Chapter Text
☆ November 14th, 1981 ☆
Regulus fidgeted with his emerald green tie, trying to get ready for the party. Gazing at himself in the mirror, he took note of his gaunt appearance.
Dark circles, a paling face, a bruise on his jaw from the hit he took.
It was difficult at times to recognise himself in the mirror. To recognise any of the features that he held. Grey eyes. Black curls. Straight nose.
Those weren't his. They were his parents, they were Cygnus, Narcissa, Bellatrix, Sirius—not him. It often felt like he wasn't looking at himself in the mirror. He wasn't real… he couldn't be.
Was he truly unable to escape his parents staring down at him in the mirror?
Maybe he could smile and pretend his parents were the ones smiling at him.Pretend like that is something they would even do.
He tried giving himself a small smile, bringing the corner of his lips upward. It was pathetic. Here he was, London's greatest hunter—able to fulfil the duties of anyone and everyone and he couldn't give himself a smile that didn't look forced.
Why would he even bother? It wouldn't look like his parents, anyway. Inheriting both their ability to be cruel and inability to smile. It was funny in the way that sad things were, which is to say, not funny at all—but cruelty is its own humour, the kind very few truly got.
He sighed, reaching for his coat over the chair to put on and adjust. Get it together.
He remembered one night when... Sirius came home with an eyebrow piercing. He was only six at the time but he remembered how mad his parents were—Regulus might've been put to bed, but he was nothing if not a carbon-copy of Sirius and snuck out, hearing the awful screams that escaped his parents' room
"You dare mutilate your face??"
"It's a piercing, Mother!"
"Well, if you're so keen on mutilating yourself—allow me to be of assistance…"
"NO—MOTHER—PLEASE—"
Screams… Cries… All very vague in his memory, but context clues suggest that they would immediately follow an exchange like that. Or maybe Sirius laughed—he did always laugh during tense moments.
Could Regulus even remember his laugh? Was it a loud wheeze? A shy giggle? Had Regulus not made him laugh enough that he could remember it? Well, Regulus was six when Sirius died and six year-olds are not funny.
But it was him and Sirius. Sirius was his person. He was the one thing that belonged to Regulus and he only got him for six years. He should remember his laugh, it was the least he could do since everyone was keen to forget
Thirty percent of his life and he couldn't even remember all of it—all of him.
Shaking his head, he smoothed down his suit. The one Lord Riddle got for him when he graduated Hogwarts, he adjusted his cuffs, avoiding the mirror.
It was difficult to look at himself. He always spaced out.
No mirrors.
Pulling away he adjusted his suit and left the room.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, reflecting the warm light through its crystals. Waiters served flutes of champagne, dressed in tuxes and gloves. Couples danced to the violins.
This was decidedly, not a 'dinner party'—it was a ball—at least, in this room it was. In the next room they were preparing the multiple circular tables for dinner—in the other one they were reading poetry aloud--it seemed every room had people doing things they would never do anywhere, but a party to celebrate peace.
Regulus had been trying to stick to wall, observing the vampire hunters before the vampires arrived, but some young ladies, presumable still in school, were constantly badgering him with questions and compliments—
"Mr. Black! We should go out for a drink—"
"—I love your work!—"
"—How do you—?"
All the while he was very aware of Lord Riddle's intense gaze boring into him. When had he even arrived?
He was fully surrounded, air tainted with the warmth of other people. Discomfort prickled deep beneath his skin, crawling up his spine languidly, keen to stay.
"Excuse me—Ladies—if you just—" His words were lost to the crowd of girls, some of which was 'admiring' his suit, feeling the need to rub their hands over it as he politely pushed them away.
He saw Rita Skeeter making his way toward him and internally groaned. How was she able to get into every important event? He avoided her every single time, but now she was headed toward him, pushing the other girls away.
She stuck out her hand. "Hi. Rita Skeeter. We haven't had the pleasure."
He accepted her hand as she shook it with a lot of enthusiasm. "Regulus Black."
"Mr. Black, would you like to answer a couple of questions for all fans? Seeing as though you are Lord Riddle's most favoured hunter. I've been meaning to get an interview with you for ages."
He scrunched his face in confusion. "Fans? Why would there be fans for hunters?"
"Oh, what a dear!" She condescended. "You're famous in hunter world! So mysterious and so powerful, shouldn't we answer their questions to quench the audience's thirst?"
