See My Star, How It Shines So Bright

See my star, how it shines so bright

What have I done? What have I done?

By Merlin, what have I done?

I have brought about my own death.

***********

1967

You can never imagine how incredibly boring it is to be a painting.

Years and decades and probably even centuries of observing, of watching over the family. One generation I have seen being born, so far, and there is no end of trouble.

"His behaviour is unacceptable!"

Walburga's voice, carrying through the room with its usual authority, startles me out of my reverie. A young house-elf flinches and spills some tea onto a tray, Walburga frowns, and I decide that the scene to follow might be worth staying awake for.

From my superior position, I am perfectly able to overlook the whole salon. Walburga, my grandniece, is pacing up and down the entire length of the room, her silken robe billowing behind her, her shoes click-clacking on the wooden floor. Her husband, Orion, my grandnephew - no, they are not brother and sister, yet judging by their offspring they might as well be - is leaning against the mantelpiece, watching her warily.

But my attention is suddenly drawn to a movement in the corner, behind the back of Orion's favourite armchair. It is definitely one of their sons hiding there, most likely the elder one. I try to pretend indifference for a few moments, but then - as I said, you have no idea how dreary the life of, well, existence as a portrait is - I move a bit to the left.

Dear me, it's actually the younger one, little Regulus, ducking down now a bit further behind the chair. What is the boy doing - oh, I see: his hands are cramped around an enchanted, wriggling ball that is certainly the reason for the boy's presence here at this unauthorized time of the day.

"Walburga, please, calm down." Merlin, what a henpecked husband he is. Were the family's features not clearly visible on Orion's face, one might easily mistake that joke to male Wizardkind for a Weasley.

"I won't calm down! Sirius' behaviour is once again beyond discussion!"

"It seems that this son of yours is like the so-called brother I had," I cannot refrain from throwing in, and gain the immediate pleasure of three pairs of eyes staring at me in several stages of shock and annoyance.

Young Regulus' eyes are wide with fear. He is obviously scared that I might betray his presence to his parents - and I have to admit that I briefly consider doing it - besides, he's not yet outgrown being permanently afraid of my icy tones and snide remarks. Somehow, I never fail to make the little boy feel guilty and inferior.

That's not really a challenge, though.

I still remember the first time the boy consciously looked at me. His grandfather had guided him through the salon, and with "this is one of my uncles, your great-granduncle" had stopped in front of my portrait. The little toddler had gazed at me, his thumb in his mouth, his blue eyes huge, and I doubt that he had really seen it, that the same narrow face, the same slanted eyes he saw in my portrait were hidden behind the chubby cheeks and the childish squinting he'd seen in his mirror.

And my name on our tapestry had been the first one the boy had been shown during his reading lessons. I prefer to think it's due to my importance, yet - "See, here, Regulus, that's an A. The letter A. A-r-c-t-u-r-u-s." His childish tongue had stumbled over the r-c, and the snort from behind his back (which had escaped me totally against my will) had filled his eyes with tears and caused him to evade my gaze ever since. Unlike his brother, I might add, who never loses an opportunity to stick out his tongue at his ancestors, or pluck at the golden threads of our names. Brat.

That brother in question, Sirius - and he is like mine; poor, misled Phineas, may he rot away in his Muggle grave - obviously is the subject of tonight's discussion. No surprise there.

"Walburga. He's only eight." Orion's voice again, rising to Sirius' defence. He'd spoil the boys rotten, were it not for Walburga's brains. "He - probably we shouldn't deny it to him. If he so much wants to-"

"I will not allow that despicable, unworthy creature to enter my house! Its presence in the gardens is already an insult! It is to be removed immediately!"

"What?" I demand to know, curiosity finally getting the better of me.

"It's an understandable wish," Orion says, and were I not so keen on learning what this fuss was all about I would have taken a lot more offence at his deliberately ignoring me.

"He's a boy. I had one myself when I was his age."

"You had - like me - a pedigree crup. If Sirius voiced the wish to own a crup, I'd be the first to concede to it, but I will not have my son disgrace himself by playing with Muggle pets."

