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The branch punched its way through Regulus Black's gut, and Harry knew instantly that he had a fleeting moment to make a choice. The wound, if attended to quickly, might not end up killing the man. Given time, however, it certainly would. Harry knew that his mission hadn't been to kill his target, but to capture him alive, which gave him the freedom to do as we wanted, and take Regulus Black with him back to Hogwarts.

The roar of the audience was as much of an afterthought to Harry as his own wounds. People were standing up, clapping and screaming, but rather than turn and bow as he perhaps should have done, Harry merely readjusted his grip on his captive. The moment a stern-faced, bright-eyed mediwitch appeared, Harry shoved Black into her arms. He could see how pale Sirius was from the corner of his eye, and belatedly remembered that the man he had captured was Sirius's brother.

Well, there wasn't anything he could do about that now, was there?

Circe, he felt dizzy. Everything was starting to look like a blur of colours and shapes. He was drowning under all the noise around him.

"Harry, oh Merlin, Harry, what have you done?" Sirius was saying, and Harry couldn't, for the life of him, figure out if his godfather was proud or horrified.

Another mediwitch approached them, and Harry could feel the sensation of a scanning spell washing over him, cataloguing any injuries he may have. Sirius had managed to somewhat recollect himself, and spoke to the audience, his voice not giving a hint of the shock he had shown Harry earlier. His bruising grip on Harry’s arm, however, spoke volumes.

"Ladies and gentlemen! Let us welcome back our third champion, and give one last hurrah to the conclusion of the Triwizard Tournament!"

Breathing was difficult, though Harry knew for sure that he hadn't received any injuries to the chest. He closed his eyes, wanting nothing more than to disappear. The mediwitch extracted him from Sirius’s hold, and supported his weight as she began leading him back into the school, and towards the hospital wing. He could barely hear her as spoke to him in a soothing tone:

"Black was transported to St. Mungos. You needn't worry about him, Mr. Potter. You'll be well-rested and in good health if you choose to encounter him again."

"Oh," Harry replied, hating the mere idea of encountering Regulus Black again. "It's fine, really. I don't want to— I just retrieved him, I don't plan on questioning him."

"Wise decision, Mr. Potter," the mediwizard instantly said. "He's a dangerous and an evil man, after all, and there's no need to risk your safety a second time around him."

Dangerous? Definitely. Evil? Harry wasn't sure about that. Because... despite how much he appreciated and liked Tom as a person, he wasn't blind to the damage he was doing to the world around him. All the injustice, the segregation, the mistreatment of those who didn't fit into his ideal of what their society should be... Standing up against such things wasn't evil. On the contrary, really. The world Voldemort wanted to create – had largely created, already – heavily favoured those who were wealthy and of pureblooded ancestry. For someone who was born into the Black family – a wealthy, noble family with one of the most established pureblood lineages – to turn away from all the things he could have claimed as a birthright... wasn't that… kind of incredible?

'Maybe I'm giving him too much credit,' Harry then thought. Maybe the mediwitch was right, and Regulus was evil. Maybe he hadn't defected from Voldemort's army out of the goodness of his heart and a sense of justice. Maybe he had his own reasons, his own ambitions that had nothing to do with fighting against prejudice in this world. After all, what did Harry know?

He couldn't remember Sirius ever saying anything about having a brother – wasn't that a warning sign of some sort? If he had been a good man, then wouldn't Sirius have mentioned him at least once? In passing?

'But why would he?' Harry thought, frowning. 'Why would he, when they were both at the opposite sides of this whole... situation?' It wasn't a war yet, not really. However, Regulus – no, Black. He couldn’t think of him as Regulus – was essentially an enemy of the entire society that Voldemort had built. Besides, for all Sirius had known, his brother had died a long time ago. Why would he mention his long-dead brother, whose ideology had not only set them apart, but chased him away from his family?

Well, none of that mattered anymore, right? Harry had done his part and completed the third task of the Triwizard Tournament as well as he could. That... was supposed to be it. Harry doubted that he'd ever see Regulus Black again, and if anyone was to ever give him the choice to see him again, Harry wouldn't accept it. Besides, Tom would definitely kill the man after questioning him, and it would be yet another corpse that Harry had sacrificed for a handful of points.

Fantastic, wasn't it?

*

Regulus had thought himself beyond denial, but when he woke up with a splitting headache and a dull pain in his abdomen, he couldn't believe the sequence of events that had led him to the cell-like hospital room that he was in right now. He was very much aware of the possible consequences of being captured, and had long ago resigned himself to dying, if Voldemort ever got a hold of him.

He was restrained, his wand was - of course - nowhere in sight, and he was sure that if he attempted escape despite the odds, there would be a trap of some sort waiting for him when he least expected it. It was already a bit suspicious that there was no one in the room with him. Then again, entrapment was exactly Voldemort's cup of tea, wasn't it?

Merlin, was this how he was going to die? Really?

Because of a boy?

A necromancer, of all things. To think that such a sweet-faced creature could hold magic that evil. Was he even really a teenager, or did he simply pretend to be? Did Potter even have a child, or was the identity stolen? Regulus knew better than to expect any kind of honour from necromancers, and there was no doubt in his mind that if a necromancer could convincingly disguise himself as a child in order to gain the upper hand, he or she would. What if they were shapeshifters, too? There'd been rumours of necromancers being able to change their appearance much like metamorphomagi could. That would indeed explain why the necromancer had approached him looking so... deceptively lovely.

"Awake, I see," someone said from the doorway, and Regulus was hard pressed to not flinch. He hadn't even heard the door open. When he looked at the doorway, he found a man standing there. The man was tall, a bit too thin considering his height, and dressed in dark robes that hid most of his face. Even if Regulus hadn't recognized the slightly sibilant undertone of the voice, the bright red eyes would have been enough to identify his visitor.

"Well, you caught me," Regulus said, forcing himself to relax. "Took you long enough. How much training did that Death Eater of yours receive, just to succeed in this?"

"Potter tracked you down and defeated you all on his own," Voldemort replied, sounding disturbingly pleased. "You see, retrieving you was his performance for the third task of the Triwizard Tournament. No one knew he was hunting you until he actually found you. Imagine my surprise."

'That has to be a lie,' Regulus thought, refusing to feel impressed. "I see, so your pet necromancer deserves all the credit for this achievement."

"He's a necromancer, yes," Voldemort said, "and that is the only correct thing you've said about him so far. The boy isn't a Death Eater, and he isn't really a pet, either. Regardless, you needn't think of him right now. You and I have plenty of other things to discuss, as I'm sure you realize."

"Really?" Regulus sneered. "I have nothing to say to you."

"I'm sure," Voldemort said, twirling his wand in his hand. "I do believe, however, that I have ways to convince you."

"The way you convinced that boy to become a necromancer?" Regulus snapped.

"That's something he was born with," Voldemort replied. "Now, that camp in Varosha - who made those wards?"

"Let’s see… Sorry, can’t remem—" The spell, a cruciatus, hit him mid-sentence. Regulus didn't bother holding back his screams, knowing that Voldemort would only make it worse. Perseverance was more important than pride.

"You may think that I'm planning on killing you," Voldemort said suddenly, lifting the curse. "I'm not. I have broken stronger men than you, and I know that in time, you too will give me all the information I want."

'Fuck you,' Regulus thought angrily, but the aftershocks of the cruciatus made it impossible for him to speak for the moment. Voldemort didn't seem to expect an answer anyway, and continued:

"This doesn't have to hurt, you know. I could give you anything you wanted, if you give me what I want. Just a few names, Regulus. I'm not even asking for you to locate them for me."

"F-fff—" Fuck you. Fuck you. He couldn't say it, but Merlin, he was going to spit it right at his face the moment he could.

"When Harry found you, I almost couldn't believe it," Voldemort said, and the familiar way he addressed the boy - who was, apparently, indeed just a boy – was making something uncomfortable twist at the pit of Regulus’s stomach. He didn't know if necromancers were truly born and not made, he didn't know what kind of a person that boy was, but he was far too young to be spoken about in that... that tone. That familiar, possessive tone.

"I should have expected it, maybe," Voldemort continued. "You see, Harry's an excellent student. He's unique in ways that remind me of myself. I did sometimes wonder if I was overestimating him - you see, he's rather soft at heart. Hates hurting people, shares many of your ideas on how people should be treated. But unlike you, he's capable of seeing reason. And when he found you, fought you, and captured you, I knew that I hadn't overestimated him after all. Do you know what that means, Regulus?"

'I hope he kills you,' Regulus thought bitterly, glaring at the Dark Lord. 'I hope he turns against and kills you, if you trust him that much.' Because men like Voldemort deserved nothing but betrayal.

"It means that he's capable of things you cannot quite expect from him," Voldemort said. "It means that if I were to assign him to find your silly little camps, and wrangle out the answers I needed from the souls of the deceased, he'd do it. What secrets can you hide from death, after all?"

That couldn't be true. If it was true, then wouldn't he be doing that already? Wouldn't he have killed Regulus, and had the boy question whatever was left of him?

"I can work on convincing you," Voldemort then said with a chuckle, digging the tip of his wand against Regulus's throat. "It's not a hardship to me. There will be a change of venue, however, as I would hate to spoil you with a hospital room like this. But before that, here you go—"

And then there was nothing but pain.

*

The aftermath of the Tournament seemed often worse than the Tournament itself. At least during the tasks Harry more or less knew what he was expected to do, and didn't have to spend so much time figuring out what to say, to whom, and how. The few weeks following the Tournament? Those were weeks full of anxiety-inducing confusion, and Harry couldn't have been happier after the press finally started moving on.

By the time his birthday came, he was at home in Godric's Hollow, happily isolating himself from the world. He had received a few gifts by owl already, but luckily no one had attempted any kind of surprise parties. Harry planned on spending his fifteenth birthday exactly the way he wanted: alone, reading good books, and eating good food.

Unfortunately for him, however, there seemed to be someone who hadn't quite understood Harry's need for solitude.

"Good to see you up and about," Tom said, barging in with the confidence of a man who just assumed that he'd be welcome anywhere. "Happy birthday. It's time for a treat."

