And there it was. That name. That voice. That— “Oh, shit,” Marlene breathed, nearly choking on her own tongue. “Wait—Regulus?!” Alice whispered. “That’s— That’s Regulus?” Sirius’s eyes had gone wide. Unmoving. Face drained.

They hadn’t seen him in the crowd. Hadn’t noticed him at all. Not until now.

A slim, shadow-draped figure lingered near the base of the table. Unmasked. Eighteen, no older. His dark hair tucked behind his ears, his eyes glittering in the lowlight, Regulus Arcturus Black turned towards the Dark Lord with an expression no one expected. Not fear. Not awe.

He smiled.

Not just smiled. Smirked. Coy and cruel and knowing.

And cooed. “Sounds like you really could do…” he sang softly, lacing the words with silken mockery, “with a little reminder of who you're talking to.”

The Order agents froze in place, every heart stuttering in unison. “…what the fuck,” Peter whispered, trembling.

“I— Is he singing?” Gideon muttered. Frank blinked rapidly. “He's jazz singing.”

Tom Riddle’s lip curled. “Do not test me tonight, boy.” Regulus tilted his head, ever the perfect feline. “An honest man,” he murmured with syrupy sweetness, “Always there to lend an ear.”

Voldemort growled low, but made no move. Regulus twirled once. His wand lifted slightly. A shimmering magical record formed in the air, spinning.

“I dealt with you fairly,” he sang, circling the taller man, “been patient, it’s true… but remember, my dear—” He stopped just in front of him. “You’re in my zoo.”

“WHAT.” James was clawing at his own cloak. “What the FUCK does that mean—”

“Don’t you forget,” Regulus purred, “You are my pet~”

Sirius choked on nothing. “He’s lost his fucking mind—he’s—” “I say when to sit and stay… Roll over, or go fetch!”

Regulus snapped his fingers. Voldemort flinched. Flinched. Remus’s mouth fell open. “This… this isn’t happening.”

“Don’t you forget—” Regulus danced backward, spinning light on his toes. “There’s no way out!” He stomped, and a wave of gold magic rolled over the room. “You're a debtor 'til the day you settle your account!”

Voldemort inhaled through his nose. Calm. Seething. His voice cut low through the theatrics. “I've served your family faithfully for many years,” he snarled. “Obeyed demands. Contained my rage. Went off the radar for years on your behalf.”

Regulus batted his lashes. “I know! And you're so kind!”

James physically gagged. “I’m gonna be sick.”

Tom took a step forward, voice dripping acid. “And since you made me disappear, my name inspires much less fear.” His jaw twitched. “The least that you can do is fix my wand.”

Regulus tsked, grinning like a devil. “In due time~” He grabbed Riddle’s hand with mock tenderness. “Come along, dear, you know how this works!”

Then—dear Merlin—music flooded the chamber. A soft, jazzy melody from the record spinning overhead.

And they danced.

Waltz turned to foxtrot. Regulus was gliding. Tom was leading, but barely — there was something jagged, awkward, restrained about his movements, like he was resisting invisible strings. Regulus, meanwhile, was fluid. Liquid. In control.

They swept across the cracked marble. Voldemort dipped Regulus low — and Regulus grinned up at him, smug, teeth sharp.

“Don't you forget~” Tom exhaled, jaw clenched. “I won’t forget…” “You are my pet!” Tom muttered, “Yours since we met…”

“I say when to sit and stay…” “Play ball…” Voldemort’s voice was quieter. “Or just play dead!” Regulus sang sweetly.

“Don’t you forget—” “I’m in your net…” “The coop can’t be flown!”

“At least, not yet…” Tom muttered darkly.

Regulus smacked him across the head.

The sound echoed. The Gryffindors screamed.

“WHAT THE FUCK,” Marlene gasped. “DID HE JUST—DID HE JUST HIT VOLDEMORT?” “He hit him like a dog,” Peter whimpered. “I'm hallucinating,” Lily whispered. “This is a glamour. It’s a dream.”

