A/N: Hello all! I'm back:) I know the updates have been slow; I ended up taking a course during the summer that is taking up a lot more time than I initially thought I would. I will, however, try to write as much as I can before the fall semester begins. Meanwhile, please read and review!
"Bad news." Sirius looked incredulously at his brother as they both said the same thing at the same time.
"More?"
"What else is new?" Regulus muttered, stepping inside the loft.
"What bad news could you possibly have had in the past two hours?"
"I could ask you the same question," Regulus retorted. He peered at the nearby mirror and shuddered. "Still blond," he muttered.
"I like the hair," Sirius couldn't resist saying. "So un-Regulus-Black like. You look almost nice, y'know that?"
"And you," Regulus said murderously, "better watch out. One of these days you'll wake up to find your precious locks gone."
"Not a chance," Sirius said. "I have my hair insured, you know."
"So what's the bad news?"
Sirius rocked back and forth in his spot. "Maybe you go first," he said.
"Don't be dramatic, Sirius."
"Don't be dramatic, Regulus."
Regulus scowled. "Fine," he said. "I've been doing some thinking, and I think that knowing more about horcruxes isn't enough—we need to learn more about the specific horcruxes. How many he created, where he's hid them, and who knows about them."
Sirius frowned. "I don't understand. Why would he tell anyone about them?"
"Because horcruxes by themselves can't accomplish anything. They need a vessel, remember? An animate vessel that will free the soul and… give it a new body. Somebody has to know. Voldemort must have told someone."
"Alright," Sirius sighed. "Any ideas?"
"Two names," Regulus said. "I think you know one of them fairly well."
"Who?"
Regulus smiled sardonically. "Think, brother mine. We do have a colorful array of cousins, after all."
It took Sirius only a second. "Oh, hell," he groaned.
"What I said."
"Bellatrix Lestrange?!"
"Dear cousin Bella." Regulus slumped on the sofa. "I can't say that I fancy that meeting at all." Sirius swore.
"It's not just that," he said. "The last time I heard, she was already thrown into Azkaban. She offered no defense. Just admitted all crimes she committed and—well, laughed in the Inquisitor's face. If you want to talk to her, you—"
"Need to break into Azkaban," Regulus finished grimly.
"Well, we'll certainly go down in the history books," Sirius joked. "The first people to try to break into Azkaban."
"Can't be harder than breaking out," Regulus murmured, bringing the fingertips of his hands together, resting his chin on the pointy end. Sirius scoffed.
"No one's ever succeeded."
Regulus' eyes gained a strange glint. "And you call yourself a Marauder?"
"Maybe I'm not so reckless as you are," Sirius retorted. "Maybe I see more reasons to live."
Something in the hard line of Regulus' mouth told Sirius that he was dangerously close to the line. He backtracked.
"Well, who's the other person?"
"Bartemius Crouch Jr. His father's the—"
"The head of the Law Enforcement, I know," Sirius said, pacing in the living room. "James just mentioned him."
"Potter?" Regulus straightened on the sofa. "What did he say?"
"He thinks Crouch's stalling. Waiting for his son to see the light."
"Not going to happen," Regulus scoffed. "I know I got branded young, but Crouch—he would've served his parents' heads on a silver platter for Voldemort. Now that takes some dedication."
"Not funny," Sirius scowled.
"But we still have a problem," Regulus said. "Barty's still under arrest. Where do they hold these prisoners for trial?"
Sirius groaned. "Where do you think?"
"I don't know, I don't have an Auror for a best friend." More correctly, he lost his best friend. But never mind that…
"Ministry of Magic," Sirius muttered glumly. "The bottom floor. No one's ever allowed there except a few bailiffs and Aurors."
Regulus swore. "Remind me why you never applied to be an Auror again?"
"Because I'd get bored and quit," Sirius said. "You know I have the attention span of a dog."
"Dogs have longer attention spans than you," Regulus said. "Ever seen them on a hunt?"
Sirius chucked a nearby throw cushion at Regulus direction, but Regulus deflected it easily.
"You're losing your aim," he laughed. Sirius shook his head.
"So let me get this straight," he said. "Our options are either to break into the Ministry of Magic when it's on extra high alert due to some of the most infamous trials in our century, or to break into Azkaban, the highest security prison known to every wizard of all times."
Regulus nodded, smiling grimly. "You missed one thing."
"Oh really? What would that be?"
"We're not breaking into either the Ministry or Azkaban. We're breaking into both the Ministry and Azakaban. Bellatrix might have information that Barty doesn't, and vice versa."
"Great," Sirius said. "That's great."
Regulus paused. "What was your news?"
"Oh, that," Sirius said arily, waving his hand. "I think James suspects that you're alive, but who cares, right? The Ministry guards and the dementors are going to get their hands on us before James ever does."
"What?" Regulus stood up, anxiety pumping from his chest to the rest of his body. "How's that possible?"
"Because I let you go shopping for groceries!" Sirius yelled. "And you bought tea with bergamot in it! Who the hell likes bergamot, anyway?"
"I do!"
"Well, I don't!"
Realization dawned on Regulus' face. "Oh. And Potter—"
"Noticed, what do you think?"
"This is bad."
"You think?"
