The Pendant
Narcissa hadn’t remembered inviting Bellatrix nor Andromeda for an impromptu sleepover, but when she woke up, the other girls were flopped in her bed and sound asleep.
She stared at them for a minute, mind blank as she struggled to place herself.
What time was it?
What year was it?
Sometimes she went forwards and backward and rewound herself all the way through time.
And sometimes they were just illusions in front of her, products of a power that subconsciously decided to pour out of her at the most confusing times.
Only – no, Bellatrix never looked so wild in her illusions. Only – no, Andromeda never had the seemingly persistent wrinkle between her brows that must’ve cropped up when Narcissa wasn’t around to add it to the image.
No, this was real.
This was annoyingly real.
Weak morning light poured in through the crack in her fluttering curtains, filtered through the gray clouds painted across the sky. The pale light washed over the girls and made the duvet glow. She traced a finger lazily over one of the lavender bundles printed along the sheets, debating how to best deal with this.
It would be easiest to just leave, she mused.
But there was also a voice in the back of her mind – one that sounded suspiciously young, too similar to a version of Narcissa that hadn’t existed for a while – that wanted to inconvenience the other girls. That wanted to tease and pester them like they were all children once again, that forgot where she was.
Narcissa sunk back into the mattress and closed her eyes, fighting back a small smile. She had to play this off right. She had to look utterly innocent and asleep.
Next to her, Bellatrix took in a deep breath, and the exhale tickled against Narcissa’s face.
Narcissa kicked up harshly, bringing her knee directly into Bellatrix’s stomach.
Bellatrix yelped out a pained cry, and before Narcissa could even realize what was going on, she was pinned back on the bed, a forearm pressed to her neck. Everything turned from hazy and sleepy and comfortable to focused and sharp and terrible in a fraction of a second, the entire world narrowing to the pressure against her windpipe and the familiar feeling of being overpowered and weak.
weak weak weak
“What the fuck?” Andromeda squawked, startled awake in turn.
Narcissa gasped and squeezed her eyes shut, squirming violently under the weight. She braced herself for a palm to connect with her face, for a fist to catch her cheek, for biting nails to dig into her skin. She waited for something, anything, to follow.
But nothing came.
As fast as the attack had come, it’d been dissipated; invisible hands dragged Bellatrix off, courtesy of Andromeda, and tossed her to the end of the bed and everything shattered into complete stillness - no longer slow, but frozen.
There was just this: panic and the thump thump thumping of her heart and oh oh oh so much fear.
The girls just breathed – one hitched, two normal – and stared at each other.
Narcissa pressed a hand to her fluttering chest, closing her eyes once more like she could fight the blackness tunneling her vision by shutting her eyes before they could fall shut on their own. Like she could hide from their gazes if she couldn’t see them.
It’s just Bella, she reminded herself, voice breathy and broken even in her head. Everything is fine. It’s just Bella.
Cold cold hands pressed against her skin.
She flinched.
“It’s just me,” Andromeda whispered. Her voice was so very distinct. So feminine. So soft and so unfamiliar and yet so so familiar and—
It wasn’t him, though.
it’s just Andy it’s just Andy it’s just Andy
Her voice was like rain on a windowpane, the whisper of wind through blades of grass, the unfurling of an orange peel.
She couldn’t tell if that made everything better or worse, for it to be Andromeda here with her. It was just a confusing mess of sensation and feeling, a rush of panic and disgust and grief without a real, tangible target. Everything was muddy.
A quick breath in and out. Gasped. Frantic. A drowning man coming up for air only to be thrown to the waves once more.
“What was that for?” Bellatrix demanded somewhere near the foot of the bed. Narcissa listened for the undertones, the words left unsaid, but she didn’t sound angry rather than heated. It was a small distinction, but it was enough to send relief crashing through her, enough to let her suck in another breath of air now that she could be sure she wouldn’t be hindered once more.
Andromeda shushed the black-haired girl, and then the cold hands were back, brushing against her arms and her cheeks and over her hair.
She melted into the touch, needing to be grounded, needing to be comforted.
Then her eyes snapped open as she came to her senses in a sudden and dizzying moment of realization.
She was being seen. Utterly vulnerable and open despite herself, despite the meticulous effort she put into hiding it all.
don't look don’t look don’t look
She dodged Andromeda this time despite the cry in her chest and tonelessly said, “Stop. I'm not a fucking dog.”
