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cherryslyce · 2 years ago

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Second Son (VIII) | Regulus Black

Series Synopsis: Forbidden from contacting Harry over the summer, you opt to explore the eerie halls of Grimmauld Place where you stumble upon a lonely portrait of the House's second son.

— Chapter Synopsis: The beginning of sixth year proves to be quite eventful. Y/N manages a new nickname and solution for the Black brothers.

Part VII / Part IX / Series Masterlist

Pairing: Regulus Black x GN!Reader

Notes: HPB begins! I always find myself accidentally using gendering terms like miss/mistress/master so I have to be extra conscious about it when I'm editing.

Your sixth year at Hogwarts kicked off with a suspiciously smooth start. Rather, it was quite an unexpected beginning to the year with Professor Slughorn taking over Professor Snape’s post as the Potions teacher. It felt strange to no longer feel tense going into the Potions classroom, but you would be lying through your teeth by saying that the quality of instruction improved. Regretfully, it felt like the opposite.

Professor Slughorn had a penchant for talking in roundabout ways and digressing to the point of incomprehensibility–at least Snape was clear and short with his words (though you suspected that the tightness of his robe collars limited the amount of words he could speak everyday).

The shock of such changes barely had time to wean away before you were mind-boggled by another, rather larger, surprise. Harry, whose performance had always been teetering the edge between passable and dreadful in Potions, was suddenly topping the grades in your year for the class.

Improving was a great development (perhaps even expected, now that Snape was gone), but improving fast enough to overtake Hermione in the class was outright suspicious. You weren’t going to prod Harry, having already witnessed Hermione’s scathing looks towards the boy’s cauldron and Ron’s clueless pleas for help.

Besides, you would be a hypocrite to scrutinize the boy, having your own secrets that you held onto tightly. If it wasn’t corrupting your friend or interfering with his well being, you’d leave the issue be (even if you did suspect academic dishonesty).

However, your sentiment towards the subject seemed irrelevant at the moment as you grew increasingly irritated with the concoction in front of you.

‘Reg, how in Merlin’s name is Harry doing this? I swear that this thing in front of me resembles more of a sludge than a potion.’

‘Patience, little bird. Are you certain you followed the instructions exactly?’

‘If this is a jab about me being illiterate, I will obliterate you.’ Your thoughts had somehow managed to convey your frustration, coming out a bit snarky.

‘I’d bet my left arm on the likelihood of that never happening, but no, it wasn’t a tease. You will be fine, Slughorn is a lenient grader.’

Your shoulders sag in exhaustion at Regulus’ words, the aching between your shoulder blades intensifying with the action. Deciding to abandon the failed mixture, you slowly inch towards Harry, making a show of looking at his potion.

“I have to hand it to you, Harry. At this rate, you are definitely getting an O on your Potions N.E.W.T next year.” Your words are met with a wide grin, and his eyes briefly dart to his textbook, hand moving to shift it from your line of sight.

The subtlety of an ogre, this one.

Continuing to stir his potion, he hums appreciatively, “Thanks, but it’s really nothing. I’m just relieved that Professor Snape is teaching a different subject this year. I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to take Potions at the N.E.W.T level.”

“Ah, right, this class is a prerequisite for the Auror training program. Well, if only Professor Snape could see you now, he’d drop from shock, I’m sure.” You smile lightly at the thought, eyes gazing around Harry’s workbench.

An explosion sounds from behind the two of you, no doubt originating from Seamus’ table, but you both pay no mind to it. Slughorn rushes past you, no doubt making sure that Seamus hasn’t blown himself up, and it’s enough to have you trudging back to your boiling mixture.

No use in blowing up your own cauldron and having Slughorn fuss around.

In the time that you spent away from it, your potion managed to thin out a bit more and morph into a color that better resembled the correct shade. Honestly, you were just comparing yours to Harry’s and hoping for the best.

Watching the mixture swirl for a bit longer, you decide to occupy yourself by reaching out into the mind link.

