his senses. Just recently (an hour or five seconds ago?) he was drowning in the lake, he was being pulled to the bottom, while screaming silently. Just like in childhood, he cried and called, "Sirius...! James...!", although he understood that these two wouldn't hear him. And even if they did, they still wouldn't come to help.

Yet suddenly the water was replaced by dry land. Suddenly he was sitting on the shore, helplessly looking around. It shouldn't be like this. He was supposed to die — this was exactly what he had planned for today. He even wrote a note, wished his mother good night as a farewell, carefully made his bed... he shouldn't have survived, but now for some reason he was still breathing.

When he began to hear Kreacher better, he realized: it was the house elf who, having disobeyed the order, saved him from a painful death. Somehow, he pulled his master out and even helped him start breathing again. But it shouldn't be like this. It shouldn't have happened.

"I hope you drop dead!" the last words he heard from his older brother echoed in his ears.

"I... was suppos..." the hand he cut at the entrance to the cave was still actively bleeding and aching, "...die... I had to," Regulus whispered, swallowing sour saliva. His faithful servant immediately burst into tears, hitting himself and saying that he'd never let his master go into the lake a second time.

Although Black didn't really plan to drown himself again. He had already had enough of it to understand that it was hellishly painful. But what wouldn't you do for your loved ones, wouldn't you?..

Finally, the teenager looked down. The real locket — and part-time Horcrux — lay nearby. For a rich aristocrat, it was a rather pitiful thing, even though it was an ancient relic. It was hard to believe that he had almost gone after his father for its sake. "Wait..." he thought as he was coming to his senses more and more, "Wait...! I have it, but I... have no idea how to destroy it."

Oh, he was such an idiot. Or actually lost his mind, as Sirius said. Now if the Lord finds out, it'll be so over. Not just for him, but for all his loved ones, whom he least wanted to expose to danger. Finding a way to destroy such complex and dark magic will take a lot of time, and until then... what should he do? Whatshouldhedowhatshouldhedo?! He doesn't want to die, or live, or lose any of his loved ones. He has no idea what he wants to do anymore. But something urgently needs to be done with the locket before Voldemort becomes too strong.

What had Kreacher done? Why had he saved him? He should've obeyed and just  let him die–

"Damn..." he hissed through teeth chattering from the cold, "Damn, damn, damn!.. Idiot!" he hadn't even thought about what he would do if he survived. How self-confident and stupid do you have to be for that? "Idiot, idiot, stupid, stupid!"

"Master Regulus, please, don't hit yourself! Beat up old, useless Kreacher instead! Kreacher disobeyed you, Kreacher deserves a harsh punishment, beat Kreacher!"

This made the guy freeze (the fist stopped a millimeter from his black curly hair), and then looked at the house-elf in confusion. At the only living being that had been with him since birth, that had never turned away from him under any circumstances. Regulus had no one else except this tiny creature with sad, sorrowful eyes.

Even his mother didn't need him as much as Kreacher did.

"...I'd never... never hurt you," when tears flowed non-stop down his already wet cheeks, the house elf carefully wiped them away. And like a caring parent, tried to calm his master down.

***

"Mother, I sincerely apologize for bothering you..." although it was painful to speak, he continued, "But could you... protect my mind from someone else's penetration?"

The woman, not having time to sip her tea, looked at him with barely concealed amazement.

"You are stronger and more experienced than me in magic, especially dark magic," Regulus' smile trembled nervously, and his eyes seemed crazy, but he squeezed the words out of himself until the last, "Is there a spell that could provide me with complete protection? From any Legilimens?"

"...what is that cut on your hand? And such a fresh one, too?"

The guy quickly pulled the sleeve of his white shirt down to hide the terrible mark. Yesterday, having returned from the cave barely alive, he didn't even drink any healing potions. He simply passed out from fatigue, and early in the morning at breakfast began to ask his mother for help.

"Regulus, have you done something bad?" the disgusting vomit rose up to his throat again. Walburga hesitantly tried to penetrate his mind to find out, but her son was no slouch either. He knew a little about Legilemency himself, "Regulus Arcturus Black, you must answer when you are asked."

"N-no, mother, I... I didn't do anything..."

He shouldn't have survived. Kreacher shouldn't have saved him. Now everyone will be in danger.

"It's just... please" her son suddenly looked at her so desperately that even she felt uneasy, "Help me."

Mother studied him for a while, then looked again at the hand with a cut. After that she sighed heavily, putting her cup on the saucer.

"You never dared ask me for help before," she noted. Before Black could think that this was a refusal, the woman rose from her chair, "Come, the library has a whole section on Legilimency. I know that there are several spells there, exactly for your situation," gray eyes lit up with hope.

"And that– that will provide me complete protection?"

"Of course. Do not underestimate dark magic, Regulus."

Black stretched out a crooked, crazy grin. Everything's fine, his dear people will be safe. And he himself will be able to destroy the horcrux. Definitely will.

"Th-thank you, Mother!.." stumbling on his legs, he ran after Walburga.

No one ever knew that on his eighteenth birthday, Regulus got himself one more dark secret. Well, no one was supposed to know. Thanks to his mother's protection and dark spells, even the skilled Legilimens in the Death Eaters' ranks were unable to extract this information. Every attempt to penetrate his mind was blocked. And the guy himself smiled humbly into the Lord's face — just as before. He pretended to be loyal, which was disgusting, but at least everyone around believed him. They... did believe, didn't they?

"They probably know something. Know that I'm a traitor," Black thought, always holding his wand ready to defend himself. Because he can't die just yet. He hasn't destroyed the horcrux yet. So 'till then, he has to be one hundred percent cautious, alert, "If they ask anything, I have to pretend to be crazy... yes, crazy, like Grandmother Melania..."

Voldemort approvingly patted him on the shoulder and nodded his head. Praised Regulus for how submissive he had become lately. So much so that even Peter, always making mouse-like squeaks, could envy him. Disgusting. Even the mention of that guy was unpleasant, but he endured it too.

All of magical Britain became a theater, and Regulus Black — an actor.

Constantly (day and night) he was tense, like a taut string. No longer recognizing people, who used to be his best friends or just housemates, in all these Death Eaters, he was afraid of them. And also of the possibility of them suspecting him. But even so, he smiled politely, just as he had been used to doing since childhood. At the same time, racked his brains over how he could destroy the Horcrux as quickly as possible. Kreacher praised for this, calling him incredibly brave ("You are no coward, master Regulus! Your pathetic brother is the real coward!"). This went on for three months, exactly. Three exhausting months that were tiring him out more and more.

Some people could keep a lie inside for decades, but Regulus felt like he was falling apart after a few months. Maybe it was due to his young age. Maybe he was just a pathetic, weak loser after all.

"You haven't been so cheerful lately, baby Black," Mulciber's voice, which had once been warm, was becoming harsher and colder day by day. And he himself had become completely different. Regulus no longer recognized him, had no idea who this guy was. Anyone, but definitely not his former friend, "Some boy turned you down again?"

All the other Death Eaters (there were five of them) laughed. Regulus smiled back, but not like before. Now it came out a little strange, unnatural.

"It's his loss then, don't worry. You're a pretty little thing, baby Black."

"Yeah, besides– if he's a half-blood, just go and torture him, as a revenge."

"Uh, y-yeah, sure..."

"And if he's a mudblood..." when Crouch Jr. gave Mulciber a disapproving look, he laughed again, "Yeah, right, what am I even saying? Our baby Black is smart enough not to mess with filthy mudbloods!"

Regulus thought that at this rate he wouldn't even have to pretend to be crazy. He would actually go fucking insane soon. But he would never turn to Dumbledore or anyone from the light side. Sirius had already made it clear that it was nothing but a waste of time.

Meanwhile the real locket magnetized him. Almost convinced, "Put me on, look your fears in the eye, admit all your dark and insidious thoughts." One time, Black couldn't fight it anymore: he took the Horcrux out of the box in his room, hung it around his neck, and quickly regretted it. Somewhere inside his head, as if right in the skull, the magic was telling him with the voices of James and Sirius,

"You're weak, you're afraid, and you know it. You should've died back then, in the cave, but you couldn't even do that. You'll put everyone in danger, you'll doom everyone to death, Disappointment Arcturus Black," then, almost in hysterics, he somehow pulled off the silver chain and threw the locket as far away as possible. To the farthest corner of the room, where he could still hear the ominous hissing from. And he breathed so heavily, so irregularly, as if he was choking on water.

It's a terrible, incredibly dark magic. And Voldemort, who used it, is dangerous to the entire wizarding world. "I need to get rid of this damned trash," it's clear as day. And if Regulus doesn't hurry now, it'll be too late.

"...I hope you understood everything I just told you."

At the beginning of the fourth month of his one-man show, Regulus finally gave in. Once he learned that Lucius was trying hard to convince his wife to also take the dark mark, something inside cracked. Black realized: he could no longer keep this secret to himself. And also couldn't let someone close to him take the terrible brand.

Narcissa (now) Malfoy loved macaroons very much, and lately, for some reason, especially much. Regulus brought her enough, but she ate it all almost instantly. Very aristocratic and elegant, but terribly fast. Even though the long dress with the robe and the charms did their job perfectly, her cousin still realized that something was off. He wasn't a stupid boy, so he only needed a couple of minutes to think.

Thought and then suddenly said,

"Are you pregnant, per chance?" the young woman looked at him in shock. It was clear: she was about to start making excuses or muttering that she actually tried very hard on the masking charms, "I understand why you're hiding it," the world is extremely unstable now, and no one wanted to risk their future heirs, "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. Black's word of honor."

"Thank you, mon cher," her beloved cousin would never lie, not to her. Therefore, Narcissa relaxed her shoulders and smiled. Even her usual cold voice became warmer, more tender next to him.

"Has it been a long time?"

"Decent, I would say. But we don't know, whether it's a girl or a boy, yet."

Regulus knew for sure: whoever will be born, his cousin is going to love this child to the moon and back.

"...sorry, I got off topic," the joy for his beloved cousin needed to be curbed. He needed to continue explaining the reason why he came to the manor today, "What's more important now is that the entire magical world is under threat. And that you should never accept the dark mark."

"Yes, I understood what you were trying to convey, but... the Lord just wants to rid us of mudbloods. He advocates for the interests of pureblood wizards, does he not?"

"For now," the woman, not finding an answer, slightly lowered her big blue eyes, "Cissy, he's dangerous and will stop at nothing. Before you know it, he'll subjugate all the noble families, all the sacred twenty-eight. And then our world."

She hesitated awkwardly, doubting. The information about the Horcruxes and the real goals really touched the strings of her heart, but going against her husband was kind of too much. Especially when he fought for the ideals that she herself adhered to.

"I already figured what he wants to do. First, completely subjugate the whole of Britain, and then spread to other countries," Regulus sighed heavily, looking somewhere towards the window. A thunderstorm was raging outside, not a good sign, "And he is gradually succeeding. You know the Dolohov guy, don't you?" his cousin nodded quickly, "He recently traveled to his homeland... argh, they're always changing the name, so I can't remember. It is no longer an Empire, right?"

"Ah, you mean the country of the Koldovstoretz school!.. I think it is now called the Soviet Union."

"Yes, right... so he went there to promote the Death Eater movement among his people. The Rosiers are doing the same in France. Before you and I know it, all this will move to the... world level. Like with Grindelwald."

"Oh... is that so..."

"Cissy, think about your future child. The Lord said that he'd get rid of any pure-blood family completely because of even the slightest disobedience," the woman swallowed quietly, "Do you really want your child to live a life which he'll have to grovel before some Lord in?" almost instinctively, she shook her head. Because the Blacks (even if they're already married) will not allow themselves to kneel down before anyone, "And do you yourself also want to fear for your life every day?"

"I suppose not..." even a fool would understand that she was torn between two sides. Until she could understand which one to join, she preferred to either remain silent or answer monosyllabically. That's how it had always been with her, since early childhood.

"That's exactly why you cannot listen to Lucius's persuasion, you cannot take the mark. And it'd be even better to make him get out of this nonsense as well, before it's too late."

It will be difficult to make such a proud peacock as Malfoy change his point of view and outlook on life. But not impossible. He's a kind of businessman, and anyone can come to an agreement with him if they try hard enough. Black was sure that together with his cousin he should be able to do it.

"I'll come and talk to him myself," the guy said in a colorless voice, rising from his chair, "And you, at your leisure, think carefully about my words. Do not repeat my mistakes," he kissed her on the cheek as a farewell — kind of a tradition for the two of them.

***

"Black, you're scaring me. Have you gone completely mad, per chance?"

To be honest, this clear certainty of everyone that all Blacks are crazy psychopaths was already starting to irritate. The wizards didn't even hide their thoughts, instead voicing everything they thought about the members of the noble family out loud. Even though it's all untrue. Well... okay, maybe it is true, but only partly. The difference is huge.

The snobbish and proud aristocrat looked at him as if he were a crazy tramp. He probably didn't chase him out of the house only because his wife said, "You have to listen to him. You have to believe him. It's for our own interests." But Lucius squinted his eyes in doubt and didn't care, since he felt uncomfortable.

He probably reacted this way because Regulus was offering,

"Make an Unbreakable Vow, and only then will we start talking."

"What kind of secrets do you even have? So much so that you even need a Vow?" with every second that slipped away, Malfoy was cringing more and more because of the tense atmosphere. He didn't like all of this. When people demand such a thing from you, things will clearly not end well, "If you ask for a Vow, it means you do not trust me from the start. How can I negotiate with you then?"

Tch, what a downer. He digs into everything, carefully testing the waters. He really is a natural born businessman. And not far from being a politician either.

"I will also swear to do whatever you want," the cold eyes of the young man narrowed even more, "A Vow is necessary so that my words do not later become the cause of my downfall."

"You are a master at intimidation, Black. Is it really that serious?"

"It is."

It was quite logical that Lucius didn't agree right away. He politely walked his guest to the door of his majestic manor and said, "I'll think about it." But Regulus guessed what these words meant, so he clung to the man like a leech. Such a powerful family as the Malfoys possessed the necessary knowledge (and especially books with spells), which could definitely help in both destroying the Horcruxes and defeating the Lord. They shouldn't be let go. They shouldn't fall completely under the influence of the dark side.

The persistence, which Lucius wasn't at all accustomed to, soon got to him. And asking one of the Black family heirlooms in exchange, he agreed to the Unbreakable Vow. After that, he learned all the plans, information about the Horcruxes, and even something about the family of his Lord. On that cold, rainy evening, typical for England, the wizard used, it seems, all the emotions possible. To see so much shock on usually reserved Malfoy's face... yes, it was worth a lot. Too bad Regulus couldn't capture it on a magical camera.

He'd really like to keep this as a keepsake.

"Now, do you understand what you were trying to get Cissy into? Do you understand who you were loyal to?"

He really wanted to answer, "And how are you any better? You were an insane fanatic, like a teenage girl in love. Hanging photos and newspapers in your room, you psychopath," but Lucius remained silent.

"You're not too deep into this yet. My cousin even more so," the guy continued, changing his tone to a more benevolent one. After all, he really didn't want to harm the same victim of imposed beliefs as himself, "While there's a chance, both of you must get out. I do not want my cousin to become a Death Eater, got it?"

"It's not as easy as you think–"

"Drowning hurts, Lucius. When you start drowning in the Lord's power, it's going to hurt too," he winced for a second because of the unpleasant memories in the cave, "Open your eyes and understand that it's better to renounce the Lord as soon as possible."

Even though the words of the Black heir sounded convincing, the aristocrat still doubted. Working as a kind of double agent, helping to kill Voldemort, becoming a traitor — this wasn't really his thing. The risks were too great, but it was too late to turn back: he had made a Vow. Now he wouldn't even be able to hand over the young "revolutionary". Otherwise, he'd die instantly.

If he helps, he's going to die. If he doesn't, he gets the same fate.

"You're such a slick git, Black," all the young man could do was grin coldly, "You cornered me into a hopeless situation. I have a family, going to be a father soon... aren't you ashamed even in the slightest?" the curly-haired wizard ostentatiously rolled his gray eyes at this.

"Better me than the Lord and his followers, don't you think?" Malfoy, still with the same grin on his face, shook his head.

"Git."

Nevertheless, he agreed — not like he had any other choice left. Lucius let him into his library, and from then on it became almost a second home for Regulus. He scanned every line, looking for a working method. Some books turned out to be so ancient that they practically crumbled in his hands and were also written using incomprehensible runes. While the guy tried to translate all them into human language, days quickly turned into weeks.

"Mon cher, aren't you tired?" his cousin pulled him out of the abyss of hard work and incessant thoughts like, "I won't be able to do this, it's all useless, he'll become too strong before I can kill him...". This elegant, refined maiden looked more like an angel. Especially when she smiled at Regulus with extreme tenderness — not like she did with strangers, "Dobby made you some tea and brioche. Have a bite to eat and rest for a while."

The sound of a silver tray hitting the table made him come to his senses. Shaking his head, Black looked up and saw that his cousin had brought something to eat herself. Immediately, his face was distorted with anxiety,

"Cissy, you're pregnant. You're the one who needs to rest."

"Oh, don't mention it," even the way she waved a hand aristocratically expressed her status, "You work very hard for Lucius and I. And for our future heir," now, when there was very little time left until June, the Malfoys already knew that a boy would be born, "This is the least I can do for you."

Continuing to smile, the woman lightly lowered a hand to her stomach.

"Lucius and I are thinking about naming him Draco," the dragon constellation, huh. The eighth largest one in the night sky, "What do you think?" the cousin, smiling faintly, shook his head.

"I hardly have the right to vote in choosing the name of your child."

"Even so, I would still love to know your opinion."

"Draco". He tried to taste the name. "Draco". He didn't know exactly what the child would look like yet, but the name would suit him. Just what's needed for the son of two Malfoys. A perfect pureblood wizard with a perfect name will be born soon.

"Draco sounds great, love."

In response, the cousin smiled a little wider.

***

Regulus had hardly known Lucius before. The most he did know was his last name and a brief summary of basic traits: "cold, calculating, proud, full of prejudice and egocentrism due to his upbringing." With such a description, Malfoy didn't even seem like a person, but a perfect picture. A product of this era and the traditions instilled in him since childhood.

"...Lucius, stop acting like a rude, cruel idiot with your house elf," the aristocrat winced at that, not hiding his insult. What he would probably never agree with Regulus on was protecting the elves. They should be treated like worthless servants, not like... friends, "He just served you a slightly cold tea."

"But he should've–"

"In my opinion, he cares about you a lot. Doesn't want His Highness to burn His tongue with a boiling drink."

"...Black. Quit acting so arrogant," Malfoy snorted ostentatiously. What a pompous idiot, "And don't talk to me like that in my own house."

That's why the guy was shocked that Lucius Malfoy was, in fact, a human. He also had feelings, had a heart. When the long-awaited son was born on the fifth of June, he allowed himself a little weakness: he shed a few stingy male tears, and then smiled sincerely. Regulus had never seen anyone cry like that. And he had never cried like that himself.

Probably because he still hadn't had the chance to become a father. Together with a guy who had discussed it so many times.

"Hey, Reggie," a warm, sun-like guy in glasses once asked him, "Do you like kids? I personally do! I think I'd like to have two— no, three, no—"

"James, calm down. Let's graduate first, and then..."

"But I want to start planning now! Y'know, I'd re-e-eally like to be a dad one day, I'd like to give my children everything!"

When Regulus held a child in his arms for the first time in his life, he was very scared. The itty-bitty being looked so tiny, so defenseless. He was afraid of accidentally harming it or allowing something from the outside to hurt it. So much so that his legs visibly buckled. He was afraid of this baby, and it wasn't even an exaggeration.

However, then the guy looked into the same gray eyes as his own. And involuntarily smiled with the corner of his pale lips. Did he really live to see his nephew born? Was this even supposed to happen?

"Hullo... Draco," the child, surprisingly, didn't cry, but looked at him attentively. As if he was thinking something of his own, but couldn't voice it out, "...err, uh... is he supposed to stare at me like that?.."

"It looks like he's studying you, Black."

"I think he just likes Regulus," Narcissa said in response to her husband's assumption. He smiled slightly and, coming closer, took his son back. So carefully and tenderly, as if he was handling crystal.

A child liked him? Liked Regulus? It sounded like something impossible, but extremely pleasant. As pleasant as the opportunity to finally find a way to destroy the horcrux. For Black, this was a personal victory. A kind of merit for his brother's mistrust, for the near-death experience in the cave, for a whole year of pretense in the circle of the Lord and his minions, for sleepless nights in the libraries of his house and the Malfoy manor. True, there was only one ti-iny problem.

Dark magic that'd help destroy the locket was too dangerous. So much so that "it would lead to absolutely any consequences" and "it would definitely deprive you of something." Regulus couldn't know for sure what exactly he would have to lose, what exactly would be taken away from him. He was unable to dig up any additional information, although he tried for a whole week. This gave rise to doubts, "Is it worth it?.. What if I lose something very important to me?".

He wasn't particularly afraid of losing his life, because it had already been lying on the altar since that very day in the cave. But... what if magic decided to take one of the three Malfoys away from him? Or his mother, or his brother, or even the Potters? He didn't care about himself — Black had long since resigned himself to the thought, "I won't last long in this world anyway. One day, one way or another, everything simply must come to an end." However, his loved ones' safety was a completely different story. He didn't want to give them to anyone, didn't want anything to happen to them.

"What do I do?.." Regulus looked at the old book with the spell with a lost look, and nervously bit his lips. A bad habit. If his mother noticed him doing this, she'd definitely scold him.

One part of his brain was telling him to keep looking for different ways. The other part was telling him that the Lord was getting too strong and there was no time to waste. "What do I do?" was the mantra running through his head, while he involuntarily did something anyway. He was panicking and tugging at his black curls in different directions, but he was still doing it: quickly instructed Kreacher to find a shelter where no one would get to him and the Malfoys, began to memorize the spell and mentally prepare himself for any outcome, and gave his mother a parting gift in case he did die this time.

More and more with each passing day Regulus felt like someone's life would soon come to an end.

"This is certainly not your giant manor, but it should do for now," the guy said, sighing, while the family of fair-haired ones were examining their new "place of residence."

For pureblood Slytherins, the two-story house, where everything was in gloomy, dark green tones, was quite cozy. Even the light inside was a cold white shade, which they had grown accustomed to since childhood. But to be completely honest, it was more reminiscent of the Black house than a pretentious manor: the interior and decor were exclusively black (even down to the steep stairs, leading to the bedrooms). The only light things that they managed to find were the frames of the mirrors and paintings, the French curves on the walls and expensive white carpets.

"Lucius, listen carefully," the wizard, all tense and taut as a string, turned around, "Today I am definitely going to destroy the horcrux and... perhaps, like that time in the cave, it will be a suicide mission," his cousin, unable to restrain herself, gasped loudly, "Perhaps this time I will not survive. Therefore, I ask you to take care of the Lord for me, at the meeting today."

It sounded a little dangerous. For several weeks now, Malfoy had been imagining that Death Eaters definitely suspected something. Perhaps even the Lord himself. "I don't like any of this," the man thought, sometimes noticing the strange glances Nott and Crouch Jr. were giving him, "But perhaps this is merely paranoia. Life with a madman, such as Black, would drive anyone insane."

However, it should be fine. Lucius had been cautious all his life, getting out of trouble more than once. So this time he should remain unharmed as well. At the same time, also become a hero who will defeat the tyrant.

"The Dark Lord... he doesn't suspect any of us of treason, does he?" Narcissa quietly clarified, still unable to swallow the lump in her throat.

"He shouldn't. We are his "loyal followers," so he can only suspect someone from the outside."

And that means everything will be fine. Lucius let out a relaxed breath,

"Do what you must, Black," the guy nodded to him reservedly, "And I shall take on the role of executioner."

"I won't let you down."

***

"...ladies and gentlemen... I hasten to inform you that a truly depressing event has occurred. Both Regulus Black and Lucius Malfoy have betrayed us," there was obvious disappointment in the voice that came out as a hiss. It penetrated inside with magic, pierced the soul of each follower through and through, causing a cold and sticky fear of ending up in Malfoy's sad place, "Pitiful, useless cowards..." they were holding on pretty well now, but it wouldn't last long. Voldemort's sure: soon the noble wizards will break, will tremble and beg for mercy on their knees, "They do not even deserve to die by my hand."

The loyal minions reacted differently: some already guessed that and therefore weren't surprised, some twisted their faces, and some smiled madly — knew what this conversation was leading to.

"They dared to pretend and lie right to my face... real traitors, don't you think?"

"True, true!" Pettigrew could only assent, smiling wryly, "Traitors must be punished...! They deserve to die...!"

"Well said, Wormtail. In that case, we need to choose the executioners," and of course, there were a lot of those who wanted to curry favor with the Lord. They hoped that in the future they'd be credited for this.

Severus Snape, however, had already come up with his own plan to appease the Lord — to give him the prophecy. He will not fail, will not end up like Regulus.

***

It hurts. Hurts like a bitch, honestly.

It's not the first time for Regulus to experience absolutely different types of pain: pleasant, hellish which drives to tears, emotional, physical, even the one which happens on the verge of death... but that's definitely the first time he has encountered something like this. His father had once told him, "Dark magic is good, son. But don't get too much into a very ancient kind of dark magic. No one knows what it can do to you later." However, Regulus was a bad boy — he disobeyed the advice. And now he suffered, facing the consequences. It felt like he was dying for the second time, but somehow still staying alive.

Both Kreacher and Dobby were spinning around him while he screamed in agony.

"Master Regulus, Master Regulus!" the worried house-elves almost sang in two voices, afraid for the wizard.

As soon as the first part of the spell fell from his wand, he couldn't stop feeling the intense pain and thinking, "I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'm definitely going to die this time." Maybe these thoughts would visit him every time he came to this cold, gloomy cave.

This damn horcrux will definitely send him to the afterlife sooner or later — it can't be any other way.

Most of all, surprisingly, Black felt this pain in the area of his left eye. It all accumulated there, and only then began to spread throughout the body from the head to the tips of the fingers. It hurts, it hurts like a bitch. The house-elves were panicking and casting their magic, but the guy didn't even hear them — their voices were muffled by his own screams and,

"I saw your heart and your soul, Regulus. And they belong to me."

The Blacks do not belong to anyone. Even if they have a dark mark on their arm.

"You're a pathetic, weak coward, Regulus, admit it. You won't be able to defeat me..."

"Master, please, hold on, master," the locket squealed disgustingly, hissed like an evil snake, and shook violently on level ground, "Master...!"

"And everyone who was ever dear to you will die at my hands."

Writhing and not even trying to control his tears, Regulus barely managed to find his wand by touch. The vile whisper continued to mock him and call him weak. He needed to prove it wrong. Hands were shaking, eyes went completely blind, throat was hoarse from screaming, but he still managed to pull through — finished pronouncing the second part of such a long spell.

As soon as the last syllable escaped his lips and a spark flashed nearby, Black instantly lost consciousness.

***

"...Regulus!" hearing a familiar voice muffled, as if underwater, he tried to open his eyes slightly. However, immediately cried out without embarrassment because of a sharp, piercing pain, "Regulus!" his cousin, panicking, began to fuss around next to him, again calling his name, "Regulus, Regulus...! Oh, cousin, dear, be patient, just a little bit..."

"...hurts..." was all he could say. His eyes stung as if someone had poured poison into them. Something was running down his cheeks, then down the neck and to his ears, but Black didn't quite understand: were these tears, sweat, or even blood? "...t hur... rts... it..."

"I know, I know, the potion will work soon, the pain will pass, I promise..."

He didn't even bother to specify which potion Narcissa gave him. He had no strength for anything, and his body ached everywhere it could. It seemed that even the Cruciatus wasn't capable of causing half as much pain. It was truly so awful he just wanted to die.

However, by some miracle, survived time after time.

"Regulus... Regulus, love, I was so scared," the young woman whispered loudly under her breath, "You were unconscious, your whole face was covered in blood, blood right from your eye, you were barely breathing... I thought you were killed, that you died...!"

"...rcrux... wha... how's...?"

"Is that really all you care about when you could've died?!.." silence was her answer. Sighing, Malfoy continued, "Kreacher and Dobby said that you were able to destroy it. You did it, Regulus, you did well," thank Merlin. Now he can really die without worrying about anything anymore. From now on, everything'll be fine: mortal Voldemort will die, Narcissa and Lucius will be able to raise their son in peace and...

Huh?

Regulus tried his best to blink the hot drops from both eyes, while his cousin carefully was wiping them with a handkerchief.

"Lucius... where?.." the ability to speak adequately was gradually returning to him, "Home?"

"No... he just went to the meeting recently, and then... you were brought here by Dobby and Kreacher..."

Ah, so not much time had passed. Although Black was sure that while he was almost dying for the second time, an eternity had already gone by.

The guy tried to come to his senses for either ten or twenty minutes. It was hard, but he tried to return back to the world of the living. The potion that his cousin poured into him with her own hands gradually began to work: the pain flowed out of his body like a thin stream of water, letting go and disappearing. All this time, Narcissa sat close, wiping his face with a snow-white handkerchief from blood, dirt and tears. Not even for a second did she dare to change her position, or raise an eyebrow in disgust, or even sigh tiredly.

The house-elves didn't go anywhere either. On the contrary, they were ready to receive an order or request for help at any moment.

"Does it still hurt?" the maiden asked, looking sadly at her brother with big blue eyes.

He saw her face, all of it, but... something still obscured the view? It was as if the picture around him wasn't complete. Regulus couldn't see the other side of the room out of the corner of his left eye, as he usually did. He tried hard to squint, blink and try to get rid of the interference, but it didn't work. There was no bandage, as far as he could tell, then–

"...blood right from the eye..."

It can't be. This is definitely some kind of joke. It's better for this to really just be an unfunny joke than the bitter truth.

"Will lead to absolutely any consequences"
"Will definitely deprive you of something"

"Cissy... can you tell me how," he swallowed loudly, frightened by his own words, "...my... left eye looks?"

She hesitated, became nervous, even bit her lip slightly. Probably, for a moment she thought about how to avoid the question. However, Regulus's frowning face forced her to answer,

"As if there's no pupil, no iris, no... there's nothing," the guy sincerely didn't understand, "Your eye is completely white... you," Narcissa now looked at him with great sympathy, "You don't see anything with it?.."

"...no."

He became blind. In one eye only, the left one, but still blind. What a nightmare. And in addition to this, he felt the presence of dark magic on and in himself. He practically stank of it to the bone — surely the aura reached his cousin too.

In the magical world, under current conditions, it's dangerous to live with such a set of weaknesses.

"The spell took away my sight... in one eye," the dark-haired guy whispered, "...ugh, it would've been better if I had just died," his sister immediately frowned and darkened.

"One day you will die, Regulus. If you do not stop doing all this..."

Perhaps she's right, but so far Black has been extremely lucky: he has skillfully avoided death, although he has been a hair's breadth from it more than once. He has been lucky in a big way. Maybe he should try a thing called gambling — he'll definitely hit the jackpot.

After another fifteen minutes, he got out of bed and was even able to walk without help. His head was spinning, the lack of sight in one eye didn't allow to see the house in its entire possible view, but... he'll live. It's alright. Everything's fine. While Regulus was carefully leaving the room, the house elves, on Narcissa's orders, were preparing meat dishes for him — after the great loss of blood, they were now the main necessity.

"If anything, I won't eat too much..."

"Oh, you absolutely will!" his cousin said sternly, urging him towards the kitchen, "You will eat every last piece, otherwise I will get angry!"

It was a terribly childish manipulation, but the maiden knew that it'd work on Regulus. And indeed, he soon obeyed: sat down at the table and prepared to wait for his unscheduled meal. Narcissa ran to check on her son, but he, as before, was sleeping peacefully the whole time.

"Ha-ah..." a heavy, doomed sigh finally escaped the guy's lips, "I hope that idiot Lucius comes back soon..."

***

Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock — the sound of the clock, growing louder with every second, got on Narcissa's nerves. She and her cousin had been waiting for an eternity, or even more. Regulus finished eating everything on the plates and would've liked to drink some tea, but... he had no desire. He was no less tense, glancing at the huge grandfather clock every now and then.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

Malfoy rubbed her graceful, thin hands, and Black began to quietly tap his foot on the floor. Unpleasant sounds mixed together, breaking the silence. At the same time making the atmosphere in the air even more disturbing.

"...do you think he," the woman quickly blinked, then looked from one side to the other, "Felt it? The destruction of his horcrux?"

It was strange that she asked about that and not about her husband.

"I don't know, but... everything will be fine. Now that he's mortal, Lucius probably already killed him," without answering anything back, she nodded. And once again looked at the clock.

Tick-tock. The tension kept growing. There was so much of it that it could be cut with Diffindo. Lucius still hadn't returned from the meeting, although he should've long ago. The two aristocrats didn't openly show their worries for him, but the smallest details still gave them away.

Regulus started tapping his foot louder, and Narcissa began twisting her wedding ring. On the other hand, Draco wasn't worried about anything. But only because the adults in the house tried not to make any noise, not to disturb his sleep.

Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-to–

"This isn't normal," the woman said, suddenly getting up from her chair. Out of the two of them, she was the first to break, "I have to go and check on Lucius," her cousin's insides instantly went cold. With his now only sighted eye, he looked at her in horror.

"Wha... Cissy– no, calm down."

"I'm calm," an obvious lie, "Calm. It's just... something's wrong. I can feel it."

Nervously running his gaze over her figure, the guy then glanced towards the bedroom — the one where the very young Draco was sleeping. And then the shock on his own face was replaced by determination,

"Alright. Then," now it was him who got up from his place, "I'll go and help Lucius–"

"No!" the woman, however, quickly came to her senses. She remembered that her son was sleeping, and so, became quieter, "No," her voice was extremely cold and stern, "Regulus, you reek of dark magic from kilometers away. And your eye..."

Instinctively, his hand reached for his face. Nothing was hurting and aching anymore, but the very thought that he'd have to live without one eye brought sadness. He would have to be half blind for the rest of his days, because there was no cure for this: he and Narcissa had tried all sorts of spells (even the dark ones) — nothing worked.

"No. You will be killed as soon as you leave the house," he tried to argue, but didn't have time, "I do not want you to die, don't you understand?"

"Cissy, who cares about me and my death–"

"You don't value your life at all–"

"I'm a dead man either way, it was always just a matter of time...!" her cousin interrupted a little louder, frowning more and more. Malfoy copied his expression exactly — after all, they were relatives, "And you have a child–"

Without even finishing his sentence, he wanted to go to the door. He took a step, then a second one, but on the third, the young woman managed to catch him by the hand. Of course, she didn't scream. Her blue eyes, now more like two ice cubes, did it perfectly for her. Narcissa skillfully conveyed all her thoughts with just one look. And also scolded her cousin like a child.

Although, in fact, he was only nineteen.

"I'm not a Death Eater and I'm not as defenseless as you are now," before excuses or indignation in the style of "I'm not defenseless!" would rain down, she spoke again, "You can barely stand on your feet and you can't see out of one eye. Regulus, if you cross the threshold of this house, you will die."

"We will all die someday–"

"Enough. I do not wish to hear this anymore."

For some time, they just stood opposite each other in complete silence. Only after another ten seconds, Malfoy finally let go of her cousin's wrist, which was starting to hurt. At the same time, she assured him that she'd protect herself if anything happened, that in less than half an hour she'd return with her husband and news about the dead Lord.

But Black couldn't get rid of the feeling that this wouldn't happen.

"I think... we just need to wait, you're worrying in vain..." the words were already like an annoying noise for her.

"Lucius told me where the meeting's being held today," her cousin tensed up, cowered like a frightened animal. His consciousness told him: he can't let his cousin go anywhere, under any circumstances, "I'll just go away for a couple of minutes. To check if everything's alright."

Regulus stood there like a lost child, unable to collect his thoughts, to figure out how to stop her. Maybe it was still shock or stress, or everything right after the destruction of the horcrux — he himself didn't know for sure.

"I'll be fine," Narcissa said, leaning down to kiss her cousin gently on the cheek. As a farewell, "You keep an eye on my precious Draco for now, alright?"

The grandfather clock was still ominously striking its tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock.

"...alright. I'll take good care of him," the young woman smiled contentedly. And then, turning around, walked towards the door like a shadow, "And you... don't be too late..."

"I promise."

Narcissa swore to come home with her husband "in just a couple of minutes." However, neither after five minutes, nor even after ten, did anyone enter the house. And Draco, who had been peacefully snoring in his cradle until then, suddenly began to cry loudly and shrilly. "What is it, mon cher, why are you crying?" Regulus whispered, asking this as if to himself. At the same time, he wondered how to properly pick up the child.

"T-there..." somehow he lifted the tiny baby and began to remember what his cousin usually did in such situations. Lulled him to sleep, it seemed. But Black had no experience in that yet, "Maybe you want to eat? When did Cissy feed you?.."

Oh, at his pathetic nineteen years old, he was terrible at babysitting. He knew absolutely nothing about children and how to deal with them. However, it was embarrassing to admit this out loud, so he kept quiet.

Draco's loud screams didn't make the situation any better. On the contrary, they only made it harder to think. Regulus tried to rock him gently, carefully, so as not to harm him, and feed him with what the house elves brought, and change his diapers with Kreacher's help, and even check for any pain with a wand, but all in vain. His nephew, as if he had broken loose for the first time in two months of his life, didn't want to calm down.

"What do you want, Draco? What do you need?" the guy was panicking in his thoughts, looking first at the child, then at the worried house-elves, "I promised Cissy to take good care of you, but..."

"...Draco, you probably want to go to your mother, right?" the crying wasn't even irritating. Rather, it was scary, because Regulus had never heard such piercing screams before, "It's okay, she'll be back soon, and... and your father too..."

They'll be back, right?

They're fine, right?

Swallowing loudly, Regulus carefully walked out into the living room with his nephew in arms. He glanced at the clock — an hour had passed since his cousin hadn't returned. "Maybe they're running late. Maybe they're duelling with the Lord. Maybe they just went to their manor to pick something up," he could come up with many reasons and excuses like that. However, none of them calmed him down, but on the contrary, made him worry even more, "Nothing happened to them, nothing, nothing happened... they will be back soon."

Black tried to rock the child in his arms a little harder, but that didn't help either.

"Sirius... where are you going at such an hour?" an old memory suddenly popped up in his head, "Mother will scold you for not sleeping..."

Clearly not expecting to be caught, the brother jerked at first. With a spark of fear inside, he turned around. Regulus rubbed his eyes and blinked a lot in surprise. In order not to wake every single person in this house, Sirius had to put on a wide smile.

"I won't be long, Reggie. I'll be gone for– for literally a couple of minutes," the sleepy teenager looked at him with a little mistrust.

"Really?.."

The older brother nodded his head as vigorously as possible.

"...just don't be late, alright?"

"Mhm..." his heart sank sharply. But the elder Black still didn't change his decision, "I promise."

That day, having run away from Grimmauld Place once and for all, Sirius never returned. Not after minutes, not after hours, not even after weeks and months. Although he promised to "leave for literally a coupl–

"I'll just go away for a couple of minutes. To check if everything's alright."

Regulus felt so cold inside that he involuntarily trembled all over. The tiny child in his arms continued to sob and cry, not stopping for a second. "Cissy and Lucius will come back, right? They're both safe, right?..". No one answered the questions the guy asked himself in his head.

The clock continued the same rhythm: tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock...

Chapter Text

Narcissa looked at the three guys in front of her, lost. But, well, it was mutual. They gave her roughly the same looks — full of shock. However, they quickly realized what was going on, and began to smile strangely. "Freaks," the insult almost flew off her cold lips. She barely managed to keep quiet. Getting into a verbal fight with three death eaters wasn't such a necessity now.

It was much more important to find Lucius.

Pretending that she didn't see or hear anyone, she looked around. And only when her gaze met the floor, her heart instantly sank. Even seemed that her breathing stopped.

"What have you done...?"

A quiet voice was heard from the disgusting, rat-like youth. Narcissa, though, didn't care what exactly he said. She was more concerned about her husband, who lay motionless and stared with glassy eyes at the dark ceiling.

The woman studied him for a second, two, three... desperately trying to understand if her beloved was alive. But in her panic she couldn't determine anything. All the composure inherent in an aristocrat was gone. And her voice broke into a near-scream,

"What have you done?!"

Falling to knees, she practically clung to her husband: chaotically examining his face, turning it back and forth, feeling his neck for a pulse, tugging at his shoulders. Not long ago, Narcissa had seen her brother in exactly the same state, but... he survived. Maybe Lucius was still breathing too, was still conscious too.

"Ma moitié...! Mon trésor...!" stroking his still warm cheeks, the woman called him both her "other half", her "treasure". She hoped that tender words would make her husband come to his senses, "Lucius, Lucius... Lucius, oh mon cher, answer! Please," although his eyes were open, he showed no signs of life at all.

"Ah, if I were you, I wouldn't even try, darling," the oldest one here chuckled behind her. She realized by his voice that it was Nott. His words were soon followed by Crouch Jr. in his crazy, endlessly perky manner,

"Yes, yes! You're just a li-ittle late for the party," the woman continued to peer into the face of her beloved. Treacherous tears, meanwhile, were quickly welling up in her eyes, "We threw the Killing Curse at him about a minute ago!"

Suddenly Narcissa's whole body flinched — and immediately drops of tears fell on Lucius. A minute ago. She could've saved him in time if only she had come earlier...

"Or two? Wormtail, were you watching the time?"

Malfoy's graceful, thin hand fell on her husband's neck again. So she hadn't imagined it then — there really was no pulse. Regulus had been absolutely right all this time: both the Lord and his followers were dangerous. From the very beginning she had to stay as far away from them as possible.

It's all her fault. As a wife, Narcissa wasn't supposed to allow any of this to happen.

"No! No-no-no-o-o!" completely forgetting that she wasn't alone here, she fell on Lucius' chest. Then burst into tears, hysterically begging him to wake up, "No, please...!  No– non, non, mon cher, Lucius!.."

The laughter behind her only grew louder. It was already a more audible sincere mockery of her.

"You know, Narcissa, I am truly amazed at how stupid and naive you turned out to be in the end," Nott took a step closer to her, "Shouldn't you, as a Slytherin, at least think a little before acting?" he suddenly laughed with malice, "You are disgracing our noble house, darling."

"If you were going to betray the Dark Lord, at least should've kept hiding," Crouch Jr. said. The young woman's tears didn't impress him at all, so he spoke boredly now.

"Right there, where your filthy little cousin is probably hiding."

"But don't worry...! We'll find him too...!" somehow Peter Pettigrew's voice didn't really sound that enthusiastic.

"No!", the witch thought instantly. She would never allow her young cousin to be killed. She wouldn't allow these vile Death Eaters to enter the house where her beloved, sweet, dear Regulus and Draco were. At least these two had to survive, at least they–

"Tell us where he's hiding, darling," before the woman could think of anything, Nott was already standing right behind her. Frightened, she reached for her wand, which she had dropped, when suddenly, "Expelliarmus," and it appeared in the hands of her husband's murderer.

Lucius's wand was also nowhere to be found, which meant that Narcissa became completely defenseless in a matter of seconds. She no longer looked like a proud pureblood witch, but like a little frightened girl.

"Tell us and, perhaps, we will show you mercy. Perhaps we will spare your life," the Death Eater continued.

She can't. Regulus is incredibly dear to her, and also... her beloved son was in that house right now. These madmen will definitely not spare him - they'll murder even the child too. They'll kill sweet, little, innocent Draco.

"...n-no," a tear-soaked whisper burst out. All three distorted their faces in disgust. They weren't used to hearing this word since their birth.

"Tell us where Regulus is, right now! You ungrateful, disloyal bitch–"

Nott, who had put his hand forward to stop Crouch Jr., decided to give very last chance,

"Oh, darling, do forgive me... I seem to have hearing problems," he grinned crookedly, making the woman tremble violently with her whole body, "I did not quite hear your answer to my small request," it took at least a few seconds for Narcissa to more or less pull herself together. She glanced at her husband, who was growing cold, at Nott's wild eyes. Remembered her cousin, and her son, and then...

Then she remembered that the Blacks put their family above all else. Even above their own lives.

"No. No, I won't tell you anything."

The adult wanted to attack first, but another Death Eater's spell burst from the wand faster. In a vicious, furious voice, Barty Crouch Jr. roared at Narcissa,

"Crucio!!"

***

Regulus, and Draco in his tired arms, and even two faithful house-elves didn't sleep until the morning.

All night long, little Malfoy couldn't sleep — he just cried and cried. Black tried to give him a couple of drops of Sleeping Potion and even cast a Sleeping Charm, but... time after time the child somehow woke up and resumed crying. Only when it became noticeably brighter outside the window and the sun rose, did he finally calm down. But probably only because he was exhausted from screaming and crying like this for hours on end. His young uncle didn't know how exactly he felt — sleepy or, on the contrary, terribly energetic. These are strange feelings, few will understand, but he was almost balancing between these two states.

The guy yawned, but still didn't close his eyes. Even though Draco fell asleep, he didn't allow himself to doze off even for a second. After all, neither of the two Malfoys had returned to the shelter yet. For the entire past night.

Of course, even a total fool could already guess: something bad happened. Regulus only hoped that at least they hadn't died. It'd be better if they simply failed to cope with the task and didn't get rid of the Lord. And not something much more horrible...

"Master, you are very tired," Dobby said in a kind, gentle whisper. It seemed he even wanted to take the baby and put him in the cradle himself, but the wizard didn't allow it, "You need to lie down, sleep at least a little..."

"N-no... no need. I'll wait for them..."

Another loud yawn followed. He couldn't even cover his mouth, because both hands were busy.

"Master..."

His stomach was growling from hunger, his head was splitting from the remnants of dark magic and his nephew's hysteria, he was slowly getting sleepy, but the Malfoys were still not there. It was already morning. And Black, barely holding his leg back from the strong shaking, felt like he was going insane. This agonizing wait was making him lose his mind. This damned "tick-tock" was already stuck somewhere in his head, like another stupid record that James had. This ignorance of what had happened was frightening.

Regulus prayed that these two were alive. They simply had to be alive. They had a child, a bright future... and he? He had nothing. If anyone should've died a long time ago, it was him.

"Master Regulus, I think we should go and look for them," Kreacher finally suggested. He could no longer bear to watch his beloved master suffer.

"Ah... y-yes, give me a secon–"

"No, Kreacher did not mean you," the house-elf could barely sit him back down, "Kreacher and Dobby will go. You stay with Master Draco."

Before they disappeared with a sharp pop, Black somehow muttered a question, "You'll come back, right? You'll definitely come back?..". Kreacher swore, and then disappeared with the second elf. Suddenly the house became completely empty — the young man felt the loneliness with his whole body. It wrapped its cold arms around him from behind, making him shudder.

To not feel so bad and disgusted to the core, Regulus hugged the sleeping baby tighter. He clung to it like a drowning man to the last straw.

"It'll be fine. It'll all be fine..." he mentally assured himself. Then began to nod off slightly and, closing his eyes, fall asleep in a large armchair. And yet the "sleep" didn't last long. Black didn't even have time to begin to see a dream or anything, since he soon found himself abruptly awakened.

"Master, Master Regulus!" the house-elves, finally home, screamed in two voices at once. For some reason, Dobby was completely hysterical — as if something terrible had happened.

"Huh? Wha...? What... is it?" he was drawn back into a viscous sleep, like into a swamp. Probably, not sleeping all night was indeed a bad idea, "Wait... don't make so much noise, you'll wake Draco."

Gradually trying to push away the desire to sleep, Regulus carefully made his way to the crib. Put his nephew in it and only after making sure that he was safe, decided to listen to the house-elves.

"Master, oh woe! A terrible thing has happened!"

"Te-e-errible! Wo-o-oe!"

A loud inhale and exhale, an attempt to ignore Dobby's sobs in order to collect his thoughts. In a second, Black steadfastly prepared himself for anything: that the Malfoys were tortured, that they were now in captivity (maybe even in Azkaban, who knows), that they fled after the duel with the Lord or that the Death Eaters would appear in this house right this second. He prepared for absolutely anything. Except for one single thing, which he was afraid to even think about.

"They died!.. Both mister Lucius and miss Cissy died," the second elf managed to say through the drawn-out howl of the crying Dobby.

"What?"

Regulus himself didn't understand how the question left his lips. He heard everything perfectly the first time, but refused to believe it — it didn't fit into the picture of his perfect world too much. After all, he had had a clear plan for so many months: the destruction of the horcrux and the Lord, a quiet life... the death of two purebloods at once wasn't included in this at all. "Dead." "Dead" means they died, that means they are no longer there. Although just recently he saw both his cousin and that idiot Lucius alive.

And now they are dead.

"What?" the wizard repeated his question. Dobby, spinning like a top from one piece of furniture to another, helplessly banged his head against everything he could, "W... what?" the shock didn't let him say anything except those four letters.

"They were murdered, Master... murdered. Kreacher thinks that the Death Eaters murdered them..."

Without blinking, the guy looked from Dobby banging his forehead against the wall, to the shame and guilt in Kreacher's eyes. The grandfather clock struck its tick-tock, tick-tock louder and faster. Regulus didn't move, while his brain still tried to comprehend this terrible information. His cousin was gone, Lucius too — they were murdered.

"Oh. Oh, I see..." he took a loud breath through his mouth, then shook his head slightly, "I see."

Death Eaters just killed those who were important and close to the Black family.

"Master?.." Kreacher looked with worry at how quickly Regulus' emotions were changing, "Master Re–"

A sudden cry — so loud that it seemed to be heard even outside the house — made the two house-elves shudder in horror. Both instinctively backed away, afraid of terrible punishment. Even though they themselves had done nothing wrong.

Regulus, not sparing his throat and screaming wildly, didn't pay any attention to them.

"It's! It's my fault, my, just my– my fa-a-ault!!"" unable to find a place for himself anywhere, he ran around the living room, like a cornered animal. From side to side, from one to another.

His mother could often fall into such frightening hysterics, bordering on madness. She also screamed, looking for any corner to hide herself in, at the same time getting tangled in the hem of her own dress. Sirius had somewhat similar fits of rage. Usually he howled like a dog — "I hate you all, I hate everyone, I hate everything!" — and threw things on the floor, tore anything he could from the walls, and then trampled, destroyed, ripped them with his bare hands. And every time, looking at such antics of his family members, Regulus thought, "I will be able to control myself. Even when something terrible happens, I will remain calm until the end."

Yet now, drowning in rage and grief, he smashed everything he could with uncontrolled emissions of magic. The mirrors broke first, scattering across the living room into tiny shards and glass chips. Menacingly and heavily walking back and forth, Black seemed to be deliberately stepping on them.

"Master Regulus, be careful! Do not get hurt!" even though his young master was scary in his anger, Kreacher was still worried about him. Still tried to sit him down on the chair that hadn't been destroyed yet, to calm him down, to make him come to his senses, "Master...!"

"A-a-a-arghh, I hate, I hate this! I hate everything!"

As soon as he waved his hand, a huge crack appeared in the wall. He no longer heard the voices of the house-elves. Just as he didn't hear a frightened child crying in one of the rooms.

"It's my fault, it's all my fault! Cissy and Lucius... died 'cause of me!" Black thought, falling into the abyss of madness at full speed, "I wanted to destroy the horcrux so much, to take revenge, to show that fucking Lord his rightful place...! I wanted it so much that I put everyone in danger!" the realization of his own stupidity and selfishness murdered him from the inside. If Regulus hadn't pursued his goal so blindly and ambitiously, hadn't been so proud, then maybe his two close ones wouldn't have suffered such a fate, "I... I should've died instead of them! Back then, in the cave!"

"Ah! A– a-argh...!" finally Black froze in place. And then, crouched over in a heap, sank to the floor where the shards lay.

"Master Regulus!"

"A-ah– ow! It hurts, make it sto– ow, it hurts, a-ah!"

Kreacher panicked and tried to remove his master's hands to see what had happened. However he suddenly froze when he saw blood — it was running down the palms onto the clothes and the floor. Again, straight from his left eye, like yesterday.

"Master, oh master!" the young man didn't hear him. He was in too much pain, "Dobby, bandages, potions, now!.."

The second house elf, still shaking with horror, obeyed and disappeared with a pop. Kreacher was whispering some of his elf magic spells, repeating over and over, "Master Regulus, you are not guilty of anything that happened, everything's fine, it is not your fault, my dear master...".

Not his fault? Was Kreacher taunting him, or something? Especially when he knows perfectly well that only Black is guilty of the deaths of the two Malfoys. Guilty that he made them betray the Lord–

"Lord..." the guy whispered, looking madly at his house elf. The pain gradually subsided, as righteous anger was returning to its place, "The Dark Lord."

Voldemort dared to touch his family for the second time. He dared kill his family — something that even the Blacks didn't allow themselves. They could easily disown their own relative, but never, under any circumstances did they murder each other.

Family was the most valuable thing that a Black could have. They didn't forgive anyone for touching their family.

"I'll murder him..." the dark-haired guy whispered ominously, trying to get up from the floor on his trembling legs. At the same time, he continued to ignore Kreacher's voice, "I'll murder him, I'll murder him, I'll murder him!.."

"I'll murder the Dark Lord, I won't forgive him for this," Regulus continued in his thoughts, stumbling over and over again. The house-elf kept pulling him back to the floor, begging, "Master, calm down! You are hurting yourself!", "Never, never will I forgive him!" the blood didn't let him see anything. And also burned his face in a very unpleasant way, "I will murder, murder, murder, murder hi–"

"Master Regulus, you can't! You can't go!"

Now Dobby was also forcing him to sit back down on the floor. While the guy, squinting from the pain, resisted, elves shouted in both his ears:

"You can't, or– or you'll be murdered too!"

"I don't care!.. I don't care about my life, I'm ready to die," moreover, now Regulus deserved to die. Or so he thought, "But I will look this fucker in the eyes for the last time, I will make him regret everything, I–"

"They will murder both you and Master Draco!"

Draco.

Exactly.

Unexpectedly for himself, Regulus managed to escape from the whirlpool of anger. He took a sharp breath, so hard that his lungs burned, and looked around. Now that his consciousness became sort of clear, he could hear all the sounds around him again. The first thing he heard, of course, was his nephew's crying.