The words came out bland, dry. She needed to sound better. She needed to sound like it was fine – because it was fine, wasn’t it? She’d asked for this. She'd fucked around and found out the hard way. She knew better; she knew not to antagonize, not to press buttons, not to mess around with people who were quick to snap. She'd been taught better than this, been doing better than this, had done better than this.
Narcissa sat up quickly, a little embarrassed but trying to hide it, and fought her way out of the covers. Bellatrix scooted over to let her pass, looking uncharacteristically uncertain, and then Narcissa pushed herself off the bed.
Without looking back, she went and shut herself in the closet – to hide, to put herself together, she wasn’t really sure. It was all too much.
She couldn’t even muster the strength to illusion herself.
Shame settled in her stomach. She shouldn’t have been so vulnerable in front of them, she should’ve waited until she was somewhere alone to freak out. She shouldn't have freaked out at all. She chided herself ruthlessly, eyes closed, and let her head fall back against the wall with a dull thud.
The pub was hazy; burning cigarettes had created a smoke screen, and the dull lights only made it worse. Narcissa’s eyes stung from the acrid smoke, and she could feel a cough bubbling up in the back of her throat. She slunk to an empty seat and ordered quickly – something simple, just an apple martini, something she could nurse as she watched the scene unfold in front of her.
It'd been a few weeks since she’d turned 22, and she hadn’t been outside of her flat for a while. It was pathetic, really, but she was here now.
Not that she was having fun, even after ordering her second drink.
There was a couple chatting loudly a few seats away from her about something mundane. She was fairly certain the man was lying about everything – he seemed the type – but the girl was eating it up eagerly.
Narcissa, a master of lying, a master of illusions, couldn’t help but hate the people who were easily fooled especially if the lie or facade was generally easy to see through. She hated fools was the real root of it. She who could fool everyone without even blinking hated the people who fell for it. It was incredibly. . . something. She couldn’t put her finger on what it was, exactly, but it was something.
And the man walking up to her, he was something too. Something she couldn’t put her finger on, something mysterious and beautiful and full of fucking audacity.
“Is there not another available seat?” Narcissa asked, sipping on her drink.
She wasn’t usually this loud with her distaste, but the previously downed apple martini was loosening her lips. They burned dangerously.
“Probably,” the man admitted, voice smooth and low and charismatic. “There’s not another seat next to someone like you, though.”
“Someone like me?”
“Magical.” He whispered the word so reverently, as if she was some sort of goddess he came to worship, as if she was otherworldly and worthy of devotion.
“What makes you so sure I’m magic?” she asked.
He smiled and it was a thin, shark-like smile that made it clear this creature could bite if she got too close. “I know of you,” he said simply. “You’re one of those – what did they call you? Black Academy kids. You’re the pretty one.”
Her stomach couldn’t help but flip at the compliment even if it came at the expense of the other children.
“You’re trying to flatter me,” she said pointedly. “I bet you couldn’t even tell me what my name was if I gave you ten guesses.”
“Probably not,” he admitted. “I’ve been calling you Gorgeous in my head for so long whenever I see your picture that I forget to pay attention to your real name.”
She scoffed. “You’re a liar.”
“I’ve never been more honest.”
“Well, then you’re embarrassing yourself. Don’t try and approach girls you pretend to know without having their name in your back pocket.”
“You’re being so difficult,” the man said, though it sounded strangely fond, and his shark-like smile had returned. “There’s no need to be that way.”
“I’ll tell you my name if you get me out of here,” Narcissa said, ignoring his last comment. “And if you pay for my drink. Those are my conditions.”
“Are you trying to take me home with you?” he asked cheekily.
“No. Stop twisting my words to your liking.”
“I’ll twist the world any way you want, Gorgeous. I’ll make the sun spin backward if that’s what you want,” the man promised, pleasantly tipsy and content to ramble. Narcissa rolled her eyes.
“How can you twist the entire world if you can’t even fulfill my other asks?”
The man promptly beckoned the bartender over and took out his card from his wallet. Narcissa could see the name Lucius Malfoy printed on the side of the card, and her lips begged to form the shape of his name, to taste the feel of it on her tongue. When he wasn’t looking, she mouthed it. “Lucius.” And it was just as smooth and delicious as it looked. It was delightful. She wondered what it would sound like, but she wasn’t so bold as to speak now – maybe if she had a third drink in her system, she’d have been more inclined, but this was doomed anyways, and it wouldn’t have changed a damn thing whether she said it out loud are not. The fact was just this: she mouthed it and loved the way it felt. It was as simple and as world-altering as that.
