AND ISN‘T IT TRAGIC, THE WAY GHOSTS TAKE FORM?
PAIRING regulus black x gn!reader
SYNOPSIS in the shadowed heart of the war, two souls are bound between salvation and collapse. But war is never black and white—and neither are the people in it.
CONTENT WARNING death eater reg, there are no implications but i imagined the reader being a slytherin alumni, open/hopeful ending, angst, dumbledore being the shitty self he is
The candlelight flickered in Dumbledore’s office, casting long, wavering shadows over the cluttered space. The scent of aged parchment and Treacle Tarts lingered in the air, but you weren’t in the mood for sweets.
Your fingers curled into fists at your sides as you stared at the old man sitting across from you. His blue eyes, always so frustratingly kind, studied you with a quiet patience, as if he were waiting for you to unravel yourself before him.
“You’re asking me to sell my soul,” you said at last, your voice even but laced with something sharp that would even scare away the most vicious kinds of creatures.
Dumbledore sighed, resting his chin upon his intertwined fingers. “I am asking you to do what no one else can.”
You scoffed. “No one else is stupid enough to do it, is what you mean, professor.”
He tilted his head, as if conceding the point. “Perhaps.”
Silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating. You could already feel the phantom weight of the Dark Mark on your arm, though it had not yet been seared into your skin. That part would come later.
“You knew I would say yes, didn’t you?”
Dumbledore did not answer immediately. He merely regarded you with that maddening, knowing gaze of his. “I hoped,” he admitted.
You clenched your jaw. “Why me?”
The old man’s expression softened. “Because you are the only one who can walk into the dark and still find your way back.”
The words unsettled you more than you cared to admit.
You turned away, staring at the window, at the stars beyond the glass, at Leo. Somewhere, out there, Regulus Black was making his own choices- choices you weren’t sure you could save him from.
“You’re asking me to become the thing I hate most,” you whispered.
Dumbledore’s voice was gentle but unwavering. “I am asking you to become the thing that will end it.”
You merely exhaled shakingly at his words and looked up, blinking away stray tears.
You had known, the moment he called you into this office, that there was only one answer you could give. Dumbledore studied you for a long moment, his eyes piercing yet unreadable. It was a strange thing, how a man so burdened with knowledge and secrets could still manage to look at the world with something like hope.
You weren’t sure you believed in that anymore. But he did. And for whatever reason, he believed in you.
He leaned forward slightly, his fingers still intertwined. “This will not be easy,” he said, voice quiet but steady. “You will not always have the luxury of choosing whom to save, miss L/N.”
Your throat tightened. You had already known that. “I understand,” you said, though you weren’t sure you truly did.
Dumbledore regarded you carefully. “You must understand, taking the Dark Mark will not merely be an illusion. You will not be playing pretend. You will be bound to him in ways that extend beyond the physical. It will test you, in ways I fear I cannot prepare you for.”
The phantom weight of it burned on your skin, despite its absence. Scratch, scratch, scratch.
Dumbledore exhaled through his nose, his gaze flickering over you as if committing you to memory. “You are remarkably brave.”
You let out a humorless laugh. “I think you mean absolutely reckless.”
The ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Often, the two can live in parallels.”
The air between you stilled. The walls of his office, lined with books and ancient relics, felt smaller now, like they were closing in, like the weight of what you had agreed to do was already settling upon your shoulders. Somewhere in the castle, life continued. Students studied for exams. Younger years whispered about crushes in dimly lit corridors. People fell in love, hearts beat, life moved on.
And yet here you were, leaving the safety of a place you once called home, not even finished with your education, on the precipice of something irreversible.
You straightened your shoulders. “When do I begin?”
Dumbledore watched you for a long moment before nodding, as if accepting the finality of your choice.
“You will go to them shortly,” he said simply. “And you will not look back.”
You swallowed hard. And for the first time, you wondered if you had just sealed your fate.
“Tell me what I have to do.”
The Dark Mark burned. You clenched your jaw as you rolled down the sleeve of your shirt, hiding the brand that would forever mark you as something you weren’t. You had known what you were signing up for when you agreed to spy for the Order that night. You had accepted all the difficulties that came with it. But some days, the weight of it was suffocating.
