Remus
It was crazy to him, that after what was almost three weeks after beginning the investigation, this was the very first time he entered Black Manor. One would think that it would be one of the very first places James and himself would have got to see, right?
Christmas and New Year's had come and went without much glee inside the small house James and himself were sharing - only allowing themselves a couple of glasses of some expensive scotch James' mother had sent. Euphemia was absolutely furious about it, about not knowing why the hell his son was all the way up in some random, creepy town, but also not being allowed to visit him in either occasion. James was quite heartbroken about that, to be honest, but these were the kind of small sacrifices they had to make to get anywhere in their field of work. But for the first time since they'd begun, Remus truly believed they had a real shot at finding something, anything, that could help them in their investigation.
The day when they were meant to go to Black Manor finally arrived, and surprisingly, the sun was out for the very first time in a while, despite it being the midst of winter. From up close, the house seemed even more grand than over the news - tall, stained glass windows, English ivy climbing up ancient stone walls, narrow towers with small balconies overlooking the distant grounds. Remus stood at the wrought-iron gates of Black Manor, his breath catching in his throat. The imposing structure loomed before him, a testament to the wealth and power of the Black family. The manor was a sprawling Gothic edifice, its dark stone walls rising high against the overcast sky, crowned with turrets and spires that seemed to pierce the heavens.
James and him were left to wait for their hosts in the entrance hall - grand and cavernous, its high ceilings adorned with intricate plasterwork and dark wood panelling that echoed with the whispers of centuries past. The floor was of wood, so dark, it almost looked black, polished to a reflective sheen that mirrored the flickering light from the massive crystal chandelier hanging above. The walls, a dark, almost olive like green, clearly taking inspiration from the family's crest, which was hung over one of the walls, elegant but imposing. Everywhere Remus looked, there were symbols of the Black family's affluence and lineage. Portraits of stern-faced ancestors lined the walls, their eyes following him with a lifelike intensity that made him uneasy. Ornate furniture, upholstered in rich velvets and brocades, filled the rooms, each piece a masterpiece of craftsmanship. The heavy curtains, drawn partially back to let in the dim, grey light, were embroidered with the family crest - a skull, right above three crows, and the ominous words, 'Tojours Pur' - emphasizing their heritage and influence.
The air was heavy with the scent of aged wood and the faintest hint of lavender, an oddly pleasant aroma. Fleetingly, he thought that at that moment, in the rare daylight, the manor was undeniably beautiful, but he couldn't help but think that in the night, in colder, harsher days, this place would offer little comfort, instead becoming part of the dangers that loomed in the dark.
The Black Manor was not just a home; it was a statement, a declaration of dominance and superiority, a place where the weight of the Black family's legacy was felt in every corner. And at that moment, despite the obvious privilege their suspects lived amongst, Remus couldn't help but feel sorry for them, in a way. He couldn't imagine growing up in such a place, that looked much more like a museum, where you were supposed to stay put and not touch a thing, rather than a home.
It was a cage, albeit a beautiful one.
For Remus, standing in the heart of such undeniable opulence, the manor was a stark reminder of the world he and James were up against. It was a place where the past and present converged, where the shadows of history loomed large, and where the true nature of the Black family was both revealed and concealed, waiting to be uncovered.
Besides him, James muttered under his breath, " Jesus fucking Christ, mate ," whilst looking incredulously at him. And he knew why - in comparison, the Lestrange Manor looked like nothing more than a cheap copy, a copy that was lacking half the history the Black had. No wonder, Bellatrix was enraged that her and her husband had got a very small share of the wealth the Blacks had hoarded over the centuries. If Remus were a real archaeologist, he'd be driven up the wall before the prospect of having to get a look at some of the heirlooms this family had.
"Oh, good, there you are!" a deep, confident voice suddenly said, and then there they were, the Black brothers - achingly beautiful, faces all sharp angles and intelligent eyes, looking every part of the perfect heirs they were raised to be, fitting right into this home. Sirius walked down the stairs, a hand on the railing, and then a thought struck Remus; wasn't this the exact staircase Orion had fallen off of? Were James and him quite literally standing on a crime scene? That seemed to make him snap out of it, a sharp slap of reality across the face - they weren't here to admire the brother's riches, to look at their angelic faces and swoon, to chat pleasantly and then make their leave. No, no, these were potential murderers, and James and him were in their home. It scared him, how quickly he'd become stupefied by beauty and wealth. He wondered how the brothers had never grown up to be complacent and stupid, and never allowed themselves to simply gloat in their riches and commodities in life. Because that was the trick: most aristocrats were exactly like that. But it was becoming increasingly obvious that the brothers, instead of laying back and simply being grateful for having everything life could offer, had learned how to weaponize all of those attributes, and suddenly, Remus didn't feel all that prepared to face them anymore.