How was he supposed to do his job with everyone watching him? Touching him? Badgering him with questions? He never signed up for the social aspect that would come with being good at his job. Well, he never really signed up for the job, but if he had, he wouldn't have chosen it for socialisation!
He felt a hand touch the small of his back and stiffened.
"Excuse me, Miss Skeeter," Lord Riddle said, and Rita Skeeter's mouth went agape, "I have to steal him a moment."
"Oh! O-of course, my lord!" She bowed, deeply flustered. (He never understood why they bowed). "You know my name?"
"I read your article about vampire societies across the world and how they operated in secrecy."
"And what did you think of it?"
"I thought it was rather dull. It relied on common misconceptions about both hunters and vampires alike. I take it you are neither?"
"Uh— no, sir."
"Well, we welcome all sorts of people around here, but to be in society, one must have something to contribute, no?"
"Yes sir..."
"Good. If you are around us, I expect good journalism. I believe in you Miss Skeeter, now, I must talk to Mr. Black."
"Yes, of course, sorry sir."
And with one glance from Tom Riddle, she was gone, scurrying over to other hunters to interview.
"How can I assist you, my lord?" He said, turning to face the man. High cheekbones, intense brown eyes, pale skin—all things he had come to expect lingering in his vicinity, because somehow, whenever Riddle was around—he was in Regulus's space.
Lord Riddle waved a hand dismissively. "I just came to check on my favourite hunter. See how you're enjoying the festivities."
"Fine enough."
"Anyone catch your interest?" Lord Riddle asked, his intense gaze on him. "I saw all those ladies hovering over you before."
Regulus furrowed his brows. What was the supposed to mean? "I don't understand. What was so important about those ladies?"
Riddle clicked his tongue and sighed. "Oblivious as always." He shook his head.
"Well, it doesn't matter, I suppose. Why have you decided to show up at this event, anyway? You typically skip these."
"I have an assignment here. It isn't interrupting anything this time."
"One day I'll get you to come to one of these of your own volition."
"Doubtful… my lord." Regulus said awkwardly. He didn't know why Lord Riddle insisted on talking to him at these events, or why he insisted on being near him, laughing as though they were old friends.
Maybe Lord Riddle was the closest thing he had to a friend, after all. He liked the man—he just couldn't read him well—he couldn't really read anyone well. All human interaction necessary in this line of work was an occupational hazard and an occupational hazard alone.
The front doors opened in his periphery with a loud groan. All chatter and music came to a halt—
The vampires were here.
"Carry on!" Tom Riddle called out and it continued.
"Duty calls." Regulus said, trying to excuse himself.
The grip on his hip tightened. "One moment."
Regulus dutifully stayed in place. Lord Riddle brought a hand up and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear—he was…close.
"Your hair is getting long."
"I'll cut it."
"Don't. I like it."
"Um… Okay…"
He smiled, slowly as he tapped Regulus's cheek. "You're free to go now. I have to speak with the vampire lord anyway."
What the hell was that?
He wasted no time extricating himself from their potential line of sight, going up the tacky stairs toward the balconies overlooking the ballroom—every little thing carved and with excess trim and detail.
He stepped to balcony, looking down at the ballroom. The vampires were still being greeted by Lord Riddle who was shaking hands with…
…the vampire he fought with the other night…
Huh. So he was important somehow. The vampire was shaking hands and laughing politely with Lord Riddle, wearing an tweed black suit with a black undershirt and waistcoat. He was next to the Youngblood he had protected from Regulus the other night.
Perhaps his clothes were foreign or from another era because they had a casual, yet expensive look to them.
Though his clothes were the least interesting thing about him. Regulus couldn't help but look at his face, the slope of his nose, the shape of his lips as he wrapped them around the words he was saying.
He looked…
Regulus bit his lip and turned his gaze away, choosing instead to focus on the other vampires. He didn't know much about this group, just that they were part of the vampire council of London. Mostly Oldbloods with a few exceptions.
How on earth was he supposed to gather information? Did his parents hit their head and remember a completely different extroverted son? A friend of the vampires capable of seducing them with a witty comment and a playful jab?
Rolling his eyes, he looked down at the vampires, this time with a clearer eye. He couldn't read people's expressions, but he could try to read their disposition.
Compared to the hunters, they wore more jewellery—even the men. Their skin was pale—even the darker skinned ones had a noticeably less warm hue to it, all adding to the otherworldly aura that they possessed.
