The Conflict Waging War Within Him Was Almost Like Nothing He’d Ever Felt Before. With Sirius, Regulus

The childish part of him that Regulus had thought was long dead seemed like it was fighting to get out at his brother's comments, and part of him wanted to knock the damn chair over before tipping Sirius off his own chair but the last place he wanted to start a fight was the aurors office. "I'd rather have a stick up my arse than be seen sitting next to you," Regulus retorted, though his voice held more of a pathetic tone than he wanted. Regulus glanced up at his brother's face, searching for something although he didn't know what. Perhaps he was searching for a hint that Sirius was as unhappy as he was, although he knew that couldn't be true. To an outsider, which Regulus now was, he knew Sirius had got the better deal out of the two brothers.

"Thought you'd have changed your name to Potter or Lupin, or hell, even Pettigrew at this point - anything to distance yourself from me...from us, I mean," Regulus winced at his slip of the tongue. He couldn't let Sirius see how bad things were, or how much he quietly missed his brother. Sirius had made his choice a long time ago, and his choice had made life much worse for Regulus. Regulus' shoulders were broad enough to bear the weight of his brother's betrayal, even if sometimes he felt like he was carrying the weight of the world.

Sirius watched Regulus eye the chair beside him, giving his brother a smirk and a raised brow as he continued to stand up. "Not going to sit down?" he asked. "You look like you've got a stick up your arse," he noted, facing the desk in front of them again. He didn't know why he was antagonising Regulus; the presence of his brother seemingly turning him back into a teenager. He remembered that stiff stance, standing straight just one of the many things their mother had taken great care to instill in them through any means necessary. He still had great posture because of it, try as he might to be as un-Black-like as possible. "Well as much as it pains you all to remember, my last name's still Black," he replied, a reminder that he didn't exactly enjoy either.

When the owl landed on his desk with a letter from Rosmerta to say that she had closed the deal on the Three Broomsticks, Kingsley immediately sent one back to say he'd be there as soon as his shift finished to celebrate with her. The next few hours felt like they were dragging which was a feeling Kingsley rarely had at work given how much he loved his job, but he ached to go and celebrate with his friend. As soon as he could, Kingsley disapparated to Hogsmeade where it had already started to get dark out. Ducking into the Hogs Head first, Kingsley had to throw down a few extra knuts down to get the 'beef' stew to take out. Casting a warming charm to keep it hot as he made his way back up the high street, Kingsley strode up to the door of the Three Broomsticks and nudged it open with his foot.

Setting the tubs of food down on the nearest table, Kingsley's eyes searched Rosmerta's before he beamed at her. "You, my brilliant friend, are the only person on this Earth that I would risk my life for by eating Aberforth's stew. Come here, I'm so proud of you," he said, drawing his friend into a hug. @ofxsorcery

Since Sirius abandoned him, Regulus had felt his absence like a knife in his chest that he could never remove. It ached and it burned, but slowly over time the pain had dulled as time and distance stretched between them. It was ever present, but duller. Asking after Sirius when speaking to Andromeda had been the first time in a long time that he'd said his brother's name out loud, and that itself had shaken him. Seeing his brother in the flesh, cool and unbothered by his summons, threatened to rob Regulus of the very air in his lungs as that aching burn returned. "I'm sure they have their reasons," he said, eyeing the chair beside Sirius before he chose to remain stood stiffly. "You...you're no longer part of this family, the aurors should know to exclude you from this. Unless...it's not really to do with an heirloom at all," Regulus said, wondering if any of Sirius' perfectly good friends were aurors.

Sirius leaned back lazily in his chair, the perfect image of indifference as he crossed one ankle over the other. Despite his display of ease and disinterest, he was observant and watchful, curious what he was called he for and on alert in case it was all more than it seemed. He couldn't fathom what Black artefact would be drawn back to him, well aware his mother would do anything she could to stop him getting his hands on any Black heirlooms. He glanced behind him as the door opened, carefully hiding his surprise as his brother walked in the door. "The same reason you're here, I'd imagine. Though if you're here I'm not sure why they've asked me to come."

Bellatrix was more infuriating than his parents, at this point. Once he'd taken the mark and shown some initial devotion to the cause, his parents had backed off content in the knowledge that at least one son was doing the right thing. Without him being marked, Regulus would never have been allowed to move out of the family home, or take his job at the ministry which allowed him more freedom than he'd ever had. But Bella's care manifested in intense devotion, and he worried that he would never be able to get her to give up on this desire for him to be better than he was. All Regulus wanted to do was live his life in peace, and study the intricacies of magic at the Department of Mysteries. It would be a quiet life, but it was his - and that diverted from his family's view.

