YEAR ONE


Ellis Selwyn did not like Hogwarts. She hated the owls that came careening down during breakfast spreading their feathers all over the food and pecking at every dish on the table. She hated how there were no maps or clocks to tell them where and when they were meant to be. Ellis found some solace in the fact that she was a Slytherin, like her parents, that the dorms were nice even if the sheets were scratchy and she had to share—she didn't like that part very much. She thought the jam tasted funny and that Pippin did a much better job with breakfast. She missed her brother, even if he was loud and annoying.

"Give it back!"

"Come on, Reg," cackled Barty. She had met him a few times before at her father's job, but he was always quiet and subdued then, ducking away from his father as if expecting a strike. He was the opposite at Hogwarts, nasty and mean and loud, "Read it."

Regulus Black peered at the letter and then at her, before clearing his throat, "Dearest mother—sucking it up even with your parents, Selwyn? I miss you very much and wanted to ask if you could visit me." He rolled his eyes, crunching the letter in his fist. "It's not even worth it, Barty."

"Do you miss mummy, Selwyn? Can't sleep without her?" asked Barty in a simpering tone that mocked her own watery voice.

"Merlin, they must be glad you're gone. If I clung to my mother like that, she'd curse me."

Ellis' head swiveled to look at Regulus, "Why?"

"Pardon me?"

"Why would she curse you for that? Doesn't she love you?"

Barty fell silent, obviously interested in the answer as well. His own mother was the doting kind.

A sneer took over Regulus' face. His hand swiped at her inkwell, spilling it all over her homework assignments and causing it to drip to the floor and stain the new slippers her father got her. Ellis' bottom lip trembled. Don't cry, she thought. Don't cry.

But, she was not yet used to the shackled life of a Slytherin, so the tears burning at her eyes spilled over. At home she could cry freely, yell as much as she wanted, climb atop the cabinets and scream at the top of her lungs if it pleased her. Her parents would scold her afterwards, but never, not once, had she been told to be quiet and invisible.

Ellis looked towards Evan for help, but he averted his gaze, clearly listening, but clearly finding her embarrassing as well. It was a pair of slippers and nothing more, easily replaceable, he would say. But they were a gift. A gift from her father.

She found Narcissa's blonde hair and threw the older girl a pleading look that was answered with a stern expression that seemed to say, "Deal with it yourself and stop asking for help."

Silently, she began to clean up the mess that Regulus and Barty made, taking up her scrunched letter and siphoning away as much of the ink as she can with magic. Their laughter quickly died, and an unbearable silence ensued. Barty scoffed, shuffling away to find something more fun to do, but Regulus remained watching her.

The black stain remained on the table and on her shoes. Ellis tried hard to vanish it, but the ink was made to be impervious to magic, so it would not fade or dull with time. When she's all done cleaning up, she gathered her things and left the common room.

Going to her dorm wasn't an option. Alecto Carrow, the cow, enjoyed destroying Ellis' things and mocking her. Althea Nott would join her. Maisie Burke was too much of a coward to do anything but laugh when they did. And Helena…Helena Greengrass would likely yell at all of them for annoying her.

Ellis went to the broken lavatory on the second floor and cried there for a while, but when Moaning Myrtle showed up and started bemoaning how much worse her own life was, Ellis left her school bag and ran out onto the grounds to escape the ghost. She found a quiet spot next to one of the trees, where none of the seventh years were, and decided to remain there in protest. Her parents would have to come pick her up. She wouldn't attend classes, and she'd skip all her homework, and she'd be so terrible a student that Hogwarts would have no choice but to expel her and send her home.

When the rain started, Ellis still refused to move.

She wouldn't. She'd die out her in the cold. Some terrible creatures from the Forbidden Forest would come snack on her bones and her parents would be so full of regret that Ellis would have no choice but to haunt them forever.

She was outside for a while and the rain showed no sign of stopping. The sun started to set when she heard the squish-squish of another set of footsteps in the wet grass.

Regulus stopped next to her and nudged her with the toe of his shoe. "Come inside."

Ellis shifted away, clutching her wet robes as she stared out at the Black Lake. The rain came down heavily, turning the grass and dirt into a slick field of mud. The rain stung as it slapped against her skin.