It wasn't that Regulus had planned on hiding forever; in fact, as soon as this infernal hunt for horcruxes was over, he'd planned to turn himself over to the authorities so that they could take proper measures against the likes of him. But—this was too soon. And perhaps Aurors would have an easier time finding horcruxes, but he had to do this.
Otherwise he wouldn't be able to sleep at nights.
"Okay," Regulus said. "There are some measures that we can take. I don't leave this house looking like me, for one thing. Don't be seen leaving or entering the house, because people will suspect if you have strange blokes coming in and out of your house every day. And—"
"I've been thinking," Sirius said. "Maybe it'll be better if we relocate. It's not like either of us need to be in London."
Regulus stopped pacing "You don't mean it?"
"Temporarily," he said. "Somewhere that James wouldn't know."
"Wouldn't he start looking for you?" Regulus asked. Sirius sighed.
"Honestly, I don't know what he'll do when he finds out."
Something that Regulus found out after he became a Death Eater—he was stealthier than most people. Which came to him as little surprise, of course—he'd spent his childhood trying to discreetly disappear into corners during holiday dinners and parties, preferring to read in the library or watch Kreacher make holiday festivities in the kitchen. Kreacher shooed him out, of course, saying that the kitchen was no suitable place for a Black child, and that Mistress would scold him if she found him in the kitchen. Regulus had to concede that the house elf had a point, but that didn't stop him from stealing away from loud, crowded scenes. He never liked being with people who didn't like him anyway.
A habit that he never imagined would use for this particular purpose.
Diagon Alley in the morning was full of bustle from those who had their business in the area. Shopkeepers opened their front doors; Ministry officials marched in a self-important swagger. Gringrotts goblins trotted at the sides, their noses buried in long documents. Regulus' eyes flitted from person to person suspiciously even though he was disguised under the Disillusionment Charm. He shrunk back just in time as an aggressive passerby came close to brushing his shoulder with him. Regulus shook his head. Time to focus.
The familiar bobbing of ginger head pulled him into the crowd again.
The advocate Thomas Leyre' office took up an entire floor in the main part of Diagon Alley, protected by many wards that kept the intrusive eyes from the precious documents housed within the office. It was occupied constantly by his poor assistant, Bernard O'Neal, whose scrawny frame was the second pitiable thing about him, the first being Leyre's barks directed at his assistant. Various partners flitted to and fro in his office, but the biggest cases were taken on by Leyre himself, who had a reputation among Pureblood families for his efficiency and rate of success, no matter the morality at stake.
Typical of Crouch to request him, really.
Regulus watched as Leyre opened the door. He'd been following this middle-aged man for the past two and a half weeks, trying to learn his gait, his way of speaking, and the location of certain items that he kept—but as far as Regulus could tell, the key to the office was one thing that O'Neal had complete control over. Regulus slipped in from behind Leyre quickly before anyone could notice the door lingering open.
"O'Neal!" Leyre's voice reverberated through the entire floor. "Where's the Klopstock deposition?"
Regulus watched as O'Neal scurried. "Here, Mr. Leyre," he said. "And this is your coffee—"
Leyre's eyes narrowed. "Why is there milk?" he said suspiciously. O'Neal visibly gulped.
"You—you requested that you wanted milk with your coffee yesterday, Mr. Leyre," he squeaked. Leyre's face was beginning to grow red—Regulus checked his watch. Nine-oh-five. Record time, even for Leyre, really.
"Why would I ever request something like that?" he shouted, his eyes bulging. Other people in the office looked away and went about their business more quickly.
"I'm sorry, sir," O'Neal stuttered. Leyre harrumphed loudly.
"Get me another one," he snapped, and O'Neal nodded.
"Yes, sir."
Regulus watched as O'Neal scurried to the pantry and swiftly sat on O'Neal's desk. Looking around him quickly, Regulus laid his hands on the notebook of appointments that he'd seen O'Neal write on a few days ago. The notebook, for all intents and purposes, disappeared to everyone's eyes except for Regulus'. He flipped through the pages, looking for the name.
"February 25th," Regulus muttered, satisfied. He was about to close the book when he saw another appointment a week after: Lucius Malfoy, at 4:00 on March 1st. Urgent—this was written in red—re: security.
Regulus knew that this was nothing out of the ordinary for (paranoid) pureblood families, who must've all taken a hit since the fall of the Dark Lord. But the Malfoys already lived in a house more secure than most regular Gringotts vaults. They would have little problem keeping this secure by themselves. So what was this? He flipped through the notebook, hoping that more details would show. But there was nothing.
"O'Neal!" Leyre's voice came from his private office. "Coffee!" Regulus quickly put the notebook where he'd found it and stood up from the desk as O'Neal's face poked from the pantry door.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Leyre," he said. "I'm afraid I've spilled some of the coffee…" Leyre muttered something about inadequate assistants, and Regulus quickly walked into the pantry. O'Neal was struggling with the coffee pot, tapping his fingers uneasily as the kettle boiled.
"Tough morning, huh?" one of the associates—Simpson—said sympathetically. O'Neal grinned.
"It's not so bad," he said. Regulus inched closer to the coffee mug next to O'Neal, trying his best to keep a distance in case O'Neal decided to swipe his arms or make any sudden movements.