You were in Malfoy's Manor when you saw him.
Regulus Black stood across the room, his dark curls tousled, his expression cold and unreadable, strikingly more gaunt than the last time you saw him months ago, as he listened to a conversation between two other Death Eaters, Avery and Donahov. He had always been poised, elegant, carrying himself with the kind of grace expected of a Black.
But there was something different now. Something in his posture, the tightness of his jaw.
You had spent months trying to forget him. He had left you. Chosen his family, his duty, over you. Over what was right in his little bubble of nobility.
So why did he still make your heart ache?
Regulus turned his head ever so slightly, and as if he was hit by a wave of whiplash, his gaze met yours.
For a moment, neither of you looked away. Neither of you even dared to breathe. The world around you faded- the murmuring voices, the obnoxious shrill of laughter of his deranged cousin, the crackling fire somewhere in the back, the war that loomed over your heads like a storm waiting to break.
And then, his gaze broke off.
You forced yourself to stay composed as he put on his masked facade again. He glanced around, ensuring no one was listening, and charmed a slip of paper in your palm.
Your hand itched to open the note, but your mind knew better than doing it in the company of the dark mages. But the moment you were excused, you unfolded the parchment, as if it was a grand lead to a treasure long lost.
Meet me at the entrance of the forbidden forest. Midnight.
You hesitated. He wasn’t stupid. He was perceptive, far too observant for his own good. He suspected something. And even if he didn't, you were far too weak to uphold your carefully crafted persona in front of him.
But this was Regulus, your Regulus. And despite everything, despite the years and the war and the Mark that burned on your arm, you still found yourself nodding.
“Midnight,” you murmured.
And for the first time in months, you felt the cracks in your armor.
The forest was quiet when you apparated in.
Your heartbeat was an unsteady rhythm in your ears, each step heavier than the last. You had debated coming here at all, trying to find an excuse for your lack of presence when you next see him, but in the end, the pull of him had been too strong.
You hated that he still had that power over you.
Regulus was already waiting when you arrived. He stood near an enchanted tree, fiddling with a fallen leaf, moonlight casting pale silver over his even paler face. For a long moment, neither of you dared to speak.
“You shouldn’t be with him.” The words left your lips before you could stop them. A whisper. A warning. Regulus exhaled a short, humorless laugh. “Neither should you.”
You swallowed hard. He wasn’t wrong. “You took the Mark,” he said after a beat, quieter this time and looked at your covered arm, tucked into your pocket. You forced yourself to hold his gaze. “So did you, Black.”
He flinched. Just barely. But you caught it.
Regulus crossed the ground, slowly closing the distance between you. His voice was low, edged with hesitation. “Why?”
You had prepared for this. You had spent weeks perfecting your lie, training yourself to wear the mask of a loyal follower. But something about him, about his voice, about the way his eyes searched your face, made the words harder to form.
You inhaled sharply. “Because it was the only way to survive.”
It wasn’t a lie. Not entirely.
Regulus studied you. His fingers twitched at his sides, as if he wanted to reach for you but thought better of it.
“You don’t believe in this.” It wasn’t a question.
You forced a smirk. “What makes you so sure?”
He studied you for far longer than you would have liked. The trees rustled gently in the back as his eyes bore flaming holes into yours. "Because I know you, and the little viper I know had always stood behind the greater good, and not the clearly rotten mark on society."
The words knocked the last remaining calm air from your lungs. He had always seen you too clearly, even when you tried to hide. And for the first time in what felt like years, you allowed yourself to wonder, did he know? Of course he did, but you could not let the thought of him maybe sharing your same notions wander away.
Your chest tightened. It was too dangerous to ask. Too dangerous to hope. So instead you only questioned, “And what about you, Regulus? Are your parents finally pleased enough for you to drop the act now?”
“Is this an act too? Or do somehow along the way started to enjoy this twisted and merciless life?”
The question stretched between you, heavy and suffocating. He looked up, looking at the night sky, ”I don’t know anymore.”
You stared at him, your pulse thudding in your ears. He was unraveling. And for the first time, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was still a part of the boy you had loved buried beneath the darkness.
A part of him worth saving.
