Changing One's Stars

Regulus Black appeared on the doorstep of number twelve Grimmauld Place. He rested one shaking hand on the doorknob for a few seconds longer than strictly necessary for it to recognize his blood and let himself in. He took three quite steady steps into the hallway before his memory caught up to him: a scream, the words of it lost in hysteria and the high pitch of the young voice, little fists pounding on his thigh...

I ran. I ran. She's dead. He's dead. They're all dead. I ran.

The completeness of what that meant struck him, and for the first time fear joined his horror and revulsion. The familiar hallway spun and the old ugly troll leg rested on the ceiling for a moment before the world righted itself and Regulus' stomach twisted. He ran for the hall bathroom, fell to his knees before the toilet, and retched with his mask still dangling from one ear. When he had emptied the contents of his stomach he leaned, gasping, on the cold black porcelain. He knelt shakily for a few minutes before he could regain the sense to tear the mask the rest of the way off. It was flecked with vomit. Regulus snorted at the statement his digestive tract had made regarding his choice of political affiliation.

He set the mask in the sink to wash it, but his hand stopped on the spigot and moved to the wand sheathed at his thigh. With a scowl, a jab, and a twist of will he set the thing ablaze and stared as flames consumed the white cloth skin and caught on the wood beneath. He had carved this himself, with magic, before he had even been marked. It fit the contours of his face perfectly. His imagination placed his own steel gray eyes in the empty sockets, licked by flames. He was finished. He was burning away his past, his sins, his future.

He removed all trace of the mask with a scourgify, but continued to stare, lost, into the polished basin. He could not say how long he stood there until, with an impulse and a swirl of robes, he made his way down the dark hallway and the stone steps that led to the kitchen. He felt his way from chair to chair, slammed the pantry door open and lit his wand. The sudden light glared off bottles and jars, blinding him but not helping him find what he was looking for. He scanned the shelves and started shifting things aside, pouring his fear and revulsion into the search and caring little if containers broke as glass clinked together. He let out a roar of frustration and was fighting the urge to shove the lot of it to the floor when a voice spoke hesitantly behind him.

"Is Master... looking for something?"

Regulus tensed entirely. His heart hammered against his ribcage, but the house-elf's voice brought him back to a world containing things other than his self-disgust and panic, the world he had existed in only a few hours earlier. He took a long, slow breath.

"The firewhiskey, Kreacher, please."

Kreacher apparated with a pop to the top shelf, grabbed the sought after bottle with both hands, then apparated back to Regulus' feet.

"Thank you." He took the proffered bottle, not looking at the blank yet somehow disapproving look he knew Kreacher had on his face. He made his way to the kitchen table, waving his wand to light a fire in the grate as he went. He sank into a chair and summoned a shot glass, which arrived in front of him spinning on its rim like a dropped coin. He stilled it then filled it to the brim with the amber liquid. As he held the glass to his lips, some logical corner of Regulus' brain told him that pouring liquor over his already roiling stomach was unwise, but he silenced that corner and upended the glass. He nearly gagged as the fiery liquid hit his throat, already raw from stomach acid, but managed to swallow it in two gulps. The fumes seemed to waft through his sinuses and into his brain, bringing a detached sort of clarity to his situation. He had run from an assignment. Two other Death Eaters had seen him do it. They were probably reporting to the Dark Lord on the subject right now. Regulus sighed, leaned on the table and rested his forehead on the heel of his palm. Kreacher climbed into a chair across from him and watched him with some concern, but said nothing.

It was customary for a disobedient or errant Death Eater to be given an hour to beg for forgiveness from the Dark Lord. After that, the hunt would begin. He had about half an hour. He could still do it, prostrate himself before the Dark Lord, face the Cruciatus Curse and possibly worse tortures. He would be stripped of what little rank he had, but he would be alive and free as any Death Eater ever was. He could do it. He could go now.

And continue doing exactly the sort of thing he had run from tonight. Until an Auror or an Order member caught up to him, or worse, until they won the war. Then he could do it forever.

Another wave of nausea hit him and he buried his face in his hands. No. He could not. He would rather die. Upon the realization his pulse, which had been fluttering ever since he had looked into that little boy's eyes, began to slow to its usual tempo. His muscles relaxed, their tension replaced by a horrible weariness. I'll never sleep again.

Regulus stood to take the only actions available to him. He would leave Mother a note, then leave the house so that she would not have to see the mess they would make of him. He numbly mounted the stairs, to his room, lit a lamp, and sat at his writing desk. He opened the drawer to retrieve his stationery, shifting aside the locket Aoife had given him when they had dated briefly in sixth year.

