Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any associated characters, places and events.

The Darkness of His Anger

Regs sneezed.

He opened his eyes slowly, feeling far more like himself. For a moment all he could see was sunlight, streaming in through the window, then his eyes adjusted and he could see everything.

There were feathers on his bed, stuck to some red paint. One was tickling his face. He swiped under his nose and felt it come away wet. His nose was bleeding. With new eyes he looked down at his front and saw the blood for what it was. The dust motes swam in the sunlight in front of his face as he paused, confused, then remembered what had happened with a shock.

He looked around quickly, and found the Healer on a chair next to his bed, eyes closed and in some kind of trance. As he watched, her wand traced out intricate patterns and he felt a little whoosh as a wave of energy rushed over him. Diagnostic spell.

The Healer's eyes popped open and she began scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment. Regs noticed some cuts on her face and arms and wondered why she hadn't healed them. She looked up and noticed he was awake.

"Oh, good, you're in the land of the living." The woman's slightly lined face was crinkled with relief. She began to flick her wand at him, healing his nose and the burst blood vessels in his eyes. "You haven't been out long, but your fever has broken, and you look a lot better. How are you feeling?"

Regs cleared his throat. "I feel better."

"Excellent." The woman looked down at her parchment. "The good news is that your magic is fine. In fact you seem to have increased your power reserves. I didn't know that could happen. But then, this is a fairly rare case."

Regs' relief was so acute that he could feel the blood throbbing in all of his extremities.

"Is there bad news?" he asked anxiously.

"Well, not really, unless you count the destruction of your property and two near misses." The witch traced the cuts on her arms with her wand ruefully, sealing them instantly. "Your brother was in here just after that last episode. He should have been sliced to pieces, but not a scratch on him. You knocked me out for a minute though."

"I'm sorry," Regs mumbled, blushing.

"Not to worry, my boy, goes with the job." The Healer busied herself with clearing the mess around his bed. A few non-verbal spells later, the pillows had been restuffed and resealed, the windows were whole again, the bodily fluids had been vanished and most of Regs' possessions had been restored to their former state. "Right. I'll leave a few pain-relievers with you in case of lingering headaches; don't be afraid to use them. This purple one is for the last of your fever – take it before you go to sleep tonight. Keep away from aconite, Doxy venom and bowtruckle droppings for a week to prevent infection. I'll just go see your mother on the way out. Stay well."

"Thank you, ma'am," Regs said, gratefully. "Truly."

The woman smiled at him. "You're most welcome, Mister Black."

She left and Regs could hear her walking down the stairs. Soft pattering met his ears.

"Regs?"

"Sirius!" Regs said joyfully. "Are you alright?"

Sirius raised an eyebrow incredulously. "Am I alright? Of course I am! What about you?"

Regs was amused. "I'm feeling much better, thank you. However, the last time I saw you, I thought you were going to get very badly hurt."

Sirius shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, well," he mumbled. "So did I."
"Then why were you here?" Regs asked, puzzled.

"Heard you screaming, and things smashing," his brother replied. "It sounded terrible."
Regs was aghast. "But I could have hurt you!"
"Yeah, but you didn't!" Sirius said firmly. "Anyway, I would have deserved it," he added quietly. Regs wasn't sure he was supposed to have heard that.

"Excuse me?" he said.

Sirius looked up, guilt swimming in his eyes. "It was my fault you got sick."

Regs couldn't believe what he was hearing. Sirius' fault? But… that didn't make sense. "What do you mean?" he asked quietly. Sirius looked miserable.

"If that glass had hit me, I would have deserved it, because it was my fault that you were sick!" Sirius repeated wretchedly. He wouldn't meet Regs' eyes.

Regs stared at him. He had been ill with Alchemist's fever, which was caused by the tainting of magical potions ingredients. If they had been harvested under the wrong conditions with the intent for its proper use, then the power invested in the production or collection was tainted. Mixing ingredients wrongly in a potion was easy to do and could cause explosions, or make messes, but wasn't essentially dangerous unless you got in the way, consumed it or breathed it in. That's why students at school never harvested ingredients for their own potions. Any harvesting done in Care of Magical Creatures or Herbology was carefully checked by the teachers before being allowed to use them in the potions lab. That harvesting was not done intentionally for Potions ingredients, so there was never a problem.

