The ride to the Notts' estate was anything but pleasant. The rain hammered against the windshield relentlessly; the wipers were struggling to keep up. Regulus' knuckles whitened as he gripped the steering wheel. He typically loved the rain, but something about this storm seemed to make him uneasy. Anxiety gnawed at him; a sense that something wasn't right was twisting in his gut.

Beside him, Sirius sat in silence. His normal light-hearted jokes had fallen victim to his exhaustion. His gaze was fixed on the drenched road ahead; watching each raindrop fall was the only thing keeping him awake. The car had been silent for most of the journey; both men were lost in their thoughts. The drum of rain colliding with the car was the only audible sound during their ride.

Regulus glanced at the clock on the dashboard, noting the time. It was half past two - the peak of the morning hours. "We'll be there soon," he murmured, more to break the silence than to provide any reassurance.

"Do we have anything to hold him on?" James asked from the backseat, the first time he'd spoken on this trip.

"Tampering with the deceased. And that'll give us seventy-two hours to get a confession," Sirius replied promptly.

As Regulus shifted the car into park and killed the headlights, he noticed a single light flip on in the upstairs of the large ivory house. Someone knew they were here.

The house loomed ahead, its tall silhouette a stark contrast against the stormy sky. The single illuminated window seemed to pierce through the darkness, casting an eerie glow.

"I still think this is a bad idea," Regulus said as he unbuckled his seat.

"Let's just get this over with," Sirius said, his gaze never leaving the house.

James leaned forward from the backseat, his face barely visible in the darkened car. "What if he doesn't cooperate? Regulus has already said, if we make a mistake, the Death Eaters will be on us before we even see them."

"Let's not play a game of 'what if'; instead, let's just go talk to the guy," Sirius said as he tied his hair into a bun.

With a final glance at one another, the three men stepped out of the car and made a mad dash to the front porch. Within seconds, they were drenched from the downpour.

As they reached the porch and Sirius lifted his fist to knock, the door swung inward. Standing in the doorway was Tiberus Nott; his face was ghostly pale, a mix of fear and confusion.

"Gentlemen," he greeted. "To what do I owe the pleasure of at three in the morning?"

"You already know, Nott. Now, let's get a move on before this gets messy," James said, flashing a badge from his pocket.

"I'm not sure I know what you're talking about."

Regulus studied the interaction between the two men. He genuinely believed Mr. Nott; nothing about his actions seemed to hint at deception, or any attempt at it. In fact, he seemed anxious and nervous.

"Your keycard was used to access the morgue two days ago, and a body was defiled. It's also noted you weren't slated to enter, and you didn't record your sign-in," Sirius explained.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Tiberus Nott said, his voice shaking slightly.

"Would you believe me if I said I've heard that before?" James asked, annoyed, lifting a pair of handcuffs from his pockets. The metal chimed softly amidst the silenced tension on the porch.

"Tiberus?" a soft voice asked from behind him.

"Ebony," Tiberus said, turning towards the small woman. She had short blonde hair and was wearing nothing but a nightgown. Her small stature was almost buried behind that of her husband. "It's alright, dear, I promise. These men are confused. I'll be back shortly. Just watch over Theodore."

Regulus felt a twinge of guilt as James and his brother led Tiberus back to their car, and his wife stood out in the rain. He could tell she was crying; after all, rain couldn't hide everything.

The ride back to the precinct was worse than the initial trip, and Regulus didn't know that was possible. This time, James was driving, and Regulus sat in the passenger seat. Sirius had insisted on sitting in the back with Tiberus; he believed he could get him to confess before they arrived; however, Regulus doubted this.

When they arrived at the station, Sirius immediately assumed the role of bad cop, even though he knew he wouldn't be allowed in the interrogation room.

"We need to handle this carefully," James whispered to Regulus as they followed Sirius, who was leading Tiberus through the station. "We don't have enough to hold him yet, so we need to get him talking without tipping our hand."

