Be All My Secrets Remembered

La Reine Noire

Story Summary:
'Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall.' Spanning from spring of 1976 through the fateful Halloween night of 1981, the adventures and misadventures of Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, and their contemporaries, particularly those belonging to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black, Toujours Dysfunctional. Warnings: contains dark thematic material, violence, innuendo, as many literary references as can be managed, and very mild slash.

Chapter 35 - Interlude: Wormwood / Memento Mori

Chapter Summary:
Wherein bonds of blood prove stronger than one might expect. Regulus Black commits petty theft and pays the price. Dumbledore realises that he may have underestimated his enemy.
Posted:
01/25/2007
Hits:
1,359
Author's Note:
Massive, massive apologies for how long this took. I haven't abandoned this story -- I wouldn't, so close to the end -- but I suffered a hard drive meltdown at the beginning of November and only managed to get it fixed after Christmas. And then there's the PhD...but I will finish this. I promise.


Interlude: Wormwood

November 1981

In his mind's eye, they advanced upon him. Cloaked, hooded, masked, silhouettes against the starlit sky. But when they took off the masks, the faces were those of Lily and James Potter, dead eyes staring blindly forward.

It wasn't my doing. It was Black. The traitorous murderous bastard was Black.

That was what Dumbledore thought, wasn't it? And what Dumbledore thought, he thought, or so he had decided. Especially in this case. After all, who would gainsay him?

But why could he still hear the Dark Lord's voice, that sweetly hissed promise of a reward for a deed well done? Coupled with the echo of Cassandra Trelawney, they sang an eerie duet of spies, prophecies, and death. "I can spare the Mudblood, Snape. Was that what you wished to ask me? If you could have her?"

Not have her. Protect her, where Potter could not. Even at the very thought, he could feel that slow, burning pain somewhere beneath his ribs. Discordia Venere spilled from the tiny, barred dungeon window. He could have brewed it again, but he never did. He never told Agrippa, and Agrippa, in his typical fashion, never asked. He had always allowed his students to keep their own counsel, occasionally much to his regret, or so he had told Severus before.

If he regretted it where he was now, Severus did not know. Another twinge of pain there, though less potent. It had been an act of mercy. Agrippa had known that, had accepted it for what it was: a last gift from his favourite student, the only thing Severus had been able to give him.

But the other had become a matter of honour. If Li---if she was to be wiped from his mind, then Severus would do it himself. Sans potion, or spell, or any other aid.

In the end, it was the Dark Lord who came closest. Wiped her from the earth, in one sweep of his wand, one Avada Kedavra. But not for him. He could still see her, hear her voice, the last words she had ever spoken to him as green eyes offered nothing but scorn. You made your choice. Now live with it.

His choice. He wanted to protest, to say he had been left with little alternative. That it had seemed so very easy at the time, to be just as he had been painted at school and to forget everything else. To go where he was wanted, needed even. And then...he had betrayed both sides, in his own way. First Dumbledore, and then the Dark Lord. Severus Snape, Judas extraordinaire.

The Mark on his arm was quiet for the first time in so long. There had always been an undercurrent of buzzing, of unintelligible whispers that sometimes formed themselves into words. But not anymore. Severus had yet to decide if he preferred the silence. All he had to fill it were his own thoughts, not pleasant bedfellows. And his dead.

Hogwarts had its fair share of ghosts, as most places did. But Severus' ghosts followed him, flickering at the corners of his eyes and vanishing as he turned. Only Dumbledore knew of them, and not because Severus had told him. The Headmaster had always seen more than he admitted. And perhaps because he had ghosts of his own. Do the Potters haunt you too, Headmaster? You knew of the prophecy--you knew because I told you. Were they your bait to trap the Dark Lord? It was a question he never asked aloud. Not when his life depended on the Headmaster's goodwill. When Dumbledore was the only thing keeping him from the wolves--some quite literally so--that circled outside the walls of Hogwarts.

Wouldn't that make you a coward, Snivellus? He could almost hear the sneer in Potter's voice, preserved perfectly in his memory. Hiding here in the dungeons like you always did. Some things never change.

No. Everything had changed. Potter was dead. Pettigrew was dead. Black might as well be. And Lily...

Go on, say it.

Dead too. By her own choice, if Dumbledore was to be believed, to save her son. Severus wondered if that boy was worth the price, if any child of Potter's possibly could be. Already they hailed him as a hero, the Boy Who Lived. There was nothing glamorous about living, nothing extraordinary. He did it every day, lived in a world carefully and safely removed from Outside, his only link the occasional note from one Malfoy or the other. An invitation for Christmas. An acerbic account of the Ministry's enquiry. The news that Bellatrix and the other Lestranges had been captured and sent to Azkaban.