Lucius took her outside, and she blacked out between point A and point B, all of her thoughts narrowing down onto the brush of his palm against the small of her back. He could’ve led her anywhere and she wouldn’t have known anything but the warmth of his hand through the layers of clothes separating their skin.
They stood outside with the anti-social smokers and turned into each other, shutting the world out and turning the space between them into something private and secluded.
“Can I have your name, now?” Lucius asked.
She said, “You’ll think it’s strange.”
“My name is strange,” he confessed to her, shrugging. “Lucius isn’t exactly common.”
“Narcissa isn’t either.”
Lucius’ eyes lit up at that. “Narcissa,” he whispered, rolling her name over his tongue before smiling. “I like it. It’s different. It’s beautiful. It’s everything you are.”
“Different?”
“Beautiful,” Lucius emphasized, smoothly brushing over the fact that he had indeed called her different. But it was alright. She could ignore it in favor of the sticky-sweet compliment that was quick to follow.
“I can be more.”
“Oh?”
“I can be more than just a face.”
“Are you inviting me in?” he asked. “Do you want me to know you?”
“You can try.”
“I will,” he promised.
It was stupid. It was lovely. It was confusing. It was everything and anything.
It was guilt weighing heavy on her chest, it was love lingering in her bones, it was fatigue pulling at her skin.
“Cissy?” Andromeda said from outside the door.
“I’m changing,” she called back. “Don’t come in.”
It was this: her hands in Lucius’ hair, his fingertips ghosting under the hem of her sweater, the soft press of lips as their first kiss blurred into their second and third until she could barely think let alone count. It was this: the smooth leather of his front seat as he drove her home, the smile tugging at his mouth when she finally pried her front door open, the squeal of his tires after he dropped her off. It was this: the fulfilled promise of a return, the practice of prayer he pretended to uphold in front of his guests, the dusty smell of his manor whenever she found herself floating through it aimlessly.
“Are you alright?” Andromeda asked.
Muffled by the closed door, Narcissa barely managed to make out Bellatrix’s muttered, “It’s too early for her to be complaining about something. Fucking bitch. Why would she do that? Does she think she's funny?.”
It was this: the explosion of pain behind her skull the morning after every party he brought her to, the mild pride of seeing her face in the tabloids next to billionaires and other affluents, the shame simmering in her ribs. It was this: the ever-lasting guilt that turned religious, the all-consuming love that made her sick to her stomach, the uncertainty that drove her half-mad these days.
Narcissa sucked in a deep breath and pulled herself from her memories, grasping everything real in sight and holding it tightly. The panic smoothed away as she shoved everything deep. She even tugged an old, scratchy sweater over her head so the discomfort could keep her grounded and tethered and real.
Despite being a mess internally, she didn’t look it; even if rare moments like these cracked her exterior, she still emerged from the closet looking as expensive and gorgeous and flawless as she’d trained herself to be. It was everything she'd practiced.
The switch must’ve been obvious based on Andromeda and Bellatrix’s confused faces.
“I’m going downstairs,” Narcissa said, void of emotion and leaving no room for discussion.
The other girls trailed after her, but she paid them no mind and just kept her gaze forward and her back straight.
Something they’d all learned young was how to brush things under the rug. The Black Academy children knew more than anyone else the importance of shoving things away and pretending they didn’t exist – especially feelings. Narcissa was self-aware enough to know they were all emotionally repressed, but, funnily enough, she repressed that information right alongside the war raging within her and shoved both things deep into the grottoes of her stomach where no one could find it. Some things were better hidden or illusioned away.
Predictably, Kreacher waited for them at the bottom of the stairs, and Druella stood beside him with a smile.
“My mistresses,” he murmured, bowing his head low.
“Girls,” Druella greeted cheerfully. “Are you ready for your breakfast?”
“Who made it?” Bellatrix asked, sounding suspicious. The tone sent a solar flare of rage off in Narcissa’s heart, and she inhaled sharply to hold back the reaction.
“Why, Kreacher, of course,” Druella answered, delightfully ignorant to the suspicions and accusations circling around her very existence at the moment.
Bellatrix ceded, “Alright, then, yeah.”
“Wonderful!”