"When you say treat, what does that actually mean?" said Harry, whose birthday experiences with Tom in previous years had made him realize the differences in what the two of them considered a treat to be. "Do I need to make an appointment with a healer, or a mind-healer? Or both?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Tom huffed. "No healers will be necessary. Get dressed. You're meeting someone. And take your wand with you."

"I always take my wand with me," Harry grumbled, slowly doing as he was told. Luckily with Tom, Harry knew that he wouldn't be seen by anyone else: there were no photographers or journalists that would ever dare to target the Dark Lord. Which meant that wearing simple trousers and a t-shirt would do just fine.

Tom disagreed.

"You look like a muggle," he said, looking slightly disgusted. "Is this how you want to present yourself?"

"I'm not going to wear robes every day," Harry protested. "At Durmstrang we never wear robes."

"Do you want me to change that?" Tom asked, scowling at the boy "Because I can. Go wear something else. With longer sleeves."

"You are such an old man," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "Are my elbows indecent? Is that what’s bothering y— eek!" A stinging hex hit him in the foot, making Harry squeak and jump, more out of surprise than actual pain. "You— you're such a—!"

"Change. Now."

Harry, sulking as much as he dared to, kept the trousers and changed his shirt to something that wouldn't offend Tom's delicate sensibilities: another shirt, this one a button-up with rolled-up sleeves. When Tom nodded approvingly, Harry looked at him in disbelief.

"What, my forearms are allowed to be shamelessly bared, but my elbows are somehow to be kept a secret?" Harry said, and ducked to dodge a hex of some sort. "Fine. Let's move on." The sooner whatever Tom had planned for him was over, the better, right? How traumatizing could this year's stunt be, anyway?

Very much so, Harry realized, when he found himself standing in front of a prison cell. A prison cell with an unfortunately familiar man sitting inside of it. Regulus Black, surprisingly, didn't appear to be injured. Thinner than he had been when Harry had last seen him, yes. But injured? No. Then again, it was likely that the man had been simply healed of any previous injuries. He was clean, too, which was almost as unexpected as his lack of wounds. Was this to provide a new slate for Harry to ruin?

This, more than anything else so far, alarmed him.

"Uh," he said, giving Tom a look. "My Lord?"

"You do know he's not leaving this place alive, don't you?" Tom said, rolling his eyes. "Anything you say will remain a secret."

"All right then," Harry said, turning fully to the man and not bothering it the pretense of subservience. He gestured at Regulus and said: "What?"

"It's time for you to practice a spell or two," Tom said. "You can't defend yourself only using two of the three Unforgivables, and one generic cutting curse."

"I disagree," Harry said. "This better not lead to where I think it will. My Lord—” No matter what would happen to Regulus, Harry just wasn’t comfortable enough to refer to Tom by his actual name in front of others. “—I'm not going to practice anything on him!"

"You will," Tom said, sounding almost cheerful. "The options are limitless – do you want to start with disintegration, choking, or blinding? I'd suggest entrails-expelling, but that's probably best kept for last."

Harry wasn't happy about anything that had been suggested. "Can't I practice something subtle? Eye-itching, or something?"

"No," Tom said. "But if you want something else, we can do that. Practice your healing, for example."

"Yes plea—"

"Great. So the first part is to burn specific areas of his body, and then instantly try to heal them. The faster you manage to go from injuring the healing, the better you'll be able to do it during battle."

"No, I don't—"

"It's either this, or the Cruciatus."

Harry sighed, his shoulders slumping. When he turned to look at Regulus, the man's face revealed nothing, though he didn't seem to acknowledge Harry at all. Instead, he was only looking at Tom, who sneered at his prisoner when he noticed.

"I can't believe you call this a birthday treat," Harry muttered, not wanting to cause deliberate pain to someone he didn't actually hate. Or even dislike.

Circe, he really didn't want to do this.

*

The boy was... strange. He didn't appear to be enjoying any of the pain that Voldemort was coaxing him to inflict, and his healing spells were quick and frequent.

"Aren't you a necromancer?" Regulus couldn't resist asking, when the boy stopped once again to observe a burnt patch of skin with a frown on his pretty face. "Shouldn't this be exactly what you like doing?"

From behind the boy, the Dark Lord muttered something that sounded much like "I wish", but surely the man didn't mean that?

"Uh, look," the boy said, clearly flustered and not expecting to be drawn into a conversation. "The necromancy thing is kind of like... it just happened? I just... you know... can make it happen? It's not like I chose to become a necromancer."

"I know you can cast an imperius," Voldemort interrupted them, drawing the boy back to his practice. "But there's a difference between casting it on a feeble-minded muggle, and casting it on a wizard who knows what you're doing. Burning is clearly not working for you, and you're still way too soft for a cruciatus. Give imperius a try."

"Okay," the boy sighed, turning back to Regulus with a miserable look to his face. Merlin, he really was a pretty little thing, wasn't he? No wonder the Dark Lord kept him so close. Even now, Voldemort was all but plastered against the boy's back, guiding his wand to point at Regulus.

'Please smile,' a quiet voice whispered in his mind. A fluttering warmth surrounded him, and the reality of the situation was fading quickly. Suddenly, all he wanted to do was please that voice, and see that pretty face again. Why wouldn't he give in, when someone as sweet as Potter was standing there, asking nothing of him but a simple smile? Merlin, he would smile, he would—

"He's resisting, see?" Voldemort said, hands on Potter's thing shoulders. "Try again. Make him do something simple."

"I am trying to make him do something simple," Potter said, rolling his eyes and sighing in frustration. What was going on between these two, anyway? Potter was far too comfortable, considering that it was Voldemort standing behind him. Curiously, however, all the Dark Lord did was push Potter a little bit forward, and urge him to try again.

"This is exactly the kind of a thing you need to improve at," the man said. "What if you had needed to use this curse on someone who wasn't a pathetic muggle?"

"Except, may I point out," Potter said, "that resistance to the imperius has nothing to do with magical heritage, and everything to do with an individual's willpower? And - may I also point this out - this is Regulus Black! How on earth could I put him under an imperius?"

Regulus refused to feel flattered by any of this.

"Practice," Voldemort said, with patience Regulus had never known him to possess. No, more than just patience was at work here: the man was indulgent towards Potter. He was amused by the boy's antics, and spoke to him like...

'Like what?' Regulus thought, bracing up for Potter's next attempt. 'Not a friend, certainly. And not quite like a mentor either. They couldn't possibly be... No, he's much too old for the boy. Potter wouldn't be this relaxed if he was coerced into a relationship he didn't want. So what are they?'

"Make him stand up," Voldemort then decided. "Something simple."

"I was trying something simple, I already told you," Potter argued. "I was telling him to smile."

"He's clearly not used to smiling. If it has to be an expression, try something else. Tell him to scowl. Merlin knows his face looks like it's scowling already. You were trying to make that smile?"

"You know, this would probably be easier without the commentary."

"I'm not going to leave you alone with him on your first day of practice. You need supervision."

"First da— You're not telling me there will be more of this, are you?"

"Of course there will be more. I'm a very thorough teacher, as you know."

"As I know? Know how?"

"I did teach you how to apparate," Voldemort said, sounding insulted all of a sudden. "I taught it to you faster than anyone else could have!"

"I wonder how you managed that," Potter replied, his tone implying something. "But fine, my Lord, if it'll make you happy, I'll try the... scowling thing."

"Scowling thing," Voldemort repeated, aiming perhaps for a grumpy tone, but came across as reluctantly pleased instead. "Just get to it, will you?"

Their continued treatment of each other... the affection and familiarity that the two clearly had. The physical affection that was so incredibly uncharacteristic, but present there nonetheless, in every gesture Voldemort made. The way he stood behind Potter, the way he touched the boy's arm. The way he spoke to him. The mere thought of what that affection meant - or what it could become - made Regulus feel sick to his stomach.

And yet... it wasn't as sickening as the realization that Regulus could really, really relate to it. Potter, with his sweet face and calm demeanor must be a popular wizard among witches. Regulus couldn't help but think, however, that someone like Potter oughtn't spend his time with a fumbling teenager, no. But also… not with a man as selfish as the Dark Lord likely was. Someone like Potter deserved consideration, surely. Deserved a steady hand to hold him, and assurance to keep him happy.

But then again - did he really? Regulus didn't know him, and getting fooled by a pretty face had already brought him to what could very well be his end. Eventually Potter too would show his true colours, as there surely could be nothing but evil hiding behind those eyes of his.

After all, no one Voldemort trusted like this could possibly be a good person. Not even someone as young as Potter.

*

The scowl had been easy. The moment Harry had used the imperius and suggested for Regulus Black to scowl, it had happened. Making him smile, however, was another thing altogether. It didn't help that Tom was standing right behind him, commenting on every small thing, sometimes even distracting Harry by either pushing him a bit forward, or pulling him a bit backward.

"Consider it an additional obstacle," Tom told him, when Harry protested the treatment. "I don't want to make this too easy for you."

"It's not easy for me anyway," Harry said, scowling. "Look at him! Never mind smiling, he hasn't stopped scowling at me yet!"

"Just focus more, and get to it," Tom said, as if that was some sort of advice. Focus. Yeah right. How was Harry supposed to focus when his target was just... staring back at him? The eyes were as grey as Sirius's, but somehow very, very different. His hair was black, and much shorter. And where Sirius was fit and quite regular in every way, Regulus looked like he could easily carry Harry without one bit of magic. The sleeves of his robes were tight around his arms, and even unarmed in a cell, Harry was reluctant to consider him harmless.

'Smile,' Harry thought, starting to feel quite desperate. The longer he spent here, unable to make this work, the more likely it was for Tom to keep his threat-like promise and drag him back again for additional practice. 'Please, just smile. I really want to see you smile. It'd make me so happy if you smiled. You want to see me happy, don't you?'

Wait, was there some softening to be seen? The scowl wasn't as severe as it had been earlier. Perhaps Harry was finally getting through to him? Should he just keep going like that? Appealing to him, rather than simply asking or ordering?

'I love it when you smile, you know. It makes me so happy. Please, Regulus? Please smile for me?'

Why was this making Harry blush, anyway? Merlin, he hoped Tom didn't notice.

'I'd do anything to see you smile, you know?'

