Cast The Little Prince
Chapter 1
Beginning
1. The event consisting of the start of something
2. The act of starting something
3. Take the first step or steps in carrying out an action
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It took him three months for all the implications of what was currently happening to settle in Regulus' mind. Three months in which he'd had no control over his body, unable to do anything other than lay and cry. His neck was still not strong enough to support his head, he could barely move from whatever position that his new parents place him in. He could hear voices while on the other hand his baby vision was unable to truly look at anything that was more than a foot away from his face, and even then it was difficult to make out the object.
Most irritatingly of all, this body had no control whatsoever.
If he got angry over his predicament, the body cried.
If he got frustrated that he couldn't get anything done, the body cried.
If he got depressed and just a little scared over the fact that he had no idea what was going on, surprise surprise, the body cried.
Part of him felt sorry for whoever had been lumped with his reborn self as a baby, while another part of him wanted to do nothing but scream, to lash out at the world for what was happening.
He didn't want to be reborn, he'd been content with his death, he'd made an impact in the end, helped in the fight against Voldemort. He'd been the one to take the step and bring that monster down. It was him.
Not James Potter, not the Ministry, not Albus bloody Dumbledore.
It had been Regulus Black that struck the blow, and even if only he knew of it, he could live with that, so used to working in the shadows as he was.
What he could not live with was this damn infant body. Or, so he thought.
Because on his third month, trapped in this stupidly small body, something amazing happened, something that completely floored Regulus.
He saw Sirius.
.
He'd been laid out on the sofa fabric of the couch, nothing like the hard leather that he'd grown used to, living in the Black family townhouse as he had his previous life. It was comfortable on his infant back, with enough give that it was pleasant on his malleable skull, but sturdy enough to give him the support needed.
With nothing better to do, he'd spent the vast majority of his time sleeping, only waking to suckle some milk from his mother's breasts and then sleep some more.
It was a boring lifestyle, especially when one compared the fact that, twelve months ago, he'd been in nothing but a constant barrage of spell-fire. He could remember the steps of battle as if it were a dance he'd performed just yesterday. The right moments to duck, to flick spells away from his form and when to return fire. There was more of a grace to battle than any other he'd met before credited, as far as Regulus was concerned. He enjoyed it.
Not the outcome, the idea of death as the only alternative to a victory.
But putting his life on the line, having his adrenaline thrumming through his veins, burning through his muscles. The way his magic would move around his form, twisting and curving, his only partner in every stage of the dance.
After years of being cooped up in Grimmauld Place, of scheming and observing from the shadows, it'd been a release. A release to put on a mask, to become a faceless nobody where there was only the performance, the steps of the dance that was the battle of life and death.
Was it a respectable thing for him to enjoy as a noble heir? No. His parents would have never understood it.
Orion was of the opinion Lords should be sat behind the lines, pushing their chess pieces into battle and only dictating the outcome from a strategically safe position.
Walburga thought that anything other than constantly manipulating those around oneself was below a pureblood. So Regulus Black had learnt the game, he'd learnt how to play, and more importantly, how to win. But it wasn't the only game he played.
In the safety of the Room of Requirement, he'd learnt how to duel, how to fight. Most importantly of all, he'd learnt how to survive.
It had always amused him, how if Sirius had treated the house elves better, they might have one day told him of the Room of Requirement. Then the Marauders would have had the ultimate base they'd always dreamed of, all the power of Hogwarts at their fingertips.
Yet, Sirius hadn't, none of them had thought of the brilliant resource that was a house elf.
But Regulus had never been like Sirius. Where Sirius had been cruel to Kreacher in retaliation to the house elf's behaviour, Regulus had been kind. Where Sirius had ignored Kreacher, Regulus had listened. He'd gained his most trusted ally as a result.
It wasn't Sirius' fault, the animosity between him and Kreacher. Kreacher had been projecting their parent's opinion, had copied Orion and Walburga's distaste of their oldest actions. And Sirius had hated Kreacher because he'd seen him as their parents' agent. He'd been the enemy to Sirius, just as Sirius had been Kreacher's enemy as soon as he'd been sorted into Gryffindor.
Regulus had been sat between them for that first summer, not sure where he stood. Until he got sorted into Slytherin.
Then Sirius had stopped associating with him altogether, too busy clinging to his Gryffindor friends, too busy proving he was nothing like his family.
It's stung the younger brother, knowing that his elder could just walk away from him like he was nothing. But Regulus had stuck to the family motto.
Always Pure. Not just of blood, but of heart. Sirius never seemed to notice that as he got older, the Slytherins retaliations seemed to lessen. He never noticed his brother working in the shadows, to make sure those vicious, life altering curses never reached the older Black.
Just like he worked to make sure none of the younger Slytherins ever got caught in the Marauder's schemes. Always working from the shadows, always effecting the bigger players but not quite one himself, that was Regulus' Modus operandi. Always had been, always would be.
He'd not spoken to his brother in years, not even seen Sirius in the flesh since a Death Eater and Order of the Phoenix clash four months before his death. Thus, it was understandable that he was quite shocked to see the man's grey eyes glittering as he grinned down at him.
For a moment, he'd just laid there, staring up at the oh so familiar face. Sirius looked a little different, maybe a year or so older, but it was still undeniably him. Sirius hadn't smile at him like that since he'd left for his first year at Hogwarts, back just before it had all started falling apart. It'd been years since his older brother had looked at him with such warmth, since he'd seemed so damn happy to see him.
Without thinking too much on it, Regulus held his hands up, reaching out for the older male and watching awed as Sirius gave a bark of laughter.
"I think this's the first time he's been awake while I was here."
Two big hands, so very big against his infant body, plucked him up and off the sofa, and soon enough Regulus found himself nestled in the crook of his older brother's arms.
