Chapter Text
Draco had a ghost. Not just any ghost though, of course not, nothing is ever regular with him, but Regulus Black’s ghost. Cousin of his mother. Cousin of his mother who no one has any clue or information about. In his shop. Working for him. Well not for him, Regulus doesn’t listen to a word he says really, just a wandering spirit with a complete mind of its own and a horrendous attitude.
And if Draco had learned two things very quickly after Regulus Black began haunting his antique shop it was this.
First: ghosts could be exhausting even when they weren’t screaming, rattling chains, or bleeding through walls. Regulus did none of that. He simply… existed. Lurked. And Judged.
Harshly.
Second: Regulus Black had opinions.
“Absolutely not,” Regulus said from where he lounged half-inside a display case, his boots resting on a pile of cursed lockets. “You are not putting that out front. That’s how you attract idiots.”
Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s a nineteenth-century reliquary. People like reliquaries.”
“People like cursed nonsense that explodes,” Regulus replied coolly. “That one hums when it’s angry.”
“It does not—”
The reliquary gave a low, ominous buzz.
Draco stared at it.
Regulus smirked. “Told you.”
Draco shoved it back onto the shelf and muttered something deeply uncharitable about the Black family line. As though he himself was not part of it. The shop smelled faintly of dust, old magic, and chamomile tea—Regulus insisted on the tea, though he never drank it, Draco doubted he even could. He claimed it made the place feel “lived in.” Draco suspected it was purely to annoy him.
The spirit drifted closer, dark hair falling into his eyes, expression sharp and assessing in a way that made Draco uncomfortable. Regulus looked younger than Draco had expected—barely older than a schoolboy, really—but carried himself like someone who had already decided how the world worked and found it lacking. He supposed that was to be expected from a Black though.
“You’re tense,” Regulus stated.
“You haunt my shop,” Draco replied. “I think I’m allowed to be.”
“I don’t haunt,” Regulus said, affronted. “I reside. There’s a difference.”
“Then reside elsewhere. Somewhere that is not my personal bubble perhaps.
“No.”
Regulus floated away again, passing straight through a stack of First Edition spellbooks that Draco had spent an entire morning aligning by height. They tilted ominously.
Draco lunged forward. “Don’t you dare—”
They fell.
Regulus laughed, the sound sharp and delighted, echoing strangely in the small space. It was the first time Draco had heard him laugh like that, and despite himself, Draco paused.
“You enjoy this,” Draco said flatly.
“Immensely.”
Draco began restacking the books with aggressive precision. “Why are you even here?”
The question slipped out before he could stop it.
Regulus went still.
The shop felt colder.
“For the same reason you are,” Regulus said after a moment. “Because this place collects what people abandon.”
Draco frowned. “That doesn’t answer anything.”
Regulus’s gaze flicked to the locked cabinet behind the counter—the one Draco never opened in front of customers, the one containing objects he hadn’t sold, couldn’t sell, and perhaps never would.
“It answers more than you think,” Regulus said quietly.
Draco straightened. “You didn’t even know me before you… arrived.”
“Oh, I know your type,” Regulus replied. “Polished. Polite. Pretending the past is an antique you can dust off and price-tag.”
Draco bristled. “I am not pretending.”
“Of course you are,” Regulus said mildly. “Everyone who survives does.”
A bell chimed as the front door opened.
Both of them turned.
A witch stepped inside, rain dripping from her cloak, eyes sharp and searching. She glanced around the shop, then directly at Draco.
"I’m looking for something,” she said.
Draco straightened instinctively, slipping into his practiced shopkeeper smile. “I might be able to help.”
Behind her, Regulus’s expression darkened.
“If she asks for the ring,” Regulus murmured, “lie.”
Draco didn’t look at him. “What sort of something?”
The witch smiled, thin and knowing. “Something that doesn’t want to be found.”
Regulus drifted closer to Draco’s shoulder, voice low and urgent.
“Careful,” he said. “This is how it starts.”
Draco felt the weight of Regulus’s presence like a hand on his spine.
“I’m afraid that’s a very broad description,” Draco said smoothly, folding his hands atop the counter. “Most things in this shop prefer to be left alone.”
The witch’s eyes flicked past him, scanning shelves that were warded, catalogued, and very carefully behaved. Her gaze lingered a fraction too long on the locked cabinet.