At this, Regulus - well, he still didn't smile. But he did jolt a bit forward, a strange expression flashing across his face. He took a few deep breaths and stared at Harry with such intensity that it made the boy shiver. He didn't know what about his words had caused the man to react like that, but... perhaps Harry shouldn't try to appeal to him, after all? That had been a reaction of anger, hadn't it? Maybe Regulus felt manipulated and reacted to that?

"I'm getting bored," Tom said, moving away from Harry. "Hurry up, or we'll have to move on to some other spell."

"Okay, you know what," Harry snapped, lowering his wand and turning to scowl at Tom. "I'll never learn anything if we move on the moment I don't succeed. I'm sure that you got a hang of these spells within five minutes, but most people don't."

"You're not most people," Tom said. "You're a necromancer. So get a hang of it, as you say, already."

"Being a necromancer doesn't affect anything else that I can do, you know," Harry said. "I'm still not going to be able to learn as fast as you do. I'll still be struggling with transfiguration. I'll still be slow to mix potions. It's not like necromancy is going to suddenly enhance all of the others things I can - or cannot - do."

"Well then," Tom said, clearly starting to sound impatient. "How much time do you need? Because the more time you need to learn something, the more time you'll be spend here learning it. I don't mind that, as you very well know, but I'd rather not hear you complain for days afterward."

"All right, let's make a deal," Harry said, hoping to just end this discussion and refocus on making the imperio succeed. "You'll stop nagging at me, and give me as much time as I need, and I'll not only stop complaining, but I'll be ready to join you here as much as you want me to. Okay?"

Tom fell silent for a few moments, staring at Harry with narrowed eyes. He then said: "I might also expect you to learn on your own, you know."

"On my own at home?"

"On your own here. With that there."

"That there is a highly dangerous prisoner," Harry reminded Tom while glancing at Regulus, who stared back with an impassive face. He sighed then and relented. "Fine. Just... let me focus on my own, now, without any commentary."

Honestly, sometimes dealing with Tom was much like dealing with a child. Then again, Harry didn't know much about that either - he couldn't remember when the last time he had dealt with a child was. Instead, he was stuck dealing with people who could, and likely happily would, kill him.

'I don't want to hurt you,' Harry tried to communicate as he cast the spell again. 'I've been sad and tired lately, and the world is dark and grim. But I think if I saw you smile, I'd feel a bit better about life. Because if you looked happy, maybe I could be happy too.'

Harry waited for a few moments, hoping for something - anything - to happen.

And then, finally, Regulus smiled. Smile lines appeared around his eyes, and his whole face looked almost unfamiliar in how gentle it suddenly was.

'Oh no,' Harry thought, horrified. 'Oh no, he's handsome.'

*

Harry regretted his reckless promise to continue his practice sessions without complaints. Tom, whose patience didn't seem to extend much further than it had already, had begun to simply assign Harry what could be considered homework, and just left him on his own to practice on Regulus. Black. Not Regulus. Just… Black.

"Isn't this a security risk?" Harry had asked, making the Dark Lord roll his eyes.

"You already handled him once," Tom had replied. "Besides, I do have a job, you know. People are getting a bit too comfortable with having secondary wands at hand, and that's just courting chaos, right there. So I'll be setting new regulations, and I need to do it soon. Surely you don't need me to sit here and stare at a wall, slowly losing my mind?"

"I mean..."

"It's not like you're doing anything interesting. Try cruciatus. Try something physical."

"You know what," Harry said then. "You're right, you're definitely needed somewhere else. I'll see you later."

When Tom left, however, it seemed like the whole area was suddenly much emptier. Harry didn't know where exactly they were, Tom had simply apparated them both here again. The room looked like a basement, with its walls made of stone, and metal bars cutting it in half, turning the back of the basement into a cell. It didn't seem like this place was an ordinary prison, because there were no other prisoners in sight.

Then again, knowing Tom, he likely wanted to keep this particular prisoner away from everyone else.

On the side where Harry was, there was a door - the one Tom had exited from - and a table. There was nothing on the table, and there were no chairs whatsoever in the room. It was truly a miserable place, so isolated and nondescript that it was impossible to figure out where they were.

"How is someone like you in the company of the Dark Lord?" Regulus – Black, damn it! – asked, startling Harry. This was the first time the man had actually spoken to him directly here, and the first time he said anything at all to Harry without sounding disgusted. The boy swallowed nervously, unsure of how to respond. Tom had told him that it wouldn't matter what Regulus found out, as he'd die here, but...

"I don't think that's a concern of yours," Harry said finally.

"It should be a concern to somebody," Regulus insisted. "You're much too young to spend time with someone like him, unsupervised."

"It's sweet of you to worry," Harry said, not used to being questioned about his safety. "But really, T— the, uh, Dark Lord… he’s fine."

Regulus kept frowning, before he shook his head. "Forcing you to hurt someone, when you're clearly against the thought of it, is him being fine, now?"

"He teaches me in ways he thinks I'll learn," Harry said, knowing the logic behind Tom's actions, though not always agreeing with him. "Are you honestly telling me that you don't have Rebels who're my age, in your ranks?"

"We don't allow them contact with the enemy unless it's unavoidable," Regulus said. "This is not unavoidable. You should be able to not get involved in the war he insists on fueling."

Harry sighed, and for a fleeting moment, he thought of how nice it would've been to have someone as sensible as Regulus out of that prison and helping him instead. If he was sincere - and it did sound like he was - then what did it say about how he saw Harry? Regulus was clearly disgusted by necromancers, but after these encounters, he seemed to have... well, not exactly mellowed out, but he did come across as much less hostile than he had earlier.

'It's probably a ruse,' Harry thought, squinting at the man. It was funny how, despite a few similarities, he didn't look that much like Sirius. If Harry hadn't known that they were brothers, he wouldn't have necessarily jumped to that conclusion anytime soon.

"I don't think I have a choice," Harry admitted, thinking of everything in his life that led him to get involved in, well, everything. "And even if I did, I don't think it would be the right thing to do, you know. For me to just... walk away. So many people can't, why should I do that?"

Regulus stared at him, his eyes narrowed. He looked angry, but then again he always did. Harry didn't think he had gotten through to him, and frustrated, decided to try again.

"I have a friend of sorts," he said. "He's a werewolf. He's one of the smartest, kindest people I've met, and would be such a good mentor to anyone really. He's knowledgeable and patient, and hardworking and honest. But he's, well. He doesn't... get to have a house or a job. I don't think he even gets to have a family. Because he's a werewolf, and he can't walk away from that reality."

"That's the society your Lord has built," Regulus said, as if that was news to Harry.

"Yeah," Harry said. "So, is it not my duty to try and change what I can? I can't protect people like Re— like my werewolf friend if I were hiding in the woods of Austria. I have to do it here, where I can put a roof on his head and food in his stomach." Well, Sirius did that, but Harry didn't want to dilute his argument by pointing that out quite yet.

Regulus had now, surprisingly, actually stood up and moved closer to the bars. Closer to Harry. "And what does he think of this?"

"He thinks I'm soft," Harry said, realizing once again how much... bigger than him Regulus was. Taller, older, better built. Stronger in every way. The feeling that crept upon him reminded him of the moments he'd spent with Clemens. Except, perhaps, a bit more... intense.

"Are you?" Regulus asked, looking at Harry. "Are you soft?"

Harry took a step back, finding it suddenly hard to breathe. He didn't know why he felt the way he did, but he also didn't care to examine his feelings much. He shook his head, instead, and turned to leave.

*

Fuck.

There was much that Regulus had done that he wasn't proud of, but Merlin, he had never felt as disgusted with himself as he was feeling now. That sweet-faced Potter with his pretty eyes and surprising moral compass were making him think of things that Regulus did not want to ever think of again, but it was hard to ignore the certain kind of... softness about him.

Soft. Even Voldemort had called him soft, and Merlin if that didn't make Regulus's blood boil.

When Potter returned for the third time - once again halfheartedly attempting to cast an imperius or some other spell on him - Regulus couldn't help but ask him if the boy thought it wise to spend so much time with the Dark Lord.

"Do you even have a choice?" Regulus asked. "Or do you simply have to accompany him whenever he wants."

"He's a bit bossy," Potter sighed, sounding more like a fond but annoyed parent, than someone talking about the Dark Lord. "But he was there for me when I lost my parents."

"Where the hell was Sirius?" Wasn't his brother this kid's godfather? Where was he? Why wasn't he objecting to a fifteen-year-old spending so much time with an adult man whose moral compass was infamously missing. "Doesn't he question it when you're here all the time, and not home?"

Surprisingly, Potter instinctively hunched his shoulders and took a step back, as if rejecting the mere mention of his godfather. That, more than anything else, alarmed Regulus. What was Sirius doing, to make Potter react like that?

It wasn't until Potter's head snapped up with a panicked expression on his face, that Regulus realized that he'd said his thoughts aloud.

"Sirius isn't doing anything to me," Potter said. "Our relationship is better now. It's good now."

"Now," Regulus said, emphasizing the word and its implications.

"It wasn't too bad before either," Potter hurried to say then. "We just... we have some ideological differences. And sometimes it's frustrating when he doesn't understand that some things are, you know, really... not how they should be."

"Such as?"

"I have a friend," Potter said, and Regulus almost expected to hear about the werewolf again. Not so, as it turned out. "She's a muggle-born. Like my mum, you see. My grandparents from mum's side were muggles. Hemione's parents are muggles too. And it's... the way people view muggles, the way they view muggle-born people... Do you know anything about the Triwizard Tournament?"

"Yes," Regulus said, finding himself reluctantly sympathizing with the boy. It was clear he was distressed by the injustice around him. At the same time, however… the boy was close to the man who had made it all happen. "Your Lord made sure I watched every task you and the other two went through, right after moving me into this cell." Voldemort had repeatedly told him that he had been captured as a form of entertainment. That no matter how much he had struggled, Potter's efforts alone had brought him down for the sake of entertainment - not even an actual mission.

"Then you saw Fleur and the cages," Potter said, face twisting into a miserable grimace. "That is what Sirius, and everyone else, thinks is entertainment. I can't... I can't..."

Regulus knew how maddening it was, to be so sure of how wrong everyone else was, and yet have his moral understanding constantly smothered and invalidated by the majority surrounding him. He knew what it felt like, but he hadn't expected anything like that from Sirius.

"He used to be much more aware of how wrong things like that were," Regulus said, feeling strangely as if he was apologizing for his brother. Potter sighed, and shook his head.