Regulus nodded halfheartedly, his stomach knotting with anxiety. He just couldn't shake the image of Ebony's tear-streaked face from his mind. He felt like a monster; he felt just as bad as the man who had committed the crime they were solving.

As they reached the interrogation room, Sirius stepped aside, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. "I'll be out here if you need anything," he said, his voice low. "Don't let him off easy."

James gave a soft nod before pushing the door open, leading Tiberus inside. Regulus followed, just hoping nobody else could hear how loud his heart was beating.

The room was stark and cold; there was only a single table and two chairs in the room, both of which were illuminated by a harsh overhead light. James gestured for Tiberus to sit, and then took the seat opposite of him. Regulus stood by the door, watching the pair for any behavior that could reveal ulterior motives.

Tiberus looked around the room, his calm demeanor unbroken. "So, what happens now?" he asked, his voice steady.

James leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. Regulus couldn't help but notice that one of his curls seemed to fall forward in his face; James blew at it, annoyed. He cleared his throat once before speaking, "We have some questions for you, Tiberus. And it's in your best interest to be honest with us."

"That's easy work considering I've been nothing but honest," Tiberus replied promptly, his gaze never leaving James. "I have nothing to hide."

James pulled a beige folder out of a box that had been sitting on the table. He opened it, revealing a series of photographs from Marlene's murder. Some of the pictures were from the original crime scene, but there was even a new one that Regulus hadn't recognized, and he remembered everything. It was a small incision on Marlene's chest, one that hadn't been there originally. Was this what Sirius had found?

Regulus was zoning out as James began to speak, "We've been investigating a murder that could be connected to a series committed by a group known as The Death Eaters. We have reason to believe you are involved with these men."

Tiberus' eyes quickly flicked over the photos. Regulus studied his facial expression, and his eyes. Typically, a killer would spend time admiring their work, and they would experience a second-hand high. This didn't seem to be the case with Tiberus. Instead of basking in accomplishment, Tiberus looked away; he seemed disgusted by what he was seeing. "I've heard of the group, of course, but I have no affiliation."

"We have proof that you were in the morgue the night this body was defiled," James said, pushing the picture of Marlene's chest toward the suspect.

"What is this?" he asked, looking at the image.

"Don't play stupid," James snarled. "This is the cut you carved into her skin when you broke in. I just wonder what it is you were trying to do. Perhaps this?" James questioned as he pulled another piece of paper from the folder. This one was the marking, the one Regulus had been referring to as the Dark Mark; wherever it was, evil always seemed to follow.

Tiberus' eyes widened as he glanced at the Dark Mark on the paper. His reaction was immediate and visceral; a shudder ran through him. Regulus noted the involuntary tremor and the sudden shade of white on his face.

"You recognize it, don't you?" Regulus questioned softly, his voice a subtle invitation for Tiberus to accept. "This isn't just a random mark, is it? It's a symbol."

Tiberus swallowed hard, and his eyes darted between James and Regulus, not sure where to focus. "I have seen it before," he admitted, leaning in, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I did not put that there. I swear. I wasn't even in the precinct that night!"

"Your keycard was used to access the morgue," James argued.

"I was home with my wife! My son, Theodore, is ill. I haven't worked a night shift in months! Check with the chief."

Something in James' behavior shifted at the mention of Lily. He slammed his hands on the white table, aggravated, "Listen, I don't have time for your stupid games," James said, his tone deathly serious.

Tiberus flinched at James' suddenly harsh reaction, and Regulus pulled on James' sleeve before pointing to the door. The two men left Tiberus alone.

Once they were in the hallway, Regulus frowned at his partner. "What is wrong with you? Get it together. We don't even have solid proof that he's guilty, so anything he gives us is helpful. To me, it seems like you're reaching. And what's that about the chief? I thought you were over that."

"Don't act like my mother," James said, shoving Regulus away from him and walking back into the room.

Regulus couldn't stand to watch him deteriorate anymore.

Sirius was still waiting outside in the main room. He jumped up as soon as he saw Regulus.

"Did he confess?"

Regulus scoffed, "Of course not; he didn't do it."

