Chapter Text
They sat at the kitchen table, the old oak worn down from hundreds of family dinners that had taken place over the years. Knife marks along the edges of the wood, rounded corners and other remnants of the years were pressed into the wood like a woven tapestry. A tapestry that, if nothing changed, would be cut short and left unfinished.
Sirius’ chair had already been discarded as he stood over the table and the many papers that were littered across it. His hair lacked its infamous elegance, and instead was frizzy from his sweaty palms raking through it in stress. He was uncharacteristically silent, his eyes pouring over the various newspaper clippings, minutes from the sparse Order meetings, even tattered pages that had been ripped out of stolen magic artifices.
In another time, on another sunrise, this sight would mean trouble was on its way in the form of impossible pranks and teenage hijinks. Yet now, the days of sunlight and mischief were stretched far and few between, memories becoming fragile wisps of winters’ breath, easily lost to the growing storm upon them.
James (who sat slouched in the chair next to him, his neck bent awkwardly as his head tilted back) had drifted off a little over three hours ago, which was two hours before the birds outside began to grace the daybreak with hopeful chirps and songs. An hour after that, the sun began to filter through the kitchen curtains and cast a hazy glow over Sirius’ work. Lily and Harry were both upstairs, no doubt cuddled up together in the master bedroom, snoozing away in a pile of baby blankets, clothes they haven’t been bothered to move away and old cotton pillows.
Sirius couldn’t sleep. He just couldn’t.
Every time he lay down, or even closed his eyes to blink, he felt the familiar pulse of panic and paranoia race up his spine and curl up against the back of his neck. Serpentine and suffocating, Sirius’ mind was overtaken by an onslaught of brutal what if’s that (more often than not) ended with Harry, James and Lily lying cold against the floor, eyes unseeing and chests still, and himself kneeling in the middle of the wreckage. Laughing. Crying. Silent. Nothing he did seemed to change the outcome, the terror that gripped as he awoke with his back drenched in sweat and shaking like a man possessed.
So, Sirius stayed awake. He stayed awake and, in his paranoia, ( it’s not paranoia if I’m right Moons ) he plotted and planned for any and every situation that could possibly bring the Potters into harm’s way.
Dumbledore had already suggested hiding them. The Fidelius Charm he had proclaimed, his pale blue eyes irritatingly composed behind his half-moon spectacles. Hidden in plain sight, the Longbottom’s have already been hiding for weeks now, with their little baby boy. He’s a similar age to Harry, Neville his name is. Though I’m certain you already knew of that.
Prick Sirius had thought, and he stood by his words even now. The argument that had followed was sickening. It was barely an argument, just James clutching Harry to his chest, shielding his face away from Dumbledore as if to hide him from the man. It was Lily, who refused him, the words No, we’ll find another way filling the silence before Sirius or James even had the chance to open their mouths. Not once had Dumbledore shouted, or raised his wand, but the surprised quirk of an eyebrow and an unvoiced Oh? left Sirius feelings as if he was back in that house, the urge to defend himself outweighed by the childish desire to hide away from authority.
“We won’t hide, we’ll be found.” James’ voice was resolute and clear, offering no arguments from the old man “We know the Death Eaters are hunting us like dogs already, all hiding will do is give us more time.”
“Isn’t that what we’re fighting for? More time to lessen Voldemort’s hold?”
James shrugged, the casual informality jarring “Maybe for you. But I don’t want to be scared anymore, nor do I want my family to be raised hidden away in the dark.” He clenched his jaw and looked at Dumbledore directly in the eyes, unwavering hazel meeting immovable ice. After a tense silence, Dumbledore arose from his seat, looking behind at the group.
“Do not take my advice and squander it. These are grave times, and I would hate for any miscommunication” he stressed, holding Sirius’ gaze before looking away “to lead to even more tragedy. Goodnight”
He left through the floo leaving nothing but ash on the carpet.
The next morning, Remus was gone.
No note, no warning. Just a half-drank mug of tea that had since gone cold, and an empty space in Sirius’ closet that once held faded shirts and moth-eaten corduroys. That was nearly two months ago, and still Remus had not returned.
