Several Miles from the Sun

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: THE MASTER PLAN

November, 1979

Luck, someone once said, is an excuse for the failed.

Perhaps it was because he was a Black. Perhaps it was because he'd always had a good life. Perhaps it was because he'd always been able to tip the odds his way. For whatever reason, Regulus Black believed strongly in his own luck. Despite finding life with the Death Eaters harsher than he had expected, he was quite sure that his luck would eventually rectify matters. And, just maybe, it was this luck that brought him back to life seventeen years later in a house that no longer belonged to his family.

Two months before he had been whipped by Bellatrix, Regulus had begun to cultivate a small seed of hope. He had finally made the conscious decision to separate himself from the Dark Lord entirely; ideally, he would live to enjoy what remained of his life. But for this to happen, he needed leverage. He needed something that would tip the odds in his favour, so to speak.

Luck, as it always had, answered his call.

-!-

Voldemort used words that inspired his followers, but his tone indicated how he really saw them. It was of little consequence--even if they noticed--because good things came when the Dark Lord spoke, and they were the faithful soldiers who would reap the greatest spoils in the end. But Regulus was a man who clung tightly to words and tone of voice, examining them from every angle. It had been a habit developed when he was young. Late some nights, he could hear his parents fighting--trying to understand what they wanted, even though they wouldn't tell each other. He had honed this skill when Sirius fought with his mother--trying to understand if Sirius really did hate them all. And when he reached Hogwarts, he'd been successful at determining whether or not his brother's friends were really being nice or only trying to get him into trouble.

Voldemort also happened to brag quite often. He claimed to be stronger than everyone else; to have a power they could never imagine to have. Yes, maybe he was, but Regulus always felt there was more to it than simple strength. And as he began to harbour ill feelings for the Death Eaters, he wondered what Voldemort was really hiding.

At the time, Voldemort's Right Hand was a tall, black man named Sampson. He was a rather frightening man who particularly enjoyed techniques of torture, the way a boy might enjoy opening Christmas presents. Sampson, it seemed, was the only person to receive Voldemort's entire confidence. Perhaps it was because Sampson, though fearfully respected, was a bit of an outcast among the other Death Eaters.

One day, Regulus had accidentally--or, at least, so he would claim more than a decade later--come upon a private conversation between Voldemort and Sampson. Lurking behind a large velvet curtain, Regulus stood stock-still, his heart thumping madly.

"I wish to be immortal, Sampson," Voldemort said. He was clutching a goblet of wine, watching its contents swirl idly.

"Don't you believe you've made enough of them?" Sampson asked. His voice didn't strain; it came out simply, casually.

"One more. I just need one more, and then to hide them all," Voldemort said. "Dumbledore is a fool if he thinks he will be able to get rid of me." He stopped talking, his eyes narrowing into slits. "I think we have a guest."

Fuck, swore Regulus silently. He stumbled from his hiding place, trying to look as though he had been running. "My Lord, I've found you! I brought you news on my brother. The Potters, they're--"

"You're a very quiet one, Regulus," Voldemort said, dangerously.

"I--er--" stammered Regulus. He couldn't die. Not here, not yet.

Voldemort seemed to be studying him. Regulus lowered his eyes to the floor. He knew that staring back would be disrespectful. He had heard rumours that the Dark Lord could read minds. Was this possible?

Panicked, Regulus conjured up the most embarrassing thing he could think of: himself, a box of chocolates, and a beautiful woman who wanted nothing to do with him--except date his brother. Hate and rejection, thought Regulus quickly, Death Eater emotions.

An eternity seemed to pass before Voldemort chuckled. "You're very simple, Regulus," he said.

"My Lord?" Regulus asked, forcibly injecting confusion into his shaky voice.

"Leave me. You can share your news at the meeting tonight," Voldemort ordered.

Regulus bowed as low as possible, kissed the hem of Voldemort's robes, and departed, thankful that his heart was still in his chest.

But Regulus's curiosity was piqued. He had been waiting for something to use against the Dark Lord; had he found it? The conversation of immortality, hiding something, and Dumbledore's ignorance swirled around in his mind uncontrollably. Could this be his luck at work?

-!-

Lord Voldemort understood the necessity to reward his faithful Death Eaters once in a while, thus maintaining their loyalty and utility. He did this in the form of several parties, during which drinks were served, un-pure blood was shed, and Death Eaters had a good chance of ending up in a bed that wasn't theirs. Regulus never missed a party if he could help it.

