Later that night, Regulus sighed and chucked the piece of paper at the fake dog sitting in the corner. Why Sirius decided to get a series of ceramic dog statues, he would never understand—Regulus thought growing up in a house with a row of beheaded house-elves would put anyone off realistic statues forever. But no, Sirius wanted visual representations of himself as the dog. Typical.
The egotistic older brother was currently in the kitchen, trying to figure out the instructions on the back of frozen pizza because he "always got hungry after nine."
"What does it mean, preheat the oven?" Sirius read aloud quizzically.
"Do you see the oven?"
"Yeah."
"Do you understand that heat is opposite of cold?"
He gave Regulus an annoyed look. "Git."
"It's called preheating because you don't want to stick the pizza in when the oven's cold." Sirius, nodding, began to adjust the nozzles on top of the oven, then he stood up, looking far too satisfied. "There."
"Congratulations," Regulus muttered. "You've acquired the basic skill-set of a five-year-old Muggle."
"Oi, at least I'm not the one being sulky ever since I learned that my ex moved on—"
"If you got sulky for every ex that moved on, you'd be clinically depressed by the end of the month."
"Exactly." Sirius hopped on the armchair across from him. "So stop feeling sorry for yourself."
"I'm not," Regulus replied a little too forcefully.
"Then what—"
"Look at this." Regulus retrieved the crumpled piece of paper and handed it to Sirius, whose face grew darker as he read down the list.
"Merlin," he said. Regulus sighed and nodded.
"Yup," he answered, popping his p's.
"It's like every single secure space in Great Britain." Sirius handed him the note back. "What do you think—"
"We need plans. Several plans." Regulus rubbed his temple. "Start with the ones with the lowest risk, slowly make our way up."
"And if we get caught or worse during, then—"
"We won't get caught," Regulus interrupted him. "That's the plan. The only plan."
Sirius rubbed his temple dubiously. "I need to think," he said. "Books. I need books."
"Since when?"
"I'm just gonna check in the bedroom to see—make sure the pizza doesn't burn, okay?" Without waiting for Regulus to respond, Sirius ran to his room and Regulus rolled his eyes.
"It's only been inside for five minutes, you idiot!"
But the half-hearted correction barely lifted his spirits. Regulus looked back at his note, pondering.
Slytherin: Locket-cave
Slytherin: Ring-house
(Possible) Ravenclaw: Diadem-?
(Possible) Hufflepuff: Cup-
(Possible) Gryffindor: Sword-?
(note to self: check Knockturn Alley)
One of them at Hogwarts.
Also: Ask Bella (in prison)
Another: Malfoy security concern (March 1st)
"The sword's probably unlikely, right?" Regulus yelled across the flat.
"What?" Came Sirius' muffled voice.
"The sword of Gryffindor. He probably wouldn't have—"
"I dunno," Sirius answered after a pause. "Wouldn't it be, like, the ultimate victory, to, like possess your enemy's prized possession or something?"
Regulus had to concede that it was a good point, but he wasn't about to tell Sirius that.
"Right," he muttered instead, peering into the fridge. Merlin knew that Sirius still had the eating habits of a five-year-old; the other day, he refused to eat broccoli with his steak and kidney pie despite Regulus' remonstrances that, well, he wasn't five anymore. He took out a head of lettuce and a few other vegetables to make a quick salad, and opened the cupboard to look for vinegar.
"Sirius?"
The answer took almost time at all.
"Stop bothering me!"
Regulus thought that his swallow must be audible from ten feet away, but he tried to keep his voice steady. "Buckingham excursion," he said casually.
The response from the other end of the flat was anything but casual; several cauldrons seemed to have dropped from the top shelf onto Sirius' head, to judge by the clanging and the clatter. Regulus shifted slightly, keeping his eyes on the contents of the cupboard.
"Sirius?" he called. Someone grunted.
"Yup," he said. "You sure, Reg?"
