She stalked him silently in the blackest night. The fresh burn on her arm seared with the movement of her billowing ebony robes. The blood coursing through her veins had long since turned cold. This was her first assignment from the Dark Lord.
Hope not ever to see heaven.
Ava Devlin stood silently before the entrance of 137 Hadeson River, preparing to prove her false allegiance. Long, graceful fingers slid her wand along the rough wood of the front door of her victim's home, unlocking it with ease. He was either overconfident or comfortable with his fate. His flat was grimy and disorganized. Pieces of scribbled parchment were scattered across the battered floor. It was dimly lit and sparsely furnished. The house was intended for death. It had none of the grandeur his family home boasted. Yet, the similarities were striking. The aura of fear and darkness that hovered in these halls found its origin in the ancient manor. The same stillness threatened to suffocate outsiders.
She progressed carefully through the stifling darkness, taking care not to trip over debris. She considered lighting her wand, but decided against it. There was no need to draw any more attention to herself. The situation was not in her favor as it was. The further into the flat she walked, the more obvious that became. Doubt started to trickle into her mind. Ava had thrown herself headlong into his house with few precautions. She had found the exits and tested the wards, but she had not had the foresight to monitor his habits. She knew nothing of her victim's condition. What she knew of him was from secondhand memories and a distant past. She felt the edge of a sofa with her foot. It was pressed against a narrow wall and there was yet more paper on the scrubbed floor. Had she been less focused on her imminent failure, Ava would have given the parchment a second thought.
I come to lead you to the other shore.
The silence in the house was deafening. She did not remember him being silent. A desperate kind of hope rose in her chest: he was gone. He had fled. Dear God, let him have escaped.
Something moved. She would have no such luck.
Fear flashed in Ava's dark eyes for the first and last time in her life. She instinctively shoved hard against the couch near her feet and crouched behind it, sweeping her left arm around her body to clear the floor. She took aim at the origin of the noise, and spells flew wildly over her head, but they were her own. When she paused abruptly to listen, Ringing laughter filled the room. Familiar laughter.
The room lit itself.
"Clearly, Lord Voldemort thinks very little of my ability."
Ava grimaced and chided herself for her stupidity and nervousness. She was grown woman, more than capable of protecting herself, but she let the purpose of her task spook her. Such mistakes would kill her if she were not more careful. It could not happen again. She stood gracefully, sweeping the couch out of her way with a flick of her wand. Her expression was stoic, her movements fluid and precise. Power was won and lost in the details.
"First time jitters."
Regulus Black's drawn face flashed a momentary look of surprise as he laid eyes on his would-be killer, but Ava could not hear the emotion in his voice, "Interesting. Very interesting. I never would have thought you a Death Eater."
"No? I knew you would be one of His. I did not, however, know that you would be a coward about it. Hiding out in a filthy, mudblood hole, Regulus? It's beneath you." An arrogant tone crept into her words. She was to be a pureblood above all, and Ava wanted him to know it.
"Behind a couch is obviously the more prestigious option," he said with a charming hint of sarcasm. He was seated in a ragged armchair, watching her carefully. His wand sat on a cracked table to his left. At the tender age of eighteen, he could have passed for her father. Lines creased his pale forehead. Dark circles colored the bags beneath his icy grey eyes. His posture gave the perception of a worn body. And yet, he was as cool and confident, as a young man of good blood should have been. The longer she looked at the man in front of her, the more of his brother Ava saw in him. His coloring and chiseled features were expected. They were Black trademarks passed down from inbred generation to inbred generation, but the spark of rebellion in his eyes, the haughty curve of his lips, those were uniquely Sirius' or so she assumed. Perhaps, the brothers Black were more alike than either could have imagined. The thought ripped through her heart like dull knife.
Ava summoned her resolve and raised her wand. If she waited any longer, she would be unable to follow through and it would mean her death and the end of the mission for which she was giving her life. "Avada Ke-"
Regulus continued to sit calmly, as if unaffected by her actions. He looked at her contemplatively and asked, "Are you loyal to Lord Voldemort, Contessa?"
It was the use of her given name that stopped Ava. It had been years since she had heard it. After her father's death, even her Mother stopped forcing the moniker. She creased her brow and truly looked at Regulus Black. Her breath caught in her chest and she considered him. In a moment of recklessness and desperation, she let the truth slip from her lips for the first time in weeks. "No." She felt the poison leave her body and disappear into the night air. She hoped it would not suffocate her.
"No," he repeated, sounding not unlike Albus Dumbledore. "I didn't think so." He was quiet for a moment, appearing to come to a rather difficult conclusion. "Yes, well then, I have a favor to ask of you before you do what you have to do." A weak smile flickered across his face.
"Regulus, I'm hardly in any position to do you any favors." Ava's wand was still clutched in her hand, pointing directly at his chest. Her voice was almost pleading, "I am sorry. Really."
"Good, you should pity me. I've been a fool. Nevertheless, I have one last amends to make. I'd hate to say my life and death were in vain." He raised a dark eyebrow at her. "I'd hate for you to go through all of this trouble just to gain trust you do not want. You may as well get something tangible out of all of this. Yes?"
