Regulus smiled at the artist.
"You did wonderfully, thank you. Here." He handed over a bagful of Galleons, ignoring their flustered denial. "You deserve it, really. You made me look even more beautiful than I already do, and that deserves a reward."
They bashfully accepted the bag, and Regulus debated the merits of just Obliviating them. But that would just waste time, and he'd already mentioned to his mother that he was getting a portrait painted.
When he disappeared, she'd surely search for it, but he'd taken precautions already. And it was better for her to hear from him rather than her forcing the information out of poor Kreacher. That would have just made her wonder why he hid it from her, and he couldn't afford any suspicion.
So he left the studio, quickly Apparating to his childhood home. Entering his room and sitting on his bed, he examined the portrait.
He hadn't been lying when he told the artist they'd done a good job. The portrait was beautiful, very skillfully painted. Placing a gentle hand on the canvas, he poured as much magic into it as he could afford, only removing his hand when the drain became painful.
Pouring this much magic into a simple portrait was typically not recommended for a wizard his age. Not only was the drain taxing, but the magic would only be activated upon the wielder's death, at which point it would wake the portrait and cause it to act as if it truly was its subject. The most bothersome thing was that the magic had to be constantly replenished over the course of one's life to ensure the portrait's memories would stay up to date, and many people simply didn't have the time for that.
But Regulus wasn't many people. Though the temporary loss of magic was making his body ache, he knew it was for a good reason. The more magic a portrait had, the more lifelike it would be, and he intended for this portrait to be very lifelike. It would have to be, for the sake of his plans.
He stood, retrieving the space-expanded trunk he'd spent so much money on. All of his research, all of his theories and notes, had already been hidden in the secret compartment. The only thing left was the portrait. He put it into the trunk, locking it, then opened one of the drawers of his desk.
Taking out the vial, he examined it in what little light there was. He'd had to beg Lucius to collect this vial of Sirius's blood, but it had all been worth it. As far as Lucius knew, he wanted it for some black magic ritual. (Regulus didn't know that Lucius had already suspected he might defect. He also didn't know that Lucius had promised his wife to help her cousin if need be, and the real Regulus Black would never discover this.)
He dripped seven drops of blood on the lock, murmuring the necessary spell. The trunk would open only to Sirius now, and nobody else. As much as he'd have liked to be able to explain to his brother in person, he wasn't an idiot. This next mission could very well be his last, and he wouldn't subject Sirius to the pain of finally reconciling only to have it all torn away far too soon. And he didn't trust Dumbledore and his vigilante group to use the information he'd uncovered wisely, so Sirius it would have to be.
"Kreacher!"
The house elf popped into the room, patiently waiting for his orders.
"Hide this trunk somewhere Sirius will be able to find it, should he ever come back here, please. It's very important to me."
Kreacher did as told, and Regulus sighed, laying down. He hoped the information in that trunk, the information the portrait could provide, would come in handy. He hoped that the Dark Lord could be defeated once and for all, and he hoped that the people he loved would be around to see it.
Tomorrow. I'll go tomorrow. No reason to put it off any longer than that.
Regulus Arcturus Black fell asleep for the very last time.