"Say, Rachel," O'Neal continued, feigning casualness that even Regulus had to pity. "Are you—do you have any plans tonight?" Regulus carefully opened a vial of Draught of Drowsiness and emptied its contents into the mug. Fortunately, nothing splashed—and O'Neal was too engrossed in appearing casual to notice.
"I don't know," Simpson said vaguely. "Some of us are going out for drinks… Celebrate the Dolohov case, y'know…"
"Oh yeah," O'Neal said, nodding enthusiastically to agree. "He got a pardon from the Ministry, didn't he? Nice one, that…" Regulus bit back a retort. Dolohov got a jail-free card, then, did he? Clearly not something to celebrate. "Anyway, the drinks tonight—why wasn't I invited?"
"O'NEAL!" Leyre's bellow was unmistakable and O'Neal jumped in his spot.
"I'll leave you to it, then," Simpson quickly patted O'Neal's shoulder and left.
"Damn it," O'Neal muttered, pouring the coffee into the mug. Regulus followed him closely as O'Neal brought the coffee to Leyre's office with shaking hands.
"There it is, Mr. Leyre," O'Neal said uncertainly. Leyre didn't even look up from his document.
"The deposition," he said instead, and O'Neal, looking terrified, ran out of the office.
"Idiot," Leyre muttered, and took a sip of the coffee. Regulus watched, aware of how loud his own breathing was, and waited, until Leyre frowned, sweeping his forehead with his palm. He shook his head, trying to wake up, and went back to his documents, but Regulus saw his eyes drooping. Grinning, he crept up behind Leyre and, hands trembling, slipped his hand under Leyre's arm to get to his personal notebook in which Leyre wrote down all the details for his cases. March 1st. March 1st. March 1st. Malfoy, Lucius. There it was.
Securing a vault in Gringotts?
Frowning, Regulus returned to February 25th, when Leyre had a meeting with his client. Bartemius Crouch Jr. Charge: murder, aiding and abetting Voldemort, yada yada yada. Some notes that Regulus already knew. Regulus reached out into the left pocket and took out the last vial containing Awake-wakey tonic. Good thing that the stuff tasted as vile as office coffee. He unceremoniously dumped the entire content into the mug as Leyre's head drooped into his chest.
"Mr. Leyre?" O'Neal's uncertain voice made Leyre's head shoot straight up, and Leyre blinked his eyes rapidly, trying not to let the fact that he'd been dozing off just seconds before.
"Yes," Leyre said, his voice thick.
"The deposition you requested, Mr. Leyre," O'Neal said. Leyre took the envelope gingerly.
"Yes, yes… that'll be all," he said, grumbling, O'Neal exited the office, a little more light-hearted than when he'd entered.
Regulus slipped out behind him, quickening his steps.
Back in the Diagon Alley, he crept behind the pet shop and revered the Disillusionment charm, looking down at his own now visible hands with some relief. Next he transformed his hair, this time messy brown, and thickened his brows while elongating his nose. The transformation of the jaw, he knew, would be more painful, so he settled for thinning the lips instead. He checked his reflection on the dusty windowpane on the back of the pet shop. Not bad.
Feeling reasonably secure, he jogged briskly to the nearest potions shop.
"Two scoops of lacewings, please," Regulus said without preamble. The shopkeeper nodded. Regulus leaned against the counter, watching the passerby go. Ten in the morning. A nice time of day—
Regulus' heart stopped.
"The lacewings? Sir?" The shopkeeper tapped the register impatiently. "The lacewings you asked for."
"Sorry," Regulus said, fumbling to get the coins out from his pocket. "Here—"
The shopkeeper nodded, and Regulus raced out the door with the container of lacewings and change in his hands. The black hair, the tall stature, the upright air was unmistakable, completely unmistakable.
He wanted to yell at her to wait for him, to stop and turn and look at him, to see him, but he knew that he shouldn't, that he couldn't, no matter how much he wanted to. Instead he followed her at distance, watching the large load on her shoulders sway to her steps. The bag had the Gringrotts logo on it.
Before Regulus realized where she was headed, she was already going up the steps, her steps sure and certain. Regulus followed after her hurriedly.
"… the shares from the Zheng excavation," he heard her say to one of the goblins at the counter. The goblin peered into the bag.
"Is this all?" he asked, his eyes narrowed. Alex sighed.
"You know that's more than what you asked for."
"We asked for the maximum," the goblin answered primly, but he took the sack and slid it beneath the counter nonetheless.
"Always a pleasure," Alex said, turning to leave. Regulus tripped; in his eagerness to see where she was headed, he'd been unaware of his own odd position in the middle of the Gringotts lobby, staring avidly at her. Alex merely raised a languid eyebrow before her eyes began to widen. But she couldn't recognize him. She wouldn't be able to, with all his disguise—
His feet disobeyed his logic telling him that it was impossible. He was pushing open the Gringotts door before he knew what was happening, his hands reaching automatically for his wand. Stupid, stupid—what was he thinking? Behind him he heard someone yell something like 'wait,' but Regulus just wasn't ready to turn around and face her again. Taking out his wand, he disaparated.
Seconds later, Sirius was looking up at him from the floor.
"Something happened?" he asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost, or something."
"Nothing," Regulus muttered. "I got the lacewings." He began to unpack various things within his satchel.
"Alright," Sirius said offhandedly. "Cool."
"Yeah," said absentmindedly, heading toward the bathroom.