Back on the floor, Regulus yanked something golden from thin air — a faint shimmer of light revealed a glowing, runic chain wound around Voldemort’s throat.

He tugged.

Tom bent. Forced down until their noses brushed. Regulus tilted his head, eyes gleaming. “The moves you make are mine and mine alone~” He let go, and Tom stumbled back, breath short. “Looks like you'll have to do this on your own,” Regulus sang, sauntering away.

Tom stood trembling. Then: “Looks like I'll have to do this on my own,” he repeated through gritted teeth. A pause. “Fine!”

The music ended.

The spell broke like glass — the record cracked and vanished, the golden chain evaporating. Silence fell.

Tom Riddle stood still, chest heaving faintly, wand still unfixed in his hand. His mouth twitched. “Get. It. Done.” He Disapparated.

Regulus was alone.

No. Not quite.

Above, eleven cloaked Order agents stared down like witnesses to divine heresy. No one moved. No one breathed.

Then—

“Oh my god,” James whispered. “He’s in charge.”

Lily sat down on the beam. “Regulus Black is the most powerful person I’ve ever seen and I’m going to throw up.”

Sirius made a soft strangled sound. “He trained Voldemort like a poodle.”

Remus blinked. “He made him dance.”

Frank wiped his face. “He hit him with jazz hands.”

Fabian muttered, “Do we… do we tell someone?”

“No one will believe us,” Gideon said, deadpan.

“They shouldn’t,” Mary whispered. “They can’t.”

Down below, Regulus finally turned. His eyes flicked upward — directly to the rafters where they crouched.

And he smiled.

A slow, knowing, radiant thing.

He winked.

Then walked away.

Sirius clutched his heart.

“Oh, I am not ready to unpack this.”

The moment Regulus disappeared into the shadows, his long coat fluttering behind him like the train of a crowned prince, the silence left behind was deafening.

Then—

Chaos. An explosion of voices. Magic flared wild and unrefined as Invisibility Cloaks were ripped away, Disillusionment Charms cancelled mid-panic, and three separate people screamed aloud at once.

“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!” “I NEED A MINUTE—NO I NEED A YEAR—” “IS HE POSSESSING VOLDEMORT OR DATING HIM OR WHAT?”

James was flailing. Like, physically flailing. “HE MADE HIM FOXTROT, LILS.” “HE MADE HIM WALTZ,” Lily shrieked. “AND OBEY!”

Frank was pacing in furious circles, dragging his hands down his face. “That wasn’t a power imbalance, that was a power OVERHAUL. We’ve been fighting this bastard for years and apparently the entire time he’s been somebody’s pet?” “Regulus’s pet,” Alice said blankly, eyes wide and glassy. “Regulus Black. Eighteen. Fresh out of Hogwarts. That one.” She pointed at the air where Regulus had just stood like she was pointing at God descending in thigh-high boots.

Peter was crying. No, seriously. There were actual tears tracking down his face. “He hit him like a misbehaving mutt, and the Dark Lord just… took it?!” “I think I peed,” Marlene muttered faintly. “You did,” Mary confirmed. “You absolutely did.”

Sirius stood stock-still in the center of it all, grey eyes huge and unblinking. “That was… my brother.”

“Your brother,” Remus echoed, stunned. “Is apparently the unofficial owner of Voldemort.” “Is officially leasing the Dark Lord,” Fabian corrected grimly. “Is renter and goddamn landlord of evil incarnate,” Gideon muttered, staring up at the ceiling like it held answers.

Lily sat down hard on a shattered bit of banister. “The chain. The gold chain. It was real, wasn’t it?” “Magic-binding,” Remus said quietly. “That wasn’t just symbolic. That was oath magic. Ancient, probably family-bound. Regulus said, ‘You're a debtor ‘til the day you settle your account.’ That’s not metaphor. That’s a contract.”

James looked physically ill. “He has Tom fucking Riddle under contract.” “Since they met,” Peter whispered. “He said that. ‘Yours since we met.’” “He cooed it,” Sirius croaked.

