The Killing of Regulus Black

Chapter One

That was the hell of it, wasn't it, Alastor Moody thought. The sky was blue, the grass was green, the lilacs scented the air, the goddamn birds sang their stupid heads off and the tombstones gleamed like clean bones in the bright sun of a May morning. You couldn't have asked for a prettier day to watch Angelica McMahan throw the first shovelful of dirt on Andrew McMahan's coffin, newly-laid in its grave.

If that was what you wanted to watch.

Her duty done, Angelica McMahan carefully handed the shovel to the sexton. Then, just as carefully she backed away from her husband's grave, never taking her eyes off it until she was standing next to Lily Potter.

Members of the same sisterhood now. Lily, showing her pregnancy, was a little further down the road they both traveled. How many months along was Lily now, seven? What did Moody know about these things? All he knew was it was only a month ago when he'd seen young Potter in the staff office, laughing and clapping a flushed Andy McMahan on the shoulder.

"Congratulations, Dad. Take it from one who knows: the good times are, as of now, officially over."

Yeah, Moody thought, looking at the gravediggers finishing the job Angelica McMahan had begun. They sure were.

Lily folded Angelica into her arms. Sagging slightly, Angelica wept on her friend's shoulder. At Angelica's side stood McMahan's parents, looking stunned. At Lily's side, looking just as stunned, stood James Potter.

The rest of McMahan's and Angelica's families were there. James's parents had put in an appearance. Harold Potter was pale, grim and silent. Madeleine Potter's eyes flickered to her son from time to time, when James wasn't looking. Then to McMahan's grave. And back to James Potter.

Like a pair of some kind of weird, jittery birds, Moody thought.

He heard keening. His eyes jerked around, seeking the source of the sound. It was Angelica McMahan.

"It wasn't because he was an Auror! It was because he was one of you! The Death Eaters killed my husband because he'd joined your Order--!"

She'd lifted her head from Lily's shoulder and had her eyes fixed on James Potter. He stared back at her, his face white and, except for the twitching of a tiny muscle in his jaw, absolutely still.

And he was silent, the fool. Moody tried to catch James's eye. Shut her up, for Merlin's sake! he thought furiously at him. Maybe the grave was a fine and private place, but graveyards were open to the public. Anybody could be getting an earful of what Angelica McMahan had to say.

Madeleine Potter stepped into the breach, thank the Light. Her arms encircled Angelica's shoulders. She spoke soothingly, but loud enough to drown out Angelica's words "--There, there, my dear--" and persistently, until the poor girl, losing a train of thought she'd never had a firm hold on to begin with, dissolved into sobs.

That did it for Moody. He'd said his farewells to Andrew McMahan. Time to say the last empty words of sympathy to Angelica McMahan and get the hell back to work. Time to find out who of Voldy's lot had dumped McMahan in Knockturn Alley and left the Dark Mark floating over his torture-wracked corpse. Who had murdered another Auror of Moody's Special Criminal Investigations Unit, another member of Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix, another kid who never made it to the quarter-century mark of his life.

"I think you'd do well to leave Angelica McMahan in peace, Alastor. Madeleine's got her well in hand."

Moody turned at the sound of Albus Dumbledore's quiet voice. "You're here," he said.

"I've been here," Dumbledore answered.

"I didn't see you."

"I didn't wish to be seen."

Moody thought of Angelica's likely opinion of Dumbledore and his Order. "Yeah, I'll bet."

Dumbledore's voice fell even lower. "I didn't wish by my presence to remind Angelica McMahan how very right she is. That her husband would probably be alive today if he had not been a member of the Order."

"Yeah," muttered Moody. "If you and I hadn't been fools enough to think he could infiltrate the Death Eaters."

Heavy silence hung between them for a moment. "You will come with me to the Leaky Cauldron for lunch, Alastor," Dumbledore said.

"I was heading back to the office."

"I may have found someone who can do for us what Andrew could not. I want you to meet him."

Moody looked at him. "Have you thought we might be wrong to believe we could get one of our people close enough to Voldemort to do us any good? Has it occurred to you, maybe, that we ought to give it up?"

"No." The old sinner's eyes twinkled for a moment. "So I know you will agree I could profit from your balanced viewpoint. And your judgment," he added soberly. "I find this man rather hard to read. Which could be a good thing."

"Or a bad thing," Moody said.

"Indeed." Dumbledore took Moody's arm. "Come, Alastor, before we're seen."

Moody looked around. They were being ignored for the moment. But flowers covered McMahan's filled-in grave and the funeral party was beginning to break up.

"I'm sure this won't take more than an hour," Dumbledore said.

"All right." Moody allowed Dumbledore to lead him in the opposite direction, into a copse of trees that hid them from the rest of the mourners. There, with two soft pops!, they Disapparated.