It was a new world, a strange one. A world without shadows, perhaps. But not for him.

Chapter Thirty-Five: Memento Mori

April - September 1981

It was more than a trifle ironic that Sirius, whose very name--not to mention his Animagus form--implied a dislike for felines of any persuasion, had inherited Dorcas' cat, Puck. The animal, small and black and--according to its late owner--phenomenally stupid, had taken one look at him following the funeral and promptly settled on his lap, unwilling to budge even for that noted cat-charmer Mrs Meadowes. That lady merely offered Sirius a sad smile and a few impersonal suggestions regarding maintenance and proper allocation of cream.

The cat had cried for that entire first night, prowling about the flat in search of his former mistress. Sirius merely watched, waiting until an exhausted Puck settled on his lap before murmuring, "I miss her too, you stupid animal. You don't see me whining for hours."

In spite of his own remarks to himself and James that an obvious sign of senility was talking to one's pets, especially cats, he found himself doing precisely that, usually interspersed with threats to sell Puck to a dodgy restaurant if he proved too annoying.

"I know of several, you know. I can sell you to the Hog's Head, for instance. Beer-battered cat. You might be the best thing that bartender's served in years. I don't care if he claims it's lamb stew. I'm convinced it's rat." In response, Puck yawned and began to lick himself. "You don't even care, do you? You're so infernally stupid."

"Are you talking to that cat again?" James' voice sounded from the hearth, where his head had appeared in a haze of green, Floo Powder-induced smoke. "You're losing your marbles, mate. Do you want to spend the rest of your life in St. Mungo's with a bedpan?"

"Nice to see you too."

"Well, yeah," James said, "since you've decided to avoid everyone again. I've not seen you in a week. What's going on? Dumbledore said he'd sent Hagrid to look in on you yesterday."

"He did." Sirius sighed. "Dorcas' parents sent me some of her things. Said she'd probably have wanted me to have them."

"I'm sorry, Padfoot."

"It wasn't that bad," he admitted. "I think it's getting better. Even Stupid here," he stuck his tongue out at the cat, "seems to be settling in."

"What did they send you?" James asked, visibly cautious. "Mind if I Floo over there? This is uncomfortable."

"Be my guest."

A few seconds later, James was shaking the dust from his robes in the centre of the room. "This place looks almost decent. I told you that cleaning service was a good idea."

"No, Lily was the one who told me," Sirius corrected him. "You didn't seem to notice."

"I notice now," protested James mildly. "It's an improvement. I don't even miss the piles of dishes strewn about."

"I maintain it was artistic." Sirius dropped Puck onto the floor and gestured to the space on the couch. "Sit. Want anything?"

"No, dinner's in an hour and Lily will hurt me if I don't eat. Speaking of which, care to join us? Harry might even speak to you."

"He's started that, has he?" Sirius shook his head in mock disappointment. "You'll never get him to shut up now, you know that."

James shrugged. "Lily claims he said 'Mama', though I'm doubtful since I didn't hear it for myself. She might be making it all up."

"You know that Lily. Can't trust anything she says."

"Look, mate. Whatever it is, why don't you just tell me?" James eyed him warily. "If you can't tell me, who can you tell?"

He did have a point. All the same, Sirius focused on the floor before answering. "It was a photo album. We were all in there. Even the bloody cat was in there. But not her."

James placed one hand on his shoulder, admittedly awkwardly. "She hated being photographed. You know that."

"I do. I just never expected it to matter, you know? I just assumed..." he shook his head. "It doesn't matter. I gave the album to Hagrid when he came by."

"Why?"

"Thought he'd find a use for it. Leave it in Hogwarts or something. I guess I wasn't thinking. I just didn't want to look at it and he happened to be there." Sirius managed a faint smile in James's direction. "There were a few from the wedding. You looked a right ponce."

"No more than you did," was the retort. "You and your toast that didn't make any sense."

"It made perfect sense," protested Sirius. "Everyone laughed at the funny bits and made soppy faces at the soppy bits. I count it a success."

"I say," James said, after a few moments of silence, "what are you doing tomorrow evening?"

Sirius blinked, startled. "Nothing. At least I don't think I'm doing anything."

"Well, you are now. We're going out, just the two of us. Well...let's bring Wormtail too. He's never around. It's been too long."

"You're forgetting someone."

James sighed. "Are you still not talking to him?"

"It's mutual." Sirius kept his eyes firmly on the hearth. "He's not talking to me just as much as I'm not talking to him."

"Can't you both just...?" James trailed off, mussing his hair with one hand. "I don't know. Work it out?"

"I thought Lily cured you of that habit."

"She tried. I think it's here to stay. She tells me she's willing to accept my habits so long as Harry doesn't pick them up. But that's beside the point." James looked at him again. "Will you come?"