In order to have been sick with it, Regs must have made a mistake. But his supervisor had said nothing and surely he'd have ranted in his slight French accent; he didn't tolerate mistakes. There was too much that could go wrong. So someone must have tampered with his work. And now, here was Sirius admitting to causing his illness.

What on earth would have possessed Sirius to do such a thing? Regs was terribly hurt. Sirius had been trying to injure him. Why else would he have done such a thing? But then, why was he admitting to it now? That didn't make any sense.

Then it came to Regs in a moment of glorious clarity and he felt his anger burning. Sirius had been wanting to show Regs up. Regs, always so 'perfect' compared to Sirius in Mother's eyes, had made a mistake in his hobby class. Sirius had not. He had only wanted Regs to look bad but now he was feeling guilty because Regs had been far more seriously ill than Sirius had intended. Regs felt his heart shatter. He could not believe it.

"How – could you?" he choked out. Sirius looked up like a scared rabbit. "How could you?"

"Regs, I - " Sirius said desperately. "I didn't mean it!"

"Didn't mean it? I could have died! Or lost my magic!" Regs was hissing in utter fury.

"It was an accident!" Sirius yelped. He was terrified.

"How can it have been an accident? What matters is your intent! How do you explain that?" Regs growled. He could feel his face heating.

"I – I don't - " Sirius trailed off helplessly. "I didn't mean - "

"Shut up!" Regs didn't want to hear any more. "I – trusted you. And you could have killed me." He shook his head in disbelief. "I know how hard Mother is on you, but her favour is more important than my life? I would never have thought it of you." He was broken inside.

Sirius wore an expression of horrified confusion. "No! That's not – I didn't – Regs!" But Regs wasn't listening. He shut his eyes and shook his head. His ears were roaring.

"REGS!"

The shout broke through and he glared at his brother in undisguised loathing. Sirius recoiled.

"I think you've got it wrong," Sirius said hesitantly. "I didn't make you sick out of jealousy – I would never do that!"
Regs raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Oh, yeah? So you didn't go and tamper with my work to make me look bad?"
Sirius was horror-struck. "No! Of course not!"
Regs felt his thrumming heart slow a little. The world looked a little less black – his lips twisted with a spurt of dark humour. The action he had believed of Sirius was something he'd expect of a scheming Black family member – but Sirius was a little too kind-hearted and hot-headed for such things.

"Then explain what you mean and don't make me think such terrible things of you," he demanded.

Sirius swallowed. "Andromeda said that Alchemist's fever is usually pretty mild – yours was a really bad case. And she said that it can be made a lot worse than it should be if the person is already sick." He took a deep breath. "I was out doing Astronomy the other night and it was cold. I stayed out a bit too late and the next day, well, I was feeling unwell. I didn't want to go to Mother for a Pepper-Up because I knew she'd just tell me it was my own fault. I wanted to save myself that humiliation." Sirius face was bitter. "Then we were sharing that plate of cakes and then – then after the house elf - "

Regs understood. They had been rather close after witnessing its death and even if Sirius was embarrassed to admit it, Regs knew they'd both needed the close contact that day.

"So you think you were responsible for how bad the fever was," he said slowly. "I didn't think I was unwell before, though."

"You – you had a little cough," Sirius said brokenly. "That day we were dancing."

Regs looked at him sharply. "That day we were dancing? You make it sound like it was ages ago."

Sirius looked at him. "Well, it was a week ago."

"A week?" Regs gasped. "No way."

Sirius gave him a wavering smile. "Yes, way. You were out of it for ages between the bad bits. I still had to have lessons though."

Regs puffed out a laugh. "Well, I haven't been having a picnic." He shuddered. "Merlin, it was awful."

"I am sorry," Sirius said, grimacing. Regs waved his hand to brush it away.

"No, you couldn't have known. I'm sorry I thought – I thought – that you'd do that." He was quiet for a moment, then frowned. "But then, how did I get sick? Professor Morten would have ripped into me if I made a mistake."

