Author: shyangell & MorningDawn, betaed by the wonderful MKofGod. Thank you!

Summary: Regulus makes a terrifying discovery that will prompt him to ask for Sirius' help. His survival will change the course of a war, and the fate of the House of Black.

This story is an AU/What if kind of story and centers around the figures of both Black Brothers in a present where both are still alive. What if Regulus had clung to life? We will never know, because the characters aren't mine, but I write about it anyway.

DISCLAIMER: All the fictional characters appearing in this fanfiction story are not mine, they're J.K. Rowling's; and they are being used with the only purpose of personal entertainment.

This is WIP for the moment, and is also being revised.

THIS CHAPTER IS NEWLY BETAED

Prologue – A Point of no Return

Any man's death diminishes me

Because I am involved in mankind;

And therefore never send to know

For whom the bell tolls;

It tolls for thee.

- Donne

London, winter of 1979

It is the middle of February and the mist pools are thick and oppressive over London. The fog is so thick that night one can't see past one's nose. Long pale tendrils of wet cold inclemency clutch at people's hands and legs like fingers of ice, freezing living beings down to their very bone marrow.

The elegant business-like buildings stand proud and tall side by side. It is a busy street, even this late at night it still buzzes with feverish activity. It is said that often it is the best policy to hide things in plain view. This would be one such a case, where a man hides himself not in a remote location, but in the middle of one of the most concurred streets in one of the most crowded cities in Europe.

A dark figure stands on the street gazing at the building in front of him, half hidden in the shadows of the night and a darkened corner, while people pass him by without noticing. A torrential downpour is going to fall over London soon; people can feel it coming and hurry along in their way. But he doesn't seem to notice, or care. He has other problems in his mind.

Some of his people have already tried to enter the same apartment on the fifth floor of the building he is staring at. The final destination for all of them has been St. Mungo; except for Guiles, whose end was far more tragic. Very strong wards; a poor attempt at dispelling them and not very friendly intentions had been the recipe for disaster. That apartment is a well defended bunker for all its apparent normality. The alarms are incredibly sensitive. The contention spells are most likely impenetrable for someone with the slightest intention of harm. But his intent is totally different to all those who've previously tried. He doesn't want to hurt the house's current inhabitant, he just needs his help.

With a quick glance down the street he heads towards the entrance of the building, trying with all his might for his stride not to falter. He has already made up his mind; now it is not the time to turn back. He has no choice. He pushes the heavy door open without feeling any untoward resistance. Without checking the apartment number on the mailbox he starts to make his way up the stairs with haste. First floor, second floor, third floor… after some more flights of stairs later he finally reaches the attic. There are only two doors on that floor and he heads towards the one on his left.

He swallows hard and tries to ease his breathing. It won't do to look scared, his pride wouldn't allow it… and it wouldn't be convenient either. He knocks on the door, loud enough to be heard but quiet enough not to seem desperate. He can hear soft footsteps behind the door, the click of the door latch opening, and then a face appears hovering above him; in the darkness in front of him.

The man stands for a second there, face unreadable and blank. He can't really know what he is thinking in that moment, but he can imagine. It is likely that he is assessing the situation.

The young man standing outside makes to speak. The other never gives him the chance. In less than a second, he is being dragged inside the flat at wandpoint and shoved against the wall. The taller man has his right hand fisted around the other man's collar and he has to make an effort to stay on his toes while a wand is being pointed directly into his face, into his left eye socket to be precise.

"What are you doing here?" asks the older man, almost spitting out the words, full of venom and hatred. "Come to kill me, Regulus?" he says, pressing his wand harder against the pale skin between Regulus' eyes.

The man named Regulus opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, he tries to speak, but finds he's lost his voice. Surely he realizes he would have never gotten through all those meticulously set up layers of wards, jinxes and alarms if he'd had the slightest intention of doing him any harm?

"I… I..." he swallows convulsively as the other man's wand gets dangerously close to his nose again. "I need… your help" Regulus says, so quietly that the other man seems not to hear, and might in fact, have not. "I need help, Sirius." he chokes out. Sirius' face seems to soften for a moment but he keeps fast his unyielding grip on Regulus' shirt collar. He doesn't lower his wand either.

"What do you want?" Sirius says, his voice a little bit less stained with hate, but still chilly.