Their clothes were… expensive he supposed. All from different parts of the world and different time periods. Vampires, idiot. Of course they have diverse clothes.
He sucked at this. Whatever. He was going to his assigned table and would try to decipher whatever the hell his parents meant.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
Regulus sat on one of the circular tables closer to wall. It would be difficult to get any sort of information from here, being so excluded from everyone else. He wondered who was in charge of the seating chart.
Nobody was at his table yet, which was a temporary blessing. He took the opportunity to look over the room—Bellatrix was sat next to Riddle as he talked to the vampire Regulus previously encountered, glaring at the vampire venomously.
Same.
His parents were seated next to a tall, scarred man who was glaring at Fenrir Greyback across from him.
"Remus Lupin," A voice behind him said—he whipped around in his seat the see a pale, red-eyed vampire covered in piercings (Were they real silver?).
He was in punk clothing, as was the other person with him. A black vampire with pale skin and punk clothes just like him. The first vampire to speak sat in a chair backward, its back facing his front. "God, what I would do to fuck that man."
"Barty." One of them said—the other boy. What kind of name was Barty?
"Whattt?? I'm making innocent conversation with him over here—clearly he has the hots for Remus, Evan—let's be nice."
"Who's Remus?"
"The sexy bloke you were staring at—god, I would climb him like a—"
"I don't like men." Regulus interjected. He did not need any more people assuming he had feminine proclivities than he already had.
"Why were you staring at him, then?"
"Who is he?"
"Remus Lupin." The man said and grinned.
Regulus rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Don't tell me then."
"Awww, it's not our fault. Honest! We just aren't allowed to talk to you."
"So you're breaking the rules. Right now."
"In my defence, you're ravishing."
Regulus flushed and looked away. What the hell? "Shallow and crass. You seem like a delight."
"You wouldn't be the first to say that, people call me fairy all the time." Barty grinned.
"For the last time Barty, that doesn't mean what you think it does—" The other boy—Evan—interjected.
"Oh, I know exactly what it means and I am exactly that: a big fucking fairy." He turned to Regulus. "I'm making wings, you know. Big and glittery. I'll twinkle the whole sky with my brilliance."
Regulus frowned. "Why would they call you a fairy?"
Barty tilted his head and studied him for a moment. "Oh my god. Do you not know what fairy means?"
"Barty, again stop talking—"
"Like the tiny little winged creatures?"
Barty gasped. "Do you not mingle with muggles, hunter?"
"Muggles?" What on earth?
"Folks that don't know about hunters. Or vampires."
"Barty!" Evan yelled, slamming his fist on the table. "You of all people should know, we are not to talk to hunters!"
"Look at him! He's got this amazing sexy tortured soul vibe that makes me want to rip his clothes off with my teeth. You know I have a thing for—"
"No. You have terrible taste." Evan said.
"Yeah… you're right…" Barty said solemnly before turning to Regulus.
"He's just jealous. Sucked his dick on the first night I met him." He pointed to Evan. "If you want…"
"Stop offering to suck people off, you knob! Especially not hunters." Evan smacked the back of his head and Barty rubbed the back of it. They both started bickering and tussling.
Two dark–skinned girls came over—red eyes and pale skin—both vampires. One had blond hair and a white frilly dress and the other had black braids and a smooth red dress. The latter one's face was scrunched.
"You guys are being unbearably loud. Pandora and I leave you alone for one—" She glanced at Regulus and stopped. "Why is there a hunter here?"
"He was assigned to our table." Evan responded. "Barty can't stop flirting with him."
"Barty. We're all fine and dandy with you being a queer, but my god—quit flirting with the worst men ever. First Rosier—"
"Excuse me?"
"—Now a vampire hunter?
She turned to Regulus. "Bloody hell, the bloke even looks like a vampire. You do know he's a hunter right? The type to kill people like us?"
Regulus was getting tired of this discussion rather quickly. "I only kill rogue vampires and turned hunters. It's in the bylaws."
Barty groaned. "Don't talk about rulesssss. You were doing so welllllll…."
"No, he wasn't—he's a bloody hunter." Evan said for the umpteenth time. Yes. Yes. He was a hunter, nobody was confused about that.
"You lot are weird."
They stopped bickering and stared at him strangely.
"Can we blame the vampirism?" Barty asked.
