Saving Regulus Black

Saving Regulus Black

Carve your name into my arm.

Instead of stressed, I lie here charmed.

Because there's nothing else to do

- Every Me, Every You (Placebo)

Chapter One - Draco Malfoy meets the Unexpected

The house was beautiful and extravagant enough, it was lavishly decorated with famous paintings - there was a Monet which hung along one of the many hallways. The chandeliers glittered exquisitely. They were 100% pure crystal imported from Switzerland and the carpet was lush, thick, and soft.

However, Draco Malfoy was still cold as he shivered for the hundredth time. Perhaps the house would be more welcoming if it had been inhabited for the past few years.

Snape had suggested that he board here. He hadn't wanted to but it was important that he'd stay out of any more crazy orders the Dark Lord would give him. In other words, he was avoiding the Dark Lord.

Thinking about Voldemort made him think about the mark on his pale arm. Lifting his shirt sleeve, he saw the skull grinning maniacally through the candlelight. He felt a surge of hatred through him and in his mind, he could see Dumbledore...falling, falling, the old man's body spinning a graceful arc in the air. He shuddered and bit his fingers, a habit he had formed whenever he tried to stop himself from crying out.

His fingers were icy cold and they trembled when he heard a noise outside. It was probably a stray fox or something but he got up anyway, body shivering from the moist cold and lifted the blinds.

A horizon of beautiful, healthily green grass met his eye. Abundant lilies grew in a very lovely wild bunch beside the lake. Their petals were of every variety and shade of the rainbow, the little sprinkle of dew drops on them like tears of diamonds. There were also thousands of tiny little marshmallow shaped flowers that nestled quite humbly between the grandeur of the lilies. Draco secretly liked them. He felt that the insignificant small marshmallow blooms were lovelier than the prettiest lily out there.

There was a bang behind him and he whipped quickly, robes swishing against the windowpane glass. He didn't like this house. He could tell that it was cursed although Snape (being Snape) would not elaborate.

"It previously belonged to Evan Rosier," the greasy haired former Potions master said softly, his face etched permanently in stony hatred.

"Rosier, who died in a 1980 Ministry Attack?" Draco asked warily. He knew his Death Eaters by heart. He had encountered Evan's name in his father's journal several times. However, a Privacy Spell had kicked in and the journal had been rendered unreadeable by the time Draco had reached the second sentence. All Draco had known was that Evan was consistently in Lucius' thoughts.

"The very one," said Snape icily. Draco eyed him cautiously. Snape had been acting strangely ever since they had gotten here. It seemed that the Rosier house had resurfaced bad memories.

"I think someone died here," Draco had told Snape softly and he expected Snape to scoff. Instead the pale man had turned possibly paler and then had curtly ordered him to get in and stay there until he came for him again.

Draco was not looking forward to his month's isolation but anything was better than facing the Dark Lord again. Even if he was feeling as vulnerable as hell since Snape had confiscated his wand.

"You can't use magic Draco," he had said very sternly. "The Ministry is after you and if you do anything magic related, they'll trace your magical signature."

So now Draco was no matter than a criminal on the run from Azkaban.

There was a crash again and Draco decided nervously that he was going to go and investigate it. He gripped his wand tightly and walked as softly as possible. Not for the first time, he wished that his father had never gone and gotten himself involved with the Dark Lord.

"My Lord, I pledge my only son to you, if I shall fail the mission," his father had promised shortly before he was captured by the Ministry.

Fucking idiot, swore Draco internally in his head as he bit his thumb viciously. It was just like his father to do that to him and let that Potter half-blood foil him. It was just simply embarrassing; no wonder the Dark Lord had been speechless in anger. Not that Lord Voldemort was a man of many words but still.

He reached the end of the hallway and saw something silverish. Swallowing, he edged closer and closer until he reached the source of illumination. Pearly grey light flooded the room and he knew instinctively that whatever it was, it wasn't the moon.

"Who is it?" he asked, sounding much braver than he felt.

There was no reply except for a man's chuckle. Draco swallowed and gulped several times. "Come out whatever you are," he shouted, his thin frame digging into the back of the brick wall. "I'm not afraid," he whispered, aware that the back of his neck was sweating rather uncomfortably.

