➣ 𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝟏𝟒 “𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩’𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝘾𝙤𝙢𝙚”
⋆｡°✩°｡⋆
Each morning, for the next two weeks, followed a silently established development.
Regulus would wake, as Colombians say, with the roosters; eyes wide and transfixed on the wooden ceiling as the dawn starts to crack. He would spend time thinking and reflecting about... life.
He would think about James, unable to stop his tempestuous brain from bringing forward the memories of countless nights spent inside the Come and Go Room. Some nights the room would look like a garden in the peak of spring, others, it would be a warm hut in the middle of a winter blizzard, others, it would be an open field where they could witness the buzzing life in maps of stars. And always, without a single miss, it would end just like they ended... just like Regulus killed them both.
"Tell me it's a lie," James demanded. Regulus stayed silent as the night; eyes fixed on James' feet. "Reg, tell me it's a lie! Tell me Crouch is full of bullshit!"
Regulus didn't need to look at James' face to know his beautiful hazel eyes were teary, or that he was shaking.
"Tell me you would never believe in fucking Voldemort, Reg!"
Making use of all the years he spent building his own mental fortress, Regulus blocked all the happiness, all the warmth, and everything good and gracious that had ever come from James. He only needed to remind himself of his life's goal: to protect James. And if to do so he needed to kill a part of him, so be it. No garden thrives until the weed is cropped, and sadly for Regulus, he was the weed in James' garden.
Hell, he didn’t even believe in Voldemort’s bullshit. But he needed to sell the act.
He chuckled, cold and distant, cruel and amused. "Oh, please, James, we both knew this was how it was meant to end." And if his heart took its first crack, only he would know.
When he finally leveled eyes with James, he saw him recoil, gaping and wide-eyed; and yes, the tears were falling down his soft cheeks.
Regulus grabbed the arm of his robes and pulled, exposing his left forearm, where the ugliest tattoo shined. A dark skull with a snake coming from it, the Dark Mark.
James gulped; eyes transfixed on the mark.
"You couldn't mean that," he said, even though it sounded more like a plea.
"How could you possibly know what I mean, Potter?"
"Oh, that's how this is now, Black?" James fired back, and just now did Regulus the slight lights of rage coming alive within him.
"Go back to your dorm, James," Regulus sighed, turning his back to James.
"Don't you dare leave me here Regulus!"
And Regulus had never been one to go with grace, always making sure each aching within him ricocheted on others. He needed to make sure James' beautiful heart was as broken as possible; he needed to make sure James stayed as far away as possible.
"Reg," he said, barely above a whisper. "Come back, we can work this out, I promise."
That was the straw that broke the camel's back. James was willing to be a hypocrite and betray his own morals for him. How could Regulus live, knowing that it was he who broke James' resolve and integrity?
"There is no 'we' here, James, and there will never be again," he pushed out until the last word. And if his throat closed on itself, well, only Regulus was to know.
"Reg—"
"How can you be so pathetic as to compromise your own morality for someone who doesn't deserve it?" he tried to mock, just to emphasize the hurt on James, but his self-loathing couldn't be kept.
"Reg — no —"
"Don't call me 'Reg' or 'Reggie' ever again, and don't direct your words at me, James," Regulus turned back and walked to the door.
"Please, Reg — don't —"
"Why do you think we kept this hidden for so long, James?" he asked with his hand on the handle. "We both knew from the start this would only destroy us. We both knew this was worthless."
It pained. Each word he said was a new stab to his thrashed heart. Words he told himself each day and each day fought to ignore, all so he could enjoy as much of James as he could to satisfy his avarice.
"That's not true—" James choked.
"Goodbye, James," he opened the door, walked out, and closed it behind him, ignoring how desperately James screamed for him in between tears, and trying to erase from his mind the image of a broken James down on his knees, pleading for something worthless.
"I only do this because I love you," he whispered, forehead resting against the wooden door of the Come and Go Room. "And I swear over my magic that I will do everything it takes to protect you, for all that's worth."
As the tears fell down his reddened eyes, Regulus would get out of bed and silently move to the bathroom to shower. Thankfully, Sirius' clothes — very much improved thanks to his sister-in-law — fitted him just right.
The only company at the crack of dawn was Pedro Cardona, and he would accompany the older man, drinking coffee and watching in silent contemplation as the Reserve awoke.
For days, all Caelum and Sirius had been able to do with their weakened magic cores had been lifting small things, but they would get tired soon. Remus and Regulus had insisted they needed to keep pushing their magic so as not to lose touch with it.
Actually, Regulus' theory was very much aligned with what that man, Mr. Cardona's friend, Zipa Tisquesusa, said.
One day, mid-breakfast, the man waltzed in like he owned the place. He entered, or not really; 'entered' is far too decorous, given the fact that the man simply stepped out of the shadow in one corner and manifested himself in the house.
It was a whole spectacle. Everyone gasped in surprise, Nicolás dropped his chocolate mug, Caelum choked on his hot coffee, and Ember — Nicolás' Wampus Cat — jumped so high, that he almost reached the ceiling. As for the rest of them, Carolina, María, and Remus reached for their wands, before Sirius and Regulus remembered they didn't possess any.
Pedro, as the most collected of their lot, calmly stood up and walked to greet the stranger. They spoke for a few minutes, being joined by Mrs. Cardona; sadly for Regulus, his Spanish was pretty rusted and he couldn't understand much of what was said.
Even with the language barrier, there was something about the man, something about his presence, that echoed deep within him but which Regulus couldn't quite place; for some reason, Regulus recognized his magical presence.
The man was dressed in long white robes that seemed to be made of cotton with runes embroidered in golden thread; and unlike formal robes, these ones were loose on his body. His hair was black and long, tied on the back of his head, atop of which was a small crown made of gold. He also had a golden ring on his crooked nose and two wide earrings — of gold too.
When his eyes fell on Regulus, the man sighed and smiled, “Look at that!” he effortlessly transitioned to perfect English. “It’s good to see you up, boy!” he exclaimed, setting his gold spear on the floor.
“Do I know you?” Regulus asked cautiously.
“Well, I brought you back, but sadly, you were in no condition to meet me at the time," the Zipa said. "Apparently, you weren't for quite some time, huh? How much exactly?"
