Chapter Seven
Harry opened his eyes. He, Hermione, and Ron were standing in the familiar dusty dreary front hallway of the Headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix. Of which Remus Lupin was the Secret Keeper.
Teddy was sobbing on Harry’s chest, his small hands over his ears.
“Shh…it’s alright…” Harry heard himself saying to the child as he rubbed Teddy’s shaking back.
“The kitchen…” Hermione breathed, walking toward the basement stairs at the end of the hall that led to the kitchen.
Harry and Ron followed, Teddy hiccupping and wailing, soaking Harry’s dress robes with his tears.
A few minutes later, Teddy sat in Harry’s lap as Harry tried to coax the child to drink the warm milk that Hermione had brewed for him. Ron was running his hands over his white face, but Hermione sat frozen in her chair at the table across from Harry and Teddy, her eyes wide and unseeing.
“Come on, Teddy,” Harry said, his voice hoarse as he offered the glass of milk to the little boy again, “Please—”
Harry gasped in pain, dropping the glass of milk that Teddy wouldn’t take and spilling its contents all over the wooden table as he reached his hand to his forehead.
Teddy whimpered as Harry’s scar burned and something flashed across his mind like a bright light on water. He saw a large shadow and felt a fury that was not his own pound through his body, violent and brief as an electric shock.
“What did you see?” Ron asked at once, “Did you see him at my place?”
“No, I just felt anger—he’s really angry—”
“Your scar again?” Hermione said in a frightened voice as she vanished the spilled milk on the table, “But what’s going on? I thought the connection had closed!”
Teddy wailed loudly and Harry returned a hand to the toddler’s back, “It’s alright, it’s…I think it opened because he lost control…” Harry grappled for any explanation.
“But then you’ve got to close your mind!” Hermione cried shrilly.
“I know,” Harry said coldly, “But my mind is a bit pre-occupied at the moment.”
Hermione’s jaw tightened in her fearful face.
“I want Dad,” Teddy hiccupped, rubbing his tear-stained eyes and looking up at Harry, “Where is Dad and Padfoot?”
Ron stared at the child, white as a sheet. Hermione blinked away her own tears.
“Keeping us safe,” Harry told the child, “And they’ll be here soon.”
But Harry didn’t make that a promise. He couldn’t.
Harry continued to rub Teddy’s back, and Hermione warmed another glass of milk that Teddy still refused to drink, and so they retreated up to the drawing room on Harry’s request.
It was his safe space, after all. The place in his mind that he envisioned for Occlumency. But even the reality of it did not quell his worries, or Teddy’s soft cries.
The fireplace crackled softly and Ron stared at the flames while Hermione wandered over to the shelves of books as Harry murmured any soothing words he could muster into Teddy’s ear.
Suddenly the room brightened, bathed in the light emanating from the Patronus that now landed on the drawing room floor before them.
The weasel spoke in Arthur’s voice, “Family safe. Do not reply. We are being watched.”
As the weasel vanished into nothingness, Harry, Ron, and Hermione went rigid—there was a low groan coming from the entrance hall and a second later, Remus appeared in the doorway to the drawing room, sagging under the weight of an unconscious Sirius that he half-carried, one of Sirius’ arms was slung over his shoulder as he held Sirius upright by his waist.
“He’s just Stunned,” Remus panted as he staggered into the room. Parts of his dress robes were singed and frayed, his hair unkempt and hanging over his face.
Harry and Ron leapt up from the sofa as Teddy jolted in Harry’s arms, a cry rising from his small throat.
Remus stumbled to the now empty sofa, laying Sirius—eyes closed as if in sleep—onto it before turning to Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Teddy.
“Mad-Eye was killed. Death Eaters took his body,” Remus said quietly, his eyes raking over the three teenagers before snagging on Teddy, extending his now free arms to take the toddler.
Teddy clung to Remus’ neck, crying again, “Dad…”
Remus shivered, but even in his sorrow, his brown eyes were molten—warm. So warm.