Sirius tilted his head sideways like a dog. "He didn't do it? How do you know?"

"I just do, and I need some time to prove it."

~~~

Regulus needed more than time; he needed a miracle. By the time the sun had risen, almost everyone in the precinct was celebrating the closure of Marlene's murder case, pinning the blame squarely on Tiberus. The sense of triumph among his colleagues was palpable, but Regulus couldn't celebrate with them; he knew they were still missing something. Tiberus seemed to be a solution; he was a means to an end. This case was more complex than that.

He had spent the entire day holed up in Lily's office, reviewing all the evidence. Lily was out on another case, so her office had become his sanctuary, a place where he could focus without interruption. In the short amount of time Regulus had been inhabiting her office, he had transformed it. The room was cluttered with photographs, and the walls were adorned with maps and notes pinned up in a chaotic but meaningful order.

Regulus leaned back in Lily's chair, rubbing his temples as he sorted through the evidence in his head. While the evidence against Tiberus was undeniable, it didn't exactly prove he had committed murder; it only proved he had been in the morgue after closing hours. Or, at least, his key card had been; there was no denying that.

A knock on the door jolted Regulus from his thoughts. Sirius pushed the door open, and slipped inside, quietly closing it behind him. His usual smile was absent.

"James is waiting on you," Sirius said, trying to get Regulus to leave the office.

It wasn't his first visit of the day. James was just so confident that Tiberus was their answer. Tiberus didn't seem like the kind of man to throw away his wife and young son. Maybe that was it. It wasn't him at all, but what if the real killer didn't know that? The real killer was using Tiberus as a pincushion, and Regulus could turn this back on him.

"Sirius," Regulus said as a contagious grin started to spread across his face. "I have an idea."

"Oh, Christ. That can't possibly be good," Sirius replied, but he couldn't hide the hint of curiosity in his voice.

Regulus leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with determination. "What if we use Tiberus as bait? The real killer might think he's safe now that Tiberus is in custody. We go forward with the arrest of Tiberus, and we celebrate tonight, just like everyone wants to. We all go out for drinks and bam, we'll catch ourselves a killer."

Sirius raised an eyebrow, considering the plan. "Isn't that cruel towards Tiberus? And how can we guarantee that the real killer will show up at the bar?"

Regulus grinned, "Oh, he will. There's no way he can't. This killer is extremely egotistical, and the party is celebrating his plan's success. He'll be there, and we'll be ready."

Regulus started to pack up all his belongings, and Sirius sat and watched him. Sometimes, Regulus' intelligence shocked even him. Sirius could only imagine what it would be like to try opposing his brother. Sirius ended up leaving right behind Regulus; he closed the door right behind them, leaving the room empty but with their minds armed.

~~~

Regulus didn't drink, but he wished he did. The bar was so loud - so bloody loud. And Regulus was exhausted. He hadn't slept in a few days; he'd been constantly working. The noise and the chatter felt like a relentless assault on his senses. His head throbbed with fatigue, and every click of a glass set his nerves on fire.

He sat at a small table in the corner, trying to find some semblance of peace amidst the chaos. His eyes were heavy, and he rubbed them, trying to stay awake. The celebration was in full swing, with his colleagues reveling in the joy of a solved case. Sirius and James were at the center of it all, their laughter echoing through the bar.

James, in particular, seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. He was on the dance floor, swaying with the music. Or, better yet, the music seemed to be swaying around him. His movements were elegant, fluid, and captivating. Regulus couldn't help but stare, mesmerized by the way James seemed to command the space around him. He didn't even notice that Sirius had snuck up on him; Regulus could only imagine how long he'd been staring.

"That boy can dance," Sirius said in awe, taking a seat beside his brother.

Regulus tore his gaze away from James momentarily. "Yeah," he agreed, his voice a bit distant. "He's... something else."

Sirius chuckled, nudging Regulus with his elbow. "You sound almost smitten, little brother."

Regulus shot him a tired but sharp look. "I'm just exhausted. I would kill for a nap right about now, and there's just something soothing about watching James."

