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Flashbacks


Regulus Black had never been so thirsty in his entire life. He was shaking. He had staggered along through the trees of the forest, a bit aimlessly, unable to think as he ought to. The sun was setting when he’d found a path that cut through and he stared off toward the silhouette of the castle that spiked against the inky blue-black sky. It just seemed so bloody far away, and he couldn’t imagine walking all that distance. Not like he was feeling now. Dizzy and confused, alone, and weak. He had no idea how long he’d been gone, if anyone had noticed, or, worst of all, exactly where he had been.

He only knew that there had been great and terrible things.

Nightmares that had come to life.

Regulus tripped over an exposed root of a tree and hit the dusty path on his hands and knees, cutting his palm on a rock - reopening a wound that he didn’t know where it had come from, blood splattering over the soft tan ground.

“R-Regulus Black.” A voice cut through the dark behind him as Regulus struggled to his feet. “Whatever are you doing, uh, here?”

He turned, cradling his bleeding palm, and squinted as a ball of light flashed toward him. Wandlight… Regulus realized, feeling quite foolish, that he ought to have been using his wand to help him find his way all this time... after all, he was a wizard. He had a wand right in his jumper pocket. He could’ve had water and light any time if he’d only thought to draw his bloody wand! He wasn’t certain he could’ve performed magic, though, given the lack of strength that weighed down his bones now.

The wandlight had come close enough now that Regulus could see the man behind it.

“Mr. Scamander?” he said, voice weak but surprised.

“What are you doing - ou-outside of the castle at-at this hour?” Newt demanded and he put down his suitcase at his feet to reach over and dust Regulus off a smidge and cast his wand in a way so that the light wasn’t blinding Regulus, but glowed off the dusty pathway. “It’s v-very dangerous to be outside of Hogwarts at this hour. E-Even in Hogsmeade,” he scolded.

Regulus said, “I don’t know what I’m doing out.” His voice trembled.

Newt studied him a moment. He recognized in Regulus Black’s eyes the flickering panic like that of a wounded animal… Newt’s fingers tightened ‘round his wand and he glanced around the path, a feeling of uneasiness coming over him. “Are you alone?” he asked, very quietly.

Regulus nodded. “As far as I know,” he added.

Just then, there was a sound in the path behind them and Newt Scamander turned around, quickly stepping forward so that his suitcase was directly behind him, reaching one hand ‘round to push Regulus protectively in his shadow as well. He directed his wand at the path, ready, his lower lip trembling slightly with the spell resting right at the edge…

And a man emerged from the shadows… a grizzly man with thick hair that knotted about his head. For a moment, Regulus thought it was Rubeus Hagrid, the man was so hairy, but it was far too short to be Hagrid (though not short by any means other than in comparison to Hagrid).

Death Eater - come to kill me, come to finish me off for the Dark Lord, Regulus thought in a panic. He was certain of it, and he scrambled for his own wand, drawing it from his pocket and holding it up with a shaking hand, aiming it at the hairy new arrival…

And then, to Regulus’s dismay, Newt Scamander lowered his wand again.

“N-Ned!”

“Newt!” And the hairy man ducked closer and lowered his own wandlight, a smile upon his face, “We’ve made it at exactly the same time.” He thumped Newt Scamander on the back (his own strength more than he realized, Newt stumbled slightly under the effects and his greying auburn hair shifted to hang over his forehead in a clump). The hairy man looked at Regulus Black, his eyes moving over the narrow boy. Ned looked sickly, and moved slowly, as though weak… as though struggling to go through the motions.

“Th-this is Regulus Black,” Newt said. Then, to Regulus, “This is N-Ned Veig-Veigler.”

“By gods you do look like your brother, don’t you?” Ned Veigler asked.

Regulus had never met Ned Veigler and so his hand continued to tremble, even as he lowered his wand, and he stared up at the man. “You know Sirius?” he asked.

“Yes, of course I know Sirius!” Veigler replied, “Are you close?”

Regulus shook his head.

“A shame. Your brother’s a good man,” Mr. Veigler answered.

Newt looked about the path, “Did you pass anyone on your way thus far, Mr. Veigler?”

“Not yet,” Ned replied. He looked about as well.

“Well, let us get to the gates before any trouble arises, shall we?” Newt suggested, and he turned, waving for the pair of them to follow along. And follow they did, up the path, through the blue moonlight and he shadows of the trees, toward the gates of Hogwarts.

They moved slowly - Ned Veigler’s condition, whatever it may have been, was keeping him from moving at regular pace, and Regulus’s ambling was not much better - so that it took them a good deal of time to make it to the gates of the castle. Regulus was surprised to see Hagrid standing on the other side of the thick wrought iron bars, a large ring of keys in his fist and the three headed dog, Fluffy at his side.

“Mr. Scamander, sir!” Hagrid called as the motley crew of travellers reached the gates, stepping through the moonlight, which sent a shiver down the back of Ned Veigler’s spine. “Yeh’ve made it! Dumbledore’s sent me ter take yeh up to the castle.”

“Th-thank you, Hagrid,” Newt stammered, watching as Hagrid gra-rumphed as he moved the heavy wood beams that double sealed the castle gates by tugging a heavy iron chain, which cranked them open slowly, just enough for Newt, Ned, and Regulus to eke through.