Druella led them towards the dining room, chatting away merrily about what the day would bring. She informed them of the weather, which was gloomy, as it often was in London, and shared there was a high chance of rain in the afternoon, as there often was in London. She rattled off a few key headlines – none of them memorable – before coming to a stop in front of the closed double doors. Then she turned around and shared, “Oh, I almost forgot to mention that our Regulus is already eating. How rude of me. I truthfully just let Kreacher serve him because he claimed to be hungry, and I didn’t expect you all would be down together like you used to. I know it’s improper, but just take this as a lesson to never repeat this mistake when you’re the lady of the house, hmm?”
“Regulus is here?” Narcissa repeated. The boy had disappeared last night and ran off with Sirius. She hadn’t realized he’d returned. Had he slept the night in his old room?
“He just got here not long before you must’ve woken up,” Druella said.
“I’m ready to eat,” Bellatrix decisively said, then shoved her way past Druella and through the double doors. The robot didn’t look miffed, but she seemed annoyed in a very uncanny way; Narcissa hoped paranoia was just making her imagine it. All of Sirius and Bellatrix’s worries were just getting to her head, surely.
Regulus looked up, faintly startled, when Bellatrix flung the doors open and the girls came through the opening. He looked at Narcissa with wide, knowing eyes, and she flashed a raised eyebrow at him back before sinking down in her seat.
Bellatrix reached over the table with her fork poised, eyeing his food, but Regulus swatted her away just as she was about to stab one of his fruits.
“Just ask what I’m eating like a normal person,” he scolded. “And take a shower before you get anywhere near my food.”
She tsked. “You’ve developed bad manners.”
“Oh, have I?” Regulus taunted. “Pot calling the kettle.”
“Children,” Druella chided from her place near the table. “Stop with your quarreling. It’s unbecoming.”
Narcissa rolled her eyes and leaned back in her seat as Kreacher set her plate in front of her. There were honey-covered fruits, scrambled eggs, a few pieces of bacon, and a piece of jam-smeared toast all stacked on it. Narcissa forced back the roll of nausea at the smell of eggs – she'd been averse to them lately – but picked up her fork politely.
Regulus eyed her, and she had the strangest feeling that he noticed her slight pause and was currently weighing it in his mind.
She took a big bite of the fruit and hoped whatever suspicions he had would be quelled soon.
After a few minutes filled with the sound of forks scraping against porcelain and the clink of the bottom of cups hitting the table, Andromeda set her fork down. “We need to decide how we’re splitting the house and everything up. Does anyone know where Sirius is?”
“That’s a waste of time,” Regulus huffed.
“Finding Sirius?” Bellatrix inquired, ever one to pry. “Why, is he lost? Did you lose him?”
“No,” he said, “splitting the house and everything.”
“Do you have an easier idea?” Andromeda asked, looking thoroughly annoyed.
Narcissa speared one of her strawberries and popped it in her mouth, chewing slowly so she wouldn’t be inclined to interject in whatever argument seemed to be brewing.
“I have better things to do,” Regulus told her.
“Pray tell.”
He looked her up and down before saying, “No.”
Andromeda flipped her hands up in exasperation.
“He’ll want the books,” Narcissa added cheekily.
Regulus sent her a withering look but didn’t bother protesting. He sipped at his coffee and looked at her over the rim. She didn’t wilt from it, and rather, to taunt him, illusioned a small frown over her face, one only he could see straight through and understand to be fake. Maybe that could convince him her neutral pleasantry was real enough.
From the sidelines, Druella suddenly started asking, “Is there someone at the—”
She was interrupted by the storm Sirius seemed to drag in with him.
“Regulus?” he called, searching, before he locked eyes with the other man – boy? it was unclear, frankly – and practically sank with relief. “Regulus, what the fuck? The window? Really?”
Regulus shrugged, not bothering to defend himself against whatever it was that was happening here.
“Thank God you didn’t just Apparate away – I would’ve thought you’d gone missing! But also – why didn’t you just Apparate, you idiot,” Sirius forged on, exasperated. A weathered-looking man appeared in the doorway, visible over his shoulder, and he looked a little embarrassed to have found himself there. Narcissa wasn’t impressed by the softness of his grimace nor the clear uncertainty he exuded in the tense lines of his body; Sirius would just take advantage of a pushover like that, so there was clearly a mistake here resting between the two of them. Sirius needed someone hard enough to battle his stubbornness, and this was definitely not the man if he’d been dragged here so easily.
Meanwhile, Regulus was saying, “I wanted to prove a point by escaping out of the window.”
