If There Was Any Apprehension Running Through His Veins About The Evening's Upcoming Events, Regulus

The Leaky Cauldron was full of patrons making a pit stop while they do their Christmas shopping, and Fenrir had elbowed his way up to the bar. If he'd had any sense at all, he'd have just gone straight to the Wyvern - but as much as he liked his job, he wasn't desperate to spend his free time there. Fen had been speaking to the bartender when a lilting female voice broke through their conversation. "I was just describing this whiskey...deep amber, but smokey and rich. Nobody's ever quite described me as poetic before."

｡･:*:･ﾟ★ OPEN STARTER !

Head cocked to the side as she looked at the person opposite her through curious eyes. "Wait, say the last thing you said again." She'd only been half-listening, in truth, but something had caught her attention. She grabbed a spare napkin and the self-inking quill she always kept on her, and scribbled down some words, before looking back up. "It sounded really poetic."

The brief flash of guilt in Caradoc's eyes that quickly got masked by pain once more made Regulus frown, but he would press for more information on that once he had dealt with the more immediate issues. "You're hurt, that is a big deal," he said, kicking the door closed behind them as soon as Caradoc was in from the cold.

Regulus settled Caradoc onto the couch, pressing a kiss to his forehead before he stood again to look his boyfriend over with an analytical eye. "Don't be daft. I can brew more potions, I can't find another Caradoc," Reg said, his tone stern enough to let Caradoc know that he wouldn't take no for an answer on this. "I think....let's deal with the splinching first, unless you have anything more serious? There's too much blood, I can't tell what's what," he said, rifling through the bottles he'd summoned to find his essence of dittany.

Kneeling before Caradoc, Reg moved the scraps of his trousers aside to get a clear look at the wound. Being unable to go to St Mungos after Death Eater missions had led Regulus to learn some basic healing, but he wasn't sure how much good he'd be here. "It might sting, okay?" he said, pulling the stopper out of the bottle before he dropped two drops of the essence on Caradoc's leg.

And here, the guilt was seeping in. One didn’t have to be a genius to tell that Regulus had been asleep, or at the very least planning to go to bed soon. Here Caradoc was, interrupting and bleeding out. “‘S no biggie,” he mumbled as he leaned against his boyfriend, thankful for the assist. It was only when he was inside that he realized just how cold it had been out there.

“Mission. It went sideways. I was with a couple other Aurors — told them to apparate and get help and I stayed behind . . .” He trailed off, trying to spare Regulus anymore of the details. Plus, he didn’t particularly want to think about it himself.

As they reached the living room, Caradoc let out a sigh of relief and leaned his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder. “This is enough, Reg. Don’t waste any of your potions on me,” he said, just happy to be here.

Regulus didn't want to feel this seemingly unending bitterness towards his brother. He didn't want to poke and prod at Sirius, not when he still secretly wanted his older brother's approval - though he knew he would never truly receive it. It seemed that no matter what he did, he would never make anyone happy - including himself. Sirius' silence would've concerned Regulus another time, and he was sure that when he returned home he would dwell on what it all meant, but for now Reg chose to sit in the awkwardness of the atmosphere between them. "And why would I have more run ins with the auror, brother? What are you accusing me of?" Regulus challenged, his gaze stony and hard.

"And take the rest of the family history with it? It's our story, Sirius, whether you like it or not," Reg shrugged. He wasn't liking it so much these days, but he still found the history on the tapestry interesting. He wondered how many of their ancestors had doubts like he did, buried deep inside. "If you're insistent that you aren't going to take it, there's little point in you being here and waiting for the aurors to deem us worthy of their time. You might as well go," he suggested, hoping to rid himself of this awkwardness.

Sirius was glad to be facing away as his brother spoke, a frown falling onto his face before he could control his expression. It seemed impossible that he had always been such a failure, a remarkable disappointment to his parents, and yet somehow they'd been using him as a bar to reach to. He felt guilt twist in his stomach despite all the years he'd spent trying to convince himself that his parents' behaviors were no fault of his own. It was harder to keep that belief up when he heard the bitterness in Regulus's tone. He was silent a beat too long, completely unsure what to say, and Regulus filled the silence with talk of the aurors. "I don't know," he shrugged, happy to move onto a new subject. "I'm sure you have a lot more run ins with them than I do." Working in the pub and keeping a relatively straight life meant most of his run ins with aurors were just them picking up people who were drunk and dangerous.