"I'll make Barty leave you alone."

"Why don't you leave me alone?" spat out Ellis, shifting her gaze to glare up at him. Regulus looked momentarily surprised by the venom in her voice. Ellis had never yelled at them. She tolerated their antics, remembering that she was meant to be polite and kind as her parents taught her. Her parents had not warned her that kindness was akin to weakness. That tears weren't tolerated. That she would be all alone in a cold, castle with no one to turn to when she needed help.

Despite all that, she wanted them more than ever.

"If that's what you want, I can do that."

"Good. You can start now."

"Selwyn, don't take it personally," said Regulus, as if offering her some life changing advice. "We're trying to help you. People will walk all over you if they knew how soft you were."

"You can help me by going away."

Regulus sighed. He stepped away and then back to rest his cloak on her shoulders. It did nothing to shield her from the rain, but it was warmer than her own. She heard the wet squelch of his steps grow fainter and fainter and when they were finally far enough away, she let herself cry one final time.

Ellis missed three days of classes after that. Helena Greengrass told her professors that she was a little ill and Professor Slughorn sent her a few potions to make her feel better. Somewhere between her feverish dreams and the whispers she heard from the other girls, Ellis' heart hardened.

The next time Barty Crouch Jr. tried to snatch one of her letters, he found himself waking up in the hospital wing.


YEAR TWO


Regulus Black thought Ellis Selwyn might have been something close to insane when she decided to forgo the Slytherin table to sit with her brother at the Gryffindor one. He knew she was insane when it became a frequent habit of hers to hex people who dared say anything about her brother. Just last week, she'd gotten increasingly creative and forced some poor sixth-year's hair to attack her throughout the day.

She made friends with the entire first-year class, who thought she hung the sun in the sky simply because she took the time to show them where their classes were and answer their homework questions.

"She's a bit off, isn't she? Think we drove her over the edge?" asked Barty, nodding to where Ellis was sitting. It seemed that she and her brother were fighting, but Regulus couldn't hear them over the chatter in the Great Hall.

Evan was the quietest of them. He didn't talk much. He had frequent nightmares. He was constantly looking like he was a few days away from death. "Didn't I tell you to quit bothering her?"

Barty shrugged, snapping the head of his chocolate frog off mercilessly. The first time he'd seen him eat them, Regulus had been disturbed, but he's grown used to it by now. Barty is ever eager to chop and slice the animal parts in their potions class, so despite the warning signs in his mind, Regulus gave him the benefit of the doubt. Still, he preferred to partner with Evan when he had the choice.

He also preferred not to think of Ellis Selwyn, because his gut always curled with guilt when he did.

But, Regulus didn't have a chance to avoid her as she seemed to sense she was being watched. She turned and then stood, leaving the Gryffindors behind to wander over straight to them. Her eyes found Barty and then noted what he was doing.

"What's wrong with you?" asked Ellis, looking at the pile of twitching frog legs with a profoundly troubled look. "Eat them properly."

Barty had learned to both fear and respect Ellis, so he did as ordered and began to stuff the legs into his mouth. Ellis looked even more troubled by that. She shook her head, dropping a package in front of Evan that was neatly wrapped in black and silver paper. "Mother told me to give that to you—if it's sweets, I want half."

Evan sighed and nodded. "She didn't have to."

"Well, she did, so do the proper thing and write her to say thank you. And tell her how your classes are going. She's worried you're a complete dimwit since you can't even write back with a proper reply."

"You're annoying," muttered Evan, looking tense and angry.

Ellis' gaze finally landed on him and Regulus felt his spine stiffen, meeting her green gaze. Her eyes narrowed at the corners.

"Good luck with tryouts," said Ellis, nodding toward him. They were the first words she'd said to him since term started. Regulus shouldn't notice these kinds of things, but he did. He didn't know why.

"Aren't you…" He overheard her and Helena Greengrass discussing the upcoming Quidditch Trials during their Transfiguration class. Ellis had firmly said she wished to be Seeker and nothing else.

"Aren't I what?"

"Trying out?"

She shook her head, "You'll probably enjoy playing more than I would, Black."