"Dra... Draco, Draco!.." pushing Dobby away, he rose to his feet again.

Tangling over his own feet and wiping blood from his face as he went, the wizard somehow made it to the room.

"Draco, love, darling..." the child began to scream even harder. Perhaps he felt the dark magic emanating from his uncle, "Did I scare you? I scared you, I... 'm s-sorry, Draco, forgive me, I... I'm so sorry," his legs swayed and he fell right next to nephew's cradle. Blood kept flowing down his face, onto the dark floor, "'m sorry, I'm so sorry...! 'Cause of me, Cissy, Lucius... 'cause of me, your parents...!"

"Master Regulus..." the elves called him, standing fearfully at the door of the room.

"It's all my fault... I should've died instead..."

Black sobbed bitterly along with the baby.

"Master Regulus, you can no longer... you can no longer leave this place," it's unfair. Unfair, because he hasn't achieved the most important goal yet — hasn't killed Voldemort, "And you must live on. You are all that Master Draco has left."

It's unfair. He only wanted revenge. He wanted to leave the proud upstart Lord in the dust and destroy him. He wanted the best. He wanted to help pureblood families not fall victim to that dark wizard, but in the end...

Suddenly, however, an even crazier idea than all before popped in his head.

"No, wait, the Time-Turner– if– if I return with the Time-Turner–"

"You can't, you can't! It's too dangerous!" Dobby screamed in panic. Before Regulus could bark, "I don't care about danger," Kreacher spoke up,

"Master, oh... you don't remember at all? Have you forgotten?.. The Black family... doesn't have any more Time-Turners," the guy jerked sharply and turned around in surprise, "Mistress... when the mistress was angry with your brother, after he ran away..."

Oh, yeah. Yeah, his mother. A couple of years ago, in a fit of hysteria, she turned many valuable things and relics into dust. So many that they were impossible to count. Regulus had indeed forgotten that the same fate had befallen the last Time-Turner they had in their family. That day was now a blur in his memory, but he still tried to remember. At least something.

It seemed... it seemed like he wanted to take the Time-Turner, go back to that very night and stop Sirius, and then his mother... then she...

"Give it to me, Regulus, now! I will not let you! Don't you dare bring that traitor back to our house!"

"Mother, wait– Father, do something!.."

"Reducto!!"

"Ah... a-ah, right..."

Grasping his head, Black slowly bent over. Damn it. Damn it all. Now, even if he wanted to, there's no way to prevent the Malfoys' deaths. It's his fault. Everything, absolutely everything is only his fault. Regulus almost started whining in despair as Draco cried loudly.

"Die... I had to die... instead of them, I was supposed to die..." Kreacher was the first to rush forward to calm his master.

***

"...what?" a hoarse whisper barely escaped from his lips, "Wh... what did you say?"

Frank Longbottom, a member of the Order of the Phoenix, like many other gryffindors, silently lowered his head. He had already given out too much information, had already taken responsibility for his mate broken feelings. He didn't even want to look at James's lost brown eyes — knew he couldn't bear it.

The evening had been so good. Just recently Potter had been having fun with his best friend, walking around Hogsmeade. Everything was wonderful. But now, through horror, he was forced to listen to all... this.

"You're kidding, right? This– this is some kinda prank, right?!.."

"I'd never joke about something like that..." the young man muttered somehow, trying to control himself until the last moment. Then he repeated everything again, to really get his point across, "The Malfoys and Regulus, all three together... they really were caught betraying You-Know-Who. They forsook his beliefs, even planned to kill him," a pathetic, desperate sound escaped from James's throat involuntarily, "The Malfoys are dead, and Regulus..."

"Regulus...?" the Gryffindor whispered with a crumb of hope.

Longbottom closed his eyes.

"Most likely, he's dead too. You-Know-Who... he doesn't forgive traito–"

"You're lying!" all of the sudden Potter, gritting his teeth in rage, grabbed his friend by sweater. The eyes behind the rectangle glasses reflected nothing but insane grief, "You're lying, you're lying, you're a fucking liar! Frank, tell me you're lying! Tell me– tell me this right now, before I curse you!" but there was no answer, "Regulus– he– he had a mark, he was obsessed with this... You-Know-Who! He's a Death Eater scum, he couldn't betray, he," hands clenched in the fabric of warm clothes until it hurt, "Couldn't... he couldn't die!"

"James, I'm sorry, but it's true. Like the Malfoys, Regulus is probably already dead too," his mate answered, not even angry at such aggression.

He had to clench his teeth even harder to keep a plaintive sob from escaping. James understood that it was his own fault. Maybe if he didn't judge people, dividing them into "bad" and "good"; if he hadn't pushed young Black away (just like Lily did with her friend, Snape); if he had gone to the Astronomy Tower himself instead of Sirius, as Regulus had asked in the note; if he had done something useful over the last year instead of going on stupid sneakouts with his best friend, then... none of this would've happened.

"He– he, what, was he... on our side the whole time?.."

"I don't know, James," the Gryffindor next to him answered honestly, "I can't speak for another person... I just gave you the information."

Resignedly lowering his head onto a friend's shoulder, the guy hid the tears welling up in his eyes there. Frank, without further ado, simply hugged him. Tried to console him.

"...R-Reggie... my Reggie was– on our side, but I–"

"I know, mate, I know. He meant a great deal to you, I know..."

James loved his precious Lily very much. He had loved her for a very long time, and never stopped loving her. However, he also had feelings for Regulus, his best friend's brother. Their ridiculous, childish, incredibly colorful love story didn't last long, but managed to leave a mark in Potter's memory. Became a black blot on an orange parchment.

That blot used to make him feel empty. Now it was hurting him.

"There-there, James, it's okay... let it all out... at least you know that he died a good man..."

Maybe he was good from the very beginning, and Potter simply didn't notice. The anger over the dark mark blinded him. Just as the resentment over the word "mudblood" from Snape deafened Lily. Almost in a matter of seconds, Regulus just became the evil. At that time, James even thought, "The bastard is lucky that I didn't turn him in to Dumbledore or curse him! He deserves a hundred curses at once!". Now he understood that he had to be more mature and smarter back then. Had to be an understanding person, and not instantly rejecting.

And maybe then everything could've been completely different. Maybe the three of them (James, Lily and Regulus) could've gotten along just fine. Maybe everything would've been fine.

"...P-Padfoot," the whisper after a long pause made Frank flinch, "Pad– I mean, Sirius— don't tell Sirius anything."

"What? Why?!.."

"You can't," the guy squeezed the sweater in his fingers tighter, "You can't, Frank– don't, please, Pads'll go insane– he'll lose his fuckin' mind if he finds out–"

No matter how much Sirius pretended, he still cared about his brother to one degree or another. They were dear to each other. If Black found out that his younger brother not only abandoned the pureblood ideology and betrayed the Lord, but also died– no, he'd actually go insane. He was only one step away from total madness, and this could be the last straw. And he'd definitely blame himself for everything. He won't show it outwardly, won't even say a word, but James will read him like an open book anyway. After all, he's learned his best friend by heart.

"Padfoot can't know. Frank, please– tell the whole Order if you want, but not him!" the guy next to him was tensely silent, "Frank!!"

"...o-okay. Okay, mate, I got you."

He suppressed another sob. Tried to think as little as possible about the glassy, sad eyes of Regulus, whom he had last seen only at school. And never again.

"James, he-ey..." already at home (an hour later? or two? or maybe a whole day had passed?) the guy finally came to his senses. Then, when his wife put her hand on his, "What's wrong with you today? Did something happen while you were out with Sirius? Did you have a fight?.."

Taking the glass of whiskey away from his dry lips, Potter slowly turned his gaze to the young woman. She was frowning worriedly, as she stroked his palm. Lily was so kind and sweet. Regulus would probably like her. And she'd love him too. She'd even call him "Reggie" — one hundred percent. Everything could've been just perfect. Better than in a dream.

Tears welled up in his eyes again.

"James?"

"...i-it's fine," an obvious lie, "I just thought... how neat it'd be if there were three of us..."

Lily blinked in surprise, then smiled softly. She didn't understand her husband's words — maybe that's for the better.

"Quit being silly. There will be three of us soon," oh yeah, right, Harry. In that case, it'd be great if they all lived together the four of them. James was so grief-stricken that he could barely think straight at this point, "Sirius must've really worn you out... sometimes he can be too much, can't he? C'mon, finish your drink and go to bed."

Potter nodded weakly as she walked cautiously into the living room. He lowered the cup, put his glasses aside, and, breathing out raggedly, hid his face in both hands. He could only pray that alcohol and sleep would help him forget the name "Regulus Black" forever.

***

Regulus Black is not used to valuing his life.

Growing up in a family where all hopes were placed solely on his older brother for eleven years, Regulus was used to thinking of himself as a "spare". Even if he died today or tomorrow, his family wouldn't grieve too much — they had their first son. There was someone who was more handsome, more charismatic, stronger, better. A very sad and sorrowful story, yes, but it was true.

That's why he didn't know how to attach too much importance to his life. "Even the house elf of our family is more important than me," this was the logic he lived by, "And I will die at any moment for those who are more important. For what is more important." This logic led the teenager to the cave twice, and then almost killed him.

Most likely, the third time Regulus would actually have died. And wouldn't have even regretted it at all. He wouldn't have fought for survival, but instead would've accepted death with his head held high. However, one single "but" appeared. Someone appeared. Someone who was a hundred times more valuable, but whom he didn't need to die for. On the contrary, he had to live for him.

This undoubtedly turned the familiar picture of the world upside down. For the first time, Black could help someone not with his death, but with his life.

"You've already gotten so good at feeding Master Draco," the house-elf praised with a kind smile. The wizard only nodded in response, "You're a great man, Master Regulus. Dobby admires you!"

"Admire me... right. As if. How can you admire a person who murdered your masters?.." the guy barely held back a treacherous sob at the end of his own words.

"What are you... Master Regulus, no-no, you didn't murder anyone! You just wanted the best, you wanted to protect everyone...!"

He didn't listen to the house-elf and focused all the attention on his nephew. His eyes weren't as swollen as before, because he stopped crying so often. And yet the child still looked extremely sad. Was Regulus really doing everything right? Did he accidentally look after and care for his cousin's son well enough?

Was Narcissa proud of him somewhere in the afterlife? Was she grateful? Or maybe, on the contrary, she condemns and blames him for everything?

"...you know, Dobby," the guy whispered in a colorless, apathetic voice, "The Malfoys should've survived. And my place is somewhere at the bottom of that lake."

Perhaps, in another world, he really did die a long time ago. And somewhere in that world, everything was just fine without him.

***

"Kreacher has finished everything, Master Regulus," the house-elf reported, bowing to the guy, "Kreacher has put additional protection on the house. Now no one will ever find this place," the wizard yawned slightly, then nodded.

"Thank you, Kreacher," he said this sincerely, but very tiredly.

"Master Regulus... maybe you could sleep today, and Kreacher and Dobby could keep an eye on the young master again?"

That would be nice, but he was already making the house-elves do twice as much work as they needed to. He even gave them the child a couple of times and slept — unacceptable behavior. He didn't deserve sleep and rest. He was guilty of Draco's parents' death, so now he must play two roles at once: mother and father.

Black will do everything himself, even raise someone else's child at just nineteen. It's not that hard... not at all.

"It's quite all right," the guy waved it off, although the noticeable bags under gray eyes were alarming even to him, "I do not wish to bother you, Kreacher."

"No, master... Kreacher will be more than happy to help his beloved master. Kreacher lives to serve the Black family."

In response, Regulus only shook his head. No, it'd be too irresponsible to first kill Draco's parents and then give him to the elves. He had to deal with everything himself, since there was no turning back now.

"Better... better tell me how Mother is," Black finally spoke again after a few seconds, pleasing the house-elf with at least some reaction.

Since neither Dobby nor Kreacher let him out of hiding with their magic, the wizard had no idea what was happening in the world outside. He had to find out everything from them — even about how his own mother was doing. Regulus hadn't been able to contact her personally for a long time, since he had let her down.

He betrayed the Lord, and therefore the beliefs that Walburga agreed with. Moreover, he killed Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy, leaving their son an orphan. After that, he couldn't even think about looking his mother in the eyes. He let her down.

"Still, it would've been better if I died instead..." the guy thought day after day, letting despair eat him up from the inside. Perhaps he would've hanged himself or sent Avada Kedavra on himself out of grief, but Draco kept him alive. Draco and also a passionate desire to take revenge on the Lord one day, to see the lifeless body with his own eyes.

"Mistress Walburga feels fine. Her health is also in perfect order," Regulus smiled with relief upon hearing this,

"Oh? Glad to hear that then..."

Draco twirled a little in his arms, pulling the small palms to his lips wet with saliva. Lately, he began to do this often, almost trying to eat himself. In the first days, Regulus was scared, didn't understand what was happening. Panickedly he even began to look for at least something about this in the books that Dobby brought him. But the house elves, laughing easily, quickly explained, "The young master is simply teething." Then they introduced him to such a thing as baby pacifiers.

And the young man, who still didn't know much about children, would ask at every opportunity,

"Kreacher, bring his pacifier, please," the elf obeyed almost unquestioningly: disappeared abruptly and just as abruptly reappeared, "Ah... thank you very much. Really, what would've I done without you? Died for sure..."

In one of the books, Black read that it was better to cool the pacifiers first — this way they soothe irritated gums. He wasn't sure how true this actually was, but sounded quite logical. So before his nephew started crying from pain, he conjured,

"Glacius Minima," a barely perceptible icy air, created by the very tip of the wand, covered the entire pacifier, "There we go," the child accepted the coldness with great pleasure, rejoicing in the instant pain relief, "That's much better, isn't it, Draco?"

Little Malfoy couldn't talk to him yet. Probably, he didn't even fully understand speech yet. However, Regulus still talked to him every day, as if he were looking for comfort in another person. When that didn't help, he'd remember dark, unruly hair and stupid rectangle glasses. He'd pretend that, in fact, his James was somewhere nearby, the two of them were fine, they were raising this boy together.

"He's still awake, Reggie. Try singing him a song," it wasn't even a hallucination, but simply his imagination running wild. His mind's attempt to lighten the load with the outlines of a loved one, "I know how beautifully you sing. So he'll definitely like it too!"

From the outside, he probably looked pathetic. But that's okay. He deserved it all.

"What are you doing, Cissy?" Black asked, suddenly appearing behind his cousin. The woman was surprised at first, but soon broke into a gentle smile.

"I came up with a special lullaby for my little star. Now I'm singing it," hugging the recently born baby, she practically glowed with happiness. Her cousin, honestly, had never seen her like this. Usually she's more cold, detached, and not like that... "And it looks like he loves it."

Regulus looked at the two of them, thought about something of his own, and then carefully sat down next. He himself had been accustomed to falling asleep to a music box since early childhood. His mother, having fulfilled her duty with birthing heirs, had no further desire to deal with her sons. Therefore, she'd just wind up the enchanted object (which instantly plunged anyone, who heard its melody, into sleep) and go to bed. And so... no one sang lullabies to either the younger Black or the older one in their entire lives.

No one gave them this kind of love and affection.

"Can I listen to it too?" his cousin's smile grew even wider.

Even though he heard it only once, he still remembered every word. The melody that Narcissa sang was forever burned into his memory. Now, it seemed, even the most powerful Obliviate wouldn't make him forget this short, but such a pleasant, kind song. Just like his cousin's blue eyes, glowing with genuine happiness.

Humming the lyrics in French, Regulus carefully watched the boy's reaction: at first he blinked in surprise, studied his uncle, but when he seemed to remember something, noticeably relaxed. It even looked like he smiled just a bit.

Chapter Text

"Draco... Draco," out of habit, he could only look around helplessly. Trying to find aid somewhere, even though he was completely alone, "Why are you crying? Does something hurt again?.."

Never before in the six months of living together with a child, Regulus allowed himself to wear clothes with short sleeves. Not under any circumstances. Even when he bathed Draco or changed his diapers ("Ew... Merlin, why are children so difficult? Where's my wand, I need to clean everything..."), he still wore clothes that covered his arms almost to the fingers. And only today he allowed himself to make a small mistake.

Today, he left his nephew under Dobby's supervision, and went to brew potions. Supplies were running low, so they needed to be replenished, and as soon as possible.  Of course, any potioneer knows: if you want to do something well, don't let long sleeves get in the way. Regulus rolled them up almost to the elbows, then accidentally forgot to pull them back down.

It was worth just a moment to go to Draco, to check on him, as suddenly the peaceful child turned into a crying mess.

"Wha-what's wrong?" looking at his nephew and at the worried house-elf back and forth, the guy muttered under his breath, "What's wrong with you, Draco? Does something hurt, are you hungry? Dobby, what's wrong with him?!.."

"D-Dobby doesn't know, sir... just now Master Draco was absolutely calm!"

Pursing his lips, Regulus reached into his pocket for his wand. He wanted to cast a spell and find out if there was any pain in the child's body. However, as he showed his hand again, the crying intensified.

"Qu'est-ce," unable to bear it anymore, he unconsciously switched to another language. As if this would change the situation somehow or make the child answer, "Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas?!.. Qu'est-ce qui ne vas pas chez t..."

It took a while, but he did look at the hand, which he held the wand in. Oh damn it. Now he understood what all this crying was about. It was about that — the Dark Mark, which seemed more like a terrible stain on a white canvas. Draco had never seen it before — not on his father, not on his uncle. Perhaps that was why he was so–

"Scared?" the guy whispered, smoothly lowering his hand down. Draco kept sobbing bitterly — as if he had come face to face with a Dementor, "Ah..." so he actually was scared. Scared of Regulus of all people. For the second time already. Now that was just horrible.

Putting away his wand, the wizard rolled down both sleeves as quickly as possible in shame. How come he didn't immediately guess that it was all about the mark? Not only was it so disgusting and frightening, but also Draco's parents died because of it. Anyone would be scared to see it, and in all its glory, after something like that happened.

To be honest, Regulus managed to forget who he really was, with all this parenting stuff going on. Managed to let go of that terrible part of himself that respected the Lord, obeyed him. Managed to think that he was a good person, deserving of happiness, forgiveness, understanding.

Draco's tears, fortunately, quickly brought him down to earth and made him remember everything.

"...'m... sorry. I didn't mean to– to scare you," the Slytherin whispered, still pulling his shirt as low as possible. Only when he was sure that the sleeves were covering everything, he risked raising his hands again, "Hey, Draco, look, look here. There's nothing here, don't you see? There's no mark, mon chou."

For a brief moment, it seemed that the six-month-old child somehow understood him — looked closely at the snow-white clothes, did some of his own thinking, even made some conclusions. And, sniffling, gradually began to calm down.

"There you go... yeah, that's brilliant..." smiling, Regulus allowed himself to lift his nephew from the cradle, "You are so, so smart, Draco. The smartest boy of all," realizing that there was no longer a dark mark, but just his favorite uncle in front of him, the baby laughed cheerfully. He even tried to clap his hands, as much as he was capable of at that age, "Cissy would be very proud of you, dragon..."

One single incident was enough for a lifetime to understand: Regulus must never let his dear nephew see the disgusting mark again. Must never should show him this shame of his entire life.

***

"The Dark Lord, who brought panic and horror to the wizarding world, has fallen!"

"The massacre of twelve muggles has shaken London! Will wizards now be exposed to the muggle world?"

"Who Sirius Black was — a traitor and a murderer?!"

"The bravely fallen James and Lily Potter are the parents of the new hero of magical Britain. The parents of the Boy Who Lived!"

"Master Regulus... how are you feeling?" even though he knew the answer in advance, Kreacher still showed incredible care for the wizard. Still asked about his well-being, with all sincerity.

True, even if Black wanted to, he still wouldn't have answered.

Sinking in a chair of a deep emerald shade, he didn't even breathe, didn't react to anything or anyone. The grandfather clock beat its memorized rhythm. It was clear from the incessant sounds: time was flowing away into nowhere. And Regulus could spend it on more useful things, but he physically couldn't even lift his body back to feet. As he finished reading the last newspaper brought by Dobby, suddenly he lost all connection with the surrounding reality. Like a sad ghost, it was as if he no longer lived, but just existed.

Too much different news — both good and bad — and so little time to comprehend at least one of them. He couldn't even feel stress or grief, or sadness, as on that day with the Malfoys. All feelings disappeared at once, leaving only emptiness behind.

His brother is a murderer? A traitor? No, someone definitely messed something up. It just can't be. Sirius would've killed himself way before he dared betray his best friends, his family.

"Mistress Walburga is furious..." Kreacher said, but the guy didn't even bat an eyelid at these words, "She, despite her illness, tried to get a trial, but... but these filthy, dirty nobodies...! They dared to laugh in Mistress' face, to call her mad!"

Oh, the young wizard could already imagine the hysteria his mother had thrown at the ministry. It was only natural for her to be angry, because despite everything, she loved both her sons. In different ways, completely unable to show it, but she still loved them with some parts of her heart.

Just like Regulus loved too. Even though his brother had abandoned him forever and even wished death upon him, Regulus had never been able to fully hate him. So no matter what that woman, Rita Skeeter, had written in the papers, he knew,

Sirius is innocent.

Staring at the dark wall opposite him, the aristocrat kept his pale hands tightly clenched on the newspaper. The one where his brother was smiling madly, laughing and screaming while being chained up. Anyone would immediately think: this man has gone mad, he has definitely killed all those muggles and betrayed his friends. But Regulus knew that this wasn't a laugh of glee. It was simply a mental breakdown — something that members of the Black family displayed often, in all crucial details. Sometimes so much so that they seemed either insane or overly dramatic to people.

"Master, oh, Master Regulus..." the house elf of the Malfoys allowed himself to come closer, put his hands forward and ask for forgiveness, "Dobby shouldn't have... shouldn't have informed you about this," what's the point? Sooner or later Black would've found out anyway, so it's better not to delay the truth, "Dobby is bad! A bad, bad elf, punish Dobby!.."

The wizard still showed no signs of even being alive. Occasionally, though, he blinked or took one pitiful sigh every thirty seconds.

"The bravely fallen James and Lily Potter..."

They died — both that very young, innocent girl, and Regulus' first love. Both died, at just twenty-one years old. James, his dear James, died at the hands of the–

–Lord. That fucking Dark Lord.

A certain emotion that the house elves couldn't read suddenly flashed in empty gray eyes. And finally, after such a long time, the aristocrat made some movement. He lowered his head slightly and looked at one of his hands. Somewhere behind the layer of clothes, there was a dark mark — a symbol of his long-standing loyalty to the man who had taken everything from him.

This mark had never helped in any way, but only destroyed the lives of his loved ones. And so, as long as Regulus had it on his body, he was to blame for all the deaths. It was he who killed them all — every single one, even those muggles. It was he who was to blame for everything.

"...hey, maybe," his throat was terribly hoarse. Black seemed to have forgotten how to speak, "Maybe I should cut off my hand?.."

Kreacher looked at him in horror. He was so scared by the empty words that he almost went mad himself: started screaming that he wouldn't allow this, even at the cost of his own life. Dobby ran off somewhere, probably to hide all the sharp objects in the house. How funny and naive they both were: always showing undeserved kindness and care to such a sinful person.

Out of nowhere, Regulus' dry lips began to let out snatches of laughter. At first, it was almost inaudible, but eventually it was gaining momentum faster and faster.

"Master..."

"Who am I, ha-ha, kidding, ha-a..." his shoulders were shaking violently, and the newspapers were falling from knees to the floor one by one, "I won't do this – ha-ah...! – I could never do this!" the elf came closer, even took his hand. But Regulus ignored everything around, didn't feel the touch, "Just like I couldn't protect anyone, ha-ha-ha..."

Yes, that's right. There was only one hero, who managed to protect Britain and defeat the Lord. And it was Harry James Potter. Or what do they call him in the papers now? "The Boy Who Lived"? What a stupid nickname. Regulus didn't like it a single bit, because it could easily be attributed to him as well. He, too, is just a boy, who was unfortunate to stay alive.

"Even a child did more than me."

A child was able to avenge so many innocent lives. Regulus wasn't.

"Master, that's not true," the house elf said, stroking his large, trembling, bony palms, "You destroyed the horcrux– with your own hands... you made the Lord mortal, and the little half-blood simply finished him off!" young Black continued to laugh and smile inadequately, "You are also a hero, my brave master, a real hero!.."

Hero? A person with a dark mark on his forearm cannot be a hero. On the contrary, such people are usually called villains.

"...ha... ha-ha..." it felt like blood was coming to his left eye again. Or was it tears of painful grief burning him? "James is gone... dead, he's dead, hah..."

"Honestly, you need to be more responsible," the teenager snorted, looking at the guy next to him with feigned displeasure, "And always be on guard. Or at this rate, you won't even live to your twenties."

"Wha-at? That's not true!"

It was just a joke, but it hurt Potter more than it should have.

"Just you wait, I'll live that long! I'll even outlive you! And then I'll grow old and become the hottest grandpa in all of magical Britain, heh-heh," the Slytherin couldn't help but roll his eyes theatrically, "Oi, what kind of reaction is that?! You'll be jealous later 'cause I'll be in better shape than you!"

"Learn not to forget your wand anywhere first."

Teardrops — one after another — were falling down. Regulus' lips trembled either in a semblance of a mad smile or in a grimace of despair. An incomprehensible expression exactly like his brother's in one of the fallen newspapers.

"Sirius is in Azkaban, James is gone..." his beloved house-elf continued to try to calm him down, "What do I do?.. What do I do now?.."

"Live, Master Regulus. You must live on."

Suddenly he choked on both laughter and tears at once.

***

"Whe-ere?! Where is he?!!" the elf, not daring to raise his head, was silent, "Speak, you worthless creature! Speak, before I turn you into a decoration!"

Mistress — that's how Kreacher called her with devotion and care — was furious, again. She was so angry that her own emotions were driving her insane. She had already been feeling ill before, she was sick, she talked to nothingness all alone, but lately... it was like she had finally started to lose her mind. The woman showed all signs of family madness as clearly as she could.

Her cheeks had sunken in, showing sharp cheekbones even more than usual. There were deep shadows and red spots under her eyes from constant hysterics. Besides, Walburga also stopped taking care of her long hair — that's why it looked more like a nest half-gathered into a sloppy bun. With even gray strands sticking out here and there.

"Mistress, lie down... You should rest..."

"Where is my son?!" the woman howled, ignoring the kind voice. The black dress she was wearing today was dreadfully wrinkled. The hem was down dirty from dust, "On the tapestry– on the tapestry, he is alive! But I– they told me he is dead! That Ministry filth!" Walburga didn't spare her voice. Each new word she shouted louder and louder. Her face became truly horrifying, distorting into a grimace of despair. Black's facial expressions were always lively to an extreme, so she expressed all emotions to the fullest, "They said my son is dead!"

"Mistress, that's..."

"Which?! Which one of you is lying to me?! Where is my son?!"

She rushed like lightning towards the house elf. He was even ready to receive punishment — a hit with a hand or a painful spell. But instead, the woman simply grabbed his wrinkled face, continuing to scream,

"Everyone, everyone, everyone...! Everyone here is lying to me!" Kreacher didn't resist. If that was the will of his mistress, he was ready to even endure torture, "Where are you hiding Regulus?!"

"Mistress–"

"Don't lie. You know where he is, you know!.. Orion told me so– Orion said that you know everything, you vile creature!"

The elf looked at his poor mistress with sympathy. Despite the fact that her mad eyes burned right through him, he really wanted to pity her. She had lived in this house all alone for a long time, having lost both her husband and children. And because of this, she was fading away more and more every day. Like a burning candle.

"If Regulus does not return, I will burn him from the tapestry. Just like that mistake, traitor, idiot, who ended up in Azkaban!" her long, but bitten nails dug painfully into the elf's skin, "Tell him so... exactly so, do you understand?! I want you to bring my son home!"

However, suddenly the woman winced, fidgeted. Letting go of the house elf, she grabbed her head and hissed under breath,

"No, no, he is not dead... the tapestry, Orion, on the tapestry he is...!"

"Mistress, please, go back to bed," Kreacher practically begged, "You need to rest. You are feeling sick."

"No, no!.. Go away, all of you, my sons...! They...!"

She rocked back and forth slightly, as if trying to calm herself down. But it didn't work. Ruffling long dark hair even more, Walburga even froze for a moment in a silent scream. It was difficult to understand what exactly was happening to her. Kreacher did everything in his power to calm the woman down: whispered caring, gentle words, stroked her back, asked her to get up and go to bed.

Black didn't listen, not even to a single word. Instead, began to whisper, "I hate them, I hate them both. Dogs, those filthy dogs, not sons. If I had a daughter– if I had a daughter, she would never, never do this to me." Perhaps the hysteria would've continued like this for hours, if the woman hadn't frozen. So suddenly that Kreacher actually began to worry about her sanity.

She looked somewhere at the wall. Did not blink, did not even breathe. Then started to giggle (the laughter was bursting out, making her whole body twitch), smiling with all her teeth,

"Regulus, you're back... oh fiston," she whispered, shaking from a fit of laughter, "I told you... I told him that you are still alive, on the tapestry... the tapestry never lies. You're back."

Yet when Kreacher turned around, he realized that there was no one there. His mistress was talking to nothingness and emptiness again.

***

"A-ah... I do hate this filthy mark, with all my heart," from the very day the newspapers ended up in his hands, Regulus did nothing but say this, "Maybe I should actually cut off my hand..."

He really would like to, really. Maybe at least that way he could get rid of the endless guilt that was eating him up from the inside. But on the other hand, it was just an escape from responsibility. It was just the easiest way to forget to brush aside his mistakes, to pretend to be all innocent. That's what Lucius Malfoy would've done, most likely, if he were still alive.

But Regulus needed to learn, to understand, to realize all of his wrongdoings. Even at twenty. Even when it was already indecently late.

"Dada, dada!" Draco laughed, sitting on the soft white carpet and clapping his hands.

"I'm not your father, mon chou," the curly-haired guy smiled weakly in response, "I'm your uncle."

Gracefully twirling the long wand between his fingers, Black conjured various silver images — from princesses in long dresses to knights he's seen at Hogwarts.
They all danced and circled around his nephew, trying to play while he watched, fascinated. It was a small, incredibly pathetic magic, but for some reason it brought the child so much joy. Exhaling, the young man waved his wand again and created another illusion: a miniature white dragon.

Surprisingly, Draco wasn't afraid of it. On the contrary, he began to smile even wider and reach his hands to touch it. When the tiny creature belched non-existent fire, the boy tried to repeat after,

"P-phe-e-ew," however, only air burst out, and not a beautiful silver flame.

"My, just like a real dragon, aren't you?" the guy noted, quietly chuckling. His nephew again addressed him as "dada!". At that age, he didn't understand anything, and wasn't able to make other sounds either. But still, Regulus considered it his duty to constantly correct, "I am not your father, I–"

"Master Regulus," he was suddenly interrupted by a sudden pop of Apparation. It was Dobby returning with another newspaper in his hands. Although there was no one else close left and it seemed like there was no one else left to die, Regulus' heart went cold either way, "It's about mistress Bellatrix and others..."

"Huh? About Bella?.."

"What did she do?" he couldn't help but think, taking the huge paper in his hands, "Shouldn't she sit quietly and peacefully after the Lord's death? If she's caught, she'll be the first to receive the Dementor's Kiss..."

And he must've been looking into a crystal ball, or something. Because his cousin had indeed been caught and sent to prison. Not only her, though, but also several accomplices. Black showed emotion on his pale face only twice during the entire reading of the long article: when he saw the name "Crouch Jr." and when he read the reason for being sent to Azkaban. "Cruel torture of Frank and Alice Longbottom with the Cruciatus curse, which drove them into insanity."

Torture with an unforgivable spell is already a horrible sin. But using it on two pureblood wizards, right up to breaking their minds, is a thousand times more terrifying.

"Dada?.."

"The Longbottoms... ah... I do feel sorry for them," the guy thought sincerely, trying to figure out: how many hours must the torture continue for it to drive someone to such a state? "Good, nice people. And pureblood wizards," again, suffered because of the Death Eaters, because of the Lord, because of the dark mark, "Barty, you fucking piece of shit... how could you?.."

Draco continued to tilt his head slightly in surprise, analyzing.

"Ha-ah..." Black sighed heavily and tragically, not hiding his emotions, "It's so hard to live in this mad world," smoothly lowering the newspaper onto the carpet, he continued in a whisper, "I should've died while I had the chance. I should've..."

However, if he had died two years ago, he wouldn't have been able to see his mother at least once more.

Now that almost all the dangerous Death Eaters had been caught, and the others were hiding from the authorities, Regulus felt a breath of freedom. Finally, he no longer had to hide. Finally, he left the confines of his shelter. And the first thing he did, oddly enough, was go to his home — a place that he no longer remembered at all (that's how stress and dark events in his life affected him).

Grimmauld Place greeted Black with an unusual cold. When steam came out of his mouth, the guy even wondered, "Doesn't Mother freeze here? Doesn't she really try to cast a spell to warm herself up a little?". Kreacher said that she was definitely alive. In poor health, but alive. Then why didn't she care about herself or the house at all?

"M... mother, I'm home..." it was unusual to say this after a whole year of his disappearance without a trace. Regulus doubted that anyone was waiting for him at all after such betrayal.

The floor creaked under his feet — he'd obviously need to patch it up here and there with magic.

"Mother?" only a small beam of Lumos on the end of his wand illuminated the path forward, "Oh... maybe she is in her room."

When Black went up to the second floor (the wood continued its loud, disgusting creaks), he received answers to his questions. Walburga, all pale and thin, like a terminally ill person, was lying tiredly in her bed. This gloomy, huge, but so empty room was even colder than in the rest of the house. And honestly, Regulus didn't understand how his mother hadn't frozen stiff here yet.

"Mother? How ar..." as soon as the guy came closer, he almost stepped back.

Up close and in the light of Lumos, his mother looked much worse — as if she were a living corpse. Well... it was obvious: in such a state, she had no power to look after the house, much less keep it warm.

"...Regulus?" the woman barely whispered his name with dry, bitten lips, "You're back?" the young man nodded silently. And holding back the desire to chatter his teeth from the cold, he sat down on the chair next to her, "Ah, a-ah... no. No, no, go away, no... 'm delirious, again, you left, you're gone..."

"M-mother, no! It's me, it really is me, Regulus!" he almost begged, but it was no use.

"My sons are gone... no... all of you, go, go away..."

"It really, really is me, you are not delirious–"

"...Orion... you hear him too? He's talking again..."

Returning the gaze of her sunken eyes back to the ceiling, she stopped paying attention to any words. The sick woman took her son for a hallucination, because... well, who knows how many of those she had already seen.

"Moth... mère. Mère, êtes-vous encore malade?" but the French speech didn't impress Walburga at all, didn't even make her flinch. Not knowing what to do, how to prove the truth, Regulus could only bite his lips.

The woman didn't answer, but it was clear that she was still ill. And her son suspected: he was the only one to blame, because he left Walburga all alone, because he let her down.

"Je m'excuse... je suis... suis désolé d'être parti si soudainement sans un mot," Regulus wasn't used to apologizing, so he didn't even know how to properly express his feelings. However, his mother must know: he was truly sorry that he disappeared so suddenly without saying a word, "Mais...!  C'était dangereux de vous le dire, je...!"

Using all her last strength, Walburga grinned in a very strange way. Barely noticeable, with the corners of her cracked lips, but the youngest son saw it anyway. So he immediately shut up, expecting both accusations and insults, and even "I burned you from the tapestry a long time ago." Pressing his lips tighter into a thin line, Regulus waited and waited until his mother took another deep breath.

She didn't even deign to look at him for a second, saying in a quiet whisper,

"Tu es tout à fait comme ton frère."

And then she froze. She never took another breath, and continued to look somewhere up, but with absolutely empty eyes. At first, Regulus didn't even understand what had happened. His mind kept spinning around his mother's words — "you're exactly like your brother." Exactly like Sirius... what did she mean by that? Was his mother hopelessly disappointed? Or, on the contrary, was she proud of him? Did she hate him or love him?

Regulus had never understood this mysterious woman, since his birth.

"...mère?" reaching forward, the wizard allowed himself to lower his palm to her neck. Then tried to move it in front of her mouth. Unfortunately, he couldn't find neither a pulse nor a breath.

For a couple of seconds, Black, like a small stupid child, simply looked at his mother's emaciated body. He didn't move, just like she did. And only when something in his head told him, "It's too late, dear. She's already dead," he slumped his shoulders on the exhale.

***

The nasty wind never changed here. It chilled you to the bone at any time of year. Regulus remembered this very well, so he tried to dress his nephew as warmly as possible and cast a spell on him too. He himself, though, believed that he deserved to freeze a little. To feel alive a little, even in such an inadequate way.

His black curls turned into a real mess due to strong gusts of wind. And his body trembled slightly under just a thin dark coat. The end of November — snow was about to fall, but Black didn't spare himself at all. Perhaps he should've come in just a silk shirt.

"Dada," Draco called, looking at the stony expression on his face from below. Then he tried to squeeze his uncle's two fingers tighter with a tiny palm, "Dada-a?" the real "dad", and even mom, were also here — in the cemetery of the sacred twenty-eight. Regulus didn't specify who exactly buried them, but most likely, Abraxas Malfoy... who soon died of dragon pox himself.

The guy organized a rather modest funeral for his own mother, which she was clearly not happy about in the afterlife. Not because of lack of money, of course, but because there was neither the strength nor the desire for something grand. And the timing wasn't right either — in the midst of hunting the pure-blood death eaters, which Regulus also was. Therefore, only her son and her grandnephew stood at the grave of Walburga Black.

There was no one else left: brother and a good half of his school friends are in prison; the Potters, Malfoys and his own parents — in the graveyard. So at twenty years old, the heir of an ancient family has absolutely no one, except...

"Dada. Dada!" the child tried to tug at his hand to get attention.

As if coming to his senses, Regulus blinked, and then looked down. Draco couldn't possibly freeze under the spell and thick layers of clothing, which meant he was simply tired of standing. At just a year old (plus a few months), he wasn't supposed to do that for long. At that age, he was still just getting used to basic skills.

"I am not your father," the memorized phrase flew off his lips by itself.

And yet, Black dropped to one knee and picked up the child in his arms. As always, he did it very awkwardly, but little Malfoy didn't complain. On the contrary, he hugged his uncle around the neck with great joy. Even pressed himself closer, as if looking for more warmth — not only from magic, but also from a living person.

"...let's go home, Draco," the wizard said in a colorless voice, having settled the boy in his arms better, "Kreacher and Dobby are already waiting for us there."

Chapter Text

"Draco, do not run too far."

Ignoring this, the boy continued to dash forward with a slight awkwardness and a happy laugh. He wasn't even hindered by the heavy warm jacket and much warmer boots (well, Kreacher did say, "The seller claimed that the young master would never freeze in those"). Not paying attention to his clothes, he was still trying to run away from his uncle as far as possible. Such a speed kind of scared Regulus, so he himself began to quicken his pace too.

Yes, just like that — each of their walks, which he wanted to make relaxed and calm, quickly turned into a chase. Of course, when the coast of the North Sea was already covered with white snow, and the wind was blowing roughly, running wasn't very desirable. Black tried to explain this. Really, he did. But will a child, who's not yet even able to hold a quill in his hand, be able to actually understand anything?

"Draco... come on, Draco, do not run like that, you'll slip," the wizard muttered, catching up with him at a quick pace. The wind, however, mercilessly drowned out everything he said, "Just recently you couldn't even sit, but now...!"

Despite his inarticulate grumbling, Regulus actually liked it. To some extent. A cheerful, innocent and sincere child helped him to unwind, to forget. If he came here all alone, he would probably just stare at the restless waves, would start remembering his blame in other people's deaths, would fall into depressive thoughts... in other words, he'd only make things worse for himself.

Draco, though, skillfully diluted his despondency and melancholy. Because it's impossible to just sit in a room, sob into a pillow and do nothing, when you have a small child. On the contrary, you always need to play with him, pay attention to him, develop him in many fields, and also... love him. "Love" is a rather strange word. Regulus couldn't understand feelings he had for his nephew very well. There was no time to think about them, in view of recent events.

However, Kreacher and Dobby saw the young aristocrat from the outside. They noticed his kind smiles, tender looks, sincere laughter when Draco did something funny. And then said, "Master, you love him as if he were your own son." The house elves probably had this impression only because Black raised the boy from the very cradle. Yes, that's right. There could be no other reason.

"Dada, dada!" a ringing voice reached his ear even through the noise of the surf, "Quicklee!" this child, for sure, secretly dreamed of killing his uncle. Sighing dramatically, Regulus had to quicken his pace even more.

Kreacher once asked before another foray to the sea, "Master, don't you find water disgusting? Doesn't it bring back unpleasant memories?". The very first time, yes, that was it. For the first ten seconds, when he heard the sound of the waves, Regulus actually felt true fear. However, after that... something similar to internal peace came to replace it.

The rough, cold sea somehow managed to calm both his soul and his mind. But, of course, he was still afraid to go into the water itself. Couldn't help himself in this regard.

"...gotcha," before Draco, who had slipped on the snow, would've fallen, the guy managed to catch him, "I told you not to run. Next time when you're about to fall..." suddenly grinning, Regulus picked him up and even began to spin him around. The child's laughter was much louder now, "You're going to eat the disgusting sno-o-ow!"

His mother usually liked to scare him in a different way. With more terror. She'd say, "If you dare run around like a disgrace, you will break both your legs. Or your neck! Is that what you want?!". And the younger Black really believed her for some time, was very afraid to run along the corridors and stairs of the house. Until his older brother ruffled his hair and whispered into his ear, "Don't worry about the hag's words! If you fall, I'll catch you just in time!".

"Sno-o-ow!" repeated his nephew, clearly enjoying this half-flight.

Regulus thought that this boy would love flying and playing Quidditch a lot. So he should probably buy him a mini-broom for kids, or something...

***

One winter evening, Kreacher brought a letter from Albus Dumbledore. Even without opening it, the wizard knew what was inside — a warning about the upcoming trial. After all, no matter how hard Regulus tried to change, some things would still remain in him forever. The proof of what a terrible person he was would never disappear.

Even though he hadn't killed or tortured anyone, he was obliged to be tried for the mere presence of the mark. This was very fair — Black didn't argue with that. If he were completely alone, he'd proudly bear his well-deserved punishment. However, now he had no right to end up in Azkaban and leave his nephew to the care of... no one. Therefore, all that was left was to reluctantly trust the light side once again and believe in Dumbledore. He was understanding, forgiving, able to give second chances to everyone. He must take Regulus' side.

"...although it will probably sound like I am trying to gain his pity," the young man muttered, clutching the quill tightly between his fingers.

Somehow, after an hour, Black managed to compose his justification letter: he told about how he betrayed Voldemort (but not about the horcruxes), about the Malfoys, about how he was just in hiding all this time, about his little nephew, whom he didn't want to abandon for a couple of months, much less for several years. Simply put, about everything that could appease the headmaster. Tug at the strings of his soul, if he still had one.

Two days later, getting ready for the trial almost as if for his own funeral, Regulus was ready for anything. He kissed his nephew on the cheek as a farewell, politely asked the house elves, "Please, keep Draco safe and sound while I am gone," and prayed that Dumbledore would help him.

The huge Ministry greeted him with its extraordinary grandeur and cold, judgmental wizards. Everyone here knew what the heir of the Black family looked like, everyone knew about his criminal brother as well. Everyone lingered their gaze on him, then tried to run away quickly. Well, Regulus had felt lonely before, but now... now this feeling of complete isolation from others was rapidly reaching its peak. No one even wanted to look him straight in the eyes. As if everyone was afraid that he'd infect them with something or even attack them.

"I want to go home..." the guy thought plaintively, as he walked forward with pride, "I want to go back to Draco, Kreacher and Dobby..." it'd be really nice to play with the child or talk to his favorite house elf about the grief after Walburga's death. Much better than staying in this hell of a place.

"Regulus, there you are, my boy," he blinked and raised his head. But for some reason came across surprise in the powerful wizard's gaze, "Oh... what ever happened to your eye?"

"Ah... oh..." Black continued, blinking twice more. Still in his thoughts though, "Exactly, my eye," his hand reached for his face on its own, as if trying to hide the partial blindness, "I had already forgotten about it..."

He had gotten used to the fact that he couldn't see anything with one eye, after such a huge amount of time. Even looking in the mirror, he didn't pay attention to the unsightly detail. Besides, Draco was never scared, didn't point his finger at this ugliness. And therefore there was no point in worrying about it. While nothing was bothering his nephew, neither was Regulus.

"...oh, well," the curly-haired guy said, shrugging his shoulders slightly, "I had a bit of an accident. Nothing serious."

"It looks serious enough, my boy."

Regulus preferred to simply remain silent. The last thing he needed was condemnation from the headmaster of Hogwarts. "He probably won't protect me after all. No one will. That fucking light side, or whatever, will never help me," the wizard thought, closing his eyes wearily and practically giving in. But suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder, and then heard a kind voice,

"Don't worry, I've known that you betrayed your Lord for a long time. And you know what?" the old man smiled at him without a trace of pretense, "I've always admired people who go against evil and change for the better. That's why I'll speak out in your favor at this trial. Just like I spoke out in Severus' favor."

He's also– or rather, already acquitted? Unexpected. But since Dumbledore himself stood up for him, Snape clearly deserved it somehow. Probably betrayed his Lord, too, albeit a bit late... well, in any case, that was nice to hear. And nice to know that he's not the only one, that there are other people like him.

"And when you win the case, you will definitely return home to your son."

"So– wha–"

Just one word left him speechless. In his letter, Black had never once called his nephew "his son", not even hinted at it. So such a sudden bomb of a phrase stunned him. Finally, the detached expression was replaced by absolute shock,

"I am not– not his father," the young wizard continued quickly, without changing expression, "He's the son of Ciss– Narcissa and–"

"Yes, but they are no longer with us, are they?"

That's right. Yes. They both died long ago, and all this time Regulus was alone. He had long since gotten used to it, had come to terms with it. He doesn't feel any pain from the memories of that terrible day when he learned of the death of his cousin and Lucius. Not at all.

"You've been raising the boy almost since his birth. Alone, without anyone's help," it's not entirely clear whether he was mocked or, on the contrary, sympathized with, "In your letter, you asked what to do with him now and how to avoid problems in the future. However, the answer lies on the surface, Regulus, and you've known it for a long time," the guy blinked again, frowning slightly in bewilderment,

"Huh...?"

"I think Draco should be a Black."

Is the headmaster really in his right mind? Or maybe he accidentally bumped his head into something on the way here? Definitely one of these options. After all, he was just hinting in plain text what Regulus should do with his own nephew. He advised changing the surname and heritage to someone else's. No, of course, it's possible from a legal point of view, but from a moral one... what would Narcissa think of him? And Lucius? He must be rolling in his grave just because of this proposal.

The young wizard even thought that Dumbledore was pranking him, or something. Making a bad joke, mocking again. Otherwise, why would he even suggest something like this? He himself has no benefit in this, except...

"...do you, per chance, want everyone to pardon and forgive me because I am a "poor, unfortunate single father"?" this could actually help. Become the main mitigating factor.

"I do not rule this option out," the headmaster smiled, "However, I tried to convey something different. Your letter made me realize how much you love this boy," well, naturally. Draco's a member of his family. He must be loved no matter what, "Just as you don't want him to feel lonely and officially become an orphan."

"Draco... being a Black," and then, the voiced thought suddenly seeped straight into the brain, "He really is Black– half Black because of Cissy's blood. There will be no problem making him an heir, magic will accept him, but..." is it possible? Is it possible to call the child he has been raising for over a year his own? Is it possible to address a nephew as a son? "Yet... no, no. However... yes, if I think about it, then I have already–"

–stopped correcting Draco, "I am not your dad. Your father is a different person," for a long time. When the boy grew up and began to understand the speech around him more, Regulus stopped saying this stuff. Hearing the joyful, "dad, dad!", he reacted not sharply, abruptly and fearfully, but with a small smile on his face. Just this one word, so simple and short, for some reason warmed him. Just as it made him afraid of the day when little Malfoy would suddenly stop considering him as his "father".

"I... I really do already act as if he were my own son," the realization suddenly hit. It's not even clear how this could've happened, but Draco became too close to him, too important, too dear.

Dumbledore is right; Black doesn't want to make his nephew feel lonely. And if he finds out that he's an orphan, this feeling won't be avoided — it will be inevitable. In that case, Draco will feel a certain distance all his life, a constant longing for his parents, a lack of paternal love. Just like Regulus once did (even with his parents both being alive).

No, he didn't want any of this to happen.

"I shall... think about your words. For a bit," the guy muttered, licking his dry lips. This made the headmaster smile widely and warmly, "In any case. Speaking of other people's sons..." Regulus hesitated for a few seconds, but continued anyway, "Where is Jam– the Potters' son now?"

Ever since he read a few newspapers about a certain "Boy Who Lived", he had been interested in his future fate. James' parents had long since passed away, nothing was known about Lily's family, so quite a logical question arose: who was the child with now? He hadn't ended up in... what did muggles call it? Regulus thought for a moment, and then, blinking, remembered, "Oh, yes, the orphanage." They say that this place is very uncomfortable, cold, starving and, in general, horrible. He wouldn't want the Potters' son to end up there.

Black, darkening, didn't stop guessing, "That boy is fine, right? There is someone to take care of him, right?..".

"Harry is with Lily's sister, Petunia Dursley," ah, after all, someone on that muggle-born's side is still alive and well, "He will live there to maintain Lily's protection. The one she created through her sacrifice."

"Sacrifice..."

The guy narrowed his eyes and pondered the headmaster's words for a moment. Protection through sacrifice. When his face changed from thoughtful to surprised, Dumbledore smiled and praised him, "Yes, my boy, you understood everything correctly." The ultimate protection is quite an ancient, powerful magic. Black was truly surprised that an ordinary muggle-born witch managed to cast it. Even if she loved her son with all her heart, such magic is still not easy.

It seems that he clearly underestimated the capabilities of muggle-born wizards.

"So the Potters' son is completely safe?"

"Of course, my boy. In addition, I myself cast additional protective charms on the Dursleys' house," the Slytherin just bit his lip in response to these words. It sounded convincing, plausible, but Regulus still felt that there was a catch somewhere. The headmaster wasn't telling him something, and instead was hiding something. Or maybe it was just paranoia... "There is no need to worry about Harry. Especially when you are responsible for a completely different child."

To break the prolonged silence, Dumbledore patted the boy on the shoulder encouragingly.

"It is time, my boy. I promise you will not end up in Azkaban."

***

The trials of Death Eaters continued to cause a loud resonance time after time. As soon as the masks were removed from these secret criminals, as soon as their names were announced, the public was shocked. No one could've imagined that people from such respected, noble families could turn out to be cruel murderers. They were only not surprised by Black, whose brother had been sitting in prison for several months already.

But despite the dark mark and questionable past, Regulus was free to go. The headmaster of Hogwarts actually stood up for him, just as he once did for Severus. Of course, it couldn't be done without a tearful and pitiful facade. Firstly, it was necessary to blame the parents, who allegedly tortured their son since childhood, and then forced him to go to the dark side.

"Is that really so, mister Black?" the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Crouch Sr. himself, clarified all the details. It was... weird to talk to the father of his former friend so formally. The whole situation resembled some kind of surrealism, and Regulus still couldn't get why he was even here. He shouldn't be here, "Do you admit to your parents committing such actions against you? Do you confirm that you were subjected to the Cruciatus Curse?"

There was nothing like that going on, ever. Walburga and her husband had never used that spell on their sons. However, Regulus knew that it was better to just agree with every single nonsense now. Albus Dumbledore had clearly already planned this entire trial from start to finish, so there was no point in throwing a spanner in his works.

"Yes. I admit and confirm that," after the death of his parents, there wasn't really a way to prove anything anyway. No body — no charge, right?

"And you also admit that you were forced to join the Death Eaters against your own will?"

"Yes."

Some of the jurors began to whisper, while Black felt a lump forming in his throat.

"Mother is probably cursing me in the afterlife... Father is surely not happy either," he thought, pursing his lips nervously. The obvious, incredibly brazen lie brought discomfort. Like after a very bad meal, "I chose the path of a Death Eater on my own. I was proud of it as a victory. No one forced me– I... I did it myself, all by myself..." the jury looked at him with a bit of sympathy, "But I can't even say it out loud. Even... Merlin, I can't even repent for this. Otherwise, I will have to face at least, like, five years in Azkaban..." he cannot do that. For Draco's sake, he has to keep quiet and just follow the headmaster's orders.

Then the "bad influence" at school came into play. Dumbledore painted in vivid colors how terrible Regulus' mates were. In fact, this is... not quite true either. Because they weren't always like that — crazy, fanatical murderers. And many years ago, the Slytherin even sincerely considered them his best friends. He was as close to them as his upbringing and status allowed.

"...I dare even suggest that mister Black was bullied by his housemates. He felt isolated, lonely," the old wizard said in a calm, measured voice.

"Bullshit liar... it's not me, he's not talking about me– the real me," Regulus thought. And drummed all fingers on his knee, barely noticeably, "I was the life of the party, the best seeker, even a member of the Slug Club. No one fucking bullied me. Well... except maybe Sirius, when he got bored during the holidays at home," but he had to keep quiet about this truth too, "The old man's confusing me with Snape. That's who was bullied. I, on the other hand, had a wonderful reputation and... friends..."

Black consoled himself only with the fact that all those very "friends" of his were truly disgusting people. That they deserved all these words. And that he is allowed to use them, to justify himself with the help of their bad reputation.

Dumbledore also didn't hesitate to call the accused "a stupid child who was simply lost and confused." Well, yes, of course. Just a stupid child. Black almost jumped up from his seat and began to refute every word out loud. His nerves could no longer withstand it.

"I, I...! I, at my fucking eighteen years old...! I learned about the horcrux, found it, even destroyed it and lost half my sight!" the wizard didn't show it outwardly, but inside he was raging. And almost didn't hear how loudly his trembling fingers were drumming on his knee, "Piss off, old man, I am not stupid! You are, though!"

"Specify, mister Black, did you take part in the murder or torture of muggles or muggle-born wizards?" one of the members of the Wizengamot leaned forward, peering into the young man's face with suspicion, "Did you use the Unforgivable Curses?"

