Work Text:
Regulus sat at the breakfast table, downing a second cup of coffee and hoping it would have the desired effect of suddenly making him feel like he’d had a good night’s sleep. Or even a bad night’s sleep. Or really any kind of sleep in the past few days.
Yesterday he’d received yet another letter from his charming cousin Bellatrix, once again going into painstaking detail of all the wonderful qualities extolled by this new Dark Lord, Lord Voldemort. It was full of hyperbole, as well as inuendo that almost made Regulus feel sorry for Bella’s poor husband, and he didn’t even like the guy. Rodolphus Lestrange had mistaken him for Sirius no less than four times at the wedding and some crimes could not be forgiven.
If it was just his cousin’s ramblings perhaps Regulus could ignore the whole thing as yet more Black family bullshit and get a decent night’s kip. Unfortunately, it seemed the world had other ideas.
Regulus glanced up the table where one of the seventh years, Evan Rosier, was sitting like some prize peacock that was being admired for its feathers, not knowing it was about to get slaughtered for the privilege of having them. He kept making barely concealed gestures towards his left arm, the two on either side of him were staring in open envy.
He glanced down the table and saw some poor second year trying to argue that his muggle born great grandfather was of no importance when considering the purity of all the others in his family.
It was getting worse.
Times like this Regulus wished he still lived with Sirius. It’s not even that he wanted to talk to his brother about it, but the prospect of having a connection to someone without an unbearable fascination with all things Dark Lord would be refreshing. Sirius was different if nothing else.
Unfortunately, now his options of good conversation were dwindling fast. His housemates were either obsessed with this jumped-up wannabe Grindelwald, or they were too sacred to say anything that would get them beaten up by any of the aforementioned obsessed. Regulus wasn’t quite ready for the kind of self-awareness that would put himself in that second camp. Rather he preferred to think himself merely above all this petty talk of blood purity.
His owl, Mercury, swooped down to deliver a letter which brought him out of his reverie. The Black Family seal did nothing to brighten his glum mood.
He read over the letter, sighed, and immediately set it on fire.
“Hey, watch it,” the kid next to him whined.
“Apologies, the letter contained information of the uttermost secrecy. I’m sure you understand,” Regulus whispered, giving the kid a conspiratorial look before going back to his coffee.
The kid in question immediately nodded and looked pleased to have been made privy to such delicate information.
Really there was no use in telling the kid that the bulk of the letter had been his mother rambling about his need to dress more smartly and wear a proper winter cloak.
It wasn’t that which had provoked the attack; it was the post script. A delicate expression of admiration for the new wizard calling himself the Dark Lord and a polite enquiry as to when Regulus might consider joining his cousin in such a worthwhile endeavour. At least that’s the literal version, the truth would be that it contained a clear declaration of loyalty to the Dark Lord and an order for Regulus to join his ranks as soon as he could get himself over to wherever the bastard was hiding out.
Regulus ran a hand through his hair. Christmas was going to be fun.
Regulus sat brooding in ancient runes, usually his favourite subject, but recent events were weighing on him. He wondered idly if the Dark Lord could hold off his Dark Deeds for a few months, it was his OWL year and he had no intention of getting anything less than a string of Os.
This whole business had started up a year or so ago and Regulus had hoped it would drop in and out of gossip, a bit like that time the whole school decided ostrich quills were the height of sophistication. It only lasted a term but it was a nightmare of trying to spot the blackboard through a sea of ridiculously disproportionate feathers. It was one of the few times Regulus had had some sympathy with his brother’s fascination with all things muggle, he had wished fervently that everyone had just decided that muggle pens were the new hot accessory.
While the ostrich feathers had faded out as soon as McGonagall had started cutting them back to acceptable lengths, the Dark Lord’s popularity continued only to rise.
This was a problem for Regulus. He had decided to make the wise choice to keep his head down for the years he was to be living with his parents, come into his inheritance and find a nice place to settle down and do whatever he wanted for the rest of his life. He was sure his parents would be ready to take issue with some of his decisions, but as long as he could buy them off with a few carefully placed aristocratic balls or meticulously planned dinners, he doubted he’d have too much trouble.
The whole point of being in a family as old as his was that nobody cared what you did so long as they didn’t know you’d done it. Hell, his Uncle Alphard had been living with another wizard for the last twenty years. The only reason Regulus knew was that his Uncle had made the mistaken assumption that Regulus was similarly inclined, and in his old age made a desperate attempt to bond with the younger generation. Regulus’ attitude towards people in relationships was pretty similar to his attitude towards wizards who spent half their lives in the muggle world: you do what you want but I’d rather be playing quidditch.
This was why he was so troubled by the arrival of the Dark Lord, this apparently powerfully dark wizard that was going to help re-shape the magical world. Regulus would admit he might have had his prejudices at some point, but truly even at his worst he would have considered the whole idea rather over the top. At this point in his life, it was downright distasteful.
More to the problem, it meant that he was going to have do something in this war much as he’d rather avoid it. His natural inclination would be to lie low, wait for it all to blow over and then continue his life. Unfortunately, he was now the heir of one of the sacred twenty-eight, therefore sitting it out was no longer an option.
He considered briefly, trying to find some kind of sanctuary somewhere. But when would he be able to go about finding such a place between being watched like a hawk for being a potential Death Eater at Hogwarts, and watched like a hawk for being a potential blood traitor at home?
It wasn’t like he had any particularly close friends, not any that he could be honest with at any rate. Anyone he did involve would be taking on an immense amount of danger. While Regulus was not reckless, he was not one to endanger others with his own problems. With one Black heir gone, the prospect of hiding the spare was not going to be overly charming to anyone with enough sense to be able to protect him.
As Regulus wandered idly from Runes to Potions he wondered if it would be so bad, taking the mark, serving this new Dark Lord. Then he remembered the contents of Bella’s letter and wanted to hex himself for even thinking it.
“I just don’t understand,” he said to Daisy, one of his closest friends, “why every wizarding family is so ready to risk it all over some upstart.”
“Daisy is not knowing either, Master Regulus,” she said, patting his knee gently. “Would master Regulus be liking something to eat or drink?”
The kitchens were Regulus’ favourite place in all of Hogwarts and not for the reason anyone might think. They were the only place where he could find good conversation and easy company.
“Some of that spicy tea would be lovely, Daisy,” he smiled at her, “you do look after me so well.”