He was just thankful that they hadn't started pressuring him to take a wife and to continue the line.

Regulus knew his cruciatus would disappoint his cousin immeasurably. He had seen her wielding it on missions, and though he hated the curse, he had to admit that watching Bellatrix cast it was almost like an art form. Watching Bella lift her wand after his first poor attempt had panicked him, fearing that the curse was heading his way, and it was that panic along with his earlier fury that led to a slightly stronger second attempt though it was still poor.

His chest was heaving with the effort of casting even such a weak curse, sweat beading at his brow. "But I..." he trailed off, stopping himself. He had been about to say that he didn't love it, which was potentially the worst thing he could say in the presence of his cousin beyond confessing to his muggle-born lover. The rest of his thought was cut off as he stared down the end of his cousin's wand, pupils dilating in fear. He knew that he'd been poor, but he hadn't anticipated Bella torturing him for it. As red flashed, Regulus flinched away, shrinking into himself to try and protect himself from the inevitable pain. He could hear Bella laughing, and the sound sickened him. After a moment, he realised her curse had been directed elsewhere - and when he looked back at his cousin, there was something new in his gaze. The faintest hint of disgust, hidden behind the layers of fear.

"I don't need you to tell me it was poor, Bella. I know it," Regulus sneered, pushing away from the table as he stood. Thinking back on Rabastan's teaching Regulus dug into his confused emotions as he stared at his dishevelled cousin, and with his voice dripping with disgust he held his wand steady and cast "imperio." Tilting his head slightly, he went for the same command he had given Rabastan. It would upset Bella as much as it had upset Rabastan. "Your wand. Give me your wand."

Regulus was testing Bellatrix's patience. Truly, this was more demanding than any mission gifted to her by the Dark Lord. She could not torture the boy, and neither did she want to. She could barely manipulate him, since familial intimacy meant he knew her well. Force had not benefited her with Regulus and she felt that she was losing ground. It was a situation most perturbing and undeniably irksome. Her rage still lingered as he spoke reassuringly, her palms still splayed against the couch as though she were trying to ground herself. Yet even then, she managed to locate an ounce of pride, acknowledging that the boy did not give up easily. Regulus was proving to be a challenging project. He did want to learn and he respected the need to study magic further. She would give him that much. It was admirable despite his misplaced tutelage. Had she known that he had mastered Occulmency, she would have thought of him more highly. But she knew nothing of it.

"Very well." Arguing was going nowhere. She was growing tired and bored and frustrated. She wanted to move on. "As I promised, I will make no further demands after you show me your curses."

They were one curse down and she was looking forward to seeing his Cruciatus. By far her favourite of the Unforgiveables, Bellatrix wielded it with devastating adoration. Her skill with it was calamitous. It fed her sadism and brought her a high like nothing else. Nothing could compare - not sex, not drink, not even death itself. So when Regulus's spell danced from her dress without so much as even a feeble tickle, she sighed with dramatic disappointment and raised her wand to show him how it should be done. Fortunately for him, she hadn't expected his second attempt. It stunned her, crushing her back against the chair with something akin to an electric shock. Her shriek pierced the silence like a knife cutting silk, then she laughed wildly, gasping for air and sliding halfway down her chair as the spell receded.

There was pain. It did hurt. But not as it should. Regulus's spell lacked substance and finesse. Since her own wand had fallen to the ground, she reached down to retrieve it, her normally steadfast fingers trembling in the aftermath and her hair now askew at a tremendously jaunty angle.

"You didn't mean it, cousin. You need to want it. You need to love it." Wand now in hand, she directed it mercilessly between Regulus's eyes, wanting to see what emotions would reveal themselves in that flicker of an instant. Her breath was still ragged, her position still lopsided against the chair. Insane, some called her. But that was a lie told by fools and enemies. There was no madness within Bellatrix Lestrange. There was only pure, unadulterated awareness. She knew exactly what she was doing and she knew that she adored it. With a slashing motion, she cast the curse at a portrait, the flashing red causing the illusion of blood as the picture's occupants screamed in horror. Their disarray clashed horribly with Bella's laughter, her mirth ringing true and bold with shamelessness. Even in her mildly weakened state, that curse would have been crippling. She would spare Regulus from a direct hit.

Slowly, she pushed back up into her seat and steadied herself. She wouldn't bother giving him an assessment. He knew it had been poor, but she supposed he'd tried his best. "Now the Imperius. You weakened me-" She paused, shrugged dismissively and wryly simpered, "well, sort of. But it should help you nonetheless. Let's see if I can resist."

