(no subject)
Title: Crawling in the Dark
Author: lupinslittlesis
Rating: PG-13
Length: About 17,400 words
Summary: Remus is spying on the Death Eaters, with a mission to save one single soul.
Author's Notes: This is a subplot from my WIP Accidentally in Love. It's pretty much been lifted word-for-word, with a little clarification to make it work for non-Accidentally in Love readers. A minor "warning", Accidentally in Love is Remus/Sirius-centric. Crawling in the Dark does not focus on that at all, but there are extremely minor mentions of it, if that particular ship really annoys you. And thanks to ignipes for looking this over, and aome for the initial betas!
Also, there is a wonderful illustration for the end of this fic, done by the fabulous neptunus.
Remus supposed he'd been expecting green smoke and fanfare, more torture, more pain. What he got instead was a knock on the door.
He answered it with trepidation, and only found three Death Eaters standing there.
Well, that was something.
What do you say to Death Eaters? "Won't you come in and have some tea?" really seemed inappropriate, as did "may I take your cloak?" He stepped aside, wordlessly, watching the three robed figures walk into the flat.
They all wore black robes. Black robes and strange white masks that hid their faces, making them seem like nightmares from an ancient Greek play. Remus studied them carefully. One was a woman; he could tell from the shape of her hands and the carefully filed nails. The other two were men; a tall one with exceedingly hairy knuckles and broad shoulders, the other more slender and with aristocratic, finely formed hands and a ring bearing the Black crest.
Perhaps there was some relief in that as well.
"Sit," the tall one commanded, and Remus obeyed. "You have sworn your service to Voldemort," he continued, and Remus nodded, although privately he thought 'had your service exacted out of you via torture' was a far more accurate description of events. "It is time to put your words into action."
It would be so much easier not to laugh if the Death Eater didn't insist on talking like someone out of a bad Muggle action movie, Remus thought. Not, of course, that this was a laughing matter.
"What do you want me to do?" he asked.
"The Westminster Abbey. You know it?"
"Of course."
The Death Eater waved his wand and a scroll materialized. "There is a stone called the Stone of Scone. It is under the Coronation Chair in a chapel. The Dark Lord has a need for it. You will get it. Understood?"
"And if I don't?" Remus asked cautiously.
"We can find your father quite easily," the Death Eater said, his eyes lighting up behind that mask. Beyond him, the Death Eater that was Regulus shook his head once, emphasizing the words, not denying them. "Do we need to do that?"
"No," Remus said, his throat suddenly dry. "That's not necessary."
"Good. One of our agents will meet you at the Abbey at five o'clock tomorrow night. Be ready."
They left. The spokesman and the woman swept out, as if Remus had ceased to exist, and Regulus followed in their wake. He hesitated, just for a second, with his hand on the door, but he was gone before Remus could say a word.
Not that he expected differently, really.
He was surprised to find that his legs were trembling and his robe was wet with sweat. He took a few deep breaths, just enough to pull himself together, and then fumbled for a parchment and quill to send a message to Sirius before he went to shower and change.
***
By five o'clock Remus sat on a bench outside the Abbey, dressed in Muggle jeans and two sweatshirts and eating an apple he'd bought. Not that he really had an appetite, but it gave his hands something to do.
Regulus had suddenly appeared beside him, wearing thick, warm robes of what looked like soft wool and blowing on gloved hands. Remus hadn't seen Regulus in years. He'd grown much taller, whippet thin and with sharp, high cheekbones and his black hair cropped close to his head. The style and his face accentuated ice blue eyes and haughty expression, and Remus thought he couldn't look less like Sirius if he tried.
"Why are you dressed like that?" Regulus demanded, eyeing Remus's jeans with loathing.
"Far less conspicuous," Remus explained.
Regulus snorted. "Muggles don't notice us anyway."
"It's not Muggles I'm worried about noticing me," Remus snapped. "So this is your way of helping me? Arranging for me to break into the Westminster Abbey and steal something?"
"Yes," Regulus said, eyes meeting Remus's squarely for the first time ever. "They originally wanted you as part of a raid on a family of half-bloods. I convinced them that you were better brains than brawn. It took some doing."
Remus rolled his eyes. "And the difference is?"
Regulus returned the gesture. "You don't have to kill anyone."
"I just make it possible for them to kill more people."
"That's one way to look at it, but I'd rather not. Look, I did the best I could. Believe me, it was this or that."
"Thank you then, I guess," Remus relented with a sigh. "And in return?"
"We work together. If we pull this off, they'll keep us on assignments like this. Otherwise, it's back to plunder, pillage and rape."
Remus cringed. "Not your forte?" Regulus fixed him with an icy glare. It was an expression his face was particularly well suited for. Remus held up his hands. "Fine. I'm sorry."
"Look. You don't like me, and I assure you, the feeling is more than mutual."
"Did it ever occur to you that might be why I don't like you?" Remus cursed himself silently. Regulus had a way of getting under his skin within seconds.
"I never bothered to care," Regulus said, with the simple air of truth. "You're a Mud- a halfblood and a faggot, and now I know you're a werewolf as well."
"Then why are you helping me?" Remus demanded.
Regulus sighed and sank down on the bench, suddenly looking very young. "I don't know," he admitted. "I won't pretend I wanted to. In fact, I actually volunteered to go along when I found out they were going to your house, and I knew what was going to happen. But when I was there, it bothered me. It's bothered me before, lots of times. But I never knew the people."
Remus sat down beside him. "What did you expect?"
"I'm not sure," Regulus admitted. "Maybe something like Slytherin, where we sat around and talked about things. Or getting into the Ministry and making laws. Or at least something quick and painless, and just people who deserved it. Not this." He shook himself. "Look. It doesn't matter what I expected. The fact is I'm here, you're here, and we've got a job to do. If we do it right, it's better for both of us, and nothing else matters."
"If you say so," Remus muttered, but he stood up and scanned the building. "So, what's the plan?"
"Plan? They're Muggles. We're wizards. How much of a plan do we need?"
Remus stifled a sigh and some choice sharp words about the importance of plans. Just like Sirius... willing to rush in without thinking. He studied the people around carefully.
"Why don't we just Apparate in and back out?" Regulus asked.
"Been inside enough to know exactly where you're going?"
"No."
"Me neither, and I don't fancy ending up in a wall. Do you think any wizards have put protection spells on the Abbey?"
"You'd know better than me," Regulus pointed out. "It's your side that would do it."
"Not really. Anyone could have done it. Anyone who felt that the Abbey should be protected."
"So what do we do?"
"Let me think."
"There are security guards. We could knock two out, steal their uniforms, and sneak in that way."
"Regulus," Remus sighed, trying to be patient. "Have you been sneaking into the Muggle cinema?"
Regulus had the grace to flush. "It could work," he insisted stubbornly. "There are guards around."
"Fair point," Remus conceded. He sighed.
"Or a monk," Regulus mused.
Remus shook his head. "They'll know each other."
"They'll know the security guards, too. If we do the monk thing we can keep our faces covered with hoods."
"Because they wear hoods indoors."
"Look, fuckwit-"
"Sorry! All right. How about this. You transfigure your robes to look like the robes the monks wear. We'll say I lost my camera and you're escorting me in."
"Um, genius?" Regulus said, pointing to a "no photography allowed" sign. "I don't think that's the best idea."
"Well, what you suggest then?"
Regulus smiled slyly. "Wedding ring. You lost your wedding ring. Anyone would be upset over that."
"All right then. Let's go."
***
They entered the Abbey with ease, once they got started. (Regulus needed to be reminded that at his young age, he'd better stick to highly unornamented robes, but aside from that, his Transfiguration was better than Remus had been expecting.) A security guard stopped them, but Regulus explained that this was his older brother and he'd lost his wedding ring and was in mortal danger from his wife, and the security guard had chuckled and let them through.
"I can't believe you pulled that off," Remus hissed when they were out of earshot.
Regulus shrugged cockily. "I'm good."
"We'll see. Let's get this stupid stone. Which way to the Chapel of Edward the Confessor?"
"Are you sure it's there?"
"Yes. It's in the Coronation Chair."
"How do you know?"
"The stone spoke to me in my dreams. I looked it up," Remus snapped. "Let's go."
They found their way with little effort, and fortunately no services were in progress. The Muggle part of Remus wondered ironically at the interference of God, but he shut that up immediately. "All right," he whispered. "Let's get spells on the doors."
Regulus locked the doors, and Remus laid quick distraction spells on them. They wouldn't hold long, but then, they wouldn't need long.
"It's in the chair?" Regulus said, studying it carefully. "Wow. Look at this. I've never seen so much graffiti."
"The chair of kings, and schoolboys carve their names on it," Remus chuckled, well aware that if they had ever toured Westminster Abbey there would be a clear MWPP on the back of the chair as well (or, if Sirius had his way, the front).
Regulus sniffed. "Disrespect."
"The chair is meant for Muggle kings," Remus pointed out with amusement. "It's kind of ugly, isn't it? Very plain, old wood..."
Regulus sniffed again. "True aristocracy doesn't require ostentation. So this is it? This big block of stone under the seat?"
"I guess so." Remus aimed his wand. "Let's miniaturize it and get out of here."
"Wait," Regulus said. "I'll miniaturize it. You Transfigure something else to look like it. If the Muggles know it's gone...."
"Good point." Remus looked around and found a hymnal. He wasn't sure that the job would fool someone who knew every crevice of the stone, but it was pretty close. "Hurry up."
"I can't!" Regulus said. "I can't miniaturize it!"
"What? Here, let me." Remus might have been skeptical to start, but the stone resisted his efforts to miniaturize it as well. "Shit. I knew this was too easy."
"How do we get it out? It's too big to carry."
"Some way that someone didn't think of." Remus tried Transfiguring it, but no luck there, either.
"Use a Switching spell and switch it with a hymnal?" Regulus suggested frantically.
No luck.
"We'll have to carry it. Can we levitate it?"
Regulus tried. "Nope. All right. Two guys carrying out something heavy. How do we cover that?"
"We don't," Remus sighed, hitting his forehead as the obvious occurred to him. "We just make a Portkey and get out of here."
***
Whoever had laid spells on the Stone of Scone was either a.) an idiot, b.) didn't REALLY care if the Stone got stolen, c.) was planning on stealing it himself and allowed for some way to get the Stone out of the building, or d.) was born before Portkeys were invented. Either way, Remus and Regulus found themselves sprawled in Remus and Sirius's flat with the Stone of Scone between them and a crumpled missive in Remus's hand.
"Wow." Regulus struggled to right himself.
"Yeah. Wow," Remus echoed.
"We did it, didn't we?"
Remus looked at the large stone. "Our parents would be so proud," he muttered. "So now what?"
"Can we Transfigure it here?" Regulus wondered, and tried miniaturizing it. The Stone shrunk to half its size. "Good. I'll take it to the Death Eaters."
Remus nodded, not exactly sure what to say to that.
"I'll get in touch with you. I also told them they'd be best off contacting you through owl, given that you live with an Auror."
Remus leaned back on his hands, watching as Regulus stood up and dusted himself off. "Do they expect me to get rid of Sirius?"
"No, actually. I told them you two were, um...." Regulus blushed at Remus's arched eyebrow. "Well, I told them you were a faggot and that you and my brother were... you're not, are you?"
"I suspect you don't really want to know the answer to that."
Regulus's face contorted with disgust. "I'll owl," he said, and with that Disapperated. Remus wasn't sorry to see him go.
He wished Sirius was home, but in a way it was for the best. He'd just completed his first successful mission for the enemy. It left him with a dirty, unpleasant, nauseated feeling, and an undeniable feeling of loathing. Perhaps it was best that Sirius wasn't here.
With a deep sigh, he lit the fire to Floo to Dumbledore's office to report in person.
***
Dumbledore had merely been amused when Remus told him about the raid on Westminster Abbey, and had only been slightly more concerned when last night Remus and Regulus had been sent to steal a book from an old library. Of course, it was always hard to tell what Dumbledore was thinking. Remus had been able to pry two possible names from Regulus (neither of which were given voluntarily), but he was realizing that the disadvantage to Regulus's plan was that he would never be in to deeper Death Eater circles.
"It's not a matter for worry, my boy," Dumbledore had assured him. "What you tell me is certainly valuable, and even if young Mr. Black had a better plan, you would not be permitted in the inner circles of Death Eaters, given your heritage. That's not what I'm expecting of you."
"Then what are you expecting?" Remus asked.
"Any information you can give me," Dumbledore answered, unusually humbly. "I must confess, Mr. Lupin, that we are in a very grave position."
"Sir, my Legilimency still isn't what it should be to be doing this."
"You are still at an elementary point, yes, although you do remarkably well for someone who has studied as short a time as you have, Remus," Dumbledore admitted. "But Legilimens are not a dime a dozen, and we must make do with what we have."