“Still,” she said, “they always end up somewhere.”
Regulus hissed under his breath. “She knows.”
Draco shot him a warning look that went entirely unacknowledged.
“What exactly are you hoping to find?” Draco asked.
The witch stepped closer. Water pooled on the floor, spreading toward the counter, but stopped abruptly—as if the shop itself had decided it had tolerated enough. Draco felt the wards hum, familiar and reassuring.
“A locket,” she said. “Silver. Old. Angry.”
Regulus went very still.
Draco’s pulse peaked, though his expression didn’t change. “I’m sorry,” he said carefully. “I don’t deal in personal effects.”
“Don’t you?” she asked. Her smile sharpened. “Funny. I was told you specialize in lost causes.”
Regulus laughed once, bitter and soft. “I warned you.”
Draco leaned forward. “Who told you that?”
The witch hesitated. Just for a moment. “Someone who owned it.”
The air grew colder.
Regulus drifted away from Draco, his form flickering slightly around the edges. When he spoke again, his voice was different—lower, steadier, edged with something old and dangerous.
“If she asks for it again,” he said, “tell her it was destroyed.”
Draco swallowed. “Was it?”
Regulus didn’t answer.
The witch placed her hands on the counter, palms down. Ancient runes flared briefly beneath her skin before Draco’s wards pushed back, flaring silver in response.
“Oh, don’t be like that,” she said lightly. “I’m not here to steal. I’m here to return something.”
“To whom?” Draco asked.
Her gaze slid, unerringly, to Regulus.
Draco’s stomach dropped. “You can see him,” Draco said.
“Of course I can,” the witch replied. “Ghosts leave fingerprints on the world. Yours is everywhere.”
Regulus crossed his arms, unimpressed. “If you’re here to gawk, do it somewhere else.”
She inclined her head, respectful in a way that set Draco even more on edge. “Regulus Arcturus Black,” she said. “You left something unfinished.”
Draco turned sharply. “You will not use his full name in my shop.”
Regulus blinked.
The witch smiled. “Protective.”
Draco didn’t look away from her. “Try me.”
For a moment, Draco thought she might push. Instead, she sighed, as if conceding a point.
“The ring doesn’t belong in a cabinet,” she said. “It’s calling to remember things that remember.”
Regulus’s voice was quiet. “That’s the point.”
Draco spun toward him. “You knew?”
“I’ve always known,” Regulus replied. “I just hoped it would stay buried.”
The witch straightened. “It won’t. And when it breaks loose, it won’t just take him.”
She nodded toward Regulus.
“It will take you too.”
Silence fell.
Draco exhaled slowly. “Then you’d better explain,” he said, “before I throw you out and salt the threshold.”
The witch’s smile finally faded.
“Very well,” she said. “But you won’t like it.”
Regulus met Draco’s eyes.
“You already don’t,” he said softly.
The witch’s words lingered in the air, thick with a promise Draco didn’t want to look at too closely. He shifted on his feet, his gaze flicking between Regulus and the woman who had come, seeking answers. The shop felt smaller, heavier, as though the walls themselves were holding their breath. Regulus, whose face had been unreadable moments ago, now wore an expression that was a mix of resignation and something darker. His voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper.
“The ring wasn’t meant to be found,” he said quietly, as though speaking to the space between them more than anyone in particular. “It was hidden for a reason.” Draco was still trying to wrap his head around the implication of that, his mind racing through the possibilities, each one worse than the last. The ring Regulus spoke of was no ordinary trinket. Draco had heard the rumors, of course. But the details? They’d always been too murky, too vague. Too dangerous to explore.
“You’re not making any sense,” Draco said, his voice betraying his confusion despite his best efforts. “What are you talking about? What’s this ring?” The witch, who had been watching the exchange with a quiet, calculating expression, finally spoke again, her voice low but clear.
“It’s an heirloom of sorts. A family treasure,” she said. “But more importantly, it’s a key. A key to something far older than your little antiques shop, Draco Malfoy.” At the mention of his name, Draco’s stomach twisted. He had spent years trying to distance himself from the weight of his family’s legacy, but it seemed the past had a way of pulling him back in. And now, with Regulus Black’s ghost haunting him, it felt like his own family history was an inescapable shadow.
The witch continued, her voice gaining weight with each word. “The ring was made to bind a piece of something... something dark. Something dangerous.” Draco blinked, trying to steady his breathing. “A piece of what?”
