For the oh so lovely Po. Enjoy, my darling. I love you.
Word Count: 7823
A big thank you to Bex, Em, Sam, Lo, Elizabeth, and Gabby for helping me with this madness.
i.
Regulus trembles as he stands before his master. Why is he here? Though he lives to serve the Dark Lord, Regulus has never been close enough to him to warrant a personal meeting.
His mind races as he tries to pinpoint even the smallest wrongdoing that might call for punishment. But no, that isn't likely. The Dark Lord enjoys making an example out of others. If Regulus had done something wrong, he would be surrounded by his fellow Death Eaters and put on display.
"Has something happened?" Regulus asks, grateful his voice doesn't betray his fear.
If only he could be brave, but bravery has always been for Sirius. If he had been more like his brother, maybe he wouldn't be here right now. Maybe he wouldn't be stuck with doubts that might get him killed.
"We will move against the Potters tonight."
We? As flattered as Regulus is to be tasked with such a grand mission, he is hardly worthy. He has always been in the background, never important enough for anything.
"My Lord, I'm afraid I don't understand," Regulus says quietly. "Surely you don't mean to include me in something as important as this."
Missions like this–when his master doesn't opt to go by himself–are reserved for people like his cousin, like the Lestrange brothers. Not for people like him.
The Dark Lord laughs, the sound cold and devoid of humor. He steps closer, resting a hand on Regulus' shoulder. The gesture is not comforting, but Regulus forces himself to remain in place. "You were not my first choice," he says. "However, in exchange for the information, my source asked for your involvement."
"What source?"
Questioning his master ought to earn him a dose of the Cruciatus Curse, and Regulus instinctively braces himself for it. Instead, the Dark Lord waves his wand, opening the door. Regulus thinks he's meant to leave, but as he takes a step, someone enters the chamber.
Regulus stares, trying to comprehend what he's seeing. It's impossible.
Sirius stands before him, grey eyes twinkling as he offers Regulus a crooked grin. "Did you miss me, baby brother?"
…
"What the hell are you doing here?" Regulus asks when he and Sirius make their way back to their childhood home to prepare for the night ahead.
Sirius raises his brows, smirking. "In a philosophical sense? Do any of us actually know the answer?"
Once, Regulus might have laughed. Now, however, all he can do is stare at his older brother in stunned silence.
It isn't that he isn't thrilled to see Sirius. Once they had chosen their separate side, Regulus had been afraid the next time he'd see his brother would be on the battlefield. In a way, he's relieved to know that the day won't come where he'll have to worry about killing Sirius.
"I don't understand," Regulus finally manages, his voice barely above a whisper. "You were always so good."
It's the only way to describe Sirius. Of course no one had been surprised when Regulus had joined the Dark Lord. He had been so young, so eager to please and follow in his older cousin's footsteps.
Not Sirius. Sirius has always taken a distinct joy in being everything Blacks aren't meant to be. Regulus vividly remembers his brother's room, decorated with pictures of Muggle women and machines. Sirius, the Gryffindor. Sirius, the rebel.
His brother's features soften slightly. "I trust you heard about Uncle Alphard," he says.
Regulus winces at the mention of his uncle. He can still remember his mother's rage upon hearing the news. It had taken his father hours to calm her down. Some Muggle teens caught Uncle Alphard using magic and beat him to death.
"I didn't realize you knew about it," Regulus admits. "You had already left."
Sirius shrugs and reaches into his jacket pocket, plucking a cigarette from the pack and placing it between his lips. "Bellatrix found me after it happened," he explains, lighting his cigarette and taking a deep drag. "She helped me understand."
"Understand what?"
Silence hangs between them for several moments. Sirius takes another drag before exhaling a puff of white-grey smoke.
"I thought I was doing the right thing, joining Dumbledore and trying to protect Muggles and Muggleborns." Sirius shakes his head, tapping his nail against the filter and sending ashes drifting to the floor. "I was wrong. They're all monsters, and I want to help stop them."
There's a part of Regulus that has been questioning whether or not he should try to escape this life. Although he tries to be a faithful servant, there's no denying that he's become disillusioned. Knowing that Sirius has joined the cause, however, is enough to restore his faith. If Sirius is on the Dark Lord's side, how can he be wrong?
Regulus visibly relaxes, though he's still worried. What they're expected to do tonight feels so overwhelming. For a moment, he almost forgets how to breathe.
"Aren't the Potters your friends?" Regulus asks.
A flicker of pain flashes over Sirius face, but he composes his features quickly. His lips quirk into a grin, and he pushes his fingers through his dark, shaggy hair. "They are," he says, shrugging. "But sometimes you have to make sacrifices. It isn't always easy, but it's necessary."
Regulus swallows dryly as he considers this in silence. He wonders if he could sacrifice the one he loves for a cause. Deep down, he thinks he might be able to, but he hopes he never has to find out.
"Why do you look so nervous?" Sirius teases, playfully pushing Regulus.