"But-"
"I am most grateful for any information you can give me," Dumbledore repeated. "And who knows? Perhaps you will be able to convince some people that they're paths are misguided."
It had been most depressing, but at the same time comforting to know that he wasn't expected to penetrate the innermost circles and practice Legilimancy on Voldemort. (Particularly good given that while sometimes he could get useful information out of Regulus, more often he got impressions of wanting a ham sandwich or memories of the Slytherin common room and a girl named Leah who never really seemed all that interested anyway.) Remus shook his head and left, feeling almost as lost as when he'd arrived.
***
Remus had always hated going to the Werewolf Registry Office for those bimonthly updates, and now that he dealt almost exclusively with Macnair, it was nearly unbearable. But Macnair had been more valuable than Remus had anticipated, and the Order had been able to thwart three minor attacks and one major one. So, distasteful as it was, Remus could accept it. But that didn't mean he had to enjoy doing it.
He hadn't expected anything unusual today, which was why he was so surprised when, after the obligatory questions and the addition of two minor regulations to the Werewolf Code of Conduct, Macnair handed him a sheaf of parchment.
"Here are your travel papers," he said.
"Travel papers?" Remus said, finding it hard to speak against the lump in his throat and the unwelcome surge in his stomach.
"Yes. I am afraid they are rather thick, but the Soviet Union is a bit, well..." Macnair grinned wryly.
"Regulated," Remus finished, his hand reaching out.
"Very much so," Macnair agreed.
Remus stared down at the pile of papers, bound together with a gleaming silver clip, stamped and signed and declaring that Remus Lupin, werewolf, had clearance to travel to Leningrad.
"Wait a minute," he said slowly. "I'm not going to Leningrad."
"Yes, you are," Macnair said, flashing another smile. "I've also been asked to give you this." He handed Remus a sealed scroll, with the Dark Mark stamped into the wax. "You should be pleased. These orders come from very high up indeed."
Remus nodded, probing for exactly how high up. To his absolute delight, he managed to get a clear picture and a voice he recognized as Lucius Malfoy. Macnair didn't seem to notice. "The Dark Lord must be very pleased with you, because this is an assignment I didn't expect him to delegate to... well, to you and..." Macnair waved a hand, leaning back comfortably. "I didn't expect it. But you've done well."
Remus nodded again and stared back at the papers. "So we're to go to Leningrad..." he said, his voice trailing off in wonder.
"Yes. You've not been there before, have you?"
"No. Never. But..." it was unfolding fast, the implications. The Soviet Union had such a terrible reputation, but such a fascinating history, and he'd seen pictures. And if Voldemort's pattern was like it usually was, their mission would take them to a museum at least, but more likely a historical landmark. Maybe the Winter Palace. Maybe the Kirov Palace. Maybe....
"Well then, if you don't have any more questions?" Macnair prompted, and Remus looked up suddenly, tearing his mind away from the visions he was conjuring.
"No, I think I understand. Thank you."
Macnair inclined his head. "No. The Dark Lord thanks you."
***
The wail of the train's whistle echoed through the station, and Remus and Regulus sprinted to catch it, throwing themselves up the steps just in time. It was a small train, with only two passenger cars and the rest meant for cargo, but an unoccupied compartment was still easy to come by.
"We would have been here earlier if you hadn't had to stop and see that church," Regulus groused as they settled in their seats.
"We made it in time," Remus pointed out.
"Barely. This isn't a sight-seeing tour, Lupin. We're here on orders from the Dark Lord."
"But I'll..." Remus broke off, annoyed. "Never mind."
To his surprise, Regulus cocked his head. "But you what?"
"It's nothing."
"No. If you're going to drag me around the historical sites of Berlin, you're going to explain why." Regulus arched an eyebrow at him. "But you what?" he repeated.
"I'll probably never have the chance to see Berlin again," Remus muttered, sorting through his bag and pulling out a book.
"Well, whyever not?" Regulus asked. "Just get my brother," his lips twisted distastefully on the words, "to bring you back when all this is over."
"The Werewolf Registry won't let me come back."
"They will if the Dark Lord is in power."
"I doubt it," Remus said darkly.
"He's promised Dark Creatures who serve him their rights," Regulus said. The tone of his voice was petulant, and Remus noticed that his eyes lacked any fire of conviction.
"Look," he said, choosing his words as carefully as possible, trying not to sound too excited, "all through history dictators and governments have made promises like that. 'Fight for us and we'll give you your freedom.'"
"They follow through," Regulus argued. "Look at the American Civil War. Convicts were granted their freedom to fight for the South, and that wasn't retracted."
Remus raised his eyebrows, impressed. "That might be so, legally," he said. "And maybe it would happen for a few years. But the old prejudices never die, and you can never tell what will happen. Maybe Voldemort would give me my rights. But would a new Headmaster at Hogwarts hire me to teach? Would a shop owner still employ me? No. People would eventually be calling for Voldemort to hunt me down and stamp me out, and if he didn't do it, they'd do it on their own. Regulus, just look at the country we're going to to see how political promises don't pan out. Communism was supposed to bring wealth and prosperity for all. From what I understand, it hasn't. Promises are never kept."
Regulus sniffed. "You're a pessimist. And I hardly think comparing the Dark Lord to Lenin is accurate. Their ideologies are completely different."
"But the concept of promises made during wars is not," Remus argued.
"Answer me this, then," Regulus said. "At least the Dark Lord promises you your rights, which is far more than your side does. So how could anything he does be worse than what you have now?"
"You know how you asked me why I don't just go with Sirius when all this is over?" Remus asked.
"Yes."
"If Voldemort wins, there won't be a Sirius to go with. He'll be dead." Remus opened his book. "Now shut up and let me read."
***
They sat in silence all morning, Remus reading a mystery novel and Regulus working his way through Grindewald's Ghosts, a book Remus had always meant to read and never had about those who suffered in the 1940's. It struck him as an odd book for a young Death Eater to be reading, but perhaps the author would be a more powerful force on Regulus's mind than a half-blooded gay werewolf had the power to be. After a while he set down his own book and stared at out the window at the countryside rushing past, until his eyes grew heavy and sleep overtook him.
When we woke up Regulus was staring out the window chewing on his fingernails, a waxed paper packet beside him.
"Where are we?" Remus asked groggily, shaking his head to clear it.
Regulus jumped. "Poland, I think," he said absently. "Do you want something to eat?" He held out the packet. "The lunch cart came by. I got a sandwich, but I wasn't hungry." He leaned down and picked up a bottle. "I got you a drink as well."
It was without a doubt the most thoughtful (probably only thoughtful) gesture that Regulus had extended towards him. "Thank you," Remus said, taking the sandwich and the bottle. Regulus just shook his head and went back to staring out the window. Remus ate in silence.
"Do I look like my brother?" Regulus asked suddenly.
"Pardon?"
"Half the people I know say I look like him," Regulus said, now staring down at his hands, "but the other half say we look nothing alike. Do I look like him?"
"I can tell you're brothers," Remus answered thoughtfully. "Especially in the nose and jawline. But no, you don't look exactly like him or anything." He took a bite and chewed slowly. "Actually, you look more like I'd have throught your Uncle Alphard would have looked when he was our age."
"How the... did you know Alphard?"
"Yes." Remus took another bite. "Did you?"
"Why you impenitent-" Regulus began, but something in his head stopped whatever that line of thought was and he turned angrily back to the window. "Not really," he admitted after a long silence. "He was always traveling, and when he did come he was closer to Sirius. I always thought he didn't like me." Regulus chuckled dryly. "He probably didn't. He didn't like any of the Blacks much, did he?"
"He didn't like your father, no."
"But he believed in blood purity."
"Yes," Remus sighed. "He said so when Sirius ran away from home."
"That's what I've never understood," Regulus said, leaning forward suddenly. "I know he was upset when Sirius ran. When I saw him after that, he was kind of... well, it tore everyone in the family apart. Alphard was no exception. But he left Sirius his money anyway. Why?"
"Do you really want to know?" Remus asked. Regulus answered the question with a disdainful sneer, and Remus heaved a sigh. "All right, I get it. He was a werewolf."
Regulus blinked. "Who, Sirius?"
"No, Alphard. That's how I know him. We met at the Registry when I was ten, and we wrote for almost five years." Now Remus looked out the window, surprised at the tears pressing against his eyes. He blinked rapidly and his vision cleared. "But he told Sirius. And Sirius accepted it. That's why."
"Alphard didn't die of pneumonia, did he?" Regulus asked, catching on quickly.
"No."
"Does Sirius know that?"
"I don't know, to be honest. I've never told him, but Sirius is smart enough to put it together. He certainly knows the consequences if a werewolf kills and is captured."
Regulus sat back against the seat, thinking about it. "Do you think Uncle Alphard would have joined the Dark Lord?"
"No. I remember him saying something about it in a letter. Something about not being able to trust anyone who's after that much power. He was right. Voldemort isn't trying to work for the people he wants to rule- he wants power for himself. Voldemort's first- and only- priority is to Voldemort. Your uncle didn't trust him at all."
Regulus sighed and picked his book back up. "Sometimes, I can see why." He turned back to the book, indicating the conversation was over.
Remus picked up his own book, trying to still the hope that was burgeoning in him.
***
The train stopped, and Remus opened his eyes. "Border guards," he muttered unnecessarily, stretching. Regulus was still staring out the window, lost in thought.
It was a wizarding train, so Remus wasn't expecting men in uniform or... what was he expecting, anyway? He wasn't sure. What he got was a pair of wizards, both in red robes. The one had a bored, slackened look about him, whereas the second had a more pinched, strained expression. Neither one smiled. Remus gave Regulus (who had snapped out of his trance) a significant look, and Regulus rolled his eyes.
"Documenti, pozhalujsta," the sour-faced wizard snapped.
"Govorite li vy po angliyski?" Regulus asked.
"Nyet. Documenti, pozhalujsta."
Regulus sighed. "Get your papers out," he hissed at Remus, who really had been smart enough to figure that out and had done so. He handed them to Regulus, who handed them over to the border guards. They were snatched out of Regulus's hands, and the two guards poured over them, conversing in rapid Russian.
"Do you have any idea of what they're saying?" Remus asked quietly.
"Yes." There was a deathly silence from the two guards as they turned and looked at Remus, and then one short, angry word that sounded more like a curse than anything else.
"They just found that you're a werewolf," Regulus informed him.
"You think so?" Remus shot back sarcastically. Regulus fixed him with an icy glare of death. Remus rolled his eyes back and sat back, trying to act casual and as if the expression of the Soviet wizards wasn't affecting him in the least.
The truth was, it bothered him every time he saw it, and these days he was seeing it more and more often.
For some reason- perhaps because it was what he was used to- Remus was expecting trouble, but after a thorough examination the guards shoved their papers back at them and left the compartment. Eventually, the train lurched into motion again, and Remus peered out the window. The countryside didn't look any different, despite the fact they were in a completely different world than what he'd grown up in, but he was convinced it felt different. Regulus snorted again- his favorite means of expression- but Remus noticed he seemed just as fascinated as well, he just hid it better.
"So this is the Soviet Union," Remus finally said, just because it seemed like they should have some way of marking getting this far.
"Bugger off," Regulus said, picking up a new book.
Remus couldn't help laughing when he saw that it was We the Living.
***
The train lurched to a stop, the air clogged with soot and smoke. Remus peered out eagerly, ignoring Regulus's long-suffering sigh.
When Sirius traveled, Remus told himself that cities were cities, and places like Prague and Budapest and Paris and Frankfurt were probably very much like London or Dublin, only with different landmarks. He knew it wasn't true, but he forced himself to believe it anyway.
Now here was Leningrad spread before him, and Remus couldn't wait to jump off the train and explore it all.
"We'll have to find someplace to stay," Regulus was saying as he shrank his current book (Merlin's Trousers: The Life and Times of The Greatest Wizard Ever) and slipped it into his bag. "I have a list of places." They walked off the train and stepped down onto the platform, and Regulus looked about with a pleased expression. "We'll find something."
Remus nodded, but he wasn't really listening. Everywhere around him he could hear people talking in Russian. The language was so different from English, with sharp, crisp syllables and a completely different inflection to the words. Signs hung from the ceiling and on the wall, all in the Cyrillic alphabet which seemed more like an Ancient Runes test than a proper language to him. And everywhere, people were moving about their business. He was disappointed to see that they were dressed much like the Muggles he saw in London. The hats were a bit different, and perhaps the cut of the coats, but nothing overly exotic. Secretly, he hoped wizards were not the same.
Regulus was moving through the throng impatiently, peering up at signs and comparing them to a sheet of paper he was holding in his hand. Remus followed him out of the depot and into the street, completely lost and not caring in the least as his eyes took in the city of Leningrad.