"It would be far easier for me to explain it if you took your wand away from my face." pleads Regulus quietly. Sirius doesn't let up, but keeps pointing the wand at him instead. Regulus looks up its long shaft and into his older brother's eyes, cold like they'd been for what feels like uncountable years now. They are scrutinizing him meticulously. He tries to hold his gaze, show he's being honest; but feels compelled to look away after only a few seconds. It is a stare difficult to hold.

"Please, Sirius, let me talk, then you can freely maim me, kill me… or do whatever it is you prefer to do to the idiots that make you loose your time." It seems that Sirius is going to refuse and hex him right there without further ado. "My wand is in my left pocket breast, in my outer robes." Regulus says reading quite accurately track of his brother's thoughts, and possible reaction. Sirius then reaches slowly towards his brother's pocket and removes his wand, putting it in his own pocket.

Now that Regulus is properly disarmed, Sirius slowly releases his grip and takes a couple of steps back, still aiming at his brother, he shakes his head to the right.

"Move over there" but when the smaller man tries to move his head to check where he is going, he adds: "two steps to your left, two backwards. Don't do anything stupid."

Regulus feels his back collide with the cold wall; it is a bare corner at the end of the hallway. Clever, he thinks. He has him effectively cornered. He certainly can't move without being absurdly easy to hit with a curse, he can't try to escape. He sends a silent prayer upwards that somehow this will end less badly than he fears. Sirius loosens the muscles in his arm, lowering his wand so it isn't level with his shoulders anymore. He isn't letting his guard down. But he doesn't seemed inclined to attack immediately either. Regulus breathing is heavy and he looks at his feet.

"Start talking." commands Sirius sternly. "If that's what you're here for, speak." and Regulus does. He always does what he's told. It is his greatest defect. He looks at his brother in the eye and starts talking, words tumble out of his mouth on their own volition.

"I want out." he stops, looking for the right words. He knows he sounds stupid. But unexpectedly, Sirius doesn't interrupt him. "I truly don't want to be a Death Eater. Not anymore. The only reason I wanted to in the first place was because I thought it would make mother happy. But again… I was wrong." his voice is a mere whisper. "This was a terrible idea."

"One does not walk away from Voldemort that easily, Regulus." Sirius says looking disapprovingly at him; and he could swear there was also pity there. "It's a lifetime of service or death."

"I know, but I have no other choice Sirius." Sirius would have sworn that what he just read in his brothers eyes was regret. For entering or leaving he doesn't know yet. But he waits for Regulus to elaborate. It is a tactic that always works, this time too, because after only another few minutes of silence Regulus speaks again. "I have come to realize that he is not what I thought he was. That he does not fight for my beliefs, for no-one's beliefs, he only fights to fulfill his megalomaniac dreams of grandness. I've realized… that I've been doing horrible things… for someone who doesn't care why you do it." he stops again, trying to put his thoughts in order.

It is hard making this kind of confession. It tears at his pride; he has to fight with eight years of the profoundly ingrained habit of disdain for the likes of Sirius. He is afraid it won't be enough. Merlin knows if their positions were reversed, it wouldn't. He doesn't deserve the help he is asking for… but he asks for it anyway. It is time to start doing the right thing. And he can't quite squash hope, that despite all the bad blood it will be enough. You don't always get what you deserve after all. And he has more faith in Sirius that he has in anyone else. And he steels himself, his face hardening.

"He's been making horcruxes, lots of them." Sirius doesn't seem surprised at all. But after all, they were raised by the same people. If he himself had suspected before, it is logical that Sirius had too. Suddenly, his hand flies to his pocket, making Sirius raise his wand again.

"Watch what you do." He says menacingly, and Regulus stands frozen. "Raise your hand… slowly. And don't try anything with me." Regulus nods, and very slowly he raises his hand, retrieving it from his pocket. He is keeping his hand closed around a small object. "What's that?" Sirius finally asks. He releases his grip, and his fingers close around an old faded silk ribbon, and a round solid golden medallion falls dangling from it, emitting sinister shimmers into the partially lit dust room. Realization is plain in Sirius' face. "You've stolen one of them?"

"I had no choice."

"One does always have a choice. Although there is not always a right one; or an easy one. You have condemned yourself to death." says Sirius flatly. "And there is nothing I can do." his face holds no feelings, only coldness and contempt. Regulus looks at his brother's eyes and shudders. Maybe he is going to be kicked out, to be alone again and die in a corner.

"But you were right, all along." says the younger brother, trying not to look intimidated. "And I was totally blind…" Sirius face softens a little. He can't possibly deny that he is curious about what his brother has to say, and moved by the constant half-uttered apologies, so he lets him talk instead of kicking him out of his flat as he had planned. "I should have listened to you. You were right… about everything. And I was wrong."