As both of the brothers finally stood before them, offering a polite smile and a shake of the hand, Remus said, "Thank you again for this, Lord Black. You truly have no idea of how much I appreciate this opportunity."
"It's my pleasure, Remus," Sirius replied, whilst Regulus simply gave a curt nod, looking at him and James with this look in the eye. "I'd like for the both of you to indulge us in some pleasantries before proceeding to look through the heirlooms, would you mind?"
"I, for one, would love to. I don't really know much about archaeology at all, so I'm afraid I won't be joining Remus during that," James smiled pleasantly.
An hour passed lazily, the group sitting in the drawing room, chatting pleasantly. Eventually, Regulus challenged Remus to a game of chess - a game he hadn't lost in for a while, except, sometimes, to Lily. He had to admit, though, he was no match for the younger Black, who somehow managed to keep up with the conversation whilst mercilessly taking Remus' pieces, almost nonchalantly. Chess is all about anticipating your opponent's moves, he'd said, almost jokingly.
"You know," Sirius drawled, leaning his head against his loosely closed fist, tilting his head at Remus while his younger brother took his second bishop, "Remus is quite an odd name."
He couldn't help but smile, "Is it, now?"
"Hm, kind of pretentious, isn't it? Being named after one of the founders of Rome," he replied, grey eyes glinting playfully.
He made his move but didn't really pay attention to what he'd done. Being under the attention of Sirius Black was kind of disarming, he came to admit to himself off-mindedly, "Well, I think that it's way more pretentious to be named after the brightest star in the sky," he nodded towards the Lord, "and the heart of the Leo constellation."
Regulus laughed lowly, while moving his queen, "We're aristocrats, Remus. We are expected to be pretentious. You, on the other hand, look so much more like something else… What name seems fitting for him, Sirius?"
Fleetingly, he caught the mischief in those grey eyes, before the older brother replied, "You're right, Regulus. Remus here looks so much more like… a John, for instance, doesn't he?"
At that moment, Remus could have sworn his heart had stopped, and his mind, reeling, began to scream, they know, they know, they know, look at their devil faces, at their complicit smiles, look at them, they know, and you're next. Check, Remus heard in passing, but he didn't register it. James was giving him a look, eyes slightly wider than usual, and eyes the board, as if saying, make your move, you idiot, don't let it show.
But then, as if nothing at all had happened, as if they hadn't truly caused Remus to almost die, Regulus laughed mockingly and replied, "Oh, brother, I've always known that you have no skill whatsoever to match faces to names, but this is a bit far. Remus here clearly looks like a William."
What are the odds? He asked himself, as he tried not to laugh breathlessly. James, on the other side of the room, also visibly relaxed.
"Hush, you," Sirius replied playfully, "always one-upping me."
And then, as if nothing, Regulus simply took out Remus' king, muttering, "Checkmate."
Not much time after, the butler entered the room, telling Sirius that he had someone important on the phone line. At this, the brothers stood up, almost as if in sync, and turned towards them.
"Well, Remus, I must attend this call. Meanwhile, you can go around the house, the heirlooms are scattered all around, and though I enjoy your company, I couldn't be bothered to gather them all in one place," Sirius said, good-naturedly, waving a hand around, "You could show James our gardens, couldn't you, Regulus?" At this, the younger brother gave a single nod, encouraging James to follow him wordlessly, and they left the room, chatting lowly.
Remus almost spluttered, "So you mean, I can go anywhere ?"
"Of course. We don't have anything to hide, you know?" the Lord laughed, and then turned around, exiting the room.
All in all, Remus was becoming increasingly worried that this investigation would come fruitless after all.
James
The afternoon sun hung low, casting an eerie glow over the tranquil waters of the Manor's Lake. The ancient trees loomed overhead, their branches intertwining to form a natural canopy, whispering secrets of the past. James stood at the edge, with Regulus by his side, the wooden canoe a small vessel in the vast, mysterious expanse of the lake. Somehow he had managed to convince the younger man to ditch the gardens and do something to make the most out of the weather they were having, and although he was reluctant, he had eventually agreed to go to the lake.