"Sure, sure," Sirius said, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "But seriously, you should join in. It might help you relax."

Regulus shook his head, his exhaustion evident. "I don't think I have the energy for that. Besides, I'm not a dancer."

"I wouldn't even call that dancing. You know, in college, we used to call him Prongs. It was funny, and he owned the nickname."

This was the first time Regulus had heard of any such nickname. "Prongs? As in antlers?"

"Exactly. Just look at him. He used to remind the lot of us of a gazelle, prancing around, and always un-bothered by everything."

Regulus thought it was very fitting and knew he would be bringing it up in the near future. He turned back to watch James, who had now gained the company of two ladies. All three of them were holding tall, clear glasses of God knows what. They were laughing, and moving with the beat.

Regulus found himself smiling despite hating the atmosphere of bars, and being terribly exhausted; there was just something so comforting about James' presence. Maybe it was the carefree way he moved, or the genuine joy that radiated from him. Whatever it was, it made the noise and chaos of the bar a little more bearable.

Sirius, noticing the slight change in Regulus' demeanor, leaned in closer. "You know, he does have a way of making everything seem a bit brighter. That's James for you."

Regulus nodded absentmindedly as the scent of whiskey from his brother's breath burned his nostrils, "Yeah. I see that."

The familiar scent was like a trigger, pulling Regulus back into a nightmare he thought he'd escape. The memories assaulted him: the sound of his father's voice slurring insults, the sting of a sudden, unexpected blow, the nights spent hiding in the darkest corners of the house, praying for it all to end.

Sirius' voice broke through the haze of memories, laced with genuine concern. "Reg? You okay?

Regulus took a deep breath, forcing the turmoil down. He opened his eyes, meeting Sirius' gaze with a forced, tight-lipped smile. "I'm fine, Sirius. I don't need anything, but thank you for the offer."

The words tasted like a lie, bitter on his tongue, but Regulus knew he couldn't tell Sirius the truth. His brother wouldn't understand. Sirius had left home before their father's drinking escalated into full-blown alcoholism. He had escaped the worst of it, while Regulus had been left to endure alone.

After Sirius left, things spiraled out of control. Their father had drowned his disappointment in bottles of whiskey, and with each drink, his anger grew more volatile. Regulus had become the outlet for that rage, the target for his father's fists. The bruises had faded over time, but the scars on his soul were permanent.

Regulus shivered, the phantom pain of old injuries flaring up as if they had just been inflicted. He clenched his hands into fists, trying to ground himself in the present. This bar was not his childhood home. He was not that terrified boy anymore.

Sirius, oblivious to Regulus' turmoil, gave him a gentle pat on the back before standing up. "I'm gonna grab another drink. Do you want anything?"

Regulus shook his head, barely managing to keep his composure. "No, I'm good."

As Sirius walked away, Regulus watched him go, a mix of envy and resentment churning in his gut. Sirius had always been the stronger one, the one who could leave without looking back, but Regulus had stayed. He had borne the brunt of their father's wrath; he had been forged in the fire of his anger.

The bar seemed to be closing in on Regulus as the noise and laughter became a suffocating blanket. He needed air; he needed to get out of there.

Regulus pushed himself to his feet, weaving through the crowd towards the exit. Right before he reached the door, he accidentally ran into someone.

"Are you serious?"

Regulus immediately began to apologize, "I'm sorry! I wasn't paying attention," he said, looking up.

A very angry Peter Pettigrew looked back at him. Peter's once white shirt was now tainted with a soft cream color, the spilled drink spreading faster than Regulus' humiliation.

"Watch where you're going!" Peter barked, his voice sharp with irritation.

Regulus grabbed some napkins off a nearby table and offered them to Peter, who snatched them out of Regulus' hands with a huff. "Here, let me help-"

"Don't bother," Peter interrupted, furiously dabbing at the stain on his chest and sleeve.