His voice almost failed,

"No, I did not," that was the only truth during this entire long interrogation. Regulus really didn't harm anyone. So there was no need to even lie, "I have always stayed away from such activities. I have not even witnessed how others killed or tortured anyone. My complicity," a nervous sigh involuntarily escaped, "Is out of the question."

"How charming," someone muttered, "You were in the ranks of the Death Eaters for so long, but haven't committed a single crime? Not even once saw anything with your own eyes? Such a strange role you had, mister Black."

Oh, seriously? They didn't want to believe the only truth of the entire trial? Regulus completely stopped understanding how this system even worked.

"Come on, ladies and gentlemen, think for yourselves," the headmaster stood up for him again, "It's unlikely that You-Know-Who considered an ordinary boy a significant and important figure. His followers even more so," this was also most likely the truth. The same one that made Regulus press his lips tightly together in resentment, "It's unlikely that they would trust him with torture, let alone murder. All he had was a noble family name and youthful self-confidence," coming from Dumbledore's lips it sounded almost humiliating, "He was wrong. He was stupid and led by, but not dangerous."

"S'pose that's true..."

"Yes, perhaps... mister Black is still very young even now."

Stupid, youthful, led by, not dangerous, insignificant, unimportant... this was some kind of moral dirt, not a defense.

To put it simply, Regulus heard all sorts of things about himself, but the game was worth the candle. He was portrayed as an unfortunate victim of circumstances and sent home, pardoned of all his sins. Especially when the information about him, along with the Malfoys, betraying (and even trying to kill) the Lord and that he was now raising a "son", surfaced.

The other Death Eaters were not so lucky: almost every one of them went to prison.

"...mister Black, mister Black," when the guy was already leaving the courtroom, Rita Skeeter followed him, for some reason. Just like an annoying insect, "Could you tell me more about your son? This is a scoop, mister Black, a scoop!"

He wondered, why she thought so? Among pureblood wizards, the practice of having children very early was completely normal. "Or am I so unlike a person who should ever have children?.." Regulus pondered, rolling his eyes imperceptibly.

"Who is your wife and the mother of the child? Or, perhaps," the woman, still not lagging behind, quickly walked after him. So that her high, thin heels jingled loudly, "Is he an illegitimate son? The heir of the Black family started a family out of wedlock? What would your deceased mother think of this? What emotions do you think she would feel?"

A displeased hiss, like of a real snake, was bursting to come out. Regulus felt that these are the headlines that are going to appear in the Prophet this week. As if there was nothing else to discuss in the wizarding world!

Dumbledore was right, terribly right. As always, by the way. Regulus must immediately make Draco a Black, or else the general intrigues in the newspapers will be replaced by terrible accusations. People will definitely start thinking, "Raising someone else's child? Maybe then he killed two Malfoys and stole their son?! Of course, you would expect such a thing from Sirius Black's brother!". By the way, he could end up in the courtroom again if that happens. Therefore, the theory with an extramarital union sounded ten times more pleasant...

"Miss Skeeter, please, do leave me alone," the dark-haired guy answered her as politely as possible, "I am very tired after a long trial..."

"You also didn't tell me what happened to your eye! Is this the work of the Dark Lord himself?! After you betrayed him?"

"Miss–"

"And the fact that you spoke in defense of your brother and asked for his case to be reviewed?!"

Regulus' face darkened noticeably. Until the very end, he had hoped that no one would pester him about this issue, no one would dig around and sort out his feelings, no one would even mention this... shame anymore. Especially after Crouch Sr. had rejected the request. The maximum he had agreed to with great reluctance was to cancel Sirius' death sentence this spring and replace it with life imprisonment.

And even then, it was something of a concession due to the influence of the Black family. Nothing more. No one had intended to acquit Sirius or even give him a fair trial from the very beginning. And if he had come from a family that was less respected in the wizarding community, he would've simply died this spring, as he should have according to the laws.

In fact, it was very unfair. Regulus felt lousy, something was gnawing at his heart. He still couldn't get rid of the feeling that he didn't deserve his acquittal. It would've been better to hold a trial for his older brother, not him...

"Do you know something about the massacre on that day? More than the others?"

"A-a-argh, she makes me so-o ma-ad! How annoying!" Regulus was mentally angry, looking for any fireplace he could find. He needed to get home as soon as possible and hide from the uncomfortable questions, "Why is she even bothering me?!"

"Mister Black–"

"I am glad you were here at the trial today, Miss Skeeter," and whispering the address under his breath, he almost plunged into the green flame of the fireplace. Only when he found himself within the walls of the familiar house, he was able to throw off his feigned emotions and say with irritation, "U-u-ugh... that damned woman. Worse than any beetle."

"Master Regulus, you're back!"

"Dada, dada's home!"

He forgot about his anger and fatigue almost instantly. After all, both the house elves and his nephew ran to him at full speed. Kreacher asked how everything went, and at the same time was glad to see his master again; Dobby was delighted to tell how well he had done the job; Draco simply held his palms up and begged to be picked up.

"...for some reason, I felt so calm just now," Regulus thought, exhaling quietly, "Maybe because I am surrounded by my family?"

"Yes-yes, I'm home," the guy said, managing to hold back a smile. He knelt down to thank the house elves, and then picked up his nephew, "Draco, I hope you haven't caused too much trouble for Kreacher and Dobby?"

"No-o-o!"

"That is right, Master," his beloved elf nodded, "Master Draco behaved very obediently. All because of your wonderful upbringing."

"Wonderful upbringing," huh? Black always felt that he, on the contrary, wasn't doing enough. That the Malfoys, the boy's real parents, could've done so much more, given so much more. Just like...

"Y'know, I'd re-e-eally like to be a dad one day, I'd like to give my children everything!"

Yes, just like that bloody idiot Potter.

"In any case, it all went well. The Ministry has no more questions or complaints about me," the house elves almost jumped up and down with joy, congratulating him, "But the public will have some if I do not hurry up with a certain matter..."

"A certain matter?.."

"Can Kreacher help you with anything, my dear master?"

Regulus looked thoughtfully at his brightly smiling nephew. He could handle all the magical and legal procedures himself. However, house elves, especially Kreacher, absolutely loved to help. Black didn't enjoy bothering them, but their help would probably be needed in...

"Exactly," the servants immediately pricked up their long, sharp ears, "Can you move all our things to Grimmauld Place? Preferably by the end of this week."

"Master Regulus?!.. Are we going back to our home again?" Kreacher asked, as if not believing himself.

"I am acquitted, the Death Eaters are in Azkaban... so yes. We no longer need to hide from anyone in here."

Surprisingly, the house elf was way happier about this than Black could've expected. Even happier than the master of the house himself. A spark of enthusiasm suddenly lit up in old Kreacher ("We're going home, we're going home!"). So he and Dobby sorted out the things very, very quickly. Literally in just one day, not sparing themselves or their magic.

Grimmauld Place, not changing itself at all, was still gloomy and cold, but at the same time majestic. Draco should like living here, because there's much more space for him. It will even be possible to teach him to fly on a broom without going outside.

"...and that is my room," the guy muttered, looking at the door with words on it, "Do Not Enter Without the Express Permission of Regulus Arcturus Black". When did he make that sign anyway? About seven years old, right? He could also recall that Sirius had laughed at it for a long time back then, calling his younger brother a stuck-up snob, "I have not been here for a long time, have I?"

The door creaked slightly — something needed to be done about that. Looking around his own abode, Regulus carefully walked inside. Nothing here had changed much in two years. Not a single thing had been touched by his mother or Kreacher. The emerald and silver colors that covered everything from ceiling to floor seemed faded, though. Probably because they were covered in a decent layer of dust. Above the large bed was the family coat of arms, which the wizard had once drawn himself. Just like he wrote the motto — "Toujours Pur". Staring at the drawing, Black briefly plunged into memories of his bygone childhood. About his father, about mother, brother... even though this was his room, everything here reminded of them in one way or another.

Yet as soon as Regulus lowered his gaze lower, he almost cursed out loud. He stepped back, horrified by his younger self. The torn collage made of glued newspaper clippings seemed to be looking back at him — frighteningly, like a hungry predator. His past loyalty to the Lord and blind obsession still haunted him, even after so much time. He would probably never be able to wash off this mud.

With his only sighted eye, Black looked at the ridiculous child's craft in fear. "Dark Lord" this, "Dark Lord" that, "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named"... all around were nicknames for the monster who had taken everything and everyone from Regulus. There was no one left, and just because of one wizard. Just because of him were there so many sufferings and deaths.

The shock suddenly turned to anger. And without hesitation, pulling out his wand, the guy almost roared,

"Incendio!"

The collage quickly caught fire, burning to the ground right before the eyes of its creator. However, even this seemed insufficient to Black. Grimacing, not even knowing what to feel (anger, sadness, guilt, contempt), he wanted to cast a more serious spell, when suddenly,

"Master Regulus, what is it? Kreacher heard a spell," the elf, who suddenly found himself at the door, forced him to come to his senses. Almost dropping his wand, the wizard shuddered, "Oh...! Master, master... we must quickly do something, before you and your precious room...!"

Before the house elf himself would've rushed forward, Regulus managed to cast another spell — the one that put out the fire.

"What happened, master?" the elf asked, genuinely worried about the young man.

"Uh... nothing."

No trace was left of the collage. Just like of Black's loyalty to the Lord.

"Forgive me, Kreacher," the aristocrat exhaled, surprising his servant, "I did not mean to scare you. This... simply happened, somehow."

"Oh, my dear master, are you feeling unwell?"

Regulus shook his head, but thanked him for his concern.

***

The conversation with the goblins went pretty quickly and mostly alright. They didn't argue with a member of an ancient and noble family. All they did was only explain and clarify everything clearly: since Draco's parents were dead, all their money rightfully belonged to him. And Regulus, being his guardian, managed to take every galleon and give the order, "Move everything to the Black vault."

It's not that the Black family was poor, like the Weasleys. However, extra gold, especially in such quantity, would definitely not hurt. Besides, the Slytherin planned to spend every coin only on his nephew either way.

More precisely, now his son.

As soon as the boy's original name was changed to Draco Regulus Black, the Malfoy family was declared extinct. It was sad, of course. Really sad. However, the guy understood: either the Malfoys would disappear, or the Blacks — he had to choose the lesser of two evils in favor of his family. As always.

"There we go, Draco, you and I have deceived everyone. Just like real Slytherins," the wizard whispered, looking at the tapestry. There, the name of his son had also changed to a new one. For some reason, though, he had so many mixed feelings inside... Regulus hoped that one day they'd all calm down and let him live in peace, "Now there should not be any problems, since I am officially your..."

The boy standing next to him, peering in the names and portraits with interest, studied each member of the family.

"Father..."

That was so scary, so worrying that his knees involuntarily buckled. Raising a child is essentially the same as drawing on a completely blank sheet of paper. And not knowing what picture would come out in the end was frightening. After all, a lot, if not everything, depended on any incorrectly spoken word or even a glance. Taking care of a small person is an incredibly huge responsibility for the rest of your life. This is not what Black wanted at just twenty years old.

He didn't even want to live, let alone raise a child.

"I am your... father," a lump, which turned out to be very difficult to swallow, rose in his throat.

It would be better if Draco never found out the truth — not about the Dark Mark, not about the betrayal of three wizards, not about the deaths of the Malfoys, not about such a scandalous scam, not about... anything. He shouldn't worry about the bad things, consider himself an unnecessary and unloved orphan and keep his distance because of this. Instead, he should think that Regulus is his real father all his life.

It will be better that way.

"Me!" poking at the very bottom of the tapestry, at his image, the child said, "Dada, me!"

"Yes, dragon... that is you."

Chapter Text

To make a certain woman in the house less troublesome, Regulus had to tell her the truth. Even if it was only... half of that truth. He confessed who Draco's mother was, but tactfully kept silent about his real father. And so, just one the missing detail made Walburga invent an incredible family drama of the century, lots of betrayals, intrigues, and so on–

...no, perhaps he shouldn't have told her anything. Even more so, he shouldn't have disgraced his cousin in such a weird, twisted way. It was a terrible act on Regulus's part — he understood that perfectly well. But what's done is done, right?

"...brought our family an heir, a beautiful pureblood boy, from dear Narcissa...! Ah, I always loved that girl! I was right, having such high expectations for you, having you as my favorite son," the voice, now immortalized in the portrait, sounded way too happy. Mother tried to hide how delighted she was with this information, but did it clumsily. What a crazy woman. Such genuine joy made Regulus feel uneasy. Not only did he see her smiling for the first time in his life, but also her admiring a close family relationship... disgusting, "Our family is proud of you. And not of your lousy brother, that is for sure."

The guy barely held back a heavy sigh. Even though it was just a portrait, it was getting on his nerves quite seriously. Mainly because it brazenly didn't listen to what Regulus was saying.

"Mother, I asked you many times not to mention Sirius," it was a little difficult to pronounce the wretched name. Contradicting his mother — even more so.

"Oh, that is right. You are right. It is better not to talk about worthless blood traitors in this house..." the guy tried to calm her down, asking to shut up for at least a second, "Pathetic bastards who only spend their time in vicinity of half-blood freaks and mudbl–"

"Mother!"

An incredibly beautiful, but extremely cruel woman glared at him from the portrait. Walburga didn't like being interrupted. And despised those who intervened in her hateful speeches about muggle-borns.

"Mother, please, refrain from such words," the dead witch began to grimace even more, "Draco hears you perfectly well, you know?"

"Let him hear. He must grow up and understand how much higher his status is than the damned mudbloods!"

The terrible word was almost cutting. He tried not to show any emotion, but Walburga could clearly see them in his eyes.

"Or have you, Regulus... decided to raise your son as a blood traitor?" her tone was terribly offended. Perhaps, even a little scared, "Are you going to instill a love for mudbloods? Brainwash him the same way... that Potter brainwashed you?"

"No one brainwashed me, Mother–"

"I cannot believe this! And who will the future heir of the Black family become with such an upbringing?! I should not have praised you! Neither you nor Sirius should have ever been praised, because you immediately began to get worse after that!"

Regulus wanted, as always, to obey her, apologize for his behavior and promise not to upset her again. However... he suddenly realized: he wasn't a little boy anymore, was he? Now he's twenty, and the only one in charge in this house. Mother wouldn't do anything to him on the other side of the portrait, except just yell at him and judge him. And that would be a thousand times better than Draco uttering a terrible insult with his lips.

Nodding to himself, the young man took a deep breath. And then gave his mother a completely different look,

"I shall raise Draco so that he will never join the Death Eaters," and this, naturally, meant long-term work not only on the child, but also on his own consciousness, "So that he will never turn hatred into murder."

"Hah! And what is so wrong with exterminating mudbloods? The world will be better without them," she was testing his patience and looking for a fight. Too obvious.

"Perhaps so, perhaps you are right. But the Dark Lord, killing them, forgot himself a little... and began to kill purebloods too."

The portrait seemed to remember the deaths of the Malfoys and suddenly fell silent. Thus allowing the wizard to continue,

"That is why I decided that in order to avoid the deaths of pureblood wizards too... this hatred should be put to an end. Do you understand, Mother?" the woman was indignant, "The next thing you will tell me is that you teach the house elves this stupid tolerance, too?" "Yes, indeed. Kreacher is having a hard time now, just like me. But he is a good elf, he will choose my and only my side, no matter what."

"When did you become like this?.. That is beyond any comprehension..."

"This is my decision, as Lord Black. And you must come to terms with it, Mother."

Before the woman would get angry, would douse him with a bucket of insults and accusations, Regulus hastily added,

"Believe me, it is no easier for me now than it is for you. However, I shall do everything for the good of pureblood families. For the good of our family," his mother hissed like a cat, whispering something about betrayal. And oh well, it's not even like she's mistaken. Her son really is a traitor, after he destroyed the Dark Lord's horcrux, "It is better to live in tolerance towards mud..." the young man almost choked. He taught his mother to be accepting, yet in the end, he himself almost uttered that word. Oh yes, there was a long, long way for him to go, "Towards m... muggle-borns. Better this way, than have another war with new victims. Especially pureblood victims."

"How revolting, not like it was in the days of my father's. Your grand-uncle* would have lost his mind..."

"The conversation is over, Mother. You are obliged to obey the will of Lord Black."

After that, the portrait was angry for quite some time. Shouted a lot of nasty things about "that Potter scum, who made you love the mudbloods" and Sirius. Only one house elf could calm the enraged woman, "Yes, yes, mistress... Kreacher understands you, Kreacher also hates these freaks... but such is the order. Whatever our master asks, we must fulfill it. Master Regulus knows best, he does everything in our interests, my precious mistress...".

Kreacher loved to hate mudbloods and blood traitors, but he loved his master more. Much more than anyone. And if the refusal of insults and cruel convictions would bring him at least a little joy, then... yes, the house elf was ready for such a sacrifice.

"Thank you," Regulus often stroked the elf's bald head with his emaciated palms. Just like in childhood, "You try very hard. And you make a huge contribution to ensuring that we do not repeat the first war."

The house elf thought that the master had become strange now. He was disturbed in his mind, that's for sure. But Kreacher didn't dare say a word, instead thinking, "This tough life... this tough, cruel life has finally brought my precious master to losing his mind...".

"Anything for you, master... for you, Kreacher is ready to do anything..."

The pure blood superiority is a belief, a kind of faith that every wizard grew up with. It was something Regulus believed in for years. He adhered to this ideology to such an extent that he accepted the dark mark. And all that time he thought, "I am doing the right things, I am on the right path." Perhaps, like his parents, he would've remained an ardent hater of muggle-borns until his very death. This was predicted by everyone.

But times change. And views change too, albeit in such sad ways. Having lost people dear to him because of some stupid ideology, Regulus realized: this just won't do. Blind hatred can't go on for several more centuries. His son shouldn't grow up like that and repeat the same mistakes. No one would benefit from it. Narcissa, too, would never want to see the dark mark on Draco's hand. Not for anything, ever.

"Cissy... Cissy, what's wrong? Why are you crying?"

About three days had passed since the birth of the child. Regulus thought that this was incredible happiness for his cousin. That after this, she'd always be cheerful and happy, but one night she was caught crying bitterly. The guy, as best he could, calmed her down, sometimes with words, sometimes with gentle strokes on her back.

"I do not want... do not want my son to end up on the Dark Lord's side..."

"Mon cher, what are you even talking about?"

"I do not want him to become a Death Eater," when Regulus' hand suddenly flinched and stopped, the woman cried harder, "I do not want this...! He is just a boy, he... I do not want this..."

Stepping over yourself and changing your established point of view is a laborious task. Doubts about the rightness of this action were always here with Regulus. Sometimes he couldn't help himself but still say that wretched word — "mudblood". It just begged to come out. The school textbook on Muggle Studies (for the fourth years), impulsively bought in Diagon Alley, wasn't opened for months. Regulus couldn't bring himself to read even one page. Just as he couldn't touch all these muggle "music records" — the ones Sirius left in his room.

Muggle, muggle, muggle... it gave him the creeps. Every time he thought about these creatur– people, his own mind would chatter, "Blood traitor, you are a blood traitor. Just like your cousin Andromeda. Yet you cannot even run to her for advice because she hates you. Andromeda and Sirius — they both hate you."

And his mother on the portrait would say,

"Stop messing around, Regulus. Let these scum of society burn. Do not bother to understand, much less love them."

"I..."

"You have just been brainwashed, Regulus."

He wondered if she realized how ironic that statement was? Especially when she had done the same thing herself from an early age — brainwashing both sons with vile beliefs.

Time passed and Black was already beginning to think that it's useless. To think, "No, I... I still believe in blood supremacy. It is what I was raised with, it is what was me for twenty years. I can't bring myself to love anything that has to do with muggles. I will never be able to change". After all, he wasn't Potter, who adored everything about muggles. Who constantly spoke about them with surprise and admiration at the same time, "Y'know, Moony told us, back in our first year... there are these things, um... "banes" or "lanes", I think? They're like cars, but really big. Muggles travel in the sky using these, can you imagine?!".

"...ha-ah," Regulus somehow sat down at the table and picked up the textbook. At Hogwarts, he hated this stupid subject, but now he was preparing to go through the entire program from scratch, "At least two or three pages. I have to start somewhere, right?"

While the young man was gathering all possible strength, Draco ran up to him at full speed. First he started calling, tugging at the trouser leg, then looked up,

"Dad, what are you doing?" having grown up a bit, he began to speak more confidently, more clearly.

"Ah, um, well, I..."

His mother's words echoed in his head, "Stop mumbling all the time, Regulus!".

"I..." this was a perfect situation to throw the book in the far corner for a few more months. Black could've done so. He certainly could. Nothing was stopping him, actually, "I am reading," his son smiled broadly.

"Man I? Man I too?"

His eyes nervously looked first at the textbook, then at the boy's happy face — and in this order a few more times. So far, Black hasn't figured out how exactly to present muggles to his son. And especially everything connected with them. If he starts asking questions like, "What's this? How does this work? What does this mean?", then... Regulus will definitely lose face, since he himself doesn't know a single damn thing.

Draco, without changing his expression, was still obediently waiting. He couldn't read yet, but didn't mind listening to his father's gentle and kind voice.

"Well..." the young man carefully opened the textbook with his hand, glanced at the first page out of the corner of his right eye. Here goes nothing, right? "Muggle Attitudes to Magic in Ancient Times and Today. Muggle Ideas about Magic" — oh, wow. This is quite an interesting topic. Maybe — just maybe? — he should give this thing a chance? "Of course, Draco. Come on, I shall read to you."

The boy managed to climb onto the next chair himself after two attempts. He even got comfortable there, but quickly realized, "Dad, I can't see." In fact, he didn't need to see the book, but children like to feel like they're part of the process, don't they? Therefore, sighing, Black helped his son move to his lap.

"Wow!" unusual pictures with different muggles and, probably, their professions sincerely surprised Draco. In a pleasant way, of course. After all, he had no prejudice against people and the world yet. In this regard... Regulus even envied him, "Look, dad, look!"

"Yes, Draco, yes, it is beautifully drawn. But you and I will read, not look."

The boy nodded happily. His father meanwhile was still mentally preparing himself for the fact that he'd actually learn something about muggles. In a house, which everything connected with non-magical people was despised in for years. The world must've gone mad.

***

Life, as it seemed to Regulus, began to improve. Not immediately, gradually, but it did. Everything started to fall into place. Constant stress turned into a calm, measured routine. The portrait of his mother was still offended and spoke exclusively to Kreacher, but maybe it was for the best — fewer quarrels, less unnecessary swearing. Dobby, who belonged to a completely different family, still didn't leave Grimmauld Place. On the contrary, he worked hard for the benefit of his new master, who treated him with kindness, care and understanding.

Draco grew by leaps and bounds — or so it seemed to his father. After all, not long ago he hadn't slept at night, lulling the child in his arms, and now he watched as that same child mastered the broom. It was worth admitting that the boy was doing well for his age. Although... a couple of times he definitely was close to breaking his nose or forehead. He could've been seriously injured if Regulus hadn't stopped him with magic millimeters away from the wall.

"Honestly..." the Slytherin sometimes thought with a sigh, "As soon as Draco grew up, he became a hundred times more dangerous. Especially to himself," he relaxed just a little, and then immediately flinched because of a loud crash on the second floor. But before he jumped up from his armchair and ran to check what had happened, he quickly heard, "Master, do not worry, no one is injured, everyone is alive!" "...oh Merlin and Morgana, give me strength."

Every birthday of little Black was celebrated as a real feast. There were no guests, so Regulus tried to replace them with magnificent dinners, expensive gifts and simply spending time together. He always gave as much of the latter as he could. As a child, he himself constantly lacked love and affection from his mother and father. Then even from his brother. So he made sure that Draco had everything that he himself was left without.

Walburga sometimes said,

"You spoil him too much. The boy will grow up weak and spineless," perhaps so. But in that case, he'll be just like his father, "You need to be stricter and tougher with him."

"Yes, Mother," he agreed, but in fact, didn't intend to follow the "advice".

He really loved Draco very much — like his own son, no less. So with all his might, he tried not to darken the child's best years with cold and cruel attitude. Sometimes the guy wanted to break down, even yell, but pulled himself together in time. He remembered how he himself, as a child, was terrified of his mother's screams, and instantly calmed down.

If he was truly angry, with no ability to keep cool, he had to simply take it out elsewhere. More precisely, in another matter — in the preparation of potions. When his son really got on his nerves, Regulus would go down to the basement and aggressively stir the ingredients in the cauldron. Sometimes he'd experiment on purpose, sometimes he'd just throw whatever he could inside the cauldron, complaining to himself,

"First he says he loves me, then immediately hates me, then he cries, then he runs to hug me... and all in merely fifteen minutes! And this is still him being a child– what will happen during puberty?!.. Tsk, Merlin give me strength!"

Over time, when Draco was already four, several home tutors were hired for him. Gradually, they taught him to write and read, and not only in English, but also in French. Then etiquette, music, history and astronomy were smoothly introduced into the small schedule as well — not a single aristocrat in the sacred twenty-eight families could do without these important skills. Besides, the last subject was especially important to the Blacks, who were obsessed with everything related to the stars.

"Dad, I know where I am," the boy announced loudly, pointing to a large map of the starry sky, "R'garde! La constellation du Dragon," unexpectedly, but he actually did point to the right stars. Even ran his pale finger from point to point, never making a mistake, "Quant à papa..."

Carefully placing his hand on top, Regulus showed the small palm the way further along the map,

"Ici," Black answered, also in French. He knew the position of his star perfectly, so even with only one eye, he found it right away.

"V'rai! Papa est le lion!"

Regulus smiled softly. Sincerely praised him for his knowledge of astronomy and his excellent pronunciation of French. His son was growing up to be an extremely smart, intelligent boy, as he grasped almost everything on the fly. Surely, he'll be a very bright student at Hogwarts. Every single teacher would be obliged to compliment him.

And every single teacher would definitely say, "You were raised to be a worthy Black."

***

Having begun to understand the world around him better at the age of six, Draco began to look at his father weirdly. For some reason. Not in a bad way, of course. It was more like... he was diligently studying something, trying to understand certain things with his childish mind. Sometimes, after long stares, he'd run off to his room, where he'd sit in complete silence for a long time. At first, Regulus tried not to attach any importance to this, but such situations happened more and more often. An uneasy thought crossed the mind, "Does he suspect me of something?". Although the Slytherin didn't give any reason for this. He hid the mark carefully, never daring to leave it in sight even in his sleep. Especially when his son came running in tears after nightmares and asked to spend the night in his father's cozy, safe bed.

One evening, when it was time for Draco to go to bed, the guy finally couldn't bear it anymore. He quietly entered the room (wasn't even noticed) and saw his son sitting sullenly by the mirror. He was turning his face this and that way, peering at it from one corner, then from another. Then angrily ruffled his white, like the first snow in December, hair.

Was that what he had been doing all this time? Looking at himself in the mirror while frowning? Blinking in surprise, Black didn't understand anything. Did his son not like his own appearance? The very appearance that mixed the best features of two families? Who could make a six-year-old child, and such a sweet one at that, doubt his beauty? The teachers... no, Regulus was confident in their professionalism. The house elves were also out of the question. Walburga rarely spoke to her grandson. So what was the matter?

"...Draco?" the boy jerked and turned around. However, instead of smiling, he became sad and hung his head, "Dr... Draco, chéri, what happened?"

The child stubbornly remained silent, not raising his sad gray eyes from the green carpet. When the question was repeated, he didn't answer again. This incomprehensible state, as well as complete unpredictability, frightened Regulus in its own way. He wasn't even sure whether to stay by the door or go inside the room. Or even close the topic and just leave. Which of these options would do the least harm?..

Even though several years had passed, Black didn't consider himself a good parent. Because good parents shouldn't be afraid to say something wrong, to do something wrong and spoil a nice relationship with their children.

"Dad," after what seemed like an eternity, the boy finally spoke, "Why don't I look like you?"

Regulus had to react quickly — he understood this. However, the sudden question put him in so much confusion that he couldn't even speak. The seconds were running out. Draco, not receiving an immediate answer, was ready to burst into tears.

"Oh, no, no, don't cry...!" forgetting that aristocrats never break into a run, the young man almost instantly found himself next to his son, "W-what made you think that, Draco, huh?" the pale lips were trembling in anticipation of hysteria, "You and I are very much alike, we are family. Here, we even have the same eye colo–"

"Dad has a different eye!.. Why don't I too?! I want it too, to look the same!.."

"That's..."

Until now, his son had never pointed out this ugly feature — the left eye, touched by dark magic. And Black always thought that if this topic would ever be raised, Draco would be filled with contempt. Would probably say something like, "Where did you get this? Has it always been like this? Looks revolting...".

But Draco never ceased to amaze him day after day. Instead of disgust, he felt sadness that he didn't have the same affliction.

"I want to look like dad!"

Before his son could sob loudly and shed first tears, Regulus carefully touched his face. And using all might, managed to smile,

"Draco... please, listen," his grey eyes were shining, but the boy still held on, "You do not look like me, but you look just like your mother. She was..."

His own lips trembled slightly, and his gaze changed. They had never discussed Narcissa Malfoy (and especially Lucius). For some reason, Draco was completely satisfied with the fact that from a very early age he only had a father. And his mother... whether she was alive or not, and what even happened to her — surprisingly, it didn't bother him. Perhaps due to his age.

Regulus hadn't thought about his cousin for a long time. So long that he seemed to have forgotten her voice. Although, no. He really did not remember anymore — neither the tone, nor the timbre, nor the sounds she made. Only the silhouette and outline of her facial features somehow remained in his memory.

"She was a very beautiful woman... and you are no worse."

"Mother?.."

"Yes, that is right, your mother. You look so much like her," then he pointed to his own face with the other hand, "But your eyes are gray, just like mine. See?"

Anticipating the next question, Black continued,

"I can't see anything with this eye, Draco," the boy opened his mouth and was genuinely, innocently surprised. What's more, his father was surprised too, at how little he told about himself over the years, "I accidentally damaged it once, and now I... well, live like that. But you do not need to have the same ugliness, chéri."

"Ug...?! No! It's not ugliness!" the son protested, frowning even more than before.

"Dra–"

"My dad is not ugly! He is the most-most handsome!"

The young man looked at him in mute shock for a while. "The most handsome"? Well... he hadn't been complimented for a long while, especially with such sincerity at that. The aristocrat couldn't help but smile tenderly. Draco, having calmed down a bit, asked, "Did it hurt? When you damaged, did it hurt?". Huh, no one had ever asked him that question. Even his mother's portrait hadn't bothered to ask what it was like to be seriously injured by dark magic. No one cared about Regulus' well-being.

That's what he thought until that day.

"No," he lied, without even thinking, "Blacks never get hurt. We are not like mere mortals, mon chou, we do not feel pain," his son believed him. Began to nod with a smile at every word.

However, a minute later he looked up at his father's thick black curls. And staring at them, puffed out his cheeks again in displeasure. "What is wrong this time?" Regulus involuntarily thought.

"I still want to be like dad," Draco poked his finger right into the night-colored hair. He remembered that his own was pure snow-white, and gave a verdict more clearly, "Just like dad!"

"Huh... just like me, then?"

Another nod made Regulus grin wider. In a matter of seconds, he put his hands on his son's head, quickly ruffled whitish locks, and then turned him to face the mirror. Now Draco looked more like a stupid kitten with his fur standing on end: hair stuck out in all directions, just like in the morning after a deep sleep.

The sight was ridiculous. Regulus barely held back his laughter as he spoke,

"There. Now we look alike," surprisingly, Draco was very happy with this news.

***

"Mister Black, I wouldn't like to criticize you and your methods of upbringing... no, no, don't get me wrong," this was a rather strange beginning to the dialogue. But Regulus must give credit, it was quite intriguing, "But Draco should communicate with children of his age and status. Otherwise, in the future, socialization will be very difficult for him."

Having finished speaking, the young French teacher bowed politely. And then hurried back to the student, whom she gave a couple of minutes for a break to. Regulus blinked in surprise, thinking about her words.

Well... that's not good. How did overlook such an important detail? After all, Draco really didn't have anyone around him who was even approximately the same age. He didn't have any friends, didn't even have any brothers or sisters. Surely, at six years old, he was incredibly bored without any communication with other children. But kept silent and didn't complain only because he didn't want to upset his father ("I know... when you're sad, your eye always hurts. I don't want you to be in pain").

Leaning against the wall, Regulus sighed heavily. Once again, he was convinced that he was a good-for-nothing parent. Forgetting to socialize a child was almost like forgetting to put a hat on him in the bitter cold.

"Children of his age and status... huh?" the young man thought, lost in his own thoughts. There are, in fact, plenty of pureblood families in Britain (much more than the sacred twenty-eight). But not all of them have children. And even if they do, these kids are either older or younger than necessary. Or they have parents you really don't want to mess with, "If children that are Draco's exact age, then... there are some, there are enough of them. But many of them are the children of Death Eaters," Draco clearly shouldn't associate with such people. At least not from the age of six. At least at school, when he already can decide what's wrong and what's right for himself, "The Crabbes and the Goyles are off the table. The Notts... no, Notts Senior is not only a Death Eater obsessed with the Dark Lord, but he also... well, just recently he ended up in Azkaban for killing his wife..."

Regulus had such a serious and thoughtful expression that Dobby, passing by, asked, "Master, is everything alright?".

"Yes, yes... I am just trying to remember a few things."

There were some reasons why he didn't really want to get involved with the Weasley family. The Browns and Macmillans** were under a tiny question mark, but overall, a good option. The half-bloods... to be honest, Regulus didn't know three quarters of them. He couldn't even roughly imagine what kind of people they were, how communication would go, and all that sort of thing. So there were doubts about whether it was worth contacting them. He would definitely have to think about this in his spare time.

The guy had to rack his brain to think of more wizard parents who hadn't supported Voldemort. At least not openly and without marks on their hands.

"The Zabinis and the Parkinsons... yes, they were definitely outside the Lord's activities. And their children are exactly the same age as Draco," he was sure there was someone else from the sacred twenty-eight, "Ah. Exactly. I remembered, yes. The Greengrasses and the Bulstrodes. But they all only have girls..." in that case, would it even be interesting for his son to communicate with them? Would he get along with young girls? "This is much more difficult than I thought. Almost all boys Draco's age are children of Death Eaters."

Except for Mrs. Zabini's child. She definitely gave birth to a son... only it was unknown which of her pureblood husbands from. This witch was, well, quite an interesting person. Regulus wasn't sure what was on her mind, but he'd still try to send her a letter. Just like all the other wizards, the list of which he managed to make in his head. No one of them would dare refuse The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, that's for sure.

"Mhm, brilliant. Today I need to write letters, and tomorrow – send them," the young man decided, nodding to himself. Even if Draco doesn't make real friends with anyone, it doesn't matter. For now, simple communication with his wizarding peers is enough.

Although the Black family became infamous in a bad sense because of Sirius, no one actually dared to refuse. Even Mrs. Zabini — a proud witch, desired by the entire magical world — didn't reject the request. On the contrary, she became interested, cordially inviting the boy to her estate together with his father. "Does she intend to make me her next husband, or what?" Regulus joked in his mind when he read her sweet answer, "No, thanks." So only Draco went to visit.

He seemed to have gotten along with Blaise — that was the boy's name. After the meeting, he didn't complain, but on the contrary, enthusiastically told about everything. The teacher was right: Draco really did need communicating with children like him. So much so that even one impressed him more than any magic.

Other families also accepted the Black heir into their homes. Or they themselves sent their children to short meetings at Grimmauld Place. After about two months, mister Parkinson even sent an invitation to a meeting of some pureblood families. At first, Regulus had no desire to go. He had enough of these kinds of gatherings in childhood. And didn't want to accidentally cross paths with someone like mister Crabbe. However, the wizards, aware of Regulus's fears, were able to convince and assure, "There will be no former Death Eaters. We all, like you, have become very distant from them over the past years."

Black looked at the letter from the Parkinsons, then at his son, who had become much happier and more cheerful in the last two months. And with a heavy sigh, he realized that he'd have to go after all. He'd have to go out into society, communicate with people older than himself, answer many uncomfortable questions, keep a straight face... it won't be easy. But he'll manage, for Draco's sake.

"Oh, how wonderful! We are so glad that you agreed to join us, mister Black," mrs. Greengrass' voice sounded quite sincere. Perhaps. Regulus didn't know for sure, he was only analyzing it for now, "And hello to you too, Draco," his son bowed politely to greet the woman, "Daphne and Astoria are in the garden with the other children. You can run along, dear."

The boy instantly raised his head towards his father, gray eyes sparkling with anticipation.

"Yes, go play while the adults are chatting," as soon as the official approval was received, Draco almost disappeared. He ran away very quickly, like an animal that was freed from a cage, "P'tite canaille... you will trip."

"Oh, do not be like that. Children will always be children, mister Black."

Regulus didn't argue. On the contrary, he nodded briefly and changed his expression to a more friendly one. Although it was difficult, because... all the people here are at least a couple of years older than him. Previously, he communicated with them only in passing or on parchment. Now — was suddenly forced to do so in person. For several hours. Black had long ago gotten out of the habit of this, probably since his school days.

Many years ago, he was sociable, always in the company of various people, yet now he led a life detached from society. Just like quiet, bullied Snape once. Only Severus, on the contrary, was now living in the limelight — he worked as a teacher at Hogwarts... there was a certain irony in the way they had swapped places.

Meanwhile, each wizard was trying to analyze Black's left eye with barely concealed interest. And also to think of the most polite way to ask a question about it. Oh, an evening in such company definitely promised to be interesting.

***

Everything had been going very well for six months. Perhaps even too well. Regulus' life couldn't allow this, and that was precisely why something terrible simply had to happen.

Breakfast every Sunday always began later than on Monday or, for example, on Friday. All because on this day both Draco and Regulus allowed themselves to truly rest, to sleep as much as they wanted. They could wake up at eight in the morning, or even at lunchtime — an obvious failure to comply with the regime. The mother on the portrait scolded them both for this, but the small tradition still didn't disappear.

This Sunday, Regulus barely got out of bed only at twelve. His son woke up, as it turned out, twenty minutes before him. But didn't disturb or make noise during this time — for that, he deservedly received praise. The birds had already stopped singing outside the window, whereas the bright sun began to warm with its rays more actively. The day was starting off great, albeit strangely, because Draco... for some reason was thoughtfully silent the whole time.

"Perhaps he is not fully awake," the wizard reassured himself, waiting for breakfast, which the house elves were preparing. This incomprehensible silence lasted for a few more seconds, until the boy spoke,

"Dad... what is a "mudblood"?"

It was a warm spring day outside, but Regulus suddenly shuddered, covered in goosebumps. Everything inside him went cold in horror. He should've pretended to be deaf or dumb, or someone who didn't know the meaning of the word, but his emotions were very revealing. And Draco immediately understood: his father was aware of everything. He just didn't want to answer for some reason yet.

When the question was repeated, Black just wanted to get up from the table, go somewhere far, far away and drown himself there.

"Who told you about this word?" at first, the boy, smiling, wanted to tell about a recent meeting with his friend, Blaise Zabini. But then fell silent and cowered in fear when he saw his father's face.

Regulus was sometimes irritated or displeased, he could scold and lecture for educational purposes, but he never looked... like this. Never before had he emitted such suffocating anger. And so much magic that you could feel it in the air around him. Loudly swallowing the lump in his throat, Draco realized that for the first time he was afraid of his father. Truly. At the same time, he didn't know what to do — look away or, on the contrary, look straight into the mad eyes opposite.

But the worst thing was that he didn't even understand what did he do wrong? He was simply a bit curious and nothing more... besides, Regulus usually answered any questions, no matter how stupid or absurd they were. What went wrong this time?

A dark, frightening expression seemed to be slowly trying to paralyze him. Draco, to the best of his childish abilities, thought about where he had made a mistake. But still just couldn't figure it out. Therefore, he knitted his whitish eyebrows and quietly sniffed, already on the verge of tears.

Only that made the wizard opposite come to his senses. The rage in his eyes disappeared, and his facial features softened slightly. However, his voice still sounded stern,

"Never say that word," his son looked at him, both frightened and confused, "It is a terrible insult, the worst one you can say."

"But..."

Before he even started, he fell silent right away. He couldn't say it was Blaise who had taught him this bad insult. Otherwise, his father might forbid from communicating with this boy — Draco knew him too well, after many years of living together.

"Muggle-born wizards have been insulted like this for centuries. And you have a neutral attitude towards them, right?" just a quick, confident nod in response, "Right. In that case, forget about this word once and for all."

"B-but..."

"If you ever say that again, I will be very disappointed in you."

When his son looked at him in indescribable horror, Regulus twitched an eyebrow. Sincere bewilderment, mixed with sadness, touched his own heart, but he mustn't show it. Even though in such a cruel way, but Draco needs to be taught the right things. So that once is enough for a lifetime.

"...but do not correct others. Otherwise, they will hate you," now the boy was completely lost. All this made sense only for Regulus. After all, he himself was once a child who hated phrases like, "What are you saying?! You can't call muggle-borns that, it's a terrible insult!", "Let them say it. You shouldn't, though."

"But... if other kids say it... does that mean they are bad?"

"They are..."

Was Black a bad child? Was he? After all, he despised muggles and muggle-borns for so long, said and did so many terrible things to them... this is exactly what people call "being bad", don't they?

"No... they are not... bad," the young man finally squeezed out. As if he was convincing himself, "They are just children from prejudiced households."

"Pre... jud...?" Draco tried to repeat the words in a whisper, narrowing his eyes slightly.

"But we, the Blacks, are better than all of them. You and I are above this hatred."

In response, his son, absorbing the information like a sponge, nodded obediently. Yes, that's right, the Blacks are not a simple family, but a noble one. They will not stoop to the level of other wizards, they will not humiliate anyone. Not anymore.

"So you and I will not call muggle-born wizards that. Understood?"

"Yes," another nod, "I will not call anyone that, never," and immediately followed by, "Black's word of honour."

"Wonderful. I am glad you understood me, dragon," quietly exhaling, soon the young man smiled slightly. Soon he became a kind father again, whom Draco couldn't be afraid of.

Chapter Text

"My, you are so sensitive, so sentimental..." Regulus sniffled quietly, looking away from his mother, "You could even pass for a daughter... you know how much I wanted a daughter?" he knew. Knew it very well. Walburga didn't mention it too often, but... a few times were enough for a lifetime, "A sweet, pretty little daughter..."

Another sob finally made the woman come to her senses,

"But it is alright, you are sweet too, Regulus. Very good, very obedient. And yesterday we both learned that, didn't we?"

She sat closer, tried to stretch out her bony pale hands, but young Black recoiled from them. Almost jumped back, not allowing himself to be touched.

"Are you still mad? At me, of all people?" of course, he was angry. Because of the broken Time-Turner, of the tapestry which his older brother was burned from, because of the screams, of everything in this world, "Regulus, you should be mad at him. At that traitor who abandoned us," she spoke as if convincing herself. As if she was trying to make herself believe that too.

"Sirius is not..."

"He is a traitor, Regulus, a traitor. And now you are the only heir. You can be proud of yourself."

Hugging himself with both arms, as if this would somehow help, the teenager turned to the window. Sobs and tears were desperately coming out, but he tried to restrain himself in front of his mother. She didn't like his crying very much. One could even say she hated it.

"You are a good boy. You are a real Black," soon, however, Walburga fell silent. She was genuinely surprised that even after her praise her son hadn't changed at all. He should've been happy, thanking her for such generous words, and not behaving so... so selfishly, so childishly, "Honestly, why are you like that? What do you wish to have? How can I cheer you up?"

"I do not need anything. Just give me back my brother," Regulus thought, but didn't say it out loud.

"You know, Narcissa cried too. She was very sad, oh so very sad, when her sister became a traitor," Black deeply hated his mother's bad habit of comparing other people's grief with her own. And now, instead of calming down, he became even angrier, "Maybe you should meet and talk? Should I invite your cousin to visit us? Will that cheer you up?"

The tense silence made Walburga break into a nervous grin. She seemed to really want to help, to show concern. But obviously, she did a horrible job. Besides, it was kind of too late at this point. She should've been a loving mother about sixteen years ago.

"Or maybe you want a broom? The newest broom there is, the most expensive one. You love quidditch so much, Regulus, don't you?" her son shook his head in response, "Oh, sure, I get it... you wish for a pet? A new owl or a kitten? A snake, like Bellatrix's?"

He wanted her to just get out of his room. However, Walburga, on the contrary, didn't want to leave her son alone. Perhaps she was afraid that he, too, would soon run away as far as possible from here — and then the family would definitely be left without heirs.

"Come on, Regulus, talk. Tell me how to cheer you up. You must not ever be sad," the teenager was shutting off from the world more and more. His mother's voice resembled a distant echo, "You must control yourself, come on. Don't let the family down like he did. Don't you dare let me down."

"Don't you dare let me down," he heard these words more than once. They were so firmly entrenched somewhere in his subconscious that Regulus remembered them even on the verge of death.

The Inferi's tenacious hands dragged him along, scratching his skin until it bled, while his head was filled with the noise, "Don't you dare let me down." Frightened and dumbfounded, he couldn't even fight off these creatures at first. He could only scream. Again and again, louder and louder. And in his head there was only, "Don't you dare let me down." Black was choking not even on water, but on the pain in his throat and chest. Everything was happening too fast — so fast that the young man only had time to panic. Mother's voice intensified in his thoughts, "Don't you dare let me down". Water shouldn't burn, it's not fire. But the wizard felt as if he were in actual hell.

"Don't you dare let me down."
"Don't you dare let me down."
"Don't you dare let me down."

The terror kept him from losing consciousness. Black struggled with all his might, trying to swim out for at least a moment and breathe in oxygen. The screams of the Inferi rang in his ears. Or maybe they were his own? He couldn't make out anything in complete darkness.

"Master Regulus! Master!.."

"Don't you dare let me do–

Regulus didn't immediately realize that he had woken up while inhaling sharply. For a couple of seconds, he still felt the cold lake everywhere, and even tried to row with his hands. Draco helped him get up from the bed and cough. The worried elf was wailing at the same time, "Oh, Master, you were screaming in your sleep, we couldn't wake you up, Kreacher was so worried…!". Trembling violently, Black beat his chest in an attempt to rid it of the non-existent water. The nasty darkness prevented him from calming down — on the contrary, it only made things worse.

Somehow, in a whisper, the man managed to ask to light the lamp. Kreacher obeyed without question, and soon the room became brighter. More comfortable, safer. Looking around, Regulus realized, "Exactly. Draco's here." Right this moment, he rushed to check his hands, or rather, to see if the dark mark was visible.

But no, everything was fine. The thick shirt covered his skin almost to the very fingers. So Draco didn't see it, which was good, but... it didn't bring much joy. Because he also shouldn't have seen his father in such a terrible state. He shouldn't have found him so defenseless, scared, curled up in a ball like an animal.

"Dad, I'm sorry I came into your room without permission, it is... just that you... you... had a nightmare?" with his small hands, Draco carefully stroked his back, damp with sweat, "What did you dream about? Something really, really scary?.." Regulus let out a strangled breath. When he came to his senses, more or less, he looked guiltily at the boy standing next to him,

"I... I woke you up–"

"No, no-no, dad, no, I got up myself! I couldn't sleep at all tonight, honestly!.."

Kreacher shifted from foot to foot, not knowing what to do and how to help. Dobby soon showed up, too: carefully walked inside with a cup of water. "I turned the whole place upside down... probably woke up portraits as well," the thought flashed through the wizard's head. Now he'd have to cast Silencio on himself every night. After all, who knows, maybe he's going to scream in his sleep like that again?

After drinking the water, Black apologized to everyone. And asked them to go back to sleep, because it was clearly not even four in the morning.

"Are you... going to be okay?" his son asked uncertainly, "I-I can sit next to you, even, uh... sing you a lullaby!" and added as lively as possible, "I'm telling you, I just cannot sleep tonight! Because it is Pansy's birthday, and, well... I am really looking forward to it!"

Regulus exhaled quietly, then kept silent for a while. He looked at his son's tousled, disheveled hair, his clearly sleepy eyes and lips that were about to let out a traitorous yawn. A smile appeared on his face by itself.

"You must not care so much about me. I am more than fine," the man rustled the sheets and blankets, somehow got out of bed. His head was spinning a little, but it's fine. It had been worse, "Let's go then. Since you cannot sleep tonight, I will have to put you to bed."

Draco was, in fact, immensely happy about this.

***

Regulus had no idea how he was still holding out, since he hadn't taken any potions with a calming effect. And to be completely honest, he hadn't even slept more than three hours today. On the contrary, all night long he did nothing but suffer from nightmares about water. However, for some reason was now sitting upright at the table, not complaining, keeping the most polite expression on his face.

Naturally, he endured everything.

It can't be any other way with high society. Especially when people are much older. At such moments, Regulus couldn't help but envy his son: he was always just playing, having fun, and with his peers at that. He wished he could do the same instead of hanging out with other aristocrats.

No, it's not like Black hated them. Or couldn't stand them. It was just that there was so much feigned politeness and perfection around that it made his teeth ache. Reminded of his childhood — when his mother forced him to behave very diligently at all sorts of events so that the whole world would admire his good manners. All of this was so horrific. He wanted to talk to someone calmly and sincerely, without several layers of formality, at least once.

"Oh... how I miss Cissy sometimes," Regulus couldn't help but think, holding back a sigh, "She was polite and all, but at least not to such an extent. I will never find anyone I can talk to the way I did with her..."

"Mister Black, what do you think?"

The man almost flinched. Damn it. He'd ignored the entire topic of conversation. But if he showed it, the others would perceive it as bad manners — what a horrible day to be a part of high society. For some reason, surviving in it was easier as a child. Maybe because his mother was always standing over him, not allowing to make even the slightest mistake.

"Ah, err, well..."

Well, right now it was just like being a child all over again. Yet now cousin Andromeda wasn't here to whisper in his ear, "They asked how your French's going, Reggie. Say something difficult, so they'll praise you."

...oh Merlin. He's been thinking about his cousins and brother all day today. Probably the nightmares are to blame. Regulus, whether he wanted to or not, just couldn't help but remember the past after seeing them.

"Did you not hear it because you are not feeling well, mister Black?" the only person younger than Regulus was Lucretia Fowley. And somehow, it was she who always understood him a little more than the others. ("Saint woman..." that's what the wizard sometimes thought about her), "Or is the topic of conversation simply unpleasant to you?"

He wished he knew what the topic even was.

"I am quite sorry, I just did not hear you... did not sleep well last night," it's better not to lie, and just tell everything like it is. People will appreciate the truth more.

"Oh, do not apologize, do not apologize!" Mrs. Greengrass smiled back at him immediately, "We were just starting to talk about that Potter boy. Harry Potter."

"Oh... is that so?"

"Of course. After all, our children will be going to Hogwarts in two years. And Potter will be in the same year as them."

Before the woman could continue, she was interrupted by mister Parkinson's voice,

"If only it does happen," the short dark-haired man smirked slightly, "You know, he is a half-blood after all. His mother's dirty blood could well have spoiled his magical abilities," Regulus tried not to show any emotion. It's okay. It's fine. This isn't the first time he has heard something like this in the group of these people. He just has to endure it. Be above it all, be better than them all.

"Yes, that is true... they say that non-pure blood is like a parasite. Destroys all the magic in a person."

"The boy could well have become a squib with age, don't you think?"

The adults shook their heads, muttering under their breath, "Oh, what a pity...". Regulus felt even more out of place. It was scary to think that he himself used to hold similar beliefs. It sounded dreadful, when you actually heard it with a clear head.

It's good that Draco is growing up completely different. He listens to his father in everything and doesn't hate muggle-born wizards.

"It really is a pity. His father was James Potter, right?" Black clutched the cup in his hand tighter. Then reminded himself again, he only does this for his son's socialization. His son deserves to have at least some friends. Even if it means that his father has to sit here and listen to all of this, "Even though a Gryffindor, he was such a talented, smart boy... always got only Os, didn't he?" Mrs. Parkinson sighed dramatically, "It is rather strange why he became so stupid and mixed his pure blood with that mudblood's one."

"It is not that strange. The Potters have always had a soft spot for mudbloods. That is why they are not in the sacred twenty-eight."

"That's true, true!"

Regulus felt stuffy and uncomfortable in this spacious dining room. The voices of those around him began to sound distant, almost like an echo. Usually he reacted more or less normally to such statements, ignoring them like an annoying buzzing in his ear, but not today. Perhaps bad dreams were to blame. Perhaps it was something else, something personal that he didn't yet understand. Allowing himself some impudence, the wizard put down the goblet and then placed a hand on his head.

"...oh, mister Black!" Lucretia turned her attention to him again. That was the catalyst for the other wizards to also show their concern. Though unclear whether it was sincere or not, "It seems that you are very tired? Since you had a bad night's sleep, that is not surprising at all..."

"No, no, I am fin–"

"Twiggy," the house elf immediately appeared at the first call of her mistress, Mrs. Parkinson, "I think it is time for dessert. Sweets will give mister Black a little energy."

"Yes, mistress."

Exhaling, the man quietly thanked her. And apparently, the dispassion in his voice alarmed everyone even more. The wizards began to ask if he was sick, if something bad had happened. Simply put, they were focusing on him as best they could. And all just because of an influential family name. If he hadn't been Black, he'd never have seen such an address in his life.

"When I get home, I will go straight to bed... and drink a potion for dreamless sleep," Regulus thought, continuing to smile and say that everything was fine, "Also I really should find at least one acquaintance who does not adhere to the pureblood supremacy..."

***

"...we-ell," the boy drawled, as he stopped pressing the keys and relaxed his fingers. Then turned to look at his father's face, "How was it?"

Regulus had kept his eyes closed until then. He practically savored the melody his son was playing: listened to every note (Draco missed only one, which was actually very impressive), mentally painted a whole picture of a calm walk under the moon to the D-flat major, gradually even began to remember the past, feeling both joy and sadness at the same time. His own father taught him that music shouldn't just be listened to, but felt with the whole body and soul. That was exactly what the wizard did all this time today. So it took a little while for him to come back to reality.

Draco still had his hands on the black and white keys and waited for an answer.