She doesn't specify what that meant, but it felt as if she'd already made the choice for the team, and he didn't like that much. He wanted a fair trial. He wanted to prove his own skill against someone who knew how to fly as well as he did. Both her and Helena Greengrass had done superbly during their flying lessons. Regulus wanted to ask her to elaborate, but he felt as if he'd pushed his luck already.

"Evan will keep me company in the stands, won't you?"

Evan scoffed, "Did I say I would?"

The mirth in her eyes dimmed and she managed a stilted smile. "Right, it doesn't matter either way."

"Where are you going?" asked Barty as she turned to leave. "Come sit."

"Library."

Regulus gave her a five-minute head start, before he offered an excuse. Evan raised his head, watching him with a pinched expression, knowing exactly where he was going. He didn't like how much Evan saw, but he'd never opened his mouth to use it against him, so Regulus didn't think much of it.

He caught up to Ellis on the staircase, where she was helping one of the first-years out from the trick stair. Regulus grabbed the girl's other arm and hoisted her out. She chirped a thank you and ran off toward her giggling friends.

"Thanks," said Ellis, and continued her way. Regulus trailed after her. He enjoyed being in the library, it reminded him of home, when he sat found a dark corner and wasted the day away in the pages of a book. It was often the only way he could see a world beyond Grimmauld Place.

"You can sit with me," said Ellis when they'd gotten to the library even though there were no empty tables.

She walked with a confidence she hadn't had last year and of the many things that have changed since they started Hogwarts, this was perhaps the worst of them, because Ellis Selwyn was no longer the kind of girl who paused and waited for someone to catch up with her. She never looked back. Regulus was left staring at her back as she weaved between the shelves and found a table in the corner of the Alchemy section.

She looked down the bridge of her nose at the Hufflepuffs sitting there. It took a moment, but they startled and immediately gathered their things. As soon as they were out of their seats, Ellis took over the table and gestured for him to sit.

They didn't ever speak, but every so often a new book appeared in his pile and Regulus knew she was watching him in the same manner he was watching her.

He almost said sorry.

Almost, but he was a Black and Blacks don't apologize.


YEAR THREE


"Knight to E-4."

"Don't do that," said Helena, picking up the knight, who flailed in her hand. "He'll get eaten. Can't you see that your King is in check? Protect him."

"Can't we play cards? Cards is far more fun," complained Ellis, letting her head drop on Helena's shoulder. Her face looked different, but he wasn't sure how or why. Every so often, his eyes kept wandering back to her.

Helena placed the knight back where he belonged and moved Ellis' bishop for her. "Go ahead, Regulus."

"There's something to be said about two brains needing to beat a single Black," he muttered. Barty laughed, hitting his shoulder a bit harder than was necessary. Regulus turned his head to glare at him.

"One-and-a-half. Ellis barely counts—ow!"

He laughed under his breath and looked over the board. Helena was the better player and a game against her could go for hours, but Ellis had not grown-up playing chess and only knew the rudimentary rules of moving the pieces across the board. It was amusing to watch Ellis struggle with the sacrifice involved in Wizarding Chess. She tried her best to save every pawn and ended up losing a more important piece.

Helena moved from the arm of the chair to sit with Ellis, or rather on her. She was half perched on her thighs and took over the board. Regulus ended the first game, resetting it for Helena.

"I'll go first," Helena said, and he turned the board around for her. Ellis shifted, making herself smaller so Helena could sit more comfortably. For two people who claim to hate each other, they were awfully comfortable. Not an inch of space between them, coiled up together like they'll never be warm again.

"Beat him for me," muttered Ellis, throwing a dark look at Regulus that made him smile.

"Don't worry about that," said Helena, as if her victory was guaranteed. It likely was—only Barty managed to beat her. He had cheated, slipping the pieces off the table when she wasn't looking.

"Why don't we have a chess club?"

"Likely for the same reason S.N.U.G never made it off the ground."

Ellis flushed furiously. S.N.U.G or the Society for Nurturing Unfriendly Ghosts had exactly one member and that was Ellis Selwyn. Regulus did poorly in covering up his laugh. Her foot lashed out to kick him, but he caught her ankle and held it, until she jerked it back and frowned at him.

