Mein Herz

Chapter 12: Sickle of Leo

25/12/1979

S.B.

The freezing wind howled across the cliffs like a wounded animal, carrying salt and the promise of rain. Sirius Black materialized on a narrow ledge, his boots slipping slightly on the wet stone as he regained his balance. A moment later, Severus appeared beside him with barely a sound, his black cloak whipping violently in the gale.

Below them, the sea crashed against jagged rocks, sending plumes of white spray high into the darkness. The moon, obscured by racing clouds, offered only occasional glimpses of light across the forbidding landscape.

“Charming little getaway,” Sirius muttered, raising his voice above the wind. “Regulus always did have a flair for the dramatic.”

Severus didn't respond. His eyes were fixed on the narrow fissure in the cliff face ahead—a black scar against the darker stone that could barely be called an entrance. He raised his wand, casting a silent Lumos that illuminated nothing beyond ordinary rock.

“The Dark Lord’s magic leaves traces,” he said finally, his voice tight. “This place is saturated with it.”

Sirius nodded, suppressing a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold. “Let's move. If he's still in there…”

Neither finished the thought. They both knew what it meant if Regulus had truly betrayed Voldemort—and what would happen if they were too late.

Sirius took the lead, picking his way along the narrow path that hugged the cliff face. The stone was slick with sea spray, forcing him to move with careful deliberation despite the urgency pounding in his chest. Twenty feet from the entrance, the ledge narrowed to barely the width of his foot.

“Watch your step here,” Sirius called back, pressing his body against the cliff face. “It's—”

His warning was cut short as his boot slid on a patch of slick moss. For a sickening moment, he felt nothing but air beneath him, the roar of the waves suddenly louder as gravity took hold. His hands scraped desperately against stone, catching nothing but air as his body twisted sideways.

Then came the impact—not of water, but of unyielding rock as he slammed into a lower section of the path. Pain exploded through his left leg, white-hot and blinding. A strangled cry escaped his lips before he could stop it, echoing briefly against the cliff face before being swallowed by the wind.

“Sirius!”

Severus's face appeared above him, illuminated by wandlight, features drawn tight with alarm. In one fluid motion, he descended to where Sirius lay sprawled, his robes billowing around him like great dark wings.

“Don't move,” Severus commanded, crouching beside him. His hands moved with practiced precision, wand held between his teeth as he examined Sirius's leg.

Sirius ground his teeth together, forcing himself to breathe through the pain. "How bad?"

“Compound fracture,” Severus replied, his voice clinical but with an undercurrent of concern that surprised Sirius. “The bone has broken through the skin.”

“Lovely,” Sirius managed, his voice strained. “Just a scratch, then.”

Severus's eyes flicked briefly to his face, exasperation crossing his features. "This will hurt," he warned, drawing his wand.

Before Sirius could respond, Severus placed one hand firmly on his knee and pointed his wand at the break. "Brackium Emendo," he intoned. 

The pain was immediate and blinding. Sirius bit back a scream as he felt the bone retract and realign, splinters knitting together with unnatural speed. Sweat broke out across his forehead despite the cold, and for a moment, the edges of his vision darkened.

When the wave of agony subsided, he became aware of Severus’s hand gripping his shoulder—not gently, but steadying.

“Almost done,” Severus said quietly, reaching into his robes. He produced a small vial of green liquid—essence of Dittany—and applied it directly to the wound. Smoke curled from the injury as new skin formed over the tear.

With another spell, bandages appeared, wrapping themselves tightly around Sirius’s leg from ankle to knee. Throughout the process, Severus’s hands were sure and steady, his movements practiced and efficient.

“You’ve done this before,” Sirius observed through gritted teeth.

“More times than I care to remember,” Severus replied without looking up. He finished securing the bandage and finally met Sirius’s eyes. “Can you stand?”

Sirius nodded, though he wasn't entirely sure. With Severus’s help, he pulled himself upright, testing his weight cautiously on the injured leg. Pain flared, but the limb held.

“It will hurt,” Severus said matter-of-factly, “but it will bear your weight. The Dittany will continue working, but you'll need proper medical attention when we’re done here.”

“If we make it that far,” Sirius muttered, but there was no real pessimism in his tone—just the dry gallows humor that had always been his shield.

Severus’s expression remained closed, but he kept a steadying hand on Sirius's elbow as they resumed their careful progress toward the cave entrance. This time, they moved together, Sirius leaning slightly on the other man when the path grew particularly treacherous.

Finally, they reached the fissure in the rock. Up close, it was barely wide enough for a man to pass through sideways, the edges unnaturally smooth, as though carved with deliberate precision.