The familiar creak of the door echoed through the dimly lit room as you stepped into the Burrow. The stone walls seemed to hum with the energy of the war, every crack and crevice hiding secrets that only those within the walls understood. It was a place of refuge for those who still fought for the light in a world increasingly dominated by darkness.
You had become accustomed to the sounds of hushed conversations, the careful exchange of information, and the underlying tension that filled the room every time someone new arrived. The air was heavy with the weight of expectations, expectations you had come to dread each passing day. Every time you spoke, every word you shared with the others, you were met with concealed judgments and doubt. Your mission required you to be careful, to never show any weakness or vulnerability. To keep your secrets hidden in the same way your identity was concealed, though your efforts were smashed by Regulus on your first day out in the world.
As you made your way toward the corner of the cramp room, your eyes briefly flicked over to the group seated around the table. James, Moody, Remus, and Kingsley were gathered, discussing the most recent movements of the Death Eaters. Their conversation was a familiar one, each of them trying to piece together the puzzle that Voldemort was carefully constructing, all while remaining as cautious as they were determined.
“You look troubled,” Remus’ voice broke through your thoughts as you approached the table, his eyes searching your face with a quiet intensity. You had grown closer to him over the past months, his quiet strength, his understanding, had become a comfort in the midst of this chaos, sharing more conversations in the weeks following your allegiance to the order, than the years you spent at school.
You forced a smile, trying to push down the anxiety that threatened to choke you. “It’s nothing. Just trying to keep up with everything. It's all bloody stressful, y'know?” Your voice betrayed you, and Remus didn’t miss it. He tilted his head slightly, his brow furrowing as if he was considering pressing the issue, but he let it go for now and took a seat next to Marlene.
“Any updates from your side?” Kingsley asked, his voice deep and authoritative. It had been less than a month since you had been in contact with the Death Eaters and by default, Regulus, and the pressure of keeping up appearances was already starting to take a massive toll on you.
You nodded, taking a seat at the table, the chair screeching uncomfortably against the wooden floor. “Yes,” you began, carefully choosing your words, knowing every syllable mattered in the presence of the aurors. “The Dark Lord has been pushing for something… bigger. I don’t have all the details yet and there's an unbreakable vow involved, but he’s planning something that will have a much broader reach. It’s more than just small rampages. I think he’s building up to something irreversibly catastrophic.”
The room fell silent as everyone absorbed your words, and you could feel the eyes of the group on you, reading you, searching for anything that might indicate more than you were willing to reveal. You had dreaded the moment on your way here, where you would have to mention the vow to the order, and now it's out, you could feel their suspicion, though none of them would dare voice it openly. They trusted you. Or at least, they wanted to trust you.
Lily, spoke up next, her voice light but concerned. “Do you think he’s ready to make a move? You mentioned he’s building up to something… Do you have any idea what it could be?”
You hesitated. “I have a suspicion , but I’ll keep my eyes open. I’m sure he’ll reveal more soon. It’s just… it feels different this time. I don’t know how to explain it.” You leaned back in your chair, trying to make the words sound natural, but you knew they would scrutinize you further, your silence hung in the air.
Moody, who had been unusually quiet until now, snorted. “We’ve been hearing the same bloody thing for months. ‘He’s planning something big.’ ‘He’s building up.’ What do you think, L/N? Do you have anything concrete for us? Or are we wasting our time? And what is with the talk of the unbreakable? ”
Your chest tightened at his words, but you fought to maintain your composure. You couldn’t afford to slip now. “I’m giving you what I can, Moody,” you bit back, your voice more sharp with venom than you had intended. “This is real. I’m taking real risks here, so don’t make it sound like I’m not pulling my weight.”
“They can’t be trusted, Dumbledore,,” Moody growled, his electric-blue eye spinning wildly as he slammed his fist onto the table. “They’ve sworn an Unbreakable Vow to You-Know-Who. One wrong move, and we’re all dead.”
You clenched your fists under the table, keeping your expression blank despite the accusation. You’d known this moment would come-Moody never did trust easily.
Dumbledore, seated calmly at the head of the table, merely folded his hands. His blue eyes twinkled with something knowing, something understanding. “And yet, Alastor,” he said gently, “they are still here, risking their life to bring us information. That should count for something, don’t you think?”
