Several Miles from the Sun

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: SOLUTIONS

"Can you see it?" someone asked.

Harry didn't recognize the voice. It wasn't Cedric or Mr Crouch or any of the other people who haunted him in his dreams.

"Can you see it?" the voice repeated.

There was nothing to see. Everything around him was dark. It wasn't like night time, but more like the darkness in a tunnel when you're standing there and don't have a torch.

"Can you see it?"

"No," he answered, weakly, unsure. What was he meant to see?

"We are all judged eventually, Harry Potter. How will you be judged?" The voice was menacing. It sounded omnipotent, and Harry didn't like that.

"Would you consider yourself unlike your worst enemy, Harry Potter?" the voice continued.

Harry understood what this was about. Parkinson's words had hit him in the heart; Hermione's fear towards him had caused it to burst. "The end justifies the means," he said stubbornly.

"And what is the end? Can you see it?"

"The end is peace, freedom, a life without fear," Harry said firmly. He believed in it. He could help accomplish it. The end justifies the means.

"Is the road to peace through violence?" The voice was mocking him.

Harry didn't reply. He wasn't sure there was an appropriate answer.

"Your friends fear you, but your enemies don't. Can you accomplish anything, Hodur?"

Harry was surprised at the title, but the scene had ended. He was no longer floating in darkness, but sitting on a bench in a park. Next to him was a pale--transparent, even--figure; feminine, delicate, in a Victorian-era dress, holding a fan, and smiling as though she were the Mona Lisa.

"My Lady," Harry said, bowing his head, "thank you ever so much for that version of A Christmas Carol." He could not help the sarcasm in his voice.

The Grey Lady, patroness of the house of Ravenclaw, fanned herself. She was very petite in size, her back straight, her posture prim. In a way, she reminded Harry of what a younger Professor McGonagall might be look like. "We often get mixed up on the roads of life, Gryffindor," she said. "It's our friends that help us find the right way home."

"I'm doing the right thing," Harry said strongly. "No matter what anyone says, I know I am. This is the only way. We have been betrayed twice. They say third time's the charm."

"Yet you mark your friends," the Grey Lady observed.

"Neither Regulus nor Parkinson are my friends," Harry said testily.

"Regulus has shown no threat to you." There was a pause as the Grey Lady closed her fan. "And then there's Ronald. Is he not your friend?"

"My best friend," Harry answered.

"But you mark him like... No, not like the others. You mark him from behind." The Grey Lady giggled girlishly. "I understand the symbolism. You are afraid he will stab you in the back. Are you that lost, my boy, that you must distrust even your own brother?"

"Ron understood. If he understood, why can't anyone else?" Harry demanded.

"Ronald is destined for great things. He was not born a leader, but certainly destined for great things." The Grey Lady stood up. "I must be leaving. If they find out I'm in the courtyard with a man..."

Harry ignored the last comment. It was not uncommon for the people in his dreams to have brief fits, and forget where they were, or who they were with. Not to mention the fact that they were no longer part of the realm of the living.

"Why did it call me Hodur?" Harry asked.

The Grey Lady stopped walking, looking at ease again. "I do not know Hodur," she said. "But, it doesn't matter if I know him. The question is, do you?"

She left, and Harry found himself alone in the park. Trelawney had often said that Harry alone could not win this battle. He was missing a piece in his set. Was it Regulus? Was it Pansy? Was it someone who had escaped his view?

It was there, standing in the middle of a place he had never physically visited, that Harry suddenly realized something.

He saw that he would be alone for the rest of his life.

He saw that he would never truly see.

He wondered what it all meant.

-!-

Chadwick seemed to be enveloped in magic. Hermione had felt it from the very beginning, and she knew she wasn't the only one. Sometimes the magic seemed to fight against its inhabitants, and sometimes it settled like a blanket of dust, allowing them to move freely.

Today it had settled, and Hermione remembered. It came to her like a sudden gust of wind, keywords here and there, until she wondered how she could have forgotten about it in the first place.

Regulus's spell was similar to the one Voldemort had created to regain his physical self, Hermione explained. Words that would spiral on, a promise of equivalent trade, characteristics of ancient magic that left traces behind. Poisonous traces that could never be eliminated.

But how?

"How could Regulus come back so perfect?" Hermione asked.

Ron and Harry, now up to date, albeit somewhat confused, shrugged.

"He isn't greater than Voldemort," Ron said.

"We underestimated him once," Hermione argued. "We never thought he'd be capable of coming back to life."

"Could he have been frozen?" Harry asked. "I mean, if he died, to have frozen his body, and..." Even he looked confused at the concept.

"If he died, he died, Harry. I'm almost certain there were no Horcruxes involved." Hermione stopped pacing around the room. "We need to ask him. We need to know. This is powerful magic. If he really had the abilities to accomplish it--"

"Except he came back without magic," interrupted Harry.