‘Reggie.’

‘Hm?’

‘My potion is almost done and I’m bored.’

‘Oh? Are N.E.W.T-level classes not challenging enough for you, little bird?’

‘Merlin knows I’m suffering, I’m just adept at hiding my crippling anxiety over it all. Not all of us can be as impressive as you, Crowface.’ Your last remark is tinged with playfulness, and you duck your head down to hide the growing smile on your face. You’d have no chance of being invited to the famed Slug Club if Slughorn took you for a lunatic.

Regulus’ confusion rings through the mind link, and it takes him a few delayed pauses before his voice chimes out again, ‘Crowface? My nickname for you is actually pleasant, and this is what I get in return? It’s hardly fair.’

‘Think of it as less of an insult and more as a term of endearment. Crows are intelligent birds, and you’re pretty much the smartest person I know.’

If you could see the look on his face at the moment, you have no doubt it’d be a look of bewilderment, eyebrows drawn together and lips parted ever so slightly in a frown.

‘My very first nickname, and it makes me sound like a plague doctor.’ Regulus’ words come out mumbled, getting across his feelings of dismay without giving you the satisfaction of hearing him sulk.

Choosing to ignore the faint grumbling coming from him, you pour your potion into a vial, fairly satisfied that it almost mirrored Harry’s. It was passable enough in Slughorn’s eyes, and you can only imagine Snape’s offended sneer in your head at the mess that’s befallen the Potions curriculum.

After Slughorn praises Harry for his potion, leaving everyone to watch on in a mix of confusion and awe, you’re all swiftly dismissed. You could cry from relief as you leave the classroom, the fresh air cooling your lungs and relieving your migraine. Seriously, if you didn’t die from a potions accident by the end of the year, you’d surely suffocate to death from all the smoke in the class.

Stretching your arms over your head, you sense your friends catching up to you, a giddy Harry practically skipping beside you. Peeking over to him, your eyes can’t help but dart down to the book tucked against his side, bouncing on his hip with every step.

“Bloody hell, mate. Do you think I should owl Charlie for help?” Ron’s face is twisted in a grimace as he stares off into the distance in worry, no doubt imagining a back-up career plan.

Quirking an eyebrow, you turn to him with crossed arms, “Charlie? Why not Percy? Didn’t he get O’s on all of his N.E.W.T’s?”

You were quite impressed with your friends and the number of N.E.W.T-level subjects they were qualified to take, but nothing compared to the nightmare that was Percy Weasley as you remember Ron telling you that he took 12 N.E.W.T classes during his time at Hogwarts. The absolute headache he probably had for two years straight was shudder-inducing.

Ron shakes his head in dejection, gripping the strap of his bag, “No chance. He still hasn’t made up with Mum and the lot, and he’s too busy with his fancy new job.”

“Still? Helga, it’s been over a year now hasn’t it?” Your exclamation is met with a grim nod from the ginger, while Hermione hums at the news, seemingly unsurprised by the family’s continued rift.

“He sent you that letter last year though, didn’t he?” Harry’s words are meant to be comforting, but comes out with a bitter sniffle, the joy from his successful potion seeming to dampen.

“Oh? The letter where he told Ron that he should cut ties with you because you’re bad news and I’m the wrong sort and all that?” Your playful tone has Harry groaning, clearly realizing just how sore he still was over the older boy’s words. Honestly, you could care less about Percy's opinions, not feeling the need to impress someone who was chumming up to Fudge and his circle.

Shooting Harry a quick amused smile, you wave quickly to the trio as you all part ways: Hermione heading to Charms, Ron to Transfiguration, and Harry to Defense.

‘Off to Runes now, little bird?’

Patting your pocket, your chest grows warm and you don’t attempt to suppress the smile that flowers over your face as you hear Regulus’ voice.

