December 31st, 1976
The end-of-the-year party at the Malfoy Manor was absolute torture. Regulus felt the muscles of his cheek strain under the activity of smiling gracefully constantly at every congratulation he received of becoming the new heir of the Black family: what a wonderful news, people said, Sirius was good-for-nothing, but Regulus, always proper, would make a fine heir. Congratulations Regulus, you are now assuming your rightful place, what a waste of talent you were, born the second son to such promising parents, what wonderful news yet again—
"Master Black," the man said, approaching him like everyone else, and Regulus thought that his brain was going into a temporary freeze from all the insincerity that he received and spewed back out. It was as if his lips were incapable of uttering words other than "thank you" and "my sentiments exactly." The said man cut a rather unimpressive figure among the well-dressed purebloods. His robes were simple and black, completely practical, and his hair was cut short without much attention paid to detail or aesthetic. His shoulders were broad, however, and his stance was solid. What his age was, Regulus couldn't say exactly. His hair was dark without any hint of gray, and his eyes were also dark—and somehow the most notable feature about him. They reminded Regulus of something, or someone, but he couldn't place whom.
Regulus, as per greeting a perfect stranger, smiled politely and shook the proffered hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mister—"
"Warner," the man said, not looking very insulted at Regulus' ignorance. "Aelius Warner. The pleasure's all mine. I've heard much about you." Something in the way he stressed his words made Regulus suspect that Warner had been keeping eyes on him for some time.
"I—cannot quite say the same," Regulus said, looking appropriately abashed. Warner shrugged nonchalantly—a sign of his breeding. Warner obviously wasn't brought up in the high society—which made Regulus wonder even more. What was he doing in the Malfoy Manor?
"I've heard about your interest in the Cause from your parents," Warner said casually, as if they were exchanging basic pleasantries. "I've been looking into you and your fellow students for a while now, Master Black, and I'm obligated to tell you that your recent… movement in your position has certainly placed you in the Dark Lord's favor." Throughout the entire speech Warner kept a casual lookout in the crowd that would have had Regulus believe that he was merely surveying the crowd. His words made him realize, however, that Warner was actually scanning every person that passed by his radar, not catching any details large or small His eyes, almost shark-like in their intensity (and lack of movement), were actually perceiving the smallest detail that even Regulus was not attuned to catching.
"You're the Recruiter," Regulus said, remembering something about a background check that Lucius had warned him about. Warner shrugged again unapologetically, and somehow this shrug reminded Regulus of something, just like Warner's eyes, but he couldn't remember again…
"That's what some people call me," he said. "Others call me by other things. You will soon know me as something else—if all goes well, that is." Warner smiled. It wasn't a particularly nice smile. Regulus reciprocated the smile, teeth for teeth.
"I understand."
"I'm glad we have an understanding," Warner nodded. "Speaking of which, I've been informed that you've been… connected to a girl of uncertain repute." His words were again casual, his tone loaded with nothing but pleasantries. Regulus also shrugged to match his tone.
"She means nothing to me now," he said, sipping his mead. The finest quality mead, Regulus knew in his head, as the Malfoys tolerated nothing but the finest, but it tasted only bitter in his mouth. "Surely you must've heard about that as well."
"I was," Warner said neutrally, but something told Regulus that he had ticked Warner off the wrong way. But how that happened, Regulus had no idea—everyone else was completely excited to know that Regulus had finally let go of his "childish delusions" and decided to get serious about choosing an appropriate mate. "But I wanted to confirm it, just in case."
"Consider it confirmed," Regulus said, smiling politely at Warner. Warner didn't return the smile.
"Indeed," he said instead, and bowed slightly to Regulus before leaving without another word.
Regulus didn't think twice about the encounter. If Warner had been keeping an eye on him, Regulus didn't know until now, which meant that his methods must have been clandestine enough to escape Regulus' notice. There seemed little use in getting paranoid about who was watching him, especially in the pureblood society, where everyone was watching him anyway to begin with—this kind of scrutiny was nothing that Regulus was not already used to. Besides, he had nothing to hide, absolutely nothing at all—except for his relationship with Alex, that is—funny, that Warner should mention her in their first interview—
But now the reason for this seemed crystal clear.