"Took two weeks to wake up," Pedro provided.
Oh, of course, it made sense. This man was Pedro's friend, the one who led the ritual they did to free Regulus; that was why Regulus' magic recognized him.
There was a very primal and raw power that emanated from the man, but given he was one of the last direct descendants of any of the original Colombian Magical Tribes, it made sense.
Tisquesusa moved to stand in front of Regulus, and before he could do or say anything, the pointy edge of the diamond atop the golden spear was pressed against Regulus' clothed chest; as the man muttered a few words in a very strange tongue, the crystal shone in red, before, like waves, the color was washed away until only white light came.
The man seemed satisfied with that, for he smiled.
"Looks like there's no surplus of Blood Magic," the Zipa mused. "We still need to figure out what kind of binding magic or contract you made, boy."
Ignoring how irksome it was to be called 'boy' when he was in his thirties, Regulus chose to focus on the more important matter.
"What do you mean binding magic or contract?"
"Well, I don't know how much it was explained to you, but our theory is that you had signed or agreed to something binding, and when you were dying, as you hadn't fulfilled your end of the bargain, you magic acted on its own, using your blood to create the crystal you were encased on."
Bloody hell. Goodness gracious. Just what he needed, to be a part of some binding magic he had no flipping idea of.
“There’s something about you, Regulus Black, about your magic…”
“What could possibly be interesting about my magic?” Regulus demanded.
“Your family has a long history with darkness, my boy.” The Zipa said.
“Don’t call me, 'my boy',” Regulus said through clenched teeth. One of the only people who called him that was Dumbledore, and the last thing Regulus wanted was to remember anything about him; this man was not Mr. nor Mrs. Cardona, he had no free pass to call him that.
The Zipa humored him. “As you say,” and without anything else to say, he moved towards Sirius and Caelum, who were both on their feet.
He opened his hand, and rested it on Caelum's forehead, his fingers grounded on the boy's short locks. He took in four deep breaths and muttered under his breath. Seemingly satisfied, he nodded and stepped back, walking to Sirius and doing the same procedure with him with an equal result.
“I take it the two of you have been experiencing your magic again?”
“Barely,” Sirius grumbled with a shrug.
“Well, the two of you did go in warned, didn’t you?”
Both Sirius and Caelum nodded, and Regulus was reminded just how much his brother and nephew risked for him. No matter how much he thought about it, he couldn't come up with very strong reasons to justify that, but for now, he could trick himself into thinking something like love was involved.
“Well, Pedro, as far as I see, your family seems to be holding just fine. I say give it another week and these two will be back to their normal magical selves once more,” he pointed at Sirius and Caelum.
After that, he exchanged a few more words in Spanish with Pedro, from which the only thing Regulus understood was ‘Horcrux’ and when he moved towards them to question, Zipa Tisquesusa moved to the closest shadow and went away.
He would have to make sure to question Pedro about it, at least when the time felt right.
•─────⋅☾☽⋅─────•
In reality, living in the reserve was not as bad as Regulus had assumed at the start. Not even Remus or Sirius were bad company.
Regulus had expected to bounce back and continue to argue with Sirius nonstop like they did on their last Hogwarts year. But that... never happened. Each time they came face-to-face, they would stand in silence until someone else would walk in and break the weird frozen moment.
Regulus never thought he would be granted the chance to meet once more those who had been his friends back in school. He never dared to dream he would have his brother — even if at the moment it was a 'kind of' —, or that he would be permitted to come close to his nephew, Caelum. He even got the chance to see something of himself in his nephew; he was also introduced to Twiggle, Caelum's Bowtruckle pet who only enjoyed living in Caelum's hair or in the forest with others of his kind — where he stayed while the boys were at school.
He was highly surprised to see how advanced Caelum and his cousin, Nicolás were when it came to magic. Not only could Nicolás give the best potioners a run for their money, or had been able to get twelve O.W.L.s, but he was also an Animagus, just like Caelum, Sirius, the Cardona twins, and even James had been.
Each time Caelum found Regulus in silent contemplation of the lake, he would come, turn into his dog form, Nightwing — because of some Muggle comic book or something —, and lay on Regulus' lap for as long as he needed, before padding beside him back to the cottage.
Three weeks after Regulus was freed from his crystal, Sirius and Caelum finally felt their Magical Cores reignite. That was why, two weeks before the summer ended, Carolina and María found it fit to take Sirius and Regulus to buy new wands — Sirus' was snapped when he was sent to Azkaban, and Regulus' was lost in the bottom of the cave.
With a letter in advance, they were allowed to take the Floo Network straight to Arango’s, the most renowned wand shop in Colombia, which found its home in the heart of Seven Avenues Alley in Cali, Valle del Cauca.
“Ah, the Mmes. Cardona, I see, and with more people nonetheless,” said Mr. Mateo Arango when they stepped out, dusting off their shoulders.
At first sight, the place looked more like a library, and much cleaner than Ollivanders in Diagon Alley. The room where they came out was the reception, and it had large shelves, reaching a ceiling tall enough to be of two floors.
“Hello, Mr. Arango,” Carolina and María greeted.
“Ah, but it is not every day you get to see the British wizard of the moment—” the old man said, pointing at Sirius, who had featured each and every cover of the Daily Prophet since the Ministry had to crawl to clean his name and beg his forgiveness. “—and who I assume to be your brother,” he pointed at Regulus.
Regulus for his part, merely nodded.
“Oh well, not a talker I take it. Doesn’t matter, none of you came for the small talk, come,” the old man beckoned them into the room adjacent, which turned out to be a circular room.
In the middle of the room, in what seemed to be a base of metallic bars — probably made of gold —, was a scepter. The scepter was too made of gold, and had a large, circular stone on top, with the light raining over it, it lighted the entire room in a golden hue.
"This scepter will help you channel and amplify your magical radiation," the wandmaker explained. Even from where he stood, Regulus could feel the ancient magic throbbing from the scepter. "You want to hold it firmly and focus on connecting with your magic."
Obviously, Sirius was the first to step up. He grasped the scepter firmly, and, under his touch, the stone came alight on its own, and the scepter seemed to quiver slightly in his grasp, and the small buzzing of magic flooded the room.
After a moment, Mr. Arango drew his own wand, and with a graceful and practiced movement, he summoned three boxes from the shelves. They floated through the air, coming to rest before him.
