Work Text:
The subway smelled of rot.
Not of blood, or piss.
Rot, the kind of artificial tang that came from chemically undead corpses. The kind that was unnatural.
Regulus was familiar with this smell.
What was unfamiliar though, was the silence. Usually, the subway was packed full with desperate bodies, scrambling to get out-get out-get out to a safer place.
But this time, when the doors slid open, there was stillness.
So, as any sane person during the apocalypse would do, Regulus decided to explore.
To give you some background: Narcissa had radioed. Narcissa never radioed. This was how you knew that what she had to say was important. Her sentence was brief, and she left no room for Regulus to answer.
It’s not safe. I’m bringing Draco.
Regulus had seen Draco once. A small, blonde boy, vacant blue eyes that eerily resembled Regulus’s own, when he was younger. No child should have had that look. So, of course Regulus would be surprised when the subway was quiet.
Then, a noise. He looked around.
There was blood spattered on the walls.
Oh, he thought. I know what happened here.
Back to the noise. There, under the seat. A small, blonde boy, with vacant blue eyes. And blood on his face.
“Draco?” Regulus did not usually whisper. But today, he would make an exception.
The boy looked up. “How do you know my name?” He demanded. Expected, really, that even in times like this, a Malfoy could say things in that tone.
“Where’s your mother?”
Draco stiffened. “Gone. Dead.”
Of course. Regulus should have known, as Narcissa would never leave her child like this.
“My name is Regulus Black.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I suppose I am your new guardian, now.”
Familiarity showed in Draco’s eyes. “You’re really him? Mother said you could keep us safe, but father said you’re weak.”
Regulus scoffed. “And where is your father now? He would frown at you kneeling on the ground like this.”
“I-” Draco stood up. He looked away. “Father left. He was-” Draco frowned. “It was for the better.”
Wow. Leave it to Lucius to abandon his wife and seven year old during the apocalypse.
“Okay.” Regulus blinked. Was he- crying? Draco was crying. Regulus did not know what to do with crying children. An oversight on his part, he supposed. He held his arms out. “Do you want a, ah, hug?”
Draco stared at him. The seven year old, who in Regulus’s defense, looked very sturdy, collapsed into his arms.
“Um,” Regulus patted the young boy’s hair. “We need to get off the subway.” Draco did not move. “Okay.” He picked the crying child up. There were no complaints, so Regulus did not put him down.
Well, he got what he came there for.