"Spectacular," the man praised sincerely. Young Black smiled, sparkling with happiness, "You must have been practicing for a long time?"

"Yes! All three weeks!"

Each piece by Debussy — and it was him whom Draco loved more than other composers — was quite difficult, not for beginners. Playing "Clair de lune" so consistently after only three weeks is a truly excellent result. Regulus didn't even think to mention one missed note out loud. He pretended that this mistake hadn't even been made at all.

The melody still bloomed tenderly in his memory. Draco often performed symphonies in his own special, unique manner. Therefore, making others want to listen to it again and again.

"Well done," Regulus praised him once more. Then suddenly chuckled under his breath, "...when you start studying at Hogwarts, who will play for me like this in the evenings? Will I really have to sit down at the piano myself?" his son laughed cheerfully.

"Personally, I would love to hear you play again, dad. You have a true talent!"

It was hard to call it "talent". At least, Black never allowed himself to do so. Because all his life, whenever his father heard him play, he could only repeat, "You can do better. Play more elegantly, more harmoniously. This is a piano, not your vacuous broom, for Merlin's sake." So he couldn't ever admit that he was "talented". Never ever. Even though Regulus had once put in a lot of effort into mastering many music pieces. Unlike Sirius, who couldn't even be forced to sit next to the instrument.

"But oh well," the son continued with the same smile on his face, "I will play for you during the holidays. And each time the pieces will become more difficult!"

"I am already looking forward to it, then."

***

One chilly winter day, Draco showed up home rather agitated and energized. It wasn't that uncommon for him after visiting the Zabinis, but... today his mood was a little different. Regulus tried not to pay too much attention to it. Otherwise, he was already starting to sound like a paranoid person in his own head.

"Dad, listen. Is it– is it true that Harry Potter himself will also be at Hogwarts?"

Nope, not paranoid at all. He correctly sensed that something was wrong with the atmosphere around. Both hands slightly trembled, and Black stopped stirring the potion for a moment.

"...it is true," the wizard exhaled disappointedly after quite a long pause. He didn't know what else he was supposed to say, how was he supposed to answer. Right now he was simply collecting his thoughts as best he could. Because the last name — "Potter" — seemed to have hit him hard in the face with a swing. Once again, "You are the same age, so you will even go to the same classes together."

"Are you kidding?! Will we be in the same house together too? Will I be able to be friends with him?" the voice began to sound more and more excited, anticipating.

Regulus kind of froze once again.

"That's..."

That's unlikely. All Potters have always been Gryffindors. Evans, the boy's mother, wasn't a Slytherin either. Therefore, Draco shouldn't have any hopes right away. This is exactly what his father tried to convey — in as gentle a form as possible so as not to upset him.

"...hm-m," the boy drawled thoughtfully; his eyebrows came together. A sure sign that he wouldn't calm down so easily and the interrogation would continue, "Even if he is in Gryffindor, and I am in Slytherin... can I still be friends with him?"

Regulus couldn't help but recall his own experience of inter-house "friendship" — also between Black and Potter. It hadn't ended well. In fact, it ended dreadfully. And the situation was even worse with his older brother. Since Sirius ended up in Gryffindor, their already dysfunctional, fucked-up family had been in turmoil. A Gryffindor and a Slytherin under the same roof was sheer madness. They immediately stopped being as close to each other as they had been in childhood; to be those very "best friends forever".

So, no. Absolutely not. Draco shouldn't be friends with Potter. Being a Black, it's better for him not to go near that boy at all.

"But– but why?!" hearing a negative answer, the son immediately flared up, "This is Harry Potter we are talking about, the Boy-who-lived! I want to be friends with him!"

"Oh, trust me, you will be better off without–"

"You are only against it because of uncle Sirius, aren't you?! Just because that shameful blemish on our family was also a Gryffindor?"

Regulus' expression darkened, barely noticeable. He stopped working on the potion for a few seconds again — mentioning his brother out loud had touched something in him just a little. Draco, stomping menacingly around the lab and gesturing vigorously, continued to rage,

"That does not mean I will be a Gryffindor, too– or like Gryffindors! No way!" he snorted loudly, putting both hands at his sides, "It's just, well... the Boy-who-lived! Why can I not be friends with him?"

"Draco... first of all, he's a Potter."

"So what? A Potter, not a Grindelwald, dad!"

Honestly, Regulus hated to admit it, but... there were times when his son became exactly like his own brother. Unconsciously, Draco copied Sirius's behavior, facial expressions, gait, even entire sentences in the past. And his gray eyes sparkled exactly the same way when he felt the need to provoke, test, annoy someone. He genuinely was the spitting image of his uncle– sometimes.

That probably was a special punishment for Regulus. Something like karma... or whatever the muggles call it?

"Please, Draco, just listen to my advice. I have more experience," the man exhaled, focusing his attention on work again, "And I think we have already discussed it: the name of Sirius Black is not to ever be mentioned in this house."

The boy, pursing his lips, stared long, persistently. Age was taking its toll: at nine years old, he wanted to quarrel, to prove that his opinion was supposedly more correct than that of an adult, as if to declare over and over again, "Actually, I understand things better than you." Especially knowing that his opponent was a weak-willed person who preferred to simply give in rather than stir up a whole fight. Because of this, arguing with him even brought pleasure to some extent, but at the same time... he didn't actually wish to upset his father. Because when he was sad, his eye hurt. Even now, Regulus frowned slightly, squinting every now and then, which wasn't a good sign.

Coming out of a quarrel as a winner was great, but hurting his father wasn't worth it. Draco kept silent for a while, and then exhaling, he whispered,

"Désolé."

"Do not apologize, everything's fine," hearing sincerity in the voice, the man softened. And immediately stopped seeing his son as his own brother. Because that son of a witch never apologized, even at wand point, "It is just... the Blacks and the Potters..." straightening his back, he exhaled heavily and very much tiredly. Then turned and beckoned Draco closer with a gesture of his free hand. The boy obeyed, coming up almost right up to his father, "I will tell you two stories without giving any names. Perhaps after hearing them... you will understand that it is better for the Blacks and the Potters not to be friends. Ever."

"And if I still want to?" what a persistent one. He stuck to his guns to the end.

The adult wizard tried to hold back a displeased sigh. "Calm down, this is normal," Black reminded himself, "He is only nine years old, he is just curious. And does not understand anything in this damn life." He felt better, after such a mental mantra.

"I will not punish you in any way," his son whispered, "I never thought you would. You never do", "However I..." all the holidays spent with Sirius, and especially all those months spent with James, flashed before his eyes. What an unpleasant topic of conversation, he almost felt sick, "I would not want you to repeat past mistakes."

"Past mistakes?.."

"Yes, dragon. So, about those very stories..."

Chapter Text

"Why do you not want to buy me a broom? Why, hey, why, why-y?!" the boy was so indignant, frowning and pouting, he was almost ready to stamp his feet. Some people — there were several times more of them in the Alley today than usual — turned around at the whiney voice. However, noticing and understanding who exactly the child was walking with, they immediately turned away. Or even quickened their pace, "This is so, so unfair to me!"

"I do not make the rules, Draco. The letter clearly told you, "First-years are not allowed their own broomsticks.""

"Nonsense, complete nonsense! I have had my own mini-broom since I was a year old!"

"That is what you will be flying on until your second year," Regulus wanted to joke, but quickly remembered that he's an adult in the situation. So, he managed to keep quiet in time.

Sighing, the young man took his son by the arm and led him forward. Draco was angry, of course, but he didn't resist. Instead, he stomped after, menacingly. Did not say anything out loud, but it was clear as day that he really wanted to grumble. Just like Kreacher, whom he totally had picked up this habit from.

Diagon Alley is always very crowded before the school year. So much so that the flow of people can basically push you into one shop or another. Some people even like it — all sorts of Gryffindors, for example. But Black, who had lived in somewhat isolation for so many years, did not. The huge crowd of wizards was very unnerving. It was already hard enough to see the road with just one eye, but when there were people all around... honestly, Regulus prayed that this preparation for school would end soon.

He was glad to see his son's happy face when he shouted, "I got it! I got a letter from Hogwarts!". Really, he was. But then he remembered the whole procession called "send your child to school with all necessary stuff" — and that's where the joy ended.

"Father, wait! You almost passed by," the boy barely managed to stop him, quickly pulling at his robe, "The books. You wanted to buy me the books."

"Ah..."

Regulus felt a little stupid. Indeed, with only his left eye he hadn't noticed the signs of two shops at once. Partial blindness was a serious drawback, especially at such important moments. Fortunately, at least he had his smart son nearby, who paid attention to everything around. Draco played the role of his father's eyes so well, he was almost his "second sight".

"My apologies, I did not see that," the boy wasn't offended though, perfectly understanding the root of the problem, "Madam Malkin's shop is here too... then, I will buy all your books, and you go get your robe," the gloomy, dissatisfied face finally gave way to a bright smile, "Can you handle it alone?"

"Yes, father!"

And he went to the shop as quickly as possible. Regulus watched him for a few seconds, then sighed quietly. The more often he was addressed as "father", the more the realization hit his mind, "I have gotten older... not nineteen anymore, but thirty years old." It was horrible, Black hadn't even planned to live to that age.

Moreover, he hadn't planned that Draco would one day stop calling him "dad". No one forced him to use the colder and more detached "father". He had somehow come to this himself (or maybe picked up the habit from his pureblood peers). It was breaking Regulus's heart just a little. However, he didn't show his feelings outwardly.

"...right, so. Books, books," he muttered under his breath, heading to the neighboring shop, "Eight books. I hope I do not forget anything..."

Draco, meanwhile, was already at Madam Malkin's. Pleased with the polite greeting, she led him to the far corner of the shop. There was another witch waiting, ready to take measurements. And while the boy was talking to her, another person came through the door. At first, the thought came, "Oh, did father buy everything that quickly?". But turning his head, little Black saw an incredibly thin, almost tiny child in stretched, baggy clothes — so much so that they hung from his body. Black hair wasn't at all groomed, so it looked more like a crow's nest. However, there was something interesting about this boy — large round glasses, which bright green eyes shone behind.

The stranger talked to Madam Malkin, and then went to the same corner. After all, he also needed to take measurements for the future robe.

"Hullo," said Draco, still carefully studying the child in front of him. He seemed way too small and short. Was he really eleven years old? "Hogwarts too?"

"Yes."

"You have bad eyesight, right? My father does too. Although he does not wear glasses as ridiculous as yours," the fair-haired boy continued speaking. He carefully stretched out each word, pronouncing all the letters perfectly, "By the way, my father is next door buying my books. And then we will go choose a wand for me," the boy only listened, not saying anything in response, "I asked my father to buy me a new broom — you know, exclusively for school — but he refused. Said something about the rules, blah-blah-blah, "we will get you the newest Nimbus when you're a second year"... I think that is unfair. I need to force him somehow, and then smuggle it to Hogwarts."

The child with glasses looked at him strangely. As if he remembered something bad.

"Have you got your own broom?" the dark-haired boy shook his head, "Play Quidditch at all?" again, the same half-answer. Draco couldn't help but think, "What an oddball...", "Well, I do. My father, however, always won when we competed."

"O-oh..." the taciturn stranger drawled.

"He was the best Slytherin seeker! And I think I shall repeat his fate when I am sorted."

Draco lightly elbowed the boy in the side to at least stir him up a little and make him talk,

"Know what house you will end up in yet?"

"No..."

"We-ell, no one really knows until the Hat says," Black suddenly lifted his chin proudly, "But I am sure I will definitely get sorted into Slytherin. My whole family was there, except for my un... ah!"

The boy next to him suddenly flinched with his whole body — didn't expect such a loud shout. Draco, blinking rapidly, put a hand to his lips. And only after a few moments muttered,

"Father asked not to mention his name, father does not like it when we talk about him, father always becomes gloomy..."

"About "him"?"

"It does not matter. It is simply our disappointment and shameful blemish," the child in glasses began to blink surprised. Then he frowned. Clearly, he was starting to like the young wizard beside him less and less, "No one wants to talk about him. Especially me and my father."

There was no response. The boy continued to be silent, as if was put under some curse. What a weird one. Draco didn't understand why on Earth he was still talking to him. Perhaps because he wasn't particularly used to communicating with boys his age. The most he had ever had in his life was Blaise and a couple of times with Ernie Macmillan–

"Watch where you're goin', lil' Black!" suddenly came from the street. Loud enough for both boys to hear and turn around. At first, Draco was happy to see his father, but then he quickly frowned — noticed some shaggy, bearded giant next to him, "Merlin! At first I thought you were... that one...!"

""That one"?" Regulus grimaced, his raised voice full of outrage.

"That freak... that murderin' traitor!"

Indignant even more than his father, Draco was ready to go and quarrel with the giant himself,

"Who in the world is that?!.."

"Oh... that's Hagrid," the boy next to him explained, adjusting his glasses in surprise, "He works at Hogwarts," Draco frowned even more angrily.

"That is allowed to work at Hogwarts? In my notion, he is a sort of savage."

The stranger in glasses suddenly perked up. He looked very morose, also ready to fight right here and now.

"I think he's brilliant," the blond wasn't impressed. Someone who dared to speak to his father in such a tone couldn't be "brilliant".

"Oh really?" Draco grinned wryly, "He is with you, then? Why? Where are your father or mother?" a short silence, followed by,

"Both dead."

Before Black could react, a very irritated man entered the shop. Clearly unhappy about something, and his son guessed exactly what it was. Only Merlin knows what that savage dared to say to him. There had definitely been a verbal fight just now. But Draco was sure that his father had emerged victorious.

"Draco, are you done ye...?" the wizard suddenly stopped as soon as he looked at the unfamiliar boy. Unfamiliar, but looking exactly like the one Regulus had once known and even more. A quiet, barely perceptible, "James?" left his lips by itself.

At first he thought that he simply imagined it or that started hallucinating out of anger. He even had to rub his right eye with a free hand to dispel the illusion. But no. Unfortunately, nothing had changed. In front of him stood a small, tiny James. Those were definitely his facial features. Impossible to confuse with anyone else's. And behind the round glasses, there were large green ey–

Oh, wait. No. That was not James. James had been dead for a long time now. Rotting away with his beloved wife and probably still mad that he hadn't become the hottest grandfather in the wizarding world. Then, this boy... this must be his son, the famous Harry Potter.

Regulus looked down and began to examine the clothes in horror. Merlin, these were actual rags — he couldn't call them anything else. They looked like they were stolen from some heavy, chubby boy and then put on this skinny match. Harry Potter is... is he not fed at home? Why is he so small and puny? Why does he look like his Muggle guardians don't take care of him at all? After all, even the round glasses on him seemed of the worst quality. They probably weren't worth a single galleon.

"So the Potters' son is completely safe?"

"Of course, my boy."

Of course. Of fucking course. Could that even be called "safe"? Poor James Potter — if he knew about such outrageous lawlessness, about how his son was treated, he would've already resurrected himself.

"Sir?.." the boy spoke up, slightly tilting his head to the side. Draco also spoke, as if following his example,

"Father? What is it?"

Regulus still couldn't take his eyes off... James? This child seemed to be his exact mini-copy, and yet he looked nothing like him. Because James Potter was never underfed and skinny, never wore stretched-out old clothes, never looked at people so pitifully, never had these disgusting, loathsome green eyes.

"Do you... know my father?.."

"What?" the stranger was genuinely surprised, "No. I haven't a clue who he is."

Two Gryffindors — their robes were immediately giving it away — were walking down the corridor and talking loudly. They were laughing, discussing something while carrying huge, heavy books in their hands. But of course, James Potter had a much larger stack than his... friend? Regulus couldn't know for sure. He could hardly tell the difference between the people of "the Lion House", especially the girls. He only knew that this blonde with shining eyes was not Lily.

The happiness of both continued exactly until the moment when brown eyes suddenly met gray ones. The bright smile left the teenager's face in a matter of moments, replacing a gloomy expression. His steps suddenly quickened.

Regulus walked past with his head held high. He had done nothing wrong. He's doing everything right. His actions are correct, his opinion is the truth.

"...hey, wasn't that baby Black?" he heard the girl's voice perfectly well, "Why didn't you say hi? I thought you were like good friends now?"

He had to slow down a little to hear the answer. James also did a good job and said the phrase as loudly as possible,

"What? No. I haven't a clue who he is," and suddenly the Slytherin froze. Right in the same place, not daring to take a step back or forward. Perhaps his sudden stop was heard, perhaps not.

But James probably doesn't care anyway. After he found out about the dark mark, he just doesn't.

"Wha-a-at?" the girl suddenly drawled with genuine surprise, "Oi-oi, what's all this, Golden Boy? Did you have a fight or something?" such a spacious corridor for some reason began to seem narrow, stuffy, uncomfortable, "Or did Sirius tell you some rubbish again? Honestly, you always let his words get to your head and–"

"Marlene, we'll discuss this later. Let's just go, 'kay?"

He didn't know exactly how long he stood there, blinking stupidly, analyzing the words. Probably for a long time. So much so that Evan even managed to appear in the corridor afterwards,

"Oi, Reg, why are you all frozen over there? Is everything okay?" he came closer to peer into the pale face, thought for a moment, and then continued, "Mate... what's wrong? Did a mudblood pass by and cough on you?" when there was no answer, the Slytherin patted his friend on the back with a smile, "Eh, don't worry so much, Reg, they're not contagious! Come on, let's go, stop standing here like a statue."

All of a sudden, it became sickeningly unbearable to look at this boy in round glasses. So Regulus quickly turned to his son and asked if he had finished.

"Yes, we are all done, mister Black," the witch answered for him, "You may go."

"Brilliant."

Draco obediently took his father's hand, which he extended forward. Then turned around and drawled to the boy in glasses, "Well, I will see you at Hogwarts, I suppose. I hope we can talk a little longer next time." Regulus was shaking all over from just the phrases, even though they were so innocent. He didn't know who exactly he should pray to, but he'd pray anyway. As soon as he gets home. He'd ask someone from above for his son to never make friends with this child. And so that he himself would be spared the recurring thoughts, "James' son is in rags, no one looks after him, how has he lived all this time? This must be a nightmare, a nightmare, for sure!..".

When both Blacks left Madam Malkin's shop, Draco looked at the giant with a ton of sincere contempt. Might've even insulted if Regulus hadn't quickly led him away.

***

"Ugh... it is all full everywhere, and Blaise is nowhere to be found either..." the boy muttered under his breath, walking along the long carriage. Another door appeared ahead, not fully locked, "Hmm. Should try there."

He reached the compartment and then, opening the door, cautiously looked inside. He was a little surprised when realized that two boys were already sitting there. And neither of them, unfortunately, was Blaise. Although... Draco was more or less "familiar" with the one in glasses.

"...that one from the shop," whispered the stranger, whose name was still in question.

The second boy, with bright red hair and blue eyes, gave him a very strange look. Either a suspicious or bewildered — it was hard to tell right away. Only one thing was clear: Black wasn't welcome here. But he was already tired of wandering pointlessly around the train, so he asked

"Can I sit with you?"

The boys looked at each other, discussed something telepathically, and then finally let him in. The blond carefully sat down at the edge, a bit cautious of his future classmates.

"Well, um... what was your name again?" asked the boy in glasses.

He had such a weird manner of speech. Usually people talk like that when they give someone who has done something wrong a second chance. Which is extremely strange, because young Black wasn't guilty of anything.

"Draco–" the boy in old, worn-out clothes snorted with laughter into his fist, "Think my name's funny, do you?" embarrassment and indignation at the same time made the wizard's skin cover itself with a pale, barely noticeable blush, "In that case, yours must be a hundred times better?"

"Ah, err... well..."

This red-haired boy in rags no longer evoked any positive emotions. After all, how is it normal to laugh at someone else's name? Who raised him anyway?

"Ahem. I shall continue then. I am Draco Regulus Black."

"Black..." the boy's blue eyes quickly widened in horror. His huge, ugly rat suddenly began to fuss: squealed, fidgeted, looking for shelter in the owner's long shirt, "You... you're from that family... the same as Sirius– oi, Scabbers, what's wrong with you? Calm down! What's gotten into you?.."

Wonderful, even the animals aren't happy to have him in this compartment. He probably should've continued looking for Blaise, or at least Pansy and Daphne.

"My father does not like to talk about this man, and I hold the same view," the wizard said in a cold, stern voice (just like his mother's), "So refrain from mentioning him... er...?" his face changing slightly, he made a quick movement of a hand.

"Ron Weasley," the red-haired boy introduced himself.

"Aha, Weasley, then. My father told me just a little about your family."

Draco didn't elaborate any further. He didn't even bother to explain what exactly he heard from his father — good or bad things. Ron clearly didn't like this reticence, but oh well. The reaction of the old rat was what worried everyone the most. Wasn't it strange that it lost its mind in seconds because of the mention of the Black family? Frowning, the pale boy studied the little animal, trying to understand what was on its mind.

Unfortunately, he hadn't come to any conclusions.

"Well... since you're a Black, what house will you be in?" Ron asked after a long pause, "You had a Gryffindor in your family, so–"

"Slytherin. I am going to be in Slytherin, just like the normal rest of my family," his compartment neighbors clearly weren't happy with this answer.

"Are you saying that Gryffindors are not normal?"

Without receiving anything other than an arrogant, proud look, Ron immediately realized that he wasn't on the same path with this boy. Therefore, there was no longer any point in behaving friendly with him. The red-haired didn't even try to hide his discontent and irritation — he looked at Draco as if he were an enemy of all the wizarding kind.

"Only dark and evil wizards graduate from Slytherin."

"That is not true," Draco protested at the same moment, "My father is a Slytherin, and he is the kindest man in the world," the red-haired boy muttered:, "You only say that 'cause he's your family," "What do you even know about him? My father is a great man!"

"Oh really? Just like your uncle?" Scabbers stirred again somewhere in the clothes of its young owner.

"Are you dumb? I asked you not to talk about this man. My father does not like it when–"

"Pfft. I bet your father's also a psycho, who has done a lot of bad things. I don't get why this was hushed up, and he got acquitted," the gray eyes opposite began to practically burn through the boy, "Dad said that everything in the papers was a lie. Or a bribe. In fact, your father should rot in Azkaban too–"

Unable to stand this pathetic babble any longer, Draco abruptly jumped up from his seat. Ron, surprised, fell silent. The boy in glasses sitting next to him didn't even start to speak: being in shock from such a furious fight, he could only watch.

"You..."

Regulus really didn't like the fact that society perceived him as bad and evil. And not only him, but their entire family tree, which wizards loved to brand as "mad", "dark", "cursed".

"You... you do not know anything about my family, you damn Weasel," Ron blushed pink to the tips of his ears because of the new nickname, "You are just jealous that yours is not half as noble as mine."

"What is so "noble" about being Black?!"

The dark-haired boy, his green eyes darting back and forth, was ready to sink into the ground. He hadn't expected to find himself in the middle of a quarrel on the very first day. And it was even worse, because of not understanding who was right and who was wrong.

"Exactly, how would you know? After all, the Weasels prefer to live in poverty and wear hand-me-down robes."

...Ron is probably the right one after all. And even if he's wrong, who cares. The good impression of Draco was completely ruined. No one would take his side, not for anything in the world.

"Okay, Black, that's it!" the squeak of a big rat was already making everyone feel physically ill. Ron was about to reach for his wand, but then the boy in glasses intervened,

"Lads, lads– what are you doing, on the first day– we haven't even arrived yet!"

"The day does not matter. Those who insult the Black family need to be put in their place right away," Draco snapped coldly with the kind of contempt that usually makes people's legs buckle, "You are not behaving very nobly, Weasley. Are you sure you will end up in Gryffindor with that kind of behavior? Rudeness is not the same as bravery."

Ron’s face twisted because of such impudence and pride. His brain was practically screaming, "Some Black is gonna lecture me here?! No way!". He would've definitely started fighting, even with bare hands, but suddenly a nice lady knocked on their door. With a trolley of sweets in hand, she asked, "Would you like something, dears?". And Draco immediately realized that it was better not to show his bad side in front of the old woman now. He was a well-mannered boy, unlike some. He knows when to retreat and leave, so as not to ruin reputation. Neither his own nor his family's.

However, in the end he still couldn't help but say,

"Weasley, you should keep your mouth shut. Before you say something about people who are a hundred times more worthy than you," Black's voice was filled with pompous pride as he walked calmly toward the door, "Especially with a rat on your shoulder. Very... symbolic," the boy's ears blushed bright red again.

Draco politely greeted the woman, and then went on to look for a different compartment. In hopes that maybe this time he'd find Blaise. And would definitely tell him about the impudence he had just encountered in all the details.

"You see, Harry? All Slytherins are bad," the red-haired continued. He didn't even try to hide his irritation, "You'll soon find it out."

"Uh, I mean– that was already enough for me to understand..."

However, Ron soon fell silent, down in the dumps, when he realized that he didn't have money for sweets. Bloody Black probably has, but he...

"Hey, no worries," his new friend smiled at him, taking galleons out of the pocket, "I'll pay."

***

The great Harry Potter, the Boy-who-lived, was sorted into Gryffindor. Who would've doubted it. Well, can't be helped... good riddance to that idiot and his red-haired pauper. Draco doesn't care that the famous hero didn't end up in Slytherin, and that he once even dreamed of being friends with him. He doesn't care, really, he doesn't. Potter has already chosen his path and his "sort of people". Black is not on his path. Not in this life.

"C'mon, mate. Look at it from the other, more pleasant side," Blaise said, smiling. He sat almost right next to his friend, while giving the Gryffindor table a look of contempt, "At least there will be fewer lousy half-bloods in our house."

"Yeah, yeah! We don't need those here!" Pansy agreed.

To be honest, Draco didn't quite understand what was so bad about half-bloods. And muggle-borns, too. The concept of "blood traitor" was not even known to him. However, he didn't say anything out loud: his father taught him not to correct other children. Otherwise, they'd immediately hate him. And Black really wanted to be friends with the Slytherins.

This desire didn't extend to the kids from other houses. More precisely, to the two Gryffindors, whom he couldn't stand. At first, of course, he quarreled only with Ron, but then the saint hero began to get involved too. The same hero whom Draco never managed to become friends with. The one who preferred the poor ragamuffin, who also dared to insult the Black family– to insult Regulus Black.

Such things are unforgivable, and Draco hated Harry Potter for it. That boy also didn't like the noble aristocrat very much. Every day their spark of mutual resentment flared up more and more, gradually turning into real rivalry.

Father was absolutely right when he said that the Blacks and the Potters shouldn't be friends. A child should always listen to their father — he has more experience, he knows better, he is smart. In his letters, the Slytherin admitted this with defeat. And sincerely pleased Regulus, who thought, "Oh thank Merlin... my prayers were heard. I am so glad they are not friends."

"...yeah, I was wondering where this smell of lion meat comes from?" Draco snorted angrily, passing by the duo of fools, "But it was just the Weasel with his hero in armor standing next to each other."

"Yeah... it stinks of poverty..."

"And dirty blood!"

"Ew-ew-ew! I hope I do not get infected!"

Now Crabbe and Goyle were also hanging around behind. The young wizard hadn't met them before Hogwarts, so he didn't really know how to treat them. As friends? As just roommates? They were both a bit dumb, but at the same time, they were boys his age. Draco had met very few of them in his life, so he allowed them to join the group. After all, there will always be a place for those who are happy to support his feud against Potter and Weasley.

"...now, now, mates. Let's not be so unfair to–"

"Shut up, Black! Forgot to ask the crazy ones!" the hero in glasses barked, turning around.

Merlin, how rude. Especially when Draco really wanted to calm down and shut up his housemates, who were slowly starting to cross the line. But of course, this desire evaporated instantly because of what was said.

"Oh, Potter has a voice, after all?" childish resentment was furiously oozing out while Draco continued to tease, "We thought that only Weasel could talk in your duet."

Harry twisted his face in anger,

"You are all bark and no bite. In fact, as pathetic as your father."

Pressing his lips tightly into a thin line, the boy watched with hatred as the Gryffindor turned and left. What did he understand? What he could know about the incredible greatness of each member of the ancient family? Draco couldn't wrap his head around how anyone dared to say even one bad word about his loved ones. Especially when he hadn't even met them in person. Grandmother Walburga would've sent him to the afterlife for that. After all, anyone who insulted the Blacks deserved punishment.

That's the simplest axiom.

"Whoa!.."

A spell suddenly flew at Potter's feet, causing him to stumble. He even skidded forward on the floor a little while he fell. All the first-year Slytherins burst out laughing, praising their housemate. However, he himself wasn't at all happy or smiling. On the contrary, he only thought, "That's for my father."

However, when the children noticed the Ravenclaw prefect at the beginning of the corridor, they immediately hurried to leave — no one wanted to lose points.

"These damn Slytherins... and damn Black! I hope he chokes, or something!.." Ron snorted, helping his friend to stand up. Then shook the dust off his black and red robe with both hands, "Dad was right when he told me that everyone in his family is evil and insane!"

"Insane, for sure... Black is acting like a lunatic," otherwise why else would he pick fights every time, hurt someone's feelings and do all sorts of nasty things? Only people who aren't quite right in the head would act like that.

"Exactly what I'm talking about! I hope he gets expelled soon."

***

"...oh well, only I could be this lucky," sighing, the wizard said in a measured, monotone voice. Regulus, standing opposite him, fully shared his emotions. However, he still wished for a more cordial greeting. After all, it's been so many years, "I wanted to escape from one Black, but then immediately was caught up by another."

"I am also glad to see you, Snape."

"Your face says so too, don't worry."

Literally (because Regulus couldn't quite see where he was going) they bumped into each other in Diagon Alley. It was lucky that neither of them bought anything and, accordingly, dropped it. Otherwise, Severus would've been several hundred times more hostile.

The first thing Black noticed was the man's appearance. He hadn't changed at all. Except maybe he had grown taller and his hair got longer, but nothing more. All the other features, as Regulus remembered them, remained the same. It was even somewhat sad: Severus had completely let himself go, plunging headlong into despondency and melancholy.

If Regulus had sensed this aura of despair from him in a matter of seconds, what it was like for the children? Oh, right. Speaking of children–

"Wanted to escape from one Black?" he repeated the phrase, raising his eyebrow sarcastically, "I will never believe that Draco causes problems for the professors. He is well-mannered."

Severus thought for a moment what to say, but soon realized: there really was nothing to counter. Because Regulus' words were true. For the teachers, Draco was by no means a difficult child. On the contrary, he was a diligent student, pleasing his house with points for such brilliant work in class. He didn't cause serious problems, like some, he just...

"He just can't stop hovering around me to get me to sign some kind of permission. Y'know, to keep his own broom," then Snape even chuckled slightly, as if he actually found it hilarious, "He wrote the permission himself, but I must admit, it looks very official. With your family coat of arms and all that."

Regulus, blushing slightly, looked away. Under his breath, he whispered, "P'tite canaille...", which made the man next to him cackle even harder.

"Alright, I will discuss the broom topic with him again..." the aristocrat exhaled, "But overall? No complaints about my son?"

"None," yet suddenly the professor snorted in anger, "Unlike Potter," Regulus gave him a genuinely surprised look, "Hogwarts is in constant disaster every day because of him," and suddenly a quiet smile escaped his lips, "He's unbearably similar to his idiot father in that sense."

Straightening his back so that the whole body tensed painfully, Regulus darkened in an instant. His lips pressed tightly into a line. Because if they parted even for a second, some insults or offensive jibes would definitely come out.

"Oh, yes, I forgot..." Severus seemed to come to his senses, noticing the semi-adequate reaction, "James Potter is a sensitive topic for you."

It is not clear whether he was apologizing this way or, on the contrary, trying to trample into the dirt even more. In any case, Black didn't like the wording. So he continued to stare at his former housemate menacingly. Did not say anything out loud, but even a fool could read it in his eyes, "One more word — and you will not be able to teach classes for the next two weeks."

"...stop glaring at me like that, Black," the professor sighed after a long, tense pause. And moved away from the road, so as not to disturb the other passers-by. Regulus, not really understanding why, followed him like an intimidating tall shadow, "Don't blame me... I just had a hard week. As always, Potter's to blame. Though, a different one this time."

"The boy has only been studying for two months. What did he do that you hate him so much?"

Now that they were away from the mass of people, it was easier to talk "heart to heart". In not particularly vivid details, but with a ton of discontent, Severus told about recent events: flying on a broom without the supervision of a professor, a troll right during the Halloween celebration. Regulus was already mad at the first, but when he finished listening to the second, he was horrified. Three first-years fighting a troll, all alone, while none of the professors were around? That's insane! What if one of them had died?!

Especially little Potter, who was still too young to die. Who did not need to end his life, just like his "idiot father".

"I cannot believe it," the aristocrat responded, sighing theatrically. He even threw up his hands for effect — it was a small habit of his, "Who is responsible for children anyway?"

"Drop the dramatics, Black. Besides, everything's fine with your child."

Well, yes, and that was reassuring. Very much so. There was no need to worry about Draco, but... someone should take care of Potter too, shouldn't they? Someone should at least think about his safety out of respect, shouldn't they?

"...I keep looking and looking... and I understand that you care about the boy," the potions master noted in a colorless, cold voice, "Do his appearance and surname reopen old wounds?"

"That is the question I should be asking you, Snape."

Regulus took the sudden silence as permission to continue talking,

"Still haven't forgiven James?" in the company of only certain people, the wizard allowed himself to pronounce the first name of that person.

"I'm not obliged to. He never apologized, so I don't have to forgive," to hide his emotions, Severus proudly raised his chin. Regulus though, at first surprised, and then deep in thought, lowered his head. They stood in awkward, uncomfortable silence for about ten seconds that were disturbed by,

"...alright. In a sense, you are right."

Snape jerked and immediately turned all his attention to the man. During their entire conversation, it was as if he had woken up just now. For the first time, someone out of so many people had told him this. For the first time, someone, or rather Regulus Black himself, hadn't humiliated him for a school grudge. Instead, he had acknowledged that the potions master had suffered seriously over so many years of bullying. He had acknowledged it without pretense or flattery, but as honestly and sincerely as possible. Something like that was unexpected. It even made Severus look at this wizard from a slightly different angle.

And it also made him actually listen.

"I am not defending James, and especially his past actions. Just as I am not defending my own. You know, we both were... not the best kind of people before," the man next to him, not daring to move, kept listening, "Stay mad at James as much as you want, but."

"But?.."

"But his son has nothing to do with it. I know you are not that thick-skulled and you understand this perfectly well."

Yes, Severus did, but that didn't make it any easier. Not at all. Common sense said, "The child is not to blame for being born to such a bastard." But the heart made him hate more time after time, only because Harry was the spitting image of his father. Looking at him was like looking at your own nightmare that had lasted for seven years non-stop. It was like looking at the love of your life, whose bright green eyes remained in your memory forever.

Harry James Potter was a mixture of the most hated and the most beloved in the world. Both for Severus and Regulus at the same time.

"You and I are kind of in the same boat," the aristocrat continued, pulling his acquaintance out of deep, tedious thoughts, "The only difference is that I do not torment the boy because of hatred for his father."

"Oh well done, Black. You are so-o wise and mature, should I applaud you?"

"I shall do without any applause today," he couldn't resist rolling his eyes, "While you'd better change your attitude towards the boy."

Regulus decided that this was the end of their small and casual conversation. And he could go on about his business, not forgetting to buy his son a few gifts to lift up the spirits (lately the letters from him have been a little sad). He took only two steps forward, but didn't have much time to go far. That's why he clearly heard,

"...I'll try to keep an eye on him from time to time."

When Black turned around, the potions master was already looking in a completely different direction — perhaps he felt ashamed of his own words.

"Hah..."

"Don't you dare laugh at me, Bla–"

"I thought about it once, Snape, a long time ago," Regulus continued, interrupting. He smiled slightly, in order to show that he wasn't hostile, "Thought that you are not that bad of a person. Who knows... maybe I was right, eh?" with this, their strange conversation truly ended. There were no more unsaid things, no more heavy feelings and thoughts.

Chapter Text

The days passed quite calmly, not changing for the better or for the worse. No more serious incidents happened, except perhaps one — the nerdy Granger miraculously got into the duo of brave idiots. Honestly, Draco didn't understand what someone like her forgot among these boys. Loneliness and the eternal desire to show off her knowledge suited her better. Two Gryffindors next to her instantly spoiled this image.

Be that as it may, Black had a new goal — to dislike this girl too. Not at all because of her blood status, not even because of her unbearable arrogance or scarlet and gold tie, but simply because she was hanging around with Potter and Weasley now. Yes, that was the whole reason. For someone — insignificant, for the young Slytherin — very much so.

"Draco, you have been so worked up lately," Pansy noted, combing the same strand of hair for the eighth time. She still had two more to go before she moved on to another, "Will you share your problems?"

"Blacks do not have problems."

"Oh, come on, knock it off! And you better tell me anyway."

There wasn't much to tell. It was just that now three Gryffindors were unanimously saying that Draco Regulus Black was a terrible person from an insane family. Unconsciously egging the rest of their housemates on to think the same thing ("Yeah, exactly! My witch mum told me that the Blacks are known for... yeah-yeah, that! Can you imagine?! It's disgusting and unnatural!"). Unfortunately, Draco couldn't think of anything offensive to say in response. Because he can't use the "very bad words" — mudblood, half-breed*, blood traitor and all that stuff...

The other Slytherin students freely threw around words even worse than these. But he couldn't: his upbringing, his conscience and the lack of all-consuming hatred for muggles didn't allow it. Probably, this was what irritated Draco the most. If only he had been raised differently or by someone else, there'd be no problems. He'd happily take all anger out on Hermione, teasing her for dirty blood, but... but his father was Regulus Black. Whom sometimes he just wished to ask, "Why did you raise me to be so... tolerant? Now I cannot even offend people I hate! Calling them Gryffindorks every time is not creative, I do not like it!".

"I will not tell you anything," Black muttered, turning away from her theatrically.

"Sure-sure. Better complain to daddy in a letter again?"

At this rate, sometimes thought Draco, soon the hatred will spread to his own housemates.

"Perhaps I should take a walk instead," before Pansy could come to her senses and apologize, the boy was already heading for the exit from the common room.

Not really understanding where he was going, Draco simply walked steadily forward. It wasn't curfew yet, so he could walk through the entire Hogwarts from beginning to end — if, of course, he had enough strength. After some time, his own feet led him to the corridor near the library. And just as the Slytherin had time to rejoice that he was completely alone there, he suddenly crossed paths with him.

Not Potter or Weasley, no. Much worse. It was that damned Longbottom, constantly shying away from the mere silhouette of the grey-eyed blond nearby.

Draco had never even done anything bad to him. Never said a word in so many months of study. Except that once he tried to throw his Remembrall far away, but so what? It was a little fun, a three-minute joke. And Neville himself wasn't even there at that moment. Therefore, Draco didn't understand such animal fear in those eyes.

The cowardly Gryffindor (what irony) had been looking at him since the Sorting, as if he were death in the flesh. Obviously, one day this was bound to finally get him mad.

"Why are you always giving me this look?" Draco barked rudely.

Neville, who was already afraid to walk past him to the point of shaking in his knees, suddenly stumbled and fell. How pathetic. Either he was pretending, or he actually thought the Slytherin was some kind of scary monster.

"Oh, err...! S-s-sorry, I, I..."

""S-s-sorry, I-I...!"" Black mimicked, angrily grimacing. The boy from the other house was trying hard to get up, getting tangled up in his robe, "You are a pureblood wizard, you should speak clearly and distinctly! You should show your status and greatness, after all," Longbottom continued to apologize while getting scolded and lectured, "Honestly, how did they even accept you into Gryffindor? Are you sure the Hat did not confuse you with someone else?"

Neville muttered something quietly, but still got up from the floor. He began to look at Draco even more fearfully than before. As if he saw a dementor or a boggart.

"Seriously, what is with that look?" the Gryffindor looked down in confusion, "It is almost like I murdered your entire family," this made Longbottom suddenly flinch and come to his sense. Oh come on. Did he actually think that?

"...w-well... is it really that far from... the truth?.."

"Hein?"

The boy shrank, but didn't back down. Perhaps, given his natural kindness, he wanted to explain why he treated Draco like that. Why he had been looking at him with such fear for six months, why he avoided him at every opportunity, why he didn't want to hear even the first letter of his last name.

"My parents..." the Slytherin tilted his head to the side, not understanding anything. Longbottom's parents? What's up with them? Black had no idea, he had never even heard of them in his life, "And y-your aunt..." the boy's confusion instantly turned into rage. His face quickly darkened, "Oh, n-no, please forgive me!.. I didn't, I didn't mean to offend you, to say something wrong, I–"

And once again, his family was disrespected. Once again, the lion cubs dared to call someone from his noble family an evil and terrible person. Draco had no idea which aunt of his and what she had done to Neville's parents, but he wasn't going to allow such an attitude towards her.

"If our family is treated badly, they are our enemies. Remember this once and for all," he did, in fact, remember his father's words well. Because he was a good son.

"So, you are so afraid of me only because both I and my aunt are Blacks?" Neville continued to apologize, saying that he didn't mean that. He was trembling pitifully, almost crying, because he felt threatened. Considered an eleven-year-old boy a dark and evil wizard, just because of his last name, "A-argh, all your Gryffindor lot is pissing me off...!"

"No, I..."

"You are afraid of me, even though I haven't even done anything wrong to you," his voice broke, "But maybe I should start? Then at least there will be something to be afraid of?"

"Listen–"

The Slytherin didn't listen. He pulled out his wand and in a matter of seconds cast a spell at his opponent — Locomotor Mortis. Neville's legs were shackled, depriving him of the ability to walk. He managed to stay standing and not fall again only thanks to some miracle.

"You know, I caught you at the right time," the boy, whose eyes suddenly became very cold, chuckled angrily, "I was just looking for someone I could practice on."

Not paying attention to what the Gryffindor was muttering, Black went to the library. Reading books there would clearly be more interesting than watching Longbottom start jumping towards his common room.

"...and so, I even wrote to my parents, but they say that I'm just imagining things," Ron explained, chewing chocolates. His friends were sitting opposite, warming themselves by the fireplace.

"Of course, you're just imagining things!" the girl with curly hair, so much so that it seemed unkempt, said loudly and turned up her nose, "The Malfoys no longer exist. If Draco really was their heir, the family wouldn't be officially considered extinct," and then reproachfully added, "Really, Ronald, which one of us here is a pure-blood wizard? You should know this better than I do!"

"No, no, Hermione, what if he's right?" Harry intervened to defend his friend, "The Malfoys died, err... at the end of summer, you said, Ron?"

"Yeah, dad even showed me the newspapers."

"And Black was born in–"

"I don't want to hear anything, you're making up these stupid theories out of thin air! The Malfoy family died out a long time ago!.."

They had actually started this conversation a week ago. Ron had suddenly begun to notice that the puzzle didn't fit together somewhere: all the Blacks were famous for their jet-black curls, while Draco's hair, on the contrary, was very white. And only slightly, barely noticeably wavy at the ends. An actual black sheep, wasn't he? You look at him and you just want to call him Malfoy. Besides, if he slicks his bangs back, he'll remind anyone of Lucius, who can be easily found in old newspapers. The dates also matched up quite well. And no one knew who Draco's mother was and what happened to her. It seems that even he himself had no idea.

Isn't this some kind of conspiracy? Even more interesting than with Nicholas Flamel!

"It'd be cool if Black really turned out to be Malfoy," the boy in glasses still supported Ron more than Hermione, "It'd be like... we, well... well, solved the family secret before he did!"

"Harry thinks correct! This will be such a scoop, you can make a fortune on it!"

"...our detective games because of the Philosopher's Stone are having a bad effect on you two. A very bad effect."

Although Granger shook her head disapprovingly, the boys still stood their ground. They even wanted to tell, "You're just jealous that we can be smart too," but suddenly Longbottom came into the common room. It was unclear how he even got here when all he could do was hop like a hare. Some of the boys sitting on the chairs burst out laughing. But the trio immediately jumped up, realizing that something was wrong. Neville's legs were somehow unnaturally stuck to each other, as if due to a special spell.

Hermione quickly took her wand. Ran closer and, whispering a counter-curse, freed him from this humiliation. Harry and Ron glared menacingly at the rest of the students in the common room so that they'd stop laughing so loudly.

"What happened?" when Neville's legs parted and began to function normally, she carefully led him forward.

"Black..." the three children frowned in a matter of moments: they immediately understood what was going on, "I met him in the hall by the library... he was looking for someone to practice on," Ron began to blush with boiling anger, "B-but it's my fault... I, I deserved it..."

"Nonsense!.. Whatever you did, you certainly didn't deserve this."

Even though Harry said it with the utmost sincerity and seriousness, the boy still didn't calm down. Instead, just continued to sob.

"Go to Professor McGonagall," Hermione insisted, trying to turn him back towards the portrait, "And tell her everything as it was!" Neville shook his head, muttering that he had had enough trouble already.

"But you have to do it! You have to put Black in his place!"

Ron's loud shout made the boy whine and sniffle even more.

"Black thinks that just because he's rich and pure-blooded, and so noble, he can do anything!.. He thinks that he's... some sort of royalty!" the red-haired boy continued to be mad. So mad, as if a spell had been cast on him, "He's probably used to walking all over people, but that's no reason to lie down in front of him and make the job easier."

"...n-no need to tell me I'm not... brave enough to be in Gryffindor."

Neville, sobbing, tried to walk past the persistent and insistent trio.

"Black's... already done that," then ran to his room as quickly as possible to allow himself to cry there to his heart's content. Both because of the humiliation he had experienced and because of the memories of his parents that had suddenly flooded in.

The boys, sincerely worried, even sad, remained standing in place. Hermione, however, soon whispered, "Poor Neville...".

***

Regulus had been studying his son's behavior for a long time — from the very moment he took him home for Christmas. Even in his letters he hadn't particularly shone with joy and happiness, but in real life... oh, everything turned out to be much worse. Frowning and not hiding his displeasure at all, Draco walked around the house like a gloomy cloud. He was also sitting at the table like he was forced to be there: had no control over his back, his elbows were lying shamelessly on the table, he was propping up his cheek with one hand. Honestly, he was just the spitting image of Sirius at exactly the same age.

His father was still silent. Kept waiting for the child to break down and give away his problems on a silver platter. However, the son, unusually for himself, didn't speak up. Instead, it was the fork, creaking disgustingly on the dishes, which spoke.

"Draco, behave at the table in accordance with the rules of etiquette," after another five minutes of such a tense dinner, the man finally couldn't stand it anymore. He finally scolded him, reminding of manners. The son came to his senses and, as if waking up, immediately hurried to correct himself: sat up straight in his chair, put his elbows away, even took the cutlery differently, "And if you please, do tell me what happened."

He didn't want to obey this order. Maybe was afraid or embarrassed of something. Although there was no need for that — Regulus wouldn't judge or shame for something that made his son worry so much.

"...chéri, you can tell me anything," the man immediately softened, realizing that he shouldn't put so much pressure on the child, "Believe me, you will immediately feel better."

Sighing, Draco began to tell: he complained to his heart's content about Potter and Weasley — about their biased attitude towards the Black family, about what complete idiots they were and how much they irritated him day after day just by existing; about the other Slytherins who constantly used "very bad words"; about the lack of brioche at breakfast and, most importantly, about Potter's place on the Quidditch team. Oh, he began to tell about this in such detail that he even turned pink with anger. The boy was mad, for sure. After all, how could it be that an ignorant fool was given an exception, but a pure-blooded noble wizard was not? And a wizard who had been trained to fly on a broomstick since childhood, too.

Draco considered the latter to be the height of injustice. "Have you even seen Potter on the field? If I were him, I would have caught the snitch in the first second, and certainly not with my mouth! Ugh, how disgusting! How did they count such a victory for him?! Why did they take him and not me?", there was no limit to his indignation that evening. Without interrupting, but showing that he was still clearly delving into the story, Regulus remained silent.

Then, finally, the boy ran out of breath and fell silent. He snorted and began to eat what was already starting to get cold. His father had been right after all — it was worth dumping this heavy burden, as he instantly felt better.

Regulus didn't answer right away. First of all, he tried to recover from the surname "Potter", uttered so, so many times during this monologue. Potter, Potter, Potter... just as he stopped thinking about this boy with broken glasses, another reminder came. Along with it, another thought in the style of, "James's son is an orphan in rags... that is no good. Something needs to be done, I have to do something... James would definitely want this, definitely...".

After taking a small sip of his non-alcoholic cocktail and thinking, the man finally said,

"Your envy only means that you have potential, Draco. Potential that you know about," his son, who initially wanted to get angry, like, "I'm not jealous at all!", didn't open his mouth. Instead, he silently absorbed every word. His father was an incredibly wise man, so he should definitely listen to any advice, "You know that you can do better, and it makes you frustrated."

The boy only blinked his eyes in surprise.

"If you have potential, you need to reveal it," another break for a sip to form thoughts, "If you want a place on the team, do everything to get it. Remember, Draco, you and I are Slytherins. We are persistent and achievement-oriented, aren't we?"

"That is right, father," the young Black nodded obediently.

"If you know that you are capable of more, you will train. You will prove that you are a hundred times better than everyone else."

In a matter of seconds, Draco's gray eyes, dull with sadness, suddenly sparkled. His face changed: he stopped frowning and, on the contrary, began to smile with determination. It was easy to read his thoughts, "Yes! I will prove to all of them that members of the Black family are superior!".

"I will be just like you, father, I will also be a seeker!"

"In that case," Regulus tried to hide a pleased and proud smile for his son behind a silver goblet, "I can teach you some dirty tricks on a broom that I personally came up with. And then you will surely be accepted into the team in your second year," he then winked mischievously, "All's fair in love and war, right?"

"Father! You are the best!" Draco was already sitting up straight in his chair with anticipation.

Somehow he still finished eating his dinner. And then ran up to Regulus, stubbornly began to tug at his robes, saying, "Let's go, let's go fly, right now!". His father had no choice but to agree. Even though he wanted to spend time preparing potions for customers.

***

"Harry! Harry, wake up, wake up!"

Having barely opened his eyes, the boy was almost blinded by the abundance of scarlet color. He quickly looked around the room: it was all over with the decorations that he had been busy with with Ron until late at night yesterday. These decorations were connected with... that's right! This day had finally arrived — his first Christmas outside the cupboard. His first Christmas that he would spend not completely alone, but with his best friend.

In an instant, forgetting his tiredness and desire to sleep, Potter grabbed his glasses from the bedside table. And then rushed towards his friend's voice. As soon as possible, he wanted to wish him a Merry Christmas, eat chocolate frogs together, and then play snowballs outside — there had just been enough snow.

Ron, grinning from ear to ear, was already standing downstairs by the fireplace. Noticing the green eyes and unruly black hair, he quickly said,

"Happy Christmas, Harry."

This is the first time anyone has wished him such a thing. The Dursleys, even in the best of moods, even during such an important holiday, did not say a word. They simply locked the hated boy in his personal cupboard, and then went off to have fun with guests. Not once before this day had the poor little orphan received a "Happy Christmas, Harry" from anyone.

Perhaps that is why his heart suddenly felt so warm.

"Happy Christmas, Ron," adjusting his glasses, the boy soon continued, "What are you wearing?"

His friend became embarrassed, slightly tugged at the red sweater with a huge letter "R" and muttered, "Mum... made it." Then, as if trying to change the subject, he pointed to the tree,

"Looks like you got presents too!"

"Presents?"

Someone didn't skimp on a present– no, presents for him? For him, the boy who always just watched other people's happiness from the sidelines? Who was always forced to ignore his cousin's egoism ("Why's there one less gift this year?! How dare you?!") and only get a cold dinner himself? Did someone actually reward Harry Potter with several things at once?

It didn't really matter what exactly he was given. The happy boy's heart was already excited by the fact that there were presents.

"Here they are, here they are," Ron continued to point out to his friend. He got down from the stairs in seconds and then ran up to the tree, "Which one will you open first?"

Harry, to be honest, didn't know himself. One gift wasn't very neatly packed, while the other screamed, "I am incredibly expensive and exquisite" with its entire appearance. But... who could this huge parcel in a black matte box with patterns be from? Potter looked at his friend, but he just shrugged, as if to say, "open this one, it looks pretty."

"Hm..."

Black colour, black colour, black... a few things came to mind, or rather, a few people. However... no-no, this is complete nonsense, it can't be. Just a coincidence. Harry quickly shook his head, and then opened the box. Suddenly, not only his eyes widened in shock, but also Ron's: neatly folded, starched things lay inside. Everything as it should be — from the shirt to the socks. When the boy put his hands deeper into the box, he realized that this wasn't even the only set of clothes.

And expensive clothes, at that.

They are not school ones, but rather casual? If, of course, such high-quality, luxurious things can be called "casual". Two sets which were completely just muggle clothes — so cool that even spoiled Dudley does not have. If he sees at least a T-shirt, he will be envious to the point of real hysteria.

"Wow..." Harry and Ron whispered in unison.

Potter had never seen such clothes in his life. And especially never received them as a gift. In an instant, a strong desire to find out who gifted him such things appeared. But no matter how diligently the boy looked for at least a pitiful note, he found nothing. The sender didn't leave his name, or even a few words.

"Who could've given me all this?.." Harry whispered, analyzing the denim jacket. A designer one. So whoever bought it knew a little about muggle fashion or maybe was half-muggle himself. But where did this unknown person get so much money?

"Wow, what kind of material is this? I've never seen anything like it," his friend put the sweets aside and sat down closer, also wanting to touch the jacket. He wasn't envious, no. Rather, admired the unusual muggle thing, "Whoa, it's stiff!.. Is that how it should be?"

"Yes, 'cause it's denim."

"De... de-what?"

Harry laughed cheerfully, which puzzled Ron even more. Then he folded the jacket back and, smiling, covered it with the lid. Such expensive things must be taken very good care of. He should wear them carefully, not daring to accidentally tear or lose them anywhere. And he'd definitely have to show them off to Dudley, to at least wipe his plump nose a little in eleven years.

No matter who exactly the sender was, Harry was extremely grateful to them. After all, he finally had his own clothes, not old, stretched-out rags. Of course, they seemed a li-ittle big, but that was okay. Absolutely fine. They'd be big enough for him to grow into and last at least another year.

"Now let's see what's in that one."