Sirius grasped the first wand, and with a flick, a few boxes from the other room fell to the floor; with a wince and a sheepish smile, he put the wand back. He tried the second one with a similar effect. Finally, he grasped the last one, and with a soft wave, the air in the room followed, and he knew it, that was his wand.
“How very interesting,” Mr. Arango whispered. “This wand is made of Aspen Wood, outstanding for charmwork, usually drown to accomplished dualists, and especially suited for martial magic. A wand for the strong-minded and determined revolutionaries.”
Of course, that was all it took for Sirius to pop out his chest in profound pride. Foolish one.
“It also has Phoenix Feather at its core, They provide the widest range of magic, very picky with their owners, but as those who win their alliance, they are difficult to tame.”
“I don’t know, he wasn’t so hard to tame,” Maria commented from behind looking at her husband with a sly smirk, and Sirius’ face reddened (“Love, that’s something you’re not supposed to say,” he whined under his breath), Regulus rolled his eyes as Carolina chortled.
Then it was Regulus’ turn to try the thing.
Surprisingly, the scepter, despite its large size, weighed very little. Regulus closed his eyes as his hands clasped around the handle, and he felt it. From within him, there was some kind of buzzing, and suddenly, just as the wandmaker had warned, it was amplified, and the hairs in his neck and arms stood up.
The metal seemed to heat just a little bit, but even through the thickness of his eyelids, Regulus could see the golden light emanating from the gemstone, and the little heat it created, as if it were a little sun.
He opened his eyes to Mr. Arango waving his wand, and a second later, only one box was in front of them.
The man hummed looking puzzled. “Well, it’s not every day a single wand is picked for a wizard, this one must be just the one,” the wandmaker said, handing Regulus the wand.
The wood was a soft coffee, and it had small creature skulls engraved along the handle with some runes.
“It’s made of Hornbeam Wood. One of the most loyal woods; it selects a single mate for life, a wizard with one single pure passion, some may call it an obsession — if taken healthily, I would call it a vision.”
What was Regulus’ obsession? Defeating Voldemort of course, getting back at him for taking away the person he loved the most. Yes, James had married Lily — because of course he would, how could he not —, but that never subdued the burning love in Regulus’ chest, especially after it was he who had broken James’ heart.
“It’s also — hum — how curious. Its core is Thestral Tail Hair,” the wandmaker stopped his speech for a moment, taking a long look at the scars on Regulus’ face. "A most difficult substance for wand-making, I spent years doing this one. It’s a very potent core, thought, be warned, it's highly unstable and quite tricky to master; only those who have accepted the very nature of death can do so,” there was something ominous in the man’s voice as Regulus grabbed the wand.
Well, it did make sense. Regulus had died — or at least he thought he would — he had resigned himself to his own death long before he went to the cave, probably the moment he accepted the damned Dark Mark on his forearm; the disgusting thing he broke James’ heart for. And not only that, he had seen plenty of death in every battlefield the death eaters created.
He had thought it strange how easily the Thestrals of the Cardona reserve behaved with him; they were considered highly chary creatures, who enjoyed their invisibility to most.
With a single flick of his wand, Regulus knew that one was it.
•─────⋅☾☽⋅─────•
With underlying plans of attending the Quidditch World Cup — even if the tickets were secured before they were out for sale —, and no pending business in Colombia, the family decided to move back to the country house in London.
The weather was hot, probably too warm for London, even in the summer; there was humidity that made his robes slightly sticky. With a loud crack, Regulus and Caelum Apparated in a lonely alley.
With their shoes tapping against the old city cobblestones, they walked two blocks in silence, until they stood in front of houses 11 and 13 of Grimmauld Place.
With a shuddered breath and his heart drumming in his chest — hard enough to put to shame any heavy metal band —, Regulus took a decisive step after the other, crossing the street. Halfway through, the two houses in front of him parted ways, and in that space, the 12 of Grimmauld Place materialized for them.
After a reassuring nod from Caelum, Regulus raised the wand in his hand, putting it through the door hole, and after a second, the door flew open on its own accord, recognizing Regulus' magic once more, after so many years.
The first to come on sight of the place was... not good. Very much not good; Mother would have a heart attack on the spot if she ever saw how badly her house had fallen in disrepair.
Sirius had always been the one to find remarkably funny and ironic how much the house made justice to its name, even if Regulus refused to concede such a thing. Now? There was no way on Earth Regulus could deny the house looked grim and old.
As they stepped inside, the lamps lining the walls magically lighted up, revealing the long hallway and the overhead chandelier at the entrance.
All of that which had marked the nobility and renown of the House of Black was... gone.
Every wall, beneath the peeling wallpaper, was covered in mold; the portraits on the walls, which once filled the halls with sharp and nasty comments, had blackened, and those inside of them couldn't even see the outside world. There were thick cobwebs making a home for spiders, from the tall ceiling, all the way to the floor and over the furniture. Even the lamps, once of transparent glass, were covered in something dark, and their steel handles were rusty; everything more fitting for the garbage can than the walls of a pureblood family home.
His first instinct was to call out Kreacher for slacking at his job and demand answers from the elf, but Regulus hadn't dared to call him after waking up, almost a month ago. Caelum and Nicolás had stressed out how bad was the elf's state, too, and the last thing he wanted was to give his little friend a heart attack or something.
The only thing that was much more different than everything else was a large junk of ice on one of the walls. When Regulus questioned Caelum with his eyes, his nephew merely shrugged and sheepishly smiled.
He walked up to the junk of ice, only to notice that it was covering a portrait, and it was… his mother’s portrait.
Caelum smiled very self-satisfied, “The nasty harpy wouldn’t stop insulting Nicolás because Uncle Remus is a Werewolf,” he shrugged. “Serves her right, he even managed to freeze the inside of the portrait.”
“That’s my mother you’re talking about,” said Regulus.
“And my grandmother, who I’m incredibly grateful to have never met,” countered Caelum. “Your point?”
Regulus sighed. “Why do I keep forgetting you’re your father’s son.”
“That’s your brother!”
“Sadly,” Regulus muttered, continuing his path with Caelum behind him.
