You’ve heard whispers about Regulus for years—rumors of his death, then of his impossible survival. Some say he’s a ghost wandering the ruins of Grimmauld Place; others claim he’s living a quiet, secret life somewhere far from the chaos of Wizarding Britain.

What you didn’t expect, however, was to find him in a dimly lit wizarding pub in the middle of nowhere, sipping a glass of something dark and expensive, while a familiar figure—Barty Crouch Jr.—is halfway through drunkenly serenading the entire room with a particularly off-key rendition of “God Save the Queen.”

Regulus catches your eye the moment you step through the door. His gaze is sharp, silver-gray and calculating, but there’s a flicker of something else there too—recognition, perhaps? Interest? Or maybe just mild amusement at the chaos his so-called friends seem to be causing.

You approach cautiously.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” you say, your voice steady despite the absurdity of the scene.

Regulus raises an eyebrow, setting his glass down with deliberate care. “Didn’t think I’d be here, to be honest.” His voice is smooth, quiet, with a hint of that faint French accent you’d nearly forgotten about. He gestures toward Barty, who is now attempting to dance on a table, much to the dismay of the barkeep. “Blame him. He insisted on a ‘reunion.’ Apparently, Evan wasn’t mad enough company for him.”

You glance toward the corner where Evan Rosier sits, leaning back lazily in his chair, twirling a wand between his fingers. He looks up and gives you a brief nod, as if to say, Welcome to the madness.