“Risking it for who?” Moody spat. “The Order? Or-” He hesitated, eyes narrowing. “No. There’s something else, isn’t there?”
Your throat tightened and the professor looked at you. He didn’t say anything to reveal your reasoning, which you were glad for. Moody scoffed, unimpressed, but Dumbledore continued, unyielding.
“Their heart,” he murmured, “has long been spoken for. And so has their cause. They stay, and there should not be any hostility towards them till the end. We are all striving for the same things, aren't we, Mad-Eye?”
Moody scowled and layed back into his seat, the chair creaking with his weight. “Just trying to push for some real information, that’s all. There are lives at stake here.”
The room fell silent once again, the only sound the crackling of the fire in the hearth. The weight of the conversation settled in, and the tension was palpable. You could feel your heart hammering in your chest, your pulse quickening as you prepared for the inevitable.
This time, James broke the silence, his voice gentle but steady. “We know you’re doing everything you can, bunny. It’s just that we need to be prepared for anything. If Voldemort is truly planning something large scale, we can’t afford to miss any small detail.” He looked at you kindly, as though trying to reassure you that your efforts were appreciated, but you knew better.
You had already seen the way the others looked at you when you weren’t around- the way their eyes would linger on your forearm, the questions left unsaid. They didn’t trust you, not fully, and every time you returned from a Death Eater meeting, you could feel that doubt seeping into the air like a fog. But it wasn’t just them who were watching you.
Regulus was too, somewhere in the cold howl of the winds.
And you hated how much you cared.
The moment Dumbledore dismissed you all, you took the chance to hurry into a quiet room, feeling suffocated in Moody's presence.
Of course, Sirius was pacing in the tea room, just as you expected. He had snuck out when the discussion got too dark, too personal. He’s leaning against the mantle of the fireplace, fingers gripping the edge like he was bracing himself. The fire casted long shadows across his face, deepening the creases of frustration, exhaustion, and something else, agony?
He didn't turn around when he spoke. “You saw him,” Sirius said, his voice quieter than you expected. “Regulus. Didn’t you?”
You sighed, rubbing a hand over your tired face. “Sirius, I-”
“Don’t,” he cut in sharply. “Don’t lie to me. I know you did.” He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “Regulus was there, wasn’t he? And the way Dumbledore looked at you, he's the reason why you're doing this, aren't you?”
You hesitated, but there’s no point in denying it. “Yes.” Sirius leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He looks exhausted, like he hasn’t slept in days. Maybe he hasn’t. His grip tightened around an ornament by the fireplace, and for a second, you thought he might throw it into the fire. But he didn't. He just stared at the flames as though they held all the answers.
“Tell me,” he says after a moment, voice rough. “How was he.” His words came out more of a statement than a question. You swallow, your mind replaying the events of your last encounter with the youngest black under the moonlight. The contrasting demeanor of Regulus leaning against the tree compared to the stoic and aristocratic look at the manor.
“He’s… troubled,” you admitted carefully. “Not like the rest of them.”
Sirius let out a humorless laugh. “Of course, he’s troubled. He was always troubled, different. Always better than the rest of them lots, even when he refused to see it.” He shook his head, jaw tightening. “But that didn’t stop him from taking the Mark, did it?”
You frowned, unsure of how much to say. You know Sirius didn't want to hear excuses for Regulus, but he deserved the truth. “He’s going through things, Sirius.”
“Is that so?,” Sirius scoffed, spitting the word like it’s venom. “Being conflicted isn’t enough. Being conflicted won’t save him, and it sure as hell won’t save you.”
The raw anger in his voice startled you. He slammed the trinket down on the table, the glass echoing through the room. His fingers twitched like he wanted to grip something firmer, anything to ground himself. Instead, he pressed them against his temples.
“Merlin, I should’ve seen it coming,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “I should have- ” He stops himself, exhaling sharply. His gaze meets yours, intense and searching. “He spoke to you, didn’t he? What did he say?”
You take a slow breath. “He asked if I was safe.”
Sirius blinks, his expression shifting into something unreadable. “Safe?” he repeats.
You nod. “He said he’s keeping an eye on me. That the others… that they don’t fully trust me yet, but he’s making sure they don’t act on it.”