"Ready for this?" he asked, the question light, almost teasing, though his eyes were keen, studying Regulus.
Regulus nodded, his expression composed, though a flicker of unease betrayed him. "It's just a canoe ride, Potter. I think I can manage."
They pushed the canoe into the water and climbed in, the boat rocking gently as they settled into their seats. The lake was a mirror, reflecting the sky and the dense canopy above. Silence enveloped them, broken only by the rhythmic splash of the paddles.
James observed Regulus, noting the way the dappled sunlight played across his sharp features, casting shadows that accentuated his striking profile. There was an undeniable allure to him, a magnetic pull that James felt deeply. It was more than mere attraction; it was an insatiable curiosity, the innate, detective's desire to unravel the enigma that was Regulus Black.
"So, do you think Remus might find anything interesting in there?" James asked, as to break the tense silence that had come over them.
"Perhaps," the other man replied, non-committal, his grey eyes trained on the calm waters under them, his face shut. "It will probably be tons of religious artefacts - it would be way more productive to donate them to a church, or a museum, than have them lying around. But Mother was quite reluctant about the matter."
"Was she very religious?" James inquired, leaning closer, silently asking Regulus to meet his eye.
The man looked up, the direct eye contact momentarily taking James' breath away, "We all are."
Without warning, a gust of wind disrupted their delicate balance. The canoe tipped, sending them plunging into the cold, dark water. Panic surged through James as he surfaced, gasping for air, his heart pounding.
"Regulus!" he called out, searching the water frantically.
Regulus emerged, his eyes wide with fear, breaths coming in ragged gasps. The terror in his expression was unmistakable, his body seemingly frozen in panic. James swam to him, wrapping his arms around Regulus' trembling body, holding him close.
"I've got you. You're safe," James murmured, his voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins.
Regulus clung to him, fingers digging into James' shoulders. The fear in his eyes was a stark contrast to his usual composed demeanour. James held him tightly, his focus shifting entirely to keeping Regulus afloat.
After what felt like an eternity, they reached the shore. James helped Regulus onto the grass, both of them drenched and shivering. They sat side by side, the weight of the moment heavy around them.
Regulus' breaths slowly evened out, though his hands still shook. James watched him, concern etched into his features. "Are you okay?" he asked softly.
Regulus nodded, though his eyes remained distant, lost in a memory James couldn't see. "I'm fine ," he replied, the words hollow.
They sat in silence, the only sound the gentle lapping of the lake against the shore. The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows over the water. James waited, sensing that Regulus had something he needed to say, vaguely allowing his eyes to roam through the way the other man's' previously pristinely pressed shirt was now clinging to his body. Faintly, he could make out thin, white scars, but before he could really think about them, Regulus spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, eyes drifted in some far away memory, not entirely there. "They loved us, you know. Despite everything, they loved us."
James turned to him, brow furrowed. "I don't doubt that. But... was it always like this? The family, I mean."
Regulus sighed, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "The family was never close. Aunts, uncles, cousins—they only ever cared about the inheritance. It's how the aristocrats go about such things. Now, things are rough in the family because they resent Sirius and me for getting almost everything," he replied, and then, in a movement that wasn't unnoticed by James, he shook his head almost imperceptibly, fixing his eyes on him, "But it wasn't strange that we did. We were close to our parents," he said, earnestly.
James hesitated, choosing his next words carefully. He hated himself for taking advantage of this moment, of the shivering man before him, but he was a detective on a mission, above anything else. "Were there any… points of infliction?"
Regulus' eyes flickered with something James couldn't quite decipher, "They were our parents," he said, his voice steady. "They were showing their love and concern. They wanted what was best for us, and we were truly very close. It hurts to see the media and high society talk about us as if we didn't care, as if we weren't destroyed by what happened," he muttered, voice breaking. "It was awful, James, and so quick . One day they were there, and the next… they just weren't."
James reached out, placing a hand on Regulus' shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "For everything you went through."
Regulus met his gaze, a flicker of gratitude in his eyes. "Thank you," he murmured. "But we survived. We had to."