Somehow, it's like they're kids again. The war doesn't matter, and nothing bad can touch them because they have one another. Regulus can't help but smile. He's scared to death, and doubts still cloud his mind, but it doesn't matter because his big brother is by his side.
"Not getting cold feet, are you?"
Regulus shakes his head. It's lie, but he doesn't care. Sirius makes him braver.
"Come on," his brother says, ruffling Regulus' hair affectionately. "The Dark Lord is waiting for us."
…
The gravity of the situation suddenly weighs on Regulus as they enter Godric's Hollow. He's here, he's expected to kill, and Sirius is the mastermind behind the whole thing. His stomach sours, and it takes everything not to double over and throw up.
What would happen if he ran? Would he get far? Who would send the Killing Curse at him: his master or his brother?
"Sirius?" James Potter appears at the foot of the stairs. He removes his glasses and cleans them. "What's the meaning of this? You–"
Potter doesn't even draw his wand when Sirius raises his. Regulus vaguely wonders if it's because he doesn't understand, or if it's because he trusts Sirius so completely that he just knows it's some bizarre misunderstanding. Sirius doesn't hesitate. The green light fills the air, and Potter drops to the floor in a pitiful heap.
"I'll deal with Lily," Sirius says.
The Dark Lord nods. "The boy is mine."
Sirius turns to Regulus. "If Peter comes down, kill him."
Neither wait for Regulus' stuttered confirmation. They disappear up the stairs.
"Sirius? What the hell are you doing? Where's James?"
"What's going on?"
Regulus panics when he sees the man with dirty blond hair and dark, beady eyes. Pettigrew. He's supposed to kill him. It should be easy. One quick curse, and it's all over.
But he can't. Something makes him hesitate. He reaches out, muttering the Severing Charm and slicing off Pettigrew's finger. It will serve as proof that he's done what he's meant to do. Heart hammering painfully within his chest, he grabs Peter and Apparates them out of there.
…
"What the hell are you doing?" Pettigrew demands, struggling against his bindings.
Regulus doesn't answer. He paces, muttering under his breath.
He is so fucked.
He should have killed him; that had been his only job, and he had failed. Now, he's stuck with a prisoner, and he can't tell anyone about it. There's no one to be proud of him. Pettigrew's captivity is just more proof that Regulus is a failure.
"I'll be back for you," Regulus assures him before casting a spell to soundproof the room.
…
"We won," Sirius says, grinning broadly. "Good work on Peter."
"Sorry?" Regulus isn't sure if it's sarcasm, or if his brother means it.
"No sight of him, but I saw the blood," Sirius explains. "The Dark Lord isn't happy that you ran, though."
Regulus swallows dryly.
"He asked me to take care of that," Sirius adds, drawing his wand.
Regulus doesn't understand. This isn't his Sirius. He remembers being a kid, and hiding under the blankets with his brother whenever the weather was bad. Sirius would always protect him and care for him.
He stumbles back, shaking his head. "Sirius," he whispers, backing into a wall, "please don't."
"Sorry, little brother." He points his wand at Regulus. "Crucio!"
ii.
The changes are subtle at first. The world doesn't burn to the ground immediately. Chaos and panic don't start.
Not yet.
But it comes.
The Muggleborns are taken first. Regulus stands by Sirius as they oversee capture after capture. Azkaban quickly fills, and they have to find new places to keep their prisoners.
Next comes the Order of the Phoenix. With Sirius working for the Dark Lord, it's easy to take the organization down. No prisoners are taken. Each is held only long enough to obtain any information they'll give under torture, then executed.
"We've done it," Sirius says, patting Regulus on the back as they watch their master parade Albus Dumbledore's dead body through Diagon Alley.
Regulus supposes he should be happy. When he had taken the Dark Mark, he had wanted nothing more than to see his master victorious. That dream has come true.
But now, as he watches the devastation unfold, he remembers that nightmares are dreams too.
…
"What's happening out there?"
Over the past few weeks, Pettigrew has lost his fight. He no longer screams and rages, though Regulus keeps the room soundproofed, so afraid that might change. There's still a fire in his dark eyes that both amazes and terrifies Regulus.
"It's over." Regulus shrugs. "The Dark Lord is victorious, and the world is ours. Your friends are dead."
The last sentence makes him recoil like Regulus has physically struck him. Pettigrew bows his head, falling silent. Regulus swallows down the guilt that threatens to twist his words into an apology.
"Remus?" Pettigrew asks, looking up.
Regulus nods. That had been the first time Sirius had shown any emotion. Regulus wonders if they had been lovers. After all, Sirius had held the other man's mangled corpse a little too long, as gently as a lover might.
"Why don't you sound more excited?" Pettigrew asks, voice as quiet as a mouse. "This is what you wanted, isn't it?"
The question catches him off guard, but Regulus composes himself. He huffs, folding his arms over his chest. "I am excited," he snaps.
The older man's lips twitch into a smile. "So you say."
"So I am."