Regulus sighed. "Come here for a sec," he said. Sirius appeared, clutching his wand tightly in his hand with a crazy glint in his eye.
Where, he mouthed to Regulus. Regulus pointed his head at the cupboard, and Sirius approached quietly and peered inside. What he saw made him jump back in surprise and bang his head against the edge of the handle.
"Shi—" he began, but managed to clamp his mouth shut in time.
Buckingham excursion—more often known as Sirius Disaster #We've lost count how many, was a plan concocted by young Sirius when the siblings were about nine. Sirius had heard that there was to be a big parade of some sorts involving many Union Jacks and the royal family (to this day Regulus wasn't sure what the exact occasion was), and thought that it would be a grand idea to catch a sight of the parade, which was scheduled to end at the Buckingham Palace. Unfortunately, Kreacher had gotten a whiff of Sirius' interests while cleaning out the young boy's room, and reported all the Muggle pamphlets that he'd found in Master Sirius' bedroom to Mistress Black, who promptly locked the elder brother up in his room. Sirius' brilliant plan, of course, was to escape by jumping out of his bedroom which was incidentally on the third floor facing the pavement, and he enlisted the help of his reluctant younger brother. The outcome of this incident aside, Buckingham excursion came to be known as a code word between them for situations when their parents grew suspicious about their clandestine activities.
The code word had not been uttered for the past decade or so. There was no occasion in which they needed one. Until now.
An ear was cleverly attached to the side of the cupboard, where few would see unless one directly shined a light into the shelf at an odd angle. Zonko's product, Regulus surmised. Perhaps Sirius even worked on it at some point as an employee. Listening devices must have come to be in demand in recent years.
"I know you don't like vegetables, Sirius, but salad is good for you," Regulus chided loudly, casually taking out the bottle of vinegar and closing the cupboard door. Sirius coughed awkwardly.
"Merlin, you're worse than our mother," he said, but his eyes were quickly scanning his entire flat, looking for possible points of infiltration. Regulus began to slice the cucumbers, trying to feel whether his wand was still in his back pocket.
"And you're growing more and more childish every day," Regulus said, and mouthed, we need to get out of here. Sirius nodded.
"Just get the pizza," he snapped, pointing at his large duffle bag in the living room. I'll pack. Regulus began to vigorously toss the salad.
"Don't forget to wash your hands," Regulus said. Sirius shook his head.
"Shut up," he said, but he was heading to the bathroom. Good. It was where they kept the emergency medicine.
It was one of the tensest meals they had, which was saying something, but it was the first time when they were eating together tensely without wanting to kill each other. They scribbled quickly on a piece of parchment between them, chewing the pizza as loudly as both of them could manage with their Pureblood breeding (it was more difficult than Regulus imagined). The silent conversation, broken by a few audible "pass the napkins" and "stop chewing so loudly," went like this:
Since when?
I don't know. Today, probably. I didn't see it yesterday.
Ministry?
Regulus nodded grimly.
Unless you have other people in mind. I can think of a few broken hearts.
Contrary to popular belief, I don't just bring in anybody here, you know.
Regulus rolled his eyes.
What now?
We'll have to leave. Soon. Best tonight.
Where?
"Reg, you remember that bird I told you about?" Sirius suddenly said loudly.
"It's called providing context, Sirius," Regulus replied sullenly.
"From work. Y'know, the one Bertie mentioned."
"Oh yes. The old man with exceptionally poor taste."
"I wouldn't say exceptionally poor—"
"He would have to have an exceptionally poor taste, to recommend you to his daughter." Sirius' annoyed glare was a little too realistic.
"Yes, well," Sirius said, smacking a saccharine smile on his face. "I thought we might go out tonight."
"You have fun." It's Thursday, you idiot. No one's going to go out.
You got a better idea?
What after that?
We'll at least shake them off our trails. Get rid of our scent.
We're not dogs, Sirius. At least, I'm not.
"What is that supposed to mean—" Sirius began, forgetting their silence, and Regulus swiftly kicked him under the table.