"Keep telling yourself that."

Draco's knees gave way in shock.

"This house is abandoned!" he hissed, scarlet with anger and shame. He was a Malfoy! He shouldn't have been such a coward.

"If it is then why are you here?" said the voice.

Draco took several deep calming breaths. "Tell me whoever you are or I'll cast you back to hell with my wand," he fought the urge to laugh hysterically. Draco always laughed at inappropriate times - including times when he was facing a mysterious (and possibly murderous) phantom armed with a non-existent wand.

"No magic during holidays," came the voice again and this time Draco mustered all his courage (thinking that if Potter could overcome his worst fears than he, Draco, would have no problem facing a disembodied voice). He entered the room, looking much braver than he actually felt.

The voice was not disembodied after all. It belonged to a man sitting casually on a dusty bed; he had a very amused expression on his face. He was very good looking. Black hair was atop his transparent face and dark grey dreamy eyes could be seen. The creepy silvery light was emanating from him.

"You are a ghost?" This was more of a statement then a question. Draco knew that there were others out there besides ghosts, but knowing the past of this house, he suspected that he was, indeed, a ghost.

The man yawned. He projected an air of elegance and arrogance. "Well I suppose so, after all I am dead. Why am I not solid? Well you'll have to blame my good friend Evan. Does he happen to be related to you?"

"No. Who are you? Why are you here?" Draco demanded, initial panic ebbing into annoyance.

The man bit his lip. "I am...a praying mantis."

He burst out, barking in laughter at his look of disgust.

"I'm sorry," he smiled apologetically. "But you must admit it is very boring to be stuck here with only a bunch of mud--er, muggles, who can't even see me, to keep me company. Evan hasn't even been here to see me; horrible considering that he was the one who put me here."

"He killed you?" Draco couldn't help but be interested. After all, murders had always interested him. Murder always created such sensational headlines in the Daily Prophet.

"Amongst other things," replied the mysterious ghost, waving a hand loftily. "He did a bunch of other things too. He was an abominably evil man."

"Maybe," Draco agreed shortly. "He died you know, in 1980."

"He what?" the man yelled and Draco sighed heavily.

"Well somebody's obviously behind on the times," he sneered disdainfully, wondering why he was still here talking to a ghost who was stuck in a 1980 freeze frame. For Draco had worked out that Evan had killed this person before he died (obviously).

Tell me more about Evan's death. Did he die painfully? Tortured?" the ghost had an expression which looked vaguely troubled. Draco also detected a small trace of glee.

"It was a Ministry Attack. Rosier got caught in the crossfire. My father told me about you."

The ghost looked at him condescendingly. "I thought you looked familiar. You're Lucius Malfoy's son, aren't you? I see it in those grey eyes of yours. I thought I'd die before I'd see them again," he said icily.

Draco felt angered at the implied insult towards his father. "Well you got your wish didn't you?" he sneered nastily and instinctively. "You did die."

"It was your father's fault!" The ghost flew angrily at him and then passed through Draco. Draco winced, a ghost passing through you was an icy cold sensation and he hadn't been a walking ball of warmth to begin with.

"My father's in Azkaban now," Draco said softly.

The ghost shuddered and returned back to the bed.

"My name is Regulus Acrux Black. You have heard of the Blacks I presume? After all, I am somehow related to you, you spawn of evil, you."

Draco smiled forcefully. "Yes of course. You must be Sirius Black's younger Death Eater brother."

"Clever boy. I guess though that you have joined the Dark Lord's forces yourself otherwise you would have never known. What are you doing here hiding from the Dark Lord?"

Draco looked taken back and Regulus laughed mirthlessly.

"Because that's what I did. Look what happened to me? I tell you what Malfoy. I'll tell you a story and you can decided for yourself where you stand."

Draco nodded and he wordlessly slid down to the floor.

* * * * * * *

I was born on a beautiful sunny morning on the 9^th of December 1961. The fortune teller (for back then, pureblood families always engaged the services of the psychically-able upon the birth of a new one) predicted that I would make the Noble House of Blacks even nobler and prouder and that I would mean the world to somebody unexpected.