Amazingly, Regulus did seem to know exactly where he was going. He walked through the streets with a quick, confident step, not looking around much except to glance at signs. Remus suddenly noticed for the first time that Regulus was wearing a plain robe that was obviously second-hand and wasn't wearing his ring, and as he looked around the street he decided that might not have been a bad idea. From what Remus knew of Soviet history, advertising that you were a member of the aristocracy of any sort was a bad idea.
But despite that, Leningrad wasn't quite what Remus was expecting. The little he'd read about Soviet Russia led him to expect extreme poverty visible everywhere, gray, grim faces, and guards constantly marching. And yet, Leningrad was reputed as one of the Soviet Union's most beautiful cities, and he could see that in the architecture, particularly the spire of the Peter and Paul Fortress, the dome of St. Isaac's Cathedral, and the Church of the Savior on the Spilled Blood. He was lost in thought about it when he crashed into Regulus, who had stopped suddenly. "This is it," Regulus informed him, as the inn appeared before them. It was a shabby little place, with the smell of onions and dill coming from a kitchen in the back. Remus followed Regulus in.
Regulus conversed with the innkeeper, a thin man with a consumptive face. Remus had to admit that he was impressed. As far as he knew, Sirius wasn't multilingual. He could speak English impeccably (when he so chose) and some smatterings of French (including all the dirty words), but nothing fluent. Not like the way Regulus was talking. Regulus slid a few Galleons across the tabletop and the innkeeper returned a pair of keys, and then gestured for them to follow him as he lead them to their room.
It wasn't as comfortable as those in the Leaky Cauldron, but there were two beds, both spread with faded red rugs. The wooden floor was bare, there was a small dresser, and a print with garish colors hanging over the lamp between the two beds. "I've never cared for Soviet art," Regulus said once the innkeeper had left them. "It's very block-like and crude."
Remus set his bag down on one of the beds. "Where are we?" he asked. "And don't tell me Leningrad," he said as Regulus opened his mouth. Regulus shut it promptly. "Where in Leningrad are we?"
Regulus pulled out a map and unfolded it, sitting down on his own bed. "We're here," he said, jabbing at an intersection. "The old Imperial Palace is over here." He pointed at a place halfway across the town. "There's an inn slightly closer, but I didn't want to be too obvious about what we're here for."
"And the Palace?" Remus asked. "What's that like?"
"Hard to say for sure," Regulus answered, rubbing his chin. "It's considered a State Museum now, but I don't think it's terribly well guarded, at least not by Muggles. From what I understand of Communism, any relation to the past and the bourgeois is deemed unpatriotic. So hopefully, the relics of the Imperial past have pretty much settled into dust under nice pretty glass cases. It shouldn't be any harder than some of the other jobs we've had."
"We can hope," Remus muttered, far less optimistic. "What about wizards? Rasputin was reputed to be one of the most powerful wizards ever. Surely they would guard anything to do with him- or destroy it. How do we even know this reliquary that Voldemort wants even still exists?"
"The Dark Lord said it does."
"Helpful," Remus muttered. "What does he want it for, anyway?"
Regulus shrugged. "I don't know. It doesn't make that much sense. I've read up on Rasputin, of course, and the only connection I can make between him and the Dark Lord is the quest for immortality. You've heard the story of Rasputin's death, right?"
"Poisoned, shot, drowned, and by some reports castrated?" Remus asked.
"Exactly. The Muggle history I read-"
"Wait. You read a Muggle history?"
Regulus glared at him. "Yes. Rasputin was a rare wizard in that he lived among Muggles and still used his magic. A most interesting case. But as I was saying, the Muggle account I read is skeptical of the story of Rasputin's death. There was no poison found in his blood during the autopsy, and the entire story of his death just doesn't really make sense." Regulus smiled nastily. "The Muggles didn't quite believe the entire thing. It was too elaborate. For instance, the Prince Felix invited him over that night with the lure that his wife would be there. However, Felix and Rasputin were friends in and of themselves. In fact," Regulus made a face that was disgust tempered with deep amusement as he watched Remus, "some say that Felix and Rasputin were more than friends, given that Felix was a gay transvestite."
"Funny," Remus said dryly.
"You don't know much about Rasputin, do you? He'd fuck anything. Quite an accomplishment, given that the man reputedly had the most intense body odor in the city. Of course," Regulus mused, "he was also reputed to have a thirteen inch cock."
Remus's eyes bulged out of his head. "Ouch," he said, before he could think of anything else to say. Regulus looked up, startled, and then began to laugh. It wasn't a long one, but it was a crack in his defenses. Remus smiled sheepishly.
"Anyway," Regulus said, bringing himself back under control, "the Muggles are skeptical. They suspect that Felix and his cohort Dmitri made up most of the story to cover for the fact that they were incompetent." He sniffed disdainfully.
"You don't believe that?"
"No. I suspect that Rasputin found some way of magically extending his life, and it was destroyed in the process. Or the method could only absorb so many assassination attempts."
"And you think that's what Voldemort's after?"
"I think that's exactly what Voldemort's after."
Remus nodded grimly. "Right then. So what are we going to do?"
***
They began planning the next morning, and the first step in their plans was to tour the Imperial Palace.
For months- no, years, truly- Remus and Regulus had hated each other. Sometimes outright, sometimes cordially, but the fact was Remus thought of Regulus as Sirius's snobbish, spoiled, selfish little brother and Regulus thought of Remus as the epitome of everything his line had stood against. They'd worked together, yes, but that was out of necessity, not out of desire.
Now, here they were in the Imperial Palace, thousands of miles from Hogwarts or London, and they'd finally found common ground.
"This is the Portrait Hall," Regulus whispered reverently when they entered. Both of them stared around at the paintings, the mammoth portrait of Nicholas I, the huge chandeliers, the gilded furniture. "It's nothing like what we've seen outside, is it?" Regulus murmured.
"It's nothing like I've ever seen before." Remus gravitated over to a table holding ornate antiques. "Look at these. These must be worth a fortune."
Regulus looked over his shoulder. "At least."
"You actually sound impressed. I thought your family was rich."
Regulus snorted. "There is a difference between rich and aristocracy," he said. "Despite what my parents would have us believe. We're the first, and perhaps figuratively the second, but nothing like what the Romanovs were." He turned and inhaled deeply. "The columns," was all he said.
Remus could see why he appreciated them: giant pillars of marble framing a row of ornate crystal chandeliers.
They both knew that no reliquary of Rasputin's would be on the paths or in the rooms marked out for tourists. But they wandered through every last room regardless, taking their time to dawdle over what fascinated them most.
"It astounds me, in a way, that a tsar would create something like the Mountain Room," Remus said that afternoon, when they stopped at a restaurant for a late lunch.
"Why?" Regulus asked around a mouthful of dried herring. "Tsars have children as well. Well, had."
Remus shrugged. "You just never think of people in history having lives, you know? They're names and dates and figures and deeds, but not really people."
"On the contrary," Regulus said, wiping his mouth with a paper napkin. "That's exactly what makes history interesting. It's that these people who did these great things had lives. They had wives that they fought with over money and children who they yelled at to go to bed and they had pets and they liked Quidditch or Gobstones or art or whatever, and they went to school. When you remember that history was real people, it becomes far more attainable and incidentally far more fascinating."
"I always fell asleep in History of Magic," Remus confessed.
"It was my favorite class," Regulus said. "I was going to do the N.E.W.T. level, but..." he shrugged, but Remus saw regret etched on his face.
"Why didn't you?"
Regulus stared at him for a long moment as if he were an idiot, and suddenly Remus remembered that Regulus had started Hogwarts when they'd been in their fourth year. He'd been in the service of the Death Eaters for two years, which meant....
"Oh."
Something hard and cold in Regulus's expression thawed slightly. He propped his chin on his hand. "I got twelve O.W.L.s," he said. "That's even more than Sirius. I was a Prefect my fifth year, and I probably would have been a candidate for Head Boy. But my father told me I'd go further in Voldemort's service."
"And here you are."
"Here I am," Regulus agreed. The words hung thick in the air between them, until finally Regulus sighed. "A glorified delivery boy and petty thief," he sighed.
Remus felt like he was walking on a tightrope, not quite sure what the right thing to say next would be. He watched, mute, as the emotions flickered across Regulus's face, bringing the resemblance between him and Sirius to the forefront. Then suddenly, he snapped out of it and balled up his paper.
"We'll have to go back to the Palace tomorrow," he said. "We never did find anything related to Rasputin."
Remus almost smacked himself in the forehead. "I totally forgot. I was just enjoying it too much."
Regulus sighed. "So was I."
***
It took them a week and a half to plan a strategy, and even then, both Regulus and Remus knew it was a paper thin one. The whole escapade was preposterous. Artifacts that had belonged to Rasputin were not prominently on display in the former Romanov home, and both of them were pretty sure that the reliquary would be under some sort of protection by wizards.
There were anti-Apparition wards on the entire palace, which shocked neither of them. Portkeys were not effective either. And the place was guarded not only by Muggles, but also by wizards. However, they'd done this before.
They finally discovered a weakness. "Ventilation shafts," Remus muttered. "Why is it always ventilation shafts?"
"It's a chimney," Regulus said.
"Same thing, in function. But it's still a cliché."
"I guess." Regulus pulled on black trous and a black shirt. "I know the cat burglar outfits we're wearing fall into that description, but ventilation shafts?"
"It's a cliché in cinema, at any rate," Remus said.
"Wouldn't know. Never been. Are you ready?"
Remus picked up his wand. "I'm ready."
It was easy to get in. Too easy, Remus thought as he followed Regulus through the chimney. It dumped them in a room that wasn't on the tour path, empty and dusty and dark.
"Lumos" Regulus muttered, and a faint light illuminated the tip of his wand. Remus stayed close, reluctant to light his own for fear of attracting more attention.
They crept through the rooms, searching. They'd come to the conclusion that anything belonging to Rasputin would be in the bowels of the palace, so they made their way down to the cellars.
"How do we even know it's still here?" Remus whispered. "What's to say that no one else ever stole it? Or looted it? For all we know, a Muggle could have it."
"The Dark Lord did a Locator Charm on it," Regulus confessed.
There was something wrong with that, and as they entered yet another room of the cellar, Remus realized what it was. "With all the secrecy that the Soviet Union hides behind, how could he do a Locator Charm?"
"He's powerful," was the best explanation that Regulus offered. He pulled out a sketch of the cellars of the palace that he and Remus had constructed from information that they could find in a Soviet library. "Look. If we're right, we might have some luck in the next room."
"No," Remus said suddenly as they stopped and another door appeared. "This is it."
The room they entered was dark, with thick layers of dust and heavy cobwebs on the surfaces and in the corners. It was a study, with a carved desk piled high with old papers and walls lined with books. Regulus moaned as he saw them, pulling one down and opening it with reverent fingers.
"Don't even think about it," Remus said, not able to hide his grin.
"But these are... they're... I mean, look at them! They're all books of magic!"
"They're also probably books of Dark Magic," Remus reminded him.
Regulus gave him a withering glare. "In case you've forgotten, Lupin, we are on a mission for the Death Eaters."
Remus pursed his lips and looked around again.
There were scrolls, sealed with black wax and piled half-hazardly. There were old, dusty quills, and dried up pots of ink. There was a shelf of trinkets and artifacts: chalices, jeweled boxes, bowls and pieces of jewelry. There was a Pensieve that Remus itched to look in, and a cabinet that, when opened, revealed shelves of potions ingredients.
"I wonder where his wand is," Remus whispered to Regulus.
"They probably broke it," Regulus decided. "See anything that looks like the reliquary?"
"I'll check the desk drawers."
"I'll take the cabinet," Regulus said.
As Remus pawed through the desk, he had a glimmer of what Regulus was saying earlier. There wasn't really much interesting in the desk; there was parchment, more ink, bits of twine and blobs of wax. In fact, it looked like the contents of pretty much any desk anywhere in the world, Remus supposed. It did give the Mad Monk a certain humanity.
He was musing about that when Regulus hissed at him. "I've found it," he said, brandishing a large crystal topped with a tarnished bronze piece.
"Great. Let's get out of here."
"But the books-"
"No. Let's just get-"
There was no warning; only a flash of light and then a deep voice booming, "Put your wands on the floor and put your hands behind your head."
They both froze.
There was an exchange in Russian, harsh voices and clear anger. Regulus sucked in his breath, and nudged Remus. When Remus turned, he saw Regulus's eyes wide open, and suddenly knew what he wanted.
Because Regulus wanted him to see it, it was right there on the surface, easy to find and easy to interpret. It was the translation of two words of the conversation: Kill them.
They had to get out of here, and now.