He was so happy with the present from the unknown stranger that he completely forgot about the other one. This joy really turned his head, provided him with a good mood for at least a month ahead. Still smiling, Harry reached for the second surprise. It was a surprise because it was also gifted by a person without a name. But well, at least there was a small note attached.

"Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well..."

Harry finished reading, then looked straight into Ron's eyes in surprise. He just shrugged again, because he didn't understand anything either. When all the strings were removed from the bag, another wardrobe item appeared. Only this time it was magical.

"Is this something... like a cloak?" maybe it's from the same person? Although it's strange that it's packaged differently.

"Well, let's see then," the red-haired friend supported, smiling, "Put it on!"

Harry stood up and did just that. As soon as he threw the cloak over himself, his entire body except his face disappeared from view. The common room seemed to be shining through him. Ron, who was even more surprised, jumped up from his seat. While his friend was spinning around and whispering in shock, "My body's gone!.." he said,

"I know what that is! That's an invisibility cloak!"

Harry spun around one more time, then grinned widely. So many presents — and all in one day. It was mind-boggling. It was even better than magic. Of course, it was unlikely that someone like him deserved all this, but... since some people gave it to him, he had to treasure each and every thing without exception.

***

The end of the first year was terrible for Slytherin and great for Gryffindor. Harry Potter was a hero again; in addition, he also brought his house a cup. Almost all the students without exception whispered, "This isn't deserved, this is cheating, favoritism... we were trying our best all year, and they got the cup just because of Potter...". Draco adhered to the same point of view. And more and more he began to resent the stupid boy in glasses.

Also tried his best to avoid him, so as not to curse him in a fit of anger.

"Father!.."

Regulus, noticing his son hurrying towards him, allowed himself to smile. Moreover, he even allowed hugs in public. In aristocratic families, something like this isn't accepted or even approved of. But... to be honest, a good relationship with Draco is much more important than etiquette. Just for two seconds he can forgive them both this weakness, so that the child does not feel unloved.

"Father, I have so-o many things to tell you," the son later pulled away. Remembered that they weren't at home, after all, "You will not believe what happened!"

"Hmm? Something unpleasant?"

"Yes, it is blatantly unfair! And all because of–"

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed disheveled black hair and green eyes. He turned around and, grimacing, realized, "Potter." He had just gotten off the train and the first thing he saw was the Black family. More precisely, the disgruntled face of the Slytherin and the unreadable, strange emotions in his father's eyes. That's how they stared at each other in complete silence until Draco said

"Let's go, father."

Harry just looked after them sadly. Even if it was only for a moment, these two seemed like an ideal family to him: a loving father, a good son. What else could one dream of? He himself had never had and never would have anything like this... he wondered if the Dursleys would even meet him today? Or would he have to get home with all this luggage by himself?

He didn't even know which of these options he liked more.

Suddenly he remembered his father — the same one he had seen in the Mirror of Erised and in the album given by Hagrid. They say James Potter was the best, kindest and brightest person. If he were still alive... would he love Harry the way Regulus loved Draco now? Would he greet him with a smile on his face and open arms too?

Potter quickly rubbed his eyes with a sleeve, lifting his glasses. He wasn't crying, not at all. Nothing could ever upset him or bring him to tears. He despised emotionality. Probably just dust.

Ron and Hermione were soon taken away by their parents, whom Harry politely greeted. Mrs. Weasley smiled at him, even said that she'd always be happy to have him as a guest. And, yes, it'd be nice to visit his best friend in his house. Harry had never done that before. He had never even had a sleepover in his life, because the Dursleys didn't let him. Well, that, and also the children (both at school and on Privet Drive) didn't want to be friends with a "weirdo". Therefore didn't want to invite him to their place either.

"...oi, boy!"

Finally, after a very long time, Uncle Vernon's voice was heard. He looked as angry and irritated as always. Especially when his small eyes fell on the huge cage with a white owl inside. This definitely spoiled their image of "normal people", so the reaction was not surprising. Yet it was unclear why Aunt Petunia and Dudley were so frightened.

"As if I'm carrying a tank with me, honestly!" Potter couldn't help but get mad in his thoughts.

"Did you take everything?" the woman asked in a whisper when her nephew had already come closer, "Or did you forget something in your school for... fr-reaks?" was she actually worried and caring? Harry couldn't say for sure. Either way, he did not like his aunt's intonation. Just as he did not like the fact that...

"You're late. The other kids are at home already, while I had to wait the longest."

"Be grateful we came at all."

"Yeah!" Dudley agreed with his mother, "We could've left you, y'know! Where you belong."

Unable to resist, Harry suddenly reached for his wand. He had almost pulled it out of a pocket completely when suddenly the faces of his relatives turned white. The contempt disappeared, and was replaced by genuine horror. True, they didn't know yet that he isn't allowed to do magic at home. Let them think that he could curse or kill them at any moment.

This way the summer would be much more fun than usual.

"...g-get in the car already," Uncle Vernon, the first to pull himself together, muttered. Harry decided that this small threat was enough and put his wand away.

However, as he walked past his aunt, he couldn't help but feel her gaze right on his skin. Now it was no longer angry or frightened, but intrigued — the one he knew best. Because this woman always had to stick her nose into everything and have a finger in every pie.

"Oh, look at that... what are you wearing, fashionista?" she certainly has a keen eye. Although, probably, anyone would've noticed how the stretched old rags turned into new and branded ones, "Which child did you steal these from?"

"What? Why are you saying I stole these?" the boy grumbled angrily.

Together with Dudley, Uncle Vernon loaded the large cage and the rest of the things into the trunk. Both tried to ask as few questions as possible, still remembering about the magic wand.

"These were gifted to me."

"Gifted? To you?" the woman proudly lifted her chin and thereby showed off her long neck in all its glory, "You stole them, boy. Stole them from a rich child, and because of this– because of you we will have problems again."

"I already told you, I didn't steal anything! These are my clothes, okay?"

Aunt and nephew — they glared at each other with the same look that was filled with years of mutual hatred.

"Someone much kinder than you gave me these for Christmas," then the boy grinned. He realized how he could hit his relatives' psyche right now, "And someone also gave me an invisibility cloak. Do you want to see it? It's magi–"

"Get in the car! Now!!" Uncle Vernon practically roared, his face turning purple with rage.

But Harry knew for sure that he hadn't only angered him, but also seriously scared him. After all, for the Dursley family, talking about magic was the same as hearing, "Tomorrow's judgement day, you will be punished first."

The ride to Privet Drive was silent, awkward, tense, and heavy. His aunt and uncle were as silent as if they were at a funeral. Only the occasional sounds of chomping and rustling of packages could be heard, as his cousin ate jelly babies and hula hoops. He would even put the latter on his ring finger, twist it a bit, and then stuff it into himself. Since the snacks had been bought specifically to "make sweet Dudley stop crying over his lousy cousin's fashionable clothes", they weren't shared with Harry. Well, there was no need anyway. He wasn't hungry, not at all. He had already eaten his fill of sweets on the Hogwarts Express.

"Ugh..." Potter sighed to himself. It was better not to do it out loud, otherwise the fighting might resume again, "I just left, and I already miss Hogwarts. If only they'd actually leave me there for the summer holidays..."

Things really were much better at school. School became his new home, where he acquired not only fame and magic, but also friends. So loyal and devoted that they went through all these challenges with him, were ready to sacrifice themselves and, in the end, helped him find the Philosopher's Stone.

So many good (or, more precisely, interesting) things happened, but Harry couldn't even tell about it and brag. Because... he had no one to talk to. His relatives, obsessed with "normality", didn't want to hear about magic. So if he now started blabbering about something like a "three-headed dog" or "the Mirror of Erised", they'd leave him without food. For three or four days for sure. Or for the whole summer.

The thought of this made him feel more and more melancholy. And he couldn't help but remember Black with his cheerful, even joyful,

"Father, I have so-o many things to tell you!"

Closing his eyes, Harry could only continue to think, "I wish the summer holidays would end quickly and I'd return to Hogwarts soon...".

Chapter Text

In order to celebrate his past twelfth birthday properly, Draco asked to go to France and spend at least a week there. For some reason, he wanted to visit the best of the local beaches most of all. A bit of a strange wish, but... oh well, what kind of father would Regulus be if he didn't agree and fulfill a child's whim? Without hesitation, he nodded and said, "Of course, chéri, we can even stay for two weeks."

June this year, surprisingly, turned out to be comfortable — neither too hot nor too cold. The Mediterranean Sea, as usual, pleased with its famous warmth. At least, Draco kept convincing himself that the water was not cold. And happily swimming, didn't want to get out of it at all.

Regulus, his complete opposite, couldn't even set a foot in the sea. He preferred to sit on the beach under the magically created shade, watching from the side and listening to the steady sound of the water. His son, of course, tried to invite him to "at least get his feet wet", but time after time got rejected. Unfortunately, even the birthday boy's request wasn't a good reason to go into the sea again.

To keep Draco from getting too upset, he had to lie, "I keep the hiding charms going so that muggle tourists do not disturb our peace. I really need to be on the beach, not in the water, alright?". It'd be nice to just get over his stupid fear, but... not now. Some other time, but not now for sure.

"Father, father, look!" the boy's extremely joyful voice brought him out of his thoughts. He was holding something tightly in his hands, as if afraid of losing it, and smiling broadly. However, when he came running, his expression quickly changed, "...you still have not taken off that shirt? Aren't you hot in it?"

"Not at all, dragon," Regulus seemed to have learned to lie after so many years. Well, he was doing better now than when he was still in the ranks of the Death Eaters.

"But it is black and made of thick fabric. You must be hot."

If Draco began to frown, it meant that he was thinking deeply about something, began to ponder — and it'd be impossible to stop him for that moment on. He looked at his clenched palms, then at that damn black shirt, and thought, "Father always wears long-sleeved clothes no matter what. There must be a reason for this, right?!". Carefully putting something found in the sea on the sand (Regulus didn't see with his left eye what exactly it was), the boy then asked

"Why do you even have a need to always hide your arms?"

Regulus didn't react outwardly, didn't even raise an eyebrow. Inside however, he was a bit mad that his son kept asking increasingly unpleasant questions with each passing year. And such that sometimes he couldn't immediately come up with excuses. Now Black was stuck for a while, trying to come up with the most plausible lie. "I'm cold" — too banal; "it's just my style" was going too far (but James or Sirius would've definitely said stuff like that); "trying to keep my skin pale" was actually much better, but didn't explain why he was wearing shorts instead of trousers.

While the man was unconsciously lost in thought, Draco didn't wait. Curiosity got the better of him. Sitting down next, he smiled at his father, then quickly grabbed his sleeve. Maybe he would've even managed to pull it up, if not for the buttons.

"Draco!.." Regulus cried out, coming to his senses. He tried to pull the hand away, but his son held on tightly. And kept trying to pull the black sleeve up, "Draco, stop–"

"I simply want to take a look! Just one look, alright?"

"You can't– Drac–"

Whether it was the school and his peers' fault, or whether it was all about adolescence... or even the Black blood that also flowed through his veins, but the boy was clearly becoming more impudent. Began to expand the boundaries of what was permitted much more actively in an attempt to learn more: what he could do, what he couldn't, what he'd be praised for, and what he'd be scolded for. And almost like was intentionally getting on his father's nerves, trying to figure out what would piss him off for real. Again he was provoking, reminding of someone for a second.

"What's that mama's kitten meowing under his breath? At least learn to fight back properly! Or they will not accept you into Hogwarts."

"They will!.. And I will be better than you, I will not disgrace our family."

"My-my-my, look at him go! Come here, brat, I will straighten all your curls 'till the last one!"

Draco had not yet spoken to him like that, but his gaze was becoming similar. Familiar, even. And Regulus had already lost Sirius, because of this mark. That's why he cannot show it to his son. No freaking way.

Regulus endured to the last, tearing his wrist out of a grip, but his nerves weren't made of steel either. Moreover, his son grabbed exactly the hand that had the dark mark on it. Shit. That way he's definitely going to see it, isn't he?

"Draco. No."

Regulus didn't raise his voice, not even a decibel. A cold, stern tone — the kind his son was not used to, the one he always least expected — was enough to make the boy freeze. He still didn't let go of the hand, but at least was no longer struggling against it.

"When people tell you "no" and "do not", what should your reaction be?"

"I have to stop doing what I was doing..." little Black muttered guiltily and finally let go of the wrist. Phew, that was close. But he didn't see the Lord's mark, thank Merlin, "I... I just wanted to know why you hide your hands. You always hide them, so there... must be some reason behind it, right?"

Instantly softening and removing the mask of coldness, Regulus could only sigh. To some extent, his son was right: wearing long, opaque sleeves all his life under any circumstances was indeed suspicious. Draco's sincere interest was understandable. And it'd be nice to tell him the truth. At least half of it. He was not a baby anymore, was he?

However, what if he got scared again, like that time long, long ago? Or even worse, started to hate his father for involvement with the dark evil wizard? What if this one detail ruins their entire relationship? Just like it had already happened once with James and Sirius. It was even scarier than going waist-deep into the sea. His son thought so highly of him: for so many years now he had been consistently believing that Regulus could do nothing wrong. If he saw the dark mark now, his whole concept of this world would collapse. He'll be so... disappointed.

No-no-no. Regulus can't let that happen. No way.

"I..." his throat felt very dry, "I have... something foolish on my arm. A mistake of my youth."

"Huh, seriously? What kind of mistake exactly?" Draco smiled cheerfully and innocently, making the whole situation only worse.

"Well..."

"Show me, show me! I will never ever judge you, father."

Regulus tried to find the right words. He really did. But for some reason his brain decided to stop working all of the sudden. "I will never ever judge you", huh... that's what he thinks now. But then he'll never talk to his father again, realizing that this man wasn't so good and innocent. Been there, done that.

"It does not matter what the mistake is," he had to rephrase a little, "What matters is that I regret it. And I do not want to show it to anyone," before his son could open his mouth, Black added, "Not even you."

"Hmm... but if you regret it so much, why don't you just get rid of it?"

"If only everything was so simple...", the wizard thought bitterly, barely holding himself back from smiling.

"I am unable to, Draco. Believe me, I have tried many times, but it is impossible. So this mistake will stay with me forever," surprisingly, this made his son's face change. All the mischief completely disappeared, and he became more serious. Looked at the black sleeves of the shirt no longer with interest, but with sympathy.

"Désolé," he whispered so that it could be heard, "I should not have..."

Regulus exhaled quietly, and then allowed himself to smile with the corner of his lips. The tone of his voice became gentler, kinder, more familiar.

"I suppose you are growing up, thus prone to curiosity here and there. Especially when I give you good reasons, right?" the son listened attentively, without interrupting, "But you still have to remember: never do something against the will of another person. Got it?"

"Yes. Got it."

Draco looked down at the sand and then remembered why he had originally run to his father. Immediately smiled, picked up the "gift" and proudly held it out in front of his face,

"I chose the best ones for you."

In the pale palms were visible several shells of different shapes and sizes. One was even pale green, and the other... Regulus, with permission, got a hold of it and took a closer look. And lo and behold, he hadn't just imagined it. It really was a small white mollusk shell with black patterns, in a pronounced star shape. He had definitely never seen anything like it in real life before.

"Do you like it?"

The other shells also were no less beautiful, interesting in their own way. Each one can be examined for at least five minutes from different angles and under different lighting.

"Of course, dragon."

For some reason, however, to Draco it looked like his father hadn't said this sincerely — instead, way too easily, carelessly, quickly. And hadn't praised him for his diligent search. "Oh, I guess he did not like them, then," the boy, whose smile gradually faded, thought. Well... never mind, everything's fine. Maybe he'd be more pleased with some other gift. More than ordinary, stupid shells.

Only upon returning to Britain did little Black realize the opposite. One July day, hiding from Dobby during their game, he went into Regulus' room (though still reading the sign, "Do Not Enter Without the Express Permission of Regulus Arcturus Black" and apologizing in advance). At first he thought that he'd simply hide from the house elf and nothing more. But looking down at the wide and bulky bedside table, suddenly froze. To his great surprise, he saw all his shells there — every single one. They lay in the crystal stand as if someone had carefully laid them out, distributing them by shape and size.

"...Master Draco, there you are! Now it is Master's turn to seek," a smiling house elf appeared behind the door. Yet immediately, surprised (or even frightened), flinched because of the child's sudden cry,

"Dobby, he liked them! Father liked them, he liked them, look, look!"

***

"Dear Black, or can I say Draco?

My mother is against me telling anyone this. But I will do as I please. I want to share since we are friends. I chose you of all people because you would definitely like this. You can't stand that bastard Potter after all.

I heard something about that stinking half-blood recently. You would definitely like it. Read it carefully! I heard that Harry Potter is done for, for real. He won't be a hero forever. They do not want him to get in the way, so he will be murdered. It will murder him.

That's great, isn't it? The Potter you hate so much will finally be finished off! Although I don't know what "It" is. Maybe you will understand? You are smarter than me. Mother says that "something terrible is coming". It is called a komlot... I think? I don't know what the word is. And I don't know why Mother is so afraid.

Yeah, that's all. I just wanted to make you happy. Soon it will be "fun for all purebloods". That's what they called it. I don't know the details, sorry... but it doesn't matter. The main thing is that we will get rid of Potter at Hogwarts. You are happy, right?

By the way, how is your summer going? And also... I wished you a happy birthday at Hogwarts, but I didn't give you a present. Sorry. If it's not too late, tell me what you want. Our owl will send it as soon as possible.

With all due respect to the Black family,
Gregory Goyle"

Draco stared at the letter for at least two minutes. Maybe more. Alright, sure. Even a fool would understand that Gregory wrote it with the best of intentions. After all, he was just a dumb boy who didn't understand the gravity of the situation. But still, some of the words were so... offensive. Black couldn't help but be mad.

Just because he couldn't stand Potter, did that mean he wanted him dead? Not at all! Potter was an idiot, sometimes he'd piss anyone off just by existing, but Draco would never rejoice at his death. He wasn't a psychopath, or anything like that.

Goyle tried to befriend him, but in the end, only made it worse.

"What kind of word is that anyway? Dobby, can you understand?" the house elf cautiously approached, "Look, here... kom– Merlin– why's "kom"?.. And the handwriting is so terrible too!"

"Something terrible is coming... kom... lot..."

Dobby read the words more closely and, seeing the hero's last name, fell into hysterics. Panic seemed way too unnecessary, though. Draco was even afraid that his father would come to the screams.

"Ah, D-Dobby, be quiet!.. Why are you–"

"It is a complot, master, a complot!" the boy blinked his eyes in surprise, "They want to murder Harry Potter, Harry Potter is done for!.. What should we do, what should we do now?!.."

"What? A complot?" Draco ran his eyes through the lines of the letter again.

"They do not want him to get in the way, so he will be murdered."

"It will murder him."

"Something terrible is coming."

"We will get rid of Potter at Hogwarts."

"...it is a complot? Against Potter?" the little wizard didn't understand anything. Why would someone or something make terrible plans against that dumb Gryffindor anyway? And how did his housemate know about it? "Goyle heard it from someone?" he doesn't know the details, so it's unlikely that he or his family are behind it. Otherwise, he would've started bragging, "But who said these words? His father, mother... or did he hear that in Diagon Alley?" the head ached from all the questions, "I do not understand anything... only You-Know-Who wanted Potter's death, but that man is dead..."

"Harry Potter is in mortal danger, master! Harry Potter will be murdered by "It"!"

"Dobby, hey, calm down!.. I am not even sure if Goyle wrote the truth."

But the house elf still couldn't calm down. He imagined the death of the young wizard in all its terrible details, making his master feel uncomfortable. Potter isn't the most pleasant boy, but... but you can't just kill him! Besides, he's a hero — the same one that Draco even once admired as a child. He read newspapers and listened to different stories about Harry, always dreamed of making friends with him. He wouldn't want him to suddenly die.

He won't die, right? Gregory is simply mistaken, and that boy is in no danger... right?

"What are we going to do, master? We can't let Harry Potter die! You do not want him to die, do you, master?!.."

"Of course I do not want him to die," Dobby smiled with relief. Green eyes shone with happiness, "He and his gang are idiots, but they do not deserve to die," in fact, no one did. The wizard simply didn't voice such a banal thought out loud.

The hero in glasses would hardly believe Draco's words. Even if he tried to write and send him a letter, he'd probably burn it right away. He was feuding with Black, after all. Accordingly, something like that would only be in the order of things. But if someone else warned him about the danger...

"Dobby, I have come up with a little plan. But you must listen only to me and no one else, understand?" the elf nodded his head actively. His ears were comically flicking back and forth along with him, "We do not know yet whether this is true or not... so do not tell anything to either father or Kreacher."

"But...?! Master Regulus should–"

"There is no need to worry him over all sorts of trivial things! Or do you think– think my father does not have enough worries as it is?"

The house-elf shook his head apologetically, saying that he also didn't want to cause trouble. Draco listened to him for a bit, then exhaled, asking to stop. And patting the elf on the bald head, he continued,

“We can handle this together, Dobby, as a team. Besides, what if we actually save the Dim One and get all the credit? House points or even..."

"Or even this idiot might apologize and become friends with me..." the fair-haired boy continued in thoughts, lowering his eyes.

"Or even something else."

Dobby looked at him uncertainly.

"Go to Potter and tell him not to return to Hogwarts this year. Because mortal danger awaits him there."

"Not to return to Hogwarts? But how..." the elf doubted even more, "Harry Potter will probably want to return, because his friends are there. He won't listen to Dobby..."

"Oh, right, his friends! They will convince him to return to school!.."

Frowning, Draco thought about what to do. Without a doubt enthusiasts Weasley and Granger have already managed to talk about Hogwarts many, many times and convince him to return there in their letters... the Slytherin raised his head suddenly. Exactly, letters. No letters from friends who beckon him back to school — no problem. No problem — no dead Potter. That's the simplest axiom.

"Dobby, please take a-a-all letters from Weasley and Granger. Potter must not read them."

"Master..."

"Please?" Black looked at him with his big, innocent eyes, and it became almost impossible to refuse.

A short, slightly awkward pause hung in the room. But after a couple more seconds, he finally heard,

"Dobby... Dobby does not want Harry Potter to die, so..." the house elf looked around, thought about something, but then nodded in agreement, "Sure, master Draco, Dobby will carry out your order. Dobby will do everything as you said."

"Brilliant. Dobby, you are the best. Now "It", whatever it is, will not murder the scarhead."

***

Reading the same lines for the thousandth time, Draco stared at the letter. So, he already understood what Gregory was trying to convey to him, but... many things (very important things) were hushed up. Most of all, the boy wanted to know how his housemate knew about all this. But asking him straight out would be bad manners. Very bad manners.

His father had raised him differently.

"Mmm... hmm-hmm-hmm," Black thought, tapping the tip of his quill on the fifth parchment, "Ugh, nothing comes to mind. I need to ask carefully and cautiously... or else Goyle will think that I am accusing him," the boy frowned, trying to write something, but immediately stopped. He didn't like the beginning, "No, this is no good either. Too pretentious and pompous. Even Goyle will suspect something bad from me..."

Then Draco sighed, as tiredly and wearily as a twelve-year-old child even could.

"I guess the saying is true, after all," he continued, again in his mind, "Slytherins are not good at helping anyone beside themselves..."

The young wizard was so deep in his thoughts that he didn't even hear two knocks on the door of his room. He came to his senses only when he heard a quiet creak and,

"Draco? Is it alright if I come in?"

The boy, nearly falling from a chair, began to look around the desk in panic. Well, he certainly wouldn't have time to hide every single thing — the quill, the parchments, the ink. Unless he throws them out the window, or something. But, at least, Goyle's letter (the most dangerous item of all) could definitely be quickly put into the desk drawer.

That's what Black did, and then practically sang,

"Yea-ah, come i-in!"

When Regulus finally went inside, the first thing he noticed was the... "creative chaos". And only then his son's face — it looked the same as always, but something was wrong. Something in his eyes, or maybe in the way he smiled, betrayed nervousness. However, it wouldn't be very nice to immediately accuse the child of "Are you hiding something from me?".

"...Draco, what have you been doing here?" the tone of voice was still soft, even affectionate, "You have summer holidays, so I assume that–"

"I was writing a letter, father. To... to someone."

He had to answer like that. After all, he can't just tell his father, "I am thinking how to stop the complot against Potter with all my might, otherwise the "It" will murder him." Father shouldn't know anything about this. Especially when there wasn't a single piece of evidence, not even a hint of the Gryffindor's imminent death.

"Ah, I see, then," Regulus exhaled, "Are you already missing your friends?"

"Yeah... I was just asking Pansy how– how she was enjoying her summer, is all."

That was enough for the man to completely soften up, even smile a little. He attributed his son's panic and restless state to childish embarrassment in front of the girl. More precisely, in front of writing the perfect letter for her. And couldn't help but think, "Well, he's not like me in this sense... I guess that is a good thing. Better for him that way."

"Then I am sorry I bothered you," Draco quickly shook his head, as if to say, "no, no, it's fine", "But it is already time for dinner, you know. Usually you are the first one to run to the dining room, but today... I was starting to worry that you were not feeling we–"

"Huh?! Dinner– is it so late already?!"

Draco quickly glanced at the mantel clock standing right next to his bed. The small hand was already right on the number seven, which meant it really was time for dinner. Deeply upset, the wizard lowered his displeased gaze to the parchment on the table. While he was giving orders to Dobby, listening to how the foray into Potter's house had gone, and then wondering about the reply letter, evening had quietly arrived... well, damn. He still hadn't written anything. There was nothing going on in his head, except for the worries, "What if this idiot really is done for? What if "It" actually murders him? What will happen then?.."

However, he quickly pulled himself together. Perhaps none of this was even true. Perhaps there would be no complot at all. But if there was... then it's better to solve problems as they go.

And most importantly, better not tell Regulus anything. Not bother him for no reason. Because it's not very easy for him these days, he has a lot on his plate already. Draco understood that perfectly well.

"...ah, sorry, father. I did not keep track of the time at all," young Black said, lowering himself from his chair to the floor. Then tried to make his voice as normal and ordinary as possible, "What's for dinner?"

"Everything as usual. But there will be a little surprise."

"E-e-eh..."

The boy tried his best to analyze the emotions on his father's face, and especially his sly look. Just like a cat who was about to break into a smile. Usually he behaved like that only when–

"...some kind of gift awaits me downstairs?" suddenly his gray eyes sparkled with anticipation. And when Regulus finally smiled a little, everything became obvious and clear as day, "Seriously?! What is it, what is it?!"

"I do not know. This is a surprise for you, not me."

Running down the stairs several times faster than his father, Draco practically flew through the floors — from the third to the first, into the living room. And because of this, Grandma Walburga's screams were heard from even lower down, "Do not gallop around the house! You are an aristocrat!". And perhaps the boy would've apologized to the portrait in the same loud tone, if his gaze hadn't caught on something much more interesting. All the worries and anxieties about Potter were immediately forgotten. Now, the huge black and silver broom, lying on the table at an ideal angle and tilt, was more important than them.

When young Black, already smiling from ear to ear, ran closer, he shouted loudly,

"Nimbus 2001?! This is the newest model, it just came out! When, how...?!" and most importantly, why? After all his father didn't want to buy him a broom at all last year, and then suddenly, "A new broom, and it is only mine!.. I will be able to take it to Hogwarts, I will be able to fly on it there!"

While his son was spinning around the table, afraid to even touch the gift with his hands, Regulus finally went downstairs. He honestly tried to look unperturbed, but small details still gave him away. And his voice even more so when he finally asked,

"What kind of surprise did you get, dragon?" then, continuing to play along with himself, he was even surprised. Or rather, feigned surprise, "My-y, a broom. Oh, I wonder who it could be from?"

"Father, you know perfectly well who it is from," Draco thought, but didn't say anything out loud. He was too happy and grateful to be feisty.

Regulus seemed to want to say something else, but didn't have time. The way his son suddenly rushed to hug him, practically squeezing with both arms, made him shut up. And then, smile and ruffle his white hair. The money spent was all worth it, since it brought Draco so much delight.

Well, honestly, the man understood him quite well. If he had had such a broom as a child, he'd also be glowing with happiness and jumping around the house like a hare.

"So, are you happy, dragon? Did you like the surprise?"

Pulling away, the boy quickly nodded his head and began to babble, "Yes, yes! Thank you, thank you, tha-a-ank you! Father, you are the best!". And then, he went back to the table, saying that he'd try out the broom in action right this very minute.

"Wha– Draco, where are you goin– dinner first!"

Chapter Text

Unfortunately, the plan failed. Although Black was sure that his twelve-year-old brain had thought everything through very well.

Potter had a whole fight with the house elf and still returned to school. Just how reckless could he be? Was he not at all frightened by the words about terrible, mortal danger? Or did the Boy-who-already-survived-once decide that he'd survive a second time? Draco didn't understand this kind of logic. Any sane person would hide at home or at least ask for help from outside, but this idiot... didn't seem to be bothered by anything. He reeked of arrogance.

"Draco, maybe you should stop staring at the Gryffindor table?" Pansy sighed loudly, "It is only the second of September, and you're already trying to eat them alive with your gaze."

"I am not staring, I am just studying," the boy muttered in response.

"You're weird. If they're annoying you, just throw a curse at them and that's it."

"I confirm, you will feel better," Crabbe chuckled. Young Black, snorting, just rolled his eyes in response.

And just as Draco was starting to think: "Well, fine, maybe there is no danger after all. Maybe Goyle just misunderstood or heard something wrong," when suddenly... the Chamber of Secrets opened. More precisely, someone intentionally opened it for the first time in so many years. The entire school immediately went crazy from such an unthinkable act. After all, only one person could do this — the heir of one of the founders of Hogwarts. The heir of Salazar Slytherin himself.

But who could it be, if the family died out long ago?

"The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir... beware". The terrible words written in blood made it clear: everything that was happening was no joke. And the Chamber of Secrets itself was no joke either. There were many chilling legends about this place, including the one about the "dangerous monster".

"A monster" means "it". "It"... "It will murder him."

"...Goyle!" Draco almost pounced on his housemate in their shared room, where they were lucky enough to be alone for now, "What is going on?! What does this all mean?!.."

"Uh– what are you talking abou–"

"You know perfectly well what I am talking about. You know something about everything that's going on."

The big boy, almost a head taller, looked at him in genuine bewilderment. Either he was pretending to be a blockhead, or he actually was one.

"You wrote it in the letter. You wrote about "It"," clearly remembering that, Gregory nodded, "And now the Chamber of Secrets has opened... all of this is definitely connected. And you know how!"

"N-no, really..."

"Why are you lying to me? You said so in your letter, then–"

"I don't know... I've only heard about Potter's death."

Draco looked into his housemate's eyes with distrust and confusion at the same time. Such a boy wouldn't come up with cunning plans — doesn't have enough brains. And it was clear that he was no less scared, judging by his face. After all, the blood on the walls (it's not even clear whether it was from an animal or a person) brought panic even to the professors, let alone the children...

"T-then... what does all this mean? Who opened the Chamber of Secrets?"

"I... I don't know?" Gregory insisted, looking at the blond in bewilderment and slight panic. He whispered again, "But you should know, you heard about Potter's death...", "Yes, I heard... aren't you happy?"

"Wha– no!" Draco immediately got even more angry and furious than before.

His housemate didn't understand him. How could that be? Black can't stand Potter. Which means he should be glad that this idiot will be gone soon. Shouldn't he be? Isn't that how it usually works?

"You really do not know anything about the Chamber of Secrets? Nothing, nothing at all?" the boy shook his head with sadness. Breathing out raggedly, Draco finally relaxed his fingers on his robe. Then let go completely, "Huh..." then, in order to somehow apologize, he continued, "...do you want truffles?.. Father gave me the parcel this morning, and..."

"Can I?! Really, can I?" Gregory's eyes immediately sparkled with happiness. He seemed to have totally forgotten about the situation that had just happened.

"Of course you can. Just leave a little more for Blaise, Crabbe and Nott."

The next morning, Draco, who hadn't had a good night's sleep due to all the thinking and pondering, ran to find the Gryffindor trio. There were no classes scheduled with them today, so he had to work hard. Even asked some first-years if they had seen Potter or his friends anywhere. Of all of them, only a smiling, kind child with a camera in his hands answered. His name was... Colin Creevey, right? That same devoted fan of the reckless hero.

"Harry Potter will have Herbology soon! I'm sure he'll earn a lot of points there. He's Harry Potter himself, he–"

"Yes, sure, alright," Black muttered quickly, turning towards the greenhouses, "Merci pour votre aide."

"Oh, err... what? What did he say?.." Colin was genuinely surprised, tilting his head to the side. He didn't understand French?(didn't even know if he had guessed the language correctly) at all. But still hoped that nothing bad had been said to him.

Draco managed to get to the greenhouses just at the same time as the Gryffindors. Upon seeing him, all the students were immediately surprised, "Are we going to have a class with Slytherin?.. Did the schedule change?" and began to exchange weird glances. Harry and his friends only wanted to quietly, so as not to run into another fight, go inside. But the boy's voice stopped them,

"Wait, Potter, this is important," the hero immediately drew his eyebrows together, his face darkening with doubt. Weasley was ready to rush to his friend's defense at any moment, "I myself have not yet fully figured out who is behind all this, but... you have to understand, it is dangerous for you to be in Hogwarts now. You need to go home before "It" murders you."

"What? Black, what on Earth are you even talking about?.." the shocked girl muttered, frowning.

"About a complot against Potter. I know that there is some kind of plot to make the most terrible things happen."

Harry, suddenly widening his green eyes, was stunned. He already heard these words before — exactly the same words. For a few seconds he could only stare at Draco's worried face. But then twisted his face in anger,

"So it was your elf who came to me!" his two friends looked at him with sincere bewilderment, "All 'cause of you...! Do you even know what happened to me this summer 'cause of you, Black?! You ruined everything!" the fair-haired boy, opening his mouth, could only blink his eyes. He? Ruined everything? What exactly is "everything"?

"Harry had bars on his windows! So it was your fault?!"

"Black, how could you! You– you deprived Harry of normal summer holidays!"

Draco didn't understand a thing. He only wanted the best. Only wanted to help– to save Harry Potter. To do at least one good deed. So why did he suddenly get such a reaction in response? Shouldn't he have been thanked for his advice and for his concern? The Slytherins would've already decided that he wanted to be their friend, yet the Gryffindors... did this mean nothing to them?

"No, wait, I– there is definitely some plot, the Chamber of Secrets opened for a reason– Potter will die–"

"Don't you dare threaten Harry!" Hermione couldn't stand it anymore, taking out her wand. It was unclear what spell she was planning to spook him with, but the Slytherin still took a step back. He wasn't scared, just... okay, no, he was scared. Because the girl's brown eyes sparkled very dangerously and unkindly, "You're plotting something bad, but we won't let you get Harry into this!"

"No! You impossible idiots, I only want to..." Draco suddenly stopped himself.

"Never do something against the will of another person."

He thought for a couple of seconds, biting his lip. On the one hand, he should be a good son and follow advice. On the other... Potter actually could be in danger. He needed help, despite all the yelling and distrust. Isn't that so?

"Got it?"

Changing his tone of voice, Black asked a bit awkwardly,

"You... you do not want me to help you? Are you against my help?" all three of them instantly grimaced, "I am very clever and smart, you know. Smarter than even your curly-haired friend. And I can be useful–"

"Then go and be useful for You-Know-Who, like everyone else in your house."

Finally falling silent, the boy looked at Ron's angry face. That boy was ready to beat him up with either his fists or spells at any second. Just give him a reason — and he'll definitely use even his barely working, broken wand. Just like Harry and Hermione, who didn't want to listen anything. They didn't even try to understand, they just stubbornly stood their ground. So they were against help after all. And Draco can't do anything against someone else's will. He can't.

The Slytherin looked at the three of them for a second, two, three, and then almost howled,

"A-a-argh, how can you all be so stupid?! And most importantly... why am I such a good son, huh?!" the trio blinked their eyes in surprise, starting to look at him like he was insane.

Father was right, and Draco should've listened to him from the very beginning. There was no need to do something against other people's will, even if that "something" was help. Potter didn't want to be saved, so... so fine, he can sort out his problems on his own. And Black will immediately stop doing what he was doing. As if it didn't concern him in the first place.

"Voulais aider, mais– tant pis! Je ne vais pas me fatiguer à!.."

"...w-what?" Ron whispered, not understanding a single word.

"Ugh! Va te faire voir!"

Draco, pouting in an offended manner, turned around and went back to the castle. The Golden Trio looked at each other in shock, but then gradually decided to go about their business. Ron began to parody the Slytherin — or rather, his French speech. Hermione, though, thought more deeply about the words about the Chamber of Secrets, the complot and a certain "It".

"He's definitely up to no good... The Chamber of Secrets opened, and he knows something about it..." her thoughts, however, were interrupted by Harry's words.

"...this is what I always get for helping people! Never shall I ever help anyone again!" meanwhile, the young Slytherin, stomping menacingly, hurried to his class, "I do not care what happens to Potter. I do not care, do not care, do not ca-are!"

Potter's not a muggle-born. He has some pure blood, so there's nothing to be afraid of. He'll be fine. Right? Isn't that so? Maybe Goyle did mix something up and Granger is in danger of dying instead?

Actually Draco wouldn't want that either.

"No! No, I do not care about them," he tried his best to convince himself, "Even if all three of them die, I do not care! I will listen to my father and will not do anything!"

"Draco-o, where have you been? I was already afraid you'd be late," smiling, Pansy was waiting for him at the desk in the Potions classroom. She seemed to be in a good mood today. Well... at least someone in this school was lucky enough for that.

***

A few days later, Draco was accepted to the Quidditch team — and, lo and behold, on his first try. The other Slytherins appreciated the clever tricks that Regulus had originally come up with and decided, "Yes, we do need a player like that." And he was very pleased with that, really.

What didn't please him was Potter's antics during the mock duel. When Draco threw a spell at him and created a snake out of thin air, the Gryffindor wasn't scared. He didn't run away in fear, didn't even try to destroy the animal. Instead, he spoke to it. In pure, obvious to everyone, clear Parseltongue. He hissed something to the serpent and it obeyed, while all the other students watched in horror.

"But this... this cannot be!" Black thought, momentarily forgetting how to breathe. Now he was afraid of his own snake, because from now on it listened to Potter, "Only the heirs of Slytherin know Parseltongue, and Potter is not–"

Then, even more horrified by the sudden realization, the boy backed away. Of course, this was nonsense. Total nonsense! But what if Harry Potter is the heir of Slytherin? Does that mean he opened the Chamber of Secrets? After all, only he could have the power to do so...

"But... but what did Goyle talk about then?!" Professor Snape suddenly blocked the frightened Draco with his back. This brought some relief (it wasn't so scary behind another person's robe), but only for a second. Because the man also stared at the little parselmouth in genuine shock, "Or maybe Goyle messed something up and... and Potter will murder someone?!" was that really the reason why the Gryffindor was so angry with him? Because Black wanted to interfere with his devious plans? "But... why?! Isn't Potter a hero?!.."

"Evanesco," the professor's voice broke slightly, but still, the spell worked. Soon the snake turned into simple ash, which also soon disappeared, "...mister Black? Are you all right?"

"Ah, err, y-yes...?"

"You are much paler than usual," it sounded a bit like an insult. Well, so be it.

"Uh, I, no... just a... trick of the light."

Rumors spread around the school faster than one could even imagine. You sneeze in one part of Hogwarts, and people are already saying that you died of dragon pox in another. That's the only way it worked here. As soon as everyone found out that Potter was a parselmouth (and also, possibly, the heir of Slytherin), the students turned against him. They began to look at him with contempt, fear. Especially muggle-born wizards, who were already not very much welcomed here.

Black didn't really understand which of his many theories was correct. Was Potter bad or, on the contrary, good? Only Merlin knew. But the Slytherin was absolutely sure that he — a pure-blood wizard — was safe for now. If someone is going to kill him, he'll be the last one on the list. And that will happen only over his father's dead body.

He told Dobby not to bother Potter anymore. The house-elf, though, couldn't quite comprehend this change of plan and certainly couldn't accept it. He was as stubborn as everyone in the Black family. Said he'd figure out how to help the hero himself. And didn't listen that he can't just do anything he wanted without someone else's consent.

Draco could only sigh dejectedly then. The year promised to be difficult.

"...it's so unfair," Harry muttered, crossing his arms over his chest in anger. With a dull sound, he almost sank into the chair, "Everyone compares me to Voldemort. To the murderer of my parents," Ron and Hermione could only lower their heads sadly, "They think that I have some relation to him, that I'm the heir– rubbish! Total rubbish!" then with a spark of hope the boy looked at his friends, "You don't believe it, do you? Even though I'm the only one who hears all these... voices?" his friend hesitantly tugged at her robe, "You're on my side, aren't you?"

"Harry, of course we're on your side, but... you have to understand. Until we find out who the real heir is, everyone'll continue to blame you," the girl's words made the Gryffindor practically groan in indignation.

"Yeah, mate, tough luck... if only everyone heard what Black told us instead of your Parseltongue. They'd start blaming him."

Granger, jumping up like a spring, suddenly got very liven up. She even accidentally dropped her book, and began to fuss unnaturally, which frightened her friends a little.

"That's right, Black! How come I didn't guess it right away?! He said he knew something about the Chamber of Secrets, even mentioned some kind of complot," the boys quickly exchanged glances. Then, frowning, began to listen attentively to every word, "And he's a Black... yes, it's not surprising at all if he has a connection with Slytherin...!"

"What? Why's it "not surprising"?" straightening up in his chair, Harry asked.

Almost tripping over her school robe, the curly-haired girl quickly sat down by the fireplace. Her friends (Harry had to literally jump out of his cozy spot) hurried after her. When all three settled in a small circle, Hermione continued on an exhale,

"I read a lot about the Blacks this holiday. And well, I understand why Draco's so proud of his last name... the Blacks, like the Malfoys, had a huge influence on the Ministry and the entire magical community," she paused for a second to pray silently, "I hope I will pronounce the name correctly," "You know, Arcturus Black was even awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class."

"And that is...?"

"That's a really cool thing, mate! It's awarded only to witches and wizards who have done great things for our world," Weasley smiled.

"Yes, and Professor Lockhart only has a Third Class Orde– ahem."

The girl apologized for getting off topic. Especially since only for the sake of bragging about a fact she read about and mocking their new vain teacher.

"The Blacks were considered some kind of royalty, so every wizarding family dreamed of being related to them. And by now... well, absolutely all wizards are very distantly, but at least slightly related to them," Ron quickly muttered that even his own grandmother was a Black before she married, "The Blacks are also a very ancient family, so... God, how could I be so stupid?! I didn't think of it right away, but it's quite possible to assume–"

"Are you saying that the Blacks are related to the Slytherin family? C'mon, that's crazy!"

"No, mate, you don't understand the scale of the tragedy," the red-haired boy himself laughed at the name he came up with for all this, "Literally everyone married the Blacks. Even their own relatives, in order to..." he cringed, feeling great discomfort from just one fact, "Ugh... to keep their blood pure. And all that."

"...Christ," Harry couldn't help but whisper, adjusting his glasses.

"And the Slytherin family is no exception to the rest. I bet there must still be at least one descendant–"

"Or, in our case, a direct heir."

The boys nodded, deciding to continue listening to their friend.

"Moreover, like the Malfoys, Lestranges, Carrows and other families, the Blacks are known for their hatred of muggle-borns."

"Yes, they are!" Ron supported, although not at all cheerfully, "All wizards, like the Blacks, hate 'em. They always call 'em by that nasty word..."

"Nasty word?" his two friends, who had never lived in the magical world before, had no idea what he was talking about. Even the smart and brilliant Hermione knew nothing. Incidentally, this is a rare occurrence. You could write it down somewhere in the calendar and celebrate every year.

The red-haired wizard sighed. It was obvious that he was vehemently opposed to saying a certain "word". He turned up his nose and grimaced, but for the sake of his friends said it anyway,

"It's about the most insulting thing you could think of. A really foul name for someone who is muggle-born... y'know, non-magic parents," Harry and Hermione still didn't get the gist of it. Because they hadn't even heard the word itself, "You've probably already realized that there are purebloods among us. They consider themselves better than everyone else, although there's not much difference. I mean, look at Neville. He's a pureblood, one of the sacred twenty-eight, but what's the point, huh?"

"Ron, don't say that, it's rude."

He scratched his ear guiltily and then continued,

"Anyway, that awful word is mudblood. Dirty blood, see. Common blood. But I think it's totally crazy... everyone, especially the Death Eaters, are so obsessed with blood purity, and that our magical race is more superior, like– like some–"

"Nazis," the girl suddenly blurted out.

Harry gasped in surprise and looked at her almost scandalized. However, he couldn't say that she was wrong either. After all, not only did he go to history lessons at a muggle school, but he was also forced to study well. Whether he wanted to or not, he had to memorize certain things. Ron sat in genuine bewilderment the whole time: didn't understand such a lively reaction. Just like he didn't understand the meaning of the word.

"I'll tell you later, it's... it's muggle history," Hermione whispered quietly, lowering her eyes, "It just seemed like the ideology was similar to yours... I mean, to the local ideology."

"Hm, to me this word is more similar to another insult. Also muggle, also very bad."

The little red-haired wizard completely stopped understanding anything. It was as if the friends decided to turn the tables and become the smartest in the room. Weasley asked to name this insult (after all, he said "mudblood" out loud!), but both Hermione and Harry hesitated.

"No, Ron, it's... a very, very bad word, I won't say it," the Gryffindor adjusted his glasses again. Apparently, he was getting more nervous, "But Uncle Vernon used it. He doesn't like dark-skinned people in our town..."

"Eh? E-eh?!!"

Weasley couldn't really catch why exactly he was so mad, but it's not like he was able to restrain himself anymore,

"Muggles insult each other because of skin color?!" his friend then tactfully added, "And not only that...", "Are you kidding? You're definitely kidding, both of you!" but for some reason his best mates didn't start giggling or even smiling, "What's next? You're going to tell me that muggles are also against wizard-to-wizard and witch-to-witch relationships?!"

When Harry awkwardly coughed (embarrassed by the fact that Aunt Petunia was so vehemently condemning such a thing), Ron could only open his mouth in shock. He blinked his eyes, and then whispered,

"...o-okay, we'll circle back to that later," because all three of them had gone off in completely different directions. They needed to get back to the original topic immediately, "So, Black," his friends, perking up, quickly nodded, "His family is teeming with insane dark wizards. And is connected to every existing magical family, including Slytherin. They're pure-blooded snobs. For centuries they have considered muggle-borns to be worthless. And Black himself is a vile bastard," after that Ron exhaled loudly, drooping his shoulders, "Have I listed everything?"

"Mate, the list's clearly longer. But this is enough for us to assume that he opened the Chamber."

Granger, again starting to fidget with her robe, began to whisper, "Black is the heir, Black is the heir, how come I didn't guess right away?..".

"Black seems to be friends with these... Parkinson and Zabini, right?" Harry asked, barely remembering the names of his classmates from another house, "They must know something. Or even helped him. So we can go and ask–"

"No, Parkinson and Zabini are from the smart category. They won't even listen to us," his curly-haired friend sighed.

"And we'll be lucky if they don't hex us right away."

"...then, those giants? Crabbe and Goyle?"

At first, Hermione wanted to say that they weren't that stupid either. However, she suddenly froze, diving into her thoughts. For three or four seconds she pondered, whether it was possible to do this, how many rules they'd break, then also remembered the blood writing on the wall and sighed heavily again.

"There is one way. I warn you, it will be difficult and dangerous."

Ron and Harry exchanged glances, then chuckled excitedly in turn,

"No risk, no butterbeer!"

"Tell us what the plan is."

Chapter Text

Polyjuice potion — that was Hermione's simple, but extremely cunning plan. Since it's theoretically impossible to get information in their real bodies, they needed to do it in others. Therefore, the girl decided not to ask the Slytherins (even the dumbest ones), but to become them. At least for a little bit. The exact duration of the potion's effect couldn't be determined. The book wrote that sometimes it could last only ten minutes, and sometimes as much as twelve hours. None of the three Gryffindors wanted either of the options. Ten minutes was critically short, while being in someone else's flesh for almost a day was pure torture.

And there was also a huge chance of getting caught. In that case, punishment from the professors would be unavoidable. But the children figured out that detentions were better than allowing Black to continue his atrocities. One muggle-born boy, Colin, had already been paralyzed at school. If they won't do anything about it, the chain's just going to continue. And then the students would start dying one after another.

This was exactly what the person who opened the Chamber of Secrets wanted.

"...are we going to drink this?" Harry asked suspiciously, looking at the viscous, mud-like mixture. It reminded him of something extremely unpleasant. And the associations made it even worse, on a mental level.

"Yeah..." said her friend, not hiding the same disgust. She had been brewing this potion in the girls' toilet for the whole month and thought that she should've gotten used to its look and smell, but... her face still wrinkled unpleasantly, "I don't know exactly how long the effect will last. Maybe an hour. Maybe more. Or less."

"So, it's better not to waste time," concluded Ron.

The girl, grimacing, carefully poured the potion into glasses. Frankly speaking, no one wanted to drink it. They all had to persuade themselves, "This is for a good cause, this is for the others."

Moaning Myrtle, the local ghost of a fourteen-year-old girl who constantly cried at everything, was giggling today for some reason. As if she knew that the three of them would fail and that they were just wasting their time. And also taking up space in her lavatory.

"Add hair, that's an important step," Hermione clarified before all three of them had drained their glasses.

"Ugh... essence of Crabbe..."

When they finally drank the potion, all three kids immediately regretted it. Ron felt as if every organ inside him was curled up. Throwing the glass and smashing it to pieces, he ran away saying, "I think I'm gonna be sick". Hermione, soon doing the same, followed his example. Only Harry remained standing in place, covering his mouth with a hand. His whole body burned terribly, melting right before his eyes, turning into something huge and unsightly. Looking in the mirror with horror, the boy saw his shoulders broaden, his fingers thicken, his eyes lose their green glow, and his hair become short and straight. There was still that nasty taste on his tongue — like spoiled cabbage. Potter coughed loudly, but even so, couldn't get rid of it.

"It's all for the greater good," he reminded himself, feeling his knees tremble. Which were now not his own, "For the sake of saving everyone...!"

After a few more moments of terrible torment, the body finally froze. It stopped seething from the inside and acquired a clear appearance — the face of Gregory Goyle. The stolen uniform no longer hung like a sack, but sat like a glove.

"Jesus Christ..." the boy muttered, touching his (or rather, not quite his) cheeks. The voice didn't change at all. That's bad.

Vincent Crabbe — that is, Ron in his body — soon appeared from the stall, limping slightly. So he didn't vomit the potion after all. He endured it, like a true Gryffindor.

"Harry...? Bloody hell."

"We still sound like ourselves," his friend noted, "You, err... You need to sound more like Crabbe. A little lower."

"Oh, um... blood hell?" Ron sounded funny. This tone clearly didn't suit him. But at least it didn't give him away. Harry should also try changing his voice then,

"Excellent."

When the boys called Hermione, for some reason she refused to go. Had she changed her mind? Ron wanted to knock on the door, and then open it, but a voice stopped him, "Just go, you're wasting time!". Nodding to each other, the friends quickly ran towards the dungeons. Mentally hoping that Draco was there now.

However, as soon as they ran to the lower floor, it wasn't their enemy who caught them. It was, of all people, Percy Weasley — Ron's extremely arrogant older brother. The same one who didn't hesitate to brag about his position as a prefect at any convenient opportunity.

"I shall report you to Professor McGonagall. She will give you detention for wandering the corridors after curfew," the red-haired boy said, looking haughtily at the two second-years. Ron wanted to hit him, but he knew he couldn't. His brother wouldn't understand, instead would only get angrier. And then, he'll send them both to the headmaster, which is absolutely not needed now, "What're your names again?"

"Oh, uh, um–"

"Crabbe, Goyle!" all three turned around, "Where have you two been? Do you want points taken off us?"

It seemed that fate had finally stopped playing a cruel joke on them. Draco Black himself appeared nearby, just when they needed him. He came closer, looked at the two friends, then asked in shock,

"Why are you wearing glasses?" Harry almost hit himself hard on the forehead.

He was so used to wearing them day and night — sometimes it seemed as if the glasses had already grown together with his face — that he didn't even notice. And didn't take off the thing that so clearly gave away his true identity.

"I, uh, reading...!" putting the glasses away, he muttered the first thing that came to mind.

"Reading?" obviously, Draco didn't believe him. He looked at him in confusion for a couple more seconds, then frowned strangely. As if he sensed a catch, but tried not to show it. What if it was just his paranoia getting the better of him? "You never told you had bad eyesight..." after that, he looked at the red-haired teen, who still hadn't left, "And what are you doing down here, Weasley?"

"You're talking to the prefect right now, Black."

"I know exactly who you are. So do not go around forgetting who I am."

They glared at each other for a while, and then they parted ways like ships at sea. Surprisingly, Percy didn't say anything more about detentions. Was he scared of a pureblood Slytherin? Was that possible? Or did he just decide that His Majesty the Prefect had more important things to do?

In any case, he buggered off, and that's good.

"Ugh, these prefects are so annoying! Especially the Gryffindor ones," Black said as he was already walking into the common room. In a matter of seconds, the pompous, aristocratic boy became more... human, or so? Ron and Harry couldn't help but be amazed at such a change, "I wish I could become a prefect later and get back at them...! But, oh, unfortunately, they will graduate soon."

The Slytherin common room was a gloomy, uncomfortable place — it was half under the lake, after all. Nevertheless, it looked like it had been furnished by someone with great taste. All around there were tapestries, ebony cabinets, columns, lamps and candlesticks with ornate, intricate patterns. The fireplace was huge, but it was of absolutely no use; the room was still so cold and chilly. How could you even live here?

"Maybe that's why all the Slytherins are such bastards?" Ron thought involuntarily, trying to hold back a grin, "If I grew up here, I'd hate everyone around me too."

"Well, sit down?" the blond said, gesturing to the leather sofa opposite, "Things have gotten really bad at Hogwarts lately, have not they? Maybe I should not have come back here, not Potter?"