“Escaping?” Sirius echoed.
“Can you say anything that’s not a question?” Bellatrix snarked. “It’s insanely boring.”
“Shut it,” both boys snapped without missing a beat.
“What was the point, Reg?” Sirius asked. “I meant everything I said. Don’t run off again where we can’t follow.”
“I’ve thought about the whole thing,” Regulus said, measured and careful, so much so that Narcissa was almost dying of curiosity at what this could’ve meant, “and I’ve decided it must’ve been something I. . . dreamt up. I’m dropping it. I think I need to find other ways to deal with this. Ways that involve more journaling or whatever.”
It was all so vague, and Narcissa was having a hard time following what any of it could’ve meant. The girls might as well have been at a tennis game with the way their eyes bounced back and forth between the two boys and eagerly drank in the conversation like vultures waiting to pick it apart later.
Sirius, for his part, looked relieved, but the man behind him seemed just as confused as Narcissa was. “Alright, good. That's a good step, Reg. I’ll tell James that I found you so he can stop searching.”
“Oh.”
“You promise you’ll sort it out? I’ll be back later. I can help you—” his eyes cut to the girls, assessing how much he could say. Lamely, he finished, “I could help you.”
“Good,” Regulus said almost sarcastically. “Now, can you leave me alone to eat?”
“Yes, yes, sorry,” Sirius muttered, retreating.
Narcissa waited a second before pushing herself to her feet. “Restroom,” she murmured, not bothering to look over her shoulder as she followed after Sirius and his pushover, weathered lover.
“Sirius,” she called quietly.
He paused and turned to her, on guard. “Do you believe him?”
It was the last thing she’d expected him to say, and it through her for a loop. She stumbled as she searched for something to say, forgetting everything she’d ever known or thought in her confusion. Finally, she settled on saying, “Regulus wouldn’t lie. Not to you.”
Sirius nodded, distracted, and said, “I’ll see you later, Narcissa.”
She watched him leave and forgot why she’d even chased after him in the first place.
Regulus was, in fact, lying to Sirius, and he did not feel bad about it one bit.
It was for his own good, really. Regulus should’ve never opened up. It'd been a moment of weakness, one he wanted to go back in time and strangle himself over if it weren’t for the fact that everything would be quite fucked up if he actually did that. He had kicked himself all night over it, embarrassed, and promptly decided upon waking to run from the problem.
He knew Sirius had already suspected Regulus was going crazy, that he was simply hallucinating the end of the world to cope with – something. So, he figured the best thing to do was pretend he’d come to that conclusion as well. It was certainly easier for the other man to stomach than the reality of the world coming to an end, that was for sure. He hadn't even blinked at the idea that Regulus was crazy and making it up rather than it being the truth.
Regulus only half wished he was actually making it up to cope, that he was imagining everything.
But the pendant weighing heavily in his pocket said otherwise. It practically begged for attention, so cold it burned even through the fabric of his trousers.
He watched Narcissa fail to hide the fact she was chasing after Sirius and Remus with a vague feeling of disinterest, distracted. Sirius wasn’t likely to out his confession no matter how hard Narcissa drilled him, so that wasn’t a concern, and if she was chewing Remus out for stepping foot in the manner, then, well, at least it was her and not Bellatrix who was doing it.
“How did he get in?” Andromeda wondered out loud.
Kreacher sneered, “I thought Mistress Andromeda wanted Kreacher to keep the door unlocked so you all could walk in without knocking for Kreacher every time.”
Regulus didn’t stick around for the reply.
Wordlessly, he touched his napkin to his mouth and rose to his feet, swiftly following after the others.
He could see the back of Sirius and Remus’ heads as they moved to leave, and neither Narcissa nor Regulus called them back. He simply said her name: “Narcissa.”
She turned, unsurprised to find he'd followed her out.
“I don’t know what that was about,” she said, “and I won’t ask. But I expect to be told eventually.”
“Eventually,” Regulus agreed, not sure when eventually was but content that she was promising not to pry. He hated when people asked more questions than necessary.
“I take it you want something from me,” Narcissa concluded neutrally.