There was something in the woman's gaze that indicated that the hardness of her expression was personal and yet Fenrir couldn't say he'd ever seen her before. That didn't mean that they'd never crossed paths, of course, but she was entirely unmemorable if that was the case. Shrugging at her sharpness, Fenrir rolled his eyes. "If you don't want anything from me, perhaps you could stop trying to crucio me with your eyes. At least do it properly."

If there was anyone she wished to cause immediate harm to, it was the one standing in front of her, what he did to Remus with no regard, she wanted to bring him to his knees. He had no idea who she was, but she knew plenty about him. And, she didn't like him. "No, I don't want anything from you." She replied more sharply than she would ever dare. Aurora was done waiting for who wanted this parchment, standing up.

"You don't need to worry about it," Regulus said, his tone a little sharper than it had been since he'd sat down. "It's not about the war. Just because you are one of my officially assigned protectors does not give you an insight into my private life," though he'd already revealed far more to James than he imagined he would to his other protector. Bloody James Potter and his open and inviting personality, what a prick. That wasn't even to mention Edgar Bones for putting them in this situation in the first place. Clenching his fingers into fists as James continued talking about how hard Sirius' life had been, Regulus wasn't sure he'd ever manage to get past the bitterness that was deep seated within him, nor the overwhelming feeling of abandonment that threatened to swallow him whole. "I don't want to hear it. Not from you, anyways. If Sirius wants me to feel pity for his lot in life, he'll need to tell me that himself. I'll listen...but that requires him to talk," Regulus was fully aware that he was being a little childish, but he figured given everything else going on he was allowed a little grace. "I reckon a fist fight between Sirius and I might sort everything out. Wanna play referee?"

Regulus honestly wasn't sure who he was without the tangled web of feelings that had swallowed him whole for years. Perhaps it was the influence of dark magic impacting his soul, perhaps it was the general levels of distrust amongst the Death Eater ranks - he was always looking over his shoulder, fearing a betrayal. "Honestly, we've got bigger issues than my brain," he shrugged, before rolling his eyes at James' smirk. "It's intoxicating. It is...the power that you can wield over others. I can see why my friends have slipped down the path they have. I just can't...it's not right to hurt people, under the guise of blood purity, when really all they seek is power."

Regulus was still an absolute outsider to the Order of the Phoenix, and he was not interested in getting involved further than he already was. He'd been plainly honest with all those he'd spoken to - he didn't see what hope the Order had, but it was all they had given he knew there was corruption at the ministry. "It's the motivation behind it all," Regulus said quietly. "The Dark Lord's motivation is chaos, power and domination. The Order want to restore justice - or, that's my limited understanding anyways. There are curses that are reversible, curses that will merely disable someone enough for them to be arrested. You're more likely to land one when attacking, rather than fending off their curses and trying to stun. I'm not suggesting the Order should turn around and start killing people...but honestly, if we're going to arrest people and then give them the dementor's kiss, what's the difference? It's just a longer process but it's effectively the same result," and this was why Regulus was no major strategist, why nobody would ever look to him to lead. If the Order was always on the defensive, they would find themselves surprised and overwhelmed before much time passed at all. "I'm not asking you to sacrifice who you are, James. I respect what you're saying. But if it gets to a point where I'm fighting alongside the Order on a battlefield, I won't be using defensive spells and that's that. I will fight for my life."

With eyes fixed firmly on the mug of beer, Reg frowned deeply. "Even as recently as two weeks ago, my cousin made me practice unforgivables on her to demonstrate my ability or lack thereof. Crucioing my own cousin, then watching her disappointment because I didn't love it...my family's fucked up, James," he said with a small smile. Even as he was saying the words, he knew that it was only because Bellatrix cared - but wasn't that fucked up in itself? "How long have you got?" he asked with a small laugh.

Waving his hand dismissively, Regulus tilted his head slightly in James' direction. So James wanted to play dumb, did he? Well, Regulus would put a name to it then. "You're acting like you're jealous which you have no right to be. You said you're happy for me, and then did...whatever the fuck this is," he said, narrowing his eyes as James rolled his. "What's wrong with Caradoc? Or is it just....no, fuck that, I'm not gonna get into that." Regulus trailed off, feeling incredibly irate.