“Wait,” Severus said, holding out a hand to stop Sirius from entering. He moved forward alone, his wand raised, illuminating the stone around the entrance.

Sirius watched as Severus’s posture changed—a subtle tension that ran through his entire body. His free hand reached out, fingers tracing symbols in the rock that Sirius could barely see—faint etchings that seemed to pulse with a sickly light when touched.

“Blood ward,” Severus said quietly. “Ancient magic. Dark.”

Sirius limped forward to stand beside him. “You recognize it?”

A shadow passed across Severus's face. “Yes.”

Without further explanation, Severus reached into his robes and withdrew a small silver dagger. The blade caught the wandlight, gleaming briefly before he pressed it against his own palm. Sirius started forward instinctively, but Severus had already made a swift cut across his hand, his expression unchanging despite what must have been considerable pain.

Blood welled from the wound, dark against his pale skin. With deliberate movements, Severus pressed his bleeding palm against the stone where the symbols were carved.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then the runes flared to life, burning with crimson light that pulsed like a heartbeat. The glow spread across the rock face, illuminating more symbols that had been invisible before—a complex network of ancient magic that made Sirius’s skin crawl.

A low grinding sound emanated from the stone itself, and the fissure widened, opening like a mouth to reveal absolute darkness beyond.

“After you,” Sirius said, attempting to lighten the mood despite the dread settling in his stomach.

Severus didn't smile, but he did pause to wrap a handkerchief around his still-bleeding palm before leading the way into the darkness. Sirius followed, his wand raised, the light barely penetrating the oppressive blackness of the cave.

The air inside was different—still cold, but dense and stagnant, carrying the faint smell of decay and something else... something old and wrong that made Sirius's hair stand on end. Their footsteps echoed strangely, suggesting a vast space beyond the narrow entrance.

As they moved deeper, the passage widened into an enormous cavern. Severus raised his wand higher, but even its light couldn't reach the distant ceiling. Before them stretched a vast expanse of still, black water—a subterranean lake that filled most of the cave, its surface unnaturally smooth, like polished obsidian.

"Lumos Maxima," Sirius murmured, sending a ball of light floating out over the water.

The light revealed a narrow stone pathway leading from where they stood out across the lake toward what appeared to be a small island in the center, barely visible in the distance. But it was what lay beneath the water’s surface that made Sirius's blood run cold.

Pale, ghostly hands—dozens of them—suspended just below the surface. As the light passed overhead, Sirius caught glimpses of white faces, eyes closed as if in sleep, bodies floating in perfect stillness.

“Inferi,” he breathed, instinctively taking a step back.

Severus nodded grimly. “The Dark Lord’s guardians. They will remain dormant unless disturbed.”

A sudden flare of orange light from the distant island caught their attention—wild, uncontrolled flames briefly illuminating a portion of the cavern before dying away just as quickly.

“Regulus,” Sirius said, hope and fear mingling in his voice. “He’s alive.”

The flames flared again, weaker this time, like someone casting desperate, failing spells. Severus was already moving toward the edge of the water where the stone path began, his eyes scanning the darkness.

“There must be a way across,” he muttered. “The Dark Lord would have created a passage for himself.”

As they approached the water’s edge, Sirius noticed a faint greenish glow emanating from the distant island. In its light, he could make out a small, hunched figure moving erratically around what appeared to be a pedestal.

“There,” Sirius pointed. “But how do we—”

Severus had moved ahead, crouching by the water’s edge, his wand hovering inches above the surface. He moved it slowly, as though feeling for something invisible. Suddenly, he stopped, a look of grim satisfaction crossing his face.

With a deliberate motion, he reached out into what appeared to be empty air and closed his hand around something. There was a sound of metal links rattling, and a thick chain emerged from nowhere, dripping with water. Severus pulled steadily, and slowly, a small boat rose from beneath the black surface.

It was barely large enough for two people, ancient-looking and covered in strange symbols similar to those that had guarded the entrance.

“The boat,” Severus said quietly. “It will take us across.”

Sirius eyed the tiny craft skeptically. “With both of us? That seems... optimistic.”

“The Dark Lord's magic,” Severus replied. ”It recognizes magical power, not physical weight. We should be able to cross.”

Sirius was about to respond when a loud crack echoed through the cavern—the unmistakable sound of Apparition. Both men whirled, wands raised, only to find themselves facing a small, wizened figure standing between them and the boat.

Kreacher.

The house-elf looked terrible—his already leathery skin hanging loosely from his frame, eyes red-rimmed and wild. He was trembling, whether from exhaustion or emotion, Sirius couldn’t tell.