"...and why shouldn't Potter have come back?" the sudden question from "Goyle" stumped the boy. He frowned and turned his gaze, full of bewilderment, to his housemate.

"I have asked you that a thousand times, Goyle. It was you who wrote about the complot and mortal danger back in summer."

The boys quickly exchanged glances. Such news clearly stunned both of them.

"You have not really told me anything significant and worthwhile yet, and now you are asking me... pfft, as if I know!"

"Ah, hah... I forgot. You know me, so thick and all," Harry somehow tried to get out of the situation. The Slytherin looked doubtfully, narrowing his gray eyes like he was suspecting something. But then simply turned away. Perhaps that was enough to convince him.

Perhaps.

"But... I do regret that I do not know anything," Draco continued, looking somewhere towards the windows. He was watching the mermaids in the lake, "Potter speaks Parseltongue, which means he could be the heir of Slytherin. Maybe the one who plans to murder everyone here."

Harry clenched his hands tightly. He tried to mentally convince himself that he didn't need to get into a fight now, he didn't need to prove that all this was untrue.

"I have thought a lot about this theory. But Nott said it did not make any sense. That idiot is a hero, after all... the great defender of the poor and wretched people, Saint Potter," after he spat out the name with hostility, the boy sighed sadly. And again turned his gaze to two friends, "...I wish I could understand who's behind all this. And I want to hel– figure everything out properly. But I am a good son and I listen to my father's words well."

Ron rolled his eyes, as if to say, "Oh, here we go again, talking about Regulus Black once more."

"So I shall stay out of this. I will not do anything, since everyone is so-o-o against my presence in the matter."

True, the boy personally considered himself an excellent help. If only he were allowed, he'd definitely come up with something. It's not exactly right to have a scary monster roaming around the castle, attacking a cat or a young student. He didn't want anyone to actually die here, in such a bright, kind and magical place. He didn't want to admit even more that... a little, but Black was worried about other people's lives.

"Though, maybe it's still worth looking for  some information in our home library later..." Draco whispered this very quietly, almost inaudibly. And then, as if trying to hide the fact that he was saying something, yawned loudly. Ron and Harry considered this a sign that he was bored with the conversation, "Well, nevermind! It is not a royal thing to help someone, am I not right?"

It seemed that Black was not lying. He acted relaxed (not like usual), sincere. Like an ordinary boy of his age, and not the stereotype of an arrogant aristocrat. Harry and Ron didn't understand how they could've miscalculated so much. How could they not have noticed that Goyle could be responsible for the plot instead?

"But... no," the Gryffindor with the scar quickly came to his senses, "Black said that Goyle doesn't really know anything either. None of the Slytherins know. They only make theories, nothing more..."

But could it be so? If the Slytherins aren't aware of anything and if Harry himself isn't the heir too, then who is behind all this? Who opened the Chamber of Secrets and paralyzed the muggle-born boy already?

"I recently spoke to Dobby and he managed to find out that the Chamber of Secrets was opened exactly fifty years ago. Do you know who could have opened it?"

"Crabbe" and "Goyle" shook their heads.

"Hmm... too bad that no one knows. And it is useless to look for this information in books either... I hope no one gets murdered at this rate," Draco watched his friends and felt that something was wrong. Something was changing, right before his eyes. At first he thought he was delirious, but no. It was true. The feeling of some kind of catch became stronger than it had been in the corridor. So he decided to speak more slowly. Tried to keep these two in the living room for a longer period of time, "You know well, knowledge is light and ignorance is darkne..."

The Gryffindors didn't immediately understand why Black stopped talking. They only realized when he had already jumped up from the sofa. Looking at each other, Harry and Ron noticed: the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead was starting to appear again, while the black hair was changing color to bright orange.

"You..." the blond's gray eyes widened in horror. But literally a moment later he turned red with anger. After all, he wanted to help the hero and his friends all this time, but they... what were they even trying to achieve by doing this? "You!" the boys jumped up from the sofa, realizing that they needed to run away. When Draco took out his wand, they were already hurrying to the exit at full speed, "Potter! Weasley! You stole the bodies of my housemates, came here to interrogate me... how dare you?!"

It seemed he cast some kind of spell, but Ron managed to dodge. Then dragged his friend along by his cloak so that he wouldn't get caught.

"You disgusting, you vile...!" Draco didn't understand why, but he felt betrayed. These two obviously wanted to interrogate and then blame him. Most likely, even pin the opening of the Chamber of Secrets on him, "Nasty, damned, arrogant Gryffindors!" hearing a loud, high-pitched scream, Nott came out with a book in his hands. He, looking around, sincerely didn't understand who his housemate was shouting at in the empty common room, "I shall not forgive you! I hate you, I hate you! I hope you both drop dead next!"

"...have you completely lost your mind, Black?"

"Nott! Oh, you will not believe what just happened!"

Harry and Ron, who were running fast, somehow managed to escape. They stumbled in their robes, even accidentally ran into the real Crabbe and the Goyle in the corridor, but managed to get out of the mess. When the danger was definitely over, they stopped at the turn to catch their breath.

"...so it wasn't him," Potter whispered, breathing heavily, "Black didn't do it."

"And Goyle, too, and... the Slytherins aren't involved at all!" he didn't want to admit it, but he had to.

"Younger Slytherins."

The clarification made Ron tilt his head to the side in confusion.

"C'mon, think about it. No one ruled out the possibility that adults could be involved."

***

Although Theodore helped him calm down that day (he heard out the ramblings, then distracted with a game of Exploding Snap), it didn't mean that Draco forgot and forgave everything. Oh no, he was from the Black family. Blacks do not forgive disrespect to themselves. On the contrary, they respond to it as angrily and furiously as they can.

Draco, harboring a grudge, began to insult the two Gryffindors more often, more rudely. Yet now he just couldn't leave their curly-haired friend alone too. She also received her share of nasty words and spells. Deeply offended Black didn't hesitate to throw all sorts of jinxes at Potter and his friends — stinging, tickling, entangling legs, forcing to dance, confusing and so on down the list. In fact, he turned into a small living nightmare that just wanted to take revenge.

Naturally, the trio resisted him in response. Duels often took place in the corridors. And if they were caught, then either the prefects or the deans of the three houses would take away five points each. But Professor Snape, on the contrary, seemed to even encourage such behavior. He added points to Slytherin, while taking so many from Gryffindor that it was unfair. He himself wasn't at all against mocking the students morally, hurting them for one reason or another.

The rumors and whispers around the school, meanwhile, didn't even think of stopping. On the contrary, they grew stronger every day, as if someone was adding fuel to the fire. Not very quickly, but Harry realized: it was the Slytherins who spread information about the "interrogation" first among their own kin, and then among other houses.

"He's crazy..."

"Yeah, he did something like that... definitely the heir."

"He even got into the lair of the pureblood Slytherins, so us... he'll definitely kill us, every single one of us..."

Ron and Hermione tried to smile at him, never leaving him alone with these rumors behind his back, and said, "Come on, this is all rubbish. You're not the heir. We'll find the one behind all this."

The days went by, and people shied away from Harry as if he were a monster. Some Gryffindors sat further away at lunch; Ravenclaws walked faster when they saw the dark-haired boy in the corridors; children from Hufflepuff, mostly all muggle-borns, didn't even raise their heads. They were afraid that they'd be next.

Only Ernie Macmillan, being a pureblood, allowed himself the impudence — he publicly disgraced the hero right in the library,

"He only pretended to be all shy and nice. But you know what they always say about the quiet ones."

The guys from his house made Ernie sit down and keep his voice down. Even though the blood in his veins was pure, he could still become an enemy of the heir — and then he'd be in trouble. Draco, who was also in the library at that time, just chuckled to himself. It was a barely noticeable movement of his lips, a quiet laugh, but it hurt Harry beyond belief. It hurt him in a way that even the words of that Hufflepuff had not.

He really wanted to jump up from his seat and shout, "What's so funny?! Share it with the class, Black, we'll laugh together!". However, he managed to control himself in time. If he had shown aggression, he would've simply confirmed the words of the Hufflepuffs. And then even the pureblood children of this school would undoubtedly begin to fear him.

"It's alright, Harry... don't pay attention to them," his friend encouraged, but the boy only shrugged. As if he was trying to brush her words away, like a fly.

"Yeah. We know you didn't do anything bad."

But only they knew, only his best mates. Everyone else considered him pure evil. After the attack on another muggle-born, Finch-Fletchley, who miraculously managed to end up only paralyzed and not dead, the school completely stopped trusting Harry Potter. Children, both older and younger, didn't want to be in the same space with him, even such a large one. One first-year Ravenclaw (also muggle-born, it seems), as soon as she noticed Harry in the corridor, immediately dropped all the books. Then, crying and screaming, ran away.

"Wow, Potter, and I thought you could not possibly get any more cruel," at that moment, as luck would have it, Black was passing by in the corridor. Once again, he made a nasty remark, "Are you not ashamed of making little girls cry? Why did you scare her like that?"

"I didn't...! She– she...!"

The Slytherin shook his head theatrically, clicking his tongue. He was deliberately getting on his nerves with all might. Harry wanted to either fistfight or start explaining his rightness, but it was unlikely that this arrogant aristocrat would listen.

"Yes, yes, alright," raising his chin, the boy snorted gloomily, "I hope you will not kill this one."

"Wha– I told you...! I'm not the heir!"

The only response was a dejected silence, which made him want to bang his head against the walls. Those same walls through which he could still hear all these stupid voices.

The Christmas holidays were approaching, and absolutely all the students had decided: it'd be better to go home this year than to be under threat of death. The Hufflepuffs had been flashing their packed suitcases on purpose a few days before the holidays, as if to show, "Look, we're all leaving. Because of you, because of you alone. It's all your fault." And Harry, like an idiot, involuntarily started to think. What if he actually was guilty? In some truly magical way, but still guilty?..

Ernie Macmillan, unable to sit silently, blurted out right on the day of his departure,

"You were at the scene of every crime, Potter," well, couldn't argue with that. It really was an irrefutable fact with hundreds of witnesses, "Either you're da-amn unlucky, or you're doing this. You're attacking my friends... attacking everyone."

"If it really was me attacking everyone, you'd be next."

It was supposed to be just a bad joke, or rather a barb. After all, there was no strength left to endure this bullying. He wanted to hurt the students around him for their stupid words, just a little. But nothing more than that. All this shouldn't be perceived as something serious and frightening. However, Ernie turned a little pale, and the boys from his house froze dead in their tracks. For a few seconds, no one said anything, but then they literally began to drag Macmillan back by the sleeves of his robe. While blabbering,

"See? See?! Now he's threatening us right to our faces!"

"Even Ernie– a pureblood!"

"I wanna go ho-ome, go ho-o-ome!"

The Gryffindor table fell into such silence that you could almost hear someone's heartbeat. The older students were trying to finish their breakfast as quickly as possible, while the younger ones couldn't even get a bite down their throats. One third-year girl wasn't able to stand it any longer, jumped up from her seat and walked out of the Hall. She didn't even explain herself to her friends, who soon followed after.

"My-y," one of the Weasley twins said with a small grin. It seems that his name was Fred. Although Harry could be mistaken and get it wrong again, "We live right next door to a very evil wizard, don't we?"

"Well, if he'll treat us to a cup of tea in his Chamber of Secrets, then maybe he's not so evil!" their brother, Percy, immediately scolded, "This is not a laughing matter." However, the twins continued to joke among themselves and giggle quietly. The young Gryffindor didn't take offense at them, because he could distinguish irony and sarcasm in each of their voices.

At least someone still thought that the idea of Harry being the heir of Slytherin was ridiculous. This, albeit a little, improved his mood.

***

"Draco..." the man muttered, sighing. He looked at his son for a few seconds and then just shook his head, "How many times have I told you not to fall asleep on the couch, especially without a blanket? You will catch a cold..."

Even though he didn't want to admit it, Regulus was already seriously late. He had spent too long looking for the necessary ingredients in his lab, which, as it turned out, were right under his nose the whole time. It was awkward, but it'd be even worse to show bad manners and come later than the appointed time. Especially the time that he had appointed himself. Severus would undoubtedly make a joke like, "Were you curling up every strand of your hair? Or couldn't stop admiring yourself in the mirror?". Of course, he'd find something to say back, but still... didn't want to show such disrespect to someone he asked to see.

However, Draco seemed to be actually cold as he lay on the sofa: he was curled up, legs tucked under him, nose hidden in the sleeve of his shirt. Leaving him like that would be bad, but Accio was too slow of a spell. It would only waste time. So, sighing once more, Regulus simply pulled the lace tablecloth off the small table. With a wave of his wand, it instantly turned into a huge down blanket, which carefully landed on top of the boy.

"There we go. All better," time was running out in vain, but Black still couldn't help but come closer. At first, he only wanted to cover his son better and only then noticed the book in his hands, "...hm?"

"Secret Arts and Languages of the Ancient Wizards"? What an unusual book to choose for reading. And so old, too — it looked as if it hadn't been taken from the farthest library shelf for centuries. The thick binding was made of dark green leather, which the gold letters of the title were almost worn off on, and light cracks were visible along the edges of the spine. Where Draco got it from, how did he manage to find it? Regulus didn't know for sure, because he never saw this before.

Two black bookmarks were visible at the top. And this meant that his son had undoubtedly made notes in the book... though, this was allowed. Sometimes it was even encouraged, because this way the boy absorbed information faster and better. And unable to contain his interest, Regulus opened the book. As expected, he immediately came across a multitude of notes, marks and underlining of individual phrases.

"Evidence suggests that some Parselmouths may not be related to the Slytherin heritage. However, the wizarding community rarely believed in such exceptions." Next to "may not be related" Draco wrote in large letters, "IMPORTANT!".

"Important?.. Maybe for some essay?"

At the bottom of the page, however, there was incoherent nonsense. Although it was "nonsense" only for Regulus. Probably all made sense for the peacefully sleeping Draco, "Are the Hufflepuffs right? Or wrong?", "Was it a misunderstanding?", "If not related to the heritage, then what...?".

"Hu... Hufflepuffs? What do they have to do with this?" frowning, the wizard completely stopped understanding anything, "Draco, what are you even writing about?.."

In an attempt to get to the bottom of the truth, Black turned to the page where the second bookmark was. In the very corner of one page there was a small man with a snake's head, and next to it there were, "Snake-talker!", "Hiss! Hissss!", "Bad guy? Murderer?". Regulus involuntarily let out something like a laugh. Well... his son was definitely not lacking in creativity. He'd probably have made a good artist. Then more text, "There are known cases when Parseltongue served as a conductor of someone else's power. The wizard who "spoke it" was actually nothing more than a vessel for the voice of his master," in which Draco emphasized the last words. On the sides he began asking himself questions again, "Is someone controlling him?", "Not his own doing?", "All against his will? (you cannot do things against someone's will!!)".

But the strangest thing was to see a crossed out, barely legible surname — "Goyle".

"Alright..." Regulus couldn't say more, because he didn't understand anything at all. Even when he tried to somehow put two and two together, nothing useful came out, "Quite the notes you have there, mon cher..."

Then, carefully closing the book, he put it on the table. Tucked Draco under the blanket better and went to the fireplace, mentally praying to make it in time. "Spinner's End" — that was the name of the place where Snape lived. Honestly, the name alone didn't bode well. And oh, Regulus's intuition didn't fail him at all: instead of a peaceful, pleasant area, he found himself in some nondescript street. In its very corner, where someone had installed a small floo network a hundred years ago (away from the eyes of muggles). Suddenly he even felt a little uneasy. This place, where some houses were completely abandoned, was clearly poor. Horribly poor.

However... what's so surprising about that? Snape had looked bad, gloomy and poor since early childhood. Given the situation of his family, he simply couldn't help but live among exactly such ruins.

"Alright, enough," Regulus scolded himself in his thoughts. He also tried not to pay attention to the fact that the snow here wasn't white, but disgustingly gray. Almost like mud, "I came to ask for help, not to condemn muggle houses," although somewhere in the subconscious he still heard Mother's voice in her usual manner, "Ugh, what a miserable, wretched place! I hope you do not catch some disease here... poverty, for example!".

The distance between the houses was extremely narrow. You could even call it a real crime. Black thought that if he weren't so skinny, he simply wouldn't fit through these alleys.

"Okay, his house, his house... ah, I think it's this one," Regulus thought, noticing the very last small door. He looked around to make sure he hadn't mixed anything up, and only then knocked, "I wonder if he will give me a warm welcome?"

The door was opened only after a whole minute. The owner appeared on the threshold of the house, still as gloomy and sullen as always. Not in muggle clothes, not even ordinary home clothes, but in a robe. So he was definitely expecting a guest.

"You're late, Black. Fifteen minutes late," okay, that's not a warm welcome... what a pity. Severus definitely needed to be more hospitable to people, "I almost thought that you were pranking me. Just like your brother always loved to do," the wizard winced with displeasure. Any mention of that person caused anger, even aggression, made something rise sharply in his chest, "Who knows, maybe it runs in the family?" he had to swallow the cruel insult right along with his pride. And instead simply say,

"For Merlin's sake, do not compare me to him. At least not at the very threshold."

Severus smirked a bit. Apparently, the irritation on the guest's face genuinely amused him. Nodding, he nevertheless let Regulus into the house. It wasn't cozy at all, but on the contrary, sparse, dim and lifeless. It was obvious right away: no one looked after the house — neither the owner himself, nor the house elves (whom Snape most likely did not have). Inside, everything was as cramped as in a prison cell, which the wizard was clearly not used to. This wasn't comparable to his luxurious Grimmauld, like at all.

While the damp floor creaked underfoot, he involuntarily thought, "Merlin... are there really people who live like this? For decades?".

"Are you just going to look at the interior, Black?" a voice rang out from behind. This brought him to his senses and look away from the shabby furniture, "I'm telling you right away, stealing anything is not allowed."

"Pfft, as if I need anything here," the man snorted, rolling his eyes. He already had more than enough stuff at home. Why would he want something from Snape's poor, decrepit collection? He hadn't fallen that low yet. And if he really was interested in something, he would just buy it. After all, unlike some people, he had money.

"You're here on business, I suppose. So... start complaining, I am listening."

Regulus immediately snapped out of it, began to grumble under his breath, "Oh, yes, yes, that's right, just a second..." and rummage through a long bag over his shoulder. First, he laid out several parchments on the shabby, old table, then — vials with liquids and various ingredients.

"As I already said in my letter, I need help with the potion," the professor only nodded in response, "I was able to find some information on the customer's request, even wrote the recipe myself, but..." Black fidgeted for a long time and thought about what words to choose. However, then he just exhaled and humbly continued, "I thought that I could use a more experienced specialist in this matter. Kind of like that, Snape."

"This customer... you mentioned that he wanted something related to one of the Unforgivables?"

"Yes, the Imperius Curse," the wizard opposite slightly narrowed his black eyes, "In fact, at first I even wanted to refuse. Absolutely everything in the letter from that person seemed strange to me... this customer is not one of my "regulars". And not only is the surname not that of a pureblood, but... there are also no such people among the half-bloods," the name "Martin Harris" still haunted him, even now. Especially considering that neither Kreacher nor Dobby could find any information on him. But perhaps it was some muggle-born man, "The manner of speech is also very peculiar..."

Regulus, having fallen silent for a moment, ran his fingers over the parchments. Thought about something of his own.

"But then I reread the letter, at least five more times. "Help me and make a potion that could completely destroy the effects of the spell. That could recover anyone from it,"" Severus listened to him attentively, not daring to interrupt, "I thought that perhaps... perhaps it is a victim of the war. Either the customer himself, or one of his loved ones."

"Well... you may be right. Many people were under the influence of the Imperius during the war," the man agreed without a hint of mockery. On the contrary, with sincerity.

"Yes. And I would very much like to help this person."

After that, Regulus reached into his bag once again, for another thing. At first, Severus didn't understand what else he wanted to get out of there, but then heard a distinct sound — the clink of coins. And there were clearly a lot of them. A lot.

"I do not need charity from you, Black," the potions professor hissed warily. Then stepped back completely when a large cloth bag landed on the table.

"Not charity. It is payment for the job well done," Regulus corrected, grinning proudly. For some reason, Severus thought that he was definitely making fun of him. He had a lot of money, which meant he could throw it around left and right. Even give it to the beggars such as him, "I have exactly two hundred galleons here. Will that be enough for you?" when the silence dragged on, the man quickly added, "And, well, I can also treat you to something. Something you like. Kreacher and Dobby will cook it in the best possible way."

Finally, Snape finally softened. Muttered barely audibly,

"It's... muggle food, they wouldn't..."

"Nonsense!" the aristocrat immediately objected, "Kreacher and Dobby are geniuses at what they do, they can cook anything. They can even replicate a muggle dish better than any chef. Never underestimate the abilities of elves," Severus looked at him almost as if he were crazy. No, really, where have you ever seen such a thing? A pure-blood (and from a Black family out of all possible ones...) wizard defending house elves like that? He must've been a pretty good person, after all. Perhaps it'd be worth getting to know him better and starting to talk to him in more than just the cold phrases, "Well then? What do you think?"

A short pause — and suddenly Snape, crossing his arms, smiled with the corner of his lips. As he exhaled, he shook his head, but without any condemnation. It was more like he was trying to hide his laughter.

"Okay, fine, you convinced me. I'll help you make this "anti-Imperio" potion of yours," Regulus was ready to give himself the biggest and loudest high five.

"Brilliant."

When the professor came closer to the table and began to study Black's notes on the parchments, he whispered,

"...indeed, a very interesting request. Do you brew that kind of stuff often?"

"If the customer asks, then naturally, yes. It is my job, after all," however, then the wizard frowned slightly, "Though I never make love potions."

"Oh? Why so? People give little money for that?" Regulus immediately looked at him as if he were an idiot. Perhaps he'd even be genuinely offended if he hadn't noticed the sly grin.

"It is not about the money. It is just, well, basically... ravishment."

Another short pause hung. Snape didn't even move at first, but then he rolled his eyes. Couldn't help but think, "These damn aristocrats and their exquisite euphemisms."

"Rape," the man quietly corrected.

"That's what I just said?" this time the professor couldn't help but sigh loudly, "Be that as it may... I do not want to make such potions. Suffer as much as you want because of unrequited love, but you cannot force someone to love you. You will probably agree with me," of course, he will. He wasn't a complete psychopath that went against basic morality. Severus nodded and clenched his jaw in advance. He had already predicted what phrase would follow, "You know all about unrequited feelings."

"Dumb idiots that live in glass houses should not throw stones, Black."

"Merde, merci beaucoup. I thought we would relate to each other, or something... you could have, at least, been more polite."

Severus smiled again. It was strange, but he had done it several times since Regulus came to his house. Was he really having fun? Was it actually nice to talk to this man, like he was an old friend?

"Alright, alright, go on," the wizard said, looking back at the parchment, "Just promise not to cry when you start remembering Potter. I'm not very good at calming people down."

"Who do you think I am?.."

Frowning, Regulus gave him a displeased, even irritated look. And only after a couple of seconds snorted,

"I've long since passed that phase. I will not cry like a sad violin, for sure," lowering his shoulders, and then quietly exhaling under his breath, the wizard got rid of the pathos. Both in appearance and in his voice he became more serious, "I had... feelings for him, you know? Once upon a time, I... really did love him, but..." Severus, standing next to him, put down the parchment. He suddenly became more interested in the aristocrat's speech, "But, well, when I saw his child, when I realized that he had a child... I thought, "Oh. Wow. He really did not choose me.""

"Black..."

""He loved, but not me. So why should I still cling to these useless feelings?"... something like that, eh? Do you get what I mean?"

Licking his lips, Snape tried to find something to say. Honestly, he tried. However, just couldn't come up with a worthy answer. So instead, he thought once again how wise and mature Black actually is. But now this slipped through his head without a hint of mockery.

"...unfortunately, no, I do not get it," before the aristocrat could answer him with anything, he quickly heard, "But you're a lucky bloke, Black. A lucky bloke with a huge chance. You can still fall in love with someone, get married. Live happily ever after and all that," Regulus, surprised, blinked his eyes stupidly a couple of times.

"I... err, you– you think so? I..." he immediately stuttered. Severus found this very funny, "I am not that young anymore. Also a single father, and my son will always come first, and... not everyone would want to put up with that."

"Oh, please, Black. Handsome single fathers in their thirties attract partners like magnets. You'll be fine."

Even more confused, Regulus didn't quite know how to take such a compliment. And did Severus Snape himself just call him handsome? A scoop, truly. Nevertheless, the atmosphere seemed to have become friendlier. One could even say that the ice between them had finally broken. After he whispered, "...thank you, I guess?", the aristocrat smiled faintly. He hadn't really thought about it. He had been so busy with only Draco and his job for so many years, and then suddenly...

A lucky bloke with a huge chance, huh? It's still possible for him to fall in love and live happily with someone?

...well, for now Black tried not to think about it too much. After all, as he said, his son always comes first. Love can wait.

Chapter Text

"...ugh, Black again," the boy thought, noticing the Slytherin in the yard, "And again with a letter. Like, enough is enough?!.."

Recently, the Gryffindor began to notice that his enemy was receiving somehow way too many letters. Actually the amount was the same as always. Harry saw it differently, though. When Black read all these letters, he didn't get upset, but on the contrary, smiled. Without a doubt, his father praised him or wished him luck in exams, or simply asked how his days were going–

It's unfair. The boy couldn't help but clench his jaw every morning when he saw the Slytherin's owl. Why does a bastard like Black have a good parent, and Potter does not? Why does he only have the Dursleys and short letters from the Weasleys (mostly Molly)? And most importantly, why did it make him so angry?

"Black smiles all the time. Well, duh, of course... good for him, having someone," thought Harry, barely holding back a sad sigh behind his teeth, "It's good when someone supports you. The whole school does nothing but accuse me, avoid me... even Wood doesn't call me by name, just "hey, seeker!""

He wanted to pass by, but unfortunately, was noticed.

"What is up with that look, Potter? Almost like you ate Granger's dirty socks," the fair-haired boy chuckled. Harry quickly glanced at the letter in his hands, then quickened his pace, "O-oh, I see... are you actually that jealous?"

The Gryffindor couldn't ignore this.

"Wha– you– why would I be jealous of you?"

"How should I know? You are the one staring at me. Every morning, actually," Harry blushed with anger and embarrassment at the same time. He thought he wasn't looking so obviously!

"'m just trying to understand why you smile at all these letters. Surely you got a plan to attack some more muggleborns there. From the Heir of Slytherin himself."

"...are you stupid? No one writes to me except my father."

A very, very bad idea for a joke suddenly came to mind. It's better not to voice it, it's better to just keep walking, it's better–

"Well, that's what I'm talking about," Draco, frowning, began to get up from his seat. The meaning of the words spoken gradually dawned on him, "Maybe the Heir of Slytherin is your father."

"Oh, you...!"

At first, Black, well-mannered and all, tried to simply threaten with his wand. Also proudly raised his chin to spat out, "How dare you?! First you blamed me, now my father! Is there any limit to your audacity?!". However, Harry was not scared. Tired of everyone's hatred in this school, of rumors that he was the heir, he wanted at least someone to feel the same as he did. Even if only for a minute.

"Still trying to put your faults onto others, Potter?"

"It's not my fault!"

"Oh yeah, totally. Whose fault is it, then?"

The Slytherin squinted doubtfully, as if trying to analyze everything down to the smallest detail. He tried to conduct an investigation on the go, find answers to his own questions, "Is someone controlling him?", "All against his will? and put everything in its place.

"Do not get involved in this, do not get involved," something inside the head repeated in his father's voice. But Draco still couldn't resist the urge. He finally said the fleeting guess he had been thinking about all Christmas holidays out loud,

"...You-Know-Who?"

For Draco, this was a logical question, he just wanted to get to the bottom of the truth. For Harry, it became a comparison of himself to the killer of his parents. In other words, his last straw. He instantly snapped and lost control of himself. In a matter of seconds, both were on the ground, tangled in each other's robes and fists. The students nearby gasped in alarm — clearly did not expect a sudden fight. The two boys, grappling like outdoor cats, tried to hit and scratch, but it wasn't going too well. Everything was clumsy, fast, childish. They couldn't even use all their strength, because hands seemed to have gone numb.

"Why? Why?!" Potter was genuinely furious in his thoughts, "Why isn't he the heir? He's bad, he's Black!.." tears seemed to be welling up in his eyes. Or maybe it was just dust, "It'd be easier if he were the heir...! Why does everyone suspect me?!"

"...Professor Snape, Professor Snape, hurry up!" the older students called for help, "They're fighting here!"

Harry and Draco rolled back and forth on the ground, calling each other names. So childish and ridiculous that they seemed like idiots from the outside. They didn't immediately feel the professor's presence. Only when he separated them with magic.

"Why am I not even surprised?" Snape said, shielding the young Slytherin with his thin, gloomy figure, "Mister Potter has once again been caught in an act of meaningless violence."

"He started i–"

"Silence."

Frowning, the boy pursed his lips tightly. He glared at Black, who... well, was not happy about the fight either. All this really was just so pointless and stupid.

"Do you think fame gives you the right to attack students whenever you want? Or are you simply incapable of living more than a week without causing another incident?" Harry tried to defend himself somehow, but the cold, stern tone made him shut up time after time, "Twenty points from Gryffindor and a week of detention. Maybe scrubbing cauldrons until you pass out will teach you some patience."

It's not fair, not fair! Another adult was on Black's side, while the innocent Harry was being condemned. Clenching his fists and lips even tighter, the Gryffindor nodded with a stifled expression. Awkwardly he, then, rose from the ground, shaking the dust off his robe.

"Mister Black, you get up too. Or did our kind celebrity break your leg?"

Draco should've grinned triumphantly. Rather, he had to. This was what everyone expected of him. However, for some reason he looked at the sad, offended Potter silently. Without mockery, without sympathy, but almost with a bit of regret. Maybe he shouldn't have gone that far.

Next time he should choose his words better.

"Professor, won't... won't you take points off me?" Harry jerked in surprise, hearing the aristocrat's quiet voice. Did he just mishear it? Or was he hit on the head that hard?

Snape looked at the student sullenly and coldly, even condemningly. Then nudged him slightly in the back with his hand, as if hinting, "Go, you foolish boy, go." The question remained unanswered, which meant that the points wouldn't be taken off after all.

And when the two were leaving, Harry heard an almost plaintive voice one last time, "Professor Snape, please, just do not tell father anything... I do not want to upset him."

"Tsk. Suck-up," the Gryffindor said, adjusting his glasses.

***

"...do you think Black will ever leave us alone?" Ron asked, looking over his shoulder, at dinner.

"You said it yourself. He's a stuck-up aristocrat. And we really hurt his feelings," Hermione sighed. In general, she understood the reason for all these skirmishes that continued to happen day after day. She just didn't understand why he had to act like a cruel idiot and throw all these jinxes, "We're lucky that at least he doesn't use serious dark magic."

"Only 'cause he doesn't know it yet."

"That's also true..."

However, no matter how much Black was angry and mad, he never crossed a certain line. Never, under any circumstances, did he say the most terrible and insulting words.

"Hah, look, it is Potter. That clumsy loser," the blond chuckled, passing by the golden trio. His company of friends and acquaintances was with him, as always, "He flies on a good, expensive broom, but still lo-o-oses!" the Slytherins snickered vilely.

Yes, that's right, yesterday was the "Gryffindor versus Slytherin" match. Draco managed not only to catch the snitch, earning the team a useful fifty points, but also to coordinate the rest of the players. It looked like they had come up with a strategy in advance so that this time the opponents wouldn't have a single chance. Then managed to win before the hour given for the game was up, and left the Gryffindors with nothing.

Oliver Wood was sort of trying to drown himself in the showers. But the twins, Fred and George, eventually calmed their crying team captain.

"Shut up already, Black. You nasty snob," Hermione snorted. She was also at the end of her rope, especially after the house's loss.

"Oh, Granger has spoken up!" a girl named Pansy said, spreading her palms, "What a menacing tone, I'm so, so afraid! Dra-aco, will you protect me from this snaggle-toothed goblin?"

"You...!"

"Yeah, and what are you going to do, you filthy mudbl–"

Before Parkinson could finish, her friend raised his hand. Just one gesture was enough for the girl to fall silent in bewilderment. No, of course, she understood that she was stopped. But didn't understand why. And also why did Black have such a displeased, frowning face? As if he had eaten something unpleasant.

"Let's go," Draco said after a long pause. The girl whispered in shock, "B-but...", and then he almost had to order, "Let's go. Forward, everyone, move forward. I am not in the mood."

The Gryffindors, with their mouths wide open, looked after them in surprise. It was barely perceptible, but they still heard Draco's whisper, "That word is tough to hear. Think of a more interesting and unusual way to insult someone."

"Alright, our creative genius. Tell us about the other ways and maybe we will use them," Blaise chuckled in response. It became difficult to listen to the dialogue of the departing Slytherins any longer.

Hermione was even more shocked than her friends. The Black family, which Draco was a member of, hated muggle-borns, didn't they? He should've used that word himself — "mudblood" — left and right, but... instead he didn't let his friend say it out loud? Mentioned that it was "tough to hear"?

And could it be that Black had quietly protected Hermione from shame? Even though he hated her? It was so unexpected.

"Black..." Harry whispered, adjusting his glasses. For the first time in so much of their blind hatred, he seemed to see ten percent better, "Uh... m-maybe I'm wrong, but it looked like... or... maybe Black's not so...?"

"He throws jinxes at us almost every day. And you two were fistfighting not long ago," his friend answered as an after-the-fact. She tried not to attach too much meaning to everything that had happened.

"Well, sure, but..."

Then Potter simply waved his hand, as if to say, "okay, let's just forget about this". It's easier to think that the fair-haired Slytherin is truly evil incarnate. Than to understand all the chaos that's happening in his insane little head.

***

"...a student was taken by the monster. Into the Chamber itself," Professor McGonagall whispered in a slightly trembling voice, looking around, "Students must be sent home. I'm afraid... I'm afraid this is the end of Hogwarts."

"Is there... is there really a need for this?.. Surely the headmaster will be able to come up with something," but in response to Madam Pomfrey's words the woman only shook her head.

Even the fact that they sent Lockhart to solve the dilemma with the monster didn't calm her down at all. There are too many muggle-born students at Hogwarts, but as it turned out, they're not the only ones at risk. Now a pure-blood witch, Ginny Weasley, has ended up in the Chamber too. The death threatens absolutely everyone in the castle with no exception. And when children from influential, noble families start dying...

No, they can't let it come to that.

"This matter cannot wait," McGonagall continued, somehow holding herself in check, "We need to send letters to all the parents, and the students to their homes," Snape, who was standing closest to her, nodded.

"Alright. Then I think I'll do it right now."

"Yes, yes, Severus... I trust you with the job."

The Potions professor, not noticing the two second-years who had already run off, hurried to his office. His robes almost floated behind him as he thought about how exactly he'd inform the students' parents about everything. And first of all, of course, Regulus Black, of all possible people. Because his son was not on good terms with Potter. At all. One could even say that he was... "the enemy of the Heir".

"I don't believe that the boy is really the heir. Potter's offspring couldn't have been born the heir of Slytherin, he couldn't, but..." he shook his head weakly and walked even faster, "But the risks are for the Gryffindors, not Slytherins. Black will murder me first if anything happens to his dear sonny here..."

"...no, this is just... just unacceptable!"

Regulus was ready to hit himself over the head with the heaviest books he had in the house. What an idiot he was! Why didn't he guess right away, why did he believe his son's words, "yes-yes, right, this is just... for an essay, yes"? But the most important thing is, why did he find out about it so late? Why did professors suddenly decide to inform the parents about the terrible monster only now?

And in the Prophet... there wasn't even a word about the Chamber of Secrets or paralyzed children in the Prophet. As if Dumbledore was deliberately shushing everything down. Hoping that the problem would somehow resolve itself?

"That fucking old man..." the wizard hissed, chaotically crumpling the letter from Severus, "He could have asked for help or sent the professors to do something, but he...! What... what are you trying to achieve, Dumbledore? Obviously you let a monster roam the school for a whole year for some reason!" the anger made the blood boil inside him. So much so that he could hear it in his ears, "Especially since this whole year everyone considered Potter the heir–"

Regulus suddenly froze, once again remembering the book his son had read. Or, more precisely, all those notes left among the pages.

"If not related to the heritage, then what...?"

"The Dark... The Dark Lord was also able to speak Parseltongue."

"There are known cases when Parseltongue served as a conductor of someone else's power. The wizard who "spoke it" was actually nothing more than a vessel for the voice of his master."

"Is someone controlling him?"
"Not his own doing?"

"N-no, no, that cannot be... the Lord, the Dark Lord is dead! The Lord, he's not..." his face turned unnaturally pale, as he began to dart his eyes back and forth in panic. His guess was wrong. It had to be wrong, it simply had to be, "I destroyed the horcrux. Destroyed it. The locket, it... but why, then?.. I– I–"

Kreacher knocked, asking permission to enter. The wizard himself didn't understand whether he even had said "yes" at all. However, the elf soon stuck his head through the door and asked,

"Master, Kreacher heard you scream. Did something happen?"

Regulus jerked sharply, looking at him with fearful, lost eyes. Then shook his head, trying to pull himself together. "Calm down! Calm the fuck down!.." he began to scold himself in his thoughts. Almost even hit himself, just to stop the panic, "Potter could be in danger now– Draco could be in danger."

"Master?"

"I... Kreacher, I..." for a second he forgot how to breathe, and only then could barely exhale, "I need to go to Hogwarts, urgently," the elf instantly got surprised. Again, began to ask what had happened (more worriedly), "I need to take care of some business. And pick up Draco from school right now."

"What? But... Master, it's not June yet..." Regulus, who almost flew past him, was no longer listening. Instead, he was hurrying to the fireplace at full speed.

Kreacher ran after him with all his might, asking to stop for at least a minute. The strange cries ("What's the matter? Why do we need to pick up Master Draco?") made the second house elf, who was dusting the cabinets, panic. He dropped all his work — and now it was two elves beginning to tell, "What happened, Master? What happened?". Dobby, for some reason, was the most worried. As if he knew something.

Everyone knew something all this time. Absolutely everyone. And no one even thought for a minute, "Maybe we should tell Regulus Black about this? Well, just maybe. At least give him a hint."

Almost like he wasn't the father of a son, who was also under threat in this damned school!

"Master!" finally, the elf couldn't stand it anymore, "Dobby... Dobby will confess to everything. Just please, don't scold Master Draco. Master Draco wanted only the best, Master Draco wanted to save everyone!"

"What?.."

There was a second of silence, interrupted only by the sobs of the house elf. Regulus looked at him, studying every breath, and then cursed.

"...fine. You will tell me everything on our way," the man snorted, throwing floo powder into the fire (it instantly flared up bright green), "Kreacher, Dobby, you are coming with me."

The house elves agreed without any objections.

Hogwarts accepted the three of them inside without any problems. Black, meanwhile, listened to Dobby attentively. Between tears, he talked about the letter, how he got into the Dursleys' house during the summer, about Draco's plan and how desperately the boy wanted to help the Gryffindors. So much so that he almost found himself in the epicenter of terrible events. Kreacher rushed with threats and "how could you hide such a thing!", but his master stopped him.

Barely exhaling, he sternly commanded,

"Go to Draco and tell him to start packing," the elf nodded obediently, apologizing once again, "He is going home today, and this is not up for any discussions. I shall answer all his questions later. Tell him exactly so," then Dobby disappeared with a loud pop of apparation.

The other house-elf, trudging along behind like an old man, still didn't understand anything. He could only guess. The master's silence was genuinely unnerving. As was the angry expression on his face, written in black and white, "I will take this school apart stone by stone with my bare hands. Swear on my mother's portrait."

Deciding not to anger his master even more, Kreacher didn't ask anything. Simply followed along the corridor like a faithful dog.

"...it is not our abilities that show what we truly are," Harry, nodding awkwardly, could barely hold back a smile. He felt much better after such a warm conversation. After hearing that he had a right place in his own house, "It is our choic–"

The door to the headmaster's office swung open loudly and indecently. Impudently even, almost like someone kicked it by the foot. Dumbledore was slightly surprised, raising his eyebrows, while the second-year student jumped in surprise. Turning around, he thought that his friend had already managed to return back, but... instead he saw an angry, almost furious mister Black. Who, by the way, seriously scared him. The last time Harry crossed paths with this man, he looked calm, reserved, a little cold. In a word, a true aristocrat.

Now — like he was about to murder someone. The two different images didn't fit together at all.

"Regulus, my dear boy," but the headmaster still smiled at him affectionately, "It seems Severus' letter reached you before the other parents?"

"Oh, do not you even start coddling me, Albus, I–"

The man suddenly stopped himself and froze. He was quite literally dumbfounded when he noticed the second-year's condition: the skinny boy was covered in dust, sweat, stains like a car from dirty water, and... blood? Here and there — on his face, on the sleeves of his robes, on his trousers, on his vest, there was blood. Was it his own? Someone else's? Kreacher, examining the boy, was clicking his tongue under his long nose, wincing and grimacing. Even whispered, "E-ew... you can tell right away, he's a half-blood. Does not take care of himself."

Green eyes blinked in surprise through the large lenses of round glasses. Potter looked at him expecting something bad. Something very, very bad. After all, it's not every day that you see such a horrifying expression on an adult's face.

"...what," Black finally spoke, "What happened?" when he turned his gaze to the headmaster, he noticed a huge, long sword on his desk. Again, with fresh blood, "Holy sh– what happened?" stepping back in shock, the wizard repeated the question with greater force.

"Nothing serious, Regulus. Although, I must admit... Harry showed incredible bravery today."

The headmaster's calm, even relaxed tone helped Black come to his senses. Then he bared his teeth in anger again,

"I asked, what happened?" the voice itself began to acquire high notes, "First Snape writes to me about the Chamber of Secrets and the monster in it, and now the boy is covered in blood... blood, Albus. What is going on in your bloody school?!.."

"Master, oh, master... you should not worry so much," Kreacher muttered, switching his attention to another person.

"Don't– don't be angry with the headmaster, mister Black! It's me, I'm to blame!"

As soon as Harry said this, silence fell over the office. The adults — both the headmaster and the aristocrat — looked at him with surprise. True, one was a pleasant one, while the other was almost indignant.

"'Cause of me, the Chamber was opened. 'Cause Tom Riddle was after me all year," Regulus almost fell over. Did he hear it correctly? Did he really hear it right? Otherwise, why was the name Tom Riddle mentioned after so many years? "He even, err... took over Ginny's mind, through his diary! So that she'd help him get rid of muggle-borns."

"Diary?.."

Nodding, Harry handed him a blood-stained (how much blood had been spilled this day?) diary. There was a huge hole in the middle, and on the back cover was written "Tom Marvolo Riddle". With just his fingertips, Regulus carefully ran over the black leather, and then suddenly realized something terrible. This object had the same dark magic as the locket many, many years ago. The sensations were absolutely identical. Although they were already sipped, barely perceptible.

So... so this is the second horcrux? But wasn't there only one? When did the Lord manage to get the second one?

"Could it be... could it be that he made more, after I destroyed the first one?" Black thought in horror, looking at the diary. The magic in it continued to dull, as if it was evaporating bit by bit. By nightfall, this thing would probably become truly just an ordinary diary, "So there were two horcruxes all this time? Or, or... or even more?"

He hadn't thought about that. Didn't even suspect that the Dark Lord could outsmart him like that. Because, well, all this time Regulus considered only himself to be the cleverest of them two.

"Regulus? Do you have any suggestions about what this could be?" Dumbledore asked. Without any pretense of tenderness, but very seriously.

"I..."

"No, no, calm down. There is a certain limit to creating horcruxes, everybody knows that. It is impossible to split your soul several times in a row," the man tried to pull himself together again. Then put on as cold and stern a mask as he could, "The Lord probably just made another horcrux after I destroyed the locket. And that is all. That is all..."

"My assumptions are most likely wrong," Black somehow formulated. Still hadn't let go of the diary, though, "Potter..." the boy, almost jumping again, immediately looked at it, "You destroyed this absurdity, right? Completely destroyed it?"

"Y-yes... with a basilisk fang."

"Basilisk?"

"I fought it, with this sword! Godric Gryffindor's sword. The basilisk was the monster of the Chamber of Secrets all this time," no, at this rate Regulus would definitely go grey before he's forty. He could already feel the black strands starting to turn white somewhere on the back of his head, "It left its fang with venom in me, and I... well, uh... used it."

Somewhere on a subconscious level, Black made a quick note to himself, "Basilisk's venom helps destroy horcruxes." Just in case, it's worth remembering this information. After all, a couple of years ago, he had no idea that there could be many ways to destroy them — not only with magic.

"Okay..." Regulus sighed, handing the diary back into the boy's hands. All dirty, all bloodied up. Merlin, who's he kidding? There was nothing okay about any of this.

James's son could've been hurt, could've died. He was thrown into the thick of it, without any concern: would a twelve-year-old boy cope with such a task? No one even bothered to help. Potter fought alone, Potter could've... could've never gotten out of the Chamber. And besides, the Lord had been hunting him all year, while the rest of the students were paralyzed by the basilisk.

And Draco — that stupid little rascal — almost found himself in the same danger as them. If the Gryffindors had accepted his help, then he could've ended up in the Chamber instead of the Weasley girl... it's scary to even think about it.

"The school is no longer in danger, my boy," Dumbledore said, smiling again, "Draco can stay here and pass all his exams. And go home in summer, as he should."

Regulus couldn't think of what to say to the old man. Shock and worry deprived him of the power of speech. So the house elf spoke for him, hissing, "What a disgrac-c-ce of a s-s-school... if you murder Master Draco, you will not get away with it." Without saying goodbye, without even asking anything else, the master and his elf went to the door.

They'll obviously have to take a long time to calm down after such news. Absolutely everyone.

"Mister Black! Mister Bla-ack!"

Already in the corridor, a boy running at full speed caught up with him. Regulus froze only because something in that voice made him remember the old, "Baby Black! Baby Bla-ack!". However, when he turned around, it wasn't James Potter he saw.

"...what else do you possibly need?" Regulus asked in a tortured voice, the kind that only parents have, "Should I walk you to the hospital wing? It certainly would not hurt, with all your wounds..." at the same time, Kreacher hissed at the second-year,

"S-scat, s-scat... you're making my master worry, scat..."

"Err, ah, no-no! Phoenix healed everything, with its tears, I just..." Harry shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. He didn't know what words to choose, "It's just... well, first of all, I guess I'm sorry?.. Bla– err, Draco wanted to help us, and we... we suspected that he was the heir of Slytherin..."

Suddenly, despite his fatigue, Regulus' shoulders straightened sharply. Having become even taller, he now resembled a menacing shadow,

"Draco is the heir of the Black family, because he is my son," the boy next to him nodded slightly, "And for your information, you should apologize to him, not me."

"Eh, yes, you're right, and– and, anyway! Do you know anything about mister Goyle? He was the one who slipped the diary to Ginny, back at the start of the year!"

Dobby had already told that Goyle's son wrote about the complot, but... having the whole family contributing to it? Surrealism, truly. Moreover, they had the Lord's horcrux on their hands. For how many months or even years?

And Draco... Draco lived indecently close to the enemy. Literally in the same, neighboring room. Now even that crossed-out note ("Goyle") began to make a lot of sense. His son had been under threat for a whole year. And if the Lord had managed to be reborn today, Draco would've definitely died. He would've paid for all the sins and betrayal of his father. Only some miracle saved him from this chaos. A miracle and pure luck.

Regulus cursed again. But in French, so that the child next to him wouldn't understand.

"...I suppose you don't know?" ah, Potter was still saying something. It was surprising that he had the strength to do so, "That means... you and Draco really aren't involved in all this?"

"Of course not, stupid boy!.. How dare you think so... about the noble family!.. On the contrary, Master Draco tried to help you, ungrateful twat!.." the old elf grunted, choking with fury.

"I..."

"You know, I am even ready to applaud you. Honestly," standing over Ginny's cold body, a tall, stately guy mocked, "You did me a favor by not believing the Black boy. If you had listened to him for even a minute, I would not have been able to achieve all this."

Harry looked at him in shock. But most of all, in annoyance. Only now did it dawn on him how stupid he actually was. Really... if he had only listened, only believed, then–

"I... 'm sorry, mister Black," the boy breathed out, trying to brush the memory away. Then, as if to apologize further, he held out the diary again, "Here, take it. Please. I hope it'll be safer with you..."

"And I hope that soon you will stop blaming my son for all the evil deeds of this world," Regulus snapped sarcastically. But took the horcrux anyway.

Before the Gryffindor could open his mouth, Draco had already appeared in the corridor. Hand in hand with his elf, who had apparated him here. Both looked, to put it mildly, messy: Dobby was nervous, while his master blinked both eyes in confusion.

"Father, what is going on? Why did you suddenly com...?" he stopped when his gaze accidentally fell on his classmate. All covered in blood and dirt, and possibly other stuff. Gray eyes suddenly widened in genuine shock, "Potter, what happened to yo–"

Giving the diary to Kreacher, Regulus almost pounced on his son like a wild cat. He grabbed him by the shoulders, began to turn him this way and that way, examining for even the slightest wound. With only one functioning eye he tried to cling to at least something, but eventually found nothing. Then, with a heavy exhale, he pulled Draco closer. Hugging him, asked,

"Are you okay? No one did any terrible things to you, no one hurt you? No one threatened you, right?"

"N-no?.. Err, was... was someone supposed to?" the young Slytherin blinked, perplexed.

Stepping back, Regulus exhaled loudly — as if a huge burden was lifted from his shoulders. He looked into his son's eyes for a few more moments, and then...

"Ow-ow-o-o-ow!" Draco screamed loudly when his cheek was pulled and pinched with all might. Harry jumped slightly again nearby, and the elves looked at each other in shock.

"You, polisson, why did you not tell me anything?! You knew about the dangers of the Chamber of Secrets and the monster, but still tried to get into this chaos? Without my knowledge?!" the man spoke sternly, but clearly not angrily. He was just very worried, and it felt like that. However, Dobby still begged him not to scold the young master, "Maybe the Sorting Hat should have put you in Gryffindor, huh? Maybe it made a mistake somewhere, huh? Because, tell me, why does a well-mannered Slytherin have so much Gryffindor stupidity and courage?"

"Thathe-er! Noth in flont of Photte-e-el!.."

He wasn't mad at his father, no. Most of all, he was simply embarrassed by the fact that his enemy had seen him being scolded. Draco fidgeted even more when Harry giggled into his fist. "Heh-heh, Black as a Gryffindor," the boy in glasses thought, unable to hold back a grin, "All in red, with his white hair... that's hilarious."

"No, this is exactly what we need to do in front of Potter. So that you will learn your lesson for sure!"

"'m shorry, shorry-y-y!"

With a loud sigh, Regulus finally stopped his educational torment. That was enough. Should be enough for his son to never hide anything again. Gently patting his slightly red cheek, the man rose to his full height. Draco meanwhile, all frowning, began to glare at the Gryffindor with a gloomy look. With his eyes alone, he tried to convey, "Just you try and tell anyone about this — I shall find you and strangle you in your sleep."

"...alright, pup. Let's get you to your dorm. You have not packed your things yet, have you?" his son just shook his head, as if to say, "no, haven't even started."

Harry involuntarily caught himself thinking: he was staring at this family again. At a loving father who, although strict, still smiles and speaks with extraordinary care. At a whiny but obedient son who smiles back. They are perfect, the boy suddenly thinks. And he'd really like to be in Draco's place at least once. So that it wasn't Uncle Vernon dragging him by the hair and pushing into the closet, but Dad James pinching his cheeks. And then Mom Lily taking his hand in hers to lead him to the Gryffindor tower. While saying, "Don't do that again, don't fight the Dark Lord alone. I'm worried about you, y'know?".

Harry would really like to have a family of his own. Just like Draco's, or even better.

"Potter," Regulus's voice suddenly called out to him. He turned to look at the boy once again. There was a brief silence, then the man turned to his elf, "Dobby, take Potter to the hospital wing, please. I think it would not hurt for him to be examined by Madam Pomfrey, after all."

"Of course, Master! Dobby will keep an eye on Harry Potter, Master!"

The boy smiled faintly at the corner of his lips. Both eyes sparkled somewhere behind the lenses of his dirty glasses. It was such a small, insignificant gesture of care. But still, it was care.

"...father, will you tell me what happened to Potter? Was it you who did this to him?" Harry could no longer hide his laughter when the two Blacks turned the corner.

Chapter Text

When James first met him, he mentally drew two signs above his head: "Sirius' adorable little brother" and "prideful git". These two opposites somehow coexisted perfectly in the same person. James, meanwhile, was caught between two fires. Because, well, obviously, he should treat his best friend's family kindly, but... this was just another Slytherin with an unjustifiably high opinion of himself. Such people either need to be rudely put in their place or avoided.

In order not to ruin his friendship with Sirius, James chose the second option.

His best friend, in fact, didn't like his brother very much. Before Hogwarts they were on much better terms. But as soon as the Hat divided them into two different houses, a lot changed. And yet Sirius could give anyone a slap on the back of the head if he heard insults towards Regulus. Then he'd add, "Listen, he's still my brother. An annoying git, but a brother." The Gryffindor students laughed at first. Then they got used to the fact that the younger Black wasn't allowed to be bullied. Neither by words nor by actions.

James considered this a little unfair. After all, Regulus himself could hurt the feelings of others as much as he wanted. For example, when McDonald once ran past him in the corridor and accidentally brushed him with her shoulder. All the books fell out of the little first-year's hands at once, as his pale face twisted in disgust,

"Ew! A mudblood touched me!.."

"He-e-ey!" the older boy immediately yelled. And the Slytherin, noticing him, became even more displeased, "Bloody hell, mate, what's your problem?! You can't say that to muggle-borns," of course, James being James, simply couldn't help but rush to defend the honor of other people. Especially when they were from his house.

"Am I wrong, or something? We must call a spade a spade. You cannot just change the fact that mudblood is still a mudblood," Regulus, it seems, wasn't bothered by anything. Even the fact that he used the worst and most terrible insult in the world.

What a little brainwashed devil. James wanted to muss all his curls and then drag him by the scruff of the neck to the girl who had already run away. Wanted to make him apologize. However, the Hufflepuff prefect, Amos Diggory, prevented him from doing so.