After having been tortured savagely by Voldemort, he spent the following party drinking, swearing and flirting with a woman much too blonde, much too tall and with breasts much too big, who, in the end, had to put him off rather forcefully. Humbled, irritated, and more than a little drunk, Regulus decided to call it a night.

Apparating home shakily, Regulus found himself several feet off-target, in his family's library, only slightly aware that Kreacher was trying to help him to bed. Dizzy and disoriented, Regulus turned, registered the house elf's presence, and vomited spectacularly. His knees buckled, and he clutched at the nearest bookshelf to steady himself. Stumbling, he got hold of a book instead, and slipped to the floor in a heap, his head pulsing, and his stomach threatening to empty its contents all over again.

Unable to fight much longer, Regulus gave in to the beckoning Sandman, and passed out quietly.

-!-

He was awakened at seven o'clock the next morning when his mother came in, turned her nose up at the smell, and commanded Kreacher to shake him awake. She ordered him to get cleaned up--they were to have breakfast with the Malfoys. Regulus yawned, stretched, and realized that the pain in his neck was due to the thick book he had been using as a pillow. He picked it up carefully (many volumes were old and brittle) and looked at the cover. The Undeniably Dark Arts by Cygnus Black (continued by descendents) was printed on the cover in ornate, silver letters.

Ah, of course. Most of the books in the Black library were written by ancestors--scholars, philosophers, madmen. Some had been published, while several others were written solely for his family's private collection.

In an idly curious manner, Regulus leafed through the book, back to front, until he encountered a table of contents that had been added to and scrawled upon, throughout the years. While Regulus was familiar with many of the topics - an early form of the Imperius Curse, and a passage written by Bellatrix on focusing the Cruciatus Curse were among these - many of the others were nearly incomprehensible. Who on earth wanted a spell that would cause muggle toilets to regurgitate? But there, nearly two-thirds of the way on, was a word he did not recognize. In spidery handwriting, the phrase "HORCRUXES - A SECOND CHANCE AT LIFE?" screamed at him. This was precisely what he would need, if he would have any chance of successfully escaping the Death Eaters. Ignoring his mother's increasingly agitated calls from below, Regulus quickly flipped to the appropriate page. The entry on horcruxes was only a page in length, very brief in information, and looked as though it were meant to be updated.

Horcruxes, it read, have long carried the controversy of whether or not they can be considered as homicidal objects. The removal and storage of a part of the soul, while not damaging to the body per se, is seen as a violation of the act of God, if not nature itself. It is important to note that a Horcrux does not always work. In 1856, Andrew Isaacs used a Horcrux as an anchor to keep part of him on the Earth plane while he travelled Purgatory for research. However, as his wife and Isaacs's assistant report, upon sending himself to Purgatory, the Horcrux--embedded in the couple's wedding album--blew up. As a consequence, Isaacs was stuck in Purgatory and never seen again.

His face fell as he finished the pitifully short passage. No instructions; not even any indication as to the requirements. What in the world was a horcrux? And how could it be stored in a wedding album? Something tickled the back of Regulus' brain - maybe he was still hungover - but something seemed to fit. And suddenly, in a glorious moment of understanding, something thunked satisfyingly into place.

-!-

Regulus tried to eavesdrop on other conversations, mostly with no success. When Sampson died a month later, Regulus was sure it was because Voldemort was nearly finished, and didn't want anyone to know the truth about what he was up to. So Regulus began to take up with Lucius again, who had suddenly found himself promoted to Right Hand.

Slowly, combing methodically through his family's library, Regulus made progress researching horcruxes. It was hard--Horcruxes were a taboo subject, but he didn't need much to go on.

And then Voldemort's Very Secret Project had started.

Regulus was not included. Perhaps it was because he had messed up a few times in the past, or perhaps because Voldemort thought he'd had an impressive record of being places at inconvenient times. But Regulus's closest friend was, in fact, included. And that particular friend, a plump wizard called Crabbe, talked a lot when he was under the influence of alcohol.

To explain the entire conversation would perhaps be a bit boring, especially as listening to an alcohol-induced moron is painful, but Regulus' recollection went like this:

"What is You Know Who is having you all do these days?" Regulus asked casually. Wine was poured into glasses. Fifth round? Or was it the fifteenth?

"Eh, he's having us transport Inferi," Crabbe muttered. Drink, slurp, munch on peanuts.

"Inferi?" Regulus asked, curiously. Voldemort really did seem to be obsessing over them as of late. "Where to?"