As they walked over the grounds toward the castle, Regulus churned over and over in his mind the flashes that he could recall. Something had given him the most intense flashbacks he had ever thought possible to have - so vivid and realistic that it was as though he were living all of his very worst memories over again. He had seen terrible flashes of the attic at Number 12, and of Sirius’s contorted features... of Kreacher’s bulbous crying eyes… Regulus had remembered the house elf Tizzy and how the life had gone from her eyes, and he’d recalled the wailing of the baby elf Dobby… He’d remembered the pain of losing Maryrose… (But of course that couldn’t be a flashback - it was not real! Maryrose was very much alive, wasn’t she? Or was this the future he saw now? Her sinking below dark black waters, arms outstretched before her, grabbing for him through the dark?)

But what had caused the flashes?

Voldemort, of course. But how? All he remembered was Voldemort, grabbing his arm and disapparating with him from somewhere near Durmstrang… And he could recall the smell of salt and brine, but little else, and he shivered at the realization that the scent still burned his nostrils as it wafted up from his heavy robes…

Somehow or another, they’d made it to the castle steps while Regulus had been deep in thought and now Hagrid was leading them, opening up the great wooden doors, and Newt was helping Ned to climb the stairs and there they were in the Entrance Hall. Standing at the foot of the stairs, a very serious expression on his face beneath his thick beard, stood Albus Dumbledore. He held out an arm in a welcoming gesture, flexing his fingers to call them forward, beckoning them into the castle as Hagrid closed the doors behind them. “Hagrid, if you would be so kind as to see Mr. Black to the Hospital Wing for a bit of potion and a good nap,” Dumbledore requested, “Then I shall see to it that misters Scamander and Veigler are tended to.”

“Yes, Headmaster Dumbledore, sir,” Hagrid replied, nodding and waving for Regulus to go along with him.

Regulus looked to Newt Scamander, hesitant to leave the first friendly face he’d seen after the horrors of Whatever Voldemort Had Done to Him, but Newt smiled in a kind way and waved with just the tips of his fingers a sort of goodbye and Regulus stumbled up the stairs after Hagrid. As he passed Dumbledore, Regulus felt the Headmaster’s eyes upon him and looked up to meet his eyes.

“We shall talk later, Mr. Black,” Dumbledore said in a tone that made Regulus twinge. The words could have been as much a threat as they were a promise, for Dumbledore’s eyes did not sparkle as he said them but stared at him benignly and Regulus felt a shiver in his spine.

“Yes, sir,” he mumbled.

In the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey was clucking her tongue and tending to James Potter, who lay in bed in a slice of moonlight that broke the darkness, streaming from the window high above the beds. She looked up as Hagrid entered, followed by Regulus, and she put down the bone-white bottle of Skelegro on the night stand beside the boy and hurried to turn down the covers of another bed. “Why is it always you lot?” she asked in misery.

“Dunno,” murmured Regulus as he climbed into the newly prepared bed, and Hagrid gently tucked him in with his dustbin lid-sized hands as Madam Pomfrey went to fetch a potion in a steaming blue bottle that seemed to sparkle like the stars in the sky. She uncorked it and poured out a bit of the draft into a little silver cup and held it out to Regulus.

It took but moments to put him to sleep.




Sirius Black had been lurking in the shadows in the hallway, tucked behind a suit of armor, when he had seen his brother go into the hospital wing. Hagrid had waved his hand and sternly told the three headed dog - Fluffy - to sit and to stay there in the hallway and the great drooling thing had sat - one head chewing on its leg, another resting on another’s neck - asleep, and the third keeping watch. Sirius had stood as quietly as possible in the shadow, back pressed to the wall, hoping for the dog not to notice him. And, luckily, it hadn’t - for now, as he hung onto the armor and watched silently, Hagrid lumbered on by, mumbling to himself and to Fluffy.

Sirius stepped out of the shadow once Hagrid was gone and slunk across the hallway, pressing his eye to the keyhole to spy inside, his wand in his fist. Madam Pomfrey was just closing the door behind her as she went into her quarters for the evening, both her patients asleep and cared for.

Sirius took a deep breath and pushed open the door, stepping slowly across the stone floor, glancing warily at the light cutting beneath the jam to Madam Pomfrey’s quarters, and into the ward.

He stopped short just inside the door, though, for beside James Potter’s bed sat Lily Evans, folding the invisibility cloak carefully.

And he backed out of the room with barely a glance at the sleeping form of his brother.




Peter Pettigrew lay on his back in the dormitory, alone. He stared at the ceiling, his heart racing in his chest, fingers moving over the stones in their purple velvet bag, the focus of his eyes blank.

You did just as much as any of the others, a voice - low and raspy - said in his mind. There was little else you could have done.

“I could’ve saved him,” whispered Peter.

Even that would not have made them truly see you, the voice said. Would it?

Peter felt tears burn his eyes.

They never appreciate you quite as they should, do they, Peter?

Peter’s fingers tightened around the stones in his hand.

I would appreciate you, Peter.

And he shook his head, tears stinging his eyes. “Liar,” he whispered, and he rolled over onto his side, waving his wand to extinguish the lights, and pulling the duvet closer around him, burying his nose in their folds. But even in the silence, he could imagine the voice was smiling.