A/N: Hey y'all! This was written for the Fanfiction Tournament Competition on HPFC.
Word Count: 2795
WARNINGS: Imprisonment, implied torture, language
Note: This is a PeterReg Voldemort wins!au… so I'm fudging canon a bit. :P
Many thanks to Lucy for betaing!
Enjoy!
The world has fallen.
Those are the words that resound through Peter's head—the only thought that he has anymore.
The world has fallen. But he's still alive.
He doesn't know where he is. He's been locked in someone's basement for Merlin knows how long, and his only indication of time passing are the sporadic meals that are pushed through the door at him. The room is completely dark aside from a single lit oil lamp, for which Peter is grateful. Pitch blackness would not be ideal.
There are days that Peter just wishes it could end, because what is he really living for now? There is no world left to fight for. Lily and James are dead, Harry probably is too, Remus was also taken captive, and Sirius… well, Peter and Sirius hadn't been getting on well the past several months.
So he's trapped in this basement, doomed to mourn his friends forever. If only, he thinks, they'd decided to go ahead with the Fidelius Charm. If only they hadn't waited so long to put a plan into action!
Now Peter is alone, and that is what scares him the most. Without anyone around to talk to, he is left at the mercy of his own fears and insecurities.
And there are so many of those.
But then, one day, the door opens.
A stream of light floods the basement, and Peter blinks against the brightness. His eyes water a bit, but he doesn't look away; he is too tired to put up much of a fight, but he won't tuck his tail between his legs.
He has some dignity left, after all.
"Peter… I'd hoped they'd treat you better."
There is only a silhouette in the doorway, but Peter would know that voice anywhere.
"Regulus?" he croaks. "Merlin. Merlin fuck." Suddenly, Peter has an idea as to why he's still alive.
Regulus hurries into the basement and gathers Peter in his thin arms. Peter is unbound but weak and wandless, so he isn't much threat in this state. Even if he had been at his strongest, though, he wouldn't have threatened the Black heir—he could never bring himself to harm Regulus.
It is, perhaps, his greatest weakness. Once upon a time, he'd considered it his greatest strength.
Regulus seems to guess what he's thinking. "I couldn't let them kill you. The Dark Lord allowed me a reward, and I chose this. I'm bringing you to my home, okay? Just—just hold onto me."
Peter shudders. Regulus is holding him so tenderly, but the implication of his words are horrifying. He is afraid of the basement, yes, and what will happen to him if he stays—but he doesn't think he can handle the guilt of surviving, either.
"Many of my colleagues have chosen Order members to… hang onto," Regulus continues, his voice soft. "The Dark Lord isn't suspicious of us."
That captures Peter's attention. He lifts his head and stares into Regulus' eyes. They are still the same shade of grey that he remembers, but there is a desperation in them that Peter has only seen once before. "You still want me?" he asks, disbelief coloring his tone. "I thought you'd chosen them."
Steely resolve settles in those grey eyes. "Now I can have you both," Regulus murmurs. There is a quiet excitement in his voice that Peter isn't sure he likes.
But now Regulus' pale hands come up to cradle his face, and for the first time in what seems like forever, Peter feels wanted again. The temptation is too much to ignore, so he leans against Regulus and lets the younger boy take him away from this hell.
He hopes that they can find a little slice of heaven, but deep down, he knows he's hoping in vain.
He and Regulus are alone in Grimmauld Place. As the weeks go by, Peter's strength slowly returns. He has regular meals now, and an actual bed. It's a luxury he never truly appreciated before.
He eats breakfast with Regulus every day. The food is always good, and Peter and Kreacher get along well, to Regulus' delight. But then the meal is over, and Regulus leaves to report to his master.
To pass the time, Peter reads, cleans, and tries to get outside information from Kreacher. Unfortunately, there is only so much that the house-elf is willing to reveal.
"Kreacher," he tries hesitantly a week after he moves to Grimmauld Place, "do you know… what became of the Order of the Phoenix?"
Slowly, Kreacher turns from the stove to face Peter, abandoning lunch for a moment. "Master says that the Dark Lord has won."
"I know that," Peter hastily assures the elf. "Just—the people in the Order—what became of them?"
"Kreacher doesn't have those answers, Peter."
Peter jumps. Startled by the new voice. He looks at the kitchen doorway guiltily; Regulus is home early.
The younger man crossed the room and came to sit in the chair beside Peter. Regulus slowly reaches out to take one of Peter's hands in his own and drags his thumb over the knuckles. "I have those answers," Regulus confesses quietly. "What would you like to know?"
Peter grips the edge of his chair hard enough that his knuckles turn white. He isn't foolish enough to think that Regulus will tell him everything, but he hopes that he will get some of the information that he's been yearning for.
"Remus," he chokes out at last. "What happened to Remus?"