"She should have burned it down," he muttered, frowning to himself. Sirius was almost surprised the tapestry was still standing, sure it must just be a constant reminder of all the disappointments the Black family was starting to gather; his betrayal just the most recent. "Maybe it has both of our names on it or something," he sighed, lolling back in the chair again. "Or someone died and left us something." Though he couldn't think of many family members who would leave them both something. Just as he thought it the door swung open and Sirius went back to lolling lazily in the chair - the perfect image of unbothered.

Taking affront at Edgar's upfront disapproval of his upbringing, Regulus frowned deeply. His fingers curled restlessly into a fist before he unclenched them again, quite unsure of what to do with his body. What were they as people without tradition? Strict teaching in the old ways had kept their kind alive to this point, and though he agreed it had grown extreme, historically keeping them separate from muggles had been for their people's safety. Hearing the word genocide was like a punch to the gut, and his gaze dropped to his hands. He was already in too deep, Edgar already knew too much. He was either leaving this room in custody, or...as something else. "I...I have done shameful things, but I hated it. Every single time I used an unforgivable curse, it tore me apart...fuck, I've been having regular lessons to teach me to be better at them. You know how fucking pathetic that is? A Death Eater who throws up every time he comes home from using the cruciatus, who had to have private lessons because his imperius curse can't hold...all because I was mentally blocking myself. Because I knew....it's not right," he gasped out, almost shocking himself with the way the words tumbled out.

And there it was. The first time he'd verbally admitted that he was on the wrong side.

Still, he didn't appreciate Edgar's heavy handedness when it came to Sirius. "Sirius chose his friends, he chose this...and he knew what that would mean for me. Even if I switch sides, I am tainted...I don't think he would take me any more. Not when he has his perfect friends. What need does he have for a brother who has so much baggage, and brings with him so much danger? If I do this, know that it is not for Sirius' benefit." And yet, the possibility of truly reconnecting with his brother, and with Andromeda...family relationships that he wouldn't have to perform for.

"What are you asking of me, Mr Bones? I feel like I am sat here signing my death warrant, yet part of me wonders if I did that at sixteen years old when I allowed them to place this on my arm," he said, drawing up his sleeve to reveal the Dark Mark. "Are you asking me to work from the inside? Can you possibly comprehend the risk that puts me in? Or...are you and your side, your Dumbledore, just as eager to let people throw their lives away so long as it is in service of your side instead of mine," Regulus mused, before shaking his head as he rolled his sleeve back down. "No more will die by my hand, and I have already told you too much...so I suppose it's this or Azkaban, right?"

"Whatever you are asking of me, I will do it."

"No, Mr. Black, I have not been raised with strict, ancient, barbaric, family values." A pause, letting those words linger in the air. "I come from one where through those family values you so protect, would mean I do not belong in your world because I'm not." More silence, "pure. You do realise what your kind is trying to do is called genocide in the muggle world." He shakes his head. "It is innocent blood that will stain your hands and from the look on your face, despite trying to hide it, it's already starting to break you." Edgar could be reaching, but for the most part, he knew he was hitting the mark.

"Sirius chose to stand on the side that is right. Yes, he may have left you behind, but he knows what your family stands for is wrong. And deep down you know it is too." He looks Regulus square in the eyes. "With us, you wouldn't be alone and Sirius would be at your side."

"I have auror's and other members who are within the Order that will aid in protecting you." He was already thinking who would best suit this need. "We need your help. They are growing stronger and we need some way to slow them down."

Fenrir had a feeling that they would end up circling back to the subject of Anders Greyback later on in the evening. He'd expected further questions immediately, but equally he wasn't surprised that Pandora wanted to go straight from business to pleasure. "Oh, he deserved it all and more," Fenrir growled out, his heart black and bitter. Anders had shown Fenrir how not to be a father, and he was grateful that the man would never have a chance to know Magnus.