Sirius curses under his breath. He stands up suddenly, pacing in front of the fire, his hands tugging at his already disheveled hair.
The next evening, after another exhausting meeting, you found yourself walking the Grounds of the Burrow, the weight of your own lies pressing on your chest like a thousand pound stone. You had been so careful, so meticulous in keeping your loyalties hidden from the members of the Order, but Regulus… he knew something.
You hadn’t spoken to him since your midnight encounter weeks ago, not directly, but his eyes followed you whenever you were in the same room. There was something in the way he looked at you- something that made you question everything. You couldn’t let him see through you. Not now. Not when everything was still crumbling.
As you walked further away from the cottage towards the neighbouring forest, you froze. There, standing by a tree once again, was Regulus. He had been watching the stars, as though waiting for someone or something to speak to him. And there, beneath the dim light of the lanterns, you saw it, the familiar soft glint of emotion in his eyes.
Your heart fluttered, but you quickly steadied yourself. “Regulus,” you said, your voice low. “You can't be here”
He turned toward you, the flicker of recognition dancing in his gaze, followed quickly by a cool indifference. “I needed to get away for fresh air.” He glanced over at the house, where the Order had gathered only moments ago. “Things are getting more complicated, aren’t they?”
You swallowed hard, fighting the sudden wave of emotion that threatened to overwhelm you. “Yes. It’s… harder than I imagined it would be.”
He said nothing at first, just looked at you with those grey eyes, filled with questions that you didn’t want to answer. Then, quietly, he spoke again. “I’ve been thinking about you.” His voice was low, almost hesitant. “About us.”
You froze, the air thick between you both. “Regulus, you know we can’t…”
“Don’t,” he interrupted, his tone sharp, but there was an edge of something softer in it. “Don’t pretend like we don’t both know what’s happening here.”
You could feel your heartbeat in your throat. “What do you mean?” You already knew the answer, but you couldn’t bring yourself to admit it.
His gaze never wavered. “You’ve chosen your side. I’ve chosen my side. But you don't have a flying idea on what you stand for, don't you, Y/N?”
A silence stretched between you, each of you lost in your own thoughts, the burden of the war weighing on you both. He knew that your loyalties didn't fully stand with any side.
And then, his voice softer than you expected, Regulus added, “I’m glad you chose you are doing what you think is right, even if it means danger, even if it means we can’t be together. I respect that. But I can’t help feeling…” He paused, his voice breaking slightly. “That the past haunts me like blood tainting water of what could have been and how much I fucked all of this up.”
Your breath caught in your throat. “We can’t go back, Regulus,” you whispered, the words tearing themselves from your heart. “We can’t undo everything that has already unfolded.”
He nodded, the distant look in his eyes betraying a deep sorrow. “No. But maybe we never could have, even before this war started.”
With a final glance, Regulus turned away and walked out into the night. The soft clink of apparition echoed in your ears, but it didn’t make you feel any better.
The weight of your choices pressed on you harder than ever. You never spoke about that night again.
Regulus sought you out more often, his presence lingering just a little longer than necessary. His eyes always seemed to find yours across a room, his shoulder ghosting you too close when he passed by.
And in those quiet moments, when the war faded into the background, you almost allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was a future where you could both be free.
But the war did not wait for love.
The days that followed were a blur of tension, planning, and constant surveillance. Voldemort’s forces were growing stronger, and you could feel the storm coming. The final battle was fast approaching, and everything you had been working toward was about to culminate in a confrontation that would change the world forever.
You knew it, and so did the others. There was no going back.
But with every passing day, the questions lingered in your mind. Could you truly defeat the darkness, or would it consume you before the end?
And would you ever be able to reconcile the person you had become with the person you had once loved?
And freedom always came at a price.
The kitchen was quiet, save for the soft hum of the wind outside and the gentle crackling of the fire in the hearth. The smell of freshly baked bread lingered in the air, but it did little to soothe the restlessness that churned within you. Your mind was still caught in the forest, still tangled in the encounter with Regulus. The weight of those last words, the brief glimpses of the person he might have been, clung to you like a second skin, suffocating in its intensity.
