Regulus was chasing butterflies at his aunt and uncle’s country house. They were faster than any he’d ever chased before, always floating just ahead of him, just out of reach, and they led him to that strange little windowless building. He knew what was inside, of course; he had been in there before. It was where the darkness was – and the darkness swallowed him now, too, taking him through the room with all of the books, into more darkness, towards the door that only opened when touched by someone of pure, Black blood. He had pure, Black blood, purer than most, because his ancestors had made all of the right choices. The door opened, and he was inside now, in the large room with the contraptions. He was touching one of them, the way he had touched it before, when he’d come with Narcissa. She wasn’t with him now. Andromeda was, standing somewhere behind him, crying and telling him he was supposed to keep it a secret, to not tell anyone. But he had told someone, so something bad would happen. She would make something bad happen.
The lid of the contraption he was touching lifted then, rising high, disappearing into the ceiling. Inside it lay the Muggle child from the park, with black pits for eyes and a very red, very snotty nose. Its claws reached for him, and Regulus ran. He was outside again, and Andromeda was gone. Still running, he looked back, and saw the Muggle’s body twist and swell, its bones cracking with a horrible sound as it grew taller, taller – wings tore from its back and scales hardened over its skin until there was nothing left but a great, monstrous dragon. It opened its mouth and the fire came, and it engulfed him, and it screamed, and he screamed – and he bolted upright, his heart hammering against his chest so hard it hurt, blankets tangled around his legs.
He couldn’t breathe. He didn’t know where he was. He didn’t know where the monster had gone, just that he could still hear it shrieking. He couldn’t move; it was as though he’d been chained to the bed. Perhaps he had been, by the Muggles. The shrieking could be them, too. Their language. They were talking about the best way to prepare his meat, no doubt.
He wanted to cry out and ask for his mother, for his father, for Sirius, for Kreacher, even. He wanted anyone who could get to him to hold him, and to tell him it was all going to be all right. That it was just a bad dream. That it had been scary, yes, but just as a Boggart wasn’t actually the werewolf it showed, neither were nightmares real, and so he needn’t worry about them.
But there was no-one to say these things, so he said them to himself, hoping furiously that it was indeed but a bad dream. Because then he could wake up. If only he could just wake up.
He dragged the blankets free and pulled them up to his chin, pressing himself against the headboard. He looked around the room. There were curtains. And not just any curtains; his curtains. And the bookshelf was his, too. And that was his desk, and his toy broomstick, and his wallpaper, with all the creatures staring at him, examining him – and that meant he was in his own bedroom, in his own bed.
Was he already awake? Everything seemed to be spinning, all his thoughts, all of reality. What was real, what was dream? If this was real, why hadn’t the screaming gone away?
A horrible thought overcame him just then. He pinched himself, and again, to check – and he was right. The dragon had followed him into the real world. Not real dragons, but those bad wizards who had turned against their own kind, who would stop at nothing to destroy them. The Muggle child from the park must have told the others, and they’d built an army, had had plenty of time to do so, plenty of time in which they could have become powerful enough to break into this house – because that screeching was the alarm. Father had shown it to him, explained exactly how it worked. It only went off when something was very wrong. When someone broke in. He’d said thieves, but …
He took a deep breath and told himself very firmly that he was not going to cry, because he was not a baby, and Father was probably already downstairs. Father would deal with it. Father could deal with anything, so no matter what had come in, it would be fine.
Even so, he had slipped out of bed, and before he knew what he was doing, he was already crossing the room, his legs trembling as he did. Halfway to the door he had to stop, gripping his chair to steady himself until the weakness passed. He strained his ears; the alarm had stopped, and other, quieter sounds now drifted up from below. He could hear the murmur of the portraits. There were footsteps on the landing downstairs, where Mother and Father slept. He could hear them talking, Mother and Father. But he could hear something on this floor, too. And it was getting nearer. Had the Muggles come upstairs? Had they finished Mother and Father and were they now coming for him, and for Sirius, to eat them, too?
His bedroom door flew open and he nearly screamed, flinching violently and flattening himself against the nearest wall. He caught himself just in time when he saw it was only Sirius, with his hair sticking up wildly and his dressing gown tied badly around his waist. He looked as though he’d sprinted out of bed, which, knowing Sirius, he probably had.
‘Did you hear that?’ Sirius whispered.