“Just your unwavering support,” he said, trying to make it sound light although it was close to the truth. For him, unwavering support meant not questioning him, and luckily Narcissa’s form of support had always included that as a bonus. He didn’t really want to drag anyone into this, Narcissa especially, but he was not disillusioned by the fact that she had the knowledge he needed for what he intended to do next. The threat of the Death Eaters on his tail wasn’t exactly heartwarming, but he knew how to hide Narcissa from their paths well enough, and sometimes risks were necessary for the greater good. Besides, she could take care of herself, so there wasn’t really a need to protect her beyond the principle of it.
“Well,” Narcissa murmured back, “I suppose that’s simple enough. What do you need?”
It was five minutes later that they were on the road sitting in a strange silence.
Regulus had tried to wrestle the keys from Narcissa, but she’d been stubborn in insisting that he was entirely too young to drive. He bit his tongue until he tasted copper to stop himself from snapping at her to just give him the damn keys.
“You can walk if you want,” she’d suggested scathingly. “Or Apparate.”
“Yes, well, that hinges on the idea that I know exactly where I’m going,” he explained through gritted teeth. “I have to picture it clearly, and I can’t picture this place clearly.”
With her tongue pressed into her cheek in delight, Narcissa said, “Then you’re reliant on me, and you’ll let me drive.”
He’d just given up and slipped into the passenger seat. Narcissa could be incredibly stubborn when she had her heart set on something.
Regulus studied her as they drove, eyes narrowed. Something was wrong with her, something he couldn’t quite place. He didn’t really have the time to drag the truth out from her, but it didn’t stop him from being concerned. He figured he could sit her down and drill her once this whole ordeal was over and he was allowed to properly breathe again. Until then, he had to stay focused, and that meant letting his estranged family do whatever they pleased in private for the time being.
They found the store after twenty minutes of searching for it using only their vague memories and a faded old map tucked into the dashboard.
Ollivanders.
It was a tough store to find for the untrained eye – hidden by something otherworldly and only available to those who were willing to search.
But Regulus and Narcissa and the other children had frequented here every year when they were growing up. The store was filled with strange relics and oddities that were endlessly intriguing. Here, Walburga curated her collection of decorative plates and paintings and tapestries that they all suspected were haunted. Here, Cygnus purchased the dark, dusty-smelling books he lined the shelves of his library with. Here, Orion took Ollivander himself to the back room and held mysterious conversations with him about mysterious things.
This was exactly the place Regulus needed to be.
Ollivander was a business partner to the Blacks, willingly or unwillingly, so he was rather inclined to help Regulus out on his search. Not that he felt compelled to give up too much information. For all that he could trust Ollivander, he knew the man was mortal just like anyone else, and he would cave if the Purebloods or the Death Eaters or whoever it was chasing after Regulus’ trail managed to find him. Ollivander wouldn’t die for Regulus’ secrets, and Regulus didn’t necessarily expect him to.
He just needed a few quick answers.
They pulled into an empty parking spot and got out.
“What are you even here for?” Narcissa asked, her hands shoved deep into her pockets.
Regulus didn’t answer.
The bell dinged above them, announcing their arrival, and there came a loud shuffling from the back of the store.
“Just a minute!” Ollivander called out.
There was more banging around.
Narcissa eyed Regulus meaningfully, then leaned in to whisper, “What are you going to do if he recognizes you?”
“I’m hoping he does,” Regulus admitted.
“You’re going to break his brain,” Narcissa tutted, shaking her head.
“Well,” Regulus said quietly, “let’s hope it’s only you that he remembers then. I need his brain intact for him to be of any use, thank you very much.”
Narcissa snorted a laugh just as Ollivander appeared around the corner, his hair frazzled and his eyes wide with a vague crazed look to them. He had smears of dust on his shirt, which made Regulus a little intrigued about what he’d been wrestling with only a few moments prior.
“Miss Narcissa,” Ollivander greeted immediately. “Mister Regulus. How wonderful to see you again. Tragic news lately. Tragic. You have my condolences, truly. I know it must be hard. I miss them myself, but nowhere near as much as you must.”
If Ollivander seemed surprised about seeing Regulus alive after he’d been publicly announced to be dead, he hid it well. Dealing with the Blacks meant Ollivander would’ve seen a lot of strange things, but Regulus thought a resurrection would cause a little more waves than this.
Still, he sidestepped this quickly and murmured, “Thank you. It’s been rough, yes.”
At his side, Narcissa was wonderfully blank at his insincere words.
“What can I do for you two today?” Ollivander asked. “I’ve had books sitting waiting for someone like old Mister Cygnus to take interest in them, though I suspect you’re not the person I’m looking for. There’s a handful of artifacts they would’ve found interesting, though I can tell you lack the same taste they possessed. No, you want to show me something, don’t you? You want my eyes on something of yours, yes?”