Daisy blushed before rushing off to prepare his tea, Regulus knew there was bound to be an array of sweet treats to accompany it. Daisy had been worrying about how thin he was looking.
“Who is this wizard who is making Master Regulus so sad?” said Joisey, “is he at Hogwarts?”
“No, he’s not at Hogwarts, Joisey. He’s…” Regulus paused, “I don’t know who he is.”
“That’s strange. You be not knowing who it is,” Joisey gave a light laugh.
Regulus frowned. It was strange. It was very strange.
Surely any wizard who knows pureblood circles knows you’re nothing to someone unless you can name their second cousin three times removed, as well as know exactly who in their family not to mention at dinner.
Who was this Dark Lord’s second cousin three times removed? And why was he clearly not mentioning any of his family at dinner?
“Joisey, you are an incredibly smart person. Never let anyone tell you otherwise,” Regulus said, before placing a light kiss on the elf’s head.
“Master Regulus is too kind!” the elf flushed under the praise.
Daisy then came over with his tea and, as Regulus had expected, a wide array of small cakes.
“You’re wonderful as well,” he said, placing a kiss on Daisy’s head, unwilling to start any fights or jealousy in the kitchens. Regulus remembered a time in second year when he’d given one of the elves a tight hug, only to find the next day it had caused a whole group of them to ignore the poor elf entirely.
House elves weren’t very different from witches and wizards, they all wanted to believe they were special. That’s how the wizarding world seemed to have gotten in this mess after all.
Regulus spent entirely too long in the kitchens, catching up on the latest elf gossip and finding out what the menu was looking like for the week ahead. It was late by the time he left and he found himself glad he was a prefect. Few people questioned prefects wandering the castle after hours.
As soon as he was back in his dorm, Regulus decided it was high time he wrote a reply to his most delightful cousin, Bella, and tried to find out a little more about this Dark Lord. If the Dark Lord was hiding his heritage for a reason, as Regulus suspected was the case, perhaps he could use it to get himself out of the war. After all, his mother would never allow her most precious son to bow to some half-blood.
Dearest Cousin,
I was so pleased to read your letter, you know how boring Hogwarts can become, especially with the calibre of witches and wizards I am forced to spend time with. It makes me all the more anxious to come of age so I might share in your joy of serving a new order.
It excites me greatly to hear of the great power of the Dark Lord, it sounds like you have been truly blessed to know him intimately. While his great deeds are impressive, I do so desire to know more about the Lord himself. I find myself entertaining fanciful notions that we may be related by more than just a shared ancestor in Merlin. Please do indulge me with more information, cousin, I am wasting away at school while you are so honoured to be carrying out magic of real importance elsewhere.
I eagerly await your reply.
With most sincere affection,
Your cousin, Regulus.
Honestly, the whole process almost caused Regulus to regurgitate the sweet cakes he’d had earlier. The things he had to suffer for in search of the truth. At least he could rely on his cousin to be far too blinded by devotion to see the barely disguised hunt for information.
It was a few days later that Regulus received a reply. He’d been once again at the breakfast table, drinking an amount of coffee that he would probably have to declare to Madam Pomfrey if he kept it up.
He smiled when he saw the Lestrange seal and carefully slipped the letter into his robe pocket. Ordinarily, the careful concealment of letters would be met with suspicion by his housemates, but with the changing times it was seen more as a wise precaution to be encouraged.
Regulus’ first lesson was a free period, so he swiftly left the Great Hall to head up to the library. If anyone asked, he’d give some excuse about wanting to get ahead on his OWLs but he knew it was unlikely. He was well known for hours spent in the library, to the point where people even steered clear of his usual desk. Though, on second thought, the fact that most of the school was labouring under the impression he was an extremely prejudiced dark wizard might also have something to do with that.
He cast a quick secrecy charm on the letter and began to read.
Little Regulus,
I was so cheered to read your letter and hear about how eager you are to serve the Dark Lord. I told him of your loyalty and he is most pleased. We must live to please him, for he will bring strength and honour to our world.
The Dark Lord is a mighty man, someone of strength; both bodily strength and magic. You will be most impressed with him when you meet, I am sure, I am more enthralled and captivated every day. His presence is overwhelming, like all your senses are on fire. He is descended from the great Salazar Slytherin himself and you can tell by the way you feel his presence as soon as he is near. You will be most welcome amongst those who serve him. I do not believe we are related apart from the way my blood sings whenever he is near, the way he makes hearts beat faster.
I know you will join our ranks soon; you mother tells me it may even be before the end of the year. You will soon be serving alongside me, away from the filth that Hogwarts is filled with. Instead, serving our most glorious master.
I hope to see you marked soon,
Cousin Bella
Regulus resisted the temptation to make a face. He was brought up from a young age that proper wizards never flaunt their emotions. Still, the letter was testing all his self-restraint.
It was also rather unhelpful. Apart from suggesting a relation to Slytherin, which, lets face it, everyone and their mum claimed to have if they wanted any kind of standing in the pureblood community. The only wizarding family that had actual proof of it were the Gaunts, and Regulus had not heard of any Gaunt wizards or witches being born for some time, the family had died out as far as he was aware.
He would know, his mother kept an alphabetised list of potential marriages. Anyone up to twenty years older than Regulus was included.
Regulus sighed and went to grab a book on wizarding families, seeing if there were any others that actually had a strong claim to Slytherin. While he doubted the authenticity of the claim, he wanted something to show for the horror he’d been put through having to read Bella’s letter.
Regulus sighed as he flicked through Who’s Who in Wizarding Britain. He skipped over to the section on the Gaunt family, pausing only to confirm that Voldemort was indeed a pseudonym. Just as he suspected, the book confirmed them as the only wizarding family able to prove their connection to Salazar Slytherin. Much to his mother’s chagrin, Regulus was sure.
Seemed like the last couple of Gaunts were Morfin and Merope Gaunt. They grew up in pretty grim conditions, the book didn’t go into details but Regulus could read between the lines “reclusive” and “unable to return to their ancestral home”.
There wasn’t much information about what had happened to the last two Gaunts, suffice to say that Merope was believed to have died young, under the age of twenty, and Morfin was currently in Azkaban after murdering an entire muggle family. Their father, Marvolo, had died around the same time as Merope. He had been in Azkaban for some kind of assault on ministry officials, apparently his son had joined him. From what Regulus could make out the distinguishing family traits were inbreeding, bigotry and being parselmouths.