‘Sure am. Afterwards, I’m heading to the library to try and read up more about soul hexes. Kreacher did a great job in picking out a selection.’ Over the summer, you were able to get through nine hefty books, and it only took countless all-nighters and daily pleads to Merlin to end your suffering.

You brought the last few books you had left to read with you to Hogwarts, and you were absolutely resolute on spending any available second you had on researching. None of the books you got through so far had any hexes that caused familiar symptoms, though you did end up finding some rather horrifying mutilation spells and diagrams of which body parts were useful for sacrifices.

Fascinating information, really. You now knew you could use a severed foot to cast blood curses.

Despite how morbidly engrossing your research turned out to be, you were itching to quickly figure out a solution. There was no doubt that prolonging Sirius’ curse would only bring severe consequences, and the Order needed him–Harry needed him, especially with Voldemort’s forces creeping in.

As if Mother Magic was smiling down on you, your work came to fruition not even a week later. More precisely, it was exactly 3 days later when the answer slapped you in the face with a turn of a page.

It was nearing curfew and you were sitting in an abandoned corner of the library, your stack of books glamoured to look like Runes textbooks. You had left Regulus back in your dorm, and you were definitely feeling his absence as your reading droned on. As you were progressing through a particularly worn book, one of the curses had you jolting up in your seat.

Anima Involutus

A soul curse which allows the caster to chain down the soul and magic of their victims through transmutation of hatred and anger. This curse may only be casted by a caster with a depraved soul or by a high-tier dark mage. The effects of the curse on the caster range from madness, seizures, paranoia, and death.

Victims of the curse experience violent constrictions of muscles, effectively stopping the heart temporarily while their soul begins to become entangled by the chains of the caster’s malice. The victim will enter into a comatose state until the caster’s hatred grows strong enough to snuff out the chained soul, effectively rendering the victim into a shell of who they used to be.

Protections: It is recommended that high-tier dark mages put in place charms of protection to mitigate potential side effects–

You highly doubted that Bellatrix was a high-tier dark mage, much less that she actually had the sense to put in place protections for herself. The witch was mad, so she probably couldn’t even feel the effects of the curse.

Running your finger further down the page, your attention is grabbed by an elaborate explanation on how to reverse the curse.

In order to lift the curse, the caster must intentionally retract the chains– yeah, that’s unlikely– or a ritual must be performed.

The ritual must be performed in the presence of a wizard or witch of greater magical power than the caster. The ritual circle may be composed of any healing and reversal runes, however, complex runes will be higher in effectivity.

Deciding to cut your reading short, you shoot up from your chair, sloppily beginning to shove your belongings into your bag. You needed to get this information to Dumbledore as soon as possible, anxiety filling your nerves at the thought of Sirius’ soul being snuffed out.

Practically bolting out of the library, you nearly miss the blank look being shot at you by Draco, his frame towering over a nearby table. Harry had confided in you about his worries over the Malfoy heir, growing suspicious that the platinum blonde was now sporting the death eater insignia.

But why was he watching you of all people? You just hoped he wasn’t actually a junior death eater, he was still a minor after all.

You didn’t want to dwell on it, feeling pity bloom in the pit of your stomach. Draco had constantly sent jibes at your friend group over the years, but he was a product of his upbringing and you had a feeling he was capable of change. In a way, you saw Regulus in him.

Slowing down in your tracks, you look over your shoulder at the boy, sending him a hesitant nod, and what you hoped was a reassuring smile. He looks surprised by your cordiality, but the expression disappears just as quickly as it appeared, and he turns on his heel sharply.

Sighing and trying to move on from the strange interaction, you continue to make your way to Dumbledore’s office, speeding around the people milling around the corridors.

As you quickly pace up the stairs to Dumbledore’s office, you reach out to your mind link with Regulus, ‘Crowface, I figured it out. It’s some soul curse that binds the victim’s soul.’

You feel Regulus’ magic briefly entangle around yours as he reaches into the mind link almost immediately, ‘Will he be okay?’

‘I think so, I’m heading to Dumbledore right now so he can perform the ritual to reverse it.’

