Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose./

The more things change, the more things stay the same,

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References:

"Bohemian Rhapsody" by Queen

"The Raven" by Edgar Allen Poe

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The cold was driving Regulus back to sleep, back to the dark; he fought hard to keep close to the warm awareness that came from consciousness. Fought to keep away from the feeling of floating in the Void, away from the feeling of being shapeless, bodiless amongst nothing.

(Grotesque, contorted limbs crawled and clawed toward him, jerking in unnatural movements, hungry for any bit of sunlight, any flicker of life, and Regulus was bright as his namesake and they were starved for him, and he was too young, too young, and there was fire, powerful and roaring in the cave, but it was not enough, he was not enough, and he was screaming—)

It took him a while to realize he'd been moved, and when he tried opening his eyes, all he could manage to see was a blurred mess of white walls and glimpses of other figures.

He heard the sound of a door opening, then shutting. He felt himself placed onto a bed.

There was a glass vial being pushed against his lips, cool liquid down his throat.

A voice came, calm and reassuring. Warm. Regulus yearned for warmth. "Do you know where you are?"

"No," he managed.

The voice left him to his madness.

When he woke again, it was bright. Too bright. It hurt.

He moaned in pain.

A small, dainty hand brushed away the hair from his face, pressing a damp towel against his forehead. "Hush, Reggie, it's okay, you're okay."

He wanted so badly to stay awake, but then there was a whisper, and he was finally warm.

Regulus fell back asleep.

They took turns under Harry's invisibility cloak, trying to catch a glimpse of Grimmauld's newest resident. When Harry finally saw Regulus after Albus had spirited him away, he wondered if it was perhaps too late to save him.

If Harry thought Sirius had been damaged by Azkaban, then Regulus was absolutely ruined by the cave.

Where Sirius had looked perpetually haunted, and touched by grief that all too easily flamed to rage, Regulus looked just alive enough to feel pain, like a sick man who had not the constitution to survive being mended. A shell of a man dressed in non-descript robes.

But even as a wreck, even completely asleep, there was something about Regulus that had Harry's instincts trill in warning: this man is dangerous.

Something Regulus had in common with Sirius. Sirius, who savagely hunted down Wormtail with the blazing fervor of the Devil himself, the moment he realized the rat still lived. Sirius, who dealt with his despair by prowling around Grimmauld, waiting for someone to slip up so he could grind them to ash.

Harry hovered by the door, seeing Andromeda kneeled at the bedside. Albus had brought her into Grimmauld, citing a top-secret family development. The striking, elegant witch pushed gnarled hair away from Regulus's sweaty forehead.

The sight of them broke Harry's heart.

"I won't let anyone hurt you," said Andromeda to her sleeping cousin, her face pale as death and voice just as certain. "I'm here now, Reggie."

Then silver eyes fluttered open, and a hoarse voice spoke. "Sir'us?" Regulus lifted a hand in confusion, as though reaching out to life itself.

Andromeda startled but recovered quickly. She reached across the sheets to grasp him tightly. "It's me, Reggie. It's Andy."

"An'y?" slurred Regulus. "Wha-wha'ts goin—"

"Yes, you're safe, love," said Andromeda with an overwhelming, earnest tenderness that would forever divide her in Harry's mind from her sociopathic sister. "Don't try to talk; everything is going to be fine. Just close your eyes and sleep."

"Stay?" stated Regulus weakly. Though it may have been intended as a command, it came across more like pleading.

"Rest, Reggie. I'm not going anywhere."

Harry slinked away, his heart a bit lighter as he did so.

They had brought him back from death by accident, Regulus was told.

Regulus curled into the blanket of his bed and stared at the spitting image of James Potter across from him. A face which he was told belonged to Albus Dumbledore at the moment. Yet another secret he was bound from revealing.

"What? Pettigrew's a Death Eater?" asked Regulus, and somehow this was more shocking than news of how Bella had murdered Sirius (Your own family, Bella, how could you? What have you done…?), news that he was back from the dead, or that the Dark Lord had done the same.