Yeesh and Regulus thought his family had issues. Reading about the Gaunt family almost made Regulus want to write to his mother. Almost.
Regulus frowned; in some ways this should be a dead end. The end of a long line of pureblooded witches and wizards for sure. The amount of inbreeding in the family alone almost guaranteed that there were unlikely to be any others not mentioned. Then again Regulus was hardly one to talk about inbreeding, his own family tree was much more square than anyone should be comfortable with.
But, despite this, there were a lot of loose ends. For one thing, there was no record of Merope’s death. Clearly, she had disappeared around 1926, but there was no record of marriage or birth of anyone who could be The Dark Lord. While the thought that The Dark Lord might actually be Merope was intriguing, Regulus dismissed it after the horrifying realisation that he was sure his cousin would have noticed that.
It clearly wasn’t Morfin, nobody escaped Azkaban. Escaping Azkaban is the kind of abject impossibility that only someone as arrogant and foolhardy as his brother would ever attempt.
Regulus sighed. If he had any other lead, he probably would have dropped this frustrating search into such an off-putting family. Unfortunately, like with everything else in his life, luck was not on his side.
Regulus headed over to the section of the library that held old issues of the Daily Prophet. He could look into what had happened that caused Marvolo and Morfin to end up in Azkaban, perhaps there would be clues there.
“Is Master Regulus in struggle with his classes?” asked Daisy, setting a hot cup of tea next to Regulus as he brooded.
Regulus had once again found himself in the kitchens, thinking over all he’d learned at the library.
“It’s not for a class, Daisy,” Regulus gave her a brief smile as he took the tea. “It’s a kind of special project I’m working on. I need to do lots of research but all I’m finding are dead ends.”
“That is sounding most annoying, Master Regulus,” said Daisy, passing him a cream cake.
“I know that people don’t always need reasons to do awful things but I just know that I’m missing something. This nasty family they fought ministry officials and the record gives no reason why. Then the son went on to kill this muggle family, the Riddle family. But I don’t understand why.”
“Why be Master Regulus reading about such nasty people?”
“I’m worried that if I don’t find out about the nasty people, I might become a nasty people- person, nasty person,” Regulus ran a hand through his hair. He took a consoling bite of cream cake.
“You is being silly, Master Regulus,” said Daisy, “Master Regulus could never be nasty. Master Regulus remembers Daisy’s birthday. Nice it is, to have someone be knowing your birthday.”
“It is nice,” Regulus smiled at her softly.
“Even muggles like to have birthdays remembered,” said Joisey, coming to join them at the mention of birthdays.
“Maybe instead of learning yourself about the nasty family, you could be finding out the birthdays of the muggle family. We could be celebrating extra birthdays, extra special since you’re not nasty,” Daisy gave Regulus a hopeful smile, which Regulus gladly returned.
“Do you know how to find out muggle birthdays, Daisy?” he asked.
“Daisy is not knowing, Master Regulus. Daisy is sorry,” Daisy hung her head.
“Don’t be sorry. You have cheered me up and now I’m smiling again,” Regulus gave a smile to demonstrate.
Regulus knew who he needed to speak to, but knew the risk that came with it. If his mother found out, he’d be hexed into the next wizarding war and who knows what kind of idiocy would be driving that one. He was barely able to keep up with the ridiculousness of the current one.
He needed more information before he could decide if it was worth the risk.
Regulus caught up with Evan Rosier after quidditch practice, jogging a little to catch up with the much burlier Slytherin beater. Regulus adored quidditch, but he’d never really developed the look that most of the players had.
“Rosier,” he said, trying to get his breathing under control and not give away the fact he was having to jog ever so slightly to keep up with the seventh year.
“Black.”
“My cousin tells me we might soon have someone in common,” there would come a day when Regulus would resent how easily nepotism came to him. It was not that day.
“You cousin? Bellatrix?” Rosier paused and slightly slowed down his pace, clearly Regulus had passed the first ward.
“That’s the one. She speaks favourably of you as someone most loyal to our shared cause,” Regulus didn’t think Bellatrix actually knew who Rosier was.
Regulus watched as Evan Rosier seemed to be holding in a look of deep satisfaction. There went the second ward.
“She does?” he paused, “is her favour shared by the one we serve?”
“I believe so. Why else would she encourage me to speak to you? She said from you I would be able to learn more of the satisfaction that comes from serving one so pure?”
Rosier stopped walking and Regulus carefully examined his face. Initially there was a slight frown, a doubtfulness that Regulus resisted the temptation to try to counter; he had to hold his nerve. Finally, he looked at Regulus and smirked. He grabbed hold of the younger man’s arm and dragged him over to an alcove in the castle wall.
“You’ve got a lot of nerve talking so openly,” Rosier muttered.
“I refuse to be shamed for wanting something better. We shouldn’t hide in shadows.”
“There’s a difference between shame and cunning,” he snarled. Despite his words, he seemed slightly cowed by what Regulus had said.
“It is such a matter of excitement is it not?” Regulus decided to change his approach. “My cousin tells me the Dark Lord comes from the great Salazar Slytherin himself. You must have been so honoured to have been in his presence. I envy your strength; I do not know if I would hold up to his standards.”
“Only the strong are fit to serve. You would be wise to improve yourself.”
“All I do is in his honour. Please indulge me, tell me about him. It may be some time before I am strong enough to meet him myself?”
Rosier paused and for a second Regulus was worried that he had figured Regulus out or, worse still, Regulus would have to continue to sweet talk him before he would talk.
“He is… unlike any I’ve met before. You can tell that he is someone of immense magic.”
Regulus resisted the urge to roll his eyes, please, how often must he endure these little speeches?
“How can you tell?”
“For one thing, his eyes. They aren’t a normal colour, they are bright red, filled with magic, as though it cannot be contained.”
Regulus was once again thankful for the dedication his mother had taken in hexing him for every overt display of emotion. Because otherwise his abject bewilderment would have been written right across his face.
“… he must be very imposing.”