A Muggle pet? A Muggle Pet? Merlin, will they never learn from history? "Like my brother!" I shout, startling them again. "With him, it started exactly the same way. Beware! I warn you! These things must be nipped in the bud!"

But before either of them has the opportunity to reply, the mention of a boy's gateway to heaven has proven too much for little Regulus. "A crup?" he squeals, his head popping up from behind the armchair. Horrified, he slaps his hand against his mouth, lowers his eyes, and haltingly steps forward.

"Regulus! What are you doing down here? Don't you know how late it is?" His father ruffles briefly through Regulus' thick black hair and gestures soothingly towards his wife who, though rolling her eyes and pressing her lips together, remains silent. "Go to bed, son."

Surprisingly, the boy is not so easily deterred, not even by his father's order. "Let's get a crup, please! I-"

"What? Yes, yes." His father has already turned towards the side table to have his glass refilled by the house-elf, which is by now literally shaking as if all the harsh words were directed towards it. Its clumsiness is quite fascinating, though; spilling wine out of a decanter is something I'd have thought impossible before. But despite this rather amusing aspect - complaining wildly about having to keep it because "it's a present from Lucretia" instead of instantly ridding oneself of it - honestly, what have the times come to?

Walburga pulls a face, and some of her malicious suggestions concerning the trembling creature fill my heart with contentment. She, at least, is a true Black.

To my surprise, little Regulus is still there, grabbing a silken napkin and dabbing at the wet spots beside the wine glass. Ah, playing up to his father, is he? So typical. He beams up to Orion's face. "Father. A crup? Yes? Plea-"

"Didn't I tell you to go to bed?" his father says, still smiling pleasantly yet with an edge of impatience to his voice, and the boy flinches back, stiffens.

Bows his head.

Oh, come on, boy! You want the crup! Tell your parents, request it, demand it! But the words are stuck in your throat, refusing to be uttered, aren't they?

I fix my gaze upon him, trying to spur him on, to make him show courage. Why can't I for once lean out of this damned canvas?

His mother lowers herself onto the chaise longue, her face suddenly serious, pensive, almost sad. I've never seen Walburga like that before. "Maybe the idea is not too bad after all," she says, and little Regulus spins around, gazing at his mother, his eyes shining with anticipation.

"Hm? You're still here?" Absent-mindedly, she extends her hand, and he trots across the room. His mother runs a hand through his hair and smoothes the front of his robe. "A whole day spent in the garden and your clothes are still neat and clean. My darling," she says, smiling gently at him, her thumb stroking his cheek, and I can almost see how his heart begins to soar. Honestly, did anyone declare it pamper-your-children-day today and not notify me?

"Getting him a decent crup might help."

The boy's face is aglow with happiness, the excited beating of his pulse visible in his throat. "T-thank you, Mum," he stammers.

"You're my good boy," she confirms. "Why can't your brother be like you? You're never giving us any reason to worry." After kissing his forehead, she shoves him playfully towards the door. "Now off with you, boy. Orion, can you contact the Magical Menagerie tomorrow? I reckon we'll have to order a whelp in advance. What do you think - shall we give it to Sirius for a birthday present? It might help lure him back to- Regulus!"

Regulus stops dead in his tracks, his eyes wide with shock, his fist pressed against his mouth. "M-Mother?" he whispers, and the whiny tone in his voice, the complete surrender in his demeanour, makes me cringe with embarrassment. This is a Black?

"Don't tell your brother about the crup! We don't want the surprise to be spoilt, now do we?"

Regulus swallows heavily, colour rises to his cheeks, but eventually he musters the courage to at least lift his chin a bit, saving some pride. "But Sirius- he doesn't want- It's me who- I-"

"Mh?" His father lifts his eyes briefly from his wineglass. "Do as your mother says."

"But-" The boy shakes his head, mumbles "I won't tell Sirius," and bites his lower lip.

Walburga and Orion have already turned away, engaged in a discussion about whether to give the house-elf away as a present at the next family wedding - Callidora's daughter - and I have to suppress a snort at the thought of- What? That useless creature in my granddaughter's household? Not. In. My. Bloody. Lifetime.

Oh. I really do have to get used to being a painting.