‘Yes,’ Regulus whispered back. ‘And you should go back to your room.’
‘Why?’
‘We’re supposed to be in our rooms. We’re not allowed to go out until they get us.’ That was the rule they’d been given after they’d gone off to that Muggle park. It was what had made it so hard for him every time he’d had a nightmare since, which was almost every night. He could never go down to get his parents. He always had to deal with it himself. And so he had hated the rule – but right now, he was glad it was there. Mother and Father had set it to avoid them sneaking around, and Regulus had a feeling that was precisely what Sirius was planning to do.
‘But don’t you want to know what’s happening?’
‘No!’ Why would he want to see the Muggles eat Mother and Father? Why would he want to know how they were doing it? He didn’t want to see or know any of that! He just wanted to hide in his bed, under the covers, with the door shut, until Father and Mother came to tell him it was over.
‘Well, I do.’
‘But something broke in,’ Regulus said. ‘Now isn’t the time to break the rules!’
Sirius shrugged. He wasn’t scared. Of course he wasn’t. He was grinning from ear to ear, and said, ‘But how often does this happen? We never get to see anything. Come on, we could –’
‘No! We’ll get in trouble again!’
‘Only if we’re seen.’
‘It’s not safe! It could be anything down there – even the Muggles!’ He hoped that word would be enough to make Sirius see sense, even when all else failed. But Sirius only crossed his arms.
‘Fine,’ he said. ‘You stay here then, like a baby.’
‘I am not a baby!’
‘Prove it,’ said Sirius, and he was already halfway down the corridor.
And Regulus ran after him immediately, even though he was terrified of what he’d see down there, even though they had explicitly been told not to leave their rooms, even though he was breaking so many rules and Mother and Father would be so angry if they found out, all because he really, genuinely wasn’t a baby – and also because the alternative was waiting alone in the dark whilst everyone else was downstairs, and what if something happened to them all? What if they were all eaten and he was left alone in the house, forever? So he followed Sirius, and heard the voices down below, which carried all the way up the stairs.
‘… knew your mother. Cedrella. Before she threw herself away on a blood traitor –’ Father said in that dangerously calm voice of his.
‘My father –’ a voice Regulus had never heard before started, but Father wouldn’t let him finish.
‘Your father is exactly what I say he is. But fortunately for you, I do not judge people solely by their parents’ mistakes.’
There was a pause; Regulus barely dared breathe as he followed his brother. They crept down further, hoping to catch more of what was said.
‘Which means,’ Father continued coolly, ‘that you should be quite grateful you’re still standing there instead of lying in a heap beside your … colleagues. You should be ashamed to be in their company.’
‘I’ll have you know that they are fully qualified Hit Wizards –’
‘Is that so?’ said Father mildly. ‘But what of their blood?’
‘I – sorry?’
Regulus and Sirius reached the landing above the entrance hall, and they could easily see the scene below now. Two people were lying face-down on the floor, looking very dishevelled. One of them had even lost a shoe somehow. Kreacher hovered beside them, a look of pure happiness and satisfaction on his face, and on his other side stood the man Father had been talking to. He had hair the colour of fire, which Regulus had never seen on a person before, and it made him look far too much like the dragon from his nightmare.
‘Their blood. Their lineage,’ Father repeated. He was in his dressing gown and managed to look important and powerful even from up where he stood. ‘It’s a simple enough question.’
‘They’re with me – we are Ministry officials – I work – well, I mean, it’s not properly an office yet, but – that is –’
‘I did not ask you what you do. I asked you what they are.’
‘Yes. Yes, of course, I – I know this looks – I can explain –’ he glanced helplessly at the two on the floor. ‘Is it really necessary – ?’
‘Yes. You are in my house. Bound in my hall. You will do as I say and answer the question, or I’ll find another way to get my answers – and I warn you that although I find the other way rather more satisfying, your colleagues might not like it.’
‘You – You can’t. You’re already in violation of no fewer than four Ministry statutes right now, and I … I suggest …’
‘Yes?’ Father prompted; Mother had stepped forward, idly twirling her wand.
‘I – I strongly suggest that you release them and allow us to conduct our inspection, and then we can all be done with this in no time –’
‘Or,’ said Mother, and Regulus’ stomach gave a lurch at the sound of her voice, at the sight of her pointing her wand at the two that lay on the floor, ‘we curse the Mudbloods until they can’t remember their own names, and send you back in … hmm … seventeen pieces?’ She looked at Father as though asking him if he thought seventeen was an acceptable amount of pieces to send the man back in.