Discomfort raced through his limbs as he laid there, still staring up at Sirius' humongous form, the fact he was so very small and so very delicate only just hitting him now. Sirius could hurt him so easily, could injure him without even trying. But his older brother wouldn't do that. Not to such a small child, not to a baby.
No matter how bad things had gotten at home, Sirius had never hit him. Words had been thrown around, between the both of them really. When Regulus had been young and stupid, when Sirius had been young and stupider.
Looking up at his older brother, he could tell the mischief was still there, still simmering beneath the surface. Only, there was a seriousness to the older Black's face now, stress lines where there had once been smooth skin. The war was taking a toll on Sirius, that much was evident.
"How's my precious little godson then?" Godson?
Regulus blinked slowly, staring at Sirius a little more as the man shifted about to greet his approaching parents. Things were slowly starting to fall into place now.
Firstly, Sirius was his godfather. By extension, this meant whoever his parents were, at least one of them had to be good friends with his older brother. That left pitifully few options.
As far as Regulus was aware, his brother had never really had a close friendship with a female. There had been quick relationships, a few weeks of playing around, but never anything serious. Which meant it was most likely his new father that Sirius was on friendly terms with. He could think of three boys that instantly fell into this category.
He instantly crossed Peter Pettigrew from the list. That boy was the least likely to marry a girl right out of Hogwarts -judging by Sirius' lack of drastic aging, it clearly hadn't been too long since his death- simply because he was lacking such obviously desirably qualities. No, he didn't have to worry about being the son of that talentless lump.
Well, maybe he was being a bit unkind there.
Peter Pettigrew wasn't so much a talentless wizard as he was an ordinary one. He'd been above average in Transfigurations, and perhaps in any other year, he'd have stood out a bit more. But no, his year mates had been extraordinary.
James Potter, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin were the students to beat when it came to that year group, Pettigrew had never stood a chance.
Perhaps that, coupled with the fact he seemed to insist on surrounding himself with the most popular and privileges boys in his year group was what he resulted in his less than pleasant tendencies. The cruel undertones the Marauders had always housed, but never quite exercised to the extent that Pettigrew had.
Regulus had once caught the boy, a seventh year at the time, taunting a second year Slytherin. Regulus had sent the boy packing, escorting the younger girl back to the dorms after making sure she was okay. He really didn't like bullies, it reminded him too much of how his mother had always dealt with Sirius, reminded him of Sirius and Kreacher's relationship. A little too close to the bone for comfort really.
No, Pettigrew would be the last one of the Marauder's he'd want as a father. Thankfully, he was also the least likely.
The first real possibility was Remus Lupin. The quiet one of the Marauders, and some would argue, the brains. He wasn't, not really. They were a collective group, a collective brain. But it was Lupin that was most likely to think of the small things, that which is brother and Potter would dismiss as unimportant when it was what really pulled the plan together. Lupin was the one that paid attention to the small things.
Out of all the Marauders, there was no doubt that he was the softest personality, the calmest. Perhaps the most approachable as a result, even if he did appear to be constantly tired. Lupin wasn't a bad person, perhaps the one that Regulus would find most agreeable out of that entire group had he not been personally attached to Sirius.
He was also a werewolf.
That thought alone stopped Regulus from really chasing after the idea that Lupin was his new father.
Oh sure, some girls may be able to see past that fact and accept Lupin for what he was, but not without a good few years of solid relationship status.
Which left only one option.
James Potter.
He was Potter's child. Regulus was unsure how he should feel about that.
James Potter had, for the first six years of his time in Hogwarts, been a menace beyond comparison. By Regulus' sixth year -thus, Potter's seventh- though, he'd calmed down. He was a talented wizard, that was for sure. If Regulus remembered correctly, Potter had faced down Voldemort before, twice by the count of his death. Each time it'd only been a few spells flung between the two of them before Dumbledore rushed in, but it was enough to earn Regulus' respect.
Anyone who could stand up to a monster that had split his soul was okay in Regulus book.
But then again, Potter had been the one to change Sirius. He didn't begrudge Sirius his friends, he just didn't like the fact his older brother had seemingly replaced him as soon as he got to Hogwarts, that he'd chosen Potter over his own flesh and blood. It was a wound that still hadn't closed, that still bled sluggishly even now.
Regardless, the identity of his father was something Regulus was certain of. Which brought him to his second point.
The second point being his mother. There was no choice here really.
It'd been legendary, Potter's chase of Evans. The redhead mudblood that'd been as talented, if not more so, than any other student in her year. Perhaps even out of her year. Regulus liked to think they'd been on the same level, he'd just made sure not to play his own talents up as much. But then again, Evans would have a few years on him now, what with him being dead and then reborn.
Grimacing at the thought, Regulus could have screamed when the infant body sensed his discomfort and responded by bursting into tears.
Instantly Sirius panicked, crying out for 'Lily'. How Regulus hadn't noticed who his mother was sooner, he wasn't sure.
What he was sure of was that he was done getting breast fed now that he was aware. Evans may have been his mother now -and wasn't that a disgusting thought? He'd known of this girl, seen her as a twelve year old child- but that didn't mean he would keep on going as he had.
So when the red-head came in, rushing to feed him, Regulus kicked up the biggest fuss yet. He refused, squirming away and ignoring the innate drive that told him to just latch on and suckle. He would have formula milk damn it. He would not suckle from a mudblood, not now that he knew what his mother was.
Dear Merlin, he was a half blood.
Grimacing, Regulus accepted the teat of the bottle that Evans had spent the past ten minutes preparing, suckling away and desperately trying to listen in on the conversation that was going on above him. But his body was growing tired, his eyelids dragging down in a steady movement that he was helpless to stop. It wasn't long after his revelation that Regulus Black ended up falling asleep in his infant body.
.
Harry James Potter. Harry. His name was now Harry.
Scowling, Regulus rolled over onto his stomach, sprawled on the living room rug as he was.