As he was pulling a piece of parchment from the drawer he stopped suddenly. He reached back inside and snatched the locket.

I hold and ace. He let the locket dangle by the chain. He watched dazedly as reflected lamplight danced across his bed curtains. His mind continued, slightly hysterically. Actually, I hold a locket. He cackled with manic glee before he entirely realized what that meant. He gripped the edge of his desk and forced himself to breathe slow and deep and work out logically the steps between here and where he had just jumped on instinct. Yes. Yes he could do it. He would die, of course, but he already determined that in the kitchen and this was so much better. He grinned and opened the locket to kiss the picture. Dear, wonderful Aoife.

He penned a note, not to his mother, but to someone else. He ripped the parchment in two, leaving the half with the watermark of the Black crest on his desk and folding the other half into a tiny square. He removed Aoife's picture and replaced it with the note. He snuffed his lamp and closed the door behind him before hurrying down the stairs as quietly as he could.

In the kitchen, Kreacher was putting away the glass he had used earlier. Regulus felt a pang in his chest at what he was about to ask the faithful little house-elf to do, but said ,"Kreacher?"

"Yes, master Regulus!" The little elf snapped to attention. Regulus knelt beside him.

"Do you remember the cave you visited with the Dark Lord?"

Kreacher slumped, and his tone was slightly offended as he answered, "Master ordered Kreacher never to speak of..."

"You don't have to speak of it, Kreacher," Regulus said gently. "Just... can you take me there?"

Kreacher bit his lower lip, but nodded.

"Then do so, please, now." Regulus held out a hand to him. The elf took it, and if he found his master's request odd, he did not show it.

The sensation was different from human Apparition, more like being blown into a bubble than being sucked through a straw, but they arrived just the same, in cold, damp air, Regulus still kneeling, on a flat wet rock surrounded by water. A shear wall of dark stone rose out of the water nearby them. Regulus smelled salt, and as he stood a wave crashed into a rock formation behind him, startling him. He turned his face out to sea. The moon was near full, and its reflection fragmented on the rough surface of the water, creating shifting shadows of the rocks that surrounded them. The place had a treacherous sort of beauty, and for the first time tonight Regulus felt a pang of loss for his short life. He had left no message, said goodbye to no one. Few would mourn him, certainly not his fellow Death Eaters, his former friends. Aoife might, if she heard, though they had not spoken since graduation. Mother would.

And Sirius, Regulus realized with some surprise. Sirius had always shown that he cared by making a nuisance of himself, and would likely curse his brother in the same breath that he lamented him, but Sirius would mourn. Irritating as it was to admit Sirius had been right all along, it was also comforting to realize that Sirius would understand why he did what he did now, why this one act of defiance was worth his life. He thought back to their brief conversation at his father's graveside. Even then he had begun to regret his role as a Death Eater, but had decided to wait it out, to live and keep his misgivings to himself. Sirius had offered him the Order's protection. Why had he not fled then? Death was certain now, but perhaps if he had had time to plan...?

He shoved aside his regrets and turned to Kreacher, who was clutching himself against the cold. "I need to retrieve the locket the Dark Lord hid here," he said simply, reluctant to fully explain his intentions. "Show me the way, please, Kreacher."

Kreacher pointed to a dark crevice in the rock face before them. There was some distance between it and them; they would have to swim it. Regulus slipped off his cloak. The fine material fell to a dark puddle at his feet. He considered removing his shoes also, but thought better of it. If he was to die he wanted to do it in something resembling style, and not in his sock feet. He took a deep breath to prepare himself for the plunge, but let it out as a thought occurred to him.

"Kreacher, do you know how to swim?"

The house-elf shook his head miserably. Regulus squatted beside him. "Climb onto my shoulders."

Kreacher's eyes widened further at this breach of protocol, but he did as told. Regulus waited for the elf to scramble up his back and swing his little legs over his shoulders before he slid himself as gently as he could into the cold water. Kreacher's position forced him to swim in an awkward dog paddle, but it did not take them long to reach the cave opening. Regulus swam into darkness until his feet scraped rock. He stood, waded out of the water, and lifted Kreacher off his shoulders to set him down at his feet.

"Will we need to swim any further?" Regulus asked, and his voiced echoed faintly. "Lumos." The light from his wand revealed a low-ceilinged cavern and cast long shadows of the young man and the house-elf on its walls.