"I won't tell Sirius," I hear Regulus repeat, but - they won't dare! My granddaughter! Not if I have any say in that family!

The little boy is still standing in the doorframe, eyes huge and brimming with tears but finally he turns around, unable to further suppress the flowing of his tears.

Oh my kin, how truly unfortunate you are! One son a traitor-to-be, the other a negligible loser.

**********

1976

"Of course he asked me to join his club!"

Regulus rolls his eyes at me and leans back in his chair. But honestly, whom is he trying to fool? We're all jealous of the invitation Barty got, we'd all like to be chosen. But that's so Regulus - "Whoever told Barty that leather robes fit him must've been joking", "Arrogant prat, he thinks he's so cool, but his family is not even half as old as ours", blah, blah. And never having the guts to say anything to his face.

Barty yawns and snaps his fingers. "Hey, Reggie! Hand me your sweets!"

"Regulus! My name is Regulus!" Merlin, is he still stupid enough to jump at that?

"O-oh, sorry, Reegullusss. Mummy's darling is not starting to cry now, is he?" Getting up, Barty approaches him with this swaying gait he has taken to lately, obviously in an effort to look menacing, and somehow, I have to disagree with Regulus, who claims that Barty looks merely ridiculous.

Barty grabs the box of chocolates Mrs Black sent Regulus yesterday, and lets his hand hover above the fine selection. Picking those he knows Regulus likes best, he smirks and lets himself fall onto Regulus' bed. Turning to me, he asks, "Hey, Rabastan, want one, too?"

"M-hm." It's always been easy to ignore Regulus' offended looks, and so I pop two champagne-and-poppy-seed pralines into my mouth. "So, when did Slughorn ask you? And what did you say?"

Barty, attention whore that he is, takes his time, devours the last strawberry praline, and then mumbles past it. "Yesterday. He approached me outside the Great Hall and said that I'd probably like to become a member of his club. I'd be one of the youngest members."

"That is quite a privilege." Typically Regulus - offended and sulking yet afraid of being excluded, thus sucking up just to make sure. How predictable he is.

Barty purses his lips. "I'd regard it as a higher honour if our head of the house weren't such a pompous git. Honestly, Slytherin deserves better than some pathetic sod who only wants to be of importance. I said I'll let him know by Thursday."

"Come on, Crouch!" Regulus bursts out, "Stop pretending! You don't actually think we're going to fall for your fake indifference, do you?"

I have to blink twice. Rebellious words from that Black? Merlin, I hope they're not going to start a fight - I'm scheduled for Quidditch training in half an hour, and I'd hate to miss either.

The unfamiliar experience of being defied, if ever so slightly, is written all over Barty's face, but to my surprise - and Regulus' as well, judging from his shrinking back into his chair - he's neither hexing nor hitting him. He casts me a speculative, almost predatory glance, and a sudden queasy feeling spreads from the pit of my stomach. We are used to Barty's occasionally somewhat... excessive reactions, but-

Throwing the chocolate box aside, he deliberately lets several pralines fall onto the blanket of Regulus' bed. The prim idiot actually bends forward to grab them, and finds his wrist caught in a steely grip. Barty's eyes are like ice, and when he speaks, I can see spittle spray in Regulus' face. Ew. Well, no-one's fault but his own.

"Slughorn has Mudbloods in his collection of pet students. Like that red-haired slut your dear brother hangs out with of late. Do you think I consider the likes of them appropriate company? You want me to go there and suck up to them?"

Regulus visibly recoils from the scorn in Barty's voice. "Let go of my hand! I don't bloody care whether you join the sodding club!"

"Really? You don't care? I think we should discuss that." Barty's voice is suddenly misleadingly soft, and his almost hypnotic gaze tells me that he's up to something. I step behind Regulus' chair.

Not a second too late. Wriggling his arm free, Regulus jumps up and bumps into me. "Hey!" he hisses, trying to shove me aside, but I will have none of it; I seize his shoulders and force him back onto the chair. "Barty wants to talk to you."

"Have you two gone completely nuts? What do you think you're doing?" There is a hint of panic in his angry voice, he punches my arm, but whether he'd really have been up to a fight we will never know. All of a sudden, Barty has his wand withdrawn and points it at Regulus' throat.