With hands firmly on Pandora's hips, Fen took the opportunity as she bared her neck to him to press hot kisses down her jawline. He was preparing to apparate them, wanting to get into the privacy of his own home otherwise they would end up just staying here - which, honestly, he wouldn't mind too much either. "My darling, what do we need to do? Can it not be done at home? I'm an impatient man.."

The streets of Hogsmeade would always make Cassandra feel warm and nostalgic, no matter how many years passed since she had left Hogwarts. She'd spent a small fortune in Honeydukes before heading into the Three Broomsticks where she'd settled herself in a corner near the fire with a butterbeer. Her nose was buried into a book detailing the latest in runic magic when she spotted someone approaching her from the corner of her eye. "I'm not working at the moment. If you need healing, could you speak to someone else please?" she asked without looking up.

It wasn't often that Fenrir bought work home, but there were occasions were the location was just too perfect. He'd shipped Magnus off to a trusted member of the pack because Nancy was busy, but he didn't want his son in the house while Fenrir tortured a man outside. He was free of all responsibility for the evening, they were guaranteed to be undisturbed, and his focus had narrowed solely onto the man in front of him. "Mm...he's lowly enough not to have known anything of note, but still, the Dark Lord cannot have traitors amidst the ranks," Fenrir said, his claws still in the man's cheek as he used the leverage to turn the man's head and look into his eyes. Staring back at him were pools of terror, and another weak 'please' bubbled out of the man's lips. There was no forgiveness here.

Fenrir's smile as he looked down at the man was bright, which should have been a warning sign in and of itself, but the man was clearly an imbecile. "I'm full of grace and of mercy. It's your lucky day! Evelyn and I have other matters to attend to, so if you can run fast enough..." Fenrir trailed off, eyebrows raised expectantly as Evelyn started counting. As the man raced away, Fenrir could still hear his heavy thudding footsteps amidst the foliage. "He won't get far at all. He's barely gone 100 meters," he said, head tilted slightly as he used his heightened senses to focus in on the path that he was taking. "Oh, I'll keep him alive for you, dear. I enjoy working with you too much," he said with a wink, before stowing his wand in his holster. He'd promised no magic, but Fenrir didn't need magic - just his preternatural senses, and his sadism.

"I think we could even give him fifteen seconds, don't you? Just to let him think he's won."

Evelyn had to appreciate the benefits of Fenrir’s home near the woods. Out here no one would be looking for them, no one would hear the man’s screams as they carried out their work. They had all the time in the world to draw this out and have their fun. She stood back, giving Fenrir the opportunity to have his turn even as a pleased laugh slipped from her lips. “Oh I don’t know that he’s much a danger.” Her lips curled in distaste at the thought that he was some threat to their cause. “Certainly a weak link that must be dealt with appropriately.” Her smile grew as she watched him dig his claws into the man’s cheek, delighted at the sight. There had never been any question when it had come to choosing sides in this war. There was something so intoxicating about the power it provided her. The thrill of being able to bring people to their knees like this as they begged for forgiveness. There was nothing like it.

Her lips curled into a delighted smile as he slung his arm around her shoulder, winking at him before she returned her attention to the man curled into himself on the ground. “Oh I suppose.” She agreed. “He does look rather sorry after all.” There was no missing the sarcasm in her voice. She watched him pull the man off the ground, avoiding the urge to clap in delight at the offer Fenrir gave him, knowing exactly how it would end. “Isn’t he just so gracious? We’re giving you a chance, you should consider yourself lucky.” She reminded the man as she stepped towards him, tapping him on the nose with her wand. “One…two…” Realization seemed to dawn on the man as he finally took a stumbling step back and turned, racing into the trees. She watched, a laugh slipping from her lips. “Three…” she called loudly before returning her attention to Fenrir. “It’s almost a shame, he likely won’t get very far before you find him.” The amused smile said it was anything but a shame. “Try not to kill him before I get there? I’d hate to miss out on all the fun.”