"No--Master--Regulus," Kreacher said, shivering. Regulus bent and performed a drying spell on the elf. He did the same for himself, and, finding it insufficient, added a warming spell. Even warm and dry, Regulus felt a chill run up his spine. They were certainly in the right place, the unnatural cold of powerful dark magic permeated the air. He repeated the warming spell for Kreacher.

"Thank you, Master Regulus," Kreacher said in a small voice.

"Not at all," he replied absently as he raised his wand to look about the apparently empty cavern. "Where next, Kreacher?"

"There," Kreacher rasped and pointed one long finger to a point on the wall to their right. Regulus walked to where he pointed, but there was nothing but blank rock wall. He ran his hand over it, and another chill ran up his spine.

"The Dark Lord used... blood," Kreacher said quietly.

"Ah." Regulus waved his wand to conjure a small silver dagger. He turned it over and tested the balance, taking a moment to admire his own handiwork. Kreacher solemnly held up an arm. For a moment Regulus did not understand.

"No, no." Regulus couldn't help laughing. He patted the little elf on the head. "Good old Kreacher."

Regulus drew a red line across the back of his left hand. The blade was so sharp he hardly felt the cut. He sheathed the knife next to his wand and rested his bleeding hand against the wall. For a moment an archway of brilliant white light appeared. Where the light shone the rock wall disappeared, revealing a doorway cut out of the rock. Regulus conjured a swath of gauze, which he wrapped around his left hand. Kreacher looked up at him, his eyes wide and fearful.

"Lead the way," Regulus urged.

Kreacher walked through the arch. Regulus followed close behind, holding his lit wand high. The place was so vast that Regulus thought for a moment that they were back in the open. His wandlight did not reveal a ceiling, but the night outside was clear, and there was no sign of a moon or stars here. The light did reveal an underground lake, its surface black and perfectly smooth, its end nowhere in sight. The shore was not even two steps from the entrance. Regulus skirted it carefully to follow Kreacher, who had gotten a few steps ahead. After some distance Kreacher stopped.

"There was a boat...here," Kreacher said when Regulus had caught up, but no sign of a boat existed. For a moment Regulus had a strange hope that he had made an error, that he could not retrieve the horcrux and would not have to die in this dark place, but then the obvious occurred to him.

"Was it invisible?" Something in the atmosphere of the place compelled him to speak in a whisper.

"...yes, master Regulus." Kreacher whispered as well. "The Dark Lord tapped... something."

Regulus sank to his knees and groped around the area with his left hand. He found nothing. He was reluctant to douse his wand, small deterrent though it was to what lurked beneath the water, but he did so in order to search with both hands. He searched in utter darkness until his eyes adjusted and he realized with some comfort that there was a faint green glow coming from somewhere in the middle of the lake. He continued to grope on the rock floor until finally his fingers fell on something metallic, apparently a post. He ran his hands over it until they came upon what seemed to be a thick chain, corroded and cold. He gave it a tug and it began to slide through his fingers of its own accord. Its links shivered into a pile, clinking together softly. The water near them moved almost imperceptibly and something unseen arose to the surface with the tiniest of splashes. Regulus stood to see a dent in the water the size and shape of the bottom of a very small boat. He swallowed grimly. Even if he was able to undo the Dark Lord's spellwork he had no chance of making the boat visible without knowing what spell was used to make it invisible. It would still transport them, but riding in an invisible boat would have been eerie at the best of times. Nevertheless he reached out to the space above the dent in the water. His hands hit something decidedly solid and wooden and the dent in the water shifted slightly. Very carefully, he felt the edge of the boat and stepped in. He lowered himself onto what his mind told him was the surface of the water. With a lurch, the boat began to move. Kreacher let out a yelp. Regulus grabbed him, and Kreacher practically clawed his way up his arms so as not to be left behind. Regulus felt the space in front of him with his feet to make sure there was boat there before he set the quivering house-elf down.

They glided on silently. Something bumped slightly on the bottom of the boat and Regulus looked down before he thought better of it. It was a woman, or rather a woman's body, floating limply in the water. Her clothes were rotting rags and her long blonde hair streamed behind her, catching on the invisible surface of the boat. Only invisible wood stood between her and Regulus' left hand. He imagined the touch unwillingly, clammy and unnaturally cold. He shut his eyes tightly.

"Kreacher, you should close your eyes," Regulus warned faintly. The house-elf moaned in response. Regulus suspected that Kreacher had already had his hands over his eyes, and didn't blame him.

After what seemed like a very long time there was another bump. A scraping sound told them that it was not another Inferi. Regulus opened his eyes to see a tiny island. The green glow came from a basin atop a pedestal at its center. Birdbath of doom, Regulus thought hysterically, but did not laugh. He stood shakily and stepped carefully out of the invisible boat. He helped Kreacher out as well and knelt next to him when he had gained solid footing.

