neither lost nor found

by tonberrys-and-kuchikopi

In the thick of the first war with Voldemort, Regulus steals the locket horcrux; and pulled from the grip of its trials, he survives the cave. What follows is a tale of espionage, blood politics, and accidental vigilantism. Welcome to 1979.

1. Out of the Cave

Chapter 1: Out of the Cave

---

From the basin came a green glow, quivering against the dark shadows of the seaside cave. For some, green was the colour of life; for others, the colour of death. For Regulus, kneeling before that basin of emerald green potion, green was the colour of fear.

Chaos spun behind his eyes, but Regulus hadn't moved an inch since he dropped to his knees. In his hand, he clutched a locket, green and gold and emblazoned with the bold twist of an S. A decoy. A final stab of revenge, covered by illusion.

The waking nightmares stuck to his throat, clawing upwards to seize the fuzzy edges of his thoughts with an iron grip. Potion still coated his tongue, but the taste had faded with the shock of a sudden, delirious sense of despair. He was more parched than he had ever been, more parched than he thought anyone could be and still remain alive, but it was his mother's furious shrieks that monopolised his thoughts. Regulus could hear them ringing in his ears with such clarity that she might have been standing right behind him.

(DISGRACE! BLEMISH! SHAME TO THIS HOUSE!)

For what may have been seconds—or perhaps even minutes—Regulus doubled over to tuck his head between his knees. Though he tried to block out the images burning in his own thoughts, his clenched eyes offered no reprieve, nor could rubbing at his ears serve to drown out the screaming. (A failure—a traitor—) His throat was like sandstone, and no matter how he might rub furiously at the soft skin beneath his chin and jaw, the rawness lingered.

Kreacher's distress cut through the din, and Regulus tried to focus on him through the haze and the shrieking. It was then that Regulus felt the locket in his hand again, remembered why he was here, and the realisation that he had almost forgotten made his stomach turn.

'I don't want to!' his mind screamed, fingers digging into the back of his head when he heard Kreacher scraping the last of the potion from the bottom of the basin. Kreacher was probably about to finish it himself—a realisation that jarred Regulus deep in his stomach—so he forced himself to sit up, catching the house-elf's eyes.

"Hand it to me," Regulus said a little shakily, and for a moment it seemed like Kreacher wasn't going to comply. His fragile frame was tense all over, his eyes stricken, and the cup was clasped tightly in two boney, trembling hands. All at once, he was overcome with the urge to throw himself in the lake if it would only make the burning stop, making the yelling stop, making everything—stop—

Yet Kreacher was handing him the cup now, and Regulus grabbed it before he could change his mind, downing the last swallow with one hand as he switched the two lockets with the other.

Clasped securely in his grip, Regulus now held a broken shard of the Dark Lord's soul. This locket was a bid for immortality; it was the security that the Dark Lord was counting on to outlast the human shields he sent out to die in his name.

"Keep this safe— Destroy it when you can—" Regulus murmured as he thrust the locket into the house-elf's hand, but it only made Kreacher more upset. There was something else Regulus had wanted to say—more sentiments, most instructions—but he could not focus at all. His throat was burning, his stomach was churning, his head was bursting...

(UNGRATEFUL CHILD! TRAITOR, JUST LIKE THE OTHERS—)

Better a dead heir than a visible traitor, they would probably say; a lesser shame to kill the name than to besmirch the last of it… With a crushing sense of loneliness, he tried to think of the locket (it was worth it—it was worth it—), tried to think of the people who might be spared an immortal megalomaniac, tried to think about the look of horror on the Dark Lord's face when he realised what had happened… (—it was worth it—)

As Regulus stumbled towards the water's edge, he paused for only a beat before dipping his fingers beneath the glassy surface of the lake. He could not differentiate the cries of his elf from the cries of his mother—that roar within his skill was fuzzy—chaotic—but when a cold and slimy hand yanked him beneath the water, the world went quiet. Everything became cold, raking hands. Something horrible clawed at his neck in a throttling grip, though it made little difference when there was no air to gasp for. Instead, Regulus took in a mouthful of the water, and the burn spread from his throat to his lungs as a desperate panic seized him. Clawing back was met with a bloated wall of bodies; opening his eyes revealed nothing more than blurry shadows, but he knew what they were.

For once, no thoughts thundered through his mind; every moment was grabbing and railing and trying to cough up the pressure in his lungs, only to welcome more water in. Crowded as he was, Regulus almost did not notice the sensation of being pulled upward, save for the sudden weighted resistance as the inferi gripped more tightly.

His hand felt it first: the slightly chilled air of the cave. For a frantic moment, Regulus grasped at nothing—until bony fingers were clasped in his, and he sunk below the surface again. He could feel the small hand slip slightly, and a heightened panic beat against his skull: Kreacher!

Suddenly, he felt the rush of something pushing the slippery hands away, followed by the telltale tug in his stomach, yanking him out of the lake. In an instant, he and Kreacher landed in a heap on solid stone ground.

Regulus's eyes stung with a salty blur. He attempted to open them for only a flash before clenching them closed again, mixing what might have been tears with the stream of lake water dripping down his face. The first desperate bid for air staggered into a coughing fit that Regulus thought might never end, tightening in his chest until he wretched up a mix of water, that terrible green potion, and whatever else had been in his stomach. Even as he inched back from the mess on wobbly limbs, every breath triggered another cough until he once again curled up, head tucking between his knees. He could feel his heart thumping in his skull, and for a moment, that was all he let his mind focus on.

Kreacher's spindly fingers rested on Regulus's back, triggering a sudden jolt that tightened every muscle in his body. It took a moment before he was breathing again, counting the seconds with each inhale and exhale.

"Kreacher will keep the young master safe," Kreacher was murmuring, his tone much calmer than it had been on the island, if equally shaky. "The locket and the young master both."

Though a lightheaded haze remained thick in Regulus's mind, he sat up, feeling the return of some measure of control over his breathing. He and Kreacher were at the entrance to the cave chamber, on the other side of the blood magic door...

Regulus suddenly wanted to go home as desperately as he knew he shouldn't. (Better a dead son than a traitor—) Stumbling into number twelve, Grimmauld Place with sopping wet robes and a lingering panic was not a risk he felt willing to take. There were other properties, left abandoned when the Blacks who had once owned them at last passed away, but it was their summer home in Porth Iago that leapt to the forefront of his mind. No one would be there yet… This marked his first night back from Hogwarts, and the others may well still be celebrating their return, somewhere out there. Somewhere, but not the Welsh coastline, he would guess.

"Take me to the house in Iago," Regulus croaked, followed by another coughing fit, but Kreacher did not wait for him to quiet before gripping his arm and apparating them both from the cave onto the floor of his family's summer home.

The house was dark, bathed in inky shadows, and so quiet that he could still hear his heart beating in his chest. Regulus did not need light to imagine the sparse pictures of their (acknowledged) family and the austere decor, nor to imagine the empty bedrooms at the top of the staircase just off to the side. The only break to the silence was the drip of water on the wood flooring, the pattering footsteps, and the slightly wet sound of Regulus's lingering cough.

This place could not shield him for long, he knew; a traitor had no place, and with what he'd done, Regulus supposed he was a traitor to the Cause now. He did not feel like a traitor—the Dark Lord was the one using them—but this matter of semantics was not a problem he had expected to face. Word choice mattered so much less when you were dead, but he knew a number among the living who would care rather a lot.

Clamping his eyes shut, Regulus took a steadying breath to clear his mind, though his legs were still wobbly beneath him. Barty—he could not call upon Barty. However dear a friend, there was no way he could explain this eloquently, and certainly not without suspicion. The same applied to Narcissa, however reassuring either of them might be in the moment. He could not go home to his mother…

Treacherously, his mind flicked to a rather different member of the family—a brother he oughtn't even acknowledge, much less call upon. Associating himself with Sirius was a dangerous game in itself, but he supposed it wasn't any more dangerous than stealing a fragment of the Dark Lord's soul and making off with it.

As Regulus opened his eyes again, he steeled himself with resolve; but however resolved the sudden rush of emotion might be, Regulus hadn't the faintest idea where Sirius lived anymore.

"Kreacher… give me the locket, then go fetch Canopus," he began, collapsing into the writing desk chair. "If you see my mother, tell her nothing. Give no indication that anything is out of the ordinary. It's very important. I need to think."

Kreacher did not look any more comfortable with the situation than Regulus himself felt, but the anxiety in the elf's face seemed to fade back to trust as he nodded in confirmation and handed over the object in question. "Does Master Regulus still wish for Kreacher to destroy the locket?"

"Not for right now. I will hold onto it."

With a loud crack, Kreacher disappeared. Regulus's mind was reeling again, spinning with a barrage of intrusive images as he lit his wand and pulled out a small, note-sized piece of parchment along with a quill to dip with ink. 'I need help,' he started to write before scratching it out again. He was still agonising over what to say when Kreacher returned not even a minute later with Canopus in tow. The a golden masked owl was pale, cloaked with gold and brown flecks and quite amicable in temperament, but not even the sight of his owl companion could provide much in the way of comfort.

