Chapter Text
The second wizarding war is long.
Voldemort never ceases his reign of terror, and nobody is safe. Not even the purebloods, whose preservation is one of the things that the death eaters are fighting for.
Nobody is safe, and those in the Order of the Phoenix know it all too well.
First, the McKinnon's died, and Dorcas Meadows followed shortly after. She took out six death eaters in her reckless, grief-induced rage, and it took Voldemort himself to kill her in the end.
Then, the Longbottom's, who, while not dead, aren't exactly living either, rather signed to an indefinite stay in St Mungo's, too far gone on the cruciatus curse to remember their names.
Thousands of muggles have died, dragged into a war in a world they didn't know existed, and hundreds of witches and wizards have gotten caught in the crossfire.
Nobody is winning.
Relationships are being strained, friendships are falling apart, and there's nothing to show for it. The more death eaters they capture or kill, the more death eaters Voldemort recruits.
Nobody on the light side knows how they find the strength to get up every morning and continue to fight, but they do it anyways. They trust Dumbledore, and they trust that he will see them through to the end of the war and bring them out the other side.
They only see one other logical outcome, which is a notion they refuse to entertain.
Voldemort will not win; they won't allow it.
They deny the fact that without any leads to follow or breakthroughs in sight, he already is.
The first kill is always the hardest, but they barely even blink now. Death is a new part of life. They have no time to grieve their friends or regret the end of their enemies.
They're supposed to be the good guys, the side of the light, but everybody's a sinner when it comes to war. Nobody expects salvation to come from one of the devils' greatest.
The Order of the Phoenix is having its weekly meeting in the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black when the wards alert them to a new arrival.
Ever since Sirius' parents died and his brother went missing two years ago, presumed dead, he became the heir in very much a full circle fashion and offered the use of Grimmauld Place to Dumbledore as a final f*ck you to the family that he never regretted leaving.
He spends most of his time in his flat with Remus in Camden but returns to his childhood home every Thursday for the Order of the Phoenix meeting.
The wards on Grimmauld Place must be some of the strongest in wizarding Britain. As the sole Order of the Phoenix member who can modify them, it takes Sirius over an hour for each person to be added.
This is why, on a Thursday night in late November 1980, Sirius is shocked when he doesn't feel the familiar alert of the arrival of somebody that he's keyed into the wards. Instead, it's like the physical version of a doorbell that alerts everybody to their arrival using air vibrations instead of sound. He knows this because everybody jumps slightly in unison, mirror expressions of confusion reflected on every face in the room.
"This isn't one of us", Sirius cries out, interrupting Kingsley Shacklebolt's spiel about the Death Eater raid in Herefordshire occurring on Sunday. There are 30 or so people in the room seated around the dining table, and at Sirius' announcement, they all stand up, wands raised, ready to fight. Everybody has the same thought going through their head. Who is it? Who could've gotten past Black family wards? They hope the wards have made a mistake but know the wish is futile.
The calm and confident sound of boots against wooden floors sounds out down the hallway, and some wands rise in fear while others drop in shock as they see the figure who strides into the room like it's his own.
It isn't a group of death-eaters.
It isn't a member of the Order of the Phoenix.
It isn't even Voldemort.
It's Regulus Black.
He looks feral.
He's attractive, always has been thanks to Black genetics, but now there's blood dried on his forehead and staining his robes, and his hair is a bit matted like it hasn't been brushed for days. Sirius swears that he sees a twig in it. Despite that, he's still flawless, and he exudes confidence and power. He looks as though he's just come from a fight.
His gait is effortlessly elegant, and he stands at the open end of the table that everyone is seated alongside while Dumbledore sits at the head. The chess master controlling his pawns, unafraid to make sacrifices.
Regulus looks entirely unafraid, merely raising a single eyebrow at the hostile welcome.
Alastor Moody shoots a stunner at him instantly, which dissipates a few inches before it hits him. It looks like there's an invisible barrier around him, protecting him from the people who claim to fight fair.
Moody sends more and more curses at him that get progressively darker and never seem to hit him, and eventually, he stands, panting and glaring at Regulus.
"You really thought that you'd be able to curse me in my own house?" he asks condescendingly. Then, "those last three curses should have landed you in Azkaban, although I forget that the rules are only a guideline when you're on the light side."
He casts a wordless expelliarmus that Moody is somehow unable to block as he places his wand at the other end of the table.
"That's dark magic you're using, boy," he growls out, to which Regulus simply replies unperturbed, "It's Black magic."
"Same f*cking thing, isn't it?" Sirius mutters, but nobody tries to curse him again.
Dumbledore finally steps in, but Regulus isn't taking chances with him either. He disarms him for good measure and leaves the pale ebony-coloured wand next to Moody's. Something unreadable passes through his gaze as he says in the same calm voice Regulus remembers from his Hogwarts days, "was there a reason that you came here tonight, Mr Black?"