"There is something I need you to understand now." Kreacher's globular eyes were even wider than usual, but he nodded. Regulus unlatched the locket around his neck and handed it to the house-elf, who took it, but looked at him questioningly. "I am going to drink the potion. You must force me to drink all of it, like the Dark Lord did to you." The elf looked stricken, his ears drooped and his little mouth hung open. Regulus went on quickly. "Then you must do something extremely important. You must retrieve the Dark Lord's locket from the bottom of the basin and replace it with mine. Then you must leave." Regulus paused, reluctant even now to give the order. "Without me."

Kreacher opened his mouth and closed it, trying to find a way he might have misinterpreted. When no way was found he squeaked wordlessly, and tears ran down his face. "Wh-what... will Mistress say...? When she finds out Kreacher has left her son... her only son, to die in such a--"

"Mother must not find out, Kreacher," Regulus said sharply, though he felt horribly cruel as he did so. "I order you not to tell her, or anyone else of the family."

"Kreacher... Kreacher... Kreacher... CAN'T!" the little house-elf wailed. Then, stricken at what he had done, fell to his knees and began to scrape his head against the rough rock floor, moaning "Kreacher can't... Kreacher can't... can't... can't... can't."

Regulus shushed him with some panic as the elf's moans echoed weirdly about the cavern. "Quiet, Kreacher, please, and stop punishing yourself. I know you don't want to do this, but you must." Kreacher stood, but continued to sob. Regulus knelt beside the little elf and held up his chin to look him in the eyes. "For me, please, Kreacher. I don't want to die, but this is all I can do. Don't ruin this for me. Please."

Kreacher swallowed and continued to weep, but nodded earnestly. Regulus let out a breath he had not realized he was holding.

"There is one more thing." Kreacher nodded. "And this is the most important part. You must destroy the Dark Lord's locket."

"Yes--Master Regulus."

"Alright. Let's begin."

Regulus strode to the basin. Kreacher pattered behind him, wiping at his eyes and nose as he went. Regulus glanced into the green glowing potion then drew his wand to conjure a cup. He was going for a goblet similar to the goblin wrought set at Grimmauld Place, but conjuring was power-intensive magic, and he only managed a dinted vessel of some dark, indeterminate metal. Realizing that Kreacher would be unable to reach the basin when he lost his sensibilities, he drew upon his magic and concentration once more to conjure a simple wooden stool for him to stand on. Kreacher climbed atop it without being ordered, the chain of his Master's locket wrapped around his wrist.

Regulus dipped the goblet into the basin. He lifted the full cup to his lips and with only a moment of hesitation began to drink. The potion had no flavor, only a slight chalky texture. He gulped, and he remembered...

He had known nothing about the people in the house except that they were sentenced to death. He walked quickly to keep up with Casimir Mulciber's long strides. The other two followed close behind him. The Death Eater directly behind him was an older man, a fact he only presumed by the slight wheeze in his voice. Their rear guard's age he could not tell, and though his voice was maddeningly familiar, he could not place it.

The tall grass they had been walking through shifted suddenly to well kempt lawn ahead. Mulciber stopped and signaled for the others to do the same. He spoke.

"Kakolukia."

Regulus had no idea what the word meant, only what it signified. The people in the house were wizards. Wards keyed to a password were easier to make and harder to break than those set only to let in certain people, but that mattered little if the password were found out through torture or espionage.

Mulciber turned to his allies. The plan was already established, but Mulciber said, "With me, Black."

The use of his surname set his teeth on edge. Though he did not know the names of the two men behind him, they now knew his. This could mean that Mulciber was being uncharacteristically careless, but more likely the others already knew his name, which meant he was being watched and tested by these three. He was being considered for promotion. The fact did not please him.

With a shake of his head Regulus came back to the present. Kreacher had spoken of nightmarish visions, and though the memory of tonight was not a good one he had emerged from the vision had before the moment he dreaded. He did not know how much time had passed. He was very thirsty. The goblet was empty. He dipped it into the potion, and drank.

He had known nothing of the people they were to kill, had not even known that they were wizards. He had advanced with a certain detached numbness, habitually wiping his boots on the doormat before entering on the hem of Mulciber's robes.