("Me and James and Remus and Peter. We're blood brothers," said a black-haired boy, grinning with unapologetic happiness.)

Sirius had languished for twelve years in Azkaban…Regulus was flooded by the worst kind of hatred for Peter thrice-damned Pettigrew.

Regulus had known that he himself was never like Sirius in the ways that mattered, but in this, in this, Regulus too would hunt down the rat. And find the last of the Dark Lord's horcruxes. And resurrect his brother from beyond the Veil. He wasn't too particular about the order. He had many mistakes and failures to make up for.

The sheer impossibility of everything that he had learned in the space of an hour was maddening though.

Harry James Potter was both his savior and the reason Regulus felt like screaming until his throat bled.

Regulus met the wide-eyed gaze of the teenager appearing to be a hundred-and-twelve-year-old wizard and seethed.

"When you figure out how to recreate accidental necromancy," said Regulus in the most deadly, scathing tone he could summon, vaguely aware of feeling hysterical beneath the sheer affront and fury of it all, "be sure to inform me, because only upon the successful resurrection of my brother, will I help you back into your body!"

If that wasn't a brand new sentence, Regulus would eat his wand.

Forced to retreat from Grimmauld due to the resumption of the school week, the four of them were back in Albus' private room at Hogwarts, which really, was more of a garden than a place of residence.

Hermione's long mane of hair was thrown up in a casual ponytail, and in her small hands she had an important-looking clipboard that clashed oddly with her flannel pajamas. It was hard to take her entirely seriously with the flower crown made up of daisies she wore atop her head. A gift from Albus, no doubt.

Albus was sitting in a rocking chair while knitting what appeared to be soft, pink socks, a trio of oddly affectionate daffodils cuddling his ankles as he did so; Ron was making a pot of tea in a kettle that instead of whistling, played Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody" on loop.

"Mamaaa, just killed a man," sang the tea kettle. It was decorated with honeybees and sunflowers which swayed in perfect rhythm to the tune.

Hermione sat down next to Harry, perching herself cross-legged upon the silky blue, Persian rug. "You are the Master of Death," she said firmly.

"I am the Master of Death," repeated Harry, jabbing the Elder Wand at the dead body of a raven.

The raven stayed dead, resting in a holly wreath upon a pale, hand-carved table depicting land and sky.

"'Once upon a midnight dreary…,'" said Albus, apropos of nothing.

Hermione laughed at that, loud, and full, and true. A chandelier made of white magnolias cast light onto honey-brown hair, and it made her joy even brighter as she beamed at Albus.

Harry decided to focus again on his task. If he were to concern himself with every reference he missed between Albus and Hermione, he'd never get anything done.

The raven hadn't moved. It sat there, and if the dead could radiate disappointment, the bird certainly did so.

The thrice-damned tea kettle continued in the background, "…Oooh, didn't mean to make you cry…"

"Sounded a bit like a question to me, Harry. Not so much a command," said Ron grandly with amusement, placing the teapot back on the stove. He settled in, leaning against the counter made up entirely of florals to watch the entertainment unfold. A vine of stunning orange and red roses settled along his shoulders to do so as well.

"Again," instructed Hermione to Harry like a director in a film. She talked quickly, with excitement. "Try again. This time with more authority!"

Harry obeyed dutifully, poking the raven with more force than before. "I am the Master of Death, bird, and I command you to live!"

…nothing.

"'And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting,'" said Albus, chuckling, and though his fingers were flying across the knitting needle, his amused gaze never left Harry and Hermione. To Harry's annoyance, Albus' green eyes were twinkling in a way he had never managed to recreate while in his own body.

"…Sometimes wish I'd never been born at all…"

Ron's loud, warm laughter at the lyrics filled the air once more, to the apparent delight of the flowers in the room; so much so that the vine of red-orange roses around his shoulders territorially slapped away an interested sunflower which had been reaching for him.