Again, Regulus tried to find the words to say that wouldn't get the note crumpled up and thrown in the bin. Everything he wrote sounded weak and childish, and Sirius already thought badly enough, as it was. Chewing on the inside of his cheek, Regulus settled:

'I need you to come to the Iago house immediately. I know it sounds like a trap,
but I promise you that it is not. Please do not bring anyone with you.
I would not ask if it was not important.'

A few drops of water dotted the parchment as he rolled it up, but it was not enough to smudge the message in any significant way, so he soon sent Canopus along. Perhaps Sirius would ignore it, or perhaps he would see it and scoff, but he knew what Regulus was and had yet to turn him into the Aurors, so there was that, at the very least.

With the window closed securely again, Regulus slid down to the floor into a dripping heap. (He couldn't sit on the furniture—not with the blood, not when he was wet—) The more his adrenaline faded, the more he felt the sharp, pounding pain of the gash on his arm, cut jaggedly to get through the blood magic door. His soaked robes felt heavy and chilly and uncomfortable, but he didn't quite trust himself to cast spells on his own person quite yet, and the last thing he needed was to set himself on fire trying to cast a warming spell when he couldn't focus… He just couldn't focus…

"Who does Master Regulus write to?" Kreacher asked.

Kreacher wouldn't understand. Not even now, probably. "We can talk about it another time, but for now, go home. Come back to check on me in two hours. If I'm not here, return to the house again and carry on as normal." After all, if Sirius called the Aurors, there would be nothing Kreacher could do at that point, anyway... "I'm… I'm exploring some options."

Once again, Kreacher did not look particularly pleased at the prospect of separation, but it was only when the elf had disappeared again that Regulus allowed himself to fully slump over his knees.

Shutting his eyes again, he tried not to think.

---

"I think your owl is having a nervous breakdown."

Barely through the front door of their flat, and Sirius was forced to agree. Remus was standing outside of his own bedroom, looking at the door to Sirius's but not actually peeking in to see what was going on. Sirius wouldn't have done that. If he'd heard Remus's owl going mental, if he'd had one, Sirius would have gone in wand first, and honestly, he was a little insulted that Remus was putting privacy above the good Sir's wellbeing. Sirius fixed his friend with a glare that he hoped would convey his irritation, then took a few steps past him as he pushed into his room.

He could see Sir "Hootie" Hootsalot slamming his beak at the window and making distressed little chirps. He was flying up and down, his wingspan fully on show. It was almost funny, if it wasn't downright peculiar.

"What's the matter with you?" Sirius asked, but even as he did, he noticed that there wasn't much of anything really wrong with his owl other than a rather strong desire to socialise with the white and gold owl hovering just outside the window.

Sirius lifted the latch, and then gave the window a good shove. As expected, the owl dove in and landed on his desk. Or rather, on the stuff he had piled up on top of where his desk used to be and likely still was under everything. As if Hootie's demeanor wasn't clue enough, the gold and white markings gave away the owl's identity at once.

Canopus.

It'd been months since his—their—father's funeral. Sirius hadn't heard hide nor hair of his estranged baby brother since then. They didn't exactly run in the same circles. In the last year since he'd left school, he had only seen him twice: once when he'd realised Regulus was the Death Eater he was fighting in a skirmish, and again at the funeral Sirius wasn't supposed to be at. There was no reason for Regulus's owl to be here now. They didn't really acknowledge each other's existence these days, because if he had to, he might have to face the utterly idiotic decisions that Regulus had made in his absence, and he'd never managed it sober. To this day, only James knew of the confrontation that had revealed who Sirius was fighting on the night he'd first de-masked the little prick and then consequently found himself unable to leave him for the Aurors to pick up. Sirius had thought that guilt and shame were things he'd left on the threshold to the Noble and Most Bullshit House of Black when he'd left, but apparently not.

"Is your owl having a playdate?" Remus asked from the doorway.

Sirius supposed it looked a little bit like that. He'd never wondered if perhaps the two got along when he wasn't looking. Hootie was a regal sort, hence his knighthood, but he was chatty and bandied about where Canopus had always been even-tempered. Perhaps in illustration of the two people they belonged to.

He reached over to retrieve the message, lighting the room with a lazy twist of his wand and unravelling the small parchment. He read it, then read it again. Then a third time.

"Sirius?" Remus prompted. He looked more worried than bemused now.

Rocking from one foot to another, Sirius weighed up his options for only a few seconds. He had to try, didn't he? Some protector he was for the wizarding world if he couldn't keep his own brother safe, but he'd told James afterwards that Regulus had made his bed. If he wanted to change it, he'd have to make the first move. It had to be his choice. What if it had actually happened, and he missed it because he didn't want to go running up to Wales? The day he couldn't take his baby brother in a proper fight was the day he deserved to be dead and buried, anyway.

He re-rolled the note and attached it to Hootie. "Take that round James's if I don't send Canopus back in the next fifteen minutes. Nip him if he's asleep."

"Sirius-" Remus said again, an edge creeping into his tone.

"I'll be back," Sirius told him, "I'm just returning Canopus to his owner."

"Isn't that your brother's owl?" Remus pressed.

"Yep," Sirius said, before calling the white owl over. "But he's not at home, so I want to catch him before I'd have to deal with my dearest mother to do it."

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Remus asked, already shuffling out of his slippers. "If you give it a minute, I could come with you."

"If it was a good idea, why would I do it?" Sirius flashed him what he hoped was a much more confident grin than he felt. "Stop worrying. It's only Regulus. I've been able to stop him by sitting on him since I was three."

Without another word, Sirius apparated with a loud crack! It was still too early for the crowds of the pureblood elite to descend upon the sleepy Welsh village, but that didn't mean it was safe. The house still looked exactly the same, but he felt a stone drop in his stomach as if he had just touched a portkey and had no idea of the destination. This was where he'd run from on the night he'd left; he could see the window and the trellis he'd shimmied down to do it. Though he'd been back to Iago once to see his uncle afterwards, he'd come nowhere near the house itself, and the vague feeling of nerves began gripping into him without him expecting it.

He shoved them down; the place was still locked up, and it didn't look like anyone was in there.

"Let's go see what trouble Regulus has gotten himself into, shall we?" Sirius whispered to the owl, ever the well-behaved.

He took a deep, unsteady breath before turning the door handle and finding that it opened with no discernable ill effect. He didn't know why that surprised him, but it did. It was even more unsettling to look at the pictures in the hallway, barely lit through moonlight. With an unbidden stab, he could even see where he'd been removed from the one or two he'd actually been in. It was what happened to traitors, so he really did refuse to get upset about it. They were only pictures. It didn't matter. He shut the door quietly behind him, as he had no desire to announce his presence in case it was some kind of trap after all.

The door to the parlour was open. The lights weren't on in there either, but there was a dim enough glow that he could see. Wandlight, perhaps. There was also an odd sound, a noise that repeated itself, and it was only when he turned to look in he realised it was water dripping. For some unknown, sense-forsaken reason, Regulus had decided to sit on the floor, sopping wet, and owl someone he wasn't supposed to acknowledge even existed, all without his standard signature or a pristine presentation.

This was going to be bad. Sirius could feel it in his bones.

Instead of greeting his brother or announcing his presence, Sirius walked straight up to the large fireplace and lit it. It didn't matter if it was mid-summer. It was too damn cold to be sitting in wet clothes. He was going to make himself ill. "I hope you've got a good reason to-" Sirius stopped mid-sentence when he got an actual look at him in the light of the fire. "What the hell happened to you?"

Looking a bit more like a fish than normal, Regulus opened his mouth as if to say something, then pressed it to a line, silence stretching for a few uncomfortable beats.

Since that was profoundly unuseful, Sirius knelt down beside him to get a closer look. He downgraded the situation from bad to worse when he realised those were tears in his clothes, and—was he bleeding? With his heart suddenly hammering in his ears, Sirius pressed a hand to the floor to check the dripping was definitely water and not blood. It was water; pink-tinged, but water nonetheless. He wasn't about to drop dead.

With a wave of his half-forgotten wand, Sirius lit up the gas lamps. He needed a better look, and he needed it now. Could he downgrade from worse? Something between worst and worse? He noted some redness that looked like it could bloom into some nasty bruising, more prickling cuts, and none of it made any sense. He wanted to ask who'd done that so he could go and end their miserable lives for it, but the fact was that Regulus was a Death Eater; someone could have done this in self-defense.

He banished the thought almost as quickly as he entertained it; this was a physical fight. Regulus wasn't about to get into one of those. Besides, why wouldn't he just go to Narcissa if that were the case?

"Are you bleeding anywhere I should be panicking about?" It would be better to get that out of the way first.

"Just my arm," Regulus mumbled, his voice almost too quiet to hear.

"Your arm?" Sirius glanced down at them, but Regulus was still wound tight like a spring ready to go off. "Let me have a look, then."

Regulus seemed to think about it for a moment, but this time, only a few seconds of uncomfortable silence had passed before he unclamped his arms from their grip around his knees. When he pulled back his left sleeve, it revealed a jagged red mark that looked more like a deep scrape than a clean slice, even if the sleeve—strangely enough—didn't appear to be torn, itself.

Sirius gave a low whistle. "That needs a real Healer," he said, but since Regulus had not apparated to a hospital or one of the old family Healers, he guessed that wasn't the first thing on his mind. Another thought slipped in unbidden—had he been scratched by something? No, it wouldn't a werewolf scratch. They still had almost a week to go before the full. "If you go sit on Dad's chair, I'll get you a towel to press on it for now. Same place as usual?"