"It's not like Sirius is actively promoting things like that," the boy said. "More like... he just got used to it, and doesn't see how wrong it is, anymore. But he's getting better now, I think. We talked, and even though we don't see each other much, it's still better than before."

"Don't see each other much? He's that busy?" That busy doing things Regulus couldn't possibly condone? It was funny how years ago, back when Dumbledore had been alive, it had been Regulus, not Sirius, who had been expected to serve Voldemort with loyalty. Much has changed, however, since Dumbledore died. Voldemort's rise to power had been quick and brutal, and changes had been enforced too fast for most people to do anything but adapt. Only two decades after Voldemort's rise to power, and people acted as if that was all they had ever known.

"I don't know if he's busy," Potter admitted with a shrug. "He's my guardian legally, but we don't live together, so—"

"Hold up. You live alone?" Regulus snapped, not sure if this was something he should even care about. And yet he did, because... because this fifteen-year-old teenager had lost both of his parents, had fought his way through one hell of a tournament, defeated Regulus, and was being groomed by Voldemort for whatever nefarious purposes the Dark Lord had planned. Necromancer or not, that was too much. And now, to top it all off, his no-good brother allowed Potter to live alone? Did no one know what good parenting was?

'Don't lie to yourself,' Regulus then snapped at himself, taking a deep breath to calm down. 'You don't want to be a parent to this kid either.'

"I'm fine," Potter replied, hunching his shoulders again and ducking his head down. The tips of his ear were red, and if that wasn't endearing, Regulus didn't know what was. Merlin, he was getting angry again.

"Listen," Regulus said, forcing his voice to remain calm and low, and trying to be as soothing as possible. "It's not that you're not capable of taking care of yourself - obviously, you are. What I'm saying, however, that some sort of support from an older individual with more life experience is something anyone your age should have."

"You know there're younger orphans than I, right?" Potter asked dryly. "Either way, it's not like I have any options. Sirius isn't... he just. He's not exactly the parental type. The Dark Lord even less so. And I have no one else."

Well, fuck. What could Regulus say to that, really?

*

The problem with anxiety, in Harry’s opinion, was that it often made way for insomnia. It didn't help, also, that the source of his anxiety was something Harry could do nothing about: Tom's latest assignment. The man had, after Harry's encounter with Regulus, taught him a spell that would inflict a wound similar to a stabbing. Harry knew very well where that lesson was going to lead up to.

It also didn't help that Tom had told him about the fate of the camp Harry had revealed in Varosha.

"Since, you know," Tom had said, "you clearly have nothing against using knives on people."

Which, okay, that was a low blow. Harry knew that there was no changing the truth, and the fact that he had used his knife to stab Regulus, but it wasn't as if he had done it for fun, or that he'd be willing to do it again outside of extraordinary circumstances. Tom had then cheerfully told him that if Harry didn't succeed in learning the spell, he'd be looking for an incentive.

Harry didn't want Tom to look for any incentives. He didn't trust the man one damn bit.

The camp had been destroyed in its entirety, and though most Rebels had been killed, nearly fifty had been captured and were no in Azkaban.

So, Harry had decided – quite cleverly so – to practice the spell beforehand. If he could get a hang of the spell before he even had to go and see Regulus again, then his problem would be solved. Right? Right. Unfortunately, however, when he actually attempted casting the spell, well... it turned out to be... quite tricky.

'I just don't understand why I'm not getting it,' Harry thought as he took the portkey Tom had given him, to ensure that he'd go directly to where Regulus was being held. 'I know the gesture is right, I'm pronouncing it correctly, I'm definitely putting enough magic into it... so what am I doing wrong?'

When the portkey delivered Harry to where he was supposed to be, the boy was so exhausted he actually stood for a few moments, eyes closed, before realizing that he had arrived. He rubbed his eyes, resisted the urge to yawn, and tried to ignore the bad feelings he had about this whole situation.

"How is it that you look worse than I feel?" Regulus asked.

Tom had, without realizing the damage he was doing, given Harry what he thought was a reasonable and logical explanation to why most children had been killed, and why the ones left alive had been spared.

"I don't feel so good," Harry admitted, genuinely not wanting to cast a single spell right now. He wanted to sleep. And a hug. He really wanted a hug, but it wasn't as if he had anyone who'd give him one of those. Sleep, at least, was something he didn't need anyone else for.

Regulus gave him an assessing look, and perhaps it was Harry's imagination, but the man didn't seem hostile towards him anymore. His handsome face was still rather grim, but that was just... understandable. When he was alone with Harry, however, he wasn't scowling or sneering. Instead, he talked, and sometimes he sounded almost... gentle.

It hurt.

Harry had realized quite belatedly that most people hadn't actually died during the battle. Rather, Tom had captured most of them, then had assigned people to rummage through the minds of the captives.

"What has he put on your shoulders now?" Regulus asked, moving a bit closer to the bars. "You look like you haven't slept, and I have no doubt that he's somehow the reason for it. What has he done?"

"It's me, I just... I don't know how to do this spell," Harry replied, suddenly feeling tearful, which made him feel... pathetic. Merlin, he was a sorry excuse of a wizard, wasn't he? What kind of a loser would almost cry just because someone - someone who wasn't even a friend - asked him how he was doing?

He really wanted a hug. If only he could buy one.

Those who weren't useful, were disposed of. Those who could be considered valuable for some future operations, were left alive. Great job, Tom had said. Great job, Harry. Without you, they would still be on the loose.

"It's all right," Regulus said, and why was his tone so soothing? Shouldn't he find joy in Harry's misery? Because the man must have known that whatever spell Harry was struggling with, was meant to hurt him eventually. "You were sent here to practice, weren't you? No one can expect you to master a new spell without practicing it properly, right?"

"It's a curse," Harry said, rubbing his eyes again and almost wobbling as he walked closed to the bars. "It's not something I want to learn."

"What will he do to you if you don't learn it?" Regulus asked, clearly trying to choose his words carefully, not wanting to alarm Harry with the question.

"You can't possibly be concerned about me," Harry said, thinking of how nice that would be. Merlin, how desperate was he, if this sliver of concern from an enemy was enough to make him— "I'm the one who got you into this... place. You shouldn't worry about me."

"I disagree," Regulus said, his voice soft in ways that hurt Harry somehow. Everything hurt. "I did wonder about you in the beginning, as necromancy has quite the reputation. But Harry, I do worry about you."

This was not what Harry had thought would happen. Naively, he had only thought about Regulus.

Harry took in a deep, shuddering breath, and then sunk down to sit by the bars. If Regulus wanted to kill him, then Merlin knew the man had the right to do so. He, meanwhile, would just try to focus on breathing, desperately hoping that Tom wouldn't drop in to check on him now.

Harry's mouth was quivering and there was a lump in his throat. Everything was going so wrong, and he didn't know what to do anymore. He had thought that after the tournament life would get better, but that hadn't been the case.

What was the point of anything, anymore?

Was this what James had thought about before he— before—

Fuck.

Harry took in another shuddering breath, and then burst into tears.

*

When Potter arrived, it was easy to see that he was either on the verge of collapse, or some sort of a breakdown. He looked dead on his feet, pale, with dark circles under his eyes. He seemed to barely be able to keep himself standing, and he gave up on any torture attempts that Voldemort had sent him there to do almost immediately.

What hurt Regulus, however, so unexpectedly that he couldn't brace himself against it, was how resigned to his loneliness the boy was. No one cared about him - or at least, no one showed him that they cared about him - and Merlin, that was so unbelievably heartbreaking that Regulus didn't know what to do. He desperately wished that he could just... leave and take Potter with him. He'd make sure that the boy wouldn't go a day without being told how precious he was. He'd make sure Potter slept and ate, because what wouldn't he do for someone who was so clearly... just...

When Potter staggered forward, and then sunk down to sit by the bars, Regulus wanted to move closer as well. He didn't quite dare to, however, in fear of scaring the boy away. When Potter – Harry, really – burst suddenly into tears, however, Regulus didn't manage to hold himself back: he surged forward, and before he even realized, one of his hands had reached through the bars, and settled against the boy's back.

"Come on, sweetheart," Regulus said, decisively keeping his thoughts away from anything that would make him reflect on what he was doing - or saying - right now. "It'll be all right, baby. Just let it out."

Potter – Harry – was crying even louder now. Heavy sobs that shook his whole body, and it made Regulus wonder when was the last time the boy had cried like this. Had he been alone, then? Probably. From what he had learned of Harry’s life, it did seem that the boy was left to wipe his own tears.

"You look exhausted, love," Regulus murmured then, noticing how Potter seemed to relax against his hand. Did no one touch this child, or what was going on? "Why haven't you been sleeping?"

"Nothing in my life is right," Harry muttered in response, between the sobs that he was very clearly trying to hold back. The fact that he couldn't spoke volumes of how overwhelmed he must have been. "I'm so tired."

"Why can't you sleep?"

"I need to... learn all these things and I usually would. I'm usually better than this at learning new spells and such, but I'm so tired, and I can't sleep because I need to practice more, but I don't want to..."

"Listen to me, sweetheart," Regulus coaxed, gently helping Harry turn to face him. The boy's face was wet with tears, but at least he had almost stopped sobbing. The boy then leaned his face against the bars, with his eyes clenched shut.

Merlin, even now he was just so… unbearably pretty.

"You won't be able to learn new things if you don't rest," Regulus said, keeping his voice quiet and calm. "I don't know how well Voldemort will take it, but you must tell him that you need a few days to collect yourself and focus on resting and recovering. Besides, if I'm not entirely mistaken, you're approaching the end of your summer holiday, right? How much time to go before you must go back to school?"

"A few weeks," Harry muttered, eyes still closed. Regulus couldn't remember if he had ever admired anyone's damn eyelashes before, but here he was. Admiring Harry’s eyelashes. For fuck's sake.

"I don't think he's going to make you come back here once your studies start again. All we need to do is make sure you'll do well until then."

"You'll be getting hurt," Harry then said, opening his eyes. Well, trying to open his eyes. Exhaustion seemed to finally be getting the better of him, and his eyes were barely open as he looked at Regulus. "If I'm not the one casting spells, then it'll be him. And he won't be struggling."