Harry sighed forlornly. "It doesn't feel right. It was more of an instinct than anything."

"Yeah Hermione," said Ron with a shit-eating grin. "Let the senior citizen go at his own pace."

"That joke is getting old," said Harry, narrowing his eyes.

Ron opened his mouth—

"Don't," Harry warned, pointing a menacing finger at him.

Hermione sat up on her knees, grabbed Harry's chin to focus his gaze back on her, and then placed her hands on his shoulders. She shook him, fire in her eyes. "You are the Master of Death!" she said dramatically, "You are the Bringer of Storms! You are the bearer of all three deathly hallows! You have the power over life and death, and you are bending the universe to your will!"

Harry stared back unflinchingly before he rose from his place on the floor and bore his wand down on the raven. "Live, raven," he said in a towering voice, twirling the Elder wand with a silent threat above its head, "You. Must. Live!"

He gave it a moment.

The raven…did not.

Ron's lips were twitching like he was trying very hard not to laugh at Harry's failures. "Maybe it's not the raven, mate. Maybe you ought to be telling the wand that you're its master. If it's anything like you, it's moody as a nundu without breakfast."

Albus stopped knitting.

The four of them existed in silence for a few moments as they considered this.

"Ah…music," said Albus fondly, as the tea kettle's guitar solo came to a crescendo.

Harry turned his gaze to the Elder wand, aghast, and abruptly furious with it. Obey me, he thought with all his might. He unfurled his fingertips from it, and then grasped the Deathstick in a choking grip. "I am your Master," he snarled. "I am the Master of Death," and Harry thought of how it had felt to revive Regulus, the sense of overwhelming power that had consumed him utterly, owned and enthralled his heart in an instant. No, thought Harry fiercely, "You belong to me, not I to you." The air in the room starting to hum, and a flicker of phantom sensation across where once he had born a lightning scar. Wind started to blow in the room. A few leaves and stray petals picked up from the floor as the air grew thick with magic. Harry could taste the static on his tongue. He reached out to that chaotic part of his magic which always existed on the periphery of who he was. It thrummed through his fingertips and rolled through his entire body. He was a tempest, wild, and free, and thought: Now.

Ions crackled into being in an instant and exploded from the tip of the Elder Wand. Lightning struck the raven in its chest in a single, imperial bolt.

Albus' garden flashed white with a thunderous crack—

Harry's ears were ringing…

The tea kettle was unaffected, "…Thunderbolts and lightning, VERY! VERY! frightening me…"

The damn bird flapped its wings.

It was the Yule holidays before Harry was back in Grimmauld.

It had been nearly a month and a half since Regulus had made both his demands and introductions, and while the raven had been a success, he was not confident in his abilities to reanimate another person. Nor was he confident that everything about Regulus was… alright. Coming back from the dead warranted some observation.

Upon entering the house, the first thing Harry noticed about the object of his necromantic success was that Regulus smelled of soap and new robes. Objectively, Regulus Black didn't look like very much at first. For a while, Harry thought he imagined that flicker of intuition that told him otherwise, even after Regulus' threats and furious grief.

He had a dazed expression that never truly left from when Harry first met him, as though Regulus couldn't believe he was awake. There was a certain haggardness and faltering lucidity to him, reasonable vestiges of being dead. The mane of hair he'd been sporting when he first arrived was gone, replaced by short, sheared locks that were uneven but much healthier than the clump that Harry had begun to suspect was a creature of itself.

The overall effect was an improvement, for all that Regulus looked like a once-handsome cadaver half-heartedly returned from the dead.

But there were little things that belied the threat; it was in the shrewd glint of his sideways glances, and the thick burn scars that ran up his arms.

If Sirius had been the bark, then Regulus was the bite. A snake with fangs that gnashed the air.

The only interaction he engaged in was shooting people indecipherable looks, and the only person who could force him to break his silence was Andromeda, who had been constellating around him incessantly.

It took a week of this behavior before Harry and his friends could relax enough in Regulus's presence to talk normally at meals.