"What other developments?" he pressed. James wasn't typically the type of person to push anything; if someone wanted to drop a topic of conversation, he'd get the hint and segue into an other without a second thought. This was different. If it was something to do with the Order, or the war, it was important enough that he would at least try to get it out of him, even if he had to spell it out in black and white. He wasn't sure if it was real or imagined, but James noticed a look in Regulus' eye. For both their sakes, he hoped he'd imagined it. He nodded. "Yeah, I know. Though sometimes ... I'm sure he felt like it. What else could it be?" This all felt so sticky, complicated, and he was skirting around the things he truly wanted to say. "He has," James said firmly. "Even if you don't want to hear it. That's not to say you haven't gone through a lot, too. You both have the right to navigate this situation however you do, but a little empathy wouldn't be lost on either of you." James sighed deeply, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "This is bigger than some sibling rivalry. But it's better if you get this all out of your system now, I suppose."

It troubled him deeply that Regulus still felt like this after all these years. He'd tried to untie the vines, slowly, with love and delicate fingers, when he'd had the chance to, but it seemed they had all tangled up again. Or perhaps he hadn't done as much as he thought back then. "I can try." James listened quietly as he reeled off what made a good son and death eater, as if it were scripture. To some, he supposed, it was as good as. "Sure, but I meant more in a philosophical sense," he said, and couldn't help the smirk that crept onto his face. It lightened to something more soft as he continued. "You're lucky to have the conscience you do. Even if it might not feel like it. The world would be a much better place if others did, too."

To be honest, James didn't know much about the inner workings of the Order of the Phoenix, and he suddenly felt very stupid for it. All he did all day was fly around on a silly broomstick and shoot balls through a hoop. There were people who devoted their days to this cause, this fight that he claimed to be all-invested in, but here he was, unable to answer a single one of Regulus' questions. It was shameful, really. He listened intently. Everything he was saying made perfect sense, and yet, James felt a growing sense of discomfort in the pit of his stomach. "You're probably right," he agreed. "But then, what really separates us from them? I wonder about this sometimes. If I was put in a situation where I was protecting someone I love," He thought of Lily first, "Would I be able to look somebody in the eye and curse them? Kill them? Obviously, it's difficult to say unless you're in the moment, but I don't think I'd be able to live with myself." His voice was even. "I'd die for someone I love. A thousand times over. But I'm not sure, in good conscience, that I could kill for them. Maybe that's selfish. Maybe it means we'll lose, and we're doomed, but I'd rather die on my feet than live on my knees. I don't want this war to turn me into something I'm not. I want to win, but I want to win on my terms, without compromising who I am."

Although it was on a far smaller scale, James could relate to far more of what Regulus was feeling than either of them probably realised. "No, I think I get it. As much as I can get it, I mean." No – had it been that obvious? He didn't want Regulus to think he couldn't talk about it further if he needed to, so James shook his head. "Confess to me. It's fine. I'll pardon all of 'em."

"Don't be like what? I'm not being like anything," he said defensively. "I'm being perfectly nice. I just said I'm happy for you." Of-fucking-course it was Caradoc. He rolled his eyes. Clearly, Regulus had a type. "Cool." There was definitely something wrong with him. He was acting like a moody, jealous teenager, and he wasn't even sure why, because he certainly wasn't moody, or jealous, or a teenager. A buzz filled his head, and he forced a smile. He wished Regulus had obliviated him, and then himself, so that they could both forget about this horrible reaction.

Cassandra took a sip of her drink before setting it down again, surveying Lucius with careful eyes. She knew of the other man's nature and could only imagine how protective he may grow over a child, particularly a son, and nodded as he spoke. "What healers is she seeing? Not the Mungos healers, surely? But whatever midwife Narcissa is seeing, have they said that the baby is progressing as standard? Morning sickness should start to subside as you get further into the second trimester, but she may start feeling very sore and tired. Something as simple as a back or shoulder massage might set her at ease, and might help with those mood swings...Are your elves well versed in foods suitable for pregnant women?"

He knew there were others he could talk to, but there were only some he could trust. Cassie was one of them. "I know." He leaned back in his chair, nodding his head at her congratulating them. Lucius was waiting until they found out the sex of the baby, wishing for a boy to carrying the family name on. "She is about fifteen weeks." He had been counting, a calendar made. "Moody, sensitive with certain smells and food, some morning sickness. Seems to be getting better. I want to be better prepared. I come seeking your advice."

The week between Christmas and New Year seemed to pass with a blur. He had taken the week off work to spend as much time with Magnus as possible, including spending half a day building some lego with him which he'd then left out for Fenrir to step on in the night without a lumos to guide his way. He knew there was only so many Christmases he'd get with his son while he still felt the magic of it all, and Fenrir had wanted to soak in every minute. Going away with Pandora for New Years felt like the perfect end to his year, and the right start to the next once.