Pettigrew looks amused, but he doesn't say anything. Regulus' fingers twitch. He wants nothing more than to curse him and make him hurt. What right does he have to act like he knows him, what he's feeling?
But he doesn't. All he can do is curl his fingers around his wand until his knuckles turn white. "Don't presume to know me," he hisses. "You may have known my brother, but we are not the same person."
Pettigrew raises his brows. "Yeah. I sort of assumed you were the one who couldn't be saved." With that, he rests his head against the brick wall, and he doesn't speak again.
Scowling, Regulus stalks off, locking the door behind him.
…
"There's talk of a rebellion," Sirius says as he and Regulus make their way through the temporary prison for Muggleborns and blood traitors. They'll be executed soon enough, but it seems that more and more always take their place.
"And so we'll crush it," Regulus says with a shrug.
"I hear Andi is leading them. It seems she wasn't happy about her husband's death."
Regulus swallows dryly and shakes his head. Not Andi. He wouldn't care about anyone else who might be stupid enough to defy the new law, but not Andi, not his favorite cousin.
He manages to keep his expression neutral. "Pity," he says. "But it is hardly our concern now."
Sirius stares at him in silence. Regulus maintains eye contact, sucking in a trembling breath. Finally, Sirius laughs. "I think Bellatrix will be happy to deal with her."
Regulus nods and keeps walking. He keeps his eyes fixed straight ahead. Turning his attention elsewhere will mean that he'll have to see the prisoners. He isn't sure he can stomach it. Their eyes are always filled with tears, and their dirty hands reach out, desperately pleading for help.
It hurts him, and he doesn't know why. This is the life he had wanted. He should be happy.
"Help me… Please…"
Regulus holds his head high. He pretended it isn't killing him inside.
iii.
"You look like hell," Pettigrew notes when Regulus brings him a bit of bread and cheese.
Regulus shakes his head. He knows it's true. He's noticed the dark circles dimming his eyes. There's no denying the fact that he's a little too pale, and his face is a little too gaunt.
He hasn't slept in days. The few times he's managed to fall asleep, nightmares have haunted him. He hears the desperate cries, sees the hands reaching out for him.
He's falling apart, and he doesn't know how to put himself together again.
"I'm fine," Regulus says sharply.
He knows he isn't, but he can't tell Pettigrew. Besides, he only has himself to blame. He's made his choices. Now he has to deal with the consequences.
"There's a rebellion," Regulus says.
He doesn't know why he tells him. Pettigrew is his prisoner, not his friend. Captors aren't supposed to talk like this with their captives.
But, Merlin, it feels so good. He can't really talk to his brother anymore. Regulus can't even remember the last time he's seen Sirius, except during their occasional patrols together. The Dark Lord occupies so much of Sirius' time, sending him on missions and satisfying his desire for vengeance. Kreacher is the only other source of companionship, but Regulus doesn't quite trust the house-elf.
Pettigrew gives him an outlet he hadn't realized he needs.
"It started about a month ago," Regulus adds. A month after the Dark Lord won, a few weeks after the world began to change. "Not that it will do any good. Look at the Order. All dead."
"Not all of us," Pettigrew says quietly, nibbling the bread.
"As good as."
Pettigrew laughs at that. His lips tug into a grin. "Going to kill me, Regulus?" he asks. "You couldn't do it when it mattered most."
"And you couldn't save your friends."
Pettigrew winces at that, his grin wiped away in an instant. He hunches forward, turning the remainder of the loaf over in his hands. "And that's exactly why I wish you weren't such a coward." His gaze flickers momentarily to Regulus, then back to the floor. "I would rather die than know I let them down."
Regulus feels his stomach knotting itself again. Without another word, he ties Peter's hands again, not caring that the half-finished loaf falls to the floor. He turns on his heel, muttering his usual enchantments as he climbs the stairs.
…
They bring Andromeda's daughter in. Regulus feels sick when he sees the little girl lead to the center of the courtroom. Something tells him that this is not a trial.
Merlin, she's just a kid! She can't even be old enough to start Hogwarts yet.
Regulus refuses to look away, to show any signs of weakness. If anyone doubts his loyalty, it will only be a matter of time before those doubts reach his master's ears. He stands tall and proud, exactly how a Black should.
"Where's my mum?" the little girl asks, looking around with wide, fearful eyes.
Her hair shifts from color to color, and Regulus is surprised. He's never met a metamorphmagus before. How is it possible that someone with dirty blood could possess such a rare skill?
"Where is Andi?" Regulus mutters to Sirius.
His brother shrugs. "We were lucky to grab the girl," he whispers back. "We're hoping it will be enough to lure Andromeda out."
"What will?"
He doesn't have to wait for an answer. Bellatrix joins the girl, and a wicked smile tugs at her lips as she circles her niece. Regulus takes a deep breath. He's seen that look in Bellatrix's eyes before, and it doesn't mean anything good.
"There, there, bitty one," Bellatrix coos as she raises her wand. "Auntie Bella will take care of you. Crucio!"