“You will leave,” Kreacher croaked, his voice hoarse but filled with unmistakable fury. “Leave him. He has betrayed the House of Black. Just like you have done.”

Sirius stared, momentarily speechless. In all their years of mutual loathing, he had never seen Kreacher look quite so... broken. Behind the anger was something else—a deep, wrenching pain that seemed to emanate from the elf’s very core.

“Kreacher,” Sirius began, lowering his wand slightly. “We’ve come to help Regulus. He’s in danger.”

“Master Regulus ordered Kreacher to leave him,” the elf said, his voice rising. “Ordered Kreacher to go home and never tell Mistress what happened. Master Regulus made Kreacher promise!”

Severus hadn’t lowered his wand, but he hadn’t cast either. “You brought him here,” he said, not a question but a realization. “Under his orders.”

Kreacher’s gaze shifted to Severus, narrowing with suspicion. “The Dark wizard knows. Master Regulus spoke of you.” His gnarled hands clenched into fists. “Master Regulus is punishing himself. For his sins. For knowing of the locket.”

“Locket? What locket?” Sirius asked, taking a step forward despite his injured leg. “Kreacher, what has Regulus done?”

For a moment, the house-elf seemed to waver, centuries of obedience to the Black family warring with his direct orders from Regulus. Tears welled in his enormous eyes.

“Master Regulus said no one must know,” he whispered. “Master Regulus is brave. Master Regulus defies the Dark Lord.” His voice broke on the last words, and he covered his face with his hands.

Another burst of flames erupted from the island, weaker than before. A cry echoed across the water—distant but unmistakably human.

Sirius met Severus’s eyes over Kreacher's hunched form. No words were needed; they both knew time was running out.

“Kreacher,” Sirius said, dropping awkwardly to one knee despite the pain to look the elf in the eyes. “I know you hate me. I know I’ve been... cruel to you. But Regulus is my brother. Please. Let us help him.”

Kreacher lowered his hands, his expression torn between loathing and desperate hope. For a long moment, he stared at Sirius, searching his face as though seeking something he'd never expected to find there.

Finally, the elf stepped aside, his shoulders slumping in defeat or acceptance—Sirius couldn't tell which.

“Master Sirius will not return,” Kreacher said, his voice hollow. “The water is death. The basin is poison. Master Regulus knew. Master Regulus went anyway.”

With those cryptic words, Kreacher vanished with another loud crack, leaving Sirius and Severus alone at the edge of the black lake, the small boat rocking gently before them.

Sirius turned to Severus, who was already stepping carefully into the boat. Their eyes met in the dim light, and a silent understanding passed between them—whatever lay ahead on that island, they would face it together.

Without another word, Sirius followed, easing his injured leg over the side of the boat. As soon as he was seated, the chain began to move on its own, pulling them slowly but inexorably toward the green glow and the desperate figure waiting on the distant island.

They were halfway across the lake when it happened—a sudden, violent burst of flame erupted from the island, far more powerful than the previous flares. For a brief, terrible moment, the entire cavern was illuminated in harsh orange light, revealing the full horror of what lay beneath the water's surface. Hundreds of Inferi, not dozens, suspended in the black depths, their pale bodies tangled together like the roots of some monstrous tree.

The light died as quickly as it had appeared, but the damage was done. The surface of the lake began to ripple, disturbed not by wind but by movement from below. Pale hands broke the surface first, inches from the boat, followed by the faces of the dead—eyes now open, empty and clouded with death but somehow fixed on the living.

“Severus,” Sirius warned, his voice tight as he reached for his wand.

“Don't move,” Severus commanded, rising to his feet with impossible balance in the small craft. “Not a muscle.”

The first of the Inferi lunged for the boat, its skeletal fingers grasping at the wooden hull. Another emerged on the opposite side, and then another, and another—surrounding them in a circle of grasping hands and lifeless faces.

Sirius had his wand out, ready to cast, but Severus’s hand closed around his wrist, stopping him.

“Fire,” Severus said quietly, his voice deadly calm despite the chaos unfolding around them. “It's the only thing they fear. But not ordinary fire.” His eyes locked with Sirius’s. “Trust me.”

Before Sirius could respond, Severus released his wrist and turned to face the advancing Inferi. He raised his wand in a fluid, graceful motion that seemed almost like a conductor beginning a symphony. When he spoke, his voice had changed—deeper, resonant with power that Sirius had never heard from him before.

"Incendium Venti," Severus intoned, the words seeming to ripple through the air itself.

From the tip of his wand erupted not ordinary flames, but living fire—brilliant gold and crimson, writhing and twisting as though possessed of its own consciousness. It spread outward in a perfect circle around the boat, a barrier of enchanted flame that illuminated the cavern in warm, pulsing light.