The reflection of his face in the mirror was indeed a sight of its own. Face deadly pale, with cool sweat on his brows. The clumsy mustache he'd picked in the alleyway looked stupid now. His hair was in wild disarray, standing up in a hundred different directions. And something in his eyes made him look like a wild, cornered animal. His hand wouldn't stop shaking. The sound of his heart thumping felt like the drumbeat of the ritual leading to his death.
Merlin.
"Hey, Reg?" Sirius called from the living room.
"Yes?"
"The potion's done." Sirius' uncharacteristically reasonable and calm voice brought him a little closer to reality.
"That's great," Regulus said quietly, reentering the room to examine the cauldron. "That looks—"
"Absolutely disgusting, I know," Sirius finished his sentence. "But according to Caius the Canine, when it comes to Polyjuice potions, more disgusting the better, apparently." They watched the thick, gray substance bubble froggishly for a while.
"I don't care what Caius the Canine says, that stuff looks disgusting."
"At least we'll suffer together," Sirius said cheerily. Regulus sighed.
"Did you check Leyre's calendar?"
"Yes," Regulus said, taking out a small notebook. "Barty has an appointment with his advocate on February 25th, at nine in the morning. I suspect we'll need to be prompt and on time."
"Wait, the 25th?" Sirius narrowed his eyes. "That's tomorrow, Reg."
"Yes, so? We already know their habits, the details. It wouldn't change anything whether it's tomorrow or next month." And, seeing as Potter may be on to them, better do everything as quickly as possible. But he didn't say this to his brother.
They'd discussed where the best hiding place for Regulus would be. Regulus could remember a few dilapidated cottages that fell out of use that no one would miss, but Sirius pointed out that the cottages were still on the official list of the Black family property and that James would be thorough enough to check all of them. Seeking any random house was also not within Sirius' budget (it was an odd experience to see his brother, the eldest son of the Black family, talk about "budget"), and it also seemed that Potter would get even more suspicious if Sirius suddenly disappeared from his own loft—so in London they stayed, Regulus taking precaution to enter or exit the loft disguised. If Potter decided to use homenum revelio he would have little chance, but as long as Potter maintained a cautious distance, they should be—okay.
"You thought about what I said?" Sirius asked offhandedly. Regulus wasn't fooled.
"I said that the discussion was over, Sirius."
"Well, considering the extenuating circumstances—"
"What extenuating circumstances?"
"Oh, I don't know, maybe the fact that we're breaking into the Ministry of Magic tomorrow?"
"We already have a plan figured out."
"Not for tomorrow!"
"It's not like tomorrow's going to be different from any other day," Regulus said.
"Look, I just think it's better to use every resource we have. Having two more people would mean that we would actually have a lookout, and—"
"And there would be higher chances of us getting caught," Regulus interrupted. "Pros versus cons, we stick to the original plan."
Sirius sighed. "You're going to have to see her someday," he said, sounding like an exasperated older brother. What an experience. "You can't avoid her forever."
"I'm not avoiding her," Regulus said automatically. His mind went back to just a few minutes ago, when his eyes beheld for the first time in—years. It really had been years. How was that even possible? He was twenty-one, and according to Sirius his life had barely begun—but it must've been a lifetime since he'd seen her last. He wasn't the same person that he was back then, and much must have changed for her as well. But the sight of her still made his heart skip irregularly in nervousness and gladness. Still he became aware of his own breathing, wanted to know every thought that crossed her mind. Impossible.
"Really," Sirius said, unconvinced. Regulus shrugged.
"Tomorrow morning, we'll proceed as planned."
Sirius sighed. "Great," he said.
"I thought you would be more excited about the prospect of breaking and entering, considering the times you broke into the Slytherin dormitory. What's the worst thing that can happen anyway—Potter'll get you out of jail soon enough, probably. Don't you have a special pardon for Order members?"
Sirius made a sound that dogs sometimes made when they were irritated. "I don't care what happens to me, you prat," he said. "I'm worried about what'll happen to you."
"I can take care of myself—"
"No, you can't!" Sirius shouted, suddenly standing up to face Regulus fully in the face. Regulus didn't realize until then that Sirius' face seemed a little hollow, as if he'd lost weight since his unintentional arrival to Peter's cottage.
"You don't see it, do you?" Sirius kept on shouting. "You think it's just about the Horcruxes, and making up for what you did in the past, and you know what, if it was just about anyone else, I would say good for you, crack on, because hell knows that Death Eaters and Voldemort did enough harm to everyone to last a lifetime. But you know what, you're my little brother—and every decision I make, I do it thinking about how it'll affect you. Because you can't take care of yourself, not in your condition, and I don't know a lot about making decision for two people, but that's how it is. So would it kill you, Regulus, to consider me every once in a while in your decisions?"
"You can take care of yourself," Regulus said quietly. "You made that perfectly clear when you left Grimmauld Place."
"Just how long do you plan on rehashing that old—"
"I'm sorry, Sirius," Regulus said. "Sometimes I forget."
Sirius twitched irritably. "Forget what?"
"That beneath all the—bravado and big words and—noisiness—you didn't have many people taking care of you." Regulus looked around the room uncomfortably. He and Sirius—they didn't talk much after they started Hogwarts, because neither of them were ever big on talking and—it was more convenient to simply resent each other at that time.