Regulus nodded, though he didn't make any move towards the furniture.

It took only a minute to find the towels, even if everything was screaming in Sirius to get the hell out of there. He couldn't exactly leave Regulus there like that. His suspicions were swiftly confirmed when he came back into the parlour and found Regulus hadn't moved at all. It was possible he was concussed, but no real way to know for sure.

With a heavy sigh, Sirius crouched back down and handed him the towel. "Keep the pressure on it. Can you get up?"

Pressing the towel firmly to his arm, Regulus nodded. "Yes."

"Then why are you still on the floor?" Sirius asked.

"I'm wet and bleeding. I don't want to get it on the furniture," Regulus responded, his voice still a little quiet but notably more matter-of-fact.

Of all the idiotic reasons—

"Why are you wet and bleeding?" Sirius asked instead. They both knew he was a bloody idiot about propriety, so the chair issue wasn't the most pressing question right now. "Did someone or something scratch you?"

"I suppose you could say that," Regulus answered vaguely with a pinching expression.

"Something dark?" Sirius pressed. If it's likely to get infected, that meant moving more quickly.

Regulus shook his head. "A rock."

"A rock," Sirius repeated in a deadpan tone. It was unlikely to be a cursed rock, though who knew what they did for fun in the Death Eaters. He'd never had a strong hankering to find out. "I can't do a whole lot about a rock. Why are you wet and picking fights with minerals?"

"It's… I don't really know where to begin." Clamping his eyes shut, Regulus took in a breath and released it as his hand tightened on the towel blotting his arm.

Pushing for the last bit of patience he had, Sirius attempted to keep his voice level. Yelling never got him anywhere when it came to Regulus. He just sulked, and he looked pathetic enough without that. "Then go backwards instead. No one else will be here for what, another week? Why are we here?"

"I can't go home right now." Opening his eyes again, Regulus's face tightened again, though he was looking at his toweled arm instead of at Sirius. "They'll kill me if they figure out what I did. Not in the melodramatic way—literally kill me," he said, leaning his head back against the wall with another measured breath.

Not at all the answer Sirius had expected. Regulus was the last of an old line, related heavily to the Death Eater bigwigs, had a mother that could stop a dragon cold in its tracks, and for all of his idiotic choices, he wasn't particularly stupid either. He could understand getting in trouble for something he hadn't done—Sirius had no delusions about what Death Eaters did, but could never wrap his mind around the image of someone as soft as his younger brother being able to do any of it. But something he had done?

"Were you—trying to run?" It was possible he'd done it somewhere there was a rockery, or a lot of water, and slipped in the dark. That seemed fairly anticlimactic to him, but he supposed the idea of Regulus feeling he couldn't return home was the height of fear for him. Home was everything to him, above all else, as Sirius had long since bitterly learned. That even made sense by some Death Eater standards—you join, then you are one until you die. There's no running from it. That was the rule.

"Sort of…" Furrowing his brow a little, Regulus paused for a beat, then continued. "That's part of it."

"Are you in shock?" It was a perfectly legitimate question, given that even for Regulus, this was being obtuse. "I can take a wild stab at why you can't go to St. Mungo's, but you had to be desperate to want to talk to me. But you have, and I'm here, against all common sense. I can't help if you don't tell me what I'm supposed to help with. Kreacher could have gotten you a towel; Narcissa could have gotten you a Healer—unless you've done something so spectacular, you believe she'd dob you in? Because if it's that big, I think ought to know because this place won't be safe for long if that's the case. You did...something, then got wet and cut up by rocks. Were you up here? Did you get in a fight? Should I be expecting someone to come and try to finish it?"

Regulus shook his head with a little more certainty. "No fight… I don't think anyone knows I'm here. They oughtn't… I just—can't focus. I can't go back right now. I was supposed to attend a party welcoming us back from Hogwarts, but the thought of looking at everyone and pretending like it's all fine made me sick to my stomach." His expression pulled to a sharp point, his frame tensing again as he continued, "It isn't fine. Nothing about it is fine, and I don't want to do it anymore… but that is not exactly presented as an acceptable option."

It was probably wrong to feel relieved that Regulus was sick to his stomach by it, but it was all Sirius could think of in the moment. Reconciling the image of a Death Eater and his brother had been a struggle for half a year, and this was the first sign that he was still him. Just fucking useless at not trying to please everyone, which was nothing new at all. The results of which had led to a sopping mess on the floor of the holiday home, so cheers, Mum, excellent parenting as always. "Joining shouldn't have been a bloody option," Sirius said through gritted teeth but forced out a huff to try and calm himself in the moment. Just because no one had left the Death Eaters and lived didn't mean it was impossible. It just meant no one had been smart enough yet.

First thing was first: seeing if he was going to stick to the same story when he stopped sounding so damn scared. It was a possibility that he wouldn't, as much as Sirius loathed the thought of it. He couldn't drag the Order Healers into this on the off-chance this was a minor freak out that he'd calm down from. Luckily—or not so luckily—it wasn't his only option, assuming he didn't get hexed for trying it. He looked back at his brother, and his stomach lurched. He'd done a lousy job at protecting him lately; he'd had to for his own sanity, but a little hexing would be worth it if it meant that Regulus actually got it through his thick head that Death Eaters were very much not fine.

"You still like having secrets?" Sirius asked.

Regulus turned to look at him for a moment, paused, then nodded.

"I know somewhere safe to get help, but it has to stay a secret no matter what." That was going to be non-negotiable, no matter what happened from here on in. "You can handle that?"

Again, Regulus nodded, pressing his lips to a line.

Sirius reached over to take his shoulder, only to feel the instant recoil. He'd take offense if it was someone else—it was a common reaction among 'traitors'—but Regulus had always been a little on the jumpy side when it came to people in his personal space. Given that he looked like someone just dragged him from the Great Lake, cutting him a little slack seemed like the half-decent thing to do. It took only a second to see the familiar outline of the old, stone house and rockery. Maybe he should keep Regulus out of the way of those; wouldn't want this antagonism to become a habit. "If you're going to throw up, can you aim it away from me?"

"I'm not going to throw up," Regulus muttered, though he still looked pale enough to call that into question.

"I wouldn't bet on it." The slight petulence to the tone was pretty reassuring; he'd take a sulk over scared any day.

Before he could talk himself out of what was probably going to be a stupid idea, Sirius knocked on the front door. With any luck, either Ted or Andromeda would still be up, given that it had to be about midnight. They were old, but they weren't that old. Andromeda was the one person he could be reasonably sure wouldn't tattle on either of them. She wasn't going to appreciate him showing up without warning about any of this, especially around her daughter, but desperate times made strange bedfellows or whatever the saying was.

The door opened a crack to reveal a wand, rather than a person.

"Sorry, I know it's late."

Then he heard an Andromeda-shaped sigh before the chain on the other side was removed, and the door opened fully to reveal Andromeda in her housecoat."What have you done?"

"Just need to borrow your other half for a bit." Sirius glanced to Regulus, and more specifically, to his arm.

As he hoped she would, Andromeda followed his eyeline. She blinked twice, being as close to a flabbergasted reaction as she knew how to give, then took a step backwards from blocking the entry way. "I think you'd better come in. Keep your voices down, please."

Regulus was staring hard at the floor as they stepped inside, mouth pressed to such a tight line that it could have been mistaken for being sewn shut, all of a sudden. Keeping his voice down wasn't going to be a problem, as per usual.

"Regulus?" Andromeda phrased it partway between getting his attention and perhaps questioning if that was who she was looking at. Sirius supposed six years was a long time not to see someone. "Go and sit down. Keeling over from injury is against our house rules."

There was no delay in responding, this time, as Regulus cut a quick line to the front room - hesitating again when he reached the nearest sofa.

Andromeda gave Sirius a questioning look, but he couldn't really explain it either. As much as he liked to call Regulus the little puppet, watching him behave like it made him feel more than a little uncomfortable.

Sirius watched him continue to hesitate, before giving a noise of frustration. "He doesn't want to get blood on your sofa."

To her credit, he did think the sudden look of alarm was for the fact he was bleeding and not for her sofa. "Grab one of the throws. He can sit on that if he he's so worried about my upholstery." Upstairs, something drew her attention. "I'll tell Ted to get his kit out, but there's going to be a conversation about this."

"Looking forward to it," Sirius muttered.

He scooped up one of the woven throws from the back of an armchair and considered throwing it in Regulus's direction. Then he remembered he was trying to keep a towel to stop himself from bleeding and probably didn't have much of a hand free to do anything as sophisticated as catching. He half strew it in front of Regulus instead. "Now can you sit down?"

Regulus nodded stiffly, accepting the throw and smoothing it over the sofa until it neatly covered the cushions from the floor up over the back. When at last he sat down, he tucked himself against the arm, leaning forward over his knees to stare at the carpet.

Ted Tonks could hardly be thought of as intimidating in any way, by Sirius's standards. He was soft-spoken, barely taller than his wife, and always seemed to be at ease in any situation. Sirius supposed a Healer needed that. No knowing what would come into St. Mungo's, or in this case, his own front room. He approached in what Sirius assumed were his nightclothes, but he also had a small bag that rattled with glass.