The Inferi recoiled, their dead faces contorting in what might have been fear had they still been capable of emotion. Those closest to the flames retreated instantly, sinking back beneath the surface with unnatural speed.

But they weren’t giving up. More emerged farther out, dozens of them now, forming a wider circle around the boat and its protective ring of fire. They began to move in tandem, creating a current in the water that rocked the small craft violently.

Severus's concentration didn't waver. With a series of intricate wand movements, he directed the fire to expand, forming not just a circle but a dome that arched over their heads, enclosing them completely in a sphere of living flame. The heat was intense but somehow didn’t scorch them—it seemed to recognize its master, burning only what Severus willed it to burn.

A withered hand broke through the barrier, instantly catching fire but still grasping blindly for them. Severus flicked his wand almost casually, and the flame engulfing the limb intensified, forcing the Inferius to withdraw.

Sirius watched in awe. He had known Severus was powerful—had fought against him often enough to recognize his skill—but this was different. This was magic of the highest order, controlled with a precision and power that few wizards could master. The flames danced to Severus’s will, responding to the slightest movement of his wand as though they were extensions of his own body.

“Sirius,” Severus said, his voice strained despite his outward composure. “The boat. Direct it to the island—quickly. I can’t maintain this indefinitely.”

Jolted into action, Sirius pointed his wand at the chain still pulling them forward, but now moving sluggishly against the Inferi’s resistance.

The boat lurched forward with renewed speed, cutting through the black water as Severus's flaming shield parted the ranks of the dead. They moved swiftly now, the island growing larger before them, the greenish glow at its center intensifying.

When they were mere yards from the shore, Severus altered his spell, sending the dome of fire expanding outward in a wave that drove the Inferi back toward the depths. The boat struck the rocky shore of the island with a jarring impact that nearly sent them both sprawling.

“Go,” Severus said, his face pale with exertion as he maintained the receding wall of flame. “I'll hold them back.”

Sirius hesitated only briefly before climbing awkwardly from the boat, his injured leg protesting sharply. Once on solid ground, he turned back, extending his hand to Severus.

“Together,” he insisted, his voice leaving no room for argument. “We came together, we leave together.”

Something flickered in Severus’s eyes—surprise, perhaps, or something deeper. He took Sirius’s hand, allowing himself to be pulled from the boat while maintaining his concentration on the spell.

As soon as they were both on the island, Severus created one final, massive surge of flame that spread across the water in all directions, forcing the remaining Inferi deep beneath the surface. Then, with obvious reluctance, he lowered his wand, the golden fire dying away to leave them once more in the eerie green glow emanating from the center of the island.

Sirius realized he was still holding Severus's hand and gave it a quick squeeze before releasing it. “That was…” he began, finding words inadequate. “I've never seen magic like that.”

Severus merely nodded, his breathing slightly labored but his composure otherwise intact. “The Dark Lord isn’t the only one who studies the old ways,” he said quietly. Then, his eyes shifting to the center of the island: “We need to move."

The green light came from a basin atop a stone pedestal—exactly as Kreacher had described. There was also a locket inside the basin. But there was no sign of Regulus.

“Regulus!” Sirius called, limping forward. “Reg, we’re here!”

His voice echoed through the cavern, bouncing off distant walls before fading into silence. No response came.

“REGULUS!” He shouted again, desperation edging into his voice.

This time, a feeble flare of orange light sputtered weakly to their right, behind a jagged formation of rock. Sirius moved as quickly as his injured leg would allow, Severus close behind him.

What they found made Sirius's blood freeze in his veins.

Regulus lay crumpled against the rock, his dress robes soaked and torn, his wand still clutched in his outstretched hand. The tip glowed faintly with the dying embers of his last spell—an effort to signal them, to fight off the darkness closing in.

Sirius dropped to his knees beside his brother, heedless of the pain. “Reg,” he whispered, reaching out with trembling hands.

Regulus's eyes fluttered open, glazed with pain but still recognizably his—the same storm-gray as Sirius's own. His face was deathly pale, lips tinged blue, skin cold and clammy to the touch. When he spoke, his voice was barely audible.

“You... shouldn't have come,” he rasped.

“Shut up,” Sirius said fiercely, pulling his brother's head into his lap. “We’re getting you out of here.”

Regulus's lips twitched in what might have been an attempt at a smile. “Always... the optimist.”

Severus crouched beside them, his wand moving in diagnostic patterns over Regulus's body. His expression grew graver with each spell.

“The potion,” Regulus managed, his eyes finding Severus’s. “You... know what it is?”

Severus nodded once, his face an unreadable mask. “Drink of Despair. The Dark Lord’s creation.”