The blast was deafening. It had come from Regulus's wand, bringing down rubble and dust. "Run!" Regulus shouted, and Remus took off for the door.
Two wizards blocked his path, dressed in red robes. One was smiling, and it was a smile Remus had seen long before, years and years ago in nightmares and in childish reality. The wizard raised his wand, and Remus dove aside just as the Avada Kedavra was fired. The green bolt of light hit the potions cabinet and the sound of breaking glass echoed.
In the Soviet Union, the Killing Curse wasn't an offense for those who kept the peace.
He heard a cry of pain from Regulus and breathed a quick thankful gasp: pain was better than death. Then his attention was diverted back to the two wizards closing in on him.
Transfiguration had always been his friend in these situations. It was a sure enough way of reducing your enemy without resorting to killing them. But as Remus fired a transfiguration spell at one of the wizards, he saw the spell deflect and suddenly a pedestal became a rabbit. Beside him he heard Regulus swear, and he knew whatever Regulus had tried hadn't worked, either.
Seven wizards around them at least. They were closing in, their wands trained on them both. Beside him, he heard Regulus breathe in deep, and he knew that both of them would do the same thing.
In times of stress, they say your life passes before your eyes. It wasn't his life, per se, not in a series of images and pictures. But Remus was suddenly, intensely aware of the smell of his mother's perfume, the feel of canvas under his knuckles, the pain of a full moon, the taste of wine, the tickle of a teddy bear's fur, James and Peter and Sirius and their laughter, the tang of blood and the scent of fear and everything swirling together as he raised his wand.
A section of the ceiling fell, burying two screaming Soviet wizards under the avalanche. Remus was nearly sick, but he held on.
And beside him, Regulus raised his wand as well, pointing it at another approaching wizard.
"Avada Kedavra."
***
They were running, Remus and Regulus, running through the streets of Leningrad. Remus stumbled over a curb, and Regulus reached down to grab his arm, pulling him roughly to his feet. Their breath came in harsh sobs.
They stumbled into a park, and Regulus was the one to collapse on a bench. Remus bent over, hands on his knees as he gasped for air.
"We have to keep going," he said.
"Five of them," Regulus said, and there was a sob in his voice. "We killed five of them."
"I know." Somewhere deep inside, Remus was screaming. "But they would have killed us. We know that, Regulus." But Remus was shaking.
He'd killed two, in fear for both his life and Regulus's. He had never killed before. Not as a werewolf, not in the alley the night he and Lily were attacked, and not that night in his home, when his mother died, although there it was merely a lack of opportunity. He'd killed- something he'd tried his entire life not to do. And yet, that wasn't something he could think about now.
"We've got to get out of here," he said, standing up and putting his hands on his head, still trying to catch his breath. The spring breeze was cold against his sweat soaked shirt. "Regulus, we've got bigger problems."
Regulus looked up. "What do you mean?"
"Didn't you notice anything odd about the way they accosted us?"
Regulus's brow furrowed in thought as he replayed the scene, and Remus could see the precise moment where it all clicked together. "They spoke English," he said, suddenly. "They didn't even try Russian."
"Exactly," Remus said. "They knew we were coming."
***
Their flight from the Soviet Union was something of nightmares. They couldn't risk returning to the inn for their belongings, and they were in a strange country where they didn't know the Apparation points or the Wizarding society. Their fear heightened the darkness and they could both hear their hearts pounding in their ears.
They stole broomsticks. Regulus made a weak joke about how after what they'd done, broomstick theft seemed like a small crime, but Remus was nearly sick again, thinking that he was uncomfortable taking charity from well-meaning friends, and here he was actually stealing. But there was no time for another solution, and no time for conscience. And, some part of Remus admitted, Regulus probably did have a point.
In the cold air above unfamiliar country, clarity began to return. Guilt churned in his gut, and as he looked at Regulus, flying beside him, he knew Regulus felt the same way. Remus wondered if this was the first time that Regulus had used the Killing Curse. From the miserable hunched shoulders and the bowed head, he suspected it was.
But then, Remus realized, it wasn't only guilt haunting Regulus. There were not many people in the world who knew where they were and what they were going to do, and Remus would bet money that Sirius hadn't been sending anonymous tips to Soviet guards about his whereabouts. Someone in the Death Eaters- perhaps even Voldemort himself- wanted him and Regulus dead.
It wasn't a terribly chilling thought to Remus. After all, if Voldemort ever truly suspected what he was, his life was forfeit anyway. But Remus had never even met the man, whereas Regulus had seen fit to swear service.
But guilt and loyalty were abstract things at the moment. The next question was how to get out of the country alive, and once they did, what happened next.
Hours later, just before the sun broke over the horizon, they landed. "I've got to stop," Regulus admitted, his teeth chattering. "I'm freezing."
Remus nodded, rubbing his own arms for warmth. "Where do you think we are?" he asked. He looked around.
They'd landed in a meadow of sorts; a desolate wasteland- or at least, it looked it in the gray light of a cold pre-dawn. Regulus breathed on his hands, looking around. "I have no idea," he finally confessed. "Maybe Lithuania. But it's going to take us days to get out of the Soviet Union if we keep taking brooms."
"How about Portkeys?" Remus asked. "We really just need to get out of the country and home."
"We can take a train home," Regulus mused. "You still have your papers on you, right?"
"Right. But they'll be looking for us?"
"No." Regulus shook his head. "Not outside the country, I don't think."
"I hate to remind you, but we killed five wizards. We're wanted criminals."
Regulus shook his head impatiently. "It will drop. The Soviet Ministry has enough problems without searching for us. Once we're outside the country- or at least out from behind the Iron Curtain- we'll be fine."
"If you say so," Remus said doubtfully. "So how do we get out of the country, and how do we get home from there?"
"The second is easy. The first..." Regulus scratched his chin. "The Soviet Union is a big country. I can't imagine the anti-Apparition spells take up the entire border."
"Or we could not Apparate. Sneak out the Muggle way."
Regulus dug through his pockets, and finally pulled out a map. "I did bring this," he said. "Just in case. Dolohov gave it to me. I think we can trust it."
"If you say so," Remus said.
"It's not like we have much of a choice. But he did defect from the Soviet Union." Remus nodded and peered at the map. "He told me he left here." Regulus jabbed at a section of the border. "There's no wizarding guards right here, or at least, there weren't when he left. Probably because it's so heavily guarded by the Muggles. However, anti-Apparition spells are extremely heavy there, as are a few others. We can't just walk through, of that I'm sure. I'm guessing it will be like in the Imperial Palace; we won't know what they've put there until we get there."
"Great." But it was the best plan they had.
It took them a full day to reach the border; a full day of harrowed silences and constantly glancing over their shoulders, ready and waiting for the entire Red Army to come after them. A full day of no food and minimal water, because they only had what they'd carried into the Palace, and they couldn't risk stopping anywhere. All day Remus imagined everything that could go wrong- and there were so many scenarios- that the day and the countryside seemed interminable.
Finally, they landed in a dense forest. There were watch towers, and from here Remus could see the small forms of Muggle guards keeping a lookout. Regulus landed beside him, breathing heavily. Remus could see that his shoulders were shaking. However, his face was set in harsh lines, firm with resolve.
"I've been thinking about it," Regulus said. "We know there's an anti-Apparition spell in effect. We could try a Portkey, but I suspect that that's no good, either. It would be too easy."
Remus nodded. "So any ideas?"
"You're good at Transfiguration," Regulus said, and Remus nearly fell over with shock at the casual way Regulus paid him a compliment. "We could do human Transfiguration."
"Regulus-"
"No, hear me out. This should work. The kind of charms they'd lay on the border to prevent people from flying out would be the kind that would cause broomsticks to fail, right? Braking charms and the lot? Any sort of barrier would be too hard to keep up over the entire border. Plus, Muggles would notice with birds falling dead and their airplanes, right?"
"I guess," Remus said doubtfully.
"So, you Transfigure me into something that can fly, like a winged horse or a hippogriff. I'll carry you over the border, high enough that the Muggle guards won't see us.
"I could do that. But what if there's some sort of anti-Transfiguration work, you turn back into a human, and we both fall to a gruesome death from seven hundred feet in the air?"
Regulus shrugged. "Then Voldemort gets his wish, doesn't he? Both you and I are dead."
***
Human Transfiguration was difficult, but it was something Remus had worked at until he could accomplish it perfectly. The truth was that he'd always been a bit jealous of the others' Animagus powers (even if they had gained them for him), and had felt a little inadequate as well. It had come in handy, both in struggles with Death Eaters and... at other times. (James had never quite forgiven him for that time seventh year when Remus had turned him into a wombat, and it had been worth every second of the month's detention he'd served.) But human Transfiguration still carried its risks, and Remus always had that flash of nerves right before he did the spell. He felt the shaft of fear down his spine as he spoke the words, and then Regulus was gone and a winged horse was standing in front of him, pawing at the ground.
The winged horse was black, with a clipped mane and deep, dark wings. There was an elegance to him that Remus found almost laughable, just given what a shaggy mutt Sirius made when he transformed. They stared at each other, and the eyes that met Remus's were startled, but still reflected the human intelligence and haughty pride that characterized Regulus.
Remus hesitated for a moment, and then the winged horse nudged him with his nose, tossing his head back in an indication to mount. He reached out and touched the black mane hesitantly, and then clambered up. The winged horse reared back, and with a powerful leap they were airborne.
Remus had ridden brooms before, many times. He'd always loved the freedom of flight and the wind rushing through his hair. He'd ridden Sirius's motorcycle, and loved that even more, especially with his arms around Sirius's waist and the scent of leather in his nostrils. He'd even once ridden a hippogriff, during a Care of Magical Creatures lesson. But nothing in his life had been like this.
The winged horse's flanks were strong and warm beneath his legs, and the motion of the wings rippled the muscles beneath him. He clung to the neck as he leaned forward, soft, hot hair beneath his hands and cheek. They were soaring, the trees dwindling to tiny toys beneath them, and then Remus saw the watchtowers pass below him. Nothing happened. Regulus didn't turn back into a human, they didn't hit a wall of death rays or static... they just flew over the border.
He'd expected they'd land immediately, but the winged horse continued to fly, dipping and soaring through the sky. Several of the maneuvers sent Remus's stomach plummeting through his mouth and made him clutch at the neck for dear life, but when the winged horse looked back, Regulus's eyes were amused.
Finally they landed, and Remus slid off, his legs shaking and his heart in his throat, adrenaline coursing through him. He took a deep breath and pulled out his wand, and then Regulus was standing in front of him again, laughing and exuberant.
"That was great!" Regulus said, nearly bouncing where he stood. "I mean, that was bloody brilliant, flying like that! Wings!" Remus laughed, although he was feeling rather shaken himself between the two Transfigurations, the flight, and the escape. "If I thought I could do it, I would have flown us all the way back to England!" Regulus exclaimed. "As it is, when we get to the ocean, let's do it again. Turn me into a winged horse again and I'll fly you all the way home!"
"But until then, let's find a train station," Remus said, but without any heat. In the moonlight and in the aftermath, Regulus's face had softened. His eyes were bright and he was smiling with pure joy, something Remus had never seen from him. And for once, he looked like the seventeen year old boy he was. "We really do need to get home. And there's a lot to figure out."
"I know. But, oh! If I could fly like that again.... You know, my mother once wanted to attempt the Animagus transformation. If I could turn into something with wings on demand..."
"You don't pick the animal you turn into," Remus reminded him.
"I know," Regulus said. "But imagine you could." He kept up a steady stream of monologue as Remus performed a Locator Charm to find the nearest train station and then began spelling a Portkey. He was still talking when they were seated in a comfortable compartment and Remus drifted off to sleep, the sound of Regulus's happiness in his ears.
It was still dark when he woke. Regulus had turned on the light in their compartment, and was now curled in a corner, staring out the window at the darkness.
"Is everything all right?" he asked Regulus. Regulus nodded mutely, and Remus rubbed his eyes. "No one's after us?"
"They'd have caught us by now if we were," Regulus said. "We weren't that subtle." His hand drifted to his side to caress the book he'd been reading. Automatically, Remus glanced at the title, and his eyes widened in shock as he saw the Cyrillic letters.
"That's one of the books from Rasputin's library!" he said.
"Yes. One Rasputin wrote himself."
"Regulus! I said-"
"I know what you said. Shut up."
Remus was certainly used to hearing far worse from Regulus, but after their time in the Soviet Union and especially their escape, the harsh tone stung. He looked at the book again, but he couldn't tell anything about it, except that it seemed like it would be full of Dark Magic. Regulus went back to staring out the window, his face troubled. He was lost in thought already.
Remus looked at the book again, and wondered if the bad feeling he got was just nerves or an unprecedented premonition.