Regulus freezes, staring blankly into Barty's pale face, his hands trembling; and I'd never admit to the tightening in my throat. Barty's eyes are like pools of fire, and when he slowly lowers his wand, the sensation of danger lingers on. Regulus swallows, and deplorably, beads of sweat are trickling down his temples.

Barty leans closer again.

"Pray, tell me. Do you think we should associate with people like that Evans tart?"

Regulus blinks, confused. "What?"

Swirling his wand between his fingers, Barty clicks his tongue mockingly. "Reggie, too difficult a question for you? Your brother likes Mudbloods. Thinks we should accept them, mingle with them. Has there been a change in your preferences as well that you didn't care to inform us about?"

Rage flares up in Regulus' eyes. "Don't you dare call me a Mudblood-lover!" he hisses. "I've never shared Sirius' traitorous likings!"

Barty shrugs. "Really? I rather had the impression you did."

"You are mistaken! Just because I don't bully everyone who happens to cross my path does not mean that I wouldn't like to see our world return to its former splendour! My family," he spits, firing up more and more, "my fami- the true members of my family, they're as good as yours!"

"So-o," Barty drawls, leaning back as if conducting a relaxed conversation, "I take it there's no love lost between the two Black brothers?"

Something inside Regulus snaps so obviously I can almost hear it crack.

"None at all!" he yells, his voice nearly at the point of breaking. "Sirius is dead to me! He's not family any more! I wish he were dead! I wish he and his Muggle-loving, Mudblood friends were all dead!" He smashes his fist onto the bedside locker, his eyes wild, the locks of his long black hair bouncing around his face. He's never looked more like his brother.

"I will rejoice when Sirius finally gets what he deserves! I'd rather do him in myself, it would be A PLEASURE TO ME!"

"U-huh. You sure you won't shrink back, start whining, or-"

"How dare you? Take that back immediately, or-" Regulus whirls around, trembling with fury, reaching for his wand, and Barty throws his hands up in mock surrender.

"Well, what do you know! Mummy's precious does have some balls, it seems." Despite the derisive tone of his voice, Barty is briefly caught off guard. A pleasurable sight, somehow.

Regulus shoots him a glare of pure venom. "I am as much a pureblood as you are, and I'm aware of what that means," he snarls, and for once, it sounds more like the haughty assertion appropriate to his status than the weak defence we're used to. Hmm.

Barty's lips twitch, and he lets the tip of his wand draw circles on Regulus' pillow, but his eyes never leave Regulus' face. "So," he says after a few moments of portentous silence, "you actually think I should join that club? No-" he lifts his hand. "Let me rephrase that. Would you join that club if you were of enough interest to Slughorn to make him invite you?"

Regulus audibly gnashes his teeth but is sensible enough not to raise to the bait. He draws a few steadying breaths, and suddenly, a sly smile spreads across his face. "I wouldn't know, but probably you should ask Lucius Malfoy. After all, he was a member, at least that's what he said when I last chatted with him," he replies, firmly meeting Barty's piercing gaze.

Barty lifts his eyebrows in genuine surprise.

I can't refrain from snorting at the mention of Malfoy's name, and Regulus grins back. We both love to mockingly imitate Bellatrix's sour face when Narcissa babbles on about her fiancé, besotted as she is with Mr Arrogance; we cherish the memory of Bellatrix and Malfoy being poisonously polite to each other during the engagement party, and my sister-in-law's rants against "that poncy git with his polished fingernails" afterwards. Two overly ambitious egomaniacs on a collision course, Sirius said at the time, radiating contempt and let-me-be-anywhere-but-here attitude; and I still recall biting my tongue until it hurt because I'd have never given that bastard the satisfaction of laughing or agreeing with him.

Nevertheless, Lucius Malfoy was definitely a power to look out for, and Barty wouldn't be Barty if he weren't aware of that. "Malfoy, uh? Hmm. After all, you are a Black," he mumbles, nibbling at his lower lip, a thoughtful expression on his face. After what seems like ages, he lifts his gaze to me, raises an eyebrow, and finally, finally I realise what he is up to.