“Precisely,” Regulus said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the heavy pendant.
Most of the time it was looped around his neck so he wouldn’t forget its existence (like he ever could), but he’d taken it off at the Potter’s so Euphemia wouldn’t ask questions if she caught sight of it. He'd slipped it into his pocket and there it remained.
“Did you take that from upstairs?” Narcissa asked suddenly, frowning as if she was wracking her mind to try and picture if she’d seen it before.
Regulus lied, “Of course. I thought you wouldn’t judge, Cissy. You of all people shouldn’t make comments about people taking things.”
Narcissa shut her mouth with a snap and looked away with a sharp toss of her elegant neck, promptly uninterested.
“Do you mind if we take this discussion to my office?” Ollivander directed this question to Regulus, who nodded, then began heading towards the back of the store.
“Wait here,” Regulus told Narcissa.
“I’ll browse,” she said, though he didn’t think she’d find anything she wanted here. When they were younger, she’d always found the jars filled with bones and insects to be unsettling, and it was Narcissa who’d been convinced the longest that the paintings and tapestries were haunted. She was always more unsettled in here than the rest of them. She stuck out, too, with her sweet face and bright blonde hair – the rest of them were sharp and angular, with dark hair and petulant frowns that helped them blend in more easily with the crowd who frequented this place.
Ollivander led Regulus back to his office, and it familiar in an out-of-touch way. How many times had he seen Orion disappear into the back just like this?
Everything felt so much faster compared to when he was younger, but so much slower compared to his life as a Death Eater. It was a terrible feeling. But he knew time was pressing down hard on him, so he couldn’t relax in the happiness that came with knowing he was his own man again, with knowing he was no one’s soldier or lap dog anymore.
“Have a seat, Mister Black,” Ollivander said, suddenly more formal than he’d been before. Money talks and all. One flash of a mysterious pendant could turn anyone into someone important – even boys who rose from the dead.
“What I’m going to show you,” Regulus said, “is something that could very easily get us both killed.”
“Alright,” the old shop owner agreed. “Let’s see it then.”
With reluctance, Regulus handed the pendant over.
He hadn’t let that thing go ever since he found it at the end of the world, and it felt terrible to feel it was taken from his grasp now. But still, this was necessary if he wanted answers.
The pendant was the key to ending the apocalypse. It was the key to everything.
Ollivander took it gently, and he slipped on a small eyepiece as he examined it.
The necklace was an odd-looking piece of jewelry. The chain was thick so it could support the heavy gold pendant in the center. The jewel itself was golden, and an emerald, serpentine S was encrusted in the center. Regulus had held the pendant in his palm long enough that he wouldn’t have been surprised if the S was indented in his hand. When he wore it around his neck, it was heavy against his chest, and the metal never quite warmed to his skin like necklaces usually do. It was perpetually cool to the touch. It was fascinating. Regulus was fascinated.
People like Crouch and Rosier, they called him meticulous, called him obsessive. But they had no real idea what they were talking about. They saw the side of Regulus who murdered for profit, who turned into a Death Eater to avoid a worse fate, and they knew the man who was perfect because he had to be.
They didn’t see him at night when he worked for hours to find the right equation to make it back to his family in the present. They didn’t see the way his brain never truly put a pause on deciphering how to prevent the apocalypse. They didn’t see how terrible of a fate being stuck in limbo in the Graveyard was without a way to help stop the end of the world.
So, when they called him obsessive, they only knew about the part he didn’t care much about. If they had seen this, they might’ve tried to find a harsher word.
Regulus closed his hand slowly around the handle of his knife. If Ollivander thought he could take the pendant and run, he’d get a knife in his back before he could even make it two steps. He wasn’t fucking around and risking everything; if anything were to set him off, if anything were to look suspicious, he'd kill this man in front of him without hesitating.
“Where did Miss Walburga find this?” Ollivander questioned, still convinced it had belonged to the Black seniors.
Carefully, Regulus said, “I have no idea. That’s why I came to you. I wanted to know if you could figure anything out about its origin just by looking at it.”