"Do you mind if it's just us? I think Wormtail's been avoiding me on Moony's behalf anyway." He said it casually enough but he could sense James's puzzlement. "I suppose you can ask him. But don't be surprised if he says no."

James shrugged. "If you say so. How about seven tomorrow, then?"

It was a clumsy change of subject, but Sirius accepted it gratefully. "I'll see you then. Does that mean you're off?"

"I'm afraid so. Did you want to come?"

"It's alright. I think I'll stay in tonight. I'll see you all tomorrow."

Although James seemed on the verge of saying more, he nodded instead. "Seven," he reiterated before snatching a handful of Floo Powder from the conscripted flowerpot beside the hearth and vanishing into the flames.

Sirius leant back against the cushions. He must have dozed off, for the knocking at the door that startled him to his feet seemed far louder than it ought to have done. Squinting, he peered through the keyhole, and almost immediately jerked backward.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he snapped, loud enough that his ostensible visitor could hear. As he spoke, his fingers twitched around his wand.

"I needed to see you," came the answer, soft and nervous. "I'm alone, I promise."

"Give me one good reason to trust you, Reg."

"I can't." Sirius frowned. "You know I can't. At least no reason that you'll believe."

"Alright," he acknowledged, "at least you're being honest. Though where that leaves us I don't know."

"Please let me in, Sirius. I need to talk to you." Another glance through the keyhole revealed Regulus glancing over his shoulder, obviously concerned. "It's important. Really important."

"And I don't suppose you can tell me from out there?" Sirius asked, more or less rhetorically. With a sigh, he unlocked the door, though he took the precaution of standing behind it as he drew it open. "You'll go first if you aren't alone."

But Regulus was alone. He pushed the door shut and locked it, all the while watching his brother through wary shuttered eyes. "I told you."

"You did. Though that brings me back to my first question. Why are you here?"

"I need your help, Sirius."

"Interesting. Wouldn't have expected that." Sirius crossed his arms in front of his chest and took advantage of the fact that he was several inches taller than his brother to stare rather menacingly at him. "I thought you had friends to help you these days."

"If you're talking about--"

"The Death Eaters, yes. Don't try to deny it."

"I'm not denying it," Regulus said hotly. "Do I look like I'm denying it? I didn't want to join them, Sirius. I had no choice."

"Of course you didn't," Sirius sneered. "They tied you down and made you do it."

"Don't be stupid." Regulus glanced over his shoulder again and shuddered. "I need to talk to Dumbledore, Sirius."

"Oh, that's rich--"

"Hear me out!" Regulus cut him off fiercely. "I can't stand it anymore. I barely could in the first place." He lowered his voice. "Is this flat privacy-charmed?"

"Of course it is. What do you take me for?"

He didn't answer the question. "I've been spying on them all this time. Passing things to your Order whenever I could."

"Do you expect me to believe that?" Even as he said it, Sirius tried to think back to what that meant. To an idle exchange with Mundungus Fletcher what seemed like ages before. "It was you with Dumbledore at the Hog's Head, then. I'd wondered."

Regulus smiled faintly. "They mistook me for you again? It seems to happen all the time."

"Well, I can't think why they would expect to see you of all people with Dumbledore," Sirius pointed out. "People see what they want to see."

"I'm not coming empty-handed, Sirius. I have..." Regulus paused, "I will have something. I don't know what, exactly, but it's important. I can guarantee that. The Da---he's hidden it away."

"And you know where it is?" Sirius couldn't hide the incredulity in his voice. "I didn't think you were that important."

"I'm not, Sirius. Not even close. I'm so menial that they barely notice I'm there." He laughed then, but not with humour. "I'm Bella's pathetic, terrified cousin. It's surprising what people will say in front of you when they think you're beneath their notice."

"Like Father and his friends when we were kids. You wouldn't think Unspeakables would talk so much." They shared a fleeting smile at that. "So, you know where this...thing...is? And you mean to tell Dumbledore?"

Regulus shook his head. "I mean to give it to him. In exchange for protection." At Sirius' querying look, he clarified, "He's the only one who can protect me, Sirius. Not even you. Not from Bella. Or from him." That last pronoun hung ominously in the air.

Sirius just looked at him for a few moments. Then, without even thinking twice, he said, "I'm coming with you." Regulus looked visibly startled. "Reg, I'm a Curse-Breaker. You don't honestly think you can just waltz into...wherever on earth this thing is, and walk off with it, and nothing will happen? This is Lord Bloody Voldemort we're talking about. Not the class bully."

"No, Sirius." The words were soft, but firm. "I need to do this. Myself."

"I don't understand." Something about this entire business was gnawing at Sirius' mind, and it was as much in response to that as to Regulus that he all but snapped, "Reg, you're not about to do something infernally stupid, are you?"

