Regulus never really knew what he wanted to be in the future.

The leading label was dead when he was seventeen. From sixteen to eighteen, Regulus believed he wouldn’t see his 19th birthday. He had been roped into the dark side for far too long, to the point it crawled up his throat and wrapped itself around his veins, contaminating his DNA with cruelty, warping him into something he had prayed to whoever would listen he would never be.

A monster.

Yet, he managed to flee. He fled the scene of the crime, erasing every last particle that had even a glimpse of him left inside, making sure he dusted over his steps and left the world behind to start fresh — to become someone new, to remove the corruption from his bones and tear it out of his bloodline. His parents had failed their job with that, so, he figured he would be the one to take the initiative and save anyone to come after him and his brother.

With that, he decided to become apart of the Muggles. He fulfilled his years in college, similar to Hogwarts, just without all the magic, learned new things, gained a masters degree in Psychology, and got a job as a psychotherapist. It wasn’t the greatest of jobs — Gods no, but, he found himself quite enjoying the feeling that racked his body once he helped yet another lost soul. They’d stray to the darkness, and he would tug them bag at the last second when they believed nothing was left for them in this world.

Volunteering was one of those adaptions. Volunteering at Psych Wards, specifically.