One morning, Ron, and Hermione had mercifully escaped the clutches of Mrs. Weasley and sat next to Harry for breakfast. Shortly after, Albus returned from the drawing room, looking haunted as he sat beside them, and said, "Perhaps something might be done about the mirror in the parlor room? I believe it just tried to murder me."

Regulus sat at the far end of the table, the greatest distance possible from anyone else, making the least amount of noise. Harry hadn't had his coffee yet, but he could have sworn he heard a soft huff of laughter coming from Regulus' corner. He blearily looked over at just the right moment to see Regulus effortlessly summon a sugar cube with a slight curl of his index finger.

Unnoticed by everyone else, the cube hovered slightly above the table.

Regulus twitched his finger, and wondrously the cube shimmered, surging to life in the form of a tiny, hissing snake with scales of sugar crystal.

He repeated the gesture, and it compressed inward. It twisted and writhed, growing wings. It became a glassy and reflective dragon that breathed out puffs of confectionary, white fire.

Harry laughed with joy as it flew to land on the rim of Regulus' tea cup.

"Wicked," he breathed, so delighted at the display that he forgot they were not alone.

Regulus looked startled, obviously not expecting to be caught, but he covered his tracks quickly.

With another flick, the sugar dragon launched itself into a suicidal dive and dissolved into a steaming cup of Earl Grey.

Ron, Hermione, and Albus looked over to see what could possibly make Harry want to speak to the wizard giving off very strong signals that he's not to be messed with, but all evidence of Regulus's interesting talents had vanished into the man's tea.

Regulus gave him a speak-and-you-die-a-painful-death sort of a look.

"Er," said Harry, trying very hard to come up with an explanation. He grinned, weakly. "What a time to be alive!"

There was a beat of silence.

Then Ron rolled his eyes. "It's too early in the morning for you to lose your marbles, Harry. Merlin knows why we're up at this ungodly hour," he muttered, a mournful expression on his face, "but I can't deal with whatever Mum has planned for us all later if you've gone bonkers before the bacon's out. Here." With the air of someone who was performing a great sacrifice, Ron slid over the platter of eggs. "You look like you need this."

Harry sputtered indignantly, looking over at Regulus in outrage.

Regulus raised a single, aquiline brow, as if daring Harry to rat him out. It was a look that said, 'do you really want to go there?'

Harry did. He looked him dead in the eye. "I'm on to you."

Regulus's expression immediately did something weird, like he was trying not to laugh.

It made him look like an actual human, and the idea heartened Harry so much that he instantly did what he could to prolong it. He gathered his Gryffindor courage, and with a show of nerve that surprised even himself, Harry took the perfectly toasted slice of bread from Regulus' plate.

Before he could think of the moral implications of stealing food from a man who had suffered a horrific death fighting against Voldemort, Harry took a bite out of his toast.

Regulus stared, incredulous, looking so hilariously affronted that Harry grinned. "Sirius was way scarier when I first met him."

Before Regulus had time to process the insult dealt to him, Harry dashed out the door.

The sound of his friends' wheezing laughter followed him the whole way up the stairs.

Harry was surprised that, with the exception of Moody, most of the Order had taken the news of Regulus' 'recovery from a coma' and defection storyline rather well. Well, considering that only seven people in the world knew that Harry and Albus had switched bodies (Harry, Albus, Ron, Hermione, Snape, Regulus, and Grindelwald), and that Moody was the only outwardly suspicious person outside of them, perhaps Harry shouldn't have been too surprised. The wizarding world to which he belonged to had a much higher tolerance for the surreal and absurd than those who had one foot born or raised in the mundane.

It was not until Snape stopped by in the kitchen one afternoon before a meeting that Regulus started to look fully alive though. There was a rumble of aggression in the air when they spotted each other, making it almost impossible to breathe.

"You…" Snape hissed in a voice that seethed with shared history.

Regulus smiled a sharp grin, eyes glinting. He put a hand mockingly on his chest. "C'est moi."