"What, afraid I'll steal your glory?" It was said in jest, but Regulus' smile did not reach his eyes. "You're Gryffindor and I'm Slytherin. We do things differently. If all goes well, nobody will even know what I did. Except us and Dumbledore."

"And Voldemort, presumably." Regulus flinched visibly at the name. "Reg, don't do anything rash. I mean it. If you're trying to...I don't know, prove yourself or whatever nonsense that is, I don't care. That's no reason to put yourself in danger." Sirius caught his breath and closed his eyes for a second to steady himself. "Let me talk to Dumbledore. I'll do it as soon as I can. Lay low at Grimmauld Place, have Mother put it out that you're ill. I'd let you stay here, but you're probably safer there, much as I hate to say it..."

His brother was watching him, his expression thoughtful. Finally, he shook his head. "I'll be fine. I didn't expect you to care."

"If it's any consolation, I'm as surprised as you are," Sirius admitted. "Reg, I'll talk to him tomorrow. Can you wait till then?"

"I'll have to take whatever chance I can get, Sirius. I can't promise you anything. But I'll try."

Somehow, Sirius suspected that was the best he was going to get. He nodded, mouth tight. "If you say so. I still don't like it."

"I'm not asking you to like it."

"Fair enough. Just be careful. You do know how to send word to Hogwarts, don't you? Through Phineas Nigellus' portrait?" Regulus nodded, turning to leave. "Good. Oh, and Reg?"

At the door, his brother paused.

"Good luck."

Regulus smiled. "Thanks. I'll see you later."

The door swung shut behind him and Sirius exhaled so loudly that Puck lifted his head to peer at him. "Nothing to worry your little head about," Sirius informed him with a sigh. "It won't affect your next meal." He could not help wishing he could have the same certainty.

***

As Regulus followed his cousin along the cliff's edge, he wondered if Sirius had kept his word and spoken to Dumbledore. Lying by omission was a Black family tradition and Regulus had exercised it enthusiastically in their conversation; there was no way of knowing if Sirius had done the same. His brother's curious concern was the last thing he had expected, however, and he was oddly certain that Sirius had been telling the truth.

There were a multitude of reasons for Regulus to have edited his story. For one thing, mentioning Bellatrix was the surest way to earn himself Sirius' company on this little jaunt to the seaside. And mentioning the unexpectedness of the summons was, in retrospect, a brilliant move on his part, given his brother's inexplicable protective streak. Regulus smiled to himself, glad the hood hid his face from Bellatrix. Behind him, he could hear Kreacher huffing and puffing. Why he had been asked to bring the house-elf was equally puzzling. But it did not matter. Kreacher always did as he was told and who would ask him, anyway?

"Where are we going, Bella?" he finally asked, as she paused to glance round, and down at the parchment in her hand. "Is it nearby?"

"Somewhat. We Apparate down there," she said, pointing down to where Regulus could see the outlines of a small outcrop of rock just above the crashing waves. "Can you see it?"

He nodded. "You go first?"

She did, and he followed, motioning for Kreacher to accompany them. Seconds after he opened his eyes, a large wave hit the rock below where he stood, splashing him with icy water. "Bella, that wasn't fair!"

His cousin smiled from where she stood, some distance above him and out of the reach of the waves. "I don't play fair."

Neither do I, Bella. Regulus returned the smile as he followed her along the perilously narrow path to what appeared to be the entrance to a cave.

"Hold out your hand, Regulus." It seemed a harmless enough request, and Regulus complied willingly enough. She was so quick that he barely saw the knife before it sliced through the skin of his forearm.

"Ow!" He jerked back, nearly losing his balance. "What was that for?"

"A sacrifice to enter," was her only answer as she traced one bloody finger along the cave wall. In the darkness, something shuddered to life. "Follow me."

The slightest trace of misgiving caused Regulus to hesitate, to glance over his shoulder at the open ocean. It wasn't as though he had another choice, was it? Bellatrix would have no qualms about getting rid of him if he wasn't useful. Swallowing his fear, he followed, but not before murmuring a quick healing charm over his arm. Still, the lines of the Dark Mark seemed disjointed now, slashed through by the new scar.

He could hear Kreacher's footsteps behind him as well, though the house-elf was keeping a careful silence. Good for him, Regulus thought. Bellatrix was unpredictable at best.

There was only one exit from the antechamber, one that led into a cavern of indeterminate size. Regulus was almost disappointed; he had expected a maze of tunnels at least. It seemed almost too easy. Although with Bellatrix involved, it was the fool who thought that.