"Dad?" Alex's surprise was evident, but Regulus didn't know how on Merlin's soggy pants Alex would be able to recognize her father, whom she had never seen before. Unless, of course, it was that—
"Alex," Warner was wearing an expression that Regulus didn't see on his face before. A kind of—tired relief, it seemed. Definitely unfit for the Recruiter, much less a member of the Dark Lord's circle. But Warner? What kind of a name was that? Wasn't Alex's original last name Wymond?
Oh, and it just happened to be that he told Warner that he cared nothing for his daughter. It seemed an appropriate thing to say to the Recruiter, but to the father of his girlfriend, it seemed—inadvisable.
"What are you doing here?" Alex said, looking both excited and puzzled. "It's Hogsmeade, and I haven't seen you since last summer."
"I thought I'd just—check in on you." Something about the way Warner talked seemed off to Regulus. A bit awkward. A bit affectionate, a bit apologetic—vulnerable. Warner that he saw in the Malfoy Manor had been completely self-possessed to the point even Regulus had to wonder if a pin could make Warner bleed. Apparently, it could.
"I'm okay," Alex said, frowning a bit. Regulus noticed that despite their tone, both Alex and Warner—Wymond? —seemed to keep a certain amount of distance from each other, as if going too close might tick the universe in a wrong direction.
"Are you going to introduce me to your—friends?" Warner said, hesitantly smiling at her. Alex looked at Regulus, who shrugged. So he was supposed to be acting indifferent to Alex, while also trying to appease her by not being too distant, while maintaining a safe distance from Warner, who seemed to have no intention of letting Alex know that he had already met Regulus at the Malfoy Manor. Something told Regulus that Alex didn't know whom her father worked for. Quite possibly because Alex would be less than thrilled about it. Regulus suddenly remembered that the Wilsons—Alex's grandparents—had disowned their daughter for her choice in marriage; they would not approve of a Death Eater as a son-in-law… and Sophia Wilson herself was no supporter of the Dark Lord's causes, either.
A father missing from his daughter's life for the past sixteen years, now discovered to be a member of the Dark Lord's circle, if not a Death Eater. The mother, a staunch bloodtraitor, quitted the magical world—presumably before Alex was even born. The pieces were beginning to fall into their places. Regulus stared at the two Wymonds, feeling that he had finally solved the puzzle that Alex had set out to solve when she first came to Hogwarts.
By all rights he should tell her. He had to tell her. But he didn't know how she would react. Would she side with her mother? Her father? What was better for Regulus and their relationship? Would the knowledge that her father was involved in the Dark Lord's mission place Regulus' own family in a more favorable light?
The family resemblance, now that Regulus knew to expect it, was more than uncanny. The strong eyebrows, the dark eyes, stubborn set of the mouth. They were all there in Alex, somewhat softened by Sophia Wilson's once-carefree smiles and laughter. How could Regulus have missed it?
Alex, meanwhile, was trying to figure out the conundrum of her social life.
"Um," she said, giving Regulus an uncertain glance. Trying to play the part that Regulus asked her to. Guilty, Regulus stepped forward and introduced himself.
"Mr. Wilson," he said smoothly, offering Warner his hand. "I'm Regulus Black, Alex's—housemate."
Warner's smile could have frozen a melting ice cream in a Mexican beach on a hot summer afternoon. "Hello, Regulus," he said, grasping Regulus' hand very, very tightly. "And you are?"
"Henry," Lee muttered vaguely, looking away. Alex was beginning to look lost between her estranged father, her fake-broken-up boyfriend, and a male friend whose friendship was—questionable, in Regulus' eyes.
"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that," Warner said politely. Lee stopped slouching and looked at Warner fully in the face.