Regulus' grey eyes flit away from his for only a second, but it's enough to make Peter's heart plummet. "He… he's alive."
"But what?" Peter demands. He's trembling.
Regulus huffs out an annoyed sigh. "He's with Greyback, Peter. That's all I know."
But Peter does. He knows why Remus is with Greyback, and the thought alone is enough to make him sick. This is Remus' worst nightmare come to life, and what is Peter doing? Hiding away in Grimmauld Place, isolated but unforgivably safe. He swallows with difficulty. "Sirius?"
Pain flashes across the Slytherin's face. Peter wouldn't normally bring up Regulus' older brother, aware as he is of their rocky relationship, but he needs to know. He and Sirius haven't liked each other in what feels like forever, but he needs to know—for Remus, for Regulus… for himself.
"He's alive, too."
Peter closes his eyes. "But?"
"He's with Bellatrix." Regulus' words are reluctant and fearful. "She says he's fine."
The insistence doesn't reassure either man. There's a part of Peter that wants to dwell on this—Bellatrix has quite the reputation, and though Sirius hasn't been much of a friend lately, Peter doesn't want him to suffer—but he forces himself to move on and ask a more important question.
"And… what of Harry?"
Regulus looks at him sharply. "What of him?"
"What happened to him?" All of Peter's anxiety floods his heart, every fear he's been suppressing spills out of him. "Merlin, Regulus, what happened to Harry?"
"You know the Dark Lord took the Potters—"
"I know he killed Lily and James, yes." Tears prick at his eyes as a fresh wave of anguish washes over him; how can he mourn them? How can he move on when there is nothing to move towards? "But I haven't heard anything about Harry."
Regulus shakes his head. There are dark strands of hair that are free of their tie—uncharacteristic for the Black family heir. Peter watches them with a horrific fascination, because he realizes, suddenly, that Regulus is coming undone. "I know he wasn't killed on Halloween, but that's all I can tell you. It's all I wish to know. Some things… some things are better left alone."
But Regulus has given Peter the one thing he sorely needs: hope. If Remus and Sirius are alive, if there is a chance that Harry is as well… then they may be able to salvage the world after all.
Peter waits behind a suit of armor, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. Regulus is due in this corridor any minute now, if he's received Peter's message.
Peter isn't quite sure what he is to Regulus Black—a bit of fun? A lover? A boyfriend?—but he's willing to take it, whatever it is. Because this is the one thing in Peter's life that makes his heart beat out of desire, the one thing that makes him feel truly alive. His friends are fantastic, and he loves them like brothers, but they can't make him feel as valued as Regulus can.
And then—there. A shadow at the end of the corridor, coming steadily closer. Peter grins as he steps out to meet the younger boy.
"Took you long enough," he whispers, but his tone is playful.
Regulus just rolls his eyes. "Where are we going tonight?"
It's a question that Peter has put great consideration into the past week. There are so many places he could take Regulus to impress him: Honeydukes, the kitchens, even the Shrieking Shack. But he recognizes those places as sacred to the Marauders, and besides, Regulus wouldn't want to break any more rules than necessary.
"I thought we could go for a walk by the lake," he says at last. Regulus gives him a pleased smile, making Peter's heart swell.
Hand in hand, the boys head out to the grounds. It's dark, but a simple lumos lights their way well enough. There is something peaceful about walking in the moonlight, and Peter finds himself carefully memorizing this moment, ready to fold it and tuck it away for later. Like Remus says, you never know when you may need a patronus.
Or just a really good memory.
They talk. They laugh. They complain about their roommates. It's so natural, so easy, that Peter forgets for a moment that they are supposed to be enemies—that their families and friends can't know they love each other.
Because Peter does love Regulus. He loves how his nose wrinkles when he's trying not to laugh, loves how he uses big words to sound smarter around people older than him... loves everything about him. The feeling came on slowly, but it's the one thing in the world that Peter has never been afraid of.
He leans over and presses a kiss to Regulus' cheekbone. "I love you," he murmurs.
Regulus smiles lazily. Here, they have all the time in the world. "I love you, too."
Everything is perfect.
Peter wakes up with a small gasp. His dream—his memory—was a long forgotten one. He aches with nostalgia. He and Regulus were happy, once.
Now, they clung to each other in hopes that they could find that happiness again. It occurred to Peter that he may never recover it.
The thought saddened him. In this new world, not even love had survived. And yet… his mind wanders once more to Remus and Sirius. Still alive. He wonders if they know he's alive… wonders if they know that they still have each other to fight for.
Fight. He'd entered the Order terrified of the word. But now, excitement fills him at the prospect. This hope has given him purpose, and he has a feeling that he and Regulus need to be the ones to light the spark this time. Two broken souls, fighting for a chance to be whole… it was poetic, dramatic, romantic. It could work.
He brought it up to Regulus at dinner that evening. The younger man actually dropped his fork.