No one spoke for a moment. Then Lily stood up, hands shaking, eyes sharp again.

“Okay. Okay. Let’s think.” “There’s no thinking,” Frank said. “There’s just sobbing.”

“No. This changes everything.” Lily looked around, trying to steady her breathing. “He didn’t know we were here. That means we saw something no one else has. We just watched the Dark Lord bow to a teenage Black. And not because he was afraid of the Blacks as a family—because he was afraid of Regulus.”

“He obeyed every lyric,” Gideon added, still pale. “Like—verbatim. Regulus sang ‘sit,’ and Riddle’s stance shifted. Regulus sang ‘play dead,’ and he flinched. That wasn’t a performance. That was compulsion.”

Sirius finally moved. He sank down onto a cracked bit of stone, like someone had just deflated him.

“All these years… I thought he was just a little idiot Death Eater in training. A dumb pureblood playing with fire.” “And instead,” Remus said slowly, “he’s been holding the leash.”

They all paused. That sentence made the air go thick.

“Oh my God,” Alice whispered. “Does Voldemort even know he’s on a leash?” “Did anyone know?” James asked. “Because this? This changes the whole fucking war.”

“If Regulus is calling the shots,” Lily breathed, “we need him. On our side. Not on Riddle’s.” “But he is on Riddle’s,” Sirius snapped. “He’s in meetings, Lily. He’s working with him.”

“Or playing him,” Marlene countered. “Did you see his face? That smirk? That was not someone who respects his boss. That was someone who owns him. Who’s toying with him.”

Peter clapped a hand over his mouth. “What if this whole time Regulus has been… infiltrating? Like… reverse spy shit?” “That was not spy shit,” Frank muttered. “That was Shakespearean dominatrix shit.”

“He started a musical number!” Fabian shrieked. “He made it into a tap-dance war negotiation!” “And Voldemort danced!” Mary gasped. “He dipped him like a bride!” “And Regulus smacked him for getting lippy!” Gideon added.

Sirius leaned forward, elbows on knees, fingers in his hair.

“I thought I knew him. I should’ve known him.” “No one knew this, Pads,” Remus said softly. “No one could’ve imagined this.”

“We were watching Riddle command people around for an hour,” Alice said. “And then Regulus speaks, and suddenly he’s the one giving orders.”

Lily nodded slowly. “This isn’t a pawn. This is a king in disguise. And no one — not the Death Eaters, not the Order — has any idea what side he’s on.”

“What do we do?” Peter asked, eyes wide. “We find him,” Lily said. “We talk to him. We figure out what the hell’s going on.” “And if he’s against us?” James asked quietly.

Lily hesitated.

“…Then we pray to whatever gods are left,” she whispered, “that he never sings our names.”

✂︎═══════════════════༺♛༻══════════════════✂︎

“I knew this day would come,” Sirius groaned, dragging his hands down his face, “I knew one day we’d have to break into my cursed childhood home to stalk my little brother, and yet somehow I’m still surprised.”

“You say that like it’s a normal Tuesday,” Remus muttered, already rechecking his wand. “Well, it is a Tuesday,” James pointed out. “Great,” Marlene sighed. “Let’s add Burgling Grimmauld Place to today’s agenda. Right after Crisis: Regulus Has the Dark Lord on a Leash.”

“Does anyone else feel gross about this?” Peter whispered. “Like… he’s literally a teenager. We’re grown-ass adults. And we’re sneaking into his house.”

“We’re not sneaking,” Lily corrected. “We’re strategically investigating.” “Yeah,” Alice added grimly. “Strategically investigating the kid who used Voldemort’s spine as a fucking dancing pole.”

Sirius snorted, bitter. “He’s not just a kid. Not anymore. Not after that.”

They reached the steps of Number Twelve, and to everyone’s surprise, the wards still let Sirius in.

“You’d think Mother would’ve kicked me out of the protections by now,” he muttered. “Guess I’m still technically heir. Good for us. Terrible for my soul.”