James' mind was reeling - this piece of information, the way the other man had said it - it could, potentially, change the entire course of the investigation. If the brothers were close to the parents, and the family was apparently hostile amongst themselves, then did Bellatrix truly have a solid reason to have them investigated? Were the brothers truly guilty of nothing other than getting most of the inheritance? Money could only get the Lestranges and the other rebelling family members so far - without solid evidence, an actual motive, a truthful confession, then the operation might be pointless. James didn't know if he was grateful for it or not.
It felt like an eternity, Regulus shifting closer to him almost absent-mindedly, beautiful face catching on the withering sunlight, before he spoke again, "James," the younger Black said lowly, almost ashamed, but at the sound, he perked up, giving the man his undivided attention, "I'd like you to attend the ball we're to be hosting for my birthday."
He smiled, warmth blooming in his chest, almost without him noticing, "So that would be on…" he cut himself abruptly, a cold slap on his face. If he suddenly relieved that he knew exactly when Regulus' birthday was, he could have jeopardized it all. He let the words trail, as if he was asking a question, rather than stopping himself.
"Next Saturday, James. On the fourteenth," Regulus offered, a small, private smile pulling his lips.
"I'll assume Remus can come as well?"
"Surely," was the reply.
Sirius
He found Regulus in the drawing room, a glass of brandy in his hand, the amber liquid catching the light from the flickering fireplace, "I heard about the canoe," Sirius began, his voice steady but tinged with worry. "What happened out there?"
Regulus took a sip of his drink, his eyes reflecting the firelight. "It tipped over. James and I ended up in the water."
Sirius' heart stopped, for a minute, " Shit, Reg. Were you alright?"
"I was out of it for a minute," Regulus admitted, his tone casual, but eyes betraying his slight discomfort at the memory. "But then I realised it was a great opportunity to push our story forward."
Sirius nodded, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "You're always thinking ahead. But you know, Kreacher told me Remus hasn't gone to the basement yet. He's been poking around the house but hasn't found any of the things we planted, not even the letter . They're really quite terrible at this, aren't they?"
"Quite," his brother laughed, taking a sip of his drink, and moving to light a cigarette he'd taken from his silver case, offering Sirius one as well. "Men love to play hero, Sirius. Policemen, more so than anyone else, I reckon. As long as we look like the victims in their eyes, we should be alright."
"Oh, poor little aristocrats," Sirius mocked, taking a drag out of the cigarette between his fingers.
"Cheers to that," came the reply. Regulus leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. "I told James we were close to Walburga and Orion. It seemed to throw him off, but he's still sniffing around. I suppose it doesn't quite align to the story Bella fed them, does it?"
" And you invited them to your birthday ball," Sirius added, shaking his head in amusement. "You really are enjoying this, aren't you?"
Regulus' smile was cold and calculating, and as he blew out smoke, he replied, "It's all a game, Sirius. They think they're hunting us, but they have no idea they're the ones being played. Truly, I cannot understand how Bella could be so careless to send such shitty detectives. How much does she really underestimate us?"
"Too much," Sirius said gruffly, "you'd think that after believing we killed our parents, she'd hold us in higher regard, wouldn't you?"
Regulus shrugged, putting out his cigarette on the glass ashtray between them, "It's working in our favour, regardless, and it's turning out to be quite fun," he smiled, and Sirius clasped his shoulder warmly, stealing his drink.
The fire crackled in the hearth, casting long shadows on the walls. The brothers sat in companionable silence, each lost in their thoughts, plotting their next move. There was a dark satisfaction in them, a shared understanding that, as always, they would come out on top.
James
The grand ballroom of Black Manor was awash in opulence, the chandeliers casting a warm, golden glow over the assembled guests. The air was thick with the mingling scents of perfume and cologne, the soft murmur of conversations blending with the strains of classical music that floated through the air. James, alongside Remus, navigated through the crowd, his keen eyes observing everything, yet his demeanour remained relaxed, a charming smile playing at his lips. He scanned the room, but couldn't find the brothers anywhere.
And there they were; looking down on their noses at the mass of guests, and suddenly, James couldn't help but think that the image was incredibly telling - they were superior to them all, twin beautiful, dark angels, watching as the world below them tore itself apart. It was entertaining to them, he could tell from their hidden amused looks, watching as high society constantly tried to tear itself apart, winning small battles amongst each other for little riches, a little more power, all whilst they sat at the cusp of it, their domain unthreatened ever since they'd been born.