‘N-no,’ he said weakly. ‘I – Whatever you think of them, whatever you think of me – you can’t. There are laws; the Ministry –’
‘The Ministry can go to the devil!’ shrieked Mother, without warning, and even Father’s hand on her shoulder didn’t stop her. ‘Have you any idea what you’ve done? Any idea at all? There are children in this house! Children who are now awake and frightened, all because you three saw fit to come crashing through my front door in the middle of the night –’
‘Walburga, dear,’ Father murmured.
‘We’re acting on a tip –’ the man tried.
‘You’re acting on nothing! You are a boy, a blood traitor’s whelp who has crawled into my house WITH TWO MUDBLOODS, to rifle through it on behalf of some Muggle-loving Ministry stooge –’
Father took hold of her arm with both hands and pulled her back, stepping half in front of her. A curse left her wand regardless; it hit the front door and tore a hole the size of a Quaffle through the wood, splinters flying everywhere. Father muttered something to Mother (but Regulus couldn’t hear what he said), and then turned calmly to the strange man.
‘Now, you listen carefully, Weasley, because I’m going to give you a piece of advice. You’re young, impressionable, barely more than a child –’
‘I am eighteen. I have a wife –’
Father waved it away. ‘You are a child, playing at something you don’t understand. You think you volunteered for this raid? You think this was an opportunity, that they gave you this job to help you further your career? You think they actually trusted you with this? They only sent you because you are disposable. Make no mistake: if this had gone badly – and it very easily could have, and still might – they would have called it your fault. They would have said you knew the risks before accepting the job, and it’s all very sad for your newly widowed wife, but it would be forgotten within a fortnight. And then they’d send another boy just like you, and another after that, until one came back with all his limbs still attached – and then, they’ll take the credit. Do you understand what I’m telling you, boy?’
Weasley shifted uneasily. Regulus wondered if he indeed understood what Father was telling him, because he certainly didn’t, though it did sound very clever.
Father sighed. ‘You have a future ahead of you. Don’t waste it being the person other people send to do their dirty work,’ he said, jerking his head towards the two on the floor – Mudbloods, Regulus remembered. He looked away from them at once.
Weasley looked profoundly uncomfortable. ‘Look, Mr Black, I do appreciate the advice, truly, but I really did volunteer. I mean, I hadn’t quite known it would go like this when I agreed to come, of course; they only said they needed a pure-blood for the job, and I thought it would be a fun and rather useful experience, and –’ He cleared his throat. ‘And I’d still like to get it done, if you don’t mind. Sir,’ he added quickly, for Father raised his wand at him.
Regulus edged closer to Sirius and took hold of his arm, and Sirius did not bat him away.
‘Actually, Weasley, you’ll find I mind a great deal. Surely you didn’t expect us to allow riff-raff like yourselves to rummage through our house?’
‘You know,’ said Weasley, and his tone reminded him awfully of how Sirius sounded when he was trying to get his way (it was very brave, but mostly, extremely foolish), ‘this is exactly the sort of attitude that makes the Ministry suspicious of what you keep hidden in your house. And considering the times we live in –’
‘Considering the times we live in you’d be better off leaving us be, Weasley. Even you must be capable of understanding that.’
Then, without warning, a jet of red light struck the wall inches from Weasley’s head. He yelped and ducked, which was rather pointless, because the spell had already missed him. But the next one Father fired did not miss: Weasley went quite still, a glassy, distant look settling over his face.
‘So,’ said Father coolly, lowering his wand. ‘You entered the house. You searched it, and you found nothing. Now you will return to the Ministry, and report exactly that.’
Weasley nodded.
‘Good,’ said Father, and he moved towards the other two, who still lay motionless on the floor, and repeated what he had said to Weasley. Then he looked at Kreacher. ‘Get this filth out of my house.’
Kreacher bowed so low his nose nearly scraped the carpet. With a snap of his bony fingers, the two that had been on the floor were on their feet, blinking around the entrance hall, and then he had all three of them moving towards the door, and through it. The door swung shut, and the hall was quiet again.
Very quiet.