It is a huge admission, and both know it.

Two pairs of grey eyes meet over the wide ocean of solitude that separates them. Regulus is trying with all his might to appeal to his brother's merciful nature. He ss supposed to have more of it than he does. He pours a world of feeling into that look. He pulls all of his barriers down; they are useless anyway with him. And if there ever was a moment to be honest it is this one. Suddenly he looks so young to Sirius, so broken and so lost. His gaze holds far too many horrors for one who has barely reached nineteen. Something in Sirius' heart softens. It is a hardened piece of steel that hardly responds to touch anymore, not for his family; but it does now. His brother's helplessness tugs at the few sensitive chords it still has left.

Somehow despite the endless years of fighting, the constant insults and mutually professed hatred, they are still the only person who can read the other with any measure of success. They can sense the other's feelings and thoughts, sometimes even judge accurately the honesty of the other. He knows Sirius would know it if he was lying. Something akin to pride appears on the eyes of the eldest. He takes two steps forward and looks down at him.

"You know that a good action does not redeem a life of bad choices." Sirius challenges. Regulus looks a bit ashamed.

"Yes," he says quietly, and then looks up at his brother. "But what man is a man that does not try."

Sirius places a hand on his brother's shoulder and looks at him, his scrutinizing gaze sweeping over him once more. Of a sudden, he walks up to the couch, grabs a jacket and heads towards the door. Once there, he turns around to find Regulus looking back at him, still in the same place, frozen with a questioning look in his face.

"We must go." says the older brother as he unlocks the door. "You must leave the country. With a bit of luck we'll be out of England before anyone notices your absence. No one will notice mine. Hurry up."

Both brothers walk out of the flat, and sneak outside the building. The two figures walk down the deserted streets of London under the heavy rain, they keep up a fast pace. One of lesser build would not be able to keep up. The underground of London is almost deserted now, and almost everyone is drunk enough not to think twice about the oddly dressed couple in their midst. About an hour later, they've reached an area sufficiently deserted. In that small park, bare of any other human presence, they find shelter between the big trees and suddenly disappear into thin air.

::::::::::::::

A loud crack resounds in the darkness. A night owl stirs and flies away in a rustle of feathers and annoyed hoots. Violent coughing breaches the silent stillness of the night in the forest. It is pitch-dark and there is nothing to be seen. The two figures have appeared out of nowhere. The trees were so tall, the omnipresent green foliage so thick, that not even the moonlight reaches the ground. The world is submerged in shadows.

The tallest one of the two figures starts walking in a direction that apparently leads nowhere.

"Where are we? Where are we going?" Regulus asks in hushed tones, his brother turns around and places a finger on his lips, signaling the other to remain silent. There isn't another exchange between them after that. Putting blind faith in his brother, the smaller one follows the hem of the cape willowing in front of him.

They keep walking, making their way through the maze of the trees in the night. It must be approximately half an hour and before the vegetation starts to clear. In front of them appears a valley with a small village nestled at the bottom, a clear gurgling river travels its whole length like a single big silver ribbon. On the nearby hills little lights show the positions of other dwellings scattered in the slopes of the mountain. An old hunting cottage, accessed by an old rock path and an iron gate stands relatively nearby.

"Lüneburg? You've brought me to Germany?" questions the younger brother. Sirius givee him a look that silences him.

They keep walking until they reach the house. The front gate opens with a loud creak that, for a moment, causes both brothers to suddenly jump and look around to make sure they are still unnoticed. They cross the main garden, overgrown and wild, the darkness and solitude of the building looming ahead are more than a bit depressing. Sirius draws his wand and mutters a small series of incantations that force the old door to open with a groan.

Both brothers enter the house and make their way inside. The house is old and definitely dusty; it is plain to see that even if the garden may have left room for doubt, the house has been abandoned for a long time. It is clear that it has seen better times too. The furniture is more than several decades old, and most of the curtains are ratted and frayed at the edges. Dust swirls in the atmosphere, and cobwebs have settled on the chandeliers. All portraits have been removed from the walls leaving only shadows on the walls marking their previous positions. Despite that, it is quite well kept; it could easily be inhabited again.

Once in the parlor, Sirius lights a candle near a mirror and lights up the fireplace, filling the room with flickering light. Then he turns to his brother.