"Yeah, well," Sirius said, his voice thick and awkward. "It's not like you had the perfect childhood, either." Regulus rubbed his eyes tiredly.
"I know I'm asking for a lot, breaking into the Ministry and everything, and if you don't have to do anything that you don't want to do, I certainly can't hold it against you—"
"Shut up," Sirius said irritably. "We're going to the Ministry tomorrow."
The next morning Regulus woke up with his heart drumming in his chest and his ears ringing with the sound of blood banging against his veins. The clock beside him said it was barely five.
Judging from Sirius' disgruntled expression, he didn't sleep much better, either. Regulus placed a mug of coffee in front of him and Sirius drank the entire cup in three large gulps, seemingly unaware of the hot liquid.
"Bloody hell," he swore.
"Morning to you, too," Regulus said, looking out the window. It was one of the days in London when rain pelted against the pavements. Gloomy. Dreary.
"O'Neal's house is in—"
"Camden. Make sure that you wear your tie crooked, otherwise people'll think he actually acquired a fashion sense."
Sirius nodded. "Will do," he said in a poor Irish accent. Regulus shook his head.
"Maybe it's better if O'Neal doesn't talk at all."
"Oy, my accent's not that bad—"
"He's a shy person anyway," Regulus interrupted. "Leyre lives in Notting Hill. He needs to make it to the appointment by ten, which means he'll set off from his office around nine thirty at the latest. He'll need to be in his office before nine so that he can go over the case, which means that O'Neal will be in the office by eight thirty. It's a good thing that we brewed so much of the stuff…"
Sirius unceremoniously took out two large flasks. "Polyjuice potion to go," he said.
"Make sure to—"
"Get the hair on his head, not on his clothes, yeah, I know," Sirius monotone. "I'm not some rookie, you know."
Regulus sighed. "Yeah, I know."
"Have you packed for the mission?"
"About to," Regulus muttered, heading toward the bedroom.
There wasn't much to pack. Some first-aid potions, some bandages, a small vial of Veritaserum that Sirius had for a random reason, a spare wand—
The copy of Magick Most Evile on the bedstand that Kreacher had brought him caught his eyes and Regulus paused. In case something went dreadfully wrong—in case they could never return to the flat—it was probably better that he had the book with him. On the other hand, if he was caught, it would be much better if he didn't have the book with him. Regulus shook his head and shoved the book inside his bag along with a change of clothing. Then he waved the wand around the entire room, erasing any detail that could be traced back to him.
And then it was a dreadfully long wait. Even Sirius remained quiet, tapping his fingers and checking his watch every five seconds. Finally, it was eight. He stood up from the table and stretched.
"If something happens—" he began.
"Run," Regulus said. Sirius raised his eyebrows.
"Don't try to come back for me—run as far away as you can. They still don't have any evidence to tie me back to you. Go to them, and figure out what you're going to do."
"What, not even try to—I don't know, help you escape, or—"
"That would only take too much time, and it's too risky. The most important thing is destroying the Horcruxes. Don't you agree?"
Sirius gave Regulus one long, stern look. Then, without answering, he dissaparated. Sighing—could his brother never do as he was told?—he held out his wand, changed the shape of his nose and his eyes, and dissaparated as well.
Seconds later, fat raindrops hit him forcefully on his head, making his neck bend over. He shielded his vision with his hand and began to walk down the street where Leyre resided by himself. Nasty divorce three years ago. Good news for him. He took a discreet position by the nearby bus stop, waiting casually as any Muggle would do. . But his fingers kept twitching.
Perhaps he was being too abrupt with Sirius. But it seemed that—well, that Sirius began to look for him as soon as the war was over. Took an indefinite leave of absence. To look for his younger brother's body. Even though he never said anything to Sirius about it, Regulus was—touched, and embarrassed, and secretly a little bit happy. But that made him feel bad in some completely different ways. Sirius, it seemed, despite everything, the years of resenting each other, misunderstanding each other's intentions, and hoping for the impossible that each brother may come around to their senses, cared. This should've made Regulus glad, that, as he himself secretly wondered about his brother's well-being, Sirius secretly (and however grudgingly) wished the best for him as well. But this also meant that—well, perhaps they were doomed for a life in which their emotions should not matter, first as children when their parents and the society they were born into simply did not know how to make space for childish spontaneity and joy, and later as they grew older, when caring meant pain and loss in war.
But Regulus knew that, despite his demand that Sirius not seek to free him if Regulus should ever get captured, he would try to free Sirius if he should ever be imprisoned, no matter what.
The door opened, cutting Regulus' train of thought short.
Leyre was a Muggle-born, and, Regulus suspected, not the most talented of wizards—if he had been, Regulus suspected, Leyre would have opted for a career that required less paperwork than law. But this had some perks. Leyre opted to walk to work every morning, providing Regulus with ample opportunities to—well, kidnap him, really.
Beginning to walk behind Leyre, Regulus soon caught up with him and bumped into him—hard. Leyre turned around, irritated to the top of his head, which was plastered with what little hair he had left due to rain.
"Watch it," he growled. Regulus stumbled and spilled the cup of coffee he had been holding all over Leyre's coat. Leyre pulled back in rude annoyance.