Hermione sniffed, raising her hands to her face and a second later Ron strode to her side, putting an arm around her shoulders. She leaned into his lanky frame, and whispered, “I can’t believe it…Mad-Eye always seemed….it was like he couldn’t die.”
But as Remus’ mouth opened to speak, Harry fell to his knees.
In an explosion of agony, Harry felt the rage that did not belong to him possess his soul…he saw a long room lit only by firelight and that large blonde Death Eater Harry had seen in June was writhing on the floor, screaming, and a slighter figure was standing over him, wand outstretched…the once arrogant pale face was now thin and sharp…eyes sunken…the white-blonde hair matted with sweat…
Harry said in a cold, high voice, “More, Rowle? Or shall we end it and feed you to Nagini? Lord Voldemort is not sure he will forgive this time…you called me back for this, to tell me that Harry Potter escaped again? Draco, give Rowle another taste of our displeasure…do it or feel my wrath yourself!”
A log fell in the fire, flames reared, their light dancing across the terrified pointed white face of the teenage boy…and with the sense of emerging from deep water, Harry drew heaving breaths and came back to himself.
He was spread-eagle on the drawing room floor, and Draco Malfoy’s gaunt, petrified face seemed branded on the inside of his eyes as he looked up at Remus Lupin.
Teddy was in Hermione’s arms now, and Remus reached into his battle-tattered dress robes to withdraw a large bar of chocolate.
Remus offered the chocolate to Harry wordlessly; his face so pale that the scars and lines blared like signals.
Harry pushed himself into a seating position and took the chocolate obediently, biting into it and feeling the warmth despite his nausea and pounding headache.
Remus did not speak of Voldemort, or Occlumency, or press to know what Harry had seen. He did not speak further of the death of Mad-Eye Moody either, though Harry saw the pain of the loss in Remus’ eyes.
Remus merely rested an over-warm on Harry’s shoulder and said softly, “It is time to rest.”
Sirius Black woke around midnight with a hand on this forehead. A warm hand, long-fingered, and the air smelled of pine and earth and storms…
Sirius’ eyes fluttered, his blood coursing immediately with adrenaline and cold fear—
“We’re at Headquarters,” Remus whispered where he crouched beside Sirius’ head, “Harry, Ron, Hermione and Teddy are sleeping upstairs.”
Sirius reached for him, and Remus came to him, using their favorite trick of Transfiguring the sofa wider to fit their bodies side-by-side.
“The Weasely’s…?” Sirius croaked as Remus lay beside him, enveloping him in his warmth.
“Safe but under watch,” Remus murmured, his hand now running slowly through Sirius’ long black hair, “The Ministry is now under their control. And Mad-Eye is dead.”
There was no question needed for who ‘their control’ referred to, and Sirius closed his eyes briefly as he let the blow of Mad-Eye’s loss wash over him. He and the old Auror had not always seen eye-to-eye, but Sirius had always respected the man. When they’d first joined the war as seventeen-year old’s themselves, Mad-Eye’s presence was an assurance; that they had a skilled and tested warrior on their side. In this renewed war, it had still been a comfort. Now it was gone. The Order had suffered another terrible loss—first Emmeline Vance, now Mad-Eye…
“You were brilliant,” Remus whispered.
Sirius opened his eyes to meet Remus’ gaze and found Remus’ brown eyes to be burning.
“No one duels like you,” Remus continued, his voice low and heated, “And before you say that I am the best duelist you know—”
“Someone thinks highly of themselves,” Sirius teased despite his exhaustion.
Remus did not even roll his eyes, he was that focused as he continued, “You duel as you dance, Sirius. Like it is your birthright. But even so, it is like you know you are capable of more…of so much more…”
Sirius scoffed, “I was just Stunned in my last duel like a daft idiot. And need I remind you of my duel with Bellatrix in the Death Chamber—”
Remus cut him off with a fierce kiss. It was so stormy and wild that it made Sirius’ head swim, his blood boil.