"There was," he replies unhelpfully, smiling slightly like this is all one big game. The Death Eater versus the light who are playing by his rules.
"Are you here to help us?" Dumbledore continues, unconcerned by his rudeness. "Or do you need our help?"
To everybody's surprise, Regulus laughs at this, but he doesn't find anything funny. It's harsh, cold, and dangerous and several wands raise in trepidation.
"I don't need your help, and I'm not offering to simply help you. I'm here to tell you that everything you've worked towards, every life you've taken in the name of the greater good, has been for nothing. You have achieved nothing."
Dumbledore remains infuriatingly calm as he replies, "we are doing our best, dear boy. War is a complex game".
Regulus smiles at this too. It's dark and threatening, but it's genuine as he reaches into his pocket and, without finesse, he throws six burnt and mangled objects scattering across the table.
"Good thing I know how to play."
Sirius sees what looks like a necklace, burnt to unrecognition. Remus sees a Hogwarts-issued diary that seems like it's been bathed in ink. James sees a shattered tiara that reminds him of the one his mother wore on her wedding day. They can't place what the other three are.
Dumbledore evidently can, and his face blanches, simultaneously expressing shock, surprise and wonder. This makes everybody realise that something big has happened.
"Are those -?" he begins.
"Horcruxes? Yes, they are. They are what you've been looking for all this time, aren't they? But to no success, I got them first."
As Regulus looks around the room to see bewilderment and questioning faces rather than euphoria, his already low esteem of the Headmaster hits rock bottom, and he continues incredulously, "you didn't tell them what you were looking for? You made children fight, and they didn't even know what they were fighting for? I should've known that you were only in the war for the glory of it."
Dumbledore immediately protests this, but Regulus is ready. He doesn't care anymore; it's his game. Dumbledore can crash and burn.
"Oh, am I mistaken?" he asks casually. "Are you in this war for love too? Wouldn't be the first Dark Lord that you fell for, would it?"
You could hear a pin drop in the silence, but Regulus isn't finished.He's sneering down at Dumbledore's purple and gold robes as he says, "you're wearing ceremonious robes; not casual robes, gala robes, or combat robes. f*cking ceremonious ones. And what have you got to celebrate apart from thousands of deaths on the losing side?"
"They knew we were fighting to end Voldemort, but the details were too precious to share. Our side is still fighting to win, and there was a spy, you see -"
Regulus can't stand the way Dumbledore talks down to him like he knows nothing.
"Snape was your spy, and Pettigrew was Voldemort's, yes, I do know that, and I know that you knew it too. Who do you think it was who sent the letters?"
Whispers break out at this, and Regulus sees glances shooting between the remaining marauders and Snape, who is at the other end of the table.
"You're not loyal to your Dark Lord?" Dumbledore asks, trying to maintain control of the conversation, but Regulus hasn't dropped the bombshell yet.
"Does it f*cking look like it?" he asks incredulously as the air seems to crackle around him with dangerous magic, and with a careless wave of his hand, the disillusionment spell over the table is cancelled, and Lord Voldemort's corpse rests face up on the dining room table.
Screams, shouts and tears are released, but Regulus is calm and collected as he says, "you confirm that this is his body, yes?"
"Yes," Dumbledore answers hoarsely after casting a couple of spells.
"Good," Regulus replies emotionlessly, and without warning, fiendfyre shoots out of his wand and people are scrambling away and casting aguamenti to no avail as the smell of burnt flesh fills the air.
Regulus is entirely unperturbed as he eventually cancels the spell leaving a pile of ash in the middle of the table. The table is still shocked, and this only manifests as they see the pristine condition of the dining table; the magical prowess that he must possess for it to not have gone out of control is astounding.
Bewildered glances are given to him at the violent display of magic, but Regulus carelessly says, "wouldn't want anybody to be able to use his bones to bring him back to life." He looks around the table and continues, "now, I would say thank you for all the help you did, but I don't think there was any."
He turns around to leave and return to his room when Dumbledore's voice makes him stop.
"We're glad to have you on our side, my boy," he says, smiling genially.
Regulus' ice-cold gaze cuts into him. "I'm not your boy, and I'm not on your side."
"So, you are taking over from Tom?"
How f*cking dare he , Regulus thinks. "I didn't end this war just to start another one. I'm not on either of your sides, so realise you did absolutely f*ck all and then get the f*ck out of my house. I don't need you here, and I'm not on the dark side or the light side. I'm on my own side."
"And what side is that?" Dumbledore asks in the same frustratingly calm voice.
Regulus looks him dead in the eye and says coolly, "the side that won."