"That might be his equivalent trade," Hermione said. "He had to give something in order to come back. For him, for any witch or wizard really, magic is quite a lot to lose."

"Especially when you're one of Voldemort's henchmen," Ron agreed.

Harry nodded. "I'll have a talk with him, then. Perhaps with this information he won't back away."

Ron grinned. Hermione got up to leave, and then sat down again. "Harry," she began nervously, "I've been thinking. Voldemort has been leaving Horcruxes in places that were meaningful to him, most of them a recollection of bad memories. He left one where his mother grew up, and we thought he might leave something behind at his father's. Well, what if we were looking in the wrong place? What if he didn't leave it at the place where his father was, but instead where his father is."

"The grave site?" Harry asked, his eyes widening.

-!-

Regulus was a coward.

He was a lap-dog, not a leader. Never a leader.

He was also running. His legs hurt, his lungs were ready to burst, and he was quite sure that he had lost a shoe on the way.

Could a sinner redeem himself with one good task?

He kept running. It should have been raining; it should have been night time. Instead it was only a bit past noon, and the sun was making him sweat even harder.

His parents had always preached against the betrayal of family. You never betrayed family. Blood was thicker than water.

He stopped thinking. He ran faster. He was half-aware he was in a Muggle neighbourhood where the houses weren't carefully concealed from non-magical eyes. It disgusted him and scared him at the same time.

He reached a house, a large house with a red front door and a general feeling of niceness. He knocked loudly, urgently. "Sirius! Sirius!"

It seemed to take forever before the front door opened.

"What are you doing here?" The voice was angry, disgusted. His own brother glared down at him with contempt.

"I must tell you something! Please let me in! It's important. It's about--it's about--"

Sirius was not letting him go inside. Sirius wasn't even budging. Regulus could only see a bit inside the house. He was quite sure someone else was there; probably Remus.

"What is it?" Sirius demanded. "Look at you. Having fun with your friends, eh?" The tone was malicious.

Regulus was aware that he was crying. "Please! I need to warn you. He--He knows things. You're all--"

"Don't speak of him here!" Sirius barked. "How are you come here and snivel at my door? Why don't you go back to Mother, you piece of--"

The door was slammed in his face. Regulus could hear Remus trying to reason with Sirius. Remus had always pitied the weak.

Regulus stood there, incredulous. He felt the rage wash over him. Had he really tried to redeem himself to that ungrateful bastard? Had he gone through all this trouble to have a door slammed in his face?

He did not think again of knocking. He walked away, instead.

He was almost home when two figures in black robes intercepted him.

"You went to see your brother," one said. Not a question, a statement.

Regulus understood. He had signed his death sentence. Should he beg for mercy? Should he ask for forgiveness? Should he rely on his intelligence to survive?

"You are a fool," the second figure said.

They raised their wands, but he left his in his pocket. He didn't feel like struggling; he knew they were stronger than him. He had lost a fight. He had risked everything and lost.

It happened. That was life.

As Regulus died, he realised he had been brave for the first time in his life.

-!-

Harry had tried to come up with a plan of attack when it came to questioning Regulus. In truth, he saw, they had put off the problem long enough. They had allowed Regulus to live calmly under Chadwick's roof, not pressuring him to share his secrets. But that time of peace had ended, and now Harry wanted answers. He felt that the holiday was over; the battle was heating up.

Regulus had been staring at the ceiling when Harry entered his room. "May I help you?" he said cheerfully.

Harry had a sudden feeling of trespassing; a brief belief that he didn't belong there, and that he was intruding on Regulus's property. He tried to shake it off, but there was a certain uneasiness inside of him that wouldn't leave.

Harry did not waste time. He quickly explained Hermione's hypothesis and questions, and then sat on the edge of the bed. "Answer us," he said.

Regulus laughed. It was a sort of soothing laugh, like the one of a child who had realised he won't be punished, but is loved instead. It sounded strange to Harry's ears. When Regulus stopped, he sat up properly, and stared Harry in the eye.

"Would you really like to know?" he asked.

"Yes," said Harry, fidgeting slightly.

Regulus seemed to think it over. "Is it necessary that Weasley and Hermione know?" He added, "Because, you know, it's not really as big and important as you think it is. They say ancient magic is fifty percent luck and fifty percent stupidity."

Harry considered the request. "Tell me, and then I'll see who I choose to divulge the information to."

Regulus gave him a look that clearly said, You'll tell them, I know, but did not seem to want to argue. "All, right," he finally said, "but listen well, because I don't think I shall ever repeat myself."

Harry nodded and got comfortable. Something told him a long story was waiting.