“No antidote,” Regulus confirmed, a shudder passing through him. His hand fumbled weakly inside his robes, finally withdrawing a heavy golden locket on a thick chain. “Take it,” he gasped, pressing it into Sirius's hand. “Give it to Kreacher. Promise me.”

Sirius stared down at the ornate “S” inlaid with emeralds on the locket’s face, this one obviously held more dark magic than the one in the basin. “What is it? Reg, what have you done?”

“Something... right. For once.” Regulus's breathing was becoming shallower, more labored. “Tell mother... I'm sorry.”

“Tell her yourself,” Sirius said, his voice breaking as he gripped his brother’s hand. “We’ll get you out of here.”

Regulus’s gaze shifted to Severus. “You know... what to do. With that.” He nodded weakly toward the locket. “You've always... known more than... you should.”

A look passed between them—some unspoken understanding that Sirius couldn’t interpret. Severus inclined his head slightly, a gesture of respect or promise or both.

“The Inferi,” Regulus continued, his voice fading. “They'll come. When I... when I go. Part of the... protection.” His fingers tightened around Sirius’s with sudden urgency. “Don't let them take me.”

“Reg—” Sirius began, but Regulus cut him off with unexpected strength.

“Promise me,” he insisted, eyes suddenly clear and focused. “Don’t let me become one of... them.”

Sirius felt tears burning in his eyes, hot and unwelcome. He nodded, unable to speak.

Regulus seemed to relax at that. His gaze grew distant, as though seeing something beyond the dark cavern. “Mother should be... proud. The noble... House of Black. I am so sorry… I really am.”

His lips curved into the ghost of a smile, and then—between one breath and the next—the light went out of his eyes.

For a moment, Sirius couldn't move, couldn't breathe. He stared down at his brother's face, suddenly peaceful in death, waiting for another breath that would never come.

“Sirius.” Severus's voice was gentle but urgent. “We need to go. Now.”

As if in response to his words, the water around the island began to stir, the surface breaking as pale hands emerged once more. The Inferi were rising again, drawn by Regulus’s death just as he had warned.

Sirius looked up at Severus, raw grief etched into every line of his face. “I can’t leave him.”

“We won’t,” Severus said, his voice steady as he stood. “But we need to honor his last request.”

Understanding dawned slowly through Sirius’s grief. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against his brother's in a final goodbye, then gently laid Regulus’s body down on the stone.

“Step back,” Severus said quietly, his wand already moving in the intricate patterns that had summoned the living fire before.

Sirius obeyed, rising unsteadily to his feet. He clutched the locket in his fist, feeling its weight—physical and something more—as he watched Severus prepare the spell.

The golden flames burst forth again, but this time they did not form a dome or barrier. Instead, they flowed like liquid across the stone, encircling Regulus’s body in a wreath of shimmering fire. Severus spoke words in a language Sirius didn’t recognize—ancient, powerful words that seemed to reverberate through the very air of the cavern.

The flames intensified, burning higher and brighter until Sirius had to shield his eyes. When he looked again, the fire had taken on a form—the shape of a raven, massive and majestic, its wings spread protectively over Regulus’s body. For a brief, impossible moment, Sirius thought he saw his brother's spirit rise with the flames, free and unburdened.

Then the fire collapsed inward, consuming everything it touched before vanishing completely, leaving nothing but clean stone where Regulus had lain.

The Inferi, which had been advancing steadily, halted their approach. With no body to claim, they seemed momentarily confused, their purpose thwarted.

“We need to leave,” Severus said, his voice hoarse with exertion. “They won't stay passive for long.”

Sirius nodded, unable to tear his eyes from the empty space where his brother had been. The locket felt impossibly heavy in his hand—Regulus’s legacy, his final act of defiance.

As they made their way back to the boat, Sirius felt Severus’s hand slip into his—a silent offer of support, of shared grief, of something deeper neither of them had fully acknowledged. Sirius gripped it tightly, allowing himself to draw strength from the touch as they prepared to face the journey back across the lake of the dead.

Behind them, the green glow of the basin continued to illuminate the cavern, a reminder of the price Regulus Black had paid to defy the Dark Lord—and the responsibility that now fell to them to finish what he had started.

The crack of Apparition split the salty air as Sirius and Severus materialized on a narrow ledge overlooking the churning sea. Wind lashed against them immediately, carrying stinging spray and the scent of brine. Below them, waves crashed against jagged rocks with relentless fury, as if the ocean itself was trying to erase the darkness of what lay hidden in the cave behind them.

Sirius staggered forward, his injured leg buckling beneath him. He would have fallen if not for Severus’s swift hand catching his elbow.

