A/N: This chapter contains: Social drinking, canon typical violence, fire, murder, implied patricide, fantasy racism, emotional abuse.

Thanks to sabreprincess and thenoacat for betaing, special thanks to thenoacat for helping me fix all the problems that were in the initial draft(s) of Chapters 2-4.

A minor continuity error has been fixed in Chapter 2: Regulus is no longer writing to Uncle Alphard (who is dead), but to Aunt Cassiopeia (who is not).

Grimmauld Place seemed more confining than it had before. For the last seven years he'd had somewhere to escape to, a place he could return to when his parents got too overbearing. Now it was his mother or the Dark Lord, and he no longer knew which was worse.

For the first week he stayed out of her way as much as possible, helped by his father's insistence that "He's a man now, Burga! He doesn't need to talk to his mother." Instead he came up with plan after plan to sneak into the cave and destroy the Horcrux—without either his mother or the Dark Lord finding out. Every one was variously flawed, and he grew increasingly frustrated.

His mother didn't drag him out of his room until the day before the party, and even then it was only to go get fitted for dress robes. She wasn't particularly kind about it, but he had the sense that finishing school raised him in her eyes from a flawed and second-best child to, at least, a passable adult.

The day of the party came, and at least at first, it went smoothly. His friends came, all of the ones with tattoos at least, and some of their parents. The adults went upstairs to the smaller sitting room to talk or whatever it was they did, and Corban Yaxley brought in casks of firewhisky to put in the kitchen.

Rodolphus recruited a group to play exploding snap on the old table. Put a card on, take a drink. Collapse the stack, drain the bottle. Cheat with magic and get caught, and you got hit with an Intoxicating Hex and then took a drink.

Reg was pretty sure Rabastan was cheating badly on purpose, but who cared. There were enough people there that they started breaking off into other groups. Bella took a few to the sitting room to play a Black rules version of truth or dare, Julien had come up with a practice snitch and had other Quidditch players trying to toss it into levitating cups of firewhisky. If you got one in, you drained the cup, if you didn't, another cup was set out.

In the middle of this, Severus came in, took one look at the amount of alcohol, and walked back out again. Regulus followed him hastily. "Hey—you only just arrived!"

Severus turned a scathing look on him. "How many drunk purebloods do you have down there? Ten? Fifteen?"

Regulus shut his mouth.

"It's a very nice party," Severus said bitterly, "but I have work to do."

He wanted to storm off, but Severus was the only person he knew who occasionally regretted taking the Mark. "Wait. I need to talk to you."

"You've passed the Potions NEWT, I would assume, what—"

"The war," Regulus snapped. "Don't make me say it here."

Severus sneered, but then all at once his face relaxed. "Fine. Three pm Tuesday at my place," he said, casual as if they were still scheduling revision sessions. "If that's all you wanted me here for, I may as well go."

Regulus let him leave, knowing it was better to let him go than try to keep Severus anywhere he didn't want to be. Just as he was heading back downstairs, there was another knock at the door.

He went and opened it, wondering who was missing—or had Severus forgotten something?

It was two Aurors. "We have received credible information that there is a meeting of illegal activists here. Give us permission to enter, or we will enter by force."

Without really thinking, Regulus shut the door again. "Father!"

Orion came down the stairs, wand drawn. "Who is here?"

"Aurors," Regulus said, tense and focused the way he was during Death Eater meetings.

His father frowned deeply. "They should have no reason to come here. Unless you were sloppy about the invitations."

Regulus blanched. "No! No, father."

Orion made a sceptical noise, low in his throat, and moved towards the door. "Very well. You may as well come out and witness."

Regulus followed him out onto the front doorstep. The Aurors stepped back, pulling their wands out.

"You are in danger of violating the Statute of Secrecy," Orion said coolly. "Leave before I am forced to defend my home."

"You will let us in," one of the Aurors burst out before Orion cut him off.

"I will not. I am Earl of Huntingdon and the house of a lord is inviolate." Orion stepped down and Regulus hung behind his right shoulder, pulling his wand out from his pocket.

The other Auror nodded her head. "Yes, and only that of a named lord. Your title is provisional until your father passes."

"An issue the Wizengamot has not yet settled."

"But the DMLE has," the Auror said firmly. "We will enter, with or without your permission."

Orion did not move. Eventually the rash Auror, the first one to speak, waved his wand and cast nonverbally.