"We can, you cannot."
"Fair. I did have a blood kink even before I became a vampire. Honestly, it was fate."
"What's your name, hunter?" The blond girl said. Pandora, was it?
"Regulus Black."
There was an abrupt, yet loud silence and Evan dropped his fork with a clatter. "Regulus Black? The Regulus Black? Riddle's Prize?"
"Why? Am I famous or something?" Regulus asked, confused.
"Famous? You're bloody infamous, mate!" Barty started laughing. "Oh my god, I'm attracted to Regulus Arcturus Black! This is perfect! Vampires hate you!"
Dorcas smacked Barty. "Not the time! We have to switch tables. Now." She dragged Barty out of his table as he blew a kiss and winked at Regulus. "I'll miss you, Black!"
The others followed suit and he was left alone at the dishevelled table.
Huh.
"Excuse me! May I have your attention?" Riddle said, tapping on a champagne flute.
Everyone quieted. "I would like to dedicate this night to peace. I know us humans and vampires have had our ups and downs--"
"—vampire killers!—"
"—Fuck you lot!—"
He chuckled politely.
"I understand your apprehension to trusting us vampire hunters and I would be too if I were you, but I assure you—I am bringing in a new era of peace for hunters and vampires alike. One where hunters no longer have to hunt rogue vampires and vampires no longer feel hungry enough to go rogue. I will be collaborating with vampire lords across the world to usher in a new era of peace for humans, hunters, and vampires alike!"
There was a resounding applause, though Regulus noted it was mostly hunters with a select few vampires.
"Now... a word from my best hunter. Regulus, come up."
He froze as Riddle gestured to him, urging him up. Shit.
He shook his head at Lord Riddle, but Riddle simply gave him the 'look'. Intense eyes almost vampire like with the way they were compelling him. Intense and all consuming.
Regulus swallowed. 'Please no.' He mouthed, but he knew it was hopeless. He stood up, seeing all heads swivel toward him, he felt nauseous. Even that vampire he had fought the other night was looking, with those strange red eyes, concealed by the reflection of his glasses.
He forced himself to look away.
Regulus slowly made his way over, staring wide eyed at Riddle. "What are you doing?" He said lowly, trying to not get the words out in an incomprehensible rush.
"Just say a word or two about nobility. I know you have it in you." He said as settled his hand on Regulus's lower back.
"Why didn't you tell me you were doing this?"
"I like watching you squirm."
Regulus turned to the crowd. "Umm..." He glanced at his parents who were glaring at him, and straightened up instinctively, preening for their good nature—if they even had one.
He inhaled deeply. "This party is… in honour of Evangeline Hughes. She should have had more time. To Evangeline."
"To Evangeline!"
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
Going outside for fresh air, Regulus breathed in—letting the cold fill his lungs.
He glanced at his hands: They were shaking already… not enough to spasm, but enough to worry. He would need another dose, preferably soon.
His breath came out in puffs against the air as he sat on the ledge, overlooking the gardens of the estate. He wasn't sure who originally owned the estate, but it couldn't have been Riddle, could it? Did it belong to the vampires?
Shaking his head, he pulled out a cigarette and tried to light it—his hands were too shaky.
"We need to find him before they do—"
Someone said. Someone.
He dropped into the garden behind the ledge, trying to stifle a groan as he landed in a bush, trying to not make a noise.
There were two people. Speaking—murmuring more like. He didn't know who it was, but curiosity got the best of him.
Craning his head up, he couldn't hear them still—soft words echoing through the air.
He reached into his coat pocket, shakily pulling out a vial downing the familiar bitter liquid.
Inhaling the air, the cold bit at his lungs—the world brightened around him, night becoming clearer—muscles trembled as they pulled on his skin: reforming—skin prickling, he craned his head.
The sounds around him sharpened—the breeze—the crickets—party chatter: He played this game before. He knew how it worked.
"Wormtail!" Regulus heard as he focused his hearing. A low hiss. "How could you attack him?!"
"I'm not risking Padfoot's safety for a hunter, Moony! That's how!"
"You could start a war. That boy is Riddle's favourite and the alliance is shaky enough as is!—"
"What if they find him?! He's not well Remus—they'll kill him—all because he turned that hunter girl."
"I know that." The man—Remus—hissed. "But he hasn't been well for years! Even before James turned him!—"
James…
James Potter?
Written by a human in Ellipsus.