Sirius frowned as well. "I don't know, Regs. I don't know."

Despite being confined to bed rest for another week, Mother had decided that Regs was well enough to resume his studies. So for several long hours a day, she sat sternly at his bedside, lecturing him on the glorious smiting of goblins in years gone past, their notable attempts at retaliation, the refusal of wizards to share wandlore – quite rightly too – and the eventual uneasy peace. Wizards, unable to eradicate the threat entirely, had tired of the bloodshed and feared for their dwindling numbers, settling instead for a bitter stalemate. Regs wondered if perhaps the wizards had commanded a more numerous force, then the secrets of goblin-smithing might have been theirs centuries ago. He proposed the question to Mother.

"Without a doubt," she snorted, turning her fierce expression onto her youngest son. "Goblins are thick-skinned, nasty beasts that will look for a loophole in any agreement. As loathe as we are to admit it, they had the upper hand for many years, at least in terms of force and numbers. They were very unwilling to sign a peace treaty – as they ought to have been! Their ancient power has become well-weakened since that glorious bloody age. Wizards had the more powerful magic – and they knew it! Weapons do little against shields and energy bolts. They are merely difficult to kill, and their numerical advantage served them well. With a little more fire power and a few more decades we could have squashed them underfoot like the vermin they are. Dirty, filthy invaders. There is no place for them in a pure wizarding society – just like mudbloods! Diluting, taking; always taking what they have not earned. And it is we, the pure ones, descending from the ancient families, that suffer the loss! Always remember, boy, the pride we have in our nobility – it is what separates us from the common filth on the streets. I don't doubt that any day now they will start breeding with goblins and then the might and power of witches and wizards would be no greater than house elves." She spat. "Goblins serve us well in banking; they are fit to do little more than handle our money, but touch none of it, though I little trust them with it. You must be thorough when dealing with goblins. They are decently impartial between wizard factions, but if you do not watch what you sign, they'll have their greedy paws on anything they can get – between their own race and our superior one, they'll serve themselves first, every time."

Regs absorbed the rant eagerly. Mother knew ever so much about every part of wizard society. These anecdotes were terribly interesting and informative. But his thoughts were interrupted.

"Now, Regulus, you will study some more Transfiguration. The theory is difficult, and I won't have you falling behind your classmates. You must be ready come time for your Hogwarts education. Merlin forbid that you appear as dimwitted as muggle-spawn."

Obediently, he turned to the thick tome of transform lore and began to read.

"Would Master like some refreshments?" The deep croak of Kreacher startled Regs out of his thoughts as he sat daydreaming in his huge, soft bed.

"That would be wonderful," beamed Regs. He missed Rinty's bumbling mannerisms, but Kreacher was far more competent. He had been feeling bored and peckish, so Kreacher also had impeccable timing. "Maybe some cold meat and a glass of pumpkin juice?"

Kreacher bowed and cracked out. Regs had just settled himself up comfortably and plumped up the repaired feather pillow at his back when Kreacher reappeared, expertly offering a silver platter embossed with the Black crest to Regs. Regs was delighted. He took the platter and selected a choice morsel. Taking a bite, he felt his eyes roll skyward in bliss. Kreacher stepped backwards, presumably to disapparate away again. Regs held up a hand. He finished chewing with his eyes closed, then took a swig of his drink. Sighing in contentment, he opened his eyes again to see Kreacher standing to attention at his side.

"Was there something else Kreacher can do for Master?" the elf inquired.

"Mm," Regs said, still absorbed in the delight of his snack. "Um, thanks, Kreacher. For the food. It was very fast," he added as an afterthought.

"Master is too kind to Kreacher," the bullfrog voice replied to his toes as he bowed once again. He looked up to see if he was further required. Regs looked at him, pondering.

"Kreacher, maybe you can help me."

The house elf looked pleased to be of further assistance. "Master Regulus has only to command Kreacher."

"Well, you know I've been unwell this last week. It was Alchemist's fever." He looked at the servant. "Do you know what it is? How you get it?"

The elf bobbed his head. "Kreacher knows. House elves must be knowing how to care for their family."