“Well, it’s certainly old,” Ollivander said. Regulus couldn’t contain his eye roll at that; he'd figured as much on his own, and he wasn't an expert like Ollivander claimed to be. Hastily, the store owner continued, “Most necklaces weren’t worn as often until the 14th century, and they were mostly just strips of fabric back then. But it was between the 14th and 17th century where necklaces began growing in popularity, and they were usually this type of bulky gold to demonstrate the wealth and power of the family. I’d say this is more than likely a family heirloom designed to look like the pieces worn by previous family that were either destroyed or lost sometime during the turns of the centuries. Are you aware how far back the Black family tree stretches?”
Regulus couldn’t care less about the history of the Black family because he knew this was no family heirloom. He just couldn’t tell Ollivander that.
Instead, he pointed out, “It’s an S carved on there. Not a B.”
“Well, there’s no definitive way of saying this is an S,” Ollivander said. “It’s shaped like a snake, more like it—”
“The Blacks have never been associated with snakes,” Regulus interrupted. “It’s not an heirloom from the Black family. Walburga could’ve very easily stolen it or purchased it, and that’s what I want to know.”
“It didn’t come from me. I remember every purchase every one of my customers has made. This was not one of the pieces in my handle, and your – well, Miss Black was a very loyal customer.”
“So you’re saying you’re useless to me,” Regulus huffed.
Ollivander looked offended. “You’ve certainly shown your cards then, Mister Regulus, because I’ve said nothing of the sort. In fact, is it not you who’s been entirely dismissive of my expertise? Orion would certainly find it a disgrace to know his ward – the one I let into my establishment without a word despite the presumption he was dead for years – came in here and refused to even think about what I’m saying.”
“I’m sorry, I’m only frustrated,” Regulus lied. He wracked his brain for a way to turn this conversation so it wouldn’t be a big waste of time when it was like a lightbulb went off in his mind. “I’ve actually been wanting to ask you about him as well. Orion. I’ve been talking to all his old connections. See, I was cleaning out his study with Cissy out there and I came across the strangest rambling in one of his journal pages. He was talking about an apocalypse. The end of the world. I suppose it's got me messed up a bit. Did he ever confess anything of the sort to you?”
At this, Ollivander looked cautious. Like one misstep could send them both careening down the cliffside of sanity. Slowly, he said, “Orion was never one for clarity. Everything he told me was vague, and when he would ask me questions regarding things he barely described, it was no wonder that I couldn’t answer them properly. The things he let slip were accidental. I can only remember one specific mention. He said there would be a resurrection right before the end. And at first, I thought he might’ve been trying to hint at the second coming. But now. . .”
This was getting dangerous fast.
This was also getting increasingly confusing.
See, Regulus had thought he’d been going out on a limb here. Because even if Orion knew the world was going to one day end, there was no way he’d have been able to predict Regulus returning from the quote-unquote dead. So either Ollivander was lying for some strange reason, or Orion was hiding so much more than he let on.
Regulus stood abruptly, sensing that this needed to end before the spark of danger ignited into something more.
There was nothing good about entertaining this even if it was the truth. He thought, briefly, it might have just been easier to kill the man now so he wouldn’t be able to talk later.
But a loud crash outside from Narcissa dropping something reminded him that she was right behind the door and probably wouldn't appreciate having to hide a body so early in the morning.
Next time. I’ll get him next time.
“I have appointments today,” Regulus said in lieu of goodbye, reaching for the pendant. Ollivander dropped it right into his palm without protest.
As he made to leave, Ollivander called out, “Mister Regulus.”
He stopped.
“It occurs to me that there’s a small seam along the side of the pendant,” he continued. “Have you tried to pull it open?”
Regulus called back, “Don’t you think I’ve already tried that?”
This time, Ollivander didn’t protest when Regulus pulled the door open and slipped out.
To Narcissa, he said, “We’re leaving.”
“Did he help you?” she asked, hurrying to catch up to him.
“No.”
In the car, Regulus ran his fingertips over the edges of the pendant, looking for the small seam he must’ve somehow overlooked in the years he’d been holding the pendant close. How Ollivander had managed to find it was a mystery, but Regulus was begrudgingly grateful for it now. He’d never let the shop owner know he’d overlooked this, though. No, that would be too much like admitting defeat. He felt stupid even now for somehow missing it.
It took several minutes, but eventually, Regulus’ nail caught the tiniest seam along the sides of the pendant.
He looked quickly at Narcissa, whose eyes were fixed on the road.
He couldn’t pry it open here. Not without too many questions.
The waiting would be nearly insufferable, but the glimmer of hope was almost harder to bear.