“He is mighty. He looks almost like a snake, Regulus, he looks like nobody else I’ve ever seen. His skin is white and his nose is flat, were it not for the gift of being able to see him up close I would almost have said he had scales. His deep connection with Slytherin has granted him the blessing of being removed from looking like a muggle. Even we purebloods must be cursed to look just like them, always in hiding. He does not care for such things and so his magic has made him even more great. He is taller than anyone in the room and always poised, he keeps his feet bare to keep his connection to magic only he can feel, coming from the earth. The earth was made for wizards, Regulus, only the great ones are able to feel it. But once we claim the world from the muggle filth that infests it, we too can be great like him.”
Well that was a lot to unpack. Clearly the Dark Lord was bald as a thestral, missing a nose and had some kind of foot fetish. He’d also learned that Evan Rosier was not the person to get stuck next to at dinner. It wasn’t really the kind of information Regulus was looking for.
“Wow,” Regulus murmured, hoping that his voice conveyed awe and not a very real temptation to obliviate himself so that he never had to think about this conversation again.
“Indeed,” then, horrifyingly, Rosier leaned closer to Regulus, “he even has a snake, a huge python.”
Please be literal, Regulus desperately begged whatever divine being might be listening.
“Really?” Regulus whispered.
“Yeah, its huge, her name is Nagini and the Dark Lord talks to her. He’s a parcelmouth, just like Salazar Slytherin,” with that Rosier leaned back against the wall with a self-satisfied smirk. “I’m told he has great plans for me as soon as I’m out of this place. I’ll keep an eye out for you, maybe even put in a good word if you impress me.”
Rosier walked off with a swagger in his step, as Regulus stared after him. The Dark Lord is a parcelmouth. There were hardly any left as far as Regulus was aware; he’d never met any. The only ones he’d heard of he’d read about in the library the day before.
A slow smile spread across Regulus’ face as he headed off towards the castle. He was so distracted, he didn’t notice the extra pairs of footprints that accompanied his and Rosier’s.
With the information from Rosier, Regulus knew he couldn’t put off the conversation any longer. He now knew that whoever the Dark Lord truly was, he must have some sort of connection to the Gaunt family.
He needed more information, particularly information on that muggle family killed by Morfin. There was something off about it all. Morfin was, he supposed, capable of the murders on one level, there was a long list of anecdotes of him tormenting muggles; yet it seemed strange that he would go from twenty years of living like a hermit to murdering an entire muggle family.
Perhaps Regulus could have stopped at this point. He had plenty of information to bring some of the Dark Lord’s blood purity claims into disrepute, at least, enough so as to get his mother off his back. That had always been the goal after all, make the idea of Regulus joining the Dark Lord even more unpalatable to his mother than it was to Regulus. Yet, Regulus was a completist at heart, and he couldn’t deny his curiosity.
It was with that desire that Regulus approached the muggle studies classroom, casting a quick notice-me-not charm before knocking on the door.
Professor Knowles was not someone Regulus had had much contact with. Given that muggle studies was an elective that would have gotten him cursed, locked up or both, he’d never actually spoken to the teacher before. All Regulus knew was that he was a muggle born wizard who was considered to be kind, if a little eccentric.
Professor Knowles answered the door with a smile which seemed to harden when he spotted Regulus’ school tie.
“You must be Mr Black the younger,” he remarked. “I know your brother well but I can’t say I’ve ever had the pleasure of your company in any of my classes.” He gestured for Regulus to follow him into the room.
“Yes, I’m sorry Professor, I was rather taken with Ancient Runes when choosing my electives,” he paused when he remembered the reputation of Ancient Runes. “Honestly, I know it’s not many people’s preference but it always drew my attention.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I’ve heard from Bathsheba, she tells me you’re very talented at it,” Professor Knowles smiled kindly and offered Regulus a seat. “Nevertheless, since you’re not taking my subject, it does make me a little confused as to why you’re here now.”
“I guess I just realised I have a few gaps in my knowledge when it comes to muggle culture,” Regulus said, delivering the understatement of the year like it was a new discovery.
“What made you realise that?” asked Professor Knowles.
“I was having a conversation with some friends about birthdays, one of them was saying how much muggles like to celebrate them,” Regulus began, deciding to at least start off with the truth. The truth always was the best basis for a good lie after all.
Professor Knowles frowned slightly, clearly not expecting this line of questioning, “your friend is correct.”
“I was just wondering, if muggles made a record of such things. Wizards seem to record everything, births, marriages, deaths, I was wondering if it was the same for muggles.”
“It is,” Professor Knowles eyed Regulus with a look of suspicion.
“I was just wondering where someone could go about finding these. Say, if you wanted to find out about a specific, er, birthday,” Regulus finished lamely. He really should have planned this conversation ahead.
Professor Knowles sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Mr Black, forgive me for being blunt, but is it fair to say you’re trying to find information on someone?”
Regulus nodded.
“Can I ask why?”
“I’d rather not answer.”
The guise of the friendly teacher seemed to have slipped and Professor Knowles was now looking at Regulus with open suspicion, bordering on hostility. “Mr Black, I was not born yesterday, nor, despite what some of your beliefs might tell you, am I ignorant. I know your politics, and I know the growing climate of fear and violence. You come to me, a student I only know by reputation, and ask me how to track down muggle birth information. Forgive me if I feel rather disinclined to indulge your curiosity.”
Regulus was not proud of what he did next.
He started sobbing.
“I’m sorry professor. I know what I must look like to you,” he twisted his hands in his robes. “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate.”
Professor Knowles was completely taken aback, he sat up in his chair and immediately summoned a box of tissues. “Regulus? What is it? What’s troubling you?”
Regulus took a large, hitching breath, “I had a half-sister, I don’t remember her well. I think her name was Ursa, I found out about her from my dad.”
Professor Knowles nodded, “where is she now?”
“I don’t know,” Regulus wailed, “she married a muggle, I don’t think she had much magic and we never talk about her. I only found out because my dad let it slip one day in an argument.”
“You want to find her?”
“I want to warn her,” Regulus sniffed delicately, wiping at his eyes with the offered tissue. He was so glad nobody else was around, he’d never live it down. “You know how things are going, you said it yourself. I’m worried she doesn’t know. She needs to hide.”
“I can help you find her,” Professor Knowles’ kind smiles were back, he laid a hand on Regulus’ shoulder.
“I can’t ask you to do that,” Regulus sighed, “if too many people are involved her location might be found by someone else before me.”
“I can be discrete.”