The girl's screams fill the air, drowning out the repeated curse. Regulus wants to cover his ears, to turn away, but he can't. He forces himself to watch, to take in the horror.
He doesn't know how long it lasts, but it feels like an eternity. The girl's bright eyes dull, and she drops to the floor with her mouth open. She looks so pitiful, so broken. She's still breathing, but Regulus thinks death might have been kinder.
"Why don't they kill her?" he asks.
"Andromeda will come for her." Sirius shrugs. "Attachment makes you stupid sometimes."
…
"She was a kid." Regulus paces the length of the basement, wringing his hands together. His stomach still aches, and he feels like he might be sick again. "She was a fucking kid!"
He still can't wrap his head around what he's seen. After he had left the courtroom, he hadn't made it far before the weight of it all hit him, and he threw up in the corridor for all to see. So much for not showing weakness.
He can still see the girl–his cousin, Nymphadora–so clearly in his mind. Her small body had writhed and contorted in unnatural ways. Her screams had quickly become hoarse and raw.
"Why should you care?" Pettigrew asks.
There's nothing cruel in the question. It's as casual as someone asking why someone is wearing a coat during a heat wave.
"I'm not a monster." Regulus scrubs his palms over his face, squeezing his eyes closed. Why does it feel like a lie? He opens his eyes again. "I'm not!"
"You didn't do anything to save the kid."
Regulus laughs. "They would have killed me!"
"Then you would have died a hero," Pettigrew says, leaning forward.
Regulus considers this as he resumes his pacing. A hero. The idea is almost laughable. People like him aren't heroes. They're just pawns in the game. "I couldn't have stopped them," he says, and he wonders if he's trying to convince Pettigrew or himself.
He comes to a stop beside Pettigrew and slumps down beside him. In that moment, Regulus doesn't care how vulnerable he is, that he's giving his prisoner a chance to overtake him. Really, he doesn't care about anything at all.
"You're right," Pettigrew says, his voice soft and soothing. "You aren't a monster."
Maybe Regulus wishes he could be. This would be so much easier if he didn't feel so much.
"I don't know what the hell I'm doing anymore," Regulus admits, leaning back and resting his head against the cold stone wall.
"I heard there's a rebellion," Pettigrew says, his tone a little too casual for comfort.
Regulus looks at him. Pettigrew is smiling just a little too broadly. "No," Regulus says, shaking his head. "You're out of your bloody mind."
Why is it tempting? He can imagine rising up against his master, taking back control of his life. Things would be simple then. Regulus could find a way to get his life back on track and pretend to be normal.
It's just a dream, though. Leaving the Death Eaters and defying the Dark Lord makes for an excellent fantasy, but he knows it could never happen. It isn't easy, and the only way out is death.
"Why not?" Pettigrew asks. "You want to."
"I don't."
It's a lie, but he's gotten so good at it.
"You have a chance to make things right," the older man insists. "You can prove you aren't a monster. Why wouldn't you take it?"
Regulus understands now. He doesn't want to leave and join the rebellion. Pettigrew has gotten in his head.
He forces himself to his feet before binding his prisoner's hands again. If he stays down here and lets Pettigrew get closer, it will only bring him more misery. He has to leave. Maybe he'll stay away for a while, until he gets his head straight again.
iv.
"What happened?" Regulus asks when Sirius brings Lucius to Grimmauld Place.
Lucius howls with pain, and it takes Regulus several moments to understand why. Lucius' left sleeve is empty and hanging limply. Judging by the crimson that stains the powder blue shirt, he assumes the arm is missing.
"One of Andi's men attacked us," Sirius answers, unbuttoning Lucius' shirt and setting it aside. "How's your Healing?"
Regulus swallows dryly. Before making the decision to become a Death Eater, he had entertained the idea of becoming a Healer, though he had never practiced much. It hadn't taken long for the Dark Lord to become the only thing that matters.
"I'll fetch the Blood Replenishing Potion," Regulus says. "You work on stopping the bleeding." With that, he hurries from the room, swallowing down the stomach acid that snakes its way up his throat.
Once, he had thought victory would be enough. He had believed the world would bow, and the fighting would end. Now, he understands exactly how wrong he had been. It is never going to stop.
He grabs the potion and heads back to where Sirius and Lucius are.
"Just wait until I see that bitch," Lucius snarls. "I don't need both hands to make her regret crossing me."
Regulus almost points out that that's not what happened. They had started it by killing Andi's husband, then torturing her daughter. What person would behave differently if in her position?
But he keeps his mouth shut. Regulus knows the role he's meant to to play, and he plays it so well. He looks outraged when necessary, nods here and there, does everything he can to look sympathetic.
He hates himself for it.
…
Pettigrew looks weak when Regulus visits him again. It's been four days since he had run off, head swirling in confusion and temptation.
"I'm sorry." Regulus doesn't know exactly what he's apologizing for anymore. He's done so much to Pettigrew in the three months that he's kept him here.