Halfway into the hall, and in front of the stairs they came to a halt as a set of footsteps was heard. The steps were slow, wobbly, and grumpy, just like the house elf they belonged to
Finally, after its shadow, the elf came into view at the top of the stairs.
“Who dares enter the sacred home of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black?” the elf croaked, looking down its big nose. After a moment, when lucidity hit him, he recognized Caelum.
"Master Caelum!" the elf rushed towards him but came to an abrupt halt when his eyes fell on Regulus.
With a loud gasp, the house elf took three unsteady steps back, before his knees gave in, and he fell on his bottom. From where he stood, Regulus realized Caelum and Nicolás had been too kind when describing Kreacher.
The poor elf seemed extremely skinny — probably in self-punishment —, his hands seemed to tremble, and his eyes had a maniac gleam to them, as if lucidity had been scarce for him.
"Ma-ma-Master Regulus," the elf stuttered. He brought his hands to his bald head. “No Master, please! Kreacher is sorry! Kreacher failed the Master! Kreacher is a bad elf!” he started to rain his clenched fists on his head, hitting himself in self-reproach.
While Regulus was stuck in his mental haze, trying to reconcile the image in front of him with the dutiful house elf he once met and called friend, his nephew dropped to his knees in front of the distressed house elf. This was not how he wanted his reunion with Kreacher to go.
"Kreacher! Kreacher, stop!" Caelum stressed, using his own hands to stop Kreacher's self-aggression.
Kreacher's mind clearly had no space to understand Caelum, seeing as his hands were now restricted, he limited himself to keep his head hidden in between his knees, mumbling and muttering disjointed balderdash.
Then it hit him... after more than a decade, Kreacher probably thought he was hallucinating Regulus coming to punish him. How many years had Kreacher spent seeing nothing but hallucinations and illusory visions of Regulus coming home or doing just anything? He didn't even want to start thinking how much it must have been weighing on the poor elf's mind that he was the last one to see Regulus alive, only to be ordered to keep his master's death a secret from his other masters.
Regulus crouched in front of Kreacher, and, when Caelum moved to give him space, with gentle hands, he grabbed his clenched fists.
"Kreacher, look at me," he said slowly, and taking his time, Kreacher finally raised his head; his cheeks were damp and his eyes bloodshot.
"Ma-ma-master," Kreacher lamented.
"Kreacher, it's me, I'm here," Regulus insisted in a calm voice.
Kreacher shook his head as more tears started to run down his cheeks. "Kreacher has seen the Master... all his Masters... all in his dreams before... so many times," he wept.
"And Kreacher will wake up alone again, with more hurt," the elf grieved, softly bringing his hand to touch his chest, making himself smaller on the floor.
"And I'm so sorry you've gone through that, my friend," Regulus regretted. He took Kreacher's small wrinkly hands and brought them to his own cheeks. "But I promise you, I'm here, and I won't leave you alone, never again."
Wide open, Kreacher's eyes traveled Regulus' face, softly, his fingers prodded into the scarred skin, taking in its texture and heat. Finally, it seemed to sink in in his mind, and, as if it were possible, Kreacher's eyes opened ever wider.
"Master Regulus!" the elf cried out, throwing himself to Regulus' feet, once again, crying — even harder this time. "Please forgive Kreacher! Kreacher failed the Master! Kreacher couldn't destroy it!"
"I know Kreacher, I know," Regulus stopped Kreacher's begging; he held Kreacher's shoulders, forcing the elf to look him in the eyes. "It's not your fault, Kreacher. It was I who sent you on a fool's errand, and for that, I'm so sorry."
"Bu-but, Master Regulus," said Kreacher, touching the scars on Regulus' face with almost reverence. "Ho-how?"
"I'll explain later, for now, take us to where you've kept the Horcrux," said Regulus standing up again.
Kreacher nodded dutifully, before taking them through the dark halls of the house and to the second floor, to a wooden door. A door Regulus had feared all his childhood, for he and Sirius were only ever summoned there to await punishments.
It was a study, with a large mahogany desk on one side, three shelves filled with dark books, and something that brought Caelum to an abrupt halt as the bile rushed to his throat.
On one of the walls were, at the very least, twelve large plaques where house-elf heads were displayed as if it were a sick direful exhibition of taxidermy and cruelty.
"One of our ancestors came up with the brilliant idea of beheading our house elves when they became too old to carry tea trays," Regulus said somberly, with slight resentment. "This used to be my Father's study — belonging to the most recent family patriarch —, no better place for such an honor."
There was a very subtle bitterness in Regulus' wording of 'honor' that calmed Caelum a bit.
"Where is the Horcrux, Kreacher?" Regulus asked.
"The first compartment of the Master's desk, Master Regulus" the elf bowed. "It's under protection."
Silently, Regulus moved to the desk, with his wand in his hand, he waved it as incantations rolled out of his mouth. A soft light came from the wood before Regulus put his wand away, and with his hands, he opened the desk.
From inside it, he took out a locket — it was exactly like the one Caelum and Nicolás had retrieved from the cave —, it was Salazar Slytherin's locket — the original one.
He raised the locket to eye level and examined it to make sure, but Caelum didn't even need a single look at it, for he felt its magical energy and how dark it was on his skin. He could feel the corruption of the magic that radiated from the blasted thing.
"You feel it too, don't you?" Regulus asked, eyes falling on Caelum.
Caelum nodded. "It's like Riddle's diary, it feels wrong and dark... and insane... and... forced to become—"
"Immortal," the two of them said at the same time.
"Yeah."
Regulus didn’t answer, he simply pocketed the real locket Horcrux and walked out, closing the door behind them.
Before taking another step, he crouched to Kreacher’s level, and from one of his other pockets, he took out the replica of the locket from the cave, handing it to Kreacher.
“I want you to keep this,” he told the astonished elf. “It’s mine, and I'm giving it to you, my friend. Thank you for keeping the original safe for me.”
Crying again, and with shaky hands, Kreacher grabbed the fake locket as if it were the most precious treasure in the world and nodded multiple times.
“Kreacher will treasure it with his life, Master Regulus,” he said solemnly.
•─────⋅☾☽⋅─────•
They entered the largest room of the house — after the library, of course —, the tapestry room, as Caelum baptized it after the first time he came with Nicolás.
