Chapter Text
Regulus
The house is simple, with white walls and a brown roof, an exact photocopy of every other house in the entirety of RF Manston. The neighbourhood is large, with dried grass and no trees to be seen for miles. The roads are flat and wide and normal enough, but it’s all spare. The bare minimum. Necessities; the only thing people can afford anymore.
Narcissa had pulled Regulus into a light hug the moment the five of them arrived at the sisters’ house and shut the door behind them. Bellatrix, Andromeda and Sirius hadn’t dawdled by the door and immediately went off to roam about the house, and just as Regulus was about to follow Sirius, Narcissa had tugged his wrist and wrapped an arm around him.
She tells him now as Regulus hooks his chin over her thin shoulder, “I didn’t say it when we met on the road, but I just wanted you to know that I’m glad you’re alive. You and Sirius. We all are, really, even though Andy and Bella will play it off and I will likely never mention this again.” She pulls away and smiles, looking like a snow maiden. She rubs the length of his arms fondly. “You’ve grown.” She adds. “You boys are the same height now, I think.”
Regulus nods, and asks the question that’s been nagging at him for a while now. “You know, Cissa, before the virus, our father was talking about Uncle Cygnus’ plans to marry you to some Malfoy...”
“Oh, Lucius,” Narcissa huffed, stiffening a bit. “Never heard from him after the outbreak.”
“He’s dead, then?”
“Maybe. I didn’t care for him enough to find out. Still don’t.”
“It’s been years,” Regulus says, and marvels at it now. Two and three-quarters, going on three. Three years since the end. “How’d you even get by?”
“It was hard,” Narcissa says contemplatively. “But we survived, and did all right for ourselves. Bella taught us all how to use a gun, but only she and Andy really engaged in the fighting. Rodolphus could too, but he was a bit peeved off his wife knew how to handle weapons, possibly because she gets a little cuckoo sometimes and he knew she might kill him off if it ever struck her fancy.” She chuckles softly as if looking back on fond memories, because she never does anything loud, not like Andromeda or even Bellatrix. “And you?”
“Our first kills were Mother and Father,” Regulus says. “When they turned—well, we freaked, obviously. Sirius stole two guns from Father’s old collection, and shot Mother once. But we didn’t know you needed to either shoot them twice or attack the head, so when Sirius’ back was turned,” he shudders from the memory, “Mother was instantly on him and-”
“You killed her?” Narcissa suggests, examining him. A moment of silence. “How did it feel?”
“Like somebody else did it,” he admits. It had been surprisingly loud, the sound of the gun firing in one of Grimmauld’s forbidding hallways, like someone had come up behind him and fired a gun right next to his ear. He’d almost believed it had been someone else—anyone but him, because it wasn’t him. His arms stretched out of their own will, and eternity and no time at all passed in the moment that something pushed his finger slightly into the trigger, then harder and harder and harder still until-
Well.
The door bell rings, a generic tune, and they both jump. Narcissa turns, confused, and opens the door.
Standing at the porch is a woman with tan skin, choppy dark hair barely touching the back of her neck, and cheerful dark eyes. She’s short and a bit stocky, and wears a black jacket over a T-shirt paired with faded jeans. She looks to be around Narcissa’s age.
His cousin’s eyes widen in shock and recognition. “Fortescue!” she blurts, as if involuntarily. “What are you doing here?”
“Black,” she greets gruffly, examining the doorway, “barred from visiting, am I? I thought we were friends.”
Narcissa caught herself while the woman, Fortescue, spoke. Her face is now schooled into something akin to dignity, but her posture, while straight, is stiff as a board. “Well, no-”
“But I see you already have visitors,” she acknowledges Regulus, who stands beside Narcissa, with a nod.
“They’re not visitors,” Narcissa says, sighing in a bone deep sort of way. As if trying to settle all the things that exist beneath the stretch of her fair skin.
“Then...?”
She slumps her shoulders a bit, tilts her head at Regulus, and fucking winks at him, after which she regards Fortescue and tells her, “remember those dead cousins I told you about?”
*****
James
“Mum, what is happening?”
It’s the first thing he asks his mother after a month of not seeing her. He found her walking with purpose in her step on the path towards the Great Hall, which is just a massively wide, one-storey building a little away from the neighbourhood where the Order’s most influential people gather once a month to hand out progress reports and make necessary decisions for the people. Normally, James would have gone straight home after barely sleeping all night without food and minimal water, if only to have some breakfast, but something told him he wouldn’t have found his parents there.
A few hours ago, Regulus and Sirius were tortured, James is pretty sure. It was terrifying to watch. Moody injected them with drugs that made them clamp their eyes closed and speak abnormally and asked them an inexhaustible amount of questions about where the came from, who they are, how they survived and do they know anything, anything, anything at all about someone named Tom Riddle.
Who this Tom Riddle was though, Moody refused to say.
After the interrogations, Moody promptly left no further room for James to ask his own questions, and seeing as he had to take care of Sirius and Regulus out of their post-drug daze and subsequently deal with their not so agreeable cousins and his curious neighbours, he found that Moody had left and James was himself played like a fiddle.