"Well," Regs replied eagerly. "Maybe you can find out how I got it. Because my potions professor would have noticed if I made a mistake."

Kreacher looked interested. "An investigation, Master?"

"Yes," Regs replied. He thought for another moment. "I don't know how you would find out though. I don't how to tell if ingredients have been tampered with."

Kreache bowed again. "If Master would permit Kreacher to ask a question?"

"Of course!" Regs stumbled over the words in his haste to get them out. He was terribly eager to determine who had poisoned him. Had Bella managed to reach that far? Was she trying to drive Sirius apart from him?

"Does Master know what sort of tampering may occur?"

Regs frowned at the question. "Um, from what Professor Morton has told me, it would be if someone changed them – as in, cut them, crushed them or pickled them – that sort of thing – without the intent to use them as ingredients. It's hard to explain, see? You have to harvest them – or use them – with the intent for harvesting when you invest magic into the process…" he trailed off. Why was this so hard? He screwed up his face. "Anyway, if someone other than me or my teacher has done anything with them at all, something might have happened to them."

Kreacher had frozen. Regs looked at him in askance. "Kreacher?"

"Mistress Black commanded Kreacher to fetch some powered asp bones from the potions store for a potion of her creation," the house elf wavered. He bowed again and again, sounding terrified. "Kreacher has moved the potions ingredients."

Regs was delighted. Mother had liked his ingredient preparation well enough to use them herself! He brought his mind back to the present.

"But Kreacher, you didn't change them though, did you?" Regs persisted, perplexed. "They were already ground into powder; you couldn't have done anything! Do you know if you were the only one who touched them?"

"Kreacher was the only one, Master Regulus," the elf croaked to his toes. He hesitated, eyes darting to the heavy ornate jug in the corner of Regs' room that Mother had had put there for decoration. Regs knew he was contemplating his punishment. "Kreacher spilt some of the powder and cleaned it up. Kreacher boiled his feet for his clumsiness."

"Kreacher, I don't think - " Regs began. Suddenly he stopped. He closed his eyes. He remembered a book on harvesting that he'd read, set by Professor Morten as homework. 'Sometimes, magical creatures may interfere with the process of harvesting if they use their personal magic in conjunction with ingredient investment. This is why harvesting of ingredients from live magical creatures carries so many dangers. Wand-makers are scarce partly for this reason; the magic of a unicorn may cause great damage and interference in the instance that the wizard attempts to pluck a tail hair without proper precaution…'

Could Kreacher have tainted the ingredients just by cleaning up the powder? Regs didn't care that the elf had hurt him; he was happy just to know exactly how it had happened so that it didn't happen again. It was obviously an accident. He would be extremely pleased to know that Bella had not done such a horrible thing as he'd thought. Perhaps he was becoming paranoid, imagining plots and ploys where none existed. But, he thought darkly, with his family, you never knew… Best to be prepared. It was good practice for the real world anyway. There would be people out there with less wealth and prosperity than Regs and they may try to hurt him for it. Kreacher was blameless of any wrongdoing. He was more innocent than some people Regs knew!

"Kreacher, did you use magic to clean up the spill?" Regs asked as gently as he could. He just wanted to be sure.

Tremblingly, the elf nodded. "Did Kreacher cause Master Regulus' illness?" He quavered, eyes bright with self-horror. Regs hesitated, unwilling to tell the elf, but Kreacher didn't wait for an answer; he could see it in Regs' eyes.

In less than a second, he was smashing himself over the head with the silver jug, arms pulling it to himself again and again, grunting with the effort and pain.

"Bad Kreacher, bad Kreacher. Master Regulus might have died. Oh, Kreacher is so wicked. If he had killed Mistress' son…" He began to weep, deep sobs tearing from his chest. "Kreacher doesn't deserve to serve his family." Terrible bruises began to appear on his face. Regs was horrified.

"Kreacher! Don't! Oh, don't! Don't do that! Please, Kreacher! Don't move!"

The house elf froze stiff, arms trembling with the weight of the jug. He was panting heavily, tears still falling down his face. Without moving – as he had been told – the jug lifted out of his grasp and began to pound down on his head again. He was levitating it. Regs was wide-eyed with shock and dread.