“Easy,” Severus muttered, his voice nearly lost to the wind.

But Sirius barely registered the physical pain. His mind was drowning in a different kind of agony—the replaying images of his brother's final moments—Regulus’s pale face, those eyes so like his own wide with terror as the dead hands pulled him under.

He wasn't supposed to die.

The thought hammered through Sirius’s skull with each beat of his heart.

I promised I'd protect him. Always. Even when I left, I thought... I thought somehow he'd be okay.

Sirius’s whole body shook, not from the bitter coastal wind but from something deeper—a tremor that began in his bones and radiated outward. His leg throbbed viciously now, the adrenaline that had numbed the pain in the cave rapidly fading. Yet even that searing physical anguish felt somehow distant, secondary to the crushing weight of grief pressing against his lungs.

He was just a kid. My baby brother.

The memories crashed over him like the waves below—Regulus at five years old, trailing after him through the hallways of Grimmauld Place; Regulus at eleven, waving excitedly as he boarded the Hogwarts Express; Regulus’s face when Sirius had left home for good, confused and betrayed.

“Sirius,” Severus's voice cut through the fog of his thoughts. “We need to move. We cannot linger here.”

Sirius nodded numbly, though the movement felt disconnected from his body. The salt spray had mingled with something else on his cheeks. He didn’t bother to wipe it away.

“Kreacher,” Severus said, his tone unusually gentle. He tried to brush some of the salt off of Sirius’s face. “You need to summon him.”

For a moment, Sirius couldn’t comprehend the words. His mind felt wrapped in wool, sluggish and unresponsive. Then, slowly, he reached for his wand, his fingers clumsy and trembling so badly he nearly dropped it. He raised his arm, the motion requiring more effort than it ever had before.

“Kreacher,” he called, his voice threatening to break on that single word. It was barely louder than the wind, but it would be enough.

A sharp crack, and the ancient house-elf appeared before them. Kreacher looked exactly as he had hours before, but somehow different—his posture rigid, his face a mask of barely contained grief. His eyes darted between them, landing briefly on Sirius’s injured leg before fixing on Severus.

Without a word, Severus withdrew the locket, carefully wrapped in a section of his cloak. He extended it toward the house-elf, his movements deliberate and solemn.

Kreacher took the bundle, his gnarled fingers closing around it with surprising gentleness. His eyes—those tennis-ball sized orbs that had always glared at Sirius with such disdain—now flickered with something unreadable, a mix of anger and a trace of pity. It made Sirius wonder if the elf understood more than anyone what had been lost tonight.

No words passed between them. None were needed. Kreacher’s eyes dropped to the wrapped locket in his hands, then with another crack, he vanished.

The silence that followed felt heavier than before.

“Can you Apparate?” Severus asked, eyeing Sirius’s leg with clinical concern.

Sirius let out a sound that might have been a laugh in another lifetime. It emerged as something hollow and bitter, scraping past his throat.

“I'll try,” he said, the words tasting like ash on his tongue. “Not much choice, is there?”

Severus’s hand closed around his arm once more, steadying him. There was almost compassion in the gesture—or perhaps Sirius was simply too far gone to care who was offering him support right now.

“On three,” Severus instructed. "Hold tight."

Sirius focused on the image of the safe house, though it felt like trying to see through fog. His mind kept slipping back to the cave, to the ghostly hands, to Regulus's face.

Focus, damn it. Focus.

"One... two... three."

The world compressed around them, darkness squeezing tight before releasing them with a sharp pop into the warm light of the Order's safe house living room.

They staggered upon arrival, Sirius's injured leg giving out completely as they hit solid ground. The sudden change from the howling wind and cold spray to the warmth and stillness of the house was jarring. Sirius blinked, his eyes struggling to adjust to the soft golden lamplight after the darkness of the cave and the night.

The room exploded into motion. Order members jumped to their feet, wands drawn—then froze at the sight before them. Several other members had shown up after they had gone to the cave. Sirius and Severus stood like drowned specters, clothes soaked through and torn, hair plastered to their faces, both of them pale as death and streaked with blood. Severus’s hands were burned raw from the fire he’d conjured. Sirius's leg was a mess of torn fabric and congealed blood where it had smashed against the rocks.

“Merlin's beard!” Marlene McKinnon gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.

Dumbledore moved forward swiftly, his usually twinkling eyes grave. “What happened?”

James Potter launched himself across the room, reaching Sirius in three long strides. “Sirius! Your leg—”

Remus was close behind, his face white with shock. “Is that blood? Are you—”

“Get him to the couch,” Alice Longbottom ordered, already moving toward the supply cabinet. “I'll fetch the healing kit.”