And now he’s at the end of his rope.
“James? James!” his mother turns and cries out in surprise. “I just heard about what happened with Moody, and your father and I were going to-”
“What is happening?” James repeats.
“Too many things at once,” she says. “A lot changed in the month that you were gone, James, and I’ll catch you up, I will, but right now-”
“No,” James immediately says, jogging to catch up with her brisk pace. He’s fed up with being kept in the dark about this. “Tell me now.”
She stops suddenly, and James almost crashes right into her. She turns, grabs his arm in a firm grip and is dead serious when she says, “the Order is in a state of agitation. I know it doesn’t look like it yet, but they didn’t make a big production because they want to keep it peaceful for the people.”
“A big production of what?”
“Your arrival. Sirius and Regulus Black.”
“What don’t they want us to know?”
“That there are external forces at play and we don’t quite know what they are. That there is a potential threat to RF Manston and the life we’re trying to build here.” She takes a breath. “There was an attack, James.”
“What?!”
“Not on the whole area, definitely not the neightbourhood. But on one of the secluded regions, yes. We’re lucky no one got hurt, and even luckier that none of the residents found out.”
“What kind of attack?!”
“Zombies. But not the normal kind. It’s hard to explain why, but we know that they were sent by another rival community on this side of England and they are not amicable.”
“Tom Riddle is their leader?” James asks, the pieces falling into place one by one.
“Yes, and Dumbledore has been in touch with him for some time now.” She starts walking again. “The details of their communications are unknown to the other leaders as of yet, but our main concern is working to maintain Manston’s safety. For that, we tightened security on who comes in, and we’re witholding anyone from leaving as well-”
“What?!”
His mother frowns and turns. “Is something wrong?”
“Mum, the only reason Regulus and Sirius came with me was because I promised them that they could come and go whenever they wanted,” James bursts out. “Regulus is especially suspicious.”
She frowns. “I’m sorry, James, I truly am, but it’s not safe for anyone outside of these walls. It’s for their safety, and for their mental peace, it’s best you don’t mention the attack to them either.”
“But-”
“James,” she stops him. They’re right in front of the building now. “Go back home. You’ve done all you can and then some for those two boys. Have some food from the fridge. Take rest. Your father and I will be back in a few hours.”
“You’ll tell me the details?”
“Promise it.”
*****
Sirius
It’s Saturday now, almost a week since Sirius and his brother’s lives had unceremoniously flipped upside down over its own head. Or right side up, depending on the angle. Either way, all the contents have gone entirely helter-skelter—hither and tither, if you will. A mess.
You’d think it’d be strange living with so many people after going so long without anyone but each other for company, but Sirius finds himself rather settling into life in the Order. The same can also be said for Regulus as well, who had at first treated everything and everyone around him like they were glass or guns. Their only real issue is coming to terms with the fact that they no longer need to worry about getting killed every second of every day and night. Which. Is easier said than done.
Living with Bella, Cissa and Andy is a... special sort of experience for Sirius. They’re all three of them in their twenties, and they act more like proper adults and less like posh ladies from a patriarchal society now (even Bella), so all five of them could jointly live together without, surprisingly, sparking the third world war.
James also comes around to the sisters’ house now and again, during which time he and Sirius grow closer, at least in Sirius’ opinion. James and Regulus don’t particularly speak to each other if it isn’t either a “hey, Regulus” or an “alright, Potter?”, but they did have rougher introductions to begin with so Sirius supposes it makes sense for them not to be very compatible.
Anyway.
It’s evening now, and Sirius doesn’t know where he is.
Well, he does. He’s at another house in the thick of a booming party that James begged (yes, Sirius is exaggerating) him to come to, but he doesn’t know whose house this is or the way back to his own. He’s also slightly tipsy from the beer, just beginning to feel the fuzziness of alcohol. Regulus had rather flatly rejected Sirius when asked if he’d go as well, the absolute prick, and Sirius at the party could only think it’s just as well Regulus is currently brooding over books like a vampire. He wouldn’t know what to do in a party the way a party wouldn’t know what to do with him.
It isn’t until Sirius laughed at his own witty thought that he realised he may be a little pissed.
Oh, and he’s also kissing a girl.
It’s nice enough (the kiss, that is), and the girl, Mary,is stupendously pretty. She tastes like alcohol and smells like perfume and touches like she knows it drives boys wild. Sirius feels a little light-headed himself.
This isn’t his first time kissing someone of course. He’s hooked up with girls before the virus broke out, as much as a sixteen-year-old with supremely controlling parents in a fascist society can hope to manage, and he remembers thinking himself to be good at it. It’s only when he went two years without any other company apart from his little brother that he feared he may be losing his touch.