He has more of a feast for him, like that can somehow fix everything. At least it's better than the bread and cheese he's been giving Pettigrew. That has to count for something.
For several moments, Pettigrew doesn't even acknowledge Regulus. He snatches the chicken leg greedily, barely chewing the meat before swallowing. The guilt returns; Regulus shouldn't have let his emotions get the better of him.
"Something has changed in you," Pettigrew says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before grabbing a grape and popping it into his mouth.
Regulus opens his mouth to deny it, but the words won't come out. With a heavy sigh, he sits next to the other man. "I don't like it."
This has been going on for so long, but he's never felt so conflicted until now. In the back of his mind, Regulus has always wondered what if he's on the wrong side. Now, he knows he is, and there is nothing he can do about it.
Before, when Sirius had been good, he had seen a chance, a hope. Now it's gone. Sirius is as twisted as he is. Maybe there had never been any chance of redemption, and Regulus had just been a stupid, foolish dreamer.
War has no room for dreamers. Dreams are a weakness, and he cannot be weak.
But what if there's another way? What if he can leave all this behind and change himself? The very thought is terrifying. He has always followed, always done what he's told.
Can he really change that?
"There isn't any hope," Regulus sighs, leaning forward and cradling his head in his hands.
"There's always hope," Pettigrew says softly, resting a hand on Regulus' shoulder.
The touch is gentle and warm, and it's enough to make Regulus feel like maybe he'll be okay again. He looks up, meeting Pettigrew's eyes. Pettigrew quickly pulls his hand away, and, even in the dimness of the basement, Regulus can see a soft pink staining his cheeks.
"I should go," Regulus says.
He doesn't bind the other man's hands, doesn't leave him quite so defenseless. Still, as he ascends the stairs, he casts the spells and locks the door behind him.
…
"Got another one of Andi's," Rodolphus tells him when he joins the others in Malfoy Manor.
Lucius' vendetta against his estranged sister-in-law has only grown over the past few weeks. He's taken it on himself to deal with any captured members of the resistance. The Dark Lord seems happy to let him have his way; he has far bigger things to worry about, now that his plan has shifted, and destroying Muggles has replaced capturing Muggleborns.
Regulus looks around the room. Rodolphus, Rabastan, Sirius, and Lucius are already there. He feels a bit out of place.
"Do I really need to be here?" He keeps his expression neutral, almost bored, and his tone matches. "If the four of you can't handle one prisoner, I don't know what to tell you."
No one laughs. If anything, the men's expressions harden. Regulus adjusts the collar his shirt, suddenly uncomfortable.
"Are you sure you can handle this life?" Lucius asks.
"W-what?" Regulus stammers. "Of course! I took the Dark Mark, didn't I?"
"Everyone saw you get sick after the brat was tortured," Rabastan says with a cold laugh. "There have been whispers."
Whispers are never good. How many Death Eaters have lost their lives simply because someone questioned their loyalty and strength?
Regulus shakes his head. Though he's panicking inside, he manages to remain calm and collected. "Whispers are just that," he says with a shrug. "Whispers. Idle talk of bored minds."
"Prove it," Sirius says.
Regulus tips his head to the side in confusion. He stares at his brother, trying to make sense of the command. "How?"
Sirius' gaze shifts to the door that Lucius guards. Regulus' stomach twists painfully as understanding hits. He swallows dryly.
He doesn't have a choice, and he knows it. If he steps through that door, he will have to torture and kill someone. If he stays here and refuses, he's as good as dead.
Regulus keeps head held high and draws his wand before stepping forward. "Excuse me," he says to Lucius who steps aside.
There's no turning back now.
…
"I'm a monster."
"You aren't."
Regulus laughs at that. Only a monster would continue to torture someone the way he had. Even when the man–the boy. He couldn't have been any older than sixteen–had begged him for death, Regulus had continued.
He hates himself for it.
It's been hours, and he still sees those golden-brown eyes widening with fear, still sees those long limbs twisting in ghastly, unnatural ways. Regulus wonders if he will ever get those images out of his head, or if he will be haunted until the end of his days. He still feels sick to his stomach, but he didn't throw up this time.
"What do you know about monsters, Pettigrew?"
"Peter. Call me Peter."
Regulus swallows and looks away. "Peter," he says. It feels so strange. He's avoided calling him his name, knowing that acknowledging that means acknowledging that he is a human being.
"I've seen monsters," Peter says, leaning forward and hugging his knees to his chest. "Monsters don't feel regret after they destroy someone's life. You aren't a monster."
Regulus closes his eyes. He wishes he could believe that. How could he have ever thought he was doing the right thing? He had never considered the pain and damage he might cause. All he could see had been a chance at glory. Now he knows it isn't even worth it.
He can feel Peter move closer, and he doesn't care. Regulus lets down his defenses. Maybe it would be a better world if someone would take him out of it.
"You're not a lost cause, you know," Peter tells him, resting a hand on Regulus' knee. "You aren't some broken, damaged thing."