“Your dancing and your dueling made me weak in the knees as a lad,” Remus breathed on Sirius’ lips, his hands peeling back Sirius’ dress robes, “And now it ignites me…. terribly frightening and enlightening all at once…”
Sirius fought to voice the words he wanted to say before his body and will caved to Remus’ touch, his heated presence, “I was bested…” he gasped as Remus kissed his throat.
“No,” Remus murmured into the sensitive skin by Sirius’ Adam’s apple, “Never.”
Sirius put a hand to Moony’s arm, pushing him back. And Remus relented, peeling his head away to look into Sirius’ face.
And Sirius’ really saw it then. The turmoil and pain and love in Moony’s eyes.
“What is it?” Sirius asked.
Remus swallowed, “The connection… between Harry and…”
Sirius pushed himself to sitting at once, “What did he see?”
Remus shook his head, his grey-and-brown hair falling over his eyes, “I did not ask him…tomorrow I will…”
“This bloody fucking connection!” Sirius erupted, rage heating his blood, “And these bloody Horcuxes! I need to speak to Harry about Regulus—”
“In the morning,” Remus said steadily, resting one of his long-scarred hands on Sirius’ chest, and then he sighed heavily, “Look at me…acting like a lovesick lad…trying to seduce you at a time like this…after Mad-Eye’s death…”
Sirius reached for Remus’ face, his voice gruff as he said, “‘Trying to seduce me?’ As if you even need to try!” Sirius scoffed and rolled his eyes and then said more softly, “And didn’t I say never to apologize for teasing?”
Remus shook his head. His expression torn between guilt and longing.
Sirius bit his lip.
The logs in the fireplace crackled into the silence and then Remus whispered, “Teddy called me ‘Dad’.”
Sirius’ face broke out at once into a tremendous smile, “Too right he did!”
Remus smiled sadly, “Is it?”
Sirius cocked his head.
Remus looked toward the fireplace, the red flames dancing in the depths of his brown eyes, “When you took over guardianship of Harry, you never meant to replace James—” Remus’ throat bobbed, the premature lines in his face growing taut.
Sirius shook his head, “Harry was near grown when we were reunited. Teddy is just a child; he has no memories of Robert Marrok—”
“Harry was grown, yes, but he has no memories of his own of James.”
“You’re right,” Sirius said gently, “I never—we never—wanted to or can replace James,” Sirius squared his shoulders, “Neither James nor Robert meant to leave their children behind while they went on. But both would be glad, Moony—both would rejoice at their sons having living father figures. If anyone alive is Teddy’s father, it is you.”
Remus turned his gaze from the hearth to meet Sirius’, “I would have thought it would be you, Padfoot,” he said softly with a wan smile.
Sirius smiled back weakly, “Oh my darling…when will you stop underestimating yourself?”
Remus smiled softly and then his brow furrowed, “That will be among Scrimgeour’s last words.”
Sirius frowned, “Eh?”
“‘I underestimated you,’” Remus quoted quietly, “That was the last thing that Rufus Scrimgeour ever said to the pair of us.”
“Take it to heart then,” Sirius said, reaching for one of Moony’s hands, taking it into his own, their onyx rings rubbing against each other.
Remus hung his head, “And Teddy said, Dad, don’t go. But I had to.”
“O’ ‘course you had to. You went into the fight. You are trying to make a world in which he can live a happier life,” Sirius croaked, “It’s what James did. What you and I will do—for Harry, for Teddy. You are trying to help found that Golden Age, eh?”
Remus looked up, meeting Sirius’ eyes again. And determination blazed within those brown eyes, “For them.”
“For them,” Sirius echoed, “Anything.”
“Anything,” Remus said, his voice like velvet steel.
Harry woke early the next morning, wrapped in blankets in the familiar bedroom that was his (and also Ron’s whenever he was at Headquarters). Harry turned his head and saw Teddy lay asleep in the cot to Harry’s right, his small face pressed into his stuffed wolf. A chink of sky was visible between the heavy curtains behind Teddy’s cot: it was the cool, clear blue of watered ink, somewhere between night and dawn, and everything was quiet.