They stood for a moment in silence, like serpents waiting in coiled heaviness.

Regulus looked away first, lingering on Snape's black leather and Death Eater robes, a flash of something dark passing through his eyes.

Then Snape bared his teeth, feral. "So, Regulus Black lives to fight another day." The Potions Master said it like a dare, like let's see for how long.

Regulus's eyes flitted to Snape's face and he smiled like a skull. "As do you," he said, like try me.

Harry wondered if he was the only one that could hear the subtext, but judging by the warning glint in Albus' green eyes and the cautious hand Remus had around Regulus' wrist, like a wolf about to strike, he was not alone. Regulus shrugged off Remus' grip with extreme disgust, but his eyes never left Snape's.

Neither Snape nor Regulus risked pulling out a wand, as though they knew all it would take was just one wrong word, one wrong implication to end this cease-fire. Clearly, they didn't trust one another for a second; both looked as though they deeply longed to violently interrogate the other in a dungeon.

"Any other of our former… associates that inexplicably escaped their sentencing? I heard that Karkaroff named names."

It was the most Harry had heard Regulus speak at one time, and he couldn't help but watch, fascinated, as the tension brewed between the two ex-Death Eaters. Harry got the sense that while Regulus might once have been a stoic, controlled young man, he had evolved into something as wild as a storm.

"Oh, countless," said Snape, smirking. "Did you hear of Crouch Jr.'s escape from Azkaban yet? A dash of Polyjuice – courtesy of his doting father – and a body switch that went unnoticed. Classic recipe for success. Certainly, Junior lived the next 13 years under the imperius, but he did kill Crouch in the end. I do not know if you would consider that a draw considering he died within six months of that accomplishment."

Regulus's lips twisted with distate. "Barty's dead?"

Harry's curiosity spiked at the way Regulus said Barty. His sour expression and reluctance to use the nameimplied an emotionally draining history.

Snape's smile was a cold, vicious thing. A dark delight seeped through from his very core. "He got himself a little kiss."

The blood drained from Regulus's face.

Snape started to laugh. "Oh, so it was like that now, was it?"

Harry felt his pulse quicken, and part of him wanted to yell at Snape to shut up, to tell him that he was destroying what's left of Regulus' sanity. But it was nothing that Snape did not already know, or care for.

"Hardly, though I do not expect that one such as you knows anything of friendship," said Regulus in a frigid voice dripping with disdain. "And how much time did you do in Azkaban, Severus?"

Snape sneered. "As little as you might have, had you any inclination whatsoever to use your fool brain before embarking on a suicide mission. Clearly, there were more latent similarities between you and your reckless, imbecile brother than I previously would have attested to."

Regulus did not address the insult, choosing instead to redirect to Snape's sins. "Some things cannot be atoned for. You deserved to rot alongside the rest of them."

"My opinion on the matter was and is irrelevant. If you believe for a moment that anything less than Dumbledore's full backing was my saving grace, you are sorely mistaken."

"But you know I'm right. Severus Snape, the half-blood with something to prove. And you took every opportunity to show how proficient you are in the Dark Arts, to prove you belonged. How much better you were because of that."

Snape grit his teeth but was silent.

"I will give you some credit though, Severus. You have more courage than I would have thought."

Harry was not fooled for a second to believe that Regulus meant this as a compliment. "You have some true temerity to have treated my brother and his godson as you did, knowing what you have done in your days. What cruelty did James Potter inflict that you have not surpassed in every way at least thrice-fold the moment you graduated? And yet you have the nerve to carryover a grudge from school."

"We shall see how capable of carrying a grudge I am, when next I stand before the Dark Lord."

"Stand? More like kneel."

"Did you know, Regulus," said Snape softly, "that the Dark Lord's grown inventive during his time as a wraith? 13 years to plot… and the truth that you are alive will out eventually. The Dark Lord always knows… You may find some peace in the hope that you might outlive Karkaroff."

