#regulus-blacked

WHEN. june 19, 1984, mid-morning 

WHERE. Prewett Estate, near the Infirmary 

WHO. @regulus-blacked

​The soft click! pause thump! of Xenophilius’s boots on the floor accompanied the tap of his walking cane quite nicely. The handle was ornate, a little rabbit, a gift from his father, and Xeno had taken care of it well. He’d made sure to oil the wood, keep the ornamentation polished and in good repair. It was, after all, one of the few instruments he had to relieve some of the pain he experienced. 

Now, keep in mind, Xenophilius did not use the cane, nor his other walking aids, all the time, but if he apparated into the estate with one hooked over his arm, one should be sure to keep their distance, for one wrong movement or an accidental collision would lance pain like dragon’s fire across his body, spiraling down his hips into his thighs. It had happened before, as unfortunate as that may be, and Xeno knew well enough by now to make his trips to see Severus straight and to the point. The pain potions the other wix brewed were brilliant, and they, and a mix of Muggle medications, helped keep his pain at bay. 

That being said, Xeno was in such a hurry today that he didn’t clear his corners like he normally would, colliding solidly with another person. Doing so left him gasping, a wordless scream, as he clutched at the wall beside them. Normally he would catch whoever it was he’d run into, but the tears in his eyes prevented him from seeing anymore than a blurry outline for a few moments. When Xeno had caught his breath enough to speak, he did so, apologizing profusely. It was with a whimper that he noticed the other wix’s aid, the way their leg stuck out at an odd angle, and curiosity dawned. 

Wila had come to meet Regulus directly from a long day at work, so she was looking forward to getting a drink and something to eat. It had been one of those days where she was in back to back meetings and hadn’t had much time for lunch, so she was on the hungrier side. She had arrived fifteen minutes before their designated time to get her favorite table and to order a drink. She wanted a few minutes of peace before Regulus arrived. She was looking forward to her conversation with the younger boy, but it had been a long week. Her plans for the weekend involved a lot of Wila time. She was considering taking an impromptu trip to Paris to go to the spa, but she wasn’t sure if she could swing it. Things with the Order had been peaceful the last few days, but she did worry about going out of the country and missing something important.

She thanked the waiter when he dropped off her wine, and she had just taken a sip of it when Regulus appeared. “Regulus,” she greeted with a smile. “Please, sit,” she gestured to the open seat across from her. “I hope that you found me okay. This is my favorite restaurant in the area. I hope you don’t mind that I already ordered a drink. It’s been a long day,” she explained. “How  are you settling in?”

Edgar whistled to himself as he prepped the pots of color next to his work station. Today’s work was going to be good. Edgar didn’t mind the more typical tattoos that he inked every day, but when he got a challenge, it consumed him. Antoine Delacour had walked into his shop and requested something Edgar hadn’t ever thought to imagine, and that excited him. Someone wanting more? Wanting new? Trusting him to invent new boundaries of what tattooing could do? Edgar was in heaven.

He popped his head up as he felt the warm vibration of the door opening--an alert in place for staff only-- and walked back to the front. “Monsieur Delacour! Welcome! If you want to come on back, we can take a look at the final sketch I made based off the consultation and talk through what spellwork will be involved.”

To Alastor fucking Moody:

I hesitate to pen what will no doubt end up in something red and angry, but I must know: are you out of your fucking mind? When I joined this organization, I assumed a level of security was inherently part of the process. It appears I was so far mistaken I might as well have been paddling up shit creek with an oar of shit for all the good its done me. Why the fuck don't you vet your people better and check for identifying marks like tattoos? You're going to get everyone fucking killed, you arse-backwards idiot.

With highly fucking reluctant regards,

Regulus Arcturus Black

[ A letter in the form of an owl, like a civilized person ]

Mr. Black,

You haven't the foggiest notion of what we do here. As you've said, you have only been here what? A handful of days? Yes, they were checked. The only people who had them were announced during that lovely meeting. Yourself, Severus, and Theodosia. All of you have been, at some time or another, affiliated with the so-called Death Eaters.

Don't presume to know anything about what we do, Regulus. I suspect you will want to discuss this matter, as I am so, how did you say it, arse-backward? An idiot? No, I would say you have made yourself one with your fine display.

Pick wherever you'd like to meet.

The Highest of Fucking Regards,

James didn’t know how to feel about anything anymore. He’d sort of... talked with Moody, which had both helped and put him in a weird enough place to be wrapped up in Remus’ concern the next day. It had been a few days since both of those things had happened and, yet, it still felt as though he’d plateaued. Like he’d taken a step forward and then floundered, not knowing where to go from here. 

He hadn’t seen Sirius much since the night before the mission, which was rare for the two of them and almost felt like a loss. He hadn’t told his friend about his conversation with Moody, but he hadn’t told anyone about it. Too much had come out - about both him and Alastor - and it felt like a secret between the two of them. Like an understanding. Between the moments with Alastor and Lily and Remus, James suddenly felt like he wanted to do better. Maybe be better.

And then he ran into Regulus Black.

Regulus was in the kitchen at headquarters and, when James walked in, he stopped short. It had been the first time he’d been alone with him since Sirius’ younger brother had joined the Order. They only time they’d even been in the same room since then was the debrief meeting where Regulus had dropped information like a blasting charm. He wasn’t keen on spending time with the younger wix - and he suspected Regulus felt the same about him.

The moment they locked eyes, James started, taking a step back and shaking his head. “Yeah,” he said, thinking of the progress he’d just started to make. The tiny step forward he’d taken this week. Regulus had the potential to take all of that away with just one word, one fucking Black smirk. James knew that smirk - had seen it on Sirius’ face so many times, just never directed at him unless it was also laced with humor. “Fuck this,” he finished, deciding that leaving immediately would probably do them both good.

Gwen tried to talk herself out of what she was doing there. She’d heard plenty of rumors before and after the mission--back from the dead, couldn’t walk without a cane, ready to bite anyone’s head off who tried to talk to him. The whispers painted an aggressive picture of Regulus Black, someone Gwen had only ever known of and never paid much attention to. The Black family had been far above them socially, and that would have been true even without the shame of Gwen and her sister. Couple that with his untimely and apparently untrue demise, and it was a name Gwen had barely heard. But here he was.

She hesitated in the doorway, still standing in the hall outside the study where she’d finally caught sight of him. Gwen paused, gripping the bag she’d brought with a little tighter. Something like nerves buzzed in her stomach as she caught a glare as he looked up at her. At first glance, he wasn’t anything like his brother, but that glare. She doubted either Black brother would appreciate the comparison. 

Gwen took a small breath and stepped into the room, trying and she knew failing to look casual as she made her way to a chair near him. Near, but not close enough to be overly familiar. “So you’re Regulus Black,” she said, figuring there was no point in pretend pleasantries when it was clear she’d been looking for him. “Gwen Lockhart. I run an apothecary, and I figured a conversation might be warranted.”