"Henryk Lee," Lee said, offering Warner his hand. Warner cocked his head to one side thoughtfully. For a second, Regulus thought that there was recognition in Warner's dark eyes. If there was, however, it flashed momentarily before Warner managed to hide it. His smile was even frostier than before.
"I see," he said, shaking Lee's hand as well. "And you're my daughter's boyfriend?"
Alex's face, to her credit, went from pale confusion to beetroot red within seconds. Regulus, on the other hand, knew that the jibe was directed at him—at Regulus Black, a "spoiled brat," to quote Lee, who told his girlfriend's own father that his daughter meant nothing to him.
"No, no, no," Alex answered quickly, waving her had furiously in denial. "He's just a friend. He's an exchange student, actually—from Bulgaria. We didn't know each other until several months ago."
"Really," Warner said, his frosty smile still in place. "I thought Henryk was a Polish name. Are you Bulgarian, Henryk?" Again something of a recognition seemed to pass between Lee and Warner, but Regulus couldn't figure out what it was. Lee answered with a polite smile.
"I was born in Poland," he said. "My parents thought that it would be nice to honor the country, considering its… less than fortunate recent history."
"How nice," Warner said. Until Lee began to talk, Regulus didn't realize that Warner sounded entirely English—something that shouldn't have mattered much, as most of the people that Malfoys associated themselves with were either English or French. But Warner's English suddenly felt foreign. "And your parents are Bulgarian, I presume?"
"No," Lee answered monosyllabically.
"Tell me more." This sounded more like a command than a request. Something steely entered Warner's face and even Regulus had to recoil from the force of the expression.
"Really, Dad—" Alex began to protest, feeling the imposition of Warner's face as well. But Lee shrugged easily.
"It's a long story," he said. "My great-great-great-great grandfather was Korean. That's where I got the name from. He came to Isfahan in a merchant ship via China and married a Persian woman there. My father came from a small village by the Caspian Sea—he was born in Azerbaijan. I suppose that the family had migrated there between generations, marrying the local people. He met my mother in Romania."
"I didn't know that," Alex said curiously. Regulus reminded himself once again that Alex still wasn't very used to the wizard history—international wizard society still seemed to awe her a bit… "Were they all wizards?"
"I think so," Lee said. "The family records aren't very clear, but they all suggest that everyone knew what magic was, at least." Warner, on the other hand, seemed completely unimpressed by the tale.
"And your mother's side?" Warner asked, a scathing smile on his face. Something in Lee's face turned stony, matching Warner's former steely look.
"It's a very dull tale," he said politely.
"I doubt it," Warner replied, equally polite.
"It truly is."
"Dad!" Alex said timidly. "I think that's enough—why don't you ask Regulus about his family? Reg knows all about his family history…" Regulus resisted the urge to shoot Alex an annoyed look. She knew how much he disliked talking about his family history, as if that was the only thing worth knowing about him. Warner, however, gave Alex a wan smile.
"I'm sure it's nothing that I haven't heard before," he said pleasantly to Regulus, but Regulus knew the message behind the words: I know everything there is to know about your family. Bloody hell, Regulus wouldn't be surprised if Warner had gotten the minutest details about his family's financial records dating back a hundred years.
"But I'd like to talk with you alone, Alex—if you don't mind," Warner continued, and Alex scratched her head shyly.
"Alone? —alright," she said diffidently and began to follow Warner toward the edge of the village, where the Shrieking Shack was. Lee began to set off after them, almost impulsively, but Warner turned around and gave him a firm look when Alex was distracted by a butterfly on a fence. Regulus looked between them, uncomprehending.
"What do you know about him?" he asked. This seemed to snap Lee out of whatever trance he was in.
"About whom?" Lee said, his voice suspiciously blank.
"Him—Alex's father. Whatever his name is."
"How the Lech would I know what her father's name is? He didn't tell us and she certainly didn't tell me." Lee began to stalk toward the center of the village and Regulus, feeling undignified and definitely un-Black, began to run after him.