"You can't let that affect you," Regulus murmured, rubbing his thumb across Harry’s cheek. The boy sighed, and closed his eyes again, leaning his head against the bars again. "I can handle whatever Voldemort throws my way, I promise." And even if he couldn't, it wasn't as if he or Harry could do anything about it. With him being wandless, trapped behind these bars, with likely no one knowing his whereabouts, there truly was nothing Regulus could do. He was well and truly at the mercy of Voldemort.

Who, of course, wasn't exactly known for being merciful.

Regulus fell silent for a few minutes, and just… looked at the boy. He looked at his dark lashes and pink lips, and thought of all the things he knew he'd never forgive himself for. He had to remind himself, time and time again, that Harry was fifteen, but it just didn't seem to matter anymore. Perhaps because it wasn't as if he could do anything, really. Again, he wasn't in any position to do more than what he was doing now: talk to Hary, give few comforting touches, and hope that the boy would seek him out for more.

'More of what? More of this? Crying in a cold cell, falling asleep against metal bars, vulnerable in the presence of someone who should, by all means, want nothing more than to hurt him?'

He didn't understand how or why Harry was so alone. How could anyone look at him and not seek out his company - that lovely face, matched with an undeniably attractive personality - was a mystery.

Then again, perhaps that was for the best. Regulus didn't know what kind of people would seek the boy out, and couldn't help but worry that they'd be rather... unsavory characters. It was bad enough that Harry spent time regularly with Voldemort.

As wrong as it was, Regulus decided that he'd rather have it this way: Harry needing the comfort that Regulus could give him, rather than him having other people he'd go to instead.

*

Harry snapped his eyes open, panicked and disoriented. He couldn't believe that he had fallen asleep right by Regulus's cell. His legs were numb and his face felt cold, having been pressed against the metal bars for so long. There was only one source of heat that he could feel: a warm hand pressed against his back, followed by a calm, soothing voice.

"I'm so screwed," Harry gasped, worrying about how much time had passed. Circe, if Tom had dropped by at any point of him taking a bloody nap, he... he didn't know what the Dark Lord would've done. Harry didn't want to even imagine it, because despite being on great terms with the man, he knew that what he had done just now would undo all of his efforts to have Tom take him seriously.

"It's all right, it's all right," Regulus murmured. "You slept for less than half an hour - you have plenty of time to practice still."

"Practice hurting you," Harry said, turning to look at the man. The man who had just let him sleep, without trying to take his wand or harm him in any way. "You do remember that that's what I've been sent here to do?"

"I know," Regulus assured him, nodding his head slowly. There was hesitation in his movement as he touched Harry's cheek softly with his rough fingertips. "Whatever the curse is, I promise I won't resist it. Do you whatever you need to do."

"It's a stabbing hex of sorts this time, not and imperius," Harry said, not knowing why he was being treated with such kindness, while desperately trying to shake off whatever drowsiness still lingered. "It's going to hurt."

"That's fine," Regulus said, his voice barely above a whisper. The shame that had curled inside of him for so long, was slowly giving way to something darker. Something he wasn't sure how to contain any longer. "I won't dodge, then. You can practice all you want."

"Why would you do that for me?" Harry asked, knowing that taking the man up on his offer would not only save him from any suspicions Tom might have, but also continue convincing the Dark Lord of Harry's excellence. It wasn't that Harry wasn't good, he just... he didn't want to be here, and was too tired to do anything substantial, really.

"You can give me something in return," Regulus said, still touching Harry's face lightly. Every meeting he had with the boy could very well be the last, and considering how restricted he already was, there was no reason to hold back, really. It wasn’t as if he could do much, no matter what was it that he wanted to do.

Harry flinched, and finally stood up. He didn't look at the man when he said: "I can't let you go, or give you a wand."

"I'm not asking for either one of those," Regulus said, standing up as well. He didn't reach for Harry again, but remained standing by the bars. "I don't want you to get hurt or reprimanded. Asking you to let me go - or give me a wand - would subject you to the consequences that allowing myself to get cursed would've prevented."

"What on earth could I give you, then?" Harry asked, stepping closer again. Regulus was much taller than him, and the thought of how strong his shoulders looked flashed through Harry's mind, leaving him with a strange feeling that he didn't quite understand.

Regulus huffed out a short laugh, and once again reached for Harry, tilting his head up. The expression on his face was gentle, though quite intense. He pressed one of his thumbs against Harry's lips, making breathing suddenly difficult. There was a feeling at the pit of his stomach that wasn't dread, but made him tense nonetheless. Harry felt hot, and without even realizing it, was clutching Regulus's wrists with his hands.

"You're beautiful," Regulus whispered. Harry shuddered again, and allowed himself to be pulled even closer, now pressed against the bars, and against Regulus's body. He could now hold on to those shoulders that he had thought about earlier, and felt a pair of strong hands trailing down his back.

"What do you want?" Harry said, unable to do more than whisper. Regulus ducked his head down, one of his hands finding its way to the back of Harry's head.

"Let me kiss you," he said. "Let me kiss you, and I'll let you do anything you want to me."

Harry, unable to speak, simply nodded. He closed his eyes and sighed into the lips that pressed against his own, wondering if he was still asleep. Regulus's whole body was warm, and it felt strong and solid against his own. Despite the bars that anchored them into reality, Harry couldn't help but think that being held like this was surely too good to be true.

Regulus kissed him first chastely, more a soft, lingering peck than anything else. He tugged at the curls he was holding, and then coaxed Harry's mouth open, smiling into another satisfied sigh that his boy let out. There was clearly very little experience, but then again Harry was only fifteen.

And Merlin, that should've snapped Regulus back to his senses, but it didn't.

Instead he carried on with a series of short, open-mouthed kisses, acutely aware of every gasp and shiver he caused. He couldn't hold back, and Harry didn't want him to, either. He had never been made to feel like this, and couldn't think of anything more than the heat burning inside of him.

Regulus sighed, and then kissed Harry's cheek, before letting go and taking a step back. Any guilt and shame he had battled with before was now gone. He knew that no matter how wrong this was, he wouldn't feel regret for doing what he did. Not when his sweet boy was so clearly ripe for the taking, and so badly in need of someone who could take care of him.

Harry took a step back, and looked at Regulus with wide eyes. His face was flushed red, his lips were spit-slick, and Regulus couldn't think of a single instance in which he had wanted anyone more.

*

"You're beautiful."

Even now, hours later, Harry couldn’t shake off those words. He had never paid any mind to how aesthetically pleasing others would find him, and yet somehow… being called beautiful made him feel oddly shaken. It made him feel soft on the inside, and undeniably pleased. Simultaneously, he was scared – people didn’t just… compliment him. It didn’t feel sincere even if anyone would. And since when was it okay to feel happy about someone calling you pretty? Harry didn’t know anyone who had ever indicated that such compliments could justify the flowery feelings inside of him right now.

Everything was made worse by, of course, the source. That it had to be Regulus and not, say, some other bloke who wasn’t an internationally wanted criminal, currently in custody, and likely to die sooner rather than later.

‘But if he’s going to die soon anyway, why can’t I just… accept this? It wasn’t as if there would be consequences. Don’t I deserve to be a bit selfish, too? Have something to be happy about? It’s not like anyone else would ever like me.’

Try as he might, Harry couldn’t push these thoughts away, even late at night when he was trying to sleep. Instead he laid back on his bed, and wondered if Regulus had somehow known that his compliments would confuse Harry so much. What if all this was just… an attempt to manipulate him? It was very likely, after all… it was easier to believe that Regulus was manipulating him, than to believe that he really found Harry beautiful.

It wasn’t as if Harry was insecure or anything, not really. It was just… if he was pretty, then wouldn’t someone have told him before? If he was pretty, wouldn’t Clemens, or… well, anyone, like him? Even Truls had needed a life debt to get horny around Harry, and Merlin if that wasn’t depressing.

‘Also,’ he thought then, ‘who’d call a boy pretty?’

Circe, this was so very confusing, and Harry was scared of believing, but if it was true, and if Regulus did find him beautiful—

‘He did kiss me.’ But did kisses mean anything?

And, really, Harry had refused to think of being kissed, because the mere memory of that made his whole body tingle, and breath catch. The thought of having Regulus join him now – now, without the bars separating them – stole into his thoughts and made him shiver. What would the man do if there hadn’t been bars between them? Would he have— would they have…

Harry closed his eyes and thought of the solid warmth of Regulus’s body, and dared to imagine the man with him now. On top of him, the weight of his body pressing Harry down into the mattress, making him feel surrounded and safe. Regulus’s arms were thick, his shoulders were broad, and Harry knew how those shoulders felt under his hands. He couldn’t— It wasn’t—

He couldn’t stop thinking of it all.

The realization that he wanted to be held by— by someone like— He just. It was jarring. It was jarring to go from daydreams of dates and holding hands with faceless boys his age, to the thought of a man taking a hold of Harry’s thighs and—

Oh Merlin, he couldn’t even think that. No, no, he couldn’t. He had never—

‘I’m pathetic,’ Harry thought, resisting the urge to scream. Instead he rolled to press his red face against his pillow, and did his best to not think of how little experience he had in these matters. Definitely less than his classmates, surely. Everyone else was so confident and knew how to talk with people and knew all about the social cues that Harry often missed. Surely any of them – Björn, Filippa, Clemens… anyone – knew more than he did about how to be attracted to someone. Because Harry was. Attracted, that was. To Regulus Black.

Circe, he couldn’t even think right.

That was the worst possible attraction he could have ever developed. There was no way anything about this situation would end up well.

But, what if, he though. What if.

*

The funny thing was that Regulus didn't disagree with Voldemort in regard to whether or not his impending untimely death was deserved. What they did disagree on, of course, was why that was the case. Not that Voldemort would ever learn of these thoughts - the thoughts that kept Regulus up at night, the thoughts of doing terrible things to a teenager who clearly had next to no experience in these matters.

The boy wasn't even sixteen yet.

And yet, Regulus couldn't stop thinking about him. The features of his face, the feeling of his body, the desperation to learn whatever he had to, and how that battled with his reluctance to actually cause pain. How a necromancer could be so... sweet, Regulus didn't know. But Merlin, the boy was. Sweeter than any teenage boy had right to be.