On to Part 2
Author: lupinslittlesis
Rating: PG-13
Length: About 17,400 words
Summary: Remus is spying on the Death Eaters, with a mission to save one single soul.
Author's Notes: This is a subplot from my WIP Accidentally in Love. It's pretty much been lifted word-for-word, with a little clarification to make it work for non-Accidentally in Love readers. A minor "warning", Accidentally in Love is Remus/Sirius-centric. Crawling in the Dark does not focus on that at all, but there are extremely minor mentions of it, if that particular ship really annoys you. And thanks to ignipes for looking this over, and aome for the initial betas!
Also, there is a wonderful illustration for the end of this fic, done by the fabulous neptunus.
Remus supposed he'd been expecting green smoke and fanfare, more torture, more pain. What he got instead was a knock on the door.
He answered it with trepidation, and only found three Death Eaters standing there.
Well, that was something.
What do you say to Death Eaters? "Won't you come in and have some tea?" really seemed inappropriate, as did "may I take your cloak?" He stepped aside, wordlessly, watching the three robed figures walk into the flat.
They all wore black robes. Black robes and strange white masks that hid their faces, making them seem like nightmares from an ancient Greek play. Remus studied them carefully. One was a woman; he could tell from the shape of her hands and the carefully filed nails. The other two were men; a tall one with exceedingly hairy knuckles and broad shoulders, the other more slender and with aristocratic, finely formed hands and a ring bearing the Black crest.
Perhaps there was some relief in that as well.
"Sit," the tall one commanded, and Remus obeyed. "You have sworn your service to Voldemort," he continued, and Remus nodded, although privately he thought 'had your service exacted out of you via torture' was a far more accurate description of events. "It is time to put your words into action."
It would be so much easier not to laugh if the Death Eater didn't insist on talking like someone out of a bad Muggle action movie, Remus thought. Not, of course, that this was a laughing matter.
"What do you want me to do?" he asked.
"The Westminster Abbey. You know it?"
"Of course."
The Death Eater waved his wand and a scroll materialized. "There is a stone called the Stone of Scone. It is under the Coronation Chair in a chapel. The Dark Lord has a need for it. You will get it. Understood?"
"And if I don't?" Remus asked cautiously.
"We can find your father quite easily," the Death Eater said, his eyes lighting up behind that mask. Beyond him, the Death Eater that was Regulus shook his head once, emphasizing the words, not denying them. "Do we need to do that?"
"No," Remus said, his throat suddenly dry. "That's not necessary."
"Good. One of our agents will meet you at the Abbey at five o'clock tomorrow night. Be ready."
They left. The spokesman and the woman swept out, as if Remus had ceased to exist, and Regulus followed in their wake. He hesitated, just for a second, with his hand on the door, but he was gone before Remus could say a word.
Not that he expected differently, really.
He was surprised to find that his legs were trembling and his robe was wet with sweat. He took a few deep breaths, just enough to pull himself together, and then fumbled for a parchment and quill to send a message to Sirius before he went to shower and change.
***
By five o'clock Remus sat on a bench outside the Abbey, dressed in Muggle jeans and two sweatshirts and eating an apple he'd bought. Not that he really had an appetite, but it gave his hands something to do.
Regulus had suddenly appeared beside him, wearing thick, warm robes of what looked like soft wool and blowing on gloved hands. Remus hadn't seen Regulus in years. He'd grown much taller, whippet thin and with sharp, high cheekbones and his black hair cropped close to his head. The style and his face accentuated ice blue eyes and haughty expression, and Remus thought he couldn't look less like Sirius if he tried.
"Why are you dressed like that?" Regulus demanded, eyeing Remus's jeans with loathing.
"Far less conspicuous," Remus explained.
Regulus snorted. "Muggles don't notice us anyway."
"It's not Muggles I'm worried about noticing me," Remus snapped. "So this is your way of helping me? Arranging for me to break into the Westminster Abbey and steal something?"
"Yes," Regulus said, eyes meeting Remus's squarely for the first time ever. "They originally wanted you as part of a raid on a family of half-bloods. I convinced them that you were better brains than brawn. It took some doing."
Remus rolled his eyes. "And the difference is?"
Regulus returned the gesture. "You don't have to kill anyone."
"I just make it possible for them to kill more people."
"That's one way to look at it, but I'd rather not. Look, I did the best I could. Believe me, it was this or that."
"Thank you then, I guess," Remus relented with a sigh. "And in return?"
"We work together. If we pull this off, they'll keep us on assignments like this. Otherwise, it's back to plunder, pillage and rape."
Remus cringed. "Not your forte?" Regulus fixed him with an icy glare. It was an expression his face was particularly well suited for. Remus held up his hands. "Fine. I'm sorry."
"Look. You don't like me, and I assure you, the feeling is more than mutual."
"Did it ever occur to you that might be why I don't like you?" Remus cursed himself silently. Regulus had a way of getting under his skin within seconds.
"I never bothered to care," Regulus said, with the simple air of truth. "You're a Mud- a halfblood and a faggot, and now I know you're a werewolf as well."
"Then why are you helping me?" Remus demanded.
Regulus sighed and sank down on the bench, suddenly looking very young. "I don't know," he admitted. "I won't pretend I wanted to. In fact, I actually volunteered to go along when I found out they were going to your house, and I knew what was going to happen. But when I was there, it bothered me. It's bothered me before, lots of times. But I never knew the people."
Remus sat down beside him. "What did you expect?"
"I'm not sure," Regulus admitted. "Maybe something like Slytherin, where we sat around and talked about things. Or getting into the Ministry and making laws. Or at least something quick and painless, and just people who deserved it. Not this." He shook himself. "Look. It doesn't matter what I expected. The fact is I'm here, you're here, and we've got a job to do. If we do it right, it's better for both of us, and nothing else matters."
"If you say so," Remus muttered, but he stood up and scanned the building. "So, what's the plan?"
"Plan? They're Muggles. We're wizards. How much of a plan do we need?"
Remus stifled a sigh and some choice sharp words about the importance of plans. Just like Sirius... willing to rush in without thinking. He studied the people around carefully.
"Why don't we just Apparate in and back out?" Regulus asked.
"Been inside enough to know exactly where you're going?"
"No."
"Me neither, and I don't fancy ending up in a wall. Do you think any wizards have put protection spells on the Abbey?"
"You'd know better than me," Regulus pointed out. "It's your side that would do it."
"Not really. Anyone could have done it. Anyone who felt that the Abbey should be protected."
"So what do we do?"
"Let me think."
"There are security guards. We could knock two out, steal their uniforms, and sneak in that way."
"Regulus," Remus sighed, trying to be patient. "Have you been sneaking into the Muggle cinema?"
Regulus had the grace to flush. "It could work," he insisted stubbornly. "There are guards around."
"Fair point," Remus conceded. He sighed.
"Or a monk," Regulus mused.
Remus shook his head. "They'll know each other."
"They'll know the security guards, too. If we do the monk thing we can keep our faces covered with hoods."
"Because they wear hoods indoors."
"Look, fuckwit-"
"Sorry! All right. How about this. You transfigure your robes to look like the robes the monks wear. We'll say I lost my camera and you're escorting me in."
"Um, genius?" Regulus said, pointing to a "no photography allowed" sign. "I don't think that's the best idea."
"Well, what you suggest then?"
Regulus smiled slyly. "Wedding ring. You lost your wedding ring. Anyone would be upset over that."
"All right then. Let's go."
***
They entered the Abbey with ease, once they got started. (Regulus needed to be reminded that at his young age, he'd better stick to highly unornamented robes, but aside from that, his Transfiguration was better than Remus had been expecting.) A security guard stopped them, but Regulus explained that this was his older brother and he'd lost his wedding ring and was in mortal danger from his wife, and the security guard had chuckled and let them through.
"I can't believe you pulled that off," Remus hissed when they were out of earshot.
Regulus shrugged cockily. "I'm good."
"We'll see. Let's get this stupid stone. Which way to the Chapel of Edward the Confessor?"
"Are you sure it's there?"
"Yes. It's in the Coronation Chair."
"How do you know?"
"The stone spoke to me in my dreams. I looked it up," Remus snapped. "Let's go."
They found their way with little effort, and fortunately no services were in progress. The Muggle part of Remus wondered ironically at the interference of God, but he shut that up immediately. "All right," he whispered. "Let's get spells on the doors."
Regulus locked the doors, and Remus laid quick distraction spells on them. They wouldn't hold long, but then, they wouldn't need long.
"It's in the chair?" Regulus said, studying it carefully. "Wow. Look at this. I've never seen so much graffiti."
"The chair of kings, and schoolboys carve their names on it," Remus chuckled, well aware that if they had ever toured Westminster Abbey there would be a clear MWPP on the back of the chair as well (or, if Sirius had his way, the front).
Regulus sniffed. "Disrespect."
"The chair is meant for Muggle kings," Remus pointed out with amusement. "It's kind of ugly, isn't it? Very plain, old wood..."
Regulus sniffed again. "True aristocracy doesn't require ostentation. So this is it? This big block of stone under the seat?"
"I guess so." Remus aimed his wand. "Let's miniaturize it and get out of here."
"Wait," Regulus said. "I'll miniaturize it. You Transfigure something else to look like it. If the Muggles know it's gone...."
"Good point." Remus looked around and found a hymnal. He wasn't sure that the job would fool someone who knew every crevice of the stone, but it was pretty close. "Hurry up."
"I can't!" Regulus said. "I can't miniaturize it!"
"What? Here, let me." Remus might have been skeptical to start, but the stone resisted his efforts to miniaturize it as well. "Shit. I knew this was too easy."
"How do we get it out? It's too big to carry."
"Some way that someone didn't think of." Remus tried Transfiguring it, but no luck there, either.
"Use a Switching spell and switch it with a hymnal?" Regulus suggested frantically.
No luck.
"We'll have to carry it. Can we levitate it?"
Regulus tried. "Nope. All right. Two guys carrying out something heavy. How do we cover that?"
"We don't," Remus sighed, hitting his forehead as the obvious occurred to him. "We just make a Portkey and get out of here."
***
Whoever had laid spells on the Stone of Scone was either a.) an idiot, b.) didn't REALLY care if the Stone got stolen, c.) was planning on stealing it himself and allowed for some way to get the Stone out of the building, or d.) was born before Portkeys were invented. Either way, Remus and Regulus found themselves sprawled in Remus and Sirius's flat with the Stone of Scone between them and a crumpled missive in Remus's hand.
"Wow." Regulus struggled to right himself.
"Yeah. Wow," Remus echoed.
"We did it, didn't we?"
Remus looked at the large stone. "Our parents would be so proud," he muttered. "So now what?"
"Can we Transfigure it here?" Regulus wondered, and tried miniaturizing it. The Stone shrunk to half its size. "Good. I'll take it to the Death Eaters."
Remus nodded, not exactly sure what to say to that.
"I'll get in touch with you. I also told them they'd be best off contacting you through owl, given that you live with an Auror."
Remus leaned back on his hands, watching as Regulus stood up and dusted himself off. "Do they expect me to get rid of Sirius?"
"No, actually. I told them you two were, um...." Regulus blushed at Remus's arched eyebrow. "Well, I told them you were a faggot and that you and my brother were... you're not, are you?"
"I suspect you don't really want to know the answer to that."
Regulus's face contorted with disgust. "I'll owl," he said, and with that Disapperated. Remus wasn't sorry to see him go.
He wished Sirius was home, but in a way it was for the best. He'd just completed his first successful mission for the enemy. It left him with a dirty, unpleasant, nauseated feeling, and an undeniable feeling of loathing. Perhaps it was best that Sirius wasn't here.
With a deep sigh, he lit the fire to Floo to Dumbledore's office to report in person.
***
Dumbledore had merely been amused when Remus told him about the raid on Westminster Abbey, and had only been slightly more concerned when last night Remus and Regulus had been sent to steal a book from an old library. Of course, it was always hard to tell what Dumbledore was thinking. Remus had been able to pry two possible names from Regulus (neither of which were given voluntarily), but he was realizing that the disadvantage to Regulus's plan was that he would never be in to deeper Death Eater circles.
"It's not a matter for worry, my boy," Dumbledore had assured him. "What you tell me is certainly valuable, and even if young Mr. Black had a better plan, you would not be permitted in the inner circles of Death Eaters, given your heritage. That's not what I'm expecting of you."
"Then what are you expecting?" Remus asked.
"Any information you can give me," Dumbledore answered, unusually humbly. "I must confess, Mr. Lupin, that we are in a very grave position."
"Sir, my Legilimency still isn't what it should be to be doing this."
"You are still at an elementary point, yes, although you do remarkably well for someone who has studied as short a time as you have, Remus," Dumbledore admitted. "But Legilimens are not a dime a dozen, and we must make do with what we have."