‘Thank you, little bird. I’m glad…’

You wait for him to finish his words, but he falls into silence, so you decide not to push him, letting him figure out his own thoughts. Redirecting your focus to the objective, you catch your breath as you reach the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore’s office.

“Pepper Imps.”

You didn’t question the strange password, just grateful that Dumbledore was keeping you updated with his passwords in case you made a breakthrough. Though, for future reference, his pattern of having sweets as a password would help you immensely if you ever wanted to break into his office.

The gargoyle turns 90 degrees to the side and the adjacent wall rumbles before partially retracting to reveal another staircase. Quickly springing up the stairs, you’re soon met with the sight of a pacing Dumbledore, an exhausted Remus sitting just ways off from the restless headmaster.

“Headmaster, Professor Lupin!” Both men snap their heads in your direction at your intrusion, quickly straightening up.

“Y/N, I’m hardly your professor anymore, just call me Remus.” You smile softly at the tired man, appreciating his uncanny ability to make any situation comfortable.

“No can do, sir. But, I come bearing good news. After many hours of research, I managed to figure out the curse that Sirius was afflicted with. It’s reversible, but you need to perform the ritual, headmaster, or at least, you need to witness it.” As you quickly explain the situation to them, you dig around in your bag for the book, quickly flipping through the pages and practically shoving the information into their faces.

When both men are finished reading, they share an approving glance before facing your anticipating figure.

“Well done. We will need to get started right away. Remus, why don’t you take Y/N with you and have the floor secured. I will deliver the news to Harry and join you right away.” Dumbledore barely gets his words out before his body is moving towards the exit.

Startled at the news, you step towards the fleeing Headmaster, “Wait, sir. What do you mean? I don’t believe I’ll be of much help.”

Dumbledore twirls around and flashes a congenial smile, his eyes twinkling like they always did when he seemed to be reveling in a particular good thought, “On the contrary, you are the key to the success of this ritual. Now, no need to worry about curfew, I will personally escort you to your dorms later.”

Without another word, Dumbledore is practically flying down the stairs, leaving you to bask in confusion with Remus. Looking at the man, you find that he is already looking at you with a proud glint in his eyes.

“He’ll be okay.” Your words are more to reassure yourself than anything, but Remus seems to agree, putting a firm hand on your shoulder and squeezing softly.

“Yes, nothing has ever stopped Sirius, he’s always been stubborn like that.”

The older man’s words have you grinning briefly, before you’re occupied by thoughts of what’s to come.

The events that unfold in the following hour are hard to recall, your brain defaulting to autopilot, the world seemingly pushed back in a glassy blur. You do remember making your way out of the floo network, joined by a hopeful Dumbledore only minutes later.

As the two men crowd around the book to read through the ritual in detail, you are instructed to begin drawing up the rune circle as a few healers prepare Sirius for the process. At first, you’re unsure about why you were given such an important task, but Remus’ reply shuts you up immediately, “Professor Babbling sings your praises, I don’t doubt you will finish with the highest Runes marks in Hogwarts history.”

The flattery was exaggerated, but it doesn’t stop you from wanting to preen a little, even accidentally sending a pleased pulse of magic into your mental link with Regulus. Luckily, the boy knows better than to try and reach out to you amidst your concentration.

As you finish off the last few runes, you sit back on your heels to admire your work. The intricate markings were splayed in a neat, wide circle in the middle of the room, the lines of each rune character seeming to swim and dance in your vision. Magic was amazing–either that or you were getting sleepy.

Remus and Dumbledore step onto opposite sides of the circle, a healer levitating a pale, clammy Sirius into the middle. Looking up at the men for guidance, Dumbledore gestures for you to stand in between them, near Sirius’ head.

“Okay, Y/N, we just need your help with the rudimentary aspects. The incantation is liberabo animam, the movement is a small ‘S’ shape.” Remus’ words come out soft, and he doesn’t look at you all the while, his eyes locked on his unconscious friend.