All the walls in this room were covered by a velvety tapestry in pine green, and over the green canvas, a tree extended its seemingly endless branches, showcasing the Black Family tree. It displayed all the traceable ancestor of their family — dating to at least five centuries —, their marriages and descendants.
At its top and at its bottom was the Latin inscription 'En Stirps Nobilis et Gens Antiquissima Black', which translated to, 'Behold the Lineage of the Noble and Most Ancient Clan (of) Black.' In the center was the family crest with the motto 'Toujours Pur,' meaning 'Always Pure' in French.
Regulus ran his hand through the soft material on the wall.
"Our family has one of the richest lineages — if not the most — known in the British Wizarding World. Our ancestors can be traced across centuries and back to the Middle Ages," he said, his eyes traveling some of the branches with names. "We're related, in one way or another, to almost every wizarding family in the UK, the Crouchs, the Rosiers, the Lestrange, the Malfoys, the Macmillan, the Flint, the Burke, the Longbottom, the Weasleys, the Potters..."
Nodding, Caelum listened with rapt attention. His mother had never had any interest in disclosing anything about the Black Family; the Cardona side of his family was widely known — even if they didn't really have many relevant relatives —, but the Blacks held a whole different kind of importance in the UK — or they used to, at least. He also knew his father would be even less willing to "waste" a single second talking about his family — if it wasn't to insult their very existence, that is. All in all, Uncle Reg was his only chance to actually learn.
"Everyone says we're a dark family, very much like our name," said Caelum.
Regulus hummed. "Well, years ago, some people tried to divide the Wizengamot into two main factions: the dark and light sides; of course, there was a spineless grey side too. It was all based on whether the family approved or not of the Dark Arts. Our family, as expected, was a steadfast part of the "Dark Side," but with enough pressure, the Minister of the time came to his senses and got rid of such pointless division.
"The reason our family is considered dark is because of our extensive compilation, knowledge, study, and aggrandizement of Dark Magic. But that's not it, Caelum, there's a gift, one that was considered lost a few decades ago, one that only certain members of our family ever possessed."
"The Dark Energy," said Caelum absentmindedly.
"The ability to feel the residual energy left by Dark Magic," disclosed Regulus. "Very few from our family had the magical strength to feel it, let alone understand it."
With the word flowing out of him, Regulus' hand passed over some of the people in the tapestry. Caelum was able to read, Arcturus Black III, who died in 1991, Cassiopeia Black, who died in 1992, Dorea Potter (nee Black), who died in 1977, Cygnus Black, who died in 1851, towards the end, Orion Black, who died in 1979, and at last, the skull that said Regulus Black II, and down of it, Caelum Cardona-Black.
"These are but some of the few we knew about for the last two centuries," Regulus commented. "Many like us have come a long way back, Caelum. Our family has a very long history of practicing the Dark Arts, just like most of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. We used to be instructed in them since a very young age, but only those born with an innate predisposition and enough hunger can develop the gift."
"Hunger? For what?"
"You see, the Dark Arts feed on hunger for something — anything, really —, power, money, happiness, love, and so on and on. If you don't desire something, if your heart doesn't covet something then—"
"There's no point in them," Caelum concluded. Slowly, Regulus nodded.
As the words sank in, Caelum thought out loud, "The gift, you said? Abu Pedro said I didn't inherit Creature Tongue because of the Black Family gift."
"The Cardona Family had a very rich history in Colombia, but the Black Family is just the same here. The Cardonas inherit their Creature Tongue — your mother, your aunt, your grandparents, even your cousin have it —, but us, we have something called Shadow Magic."
"And you think I inherited that?"
"You see, Caelum, magical inheritances tend to be lost when a family resorts to inbreeding, for it destroys, in time, the quality of the DNA — I don't have to ounce on the medical evidence of it. Most of those who inherited our family gift were born to mothers outside of the family. My grandfather and my father are examples of that, very gifted and powerful wizards.
"Sirius and I, though — our parents were cousins —, there was no hope, really, but I did inherit it, and so did you, Caelum."
"Because of the new blood," said Caelum. It fitted, his mother was a new addition to the family, so the gift manifested in him.
"Exactly," Regulus conceded. "Talking with your grandfather, he mentioned you couldn't inherit their gift entirely for no DNA can balance two different gifts, and you already showed signs of our gift."
"It started two years ago," Caelum started. "You already know most of what happened with the Chamber of Secrets, but every time Harry carried Riddle's Diary, I just... I don't know... I felt it... it was like an itch all over my skin — getting on my nerves — and even after the Horcrux was destroyed I still felt it for days."
"You felt its residual energy. Horcruxes are some of the darkest and most corrupt shapes magic can take, it leaves a very lasting... prickliness."
"Like sulfur," Caelum thought out loud.
Regulus nodded but didn't seem to be about to add anything more.
"Why are you telling me all of this? I doubt this was a pointless lesson on family history for old time's sake."
“I had a talk with this Zipa Tisquesusa…”
“Abu Pedro’s friend? What’s he got to do with this?”
“He has the theory that our family gift and the gift he inherited from his kin are not as…. different, as we may think.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Caelum asked impatiently.
Regulus rolled his eyes. “It means, halfwit, that you specifically can be trained to tap into the real deepness of the family gift.”
Narrowing his eyes, Caelum decided to let the insult slide, assuming Uncle Reg was seeing far too much of Sirius in him at the moment.
“So? You’ll train me or what?”
Regulus smiled widely. “We — or you, more specifically — will be on a little… treasure hunt.”
“Keep going,” Caelum prompted him.
“You see, Kreacher here has to clean this place once and for all, but let's just say that when I said our family highly treasures its Dark Magic, it wasn't an exaggeration. This place is filled with cursed objects, and I need to get rid of them, so you can guess why I need you.”
“So I’m your personal hound for dark objects now?” Caelum raised a brow.
“Your Animagus form is a Shiloh shepherd, Caelum, make good use of those instincts,” Regulus said, he patted Caelum's shoulder before turning around and walking out of the room. “Come.”
Regulus decided to start by the entrance, where Caelum found a pair of scissors cursed to melt the skin upon touch (seriously, who on Earth cursed all this dogshit?).
In the living room, he found a couple of books cursed to bite anyone who tried to open them. In one of the corners, he also found a couple of Doxies that Uncle Reg trapped inside a bubble to take back to the reserve.