What about Alex, Sirius?
Sirius frowned. What about her?
We mentioned her, didn't we?
Sirius' face paled. Shit, he mouthed.
We have to warn them.
I agree, Sirius scribbled furiously. But I really doubt that all communication to and from this building's not monitored. We have to get out of here before trying anything else.
Regulus clenched his teeth but looked away. Sirius was right.
Half an hour later, the flat looked, for all intents and purposes, ready for the night. All the dishes were washed and drying, even the cushions on the sofa were neatly piled up, and both of them had brushed their teeth. Regulus announced that he was tired and that he was going to turn in early, and Sirius had made some snide remark about him having the body of an eighty-year-old man. Regulus shut the door and looked around his bedroom, his hand gripping the end of his wand. He looked around. It was a good thing that he didn't unpack from the Ministry raid. At least most of his essential items were already packed. He heard the door of the other bedroom shut. Good. Sirius was in his position.
With a small crack, Sirius Apparated onto his bed, clutching his duffle bag.
Ready? He mouthed. Regulus nodded. Sirius nodded grimly back and handed him a flash. Regulus took a sniff and wrinkled his nose. Polyjuice Potion.
"Just in case," Sirius muttered, and then, without waiting for a response, grabbed Regulus' wrist and Disapparated.
The pulsing beat. The rhythm of the music could match Regulus' heartbeat in its intensity and speed; Regulus looked around the darkened hall warily. Dozens of people about his age were chatting loudly over the already deafening music and Regulus peered out from behind the secluded alcove that Sirius managed to Apparate them to. They appeared to be at some sort of Muggle pub, but it seemed a little more specific—a club?
"Where are we?" Regulus yelled.
"It's an underground club!" Sirius yelled back. "I come here sometimes. To hang out."
Regulus scowled. He was not the one for "hanging out." This didn't escape Sirius' notice.
"We need to collect specimen," Sirius said.
"What?" Regulus yelled, certain that he'd heard wrong.
"SPE-CI-MEN. Hair samples. Skin cells. Whatever you want."
"Sirius," Regulus growled, hoping that even Sirius wouldn't be so outrageous as to suggest such an activity at such a time. "This isn't the time for one of your conquests. You want to collect samples of girls' hair? Do it when we're not being chased by the bloody bloodthirsty Ministry!"
"What?" Sirius frowned, already dancing. "I meant for the Polyjuice Potion, you idiot. They know you're alive and with me now. We'll need disguises." Regulus' eyes widened. Whatever the Aurors heard on their end, it must've contained two voices. One called Sirius. The other one Regulus, more frequently the "idiot." The public ignorance regarding his survival—the only weapon that Regulus had working for him—was gone. And, as he feared over and over, Sirius was on their watch list right with him.
Of all the times when they could be together.
"You have to go," Regulus yelled frantically. Sirius shook his head.
"Don't be stupid."
"They know you're with me—"
"Whether I stay behind or not. If I stay in my flat they'll have all the evidence to capture me and hold me indefinitely for questioning. And I don't have the patience for all that."
Regulus let out a shaky breath. His brain was getting foggy with all the panic and worry. "What are we going to do?"
"I told you, collect samples. We're not particular about what we look like, and everyone here's a Muggle. And then we'll—check up on them. Yeah?" Regulus nodded reluctantly and Sirius melted into the crowd, like fish in the sea.
"Meet you outside in thirty minutes!" he yelled after Sirius and saw a thumbs-up rise and fall in middle of the crowd. Regulus sighed and closed his eyes, leaning against the wall.
Parties were not an unfamiliar place—Pureblood societies held them often enough. Underground parties with pink lights, thick, ill-ventilated air, and sweaty bodies were also not unfamiliar, though Regulus would be hard-pressed to say that he enjoyed being in them. The reasons he usually found himself in these sorts of places tended to be less than savory enough for dinner conversations, and Regulus himself repressed his memories of them as much as possible. But he remembered the cheap thrill of physical gratification, momentary oblivion from his present cares—distractions for a desperate soul that couldn't bear to live. He doubted that everyone here felt that way, but still there was something eerily familiar in the flashing lights and the smoke rising from different corners of the room.