They had come to a stop in front of what Regulus soon realised was a body of water whose size he could not quite discern in the indistinct light from his cousin's wand. She gestured vaguely in the lake's direction and he was able to catch the outline of a boat moored just in front of them before she spoke. "There is an island just ahead of us. Can you see it?"

He could make out what looked to be a greenish glow. Not wanting to argue the point, he nodded.

"That is where the locket belongs." She reached into her pocket and held out the item in question, the chain spilling from between her fingers. "Well, go on then."

"Me?" Startled, Regulus took an instinctive step back. "I thought you..."

"Did you think I brought you along for my own amusement?" snapped Bellatrix, her impatience evident. "Go on. It's about time you proved yourself."

Sirius' very words. And it was the perfect opportunity. He couldn't have planned it better himself, quite honestly. He hadn't even managed to pin down a decent plan to get the locket from Bellatrix before they'd arrived, and now she was handing it to him. While also giving him the opportunity to get far enough away from her to switch the Slytherin heirloom for the necklace in his pocket without risk of her noticing.

"Take Kreacher with you," Bellatrix ordered as Regulus made his way toward the boat, albeit hesitantly. "He might be useful."

An odd request, but it seemed innocuous enough. Besides, Kreacher could row while Regulus got a good look at the locket he was meant to be hiding so he could Transfigure the one he intended to hide instead. Which was precisely what he did as the boat made its slow way across the lake. As they neared the shores of the island, Regulus Transfigured the locket he'd stolen from his mother's jewellery chest. It wasn't a perfect replica, but the same size and shape as the Slytherin piece, complete with a somewhat shaky 'S'. It would do.

The greenish glow he had seen from the other side of the lake seemed to come from a tall basin in front of him. A closer look revealed that it was filled with liquid. However, when he reached out to place the locket inside, he could not touch the surface. "Bella?" he called over his shoulder. "I can't do it. There's some sort of spell..."

"You can't touch it," was his cousin's reply, shot through with what sounded like amusement, much to Regulus' annoyance. "I ought to have told you that, oughtn't I?"

"Yes," he grumbled. "I assume this means I can't touch it with my hands. Handing Kreacher his wand, he ordered, "Conjure me a cup, Kreacher."

The cup the house-elf handed to him was of tarnished silver with the Black family crest carved into one side. Grimacing, Regulus placed the locket in the cup and reached out again, only to hear his cousin's voice interrupt. "Regulus, you need to empty the basin before you can set the locket inside."

"What sort of idiotic plan is that?" he demanded. "Evanesco!"

Nothing happened.

"Oh, for goodness' sake," Bellatrix sighed. "Drink it."

"But what is it?" This was not part of the plan. "Bella, I don't know--"

"Imperio!"

Regulus froze in place, horror slowly sinking in. As if trapped inside a bubble, he watched himself dip the silver goblet into the potion and begin to drink. The pain was real enough, even if his motions were not. "No," he whispered, the cup slipping from his fingers. Even as he spoke, he could hear his own voice address Kreacher, "I need you to make me drink this, Kreacher."

"But Master...if Master doesn't wish..."

"Master does wish." He sounded so certain. Regulus wanted to bang on the walls of his consciousness, to scream at himself not to listen, at Kreacher not to obey, but the house-elf was refilling the goblet and holding it to his lips.

He did not know how much time had passed. The pain only grew stronger, spreading like sharp flames through every nerve in his body. He could feel his body sink to its knees, feel Kreacher continue to feed him that ghastly liquid, bulbous eyes alive with wariness. At some point, he closed his eyes and slumped to the ground.

When Regulus opened his eyes again, the spell had lifted. He could move, in theory, but even the slightest shift was an exercise in agony.

"Where's...?" he whispered.

"Mistress Bellatrix has gone," Kreacher told him in low tones. "She wanted Kreacher to come with her but Kreacher has to stay with Master. Always stay with Master."

"Kreacher, help me up." His throat was parched. "And...water. I need water."

When, after what seemed like an age, he was standing, clinging to the edge of the now-empty basin, he watched Kreacher made his way to the water's edge. Regulus withdrew the Transfigured locket from his robes and stared at it, as if trying to memorise it. "Guess I wasn't very clever after all. But at least he won't have the real thing."

"Master!" The alarm in Kreacher's voice caught his attention, and he glanced over his shoulder. Shadows were rising from the water, clumsy and unwieldy, moving towards them from all directions.

"Hold them off, Kreacher!" He could barely hear himself speak, so weak was his voice. "Just for a moment, please."

With trembling fingers, he opened the locket and set it on the edge of the basin. Then, he dug through various pockets, finally emerging with a small scrap of parchment. On the back was written Sirius' address, though with nothing to indicate what it meant. "Scriptus," he murmured, pointing his wand at the blank side of the parchment. As he touched the tip to the surface, it left a small blot. Managing a weak smile, he began to write. To the Dark Lord...