Christmas had come and passed, and now he was into his sixth month. The past three had been spent on recon as his infant body grew and adjusted to his surroundings. He'd gotten a glimpse in the mirror not too long ago, and well, things could have been worse.
His hair was raven black, the messy riot of the Potter style, but his facial features called out to the Black heritage that came from Potter's mother. The eyes were the only thing he'd gotten from his mudblood mother, and that was, that was acceptable. They were Evans best feature after all, unusual even in the magical world. Not the grey eyes of the Black family he was used to seeing stare back at him, but perhaps these were better. More distinguished, memorable. Which was good and bad, had its ups and downs.
"How's my little man?"
Looking up at Potter, Regulus pursed his lips, blowing a bubble of spit at the man in lieu of actually words. His vocal cords, his motor functions, weren't yet refined enough for speech, but from the tone of his babbles, he was getting there. Slowly but surely.
Potter had been an arrogant brat in Hogwarts, but as a father, as a family man, he certainly tried. Regulus couldn't remember Orion being like this, so open with his love. Potter adored his son, so much so it almost left Regulus feeling guilty to be here instead of the newborn that Potter should have gotten. Almost.
"He's fine James, honestly."
The voice of Evans cut through his thoughts and Regulus turned around to look at the woman. She was sat, hunched over her research notes, something she'd only started doing sine he'd entered his sixth month.
"I'm off to work my beautiful Lily-flower. Prongslet will protect you will I am gone."
After the most sickeningly sentimental kissing Regulus had ever been forced to watch, James Potter disappeared into the fireplace, leaving Regulus alone with Evans. He hated being stuck in this body, and while he was slowly getting control over it, there were times like right now, when he felt like he was getting nowhere at all.
"Harry sweetie, want to come and see what Mommy's working on?" Well, it was certainly something.
If there was one thing the mudblood had over Potter, it was that she was a thinker, instead of a fighter. Regulus could empathise with that. He liked the dance of battle. But he liked to think too. Evans and Potter were two sides of the same coin, Regulus himself was both. Perhaps it wasn't so strange he'd ended up their child out of every other possibility.
Two dainty hands coiled around his rib cage, lifting Regulus up until he came to rest in Evans' lap, fingers running through his baby fine head of hair. He forced himself not to squirm at the contact as he had been doing for the past few weeks, ever since his epiphany really.
He was still unsure of how he'd come to be in this situation. Was every person reborn after their death? Surely not, because otherwise there'd be all kinds of writing, all kinds of journals and books and tomes on the subject. Or maybe it did happen, and he was just the single one to be reborn with the memories of his past life.
Why, why was it him of all people that'd been put in this position? He wasn't anything special, he wasn't touched by an god or deity, he hadn't been a nice person in his previous life. He'd just lived, lived as best as he could, to his own morals, to his own code. True both of those had been influenced by others, on how he'd grown up, who he'd interacted with.
But he'd fixed himself up in the end, recognised the evil that was Voldemort. He'd struck his blow, and he'd died content.
So why was he here?
"You see this rune Harry?"
Against his will, Regulus was drawn from his thoughts, following the shallow curves of Evans' arm to see what she was pointing at. It took a second for his underdeveloped eyes to truly focus on what he was seeing, and when he did, his mind stuttered to a halt.
Those, those were blood runes.
Surely not? He couldn't be looking at what he was looking at, could he?
Twisting his neck back -which was finally, finally able to support his head- Regulus stared up at Evans. Paying particular attention to her face. Even though she was still addressing him, her eyes were focused on the page, scanning the words and runes.
And there was a light of understanding in her face. She knew what she was reading, she knew exactly what this runes were for.
All of his expectations had been blown apart.
As a fresh graduate from Hogwarts, Regulus had been wary of blood runes. They were exceptionally powerful, but they require sacrifice. Even the weakest of them called for a blood sacrifice, varying from a prick of the finger to a slash of the wrist. That alone had seen the Ministry banning the runes, sealing all the books and tomes that they could get their hands on. Of course, in the Black library the knowledge of them lived on, ready to be studied by any member of the Black family willing to try.
So how the hell had Evans gotten her filthy hands on such a thing? The Potters were a light family, they wouldn't have access to something like this, would they? It'd be hypocritical otherwise.
Blood runes were only one step before the darkest of the dark arts. And that was only because blood runes could be used for things other than pain. Still, the fact it cross over with so many dark rituals was enough for the Light of the wizarding world to denounced them completely. He'd always meant to study blood runes, they'd intrigued him, but he'd never gotten around to it.
And now his whole perception of Evans had taken a tumble down a large hill, leaving him with all his previous thoughts in a tangled heap.
Evans had stopped talking now, not that Regulus had been paying any attention. Instead, she was flicking through the thick tome, so the reborn soul took the opportunity to inspect the copious amounts of notes now that he knew just what the mudblood was studying.
Green eyes dancing over the page, Regulus took in all the information he could, feeling his breath catch in his throat as he began to understand just what Evans was up to.
She was putting together a protection ritual. Or rather, building on one she'd already created. There was notes on a blood protection ritual, a weak one that was just on the outskirts of the dark arts, but already knee deep in blood runes. The amount of blood would require the palm to be slashed, for the life liquid to be willingly donated to power the runes.
Subtly, Regulus let his eyes drift over to Evans' left palm, but found it unmarked.
It only took him a second to remember that she was left handed.
With as much childish fascination as he could muster, he caught hold of Evans right hand where it'd been stroking his hair, pulling it down to look at the appendage. He traced his fingertips across the pads of hers, well aware that at such a young age he shouldn't notice the whopping big scar that was etched from her pointer finger down to the fleshy curve of her palm just above her wrist. At least, not right away.
Dragging his fingers across the soft skin, Regulus couldn't help but stare at the scar.
Evans was a Light witch, he'd been sure of that before. Maybe she wasn't though. Certainly she wasn't Dark, but Grey? Apparently so. Performing blood rituals…
Blood rituals to give him protection? He was floored.
