A New Different World

The flames in the office fireplace roared to life, flaring emerald green for a brief moment before settling into a steady glow. Albus Dumbledore looked up from his desk just as a figure emerged from the hearth, stepping smoothly onto the rug-covered floor.

Regulus Black dusted a stray ember off the sleeve of his deep green robes, his sharp grey eyes scanning the room with practiced wariness. His hair, dark and neatly combed back, framed a face that bore the weight of experience far beyond his years.

Dumbledore, ever the gracious host, gestured toward the chair opposite his desk. "Regulus," he greeted with a slight nod. His expression turned to jovial amusement as he looked at the young scion of House Black.

Regulus gave a thin smile before taking a seat, settling into the plush chair with the ease of a man who had long grown accustomed to dangerous meetings in safe places. There was a beat of silence between them, a momentary pause where unspoken thoughts lingered in the air like smoke from the fireplace.

"Hogwarts seems to be making waves these days," Regulus finally remarked, his tone casual but edged with something unreadable.

Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled slightly. "The Triwizard Tournament does tend to have that effect," he mused. "It is quite interesting to witness young witches and wizards performing extraordinary feats of magic—even if they must do so under the guise of a tournament."

Regulus scoffed, shaking his head. "A nice way to dress up a blood sport, Headmaster."

Dumbledore smiled faintly, unoffended by the remark. "Some would argue that competition can bring out the best in us."

"Others would argue it brings out the reckless and the desperate," Regulus countered. "A staged event meant to showcase talent, yet it often exposes far more than that. It's a wonder anyone thought bringing it back was a good idea."

Dumbledore sighed, leaning back in his chair. "I cannot disagree with you there, Regulus."

They exchanged a glance—brief but filled with understanding.

.

Dumbledore, perceptive as ever, folded his hands on the desk. "I take it there is something pressing on your mind?"

Regulus let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair before resting his elbows on the armrests. "The Dark Mark," he said grimly.

Dumbledore's brows lifted ever so slightly.

Regulus exhaled sharply and looked up. "It's getting stronger."

A shadow passed over Dumbledore's face, his fingers lacing together as he regarded the younger wizard. "That is… troubling news."

Regulus gave a bitter chuckle, shaking his head. "Troubling, yes. But not unexpected." His fingers curled slightly as he stared at the desk. "It means exactly what we feared—it's happening. He's really coming back."

Dumbledore's frown deepened. They both knew what that meant, what kind of devastation Voldemort's return would bring. They had known, he had survived. The ensurance of Hocruxes confirmed it. It had been only a matter of time. And here it was. Finally happening now.

Regulus's voice grew quieter, almost distant. "It will be worse this time," he murmured.

Dumbledore studied him carefully. "Why do you say that?"

Regulus hesitated, then leaned forward. His face dropped into a mix of fear and tension. "Because I won't make it out alive this time."

Dumbledore did not speak immediately, waiting for him to explain.

Regulus let out a slow breath, pressing his lips together before continuing. "The Dark Lord is… not a fool, Albus. He's cruel, arrogant, and a thousand other things—but he is not stupid." His grey eyes flickered with something dangerously close to fear. "If he lays eyes on me, if he so much as thinks to probe my mind—he'll know."

Dumbledore remained silent, watching him intently. The old Headmaster knew what Regulus was refering to. What he was afraid of? The trial which he would face would be immense.

"He'll know everything," Regulus went on, his voice tightening. "He'll know about the Horcruxes. He'll know that I know. And he'll know that, by extension, you know and I was the one who told him so."

Dumbledore exhaled quietly through his nose, his gaze heavy with thought.

Regulus sat back, rubbing his hands together absently as though trying to warm them. "My Occlumency will only protect me for so long. If he actively uses Legilimency on me, he will break through." He swallowed. "And then, it will be over."

"You underestimate your own skill," Dumbledore said quietly.

Regulus gave him a sharp look. "No, I don't. Unlike you, I don't overestimate myself."

A moment of silence stretched between them.