"But-"
"I am most grateful for any information you can give me," Dumbledore repeated. "And who knows? Perhaps you will be able to convince some people that they're paths are misguided."
It had been most depressing, but at the same time comforting to know that he wasn't expected to penetrate the innermost circles and practice Legilimancy on Voldemort. (Particularly good given that while sometimes he could get useful information out of Regulus, more often he got impressions of wanting a ham sandwich or memories of the Slytherin common room and a girl named Leah who never really seemed all that interested anyway.) Remus shook his head and left, feeling almost as lost as when he'd arrived.
***
Remus had always hated going to the Werewolf Registry Office for those bimonthly updates, and now that he dealt almost exclusively with Macnair, it was nearly unbearable. But Macnair had been more valuable than Remus had anticipated, and the Order had been able to thwart three minor attacks and one major one. So, distasteful as it was, Remus could accept it. But that didn't mean he had to enjoy doing it.
He hadn't expected anything unusual today, which was why he was so surprised when, after the obligatory questions and the addition of two minor regulations to the Werewolf Code of Conduct, Macnair handed him a sheaf of parchment.
"Here are your travel papers," he said.
"Travel papers?" Remus said, finding it hard to speak against the lump in his throat and the unwelcome surge in his stomach.
"Yes. I am afraid they are rather thick, but the Soviet Union is a bit, well..." Macnair grinned wryly.
"Regulated," Remus finished, his hand reaching out.
"Very much so," Macnair agreed.
Remus stared down at the pile of papers, bound together with a gleaming silver clip, stamped and signed and declaring that Remus Lupin, werewolf, had clearance to travel to Leningrad.
"Wait a minute," he said slowly. "I'm not going to Leningrad."
"Yes, you are," Macnair said, flashing another smile. "I've also been asked to give you this." He handed Remus a sealed scroll, with the Dark Mark stamped into the wax. "You should be pleased. These orders come from very high up indeed."
Remus nodded, probing for exactly how high up. To his absolute delight, he managed to get a clear picture and a voice he recognized as Lucius Malfoy. Macnair didn't seem to notice. "The Dark Lord must be very pleased with you, because this is an assignment I didn't expect him to delegate to... well, to you and..." Macnair waved a hand, leaning back comfortably. "I didn't expect it. But you've done well."
Remus nodded again and stared back at the papers. "So we're to go to Leningrad..." he said, his voice trailing off in wonder.
"Yes. You've not been there before, have you?"
"No. Never. But..." it was unfolding fast, the implications. The Soviet Union had such a terrible reputation, but such a fascinating history, and he'd seen pictures. And if Voldemort's pattern was like it usually was, their mission would take them to a museum at least, but more likely a historical landmark. Maybe the Winter Palace. Maybe the Kirov Palace. Maybe....
"Well then, if you don't have any more questions?" Macnair prompted, and Remus looked up suddenly, tearing his mind away from the visions he was conjuring.
"No, I think I understand. Thank you."
Macnair inclined his head. "No. The Dark Lord thanks you."
***
The wail of the train's whistle echoed through the station, and Remus and Regulus sprinted to catch it, throwing themselves up the steps just in time. It was a small train, with only two passenger cars and the rest meant for cargo, but an unoccupied compartment was still easy to come by.
"We would have been here earlier if you hadn't had to stop and see that church," Regulus groused as they settled in their seats.
"We made it in time," Remus pointed out.
"Barely. This isn't a sight-seeing tour, Lupin. We're here on orders from the Dark Lord."
"But I'll..." Remus broke off, annoyed. "Never mind."
To his surprise, Regulus cocked his head. "But you what?"
"It's nothing."
"No. If you're going to drag me around the historical sites of Berlin, you're going to explain why." Regulus arched an eyebrow at him. "But you what?" he repeated.
"I'll probably never have the chance to see Berlin again," Remus muttered, sorting through his bag and pulling out a book.
"Well, whyever not?" Regulus asked. "Just get my brother," his lips twisted distastefully on the words, "to bring you back when all this is over."
"The Werewolf Registry won't let me come back."
"They will if the Dark Lord is in power."
"I doubt it," Remus said darkly.
"He's promised Dark Creatures who serve him their rights," Regulus said. The tone of his voice was petulant, and Remus noticed that his eyes lacked any fire of conviction.
"Look," he said, choosing his words as carefully as possible, trying not to sound too excited, "all through history dictators and governments have made promises like that. 'Fight for us and we'll give you your freedom.'"
"They follow through," Regulus argued. "Look at the American Civil War. Convicts were granted their freedom to fight for the South, and that wasn't retracted."
Remus raised his eyebrows, impressed. "That might be so, legally," he said. "And maybe it would happen for a few years. But the old prejudices never die, and you can never tell what will happen. Maybe Voldemort would give me my rights. But would a new Headmaster at Hogwarts hire me to teach? Would a shop owner still employ me? No. People would eventually be calling for Voldemort to hunt me down and stamp me out, and if he didn't do it, they'd do it on their own. Regulus, just look at the country we're going to to see how political promises don't pan out. Communism was supposed to bring wealth and prosperity for all. From what I understand, it hasn't. Promises are never kept."
Regulus sniffed. "You're a pessimist. And I hardly think comparing the Dark Lord to Lenin is accurate. Their ideologies are completely different."
"But the concept of promises made during wars is not," Remus argued.
"Answer me this, then," Regulus said. "At least the Dark Lord promises you your rights, which is far more than your side does. So how could anything he does be worse than what you have now?"
"You know how you asked me why I don't just go with Sirius when all this is over?" Remus asked.
"Yes."
"If Voldemort wins, there won't be a Sirius to go with. He'll be dead." Remus opened his book. "Now shut up and let me read."
***
They sat in silence all morning, Remus reading a mystery novel and Regulus working his way through Grindewald's Ghosts, a book Remus had always meant to read and never had about those who suffered in the 1940's. It struck him as an odd book for a young Death Eater to be reading, but perhaps the author would be a more powerful force on Regulus's mind than a half-blooded gay werewolf had the power to be. After a while he set down his own book and stared at out the window at the countryside rushing past, until his eyes grew heavy and sleep overtook him.
When we woke up Regulus was staring out the window chewing on his fingernails, a waxed paper packet beside him.
"Where are we?" Remus asked groggily, shaking his head to clear it.
Regulus jumped. "Poland, I think," he said absently. "Do you want something to eat?" He held out the packet. "The lunch cart came by. I got a sandwich, but I wasn't hungry." He leaned down and picked up a bottle. "I got you a drink as well."
It was without a doubt the most thoughtful (probably only thoughtful) gesture that Regulus had extended towards him. "Thank you," Remus said, taking the sandwich and the bottle. Regulus just shook his head and went back to staring out the window. Remus ate in silence.
"Do I look like my brother?" Regulus asked suddenly.
"Pardon?"
"Half the people I know say I look like him," Regulus said, now staring down at his hands, "but the other half say we look nothing alike. Do I look like him?"
"I can tell you're brothers," Remus answered thoughtfully. "Especially in the nose and jawline. But no, you don't look exactly like him or anything." He took a bite and chewed slowly. "Actually, you look more like I'd have throught your Uncle Alphard would have looked when he was our age."
"How the... did you know Alphard?"
"Yes." Remus took another bite. "Did you?"
"Why you impenitent-" Regulus began, but something in his head stopped whatever that line of thought was and he turned angrily back to the window. "Not really," he admitted after a long silence. "He was always traveling, and when he did come he was closer to Sirius. I always thought he didn't like me." Regulus chuckled dryly. "He probably didn't. He didn't like any of the Blacks much, did he?"
"He didn't like your father, no."
"But he believed in blood purity."
"Yes," Remus sighed. "He said so when Sirius ran away from home."
"That's what I've never understood," Regulus said, leaning forward suddenly. "I know he was upset when Sirius ran. When I saw him after that, he was kind of... well, it tore everyone in the family apart. Alphard was no exception. But he left Sirius his money anyway. Why?"
"Do you really want to know?" Remus asked. Regulus answered the question with a disdainful sneer, and Remus heaved a sigh. "All right, I get it. He was a werewolf."
Regulus blinked. "Who, Sirius?"
"No, Alphard. That's how I know him. We met at the Registry when I was ten, and we wrote for almost five years." Now Remus looked out the window, surprised at the tears pressing against his eyes. He blinked rapidly and his vision cleared. "But he told Sirius. And Sirius accepted it. That's why."
"Alphard didn't die of pneumonia, did he?" Regulus asked, catching on quickly.
"No."
"Does Sirius know that?"
"I don't know, to be honest. I've never told him, but Sirius is smart enough to put it together. He certainly knows the consequences if a werewolf kills and is captured."
Regulus sat back against the seat, thinking about it. "Do you think Uncle Alphard would have joined the Dark Lord?"
"No. I remember him saying something about it in a letter. Something about not being able to trust anyone who's after that much power. He was right. Voldemort isn't trying to work for the people he wants to rule- he wants power for himself. Voldemort's first- and only- priority is to Voldemort. Your uncle didn't trust him at all."
Regulus sighed and picked his book back up. "Sometimes, I can see why." He turned back to the book, indicating the conversation was over.
Remus picked up his own book, trying to still the hope that was burgeoning in him.
***
The train stopped, and Remus opened his eyes. "Border guards," he muttered unnecessarily, stretching. Regulus was still staring out the window, lost in thought.
It was a wizarding train, so Remus wasn't expecting men in uniform or... what was he expecting, anyway? He wasn't sure. What he got was a pair of wizards, both in red robes. The one had a bored, slackened look about him, whereas the second had a more pinched, strained expression. Neither one smiled. Remus gave Regulus (who had snapped out of his trance) a significant look, and Regulus rolled his eyes.
"Documenti, pozhalujsta," the sour-faced wizard snapped.
"Govorite li vy po angliyski?" Regulus asked.
"Nyet. Documenti, pozhalujsta."
Regulus sighed. "Get your papers out," he hissed at Remus, who really had been smart enough to figure that out and had done so. He handed them to Regulus, who handed them over to the border guards. They were snatched out of Regulus's hands, and the two guards poured over them, conversing in rapid Russian.
"Do you have any idea of what they're saying?" Remus asked quietly.
"Yes." There was a deathly silence from the two guards as they turned and looked at Remus, and then one short, angry word that sounded more like a curse than anything else.
"They just found that you're a werewolf," Regulus informed him.
"You think so?" Remus shot back sarcastically. Regulus fixed him with an icy glare of death. Remus rolled his eyes back and sat back, trying to act casual and as if the expression of the Soviet wizards wasn't affecting him in the least.
The truth was, it bothered him every time he saw it, and these days he was seeing it more and more often.
For some reason- perhaps because it was what he was used to- Remus was expecting trouble, but after a thorough examination the guards shoved their papers back at them and left the compartment. Eventually, the train lurched into motion again, and Remus peered out the window. The countryside didn't look any different, despite the fact they were in a completely different world than what he'd grown up in, but he was convinced it felt different. Regulus snorted again- his favorite means of expression- but Remus noticed he seemed just as fascinated as well, he just hid it better.
"So this is the Soviet Union," Remus finally said, just because it seemed like they should have some way of marking getting this far.
"Bugger off," Regulus said, picking up a new book.
Remus couldn't help laughing when he saw that it was We the Living.
***
The train lurched to a stop, the air clogged with soot and smoke. Remus peered out eagerly, ignoring Regulus's long-suffering sigh.
When Sirius traveled, Remus told himself that cities were cities, and places like Prague and Budapest and Paris and Frankfurt were probably very much like London or Dublin, only with different landmarks. He knew it wasn't true, but he forced himself to believe it anyway.
Now here was Leningrad spread before him, and Remus couldn't wait to jump off the train and explore it all.
"We'll have to find someplace to stay," Regulus was saying as he shrank his current book (Merlin's Trousers: The Life and Times of The Greatest Wizard Ever) and slipped it into his bag. "I have a list of places." They walked off the train and stepped down onto the platform, and Regulus looked about with a pleased expression. "We'll find something."
Remus nodded, but he wasn't really listening. Everywhere around him he could hear people talking in Russian. The language was so different from English, with sharp, crisp syllables and a completely different inflection to the words. Signs hung from the ceiling and on the wall, all in the Cyrillic alphabet which seemed more like an Ancient Runes test than a proper language to him. And everywhere, people were moving about their business. He was disappointed to see that they were dressed much like the Muggles he saw in London. The hats were a bit different, and perhaps the cut of the coats, but nothing overly exotic. Secretly, he hoped wizards were not the same.
Regulus was moving through the throng impatiently, peering up at signs and comparing them to a sheet of paper he was holding in his hand. Remus followed him out of the depot and into the street, completely lost and not caring in the least as his eyes took in the city of Leningrad.