Harry glanced over to the dark shapes in the bed beside him. Ron was sleeping above the covers in the bed he and Hermione had shared, a blanket tangled in his legs, his fingers inches from Hermione’s where her hand rested above the covers. Harry wondered if they had fallen asleep holding hands.
Harry pulled back his own blankets and rose from his bed, careful not to wake the others as he walked quietly from the room toward the stairs.
Sirius and Remus were awake, seated on the sofa and speaking to one another in low tones as Harry stepped into the drawing room of 12 Grimmauld Place. They looked up as Harry entered.
“Alright?” Sirius croaked, straightening.
Harry nodded, “You?”
Sirius shrugged quickly, “Fine.”
Remus gave Harry a subtle appraisal, “Breakfast?”
Harry shook his head.
Sirius rose to standing smoothly, “We need to talk about Regulus,” he said.
Harry’s blood went cold and then hot. He nodded his head, “Yeah.”
Sirius pushed open the door to the room at the far end of the hall. This floor of the house served as Sirius and Remus’ quarters—their bedroom door was at the top of the stairs—but it had not always been so. No, this had once served as the floor for the two Black brothers.
Sirius, Remus, and Harry stepped into the former bedroom of Regulus Arcturus Black.
There was dust on the windowsill and on the dark green duvet which covered a four-poster bed with green and black upholstery, but aside from the dust, the room seemed untouched; frozen in time.
The walls were covered in posters, just as Sirius had once adorned his own room as a teenager before he’d moved in with James. There were posters of Quidditch teams, and Harry stepped closer to see that the largest poster among them showed the Slytherin Quidditch team of 1976. Harry had never seen a picture of Regulus before, but he recognized him at once.
Regulus had been a Seeker.
He was thinner than Sirius had been as a young lad—his jaw and cheekbones sharp, his dark eyes over-large in his alabaster face. Harry stared. The figures in the magical poster of the Slytherin team shifted, their hair lifted by a breeze as they stood on the pitch, the sky overhead darkened by late dusk. But Regulus did not shift on his feet, he only held his black broomstick tightly in one hand, his mouth a hard line, those huge dark eyes staring straight ahead—staring now at Harry.
“He seems almost…” Harry cleared his throat, turning to look at his godfather standing beside him, “fragile.”
Sirius looked hard at the poster, his eyes shining, “He was. Reggie was afraid of the dark,” he said in a low, hoarse voice, “Most nights, when we were children, I would leave my door cracked open for him. He would crawl into my bed, and he’d ask me to tell him stories until he fell asleep.”
Remus was standing in the middle of the bedroom, his eyes on Sirius’ back as he said softly, “What stories would you tell him?”
Sirius didn’t turn away from staring at the poster as he answered, “He loved to stargaze. So, I told him of the myths behind the constellations and the cosmos. Andromeda and Orion, o’ ‘course. But others too—I researched the old Greek stories in the library just for Regulus. Daedalus and Icarus—how clever Daedalus was to build himself wings to escape his tower prison, how Icarus exalted in the flight, but flew too close to the sun…”
Sirius’ throat bobbed, his black eyelashes now wet as he continued, “I even told him of the Trojan War and of Achilles and Patroclus. That was my favorite story. How the weak and kind and brave Patroclus went into battle to save Achilles’ honor. How Achilles’ raged and grieved at Patroclus’ death. How their ashes were buried in the same urn, so they could walk in the fields of Elysium together for eternity.”
“That was always my favorite too,” Remus said softly, stepping closer.
Harry’s brow furrowed, “But why? I mean…it seems so sad.”
Sirius reached a fair hand toward the poster, and as his fingers graced Regulus’ dark green Quidditch robes, the younger Black blinked those enormous dark eyes and his pale lips stretched into a small smile.
“It is sad,” Sirius said, tears dripping silently down his face, “but it is also lovely.”
Sirius turned away from the poster, his hand brushing across Remus’ as he stepped toward the polished black wooden wardrobe against the back wall of the room. He opened the doors silently and reached toward the upper shelf.
When he turned towards Remus and Harry, Sirius held a familiar looking locket in his palm. Slytherin's locket.
“Do you hear that?” Remus said very quietly.