You hadn’t meant to stay in the forest as long as you had. But how could you leave? How could you walk away from the shadow of the boy you had once loved- no, the boy he had become- and not try to understand it all? The answers, or perhaps the lack of them, gnawed at your insides, twisting and turning. The wound that had never fully healed had reopened, raw and bleeding once more.
You weren’t sure how long you had been standing by the window when the door to the kitchen creaked open. You didn’t need to turn to know who it was. Dumbledore’s presence filled the room in a way nothing else could. It was not imposing, not overbearing, but it was a presence that invited reflection, that made you confront what you weren’t ready to face.
He stood there for a long moment, silently watching you. You didn’t move, didn’t speak. It wasn’t as if you had to explain. He already knew.
“You spoke with him, didn’t you?” His voice was soft, yet it held a weight that pressed against your chest.
You didn’t have to look at him to know he understood more than you were willing to admit. You nodded slowly, almost imperceptibly, but it was enough.
“I did,” you whispered, your voice trembling despite your best efforts. “He was… different. But not. He’s not the same person. And yet, there’s something there, still. Something I can’t quite put my mind on.”
Dumbledore moved quietly, settling himself into the chair across from you, his eyes never leaving you. The years of unfortunate events had left their marks on him- etched into the lines of his face, the heaviness in his gaze. Yet, somehow, in all that he had seen, he still had the ability to see people, to understand them. You could feel his understanding settling over you like a blanket. He didn’t rush you. He never did.
“Regulus Black,” Dumbledore began, his voice calm and measured, “was a young man who was born into a family that demanded loyalty to a cause- a cause that, for all its promises, led to destruction and darkness. But even in that, there was always more to Mr. Black than what the world saw. And perhaps, even more than what he saw in himself.”
You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his words press against your chest. “But how could he… how could he choose that life? How could he leave me, leave us, behind for the sake of those ideals? After everything? We could have saved him like Sirius, but we didn't. Why didn't we save him?”
Dumbledore’s gaze softened, and for a moment, there was a deep sadness in his eyes. It was as though he had known Regulus in a way you never could have, had seen the conflict inside him before anyone else.
“He was a sole heir, caught between two worlds,” Dumbledore said gently. “The world he was born into and the one he could have made for himself. He was young, filled with potential, yet constantly torn between love and duty, between light and darkness. His choices were not the ones he had hoped for. But Regulus never truly understood the power of his own heart until it was too late.”
The tears that had been threatening to spill now burned at the back of your eyes. You wiped them away angrily, feeling the sting of it all. “But why didn’t he come to me?” Your voice cracked as you spoke the words. “Why didn’t he trust me? I could’ve helped him. We could have… I could have made him see.”
Dumbledore’s eyes softened even further, and he leaned back slightly, folding his hands on the table between you both. The firelight flickered across his face, casting shadows that made him look even older than he was. The weight of years carried in his voice when he spoke again.
“Regulus never thought he was worthy of redemption,” he said quietly. “That is the tragedy of his life. He did not believe he could be saved-not by you, not by anyone. He was lost in the idea that his mistakes, his loyalties, were too great a burden for anyone to bear. And so, he chose the only path he thought was left to him. The path that led him to a final act of courage, one that many would never understand.”
You stared at him, the words sinking into you like stones in water, heavy and deep. “So you think he was trying to do the right thing? That he wasn’t just… lost to the darkness?”
Dumbledore’s gaze never wavered. “He was lost, yes. But he was also trying to find a way out. His actions, in the end, speak to a part of him that was still fighting. He may have chosen a dangerous path, one that led him further away from the light, but in the end, he sought to make amends in the only way he knew how.”
A quiet sob escaped you then, unbidden, as you leaned forward, your head resting in your hands. The grief, the helplessness, the confusion- it all came rushing back at once, too much for you to bear.
Dumbledore’s voice was low and comforting, a steady anchor in the chaos. “He never wanted to bring you into that world, my dear. Not out of a lack of love, but out of a desire to protect you from the choices he had already made. He thought that by staying away, he was sparing you the darkness that had already taken root in him.”
You looked up at him, your face flushed with tears. “But it doesn’t make sense. Why did he have to choose that path? Why couldn’t he have stayed? Why couldn’t he have fought it longer, with me?”
