Only the Brave

Chapter 50: State of the Nation

"You're bleeding on my desk," Regulus points out, giving Remus a look that indicates he better clean himself up or else. 

Huffing an indignant breath, Remus shrugs his t-shirt off—or what remains of it—and uses it to wipe at the blood on the desk before holding it against the wound on his shoulder. Regulus notices with keen interest that he's got ink, too. What is it with Order people and muggle tattoos?

He has half a mind to ask Remus how, exactly, they work and how one goes about getting them when Remus speaks and derails that train of thought.

"I still think you should let me come tomorrow," Remus says, not for the first time this week.

"No," Regulus says, also not for the first time. "Stop asking, it's annoying and not going to change my mind so, really, just a waste of time."

"It's been seven weeks. Almost two months, Regulus. We should be thinking about me contacting the Order at some point," Remus insists, scowling at the wound that simply will not stop bleeding.

"You're a smart lad," Regulus says somewhat patronisingly. "I'm sure if you think about it, you can see how you showing your face during a fucking battle that the Dark Lord himself is going to join isn't a good idea."

Remus clenches his jaw, but yes. They've talked about it. Why it's dangerous for Remus to go. He's distracting and Regulus cannot afford for anyone to get distracted tomorrow. The plans are set. Things are in motion. And thanks to his cunning and despite Bellatrix's protests, Regulus has managed to get himself put with the attack team not the stealth team. Severus will take care of that instead.

"I just—I don't like it," Remus grunts, then swears under his breath, the remains of his t-shirt soaked through on his wound. "It won't stop fucking bleeding."

Shoving his chair back rather roughly for someone who usually moves with grace, Regulus stands and rounds the desk to come hover near Remus. "Move that rag out of the way," he says, taking out his wand. "This is pissing me off."

Remus complies, exposing a bite mark in the shape of perfectly human teeth. Regulus gets to work healing it. He's still brilliant at it. It takes all of five minutes to get it to stop bleeding and close up. On his forearm, there's a word carved into skin that Remus will carry forever. 'Beast' as written by Bellatrix with her knife. Neither of them acknowledge it. Remus clenches and unclenches his bruised fists the entire time, but he doesn't ask Regulus to heal his knuckles. Regulus doesn't offer to.

"I still think you should let me tell Moody I've made it in, at least," Remus mutters through a new cigarette, lighting it with the tip of his wand.

"No point," Regulus replies. "You can't give them any information they can use anyway and them thinking you've turned to Riddle's side for real will only send them into a panic."

"You have very little faith in them," Remus observes. He doesn't comment on the name 'Riddle' because Regulus has been slowly feeding him information over the past weeks.

Remus has proven himself to be a good ally to have. He's fucking smart, which Regulus appreciates, and ruthless when he has to be. Since Regulus saved his life, Remus has wrangled control of almost all the packs sworn to Riddle's service.

"What was it today? Ninth kill?" Regulus asks, gesturing to Remus' bloodied hands.

"Yes," Remus confirms, his jaw tightening a little bit. Regulus knows he doesn't like it, but there's no way to claim leadership of a pack of wolves other than challenging the alpha to a fight. The fight is to the death. Every time. "One more, then we'll have all ten."

"What about the others?"

"In for the ride," Remus says, smirking wickedly. "Not hard when we have something they want."