"This is one of the family properties." Regulus is about to remark that he already knew that, but Sirius ignores his intent and he desists. "I brought you here because it's been abandoned since Grandmother Irma decided that she didn't quite like Germany. It was once Uncle Alphard's and now it is mine. The good thing is no one would come here looking for you. Mostly because everyone things I sold the properties." Regulus nods and Sirius takes a couple steps towards his brother.

"I need to see the mark."

The younger man shudders. "Why?" He says as he holds his forearm close to his chest. Sirius rolls his eyes.

"The Death Eaters will find you through it. You know that. See what happened with McMullen. Maybe not right now… this house is protected by blood wards as old as the family and has every other piece of protective spell you can think of. I put all of them up a couple years ago. It's been one of my safe houses. Therefore you're impossible to locate right now. The house itself interferes too much with the signal of the mark for you to be traceable."

Regulus sags in relief. He'd never thought of that. But it is true. He knows Bellatrix complained once that ancient magic wards distorted the Dark Lord's signals. But he'd never thought it would ever save his life.

"…But they will, eventually. Once you step a foot outside the gates. Or if both, father and I die. Because then, you are going to be the owner of all this and you don't know how to keep the wards up and working, do you?" says looking at his brother sharply. Regulus shakes his head. "If that happens, and the wards flounder, they'll find you through the mark, and they will kill you. We need to remove it. Or at least try. Do you understand?" he asks, and the younger man nods. "Your forearm, show me."

The younger man stretches his arm out and rolls his sleeves up on his left arm. The tattoo of the Dark Mark is there, a sharp dark contrast against pale skin. Sirius frowns at the sight and grabs him by the arm to watch carefully the pattern of the tattoo.

Regulus is about to complain that it is most assuredly protected, but he remembers then that his brother had worked most of his life with wards, jinxes and protections of every kind. He is one of the best, and even the Death Eaters can't deny that. He isn't going to screw it up.

"I'll have to have a look at it, I need to know how it works, or else I'm working blindly here." He pushes Regulus on a chair and kneels on the carpet so he has the arm level to his eyes.

Without further elaboration, Sirius places the tip of his wand on the mark. His eyes become half lidded and his breathing slows with concentration. Regulus feels a bit alarmed. Surely Sirius needs to know how deeply it is connected to him… but looking at it won't suffice, and he has the inkling that what he is about to do won't be pleasant at all.

Regulus feels a soul-deep intrusion immediately. He can feel the magic cursing through him, in his veins, bones, muscles. It is a magic alien to him; it feels far more intense and rawer to him, who has only been attuned to the gentle and timid vibrations of his own. It is white-hot brilliant and rough at the same time, like the rush of a tidal wave rapidly taking over every corner of his body. And still it's somewhat familiar. It would've been a touch far beyond invasive if not for his instinctive recognition of the hand behind it. It's an oppressive enough sensation as it was.

And despite knowing it is Sirius invading the privacy of his own body and mind; it is the most excruciatingly shameful experience of his entire life. He feels naked like the day he was born, his very core bared for the intruder to see. The feeling of asphyxia starts to become unbearable, nausea threatens to overcome him when Sirius finally decides to retreat. When he's gone Regulus is left gasping for air. He raises his head and finds Sirius in front of him, with a frown on his face.

"What did you find?" Regulus asks breathlessly, almost scared about his brother's reaction. Sirius shakes his head as if trying to dispel a bad feeling.

"It's disgusting. Your own magic is interwoven with the spells on this tattoo. Almost part of the ink itself, not the pattern or the motive as it is most usual." Regulus feels grateful that Sirius has bothered to elaborate, it makes him feel less lost, this way he has the impression they can find a way out of this. "This mark binds your magic to Voldemort's. That's how he controls all of his Death Eaters. It is a powerful kind of Dark Magic. Through that bond, you're feeding his magical core. The mark strengthens him, and weakens you. And the link is a complex series of very small, tiny really, links at irregular intervals. It's going to take days, weeks maybe, to untangle this knot, not hours, and we're running out of time."

"That means you can't remove it?" Regulus asks disheartened. Sirius looks at him with an upraised eyebrow.

"No, it means I have to think." he says. "I can't cut through this Gordian knot, because it may damage your ability to perform magic in the future."

The older man stands up and starts pacing up and down the room, looking at everything and nothing at the same time. He is thinking fast, and hard; his current speed of thought so high that you can almost hear the gears in his brain turning. He moves like a caged animal, walking in circles around his brother, reaching one end of the room then the other, and back to the same spot. Now and then he stops brusquely, only to start walking again. After what feels like hours, but was most likely not that long, he stops again and looks back at his brother.