"You know him," Regulus accused.
"No."
"You know him."
"Stop following me, Black. The precious Slytherin Prince couldn't be seen following someone like me, now, could he?" Lee quickened his pace even further.
"Stop running away and face me, damn it." To his surprise, Lee stopped abruptly and turned around, looking straight into Regulus' face with his flashing, stormy blue eyes.
"Weren't you listening before? This is beyond your comprehension. Stop following me, and stop asking me questions." Without waiting for an answer Lee turned around and walked away, going further and further away until he was just a mere point on a horizon. Regulus looked after him, feeling uncharacteristically foolish and small.
What was going on?
The month before Easter his mother had sent him a letter asking if he was planning to come back home for break. Regulus knew that there was one correct answer to this question—if this kind of demand could even be called a question—and as he had been trying to appease his mother on most matters so that she might be more open to some ideas that he had, he promptly answered that he would come home.
At that time he had not been expecting to get into a fight with Alex nor that they would not speak to each other for almost two weeks without once having some time together away from the crowd. The day before Easter—almost a week after the Hogsmeade trip—during the prefect rounds, Regulus decided that he would need to do something about their relationship. But the memory of her father kept holding him back.
"So," he said casually as he would address any other housemate—although he would never ask his housemates if they were staying at the castle. "Are you staying at Hogwarts for the break?"
Alex looked entirely absorbed in checking off every classroom on the fourth floor and didn't even look up from the floorplan. "Yes," she said, scratching her quill against the parchment.
"Any special plans, or—"
"Regulus, if you don't mind, we're trying to catch people out after curfew, not warn them we're coming." Despite the politeness of her tone, Regulus didn't fail to notice the bite at the end of each word. He swallowed his sigh.
"It's the day before the break, everyone's going to be packing anyway," he said dully.
"If you're bored, you can go back to the Common Room. I can finish the round by myself."
"Alex," Regulus said. She turned around and gave him a look.
"Yes, Regulus?" She stared at his face, her face void of expression—not even annoyance—and something cracked in his demeanor despite his better knowledge that they were still in public.
"I'm sorry," he said, his voice crumbling. Alex raised her eyebrows.
"For what?" she said.
"I don't know," Regulus said honestly. For using you and making you feel cheap. For never being able to tell you how I feel. For not telling you about your dad. For dragging you into the family mess that I've always wanted to get out of. "I don't know, but I am sorry. I—never wanted to hurt you." Alex looked away and kept walking down the corridor.
"You keep doing that, though," she said to the parchment.
"And I hate that I keep doing that."
"Doesn't change the fact that it keeps happening." She paused for a few seconds, as if deliberating if she should say more. "I don't know if I can keep doing this anymore, Reg," she finally said.
"Alex—"
"Calling you Regulus like everybody else, watching every girl in the Slytherin house flirt with you, trying to see if they can score the new Black heir, listening to boys laughing at me and how pathetic my name and family is—"
"Alex, I'm sorry—"
"But none of that would matter," Alex seethed, "if you were there."
"I—I am here. For you. I am."
"Are you?" Alex asked, looking straight into his face for the first time. "Are you really? Because for some reason, Regulus, I feel more and more alone after every time we're together."
"But try to see it from my side," Regulus said, trying to suppress the frustration that he felt—not at her, he knew that, deep inside, but at the moment she was the one calling him out on every mistake he made. "Can't you? You said a few weeks ago that we were best friends. So try to see it from my side."
"Reg—"
"I lost a brother. My only brother. And my parents won't even talk about it. In fact, they would probably hex me if I even mentioned his name. And for some reason, everyone else that I meet seems to be find with that. In fact, my own brother seems to be fine with that. Apparently I'm the only one who's grieving that he left, that he's gone, and I'm supposed to be the new heir, which I never wanted to be. And now my mother has heaped on all the disappointment that she felt at Sirius on me, expecting me to the perfect heir, and I can't disappoint her without letting the entire family dissolve, because Merlin knows that my father certainly doesn't care how my mother is doing, and most of the times it feels like I can't take a breath without my lungs burning, no matter where I am, except for one place." Regulus' words flowed out of his mouth before he could even register what he was saying. "Next to you. I feel like I can breathe next you. You're like the first ray of sunlight in a rainy day."