James wondered, years later, how it had never crossed his mind that he was, perhaps, only another of the pawns in the sick entertainment of the Black brothers. Look at them, they would say, look at them fighting for scraps amongst themselves, while we have the entire banquet right here. But at the moment, he hadn't, still firmly believing that he'd had the upper hand the entire time.
Regulus diverted his gaze from the mass below, to look straight at him - a hidden, private smile, twin pairs of gray eyes becoming slightly hooded, and James' heart started racing, remembering the closeness of the younger man, his slender form against his own, black curls plastered against porcelain skin. And, for a moment, he could recognize the person he'd been sitting with by the lake merely a week ago.
The brothers lounged about, and James tried to make small talk, but couldn't help the way his eyes drifted towards Regulus, and how very close he was to some nobody aristocrat, touching his arm, tilting his head in the way he did when he spoke to James. Remus signaled discreetly to him that he would go take a look around the house, and not to move from the room, as they had accorded that very afternoon. So, meanwhile, James took a lap around the room, fixing his gaze on a lady he didn't know the name of, and asking her to dance.
He had practised ballroom a few times before coming to the town, as mandatory training if the occasion arose. Thankfully, James had always been a pretty good dancer, if he said so himself. Spinning the unnamed lady around, her blonde hair a flash before him, he fixed his gaze on Regulus, who had since stopped talking to the man, now looking at him with an inscrutable look on his face. Grasping her more firmly around the waist, James focused on his steps, one, two three, one two three, one two - shit!, he stumbled, but thankfully, the song had just finished. As he bowed to the woman graciously, Sirius appeared beside James, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Enjoying yourself, Potter?" he asked, his tone light, though there was an undercurrent of something darker.
Before James could respond, Sirius made a grand gesture with his wine glass, and in a flash, red wine splashed across James' crisp white shirt. "Oh," Sirius said with a mock-apologetic grin. "How clumsy of me."
James forced a smile, hiding his irritation. "No harm done," he said smoothly, though his shirt was now ruined. As a detective, he hated to admit how low his salary was - he had only brought this suit as his "elegant" outfit - and he probably could not afford another one. Truth be told, the suit itself paled in comparison to what the brothers and every another guest here wore.
Regulus approached, his eyes flickering with amusement and something else - a deeper, more intense interest. "It seems my brother has made a mess," he said, his voice smooth as velvet. "Come with me, James. We can find you a fresh shirt in Sirius' room."
James nodded, following Regulus out of the ballroom. The corridors of Black Manor were dimly lit, the flickering candlelight casting ghostly shadows on the walls. James felt a shiver of anticipation, the air between him and Regulus charged with unspoken tension.
They reached Sirius' room, and Regulus opened the door, gesturing for James to enter. "I'll find something suitable for you," he said, his eyes lingering on James for a moment longer than necessary. "Wait here."
James watched as Regulus disappeared down the hallway, leaving him alone in the room. He glanced around, his detective instincts kicking in. The room was a blend of opulence and personal touches, a reflection of Sirius' wild spirit. But James' eyes were drawn to the desk in the corner, where a stack of papers lay haphazardly.
His heart pounding, James moved quickly, knowing how short in time he was, sifting through the papers until he found what he was looking for: an old letter, an old stamp indicating that it had come from France. His eyes scanned the text, his breath catching as he read.
"Dear Sirius,
My research in France has been enlightening in ways I hadn't anticipated. The scientific community here is way more advanced than all the way over England. However, this is not the motive with which I address this letter to you.
I've discovered some troubling information about the Lestranges' financial situation. Rodolphus has become careless, and I've heard from Narcissa that his gambling habits have worsened as of late. They are in dire straits, and I fear they might try to leverage their connections to gain some of our family's wealth. We must be cautious, brother. Our parents' legacy is at stake, and I worry about what lengths the Lestranges might go to secure their future. We must speak to them as soon as I come back from France, but I fear they might not take the situation as seriously as they should.
Regards,
RAB"
James' mind raced as he absorbed the contents of the letter. This was the evidence he needed, a glimpse into the tangled web of deceit and manipulation that surrounded the Black family. He tucked the letter back into the stack just as he heard footsteps approaching.