Regulus opens his eyes again, staring at Peter. Something flutters within him, tickling his insides. Maybe there's a connection. Maybe it's just some pitiful mixture of desperation and loneliness, a need for touch and comfort. Whatever the reason, Peter looks absolutely beautiful.
Regulus swallows dryly. He's being stupid, and he knows it. He doesn't care.
He leans in, slender fingers gently cupping the other man's face. "You can tell me to stop, you know," he whispers.
Peter shakes his head. "I don't want you to."
Their lips meet. No miracle happens. The world doesn't suddenly have meaning. Regulus doesn't have some great epiphany. But it feels right, and the demons don't seem to call his body their home anymore.
"Thank you," Regulus says when they break apart.
Peter looks down at his hands, wringing them together. "I didn't do anything."
Regulus wonders if he means it. Is it possible that Peter really can't see how great an impact his kindness has? "You did," Regulus assures him, climbing to his feet and dusting himself off. "More than you'll ever know."
v.
He can't do this anymore.
Regulus pours himself another drink before quickly downing the amber liquid, savoring the way it burns his throat like fire. It doesn't silence the pain, and it will not drive away the nightmares, but, right now, it feels so fucking good, and it has to be enough.
He is breaking.
Each day that passes brings a new horror, a new agony. How many lives has he taken? How many more has he destroyed? There are names and faces attached to his choices, but still he continues to burn, to raze, to ruin.
Another drink.
How many more?
…
He lays with Peter, enjoying the familiar warmth at his side. He hates that they have to stay hidden, that the world thinks Peter Pettigrew is dead, and all that is left is a single finger. It would be nice to be in his bed, curled up beside his lover beneath the sheets and blankets, pretending not to have a care in the world.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Peter murmurs.
Regulus sucks in a sharp breath. He doesn't know how Peter does that, how he always seems to know that something is wrong, even when Regulus doesn't say a word. It's simultaneously wonderful and terrifying.
"I don't know who I am anymore."
Peter brushes his fingers through Regulus' dark hair. "You're you."
Regulus almost laughs. He doesn't know who that is. Whenever he looks in the mirror, he barely recognizes his reflection. Each day breaks him a little more, twists him into something that is no longer human.
"I want the world to be easy again," Regulus whispers, fingers absently grazing over Peter's arm. "I want it to be… not this."
But he knows it was never easy. There has always been pain and darkness in the world. The only difference now is that it's happening all at once, and the weight of it all seems to rest on his shoulders. It's building and building, and he knows it's only a matter of time before it shatters him.
Peter is kind and good. He doesn't laugh at Regulus or call him weak. All he does is hold Regulus closer. "You're going to be okay," he says. "I know you."
"At least someone does."
He doesn't mean to sound so bitter. Maybe that's all that he is now.
…
"Do you remember when we were kids?" Sirius asks as Kreacher fixes his plate. "I promised you I would keep you safe?"
Regulus doesn't know which time his brother means. As a kid, everything had scared him. He would always run to Sirius, wiping tears from his eyes and asking him to fight away the monsters. "What's bringing on this bout of nostalgia?" He keeps his tone light, teasing.
Sirius doesn't smile. It isn't him anymore. Not really. There isn't any laughter in his grey eyes, and he doesn't seem to look at the world as some great adventure to have. That Sirius must have died the same day as Uncle Alphard.
Regulus doesn't like it. He misses his brother so much.
"You know I can't protect you if you put a target on yourself," Sirius tells him.
Regulus grabs his glass and sips the water within it, pondering how to respond as Kreacher makes his way over and fixes Regulus' plate in turn. Silence hangs between them, tense and uncomfortable.
"I'm not sure that I know what you mean," Regulus finally says.
"Kreacher, leave us."
The house-elf bows before disappearing from the kitchen with a pop. Regulus misses Kreacher immediately. This new Sirius is frightening, and he doesn't know how to act around him anymore. Being alone with him is terrifying.
"Don't play dumb, Regulus. You're too clever for that." Sirius spears a potato with his fork and takes a bite. "Honestly, I'm surprised you weren't Sorted into Ravenclaw."
Regulus shifts in his chair. He drags the prongs of the fork over the plate, shuffling his food around. His appetite is gone, stripped away by the sudden sense of dread that hangs over him, but he knows he cannot excuse himself. "Sirius…"
"You're weak, Reg, and everyone knows it," Sirius says calmly, not even looking at Regulus. "You are too hesitant, too scared."
"You were the Gryffindor," Regulus snaps before he can stop himself.
His brother's expression tightens, nostrils flaring in anger. Regulus can see the way Sirius' hands shake slightly. He's trying to compose himself, and Regulus is grateful. Sirius' rage is frightening. "The only reason you are still alive is because the Dark Lord is busy advancing his agenda," Sirius says through gritted teeth. "But that will not stop me from arranging an accident. You would do well to remember your place."
Your place. Regulus' cheeks flood with heat, and tears sting his eyes as they threaten to fall. He doesn't know which is stronger: his anger or his hurt.