And I nod.

As if forcing himself to do something that in fact goes against his grain, Barty bends forward again and whispers, "Actually, we're meeting with Lucius Malfoy this weekend." Regulus stares at him in disbelief, and to prevent him from saying something stupid - and to cut it short, Quidditch practise being about to start - I jump to his aid.

"No, Regulus, trust me, it's true. My brother will be there as well. As will some others. Important people. And you should come along with us."

"Why would they want me there?"

Barty clasps his hands in mock despair. "Didn't I tell you it's useless to invite this idiot? He'd never meet the demands. See," he turns to Regulus, "they don't want you there. It's you who should be wetting your pants for being granted this chance. But I suspected that you wouldn't be up to it. Loser."

Colour rises in Regulus' cheeks, anger, insecurity, and curiosity reflected on his face. "I didn't say I wasn't up to... whatever. All I wanted to know was- why they would care to meet with you. And-" he draws a deep breath, "and me."

"Because we are special, Reggie. Because we are the ones destined to form the future of our world. Don't you want to prove how special you are?"

******************

1979

The girl is staring up at Regulus, tears running down her cheeks and dripping from her chin. Her blonde curls can only partly hide the wounds the curses have left on her forehead, and blood slowly mingles with the tears. Her body is shaking from violent sobs, and she tugs her knees even closer to her chest.

I withdraw into the shadows, biding my time. What a pitiful sight he is, in all his Black-ish splendour. His breath comes in ragged heaves, and the tip of his wand is trembling so heavily it's doubtful whether he'd be able to aim at her properly anyway. Black or not - he should've never been charged with that task.

Kill her! You've done it before, you know you can do it! It's supposed to become easier with each strike!

Not for you, though. Your first kill was done with all the fervour of a believer, but since then...

The girl's sobs subside a bit, and her gaze flickers briefly to the left, obviously meant to distract him from the open door on the opposite wall. A spark of hope gleams up in her eyes, catching Regulus - and me - by surprise. Sly little thing! She'd have made a splendid Slytherin.

Innumerable emotions are displayed on his face - terror, panic, loathing, despair - and unwillingly, irritatingly, I can feel some of them, too. The girl can hardly be more than seven years old. Her corpse is what our glorious future is supposed to be based upon?

Regulus is trembling all over now, and my face twists into a sneer. A wretched boy who thinks he's important as long as he howls with the pack. Seems that his voice is dying away now. He won't be missed.

No, I don't actually hate him - Regulus and I simply never got along well, there's just too much resemblance to his loathsome brother in his face and appearance for me to not feel my stomach churn with repulsion around him, hear him call me Sniv- but he, of course, never did that. Quite the contrary, but Regulus' desperate attempts to befriend me, as if wanting to make up for that creature's failures, have only intensified the awkwardness between us.

Yet, aren't we both struggling to fit in, in vain?

His jaws are working, sweat pouring down his face. The tension in the room is almost tangible. The girl's sobs have ceased, and she gazes at him with clear grey eyes. When Regulus, after what seems like hours, squares his shoulders and draws a deep breath to steady his hand, it comes as a huge relief. Let it be over.

But instead of aiming at her, Regulus lowers his wand. I am about to step forward, my fingers already gripping my wand so tightly that it gives a protesting crack. His failure, my chance. Yet, I stand transfixed.

Wiping the back of his hand across his eyes, he exhales with a gush. The girl is out in the garden within a second, and we both listen to the retreating footsteps.

Bartemius Crouch's voice, shouting the Killing Curse. A low thud as the girl's body hits the ground. The piercing sound of a little dog wailing. Regulus squeezes his eyes shut and tilts his head back, repeatedly slamming the back of his head against the wall.

Bellatrix, in a frenzy of hate and ecstasy, dashes into the room, the whole lot on her heels. "Why didn't you kill her? She almost escaped!" she shrieks, her eyes wild, her wand pointing at him. "What are you playing at? Did you want her to escape? You traitor!"