The kitchen had an entire set of cutlery and crockery made of silver cursed to poison the person who uses them.
The place with the most cursed objects was Orion’s study. Seriously, what was wrong with his grandfather? There were quills, ink, parchment, glasses, books, hell, even some of his liquors — which weren’t scarce, given he was a raving alcoholic — cursed/poisoned. While they worked, much to Caelum's relief, Regulus made Kreacher vanish all the hanging house-elf heads.
They found cursed jewelry in some of the rooms and realized the house had an awful infestation of Doxies, all of which — around 200 of them — were packed in Regulus’ Bubble Charm to take back to the reserve to handle.
The attic was… well… not a nice place.
First of all, it was illuminated by a soft green light that seemed to come from exactly nowhere. There, Caelum found a great collection of cursed candles — over twenty of them — that belonged to his dear grandmother. They seemed to be innocent scented candles, but their smoke was poisonous. The attic also had the widest collection of dark books in the house — from which Regulus took a few —, there were more cursed books, there were a few skulls that Caelum didn’t want to play with the possibility of being human, and other parts of skeletons.
After Caelum had pointed out all the cursed objects in the house, they spent the next two hours taking most things — because they were all beyond repair — to the attic, now stacked with portraits — except for Walburga’s; which still was inside Nicolás’ junk of ice by the entrance — and some other stuff.
“This place will need an entire makeover if you’re planning on ever coming back to live here,” Caelum mused.
Beside him, Regulus hummed. “I’m not sure I want to leave Kreacher to do it, though.”
“I don’t think he’ll give you much of an option,” said Caelum, knowing just how desperate Kreacher was for serving.
“Kreacher can take care of his master’s house,” the house elf grumbled from behind them. “Kreacher is the only worthy elf of the House of Black.”
“Kreacher, the house fell in disrepair,” Regulus noted.
But Kreacher shook his head desperately. “Kreacher is sorry, Master Regulus, he won't let it happen again.”
“I was thinking of asking you grandparents to borrow their house elves to help Kreacher,” Regulus told Caelum, but before the boy could answer, Kreacher threw himself at Regulus’ feet.
“No, Master! Please! Let Kreacher show the master he is a worthy elf!”
“Kreacher,” said Regulus, putting a hand on Kreacher’s shoulder. “This is not about being unworthy — nobody’s going to replace you — but you’ll need help, and I’ll be happier if I know you have it”
“The master will be happy with Kreacher?” the elf asked doubtfully.
“Yes, Kreacher,” Regulus said with a smile. “It’s decided.”
•─────⋅☾☽⋅─────•
“I don’t suppose any of you have an extra Basilisk fang hanging around?” Regulus asked. In front of him, on a table, in the middle of the sitting room, was Slytherin’s Locket in all its green and creepy glory, like a looming omen of death.
Next to him, Nicolás felt Harry press himself against his side, his little fingers gripping the hem of his sweater — it was actually Cedric’s sweater, but what are boyfriends for, if not to share clothes, anyway? —, he, like everyone in the room, was tense.
Caelum was sitting on the couch in front of him, pressed in between Aunt María and Uncle Sirius, and even from the distance, Nicolás could almost feel how tense his cousin’s body was; his fists were tightly clenched on his knees and his jaw was set.
“The only other thing we know could destroy it is Fiendfyre, but I'm not willing to let anyone try that in this sitting room,” said Abu Pedro standing next to Regulus, looking disdainfully at the locket. "The finishes cost good gold."
“Nor the forest outside,” Carolina warned from her seat next to Remus.
“We can't very well just leave that... thing hanging around,” Abu Angela mused.
“The longer it stays in one place, the worse it stinks,” Caelum whined, he looked pale. It was harder for him, being the only one — except for Regulus — able to detect that kind of physical sensation from the Dark Magic.
“Not only that, because of its nature — the deepest kind of corruption — it's going to spread around it, like a disease,” Regulus revealed.
“What do you mean?” Nicolas asked.
“You can recognize how challenging death is, by far, the greatest way to go against nature, to corrupt the natural order of existence itself,” Regulus started. “The Dark Lord's desire and desperation is what feeds the corruption of the magic he used to create it.
"With enough time and the right mental state, it'll corrupt the people around it.”
“Corrupt how? Like Riddle’s Diary?” asked Caelum.
“You think this thing can possess people too?” asked Nicolas, appalled. “Like Riddle’s Diary?”
“I couldn’t tell,” Regulus explained. “The magic inside of it is of the worst kind, and only exposure to it would tell us of its effects.”
“I, for one, would rather we don’t have the answers to that, and instead simply wait until we can destroy them,” said Remus, eyes transfixed on the locket.
Abu Pedro’s calculating gaze traveled the locket incessantly, and Nicolás could almost picture the gears in his brain running full throttle. Suddenly, and without a single word uttered, he turned around and walked out of the room, but before Nicolás could voice his question about the sudden move, he was back in the room, now carrying a small white box in his hands.
It was the size of a small treasure chest, made of perfectly lined wood that had been polished and painted white. Around its top lid was covered with gorgeous crystals, and even from the distance, Nicolás could feel the warm magic coming from them. Its lock was made of shiny gold.
"For centuries, as the original tribes of our country started to spread and die out, they trusted the Llanthu with their most precious artifacts,” Abu Pedro explained, placing the white chest next to Slytherin’s locket.
“This one is called Cacja Chahas, ‘The Box of Protection,’ it’s a heavenly enchanted box to keep objects cursed by the worst types of magic,” he continued. “These crystals are pure Lyrium, it was crafted by the We'sx and blessed by the Fiba in the river Caño Cristales.”
"Well, that sounds like an overpowered chest if I've ever heard of one. You said it can contain all kinds of Dark Magic objects?" Nicolás asked, completely impressed.
Lyrium was one of the most sought-after minerals in the wizarding world, not only because it enhanced a wizard's abilities beyond any potion, but because it was said to be a physical manifestation of magic, straight from The Fade. That meant that all the enchantments placed upon the chest could literally be sustained until the end of time, for they fed from the Lyrium and The Fade at the same time.