"Alright, Ted?" Sirius said, since one of them should remember their manners, and the situation was dire indeed when that person was him.

"Hullo," Ted said. "I think the wife wants a word with you."

"I think she wants a whole conversation," Sirius replied.

"Best not keep her waiting," Ted said. "You wouldn't want to be gawked at if you were getting fixed up, either."

Sirius looked at Regulus, clearly ready to try and vibrate himself through the floor into the Earth's core rather than deal with this situation, but Ted had a point. It can't be the first purist he's treated, and Andromeda's patience was likely to become limited very quickly. "I'll be back in a minute."

On the landing of the upper floor, Andromeda beckoned Sirius to come up to her. The fact that she was trying to be discreet meant she was probably going to give him a talk that amounted to 'what the hell is going on,' and Sirius didn't have nearly enough answers to give her. Still, he steeled himself and dived right in.

"I didn't know where else to take him," Sirius said, cutting off any question she may have began with. "He needs help, and I'm a dab hand with counter-curses, but he's in some kind of shock. He needed a real Healer."

"There are many Healers at home for him," Andromeda said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"A place he's adamant he can't go to at the minute," Sirius replied. "I don't know much more than you do. I got in to find his owl. He asked for help—he asked for help—so I went up to get him. He was at the summer house, in the dark, sopping wet, bleeding, and barely coherent. I didn't know what else I could do."

"The hospital?" Andromeda replied.

"If you don't know why I didn't do that, you at least suspect why I didn't do that," Sirius half-mumbled. He knew he sounded a little sullen, but he couldn't help the feeling he was being grilled for some failing or other.

When he met her eye, Andromeda was regarding him sharply. "You do not bring a Death Eater into my house without talking to me, Sirius!" she hissed. "I don't care who they are."

Sirius nodded. "I won't."

"You do not have the authority to put my child in danger without my consent. Never again, do you understand me?" Her voice left no room for any answer other than yes, so of course, it was the one he gave. "You're quite sure he is?"

"I'm sure," Sirius replied. He had seen him with his own eyes the December before. "I'm also sure he doesn't want to be and has no idea what to do with that knowledge."

"Leaving is not generally an option," Andromeda said. She crossed her arms over her chest, her wand twiddling through her fingers in a nervous tick, then glanced downward as if she could see through the ceiling below. "I don't understand what would possess him to join in the first place!"

"We both know the answer to that one." Neither of them were about to bring her sister's name up first, so she simply glared at him for a long moment.

"You despise Death Eaters," she said.

Sirius agreed. "I do."

Andromeda pressed on. "You think they deserve everything they get for blindly following a lunatic."

"Or being sadistic pricks, yes," Sirius replied.

"Then why did you bring him here?" Andromeda asked. The unspoken addition of 'if you knew what he was, why didn't you contact the authorities' was as loud as if she'd decided to say it.

"If your point is 'I'm a hypocrite,' I already knew that." Defensiveness leaked into Sirius's voice without him meaning for it to. "Will you help anyway?"

Andromeda pressed her mouth into a thin line, then gave one small nod. "You're lucky I'm a soft touch. I don't suppose you have any sort of plan for what to do next?"

"I'm working on it," Sirius said. "I thought not letting him bleed out was a good start!"

"Then a good step after that is finding out what he's too afraid to go home to find," Andromeda replied, letting her arms drop once again. "Your mother is not a sedate woman. Sooner or later, I imagine she will notice she's missing a teenager, and then people will look for him."

"No one would look here," Sirius said. "People would think he'd rather be caught dead than here."

"Are you quite sure that is not still the case?" Andromeda pressed.

If he was honest with himself, no, he wasn't. But if Regulus truly felt sickened by the actions of the Death Eaters, if he was in fact finding some previously undiscovered fight in him, then shouldn't they at least try and help it? So Sirius didn't want his younger brother to lose his soul, literally or metaphorically. That didn't make him a bad person. Might make him a rubbish vigilante, but not a bad person.

"He's soft," Sirius replied, quietly. "He's always been soft. Infuriating as it is when he doesn't have my back with it, I don't think he truly believes any of the doctrine. Memorising it isn't the same as believing it. I can still recite half of it. I still fuck up sometimes, but I had a chance, and I figured my shit out."

"You didn't join the Death Eaters," Andromeda said, quietly.

"You think vigilantism will get me less arrested if I'm caught?" Sirius asked.

Andromeda rolled her eyes, then heaved an exaggerated sigh. "You're both idiotic. I reserve my judgement until I've spoken with him myself. My frame of reference was a terrified eleven-year-old on your mother's coat strings."

"He's still a terrified eleven-year-old on Mum's coat strings," Sirius replied, grimly. "He's just a bit taller."

---

When Sirius had exclaimed a need for secrecy, Regulus had expected his brother to apparate them to his flat, or perhaps to some friend or another in his merry band of vigilantes; yet as he sat frozen on Andromeda's sofa, Regulus felt as though the air had been kicked out of him again.

If Sirius wanted a secret, this was a guaranteed way to achieve it. Regulus had no intention of telling anyone he had come here, intentionally or not.

His jaw was locked shut, eyes staring hard at the plush carpet beneath his feet. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a blonde stranger—Andromeda's muggleborn husband—setting down his bag of what was presumably healing supplies. Of course he was a Healer. The night had not been miserable enough yet. Regulus had heard once that muggle Healers mended cuts and gashes by stabbing you with sharp pins. The memory sent a prickle of anxiety over him, but the few things Andromeda's husband had pulled out of the bag appeared to be legitimate, and his wand was visible. That, at least, was a small mercy.

With a flick of the man's wand, the room lit up brightly. "You don't look any less peaky in the light," he declared quietly and crouched down in a frog-like bend in front of Regulus. "Do you feel dizzy or sick?"

Regulus furrowed his brow. He felt ill but wasn't ill—not in the way a Healer would mean. The stress had been suffocating for some time now, growing worse and worse since his discovery of the horcrux, but since that potion…

His stomach lurched horribly, his mouth pressing to a firmer line. In the moment, all Regulus had been able to think about was the horrible barrage of terror that the potion yanked forth and the sick feeling that overcame him, but he wasn't even sure what the potion was—whether there were any side effects beyond the immediate experience. The Dark Lord could have easily chosen a poison that would still kill you, even if the lake of inferi did not…

Panic fluttered in his chest, and Regulus took in slow breath, gave a slow release. Andromeda's Healer husband was still staring at him, so he steadied his voice to something more controlled when he answered: "I feel nauseous but not dizzy."

In return, Andromeda's husband frowned. He tapped his wand lightly on Regulus's hand, followed by blue and red wisps knitting together. "I want to check your core body temperature isn't dropping," he explained. "Have you brought anything up, or gagged as if you were going to?"

Crinkling his nose, Regulus nodded. Though there was not a soul in the world that he would feel comfortable or safe confiding such details to, that circumstances should require it to be this person felt particularly cruel. He was half-tempted to risk the possibility of a slow death from that potion, but instead, he steadied himself to speak.

"It was shortly after I ingested a potion of some sort… I don't know exactly what it was or how far-reaching the effects are, but… it was intended for harm, so I suppose that is worth noting," Regulus said to the carpet, his frame tense.

"That changes things a little bit." The Healer let out a slow, low-pitched whistle. He turned back against his bag before pulling out several smaller bottles. "As a precaution, a full flush out and replenishment sounds like a good idea. If there's still symptoms like skin upsets, nausea, dizziness, temperature changes, difficulty seeing, or respiratory problems in twenty-four hours, there'll need to be some tests run. Let's see your arm. It might needs cleaning out first."

Immediately, Regulus's mind shifted to the Dark Mark on the inside of his arm. He had cast a glamour charm to mask it before boarding the Hogwarts Express that morning, but it had faded some time ago; refreshing had not seemed important when he did not expect to come out of the cave again, but he couldn't very well do it now.

Keeping his inner arm pressed flat along his thigh, Regulus removed the towel to let Andromeda's husband examine the gash on the other side, trying to keep any trickling anxiety from twitching on his face.

"I think we'll get some murtlap on that." Promptly, the man dove back into the bag to retrieve a light blue liquid and some white dressing. He pressed it on lightly. "It'll sting at first, but tell me when it goes numb, and we'll get it wrapped up. Anything else I should know about? You're not allergic to anything?"

Silently, Regulus shook his head.

"Let me know if it hurts." He bathed the wrap in the solution, then placed it tentatively over the gash. "If you count to twenty, it should begin to go numb by then. I'll heat up the flush, but if you feel any burning, give a shout."

Steeling himself against the sting with nothing more than a neutral nod, Regulus slowly counted as feeling started to seep out of his arm. By the time he reached twenty, the tingling sensations had turned into the strange, phantom feeling that took place when numbness kicked in. Vaguely, he thought to himself that Andromeda's husband seemed to know what he was doing, at least; it might have annoyed him a little in another situation, but he could privately admit a measure of relief, even if that relief was stuck in his throat.

When Andromeda's husband returned, he had two glasses—one filled with an unpleasant-looking, viscous liquid while the other was clear. He set both of them down on the table before returning back to the sofa. He tapped the top of the dressing lightly. "Can you feel that?"

Regulus shook his head slightly.