Regulus returned, holding a clean shirt. "Here you go," he said, handing it to James. His eyes flickered with something unreadable as he noticed the slight disarray on the desk. "I hope you weren't bored waiting."
James forced a casual smile, accepting the shirt. "Not at all. Your brother has quite the eclectic taste."
Regulus' lips curved into a faint smile, but his eyes were sharp, calculating, "Yes, he does. Now, let's get you out of that wet shirt."
James felt the tension between them heighten as he began to unbutton his shirt, aware of Regulus' gaze on him. The air was thick with unspoken words, the charged atmosphere almost suffocating.
As James pulled on the fresh shirt, Regulus stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur, "James, I hope you know that appearances can be deceiving. Not everything is as it seems in our world."
James met his gaze, their faces inches apart. "I'm well aware, Regulus. Thank you for the reminder."
The moment stretched, a silent battle of wills, before Regulus finally stepped back, the tension dissipating but not disappearing. "Shall we return to the party?" he asked, his tone smooth, the mask of composure slipping back into place.
"Of course," James replied, his heart still pounding from the encounter. As they walked back to the ballroom, James couldn't shake the feeling that he was playing a dangerous game, and that Regulus was enjoying every minute of it.
Just as they were walking back, James couldn't help but pick up on a muted noise, coming from one of the rooms. Regulus kept on walking, turning around a corner, disappearing into the hall, whilst James silently walked towards the noise - and there they were, Bellatrix and her husband, in a room with the door ajar, fighting.
"...can't do that!" she shouted, just as her husband's hand struck her on the side of the face.
Silently, eyes wide, James walked backward, filing this information in his brain and following his host back into the ballroom. Remus was there, face shut, but noticeably tense. "James!" he called, as soon as he saw him. "Jesus Christ, where the fuck were you?"
"Sirius spilled wine on my shirt, I had to go get changed. What's the matter with you?"
His friends' eyes were slightly darting around, "I went to their basement-"
"How the fuck did you manage to do that? Did anyone see you?"
"No, no. But, James, there is something seriously wrong with this place."
James nodded, his mind racing. The pieces of the puzzle were starting to come together, and the picture they formed was darker and more twisted than he had imagined. The Black family's wealth and power were built on secrets, lies, and possibly far worse. As he and Remus moved through the crowd, James couldn't help but feel the weight of those secrets pressing down on him.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur, the luxurious surroundings and elegant guests a stark contrast to the grim reality that lurked beneath the surface. James kept a close eye on the Black brothers, his suspicion and distrust growing with every passing moment, Remus' clear panic making his heart race. Regulus' earlier words echoed in his mind, appearances can be deceiving.
Remus
" James," he insisted, exasperated, as they walked back to the small house, "I mean it. There's something off."
James kept on walking, "I agree, mate. But there's something more to it than just the brothers. I found something."
"So did I!" Remus exclaimed, just as they stopped abruptly in front of the house. Lying there, was a black cat, its neck twisted in a way that meant that it was undeniably dead. Heart pounding in his throat, Remus approached it, poking it with his foot.
"What the fuck?" James muttered, face pale, eyes wide. He took a step back, "What the fuck, Remus? Why is that thing here?"
"It was clearly left here, James. It didn't just come over, twist its own fucking neck, and drop dead on our front door."
"Yeah, I gathered that," his friend snaked, "What the fuck do we do with it? I'm not touching that."
"We can't leave it," Remus replied, exasperated.
"Alright, then. You throw it out," James said, stepping over the cat, and entering the house quickly. Remus sighed, why was he always left to do the dirty work?
Soon after, the cat's corpse now safely thrown in a dustbin outside, Remus entered the house. There stood James, changed out of his suit, two mugs with steaming tea sitting on the table-top. "Is it gone?"
"Yeah. Thanks a lot for the help."
James rolled his eyes, "C'mon. What did you find?"
Remus took a deep breath, feeling slightly sick at the memory, "There are rooms down there, James. Rooms with chains and manacles, some whips, too. It looks like some kind of nightmare dungeon."
James, now more alert, set his mug down with a clatter. "A dungeon? With chains and whips? What the hell are they doing down there?"
Remus ran a hand through his hair, trying to steady his nerves. "I don't know, James, but it gets worse . I found an ancient book in one of the rooms. It was filled with rituals, Christian rituals, but twisted and dark. It looked like something out of a horror story. The pages were filled with descriptions of ceremonies that involved blood and pain, things that made my skin crawl just reading about them."