No matter how Dark the Black family was, never had he heard of a parent performing even a small blood protection ritual. The Dark families were of the opinion that children should be able to defend themselves. The thought that this mudblood, sat with him curled in her lap, was looking up more and more blood protection to tuck around him as a protective shield sent a fire into Regulus' midsection.
No, he didn't just suddenly decided the Light had been right all along, he didn't change the ideals that he'd been raised on. But his respect for Evans… Now that did change.
Before he'd just thought of her as an academic, that was the only thing he'd respected.
Now though, watching her dive deeper and deeper into Blood Runes and Dark Rituals that'd get her locked up if the Ministry had any say, his respect for her soared. She'd abandoned her morals to keep her offspring safe, she had put her offspring before anything else. He had no respect for the mudbloods still, but Evans..
This was the day when she rose from a mudblood in his eyes and entered a class of her own. He knew purebloods that was flinch at what she was reading. Evans was a good witch, he'd give her that, for now.
It would seem he'd lucked out with one parent at least.
.
Bath time was perhaps the worst thing of this new life.
It wasn't that Regulus didn't like being clean, he found being clean enjoyable. And he could stomach getting bathed by his new parents, he could ignore the humiliation of not having complete control over his body and allowing them to aid him.
What he couldn't ignore was the feel of the water inclosing around his body, how the gentle hold of his parent's limbs would change into the iron grip of the inferi. He couldn't stand the way his lungs started to close without any conscious thought of his own, how water would appear in his throat and he'd start screaming and coughing and panicking, even though his airways were clear.
He had panicked Evans the first time it'd happened. Sure, she'd no doubt heard some babies didn't like water, but Regulus couldn't stand it.
He broke into such hysterics that these new parents had been forced to call a healer, so worried they'd been because he just wouldn't calm down. Even when he was out of the bath, dry and laid neatly within his coat with the healer stood over him, Regulus hadn't been able to calm himself down.
'Almost like a panic attack' the healer had said. Evans had been kind enough to repeat it later on for him. Well not for him, actually she was informing Sirius of what had gone on, why his godson still had a wild look in his eyes.
Regulus was still trying to calm his mind, which was spinning with flashbacks of the cave. Of half decomposed fingers clamping down around his wrists, of bones curling around his waist and dragging him downwards. Of Kreacher's wide, terrified eyes as he disappeared beneath the murky surface.
"Hey little buddy."
Two hands -soft hands, warm hands- wrapped around his waist, heaving him upwards until Regulus was looking into warm grey eyes.
Sirius smiled back at him, laying his tiny body against his chest, until Regulus came to rest in the crook of the elder's neck. The warm, comforting scent of a familiar person had his heart slowing, and finally, finally, he was relaxed again.
"Heard you don't like baths, huh?" Sirius mused, walking down the stairs from his nursery.
Potter and Evans called out a goodbye, evidentially going out somewhere -probably to help out Dumbledore with whatever the old goat was planning now- and thus leaving him alone with Sirius babysitting. He wasn't too sure how he felt about this. Part of him said that Sirius wasn't responsible enough to look after a child as small as he was, but another part, hidden deeper in his psyche, the kind he didn't like to admit was there, called out with joy at the idea of getting to spend some quality time with his older brother once again.
"Don't tell your mom, but I don't like baths either." Sirius winked at him and Regulus couldn't help but smile. The idiot. Did he really think a six month old baby could understand what he was saying? Oh, sure Regulus could understand, but Sirius didn't know it was Regulus behind this baby mask. Sirius would never know if Regulus got his way.
No doubt his older brother would hate him instantly, for stealing Potter's true son from him. Those grey eyes would probably end up burning with hate, there certainly wouldn't be any love left for him. So Regulus would hold his tongue, keep his silence on the matter.
Sirius placed him gently on the thick material rug that was stretched out across the floor before the fire, a plastic bowl almost as deep as Regulus' tiny arm set out before him. Curious, the former Black forced his tiny body upwards into a sitting position, peeking over the rim of the plastic. And then he froze slightly.
Water.
It wasn't the murky depths of the cave, he could see the bottom, there was no abyss in which the inferi could be lurking. But still, there was enough water for him to put his whole arm into, and he really, really didn't like that. It was too much, it made him uncomfortable. He was a grown wizard though, water shouldn't scare him. It couldn't really hurt him, not physically.
It could still drag him back into the deep recesses of his memory, could still tease out the memories of being pulling beneath the surface against his will.
"See Harry?" Sirius had put his own hand in the bowl now, waving it back and forth and sending ripples of water lapping against the edge of its container. "It's just water. It can't hurt you."
Oh, Sirius was so very, very wrong. He was trying though. He was trying to help get rid of his supposedly irrational fear of water, trying to be a good godfather. Regulus would never see him as a godfather though, Sirius would always, always be his older brother. That's all there was to it, and he had no intention of changing it. Sirius was trying, reaching out to him, so Regulus would respond in kind.
Shuffling forwards on his rear, underdeveloped legs and arms working full time to pull him closer to the bowl, Regulus placed both his arms over the side, staring into the water's surface. Sirius had since removed his hands, watching him intently. Bright green eyes glanced back up at him from the water's surface, staring intently, with a sharpness that didn't belong in the face of a baby. The small amount of baby fine hair on his head was already sticking up in various directions and the former Black swore to grow it out until the weight would drag it down into something more manageable. He would not put up with Potter hair unless there was no other option. He'd invent a spell to control it if he needed to.
"You kinda remind me of Regulus, you know?"
Regulus froze from where he'd been about to dip a finger into the liquid, not daring to breath.
"He was as quiet as you were. Didn't speak much. You don't scream at all, at least, not that I've heard. Even Lily says you only did that when you were born, and when she tried bathing you."