"Are you mad? We can't just—just steal Harry Potter from the Dark Lord. Our life is good here, Peter. It's safe, and we have each other. Isn't that" —Regulus' voice broke— "enough?"
Peter leans forward. He doesn't shy away from his lover's gaze. "No," he responds. "We aren't happy, Regulus. We deserve to be happy."
"I'm happy here with you."
"You're not," Peter replies with confidence. "You're miserable. You know the price of your safety, Regulus, and you can barely breathe because of the guilt." Peter pauses, watching Regulus' lips press into a thin line. "I know you. You can't lie to me."
"I…" Regulus is floundering. "I thought… I thought we were enough. I thought that loving you was enough."
Peter had thought so too, in the beginning. He was alive, his lover was alive—what more could he need? But they'd tricked themselves into thinking that they could be content while the others that they loved suffered. They'd tricked themselves into thinking they were cowards, and it was finally time to reclaim the life they'd wanted.
"You and I, Regulus…" Peter chooses his words carefully. "We can't just be silent. We've been waiting for someone to see us for a really long time."
Regulus' chin wobbles. "We're safe—" he begins weakly.
"No," Peter interrupts softly. "We're not."
They hid themselves at Hogwarts. They are hiding in Grimmauld Place now. Peter wants to walk outside—he wants to walk outside holding Regulus' hand, and in Voldemort's world, a Muggleborn and pureblood could never do that.
By the look on his face, Regulus wants it, too.
"Odds are," Regulus says several minutes later, "we'll fail."
Peter just reaches out a hand and places it palm-up on the table. He raises his brows.
Regulus sighs and smiles, then shakily grabs Peter's fingers. "As long as we're together," he decides.
"I—I have to tell you something." Regulus' voice is shaking, and Peter turns to him, alarmed.
"What's wrong?"
They're in an abandoned classroom, which isn't unusual. They often meet late at night, and Regulus chooses the locations because he knows the prefects' schedules. They aren't ever bothered. Their time together is the highlight of Peter's week.
But Regulus' face is paler than usual, his eyes are impossibly wide—he is terrified. He opens and closes his mouth, but no words are forthcoming. Finally, his right hand touches the sleeve of his left arm's robe.
Peter frowns as the garment is pushed up to reveal some sort of tattoo. The picture is disturbing and isn't like Regulus at all—a snake threading itself through the mouth of a skull. Regulus' reaction tells him that this isn't all it appears.
"I don't know what that is," he says at last. Panic knots itself in his stomach, but he doesn't know why. "Regulus…?"
Regulus' shoulders shake as he finds his voice. "It's… the Dark Mark. It's how you know who his followers are, and I sh-shouldn't have even told you that much."
There is real terror in Regulus' eyes. Horror fills Peter; there is only one person Regulus can mean, but it's impossible to imagine Regulus aligning himself with… him.
"Tell me," Peter begs breathlessly, "tell me you didn't."
Silence has never been as suffocating as it was in that moment.
"I didn't have a choice," Regulus whispers.
Sixteen-year-old Regulus, a Death Eater. Maybe he was pressured by his parents. Maybe it was a final spite to Sirius, who ran away at the age Regulus was now. Maybe Regulus had woken one morning to find the hateful thing tattooed on his arm.
Whatever the case, one thing was clear: their lives would never be the same.
Peter sucks in a breath. He can't follow Regulus to the other side… it's the one place he will never go. He drags his hands through his hair and glances at Regulus. He's angry, he's resentful, he's afraid. He's hurt.
"What are we supposed to do now?" he hisses through his teeth.
Regulus doesn't answer him. There's nothing he can say.
That night, Peter doesn't feel guilty about holding Regulus. He threads his fingers through the Slytherin's dark hair, marvelling at how similar—and yet, how different—things are now.
"You're officially working for the Order now," Peter tells his lover on a whim. "Well, sort of."
Regulus groans and lets his head drop against Peter's chest. "Wonderful. That's just… wonderful."
"It is," Peter insists quietly. "We have a chance, Regulus."
Regulus breathes out slowly. He seems so small in Peter's arms; so fragile. But there is a strength to him that only Peter can see. "We're taking on an empire, you know. And… your side already lost once."
"Our side," Peter corrects without thinking; he's never been able to fully comprehend that Regulus joined the Death Eaters. "And we won't be doing this alone."
Regulus lifts his head and twists around until he is cradling Peter's face in his hands. "You make it sound like anything is possible." His grey eyes sparkle. "Believing you is a foolish thing to do."
"Mmm. That never stopped you before."
Regulus huffs out a laugh, and it's the first genuine smile Peter has seen on his face since they parted ways after school. "Damn right it didn't."
Regulus takes the plunge and kisses him. As Peter holds him tighter, he can almost feel their new beginning starting.