This was actually quite disappointing, a contrast to my brother Sirius whom I adored and hero-worshipped when I was a young boy.

Unlike Sirius, I was a parent's dream child. I was never loud and I always did what my parents expected me to do. I was respectful to our house-elf even if I was scared shitless by him and ate all my brussel sprouts no matter how much I hated it when they got stuck between my teeth. I first showed signs of magic when I was three years old like any other pureblood wizard and I mastered all my ABCs when I was five, like any other boy. In other words, I was nothing extraordinary but my parents found no cause of complaint.

When I was six, Sirius was seven. Sirius liked getting mischief and always gave Mother a headache. Consequently, I always found myself fixing his mistakes. I always took the blame for everything Sirius broke and damaged (over the span of four years, this included three glass plates, two crystal figurines, five cases and the living room window). Maybe Sirius used my affection against me, but I could hardly care less. After all, Sirius was my idol and I undertook the responsibility of keeping my idol happy.

When we were children, we were generally very close. I believe Sirius cared for me; he always kept my secrets even if he did find them quite silly. We lived next door to a muggle family and on the rare occasion whenever we did interact with them, Sirius always kept a close eye on me. I was small for my age and was a walking target for boys who wanted to prove their masculinity with their fists. All in all, my childhood was blissful and smooth. That is, until Sirius got his admission letter to Hogwarts.

I was an absolute brat about it. I don't remember what happened exactly but I become almost crazed. I did everything from giving Sirius the silent treatment to bawling like a baby at the top of my lungs. That screaming earned me a thrashing from Mother (which was well-deserved).

To stop me from pestering, my brother took me tree-climbing. I have always liked climbing trees. Being nestled between branches gave me a sense of security for some reason.

I pleaded with Sirius to wait up for me so we could go next year.

Sirius looked back at me fondly and I remember him ruffling my hair. "Well, I'll be back for the holidays. It's not like I'm going to be gone forever."

I whined that I would miss him. Yeah, I know it sounds pathetic now, but I was only ten back then. I loved my brother shamelessly.

He laughed though not maliciously. Sirius liked to laugh and I like watching and making him laugh. It made his whole face light up. He said that he would miss me, too and then produced a surprise for me.

I think I almost fell of my sturdy tree branch in shock when I saw the sparkling gold chain that dangled between his outstretched hands. You have heard of the biblical story of Esau and Jacob, right?

It was the tradition of every pureblood family to hand their firstborn son a chain with the family crest embossed on it. This chain was passed from father to son; generation to generation. In my case, the Black chain had been passed along thirteen generations. Lucky, no?

The deal was that I would help take care of the chain during Sirius' absence. I would give it back to him when he returned the next year. Even at the age of the tender age of ten, I knew that Sirius entrusting his birthright to me was a very big deal. That night, I swore on everything holy and important, that I would keep the necklace safe until the sad day Sirius reclaimed it back.

Sirius never took the necklace back. It was on my neck till the very day my neck broke. I suppose it was sent back to Sirius along with the news of my demise, but that occurs nine years later. Back to the story of my pathetic life.

The following months were very dull indeed without Sirius. The entire household was much quieter without Sirius' yells and laughs. Father developed a chronic lung infection and he was always coughing; Mother tried to change the world into a better muggle-free place. I continued on with my studies, all of it theory, since I couldn't do any practical magic. I was absolutely dismal with Potions. Potions was never my forte.

I also wrote faithfully long letters to Sirius. Perhaps, I was a little too dependent on my sibling but I was very lonely. I wanted to tell Sirius every little detail of my life - yes, even stuff like I was running out of SugarQuills was important to me.

And every night, I would count down the days till Sirius would come back for the Christmas holidays. If you're curious, my house was an absolute nightmare to live in. There were shadows in every crook and cranny and the tapestries were evil demons waiting to devour me. The Noble House of Black was far from a beautiful dwelling - my father was far from a good interior designer. He was a fan of Christopher Bloodcrap, this 19^th century Gothic artist who saw beauty in vampires and blood-stain mummies. So it probably doesn't come to a shock to you that my house came complete with snarling Gargoyles and painted cobwebs (my father was too impatient to wait for real ones to grow).