She's already about to raise her wand, most likely one of her favourite torturing curses on her lips, when the cold voice of Lucius Malfoy thunders through the room. "Bellatrix! Get a grip on yourself!" Wrinkling his nose and tugging at the tips of his fine leather gloves, Lucius casts a gaze at Regulus.

Regulus turns his head; and my heart skips a beat when I see that he is actually smiling at Lucius, his face calm, almost serene, as if an enormous load has been taken off his mind.

"Would you care to explain what has just happened?" Lucius asks, his dispassionate voice bearing more of a threat than all Bellatrix's screeching. "It was your job to search and secure this room. How come that somebody else had to fulfil your duty?"

"Probably because the washout's simply not Death Eating material after all?" Crouch throws in. Leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe, he lifts his wand slowly, challengingly, licking his lips and curling them in contempt.

Bellatrix nods, as do several others. "As I've always said, he's just too mediocre a character to fit-" she hisses, but Lucius silences her with a curt gesture. "Regulus?"

What is there left to say?

"I couldn't have done it." It sounds so weary, so - indifferent. After a few seconds, when the moment of incredulous silence at his lame reply, a moment he should have used to explain, has passed by, people begin to shout. The room is buzzing with suggestions how to punish him, the few voices speaking up in his defence barely audible.

Bellatrix's eyes narrow, her whole body tenses up, like a tiger ready to strike.

How readily they go for your throat.

"His sight was blocked." Transforming into Albus Dumbledore right there in the middle of the room would have shocked them less, I suppose. You could hear an elf dropping a needle.

Regulus' eyes, though briefly widening in surprise, hold my gaze steadily, unreadable, betraying nothing that is going on behind that pale forehead. There isn't even a "why" in his look, and I am almost glad, for I'm not sure I'd have an answer to it. A flicker of a smile, cursory enough to have been an illusion. Bile rises to my throat, and my blood is rushing and hammering in my ears.

"What- You-" Bellatrix breaks the silence, almost choking on the words, and I can feel the heat of her gaze, but I won't give her the satisfaction of seeing me turn around towards her. "You! You're in with him! I knew it from the beginning, I never trusted you!" Merlin, now that's new to me. She circles around me, the arm with her wand outstretched, and two or three others join in. "Two traitors for the price of one," Bellatrix snarls, "well, wouldn't you call this a successful operation?" Many murmur approval, assenting nods all round. Regulus is still smiling.

I raise my eyebrow, tinge my voice with astonishment and a slight casualness. "Me, a traitor? No, hold on, Bella, I don't actually care whether you think me a traitor or not. But unlike you, I was present, and as long as you haven't put a surveillance spell on all of us-," and I let the suspicion linger in the air for a few seconds, "I'd be happy to know where you get your information from. His sight was blocked."

"This is ridiculous! Nobody believes y-" yells Bellatrix, a predator deprived of its prey. "I'm inclined to believe him," her husband throws in, mockingly. "Who'd stand up for Regulus, and why?"

"I'm not standing up for him, don't be absurd. Why should I? Aren't we blowing this a bit out of proportion? The girl has been removed, as was the Dark Lord's command, and it is to his service we should subject ourselves, not idle jealousies. We shouldn't be fussing over some negligible... details while the Dark Lord is waiting for our return."

"I won't-"

"Enough!" Lucius bellows. "Severus, are you sure about what has happened?"

I nod firmly, and Lucius holds my gaze for a few seconds. "I believe you," he says, radiating authority, and the murmurs die down slowly but surely. Bellatrix scowls, but Lucius is already giving orders for our departure. One after the other Disapparates with a crack, and it is only after they've gone that I realise that I can breathe freely again.

"Don't you ever do that again!" I hiss at Regulus when he passes me. He doesn't thank me, doesn't even look at me.

All he says is, "I won't. Never again."

***************

This is the cause of my death. This tiny little locket, whose engravings are pressing into the palm of my hand, as if wanting to mark me once again.

You never suspected that I knew -

One day, you will need it, my Dark Lord Voldemort, you will sacrifice somebody to get it for you, you will desperately long for it, your life, your future will depend on it, and then - oh, then you will remember me.

All of you will remember me.

For I will be the cause of your downfall.

I will be remembered.