And so, Sirius stayed awake. Planning and scheming away, trying in any attempt to keep his family safe. No matter the personal cost. Insomnia was an old friend after all, and the saying ‘keep your friends close and enemies closer’ had never seemed more pertinent.
Peter. Peter fucking Pettigrew. That fucking rat. They had known for months now that he was the traitor. ‘they’ being Sirius, James, Lily and Remus. Marlene had fled to America with Dorcas after the first attack on their house, after it was clear that Dumbledore had no interest in helping them. Bigger fish to fry, or perhaps he saw them all as nothing more than bodies to throw at the wall, waiting to see what sticks and what crumbles. But yes, little twitching Peter Pettigrew, with his ambitions too great for his skill. His friends too kind for his needs. To himself, Peter must have been so suave, so secretive, so cunning in his deception. And perhaps in another life he would have been, and they would have all fallen for his ruse and ended up dead.
Yet, unbeknownst to even Dumbledore, the Marauders had a spy of their own. It was entirely coincidental, that the first mission Dumbledore had sent Remus on was a complete disaster, with auror’s swarming the negotiation site like flies on roadkill. Amongst the vicious snarls and flashes of red light, a glimpse of dark, shoulder-length hair had caught Remus’ eye, before the figure had fled. His heart had clenched in fear, secluded whispers of spies and traitors hissing against his ears.
Not him , he had thought as he chased after the Death Eater, not Sirius . Please, for the love of God, don’t be Sirius. Don’t make me kill him. Yet still he chased him through the woods, his absence un-noted amongst the growing frenzy. After several minutes, Remus stopped his pursuit and leant against a tree, panting and wheezing, nearly doubled over as a violent cough threatened to choke him. He had put enough distance between himself and the battle behind him, yet another problem had risen- his target had evaded him. Well, not quite.
He could tell from the unusual stillness of the air that he was not alone. There was always some sort of movement amongst the leaves, whether fallen hatchling or a particularly foolish stoat. Yet now, even the wind held its breath in anticipation. The woods were never silent, not unless something had already came barrelling through, scaring any animals back into their hidey-holes.
Remus inhaled sharply, and not a second later was he slammed against the ground. Fallen branches and rocks grazed his face as he tried to wrestle off his aggressor. Mud went flying into the air as Remus clawed and bit at any hands that tried to silence him, reaching back to pull the hand that was pressed against his shoulder into the dirt, heaving his weight forward and sending the man flat against his back.
Muffled curses erupted from the huddle of black cloak, as hands tried to push themselves upward. Without even looking at the face, Remus grabbed the hair of his attacker and slammed his skull against the earth, ignoring the groans of pain in favour of pressing his knee firmly into his back, rooting the assailant in place.
“Fuck sake, Remus. Would it kill you to listen to me?”
Remus gasped, his hold going slack in shock. Shaking himself slightly, he grabbed the shoulder of the man below him and dragged him around to face him. And, lo and behold, he was met with the familiar face of Regulus Black.
Another familiarity was the swift punch to the jaw that Remus suffered, delivered in his moment of shock as he tried to piece together what to do next. Unlike the other werewolves, none of whom had ever attended Hogwarts and had no recollection of the infamous bond of the marauders, Regulus had a front row seat to their revelry. Years upon years of forged brotherhood, a bond that Regulus was viciously envious of. Meaning Regulus would never, ever believe that Remus would betray them.
Within seconds their roles had been flipped, and Remus was disarmed and pushed against a tree, Regulus’ arm at his throat and an ornate knife against his wrist. His face twisted menacingly, so distinctly wrong on Sirius’ familiar face, that the shock of it was the only excuse Remus had for his next words
“Didn’t expect to see you here, Reggie”
Fuck. He’s going to kill me. And even worse, Regulus would make sure they never found the body. Shit
Regulus raised an eyebrow, his face level and distinctly unimpressed.
“I could say the same to you, Lupin. Never thought you’d be one for…well all of this” he smiled humourlessly as his gaze flicked back to the fight they had just narrowly escaped from.