"Regulus." Regulus couldn't even look at Alex's face, couldn't stand to know what expression she would have there.
"So why can't you be there for me?" Regulus asked bleakly. "Just for a while?"
"I want to be there for you," Alex said quietly. "It hurts to see you struggle so much. But it also hurts me every time I try, and I don't know if you could do the same for me."
"So tell me what I can do," he said desperately.
"I don't know!" Alex's frustrated voice rang through the corridor, but she seemed to not notice. "I just don't know. Everyone's telling me that I should just end it, and even I'm telling myself that I should end it, but I don't want to, and—" her voice grew higher and higher in distress until it cracked, and Alex broke down in front of him, sobbing. Regulus realized that he'd never seen Alex cry—not even when she was talking about her family, her relatives, everything else—never. But she was crying now, and he was the reason she was crying.
"Alex," Regulus murmured, desperately trying to sound soothing. He reached out for her and held her in his arms, rocking her back and forth. She didn't resist. "Alex."
She sniffled. "Reg," she sniffled. Regulus tightened his arms around her.
"Tell me."
"It's scary," she whispered.
"What's scary?"
"Mom's just—she hasn't written back."
"Maybe she's busy."
"Maybe." Alex sniffled again. "And—Dad's back again, saying that I should be careful—"
"About what?"
"I don't know, he wouldn't say," her tears had stopped, or so it felt, but her breaths were still shaky. Regulus stroked her hair. "And, and—couldn't we tell Leila, Reg? She wouldn't tell anyone…"
"Parkinson?" Regulus said skeptically.
"You're right, she's only going to say 'I told you so'…" Alex muttered darkly. Regulus' hands automatically tightened. Alex stayed silent for a while.
"Reg?" she said in a small voice.
"Hmm?"
"Won't you kiss me?" She looked up at him, her eyes wide with feeling, her lashes still wet from her tears. Redness around her eyes and splashed across her cheeks from emotion, and her lips swollen from teary confessions. There was nothing else in the world. So forgetting everything else, he bent down and kissed her again and again for all he was worth.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
The train ride back home was uneventful, except for one.
"So, Black," Parkinson, who had been quietly pursuing her Quidditch Through the Ages had approached him without making a sound. "What's our plan against the Gryffindors? The final match, you know."
Regulus vaguely looked back at her. The sight outside the window hadn't been very interesting… "That's only meant for the Quidditch team to know, Leila," he said mildly.
"Alright," Parkinson said offhandedly. "Then riddle me this: what are you going to do about Alex?" Alarm jumped inside of him but Regulus forced himself to look back at her just as mildly as before.
"What about Alex?" he said, hating the way his voice sounded so perfectly calm. He remembered their stolen kisses just a few hours ago, right after breakfast when he had to leave the castle grounds. Her sweet caresses. His name on her lips. For the thousandth time Regulus wondered if he couldn't just stay at Hogwarts, an almost empty castle, sharing most of his time with her—but he had to go.
"Cut the crap," Parkinson snapped, but the pleasant smile was plastered on her face. "I know about you two." Regulus paused.
"She told you?" he asked eventually, still very calmly. Parkinson scoffed.
"No," she said. "She probably knows that I won't approve. Besides, it's not that hard to figure out." The alarm inside him jerked once again and something in his expression must've showed, because Parkinson scoffed again.
"It's not that obvious. I'm just used to watching her, that's all."
"Very well," Regulus said quietly.
"You still haven't answered my question."
"My answer, Parkinson, is that it's none of your business," Regulus said pleasantly. He didn't know what it was with Parkinson and train rides—couldn't she leave him alone for once?