"I'm sorry, please, let me get that for you—" Regulus blubbered, dabbing the front of Leyre's shirt with napkin—a useless task, he knew, in the rain, but Regulus had not been counting on the weather when he made up this plan. Leyre shook himself off Regulus' grasp and turned around to leave. Regulus looked around the street. No one was there, except for a few cars that passed by.
"I'm late," Leyre muttered. Regulus grabbed his shoulder one last time.
"Please, let me help—" he began, turning Leyre to face him again. Leyre's eyes narrowed.
"Listen, boy—" he began threateningly, but what he was about to say to a potential convict, Regulus never found out. Pressing his wand discreetly against Leyre's back, Regulus stunned the older man and grunted as Leyre's limp body fell against his.
"Alright," Regulus muttered, dragging Leyre's body into an alleyway. He'd thought about the best place it would be to intercept Leyre, and realized that a Muggle neighborhood would be much less conspicuous—and make it harder for magical authorities—than any place in Diagon Alley. He plucked several strands of Leyre's hair and dropped it into his vial of Polyjuice potion, watching it turn into a vile shade of green. Regulus shuddered and, deciding that it would be best not to think too much about it, wrinkled his nose and took a quick sip.
The transformation wasn't as bad as he'd feared, but that didn't mean that he liked it.
Every muscle and bone in his body resisted the effects of the potion. A keen sensation of nausea grabbed him, shook him to the core, and Regulus had a hard time keeping himself from retching. But the transformation was soon over and he looked at the dim reflection of himself in a dirty old window to find Leyre staring back at him. He shook his head distastefully.
Regulus duplicated Leyre's clothes, changed clumsily (the rain making the fabric stick to his skin didn't help) and shoved his own in his bag. Concentrating on his destination, he disapparted.
"O'Neal!" Regulus-Leyre shouted gruffly as he entered his office. O'Neal scurried to his side, looking flustered. Regulus cleared his throat.
"Dog bones," he said. O'Neal grinned an uncanny, un-O'Neal-like grin.
"Fisherman," O'Neal said. Regulus let go of the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.
"Thank Merlin," he said, looking around to check if any of O'Neal's colleagues were eavesdropping. "Any trouble?"
Sirius shrugged. "O'Neal's not much of a duelist. He'll wake up in his apartment in the afternoon."
Regulus nodded and began to go through Leyre's drawers, looking for the file that Leyre must've made for Barty's case. Sirius fidgeted in his spot, looking uncomfortable.
"What is it?" Regulus asked. Sirius pouted.
"O'Neal's clothes," he said. "They're… so… itchy."
Regulus rolled his eyes. "It's a good thing that O'Neal never looks comfortable anywhere. There it is." He held out the file, grimly satisfied. "Ready?"
"To break into the Ministry? When am I ever not?" Sirius grinned cheerily and shook his hair, which did not have its usual effect as O'Neal's hair was cropped unfashionably short.
"Stop it," Regulus said, biting back a grin despite the situation. "You're supposed to be unhappily exploited by your boss, remember?"
"Thomas Leyre," the receptionist read out slowly, like a child who had just learned to read the alphabet. "Thomas… Leyre…"
"Check the books," Regulus said impatiently, trying to hide his nervousness. Several Aurors lurked nearby, watching the duo cautiously. It was probably a good thing that Leyre was known for his foul mood and behavior—Regulus couldn't think of any other way to hide his nervousness. Next to him Sirius-O'Neal kept fidgeting uncomfortably, his eyes shifting every few seconds to different parts of the room. Regulus slapped his shoulder, hard.
"Stop fidgeting," he scowled. Sirius let out a whimper that was more dog-like than O'Neal-like.
"Sorry, Mr. Leyre," he said, shooting Regulus a death glare when no one was looking. The receptionist, on the other hand, seemed finally to have found the appointment.
"Leyre!" he said in triumph. "Ten o'clock, Bartemius Crouch Junior… he's in the holding cell number eight. If we could just see your wand, Mr. Leyre, it's the new security measure, as you know…"
"Fine," Regulus said tersely, providing Leyre's wand that he nicked from the unconscious body. Sirius handed O'Neal's wand as well, looking unhappy. The receptionist disappeared into the back of the room and Sirius approached Regulus, looking unhappy.
"There are too many guards," he mouthed. Regulus sighed.
"O'Neal, don't inflict your incompetence on me," he said loudly, and threw up his hands in dramatic exasperation when the receptionist came back. "Well?"
"All clear, Mr. Leyre," he said. "But I'm afraid that we'll have to keep the wands—you'll get them back after the meeting! Now, if you'll just sign here—oh, hello, Mister Potter!" The receptionist straightened automatically, but it was Regulus and Sirius who stiffened the most in the room. Slowly, they turned around to face the hazel flashes coming from behind Potter's glasses. Potter regarded the two of them, and the expression on his face made it clear what he thought of Leyre's work and his clientele.
"Mr. Leyre," Potter said curtly. "We meet again."
"Mr. Potter," Regulus said, trying to seem as unconcerned as he possibly could. "What a… pleasant surprise."
Potter made no effort to return the courtesy, however thinly hiding the antagonism. "I wish I could say the same. In any case, I volunteered to overlook this meeting. Crouch is one of our more sensitive cases, if you understand what I mean."