"I'll wrap it then," the man replied, tapping the same dressing with his wand. Bandages conjured and wrapped themselves around the dressing tightly, which he tapped again and seemed satisfied with. "That just leaves the flushing out potion. It's a little disgusting, but it'd be worse cold, and there's water if you feel more sick from it."

Regulus watched as the glasses were brought over from the table. He did not doubt the appraisal: the potion looked, smelled, and sounded to be unpleasant, but this, too, was probably still better than the potential for a slow death by poison.

Such was the unfortunate standard for the night.

Accepting the first glass, Regulus twisted his face in mild disapproval and drank it down without further fuss. As he had been warned, it had a nasty taste, but it wasn't significantly worse than some other healing potions. The warmth went immediately to his stomach and did little for his lingering nausea. He drank the glass of water next, but he wasn't sure that did much to help, either.

"The bathroom is first door at the top of the stairs. You should go and clean off, get out of the wet clothes." Andromeda's husband gave him a couple of pats on his bandaged arm. "Discussions are better done in the morning when everyone's calmed down a bit."

Regulus was not convinced that it was the sort of discussion that became easy in any situation, but he nodded all the same. Without another word, he stood up, crossed the room, and disappeared up the stairs.

---

If Andromeda was going to respond, then she was clearly distracted by the appearance of her husband on the upstairs landing. They did what Sirius had decided must be a married people thing, where they had a conversation just by looking at each other, but after a beat, Ted shrugged lightly.

"So what's the verdict?" Sirius asked.

"I'm not sure," Ted replied. "At the very least, he's got something in his system that could be causing other symptoms, but since I don't know what it is, I'm giving him a flush for his system and treated what I can see."

"What kind of something?" Sirius pressed.

"I'm not entirely sure he knows," Ted said before opening up one of the closet spaces and placing his bag inside it.

"How can he not know?" Sirius scoffed. There was no way in hell Regulus would take something without knowing absolutely everything about it. Unless, he thought with a sudden lurch in his stomach, it wasn't exactly taken voluntarily. What had he said? That they'd kill him if they saw him? Did they try?

"You don't know what happened either," Andromeda reminded him. "The question right now is not what happened, but what should happen now."

"He's going to need another dose in the morning," Ted replied. "Do you believe he's safe to have here?"

Andromeda looked at him, because of course she did.

"I don't think he's dangerous to you," Sirius said, before answering what he suspected they truly wanted to know. "Or your daughter."

"Truthfully, I would like to speak to him myself." Andromeda sighed before shaking her head. "He'll get some rest, and we'll reconvene in the morning. Are you staying or coming back?"

"Staying," Sirius said, promptly. "Er, may need to use the floo for a minute though. Remus is going to wonder what's going on."

"Go home," Andromeda said. "If you need to fill in Remus, you should sleep in your own bed. Come back in the morning. I'll keep an eye on him until then."

Not at all keen on the idea, Sirius pressed. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure he'll be less trouble than you usually are," Andromeda replied. Sirius took offense to this; no one was more trouble than him, and it was with a deep sense of pride he maintained that. "I better go find him something to sleep in. He's sopping."

---

The guest room Regulus was directed to for the night was little more than a closet with a bed shoved in it. Still folded neatly on the pillow were the pyjamas that Andromeda's husband had offered. From where Regulus was curled up, they were in arm's reach, though he had yet to grab for them. By the time he was settling into the room, he had calmed enough to finish drying his robes with a spell, but they weren't particularly ideal for sleeping in, however nice the material might be. Part of him felt that he ought to reject the pyjamas on principle simply because he knew who they belonged to, yet the other part of him suspected that simply being in this house was crime enough. More than likely, being comfortable was not going to make his standing that much worse on the scale of offenses—at least as long as the offense was not advertised.

Regulus was not certain how long he had been staring at the pyjamas when he at last gave into temptation and put them on. From the pocket of his own robes, he removed the locket, slipping it over his neck and tucking it beneath the shirt. Most likely, no one on either side of the war knew the precise pile of clothing to snatch the horcrux from, but proximity was safer, without a doubt. Neatly, he folded his own clothes and settled them at the foot of the bed. Taking his pillow in hand, Regulus propped himself at the top end, which was flush to the wall beneath the window. The summer night was heartbreakingly clear without a smoggy London cloud to be seen.

Three times that night, exhaustion lulled him to sleep, propped as he was against the wall, but when Regulus closed his eyes, he saw the staggering jolt of dead bodies swarming forth to tug him under, felt their hands clawing at his neck and heard his mother's echoing shrieks. Each time, he jerked awake with a hammering heart.

There was not a fourth time, that night.

---

Regulus's head was nudged into the corner where, propped in part by the pillow in his arms when he heard what sounded like the jostle of furniture outside his room. He hated the way his chest seized, nerves beating quietly against his ribcage, but sluggishness dulled his reaction to a hovering hand over his wand. With a flickering second to reason it out, a visit by the Death Eaters was unlikely, given that the rest of the house was so quiet and undisturbed, and the sun was already rising. More than likely, the scuffle of an attack would involve more than a bumped table, but at the same time, he knew a scuffle was not always inevitable. With the right knowledge and preparation, once could sneak into a house and take out the residents without making a single sound of alarm - but perhaps more realistically, no one had any reason to think he was here.

Even so, his hand hovered still over the wand when the door creaked open to reveal—a little girl with wide, curious eyes.

"You're not Sirius," she said, as if this were some grand revelation.

Regulus blinked slowly and shook his head, hand subtly retracting from the wand. Andromeda had been pregnant when she left—Regulus had heard the adults say as much, so long ago—and this looked to be the child in question. Even without that context, her looks favoured her mother more so than her father, perhaps uncomfortably so, considering she was not on the tapestry at home. Everything in this house felt uncomfortable when he thought about the tapestry.

"He's…" Regulus hesitated for a beat, the words feeling sticky with disuse in his throat. "He's my brother."

"Oh, I don't have any brothers. Or sisters!" the girl exclaimed. She pulled the door open properly, now having decided it was fair game to do so. "Did you come to build forts too?"

Though it seemed like a bit of a leap as far as assumptions went, perhaps it was something Sirius did. Regulus felt a twinge in his chest at the thought, but it made sense that Sirius would feel so comfortable here. Regulus was the odd one out.

"I was not feeling very well," Regulus settled instead.

"You're sick?" Her eyes widened at the mere idea of it before she suddenly disappeared from view. Her footsteps echoed as she presumably ran down the hallway, and then back again. However, this time there was a large, purple stuffed animal of some kind in her arms. She came right up to the bed and thrust it out. "There, if you hug him extra tight, you'll feel better, and we can play forts."

How much simpler his life would be, were that true. Accepting the stuffed toy, Regulus turned it over in his hand, then gave it a solid look in the face. The expression was a bit funny, rather silly-looking for a...mouse? A dog? But even if the premise was ridiculous, he could feel the corner of his mouth quirking a little at the corner. "Does that work for you?"

"No!" the girl laughed, giving an odd sort of punctuation to her statement. "You're silly."

The childish contradiction was blatant, but he felt a flicker of tired amusement in spite of himself as he let his head rest against the wall. Though Regulus knew this halfblood child ought to make him remarkably uncomfortable—and perhaps in a less bizarre situation, she would have—of all the people he had interacted with since owling Sirius, she was without a doubt the most blameless, and the stress pounding in his head was bad enough without the guilt of mouthing off to a well-meaning child. He was a little surprised no one had told her to avoid him.

"Does it only work on adults, then?" he asked mildly, looking again at the purple creature's fading face, then turned the toy to look back at her.

"It only works when you really, really need it, and I don't," the girl replied. "I have my dad to help me when I get sick. Last time I broke my arm, he gave me three stickers. Do you want to see my stickers?"

The chatter seemed to run together a little bit, but she was so delighted about it that Regulus couldn't bring himself to tell her no—even if he did not think there was anything particularly interesting about stickers (and even if the mention of her father made Regulus immensely uncomfortable, in turn). "Alright. Let's see them."

Outside in the hallway, there was a distinct sound of footsteps and shuffling about. The girl visibly shrunk. "Uh-oh. I gotta go. Bye!" With that, she suddenly ran out the door.

Regulus blinked slowly. Judging by those footsteps and the hasty retreat, perhaps someone had warned her not to talk to him, after all.

He didn't have to wait long to find out. After only a minute or so, the door was pushed open lightly and Andromeda looked in. She was still dressed in what was presumably night clothes, but she was carrying her wand. "Good morning," she said, politely. Then her eyeline dropped, and a brief look of confusion filtered across her face.

"This…" Regulus looked at the purple creature and put it on the bedside table. "This isn't mine," he said before clearing some of the awkwardness out of his throat. He had hoped to muster a bit more dignity with at least a change back into his own clothes before interacting with anyone over the age of six, but reality was not so kind.

Barely able to suppress a smile, Andromeda gave a slight nod. "I know. Snuffalump and I are old friends." She took a glance around the room. "I'm afraid the gene for irresistible curiosity has been passed along to my daughter. I apologise for the intrusion."

"It's alright," Regulus said, eyes flicking away as a fresh wave of discomfort washed up unbidden. Her mood seemed to be amicable enough, but it had been so long: She had left them to marry some muggle (a muggleborn who had tried to help last night—)

His mind focused then on the light press of metal against his chest; irresistible curiosity about the horcrux was what had gotten him into this mess in the first place, though it was probably a bit different.