-!-

Regulus had long since turned to the Death Eaters, and had been a follower of Voldemort's. He was aware of his brother's involvement with Dumbledore, but then again, Sirius also knew of Regulus's circle. Regulus, however, was filled with misery.

He hadn't always felt like that--like there was a hole inside of him that couldn't be filled. To be honest, he had been happy to join Voldemort. His initiation had been genius. He, alongside other boys his age, had kidnapped the Minister's daughter herself, brought her to Voldemort, tortured her, and killed her. It had been fun. Fun to see the way his Lord looked pleased, nodded, and told them they were a part of something bigger.

It hadn't been difficult for Regulus to move amongst the ranks, either. He was an obedient lad, and, with Lucius as his sponsor, quickly became a favourite amongst the elder Death Eaters. When others hesitated to participate in Lord Voldemort's plans, Regulus would quickly volunteer.

Maybe he had no heart at the time, but it was something he had enjoyed doing. He felt proud to be a Death Eater, proud that the family name of Black had not been completely smudged when Sirius had turned out to be a goody-goody. He finally knew what it felt like to be important, to be feared.

But then the rug was pulled from under him.

He had messed up on one of the missions. He had been sent alone to murder an important Auror who had information regarding some of the meetings of the Death Eaters. The Auror had proven to be stronger than him, and Regulus had barely made it out alive.

Lord Voldemort was far from pleased. "It pains me that I have to dispatch someone else to finish your task, Regulus," he said lazily.

And then there was pain. It shot up Regulus's spine, and for a minute he was quite sure his skin was on fire. His insides felt as thought they were undergoing electric shock, and he thought he might pass out.

For ten long seconds. Then it stopped.

It didn't end there. It seemed almost periodically that Regulus had to suffer the Cruciatus Curse, even if, in some moments, he thought he didn't deserve it. Lord Voldemort seemed to get angry over anything, and he enjoyed putting his own followers through pain to remind them who they had to bow to. And, it only seemed that the higher Regulus ranked, the more likely he would be subject to punishment.

Soon enough Regulus began to understand that he was not invincible--he, too, could be on the wrong side of the wand.

On one occasion he had actually been whipped, and by Bellatrix no less.

Furious, betrayed, Regulus went to mope to Narcissa.

"I can't believe the woman who babysat me, punished me as though I were still a child!" he complained as Narcissa tried to soothe his wounded back.

Narcissa tactfully kept quiet.

"I didn't even do anything wrong!" Regulus spat. "I wasn't the one in charge of the mission. It wasn't my fault we calculated wrong. Lucius didn't even defend me! He actually placed all of the blame on me!"

"I'm sure he had his reasons," Narcissa said softly.

Regulus turned around so he could look at her. "Oh, yeah? Perhaps because he's afraid of our Lord? Well, guess what! I didn't see 'constant punishment' in the pamphlet when good old Lucius said, 'Join us, we have loads of fun!'" he said angrily.

"The Dark Lord only gives you what you deserve," Narcissa said sternly. "Perhaps you're not working hard enough."

Regulus snorted and turned back on his stomach. "I work plenty, but nobody ever gives me credit."

"You sound like a spoiled little boy," Narcissa chided softly. She patted his back; her work done. "Let the cream cool a bit before you put your shirt back on."

"The Dark Lord doesn't trust me, and I don't know how to prove myself," Regulus whispered miserably.

Narcissa smiled. "It's hard, isn't it? It took Lucius quite some time before he was able to enter the Inner Circle, even with all the money the Malfoys and the Blacks have." She looked quite proud of her husband. "And our Lord really does trust Lucius. Just the other day Lucius brought home a book, which is apparently very important to Him. We're supposed to guard it with our li--" Narcissa trailed off uncomfortably. "I don't know if I was supposed to share that with you."

Regulus grinned. "Don't worry. We're family, right?"

"Please don't tell anyone," Narcissa begged. "Lucius said it was meant to be kept secret. If Lucius stays in His good graces, we may be able to secure a place for Draco among the High Ranks."

"What's a Draco?" Regulus asked, scrunching up his nose.

"Draco is the name I'm going to give our son when he is eventually born," said Narcissa. "I think it's a lovely name!"

"What a girly name! You should name him something manly like Achilles or Hercules," Regulus teased.

Narcissa swatted at him. "I think you can go home now. Remember, family secret, okay?"

Regulus gave her a peck on the cheek. He remembered their childhood moments; Being dragged to her tea parties, her showing him around Hogwarts when Sirius wouldn't, her taking care of him when he got into accidents. For some reason his chest gave a little twinge of pain, as he said, "Family secret, cousin."

Unfortunately for Narcissa, Regulus had already been spending the last two months trying to find a way to betray the Dark Lord. He was too cowardly to continue enduring pain in order to accomplish "better things".