Sirius and Harry froze, straining to hear…but there was nothing. The only sound in the room was Sirius’ heavy breathing.
“I don’t hear anything,” Harry said.
Remus’ face paled, “It whispers…” he shivered violently, “Put it back in the wardrobe for now, Sirius. Please…”
Sirius obeyed instinctively, and once the wardrobe doors were closed, Remus loosened a breath, sagging slightly.
Harry stammered, “You mean…it’s been here all along?”
Sirius frowned, “Do you remember how when we were cleaning out this place two summers ago, this locket was in the display cabinet in the drawing room?”
Harry did. They had been sorting through the heirlooms and knickknacks when Sirius had pulled out a heavy-looking locket and had gotten a funny look on his face. Sirius had retreated up the stairs with it, and had said nothing of it.
Harry nodded, “Yeah, I remember…”
“But when had you seen it before?” Remus asked gently.
Sirius looked up at Remus and his tear-stained face was open and raw, “Regulus sent it to me. I heard his voice, he said my name...and it appeared in my hand. I didn’t know why he sent it to me…I didn’t know what for…I didn’t tell anyone, and then the war escalated, and I forgot all about it…when I saw the locket two summers ago, part of me recognized it but it was foggy...I just brought into Regulus' room for some reason...I didn’t even remember any of this until I read the note in the fake Horcrux and it was like it was finally revealed to me again…but now the memory…it feels like a dream…or a nightmare…I can’t even trust it was real. Maybe I had gone mad…the only evidence that it even happened is the locket.”
Remus stared in confusion, “Maybe it's the Dark magic of the Horcrux...it wanted you to forget about it...forget what had happened. But Sirius...Regulus sent the Horcrux to you?”
“Yes. He told me to expect it and to take it here.”
“He told you?” Remus breathed.
Sirius nodded, voice broken, “He came to me.”
Remus gasped softly, his body going stiff, “What?”
Sirius nodded, his shoulder sagging, “As I said, I couldn't even believe it had really happened. I didn't really remember...you were away. On a mission with the werewolves. I was on a stake-out outside of a Death Eater meeting house when I heard someone moving in the forest nearby. I found him standing at the base of a yew tree…” Sirius’ voice broke and he closed his eyes tightly as he shook his head, “I…I…”
Remus stepped forward, placing a hand on Sirius’ shoulder, “What did he say?"
Sirius didn’t reply, just bowed his head.
Harry’s heart pounded. They needed to know what Regulus had said to Sirius, how he had sent the locket out of the cave…
Remus straightened suddenly, “You can show us.”
Sirius looked up, blinking hard, “What?”
Remus’ face was set, “I will go right now to Diagon Alley. I will return with a Pensieve.”
Sirius’ dark eyes widened.
Harry jerked forward, “But Diagon—it’ll be crawling with Death Eaters! It’s not safe!”
Remus turned to Harry, his brown eyes kind in his determined face, “No where and no one is safe until the Horcruxes are destroyed. I will go and when I return, we will hear Regulus’ story.”
Ron, Hermione, and Teddy woke a few hours later. While Harry filled in his best friends on where Remus had gone and why, Sirius gave Teddy a hot bath with a ridiculous amount of bubbles (evident from Teddy’s delighted squeal), and then they all returned to the drawing room. Teddy drew pictures on parchment while lying on his stomach on the carpet while Sirius transformed into Padfoot. Hermione read from that horrid book on Horcruxes in the corner while Ron and Harry played Wizard’s Chess.
Harry tried not to fidget or stare at the clock on the dresser nearby, but his smiles when Teddy showed him his drawings were tight and he couldn’t focus on the Chess match. Ron didn’t seem able to either, and their Chess pieces grumbled angrily at being ignored.
By late evening, Remus had still not returned and Sirius barely spoke as he and Harry made supper.
They’d just washed the dishes and Sirius had gone to tuck Teddy into bed when there was a heavy sound from the entrance hall and Harry, Ron, and Hermione jumped to their feet just as Remus stepped into the drawing room—floating in the air beside him was a large rectangular grey trunk.