No alarm had been raised. The house was completely dark. Regulus and Mulciber entered the kitchen through the back door. The others entered through the front, almost simultaneously, exactly as planned. Mulciber took his post at the door, guarding against any escape. Though Regulus could not see, he knew the older Death Eater was doing the same at the front door. Regulus moved forward, silent and wary, and met his counterpart at the door to the living room. He could only see his white mask in the darkness. It almost seemed to glow. Regulus' mask was featureless, as were most Death Eaters', a plain mold of an average human face with blank sockets. The other Death Eater's mask had overly large cheeks and eyebrows and the mouth was open and grinning in an exaggeration of a laugh. It nodded at Regulus, and in silent agreement the two started down the hall.

Regulus was still dimly aware of the cavern around him, but was not sure whether he took the goblet he drank from from the Bones' hall table, or from Kreacher's hands. It mattered little. He drank.

They turned a corner, and it was here that things went wrong. Before them was a set of stairs. At the top of those stairs was a little girl in a white nightgown, carrying a candle that was blinding to the two Death Eaters' night adjusted eyes. The girl gasped and dropped the candle. Regulus shouted out a curse to bind her. The spell caused her to fall against the handrail, but did not silence her.

"Mummy! Daddy!" she shrieked as she fell.

"Silencio!" Regulus gasped, but too late. There were sounds of movement from both above and behind. His companion cursed as he stomped at the flames that were beginning to move from the dropped candle to the carpeted stair. The flames snuffed out and they were momentarily blinded. Regulus lit his wand and darted up the stairs past the girl, not wanting to fight the now inevitable duel uphill. His companion followed. The others were not far behind, now needed more as backup than as guards.

There were three doors on the second floor .Before the Death Eaters could choose which to enter the door to their right burst open. The face framed in bobbing wandlight and tousled gray hair was horribly familiar. Regulus stopped dead as his stomach dropped through the floor. He had visited Healer Bones at least once a year for as long as he could remember. He had always offered him a chocolate frog for being a good patient, and once, at a St. Mungo's charity ball where he and Sirius had been bored out of their minds (as had Healer Bones, he suspected) he had read the two boys' tarot cards.

His companion, who had not met an old acquaintance while trying to kill him in his bed, had already started throwing curses. Healer Bones deflected the curse, which knocked plaster from the ceiling where it hit, and threw a curse of his own, blinding and electric blue. The man in the laughing mask twisted to avoid it. Regulus choked as a chalky liquid seemed to fill his mouth.

A woman leveled her wand at Regulus' face. Regulus had missed her entrance in his shock and did not raise his wand to defend himself. He felt a pain in his side that was Mulciber elbowing him out of the way. He parried the woman's wand with his own and stabbed toward her face.

"STOP!" shouted a surprisingly strong voice. The duelists did stop, and Regulus turned behind him to see the old Death Eater crouched on the stairs, holding his wand at the paralyzed little girl's throat. Regulus glanced at Bones, who swallowed, his eyes fixed on his little daughter, who was crying silently.

"Avada Kedavra!" the man in the laughing mask shouted.

"Avada Kedavra!" Mulciber echoed.

Edgar Bones' fell to the floor with a dull thud. His wife fell close behind, their heads coming to rest inches apart.

The old Death Eater dropped the girl unceremoniously. She slid down the stairs to the landing, still crying silently.

There was a momentary silence, which Mulciber broke. "There's supposed to be another kid. Black, look in the bedrooms."

"Why me?"

"Because you, Young Master Regulus, froze," he said with a sneer.

The other Death Eaters laughed. Regulus had not been aware that he had spoken aloud. He had to step over Healer Bones feet to get to the door on the left. It was a bathroom. Still, he opened the shower curtain for good measure. Nothing there. He walked to the next door. He stepped very carefully, shivering with an awful sort of cold from the inside out.

The next room was a child's bedroom. A twin bed stood against the wall. A pair of toy knights jousted on the dresser. A small whimper came from the closet. Bones' face froze in Regulus' memory and he sank to his knees on the floor with a silent sob.

Why? Why did it matter now? He was going to stay, he was going to live, he was going to wait it out. He did not kill Edgar Bones or his wife. He couldn't have prevented their death. The Death Eaters had already killed so many, people he had never met, Muggles and wizards both. They were fighting for a better world, one where wizards wouldn't be forced to hide who they were. No one could stop them. So what if a few people died? A better world was worth that. But no one he knew, not a kind man that had given him candy and saved two boys from dying of boredom. Not a man with two pureblooded orphan children.