Finally, Regulus sighed and ran a hand down his face. "I was lucky before," he admitted. "I was young, and I had excuses. I spent time away—always conveniently out of the country, gathering support, making connections." He gave a humorless chuckle. "I was clever about it. Played my cards just right. Never tried to have an audience with him."

His expression darkened. "But this time? I won't be so lucky."

Dumbledore tilted his head slightly, considering him. "You still have options, Regulus."

Regulus scoffed. "Do I?"

Dumbledore leaned forward. "You could disappear."

Regulus let out a dry, bitter laugh. "And what? Hide under a different name? Live as a shadow? He would find me, Albus."

Dumbledore didn't argue, because he knew it was true.

Regulus inhaled deeply, then exhaled through his nose. "The worst part?" he muttered. "I feel it." He touched his forearm absently. "Every time the mark strengthens, I feel it pulling at me. As if he's already calling." His lips twisted. "And when he does rise again, he will call."

Dumbledore regarded him solemnly. "And when that time comes?"

Regulus's fingers curled into fists. He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them. "I suppose we'll see."

Dumbledore observed him carefully, his piercing gaze searching for something in the younger man's expression. Regulus met his stare evenly, unflinching.

At last, Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, letting out a quiet sigh. "You have always been a brave man, Regulus," he said softly.

Regulus let out a dry chuckle. "Bravery?" He shook his head. "No. Just a man trying to clean up the mess he helped create."

Dumbledore smiled faintly. "That, too, requires courage."

Regulus didn't respond immediately, simply looking down at his hands.

The fire in the hearth had settled into a steady, flickering glow, casting long shadows across the aged stone walls of Dumbledore's office. Silence stretched between the two men, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Then, just as the weight of their previous discussion threatened to settle too deeply, Dumbledore shifted the conversation.

"And how is your family, Regulus?"

Regulus blinked, momentarily caught off guard. His expression softened, and a faint, almost wistful smile crossed his lips.

"They're well," he answered simply.

But inwardly, his thoughts drifted back—back to the years after he had walked away from Voldemort's cause, back to the decisions that had shaped the life he now led.

His marriage to Elizabeth Parkinson had been, at the time, a necessity. A continuation of the Black name, as tradition dictated. She had come from an old pureblood family, her lineage impeccable, her upbringing steeped in the same traditions that had once suffocated him. By all accounts, she should have been another cold, duty-bound wife, much like his father's.

But Elizabeth was different.

She was gentle in a way that defied expectations, compassionate in a way that had shaken him. She had seen past the Black name, past the weight of his past allegiances, and simply understood him. It was a quiet, unspoken understanding, one that did not demand explanations or justifications. A rare gift.

And for that, Regulus had been endlessly grateful.

She had given him two daughters—his pride and joy. They were bright, inquisitive, full of life. And he had unyieldingly refused, to let them be drawn into the same war that had nearly cost him everything.

His wife had wanted them to attend Hogwarts, to be near home, near family.

But Regulus had put his foot down.

Screw the hundreds of years of tradition. Screw the expectations. He would not allow his daughters to become pawns in another war. He would not let them be used or manipulated. He had sent them to America instead, far from the reach of the rising darkness.

Not everyone in his family had understood his decision. Some had called him a coward. Others had accused him of betraying his bloodline.

He didn't care.

Bellatrix and her husband, Corvus, had been among the few who did understand. Surprisingly so. Corvus, ever the pragmatic one, had seen the wisdom in keeping the Black heirs out of the brewing conflict. And Bellatrix—well, she had always had a soft spot for her nieces, no matter how ruthlessly she carried herself in other matters.

Regulus shook himself from his thoughts, returning to the present. He gave Dumbledore a small nod.

"They're all well," he repeated, his voice steady.

Dumbledore studied him for a moment, as if considering pressing further, but he must have sensed that Regulus had said all he intended to on the matter. Instead, he inclined his head and let the topic rest.

There was a brief silence before Regulus changed the subject.

"The first task," he said, his tone shifting slightly. "What happened, exactly?"