Soon, I received my very own personalized Hogwarts letter. I remember I was secretly reading my 'Daedaleus the Gold -Digger' comics tucked inside 'A History of Witch Burnings' when a tawny owl bearing the crest of Hogwarts swooped in and dropped a letter on my head.

My mother invited all our friends to celebrate my coming of age - as well as showing off that dear old Reggie had received his letter two days before the Crouches did.

Oh, the Crouches are a prominent pureblood family. You don't know the Crouches? Well, I must admit I'm fairly surprised. I've grown up with the belief that Malfoys make their children memorize lists of rich pureblood families - you know, sorted everybody under lists of 'people to suck up to' and 'people who suck'. No?

Anyway, Barty Crouch was the same age as me and I guess you could call him a friend. He was quieter than me and his father was very important at the Ministry. Mother approved of the Crouches very much so hanging out with Barty was acceptable. Even if Mrs. Crouch was an emotional wreck, teary and convinced that Mr. Crouch was cheating on her.

Barty had straw-coloured hair and was short and pudgy. He was also very shy and spoiled. I didn't mind him; he was good enough company, although Sirius was definitely better. Barty was just a substitute.

"What house do you think we'll be in next year?" I asked curiously. To tell you the truth, I wouldn't have minded being in Gryffindor, but Mother would have had an apoplectic fit with the house roof possibly flying up in smoke.

Barty wanted to be in Ravenclaw since both his parents were in that house. At the age of ten, good old Barty wanted to be his Father. That's funny because when Barty was seventeen he wanted to be anything but his father.

Sirius arrived back home for the Christmas holidays. He was excited and pleased when I first saw him. He had had a great time at Hogwarts, so far.

"Hogwarts is awesome, man," he beamed and I laughed at the enthusiastic expression on his face.

"Did you make any friends?" Mother interrupted, trying to be interested in her son's life and Sirius nodded although his smile slightly faltered.

"Their names are Potter, Lupin and Pettigrew," he offered although his voice was no longer enthusiastic. He also refused to look at Mother.

"I have heard of the Potters," Father took another helping of mashed potato and frowned at his son. "Dickson Potter is Head of the Education Department."

"What about the Lupins and Pettigrews? Are they respectable?" Mother bit sharply, looking at Sirius very sternly. All the warmth in her voice had evaporated suddenly and I found myself biting my lip as Sirius shuffled uncomfortably in his chair. I prayed for Sirius' sake that they were at least purebloods.

"Remus' father is a broomstick manufacturer," Sirius said softly. "Peter's parents are both engineers."

"Are they mudbloods?" screeched Mother and my stomach twisted uncomfortable. Sirius had dared to make friends with a mudblood.

My brother did not show any signs of fear - he stared defiantly at the wall. "He's mother is from a wizarding family," he murmured. My brother has always been like this: brave, full of courage. I envy him on that.

Later on, after Sirius had been punished and "dealt with" properly, I crept from the safety and snugness of my own room and sneaked to his room armed with marshmallows. You could say that marshmallows are, indeed, my weakness. My mother knew nothing about my marshmallow stash that I had amassed under the loose floorboard in my bedroom.

"Sirius?" I whispered, poking my head through the door and my brother pretended to be asleep.

"Sirius?" Taking a deep breath, my feet padded across the soft carpet and I sat on the end of the bed. In the dark, I could see Sirius was annoyed. My weight made the shoddy (but very expensive) mattress sink. Sirius had wrapped himself in his blankets and with just his two eyes peeking out, he looked like a caterpillar in a cocoon.

"I thought you'd be hungry and decided to get you something."

He looked up at me. "Marshmallows?" he asked and I could hear the smile in his voice. His hand fumbled out of his blanket confines and I handed him the candy. We sat in silence, the bleak lack of sound only interrupted by my brother's chewing.

I decided to break the peace. "How was Hogwarts?" I asked inquisitively and was immensely relieved when Sirius burst into an ardent discussion of Quidditch matches, professors and the pranks he pulled with (and on) his friends. Then he started belittling the Slytherins.