Sirius lifted his wand to his temple and closed his eyes.
Remus, Harry, Ron, and Hermione went still as Sirius pulled the wand slowly back and at the wand’s tip a pearly string of mist drew forth from Sirius’ head. He waved his wand and it sank into the swirling surface of the Pensieve that rested on the drawing room carpet. They all crouched around it in trepidation.
“While we’re in there…” Sirius croaked, turning to look at Remus, “Don’t let go of me.”
“Never,” Remus said, taking Sirius’ hand.
Sirius nodded, squaring his shoulders, “Together.”
The five of them bent their heads over the basin’s contents, and then felt themselves falling through time and space.
Shadows are fallin' and I'm runnin' out of breath
Keep me in your heart for a while
If I leave you it doesn't mean I love you any less
Keep me in your heart for a while
There's a train leavin' nightly called "When All is Said and Done"
Keep me in your heart for a while
It was dark, and the air was still and thick with the smell of moist earth and growing things. Overhead, tree branches pierced the pitch-black cloudless sky, which was littered with white stars.
Harry turned, and saw Hermione and Ron staring in surprise beside him. There, walking slowly through the tightly-nestled trees around them, was nineteen-year-old Sirius Black.
He was wearing Muggle clothes; a thin cotton t-shirt with the logo of a band Harry didn’t recognize. His jeans were black and torn at the knees. He was dirty, his pale face was covered with grime, there were leaves in his black hair and there was a bleeding cut on his forearm that must have come from a sharp branch, but he looked strong; fit. He held his wand aloft in front of him, his whole body taught as he stepped carefully around fallen twigs and piles of bracken.
Sirius followed first behind his younger self, Remus at his side, their hands held tightly. Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked behind.
The younger Sirius paused behind a large pine tree, peering around it into the clearing ahead, and then he went rigid.
Harry leaned around the others and stared at the sight before them.
An enormous old yew tree grew from the earth in the center of the clearing, its thickly needled drooping branches reached the forest floor, taking new roots.
And there, standing in front of it, was eighteen-year-old Regulus Black.
Harry’s mouth fell open.
The Regulus in the Quidditch poster had been thin and angular, looking for all the world like the perfect Seeker due to his assured lightness and swiftness on a broomstick. He had been beautiful—not handsome, even Harry could recognize that. His features were too fair and too finely carved to have been described as anything other than elegant.
But this version of Regulus looked far too similar to the image of Draco that Harry had seen the night before.
His huge eyes, dark and glinting, were stark in his sunken face. Dark shadows encircled those eyes, and in the light of the waxing moon overheard, his protruding cheekbones gleamed like a skull’s. His black hair, tucked behind his small ears, was lank and thinning. He was not tall nor imposing—he was white skin-and-bone—but there was a heaviness in the air around him. A darkness. Shadows clung to his shoulders, wrapped around his sharp exposed collarbones. His arms hung at his sides, wandless.
He wore simple black robes that hung off his frame, and there on his chest, was a plain locket. The one he would soon put into the basin with the small note folded inside. The note that would say that he knew Voldemort’s secret, that he hoped to make Voldemort mortal once more. The note that said that in death Regulus would be reunited with his brother, something he could never have hoped for in life.
The two brothers stood in front of each other, but this was not a reunion.
The younger Sirius stepped out into the clearing; wand raised in his shaking hand.
“Revelio!” The younger Sirius barked.
The spell swept around the clearing, reaching Regulus and wrapping him in a shimmering blue mist. Regulus did not move, did not so much as blink, and after a heartbeat, the spell dissipated.
“So, it really is you,” The younger Sirius said, his voice hard and grating, “And you’re all alone.”
Regulus said nothing, did nothing.
“I should kill you,” The younger Sirius said, but his voice was softer, barely more than a whisper.
“I’ll be dead soon enough,” Regulus answered. His face was inscrutable, like a statue. And his voice…it was empty and hollow.
Harry felt gooseflesh rise on his arms and the back of his neck.
“What do you mean?” The younger Sirius said, a creeping horror evident in his voice.