If Snape expected fear or dread at the reminder of Voldemort's power, Regulus' bored expression yielded none. "Anyone who can't outlive Karkaroff deserves to die." Then Regulus just looked significantly at Albus, right in the eyes, before looking back at Snape, who watched the exchange with a hunted expression, as though he knew where Regulus was going with this and didn't like it one bit.

Regulus opened his mouth in a way that reminded Harry of dripping fangs, entirely unapologetic as he drawled in French, "Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose."

He looked back at Albus very deliberately. "Harry Potter…" Regulus smiled a polite, utterly insincere smile. "You have your mother's eyes."

Immediately, Harry knew that Regulus had said the wrong thing.

It was a phrase Harry had heard a dozen times since returning to the wizarding world, but for some reason, it caused Snape's features to ignite in pure, undiluted fury, his pale face flushing with hatred.

A flicker from Albus' life raced through Harry's mind, gone before he could extract much meaning.

(A lonely windswept hilltop in 1980. A younger Severus, who kneeled. "Hide them all, then …Keep her—them—safe. Please.")

A flash of something knowing crossed Remus' face, who was observing with a few other Order members. Albus frowned in mighty disapproval.

Snape's expression promised murder with absolutely no hyperbole.

Regulus looked thrilled, a delighted laugh spilling from his cracked lips.

Just as Snape looked about to explode, his eyes caught Albus', and, in a great show of restraint, turned away from Regulus to gather a few vials which were sitting atop the kitchen table.

"Oh Severus, don't leave, I was just teasing," said Regulus with a curled lip and a voice that implied Snape should hurry up and go if he wanted to keep his limbs.

"Rest assured, Black," hissed Snape, his black eyes gleaming with menace, "that I will never rearrange my schedule on your whims."

As Snape stalked to the door and vanished through it, Regulus moved to follow.

"And where is it that you think you're going?" asked Remus, voice soft but dangerous. Though he looked as exhausted as usual, Remus stepped in between Regulus and the door.

Albus, beside Harry, glanced at him in despair. Harry understood. Truly, these were dark times indeed if even Remus lost his cool. Albus stood on his tip toes and whispered to Harry, "How did you say it? 'Shit hit the fan?'"

"Yes," said Harry curiously, eyeing Albus.

"Then I believe the shit and the fan have collided once more. We may have a, ah, shit storm in progress."

Harry nearly cackled in triumph at corrupting Albus, but allowed only a faint smile to outwardly reflect how he felt like he had been missing someone he'd never met all this time.

As Harry turned his attention back to Regulus and Remus, he noticed that the air between the two wizards had grown thick and ugly, and Harry had the sudden urge to back away.

"I'm going to catch a rat, Lupin." Regulus smiled, but his eyes were cold. He twirled an ugly, black wand between his fingers. "It'd be such a waste of a pleasant evening otherwise."

"Do you know what'd really be a waste, Black?" asked Moody, from the corner of the kitchen. The former Auror was dressed in simple robes that did nothing to downplay the threat he embodied with his entire being. Moody's brown hair, streaked with grey, was tied up as though for a fight, and he had his wand in hand. He was flanked by Tonks and Shacklebolt, each of them looking increasingly hostile. "If you climbed out of wherever goddamn hellhole you've been in only to spend eternity being digested by a Dementor. If you know what's good for you, you'll stay inside like the creature of the dark that you are."

Regulus threw his head back and laughed, unhinged and wild. It was nothing like Sirius' laugh captured in the photo from Harry's parents' wedding. "They can sure as fuck try."

Regulus met each of their gazes with a condescending curl of his lips, as though no one posed a threat to him whatsoever. Harry took great offense to that on behalf of the real Albus Dumbledore.

From her place next to Remus, Tonks just grimaced and shook her pink hair. When she looked back at Regulus, her eyes had changed to a steel grey and were just as unrelenting. "It's not like the first war, cousin. They've got bodies on the ground, and bodies in the air. The whole Ministry's on edge, kid. At least 100 Aurors from MACUSA have joined the Hit Wixen in their hunt for Death Eaters. Everyone in Britain's holding their breath. Something's got to give."