"Fancy a dance?" a girl—barely twenty, Regulus bet—came up to him and batted her eyelashes. Regulus tried to recreate the easy, vacant smile that he once knew and followed her onto the dance floor.
He didn't know the steps. He could barely hear the music or figure out the rhythm. But the girl was doing something and Regulus tried to mimic her actions and what others around him were doing, trying to convince himself that he was as attractive as he'd once been, before his injuries. Part of blending in was smoothness, and smoothness came from confidence, he knew that…
But by Merlin's baggy pants was he relieved to escape the hell that was Sirius' "hanging-out place."
"Bloody hell," Regulus gasped out when Sirius pulled him into a nearby alley. Their bodies were flush against each other in order to avoid attention, but Regulus didn't appreciate the smell of various perfumes and sweat coming off of Sirius. Or seeing his face so close up.
"You reckon you got enough?"
"What sort of a dance is that?"
"From your interpretation, I'd say a tadpole trying to tap."
"Not. Funny." Regulus panted. "And why is it—so—damn—aerobic?"
Sirius snickered. "Surely not too much for the former Seeker of the Slytherin Quidditch team?" he said.
"I miss the days when we could just take Oblivius and not talk for a few hours," Regulus muttered. Sirius' eyes widened.
"Merlin, you didn't actually go to one of those clubs, did you?"
Regulus didn't answer. Sirius whistled.
"Even I don't have access to those places."
"Money helps," Regulus snapped. "Now what's our plan?"
Sirius took out his flask. "Bottoms up," he said. Regulus took out his own flask, added a hair from his pocket, and then took a swig.
The second transformation wasn't as painful as the first, him knowing what to expect after the first time. Regulus leaned against the brick wall, slightly nauseated, and Sirius gagged like a dog. Regulus looked at him, slightly concerned, before taking an automatic step back.
"Merlin," Regulus said. "What were you thinking?"
Sirius shrugged. "It's a disguise," he said.
"Sirius, you're a woman."
Sirius looked down. All things considered, Regulus supposed that everything turned out quite well, though Sirius seemed to be struggling with weights now pulling him in… unexpected directions. Sirius experimentally put his hands on his breasts and lifted them slightly, his face widening in wonder.
"Wow," he said. Regulus didn't know whether to start laughing or scolding.
"Now's not the time," he said, struggling to keep a straight face.
"C'mon, even you have to admit that this is an interesting development."
"Change into this," Regulus responded by throwing him a beaded, black dress. Sirius caught it and examined it critically, unusually woman-like, in the dim alley.
"Where did you get this?" he asked suspiciously.
"Someone started stripping. Figured a dress might come in handy." Regulus shrugged defensively. "I got a few hairs off girls, too."
Sirius began to snicker in earnest. "You? A girl? Please."
Regulus raised his eyebrow. "You think I can't do it? It's just a disguise."
"You don't know the first thing about treating a lady right," Sirius said in a high falsetto, which sounded less mocking in a female voice. "Are you going to make a woman change in middle of a winter night in an empty alley? Who knows what'll happen…"
"If someone attacks you," Regulus drawled, "I'll help them."
Muttering something men being pigs, Sirius began to take of his clothes and held them out to Regulus, who grudgingly took them and shoved them in their bag.
"Shoes!" Sirius suddenly yelled out.
"What?" Regulus asked tiredly.
"Shoes," Sirius said. "I need proper shoes for these, no sane woman's going to go around in these shoes. They don't match."
"Sirius," Regulus said, keeping his temper. "Did I mention that the entire Ministry of Magic might be after us and that sooner or later we'll be living the life of fugitives?"