Regulus wanted to believe that if the boy just stayed away, then he could forget about him and not be weighed by these thoughts. Reality, however, was different. And as much as he knew that he ought to ignore the desires that Harry's presence aroused in him, he just... couldn't.

"What's today's assignment?" Regulus asked, causing Harry, who had just arrived, to hunch his shoulders and look clearly uncomfortable. The boy wasn't making any eye-contact, and so Regulus chose to stay seated on his cot at the back of the cell, not wanting to intimidate him or drive him away. "Surely he's not making you practice more cutting curses?"

"He wants information," Harry replied, shrugging tiredly. "I have a spell for detecting lies, but aside from that, it's up to me how to make you talk."

Oh, sweet Circe, wasn't that a temptation and a half.

"So you will know when I lie," Regulus said, "but you can't force the truth out of me, can you? Doesn't seem useful."

The boy shrugged again, before pulling his wand out and casting the first spell. He then hesitated, clearly unsure of what curse to use. What kind of information did Voldemort expect the boy to get out of him, anyway? Regulus knew how to handle interrogators, and Harry certainly wasn't one.

But perhaps this could be an opportunity to... to do something. To fix something. Perhaps if Regulus got to know Harry better, he'd find himself less attracted. The boy was a necromancer after all, and even though he clearly wasn't a particularly experienced Dark wizard, he must have done his fair share of horrific things already. If Regulus found out about these things, then surely he could detach himself from the distracting wants of his body?

"How about this," Regulus suggested, knowing that the boy could now tell if he was lying. "You cast this same spell on yourself, and we each ask questions in turns."

"Why?" Harry asked, frowning. "It's not like I can tell you anything about the Dark Lord. I'm also not involved in any of the battles. After the summer is over, I'll go back to my classes and that's it."

"That's fine," Regulus replied easily. "I promise not to ask anything about him."

"What else would you want to know about?" Harry asked, clearly lost. He was, however, finally making eye-contact, and the blush making its way up the boy's cheeks had Regulus subconsciously spreading his thighs a bit. Merlin, did this mean that the boy’s avoidance of eye-contact was because of what had happened last time? Was he really that shy? Did this mean that he had spent time thinking of what had happened?

”I’m curious about you,” Regulus replied honestly. ”So, what say you?”

The offer was too good to pass up, and Regulus had counted on Harry realizing that. The boy cast the same spell on himself, before taking a deep breath and looking up again. ”There’ve been many attacks from Rebels this year so far. Were you involved in all of them?”

”No. Are your classmates assigned similar tasks as you?”

Harry looked taken aback for a moment, before shaking his head. “No, not as far as I know. Um…of the attacks during the past year, how many were you involved in?”

“About half.”

“A number, please,” Harry said, and Regulus felt bizarrely proud that the boy knew better than to accept such a vague statement as an answer.

“Thirty-two. What do you do when you’re not here?”

“Uh…” the boy hesitated, again, before slowly replying: “I’m at home. I like reading stories. Were you consistently responsible for something specific during all those attacks?”

“Yes, strategy development.” And some other things that the boy wouldn’t need to know about. “Who keeps you company?”

There was a sharp look that had appeared in the boy’s eyes, but Regulus couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out why it was there now. The boy was hesitant as he replied:

“Well, as you already know, I live alone. I’ve got two house-elves, so I’m not… completely alone. And my parents in our family cemetery – I can see it from the kitchen. But I live alone, and that’s fine by me. Sometimes my friends visit, sometimes T— the Dark Lord does.”

‘Circe, every time I get reminded of how alone he is, I feel awful. And… a lonely child is easy pickings,’ Regulus thought, feeling certain now that Voldemort must have manipulated the boy somehow. What better target there could be than Harry, really? A necromancer who was alone and too young to know how deceitful adults could be?

“Was strategic development all you did?” Harry asked then, and oh, the boy was clever to have picked up on that. Regulus couldn’t hold back a smile when he shook his head before replying.

“I participated in some of the attacks themselves,” he said. “And I trained others to do what I could. Do you get lonely, Harry?” The boy startled, and Regulus knew that he was making him uncomfortable. If he was a better man, he’d let the question go and ask something else. If he was a better man, he wouldn’t want the boy so badly. If he was a—

But he wasn’t. He really, really wasn’t.

*

Harry didn’t know what to think of Regulus’s suggestion at first. Trading answers? Why would the man want to know anything about Harry? Unless he wanted to ask about the kiss, and oh Merlin, Harry hoped not. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it, and it made him want things he didn’t dare to even dream of.

He was lucky, really, that answers were what Regulus wanted – the man could have easily asked for Harry to kiss him again and Harry – wanted – didn’t want that happen. Not when he didn’t know how to not be affected by it afterwards. He still couldn’t forget how good it felt to have someone that close, and—

Anyway. Everything had been going well. In fact, everything was still going well, it was just that… Harry hadn’t expected to be asked about his feelings. Not when he couldn’t even lie about them. Hell, he wasn’t even sure he had an answer.

“Sometimes, I think,” he replied eventually. “It’s not too bad, though. I can manage on my own.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” Regulus said, and now he finally stood up, and moved closer to the bars. Harry’s heart thumped loudly, but not out of the fear or anxiety that he had anticipated. No, this was something else.

“Not much I can do about it,” Harry replied, trying his best to not think again of how much larger than him Regulus was – and how holding onto his shoulders had felt. And how his arms— Harry hadn't even known that he could find arms attractive. But just the thought of how easily Regulus could probably lift him off his feet made his toes curl. “Do you have spies among Death Eaters?”

Regulus looked at him quietly for a moment, before saying: “Yes. But don’t bother asking who. I’ve already endangered them enough by telling you this."

‘Why did you agree to this, then?’ Harry thought. ‘What on earth could I tell you about myself that is as important as the things you’re revealing to me?’

"Your necromancy," Regulus said, "how did that happen? I know now that you're born with it, but who trained you?"

"No one," Harry replied. "I didn't even know I could do such things before I entered the Triwizard Tournament. I don't know how be a proper necromancer even now, really. I just... hope for something really hard and then it could, maybe, happen. Honestly, I thought at first that it was some sort of a... mistake, I suppose? A cosmic mistake. I'm the worst person to be a necromancer, which is why the Dark Lord finds it so funny."

Regulus was looking at him with a narrow-eyed look, and though Harry couldn't claim to be particularly good at reading people, it seemed like the man was trying to understand something strange. Well, Harry supposed that what he had told him was strange: how often did a necromancer admit to being just… accidentally capable of raising the dead?

"Are there any upcoming attacks that you know of?" Harry hurried to ask, ready to move on from the previous question. "Attacks by Rebels on us, I mean."

"Yes," Regulus said, but didn't elaborate. Harry huffed, realizing how badly formulated his question had been. He bit his tongue to refrain from asking something else out of turn and waited for another question to be sent his way.

"You said you have a muggleborn friend. How… did that happen? Or rather… how do you reconcile that with what you must have been taught at school?" That... well, it was simultaneously an unexpected, yet in hindsight a fairly predictable thing to ask. Harry hadn't expected his friendships to be of interest to Regulus, but at the same time asking this kind of question in particular would tell the man something about Harry's beliefs, right?

"Yes, of course," Harry replied. "I... I don't believe in the whole blood purity thing. That, you know, magical heritage makes you a superior being. I never have. So I just… dismiss it."

"And yet you serve a system that believes in it," Regulus instantly replied. Harry was tempted to defend himself - he was doing something, he was resisting in the only way he could - but held back his response at the last moment. He didn't trust Regulus, and he wasn't going to endanger Hermione by giving anyone any kind of information about their activities. Instead, he once again just moved on.

"Will there be Rebel attacks on Britain during the upcoming month?"

"To my knowledge, not in public places like Diagon Alley, no," Regulus said. "But there is a war going on, and they will likely carry out operations that would fall under that category in more remote areas. Do you think it's right, what your Dark Lord does? The dehumanization of people who aren't of proper magical heritage?"

'He can't just let that go, can he? I already told him once that I don’t agree with it… unless he wants me to repeat it now, when he can tell if I’m lying' Harry thought, and sighed. "No, I don't think it's right. He... he knows I don't like it." Tom did know that Harry wasn't fond of violence, but believed it stemmed from Harry's bleeding heart, rather than an ideological issue that differentiated between them at a deep, fundamental level. "Why do my thoughts on this matter so much to you, anyway?"

The question slipped out, and Harry almost took it back: he couldn't waste an opportunity to collect information just to satisfy his own curiosity! Also, what kind of a question was that for Regulus to answer? The man took a step closer still, and leaned against the bars once again. He looked down at Harry, and it took a lot for the boy to not take a step back.

"Because I haven't been able to stop thinking of you since the moment I saw you," Regulus said, his voice rough and low. "Tell me, Harry, have you ever been kissed the way I kissed you, before?"

The words felt like a punch that left Harry breathless for a second, as he tried to not feel as... as overwhelmed as he suddenly did. He felt an odd kind of clench at the pit of his stomach, just as a hot flush washed over his whole body. Blood thrummed in his ears as he tried desperately to figure out how to respond, how to not feel whatever he was feeling right then, but no avail. He couldn't possibly answer this, and yet... he wanted to. He really wanted to. He wanted to say no and then be kissed like that again. He wanted to be held up and pressed against a wall, and just feel someone who was so warm and solid and real there—

Harry let out a strangled squeak, before turning on his heel and running away.

*

"I don't know what you're doing to make him talk, but keep it up," Tom said, clearly pleased by Harry's report. "I didn't expect him to answer as much as he did, but I should have known that you'll surprise me once again."

"Do I have to go back in there?" Harry asked, torn between his desire to see Regulus again, and the fear of what will happen when he did. He had left directly after the previous session, and had spent three days hiding at home. Eventually he knew that he couldn't delay a meeting with Tom any longer, and Flooed to the man's office as soon as he wrote down the information he had collected from Regulus. "Is there anything else that I could possibly ask? I don't think he's going to be sharing too much information next time."

"You can try," Tom replied, not looking up from the report. "Try to get out of him information about battle formations and scenarios in which they are implemented. Pay special attention to how each scenario begins, and make sure that he's being absolutely truthful."

"When will I be doing that, then?" Harry asked, wondering if he could somehow get sick before he'd be forced to question Regulus again. Much to his disappointment, however, Tom didn't give him that opportunity.