"What did happen to—"

"Shut up, Barty," hissed Ellis. "You know exactly what happened to it. No need to mock me for it."

Helena made the first move.

Evan Rosier finally joined the group, looking rumpled from sleep. He had a stack of letters in his hand and approached them with the look of someone trying to start a fight.

"Why do you write so much?" grumbled Evan to Ellis, folding himself up on the armchair. He was all limbs by now and taller than even Regulus. It was their first night back at Hogwarts and all of them had changed a bit. "Don't you have anything better to do?"

She smiled, "I don't want you to miss me."

Evan rolled his eyes, "It'd be nice to miss you. Might be peaceful too."

"I didn't know my letters could talk."

"You know what I mean," he muttered. A look passed between them and Ellis' face flashed with concern. It was the wrong expression to show because Evan's angry suddenly, huffing and puffing in his chair. "It's fucking annoying," he snapped. "I can't even respond because there's another three already there spewing the same mindless rubbish as the rest."

Regulus' pawn sacked one of Helena's, but his eyes were on Ellis, who looked as if she were trying very hard to remain still.

"You can write me, Ellis," Regulus said, calmly. "I wouldn't mind a bit of news every now and then—these two oafs can't even string together—"

"I was top of the class," protested Barty. "And what the hell would I write about anyway? Mum and Winky? I bet Selwyn gets all the dirty bits about the Ministry from her parents."

"—a sentence," Regulus continue as if he hadn't been interrupted. "Imagine how bored I am listening to them all day."

Ellis shrugged, her interest in the conversation waning.

He wrote her first.

She wouldn't remember that, but it had been Regulus who reached out. He pretended that she'd stole one of his books:

To Ellis,

You have my copy of Quidditch Through the Ages. Kindly return it to me.

R.A.B.

He received a letter back that was three pages long.


YEAR FOUR


"Is Snape alright?"

The bridge of her nose was bruised but compared to the hex that had tusks growing out of Potter's mouth, it was nothing. His brother had fared worse, and Regulus can't help the warm rush of satisfaction he gained whenever Ellis and Sirius fought, because he doesn't really have anyone who fought for him. His parents fight with Sirius, against Sirius, but it was never in Regulus' name.

"I haven't asked him how he's feeling," said Regulus, dryly. "I can't imagine he's pleased to have nearly been exposed to all of Hogwarts and his little mudblood."

"I doubt Evans is going to remain his after today," muttered Ellis, wrinkling her nose as she often did when she heard the word mudblood. Crass, she'd called it once. Mannerless. Regulus had almost told her that there was no point in trying to teach manners to mudbloods, but his tongue turned to lead around her. He chose his words more carefully because the wrong one would start a fight and end the long climb back into Ellis' good graces.

"All those idiots laughing and cheering—they're no better than Death Eaters like that. What do they think happens to muggles after they're caught?"

"Nothing as—"

"Worse. My father makes me sit his trials sometimes. They kill them and then parade their bodies around like ragdolls." Ellis shuddered, face turning pale and sickly. "It's horrible."

Regulus frowned. That couldn't possibly be true. He had seen the Prophet. Nothing was as terrible as what she'd said. Sure, there have been causalities—that was the price of war, but it wasn't as if anyone was being hunted down. The Dark Lord only wished to break the Statute of Secrecy and put wizards back where they belonged.

"Sirius is going to be angry," he warned, instead.

"And?" Ellis shrugged, stretching long. Regulus swallowed uncomfortably as her skirt rode up her thighs. "Let's see what he's made of, yeah?"

He smiled. It was frighteningly easy to like Ellis Selwyn. She was kind in ways most Slytherins weren't. She knew how to forgive but never forgot a slight. And Regulus got the sense that she understood a lot more than she let on about him and Sirius. He didn't have to explain why he didn't want to talk to his brother. He didn't have to come up with stories about what he'd done over the summer, because the answer was always the same—nothing. I've done nothing. I'm trapped in a house with three ticking bombs.

It took only two letters for Ellis to understand that he didn't enjoy being at home. After that her letters got even longer, she sent pictures of all the places she traveled to, gifts from all over, and Regulus could pretend that he enjoyed that kind of life too. A life of freedom.