"You should eat before taking the next potion," Andromeda seemed to decide. "I'm no house-elf, but no one's died from my cooking yet, and I don't intend for them to start now. We won't bite."

Privately, Regulus thought to himself that it wasn't the people within these walls that he necessarily expected to bite him, but he said nothing, instead granting a simple nod. She stepped out then, closing the door with a soft click, and he felt some of the stress starting to fade again. His entire body had drained itself of all motivation and energy, but he stirred himself to stand and change back into his robes from the day before and fold the pyjamas up in their place. Pausing a moment, he pulled the chain of the locket over his head again, then slipped it into his pocket. Clasping the locket tightly in his hand for a moment with a steadying breath, he nodded, more to urge himself on than anything else. When he again retracted his hand, he cast a quick sealing spell on the pocket to secure it within and tried to clear it from his mind for the moment. One problem at a time.

After washing up and ensuring he looked presentable for the morning—once again, something he would have preferred to manage prior to human contact—Regulus padded down the stairs to be greeted by the smell of breakfast. The sudden onset of hunger felt like a betrayal in itself, which he knew was a little ridiculous, even if it was prepared by someone he wasn't supposed to be talking to…

Peering in, he saw the three of them milling around; for a panicked moment, he thought about turning and walking back up the stairs, but Andromeda's daughter spotted him from the front room, so he supposed there wasn't much benefit in retreating now.

"You're here!" she bounded up, still carrying a bowl with some kind of multi-coloured cereal in it. "We can start building now."

"Nymphadora," Andromeda said in a warning tone. "Go sit down and finish your breakfast, then ask before jumping all over him."

"I did ask," the girl protested.

"Did he say yes?" Andromeda prompted, flicking her wand as flour and milk began to mix together in the bowl.

"He didn't say no," she replied.

"That's not the same thing, and you know it," Andromeda said, before indicating the front room. "Go and sit with your dad. You can keep him awake before work."

The man looked at her with raised eyebrows. Andromeda mouthed something in return before whipping her wand to make one of the chairs at the small wooden table in the kitchen pull itself out. "Take a seat, and I'll attempt to keep you from getting accosted."

Regulus twisted a look back at the girl—Nymphadora—then settled in the chair. He thought he should probably say something to his cousin to break the awkward lull, but he hadn't seen her since the summer he turned eleven. He could not simply ask how she was—even small talk felt off when he oughtn't be at her house at all, but at the same time, she was offering him hospitality when she did not have to. The Aurors had not come in the night...

"Why don't we go check on your spider army?" Ted prompted. It only took a few moments to usher the little girl outside, and the door to close.

"We've got some cobwebs in the shed," Andromeda explained lightly. Pancakes flipped themselves before turning over on one side onto the table in front of them. "I realise I'm not your favourite person, which is quite all right. I've never been the lady Narcissa is, but I truly do not wish for you to come to harm. I have little doubt Sirius will grill you about this, that, and the other when he decides to show up, but between you and I, I do not believe you are the first person to wish to break the choice to follow. I don't enjoy having to ward my home against Bella, but I will, if it comes to that."

Dread turned in his stomach, and he nodded. "I realise you didn't ask to be involved in this, and… the situation is complicated, but I don't wish harm on any of you, either," he said—and however upsetting her departure still felt when he allowed himself to think about it too closely, he nonetheless meant the words.

"I believe you. Actions speak louder than words, and despite the obvious discomfort, you've been very polite. Of course, this has always been the case, but it's nice to see that is remains into adulthood." The teapot arrived steaming, and began to pour a very black tea into the awaiting cups. "I don't mind my own involvement. My daughter is, and always will be, my main concern. However, I do excel at complicated, and having some familiarity with the complexities involved with family, I'll help if I can."

"Thank you," Regulus said, looking down into the warm steam rising from his cup. "I don't quite know how to manage the situation yet… but thank you." ('For not calling the Aurors,' he nearly said, but it felt like an unspoken assumption that he was not yet ready to make blatant. Fortunately, she did not seem to be keen on it either.)

"By taking something to eat, taking the potions, and getting more rest." Andromeda pointed at him with her wand. "You look dreadful. Did you sleep at all?"

Regulus leveled a dry glance, thinking that her observation was a bit honest, but he shook his head with a decision to let it sit. "I couldn't settle," Regulus responded, which was not entirely untrue.

"You have a lot on your mind," Andromeda said. "The aftermath of big decisions made in the moment can often be disorienting at the best of times."

Regulus tipped his head a little. For months, he had researched and agonised over the horcrux, had prepared himself to steal it and to die for it, but perhaps the most jarring part of it all was that he hadn't died. Foolish though it seemed now, he had not let himself plan that far ahead… and the thought of going home was almost as nightmarish as the flashes of slick, swollen hands clawing at him when he shut his eyes. "I don't know that I would categorise the decision as strictly 'in the moment,' per se, but it was nonetheless disorienting." He lifted the tea to his lips for a sip.

"Monumental, then," Andromeda allowed instead. "Something shifts, and suddenly things are different. It can be difficult to find your equilibrium after that, so if you'd rather not do it on display, you don't have to sit here and do it in front of people."

Regulus turned another look towards her, this time holding that look a bit longer. It sounded like permission for solitude—an alluring temptation, if he was honest—though a night of solitude had done little to comfort or inform him of his next steps. He did not want to be around anyone, and he did not want to be alone, but he did not know what that meant, so he could not very well expect anyone else to know, either. "I appreciate that," he said instead with another sip of tea, if only to fill the moment to follow.

Andromeda merely nodded, leaning on her elbows on the counter space and holding the cup in her hand without any visible intention to drink from it. "As you wish. Do tell Dora 'no' though, or you'll end up building forts and watching her fall into things—or as she thinks of it, dance routines—until your brain dribbles out of your ears."

Regulus did not doubt it, energetic as the girl had already proven herself to be. She seemed an endless source of frantic distraction, if not 'relaxing' to be around. There would be no 'figuring out his situation in privacy' with her hovering about, and as unnerving as the quiet had felt last night, figuring out his situation was of high priority… "Noted."

"It's only because you're new. She'll lose interest once Sirius is here. He's sporadic enough she still finds it exciting. Must have been around February, last time." Andromeda took a long drink of her tea. "My condolences, I heard about your father."

Regulus was surprised by the stinging jab that jutted up under his skin. He did not precisely want a child hanging off of him, talking incessantly and knocking things over, and it was naive to think himself anything more than a novelty, but being slotted up against Sirius was as familiar as it was irritating. In such a setting, Regulus did not much like his standing. Logically, he knew it oughtn't be an insult that the child of a blood traitor and a muggle(born) would prefer the traitor cousin who still had the temperment of a six-year-old himself sometimes, but it strangely still felt like one.

His face went a little stony, then, and it was only partially because he hated thinking about his father's death almost as much. In silent response, he sipped his tea.

Andromeda straightened, giving him a curious look. "Of all of the things I thought you may find offense in, Sirius getting on better with a six-year-old was not what I expected to do it. My apologies; I didn't consider you might want her attention. Even for her special abilities, she's very vibrant and loud. It can add to being overwhelming."

"I'm not offended, and I don't want her attention," Regulus clipped, feeling his mood sharpen against the neutrality he had felt just a moment before. On this side of the war, people would always prefer Sirius. Of course they would. On Regulus's own side of the war, people had preferred him by far—but as it was, Regulus did not have a side anymore. No Death Eater had survived defection, but even if one did, what was it meant to look like? Prison? Ostracization? Distrust? Ambivalence? That thought cut deeper still.

"If you like," Andromeda said, in a measured tone. The door knocked in two short bursts before she could add anything to that. "Ready?"

Regulus flicked a glance at the door—with Sirius on the other side, most likely—and felt his insides twist again. Sirius had never knocked for him, but if it wasn't Sirius, it wasn't anyone else Regulus wanted to see, either. Looking back to his tea, he carved his face into an even expression and a stone-still tone. "I'm actually rather tired. Thank you for the tea."

Pushing the cup a few inches away, he stood and stepped back from the table without meeting her eyes or waiting for a response. Imagining the room upstairs, he focused his thoughts and apparated from the kitchen—a rude gesture, he knew, but it felt significantly worse to imagine the door opening before he was up the stairs. With a sigh, he collapsed on the bed, scooting so that his back was against the bordering wall.

Surrounded by silence again, his eyes fell on the purple creature still sitting on his bedside table. With a tightening face, he turned over, tucking his forehead against the wall instead and trying not to think about anything.

---

"The fact you always make me knock..." Sirius trailed off in absolute disgust as Andromeda stepped back from the door.

"It could be anyone," Andromeda countered lightly.

"Death Eaters don't knock," Sirius grumbled. He turned back towards the outside garden, where Canopus was currently perching. "Come on. I'm sure Regulus wants to know where you've gotten to."

When Sirius had returned home under protest, he'd taken the owl with him. His brother could use a break from the responsibilities that came with communicating with anyone he was related to. Besides, it was funny to see he and Hootie having their own little reunion. It was a pleasant distraction. Remus had instantly wanted to know what was happening, and Sirius had no clue what was happening. He'd promised a better explanation today, but Merlin only knew if he'd get one here. Thankfully, Remus was still asleep when he'd left.