Regulus stood shakily and slid the closet door open. The little boy was in a fetal position in the corner. His wet eyes shone in the half light. He couldn't have been more than five years old. Regulus considered taking off his mask and convincing the boy that he was trying to help, but he hated himself too much already. Instead he reached into the closet and grabbed the boy awkwardly by the waist. He kicked and struggled and screamed, but Regulus managed to keep him from escaping and covered the child's eyes as they entered the hallway.

"Good," said the older Death Eater.

"I think you should do the honors, Black," said Casimir.

"I should--what?" asked Regulus, taken aback.

"The children. I think you should kill them."

No, no, no. He should have known this. He knew this. He knew they were going to kill the children too. That was the plan. Kill everyone in the house. Kill the children. Why had that not bothered him before? Why was he here? Why was Healer Bones dead?

The boy struggled more violently and began to cry like a much younger child. Regulus set him on the floor. Mulciber stunned him casually.

"I--the children? S--Surely..." Regulus hated his sudden stutter. "The Bones are an old wizarding family. Wouldn't it be better...?"

"They're witnesses, Black," said the man in the laughing mask. "Would you take them in? You can't pretend that they wouldn't grow up with a grudge against the Dark Lord."

"No. No, you're right," Regulus found his lips agreeing, but his throat felt as though he had swallowed a block of ice and his heart felt like it was trying to pump molten lead.

He drew his wand and leveled it to the forehead of the little boy slumped almost peacefully against the wall. Regulus' heartbeat pounded in his ears, his lips moved painfully slow.

But the boy's big sister chose this moment to prove she was magical. She ran up the stairs faster than Regulus would have thought possible, screaming like a banshee and breaking both the body bind and the silencing charm Regulus had placed on her. Her little fists pounded on Regulus' thigh and her feet connected with his shins. Regulus looked down at the little blonde head, feeling the pain only as if it were a dream. Mulciber pulled the girl back by her shoulders and shouted, "Do it now, Black!"

Regulus turned to the little boy, the dreamlike feeling still present. He summoned as much hatred as he could, but the only person he had any energy left to hate was himself.

"Avada Kedavra!"

There was scarcely any change as the unconscious little boy stopped breathing. His sister let out a sound that was half scream and half choked sob. Regulus turned to her to complete his task, but as he saw her, slumped and sobbing in despair, something in his mind snapped. He froze for a long moment, but in his panic and because the other Death Eaters were blocking the stairs he ran into what had been the Bones' bedroom. Logic had already left him, so he took the only exit, diving through the second story window, some combination of his robes and his magic keeping the glass from cutting him. Somehow, in the seconds between his leap and his landing, with the ground rushing toward him, his instinct for self-preservation kicked in, and he Apparated.

In reality he had found himself in the street at Grimmauld Place, but this was not reality.

Edgar Bones sat before him in dress robes of such a dark shade of crimson they were almost black. They sat in a vast room. White marble columns, stories high, rose around the perimeter of the room. The moon shone through the glass ceiling above them. A string quartet played a waltz, and all around them couples spun, their robes, elegant and colorful, swirling around them.

"Are you going to shuffle them or what, Reg?"

Regulus turned to his right to see Sirius, his head cocked questioningly to one side. He looked down to see the deck of cards in his hands, intricately patterned in Celtic knotwork.

"Shuffle until they feel right," Healer Bones said. Regulus did as told, cutting the deck in approximate halves and mixing them as best he could. He shuffled again and again, but the cards still did not feel right. He was so thirsty. He reached out his hand for a glass of champagne. He meant to only take a sip, but he downed the entire glass greedily. It left his throat even drier than before.

Bones seemed to think he was done shuffling, because he took the cards from him. He cut the deck in three, then a held a hand above each in turn. The leftmost one seemed to have some quality that pleased him, because from it he began his reading.

Healer Bones laid out the six of cups, but soon as Regulus registered the children and their chalices filled with flowers they were covered by another card, Death.

"I wonder," said Healer Bones, "if I should bother with any of this. You have no future, after all."

"What makes you say that, Healer?" Sirius asked.

"He killed my children," Healer Bones said simply.

"Reg?"

Regulus glanced up to see Sirius' eyes on him, asking for an explanation. There was no accusation in them, which made it all the worse. Regulus throat constricted. He unstuck it, but couldn't look at Sirius as he answered.

"I... I killed his son, and I as good as killed his daughter."

"No denial, eh?" said Healer Bones. "Good, good. That will make this easier." He laid out another card below the first two. "The Devil. Notice the man and woman stand, chained and naked before Satan himself, but their chains are loose. They chose to stay there."

"I didn't choose that!" Regulus objected.

"Did you not? You knew very well the sort of work the Death Eaters did, the sort of violence they encouraged. You saved clippings of their press before you joined them yourself."