Other times he hated it and drafted a million letters asking her to stop because he was a Black and he had a duty to his family and responsibilities and the word freedom wasn't one he needed to know, but he threw all those drafts out, guilty that he'd even written them.

Mostly he just enjoyed how happy she seemed outside of Hogwarts. He was glad for that. She looked miserable whenever she was here.

She caught sight of her brother edging closer to the Whomping Willow as his friends cheered him on. Regulus watched as she raced ahead, wand already drawn, "NED, I'LL KILL YOU FIRST IF YOU TAKE ANOTHER STEP!"

Ellis Selwyn could never be his friend.

What he wanted was worse than friendship.


YEAR FIVE


Regulus,

I heard about Sirius. He found his way to the Potters' so you mustn't worry about him. Nothing I say will make this better, but if you want to talk or want to run away for a bit as well, just call for Pippin—I've instructed her to bring you here.

Please be well.

Yours,

Ellis


Regulus,

You haven't responded for some time, so I'm sending another letter. I know that you're probably hurting. If you'd like, you can come spend the last few weeks of summer at our estate.

Write back when you can.

Yours,

Ellis


Regulus,

I am growing worried by your silence. If I've done something to upset you, I apologize. All I ask is that you let me know if you're alright.

Yours,

Ellis


UNSENT


To Ellis,

Yes, Sirius left. I knew it would happen, but nothing prepared me for it. I am told that I no longer have a brother. I am told that I must be Heir to House Black. I am told everything and never once asked what it is that I want.

R.A.B


To Ellis,

What is like to love someone you should hate? I know nothing of love and have always thought that you were good at loving people. Even me.


To Ellis,

You have not upset me. You never have.


To Ellis,

Stop writing. Mother is watching all my mail and


To Ellis,

Haven't you realized that I have no desire to write back?


Ellis.

Ellis.

Ellis.


"Oh."

It took Ellis a long moment to school her features into a blank mask. The girl— Septima Blott—slipped out from beneath him, throwing back a smile as she straightened her clothes. She nodded at Ellis and skipped off down the corridor of the train. Regulus straightened out his robes and pressed out the wrinkles in his shirt with his wand. Ellis was still standing there. He caught a glimpse of her expression out of the corner of her eye, and it took all his strength—all of it—to meet her gaze.

Merlin, she'd changed.

Her dark hair was cut neatly to her shoulders, brushing her collarbones in a way that made her features look sharper, more refined. Had her eyes always been so green? She appeared smaller, or maybe he'd shot up a few inches over the summer—he never recalled her looking so slight. The summer's sun clung to her skin.

A flush flared hot across his cheeks. He cast his gaze away, fumbling for a way to sound composed, to sound as though her presence didn't break some part of him. He touched the shining badge on his robes with trembling fingers—he prayed she wouldn't notice.

"I see you've made Prefect, Selwyn."

"I did."

In the corridor outside, the Hogwarts Express rumbled as it sped northward. Students trudged by in a hush of excitement and new robes. The chatter and laughter seemed distant. As each second passed, he became more acutely aware of the space between them—too far and yet heartbreakingly close.

He pressed out the wrinkles in his shirt with a whispered spell. She was beneath the House of Black, his mother warned. Beneath him.

He forced himself to muster a thin, indifferent smile as he tapped the Prefect badge on his chest. "You can handle this business for us, can't you, Selwyn?"

"Yes," she said quietly, nodding more to herself than to him.

He tried to move past her, to escape the compartment that suddenly felt too warm, too suffocating, but her voice stopped him cold.

"Regulus."

His heart gave a lurch at the way she spoke his name—no judgment, no bitterness. Just familiar, maddening kindness. He halted in the doorway but refused to look at her, bracing for whatever would come next.

"Your tie."

His fingers touched his open collar. In his haste, he had forgotten to pull on the Slytherin tie that hung loosely in her hand. He turned, and she was already reaching for him, leaning up on her toes to drape the tie around his neck.

Time seemed to slow as her hands brushed his collar. He caught a glimpse of shiny black lacquer on her nails, the subtle scent of something floral. In an instant, he realized exactly how much he had missed her—missed the way she always noticed the small things. Missed her easy warmth. Her deft fingers finished tying the knot, perfect as always, and she stepped back.