And as if that wasn't enough, the chest had been blessed in the river Caño Cristales, the most important river in Wizarding Colombia, the place all the ancient tribes designated as their portal to connect with The Fade for ritualistic matters.
"That's exactly what it is," Abu Pedro conceded with a nod. He opened the golden lock of the chest and grabbed the locket to place it inside.
The moment the locket fell and made contact with the chest's wood, it vibrated, shaking the table. For a moment, everyone in the room stood, eyes fixed on the display, as a green light and a soft mist came out of the open chest, only to be absorbed by the white chest, making the Lyrium crystals shine in a blinding white.
The entire living room seemed to be frozen in time for the following seconds, as the entire place was illuminated like the morning, even if they were closer to midnight. Fifteen seconds later, all light died out, and Abu Pedro pushed down the chest's lid, closing its lock. Slytherin's Locket, a living Horcrux, had been neutralized, at least for the moment.
"That was great and all, but now what?" asked Caelum after everyone held their breath in a silence that rivaled a graveyard.
"Now we need to find the rest of those cursed things and destroy them," hissed Aunt María from the couch.
“Someone mind reminding me how they can be destroyed exactly?” asked Uncle Sirius raising his eyes from the chest.
“Only things that cause damage beyond any kind of repair will do the job,” explained Nicolas.
“A basilisk fang – because of its venom – or Fiendfyre,” added Caelum.
“But destroying two of them will not be of much help if we don’t find them all,” Regulus clarified.
“In your time at Hogwarts, Voldemort put you in charge of researching the founders’ relics,” Nicolás prompted and Regulus did a better job at hiding the slight wince at the mention of the name.
“Gryffindor’s Sword, Ravenclaw’s Diadem, Slytherin’s Locket, and Hufflepuff’s Cup,” Regulus listed. "But I don't know, there was... it was like a test, but at the same time it wasn't," he said with a frown.
"What on Earth is that supposed to mean?" asked Sirius.
Regulus rolled his eyes. "It means that he wanted to know about them, but he wasn't interested in them because he already knew it. He was searching for something about them, something specific, and I'd bet the family's gold it was Gryffindor's Sword."
"Elaborate," said Abu Pedro, looking at Regulus with rapt attention.
"Every time we talked, he always discarded any information about the Daidem, the Locket, or the Cup — I would assume by then he already had them and they were already Horcruxes —, but he seemed greatly interested in the freaking sword."
"But the Sword of Gryffindor is supposed to be always in the headmaster’s office," said Abu Pedro.
"I know, but think about it, the Dark Lord's greatest rival is a Gryffindor, it would be the greatest checkmate to turn that relic into a Horcrux."
“That would leave us with four Horcruxes, the locket, the diadem, the cup, and the diary,” Nicolás concluded. "Two off and two we need to find."
“While you boys are at school, some of us will pay a visit to the old Riddle home,” declared Abu Pedro. “There has to be something of value to be found in there.”
“When we’re back at Hogwarts I’ll try to sneak into the Chamber of Secrets, then, maybe I can bring another Basilisk fang to destroy that thing without risking burning the entire reserve with Fiendfyre,” said Nicolas.
So it was decided. For now, they would enjoy the last days of their summer holidays, and once back at school, they would have to move fast, Trelawney had warned them, in her prophecy, that Voldemort wouldn’t stop at nothing until he was back in power, and they couldn’t let that happen. Not again.
•─────⋅☾☽⋅─────•
“Little One?” Nicolás called out. The door was ajar, but this was a teenager, and you never knew with those ones — yes, Nicolás and Caelum are also teenagers, but that's not the point.
“Yes?” Harry answered from inside.
“Are you decent?" asked Caelum, Nicolás rolled his eyes at him.
Harry's voice was doubtful for a moment, "What — decent? — of course, I'm — of course I'm decent, Caelum! What would you expect?" and Nicolás could perfectly see the blush that would probably be framing Harry's face.
Instead of answering, after elbowing Caelum, Nicolás pushed the door open.
Harry’s room was neat, as he always tried to keep it. The walls, Nicolás and Caelum had helped Harry paint them all beige, and were covered with posters of different Quidditch teams, movie posters, and some photos. The furniture Abu Pedro and Abu Angela paid for — the bed, the desk, the nightstand, the closet, and some bookshelves — was, like everyone else’s furniture, all in mahogany.
“So, Harry,” said Nicolás, entering Harry’s room.
Harry was sitting on his bed, a couple of letters on his hands and a few small boxes around. They had been too busy with the whole Regulus business back in Colombia and hadn't been able to actually celebrate Harry's birthday until they were back in London, and Hermione and Ron had been very excited about the mini party they did for Harry.
They hadn't failed to send letter after letter and small presents in advance, and only now did Harry have the time and quietness to go through all of it.
And of course, Ember was very comfortable by Harry’s side, smelling everything the boy grabbed like a house cat — ignoring the fact that he was a Wampus Cat, an apex predator. It was actually endearing how Ember sometimes decided to follow Harry around, just like he did when he was a cub and Nicolás had just rescued him, so many years ago.
“Ever heard of the Quidditch World Cup?” asked Caelum casually as he entered, right behind Nicolas. Ember had already raised his head to look at them questioningly.
Harry looked up from his letters with a soft frown, one of his hands was scratching in between Ember’s ears.
“Yeah, I read about it on 'Quidditch Through the Ages,'" he thought for a moment, "I know the finale is going to be played next week, right? Ron said his family is still trying to get some tickets, why?”
“Wouldn’t it be cool to go?” asked Nicolás. When he reached Harry's bed, the boy seemed to move almost by instinct, leaving enough space for Nicolás to climb in comfortably, almost snuggly, next to him.
“Well… I… yes, of course, it would be the coolest to go,” said Harry in a confused voice.
“You kind of like Quidditch, don’t you?” Caelum asked. For his performance, he decided to stand by Harry's desk, almost next to the bed, hip resting against the wood, and a disinterested expression on his face.
“O-of course! I love Quidditch!” said Harry strenuously. “You do too!” he pointed a finger at Caelum. “You play it too!”
Harry’s eyes traveled between the cousins as Nicolás threaded his fingers through Harry’s soft and unruly curls, making his shoulders slump with a sigh.
“What’s going on, guys?” asked Harry, he probably tried — and failed — to hide the building excitement in his voice, for his eyes lighted up in bare hopes.