James' eyes widened, a shiver running down his spine. "Christian rituals ? What kind of rituals?"
Remus shook his head. "I couldn't make out all the details, but it talked about punishment as a form of redemption, of being cleansed , somehow."
James' face paled, "I saw scars on Regulus, the other day," he took a deep breath, and spoke, "Do you think the brothers were tortured, Remus?"
"Shit," he replied, getting up and pacing around the room, his heart beating wildly, "Shit, James. This is bad."
"The thing is," his friend spoke up again, and sighed, running a hand through his hair, slightly crooking his glasses, "the thing is, it really does seem like they were close, Remus," James insisted, "you didn't see Regulus at that moment. It's impossible to fake the way he was acting."
"So, what are you saying? That they were tortured, and still loved their parents? That just doesn't make sense!"
"I don't know, maybe? Think about it. They're all extremely Christian, you can see it in their house, in this town . Maybe they grew up thinking it was justified, somehow. But if it is like that, then we're prodding into some very vulnerable people, Remus.
Remus nodded, his expression grim. "I agree. But we have to be careful. If they find out we know anything, we could be in serious danger."
James took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "I found something too," he said, pulling out the letter from his pocket. "It's a letter from Regulus to Sirius. It talks about the Lestranges and their financial troubles, but more importantly, it hints that Regulus was worried that the Lestranges might try to take advantage of their wealth. It's suspicious as shit that both Walburga and Orion died shortly after."
"Is there any evidence to what he said, other than this letter?" he asked, and Jams shook his head.
"Not really. But I did see something else. Bellatrix and Rodolphus, fighting. And he hit her, hard."
Remus took the letter, scanning the contents quickly. "This is serious , James. If what he says is true, then everything could be just a grand scheme. Jesus, I'm so confused ," he groaned.
"Alright, listen. All this time, we've been looking at places they actively know we might look into. But, where is the one place either of them could keep something they wouldn't want to be found?" James asked, steadying himself.
"Regulus' lab," Remus replied immediately, his conversation with the younger Black flashing in his mind. "It's private, apparently."
"We need to get a warrant to search that lab, Remus. And it has to be quiet."
Remus sighed, "What if we don't find anything? What if they truly are innocent, and we're investigating the wrong people? Just think about it. If they get arrested for murder, the rest of the family could easily appeal to get the inheritance, on some basis."
"Then, we keep searching. We keep investigating, but now, we have to focus on both sides."
Remus nodded, but couldn't help but think that this job, this entire situation, it was way more than he'd bargained for.
The brothers
Late Autumn, 1971
The night hung heavy, as if holding its breath, knowing what was about to come. Black Manor, a house of nightmares, of screaming and crying, of cold and composed images, was about to be purged of one of its tormentors. The air inside was thick with an unsettling silence, broken only by the distant sound of Walburga's drunken snores, a grotesque symphony that had become all too familiar to Regulus and Sirius. Her drinking problem had worsened over the years, the empty bottles accumulating in hidden corners of the house, a silent testament to her descent. Tonight, her oblivion was a necessity, a part of the plan that must not fail.
Regulus moved like a wraith through the shadowed halls, the syringe in his hand a macabre tool that whispered to him encouragement about freedom, about a future in which he would not have to be sacred. Each step he took echoed with the weight of the past, memories of punishment and twisted love binding his heart with iron chains. He paused outside Orion's door, his breath shallow, and for a moment, he was that frightened child again, seeking approval that would never come.
But then, he steeled himself. This was not about fear or approval. This was about justice . He pushed the door open, slipping inside with the grace of a predator. Orion lay before him, a figure of immense power brought low by age and vice. His chest rose and fell with laboured breaths, unaware of the fate that loomed over him.
Regulus approached, his hand steady as he pressed the needle into his father's artery. The syringe emptied with a whisper, the air within it a silent herald of death. Orion's eyes snapped open, wild and panicked, and for a fleeting second, they locked with Regulus'. At that moment, Regulus saw everything: the fear, the confusion, the realization . He stepped back, melding into the darkness as his father convulsed, the heart attack seizing him with brutal finality.
Sirius emerged from the shadows, a dark avenger with a cold fire in his eyes. The gun in his hand was not just a weapon; it was a symbol of their defiance, their refusal to be broken. He watched Orion's struggle with a sense of grim satisfaction, the culmination of years of planning and whispered vows.