Regulus continued, tracing the knife delicately along the pre-existing scars that curved up and around Remus’ forearm. His grey eyes were calculating and fascinated, his mouth parted slightly as he dragged the blade up around him until it was pressed alongside the lines of his collarbones. An eerie sense of déjà vu overcame Remus, as he recalled Sirius’ following the pattern of his scars with a featherlight touch, the very same pattern that Regulus traced now. Remus met Regulus’ eyes and swallowed loudly at the victorious look on his face.
“Now, if you told me, you were here to, I don’t know, save some young, unfortunate werewolves from a terrible fate under Greyback. That might be more believable.” Regulus’ voice was thick and smothering like tar or treacle, the teasing lilt more chilling than any possible threat he could conceive.
“But I’m not quite right on that, am I Lupin?” Moving his head forward so that their noses were almost touching, Remus could feel the hot breath on his face as Regulus uttered the next words, spitting them out through clenched teeth.
“A spy, however. Well, I can see that clear as fucking day.”
There was nothing Remus could do except wait. Wait for Regulus to summon a dozen Death Eaters and slaughter him where he stood. Bury him in the woods, and nobody would ever know what would happen. Stupid fucking Dumbledore, sending him on a mission he knew was futile. Fuck them all.
The snap of a branch from the direction of the fight brought Remus out of his head. Gruff voices muddled over one another, seemingly scanning the area for any runaways. Like, for example, Remus. Looking back into Regulus’ eyes, he was surprised to find instead of the cruel smugness he had been expecting, fear. Wide eyed, bone-chilling, blood curdling fear.
From his angle, Remus was unable to see the men, unaware if they were marked through teeth or branded like cattle. Either way, Regulus’ obvious terror was in no way reassuring-an enemy of an enemy is not your friend, and all that.
Something in Regulus’ gaze shifted, as the intangible misty grey became an immovable steel. He knew that look; it was the same on Sirius wore whenever he was about to do something big. Something he couldn’t take back. Sirius wore that look after he left his parents, and after he first kissed Remus. Yet he also wore it the day of The Prank, the day he first raised his wand with the intention to kill. The day he joined the Order.
Whatever Regulus was about to do, it would be important. And it would change everything.
Regulus pulled his knife back from Remus’ throat, grabbed his shoulder tightly, his fingernails digging in painfully, and disaparated.
Second later, Remus fell against the ground with a sharp thud, grazing his knee against the concrete path. Car horns and chatter echoed off the buildings around them, and before he had a chance to open his eyes to the blinding sunlight, so very different to the secluded clearing within Greyback’s forest, he felt a firm hand on his shoulder drag him. He stumbled again as he stood, trying to keep up the pace with Regulus. Being both faster and shorter than Remus, he was nearly bent double, and he was pulled around street after winding street, into the darker depths of the anonymous city’s underbelly. After several minutes, the cobbled paths becoming increasingly uneven and shopfronts increasingly empty, Regulus stopped abruptly. Remus walked straight into him, earning him a glare from the younger Black brother. Though at this point, Remus was almost certain he was not brought away to be killed or interrogated, the dusty, boarded up shop they stood in the shelter of brought him terrible unease. Even more so, when Regulus pulled out an old rusted key and half-kicked the door open, gesturing for Remus to enter.
Raising an eyebrow, Remus stared at him silently, not moving an inch.
“Sorry, did you need me to write you a bloody invitation?”
“If you think for a second, I’m stupid enough to waltz right into your Death Eater hideaway, you’ve got another thing coming”
Regulus breathed harshly out of his nose and closed his eyes, his knuckles turning white against the door’s handle. “Remus” he forced out, teeth gritted. “Every second we stand outside this shop, is another second that whoever’s following us comes closer to finding us. And I assure you, if they find this shop, we will not be granted the mercy of a quick death. Now, get inside.” The wrinkles on Regulus’ forehead became more pronounced, his mouth tightened into a thin line. Yet in his eyes, he was scared. Flicking over Remus’ shoulder down the alley every few seconds, eyelashes long and dark, excessive blinking. Yes, Regulus was terrified.