Dumbledore’s expression remained calm, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes, something you couldn’t quite read. “The things we think we can control often turn out to be far beyond us. Regulus believed in his duty, in his family, in the idea that he had to atone for his past. But what he didn’t realize, what many people fail to see, is that redemption is not something we earn by suffering alone. It is something we find in our willingness to change, in our willingness to accept the love we are offered- even when we feel unworthy of it.”
His words lingered in the air, and for a moment, the kitchen was still. The crackling fire, the storm outside, the weight of the conversation-all of it seemed suspended in time.
You sat in silence, feeling the loss in a way that no words could ever capture. Regulus was gone. And though you understood, on some level, why he had made the choices he had, it didn’t make it any easier to accept. You still felt the sharp sting of his absence, the hollow space he had left in your heart.
Finally, Dumbledore spoke again, his voice quiet but firm.
“You cannot carry his burden forever, my dear,” he said softly. “You must let go of the weight of his choices, just as he did, in the end. His path was his own to walk, and while you may always remember him- both the boy you loved and the man he became- you cannot continue to live in the shadows of what was lost.”
You nodded slowly, your heart heavy but your thoughts a little clearer. It wouldn’t be easy. It would never be easy. But somehow, for the first time in what felt like forever, you understood. Regulus’s journey had ended, and now, so must yours.
The silence lingered, but it wasn’t the same as before. There was something lighter in the room now, something that had shifted in you. Not closure, not healing- but an understanding that you would carry forward, even in the face of loss.
Dumbledore stood then, his gaze warm but distant, as though he too understood that this was a moment that couldn’t be rushed. He gave you a small, knowing smile before turning toward the door.
“Take your time, my dear,” he said as he left, his voice fading as the door closed behind him. “Regulus’s story is not yet over, not in the ways that matter most.”
And in the quiet that followed, you found yourself alone again, but somehow less so than before.
It rained the night Regulus came to you.
Dublin was cold this time of year, the streets slick with ice, the sky an endless expanse of black. The city was restless, people scurrying home, avoiding eye contact, wrapped in thick coats as if wool and leather could ward off the war. The war is everywhere now, stubbornly stuck in every little crevice. In the missing posters on lampposts, in the hushed conversations in dimly lit pubs, in the way no one lingered outside after sun. You were ordered to stay low, 'hiding' or rather waiting for the doom to greet you at the front door. You were cooped up, only ever leaving the quaint little house to report to the order, or to join another brutal meeting amongst the death eaters.
And yet, your isolation was disturbed. Regulus Black stood on your doorstep, rain dripping from his hair, a strange sort of calm settling over his sharp features.
You almost didn't recognize him at first.
He looked different. Not in the way time changes people, but in the way loss did. His face was thinner, his skin paler. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, shadows that weren’t there before. He looked like a ghost, merely a shell of a person who once was, like a boy standing at the edge of something he knew he won’t return from.
And realization dawned upon you, this was a farewell.
“Regulus.” You breathed out, voice trembling as you racked your eyes up and down his body.
He mustered a small smile and exhaled softly. “Can I come in?”
You hesitated for only a second before stepping aside.
He moved past you, silent as ever, his presence filling the small, cluttered rooms. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering light across the wooden floors. Books were stacked haphazardly on the table, parchment littered with notes and strategies. An untouched cup of tea sat by the window, long gone cold.
You closed the door. “I thought you were in London.”
He looked around your quaint living room absentmindedly. “I was.”
You crossed your arms, watching him. “Then why are you here?”
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he moved toward the fireplace, holding out his hands to the warmth like he’s trying to thaw something frozen inside him. His fingers twitched slightly. You didn't think he realizes it.
At once, he said, “I need your help.”
Your stomach twisted. Regulus had never asked for help. Not from Barty, not from Evan, hell, even not from Pandora.
“What kind of help?” you asked cautiously.
He turned to face you, his expression unreadable. “I need to know if I can trust you.”
A pause. Your heart clenches. “You know you can.”
His lips pressed into a thin line. For a moment, he didn't speak, and you thought, maybe, he was second guessing this. But then, carefully, deliberately, he reached into his robes and pulled out something small, something silver.