Drink, drink. "Top secret."

More wine was poured. A new dish of nuts was brought out. "You can tell me," Regulus insisted, "Who am I going to tell?"

Crabbe shrugged. "Eh, some cave on a coast. Bloody cold out there." Drink, drink. "Have I told you the wife and I are having problems?"

Regulus ignored this last. "What coast?" he pressed.

His friend seemed to be thinking about it--while helping himself to another glass of wine. "Remember a few months back when we went to scare those little Muggle children on a lark? He was furious with us. I think we weren't supposed to be there. There was a beach you saw."

"I joked about going for a swim," added Regulus, remembering, but unable to recall a cave. He hadn't seen one. Maybe it had been hidden from simple view.

"Yeah, yeah, that one." Drink, drink, munch. "Roberta will have my head if I'm late again. I mean, you'd think she'd sympathise with this job."

Despite having no patience for Crabbe's domestic fixation, this was enough information for Regulus. He wiped his Crabbe's memory deftly and escorted him home, to Roberta's not-so-delicate ministrations.

"Men; you're good-for-nothings," Roberta had snarled, carrying her husband into the house.

Regulus stood out in the night air, thinking hard. Was the cave a hiding spot for Voldemort's Horcruxes? He had to know for sure. His freedom was within reach. Just a little longer, and he could make his escape.

-!-

Regulus returned home that night with a plan. He now knew Voldemort kept one Horcrux in the cave, and, by all appearances, Lucius had another one. He could easily go after Lucius; steal the book, but--

Family, the word echoed in Regulus's mind. Blood was thicker than water, and you didn't just do those sorts of things to family. If Lucius lost that book--if it was truly a Horcrux--he and Narcissa would die painfully by Voldemort's hand.

Regulus didn't feel he could sentence them to that. Especially not if Narcissa was so keen on spawning a child named Draco, who would go into politics, marry well, and be the pride and joy of his family.

Regulus owed them more than that.

So.

It would be door number two. It was decided. He would go after the Horcrux in the cave. Or, at least, try to. Except, except--

Instant death, probably at Voldemort's own hands. Automatically, bloodily, and that wasn't quite what he wanted. He wanted to stay alive.

Regulus decided there was only one road left to him. Turn himself into Dumbledore. Dumbledore was an understanding man; he had often said that he believed in giving people second chances. Surely Regulus was no different--especially if he came with Voldemort's deepest secret, and a piece of his soul, to boot.

But he had to be quick. Regulus had been sloppy, as of late. His desire to leave had possessed him, obsessed him. He stayed up late at night, trying in vain to research horcruxes in the Black family library. His late-night studies had turned up several volumes on extending life, but nothing else on horcruxes, or specifically, their destruction. Somewhat sleep deprived, he had gone about his daily Death Eater responsibilities mechanically; his heart was no longer in it. He was quite sure that Voldemort had at least sensed that. His death, even now, might be in the making, and, once again, Regulus didn't want to die. He wanted to grow old, get married to an average woman and have average children. In short, all Regulus Black wanted anymore was an average life.

Regulus ran through his impossibly simple-sounding plan. One, get Horcrux. Two, make it out alive--whatever was in that cave--Inferi aside--probably wasn't going to be cute and cuddly. Three, go to Dumbledore. Four, continue breathing. Five, average life.

Excellent, a good plan, except--

Would he have time to make it from the cave to Dumbledore? He could go to Sirius, instead. Surely Sirius would protect him until they could locate Dumbledore. There was a grudge between the brothers, but... blood was thicker than water.

His plan, despite being simple, was highly dangerous, but Regulus thought he had an idea for a safety net. As he had done several nights that month, Regulus waited for his mother to fall asleep, and snuck to the library. He plucked a book (Life, the Universe, and Everything, by Sirius II) from one of the shelves. It was a sort of recipe book, except that it contained instructions to make spells and potions of a very complex nature rather than bake the perfect birthday cake. Some of the instructions had been crossed through, but others were either perfect, or untested. One such spell had been only half-written, with a small footnote. So that Hesper may call me home when she wishes, it read.

A spell to call you home.

Regulus worked nearly all night to finish it. It was vastly complicated, and laced together with ancient magic. He'd had to reword most of the spell to fit the occasion, and he'd added ingredients where he felt they were needed. Birds were singing as he finished, but he was quite sure he had something useful. Sirius II's introductory passage indicated that ancient magic was half nerve, and half pure luck. Regulus knew he had at least one of these working for him. Could he use this spell?