But Sirius barely registered their voices. Without a word, he limped past James’s outstretched hand, past Remus’s concerned face, past Dumbledore’s questioning gaze. He collapsed onto the nearest couch, his body finally giving in to the exhaustion that had been threatening to overwhelm him since they’d escaped the cave. He didn’t care who was watching. Didn’t care what they thought. Everything felt too distant, too unreal.

Say something. Say anything.

He opened his mouth, but no words came. His throat felt tight, constricted. But the words stayed locked behind his teeth. They were gone with the sea.

The cushion beside him sank as Severus dropped down next to him—head falling forward into his hands, wet cloak dripping onto the carpet, fingers visibly trembling. He didn’t speak either. They simply sat there, two broken figures in the middle of a room swirling with activity and yet utterly alone.

“What in Godric’s name happened out there?” Moody demanded, his magical eye spinning frantically between them. “Where’s Regulus?”

Lily rushed forward with a blanket, draping it around Sirius’s shoulders. He neither acknowledged nor rejected it, staring straight ahead with hollow eyes. Her eyes fell on Severus, then she turned her head.

“Give them space,” Dumbledore commanded softly, but the tension in the room was already mounting.

“I told you,” Fabian Prewett muttered, just loud enough to be heard. “This is exactly why we never should’ve trusted Snape.”

“What’s he done to Sirius?” Hissed Dorcas Meadowes, her wand still half-raised.

“Bet they never even found what Regulus was after,” Emmeline Vance said coldly. “You brought this into our safe house. You led a Black down into a tomb and came back with nothing but a broken leg and a haunted look.”

Her words seemed to break a dam. Others joined in, their voices blending together:

“—could have been killed—”

“—complete disaster—”

“—Dark Magic—”

James stepped forward, placing himself protectively between the gathered Order and Sirius. “Everyone just calm down—”

“Calm down?" Edgar Bones scoffed. “Look at them! Something went catastrophically wrong!”

The voices rose, blending into a chorus of doubt, accusation, and fear, all of it directed squarely at Severus, who remained motionless on the couch, head still buried in his hands.

A white-hot rage exploded inside Sirius, obliterating the numbness. It rushed through his veins like wildfire, burning away grief and exhaustion in its wake. His vision blurred at the edges with it.

He surged to his feet—ignoring the agony that shot through his ruined leg—his face contorted with a fury that silenced the room instantly.

“SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTHS!” He roared, so loudly his voice cracked. His hands were shaking, not with grief now but with barely contained rage.

The room froze, every face turning toward him in shock. James took a half-step back, his expression stunned.

“My brother is DEAD!” The words tore from his throat, raw and bleeding. “He died tonight destroying something so dark you couldn’t even comprehend it. And you stand here—safe, clean, fucking cozy—judging us?”

He took an unsteady step forward, eyes blazing, teeth bared in a snarl.

“If Severus wasn't there, I would've died before we even entered the cave. Do you get that?” Sirius’s voice trembled with fury. “Even if I’d managed to get inside—he’s the one who kept the Inferi at bay. He’s the one who figured out how to open the damn thing. He’s the reason I'm still breathing.”

Sirius’s chest heaved, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Blood had begun to seep through the makeshift bandage on his leg, dripping onto the floor in a steady patter that no one seemed to notice.

“You SHUT UP! My leg is broken, I watched my brother die, and you lot—” his voice shattered, but he pushed on, “—you lot just want to fall back into your old bloody habits because that’s easier than thinking!”

Lily’s hand had flown to her mouth, her eyes wide with horror. Remus looked as though someone had struck him. Even Moody seemed taken aback by the raw fury.

“If you don’t like that he’s here, if you don't like what he’s done—fucking leave!”

The fire crackled in the grate. James reached tentatively toward his friend but stopped, his hand suspended in air, uncertain.

Sirius swayed dangerously on his feet, the burst of anger leaving him as quickly as it had come. The room seemed to tilt around him. Dark spots danced at the edges of his vision.

“Sirius,” Lily whispered, taking a step toward him. “Your leg—”

Before she could finish, Severus rose from the couch. His movements were stiff, mechanical, but deliberate. Quickly, he was standing before Sirius, his dark eyes assessing.

“Sit down,” he said quietly, but with unmistakable authority. “You’re bleeding out.”

Sirius blinked at him, momentarily confused. “I'm fine,” he muttered automatically, the words slurring slightly.

Severus’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Sit. Down. Now.” Each word was clipped, razor sharp.

When Sirius still didn't move, Severus placed a firm hand on his shoulder and pushed him back onto the couch. The pressure was gentle but insistent. Sirius found himself sitting before he could protest further. If the circumstances were different, Sirius would have asked Severus to kiss it better. 