"The Slytherins are evil," he scowled darkly. "There's this git, his name is Severus Snape and he's the worst out of all of them. He's beginning to make up Dark Art spells and goes around calling himself "Prince" or something of the sort. Do you know..." he leant in and I followed his examples, sure that he would share a scandalous secret. "Do you know that the Slytherins go to the Forbidden Forest and try to kill the unicorns?" he whispered and I gasped gullibly.

"The poor unicorns!" I exclaimed.

"Exactly," Sirius was enjoying this. "They chop the unicorns up and they EAT them! They do other things as well...they have this ritual where they try to flush each other's heads in the toilets....the teachers hate them....rumour's that Dumbledore wants to kick them out....."

"Mother says that Dumbledore is an idiot," I interrupted. Hey, cut me some slack. I was only around eleven.

"Mother's wrong," Sirius sounded scornful. "Like you believe anything that fucking crazy cow thinks?"

"Sirius!" I admonished. He had just called Mother a cow. I felt that Sirius had gone a little too far. Mother was perfectly alright - ok, sometimes she was insane to the boot but nevertheless, she was family.

And that reminded me to talk to Sirius about what I came to talk to him about. Family and how important it was.

"Look Sirius, I don't care who you make friends with...Pettigrew seems pretty cool but just don't mention it to Mother. Just accept whatever she says and please Sirius, control your temper. Mother's under a lot of stress - Father's getting sick and she has to take care of the household and everything."

"So you want me to be nice to the old cow?" Sirius asked lazily and I nodded eagerly. "Tomorrow, the Crouches are coming by and please...just behave Sirius!"

Sirius promised that he would try not to anger Mother.

I can't believe that I believed that he'd keep his word.

The very next day, he spitefully embarrassed our guests. He said that Mrs. Crouch was crazy (when she burst into her tirade of how Mr. Crouch was probably screwing his secretary - only his secretary was male), bullied Barty mercilessly and called Mother a bad word in front of everybody. He swore, spat, even locked Kreacher in the cellar for seven hours and then laughed as Mother spent almost the whole day shouting his name.

I wouldn't talk to Sirius for the rest of his stay. I was deeply hurt that my brother wouldn't even take my word seriously. Sirius didn't even act sorry; he had just good-naturedly remarked that he couldn't resist pissing Mother off like that. He even dared to say that I was nothing like perfect James Potter, Sirius' best friend.

I was no longer Sirius' best friend. The thought of it made me shrivel with anger and shame and sadness. You know, I don't think I have ever gotten over it. I can't think of James Potter without feeling this anger and this urge to beat him up.

By the beginning of September the next year, I was no longer as psyched about attending Hogwarts. Hogwarts changed Sirius into somebody who would turn his back on his family. That, and I was getting scared that I'd be a loser and wouldn't make any friends. Maybe Sirius was right when he said that I was an effin' coward and was absolutely a bore to hang out with.

Nobody really liked me, I mused as I wheeled my trolley nervously. Sirius ran off at the first opportunity he got; Barty didn't like talking to me, anymore, and even my parents never voluntarily spend any time with me. Contrary to popular belief, I was not my parents' favourite boy. Sirius retained that honour until he ran away from home and got himself disowned.

I had trouble unloading my trunk when somebody tapped me on the shoulder. Starting, I wheeled around and came face to face with a smiling brown-haired boy.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you were somebody else," he took an immediate step back and I realized that the boy must have thought that I was Sirius. We did look somewhat alike, apart from the height and build difference.

"I'm his brother," I offered. "Regulus Black."

"Oh right," the boy looked at me and nodded as he shook my hand. "I'm Remus Lupin."

Recognizing Remus' name as one of Sirius' best friends, I nodded back. I remember that I was relieved that it wasn't James Fucking Potter. There was an awkward silence until Remus smiled and backed away.

"I'll see you later Regulus."

"Yeah," I muttered as I watched him walk away from him.

I found an almost empty compartment on the train. There was another boy sitting there, shredding an almost non-existent gum wrapper. I guessed correctly that he was also a First Year.

"This seat taken?" I asked and the other boy shook his head glumly.

"Regulus Black," I introduced myself.

He remained sullen, scrunching up the wrapper. "So?" he muttered.