Regulus's chest felt tight, pained by the weight of everything unsaid. He could feel his mother's disapproval like a rope on his neck, urging him to put miles between them. He forced himself to pivot, but she called after him again.

"Regulus, wait."

"Let's not be so familiar, Selwyn. People might get the wrong idea."

Ellis's lips parted in surprise, and for a moment, he glimpsed the wounded confusion in her eyes. He steeled himself, remembering the searing pain he had endured, when his mother informed him that he was now heir to the House of Black. The memory of her fury echoed in his skull: You have no brother anymore; your only concern is this family and our name.

"And what idea is that?"

"I'd rather not sully my family name with bloodtraitors any further. You should remember your roots, Selwyn, before you get yourself in trouble. It'd be a waste of blood if yours were to spill."

He knew the words hurt. They were meant to, but somehow Regulus thought he might have hurt himself more by saying them. He couldn't take them back. I shouldn't. Her brother is a bloodtraitor, no better than Sirius. If she picks the same path as him, she'll die. I'm doing this to help her.

Her mouth trembled and for a terrible moment, Regulus hoped that she would cry, so he could apologize. Instead, he was met with fury. Ugly, untamable fury. "My roots? Your family were muggles when mine were wizards. Maybe, you ought to remember that."

Regulus watched her leave, noting how stiff and straight her spine was, how her hands had bunched into fists in the folds of her robes. It's better this way, he thought. We were never friends anyway.

But he thought of her often. Though she learned to ignore him, Regulus found himself unable to do the same. Ellis lingered at the edges of his mind.

Time lost shape. Day became weeks, became months. He devoted himself with cold precision to the ideals of his name, endeavoring to become the pureblood heir his mother demanded. He seldom thought of Sirius and when he did, it was only to recall that his brother was as good as dead in the family's eyes—exiled, stripped from the tapestry, a cautionary tale of what happened to those who strayed.

Yet, beneath the polished veneer, Regulus discovered a bitter release in fleeting encounters—lips against his in a darkened alcove, touch both cruel and kind, a quick fuck, to put it in its crudest form. A desperate grasp at autonomy in a world where his every step was dictated by bloodlines and obligations.

Spring flitted past in a haze, then exams, and then school ended. By the time he stepped onto the Hogwarts Express to return home, Regulus scarcely remembered his fifth-year.

It was late that summer that Regulus Arcturus Black was given the Dark Mark. Asked for it. Offered himself up. Let there be no doubt that he had chosen this path.

The Dark Lord himself, tall and terrible, bore down upon him. "Serve me well and I will give you the glory of the world."

Regulus did not tremble. Somewhere deep within, he registered a cold, gnawing emptiness. Every piece of him that could have felt fear or regret had long been hammered into submission by duty. Yes, I'll serve. It is all I know how to do.

When the Dark Lord ravished his mind,Regulus hid away the truths that might betray him—Kreacher's loyalty, the first Snitch he'd ever caught, the feel of Sirius' hand gripping his as they ran onto the platform at King's Cross Station. Ellis. Each moment of weakness he buried in the darkest corner of his mind, protecting it with a desperation he could not fully name.

The pain of receiving the Dark Mark was excruciating. White-hot agony lanced through his forearm. Regulus clenched his jaw, refusing to scream, refusing to flinch. In that instant, as he felt his flesh sear under the Dark Lord's wand, a strange realization settled into him: I have already lost everything.

And it no longer frightened him.

A hollow apathy spread, more profound than any terror. He felt nothing—no triumph, no relief, only the certainty that Lord Voldemort would one day lead him to his death.

His vision blurred for a heartbeat.

What was my life worth in the end?

The pain ebbed.

Nothing.


SIXTH YEAR


Regulus was either going to die or end up in Azkaban.

Two options.

He wasn't in the business of pretending otherwise. He stopped lying to himself the moment his wand first shook in his hand, the first time Bellatrix whispered "Crucio" in his ear and demanded he try. She held his hand over the hilt of his wand, her fingernails digging into his wrist, so that later he saw bruises in the shape of crescents on his pale skin. But he hadn't been able to do it—he couldn't push himself past that invisible line. Not then, and not the second time either.