"I think he's not feeling very social," Andromeda replied, reaching for a piece of what looked like pancake to offer the owl. "I think I upset him."

"He's never social; it's not you," Sirius replied.

"He was being very pleasant until I assumed he didn't want to be around Nymphadora. I believe he took some offense to the idea." Andromeda gave the owl a slight stroke on the head. "I truly did not consider he might like being around her."

"He's thrown out the rule book at the minute, so who knows what he feels?" Sirius replied. "I have to talk to him regardless."

"If you're going up, take the clear potion from the side," Andromeda asked, pointing to it. "He was in such a hurry to run that I don't believe he took any of it."

"I usually have that effect on him," Sirius replied grimly, but he did what he was told and collected the potion before jogging up the stairs. He gave the guest room door a couple of sharp knocks, if only in case he was getting changed or something. "You've got a visitor."

Silence.

"Fine, if you're going to be stubborn." Sirius opened the door and let the owl flutter in to perch. He went to try and squeeze himself past the bed (Andromeda really needed to charm this room for everything to be a better fit inside it) before giving up on that. He toed his shoes off, instead, and stepped on the bed to climb over to the bedside table where he deposited the potion. Regulus visibly cringed at the jostle but said nothing. "You're meant to drink that," he added as he hopped off the bed and onto the ground with a thud.

After a beat, Regulus twisted to shoot a mildly disgruntled look before laying his head back down, not bothering to close his eyes.

"What a pleasant young man, so polite and well-mannered," Sirius exclaimed in a bright falsetto, which if you asked him, was not a terrible impression of at least three-quarters of Andromeda's mother's social circle. "It's a good thing half of the old biddies don't really know you, or they'd know you're worse than I am for being sullen when something gets on your goat. Still, I'll take sulking and grumpy over panic any day. You feeling better?"

Regulus crinkled his nose but must have decided it wasn't worth arguing the point. "I suppose," he said to the wall.

"Budge up, then. It's not a sick bed if you're not sick." Sirius sat down on the side of the bed, crossing his legs under him. "You still look like shit. You could pack the bags under your eyes for a week in Paris and still have clothes to spare. Did you sleep last night, or can you still not turn your brain off?"

Regulus paused a moment before tucking up to make room. "The latter."

"Any closer to knowing what you want to do?" Sirius asked. "Or was this an obsessive going over everything and how terrible it is kind of thing?"

Pushing up to sit, now, Regulus made a face. "Well, nothing has changed since last night; that much is certain."

"You're not in a blind panic; that's changed." Sirius shrugged. "Or if you are, you're hiding it really well. Still decided that playing whipping boy for a soulless monster isn't as much fun as advertised?"

"I would not have phrased it that way," Regulus began dryly, "but essentially, yes."

Sirius clicked his tongue against his teeth audibly. "Gonna tell Mum that?"

"I'm still trying to figure that part out." Regulus huffed out a sigh, leaning back against the wall.

"No use going to Grandfather. I think he's already proven he's useless when it comes to this by not taking any sort of stand for his own kid." Not that Sirius had really expected him to. He was a severe man, but for all of his intimidating calm, he toed the party line and always had. If Regulus had managed to have this little realisation three years ago, this could have worked out a lot more cleanly, but since when did they ever do anything the easy way? Thinking of anyone his brother could talk to about it, the list dwindled swiftly. Their father would have been first choice, but gee thanks, Death Eaters, your aim as always is fucking fantastic. Cygnus was useless too; he had too much skin in the game with Bellatrix. Half the older generations were batty as they come and all. "Could try Lu. It's as close to talking to Dad as possible."

Regulus tipped a slight nod, his expression growing a little more thoughtful. "Perhaps… though it puts her in danger to even hint at it."

Sirius had to scoff at the idea. "She's more taciturn than you in a shirty mood. Unless she chooses to tell someone, who would know?"

Regulus lifted a shoulder.

"You just illustrated my point," Sirius replied dryly. "Look, I think you did something incredibly stupid, but what you choose to do now, afterwards, it can matter just as much. You don't know if you're going to go home yet. You don't know what the consequences are going to be, so how can you make a decision without getting the opinion of someone who might know? That's not how you do things. You like to know your options."

"It's not that I don't want options—I just—didn't expect to need options," he said a little tightly, rubbing his hands over his face.

That didn't make any sense. Everyone knows you can't just up and leave. "What were you expecting?"

Shaking his head, Regulus furrowed his expression. "Nevermind. It doesn't matter."

"It must matter to you, or you wouldn't risk losing your life for it." Whether it be the literal threat of Death Eaters attempting to end his life for being a deserter, or even losing a family he's always grasped on to more tightly than anything or anyone else, it's still losing a life. "You must know I don't want that for you, otherwise you wouldn't have owled me. You could have just shown up. Remus isn't a prick, he'd have helped."

For a moment, Regulus seems to snap out of whatever he was agonising about to shoot a mildly incredulous look. "Shown up? How? I don't even know where you live."

Sirius looked at him for a long moment, then laughed. "I don't know why that's funny," he admitted, only that it was. It was completely ridiculous. How would Regulus know? He'd bought the flat only a year ago, and since then, he'd seen his brother only in passing or on two very intense and dramatic occasions that didn't seem appropriate times to hand over a change of address card. He turned around, rummaging for a scrap of parchment in the bedside drawer that smelt a little like antiseptic and old cupboards, then scribbled an address down. "There."

Regulus looked at the paper for a moment before furrowing his brow. "Camden? That's closer to home than I expected."

"Yeah, you could probably have walked it. I'm surprised you didn't splinch yourself." It was tempting to tell him James had said almost the exact same thing, but as much fun as it would be to watch his feathers ruffle, it'd probably be detrimental to any actual conversation. "I couldn't keep Uncle's house in Cheshire. For one, it was huge, the upkeep would have been insane, and I'm one person. I don't need much. For another, it's the arse end of nowhere. In the country, no one can hear you scream—even if you're only screaming about how boring it is."

"I suppose." After staring at the paper for a moment longer, Regulus picked up his wand and tapped it on what looked like a sealed up pocket on his robes; after slipping the paper inside, he tapped it closed again and set down the wand.

"Have you been to Grimmauld Place yet?" Sirius asked, as it occurred to him that school had only just broken up. "I don't think And's about to kick you out or anything; I'm just wondering if I should expect to be able to hear Mum go ballistic from the flat."

Regulus furrowed his brow, twisting his mouth downward for a flickering moment before he responded: "Briefly—to drop off Canopus and my luggage from the train."

"That buys some time," Sirius admitted. "Whatever heinous—and true—things I think of her, she's got bigger balls on her than anyone else in the family. If you somehow manage to convince her he's a nutter and you're done, and that that's a good thing, I don't think anyone could say anything without causing a familial civil war." He stopped a beat, then continued without trying to think too much about what he was saying. "Assuming you do want to see her or go back there, and that's not part of what you were running from."

"They are relying on me," Regulus said with a frown, as if that was an answer. "Perhaps some will understand, perhaps not, but I realise certain individuals are bound to… have more difficulty with that distinction than others…"

"Homicidal difficulty," Sirius replied, bitterly. "They're relying on you to knock some girl up, not kill people. They need to get that through their thick skulls before it gets you dead, arrested, or worse."

"I know," Regulus said quietly, resting his head back against the wall.

"You didn't before." Before, the family word was sacrosanct no matter what. "What's changed?"

A pensive furrow pulled at Regulus's brow as he huffed a slow sigh. "It isn't just one thing. The whole situation has just been escalating and escalating, and it feels awful. I know it probably sounds stupid, but truthfully, I hoped this would be over by now…" He shook his head. "Then after what happened with our father, it's obvious that there has been no visible accountability for careless treatment. Setting off explosions without even checking for collateral damage, then carrying on like nothing…" Regulus pinched his expression. "The Dark Lord is just using us, and it's infuriating. He has been using us the whole time."

"That was stupid. The only way it's over is that either he dies or everyone willing to fight him is gone. I'm still here, more or less." Sirius gestured to himself. "Not as stupid as the rest of them who sign up knowing the truth. Or worse, don't accept it. I'm no help there. I couldn't convince anyone three years ago, so I think I'm useless when it comes up to convincing strategies."

"You are. Insulting people in the same breath is off-putting." Regulus flicked a glance over at him.

"It was just pissing me off by that point," Sirius admitted uncomfortably. "I wonder who they'll blame your brainwashing on."

"You, probably." Regulus lifted his brow, though his expression was distant. "Ironic, I suppose, when we've barely spoken, but the alternative may well be some assumption that we're all traitors waiting to happen, and that's not an implication the rest of the family will like, I don't think."

Sirius cackled at the thought. "I'm not even there, and I'm still getting blamed for shit. Amazing. As if it's not their own fault you're the only one with common sense. Throwing in with a guy who calls himself a Dark Lord. Historically, when has that ever gone well?"

Pressing his lips to a line again, Regulus nodded.

"They can survive without you for a bit. Figure out what you want to do. I can tell that you just deciding when you walk in goes badly." Sirius glanced at what looked a lot like one of Dora's toys. "Hang out with your friend?"