“I need Dittany,” Severus said without looking up, addressing the room at large. “And clean bandages. Now.”

For a moment, no one moved, all of them frozen in surprise at the commanding tone from the man they’d only grudgingly accepted into their ranks.

“Did I stutter?” Severus snapped, looking up with such ferocity that several people flinched. “Dittany. Bandages. Or would you prefer to watch him bleed to death while you stand there gawking?”

That broke the spell. Alice hurried from the room toward the supply closet. Lily moved forward, conjuring water and cloths with a flick of her wand.

“Here,” she said quietly, handing them to Severus.

He nodded curtly, taking the supplies without comment. Without hesitation, he knelt in front of Sirius and began unwrapping the blood-soaked bandage around his leg. His movements were precise, clinical, betraying nothing of his earlier exhaustion. The raw burn marks on his own hands were vivid against his pale skin as he worked, but he showed no sign of discomfort.

The Order watched in fascinated silence as Severus Snape—once a scrawny boy, a perpetual outsider, a man who had never shown a moment of care for anyone in this room—methodically tended to Sirius Black’s wounds.

“The bone is shattered,” Severus muttered, more to himself than to Sirius. “The impact against the rocks was worse than I thought.”

Alice returned with a medical kit, which she handed wordlessly to Severus. He removed a small vial filled with something dark and viscous. “Dittany essence with silver nitrate,” he explained, catching Sirius’s questioning look. “It will burn, but it will neutralize any dark magic that might have seeped in from that cave.”

Sirius clenched his jaw. “Just do it.”

Severus removed the stopper from the vial and poured the potion directly onto the wound. Sirius hissed sharply between his teeth as the liquid made contact with torn flesh, burning like acid. Several Order members winced in sympathy.

“Hold still,” Severus commanded, not looking up from his work. He began muttering incantations under his breath, his wand moving in small, intricate patterns above the mangled leg.

“You fell?”  Moody asked quietly, his magical eye fixed on the wound.

“Slipped on the rocks as we were trying to get in.” Sirius replied through gritted teeth, focusing on speaking rather than the searing pain. “Before the Inferi…”

“And Regulus?” Dumbledore asked softly. “You said…”

Sirius’s face contorted. “He was already there. He’d found it before us. He... the Inferi…”

Understanding dawned on several faces. Remus's expression crumpled with sympathy. James looked stricken.

“I’m sorry, Sirius,” Lily whispered, tears welling in her eyes.

“The locket itself was cursed,” Severus said, still focusing on his work. “Dark magic of the highest order. Regulus had swapped it with a fake, but the process of obtaining it…” He trailed off, the implication clear.

“Where is it now?” Dumbledore asked.

“Kreacher has it,” Sirius replied. “He’ll destroy it. That’s what Reg wanted.”

A heavy silence fell over the room, broken only by Severus’s quiet incantations and the occasional sharp intake of breath from Sirius when the pain peaked.

“You need to rest,” Severus said, finally looking up from his work. “The bone will take time to heal properly, even with magic.”

“I'm fine,” Sirius repeated stubbornly.

Severus’s head snapped up at that, his eyes locking with Sirius’s. There was something fierce in his gaze—not anger, exactly, but a sort of determined intensity.

“Your brother died tonight so that locket could be destroyed,” Severus said, his voice low enough that only Sirius could hear. “Do not dishonor his sacrifice by killing yourself through sheer stubborn idiocy.”

The words hit Sirius like a physical blow. He stared at Severus, momentarily speechless. Then, almost imperceptibly, he nodded.

Satisfied, Severus turned back to his work, wrapping a fresh bandage around the now-clean wound. His hands moved with practiced efficiency, speaking of experience Sirius preferred not to contemplate.

James approached cautiously, kneeling beside Sirius. He placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, squeezing gently. “We’re here,” he said simply. “Whatever you need.”

Remus stood close behind, his presence solid and reassuring. Lily conjured a steaming cup of tea laced with a Calming Draught, pressing it into Sirius's hands.

As the rest of the Order moved around them—Dumbledore conferring quietly with Moody, the Prewett twins organizing a watch rotation, others preparing sleeping arrangements—Sirius felt something shift within him. The crushing grief remained, but it was no longer quite so isolating.

In the midst of it all, his eyes met Severus’s briefly. No words passed between them, but something had changed—something profound and irreversible. They had witnessed darkness together, had faced death side by side, and had experienced a loss that neither could fully explain to the others.

As the night deepened around them, Sirius could almost hear Regulus’s voice, distant as the breaking waves they'd left behind: I’m so sorry… I really am.