"No time like present," the Dark Lord said. "The house-elves clean him and his cell up every morning in case I decide to visit, so he should be presentable. If you succeed with your questioning again, I'll give you a reward. Go."

Harry wasn't interested in rewards. He wanted peace of mind. As if he didn't already have a million things to worry about, now he couldn't stop his stupid brain from focusing all its attention on Regulus Black. Even now, as Harry tried to not think of him, he couldn't help but compare how much bigger - and physically stronger - Regulus was compared to him, and why did that make him feel like screaming, anyway? Why on earth was that attractive?

"Here again for more questions?"

"If you're in the mood for that," Harry replied, closing the door of the basement-like dungeon behind him. "I'm here for battle scenarios, this time." Regulus huffed, sounding amused.

"Sure, but there's a deal to be brokered."

"I expected as much. Trading questions again?"

"Not quite," Regulus replied. He was sitting on his cot again, far enough for Harry to feel less anxious about his presence. "I'll answer five questions, but in return... I want you to describe something for me first."

"Describe what?" Harry asked with a frown, unsure how describing something could be of any use for the man. It wasn't as if any description Harry could give of the premises would be of any use to him. "I mean, sure. I can do that."

Regulus sat still as he allowed the boy to cast his lie-detecting spell on the both of them again. His heart felt heavy, and he had never thought himself to be the kind of a man who was ruled by his desires. Reality, however, was showing him his true character - or rather, the sweet-faced boy on the other side of those cell bars was the one doing that. Him with his thin wrists and pink lips and dark lashes - Merlin, if he had been anywhere near Regulus without the Dark Lord's influence on them...

'Then what?' Regulus thought to himself, trying to shake off the feelings clouding his judgment right now. 'He would've been even younger then, as if his age now isn't enough of a problem.'

"So," Harry said, tucking his wand back into his pocket. "What did you want me to describe?"

Regulus stood up, and made his way towards the front of the cell again. He didn't lean against the bars, but stood very close to them regardless. This close, he could see the boy's pretty face even better than before. "That time I kissed you. Describe it to me. How you felt."

It clearly was not what the boy had been expecting: his body tensed in shock, and he turned pale, before flushing dark pink in an instant. His eyes were wide, his shoulders hunched up, and he took several steps back, clearly by reflex more than a conscious decision. Regulus had known that his request would receive a strong response, and had already decided to just stand still, hoping that the boy would process the request and accept it.

"I'll give you the formations and scenarios you need to keep your comrades alive," Regulus said, knowing that he was doing what he thought he never would: endangering his own people, just to satisfy the lust that was plaguing him. And it truly was a plague of a kind - it haunted him and filled him up from the inside, fried his brain until nothing but the boy remained in it.

"Why would you want to know that?" Harry whispered, wrapping his arms around himself and looking down. Regulus closed his eyes for a second, knowing that if he had his way, he'd have his cock out, and the boy on his kne—

"Because I can't forget a single thing about you," Regulus replied, interrupting his own thoughts before he did something that he'd regret - well, more than all the things he was bound to regret anyway. "And there's nothing I want more than to hold you again, no matter how briefly. Do you feel the same?"

"I do," Harry admitted, his voice barely audible. And fuck, the mere admission had Regulus tensing, wanting nothing more than just... have the boy. Wherever, however he was willing.

"You enjoyed it?"

"A lot," Harry whispered again. "Never been made to feel like that."

"That's a pity," Regulus murmured, unable to resist the urge to reach forward, and run his fingertips across Harry's cheek. The boy sighed, his eyes fluttering close for a moment. Gently Regulus pulled him forward, once again pressing into him as well as he could with the bars between them. Harry shuddered, before boldly pressing forward as well, and then standing on his toes to get closer to the man. Regulus trailed his hands down Harry's back, before he moved to take a hold of the boy's chin, and kiss him again.

Fuck the circumstances that led them to meeting like this. For the first time since being captured, Regulus resented his situation. Resented it, and all the what-ifs he had been holding back flashed through his mind. Merlin, he wanted out of this cell. Out of this whole place. He wanted out, and he wanted to take his boy with him.

"Please," Harry whispered against Regulus's lips, body shivering. His fingers were clutching at the man's arms, and thoughts of what he was there for were long gone. "Please."

"Anything you want," Regulus whispered back, before reeling the boy back in for another kiss. Then another. The third kiss lasted for a longer time, after which they stood still for a handful of minutes - indulging in the company of one another, trying to not think of how dangerous this was.

"I need to go," Harry finally said, reluctantly letting go and stepping back. His cheeks were still flushed, and lips were slick and red. "I can’t do this today. I'll… I’ll be back."

"I'll think of you," Regulus said - promised? "Every hour until I see you again."

After all, how could he not?

*

"Why is it that you always just take your leave, and I have to come all the way to your home in order to find out whether or not your questioning was fruitful?" Tom asked, ignoring the cup of tea one of the house-elves had carefully set before him

Harry, who was trying his best to avoid anything resembling eye contact, was enthusiastically gulping down his own cup of tea. Eventually, however, he responded: "That's not true. I told you what happened last time."

"A few days after the questioning."

"I just... I didn't actually get anything out of him," Harry said, trying desperately to not think of the reasons for that. He had already spent hours reimagining the encounter, and couldn't help but feel as if it was somehow written on his face. "I wish I had managed to get something relevant to you out of him."

"That's fine," Tom sighed, rolling his eyes. "I didn't expect you to get actual battle strategies out of him, anyway. You've done well to get as much as you have. He's not an easy one to handle, that's for sure."

"What do you plan on doing with him?" Harry asked, unable to keep his curiosity at bay. He didn't know what he was feeling towards Regulus Black, but couldn't deny that there were feelings. Feelings that he didn't want, but was stuck with regardless. "Will he be... uh, you know…?"

"Oh, I don't plan on killing him quite yet," Tom replied. "I could use him for polyjuice, or something else. He's a bit too useful to kill right now, anyway."

"Glad you're being pragmatic about this," Harry said dryly, rolling his eyes and doing his best to not show how relieved he felt. "You won't send me in there again, right? Into the dungeons, I mean, to interrogate him?"

"Why not?" Tom asked, standing up. His business was done, and he was clearly ready to leave. "Tomorrow afternoon. You know the way. Find out whatever you can, and report to me right away, will you?"

"Fine," Harry huffed, and remained seated as the Dark Lord left. He didn't know what to do with himself, really. He didn't know what to call this... situation that he had with Regulus. It wasn't an affair, right? He couldn’t imagine himself having an affair. And... and... there wasn't a chance that anything could ever come out of this, really. Even if Tom kept Regulus alive, what kind of a relationship could they really have?

'As if he wants a relationship with you,' Harry then told himself, mood souring fast. He was painfully aware of his skinny arms and knobby knees, and couldn't imagine anyone - let alone a man as handsome as Regulus Black - attracted to him if he had other options. Even those kisses that made Harry press his thighs close together and breathe as if he had run up some stairs were surely of no importance to someone as experienced as Regulus? Harry was likely just... whatever was available.

He had tried to not think of the man. Had tried to reimagine the encounters with Clemens in them, even. Clemens, who mere months ago was someone Harry would feel butterflies in his belly for. Now it just... didn't work. Clemens was handsome, but he wasn't... he wasn't what Harry now knew he wanted. He wasn't as tall as Harry wanted a man to be, or as heavily built, or as rough, or as strong, or—.

'I need a hobby,' Harry thought with a heavy sigh, slouching lower on his chair. 'I'm pathetic.'

He knew, on some level, that feeling attracted to unexpected people wasn't exactly an uncommon thing. Björn, who treated his puberty like a temporal space for sexual exploration, had told Harry in too much detail about feeling brief moments of attraction towards pretty much anything that could and would consent, and wasn’t too closely related to him.

"It's just how men are wired, you know," Björn had said.

"It's really not," Clemens, who had also been there, had cut in. "It's just how you're wired."

"You're telling me you haven't fucked a wall?" Björn asked. "You do know that technically speaking glory holes—"

"Are a completely different thing! You're not fucking a wall, you're—"

It had been a conversation that Harry had extracted himself from as fast as he possibly could. He hadn't realized then how compelling sexual desires could be. Now, however, he knew. He knew, and he wished that he didn't. There was no way he would ever get his happy endings, and how much of a loser was he, anyway, for becoming this emotionally invested just because of a few kisses?

'I bet he has kissed a lot of people,' Harry thought, and sighed sadly again, resisting the urge to scream in frustration. No matter what had led up to this point, he really needed to figure out what he would do next. Luckily Tom hadn't been even surprised by his failure to get any information out of Regulus last time, but that stroke of luck was unlikely to repeat itself. Next time he'd need to bring out something that would keep Tom's suspicions off of him.

Ultimately, Harry only really had two options: either stop this thing he had going on with Regulus, or carry on with it despite there being no way for things to end up well for them. His biggest problem was that he truly didn't want to give it up. He was experiencing things he never thought he would, and he just... he wanted. He wanted so badly to continue feeling the way he did around Regulus. It felt good, and Harry really didn't have that many good things going on in his life.

So, for better or worse, he was going to see this affair to its end, whichever way that end might come.

*

He woke up restless, with an underlying feeling of dread at the pit of his stomach.

It wasn't regret. What he had done to Harry - done with Harry - wasn't something he regretted, even though he surely ought to. No, this was something else. An anticipation for something, and he didn't know what. Perhaps Voldemort would kill him today. Perhaps the man had found out from Harry what had happened, and was going to torture him first, and then kill him. Perhaps he'll send in an actual interrogator, and not a teenaged boy who was clearly out of his depth.

The Dark Lord clearly had some sort of a plan regarding Regulus in the works. The torture he had endured in this cell had all but stopped after Harry's involvement. He was being fed relatively well, and allowed to clean himself up daily. It was, in no way, the way Voldemort usually treated his captives. Unless the man was planning on somehow using Regulus's apparent good health to instill some doubts of his loyalty to the rebels. It would work on some, if they saw how well he was being treated.

If that was the case, though, then why wasn't Voldemort doing it already?

Regulus's concerns were put aside momentarily when he heard someone walking closer. A few moments later, Harry was standing outside his cell once again. The boy didn’t seem to be as intimidated as before, which was a change that Regulus welcomed.