All he can do is sit there, staring at his plate, trying to ignore the way his stomach churns and twists about within his body. How dare Sirius? Regulus had taken the Dark Mark before his brother, yet he's talked down to? Why?
He has done everything by the book, so desperate to keep the others off his back. Why isn't it enough? Why does he have to continue to prove himself?
"I'll do better," Regulus says, his voice barely above a whisper.
"See to it that you do."
…
"Crucio!"
He hates the fact that this women's screams will follow him home, that he will still see her agonized features when he closes his eyes tonight. They all stick with him. Each and every person that he is forced to torture, to kill stays in his head.
"Crucio! Where is Andromeda? This will end if you tell me."
It's a lie. She probably knows it's a lie as much as he does. The torture will end, but this hell on earth will continue.
He wants it to be over. He wants to be free, to be at peace. It's such a hopeless dream, but he dares to believe in the impossible.
"Tell me." His voice breaks. He wants to cry. "Please tell me."
Andromeda holds the key to his salvation, his escape. He had dismissed the idea for so long, but it consumes his mind.
The woman spits at him. "Fuck off."
They're watching. He knows they are.
"I'm sorry," he whispers before raising his wand. "Avada Kedavra!"
…
"What's happened?" Peter asks when Regulus rushes down the basement stairs. "What's going on?"
"We're leaving."
Peter's eyes widen. "We're?" he echoes. "As in you and Sirius? What will happen to me?"
Under ordinary circumstances, it might be an amusing question. It should be obvious, after all. But Regulus can't even think about it. If he stops for too long, he knows he will talk himself out of it.
"Me and you," he answers. "Sirius is busy with his… whatever he does." It's painful. He and his brother should have found a way to grow closer. Instead, Sirius has become a complete stranger to him. "We can get a headstart and he won't even–"
He pauses when he sees movement out of the corner of his eye. Kreacher stands at the top of the stairs, looking down at them with narrowed eyes.
"Kreacher, I command you to–"
"Master Sirius!" the house-elf calls before disappearing.
"We have to move," Regulus says. "Now."
Peter is quick to act. He climbs to his feet without further prompting, taking Regulus' hand. Regulus wants little more than to kiss him again, to hold him and be okay. It isn't an option. The situation is much too urgent, and hesitation could mean the difference between life and death.
Terrified and trembling, Regulus leads the way. Maybe there's hope for him. Maybe he should have been a Gryffindor, an Order member, anything except what he is now.
He keeps his head held high. Dwelling on the past will not accomplish anything. He has to keep moving, has to focus on the future.
A laugh spills from his lips. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, he actually feels like he has a future.
vi.
His bliss doesn't last long. Maybe he should be used to that by now. Joy is always so fleeting.
Sirius is waiting for them. His eyes widen slightly when he sees them. "The elf was telling the truth," he says quietly. "Hello, Peter."
"You betrayed us!" Peter rages. "Lily, James, Harry… They're dead because of you!"
Peter moves forward, but Regulus quickly moves in front of him. He no longer has his wand, and trying to fight Sirius will mean his death.
"Isn't this cute," Sirius says with a laugh. "Such a precious, cowardly couple. You've failed the Dark Lord one too many times, Regulus."
"I don't serve him," Regulus says stubbornly, reaching for his wand.
It happens in the blink of an eye. His wand raises.
"Stupefy!"
"Avada Kedavra!"
Regulus barely even registers that Peter moves at all. It isn't until he's knocked onto the floor that he understands. Peter takes the jet of green to his chest and drops. Sirius falls, Stunned, less than a second later.
At first, Regulus can't bring himself to move. His eyes remain fixed upon Peter's lifeless body. He collapses, falling to his knees as reality sets in. All he wants is to hold his lover close, to scream and rage and find a way to bring him back.
He doesn't have a chance. There is no time for mourning now. Trembling with a grotesque mixture of rage and grief, Regulus forces himself up again. He takes a deep breath, trying to clear his mind as he draws his wand. He has work to do.
"Incarcerous!"
vi.
"Avada Kedavra!" The Killing Curse rolls off his tongue more easily now.
The house-elf drops dead. Regulus wishes it could be different. Kreacher has always been a good servant, so steadfast and thorough.
If not for Kreacher, Regulus and Peter might have been able to escape. Peter might still be alive, and the world would not be so dark. With those thoughts at the front of his mind, Regulus steps past the pitiful thing's small body, dragging Sirius along behind him.
Part of him is still tempted to just kill Sirius and be done with it. Revenge is such a beautiful thing. Still, he can't rush it. This is his chance to finally be free.
…
"You killed Peter," Regulus says when Sirius wakes.
His brother offers him a devilish grin, storm-grey eyes twinkling with amusement. "Oops," he says with a laugh. "To be fair, I've killed a lot of people. Why should he matter?"
"He mattered to me."
Regulus knows Sirius is trying to bait him. He tells himself he won't give in.