As Regulus turned away from the situation, he caught a glimpse of something that made his breath catch in his throat. Peter was rolling up his sleeves, and for a fleeting moment, a mark on his forearm became visible. A Dark Mark. It was the symbol that Regulus had been searching for: the skull and serpent of the Death Eaters.

Regulus' heart pounded in his chest as he tried to process what he'd just seen. Could Peter really be involved with them? He knew he needed to act quickly but also discreetly.

He forced himself to maintain a calm exterior, though his mind was racing. He couldn't confront Peter here, not in the middle of a crowded bar. Who knew what kind of code the Death Eaters had? What if Peter tried to harm everyone inside? The thought sent a shiver down his spine.

As Regulus stepped outside into the cold nighttime air, he hoped to calm his racing mind. The crisp breeze soothed his nerves, which were still fried from the chaotic warmth of the bar.

The street was quiet, besides the distant hum of traffic and the occasional chatter from drunk passersby. Regulus found a single lamp post in a secluded spot in an alley near the bar. He leaned against it and closed his eyes, letting the cool air wash over him, grounding himself in the present moment.

He needed to think. Peter's involvement with the Death Eaters, however it may be, couldn't be ignored, but confronting Peter couldn't be something he rushed into.

As he stared up at the stars, everything seemed to fall into place. It all made sense now. In all the other crime scenes, the marking had been left on the body or around it. But in Peter's case, he couldn't do it, so he marked himself. How had Regulus possibly missed that possibility before?

The realization nearly made Regulus sick. Peter had been hiding in plain sight, and he had been blind to it. He could only wonder how much information Peter had been able to feed the Death Eaters by working in the precinct.

Regulus' watch vibrated silently, alerting him that yet another hour had passed. He glared at the small, but bright screen; it read 11:01 p.m. He knew he needed to go back inside and confront Peter, yet he felt unsure. This felt almost too easy. Why had Peter slipped up like that? It couldn't have just been the alcohol.

The bar seemed to welcome Regulus back in with open arms. The party had dwindled down a bit, but the person he was looking for remained still. Peter and James were drinking over at the bar, and it seemed Sirius had left. Regulus scanned the room, his eyes narrowing as he approached the bar.

James was the first to notice him. "Reggie! You disappeared for a bit there," he slurred, clearly tipsy but not completely gone.

"Just needed some air," Regulus replied promptly, forcing a smile. He couldn't afford to tip Peter off.

Peter looked up, his eyes a bit glassy but alert. "Everything alright, Regulus?"

"Yeah, just fine! Actually, Detective, can I speak to you for a moment? Privately?"

Peter hesitated, glancing once at James, who was now more interested in his drink than the conversation. "Sure, Regulus."

They moved through the bar and exited out a side door unnoticed. The alleyway was dimly lit, the only source of light being a flickering street lamp; the noise from the bar faded into a dull hum as the door quietly shut behind Peter.

"I saw the mark on your arm earlier," Regulus said, not even giving Peter a chance to question the odd place of discussion. His voice was cold and cutting, like a knife slicing through the tension in the air.

Peter's eyes widened, but they showed no signs of shock. His pale face contorted under the soft lights. "What are you talking about?" He frowned, trying to feign ignorance, but he didn't even attempt to hide the smirk tugging at his lips.

"Don't play dumb with me," Regulus snapped, stepping closer to Peter. "I know what I saw. The Dark Mark. How long have you been working with them? And why Marlene?"

Peter's smirk widened into a full, malicious grin. "You think you know everything, don't you, Regulus?" he said, his voice dripping with mockery. "Marlene just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. She saw something she shouldn't have. You know how it is; she had to be silenced."

Regulus felt a surge of anger and disgust. "You killed her because she was doing her job? What kind of scum are you? Killing a woman after earning her trust. How long have you been betraying everything you swore to protect? How long have you been a rat for them?"

Peter's eyes flashed with a twisted delight at Regulus' anger. "Long enough," he replied, his voice cold and sharp. "Long enough to know how easily people can be manipulated, and how trust can be shattered in an instant. Marlene was a casualty, just like anyone else who gets in the way."