Amazingly, Regulus did seem to know exactly where he was going. He walked through the streets with a quick, confident step, not looking around much except to glance at signs. Remus suddenly noticed for the first time that Regulus was wearing a plain robe that was obviously second-hand and wasn't wearing his ring, and as he looked around the street he decided that might not have been a bad idea. From what Remus knew of Soviet history, advertising that you were a member of the aristocracy of any sort was a bad idea.
But despite that, Leningrad wasn't quite what Remus was expecting. The little he'd read about Soviet Russia led him to expect extreme poverty visible everywhere, gray, grim faces, and guards constantly marching. And yet, Leningrad was reputed as one of the Soviet Union's most beautiful cities, and he could see that in the architecture, particularly the spire of the Peter and Paul Fortress, the dome of St. Isaac's Cathedral, and the Church of the Savior on the Spilled Blood. He was lost in thought about it when he crashed into Regulus, who had stopped suddenly. "This is it," Regulus informed him, as the inn appeared before them. It was a shabby little place, with the smell of onions and dill coming from a kitchen in the back. Remus followed Regulus in.
Regulus conversed with the innkeeper, a thin man with a consumptive face. Remus had to admit that he was impressed. As far as he knew, Sirius wasn't multilingual. He could speak English impeccably (when he so chose) and some smatterings of French (including all the dirty words), but nothing fluent. Not like the way Regulus was talking. Regulus slid a few Galleons across the tabletop and the innkeeper returned a pair of keys, and then gestured for them to follow him as he lead them to their room.
It wasn't as comfortable as those in the Leaky Cauldron, but there were two beds, both spread with faded red rugs. The wooden floor was bare, there was a small dresser, and a print with garish colors hanging over the lamp between the two beds. "I've never cared for Soviet art," Regulus said once the innkeeper had left them. "It's very block-like and crude."
Remus set his bag down on one of the beds. "Where are we?" he asked. "And don't tell me Leningrad," he said as Regulus opened his mouth. Regulus shut it promptly. "Where in Leningrad are we?"
Regulus pulled out a map and unfolded it, sitting down on his own bed. "We're here," he said, jabbing at an intersection. "The old Imperial Palace is over here." He pointed at a place halfway across the town. "There's an inn slightly closer, but I didn't want to be too obvious about what we're here for."
"And the Palace?" Remus asked. "What's that like?"
"Hard to say for sure," Regulus answered, rubbing his chin. "It's considered a State Museum now, but I don't think it's terribly well guarded, at least not by Muggles. From what I understand of Communism, any relation to the past and the bourgeois is deemed unpatriotic. So hopefully, the relics of the Imperial past have pretty much settled into dust under nice pretty glass cases. It shouldn't be any harder than some of the other jobs we've had."
"We can hope," Remus muttered, far less optimistic. "What about wizards? Rasputin was reputed to be one of the most powerful wizards ever. Surely they would guard anything to do with him- or destroy it. How do we even know this reliquary that Voldemort wants even still exists?"
"The Dark Lord said it does."
"Helpful," Remus muttered. "What does he want it for, anyway?"
Regulus shrugged. "I don't know. It doesn't make that much sense. I've read up on Rasputin, of course, and the only connection I can make between him and the Dark Lord is the quest for immortality. You've heard the story of Rasputin's death, right?"
"Poisoned, shot, drowned, and by some reports castrated?" Remus asked.
"Exactly. The Muggle history I read-"
"Wait. You read a Muggle history?"
Regulus glared at him. "Yes. Rasputin was a rare wizard in that he lived among Muggles and still used his magic. A most interesting case. But as I was saying, the Muggle account I read is skeptical of the story of Rasputin's death. There was no poison found in his blood during the autopsy, and the entire story of his death just doesn't really make sense." Regulus smiled nastily. "The Muggles didn't quite believe the entire thing. It was too elaborate. For instance, the Prince Felix invited him over that night with the lure that his wife would be there. However, Felix and Rasputin were friends in and of themselves. In fact," Regulus made a face that was disgust tempered with deep amusement as he watched Remus, "some say that Felix and Rasputin were more than friends, given that Felix was a gay transvestite."
"Funny," Remus said dryly.
"You don't know much about Rasputin, do you? He'd fuck anything. Quite an accomplishment, given that the man reputedly had the most intense body odor in the city. Of course," Regulus mused, "he was also reputed to have a thirteen inch cock."
Remus's eyes bulged out of his head. "Ouch," he said, before he could think of anything else to say. Regulus looked up, startled, and then began to laugh. It wasn't a long one, but it was a crack in his defenses. Remus smiled sheepishly.
"Anyway," Regulus said, bringing himself back under control, "the Muggles are skeptical. They suspect that Felix and his cohort Dmitri made up most of the story to cover for the fact that they were incompetent." He sniffed disdainfully.
"You don't believe that?"
"No. I suspect that Rasputin found some way of magically extending his life, and it was destroyed in the process. Or the method could only absorb so many assassination attempts."
"And you think that's what Voldemort's after?"
"I think that's exactly what Voldemort's after."
Remus nodded grimly. "Right then. So what are we going to do?"
***
They began planning the next morning, and the first step in their plans was to tour the Imperial Palace.
For months- no, years, truly- Remus and Regulus had hated each other. Sometimes outright, sometimes cordially, but the fact was Remus thought of Regulus as Sirius's snobbish, spoiled, selfish little brother and Regulus thought of Remus as the epitome of everything his line had stood against. They'd worked together, yes, but that was out of necessity, not out of desire.
Now, here they were in the Imperial Palace, thousands of miles from Hogwarts or London, and they'd finally found common ground.
"This is the Portrait Hall," Regulus whispered reverently when they entered. Both of them stared around at the paintings, the mammoth portrait of Nicholas I, the huge chandeliers, the gilded furniture. "It's nothing like what we've seen outside, is it?" Regulus murmured.
"It's nothing like I've ever seen before." Remus gravitated over to a table holding ornate antiques. "Look at these. These must be worth a fortune."
Regulus looked over his shoulder. "At least."
"You actually sound impressed. I thought your family was rich."
Regulus snorted. "There is a difference between rich and aristocracy," he said. "Despite what my parents would have us believe. We're the first, and perhaps figuratively the second, but nothing like what the Romanovs were." He turned and inhaled deeply. "The columns," was all he said.
Remus could see why he appreciated them: giant pillars of marble framing a row of ornate crystal chandeliers.
They both knew that no reliquary of Rasputin's would be on the paths or in the rooms marked out for tourists. But they wandered through every last room regardless, taking their time to dawdle over what fascinated them most.
"It astounds me, in a way, that a tsar would create something like the Mountain Room," Remus said that afternoon, when they stopped at a restaurant for a late lunch.
"Why?" Regulus asked around a mouthful of dried herring. "Tsars have children as well. Well, had."
Remus shrugged. "You just never think of people in history having lives, you know? They're names and dates and figures and deeds, but not really people."
"On the contrary," Regulus said, wiping his mouth with a paper napkin. "That's exactly what makes history interesting. It's that these people who did these great things had lives. They had wives that they fought with over money and children who they yelled at to go to bed and they had pets and they liked Quidditch or Gobstones or art or whatever, and they went to school. When you remember that history was real people, it becomes far more attainable and incidentally far more fascinating."
"I always fell asleep in History of Magic," Remus confessed.
"It was my favorite class," Regulus said. "I was going to do the N.E.W.T. level, but..." he shrugged, but Remus saw regret etched on his face.
"Why didn't you?"
Regulus stared at him for a long moment as if he were an idiot, and suddenly Remus remembered that Regulus had started Hogwarts when they'd been in their fourth year. He'd been in the service of the Death Eaters for two years, which meant....
"Oh."
Something hard and cold in Regulus's expression thawed slightly. He propped his chin on his hand. "I got twelve O.W.L.s," he said. "That's even more than Sirius. I was a Prefect my fifth year, and I probably would have been a candidate for Head Boy. But my father told me I'd go further in Voldemort's service."
"And here you are."
"Here I am," Regulus agreed. The words hung thick in the air between them, until finally Regulus sighed. "A glorified delivery boy and petty thief," he sighed.
Remus felt like he was walking on a tightrope, not quite sure what the right thing to say next would be. He watched, mute, as the emotions flickered across Regulus's face, bringing the resemblance between him and Sirius to the forefront. Then suddenly, he snapped out of it and balled up his paper.
"We'll have to go back to the Palace tomorrow," he said. "We never did find anything related to Rasputin."
Remus almost smacked himself in the forehead. "I totally forgot. I was just enjoying it too much."
Regulus sighed. "So was I."
***
It took them a week and a half to plan a strategy, and even then, both Regulus and Remus knew it was a paper thin one. The whole escapade was preposterous. Artifacts that had belonged to Rasputin were not prominently on display in the former Romanov home, and both of them were pretty sure that the reliquary would be under some sort of protection by wizards.
There were anti-Apparition wards on the entire palace, which shocked neither of them. Portkeys were not effective either. And the place was guarded not only by Muggles, but also by wizards. However, they'd done this before.
They finally discovered a weakness. "Ventilation shafts," Remus muttered. "Why is it always ventilation shafts?"
"It's a chimney," Regulus said.
"Same thing, in function. But it's still a cliché."
"I guess." Regulus pulled on black trous and a black shirt. "I know the cat burglar outfits we're wearing fall into that description, but ventilation shafts?"
"It's a cliché in cinema, at any rate," Remus said.
"Wouldn't know. Never been. Are you ready?"
Remus picked up his wand. "I'm ready."
It was easy to get in. Too easy, Remus thought as he followed Regulus through the chimney. It dumped them in a room that wasn't on the tour path, empty and dusty and dark.
"Lumos" Regulus muttered, and a faint light illuminated the tip of his wand. Remus stayed close, reluctant to light his own for fear of attracting more attention.
They crept through the rooms, searching. They'd come to the conclusion that anything belonging to Rasputin would be in the bowels of the palace, so they made their way down to the cellars.
"How do we even know it's still here?" Remus whispered. "What's to say that no one else ever stole it? Or looted it? For all we know, a Muggle could have it."
"The Dark Lord did a Locator Charm on it," Regulus confessed.
There was something wrong with that, and as they entered yet another room of the cellar, Remus realized what it was. "With all the secrecy that the Soviet Union hides behind, how could he do a Locator Charm?"
"He's powerful," was the best explanation that Regulus offered. He pulled out a sketch of the cellars of the palace that he and Remus had constructed from information that they could find in a Soviet library. "Look. If we're right, we might have some luck in the next room."
"No," Remus said suddenly as they stopped and another door appeared. "This is it."
The room they entered was dark, with thick layers of dust and heavy cobwebs on the surfaces and in the corners. It was a study, with a carved desk piled high with old papers and walls lined with books. Regulus moaned as he saw them, pulling one down and opening it with reverent fingers.
"Don't even think about it," Remus said, not able to hide his grin.
"But these are... they're... I mean, look at them! They're all books of magic!"
"They're also probably books of Dark Magic," Remus reminded him.
Regulus gave him a withering glare. "In case you've forgotten, Lupin, we are on a mission for the Death Eaters."
Remus pursed his lips and looked around again.
There were scrolls, sealed with black wax and piled half-hazardly. There were old, dusty quills, and dried up pots of ink. There was a shelf of trinkets and artifacts: chalices, jeweled boxes, bowls and pieces of jewelry. There was a Pensieve that Remus itched to look in, and a cabinet that, when opened, revealed shelves of potions ingredients.
"I wonder where his wand is," Remus whispered to Regulus.
"They probably broke it," Regulus decided. "See anything that looks like the reliquary?"
"I'll check the desk drawers."
"I'll take the cabinet," Regulus said.
As Remus pawed through the desk, he had a glimmer of what Regulus was saying earlier. There wasn't really much interesting in the desk; there was parchment, more ink, bits of twine and blobs of wax. In fact, it looked like the contents of pretty much any desk anywhere in the world, Remus supposed. It did give the Mad Monk a certain humanity.
He was musing about that when Regulus hissed at him. "I've found it," he said, brandishing a large crystal topped with a tarnished bronze piece.
"Great. Let's get out of here."
"But the books-"
"No. Let's just get-"
There was no warning; only a flash of light and then a deep voice booming, "Put your wands on the floor and put your hands behind your head."
They both froze.
There was an exchange in Russian, harsh voices and clear anger. Regulus sucked in his breath, and nudged Remus. When Remus turned, he saw Regulus's eyes wide open, and suddenly knew what he wanted.
Because Regulus wanted him to see it, it was right there on the surface, easy to find and easy to interpret. It was the translation of two words of the conversation: Kill them.
They had to get out of here, and now.