Kingsley had spent much of the day hunched over his desk, trying to finish off the paperwork that he had foolishly let build up. It was easy to throw himself into the field and then to come back to the floor and throw himself head first into the next case, but the office had processes and policies and 'if you don't file that paperwork, Shacklebolt, we're going to have issues'. Fuelled with coffee that he had recharmed to keep refilling itself, Kingsley had kept his head down and ignored the noise of the office as he made a firm dent in the piles of case work.

Just as he put the finishing notes on the final piece of paperwork, a welcome presence appeared right before his eyes and Kingsley shot his friend a small grin. "Long day? You look like shit, brother. Firewhiskey at Rosmerta's will sort you out. I've just finished up, just need to file these," he explained, tapping the pile of parchment with his wand. Watching as the pages shot away to be filed, Kings stood and reached for his jacket. "Let's get out of here, I'm tired of these four walls."

where: the ministry who: @battle-scvrs

It had been a long day and Edgar was finally returning to the Ministry after the nightmare he had gone through with the wizard he was sent out to. He tossed his robes on the back of his chair, slightly annoyed that there was still an hour left before he could officially leave.

Making his way through the floor, he noticed that Alastor was gone, but he did catch sight of Kingsley, weaving around a couple more desk before plopping down in the chair at the front of his friend's desk.

"I could really use a drink after work, tell me you are free to join me." Edgar glances over, not too worried that he interrupted his friend making a few notes on parchment.

Being an auror meant working unusual and irregular hours and days, and Kingsley wouldn’t change it for a thing. Much of his spare time was now filled with Order business, but he was determined that at least once a week he would try and see his sister and his nephew. The war was important, but not so important that he would toss his family aside for it. His battle injury that had left him near to death had solidified that importance – and it was that injury that made him so scared of Sade increasing her involvement. Kingsley had never truly struggled for words, but he wasn’t sure how to express to his sister how scared he was of losing her to the Death Eaters. And what would happen to Jasper without his mother?

Shooting his sister a sheepish smile at her surprise, Kingsley threw himself down onto the couch with a heavy sigh. “I’ll knock more than once next time, sorry. I probably should’ve sent an owl too,” he said, kicking his shoes off to make himself comfortable. “Not so urgent that I can’t wait for the kettle. I’d be glad of a cup of tea, I don’t mind making it if you want to stay sat down.”

A long day rounded up with a seamless bedtime for Jasper and a cup of tea had become the norm for Sade in recent months. While other twenty-seven year olds were thankful for a wild night, Sade's evenings were made with a book and a warm beverage. Evidently, her intention to be a bit more independent as Jasper grew had faltered slightly, but Sade wouldn't change it for the world. Sade was just about to embark on a new chapter, to engrossed in her book to notice a brief knock at the door. Sade jumped slightly in surprise as her brother made his way into her living room.

"Merlin, Kings." Sade exclaimed in surprise, although her tone remained quiet. "Unexpected visits are always welcome, but perhaps a louder knock next time." She teased, setting her book down on her coffee table. "Too urgent for a cup of tea? Or can it wait until the kettle brews?"

Bellatrix was more infuriating than his parents, at this point. Once he'd taken the mark and shown some initial devotion to the cause, his parents had backed off content in the knowledge that at least one son was doing the right thing. Without him being marked, Regulus would never have been allowed to move out of the family home, or take his job at the ministry which allowed him more freedom than he'd ever had. But Bella's care manifested in intense devotion, and he worried that he would never be able to get her to give up on this desire for him to be better than he was. All Regulus wanted to do was live his life in peace, and study the intricacies of magic at the Department of Mysteries. It would be a quiet life, but it was his - and that diverted from his family's view.

He was just thankful that they hadn't started pressuring him to take a wife and to continue the line.

Regulus knew his cruciatus would disappoint his cousin immeasurably. He had seen her wielding it on missions, and though he hated the curse, he had to admit that watching Bellatrix cast it was almost like an art form. Watching Bella lift her wand after his first poor attempt had panicked him, fearing that the curse was heading his way, and it was that panic along with his earlier fury that led to a slightly stronger second attempt though it was still poor.