"Nothing," I decided that I didn't like him (of course funnily enough, he ended up being my best friend). He had golden blonde hair with these large green eyes. He had the kind of face girls went crazy over.

"Evan Rosier," he finally replied and I was spared having to say something back as the door slid open and suddenly, this group of guys came tromping along like big noisy elephants. They sported red and gold Gryffindor colours, I noted and I immediately thought of my brother. I also wondered whether they were mudbloods. They were probably third years.

"Evan!" one of the boys, the one with brown spiked up hair shouted with malice and glee. He gave Evan a look which made the younger boy sigh in annoyance and grip the edges of his frayed robes tightly. As much as I disliked Evan at that point, I could not help but be disgusted by the Gryffindor's bullying. Evan didn't do anything but look away the window. There was nothing interesting outside, just the soggy outlines of brown trees and shrubs.

"Are you brothers?" one of the boys' friends asked in surprise.

"Yes. Meet my bastard brother," the other boy waved a hand in Evan's direction. "Check out the secondhand robes."

The look on Evan's face was unreadable. Later on, when I knew Evan better than I knew myself, I understood it to be absolute fury and hurt.

The other boys guffawed like wearing secondhand robes was the funniest and worst thing ever. What made it worse was that my belief was that Phillips Rosier was Evans' older half-brother. Phillips made fun of his blood just to increase his popularity - that was an unforgivable offence.

"You look familiar," Phillips Rosier stopped taunting Evan and turned towards me, smiling his serpentine smile at me. Perhaps the smile was meant to be friendly, who knows? "What's your name?"

"Black," was my one syllable reply.

"Not related to Sirius Black?" one of the other boys exclaimed and I nodded, not uttering a single word. I can be very taciturn whenever I want to.

They cheered as if I had something wonderful (which I hadn't) and then I realized that my brother was very popular with them. I was dumbstruck. My brother had often chided me for being a snob and here he was mingling with people who like to make jokes about other people's clothing. Oh, the hypocrisy! I felt betrayed.

"I'm Phillips Rosier," I'm-So-Cool-Because-My-Parents-Are-Married reached out to shake my hand. "You'll find that you don't want to be handing out with losers and bastards."

I didn't take his hand. Now that I reflect upon it, I guess I should have. I'd probably still be alive if I took that course of action.

"No," I replied frostily. "I think I can tell for myself, thank you very much."

Within a moment, the cheeks of Phillips flushed with a tinge of pink. He probably would have belted me or something had he not recalled that Sirius Black was very handy with his fists and was also my brother. That, by the way, was the last time my brother's name defended me. From then on, I was practically on my own.

The rest of the trip was uneventful. We were joined by a gaggle of giggly Ravenclaw girls but they ignored me. I think one or two crooned over Evans' hair colour but we were pretty much silent throughout the journey. I do remember however, as we finally disembarked, Evan turned to me and thanked me. I think he was mustering his pride to do that and my less-than-lukewarm feelings for him dissipated on the spot.

As all of us entered the Great Hall for our sorting, I was struck dumb with the beauty of Hogwarts. I think we all were, even Evan who never showed emotion on his face. He gazed resolutely at the Slytherin table. Of course he was sorted into Slytherin - no question about it. He was a pureblood (despite the unfortunate circumstances surrounding his birth), ruthless, ambitious and in other words, a Slytherin guarantee. Me, I was unsure. I was never very ambitious and I was as cunning as a baby dolphin.

Can I tell you a secret? The Sorting Hat wanted to put me into Hufflepuff - apparently I would have a fierce sort of loyalty to my friends, my family and my lover. But I would rather be damned than go to Hufflepuff and I begged, pleaded would be the more exact term to be in Slytherin where all my ancestors belonged. I was a Black; I had obligations and being in Slytherin was one. No one from my family was ever in Hufflepuff. No one of any importance is ever in Hufflepuff.

So I was placed into Slytherin, and remember Barty? He got into Ravenclaw. My parents were relieved that I was in Slytherin and didn't turn out like Sirius.

Evan and I were the only two boys(a very small amount of kids came into my year) in Slytherin and so it was unsurprising that he warmed up to me later on. He became my best friend. I became one of the privileged few who knew him for what he really was.

And, I was also the only person who loved him for what he was.