The door creaked open, cold air curling out like a warning. The house was quiet. Too quiet.

“Is it always this creepy?” Frank asked as they stepped inside. “Welcome to Casa de Trauma,” Sirius whispered. “Don’t touch anything. Everything either bites or curses.”

They moved carefully, the eleven of them sweeping through halls wrapped in moth-bitten velvet and ancestral gloom. No Walburga shrieking from portraits. No Orion scowling from armchairs.

Lucky.

Still, they were lost in their own hesitation. This felt wrong. They were intruding. Trespassing on something personal. But how else were they supposed to find out the truth?

“Alright,” James breathed, “He’s gotta be here. Somewhere. Let’s just… see what we’re dealing wi—”

A noise.

Laughter.

Actual, genuine teenage laughter — light and careless — drifted down the hall.

“…That’s Regulus,” Sirius whispered, stunned. “He’s laughing.”

They crept toward the drawing room.

It was… cozy. There was warm light. Fire in the grate. Tea set out on the table. Plates of lemon tarts and chocolate-dipped strawberries. Kreacher was seated beside a low armchair, chattering away happily.

And Regulus?

Sprawled sideways across a plush settee like an idle cat, snacking on a strawberry.

With his booted feet resting squarely atop one Tom Marvolo Riddle, who was on his knees, blank-faced and obedient, allowing himself to be used as a human footstool.

The Gryffindors lost it.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” “OH MY GOD—” “WE ARE NOT SEEING THIS—” “NOPE—NOPE—NOPE—” “ARE WE IN A SICK LITTLE DREAM?!”

Kreacher squeaked. Riddle tensed. Regulus just smirked, unbothered.

He took another bite of strawberry, chewed slowly, swallowed. Then pulled a slim, silver knife from his sleeve and began casually flipping it between his fingers.

“Ah,” he cooed, “Finally. Took you long enough.”

The blade twirled gracefully. Not a threat. A reminder.

They were not in control here.

“Regulus,” Lily gasped, eyes wide. “What the fuck is going on.”

“Language, Evans,” Regulus sang, flicking his knife. “There’s a house-elf present.”

Kreacher giggled.

James pointed, sputtering. “You’re—he’s—you’re using VOLDEMORT AS A FOOTSTOOL?!”

“Technically, he’s on footstool duty,” Regulus hummed. “We rotate. Sometimes he’s a chair. Sometimes a coat rack. Depends on my mood.”

Riddle didn’t move. But his eye twitched.

Mary grabbed Sirius’s arm. “Say something. SAY SOMETHING.” Sirius, in shock: “I think I’m having a stroke.”

Regulus sighed and finally removed his boots from Riddle’s back. “You may speak, Tom.”

Riddle stood slowly. Graceful. Controlled.

“Young master,” he said coolly, voice like warm glass, “shall I pour more tea?”

“No need, jagiya,” Regulus cooed, eyes still on the Gryffindors. “We have guests.”

Jagiya?! James actually staggered.

Tom Riddle — the Dark Lord, feared across continents — picked up a tray of lemon tarts and offered them silently to Regulus, head bowed.

Regulus took one and fed himself. Without saying thank you.

“Oh my god,” Remus whispered. “He’s… he’s Sebastian-ing.”

“What?” Peter whispered. “Nothing,” Remus muttered. “Nevermind. Continue panicking.”

Frank shouted, “WHY IS HE YOUR SERVANT?” Alice screamed, “HOW LONG HAS THIS BEEN GOING ON?” Fabian blurted, “IS THIS SEXUAL OR STRATEGIC OR BOTH?”

Regulus grinned. “Oh, darling, everything’s both.”

Riddle shifted slightly, voice calm. “If I may, my lord. They are… loud.”

Regulus mock pouted. “Aw, are they hurting your feelings? Poor baby.” He patted Riddle’s cheek. Then backhanded him lightly. “Sit.”

Riddle immediately dropped to his knees.

Obeyed.

The room screamed again.