“There are spies everywhere,” Regulus whispered, he didn’t want to frighten the professor but then again, a healthy dose of paranoia would only aid the muggle-born’s chances of surviving the war. “I am above suspicion because I know how to act. Please, if you know how I can find her, please tell me so I can make it right.”
Regulus didn’t know how he was supposed to get to some large building called The British Library any time soon. Of course, he knew London, but only wizarding London. His mother would have had a stroke at the thought of him meandering through muggle London, or even, god forbid, using muggle public transport. Regulus had no idea how muggle transport even worked.
He’d burn that bridge when he got to it.
His first concern was how he could break out of Hogwarts without anyone else noticing.
Regulus was starting to become aware that what had started with a fairly innocent and easily excusable bit of research was fast becoming dangerous. Information was power, which meant that it was also something people would go a long way to protect. While previously, he might have involved a house mate or two, he knew that the atmosphere of suspicion was such that involving anyone was to either put them at risk, or risk exposing himself.
Regulus fiercely ignored the part of his brain that viciously reminded him there was one person who might help if Regulus asked. Sirius had made it clear over summer that he wanted nothing more to do with Regulus.
No, if Regulus wanted to get out of being some sycophantic masked asshole, he was going to have to rely on himself.
With that in mind, Regulus began putting in place what he would need in order to escape Hogwarts, get the information, and be back before anyone noticed.
He couldn’t apparate for a whole host of reasons, primarily being that he couldn’t apparate from Hogwarts but also, he hadn’t quite managed to apparate with all his fingers in tact yet and he felt like someone might notice if a few went missing. Well, maybe not right away, but surely someone would at some point. God, Regulus’ life was depressing.
Floo was also out. Finding a fire place connected to the network was just asking for people to get nosy. He didn’t know what would happen if the Dark Lord discovered his snooping or, even worse, if his family found out.
That left Regulus with the single rather unattractive option of flying to London. From Scotland. Regulus gave a mental grown and hit his head against the nearest available hard surface. It couldn’t be as bad as that eleven-hour match against Ravenclaw he told himself repeatedly. That particular match went down in Hogwarts history when, after ten and a half hours, there was the disturbing comprehension that nobody had remembered to release the snitch.
Regulus set his plan into motion on Friday at dinner by drinking a particularly foul potion just before eating, which caused him to rather dramatically vomit all over those who had the misfortune of sitting within a ten-metre radius. It was a pretty emphatic declaration of illness that would ensure that both his two dormmates would decide that spending the night with their girlfriends would be much more preferable. It also had the added bonus of causing Evan Rosier almost as much discomfort as he’d caused Regulus, after he’d tried to follow-up his little recruitment speech by sitting across from the younger Slytherin at dinner.
Regulus loudly declared that he needed to go to bed for the weekend, throwing in a few dramatic sighs and near faints just for some added flavour.
Once Regulus was safely in his dorm, he then took an antidote to the potion and quickly changed out of his clothes into something more inconspicuous, he also grabbed his broom which he’d shrunken and brought to his room the day before.
His final challenge was to somehow get from the dungeons into a place in the castle he could fly from without being spotted. Luckily, Regulus had been swift in changing and most of the staff and students were still at dinner, leaving Regulus able to creep from his room and out into one of the main corridors.
Regulus dived into the first room he came across which had a window that looked out onto fresh air and not what lurked beneath the waters of the Black Lake. He grabbed his things and threw them out of the window before slipping out after them.
“Regulus?”
It was just as he was kicking off on his broom that he heard a familiar voice call his name. Regulus’ heart stopped for a moment but he kept moving, he couldn’t look back. He had a mission to complete.
Regulus had always loved flying. It was the one time as a child he was able to get away from his parents, even if he had to remain in the confines of the garden. He couldn’t hear anyone yelling or cursing or threatening if he was in the air, and he could usually dodge any hexes aimed at him. He remembered when he was seven, he had told his parents he wanted to be a quidditch player. His father had laughed at his silly dreams while his mother had made it clear just what would happen if he chose such a ridiculous profession.
He still had the scar on his left forearm. He couldn’t let his family force another mark there.
It was pitch black as Regulus flew south, rain was hitting his face and it was hard not to shiver despite the warming charms. He couldn’t replace them once they wore off, he was out of bounds of Hogwarts. He was glad that at least he’d remembered his goggles and had had the good sense to layer his clothes, trying to keep in as much heat as possible.
Regulus knew wizarding London like the back of his hand and so he knew exactly which rooftops would be safe to land on and exactly where there were charms to cover any wizards choosing to fly over the city. Still, it would have been hard to spot him, a small dark figure flying in the early hours.
Regulus landed in London at around three in the morning, he dismounted and carefully stashed his broom in one of the purpose-built lockers on the rooftop. He couldn’t make any progress until it was light, so Regulus stretched out across the roof and began to eat some food he’d asked Daisy and Joisey for earlier. He tried to look out at the stars but the light pollution of the city made it impossible without the aid of magic.
Regulus let out a deep exhale. What was he doing here? All this to avoid being involved in a war he wanted nothing to do with, and here he was running all the way to muggle London for information that could get him killed. He desperately needed answers here; he needed them to work. He didn’t know what he could do if this failed. He had no other plans, and the net was closing in fast.
Regulus enjoyed watching the sunrise; it was quiet on the rooftop. He rarely got to enjoy the quiet between the busy schedule of Hogwarts and the steady pressure of his home life. He enjoyed watching London slowly move from night to day below him as people started journeys to work, journeys to school. All these people below and none of them knew the danger they were in, what might happen if Voldemort came to power.
Regulus gave his head a quick shake. He wasn’t here to save the world. He was here for himself. Regulus didn’t have anyone else to rely on, nobody else was going to look out for him.
He stood up and stretched, cracking what seemed like every bone in his body, before grabbing his stuff and slipping down the stairs onto the street below.
Regulus had considered trying his hand at muggle transport but had decided to cut his losses. He’d embarrassed himself enough in this search, he was not going to add to it, in front of a bunch of muggles no less. Using a map he’d found in an old tome at Hogwarts, Regulus began to make his way through the busy streets.
The British Library was not what he’d expected. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected; he was always taught that muggles were a base and backward society with little respect for knowledge or innovation, that they were inferior at every level. The library was a holy temple of knowledge, a way of gathering all that was known for the use of all who wished to learn. Regulus stared in open fascination, suddenly wishing he had weeks to spend in its walls, time to explore the shelves, gather more and more information. Regrettably, he had to focus; he didn’t have much time.