And Sirius' threats soon surfaced in his memory as well. Remembering them, James decided, "Tsk, fine. Not like I care about the lil' git anyway. I'd better go get Snivelly... at least I'll vent my anger somewhere."

Severus was even more annoying than Regulus, who actively used terrible words. Probably because the dirty, greasy half-blood was constantly hanging around sweet Lily. No one could understand how she even tolerated him. Maybe pitied him? After all, she has a bigger and kinder heart than everyone else, so she's quite capable of such things. What a truly precious girl.

The beautiful Lily Evans with her thick red hair, freckles all over her face and bright green eyes. James loved her very much, not even trying to hide his feelings. Many times he invited her to walk around the school grounds holding hands or to go on a date to Hogsmeade. And she loudly refused. She made jokes about him all the time — such jokes that even Sirius could burst into laughter. Not like a person's, but that of a real dog's.

"Well, she got you there! Got you, got you!"

"Lily does have a sharp mind, doesn't she?" another friend, Remus, noted with the same sly grin. He seemed quiet and responsible, but at the right moments he was the perfect addition to their team of four rascals. Peter just giggled nearby.

"Oh, bugger off, all three of you! She'll be mine one day!"

Once James even managed to catch her before another match to declare, "If we beat Slytherin today, you are obliged to go to Hogsmeade with me! At least as friends." The girl was surprised at first, blinking her big green eyes. But then decided to boldly take a dare, "Okay. We'll see." The teenager rejoiced in his mind, because a date (for now, as friends) was almost guaranteed. He will definitely get closer to Lily, and then start dating her. To spite everyone, even Evans herself.

Except...

"And the winner is Slytherin!"

Potter was ready to break anyone's broom, even his own, at that moment. Damn it all. That cunning Black with his stupid tactics and cheating moves... he even mocked, "Are you so blind that you cannot even see the quaffle in front of you? Are you sure you were not taken into the team simply out of pity?". The arrogant, haughty smirk on the left side of his lips — the Gryffindor remembered it very well. For the rest of his life.

Regulus Black awakened something weird inside James. It was from that day that the third sign appeared above his head, "I don't understand what I want to do with him." Probably strangle him somewhere in the locker room. Probably. That's how Potter calmed himself down.

"I took you more for a quiet nerd than a quidditch genius..." the Gryffindor muttered irritably under his breath. He himself couldn't decide whether he was insulting or praising the young seeker.

"A nerd?" this genuinely baffled Black. He was surprised, his gray eyes widening. However, then the same smirk appeared on his face again, "Why should I be a nerd, why should I study anything at all? I am a pureblood wizard from a noble family," Potter almost sighed out loud, "I am naturally smart, without making any effort. Unlike some ungifted students."

"Arrogant."

"Blind," Regulus continued, catching the chain of insults.

"Ma-ama's boy."

"Look who is talking. You are probably no better."

Their small talk was soon gently interrupted by Sirius. First, he gave his brother a weak nudge on the back of the head, saying, "Reg, are you spitting your snake venom here again?". Then added,

"Congratulations on beating us," and grabbed his friend by the hand, "C'mon, Jay, you'll go on a date with her next time. I mean, you got your whole life ahead of you," began to lead him towards the Gryffindor tower, not wanting for any fight to possibly happen.

The sudden reminder of his beloved girl made him come to his senses. Potter sharply turned his head towards the enemy, and then stuck out his tongue with a long "ble-e-eh". His brown eyes clearly said, "I'm not done with you yet, Black! Just started!". The Slytherin clucked his tongue and threw another insult,

"Childish."

***

Regulus was becoming more mature, and at the same time more attractive. As a small first-year, he seemed nondescript in James's eyes. Gray, boring, worse and "less"-er than his brother in everything. But now, as soon as he grew taller and acquired more of the typical Black features, he... began to look handsome. Potter's gaze involuntarily clung to his silhouette almost every day, at least for a couple of seconds. Well, because why not? He's an alright young man, well-groomed and all that. They usually say, "When you turn eighteen, you'll have a lot of people wanting to propose to you," about people like him. Although, it seemed like there were already some willing ones.

Take Crouch for example. Potter didn't like the way that one was always dodging around his friend. It seemed like he was "just trying to console him after his wayward brother ran away," but... at the same time, there was something that the Gryffindor couldn't quite grasp. So he began to look at the Map more often, watching the two dots in the Slytherin common room.

"Padfoot, don't you think that your brothe–"

"I do not wish to talk about him," Sirius snapped, falling onto his wide bed. James just sighed loudly, "Even with you."

There was clearly guilt hidden behind all this rudeness. Potter felt it with every fiber of his being, because he knew his best friend well. He understood that Black was ashamed to leave his home, abandoning his younger brother, but... not like he could stay there either. Otherwise, he would've gone crazy because of the "pureblood mania" that was happening there.

"...okay, mate. Your wish's my command."

He wondered, when exactly Sirius' own words — "he's still my brother, an annoying git, but a brother," — stopped having any meaning or value?

Regulus was deeply hurt by his older brother's escape, even wounded. He tried to hide it, but, oh, didn't work out well. His handsome face was no longer adorned with a smirk on the left side of his lips. Instead, there was only this cold, almost stone expression. For some reason, James thought that this boy cried a lot at night. And in the mornings, he pretended to be so strong and independent.

It was sweet to some extent. Potter even wanted to ruffle the younger Black's hair and cheerfully tell him, "Forget it, you'll make up with your brother one day." But he'd probably only bite off his hand in response. Imagining such a situation, James couldn't help but smile. He himself didn't understand why, for what reason.

What on Earth was happening to him lately?..

"You should really think about this offer," two students were leaving Slughorn's office one evening. Students from two such different categories that they seemed complete opposites of each other, "It's a great idea."

A bright, almost shining Lily was trailing behind the dark-haired boy. And Merlin knows, her presence next to Regulus was making him feel physically ill,

"Oh, yes, Evans, exactly. Seeing your face every dinner is one hundred percent a great idea," the Gryffindor decided to follow them, throwing on an invisibility cloak. He was really curious about what they were talking about.

Lily snorted loudly, but continued to speak anyway,

"Not only mine. You can find new friends, because your Slytherin ones..." the boy stopped in an instant and, turning around, glared at her, "Well, they're not very good ones, are they?" Regulus was about to start hissing at her. Or even growling, "I know a thing or two..."

It seemed the girl was waiting for support, but Black was definitely not going to calm her down right now. Or say at least one kind word to her.

"Dear miss Evans, if all the Slytherins are so bad and evil, why are you talking to me now? Go and continue crying because of Snape," the witch, blushing, at first didn't understand how to answer him. She rushed between several phrases. And so, in the end, blurted out,

"Why did you decide that I– that I ever cried because of him?! He chose his own path, I don't care!"

Regulus took two steps away from her. When she followed him like a shadow, the pale face of the aristocrat twisted in disgust.

"Listen, Black, I understand that this rotten society will make become the same as him. You'll repeat his fate... and maybe, well..." James definitely didn't see, but it was almost like Regulus had already started to look for his wand in a panic, "At least it's not too late for you to change?"

Lily, always being Lily. She knew how to see beauty in anything. Dreamed of helping every lost soul. Even gave her friend Severus a million chances to improve or change. Only gave up when he crossed the line and called her a "mudblood". Her best friend dared to address her like that — unacceptable.

Evans couldn't forgive him for that. "Good for her," Potter thought.

"Sirius is a good person, and you're his younger brother. Birds of a feather, y'know? Surely there's something good in you too, just like in him," the Gryffindor under the cloak couldn't help but smile. What a smart and insightful girl Lily was. So much so that she was now voicing thoughts that he himself hadn't been able to formulate for weeks, "You're upset with him, but he..."

"Do not talk to me."

"He's worried about you, I know. I saw his face, I heard him–"

"I said, do not talk to me," the younger Black snapped back harshly. As if the girl's words had burned him. What a poor boy, really. He was clearly sad and suffering because of his brother's escape, "I do not want to listen to you."

Shaking her head (red hair swung back and forth), the girl sighed loudly. And putting both hands at her sides, she began to behave much more sternly — as if with a small child, and not a person of a somewhat similar age.

"You're only acting like this because you've been hurt. Very, very hurt. My sister and I are the same..." but suddenly, for no apparent reason, Lily smiled cheerfully. Her continued laughter began to genuinely irritate the Slytherin, "Ha-ha, y'know, you remind me of her in some way!" perhaps this was the reason why the girl was still talking to him. Instead of turning around and leaving, "She's also always so picky and mean, and everything. But even so, I still love her. Because we're sisters. So I bet, you and Sirius have the sam–"

"I asked you to stop talking to me! You act like... like we are... acquaintances," no matter how hard he tried, he physically couldn't bring himself to call Evans a "friend". She was a muggle-born, after all.

"Well, we could–"

"No way!"

Hearing this, James sighed quietly. Very quietly, otherwise he would've been heard. It was sad. He'd really like these two to get along.

"How did you... how could you even come up with something like that?"

It was very easy for James to come up with something like that. He's a spoiled boy. A son who was long-awaited by his parents, and then loved beyond measure. That's why, looking at black and red hair, green and red colors, he wants both at the same time. He wants everything at once. But having everything at once...

It doesn't work like that in real life.

"I do not even wish to breathe the same air as mudbloods," Lily blushed again so much that her face merged with the color of her hair. This reaction was either due to embarrassment, or anger, or both.

"You little...!"

He, not listening to her, had already started to run away — like he was escaping from a plague patient.

"Sissy!" the girl shouted, but quickly continued, "But still, you better join the Club!"

"La-la-la, I cannot hear anything! Yo– oi, why are you chasing me?! Get lost!.."

"I'll give you a good thrashing, like I do with Tuney! I'll teach you a lesson for saying such vile things!" Black had no idea who Evans was talking about. However, he was still scared, as he heard the seriousness in her voice.

"Ba... Barty, Evan, anyone!"

When they had already disappeared down the corridor (continuing to throw insults at each other like a volleyball), Potter finally allowed himself to laugh out loud. Only after he calmed down on the way to the common room did he think about Evans' words more closely. Indeed... the younger Black wasn't just some Slytherin. Not an ordinary student of this house. He was the brother of his best friend. "Birds of a feather", eh? His hand reached out to awkwardly rub his neck.

Regulus didn't seem so bad. Not as much as everyone else around him. Especially compared to those "Barty" and "Evan" guys ("That's who the real freaks and psychos are!"). He just needs a slap on his lips a couple of times, to wean him off saying bad words. And then he'll become perfect. He'll become different from everyone else.

Three weeks after that squabble, Regulus joined the Slug Club anyway. It'd seem like the most ordinary thing for him to do. However, the gears in James Potter's head began to spin very quickly. His eyes were glued to the younger boy, constantly looking for him in the corridors, then on the map. The Gryffindor decided that Black wouldn't have become a member of the Club without Evans' advice. And that means he listened to her. To a muggleborn.

Regulus isn't bad. On the contrary, very good. Even Lily thought so. Therefore...

"He's... special? Unique?"

"Prongs, what are you mumbling about over there?" Peter asked a little sleepily, noticing that his friend was still awake. James immediately pulled the blanket up to his ears and shouted,

"Nothing!"

***

Black didn't even read many of the notes. As soon as he noticed who they were from ("J.P."), he'd immediately crumple them up and throw them away. The older boy, naturally, was not at all happy with this. So then he began tracking the Slytherin's movements around the castle, kept watch, and when he caught him, tried to talk. For the first couple of days, Regulus looked at him like he was insane. Looked very disapprovingly. Or confused. Or both. Then he'd roll his very beautiful gray eyes and leave.

But James is a good chaser. He was ready to chase that "victim" to the last. He himself didn't understand what he was going to do when Regulus finally stopped and listened. Will they just talk a little? Or should he invite the little idiot somewhere?

When James thought about "holding hands", he almost started banging his head against the table. He must be suicidal, or something. Sirius will finish him off. Will leave only one finger if he finds out.

Although, to be honest, this only made the whole situation more exciting. These secret, forbidden feelings... he had never had anything like this before. Previously, he had put all his passionate love on display for the whole school. And then suddenly — sympathy, which made his fingertips tremble because of the thought, "What will happen when someone finds out? How will they react? What should I expect from Padfoot?".

Everything was so risky that Potter couldn't help but dive head-on into this rabbit hole.

"Baby Black! Baby Bla-ack!"

"...Merlin!" when he was almost attacked from behind in the corridor, Black jumped sharply. Turned around, thinking that a curse would follow soon. However, he only ran into the happy face of the Gryffindor, "Potter. You again."

"Heh-heh, you're just as happy to see me as always!"

"Definitely insane," Black thought involuntarily, but didn't reach for his wand. Didn't want to admit anything either, really. And yet, as time went on, he was interested in why Potter suddenly began to chase him. Downright stalking, following his every step.

"Did you confuse me with Evans, or something?" the aristocrat sighed sarcastically, "Or does Sirius need something but cannon tell in person?" the guy next to him only smiled in response. Even wider than before. Finally, Regulus wanted to listen to him.

"You guessed wrong, little Black! I actually just wanted to talk to you. That's all."

Throwing off the mask of imperturbability, Regulus was genuinely surprised. Although no, that's putting it mildly. His face stretched unnaturally, fear flashing in his eyes.

"Wh... what do you want from me?.." his distrust was cute in its own way. Even as a second-year, James always giggled when Sirius' brother first began to suspect something bad. Looked with the same lost expression, sometimes even checking where the danger would come from, "I shall not fall for any of your stupid pranks, like Snape always does. You can be sure of that."

"Oh c'mon, chill! I really just want to talk. No bad intentions and no mischief, I promise!"

"And why, may I ask, should I trust you?"

"Because I won't hurt you"? "Because I'd like to at least start with friendship"? "Because I don't think you're a bad person anymore"? Oh no, not that. Of all the possible options, he chose the worst one. He was so happy to chat for more than a few seconds that he blurted out,

"Because I like you!"

...James returned to the Gryffindor tower late. Because first he had to go to Pomfrey and ask her to heal his nose — Regulus had broken it. And yet it was definitely worth it. That beautiful face, instantly covered in a pale pink blush, and those red tips of his ears and such big, big eyes, like a kitten's, helped him not even feel the pain. The following, "I, uh... Potter, I did not want t– ah, err, a-argh, enough, I am leaving!" pleasantly warmed his heart.

Regulus was so shocked by the confession that he himself didn't understand why he hit the guy. Hit him very, very hard. Wiping away the blood, James smiled contentedly. It's fine, everything's fine. Lily had done worse things when he pestered her with date invitations.

"Where've you been?" Remus was surprised, meeting him at the portrait, "It's almost curfe... is– is that blood?"

"Moony, chi-ill. 'S mine."

The horrified friend watched as James walked past peacefully with a contented smile. He practically glowed, giggling periodically. The memories of gray eyes and a flushed face didn't want to leave his mind. Such a lively reaction was completely different from how Lily usually behaved.

No, there was definitely some hidden meaning in those words and actions. If he panicked so much, he must've felt something too. Must've had a crush too. Potter had no doubt about it as he stared at the map.

***

"What if Sirius finds out about what you say and what you do?" we'll find out one day. If anything happens, everyone'll have to go to the funeral. All that's left is to find out whose exactly.

"What about Evans? No longer interesting?" he didn't know himself. It seemed like he loved her, as always. But some other feelings were added to this love. Feelings for a completely different person.

"What... did you even see in me?" everything.

James listened to a lot before Regulus allowed himself to trust. For many weeks, he followed the Slytherin like a little tail. He caught him around corners and, thrusting flowers or his favorite sweets (learned this info from Padfoot) into his hands, asked to go on a walk together. At least for half an hour. At least at a distance of a meter, not ten. The dark-haired teenager, on the contrary, fearfully avoided him. He was tense and silent, which was quite unusual for him.

For a long time, he was looking for a catch or a hint of another prank in Potter's behavior. However, one day he received a letter from him right in the Great Hall. Everyone saw this big owl. And everyone who knew who it belonged to looked at the Gryffindor with sincere amazement. Including Sirius, who decided, "Is this... some kind of new joke? Did you send him a mini-bomb there?".

But for Regulus, this all meant that James' intentions were serious enough. So much so that he wasn't afraid of such a stunt in front of his friends.

"I think you just have to grasp the nettle," Marlene chuckled when her housemate once again came to her for love advice. More precisely, with the request, "how can I make a Slytherin fall in love with me?", "Be more persistent, not like with Lils. After all, as I see it... your new lover's not a lady at all, right?"

"Y-yes..." the girl, seeing his embarrassment, laughed cheerfully. Had no idea who the "lover" truly was, but still said,

"Well, go ahead then! You have to be rougher with boys, especially Slytherin ones."

Well, it couldn't be any other way with Regulus Black.

Realizing that he wasn't being pranked, the Slytherin decided to arrange a long torment. Like Evans, he turned up his nose, snorted, saying, "you are not even my type". However, he did everything with such a sly grin that it couldn't help but fuel Potter's interest even more. If the red-haired girl refused irrevocably, then Black... oh, that git was different. The little devil simply liked the attention he received. He liked the expression of deep feelings, the descriptions of his own beauty on the quidditch pitch, the praise for his humorous remarks and intelligence. He liked how he was courted. Like it was all real.

Secret, but real. Like Potter actually loved him. Like he wasn't lying, wasn't playing around. It's hard not to fall for such beautiful, skillful words and actions.

"Hey, Reggie," the Gryffindor, emboldened, began to call him the same way Sirius did. Melting like a fool, Regulus allowed him, "Do you like kids? I personally do!" the teenager began to babble, smiling, "I think I'd like to have two— no, three, no—"

"James, calm down. Let's graduate first, and then..."

"But I want to start planning now! Y'know, I'd re-e-eally like to be a dad one day, I'd like to give my children everything!"

Clumsily trying to hide a smile, Black muttered something like, "I just started calling you by your name, and you already think about that...". The guy who looked like the sun talked a lot about the future– about their future together. He described it in fantastic colors, as if it was already the present. Something that was happening right before his eyes.

Regulus listened. At the same time, gradually sat closer to James every time they saw each other. The Slytherin lied to his friends that he was just "going to practice dark magic on mudbloods", while his... boyfriend told his friends that he wanted to fly and calmly practice before the next match. Using such excuses, they escaped from the living rooms time after time for a new meeting. Just like in the stupidest love story in the world.

For the time being, Sirius believed his best friend's words. James would never lie to him, would he? And James would definitely not kiss his little brother, would he? If that happened, it'd only be in the worst nightmare or another unsuccessful prediction by that wacky, looney Trelawney girl.

Or in reality, when, by the worst coincidence, he caught them in the classroom one evening.

At first, Sirius honestly wanted to think that the map was lying. Or that he, having almost dropped it, was simply tired. When people are tired, they usually have poor vision or their brains are making up delusions. So yes, it had to be one of these options. Black hoped so, but still went to check — otherwise he simply wouldn't have been able to calmly sit down to do his Transfiguration homework.

Although, after what he saw, he couldn't do it anyway. He couldn't even write a line afterwards.

"Prongs, what the hell?!" the two teenagers practically flew apart as if scalded. James even fell to the floor, almost losing his glasses somewhere there, "You– you, what, are you– with– with him?! Of all the people, with him?!" Regulus didn't look up at his brother. Was just blushing terribly, while lips twitched in a nervous kind of smile.

"You said you locked the door?!.."

"Well, I... I thought I locked it..." seeing this awkward, slightly fearful smile, the Slytherin was ready to start banging his head against the wall.

"Oi, you two! Do not ignore me!"

James smiled even wider, shrugging his shoulders slightly. As if to say, "Sorry, but it's your own fault for barging in here. We weren't quite expecting you." Regulus didn't move at all, mentally trying survive all the stages of grief acceptance. And was still roughly figuring out what his older brother would do to him. Damn it. His wand, as luck would have it, was somewhere far away.

In order not to die under his brother's shocked and at the same time angry gaze, he had to hide his eyes with a hand.

"Prongs, what– what the actual fuck?!" Sirius seemed so shocked that he couldn't even find the words. He stuttered — so unusual for him, "He, he's my..." then looked at the younger boy in disgust, or something like that.

He had to swallow his pride to continue,

"Brother. So, you– why the hell were you kissing my brother?!"

"Ah, well..." Potter tried his chance and lied. Maybe it'd work, "We weren't exactly kissing, I was just teaching–"

"Your tongue was deep in his mouth! You were, most definitely, kissing!"

"Shut up!.. The whole school is going to come running to your squeals," Regulus finally couldn't take it anymore. Although he still didn't look his brother in the eye.

Obviously scared of such an outcome of the event, Sirius nevertheless quieted down. However, he didn't stop being angry. Oh no, he didn't. The tension in the classroom was growing so much that it was almost pressing everyone to the floor. Or maybe it was just that James couldn't find the strength to get up.

"Either you explain what's happening, or I– I swear, I will do something–"

But first, he needs to think exactly what he'd do.

"...I see, plan A failed. Let's move on to plan B and tell the truth," the Gryffindor exhaled more seriously. As seriously as adrenaline would allow. Somehow he got up with the help given, then straightened his posture (aristocratically) and said, "We are dating, Padfoot."

"What?!"

The younger one risked looking at his brother's face, but saw nothing there except horror. Oh well. Serves him right. Regulus shouldn't be the only one of them who has to suffer all the time.

"You– oh, yeah, wait, I get it– it's a joke, a prank– Gods, you got me bad–"

"Sirius, this is no joke," his younger brother said with an irritated sigh, "We really are dating. We–"

"La-la-la, I don't want to hear anything! That's it, you've got me, well done! Now stop it!" the Gryffindor started yelling again, ostentatiously covering both ears with his hands. A slightly crumpled map was there, in one of his palms. Ah, so that's how he found them.

James cursed quietly under his breath. How could his favorite map let him down so badly now? Totally nuts.

"Sirius–"

"Padfoot," both teenagers suddenly exchanged glances. Then Regulus let the guy speak for him, "Padfoot, we're not pranking you. We really kissed, we really are dating, I..." just a little, but James still felt embarrassed. Rubbed his neck with unobtrusive awkwardness, then added, "I love him. M'kay?"

His best friend exhaled heavily. He looked straight into the brown eyes opposite him, trying to somehow seek for a catch or deception in them. However, found nothing but sincerity. This is nonsense. It can't be true that... that James, who helped him escape from those murderers and pureblood maniacs, could choose–

"You chose him, this filth?" an expression full of pain suddenly lit up his brother's face. He really wanted to say something, but couldn't think of what. Because, damn, that hit a nerve, "Are you insane? He's the same as his father and mother. The same as all of them," Regulus tried to object. However, couldn't again. His older brother's absolutely right in his statements, "He's the same. Evil, crazy, little basta–"

"Pads, that's enough. Reggie is not like that," a sharp rudeness followed in response.

"Re... "Reggie"?"

Something like laughter burst out of Sirius. Although, of course, there was no joy in it.

"Prongs, he cast a spell on you! Or slipped you some kind of potion, didn't he?!" the younger brother was looking angrily. Yes, he was in a huge fight with Sirius, but how could he even assume such a thing? "Well done, Regulus, you got your revenge. Ten points to Slytherin, nice one! Now you can stop making whole cauldrons of Amortentia–"

"Enough. Be free to throw around accusations and insults as much as you want, but it will not change the truth."

Both brothers looked into each other's eyes for about five seconds, maybe even less. From their looks alone, James immediately understood: another reason for hatred had arisen. Their initial fight had worsened. Now it was unclear when they would make up, or if they would make up at all. Yeah, he wasn't waiting for that kind of reacti–

Okay, no, who was Potter kidding? He understood everything perfectly well and was expecting exactly that outcome. After all, his best friend wasn't the calmest and most reserved person.

"I won't just leave it like that," the elder Black finally spoke, frowning, "I'll find out what you've been brainwashing my mate with, you little jerk. I'll bring it to light. Rest assured."

"Padfoot, shut u–"

"This... I do not accept this! I will never accept this!"

Without listening to anything that was said afterward, Sirius left. And slammed the door as loudly as he could.

***

Loving Regulus meant loving the smell of his expensive French shampoo, his crooked grin, his huge grey eyes, his gentle voice and the pale flush on his cheeks. It meant being embarrassed every time he kissed both hands (a little calloused here and there because of quidditch) in an aristocratic manner. Smiling back when he told something and then chuckled quietly to himself. Looking at the stars with him while crickets chirped somewhere in the grass. Shrugging and waving your shoulders when Sirius gloomily repeated, "I do not approve of these... dates of yours at all. He's a bad person, Prongs, bad. Just like all the other maniacs in my family."

Sometimes doubts did creep in. Well, for example, when Regulus accidentally misspoke and uttered that insult — "mudblood". Or when he was silent in response to the question, "What's up with that, uh, Dark Lord anyway?". Silent for a painfully long time. But not long enough for James to actually start to worry.

In any case. The wizard's forearms were pure and white as a sheet of paper. And that was all that mattered. It was proof that his dear Reggie was special. A unique case, no less. A real exception to any rules.

"Reg, where is your star up there?" the guy whispered right into the black curls, hugging from behind. He inhaled the scent (already so familiar) and immediately relaxed. The Slytherin began to complain jokingly, like, I had already shown it a hundred times," "Oh, c'mo-o-on! Show me, show me. I want to remember its place for the rest of my life."

Black exhaled raggedly. He hesitated for a moment, but then nevertheless raised his slightly trembling palm.

"Ici. Je suis le lion," somewhere in his hair he felt a joyful laugh. Then a small, but so meaningful kiss,

"I love it when you speak your cat language, hee-hee!"

Rolling his eyes and smirking again with the corner of his lips, Regulus snorted,

"French."

James loved everything about him, absolutely everything. He fell in love as quickly as he could. Sometimes he didn't even keep up with his own feelings. And Regulus, as it turned out, had his eyes on him for about a year now. "I noticed how happy you were to win the match, stared at you... and probably from that moment something began to appear inside. Besides, you are so... so you. It is quite hard not to fall in love with you," he admitted to some fast, pop melody. The Gryffindor himself didn't know what kind of record it even was or what the song was called. More important were the revelations of his beloved and dear boyfriend, "...do not make that face. Merlin, I can already see your ego growing."

"Oh– oh, definitely growing, but not eg–"

"James!"

James loved and showed how to love. He practically taught love, since no one had bothered to do it before. His inept, still inexperienced Reggie soon began to understand: sometimes love is kissing in the locker room right after the match. Love is quick, chaotic, wet, with a smell of sweat, but so alive at the same time. Lush with feelings to the point of nausea. Or that love is when your hands are shaking. So much so that the guy below has to ask,

"Maybe I should?" so much so that there's a lump in his throat. So much so that the view beneath made him choke with anticipation, "'Cause you seem too afraid."

"I– I am not afraid," immediate protests, making James laugh cheerfully. Then reaching up with his hand to run over pale, cold skin and warm it.

"Reggie..."

Reggie. His sweet, smirking with the left corner of his lips, slightly arrogant Reggie. So different from his open and reckless brother Reggie. Reggie, who one day suddenly became–

"Regulus."

For both of them, it was a kind of slap in the face. So strong that they barely managed to stay on their feet. To James, it felt like all this time he had another pair of glasses — rose-tinted ones. He had put them on unconsciously, as soon as he began to feel something for the Slytherin. Was so happy about them, thought that he wouldn't mind spending his whole life wearing them. And then suddenly Regulus smashed them into tiny pieces, trampling even the temples. Leaving with only emptiness and horror from the realization of what was happening.

There was still a very fresh mark on his forearm. The dark mark of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, that terrible Lord who hunted muggle-born wizards down. Which meant that Black had joined him and his minions, the murderers. Maybe he had even managed to kill someone himself. The rose-tinted glasses — or rather, what was left of them — were lying on the floor and losing their bright shade.

Potter wanted to believe that his Reggie was different, that he was better. Not at all like Sirius had described him. He wanted to convince himself that the younger Black was different from everyone else so much, but... somewhere in his subconscious, inside himself, he was still waiting for a catch. Or some kind of surprise that would greatly disappoint.

Well, here it is. He's not happy about it, though.

"The mark..." Regulus tried to pull his hand away, but it didn't work. The older guy was stronger, "The dark mark?! Are you kidding me?!"

Surprised by such a furious scream, the Slytherin stopped moving. It seemed he was shocked by the fact that James could even get so angry. For a moment, these mad eyes reminded him of his mother. Her cold, sharp features in Potter's soft face were no more than a quick illusion, but even so... it still made him feel like a small, defenseless boy again. Therefore, Regulus, completely stunned, didn't try to do anything when he was rudely and painfully hit. On the cheek, just like that, without a second thought.

And then was pushed back with such disgust, like he was worse than a cockroach.

"I... I didn't want to believe Sirius," the Gryffindor muttered, choking from the indignation bursting out along with the shock. Regulus touched his cheek — it still hurt. Hesitantly, he whispered the name he loved so much, but his voice was ignored, "When– when he said that you were a bad, evil bastard. I wanted... wanted to believe you."

"Ja–"

"But, y'know, somewhere deep, deep inside I was waiting for a catch– and– well done, Regulus, you proved all my suspicions and doubts right!"

"I just–"

"You turned out not to be special!"

Gray eyes — so stupid and big, like a kitten's — stared at him in bewilderment. Maybe James would've pitied him or even called him cute, like he usually did. But "usually" ended the moment the dark mark appeared on his hand. The moment Regulus proved that he had been a terrible, nasty person since birth. And he'll never change.

He supports the purity of blood, murder, hatred, dark magic, chaos. He is evil. He is everything Potter hated most in people. And he is no longer "Reggie."

"James, no, you do not get it," the teenager exhaled, recovering from the shock. Then he grinned, as always, but this emotion no longer seemed charming. Now the Gryffindor was sickened, "I think I am doing– no, I know that I am doing the right thing," his hands involuntarily clenched in the desire to hit Regulus again, "Honestly. This is all for our race, for the pureblood–"

"No, you don't get it, bastard! What you're doing is wrong!"

Potter had never yelled at him before, especially with such rage. And especially never hit him. Therefore, the young man didn't quite understand how to act, how to talk. The Gryffindor's blind, senseless aggression in vain sincerely frightened him.

And yes, the aggression was definitely senseless. Regulus did everything absolutely right. There was no other way.

"He tells us, they all tell us," he had to lower his voice to a quieter tone. It usually worked with his mother, "Mudbloods are a threat to the wizarding world, to all pureblood wizards. Mudbloods will ruin us–"

"Stop calling them that!! It's a terrible insult, the worst one you can say."

James really wanted to punch the Slytherin again, but he forbade himself to touch. No, he'd never touch such scum again. That– that Death Eater, as disgusting as Snape.

"You're brainwashed– a psycho– a crazy, fucking freak!"

Regulus' face was distorted with sadness. So innocent that he began to resemble a child even more. At sixteen, the boy still couldn't understand what he had done to deserve such cruel insults. Or such righteous, unstoppable anger of his loved one. What did he do wrong? He just wished the best. The Lord described his motives so fabulously and convincingly, made him believe that everything that was happening was for the greater good, for their magical world... besides, his ideals coincided with those that mom and dad taught him since birth.

How can you not believe such a person? How can you not listen to him? James just needs to listen too. And then, having stopped being so mad, he will definitely understand everything.

"Do you even know what muggles call people like you?!"

"Huh, why would I care about the opinion of muggles?!" Black got even more confused, as he just came back to his senses. The Gryffindor, grinding his white teeth, was literally boiling with fury, "I am interested in a completely different opinion. James, you really do not understand!.." when the Slytherin came closer, Potter recoiled from him. Like from a man with leprosy or worse, "He supports our own pureblood interests. This is what we grew up with for centuries, this is what mother and–"

"Oh, right! Right, fuck, exactly! How could I be so stupid to not have realized?! That you will grow up just like your lovely mommy and daddy, huh?!" enraged, James didn't spare his throat at all. Didn't hesitate to shout either. On the contrary, it was like he wanted the whole school to immediately know how terrible and bad Regulus was. After all, he had always been a show-off, adoring attention. It was impossible to take that trait away from him.

"This is our world, we must protect it, mustn't we? To protect what is dear to us– I want the best, I am doing the right thing."

"You are no fucking better than Grindelwald's followers! You're also gonna take your wand and go to war soon, huh?!"

"This is different, just–"

The guy tried to say something else. James, however, wasn't listening. All this babble was nothing more than the words of a crazy man with a crooked grin. Regulus turned out to be the same scumbag as everyone else in his house. He became further proof that only evil and dark wizards live there.

The rose-tinted glasses were broken. Instead of Reggie, there was now Regulus — an obsessed fanatic, a future murderer of innocent wizards. How could James have been so deeply mistaken when he thought that this guy was special? When he thought that he, like his older brother, would escape from the system and become a good person?

"I really, really wanted to believe that– that you were better. That you were special. A unique case," disappointment oozed from every letter, "But it turns out that you're the worst of the worst! On the same level as Snivellus, if not even lower!!"

"J—"

"Shit, no wonder Sirius hates you so much! No wonder why he ran away from you and your crazy family of murderers!"

The teenager's whole body jerked. It was even worse than a punch to the face. He couldn't even express any emotion, or whisper anything in response. Simply just froze with his mouth open. Sad, glassy eyes — so lost and worried — didn't touch James' heart. Not at all. Clenching his fists, the Gryffindor turned and hurried to his tower. He didn't want to look at the disgusting Death Eater anymore. Nor did he want to think about the fact that he had once loved him.

It was all over between them from now on. Because he had no desire to date blood suprematists and the Lord's followers.

"N-no, James, wait!.."

Regulus continued to grin crookedly, but for some reason his eyebrows arched in doubt. He did the right thing and was never wrong, right? So... so why was there a need for such a dramatic reaction?

"James, really, wait, listen to me–"

"Listen to you? Just looking at you makes me want to puke, you Death Eater scum."

The Gryffindor broke into a run, leaving a very shocked Regulus alone in the empty corridor.

***

The next day, Regulus, not admitting (not even understanding) his mistake, sent James an enchanted note. Since childhood, everyone had told him that he was a clever, bright boy, but... it hadn't dawned on him overnight that their relationship was over, that they'd never see each other again. That's why he sincerely expected his boyfriend to come to their special place at the appointed time. To talk calmly, apologize for his insults, listen, and understand everything.

The Gryffindor had quite a lively reaction to the note. He first crumpled it up, then burned it. However, before that he read all the contents, and that meant something. So Regulus, smiling to himself, decided that he simply had to come.

"...I don't know, maybe– maybe I should go?" the guy muttered, wandering around the spacious room. Remus and Peter both looked at him with sympathy, "Maybe he was actually brainwashed? Or forced into this? His mother could've easily cast an Imperius, don't you think?.."

"Maybe, but why would she?"

"How would I know, Moony?! So, hey, maybe I should go and find out–"

Finally, Sirius couldn't stand this hysteria anymore. Yesterday he was jubilant that his best friend had broken up with his younger brother. And today, on the contrary, was gloomier than a thundercloud. Because it seemed that James still had feelings for the vile Death Eater. Having cooled down during the night a little, he wanted to go back to him and "clear things up."

Oh, no, no way. Sirius knew how this would end. James was a big-hearted person, after all. And so he'd forgive the bastard, who is definitely going to drag him down to the very bottom. Get him involved in this whole Death Eater circus or something even worse. This could not be allowed. Sirius knew better what these two really needed — to stay as far away from each other as possible. Never interact again. Or, even better, start hating each other.

"Sit, Prongs," the aristocrat hissed, jumping out of bed. Before his friend could get mad, he continued, "I'll go and sort this shit out myself. I'll talk to him as his older and much wiser brother, m'kay?"

Potter bit his lip uncertainly. Even wanted to say something else, but Pettigrew's quiet voice stopped him, "Let him, Prongs. He knows his brother better...".

It was quiet and calm by the lake late in the evening. Regulus sat on the grass, looking for his constellation in the sky. While he waited, he mentally connected all the stars with an even line. And with a smile, he imagined how James was already rushing to apologize for yesterday's behavior. However, ten minutes later, the voice of a slightly different Gryffindor called out to him.

The Sirius star was shining very brightly in the sky today.

"...what are you doing here?" the guy hissed discontentedly, turning around. Behind him stood his older brother, an invisibility cloak hanging on both shoulders, "I was waiting for James, not you."

"Sorry then, Death Eater. But I'm actually not very happy to see you either."

Frowning even more, Regulus carefully rose to his feet. He felt his wand in his pocket, which meant everything was fine. He'd be able to defend himself if necessary.

"James told you?" it sounded more like a rhetorical question. However, Sirius still nodded in agreement, "...you fucking freak. Did you tell him not to come? I wanted to discuss something and if it weren't for y–"

"Gods! Just how thick can you be?!"

The elder Black wanted to say and ask a lot of things. For example, "Why did you become a Death Eater? I believed in you for a little while, y'know? I still had hopes for you. Why did you disappoint me like that?". He wanted to find out many, many things that didn't concern anyone else but him and his brother.

However, instead, what came out of his throat was,

"When will you understand that James doesn't love you at all?"

Suddenly, Regulus’s anger disappeared somewhere. It practically vanished in a matter of seconds. His older brother's voice sounded so confident, without a single shadow of mockery, that it was even somewhat... scary. The boy's brows drew together in confusion, eyes darting nervously. But then he tried to calm himself down, to assure himself that Sirius was talking nonsense.

"He didn't come here of his own free will. He entrusted this task to me. Because you mean nothing to him," his brother was lying, he was definitely lying, he had to lie, no other way, "Think about it. Would he have rejected you yesterday if he loved you, huh? If he loved you, he would've accepted your pureblood position without a single question."

"Sh-shut up– you are lyi–"

"He didn't like you much before, but now he hates you. Because you chose to become a Death Eater."

Regulus bared his teeth and pulled out a wand, but his brother didn't even flinch. Instead, he proudly raised his chin, looking at the younger one with disdain. And then clicked his tongue in irritation. His eyes were practically saying, "Go ahead, hun, attack me. But it won't change the truth anyway." Simply put, he acted as if... as if he wasn't pranking. Wasn't just pulling another sick joke of his.

"James loves me–"

"He was toying with you, idiot," Regulus licked his dry lips, clutching the wand tighter. He was trying his best to show that he didn't believe, that he wasn't even going to try to listen to these words, "Experimenting, trying new things out. Well, y'know, guys our age usually do that a lot... so you're just a short-lived school fling."

"Shut up," what was meant as a threat came out in a plaintive squeak.

Sirius could sometimes lie very skillfully. Most likely, he was doing the same now — simply had to. However, his face was stony, his eyes were burning with their coldness, and his voice didn't dare to waver once. It was like he was voicing a generally accepted fact. Like...

Like he genuinely wasn't lying.

"In fact, he loves Lily. He just wanted to spice up the boring routine a little before starting a relationship with her. Because, oh well, we're not allowed to bully Snivelly anymore."

"I do not believe you," the Slytherin said quietly, swallowing. He held out his wand, but Sirius didn't even pretend to be scared or impressed. Could it be that he really wasn't lying? Could it be that everything he said was true? But that couldn't be so. If it had been a simple fling, Regulus would've definitely noticed, would've sensed the catch, would've prevented... "Did– did he tell you this? Or did you come up with it yourself to irritate me? I do not believe you...!"

Sirius' expression suddenly changed. "Do not believe you," huh? Fine then, he's going to make him believe, and also forget about the guy named James Potter. The signature mad grin stretched even wider than usual; something dangerous flashed in his grey eyes. He only looked like that when he wanted to hurt someone, no matter if it was physical or mental. Regulus already knew that he was about to hear disgusting things. Unfortunately, however, he didnt have time to shut his ears.

"What is it, little brother dearest?" here it is: that rough, cruel voice, "Are you actually jealous that someone with non-pure blood is better than you?"

Neither mother nor father had been around for a long time, but the hatred for his family hadn't gone away. On the contrary, it had been accumulating godlessly. All this time, Sirius couldn't figure out where to vent this anger. And only today something clicked in his head. He remembered that he had a brother. A member of that disgusting family.

And since he was the same as them, why not take all feelings out on him? Moreover, he fully deserved it. It'd be a kind of punishment for him for receiving the mark.

"A-a-admit it, you're jealous. You envy us all," devils danced with glee in his gray eyes, "That's why you wanted to ruin my friendship with James, his future with Lils, everything–"

"No!" Regulus was speechless from shock, so he couldn't really defend himself verbally now.

"Yes! You always want to be everyone's "favorite". I know you too well, you fucking suck-up."

Sirius dodged the non-verbal spell quite deftly. His reaction was well developed. Instead of panicking or getting angry, on the contrary, he laughed — madly and abnormally.

"Well, guess what?! No one will ever consider you their "favorite"," the guy deflected the next attack with his wand. He didn't really count on a duel when he came here, but oh well. Why not fight? Quite a fine evening for this, "You — Protego — belong only in that pack of psychos!"

"Yeah? But at least I have my own place!"

The elder Black managed to block another dark spell just in time.

"At least I do not grovel before people like a flea-bitten stray," the grin on his face suddenly trembled, changing to something like shock and anger at the same time, "And I do not ask people to shelter me, giving me a corner in the corridor!"

"You... you little shit!"

Maybe a real duel or even a fistfight in the muggle style would've taken place, but... fortunately or unfortunately, Professor Slughorn noticed them. A couple of minutes ago he was just walking around the school grounds, and now was forced to separate the teenagers. Shouting, "Young men, please, young men, stop this immediately!", he ran up to the brothers. They lowered their wands, extremely reluctantly, but nonetheless. At first, the Potions Master simply asked to clarify the situation. When no one answered, he threatened to give them detention.

"...don't come near James again, ever," spat the elder Black. Then, brazenly ignoring the professor's words, went away.

"Honestly! What happened here?! Regulus, my boy, maybe at least you will tell me?"

But the Slytherin, looking down, refused to answer too.

***

"...so, um, Pads? How did it go?"

All this time, Potter waited in the common room without closing his eyes. When he met Black, he began to smile awkwardly, looking with an almost childish hope. Even muttered something like, "we can brainwash Reggie too, lure him to the bright side, it's not too late." Yes, he would've forgiven the Death Eater one hundred percent. It's good that his reliable and loyal friend resolved the situation for him. Sorted it out, guaranteeing a good future without this bastard.

"Terrible," James, opening his mouth, abruptly dropped his shoulders. He looked as broken as possible, but everything was fine. It had to be that way. It's for the best. In a couple of years, when he marries Lily, he'll thank his mate for this whole moment, "The idiot said a lot of nasty things. Y'know, about "mudbloods" and how he wants to rid the world of them."

"Ah... y-yeah...?"

"And also that he doesn't give a damn about you. He said he called you to officially break up. Because you didn't accept his choice."

Flinching, Potter's face stretched even further in horror. He tried his best to carefully analyze his friend's face, but didn't find a hint of a lie or pretense. Black was extremely serious, not daring to falter. "I'm doing this for James. For his own good," the aristocrat assured himself, remaining so cold-blooded that goosebumps ran across his own skin.

"And then he mentioned my fleas. Fucking git, don't you agree?"

"Oh... oh, is that, so...?" the young man himself didn't understand where he was looking, but definitely not at Sirius. For some reason, he didn't want to meet his friend's joyful gaze, "Y-yeah, yeah... total git, yes..."

His best mate, coming closer, threw an arm over his shoulder. Then pulled James closer to ruffle his already unkempt hair with a fist.

"C'mon, Prongs, cheer up. You'll be much better off with Lils," then turned him towards the stairs leading to the room, "And my idiot brother was just a passing fling. I'm not wrong, am I?"

James swallowed hard and forced himself to smile. However, his eyes, wide open, almost like in horror, still gave away all his thoughts and feelings,

"No... you're not wrong, Padfoot," Sirius chuckled triumphantly, even began to whistle, "You're right... always right."

***

A couple of years later, Sirius wouldn't believe his brother when he told the truth about Peter. A couple of years later, Sirius would rudely push him away, rejecting him completely. Breaking their family connection without regret. Then he'll scream with disgust, "I hope you drop dead!".

And Regulus will sigh quietly, remembering what date it is. His birthday, right. His eighteenth birthday. Usually on such a day, people wish others happiness and health, not death.

Sitting down on his perfectly made bed, the now former Death Eater will think, "Why do you hate me so much, Sirius? Was I that bad of a brother?". Then he'll suddenly remember the stupid glasses and unruly hair. The promises and kisses under the stars, the pain in his own cheek. "And you, James... why do you hate me so much? Was I that bad of a boyfriend?".

And while neither his mother nor Kreacher are listening, he'll burst into tears for the first time since their break-up. It's at that moment that he'll finally understand: he was abandoned by two close, beloved people at once.

When the room is replaced by a cold cave and water, he will think that he never wanted any of this. Never wanted everything to end so sadly. Never wanted to be hated by those who swore to stay with him until the end. Never wanted to part with James, never wanted to see contempt in Sirius' eyes. Never wanted to die misunderstood and unheard. Never wanted for no one to even cry at his grave after his death.

"Surely there's something good in you too."

He will understand that he just should've listened to that mud– that mugglebor– Lily Evans. He should've listened to Lily Evans. Who will become Potter any day now.

"At least it's not too late for you to change?"

Too late. Unfortunately, it's too late. Regulus only has time to remember that wide smile. To think, "Please, please, please, help me, save me–"

"...aste... lus... mast...! Master Regulus!.. Can you hear me, master Regulus?!"

Chapter Text

"Ugh! Bastards!" as soon as the door slammed, Harry kicked the desk in anger. So hard that his leg hurt, "I hate them!.."

He almost fell onto the bed, exhausted. Then began to ruffle his already messy hair with both hands, twitch his leg and breathe heavily from the adrenaline rush. Rage boiled in his veins, awakening something bad. There wasn't a drop of regret or pity in his heart for that ugly woman. Aunt Marge deserved it. Absolutely.

After all, how dare she speak ill of his parents? Of his brave mom and dad, of Lily and James Potter? She didn't know them! Didn't know them at all–

"You... you do not know anything about my family!"

Harry froze. Even stopped breathing, he calmed down. Or more precisely, paused his hysteria for now. He scratched his head, exhaling heavily. And closing his eyes, thought of only one person, "Bla– no... Draco". The image of blond hair, surprisingly, quickly sobered him up. Made him realize a lot of stuff in a matter of seconds. Damn this whole situation... the moment something similar happened to him, he understood another person's feelings much more. Understood them so well and deeply that the resentment for all those quarrels and senseless fights slowly began to dissolve. Right before his eyes.

"Are you against my help?"

"...I wish I could understand who's behind all this. And I want to hel– figure everything out properly."

"Oh, oh. I screwed up so much... and I'm such an idiot. I made him a complete prat in my own head," the thought was extremely obvious. Why didn't he guess this a year ago, and especially two? "Even suspected that he was the heir of Slytherin, even... damn," admitting his guilt was unpleasant. And uncovering his past mistakes was like pulling teeth, "He really could've helped us, he even guessed right about Voldemort, and I... idiot, idiot! Why didn't I listen? And... Ron and I said so many things about his whole family, about his father..."

"And for your information, you should apologize to him, not me."

Exactly, yes. He needs to apologize. He definitely needs to apologize and improve his relationship with Black, before it's too late. To rise above their stupid rivalry, to be more mature. To do the right... or even brave thing. Admitting your mistakes to another person's face — that's bravery, isn't it?

But first...

He glanced furtively at the photograph he treasured. It showed his very young mother and father dancing, smiling happily. Autumn leaves were falling from above like rain, and a fountain was babbling behind them. What a sweet scene — it always calmed Potter down in moments of uncontrollable anger.

"...to hell with it," having said this, he took the photo frame and his huge suitcase.

When he menacingly descended the stairs, he thought that he'd be able to leave without any problems. However, his huge Uncle Vernon, blocking the passage, became an obstacle.

"You bring her back! You bring her back now. You put her right!"

"No," Harry growled, "She deserved what she got," the person who dared to compare the heroes with some lousy little dogs, in fact, deserved an even worse punishment.

When Dursley screamed and was ready to rush with his fists, the teenager threatened him with a wand. Now the voice came out more like the hiss of a snake, "Keep away from me." Uncle tried to defend himself, fearfully retreated back. Said that it was forbidden to do magic outside of school.

"Yeah? Try me," Harry said sarcastically, ready to cast at least a hundred more spells.

"T-They won't let you back now..." Petunia and Dudley were shaking behind the man's giant back, "You've nowhere to go."

"I don't care. Anywhere is better than here."

Ignoring all three relatives at once, Potter angrily rushed to the door. And then, without slowing down for a second, walked in an unknown direction. He didn't even look at the courtyards and street names, because nothing mattered anymore. He just wanted to hide somewhere from everyone in this disgusting world. Or, on the contrary, make everyone suffer for how they dared to insult his parents.

Yes, now Harry definitely understood Draco well. He understood all the anger and desire to fight at every opportunity. But understanding didn't make him feel better. On the contrary, it made him feel very down and depressed.

"I need to apologize, I need to apologize. Apologize to him as soon as possible," the teenager repeated in his mind over and over. And kept walking forward, not paying attention to the road.

But his body was still getting cold. Wearing only a jacket and jeans (the same ones he'd been given in his first year, just enlarged in size with Hermione's spells) in such weather was clearly a mistake. Going back "home", however, was not even on his mind. So Harry couldn't think of anything better to do than sit down right on the asphalt. The wind was blowing through his back, so he had to curl up into a ball and hug himself so as not to freeze completely. He could've cast Warming Charms on himself. But, as luck would have it, Potter forgot them all — everything flew out of his head because of rage.

Sometimes Harry hated his impulsiveness even more than his annoying relatives.

"What do I do now, huh?" the teenager asked into the void.

The only answer was the creaking of the swing behind him and the gusts of wind. Over time, these unpleasant sounds began to intensify. When even the rustling of the bushes joined them, Harry couldn't stand it anymore. He turned around to see what was going on, but quickly regretted it. In the semi-darkness, two gray eyes were looking at him back.

Surprised, Potter jumped up and instinctively reached for his wand. It was of little use, however, when he didn't know what spell to use. The unknown creature continued to frighteningly emerge from the darkness — paw after paw. Was it... a dog? No, it certainly doesn't look like one. Ordinary dogs aren't half as scary, half as huge. Ordinary dogs also don't have eyes that sparkle silver in the street darkness.

"Hey?.." Harry called, not knowing what else to say.

The dog barked menacingly, almost making his heart sink into his heels. He would've definitely rushed into a run or cast the first random spell at the creature, if not for the sound of a bus horn. Soon, bright lights illuminated the entire street and at the same time scared off the black thing. Perhaps this was for the best.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus. Emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard," reading everything from some strange piece of paper, dictated a man in a funny uniform. His face also looked no less funny and amusing — he seemed to have crawled out of some cartoon, "My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor for this evening," then he put his card away and proudly raised his head.

A second passed. Two, three, four...

"What're you doing down there?"

***

When Sirius Orion Black himself escaped from Azkaban, it became obvious to everyone: life promised to become eighty percent more interesting. However, Regulus, like a complete idiot, decided that this wouldn't affect him in any way. He thought that his brother couldn't give a single damn about him. That man wouldn't even kill him. Wouldn't want to dirty his hands with the blood of the unworthy.

So Regulus was worried exclusively about his son, whom he had already sent to school. And kept wondering how many horcruxes Voldemort had actually made. Maybe only two and the diary was the last one? And if not, who could he ask for the exact number? Where else should he look? As always, he didn't think about himself at all. So naturally, this, as always, led to terrible consequences. On September first, despite the screams and threats of the house-elves, the escaped criminal showed up on the doorstep of the house. Grimmauld Place accepted him, let him in, because, well, he was still a member of the Black family. To his brother's great disappointment, of course.

Regulus hadn't seen his brother for more than twelve years — since the very day he himself almost died in that cave. Then, long ago, Sirius looked like a handsome, stately young man. Now he was more like a beaten pup, overgrown with dirty hair almost to his waist. During his stay in Azkaban, he turned into a truly pathetic parody of himself. All that remained unchanged was the mad look that was passed on to all Blacks.

Now Sirius was looking at Regulus as if he wanted to tear him apart right there and then. Yeah, that must be it. Perhaps this is exactly why he came after twelve years of his imprisonment.

"Reggie..." the voice came out in a hoarse whisper. Black seemed to have forgotten how to speak. That's why his brother didn't hear him and, instead of greeting, asked,

"Here to murder me, I reckon?" gray eyes, the same as his own, opened wide in horror, "Can't just exist quietly in your lovely prison, knowing that I am alive and happy in freedom? Because you hate me that much, don't you?"

"Kreacher will never let Master Regulus be harmed! Kreacher will not allow the traitor to murder Master Regulus!.."

Even having stopped blinking, Sirius tried to take a step forward. But his legs failed him — he began to stagger, like he was about to fall. The house-elves threatened him, while shielding their master with their tiny bodies.

"R... Reggie..." now the whisper became more distinct words, causing the man to tremble.

"Reggie". Oh Merlin, he hadn't been called that for a lo-ong time. So long that Regulus had resigned himself to the fact that he'd never hear that warm nickname again. But still, he couldn't give in to his feelings and trust this man. He couldn't ever trust his own brother again.

"Reggie, no, I..." he quickly noticed his younger brother's hand reaching for the wand in his pocket, "I don't... Merlin... I don't even know how... where to..." he spoke haltingly, still slightly uncertain. As if he was getting used to human speech again, "I won't... won't murder you... Reggie, I, I would never–"

"Get away, murderer! Murderer!"

"How dare you talk to Master Regulus after everything you've done?!.. Vile pest, a monstrous disgrace to the noble family!.. Master, save yourself, we'll hold him back!.."

"Shut the fuck up, Kreacher!" the man practically barked at the house-elf.

The two brothers — the younger and the older — stood opposite each other at the threshold. With completely different, contradictory emotions. Sirius was ready to burst out laughing and crying at the same time, while Regulus was ready to throw a curse at him, giving a good punishment. However, neither of them dared to do anything yet. They just stared like two idiots.

As soon as the older brother came a centimeter closer, Black instantly pulled out his wand. Without any hesitation, held it out and said,

"Leave. Leave this house like you already did once."