"I told you before. You have to make sacrifices," Sirius tells him. "Now, let's stop being silly. Let me go, and I promise I won't hurt you."
Regulus shakes his head. There's no way he can give in. Sirius would have murdered Regulus if Peter hadn't intervened. Something tells him that being tied up won't improve his mood.
"Reggie, please…"
It feels like a knife stabs into his chest. Sirius hasn't called him that since they were kids. For one moment, Regulus can almost let himself pretend. The war doesn't matter, and everything is perfect. Sirius is the big brother who won't let anything happen to him.
Except he's not. Regulus closes his eyes and and digs nails into palm, forcing himself to focus. He can still the green light, can still see Peter falling. Regulus opens his eyes again and draws his wand. "Where's Andromeda?"
"Do you really think I know?"
"Crucio!"
His brother's screams fill the air. Regulus shouldn't like this, but there's some sick, twisted part of him that loves it. This isn't like torturing those rebels. There is no reluctance or hesitation. Sirius has made his choice. He has chosen to hurt others, to live his life without remorse.
So will Regulus now.
"Where is she?"
Sirius sucks in a breath, his body trembling as the aftershock of the curse seems to grip him. He laughs. "I never knew you had it in you, little brother."
"I asked you a question."
Sirius lips twist into something that is half grin, half grimace. "What do you hope to gain?" he asks. "You took the Dark Mark. Do you really think there's any chance at redemption?"
He won't do it, won't give in. Sirius will not have the satisfaction of getting under Regulus' skin. Regulus draws a deep breath. "I get to make my own choices," he says. "I don't have to be defined by my mistakes."
"Then you are a fool."
Regulus aims his wand again. "Crucio!"
…
When he finally allows himself to take a break, Regulus is exhausted. He's lost track of time, though it feels like this interrogation has taken years, it's probably only been a few hours. Sirius still hasn't cracked. Maybe he's telling the truth; maybe he really doesn't know.
He tucks a cigarette between his lips and lights it. The torture is getting old, and he's getting nowhere with it. Maybe there isn't a point in it.
…
"Last chance," Regulus says, gripping his wand tightly.
Sirius laughs. His body is slack against his bindings, too weak from torture to sit properly. "Going to kill me, Reggie?"
Regulus' hand shakes. "You deserve it."
"And who are you to decide what I deserve?" Another laugh escapes his lips. "Do you really think you're innocent in all of this?"
"I'm not."
Regulus wishes he could say otherwise. Although he can argue forever that he had been young and blind, he had still made his choice. Deep down, he had known. The fact that he's become disillusioned, that he wants to turn things around and make things right doesn't change what he's done.
This is his new start. He will find a way to let go of the past and fight for a better future.
"You won't kill me," Sirius says, and despite the arrogant smirk on his lips, Regulus can hear the way uncertainty makes his voice quiver ever so slightly. "You're too soft."
"Stop."
"Always have been. I was surprised when you joined the Death Eaters."
He will not attack out of anger; he will not take the bait. Regulus takes a deep breath to calm his nerves.
"Where's Andromeda?" Regulus asks. He doesn't know how many times he's voiced the question, but he feels a weight of hopelessness sour his stomach. "You were in charge of finding her. You have to have some leads."
"Just get this over with," Sirius says. "I'm getting bored."
Regulus raises his wand.
…
Regulus doubles over, convulsing as he throws up.
Killing Sirius should have been easy. Regulus thinks of everything his brother has done. The rage is there, but there's something more.
He gags, choking as acidic vomit snakes it's way up his throat.
Why does he feel regret now? After everything Sirius has done, after watching his brother kill his lover… Sirius has done so many terrible things, and Regulus shouldn't have any pity.
But, at the end of the day, Sirius was still his brother, still the one who would hold Regulus during the bad times at home.
Regulus moves to the sink when his stomach is too empty to continue. He splashes cold water on his face before lifting his gaze to the mirror. It's nearly been a year since the world fell apart and he made the decision to bring Peter here. So much has changed, and he barely recognizes himself anymore.
He leans forward, forehead resting against the glass. He can't dwell on. What's done is done, and all he can do is move on.
His absolution is waiting for him in the revolution that his cousin leads. It has to be.
With a heavy sigh, he pulls away. The Death Eaters have leads. He's certain that if he digs deep enough into Sirius' things, he'll have some sort of clue. There's no time for that, though. It won't take long for someone to miss Sirius. Regulus has to move now.
He makes his way downstairs. Peter's body is still in the parlor, so close to freedom yet so far away. Regulus kneels beside him, resting a hand on his fallen lover's chest.
"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I wasn't able to protect you."
He'll give Peter a burial. It won't be anything fancy or even official, but Peter deserves something.
Then he'll be out in this crazy, messed up world, searching for hope and redemption.
The thought of setting out on his own and defying his former master is terrifying. Regulus has always been perfectly content to follow along and never ask questions.
That isn't enough anymore. It's time to take a leap of faith and try to do what's right. It's what Peter would have wanted.
"I'll make you proud."