Regulus jerked, but his father blocked it and sent something back.

This was nothing like duels in Defence, Regulus realized when the other Auror joined in. Two-on-one wasn't allowed, and neither was continuous silent casting—there was too much risk someone would slip a curse in.

There was another exchange of spells before Regulus could get his mind together enough to respond.

Protego!

The shield was shaky and fell the moment one of the Aurors cast. Regulus lashed out in fear and felt the spell leave his wand half formed. The Auror deflected it, but then they were casting at him too. He couldn't tell how they could cast so quickly when it took him seconds to concentrate enough, but he tried regardless.

After a moment the Aurors backed off. "Last chance, Huntingdon. Lay down your wand and let us in."

Regulus's father snapped a spell that Reg didn't know and a portion of cobblestone exploded.

Regulus leaped backwards, even as the male Auror swore.

There was a noise—someone shouting? Or a spell?—and a strong smell of sulfur, and then his father was spun around and thrown backwards.

Regulus froze and stared at him.

His father was silent and still and crying, face pale and wet with tears, legs pulled up tight to his chest but robes knocked askew to show something moving on his legs, something crawling and bubbling and growing.

Somehow Regulus couldn't manage to breathe, or think, or do anything. It felt like someone had unleashed a dragon in his chest, he was that full of pain and anger and heat. Grimmauld Place had belonged to the Blacks for nearly as long as there had been Blacks, and never had one been struck down on its doorstep, never had anyone dared—

It was suddenly very, very easy to focus. The world was crystal clear. Regulus looked up at the Aurors who had so unkindly intruded on Black territory, and with all of his rage and fear and grief he said, "Ignis exacerbis."

A dragon burst from his wand, a dragon made of heat and flame, a dragon that fell on the Aurors and took them so fast they didn't have time to scream. He stood there and watched the Fiendfyre spread, watched it grow and eat and consume. In a moment there were no longer any Aurors. In a moment, there was nothing but flame.

It was the hardest thing he had ever done to step forward and breathe out and turn fury and despair into calmness. "Exstinguo." A general purpose quenching spell, but with the force of stubbornness and security behind it, the force of a member of the House of Black on his own soil, a wizard in his own right.

The fire subsided reluctantly, fighting him, but he was a Black and he was a wizard and someday he would be a Duke of the Kingdom of England and there was nothing fire could do to him.

Moving stiffly, he stepped past his father—writhing, but nearly exhausted—and into Grimmauld Place, past the spells that blocked sound in or out. Movements had to be controlled, tight, small, lest he explode completely and shatter into a million pieces. "Bellatrix," he said quietly, but the house knew and vibrated with it.

She came into the hallway, overrobe missing completely, her house robe hanging partially off one shoulder. "Oh dear." She looked past him at his father, one eyebrow coming up. "I don't suppose it was you?"

Only Bella, whose father had died mysteriously earlier that year, would say that. Only Bella, who had delivered the news of this death to the Dark Lord and expected a reward for it, could say that to him right now. Regulus had nothing to say in response.

Bellatrix shrugged. "Since he's my uncle, we should probably take him to St Mungo's."

"Probably," Regulus managed to say. He didn't say: I killed two people. He didn't say: It was my fault, I froze and wasn't fast enough.

Without much care for limbs or walls, Bellatrix grabbed one of his father's arms and pulled him upright. "Well? You can have your breakdown later."

He took his father's other arm, disturbed that his father hadn't said anything or reacted to this manhandling, more disturbed that he was participating in it, and let Bellatrix Side-Along them both to St Mungo's.

There was the familiar dizzy feeling of coming out of and into the world in a heartbeat, and then he was staring at the receptionist.

The receptionist stared back, looking interested. "Got an injury?"

Regulus noted somewhere, absently, that it was a sign that even Bellatrix was scared that she didn't snap anything. "My father—was cursed," he said, words disjointed.

It occurred to him that the real story wouldn't do him any favours.

Interest fanned, the receptionist pulled out a quill and parchment. "Name? Of the afflicted."

"Orion Arcturus Black."

The receptionist's eyebrows went up, but she made no comment. "Your names."

"Regulus Arcturus Black," he said, trying to come up with a story, any story, "and Bellatrix Lestrange."

Between them, his father made a strangled gasping noise; his eyes opened, then they rolled back in his head and he collapsed. Bellatrix sighed.

