He didn't mean for this to happen. He honestly didn't. When he screamed his heart out into the night begging the universe for help or to just blow off some steam. But the universe answered.
It all started very small.
The Dursleys left him alone for almost the whole summer. Uncle Vernon got a promotion at his very normal and ordinary job so aunt Petunia decided it would be very beneficial to celebrate this by going away on a vacation. This way she would make her neighbours jealous and escape from her cursed nephew, especially since he said something about his criminal Godfather checking on him.
So, there he was in a big, quiet house in which he never felt at home, staring at his cup of tea like it contained the answers to every question ever asked. The light above him flickered and he sighed, ran his hands over his face, glasses abandoned at the table next to homework for Snape's class. It wasn't the first time that potions research made him fall into an existential crisis. Actually, this happened every week after double classes with Slytherins or while writing more than three pages essay on any topic chosen by Snape. It was mostly the realization that no matter how hard you try and how much time you spend on this you will fail simply because the teacher hates you.
"Adults treat me like a child, which fair, I am, but then they expect me to fight Voldemort. What's that about? You can't really have it both ways," he said out loud. He's alone with only his owl for a company. He's allowed to talk shit if he wants to. "And they don't tell me anything. Why is it that I always end up fighting the bad guy? Then they are mad at me for endangering myself but they don't listen to me. This," he gestures with a cracker making small circles in the air, "is some bullshit." Hedwig hoots in agreement. Or Harry at least hoped it was agreement.
His shit-talking turned into a whole monologue which turned into a whole mental breakdown. The Boy Who Lived But Sometimes He Wished He Didn't opened a window at ass o'clock at night to scream at the stars. Tears slid down his cheeks. Scream his pain and frustration away till his throat became sore while sitting on a windowsill with a thick coat on. Some time ago he found a secret stash of his uncle's cigarettes he supposedly got rid of years ago. He lit a cigarette and brought it to his lips taking a deep drag letting his already messy hair become messier as wind run through the locks. He opened his eyes after hearing the coos of his owl. He let her out so she could hunt that night.
"I wish I had someone who has a genuine idea how to defeat Voldemort and will be able to help me," he murmured sadly keeping his eyes on the stars twinkling above him. He sighed one last time after noticing the tea got cold, poured it down the drain, and washed the cup.
There was no way he could know that the universe would try and give him what he asked for. Or rather who.
He woke up with the feeling of being stared at which shouldn't happen because last time he checked he was home alone. He screamed when his green eyes met grey.
"Whoa, kid, calm down– "the ghost said. "I'm not here to hurt you."
"Who– what– "
"In fact, I'm here to help you," said the man which stopped Harry from speaking. The boy's disbelief and confusion were visible on his face because the guy hurried to explain. "You asked for someone who will help you defeat the Dark Lord, right? So here I am!"
There was an uncomfortable moment of silence.
"Are you dead?" asked Harry. Tired or rather I Just Woke Up version of him was lacking a brain-to-mouth filter.
"Wow. Rude," responded the stranger, "what happened to hello? Good morning?"
"Sor–"
"Nah, don't worry about it Mr. Necromancer," he waved his nearly transparent hand dismissively.
"Whoa, hold up! Necromancer? You– Stop! Who the hell are you and what are you doing here?"
"Kid, I just told you why I'm here!" the bruh expression on the ghost's face indicated how annoyed he was to hear a question he already answered. "As for my name… I'm Regulus Arcturus Black of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. But just Regulus is fine, you can even call me Uncle Regulus since, well, my brother is your Godfather but only if you're comfortable with it, that is."
Harry stared at his ghost uncle in silence. Then stood up like this was something normal and went to the kitchen to put the kettle on the stove. He turned around to look at the man and then bolted to the bathroom, shouting "Stay out!" before closing the door. He came out looking less dishevelled and just in time for water to start boiling. He turned off the stove and made himself a cup of tea while fighting with the kneejerk reaction to offer one to his guest. He's very much not an alive guest.
The Boy Who Lived turned his gaze to the near-transparent figure floating just above his right shoulder. Regulus was looking at him seemingly searching for something.
"How are you here? Is this some deity's idea of a joke?
"Well, this part? I'm not really sure myself. Coming from a dark magic family I used to read a lot about different kinds of magic and I did read about Necromancy too. If I remember correctly while almost every wizard can learn it some have better predispositions for it. The closer one's bond to death the more natural is said person. Tell me, are you somehow familiar with death?"
Now it was Harry's turn to show his disbelief by the expression of bruh on his face.
"Don't look at me like that! I'm not exactly updated on all the things happening here. I'm dead!" exclaimed Black throwing his arms into the air.
"When did you die?"
"In 1979."
"See, this is where it's not clicking since I was born in 1980 how, and I cannot stress this enough, the fuck do you know Sirius is my godfather?"
"Oh, it was a lucky guess, and honestly? It's not very hard to think that knowing how close James and my brother were it's an obvious deduction that he would make Siri the godfather of his spawn."
"Hey!"
"So do you have any sort of bond with death?"