Once he had finished, he folded the parchment and placed it inside the locket, snapping it shut. Dropping the locket into the basin, he turned back to Kreacher. At the corner of his eye, he could catch the greenish glow of the potion, magically replenished. In the light, the shapes throwing themselves against Kreacher's barrier looked truly ghastly, shades of pasty greenish white, the colour of corpses. Inferi. Sirius had terrified him with stories of Inferi when they were children. Nothing could stop them, he had said, nothing except...

Regulus pointed his wand at the nearest Inferius and, drawing on strength he did not know he had, screamed, "Incendio!"

Kreacher dropped the barrier just in time. Regulus forced himself to stagger forward, toward the boat, even as the other Inferi drew nearer. He repeated the spell over and over, pointing his wand at any white shape he saw until he could barely form the word anymore. By that point, Kreacher had started rowing, and they were making their way across the no-longer-silent lake. Regulus slumped forward, shivering uncontrollably.

"Almost there, Master," Kreacher said. He hadn't even broken a sweat, despite having held up a magical shield even as he rowed them across the lake.

"Kreacher," Regulus whispered, "thank you."

The house-elf looked surprised, but merely regarded Regulus through narrowed eyes before responding, "It is what Kreacher is supposed to do. No more."

***

He was so tired. So very tired. Even Kreacher seemed to notice, the bulbous eyes fixing periodically upon him in what might have been concern. Regulus might have laughed, had he the energy to do so.

"Why did Master Regulus make Kreacher do it?" the house-elf muttered. "Master is hurting. Kreacher didn't want to but Master made him."

"Yes, Master made you," Regulus agreed. The words burned in his throat. No, everything was burning. He could still taste the potion on his tongue, fire and death. "And remember, not a word to Mistress. That's an order."

Kreacher nodded, though Regulus couldn't tell if he was worried or merely sullen. It had always been difficult to tell with Kreacher. "Kreacher will keep Master's secret."

"Even so." They had reached the front steps of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place and he murmured the incantation to open the door. After doing so, Regulus turned and drew his wand. Marshalling the last of his waning strength, he pointed it at Kreacher. "Obliviate!"

When next the house-elf looked up at him, it was with utter bafflement. "Why is Master out here and Kreacher with him?"

"You came out to let me in, Kreacher," Regulus told him, as smoothly as his shaking nerves permitted. "Come." The house-elf followed obediently. "Now, go on back to the kitchen. You're not needed here."

He waited until the dragging footsteps had sunk into the silence of the darkened corridor beyond, and finally turned to make his way into the parlour. His attention was so focused on forcing one foot to move past the other that he failed to notice the creak of the floor, the single board beneath the rug that he and Sirius had learnt to navigate around years ago. Pulling open the cabinet doors, he opened the velvet-covered box that had held the original heirloom and arranged its Transfigured counterfeit just so.

"Regulus?" It was his mother's voice, from the doorway behind him. "What are you doing? It's gone two in the morning."

"Don't worry, Mother," he heard himself say as he turned, favouring her with what little semblance of a smile he could muster. "I'll rest in a little while. I promise you. I just needed to put something away."

She studied him doubtfully, but nodded. "You look exhausted. I'll see you in the morning."

I'm sorry, Mother, he very nearly called after her. But I've done something now. Something worthwhile. I don't know if you'd ever understand that, but I like to think you might.

He did glance longingly up the stairs, but there was one more thing that needed to be done, though every fibre in his body seemed to be humming with that awful excruciating pain. He had to tell Sirius. Had to get to Dumbledore somehow. He didn't dare Apparate in this condition, and Sirius was the only person who lived close enough that he could walk.

The shadows pooled at the corners of his vision had begun to move, to creep forward, showing sharp, white-toothed grins like skulls. He pulled the door shut behind him, breathing in the cool night air. Someone nearby had planted roses in a window box, and he could just smell them. He wondered if he would see them bloom, somehow doubted it.

Regulus took one step forward, then another. The shadows were following him now, their hands clawing at his sleeves. It was growing harder and harder to move. Squeezing his eyes shut, he forced himself to walk, but when he opened them again, he did not recognise where he was. Shaking uncontrollably, he sank to his knees. The shadows moved in for the kill.

***

It was very telling of the state of things that the church was only half-filled for Regulus Black's funeral. Even so, the Black family was in full attendance--as full attendance as could be expected, given their own decimated ranks. If Lavinia Black had thought to glance up at the balcony, she might have seen her other son, the uninvited one. As it happened, she was too fixated on the younger, lying silent in his coffin. Beneath the thick lace veil, it was impossible to discern her expression but she rocked back and forth, hands clenched in her lap.