“You look well,” Regulus said in that same dead voice, his face still unreadable. Those dark eyes glinted…the lights were on, but no one was home.
The younger Sirius barked harshly, “You don’t.”
The mask that was Regulus’ face broke at last—one corner of his lips twitched upward, but only slightly. Nothing still shone out of those eyes.
“You wanted me to find you here,” The younger Sirius said, voice gruff once more, “Why?”
Regulus tilted his head upward, his starved white face open to the night sky and the branches of the yew tree rising above him, “Did you know that the yew tree was sacred to Hecate, Sirius?”
The younger Sirius startled slightly—most likely at hearing his name on his brother’s lips, in that spine-chilling dead voice.
Regulus did not look at Sirius as he continued, “Hecate, the goddess of Death. She purifies the dead with the branches of the yew as they descend into Hades. I have never let myself hope…not until recently. But I have found something. Some small pearl. So, I chose this spot…this tree…for our last meeting. Maybe the yew will purify me too.”
Regulus had spoken of finding hope—the knowledge he had learned of how to destroy Voldemort—and of finding some hope for himself, however morbid, but still there was no trace of hope in his voice, in his face.
“I will be dead soon,” Regulus repeated in that voice that was no more than a void, “and I do not think I will be allowed to decay into the earth. I will rot, yes…but there will be no growth from it. I think my body will float forever.”
The younger Sirius took a step forward, and Regulus dropped his gaze to look at his older brother once more.
“What is this, Reg?” The younger Sirius said, his voice cracking, “Why are you saying this?”
“You will never see me again, Sirius,” Regulus said, “But tomorrow, you will hear my voice. I will call to you, and you must open your heart, and hold out your hand. If you do, it will come to you. Our parents are in Scotland, the old house is empty. I’ve broken the wards against you, so you may enter. Take it there, and hide it away. I don’t want it to be you that destroys it—I’ve prepared someone else for that. It rests on their shoulders...I believe I can trust them.”
The younger Sirius growled, “You better start talking bloody sense right now! What the fuck are you on about, Regulus?”
“Just do as I said. You cannot know more than that.”
“You think I’m going to listen to you? To this madness? You’re sick, Reg,” the younger Sirius’ voice broke, “You’re sick…”
Regulus’ lips twitched slightly upward again, his face still a death-mask, “I am. But you have always been stronger than me. You will stay sane, no matter what happens, that I know, yet even so…I do not want it to be you who destroys it. It’s too dangerous. You must catch it when I send it, and hide it away. That is all.”
“Catch what? Hide what?”
Regulus lifted a bony hand to his chest, touching the locket that shone in the darkness there, “It will be a locket very much like this one. But there will be an S upon it, quite like a serpent.”
“Why are you sending some bloody locket to me?” The younger Sirius’ voice hardened, “This is a trap!”
Regulus stared at him for a long moment and then said, “It has to be you I send it to. You are the only one. The enchantments are impenetrable. There is only one magic that I know of that will allow me to Summon it away; Summon it to you. A magic that he would never consider, because he is blind to it. The most powerful magic in the world.”
The younger Sirius took a sharp inhale of breath.
Regulus nodded slowly, “You will hear my voice tomorrow. You must open your heart, and the locket will appear in your hand, and you must take it to 12 Grimmauld Place.”
“Why on earth would I do a bloody daft thing like that?”
“It will not be for me,” Regulus said.
The younger Sirius barked coldly, “Too right it won’t.”
Regulus turned his head to look back at the yew tree towering behind him, the shadows shifting on his shoulders, snaking around his ears, “I’m still afraid of the dark, you know,” he said, speaking as if to the tree, “but I finally understand now. I was never supposed to get over that fear; I was meant to feel every ounce of terror, and still walk into that darkness.”
“Reg—”
Regulus turned away from the tree, and his dark eyes flickered for the first time with the ghost of life, of spirit, as he said very quietly, “I love you, Sirius.”
The younger Sirius stared, mouth open, but no words came from him.
And then, with a soft crack, Regulus Black vanished.