Regulus walked up to the front desk which was staffed by an unassuming woman wearing a plain dress and bright orange cardigan, her glasses made her eyes seem comically big and she kept fiddling with a piece of hair that had fallen out of her ponytail.
“Good morning, ma’am,” Regulus began, certain not to forget his manners.
“Good morning, young man,” she gave him a slight smile, “how nice it is that some children still have manners. Too many these days listening to all that nasty loud music, it infects their ears.”
“My brother is forever listening to that kind of music. It’s awful,” Regulus said, surprising himself at the amount of feeling there was behind the words.
“Ah, your mother must have done a good job with you,” she offered him a sweet from a jar that was sitting on the desk. Regulus took the sweet with a quiet thanks.
“What can I do for you, young man?” she asked.
“I was wondering if I could look up the records of people, I’m trying to find an old family member,” he said, trying to sound as earnest as he could, though the boiled sweet was slightly hampering his acting skills.
“That sounds nice, what a sweet boy you are,” she smiled, “unfortunately only registered readers can access those documents.”
Did muggles need to be registered in order to read?
“Oh,” Regulus murmured, he hadn’t thought of that.
“I’m sorry, dear,” the lady did look genuinely regretful.
“Are you sure I couldn’t have a quick look. It won’t take long.”
“I wish I could help, but rules are rules, would you like another sweet?”
“It’s really important,” Regulus tried for his best imploring look, “please help me.”
“Now, that’s enough of that, maybe you could ask you mother or father to help out if it’s really important.”
Regulus was wracking his brains for a solution when there was a crash from the other side of the room. A huge pile of books had fallen from the book shelf that was just to the side of the front desk. A small man carrying an umbrella was stood next to it looking completely baffled by this turn of events.
The lady at the desk gestured for Regulus to stay put as she went over to either put the books back or yell herself hoarse at the man responsible. Regulus couldn’t quite work out from her facial expression which it was going to be.
The man responsible met Regulus’ eyes for a second and gave him a quick wink before launching into a lengthy explanation to the woman at the desk.
Regulus glanced around and saw the stairs up to the other floors of the library. A quick glance back saw the desk lady now firmly involved in both putting the books back and yelling herself hoarse. Regulus made a break for it.
He didn’t run, he wasn’t as foolish as his brother. Instead, he kept his head straight and a fast pace as he made his way over to the stairs. Unlike the Hogwarts library, this library seemed to have all the floors and sections labelled on little maps that were dotted around the building, this was to Regulus’ great relief as he could hardly cast a charm.
When he arrived at the records room, he was pleased to see he was the only one there. He glanced around and began to search for Little Hangleton, surely the best place to begin.
The records in here were unlikely to include the Gaunts; wizarding families usually didn’t bother to register with muggle society and he doubted the Gaunts would go against convention in that respect. Instead, he searched for the Riddle family.
Riddle
Riddle, Thomas, b. 1880, d. 1943
Married Mary Riddle nee Sommerville, b. 1883, d. 1943
Riddle, Thomas, b. 1905, d. 1943
Married Merope Riddle nee Gaunt, b. 1907, d. 1926
Regulus fought the very Sirius-like urge to punch the air. He was right. There was a connection with the Riddle family.
He went to replace the record before deciding against it. He glanced around the room, seeing nobody around, he tore out the page and folded it up until it was small enough to slip into his pocket.
Now all he had to do was find out if Merope had a child. But clearly if she did, it wasn’t in the Little Hangleton records. Instead Regulus, headed over to where births were registered by year. It was in a different room of the library, with shelves stretching everywhere, great tomes with the years neatly printed on the sides.
Merope had been young when she died, it would make sense to work backwards from her year of death. He went to one of the 1926 records, the one marked R, feeling extremely grateful that his mother’s view of muggles was proven laughably false.
In some ways it was almost absurd how easy it was to find the record on the Dark Lord. Tom Marvolo Riddle: born 31st December 1926 at Wool’s Orphanage to Merope Gaunt, the father wasn’t listed.
Regulus stared. He couldn’t quite believe that he’d done it. He’d found the Dark Lord. He didn’t know what was more ridiculous, how easy this information was to get hold of, or the fucking anagram.
He grabbed the page, feeling only slightly guilty for defacing such a well-crafted archive, before slipping out into the main entrance.
Regulus left the library in a daze. He felt like he’d just completed an extremely long and engaging book and now had no idea what to do with himself. He was floating on air; he didn’t have to take the mark. He could show his mother what he’d found, tell her he wouldn’t be associated with some half-blood and move on.
Regulus was free.
He couldn’t stop the grin from latching onto his face. This time he didn’t need to hide his facial expressions, nobody knew him, nobody cared. More importantly, Regulus didn’t care.
Regulus dashed back to where he’d stashed his broom. He was exhausted, but running on a strong wave of adrenalin that forced him forward. The faster he was back at Hogwarts, the faster he’d be able to hide the records in his pocket. He could keep them, a form of insurance perhaps? He wasn’t sure, he’d have time to figure it out later.
The flight back was gruelling and, by the time Regulus had landed, he didn’t care that he was in time to eat, he just wanted to disappear into bed. His muscles ached, his fingers had blisters despite the gloves he’d warn, and his eyes felt heavy.
Regulus would later go on to blame his state of tiredness and preoccupation for the fact that he never saw them coming.
Before Regulus had had a chance to utter an exclamation, he was being grabbed by two sets of arms and hauled into an empty broom shed. Embarrassingly, his feet didn’t even touch the ground.
Fuck. The records. If anyone found he had them he was as good as dead.
He whipped round to see who had taken hold of him only to be greeted, not by Nott or Bellatrix or even Lord Voldemort himself, but his asshole older brother and his friends.
“Sirius!” Regulus yelled, his fear leaving him in a rush making his voice a much higher pitch than was ideal. “What the fuck?” he hissed.
“Where have you been, Reg?” Sirius glared; his eyes were hard.
“What’s it to you?” Regulus went to leave but was pulled back by the two people who’d grabbed him in the first place. Bloody James Potter and one of the other ones, the one who wasn’t a werewolf.
“Tell me where you’ve been,” Sirius said again.
“I have been sick,” Regulus said, trying to come across as unaffected, “I have been in bed.”