"I never got any answers out of you last time," Harry said, forgoing greetings. "Would you indulge me this time?"

"I'll always indulge you," Regulus replied immediately, shaken by how much he meant those words. "All you have to do is ask."

"How untrue that would be were you not in that cell," Harry said, sounding resigned. It wasn't what Regulus had expected to hear, especially said in such a tone. "What if you had managed to escape? What if I hadn't managed to capture you?"

The punch of arousal that surfaced at thought of their roles being reversed - of Harry being at his mercy, and not the other way around - was staggering. His mouth was dry as Regulus tried, fleetingly, to convince himself that he would have left the boy alone. "I assume you mean... us having gone our separate ways?" No one capturing anyone. Both of them existing in their own worlds - free, but not together.

"Yeah," Harry said, nodding and wrapping his arms around himself in what was clearly a defensive gesture. "You wouldn't be kissing me, that's for sure."

"I think you're giving the what-ifs too much power," Regulus said, suspecting now that he might have figured out what was bothering his boy. "Would there be someone else out there for me, if not you? Perhaps. And would there be someone else out there for you, as well? I'm sure of that. But that's just the nature of people - most of us seek partners. I would have, as well, never knowing that I could have had you. And that's what matters to me, I suppose. That as much as I hate being here, I cannot imagine not knowing you anymore."

"If you were to leave," Harry said, speaking quietly. "Would you still think of me?"

"I would seek you out, if you were willing," Regulus said. "I've met countless people in my life so far - I've met the clever and the beautiful and the witty and the brave. And it is not that those people are not to be loved, but there isn't a single person who has made me think the kind of thoughts that I have now. The kind of thoughts that you have made me think. When you're here, I don't think of fresh air or open skies, I don't think of the cause and all the things I've achieved. When you're here, I only think of you."

It didn't pay to think of what would happen if he were to get out - the chances of that were so infinitely small, and if the Rebels hadn't done anything so far, it was likely they weren't going to. Regulus knew that the procedure for rescue mission included a time frame, and that the time likely wasn't up quite yet, but holding on to hope wasn't feasible in his situation.

"Why?" Harry asked, stepping closer. "I guess I just... don't understand what about me interests you. Aside from, you know. The things we do."

"There is so much more," Regulus replied, keeping his voice low and soothing. There were so many feelings he wanted to convey, and felt dread when faced with his lack of articulation. "So much beyond your appearance and abilities. Your resilience and kindness, your reluctance to cause pain even to people who you ought to see as enemies. The fact that loneliness hasn't turned you bitter as it has done to me in the past. Your gentle nature and the stories that interest you. There are so many small things that make up a collective that I cannot help but be ensnared by. And I only worry... if I am coercing you into something you didn't want."

"No!" Harry exclaimed, eyes widening. "There's nothing we have done that I didn't want. I'm just... scared. I don't want to be wanted by someone just because I'm their only option."

"I wouldn't mind if you cast that little truth spell of yours on me now, then," Regulus offered, wondering why he found the boy's worries so endearing. "I haven't lied to you yet, Harry, and I don't plan on doing so in the future either. Well, for whatever future that's ahead."

"I don't want to think of the future," Harry admitted. "I'm worried sick about what could happen next, and—"

It was then that a loud boom shook the walls of the dungeon, starling them both, causing Harry to jump and cut off whatever he had wanted to say. His eyes met Regulus even as he began backtracking towards the exit. There was only one thing that this could possibly be.

Regulus had been wrong. The Rebels were here for him.

*

Harry knew that he couldn't spend a single second in Regulus's company after the explosions were heard. Instead, he ran out of the dungeons, and into Tom right after. The Dark Lord took a firm hold of Harry's arm, and began leading him away.

"You have to Floo out right now," Tom said, and only then did Harry realize that the man was holding his wand. "I should've known they'd try this eventually."

"Don't you need me to fight?" Harry asked, not wanting to fight, but also not wanting to leave. "That explosion was massive. Do you know how many are attacking?"

"Too many for you to handle right now," Tom said, letting go of Harry and pushing him forward. "There's a Floo-connected fireplace pretty much in every office down that corridor. Go home, I'll contact you when everything's been sorted out. I'll send Macnair to kill Black, you won't have to worry about that. Now go, go."

Harry hurried forward at first, obeying Tom's orders thoughtlessly, racing to find a Fireplace. As soon as he entered one of the empty office-rooms, however, he stopped, only then registering the rest of what Tom had actually said. Macnair would be sent to kill Regulus, and Macnair definitely would do it.

Before he had realized it, Harry had turned on his heel, and ran out of the office again, heading towards the dungeons. There was no one in the hallway, as the fighting was clearly contained elsewhere. Harry didn't know what he could have even said if he had bumped into anyone - in fact, he didn't even know what he was doing right now anyway. All he knew was that he'd have to, somehow, stop Macnair from killing Regulus. Whatever would happen afterwards... he'd have to deal with it then.

Harry held his wand tightly in his hand as he quietly entered the dungeon area once again, and it didn't take long before he saw Macnair. The man was facing Regulus, with his back towards Harry. They were talking - or well, Macnair was talking. The man's loud voice was full of glee as he told the Rebel - in detail - the kinds of spells he wanted to use on him.

"The Dark Lord didn't tell me to hurry, you know," Macnair said. "Your friends are getting killed one by one, and there's no reason for me to rush to that fight when there's no challenge. No, Black, I'm going to be right here, spending time with you."

"I see Voldemort's still got you by the balls," Regulus said, sounding entirely unbothered. "Suppose you're used to that, since he's got your wife in his bed too, right? That's what everybody's saying out there."

Harry knew, for a fact, that Tom wasn't involved in an affair with Macnair's wife - or anyone else's wife, either. But apparently it was a concern to the man himself, going by the angry growl he let out. When Macnair raised his wand to cast some sort of a curse, Harry decided to not wait to find out which curse it was, and hit the Death Eater with an expelliarmus. The spell knocked Macnair hard against the metal bars, flinging his wand into Harry's grasp as he collapsed into a heap on the floor.

The silence that followed lasted for a heartbeat, before Harry rushed forward. He would do this one thing, and then leave. It was definitely something Tom would punish him for, but if Harry could somehow pull it off... perhaps everything would turn out for the better after all.

"What are you doing?" Regulus asked, shocked and thoroughly impressed.

"Don't even ask," Harry replied, and handed Macnair's wand to Regulus. "Do what you can with this, I have to leave. I don't know a hex strong enough to break the bars, so—"

"That's fine, I do," Regulus assured him, before waving the boy away. "Go to safety. My comrades will not see a friend in you, and Death Eaters will find your presence here suspicious if you've already been ordered to leave. Stay safe, Harry. Just... stay safe."

"I live in Godric's Hollow," Harry said, heart beating fast, wondering if he was making a mistake even as he made his way back to the exit. "Regulus, I—"

"I know the Potter house in that area," Regulus said, something wild and tender in his eyes. "Go on, love, I'll find you."

Harry then turned and ran as fast as he could towards the office he had been to earlier. He had done whatever he could, and there was nothing left to do but brace for the fallout. With shaking hands he grabbed a fistful of Floo Powder, threw it into the fireplace, and went home.

He hadn't dared to imagine Regulus outside his cell, but now... now it was possible, and Harry feared the changes ahead.

*

Days had went by, with more news about Regulus than from him.

Tom had dropped by Godric's Hollow the day after the Rebel attack, and huffed and puffed about losing the one criminal he had wanted to make a public spectacle of, after draining him out of all useful information. Harry had listened quietly, trying to figure out if there were right answers for him to give in order to keep Tom from suspecting his involvement in anything.

Belatedly, Harry had realized the magnitude of his actions. And while he didn't regret a thing, - not yet, at least - betraying Tom like that wasn't sitting well with him at all. He felt almost sick with guilt, and spent hours trying to come up with ways to make it up for the man who was, genuinely, someone Harry considered a friend.

Eventually Tom had left, telling Harry to be careful. "If anyone suspicious comes for you here, Apparate directly to me. Considering that you're the one who captured him, and you're the one who got quite a bit of information out of him, he'll likely want to come for you."

'I wish,' Harry had thought. Regulus had been sighted in Ireland, then in Bulgaria. The man was clearly announcing his return, inspiring Rebels everywhere. Harry wondered if he would even come back. After all, perhaps he had realized now that there were better people to spend time with than just Harry.

'Whatever,' Harry thought sullenly, shaking his head. After Tom had left, the boy had focused on just... feeling better again. Due to what had happened, the events of the Triwizard Tournament felt like they had taken place a lifetime ago. Other problems, too, were rather distant - he didn't think much of Truls or Clemens, and it was easy to not worry about Tom when the man was clearly up and about, doing whatever shenanigans Dark Lords did when they weren't supervising tournaments.

If Regulus did come... then what? What would Harry do? They weren't exactly on opposite sides of this war, and perhaps if the man took a secrecy vow, Harry could update him on what he really was doing. Then again... was that wise? Perhaps the affair was best kept separate from politics, if possible?

The one thing that Harry hadn't realized would come with this kind of relationships was the uncertainty. Never mind what would happen in the future, he didn't even know what was happening now - what was he waiting for, exactly? - or even if they had both been on the same page regarding the things that had already happened. He could barely think of the word relationship without reprimanding himself and feeling pathetic. What if he, in his naivety, was expecting more commitment that more experienced people knew would never be there?

He didn't know if he had anyone in his life he could turn to with his confusion. He didn't know what the right course of action was, and he just... for once, just wanted to do the undeniably right thing.

A loud crack from outside startled Harry out of his thoughts, and he hastily reached for his wand before rushing towards the front door. He knew he needed to be careful, but... perhaps, finally? His feet barely made a sound against the wooden floors, and the front door felt unusually heavy as he undid the lock and pushed it open.

There, with his beard trimmed and hair cut short, dressed in black robes and boots, stood Regulus. Alone. And when he looked at Harry, there was wonder in his eyes.

Harry let out a sigh, and dared to smile.

How long does it last?

Can love be measured by the hours in a day?

I have no answers now, but this much I can say,

I know I’ll need him till the stars all burn away.

Andy Williams (Where Do I Begin?)