"No! Kreacher, no! I – I forbid you to hurt yourself." The jug stopped. "I – wait, Mother can override that. Kreacher, I forbid you to hurt yourself because of any guilt you feel over my illness." He thought hard. "I forbid you from telling anyone else anything about this or that you were responsible. I know you didn't mean it. It was an accident. I don't want you to harm yourself because of an accident, okay?" He looked at the elf sharply. "Oh, sorry, Kreacher. You can move; please, move."

The house elf dropped the jug miserably. He looked at it longingly.

"Kreacher, I don't blame you for it, and I don't want you to blame yourself either." Kreacher just looked at him in surprise. "Yes, I didn't order you not to feel guilty, because – well, I can't tell you how to feel."

Kreacher began to bow again. "Master is the very kindest of Masters. Kreacher does not deserve his leniency or kindness. Kreacher deserves to be punished." Kreacher croaked wretchedly.

Regs shook his head fiercely. "No, you don't. But, I suppose I'd better release you from the order not to hurt yourself in general – Mother might get suspicious if you don't punish yourself for anything else. But you are not to hurt yourself for this, for hurting me, do you understand me?" he said sternly. Kreacher nodded. "Now, one last thing. I want you to heal yourself, or cover up those bruises at least. No one should see them; they might ask questions." Somehow Regs doubted that; no one took any notice of a house elf, but he couldn't take the chance.

"Thank you, Master," Kreacher said, bowing low yet again. "Kreacher does not deserve -"

"Nonsense," Regs pushed. "Now, off you go." He waited until Kreacher had disapparated before slumping back on his pillows. He sighed. Merlin, that poor elf! Tormented by his mistakes and obliged to hurt himself for a mere accident! Regs' musing was interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Come in," he called, sitting up again. Sirius walked in, and Regs recoiled. Sirius was angry. Very angry.

"What – what's wrong?" Regs asked, somewhat nervously.

"Did I hear that right?" Sirius growled, his hands curling into fists. "That elf is responsible for making you sick?"

"No, Sirius, it was an accident!" Regs protested. "He didn't mean to hurt me."

"If he had, he'd be gone before you could blink," Sirius said, face thunderous. He stood straight, an avenging angel with snapping eyes of grey, going dark in his anger. His handsome face was shadowed with fury, but Regs just stared at him. There was something in Sirius' expression, something which did not frighten Regs, but made him proud. There was a man under this anger, an adult spirit beneath the fool that Sirius played. A righteous rage; something beautiful in its power. Sirius was suddenly an ancient soul before him, radiating an anger beyond anything Regs knew. It was an old feeling that he was giving off, a hatred that was born of love and so all the more bitter for it.

"I see you," Regs whispered, awed.

"What?" Sirius frowned at him, still terribly angry, and the moment was lost.

"Never mind," Regs said hastily. "But it wasn't Kreacher's fault, so he shouldn't hurt himself. You accidentally made the fever worse than it should have been, didn't you?" Regs regretted using this argument as soon as Sirius flinched, but still shaken by what he had seen in his brother, he continued hurriedly. "I don't blame you, so why should I blame him?"

"He's not a person!" Sirius snarled. "You're too soft on them. They're not pets."

"I know that," Regs said, stung. "They're far more than that. But they serve us and so we are responsible for them. He already hates himself enough for it. Don't make it worse. Please, Sirius!"

Sirius looked at him for a long moment, and Regs caught a flash of what he'd seen before, passing though his brother's eyes; ancient, ancient eyes. Then Sirius sighed and nodded.

"All right," he conceded, a dark frown still marring his face. Regs could not help but think that despite the power that Sirius brought out in his anger, it was a face born for laughter. "But if he does anything else to you ever again…"

"Sirius, I love you, but you're a bit overprotective sometimes," Regs protested, blushing when he realized what he'd said. Sirius' face went a little red but something went light in his expression.

"Don't you think I'm justified when something like this happens?" he responded hotly.

Regs just laughed. "Sirius, you can't protect me from myself."