Regulus didn’t look at Draco this time. Instead, his eyes were fixed on the witch, and there was an odd intensity in his gaze. “Of me,” Regulus said flatly, as though the words were both inevitable and the most inconvenient thing he could admit. The room seemed to tighten even further, like the walls themselves were closing in. Draco’s throat went dry.
“I don’t—” Draco started, but the words died on his tongue. He didn’t know what to think. Regulus... a piece of Regulus was bound to something dark? The implications were too tangled. His eyes flicked to the witch, whose smile had returned, though it was now more of a knowing curve at the corner of her lips.
“Oh, it’s not just the ring,” she said with a shrug, as though she were speaking about something trivial. “That’s the problem. The piece of him that was trapped inside... it wants out. And it’s calling to those who would listen.” She looked directly at Draco. “It’s calling to you.”
Draco felt a chill that had nothing to do with Regulus’s proximity. He recoiled slightly, but the witch’s gaze followed him, steady and unrelenting.
“You are listening, Draco,” she continued. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here. The shop, the items you collect... it’s all part of the same pull. You’re trying to bury something too, aren’t you? Something you think can be locked away.”
Regulus’s lips curled into something like a bitter smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “She’s not wrong,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “If you haven’t noticed, Draco, the world isn’t as simple as dusting off old relics and pretending they don’t matter. Some things don’t stay buried, no matter how much you try.”
Draco’s jaw tightened. “And this ring? What is it? Why should I care?”
The witch took a step forward, and Draco instinctively reached for the wand that was never far from his side. He had gotten it back a few years back. After his trials. Also the last time he’d seen Harry Potter. The wards in the shop hummed again, tense and ready, but the witch showed no fear.
“It was created to bind Regulus to a purpose, to a cause,” she said, her voice soft but insistent. “The same cause that claimed his life. He was a part of something darker than even his family understood. The ring... was supposed to keep that part of him locked away. It was never meant to be found. But now? It’s calling again.”
Regulus was watching her now, his expression darkening.
“You don’t understand,” he said, his voice sharp with an edge of warning. “You have no idea what you’re meddling with.” The witch’s smile never faltered. “I know exactly what I’m meddling with,” she replied. “Do you?” Draco’s thoughts spun like a whirlwind. The ring. Regulus. The idea of being “called.” The pieces were beginning to fit together, but there was too much he still didn’t understand.
“This is why you’re haunting my shop,” Draco said slowly, the realization sinking in. “You’re trying to keep it from getting out. You’re trying to stop it.”
Regulus looked at him for a long moment before speaking. “Not just stop it. I’m trying to contain it. I’ve spent years doing that. And I won’t let anyone, especially not you,” he said, nodding toward the witch, “unleash it again.”
The witch raised an eyebrow. “Containment is a fragile thing. And you’ve had your time. It’s his turn now.” She looked back at Draco. “The ring belongs with him now.”
Draco swallowed hard. His instincts screamed at him to reject everything they were saying, to throw them both out of the shop, to put the past back in its crypt where it belonged. But something in him—the same pull that had drawn him to this cursed corner of the world—was listening. And it terrified him.
“You think this is just about a ring?” Draco asked, his voice steady despite the chaos in his mind. “You think I care about any of this? About you? About—”
Regulus stepped forward, his presence heavy and undeniable. “No. You care about what it can do. And so do I. Don’t pretend you’re the only one with something to lose, Draco. You’re the one holding the keys now.”
Draco froze. The keys.
The locked cabinet. The locket.
His heart skipped a beat.
“No...” he breathed. “You can’t be serious. You think I’m—”
“I think you’re the one who’s going to have to decide what happens next,” Regulus said, his voice cold. “It’s always been you. But don’t expect it to be easy.” The witch watched them both, her gaze shifting with amusement. “Oh, it won’t be. But that’s the fun part, isn’t it?” Draco’s fingers tightened around the edge of the counter as he felt the weight of their words pressing down on him. The past. The ring.
The choices he didn’t want to make.
There was no turning back now.
“So,” the witch said, her eyes glinting, “what will it be, Malfoy? Are you going to bury it all again, or are you finally going to face what’s been calling?”
Draco took a slow breath, his heart pounding in his chest.
And for the first time in his life, he wasn’t sure which path would save him.