Caelum shrugged. “Just got this in the mail today, thought you might be interested in it,” he said, throwing Harry a white envelope.
With wide eyes, Harry's hand snapped the envelope from the air. He opened it with excited fingers, as his eyes thoroughly scanned the paper sheet he found inside. Out loud, he read it, his voice betraying his building excitement — and Nicolás felt almost cruel. It'll be worth it, he reminded himself.
“We present to you, dear Quidditch lover, with an opportunity of a lifetime,” Harry read. “For only the following week, with the Quidditch World Cup on our heels, you will have the chance to purchase all of our items at a special price—,” Harry’s voice gradually dimed, and Nicolás could hear the hopes in his Little One crushing, “—and in special offers, make sure to send an owl for any request! You'll find a detailed list of our products annexed next!”
Damned Caelum and his Black genes and their pendant for dramatics and playing with people’s emotions — no matter how good his intentions are. Even Ember was looking at Caelum, completely unimpressed.
“Gee,” Harry sighed under his breath, clearly at a loss for words. “I — uhm — thank you, I-I’ll consider it,” he forced out, accompanied by a smile that seemed faker than a leather coin — not that Nicolás could judge him for that —, and his heart gave a little squeeze and twist at the barely masqueraded sadness in Harry's eyes.
“Not what you expected?” asked Nicolás but Harry forced a shake of his head.
“N-no! It’s great! Thank you for... letting me know!” he said with the fakest excitement Nicolás had ever witnessed as he tucked the promotional pamphlet with his other letters.
“Oh!” said Caelum all of a sudden, making Harry jump on the bed. “I almost forgot!” he searched his pants and produced a new envelope — one of gold-colored paper this time —, handing it to Harry. “Small late-birthday present from the family,” he pronounced.
“You guys made me a small party,” Harry pointed out, taking the envelope with no real excitement. “Your family gives me more than what I ever hoped for,” he added, trying to display his endless gratitude.
“You — you rescued me from the Dursleys, you gave me a home, a family, everything I only ever dare to dream in my wildest fantasies. That’s — that's more than enough for me.”
“Little One, cake and family gifts are not a party, it’s the bare minimum in the Cardona household,” said Nicolás, giving Harry’s neck a soft squeeze. “Not only that, but you won the Quidditch Cup this year! And let’s not even start with your results for the end-of-year exams. We’re all very proud of you.”
Harry’s cheeks reddened furiously under the praise, and Nicolás could almost see the tears glinting in the corner of his eyes before Harry buried his face in Nicolás’ chest.
“Thank you,” Harry whispered, and looking at Caelum, Nicolás knew they would make sure to give Harry as much praise as possible, regaling the message to the others later.
Throughout their stay in Colombia, Harry had been constantly like a little duckling, following Abu Pedro around the reserve, asking an endless rain of questions, no doubt trying to get ahead of the school program.
Abu Pedro had almost cried with pride to see how much Harry's grades had improved — a complete one-eighty — with his tutoring.
“Snape did hate it, though,” said Harry, rising from Nicolás’ chest. “He couldn’t make fun of me or score me low because I knew everything I needed,” a triumphant smirk raised on his face. “Made him more bitter than ever.”
Oh, that made sense. Of course, pathetic little Snape would be like that. He couldn’t take it out on Harry, so he searched each and every chance to do it on Nicolás. Didn’t matter, better on him than on Harry, Nicolás thought.
“Well, open it so we can leave you to your friends' letters,” Caelum pressed, nodding at the envelope still clutched in Harry’s hand.
The boy nodded, opening the paper. From inside, he took out one rectangular piece of paper. It was made of cardstock, and it was laminated; it had various shades of green and scarlet — the Irish and Bulgarian teams' colors —, and a Golden Snitch in the corner.
Nicolás heard Harry gasp loudly, raising the ticket to eye level, trying to affirm his eyes weren't lying to him.
“You – no – oh, God,” he said in between gasps, looking at his Quidditch World Cup ticket, excitement breaking through his face like a light show.
Caelum smirked widely. “Family in high rankings has its perks, doesn't it? The Ministry was really desperate for my dad’s acceptance,” he shrugged with a chuckle.
“Oh, I’m glad Uncle Sirius didn’t let Fudge go easily,” snickered Nicolás.
“Best seats to be found,” Caelum slapped the ticket.
“Only downside is we’ll be right next to the Minister and the Malfoys,” said Nicolás with an annoyed groan.
“I don’t care if I have to sit with them,” said Harry, still in awe, eyes fixed on the ticket. “I need to write to Ron and Hermione.”
“Don’t worry,” Nicolás patted Harry’s head and stood up. “All is taken care of. We’ll meet with them and the Diggorys and we’ll all go together.”
“Excited to see your boyfriend?” Harry asked Nicolás with a smirk that matched Caelum’s. Ember raised his head once more at the undirect mention of Cedric.
“That’s none of your business, young lad,” Nicolás bopped Harry’s nose.
Harry laughed, wrapping his arms around Nicolás, and burying his face in his chest. “Thank you,” he said muffled a few times. A second later, he jumped off the bed and tackled Caelum to the floor, muttering more thanks before bolting out of the room, probably to find the rest of the family to thank; Ember ran high on his heels.
"That went well, didn't it?" Caelum had the nerve to ask, with a self-satisfied smile on top.
"You're such an asshole," Nicolás chastised him.
"Hey!" Caelum defended himself. "I was only toying with his heartstrings a bit! It turned out well!" he laughed.
"And you're lucky for that!" said Nicolás, kicking him on the shins.
"Oi! You can judge my methods, but never my results!" Caelum proclaimed, running away from Nicolás.
⋆｡°✩°｡⋆
Author’s note:
SOOOOO THIS IS IT!!!! THIS IS THE END OF PART 3!!!!
I don't think there'll be an update next week, but the one after we'll have the opening page for part 4!!!! more exciting casting revelations and mysteries!!!!!
Again, thank you guys for reading this!!! This is such a passion project to me, and to know you guys enjoy it it's beyond incredible!!!
Comments, votes, and follows are ALWAYS appreciated! Please don't doubt about commenting your opinions, theories, or expectations!!!!
- 𝐣. 𝐟. 𝐜. 🐼💜