Mother and Father stood motionless for a moment, watching as Kreacher began mending the hole in the door. Then they both turned another way. Mother began to pace. Father turned more deliberately, lifted his head, and looked straight up at where Regulus and Sirius were standing on the landing.
Regulus froze. He felt Sirius stiffen beside him, and then pull free of his grip, ready to run. But Father only said, quite quietly, ‘Come on down, then, both of you.’
Then he turned away again, as though the matter was already settled. And in a way, it was. They had been seen. There was no way they could hide now, no way they could lie their way out of this. All they could do was obey and go downstairs, and face whatever would be waiting for them there.
But Regulus just couldn’t do it. Couldn’t move. He stayed where he was, his heart trying to escape his chest so it wouldn’t have to deal with Father. And Mother. He swallowed. Sirius didn’t seem troubled by this at all. He took the stairs at his usual pace, practically bounding down them, looking as though he’d been called down on Christmas morning rather than to pay for what they’d done. Regulus had never understood how Sirius could stand in front of Father and Mother after having done something wrong and not feel like the world was about to end. Where did he find the strength, when Regulus could only stand there with both hands wrapped around the banister, trying to convince his legs to move? And when they finally did, they were shaking, and he came down slowly, one step at a time, with his hands still on the banister and his eyes on his own feet. And with every step he took, the nauseating knot in his stomach tightened.
He stopped at the bottom. He kept his eyes moving between Father’s face and the floor, and did not look at Mother. He could hear she was still pacing, an angry back-and-forth, back-and-forth, and he didn’t think it wise to remind her he was there.
A long silence passed before Father took a step towards him, hand outstretched – Regulus flinched back despite himself, and nearly stumbled. He closed his eyes and braced himself for the inevitable.
But the blow did not come. Father’s hand only came to rest on top of his head, heavy and soft and firm and warm and somehow all of those things at once. But it was gone before he could fully appreciate it. Father crouched down then, so that he was on eye level with them both, and to Regulus’ great surprise, he saw no anger in his eyes when he asked, ‘How much did you hear?’
‘Not much,’ Sirius said immediately, but Father kept looking at Regulus, and Regulus just couldn’t lie.
‘We heard everything since – since you talked about his father,’ he admitted quietly, and then flinched again, because Mother made a sharp sound. She was moving towards the stairs very quickly, her dressing gown sweeping the floor behind her, and before Regulus could so much as think about fleeing, she had reached them and taken hold of both of them at once – an arm around each of them, pulling them in against her sides so hard it hurt. It startled him so completely that it took him a moment to realise he was shaking.
‘You heard all of that?’
He felt Sirius nod beside him, which was a good thing, because he wasn’t sure he could say anything more, pressed-up against her side like this. She squeezed them harder still, at this, and pressed her lips briefly against the top of Regulus’ head, and then against Sirius’. And she just held them there, the way she had done when they were very small, and Regulus pressed his face deeper against her, inhaling her scent, calming his mind. Tears were staining her dressing gown but he couldn’t bring himself to try and stop them; she was his mother, his mammy, and tonight had been very scary – even though Father had defeated them.
It was Father who broke the silence, by leading them into the parlour, where Regulus sat down closely beside Mother, her arm still wrapped tightly around his shoulders, pressing him against her. Kreacher appeared with two cups of warm milk, handed them to him and Sirius without a word, and vanished again. Regulus let the warmth of the cup seep into his fingers, and let his head rest against Mother.
Father sat down opposite them and looked at Sirius, who sat on Mother's other side on the sofa. ‘Well?’ he said. ‘Let’s have them.’
‘Have what?’
‘The questions. You’re bursting with them, have been since you came down those stairs. Go on.’
‘I can ask – anything?’
‘Anything.’
‘Who were they? The ones on the floor?’
‘Mudbloods,’ said Father matter-of-factly. ‘They have no business in this house.’
‘Is that why Mother was going to curse them?’
‘I was making a point,’ said Mother, in a tone that closed the subject.
‘And what about the one who was still standing, then? Weasley. He’s a blood traitor, isn’t he? You called him a blood traitor’s whelp.’
‘His father is a blood traitor. As were, I suspect, all Weasleys before him. But his mother was a Black, before she threw herself away. Which is precisely why they chose to send him,’ she added. ‘They thought a familiar name might make us ... compliant. They thought it might lower our guard. Let them walk through our house unchallenged.’
‘But it didn’t.’
‘No,’ Father said. ‘It did not.’