The receptionist was visibly trying not to stare. "Reason for visit today?"

Regulus blinked at her. "A curse, I told you."

"What was the effect of this curse?" the receptionist asked as if he was a first year.

He ground his teeth. "It hit him in the knee, then he fell over. There was something crawling, it looked like it was crawling inside his skin."

The receptionist looked sceptical.

"I didn't want to strip him," Regulus snapped, finally out of patience. "And he's not precisely up to answering questions."

After writing something down, the receptionist said, "Did you hear a spell being cast?"

"No."

She sighed. "Can you give me any more details on this curse? Knowing what caused this could make the difference, you know."

Regulus bit back several comments and stood on Bellatrix's foot. "We were throwing a party. For my graduation. I invited a bunch of friends over, we were having a few in our kitchen. My father came downstairs. Someone cursed him—I think he thought he was going to take away the alcohol. Or maybe he was just too drunk, I don't know."

He thanked God and Merlin that Bella was no stranger to half assed stories.

The receptionist stared at him over her glasses. "A nonverbal spell, while that drunk?"

Regulus scowled at her. "Yes."

She let it go. "Could this friend come in and give a statement? We don't want to arrest him, we just want to—"

"No," Regulus said, on firmer ground now. It was standard for noble houses to refuse to turn over visitors to the authorities; the receptionist wouldn't be surprised.

She wasn't. "Very well," she said in a tone that implied she wanted to remove all privileges from noble houses and interrogate his fictional guest personally. "Who is his next of kin?"

Regulus felt his stomach sink through the floor. "My mother. Walburga Black."

The receptionist looked smug at having found a way to get back at him for the 'friend'. "One of you should take Mr Black to the fourth floor where a Healer will meet you. The other is required by law to inform Ms Black."

Regulus and Bellatrix looked at each other. He hadn't even thought of his mother until the receptionist had asked, and he suspected Bellatrix hadn't either. His mother had a tendency towards hysterics, not to mention that she would have asked too many questions and been unable to keep quiet.

As the son, it was his responsibility to tell her what had happened to her husband—but at the same time, he should stay and care for his father.

Bellatrix sighed dramatically. "Fine. You owe me."

"This falls under family responsibilities, surely," Regulus said weakly.

She had already dropped his father's arm and was flouncing off towards the exit. "A family favour, then," she said, and Disapparated.

"I don't suppose she was the 'friend'," the receptionist said, eyebrows raised.

Regulus did his best to pull his father upright, then decided a levitation charm would be more practical. "No. If it was her, she would have told you."

The Healers were efficient and practical. Within minutes of arriving on the fourth floor, his father had been whisked away and brought back, cleaned, dressed in a hospital gown, and with an attendant Healer with a clipboard. He had been assigned a private room and Regulus had been told to wait outside on a bench while the Healer did his job.

Waiting was not one of Regulus's strong suits. He fidgeted and played with the edges of his robes for the interminable time it took for Bellatrix to arrive with his mother.

He stood when they entered the hallway and wiped sweaty palms on his robes. "No change."

His mother looked at him, snorted, and went straight to the door. "Of course there's no change, not when this hospital is run by Muggle-lovers with their clipboards! Did you even check his Healer's family, Reggie? Of course not, you can't be trusted to do anything on your own, Merlin knows I tried to teach you but—" She pulled on the door handle and visibly realised it was sealed shut.

"They don't want anyone interrupting," Regulus told his feet.

"I'm not anyone," his mother screeched, "I'm his wife! They'll let me in or these Mudbloods will get what's coming to them!"

Regulus and Bellatrix exchanged looks. It wasn't that either of them thought highly of Muggleborns, more that they were both too politically minded to say so out loud in public

All things considered, it was really for the best that the Healer opened the door when he did. "Are you Ms Black?"

"Missus," his mother corrected. "I want to see my husband. What's wrong with him? Haven't you fixed it yet?" She craned her neck to try and see past the Healer.

To his credit, the Healer barely looked fazed. "We are trying to determine what's wrong with him, Mrs Black. I was coming out to ask a few more questions of your son, who has not been helpful."

Regulus resented this. He thought bringing his father and telling everything he knew about the curse was helpful, thank you.

"What do you mean, he hasn't been helpful?" his mother squealed, turning on Regulus. "Are you telling me that you have been an obstacle to these generous Healers?"