Beside her, Narcissa Malfoy did look upward and note the young man watching, his own fingers an unconscious echo of his mother's as they gripped the stone railing. Impolite as it was, she could not help but glance back every now and then during the service to make sure he was still in the gallery. As the congregation filed forward, she lost herself in the crowd and slipped toward the staircase.

Sirius, in contrast, had not noticed any of his cousin's movements. He could only stare at his mother, frozen beside Regulus' coffin, shoulders hunched forward like an old woman. She had always had perfect posture, always demanded it of her sons and nieces. Had it been any other occasion, he might have appreciated the irony.

When he heard the footsteps on the stones behind him, he spun, wand flying out on instinct. "'Cissa, you scared me."

"Evidently." She moved to stand beside him. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"Didn't you?"

"You and Reg hadn't had a civilised conversation in years," Narcissa pointed out. "At least not that I remember. Don't forget, it was my wedding reception you both interrupted."

"Of course," replied Sirius absently.

"Aren't you going to go down there?" she asked. He could feel the grey gaze, so like his own, even from beneath the veil she wore. "You should. He was your brother."

"He was an idiot," he heard himself replying. "What the hell was he thinking?"

She did not answer and he gave her credit for that. After all, what right had she to discuss Death Eaters, deceased or otherwise?

"An idiot," he reiterated. "Nothing more."

"He worshipped you, Sirius. You were everything to him. He wanted to be just like you, until..."

"Until Gryffindor." Sirius smiled bitterly. "Then he just got me disowned and got himself killed. Mother must be very proud."

"Can't you make peace with her, Sirius?" Narcissa's voice was shaking, though it might have been an act. "You're all she has left now."

"What, she's not happy with you? You and your perfect Pureblood marriage and your perfect Pureblood son?" he spat. "Isn't it staining your reputation, 'Cissa dearest, to be seen with me?"

"Sirius, you know I don't give a damn what they think. I care about you. And about Regulus." There was a definite hitch in her voice now. "They found him in an alley, Sirius. Did you know that? Nobody even knows how it was done, or by whom. They don't know anything."

"I'd ask your friends the Death Eaters if I were you. Or Bella, for that matter. She does like hurting people, as you're well aware."

That stung; he could see it in the shadowy features beneath the veil. "Take your anger out on me if you like, Sirius. But at least pay your respects to your brother. He deserves that, surely." And, as a parting shot before she left the gallery, "You're still a Black. You always will be."

He did not--could not--answer that. Instead, he turned back to the rail and watched as the church slowly emptied of people. Soon he heard the click of her heels as she left him. Only when he was certain that everyone was gone did he make his way down the claustrophobic staircase to the empty nave.

The coffin was open; he'd always hated that tradition. No matter what, they still looked dead to him. No amount of makeup or cosmetic magic could change that. Death was the one thing you could not reverse.

What he did not expect was how young his brother looked. How quiet and...at peace. The perpetually darting eyes closed forever, the nervous twitch silenced. Sirius stumbled to his knees, breath escaping in a sob. "How could you have been so fucking stupid?" he whispered. "I told you not to do anything rash. Why didn't you listen, Reg? Why didn't you listen to me?"

"Because he was doing what you would have done."

At the familiar voice, Sirius all but jumped to his feet, spinning to look Remus in the face. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I knew him. Not well, obviously, but enough that it seemed the proper thing to do. However, I also knew your family would hardly appreciate my being here, so I decided to wait until everyone had gone. Or so I thought." Remus did not look at him, kept his eyes focused on the coffin. "He wanted to be like you."

"So everyone keeps telling me. Someone should have told him it wasn't all that wonderful."

"Hope springs eternal, or so they tell me," Remus said tightly. "How did he die?"

Sirius shrugged, painful though the gesture was. "Death Eaters, one presumes. They never did quite narrow it down. Somehow I don't think the son of a prominent Pureblood family known for its rather unsavoury connections is a high priority for Magical Law Enforcement these days." He turned back to the coffin, stared at his brother's body as though expecting Regulus to open his eyes and argue the point. "I told him to lay low, to keep quiet. He didn't listen."

"Would you have listened in his position?"

"You know nothing about his position. Don't presume," he snapped. "Besides, I didn't think you were talking to me."

"You started it," was Remus' terse reply. "It isn't all about you, Sirius. He's the one who's dead. Not you."

"Do you think I don't know that?" The words echoed sharply through the empty church.

Remus shook his head, his expression bespeaking only scorn. "No, I don't think you do, Sirius." And, turning, he started back up the aisle.


"Moony!" Sirius could hear his voice break. His--former--friend stopped short, but he found himself at a sudden loss for words. "I...it wasn't my fault, Moony. Tell me it wasn't my fault."