It was during his grim summer of training, under his dear cousin's ever-watchful and ever-cruel gaze, that he realized there was no gentle exit from this life. No clever word, no well-forged alliance, no spell or curse that would spare him the horrors that would inevitably come. When you were a Black, you had only two choices: live by the family creed—Toujours Pur—or be cut off, cast out, spat on. But Regulus now saw that even living by that creed did not mean safety.

Narcissa, who had never once wavered in her determination to uphold the family's reputation, was reduced to something quiet and demure beside the Dark Lord. Regulus watched her hands shake ever so slightly as she placed teacups in front of her future husband and his master and tried to make herself small, unnoticeable. He thought about how Sirius would scorn them all for being so pathetic.

He had to pretend he valued the honor. He had to pretend that he couldn't wait to be sent on his first mission. He had to pretend that his world wasn't collapsing around him, that he didn't see his parents' pride for what it was: a desperate attempt to cling to the old ways, to do anything—absolutely anything—to remain among the ranks of the 'chosen.' But Regulus had felt something inside him crack when he held his wand and failed, again and again, to cast a Killing Curse.

What was he meant to do? Hunt Muggles? Torturing them? To what end? He looked around and saw the unmasked truth for the first time. The Dark Lord spoke about blood purity, but he wanted fear. He wanted control. He would cut down anyone—muggle, mudblood, or pureblood—if they stood in his way.

Regulus tasted every lie in the air. How the Dark Lord called werewolves soldiers and promised them a place in his army, only to turn around and let them starve or fight amongst themselves afterward. How he mocked Giants as primitive, yet used them as blunt instruments to break the Ministry's defenses before leaving them to be slaughtered by Aurors. How he raged about loyalty and family, but stood stone-faced when Mulciber Sr. was captured, not sparing a single resource to free him.

His own doom crept steadily closer. If he stayed, he would become complicit, stained by the Dark Lord's cruelty until he either lost his soul or was driven mad by the horrors he'd commit. If he tried to run, it would mean the slow, terrifying approach of a different fate—hunted down by the Dark Lord's loyal followers, or forced to surrender to the Ministry, who would have no mercy for a Death Eater. Azkaban. The idea of those high, cold walls sent a chill across his skin that never quite left.

And so, Regulus did what he thought all Slytherins must do: lie. He said the right things, lowered his head at the right times, and forced a smile whenever the conversation turned to "clearing out vermin." He let Bellatrix boast that she was teaching her talented baby cousin well. He nodded dutifully when his mother pinned the Black family crest to his robes, her eyes so full of pride they gleamed like polished marble.

But he felt the weight of everything pressing down on his chest. He'd slip into the library—the only room in the house that felt remotely like refuge—where he'd stare at the spines of books filled with the darkest, oldest magic. Sometimes he pulled them down, flipping through the pages in hopes of finding something, anything, that might offer a way out.

Sometimes he spiraled. The quick way out became more appealing, the one solution that meant he never had to pick a side and watch it fail. Death was daunting, but ever so alluring.

Sometimes, when he thought of pitching himself off a high, cold ledge, he remembered the way Sirius used to ruffle his hair when they were little, joking that Regulus looked like a baby bird. He remembered sneaking chocolates from the pantry late at night, the house quiet, and how they laughed so hard they nearly got caught. Memories from Before. Before war and Dark Lords and families split in two.

He pictured Bellatrix's face, contorted in a manic grin, congratulating him on his "achievement." He pictured the Dark Lord's high, cold laughter as another innocent life was snuffed out by his command.

And then he pictured Sirius's scorn, the way his brother's eyes would blaze if he saw Regulus now, branded with the mark of everything Sirius despised. Maybe he deserved that scorn. Maybe he deserved worse.

Regulus was either going to die or end up in Azkaban.

Two options.

When he saw Ellis Selwyn on the train, he didn't hide, didn't back away, he went straight to her. His life was over anyway, so what did it matter if he indulged in the delusion of happiness for a bit?

"Spattergroit, Selwyn?"

She tensed minutely and turned to look at him.

Maybe he'd cling to life and beg it for a chance.