“Fine.” Muttered Remus, making sure to check Regulus on the shoulder as he walked past. He stepped into the room, reaching out to the wall to flick on the light before yanking his hand back suddenly, a zap of magic bolting up his arm as if he’d been shocked.
Regulus, ever the empath, simply muttered “idiot” before holding his wand out flat on the palm of his hand. A golden pulse radiated through the room, the air standing still, until moments later the old shopfront was filled with light.
Well, filled may perhaps be an overstatement, thought Remus idly. The tenuous bulbs flickered for several long moments, then the dreary light stabilised as the room came into view. Cobwebs and water stains crawled up the walls and onto the ceiling, the faded tan wallpaper largely torn away, leaving only the murky concrete. Stuffed into every corner and crevasse of the room was old, worn furniture; desks and wardrobes, closets and cabinets. Moth-eaten lampshades and lice-infested quilts covered nearly every surface. Regulus looked distinctly out of place, wading through the abandoned antiques, waving his arms through the dust as he coughed violently. Turning to face Remus, he raised his eyebrow expectantly.
Seconds later, after Remus hadn’t moved an inch, Regulus huffed again in exasperation. His patience (or more so, lack of) revealed his youth. Though Remus refused to ignore the brand upon Regulus’ arm, nor the bloodshed that has already stained him, it was tragically easy to recall stories Sirius had told him of the stroppy, petulant brother who would hold his breath to get his way. Looking at the man in front of him, Remus could easily picture him some several years younger, crossed arms, foot stamped against the floor, and face turning purple in effort.
Remus followed Regulus through the shop, never returning his wand to its holster. Walking into the backroom, there were even more rickety stools and wobbling drawers, yet these walls were pasted with newspaper clippings dating some thirty years prior. Looking closer, Remus saw that both muggle and wizarding newspapers blended together seamlessly, with annotations and diagrams linking articles together like a detective’s board. Another huff tore away Remus’ attention as he saw Regulus had already disappeared up some stairs Remus had failed to even see. Inexplicably, Remus found himself reaching up and ripping off a news clipping before pocketing it quickly. He was barely even aware of the contents; a well-off muggle family found dead in the 1950s. Unusual yes, considering how clearly magical it was in nature. Yet, unfortunately, extraordinary. A groundsman had been accused by muggle law enforcement and carted away, yet with no firm evidence, he was quickly released.
Yet Remus’ attention had been drawn by the article as if entranced. Something about the looming shadows of the manor, the groundskeeper’s muted face as he was carted away; eyes hollow and hands shaking.
Books tumbling upstairs and muffled grumbling broke Remus out of his haze, as he continued up the cramped staircase into a cramped apartment. Like the hallway, papers and markings covered almost every wall, with the dated floral wallpaper peeking through. Regulus was pacing around in his usual fashion, picking up books and old takeaway boxes, continuing to mutter under his breath as if he was chanting a sort of prayer.
This was a space of movement, a rest-stop rather than a real home. There was a small kitchenette in the corner of the room, nothing more than a few sparse shelves, a sink and a singular stove top. On the counter were four large mugs, one of them growing mould which prompted a sound of disgust from Regulus as he tipped the thick, sludging liquid out down the sink. Unsure of what would earn him a hex or curse, Remus sat down at the rickety kitchen table and reached to flick through the book that lay open across it. Mors Vincit Omnia the title read, thick and leather bound with various notes both sticking out and written cramped amongst the margins. A haughty cough interrupted his reading as Regulus stood staring at him from the open window ledge, his arms crossed, and eyebrow raised. Remus chuckled unthinkingly, Regulus’ similarities to his brother uncanny.
Regulus’ face darkened and scoffed.
“Didn’t anybody teach you not to touch what isn’t yours?”
“Didn’t anybody teach you not to kidnap people?” Remus responded, tired of Regulus’ refusal to give him any information. At this rate, Reg could whip out his wand and kill him right now, maybe he had hundreds of shitty flats scattered across London for the sole intention of leaving bodies.