He had to take his mind off of this, he had to pretend that Sirius' words meant nothing to him. But since when had Sirius needed to talk about him? He'd have figured the older Black would have gotten over his death by now, a year at the very least had to have passed since then, maybe two.
That was enough time for grief, right? He wouldn't know, never having gone through the process himself. But maybe it wasn't for Sirius. He had been the more emotional of the two of them, the one that was open and wore his heart on his sleeve. He was only cold to his enemies, to the people he disliked.
"He was a stupid kid, got sucked in with the wrong crowd, got in over his head-" Sirius cut off, something that sounded suspiciously like a sniffle reaching Regulus' ears and he just couldn't not look.
Turning around, the young wizard blinked, looking over at the Black that was currently leaning back against the leg of the sofa. Head half hidden in his forearm, Regulus was actually stunned to see genuine tears leaking out the corner of Sirius' eyes.
Sirius… Sirius wasn't over his death. Sirius actually cared enough shed tears for him.
Regulus wasn't even sure if his own parents had cried when they got news of his death; here was Sirius, who he'd not spoken to since the older male had left Hogwarts, crying for him. Crying for his death, for all the things that'd been left unsaid between them.
"He tried to back out, and he got killed for it. Tch," Sirius ran his fingers across his cheeks, breaking the stream of tears for a moment before they continued to well free from his eyes. "He was an idiot. He shouldn't have gotten in with them. I told him it was wrong, that they were wackos…" Sirius trailed off, a sob tore free from within his chest and Regulus had to suck his lips in between his gums to stop himself from doing something, anything.
He had never wished to be back in his old body more than he had right in that moment. To tell Sirius he hadn't died for nothing, that in the end, he'd died helping his older brother in the only way he knew how, from the shadows. That he'd struck a great blow against Voldemort and to stop thinking that he was taken down so easily by the Death Eaters.
That he'd not gone down like the coward that Sirius had always believe him to be.
He wanted Sirius to know more than anything, to hear his brother speak of him in pride.
But he couldn't risk Voldemort finding out, Voldemort who'd be so enraged he'd hunt down every last person with even a drop of Black blood and destroy them all.
Sometimes, there had to be a faceless hero, one who would take no credit for his actions, who would never be thought well of. That was the cards he'd been dealt, that was the hand Regulus had been forced to play by. He'd accept that.
But that didn't mean Sirius had to sit here crying in front of him. Even though the younger Black's death had clearly been weighing heavily on his mind, Sirius shouldn't be sad. He was alive, he could still keep fighting. Regulus wanted his older brother to enjoy a freedom he himself had died for
. His magic, still at the same level it'd been when he was an adult yet as untrained as he'd have expected of this infant shell he inhabited, surged.
The golden cushion on the sofa shivered under his will, and then it twisted, the tassels on the edging moving until a miniature lion was shaking out it's mane, a low growl echoing through its jaws.
Regulus stared. He'd heard of different types of accidental magic; children summoning items, vanishing things they didn't like, shrinking clothes that were an eyesore. The odd child might even manage apperation under the right circumstances.
But something as complex as transfigurations? Something like what he was looking at right now? No chance.
This wasn't right, this kind of power wasn't meant to be housed inside of a child's body, this was the uncontrolled power of an adult wizard, one that just responded to his whims, to his base desires. He wanted to cheer Sirius up, his mind associated Gryffindor with what made Sirius happy, and so they now had a little Gryffindor mascot in their midst.
For a moment, both himself and Sirius just sat there, staring at the tiny lion that was now stretching casually across the seat of the sofa, tail flickering back and forth with a casual grace that did not belong to accident magic.
"Harry? Harry, was that you?"
For a moment, he forgot that he was suppose to be playing the ignorant baby and found himself nodding. The second that Regulus realized what he was doing though, he instantly twisted the motion so it seemed like he was instead following the path of the lion's tail, all the while able to feel the palatial awe that was emitting from Sirius.
"Dear Merlin, they're gonna have kittens when I tell 'em they missed your first accidental," Sirius grumbled, reaching out to tickle the lion beneath the chin.
Scooting closer himself, Regulus reached out with one arm, dragging it down the lion's back with more pressure than he'd have liked to use, but then again, he was an infant with little to no control over his extremities.
"You're gonna be a Gryff for sure," Sirius mused with a grin, lighting his face up so much Regulus could almost ignore the shining tear tracks, the remnants of his thoughts on his younger brother's 'anticlimactic' death.
Almost.
.
Sirius was not aware of how advanced a piece of magic Regulus had cast. Potter and Evans, as it turned out, were.
He really shouldn't have been surprised that they went straight to their problem solver when they came home to find a miniature lion trotting after the two males. A miniature lion that had yet to die off, to revert back.
Regulus could feel the tax on his magical core that was keeping the little pillow lion alive, but he wanted it to stick around as long as it could. Mainly out of academic interest.
Potter on the other hand, just wanted to keep the lion around to prove how amazing his firstborn was. The man was full of bursting pride when it came to Regulus, had bragged about the little creation to the rest of the Marauders.
Evans however, was rightly worried.
Still though, the appearance of Albus Dumbledore during his seventh month of his new life was enough for Regulus to drop the comfortably cool teething ring he'd been indulging on.
When it came to Albus Dumbledore, Regulus found his feelings a fell in a confusing mixture. Part of him respected the man, the only one would could duel against Voldemort with no one to back him up, the only one who could duel Voldemort to a standstill. He respected the man's power, the fact he'd managed to acquire so much knowledge on magic during his life time.
Another part of Regulus burned though. The man had never really given the Slytherins a chance. It wasn't a conscious decision, but when the school thought of Voldemort, they instantly looked to Slytherin, suspicion in their eyes. Regulus knew for a fact there were a good handful of Ravenclaws and even several Puffs in Voldemort's ranks, but because they were the house of the snake, they were all guilty by association. Dumbledore didn't adopt this ideal, but he never stopped it either. He allowed the school to keep thinking a quarter of their numbers were destined for nothing but evil, and it got to the point that the vast majority of Slytherins accepted that was their lot in their life.