"Considering that there wasn't a single year where I wasn't fighting for my life at Hogwarts, I'd say that, yeah, there is definitely something going on. Especially since when the whole Halloween night of 1981 I was attacked by Vold- sorry, the Dark Lord but apparently the Killing Curse backfired on him. Dumbledore says it's because of my mother's love through sacrifice which sounds like a bullshit attempt at explaining what did happen so either he knows and doesn't want to tell me or he has no idea." Harry's right hand grabbed his chin and hid most of the mouth which was already moving at light speed while the boy muttered his suspicions and theories. This kind of muttering storm was a result of trying to categorize thoughts running through his brain. While he could technically write them down, he hated using those damn feathers and parchments and of course, there also was the issue of thoughts being too fast for his hands to keep up.
"What kind of spell did you use to summon me here?" the ghost cut the rant short.
The kid looked up at his guest. "What spell? I didn't cast any spells!"
"Maybe it was a wandless one?"
"No, you don't understand. I didn't cast any spells. Wand or no wand. I didn't!" Harry saw Regulus opening his mouth to argue. "I had an existential crisis! I opened a window at 3 am and screamed about how everyone expects me to be the hero while punishing me for being one while not providing any useful information to help or deal with the dangers. It was quite liberating."
"I bet it was but if you didn't cast any spells how did I end up here?"
It almost seemed like the question was thrown into the air just to stay there unanswered. If the ghost didn't know what happened then the boy didn't either. The silence was interrupted by the chirping of Hedwig flying through the still opened window. She looked very proud of herself.
"Well, that's rather unhelpful, to be honest with you," said Black breaking what felt like hour-long silence. "But don't worry I'm sure we'll figure it out eventually," he bopped the kid's nose when he saw how distressed the little guy was. "You should probably eat something. You're so tiny. A baby, really."
"I'm not a baby!" Potter pretended that little whine at the end of this sentence didn't happen. Nuh-uh. It didn't.
"Alright, alright but seriously please eat something. You look like a stronger gust of wind could kidnap you," replied the other ignoring angry spluttering coming from the younger wizard. "In the meantime, I can tell you either the story of my life and I suppose also of my death or explain the situation we're in right now."
"I'd like to hear about you first if that's okay," uttered the kid busying himself with making sandwiches.
"I wouldn't give you an option to choose if it wasn't okay."
A couple of minutes passed in silence while Regulus was trying to gather his thoughts. Finally, when Harry shoved his sandwiches into the oven (so the cheese would melt nicely just as he likes) the ghost spoke.
"You have to understand that I wasn't a good person. Truth be told looking at my life one idea pops into my head. Nature versus nurture. Assuming that every person is born with the potential to be good may mean that I didn't let goodness grow in me. I did one right thing in my life but it doesn't redeem me. You have the right to judge me all you want and you have to understand that alright?" He looked into the green eyes of the 14-year-old and only when the boy nodded his head, he started telling the story from the very beginning.
Potter didn't interrupt and yet his opinions were crystal clear, fire in his eyes, knitting of his brows, wince here and scrunch there. His face was an open book and Black had no problem with reading it. The judgment was there too and it hurt but the older man knew he deserved it. He finished his tale and was met bewildered look.
"So, lemme get this straight." The young wizard took a bite of his warm sandwich which he pulled out of the oven while his dead honorary Uncle was talking about his years at Hogwarts. "Your mom was a bitch –" "Don't talk with your mouth full, you're going to choke." "Sorry - and your dad was also a bitch. You were manipulated so hard from the moment you came into this cold, unfeeling world. You grew up with the idea of greatness, thinking you're better just because you were born into this old, wealthy, and influential family. And the problem was that it was your parents who told you that. You were a child and you trusted your parents. And when people came to challenge the views you believed in, you assumed that those people had no idea what they were talking about. You took their opinions as a personal attack on you and your family. " He bit the sandwich once again.
"See what I think is that you hated Sirius not because he got away but because you didn't understand him. Or rather you didn't understand his views. He was going against everything you've been taught your whole life. And even if you tried to look for something that would refute your beliefs you looked at the wizarding society which focuses so much on the idea of pure blood, separating magical folk into the right and wrong category while pretending that everything that doesn't fit the narrative simply doesn't exist. Your parents, especially your mother, manipulated you into thinking you're doing the right thing and Sirius was the bad one." Sometime during the speech, Harry stood up and started waving his arms trying to untangle this mess of a family situation. "Uncle, I hope you understand that your parents were in the wrong. That you were kept in a bubble that couldn't let you see the outside world. In those conditions the mere fact that you changed is incredible. And if you don't, well… I've got a lot of time to convince you."
"Kid, don't burden yourself with the responsibility of fixing me. I'm already dead."
"Well, you know, it's never too late to change. And talking about change…"
"Yes, I did change sides. At the last moment of my life too. Although it was more of a process. At first, I was enamoured with the Dark Lord. He was a brilliant man, so clever, so creative, and filled with purpose. It seemed like there is not a singular thing that could sand on his way to greatness. He was determined to become the most powerful wizard of all time. He wanted to reform the world and I admired him because of that. He was a Sun and I wanted to bask in his warmth. I think I was so mesmerized by him because he did what he wanted and when he wanted. He was free and deep down I was jealous of his freedom." The man sighed and shook his head shooing away his childhood fantasy.