“WHY IS HE OBEYING YOU?!” “MAKE IT MAKE SENSE.” “I NEED A NEW BRAIN.”

Regulus yawned. “There’s a contract. Family magic. Goes way back.” He popped another strawberry in his mouth. “The House of Black and the entity now known as Voldemort entered an ancient service pact nearly twenty years ago. He was meant to be… an asset. A weapon. A partner.”

He rolled his eyes. “My parents were boring about it. Wanted power. Connections. All very dry.” He flipped the knife again. “Then I inherited the contract. And I had… different goals.”

“What goals?!” Marlene barked. “World domination?! Tea parties?! Humiliation kinks?!”

Regulus smiled. Slow. Evil.

“Yes.”

Riddle growled faintly. “I would never bow to—” Regulus yanked a shimmering gold leash out of the air and pulled. Hard.

Riddle immediately shut up.

“That’s a good boy,” Regulus sang sweetly.

“You’re making him do tricks,” Lily hissed.

“Oh, not yet,” Regulus purred. “But since you asked~”

He snapped.

“Sit.” Riddle sat. “Roll over.” Riddle obeyed. “Play dead.” Riddle flopped backward, still in his pristine robes, arms sprawled.

The Order was feral.

Regulus stood and stretched, lazily climbing onto Tom’s back and sitting cross-legged.

“Giddyup~” he crooned. Tom crawled forward on all fours.

Regulus tugged the leash.

The Gryffindors howled.

“I CAN’T TAKE THIS—” “HE’S RIDING HIM LIKE A FUCKING POKÉMON—” “HE SAID ‘GIDDYUP’ TO VOLDEMORT—” “WE’RE IN HELL, WE’RE ACTUALLY IN HELL—”

Sirius, slumped on the floor: “I want to go home. I want a drink. I want to die.”

Regulus smiled down at them like a prince at court jesters.

“You came here for answers,” he said softly. “Here they are. I own the Dark Lord. I choose what he does. What he doesn’t do. I’ve had him biding his time for years.”

He tilted his head. “He doesn't move unless I say so. He doesn’t kill unless I let him. I’ve rerouted entire war plans. Delayed attacks. Saved lives. And I did it all by making him heel.”

Silence.

Not awe. Not fear.

Reverence.

And then Lily whispered:

“…You could end this war.”

Regulus smiled.

“I am ending it.”

"Okay," James muttered, staring at the very real, very corporeal Dark Lord crawling on the carpet like a particularly well-trained Doberman. "Okay, okay, okay, okay—"

"You're malfunctioning," Marlene said. "You're stuck in a loop."

"HE'S USING HIM AS A MOUNT, MARLENE."

Regulus, perched regally on Tom's back with a cup of tea in hand like some posh, Victorian princess-warlock, gave a soft hum of approval. "He moves quite smoothly, doesn't he? Like butter on stone."

Tom Marvolo Riddle, Dark Lord, heir of Slytherin, scourge of nations, made no sound. His knuckles were white against the floorboards.

Remus stared for a long beat. Then: "I think I need to go scream into a bucket."

“I have a bucket,” Peter offered. “I’ve been holding it since the lemon tart scene.”

Regulus swung one leg daintily over Tom’s shoulder, hopping off like he was dismounting a horse. He straightened his robes, handed his empty teacup to Tom with a cheeky “thank you, pet,” and flopped onto the settee with a content sigh.

"Now," he said, folding his hands, "since you're all here and clearly not leaving until I explain things like a proper drama queen... shall we talk plans?"

The Gryffindors, still dazed, pulled themselves into seats, arms crossed, wands clenched just in case.

Lily cleared her throat. “Let’s. Start from the top.”

Regulus cocked a brow, then smiled. “You already know about the contract. What you don’t know,” he said, “is the legal end of things. Because believe it or not—” he gestured gracefully to himself “—I’m a law-abiding citizen.”

“Law-what?” Frank choked.

“I don’t have the Mark,” Regulus explained, flicking his fingers. “Never took it. Never went on raids. Never tortured anyone. All my dealings are through magical contract and Ministry-sanctioned policy. Technically, I'm in the clear.”