Regulus didn't look remotely impressed. "And I'll bet you every galleon in my vault that they'll never catch me. If the Aurors are lucky, they'll pick up a real Death Eater, but since they're all so goddamn useless I wouldn't count on it."

The three Aurors bristled at the insult to the Department.

At this point though, Remus and Regulus outright ignored the rest of the people in the room.

Remus glared at Regulus, thunderous malcontent on his lined and scruffy face. "Don't be stupid," he growled. "Even if they are…useless, the Ministry and the public aren't the only people hunting and spying. Every time you leave the house, there's a chance you'll be trailed by people far more competent." He ticked off his fingers one by one. "Avery and Macnair both pleaded imperius. You remember, of course, the teamwork they showed in tracking down the McKinnons? Same with Greyback, Nott, and a dozen others who enjoy the chase. Then there are the Dementors who have defected. And of course, Voldemort himself, who'll join the fray to hunt down the traitor if it comes out that you're alive, when all the rest take too long. It's madness to go out by yourself."

"Why, I didn't know you cared so much, Moony," Regulus drawled, relishing in the way Remus flinched at the nickname. "Almost makes a man wonder where all of that sentiment was when my brother was rotting away in Azkaban."

Harry winced in sympathy for the werewolf, who looked at Regulus with enormous guilt and pain.

"Black, I…," Remus started, then just as suddenly stopped. His expression hardened once more, though there was a flicker of dread in his eyes. "Nicely played, Regulus," he said, back rigid and voice tight. "But my answer is no."

Oddly enough, Regulus relaxed at the words, sinister amusement rolling off of him in waves. "What's that, Lupin?"

Remus only grew more agitated. He clenched his fists and took several deep breaths. "I refuse. I'm not going along with whatever harebrained scheme you've cooked up, and you can't make me," he said, with the air of someone who's had to say this phrase many times before. "Sirius went about planning the same way, and each time it was before the stupidest goddamn idea I've heard of came out of his mouth."

The whole room jumped at his vehemence and the novelty of Remus Lupin swearing, but Regulus let out a delighted hum when the first curse-word left Remus's lips. "My, my," he murmured, the very picture of concern save for his eyes, gleaming in triumph. "Are you feeling okay, Moony? Maybe you ought to take a seat…"

"Shut it, Black. Do you hear me? It's not happening. I'm not going to frolic about the fucking country with you on a suicidal hippogriff chase, playing tag with Death Eaters. You can't bloody make me help you!"

"Of course, I can't." Regulus reached out to put a hand on Remus's shoulder, forcefully guiding him toward the kitchen once more. "You're a great, big, scary werewolf who doesn't need to listen to anybody except the lunar calendar…"

"I did not survive the last war and in the equally hellish interim only to die for you, Regulus. I'm pretty sure you're the Death Eater who tried to trick me into triggering that erumpent horn in Kensington Square – remember that? 30 dead muggles, and I blew out both ears."

"Ah, Kensington," said Regulus, with an odd, bloodthirsty wistfulness. "I'll forever treasure the sight of Dorcas Meadows absolutely obliterating that sack of shit, Wilkes. Well, I say forever, but I only recently got back that memory." He sighs loudly. "It's a crying shame what being in a… coma…does to one's mind. Why, who knows how long it'll be before my dead body ends up in a ditch somewhere, if I go off alone. What with my poor planning and impulsiveness, it's a recipe for disaster - the result of my grief-addled brain, of course. What would my poor brother have thought…"

"You slippery, manipulative little shite…"

"Does that mean you're in?"

"Damn you, Regulus Black."

"Great, so…"

Remus just tiredly rubbed his face and sighed in defeat.

Harry felt an upsurge of pride and wariness for Regulus, who was surprisingly chaotic and haphazard, yes, but knew exactly what he was doing. Touched by the famous Black madness and unhinged by being dead, certainly. Even in his reckless abandon, he was clever and adaptive enough to facilitate his goals. Harry admired him for it.