"And I'm trying to get us out of this," Sirius hissed. "By being convincing. You think these shoes make a convincing woman?" He dangled his loafers in front of Regulus' face which, Regulus had to admit, were at least three sizes too big for Sirius' current frame.
"Fine," Regulus snapped, snatching the shoes and drawing out his wand.
"I expect a very fashionable sartorial transfiguration, Reggie."
"Shut. Up."
"Heels might be nice, but not too tall, I wouldn't want to overshadow you…"
"What's that?" Regulus said, squinting his eyes down the dark alley.
"That is, unless you can stand a taller woman, which I don't think your character can…"
"Quiet," Regulus hissed. Sirius finally shut up, and they both stared darkly into the night.
"I don't see anything," Sirius said.
"Maybe not," Regulus admitted. "Wait! That silvery figure!"
"Thank Merlin," Sirius breathed out. Regulus frowned.
"You know what that is?"
"It's a Patronus!" at Regulus' uncomprehending face, Sirius looked at him quizzically. "How can you not know what that is? We learned in our Sixth year."
"Right, right," Regulus said, not knowing how to explain that the Patronus charm was at the bottom of most Death Eaters' priority. A spell requiring a happy memory. Very rare among Death Eaters indeed. "Whose?"
"We'll find out," Sirius said. "Give me my shoes. We have to follow it." After strapping on his pair of heels, Sirius promptly pushed his bag into Regulus' arms.
"Such a gentleman," he said, smiling sweetly, before setting after the silvery smoke. Regulus grunted, disgruntled, and set off after Sirius.
The four-legged Patronus was crawling in a circle by a small dead-end, where small piles of trash and miscellaneous objects had accumulated over the years from three buildings that surrounded the space. Regulus kept a wide berth—he remembered enough about Patronuses, but he didn't know the full extent of its capacity and—to be honest—felt as though it would attack him on account of his inability to produce happiness in this world. Crazy thought, he knew, but for some reason the figure caused an uneasy shiver to run through his heart. Sirius, on the other hand, was like an inquisitive puppy.
"Hello," he said, holding out his hand. "Do you want to come to me? Good boy!" Regulus took a step closer and realized that the four-legged figure was a dog—no, not a dog. A wolf.
"Might be a girl," Regulus suggested.
"That really doesn't matter—"
"We're being watched," the wolf spoke in Alex's voice. "We're not sure by whom, but I think we've been compromised. Can't leave suddenly, but we'll meet you in Berwick upon Tweed. Wait for us." The wolf stared eerily at the two of them before vanishing into the night air. Sirius and Regulus stood in silence for a while, watching the spot where the wolf just had been.
"Reckon it's a trap?"
Sirius rubbed his eyes tiredly—the first sign of fatigue he's shown all day. "Dunno," he said. "Can't think of anyone whose Patronus is a wolf, though, except—" he abruptly stopped. "Must be Wilson's. You know where this Berwick is?"
Regulus nodded. "All the way up north. About a six-hour bus ride, give or take."
"Alright, then," Sirius said. And then: "Merlin."
"What?"
"We really are running, aren't we?" And in Sirius' face Regulus saw the ghosts that haunted every person he knew in his adolescent years: the nearing war, unpredictable attacks, and the uncertainty of knowing who was on the side of the law and who wasn't, who was right and who was wrong…
"Well, Miss Black," Regulus said bracingly, leading Sirius by the shoulder. "We can't keep a lady out in this weather for long. Let's get you inside." Sirius snorted.
"Hey, Reg?"
"What?"
"You reckon they'll have proper breakfast, this Berwick?"
A/N: And I'm back! For those who returned to this story after such a long break, thank you so much! I've been struggling with Redemption (and The Soldier) as things changed in my life and I began to have new perspectives on the characters-and also didn't have much time to write because of school. But the ending is more or less written now, so all I have to do is fill in the rest by actually writing (woo-hoo!). I know that this chapter is shorter than the rest, and I think that'll be the case from now on-but I think there will be more frequent updates. Anyway, thanks for keeping up and tell me what you think!