"Separate compartments! That's it!" Regulus doesn't understand. But he does understand the sparkle of triumph in Sirius' eyes. "We'll have to leave it on you." Sirius continues. "I can't untangle all of this right now… and the fact it is warded against you doing it yourself only would add to the difficulty…"

"But…?" Regulus prompts.

"I can't remove the spell." Sirius says, "I might be able to separate it from you in the deeper sense… cut it off from your magic. It won't affect you anymore, even if it won't be gone."

"The tattoo will still be on my arm?" he asks, half alarmed. "What's to keep it from simply reporting my location?"

"We won't know anything for certain until we try. But I don't think it's got a tracking spell in it. It is more like he senses you. Your arm." Sirius says, his voice stained with authority.

Regulus instinctively pulls back, thinking he is about to have his arm severed. Sirius seems to read his mind and rolled his eyes.

"I'm not going to amputate your arm. That wouldn't solve the problem. You'd still be entangled with that spell and likely end up dead anyways." That seems to relieve a little the younger man, who reluctantly offers his arm to his brother. Sirius grabs his wrist, keeping a strong grip around it. On the last moment he looks up to the scared eyes trained on his hands and takes pity.

"It is set so your magic is powering the spells that keep it in place and providing the magical support for it to work. The strain of powerful spells, most of them not meant to function continually for a long time, on his magic is minimal for it goes all on your own; it allows him to maintain as many of these as he wants. - Sirius explains. - Separating it should act like depriving a lamp of oil. The mark may still be there, but the signal will die off. Maybe we can even make it short-circuit."

He grins with a confidence that suddenly feels very reassuring and the younger man mirrors his brother's smile.

Sirius goes silent again, his lips moving noiselessly, the tip of his wand on the mark. Regulus can feel bits of power flaring and subsiding beneath the skin of his arm. A presence as invasive as it was when the mark was put on his arm. Minutes tick by, and he only watches silently the head bent over his forearm; trying valiantly to contain the nausea.

"Damn!"

The mark starts to sink back into his skin. The edges cut into the white flesh like sharp boiling knives. The tattoo curls upon itself, refusing stubbornly to die. He can feel it lurch and struggle with Sirius' magic when he cuts through the last binding spell. And he can feel the result of the struggle. It is slowly fading, but it refuses to do so without putting up a fight. His vision is a blur… Regulus' fear is bigger than he's ever experienced before. The last thing he can feel is an arm across his shoulder as the world slips out of focus.

He doesn't know how much time has passed when he comes around, but when he does a sodden rag is swiping vomit from his lips and chin, the taste of bile strong in his mouth. The first he does is look back at his arm.

The mark is gone now, but the place where it used to be has been replaced by burnt skin, mangled flesh and tortured nerve endings. The wound is bleeding profusely. He can't quite move the whole limb.

Sirius hands him a piece of cloth to swipe the grime himself as he sets to work hurriedly in stopping the bleeding. He mutters healing spells with efficiency, trying to do as much damage control as possible. But the bleeding isn't stopping. Regulus has spent most of his life with strong cushioning spells on his arms and legs just to avoid something like this to happen. Blood weakness (1) doesn't attend to reasons and circumstances.

He really wants to know why Sirius would know how to contain a hemorrhage like this. Or why exactly Sirius had a vial of a generic coagulant on him. It isn't an affliction that is exactly common.

Sirius looks at it critically and then with a silver knife he extracts from his boot, he cuts himself on his right hand. He lets a small trail of his own blood pool in his hand with a bit of the potion before upturning it and pressing his wound together with his brother's. He maintains the pressure, until he feels the stickiness grow thicker and the blood flow slowly halt. Then, he retires it. Regulus' wound is ugly and charred but at least has stopped bleeding. He'd already forgotten what it was like having someone to do that for him. And he is feeling very weak. His head swims and sound comes a bit distorted. After applying a healing spell Sirius places a conjured bandage around the wound; not very effective, but at least it will stop the younger boy from reopening it or getting it infected and bleeding to death anytime soon.

"It's going to take a while to heal but I guess that you'd better and invalid than dead."

Regulus swallows, his thoughts still a bit muddled.

"Now, listen to me carefully." Sirius urges his brother, forcing him to look into his eyes. "You must promise me that you'll lay low."

"I'll do… whatever you tell me." He whispers, a hint of fear glittering in his eyes.

"You must change your name, at once. Find yourself the most muggle name you can come up with, not a hint of magic on it, got it?"