Smirking at his growing frustration, Regulus leaned back against the window “if I was kidnapping you, I would have blinded you, I’m not an amateur”
“Could have fooled me” Remus muttered, going back to the book. If Regulus didn’t want him reading it, he would have to be an adult and tell him rather than huffing and puffing around like an old woman.
After a few minutes of tense silence, a sharp tap at the window jolted Remus out of his stupor. A folded paper crane sat just outside the open window, hopping into Regulus’ open hand before unfolding. Watching in poorly hidden fascination, Remus sat up straight to try and get a glimpse at whatever secret note Regulus had just received. Noticing this, Regulus held the wrinkled note flat in his palm and set it alight, his face smug.
Abruptly, Regulus stepped towards Remus, who instinctively clutched his wand. Raising his eyebrows yet again Jesus fuck does he practice it in the mirror Regulus pressed the buzzer by the door, before waving his wand and summoning a kettle full of water onto the now-lit stove top.
Tilting his head, Regulus gazed at Lupin critically. He opened his mouth slightly as if to warn him, yet the sound of several footsteps clambering up the stairs silenced him.
The door was thrown open, and three hooded figures swept into the room. As if ignoring Remus’ presence, the first immediately threw off his cloak and stalked through the door on the far right. Within seconds, the sound of water was heard coming through the door. The second was a young woman, her hair blonde and scraggly. Her cloak was not black like the one Regulus and the two strangers wore, yet a deep eggplant, with subtle silver engravings. She stared hard at Remus, for long enough until he began to feel unsettled, before she turned her back to him and sat down on the tattered sofa, undoing her large boots and swapping them for rosy slippers. A seemingly silent conversation between her and Regulus took place, something which he (rather humorously) had seemed to lose.
“Remus, this is Pandora Lovegood, that who went to the showers was Evan and this” Regulus gestured to the third figure, who had crouched down and was currently rifling amongst the cupboards “well, I’m sure you’ve met Barty”
True to his word, Remus recognized the blonde man when he turned around, his nose crooked and eyebrows thick, his face twisted into a grin, eyes gleeful and mocking. In his admittedly shorter time as a prefect, Remus had filled in nearly hundreds of forms over Barty’s behaviour. Cursing muggle-borns, shouting abuse, tripping and hexing firsties. He had a quick tongue and cruel sense of humour, and Remus recalled many an afternoon filled with Sirius storming about the common room, enraged by one of Barty’s digs.
So yes, it was fair to say that Remus remembered Barty. And, by the look on his face, Barty had remembered him.
“How’s it going Loony? Madhouse let you out on probation?”
Remus opened his mouth to retaliate, yet Regulus had already begun scolding Barty. As Barty stood up and (much to Remus’ chagrin) sat into the chair opposite, the far right door opened, and out stepped Evan Rosier in muggle jeans and an old Slytherin quidditch jumper. He walked right past the bickering Regulus and Barty, leaned down to kiss Pandora’s hair fondly, and nodded in greeting at Remus. Bemused, he nodded back and watched Evan tottering about the kitchenette waving his wand, sending five mugs of tea floating across the room. Barty and Regulus went quiet for a moment, and in the brief pause Evan spoke up.
“Are you two done bitching at each other, or do I need to send Lupin down shops to get some popcorn?”
Barty sat up straight, leering towards Evan with a cheeky grin plastered on his face “Oh piss off, Rosy, we know you love it”
Evan rolled his eyes and climbed over the back of the sofa, squishing himself in the corner closest to the window. “Maybe, but not when we’ve got an Order member in our flat?” he said, his gaze flitting to Regulus in an obvious question.
Breathing in deeply, Regulus held his mug close to his chest with both hands. He met Remus’ eyes, and something in his gaze seemed different. Not pestering, questioning, or scornful. No, regulus looked earnest, unsure. Vulnerable.
“So” he began, his voice hoarse. Coughing slightly, he stood straighter. The room was quiet and expectant, each of them willing Regulus to speak.
“What do you know about Horcruxes?”
And there it was again. Just as when he decided to follow Regulus through the woods, just as he followed him through unknown streets looking for answers. Something had shifted, a new path taken. A new twist of fate.
And now, the real war could begin