If he could get someone to say it, the spell would bring him "home". Right out of the frying pan. Home to Grimmauld Place, and then immediately into Dumbledore's protection. It could work. But of course, Voldemort wouldn't just let Regulus go.

Think, Regulus forced himself. He was not stupid. He could do this. Perfect; it had to be absolutely perfect. His entire life depended on this.

If I get the Horcrux, and I'm still alive, how do I stay so?

He was going to see Sirius. He was going to ask Sirius to help him and take him to Dumbledore. Blood was thicker... And it hit him.

Sirius. Sirius could pull off the spell!

It was quite simple, now that he thought of it. After going to Sirius, all he had to do was explain the spell. If Regulus was later caught by Voldemort, he'd be tortured. By arranging a signal, Sirius could "call him home", and then the two could hurry to Dumbledore's protection.

He'd be free. Free! FREE!

Regulus felt a weight lift off his shoulders. He was ready for anything. He'd get a good night's sleep, and then immediately be off for the Horcrux. Voldemort would never suspect that he--a Death Eater--would go against his Lord. Voldemort would never imagine that there was someone that sneaky.

Regulus would prove the bastard wrong.

-!-

It took Regulus a bit of time to find the cave. He had never been good at detecting Concealment Charms, and he had to poke around quite a bit before he noticed everything was right under his nose. Now wet and cold, Regulus touched the wall of the cave, considering.

How, exactly, was he supposed to get in? He knew, from a few diagnostic spells, that he had found the entrance. A beautiful white outline was sketched into the stone confirming this, but he could see no sign of hinges or a keyhole.

Well, not exactly.

Could Voldemort's cave require a password to enter? Regulus frowned, trying to think about how the Dark Lord worked. He was a man of obedience, a man of--

Pain. Could it be? Voldemort certainly did like to see his subordinates suffer.

"Crucio!" cried Regulus, casting the spell at the door's outline. The spell rebounded and hit Regulus squarely in the chest. His screams of pain echoing throughout the cave, Regulus could do nothing but wait for the reflected spell to subside. It may have been mere seconds, but Regulus panted hard, his frame shaking, and his breath coming in gasps.

Damn. What else might weaken Voldemort's opposition, if they sought entrance? A blood-sacrifice? It was powerful ancient magic, and just crazy enough to work.

Still shaking, Regulus took out his wand and muttered a spell. A jagged slice appeared on his palm, and blood trickled onto the rock. He healed it with a deft twirl of his wand. Regulus smiled as the rock gave way to utter darkness, pleased with his own cleverness.

Well, not that pleased.

Wand out, Regulus crept cautiously into the cave, his skin crawling. Yes, there was definitely strong magic here. Even he could not miss it. He could detect a faint green light at the end, and the air seemed to thicken around him. He noticed a lake, which seemed to extend on and on. He walked closer to the shore, carefully to not actually touch the water. There was something powerfully magical about the lake Regulus didn't wish to disturb. Yet.

"Ah," said Regulus. The green light could now be pinpointed somewhere in the middle of the lake. A sort of come and get me sign, which Regulus found reassuring. Now how would he get there? There was something about the water that indicated swimming would be a bad idea.

Voldemort certainly wouldn't swim, either. There must be something, a boat or a raft. Regulus tried to steady his heart rate and concentrate. The effects of the Cruciatus were slowly wearing off, and with a clear head, he could feel magic everywhere; there was probably something hidden.

There! A slight shimmer in the air that shouldn't have been there in the first place. Regulus ran his hands across the ground, questing for something solid. Come on, come on... Finally, he let out a delighted noise, and used a revealing spell.

A chain appeared out of thin air, diving into the depths of the water. Regulus grabbed it tightly and pulled. He felt relieved as a small boat came into view. He had a way to cross now.

As Regulus sailed on--the boat seemed to be quite content to move on its own--he couldn't help but glance into the water. He was quite sure he could see bodies down there. The Inferi? Possibly. They didn't worry him. He had worked with them plenty of times. He only feared anything else Voldemort might have hiding around. And that, he reminded himself, encompassed quite a bit.

Regulus let out a deep breath as he floated slowly towards a small island. The green light shone from it, and Regulus found himself staring at a stone basin, sitting proudly atop a pedestal. The basin was filled with liquid that seemed to glow. There, at the bottom, was a heavy-looking locket.

"So easy," Regulus grinned, and reached into the basin victoriously.