The youngest man nods. He knows not how yet, but he is far too confused to protest or ask for clarifications.

"Good. Secondly, you must never ever, under any circumstance use any kind of powerful magic; any kind of magic that could lead the German Ministry of Magic to you."

Sirius is holding his chin so his head doesn't dip and he keeps meeting his eyes; his other hand on Regulus' cheek in a manner that seems almost loving.

"You'll also live in the muggle world; the magical world is dead to you. You have been dead at least an hour. Getting my words?" again, Regulus nods. "And do not even try to contact the wizarding world; do not interest yourself in trying to know what's going on in there."

He is dead… of course that is what they will think happened. His Dark Mark signal just died. It is what He would think. He is free as only a dead man can be. And what else can he do?

"You won't be hearing from me again. Don't try to contact me either. You are dead Regulus." the shorter boy nods again. "And do not under any, I repeat, any circumstance come back to England. I've already risked enough as it is. My neck is in as much danger as yours now."

"I won't, Sirius. I promise."

"Good." then Sirius turns around and heads towards the door, but stops looking for his coat. Then he turns back for a moment and looked at Regulus pensively.

"If you ever, by any reason… which you shouldn't; need to leave you have to remember something…" he seems to struggle to find a way to say this without seeming crude. "You're already way deep to your neck. Whatever else you do is falling on a vase that's already full. Disapparate. Move fast. Don't give the European ministries a chance to track your signal in time. Apparate as fast as you can from one country to another. Cross borders as often as you can. Do with a quick series, then stop. After a while do so again. They can't track you when you cross a border. Alarms go off, but they can't know where you've gone. By the time they guess you'll already be three countries away. It'll take even more time for several ministries to realize they've got the same problem. Get them tangled in the mound of bureaucracy required… to ask for foreign collaboration. They never do that well. Cross over to soviet lands as much as possible. Those are never helpful and they'll get stuck there without anything to do... don't get to your last destination apparating. It should make your trail impossible to trace… "

"Sirius!" The aforementioned man stops on his tracks and turns around to find his brother proffering that thing in his direction, offering him the medallion.

"No, you keep it. I don't want anything to do with it. Keep it; don't have it lying around either. Try to destroy it if you can." Regulus nods. The older brother walks back to the door, but before leaving he turns back to his brother one last time. "Remember you are supposed to lay low!"

And saying so he leaves, slamming the door shut. His tall frame slips back into the darkness and the deep river of the actual living breathing people and human sorrows. And Regulus is left there, on the shore, nor dead nor alive, stranded forever and condemned to lie among the reeds and forbidden to look into the glittering waters, looking at his wound and scared to death. This is the last time he is ever going to see his brother, the last person on earth that might look at him with anything else but pity or contempt. And that is a frightening thought.

::::::::::::::

The sky is dyed with the red tint of dusk. The stagnant air is chilly nonetheless. A shovel of damp soil settles on top of the dark polished empty box. There are a few people present, but none of them talk. All of them are dressed in dark robes, even if most of them couldn't care less. The marker in the tombstone was plain, brief and impersonal.

It is a hurried affair. Failure such as this, stings. There are many things they could have thought would happen. This was never one of them. Many hopes were held and many calculated risks were taken… but fate said its last word. Fate has a weird sense of humor.

No human being would be able to sustain such a blood loss. No young man will cross again the door of the Ancestral House of the Blacks. There's no way it was an accident. Someone is guilty of it. And they don't know and can't ask, and on top of that it grieves them the shame and impropriety for the family not to have a body.

Travers accused the other, ignored son, who after all has already killed Wilkies, Guiles and Rosiers…

And Mr and Mrs Black now have no children left.

But the wind stirs and the people leave and the place is left deserted. Because no one really grieves, cares yes, but not strongly enough to freeze out in the weather mourning for a boy who lived too little to leave any lasting impression. After all he was no-one. Another pawn who believed he truly made a difference. And life goes on, and nobody will ever come back to this gravesite. One does need a heart to truly miss a loved one.

R.A.B – Beloved son. 1961-1979. May he rest in peace.

(1) Regulus suffers from haemophilia, a congenital illness which the wizarding world calls blood weakness. It causes a blood deficiency that makes it impossible for their blood to coagulate properly. It is known as the plague of the aristocratic classes through all Europe. Regulus' family and many others of a magic background stretch the normal life span in those that are born with it protecting them with all kinds of spells to avoid bruises and cuts… but they can't make less grievous a wound inflicted magically.

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