Regulus stared at the floor again. "I only told them that it was one of my friends who cursed Father, but I won't tell them who because it happened on Black territory and as such, is a Black family matter. Not something for the Ministry."

She blinked, and he watched her change targets. "Well of course it's not something for the Ministry. They forget enough about our rights as it is. You sir, Healer! Who's your family, then? Are you pureblood? I won't have a Mudblood alone with my husband, I won't have it!"

That got the Healer to jut his jaw. "Mrs Black, if you won't tell us anything about who cursed your husband, you can't help right now. Thank you, I will bring updates when I have them." He stepped back into the room and slammed the door.

Regulus put his head in his hands. It was going to be a long night.

It was. Somewhere around midnight, Bellatrix left to go clean everyone out of Grimmauld Place. Only then did his mother move from her watch of the door and turn on him, face drawn into tight angry lines. "This was your fault," she hissed in an undertone, leaning over him. "You miserable excuse for a wizard, you got him into that battle."

He flinched, shoulders coming up to his jawline. There wasn't anything he could say, even if he was willing to risk upsetting her even more. He hadn't been fast enough. He wasn't ready for a fight, and his father had misplaced his trust.

"I could have you disowned for this, you know." Her face was nearly touching his and she still smelled of alcohol. "I could, I could go to my father-in-law and have him, but I won't, you hear me? You're stuck with me, Reggie, you can't get rid of me the way you got rid of him. No, I've got to keep you, you have to be the heir because my cursed brother sired nothing but bitches, but that doesn't mean I'll let you be flawed, you hear me?"

He nodded, mute. It was impossible to head her off when she got like this, and much better to just let her talk herself out.

"No, no, Reggie, you're going to be perfect for Mama aren't you? A perfect little heir." She had talked herself around from anger to passion, and he didn't like the crooning tone in her voice.

Feeling like he should agree, Regulus said, "Yes, Mother."

She sniffed. "I'll make you pay," she said, and like that she was back to anger. "You little worm, you let him get hurt on purpose, I know you're a better wizard than that, you let the Aurors curse my husband-"

There was no real input required from Regulus but to nod at the appropriate moments. His mother wound down eventually and returned to standing in front of the door. She got like this, sometimes, and it was always better just to let her talk herself out. Besides, Regulus was occupied with his responsibility in his father's cursing.

He thought it was around dawn that the Healer came out again, looking haggard. "He is stable," he said carefully, "but not healed, and we won't be able to get him so tonight. We're putting him in Long Term Spell Damage until he's either recovering or," the Healer swallowed, looking away from Regulus's mother, "not. We should know in a couple weeks."

"That long?" his mother said, oddly subdued. Maybe it was hitting her the same way it was him: his father was in that room, maybe dying, and there wasn't anything anyone could do about it.

"Yes," the Healer said shortly, swaying like he was about to pass out. "Like I said, everything is stable, we just… don't know what's wrong with him."

Before his mother could say anything in response to that terrifying statement, another Healer came out of the room, equally frazzled if less visibly exhausted. "You two should go home now. There's nothing you can do for him and we'll Floo you the moment something changes."

His mother frowned. "Can't I see him? Let him know I'm here?"

The Healers exchanged glances. "No to the second," the new one said, tucking flyaway hair behind her ear. "He's unconscious and will be staying that way until we're sure he's no longer in pain. To the first…" Eventually she shrugged. "You may as well." Unspoken, but Regulus could guess: Maybe it'll keep you off my back.

She opened the door fully, and Mother stepped in. Regulus followed, hesitant.

Orion Black was a handsome man in the manner of the Blacks, slender with delicate features and striking colouring—in his case, deep brown hair, pale skin, and jade eyes. The Healers had him laid out on a table and stripped to his linen smock, which covered him neck to knee. Regulus stared at his face for a moment, finding a bit of relief in how relaxed it was, before daring to look at his father's legs.

One was normal. The other… It looked like the curse had first eaten away the muscle down to the bone, but only the muscle, leaving skin untouched, and then it had bubbled and spilled and formed giant, wobbling tumours up and down the leg.

No one said a word. There didn't seem to be anything to say. Eventually Mother turned and led the way out. He followed, throat tight.

They Apparated back to Grimmauld Place. The house elves had been busy: the house was tidy again. It was like nothing had happened. Unable to work the buttons on his robe, Regulus fell into bed fully-clothed.