They were Slytherin, so they fought for the Dark Lord. It was as simple as that.
So yes, Regulus wasn't sure how he felt about Albus Dumbledore, the only thing he could really settle on was that he was wary of the man. Guarded.
He did not need Dumbledore figuring out that he was a reborn soul.
Clamping down on the Occlumency shields he'd built up a lifetime ago, Regulus whimpered for the teething ring to be returned to him. Teething hurt, he was allowed to demand the cold plastic, especially since Evans had covered it in a numbing gel. It was wonderful; he'd abandoned all his dignity for that thing.
The red-head bent down, given the ring a quick clean before handing it back over to him, and Regulus was quick to jam it back into his mouth, rubbing his aching gums against the chilled soother.
Dispassionately, he watched from his highchair as Dumbledore ummed and ahhed over his little creation, watched the little lion flicker its tail back and forth. Eyeless face never leaving the intruder upon its territory.
Finally, it seemed the aged headmaster made up his mind, because he gave a casual flick of his wand, the lion dissolving back into the cushion it'd been birthed from, much to Regulus disappointment.
"I think Lily, it's time we spoke of the prophecy." Prophecy?
Regulus watched as Lily nodded, silently setting up a privacy bubble and Regulus spluttered angrily around the teething ring.
What prophecy was he speaking of? The way it'd been brought up, it was almost like it was about him. Did it speak of him being a reborn soul? No, that couldn't be it. Surely if it did neither Potter or Evans would have treated him like an infant in that were the case. It wasn't about him being reborn with his memories intact, so what could it be about?
It had to be important for Dumbledore to bring it up, and Regulus wrecked his brains in an attempt to bring up any knowledge he had on the subject. But Divination was a woolly subject, there was a reason he'd not chosen it as one of his electives. Now he wished he'd done even a little of his own research.
He had been, and still was, a firm believer in that one chose their own destiny. He'd been the one to chose to die for a cause, to die against Voldemort. To know that it'd been his path all along, it made him feel as if his sacrifice had been cheapened. As if he'd had no choice and that his development as a person meant nothing in the face of such a scripted fate.
But still, a prophecy? Those were the things of legends, of all the old tales that his parents had never bothered to tell him about. Instead, he and Sirius had taken it in turns reading them to one another. Stumbling over the unfamiliar long words, dreaming up the characters and how events would have happened had they been there at the time.
Enacting the great Battle for the Nile, the creation of Hogwarts, the meeting of three brothers and Death. They had only been about four or five, something around that age.
But those were happier times for Regulus, times that had long since faded with disuse. He couldn't remember laughing so freely with Sirius after that. He could barely remember the panicked rush that came from having to hide and/or replace all the props they'd used upon hearing their parents had returned. They always managed it, but there'd been a few close shaves, a few incidents that would have spelt trouble had Kreacher not taken pity on them and hidden the evidence they'd failed to take care of.
Back before animosity between the lot of them had started, back before tempers had roared higher and exploded like the volcanoes of the tropical climates.
It made Regulus' heart ache, knowing that would never happen again.
.
On his first birthday in this body, Regulus was given a toy broomstick.
Since the lion incident, Evans had put her foot down and disappeared for the day, leaving Regulus in the care of all four Marauders.
When she returned, a proud looking, golden furred cat held in her grip, Regulus had since been forced to sit through Sirius drawing eyebrows onto his small face with ink dipped fingers. Big, thick, angry eyebrows. With magic resistant ink.
Evans hadn't been able to get them off for days, considering he still refused the bath. He'd been holding a grudge since though, refusing to speak even though he could now. Not that they knew it. Nor would they, until they had returned to being in his good books. Because Sirius had drawn fat eyebrows on his skin, Potter had let him, and Evans had left him alone with them, knowing such a thing would probably happen.
However, all was forgiven when Sirius presented him with his first birthday present. A toy broomstick.
To fly again, even though it was only two feet off the ground, it was exhilarating. There were all kinds of safety charms on the wood, limiters and cushioners to make sure he wouldn't fall off, wouldn't go too fast. But it was an honest to god broom.
At this point, after a year of being practically immobile, only four months of crawling and two of walking, this was everything.
Potter was cheering from the sidelines, loudly proclaiming he'd gotten his talent for flying from him. Regulus dearly wished he'd be able to tell the man that no, he'd gotten it from six years of flying of the Slytherin Quidditch team. He doubted the man would like that though.
He stopped just before Sirius, who snatched him up and grinned wildly at him.
"Enjoy that Prongslet?"
At first, he'd not understood that nickname, not until he'd witnessed Potter turning into a stag and prancing about the back garden, watched his brother transform into a dog and chase after him. He was going to learn that this lifetime, he would.
"'Ank you Siri!"
Slapping the stunned older man around the face, Regulus basked in the glory of having spoken this body's first words, before Potters depressed wail broke through the silence.
"Why does he get Harry's first word?! He's my kid! Mine!"
Sirius got his first words because Sirius had gotten him his first broom. Regulus had never been so thankful for a present, to be able to move again at a decent speed!
But speaking of kids, where were they? He'd not pictured Potter and Evans to keep a child secluded for its early years. He was expecting them to invite other parents of children in a similar age range to him for a small birthday party. But that hadn't happened.
There was no other child in sight, he'd not met anyone his own age. Why?
Come to think of it, he'd never actually left the house before. Sure, he'd spent some time in the garden during this summer, but never once had he been beyond the property line. Were parents not suppose to encourage social interaction with peers? He was sure even Walburga and Orion had seen to it that both he and Sirius would have met others by now. Something wasn't right here, and a sinking part of him recalled Dumbledore's prophecy.
He needed answer, and soon.
.