Remus looked at him for what seemed like an age. Then, in a tone of painful weariness, he said, "I can't answer that, Sirius. I don't know. And I'm not even certain I care anymore."

And, with that, he started walking again. It wasn't until the door had closed behind him that Sirius was able to breathe again.

***

Dumbledore had sent for Snape the moment he read the first line of Alastor Moody's report. When his new Potions Master entered, Dumbledore eyed him intently. "Are you being careful, Severus?"

Snape blinked, visibly taken aback. "I'm not certain what you mean, Headmaster."

"Have you read the Prophet recently?" The death of the Black family heir had made the headlines if only for the sordidness of it. Found by Muggle authorities in an alleyway some ten minutes' distance from Grimmauld Place, with no trace of who might have done the deed.

"If it's the younger Black to whom you are referring, Headmaster, I assure you I am being as careful as is necessary," Snape replied coolly. "He was no more than a boy."

"Have you heard any rumours as to who might have been responsible?" Dumbledore set the report facedown on his desk. Moody's suspicions, he had every intention of keeping to himself. "From any side?"

"Nobody's claimed the credit, if that's what you're asking. My odds would be on that lovely cousin of his. Unless his brother took it upon himself to play the champion by killing the most pathetic Death Eater of the lot."

Dumbledore very nearly cracked a smile at that. "I doubt it." The almost-smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. "Sirius Black came to me the day before, asking me if I would take Regulus under my protection. I told him he didn't even need to ask. Unfortunately, it seems he was too late."

"And you're quite certain he wasn't simply covering his own tracks?" Snape's eyes were narrowed and focused on the report on Dumbledore's desk.

"I'm well aware that you do not trust Sirius Black, Severus. I do not, however, believe that he had anything to do with this. Mainly because I have it on very good authority that Regulus Black was poisoned." At Snape's indrawn breath, he continued. "Whoever was responsible took a great deal of care to make certain that it was practically untraceable. Even what little the Ministry found, they have been unable to identify. I have no doubt that this was Voldemort's doing. It is why I ask you to be careful, Severus."

"Of course, sir." Snape nodded and turned, as if to leave. "Was that all, sir?"

Dumbledore frowned, his thoughts wandering. "Severus, what exactly did you overhear at the Hog's Head last winter? Don't think I've forgotten you were there."

Snape bit his lip as colour flared in his cheeks. It did not become him in the least, Dumbledore observed absently. "That there was a prophecy concerning the Da---him, sir. About who might defeat him."

"I take it you told your employer at the time, precisely what it was you heard." At what he knew to be a protest, he waved his hand dismissively. "There is no need to defend yourself, Severus. All I want from you is the truth."

"I told him what I heard." He paused, as if trying to recall the words. "The one who will vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies. Something about the parents having defied him three times...I think that was all."

Dumbledore nodded, hiding what little relief he felt. "I daresay that would explain some of what is going on."

"What do you mean, sir?"

"There was an attack earlier this week on a very peculiar target. A Mrs Augusta Longbottom, who was thankfully not at home at the time. It appears that Lord Voldemort is taking that prophecy seriously." Rising, he made his way past Snape to the hearth and reached for a handful of Floo Powder. Before he could drop it into the fire, however, Alastor Moody's head popped up out of the flames.

"Dumbledore?"

"Alastor," he acknowledged, his frown deepening. "Is something wrong? I'm afraid I've got some urgent business..."

"As do I, sir. They just found Helena Potter near Diagon Alley with a Dark Mark above her head." The magical eye had focused on Snape in a discomforting manner. "Have you any idea why they might have targeted her?"

Dumbledore sighed. "I think I might, at that."


Puck is based on my old cat. I thought Sirius deserved some companionship, even if it was of the small, fuzzy, catlike variety.

I have Krysa to thank for the section surrounding Regulus and the Horcrux. All the planning occurred during a series of IM discussions where we literally threw ideas at one another until one stuck. JKR leaves the readers with a very detailed description of the cave and the Horcrux itself, but obviously the inclusion of R.A.B. (here interpreted as Regulus Arcturus Black) throws out all sorts of questions. I took a great many liberties, especially with the inclusion of Bellatrix as an intermediary--while this does not fit with Dumbledore's description of Voldemort not trusting his followers, he did give the diary Horcrux to Lucius Malfoy, so I thought it was at least somewhat plausible that he would entrust the hiding of one more Horcrux to Bellatrix (who does make much of her high status within the Death Eaters), and that since I am assuming the potion in the font was in fact deadly, Voldemort would only want it drunk by someone expendable--I am, of course, also assuming that drinking the potion was necessary. The essay on Mugglenet, Regulus and the Cave, the Locket, and the Note by David Camillus was also helpful when it came to enumerating various theories.

Next: The last chapter.