"I thought it was for a purpose!"

"A purpose? Killing children is alright if it's for a purpose?" Bones sounded snide, but utterly calm, not at all like a man arguing against his own children's murder. But then again, he was already dead. He laid out another card.

"In the position of the near past, The Tower. The proverbial shit hitting the proverbial fan. But within The Tower there is also enlightenment." Bones paused a moment, hand poised over his deck. "Really we need not go on. We know your future here. You're about to die, drowned by a thousand corpses. Our questions concern the past." He laid down his deck and looked Regulus straight in the eyes. "Why did you kill my children?"

Regulus was struck dumb. He could feel Sirius staring at him. The music had stopped, and the dancing with it, yet there were no murmured conversations, no fake laughter, no sound that large groups of people made. They were all watching him.

"I... "

"I want an answer, young man."

"Because the Dark Lord would have killed me if I didn't." Though he spoke in barely a whisper, his voice was clear in the silence of the great marble hall.

"Then you should have died," Sirius said, but he spoke like a man in a dream, and shook himself after he had said it.

"Not good enough," said Bones." You'll die now, not even an hour later, but not then?"

"I was scared, I was trapped," Regulus protested.

"You were a coward."

"Yes."

"You served a master you knew to be evil."

"Yes."

"By your action and inaction you killed innocents."

"Yes."

"And now you will die for it, when perhaps it would be better to live?"

"Yes."

"Very well. Drink, and we'll end this."

Bones slid another glass of champagne towards him. As he drank it gratefully, a sound rang across the unnaturally still ballroom: laughter, and the clatter of little feet running in little dress shoes. Knowing before he looked up, he saw them, Bones' children, the little girl chasing after her little brother through the unnaturally still crowd.

"Daddy, he won't stay put!" she shouted as she gave chase. As the boy ran around behind Bones' chair his father snagged an arm around his waist and pulled him close. The little boy giggled.

"Thank you, Daddy," said the little girl breathlessly. She curtsied, playing the little princess in her frilly dress robes.

"I'm glad you two are here," said Bones. "I want you to meet Regulus. You've seen him before but you won't recognize him, he was in his mask then." The little boy's eyes widened in shocked fear. He twisted away from his father to run. His sister fled right behind him with a little shriek. Regulus' throat constricted.

"You'll want to catch them," said Bones calmly. "Before your friends do."

In the crowd there was movement, a flash of black robes beneath a multitude of colors.

"I'll help you." Sirius moved to get up.

Bones placed a restraining hand on his arm. "Not this time."

Regulus was already running, dodging through witches and wizards that were like statues. The children's footsteps were loud on the marble floor; the Death Eater's were utterly silent.

He caught up to the little girl and managed to get a hand on her trailing robe. She screamed and tried to run harder, half-dragging her little brother with her and tripping into a pair of black-clad knees. The man in the laughing mask looked down at her and raised his wand. Regulus heard the swish of robes behind him and glanced behind to see Mulciber, mask-less and grinning.

"No," Regulus gasped. He wanted to throw himself in front of the children, but there were two of them and only one of him, and the third was approaching. He reached for his wand, but it wasn't there. He fell to the floor and grabbed the children. The boy whimpered.

"Don't do this, not again," Regulus pleaded.

"Only the girl is mine," sneered Mulciber. "The boy is your responsibility."

"No, not again. I won't let you do this." Mulciber made no reply. "Please." Still Mulciber frowned down at him and said nothing. "Kill me if you have to, but not them."

"You die later, Black," said the man in the laughing mask.

"You are marked and you are sworn," the third said in his wheezy, nasal voice. "You will obey orders."

"No, please."

"Restrain young master Regulus, if you would please," Mulciber requested calmly. Without pause the others obeyed, and though Regulus struggled and kicked and screamed, their grip was unbreakable. The man in the laughing mask held his arms behind his back and pulled him down. His knees cracked on the stone floor.

"Now, as for your little girlfriend, here," Mulciber snarled as he pulled the girl close to him. She sobbed and tried to pull herself to her brother, who was being held by the elderly Death Eater. "Be still," Mulciber hissed as he yanked her to her feet by her hair.

"Let her go, Mulciber," Regulus pleaded.

"Can't, Black. That's not how it happened."

"Don't kill her, please."

"Don't kill her? Then you'd like a little sport with her, hmm? That can be arranged. Crucio." He flicked his wand toward the child, who screamed.