Regulus stepped forward, his fury barely contained. "You'll pay for this, Peter. You won't get away with it."

Peter laughed; it was a sharp, cruel sound that seemed to echo in the narrow alley. "You really think you can stop me? You have no idea what you're up against, Regulus. The Death Eaters are everywhere, and their reach is far beyond what you can imagine. You're just one man, and you're already too late."

Without warning, Peter's hand darted to his side, and a glint of steel caught the faint light from a nearby streetlamp. He was clutching a knife.

Regulus' fight or flight kicked in as he took a step back, narrowly avoiding the first vicious swipe aimed at his throat. The blade cut through the air, missing its mark by inches.

"Regulus, you know how this has to end. You've seen too much," Peter hissed, lunging forward with deadly intent.

Regulus ducked, feeling the rush of the wind as the knife sliced through the space where his head had been. He knew he had to act fast. Peter's moves were wild and vicious, filled with a desperate sense of invincibility. Regulus knew he needed to find a way to disarm Peter without getting stabbed.

Peter lunged again, the knife aiming for Regulus' midsection. Regulus managed to sidestep, but he wasn't fast enough to avoid the blade entirely.

The knife grazed Regulus' side, tearing through his shirt and leaving a shallow cut that stung sharply. He bit back a cry and instead focused on staying on his feet and finding an opening. Peter's eyes gleamed with a dangerous mix of determination and madness; the sight of Regulus' blood seemed to add to his craze.

"You're cornered, Regulus. Just accept it," Peter taunted, circling him like a predator sizing up its prey.

Regulus spotted a metal trash can lid nearby and quickly grabbed it, using it as a makeshift shield. Peter lunged again, but this time Regulus was ready. The knife clanged against the lid with a loud metallic ring. Regulus pushed back with all his might, causing Peter to stumble backward.

"Peter, you can still do the right thing, and turn yourself in!" Regulus attempted to reason by holding his trash can lid in front of him. He kept the distance between them; he had already made that mistake once.

But Peter wasn't listening. He was too far gone and lost in his twisted sense of loyalty and fear. He charged again and left Regulus with no choice.

He swung the trash can lid like a club, aiming for Peter's wrist. The impact was solid, and Peter yelped in pain as his knife dropped, clattering to the ground.

Regulus didn't waste a second. He kicked the knife away, sending it skittering across the pavement behind them. Peter roared in fury, tackling Regulus to the ground. The two men grappled on the cold, hard surface, each trying to gain the upper hand.

Regulus was at a disadvantage. He was a very skilled close combat fighter, small and fast, but Peter nearly doubled his weight. Regulus furiously tried to push Peter off of him, but it was to no avail. Peter's hands found Regulus' throat, and he began to squeeze, cutting off Regulus' air.

Gasping, Regulus reached out blindly, flailing for anything he could grab. Suddenly, his fingers closed around a loose brick that was lying nearby. With the last of his strength, he swung it at Peter's head. The brick connected with the dirty blonde's skull with a dull thud, and Peter's grip slackened. Regulus pushed him off and scrambled away from Peter, breathing heavily.

Peter staggered, dazed, but not out. "This isn't over," he spat, blood trickling down his face from the cut on the side of his head.

Regulus pushed himself off the ground, but he didn't let go of the brick. "It is for you, Peter. This fighting is pointless. And quite honestly exhausting."

Peter's eyes flickered with rage, but he hesitated, realizing he was at a disadvantage. Regulus took a step forward, ready to defend himself if necessary, but he was hoping Peter would see reason, and come quietly.

For a moment, it seemed Peter might listen. But then he let out a snarl of frustration and lunged one last time.

Regulus sidestepped, but then it became clear to him that he wasn't the target. Peter seemed to be reaching for something, and then Regulus saw it - the knife. It was lying on the ground, a few feet away from them. In the blink of an eye, he dove for it, his fingers closing around the handle as Peter clawed at him to grab it.

Regulus rolled onto his back, holding the knife out defensively. Peter was too blinded by his own fury to notice the blade until it was too late. He rolled to tackle Regulus, and impaled himself on the knife, the force of his own momentum driving it deeper into his stomach.