The blast was deafening. It had come from Regulus's wand, bringing down rubble and dust. "Run!" Regulus shouted, and Remus took off for the door.
Two wizards blocked his path, dressed in red robes. One was smiling, and it was a smile Remus had seen long before, years and years ago in nightmares and in childish reality. The wizard raised his wand, and Remus dove aside just as the Avada Kedavra was fired. The green bolt of light hit the potions cabinet and the sound of breaking glass echoed.
In the Soviet Union, the Killing Curse wasn't an offense for those who kept the peace.
He heard a cry of pain from Regulus and breathed a quick thankful gasp: pain was better than death. Then his attention was diverted back to the two wizards closing in on him.
Transfiguration had always been his friend in these situations. It was a sure enough way of reducing your enemy without resorting to killing them. But as Remus fired a transfiguration spell at one of the wizards, he saw the spell deflect and suddenly a pedestal became a rabbit. Beside him he heard Regulus swear, and he knew whatever Regulus had tried hadn't worked, either.
Seven wizards around them at least. They were closing in, their wands trained on them both. Beside him, he heard Regulus breathe in deep, and he knew that both of them would do the same thing.
In times of stress, they say your life passes before your eyes. It wasn't his life, per se, not in a series of images and pictures. But Remus was suddenly, intensely aware of the smell of his mother's perfume, the feel of canvas under his knuckles, the pain of a full moon, the taste of wine, the tickle of a teddy bear's fur, James and Peter and Sirius and their laughter, the tang of blood and the scent of fear and everything swirling together as he raised his wand.
A section of the ceiling fell, burying two screaming Soviet wizards under the avalanche. Remus was nearly sick, but he held on.
And beside him, Regulus raised his wand as well, pointing it at another approaching wizard.
"Avada Kedavra."
***
They were running, Remus and Regulus, running through the streets of Leningrad. Remus stumbled over a curb, and Regulus reached down to grab his arm, pulling him roughly to his feet. Their breath came in harsh sobs.
They stumbled into a park, and Regulus was the one to collapse on a bench. Remus bent over, hands on his knees as he gasped for air.
"We have to keep going," he said.
"Five of them," Regulus said, and there was a sob in his voice. "We killed five of them."
"I know." Somewhere deep inside, Remus was screaming. "But they would have killed us. We know that, Regulus." But Remus was shaking.
He'd killed two, in fear for both his life and Regulus's. He had never killed before. Not as a werewolf, not in the alley the night he and Lily were attacked, and not that night in his home, when his mother died, although there it was merely a lack of opportunity. He'd killed- something he'd tried his entire life not to do. And yet, that wasn't something he could think about now.
"We've got to get out of here," he said, standing up and putting his hands on his head, still trying to catch his breath. The spring breeze was cold against his sweat soaked shirt. "Regulus, we've got bigger problems."
Regulus looked up. "What do you mean?"
"Didn't you notice anything odd about the way they accosted us?"
Regulus's brow furrowed in thought as he replayed the scene, and Remus could see the precise moment where it all clicked together. "They spoke English," he said, suddenly. "They didn't even try Russian."
"Exactly," Remus said. "They knew we were coming."
***
Their flight from the Soviet Union was something of nightmares. They couldn't risk returning to the inn for their belongings, and they were in a strange country where they didn't know the Apparation points or the Wizarding society. Their fear heightened the darkness and they could both hear their hearts pounding in their ears.
They stole broomsticks. Regulus made a weak joke about how after what they'd done, broomstick theft seemed like a small crime, but Remus was nearly sick again, thinking that he was uncomfortable taking charity from well-meaning friends, and here he was actually stealing. But there was no time for another solution, and no time for conscience. And, some part of Remus admitted, Regulus probably did have a point.
In the cold air above unfamiliar country, clarity began to return. Guilt churned in his gut, and as he looked at Regulus, flying beside him, he knew Regulus felt the same way. Remus wondered if this was the first time that Regulus had used the Killing Curse. From the miserable hunched shoulders and the bowed head, he suspected it was.
But then, Remus realized, it wasn't only guilt haunting Regulus. There were not many people in the world who knew where they were and what they were going to do, and Remus would bet money that Sirius hadn't been sending anonymous tips to Soviet guards about his whereabouts. Someone in the Death Eaters- perhaps even Voldemort himself- wanted him and Regulus dead.
It wasn't a terribly chilling thought to Remus. After all, if Voldemort ever truly suspected what he was, his life was forfeit anyway. But Remus had never even met the man, whereas Regulus had seen fit to swear service.
But guilt and loyalty were abstract things at the moment. The next question was how to get out of the country alive, and once they did, what happened next.
Hours later, just before the sun broke over the horizon, they landed. "I've got to stop," Regulus admitted, his teeth chattering. "I'm freezing."
Remus nodded, rubbing his own arms for warmth. "Where do you think we are?" he asked. He looked around.
They'd landed in a meadow of sorts; a desolate wasteland- or at least, it looked it in the gray light of a cold pre-dawn. Regulus breathed on his hands, looking around. "I have no idea," he finally confessed. "Maybe Lithuania. But it's going to take us days to get out of the Soviet Union if we keep taking brooms."
"How about Portkeys?" Remus asked. "We really just need to get out of the country and home."
"We can take a train home," Regulus mused. "You still have your papers on you, right?"
"Right. But they'll be looking for us?"
"No." Regulus shook his head. "Not outside the country, I don't think."
"I hate to remind you, but we killed five wizards. We're wanted criminals."
Regulus shook his head impatiently. "It will drop. The Soviet Ministry has enough problems without searching for us. Once we're outside the country- or at least out from behind the Iron Curtain- we'll be fine."
"If you say so," Remus said doubtfully. "So how do we get out of the country, and how do we get home from there?"
"The second is easy. The first..." Regulus scratched his chin. "The Soviet Union is a big country. I can't imagine the anti-Apparition spells take up the entire border."
"Or we could not Apparate. Sneak out the Muggle way."
Regulus dug through his pockets, and finally pulled out a map. "I did bring this," he said. "Just in case. Dolohov gave it to me. I think we can trust it."
"If you say so," Remus said.
"It's not like we have much of a choice. But he did defect from the Soviet Union." Remus nodded and peered at the map. "He told me he left here." Regulus jabbed at a section of the border. "There's no wizarding guards right here, or at least, there weren't when he left. Probably because it's so heavily guarded by the Muggles. However, anti-Apparition spells are extremely heavy there, as are a few others. We can't just walk through, of that I'm sure. I'm guessing it will be like in the Imperial Palace; we won't know what they've put there until we get there."
"Great." But it was the best plan they had.
It took them a full day to reach the border; a full day of harrowed silences and constantly glancing over their shoulders, ready and waiting for the entire Red Army to come after them. A full day of no food and minimal water, because they only had what they'd carried into the Palace, and they couldn't risk stopping anywhere. All day Remus imagined everything that could go wrong- and there were so many scenarios- that the day and the countryside seemed interminable.
Finally, they landed in a dense forest. There were watch towers, and from here Remus could see the small forms of Muggle guards keeping a lookout. Regulus landed beside him, breathing heavily. Remus could see that his shoulders were shaking. However, his face was set in harsh lines, firm with resolve.
"I've been thinking about it," Regulus said. "We know there's an anti-Apparition spell in effect. We could try a Portkey, but I suspect that that's no good, either. It would be too easy."
Remus nodded. "So any ideas?"
"You're good at Transfiguration," Regulus said, and Remus nearly fell over with shock at the casual way Regulus paid him a compliment. "We could do human Transfiguration."
"Regulus-"
"No, hear me out. This should work. The kind of charms they'd lay on the border to prevent people from flying out would be the kind that would cause broomsticks to fail, right? Braking charms and the lot? Any sort of barrier would be too hard to keep up over the entire border. Plus, Muggles would notice with birds falling dead and their airplanes, right?"
"I guess," Remus said doubtfully.
"So, you Transfigure me into something that can fly, like a winged horse or a hippogriff. I'll carry you over the border, high enough that the Muggle guards won't see us.
"I could do that. But what if there's some sort of anti-Transfiguration work, you turn back into a human, and we both fall to a gruesome death from seven hundred feet in the air?"
Regulus shrugged. "Then Voldemort gets his wish, doesn't he? Both you and I are dead."
***
Human Transfiguration was difficult, but it was something Remus had worked at until he could accomplish it perfectly. The truth was that he'd always been a bit jealous of the others' Animagus powers (even if they had gained them for him), and had felt a little inadequate as well. It had come in handy, both in struggles with Death Eaters and... at other times. (James had never quite forgiven him for that time seventh year when Remus had turned him into a wombat, and it had been worth every second of the month's detention he'd served.) But human Transfiguration still carried its risks, and Remus always had that flash of nerves right before he did the spell. He felt the shaft of fear down his spine as he spoke the words, and then Regulus was gone and a winged horse was standing in front of him, pawing at the ground.
The winged horse was black, with a clipped mane and deep, dark wings. There was an elegance to him that Remus found almost laughable, just given what a shaggy mutt Sirius made when he transformed. They stared at each other, and the eyes that met Remus's were startled, but still reflected the human intelligence and haughty pride that characterized Regulus.
Remus hesitated for a moment, and then the winged horse nudged him with his nose, tossing his head back in an indication to mount. He reached out and touched the black mane hesitantly, and then clambered up. The winged horse reared back, and with a powerful leap they were airborne.
Remus had ridden brooms before, many times. He'd always loved the freedom of flight and the wind rushing through his hair. He'd ridden Sirius's motorcycle, and loved that even more, especially with his arms around Sirius's waist and the scent of leather in his nostrils. He'd even once ridden a hippogriff, during a Care of Magical Creatures lesson. But nothing in his life had been like this.
The winged horse's flanks were strong and warm beneath his legs, and the motion of the wings rippled the muscles beneath him. He clung to the neck as he leaned forward, soft, hot hair beneath his hands and cheek. They were soaring, the trees dwindling to tiny toys beneath them, and then Remus saw the watchtowers pass below him. Nothing happened. Regulus didn't turn back into a human, they didn't hit a wall of death rays or static... they just flew over the border.
He'd expected they'd land immediately, but the winged horse continued to fly, dipping and soaring through the sky. Several of the maneuvers sent Remus's stomach plummeting through his mouth and made him clutch at the neck for dear life, but when the winged horse looked back, Regulus's eyes were amused.
Finally they landed, and Remus slid off, his legs shaking and his heart in his throat, adrenaline coursing through him. He took a deep breath and pulled out his wand, and then Regulus was standing in front of him again, laughing and exuberant.
"That was great!" Regulus said, nearly bouncing where he stood. "I mean, that was bloody brilliant, flying like that! Wings!" Remus laughed, although he was feeling rather shaken himself between the two Transfigurations, the flight, and the escape. "If I thought I could do it, I would have flown us all the way back to England!" Regulus exclaimed. "As it is, when we get to the ocean, let's do it again. Turn me into a winged horse again and I'll fly you all the way home!"
"But until then, let's find a train station," Remus said, but without any heat. In the moonlight and in the aftermath, Regulus's face had softened. His eyes were bright and he was smiling with pure joy, something Remus had never seen from him. And for once, he looked like the seventeen year old boy he was. "We really do need to get home. And there's a lot to figure out."
"I know. But, oh! If I could fly like that again.... You know, my mother once wanted to attempt the Animagus transformation. If I could turn into something with wings on demand..."
"You don't pick the animal you turn into," Remus reminded him.
"I know," Regulus said. "But imagine you could." He kept up a steady stream of monologue as Remus performed a Locator Charm to find the nearest train station and then began spelling a Portkey. He was still talking when they were seated in a comfortable compartment and Remus drifted off to sleep, the sound of Regulus's happiness in his ears.
It was still dark when he woke. Regulus had turned on the light in their compartment, and was now curled in a corner, staring out the window at the darkness.
"Is everything all right?" he asked Regulus. Regulus nodded mutely, and Remus rubbed his eyes. "No one's after us?"
"They'd have caught us by now if we were," Regulus said. "We weren't that subtle." His hand drifted to his side to caress the book he'd been reading. Automatically, Remus glanced at the title, and his eyes widened in shock as he saw the Cyrillic letters.
"That's one of the books from Rasputin's library!" he said.
"Yes. One Rasputin wrote himself."
"Regulus! I said-"
"I know what you said. Shut up."
Remus was certainly used to hearing far worse from Regulus, but after their time in the Soviet Union and especially their escape, the harsh tone stung. He looked at the book again, but he couldn't tell anything about it, except that it seemed like it would be full of Dark Magic. Regulus went back to staring out the window, his face troubled. He was lost in thought already.
Remus looked at the book again, and wondered if the bad feeling he got was just nerves or an unprecedented premonition.
On to Part 2