"No!" Regulus shouted. "Don't hurt her. If there's anything I--"

Mulciber turned his wand away from the girl, who went limp and fell, coughing and sobbing, to the floor. "We have already established you have nothing to offer us, Black. Crucio." The girl screamed again.

"Stop! Please, Casimir, stop hurting her!"

"Stop hurting her?" Mulciber turned to Regulus again and grinned. "Very well, young Master Regulus, I'll be sure she never hurts again."

"NO!" Regulus screamed and struggled.

"Avada Kedavra." A flash of green and the girl fell to the floor, silent, eyes still open and tears still streaming down her face. Her little brother wailed.

"Now for your part in this, Master Black," said Mulciber. "I'm going to let you borrow my wand. Quite an honor, really."

As promised, Mulciber offered him his wand. When Regulus did not move to take it, the man who restrained him forced his hand open, and forced it close once again around the length of wood.

"Now bring him the boy." The elderly Death Eater dragged the boy nearer to him and the man in the laughing mask forced Regulus' wand arm to point toward the child. Regulus struggled against him, but he was impossibly strong.

"Now young Master Regulus, we just need two little words from you."

"Fuck you," Regulus snarled, tears streaming down his face.

"No," said Mulciber in a mockery of sweetness. "I'm afraid those aren't the ones."

"I won't do it, not again. You can't make me."

"Can't we? Imperio!"

Mulciber's voice in his head had barely suggested kill the child, when he broke the curse, screaming. "I WON'T DO IT!"

"Very well, then." Mulciber snatched his wand back and turned it on the boy. "Crucio." The boy fell from the Death Eater's grasp, twitching and screaming. Mulciber held the curse for long minutes before he finally released it.

"Let him go, please, don't hurt him," Regulus pleaded.

'Then do your part."

"I can't."

"Then neither can I." He turned his wand on the boy again, but before he performed the spell he turned to Regulus. "Or perhaps we should do this the old-fashioned way?" He pulled a thin knife from his belt. "Gauge out his eyes and cut off his thumbs? Or do you have something to say?"

"No, please, I'm begging you."

"I have already broken you, but I need your compliance, Black." He grabbed the boy by his head, twining his fingers in his hair, and cut a thin red line across his cheek.

"No! Stop!"

"No, stop, what?" Mulciber demanded.

"No, I'll--I'll do it."

"Very well, Black."

They release him, and he took the proffered wand, but when he turned it on himself the green light did not come in a flash, but in ripples, as if through water.

He gasped and breathed in water. The reality, the present. A hundred slimy, too cold hands groped him. He shuddered. But that was okay. Death was okay. His head bobbed to the surface for a moment, and he saw the basin, glowing green like Avada Kedavra. Bare rock. Ugly place. Okay to die to leave such an ugly place. But there was Kreacher. He was ugly, too, but a friendly sort of ugly. He reached a hand out to him. His little fingers touched his. Warm. Kreacher's eyes were wide and full of horror, which turned to hope, which turned to grim determination as he bit his lower lip, and then they were both gone.

Regulus sank to kitchen floor in Grimmauld Place, and lay there on his stomach, gasping and coughing up water. His fire was still burning, and he dragged himself toward it, needing and desiring the warmth and the dryness and too exhausted to perform magic. Kreacher gasped beside him, not sobbing like before, but eyes squinted and bloodshot, no tears left to cry.

"I told you to leave me," Regulus said in a dry husk of his voice.

Kreacher gave a huge dry sob. "Kreacher couldn't leave--!"

"No, no, no," Regulus whispered. "I'm sorry. Thank you."

They both sat there in the floor by the fire, insensible, until Regulus spoke.

"Did you get the locket?"

Kreacher nodded emphatically, and held up the heavy silver locket dangling from his wrist.

"Good, good," Regulus rasped. "Never doing that again."

They sat in silence for another moment before Regulus spoke again.

"One more thing, Kreacher."

The house-elf looked at him warily. Regulus wanted to laugh, but couldn't summon the energy. He looked into the fire instead. "Take me to Sirius. I don't think I can Apparate."

Kreacher nodded once and grabbed him by the arm.

They appeared, still sitting, by a non-descript green door that must be to Sirius' flat. Regulus had never been there before. He struggled to his feet and realized he was shaking. He leaned against the door and knocked on it. No response. He knocked again, louder and longer.

"If he's not here, I'll kill him," Regulus muttered. He knocked again and staggered as the door he was leaning against swung open. There was Sirius, in a pair of black pants and an undershirt, wand out and wary. Regulus fell against his doorframe.

"Hullo, Sirius," he said as he grinned. "I've decided to quit the Death Eaters."