Dumbledore raised a brow. "An eventful affair, as you might imagine," he said lightly.

Regulus wasn't swayed by the vague answer. "And the Beauxbatons champion?"

Dumbledore observed him carefully. "Fleur Delacour? She performed admirably."

Regulus nodded slowly, then added, almost as an afterthought, "And the healer?" It was time to go to crux of the matter. To talk about the person who has caused such an interest among the Purebloods.

That caught Dumbledore's attention. His expression did not change, but there was a flicker of curiosity in his eyes.

"You seem particularly interested in him," Dumbledore noted.

Regulus didn't deny it. He exhaled slowly, crossing one leg over the other. "There are… people with contacts in St. Mungo's," he admitted. "Word travels quickly in those circles." He tilted his head slightly. "Apparently, Lucius and others have taken an interest."

Dumbledore's expression darkened slightly. "Lucius?" If the Malfoy Lord had taken an interest. Then, it certainly didn't sound well for them.

Regulus nodded. "You know how they are. Anything remotely unusual, anything that hints at lost magic or power. Especially when someone young claims to have created new spells or shows tallent. It catches their attention." He paused. "There are whispers, you know. Necromancy. Forgotten blood magic. Family magic. Things most of them would kill to understand. And with the growing strength of the mark, everyone of them knows that they will have to answer to him. Those who claimed Imperious, know that they wouldn't be welcomed with open arms. They are searching ways to be accepted. Even if it meant, giving promising recruits to the cause."

Dumbledore frowned, leaning back in his chair. "A troubling interest, indeed."

Regulus watched him closely. "And you, Albus? What do you make of him?"

Dumbledore's expression shifted, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "He is an intern at St. Mungo's," he said after a pause. "Severus Blackwood, if I recall correctly."

Regulus's brow furrowed slightly. "An unusual name."

Dumbledore hummed in agreement. "He is an unusual young man." There were few moments when he usually found himself interested. The event with him in action, had been amongst the recent ones. To see someone bring back, a person declared dead by healers, was nothing short of amazing and inspirational. It certainly intrigued him. The boy seemed to be remarkably talented too. He controlled and carried himself quite perfectly, despite a tense environment.

Regulus considered that for a moment. "How old is he?"

"Seventeen."

That made Regulus pause. "Seventeen?" he repeated, his voice carrying a note of disbelief. This was certainly a troublesome news. He had thought that the newspapers were exaggerating things by posing him younger. To think that someone was that talented at 17. The thought was certainly intriguing and alarming at the same time.

Dumbledore nodded. "A gifted healer."

Regulus scoffed softly. "He's gifted in more than just healing," he muttered. "If the reports are to be believed."

Dumbledore steepled his fingers. "Ah, yes. The dragon."

Regulus's expression sharpened. "He trapped it underground," he said with a frown. It was hard to believe though. A dragon was no ordinary beast. There was a reason it was called as a wizardkiller.

Dumbledore nodded with a smile. "Indeed."

Regulus frowned. "And then there's the matter of that curse." He exhaled slowly. "If I'm not mistaken, it was a permanent affliction. One no healer or the oculus potion, had managed to remove before."

Dumbledore inclined his head slightly. "That, too, is true."

Regulus leaned back, his mind turning over the implications. "That spell, whatever it was. I've never heard of anything like it."

"Nor have I," Dumbledore admitted with a smile. It was quite refreshing to see someone young stepping up so nicely. It had been certainly refreshing. "It was… entirely unique."

Regulus let out a low breath, his fingers tapping absently against the armrest of his chair. "People will come for him, Albus," he warned. "The moment they believe he knows something they don't."

Dumbledore's expression turned grave. "Yes," he said quietly. "I am aware."

A silence settled between them.

Regulus exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Seventeen," he muttered again.

Dumbledore's eyes gleamed faintly. "Curious, isn't it?"

Regulus didn't respond immediately. He stared into the fire for a long moment, lost in thought.

Then, finally, he spoke.

"I think," he murmured, "I'd like to meet this Severus Blackwood."