"Get up," Sirius commanded, his voice a low growl that brooked no defiance. Orion, eyes wide with terror and pain, tried to rise. He was a titan brought low, his strength sapped by the betrayal coursing through his veins. Regulus knew, that by now, the amount of air he'd put through his father's circulatory system was now reaching his heart. They didn't have much time.
Sirius pressed the gun into his father's back, forcing him to move. " Walk ," he ordered, and Orion, now a puppet to his sons' will, stumbled forward. Each step was a laborious dance with death, his heart a drumbeat of impending doom.
As they descended the grand staircase, the manor itself seemed to hold its breath. The shadows clung to them, whispering secrets of old sins and unrepentant guilt. Regulus followed, a silent witness to the scene, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. The house had been a prison, a place of twisted sanctity where love and pain were intertwined. And now, it would be their stage for redemption.
Halfway down, Orion's legs buckled. He fell, his body a marionette with strings cut, tumbling down the stairs with bone-cracking finality. Sirius watched, a dark satisfaction curling his lips. The plan had worked perfectly; the narrative of tragedy they had crafted was unfolding as intended.
Orion's body lay still at the foot of the stairs, a broken offering to the gods of justice and retribution. Sirius stood above him, the gun lowered, his breath coming in slow, measured inhales. His mind was a tempest of thoughts, a mix of satisfaction and an eerie calm. He had orchestrated this moment, every detail a piece of a grand design meant to free them from their father's tyranny.
Regulus joined him, standing side by side with his brother. The two of them, bound by blood and shared memories, stared down at the man who had shaped their lives with an iron fist. The house around them seemed to hum with the weight of their actions, the silence a testament to the end of an era.
Sirius' thoughts turned inward, a cold satisfaction mingling with a deep-seated guilt. He thought of the syringe, the air injected with such precision, and the way his father's eyes had widened in terror. This was justice, but it was also something darker. He felt a twinge of guilt, a flicker of the religious teachings that had been hammered into him. They were taught that God was always watching, that every sin would be accounted for. Would this be their damnation?
Regulus, too, was lost in thought. The sight of his father crumpled and lifeless stirred something deep within him, a mix of relief and revulsion. He had done this, he had been the hand of fate. But was it justified? The teachings of their childhood, the twisted interpretation of love and punishment, weighed heavily on him. Was this truly justice, or had they merely perpetuated the cycle of violence?
The religious guilt, always present, gnawed at them both. The image of their father at the foot of the stairs was a haunting echo of biblical retribution, the sins of the father visited upon the sons. They had been taught to honour their parents, to see their suffering as a path to salvation. But this? This was something else entirely. It was a dark parody of divine justice, a sacrilegious act that blurred the lines between right and wrong.
As they stood there, the weight of their actions settled over them like a shroud. The house, with its oppressive silence, seemed to judge them, the ghosts of the past whispering of consequences yet to come.
In the cold, quiet darkness, the brothers turned away from their father's lifeless form, leaving behind the remnants of their past. The future stretched out before them, uncertain and fraught with danger, but for the first time, they were the masters of their own fate. They moved through the shadows, their steps heavy with the burden of what they had done, and what was yet to come.
As they reached the top of the stairs, Sirius glanced back one last time, his eyes hard and unyielding. "He's gone ," he murmured, the words a final, chilling confirmation.
Regulus nodded, his face a mask of resolve. "And now, we move forward."
They walked away, their footsteps echoing through the empty halls. The manor, a silent witness to their crime, seemed to hold its breath, the air thick with the promise of retribution. The brothers, united in their dark purpose, stepped into the night, leaving behind the ghosts that would haunt them forever.
The moonlight bathed the manor in a cold, eerie glow, casting long shadows that seemed to reach out like grasping hands. The brothers, their faces set in grim determination, walked away from the scene of their crime, their hearts heavy with a mix of triumph and dread. They had done what needed to be done, but the cost of their actions would linger, a dark stain on their souls.
As they disappeared into the night, the manor stood as a silent testament to their deeds, a place of darkness and secrets, where the line between justice and revenge had been irrevocably blurred. The brothers, bound by blood and shared guilt, faced an uncertain future, their actions casting long, ominous shadows that would follow them wherever they went.