It was the thirty first of October when it all came together, every issue that'd slowly been orbiting around in his brain came crashing inwards before exploded outwards, reflected on the reality he was now living in.
It'd started out as a nice, normal night, not unlike any other. Godric's Hallow, the location of his new home, Regulus had found out, was a magical and muggle neighbourhood. The muggle children were running about outside, all dressed up in a variety of costumes for All Hallows Eve.
But they never approached their door, and Evans and Potter seemed to think that it was only natural. Wards. It had to be a ward, though what kind, Regulus wasn't too sure. He'd not heard of any that could have both muggle and magicals alike passing over a home as if it weren't there at all.
Neither Evans or Potter had spoken of the wards. Or the Prophecy. Hell, he'd only heard a few minutes of talk on the Order of the Phoenix. No, his new parents seemed determined to keep him out of earshot when it came to anything important at all.
It frustrated him. Pushing away the warmth that came over the idea that these parents were going out of their way to protect him, Regulus inhaled deeply, trying to focus his mind. It didn't matter how good a pair of parents Evans and Potter were, he wasn't a usual baby. He'd already proven that to them with how quickly he was picking up speech.
More than once he'd caught Evans looking at him funny. No doubt noting the gleam of intelligence in his eyes, the way he was able to assess a situation before adjusting his behaviour accordingly. He'd heard her whisper to Lupin that perhaps her little boy was a genius. Lupin had frowned, but he'd began watching, began noticing, too.
Nevertheless, Evans had never shown him anything other than maternal love, always hugging and kissing him, even though Regulus never once reached out for such comfort. Not consciously at least.
Maybe a small part of him was starved of parental love, Orion and Walburga had never been as free as Evans and Potter were.
Even now, sat beside Evans and listening to her read a book, she would reach over and carcass his cheeks, press her lips against his skull, inhale pleasing scent that was the smell of a clean infant. He had to admit, he did smell good when he was clean. There was just something warm and comforting about the smell this body gave out. Perhaps children had evolved that way, so that everyone else would want to protect them Regulus wasn't sure, he wasn't going to worry too much over it either.
All that mattered was that Evans -and by extension, Potter- wasn't a huge freak for wanting to smell him all the time. When Potter had brought it up, Evans had insisted it was a thing that all new mothers did, had insisted that she could remember her own mother doing the same thing. Potter had quickly learnt not to argue with her over that topic. It just wasn't worth the effort.
"Well Harry? Can you tell me what that is?" Evans pointed to the picture of the lion in the book, and Regulus had to clamp down on his self control in order to not roll his eyes at such a simple question.
"A wion." He still hadn't been able to rid himself of the lisp that came with being a toddler. Thankfully, neither Evans or Potter had a lisp, so he damn well hoped he'd be growing out of it, that it wouldn't be an underlying genetic trait.
"Alright, educational time over!"
Regulus was snatched up before he got a chance to say anything either way, nestled against Potter's hip at the man grinned down at him. The square glasses had slipped down his nose slightly, resting just past the bridge.
Grimacing, Regulus pushed them back up as gently as he could. He really, really hoped he wouldn't end up with glasses. If he did, then he'd have to get them fixed on one of the smaller branches off of Diagon Alley. He was going to be a Seeker again in this life, that much he was sure of.
And glasses? Yeah, that wasn't going to happen. Plus, Evans' green eyes were his new body's best feature, he wasn't going to be hiding them, not when he could do something about it.
"You okay there Harry?" Looking down at him with warm hazel eyes, Potter grinned wildly when Regulus went on to nod in response.
"Ha, that's my Prongslet." Holding him at arm's length, Potter spun him around, making the most ridiculous sounds as he did so. Still, it was the closest he'd get to flying for real again, the toy broomstick didn't even go this fast. The childish body betrayed him, happy laughter bubbling up from out of his throat.
And that's when it died.
Potter stopped so suddenly Regulus' head snapped to a side, crying out in surprise. His eyes darted up to look at Potter, and noted the raw fear on the man's face. He was staring frozen at something outside the window, but Regulus didn't get a chance to take a look himself, as he was quickly thrust into Evans' arms none too gently.
"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!" What was happening?
Regulus stared over Evans' shoulder as she raced from the room, watching Potter dive into the hallway, rolling as he went. His goal was quite obviously his wand, which had been lying discarded by his shoes in the entrance way.
Evans only just managed to get up the stairs when there was a deafening bang, the door exploding inwards. And then he heard it. A high pitched, cackling laughter that still haunted his dreams.
Voldemort was here.
How? Regulus had ordered Kreacher to destroy the locket, to get rid of it by any means necessary. There had been no loophole in the instruction, and even if there had been, Kreacher would have carried it out anyway. Kreacher would have carried out his beloved master's last request.
Still, he hadn't left any reason why Kreacher couldn't do it, every last step, every last move he'd made that day had been one calculated act of rebellion against Voldemort. There had been no room for mistakes. Surely Kreacher had found a way to destroy the locket?
Someone must have hit Voldemort with some form of deadly spell since then, it'd been over a year now, at the very least.
He had to have died. He'd been so sure that Voldemort was gone now with his act, so sure that he'd be able to live this life in relative freedom, that Potter and Evans and Sirius would have a peaceful life.
But Voldemort still lived. Unless-
Regulus' brain crashed to a stop.
Surely not. Surely the monster hadn't made more than one Horcrux?Surely not even he would tear his soul apart more than once?!
Gritting his teeth, Regulus clenched his eyes shut as a flash of green lit up the hallway, a green so familiar it brought bile to the back of his throat.
Potter was dead. The man had never been his favourite person in the world, he'd tolerated him throughout Hogwarts. But this past year or so with the man, it hadn't been bad. It'd been pleasant. James Potter had cared, had loved both his wife and his infant son. He'd shown more love than Regulus had ever seen from a parent before, more love than Regulus had certainly expected.