“Try lying again,” Sirius pointed his wand right at his younger brother.
“You would curse me, Sirius?” Regulus asked, “which would you use? One of mother’s? You know I can take it. And you hold yourself as so much better than them. You’re all the same. All the bloody same.”
“Where. Have. You. Been?” Sirius snarled.
“I went out, had an errand to run.”
Sirius took a deep breath, “show me your arm.”
“What?” Regulus’ heart sank, he should have seen this coming.
“You heard me.”
“You really think so little of me.”
“I know exactly who you are. I know exactly where you come from.”
“We come from the same place, or are you so quick to forget?”
“I made my own choices, I got away. You’re still living with them. Being their son, their perfect little heir. You’ve made no attempt to be different. You say I’m the same as them? Look in the mirror, you drink up every tainted word they say. You’ll never break away from them and I know where they stand.”
“Whose fault is that, Sirius?” Regulus started forward only to be roughly grabbed by James. “You’re a bloody hypocrite standing there, all holier than thou, acting like you’re oh so much better than me. You can’t use up all the escape routes and then complain you’re the only one who got away! You have the nerve to go after me, act like I’m some poor lost cause. I was never lost; I know exactly who I am and I don’t need your help or anyone else’s.”
“Show me your arm!”
“Why do you care?”
“Do it!”
Regulus felt James hold him fast while the other one (Paul?) grabbed hold of his left sleeve, pushing it up to the elbow.
Sirius stared at Regulus’ pale arm, completely unmarred except from the scar he’d gotten as a child.
“Oh, thank Merlin,” Sirius gasped, the fight leaving him in a long exhale.
Regulus almost got whip lash as Sirius grabbed him and pulled him into hug.
“I thought I’d lost you for good,” Sirius murmured. Was he crying? Regulus really hoped not. “I heard you talking with that other kid, Rosier, and then you disappeared. You just vanished; I didn’t know what to think.”
“Maybe don’t think I’ve gone off to join a bunch of fascists?” Regulus grumbled, but he didn’t pull away.
“You haven’t spoken to me in months, what am I supposed to think? How am I supposed to know how you’re doing, or who you’re snogging, or even if you’ve joined some murder cult? You don’t make it easy.”
“I don’t make it easy?” Regulus almost laughed, pulling back from his brother. “Sirius, you’re the one who left.”
“Reggie, you know why I left. I couldn’t stay there anymore, it’s toxic.”
“It’s all I have,” Regulus whispered.
Sirius grabbed his shoulders, “It isn’t, I promise you it isn’t. I can help you. I can get you out.”
Regulus removed his brother’s hands and shook his head, “Sirius, you don’t get to make that offer, not from where you’re standing. There’s only room for one.”
Regulus shrugged off the two that were holding him and stalked his way up the path to the castle, he didn’t know whether to be relieved or upset that nobody followed.
It was the next day, as Regulus was walking through the school during his free period, that he saw something that made him stop in his tracks.
Tom Marvolo Riddle
Displayed proudly as a past Head Boy of the school, staring right at all who walked by. It some ways it made sense, it wasn’t like he could have been educated in a muggle orphanage, but how could nobody know?
“Thinking about where you might be in a couple years, my boy?” Slughorn gave Regulus a smile, squeezing his shoulder in a detestable manner.
“I was just looking at which names I recognised,” Regulus focused on keeping his tone even.
“Indeed, plenty of Blacks there. Room for one more I think,” he paused, “though maybe not your brother if you don’t mind my saying.”
“I don’t recognise that name. Riddle? Usually the head boys go on to do such great things,” Regulus said, turning to carefully examine his teacher’s face as he did so.
“Ha. Funny that. Well they can’t all be famous now, can they? Now come along, maybe you should use this time for studying don’t you think,” Slughorn gave a quick wave before dashing off in the direction he’d come from.
He knew.
If Slughorn knew than there was no way that Dumbledore didn’t know. If Dumbledore knew then why hadn’t he said anything? Did they not realise the impact this would have? Of course, not everyone would be stopped but plenty of plueblood families would shrink away from giving fealty to a half-blood. So why keep silent?
Dumbledore had had knowledge that could had freed him the whole time.
Hot anger flashed inside Regulus as he dashed up to the Slytherin common room. He slammed the door of his dorm, pleased to find it empty. He grabbed a box that he’d hidden under his bed, covered in charms to ensure that only he could open it: the records from the library.
Knowledge was power. That was something Regulus had always understood, the kind of fundamental truth he’d practically based his whole life around. If he knew his parent’s movements, he could avoid them. If he knew what Sirius was up to, he could stop them from knowing. If he knew what his teachers believed, he could get higher grades. If he knew who the Dark Lord truly was…
Dumbledore must have known that too. Known the importance of the knowledge he possessed. He wasn’t like Sirius, so focused on avoiding blood politics that his aversion gave him a blind spot. So why keep it secret?
Power.
Dumbledore was no fool. Regulus couldn’t decide if this made him admire the headmaster more or hate him for what he had kept hidden. Dumbledore claimed to be a wizard of the light, a great leader, a hero through and through. But this? This wasn’t heroic. Lives could be saved, he had housemates, just as desperate for a way out of this as Regulus himself. If the wizarding community was aware of just who Tom Riddle truly was, the veil of mystery removed, who knew how many would have refused to join his ranks, wouldn’t have killed for him.
And what about those who took his side? What about Sirius? Dumbledore was gathering an army and Regulus had no doubt Sirius would be one of the first recruits. How many more would die because Tom Riddle was all the stronger behind his ridiculous anagram?
What if Sirius was among them?
Dumbledore could aid the war more in a half hour conversation than he could in a year of leading an opposing force. Perhaps that was exactly why he hadn’t said anything. Knowledge was power, and Dumbledore had vital information.
But how could Regulus hate the man who was doing the same thing he was? Regulus had no plans to share what he knew, at least not beyond taking himself out of the narrative.
Regulus had never claimed to be heroic, never claimed to be good. Hell, Regulus had never even claimed to be nice. Nobody in this world looked out for him, he had only himself to rely on, and he was damn good at looking out for himself.
But seeing his own actions mirrored in another left a sour taste in his mouth.
There was a muggle saying Regulus had overheard Sirius use once: We tend to meet our fate on the path we take to avoid it. Regulus had done everything to avoid this war. Yet, here he was contemplating actions that would place him right in the middle of it.