"I understand perfectly what you mean," Regulus returned coolly, racking his brain to remember what the solicitors who visited his house during his childhood used to say. What was it? "But the attorney-client privilege prevents any and all presence of the Auror office in these meetings—as I'm sure you understand."
Potter's eyes narrowed. "In this case I am certain that the judge will rule—"
"And until you have the ruling you may safely follow the law," Regulus grinned unpleasantly. "That's what you Aurors do, isn't it? Making sure that everyone follows the law?"
Potter's face whitened and his lips thinned in anger, but to his credit he didn't say anything.
"Well then," Regulus said. "Come along, O'Neal!" Without looking back Regulus marched toward where the receptionist held the door for him. Sirius trotted after him and, when the doors were safely closed behind them, Sirius sighed.
"Blimey," he whispered, looking cautiously at the guard walking in front of them. "I thought something was going to happen…"
"So did I," Regulus admitted.
"He gave me his business card—can you believe it? He just looked at me and said, if you're ever tired of your boss…"
"The Auror office keeping spies in legal firms," Regulus scoffed. "How gentlemanly. Are you really surprised though?"
Sirius sighed. "No. But I also didn't think James would ever…"
"Stoop so low?"
"Be so Slytherin."
Regulus scoffed. "Welcome to desperation, O'Neal," he said. He tapped the shoulder of the guard. "Well?"
"Almost there, Leyre," he returned darkly.
"Is it always so dark in here?" Sirius asked, sounding unconvincingly scared. He rubbed his hands against his arms, shivering.
The guard shrugged. "Crouch is known to be… unpredictable. Precaution. That's all we can have now, isn't it?" He stopped and waved a complicated pattern in front of a door. The door opened, revealing even more darkness.
"Cell number eight," the guard announced. "You have fifteen minutes, Mr. Leyre." Swallowing a foul taste in his mouth, Regulus stepped in.
The room lighted once he was inside, but the sight revealed was hardly what one would call pleasant. The walls were painted in moldy green and gray, and the cell smelled dank, as if it had not been properly ventilated in years. Or perhaps the room received its effect from the sole occupant—Bartemius Crouch Junior, the shiny son of the famous law enforcement officer, sat hunched over the desk. When Regulus entered he sneered, showing all his yellow teeth. Regulus remembered Barty from Hogwarts—a few years below him, but always very groomed, very… oily. He supposed this was another version of oily.
"Well, well, well," Barty taunted. "Look at that. How much did my father offer to hire you?"
"Leave us," Regulus snapped to Sirius, who looked about to protest.
"Now," Regulus repeated, and Sirius left, looking unhappy. When the cell door closed, Regulus sighed and leaned against the chair.
"Hello, Barty," he said casually. Barty, whose eyes had been watching the whole exchange with sly eyes, looked crookedly back at him.
"Well, my father certainly didn't hire you," he mused.
"I'm pretty sure he did," Regulus said. "The real Leyre's somewhere in Camden now."
Barty's mouths momentarily twitched in a sickening smile. "Who are you?"
"What, you don't recognize me?" Regulus tsked. "You're getting slow, Barty."
Barty's eyes narrowed. "Who are you?" he growled. Regulus cracked his knuckles.
"Regulus Black," he said, his name never sounding dirtier.
Barty suddenly made a move to stand up and hurl himself over the desk at him, his hands outstretched as if to choke the life out of him. But the magical handcuffs on his wrists held him back and Barty screamed—in pain or frustration, Regulus couldn't tell.
"YOU TRAITOR!" he shouted, his eyes bulging. "YOU FUCKING HALFBLOOD!"
Regulus supposed that halfblood was the worst insult Barty could come up with. "Traitor?" he hissed, his eyes flashing. "I was mortally injured in a mission—I could barely move for two years. I was wandless, trying to find some way to contact a wizard, any wizard, in middle of nowhere in England. Then I come back to London to find out that the Dark Lord has been defeated and my friends have been calling me a traitor. So don't you dare talk about what you don't understand. You have no idea what I went through."
Barty was still huffing, his chest rising and falling at an alarmingly rapid rate, but he was looking at Regulus with a calmer, more reasonable set of eyes. "Is that what happened?" he asked.
"I don't have much time," Regulus said. "They gave only fifteen minutes for this interview. Barty, I know—I know—that the Dark Lord left behind fail-safes, something that'll bring him back if he should ever be injured. I've been looking everywhere for them. Something to bring him back. You know what I'm talking about, don't you?"
Barty hesitated. "How do you I know that I can trust you?" he said. "You've been gone for the past few years, just completely disappeared—"
"You can't," Regulus said. "But let's be honest, I'm the best chance you've got. The lawyer your father hired—he's a good one, but he's not going to get you out of jail, not when you can't stop listing all the things you've done for the Dark Lord—"
"BECAUSE I'M PROUD OF THEM!" Barty shouted. "Some of these people, they don't have any backbone… that Malfoy, for one. I'm proud of all I've done for the Dark Lord and all the services I provided, I'm not going to hide them—are you?" Barty's eyes narrowed. "Hiding behind the mask of someone else, going around fooling everyone… you're as bad as the rest of them, Black."
"I'm being smart," Regulus hissed. "What's more important, the pride of being able to declare everything you've done for the Cause, or bringing back the Dark Lord who will right everything? Get your priorities straight, Bartemius Crouch. One day I will own up to everything I've done. Today's not that day."