He'd been brave too, throwing himself in front of Voldemort in order to give Evans enough time to flee with him. James Potter…
He and Regulus were never friends, the man would certainly never just what he child was like. But Regulus now knew who James Potter was. And Regulus would always respect the man for the choices he'd made now. He'd never forget what he'd just seen.
Potter hadn't even hesitated.
.
Evans burst into the nursery, swiftly, if somewhat roughly, placing him in his cot.
Then, she pricked her finger with a needle she'd produced from her pocket. The droplet of crimson blood fell from the appendage, landing on the floor with a shallow splash.
And for a second, hundreds of runes, on each and ever surface of the nursery lit up like a beacon as the stairs creaked. Regulus stared, eyes wide. When had Evans had the time to draw all of these up? He'd never noticed, not even a single one of them before. They were everywhere. He couldn't even begin to start understanding what kind of ritual Evans had schemed up, didn't even know where the start here.
"Harry, remember, Mommy loves you. Daddy loves you." He didn't like this. Those sounded like last words.
Evans had already tried to apperate out, wandless as she was. But there were wards up preventing such a thing. That much he was sure of.
"Mom," Regulus tried, forcing his chubby legs to uncurl beneath him, clutching at the cribs bars and pulling himself up into a standing position. He didn't get much further than that thought, because the door Evan's had rapidly barricaded with a chest of draws was blown inwards, shattering across the floor.
He watched Evans scream, curling in on herself, but she still proud before his crib, shielding his body from view with her own. Regulus whimpered in the back of his throat, alarm and panic rising in his core.
This was going to destroy Sirius. All three Potters dead in one night. It would be as if Voldemort killed Sirius as well.
"Step aside."
"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead-"
Regulus stared. Evans was stood before Voldemort, but unlike every Pureblood he'd seen, she was pleading with the man. Not for her own life, but for that of her son's.
Lord Voldemort was just as demonic as when Regulus had last seen him. Blood red eyes stared at Evans, skin near perfect white.
"This is my last warning-"
Why was he giving a warning? Evans was a mudblood, Voldemort's own code said he shouldn't even bother speaking to her, never mind getting her to step aside. What was going on? What had changed for Voldemort to give Evans a chance to step aside? What could have possibly happened for Voldemort to offer Evans this?
"Not Harry! Please ... have mercy ... Not Harry! Please- I'll do anything."
"Very well then. Avada Kedavra."
Green light flashed again, Evans' scream bouncing back and forth, from every corner of the room and filling Regulus' head until it was still there, even after the light had left her eyes and the noise died in her throat.
The body of Lily Evans was on the floor now, dead. That was it, both of his new parents dead before his eyes.
Something that sounded suspiciously like a sob broke free from Regulus' lips as he stared down at the woman who'd been given a chance to walk away but had continued to shield him with her body. Had refused to step aside, to go on and live her life without her child.
Regulus could count on one hand the amount of people he felt had the capacity to do what Lily Evans had just done. Throwing her life away like that was so outside of the Slytherin code of conduct that it made him cringe.
It didn't explain away the warm, fuzzy feelings that erupted inside of his stomach at the thought of parents that would throw their life away for his.
He had to be in a state of shock, that was the only reason he could think of when it came to why his magic didn't jump to defend him. His emotions weren't on the violent end of the scale, he wasn't scared enough to really drum up any magic, and the rage of watching Evans die, of knowing Potter had died too, just wasn't coming, held back behind the shock he just couldn't get over.
Voldemort was staring down at him now, a sneer on his face, lips curled in distaste. He didn't say anything, instead levelling the bone white wand at Regulus' forehead. Maybe in his next life, he'd make it past two years old, instead of dying at a year and a bit.
Why was Voldemort so determined to kill him though? Had he found out Regulus had been reborn? Had he realized what Regulus had done? How had he tracked him down? It was entirely possible that the wizard had found the little note he'd left behind, a taunt really.
But to track him to this new body? Had the Dark Mark gone deeper than he'd previously theorized? Was it connected to his soul, instead of just a small anchor on his body?
Grimacing, Regulus continued to stare defiantly at Voldemort, lips pursed and hands clenching around the wooden bars. He would not bow, not to this creature. He'd drown once already, face death down knowing what was coming for him. He was Regulus Black, but he was also the son of Lily Evans, a mudblood and perhaps the bravest witch Regulus had ever known. He'd never given the woman enough credit, but if he were reborn again, he'd make sure the tale of Lily Evans' sacrifice for her son got out.
He owed her that much.
A glowing green wand tip.
"Avada Kedavra."
Pain.
.
His vision was blurry, his head was hurting. There was something in his head.
What was that?
What was in his head?
Was that Severus Snape?
What was he doing here?
This was the Potter house, Snape and Potter hated each other. How did he know Snape was here?
Was he a ghost? A year old ghost, chained to the site of his untimely death?
Time seemed to blur together, he was sure that he saw Sirius at some point, and then he felt large hands, far too large hands, closing around his ribs and picking him up.
For a second he expected to see Potter, then when his head cleared, he hoped for Sirius.
But it was neither, he couldn't see anything past the bushy beards. His head hurt, it felt like it was splitting in two.
And so, Regulus Black slept, unaware that he was even still alive, nevertheless now known as the Boy-Who-Lived.
I've been reading a few Headcanons on the Harry Potter Fandom, but I've barely found any on Regulus. So if you're gonna review, leave me a headcanon that revolves around Regulus? Because most of this will probably be my own headcanons but I can always use ideas.
So, Regulus get's some respect for Lily. I can't see him instantly changing his opinion on muggleborns just because he went against Voldemort, but I like to think he'd open his mind a bit. Just wait until he realizes he's alive because of Lily.
And 600+watcher for the Prologue? I hope I don't disappoint with this. Also, the picture for this is one 'Gaspard Ulliel', and he is my Regulus Black. Anyone else got a Regulus Black?
Thoughts?
.
All my love,
Tsume
xxx