If he did this, he knew he couldn’t back out. His family would be sure to hate him and it would make enemies out of almost his entire house. Virtually nowhere would be safe for him and he couldn’t ask anyone to share that responsibility. He would be on his own, taking a stand rather than a side.
But Regulus had always been alone, and at least this way he could do something useful for once. He could become someone, rather than just the latest in a long line, a family name with a person attached. His mother had always instilled in him what it meant to be a Black and he’d always obeyed her. Maybe it was time he figured out what it meant to be Regulus.
Regulus sighed and took out his quill, he crossed off the opening lines of a letter he had started to his mother. He wrote another address instead.
Christmas was going to be unbearable.
It had been strangely easy to put things together in the end. Regulus almost wished that it had been harder, that he could have been handed an excuse to back out. He wasn’t his brother, he didn’t do grand actions or big gestures; he was the one who schemed and planned and hoped that it would be enough.
On the morning that his life was to change forever, Regulus didn’t go down to breakfast. Maybe it was cowardly, but after all he had done, he was entitled to a little cowardice. Who knew how his housemates would react, some of them were about to realise they had got the wizarding world’s most regrettable tattoo.
Regulus sat in the Hogwarts kitchens, sipping on his tea and listening to the sounds of the usual chatter that accompanied breakfast. He nervously awaited the arrival of the post, the arrival of the issues of the Daily Prophet that were sure to be spread like wildfire. He didn’t know what he feared more: that it would work or that it wouldn’t.
Regulus felt, rather than heard, the sudden hush that took over the great hall above him. A single moment of peace before people began talking again, only louder. He couldn’t make out any of the individual exclamations, but he knew that his plan had worked.
“Master Regulus? Daisy brought you the paper in case you be wanting it. Loads of them upstairs are getting awful loud about it,” Daisy handed Regulus a copy of the Daily Prophet. Despite his anxiety, Regulus couldn’t help but smirk when he saw the front page. Maybe the whole plan had been a bit over the top, but at least his brother would appreciate it.
MISSING: TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE
Last surviving member of the Most Pure and Noble House of Gaunt, heirs of Salazar Slytherin. Mr Tom Riddle, named after his muggle father Tom Riddle Snr, has not been seen for some years, causing much concern among the wizarding community. Has the House of Gaunt finally died out?
Tom Marvolo Riddle is described as being tall, pale and missing a crucial component of his face (something he is very sensitive about so please don’t print that it’s his nose). He is likely to be seen with red eyes, we’re not sure why perhaps it is a reference to some muggle craze. He also has a deep aversion to shoes after a tragic shoe related injury in his youth, and he tends to carry his pet snake around with him wherever he goes. We believe he might be using some form of alias so keep an eye out for a wizard matching his description with a strange, clearly made up, name. As a child he insisted on being called Lord Moldvetor so perhaps he has chosen something similar.
Any information would be greatly appreciated and please pass on any tips to Regulus Arcturus Black, Heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black
Regulus took another sip of tea. He had no idea where he was going from here, he doubted he’d be able to go home for Christmas and that was even if he got through the rest of term without being murdered in his sleep by angry housemates. Yet, he couldn’t help but smile. His life had imploded but it was finally his. Regulus had never understood his brother’s obsession with pissing off their parents but he thought he got it now: it wasn’t about them.
The door swung open with a loud bang as a group of sixth year Gryffindors traipsed in, dashing up to Regulus. The looks on their faces ranged from shock to excitement to impressed.
James Potter held up the Daily Prophet, “This is insane! Did you really do this?”
“Well, it does have my name on it,” Regulus rolled his eyes, trying to tame his face.
Sirius pulled him into a hug. They’d had more hugs in the last week than in the previous two years. “I’m sorry I doubted you.”
Regulus sighed, as much as he wanted to stay angry at Sirius, he was tired of pretending like he didn’t care, “It’s ok. I gave you no reason not to.”
“I still can’t believe this. This is the best day of my life. I’m considering proposing right now, Lily would understand,” James grabbed Regulus hand off Sirius’ back and shook it. It was a little awkward considering Sirius was still holding on to his brother.
“I may be technically homeless, Potter, but I still have some standards,” Regulus sniffed, but shook his hand regardless.
“What are you going to do now?” asked Remus Lupin, he looked concerned, as though he genuinely cared what happened to his friend’s (boyfriend’s?) bratty younger brother.
“I don’t know,” Regulus said, honestly.
“You’ve got a plan though, right?” said Sirius, “you’ve always got plans, you’ve never done anything in your life until you know every possible outcome.”
“Not this time. This was kind of the extent of it,” Regulus shrugged. He should really be more concerned.
“Damn,” the other one (Philip?) murmured, “you’re nuts.”
James elbowed his friend in the ribs, “You’ve got us. We’ll protect you.”
Regulus frowned in confusion, “look, Potter, I get that you’ve got a saviour complex a mile wide, but taking in the only remaining heir of Walburga and Orion Black wasn’t a particularly good idea a few weeks ago; now it’s pretty much suicide. I’ll figure it out, you don’t all need to go following me off a cliff.”
“Reggie, you literally figured out the identity of the darkest wizard alive, how can you be this dense? You’re with us now and that’s not up for debate,” Sirius sat next to his brother, grabbing Regulus’ mug of tea and started sipping it himself.
Regulus gave Sirius a half-hearted glare. “It wasn’t that difficult. Dumbledore must have known for years,” he mumbled bitterly. “Anyway, you do realise that I’m now top of the Dark Lord’s hit list? I’ve got a target on my back bigger than Sirius’ ego. You want that around?”
“Yes,” three of them said in unison, one of them (seriously Regulus had no idea who this kid was) shuffled awkwardly before nodding along.
“I have never been so proud,” said Sirius, doing a scarily good impression of their mother.
“You’re mad, you’re all mad,” Regulus said, but his face broke into a smile nonetheless.
“No, little brother,” Sirius laughed, grabbing Regulus around the shoulders and pulling him tightly to his side, “we’re all mad.”
Regulus stared around the kitchen, at the strange mix of house elves and Gryffindors that now made up his family. He still thought there was a strong possibility he would be murdered in his bed that night, but a strange new emotion took up root in his chest. Here in the Hogwarts kitchens, surrounded by people his mother would hate, Regulus felt hope.