"For the longest time I saw only the human part of him but then he started to want me by his side more. Me! No one else. You have to understand that many of those dreamt of being close to his almost godlike self. And it was me who got the honour. And that's when the problems began. In the eyes of my parents, I was like a prince. The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black had a reputation. We were a prestigious family ad there was no need to get our hands dirty especially not me. I was there to emphasize my parents' status, make connections for the future and represent my family. Even before I took the mark, I was rubbing shoulders with Death Eaters. But then I became one of them on my sixteen birthdays. You know I think it's rather telling that my parents pushed me into swearing my loyalty to the Dark Lord and yet they never did the same. Sure, they had the same views as him but they never took the Dark Mark. When I officially became one of them the Dark Lord made sure I was at his side almost all of the time. Now that I think about it, he may even fancy me or at least harboured some feelings similar to a crush. When we were alone, he acted like a human being."
Harry tried to imagine a younger version of Voldemort, with sharp cheekbones, cold blue eyes, and curly locks of black hair. It wasn't hard to understand why someone would want to be close to the man mostly because he was rather handsome. What he couldn't picture was Tom Riddle acting like any other person. Laughing, drinking tea in a garden, making small talk, or even – good Lord – flirting. The snake version of the guy was terrifying and quite murderous. Gone was the charm that his diary counterpart carried. Maybe the pre-snake Dark Lord could trick people into a false sense of security. Scratch that, Potter knew that was exactly what happened. If his second year and the Chamber of Secrets fiasco was anything to go by.
Despite his best efforts, the mental image of snake faced Voldemort kissing someone popped into the young wizard's head. Ew.
"Long story short I saw all the horrible things he and his most loyal would do. The murders, tortures, and rapes. It was disgusting and it made me feel very much unsafe. The worst were his little experiments on squibs. He would try and find out why they couldn't perform magic by cutting them open to see how their bodies worked under the influence of different spells. It was so gruesome that I couldn't sleep for a week straight after witnessing it. He liked me and it was the only reason why I didn't need to kill anyone to prove my loyalty. Truly a blessing in disguise. But the day I decided to betray him was like any other. He asked if he could borrow my house elf. Well, he asked but it was really a command. He knew I wouldn't say no, obviously. And here we come to the reason I can help you Harry, so listen closely. He took my elf and made him drink a potion meant to protect his Horcrux, which I will tell you about in a second dear nephew. He wanted to put his locket in a basin and the mixture served as the protection for his treasure. He needed someone to get rid of the poison and he choose my elf. You may think 'But Uncle Regulus why didn't the Dark Lord simply put his Horcrux and then pour the elixir inside?" Because he's a dick. That's why.
See, when Kreacher, that's my elf's name, came back home he had nightmarish delusions, intense stomach pains, and dehydrated. The thing wasn't made to kill the person who drank it. But the animated corpses in the water were. After having a dubious pleasure of tasting the concoction you'd be sized by the overwhelming need to drink water. But any water conjured evaporated so the logical thing to do would be crawling in pain to the lake to take a sip. But that's where the zombies, I believe muggles call them, waited for their victim.
See, that arsehole may be smart but he's also ignorant to things that don't fit his narrative. Just like most old wizard families. So, he simply didn't know that elves have a different kind of magic. All it took was me calling Kreacher to my side. And he came. House Elves can apparate out of locations that wizards and witches cannot. He wasn't contained by the enchantments on the cave and following my orders to come home when he finished his task, he came to me."
"Okay, but what's a Horcrux? Why did he need to protect it?" The question came from a mountain of blankets laying on the couch. Only Harry's face peaked from the cocoon. The kid looked shaken to the core and his complexion turned slightly green. Regulus' traitorous brain screamed at him to protect the baby as he cooed under his breath at the sight of his honorary godson hiding beneath a pile of pillows from the evil of this cruel world.
"Horcrux is an object made to contain a soul of a person. It's a way of becoming immortal. As long as it's well protected the soul lives on even when the body is destroyed. It's considered to be the most terrible of all dark magic. To create a Horcrux a murder is necessary and I assume a lot of different spells but that's about all I know. After what happened to my elf, I ordered him to get me to that cave. I told him to never speak of the situation to my family which might have been a mistake but I just wanted to protect them. I drank the poison and swapped the lockets. It wasn't that hard to make a fake one since the locket we're talking about belonged to Slytherin himself. A family heirloom which, thank whatever god was listening that day, was described and illustrated in one of the books in the Black library. I once again ordered Kreacher to take the cursed object and destroy it. I couldn't conjure any water so I went against what I knew and crawled to the lake. The corpses pulled me underwater and that's how my story ended. But the biggest mistake came from a lack of knowledge. Before going on my suicide mission, I should've checked how to destroy that damned thing."
"But wait if Kreacher took the Horcrux with the order to destroy it then that means that he either didn't know how to do it or there's more than one Horcrux since Voldemort didn't die when his curse backfired on that Halloween night."
"Oh fuck."