He stood for the first time since she arrived. His posture was limp and there was something frail about the way he walked across the room. Ava wondered what caused his injuries. She considered the other Death Eaters, but that was improbable. They would have killed him. The Ministry or Order would have captured him. It was one the many mysteries surrounding Regulus. As he carefully limped towards a tattered bureau, he pulled his wand and summoned a thick leather pouch. The contents of the bag jingled when they hit his hands. He did not open the sack or even look at it. Instead, he tossed the bag to Ava.
"Do not open this or handle its contents. I'm not sure of its effects," he said.
It was Ava's turn to arch one of her own perfect eyebrows. Her hands shook slightly around the bag. She could feel the magic surrounding it. "If you're trying to kill me, this is a very mundane and cliché way to do it. Feel free to curse me instead."
He approached her and rested his ghostly hands on her shoulders. Ava fought the urge to pull away from the contact. "Someday, the Order will understand what I cannot. What is in this bag needs to find its way to Dumbledore, I ask for your help in accomplishing that. Put this in his hands by any means necessary. It may mean more than either of us could ever imagine." His eyes locked on hers, inches from her face. She could feel his sweet liquor breath on her skin. "I have made too many mistakes in my life for redemption, but I hope to prevent anyone else from doing the same. I don't know how you came to serve Lord Voldemort, but I do know that because of it you understand better than most. He will not stop. All the wizards in all the world can fight him, but He will not stop. He must be destroyed. While He lives, there is no end."
Into fire.
Ava felt a surge of shame and sympathy. It was such a private moment. He was so honest, so unspeakably open with her. She knew not when he changed, where in his short life he slipped from his role as the 'good' Black, but she knew that she was proud of him. He didn't deserve to die with his memory overshadowed by the errors of his past. The world believed him sinister, weak, a follower. But, he was so much more. Whatever lie in her hands was his redemption. It could be the Dark Lord's sequined nightshirt, but Regulus believed so wholly in its power that it would not have mattered. In the moment, Ava would have died to protect that small leather pouch. She gripped the bag in her fist and wrapped her arms around the boy in front of her.
He stiffened against her touch, and Ava doubted if he had ever been held. "Regulus, I swear to you that I will take care of this. You're a good man. I want you to know that. Your brother would be proud." Ava pulled back and looked up to meet his eyes. "In the end, what you are is all that matters. The past is irrelevant." Ava pulled away several inches and looked him in the eyes, "You surprised me, Regulus. That's quite a feat. I never thought you would turn out they way you did. I'm sorry more people won't meet the man I met tonight. I'm sorry you won't be able to live the life you deserve to live."
"Just get it over with, Devlin." He briefly glanced at his feet then looked back at her. "We both know this is going to be a hell of a lot less painful than if anyone else was doing it."
"I hope so." She inhaled deeply and stepped back several paces. His face betrayed no fear. It was unsettling for Ava to watch. She couldn't imagine blankly facing death. "Goodbye Regulus."
"Goodbye. Thank you for everything."
And into ice.
"I hope you find some peace." Ava took aim. Unchecked tears rolled down her face, blurring her vision and leaving a salty taste on her lips. It only took seconds. She spoke the words that ended it all in one feeble breath. He crumpled to the floor, his body lying in an awkward heap at her feet. His silver eyes gazed vacantly into space. It was over.
She tried to clear her mind, but her heart continued to beat rapidly in her chest and a vision of the youngest Black falling lifelessly to the ground drifted through her mind. She willed Gryffindor courage to her heart, but the wish felt dirty. Godric Gryffindor would have been ashamed. She was dark mark on the long and prideful history of the most noble of the Hogwarts houses. Strength, courage, valiance: she was betraying each one with every breath she took. Her mission was part of a greater effort, but in the end, it would destroy the strength that had let her among the lions in the first place. She was a Death Eater, the enemy. She was a lie.
"Morse Morde!" Ava called into the night air as she left 137 Hadeson River. The sparkling green skull gleamed in the black sky. She wanted to scream out with the other witches and wizards as their filthy homes glowed under the mark, but she stayed silent. She left the scene, black robes whipping around her as she reached into nothingness and disapparated.
Hours later, Ava appeared in her small flat reeking of tobacco and alcohol. She crept into her room as silently as possible and crawled gratefully into her bed. The warmth of the blankets was reassuring in comparison to her frozen veins.
An arm snaked around her waist. "Where've you been?" Its owner's voice asked groggily. "I flooed everyone we've ever met looking for you." He sniffed her dark hair and said, "You smell like a brewery, Ava."
Yet more tears streamed down her face and Ava peeled the arm away from her body. She spoke quietly, trying frantically to hide the emotion in her voice. "It was Order stuff. Go back to sleep. We'll talk about it in the morning."
"Yeah, fine. Wish Dumbledore would make me go out and get pissed," he sighed into her shoulder. "Love you."
"I love you, too, Sirius."
AN: This ficlet is a one-shot from a story I have been trying to finish for months. I think it might need some work, but I really enjoyed it and thought it would stand well on its own. Tell me what you think. Constructive criticism is very welcome. Thanks for reading, guys. PS: if you catch any typos I missed, please point them out. I hate putting out rough work. Italicized quote is from Dante's Inferno: "Hope not ever to see heaven. I come to lead you to the other shore; into fire and into ice."