Barty slumped against the chair, clearly dissatisfied.
"Tell me how I can bring him back," Regulus said. "Tell me."
"The Dark Lord made several fail-safes," Barty leaned in, his eyes glittering dangerously—crazily. "Don't ask me how many or where, I don't know about all of them. He was cautious."
Or he didn't trust anyone, Regulus thought bitterly, but shoved the thought aside. "Well?" he prompted.
"One of them's in Hogwarts, where only the people who need him can find it," Barty continued, his voice gaining a hollow, reverent tone. "It's a diadem, an ancient diadem—and the one who puts it on will carry out the will of the Dark Lord."
Regulus nodded. So Voldemort had found the lost Diadem… "Where in Hogwarts, Barty?" he probed.
Barty sighed. "That's as far as I know. He only said that if you really needed to find it, you will."
Regulus frowned. "Is that the best you can do, Crouch?" he said. The glint in Barty's eyes grew fiery.
"I was the most trusted servant of the Dark Lord," he hissed. "The Dark Lord told me everything. Everything, Black, including the things you can only dream of—" But they were interrupted by Sirius, who flung the door open and looked at both of them in panic.
"There's something wrong," he said, and sure enough, without the insulation of the door, Regulus could hear the commotion.
"Fuck," Regulus swore. Barty chuckled in delight.
"Are you going to join me in Azkaban, Regulus?" he said. "Would love to have your company there."
"Not now, Barty," Regulus said, taking a quick sip of the Polyjuice potion. "Not a word of this to anyone, you understand?"
Barty held up his hands. "Anything for the Dark Lord. Mum's the word."
Regulus nodded and quickly left the cell, locking the door behind him.
"What'd he say?" Sirius asked urgently as they briskly walked toward the exit, but Regulus shushed him, listening intently. Someone was shouting…
"Is that Leyre?" he asked. Sirius directed his ears toward the source of the noise, his position doglike.
"Fuck," he said, nodding. "I thought you knocked him out, Reg."
"I did, he must have some kind of security system that looks for him when he hasn't been in touch," Regulus stomped his foot on the ground in frustration. "Okay. Okay. They don't know about O'Neal yet, so you go out there and yell something about a mad person—"
Sirius didn't need him to finish the sentence, his inner Marauder resurfacing despite years of "adult responsibilities." "Diversion. Good tactic," he nodded. "But how are you going to slip out?"
"No can't apparate out of this floor, which means that I'll have to—slip out behind you. Disillusionment charm."
Sirius considered this. "O'Neal can't go out yelling about a madman. If they come in here and don't find you, they're going to be suspicious of O'Neal. No, it's probably better if you hit me or something—"
"What?"
"Some kind of non-lethal injury that'll convince them that I was attacked and had no idea of who you really were," Sirius whispered quickly. "O'Neal's absolutely incompetent, no one's going to care anyway—but they will think that you had some kind of a trick up your sleeve to disappear." The shouting from the other side of the corridor became louder. "Quick, do something—"
"Like what?" Regulus said, shaking his head. "There's got to be something else—"
"Stop being stupid and hit me with a Bat-bogey curse or something—"
"Don't be stupid, no one over the age of sixteen ever uses a that curse—"
"Well then find something better!" Sirius hissed. Regulus hesitated, but the yelling from the outside grew chaotic. Before he could make a coherent, reasonable decision, something knocked down the doors with a boom and Regulus cast the first curse that came to his mind, disappearing into the darkness seconds later with a Disillusionment charm.
"HELP!" Sirius yelled pathetically in Leyre's voice. "Help, somebody HELP!" Guards rushed to his side and Regulus slipped by them, quietly tiptoeing the edge of the corridor. When he arrived at the hall, Leyre, with his purple face, was fuming at the top of his lungs and Potter was listening to him, looking very unhappy.
"You!" Leyre yelled as Sirius-O'Neal was half-dragged, half-escorted from the hallway. "Are you in on this, too?"
"Mr. Leyre?" Sirius said, his voice in every respect the epitome of confusion. "What's going on? OH MY GOD, is the entire Ministry trying to kill me? I didn't do anything, I swear, Mr. Leyre just came out of the cell and attacked me—"
"Search the entire floor," Potter said to some of the guards. "And you—O'Neal, wasn't it?—calm down. Just tell us exactly what happened—" But Regulus couldn't stay here watching the spectacle. He inched toward the exit, but some of the guards were already there.
Regulus calculated his chances. He could try to make a run for it, but it would make it easier for them to notice an invisible physical presence—and a simple homenum revelio could take care of that in an instant. No, his best chances were—
"Stupify," he muttered, pointing his own wand at one of the guards. He fell to the ground seconds later and other reacted, looking around in panic.
"He's still here!"
"Quick, the exits—"
"Mister Potter—"
"I will sue the Ministry, Potter—"
"I don't understand, what's going on—"
"Find him! FIND HIM!"
Then everything went dark.
Regulus took a deep breath. The exit, if he rembered correctly, was to his right side the last time he saw it. And bumping into people shouldn't be a problem, no one could see anything anyway—
But someone grasped his arm. Then came the oh-too-familiar voice, so soft, so strong.
"This way."