Regulus's face went a little stonier. "It's not mine."

"Of course not. It's not green or silver," Sirius replied, lightly. He reached for the toy, trying to figure out what the hell it was supposed to be. "I'm a little put out. I've seen her almost seven times, and Dora's never given me a toy before."

Though he held his expression in place, Regulus flicked a wordless glance over at him.

This attitude was going to have to get addressed if he was going to get on like this the whole time. "I know you're uncomfortable here, but it is somewhere no one will look while you get your head together. Ted is a good Healer, and will make sure you're alright. And...I was angry that she left too, but now..." Sirius trailed off for a minute. "She put her child before herself. I can't be angry at her for that. It's how it should be. Parents take care of their children and fucking destroy that which tries to hurt them. If I could be sure Mum would do the same, I'd tell you should go home because you'd be safe there. But you're not, and I want you to be. I may not be your brother to you anymore, but you're still mine."

Meeting his eyes, Regulus held the look for a moment before flicking his eyes forward, not seeming to look at anything in particular. "Right." With a subtle shift, he crossed his arms, hands tucking into the sleeves.

"Don't be a prick," Sirius mumbled, irritably. "This is the second time this year you've decided to scare me half to death. I don't fancy a third."

"It's just that the last time you told me you were going to assist in fixing a situation, you leapt out a window without saying anything and never came back, leaving me to deal with the compounded fallout." Thumbing at the hem of his sleeve, Regulus took a bracing breath and added, "I appreciate that you responded last night—I realise you did not have to—but you were downright eager to replace me with the new Gryffindor model, so pardon my skepticism."

Recoiling as if the words had been a slap, Sirius shook his head slightly. "That's not what happened." That wasn't what happened, none of it. For a start, he did not jump out a window. As many times as he'd said he'd rather throw himself out one than deal with their mother, he'd yet to ever actually do it. He climbed down. He'd been ready to try and calm down, to deal with their parents rationally, but they were as usual all about honour and duty and not giving a shit, so what other choice did he have? He couldn't stay.

For all that he knew that, it didn't mean he didn't feel guilty about leaving Regulus there by himself. He was a flincher, always had been, and he wasn't going to be able to stand his ground. Sirius had known this and left him to do it anyway for the sake of his own sanity. He'd just never imagined that their precious, flourishing younger son wouldn't be protected from doing something as life-endingly idiotic as joining the Death Eaters. "You were too young to understand, and you're not exactly handling the pressure any better than I did. It's all a load of shit that none of us should have had to go through, and then you add Voldemort treating it like he can fix the mess by wiping out quarter of the magical population and anyone else who happens to be in the vicinity for that matter. If you believe nothing else, believe I want to see him in pieces for what he's doing."

Slowly nodding, Regulus kept his eyes fixed forward, though his mouth had thinned to a tight line. "I do, too."

If nothing else, it was a start. It was something he could work with. "Better gear up for the fight then, baby brother. They're going to think you're nuts, or sick, or having a breakdown, and they'll try to stop to you. It's why Lucretia is your best bet; she may believe you. They didn't call it that, but they murdered her baby brother. If it were me, I'd be out for blood."

Again, Regulus met his eyes, but some of the angry edge had smoothed to determination in his face when he nodded. "I know they are going to try."

"Hence hiding out until you can figure out how to tell them no?" Sirius asked.

"There is more to this situation than just 'telling them no,'" Regulus said, a bit defensively.

"Saying no is plenty complicated," Sirius said, forcing a shrug. "Don't want to end up like me, do you?"

Leveling a look, Regulus furrowed his brow. "I never said that it wasn't complicated."

It wasn't that complicated. If it worked, Regulus would bow out, and the two of them would go back to being people who occasionally saw each other in random, awkward ,and life would resume. "I didn't ask for it to be," Sirius said, sullenly. "What did you take last night?"

"A system flush; you brought the other half up here, remember?" Regulus answered, tipping his head towards the glass that was still sitting untouched on the bedside table.

Sirius glared back him. "The reason you needed to have a system flush, and the reason you had a worried Healer."

This time, Regulus lifted his shoulder in a small shrug, but his entire frame tensed once he had settled again. "I don't know what it was called."

"You took something you didn't know everything about?" Sirius almost added a question of whether he ought to be checking him for polyjuice. "Voluntarily?"

"I didn't want to take it, if that is what you're asking, but it was necessary." Regulus's hands twisted tighter in his sleeve. "I don't really want to talk about it."

"Then you should take that," Sirius pointed to the other potion, "and go to sleep for real. Do you need anything? Clothes or something?"

"I suppose." Regulus picked up the glass, but he did not look very pleased about it.

If he ever heard the words 'I suppose' again, it'd be too bloody soon. "I'm going to need more than that. You suppose you need something? You suppose you should sleep?"

"It applied to all of the statements," Regulus responded. Lifting the potion, he drank the dose in one swoop, face twitching a little as he swallowed but making no other comment.

"I really want to thump you sometimes," Sirius grumbled. "Instead, I'm going to go see if I have anything small enough. I'll drop it downstairs so I don't wake you."

"Alright." Regulus crinkled his nose a little and set the glass down, pausing a beat. With a twinge of discomfort, he added:: "Thank you... Not for the thumping comment, but for the clothes. And for coming last night instead of just calling the Aurors."

"Why do you think I'm calling Aurors?" Sirius asked, climbing up onto his knees to clamber back off the bed. "I tried in December, remember? I couldn't do it then; you're crazy if you think I could do it now. We clean our own messes; the Ministry's useless."

Tipping a solemn nod, Regulus responded, "That is true."

"You were trying to stop me in that fight, not hurt me. The whole thing makes you sick. Knowing all of this, why, if anyone, would I call them on you? They can't even arrest Bella, and she kicked my head in." With a sudden flush of embarrassment, Sirius realised what he'd said. Like hell was he ever going to admit to being bested by that raging cow. "Never repeat that," he added, mortified.

"Of course not," Regulus said, though his tone might have lightened a little. "I'm rather good at keeping secrets when I put my mind to it."

---

Additional Author's Notes

---

Because one Regulus Lives AU is not enough for the two of us, here is another, working off the premise of Regulus staying in the UK upon surviving the cave and continuing the First War fight.

For those who are reading our Renascentia-verse AU, the characterizations are consistent across the two 'verses (just much younger and even less mature), and we will be using some of the backstory elements that have been established in the Renascentia companion series, but other elements are specifically being set aside to allow this version to go in a different direction and develop it's own story. It also has a wider cast to allow for the people who are alive at this time. We don't want to tell the same story twice, after all!

If you are interested in reading some of the shared backstory, you can find them listed below. These are not necessary to understand this story, though occasionally the events within them will get mentioned i.e. the circumstances of Orion's death. They may come up in detail within the story as well, but if you'd like a head start, these are stories which are relevant.

-putting out the fire (with gasoline) - Sirius runs away
-my past has tasted bitter for years now (so i wield an iron fist) - Sirius learns Regulus is a Death Eater
-winter lives in my bones (it's all i've ever known) - Learning of and dealing with their father's death

The first war was a bit of a mess, by our interpretation, but we're looking forward to exploring this take on it, too!

Applicable prompts from the lists at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (Challenges & Assignments) - only noted for this first chapter:

Insane House Challenge - 611. (creature) Inferi
365 Day Challenge - 169. (job) Healer
Gris-Gris Bags - (object) Pillow
Fortnightly Challenges, World Mental Health Day - 3. Write about hallucinating
Fortnightly Challenges, Halloween at Hogwarts - 1. Write about being attacked by a magical creature/being
Autumn Funfair, Apple Bobbing - 7. (emotion) Scared
Writing Club, Character Appreciation, Regulus Black - 10. (setting) Cave [Bonus for using Regulus in story]
Writing Club, Cookie's Crafty Corner, House Decor, Gravestones - 8. Write about a character that dies in canon [Bonus]
Writing Club, Book Club, "We Are All Completely Fine", Dr. Sayer - 1. (word) Safe, (trait) Professional, (word) Understand, (plot point) Being unable to sleep
Writing Club, Showtime, Devil's Carnival 1&2, 666 - 3. (word) Consequence
Writing Club, Amber's Attic, Martyrs - 11. (theme) Revenge [Bonus]
Writing Club, Lyric Alley, "Creep" - 2. Couldn't look you in the eye
Writing Club, Ami's Audio Admirations, Halloween Disco DJ Set, Demons - 7. Write about someone suffering with a mental health ailment (anxiety/PTSD) [Bonus]
Writing Club, Lo's Lowdown, Character Based Prompts, Dean Winchester - 2. Write about an older sibling
Autumn Seasonal Challenges, Days of the Year, Mouldy Cheese Day - Write about someone tasting something disgusting
Autumn Seasonal Challenges, Autumn Prompts - (theme) Change
Autumn Seasonal Challenges, Air Element, Elemental Characteristic - Write about someone intelligent
Autumn Seasonal Challenges, Audrey's Dessert Challenge, Sponge Flavours, Lemon - (character) Nymphadora Tonks
Autumn Seasonal Challenges, Ravenclaw Prompts - (trait) Intelligent
Autumn Seasonal Challenges, Autumn Astronomy Prompts, Leonids Meteor Shower - (word) Frozen

Word Count - 15,381 (halved is 7,691)