‘But – What you said. To the Weasley ...’
‘Yes?’ Father asked, when he didn't finish his question.
‘Well, you said they sent him because he was disposable. Because they didn’t – they didn’t care what happened to him. You said that like ... like you cared what happened to him ...’
‘I said it because it was true. And because he needs to hear it, whether he makes use of it or not.’
‘But he’s a blood traitor. Mother just said so.’
‘No, she did not. She said his father is a blood traitor, and he is. But the boy is eighteen. He has made no choices of real consequence yet. He came here tonight because he was young and foolish and they told him it would be an adventure, and he believed them. That is not a quality I find especially easy to condemn.’
Mother looked at him, and Father seemed to understand her look, and Mother Father’s, and Regulusfelt a bit left out. He pulled his legs up beneath him and closed his eyes, focusing solely on Mother’s warmth as he drank the warm milk.
‘So what was the tip? The Weasley one, he mentioned – he said they were acting on a tip.’
‘Someone told the Ministry there was something in this house that ought not be here. Dark objects, perhaps. Something they would want to inspect and seize and control.’
‘Is there?’
‘Oh, there is a great deal in this house that the Ministry would very much like to get their hands on, but that I will never allow them to touch. As tonight demonstrated. You see, the Ministry has grown quite ambitious. There are many within it who would like very much to find reasons to trouble families such as ours.’
‘Because of our blood?’
‘Because of our blood, our name, our skills and abilities, and all that it represents. All that it means. It is easier to tear others down than to build something worthy yourself.’
‘Yes,’ said Sirius, who clearly found all of this tremendously exciting. ‘So who told them? Who gave the tip?’
‘That is what I intend to find out.’
‘What’ll happen when you find the person who told them?’
‘That entirely depends on who that person is.’
‘Oh,’ said Sirius, and he was quiet for all of thirty seconds before asking, ‘Will they come back?’
Mother’s hand, which had been tracing circles on his back, stiffened at the question. Regulus looked up at her hardened face, then looked at Father. He was quiet for a moment, but then shook his head firmly. ‘No,’ he said.
‘You’re sure?’ asked Sirius, and Regulus wondered if perhaps his big brother had been a little scared after all.
‘Yes,’ said Father. ‘I’m sure. They are not coming back.’
‘What if they do, though? What if they come back and – what if next time there are more of them, and –’
‘That won’t happen. They have been told there was nothing to find here, and they believe it. There is no reason for them to come back.’
‘But how ... ? Oh. Memory charms. You used Memory Charms on them.’
‘I did. So there is nothing for you to worry about – for either of you,’ he added, looking at Regulus. ‘They won’t remember tonight. They think they thoroughly searched this house. Would you go back somewhere to find something you want to have if you’d already been there, and there was nothing there?’
Regulus shook his head. Sirius said ‘No’.
Father nodded and said, ‘Indeed. And I do think this is quite enough for tonight. You’ll be needing sleep.
‘But I just have one more question,’ said Sirius. ‘What times do we –’
‘Bed, Sirius,’ said Father sternly; he was already on his feet.
Sirius unfolded himself from the sofa without further complaint, which was so unusual that Regulus stared at him. Sirius caught him staring and shrugged before scuffing out into the hall.
Mother’s arm still held Regulus down, or he would have got up as well. He didn’t mind her arm. He didn’t mind finishing his milk in silence. And he certainly didn’t mind it when she stood up alongside him and took him upstairs with her. He rather wished he could stay with her all night, but he knew he couldn’t; she took him back to his own room, where she tucked his blankets in around him with a firmness that left no room for argument, and stood looking down at him with her hair loose over her shoulders, looking so very different in the dark than she did in the light. He knew they wouldn’t mention these moments of weakness when morning came, and that was why he found the courage to say what had been on his mind all night.
‘The alarm went off, and I heard it. I woke up. And I thought – I thought it was ...’
‘I know,’ she said.
‘I thought they were coming to –’ He stopped. He felt foolish saying it.
‘I know. But they weren’t. And they won’t.’ She smoothed the blanket flat across his chest and moved towards the door. ‘Sleep, Regulus.’
‘Mother,’ he said, before she could leave.
She stopped. ‘Yes?’
He couldn’t think of what to say next; he had only said it to keep her there one more moment.
‘Nothing,’ he said at last. ‘Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight.’