The cabin was close to Lake Windemere, but still private enough that it felt like a slice of paradise. It was exactly the sort of place that Fenrir loved being, disconnected from society with plenty of nature surrounding them. He'd just uncorked a bottle of champagne and poured them both a glass when he felt his witch's arms circling him, and he reached down to tangle their hands together. "I did say something about stars. I thought we could take a blanket outside along with these, pick out some constellations," he said, squeezing her hand gently. "You are tiny, my darling."

where: 31st of december where: cabin on the lake district who: @battle-scvrs (Fenrir Greyback)

Pandora had been looking forward to get little trip away with Fenrir since he mentioned in Christmas day. The week seemed to have more purpose and she held her duties before work, family and at nights she would spend it with him.

After dinner they collected their bags and apparated to a cabin that he had on the lake districts, the two of them tucked away from the world, the way she liked it. Pandora came out of the bedroom to find him in the kitchen. "This place is beautiful." There was an tranquility about it.

"If I remember, you mentioned something about stars." She wraps her arms from behind him, her head hitting the middle of his back, nipping gently. "I never realise how short I am until I'm standing next to you." She chuckles softly.

Taking affront at Edgar's upfront disapproval of his upbringing, Regulus frowned deeply. His fingers curled restlessly into a fist before he unclenched them again, quite unsure of what to do with his body. What were they as people without tradition? Strict teaching in the old ways had kept their kind alive to this point, and though he agreed it had grown extreme, historically keeping them separate from muggles had been for their people's safety. Hearing the word genocide was like a punch to the gut, and his gaze dropped to his hands. He was already in too deep, Edgar already knew too much. He was either leaving this room in custody, or...as something else. "I...I have done shameful things, but I hated it. Every single time I used an unforgivable curse, it tore me apart...fuck, I've been having regular lessons to teach me to be better at them. You know how fucking pathetic that is? A Death Eater who throws up every time he comes home from using the cruciatus, who had to have private lessons because his imperius curse can't hold...all because I was mentally blocking myself. Because I knew....it's not right," he gasped out, almost shocking himself with the way the words tumbled out.

And there it was. The first time he'd verbally admitted that he was on the wrong side.

Still, he didn't appreciate Edgar's heavy handedness when it came to Sirius. "Sirius chose his friends, he chose this...and he knew what that would mean for me. Even if I switch sides, I am tainted...I don't think he would take me any more. Not when he has his perfect friends. What need does he have for a brother who has so much baggage, and brings with him so much danger? If I do this, know that it is not for Sirius' benefit." And yet, the possibility of truly reconnecting with his brother, and with Andromeda...family relationships that he wouldn't have to perform for.

"What are you asking of me, Mr Bones? I feel like I am sat here signing my death warrant, yet part of me wonders if I did that at sixteen years old when I allowed them to place this on my arm," he said, drawing up his sleeve to reveal the Dark Mark. "Are you asking me to work from the inside? Can you possibly comprehend the risk that puts me in? Or...are you and your side, your Dumbledore, just as eager to let people throw their lives away so long as it is in service of your side instead of mine," Regulus mused, before shaking his head as he rolled his sleeve back down. "No more will die by my hand, and I have already told you too much...so I suppose it's this or Azkaban, right?"

"Whatever you are asking of me, I will do it."

"No, Mr. Black, I have not been raised with strict, ancient, barbaric, family values." A pause, letting those words linger in the air. "I come from one where through those family values you so protect, would mean I do not belong in your world because I'm not." More silence, "pure. You do realise what your kind is trying to do is called genocide in the muggle world." He shakes his head. "It is innocent blood that will stain your hands and from the look on your face, despite trying to hide it, it's already starting to break you." Edgar could be reaching, but for the most part, he knew he was hitting the mark.

"Sirius chose to stand on the side that is right. Yes, he may have left you behind, but he knows what your family stands for is wrong. And deep down you know it is too." He looks Regulus square in the eyes. "With us, you wouldn't be alone and Sirius would be at your side."

"I have auror's and other members who are within the Order that will aid in protecting you." He was already thinking who would best suit this need. "We need your help. They are growing stronger and we need some way to slow them down."

Quirking his eyebrow at the mention of a birthday party, Fenrir mentally ran through his schedule. "I'm currently working Monday through Thursday, then Sunday. For the right price I might be able to make an adjustment and come in on Saturday," he added, thinking of the upcoming festive season. "What are you thinking? Full menu, or buffet style?"

"I wanted to know your availability for the next week. I wanted to discuss throwing a birthday party for my brother Emmett." He owned the tattoo shop right next to the White Wyvern so Emma thought this would be the perfect location. And now that her wedding stress was over and Seth and her settled into married life, she thought it came time to host something and do something for her brother.