Blood runs wherever his fingertips graze me | Jegulus

Chapter 1

Saturday 17th November, 1979

The front door of the house opened with a thud, and a sturdy wooden cane slammed in on the floor. It was the middle of the night, and hardly any light was coming through the windows of the small, homely house in the middle of the wizarding town secluded from the world.

Alastor Moody turned his gaze to the centre of the room, where a small lamp illuminated a table with three cups of tea and a bowl of biscuits and snack rolls. "Took you long enough," said a young man's voice, as Moody heard the sound of two wands being laid on a table, having previously been raised for defence purposes.

"That old thing's engine stalled when I was flying over Hatfield," said Moody, walking clumsily to the table where two men were waiting for him, "I was lucky not to be ambushed while leaning over the hood of the car like a hundred-year-old witch."

A chuckle was heard, and the same male voice said, "Maybe you should think about getting a new bike as Padfoot did," he suggested, jeer filling his voice. "He spent more than a quarter of his inheritance on some Italian Muggle brand- It doesn't even fly. He told me he was making some arrangements here and there, though. Dorcas is helping him; she knows about those things better than that old dog."

"I didn't come here to talk about mechanics, Potter," Moody said with his usual hasty and jaded tone, as he took a seat on a stool at the wooden table and reached for a cinnamon bun; he sniffed it a couple of times, making sure it wasn't poisoned, and then he took a bite. With his mouth full, resting his cane on the ground, he asked, "Do you have him?"

James leaned forward on the table, resting his elbow on the wood and his chin in the palm of his hand, his smug smile saying enough wordlessly, "I don't know, do you think I have him, Moony?"

His gaze drifted to the twenty-something sitting next to him. He sighed, giving James a crouched look as he turned to face Moody, intertwining his fingers on the dining room table, "James brought him in this afternoon," he said, "He's in the basement, tied up. Last time I checked he was unconscious, but he may have woken up by now."

"I don't think he has," James said casually, taking a sip from the teacup in front of his seat, "I had to treat his head wound, he was losing a lot of blood. I don't think he'll wake up for a few hours."

Remus frowned, turning slightly to look at James, "Why didn't you just stupifyed him?"

James shrugged, "Well, I could have," he whispered, "But where's the fun in that?"

Remus shook his head, not bothering to say anything to James; he turned back to Moody, who was silent, listening to his little dialogue, "Are you sure he's the one we're looking for?" He asked him, lowering his voice somewhat, even though there was no one in the house but the two of them. "I don't want to judge a book by its cover, but ... It wouldn't be exactly Regulus Black who I would expect to have a great secret to destroy Voldemort."

Moody took a few seconds to think about his answer; first, he turned to James in a serious tone, "Don't let it get out of hand again, Potter," he warned, "We need Black to tell us every last detail of what he knows about Voldemort. We can't waste a source of such valuable information." James shrugged, crossing his arms and leaning back in his seat; seeing that he had no intention of responding, Moody turned to Remus, "That's what Pettigrew said; it seems the boy has been acting weird these last few weeks, and-"

"Maybe he's freaking out," Remus cut him off, "He joined when he was very young, just sixteen, it's evident that he didn't think too much about it- Maybe he's regretting it and-" James laughed, and Remus couldn't help turning to look at him, "I didn't mean to be funny," he said, in a reproachful tone.