"And my answer, Black, is that you need to get your priorities straight," Parkinson hissed. Regulus tried not to let his surprise show, but his eyebrows moved in their own accord. She called him Black, now, did she? Those within the Slytherin house were almost forbidden from calling Regulus by his family name…
"You do know that she can speak for herself, don't you?" Regulus drawled. "She doesn't need her—friends defending her." The memory of Lee catching him unawares in Hogsmeade brought a sour taste in his mouth again.
"You're supposed to be one of her friends," Parkinson hissed. "And you're certainly not looking after her. So I'm intervening. Again."
"Piss off," Regulus muttered, childishly looking out the window again. Parkinson was obviously not simply going to piss off, but the emergence of a sixth-year Olivia Greengrass seemed to shut her up nevertheless. Regulus could honestly say that he had never been more relieved to receive attention from a female Slytherin.
"Hello, Regulus," Greengrass purred. Parkinson left, snorting in disgust.
To his surprise, his father was waiting for him at King's Cross Station.
"Regulus," he said. "We need to discuss some matters before you arrive."
"Hello, Father," Regulus said, not without some irony. "How have you been?"
Orion Black ignored his sons's greeting completely. "There has been some new development on the Grimmauld Place," he said. "A bit of remodeling, if you will."
"Oh?" Regulus said, politely interested. It would seem that his mother had finally gotten his way and replaced the gaudy molding with something even gaudier...
"Yes," his father said, briskly walking amongst the bustling crowd at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. "Do you know how we had blocked the cellar?" Regulus remembered.
"There was too much of a draft. It was closed at the turn of the century." Orion Black nodded.
"We've decided to rebuild it," he said. Regulus tilted his head ton one side—the most he was going to show his curiosity. The cellar had been a bit of a bother, as far as Regulus understood; Grimmauld Place was never short of rooms, and Sirius Black, his great-grandfather, had decided to relocate the precious wines and spirits to a different room to get rid of the bothersome stone room.
"Why?" Regulus asked. His father looked around warily.
"Too many people here," he muttered at the corner of his mouth. "Hold my arm."
Before he had the chance to brace himself, Regulus felt his body being sucked into a whirlpool of time and space. His ears throbbed when he finally came to his senses again at the entrance hallway of his ancestral home.
"Master Black! Master Regulus!" Kreacher's high, familiar voice greeted them, and Regulus smiled down at the elf despite his father's presence.
"Hullo, Kreacher," he said. Kreacher beamed up at him, but his smile faltered when he saw his young master's face.
"Is something wrong with Master Regulus?" he asked. "Is the school food not agreeing with him?"
"Nothing's wrong, Kreacher," Regulus assured him. "It's just been a busy semester."
"Kreacher, leave us," his father said peremptorily. Kreacher did not look very pleased at the command, but obeyed it nonetheless.
"You shouldn't talk to the house-elves so easily," his father scolded him the moment Kreacher disappeared. "They're servants. What's more, they're elves. They're beneath you on so many levels. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Regulus said quietly. His father's eyes narrowed.
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, sir," Regulus said, trying to keep his defiance out of his voice. His father seemed satisfied with the answer.
"Well, then," his father said, leading him to the staircase. "Lucius Malfoy contacted us right after the party he hosted. Apparently the Recruiter was very satisfied with you, and the Dark Lord decided that the Black family should be taking larger part of his mission, as we should."
"I see," Regulus said. The news of the Dark Lord's approval of him should've filled him with pride and anticipation, but all Regulus felt was a tightening of the knot in his stomach. So Warner was satisfied with him. Was that a good thing?
"As it turned out, he needed a—holding place to keep certain things secure," his father continued. "And what other better place than Grimamuld place? Its location in London is, anyone would admit, superb, and the house itself has been kept a secret for longer than thirteen generations. Only a handful of people know its address. Not to mention, of course, the protective spells layered on the building by generations. We're a virtual fortress."