Then the double doors which Remus was guarding groaned open, and there was a squelch of wet boots against the marble floor. Harry looked over the shoulders of the many people blocking Regulus' exit from the house, to see a blond, tattooed man not much older than Bill Weasley walk through the doors. His blue eyes were blood-shot, his cheekbones stark, and he shivered in an oversized, tattered jacket. "Wetter than a kelpie's quim ou' there," he greeted in a gruff, tired voice. "'lo Albus."

"Good evening, Mundungus," greeted Harry dutifully. "Wonderful of you to join us."

Mundungus skillfully wove past Remus, Mad-Eye, Tonks, and Shacklebolt; he bypassed them all with ease that visibly infuriated Moody, who had turned himself around trying to grab one of Mundungus's limbs.

From Harry's vantage point, he could see Mundungus jostle Albus slightly before stopping right next to him, but other than a quick, calculating glance at Albus' forehead, he didn't stare.

The Aurors of the group regarded Mundungus with a mixture of disgust and impotent anger; Mundungus just itched his scruffy, sharp jaw and smirked back at them. "Mornin', coppers."

"It's half three, Dung," said Remus with fond exasperation, leaning against the kitchen counter. It was strange for Harry to see, but Remus was clearly more comfortable and relaxed with Mundungus than with the more law-abiding Order members.

"Mornin' for me though, innit? Just rolled outta bed an 'our ago. Didn't mean to earwig, but y'said somethin' about Meadows?"

"Don't get your hopes up, Dung," said Remus, rolling his eyes, "Meadows of the deceased bird persuasion, not the smokes. And give Harry back whatever it is you just lifted from his pocket."

Albus startled, hands immediately going to his jeans, as though he was trying to remember if he'd kept anything important on him. Albus was in the middle of tugging one pocket inside-out, when Dung just winked and tossed Albus back the chocolate frog card that Harry had lost to him in poker last night.

Albus stared at Mundungus in disbelief; Regulus was looking at Mundungus as though he were the answer to prayers he hadn't even thought to send. "Hello…Dung," said Regulus, looking at the wizard from under half-lidded eyes, fixing him with an intrigued stare.

"S'up Black? Name's Mundungus Fletcher. Buyer and purveyor of wondrous objects."

The two smirked at each other and Harry had the distinctly alarmed thought: What have we done?

"Yer a bloody thief, and that's that," said Moody, menace so severe that both eyes swiveled to fix on Mundungus.

This seemed the final endorsement Regulus needed, for he threw an arm around Mundungus' shoulder, which the wizard laughingly accepted.

Mundungus leered at the old Auror, leaning into Regulus' side all the while. "That's an interestin' accusation, 'cos I woulda noticed if you'd ever got any o' those bleedin' charges to stick."

Yes, Harry could definitely see why Regulus would be so fond of Mundungus.

Regulus looked like he was barely restraining himself from cackling, his grey eyes glittering with wicked delight, and said to Mundungus, "Fate has smiled upon me."
Mundungus winked at him, "Wos' it Fate, or wos it just me, mate?"

"Dung," said Regulus reverently, "I don't suppose you would want to come hunt down Peter Pettigrew with me and Lupin?"

"I suppose I could be persuaded."

Remus looked to the ceiling and sighed. "I suppose I deserve this."

Regulus snapped his fingers at the werewolf. "Yes, you do. He's coming with us. Non-negotiable. We ride at dawn."

Regulus then turned to Harry, smug, with an expression that said, that'll teach you.

If there was a lesson in here somewhere, it was lost on Harry.

Harry's left eye twitched. His teeth grinded in his mouth. "It's not quite what I had in mind," he finally said, though anyone who knew him could surely hear the his silent what the fuck is this that goes after it.

Albus turned to Harry and said, "What could go wrong?" with the expression of a man who expected nothing but disaster.