His hand stopped midway. He couldn't get any closer.

Fuck. He should have guessed. He'd been so steeped in luck lately that he had underestimated Voldemort. Stupid.

How would he break through? Over the course of a very frustrating hour, Regulus tried a series of things. He tried to use his wand to suck up the liquid, he tried to tip the basin itself, he tried to Transfigure it into something else; he even tried to Summon the Horcrux from a short distance.

Nothing worked.

Fuck.

Did he have to drink it? It was the only thing he hadn't tried.

He refused.

There was no way in hell he would try that. He wanted to stay alive, and he was quite sure the liquid was dangerous. There had to be another way.

Think.

Regulus was suddenly aware that something was staring at him. He turned around, wand ready, and took a startled step backwards - a dozen heads peered at him from the water.

He had lied to himself. The Inferi frightened him. A lot. Especially when they were staring at him like that. As though--as though they were waiting for him to make the wrong move.

Regulus stared back at them stubbornly. They wouldn't hurt him as long as he was on the island. Or, he supposed, at least not until he had the Horcrux. He wanted that Horcrux. Should he drink from the basin?

Regulus glared fiercely at the closest Inferi. Was it inching closer? Regulus tried to remind himself that he had worked with Inferi before. They were nothing but toys. They weren't intelligent, and were, in fact, easy to kill. They weren't a real threat. It was the fear making it worse.

They are nothing but toys, he thought forcefully.

Regulus closed his eyes, steadying his breathing. He remembered a time when he had been assigned to Inferi duty. His task had been to gather them into a large cage to be used later. Inferi didn't take orders; they didn't know how. By simply releasing them on something you wished destroyed, they would wreak havoc. However--

Regulus opened his eyes. Inferi were susceptible to the Imperius Curse. That was how the Death Eaters ordered them around. They couldn't even fight it off.

Could he? Could he use an Inferius? Would the basin know? It couldn't. Voldemort could never imagine a potential foe would be willing, or even know how, to interact with an Inferius. This might just work.

"Imperio!" Regulus bellowed, pointing his wand at the nearest Inferius.

"Come to me."

He watched as it rose slowly from the water, and had to stifle a cry. It was, or rather, had been, Sampson. Regulus tried not to think about it. He urged the tall, black Inferius closer, holding his breath.

"Approach the basin."

The Inferius obeyed with ease. Regulus wasn't quite sure he could maintain the spell, though. He wasn't the best at these curses, and it was wearing down on him. He needed to hurry up. If he ran out of strength, he would be in big trouble.

"Drink the liquid."

Sampson the Inferius scooped the liquid up in his hands and drank. He repeated the process thrice more. Regulus was silently singing victory when Sampson suddenly began to thrash around. Regulus was losing control of the magic, and the liquid was having some sort of side effect.

"Continue!"

Regulus moved towards the basin, careful to keep out of the reach of the Inferius. Soon enough he'd turn on him. Surely it was also under some protective enchantment of Voldemort's.

"Again!"

The locket was now tantalizingly close. One more drink should do it, but Sampson was suffering from immense pain--probably being burned from the inside out--Voldemort was fond of that one for muggles. Regulus would be unable to Imperius another, and, by the looks of it, this Inferius was calling on the others for help. Ripples were erupting from the water all around him. Splashes echoed off of the cave walls, somewhere in the distance.

The Inferius took the last drink and fell to the floor, an empty husk of a corpse. Regulus scooped up the locket, truly smiling for the first time in months. He felt, he felt--

Victorious.

And it was very quickly going to his head.

He inspected the locket carefully. Yes, this was it, he was sure. A Horcrux, he could feel it. Regulus grinned. He wouldn't let this moment go to waste. From his breast pocket, he pulled out a locket of his own. It wasn't as pretty, he had to admit, but it would do. He hadn't thought of it, but he felt like leaving a fake, since he had the chance. His locket had been a family heirloom, but he probably wouldn't need it.

He'd be disowned any day now, anyway.

"Let's see," he said, pulling out a parchment and a pen. He felt cheeky. He wanted to leave a note, as well. He scribbled something hastily, stuffed it into the fake locket, and placed it carefully back into the basin. To his surprise, the basin refilled itself.

Regulus let out a breath. He had just completed the hardest part of his plan.

And he was still alive. Now he had only to escape the Inferi creeping out of the water, track down his brother, explain the spell, and seek out Dumbledore's protection.

Regulus swallowed, hard. He would need his luck. Every bit of it he possessed.