You see, when Sirius and Mary met... well, Sirius doesn’t completely remember how they met, only that they were acquainted just this evening, but he imagined Mary had come up to him while he was swaying to the bass playing against the walls and beating like a heart under the floor, she’d spoken to him, they’d exchanged names, and she offered him a red cup of... something. Sirius doesn’t know what he drank, but it was strong as hellfire (burnt like it too), and he was truly tipsy when Mary leaned forward without warning and whispered almost right against his lips, “yes?”
Instead of answering, Sirius had kissed her, and so they are kissing now. He’s having an immense amount of fun, to be completely honest. Mary’s whole body is pressed right up against his, one of her hands slowly sliding up under the T-shirt that James lent him when they were getting ready, while the other is buried in his hair. His own hands rest against her bare waist, right above the band of her low-rise jeans. The kiss itself is hot, sinful, maybe a bit too dirty. Maybe a bit too indecent of a thing to do smack in the middle of a crowd of dancing bodies.
Mary seems to have read his mind, because she pulls away abruptly, leaving Sirius slightly bereft, and telling him, “I like you, wanna get out of here?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Sirius replies, his words slurring just a bit, even as Mary grabs his wrist tight and drags him away from the dancefloor to the stairs, which they climb with great care, winding around people who are socialising and couples that are making out heavily. When they reach the first floor, Mary takes him to a bathroom.
“Bedrooms are locked on the inside,” Mary mutters, by way of explanation.
“I wonder why,” Sirius replies.
She laughs and pulls him into the washroom, locking the door behind her.
“So,” she begins unexpectedly as she makes herself at home on the bathroom floor, “what’s your story?” Under the white light of the small room, Mary’s smooth brown skin shines with thin sweat as her plump lips stretch into a grin. Her ruthlessly curly hair makes a crown over her head, which she has made no apparent effort to tame (and frankly doesn’t need to) and wears a stylish red crop top with faded low-rise jeans and white shoes.
Sirius is absolutely and certifiably dumbfounded.
Which Mary immediately clocks. “What,” she smirks, “you’re man enough to kiss a girl and have sex with her, but you chicken out on an actual conversation?”
“No,” Sirius protests immediately, “just a little... surprising, is all. And I wasn’t exactly looking to have sex with you. If you recall, we never quite got to that part.”
Mary just laughs. “Sit with me,” she tells him, patting the floor next to her.
Sirius sits, feeling a bit jarred. “So,” he begins, laughing a bit, “is it just me or does every bloke get this treatment?”
“Of course not,” she replies airily. “Most would instantly lose interest if I snogged the living daylights out of them and attempted any sort of conversation after. I’m just curious about your case, see, which is why I approached you. It also helps that you’re beautiful and a good kisser.”
Sirius’ eyebrows shoot for the skies. “And you’re bold.”
“It’s not bold,” Mary shrugs. “I mean, think about it, if a boy calls a girl beautiful and a good kisser, it’d be considered what it is, flirting. But when it’s the other way around, it’s bold.” She shakes her head. “And other less flattering things.”
Sirius nods. “True,” he says, “and thanks.”
Mary pops open a bottle of beer, takes a sip, and hands it to him. “You’ve caused quite a stir here, you and your brother.”
“We did. I know. James told me.”
Mary hums. “Yes. James. He’s a friend of mine, one of my first since me and my brother came to the Order.”
“You have a brother?”
“Yeah, his name’s Bingley, and he’s ten.”
A second of surprise. “That-that’s really young. He’d have to be eight when the virus struck. How did you two even survive?”
“I think I was the one who asked for a story, not the other way around.” A laugh. “But the short answer to that question is, Bingley and I were always alone, even when everyone was still alive. So it didn’t really make that big a difference when everyone died. It was just... emptier, I guess.”
“Oh,” Sirius can only say.
“But,” Mary immediately dismisses, “it doesn’t matter now, does it. The Order is the safest place in England, and one of the safest places in the world, I’m pretty sure. I haven’t had to worry about a single thing since coming here.” It’s off-handed the way she says it, like it’s obvious, like ‘safe’ is the sort of word one can just—throw about as they please, even now.
Maybe it’s because Mary doesn’t need to worry about the on-goings of the outside world anymore, when she’s here, with people she loves.
“How long have you been living here?” Sirius asks.
“Coming up on a year now,” Mary answers easily. She snatches the beer bottle back and takes a sip.
“And do you also go on these, um, missions, like James does?”
“No, but my two friends really want to.”
“Why not?”
“I mean, we’re all safe here, yes? And all of us have seen enough zombie-related horrors to last us ten lifetimes and then some. I mean, I understand wanting to help, to contribute to the Order, to pay for all of Dumbledore’s kindnesses. I do. What I don’t understand is risking everything like that by leaving, again. Maybe I will when it’s required of me, but right now, I have no such intentions. Manston is home. What more could anyone want?”
Sirius watches the cold tiles, and feels warm.
What more could anyone want indeed.
*****
???
Somewhere else in England, the world is on fire.
Mary MacDonald and Sirius Black have never heard of this place, of course—it’s entirely unknown, a place for the people who don’t have people that care about them to go.
And right now, they’re all dying.
And where there is dying, there are zombies as well.
They rule the world, after all.