James blinked. “But you’re working with Voldemort.”

“I’m working with my servant,” Regulus corrected. “Tom here is bound under a Class V Family Contract, sanctioned under ancient magical law, which—brace yourselves—predates the fucking Ministry. Since he obeys me, and I haven’t broken any laws…” He gave a wide, disarming smile. “Well. They can’t actually do anything.”

“And after the war?” Gideon asked. “You think the Wizengamot will just ignore all of this?”

“I won’t give them a choice.” Regulus yawned. “I’ve already taken over my family’s Ministry seat. I’ve charmed my way through half the judicial wing. Dolores practically creams herself when I enter the room.”

“I hate how much that tracks,” Mary muttered.

“They’ll want to punish him,” Alice said, jerking her chin toward Tom. “They’ll want a public execution.”

Regulus smirked. “Then they can try to arrest him. Without me. Without my leash. And see how far that gets them.”

Tom’s mouth curved in a razor-thin smile. “It would be entertaining.”

Regulus snapped his fingers. “Heel.”

Tom shut up.

Frank was rubbing his temples like he was praying for death. “So what, they just put you both in containment and call it a day?”

“Exactly,” Regulus said brightly. “Private magical containment. Ministry-monitored. All very legal and very tidy. I’ll live in a nice manor. He’ll tend the garden. Carry my books. Do my taxes. It’ll be lovely.”

“You’re planning to leash the devil and retire him to domestic bliss,” Remus said flatly.

“He’s very good at folding laundry,” Regulus mused. “You should see the corners he gets.”

And then: Tom returned with the tea set, placed it neatly down, and kneeled at Regulus’s feet once more without a word.

But this time, there was something tense in the air.

The look Tom gave Regulus wasn’t blank submission.

It was want. Want and restraint and something raw and bitter beneath it.

“Young master,” he said, low. “Shall I entertain the guests? Or would you prefer I fetch your slippers and act the dog a while longer?”

Regulus tilted his head, cheek resting on his knuckles. “Mmm… dog’s funnier.”

Tom’s eyes darkened. “So you using me as a human doll, parading me around like your favourite riding toy, and leaving me unsatisfied is… nothing to you?”

The room imploded.

“OH MY GOD.” “WHAT THE FUCK.” “IS THAT A SEX METAPHOR?!” “ARE YOU—” “ARE YOU—” “—FUCKING?” Marlene shrieked.

Regulus giggled. Actually giggled. “Exactly,” he purred, “it’s nothing, darling.”

He reached down and tugged the leash. Hard. “Because you’re nothing.”

Tom exhaled slowly. A strangled sound caught behind his teeth. He lowered his eyes, teeth bared in a twisted grin. “As my lord commands.”

Everyone stared.

Gideon was gripping his own thigh. “I think I understand death now.”

Peter was crying again. “Why does this have layers?!”

James was just whispering “they’re in love” like a mantra.

“They’re not in love,” Sirius groaned. “They’re in hate.” “They’re in horny hate,” Lily hissed.

Tom suddenly stood, sweeping Regulus off the couch and lifting him into his arms in one smooth motion. Bridal style. Effortless. Regulus didn’t even blink.

“Getting bold,” Regulus said with a grin. “You’re light,” Tom murmured, eyes hooded. “Like silk. Or smoke.” Regulus leaned in, their noses brushing. “Like arsenic.”

Tom smirked.

Sirius stood up, hands raised. “Okay, I’m done. I’m tapping out. I draw the line at romantic murder ballet.”

“They haven’t kissed,” Mary said. “But they’ve done something.”

“They’ve done everything but,” Alice whispered.

Regulus stretched lazily in Tom’s arms. “If you’re all quite done theorising about my deeply fulfilling and completely unreciprocated romantic life…” He turned to the group with a feline grin.

“…we’ve got a war to win.”

✂︎═══════════════════༺♛༻══════════════════✂︎

“Don't you forget… you are my pet.”