"So you've decided to remodel the cellar," Regulus concluded. "What are we keeping down there, then? Some artifact?"
"Prisoners," Orion Black answered. Regulus' steps faltered.
"Prisoners?"
"Here we are," his father answered, clasping his hand on Regulus' shoulder. They were standing in front of a door that had stood as a mere decoration for decades. "Mind, some of them are still—recalcitrant. All wandless, of course, you've nothing to fear."
"I—" Regulus looked at the door uncertainly. "What are you expecting me to do, Father?"
Orion Black smiled without humor. "Anything," he said. "They are at your command—until the Dark Lord has need for them, that is." He opened the door with a set of magical keys from his pockets and Regulus looked down the dark staircase, feeling the cold wind gush at his face.
"Lumos," he murmured, noticing that not even the light from his wand could light three steps ahead of him. Orion Black closed the door behind him, and Regulus was soon surrounded in total darkness save his wandlight. His steps echoed through the stone cellar, one, two, three, four, five…
Regulus lost count after twenty.
Coldness enveloped him, worse than darkness. Even in his relatively thick robes Regulus shivered. It was difficult to imagine any kind of life surviving this kind of environment for long. Beside him something rattled; Regulus saw that it was a goblin, almost blind in the darkness, shaking at the chains that bound him. He stood behind bars, looking resentfully at the wandlight. When their eyes met, the goblin tried to soften its features into something pleading—attempted, that is.
"Let me go," he rasped, his forked tongue flicking out every syllable. "You've got the wrong goblin. I'm not involved in anything against the Dark Lord—"
"It's no use, Snapline," a female voice said dryly from behind them. "He's not going to listen. No one will." Regulus felt his heart freeze momentarily. He knew that voice. Always full of disapproval and dislike for him. But his body was still turning around to find whom that voice belonged to. His head shouted at him to turn back and climb back up as fast as he could. But he couldn't. Just couldn't.
Sophia Wilson was watching the Black heir with an ironic smile. "We've met," she said simply. Regulus swallowed. It was difficult to speak.
"Ms. Wilson," he said. It all felt wrong. Alex's name uttered in this dreary, dark place—Regulus could scarcely believe that this was part of the house that he lived in. His stomach lurched just at the thought and Regulus tried to keep his ground, but it was becoming harder and harder.
"Just one question, Regulus," Sophia Wilson continued, and something in her sardonic demeanor wavered. "How—is Alex?"
The question did it for him. He bolted to the staircase, stumbling up the cold stone steps because he couldn't bear to hold up his wand anymore. He covered his mouth with his hand—the only thing keeping him from heaving on the ground—and somehow managed to find the closest bathroom on the first floor. He briefly saw his father waiting for him by the entryway about to ask him how it went, but for the first time in his life he disregarded his father entirely. He bent over the marble sink—passed down from the eighteenth century—and threw up the Pumpkin Pastries that he'd consumed on the train. The orange gunk, mixed with bile, slid lazily down the drain and Regulus wrinkled his nose at the acrid smell. He looked up and saw his face in the mirror.
Alex and Kreacher were right—his cheeks were hollow, his skin sallow. There were two dark bags under his eyes even though he couldn't remember being particularly tired. His lips formed a thin line out of habit, and Regulus could spy the beginnings of a deep line setting around his eyes. Fifteen. This was no face of a fifteen-year-old. His eyes, usually clear and sharp, were blood-stricken. His lips began to quiver. The lips that Alex kissed so tenderly just hours ago.
A Death Eater father. Mother part of the "Resistance." The irony that Alex was probably a pureblood wasn't lost on him. Nor did the truth come unexpected. Somehow the duality of her parents made total sense. Light and dark. Black and white. So was Alex, always torn between.
And he, Regulus Arcturus Black, was dragged right into the middle with her.
A/N: So it goes! I'd intentionally ignored some of the questions in the reviews because I didn't want to spoil anything... Thank you so much to the the reviewers, who gave me incentive to wrap the New Year present. Happy 2018, everyone!