The moment it catches the firelight, you feel it. A pulse, dark and wrong, curling through the air like smoke.
You take a step back. “Regulus.”
“I found it,” he says simply. Your mouth goes dry. “You stole it.”
A flicker of something in his expression. “Yes.”
You stare at the locket, at the way his fingers tighten around it. The implications settle over you like a weight, pressing against your ribs, making it hard to breathe.
“Is it what I think it is?” you whisper.
Regulus doesn’t blink. “Yes.”
The world outside feels impossibly still.
You didn't ask how he found it. You didn't ask how he got it, how he escaped, how he was standing here, alive, when he shouldn’t have been. Instead, you whispered the only thing you can manage.
You inhaled sharply. His voice was steady, but there’s something behind it. Something fragile. He stepped forward, closer now, the locket dangling between you, heavy with its terrible secret. “I thought- maybe- you’d know how.”
Your mind raced. This was real, he was about to sacrifice himself for a useless object.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” you whisper.
Regulus tilted his head, something bitter curling at the corner of his mouth. “Yes.”
You shook your head, trying to make sense of it. “How long have you been planning this?”
“Since our last conversation.”
Your heart sank. He has been planning this for merely three moons, and somehow, he got out still standing. “Does anyone else know?”
He hesitated. “Kreacher.”
Of course. The Blacks and their house-elves. Their twisted sense of loyalty, of servitude, of obedience. Kreacher, who had likely been forced to follow Regulus into whatever hell he’d walked into.
You swallow. “And Sirius?”
Regulus flinches. It’s small, almost imperceptible, but you see it. “No.”
The word is quiet, clipped. Final. Something inside you aches. “You should tell him.”
Regulus exhales, running a hand through his damp hair. “I can’t.” You step closer. “You can.”
“No, I-” He exhales sharply, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “He wouldn’t listen. He never listened to me.”
Your jaw tightens. You thought back to the conversation you shared with him at the burrow, how his gaze held so much pain for his younger brother. “That’s not true.”
Regulus laughs, but there’s no warmth in it. “You didn’t grow up with him.”
You frown. “That doesn’t mean he doesn’t care.”
Regulus looked away. His fingers trace the edge of the locket absently, a nervous habit, as if he’s anchoring himself to something tangible. “It’s better if he doesn’t know.”
“That’s not your choice to make.”
And you know, in that moment, that nothing you say will change his mind.
Regulus Black has always been quiet. A boy of careful words, of hidden thoughts, of silent wars no one else could see. But here, now, in the dim glow of a dying fire, he is louder than he has ever been.
You exhale shakily. “What happens now?”
He looks down at the locket, at the way it gleams against his pale skin. “I finish what I started.”
Regulus lifts his gaze, and for the first time in a long time, you see something like peace in his eyes.
“Then at least I did something that mattered.”
Your throat tightens. “Reg-”
He steps forward, pressing the locket and a parchment into your palm. His hands are cold. “If anything happens, you keep this safe. This is all the information I gathered on all the other horcruxes and where they could lay. Do not show it to anyone, do not let anyone see your mind.”
You stare at him, at the boy who was supposed to live a life of privilege and power, at the boy who was supposed to be untouchable.
At the boy who was never supposed to be a hero.
“I don’t want to lose you,” you whisper.
Regulus’ smile is small, tired. “I think you already have, mon Chèri.”
The fire flickers. The rain beats against the windows.
And when you blink, he is gone.
They never find his body.
The war swallows people whole, chews them up, spits them out as names on a list of casualties. Regulus Black is just another name. Another headline. Another tragic waste.
People don’t ask questions. You don’t speak of him. Not to Sirius, not to the Order, not to anyone.
But sometimes, on quiet nights, you swear you see him.
A shadow in the corner of your vision, a figure disappearing into the dark. A whisper in the wind, a presence in the silence, a name that lingers on the tip of your tongue. And when you close your eyes, you can still feel the ghost of his touch, the warmth of his breath, the weight of the words he never said.
You don’t know if it’s wishful thinking.
You wonder if maybe, somewhere, there is a boy walking alone in the dark, free from the name that once weighed him down.
And you wonder if, somewhere out there, Regulus Black is still running.
And you wonder if he ever looks back.
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