Peter groaned in pain as Regulus' hand let go of the blade, and he pushed himself away, not daring to get off the ground. "You.. you.." Peter gasped, blood bubbling from his mouth.

Regulus watched silently, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He stared at his hands in shock. The reality of what had just happened settled over him like a heavy shroud. He hadn't wanted this. He hadn't wanted to hurt anyone.

Regulus forced his eyes closed as he pushed himself back against the wall. He covered his ears as his father's voice seemed to echo in his head.

"Good work, son; now finish the job."

"No," Regulus breathed, gasping for air as if he were still being choked.

"Regulus, help me," Peter pleaded, coughing up blood as he tried to breathe. Each word seemed to be a challenge for him.

Regulus moved towards Peter as if the air were molasses, fighting against him with every bit of movement. He grabbed the handle of the knife with shaky hands, and knew he needed to pull it out and try to assess the damage, but why couldn't he move?

Regulus looked up at Peter again but gasped in shock. It wasn't Peter; it was his father.
"Kill me, boy. Be a man," Orion Black, the face of Regulus' fear, taunted.

"No, no, no!" Regulus shouted, ripping the knife out of Peter's stomach. He brought his hands to his face, the bloody knife cold against his pale skin.

"What about your brother? And boyfriend? Wouldn't want that dirty rat to kill them too. He said he would. He'd kill any of you in a heartbeat."

"Shut up," Regulus growled, his fingernails digging further into his skin.

"Why? Are you too much of a coward to face the truth?"
Orion's voice dripped with malice, echoing in Regulus' mind like a dark chant.

Regulus tried to shake off the hallucination, but the taunts grew louder. "You think you can protect them? You think you can save anyone? Pathetic. Weak. Helpless."

That was all it took for Regulus to completely snap. He was going to protect them. He was going to save them.

"You're the weak one," Regulus spat, driving the knife deep into the chest of his father.

Orion Black just seemed to smile back at him. "Is that all you got?"

At that point, Regulus Black had relinquished all control. He'd simply become a machine fueled by anger. He'd rip the knife from the tough skin before driving it right back down into a new spot. It didn't take long before the warm stickiness of blood began to coat his hands, but that didn't stop him.

With each stab, Regulus was able to catch a breath of air. He could feel the hold his father had on him fading as he continuously drove the knife into the body in front of him.

"You."

Stab.

"Will."

Stab.

"Not."

Stab.

"Win."

Each word was punctuated by the savage thrust of the knife. Peter's body convulsed with each impact. The alley was filled with the sickening sound of flesh being torn, but Regulus didn't hear it. He was lost in his own world, driven by a fury that had been building for years.

Rain had begun to fall, the droplets hitting his skin like icy needles. He closed his eyes and let the rain wash over him, feeling the chill seep into his bones. The sensation was exactly what he needed - grounding; it pulled him back to reality.

When he opened his eyes again, he couldn't remember what he was previously doing. For a split second, everything was a blur. Then it all came crashing back. Peter. Betrayal. His father.

A shudder involuntarily attacked Regulus as he turned back toward what once was a fellow human being. Peter lay there motionless, blood pooling around his lifeless body, mixing with the rainwater to form dark rivulets that ran along the cracks in the pavement.

Regulus staggered back with a gasp, dropping the knife as if it had burned him. His hands trembled uncontrollably, covered in Peter's blood. The alley was eerily silent now, the only sounds being Regulus' ragged breathing and the soft patter of the rain.

For the first time in his life, Regulus Black was lost. There was nothing in the books to explain killing someone in an alley. He crumpled to the ground, drawing his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them, pulling them closer as if to shield himself from the horror. He cast one final, pained glance at Peter, but ultimately had to turn away to fight the vomit working its way up his throat.

With shaking hands, he fumbled for his phone and dialed the only number he knew by heart. His voice cracked with barely contained sobs as he whispered the name into the receiver.

"Sirius."