The words cut worse than a knife, but Sirius still tried to smile. With the last of his strength, he showed that he was friendly, that he wouldn't dare to harm.

"Reggie, you... you, well... you were right. You're right, I'm wrong. See, yeah? Yeah?!.. I, I admit it!" the wand was shaking in a hand, eyes were burning, "But, y'know, I didn't believe you not... not 'cause I'm a fucking villain... but 'cause you were a Death Eater! You had... all these beliefs, you had the mark," a reminder of his past self, terrible actions, words and opinions only made everything worse, "Well– well, how was I supposed to believe you then?! Did you really think that... that I'd believe a fanatic, a supremacist? Over my friends?!"

Sirius realized what he had said only after the words had already burst out. It was awkward. This wasn't how he had planned to have this conversation.

"I mean!.. I thought that Peter was my friend. Then– back then I just didn't know tha–"

"I hate you," Regulus hissed through clenched teeth. His face itself was twisted with both anger and unbearable melancholy at the same time, "Hate. You."

"Re– oh, trust me, you're not alone, Reggie. I fucking hate me too! 'Cause it's... my fault that James and Lily…"

A traitorous sob almost escaped the dry lips of the younger Black. The house-elves looked at their master in horror, then began to scream louder, "Get out, get out of here, you vile murderer! You horrible bastard!". Sirius didn't listen to them, instead taking advantage of the moment and quickly approaching his brother.

"Don't you dare come near me– I–" he backed away, no longer understanding what kind of nonsense he was even saying, "Stay awa– get out of my house! Cruci–"

"Reggie, wait, I didn't kill anyone!" the older brother raised his hands quickly and begged. His babble made the wizard freeze and not continue the spell. Although it was unclear whether it would've worked at all? "Me– Merlin! You psycho, you just wanted to throw a Crucio at me?! Are you... aren't you happy to see me?! Aren't you?"

"What did you think, huh? That I would greet you with a celebration cake and a big smile, huh?!.. After everything you have done?!"

"But... but I– I'm innocent, Reggie, I didn't kill anyone! Not a single muggle!.." Regulus knew this perfectly well since 1981, but he still couldn't forgive. He couldn't, "I swear– Black's word of honour! It's all Wormtail, just like you said, I... I was a fool for not believing you!.."

"But I won't let you destroy my family with them!"

The cold mask was bursting at the seams, but Regulus held it in place with all his might. He was no longer a little boy to cry over every word his brother said, was he?

"If it's between them and you, I'll believe them."

"Wormtail's alive, I know where he is right now– he deceived everyone! So that I'd be convicted instead of him, so that– Reggie, you were so right!.."

"I hope you drop dead!"

His own feelings, which he had kept locked away for so many years, which he had never shown to anyone after the deaths of all his loved ones, came flooding back like a tsunami. They overwhelmed him, starting to pull him down by the leg to the very bottom. Regulus was drowning. Always just drowning, drowning, drowning. Even now. He slowly sank to his knees, to the cold floor, while squeezing the tears that were coming back into himself. The house-elves and, most importantly, Sirius rushed towards him.

Black tried to push away his brother's large hands, but he was more agile. Still managed to get closer and hug him. The smell of dampness, loneliness, Azkaban, madness, remorse – the smell of Sirius – hit his nose. While the elves were cursing at the criminal, he continued to hold Regulus in his arms. Pulled him towards, stroked his curly hair and whispered through wet laughter,

"You're so grown up, Reggie... so grown up now."

The house elves tried to help Regulus get out of that steel grip, but unfortunately, nothing worked. Sirius clung to him like a last saving straw. He wasn't even upset when he heard,

"I hate... I cannot stand you, I hate you! I hate, I hate, I hate you more than anyone in this world–"

"I know... I know, Reggie, I'm to blame. I've done so much shit..."

"Yes– yes! Everything... all of this is your fault! If only you'd believed me, no one would have died!" the feelings that hadn't been expressed for so many years were hard to stop, "I tried... I warned you! Almost died myself... that day, when you, you...!"

Sirius, who had been smiling until then, suddenly changed his expression. The joy after such a long separation was gone. Fear took its place. Fear that if something went wrong, he really might never see his brother again. Never be able to hug him again. Never be able to apologize for his "I hope you drop dead!".

"Reggie..." his own brother could've died just like the other one. Like James, "I don't, I... fu-u-uck... I, I'm s–"

"No. You are not sorry. You have never been sorry, when the matter concerned me."

"Re–"

"Never. Because I am not even your brother...!"

Kreacher decided that this wouldn't do. He needed to calm his master down before he started getting nervous and experiencing excruciating pain in his eye again. Having whispered something to Dobby, the elf disappeared along with him. The two of them urgently had to find some calming potions, make some warm tea, and then provide Regulus with complete peace. Otherwise, everything would definitely end with blood from his eye.

"No! No, you're my–"

Brother finally pulled away. He wanted to look into the gray eyes, to assure that all this wasn't true, but couldn't utter a word — he noticed the left eye. Regulus had definitely never had this kind of... defect before. "Almost died myself, that day, when you" began to make more sense.

"Your... e-eye...?"

He wasn't lying. He really could've died– he almost died. He wasn't lying. Never.

"What's– what's wrong with your–"

"The Potters are your family, James is your brother, and not... not someone like me, right?!.."

"Reggie, I..." Sirius finally realized: he had done so much shit that no words or actions would fix even half of it. He had broken his younger brother with his own hands somewhere on a subconscious level — would anyone ever forgive him for that? He doubted, "I..." nevertheless, swallowing his pride for the second time, he said, "'m sorry," as sincerely as possible, "Please, forgive me."

Regulus should not forgive. He should not, but for some reason he stopped struggling and repeating his meaningless "I hate you"s. His wet eyes stung even more, but he wouldn't allow himself to cry. He wouldn't allow it. Never, ever.

"I'm an idiot, yes, but you– you're clever! You have to understand me! To forgive me!.."

He had to clench his teeth tightly to keep himself from giving in.

"We... are brothers. You and only you are my brother," Sirius' words cannot be trusted. Cannot be trusted, but oh how Regulus wanted to, "I will never abandon you again. Reg— Regulus. Regulus, please, listen to me. We are brothers. Brothers. I'm sorry, sorry for everything... alright?.."

His throat felt completely constricted, and suddenly — just like a blow,

"...oh, come on, quit sulking," the image of his little, small brother popped into his head. Not gray, not smelling of dampness. Instead, an image of years long gone, "I promise not to throw you into the fountain at Uncle Signus' house again. It was the first and last time."

"You are lying. You will do it again later. And you will laugh at me again, along with Bella," Regulus muttered under his breath, frowning. He tried not to look at his older brother.

Yes, what happened today wasn't really that serious. Just a bad joke that Bellatrix had originally started. But still, the feelings of a six-year-old boy with a gigantic for his age ego were hurt. Fortunately, Andromeda helped him get out of the fountain and even dried his clothes with her wand. All the while saying, "Poor thing... Reggie, did you break anything, or are you hurt somewhere? I am so very sorry I did not manage to stop them in time...". And Narcissa, piercing everyone with her severity and coldness, said that the prank had gone too far and that they needed to apologize.

So, that's what Sirius did. Already at home, at Grimmauld Place, and late in the evening, but he still did it.

"We just wanted to teach you to swim. Reggi-ie, come on!"

Regulus almost hit him on the head with all his might. He tried, but, unfortunately, couldn't reach.

"Okay-okay, I am actually sorry! I shall not do this again," then the young wizard sighed and carefully sat closer. When the awkward silence dragged on, Sirius allowed himself to hug his younger brother. At first, he struggled, hissing like a kitten, but quieted down when he heard, "I am sorry... alright?.."

"I hate you..." this time the hoarse whisper sounded completely unconvincing. Both brothers realized that these words were the most pathetic lie ever.

When brother hugged him again, just like back then in childhood, Regulus allowed himself to do the same in return.

***

"Oh... look, it's him, Sirius Black's nephew..."

"Do you think it was him and his father who helped Sirius Black escape?"

"Be quiet, this Black can still hear you!.. What if he curses us all now?!.."

"First Potter, now Black... ugh! Why do I have to study together with evil wizards?"

This Black stared at the whispering Hufflepuff table with an arrogant look, then went on. Having a maximally displeased expression, he sat closer to his friends — Parkinson, Zabini, Crabbe and Goyle. Greengrass and Bulstrode were already actively discussing something girlish. Nott, even paler than usual today, sat a little further away (like he wasn't feeling well). Another year at Hogwarts began as usual. Except that now the whole school was genuinely afraid of Draco. He, as if having switched places with Potter, was now receiving sincere fear from the students around him.

And there was only one person to blame for all this — Sirius Black.

His damn uncle had somehow escaped from prison after twelve years. "Couldn't have done it later? After I graduated?" thought Draco, snorting quietly under his breath. Both magical and muggle Britain were on edge from this news: after all, it's not every day that dangerous killers are roaming free. Until he was caught, people would continue to look askance in horror at the youngest member of the Black family. The year was promising to be incredibly "fun."

Draco has never met his uncle before (and for an obvious reason). But he knew already — he hated that man with a burning passion.

As the headmaster spoke about the new professor, Draco involuntarily glanced at the Gryffindor table. The trio was sitting there together again. They were all whispering about something, occasionally glancing over their shoulders at the Slytherin. Black grimaced like he had taken poison. Unable to bear it, said,

"Potter. Potter," when the teenager in glasses turned around, an evil grin suddenly appeared on Draco's face, "There has been a lot of talk on the train... is it true you fainted?" Pansy theatrically imitated a seizure next to him. She even rolled her eyes for credibility. The other Slytherins also laughed, but not out loud, "I mean, you actually fainted? What are you, five?"

To be honest, he expected some rude insult in response. However, neither Potter nor his two "henchmen" became angry. On the contrary, they seemed... sympathetic, or something? Each of them looked like they wanted to say something very personal, very intimate.

"Huh?.. What is... what is wrong with them?" Black wondered in his mind, quickly fluttering whitish eyelashes, "They are acting kind of strange..."

"What a peculiar reaction," Blaise noted. Then grinned and whispered in his friend's ear. Yet, of course, he "whispered" so loud that the whole table could hear, "The dementors must have sucked out their entire souls," Daphne Greengrass laughed.

"Or mental abilities!"

Draco stared the trio with sincere bewilderment. Then quickly turned away so as not to look them in the eyes anymore. It seemed that they suffered greatly from the dementors. Otherwise, they wouldn't have behaved so lost and sad.

Dumbledore's speech soon ended, and all the students hurried to their common rooms. After all, the trip with the dementors had tired or left many in a depressed mood. Nott looked like a tortured person more than anyone else — he clearly could use an early evening nap. Noticing his terrible state, Draco wanted to run up, ask and find out how he was doing, but suddenly heard,

"Oi, Black!"

The Slytherin shuddered all over. Ron Weasley himself was calling him, for some reason. At first, Draco even wanted to pretend that he hadn't heard anything, but the call was repeated. Twice as loud.

"What do you want?" turning around, he saw not only Ron, but also his loyal friends, "You three. What do you three want from me?"

"We wanted to talk to you about something," Harry began awkwardly, not quite understanding how to approach the matter correctly. In his head, he had already thought out the scenario a couple of times, but... it was hard to implement. Now this would either be his bravest and best speech, or the stupidest.

The teenager was about to turn around and leave pompously, but he was stopped.

"No, listen! This is important," the unusual haste (even anxiety) in the Gryffindor's voice made him tense. It reminded him of himself in the second year. Draco snorted, but nevertheless stayed where he was, "I... I learned something about Sirius Black and–"

Apparently, he stayed in vain. Unable to bear it any longer, the fair-haired boy simply howled in despair. The words, "How much longer can this go on?!", were on the tip of his tongue. Does every Hogwarts inhabitant intend to hold him accountable for his uncle's misdeeds? If this continues for a year straight, it will be easier to transfer to Beauxbatons. Otherwise, Draco will go crazy, and truly become another crazy member of the Black family.

"And — wait, you twat, don't go! — I mean, I don't blame you! Because I know how you feel," Black's face suddenly changed: surprise replaced anger, "I know... after our second year and after..." the boy's friends behind him clearly understood what he was talking about. Apparently, they had already managed to discuss something personal and important back on the Hogwarts Express, "And, well, I just realized that you're not a bad person. I shouldn't have argued and fought with you all the time. You and Dobby wanted to help, but I..."

Draco couldn't even imagine why he was present here right now. He couldn't even remember how the conversation started. That's how much shock paralyzed his poor brain, tired after the trip.

"I was, um... wrong too. You're a snob and all that, but..." Ron added, awkwardly fiddling with the sleeve of his robe. The tips of his ears were noticeably pink. His friends nudged him to continue, "I shouldn't have said so many bad things about your father. He... um, Harry said he's not evil," Hermione spoke after him. Incidentally, the only one who wasn't shy about apologizing clearly and distinctly,

"I am ashamed of my awful behavior too. I was the one who said a lot of things to Harry and Ron about your family, last year I made them believe that you were the heir of Slytherin, that you..."

"That you hate people like me. That you hate mudbloods," never left her lips, though.

"So... yeah."

"And what was the point of all that elegy just now?" Draco was unable to say anything more cool. The shock that had shackled him didn't allow to flash his sarcasm abilities.

"The point is, we're sorry," the hero in glasses sighed. On the one hand, the rudeness infuriated him a little, but on the other hand, it was good that the Slytherin didn't run away, "But well, you were a big prat yourself..."

"Yeah, a total git."

"Oh, I do not even know why. Maybe because you treated me and my family like the world's greatest evil?"

Harry understood his feelings perfectly well. He had recently experienced the same. So now he could only bow his head, meekly accepting Draco's complaints, not even getting angry. A tense silence hung in the empty corridor near the Great Hall. The thirteen-year-olds simply gazed at each other, playing a staring contest, until Hermione whispered,

"You are not "the world's greatest evil"... you have never called me a mudblood."

"Oh, by the way! Why didn't you?" the red-haired guy interrupted, perking up, "Doesn't your family support the pureblood supremacy?"

It seemed like they had just apologized for their prejudice, and now, here it was again... but this time Black was no longer offended. He realized that they had come to him in peace. That there was no point in fighting anymore.

"Father does not support it, and neither do I. My father is a great man who is above all this stupid hatred," the golden trio looked at him in genuine surprise, "He taught me that there is nothing wrong with muggles. And muggle-borns, by association," Hermione suddenly beamed with joy. She even started to smile widely, revealing her long front teeth.

"Your father and you really aren't evil, are you?"

"Yeah... looks like that," even Ron was bound to agree.

The Slytherin raised an eyebrow sarcastically.

"So... what's, um, between us?" the red-haired Gryffindor quickly continued. At the same time, he also began to smile awkwardly, like his friend, "A truce? Friendship?"

"Oh, I do not really know. Do you want to be friends with the crazy heir of the Blacks? Hm, Weasley?" the grudge, if it really still existed, sounded extremely childish. These words were more like a good-natured jab.

"Co-ome o-on! We all apologized to you!"

"Yeah, don't be a prat, Draco."

The teenager's mouth almost fell to the stone floor. Surely he hadn't simply... dreamed of this entire situation, right? This seemed to be the first time Potter called him by his first name. And without contempt or anger in his voice. And his green eyes looked very kind. Black had never seen them like this before.

"Yes, we got off on the wrong foot," Hermione hastily added. She still hadn't stopped smiling, "But it's only been two years. Besides, we were kids... we can still fix everything and become friends."

"Friends", huh? They weren't lying and actually wanted to be friends with him? Harry Potter himself, along with his loyal company, wanted to be friends? It sounded unconvincing, implausible. Draco wouldn't even be surprised if he woke up now and realized that everything was a dream.

"This is not... a prank, right? If it is, you can lay all your cards on the table and start laughing right now," Hermione sighed louder than anyone else.

"No, it's not a prank. Trust me."

"Well... alright then... you..." the Slytherin pursed his lips and quietly exhaled through his nose. Then pulled himself together and started again. Still, such a chance for friendship shouldn't be missed, "Forgive me too, all three of you," the boys at first opened their eyes in amazement, but then softened, "I was mad at you, very mad, but I should not have insulted you or casted jinxes on you. It was unacceptable on my part."

"It's okay. Even friends can be mad at each other, right?"

Smiling slightly, Draco extended his palm forward. Every Gryffindor without exception shook it.

"Well..." after that, stepping back a short distance, the teenager awkwardly said, "For now there will be a truce between us," it seemed that Harry was the least satisfied with this answer. After the situation with Aunt Marge, he had been telling himself, "Draco's not so bad," and now he was faced with... a not very warm welcome, "I should think a little about this... friendship offer."

"Of course. We'll discuss it among ourselves too," the girl smiled at him anyway, "The night brings counsel, doesn't it? Especially since we're all very tired today."

"Mhm…"

When the Gryffindors disappeared around the corner, the boy stood in place for a couple more seconds. Tried to understand what had just happened. Had the golden trio offered him friendship? And so suddenly? Had the dementors made them change? Something was clearly wrong, but… their words were still ringing in his head. Especially the unexpectedly warm "Draco" from Potter's lips.

"Huh... a truce... yes, for now it is just a truce. I still need time to think it over," Black already knew for sure that he wouldn't sleep at all tonight. Instead, he'd start weighing absolutely all the pros and cons, deciding for himself whether it was worth going further and starting an official friendship, "Somehow I still do not believe it... maybe it is a prank after all? Merlin... I shall ask Daphne to pinch me, maybe this is just a dream," thinking about this, he went to the dungeons. While feeling that strange lightness and vague anxiety at the same time.

Harry, meanwhile, walking towards the tower and discussing the Slytherin's reaction with his friends, smiled a little. He initially hoped for a different outcome and instant agreement, but... well, he could wait. Just as he could assure Draco that being his friend is, in fact, awesome.

Chapter Text

"...that Grim thing is rubbish, right?" Harry asked, slightly pushing the blond guy next to him, "Right, eh?"

"I sincerely do not understand what you wish to hear from me."

"I mean, has it got anything to do with Sirius Black?" the yet another mention of that person made Draco instantly darken. Like a cloud in a thunderstorm. He was so focused on the carelessly spoken phrase that he almost tripped. Luckily, Harry held him by the sleeve of his robe in time, "Oh, well, it's... forgive a bloke for assuming."

All four of them went down the still green hill and huge steps to the low, languid ringing of the bell. Hermione ran ahead of everyone, as if she was afraid of being late somewhere. Her friends trudged behind. At the same time, didn't stop discussing the class that had just ended... or rather, what had happened in it.

"Oh, honestly. If you ask me, Divination's a woolly discipline," the girl explained, proudly waving her curly mane of hair, "Draco will agree me, won't he? He is a smart pureblood wizard, he gets what I'm saying."

"Well, yes, true. But do not deny that seers really do exist," the blond deftly stepped over another unsafe step.

"And Professor Trelawney's clearly not one of them."

In response to Ron's remark, everyone quietly cackled. Hermione, by the way, giggled louder than everyone else — she clearly didn't like the new professor. In general, the Slytherin supported her in this.

"I think I shall change my schedule," the teen said, "Instead of listening to how evil and bad the Blacks are, I am better off in the Ancient Runes class."

"Exactly! This subject is so fascinating."

"Huh?.." Ron glanced sideways at his hurrying friend in surprise, "How would you know?"

"I've already been to one class," she responded carelessly.

Now all three boys didn't understand anything. They couldn't even imagine how Hermione could have been to the class that had just ended. At the same time as Divination.

"Hang on. That's not possible," the red-haired guy suddenly stopped, "Ancient Runes is in the same time as Divination."

"Yeah, Draco even wants to change his schedule 'cause of this," his friend chimed in.

"You have to be in two classes at once."

While her friends were exchanging glances, Hermione was about to break into a run. It seemed that she didn't like this conversation at all. The two Gryffindor boys, though, couldn't understand what exactly the reason was. As for Draco... he was sort of beginning to guess. "Have to be in two classes at once," he thought, squinting his gray eyes, "She's already been to Ancient Runes... being in two places at the same time, you can only be in two places at once if..."

Two places at the same time. Time. It was a rather bold assumption. That's why Black voiced it more in a joking manner,

"Hah, don't tell me that you are hiding a Time-Turner somewhere?" Weasley was now even more surprised. He almost tripped on the steps from shock. The girl, who had been running ahead, also stopped. Frozen and stunned, "...huh? What? Really? Was I right?"

"No! No, of course not!" Hermione quickly came to her senses.

Then she adjusted her bag and, striding menacingly again, continued,

"Who would allow a child to use a Time-Turner, and at school too? Don't say such rubbish, Draco!"

"Ah, err, well..."

It kind of made sense, yes. Probably even more sense than Black's theory. Awkwardly scratching the back of his head, he could only tactfully remain silent. Only Weasley didn't calm down, chattering, "You froze wa-ay too unnaturally. That means he's right! Draco's smart, he's surely right! Hey, where did you get a Time-Turner?". The girl answered him as if she were talking to a madman, no less.

"What's a Time-Turner?" Harry whispered in the teenager's ear.

"Um... how do I put it more simply so as not to confuse you? Basically, it is a magical device that..."

"Don't explain anything, Draco! I told you I don't have it!"

The muffled footsteps of the other students could be heard behind them.

"Is Black with the Gryffindorks today too?" a quiet whisper was heard. Judging by the voice, it seemed to be Daphne Greengrass. And her friend Bulstrode was probably walking next, "Maybe Nott was right and they did put Imperio on him after all?"

"I guess I am so irresistible that people cannot stop whispering about me for even five minutes," the boy thought sarcastically, rolling his eyes. And then continued explaining the nature of the Time-Turners to Potter.

Although he could understand his classmates. After all, it's not every day that you can see inter-house friendship– a truce– a truce bordering on friendship. Especially between Slytherin and Gryffindor students. Moreover, Draco had been actively feuding with this "holy trinity" for two whole years. Such a sudden reconciliation after recent fights was frankly not understood by all his "snake"-mates. He explained everything as it was time and time again, said that he had let go of all the grudges. Even advised them to follow his example and also bury the hatchet, but the kids only laughed,

"Hanging out with a hybrid, a blood traitor and a mudblood? Draco, you must be joking!"

"Do not call them that," the guy protested, forgetting his father's long-standing advice, "I do not consider them enemies, and certainly not... these words."

"Mate, are you completely bollocks? Did the Black blood finally take its toll?" the girls giggled nastily after Zabini's words.

"Or were you bitten by some werewolf who makes you love mudbloods?"

"Oh, piss off, all of you...!" and after that Draco walked away proudly.

True, they didn't decide to make Black from all the possible candidates be a victim of relentless bullying. That'd lead to a very bad end. After all, he comes from an influential and dark family. And his uncle is a dangerous murderer who just escaped prison. Who knows what he could do to those who don't respect his nephew? So the Slytherins simply laughed and referred to family madness, "He's gone so crazy that he's fraternizing with the enemy... just like his uncle once did." Some, like Nott, put forward the theory about Imperio. Millicent Bulstrode, though, blurted out something like, "He is trying to get close to Potter, just to lead him straight to Sirius Black."

In short, the Slytherins did everything but admit that Draco's sudden... "interpersonal relationships" with the golden trio were real and sincere. Oh well. As long as they minded their own business, the rest can be tolerated. Even Professor Snape, who began every lesson with "Potter, Black, scatter to different seats, right now. I forbid you two to sit together during my classes." Even his father, who kept sending him short (out of obvious panic) letters,

"Did Professor Snape tell me the truth? Have you actually become friends with Potter?"
"Draco, chéri, why did you get so desperate? So desperate that you decided to be... Potter's friend? You do not need that."
"If you want more friends, I shall find them for you. And they will be Gryffindors too, I promise."
"Just not Potter. Do not be friends with him."
"Please, tell me that your insufferable professor was just kidding me. Just pulling some sort of a prank on me."
"...Draco. Do not lie about a truce. I know what it is like to be a teenager. I know that it will not end in a simple "truce"."
"Don't you remember what I taught you? It is better for the Blacks and the Potters not to be friends. Ever."

The last part made Draco sigh out loud. But... yes, even that can be tolerated. Especially for the sake of hanging out with good people.

Potter turned out to be not such a bastard, deserving only hatred; Weasley is a nice guy who was imposed an ideology and stereotypes (like all Slytherins, but in reverse); Granger is just lonely in this school, which rejected her from the first day, so she tried to forget herself in her books, then — in her friends. They are all simply children. The same as Black. In addition, they are not bad people at all, when you get to know them better. Talking with them is much more pleasant than, for example, with Crabbe and Goyle.

...but for some reason Ron's rat began to behave even weirder than before. The Slytherin tried to blame it on Hermione's cat. But there were moments when he could swear that Scabbers was afraid of him. Trembling, squealing helplessly and looking with such horror in its eyes that it looked like a real person.

"...are you studying again?" Harry asked, sitting down on the bench next.

"Of course we are," Draco glared at him with a sarcasm-filled look, "We are at school. Naturally, we should study all the time."

"It's like we have two Hermiones now," the red-haired boy added jokingly.

The fair-haired boy sat as close to his house table as possible. Half-turned, without even throwing his legs over the bench. He sat like that all the time, because many Gryffindors were not happy with Black's presence at their rightful place. So as soon as they couldn't stand him around anymore, they'd hint with just glances, "Go back to your snakey lot, please." Draco wouldn't argue and, jumping up in a second, return to his Slytherin friends.

"He's been sighted! He's been sighted!" a voice suddenly rang out nearby. Everyone started whispering loudly, "Who? Who?", "Sirius Black!"

In a matter of moments, Draco realized that his time at the Gryffindor table was over. If he didn't retreat right now, all the sidelong glances would definitely fall on him. Harry tried to whisper, "Hey, don't pay attention to them, it doesn't concern you, you're not like your uncl–", but... Black caught several glares, full of distrust. Especially from Longbottom, who was associated with the most unpleasant memory of his first year.

As if by accident, Neville cleared his throat. Either with resentment, or simply with a stern request, he squinted his eyes. Although that last gesture was clearly unnecessary. Draco already got it since the "ahem-ahem".

Yes, it was time to leave. Nodding, the teenager deftly took all his textbooks with one hand. Then came to those who were already waiting for him.

"Oh, love, were you banished out of the lion pride?" Pansy giggled, allowing him to sit next to her. Behind, the Gryffindors whispered, describing the elusiveness and intelligence of Sirius Black in the brightest colors.

"Nobody banishes the Blacks, they leave themselves."

Blaise snorted softly. His friend wanted to ask, "Think something's funny, do you?", but the girl's voice was faster,

"Is it really okay for you to associate with... them? You are from a very respected family, Draco!.." ah, that same topic again. Apparently, the Slytherins never got tired of bringing it up. So he had to take a different, roundabout route to make them shut up,

"Potter is a hero. A local celebrity, if you will," Black answered, shrugging his shoulders. His upbringing allowed him to skillfully keep a straight face and lie, "It is more profitable to be on good terms with him, don't you think?" 

"Hmm... might be so. A true Slytherin must look for their own benefit in anything..."

"A true Black will always find this benefit and take it for themself," the blond said proudly, raising his chin.

The not very talkative guy, Theodore Nott, sat closer to the others than usual. His face didn't betray a single emotion, but in his mind he thought, "What a show-off". Of course, these thoughts were not at all evil or envious. On the contrary, if people heard them out loud, they'd think that Nott was praising his housemate. Or something like that.

***

The DADA classes started quite late this year. No one knew the exact reason. And if they tried to clarify with their deans, they only got the, "Professor Lupin's a bit unwell for now." Perhaps it was all because of the dementors, who didn't want to leave the school grounds. Perhaps their mere presence morally terrorized the new teacher.

At least, young Black adhered to this theory. He preferred to ignore Parkinson and Crabbe's jokes ("It was a full moon, right? What if he is a werewolf?" "Awoo!" "Or a vampire! Ah, I would just love a vampire professor!").

"You both are ridiculous. Who on Earth would allow a werewolf or a vampire to be among children?" the teens only laughed at this, heating up the atmosphere even more. Draco, naturally, did not like it. It even got on his nerves, you could say. Because, well, he was afraid of all sorts of monsters and beasts... although it's embarrassing to admit, "Alright, that's it, go away. Stop pestering me."

"Heh-heh, Black's scared of werewolves! Or vampires!"

"No, I am not!" he immediately yelped, getting pink with embarrassment.

"Please, he's like a vampire himself. Just look at his skin–"

"Go away, I said!.."

In any case, Defense Against the Dark Arts started three weeks later. Well... well, better late than never.

"Draco – Regulus – Black. I... see how it is," Remus thought, carefully analyzing the list of third-year students. He expected a lot, but clearly not this. Clearly not that he would one day teach classes to the nephew of his frie– the nephew of a dangerous criminal. Who is also the son of an incredibly respected and revered wizard. The son of Regulus Black.

Lupin hadn't heard that name for a long time. A very long time. And the last time he saw this man's face was... twelve years ago in the Prophet (just like Sirius'). In real life — fourteen or even fifteen years ago. So he wondered, how much Black has changed in so many years? Or maybe he has remained the same?

Even more interesting was how exactly he raised his child. Cruel and prejudiced against muggle-borns, just like the entire Black family? Weak-willed and vulnerable, like himself? Or maybe Draco is an exact copy of Sirius as a child? After all, he spends so much time with Harry and his friends, who are Gryffindors. This... this definitely means something, right?

"Professor," the students who had arrived for the class knocked on the door, "May we come in?"

The man, having stopped examining the surname, put the list aside. Smiling good-naturedly, he called the children inside. After them, the number of students began to increase almost exponentially — everyone was rushing to the lesson to find out what their new professor would be like in practice.

Soon the trio of friends showed up. It was a trio indeed, because Hermione Granger was nowhere to be seen.

"...I am serious, I saw some kind of map. Your brothers had it," the Slytherin tried to whisper all this only in Ron's ear, "What is it? An artifact? Or did they make it themselves?"

"I've no idea, they didn't say anything about it... maybe you just didn't see it right?"

"How could I have not seen a whole map right? I have good eyesight, unlike some people."

"Draco, I can hear you perfectly well," Harry said, turning around and feigning anger.

While they were bickering (mostly as a joke), they had already managed to get inside the classroom. The professor smiled nicely at Harry, but when he saw Draco, his expression changed for some reason. Wow, okay. First of all, rude. Second of all, weird. The teenager was sure that he was dressed fine, that there was nothing wrong in his appearance that could cause such a reaction.

"Honestly," Black thought, barely holding back a disgruntled snort, "What is wrong with everyone this year?"

The class soon started. Of course, on a rather strange note: the huge cabinet was twitching menacingly, causing many children to flinch. It turned out to be a boggart, and also the topic of today's lesson. Then Hermione somehow ended up in the room, almost causing Ron to have a heart attack.

The Slytherin immediately narrowed his eyes and looked at the girl with suspicion. As if he was trying to say, "You are most definitely deceiving us... and you are most definitely hiding a Time-Turner somewhere." However, Granger ignored these distrustful glances in her direction.

The class itself went normally. Kind of. Black didn't remember exactly, because he spent a good half of it analyzing his friend. And also whispered to the Slytherins, who seemed to enjoy everything, but they just didn't want to admit it directly. After the theory, things became more interesting: everyone could try and come face to face with their fears, in order to then turn them into something funny. Draco even thought that his turn would come as well. That he would also learn what he feared most in the world.

Maybe something bad happening to his father? Or an encounter with his own uncle? Or even that weird image that he could barely remember? The one connected with either a skull or a snake... hard to recall. Too much time had passed.

But, in any case, it was already useless to think about it.

Harry Potter just had to ruin everything. As always. His boggart turned into a  dementor. Some of the children backed away, while others froze in horror. And it is unknown how it would've ended if Professor Lupin hadn't intervened.

"The moon?" Black thought in surprise when the teacher's boggart appeared before the whole class, "He's afraid of the moon? And I thought that Longbottom's boggart being Professor Snape was bad..."

Before anyone had time to understand anything, the deepest fear turned into an ordinary balloon. As soon as it flew back into the cabinet, where it was locked, the class was over. The professor hastily apologized ("That's the end of the lesson. Thank you! Sorry!") to the indignant exclamations of the students,

"Why?!"

"I wanted to try it out too!"

"Man, it's always like this with Potter!.."

Ignoring the others, the Slytherin came closer to his friend. Gently tugged at his shoulder, bringing him to his senses, and asked,

"Oi, are you alright?" Harry was not yet able to answer sensibly and coherently. He only muttered something under his breath, "Are you... are you so afraid of them after that train ride?"

"Uh, um... no? I, I don't know, I..."

Potter shook his head, as if driving away bad thoughts or even memories. Then he apologized and almost ran to the exit. Rushing after him, Weasley quickly yelled, "I, um– I'll talk to him!". Their friend was about to go too, but the professor's voice stopped him just in time,

"Draco, stay for a minute. Please."

Quickly turning around, the teenager looked at him in sincere bewilderment. However, he didn't argue with a man older than himself. Instead, fulfilled the request (or order?), as expected. Even despite the fact that he really wanted to rush after Harry and Ron.

"What is it, professor?" impatience was clearly heard in his voice. Draco wanted to run away from here as soon as possible. After all, he was needed elsewhere now. In a completely different place, by a completely different person.

"Nothing serious, don't you worry," the man smiled at him, "I just... wanted to talk for a bit. With you specifically."

His grey eyes darted nervously back and forth, and his right hand involuntarily clenched on the strap of his school bag. Great. What did the teacher need from him anyway? It's not like Draco behaved inappropriately, created any problems like Potter, or showed everyone his biggest fear. What could be the reason for keeping him after class?

"Draco, our world hasn't been very peaceful lately. You probably know that yourself," the teenager nodded his head uncertainly. Yes, there is a huge problem in the wizarding world now. But if you think about it, when have wizards ever lived peacefully? Not a single year passed without some kind of tragedy or incident, "So... I think you should keep away more often. Be farther from the hustle and bustle, eh? You shouldn't cause troubles and help someone cause these troubles."

"Professor? What are you... implying?.."

Remus understood perfectly well that he was at risk of offending and hurting the teenager. Moreover, the teenager who, perhaps, was not even guilty of anything. However... what if little Black could actually be used as leverage? Or even as bait? Anything could come to the mind of a madman like Sirius Black. He wouldn't hesitate to use his nephew as a weapon. In that case, Harry is going to be the one to suffer. And that would be a horrible outcome.

So much so that the teacher was ready to take the said risk. Was ready to voice his worst assumptions out loud. Because this was only for Harry's safety.

"Don't get me wrong, Draco. But all sorts of rumors are going around, especially about how loyal everyone in your family is to each other."

Rumors. This word already made his cheekbones ache, and nausea rise in his throat. It was one thing when children and teenagers were whispering around, but it was a completely different story when adults started doing so too. "Keep away." "Don't cause troubles."

"Don't help someone cause troubles."

"Everyone in your family is loyal to each other."

"Are you implying," the blond hissed, instantly twisting his face. At that moment, he became like a mini-copy of Regulus. But with much lighter hair, "That I am the same as Sirius Black? That I can help him in one way or another?"

"Draco, let me explain–"

"Are you implying that I will bring Sirius Black to Hogwarts?"

Remus had nothing to say this time. He didn't even try to refute the words, because the boy understood everything correctly. After all, that was exactly what many people were afraid of, considering that a terrifying murderer was hunting Harry. Harry, who was currently in the same castle as Draco.

"How dare you?" frowning, the Slytherin began to almost spit out his words. At the same time, adding as much venom as possible to them, "How dare you compare me to this disgrace of our family? Do you even know who I am?"

"Now, Draco, I did not compare you to–"

"No, that is exactly what you just did! Simply because I am Black, you decided that I... that I, too, am capable of a crime!.."

Not wanting to listen to another word from the professor, the boy abruptly turned on the heels of his shoes. What a horror. Had he actually stayed behind just to listen to the accusations against himself? And his father? He should've run after Harry while he still had the chance.

"My father will hear about this. Rest assured."

"Draco, trust me, I didn't mean to offend you..." Remus tried to apologize hastily. For some reason, his voice began to sound worried and anxious. Or even scared.

Without turning around, the student hissed angrily,

"That is exactly why I like Professor Snape's classes more. At least we do not learn ridiculous stuff there," and with a quick, menacing step he walked towards the door.

***

The door swung open so noisily that at first it seemed like it had been kicked open. And also like a terrible monster, ready to devour everyone in its path, was hiding behind it. So imagine Remus' surprise when he saw just a cold, outwardly restrained man and not someone's nightmare. Regulus Black — in person, in his office. After all, he had come at the first call of his son.

"Long time no see," was on the tip of the professor's tongue, but he didn't say it out loud.

At first glance, he wouldn't even say that this man was actually Regulus. Actually that same boy in the Slytherin robes who wanted only three things from life: to get his brother's attention, his parents' approval and James Potter's love. It didn't even seem possible. From a puny teenager, Black grew... into an incredibly handsome, stately man. And over the years, he began to resemble Sirius even more than he did at school.

Remus, analyzing such familiar facial features, froze slightly. He kept looking and peering, as if at the eighth wonder of the world. Fortunately, at least he didn't open his mouth wide, or something like that. Otherwise it would've been the height of disrespect. He came to his senses only when the wizard spoke,

"I am not going to wish you a good afternoon, Lupin," there was so much coldness in his voice. Even a chill ran down Remus' spine, "I am here for a short visit. A small talk, if you will."

"I'm all ears, Regulus."

He didn't seem to like being addressed so familiarly. However, Lupin was in no hurry to apologize for that. He had already addressed Black by his first name more than a decade ago — there was no point in changing anything now.

"Brilliant," the aristocrat spat. The way he frowned and the way his one gray eye gleamed angrily... it was all so similar to Draco. Or rather, Draco was similar to Regulus, "I simply wanted to ask... when did professors at Hogwarts get the official permission to accuse children of anything?"

Lupin was quite prepared for this conversation. Instead of feigning surprise or some other false emotion, he smiled guiltily. Let out a nervous laugh — quiet to himself, but loud enough for Black to start getting even angrier.

"Regulus, we just had a mere misunderstanding. I was planning to guide Draco onto the good path, not the bad one. But it seems... I chose the wrong words."

"Wrong words?" the man twisted his face in the same manner as his son, "You accused him of being my brother's accomplice. Him, a thirteen-year-old child, an accomplice."

"No, I just..." the professor fell silent for a moment.

Yes, he really should've thought through his words better before voicing them. Especially to a person like Draco Black. It was worth waiting a little, playing out the situation in his head so that such a situation would not happen. But as always, as soon as Remus opened his mouth and started talking, something bad happened.

"I did it for Harry, who is your son's friend. I want to look after him, at least a little," but Regulus didn't like this wording either. On the contrary, it offended him more.

"Oh, really, "look after"? Look after the one you had never even visited in twelve years?"

"You don't understand," Remus now began to switch to a colder, stricter tone as well, "It was dangerous. I was dangerous, I..."

The pureblood wizard wanted to say a lot, but silence was louder than words. Not at all impressed, he raised his eyebrows sarcastically. At the same time, he continued to keep quiet, giving Lupin time to realize his own words. To realize that he, now being a professor, said about himself.

"But believe me, it's not like that now. Severus is helping m–"

"I see, then. If you admit that you are dangerous," the older man lowered his head in defeat. It was a pity that now there was no book, which he could hide all his emotions behind, "Then I want to look after too. Look after my son. So that a dangerous man like you wouldn't cause him troubles," he hadn't threatened with his wand yet. But Merlin knew he wanted to, "I would end anyone for my family, if that is what it takes. You know us Blacks very well, don't you, Lupin? You know how loyal we are to each other, don't you?"

"Regulus, please..." he almost begged in a quiet whisper.

While the aristocrat scolded him like a child and explained that he shouldn't just accuse the first person he met, Remus listened humbly. And realized more and more that he had actually jumped to stupid conclusions. But with the best of intentions: he just wanted to make sure that Harry would be okay, that Harry wouldn't be led straight into the hands of Sirius Black or something worse...

"My son was not raised to hate and murder other people. I will not let anyone make a weapon out of him, not even my brother. Remember that the next time you decide to accuse him of something."

"...got it," a quick sigh and a good-natured, sincere smile. The pure-blooded aristocrat, however, would get no benefit from this sincerity, "I'm so sorry, Regulus, I really am. I crossed the line, but my intentions were good..."

A heavy, viscous silence weighing on the consciousness in response. That look — so angry and at the same time deeply disappointed — burned right through him. Remus smiled awkwardly, hoping that he could somehow resolve this situation. So as not to get on Regulus' hit list.

They had never been enemies and they should not become so in the future either.

"Would you like some tea?"

Lupin blurted out impulsively, not understanding why or what he even wanted to achieve. Then felt embarrassed by his own offer. Probably, it came out because he hadn't seen this man for too long, hadn't communicated with him for too long. And thus, he wanted to ask him about many things: about betraying the Lord, about his son, whose mother no one knew, about many other things... he wanted to make up for lost time, at least a little.

And it would be bad to end their first meeting in so many years on a bad note.

"Unlike some people, I am busy with work," Black said in a cold voice. Lupin smiled a little wider than he should have, and hated himself for it, "But... I think I might come along and say hi to Snape. Where is he now?" for some reason, this made him feel despondent. But nevertheless, the man didn't show his true feelings.

"Should be in his... potions classroom."

Regulus let out a sarcastic "adieu" as a farewell. Then almost floated out of the classroom, like a shadow. And Remus involuntarily thought, "Guess the saying's right. Like father, like son...".

The school year had just begun, but relationships were not working out well with either Black.

***

No matter how much Harry begged Professor McGonagall to do something, the answer was always the same, "Sorry, mister Potter, I can't help you." Every single teenager in the castle went to Hogsmeade, and he alone... was forced to stay. His muggle guardians hadn't signed the paper, so now no one would let Harry into that village even if they wanted to. No one would let him have fun, hang out with his friends, buy a lot of new and different things and just enjoy his youth.

The friends whose parents allowed them to visit Hogsmeade looked at him with sympathy. Hermione and Draco even promised that they'd buy and bring gifts. As a... consolation prize, or something. It was all a shame, truly. How pitiful.

And so Harry, wandering by the fountain, was left alone.

"This sucks. I wanted to go too..." the teenager whispered, kicking the ground under his feet, "Stupid Dursleys. All 'cause of them..."

All the teenagers and their professors returned to Hogwarts only late in the evening. Surprisingly, not a single house was arguing with each other. No one even cared about their seats in the Great Hall, as was usually the case. Each student, without distinction, sat at any table they liked. Although, many preferred to stand and look at their purchases, or run back and forth, playing with them. Here and there, children's firecrackers thundered, sincere laughter ringed. There was noise and hubbub from continuous conversations.

Potter looked at them all with a bit of envy. The picture before his eyes brought back bad memories from his childhood: his cousin and his friends were also happily playing with expensive toys, while he could only look at them through the window. But only for two minutes, because then Aunt Petunia would order, "Go help me with dinner!".

The red-haired was telling about the long walk so excitingly that it was impossible not to feel sad. This strange feeling of loneliness and abandonment just ate him alive.

"But, I mean," Hermione muttered, noticing notes of resentment in the guy's voice, "After a while it got a bit boring, don't you think, boys?"

"What? Boring? No, what–"

Draco, using all his strength and pressing his heel, stepped on Ron's foot under the table. He let out a long, painful "uh-uhgh!..", and immediately realized his mistake. Then awkwardly chattered, "Oh, yeah, yeah! Dead– dead depressing!". The Slytherin shook his head in disappointment, amazed at how someone's acting could be that bad. Then suddenly glanced at Harry's upset face and decided to lighten the mood a little,

"By the way, the presents. We promised them, so we bought them," Black soon took out three beautifully wrapped boxes from his large bag. You could even tell who was giving which by the different colors — black with a green ribbon, bright orange and soft blue.

"I told Draco that we shouldn't bother with the packaging so much, but he didn't listen..."

"Because you were talking nonsense," the guy snorted, "A gift, like a book, is always judged by its cover."

"Actually, I think the saying suggests that you should not judge by a cover," Ron added.

Nodding, Harry took all three boxes. He's definitely going to open them later in his dorm. But for now he'll just admire the packaging. The black color... reminded him a little of Christmas in his first year. Black. Black, Black–

The Gryffindor looked up in surprise and looked straight into his friend's gray eyes. His expression did not change, remaining the same. So he wondered... could a quick guess be true? Could Draco have sent him all those clothes? He was rich, yes, he knew about fashion, yes, but how did he know so much about muggle clothes? Maybe someone taught him? Someone like... his father?

Could it be that Regulus sent all those things?

"No, no... I'm getting carried away," the guy thought, shaking his head slightly, "Mister Black has no reason to give me anything. It must've been someone else. Professor McGonagall or some other adult..."

"Thank you," Harry finally said after a long pause. His friends nodded, smiling, "And I'm glad you three had a great time. Maybe next year I'll get my paper signed, and I'll be able to go too..."

The blond's face darkened after these words. Then he involuntarily remembered the two red heads and the thing in their hands. It was definitely a map. Oh wait. Exactly. Something inside told him that it could help Harry with his problem. So, as a good friend, Draco simply had to get it. By any means necessary.

Finding the twins in the corridor with that thing in their hands was not easy. For some time, Black had to literally stalk them in order to catch red-handed. He managed to gather some blackmail that would definitely force them to give up the invention, but, all in all... a whole month passed almost to no avail. However, right on the day of another trip to Hogsmeade, Draco noticed the teens in the corridor. Both were holding that very map, albeit folded.

"Aha, got you!" both Weasleys shuddered and automatically turned towards the sound. Then they raised one hand each when they saw a wand pointed at them, "I knew I was not going mad. But Ron just had to keep insisting that I "dreamed" of it..."

"Oh-ho-ho, isn't that–"

"Baby Black!"

"Perhaps you could lower your wand a bit?" they said in unison. Their voices were so incredibly similar that it was kind of scary.

However, Draco did not fulfill their request.

"I know something about you. You have done things that warrant at least five detentions with Professor Snape. I have proof, but he will believe me even without it," the twins instantly turned pale, and then darkened with displeasure. They clearly didn't expect that someone had seen their pranks and experiments that evening, "However, I have not told him anything yet. I think you understand why?"

"...you want something–"

"From us?"

Smart ones, honestly. Black found it twice as pleasant to deal with those who grasped everything right on the go. After he nodded, the twins turned more despondent.

And yet it was hard not to notice that gambling sparkle in their blue eyes. As if they had caught that the younger boy had entered the rules of their game. Even adjusted to their language with a slight veil of threat and slyness. Therefore, recognizing him as "one of their own", Fred and George agreed to listen further.

"Your map," Draco nodded towards the yellowed paper, "I wish to know what this thing is, how it works and... if it helps Harry get to Hogsmeade, I want you to give it to me."

George — was that his name? or was it Fred? — perked up in surprise. His brother, though frowning, couldn't hide his interest either. The red-haired twins seemed to be talking about something of their own telepathically, exchanging glances, and keeping silent for an agonizingly long time. Only after about twenty seconds did they speak again one after the other,

"This is an unusual thing, very precious to us–"

"It's a wretch giving it to you..."

"However... y'know, George, we've long since learned all the passages and hardly use the map anymore."

"Right, Fred. Very well. If it will help Harry–"

"And save us from detentions..."

"Then have it your way, baby Black."

They opened it and put a completely empty map forward. Then one brother, taking out his wand, said loudly, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good!". Letter by letter, the words suddenly began to appear, "Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs are proud to present the Marauder's Map." What? Total rubbish. Childish-like rubbish — that's exactly what Draco wanted to think.

But as soon as he unfolded the map, its abilities suddenly dawned on him: it showed the whole of Hogwarts. And not just the school itself.

"Huh?.." the Slytherin saw small steps in the headmaster's office, "So this map..."

"Shows everyone–"

"Where they are–"

"What they're doing–"

"Every minute–"

"Of every day!"

Black smiled happily, surprised and delighted at the same time. This was the most useful thing he had encountered this year. When he asked, "Where did you get this?", the twins admitted that they had stolen it from Filch's office a long time ago. They are indeed so sly... and definitely worthy of being in Slytherin. They'll just never admit it out loud.

"There are seven secret passageways out of the castle. We'd recommend this one," Draco carefully memorized their every word, "The One-Eyed Witch passageway. Leads you to Honeyduke's cellar".

"You can drag Harry through it."

"Alright," the Slytherin nodded to them. And already imagined how happy this would make his friend.

"Oh, by the way, baby Black!"

"When you're done, just give it a tap and say, "Mischief managed"!"

Right before Draco's eyes, all the passages and names began to instantly disappear. Soon, the map became an absolutely empty piece of paper, more like a huge parchment, once again. The blond looked at the smiling twins — so proud, like they had created this thing themselves. And then whispered,

"Un grand merci," speaking in English was morally difficult, so this should do for the Weasleys. Besides, they understood him one hundred percent anyway, "I will not tell Professor Snape anything."

"Counting on ya, baby Black."

"Don't let us down!"

Without saying anything else, Draco rushed forward along the corridors. As he went, he whispered the same phrase again — and the map showed him the location of every person in the castle. Harry, fortunately, was not far away. He was sitting by the frozen fountain and boredly looking at the falling snow under his favorite invisibility cloak. Oh well, how could you not want to help such a pitiful person? How could you not drag him into Hogsmeade against all the school rules?

"Harry, Harry!.." the teenager seemed to flinch. Shocked, he even threw off his cloak to understand where the familiar voice was coming from, "Get ready to kiss the ground your savior walks on! You will not believe what I got for us."

"What? What are you talk– you– why aren't you in Hogsm–"

"Don't you worry, we will go there together. Right now. Ron's brothers gave me an actual relic!.."

Potter, stupidly blinking his eyes, still didn't understand a single damn thing. He was even more lost when Black threw the cloak over him again and led him away. However, he didn't argue. Just allowed his friend to do everything as he wanted. After all, he was smart, wasn't he? He knew and understood things around here more.

***

"Draco, I swear, you're the best! Please, forgive me for all the bad stuff I've ever done or said to y–"

"Shh, tais-toi," the guy hissed at him, despite the fact that he was smiling widely, "You are invisible to everyone now, got it?"

Behind the cloak, Harry nodded vigorously and began to follow him further. At the same time, he happily licked the strawberry lollipop his friend had bought. Snow was falling from the sky, quickly covering the second person's footprints behind Draco. Although, they wouldn't have been noticed anyway — everyone was too busy minding their own business. Even just admiring the surroundings or buildings already kept people preoccupied.

The Gryffindor looked at everything as if he had ended up in the Louvre. Everything magical amazed him even at thirteen. But, of course, Draco amazed him the most. Just imagine: blackmailing the older boys and taking away their map, showing a secret passageway and bringing to the most crowded place of all. He's definitely going to have a detention for that (if professors found out), but Black didn't seem to care. How weird and unexpected. For some reason, Harry always thought that this boy was afraid to break school rules.

...apparently, he just didn't know him very well then.

"You... for me! You got this map for me," although it wasn't visible, Potter was smiling widely, "How, how can I... well, thank you for that?"

"Just stop being a dimwit," his friend responded carelessly, shrugging his shoulders.

"Look who's talking."

"I will punch you."

They both cackled.

"...it's meant to be the most haunted building in Britain. Did I mention that?" familiar voices were heard somewhere in the distance.

"Twice," looked like Ron and Hermione were there.

The Slytherin walked faster, while putting on an extremely sarcastic grin on his face in advance. He clearly intended to say something caustic or funny — Harry knew this expression better than the back of his hand. The friends were looking at the Shrieking Shack from afar, talking and not noticing anything around them. From the outside, they seemed like a real couple.

"Well, well," both turned to the voice, "Look who's here," despite such a smug and proud look, the teens were glad to see him. Black, meanwhile, didn't change his expression at all while going down a small hill, "You two shopping for your new dream home?"

"Yeah. Were waiting for you to consult," Ron chuckled in response.

"Oh my-y, you take the opinion of the great Black into account around here? I am flattered."

A quiet laugh was heard behind him. It was followed by a snowball, which flew right on target — into Black's hat. Just this, along with the tracks in the snow, gave away another person nearby. The curly-haired girl rolled her eyes and said loudly, "Harry, we know you're here!".

Laughing, the teenager pulled off his invisibility cloak at once.

"Bloody hell! But you– how did you get here?" the red-haired was genuinely surprised.

"Draco," he responded cheerfully. At the same time, pointed a finger at the guy who was brushing snow off his hat, "It's all thanks to him, he helped," then Black elegantly put his expensive hat back on. Looked around and chuckled to himself, "Can you imagine, there are secret passages leading from Hogwarts here, and Draco–"

"Ha! Take that!"

The snowball didn't take long. It flew straight into Potter's face, staining his glasses and making him stagger. The Slytherin laughed joyfully, "Serves you right!", but the happiness didn't last long. Having picked up the merriment (or rather, the sudden snowball fight), the red-haired teen also structured a weapon. He aimed at Black's head, but only hit his back.

"Bo– boys, what are you doing all of a sudden?!.." Granger yelped, when the three of them started throwing snow at each other. However, soon she also got it in her face (from Potter), "Oh, you...! You asked for it!"

Unconsciously smiling from ear to ear, she began throwing snowballs at each of them in return. Some hit the target, some missed. There were no teams among the four of them — everyone was fighting for themselves. The snow, melting, became sticky, wet and unpleasant, but the teenagers didn't pay any attention to it. Instead, laughing loudly and sometimes shouting, they continued to fight.

One snowball after the other — and that's how their dark clothes gradually turned white. Cheeks turned pink from the cold.

"Whoa!" Harry suddenly fell into a snowdrift because of a strong blow right to his face.

"Ha-ha," his fair-haired friend solemnly threw his chin up, "I defeated the Boy-Who-Lived. More proof that Blacks are better, that Blacks are superi–"

"As if!"

Laughing, Ron threw a snowball right at the back of his head. Also quite big, also making the boy stagger and fall. Hermione, quickly accepting defeat, decided to give up without a fight. After all, she didn't really want to tumble around in the snow with her entire body.

"A-a-and the victory goes to Ro-o-on Weasley!"

"Sure," the Slytherin rolled his eyes and drawled sarcastically, "Weasley is our King, Weasley is our King."

All four of them laughed merrily.