Nodding quickly, you pull out your wand and steady yourself, practicing the movement once before signaling that you were ready. Confidently casting the spell, you have little time to ponder if you were successful before you’re overwhelmed by Remus’ magic.

His magic was unlike yours and Regulus’--where you were cold, Regulus warm– Remus’ magic was like a blooming petrichor in the lungs. The blanket of magic surrounding your body shed away as Remus continued to perform the ritual, a sudden chill entangling itself with the magic you felt before.

It felt like your magic.

But it wasn’t.

Where yours was like an ocean breeze, this magic was like the first touch of winter.

This second coat of magic…was this Sirius’ magic?

With wide eyes, you watch as the rune circle beats rhythmically and glows. Sirius’ muscles begin to twitch sporadically and you dart your gaze to Dumbledore worriedly, but he seems nonchalant so you bite down your concern.

The man was taking his role of being a witness too literally–seriously, he looked like he could go for a butterbeer.

Moments pass and everything is ripped away at once–the magic, the glow, Remus’ voice–it goes completely silent. Your heart skips in anxiousness as you watch Sirius’ unmoving body in anticipation.

Suddenly, a groan resonates around the room.

“Urgh…wha’ hap’en’m” Sirius’ voice comes out scratchy, and he’s slurring his words to an almost incomprehensible degree, but you laugh in relief at the noise.

Suddenly feeling weak in the knees, you drop down and make eye contact with Sirius, who’s managed to tear his eyes open and was currently gazing up at you tiredly. Clearly his throat furiously, a low silence ensues before he grins, seeming to collect himself.

“Hey, kid. You look like shit.”

Rolling your eyes at the man, you barely have the energy to reply, “The pot calling the kettle black.”

Sirius chuckles at your words before quipping back, “Last I checked, I’m Lord Black, so the pot calling the Black a kettle.”

Glad to see he was still the same.

“Remus, did the book say anything about possible brain damage?” Your words send Sirius into a fit of laughter and you’re worried for a second that he’s going to cough up a lung.

Remus shoots you an amused look before he’s hauling his friend up in a tight hug. Smiling at the scene, you only tear your gaze away when you feel a hand fall onto your shoulder. Looking up, you see Dumbledore smiling at you, gesturing to the exit with a tilt of his head.

Time to head back then.

Standing up on shaky legs, you pocket your wand and say your goodbyes to the men, promising to come visit with Harry sometime soon. As soon as you’re out of the room, you excitedly tap into your mind link with Regulus.

‘It worked, Reg. He’s okay.’

‘That’s fantastic…I’m glad. How are you holding up? Are you okay?’ Ever the worrywart.

‘I’ll be fine, just a bit tired. Don’t worry about me, Crowface.’

‘Hard not to, you always seem to find yourself in the face of danger.’ You swear you could hear a sigh coming from him, and you fight off the grin threatening to appear on your face.

‘Just the perks of being friends with the Boy Who Lived’ Smiling lightly, you hear Reggie huff at the reminder, still caught up on the fact that you were probably sitting snuggly at Number Two of Voldemort’s hit list.

“I presume something good happened?” Dumbledore’s voice has you pulling away from the link, staring at the man who regarded you happily. His eyes seemed to cut through you like a laser and your skin prickled at the intensity of them, carefully tearing your gaze away.

You just hoped he wouldn’t push you to divulge about your Crow over tea and biscuits.

Nodding at the question, you quickly turn to face the floo network, stepping inside as you answer, “I guess you could say that. See you in a moment, sir.”

You grin widely and throw down the powder, enunciating your words carefully so as to not land somewhere unsavory (Harry’s cautionary tale of ending up diagonally instead of in Diagon Alley never quite leaving your head).

As you feel yourself being tugged away, you hear Dumbledore laugh good heartedly, and the sound echoes around you as you are hauled back to Hogwarts.

Merlin, you were going to sleep like a log tonight.

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