His chest was heaving with the effort of casting even such a weak curse, sweat beading at his brow. "But I..." he trailed off, stopping himself. He had been about to say that he didn't love it, which was potentially the worst thing he could say in the presence of his cousin beyond confessing to his muggle-born lover. The rest of his thought was cut off as he stared down the end of his cousin's wand, pupils dilating in fear. He knew that he'd been poor, but he hadn't anticipated Bella torturing him for it. As red flashed, Regulus flinched away, shrinking into himself to try and protect himself from the inevitable pain. He could hear Bella laughing, and the sound sickened him. After a moment, he realised her curse had been directed elsewhere - and when he looked back at his cousin, there was something new in his gaze. The faintest hint of disgust, hidden behind the layers of fear.

"I don't need you to tell me it was poor, Bella. I know it," Regulus sneered, pushing away from the table as he stood. Thinking back on Rabastan's teaching Regulus dug into his confused emotions as he stared at his dishevelled cousin, and with his voice dripping with disgust he held his wand steady and cast "imperio." Tilting his head slightly, he went for the same command he had given Rabastan. It would upset Bella as much as it had upset Rabastan. "Your wand. Give me your wand."

Regulus was testing Bellatrix's patience. Truly, this was more demanding than any mission gifted to her by the Dark Lord. She could not torture the boy, and neither did she want to. She could barely manipulate him, since familial intimacy meant he knew her well. Force had not benefited her with Regulus and she felt that she was losing ground. It was a situation most perturbing and undeniably irksome. Her rage still lingered as he spoke reassuringly, her palms still splayed against the couch as though she were trying to ground herself. Yet even then, she managed to locate an ounce of pride, acknowledging that the boy did not give up easily. Regulus was proving to be a challenging project. He did want to learn and he respected the need to study magic further. She would give him that much. It was admirable despite his misplaced tutelage. Had she known that he had mastered Occulmency, she would have thought of him more highly. But she knew nothing of it.

"Very well." Arguing was going nowhere. She was growing tired and bored and frustrated. She wanted to move on. "As I promised, I will make no further demands after you show me your curses."

They were one curse down and she was looking forward to seeing his Cruciatus. By far her favourite of the Unforgiveables, Bellatrix wielded it with devastating adoration. Her skill with it was calamitous. It fed her sadism and brought her a high like nothing else. Nothing could compare - not sex, not drink, not even death itself. So when Regulus's spell danced from her dress without so much as even a feeble tickle, she sighed with dramatic disappointment and raised her wand to show him how it should be done. Fortunately for him, she hadn't expected his second attempt. It stunned her, crushing her back against the chair with something akin to an electric shock. Her shriek pierced the silence like a knife cutting silk, then she laughed wildly, gasping for air and sliding halfway down her chair as the spell receded.

There was pain. It did hurt. But not as it should. Regulus's spell lacked substance and finesse. Since her own wand had fallen to the ground, she reached down to retrieve it, her normally steadfast fingers trembling in the aftermath and her hair now askew at a tremendously jaunty angle.

"You didn't mean it, cousin. You need to want it. You need to love it." Wand now in hand, she directed it mercilessly between Regulus's eyes, wanting to see what emotions would reveal themselves in that flicker of an instant. Her breath was still ragged, her position still lopsided against the chair. Insane, some called her. But that was a lie told by fools and enemies. There was no madness within Bellatrix Lestrange. There was only pure, unadulterated awareness. She knew exactly what she was doing and she knew that she adored it. With a slashing motion, she cast the curse at a portrait, the flashing red causing the illusion of blood as the picture's occupants screamed in horror. Their disarray clashed horribly with Bella's laughter, her mirth ringing true and bold with shamelessness. Even in her mildly weakened state, that curse would have been crippling. She would spare Regulus from a direct hit.

Slowly, she pushed back up into her seat and steadied herself. She wouldn't bother giving him an assessment. He knew it had been poor, but she supposed he'd tried his best. "Now the Imperius. You weakened me-" She paused, shrugged dismissively and wryly simpered, "well, sort of. But it should help you nonetheless. Let's see if I can resist."